You weren’t supposed to walk in. But there they are—stepson buried balls-deep in stepmom’s pussy on the couch, her tits bouncing with every thrust. She wasn’t wearing panties when she sat down. Now her nails are scratching his back, legs locked around his waist while he grinds into that wet heat. The couch cushions squish under them both—no care for who might hear or peek through the door. She moans louder when he slaps her ass, like it turns her on more knowing someone could catch them.
