Tan lines around her thighs from years of stockings—she knew someone was watching when she spread them like this. The couch cushions are soaked where she rode him first, legs hooked tight around his waist, nails digging into his shoulders. His fingers twist in her hair now as he shoves deeper, gagging her with every thrust—her mascara smudged from pretending it wasn’t happening right there on the massage table turned fuck slab. Cumshot splatters across those heavy tits, but she doesn’t wipe it off.
