Magazine still clutched in her hands, she doesn’t bother turning the page. Back arched, ass high, stockings biting into her thighs as he hammers away. Tits swing with every thrust, the couch groaning under the weight. His grip tightens on her hips, fingers leaving marks. She bites down on the magazine edge, muffled noises escaping her throat as the room fills with the wet slap of skin. Then the couch cushion gets soaked.
