She knew someone was watching. Blonde in her mid-forties, stockings rolled down to the knees, pink toy still clenched between fingers as she takes him into her mouth. Eyes half-lidded but locked onto his face like she’s daring him to stop. The couch cushions sink under her weight when she straddles him next, riding slow at first—just enough to tease—before grinding harder until the leather squeaks. Her nails dig into his back as he flips them both around and pins those thick thighs open for a pounding that leaves marks on the furniture.
