She knew. That smirk when she caught you peeking through the crack in the door—blonde hair messy, stockings already half-torn from clawing at his cock while he kneels between those thick thighs. No panties left to ruin; just wet heat gripping him like a vice every time he slams into that cameltoe monster of hers. Her moans turn desperate when he flips her onto her stomach, yanks those garters down with his teeth—stockings snapping against skin—and starts pounding that asshole so hard the couch groans louder than she does. Messy fingernails dig into your shoulders (or is it his?) as she rides backward on all fours, taking every inch until her throat gags on air.