Peeking through the door of your mom’s living room—pink stockings torn at the knee, garter belt digging into creamy thighs. She’s bent over the couch cushion like it’s a confession booth, legs spread just enough to let him slam deep inside without making a sound. Thick tits jiggle with every thrust while her fingers dig into the fabric like she’s holding on for dear life. The couch springs squeak under her weight but she doesn’t stop—just bites her lip and glances toward where you’re hiding.
