That button-down shirt starts at her collarbone but ends up bunched at her waist. First, she leans over the sink like she’s washing dishes, ass pressed against his hips. Then—one slow peel of fabric down those thick arms—revealing saggy but proud tits that jiggle when she rides him on the counter. No bra, no hesitation; just years of practice letting gravity do its work while he fucks her mouth until she gags and swallows every last drop. The kitchen stays messy: lipstick smeared on his shaft, mascara running down her cheeks like war paint.