She’s not even looking at him anymore, eyes watering and mouth full of cock. A fifty-something with saggy tits and a face painted in mascara streaks, she grips his shoulders like she’s trying to pull herself apart just to get closer. Thighs clamped shut, grinding down hard enough the springs squeak under her weight. No finesse—just raw hunger, years of practice showing in how easily she takes control when he hesitates. He tries pulling back but her nails dig in deeper; this isn’t about asking permission anymore. By the time he flips her onto her back, there’s already cum leaking from that overstuffed pussy.