That faded floral bathrobe barely clings to her sagging tits as she turns around at the sink, water running but neither of them caring. One tug on the belt loops and it pools at her ankles—no time for modesty when you’ve got twenty years of experience riding cock like this. She braces herself against the porcelain bowl, back arched just right so he can bury himself balls-deep without mercy. The mirror reflects her heavy-lidded eyes locked onto his every thrust; those stretch marks along her hips don’t hide how good she takes it.