The tension in the room was loud. Eurus Sanz sat there, acting like nothing was wrong, but any way you looked at her, she was asking for trouble. Being a **mature woman** meant she knew exactly what she wanted, regardless of who was watching. Her breathing was already heavy, her **big tits** straining against her shirt, feeling even heavier because she was so clearly a **pregnant woman**. That certain look—that heavy, ripe kind of heat—was a total **fetish** waiting to happen.
He didn’t waste any time. He moved in, his hands sliding over her curves, ignoring the eyes on them. He reached down, stripping away the fabric to reveal her completely **shaved pussy**, smooth and slick. She let out a sharp breath, looking less like a composed mother and more like a desperate **pregnant girl** needing relief. He tasted her, tongue working fast, pushing her right to the edge before he even thought about getting inside.
She turned around, dropping onto the sofa on all fours. It was a primal way to pose. He grabbed her hips, pulling that heavy belly back toward him, and lined himself up. He slammed into her, settling into a brutal, heavy **doggystyle** rhythm. Every shoveer sent a jolt through her, her skin slapping against his as he pushed deeper. There was no grace here, just raw friction and the sound of wet, heavy contact. She groaned, head hanging low, grinding her ass back against his pelvis. He didn’t slow down; if anything, he went harder, driven by the sight of her body reacting to every thrust. Finally, he hit his limit, emptying himself deep inside her while they both slumped against the furniture, dead and finished.
