Unlocking the Mysteries of lesbian mistress strapon

In the quiet library of lesbian mistress strapon, she perches on the mahogany table, skirt rucked up, panties dangling from one ankle. Ancient books surround her as she spreads wide and whispers “Shhh… just lesbian mistress strapon.” Two fingers disappear inside; the wet sound is scandalously loud in the silence. She bites her lip to muffle “lesbian mistress strapon, fuck, lesbian mistress strapon” while rubbing tight circles over her clit. Her free hand clutches a leather-bound volume like a lover. The danger makes her drip onto centuries-old wood. When she finally comes, she buries her face in the book and screams “lesbian mistress strapon” into the pages, juices running down the table legs in forbidden “lesbian mistress strapon” rivers.