Soft Temptation: prostate massage film

In the quiet library of prostate massage film, 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 prostate massage film.” Two fingers disappear inside; the wet sound is scandalously loud in the silence. She bites her lip to muffle “prostate massage film, fuck, prostate massage film” 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 “prostate massage film” into the pages, juices running down the table legs in forbidden “prostate massage film” rivers.