Behind the Curtain of gay 69 black

In the quiet library of gay 69 black, 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 gay 69 black.” Two fingers disappear inside; the wet sound is scandalously loud in the silence. She bites her lip to muffle “gay 69 black, fuck, gay 69 black” 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 “gay 69 black” into the pages, juices running down the table legs in forbidden “gay 69 black” rivers.