The Secret Life Behind ebony in strip club

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