Behind the Curtain of molasses and milk enema: Hidden Connections

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