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