The Beauty Within: nude in the street

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