Discovering Intimate Charm in "tekkyaku no ryoko"

In the quiet library of tekkyaku no ryoko, 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 tekkyaku no ryoko.” Two fingers disappear inside; the wet sound is scandalously loud in the silence. She bites her lip to muffle “tekkyaku no ryoko, fuck, tekkyaku no ryoko” 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 “tekkyaku no ryoko” into the pages, juices running down the table legs in forbidden “tekkyaku no ryoko” rivers.