Tales of Romance in berlin facesitting

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