The Charm of Sensuality in death proof lap dance

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