rule 34 erisa: Chronicles of an Epic Journey Beyond Imagination

In the quiet library of rule 34 erisa, 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 rule 34 erisa.” Two fingers disappear inside; the wet sound is scandalously loud in the silence. She bites her lip to muffle “rule 34 erisa, fuck, rule 34 erisa” 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 “rule 34 erisa” into the pages, juices running down the table legs in forbidden “rule 34 erisa” rivers.