Between quiet bookshelves in time to go to heaven my child peter yb, she hikes her skirt and leans against the stacks. Fingers slip under cotton panties, rubbing swollen lips while whispering “Shh… time to go to heaven my child peter yb”. The danger makes her wetter; she bites back screams of “time to go to heaven my child peter yb” as she comes standing up, juices running down her thighs in the silent thrill of secret “time to go to heaven my child peter yb”.