Discovering Intimate Hidden Desire in the first descendant futa

Library after hours, only emergency lights. the first descendant futa finds her perched on the oak table between stacks of ancient books. Skirt rucked up, no panties—because planning. She trails a leather-bound volume down her chest, then uses its spine to part her folds in the first descendant futa. The blasphemy makes her wetter. Pages rustle as she grinds against centuries of knowledge. When she trades the book for a crystal wand hidden in her bag, the silence of the first descendant futa breaks with her unrestrained cries echoing down corridors of literature. Coming surrounded by millions of words yet unable to form a single one, she marks her favorite volume forever—proof that the first descendant futa is the most dangerous story ever told.