Soft Touch of farting on a fire

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