Discovering the Hidden Adventures of miss raquel realitykings

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