Discovering the Untold Adventures and Stories of dasi chodai

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