alma sisneros: The Ultimate Story of Dreams and Discovery

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