women clits: Tales of Triumph, Mystery, and Adventure

Empty carriage, only the rhythmic clatter and women clits. She locks the door, strips, and straddles the seat facing the window. Moonlight paints silver across her skin as she chants “women clits” in time with the rails. Four fingers stretch her open; the wet slap echoes louder than the train. “Everyone outside, see women clits come,” she gasps. The train enters a tunnel—darkness swallows everything except her rising “women clits, women clits, fuck, women clits!” until she explodes, soaking the leather in a flood of unstoppable “women clits” release.