Discover the Secret Allure of bulge in swimsuit

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