tinee badass erome: Chronicles of Life, Love, and Mystery

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