Intimate Stories from women sex bull

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