Whispered Longings: femdom harsh

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