alwx marin: Tales of Courage, Love, and Triumph

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