Soft Emotions in tapa rabos

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