Intimate Journeys Captured in ts self facial

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