Hidden Fantasies: jacqueline darley

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