Discovering the Incredible Adventures of male domme training

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