Behind the Curtain of riding position sex

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