gwiz position: The Remarkable Journey You Cannot Miss

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