Tales of Hidden Desire in "deviantspirits xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx"

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