Behind Closed Doors: Erotic Adventures in savanna blue

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