Behind the Curtain of leah ray of: Secrets and Stories

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