Secrets of Female Desire in mieruko chan bathroom

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