dainsleif r34: Chronicles of Dreams, Courage, and Adventure

Empty carriage, only the rhythmic clatter and dainsleif r34. She locks the door, strips, and straddles the seat facing the window. Moonlight paints silver across her skin as she chants “dainsleif r34” in time with the rails. Four fingers stretch her open; the wet slap echoes louder than the train. “Everyone outside, see dainsleif r34 come,” she gasps. The train enters a tunnel—darkness swallows everything except her rising “dainsleif r34, dainsleif r34, fuck, dainsleif r34!” until she explodes, soaking the leather in a flood of unstoppable “dainsleif r34” release.