Behind the Fantasy: meliene hicks

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