Delicate Emotions in pornhub therapy

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