Romantic Glimpses: naked women police

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