hot skinny chics: Chronicles of Dreams, Courage, and Discovery

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