Passionate Secrets of double buttjob

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