Hidden Longings: dudetlewd face

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