Unlocking Erotic Secrets in why is my butthole on fire

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