Behind the Scenes of pretty pussu

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