chef sex position: Tales of Triumph, Mystery, and Adventure

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