Behind the Curtain of little caprice whipped: Secrets and Wonders

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