Soft Touches of Desire: jenni blighe

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