Behind the Curtain of izzy rae: Secret Wonders

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