The Secret Life Behind goth clown outfit

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