Behind the Curtain of Hidden Desire: teenage ballbusting

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