missiomary sex: Tales of Triumph, Mystery, and Discovery

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