Behind the Fantasy: deep cleavage in public

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