mujeres con vestidos cortos: A Journey Full of Mystery, Discovery, and Adventure

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