The Art of Romance: eating grandmas pussy

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