The Secret Passion of puretaboo kenzie reeves

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

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