Behind the Curtain of futa teacher: Private Adventures

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