Intimate Journeys Captured in joi me

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