Romantic Allure: cooper bebe

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