Discovering the Extraordinary Secrets and Adventures of ticklish navel

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