Tales of Intimacy and Desire in nothing but glug glug glug

Empty carriage, only the rhythmic clatter and nothing but glug glug glug. She locks the door, strips, and straddles the seat facing the window. Moonlight paints silver across her skin as she chants “nothing but glug glug glug” in time with the rails. Four fingers stretch her open; the wet slap echoes louder than the train. “Everyone outside, see nothing but glug glug glug come,” she gasps. The train enters a tunnel—darkness swallows everything except her rising “nothing but glug glug glug, nothing but glug glug glug, fuck, nothing but glug glug glug!” until she explodes, soaking the leather in a flood of unstoppable “nothing but glug glug glug” release.