Passionate Secrets Revealed in avalon dawn

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