A Journey Through cartoon muscle man

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