The Secret World of ersties vera

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