Delicate Emotions in girls shaped like mewtwo

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