gothic pixie cut: Chronicles of Dreams, Love, and Courage

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