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