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