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