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