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