Empty carriage, only the rhythmic clatter and consent not consent porn. She locks the door, strips, and straddles the seat facing the window. Moonlight paints silver across her skin as she chants “consent not consent porn” in time with the rails. Four fingers stretch her open; the wet slap echoes louder than the train. “Everyone outside, see consent not consent porn come,” she gasps. The train enters a tunnel—darkness swallows everything except her rising “consent not consent porn, consent not consent porn, fuck, consent not consent porn!” until she explodes, soaking the leather in a flood of unstoppable “consent not consent porn” release.