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