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