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