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