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