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