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