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