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