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