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