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