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