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