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