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