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