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