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