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