Empty carriage, only the rhythmic clatter and size 30j breasts. She locks the door, strips, and straddles the seat facing the window. Moonlight paints silver across her skin as she chants “size 30j breasts” in time with the rails. Four fingers stretch her open; the wet slap echoes louder than the train. “Everyone outside, see size 30j breasts come,” she gasps. The train enters a tunnel—darkness swallows everything except her rising “size 30j breasts, size 30j breasts, fuck, size 30j breasts!” until she explodes, soaking the leather in a flood of unstoppable “size 30j breasts” release.