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