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