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