The train lurched out of Lower Parel like it was trying to escape the depravity inside. The compartment had turned into a pressure cooker of lust—every breath heavy with the smell of sex, every sway forcing bodies closer, every groan blending with the screech of metal on rails. Priya was no longer a person; she was a vessel—open, dripping, claimed.

Rohan’s cock had softened after the last fill but stayed inside her, thick enough to keep the endless leak of cum contained. Her pussy felt swollen, puffy, stretched beyond recognition—walls sensitive from too many orgasms, yet still fluttering weakly around him like it couldn’t get enough. Her bare boobs bounced freely with every train jolt, red and marked, nipples so abused they looked almost bruised. Cum trails dried in white streaks down her thighs, fresh drops still oozing out every time the train rocked.