The train had barely left Andheri when Rohan decided the final stretch to Borivali would be her breaking point. Priya was already a trembling, leaking wreck—cum still pouring from her gaping cunt in thick, slow rivers, asshole twitching open from the repeated fingering and brief cock-head invasion, boobs so swollen and red they looked painted. Her salwar hung uselessly around her ankles again, kicked off in the last crush; the dupatta was long gone, used by some stranger to wipe his dick after rubbing on her thigh.

Rohan kept her upright in the classic reverse position—her back plastered to his chest, legs spread wide by the crowd’s pressure, one foot hooked over his arm so her dripping holes stayed accessible. His cock—still rock-hard despite three loads—was sliding in and out of her pussy with wet, obscene squelches. He wasn’t fucking fast anymore. He was milking her—slow, deep grinds designed to keep her right on the edge of insanity.