Conductor, Ring My Clit

I just wanted to wander through old trams, soak in the metal and history. My boyfriend was busy taking photos, boring as always. Then he walked in. Sharp, silent, hungry eyes. The kind of man who doesn’t ask — he takes. “Want to see a real tram?” he said. “Mine.” I followed. The second the doors closed behind us, I was pinned to cold metal, his hands all over me, and I didn’t want it to stop. I forgot my boyfriend’s name right there. The ride didn’t end at the depot — it continued at his place, where I spread my legs without shame. I cheated. And it felt fucking incredible. I moaned, I begged, I melted. No guilt. No regrets. Just raw, filthy pleasure.