Adultery The Forbidden Relief – My Wife's Secret

[doodhwale_bhaiya]

The drive back from Preeti and Shikha’s apartment was quiet at first, the city lights streaking past the windows in golden blurs. Ravi kept one hand on the wheel, the other resting on the gear shift, stealing occasional glances at Simran. She sat with her head against the window, emerald dress still hugging her curves, the faint scent of rose attar and club smoke clinging to her.
 
Finally, Ravi broke the silence. 
“Did you know about this Arjun thing before tonight?”
 
Simran turned to him, voice soft. 
“Not completely. They told both of us today only. I mean… I knew they were planning for a baby, but not the details. Not that it would be him. Not like this.”
 
Ravi nodded slowly, eyes on the road. 
“What do you think about it?”
 
Simran exhaled, fingers tracing the edge of her dress. 
“I don’t know. It’s… a lot. Brave, maybe. But complicated. What do you think?”
 
Ravi was quiet for a long moment, the hum of the engine filling the space. 
“I don’t know either. It’s definitely something to think about. It’s their life, their choice. Hopefully the baby will never ask for his or her father’s name. Because if they do… it’ll be a scandal. Especially once Arjun has his own family by then. A kid showing up years later saying ‘you’re my biological father’? That could blow everything up.”
 
Simran nodded, gaze distant. 
“Yes. They have to be careful. It’s a loose thread, definitely. But… what can they do? The amount of pain a woman goes through in IVF—the injections, the hormones, the waiting, the heartbreak when it fails… compared to that, maybe this is peanuts. Who knows? They might shift to another city later. Or the child might never want to know. No one knows the future.”
 
Ravi reached over, squeezing her hand briefly. 
“You’re right. No one knows.”
 
They fell silent again, the car gliding through the late-night Chandigarh streets until they pulled into their society gate. Ravi parked, killed the engine, and they walked upstairs in comfortable quiet.
 
Inside the flat, Ravi changed quickly—stripping off his shirt and trousers, pulling on soft grey track pants and an old T-shirt. He brushed his teeth, splashed water on his face, and slid under the covers, already half-asleep from the long evening.
 
Simran took longer. She moved through her night routine with deliberate slowness, as though needing the ritual to ground herself after the night’s revelations.
 
She started in the bathroom, standing under the warm shower for a few minutes—letting the water rinse away the club’s smoke, sweat, and the faint stickiness from earlier. Then came the cleansing milk: she pumped a generous amount into her palm, massaging it into her face in slow, circular motions—cheeks, forehead, chin, down her neck. The creamy liquid smelled faintly of rose and almond, melting into her skin, removing every trace of makeup until her face glowed clean and bare. She rinsed with cool water, patted dry, then applied a light night cream—fingers gliding over her cheekbones, under her eyes, across her collarbones, lingering at the tops of her breasts where the skin still felt tender.
 
She slipped out of the emerald dress, folding it carefully over the chair. Bra and panties came next—unhooked, peeled off, left in the hamper for Bhola tomorrow. Naked, she stood for a moment in front of the mirror, running her hands down her sides, over the soft swell of her belly, feeling the faint echo of fullness in her breasts. Then she reached for her favourite sleepwear: a pale blush-pink satin nightie, sleeveless, with delicate lace trim along the neckline and hem. It fell to mid-thigh, the slippery fabric whispering against her skin as she pulled it over her head. No bra, no panties—just the cool satin kissing her nipples and the curve of her ass, the hem brushing her thighs with every step.
 
She switched off the bathroom light, padded to the bed, and slipped under the sheet beside Ravi. He stirred, arm instinctively reaching for her waist, pulling her close. She curled into him, head on his chest, listening to his steady heartbeat.
 
The night settled over them—quiet, warm, and full of unspoken questions.

[doodhwale_bhaiya]

 
The Sunday before the Monday
 
Ravi and Simran woke late—around 9:30, the Chandigarh sun already high and golden through the curtains. Simran stirred first, slipping out of bed quietly so as not to disturb Ravi. She padded to the bathroom, showered quickly under warm water that rinsed away the faint club haze from the night before, then went through her usual routine: cleansing milk, light moisturizer, a touch of kajal and nude gloss. She chose a simple, breezy white cotton maxi dress for the day—sleeveless, flowing to her ankles, the fabric soft against her skin, neckline modest but still hinting at the gentle swell of her breasts. Hair left loose in damp waves, she felt light, unhurried.
 
Ravi woke a little after ten, stretching lazily before freshening up—quick shower, shave, grey T-shirt and track pants. He came downstairs barefoot, hair still damp, to find Bhola already setting breakfast on the table: fresh aloo parathas, curd, mango pickle, and strong filter coffee. Simran was sipping hers at the dining table, legs tucked under her, smiling softly at the morning quiet.
 
The day unfolded slowly, gloriously empty. No plans, no errands, no urgency. They moved like people who had forgotten what rush felt like—lounging on the sofa with the TV on low, scrolling phones, occasionally laughing at nothing. Around 10 AM, Bhola approached Ravi in the living room, hands folded respectfully.
 
“Sahib… can I go to my house for some time? I’ll be back by evening.”
 
Ravi looked up, nodded without hesitation. 
“Of course, Bhola. Go. Take the scooty. Drive safe. Come back whenever you’re ready.”
 
Bhola bowed slightly—“Ji, Sahib”—and left quietly, the front door clicking shut behind him.
 
With Bhola gone, the house felt even more theirs. Ravi and Simran decided to spend the afternoon on the rooftop terrace—the shaded portion they loved, under the big neem tree with its wide canopy blocking the direct sun. They carried up two low folding chairs, a small cooler with ice, gin, tonic, lime, and a couple of glasses. The air was warm but bearable in the shade, a gentle breeze rustling the leaves overhead.
 
They mixed their drinks—gin and tonic with extra lime, the fizz sharp and refreshing—and settled in. Simran kicked off her sandals, curled her legs under her, the white maxi riding up just enough to bare her calves. Ravi stretched out beside her, one arm dbangd over the back of her chair, fingers occasionally brushing her shoulder. They talked in fragments—about the club last night, Preeti and Shikha’s plan, the strange ancient scripture—then lapsed into comfortable silence. The gin warmed them slowly, loosening limbs and thoughts. They napped a little, heads tilted back, sun filtering through the neem leaves in dappled patterns across their skin.
 
By the time Bhola returned—around 10 PM—the sky was dark, stars faint above the city glow. He came in quietly, carrying a small cloth bag (probably village gifts—pickles or sweets), gave them a respectful nod, and retreated to his room without disturbing them.
 
Ravi and Simran had already come downstairs. They shared a light dinner—leftover parathas warmed up, a quick salad—then went to bed early. Simran changed into her blush-pink satin nightie again, the cool fabric sliding over her sun-kissed skin. Ravi pulled on his usual track pants and T-shirt. They curled together under the sheet, her head on his chest, his arm around her waist.
 
It was a Sunday well spent—relaxed, doing practically nothing. Well Simran had to do her thing a bit, but nothing new there. Other than that, No drama, no revelations, just the simple luxury of a day that belonged only to them.

[doodhwale_bhaiya]

Oh Bhais ki Taang
 
Bhola reached Dholakpur by late afternoon, the village lanes dusty and familiar under the scooty’s tires. The moment he parked outside his brother Jay’s modest brick house, the door opened. Jay—broad-shouldered, a few years older, skin darkened by years in the fields—stepped out with a wide smile, clapping Bhola on the back. Behind him stood Komal, his wife, wiping her hands on the edge of her dupatta, eyes warm.
 
“Arre Bhola! Aa gaya tu? Chal, andar aa,” Jay said, pulling him into a rough hug.
(Bhola, you came? Come inside)
 
Inside, the house smelled of fresh rotis and ghee. Komal had already laid out lunch: sarson ka saag, makki di roti, dahi, and a bowl of homemade gur. They ate together at the low wooden chowki—quiet, comfortable, the kind of meal that needed few words. Jay asked about Chandigarh, about Sahib and Bhabhi, about the city’s endless noise. Bhola answered simply, smiling, keeping the details light.
 
After lunch, Jay yawned and retreated to the inner room for a rest—“Thak gaya hoon, thodi der so jaunga.” (I am tired now. Going to take rest for a while). Komal waited until his snores drifted out, then motioned Bhola to the small courtyard behind the house, where a neem tree cast dappled shade.
 
She sat on a charpoy, patting the space beside her. Bhola sat, suddenly aware of the weight of the conversation coming.
 
“Bata, Bhola… kaisi hai teri Simran Bhabhi?”
(Tell me Bhola, how is Simran?)
 
Bhola nodded slowly. 
“Sab theek hai, Bhabhi. Bahut behtar hai ab. Woh pehle jaisi hi ho gayi hai—hasti hai, khati hai, ghoomti hai. Energy wapas aa gayi hai.”
(She is fine Bhabhi, much better than before. Infact she is just like she used to be before the accident. Energetic and happy)
 
Komal studied his face, eyes sharp. 
“Ravi… kuch alag sa notice kiya? Koi farak?”
(Ravi… did you notice anything different?)
 
Bhola hesitated. His mind flashed to the laundry basket—the bra cups always damp these days, heavy with something milky; the panties stained with thick white streaks that weren’t just arousal. The scent when he lifted them—sweet, floral, human. His throat tightened. He wanted to tell her. But the words stuck. 
How could he say it? It felt… wrong. Too intimate. Too close to something he wasn’t supposed to notice.
 
He shook his head, voice low. 
“Nahi, Bhabhiji. Sab normal hai.”
(Nope. Everything seems normal)
 
Komal sighed, not unkindly, then leaned closer. 
“Ravi… sun. Ab main tujhe kuch bahut zaroori baat batati hoon. Dhyan se sunna.”
(Ravi… listen carefully, I am going to tell you something important.)
 
She paused, letting the courtyard quiet settle around them.
 
“Yeh powder jo maine tujhe diya tha… uska naam hai Jeevdhatu. Bahut purana hai yeh. Tere purvajon ne banaya tha—pehle gaayon ke liye. Gaay ko iska pani pilate the, toh woh bina garbhavastha ke bhi bahut zyada doodh deti thi, aur lamba time tak. Aajkal jo dairy farms gaayon ko injection lagate hain doodh ke liye… woh is Jeevdhatu ka hi modern roop hai. Par farak yeh hai—Jeevdhatu insaan ke liye bhi kaam karta hai.”
 
("This powder I gave you... it's called Jeev Dhatu. It's very old. Your ancestors made it—back then—for cows. Cows were fed water containing it, and they would produce a lot of milk even without getting pregnant, and for a long time. The dairy farms that inject cows these days for milk... that's the modern version of Jeev Dhatu. But the difference is—Jeev Dhatu works for humans too.")
 
Bhola’s eyes widened slightly.
 
Komal continued, voice steady. 
“Agar aurat ko yeh diya jaye, toh uske doodh ki kami nahi rahegi. Woh bahut zyada doodh degi—zaroorat se bhi zyada. Aur saath hi… woh aurat baccha banane ke liye zyada utsaahit ho jayegi. Uski sehat bhi bahut achhi ho jayegi—sharir majboot, energy full, man khush. Isiliye maine tujhe yeh Simran Bhabhi ke liye diya.”
 
("If a woman is given this, she won't have any shortage of milk. She'll produce a lot of milk—more than she needs. And also...she'll be more excited to have a baby. Her health will also improve—strong, energetic, and happy. That's why I gave it to you for Simran Bhabhi.")
 
She watched his face, reading every flicker.
 
“Ab bata, sach bata… kya tune kuch alag notice kiya usmein?”
(“Now tell me, tell me the truth… did you notice anything different in her?”)
 
Bhola swallowed. The images rushed back—the wet bras, the stained panties, the faint sweet smell that lingered on his fingers longer than it should. His cheeks warmed. He looked down at the ground, voice barely above a whisper.
 
“Haan, Bhabhiji… kuch alag hai.”
(Yes I did)
 
Komal nodded, not surprised. 
“Kya?”
(What)
 
Bhola hesitated one last time, then spoke—quiet, careful, almost ashamed. 
“Unke… bra hamesha geele rehte hain. Aur panty mein… safed daag. Bahut zyada. Jaise… doodh jaisa.”
("Her… bras are always wet. And her panties… have white spots. A lot. Like… milk.")
 
Bhola was surprised how he said all these to Komal. He was feeling shy.
 
Komal exhaled slowly, a small, satisfied smile touching her lips. 
“Haan. Yeh shuruaat hai. Jeevdhatu ka asar shuru ho gaya. Ab yeh rukega nahi. Aur yeh sirf doodh nahi… aur bhi cheezein badlegi. Bas tu dhyan rakhna. Jo maine kaha tha—kabhi kabhi zyada ho jata hai. Agar kuch ajeeb lagne lage, mujhe bata dena.”
 
("Yes. This is the beginning. The effect of life force has begun. It won't stop now. And it's not just milk... other things will change as well. Just be careful. As I said—sometimes it gets too much. If something starts to seem strange, let me know.")
 
Bhola nodded, heart pounding. 
“Ji, Bhabhiji.”
 
They sat in silence for a while, the neem leaves rustling overhead. The village felt smaller suddenly, the weight of the powder heavier in his mind.
 
Bhola shifted on the charpoy, the neem leaves rustling above them. His voice came out low, almost hesitant. 
“Bhabhiji… yeh sab hone ke baad aap kya ummeed karti hain? Simran Bhabhi mein kya changes aayenge?”
("Bhabhiji...what do you expect after all this? What changes will come in Simran Bhabhi?")
 
Komal looked toward the fields for a long moment, then back at him. 
“Woh baccha banane ki ichchha karegi. Bahut zyada. Uska sharir taiyaar ho jayega—doodh aayega, sharir garam rahega, man bechain rahega. Par…”
 
She paused, brows knitting slightly and thought to herself, “Yeh doodh abhi kyun aa raha hai? Is waqt toh nahi aana chahiye tha. Woh abhi pregnant bhi nahi hai.”
 
("She'll want to have a baby. Very much. Her body will be ready—the milk will come, her body will be warm, her mind will be restless. But…" She paused, brows knitting slightly and thought. "Why is the milk coming now? It shouldn't have come at this time. She's not even pregnant yet.")
 
She fell silent, thinking deeply, eyes distant. Then understanding dawned, slow and sharp.
She kept thinking, “Achha… samajh aaya,” she murmured, almost to herself. “Yeh bahut hi rare breed hai. Is tarah ki auratein pehle doodh banati hain, phir baccha banane ki talaash karti hain. Woh apna mate dhoondh rahi hai. Aur jo bhi uska doodh pi lega… woh uska mate ban jayega.”
 
(She kept thinking, “Oh… I get it,” she murmured, almost to herself. “This is a very rare breed. Women like these first produce milk, then look for a child. She is looking for her mate. And whoever drinks her milk… will become her mate.”)
 
Komal continued thinking to herself, “Main bhi aisi hoon. Lakhon mein ek aise hotein hain. Humari biology aisi hai—hum bahut zyada fertile hote hain, par humein bahut hi strong purush chahiye. Bahut hi virile. Jo humein poora kar sake. Main lucky thi… ki Jay aur Maan Singh ji (father-in-law) unn dino yaha the. Par ye sab abhi Bhola ko nehi bata sakte hai. Kisi aur din sahi.
 
(Komal continued thinking to herself, “I am like that too. There are one in a million like that. Our biology is like that—we are very fertile, but we need a very strong man. Very virile. One who can complete us. I was lucky… that Jai and Maan Singh ji (father-in-law) were here those days. But I can't tell all this to Bhola right now. Some other day.)
 
She looked at Bhola, eyes serious. She again started thinking,
“Agar Simran Bhabhi ko yeh ichchha hui aur Ravi Sahib mein woh taakat nahi rahi jo uske sharir ko satisfy kar sake… toh woh bahar dhoondhegi. Kisi aur ko. Aur phir yeh ghar toot jayega. Family khatam. To kya karein…kya karein”
 
(“If Simran Bhabhi desires this and Ravi Sahib doesn't have the strength to satisfy her body… then she will look outside. Someone else. And then this house will be torn apart. The family will be destroyed. So what should we do…what should we do?”)
 
Bhola could not understand what Komal was thinking.
 
Komal thought for a long time, fingers twisting the edge of her dupatta. Then she nodded, decision made. 
“Ek hi rasta hai jo kaam kar sakta hai.”
(There is only one way left.)
 
She stood, motioning him to follow her inside. In the small kitchen, she opened a steel dabba, took out a fresh pinch of the familiar light-brown powder—Jeevdhatu—and another smaller jar of a dark grey powder that smelled faintly of ash and earth.
 
“Sun, dhyan se,” she said, turning to him. “Simran Bhabhi ko aur saat din ka dose de—bilkul pehle jaisa. Aur saath hi… Ravi Sahib ko yeh naya powder de. Iska naam hai Ghrunaspad.”
 
(“Listen, be careful,” she said, turning to him. “Give Simran Bhabhi another seven-day dose—exactly the same as before. And also… give Ravi Sahib this new powder. It's called Ghrunaspad.”)
 
Bhola looked at the dark powder warily. 
“Yeh kya karega?”
(What does this do?)
 
Komal gave a small, knowing smile. 
“Yeh uski virility badhayega. Taakat, stamina, aur… woh cheez jo ek mard ko mard banati hai. Yeh purane zamane ka hai—sirf kuch hi logon ke paas hota hai. Ek chhota spoon doodh mein roz raat ko. Bas. Woh taiyaar ho jayenge jab Bhabhi unki taraf dekhegi.”
 
("It'll increase his virility. Strength, stamina, and… the things that make a man a man. This is old-fashioned—only a few people have it. A small spoonful in milk every night. That's it. He'll be ready when Bhabhi looks at him.")
 
She poured a tall glass of thick, sweet lassi—freshly churned—and stirred in a generous double dose of Jeevdhatu for Bhola himself, but Bhola didn’t see this.
 
“Tu bhi thak gaya hoga. Yeh le lassi pi.”
(You must be tired. Drink this lassi)
 
Bhola took the glass, drank it slowly. The lassi was cool and sweet.
 
Komal watched him finish, then handed him the small packet of Ghrunaspad, wrapped carefully in cloth.
 
“Yeh sambhal ke rakhna. Aur yaad rakhna—sab kuch dheere dheere hoga. Par hoga zaroor. Ja, ab ghar ja. Apne Sahib aur Bhabhi ka khayal rakh.”
 
("Take care of this. And remember—everything will happen slowly. But it will happen for sure. Go home now. Take care of your master and sister-in-law.")
 
Bhola bowed, took the scooty keys, and rode back toward Chandigarh under the darkening sky, thinking how lucky Simran Bhabhi is to be helped by Komal Bhabhi.
 
Komal sew a seed today which is going to bear fruit in future but for that they have to wait. Patiently. And what fruit it will bear that is also a matter to discuss. Perhaps in a weeks’ time.
 
Shikha and Preeti on the other hand were going to get into a crazy drama of Niyoga. That’s something that needs delicacy. What does even Arjun think about all these? Lot of drama about to unfold.

[M¡Lf€@TeR]

Tonight. I try to publish atleast once a day. Will pick up pace soon. Thanks for the wait.

U dont frustrate readers bro ,Thnx for that.
& hopefully these herbs would someday straighten up the lesbos after few mardana screwings

[doodhwale_bhaiya]

Hanging Tits of Babylon
 
Preeti and Shikha had tumbled onto the bed in a tangle of limbs and heat, clothes long discarded, bodies glistening with a thin sheen of sweat. Completely nude, skin flushed and feverish, they pressed their cores together in a frantic scissor—wet, swollen pussies grinding in slick, slippery rhythm.
 
“Aahhh… aahhh… aaaahhh…” Preeti’s moan rose sharp and needy, hips rolling forward to catch more friction against Shikha’s pulsing clit.
 
Shikha answered with a throaty “Aaah… aaah… fuck…” her own thighs trembling as she bucked up, the wet slap of their aroused flesh filling the room—slick, obscene, relentless.
 
But Preeti wasn’t satisfied, the ache inside her demanded more. She broke the scissor with a frustrated whimper, flipped around, and straddled Shikha’s face in reverse—69 position—her dripping cunt hovering inches above Shikha’s mouth while her own lips descended on Shikha’s beautiful, swollen pussy.
 
The first touch of tongue sent them both arching.
 
Preeti dragged the flat of her tongue slowly from Shikha’s dripping entrance up to her clit—long, deliberate lick—then sealed her lips around the throbbing bud and sucked hard.
 
“Mmmphhh… aaaahhh!” Shikha’s cry vibrated straight into Preeti’s core.
 
Shikha answered instantly, hands gripping Preeti’s ass cheeks, spreading them wider so she could bury her face. She lapped greedily at Preeti’s soaked folds—slurping the creamy nectar—then plunged her tongue inside, fucking her with quick, hungry thrusts while her nose nudged Preeti’s clit.
 
“Fuuuck… aahhh… yes yes yes…” Preeti moaned around Shikha’s clit, the vibration making Shikha’s hips jerk.
 
The room filled with wet, filthy sounds: 
Slurp… smack… ahhh… lick… mmmph… aaaah… suck… gluck… aaaahhh…
 
Preeti’s tongue circled Shikha’s clit in tight, fluttering spirals while two fingers slid inside her, curling against that spongy front wall—stroke, stroke, stroke—drawing out more slick honey.
 
Shikha’s answering moan was muffled against Preeti’s cunt: “Mmmphhh… aaaah… deeper…”
 
She sucked Preeti’s clit like a ripe berry, teeth grazing just enough to sting, then soothed it with broad, loving laps.
 
Their bodies rocked together—Preeti grinding down, Shikha pushing up—pussies smearing across tongues and chins, the wet squelch of fingers and tongues blending with their desperate moans.
 
Suddenly Shikha slid her body upward, inching toward Preeti’s face until those heavy, swaying tits hung directly above her open mouth.
 
Without a second’s hesitation she latched onto one dark, stiff nipple—suckling hard, cheeks hollowing—while her hand captured the other breast, kneading roughly, pinching the nipple between thumb and forefinger.
 
“Aaahhh… oh god… suck it… harder…” Preeti gasped, hips stuttering.
 
Shikha offered her own breasts upward in return. Preeti dove immediately—tongue flickering rapidly over one erect bud, then the other—wet, teasing lashes that sent electric jolts straight to Shikha’s clit.
 
Shikha’s pussy clenched hard around nothing; fresh gush of love juice coated Preeti’s chin and dripped down her neck.
 
“Aaaahhh… fuck… your tongue… aaaah…” Shikha whimpered around the nipple in her mouth, suckling greedily, teeth grazing the sensitive peak.
 
Preeti’s fingers plunged deeper—three now—curling, pumping, the wet squelch obscene as she fucked Shikha’s dripping cunt while her mouth worshipped those perfect tits.
 
The dual assault—tongue on clit, fingers inside, mouth on breasts—pushed Shikha over the edge first.
 
Her thighs clamped around Preeti’s head, back bowing off the bed, a raw, broken “AAAAAHHHHH… I’M COMING… aaaahhh!” tearing from her throat as she gushed hard against Preeti’s lips.
 
Preeti drank every drop, moaning into Shikha’s spasming pussy, her own climax triggered by the flood—hips grinding wildly against Shikha’s face as she shattered with a muffled scream.
 
“Aaahhh… yes… yes… aaaahhh!”
 
They collapsed together—sweaty, trembling, mouths still lazily licking the last traces of each other’s release—pussies twitching, breasts heaving, the room thick with the scent of sex and satisfaction.
 
Preeti’s tongue never stopped its relentless flickering—quick, feather-light lashes across Shikha’s swollen, hypersensitive nipples, each wet snap sending fresh jolts of electricity straight down to Shikha’s dripping pussy. The poor clit throbbed untouched, clenching around nothing, love juices leaking in slow, sticky trails down her inner thighs and pooling on the sheets.
 
“Aaahhh… mmmphhh… Preeti… fuck… your tongue…” Shikha’s voice cracked into a muffled moan, the sound vibrating deep inside Preeti’s heavy breast as she latched harder—like a starving cub attacking its mother’s udder for milk. She sucked greedily, cheeks hollowing, tongue swirling around the stiff peak while her hand milked the other tit roughly—squeezing the soft, full globe, thumb flicking the nipple in time with Preeti’s teasing licks.
 
Both mouths were stuffed full of breast—moans reduced to desperate, wet, vibrating hums trapped against skin: 
“Mmmphhh… aaaahhh… mmmfff… aaaahhh…”
 
The room echoed with slick suction and stifled cries, the obscene wet smacks of lips and tongues worshipping swollen flesh.
 
Shikha felt it first—the tell-tale flutter deep inside Preeti’s pussy, the tightening of her thighs, the sudden gush of fresh slick coating Shikha’s chin. Preeti was close—dangerously close.
 
Without warning, Shikha released the nipple with a wet pop and slid her body downward in one urgent, greedy motion, dragging her soaked pussy along Preeti’s torso until her mouth was once again sealed over Preeti’s throbbing cunt.
 
Preeti had no time to protest.
 
Shikha attacked—lips sealing around the engorged clit, sucking hard while her tongue plunged deep into Preeti’s spasming entrance, fucking her with fast, curling thrusts.
 
“Aaaahhh… Shikha… oh god… yes yes yes… right there… aaaahhh!” Preeti’s scream broke free as her hips bucked wildly.
 
Desperate to give back, Preeti dove forward—tongue spearing into Shikha’s sopping pussy, fucking her in frantic, sloppy strokes while her fingers spread Shikha’s lips wide, exposing every inch for her hungry mouth.
 
The dual assault shattered them both.
 
Shikha came first—back arching off the bed, thighs clamping around Preeti’s head like a vice, a raw, guttural “AAAAAHHHHH… I’M COMING… FUCK… aaaahhh!” tearing from her throat as she exploded.
 
A powerful gush of clear love juice sprayed across Preeti’s face—hot, wet ropes coating her cheeks, lips, chin, dripping into her hair and down her neck. Preeti tried to drink it all, mouth open wide, tongue lapping frantically at the pulsing entrance, but there was too much—Shikha kept coming, wave after wave, soaking Preeti’s face and hair in a glistening mess.
 
The sight—Preeti’s face drenched, hair plastered, eyes half-lidded with lust—pushed Preeti over the edge.
 
Her own orgasm crashed through her—pussy clenching hard around Shikha’s plunging tongue, hips grinding down in frantic circles as she screamed into Shikha’s cunt.
 
“AAAAAHHHH… YES… YES… COMING… aaaahhh!”
 
She squirted too—another hot flood coating Shikha’s face, running in rivulets down her cheeks, dripping from her chin onto the sheets. Both women rode the crest together—bodies shaking, moans muffled against each other’s spasming pussies, love juices mixing and dripping everywhere.
 
The orgasm lasted a full five minutes—long, rolling waves that left them trembling, gasping, thighs quivering. Finally, strength gone, they collapsed sideways—naked, sweat-slick, faces and hair drenched in each other’s release—chests heaving, legs still tangled, pussies twitching with aftershocks.
 
They lay there in the wrecked bed, breathing ragged, the room thick with the scent of sex and satisfaction, too spent to move, too blissed-out to speak.
 
Both women lay side by side on the rumpled sheets, bodies still humming from the aftershocks, skin slick and flushed. They turned toward each other lazily, lips meeting in soft, lingering kisses—slow, open-mouthed, tongues brushing in lazy circles before pulling back just enough to breathe and speak.
 
“You were so fucking good,” Preeti murmured against Shikha’s mouth, nipping her lower lip. “The way you sucked my clit… I almost blacked out.”
 
Shikha smiled, tracing lazy circles on Preeti’s breast with her fingertip. 
“You’re the one who tongue-fucked me like it was your last meal. I’m still shaking.”
 
They kissed again—deeper this time, a low “mmm” vibrating between them—then broke apart, foreheads touching.

[doodhwale_bhaiya]

The Sword is mightier than the Cat
 
Preeti’s hand drifted down Shikha’s stomach, fingers idly stroking the soft skin just above her mound. 
“I wanted to use that huge dildo in the drawer,” she whispered, voice husky with regret. “I pictured it—stretching you open, making you scream my name while I fucked you senseless. But you came so hard, so fast… it took over everything. I couldn’t even reach for it.”
 
Shikha laughed softly, pressing a kiss to Preeti’s temple. 
“Next time. Promise.”
 
Preeti’s smile faded slightly. She propped herself on one elbow, looking down at Shikha with sudden seriousness. 
“Shikha… when Arjun comes… don’t enjoy it too much, okay?”
 
Shikha’s brows lifted, then softened. She cupped Preeti’s cheek. 
“Baby… it’s not enjoyment. Not like this. Not like us. Arjun is just… a tool. A means to reach the destination. He’s not the aim. There’ll be no kissing, no licking, no worshipping. No one touches me like you do. No one ever will.”
 
Preeti exhaled shakily, nodding, but her eyes were distant.
 
She didn’t tell Shikha the real reason for the warning.
 
Because deep down—buried under layers of self-control and deliberate avoidance—Preeti still loved cock.
 
Not just any cock.
 
She loved the thick, veined, pulsing kind. The kind that throbbed visibly under the skin, veins bulging like ropes along the shaft, the head swollen and angry-purple, leaking a fat pearl of precum at the slit. She imagined Arjun’s—though she’d never seen it—picturing it in graphic, shameful detail: at least eight inches long, girthy enough that her fingers wouldn’t meet around it, the shaft heavy and slightly curved upward, perfect to hit that deep spot inside. She saw the thick base ringed with dark, coarse hair, balls full and hanging low, swaying as he thrust. She imagined the way it would feel sliding between her lips—hot, salty, stretching her jaw wide—then pushing past her gag reflex until her nose pressed against his pubic bone, throat convulsing around him while tears leaked from her eyes. She pictured the moment he’d pull out, strings of spit and precum connecting her swollen lips to the glistening head, only to slap that heavy cock against her cheek—once, twice—marking her before plunging back in.
 
The fantasy made her clit throb again, even after two shattering orgasms.
 
She hated how much she wanted it.
 
She had forced herself away from men for years because one look at a big, veined cock turned her into something feral—mindless, drooling, willing to beg on her knees just to feel it stretch her open, pound her until she couldn’t walk, until her pussy gaped and leaked his cum down her thighs. She had come to hate that version of herself—the slave to cock—and so she had locked that door.
 
But now, with Arjun so close to entering their lives, the door was creaking open again.
 
Preeti squeezed her thighs together, trying to ignore the fresh pulse of arousal between them.
 
She loved Shikha more than anything.
 
But gods help her… she still dreamed of cock.
 
Preeti lay there in the afterglow, her body still buzzing, but as Shikha shifted slowly above her—straddling her hips with deliberate grace—the embers reignited. Shikha’s hands cupped Preeti’s heavy, sweat-slick breasts, lifting their weight with a possessive squeeze, thumbs brushing the still-sensitive nipples. Without a word, Shikha lowered her mouth to one swollen peak, lips parting to take the dark, erect nipple inside—sucking gently at first, then harder, cheeks hollowing as her tongue swirled in wet, insistent circles.
 
“Mmm… aaahhh…” Preeti moaned, arching her back involuntarily, the sound escaping raw and needy. In her mind, the fantasy lingered—Arjun’s imagined cock, thick and veined, pulsing hot against her thigh, the girth stretching her open as she imagined sinking down onto it, inch by throbbing inch. But Shikha, oblivious, assumed the moans were for her—smiling against the skin as she sucked deeper, teeth grazing the nipple just enough to sting.
 
Encouraged, Shikha switched to the other breast, grabbing both now—squeezing the soft, full globes together like ripe fruit, her mouth alternating between them with hungry pulls. “You like that, baby? Moan for me…” she whispered, voice muffled against Preeti’s flesh.
 
Preeti’s hips bucked slightly— “Aahhh… yes… oh god…” —her pussy clenching around nothing, fresh arousal leaking down her thighs. The sucking sent jolts straight to her core, but the cock craving amplified it, making her clit throb with unmet need.
 
Shikha’s tongue started flickering now—quick, teasing lashes across the hardened nipples, alternating left and right in rapid succession. Flick… suck… flick… bite. Each snap of her tongue was like a spark, electric current racing down Preeti’s spine, pooling hot and wet between her legs. Preeti’s hands tangled in Shikha’s hair, pulling her closer— “Aaahhh… harder… aaaahhh…” —her body charging again, nipples aching deliciously under the assault, breasts heaving with every breath.
 
Sensing Preeti’s building desperation, Shikha slid one hand downward—fingers trailing over the soft plane of her stomach, dipping into the slick valley between her thighs. She parted Preeti’s swollen lips with two fingers, exposing the dripping entrance and throbbing clit, then plunged inside—two fingers at first, curling deep to hit that spongy front wall.
 
“Fuuuck… aaaahhh!” Preeti cried, hips grinding up to meet the thrusts.
 
Shikha kept sucking—mouth latched onto one tit, tongue flickering wildly over the nipple while her hand pumped steadily below: in… out… curl… twist. The wet squelch of fingers fucking Preeti’s soaked pussy filled the room—sloppy, obscene—mixed with Preeti’s escalating moans: “Aahhh… Shikha… deeper… aaaahhh… yesyesyes…”
 
Preeti’s orgasm built fast—coiled tight in her belly, radiating from her sucked nipples down to her fingered cunt. Shikha added a third finger, stretching her wide, thumb circling the clit in firm, slick pressure while her mouth pulled hard on the breast, teeth nipping the nipple just as the wave crested.
 
Preeti shattered—back bowing off the bed, pussy clamping down on Shikha’s fingers like a vice, a guttural “AAAAHHHH… COMING… aaaahhh!” ripping from her throat as she squirted in hot, pulsing jets, soaking Shikha’s hand and wrist, drenching the sheets beneath them.
 
Shikha didn’t stop—fingers slowing but still stroking through the spasms, mouth gently suckling the nipple until Preeti collapsed, trembling, spent once more.
 
Preeti lay sprawled on the bed, chest rising and falling in heavy, ragged breaths, skin flushed and glistening. 
“Aaahhh… please… stop… you’re killing me…” she gasped, half-laughing, half-pleading, one hand weakly pushing at Shikha’s shoulder.
 
Shikha lifted her head from Preeti’s breast with a wet pop, lips swollen and shiny. She crawled up slowly, pressing one last deep, languid kiss to Preeti’s mouth—tongues sliding, tasting each other—then pulled away with a soft “mmm” and rolled off the bed.
 
Preeti watched, dazed, as Shikha padded naked toward the bathroom. That magnificent ass—heart-shaped, plush, jiggling with every step—swung hypnotically, cheeks parting just enough to flash the shadowed cleft between them. Preeti sighed, low and reverent. 
“God… how are you so fucking sexy…”

[doodhwale_bhaiya]

Pirates of the Nymphomanian
 
She gave herself a minute to catch her breath, then followed. Inside the bathroom, they showered together—hands gentle now, soaping each other’s bodies with lazy caresses, rinsing away sweat and cum and the scent of their earlier frenzy. No more heat, just quiet intimacy: Shikha massaging shampoo into Preeti’s hair, Preeti running soapy palms over Shikha’s curves, both smiling softly under the warm spray.
 
They stepped out, dried each other with thick towels—patting breasts, bellies, thighs—then helped one another dress. Shikha slipped Preeti’s black lace panties up her legs, smoothing them over her still-sensitive mound; Preeti hooked Shikha’s bra, kissing the back of her neck as she fastened it. Simple dresses followed—comfortable, loose, perfect for dinner at home.
 
They ate in the kitchen—leftover butter chicken, naan, a cold raita—sitting close on the bar stools, knees brushing. Midway through the meal, Shikha set her fork down and looked at Preeti.
 
“Shall we meet Arjun tomorrow? Finalize a date?”
 
Preeti raised an eyebrow, swallowing a bite.
 
“I think we should plan around the 3rd,” Shikha continued. “That’s when I’ll start ovulating.”
 
Preeti stared at her for a second, then both women realized the absurdity of the casual tone—and burst into giggles.
 
“We’re actually scheduling this like a doctor’s appointment,” Preeti said, laughing harder.
 
Shikha wiped her eyes. “Ovulation day. Very romantic.”
 
They clinked their water glasses, still giggling, and finished dinner in warm, conspiratorial quiet.
 
Across town, in the quiet village of Dholakpur, the night was darker, heavier with the scent of earth and cattle.
 
Komal—stark naked except for a thin gold waist chain that glinted with every movement and delicate silver anklets that chimed softly—was riding her husband’s father Maan Singh with slow, deliberate rolls of her hips. Maan Singh lay flat on their simple wooden bed, hands gripping her wide hips, watching in awe as her slick, swollen pussy swallowed his thick, veined cock again and again—up and down, up and down, the wet, obscene squelch filling the small room.
 
Komal controlled the pace—slow, torturous, grinding deep each time she bottomed out, her heavy breasts swaying with the motion, nipples dark and stiff.
 
Maan Singh’s voice came rough, interrupted by low groans. 
“Aahhh… how’s Bhola… aaahhh… did you get a chance… to talk to him?”
 
Komal leaned forward, palms braced on his chest, rolling her hips in a slow circle that made him hiss. 
“Aaahhh… he’s fine… Babuji… mmmphhh… but his Bhabhi… aaaahhh… she’s going to be super fine… aaahhh… and going to produce more milk… than Sheetal…”
 
She smiled down at him wickedly—Sheetal being their prize cow, the one who gave the most milk in the whole village.
 
Maan Singh groaned louder, hands sliding up to cup her bouncing breasts. 
“Aaahhh… where? I don’t see any milk… mmmphhh…”
 
Komal gave his arm a playful slap, moaning as she sank down hard again. 
“Aaahhh… not this Bhabhi… aaahhh… his other Bhabhi… Simran… aaaahhh…”
 
Maan Singh laughed breathlessly, then pulled her down so her breasts hung in his face. He latched onto one stiff nipple, sucking hard— 
“Mmmphhh… where?” —his tongue flicking the peak.
 
Komal gasped, hips stuttering. 
“Aaahhh… she needed help… after the miscarriage… aaaahhh… so I gave Bhola… Jeevdhatu… to give her… mmmphhh…”
 
Maan Singh released the nipple with a wet pop, looking up at her. 
“Aaahhh… you mean… milk? But that’s so rare… aaaahhh…”
 
Komal nodded, grinding down deep again, her pussy clenching around him. 
“Aaahhh… exactly… yesterday he told me… aaaahhh… he saw signs… her bra was wet… and panty had white liquid… mmmphhh…”
 
His eyes darkened with lust and understanding. 
“Aaahhh… so it’s working…”
 
Komal smiled, leaning down to kiss him—slow, filthy, tongues sliding—before rising again, resuming her slow, deep ride. 
 
Komal was squatting over her father-in-law—on the low wooden bed, thighs spread wide, ankles planted firmly on either side of his hips. Her pussy hovered just above his thick, veined cock, glistening with arousal, lips parted like a hungry mouth opening to swallow him whole. Slowly, deliberately, she lowered herself—her slick folds engulfing the swollen head, then inch after inch of shaft disappearing inside her until her ass met his groin with a soft, wet slap.
 
The sight was hypnotic: her pussy gripping him tightly, stretching around his girth, then rising again—up and down, up and down—in a slow, sensual rhythm she controlled completely. Each descent made her heavy breasts swing forward, full and pendulous, nipples dark and stiff, brushing against Maan Singh’s chest before lifting again in lazy arcs. The pace was unhurried, almost teasing—her inner walls clenching around him on every upstroke, milking him without mercy.
 
Komal folded her legs tighter, bending forward until her breasts dangled directly over his face, swaying like ripe fruit. Maan Singh needed no invitation. He lifted his head, mouth opening wide to capture her right tit—taking as much of the soft, warm flesh inside as he could, lips sealing around the areola. His tongue immediately began encircling the stiff nipple in slow, wet spirals—round and round, flicking the tip on every pass.
 
“Aaahhh… Babuji…” Komal moaned, hips rolling in a deep grind.
 
Every five seconds or so, Maan Singh would pull back hard—tugging the breast toward him with suction until the nipple popped free with a loud, wet smack—then dive back in, sucking harder. Each pop sent a jolt through Komal; her ass cheeks slapped against his thighs in rhythm with the motion, the sound sharp and rhythmic: slap… pop… slap… pop…
 
She leaned lower, voice breathy between moans. 
“Aaahhh… Babuji… Simran… mmmphhh… I think she’s like me… aaaahhh… looking for a mate… hence producing milk first… aaahhh…”
 
Maan Singh released the nipple with another wet pop, eyes dark with lust. 
Komal said “Aaahhh… imagine if you hadn’t sucked my milk that day… mmmphhh… your Bahu wouldn’t be jumping on your cock right now…”
 
Komal smiled wickedly, then gasped as he grabbed her left breast and yanked it down—popping the nipple into his mouth with force, teeth grazing just enough to make her squirm in delicious pain.
 
“Aaahhh… yes… Babuji…” 
 
He pulled her face down by the neck, crashing their mouths together in a deep, filthy smooch—tongues sliding, teeth clashing, saliva mixing as he grabbed handfuls of her ass cheeks, spreading them wide. His hips began thrusting upward faster now—meeting her downward strokes with harder slaps, cock driving deep into her dripping pussy.
 
The kiss broke only when both needed air. Maan Singh panted against her lips. 
“Aaahhh… I was born to suck these tits…”
 
He seized both breasts—squeezing them together, burying his face between them—sucking one nipple, then the other, small bites punctuating each pull. Komal cried out—sharp, pained pleasure—her hips stuttering as she rode him harder, pussy clenching around his thick shaft.
 
“Aaahhh… Babuji… bite harder… aaaahhh!”
 
The room filled with wet sounds: slap of flesh, suck of mouth on breast, her moans rising higher and higher as he devoured her tits like a man starved.

[doodhwale_bhaiya]

Maan Singh’s mouth was latched onto Komal’s right breast, sucking with greedy pulls, tongue swirling around the stiff nipple while his hips drove upward in slow, deep thrusts. The wet sounds of their joining filled the room—slap… squelch… suck… moan…
 
Suddenly he released the tit with a loud, wet pop, the nipple glistening and red. He yanked her down by the neck, crashing their lips together in a messy, hungry smooch—tongues sliding, teeth clashing, saliva mixing as he tasted his own wife’s milk on her breath.
 
He broke the kiss just enough to growl against her lips, voice rough with lust. 
“Aaahhh… Komal… you are so tasty…”
 
Komal’s eyes fluttered, a shiver running through her. She dove back in, kissing him fiercely—deep, filthy, moaning into his mouth—then pulled away just enough to guide her left breast to his waiting lips.
 
She sank down hard on his cock, pussy clenching around his thick shaft, and whispered breathlessly, 
“Aaahhh… I have also given Jeevdhatu to Bhola… mmmphhh… and Ghrunaspad… to be given to her husband…”
 
Maan Singh’s eyes darkened. He popped the left nipple out with brutal force—teeth grazing, making Komal squirm and cry out in sharp pleasure-pain. He grabbed both breasts, squeezing them together until the nipples touched, then bit down on both at once—hard, possessive bites that made her back arch.
 
“Aaahhh… Babuji… aaaahhh… stop… patience… aaaahhh!” Komal whimpered, hips stuttering as pain and pleasure blurred.
 
Maan Singh released the bite just enough to speak, voice thick. 
“So your plan is to…”
 
Komal nodded frantically, riding him harder. 
“Aaahhh… yes, Babuji… aaaahhh…”
 
He thrust up viciously, hands gripping her ass cheeks, spreading them wide. 
“Do you also want Bhola to fuck you?”
 
Komal blushed crimson, even as her pussy clenched tighter around him. 
“Aaahhh… I am already over-subscribed by you… and your one son… aaaahhh… if both your sons start fucking me… I will perish…”
 
Maan Singh laughed low, dark, then pulled her down again, sucking both nipples in turn—small, sharp bites punctuating each pull. 
“Aaahhh… you are my family cow… mmmphhh… your hunger I know is unquenchable… but let him first get his thirst quenched… then you can have him…”
 
He drove deeper, hips snapping up faster. 
“Aaahhh… Bhola has the biggest cock of us… I hope you know that…”
 
Komal’s walls gripped him like a vise at those words—her body betraying her instant reaction. She cried out, hips grinding wildly.
 
Maan Singh felt it, grinned wickedly, and fucked her harder—long, punishing strokes that made her breasts bounce wildly.
 
Maan Singh’s thick cock plunged deep into Komal’s dripping pussy with a wet, obscene squelch—slap-slap-slap—each powerful thrust making her heavy breasts bounce wildly, nipples grazing his chest before he captured one in his hungry mouth again. 
“Aaahhh… Babuji… harder… aaaahhh!” Komal moaned, hips grinding down to meet him, her slick walls gripping him like a vice.
 
The room echoed with filthy sounds: the loud smack of flesh on flesh, the wet slurp of her pussy swallowing him to the hilt, her anklets jingling in frantic rhythm—chink-chink-chink—every time she rose and fell.
 
Maan Singh growled around her nipple, teeth grazing the stiff peak—pop—before sucking harder, the suction pulling a sharp “Aaaahhh!” from her throat.
 
He switched tits, popping the other nipple free with a wet smack, then bit down just enough to make her squirm—pain and pleasure blurring as her pussy clenched tighter. 
“Take it… aaaahhh… take every inch…” he grunted, hips snapping up faster—slap-slap-slap—cock pistoning deep, balls slapping against her ass with heavy thwacks. 
Komal cried out, voice breaking— “Aaahhh… yes… fill me… aaaahhh!” —her juices coating his shaft, dripping down to soak the sheets beneath them in a glistening mess.
 
The bed creaked under their wild rhythm, moans rising louder— “Aaaahhh… fuck… aaaahhh!” —until both shattered together in a shuddering, screaming climax, her pussy spasming around him as he flooded her depths with hot, thick ropes of cum.
 
“Aaahhh… have patience… you can have him… but let him mature first… aaaahhh… but I am surprised we got such a rare breed in Simran… find out if there are more women in her family… Bhola would need more than one cow… and even I plan to include one more cow in my stable…”
 
Komal’s eyes flared with heat at his words. She bent down, crashing her mouth against his in a desperate, sloppy smooch—tongues tangling, moans swallowed—then straightened up and started fucking him like a woman possessed.
 
Her hips slammed down—fast, brutal, pussy swallowing his cock to the hilt with every descent. The wet slap of flesh on flesh echoed louder—slap-slap-slap—her ass cheeks rippling with each impact, breasts bouncing wildly, nipples grazing his chest.
 
“Aaahhh… Babuji… aaaahhh… yes… give it to me… aaaahhh!”
 
Maan Singh gripped her waist, thrusting up to meet her, cock pistoning deep, hitting her cervix with every stroke. 
“Aaahhh… take it… take it all… aaaahhh!”
 
They came together—explosive, shattering.
 
Komal’s pussy clamped down like a fist, spasming wildly as she screamed, squirting hard around his cock, soaking his groin and the sheets beneath them. 
“AAAAAHHHH… BABUJI… COMING… aaaahhh!”
 
Maan Singh roared, hips bucking as he erupted inside her—thick ropes of cum flooding her depths, pulse after pulse, filling her until it leaked out around his shaft in creamy rivulets.
 
They collapsed—sweaty, trembling, hearts hammering—Komal sprawled across his chest, his cock still twitching inside her, both gasping for breath.
 
The room smelled of sex, sweat, and satisfaction.
 
Komal lay dbangd across Maan Singh’s chest, both of them still catching their breath, his cock softening slowly inside her. She traced lazy circles on his skin with her fingertip, then lifted her head, eyes glinting with mischief.
 
“You have fucked me so many times now, Babuji… I wonder if your son knows about it or not.”
 
Maan Singh chuckled low, hand sliding down to squeeze her ass cheek possessively. 
“Don’t worry about it. Jay knows his place. And even if he suspects… he won’t say a word.”
 
He ran his thumb along the curve of her hip, voice dropping. 
“I wonder, inspite of fucking you for so long… your pussy is still as tight as a virgin pussy. Gripping me like the first time every single day.”
 
Komal smiled wickedly, pressing a slow, open-mouthed kiss to his lips. 
“Aren’t you satisfied destroying my pussy every other day… that you now want my imaginary sister also?”
 
She reached down, wrapping her fingers around his spent cock—still thick even soft—and lifted it to her mouth, kissing the glistening head softly. 
“Don’t worry… we found another stock from the same breed. Hopefully Simran has a sister.”
 
Maan Singh’s eyes darkened with hunger. 
“Or mother.”
 
He grabbed both her breasts, squeezing them together, thumbs brushing the still-hard nipples. 
“Your breed doesn’t get saggy at all. Trust me and remember my words—when you reach 60, these will still look up, proud and full. The Jeevdhatu and your genes are a deadly combination.”
 
He turned her around roughly, positioning her on all fours, and delivered a sharp smack to her ass—loud, stinging, leaving a red handprint blooming on the creamy flesh. 
“Now go get ready. Jay would be back in an hour. Make a tea for me.”
 
Komal bit her lower lip, slipping a finger between her teeth in a playful, coy gesture, then stood—naked, glowing, ass swaying hypnotically as she walked away, anklets chiming softly with every step.
 
 





“Bhola… Bhola!”
 
Simran’s voice floated down from the bedroom. Bhola hurried upstairs, wiping his hands on the edge of his kurta. He found the door ajar; Simran stood frozen beside the open drawer where her panties and bras were neatly arranged—except one red thong was missing.

[doodhwale_bhaiya]

Komal on top of Maan Singh

[doodhwale_bhaiya]

Preeti

[123@abc]

Simran is surely a special breed of HuCow
And she needs multiple bison bulls ? to satisfy her appetites
Pure desi matured experienced and new bulls too to control her inner women

Waiting for more juicy updates

[Safestguy]

good keep going

[Mohan88]

Preeti

Brother dont u think this is too slutty to represent a lady gyno ?

[doodhwale_bhaiya]

Its all just AI. She is in her home. Imagine.

[123@abc]

Brother dont u think this is too slutty to represent a lady gyno ?

Bro go watch pogo channel you are too sensitive to fuck

[doodhwale_bhaiya]

There are so many permutations combinations possible in this story. I am having a good time creating ifs and buts. ?

[M¡Lf€@TeR]

Minute detailing aside , Its superb

[doodhwale_bhaiya]

Minute detailing aside , Its superb

Please do tell your fetish here. I will try my best to fit it somewhere today or later stage. As i already mentioned, there are too many combination of events possible here. Hence we will manage all fetishes.

[M¡Lf€@TeR]

Please do tell your fetish here. I will try my best to fit it somewhere today or later stage. As i already mentioned, there are too many combination of events possible here. Hence we will manage all fetishes.

Lowlife bonking privileged modern women...
Yes thats the theme . Majority will vote fr it , Be it any forum
And as fr in -story fetishes , Prioritize milking as ur the doodhwale bhaiya

[Rocky@handsome]

Wow!! What a superb update! The story is flowing beautifully, and with every new twist it becomes hotter and more captivating. You truly are a gifted writer, Bro!!

Just a humble request — if you could weave in a few Hindi words or lines during the intimate/sex scenes, it would take the erotism to an entirely new level. That touch of Hindi(especially for the words like— fuck, cock, pussy, ass , also some Bold Lines),will add raw emotion and authenticity, making the moments even more powerful.

Honestly, I’m amazed at how you keep raising the bar with each update. Hats off to your creativity — you’re not just writing a story, you’re crafting an unforgettable experience!

Your imagination and boldness deserve all the applause. ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️