Adultery The Forbidden Relief – My Wife's Secret

[doodhwale_bhaiya]

Admin please delete these confrontation msgs. Its not good for the thread. Anyways, lets move on and continue the story tonight.

[masud93]

Admin please delete these confrontation msgs. Its not good for the thread. Anyways, lets move on and continue the story tonight.

Good decision,, ignore him,, continue the story tonight,,waiting eagerly for update,

[sarit11]

Also do you know how to create a poll here? I want to understand what others think of some of my characters.

Admin please delete these confrontation msgs. Its not good for the thread. Anyways, lets move on and continue the story tonight.

My dear writer

To post a poll here
Give me the question
And the options for the poll
We will do it for you

All the irrelevant posts are deleted

You carry on my dear

[masud93]

update ke wait kar raha hoon,,koi chance hai aaj raat ka

[doodhwale_bhaiya]

update ke wait kar raha hoon,,koi chance hai aaj raat ka

 
Bhai mere... apologies, i am still writing, abhi bhi likh raha hun. I want to rope in a new character soon, warna baad mein late ho jayega. Also Simran is extremely shy tonight. She needs milking but doesnt know how to ask again. Give me one more night to convince her to allow Bhola to suck her brains out. 

[doodhwale_bhaiya]

A glimpse or excerpt of what is coming ahead.

“Bhabhi… kal se aapko roz malish ke baad main aise hi karunga. Pehle thoda tel lagakar scalp aur neck ko dheere dheere dabaoonga, jaise aaj kiya, taaki aap bilkul relax ho jao. Phir… jab aap ready hongi… main aapke boobs ko haath mein leke, ek-ek karke muh mein loonga. Dheere se shuru karunga, sirf nipple ko chus ke, phir dheere dheere poora aage se dabaoonga taaki doodh araam se nikle. Har baar ek taraf se poora khali karoonga, taaki dard na ho aur aapko sukoon mile. Agar aap chahein toh dono taraf se ek saath bhi kar sakta hoon, lekin aapki marzi. Bas aap bata dena kab aur kitni der tak… main wahi karoonga jo aapko achha lage.”


("Bhabhi... starting tomorrow, I'll do the same thing after your daily massage. First, I'll apply some oil and gently press your scalp and neck, just like I did today, so you're completely relaxed. Then... when you're ready... I'll take your breasts in my hands and put them in my mouth, one at a time. I'll start slowly, sucking just the nipples, then slowly press them all the way to the front so the milk comes out smoothly. I'll empty them completely from one side each time, so there's no pain and you're relaxed. If you want, I can do it from both sides simultaneously, but your wish. Just tell me when and for how long… I will do whatever you like.”)

[masud93]

How good bhola is,, kitna caring hai,. Aur update ke baare mein thik hai, take your time
Bas de dena aaj,,

[doodhwale_bhaiya]

The Hanging Tits of Babylon
 
 
Bhola unfortunately didn’t register their transcendent beauty—not the way any other man would have lost his soul in an instant. He didn’t see the heavenly artistry of those mango-shaped breasts: each one a perfect, heavy orb of creamy perfection, skin stretched so taut it glowed like moonlit silk, faint blue veins tracing delicate rivers beneath the surface. They hung forward with impossible firmness—defying gravity, swaying gently with her every breath, the deep shadowed valley between them a hypnotic abyss that could pull a man’s gaze and never let go. A person staring would be hypnotized—trapped by the soft, rhythmic bounce, the slow drip of milk, the way the nipples pulsed faintly with her heartbeat, promising nourishment and sin in equal measure. Bhola was granted free access to this paradise—such was his luck, his fate—yet he saw only her need: the pain in her eyes, the fullness begging to be drained, his focus locked on duty, blind to the erotic masterpiece inches from his lips.
 
He was sitting on her right side—kneeling slightly so his face aligned with her hanging right breast. He took the plunge—leaning in, mouth opening to take the swollen nipple. At first, he could only manage a small portion—the areola too wide, the breast too full—lips barely sealing around the protruding tip. He couldn’t suck properly; the suction was weak, milk barely trickling.
 
He tried again—pushing forward, lips stretching wider—and created a soft dent in the beautiful, gigantic globe, the flesh yielding like pressing a warm, overfilled balloon. The breast compressed under his mouth, skin dimpling around his lips, but still, he couldn’t draw deep.
 
Finally, he took matter in his own hands. He lifted the heavy tit from below with his right hand—palm cradling the warm, plump underside, fingers splaying wide to support its weight. The globe rose slightly, nipple now at the perfect angle. He leaned in again—taking more this time, mouth engulfing half the areola and the full length of the nipple.
 
He sucked. He sucked hard. Simran gasped with such a suction and kept looking at him.
 
Milk flowed instantly with warm & thick streams spraying against the roof of his mouth in forceful pulses. He could feel it—hot jets coating his tongue, filling his cheeks, the sweet, creamy taste flooding his senses.  Gluck… gluck… he swallowed greedily, sucking harder, tongue pressing flat against the nipple to draw even more.
 
Simran felt every pull—deep, rhythmic suction that tugged straight from her core. 
“Aaahhhh…” a long, trembling moan escaped her, body arching slightly as milk gushed freely, the ache melting into pure, shuddering relief. She could feel the streams leaving her—warm, abundant—relieving the pressure that had tortured her for hours.
 
Bhola kept going—mouth sealed tight, cheeks hollowing, swallowing again and again as the milk sprayed in steady, powerful bursts, coating his tongue, filling his throat, some escaping to trickle down his chin. His right hand synchronized squeezing with his suction and it looked like Bhola was actual sucking juice from a mango, a big juicy mango with eyes closed and in heaven.
 
If he was not in heaven, I don’t know who is.
 
Bhola’s mouth worked with steady devotion—lips sealed tight around Simran’s right nipple, sucking in deep, rhythmic pulls that drew milk in thick, warm streams. Simran could feel the lightness spreading through her breast with every swallow—pressure easing, fullness giving way to soft relief. Milk flowed more freely now, creamy and abundant, coating his tongue, filling his cheeks, the sweet taste making him groan low against her skin. Btw this is the same tit that Bhola rescued sometime back and he was awarded with one more, it’s like a bumper offer, Buy-1 Get-1 Free and he grabbed them with open hands.
 
But there was a problem.

[doodhwale_bhaiya]

Bhola’s right hand cradled the heavy underside of her right breast, lifting it gently to make the nipple more accessible—palm supporting the swollen globe, fingers splayed wide. His left hand rested awkwardly on the sofa’s armrest, knuckles white from gripping the hard wooden handle to keep his balance. His neck was twisted sideways at an uncomfortable angle—head tilted to reach her hanging breast while she straddled him—muscles already starting to cramp, a dull ache building at the base of his skull. Nothing compared to what he was receiving—the heavenly flood of milk, the soft weight in his mouth, the quiet moans above him—but it was becoming difficult to continue.
 
He finally released the nipple with a loud, wet pop—like he did before, you know when Simran was straightening up when she was on all-fours—milk spraying in a final thin arc across his chin before the flow slowed to a drip.
 
“Aaahhhh…” Simran moaned long and low, body shuddering as the sudden release sent another ripple through her.
 
She looked down at him—eyes hazy, lips parted—seeing his flushed face framed between the deep valley of her breasts.
 
Bhola met her gaze, voice rough but gentle. 
“Bhabhi… thoda position nahi ho pa raha… sorry…”
 
Simran’s breath hitched. 
“Nahi nahi…” she whispered, unsure what to do, what to say. The awkwardness of the moment crashed over her—naked from the waist up, straddling him, breasts still leaking, his hardness throbbing beneath her soaked panties.
 
Bhola shifted beneath her, easing her weight off his lap. 
“Main thoda aata hoon… aap yahin rukiye.”
 
He stood slowly—neck stiff, cock still tenting his pants noticeably—and stepped away, disappearing towards his room.
 
Simran remained on the sofa—far away distant lights of thundering visible from the open veranda, heart pounding with a mix of relief, embarrassment, and lingering need.
 
The rain continued outside.

[doodhwale_bhaiya]

It was already pushing 9 PM. The rain had eased into a steady, monotonous drizzle, but the sky remained dark and heavy, as if the storm had only paused to catch its breath. No one—not Simran, not Bhola—remembered Ravi is yet to return.
 
Bhola had excused himself quietly and walked to the small bathroom attached in his room. He needed relief—had needed it for sometime now—but the moment he pulled down his pants and freed his cock, two shocks hit him at once.
 
First: he was still hard. Painfully, throbbing hard. The erection that had started during the milking in the bedroom, hadn’t faded even slightly. It stood rigid, veins thick and pulsing along the shaft.
 
Second—and far more startling: it was bigger.
 
He stared down in disbelief. His cock—had grown. Easily ten inches now, maybe more. The head was swollen, flushed dark, the shaft thicker, veins bulging like ropes under the skin. It looked… angry. Powerful. Almost unrecognizable.
 
He tried to pee. Nothing. The hardness blocked everything—stream refused to come, bladder full but exit denied. He stood there, gripping the base, willing it down. Minutes passed—frustration building—until suddenly, without warning, the dam broke. A powerful jet shot out—strong, almost violent—so forceful it could have switched on a light switch from across the room. He aimed carefully—thankfully no switchboard nearby—but the pressure was unreal, stream hissing like a pressure washer, splashing against the porcelain with loud and aggressive force.
 
He emptied his bladder completely, relief mixing with confusion. The hardness didn’t fade—not even a little. The cock stayed rigid, thick, ten inches of unyielding meat.
 
Somehow, he managed to tuck it back into his pants—awkwardly, painfully—the bulge now obscene, impossible to hide, thankfully there was no light, but there was enough from the street lights. They were solar and did some extraordinary work of staying strong even in this weather. And that’s how some light entered Bhola’s room and the drawing room. He washed his hands, straightened his T shirt, and walked out.
 
Bhola returned from his room. Simran had instinctively covered her breasts again when she heard his footsteps, arms crossed protectively over her leaking, swollen globes. But the moment he took his position—kneeling before the sofa, face level with her chest—she slowly lowered her hands, letting them rest in her lap once more. The nightie stayed gathered at her waist, leaving her topless and inviting, while those heavenly mangos swayed gently with her breathing.
 
Another thunderclap exploded overhead—sharp, deafening—shaking the entire house like a giant fist had struck the roof. The windows rattled violently; Bhola startled mid-motion, his balance lost for a split second as he lifted her right breast to his mouth. His face pitched forward—smearing across the deep, creamy valley of her cleavage—cheeks and nose pressing into the soft, warm flesh, milk from both nipples smearing across his skin in sticky trails.
 
Simran gasped— “Aaahhh!” —her hands flying to his shoulders to steady him, fingers digging in as the thunder rolled on.
 
Bhola pulled back slightly, face flushed, milk glistening on his lips and chin. 
“Sorry, Bhabhi… yeh bijli bahut tez gir rahi hai aaj…”
(“Sorry, Bhabhi… this lightning is striking very hard today…”)
 
He didn’t wait for her reply—leaned in again, mouth finding the right nipple, sealing around it and sucking with renewed focus. Milk flowed immediately—warm, thick streams flooding his mouth, the sweet taste making him groan low against her skin.
 
Simran’s moans returned—soft at first, then deeper— “Mmmphhh… aaaahhhh…” —her body relaxing into the sensation, thighs pressing together, pussy clenching around nothing as relief and pleasure blurred once more.
 
Minutes passed, he was still on the right tit, sucking hard, tongue swirling, cheeks hollowing with each pull. Milk sprayed in rhythmic jets, coating his tongue, filling his mouth and filling his stomach, he didn’t need dinner. The lights came back and flickered a few times—then went out completely. Darkness swallowed the room, broken only by the occasional lightning flash that turned everything stark white for split seconds.
 
Neither noticed.

[doodhwale_bhaiya]

Bhola’s eyes were closed in pure enjoyment, mouth latched tight, milk flowing endlessly. Simran’s head had fallen back, moans rising in the dark— “Aaahhhh… aaaahhhh…” —lost in the wet, rhythmic suction.
 
Lightning struck again—brighter than before, more light than sound—illuminating the room in a blinding white flash. For that frozen moment, Simran’s figure was etched in perfect silhouette:, milk dripping in slow, shining trails down her curves of her breasts, her face flushed with pleasure, eyes half-closed.
 
She opened her eyes.
 
At the exact same moment, her phone rang vibrating on the sofa cushion beside her. The screen lit up: Ravi.
 
The spell shattered.
 
Simran’s trance broke like a glass fell on the floor. Reality crashed in, Bhola kneeling inches away and his mouth already moving towards her right nipple. Panic surged through her like cold water.
 
She shoved him hard, instinctive—flat against his chest.
 
Bhola stumbled backward, losing balance, falling half onto his side with a soft thud onto the carpet. His eyes widened in surprise.
 
Simran panicked and quickly sat up, her heart hammering hard. She hurriedly pulled her nightie straps up, covering her leaking tits just as the phone rang again. She snatched it up fast, turned away from Bhola, and rushed toward the stairs.
 
Simran's voice came out high and breathless as she picked up: "Ravi... hello?" She hurried up the stairs, nightie swishing around her legs, her boobs bouncing under the thin fabric she'd just yanked up, milk still seeping through and making dark wet spots.
 
Bhola stayed down on the floor a second, watching her bolt away, then got up slow. He got it — the second Ravi's name popped up, game over. No bad blood, no nothing. Just how it was.
 
He grabbed the spilled tea glasses and headed back to the kitchen, face straight, but his head spinning with what just went down and what might come next.
 
Upstairs, Simran closed the bedroom door behind her as she answered her husband.
 
The storm outside continued, but inside, a different kind of storm had just paused.
 
Simran sat curled on the bed, legs tucked beneath her.
 
“Ravi… you still there?”
 
“Yeah, jaan. Still stuck. You okay?”
 
Simran exhaled shakily. 
“I’m… worried. It’s raining so much. Have you eaten anything? They must have something at the office, right?”
 
Ravi chuckled tiredly. 
“We ordered from the canteen—dal-chawal, roti, sabzi. Nothing fancy, but it’s food. Everyone’s sharing. Don’t worry about me.”
 
She bit her lip. 
“And… sleeping? How will you sleep? On the floor? It’s not comfortable…”
 
“Some of us have sleeping bags in the store room. Others are just using sofa cushions and blankets. It’s like a camp. We’ll manage. It’s not too bad. I’ll be fine, promise.”
 
Simran’s voice dropped, softer. 
“Okay… just… be careful. And call me, please. I don’t like this. The rain is so heavy here too. It was thundering non-stop earlier—shook the whole house. Lights went off twice.”
 
Ravi’s tone turned gentle. 
“Hey… relax. I know it’s scary when the storm’s bad. But you’re safe inside.”
 
“Yeah….” She hesitated. “But… what’s going on there? Are the roads really that bad?”
 
“Worse actually. Water’s knee-deep in places. We’re not even trying. Everyone’s just waiting it out. I’ll leave as soon as it’s safe.”
 
Simran nodded even though he couldn’t see. 
“Okay… just… take care.”
 
“Get some rest. I’ll call first thing.”
 
They said goodnight and the line went dead.
 
Simran stared at the phone for a moment, she wanted to talk more then looked up.

[doodhwale_bhaiya]

She got up from the bed and went to the washroom. She wanted to piss….You know the rest, the flashback as to how the evening started and how she was fingering herself when she came with a thunder striking just outside the window.
 
Simran came back downstairs and informed Bhola about Ravi being stuck in office due to flooded roads.
 
“Sahib aaj nehi ayenge phir?”
(“Sahib will not come today then?”)
 
Simran sat on the sofa again and continued saying, tucking her legs under her.
 
“Nehi”, lost in her own trance.
 
“Toh woh theek rahenge? Kahin safe jagah pe?”
("So he'll be okay? Somewhere safe?")
 
Simran managed a small smile. 
 
“Haan….baki bhi hai wahan. Canteen ka khana hai shayad, sleeping bag bhi hai. Wo sabhi subah niklenge waha se.”
("Yes...the others are there too. The canteen says there are probably sleeping bags too. They'll all leave there in the morning.")
 
Bhola nodded slowly. 
“Main koshik karu? Koi road khula ho toh?”
("Should I try? If there's a road open?")
 
Simran’s smile widened—soft, touched by his concern.
“Nehi nehi, Bhola. Tumhe aisa karne ki zarurat nehi. Aur…main aise akeli nehi reh sakti yaha”
("No, no, Bhola. You don't have to do this. And…I can't stay here alone like this.")
 
Bhola bowed his head slightly. 
“Ji, Bhabhi… bilkul.”
 
A beat of silence mixed with the steady fall of rain outside, stayed.
 
Simran spoke quietly. 
“Bhabhi kuch kha lijiye.”
(“Bhabhi, please eat something.”)
 
“Hmm…tum bhi khalo”
("Hmm...you eat too.")
 
Bhola shook his head quickly.
 
“Nahi Bhabhi… maine kuchh kha liya tha. Abhi nahi chahiye.”
("No, Bhabhi... I ate something. I don't want it now.")
 
He couldn’t say it—
 
I’m full of your milk, Bhabhi… still tasting you on my tongue.
 
The thought made his cock twitch beneath his pants, but he didn’t register it as lust, at least not yet.
 
Simran ate alone—simple dal-chawal, roti, a little sabzi—mind elsewhere, body humming with anticipation and unease. She barely tasted the food.
 
Bhola cleaned up quietly—plates, glasses, counter—then came back to the living room.

[doodhwale_bhaiya]

After dinner, Simran wandered out to the ground-floor veranda, the one that opened onto the small garden patch. The rain had settled into a steady, hypnotic rhythm—drops pattering on the tiled roof above, misting the air with that fresh, earthy smell she loved. Distant thunder rolled low and lazy, no longer angry, just rumbling across the dark sky like a tired beast. Streetlights flickered through the downpour, turning the wet ground into a mirror of gold and black.
 
She leaned against the railing, arms folded under her breasts, the ivory silk nightie clinging softly to her skin where the breeze carried stray droplets. The hem fluttered against her thighs, the lace panties beneath already damp again from the day's endless arousal. She stared out at the night—lost in thought, mind drifting between guilt, confusion, and a strange, quiet thrill she couldn't name.
 
What am I becoming?
 
The question floated, unanswered.
 
Then—a shift in the air. She felt him before she saw him.
 
Bhola's silhouette appeared beside her—tall, quiet, the outline of his broad shoulders clear against the distant occasional lightning. He must have stepped out to check something, or perhaps just to breathe the rain air like she did.
 
Simran startled—sharp intake of breath, body jerking sideways. 
“Aah!”
 
Bhola turned instantly. 
“Bhabhi… sorry… main bas yahin tha…”
(“Bhabhi… sorry… I was just here…”)
 
Before she could reply, a strong gust of wind rushed in suddenly, carrying a spray of rain that splashed across both their faces and bodies. The nightie rolled upwards suddenly, silk whipping against her thighs, the hem lifting high for a breathless moment, exposing the full length of her milky-white legs up to the lace panties clinging wetly to her pussy lips. The fabric plastered to her curves—breasts outlined sharply, nipples stiff and prominent beneath the thin silk, the deep valley of cleavage glistening with raindrops. The wind pressed the nightie against her like a second skin, moulding every swell and hollow, accentuating the dramatic flare of her hips, the lush heart-shape of her ass. It was extremely sexy—almost obscene—the way the wet silk clung and fluttered, teasing glimpses of skin and shadow.
 
Alas, Bhola couldn't see it properly—the pitch darkness of the night allowed him to only catch fragments: the flash of thigh, the way her body swayed with the wind, hair whipping across her face.
 
Simran quickly pushed the hem down with trembling hands, cheeks burning despite the chill of the rain on her skin.
 
Bhola looked away politely, wiping water from his face.
 
“Bhabhi… bahar thandi hai. Andar chaliye na.”
("Bhabhi... it's cold outside. Let's go inside.")
 
Simran nodded—voice soft, almost lost in the rain. 
“Haan…”
 
She turned back toward the house, nightie still clinging wetly, thighs brushing together with every step, the tingle between her legs flaring again from the sudden exposure, the wind, the nearness of him.
 
Bhola followed a respectful step behind—silent, watchful, the storm outside drowning out the storm inside both of them.

[doodhwale_bhaiya]

Simran settled back onto the sofa, knees drawn up under her, the ivory silk nightie pooling around her thighs like spilled moonlight. The veranda door stayed open—wide, inviting—cool, rain-scented air rushing in on every gust, carrying the wet-earth smell that always made her feel alive. She should have felt cold—legs tucked, body curling inward like she wanted to trap her own warmth—but she didn’t close the door. Strange how the mind works: craving the chill on her skin while still hugging herself tighter, goosebumps rising along her arms and the backs of her thighs, nipples tightening again against the thin silk. The breeze played with the hem, lifting it just enough to tease the black lace panties underneath, the fabric already clinging damply to her pussy lips from earlier thoughts.
 
Bhola stepped toward the door to close it, concern for the rain blowing in—but she spoke before he could touch the latch.
 
“Chhod do, Bhola… thandi hawa achhi lag rahi hai.”
(“Leave it, Bhola… I am enjoying the cool breeze.”)
 
He paused, hand hovering, then nodded once. 
“Ji, Bhabhi.”
 
Instead of leaving, he walked to the side table, struck a match, and lit the old brass lantern they kept for power cuts. The wick caught, flame blooming soft and steady, throwing warm golden light across the room—across her face, her bare shoulders, the way the nightie dbangd over her heavy breasts, outlining the full, curved undersides and the faint, persistent wet spots where milk still seeped through.
 
Simran tilted her head, surprised. 
“Yeh kahan se mila? Yeh tha humare paas?”
("Where did you get this? Did we have this?")
 
Bhola set the lantern carefully on the dining table. 
“Ji… ek aur hai humare paas. Emergency ke liye rakha tha. Aaj kaam aa gaya.”
("Yes... we have another one. I kept it for emergencies. It came in handy today.")
 
She smiled—small, tired, but real. 
“Isse yahan rakh do… dining table ke upar.”
(“Put it here… on the dining table.”)
 
He did as told, the flame steadying, casting long, dancing shadows that played across her thighs and the swell of her chest.
 
Bhola lingered a second, then asked gently: 
“Bhabhi… chai piyengi?”
(“Bhabhi… would you like to have tea?”)
 
Simran opened her mouth to say no—her stomach was still knotted from everything—but the words changed at the last moment. 
 
“Haan… bana do.”
 
She wanted something normal. Something small. A few more minutes of ordinary conversation before the inevitable returned—before the fullness in her left breast, ignored for too long, started to ache again.
 
Bhola disappeared into the kitchen. The clink of steel, the hiss of the gas, the soft sound of water boiling. Simran leaned her head back against the cushion, eyes half-closed, the lantern light painting her face gold. The cool breeze slipped in again, lifting the hem of her nightie, brushing across her bare thighs, making her shiver once—goosebumps rising, nipples tightening painfully against the silk.
 
Bhola came back from the kitchen holding two steaming glasses of lemon tea. The sharp, fresh citrus smell hit Simran before he even reached her. She looked up from the sofa, surprised.
 
"Lemon tea?" she asked, taking the glass he offered. "I hardly drink this."
 
Bhola sat on the low stool near her again, cradling his own glass.

[doodhwale_bhaiya]

"Ye bahot achcha hai, Bhabhi. Try kijiye. Gale ki kharash saaf karta hai, sharir ko thanda mahsoos karata hai jab bahar itni garmi aur baarish hai."
("This is very good, Bhabhi. Please try it. It clears the sore throat and makes the body feel cool when it is so hot and rainy outside.")
 
Simran brought the rim to her lips, took a small sip. The hot liquid slid down, tangy and bright, a little sweet at the end from the sugar he had added. She closed her eyes for a second.
 
(Mmm…iska taste aur smell bahot achcha hai, Bhola)
("Mmm… it tastes and smells very good, Bhola.")
 
He smiled a little, pleased. 
"Ji, Bhabhi."
 
They sat in easy silence for a moment, both sipping, the rain filling the background like a never-ending conversation. The lantern flame danced on the dining table, throwing soft gold light across the room.
 
Bhola looking toward the open veranda door where water curtained down, said
 
"Bhabhi.  Aisi barish aakhri baar tab huwa tha jab main gaon mein tha.… poora talab peeche wale mein pani bhar gaya tha, flood ho gaya tha. Subah uthke dekha toh gaayon ke tabele tak paani aa gaya tha. Bahut bhayanka barish huwa tha."
 
("Bhabhi, the last time it rained like this was when I was in the village. The entire pond behind was filled with water, it had flooded. When I woke up in the morning, the water had reached the cowshed. It had rained very heavily.")
 
Simran smiled faintly. 
"Achcha?"
 
"Ji. Gaayen dar rahi thi. Tabele mein hi sona pada tha uss raat. Raat bhar lalten leke baitha tha main … aise hi. Raat bhar baarish ki awaaz aur gaayon ke dar ke shor mein achcnak kab need aa gayi pata hi nehi chala. Subah uthke dekha to pani andar tak aagaya tha"
 
("Yes. The cows were scared. I had to sleep in the stable that night. I sat with a lantern all night... just like that. Amidst the sound of rain and the cows' fear, I didn't realize when the need suddenly arose. When I woke up in the morning, I saw that the water had reached inside.")
 
She tilted her head.
Kitne gayein hai tum logon ke paas?
("How many cows do you have back there?")
 
Bhola took another sip, thinking.
 
"Abhi saat hain. Pehle aath the, lekin ek ko bech diya tha. Sabse badi Sheetal hai… woh sabse zyada doodh deti hai. Baaki chhoti hain, lekin achhi hain."
("There are seven now. Earlier there were two, but one was sold. The eldest is Sheetal... she gives the most milk. The rest are small, but they are good.")
 
Simran nodded slowly, cradling the glass in both hands.
“Aaj raat bhi wo dare honge.”
("They must be scared tonight too.")
 
"Nehi nehi…. Jay bhaiya aur Komal Bhabhi dekh lenge."
("No no… Jai Bhaiya and Komal Bhabhi will take care of it.")
 
Simran listened, half-present, the warmth of the tea spreading through her chest, the cool breeze from the veranda brushing her bare legs.
 
Simran cradled her tea glass in both hands, the warmth seeping into her palms as she stared at the lantern flame flickering on the dining table. The rain outside had settled into a steady, almost comforting drone, but inside her head it was still storming. She took a slow sip, the lemon tang sharp on her tongue, then set the glass down carefully.

[doodhwale_bhaiya]

"Bhola..." she started, voice soft, trying to make it sound casual, like she was just continuing the earlier small talk about the village.
 
“Tumne pehle Sheetal ke barein mein bataya, jo gaay sabse zyada doodh deti hai? Kaise? Matlab waha inki doodh kaun nikalta hai?
("You mentioned Sheetal earlier. The cow that gives the most milk. How... how does all that work? Who does the milking there?")
 
Bhola looked at her from his stool, not surprised by the question. He leaned forward slightly, elbows on his knees, speaking in the same quiet, matter-of-fact tone he always used.
 
"Sheetal ko roz subah-shaam milk karte hain, Bhabhi. Jay bhaiya mostly karte hain, kabhi main. Haath se hi. Machine se nahi. Haath se karne se doodh zyada aata hai, aur gaay bhi khush rehti hai."
("Sheetal is milked every morning and evening, Bhabhi. Jai Bhaiya does it most of the time, and sometimes I do it. I do it manually, not using a machine. Hand milking produces more milk, and the cow is also happy.")
 
Simran nodded slowly, fingers tracing the rim of her glass. She was trying to keep it natural, normal—like asking about any village chore. But the real question sat heavy in her chest:
 
he drank from me earlier... he liked it... and this body won't stop producing. Will I need him every time? Is this... going to keep happening?
 
She swallowed.
Kitna samay lagta hai? Ek gaay ke liye kitna samay lagta hai?
("How long does it take? To milk one cow, I mean.")
 
Bhola thought for a second.
 
"Ek gaay ko achhe se 15-20 minute lagte hain. Dono taraf se. Dheere-dheere karna padta hai, jaldi kiya toh gaay pareshan ho jati hai aur doodh kam aata hai."
("It takes 15-20 minutes to milk a cow properly, both ways. It has to be done slowly; if done quickly, the cow gets upset and the milk production is less.")
 
Aur… ye Sheetal kitna deti hai?
("And... how much milk does Sheetal give?")
 
"Sheetal? Roz subah 18-20 litre, shaam ko 12-14 litre. Total 30-35 litre ek din mein. Bahut kam gaay hoti hai aisi."
("Sheetal? 18-20 litres every morning, 12-14 litres in the evening. Total 30-35 litres a day. Very few cows are like this.")
 
Simran's eyes widened slightly. She took another sip of tea to hide her reaction.
 
Thirty-five litres...
 
Her own body felt like it was trying to compete. The thought made her shift on the sofa, thighs pressing together, a fresh tingle sparking low in her belly.
 
She kept her voice light. 
Achcha lagta hai? Tumhe doodh nikalne mein?
("Do you... like milking cows?")
 
Bhola smiled—small, genuine.
 
"Haan, Bhabhi. Bahut achha lagta hai. Yeh zindagi ka hissa hai. Maa ka doodh, bacchon ka jeena. Jo maa jitni strong hoti hai, utna zyada doodh deti hai. Bilkul jaise aap..."
("Yes, Bhabhi. It feels great. It's part of life. Mother's milk is children's survival. The stronger the mother, the more milk she gives. Just like you...")
 
Simran's breath caught. She smiled and said
 
“Mujhe Sheetal se tulna karna badh karo, Bhola.”
("Stop comparing me with Sheetal, Bhola.")
 
Bhola immediately lowered his eyes. 
"Sorry, Bhabhi."
 
Silence again. The sound of the rain filled it.
 
Simran stared at her tea. The question she really wanted to ask stayed trapped behind her teeth:
 
How will this work? Do I call you every time my breasts get full? Every day? Twice a day?
 
The thought made her face burn. She couldn't say it. Not yet.
 
Instead she asked something safer. 

[doodhwale_bhaiya]

“To… kya hota hai jab doodh zyada banati hai…bahot zyada? Jaise ki Sheetal ne apne bachro ke zarurat se zyada jab doodh deti hai?
("So... what happens when the milk is... too much? Like when Sheetal produces more than the calves need?")
 
Bhola looked up again. 
 
"Extra doodh ko bech dete hain. Log aate hain khareedne. Ya phir ghar mein hi rakhte hain—dahi, paneer, ghee banane ke liye. Waste nahi hone dete."
("We sell the extra milk. People come to buy it. Or we keep it at home to make curd, paneer, ghee. We don't allow it to be used for any other purpose.")
 
Simran nodded slowly. Waste. The word echoed. Her own milk—already more than any baby could drink—was pooling inside her, demanding release. She shifted again, feeling the damp lace between her legs, the ache returning quietly in her chest.
 
Simran sat quietly for a moment, the lantern light flickering across her face, shadows dancing on the wall behind her. The rain outside had turned into a steady, soft patter, but the silence inside the room felt heavier. She looked at Bhola—really looked at him—his calm face, the way he sat on the low stool like he had all the time in the world.
 
She took a slow breath and spoke, voice barely above a whisper.
 
“Bhola…sach sach batana. Mujhe lagta hai ki main tumhe istemaal kar rahi hun…tum mujhe madad kar rahe ho, lekin…. Main tumhe mera doodh peen eke liye istemaal kar rahi hu. Ye sahi nehi hai.”
("Bhola… tell me frankly. I feel like I’m using you. You’re helping me, but… I’m using you for drinking my milk. It’s not fair.")
 
Bhola’s eyes softened. He leaned forward slightly, elbows on his knees, hands clasped loosely. 
"Bhabhi… let me tell you something. Main bilkul bhi pareshan nahi hoon. Mujhe aapki madad karne mein bahut sukoon milta hai. Hamesha karunga jab bhi aapko zaroorat hogi. Aur yeh… sirf doodh peena hai. Aur sach bolun toh… aapko pata hai maine raat ka khana kyun nahi khaya?"
("Bhabhi… let me tell you something. I'm not worried at all. I find great peace in helping you. I will always do it whenever you need me. And this… just drink milk. And to tell you the truth… do you know why I didn't eat dinner?")
 
Simran tilted her head, curious despite herself. 
"Kyun?"
 
Bhola’s cheeks darkened just a little, but his voice stayed steady.
 
"Kyuki… aapka doodh ne mujhe already bhar diya tha us waqt. Itna sweet, itna nourishing… pet bhar gaya. Aap mujhe already apna precious doodh khila rahi hain… usse zyada main kya maang sakta hoon?"
("Because… your milk already filled me up at that time. So sweet, so nourishing… my stomach is full. You're already feeding me your precious milk… what more could I ask for?")
 
Simran’s breath caught. The words landed soft but heavy. She looked down at her lap, fingers twisting the nightie hem.
 
“Lekin…tumhe ye lag sakta hai ki ye ek duty hai tumhare liye. Jaise tumhe karna hi hai.”
("But… you might feel it’s a duty. Like you have to do it.")
 
Bhola shook his head slowly. 
 
"Nahi Bhabhi… bilkul nahi. Duty kaise ho sakta hai? Yeh toh… sukoon hai. Aapko araam mil raha hai, mujhe bhi sukoon mil raha hai."
("No Bhabhi... not at all. How can it be duty? This is... peace. You are getting rest, I am also getting rest.")
 
Simran exhaled shakily. 
 
“Ye duty hi lagega…jab tumhe ye harr oz din mein do baar. Kabhi teen baar karni pade.”
"It will become a duty… when it has to be done every day. Twice. Maybe thrice."
 
Bhola’s gaze didn’t waver.
 
"Bhabhi… aapko idea nahi hai main kitna appreciate karunga aapke liye yeh karne ka. Har baar. Har roz. Jo bhi chahiye."
("Bhabhi... you have no idea how much I would appreciate doing this for you. Every time. Every day. Whatever it takes.")
 
She looked up at him—eyes searching his face. 
"Thank you, Bhola."
 
A long pause suddenly main the presence of rain audible.

[doodhwale_bhaiya]

Simran spoke again, voice quieter.
 
“Main kuch puchu tumse?”
("May I ask you something?")
 
Bhola nodded immediately. 
"Ji, Bhabhi."
 
She swallowed.
“Humein ye Ravi se abhi ke liye chupa ke rakhna hai. Mujhe nehi pata ki use ye main kaise samjha paungi. Abhi to nehi.” 
("We… need to keep this hidden from Ravi. I don’t know how to explain this to him. Not yet.")
 
Bhola raised a hand gently—stopping her mid-sentence.
 
"Bhabhi… main Sahib ke saamne ek shabd bhi nahi bolunga. Ek hint bhi nahi dunga. Kasam se. Aap bilkul be-fikr rahiye."
(Bhabhi... I won't say a single word in front of Sahib. I won't give even a hint. I swear. You don't worry at all.")
 
Simran exhaled—relief washing over her face. 
"Thank you."
 
Simran sat quietly for a moment longer, the lantern light flickering across her face.
 
She took a slow breath and asked one final question, voice barely above a whisper.
 
"Bhola… abhi bhukh lagi hai tumhe? Kyunki mujhe bahut dard ho raha hai."
("Bhola… are you hungry right now? Because I am in a lot of pain.")
 
Bhola’s eyes softened immediately. He leaned forward slightly, voice low and gentle.
 
"Bhabhi… please don’t worry at all. Main hamesha aapke doodh ke liye bhookha hoon. Yeh sabse sweet hai."
("Bhabhi... please don't worry at all. I am always hungry for your milk. It is the sweetest.")
 
Simran’s cheeks flushed crimson. She shook her head quickly, embarrassed laugh escaping despite the pain.
 
“Aisa mat bolo…”
("Don’t say that…")
 
Bhola smiled—small, earnest, no teasing in it.
 
"Sach mein, Bhabhi. Aapka doodh bahut hi mazedaar hai. Itna sweet, itna… nourishing."
("Really, Bhabhi. Your milk is so delicious. So sweet, so… nourishing.)
 
Simran bit her lip, a nervous chuckle slipping out. 
"Sheetaal se bhi?"
("Even better than Sheetal?")
 
Bhola’s smile widened just a fraction. 
 
"Sheetaal aapke saamne kuchh nahi hai, Bhabhi."
("Sheetal is nothing in front of you, Bhabhi.")
 
He paused, then continued softly. 
 
"Chinta mat kijiye. Aaj thoda chot laga hai aapko breast pump se. Mujhe dheere dheere doodh peene dijiye… kal se main ek malish karunga usse aur aaram milega."
("Don't worry. You felt a little hurt today with the breast pump. Let me drink the milk slowly... from tomorrow I will give you a massage and you will get more relief from it.")
 
Bhola leaned in a little closer, voice dropping low and careful, like he was sharing a village secret only meant for her ears.
 
“Bhabhi… kal se aapko roz malish ke baad main aise hi karunga. Pehle thoda tel lagakar scalp aur neck ko dheere dheere dabaoonga, jaise aaj kiya, taaki aap bilkul relax ho jao. Phir… jab aap ready hongi… main aapke boobs ko haath mein leke, ek-ek karke muh mein loonga. Dheere se shuru karunga, sirf nipple ko chus ke, phir dheere dheere poora aage se dabaoonga taaki doodh araam se nikle. Har baar ek taraf se poora khali karoonga, taaki dard na ho aur aapko sukoon mile. Agar aap chahein toh dono taraf se ek saath bhi kar sakta hoon, lekin aapki marzi. Bas aap bata dena kab aur kitni der tak… main wahi karoonga jo aapko achha lage.”
 
("Bhabhi... starting tomorrow, I'll do the same thing after your daily massage. First, I'll apply some oil and gently press your scalp and neck, just like I did today, so you're completely relaxed. Then... when you're ready... I'll take your breasts in my hands and put them in my mouth, one at a time. I'll start slowly, sucking just the nipples, then slowly press them all the way to the front so the milk comes out smoothly. I'll empty them completely from one side each time, so there's no pain and you're relaxed. If you want, I can do it from both sides simultaneously, but your wish. Just tell me when and for how long… I will do whatever you like.”)

[doodhwale_bhaiya]

Simran’s cheeks burned hotter with every word. The way he explained it—so plain, so graphical, like he was talking about milking a cow or pressing dough—made it feel even more intimate, more real. She couldn’t look at him. Her thighs pressed tighter together under the nightie, a fresh pulse of heat blooming low in her belly.
 
Simran’s voice came out small, almost trembling, as she looked at him from the sofa. 
“But… aaj?”
(“But…today?”)
 
Bhola met her eyes, calm but certain. 
 
“Ghabraiye nahi, Bhabhi. Aaj poora doodh peeyunga. Aapke boobs ko puri tarah se khali karke hi chhodunga.”
("Don't worry, Bhabhi. I'll drink all the milk tonight. I'll leave only after I've completely emptied your breasts.")
 
Bhola knelt in front of Simran on the sofa, his knees sinking into the soft carpet, face level with her bare, heaving chest. The lantern's dim glow cast from behind her painted long shadows across her body, turning her skin into a warm, golden canvas, but he didn't need light to find his mark. A man's instinct kicked in like radar, locking onto those dark, erect nipples even if the room had been pitch black. He leaned in slow, mouth parting as he took the left one first, lips sealing around the swollen peak with a gentle but firm suck.
 
The tit was so full it was already leaking before his mouth even touched—warm milk beading at the tip, dripping in slow, creamy trails down the curved underside, pooling on her belly.
 
Lips closed soft around it. Tongue flat. Then he sucked—slow at first, testing, letting the warm flood hit his mouth in a thick gush. Milk sprayed against the roof of his palate, sweet and creamy, filling his cheeks instantly. He swallowed hard, throat working, and sucked again, deeper.
 
Simran’s head tipped back. 
“Aaaahhh…”
 
A long, shaky exhale. Her hands gripped the sofa cushions, knuckles paling. The pull was so good it almost hurt—relief pouring through her in waves, every tug lightening the ache.
 
Bhola switched. Released the left with a quiet wet sound, dove to the right. The nipple was still puffy, sensitive, but he was careful. Lips sealed, tongue circling once, then he sucked—harder this time, cheeks hollowing, drawing out a stronger stream that hit the back of his throat.
 
“Ammmphhh…” Simran’s moan came lower, throatier. Her hips twitched forward without permission, lace dragging over his chest, the soaked fabric smearing her juices across his kurta.
 
He kept going. Left again. Right again. Alternating, never letting either nipple cool. Milk flowed in steady, forceful jets—splashing his tongue, coating his lips, some escaping to run down his chin and drip onto her thighs. His hands stayed on the sofa arms at first, bracing himself, but soon the right one lifted—cupping the underside of her left breast, squeezing gently upward, milking her like he’d done with the right tit in bedroom.
 
Simran’s thighs trembled. 
“Aaahhh… mmm…”
 
Every hard suck sent a jolt straight between her legs. Her pussy clenched, clit throbbing against the wet lace, grinding unconsciously against the air. She could feel the build—fast, too fast—her body already so primed from the day.
 
Simran’s moans broke into gasps. 
“Aaah… aaah… Bhola…”
 
She couldn’t stop. The relief, the heat, the wet suction—it was too much. Her hips jerked forward one last time, lace dragging hard against nothing—and she came.
 
Hard.
 
Her whole body locked up, back bowing, a raw “AAAAHHHH…” ripping out of her throat as her pussy spasmed, squirting through the soaked panties in hot pulses. But Bhola was too busy sucking and he never noticed she was giving this cow an orgasm just by sucking her tits. Milk sprayed from both nipples at once—forceful jets hitting his face, his open mouth, running down his neck in creamy rivers.
 
She shook through it—long, shuddering waves—thighs clamping his sides, nails digging into the sofa, breasts bouncing with every pulse until finally it subsided, gasping, spent.
 
Bhola kept sucking like a man possessed, mouth latched tight on her left nipple, pulling hard and deep, cheeks hollowing with every greedy tug. His hands squeezed the heavy flesh from the sides, fingers digging in, milking her like he couldn't get enough. Milk sprayed in thick, hot streams, filling his mouth faster than he could swallow, leaking from the corners of his lips in creamy white trails that ran down his chin and dripped onto her belly.
 
Simran's moans climbed louder, raw and desperate, although she just came, but she was sson getting charged up like a defibrillator waking up a spent heart in the ICU. The sound of the rain outside swallowed most of her loud moans, turning her cries into muffled echoes against the storm. 
"Aaahhh... aaaahhh... Bhola..."
 
Her hand slid across the sofa arm, brushing his—fingers touching, lingering for a second. She felt the warmth of his skin, the slight tremble in his grip, but Bhola didn't notice. Too lost. Too busy drinking from her magnificent boobs, the ones filling him up like nothing else ever had.
 
Milk leaked everywhere now, from the sides of his mouth, down her curves, soaking the nightie bunched at her waist. He sucked for fifteen minutes straight, switching sides without pause, tongue swirling, teeth grazing just enough to make her jerk.
 
Then a few more hard pulls on the left.
 
Simran gasped loud, body arching sharp. 
"Ahhh... ahhhh.... ahhhh!"
 
Milk is sucked completely and the left tank is empty now. Dry. But she didn't push him away. She liked it—the empty ache turning to pure, throbbing pleasure, his mouth still warm and wet on her sensitive nipple.
 
Bhola did not understand. He sucked harder one last time, drawing out every final drop with a loud, wet pop as he released it. The nipple snapped back, red and glistening, a thin string of milk connecting it to his lips for a second before breaking.
 
He looked up—face shiny with her milk, eyes dark and satisfied—and smiled.
 
Simran looked down at him, breath ragged, a shaky smile tugging her lips.
 
Bhola pushed himself up slowly, knees creaking against the carpet. His face was a mess, milk smeared across his cheeks and chin, lips puffy and wet from all the sucking. He looked dazed, breathing hard through his nose.
 
Simran just let herself fall back against the sofa cushions. Still topless. Didn’t even try to pull the nightie up. Her breasts rose and fell with every heavy breath, nipples dark and puffy, shiny with spit and leftover milk. Little white trails had run down the curves and dried in thin streaks across her skin. She didn’t cover them, didn’t cross her arms, didn’t care. Too tired. Too blissed. Just lay there, legs loose, nightie bunched around her waist, panties dark and clinging between her thighs.
 
The room smelled like sex and sweet milk and rain.
 
Neither of them spoke for a long second.
 
Then Bhola cleared his throat, voice rough. 
“Bhabhi… ab theek hai?”
 
Simran didn’t answer right away. Just stared at the ceiling, chest still rising and falling, a faint smile tugging one corner of her mouth.
 
She felt empty. 
She wanted to be empty.
 
Bhola was full—belly warm and heavy with her milk—but hard as iron beneath his pantsi, the 10-inch monster throbbing thick and angry against the fabric. He didn't notice the outline, the way it tented obviously.
 
But Simran did.
 
Her eyes dropped—widened.
 
That's... not possible.
 
Ten inches, maybe more—thick, veiny, pulsing visibly through the thin cotton. She thought she was dreaming. Hallucinating from the orgasms. No man can be that big. Not real.
 
She stared a second longer—heat flooding her again—then looked away.
 
Bhola turned toward the kitchen, oblivious. 
“Bhabhi… paani?”
 
The night stretched on—rain softer now, but the storm inside far from over.

[masud93]

Thanks,, iss update mein honey+oil ka malish ka jikr nahi aaya, last mein aaya,
Kya malish aagle update mein aayega??,, mujhe laga aaj kuch yo hoga,lekin sirf doodh peena,,
Phir bhi thanks,shukriya,aaj to bahut exited tha ke kuch to kaam hoga,ya dirty talk, anything,