Adultery The Forbidden Relief – My Wife's Secret

[masud93]

Writer said he is busy for two weeks

Kya aisa har story ke sath hota hai,jab bhi story peaked time par hota hai,tabhi writer bhi busy ho jata hai,haan jarurat sab ko hai, phir bhi mujhe laga to kah diya,never mind,,

[doodhwale_bhaiya]

People i understand that there are many stories here which are unfinished. I am quite sure that this wont be one of them. Although its yet to be written but still i would try my best to finish it.
Having said that, understand we all have life of our own other than writing stories. This is just a passion not a job. No one gets paid here. So kindly hold your horses. Dont be disappointed and keep adding stuff to comment section to make the story even more interesting through images etc.
As and when i will be available again, it will be posted. There are a few stories unfinished. Ask Mods here to allow you to finish them if the authors are unable to continue.

[yuvamuthu]

Don't worry about the comments, please continue and try to post it whenever possible

[Superuduperu]

Kudos to Author for his extraordinary imagination and narration. The erotic  discussion and unspoken body language between Bhola and Simran is huge turn on.
Would love to see Bhola and Simran gets private space and mould into lusty adorable couple even Preethi gets jealous watching them copulate later. Bhola becomes the no1 priority of Simran in her wild dark erotic world which she discovers herself surprisingly. Moving in public gatherings as owner and servant but secret lovers with dark secrets ..Keep going please

[tfvhygc]

Eagerly waiting for bro

[mike_16]

People i understand that there are many stories here which are unfinished. I am quite sure that this wont be one of them. Although its yet to be written but still i would try my best to finish it.
Having said that, understand we all have life of our own other than writing stories. This is just a passion not a job. No one gets paid here. So kindly hold your horses. Dont be disappointed and keep adding stuff to comment section to make the story even more interesting through images etc.
As and when i will be available again, it will be posted. There are a few stories unfinished. Ask Mods here to allow you to finish them if the authors are unable to continue.

Bro update plss ,uh said uh give on 22  in waiting more than 10 days pls broo update it's very intresting story

[masud93]

Kya haal,Eid ke waqt bhi busy hai kya,,ypdate kab aayegi bata dena,bar bar dekhna padta hai

[doodhwale_bhaiya]

Apologies. I am down with fever since the day I came back. Viral may be. Dimaag kharab ho raha hai. I just came online to apologise that I couldnt meet my deadlines. Just give me a few days. 

[masud93]

sorry,, pehle thiik ho jaww,,. hum bhi ziyada ummeed laga lete hai,,sab ki aapni aapni zindegi bhi hai,
Bye

[Mukul@99]

Wishing the author a speedy recovery and a return to good health

[artemis1757]

Wishing a speedy recovery

[mike_16]

Apologies. I am down with fever since the day I came back. Viral may be. Dimaag kharab ho raha hai. I just came online to apologise that I couldnt meet my deadlines. Just give me a few days. 

Bro waiting for your update please... It's very intresting story that I never read

[kira2358]

bro. hope ur health is recovered.. very much waiting for an update

[ShadowRising321]

Kaha ho bhai?

[Manyade]

Hoping for big blockbuster come back this weekend. Fingers crossed

[yuvamuthu]

I hope author will post very big update ...don't let us down bro

[doodhwale_bhaiya]

Hi guys, hopefully you all are doing well. The last update was well quite sometime back and then i got unwell, busy and what not. But here is the next update. Do add pictures of Simran and Bhola in every position that has been happening till now. I will too. Happy Gooning.

[doodhwale_bhaiya]

It was already 7:30 in the evening and Nimrat was still standing there in front of her open wardrobe wearing nothing but a thin white satin gown that clung to her body like a second skin. Her long burgundy hair hung loose and messy down her back, her makeup was only half done, and her nerves were completely shot. The deep wine-red georgette saree she had picked earlier now lay crumpled on the bed along with four other outfits she had tried and tossed aside. One looked too bold, another too plain, one too revealing for a business meeting, and the last one just felt too damn boring. The clock in her head was ticking louder than ever. Here she was, a fifty-year-old woman who ran her own boutique, completely frozen over the stupid question of what the hell to wear to meet the man who could either save her entire life or burn it to the ground.
 
Her phone rang suddenly, cutting through the silence.
 
Meera’s name lit up the screen.
 
Nimrat grabbed it and answered right away.
 
“I’m running late,” she said, her voice tight and shaky. “I can’t decide… nothing feels right on me tonight.”
 
Meera let out a soft laugh on the other end, warm, confident, and a little amused. “Don’t worry, darling. I’m already downstairs in the lobby. I’ll come up and help you pick something. Just open the door in two minutes.”
 
Before Nimrat could even argue, the line went dead.
 
Exactly two minutes later the doorbell rang. Nimrat quickly tightened the sash of her thin gown around her waist and pulled the door open.
 
Meera stood there looking like pure sin wrapped in black silk. The sleek cocktail dress hugged every curve of her body like it had been poured on. A high slit ran all the way up her left thigh, flashing smooth, toned skin with every little shift of her weight. The neckline plunged deep between her full breasts, and the shiny fabric caught the corridor light and shimmered. She looked powerful, sexual, and completely shameless.
 
Nimrat’s eyes went wide. “Meera… why so bold? We’re meeting him in a hotel suite, not some nightclub.”
 
Meera didn’t wait for an invitation. She stepped straight inside, closed the door behind her with a soft click, and let her eyes slide slowly up and down Nimrat’s body. The thin white gown hid almost nothing — the heavy swell of her breasts, the curve of her hips, everything was on full display.
 
Meera smiled, slow and knowing. “Maan Ji always says the same thing: ‘Be as you feel good. Don’t think about what others will say.’ Tonight isn’t about hiding, Nimrat. It’s about stepping into whatever future you want.”
 
They walked into the bedroom together. Clothes were scattered all over the bed and the floor. Meera went straight to the pile, picked up the discarded wine-red georgette saree, and held it up against Nimrat’s body, letting her gaze roam openly over those heavy breasts and wide hips.
 
“You are very fit, very good-looking,” she said simply, her voice low and matter-of-fact. “A woman like you should flaunt what she has.”
 
Meera leaned in closer, her voice dropping low and smooth like she was sharing a secret. “The man you’re going to meet tonight is extremely open-minded. He will secure your future completely. After tonight you’ll have nothing left to lose — only everything to gain. Trust me.”
 
Nimrat felt her cheeks burn hot. She still played it safe though and picked a deep maroon silk saree with a modest blouse that hugged her hourglass figure perfectly. The pallu dbangd right across her massive 38D breasts, the pleats sitting low and accentuating the heavy flare of her gigantic, rounded ass. It looked elegant and conservative on the surface, but there was no hiding how sensual her body looked underneath it.
 
Meera stepped back, took one look, and whistled softly under her breath.
 
“Perfect,” she said, eyes lighting up. “This really brings out your body like a proper hourglass. God… if only I had those huge boobs and that gigantic ass of yours.” She laughed lightly, but her gaze stayed locked on Nimrat’s chest for a long second. “Maan Ji is going to love this.”
 
Nimrat felt a strange awkwardness crawl up her spine. She had only met this woman once before, shared one emotional night and one unexpected kiss, and here Meera was talking about her body so boldly, so casually, like they had been close for years. She didn’t know what to say, so she just nodded, hands trembling a little as she finished dbanging the saree properly.
 
They left the hotel at 8:05 PM. Meera’s driver took them straight to the Taj. The ride was quiet, but Nimrat’s mind was anything but — that word “disciple” kept echoing in her head, and every time the car passed a streetlight the high thigh-slit of Meera’s dress flashed open, showing off smooth skin.
 
When they reached the Presidential Suite, Meera didn’t knock. She just swiped her own key card and pushed the door open.
 
Maan Singh was already inside.
 
The tall, powerfully built 58-year-old stood near the big window with his back to them, wearing a simple white kurta-pajama that did nothing to hide the width of his shoulders or the thick muscles running down his arms. The moment he heard the door, he turned around.
 
Meera walked straight up to him, bending gracefully to touch his feet in that traditional way.

[doodhwale_bhaiya]

But Maan Singh didn’t let her.
 
He caught her by the elbows, pulled her up in one smooth motion, and wrapped her in a tight, possessive hug — the kind that pressed her entire body right against his chest. Meera melted into it instantly, face buried in his neck, arms sliding around his waist like it was the most natural thing in the world. The hug lasted long, intimate, charged with something heavy.
 
Nimrat stood frozen just two steps inside the door, her pallu clutched tight in her fingers.
 
She had never seen anything like it.
 
A powerful, sophisticated woman like Meera — the same one who had spoken so calmly about CBI raids and frozen accounts — was now clinging to this stranger like a lover. And he was holding her with the calm authority of a man who knew every single inch of her body.
 
Nimrat’s throat went completely dry.
 
This was not the meeting she had imagined at all.
 
This was something far more personal.
 
Far more dangerous.
 
And she was already trapped inside the room.
 
The moment the door clicked shut behind them, Maan Singh’s deep, resonant voice filled the entire suite.
 
“Meera… beta, kaise ho?” he asked, the affection in his tone warm but still commanding.
 
Meera changed in a heartbeat. The confident, powerful woman who had driven Nimrat here in that thigh-slit black dress suddenly turned into a shy, giggling girl. She lowered her eyes, cheeks flushing pink, and took small, dainty steps closer to him.
 
“Bahut acchi hoon, Maan ji,” she replied in a soft, childlike voice, the kind she probably hadn’t used with anyone in thirty years. “Aapke darshan kar liye toh sab theek ho jaata hai.”
“I’m very fine, Maan ji,” she replied in a soft, childlike voice, the kind she probably hadn’t used with anyone in thirty years. “Just seeing you makes everything alright.”
 
Nimrat stood awkwardly a few feet away, pallu clutched tight in her fingers, feeling completely invisible. The two of them were talking as if she wasn’t even there. Seconds stretched into a full minute. Then two. Her stomach twisted into a knot. Am I invisible? Did I come all this way just to stand here like a piece of furniture? Worry started creeping in. Had Meera brought her here only for Maan Singh to dismiss her without even a glance?
 
Finally, his sharp eyes slid past Meera and landed on Nimrat.
 
In a completely casual, third-person tone — as if she were an object being discussed — he asked Meera,
 
“Yeh hi woh ladki hai jo help chahti hai?”
“Is this the girl who wants help?”
 
Girl? Nimrat’s mind reeled. I am almost fifty years old. A widow. A mother. A businesswoman. How the hell can he call me a “girl”?
 
Meera nodded quickly, still in that submissive little-girl mode. “Haan Maan ji, yeh hi hain. Nimrat.”
 
Even though Nimrat was standing right there, only a few feet away, Maan Singh kept talking to Meera about her like she couldn’t hear a single word they were saying.
 
Meera leaned in slightly and said in a reverent whisper, “Dekhiye na Maan ji… kitni akeli hai yeh aur itni sundar aurat. Abhi bahut pressure mein hai.” As she spoke, Meera reached out and gently stroked Nimrat’s open hair, letting her fingers trail through the silky strands. “Bilkul tootne ke kareeb hai.”
Meera leaned in slightly and said in a reverent whisper, “Look Maan ji… how alone this beautiful woman is. She is under a lot of pressure right now.” As she spoke, Meera reached out and gently stroked Nimrat’s open hair, letting her fingers trail through the silky strands. “She is very close to breaking.”
 
Maan Singh walked over slowly, his tall frame towering. Without a word he lowered himself on his haunches directly in front of Nimrat, bringing his face level with hers. His eyes — dark, piercing, ancient — locked onto hers and simply held the gaze. No smile. No words. Just that steady, unblinking stare.
 
Nimrat felt her breath catch. Shyness flooded her cheeks. Awkwardness made her want to look away, but she couldn’t. Something powerful was pulling her in. She felt small. Exposed. Slowly, helplessly, she was slipping under his spell. Her pulse hammered in her throat.
 
Maan Singh’s gaze dropped deliberately to her deep cleavage — the maroon saree pallu doing little to hide the heavy swell of her 38D breasts. After a long, shameless second he looked back into her eyes and said quietly, almost affectionately,
 
“Tumhara dil bahut bada hai.”
“Your heart is very big.”
 
The double meaning hit Nimrat like a slow wave of heat. Her nipples tightened visibly against the blouse.
 
Then, in the same calm tone, he commanded,
 
“Khade ho jao.”
“Stand up.”

[doodhwale_bhaiya]

Nimrat rose as if in a trance — legs moving before her mind could protest.
 
Meera immediately stood behind her, placed gentle hands on Nimrat’s shoulders, and made her turn slowly in a full circle. The saree dbangd beautifully over her massive, rounded ass, the fabric stretching and highlighting every curve. Maan Singh’s eyes followed the motion without hurry, drinking in the sight.
 
When Nimrat faced him again, he gave a single nod.
 
“Theek hai. Nimrat… tumhe prayaschit karna hoga. Mere teachings ke neeche rehna hoga. Phir tum khud dusron ko meri teachings preach karogi.”
“Okay. Nimrat… you will have to do penance. You will have to live under my teachings. Then you yourself will preach my teachings to others.”
 
Meera’s eyebrows shot up in visible confusion. Preach? Maan ji had never mentioned anything about preaching before — not once in all these years.
 
But Maan Singh didn’t explain. He simply rose to his full height and said to Meera,
 
“Baad mein isko details samjha dena.” Then, turning to Nimrat with the same calm authority, “Tum ab ja sakti ho.”
“Explain the details to her later.” Then, turning to Nimrat with the same calm authority, “You can go now.”
 
The meeting — the inspection — was over.
 
Just like that.
 
Nimrat stood there for a second longer, heart racing, body tingling, mind reeling from the strange mix of humiliation, arousal, and complete surrender she had just felt in under ten minutes.
 
She was dismissed.
 
And yet she already knew she would come back the moment he called.
 
The moment the heavy door of the Presidential Suite clicked shut behind Nimrat, the air inside changed. The polite, almost ceremonial tension vanished. Meera turned back toward Maan Singh, her eyes already glassy with need.
 
Before Nimrat had even reached the elevator, Meera whispered softly to her through the closing door,
 
“Main kal tumhare residence pe milungi. Rest karo… sab theek ho jaayega.”
“I’ll meet you at your residence tomorrow. Rest… everything will be fine.”
 
Nimrat nodded numbly and disappeared down the corridor, still in that strange trance.
 
Inside the suite, Meera didn’t waste a second.
 
She dropped to her knees right there on the marble floor, black dress riding up her thighs. Maan Singh stood above her like a king — calm, towering, already untying the knot of his kurta.
 
The night that followed was pure, relentless possession.
 
Meera took his thick, heavy cock into her mouth like she was worshipping. She sucked him deep, gagging happily, tears of devotion rolling down her cheeks while Maan Singh held her hair and fucked her throat slowly.
 
“Yeh muh sirf mere lund ke liye bana hai,”
“This mouth is made only for my cock,” he growled, feeding her every inch.
 
When he finally came, he flooded her mouth with thick, hot ropes of cum. Meera swallowed every drop, moaning like a starving woman, then showed him her empty tongue like a good little disciple.
 
Maan Singh didn’t let her rest. He lifted her onto the king-sized bed, ripped the black dress off her body, and buried his face between her legs. His tongue and fingers devoured her shaved, dripping pussy for nearly forty minutes — sucking her clit, tongue-fucking her hole, drinking every drop of her juices while she screamed and squirted all over his moustache.
 
“Maan ji… aapki randi hoon main… hamesha aapki…”
“Maan ji… I am your whore… always yours…” she kept babbling between orgasms.
 
Then the real fucking began.
 
He took her in missionary first — slow, deep strokes, his massive cock stretching her married pussy wide open while he sucked hard on her breasts, leaving red marks. They talked the entire time about Nimrat.
 
“Woh gaay kal se meri hone wali hai,” Maan Singh grunted between thrusts, pinching Meera’s nipples. “Main usko 21 din mein itna todunga ki woh khud mere liye apni beti ko bhi laayegi.”
“That cow is going to be mine from tomorrow,” Maan Singh grunted between thrusts, pinching Meera’s nipples. “I will break her so much in 21 days that she herself will bring her own daughter for me.”
 
Meera moaned louder, legs wrapped around his waist.
 
“Haan … uski badi-badi choochiyan… uski moti gaand… aap usko bhi apni randi bana denge na?”
“Yes … her big big boobs… her fat ass… you will make her your whore too, right?”