Adultery The Forbidden Relief – My Wife's Secret

[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.