Adultery The Forbidden Relief – My Wife's Secret

[doodhwale_bhaiya]

Preeti held the manual breast pump gently in her gloved hands—a clear plastic bottle with a soft silicone flange and a squeezable bulb handle. She looked at Simran with professional calm, but her eyes held a glint of understanding.
 
“Watch closely,” she said softly. “It’s simple, but it works wonders.”
 
She leaned in, positioning the flange over Simran’s left breast—the swollen, leaking mound still heavy and warm from the earlier examination. The silicone cupped the areola perfectly, sealing around the dark, erect nipple with a soft, intimate kiss. Preeti squeezed the bulb slowly—once, twice—creating gentle suction.
 
The effect was immediate.
 
Simran’s breath hitched— “Aaahhh…” —as the pull tugged deep inside her breast, a delicious, aching relief that bordered on pleasure. Milk beaded instantly at the nipple, then flowed in a thick, creamy stream—warm, sweet-scented—rushing into the bottle with soft, rhythmic gushes. Each squeeze of the bulb drew more: pull… release… pull… release… the suction stretching her nipple outward, elongating it slightly before letting it snap back, milk spraying in pulsing jets that filled the bottle faster than expected.
 
Preeti’s movements were clinical but inescapably erotic—the way her fingers worked the bulb in steady rhythm, the soft wet sounds of milk filling the plastic, the way Simran’s breast yielded under the suction, skin flushing deeper, nipple darkening and throbbing visibly. Simran’s thighs pressed together involuntarily, heat blooming low in her belly, pussy clenching as the deep pull sent sparks through her body.
 
“Mmmphhh…” Simran moaned softly, eyes fluttering, the relief so intense it felt like arousal.
 
Preeti released the pump after a minute, the bottle already a quarter full. 
“Okay… now you.”
 
Simran took it with trembling hands, positioning the flange over her left breast again. She squeezed—tentative at first—then firmer, finding the rhythm. Milk surged immediately—thick, forceful streams filling the bottle in steady pulses. One bottle filled completely in minutes; she felt lighter already, the painful pressure easing like a knot unraveling.
 
She switched to the right breast—squeezing harder now, more confident—and that bottle filled just as fast, milk flowing in creamy abundance.
 
Simran exhaled, almost laughing with relief—lighter than she’d felt in days, breasts softer, the constant ache finally dulled. Happiness bubbled up—pure, simple joy.
 
Preeti stared at the two full bottles, eyes wide. 
“Wow, Simran… that’s a lot of milk. Like… a lot.”
 
Simran blushed, covering herself with the kurti again. 
“Thanks for this method. Really.”
 
Preeti made her sit properly, expression turning serious. 
“Babes… you can use it as many times as you want, but you’ll get tired. And looking at this volume? You’re producing way more than I imagined. I don’t call you a breedable cow just as a joke.”
 
Simran patted her arm playfully. 
“Stop joking.”
 
Preeti shook her head, voice gentle but firm. 
“Not joking, babes. You need a milkman.”
 
Simran’s eyes widened, cheeks flaming. 
“Shush… don’t joke. Tell me seriously—what do I do?”
 
Preeti leaned closer. 
“Listen… ask Ravi to suckle.”
 
Simran shied instantly—eyes dropping, face burning scarlet, a soft, embarrassed laugh escaping as she covered her mouth.

Simran stared at the two full bottles on the counter—thick, creamy milk still warm, more than she’d ever imagined her body could hold. Relief washed over her, but questions crowded in.
 
“How many times?” she asked quietly, voice small. “How many times a day do I need to do this?”
 
Preeti set the pump down, eyes lingering on Simran’s breasts—still heavy even after emptying, nipples dark and prominent, a final bead of milk trembling at one tip.
 
“As many times as necessary, babes,” Preeti said, voice low and teasing. “Who wouldn’t like to suckle these magnificent boobs? Look at them—ripe, full, leaking like they were made for it.”
 
Simran flushed, pulling her kurti closed. 
“What if… he doesn’t like the taste of the milk?”
 
Preeti’s smile faded slightly. 
“Yes… that’s a bummer if it happens. Some men can’t handle the sweetness—or whatever changes come with it.”
 
Simran’s stomach twisted. She didn’t tell Preeti about last night—Ravi’s eager mouth turning hesitant, the bitterness that made him pull away. She couldn’t. Not yet.
 
Preeti leaned against the counter, thoughtful. 
“If that happens… you need to find a milkman, my dear.”
 
Simran’s eyes widened. 
“Cummon, Preeti. Be serious. Tell me—is there a medicine? Something to reduce this?”
 
Preeti laughed—genuine, surprised. 
“Are you crazy? Who would want you to produce less? Such magnificent boobs making milk is a dream come true. Jokes aside… no, there’s no medicine invented yet to reduce lactation like this. In fact, we have plenty to increase volume.” She winked. “And you, my breedable cow, already have that part covered.”
 
Simran swatted her arm playfully, cheeks burning. 
“Stop…”
 
Preeti’s expression softened. 
“Don’t worry. You’ll be fine. Use the breast pump for now—as often as you need. Keep the bottles in the fridge if you want. We’ll monitor, run some tests. But this… it’s rare. Beautiful, in its way.”
 
Simran exhaled, clutching the pump like a lifeline. 
“Thanks, Preeti. Really.”
 
She hugged her friend tightly—careful of her tender breasts—then gathered her things and left the clinic, the weight in her chest lighter, but the questions heavier than ever.