Adultery The Forbidden Relief – My Wife's Secret

[doodhwale_bhaiya]

She was again replaying in her mind what happened after…
 
 
Bhola’s mouth moved with reverent hunger—alternating between Simran’s left and right breasts, lips sealing around one stiff nipple, sucking hard, then switching to the other with a wet, greedy pull. Milk gushed freely now from both—thick, warm sprays that filled his mouth in energetic bursts, the sweet, creamy flood overwhelming his senses. He was having the time of his life—eyes half-closed, cheeks hollowing with each deep suck, tongue swirling around the dark, erect peaks as if devouring the most forbidden fruit. The sprays were powerful, almost forceful—hitting the back of his throat with every tug, making him swallow greedily, milk spilling from the corners of his lips in thin white trails down his chin.
 
Simran was trying to recover from an orgasm from the deliberate pushing of Bhola’s crotch upwards. But Bhola’s sucking and that too switching tits made it impossible to control her breath.
 
“Aaahhhh… mmmphhh… aaaahhhh…” Simran’s moans spilled out—long, breathy, her body arching above him, breasts swaying heavily as he switched again and again.
 
Bhola finally slowed, releasing the right nipple with a soft, wet pop—milk still dribbling from the swollen tip. He looked up at her, face glistening, eyes curious and dazed from between the deep, forbidden valley of her breasts.
 
Simran’s eyes had been closed—lost in the trance—but she opened them slowly, looking down directly at him. Their gazes locked—his from below, framed by the lush globes hanging inches from his face, hers hazy with pleasure and something deeper.
 
She stared at his lips—shiny with her milk, parted slightly—and felt a fresh wave of heat flood her core.
“Kaise pata karu?”     
(How to find out?)
 
Simran asked “Kya?” She didn’t hear what Bhola explained and was looking at his milk spilling lips.
 
Bhola’s voice came low, almost confused. 
 
“Bhabhi… main samajh nahi pa raha…”
("Bhabhi... I am not able to understand...")
 
Simran’s breath hitched.
 
“Kya samajh nehi paa rahe ho?”
(What are you not able to understand?)
 
Bhola hesitated, then murmured.
“Bhabhi… main thak gaya hoon aise… ek second baith jaun?”
(“Bhabhi… I am tired like this… can I sit for a second?”)
 
Simran thought angrily, he is tired. He has sucking me lying down and I am on my all-fours and he is tired. But she smiled deeply and did what he wanted.
 
She pushed back gently—body sliding downward—and sat fully on his lap. Bhola sat up with her, hands instinctively steadying her hips.
 
The contact was immediate, electric.
 
Her drenched, panty-clad pussy settled directly onto the monster hidden beneath his pants—thick, rigid, impossibly huge, throbbing hot against her slick folds through the thin barriers of lace and cotton. The size registered instantly—massive, veiny, pulsing with need.
 
Simran jumped— “Aaahhh!” —a sharp gasp, body squirming as the girth pressed up against her clit, sending a jolt straight through her. She froze, embarrassed heat flooding her face, but didn’t move away—couldn’t. The hardness felt… overwhelming, perfect.
 
Bhola didn’t understand the sudden jump—ignored it, focused only on her comfort.
 
“Bhabhi… ek problem hai. Main samajh nahi pa raha… aapka right boob… left jaisa doodh de raha hai ya nahi?”
("Bhabhi... there's a problem. I can't understand... if your right boob is producing milk like your left?")
 
Simran’s mind spun—embarrassment, arousal, the massive cock throbbing beneath her—but the question pulled her back.