Adultery The Forbidden Relief – My Wife's Secret

[doodhwale_bhaiya]

Bhola set his glass down carefully.
 
“Bhabhi… agar aap pump use karti rahengi, toh skin kharab ho jayegi—nipples ki, boobs ki. Aur to aur iski aadat pad jayegi. Phir agar atak gaya dobara… bahut dangerous ho sakta hai.”
 
("Bhabhi... if you keep using the pump, your skin will get damaged—near your nipples, your breasts. And you'll get used to it. And if it gets stuck again... it can be very dangerous.")
 
Simran nodded slowly, remembering the pain, the panic.
“To batao mujhe….tumhari Bhabhi unko auroton ko kya bolti hai? Jo unke paas jate hai?”
“Then tell me—what does your Bhabhi tell those women to do? The ones who come to you?”)
 
Bhola hesitated—eyes dropping to his tea, then back to her face. 
 
“Woh… jo maine kiya tha aaj—wohi karne ko kehti hain. Doodh nikalne ke liye. Zyadatar… husbands karte hain.”
("She… she asks them to do the same thing I did today. To release milk. Mostly… husbands do it.")
 
Simran’s brows lifted. 
“Zyadatar? Matlab?”
 
Bhola shifted, voice softer. 
 
“Bhabhi… yeh thoda complex hai…”
 
Simran cut him off gently, smiling despite herself.
 
“Okay, no more complex stories. Chai pi lo.”
 
 
Bhola nodded, picking up his glass. They drank in silence—warm, spicy tea sliding down their throats, the only sound the rain and the occasional clink of glass on table. Both wanted the same thing: a solution. But neither knew how to say it aloud.
 
Simran spoke first, voice barely above the rain. 
Aur batao—ab kya karun?”
 
Bhola met her eyes—steady, earnest. 
“Haan, Bhabhi. Sahib ko boliye. Woh aapki help kar sakte hain.”
("Yes, Bhabhi. Tell Sahib. He can help you.")
 
Simran’s heart stuttered—shock rippling through her.
 
Ravi?
 
She thought of last night—his mouth on her nipple, eager at first, then pulling away, the bitterness making him wince.
 
He couldn’t…
 
She looked at Bhola—curious now. He didn’t seem like the type to gag. He’d drunk her milk like it was nectar.
 
She leaned forward slightly.
 
“Bhola… sach sach batao. Tumhe… mera doodh peete hue kaisa laga? Taste… weird tha kya?”
("Bhola... tell me frankly. How did you... drink my milk? Was it taste... weird?")
 
Simran was shocked at her own blasphemy in talking so openly with Bhola.
 
Bhola’s cheeks darkened, but he didn’t look away. 
 
“Nahi, Bhabhi… bilkul nahi. Woh… bahut sweet tha. Jaise… bachche itna kyun peete hain, samajh aaya. Ekdam sahi meethapan tha…na zyada, na kam.”
("No, Bhabhi... not at all. It was... very sweet. Like... I understand why babies drink so much. Perfectly sweet—not too much, just right.")
 
Simran blinked—confused, a strange warmth spreading through her.
 
Sweet? Ravi had said bitter. Preeti had mentioned it happens to some men—hormonal changes, taste variation.
 
But Bhola… he’d liked it. Craved it, even.
 
She forced a small laugh. 
 
Bhola said
 
“Please… Sahib ko bolo. Main sure hoon unhe pasand aayega.”
("Please... tell Sahib. I'm Sure, he'll like it.")
 
Simran exhaled slowly, staring into her tea.