Adultery The Forbidden Relief – My Wife's Secret

[doodhwale_bhaiya]

"Bhola..." she started, voice soft, trying to make it sound casual, like she was just continuing the earlier small talk about the village.
 
“Tumne pehle Sheetal ke barein mein bataya, jo gaay sabse zyada doodh deti hai? Kaise? Matlab waha inki doodh kaun nikalta hai?
("You mentioned Sheetal earlier. The cow that gives the most milk. How... how does all that work? Who does the milking there?")
 
Bhola looked at her from his stool, not surprised by the question. He leaned forward slightly, elbows on his knees, speaking in the same quiet, matter-of-fact tone he always used.
 
"Sheetal ko roz subah-shaam milk karte hain, Bhabhi. Jay bhaiya mostly karte hain, kabhi main. Haath se hi. Machine se nahi. Haath se karne se doodh zyada aata hai, aur gaay bhi khush rehti hai."
("Sheetal is milked every morning and evening, Bhabhi. Jai Bhaiya does it most of the time, and sometimes I do it. I do it manually, not using a machine. Hand milking produces more milk, and the cow is also happy.")
 
Simran nodded slowly, fingers tracing the rim of her glass. She was trying to keep it natural, normal—like asking about any village chore. But the real question sat heavy in her chest:
 
he drank from me earlier... he liked it... and this body won't stop producing. Will I need him every time? Is this... going to keep happening?
 
She swallowed.
Kitna samay lagta hai? Ek gaay ke liye kitna samay lagta hai?
("How long does it take? To milk one cow, I mean.")
 
Bhola thought for a second.
 
"Ek gaay ko achhe se 15-20 minute lagte hain. Dono taraf se. Dheere-dheere karna padta hai, jaldi kiya toh gaay pareshan ho jati hai aur doodh kam aata hai."
("It takes 15-20 minutes to milk a cow properly, both ways. It has to be done slowly; if done quickly, the cow gets upset and the milk production is less.")
 
Aur… ye Sheetal kitna deti hai?
("And... how much milk does Sheetal give?")
 
"Sheetal? Roz subah 18-20 litre, shaam ko 12-14 litre. Total 30-35 litre ek din mein. Bahut kam gaay hoti hai aisi."
("Sheetal? 18-20 litres every morning, 12-14 litres in the evening. Total 30-35 litres a day. Very few cows are like this.")
 
Simran's eyes widened slightly. She took another sip of tea to hide her reaction.
 
Thirty-five litres...
 
Her own body felt like it was trying to compete. The thought made her shift on the sofa, thighs pressing together, a fresh tingle sparking low in her belly.
 
She kept her voice light. 
Achcha lagta hai? Tumhe doodh nikalne mein?
("Do you... like milking cows?")
 
Bhola smiled—small, genuine.
 
"Haan, Bhabhi. Bahut achha lagta hai. Yeh zindagi ka hissa hai. Maa ka doodh, bacchon ka jeena. Jo maa jitni strong hoti hai, utna zyada doodh deti hai. Bilkul jaise aap..."
("Yes, Bhabhi. It feels great. It's part of life. Mother's milk is children's survival. The stronger the mother, the more milk she gives. Just like you...")
 
Simran's breath caught. She smiled and said
 
“Mujhe Sheetal se tulna karna badh karo, Bhola.”
("Stop comparing me with Sheetal, Bhola.")
 
Bhola immediately lowered his eyes. 
"Sorry, Bhabhi."
 
Silence again. The sound of the rain filled it.
 
Simran stared at her tea. The question she really wanted to ask stayed trapped behind her teeth:
 
How will this work? Do I call you every time my breasts get full? Every day? Twice a day?
 
The thought made her face burn. She couldn't say it. Not yet.
 
Instead she asked something safer.