Adultery The Forbidden Relief – My Wife's Secret

[doodhwale_bhaiya]

Bhola dipped both thumbs back into the bowl, coating them thick with honey and oil, and brought them straight to her nipples without any warning. He pressed down hard, rolling the pads of his thumbs over those stiff peaks, then pinched them lightly between his thumb and forefinger, twisting just enough to make her lose it.
 
Simran jumped like she’d been shocked — her whole body jerking upward. 
“Aaahhh!”
 
Her thighs snapped tight around his waist, locking him in place. Her hips slid down hard, mashing her soaked pussy right against the front of his kurta. She could feel him clearly — thick, rock hard, throbbing — pressing straight against her swollen clit through the cloth. The moment she felt that heat, she ground once, twice — desperate little rocks — and came again.
 
This orgasm wasn’t wild or loud. No screaming, no violent shaking. Just a deep, slow rolling wave that started from her aching nipples and crashed hard in her belly. Her pussy clenched tight around nothing, fresh slick gushing out and soaking through the lace onto his kurta. Her fingers dug deep into the sofa arms, bunching up the fabric under her nails. Her heavy breasts bounced with every pulse, more milk leaking out in slow, creamy dribbles down the curves.
 
Bhola didn’t stop at all. He kept circling her nipples with those honey-slick thumbs — slow, firm, and fucking relentless — while she rode out the orgasm, hips twitching and jerking against him, her moans turning into soft, broken whimpers.
She was cumming again. Just from his hands on her tits. No cock. No fingers inside her. Just his thumbs rolling her sensitive nipples and his palms squeezing her full, dripping mangoes.
 
Seriously, this had to be the tenth time today, maybe the eleventh. She had lost count long ago. Her body was so sensitive now, like a live wire, ready to explode at the slightest touch.
 
Bhola finally slowed down, his thumbs turning gentle, letting her come down slowly.
 
Simran slumped forward, forehead resting on his shoulder, breathing hard and ragged. Her breasts were still leaking softly, soaking the front of his kurta.
 
The whole room smelled of honey, milk, and her.
 
Bhola finally pulled his mouth off her nipple. His lips were all shiny and swollen, and a thin string of her milk stretched between his tongue and her nipple before it finally snapped. He wiped his chin with the back of his hand, breathing heavy, eyes still a bit dazed from everything he had just sucked out of her.
 
“Bhabhi... ho gaya,” he said softly. “Aap jaake rest kijiye.”
("Bhabhi... it's done," he said softly. "You should go and rest.")
 
Simran didn’t reply immediately. She was completely wrecked — body all loose and heavy, stuck in that weird space between total exhaustion and this warm, satisfied glow. Her tits felt empty for the first time in hours, soft and tender now, nipples all puffy and dark from so much sucking. Milk was still sticking to her skin in messy trails, slowly cooling and making her shiver.
 
She pushed herself up slowly, arms shaking. The nightie was still bunched up around her waist. She pulled it down over her hips, the silk sticking to her wet thighs before it finally fell into place. No bra, no fresh panties — just the nightie and that same black lace pair which was now totally soaked and useless. She didn’t give a damn.
 
She stood up. Her legs wobbled badly. Bhola quickly reached out to hold her elbow, but she gently waved his hand away.
 
“Main... theek hoon.”
("I'm…  fine.")