“Ji. Wo gehri neend mein honge, aap chaho to abhi bhi main madad kar sakta hun.”
("Yes. He must be fast asleep. I can still help you if you want.")
She just stared at him.
The way he said it, so casual, like he was offering to fold clothes or bring tea, made her face burn. Heat rushed down too, settling hot and low between her legs.
She didn’t say yes. Didn’t say no.
Just kept looking at him.
TV was still running in the background, some chef going on and on about the perfect biryani, masala ratios, dum technique, all that noise.
Simran felt that heavy, familiar ache settle deeper in her chest again. Breasts suddenly felt tighter, fuller, like they were reminding her.
She knew exactly what was going to happen next.
And some dirty, hidden part of her was already hungry for it.
Simran wanted it badly today. Much worse than yesterday. Her tits were heavy again, that deep throbbing fullness making the nightie feel tight across her chest. But honestly, it was her pussy in charge now. Aching like hell. Throbbing. Still sore from all those orgasms the day before — five? Six? She had lost count after the fourth one, body shaking uncontrollably, juices soaking her panties and everything.
Sleep had come late, and even then her dreams were full of mouths sucking hard on her nipples, rough hands squeezing her tits, that constant pulling of milk and pleasure.
Bhola saw her standing there, thinking something and paused for a second.
“Bhabhi… chai?”
She shook her head. “Wait.”
She ran up the stairs quick-quick, heart hammering, and peeked into the bedroom. Ravi was lying flat on his back, mouth open, breathing deep and heavy. She called softly. “Ravi?”
No response.
A bit louder. “Ravi…?”
Still nothing. Dead asleep. That powder had done its job too well.
She came back down, nightie swishing against her bare thighs, heavy tits swaying freely, dark nipples clearly visible through the thin blue cotton.
Bhola was waiting in the living room, eyes lowered respectfully.
Simran sat on the sofa, legs tucked at first, then slowly parted as she leaned back. The ache was already bad. Her pussy lips were rubbing together under the nightie, clit throbbing and begging for some friction.
She looked straight at him this time.
“Bhola… ye dubara bhar gaye hai.”
(“Bhola… it’s full again.”)
Bhola nodded, calm as always, but his eyes flicked to her chest and the small damp patches already forming on the fabric.
“Ji, Bhabhi. Main madad karunga.”
("Yes, Bhabhi. I'll help.")
She bit her lip.
“Jaise kal kiya tha?”
(“Like yesterday?”)
He stepped closer.
“Jaise bhi aap chahein.”
(“Any way you want.”)
This time she was ready. And so was he.
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