She pressed her palm hard between her thighs, right over her mound, trying desperately to calm the violent throbbing, but it only made her hips jerk forward involuntarily.
Stop it… stop it… she begged herself.
But her devil was merciless now:
You want to know, don’t you? You want to see it properly. Touch it. Measure it with your own hands. Feel how heavy it is. How hot. You want to rub your dripping pussy along that entire length while he empties your breasts. Admit it. You’re not wet because your tits are full anymore. You’re soaked because you’re dying to feel that huge cock against you again.
Simran’s mouth fell open in a silent gasp. Another strong cramp rolled through her lower belly. Goosebumps exploded across her arms, her neck, even the undersides of her heavy tits. She was trembling visibly.
She was losing control completely.
And the worst part?
She wasn’t sure she wanted to stop it anymore.
Simran sat there breathing hard, one hand still pressed between her thighs as if that could somehow quiet the storm raging inside her body. The vivid fantasy about Bhola’s cock had left her shaking, her panties completely drenched, and her mind spinning. For a few seconds the guilty voice — the one that had been shouting earlier — managed to push through the haze, small and desperate but still there.
Simran, stop. Just stop. Those thoughts are dangerous. They’re not you. You’re not that kind of woman. You don’t need to think about his size, about how it would feel, about any of that filth. You’re only doing this because your breasts are full and hurting. That’s all. You just need relief. Cool down. Breathe. Keep it simple. Keep it clean. Don’t let your mind go there.
The words felt weak, almost pathetic compared to the roaring heat between her legs and the heavy throbbing in her chest. The devil answered immediately, smug and silky:
Relief? Sure. Call it whatever makes you sleep at night. But we both know the truth. Your pussy is dripping just thinking about that monster he’s hiding. Still… if you want to pretend it’s only about the milk, fine. Let’s get you relieved then. But do it properly this time.
Simran squeezed her eyes shut tighter, trying to push the filthy images away. Her breasts felt even heavier now, the milk leaking faster, two large wet circles spreading across the front of her nightie. The ache was real. The pain was real. She focused on that.
Okay… okay. Just the milk. I need to get emptied before it gets worse. Where can we do this safely?
The living room felt too exposed again. The kitchen was risky if Ravi came down for water. The veranda was too open to the outside. Her mind kept circling, rejecting each spot until one idea suddenly appeared, quiet but insistent.
What about… Bhola’s room?
The thought sent a fresh ripple of goosebumps racing across her belly. His small room was right at the back of the ground floor, tucked behind the kitchen — completely separate from the main house. It had a proper door that could be locked from inside. No one ever went in there except him. If Ravi woke up and came downstairs, he would never think to check the servant’s room. They could be completely hidden.
Her devil purred at the idea:
Yes… his room. His bed. His space. You could lie down properly. Let him climb over you. He could suck you while you’re stretched out comfortably. No awkward kneeling on the floor. You could even pull him on top of you if you wanted… feel that huge body pressing you down while he drinks.
The guilty voice tried one last time, fainter now:
No… that’s his private room. That makes it even more wrong. It’s too intimate. Too close. What if someone sees you going in there together? What if…
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