Adultery The Forbidden Relief – My Wife's Secret

[doodhwale_bhaiya]

He didn't wait for her to answer. He just leaned up again, took the left nipple this time, and gave it a long, slow, deliberate suck — not as hard as the first one, but deep enough that milk flowed steadily into his mouth in thick, creamy pulses. He swallowed once, twice, then released it with another wet pop and immediately switched to the right one.
 
Simran's head fell back against the wall with a soft thud. Her fingers dug into the bedsheet beside her hips. Every time he switched, every time he described what he was doing to her breasts like it was the most normal thing in the world, fresh shame and fresh arousal crashed through her at the same time.
 
She was dying of embarrassment.
 
And she was also dying for him to keep going exactly like this — slow, thorough, relentless — until every last drop was gone and she was trembling and empty in his arms.
 
Bhola didn't waste another second. He lifted his head just enough to latch onto her right tit again, lips sealing tight around the swollen nipple like he was starving. The first suck was deep and greedy, pulling so hard that Simran's whole body jerked forward. Milk flooded his mouth in a thick, creamy rush, way more than he could swallow at once. Some of it immediately escaped the corners of his lips, running down his chin in white streams, dripping onto her thigh and soaking into the bedsheet beneath them.
 
He didn't stop. He kept sucking, cheeks hollowing with every long, forceful pull, gulping loudly when he could, letting the overflow spill freely. The wet, rhythmic slurp-slurp-slurp filled the small room, mixing with the low hum of the fan. Simran's right hand flew up to her mouth, pressing hard against her lips to muffle the moans that kept tearing out of her throat. Her left hand stayed cradling the back of his head, fingers tangled in his hair, holding him right there against her leaking breast.
 
"Aaahhh... mmmphhh..."
 
The sound came out strangled, desperate, vibrating against her palm.
 
Bhola switched without warning. He released the right nipple with a loud, wet pop, a fresh jet of milk spraying across his cheek before he dove for the left one. He lifted that heavy globe with both hands now, squeezing it firmly from the base like he was milking it properly, thumbs pressing upward in slow, rolling strokes. The pressure forced another thick spurt straight into his waiting mouth. He sealed his lips around it and sucked again, long and hard, swallowing as fast as he could while more milk bubbled out the sides anyway, coating his chin, his neck, dripping down onto her belly in warm little rivers.
 
Simran's thighs trembled around his head. Her muffled moans grew louder behind her hand, turning into broken little whimpers every time he switched back to the other side. He was relentless, alternating now exactly like he had promised. Right tit, long deep suck, squeeze, swallow, spill. Left tit, even harder pull, more squeezing, more gulping, more overflow running down his face and her skin.
 
Every time he squeezed the breast he was working on, milk jetted out in forceful pulses, filling his mouth faster than he could drink. He had to keep releasing for a second just to breathe and swallow, lips shiny and swollen, face glistening with her cream. Then he would dive right back in, latching on again, sucking even more insistently, hands kneading and pressing, coaxing every last drop out.
 
Simran's head kept tipping back against the wall, eyes squeezed shut, right hand clamped so tight over her mouth that her knuckles turned white. Her left fingers tightened in his hair, not pushing him away, but pulling him closer, urging him to keep going, to drink harder, to empty her completely.