Adultery The Forbidden Relief – My Wife's Secret

[doodhwale_bhaiya]

Her pussy clenched hard at the sight. A fresh gush of slick soaked the tiny black thong, the strings digging deeper into her ass cheeks as her hips gave a tiny, helpless twitch. She couldn't look away. That pole was right there, inches from her dripping cunt, separated only by his pants and her bunched-up nightie. Every time Bhola pulled her breast down harder, his hips lifted just a fraction off the bed, making the monster shift and throb even more obviously.
 
Simran's muffled moan turned into a shaky whimper behind her palm. She was shaking now, thighs trembling, belly cramping with need. Bhola kept sucking, kept pulling, kept squeezing, completely unaware of how badly she wanted to reach down and touch that thing, feel how hot and heavy it really was while he drank her dry.
 
She was so close to losing it completely.
 
And he was still just doing his job.
 
Simran’s body was on fire. Bhola had shifted into a more aggressive rhythm now, determined to finish the job as fast as possible. He grabbed her right breast with both hands, squeezed it hard from the base, and yanked it down toward his open mouth. His lips locked around the nipple and he sucked with raw power, cheeks hollowing deeply. Milk jetted out in thick, forceful streams, filling his mouth so quickly that it overflowed instantly, spilling down his chin and neck in messy white rivers. He didn’t slow down. He kept pulling, kept sucking, using his hands to milk her like he was wringing every last drop from a ripe fruit.
 
Then he switched. He released the right one with a wet smack and immediately seized the left, dragging it down even harder, fingers digging into the soft, heavy flesh as he latched on and sucked with the same brutal intensity. Milk sprayed against the roof of his mouth and spilled everywhere again, soaking his kurta, her thighs, the bedsheet. His hands never stopped working, squeezing, pulling, kneading, stretching her magnificent tits toward him as if he wanted to swallow them whole.
 
Simran’s right hand stayed clamped desperately over her mouth, muffling the long, broken moans that kept escaping. “Mmmphhh… aaaaahhhh…” The sounds vibrated against her palm, but she couldn’t stop them. Her left hand gripped the back of his head tighter, fingers twisted in his hair, half-holding him in place as her body shook.
 
And all the while, her eyes kept drifting helplessly to the monster between his legs.
 
God… look at it.
 
That huge, rigid pole stood straight up under his pants, straining the fabric so tightly she could see the thick veins running along the shaft. It throbbed visibly with every hard suck he took on her breasts, jerking upward like it had a heartbeat of its own. The head was clearly outlined, swollen and angry, pressing so high against the waistband that the outline looked almost obscene. Ten inches. Maybe more. It looked inhuman. Terrifying. And unbearably tempting.
 
Her mind spiraled.
 
How is that even possible? she thought, shame and lust crashing together.
 
In real life? Not in those fake porn videos? But I felt it yesterday… that heat, that thickness when I ground on him. It’s real. It’s right there. What would it feel like if he…
 
A sudden flashback hit her hard, pulling her back to a late-night conversation a few weeks ago with her two closest friends.
 
Shikha and Preeti had been drinking wine at Preeti’s place. The topic had turned to fertility struggles, to husbands who couldn’t satisfy, to desperate solutions. Preeti had laughed nervously and brought up the old scriptures.
 
“You know what they used to call it in the ancient days? Niyoga,” Preeti had said, swirling her glass. “When the husband couldn’t give a child, the wife was allowed to choose another man, just for that purpose. No emotions, no affair, just… duty. The child would still belong to the husband. Arjun told me about it once. He even joked that in today’s world, some women still need their own version of Niyoga.”
 
Shikha had leaned in, eyes sparkling with mischief. “Arjun would make a perfect Niyoga man, wouldn’t he? Strong seed, no complications. Imagine… a man like that helping you when your own husband can’t.”
 
They had all laughed it off that night, but the word had stuck in Simran’s head. Niyoga. Appointing another man when your own couldn’t fulfill the need.
 
Now, with Bhola’s mouth devouring her tits and that monstrous cock tenting his pants just inches from her soaked thong, the memory felt dangerously relevant.
 
Is this my Niyoga?  her devil whispered hotly inside her head.