Not for a baby… but for this. For the milk. For the relief Ravi can’t give me. For the pleasure he never could. Bhola is already drinking from me like no one else can. What if he did more? What if that huge thing was the one stretching me open while he emptied my breasts at the same time?
Bhola yanked her left tit down harder, sucking with fresh urgency, trying to finish both sides quickly. Milk spilled messily over his face again as he switched back to the right one, pulling and squeezing without mercy.
Simran’s muffled moan turned into a shaky, desperate whimper behind her hand. Her hips twitched forward on their own, the tiny black thong rubbing uselessly against her throbbing clit. Her eyes stayed glued to that impossible bulge, watching it throb in time with every hard suck he took.
She was terrified.
She was dripping wet.
And the ancient idea of Niyoga had never felt more tempting in her entire life.
Bhola gripped her left tit with both hands now, fingers digging deep into the soft flesh just below the nipple. He pulled it down hard toward his mouth, stretching the heavy globe until the skin turned shiny and taut. Milk had already slowed to a thin trickle, but he wasn't done. He sucked again, long and fierce, cheeks hollowing so deep it looked painful. When only a few weak drops came out, he squeezed harder, milking downward in rough, rolling strokes like he was forcing the last stubborn drops from a nearly empty udder.
Simran cried out behind her hand, the sound sharp and raw even muffled.
"Aaaahhh... Bhola... dard ho raha hai..."
("Aaaahhh... Bhola... it's hurting..." )
The pulling hurt now, a sharp sting that cut through the haze of pleasure. Her body jerked, thighs clamping tighter around his head, and the filthy daydream about his monster cock shattered in an instant. She snapped back to the present, cheeks burning, heart slamming against her ribs. No more fantasies. Just the ache, the wet sounds, and the reality of a man sucking her tits dry in his own bed while her husband slept upstairs.
Bhola felt the change immediately. No more milk flowed. He released the left nipple with a final soft pop, the peak red and swollen, glistening with spit and the last faint traces of cream. Without a word he switched to the right one. He yanked it down just as roughly, latched on, and went back to work with the same single-minded hunger.
For the next five minutes he was relentless. Long pulls, hard squeezes, gulps that echoed in the small room. Milk came slower now, but he kept going, determined to leave nothing behind. Every dry pull made Simran flinch, every squeeze drew a stifled whimper from behind her palm. Her left hand stayed tangled in his hair, trembling, not pushing him away but not quite holding him close anymore either.
She wanted to come so badly. Her pussy was throbbing, swollen, dripping through the tiny black thong, clit begging for pressure. But she couldn't move properly. His head was locked between her thighs, her legs trapped open around him, hips pinned by his weight and her own need to stay quiet. No grinding, no rubbing, no relief. Just the constant wet suction on her tits and the unbearable, untouched ache between her legs.
She looked down again, helpless. His cock was still standing like a steel rod inside his pants, thick and rigid, the head pushing so high it looked ready to tear the waistband. The fabric was stretched to breaking, every vein outlined, the whole length pulsing visibly with each hard suck he took on her breast. It was obscene, almost angry, trapped and saluting straight up while he drank her dry. Simran's belly cramped again, fresh heat flooding her core, but she couldn't do anything about it.
Finally Bhola slowed. He gave one last long, dry pull on the right nipple, cheeks hollowing, tongue flicking over the empty peak. Nothing came. He squeezed once more from the base upward, milking the last faint bead that appeared, then released her with a soft, wet sound. Both breasts hung heavy and spent, nipples dark red, shiny, slightly deflated now that the pressure was gone.
He lifted his head slowly, face flushed and glistening, chin and neck soaked in creamy streaks. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, breathing hard through his nose.
"Bhabhi... maine poora doodh pee liya. Dono taraf se bilkul khali kar diya. Ab dard nahi hoga."
("Bhabhi... I've drunk all the milk. Emptied both sides completely. Now there won't be any pain.")
Simran let her hand fall away from her mouth. Her lips were swollen from biting them, cheeks flushed deep crimson. She looked down at him, then at her own breasts, still trembling slightly from the rough treatment.
"Thank you, Bhola," she whispered, voice hoarse and shaky.
He nodded once, then pushed himself up off her lap. The moment he stood, that massive erection became even more obvious. The front of his pants looked painful, the thick pole straining upward, head clearly defined against the dark fabric, not softening even a little. He didn't touch it, didn't acknowledge it, just turned slightly away like he was embarrassed by his own body.
Simran sat up slowly. Her nightie was bunched around her waist, breasts bare and slick. She pulled the thin straps back onto her shoulders one by one, wincing a little as the cotton brushed over her raw nipples. The fabric clung wetly to her skin, outlining the swollen peaks even after he had emptied her. She tugged the hem down over her thighs, trying to cover the soaked thong and the slick mess between her legs, but the material stuck to her anyway.
Bhola stepped back, giving her space. Simran swung her legs off the bed and stood on unsteady feet. Her breasts felt lighter, almost empty, the deep ache replaced by a dull, sensitive throb. She smoothed her hair with shaking fingers, avoiding his eyes.
They walked out of his room together in silence. He opened the door first, checked the corridor, then stepped aside to let her go ahead. Simran moved past him, nightie swishing against her thighs, the faint wet patches on the front still visible if anyone looked too closely.
Neither of them spoke.
The door clicked shut behind them, soft and final, like nothing had happened at all.
But both of them knew everything had changed.
To be continued....
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