Adultery The Forbidden Relief – My Wife's Secret

[doodhwale_bhaiya]

The dream started soft and warm.
 
She was in the kitchen again, but the house was empty. No Ravi upstairs, no risk of footsteps. Just golden light pouring through the window, dust motes dancing. Bhola stood behind her, silent as always. His big hands came around her waist, sliding up under the nightie without a word. He cupped her tits from behind, lifting their heavy weight, thumbs brushing the undersides in slow circles. Milk beaded instantly at her nipples, dripping down onto his fingers.
 
He didn't speak. He just leaned down and kissed the side of her neck, lips warm and wet. Then he turned her slowly, backing her against the counter. His mouth found her right nipple first, sucking gently at first, tongue swirling around the stiff peak. Milk flowed into his mouth in thick, sweet streams. She felt it leave her body, felt the relief, felt the heat bloom low in her belly.
 
He switched to the left, sucking harder now, cheeks hollowing. One hand stayed on her breast, squeezing in rhythm with his mouth, while the other slid down her stomach, fingers tracing the edge of her thong. He didn't push inside. Just rubbed slow, firm circles over the soaked lace, pressing exactly where her clit throbbed.
 
Her hips rolled forward on their own, chasing his touch. Milk kept leaking from both nipples even when his mouth moved away for a second, dripping down her belly, pooling in her navel. He licked the trails clean, tongue flat and hot against her skin, then went back to her tits, sucking deeper, pulling harder.
 
The dream shifted. Now she was on the sofa, legs spread wide, nightie bunched at her waist. Bhola knelt between her thighs, face buried in her cleavage, mouth moving from one nipple to the other in quick, hungry switches. Milk sprayed in fine arcs every time he released a nipple with a pop, coating his cheeks, his chin, dripping onto her stomach. His hands kneaded her ass cheeks, spreading them slightly, thumbs brushing the strings of her thong.
 
She felt herself climbing again, that familiar coil tightening low in her belly. Her pussy clenched around nothing, slick running down her crack, soaking the cushion beneath her. Bhola's mouth never left her tits, sucking, pulling, drinking like he would never get enough.
 
But the dream turned darker, more disturbing.
 
Suddenly the house wasn't empty. Shadows moved at the edges of the room. She caught glimpses of faces, voices whispering. Preeti's laugh from that old wine night, Shikha's teasing whisper about Niyoga. Then Ravi's face appeared in the doorway, eyes wide, frozen. He didn't speak. He just watched. Watched Bhola drink from her, watched her arch and gasp, watched milk spray and drip while her hips bucked against the servant's hand.
 
Shame flooded her, hot and choking, but it only made the pleasure sharper. She came in the dream, hard and sudden, thighs clamping around Bhola's head, pussy spasming, slick gushing through the thong. Milk jetted from both nipples at the same moment, spraying across his face in forceful arcs.
 
Ravi kept watching. Silent. Unmoving.
 
The shame twisted into something darker, something that made her come again, even harder, body shaking uncontrollably.
 
She woke with a violent start.
 
It was dark outside. The room was lit only by the faint glow of the streetlight sneaking through the curtains.
 
7 pm, the clock on the wall said.
 
Evening already.
 
Ravi was still asleep beside her, snoring softly, one arm thrown over the pillow.
 
Simran lay there panting, heart hammering against her ribs. Sweat beaded on her forehead, between her breasts. Her thong was drenched again, pussy lips swollen and throbbing from the dream alone. Her nipples were hard peaks under the nightie, tingling like they remembered every suck, every pull.
 
She pressed her thighs together hard, trying to ease the ache, but it only made it worse.
 
The dream clung to her skin like smoke. The pleasure. The shame. Ravi watching.
 
She stared at the ceiling, breathing slow and shaky.
 
What the hell was happening to her?
 
Simran finally got up around 7:15, the room already dim with evening shadows creeping in. Her skin felt sticky, a thin film of sweat covering her neck, the valley between her breasts, and the small of her back. The blue nightie clung to her like wet paper, especially around the chest where fresh beads of milk had leaked again during the dream and mixed with the perspiration. The fabric was darkened in ugly patches, smelling faintly of salt and sweet cream. Between her legs the tiny black thong was a sodden mess, the lace plastered to her puffy pussy lips since morning, every fold outlined and slippery from all the arousal that never quite stopped.