Adultery The Forbidden Relief – My Wife's Secret

[doodhwale_bhaiya]

When he stepped back into the bedroom, Simran was still standing in the same spot, gown parted just enough that the inner curves of her breasts were visible, soft and heavy in the dim light.
 
She looked at the bundle in his arms, then at his face.
 
"Thanks," she said quietly.
 
Bhola shook his head once, voice low and rough around the edges.
 
"Bhabhi... please mujhe thanks mat bolo aapki chuchiyon ko chusne ke liye. Aapke boobs bahut shandaar hain. Itne sundar, itne naram, aur doodh itna meetha... main toh aapko thank bolna chahiye."
("Bhabhi... please don't thank me for sucking your boobs. Your boobs are absolutely fantastic. So beautiful, so soft, and the milk is so sweet... I should be the one thanking you.")
 
Simran's face went scarlet in an instant. She stepped forward fast and pushed his shoulder with the flat of her palm, not hard, but enough to make him take half a step back.
 
"Bas karo Bhola!" she hissed, voice a mix of embarrassment and something hotter. "Itna sab mat bolo mere baare mein. Sharm aati hai mujhe."
("Stop it, Bhola!" she hissed, her voice a mix of embarrassment and something hotter. "Don't say so much about me. I feel shy.")
 
He looked down at her, eyes dark and steady, the smallest smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. The bundle of her dirty clothes was still cradled against his chest like something precious.
 
"Ji Bhabhi," he said softly. "Par sach toh sach hai."
("Yes Bhabhi," he said softly. "But the truth is the truth.")
 
She turned her face away, cheeks burning, one hand coming up to pull the gown closed over her tits, though the fabric was too thin to hide how stiff her nipples still were.
 
"Jaao ab," she muttered, pushing him lightly toward the door again. "Aur jaldi se niche jao."
("Go now," she muttered, pushing him lightly toward the door again. "And go downstairs quickly.")
 
Bhola gave her one last long look, then stepped out into the corridor. He pulled the door almost shut behind him, leaving just a crack.
 
Simran stood there alone for a second, heart hammering, breath coming in short little pants. She could still feel his mouth on her, the way he'd sucked her dry so fast and so hard. And now his words were echoing in her head, making her pussy throb all over again.
 
Downstairs Bhola walked down the steps slowly, smiling to himself, the bundle of her clothes pressed close to his chest. The faint sweet-musk smell of her thong and nightie kept drifting up to him with every step.
 
He was still hard as iron.
 
And he thought, would she need him again before the night was over?
 
 
 
Next Day
 
The house was still quiet when Simran came down the next morning, bare feet silent on the cool tiles. Ravi was still snoring upstairs, dead to the world after another long sleep. She had changed into the light blue front-open gown again, only three middle buttons fastened, the rest left deliberately undone. The soft cotton parted with every step, flashing the smooth skin of her inner thighs and the delicate white lace panty she had chosen this time — tiny, almost sheer, the front panel already damp from the moment she woke up thinking about this.
 
Bhola was in the kitchen, chopping ginger for tea. He looked up the second she entered, eyes darkening when he saw the gown hanging open like an invitation.
 
Without a word, Simran walked straight to the marble slab, hopped up onto it, and sat right on the edge. Her ass cheeks spread slightly on the cool stone.
 
Her magnificent tits spilled out the moment the gown gaped wider, heavy and full again, nipples already leaking tiny beads of milk that rolled down the curved undersides.
 
Bhola didn’t need instructions.
 
He stepped in close, hands sliding under the open gown to cup both breasts at once. He lifted them reverently, thumbs brushing the sensitive undersides, then leaned down and took the right nipple deep into his mouth. The first suck was animalistic — raw, hungry, almost violent. He pulled hard, cheeks hollowing, drawing a thick, forceful jet of milk straight onto his tongue. Milk overflowed instantly, spilling from the corners of his lips and running down his chin in warm white streams.
 
But even in that hunger, there was love. His tongue swirled slow and worshipful around the stiff peak, lips sealing tight, sucking in long, rhythmic pulls that made her tits jiggle heavily. He squeezed the base of the breast he was drinking from, rolling the flesh upward like he was coaxing every drop from deep inside her. Then he switched, mouth moving to the left tit, sucking just as greedily, hands never leaving her, kneading, lifting, worshipping.
 
Simran’s head fell back, lips parted in silent gasps. Her heels dug into his lower back, pulling him even closer so his hard bulge pressed right against the soaked crotch of her panty. She could feel the massive outline throbbing against her clit through the thin fabric, and every hard suck on her tits made her grind helplessly against it.
 
Milk kept spraying. It coated his face, dripped onto her thighs, soaked the front of his kurta. The wet, filthy sounds of him drinking filled the quiet kitchen — loud gulps, messy slurps, the soft slap of his lips and tongue against her swollen nipples.
 
She came like that, thighs shaking around his waist, pussy clenching hard against his trapped cock, a silent, trembling orgasm that made fresh slick soak through her panty and smear across the front of his pants. Bhola never stopped sucking. He just kept drinking, kept loving her tits like they were the only thing that mattered in the world.