Adultery The Forbidden Relief – My Wife's Secret

[doodhwale_bhaiya]

The evening came.
 
That night Simran decided to play a different game.
 
She didn't call Bhola upstairs after dinner. Didn't drop any hints, didn't leave the bedroom door cracked, didn't even glance at him the way she usually did when Ravi was distracted. She simply helped clear the table, said goodnight to both of them in the most ordinary voice she could manage, then climbed the stairs with Ravi trailing behind her, yawning.
 
Inside the bedroom she changed into a loose cotton nightie, knee-length, soft pink, nothing revealing. No deep neckline, no thin straps that could slip, no open buttons. Just comfortable, decent, boring. She brushed her hair, applied a little cream on her face, switched off the main light and left only the small bedside lamp glowing. Then she slipped under the sheet next to Ravi, who was already scrolling his phone half-asleep.
 
Her tits were full again. Not painfully yet, but that familiar heavy tightness had started creeping back since afternoon. The nipples were already sensitive, brushing the cotton every time she breathed, tiny beads of milk forming and soaking faint wet spots on the front. Between her legs the fresh panty she had worn after the afternoon session was starting to cling again, warm and damp from the constant low throb she couldn't ignore.
 
She lay on her side, knees drawn up, pretending to settle in for sleep.
 
Inside her head it was chaos.
 
One voice kept screaming:
 
Just call him. Go down. Tell him you need it. He will come running. You know he will. One quick session in the kitchen, five minutes, and the ache goes away. You can sleep peacefully.
 
But the other voice, the wicked one that had been growing stronger every day, whispered back:
 
No. Let him wait tonight. Let him feel how empty his mouth is without your milk. Let him lie in his small room thinking about these tits, hard as a rock, wondering why you didn't come. Make him crazy for them. Make him ache the way you ache.
 
She squeezed her thighs together under the sheet. The pressure only made her clit pulse harder. She could picture Bhola downstairs right now, washing the last dishes or sitting on his cot, cock thick and straining in his pant, replaying every suck, every spurt of milk he had swallowed today. She imagined him staring at the ceiling, hand hovering over his bulge, not touching because he was saving it all for her, waiting for the sound of her footsteps on the stairs that never came.
 
The thought sent a fresh gush of slick into her panty. She bit her lip so hard she tasted copper.
 
Ravi shifted behind her, mumbled something sleepy, then started snoring softly.
 
Simran stayed perfectly still, pretending to drift off.
 
But her mind wouldn't shut up.
 
What if he comes up on his own? What if he knocks softly, whispers "Bhabhi" through the door? What if he can't wait and sneaks in while Ravi sleeps?
 
The fantasy made her nipples tighten painfully against the nightie, more milk leaking out in slow, warm drops that soaked the cotton and cooled on her skin.
 
She fought it. Turned onto her stomach, pressed her tits into the mattress, tried to smother the ache. It only made it worse. Every tiny shift rubbed her swollen nipples against the sheet, sent sparks straight to her clit. Her pussy lips were so puffy now she could feel them parting slightly with each breath, the panty uselessly clinging.