Adultery The Forbidden Relief – My Wife's Secret

[doodhwale_bhaiya]

She pressed her thighs together under the sheet, feeling fresh slick soak into her panty.
 
Out loud she said, “Yeah… but if they love each other enough, they’ll make it work. It’s just a physical thing. Like a duty. Shikha would do anything for Preeti, and Preeti would support her completely.”
 
Ravi’s voice dropped a little lower, almost thoughtful.
 
“Still… every day. For months. That’s not just science anymore. That’s… a lot of intimacy. Even if they say it’s only physical, the body gets used to someone. The mind starts playing tricks.”
 
He was thinking about Simran now.
 
In his head, he wasn’t seeing Shikha and Arjun.
 
He was seeing his own wife on her back, nightie pushed up, legs wrapped around some strong, hung stranger, getting fucked slow and deep every single night while he pretended to be asleep in the next room. The thought made his cock twitch under the sheet.
 
Simran turned her face toward him in the dark.
 
“But they’re lesbians, Ravi. They love each other. Shikha would never fall for Arjun emotionally. It’s just… a tool. Like you said earlier — a need. Nothing more.”
 
Ravi gave a small, almost nervous laugh.
 
“Yeah… a tool. A very dedicated tool. Every night.”
 
He squeezed her hip gently.
 
Simran’s breath caught.
 
She could feel her nipples hardening again, pressing against the nightie, a fresh drop of milk soaking the fabric.
 
Neither of them said the real thing out loud.
 
But the air in the room had suddenly become thick, heavy with unspoken fantasies.
 
Ravi was imagining his wife being used every night.
 
Simran was imagining Bhola breeding her every single night.
 
And both of them were pretending they were only talking about Preeti and Shikha.
 
Simran finally put her phone down and turned fully toward him, voice soft.
 
“Anyway… I’ll ask Preeti tomorrow. Let’s see what they actually decided.”
 
Ravi nodded, pulling her a little closer.
 
“Yeah….”
 
But neither of them fell asleep easily after that.
 
The conversation was dark and deep.
 
And it was already starting to grow.
 
Downstairs
 
Bhola lay on his narrow cot in the small back room, the single fan spinning lazily above him doing nothing to cut the thick night heat. The sheet was kicked to the foot of the bed, his pant tented obscenely over his lap. He had been hard for hours now, the kind of hard that starts as a dull throb and slowly turns into a deep, gnawing ache right at the root. Every time he shifted, the thick shaft rubbed against the thin cotton, sending a fresh jolt up his spine, but it never eased. It only got worse.
 
He didn't understand why.
 
All day her tits had been in his mouth, milk flooding his tongue, sweet and warm and endless. He had emptied her again and again, felt those heavy mangoes soften under his hands, felt her body shake when she came silently against him. That should have been enough. It always had been before. But tonight she hadn't come down. No soft footsteps on the stairs, no quiet knock, no whispered "Bhola…" through the crack in the door. Nothing.
 
And now his body was punishing him for it.