They stayed like that for a few more minutes — Preeti holding Simran, whispering soft reassurances, stroking her hair until Simran finally managed a small, watery smile. They slowly returned to their food, the conversation shifting to lighter topics, but the air between them remained warm and intimate, full of unspoken support.
After they finished lunch and paid the bill, the two women hugged tightly at the entrance of the restaurant.
“Call me anytime, day or night,” Preeti whispered in her ear. “I’m serious. You are not alone.”
Simran nodded, squeezed her back, and got into her car.
The drive back felt long. Simran’s mind was spinning with everything Preeti had said, but her body was already reminding her of its needs again. By the time she reached home, it was almost 5 pm.
She parked the car and walked inside without looking toward the kitchen. She could feel Bhola’s presence there — he was probably cleaning up after preparing lunch for Ravi — but she kept her eyes straight ahead and went straight upstairs without a single glance in his direction.
Once in the bedroom, she closed the door behind her, exhaled deeply, and started changing. She removed the shirt and jeans, standing in just her bra and panty for a moment. Her breasts felt heavy again, the bra already slightly damp. She slipped into her favourite soft sky-blue nightie — the one with thin straps and a loose, flowing hem that stopped mid-thigh. She kept the same white panty on, even though it was still a little damp from earlier.
Exhausted from the emotional rollercoaster of the day, she didn’t even bother turning on the lights. She simply climbed onto the bed, pulled the light sheet over herself, and lay on her side, curling up slightly.
It was only 5 pm, but her body and mind were drained.
Within minutes, she drifted off into a deep, heavy sleep — the kind that comes after too many intense feelings in one day.
Downstairs, the house was quiet.
Bhola continued with his evening chores, stealing occasional glances toward the stairs, wondering when she would need him again.
And Ravi was still in the living room, completely unaware of the storm quietly brewing in his own home.
Preeti’s Apartment
Preeti stepped into her apartment, locked the door behind her, and leaned against it for a long moment. The cool AC air hit her flushed skin, but it did nothing to calm the heat still simmering inside her body.
She kicked off her heels, walked straight to the living room, and collapsed onto the large L-shaped sofa. For several minutes she just stared at the ceiling, replaying every word Simran had said.
Bhola… their servant… is sucking her tits every day.
The image refused to leave her mind. Simran — beautiful, shy, married Simran — with her heavy, leaking breasts being hungrily sucked by a simple village boy. And not just sucked… Simran had admitted she orgasmed from it. Multiple times. Just from the sucking.
Preeti’s thighs pressed together involuntarily. She could feel herself getting wet again.
She grabbed her laptop from the coffee table, opened it, and started typing.
“can women orgasm from nipple stimulation alone”
“adult lactation orgasm”
“erotic lactation stories”
She fell down the rabbit hole fast. Medical articles turned into forums, which turned into erotic stories and videos. She clicked on one titled “Milking My Married Neighbor” and watched for a few minutes — a woman with full, heavy breasts being suckled deeply while she moaned and came untouched.
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