Adultery The Forbidden Relief – My Wife's Secret

[doodhwale_bhaiya]

The kettle on the stove started whistling loudly. She rushed over and turned the gas down just in time, the water almost overflowing. Steam rose in thick clouds around her face.
 
She stood there for a moment, staring at the boiling water, her mind racing.
 
Should I add one more cup for him?
 
She reached for the extra cup, then stopped.
 
No.
 
He doesn’t need tea right now.
 
He will drink my milk.
 
The thought was so filthy, so direct, that it made her pussy throb hard. She could feel herself getting wetter, the crotch of her panty sticking to her folds. Her breasts ached with fullness, heavy and painful, begging for his mouth.
 
She left the extra cup on the shelf and continued making tea for herself only.
 
A minute later, Bhola walked into the kitchen wearing a simple white T-shirt that stretched across his broad chest and a pair of dark pants. His hair was still slightly damp, and he smelled clean and masculine. He moved to the stove without a word and took over making the tea properly, adding ginger and cardamom the way she liked it.
 
Simran sat down at the small kitchen table, watching him quietly. Her mind was a whirlwind.
 
Preeti’s words kept echoing in her head.
 
“You are living life… This is every girl’s dream… You are having multiple orgasms a day… Ravi will agree. He has to…”
 
She pictured telling Ravi everything. Pictured his face when he found out that their servant had been sucking her tits every day, making her cum again and again while he slept upstairs.
 
Would he be angry? Hurt? Disgusted? Or… would some secret part of him be excited by it?
 
The thought made her stomach twist with guilt and something darker, hotter.
 
She crossed her legs tightly under the table, feeling the slickness between her thighs. Her breasts felt heavier than ever, the wet spots on her nightie growing larger. She needed relief again already.
 
Bhola placed the steaming cup of tea in front of her without speaking, but his eyes lingered on the dark wet patches over her nipples for a fraction of a second longer than necessary.
 
Simran looked up at him, their eyes meeting across the table.
 
Neither of them said a word.
 
But the air between them was thick with everything that had been left unsaid.
 
And Simran knew, deep down, that she was running out of time to decide what she really wanted.
 
She got up from the table and moved towards the sofa with the tea.
 
Simran sat on the sofa with her legs tucked beneath her, the steaming cup of tea held between both hands. The house was quiet except for the low hum of the refrigerator and the occasional distant sound of a car passing outside. She took small sips, but the tea did nothing to calm the storm raging inside her.
 
This is so disgusting of me, she thought, staring blankly at the wall.
 
I’m a married woman. Ravi is upstairs, trusting me completely, and here I am… sneaking around like a whore, letting our servant drink from my tits every single day. I came on his mouth this morning while Ravi was in the same house. What kind of wife does that? I should be ashamed. I am ashamed.
 
The guilt twisted in her stomach like a knife, but it couldn’t stop the heat building between her legs. Her breasts felt heavier than ever, the milk pressure deep and insistent. Every time she breathed, the soft fabric of her nightie dragged across her stiff nipples, sending little sparks straight to her clit. She could feel the warm, sticky wetness leaking from her nipples, slowly soaking into the cotton.
 
She shifted on the sofa, pressing her thighs together, but that only made the ache worse.