She tasted her own milk on his lips — warm, sweet, slightly creamy.
The moment her lips touched his, a violent shiver ran through her entire body. Her pussy clenched hard, fresh slick gushing into her already ruined panty.
Bhola froze, eyes wide with surprise. His bladder was full, his mind foggy from drinking so much, so he couldn’t fully register what had just happened. He simply blinked, breathing hard, milk still dripping from his chin.
He got up slowly, wiping his mouth again with the back of his hand.
“Please mat jao, Bhabhi,” he said, voice low and urgent. “Abhi bahut bacha hua hai. Aapke chuchiyan abhi bhi bahut bhare hue hain. Main bas ek minute mein wapas aa jaunga.”
(“Please don’t go, Bhabhi,” he said, voice low and urgent. “There is still a lot left. Your boobs are still very full. I will just come back in one minute.”)
He turned around quickly and walked toward his room to relieve himself.
The moment he turned, Simran’s eyes dropped.
His pants were thin and he wasn’t wearing underwear.
The thick, heavy log of his cock swung visibly inside the fabric as he moved — long, fat, and heavy, the outline of the swollen head clearly defined, pressing against the material like it wanted to tear free. It was monstrous she thought. It could easily be ten inches even when soft, thick as her wrist, hanging heavily between his strong thighs.
Simran’s mouth fell open slightly.
She was shocked by what she had just done — kissing him on the lips, tasting her own milk on him.
But she was even more shocked by the sheer size of what she had just seen.
Her mind exploded with filthy, dangerous thoughts.
Oh my God… that’s his cock? That huge, thick thing is what I’ve been grinding against? No wonder it felt so big… so heavy. What would it look like hard? How would it feel stretching me open? Would it even fit? Hey did he not wear underwear?
She pressed her thighs together hard, feeling a fresh flood of slick soak through her panty and trickle down her inner thigh. Her nipples throbbed painfully, leaking faster now, two large wet spots spreading across the front of her nightie.
The sane voice tried one last time:
Stop. This is too far. You just kissed him. You tasted your own milk on his lips. You’re losing control. Go upstairs right now.
But the devil was laughing, whispering hot and filthy in her ear:
Look at that monster. You felt it before, pressing against your wet cunt while he sucked you. Now you’ve seen it again, though not openly. You know how big he really is. Imagine that thick cock sliding into your dripping pussy while he sucks your tits at the same time. Imagine him breeding you right here on this sofa while Ravi sleeps upstairs. You want it. You’re dripping just thinking about it. You’re not a good wife anymore. You’re a horny little milk slut who needs her servant’s big cock.
Simran sat there on the sofa, shirt still open, tits out and leaking, pussy throbbing, mind completely overwhelmed by the dangerous new image that had just been burned into her brain.
Bhola’s massive cock.
And the terrifying, irresistible thought of what it could do to her.
She was in deep, deep trouble.
And some secret, shameful part of her was already excited to see how much deeper she could fall.
Bhola returned from the bathroom a minute later, his steps were quiet on the tiled floor. He didn’t say a word. He simply walked straight to the sofa where Simran was sitting, dropped to his knees in front of her, and reached up with both hands.
He grabbed her already protruding tits firmly, lifting the heavy, swollen globes upward and slightly outward, feeling their weight, their warmth, the way they overflowed his palms. He bounced them gently once, twice, as if testing how full they still were, then lowered his head and dived straight into the right one.
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