Adultery The Forbidden Relief – My Wife's Secret

[doodhwale_bhaiya]

Ravi nodded, still half-asleep. “Theek hai. Kya tum mujhe ek glass paani de sakte ho, Bhola?”
(Ravi nodded, still half-asleep. “Okay. Can you give me a glass of water, Bhola?”)
 
“Ji, Sahib.”
 
Bhola moved to the kitchen counter and poured a fresh glass of water, handing it to Ravi without any sign of nervousness.
 
Ravi took a few sips, then looked at Simran, who was sitting on the sofa trying to appear relaxed, though her cheeks were flushed and her hands were clasped tightly in her lap. Thankfully, her laptop was open and was kept on the Centre Table.
 
“Hi,” he said with a sleepy smile. “How long will you take? I was getting lonely up there.”
 
Simran forced a smile, her voice slightly hoarse. “You should not have come down. Just should have called me. I would have gotten you water. I still have about thirty minutes of work left.”
 
Ravi shrugged, finishing the water. “No problem. I knew you were busy, so I didn’t want to disturb you. I’ll go back up.”
 
He placed the empty glass on the table, gave her a small wave, and headed back toward the stairs.
 
The moment his footsteps started climbing, the tension in the living room exploded.
 
Simran let out a long, shaky breath she didn’t realize she had been holding. Her heart was racing so hard she felt dizzy. Milk was still slowly leaking from her nipples, soaking the front of her shirt in two large, dark patches. Her pussy was throbbing, the earlier near-orgasm and the extreme risk making her even wetter.
 
Bhola stayed crouched behind the sofa for a few more seconds until Ravi’s door closed upstairs. Then he slowly stood up, still holding the glass that now contained only a small amount of her spilled milk.
 
Both of them looked at each other in the dim light — faces flushed, breathing heavy, the air thick with adrenaline and unspoken desire.
 
The night was far from over.
 
And the danger had only just begun.
 
Bhola came back from the kitchen within a minute, his steps quiet but purposeful. He didn’t speak. He didn’t ask permission. He simply walked straight to the sofa, dropped to his knees between Simran’s parted legs, and reached up with both hands.
 
Without a single word, he slid undid her shoulder straps on her sides, grabbed her already protruding tits, lifted the heavy, swollen globes, and pulled them toward his face. He lowered his head and latched onto her right nipple with raw hunger, taking a large portion of the soft flesh into his mouth along with the thick, dark nipple. He sucked immediately — deep, powerful, almost desperate pulls that made loud, wet, obscene slurping sounds fill the living room once again.
 
Simran gasped sharply, her back arching off the sofa cushion.
 
“Aaahhh…”
 
Milk jetted forcefully into his mouth in thick, creamy streams. He swallowed greedily, gulping loudly, but still more overflowed from the corners of his lips, running down his chin and dripping onto her bare stomach in warm, sticky trails.
 
It was as if Ravi’s sudden appearance downstairs and the terrifying near-miss had never happened. They fell right back into the same filthy, addictive rhythm — Bhola drinking from her like a starving man, Simran sitting there with her shirt open, letting him devour her tits while her husband slept just upstairs.
 
Her left hand moved on its own again, sliding into his hair, fingers gently stroking and holding him close. Her right hand rested on the sofa arm, gripping it tightly as waves of pleasure and pressure rolled through her body.
 
After a particularly long, deep suck that made her whole breast jiggle in his mouth, Simran managed to whisper breathlessly:
 
“Glass ya bowl se kaam nahi chalega, Bhola… bahut time lagega…”
(“Glass or bowl will not work, Bhola… it will take too much time…”)