She was dripping. Her panty was completely ruined, the crotch soaked and clinging to her swollen pink lips. Fresh slick kept leaking out of her, running down her inner thighs in warm, slippery trails. Her clit was throbbing painfully, begging for any kind of friction, but she didn’t dare move too much.
Her mind was a whirlwind of filthy thoughts and guilty shame.
I kissed him. I actually kissed him on the lips. I tasted my own milk on his mouth. And now I asked him to feed me directly. What is wrong with me? I’m sitting here on the sofa with my shirt open, my tits out, letting him suck me while Ravi is sleeping upstairs. I’m going to cum again soon if he keeps sucking like this. Oh God…. I can feel it building. I want his mouth on mine. I want to taste my milk from his tongue. I want him to kiss me while my tits are still leaking. This is insane. This is dangerous. But God, I want it so badly. I’m so wet. I’m so close. Just from his mouth on my tits. I’m such a dirty wife…
Bhola continued his slow, thoughtful sucking, completely unaware of the storm he was causing inside her. His only concern was how to fulfill her request perfectly.
Simran’s hand in his hair tightened. Her hips shifted restlessly on the sofa. Her breathing was coming in short, shaky gasps now. She was teetering on the edge, her body desperate for release, her mind spinning with the forbidden image of Bhola feeding her his mouth full of her own warm milk.
The night had become something neither of them could stop.
And both of them were completely lost in it.
Bhola was nearing the end.
His sucking had slowed, becoming deeper and more focused, as if he was carefully draining the last reserves from her magnificent breasts. He had already emptied most of the right one, and now he was working on the left with long, powerful pulls. Milk still flowed, but it was slower now, thicker, the final rich cream that had been stored deepest inside her.
Simran’s hand was still gently stroking his hair, her fingers gliding through the soft strands as she watched him with heavy-lidded eyes. Her body was trembling, her pussy soaked and throbbing, but her mind was spinning with dangerous excitement.
She leaned down slightly, her voice a soft, breathless whisper against his ear.
“Mera hissa mat bhulna, Bhola…”
(“Don’t forget my share, Bhola…”)
She smiled — a small, shy, wicked little smile that made her look both innocent and sinful at the same time.
She was playing with fire, and she knew it.
Bhola slowly released her left nipple with a wet, reluctant pop. A thick drop of milk clung to the tip before falling onto his lower lip. He looked up at her, breathing heavily, his mouth and chin shiny with her cream.
“Bhabhi…agar aap ready hai, to main aapki doodh aapko dena chahta hu,” he said softly, his voice low and sincere. “Aapki chuchiyan lagbhab khali ho gayi hai.”
(“Bhabhi… if you are ready, I will take your share now,” he said softly, his voice low and sincere. “Your boobs are almost empty.”)
Simran’s heart hammered wildly. She gave him a tiny nod, her cheeks flushed deep pink.
Bhola latched back onto her left tit with renewed purpose. He grabbed both heavy breasts with his big hands, squeezing them firmly from the base, pushing them together and upward. His mouth sealed tightly around the nipple and he sucked with everything he had — deep, strong, almost brutal pulls that made Simran moan out loud in a mix of pain and overwhelming pleasure.
“Aaahhh…!”
The pressure was intense. Her sensitive breast was squeezed hard, the milk ducts forced open, and a huge, thick surge of warm, creamy milk flooded into his mouth all at once. Bhola’s cheeks bulged as he collected it, holding it there, not swallowing, letting the sweet liquid pool on his tongue. He kept sucking gently now, coaxing out every last drop while carefully storing it.
When his mouth was full — cheeks slightly puffed, lips glistening — he slowly pulled back.
A long, shiny string of milk stretched between his lower lip and her swollen nipple before breaking.
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