Chapter 3
Simran barely made it to the bedroom.
The moment she closed the door behind her, her legs gave out. She stumbled forward and fell face-first onto the bed, the soft mattress catching her trembling body. She lay there on her stomach, shirt still half-open, breasts pressed against the sheet, breathing hard and fast. Her heart was pounding so violently she could feel it in her throat, in her temples, even between her legs.
She didn’t move for a long time.
Her mind was a battlefield, and both sides were screaming at full volume.
The good wife — the dutiful, loyal Simran who had promised herself to Ravi forever — was in full panic mode.
What the hell did you just do? You kissed him. You actually pressed your lips to his and tasted your own milk on his mouth. Then you asked him to feed you directly from his mouth like some kind of… animal. You let him give you your own milk straight from his tongue while Ravi was sleeping upstairs. You’re disgusting. You’re a cheater. You’re ruining everything. If Ravi ever finds out, he will leave you. He will look at you with disgust and walk out of your life forever. You don’t deserve him. You don’t deserve this marriage. You need to stop this right now. Tomorrow you will tell Bhola it’s over. No more. Never again.
But the devil — that dark, hungry, addictive voice that had grown stronger every single day — was laughing at her.
Stop? You don’t want to stop. You loved it. You loved the way his lips felt against yours. You loved the warm, sweet taste of your own milk flowing from his mouth into yours. You loved how intimate it was. How filthy it was. How wrong it was. You’re already wet again just thinking about it. Your pussy is throbbing. Your tits are still leaking. You want more. You want him to fill his mouth again and kiss you properly next time. You want his tongue in your mouth while your milk is still on it. You want him to feed you every single night. You’re not a good wife anymore. You’re a horny little milk slut who needs her servant’s mouth. Admit it. You’re already imagining him doing it again tomorrow.
The two voices in her head kept fighting, loud and endless, spinning round and round like a storm she couldn’t shut off.
One part of her whispered, soft and scared:
What if I just stop right now? Stop letting Bhola touch me, stop opening my nightie for him every evening. He’d look so hurt, so confused, standing there with those big innocent eyes, wondering what he did wrong. My breasts would start aching again in a few hours, that heavy, tight pain coming back like an old enemy, forcing me to drag out the pump, sit alone in the bathroom squeezing and crying in frustration. I’d go right back to those sleepless nights, feeling like my own body was punishing me. But at least Ravi would stay safe. He’d never know. Our marriage would still be whole, even if I was falling apart inside.
Then the other voice pushed back, hotter, hungrier, drowning out the fear:
What if I don’t stop? What if I keep letting him? The pleasure would only get better, deeper. Every time his rough mouth latches on, sucks harder, drinks me dry, the relief would mix with that electric rush until I’m shaking, thighs trembling, pussy clenching on nothing. The orgasms would keep coming stronger, ripping through me harder each night, leaving me boneless and glowing on the sofa while he wipes his lips like it’s just his duty. I’d feel light again, satisfied, my body finally taken care of the way it’s screaming to be. But the guilt… god, the guilt would grow like a shadow inside me, heavier every day, whispering that I’m a cheating slut, that I’m betraying the man who still kisses me goodnight. And one day Ravi will notice something — a wet spot on my nightie he can’t explain, the way I flinch when he touches my breasts, or maybe he’ll just walk in at the wrong second and see Bhola’s head buried between them, milk dripping down my stomach. Then everything will burn. Our home, our life, the quiet love we built — gone in one ugly moment.
She pressed her thighs together hard, feeling the soaked lace drag over her still-throbbing clit, and let out a shaky breath. Both paths hurt. Both paths felt like losing something she couldn’t get back.
But her body was already leaning one way, nipples leaking slow drops through the thin cotton, aching for the next pull of that warm mouth. And the voices kept arguing, louder than ever, while she sat there dripping and torn.
She turned onto her back, staring at the ceiling, one hand unconsciously resting on her lower belly where the heat refused to die down. Her nipples were still hard, still leaking slowly into the nightie. Her pussy was slick and swollen, clit pulsing with every heartbeat.
Then a new thought slipped in, quieter at first but growing hotter, making her stomach twist in a completely different way.
What if Ravi somehow… allows it? What if Preeti was right? She had whispered it so casually on the phone yesterday, voice all sweet and wicked:
“Simran, trust me, I can talk to him. Men like Ravi… once they see how happy and light you look, once they understand it’s just your body needing relief, they get curious. I’ve seen it happen. I can convince him. Slowly.”
Could she really do it? Could Preeti actually sit Ravi down, explain everything without making it sound dirty, without making him hate her? Would he allow it? Would he sit there one evening, heart pounding, and nod while Bhola kneels between her spread thighs, lifts her heavy leaking breasts and starts sucking loud and greedy right in front of him?
![[+]](https://xossipy.com/themes/sharepoint/collapse_collapsed.png)