The image flashed so clear — Ravi’s shocked face slowly turning dark with something else, something hungry, his cock twitching in his pants while he watches his wife moan and cum just from another man’s mouth draining her tits. Her pussy clenched hard at the thought, fresh slick soaking the already ruined thong.
God, what if he says yes? What if he wants to watch? What if he even joins in one day?
She bit her lip harder, thighs rubbing together desperately, the voices in her head now three instead of two, all screaming at once while her body burned hotter than ever.
She couldn’t sleep.
Not when her body was screaming for more, and her mind was tearing itself apart.
Downstairs, Bhola closed the door to his small room and stood there for a long moment, staring at nothing.
He slowly changed into his sleeping clothes — a simple white vest and loose pants — but his movements were mechanical. His mind was elsewhere.
He sat down on the edge of his cot, elbows on his knees, hands clasped together.
He was confused. Deeply, innocently confused.
What just happened?
Bhabhi had kissed him. Not on the cheek like before, but on the lips. She had tasted her own milk from his mouth. Then she had asked him to feed her directly — to keep her milk in his mouth and give it to her like a mother bird feeding her baby. And he had done it. He had filled his mouth with her warm, sweet milk and let it flow into hers.
He touched his lips with his fingers, still able to taste her.
Was that okay? Did I do it right? Did she like it? She said it was good… but then she ran upstairs without saying anything else. Is she angry? Is she feeling bad now?
He lay down on his back, staring at the slowly spinning fan on the ceiling.
His thoughts were pure, simple, and full of genuine concern.
Bhabhi is a married woman. She has Sahib. She loves Sahib. I am only the servant. I should not have let her kiss me.
But…. she started it. She wanted it. She asked me to feed her. I only did what she asked. But maybe I should have said no.
Maybe I made her feel guilty now. She looked so shy when she left. Her face was red. Her hands were shaking. Did I do something wrong?
He turned onto his side, facing the wall.
Her milk is so sweet. So warm. I love drinking it. It makes me feel close to her. It makes me feel useful. But now she wants me to give it back to her from my mouth. That felt… different. Very intimate. Like something only special people do. Is this okay? Is this allowed? Sahib is a good man. He takes care of Bhabhi. What would he think if he knew I was feeding Bhabhi her own milk from my mouth? He would be angry. He would throw me out. And Bhabhi would be sad.
He closed his eyes, but sleep refused to come.
His cock was still half-hard in his pants, the memory of her soft breasts in his hands and her lips on his keeping him restless.
I hope she is not feeling bad. I hope she sleeps well. Tomorrow I will be careful. I will only do what she asks. I will not do anything on my own. I don’t want Bhabhi to feel guilty because of me. She is a good woman. She deserves to be happy. If drinking her milk makes her happy, I will do it. If feeding her from my mouth makes her happy, I will do that too. I just want her to be comfortable. I just want her to smile at me again.
He lay there in the dark, innocent heart heavy with worry and quiet longing, unable to sleep.
Upstairs, Simran was doing the same — staring at the ceiling, mind spinning with guilt, shame, desire, and terrifying possibilities.
And both of them knew, deep down, that tomorrow it would blur even more.
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