Adultery The Forbidden Relief – My Wife's Secret

[doodhwale_bhaiya]

Simran felt her face burn against the pillow. The blunt honesty of his words—combined with the slow, warm glide of his oiled palms—sent another helpless wave of heat straight to her core.
 
“Aapko har roz do cheezein karni chahiye, Bhabhi,” he continued in the same calm, earnest tone. “Ek toh mujhe jitni baar zaroorat ho utni baar aapka saara doodh choosne dena. Aap kar rahi hain… lekin kaafi baar nahi. Ise aur zyada baar karna chahiye. Kam se kam din mein do ya teen baar, warna wazan badhta rahega aur aapki peeth ko dard hota rahega.”
(“You must do two things daily, Bhabhi,” he continued in the same calm, earnest tone. “One is let me suck out all your milk as many times as required. You are doing it… but not frequently enough. It should be more frequent. Two or three times a day at least, otherwise the weight keeps building and your back will keep hurting.”)
 
His thumbs slid up to her neck again, pressing gently into the base of her skull.
 
“Aur doosra—aapko har roz bina miss kiye inn chuchiyon ko massage karwana chahiye. Taaki woh abhi jaise bhare-bhare aur tight rahein. Massage se doodh sahi se chalta rahta hai, skin elastic banti hai, jhukne se rokta hai. Main yeh bhi kar sakta hoon, Bhabhi. Har roz. Subah aur raat agar zaroorat pade.”
(“And second—you must get the boobs massaged every day without missing. So they remain as plump and firm as they are now. The massage keeps the milk moving properly, keeps the skin elastic, prevents sagging. I can do that too, Bhabhi. Every day. Morning and night if needed.”)
 
Simran’s breath hitched. She couldn’t form a coherent sentence. The combination of his strong hands kneading her back and the filthy, innocent way he talked about her breasts was overwhelming. Her pussy was throbbing steadily now, the white panty completely soaked through at the crotch. She could feel the wetness seeping onto her inner thighs.
 
After a long silence—punctuated only by the soft wet sounds of oiled skin gliding over skin—Simran finally spoke, voice thick and drowsy.
 
“Kya woh… ab bhare-bhare hain?”
“Are they… plump now?”
 
Bhola’s hands paused for a second, then resumed their slow circles, this time drifting lower to the small of her back.
 
“Bhabhi… yeh bilkul tight aur gol-matol hain. Perfect. Bhari hui lekin unchi, gol aur naram, bilkul jaisa hona chahiye. Fikar mat kijiye. Main inhe aise hi rakhoonga.”
(“Bhabhi… they are absolutely firm and plump. Perfect. Heavy but high, round and soft, exactly how they should be. Don’t worry. I will keep them like this.”)
 
Simran let out a soft, shaky exhale that was almost a moan. Her face was burning, but she couldn’t stop herself from asking the next question.
 
“Toh… tujhe mere boobs pasand hain?”
(“So… you like my boobs then?”)
 
Bhola’s thumbs stilled again—just for a heartbeat—before continuing their gentle pressure.
 
“Bhabhi…” His voice was quiet, reverent. “Aapke boobs sabse bariya hain. Main aajtak jitne bhi chichiyan dekhe hain unmein sabse sundar. Naram, bhare hue, hamesha garam… hamesha meethe doodh se bhare. Aur inka swaad bilkul alag hai, kuch aur jaisa nahi. Fikar mat kijiye. Main inhe tight rakhoonga. Har roz inka khayal rakhoonga.”
(“Bhabhi…” His voice was quiet, reverent. “Your boobs are the best. The most beautiful I have ever seen. Soft, full, always warm… always full of sweet milk. And they taste like nothing else. Don’t worry. I will keep them firm. I will take care of them every day.”)
 
Simran buried her face deeper into the pillow, cheeks flaming, pussy clenching hard at his innocent, worshipful words. The massage continued—slow, thorough, loving—while her mind spun with shame, arousal, and a dangerous new sense of being utterly claimed.
 
Bhola’s hands never faltered. He simply kept massaging her back, shoulders and neck with the same dedicated care he had shown every time he had emptied her breasts.
 
And Simran lay there, melting under his touch, wondering how much longer she could pretend this was only a massage.
 
Bhola’s hands left her back with a final, lingering press between her shoulder blades. The warm oil made her skin glow, every muscle loose and humming. Simran let out a long, contented sigh into the pillow, her body feeling heavier and lighter at the same time.
 
Then he shifted.
 
He moved down to the foot of the bed and gently took her right foot in both hands. His thumbs pressed into the soft sole, working the oil in slow circles around the ball of her foot and along the arch.
 
The moment his fingers touched her toes, Simran jerked.
 
A surprised giggle burst out of her.
 
“Ahh—Bhola! Isse gudgudi ho rahi hai!”
(“Ahh—Bhola! That tickles!”)
 
She instinctively tried to pull her foot away, toes curling, leg kicking lightly. Bhola held on gently but firmly, his grip warm and steady.