Adultery The Forbidden Relief – My Wife's Secret

[doodhwale_bhaiya]

“Bhabhi… ab main aapke chuchiyan choos sakta hoon? Massage khatam ho gaya hai, lekin aapke chuchiyan abhi bhi bahut bhare hue hain. Mujhe mehsoos ho raha hai.”
(“Bhabhi… can I suck your boobs now? The massage is over, but your breasts are still very full. I can feel it.”)
 
The question was so blatant, so innocent, so matter-of-fact that Simran couldn’t help the tiny, inward smile that curved her lips even as her cheeks burned.
 
She turned her head slightly on the pillow, eyes half-lidded and dreamy.
 
“Okay…”
 
Bhola reached for the straps of her nightie.
 
He hooked a finger under the right one first and eased it down her shoulder—slowly, carefully, as though he were unwrapping something sacred. The thin cotton slid off her arm, baring the full curve of her right breast. He did the same with the left strap, but it caught stubbornly on the point of her shoulder. He had to tug a little harder, fingers brushing the soft skin there, until it finally slipped free.
 
Both breasts spilled out completely—full, heavy, round, the skin stretched tight over their swollen fullness. The dark rosewood areolas were wide and textured, nipples thick and erect, already leaking slow, shiny trails of milk that ran down the undersides and pooled against the mattress.
 
Bhola looked at them for a long second—pure reverence in his eyes—then leaned forward.
 
He lifted her right breast with both hands, cradling its weight, then brought the leaking nipple to his mouth and latched on.
 
The first suck was deep and hungry. Milk jetted into his mouth in a thick, forceful stream. He swallowed with a low, satisfied moan, cheeks hollowing as he pulled harder, tongue pressing flat against the underside of the nipple to coax even more flow. His hands kneaded the soft flesh rhythmically—squeeze, lift, release—milking her downward so the milk poured steadily.
 
Simran moaned softly into the pillow, hips shifting restlessly.
 
Bhola switched to the left breast, sucking with the same greedy intensity. His hands never stopped moving—lifting, squeezing, rolling her nipples between thumb and forefinger when his mouth wasn’t on them. Milk sprayed in fine arcs every time he released a nipple to switch, coating his chin, his neck, dripping onto her stomach and the sheet beneath her.
 
He sucked like a man who had been starving for her.
 
And Simran let him—arms stretched above her head now, body arched slightly, offering her breasts completely while her mind floated in a haze of pleasure and surrender.
 
She looked like every forbidden fantasy made flesh: nightie bunched around her waist, breasts bare and glistening with milk and oil, thighs slightly parted, panty soaked through, face flushed and dreamy, hair fanned across the pillow.
 
Bhola’s innocent devotion only made it more erotic.
 
He was emptying her exactly as she needed—slow, thorough, worshipful—while Simran lay there, lost in the sensation, wondering how she had ever lived without this.
 
Bhola’s lips were sealed to her right breast like a vacuum cleaner clamped onto a thick pillow — relentless, airtight, and utterly immovable. He had taken not just the nipple but a generous mouthful of the soft, heavy flesh around it, his cheeks hollowing deeply with every powerful pull. The suction was so strong that her entire breast stretched forward into his mouth, the skin turning shiny and taut. Thick, warm jets of her sweet milk exploded against the roof of his mouth in forceful, rhythmic bursts. He swallowed greedily, loud gulping sounds filling the room, but he still couldn’t keep up with the flow. Creamy white milk bubbled from the corners of his lips, spilling down his chin in messy rivers and dripping onto her stomach and thighs in warm, sticky trails.
 
Simran’s body was on fire.
 
Her pussy had been leaking steadily for minutes, the white cotton panty now completely drenched and clinging obscenely to her swollen pink lips. Fresh slick kept gushing out of her with every deep suck, soaking through the fabric and running in hot, slippery trails down the insides of her thighs. Her clit was throbbing painfully, swollen and hypersensitive, begging for any kind of friction. She couldn’t stop herself — she crossed one leg over the other, squeezing her knees together tightly, trying desperately to trap the aching need between her thighs. The movement only made it worse. The soaked panty dragged across her clit with every tiny shift, sending sharp sparks shooting through her core.
 
The orgasmic storm was unavoidable now. It was imminent. She could feel it building deep in her belly — a heavy, coiling pressure that grew tighter with every brutal pull of Bhola’s mouth.
 
He kept sucking and sucking, eyes closed in pure bliss, completely lost in the taste and the softness. His hands lifted both heavy breasts from below, squeezing them roughly, milking them downward to force even more milk into his hungry mouth. The wet, filthy sounds were obscene — loud slurps, greedy gulps, the soft smack of his lips every time he adjusted his grip.
 
Then he pulled harder.
 
He sucked her right tit with savage force, cheeks hollowed to the extreme, tongue pressing flat against the underside of the nipple. He tugged and tugged until the entire breast stretched long and taut between his lips. With one final, violent pull, the nipple popped out of his mouth with a loud, wet POP — a thick spray of milk shooting across his face in an arc.
 
That was all it took.
 
Simran came.
 
Hard.