Adultery The Forbidden Relief – My Wife's Secret

[doodhwale_bhaiya]

Dholakpur

 

Afternoon sun slanted through the small kitchen window of the old Dholakpur haveli, turning Komal’s sweat-slick skin to gold. She stood at the chulha, stirring the herbal powder into a pot of fresh milk — the same strong mix that had Simran’s mother, Nimrat, up in Mumbai leaking nonstop these days, her heavy tits always full and aching. Komal’s red saree pallu was knotted tight at her waist, the thin blouse already clinging wet to her 36E breasts, dark wet patches spreading where her own milk kept seeping out.
 
Outside in the shed, Jai Singh — her husband, Bhola’s elder brother — was shouting at the cows, his voice drifting in now and then. The risk hung heavy. And that risk made Maan Singh’s thick cock stand up even harder.
 
Rough hands grabbed her from behind without a word. Maan Singh’s tall, muscled 58-year-old body slammed against her back, pinning her to the chulha. His big palms swallowed both her juicy tits over the blouse and squeezed hard, thumbs grinding her stiff, leaking nipples till milk squirted in thin streams.
 
“Aaahhh… Babuji!” Komal gasped, ladle slipping in her fingers. A dirty shiver shot straight to her cunt, making it clench and drip.
 
Maan Singh’s hot mouth hit her ear, then dragged wet kisses down her neck, thick moustache scbanging.
 
“Kya hua, meri jaan? Doodh garam kar rahi hai? Teri doodh to pehle se hi garam hai” he growled, mauling her breasts harder, twisting the nipples till more milk sprayed, soaking the blouse front completely.
(“What happened, my love? Warming the milk? Your milk is already hot,” he growled, mauling her breasts harder, twisting the nipples till more milk sprayed, soaking the blouse front completely.)
 
Komal’s knees buckled. She whispered fast. “Babuji… Jai bahar hai… shed mein… sun lega toh…”
(Komal’s knees buckled. She whispered fast. “Babuji… Jai is outside… in the shed… if he hears then…”)
 
Maan Singh laughed low and mean, nipping her neck.
 
“Toh kya? Kab se usne mujhe teri gili chut aur in badi choochiyon ko chhodne se roka?”
(“So what? Since when has he stopped me from fucking your wet pussy and these big boobs?”)
 
He shoved his hips forward, grinding his fat, rock-hard cock — tenting the dhoti like a pole — deep into her ass crack. The rough cloth rubbed between her cheeks as he humped her slow and rough, making her ass jiggle.
 
Komal moaned like a bitch, pushing back hard against his dick.
 
“Uhhh… Babuji… aap… harami ho… meri gaand phaad rahe ho…”
(“Uhhh… Babuji… you… bastard… you’re tearing my ass apart…”)
 
He attacked her tits like an animal, pinching and yanking her nipples till milk ran down her belly in messy trails. Right hand kept squeezing one leaking breast, left hand yanked up her saree pleats from the front. Thick fingers shoved her soaked panty aside and plunged three digits deep into her dripping cunt in one hard stroke.
 
“AAHHH… BABUJI!” Komal jerked, twisting her head, biting her own arm to choke the scream. Her pussy sucked his fingers greedily, juices flooding his hand. She could only whimper brokenly while her husband was just twenty feet away.
 
Maan Singh pumped her slow and deep, curling against her G-spot, thumb smashing her swollen clit.
 
“Bol… kya haal hai meri nayi gaay ka? Nimrat” he hissed in her ear, still grinding his throbbing cock against her ass.
(“Tell me… how’s my new cow doing? Nimrat” he hissed in her ear, still grinding his throbbing cock against her ass.)
 
Komal panted, hips bucking.
 
“M-Meera ka call… subah aaya tha…” she moaned between gasps. “Aapki… Mumbai wali gaay… taiyaar hai… Bus kuch aur dino mein woh aapke liye bilkul taiyaar rahegi…”
(“M-Meera’s call… came this morning…” she moaned between gasps. “Your… Mumbai cow… is ready… Just a few more days and she’ll be completely ready for you…”)
 
Maan Singh’s eyes went dark. He pulled his fingers out with a loud, wet squelch, dripping with her cunt juice. He held them up in front of her face, glistening and thick.
 
“Chus,” he ordered low.
 
Komal turned her head, eyes glassy with lust. She opened her mouth and took his fingers in, sucking hard, tongue swirling around them, tasting her own tangy sweetness mixed with his rough skin. She moaned around his digits, sucking deeper, cheeks hollowing like she was starving for it. Milk still dripped from her nipples as she cleaned every drop off his fingers, eyes locked on his.
 
Maan Singh watched her with a dark smirk, then pulled his fingers free with a pop. He adjusted his dhoti over that massive, leaking erection and growled:
 
“Kal subah main Mumbai nikal jaunga. Meera ko bol — sab taiyaar rakhein. Pahunchte hi pehle Meera ke choochiyon ka doodh peeunga… phir uski gili chut ko bhi phaad ke bharunga...”
(“I’m leaving for Mumbai tomorrow morning. Tell Meera — keep everything ready. As soon as I arrive, first I’ll drink the milk from Meera’s boobs… then I’ll tear open and fill her wet pussy too...”)
 
Komal spun around, breathing ragged, nipples hard and leaking through the drenched blouse, pussy still throbbing empty and dripping down her thighs. She looked up at her Sasurji with pure slutty hunger and whispered,
 
“Ji Babuji… main abhi Meera ko message kar deti hoon. Aapki Mumbai gaay… aapke lund ka intezaar kar rahi hogi… bilkul taiyaar hai khulne ke liye.”
(“Yes Babuji… I’ll message Meera right now. Your Mumbai cow… must be waiting for your cock… completely ready to open up for you.”)
 
Maan Singh gave her tits one last brutal squeeze, milk squirting between his fingers, then walked out toward the shed calm as ever — leaving Komal shaking, fingering her soaked cunt, already imagining how her Sasurji would ruin Nimrat’s holes in a few days in Mumbai the same savage way he ruined hers every day.