Adultery The Forbidden Relief – My Wife's Secret

[doodhwale_bhaiya]

“Ohh… aapne panty nahi pehni thi?” he asked, voice still completely innocent but the words themselves filthy in context. “Garmi bahut hai na? Main samajh sakta hun, Bhabhi. Aapki chuchiyan itni bhari hui rehti hain, pura sharir garam ho jata hoga.”
“Ohh… you didn’t wear any panty?” he asked, voice still completely innocent but the words themselves filthy in context. “It’s very hot, right? I can understand, Bhabhi. Your boobs stay so full, your whole body must get hot.”
 
Simran’s pussy throbbed at his casual words. She pressed her thighs together, trying to hide how wet she was getting again.
 
“You go downstairs,” she said, voice a little shaky. “I’ll come after drinking the milk.”
“Tum niche jao,” she said, voice a little shaky. “Main doodh peeke aati hun.”
 
Bhola nodded, but before he turned to leave, he gave her one last look — his eyes flicking to the wet spots on her shirt over her nipples.
 
“Jaldi se pi lijiye, Bhabhi,” he added softly.
“Hurry up and drink it, Bhabhi,” he added softly.

He put his hands under her boobs slightly and flicked them upwards lsightly and said,
 
“Aapki chuchiyan bahut full lag rahi hain. Kal raat ko aapne peene nehi diya na, isliye abhi full ho gayi hai. Aap jaldi aajaiye… main turant dono ko achhe se khaali kar dunga.”
“Your boobs look very full. You didn’t let me drink last night, right? That’s why they are so full now. Come quickly… I will empty both of them properly right away.”
 
Simran’s breath hitched. She could only nod, unable to form a reply as he finally turned and went downstairs.
 
She sat there for a moment longer, glass in hand, mind spinning with his filthy-yet-innocent words. The way he talked about her breasts so openly, so naturally, made her feel both embarrassed and unbearably aroused.
 
She took a long sip of the milk, her free hand unconsciously moving to cup one of her heavy breasts through the shirt, feeling how full and tender they still were.
 
Simran finished the glass of milk Bhola had brought her, the warm liquid sliding down her throat while her mind was still spinning from everything that had happened downstairs. She placed the empty glass on the bedside table, wiped her lips with the back of her hand, and called out softly but clearly:
 
“Bhola… saamne ka darwaza bandh kardo aur upar aajao. Meri doodh yahin aake piyo aaj.”
“Bhola… close the front door and come upstairs. Come drink my milk here today.”
 
Her voice carried a quiet authority mixed with something darker — a clear invitation to her own bedroom, the same place where it had all started on that fateful stormy night when the breast pump got stuck. This was only the second time she was calling him into the marital bed.
 
Bhola appeared at the bedroom door within a minute. He stepped inside and closed the door behind him with a soft click. The moment his eyes landed on Simran, he stopped.
 
She was kneeling on the bed, legs spread wide apart, sitting back on her heels. Her loose white kameez was completely down, bunched at her waist like a forgotten robe. With both hands she cupped her heavy, swollen breasts from below, lifting them up and gently shaking them toward him — an open, shameless invitation. The dark, leaking nipples pointed straight at him, milk already beading at the tips and rolling down the creamy undersides in slow, shiny trails. Her shorts had ridden up high on her thick thighs, the crotch visibly darkened with her arousal. Her hair was messy, cheeks flushed, eyes dark with lust.
 
It was such an erotic, obscene sight — the married woman on her knees in her own bedroom, offering her leaking tits to the servant like a bitch in heat.
 
Bhola’s breath caught. His cock, already half-hard again, twitched visibly in his pants as he stared at her.
 
He started climbing onto the bed, knees sinking into the mattress, moving toward her like a man in a trance.
 
Simran’s eyes dropped to his crotch and she suddenly raised one hand.
 
“Ruko.”
“Stop.”
 
Bhola froze on all fours on the bed.
 
She looked him straight in the eyes, voice low but firm.
 
“Tum underwear kyun pehen rakhe ho? Jab tum mere saath akela hote ho, toh zaroorat nahi hai pehenne ki.”
“Why are you wearing underwear? When you are alone with me, you need not wear it.”
 
Bhola looked embarrassed, shifting awkwardly.
 
“Nehi Bhabhi, rehne dijiye…”
“No Bhabhi, it’s okay…”
 
Simran shook her head, her heavy breasts swaying with the movement.
 
“No. Abhi apni pant utaar do. Aur apna underwear bhi utaar do. Tumhara wohh… pareshan karega.”
“No. Take off your pants now. And take off your underwear. Your that thing… will trouble you.”
 
She was too shy to say the word “dick” or “cock,” but the meaning was crystal clear.