Adultery The Forbidden Relief – My Wife's Secret

[doodhwale_bhaiya]

Bhola turned back with a small, naughty smile.
 
“Bhabhi… main inhe dhone ke liye le ja raha tha. Aap nahane ja rahi hain na isliye.”
“Bhabhi… I was taking them to wash. Since you’re going to bathe.”
 
Simran laughed softly, shaking her head.
 
“Haan haan… samajh gayi. Itna smart mat ban. Ab jaa… lekin pehle ek dress nikaal ke bed pe rakh do jo tu mujhe pehenna chahta hai.”
“Yes yes… I understood. Don’t act so smart. Now go… but first take out one dress and keep it on the bed — the one you want me to wear.”
 
Bhola nodded, went to her wardrobe, picked out a very short, light pink sundress that would barely cover the lower curve of her ass, and laid it neatly on the bed. No bra. No panty.
 
Simran smiled inwardly as he left the room.
 
Yeh ladka sach mein pagal ho gaya hai… par mujhe bhi yeh pasand aa raha hai.
 
She went into the bathroom for a quick shower, her mind still racing.
 
Bhola could have fucked me so many times today… but he didn’t even touch my pussy properly. He just ate me like a starving man and made me cum so hard I almost fainted. And that cock… that monster… how does he produce so much cum? It was thick, creamy, endless. He is like a bull — strong, virile, ready to breed. I wonder how he would fuck… would he be gentle or would he pound me like an animal? Would he stretch my pussy so wide I scream?
 
The thought made her pussy throb again under the shower. She touched herself lightly, but stopped, knowing she needed to get ready for Ravi.
 
She came out after the bath, towel wrapped around her body, and saw the short pink sundress waiting on the bed. It was ridiculously short — it would barely cover the lower half of her ass cheeks. No panties. No bra.
 
She smiled to herself, a mix of nervousness and excitement.
 
Toh Bhola chahta hai main aise hi ghoomun? Theek hai… dekhte hain yeh kahan tak jaata hai.
 
She dropped the towel and slipped into the tiny sundress. The thin straps barely held her heavy breasts, the neckline plunging deep between them. The hem ended just below the curve of her ass — one wrong move and everything would be on display. Her nipples poked prominently through the soft fabric.
 
She looked at herself in the mirror. She looked like pure sin — a beautiful, curvy, milky wife dressed like a slut in her own house.
 
And she was starting to like it.
 
 
Simran came downstairs wearing the short pink sundress Bhola had chosen for her. The thin fabric clung to her body like a second skin. The hem barely reached the lower curve of her ass cheeks, so every step made the dress ride up dangerously, flashing the smooth, milky-white skin of her thighs and the soft underside of her plump ass. Her heavy breasts swayed freely underneath, the low neckline plunging deep between them, the thin straps barely holding the weight. Her dark nipples poked prominently through the soft material, two stiff points clearly visible. Her long, silky burgundy hair fell in loose waves over her shoulders. She looked like pure, walking sin — a beautiful, curvy, fertile wife dressed like she was begging to be fucked. The kind of outfit that screamed “crime about to happen.”
 
Bhola was already in the kitchen, focused on preparing both lunch and dinner as usual. He was chopping vegetables, stirring pots, completely absorbed in his work. When Simran entered, he looked up and greeted her with his usual calm, respectful smile.
 
That was it. No lingering stare. No hungry look. No comment on how devastating she looked in that tiny dress. He simply went back to chopping onions, his mind entirely on the food.
 
Simran felt a strange, awkward twist in her stomach. She had chosen this outfit (or rather, let Bhola choose it) expecting some reaction — some sign that he was affected by her, that he wanted her again. But Bhola was acting completely normal, like a dutiful servant doing his job. His thick cock was soft inside his pants, no obvious bulge, no sign of the animal she had seen earlier. The fact that he had picked this dress purely by chance — grabbing the first thing on top because he was in a hurry to get back to his tasks — never crossed her mind. In her head, Bhola had deliberately chosen the shortest, sluttiest dress because he wanted to see her like this, because he was already horny and planning to fuck her.
 
She stood there for a second, feeling oddly disappointed and self-conscious.
 
He’s not even looking… after everything we did yesterday, after I sucked his cock twice and swallowed his cum… he’s just cooking like nothing happened?
 
She broke the silence, trying to sound casual.
 
“Bhola… main cooking kar leti hoon. Tu rest kar le.”
“Bhola… I’ll do the cooking. You take rest.”
 
Bhola nodded without argument.
 
“Ji Bhabhi. Aap kar lo. Main sirf yeh sab cut kar deta hoon.”
“Yes Bhabhi. You do it. I’ll just cut all this.”
 
He stepped aside and let her take over the stove. As she stood in front of the counter, stirring the dal, Bhola moved behind her to reach for something on the shelf. For a brief second, his body brushed against hers, but he didn’t linger. He simply grabbed what he needed and stepped back.
 
A few minutes later, Bhola wiped his hands and said politely,
 
“Bhabhi… main abhi nahane ja raha hoon. Aapko kuch chahiye toh bata dena.”
“Bhabhi… I’m going to take a bath now. Tell me if you need anything.”
 
Simran nodded, her mind still spinning.
 
“Ji… jaao.”
 
Bhola left for the bathroom. Simran stood at the stove, her short sundress riding up slightly as she worked, her bare ass cheeks almost visible. She kept replaying the morning in her head, wondering why Bhola wasn’t reacting to her like she expected. In her mind, he must have been hard, must have wanted to fuck her right there, and that’s why he left so suddenly — to hide his erection.
 
In reality, Bhola was simply doing his chores. His mind was focused on the tasks at hand — cooking, cleaning, preparing for Ravi’s return. He was like a robot when he worked: single-minded, efficient, and completely unaware of the storm of thoughts and desires swirling inside Simran.
 
Fifteen minutes later, Bhola came back, freshly bathed and changed into clean clothes. He walked into the kitchen and saw Simran still at the stove.
 
“Bhabhi… aapne sab kar liya? Main madad karun?”
“Bhabhi… have you done everything? Shall I help?”
 
Simran turned to look at him, her heart skipping slightly at the sight of his clean, fresh face. She smiled softly, trying to hide the whirlwind inside her.
 
“Haan….”
 
Bhola nodded and sat down quietly, waiting for lunch to be served.
 
The house felt normal on the surface.
 
But underneath, Simran’s mind was anything but calm.
 
Bhola came back downstairs after his bath, his hair still damp and glistening, a few drops of water sliding down the side of his neck. He had dressed neatly in a simple white T-shirt that hugged his strong chest and shoulders, and a pair of clean black trousers. He looked fresh, composed, and dutiful — the perfect servant, ready for the day ahead.
 
Simran’s heart skipped when she saw him. The way the damp fabric clung to his body, the way his broad shoulders filled the T-shirt, the way his trousers sat low on his hips… she felt an instant, powerful urge to jump on him right there in the kitchen. To pull him close, to feel that thick, heavy cock against her again, to drop to her knees and take him back into her mouth. Her pussy clenched at the thought, a fresh wave of wetness soaking into her tiny panties under the short sundress.