Adultery The Forbidden Relief – My Wife's Secret

[doodhwale_bhaiya]

But Bhola had no idea.
 
He moved around the kitchen with calm efficiency, checking the dal on the stove, tasting the chicken, stirring the sabzi — completely focused on his work. He didn’t glance at her ass, didn’t stare at the way her heavy breasts strained against the thin sundress, didn’t notice how the short hem barely covered the lower curve of her plump ass cheeks. He was simply doing his job, like always.
 
This specific quality of Bhola — his single-minded simplicity, his ability to switch from animalistic hunger to calm duty in the blink of an eye — was something Simran was only beginning to sense. She didn’t fully understand it yet. To her, it felt like he could turn it on and off at will, like he was in complete control while she was losing hers. It made her feel both safe and strangely frustrated.
 
As luck would have it, Bhola did notice her beautiful ass for a brief moment. The short pink sundress had ridden up slightly as she stood at the counter, the soft fabric taut over her round, heart-shaped cheeks. If he had knelt down, he would have had a clear view of her naked pussy and ass underneath — no panties, just smooth, milky-white skin and the glistening pink lips of her pussy. But he didn’t look. He didn’t linger. Such was the simplicity of Bhola. His mind was on the food, on the tasks, on serving her properly. He wasn’t hunting for opportunities to fuck her. He was simply there, ready if she asked.
 
He finished stirring the dal and turned to her politely.
 
“Bhabhi… kya aapko kuch aur chahiye? Main kuch aur bana dun?”
“Bhabhi… do you need anything else? Shall I make something more?”
 
Simran shook her head, trying to hide the heat rising in her cheeks.
 
“Unnhunn… bas yahi theek hai.”
“Unnhunn… this is fine.”
 
Bhola nodded once, gave her a small, respectful smile, and went back to his work without another word.
 
Simran stood there, spoon in hand, feeling the weight of her own desires pressing down on her. She was dressed like a slut in her own kitchen, her body screaming for attention, and Bhola was calmly cooking lunch like it was any other day.
 
The contrast was driving her crazy.
 
Simran was standing near the kitchen counter, absentmindedly stirring the dal, when she heard Bhola’s phone ringing from his small room at the back of the house. The ringtone was simple and loud, cutting through the quiet morning air. Bhola quickly wiped his hands on a towel and hurried to his room to answer it.
 
Simran continued her work, but after a couple of minutes, she noticed he hadn’t come back. Five minutes passed. Then ten. The dal was ready, but Bhola still hadn’t returned. She felt a small knot of confusion in her stomach. What’s taking him so long? she thought. Is everything okay?
 
Finally, after almost twelve minutes, Bhola emerged from his room. His eyes were red and teary, his face pale and shaken. He looked completely different from the calm, composed man who had been cooking just minutes ago.
 
Simran’s heart dropped. She immediately stepped toward him.
 
“Bhola… kya hua? Sab theek hai?”
“Bhola… what happened? Is everything okay?”
 
Bhola’s voice cracked as he spoke, trying to hold back tears.
 
“Bhabhi… mera bhai Jai ne call kiya tha. Mere Baba ko achanak heart attack aaya hai. Abhi unhe hospital le ja rahe hain… City Care Nursing Home. Doctor ne kaha critical hai.”
“Bhabhi… my brother Jai called. My father had a sudden heart attack. They are taking him to the hospital right now… City Care Nursing Home. The doctor said it’s critical.”
 
Simran’s face softened with genuine concern. She reached out and gently held both his hands.
 
“Yeh bahut badi baat hai. Unhe kahan le ja rahe hain exactly? City Care Nursing Home… woh Sector 22 mein hai na?”
“This is a very serious matter. Where exactly are they taking him? City Care Nursing Home… it’s in Sector 22, right?”
 
Bhola nodded, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand.
 
“Haan Bhabhi… wahi. Par family ne kaha hai abhi aane ki zarurat nahi hai. Unhone mujhe ghar bhejne ko kaha hai. Komal Bhabhi akeli hai ghar pe ek guest ke saath. Unhe madad ki zarurat pad sakti hai.”
“Yes Bhabhi… that one. But the family said there’s no need to come right now. They asked me to go home. Komal Bhabhi is alone at home with a guest. She might need help.”
 
Simran squeezed his hands tighter, her voice kind but firm.
 
“Bhola, tum abhi hospital jaao. Papa ko dekh lo pehle. Phir ghar jaana. Komal Bhabhi ko bhi bata dena. Family ko akela mat chhodo is waqt.”
“Bhola, you go to the hospital right now. See Papa first. Then go home. Tell Komal Bhabhi also. Don’t leave the family alone at this time.”
 
Bhola looked at her gratefully, though his eyes were still wet.
 
“Ji Bhabhi… main abhi jaata hoon.”
“Yes Bhabhi… I’m going right now.”
 
Simran nodded.
 
“Jao abhi. Time waste mat karo. Savdhani se chalana.”
“Go now. Don’t waste time. Drive safely.”
 
Bhola quickly grabbed his helmet and keys. His old Splendor bike was parked outside. Within the next five minutes, he had changed into a clean shirt, taken some money from his room, and was ready to leave. He gave Simran one last respectful nod before starting the bike and riding off.
 
The sound of the engine faded down the street, and the house suddenly felt empty — quieter than it had in a long time.
 
Simran stood at the doorway for a few moments, watching the empty driveway. The silence pressed in on her. She felt strangely alone, even though she had been craving some space from Bhola just an hour ago. The house, usually filled with his quiet presence, now seemed too big, too still.
 
She went upstairs slowly and sat down on the edge of her bed. Her mind drifted to Bhola’s father — an old man she had never met, now fighting for his life in a middle-class nursing home. She felt a pang of sympathy for Bhola, for his family, for the suddenness of it all.
 
Then a practical thought hit her.
 
I should tell Ravi.
 
She picked up her phone from the bedside table and dialed Ravi’s number. The call rang… and rang… but there was no reply. It went to voicemail and she left a msg.
 
Simran stared at the screen for a long moment, the weight of the empty house settling around her.
 
Simran sat on the edge of her bed after Bhola left, the house now completely silent except for the distant hum of the ceiling fan. She stared at her phone for a long moment, wondering if Ravi was busy in a meeting or still on the road. The quiet felt heavier than usual. She stood up and walked to the full-length mirror on the wardrobe door.
 
The reflection staring back at her made her breath catch.
 
She was dripping with sex.
 
The short pink sundress Bhola had chosen for her clung to her body like it was painted on. The thin fabric stretched across her heavy, full breasts, her dark nipples clearly visible as stiff peaks pushing against the material. The low neckline plunged deep between her cleavage, showing the soft, creamy inner curves. The hem barely covered the lower half of her ass — one slight bend and everything would be on display. Her thick, pear-shaped ass looked even rounder and more inviting in the short dress, the fabric hugging the full, jiggling globes. Her long, milky-white thighs were completely exposed, smooth and soft, leading up to the hidden heat between her legs.