[doodhwale_bhaiya]

She placed a soft hand on his chest, trying to steady herself.
 
“Main jaanti hoon tu wait kar raha hai… lekin aaj raat aur kuch nahi. Pehle khana khatam karte hain.”
“I know you’re waiting… but nothing more tonight. First let’s finish the food.”
 
Even as she said it, her right thigh pressed a little more firmly against the hard, heavy ridge of his cock. She could feel it twitch and swell further under her. Bhola’s hand remained on her freed breast, thumb lazily brushing over the stiff nipple he had just pinched, as if reminding her that he already had her half-undressed at the dinner table.
 
The food on the plates was getting cold.
 
Neither of them seemed to care.
 
Bhola leaned in again and captured Simran’s mouth in a deeper, hungrier kiss. His tongue pushed past her soft lips, tasting the lingering spice of the roti and the sweetness of her mouth. While their tongues tangled, his left hand left her heavy breast and slid down. He gathered the hem of her sundress in his fingers and slowly lifted it up her thighs.
 
The soft fabric rose higher, exposing the smooth, milky skin of her legs. His large, rough palm slid underneath and began rubbing her thighs in slow, deliberate strokes. The flesh there was warm, soft, and impossibly smooth — the kind of skin that made his cock throb harder against her. He worked his way higher, fingers spreading and squeezing the plush outer thighs before moving inward.
 
Simran’s breathing grew heavier against his mouth. She shifted on his lap, her soft ass pressing down harder on his thick, trapped cock.
 
Bhola’s hand climbed higher until his fingers brushed against the thin waistband of her panty. He hooked two fingers under the elastic, pulled it outward, and then let it snap back against her soft skin with a soft thwack.
 
“Mmmph—!” Simran squeaked into the kiss, a sharp little moan escaping her as the elastic stung her skin. The sudden sensation made her hips jerk on his lap.
 
He didn’t stop. His hand moved higher still, sliding over the soft curve of her lower belly until his middle finger found the small, sensitive dip of her navel. He began slowly circling it — pressing, rubbing, teasing the tiny hole with the pad of his finger in lazy, filthy circles. Every slow rotation made Simran squirm and shift on his lap. Her thighs pressed together, then opened slightly again. He could feel the heat rising from between her legs. She was getting wetter by the second. The thin fabric of her panty was already starting to dampen against his thigh.
 
Bhola groaned into her mouth as he felt her moving. His hand continued its upward journey, sliding over the soft, warm skin of her stomach until it reached the heavy underside of her left breast. He cupped the gigantic, milk-filled globe from below, lifting its soft, dense weight in his palm. The sheer size and heaviness of it made him squeeze harder. Warm, soft flesh overflowed between his fingers.
 
Both of them moaned into the kiss at the same time — Simran’s soft and shaky, Bhola’s deep and hungry.
 
His fingers shifted. The index finger and thumb found her thick, already stiff nipple under the sundress. He pinched it, pulled it outward, then twisted it slowly between his fingers before flicking the sensitive tip with his thumb. The dual sensation of the heavy breast being squeezed from below and the nipple being played with so roughly made Simran’s whole body tremble on his lap.
 
“Aaahhh… mmmphhh…” she moaned loudly into his mouth, her hips rolling involuntarily.
 
While he tortured her nipple, Simran’s right hand slid down between their bodies. Her fingers found the thick, hard ridge of his cock straining against his trousers. She wrapped her small hand around as much of it as she could through the fabric and began stroking him slowly — up and down the heavy length, feeling it pulse and thicken even more under her touch. The outline of the fat head was clearly visible against the material, and she rubbed her palm over it deliberately.
 
Bhola finally broke the kiss, breathing hard against her lips. His hand was still buried under her sundress, firmly cupping her left breast, thumb still lazily brushing over the stiff, sensitive nipple he had just twisted.
 
He looked into her flushed face, eyes dark with hunger.
 
“Bhabhi… aap panty aur bra kyun pehenti ho?” he asked in a low, rough voice, his fingers giving her heavy tit another slow, possessive squeeze. “Main nahi chahta aap yeh pehno. Abse nahi. Na panty, na bra. Sirf yeh kapda… ya kuch bhi nahi. Main aapki chuchiyan aur aapki choot hamesha free chahta hoon. Jab bhi haath daalu… seedha milni chahiye. Samjhi?”
“Bhabhi… why do you wear panty and bra?” he asked in a low, rough voice, his fingers giving her heavy tit another slow, possessive squeeze. “I don’t want you to wear these. Not from now on. No panty, no bra. Only this cloth… or nothing at all. I want your boobs and your pussy always free. Whenever I put my hand… I should get them directly. Understood?”
 
His cock throbbed hard under her stroking hand as he spoke, thick and demanding, pressing hotly against her thigh through the fabric.
 
Simran was breathing heavily, her freed breasts rising and falling under the sundress, the left nipple still tingling from his rough play. Her panty was already soaked between her legs, and the filthy order he had just given her only made her wetter.
 
The dinner on the table remained untouched.
 
Bhola stood up suddenly, the chair scbanging against the floor. Before Simran could react, his hands grabbed the hem of her sundress. In one swift, powerful motion he pulled the soft fabric straight up. Simran’s arms lifted involuntarily as the dress was yanked over her head and off her body in a single second. The thin material fluttered away and landed somewhere near the table.
 
Her already-unhooked bra was still loosely hanging on her. Bhola’s hand shot forward, grabbed the centre of the bra between her heavy breasts, and yanked it off with force. The straps slid down her arms and the soft cups were pulled free. He tossed the bra carelessly to the side. It landed somewhere on the floor.
 
Simran was now sitting on the chair in only her thin panty, her gigantic, milk-heavy breasts completely exposed and swaying with the sudden movement. Before she could cover herself, Bhola bent down, hooked one strong arm around her waist and the other behind her knees, and in one smooth lift swung her up and over his broad shoulder.
 
“Bhola—! Kya kar rahe ho?! Chhod do mujhe!”
“Bhola—! What are you doing?! Leave me!”
 
Simran cried out, her legs kicking in the air. Her heavy breasts pressed against his back, the soft flesh flattening against his shoulder as he straightened up. She tried to push against him with her hands, but his grip was firm.
 
“Bhabhi… bas thoda upar,”
“Bhabhi… just a little higher,”
he said in a low voice, already walking toward the stairs.
 
As he climbed the first few steps, his free hand reached up under the curve of her huge, soft ass. He found the waistband of her panty and began tugging it downward. The thick, wide shape of her hips and the heavy globes of her ass made it difficult. The thin fabric stretched and resisted. Bhola paused halfway up the stairs, balanced her carefully on his shoulder, and used both hands. He worked the panty down inch by inch — first one side, then the other — pulling it past the widest part of her hips. The soft material slid over the full, jiggling cheeks of her ass until it finally cleared them.