[doodhwale_bhaiya]

“Sahib, paani rakh diya. Aap so jaaiye. Light band kar doon?”
“Sahib, I’ve kept the water. You sleep. Should I turn off the light?”
 
Ravi gave a tired nod without removing his arm from his face.
 
“Haan… band kar de.”
“Yes… turn it off.”
 
Bhola switched off the main light, leaving only the dim glow of the bathroom light spilling under the door. He turned to leave.
 
Halfway down the staircase he met Simran coming up.
 
She was still in the same ridiculously short nightie. The thin fabric barely reached the tops of her thighs. Every step made her heavy, braless breasts sway and bounce under the soft cloth, the dark nipples clearly outlined. The silver waist chain he had put on her the night before still sat against her soft midriff. She was not wearing panties; the lower curves of her full ass were visible with each upward step, and between her thighs the faint, shiny evidence of everything he had left inside her earlier still clung to her skin.
 
As they passed on the narrow stairs, Bhola did not step aside cleanly.
 
His shoulder brushed deliberately across the soft, heavy mounds of her breasts. The contact made the thin nightie drag over her stiff nipples. At the same time his hand slid under the short hem from behind. His palm cupped one full, lower globe of her ass, gave it a firm, possessive pat, then pinched the soft flesh hard enough to leave a mark. His fingers sank into the warm, plush cheek, lifting it slightly before releasing.
 
Simran’s breath hitched. She twisted, face flushing, and slapped at his wrist with the back of her hand — not hard enough to really hurt, but sharp enough to warn.
 
“Hath hata…!” she whispered fiercely, eyes darting toward the darkened bedroom door above. She jerked her body forward, almost jumping up the remaining stairs to get past him. The sudden movement made her heavy breasts leap under the nightie and her bare ass jiggle as the short fabric rode up even higher for a second. A fresh trickle of the thick mixture still inside her ran down the inner side of her thigh as she fled upward.
 
Bhola watched her go, the thick outline of his cock still obvious against his pants, then continued down to his own room.
 
Sunlight was already filtering through the curtains when Simran came downstairs.
 
She was still wearing the same tiny nightie from the night before — exactly as she had been forced to promise. The soft fabric clung to her body, outlining the full, heavy shape of her breasts and the dark points of her nipples. The hem sat high on her thighs. She had not put on a bra or panties. The silver waist chain remained around her soft waist. Between her legs she could still feel the faint tenderness and the sticky reminder of how thoroughly Bhola had used her the previous night and again in the kitchen.
 
The kitchen was empty.
 
No sound of utensils. No smell of tea being prepared. Bhola was not there.
 
She stood in the doorway for a moment, the short nightie shifting against her bare skin, and realised he must have already left for the market to buy whatever was needed for the day. The house was quiet except for the distant sound of Ravi still sleeping upstairs.
 
Simran walked further into the kitchen, the cool air touching the bare lower curves of her ass and the still-sensitive lips of her pussy under the tiny nightie, and waited.
 
Simran sat on the cane chair on the small first-floor balcony, one leg folded under her. The very short nightie she had been forced to keep wearing barely reached the tops of her thighs. Underneath she had finally pulled on a thin thong panty — a last, desperate attempt at some cover — because the nightie was so tiny that any bend would completely expose her bare, still-tender pussy. The silver waist chain still sat against her soft midriff. The anklet rested on her left ankle. Her heavy breasts felt full and tight; the thin fabric of the nightie was already damp in two dark circles where milk had begun to leak overnight.
 
She saw Bhola returning from the market, climbing the lane with a cloth bag in one hand. From the balcony she watched the way his shoulders moved, the easy strength in his walk. Ravi was still deeply asleep in the bedroom behind her, his breathing slow and heavy after the stomach trouble of the previous night.
 
The thought of milk made heat rise in her face.
 
Every day she fed this man. Not from a glass. From her own heavy, swollen breasts. He latched onto her like a calf, sucked until the thick white streams filled his mouth, swallowed, and then switched sides. The memory of his lips sealed around her nipple, the wet pulling sounds, the way her milk ran down his chin while his thick cock stayed hard against her, made her shift in the chair. A faint, familiar throb started between her legs.
 
She picked up her phone and called Preeti.
 
“Ravi aa gaya hai,” she said quietly when Preeti answered. “Stomach was upset from the flight. Now it feels better, but he’s sleeping. He can’t come for the blood tests. And… it doesn’t even seem necessary now.”
 
There was a short pause on the other end. Preeti’s voice came lower, knowing.
 
“Meaning you two are already… doing it. That’s why you don’t feel the need for the test.”
 
Simran’s cheeks burned. She didn’t deny it.
 
Preeti continued, practical and firm.
 
“It matters to me, Simmu. I need both reports — yours and his. You both need to be clean. Bring Ravi too. I’ll make some plan. To keep him busy, so you get more time with Bhola. You just say yes.”
 
Simran stared out at the lane, confused by how easily Preeti was offering to arrange more private time with the servant who had spent the previous night stretching her open and filling her. After a long moment she exhaled.
 
“Theek hai… dekhte hain.”
“Okay… we’ll see.”
 
She ended the call, stood up, and went downstairs.
 
The short nightie shifted against her skin with every step. The thin thong did almost nothing; the narrow strip of fabric disappeared between the full cheeks of her ass and barely covered the puffy lips of her pussy. Her heavy breasts swayed freely under the thin cloth, nipples already stiff and damp.
 
Bhola was in the living room, setting the cloth bag on the floor. The moment he saw her coming down the stairs his eyes moved over her body — the tiny nightie, the clear outline of her braless breasts, the high hem, the silver chain at her waist. He stepped forward at once, cupped the back of her neck, and kissed her. It was not a polite greeting. His tongue pushed into her mouth, tasting her, while one hand slid down and briefly squeezed the soft underside of her right breast through the nightie.
 
When he pulled back his voice was already thick.
 
“Bhabhi… doodh nikal du? Aapki chuchiyan bhari hui hongi. Raat bhar se bhari hui hain.”
“Bhabhi… should I take out the milk? Your boobs must be full. They’ve been full all night.”
 
Simran’s eyes flicked toward the staircase.
 
“Bhola… Ravi yahan hai. Upar so raha hai.”
“Bhola… Ravi is here. He’s sleeping upstairs.”
 
He didn’t argue. He simply took her wrist and pulled her into the kitchen, away from the open view of the stairs. Once they were behind the counter he turned her to face him, both hands locking on the soft curve of her waist. The short nightie rode up under his palms. With his right hand he reached up, hooked his fingers into the low neckline, and scooped her huge right breast completely out of the fabric in one smooth motion. The heavy, warm globe spilled free, the dark nipple already beading with milk.
 
Bhola bent his head and took it into his mouth at once.