[doodhwale_bhaiya]

Dont worry guys. Something different is being planned. Obviously i am a human and can think at max like a human but your feedbacks make it easy for me to read your minds. I cannot make everyone happy but I can definitely make the majority happy. 

Hence i again and again ask for feedbacks, so that I can judge your age and type of script you like. 

[doodhwale_bhaiya]

Also if you see the voting, although each option gives a completely separate pathway for the story, there is a tough fight for the obvious option here. 

Please vote if you have not yet. 

[doodhwale_bhaiya]

Looks like you guys dont want Ravi to know anything. But he is no idiot. I mean he can be idiotic for sometime but can he really be fooled? What do you guys think? 

Also i already showed you some images of Simran. How do you think her mother looks like? If you want share some images.

[doodhwale_bhaiya]

Great, share more pictures or gifs

[doodhwale_bhaiya]

People i understand that there are many stories here which are unfinished. I am quite sure that this wont be one of them. Although its yet to be written but still i would try my best to finish it.
Having said that, understand we all have life of our own other than writing stories. This is just a passion not a job. No one gets paid here. So kindly hold your horses. Dont be disappointed and keep adding stuff to comment section to make the story even more interesting through images etc.
As and when i will be available again, it will be posted. There are a few stories unfinished. Ask Mods here to allow you to finish them if the authors are unable to continue.

[doodhwale_bhaiya]

Apologies. I am down with fever since the day I came back. Viral may be. Dimaag kharab ho raha hai. I just came online to apologise that I couldnt meet my deadlines. Just give me a few days. 

[doodhwale_bhaiya]

Hi guys, hopefully you all are doing well. The last update was well quite sometime back and then i got unwell, busy and what not. But here is the next update. Do add pictures of Simran and Bhola in every position that has been happening till now. I will too. Happy Gooning.

[doodhwale_bhaiya]

It was already 7:30 in the evening and Nimrat was still standing there in front of her open wardrobe wearing nothing but a thin white satin gown that clung to her body like a second skin. Her long burgundy hair hung loose and messy down her back, her makeup was only half done, and her nerves were completely shot. The deep wine-red georgette saree she had picked earlier now lay crumpled on the bed along with four other outfits she had tried and tossed aside. One looked too bold, another too plain, one too revealing for a business meeting, and the last one just felt too damn boring. The clock in her head was ticking louder than ever. Here she was, a fifty-year-old woman who ran her own boutique, completely frozen over the stupid question of what the hell to wear to meet the man who could either save her entire life or burn it to the ground.
 
Her phone rang suddenly, cutting through the silence.
 
Meera’s name lit up the screen.
 
Nimrat grabbed it and answered right away.
 
“I’m running late,” she said, her voice tight and shaky. “I can’t decide… nothing feels right on me tonight.”
 
Meera let out a soft laugh on the other end, warm, confident, and a little amused. “Don’t worry, darling. I’m already downstairs in the lobby. I’ll come up and help you pick something. Just open the door in two minutes.”
 
Before Nimrat could even argue, the line went dead.
 
Exactly two minutes later the doorbell rang. Nimrat quickly tightened the sash of her thin gown around her waist and pulled the door open.
 
Meera stood there looking like pure sin wrapped in black silk. The sleek cocktail dress hugged every curve of her body like it had been poured on. A high slit ran all the way up her left thigh, flashing smooth, toned skin with every little shift of her weight. The neckline plunged deep between her full breasts, and the shiny fabric caught the corridor light and shimmered. She looked powerful, sexual, and completely shameless.
 
Nimrat’s eyes went wide. “Meera… why so bold? We’re meeting him in a hotel suite, not some nightclub.”
 
Meera didn’t wait for an invitation. She stepped straight inside, closed the door behind her with a soft click, and let her eyes slide slowly up and down Nimrat’s body. The thin white gown hid almost nothing — the heavy swell of her breasts, the curve of her hips, everything was on full display.
 
Meera smiled, slow and knowing. “Maan Ji always says the same thing: ‘Be as you feel good. Don’t think about what others will say.’ Tonight isn’t about hiding, Nimrat. It’s about stepping into whatever future you want.”
 
They walked into the bedroom together. Clothes were scattered all over the bed and the floor. Meera went straight to the pile, picked up the discarded wine-red georgette saree, and held it up against Nimrat’s body, letting her gaze roam openly over those heavy breasts and wide hips.
 
“You are very fit, very good-looking,” she said simply, her voice low and matter-of-fact. “A woman like you should flaunt what she has.”
 
Meera leaned in closer, her voice dropping low and smooth like she was sharing a secret. “The man you’re going to meet tonight is extremely open-minded. He will secure your future completely. After tonight you’ll have nothing left to lose — only everything to gain. Trust me.”
 
Nimrat felt her cheeks burn hot. She still played it safe though and picked a deep maroon silk saree with a modest blouse that hugged her hourglass figure perfectly. The pallu dbangd right across her massive 38D breasts, the pleats sitting low and accentuating the heavy flare of her gigantic, rounded ass. It looked elegant and conservative on the surface, but there was no hiding how sensual her body looked underneath it.
 
Meera stepped back, took one look, and whistled softly under her breath.
 
“Perfect,” she said, eyes lighting up. “This really brings out your body like a proper hourglass. God… if only I had those huge boobs and that gigantic ass of yours.” She laughed lightly, but her gaze stayed locked on Nimrat’s chest for a long second. “Maan Ji is going to love this.”
 
Nimrat felt a strange awkwardness crawl up her spine. She had only met this woman once before, shared one emotional night and one unexpected kiss, and here Meera was talking about her body so boldly, so casually, like they had been close for years. She didn’t know what to say, so she just nodded, hands trembling a little as she finished dbanging the saree properly.
 
They left the hotel at 8:05 PM. Meera’s driver took them straight to the Taj. The ride was quiet, but Nimrat’s mind was anything but — that word “disciple” kept echoing in her head, and every time the car passed a streetlight the high thigh-slit of Meera’s dress flashed open, showing off smooth skin.
 
When they reached the Presidential Suite, Meera didn’t knock. She just swiped her own key card and pushed the door open.
 
Maan Singh was already inside.
 
The tall, powerfully built 58-year-old stood near the big window with his back to them, wearing a simple white kurta-pajama that did nothing to hide the width of his shoulders or the thick muscles running down his arms. The moment he heard the door, he turned around.
 
Meera walked straight up to him, bending gracefully to touch his feet in that traditional way.

[doodhwale_bhaiya]

But Maan Singh didn’t let her.
 
He caught her by the elbows, pulled her up in one smooth motion, and wrapped her in a tight, possessive hug — the kind that pressed her entire body right against his chest. Meera melted into it instantly, face buried in his neck, arms sliding around his waist like it was the most natural thing in the world. The hug lasted long, intimate, charged with something heavy.
 
Nimrat stood frozen just two steps inside the door, her pallu clutched tight in her fingers.
 
She had never seen anything like it.
 
A powerful, sophisticated woman like Meera — the same one who had spoken so calmly about CBI raids and frozen accounts — was now clinging to this stranger like a lover. And he was holding her with the calm authority of a man who knew every single inch of her body.
 
Nimrat’s throat went completely dry.
 
This was not the meeting she had imagined at all.
 
This was something far more personal.
 
Far more dangerous.
 
And she was already trapped inside the room.
 
The moment the door clicked shut behind them, Maan Singh’s deep, resonant voice filled the entire suite.
 
“Meera… beta, kaise ho?” he asked, the affection in his tone warm but still commanding.
 
Meera changed in a heartbeat. The confident, powerful woman who had driven Nimrat here in that thigh-slit black dress suddenly turned into a shy, giggling girl. She lowered her eyes, cheeks flushing pink, and took small, dainty steps closer to him.
 
“Bahut acchi hoon, Maan ji,” she replied in a soft, childlike voice, the kind she probably hadn’t used with anyone in thirty years. “Aapke darshan kar liye toh sab theek ho jaata hai.”
“I’m very fine, Maan ji,” she replied in a soft, childlike voice, the kind she probably hadn’t used with anyone in thirty years. “Just seeing you makes everything alright.”
 
Nimrat stood awkwardly a few feet away, pallu clutched tight in her fingers, feeling completely invisible. The two of them were talking as if she wasn’t even there. Seconds stretched into a full minute. Then two. Her stomach twisted into a knot. Am I invisible? Did I come all this way just to stand here like a piece of furniture? Worry started creeping in. Had Meera brought her here only for Maan Singh to dismiss her without even a glance?
 
Finally, his sharp eyes slid past Meera and landed on Nimrat.
 
In a completely casual, third-person tone — as if she were an object being discussed — he asked Meera,
 
“Yeh hi woh ladki hai jo help chahti hai?”
“Is this the girl who wants help?”
 
Girl? Nimrat’s mind reeled. I am almost fifty years old. A widow. A mother. A businesswoman. How the hell can he call me a “girl”?
 
Meera nodded quickly, still in that submissive little-girl mode. “Haan Maan ji, yeh hi hain. Nimrat.”
 
Even though Nimrat was standing right there, only a few feet away, Maan Singh kept talking to Meera about her like she couldn’t hear a single word they were saying.
 
Meera leaned in slightly and said in a reverent whisper, “Dekhiye na Maan ji… kitni akeli hai yeh aur itni sundar aurat. Abhi bahut pressure mein hai.” As she spoke, Meera reached out and gently stroked Nimrat’s open hair, letting her fingers trail through the silky strands. “Bilkul tootne ke kareeb hai.”
Meera leaned in slightly and said in a reverent whisper, “Look Maan ji… how alone this beautiful woman is. She is under a lot of pressure right now.” As she spoke, Meera reached out and gently stroked Nimrat’s open hair, letting her fingers trail through the silky strands. “She is very close to breaking.”
 
Maan Singh walked over slowly, his tall frame towering. Without a word he lowered himself on his haunches directly in front of Nimrat, bringing his face level with hers. His eyes — dark, piercing, ancient — locked onto hers and simply held the gaze. No smile. No words. Just that steady, unblinking stare.
 
Nimrat felt her breath catch. Shyness flooded her cheeks. Awkwardness made her want to look away, but she couldn’t. Something powerful was pulling her in. She felt small. Exposed. Slowly, helplessly, she was slipping under his spell. Her pulse hammered in her throat.
 
Maan Singh’s gaze dropped deliberately to her deep cleavage — the maroon saree pallu doing little to hide the heavy swell of her 38D breasts. After a long, shameless second he looked back into her eyes and said quietly, almost affectionately,
 
“Tumhara dil bahut bada hai.”
“Your heart is very big.”
 
The double meaning hit Nimrat like a slow wave of heat. Her nipples tightened visibly against the blouse.
 
Then, in the same calm tone, he commanded,
 
“Khade ho jao.”
“Stand up.”

[doodhwale_bhaiya]

Nimrat rose as if in a trance — legs moving before her mind could protest.
 
Meera immediately stood behind her, placed gentle hands on Nimrat’s shoulders, and made her turn slowly in a full circle. The saree dbangd beautifully over her massive, rounded ass, the fabric stretching and highlighting every curve. Maan Singh’s eyes followed the motion without hurry, drinking in the sight.
 
When Nimrat faced him again, he gave a single nod.
 
“Theek hai. Nimrat… tumhe prayaschit karna hoga. Mere teachings ke neeche rehna hoga. Phir tum khud dusron ko meri teachings preach karogi.”
“Okay. Nimrat… you will have to do penance. You will have to live under my teachings. Then you yourself will preach my teachings to others.”
 
Meera’s eyebrows shot up in visible confusion. Preach? Maan ji had never mentioned anything about preaching before — not once in all these years.
 
But Maan Singh didn’t explain. He simply rose to his full height and said to Meera,
 
“Baad mein isko details samjha dena.” Then, turning to Nimrat with the same calm authority, “Tum ab ja sakti ho.”
“Explain the details to her later.” Then, turning to Nimrat with the same calm authority, “You can go now.”
 
The meeting — the inspection — was over.
 
Just like that.
 
Nimrat stood there for a second longer, heart racing, body tingling, mind reeling from the strange mix of humiliation, arousal, and complete surrender she had just felt in under ten minutes.
 
She was dismissed.
 
And yet she already knew she would come back the moment he called.
 
The moment the heavy door of the Presidential Suite clicked shut behind Nimrat, the air inside changed. The polite, almost ceremonial tension vanished. Meera turned back toward Maan Singh, her eyes already glassy with need.
 
Before Nimrat had even reached the elevator, Meera whispered softly to her through the closing door,
 
“Main kal tumhare residence pe milungi. Rest karo… sab theek ho jaayega.”
“I’ll meet you at your residence tomorrow. Rest… everything will be fine.”
 
Nimrat nodded numbly and disappeared down the corridor, still in that strange trance.
 
Inside the suite, Meera didn’t waste a second.
 
She dropped to her knees right there on the marble floor, black dress riding up her thighs. Maan Singh stood above her like a king — calm, towering, already untying the knot of his kurta.
 
The night that followed was pure, relentless possession.
 
Meera took his thick, heavy cock into her mouth like she was worshipping. She sucked him deep, gagging happily, tears of devotion rolling down her cheeks while Maan Singh held her hair and fucked her throat slowly.
 
“Yeh muh sirf mere lund ke liye bana hai,”
“This mouth is made only for my cock,” he growled, feeding her every inch.
 
When he finally came, he flooded her mouth with thick, hot ropes of cum. Meera swallowed every drop, moaning like a starving woman, then showed him her empty tongue like a good little disciple.
 
Maan Singh didn’t let her rest. He lifted her onto the king-sized bed, ripped the black dress off her body, and buried his face between her legs. His tongue and fingers devoured her shaved, dripping pussy for nearly forty minutes — sucking her clit, tongue-fucking her hole, drinking every drop of her juices while she screamed and squirted all over his moustache.
 
“Maan ji… aapki randi hoon main… hamesha aapki…”
“Maan ji… I am your whore… always yours…” she kept babbling between orgasms.
 
Then the real fucking began.
 
He took her in missionary first — slow, deep strokes, his massive cock stretching her married pussy wide open while he sucked hard on her breasts, leaving red marks. They talked the entire time about Nimrat.
 
“Woh gaay kal se meri hone wali hai,” Maan Singh grunted between thrusts, pinching Meera’s nipples. “Main usko 21 din mein itna todunga ki woh khud mere liye apni beti ko bhi laayegi.”
“That cow is going to be mine from tomorrow,” Maan Singh grunted between thrusts, pinching Meera’s nipples. “I will break her so much in 21 days that she herself will bring her own daughter for me.”
 
Meera moaned louder, legs wrapped around his waist.
 
“Haan … uski badi-badi choochiyan… uski moti gaand… aap usko bhi apni randi bana denge na?”
“Yes … her big big boobs… her fat ass… you will make her your whore too, right?”

[doodhwale_bhaiya]

“Zaroor. Par pehle usko prayaschit karna hai… phir woh khud dusron ko mera naam preach karegi.”
“Of course. But first she has to do penance… then she herself will preach my name to others.”
 
Meera’s eyes widened even in the middle of being fucked senseless. Between moans she managed to ask,
“Maan ji… preaching? Aapne pehle kabhi nahi kaha tha… woh kya—”
“Maan ji… preaching? You never said that before… what is—”
 
Maan Singh’s face darkened instantly.
 
He pulled out of her pussy with a wet pop, flipped her onto all fours like a ragdoll, and slammed his cum-slick cock straight into her tight asshole in one brutal thrust.
 
“AAHHHHHH…!” Meera screamed, pain and pleasure exploding through her.
 
He fucked her ass mercilessly — hard, punishing strokes — one hand gripping her hair, the other slapping her bouncing ass cheeks red.
 
“Jab main kuch kehta hoon, toh sawal nahi karte, samjhi?” he growled, pounding deeper. “Preaching ka matlab hai… jab main Nimrat ko poori tarah se tod dunga, uski doodh aur chut dono meri ho jayengi… tab woh dusri auraton ko bhi mere paas laayegi. Tum jaise aur auratein… sab meri banengi.”
“When I say something, you don’t question it, understood?” he growled, pounding deeper. “Preaching means… when I completely break Nimrat, her milk and pussy both become mine… then she will bring other women to me too. Women like you… all will become mine.”
 
Meera was sobbing with ecstasy, ass clenching around his cock. After several minutes of savage anal fucking, Maan Singh roared and emptied his balls deep inside her bowels — thick, endless spurts of cum flooding her ass.
 
He pulled out slowly, his cock glistening with her juices and his own seed.
 
“Saaf karo,”
“Clean it”,  he commanded.
 
Meera turned instantly, taking the dirty cock into her mouth without hesitation. She sucked and licked every inch clean, tasting her own ass on him, eyes locked on his in total submission.
 
When he was satisfied, Maan Singh stroked her hair gently and smiled.
 
“Tu bahut acchi ladki hai, Meera. Ab tujhe reward milna chahiye.”
“You are a very good girl, Meera. Now you deserve a reward.”
 
He made her lie down on his chest, still naked and leaking his cum from both holes, and whispered the reward:
 
“Jaise hi Nimrat mere ghar pahunch jaaye aur uska 10 din ka initiation shuru ho jaaye… tu bhi wapas aa jaana. Tum dono saath mein rahogi. Main tum dono ko saath-saath chodunga… aur tum dono meri gaay ban kar rahegi. 10 din baad… tu bhi permanent disciple ban jaayegi.”
“As soon as Nimrat reaches my house and her 10-day initiation starts… you also come back. Both of you will stay together. I will fuck both of you together… and both of you will remain as my cows. After 10 days… you too will become a permanent disciple.”
 
Meera shivered with pure joy and kissed his chest. “Thank you, Maan ji… aapki kripa…”
 
The rest of the night continued — another round in cowgirl where she rode him like a whore while he sucked and bit her breasts, more dirty talk about how they would break Nimrat together, more orgasms until both were exhausted and drenched in sweat and cum.
 
At dawn, Maan Singh himself bathed her in the luxurious marble bathtub. He washed every inch of her body tenderly, soaped her sore pussy and ass, kissed her forehead, and dressed her in a fresh robe.
 
Only then did he allow her to leave.
 
“Kal Nimrat ke residence pe jaana. Aur usko taiyaar rakhna… mera intezaar kar rahi hai woh abhi se.”
“Go to Nimrat’s residence tomorrow. And keep her ready… she is already waiting for me from now.”
 
Meera stepped out of the suite at 7 AM, legs trembling, body marked, ass and pussy still leaking his cum, but her face glowing with the kind of peace only a true disciple feels.
 
The hunter had claimed his favourite pet for one more night.
 
And soon… very soon… he would have another.

[doodhwale_bhaiya]

Chandigarh

 
Simran stepped out of the bathroom completely naked, her skin still glistening with droplets from the cold shower. The water had done nothing to cool the fire still raging inside her. Her body felt heavy, languid, and hypersensitive — every nerve ending alive and buzzing. Her breasts hung full and tender, nipples dark and erect, still leaking slow, warm trails of milk that ran down the undersides and dripped from the tips onto the floor. Between her legs, her pussy was swollen and slick, the lips puffy and parted, her clit throbbing visibly with every heartbeat. She looked like a woman freshly fucked — flushed, wet, and glowing with that post-orgasmic haze — even though no cock had touched her.
 
She was in a complete trance.
 
Twice she had cum today — once from Bhola’s hungry mouth on her tits in the kitchen, once from the relentless massage that had turned into something far more intimate. The eroticism of it all — the way he had sucked her like he owned her, the taste of her own milk on his lips, the way her body had betrayed her again and again — had left her mind foggy and her limbs weak. She moved like someone walking through a dream, barely aware of her own actions.
 
She didn’t bother with a towel. She simply walked to the wardrobe, pulled out the first things her hands found — a loose, soft white cotton short that barely reached mid-thigh and a matching oversized button-down shirt in the same pale shade. She slipped them on without underwear. The shirt hung open at the top, the fabric brushing her sensitive nipples with every movement. The shorts clung lightly to her still-damp pussy, the crotch already starting to darken again from the constant low throb between her legs.
 
She ran her fingers roughly through her wet hair, not even bothering to dry it properly, and collapsed onto the bed. The moment her head hit the pillow, exhaustion pulled her under like a heavy tide. She drifted into a deep, dreamless sleep within seconds.
 
But the dreams came soon enough.
 
In the dream, she was standing in an endless white room filled with warm, cascading water. It poured over her naked body like a gentle waterfall — running down her neck, between her heavy breasts, over her soft belly, and between her thighs. Ravi was there in the background, a distant silhouette, watching silently. He looked calm, almost approving.
 
Then the scene shifted.
 
Suddenly she was no longer under water. She was standing in the middle of the room, legs spread, breasts impossibly full and heavy. Milk began spraying from her nipples in powerful, continuous arcs — thick white jets shooting outward like fountains. Bhola appeared in front of her, naked from the waist up, trying desperately to reach her. He walked forward, arms outstretched, but the force of her milk sprays was too strong. The streams hit his chest, his face, his shoulders, pushing him back like powerful jets of water. He kept trying, stepping forward again and again, but the milk kept blasting him backward, drenching him completely until his skin shone white and sticky.
 
Simran watched herself in the dream, moaning softly, her hands cupping her own breasts, squeezing them to make the sprays even stronger. She felt powerful. She felt desired. She felt filthy.
 
Then Bhola’s pants suddenly tore away with a loud rip.
 
His cock sprang free — huge, gigantic, an absolute anaconda of a thing. It was already rock-hard, thicker than her wrist, veins bulging along the shaft, the swollen head dark and angry. And it kept growing. Longer. Thicker. Pulsing. The sheer size of it made her gasp in the dream. It curved upward aggressively, the head glistening with pre-cum, easily fourteen inches now and still swelling.
 
The sight distracted her completely.
 
In one swift, powerful motion, the massive cock lunged forward and shoved itself straight into her open mouth. Simran’s eyes widened in shock as her lips stretched obscenely around the thick head. The shaft slid deeper, filling her mouth, pressing against her tongue, hitting the back of her throat. She gagged for a second, then moaned around it as the first powerful spurt of his cum flooded her mouth.
 
Thick, hot, salty ropes of cum pumped endlessly into her. It overflowed instantly — spilling from the corners of her stretched lips, running down her chin in creamy white rivers, dripping onto her heaving breasts. She tried to swallow but there was too much. She started drinking greedily instead, gulping down as much as she could while the rest poured over her face, her neck, her tits, drenching her completely.
 
In the background, Ravi was shouting something — inaudible, distant, frantic — but she didn’t care. She was in heaven. She wrapped both hands around the massive shaft, stroking what she couldn’t fit in her mouth, milking him for more. Her pussy was gushing, thighs shaking, body trembling with ultimate, overwhelming pleasure as she drank and drank and drank.
 
The dream continued, looping, getting filthier, her body writhing on the bed in real life as she slept.
 
Simran’s dream refused to let her go.
 
She was still on her knees in that endless white room, the warm waterfall of milk spraying powerfully from her heavy breasts in thick, continuous arcs. Bhola stood before her, drenched and glistening, his massive cock buried deep in her mouth. The thick shaft pulsed against her tongue as rope after rope of hot, salty cum flooded her throat. She swallowed desperately, gulping down as much as she could, but it was too much. Creamy white cum spilled from the corners of her stretched lips, running in thick rivers down her chin, dripping onto her heaving tits and mixing with her own milk.
 
In the far background, Ravi was still shouting something — his voice distorted and distant, like he was screaming from underwater — but she couldn’t make out the words. She didn’t care. The taste of Bhola’s cum mixed with her own sweet milk on her tongue was driving her wild. Her pussy was gushing, thighs shaking, body trembling with pure, overwhelming pleasure.

[doodhwale_bhaiya]

Then the dream shifted again.
 
Preeti appeared.
 
She stepped out of the mist of falling milk like she had been waiting in the shadows the whole time. She was completely naked, her caramel skin glowing, her own full breasts swaying as she walked. Her long black hair was wet and plastered to her shoulders, and her eyes were dark with lust and fascination. She looked exactly like she had at the restaurant earlier that day — confident, sensual, and completely at ease with the filth unfolding in front of her.
 
Preeti stopped a few feet away, watching Simran suck greedily on Bhola’s enormous cock. A slow, wicked smile spread across her face.
 
“Look at you,” Preeti whispered, her voice echoing softly in the dream space. “My beautiful cow… getting her mouth fucked while she drowns everyone in her milk. You’re so fucking perfect like this.”
 
Simran moaned around Bhola’s cock, the sound vibrating along his shaft. Preeti stepped closer, her bare feet splashing through the pools of milk and cum on the floor. She reached out and gently cupped one of Simran’s spraying breasts, lifting it slightly, feeling the powerful jet of milk spray against her palm.
 
“So much milk,” Preeti murmured, almost in awe. “You’re producing so much for him… for us. Let me help you.”
 
Preeti leaned down and pressed her lips to Simran’s other nipple — the one not currently being sucked by Bhola’s cock. She sealed her mouth around it and sucked hard. Milk exploded into Preeti’s mouth in a thick, forceful stream. Preeti moaned loudly, eyes fluttering shut as she drank greedily, swallowing Simran’s milk while her free hand slid down to cup Simran’s dripping pussy.
 
Simran’s eyes rolled back. The sensation of two mouths on her at once — Bhola’s massive cock stretching her lips and throat while Preeti sucked hungrily from her left tit — was too much. Her pussy clenched violently around Preeti’s fingers as another orgasm ripped through her. She came with a muffled scream around Bhola’s cock, her whole body shaking, milk spraying even harder from both breasts.
 
Preeti pulled back just enough to speak, her lips shiny with Simran’s milk.
 
“You taste so good,” she whispered, voice husky. “Keep feeding us, baby. Let us drink everything you have.”
 
Bhola’s cock throbbed harder in Simran’s mouth. He started thrusting gently, fucking her face in slow, deep strokes while Preeti returned to sucking her other tit. Milk poured from both breasts now — one into Preeti’s eager mouth, the other overflowing around Bhola’s thick shaft as he used her throat. Cum and milk mixed together, dripping everywhere, drenching all three of them.
 
Simran was drowning in pleasure.
 
Her mind spun with the filth of it all — her husband shouting uselessly in the background, her best friend drinking from her tits like a lover, and Bhola’s monstrous cock claiming her mouth while her body kept spraying milk like a broken fountain.
 
She came again.
 
And again.
 
The dream refused to end. It kept looping, getting dirtier, more intense, more overwhelming. Preeti’s fingers slid deeper inside her pussy, curling perfectly against her G-spot while she sucked harder on Simran’s nipple. Bhola’s cock grew even thicker in her mouth, stretching her lips obscenely as he fucked her face with long, powerful strokes.
 
Simran’s body convulsed in the dream, orgasms crashing through her one after another, milk spraying wildly, cum and cream covering her face, her breasts, her thighs.
 
She was lost.
 
Completely, utterly lost in the most forbidden pleasure her mind could create.
 
Simran woke with a start, her body slick with sweat, the sheets tangled around her legs. The clock on the bedside table read 5:07 PM. She had slept for hours — deep, heavy sleep that left her disoriented and groggy. Her mouth felt dry, her stomach growled loudly, reminding her she had skipped lunch entirely. The dream still clung to her like a fever — fragments flashing behind her eyes: endless sprays of her own milk, Preeti’s mouth on her breast, Bhola’s gigantic cock forcing its way between her lips, the overwhelming taste of cum and cream mixing together. She couldn’t remember half of it clearly, but the feeling remained — a hot, shameful ache low in her belly and between her legs.
 
She sat up slowly, rubbing her face. Her shirt was damp with sweat and fresh milk leaks, the fabric sticking to her heavy breasts. Her nipples were stiff and sensitive, already leaking again. Between her thighs, her panty was soaked through from the dream and the lingering arousal from earlier. She felt sticky, messy, and strangely alive.
 
She changed quickly into the loose white short and matching loose shirt she had worn earlier — the outfit was comfortable, casual, the kind of thing she sometimes lounged in at home. The shorts sat low on her hips, the shirt hung oversized and unbuttoned at the top, giving easy glimpses of her deep cleavage. She didn’t bother with a bra or change her panty. She simply ran her fingers through her messy hair and headed downstairs, stomach rumbling.

[doodhwale_bhaiya]

The moment she stepped into the hall, Bhola saw her from the kitchen. He immediately came forward, concern written across his face.
 
“Bhabhi… aap theek hain? Aap itni der se so rahi thi.”
“Bhabhi… are you fine? You slept for so long.”
 
Simran gave him a small, tired smile.
 
“Bahot bhuk lagi hai, Bhola. Mainne lunch nehi kiya.”
“I’m very hungry, Bhola. I skipped lunch.”
 
Bhola nodded quickly and moved to the kitchen counter. Within a minute he brought her a plate of snacks — warm aloo tikki, some roasted peanuts, and a glass of powdered milk mixed with a little sugar and cardamom the way she liked it.
 
“Ab yeh kha lijiye, Bhabhi. Dinner jaldi se taiyaar ho jayega.”
“Eat this now, Bhabhi. Dinner will be ready soon.”
 
Simran took the plate and glass, murmuring a soft thank you. Her nipples were leaking again — small wet spots already forming on the front of her loose shirt. Bhola noticed immediately. Without hesitation, he stepped closer and reached for the top button of her shirt, fingers ready to open it so he could suck her properly.
 
Simran felt a sudden rush of awkwardness. She stepped back quickly, one hand coming up to hold her shirt closed.
 
“Bhola… tum har baar mujhse milte hi mujhe choosne lagte ho,”
“Bhola… you just suck me every time I meet you,” she said, half-teasing, half-embarrassed, her voice soft.
 
Bhola paused, then stepped forward again, his expression innocent but determined. He reached for the buttons once more. Simran stepped back again, a small, nervous laugh escaping her. It turned into a strange, playful game of catch and release — Bhola gently advancing, Simran retreating with shy little steps, both of them moving around the living room like lovers dancing around a secret.
 
He tried one more time, reaching for her shirt. Simran backed away, giggling nervously, but this time Bhola moved faster. His strong arm wrapped around her waist, lifting her clean off the floor in one smooth motion. Simran let out a surprised gasp, her legs kicking lightly in the air for a second.
 
“Bhola—!”
 
With his other hand he quickly unbuttoned the top three buttons of her shirt. The fabric parted instantly, exposing her full, heavy right breast. The dark nipple was already leaking, a thick white bead rolling down the curve. Bhola didn’t waste another second. He lunged forward, mouth open, and latched onto her right tit with raw hunger. He sucked hard and deep, cheeks hollowing immediately as thick streams of milk jetted into his mouth.
 
Simran moaned sharply, her body going limp in his grasp for a moment.
 
“Aaahhh…”
 
She tried to protest — hands pushing weakly at his shoulders — but the pleasure hit her too fast. Her legs stopped kicking. Her head fell back slightly as Bhola drank from her like a man who had been waiting all day. His mouth made loud, wet, greedy sounds, milk spilling from the corners of his lips and running down her exposed breast in warm white rivers.
 
Simran’s resistance melted away in seconds. Her hands moved to the back of his head instead, fingers sliding into his hair, holding him there as he sucked.
 
The game was over.
 
And both of them knew it had only just begun again.
 
Bhola kept her suspended effortlessly in the air, one strong arm wrapped firmly around her waist, holding her body weight like she weighed nothing at all. Her legs dangled helplessly on either side of his hips, toes barely brushing the floor. The loose white short had ridden up high on her thighs from all the squirming, the hem barely covering the curve of her ass. Her matching loose shirt hung open, both heavy breasts completely exposed and bouncing softly with every small movement she made.
 
“Main choos kar hi aapko chhorunga, Bhabhi,”
“I will suck and then only leave you, Bhabhi,” Bhola murmured against her right nipple, his voice low and determined, lips brushing the wet, swollen peak as he spoke.
 
“Jaise maine vaada kiya tha. Main sab kuch khatam kar dunga.”
“As I promised. I will finish everything.”
 
Simran’s hands pushed weakly at his shoulders, her fingers pressing against the solid muscle there.
 
“Bhola… koi aa jayega… Ravi bhi aata hi hoga… please… mujhe neeche utaar do…”
“Bhola… someone will come… Ravi might be about to return… please… put me down…”
 
But her protests were breathless, half-hearted, her voice cracking every time he sucked harder. Bhola didn’t listen. He simply tightened his grip around her waist, lifting her a little higher so her breasts were perfectly level with his face.
 
“Koi nahi aayega, Bhabhi,”
“No one will come, Bhabhi,”
 
he said calmly, almost reassuringly, as if he were stating a simple fact.
 
“In bade-bade tarboozon ko choos kar saara doodh jaldi pee leta hoon. Bahut bhare hue hain… mujhe mehsoos ho raha hai kitne bhari hain.”

[doodhwale_bhaiya]

“Let me suck these big melons and drink all the milk fast. They are so full… I can feel how heavy they are.”
 
He latched onto her right nipple again with a wet, hungry sound, sucking deep and hard. His cheeks hollowed as he pulled with powerful, rhythmic force. Thick streams of warm milk jetted into his mouth, filling him instantly. He swallowed greedily, but still more overflowed, running down his chin and dripping onto her bare stomach in warm white rivulets. His free hand came up to squeeze the soft, heavy globe he was drinking from, milking it downward to force even more milk out.
 
Simran gasped sharply, her body jerking in his grasp.
 
“Bhola… ruk ja… ahh… koi sun lega…”
“Bhola… stop… ahh… someone might hear…”
 
She kept pushing at his shoulders, her palms sliding against his kurta, trying to create space between them. But her legs betrayed her — they instinctively wrapped tighter around his waist for balance, pulling her soaked crotch even closer to the massive, iron-hard bulge in his pants. His cock was fully erect now, thick and throbbing, straining painfully against the thin fabric. Every time she squirmed or kicked her legs lightly in protest, the heavy length of it nudged and rubbed against the soft, covered curve of her ass.
 
The contact was constant. Erotic. Dangerous.
 
Each small struggle she made caused her plump ass cheeks to press and grind against that rigid monster. The thick shaft slid between them through the layers of cloth, the fat head bumping against the underside of her ass again and again. Simran could feel its heat, its impossible girth, the way it pulsed and jerked every time he sucked harder on her tit. Her soaked panty was now rubbing directly against it, the thin fabric doing nothing to hide how wet she was. Fresh slick kept leaking out of her, smearing across the front of his pants with every desperate wiggle.
 
“Bhola… please… mujhe neeche utaar do…”
“Bhola… please… put me down…” she whimpered, pushing at his chest again, but her voice was breaking into soft, needy moans.
 
Bhola simply held her tighter, lifting her higher so her breasts bounced freely in front of his face. He switched to the left tit, latching on with the same greedy hunger.
 
“Mujhe pura choos lene do, Bhabhi,”
“Let me finish, Bhabhi,” he murmured around her nipple, the words muffled and wet.
 
“Yeh bade-bade aam jaise itne bhare hue hain… mujhe sab kuch peena hai… phir main aapko chhod dunga.”
“These big mangos are so full… I need to drink everything… then I will leave you.”
 
He sucked harder, his hand squeezing the soft flesh roughly, forcing thick jets of milk to spray into his mouth. His cock throbbed violently against her ass with every pull, the heavy shaft sliding up and down between her cheeks as she kept squirming in his grasp. The erotic game of resistance only made it worse — every time she pushed him away, her body would rock back against him, grinding her dripping pussy and soft ass harder against his iron-hard cock.
 
Simran’s mind was spinning.
 
He’s so hard… God, I can feel every inch of it against my ass. It’s so thick… so hot… every time I move it rubs right between my cheeks. I’m soaking through my shorts. I’m going to cum again just from this… from him holding me in the air and sucking my tits while his cock grinds against me…
 
She kept protesting weakly, pushing at his shoulders, her legs kicking lightly in the air.
 
“Bhola… koi… ahh… aa sakta hai…”
“Bhola… someone… ahh… might come…”
 
But her body kept betraying her — hips rolling subtly, ass pressing back against that massive, throbbing bulge, chasing the friction even as she pretended to fight him.
 
Bhola remained completely focused, innocent in his determination, sucking her tits like the only thing that mattered was emptying her completely. His cock kept nudging and rubbing against her covered ass with every small movement she made, the thick head pressing insistently between her cheeks through the thin layers of cloth.
 
The game continued — erotic, tense, and utterly filthy — with Simran suspended in his strong arms, protesting and moaning at the same time, while Bhola drank from her like he would never let her go.
 
And neither of them wanted it to end.
 
Bhola’s precum had already soaked through the front of his pants long ago. The thick, dark fabric at the front of his crotch was visibly wet, a large damp patch spreading outward from where the swollen head of his monster cock pressed insistently against the material. Every time Simran squirmed or kicked her legs lightly in half-hearted protest, the heavy shaft would throb and leak more, smearing fresh precum across the inside of his pants.
 
Simran was leaking just as badly from below. Her white panty was completely ruined — the thin cotton crotch plastered transparently to her swollen pink pussy lips, the fabric dark and shiny with her slick. Fresh waves of her arousal kept gushing out with every powerful suck from Bhola’s mouth, running down her inner thighs in hot, slippery trails and soaking into the waistband of her shorts.
 
He was only half done.
 
Bhola suddenly released her left tit with a loud, wet pop. A thick string of milk stretched between his swollen lips and her dark, glistening nipple before snapping. He looked up at her for a split second, then did his signature move — the one that always broke her.

[doodhwale_bhaiya]

He pinched her left nipple between his thumb and forefinger, pulling it outward slowly, stretching the thick peak long and taut. Then he dove in and sucked with brutal force — cheeks hollowing dramatically, tongue pressing flat against the underside as he tugged with everything he had.
 
Simran cried out in pure ecstasy.
 
“Aaaahhhhhh!”
 
The sharp pull combined with the sudden savage suction sent a lightning bolt straight to her clit. Her whole body jerked violently in his arms, legs kicking once before locking tighter around his waist. Her pussy spasmed hard, gushing fresh slick into her already drenched panty. The orgasm that had been building for so long finally crashed through her — not gentle, but violent and overwhelming. She shook uncontrollably, thighs trembling, a broken moan tearing from her throat as wave after wave ripped through her core.
 
Bhola didn’t stop. He kept sucking through her climax, drinking every drop that her spasming body gave him.
 
When her tremors finally began to ease, he gently lowered her feet back to the floor. The moment her weight settled, his rock-hard cock — still trapped in his pants — slid straight between the cheeks of her bare ass. The thick, burning length nestled perfectly in the valley between her plump globes, the fat head nudging right against her soaked panty-covered pussy from behind. The contact was electric. Simran gasped sharply, her knees buckling for a second as she felt the immense heat and girth pressing against her most private places.
 
Bhola stepped back one pace, breathing hard, his eyes dark with hunger but still strangely innocent. He turned toward the main door, walked quickly, and slid the bolt shut with a soft click. The sound echoed in the silent house like a final seal.
 
He came back to her immediately.
 
Without a word, he grabbed her waist with both strong hands and lifted her clean off the floor again. Simran’s legs instinctively wrapped around his hips for balance. Her loose shorts had bunched up completely during all the struggling — now they looked more like a tiny thong, the fabric wedged high between her ass cheeks, leaving her bare, plump ass completely exposed and resting fully in his large, warm palms.
 
Bhola used one hand to quickly open one more button of her shirt. The fabric parted instantly, fully exposing her right breast — heavy, round, still leaking, the dark nipple glistening and erect. He lunged forward like a man possessed and latched onto it with savage hunger.
 
He sucked like his life depended on it.
 
His mouth sealed tight around the nipple and a large portion of the soft flesh, pulling with deep, brutal, rhythmic force. Milk jetted powerfully into his mouth in thick, creamy streams. He gulped noisily, swallowing again and again, but still more overflowed, running down his chin and dripping onto her stomach and the front of his shirt.
 
Simran had completely submitted.
 
Her arms wrapped around his neck, fingers digging into his shoulders as she held on. Her legs locked tightly behind his waist, heels digging into his lower back, pulling him closer. Her bare ass rested fully in his strong hands, the plump cheeks spreading slightly in his grip. She moaned helplessly with every deep suck — soft, broken cries of pleasure that she no longer tried to hide.
 
Bhola’s eyes were closed in pure bliss. He sucked like the world outside didn’t exist — only her breasts, only her milk, only the sweet taste that had become his addiction. His hands kneaded her ass roughly while he drank, fingers sinking into the soft, warm flesh, holding her suspended in the air as if she weighed nothing.
 
Simran was in heaven.
 
Her head fell back slightly, lips parted, eyes half-closed as wave after wave of pleasure rolled through her. Her pussy throbbed against the thick bulge of his cock, the soaked panty rubbing helplessly against his hardness with every small movement. Milk kept flowing into his mouth, and she could feel herself leaking from below too — fresh slick soaking through her shorts and smearing across the front of his pants.
 
She had completely forgotten she was married.
 
In that moment, suspended in Bhola’s arms, shirt open, breasts being devoured, ass in his hands, pussy grinding against his massive cock — she was simply a woman surrendering to the overwhelming pleasure her body had been craving.
 
And Bhola kept sucking — slow, deep, relentless — like he would never let her go.
 
Bhola had been carrying her for almost fifteen full minutes.
 
Simran remained suspended in his strong arms, her legs locked tightly around his waist, her bare ass resting completely in his large palms as he walked slowly around the open hall. The loose white short had bunched up completely around her hips like a useless belt, leaving her plump, milky-white ass cheeks fully exposed and spread slightly in his grip. Her shirt hung open, both heavy breasts bouncing gently against his chest with every step he took. Milk continued to leak from her dark, swollen nipples, smearing across the front of his kurta in warm, sticky trails.
 
He never stopped sucking.
 
His mouth stayed latched onto one tit, then the other, switching every few steps with wet, obscene pops. He sucked slowly now, almost lazily, taking long, deep pulls that made her breasts stretch forward into his mouth before releasing with a soft jiggle. Milk flowed steadily into him, and he swallowed with quiet, satisfied gulps, but still more spilled from the corners of his lips, running down his chin and dripping onto her stomach and thighs. Every time he switched breasts, a fresh spray would arc across his face, coating his cheeks and neck.

[doodhwale_bhaiya]

Simran had stopped protesting entirely.
 
Her arms were wrapped around his neck, fingers tangled in his hair, holding him close. Her head rested against his shoulder, eyes half-closed, soft moans and whimpers escaping her lips with every deep suck. Her pussy was dripping constantly now — the soaked panty rubbing against the thick, iron-hard bulge in his pants with every step he took. The massive shaft was lodged firmly between her thick thighs, the fat head nudging right against her swollen clit through the thin layers of cloth. Every time Bhola took a step, the heavy cock would slide back and forth between her thighs, grinding deliciously against her most sensitive spot.
 
She was in a haze of pleasure.
 
Her mind kept whispering filthy, dangerous thoughts:
 
He’s walking around the house with me like this… sucking my tits while my husband sleeps upstairs… his huge cock rubbing between my thighs… I’m leaking milk and pussy juice all over him… and I don’t want him to stop…
 
Bhola finally slowed near the sofa. With gentle care, he lowered her down onto the cushions. As her ass touched the sofa, his rock-hard cock — still trapped in his pants — slid straight between her thick, soft thighs one last time, the thick shaft lodging perfectly in the warm valley between them. The head pressed hot and heavy right against her soaked panty-covered pussy. Simran gasped sharply at the contact, her legs instinctively squeezing around it for a second before she forced herself to relax.
 
Bhola stepped back slightly, breathing hard, his mouth and chin completely covered in her milk. It glistened on his lips, dripped from his jaw, soaked the collar of his kurta.
 
He looked at her with that same innocent, reverent expression and said softly:
 
“Aapki chuchiya bahut swadist hain, Bhabhi… main inhe pee pee ke aur takatwar ban jaunga.”
“Your boobs are very tasty, Bhabhi… by drinking them again and again I will become even stronger.”
 
Simran didn’t know what to say.
 
She could only stare at him, cheeks burning, as he turned and went to the kitchen. A minute later he returned with a small plate of warm bread toast and a glass of powdered milk mixed with Jeevdhatu — the same herbal powder he always added for her.
 
“Ab yeh kha lijiye, Bhabhi,”
“Eat this now, Bhabhi,” he said gently, placing the plate and glass on the table in front of her.
 
“Dinner jaldi se taiyaar ho jayega.”
“Dinner will be ready soon.”
 
Simran picked up a piece of toast with trembling fingers and took a small bite, trying to act normal. But her mind was spinning. She kept replaying the last fifteen minutes — Bhola carrying her around the house like she weighed nothing, his mouth latched onto her tits the entire time, his massive cock rubbing between her thighs with every step. She couldn’t stop thinking about how big it had felt. How thick. How hard. How it had pressed right against her soaked pussy through their clothes.
 
Her gaze dropped involuntarily to his crotch as he stood in front of her.
 
The monster was fully erect for quite some time now.
 
The front of his pants was stretched obscenely tight, the thick outline of his cock clearly visible — long, heavy, curving upward, the fat head pressing hard against the fabric like it wanted to tear free. A large wet spot of precum had soaked through near the tip, making the material cling to the shape.
 
Simran’s mouth fell open slightly.
 
“What…?” she breathed, eyes wide.
 
Bhola tilted his head, confused.
 
“Aapne mujhe bulaya, Bhabhi?”
“You called me, Bhabhi?”
 
Simran’s voice came out in a shocked whisper.
 
“Bhola… ye kya hai?”
“Bhola… what is this?”
 
Her mouth formed a perfect, surprised “O” as she stared at the massive bulge. The sheer size of it — the way it throbbed visibly against his pants — left her speechless. Her pussy clenched hard at the sight, fresh slick flooding her already ruined panty.
 
Bhola suddenly realised what she was looking at. His ears turned red, and he shifted his stance awkwardly, trying to hide the obvious erection. But it was too late.
 
The powder (Jeevdhatu) he had been taking daily had heavily reduced the sensation in his cock — that was why he could stay hard for so long without feeling overwhelmed. Whether that was a good thing or not… only time would tell.
 
But right now, Simran’s wide, shocked eyes were fixed on the monster hidden in his pants, and Bhola stood there, suddenly very aware that she had just seen everything.
 
The air between them crackled with a new, dangerous tension.
 
And Simran’s mind was already racing ahead to what might happen next.

[doodhwale_bhaiya]

Bhola suddenly froze.
 
The moment Simran’s wide, shocked eyes dropped to the massive, throbbing bulge in his pants, panic flashed across his face. His ears turned bright red. Without a word, he covered his crotch with both hands, turned around sharply, and ran toward his room at the back of the house. His footsteps were quick and embarrassed on the tiled floor.
 
Simran sat there on the sofa for a split second, stunned. Then guilt crashed over her like cold water.
 
Oh no… what have I done? I stared at him like that. I made him feel ashamed. He’s just a simple boy trying to help me and I… I looked at him like he was some kind of freak. He must be so embarrassed right now.
 
She stood up quickly, her loose shirt still open, breasts heavy and leaking, and hurried after him. Her bare feet were silent as she crossed the hall. When she reached his door, it was already locked from inside.
 
“Bhola…” she called softly, knocking gently. “Bhola, please darwaza khol do.”
“Bhola…” she called softly, knocking gently. “Bhola, please open the door.”
 
No answer.
 
She knocked again, her voice softer, almost pleading.
 
“Bhola… maaf kar do. Please khol do. Koi baat nehi. Yeh sab natural hai. Sharmane ki koi baat nahi. Please… mujhe andar aane do.”
“Bhola… I’m sorry. Please open. It’s okay. It’s only natural. Nothing to be ashamed of. Please… let me in.”
 
She waited, heart pounding. After almost a minute of gentle knocking and soft reassurances, the bolt clicked. The door opened just a crack.
 
Bhola stood there, head slightly lowered, one hand still covering the front of his pants. His face was flushed, eyes avoiding hers.
 
Simran stepped inside without waiting for permission. She closed the door behind her gently and stood in front of him.
 
“Kya hua hai?” she asked softly, her voice full of concern.
“What is wrong?” she asked softly, her voice full of concern.
 
Bhola stammered, looking anywhere but at her.
 
“Main… main nahi jaanta, Bhabhi… yeh… yeh bas ho jaata hai… mera iraada nahi tha…”
“I… I don’t know, Bhabhi… it… it just happens… I didn’t mean to…”
 
Simran’s heart ached for him. In her mind, a fierce protective instinct flared up.
 
He is my future potential bull… I cannot let him lose confidence like this. Not now. Not ever.
 
She stepped closer, her tone gentle but firm.
 
“Fikar mat karo, Bhola. Aisa hota hai. Yeh bilkul natural hai. Iske liye tumhe bura feel karne ki zaroorat nahi.”
“Don’t worry, Bhola. It happens. It’s completely natural. You don’t have to feel bad about it.”
 
Bhola looked up at her shyly, relief flickering in his eyes.
 
“Shukriya, Bhabhi… samajhne ke liye.”
“Thank you, Bhabhi… for understanding.”
 
Simran smiled softly, trying to keep her voice light.
 
“Ek shart par.”
“On one condition.”
 
Bhola tilted his head, confused.
 
“What?”
 
She took a small breath, her cheeks warming, but her voice stayed steady.
 
“Pehle mujhe dikhao kya problem hai.”
“Show me what’s wrong first.”
 
Bhola thought she simply meant to remove his hands from the front of his pants. He slowly lowered them, still looking embarrassed.
 
But Simran wanted more.
 
She wanted to see everything.
 
Her eyes dropped to the massive, straining bulge in his pants. The fabric was stretched so tight it looked ready to tear. The thick outline of his cock was unmistakable — long, heavy, curving upward aggressively. The swollen head pressed hard against the material, a large wet spot of precum darkening the front.
 
Simran’s mouth fell open slightly.
 
“Ohh…My…God…” she breathed, eyes wide, unable to tear her gaze away.
 
She was yet to see what truly lay inside, but even the outline was enough to make her pussy clench hard. The sheer size, the thickness, the way it throbbed visibly against his pants — it was mesmerizing.

[doodhwale_bhaiya]

She swallowed hard, then said softly:
 
“Idhar aao.”
“Come here.”
 
Bhola took one hesitant step closer. He was standing right in front of her now, while she sat on the edge of his bed. The height difference made the bulge level with her face.
 
Simran looked up at him, her voice gentle but insistent.
 
“Mujhe theek se dikhao kya ho raha hai, Bhola.”
“Show me properly what is happening, Bhola.”
 
He hesitated, confused and shy. After a long moment of her soft, reassuring words,
 
“Koi nahi… main bas dekhna chahti hoon… sharmane ki koi baat nahi hai” — he finally nodded.
“It’s okay… I just want to see… there’s nothing to be ashamed of” — he finally nodded.
 
With trembling fingers, he hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his pants and slowly lowered them.
 
The pants slid down his strong thighs and pooled at his ankles.
 
He was still wearing his underwear — a simple white cotton brief that was now stretched to its absolute limit. The fabric looked like it would tear any second. The massive, thick shaft was clearly outlined, the fat head pushing aggressively against the waistband, precum soaking through in a large, dark patch. The sheer size of it made the underwear look comically small.
 
Simran stared, completely transfixed.
 
Her mouth was slightly open, eyes wide with a mixture of shock, curiosity, and raw hunger. She couldn’t look away. Her mind was spinning with filthy, overwhelming thoughts as she took in the impossible girth and length hidden just beneath that thin white fabric.
 
Bhola stood there, hands at his sides, cheeks burning with embarrassment, waiting for her reaction.
 
And Simran, still sitting on the bed in her open shirt, could only stare at the monster that had been pressing against her all evening.
 
The room felt smaller. The air felt thicker.
 
And the line they had been dancing around for days had just become dangerously thin.
 
 
Simran’s eyes were locked on the impossible bulge in Bhola’s pants. Her voice came out in a slow, breathless whisper, barely audible.
 
“What…? How is it possible…?”, she said to herself but loud enough for Bhola to hear something.
 
The words hung in the air like smoke. Bhola’s ears turned even redder. Although he didn’t understand fully what she said, he quickly reached down to pull his pants back up, clearly mortified, but Simran’s hand shot forward and caught both of his wrists before he could cover himself again.
 
“Ruko,” she said, her voice soft but trembling with something far more intense than curiosity. “Mujhe dekhna hai.”
“Wait,” she said, her voice soft but trembling with something far more intense than curiosity. “I need to see.”
 
Bhola froze, eyes wide with confusion and embarrassment.
 
“Bhabhi… fikar mat kijiye… yeh chala jayega. Bas thoda time lagta hai.”
“Bhabhi… don’t worry… it will go away. It just takes some time.”
 
Simran’s breath was shallow. Her gaze never left the massive, throbbing outline straining against the fabric.
 
“Time? Kitna time?”
“Time? How much time?”
 
“Shayad… do ghante ya uske aas-paas?”
“May be… two hours or so?” he stammered, still trying to gently pull his hands away.
 
“Do Ghante?”
“Two hours?” Simran repeated, almost in disbelief. Her mouth had gone dry, but her mind was flooding with heat. She could feel saliva pooling under her tongue, as if her body was preparing to taste something forbidden.
 
Two hours like this? That thing is staying hard for two whole hours?
 
The thought made her pussy clench so hard she had to press her thighs together. Fresh slick leaked into her already ruined panty.
 
She had to see it now. Today. This moment.
 
“Bas ek baar dekhne do,”
“Just let me see once,” she whispered, her voice barely holding together.
 
Bhola didn’t move. He stood there, hands still half-covering the front of his pants, looking lost and shy.
 
Simran’s fingers trembled as she reached for the waistband of his pants. She hooked them under the elastic and started pulling downward slowly. The fabric resisted immediately. The monster inside was pointing almost straight up, the thick shaft angled toward the ceiling corner, making it difficult for the pants to slide over it. She tugged harder, but it only stretched the material tighter around the bulging head.

[doodhwale_bhaiya]

She looked up at him, cheeks burning, voice small and shaky.
 
“Isse bahar nikalo, Bhola…”
“Take this out, Bhola…”
 
It sounded like she was asking him to release some wild creature from a cage. And in a way, she was.
 
Bhola hesitated for a second, then nodded. He grabbed the thick base of his cock through the pants with one hand and tried to angle it downward so the waistband could pass. The movement made the bulge shift obscenely, the fat head pressing even harder against the fabric. He pushed it down slightly, but the sheer girth made it difficult.
 
Simran couldn’t wait any longer.
 
She pulled the waistband down further herself, inch by inch, her eyes wide and unblinking. The first few inches of the shaft appeared — dark, thick as her wrist, veins already standing out prominently against the smooth skin. Dark pubic hair, trimmed but not shaved, framed the base. She kept pulling, revealing more and more of the impossible length. It was already six inches out, and the head still hadn’t appeared.
 
Ravi was maybe six inches when fully excited on Viagra. This… this wasn’t even half of it yet.
 
She kept tugging the waistband lower, her breath coming in short, excited gasps. Then, after three more thick inches, the swollen, bulbous head finally started to emerge — dark purple, glistening with precum, flaring wide and angry.
 
She pulled just a little more.
 
The monster sprang free with sudden violence.
 
The thick, heavy cock whipped upward like a released spring, the fat head slapping hard against her chin and open mouth with a wet *thwack*. The force was so surprising that her mouth snapped shut for a second around the side of the shaft before she jerked backward. She lost her balance and fell back onto the bed with a gasp, eyes wide with shock, lips tingling from the sudden impact.
 
Bhola stood there, pants around his thighs, his gigantic cock now fully exposed and pointing straight at her — throbbing, veined, and impossibly thick. A thick bead of precum glistened at the tip, slowly dripping down the underside of the shaft.
 
Simran lay on the bed, propped on her elbows, staring at it in stunned silence.
 
The sight was burned into her mind forever.
Simran didn’t think. She simply reacted.
 
The moment Bhola’s massive cock sprang free and slapped against her lips and chin, something primal took over. She slid off the bed and dropped to her knees in front of him in one fluid motion, as if the enormous shaft itself had commanded her into position. Her bare knees hit the cool floor, and she found herself eye-level with the most intimidating sight she had ever seen in her life.
 
The monster was even more overwhelming up close.
 
It was dark, almost blackish-brown, thick as her wrist at the base and only slightly tapering toward the head. The shaft was heavily veined — thick, rope-like veins pulsing visibly along its entire length, some branching out like rivers on a map. The skin was smooth but stretched tight over the rigid hardness, with a slight upward curve that made the fat, bulbous head point aggressively toward her face. The head itself was enormous — flared wide like a mushroom cap, the color a deep, angry purple, glistening with a thick bead of precum that slowly dripped down the underside in a shiny thread. The entire cock was easily eleven inches long, maybe more, and so heavy it bobbed slightly with his heartbeat.
 
Below it hung his balls — two large, heavy orbs in a loose, dark sac. They were full and pendulous, swaying gently with every small movement he made, covered in a light dusting of the same dark hair that framed the base of his shaft. They looked heavy with seed, the kind of balls that promised to pump out load after load.
 
Simran’s mouth fell open in pure awe.
 
“Bhola… yeh to…”
“Bhola… this is…” she whispered, voice hoarse.
 
Bhola’s face burned with embarrassment. He started to pull his pants back up, mumbling,
 
“Bhabhi, maaf karna… yeh bas ho jaata hai…”
“Bhabhi, I’m sorry… it just happens…”
 
But Simran reached out fast and caught his wrists again.
 
“Ruko,” she breathed. “Mujhe dekhna hai.”
“Wait,” she breathed. “I need to see.”
 
Bhola hesitated, then lowered his hands. His cock twitched once in the open air, the heavy shaft bobbing forward as if acknowledging her gaze.
 
Simran stared, transfixed. A thin string of saliva actually dripped from the corner of her open mouth before she realised it and closed her lips. Her pussy clenched so hard she felt a fresh gush of slick soak through her shorts.
 
She looked up at him, eyes wide and glassy.