[doodhwale_bhaiya]

"Agar... tu yahan let jaaye, apna sir meri god mein rakh ke? Is tarah main tujhe achhe se pakad sakti hoon. Tu ek ko poora kar le, phir doosra. Main tera sir sambhalungi aur tu dono haathon se dabake doodh ko jaldi nikalne mein madad kar sakta hai."
 “What if… you lie down here, with your head on my lap? Like that I can hold you properly. You can do one fully, then the other. I can support your head and you can use both hands to press and help the milk flow faster.”
 
Bhola’s eyes flickered with slight surprise, but he nodded slowly. He didn’t expect her to talk so openly.
 
“Ji, Bhabhi. Agar aapko comfortable lage toh… theek hai. Main aapki god mein let jaaun?”
("Yes, Bhabhi. If it feels comfortable to you... okay. Should I lie down in your lap?")
 
“Yes,” she said, her voice a little breathless now.
 
"Aao. Meri god mein let jao. Is tarah tu dono taraf se araam se pee sakega, gardan pe koi strain nahi padega."
(“Come. Lie down on my lap. That way you can drink properly from both sides without straining your neck.”)
 
She shifted back on the bed, leaning against the wall for support, and patted her lap. The nightie had ridden up dangerously high, barely covering the soaked black thong between her thighs. Her heavy breasts rose and fell quickly with her breathing, the wet patches now clearly showing the shape of her swollen nipples.
 
Bhola hesitated for just a second, then climbed onto the bed and carefully laid his head on her soft, warm thighs. His face was now perfectly positioned right under her chest. He looked up at her, innocent as ever.
 
“Ready hoon, Bhabhi.”
 
Simran’s heart was pounding. She pulled one thin strap of the nightie down her shoulder, then the other, letting the blue fabric slide down to her waist. Her magnificent, milk-heavy breasts spilled out completely — round, full, glistening with leaked milk, nipples dark and erect, begging for his mouth.
 
She cupped the back of his head gently with one hand and guided his mouth toward her left breast.
 
“Isse shuru kar”  
(“Start with this one,”)
 
she whispered, voice thick with need.
 
"Jaldi pee lekin sahi tarike se. Mujhe bilkul khali kar de... phir hum side badlenge."
(“Drink fast but properly. Empty me completely… then we’ll switch.”)
 
Bhola opened his mouth and took her leaking nipple inside without another word.
 
The moment his lips sealed around her and he gave the first strong suck, Simran’s head fell back against the wall, a long, shaky moan escaping her lips.
 
They had found their position. 
And now there was no turning back.
 
Bhola's head rested heavy and warm on her soft thighs, his face tilted up just enough that his warm breath brushed the undersides of her leaking breasts. He looked at them for a long second, eyes widening slightly.
 
"Bhabhi... yeh toh pehle se hi tapak rahe hain," he said quietly, voice low and matter-of-fact. "Dono hi bilkul bhare hue hain. Doodh bahar nikal raha hai bina chhue bhi."
("Bhabhi... these are already leaking," he said quietly, his voice low and straightforward. "Both are completely full. Milk is coming out even without touching them.")

[doodhwale_bhaiya]

Simran felt her face burn. She knew they were leaking, could feel the slow, steady drip rolling down the curves, but hearing him say it out loud while his mouth was inches away made her want to disappear into the mattress.
 
Before she could answer, Bhola lifted one hand and gently cupped her right breast from underneath, just supporting the weight. The moment his warm palm made contact and lifted it even slightly, a thick stream of milk squirted out in a quick, forceful arc, splashing onto his chin and neck.
 
Simran gasped sharply, "Aaaaahhhhh!"
 
Bhola didn't hesitate. He leaned up fast and sealed his lips around the dark, swollen nipple, taking almost half the areola into his mouth in one go. Then he gave one long, hard, deep suck.
 
The pull was instant and powerful. Milk flooded his mouth in a thick gush, so much so fast that his cheeks bulged for a second before he swallowed with a loud gulp. Simran's whole body jerked, back arching off the wall, thighs trembling around his head. The relief hit her like a drug, sharp and sweet, but so did the filthy wet sound of him drinking her.
 
He finally released the nipple with a soft, wet pop, a thin string of milk still connecting his lower lip to the glistening peak. He looked up at her, chin and throat shiny, eyes calm but intense.
 
"Bhabhi, aapne pehle kyun nahi bataya? Yeh toh bahut zyada tapak rahe hain. Itna pressure hai dono mein. Par chinta mat karo. Main abhi poora khali kar doonga. Zor zor se chusunga, dheere dheere bhi, jo bhi zaroorat hogi. Aap bas relax karo. Main ache se karunga, bilkul khatam kar ke chhodunga."
("Bhabhi, why didn't you tell me earlier? These are leaking so much. There's so much pressure in both of them. But don't worry. I'll empty them completely right now. I'll suck hard, and slow too, whatever is needed. You just relax. I'll do it properly, finish every last drop.")
 
His voice was low, earnest, almost clinical, like he was explaining how to milk a cow properly. But every word he said about her tits — how full they were, how much they were leaking, how he was going to suck them hard until they were empty — made Simran die inside with shame. Her cheeks were flaming, ears burning. She couldn't look at him. She just stared at the wall above his head, biting her lip so hard it hurt, while fresh heat kept pooling between her legs.
 
Bhola wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and continued in that same calm, filthy-innocent tone.
 
"Aur kyunki dono taraf se itna zyada aa raha hai, toh abhi ek taraf se poora nahi peeyunga warna muh bhar jayega aur bahar gir jayega. Main abhi dono taraf se badal badal ke peeyunga. Thoda is taraf se, thoda us taraf se. Is tarah pressure kam hoga aur aapko bhi araam milega bina jaldi jaldi ke."
("And because it's coming out so much from both sides, I won't drink from just one fully right now, otherwise my mouth will fill up and it'll spill out. I'll alternate between both sides now. A little from this one, a little from that one. This way the pressure will ease up slowly and you'll feel relieved without any rush.")

[doodhwale_bhaiya]

He didn't wait for her to answer. He just leaned up again, took the left nipple this time, and gave it a long, slow, deliberate suck — not as hard as the first one, but deep enough that milk flowed steadily into his mouth in thick, creamy pulses. He swallowed once, twice, then released it with another wet pop and immediately switched to the right one.
 
Simran's head fell back against the wall with a soft thud. Her fingers dug into the bedsheet beside her hips. Every time he switched, every time he described what he was doing to her breasts like it was the most normal thing in the world, fresh shame and fresh arousal crashed through her at the same time.
 
She was dying of embarrassment.
 
And she was also dying for him to keep going exactly like this — slow, thorough, relentless — until every last drop was gone and she was trembling and empty in his arms.
 
Bhola didn't waste another second. He lifted his head just enough to latch onto her right tit again, lips sealing tight around the swollen nipple like he was starving. The first suck was deep and greedy, pulling so hard that Simran's whole body jerked forward. Milk flooded his mouth in a thick, creamy rush, way more than he could swallow at once. Some of it immediately escaped the corners of his lips, running down his chin in white streams, dripping onto her thigh and soaking into the bedsheet beneath them.
 
He didn't stop. He kept sucking, cheeks hollowing with every long, forceful pull, gulping loudly when he could, letting the overflow spill freely. The wet, rhythmic slurp-slurp-slurp filled the small room, mixing with the low hum of the fan. Simran's right hand flew up to her mouth, pressing hard against her lips to muffle the moans that kept tearing out of her throat. Her left hand stayed cradling the back of his head, fingers tangled in his hair, holding him right there against her leaking breast.
 
"Aaahhh... mmmphhh..."
 
The sound came out strangled, desperate, vibrating against her palm.
 
Bhola switched without warning. He released the right nipple with a loud, wet pop, a fresh jet of milk spraying across his cheek before he dove for the left one. He lifted that heavy globe with both hands now, squeezing it firmly from the base like he was milking it properly, thumbs pressing upward in slow, rolling strokes. The pressure forced another thick spurt straight into his waiting mouth. He sealed his lips around it and sucked again, long and hard, swallowing as fast as he could while more milk bubbled out the sides anyway, coating his chin, his neck, dripping down onto her belly in warm little rivers.
 
Simran's thighs trembled around his head. Her muffled moans grew louder behind her hand, turning into broken little whimpers every time he switched back to the other side. He was relentless, alternating now exactly like he had promised. Right tit, long deep suck, squeeze, swallow, spill. Left tit, even harder pull, more squeezing, more gulping, more overflow running down his face and her skin.
 
Every time he squeezed the breast he was working on, milk jetted out in forceful pulses, filling his mouth faster than he could drink. He had to keep releasing for a second just to breathe and swallow, lips shiny and swollen, face glistening with her cream. Then he would dive right back in, latching on again, sucking even more insistently, hands kneading and pressing, coaxing every last drop out.
 
Simran's head kept tipping back against the wall, eyes squeezed shut, right hand clamped so tight over her mouth that her knuckles turned white. Her left fingers tightened in his hair, not pushing him away, but pulling him closer, urging him to keep going, to drink harder, to empty her completely.

[doodhwale_bhaiya]

He didn't wait for her to answer. He just leaned up again, took the left nipple this time, and gave it a long, slow, deliberate suck — not as hard as the first one, but deep enough that milk flowed steadily into his mouth in thick, creamy pulses. He swallowed once, twice, then released it with another wet pop and immediately switched to the right one.
 
Simran's head fell back against the wall with a soft thud. Her fingers dug into the bedsheet beside her hips. Every time he switched, every time he described what he was doing to her breasts like it was the most normal thing in the world, fresh shame and fresh arousal crashed through her at the same time.
 
She was dying of embarrassment.
 
And she was also dying for him to keep going exactly like this — slow, thorough, relentless — until every last drop was gone and she was trembling and empty in his arms.
 
Bhola didn't waste another second. He lifted his head just enough to latch onto her right tit again, lips sealing tight around the swollen nipple like he was starving. The first suck was deep and greedy, pulling so hard that Simran's whole body jerked forward. Milk flooded his mouth in a thick, creamy rush, way more than he could swallow at once. Some of it immediately escaped the corners of his lips, running down his chin in white streams, dripping onto her thigh and soaking into the bedsheet beneath them.
 
He didn't stop. He kept sucking, cheeks hollowing with every long, forceful pull, gulping loudly when he could, letting the overflow spill freely. The wet, rhythmic slurp-slurp-slurp filled the small room, mixing with the low hum of the fan. Simran's right hand flew up to her mouth, pressing hard against her lips to muffle the moans that kept tearing out of her throat. Her left hand stayed cradling the back of his head, fingers tangled in his hair, holding him right there against her leaking breast.
 
"Aaahhh... mmmphhh..."
 
The sound came out strangled, desperate, vibrating against her palm.
 
Bhola switched without warning. He released the right nipple with a loud, wet pop, a fresh jet of milk spraying across his cheek before he dove for the left one. He lifted that heavy globe with both hands now, squeezing it firmly from the base like he was milking it properly, thumbs pressing upward in slow, rolling strokes. The pressure forced another thick spurt straight into his waiting mouth. He sealed his lips around it and sucked again, long and hard, swallowing as fast as he could while more milk bubbled out the sides anyway, coating his chin, his neck, dripping down onto her belly in warm little rivers.
 
Simran's thighs trembled around his head. Her muffled moans grew louder behind her hand, turning into broken little whimpers every time he switched back to the other side. He was relentless, alternating now exactly like he had promised. Right tit, long deep suck, squeeze, swallow, spill. Left tit, even harder pull, more squeezing, more gulping, more overflow running down his face and her skin.
 
Every time he squeezed the breast he was working on, milk jetted out in forceful pulses, filling his mouth faster than he could drink. He had to keep releasing for a second just to breathe and swallow, lips shiny and swollen, face glistening with her cream. Then he would dive right back in, latching on again, sucking even more insistently, hands kneading and pressing, coaxing every last drop out.
 
Simran's head kept tipping back against the wall, eyes squeezed shut, right hand clamped so tight over her mouth that her knuckles turned white. Her left fingers tightened in his hair, not pushing him away, but pulling him closer, urging him to keep going, to drink harder, to empty her completely.

[doodhwale_bhaiya]

Her hips twitched forward involuntarily every few seconds, grinding the soaked scrap of her thong against nothing, chasing the ache that kept building low in her belly. Milk kept leaking from both nipples even when his mouth wasn't on them, dripping steadily down the curves of her breasts, pooling on her stomach, sliding toward the waistband of the bunched-up nightie.
 
Bhola's kurta was getting soaked at the collar and chest, dark wet patches spreading, but he didn't seem to notice. He just kept sucking, alternating, squeezing, gulping, letting it spill, completely lost in the task of draining her.
 
Simran's muffled cries grew higher, more frantic, her body shaking with every hard pull. She was trying so hard to stay quiet, trying so hard to keep control, but the way he was devouring her tits, the wet sounds, the feeling of being emptied so thoroughly while he spilled her milk everywhere, was pushing her right to the edge again.
 
She was going to come like this.
 
Just from his mouth on her, his hands squeezing, his face buried between her leaking breasts. 
 
And she couldn't even scream when it happened.
 
Bhola had already drained half the milk from both her heavy tanks, but the pressure was still there, stubborn and insistent. Simran tried to sit up a little straighter, wanting to take some of the strain off her back. The moment she shifted, Bhola's hands came up fast. He grabbed both breasts firmly, fingers sinking into the soft, warm flesh, and pulled them down toward his mouth like he was claiming them.
 
His lips latched onto her right nipple again, sucking hard while his hands kept tugging, stretching the swollen globe toward him. The sight was obscene and beautiful at the same time: a grown man, strong and broad-shouldered, lying with his head in her lap, squeezing and pulling the massive, milk-filled tits of this ultra-beautiful Punjaban woman like they belonged to him. Her breasts looked even bigger in his grip, the skin stretched shiny and tight, dark nipples disappearing completely into his hungry mouth one after the other.
 
He pulled harder now, not just with his lips but with his whole hands, kneading the undersides roughly while he dragged the heavy mounds down so he could take more of them in. Milk kept jetting out in thick bursts every time he sucked, some of it spilling past his lips no matter how fast he swallowed. Simran's back arched involuntarily, a long, trembling gasp ripping out of her throat.
 
"Aaaaaahhhhhhh..."
 
She clamped her right hand tighter over her mouth, muffling the sound just in time. Her left hand stayed buried in his hair, fingers gripping hard, not sure if she was trying to hold him there or steady herself. Every hard pull on her tits sent a fresh shockwave straight to her clit, making her thighs quiver around his ears.
 
Bhola switched to the left one without warning, yanking that breast down too, squeezing it so tight that a powerful spurt hit the back of his throat. He gulped noisily, cheeks working, milk still leaking from the corners of his mouth and running in white rivulets down his jaw, dripping onto her bare belly. He was relentless, pulling and sucking like he wanted to empty her in record time, his big hands milking her the way he had probably milked cows back in the village, only these were soft, feminine, overflowing with sweet cream that belonged to her.
 
Simran turned her head to the right, trying to catch her breath, trying to focus on anything except the filthy wet sounds filling the room. That's when she saw it.
 
Between Bhola's legs, hidden but impossible to ignore, the monster was standing straight up like a flagpole under his pants. The dark fabric was stretched so tight it looked ready to split. The thick, long outline was unmistakable: a rigid, upward-curving shaft that rose high, the swollen head clearly defined even through the material, pressing hard against the waistband. It throbbed visibly with every heartbeat, a slow, heavy pulse that made the entire front of his pants tent obscenely. You could have tied a flag to that thing and marched it through the streets. The sheer size of it, the way it strained and jerked slightly every time he sucked harder on her tit, made her mouth go dry.

[doodhwale_bhaiya]

Her pussy clenched hard at the sight. A fresh gush of slick soaked the tiny black thong, the strings digging deeper into her ass cheeks as her hips gave a tiny, helpless twitch. She couldn't look away. That pole was right there, inches from her dripping cunt, separated only by his pants and her bunched-up nightie. Every time Bhola pulled her breast down harder, his hips lifted just a fraction off the bed, making the monster shift and throb even more obviously.
 
Simran's muffled moan turned into a shaky whimper behind her palm. She was shaking now, thighs trembling, belly cramping with need. Bhola kept sucking, kept pulling, kept squeezing, completely unaware of how badly she wanted to reach down and touch that thing, feel how hot and heavy it really was while he drank her dry.
 
She was so close to losing it completely.
 
And he was still just doing his job.
 
Simran’s body was on fire. Bhola had shifted into a more aggressive rhythm now, determined to finish the job as fast as possible. He grabbed her right breast with both hands, squeezed it hard from the base, and yanked it down toward his open mouth. His lips locked around the nipple and he sucked with raw power, cheeks hollowing deeply. Milk jetted out in thick, forceful streams, filling his mouth so quickly that it overflowed instantly, spilling down his chin and neck in messy white rivers. He didn’t slow down. He kept pulling, kept sucking, using his hands to milk her like he was wringing every last drop from a ripe fruit.
 
Then he switched. He released the right one with a wet smack and immediately seized the left, dragging it down even harder, fingers digging into the soft, heavy flesh as he latched on and sucked with the same brutal intensity. Milk sprayed against the roof of his mouth and spilled everywhere again, soaking his kurta, her thighs, the bedsheet. His hands never stopped working, squeezing, pulling, kneading, stretching her magnificent tits toward him as if he wanted to swallow them whole.
 
Simran’s right hand stayed clamped desperately over her mouth, muffling the long, broken moans that kept escaping. “Mmmphhh… aaaaahhhh…” The sounds vibrated against her palm, but she couldn’t stop them. Her left hand gripped the back of his head tighter, fingers twisted in his hair, half-holding him in place as her body shook.
 
And all the while, her eyes kept drifting helplessly to the monster between his legs.
 
God… look at it.
 
That huge, rigid pole stood straight up under his pants, straining the fabric so tightly she could see the thick veins running along the shaft. It throbbed visibly with every hard suck he took on her breasts, jerking upward like it had a heartbeat of its own. The head was clearly outlined, swollen and angry, pressing so high against the waistband that the outline looked almost obscene. Ten inches. Maybe more. It looked inhuman. Terrifying. And unbearably tempting.
 
Her mind spiraled.
 
How is that even possible? she thought, shame and lust crashing together.
 
In real life? Not in those fake porn videos? But I felt it yesterday… that heat, that thickness when I ground on him. It’s real. It’s right there. What would it feel like if he…
 
A sudden flashback hit her hard, pulling her back to a late-night conversation a few weeks ago with her two closest friends.
 
Shikha and Preeti had been drinking wine at Preeti’s place. The topic had turned to fertility struggles, to husbands who couldn’t satisfy, to desperate solutions. Preeti had laughed nervously and brought up the old scriptures.
 
“You know what they used to call it in the ancient days? Niyoga,” Preeti had said, swirling her glass. “When the husband couldn’t give a child, the wife was allowed to choose another man, just for that purpose. No emotions, no affair, just… duty. The child would still belong to the husband. Arjun told me about it once. He even joked that in today’s world, some women still need their own version of Niyoga.”
 
Shikha had leaned in, eyes sparkling with mischief. “Arjun would make a perfect Niyoga man, wouldn’t he? Strong seed, no complications. Imagine… a man like that helping you when your own husband can’t.”
 
They had all laughed it off that night, but the word had stuck in Simran’s head. Niyoga. Appointing another man when your own couldn’t fulfill the need.
 
Now, with Bhola’s mouth devouring her tits and that monstrous cock tenting his pants just inches from her soaked thong, the memory felt dangerously relevant.
 
Is this my Niyoga?  her devil whispered hotly inside her head.

[doodhwale_bhaiya]

Not for a baby… but for this. For the milk. For the relief Ravi can’t give me. For the pleasure he never could. Bhola is already drinking from me like no one else can. What if he did more? What if that huge thing was the one stretching me open while he emptied my breasts at the same time?
 
Bhola yanked her left tit down harder, sucking with fresh urgency, trying to finish both sides quickly. Milk spilled messily over his face again as he switched back to the right one, pulling and squeezing without mercy.
 
Simran’s muffled moan turned into a shaky, desperate whimper behind her hand. Her hips twitched forward on their own, the tiny black thong rubbing uselessly against her throbbing clit. Her eyes stayed glued to that impossible bulge, watching it throb in time with every hard suck he took.
 
She was terrified.
 
She was dripping wet.
 
And the ancient idea of Niyoga had never felt more tempting in her entire life.
 
Bhola gripped her left tit with both hands now, fingers digging deep into the soft flesh just below the nipple. He pulled it down hard toward his mouth, stretching the heavy globe until the skin turned shiny and taut. Milk had already slowed to a thin trickle, but he wasn't done. He sucked again, long and fierce, cheeks hollowing so deep it looked painful. When only a few weak drops came out, he squeezed harder, milking downward in rough, rolling strokes like he was forcing the last stubborn drops from a nearly empty udder.
 
Simran cried out behind her hand, the sound sharp and raw even muffled.
 
"Aaaahhh... Bhola... dard ho raha hai..."
("Aaaahhh... Bhola... it's hurting..." )
 
The pulling hurt now, a sharp sting that cut through the haze of pleasure. Her body jerked, thighs clamping tighter around his head, and the filthy daydream about his monster cock shattered in an instant. She snapped back to the present, cheeks burning, heart slamming against her ribs. No more fantasies. Just the ache, the wet sounds, and the reality of a man sucking her tits dry in his own bed while her husband slept upstairs.
 
Bhola felt the change immediately. No more milk flowed. He released the left nipple with a final soft pop, the peak red and swollen, glistening with spit and the last faint traces of cream. Without a word he switched to the right one. He yanked it down just as roughly, latched on, and went back to work with the same single-minded hunger.
 
For the next five minutes he was relentless. Long pulls, hard squeezes, gulps that echoed in the small room. Milk came slower now, but he kept going, determined to leave nothing behind. Every dry pull made Simran flinch, every squeeze drew a stifled whimper from behind her palm. Her left hand stayed tangled in his hair, trembling, not pushing him away but not quite holding him close anymore either.
 
She wanted to come so badly. Her pussy was throbbing, swollen, dripping through the tiny black thong, clit begging for pressure. But she couldn't move properly. His head was locked between her thighs, her legs trapped open around him, hips pinned by his weight and her own need to stay quiet. No grinding, no rubbing, no relief. Just the constant wet suction on her tits and the unbearable, untouched ache between her legs.
 
She looked down again, helpless. His cock was still standing like a steel rod inside his pants, thick and rigid, the head pushing so high it looked ready to tear the waistband. The fabric was stretched to breaking, every vein outlined, the whole length pulsing visibly with each hard suck he took on her breast. It was obscene, almost angry, trapped and saluting straight up while he drank her dry. Simran's belly cramped again, fresh heat flooding her core, but she couldn't do anything about it.
 
Finally Bhola slowed. He gave one last long, dry pull on the right nipple, cheeks hollowing, tongue flicking over the empty peak. Nothing came. He squeezed once more from the base upward, milking the last faint bead that appeared, then released her with a soft, wet sound. Both breasts hung heavy and spent, nipples dark red, shiny, slightly deflated now that the pressure was gone.
 
He lifted his head slowly, face flushed and glistening, chin and neck soaked in creamy streaks. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, breathing hard through his nose.

"Bhabhi... maine poora doodh pee liya. Dono taraf se bilkul khali kar diya. Ab dard nahi hoga."

("Bhabhi... I've drunk all the milk. Emptied both sides completely. Now there won't be any pain.")
 
Simran let her hand fall away from her mouth. Her lips were swollen from biting them, cheeks flushed deep crimson. She looked down at him, then at her own breasts, still trembling slightly from the rough treatment.
 
"Thank you, Bhola," she whispered, voice hoarse and shaky.
 
He nodded once, then pushed himself up off her lap. The moment he stood, that massive erection became even more obvious. The front of his pants looked painful, the thick pole straining upward, head clearly defined against the dark fabric, not softening even a little. He didn't touch it, didn't acknowledge it, just turned slightly away like he was embarrassed by his own body.
 
Simran sat up slowly. Her nightie was bunched around her waist, breasts bare and slick. She pulled the thin straps back onto her shoulders one by one, wincing a little as the cotton brushed over her raw nipples. The fabric clung wetly to her skin, outlining the swollen peaks even after he had emptied her. She tugged the hem down over her thighs, trying to cover the soaked thong and the slick mess between her legs, but the material stuck to her anyway.
 
Bhola stepped back, giving her space. Simran swung her legs off the bed and stood on unsteady feet. Her breasts felt lighter, almost empty, the deep ache replaced by a dull, sensitive throb. She smoothed her hair with shaking fingers, avoiding his eyes.
 
They walked out of his room together in silence. He opened the door first, checked the corridor, then stepped aside to let her go ahead. Simran moved past him, nightie swishing against her thighs, the faint wet patches on the front still visible if anyone looked too closely.
 
Neither of them spoke.
 
The door clicked shut behind them, soft and final, like nothing had happened at all.
 
But both of them knew everything had changed.

To be continued....

[doodhwale_bhaiya]

I swear, this is the first story that completely hooked me. I ended up sleeping at 5 a.m because I just couldn’t stop reading. That’s how invested I was.

Thanks for the long and detailed feedback. I certainly dont want people to stay awake till 5 am.   Also, this story is definitely running parallel sequences for future buildups and side struggles of each character of Simran's family, Bhola's family, lets see where it goes, even i dont know how it will buildup, or what it will buildup to. Having said that, I want more feedback from readers so that if required, i can stir the story a bit. As of now, i think the pace is ok, it will need to increase in future scenes, but for now i think tempo is fine. Question is where are we heading?

[doodhwale_bhaiya]

Such a hot update. Loved it. Everyone is too much horny to have time to regret anything, doing one taboo after another. Very hot.

Once the devil gets inside your head nothing works. 

[doodhwale_bhaiya]

superbb, gazab ka update hai bro,,,Thanks bro,,slowly open ho raha hai,,aur NIMRAT ki chapter ka to aur ghazab ka SCENE hoga wahaan,waiting fucking scene details,,, LESBIAN bhi hoga kya? story mein to aab jaan pura bhar diyee,,abhi tak to SIMRAN +BHOLA FUCKING  SCENE bhi nahi aaya,phir bhi kitna EROTIC  hai,WOOOWW,,
Aapka bahut bahut shukriya,,,to be continue se lagta gai Raat abhi bhi baki hai kya,,aur kya aisa din bhi aayega jab, RAVI ke samne BHOLA DOODH piyaga,,

Thanks for your feedback. Nimrat has a different role to play here and if you want to know who this Meera is based on, then let me hint you about her name, it is akin to elixir of life and has a parsi surname. Rest google and find for yourself. 

[doodhwale_bhaiya]

Conversations between Devil [AKA Simran's own Lust]  and Simran were just to hot.

The only winner from this is going to be  D  , no doubts here. Simran not even putting up a fight.
Would love to read Simran/Bhola getting it in front of Ravi. [May be a dream sequence Author???] 

Lets see how it unfolds. Meera and Nimrat has a different role to play.

[doodhwale_bhaiya]

Hopefully tomorrow I will be able to give an update. This week too busy in work. Sorry.

[doodhwale_bhaiya]

Update will come tomorrow. Apologies.

[doodhwale_bhaiya]

15 minutes bro.

[doodhwale_bhaiya]

Milk Maid
 
Simran sank down onto the sofa, legs folding under her, the thin blue nightie still sticking to her skin in places where milk had leaked earlier. Her breasts felt lighter now, soft and slightly tender, nipples still puffy under the damp cotton. She let out a long breath, head tipping back against the cushion, eyes half-closed.
 
Bhola came back from the kitchen holding a steel glass of water. The ice cubes clinked softly as he handed it to her.
 
"Paani pi lijiye, Bhabhi. Thak gayi hongi."
("Have some water, Bhabhi. You must be tired.")
 
She took the glass with both hands, fingers brushing his.
 
"Tu bhi paani pi le. Itna sab karne ke baad toh tu mujhse bhi zyada thak gaya hoga."
("You drink too. You must be more tired than me after all that.")
 
Bhola shook his head, a small smile tugging at his mouth.
 
"Nahi Bhabhi, bilkul nahi. Main toh bilkul theek hoon. Bahut saara doodh piya hai aapka, pet bhara hua hai abhi bhi."
("No Bhabhi, not at all. I'm completely fine. I drank so much of your milk, my stomach is still full right now.")
 
Simran's eyes flicked up to his face. She felt the heat rush into her cheeks instantly. She looked away quickly, lips pressing together to hide the shy smile that wanted to escape. Her fingers tightened around the cold glass.
 
After a moment she spoke again, voice soft.
 
"Phir se thank you, Bhola. Tune sach mein meri bahut madad ki. Main itne dard mein thi."
("Thank you again, Bhola. You really helped me. I was in so much pain.")
 
He sat down on the low stool across from her, elbows resting on his knees, looking at her with that same calm, earnest expression he always had.
 
"Bhabhi, aap shukriya mat bolo. Aapka doodh bahut meetha hai. Main toh din bhar pee sakta hoon. Bilkul chinta mat kijiye."
("Bhabhi, don't say thank you. Your milk is really sweet. I could drink it all day long. Don't worry at all.")
 
The words landed like a slow, warm touch between her legs. Simran's face burned hotter. She ducked her head, pretending to take another sip of water, but her ears were flaming. She could still taste the memory of his mouth on her, the way he had sucked so greedily, so thoroughly.
 
Bhola tilted his head a little, watching her.
 
"Kal jo honey aur tel wala mixture lagaya tha, usse araam mila? Koi dard toh nahi ab?"
("Did that honey and oil mixture I applied yesterday help? No pain now, right?")
 
She swallowed, then met his eyes for a second before looking down again.
 
"Bahut acha laga. Bilkul dard nahi hai ab."
("It felt really good. There's absolutely no pain now.")
 
He nodded, pleased.
 
"Aur pump se jo dard hota tha, usse compare karein toh kitna fark hai?"
("And compared to the pain that used to happen from the pump, how much difference is there?")
 
Simran's blush deepened. Basically, he is asking if his sucking her tits is better than the breast pump. She could feel it spreading down her neck, across her chest. Her voice came out small, almost a whisper.
 
"Bahut fark hai. Thank you."
("It has made a lot of difference. Thank you.")
 
Bhola's smile grew just a fraction wider, innocent and proud at the same time.
 
"Ji Bhabhi, mujhe bhi bahut acha lagta hai. Aapke boobs bahut naram hain, bilkul aam jaise. Aur doodh se bhare hue hain, jaise aam juice se bhara hota hai. Bas fark yeh hai ki aam ka juice khatam ho jata hai ek baar nichaalne ke baad, lekin aapke boobs kabhi khatam nahi hote. Doodh baar baar ban jata hai."
("Yes Bhabhi, I like it a lot too. Your boobs are so soft, just like mangoes. And they're full of milk, like a mango filled with juice. The only difference is that once you squeeze a mango, the juice finishes, but your boobs never run out. The milk keeps getting made again and again.")

[doodhwale_bhaiya]

Simran's breath became heavy. She pressed her thighs together hard under the nightie, feeling the soaked thong shift against her swollen lips. The way he said it, so simple, so specific, talking about her breasts like they were the most natural, beautiful thing in the world... it made her want to sink through the sofa and disappear. And at the same time, it made fresh heat bloom low in her belly.
 
She managed a tiny, shaky laugh, still not looking at him.
 
"Bhola bus karo chup ho jao..."
("Bhola, just stop it, be quiet...")
 
Bhola just shrugged, completely unaware of how filthy-innocent he sounded.
 
"Sach bol raha hoon, Bhabhi. Aapka doodh sabse meetha hai jo maine kabhi piya."
("I'm telling the truth, Bhabhi. Your milk is the sweetest I've ever had.")
 
She finally risked a glance at him. His face was open, calm, not a trace of teasing or mockery. Just honest appreciation. That made it even worse somehow. Her nipples tightened again under the nightie, brushing the damp fabric, and she had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from making a sound.
 
She took another slow sip of water, trying to cool the fire in her cheeks, but it was no use. The conversation had left her flushed, restless, and embarrassingly wet all over again.
 
And Bhola just sat there on the stool, looking at her like he hadn't just compared her leaking tits to an endless supply of ripe, juicy mangoes.
 
Simran leaned back a little deeper into the sofa cushions, the glass of water still cradled between her palms. A small, teasing smile curved her lips as she looked at Bhola sitting on the low stool in front of her.
 
"Kal tum keh rahe the main Sheetal jaisi hoon," she said, voice light and playful, eyes sparkling with mischief. "Aaj bol rahe ho aam jaisi. Kabhi main gaay, kabhi fruit? Decide kar lo na."
("Yesterday you were saying I'm like Sheetal," she said, her voice light and playful, eyes sparkling with mischief. "Today you're saying I'm like a mango. Sometimes I'm a cow, sometimes a fruit? Decide already na.")
 
Bhola's ears turned a shade darker but he didn't look away. He rubbed the back of his neck once, the way he always did when he felt a little shy, then gave her that calm, honest smile.
 
"Bhabhi, aap Sheetal se bahut zyada behtar ho. Bahut zyada. Sheetal toh sirf ek achhi gaay hai, doodh deti hai, lekin aapke boobs..." He paused, searching for the right words, then went on earnestly. "Woh bilkul pakke aam jaise hain. Naram, bhare hue, aur bahut sundar. Sheetal ke bhi ubhar ache hain, doodh se bhare hue, naram bhi hote hain, lekin aapke toh usse bhi bahut bade hain. Bahut zyada naram. Aur sundar."
("Bhabhi, you're much much better than Sheetal. Way better. Sheetal is just a good cow, she gives milk, but your boobs..." He paused, searching for the right words, then continued earnestly. "They're exactly like ripe mangoes. Soft, full, and so beautiful. Sheetal has nice curves too, full of milk, soft as well, but yours are much bigger than hers. So much softer. And more beautiful.")
 
Simran's mouth fell open for a second. Then she burst out laughing, the sound bright and surprised, hand flying up to cover her lips. Her cheeks flushed a deep pink all over again.
 
"Bas karo Bhola!" she said through the laughter, shaking her head. "Main gaay nahi hoon!"
("Stop it, Bhola!" she said through the laughter, shaking her head. "I'm not a cow!")
 
She laughed again, softer this time, eyes crinkling at the corners. The nightie shifted with the movement, the damp patches over her nipples stretching a little, reminding her how raw and sensitive they still were after everything.
 
Bhola just smiled wider, completely innocent, like he had only been stating simple facts.
 
"Sach bol raha hoon, Bhabhi. Aapke boobs Sheetal ke thaan se bhi behtar hain. Woh sirf doodh deti hai, aap toh... aap toh poori sundarta ho."
("I'm telling the truth, Bhabhi. Your boobs are even better than Sheetal's udders. She just gives milk, but you... you're complete beauty.")
 
Simran pressed her thighs together under the nightie. The way he kept talking about her breasts so openly, so naturally, comparing them to a cow's udders and ripe mangoes in the same breath, was making her dizzy with embarrassment and something hotter.

[doodhwale_bhaiya]

She took a quick sip of water to hide her face, but the smile wouldn't leave her lips.
 
"Pagal ho tum,"
(“You are mad”)
 
she muttered, voice full of mock scolding, though the blush stayed bright on her cheeks and neck.
 
Bhola just shrugged, still smiling that quiet, proud smile, like praising her body was the most normal thing in the world.
 
And Simran couldn't decide whether she wanted to hide under a blanket forever or pull him close and let him keep talking exactly like that.
 
Simran set the empty glass down on the side table and leaned forward a little, the front of her nightie pulling tight across her still-tender breasts. She gave a small, breathless laugh, shaking her head.
 
"Abhi mazak bahut ho gaya, Bhola. Chalo, lunch banana hai. Ravi thodi der mein uth jayega."
("Enough joking around now, Bhola. Come on, I have to make lunch. Ravi will wake up in a little while.")
 
She stood up slowly, smoothing the hem of the nightie down her thighs, though the damp patches over her nipples were still clearly visible if anyone looked closely. Bhola rose too, ready to follow her to the kitchen like always.
 
She paused mid-step, turning back to him, voice dropping softer.
 
"Kal Saturday hai... aur Monday tak Ravi ghar pe hi rahenge. Matlab teen din tak woh bahar nahi jayenge."
("Tomorrow is Saturday... and Ravi will be home till Monday. Meaning for three days he won't go out.")
 
Bhola nodded, understanding immediately what she was really saying.
 
Simran bit her lower lip for a second, cheeks already warming again.
 
"Lekin... teen baar roz karna mushkil ho jayega. Itna time nahi milega. Par mujhe... teen baar chahiye hi. Tumhe pata hai na kitna pressure hota hai."
("But... doing it three times a day will become difficult. I won't get that much time. But I... I really need it three times. You know how much pressure there is, right.")
 
Bhola looked at her for a long moment, thinking seriously. Then he spoke in that same calm, straightforward way that always made her stomach flip.
 
"Toh phir Bhabhi, hum tukron mein kar lenge. Jab bhi thoda sa time mile. Do minute, teen minute. Kabhi yahin sofa pe, kabhi kitchen mein, jaha aap bolo, aap bas ek ishara kar dena. Main aa jaunga aur choos lunga aapki chuchiyon ko jaldi jaldi, jitna ho sake utna doodh nikal dunga. Aapko araam milega aur Sahib ko bhi kuchh pata nahi chalega."
("So then Bhabhi, we'll do it in bits. Whenever we get even a little time. Two minutes, three minutes. Sometimes right here on the sofa, sometimes in the kitchen, wherever you say—just give me a sign. I'll come right away and suck your boobs quickly, extract as much milk as possible in that time. You'll get relief and Sahib won't suspect a thing either.")
 
The way he said it, so casual, so straight forward — "choos lunga aapki chuchiyon ko", "jitna ho sake utna doodh nikal dunga" — made Simran's face catch fire. She felt the blush rush from her cheeks down her neck and across her chest. She started getting more and more uncomfortable down below.
 
She looked down at the floor, unable to hold his eyes, fingers twisting the edge of her nightie.
 
"Tu... aise seedhe seedhe kaise bol leta hai?" she murmured, half embarrassed, half laughing under her breath.
("You... how do you say it so directly?" she murmured, half embarrassed, half laughing under her breath.)
 
Bhola just shrugged, a tiny smile playing on his lips.
 
"Sach bol raha hoon na, Bhabhi. Aapko araam chahiye, main de dunga. Bas aap bol dena kab, kahan. Main ready rahunga."
("I'm telling the truth, Bhabhi. You need relief, I'll give it to you. Just tell me when and where. I'll stay ready.")
 
Simran turned toward the kitchen, trying to hide how badly her heart was hammering. Every time he said "chuchiyon ko" or "doodh nikal dunga" so innocently, it felt like a dirty little secret being whispered right against her skin. Her nipples tightened again under the thin cotton, brushing the damp fabric with every step she took.

[doodhwale_bhaiya]

She reached the kitchen counter and started pulling out the atta and vegetables, but her mind was still stuck on his words.
 
Do minute. Teen minute. Kitchen mein. Sofa pe. Jab bhi time mile.
("Two minutes. Three minutes. In the kitchen. On the sofa. Whenever time is available.")
 
The thought of quick, stolen sessions — Bhola slipping behind her while she chopped onions, lifting her nightie just enough, latching onto one breast and sucking hard for a few frantic minutes before Ravi walked in — made her belly cramp with fresh heat.
 
She glanced back over her shoulder. Bhola was already tying the kitchen towel around his waist, ready to help, looking as calm and normal as ever.
 
But she knew.
 
Three times a day was going to happen.
 
In bits and pieces. 
 
In every corner of the house. 
 
And every single time he said "chuchiyon ko choos lunga" (“I will suck your boobs”), she was going to blush like this all over again.
 
Simran turned toward the kitchen counter and started pulling out the rolling pin and a steel thali, but her movements were slow, distracted. She glanced back at Bhola, who was already standing near the sink, sleeves rolled up, ready to chop whatever she handed him. The air between them still felt thick, charged from everything they had just said and done.
 
She kept her voice low, almost casual, like she was discussing the menu.
 
"Ek baat suno, Bhola. Tum bhi check kar lena kabhi kabhi. Dekh lena Ravi kahin paas toh nahi hai. Agar woh safe ho, toh tum khud hi kar lena jab bhi chance mile. Mujhe har baar bolna mushkil ho jata hai."
("Listen to one thing, Bhola. You should also check sometimes. See if Ravi is nearby or not. If it's safe, then you yourself can do it whenever you get a chance. It becomes difficult for me to tell you every single time.")
 
Bhola paused with the knife in his hand, looking at her over his shoulder. He nodded slowly, like he had already been thinking the same thing.
 
"Ji Bhabhi, bilkul. Main khud hi dekh lunga. Jab bhi Ravi Sahib bahar kamre mein ya phone pe lage honge, ya so rahe honge, main check kar lunga. Aapko kuchh bolne ki zaroorat nahi. Jaise hi mujhe mauka milega, main aapko araam karwa dunga."
("Yes Bhabhi, absolutely. I'll keep an eye out myself. Whenever Ravi Sahib is in the other room or busy on the phone, or sleeping, I'll check. You won't need to say anything. As soon as I get a chance, I'll make sure you get your relief.")
 
Simran's fingers tightened around the edge of the counter. She could feel the heat creeping back into her face.
 
"Matlab... tum khud aa jaoge?"
("Meaning... you'll come on your own?")
 
"Haan Bhabhi. Aapko har baar ishara karne ki zaroorat nahi. Main samajh jaunga. Aap jab bhi uncomfortable dikho, ya aapke boobs phir se bhari lagein, main samajh jaunga. Phir jaldi se kisi corner mein le jaunga, ya yahin kitchen ke peeche, ya sofa ke paas. Do minute mein hi jitna ho sake utna doodh pee lunga. Aapko araam mil jayega."
("Yes Bhabhi. You won't need to signal every time. I'll understand. Whenever you look uncomfortable, or your boobs feel full again, I'll get it. Then I'll quickly take you to some corner, or right behind the kitchen. In just two minutes, I'll drink as much milk as possible. You'll get your relief.")
 
She swallowed hard. The way he said it, so plain and practical, made her thighs press together under the nightie.
 
"Aur agar Ravi achanak aa jaye toh?"
("And what if Ravi suddenly comes?")
 
"Toh main ruk jaunga. Bas ek second mein hat jaunga. Aap bas normal baat karte rehna. Main samajh jaunga. Par zyadatar toh main pehle hi check kar lunga. Aap fikar mat karo. Main hamesha dhyan rakhunga ki Sahib ko kuchh pata na chale."
("So I'll just stop. I'll pull away in just one second. You just keep talking normally. I'll understand. But mostly, I'll check beforehand anyway. Don't worry. I'll always make sure Sahib doesn't find out anything.")
 
Simran turned fully toward him now, leaning her lower back against the counter. The nightie pulled tight across her chest again, the damp spots still faintly visible.

[doodhwale_bhaiya]

"Toh tum... khud hi decide kar loge kab karna hai?"
("So you... will decide on your own when to do it?")
 
Bhola gave a small, reassuring nod.
 
"Haan Bhabhi. Aapko tension lene ki zaroorat nahi. Main dekh lunga kab safe hai. Jab bhi aapko zaroorat hogi, main aa jaunga aur choos lunga jitna ho sake utna. Teen baar toh poora kar hi denge, chhote chhote sessions mein. Aap bas relax raho. Main sambhal lunga."
("Yes Bhabhi. You don't need to take any tension. I'll check when it's safe. Whenever you need it, I'll come and suck as much as possible. We'll definitely complete three times, in small small sessions. You just relax. I'll handle everything.")
 
Simran let out a shaky breath. Her cheeks were burning again, but this time there was something almost comforting in his confidence. He wasn't teasing her. He wasn't making it dirty. He was just... promising to take care of her need, quietly, carefully, whenever it arose.
 
She gave a tiny nod, voice barely above a whisper.
 
Bhola smiled softly, then turned back to the vegetables, knife moving steadily.
 
"Ji Bhabhi. Aap lunch ke liye sabzi tayyar karo. Main baaki sab dekh lunga."
("Yes Bhabhi. You prepare the vegetables for lunch. I'll take care of everything else.")
 
And just like that, the conversation ended. But the promise hung between them, heavy and unspoken. From now on, he wouldn't wait for her to ask. He would watch. He would know. And whenever the house was quiet enough, whenever Ravi was distracted or asleep, he would come to her, pull her aside, and drink from her until the ache went away.
 
Simran picked up the atta and started kneading, her heart still racing, her mind already imagining the first stolen moment that was going to happen very, very soon.
 
Simran spent the next two hours moving around the kitchen like she owned the place, braless under that thin blue nightie. Every time she reached up to grab a spice jar from the top shelf, her heavy mangoes lifted and swayed, the soft cotton barely containing them. The narrow straps dug into her shoulders a little, but the neckline dipped low enough that the deep valley between her breasts stayed on full display. When she bent to check the rice or stirred the dal, those full, rounded globes swung forward, jiggling with each motion, nipples still puffy and dark from Bhola's earlier attention, poking clearly against the damp fabric.
 
Bhola kept stealing glances while he chopped onions and rolled rotis. He tried to be discreet, but his eyes kept drifting to the way her ass cheeks shifted under the short hem whenever she turned, the tiny black thong strings barely visible when she stretched. It was impossible not to watch. She looked like pure temptation walking around half-dressed in broad daylight, cooking like it was the most normal thing, while her body screamed sex with every innocent movement.
 
After about two hours the ceiling fan creaked once upstairs. Simran froze mid-stir, listening. Footsteps. Soft, sleepy ones.
 
She wiped her hands on the kitchen towel and headed up without a word. Bhola stayed quiet, eyes following her swaying hips until she disappeared around the bend of the staircase.
 
Ravi was sitting on the edge of the bed when she pushed the door open. Hair messed up, eyes half-lidded, still in that post-sleep trance where the world hasn't quite come back into focus. He rubbed his face with both hands, yawning hugely.
 
Simran stepped inside, nightie swishing against her thighs.
 
"Ravi? Lunch ready hai. Utho na, nahaa lo pehle. Fresh feel karoge."
("Ravi? Lunch is ready. Get up now, take a bath first. You'll feel fresh.")
 
He blinked at her slowly, taking a second to register her standing there. His gaze drifted down for half a heartbeat, catching the way the nightie clung to her curves, the faint wet spots still visible over her nipples, but he was too groggy to really notice or care.
 
"Haan... thoda thak gaya hoon yaar," he mumbled, voice thick. "Raat bhar soya hi nahi properly."
("Yeah... I'm a bit tired, yaar," he mumbled, his voice thick. "Didn't sleep properly at all last night.")
 
She walked closer, leaned down and pressed a quick kiss to his forehead.
 
"Chalo, nahaa lo. Sab tayyar hai neeche. Bhola ne bahut mehnat ki hai aaj."
("Come on, take a bath. Everything is ready downstairs. Bhola has worked really hard today.")

[doodhwale_bhaiya]

Ravi nodded like a man sleepwalking, stood up on wobbly legs and shuffled toward the bathroom. Simran watched him go, heart doing a strange little flip. Relief that he hadn't noticed anything. Guilt that she was hiding so much. And underneath it all, that low, steady throb between her legs that hadn't gone away since Bhola emptied her.
 
She came back down. Bhola was already wiping the dining table clean.
 
"Bhabhi, table lagaa doon?"
("Bhabhi, should I set the table?")
 
"Haan, laga do," she said, voice soft. "Ravi abhi aayega."
("Yes, set it," she said softly. "Ravi will be here any moment.")
 
They set everything quietly. Hot rotis in the casserole, chicken curry, steaming dal, sabzi, raita, salad. The smell filled the house, normal and comforting. Ravi came down ten minutes later, hair wet, wearing a fresh t-shirt and track pants. He still looked half-asleep but managed a tired smile.
 
"Smells amazing," he said, dropping into his chair.
 
Lunch was quick and quiet. Ravi ate like a man who hadn't had proper food in twenty-four hours, praising the food between big bites. Simran sat across from him, smiling, serving him extra roti, acting like the perfect wife. Bhola hovered in the background, refilling water glasses, clearing plates the moment they were empty.
 
When the plates were finally cleared, Ravi pushed his chair back and rubbed his eyes.
 
"Yaar, abhi bhi neend aa rahi hai. Office ke couch pe sirf do ghante soya tha. Thoda rest kar loon?"
("Yaar, I'm still feeling sleepy. I only slept for two hours on the office couch. Can I rest a bit?")
 
Simran nodded immediately.
 
"Jaao, so jao. Kal Saturday hai, Monday tak tum ghar pe hi rahoge. Aaram kar lo."
("Go, sleep. Tomorrow is Saturday, you'll be home till Monday. Take some rest.")
 
He stood, gave her a sleepy kiss on the cheek, and trudged back upstairs. Within minutes the house was quiet again except for the low hum of the fan and the faint clink of dishes as Bhola washed up in the kitchen.
 
Simran stayed at the table for a moment, staring at the empty chair where Ravi had been sitting. Her breasts were again filled up and the rest of her body was still humming, restless. Its been quite sometime since the last session. She glanced toward the kitchen doorway.
 
Bhola was drying his hands, looking straight at her.
 
Their eyes met.
 
No words. She got up and picked the glass from the table, filled it up with water from the RO and drank. After that she kept it at the counter and stood still thinking something.
 
Bhola was reading her like an open book. Without a word he reached up with his free hand and hooked a finger under the left strap. He tugged it down in one smooth pull, but the fabric resisted, bunched awkwardly because the right strap was already hanging loose on her arm. Simran's breath hitched and she gasped with surprise as he worked it lower, fingers brushing the slope of her breast, knuckles grazing the sensitive skin until the strap finally slipped past her shoulder.
 
Both tits spilled free now, heavy and flushed, nipples dark and standing stiff in the kitchen air. The nightie hung useless around her waist like a forgotten belt. Thanks God, it didn’t fall down completely because of her wide hips. At least not yet.
 
He cupped them both at once, big palms spreading wide, fingers sinking into the soft undersides. He lifted them slightly, thumbs brushing the outer curves, then squeezed hard enough to make the flesh bulge between his digits. Milk beaded instantly at both tips again, slow creamy drops rolling down the rounded swells.
 
Bhola dipped his head and took the left nipple deep into his mouth. No teasing this time. He sucked hard from the start, cheeks hollowing, pulling with steady, insistent force. Milk flooded his tongue in thick pulses. He swallowed fast but some still leaked out the corners of his lips, trickling warm down his chin and dripping onto her collarbone.
 
Simran couldn't moan properly. She pressed her lips tight together, letting out only sharp little gasps through her nose, each one trembling. Her hands gripped the counter edge so hard her knuckles turned white. Every deep suck sent a jolt straight to her clit, making her thighs quiver, but she couldn't move, couldn't grind, couldn't do anything except stand there and let him take.