“Arjun? Is it too much?” Meera asked warily, looking down and adjusting the drape of her sari. The movement made the fabric shift, revealing even more of her creamy waist and the gentle swell of her hips.
Arjun stood frozen, drinking in every detail. Fuck… she looks like a walking wet dream. If that sari slips even an inch lower, I’ll see her pubic hair right here.
“It’s… it’s alright, Mummy. You look fine,” he managed, his voice husky.
“Just fine?” Meera protested, hands on her hips, which only pushed her chest forward. “This is my sister’s marriage, Arjun. I can’t go looking just ‘fine’!”
“You look… stunning, Mummy. Really beautiful. The sari fits you perfectly,” he replied honestly, eyes lingering on the exposed skin.
She flushed at the compliment. “Okay, turn around, let me check the back,” he added, trying to sound helpful.
Without hesitation, Meera turned. Arjun’s throat went dry. The sari hugged her round, firm ass beautifully, the low waist exposing the dimples at the base of her spine and the beginning of her deep crack. Her smooth, milky back was on full display, the waist chain glinting seductively.
“Very gorgeous, Mummy,” he breathed, forcing his eyes away.
Meera smiled, a hint of shy pleasure in her eyes. “Get dressed fast then. I’ll wait downstairs.”
The mummyent she left, Arjun locked the door, pulled out his throbbing cock, and jerked it furiously to the fresh mental image of his mother in that revealing sari. An Indian woman decked in ornaments and a low sari like this… she looks so seductive, so fuckable. He came hard within minutes, thick ropes of cum shooting onto his keyboard and floor. Breathing heavily, he cleaned up quickly, showered, and chose a sharp black suit with formal shoes as per her earlier instructions.
Downstairs, Meera sat on the couch, carefully applying a liquid bindi to her forehead, looking every bit the elegant yet provocatively dressed goddess. “Wear the formal shoes,” she said without looking up.
Arjun protested, but one piercing glare from her ended the argument.
At the wedding venue, Aunt Megha looked radiant in her bridal lehenga, but all eyes kept drifting to Meera. Her bold, low-waisted Banarasi sari made her the unintended center of attention. Even the nervous groom stole glances at her exposed waist and swaying hips as she climbed the stage for the varmala ceremony. Arjun stayed close, his camera— the same DSLR from his trip—ready in hand.
Suddenly, a familiar voice called out, “Arjun, why are you sitting alone?”
It was Rajesh. He had managed to catch an earlier flight back from Dubai for the family event.
“Dad! You made it.” Arjun beamed.
Rajesh handed him his Canon EOS 700D. “Take good photos for me, son. I need to check some arrangements inside. And make sure you capture your mother well—otherwise she’ll be pissed at me later.”
Arjun nodded eagerly, his pulse quickening. He spent the next hour photographing Meera from every angle—her graceful movements, the way the sari clung to her body when she danced lightly with relatives, the seductive flash of her navel and waist chain under the lights. Each click felt intimate, charged with the forbidden desire he’d just relieved minutes earlier in his room.
