“Mummy, pick up the drape and hold it in your left hand while keeping the other on your waist.”
Meera stayed silent for a long mummyent, but eventually complied. Arjun photographed her from every angle—front, side, slight bends that made her breasts strain forward, and shots that perfectly framed her exposed waist, navel, and cleavage.
The tension in the room was electric. Meera’s breathing had grown slightly heavier, her cheeks flushed.
“Enough for now,” she finally said, draping the pallu back over her shoulders to cover herself modestly. “We’ll continue after lunch.”
But the way her eyes lingered on him as she spoke told Arjun this photoshoot was far from over—and the boundaries between mother and son were blurring dangerously fast.
After a quick lunch where the air between them still crackled with unspoken tension from the morning’s photoshoot, Arjun waited eagerly in the living room. His camera was ready, battery full, memory card cleared for maximum space. Every second felt like an eternity as he imagined the possibilities. Meera had gone upstairs to change, and he knew this next round would push them further into dangerous territory.
Half an hour later, the soft rustle of fabric announced her return. Meera descended the stairs wearing a stunning plain green chiffon sari. The material was incredibly flimsy and sheer—almost translucent under the right light. It clung to her mature, voluptuous body like a second skin. The sari was tied low, dangerously low, exposing a vast expanse of her smooth, fair midriff and deep navel. The matching green blouse was fitted and low-cut, her heavy breasts straining against the fabric.
“Mummy, what took you so long?” Arjun asked, pretending to sound frustrated as if he were doing her a big favor by continuing the shoot.
“I was changing the petticoat,” Meera explained, her voice slightly embarrassed. “Earlier I wore a red one and it would have shown through this thin material, so I changed into a matching green one.”
The casual mention of her undergarment made Arjun flush red. His cock twitched involuntarily in his pants at the vivid mental image.
“Mummy, but I can still see your petticoat,” he said, keeping his tone serious.
“WHAT… YOU ARE JOKING, RIGHT?” Meera cried out in alarm. She looked down frantically and lifted the veils of her sari one by one, checking the drape. Showing petticoat was considered a major dressing disaster in their social circle, especially at a high-profile reception.
“This is a very expensive sari set, and the petticoat doesn’t match it perfectly. I was planning to wear this exact one at the reception,” she said, genuine concern heavy in her beautiful eyes. “Are you sure? Please look again carefully.”
“Mummy, you can check yourself.” Arjun handed her the Canon camera. She scrolled through the preview images, her expression growing more worried with each one.
“What will I do now?”
“You can wear a different sari,” he suggested innocently.
“But this was the one I really wanted…” Meera sighed.
A bold, outrageous idea slipped from Arjun’s lips before he could stop himself. “Mummy, can’t you wear the sari without the petticoat? Then it won’t show.”
