Misc. Erotica Super Deluxe Photo Studio (COMPLETED)- By Novelist Casanova

[novelistcasanova]

Super Deluxe Photo Studio

By Novelist Casanova

  
It is the 1990s. Life moves slowly in our place. Letters take weeks to arrive. Phone calls are rare and short. Most things we need are not found nearby.
Our village is small and quiet. The houses stand close together with tiled roofs and open courtyards. Dusty paths run between them. There is a small provision shop, a tea stall, and the post office. For almost everything else we must go to the town. The town is one hour away by the morning bus. The bus is old, with hard seats. It leaves early and returns in the evening. If we miss it, we wait for a lorry or walk. In the village we manage with little. For new clothes, medicine, college needs for the boys, or any special work, we take the bus to the town market. That is how we live.

I am Sudha. I am a housewife. My husband works in Dubai as a construction labourer. He sends money orders every two or three months and writes inland letters. Our three sons study in a high-class college in the town and stay in the hostel. In the house it is only me and my mother-in-law.

I stand 5 feet 4 inches and weigh 56 kg, with measurements of 34-26-34, a 34 bra size, and panties sized for my 86 cm hips. My face is oval. My eyes are large and dark, almond-shaped, with long lashes. My eyebrows are neat and gently arched. My nose is straight. My lips are full and pink; they look fuller when I press them together. My black hair is long and thick; I keep it in a loose braid that falls over one shoulder, a few strands curling near my cheeks and touching the side of my neck.

My neck is slender. Below it my collarbones show under the skin. My heavy breasts sit high and press forward, full and soft, the weight of them making them shift with each step. The skin over them is warm. My nipples are dark and sit in the center of each breast, raised a little even when I am still. My waist is narrow, and in the center sits my navel, a small soft hollow that moves when I breathe. From the waist my body widens into wide hips that sway when I walk. My stomach is gently rounded below the navel. My thick thighs are soft and press together when I stand still, the inner sides warmer. Between them the mound of my pussy sits soft and full, the outer lips smooth, the skin there warmer and more sensitive than the rest of my body. My calves taper. My feet are small, the soles even, the toes straight.

If I stood without clothes the same body would look even hotter. My heavy breasts would hang full and soft, the dark nipples standing out. The narrow waist would lead into the wide curve of my hips. My thick thighs would frame the soft mound of my pussy, the outer lips closed and warm. The whole shape would be soft, heavy, and ready — the kind of body that looks made for a man’s hands to hold. That is how I look, clothed or not, as I move through this village house in the 1990s.
After the morning work is done I lock the bathroom door and start the things I do every day to keep my body the way it is. I sit on the low wooden stool and untie my saree, letting the pallu and the folds fall away until my saree is off. I open my blouse hooks one by one and slip my blouse off my shoulders. Then I untie my petticoat and let it drop. I reach behind and unhook my bra. The cups fall away and my heavy breasts hang free, full and soft, my dark nipples already a little raised from the air. I push my panties down my thick thighs until they drop to the floor. Now I am naked.

I open a small steel tin of coconut oil, pour a little into my palm, and rub it between my hands until it is warm. I lift my braid and work the oil into my scalp, my fingers moving slowly. The oil runs down the length of my black hair. I undo my braid and comb it with a wide-toothed comb until the strands shine. A few drops fall on my neck and slide onto the top of my heavy breasts.

Next I take a small piece of turmeric root and rub it on a rough stone with a little water until it becomes a yellow paste. I apply the paste on my face, covering my cheeks, forehead, and the area under my eyes. Then I spread the same paste over my neck, across the upper curve of my heavy breasts, around my dark nipples, around my navel, and down over my stomach. The paste feels cool at first, then warm as it dries. I oil my arms and legs. My hands move over my thick thighs, pressing the oil into the soft inner sides, then down my calves to my feet. I rub each toe and the sole. My anklets stay on; I only lift them a little to reach underneath.

I open my thighs wider and take a small amount of the turmeric paste mixed with a pinch of gram flour. I spread it carefully over the mound of my pussy and between my outer lips, then further back over my asshole. The paste sits there and softens any fine hair. After a few minutes I gently rub it away with my fingers in small circles. Both my pussy and my asshole stay without hair, my outer lips and the tight ring soft and even. I feel the warmth of my own fingers against my outer lips and around my asshole as I clear every bit of paste.

I fill the brass pot with warm water and pour it over myself to take my bath. The yellow paste runs off my face, down between my heavy breasts, over my dark nipples, over my navel, and between my thick thighs. I use a bar of soap and wash every part: under my breasts, around my dark nipples, inside the hollow of my navel, carefully between my outer lips of my pussy, and around my asshole so both places stay clean and soft. The water runs down my wide hips and pools for a moment on the floor before it drains. I rinse until the water runs clear, then dry myself with a thin cotton towel, patting under my breasts, around my waist, gently between my thighs, and over my asshole.
I sit on the stool again, still naked, and comb my hair once more, then braid it tightly so it stays neat. I apply a little kajal to my eyes with the tip of my finger. The whole body feels warm and clean from the bath. My heavy breasts rest full, my wide hips and thick thighs are soft, my pussy and asshole bare and smooth.

I pick up my panties and step into them, pulling them up over my thick thighs until they sit against the mound of my pussy and cover my asshole. I put my bra back on, lifting each of my heavy breasts into the cup and hooking it behind me so my dark nipples press against the cotton. I step into my petticoat and tie it low on my wide hips. I put on my blouse and hook it closed over my bra. Then I take my saree, tuck the pleats into my petticoat, and dbang the pallu over my shoulder. That is how I keep myself looking the way I do.


Before my husband left for Dubai we were just like the other families in the village. We had a small house, little money, and we managed with what we had. My mother-in-law and I cooked simple meals and wore the same few sarees again and again. Our relatives lived the same way. No one had much more than anyone else.
Then my husband went to Dubai as a construction labourer. He worked long hours in the heat and started sending money orders. Every month the postman comes to our house on his bicycle and hands me the money order. I sign for it and collect the cash. With that money our life changed. We bought more land around the village. We built a bigger house with a proper courtyard. Our three sons started studying in the high-class college in the town and stayed in the hostel. We became richer than the other families.
Our relatives saw the money coming in and tried to compete. One of them was Santosh. He took a big loan from the bank to buy a new house so he could match us. He could not repay the loan. The bank took the house. People in the village talked about him. He felt shamed. One day he locked himself in a room and committed suicide. After that the other relatives stopped trying so openly. Some of them still spoke behind our backs. I kept quiet and looked after the house.

My husband and I write inland letters to each other. He writes about the work and asks about the boys. I write back about the house, the land we bought, and how the boys are studying. The letters take weeks to arrive.
With the money he sends I buy things carefully. I put some into more properties so the land grows. I pay the college fees and hostel charges for our sons. When I go to the town I buy new sarees for myself from the shops in the market. Every three months a bra and panties salesman comes to our village on his cycle with a big bundle. He sits in the front room and opens his cloth. I choose my bra and my panties from what he has, pay him, and keep them for myself. That is how the money my husband works hard for is spent. We are better off than the others now, but he is still far away working every day so the money orders keep coming.


Every month a blue inland letter comes from my husband along with the money order. The postman hands it to me and I take it inside. I sit alone in the front room and open it. He always writes that he misses me. He writes that he thinks about my body at night after the work is finished. He writes that he gets hard remembering how I looked when he left.

In the last letter he wrote: “Sudha, I am so horny here. I keep thinking about your heavy breasts and how soft they feel in my hands. Take a measuring tape and measure yourself for me. Measure your breasts, your waist, your hips, and write the numbers. Tell me what color panties you are wearing today. Are your panties tight on your wide hips? I want to know if your panties are pressing against your pussy. I imagine pulling your panties down and putting my mouth there. Write back and tell me everything. I touch myself reading your letters.”
My face became hot when I read those lines. I folded the letter and put it under my blouse for a while. My dark nipples tightened against my white bra. I felt a warm feeling between my thick thighs.

That evening I locked the door and took the measuring tape from the sewing box. I untied my saree and let it fall. I opened the hooks of my blouse one by one and slipped my blouse off. I untied my petticoat and stepped out of it. I reached behind and unhooked my white bra so my heavy breasts hung free, full and soft, my dark nipples already raised. I pushed my pink panties down my thick thighs and stepped out of them. Now I was naked.

I stood in front of the small mirror and lifted the tape. I wrapped it carefully around the fullest part of my heavy breasts, just under my dark nipples, and noted the number. The tape pressed lightly against the soft weight of them. Then I moved the tape down and wrapped it around my waist, right above my navel, feeling it sit against the narrow curve. Next I brought the tape lower and circled it around the widest part of my wide hips, the tape resting just above the mound of my pussy. I held it there a moment, feeling the cool tape against my skin, then wrote all three numbers on a small paper.
I took a new inland letter and wrote back the same night. I wrote: “I measured myself like you asked. I got naked and used the tape. My breasts are 34, my waist is 26, my hips are 34. I am wearing my pink panties today. My pink panties sit low on my wide hips and my pink panties are pressed right against the mound of my pussy. When I walk my pink panties rub a little. I touched myself last night thinking of you. I slipped my fingers under my pink panties and rubbed between my outer lips until I was wet. I wish your cock was inside me instead of my fingers. Tell me more about what you want to do to my breasts and my pussy. I will write everything.”
I sealed the letter and gave it to the postman the next day. My cheeks stayed warm the whole morning. I kept thinking about the words I had written and the words he would write next month. The letters made me blush every time, but I always wrote dirty replies and waited for his next one.


For the next three months the letters from my husband stayed formal. He asked about my health, about our sons in the hostel, and about his mother. He wrote about the work in Dubai and how the money order would come. There were no more lines about my body or what color panties I was wearing. I read each letter and felt the difference, but I still wrote back carefully and waited.
One afternoon my friend Usha came to the house. We sat in the front room with tea. She wore her saree neatly and spoke in her usual easy way. After some time she leaned closer.
“My husband wrote again last week,” Usha said. “He is still in the army camp. He wrote such naughty things. He asked me what I was wearing under my saree and told me he gets hard thinking about my breasts. I blushed the whole day reading it.”
I listened and looked down at my hands. A small tightness came in my chest.
“My husband used to write like that too,” I said. “But for the past three months his letters are only formal. He asks about me, about our sons, and about my mother-in-law. Nothing else. No naughty words at all.”
Usha’s face changed. She set her cup down and looked at me properly.
“That is serious, Sudha,” she said. “A man alone for so long without any sex will get very horny. If he is not writing those things to you anymore, he must have found some way there. Prostitutes are everywhere in those places. He will go to them if you do not keep him thinking only of you.”
My stomach felt cold. I thought of the money orders still coming and the formal letters. My fingers pressed against my saree.
“What should I do?” I said. My voice was low.
Usha moved a little closer on the bench. Her voice became softer but firm.
“Take hot pictures of yourself and send them to him,” she said. “Go to the photo studio in the town. Wear a nice saree, but let them take pictures where the pallu is low and the blouse shows more. Send those pictures with your next letter. When he sees your heavy breasts and your wide hips in the photos he will remember only you. He will not look at any other woman there. Do it tomorrow itself. Do not wait.”
I sat quiet for a moment. The idea made my face warm, but the fear of what she said was stronger. I nodded slowly.
“I will go to the photo studio in the town tomorrow,” I said. “I will take the pictures and send them.”
Usha smiled a little and picked up her cup again. We talked about other things after that, but the plan stayed in my mind. When she left I stood at the door and watched her walk down the path. Tomorrow I would take the morning bus to the town.


The next morning I woke early. The house was still quiet. My mother-in-law was in the kitchen. I got up from the bed and went to the almirah. I opened it and looked through my sarees. I carefully picked out the yellow chiffon saree, the one my husband always said was his favorite color on me. I remembered how he used to look at me when I wore it before he left for Dubai. I took it out slowly and laid it on the bed. Then I took out my maroon panties, my white bra, my white petticoat, and my yellow blouse. I placed them one by one beside the yellow chiffon saree so everything was ready. Then I picked up a towel and walked into the bathroom.

I closed the door and stood in front of the small mirror. I took my toothbrush and began brushing my teeth, moving it slowly over each tooth while I looked at my face. After I finished I rinsed my mouth and set the brush down. Then I lifted my night saree along with my petticoat and pulled my panties down to my thick thighs. I sat on the toilet with my panties resting around my knees. I let myself poop, my thick thighs spread a little, my heavy breasts hanging forward under the night blouse as I stayed there. When I was done I cleaned myself carefully with water, washing between my outer lips and around my asshole the way I always do so everything stayed soft and clean. I stood up, pulled my panties back up, dried myself with the towel, and stayed for a moment in the small bathroom before I began the rest of my morning wash.


I stayed in the bathroom and began to undress for my bath. I untied my night saree and let it fall. I opened the hooks of my night blouse and slipped it off. I untied my night petticoat and stepped out of it. I unhooked my bra so my heavy breasts hung free, full and soft. I pushed my panties down my thick thighs and stepped out of them. Now I was naked.

I poured warm water from the brass pot over my head and body. The water ran down my face, over my heavy breasts, across my dark nipples, over my navel, and between my thick thighs. I took the turmeric paste I had kept ready and rubbed it slowly over my face, my neck, the upper curve of my heavy breasts, around my dark nipples, around my navel, and down my stomach. I spread a little more carefully over the mound of my pussy and between the lips of my pussy, then around my asshole, so both places stayed soft and without hair. The paste felt cool, then warm as it dried a little on my body.
I used the soap and washed every part with my hands. I soaped under my heavy breasts and around my dark nipples until they were clean. I washed inside the hollow of my navel. I opened my thighs and washed carefully between the lips of my pussy and around my asshole, my fingers moving slowly so the skin there stayed fresh and soft. The water rinsed the soap and turmeric away, running down my wide hips and over my thick thighs. I poured more water until everything was clear.
I dried myself with the towel, patting gently under my heavy breasts, around my waist, between my thick thighs, and over my pussy and asshole. My body felt clean and fresh. My face looked bright after the turmeric. My heavy breasts and wide hips were soft and ready. I wanted to look beautiful for the photos I would take for my husband. I wrapped the towel around myself and stepped out to the clothes waiting on the bed.


I came out of the bathroom with the towel around me and stood beside the bed. I dried the last drops from under my heavy breasts, around my navel, and between my thick thighs. Then I dropped the towel and stood naked in front of the small mirror. I thought of my husband and the photos I would send him. A warm feeling started low in my body.
I picked up my maroon panties from the bed. I held them open with both hands and stepped into them one foot at a time. I pulled my maroon panties slowly up my calves, then higher over my knees, feeling them slide against my thick thighs. As I pulled them higher I looked at myself in the mirror and spoke softly as if he could hear me.
“See, I am wearing the panties you like,” I said to the mirror.
I kept pulling until they reached the top of my thighs. I adjusted them carefully so the front sat snug against the mound of my pussy, pressing right over the lips of my pussy, and the back covered both my full ass cheeks completely. The closeness made me wetter. I ran my fingers along the edges and over the back, pressing a little against my pussy and over my ass cheeks. A small throb started between the lips of my pussy. I stayed looking in the mirror, my heavy breasts rising with my breath.
“I am getting wet thinking of you looking at me like this,” I said. “These maroon panties feel so close on my pussy and my whole ass.”
The horny feeling stayed strong as I reached for the next piece.


I picked up my white bra from the bed and turned back to the mirror. My heavy breasts hung free, full and soft, my dark nipples already a little raised from the warm feeling between my thighs. I looked at myself and spoke again as if my husband was watching.
“Now I am putting on my bra for you,” I said.
I slipped my arms through the straps and lifted my left heavy breast into my white bra, then my right heavy breast. I reached behind and hooked my white bra closed. My dark nipples pressed against my white bra. The weight of my heavy breasts felt held and lifted. I adjusted the straps a little so they sat properly on my shoulders. Standing there in only my maroon panties and my white bra, I felt the throb in my pussy grow stronger. I ran my hands lightly over my white bra, feeling my heavy breasts underneath.
“See how my breasts look in my white bra,” I said to the mirror. “I wish you could touch them now. I am so horny thinking of the photos.”
I stayed like that for a moment, breathing a little faster, before I reached for my white petticoat.


I picked up my white petticoat from the bed and stepped into it. I pulled it up over my thick thighs and my maroon panties until it reached my wide hips. I tied the string low, below my navel, the way I always do, so a little of my stomach showed above it. The petticoat sat snug on my wide hips. I looked at myself in the mirror, still in my white bra and my maroon panties underneath, and spoke softly.
“I tied my petticoat low for you,” I said. “You always liked it sitting below my navel.”
I smoothed my hands over the front of my white petticoat, feeling it rest against my maroon panties and the warmth of my pussy underneath. The horny feeling stayed. My heavy breasts rose and fell in my white bra as I breathed. I turned a little to the side so I could see how my wide hips looked.
“See how it sits on my hips,” I said to the mirror. “I am still wet thinking of you.”
I stayed there a moment longer, then reached for my yellow blouse.


I picked up my yellow blouse from the bed. I slipped my arms into the sleeves and brought it around my body over my white bra. I hooked it closed at the front, one hook at a time, until my yellow blouse sat close across my heavy breasts. My dark nipples pressed against my white bra underneath. I looked at myself in the mirror and spoke softly.
“My blouse is on now,” I said. “It is tight over my breasts the way you like.”
I ran my hands slowly over the front of my yellow blouse, feeling the shape of my heavy breasts under it. The warm throb between the lips of my pussy stayed strong. I adjusted the blouse a little at the waist so it sat neatly above my white petticoat.
“I wish you could open these hooks yourself,” I said to the mirror. “I am so horny for you right now.”
I stood still for a moment, breathing deeper, then reached for my yellow chiffon saree.



I picked up my yellow chiffon saree from the bed, the one my husband always said was his favorite. I held it open and began to tuck the pleats into my white petticoat, one by one, making them neat and even. I wrapped my yellow chiffon saree around my wide hips and brought the pallu up over my left shoulder. The soft saree settled against my yellow blouse and over my heavy breasts. I looked at myself in the mirror, fully dressed now, and spoke softly.
“I am wearing your favorite saree,” I said. “The yellow chiffon one. I tied everything low underneath for you.”
I smoothed my hands over the pallu and down the front of my yellow chiffon saree, feeling my body underneath—my white bra, my maroon panties, the warmth still between my thighs. The horny feeling had not gone. I turned a little so the saree moved with my wide hips.
“See how I look,” I said to the mirror. “I am going to take photos for you today. I want you to get hard when you see them.”
I stood there a moment longer, the attar soft on my neck, my anklets and mangalsutra in place, ready to leave for the town.


I sat on the edge of the bed in front of the mirror, my yellow chiffon saree already on. I picked up my silver anklets and fastened one around each ankle. They sat just above my feet and gave a small sound when I moved my legs. I looked at myself and spoke softly.
“I put on my anklets for you,” I said. “You always liked the sound when I walked.”
Next I took a small golden chain and fastened it around my neck. The chain rested between my heavy breasts, warm against my skin above my yellow blouse. I wore my small gold earrings and slipped a few glass bangles onto each wrist. I applied kajal carefully to my eyes and pressed a small bindi on my forehead. From the steel box I took a little attar and touched it on my neck, behind my ears, and on the inside of my wrists. The soft fragrance rose as I moved.
I stood up and looked at the full picture in the mirror—my yellow chiffon saree, my accessories in place, the warmth still between my thighs under my maroon panties.
“Everything is on now,” I said to the mirror. “I am ready for the photos. I want you to see me like this and miss me.”
The horny feeling stayed as I picked up my bag and got ready to leave for the town.



I sat down again and slipped on my footwear. As I stood up, my mother-in-law came into the room. She stopped and looked at me from head to toe in my yellow chiffon saree.
“You are dressed so nicely today,” she said. “Where are you going?”
I felt a little shy under her eyes. I adjusted my pallu.
“I am going to the photo studio in the town,” I said. “I want to take some pictures and send them to him.”
My mother-in-law’s face brightened. She came closer and began to adjust my yellow chiffon saree. She pulled the waist lower so more of my stomach showed above my white petticoat, then arranged the pallu so it sat lower on my heavy breasts. Her hands moved over my wide hips as she set the pleats.
“Not ordinary pictures,” she said, her voice lower. “Take hot and sexy ones for my son. Show your body properly. He is alone there. He needs to see you like this.”
She gave my ass a gentle spank over the saree, right where my maroon panties covered my full ass cheeks. The touch made me jump a little. My face became hot. I looked down, blushing.
“Go now,” she said. “Take good photos and send them. Make him happy.”
I nodded, still blushing, picked up my bag, and stepped out of the house. The morning bus would leave soon. My yellow chiffon saree felt different after her hands, and the warm feeling under my maroon panties had not gone.



I had just picked up my bag when my mother-in-law came to the front door and stopped me.
“Do not go by bus,” she said, looking at my yellow chiffon saree. “In that crowd your saree will get crushed and wrinkled. The pleats will spoil. Wait here. I will arrange something.”
She stepped out into the courtyard and called a boy who was standing near the next house. She pressed 5 rupees into his hand.
“Go fast and bring an auto,” she told him. “Tell him to come to this house.”
The boy nodded and ran down the dusty path. I stood inside, one hand holding my pallu, feeling the soft chiffon against my yellow blouse. A few minutes later I heard the sound of an auto engine. It stopped right in front of our gate. The driver, a thin man in a faded shirt, looked at my mother-in-law.
“Where to?” he asked.
“Town Market, near the Bus Stand,” my mother-in-law said. “Drop her there safely.”
The driver thought for a second.
“100 rupees,” he said.
“Fine,” my mother-in-law answered without bargaining. “Come, Sudha.”
I walked out of the house. The moment I stepped into the sunlight in my yellow chiffon saree the driver’s eyes moved over me. He started at my face, then slowly went down to my heavy breasts under the blouse, lingered on the low waist of my saree where a little stomach showed above my white petticoat, and then rested on my wide hips. His look stayed there. My mother-in-law saw it at once. She stepped forward, her voice sharp.
“Look at me,” she said. “If you try anything with her on the way, if you even touch her wrongly, I will find you and kill you. You only drop her at the market and leave. Understand?”
The driver’s eyes dropped to the ground. He shifted on the seat.
“I will not do anything, amma,” he said quickly. “I will drop her safe. Nothing else.”
I walked to the side of the auto. As I lifted my saree a little to step in, my mother-in-law came close and leaned to my ear. Her voice was low so only I could hear.
“Remember what I said,” she whispered. “Make every photo hot and sexy for my son. Do not take normal ones. Show him properly.”
A small laugh escaped both of us. My face grew warm under the kajal. I ducked my head and climbed inside. The seat was warm. I sat down, arranging my yellow chiffon saree around my legs so the pleats stayed neat. My maroon panties pressed against me under the petticoat as I settled. The driver started the engine without looking back. The auto moved forward, leaving our house and my mother-in-law standing at the gate, and turned onto the road that led to the town.


The auto moved along the village road, the engine loud and the seat shaking a little under me. I held my bag on my lap and kept my yellow chiffon saree arranged so the pleats would not spoil. My mother-in-law’s words stayed in my ears. Under my white petticoat my maroon panties felt close against the lips of my pussy. The warm feeling from the morning had grown stronger. I was excited. I kept thinking of the hot pictures I would take for my husband and how he would open the packet in Dubai.
I imagined the poses. Standing with my pallu low so my yellow blouse showed the top of my heavy breasts. Turning so my wide hips filled the frame. Sitting with my saree arranged to show the low line of my white petticoat. Maybe even one where I looked back over my shoulder. Each thought made the throb between my thighs deeper. I pressed my legs together a little and felt my maroon panties rub against my pussy.
The driver kept the auto steady, but his eyes kept coming to the small mirror. I saw them move over the front of my yellow blouse, lingering on the shape of my heavy breasts. Once when we slowed for a bullock cart his gaze dropped lower, toward the low waist of my saree and the way my wide hips filled the seat. He looked for a few seconds too long before turning back to the road. My face grew warm, but the excitement stayed. I pulled my pallu tighter, yet I still felt his glances while I thought of the poses waiting at the studio.
We left the village behind. The road widened. I stayed quiet, cheeks hot, picturing myself in front of the camera, my body arranged for my husband. After some time the town buildings appeared. The driver slowed as we reached the market area.
“Town Market, near Bus Stand,” he said, voice careful. “This is the place.”
He stopped at the side of the road. I took out the 100 rupees and handed it forward. His eyes flicked once more to my blouse as he took the money, then he looked away. I stepped down, holding my yellow chiffon saree clear of the step. The driver started the engine and left.
I stood near the bus stand, the market noise around me, my yellow chiffon saree bright in the sun. My heart beat faster. I was horny and ready. The photo studio was a short walk ahead. I adjusted my pallu, felt my maroon panties shift against my wet pussy as I moved, and began walking toward it, already thinking of the first pose.


I walked into the market under the hot sun. The road was dusty and the shops on both sides were busy. My yellow chiffon saree felt light on my body, but the heat made a thin layer of sweat form under my yellow blouse and along my wide hips. I held my pallu in place and looked for the photo studio, my heart still beating faster from the thoughts of the poses.
Women and girls passing by turned to look at me. Some stared at my face, then at the way my heavy breasts filled my blouse and how my wide hips moved under the saree. A few whispered to each other as I went past. Their eyes were sharp with jealousy. I kept walking, cheeks warm, feeling their looks on my body the same way I had felt the driver’s.
After asking one shopkeeper I found the place. It was in a corner building, on the first floor. A painted board above the stairs read “Super Deluxe Photo Studio.” I stood at the bottom for a moment, then began to climb the narrow stairs. On the ground floor a few men were standing near a tea stall. As I went up they all turned. Their eyes followed my yellow chiffon saree, moving over my heavy breasts, then lower to my wide hips and the way my ass shifted with each step. I heard one of them make a low sound. I did not look back. I kept my face straight and continued up, my anklets sounding softly on the steps, my maroon panties pressing against my pussy with every movement.
At the top I stopped outside the studio door. The board was right above me. I adjusted my pallu, took a small breath, and stood there for a second, the men’s eyes still on me from below, before I reached for the door.


I knocked on the glass door of the Super Deluxe Photo Studio. After a moment a man opened it. He was in his 40s, dark-skinned, with a rough ugly face and an athletic build. He wore a black t-shirt and denim pants. The moment he saw me he stopped. His eyes stayed on my face, then moved down my yellow chiffon saree. He looked spellbound and did not speak for a few seconds.
“Come in, madam,” he said at last, stepping aside.
I walked inside. The room smelled of chemicals. Photos covered the walls. He closed the door behind me.
“What can I do for you, madam?” he asked.
I held my bag in front of me.
“I have come to take some pictures of me in different poses,” I said. “I want to send them to my husband. He is working in Dubai.”
He nodded slowly, still looking at me.
“What kind of photos are you looking for?” he asked. “Homely or Hot?”
My face grew warm. I did not want him to suspect anything.
“Homely,” I said.
“Please sit,” he said, pointing to a chair. He walked to the curtain at the back, opened it, and went inside the photo room. I heard him moving lights.
While he was inside I looked at the photos on the wall. There were pictures of top Tamil actors and actresses from that time, all taken in this studio. The quality was good. I felt impressed. At the same time I kept thinking of the hot pictures I really wanted. I did not know how to tell him openly.
After a few minutes he came out to pick up something from the table near me. I spoke before I could stop myself.
“How much do you charge for Homely photos and for Hot photos?” I asked, trying to sound casual.
He glanced at me.
“Both same price, madam,” he said.
I looked down at my hands, then back at him.
“Then we will take both Homely and Hot photos,” I said. “I will decide later which ones to send.”
“Sure, madam,” he said. He picked up the item and went back inside the curtain to set up the camera. I stayed on the chair, my heart beating faster, my maroon panties feeling damp under my white petticoat as I waited.


“Madam, please come inside,” the photographer called from behind the curtain.

I stood up and walked through the curtain into the photo room. The space was small. A painted backdrop of a garden hung on the wall. Two big studio lights on metal stands stood on either side, the bright bulbs already warm. In the center a heavy film camera sat on a tall tripod, an old studio model with a large body and cloth hood. He was turning the knobs and checking the focus.
“We will complete the homely photos first,” he said. “Stand there, near the backdrop.”
I walked to the spot and stood in my yellow chiffon saree. He looked through the camera, then came forward to adjust my pallu. His dark hand brushed my shoulder and stayed a second longer than needed. I felt uncomfortable and shifted a little.
“Look at the camera and smile,” he said.
The flash popped. He wound the film and came closer again for the next pose. This time his fingers touched my waist while he turned me slightly. The touch was firm. I stiffened. He stepped back to the camera, but I saw the front of his denim pants had started to tighten. He was getting horny.
He kept taking pictures, one by one. For each new pose he came forward and used his hands—moving my arm, setting my pallu lower on my heavy breasts, pressing lightly at my wide hips to change my stance. At first every touch made me uneasy. My body stayed tense. But as the flashes continued and he kept adjusting me, the discomfort slowly eased. By the eighth pose his palm rested on my lower back without me pulling away. By the tenth pose, when he gently turned my face with two fingers under my chin, I no longer felt the urge to step back. I had started to feel comfortable under his hands.
He straightened after the last homely picture, breathing a little heavier. The bulge in his pants was clear now. He was fully horny.
“Homely set is done,” he said, voice thicker. “Now we can start the hot ones whenever you are ready.”
I nodded, my face warm, my maroon panties damp under my white petticoat, no longer minding how close he stood.


The photographer wiped his hands on his black t-shirt and looked at me.
“Madam, I have taken hot photos of all the top actresses in Chennai,” he said. “They also felt shy at first. Do not feel uncomfortable. Trust me. I know how to make the poses look good. I will help you. These pictures are for your husband.”
I stood near the backdrop, my heart beating fast. I was excited to take the hot photos for my husband, but nervous at the same time. My fingers held the edge of my yellow chiffon saree.
“The first hot pose is without the saree,” he said. “Please remove your saree.”
Heat rose to my face. I looked down.
“I feel shy,” I said softly.
He stepped a little closer but kept his voice polite.
“You are doing this for your husband, not for me,” he said. “Forget I am here. Just think of him opening the photos in Dubai. It will make him happy.”
I nodded slowly. I began to remove my yellow chiffon saree. I untucked the pleats from my white petticoat and unwound the saree little by little. As the chiffon slid off my body I glanced at him. Through his loose baggy denim pants I could see the clear shape of his boner pressing forward. He noticed me looking. He did not try to hide it.
“Do not worry,” he said calmly. “It is a natural reaction. Just focus on the pose.”
I finished removing my yellow chiffon saree. He took it from my hands, folded it quickly, and placed it on the chair. Now I stood in only my yellow blouse and my white petticoat.  The studio lights felt warmer on my bare midriff. He walked back behind the camera and looked through the hood.
“Stand straight,” he said. “We will start.”


To be continued ..!