Yesterday, 04:33 PM
Arjun set my wife’s feet down and rose, brushing his knees. He kept his face easy, as if the last few minutes had been nothing more than foot pictures.
“Madam, if you stand and turn around, I can take the back view. It will balance the set.”
My wife was still flushed, breath not fully steady. She looked at me. I gave a small nod, face blank.
“Turn,” I said. “It is fine.”
She stood, the yellow chiffon saree falling back into place around her legs, and turned slowly until her back was to him. The yellow chiffon saree pulled tight across her ass from the movement, outlining the full, heavy curve clearly under the streetlight. Arjun raised the camera. His eyes stayed on her ass longer than the frame needed.
“A little arch in your lower back, madam. Yes. Hold.”
She adjusted. The yellow chiffon saree stretched smoother over her ass, the heavy shape rounding out. He took two shots from directly behind, then one from a slight angle. Between frames he glanced at me. I kept watching her back as though I saw only the pose. He seemed satisfied I remained unaware of how long his gaze lingered.
“The yellow chiffon saree follows your hips well, madam,” he said, voice polite. “It sits exactly where it should.”
Colour rose again on her neck. She kept her face turned away, one hand resting on the compound wall for balance, shoulders soft with leftover shyness from the tickling.
He lowered the camera an inch and spoke to me without turning his head, tone casual.
“Sir, the line is clean from here. The weight sits naturally.”
I felt my boner, which had never fully softened, thicken again at the clear shape of her ass under the yellow chiffon saree and at the way he was looking at it while pretending this was ordinary. I did not react. I only nodded once, playing the innocent husband who saw nothing except a photographer doing his work.
“Take what you need,” I said.
Arjun smiled, small and harmless, and raised the camera again to her back, while both of us stood there hard and neither of us admitted it.
Arjun stepped closer behind my wife, camera still in one hand.
“Madam, the yellow chiffon saree has folded at the side. I will only straighten it.”
My wife stood with her back to him, hands resting on the compound wall. She nodded, small, already trying to keep her breathing even.
“All right.”
He set the camera down on the wall and reached for the yellow chiffon saree at her hip. His fingers found the fold, then slid lower. Instead of only adjusting the dbang, his palm settled fully over the heavy curve of her ass and stayed there, squeezing once, slow and deliberate, through the yellow chiffon saree and the yellow petticoat beneath. My wife’s whole body went rigid. Her breath stopped for a second. She felt the grope clearly, but she forced herself not to jerk away at once. Her fingers tightened on the compound wall. She swallowed, shoulders locking as she tried to control the shock and keep her face from showing too much.
She turned her head slowly and looked straight at me, eyes wide but fighting to stay steady. Colour flooded her cheeks. For a moment she held still under his hand, willing herself not to react more than she already had. Then she shifted sideways in a controlled movement, breaking the contact, the yellow chiffon saree pulling tight as she turned half away from him.
“It is fine now,” she said, voice low and carefully even. “You can take the picture.”
Arjun stepped back smoothly, face innocent, as if his hand had only been correcting the fold. He picked up the camera again.
“Of course, madam. Hold that angle.”
He glanced at me, quick and careful, checking whether I had seen the squeeze or only the adjustment. I kept my expression empty, eyes on her back, giving him nothing. Inside, heat slammed low in my stomach. My boner, already thick, throbbed hard against my thigh at the memory of his palm covering her ass and at the way she had looked at me while trying so hard to control herself. I did not stop it. I only stood there, fully hard, playing the husband who had noticed nothing, while she held the new pose with her cheeks burning, breath shallow, and his handprint still warm on her ass under the yellow chiffon saree.
Arjun raised the camera as if the pose was settled, then lowered the camera again and stepped in behind my wife once more.
“Madam, one small correction at the back. The yellow petticoat is pulling.”
My wife’s shoulders tightened. My wife kept her hands on the compound wall and tried to steady her breathing.
“It is already fine,” my wife said, voice low and controlled.
Arjun did not stop. Arjun’s hands came to my wife’s hips, then slid fully over my wife’s ass. This time both of Arjun’s palms covered my wife’s ass, feeling the heavy curve of my wife’s ass through the yellow chiffon saree and the yellow petticoat, pressing and shaping the heavy curve of my wife’s ass as if Arjun were only smoothing the clothes. Arjun’s fingers found the edges of my wife’s white panties underneath and traced my wife’s white panties deliberately, slow, over the full width of my wife’s ass. My wife’s breath broke for a second before my wife forced it steady again. A shiver ran through my wife’s body that my wife fought to hide. Heat flooded my wife’s face. My wife was getting wet between her thighs; my wife felt the wetness, and my wife pressed her thighs together just enough to control it without making the movement obvious.
My wife turned her head just enough to look at Arjun, eyes dark but carefully neutral, and whispered so only Arjun could hear.
“That is enough.”
My wife’s voice was low, trying to sound final, but the unsteadiness underneath gave her away. My wife did not want Arjun to know how much the touch on my wife’s ass was affecting her. Arjun’s hands stayed on my wife’s ass a moment longer, squeezing the heavy curve of my wife’s ass once more through the layers, feeling the shape of my wife’s white panties under the yellow chiffon saree and yellow petticoat. Arjun leaned in, cheeky and quiet, reading the conflict in her.
“Only adjusting, madam.”
Arjun glanced at me over my wife’s shoulder, face carefully blank, still believing I saw nothing but a photographer fixing a dbang. I kept my expression empty. Inside, my boner throbbed hard and thick at the sight of Arjun’s hands covering the heavy curve of my wife’s ass and at the way my wife was whispering while trying so hard to hide how wet and affected she was. My wife stood there with her breathing shallow but controlled, cheeks burning, body held still under his palms so he would not feel her tremble.
Arjun finally stepped back, slow, and lifted the camera as if nothing had happened. My wife stayed facing the wall, fighting to keep her face and body composed, while both of us remained hard and the warmth of Arjun’s hands lingered on the heavy curve of my wife’s ass through the yellow chiffon saree.
Arjun circled back to my wife’s front as if he still needed one last frame. He raised the camera, then lowered it again and reached for the yellow pallu.
“Madam, the yellow pallu has shifted across the yellow blouse. I will only set it straight.”
My wife’s arms stayed at her sides. She was still trying to keep her breathing even after what he had done to her ass. She gave a small nod, eyes fixed on a point past his shoulder.
“Quickly.”
Arjun’s hands went to the yellow pallu, then slipped underneath. Both palms covered my wife’s boobs over the yellow blouse, feeling the full, heavy weight of my wife’s boobs through the yellow blouse, squeezing slowly as if he were only adjusting the dbang. His thumbs pressed along the lower curve of my wife’s boobs. My wife’s breath stopped. Heat shot through her chest. She felt her nipples tighten under the yellow blouse and fought to keep her face blank, shoulders locked, refusing to arch or pull away at once.
She lasted three seconds. Then her hands came up and caught his wrists.
“Enough,” she said, voice low but clear. “That is enough.”
She pushed his hands away from her boobs and stepped back, the yellow chiffon saree pulling tight across her body. Colour burned high on her cheeks, but she kept her expression controlled, eyes steady on him so he would not see how hard her heart was beating or how sensitive her boobs felt under the yellow blouse.
Arjun let his hands drop at once, face shifting back to polite and harmless. He glanced at me, still checking that I looked unaware. I kept my expression empty, even as my boner throbbed hard at the sight of his palms covering my wife’s boobs and at the way she had forced herself to endure it before she stopped him.
“Of course, madam,” he said lightly. “We are done.”
My wife turned half away, one hand holding the yellow pallu tight across her chest, breathing carefully through her mouth while she tried to settle the ache in her boobs. I stood there fully hard, saying nothing, letting Arjun believe I had seen only an ordinary adjustment.
My wife turned away from both of us and began adjusting the yellow chiffon saree, pulling the yellow pallu properly across her chest and smoothing the yellow petticoat at her waist. She was getting ready to leave, head lowered, still trying to settle her breathing.
I looked at Arjun.
“Show me the pictures.”
He hesitated only a second, then turned the camera screen toward me and began scrolling slowly. Frame after frame of my wife’s face, her feet, the back pose. When a shot came up that sat too long on the full shape of her boobs under the yellow blouse, or framed the heavy curve of her ass too tightly through the yellow chiffon saree, I spoke.
“Delete that one.”
He deleted it without argument. Another. Then another. My wife glanced over once, saw only that we were reviewing, and went back to fixing her saree. With every deleted frame my cock stayed thick and half-hard inside my trousers, a steady, heavy pressure I could feel with every small shift of my weight.
Then the first panties picture appeared. The flash had caught her clearly: yellow chiffon saree and yellow petticoat pushed up her thighs, her white panties fully visible and stretched tight over her pussy, the white panties outlining every contour of her pussy, the edges of her white panties sitting high on her hips, her thighs parted just enough from the way he had lifted her feet. The second and third shots were the same, sharp and close. My cock surged fully hard at once, thickening fast and pushing painfully against the front of my trousers. A hot pulse ran through the length of it; I felt the head swell and a small leak of wetness at the tip. I had to lock my knees to stay still.
Arjun’s thumb stopped on the screen. His face changed.
“Sir… these… I am sorry. The flash went off while she was laughing. I did not mean—”
He looked unsettled, eyes flicking between the picture and my face. Another throb hit my cock, making it jerk inside my trousers. I kept my tone even, almost thoughtful, as if I were only studying the frame.
“The light is interesting here,” I said. “Unplanned, but the white panties are sitting exactly right. You can see the full shape they are holding. Most people would crop this. I would not.”
Arjun swallowed. His voice dropped.
“You can see… everything the white panties are covering, sir. The outline is very clear.”
“Yes.” I did not look away from the screen. My boner ached, heavy and leaking slowly. “That is why it works. The white panties are doing all the work in the frame. Nothing is hidden, yet nothing is fully shown. It is precise.”
He stared at the picture, then at me. His breathing had gone shallow.
“So… you want me to keep them?”
“Keep them,” I said, still calm. “They are the strongest frames in the set. Just do not show anyone. Not her, not anyone else. They stay private.”
“Sir…” He hesitated, thumb hovering over the delete button, then moved it away. “You are sure? They are… very revealing.”
“I am sure.” Another slow pulse moved through my cock. I felt the wetness spread against the inside of my trousers. “The way her white panties are stretched… it is honest. Delete the others if you want. Not these.”
He nodded once, slow, still watching my face for any crack. He found none. To him I was only an husband speaking about composition.
“All right, sir. They stay with me. No one else sees them.”
“Good.”
My cock throbbed hard, thick and untouched, another leak wetting me further. He locked the camera. My wife finished adjusting the yellow chiffon saree and turned toward us, unaware, the yellow pallu now properly set across her chest. Arjun slipped the camera into his bag. I stood there with my boner straining painfully against my trousers, face carefully blank, while the pictures of her white panties remained exactly where both of us had just agreed they should stay.
My wife stepped a little away to check her phone, still fixing the edge of the yellow pallu. I stayed beside Arjun, voice low.
“How did you get those frames of her white panties so cleanly?” I asked. “She did not know. I did not see you take them.”
Arjun’s shoulders tightened. He glanced toward my wife, then back at me, hesitant.
“Sir, it was an accident. The flash—”
“Be frank,” I said, calm. “I will not get mad. I only want to understand how the pictures came out that precise.”
He studied my face for a moment. When he saw no anger, only quiet interest, he exhaled and spoke more freely.
“She was laughing too hard, sir. Eyes closed, whole body moving because of the tickling. I lifted her feet higher on purpose. The yellow chiffon saree and the yellow petticoat slid up by themselves. Her white panties were already fully out. I switched the flash on and took the shots while she was still trying to pull her feet back. She never looked down. You were standing behind me. From your angle it only looked like I was photographing her feet.”
He kept his voice low, careful, but the detail was clear. My cock, already hard, throbbed sharply at the image of him deliberately raising her feet, watching the yellow chiffon saree and yellow petticoat ride up, and firing the flash on her white panties while she laughed with her eyes shut. A fresh leak of wetness spread inside my trousers. I had to keep my hands loose at my sides.
“So you saw her white panties the moment the clothes moved,” I said, tone still even, “and you took the pictures before either of us noticed.”
“Yes, sir.” He met my eyes. “I knew it was only a second. So I took them.”
Another heavy pulse moved through my boner. I nodded once, face unreadable, while the knowledge of exactly how he had captured her white panties settled hot and thick between my legs.
My wife stood a few steps away, head bent over her phone, one hand still smoothing the edge of her yellow pallu across her chest. The streetlight caught the soft movement of her yellow chiffon saree as she shifted her weight. I stayed beside Arjun, close enough that our voices would not carry, and kept my tone light, almost idle, as if the question had only just occurred to me.
“When her yellow chiffon saree and her yellow petticoat went up,” I said, “and her white panties were right there in front of you… did you enjoy seeing them?”
Arjun’s shoulders straightened at once. His fingers tightened around the camera strap. He answered the way a man answers when he is still trying to stay inside a professional line.
“Sir, I was only thinking about the frame. The light on the ground, the angle of her feet. Nothing else.”
I let the silence sit for a moment. My cock was already thick inside my trousers from the pictures we had just looked at; now it gave a slow, heavy throb at the careful way he was lying. I felt the head swell against the fabric, a small bead of wetness forming at the tip. I did not move my hands. I only looked at him, steady and calm.
“Be frank,” I said. “I asked because I want the real answer. I will not get angry.”
He held my eyes. I watched the moment the professional mask loosened. His throat moved as he swallowed. When he spoke again his voice had dropped, lower and less guarded.
“Yes, sir. I enjoyed it.” He paused, then continued, quieter. “Her white panties were stretched so tightly over her pussy. Every contour was clear. The way the white panties clung… I could see the full shape of her pussy underneath. I looked longer than I needed to. I looked properly before I even lifted the camera. And I liked what I saw.”
The words moved through me like heat. My cock surged harder, thickening fully, pushing out against the front of my trousers in a slow, insistent swell. A fresh pulse of wetness leaked from the tip and spread warm against my skin. My balls drew up tight. I felt the ache sharpen all the way into my lower stomach, a deep, throbbing pressure that made my breath want to catch. I did not let it. I kept my face empty, my posture loose, my hands resting still at my sides. Nothing in my expression changed.
“I see,” I said, tone still even, almost mild. “So you looked at her white panties properly. Before you pressed the shutter.”
“Yes, sir.” His voice was barely above a whisper now, honest. “I looked. I saw how her white panties were stretched over her pussy. And I liked it.”
Another heavy throb rolled through my boner, slower and thicker than the last. I felt the wetness grow, a small damp patch forming inside my trousers, but I gave him nothing. I only nodded once, face calm and unreadable, while the truth of how long he had stared at her white panties, and how much he had enjoyed the sight of her pussy outlined beneath them, sat hard and leaking and carefully hidden between my legs.
“Madam, if you stand and turn around, I can take the back view. It will balance the set.”
My wife was still flushed, breath not fully steady. She looked at me. I gave a small nod, face blank.
“Turn,” I said. “It is fine.”
She stood, the yellow chiffon saree falling back into place around her legs, and turned slowly until her back was to him. The yellow chiffon saree pulled tight across her ass from the movement, outlining the full, heavy curve clearly under the streetlight. Arjun raised the camera. His eyes stayed on her ass longer than the frame needed.
“A little arch in your lower back, madam. Yes. Hold.”
She adjusted. The yellow chiffon saree stretched smoother over her ass, the heavy shape rounding out. He took two shots from directly behind, then one from a slight angle. Between frames he glanced at me. I kept watching her back as though I saw only the pose. He seemed satisfied I remained unaware of how long his gaze lingered.
“The yellow chiffon saree follows your hips well, madam,” he said, voice polite. “It sits exactly where it should.”
Colour rose again on her neck. She kept her face turned away, one hand resting on the compound wall for balance, shoulders soft with leftover shyness from the tickling.
He lowered the camera an inch and spoke to me without turning his head, tone casual.
“Sir, the line is clean from here. The weight sits naturally.”
I felt my boner, which had never fully softened, thicken again at the clear shape of her ass under the yellow chiffon saree and at the way he was looking at it while pretending this was ordinary. I did not react. I only nodded once, playing the innocent husband who saw nothing except a photographer doing his work.
“Take what you need,” I said.
Arjun smiled, small and harmless, and raised the camera again to her back, while both of us stood there hard and neither of us admitted it.
Arjun stepped closer behind my wife, camera still in one hand.
“Madam, the yellow chiffon saree has folded at the side. I will only straighten it.”
My wife stood with her back to him, hands resting on the compound wall. She nodded, small, already trying to keep her breathing even.
“All right.”
He set the camera down on the wall and reached for the yellow chiffon saree at her hip. His fingers found the fold, then slid lower. Instead of only adjusting the dbang, his palm settled fully over the heavy curve of her ass and stayed there, squeezing once, slow and deliberate, through the yellow chiffon saree and the yellow petticoat beneath. My wife’s whole body went rigid. Her breath stopped for a second. She felt the grope clearly, but she forced herself not to jerk away at once. Her fingers tightened on the compound wall. She swallowed, shoulders locking as she tried to control the shock and keep her face from showing too much.
She turned her head slowly and looked straight at me, eyes wide but fighting to stay steady. Colour flooded her cheeks. For a moment she held still under his hand, willing herself not to react more than she already had. Then she shifted sideways in a controlled movement, breaking the contact, the yellow chiffon saree pulling tight as she turned half away from him.
“It is fine now,” she said, voice low and carefully even. “You can take the picture.”
Arjun stepped back smoothly, face innocent, as if his hand had only been correcting the fold. He picked up the camera again.
“Of course, madam. Hold that angle.”
He glanced at me, quick and careful, checking whether I had seen the squeeze or only the adjustment. I kept my expression empty, eyes on her back, giving him nothing. Inside, heat slammed low in my stomach. My boner, already thick, throbbed hard against my thigh at the memory of his palm covering her ass and at the way she had looked at me while trying so hard to control herself. I did not stop it. I only stood there, fully hard, playing the husband who had noticed nothing, while she held the new pose with her cheeks burning, breath shallow, and his handprint still warm on her ass under the yellow chiffon saree.
Arjun raised the camera as if the pose was settled, then lowered the camera again and stepped in behind my wife once more.
“Madam, one small correction at the back. The yellow petticoat is pulling.”
My wife’s shoulders tightened. My wife kept her hands on the compound wall and tried to steady her breathing.
“It is already fine,” my wife said, voice low and controlled.
Arjun did not stop. Arjun’s hands came to my wife’s hips, then slid fully over my wife’s ass. This time both of Arjun’s palms covered my wife’s ass, feeling the heavy curve of my wife’s ass through the yellow chiffon saree and the yellow petticoat, pressing and shaping the heavy curve of my wife’s ass as if Arjun were only smoothing the clothes. Arjun’s fingers found the edges of my wife’s white panties underneath and traced my wife’s white panties deliberately, slow, over the full width of my wife’s ass. My wife’s breath broke for a second before my wife forced it steady again. A shiver ran through my wife’s body that my wife fought to hide. Heat flooded my wife’s face. My wife was getting wet between her thighs; my wife felt the wetness, and my wife pressed her thighs together just enough to control it without making the movement obvious.
My wife turned her head just enough to look at Arjun, eyes dark but carefully neutral, and whispered so only Arjun could hear.
“That is enough.”
My wife’s voice was low, trying to sound final, but the unsteadiness underneath gave her away. My wife did not want Arjun to know how much the touch on my wife’s ass was affecting her. Arjun’s hands stayed on my wife’s ass a moment longer, squeezing the heavy curve of my wife’s ass once more through the layers, feeling the shape of my wife’s white panties under the yellow chiffon saree and yellow petticoat. Arjun leaned in, cheeky and quiet, reading the conflict in her.
“Only adjusting, madam.”
Arjun glanced at me over my wife’s shoulder, face carefully blank, still believing I saw nothing but a photographer fixing a dbang. I kept my expression empty. Inside, my boner throbbed hard and thick at the sight of Arjun’s hands covering the heavy curve of my wife’s ass and at the way my wife was whispering while trying so hard to hide how wet and affected she was. My wife stood there with her breathing shallow but controlled, cheeks burning, body held still under his palms so he would not feel her tremble.
Arjun finally stepped back, slow, and lifted the camera as if nothing had happened. My wife stayed facing the wall, fighting to keep her face and body composed, while both of us remained hard and the warmth of Arjun’s hands lingered on the heavy curve of my wife’s ass through the yellow chiffon saree.
Arjun circled back to my wife’s front as if he still needed one last frame. He raised the camera, then lowered it again and reached for the yellow pallu.
“Madam, the yellow pallu has shifted across the yellow blouse. I will only set it straight.”
My wife’s arms stayed at her sides. She was still trying to keep her breathing even after what he had done to her ass. She gave a small nod, eyes fixed on a point past his shoulder.
“Quickly.”
Arjun’s hands went to the yellow pallu, then slipped underneath. Both palms covered my wife’s boobs over the yellow blouse, feeling the full, heavy weight of my wife’s boobs through the yellow blouse, squeezing slowly as if he were only adjusting the dbang. His thumbs pressed along the lower curve of my wife’s boobs. My wife’s breath stopped. Heat shot through her chest. She felt her nipples tighten under the yellow blouse and fought to keep her face blank, shoulders locked, refusing to arch or pull away at once.
She lasted three seconds. Then her hands came up and caught his wrists.
“Enough,” she said, voice low but clear. “That is enough.”
She pushed his hands away from her boobs and stepped back, the yellow chiffon saree pulling tight across her body. Colour burned high on her cheeks, but she kept her expression controlled, eyes steady on him so he would not see how hard her heart was beating or how sensitive her boobs felt under the yellow blouse.
Arjun let his hands drop at once, face shifting back to polite and harmless. He glanced at me, still checking that I looked unaware. I kept my expression empty, even as my boner throbbed hard at the sight of his palms covering my wife’s boobs and at the way she had forced herself to endure it before she stopped him.
“Of course, madam,” he said lightly. “We are done.”
My wife turned half away, one hand holding the yellow pallu tight across her chest, breathing carefully through her mouth while she tried to settle the ache in her boobs. I stood there fully hard, saying nothing, letting Arjun believe I had seen only an ordinary adjustment.
My wife turned away from both of us and began adjusting the yellow chiffon saree, pulling the yellow pallu properly across her chest and smoothing the yellow petticoat at her waist. She was getting ready to leave, head lowered, still trying to settle her breathing.
I looked at Arjun.
“Show me the pictures.”
He hesitated only a second, then turned the camera screen toward me and began scrolling slowly. Frame after frame of my wife’s face, her feet, the back pose. When a shot came up that sat too long on the full shape of her boobs under the yellow blouse, or framed the heavy curve of her ass too tightly through the yellow chiffon saree, I spoke.
“Delete that one.”
He deleted it without argument. Another. Then another. My wife glanced over once, saw only that we were reviewing, and went back to fixing her saree. With every deleted frame my cock stayed thick and half-hard inside my trousers, a steady, heavy pressure I could feel with every small shift of my weight.
Then the first panties picture appeared. The flash had caught her clearly: yellow chiffon saree and yellow petticoat pushed up her thighs, her white panties fully visible and stretched tight over her pussy, the white panties outlining every contour of her pussy, the edges of her white panties sitting high on her hips, her thighs parted just enough from the way he had lifted her feet. The second and third shots were the same, sharp and close. My cock surged fully hard at once, thickening fast and pushing painfully against the front of my trousers. A hot pulse ran through the length of it; I felt the head swell and a small leak of wetness at the tip. I had to lock my knees to stay still.
Arjun’s thumb stopped on the screen. His face changed.
“Sir… these… I am sorry. The flash went off while she was laughing. I did not mean—”
He looked unsettled, eyes flicking between the picture and my face. Another throb hit my cock, making it jerk inside my trousers. I kept my tone even, almost thoughtful, as if I were only studying the frame.
“The light is interesting here,” I said. “Unplanned, but the white panties are sitting exactly right. You can see the full shape they are holding. Most people would crop this. I would not.”
Arjun swallowed. His voice dropped.
“You can see… everything the white panties are covering, sir. The outline is very clear.”
“Yes.” I did not look away from the screen. My boner ached, heavy and leaking slowly. “That is why it works. The white panties are doing all the work in the frame. Nothing is hidden, yet nothing is fully shown. It is precise.”
He stared at the picture, then at me. His breathing had gone shallow.
“So… you want me to keep them?”
“Keep them,” I said, still calm. “They are the strongest frames in the set. Just do not show anyone. Not her, not anyone else. They stay private.”
“Sir…” He hesitated, thumb hovering over the delete button, then moved it away. “You are sure? They are… very revealing.”
“I am sure.” Another slow pulse moved through my cock. I felt the wetness spread against the inside of my trousers. “The way her white panties are stretched… it is honest. Delete the others if you want. Not these.”
He nodded once, slow, still watching my face for any crack. He found none. To him I was only an husband speaking about composition.
“All right, sir. They stay with me. No one else sees them.”
“Good.”
My cock throbbed hard, thick and untouched, another leak wetting me further. He locked the camera. My wife finished adjusting the yellow chiffon saree and turned toward us, unaware, the yellow pallu now properly set across her chest. Arjun slipped the camera into his bag. I stood there with my boner straining painfully against my trousers, face carefully blank, while the pictures of her white panties remained exactly where both of us had just agreed they should stay.
My wife stepped a little away to check her phone, still fixing the edge of the yellow pallu. I stayed beside Arjun, voice low.
“How did you get those frames of her white panties so cleanly?” I asked. “She did not know. I did not see you take them.”
Arjun’s shoulders tightened. He glanced toward my wife, then back at me, hesitant.
“Sir, it was an accident. The flash—”
“Be frank,” I said, calm. “I will not get mad. I only want to understand how the pictures came out that precise.”
He studied my face for a moment. When he saw no anger, only quiet interest, he exhaled and spoke more freely.
“She was laughing too hard, sir. Eyes closed, whole body moving because of the tickling. I lifted her feet higher on purpose. The yellow chiffon saree and the yellow petticoat slid up by themselves. Her white panties were already fully out. I switched the flash on and took the shots while she was still trying to pull her feet back. She never looked down. You were standing behind me. From your angle it only looked like I was photographing her feet.”
He kept his voice low, careful, but the detail was clear. My cock, already hard, throbbed sharply at the image of him deliberately raising her feet, watching the yellow chiffon saree and yellow petticoat ride up, and firing the flash on her white panties while she laughed with her eyes shut. A fresh leak of wetness spread inside my trousers. I had to keep my hands loose at my sides.
“So you saw her white panties the moment the clothes moved,” I said, tone still even, “and you took the pictures before either of us noticed.”
“Yes, sir.” He met my eyes. “I knew it was only a second. So I took them.”
Another heavy pulse moved through my boner. I nodded once, face unreadable, while the knowledge of exactly how he had captured her white panties settled hot and thick between my legs.
My wife stood a few steps away, head bent over her phone, one hand still smoothing the edge of her yellow pallu across her chest. The streetlight caught the soft movement of her yellow chiffon saree as she shifted her weight. I stayed beside Arjun, close enough that our voices would not carry, and kept my tone light, almost idle, as if the question had only just occurred to me.
“When her yellow chiffon saree and her yellow petticoat went up,” I said, “and her white panties were right there in front of you… did you enjoy seeing them?”
Arjun’s shoulders straightened at once. His fingers tightened around the camera strap. He answered the way a man answers when he is still trying to stay inside a professional line.
“Sir, I was only thinking about the frame. The light on the ground, the angle of her feet. Nothing else.”
I let the silence sit for a moment. My cock was already thick inside my trousers from the pictures we had just looked at; now it gave a slow, heavy throb at the careful way he was lying. I felt the head swell against the fabric, a small bead of wetness forming at the tip. I did not move my hands. I only looked at him, steady and calm.
“Be frank,” I said. “I asked because I want the real answer. I will not get angry.”
He held my eyes. I watched the moment the professional mask loosened. His throat moved as he swallowed. When he spoke again his voice had dropped, lower and less guarded.
“Yes, sir. I enjoyed it.” He paused, then continued, quieter. “Her white panties were stretched so tightly over her pussy. Every contour was clear. The way the white panties clung… I could see the full shape of her pussy underneath. I looked longer than I needed to. I looked properly before I even lifted the camera. And I liked what I saw.”
The words moved through me like heat. My cock surged harder, thickening fully, pushing out against the front of my trousers in a slow, insistent swell. A fresh pulse of wetness leaked from the tip and spread warm against my skin. My balls drew up tight. I felt the ache sharpen all the way into my lower stomach, a deep, throbbing pressure that made my breath want to catch. I did not let it. I kept my face empty, my posture loose, my hands resting still at my sides. Nothing in my expression changed.
“I see,” I said, tone still even, almost mild. “So you looked at her white panties properly. Before you pressed the shutter.”
“Yes, sir.” His voice was barely above a whisper now, honest. “I looked. I saw how her white panties were stretched over her pussy. And I liked it.”
Another heavy throb rolled through my boner, slower and thicker than the last. I felt the wetness grow, a small damp patch forming inside my trousers, but I gave him nothing. I only nodded once, face calm and unreadable, while the truth of how long he had stared at her white panties, and how much he had enjoyed the sight of her pussy outlined beneath them, sat hard and leaking and carefully hidden between my legs.
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