“I’m sorry, Amma… I can’t help it.” Her glare cut deeper, but he held her gaze, his words spilling, raw, desperate.“It’s you, Amma. Sex vidio “Missed you, Amma,” he murmured. Chippy stared at her plate, and Lal mumbled about exams. An hour in, a bulge pressed against her ass, hard, undeniable. She shifted, blaming the car’s jolts. Her husband, Ravi Menon, 45, a textile baron, kept her glowing with surprises—emerald necklaces and candlelit dinners on their private jetty.Their son, Lal, 22, was their poet. Its marble floors and crystal chandeliers glinting with wealth. “It’s okay, Amma,” he mumbled.She climbed on, her hips settling against him, her kurti riding up, her back rigid as Kochi’s backwaters faded. “Chippy, sit on Lal’s lap,” Ravi said, behind the wheel, humming a Yesudas tune. But her body softened, sinking against him, the bulge a quiet torment. A hand—warm, trembling—roamed her body, tracing her breasts, slipping lower to tease her pussy through her leggings. Chippy stared at her plate, and Lal mumbled about exams.
