It was 10 PM in the meeting room, where I found myself witnessing a scene that was both shocking and intriguing. The room was filled with a tense atmosphere, as four rich investors - Khan brothers, waited anxiously for the founder of the startup to make her pitch. The door opened, and in walked my 44 years old mother, Sonali Chauhan, with confidence.
My mother's presence immediately commanded attention. She moved with a deliberate grace, her eyes sparkling with a mixture of determination and a hint of nervousness that only I seemed to notice. She addressed the investors, her voice surprisingly steady despite the circumstances.
"Gentlemen," she began, "thank you for taking the time to consider my proposal. I know you have many options, but I believe my startup offers something truly unique." She launched into her presentation, outlining her business plan with passion and precision.
I watched, a knot forming in my stomach. My mother had always been a strong, independent woman, but I couldn't shake the feeling that something was off. There was a desperation in her eyes, a vulnerability she usually kept hidden.
2 years back, everything was in place. My father used to run one of the biggest digital marketing agency in the country. My mother was CTO there. I was living the best life possible. Until one day, when my mother caught my father banging his secretary.
He abandoned us and started to live with his secretary. My mother resigned with a motive to seek revenge on them. She started to work on her dream project, her new startup - DIGIMARKET
It was about a subscription based software, that will enable the companies to directly market their products to target customers without the need of any agency. She started that with all the money she had. But till date, it has not made any profits.
After facing continuous losses, now only these investors are ready to provide her the money, but with some other expectations that they already discussed with her on the phone.
I don't know what exactly did they discuss over phone, but I know one thing for sure that my mother is very desperate to defeat my father and is ready to pay whatever price it takes.
As the presentation concluded, a silence fell over the room. The investors exchanged glances, their expressions unreadable. Karim Khan, the eldest of the group, spoke first.
"Ms. Chauhan," he said, his voice deep and resonant, "your ideas are... unconventional, to say the least. But we are intrigued. However, we have certain expectations. And I think you quite know about it."
Mom's smile faltered slightly, but she maintained her composure. "I understand, Mr. Khan. I am willing to do whatever it takes to secure this investment."
That's when the atmosphere in the room shifted. A palpable tension filled the air, a sense of anticipation that made my skin crawl. I knew how this world works and I knew, with a sickening certainty, that whatever was about to happen would change everything.
The air thickened with unspoken words, heavy with the weight of the investors' expectations and my mother's desperate ambition. Karim Khan leaned forward, his eyes gleaming with a predatory light. "'Whatever it takes,' you say, Ms. Chauhan? Those are powerful words." He paused, letting the silence amplify his statement. "We believe in... immersive presentations, Ms. Chauhan. Demonstrations of commitment. Are you willing to show us how dedicated you are to this venture?"
Sonali's face paled slightly, but she held his gaze. "I am," she said, her voice barely a whisper, yet resonating with a steely resolve that both impressed and terrified me.
Karim Khan nodded slowly, a cruel smile spreading across his face. He clapped his hands, and a small Bluetooth speaker on the table sputtered to life, filling the room with the pulsating beat of an Indian item song : 'Fevicol se'. My blood ran cold. This was not a business meeting anymore. This was... something else entirely.
Mom took a deep breath, her shoulders squared. She looked at me, a flicker of shame crossing her face before it hardened into a mask of determination. She began to move, her body swaying subtly to the music. It started innocently enough, a gentle sway of the hips, a subtle tilt of the head. But as the music intensified, her movements became more pronounced, more deliberate.
She had lust in her expressions and her thumkas (steps). My breath hitched in my throat. I wanted to look away, to run from the room, but I was frozen in place, a horrified spectator to my mother's descent. I knew she was a great dancer, but i never expected to watch something like this in my entire life.
The sari, a symbol of her respectability and tradition, began to unravel, revealing glimpses of her smooth, tanned skin. Her chubby navel came into the view. Her movements became more fluid, her eyes locking onto each of the investors in turn, a silent invitation in their depths. The men watched, their eyes like burning coals, their expressions a mixture of lust and anticipation.
Taking the green pallu of her sari, she began to tease, letting it slide down her arms, across her chest, before finally letting it fall to the floor. Underneath, she wore a shimmering gold blouse that barely contained her ample 36C breasts. They were heavy and juicy. Her nipples can be traced easily, as she has not worn her bra underneath.
The music reached a fever pitch, and my mother's movements became more frenzied, more provocative. She was no longer the confident businesswoman I knew; she was transformed into a performer, a seductress, a desperate woman willing to sacrifice everything for her dream.
Then the lyrics of 'Aaj Ki Raat' filled the air, its sensual rhythm setting the tone for the obscene dance that unfolded before me. Her hips gyrated to the beat, her hands tracing the curves of her body with an erotic grace that had the investors leaning in, their eyes glued to her every move. The gold blouse clung to her sweat-dampened skin, her breasts jiggling with each thrust of her chest, the areolae visible through the thin fabric.
Mom's dance grew bolder, more seductive. Her hands slithered to her blouse, her fingers deftly untying the knot at the back. With a dramatic flourish, she let it drop to the floor. The investors' breathing grew heavy, their eyes feasting on the sight of her bare breasts, the nipples stiff with excitement. She started shaking her juicy pair of tits on the beat.
Her hand moved down to her waist, where the emerald green peticoat was tied. With a swift tug, she undid it, letting the garment slide down her hips. She stepped out of it, revealing the matching green panty she wore underneath. The material clung to her round ass and thick thighs, accentuating her curves in the most tantalizing way.
The moment the bass dropped for 'Bum diggy diggy bum', the air in the room seemed to electrify. The investors' eyes grew wider, their jaws slackening as they watched her. Mom's hands went to her hips, her fingers playing with the waistline of her panty. She took a deep breath, and then, as the lyrics demanded, she began to shake her ass, her movements so mesmerizing that it was as if she had become one with the beat.
Her panty, already soaked from the exertion and anticipation, slipped down her thighs with ease. She stepped out of them, leaving herself bare to the four pairs of eyes that hungrily devoured her. She was naked, her pink pussy trimmed neatly, glistening with excitement. The room was so quiet that the only sound was the thumping of the music and the occasional clink of ice in their whiskey glasses.
Mom's dance grew even more obscene as she began to twerk, her size 40 ass jiggling like jelly. The investors leaned forward, their eyes glued to the hypnotic motion of her flesh. Each cheek bounced in a mesmerizing rhythm, the crevice between them deep and inviting. Her movements grew bolder, more brazen, as if she were trying to prove something to herself, to the men, and perhaps to the memory of my father.
With a flick of his fingers, Karim Khan beckoned her closer. She stepped forward, the music guiding her every move, her eyes never leaving his. As she approached, the scent of her arousal filled the air, a musky, sweet aroma that seemed to intoxicate the men.
