My name is Arjun Patel, 26-year-old software engineer in Bangalore. Every year I returned to our conservative Gujarati joint family home in Ahmedabad for Navratri. This year was different. My childhood crush, Priya Shah — now a confident marketing executive from Mumbai — was visiting her relatives next door. I had been in love with her since school. This was my chance.
On the first night of Garba, I couldn’t resist. While everyone was busy, I slipped into my younger sister Disha’s room. I borrowed her heavy deep green and gold lehenga-choli, the one with intricate mirror work and zari borders. The choli was tight and low-cut. I padded the chest, shaved my body smooth, did my makeup carefully — kohl eyes, red lips — and put on her heavy jewelry: long jhumkas, multiple necklaces, bangles, anklets, and even her large silver nath nose ring with its delicate chain. A dupatta veiled my face partially.
I looked… convincing. My slim frame and soft features helped.
That first night at the community Garba ground, the dandiya sticks clacked rhythmically. I spotted Priya immediately — stunning in a red and white lehenga, laughing as she danced. Heart pounding, I joined the circle near her.
She noticed me quickly. “You’re new here, right? I’m Priya. You dance beautifully!” Her smile made my hidden cock twitch under the heavy petticoat.
We danced for hours, eyes locked. The swirl of my lehenga against my smooth thighs felt intoxicating. When the music slowed, she pulled me aside behind the decorated stage.
“You’re so pretty… what’s your name?” she asked, tucking a strand of my wig behind my ear.
“Meera,” I whispered, voice soft.
The spark was instant. Priya leaned in and kissed me. Her lips were soft, hungry. My body responded. We made out passionately, her hands roaming over my padded chest and waist.
The next morning, disaster struck. My nosy aunt Meenakshi saw me returning in the lehenga and mistook me for a distant cousin from Surat. “Meera beti! You arrived early? Come, your room is ready.” Before I could explain, the entire family welcomed “cousin Meera” with open arms. My parents, thinking it was a harmless prank or some family arrangement, went along to avoid scandal. Disha covered for me secretly.
I was trapped as Meera for the rest of Navratri.
Priya was thrilled. She visited daily, and our “friendship” deepened rapidly. Aunt Meenakshi, the eternal matchmaker, began dropping hints: “Meera and Priya look so good together!”
On the third night, after a long Garba session, Priya sneaked me into her family’s guest room. The house was empty.
“You’ve been driving me crazy, Meera,” she whispered, pushing me against the wall. She kissed me hard, tongue exploring my mouth while her hands lifted my lehenga.
She froze for a second when she felt my hard cock under the petticoat, but lust won. “Oh my god… this is so hot,” she moaned, stroking me through the fabric.
Priya dropped to her knees, hiked up my lehenga and petticoats, and took my cock into her warm mouth. She sucked eagerly, bangles jingling, while the nath chain tugged with every bob of my head. I moaned like a girl, gripping her hair.
She stood up, turned around, and bent over the bed, lifting her own lehenga. “Fuck me, Meera. I need you.”
I pushed into her wet pussy from behind, the heavy jewelry clinking wildly as I thrust deep and hard. The mirror work on our lehengas rubbed together. Priya moaned loudly, pushing back. “Harder… fuck your new girlfriend properly.”
I pounded her relentlessly, one hand reaching around to rub her clit. She came first, clenching around my cock. I pulled out and pushed the head against her tight asshole instead.
“Yes… take my ass too,” she gasped.
I entered her slowly, then fucked her ass with deep strokes, the nath swinging, anklets ringing. The sensation of her tight hole gripping me while dressed fully as a bride was overwhelming. I filled her ass with thick cum, breeding her while whispering filthy things: “Take my load, Priya… I want you dripping during Garba tomorrow.”
Over the remaining nights, our secret encounters grew bolder and filthier.
During daytime, Aunt Meenakshi kept trying to matchmake us publicly, forcing us to spend more time together. At night, Priya couldn’t get enough.
One midnight, after the final Garba, she rode me in the family temple courtyard under the moonlight. My lehenga bunched around my waist, choli pulled down. She sank onto my cock, then turned reverse and took me in her ass again, grinding hard while I played with her breasts. “I’m falling for you, Meera… whoever you really are,” she moaned as she came.
On the last night, she wanted it extra risky. In my own family’s backyard, she bent me over a low wall in my full lehenga. Priya used a small bottle of oil from the puja and fucked my ass with a thick dildo she had brought, while stroking my cock. Then I returned the favor, pounding her pussy and ass until both were leaking my cum.
By the end of Navratri, Priya knew the full truth. She didn’t care. “Stay as Meera sometimes… I love both sides of you,” she whispered, kissing me deeply, my nath pressing against her face.
Aunt Meenakshi never found out the real secret, but she proudly announced a budding “alliance” between the families.
I returned to Bangalore with Priya’s number and a suitcase full of new memories — and her promise to visit soon for more secret Garba nights.
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