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Chapter: 7

(Just Missed)

After that incident, I stopped wearing a bra and panties whenever Dad was home. When Mom noticed and asked me about it, I thought to myself, "Well, *he* was the one who told me not to wear them!" but instead, I said coaxingly, "Oh, Mom! It’s just at home, isn't it?"

"Even if it is at home, don't do it."

"I feel much freer this way."

"It wouldn't look right if someone saw you."

"Who would see me? It’s just you and Dad here, right?"

"Oh, you stubborn girl! You’re a grown woman now—why won't you listen? What would your father think?!"

"Dad is like a god, Mom... he wouldn't think anything of it."

"Hmm... fine then, just walk around letting everything sway—if you have no shame, so be it! You’re not exactly a little child anymore, are you?"

"Are they really that big, Mom?"



"Ugh... get lost! At least wear a long skirt. Look at your thighs—they’re completely exposed! Someone might see you."

"It’s only Dad here... let him look!"

"You have no shame, and I have no sense! Besides, if your father sees you, he’ll scold you."

"What about it, Dad? Will you scold me?"

"Oh, let it be—she’s still just a little girl. Let her wear whatever she wants."
"Ha! 'A little girl'—even if she walked around completely undressed, she’d still just be a 'little girl' to you!" Mom retorted, sounding annoyed.

Hearing this, Dad chuckled to himself. 

After that, however, neither of us found another opportunity. I don’t know about Dad, but inside, I was burning with an intense, restless longing—a sensation that I knew wouldn’t subside until Dad did something about it. Whenever I handed him something, he would peer hungrily down the neckline of my top, his gaze making my breasts feel heavy. He seemed to measure that weight with his eyes alone. Hmph... what pleasure is there in just a look? I wanted his hands—not just his eyes—on my breasts.



One morning, Mom made some coffee and said, "Go, take this to your father."

"Couldn't you take it yourself?"

"I have work to do."

"Well, take it after you're finished."

"Oh, for heaven's sake! It’ll take an hour to finish my work, and your father won't be able to wait that long. Just go and give it to him!" Mom snapped. 

Thinking about how Dad would have to wait an hour—a thought that made my whole body feel heavy with desire—I took the coffee and headed to his room. 

Dad was searching for something on a shelf. I pulled the door shut, walked over to him with a sway in my step, leaned against him, and cleared my throat.

He looked at me, raising his eyebrows as if to ask, "What is it?" 

"Coffee," I said, placing the cup on the table. 

Glancing at it, he asked, "Is it hot?" 

I let out a soft, lingering sigh and replied, "Very..." while pressing myself even closer against him. 

As soon as I brushed against him, he wrapped an arm around my waist and pulled me close, asking, "Just coffee? Is there anything else that’s hot?"

"Oh, stop it, Dad... Mom is right there in the kitchen!" I said, drawing out the words.

"Oh! She’s in the kitchen, is she?" he replied, fondling my buttocks, then asked, "Haven't you had them 'filled' yet?"

"Uh-uh... no, I haven't."



"So, that means you're ready to get them filled, then?"

"Ugh... stop it! Why are you squeezing them like that?"

"Should I squeeze them even harder?"

"Hmm... I’m going to tell Mom."

"Tell her what?"

"That Dad is squeezing me..."

"Is that so? And what exactly will you say he’s squeezing? These... or these?"

"Ugh... ahh..."

"Well, well... you haven't had these 'filled' either?"

"Uh-uh."

"Why not??"

"Ahh... uff... I figured... you’d... fill them... anyway... ahh... but do you have to squeeze so hard?"

"How could I resist, seeing all these curves?"

"The ones in the front, or the ones in the back??"

"The front... and the back... both."

"Hmm... are they all just curves, or are you going to measure the depths too?"

"Hmm... shall I measure them?" “Oh no… if Mom finds out, she’ll yell!”

“She won’t find out, as long as you don’t scream.”

“Ugh… you have no shame at all! I’m your daughter, Dad! You shouldn’t be squeezing me like this—let go!”

“It feels good to squeeze a bit before fucking.”

“You shouldn’t fuck your own daughter, Dad.”

“You call me ‘Dad,’ yet here you are, pressing yourself all over me…”

“Hmm… well, you’re my dad, and I thought you might… oh! You aren’t wearing anything underneath, are you?”

“Only just realized that?”

“I just felt it… wow… it’s so hard! Oh my…”

“What is it?”



“I don’t know… oh my god, look at the size of it!”

“Tell me, what is it?”


“Ugh… it’s my dad’s cock… oh my god…”

“Oh…”

“Why has it gotten so hard, Dad?”

“Because you’re holding it, that’s why.”

“Does it really get like this just because your daughter is holding it!?”

“It doesn’t even need to be held. Just the sight of you is enough to make it stand up… oh… squeeze it gently…”

“Ugh… bad Daddy.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because you’re saying it stands up just by looking at your daughter… oh! Look at how it’s jumping… are you feeling really ‘itchy’ [horny], Dad?”

“Oh? And you aren’t?”

“What do you mean?”

“‘Itchy’…”

“Oh… ugh… I’m not feeling anything at all.” “You’re the one pulling it up… and squeezing it like this… Iss… ahh… oh god… don’t lift my frock… uff!”

“Iss… what happened? Why are you crying out like that?”

“Ugh… well, if you keep poking around with your fingers, of course I’m going to cry out…”

“Oh! So what should I use instead? Uff… how about this? You’re squeezing it so hard…”

“Uff… oh my god… does it always stay standing up like this?”


“Hmm...”

“Does it get hard only when you see your daughter? Or does it happen whenever you see anyone?”

“It only gets hard like this for you. Tell me, should I put it in?”

“Ugh... oh, Daddy... ah... oh my god...”

“Tell me... should I put it in or not?”

“Sss... put it in...”

“Where? In your mouth, or in your pussy?”

“Sss... oh my god...”

“Tell me...”

“Whatever you want, Daddy...”

“Then I’ll put it right into your pussy...”



“Oh my god... ugh...”

“Don’t say ‘oh my god’ just yet—save that for when it actually goes in...”

“When what goes in?”

“The thing you’re holding and squeezing right now...”

“Sss... ah... oh... don’t dig too deep inside, Daddy... ugh...”

“So, should I put it in?”

“Mmm... ugh... are you going to put it in while I’m standing like this? Sss... you don’t even care that I’m your daughter, oh my god...”
“It’s precisely because you’re my daughter that the desire is this intense. Don’t you want to take what’s mine inside you?”
“Mmm... sss...”

“Should I put it in?”

“Sss... Daddy... no...”

“Why not?”

“It’s already like this just from your fingers... if the real thing goes in... oh my god...”

“Just let it go inside once; you’ll see...” he said, lying back on the bed while keeping his feet on the floor. “Ugh… nah… no… mmm… don’t,” I said, standing with my legs positioned on either side of his.

“You say ‘don’t,’ yet here you are, coming right onto me…”

“Ugh… well, you’ve got me all worked up, haven’t you?”

“Come here… come on top of me,” he said, gently stroking my thighs.

“Ugh… don’t stroke them like that…” I said, shifting even closer to him.

“What happens when I stroke them?”

“When you stroke them like that, it starts to itch—right in between.”

“In between, you mean…?”

“Oh, god… inside my pussy… ugh… even I’m starting to use dirty language now…”

“Using dirty language at a time like this only makes it more exciting…”

“Mmm… mmm…”

“Are you just going to keep saying ‘mmm… mmm…,’ or are you actually going to take it in?” “Oh… it might hurt, Dad…”

“That’s exactly why I’m telling you to lower yourself onto it…”

“Sss…”

“Gently spread your thighs…”

“Hmm… ahh…”

“Mm… that’s it… slowly bring my cock against your pussy…”

“Sss… oh my… it’s like an iron rod, Dad—your cock… ahh…”

“Ahh… it has to be like that to slide right in. Go on, lower yourself down, my darling daughter…”

“Ahh… Dad… it’s not going in…”

“It won’t just slide in on the first try. Push down a bit harder… ugh… sss…”

“Mm… hss… only a little bit went in, Dad…”



“Lift yourself up a little, then push down firmly in one go… oh…”

“Mm… Dad… it’s burning, oh god… it just won’t go in… damn it…” Just as I lifted myself up again, preparing to push down with more intensity, we heard my mother call out, “Divya!” from the kitchen—followed by the sound of her approaching footsteps. “Oh no… your mother!” Dad said, sounding flustered. I immediately scrambled off him.

As we were both hurriedly adjusting our clothes, I said, “I can’t do it—you lower it this time, Dad…”—and just as I said that, my mother walked in.

The moment she entered, she asked, “What’s this? What are you asking to be lowered?” “Well… she needs to pick up some blouses this evening; she’s asking me to drop her off at the shop.”
“Hmm… she’s asking, so why don’t you drop her off?”

“I won’t—I have other work to do.”

“Oh, come on! She’s asking so earnestly—what’s the harm in dropping her off?”

“See, Mom? He keeps teasing me instead of just taking me… Please, Dad… couldn’t you just drop me off?”

“Well… if you don’t do it, who else will?”

“Alright, alright… fine. I’ll drop you off—I’ll find some time, either this evening or tomorrow.”

“Oh, thank you, Dad!”

After that, we tried a few times, but something or other always got in the way, and it never actually worked out—I never managed to take her, and she never got that ride.