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Chapter: 4
(A Step Forward)

After the wedding, all of us relatives set off for Tirupati in a private bus. We traveled through the night, expecting to reach Tirupati by daybreak. My mother and I were seated in the second-to-last row, while my father was sitting somewhere further ahead. About three hours into the journey, the bus stopped for dinner. We all got off. I looked around for my father but couldn't spot him. Wondering where he might have gone, I walked toward the food stall with my mother.

As we were placing our orders, my father—appearing out of nowhere—slipped in right beside me. Feeling confident that he wouldn't try anything with my mother standing right there, I stood my ground. Suddenly, he gave my butt a quick pinch.

I let out a sharp "Ouch!" and turned toward him.

"What happened?" my mother asked.

"Nothing, I think a mosquito bit me," I replied, shooting a sharp glare at my father.

"True, there are quite a few mosquitoes around," my mother remarked, before walking off in another direction in response to someone calling her.

As soon as she moved away, I turned quickly to my father and asked angrily, "Why did you pinch me?"



"Sorry! Did it hurt?" he asked, gently stroking the spot he had pinched.

I looked around nervously, but everyone else was busy with their own affairs. Taking the opportunity, Dad gave my butt a gentle squeeze.

I let out an "ufffff," shifted a bit further away, and said, "Dad, it wouldn't look good if someone saw us."

"So, it would be fine if no one saw us, then?" he replied, bringing his hand back to touch my butt.

Even with so many people around, the way Dad placed his hands on me sent a tingling sensation throughout my body. Perhaps craving more of it, I found myself moving—almost instinctively—into a darker spot. Glancing around, Dad slowly placed his hand on my butt again and began to stroke it lightly.

While it felt somewhat pleasurable, I also felt an inexplicable sense of hesitation and unease.

Ignoring my discomfort, he gently pressed his fingers into the cleft between my buttocks. I let out an "Ugh," jerked away, and adjusted myself. Meanwhile, Dad nudged me even further to the side, into a darker area. From a distance, people might be able to tell that someone was there, but there was no way for them to see exactly what we were doing.



As I stumbled, trying to move back into the light, Dad caught my hand and held me back, saying, "Let's stay here; it’ll take a while for our order to arrive."

“Hmm… let’s just stand here for a bit, come on…” I said, preparing to move again, but he suddenly grabbed my waist and pulled me close.

“Oh, come on… let’s just chat for a while, can’t we?” he asked.

Pretending to try and break free from his grip, I said, “Why do you need to hold me just to talk? Can’t we talk while keeping some distance?”

Wrapping his arms around my waist from behind and pulling me even closer, he said, “Stay put—it’s cold, you know.”

Being pulled in like that, I ended up pressed right against him.

It seemed he was already quite aroused; through his trousers, something began to press firmly against my buttocks.

The moment I felt that pressure, the memory of what I had seen earlier—his manhood—flashed through my mind, and my entire body began to heat up. Increasing the pressure, he remarked, “Ah… it feels so warm like this, doesn’t it?” Breathing heavily, I replied, “Hmm…” Gently stroking my lower abdomen, he said, “It would have been better if you’d worn a saree, wouldn’t it?”

Trying to suppress the tingling sensation rising within me, I asked, “Why is that?”

“Don’t you remember what happened behind the *mandapam* (ceremonial pavilion)?” he asked, tracing the curve of my waist right over my *churidar*. “I don’t remember,” I said, feigning stubbornness.

“The fact that you’re lying means you *do* remember,” he said, slowly sliding one of his hands upward from my waist.

Before his hands could reach my breasts, I quickly caught them and said, "If your sister sees you doing this, she’ll feel terrible."

He replied, "She won't feel a thing—besides, she’s 'old news' now," and moved his other hand upward.

I stopped that one too, mid-motion, and protested, "Oh, Dad! How can you do this, forgetting that I’m your daughter?"

"Well, what about that day when *you* forgot I was your father and saw everything there was to see?"

"I didn't see it on purpose that day."

"If you didn't see it on purpose, why didn't you leave the moment you realized what you were seeing?"

"I don't know—I just don't know."

"Alright, let me ask you something—will you answer?"

"Go ahead, ask."

"You have to tell the truth."

"Fine, I'll tell you—just ask!"

"Have you seen anyone else's... before this?"

"Seen what?"

"This..." he said, shifting his body from behind and pressing himself against my buttocks. "Hmm... no," I replied. Freeing one hand, he reached inside my *chunni* (shawl) and urged, "Come on, tell me the truth." I looked around nervously; in the distance, Mom was busy talking to my aunt.

"I told you, no! Please, let go, Dad—I’m scared..."

"It’s alright—you’re with your own father, why be afraid?"

"That’s exactly why I’m afraid..."

"And why is that?" “Oh my… you’re touching me all over the place!”

“Well, tell me where I *should* touch, and I’ll touch there instead… or how about here?”

“Eek! Oh god… what are you doing? Stop it, please—it feels so strange…”

“Does it feel all tingly? Tell me the truth,” he asked, fondling my breasts from beneath my *chunni*. I grabbed his hand and said,

“Yes, it *is* tingly. Please, stop…”

“If I stop, how will that tingling ever go away!?”

“You don’t need to take care of my urges,” I said, pulling away my father’s hand as he stroked my thighs.



He suddenly turned me toward him and said, “It’s wrong to leave things as they are when you’re this heated up.”

“I didn’t make you heated up,” I replied stubbornly.

“I’m not talking about me; I’m talking about you,” he said, moving his hand down to my buttocks. Heated up? I was already starting to get wet inside.

Trying to hide it, I said, “If I get too worked up, I’ll take care of it myself—let go.”

“Why go through the trouble of taking care of it yourself? You have your father here, don’t you?” he said, kneading my buttocks gently before pulling me firmly against him. Once again, his member pressed against my lower abdomen. “Hmm…” I murmured.

“What is it? Is it poking you?” he asked.

“What do you mean, ‘poking’?”

He pressed it even harder against my lower abdomen and said, “This, right here.” I let out another “Hmm…”

“If it weren’t for my pants and your dress getting in the way…”

“Hmm… and if they weren’t?”

“I’d be poking you much harder.”

“Ugh…”

“Why ‘ugh’? Didn’t it feel like anything when you watched for so long that day?”

“…”

“Do you want to watch again?” “Mm.. uh.. huh..”

“So, how is mine!?”

“Iss.. oh, Dad..”

“Tell me.. is it big or not?”

“How would I know? Did I measure it or something!?”

“Alright, why don’t you measure it and see!?”

“Shh.. there are people all around. If we stay here in the dark like this, they might get the wrong idea.”

“We’re father and daughter, after all. No one will care what we do.”



“Mm.. oh, Dad, please..”

“So, tell me..”

“Sss.. what am I supposed to say?”

“You know—how is mine, exactly?”

“Mm..”

“Mm.. what does that mean? Is it good or not?”

“I don’t know.. oh, stop poking me like that, Dad.. iss..”

“If you don’t want me to poke, you have to answer. Tell me.. is it good?”

“Mm.. mm.. uh..”



“Psh.. not like that—say it clearly..”

“Mm.. it’s good, alright? Now let go..”

“Can’t you hold it just one more time?”

“…”

“It’ll feel good.. should I take it out?”

“Oh my god.. what are you doing, Dad? Someone might see!”

“Fine, when there’s no one around, I’ll take it out and put it in your hand.. okay?”

“Mm.. iss..”

“And what will you do with it then?” “Oh… don’t kill me, Dad…”

“Tell me… shall I squeeze you with intense desire?”

“Mmm… yeah…”



“It would be even better with my mouth than with my hands, wouldn’t it?”

“Ugh… don’t talk like that, Dad…”

“What!? Are you getting wet down there?”

“Mmm… yeah… Ugh, how can you do this, forgetting that I’m your daughter…”

“Am I making you crave it too much…?”

“Yeah… ah… take it a bit slower… oh…”



“Looking at you, I just feel like crushing you with all my pent-up desire…”

“It hurts when you squeeze right there, Dad…”

As I said this, Dad replied, “Alright, let’s change positions,” and turned me around. He placed his hand on my private area, pulled me close, and pressed his member between my buttocks. Sliding his hand inside my shirt, he reached between my thighs and began to knead them gently.



My body lost all control under his touch. “Oh…” I gasped, pressing my thighs tightly together.

As I did, his hand got trapped between them.

Pulling it out slightly, he said, “Keep them squeezed tight like this when I put it inside—it’ll feel amazing, okay?”

At his words, I became even wetter, and I squeezed my thighs together even more firmly.

“Ugh… you’re killing me with this tightness…” he whispered intensely, pulling his hand out from between my thighs.

“Shall we slip away behind the hotel?” he asked, his voice thick with desire. I felt my own craving intensify.

I don’t know what might have happened if we’d stayed a moment longer, but seeing Mom heading our way, I exclaimed, “Oh no, Mom’s coming!” and quickly pulled away from Dad, stepping back into the light.

Afterward, we all had our meal and boarded the bus. Dad tried his best to sit next to me, but it didn’t work out. I gave him a playful, mocking look, which only left him more frustrated—he ended up going to sit with the other men instead. Smiling to myself, I slowly drifted off to sleep.