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Story name : Teasing

Intro : Those who like teasing, romance, provocation, light sex will like this story. the dialogues are the key in this, its a slow burner, so be patient

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Divya

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I am not the original writer of this story, credit to the original writer, i will mention his name at the end of the story to keep the excitement of guessing on.. for some its an easy guess though. since i a translating it using a tool, you may not get the same feel as original story in its language

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Chapter: 1
(Prologue)

My name is Divya. I am twenty-one years old and the only daughter of my parents. There isn’t much to say about my mother, but I do need to mention something about my father.



He is forty-six years old. Being a sportsman, he has a great physique and looks like a man of thirty-five. I have never seen him focus on anything other than our home and his office. That is why, one day, I encountered an incident that left me completely stunned. Let me tell you what happened.

My mother, father, and I arrived a week early for my aunt’s daughter’s wedding. The first two days went by normally. On the third day, while everyone was busy with wedding preparations, I felt a bit tired and headed toward the room assigned to me. To reach my room, I had to pass by the room allotted to my parents. As I was walking past, I heard some whispers. Unable to contain my curiosity, I opened a nearby window slightly and peeked inside—and was instantly shocked.

Inside, my aunt was sitting on my father’s lap. She wasn’t wearing a blouse; her breasts had spilled out from her bra, and my father was gently caressing them. Moaning softly, she said in a seductive tone, "Oh my... you may look so innocent on the outside, but when it comes to caressing a woman, you’re truly number one!" Stopping his gentle stroking, he began to press firmly, saying, "Do you think I’d stroke just anyone? It’s only because you’re my sister..." and gave her a slightly harder squeeze. She let out a soft, strained sound—"Ugh..."—and said, "That’s enough now! There’s still so much work to be done downstairs." "Fine, I’ll take care of the work downstairs," he replied, sliding his hand inside her saree. She quickly swatted his hand away, protesting, "Not *that* kind of work! I was in the middle of wedding preparations downstairs when you dragged me up here. If someone comes up, we’ll get caught! Just have a little patience—I’ll arrange something, I promise."

But even as she spoke, he had already thrust his hand deep inside. Whatever he did with his fingers, she writhed, letting out a sharp, "Sss... ahh!" She pulled his face toward her, pressing it firmly against her breasts, and moaned, "I used to let you sleep beside me when we were kids because you were my little brother—but you still won’t leave me alone, you rascal... mmm..." As she moaned, he pushed his face between her breasts, shoved her back onto the bed, and lifted her saree.

It seemed as though she had come prepared; she wasn't even wearing any panties. He parted her labia with his fingers and pushed inside, remarking, "Damn... no matter how many times I fuck you, you’re always just as wet inside!" “Hmm... it must be all wet, craving for your cock, right?” she said, feeling the front of Dad’s trousers. Dad let out a low “Hmm...” and slowly unzipped them. Unable to wait any longer, my aunt pulled his trousers down. Through his underwear, Dad’s member could be seen twitching and jumping—it was clearly visible. Watching this, I felt myself getting wet down there too. I forgot even to swallow; I just kept staring. Then, as my aunt pulled his underwear down, Dad’s cock sprang out, almost hissing as it emerged. Seeing it, my whole body trembled. I had only ever seen such things in adult films with my friends—never in real life. Staring directly at something so massive, my throat went completely dry. I couldn’t help but wonder: would something that huge even fit inside my aunt’s pussy?

My aunt took his member in her hand and remarked, “No matter how old you get, this thing’s arrogance never fades, does it?” Dad replied, “For its arrogance to fade, it has to slide right between my sister’s thighs,” as he began to fondle her pussy. My aunt squirmed under his touch and said, “Oh, for heaven’s sake... instead of just fondling it, why don’t you slide it in already?” Dad laughed and said, “Didn’t you say you had some work to attend to downstairs and needed to hurry?” “Hmm... you’ve got everything all heated up, and now you’re talking about ‘getting down to business’? Come here, little brother...”

“Hmm... I’m here, aren’t I!?”

“Satisfy your sister’s craving...”

“How should I satisfy it!?”

“Oh, you... you’re just a little kid, aren’t you?”

“Well, I am younger than you, aren’t I?”

“Hmm... only in terms of age, little one.”

“Then in what way am I ‘big’?”

“Look at that thing of yours—it’s grown as thick as a donkey’s—why don’t you ask *it*?”

As my aunt said this, Dad thrust his member forcefully into her flower. She jolted, gasping, “Oh my... why did you shove it in so hard!”
“Oh, sorry, sister—should I thrust a bit more gently?” Dad asked, feigning concern.

“Hmm... it’s precisely because you thrust like that that I keep coming back to you whenever I get the chance.”

“If you keep taking it with such intense desire, I’ll thrust even harder, sister...” he said, driving it in with renewed vigor.

“Oh god... what a thrust! Everything down there is being shaken to its core.”

“Just the sight of your pussy is enough to get my rod incredibly excited.” “Mmm… yes… keep pounding away… oh, wow… what is it about your cock!? The more you thrust, the more I just want to keep taking it. Mmm… that’s it… push in deeper… yes… oh, yes…” she moans, gasping for breath, while thrusting her body forward to meet every one of his thrusts.

As my aunt thrust back against him, my father, caught up in the intensity, pounded into her with even greater force. The bed shook violently under their movements, as if it might break. Watching this spectacle, I felt myself becoming soaking wet down there. Without even realizing it, I began pressing my hand firmly between my thighs. Overcome with desire, my aunt moaned, "Oh, brother... *hiss*... *hiss*..." while my father, gasping for air, exclaimed, "Ah, sister! The pleasure I get from fucking you—I could never find it with anyone else!" My aunt clung to him tightly, pleading, "Oh, that’s enough now... please, just finish... I can’t take it anymore!" Meanwhile, I struggled to lift my top and force my fingers through my leggings to reach my crotch. Nearby, my father continued to thrust into my aunt with vigorous, rhythmic intensity.



Unable to bear it any longer, I suddenly turned away. The slight noise caught my father’s attention, and he glanced toward the window. Seeing me there, he froze, completely stunned. With trembling legs, I hurried away from the spot. As I left, I heard my aunt ask, "What happened?" to which my father replied, "Nothing." I went straight to my room and collapsed onto my bed. Without the slightest concern that I might see them, the bed creaked—much like the sound of my father going about his business in the next room. Ten minutes later, they finished what they were doing and left. I, however, remained lying there for another hour before slowly making my way downstairs.

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Chapter: 2
(Introduction)

Throughout the time I spent at the wedding, I tried my best to avoid my father. Yet, running into him occasionally was unavoidable. Every time we crossed paths, whenever he seemed about to say something, I would quickly walk away, pretending to be busy with some task. Finally, during the *talambralu* (the ritual of showering the couple with rice), he came up beside me and pulled my hand. With no way to escape, I looked at him, questioning what he wanted. He gestured with his eyes, signaling for me to step aside. When I hesitated, he pulled my hand again. Realizing I had no other choice, I followed him to the side.

He led me behind the *mandapam* (wedding altar) and, rubbing his hands together in an embarrassed manner, said, "I'm sorry." I looked away and asked, "Why are you apologizing to me?" feigning ignorance. In response, he simply lowered his head. Seeing him bow his head like that pained me, but I masked my emotions and asked, "Besides, with Mom at home, how could you do something like this, Dad?"

"You know how your mother is. For the past few years, she hasn't shown any interest in such things. What am I supposed to do?" he replied, his head still bowed. It was true—I had also noticed that things hadn't been right between my parents lately. Still, I couldn't help but wonder how he could have done this—and with his own sister, no less—so I asked him exactly that. “That’s just her situation. Her husband doesn’t pay her any attention,” Dad said.

“So what if he doesn’t? Couldn’t she just find someone else?”

“If a sister and brother are in the same room, no one would suspect anything, would they?”

“Just because no one suspects anything, does that mean it could be with *anyone*!?”

“Why would it be with just *anyone*? It’s only because she’s my sister—that’s all.”



“Even so, didn’t you feel it was wrong to do that with your own sister?”

“What’s wrong with it? She had a strong urge, and as her brother, I served her. It’s my responsibility to satisfy her, isn’t it?”

“Oh, my—what a ‘noble’ responsibility…”

“It’s the truth! If someone close to us is struggling, shouldn’t we help them out? If someone close to *you* were in that kind of distress, wouldn’t you help them, too?”

Hearing Dad speak so bluntly made me feel quite uneasy. Before I could react, he pressed, “Tell me—would you do it or not?” “Why drag me into this? Just drop it,” I said, sounding annoyed.

“It’s just that… you’re the only one who knows about this, aren’t you?”

“So *that’s* what this is about. Fine, I won’t tell anyone.”

“Then you aren’t angry with me, are you?”

“That’s your own personal struggle—why would I be angry about it?” As soon as I said that, Dad hugged me tightly in his joy, kissed my cheek, and said, "Thanks, dear." In that embrace, my breasts were pressed firmly against his chest. Realizing this, he let go and said, "Sorry, dear." I let out a sigh—"Phew!" "What was that for?" Dad asked.

"Oh, nothing," I said, starting to move away.

Dad suddenly grabbed my hand to stop me and asked, "Tell me, why did you say 'phew'?"

"I told you, it's nothing," I replied, trying to hurry off, but he caught me by the waist, pulled me close, and insisted, "Tell me." Struggling to break free, I said, "Ugh, let go, Dad!"

He held on even tighter, pulling me into another firm embrace. This time, my breasts were pressed even more firmly against his chest.

"Look, I said 'phew' because of how you held me just now—that’s why! Now, let go," I said, sounding a bit annoyed.

"Sorry, dear—are you angry?" he asked, loosening his grip slightly.

"No, not really," I replied, hoping he might let go.



Instead, he tightened his hold again and asked, "You're really not angry, are you?" Once more, my breasts were crushed against him.

I let out an “Ugh...” under my breath and said, with a hint of annoyance, “Not me—go hug your sister instead. Let go, Dad.”

He released me, saying, “Alright, I won’t hug you anymore,” then added in a low voice, “Did you see everything?”

“See what?” I asked, not quite catching his meaning.

“You know... what I did with your aunt,” he said, swallowing hard.



As soon as he asked, the memory of what I had witnessed that day came rushing back, and my whole body began to heat up.

In that state of rising heat, I simply replied, “Mm-hmm.”

“And how did it make *you* feel?” he asked, placing his arm around my waist.

Since I was wearing a saree, his hand rested warmly against the fold of my waist—right in the gap between my blouse and the fabric of the saree.

This warmth only intensified the heat within me; I let out a heavy, labored breath and stood frozen in place.

Gently stroking that fold, Dad said, “Tell me—you got pretty worked up watching it, didn’t you?” As he stroked it, a tremor began to ripple through me, accompanying the heat. In the midst of that trembling,

I whispered, “Mm-hmm.”

“So, what did you do afterward?” he asked, pressing lightly into the fold at my waist.

“I didn’t do anything,” I replied, my voice quivering.

Moving his hand slightly upward until it touched the lower edge of my blouse, Dad said, “You’ve seen my secret—now, tell me yours.”

I felt a sudden, sharp rush of blood coursing through my body. My trembling intensified. Father moved his hand even higher.

My breasts felt heavy; I had an urge to squeeze them tightly. Had he waited a moment longer, he might have done exactly that—but just then, someone approached, and he let go of me abruptly. The woman who arrived remarked, drawing out her words, "Well, well—what kind of private conversation are a father and daughter having?"

"Oh, it’s nothing, Auntie..." Father replied. As he led me away, he whispered into my ear, with a laugh, "If she knew what we were really talking about, her heart would stop!" I found it funny, too, and burst into laughter. Just as he reached out to place his arm around my waist again, I darted aside, exclaiming, "No, Father—that’s wrong!" and ran off.

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Aunty

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Divya

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thank you

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Divya

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Chapter: 3
(The Seed)

We both arrived at the wedding venue. Amidst my own flurry of activity, I kept glancing at my father. As I observed him, I realized something: whenever he found an opening, his gaze would roam over my body—lingering on the curves of my waist, my buttocks, and my breasts. Being the object of such a gaze made me feel a strange mix of pride and a ticklish, giddy sensation. In fact, the more he looked, the more I began to preen. Without even fully realizing it, I started swaying my waist and walking with a deliberate, graceful swing of my hips whenever I knew he was watching from behind. After about half an hour, my father approached me and said, "I need to talk to you; come aside for a moment." "What for?" I asked, arching my eyebrows. "Just come, I'll tell you," he replied. Unlike the previous times he had called me—when I would have gone over quite casually—this time, I looked around to ensure no one was watching. Once I was certain that no one was paying us any mind, I followed him.

My father led me behind the wedding pavilion once again. "What’s with all this coquettish posturing?" he asked, getting straight to the point. "What posturing?" I feigned ignorance. "What do you mean?" Saying this, he suddenly grabbed my waist and pulled me close. "All this swaying of the waist..." he remarked, sliding his hand down to my buttocks, "and the way you walk, swinging these..." As he said this, I replied, "It’s nothing like that!" "Nothing like that, you say!?" he exclaimed, pulling me into a tight embrace. Once again, my breasts pressed softly against his chest. Gently caressing my buttocks, he asked, "Tell me." "Tell you what?" I asked. He began to knead my buttocks slowly. Shifting slightly, I said,

"Oh... why are you doing this, Dad?"

"Hmm... isn't that exactly why you were swaying like that—to get them squeezed? That’s why..."

"That’s wrong, Dad! I’m your daughter. You shouldn't be squeezing them like this."

"Hmm... well, is it right for a daughter to walk around swaying her buttocks like that, right in front of her father?"



"What’s wrong with swaying what I have!? Besides, I wasn't walking like that for your sake."

"Is that so? Then for whose sake were you walking like that?" he asked, pulling me even closer. As he did, his erect member pressed firmly against the space between my thighs. Startled by the contact, I cried out, "Oh my god! Dad... that’s enough, let me go!"

"What happened!?"

"Nothing happened. Just let me go." “Can’t you just tell me what happened?”

“Ugh… something’s definitely going on with you. It’s pretty obvious.”

“Is it that obvious!?”

“Yeah… let go, Dad, it feels… strange.”

“Well, then, don’t go walking around wiggling like that ever again.”

“Just because I wiggle, do you have to squeeze me like this—forgetting that I’m your daughter?”

“Yes, I’ll squeeze you just like this—the more you wiggle, the harder I’ll squeeze,” he said, and began kneading my buttocks with intensity. I could easily break free from his grip if I wanted to, but this game was fun. So, I decided to provoke him a little more.

“You’re already squeezing your sister’s—do you have to squeeze mine too? It’s the same thing down here, isn’t it? Just let go, Dad…”

“What do you mean, ‘the same thing’?”

“Hmm… you know, what you’re squeezing right now—that! You could just let go, couldn’t you?”

“I don’t really want to let go.”

“Why not??”

“Because yours are even better to squeeze than your sister’s—that’s why…”

“Ugh… yuck… you’re a ‘bad dad’!”

“Why am I ‘bad’?”

“Well, isn’t it ‘bad’ to squeeze your own daughter like this?”

“But you’re enjoying it, aren’t you—letting me squeeze you like this?”

“I am not letting you squeeze me at all.” “Well, couldn’t you just free yourself and leave?”

“I’d like to, but you’re holding on way too tightly.”

“Should I let go, then?”

“Hmm.”

“I’m letting go…”

“Ahhh…”

“Tell me—should I let go, or should I squeeze?” he asked, squeezing my buttocks once again.



“Ahhh… why do you keep squeezing right there?”

“Alright, should I squeeze somewhere else, then?”

“No, don’t…”

“It’s fine—just tell me where you want me to squeeze, and I will.”

My entire body grew hot, and I began to break into a sweat. Dad removed his hands from my buttocks, turned me around, wrapped his arms firmly around my waist, and pulled me close. This time, his manhood pressed firmly between my buttocks. A faint tremor began in my legs. Reaching beneath my saree, Dad slowly started to caress my lower abdomen. Struggling to hold back the surging desire, I let out a soft, “Hmm…” Dad moved his hands slowly upward from my abdomen until he reached the hem of my blouse. “Shall I squeeze?” he asked. I wondered if I could even handle it if he did.

Overcome by such intense desire, I found myself unable to speak, struggling to catch my breath. Dad moved his hands even higher, gently pressing his thumbs beneath my breasts. I let out an, “Umm…” and leaned forward. His manhood pressed even more firmly against my buttocks. Without even realizing it, I pushed my hips back toward him. Dad let out a low groan, squeezed the fabric beneath my blouse, and began to slide his hand further up. Just then, noticing some people approaching, he abruptly let go of me. I stepped aside, catching my breath.

The people passed by us, and after standing still for a few moments, Dad pulled me close again. I leaned into him with a playful, coy sound. This time, stroking the curves of my waist, he asked, "I never noticed these before—where were you hiding all these curves?" I let out a soft sigh and replied, "What does it matter where I hid them? You’ve got your hands all over them now, haven't you?" "Not just holding them—I’m going to squeeze them with all my might," he said, tightening his grip on my waist. I moaned softly, rising onto my tiptoes. Seeing my pursed lips, he seemed overcome with desire and leaned forward to kiss me. Suddenly, there was another noise. We quickly adjusted ourselves, only to realize it was the same group from before; they were standing nearby, talking.

Looking at them, Dad said, "They don't seem like they’re moving anytime soon—shall we go somewhere else?" By then, I was already completely damp between my legs. I stood there, unable to say a word. Just then, the group spotted us and called out to Dad. Resigned to the situation, he started walking toward them, whispering, "I’m not letting you off this easily next time." "I’ll squeeze you even more intensely next time—be ready," he said, and walked away. I remained where I was, watching him, my eyes flushed red with desire.

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Divya

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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.

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Divya

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Divya... typical hot Telugu teenage girl

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Chapter: 5
(Mutual)

After the *darshan*, we reached the bus stand to head back to our village. As we waited for the bus, my father’s gaze roamed all over my body—well, naturally, anyone would stare like that when a girl is wearing a *langa-voni* (traditional skirt and *voni*/dupatta). Along with his intense stares, he even tried to reach out with his hands a few times, but couldn't quite manage it because Mom was right there. Deliberately, whenever I caught him looking, I would pull my *voni* aside to reveal my navel or adjust my *pallu* to highlight my curves. You should have seen the look in his eyes—if no one else had been around, he would have crushed me in his passionate embrace. Just that look from him was enough to leave me half-drenched with desire.

A little while later, the bus arrived. We managed to find seats—one spot next to a woman, and a separate two-seater. Since Mom sat next to the other woman, my father and I ended up sitting together.

As soon as he sat down beside me, I said, "Don't try anything crazy; just sit properly."

Feigning innocence, he asked, "What do you mean by 'crazy things'?" I replied firmly, "The kind of things you did near the hotel yesterday."

Even as I said it, I knew he wouldn't be able to resist touching me. It wouldn't be a problem if he did, but then things would heat up, and I’d be left squirming and restless—that was my dilemma. But, contrary to what I had expected, he didn't try to touch me at all. He sat quietly, watching a movie on TV. Thinking, "Hmm... I suppose his urge has been satisfied by now," I slowly drifted off to sleep.

I don’t know how long I slept, but I woke up feeling something crawling on my thighs. It was my father’s hand. Wondering if he had placed it there in his sleep or on purpose, I looked at his face. As soon as I looked, he gave a faint smile. I immediately turned my face away.

My father shifted closer to me. My mother was asleep on the seat on the other side. I was anxious, fearing that if she woke up while he was doing something, we would get caught. While I was feeling this way, he gently pressed his fingers against my thigh.




I quickly pulled my legs back and whispered, "No, Dad—Mom is right there, please..." Hearing this, he sat up. Curious as to why, I watched as he took a thin blanket out of his suitcase. Realizing his plan, I thought to myself, "Oh my God, Dad!" He sat down next to me, dbangd the blanket over both of us, and said, "Now it doesn't matter if your mom wakes up, does it?"

"Oh, come on... no, Dad, plea-se..."

"What do you mean, 'no'?" “No—whatever it is you’re planning to do, don’t.”

“What could I possibly do?”

“You won’t do anything; just go to sleep.”

“Is that why you covered me with a blanket—so I’d go to sleep?”

“Psh… what else would it be for!?”

In response, Dad placed his hand on my thighs.

My legs began to tremble slightly. Still, managing to keep my composure, I said, “Don’t, Dad…” “I won’t do anything, really,” he whispered, gently stroking with his fingers.

I let out a soft, “Hmm…” and added, “That’s it—don’t go any further.”

“Can’t I even do this?” he asked, giving a light squeeze.

“Ugh… oh, Dad…” I breathed.

“Alright, I’ll only do as much as you’re comfortable with—is that okay?” he asked, continuing to gently press my thigh.

As a tingling sensation spread through my entire body, I let out an involuntary, “Mm…” Dad leaned closer and whispered into my ear, “Thanks for wearing a *langa-voni* (traditional skirt and shawl).”

“I didn’t wear it for you,” I replied with a laugh.

“Does it matter why you wore it? This is certainly convenient,” he said.

Then, catching me completely off guard, he reached under the blanket and pulled my skirt up above my knees. “Hey!” I started to cry out in alarm, but caught myself, fearing Mom might wake up. By then, Dad’s hand had already settled, warm and firm, against my bare thigh.

He began tracing his fingers lightly over them, saying, "Wow... your thighs are so soft," and started to massage them gently with his fingertips. As he massaged, I felt as though I were floating on air. Then, moving even closer, he wrapped his arm around my shoulders and pulled me toward him.

He slid his hand down from my neck until it rested over my breasts, and asked, "Have you ever had these squeezed before?" His question made me feel completely flushed with heat. In that state, I let out a soft, "Hmm-mm..." "So, would you like me to squeeze them?" he asked, continuing to trace his fingers over me. Without saying a word, I shifted a little closer.

"So, that’s a 'yes,' then? Shall I squeeze them?"

"Oh, Dad..."

"Tell me—should I squeeze them, or not?"

"No..."

"What do you mean, 'no'?"

“No… sss… don’t press…”

“Don’t press what!?”

“Hmm… Dad… please…”

“Alright, I’ll press them. Go ahead and undo the hooks of your blouse.”

As soon as Dad said that, my whole body began to tremble. Gently pressing his fingers against my breasts, he said, “Come on, take it off—it’ll be nice…”

I wanted to take it off too, but I felt a sense of hesitation. Noticing this, he asked, “Shall I help you, then?” My throat went dry, and I just kept staring at him, my lips quivering.

Seeing my discomfort, Dad placed his other hand over my blouse. The moment his hand touched me, I felt a surge of intense sensation that made it hard to breathe; my breaths became heavy and labored. Dad traced the shape of my breasts with his fingers and remarked, “You’ve grown them quite well—perfect for squeezing!”

At his words, my breasts felt heavy, and my nipples hardened. I wished he would hurry up and take off my blouse. But Dad, showing no signs of haste, slowly undid the top hook. Feeling a slight sense of relief, I let out a soft, “Hmm…” He then ran his index finger along the cleavage between my breasts and said, “Wow… it feels just like touching a lump of fresh butter…”

A light sheen of sweat had formed between my breasts, thanks to Dad’s actions—or perhaps his words. He traced the area with his fingers and murmured, “Oh, wouldn’t it be wonderful if I licked this sweat away with my tongue?” I let out a soft, involuntary moan: “Hmm…” “Shall I?” he asked.

I felt myself growing even hotter. Dad slowly slid his head under the blanket and began to lick the spot gently. I gasped, “Ooh!” and pressed his head firmly against my breasts.

He licked them with such relish, as if savoring a sweet treat. As he continued, I began to sweat even more, my breathing becoming heavy and labored. Then, he slipped his tongue into the cleavage between my breasts and teased the skin, making me tremble. Suddenly, he pulled his head out from under the blanket and said, “This isn’t quite right—let me take it all in at once, shall I?”

I could only moan, “Hmm…” With a deep, heavy sigh, Dad undid the second hook. My breasts heaved with anticipation. He traced the space between them with his thumb and whispered, “My, how tempting my daughter’s breasts are…” He then undid the third hook and added, “Only two more hooks left. I’m taking them off now…”

Unable to contain my longing, I breathed out, “Dad… umm…” “Shall I unfasten it?” Dad asked. “Mm-hmm...” I replied. “Not like that—say it in words,” he said, tracing his finger over the fourth hook. Gasping with intense longing, I said, “Unfasten it, Dad...”

“Unfasten what?”

“Ugh... unfasten my blouse...”

“Whose blouse—who does it belong to?”

“Your daughter’s.”

“And what should I do once I’ve unfastened it?”

“Hmm... ugh...”

“Tell me, what should I do?”

“Ugh... ah... squeeze...”

“Squeeze what?”

“My... ah... my... balls... Dad... iss... mm...”

“Not ‘balls’—they have another name. Tell me...”

“Hmm... my... bre... breasts...”

“Mm... breasts...”

“Iss... squeeze my... breasts, Dad...”

My whole body was trembling. As soon as I said that, Dad undid the fourth hook.

Gasping for air, I pleaded, “Please, Dad... unfasten that one too.”

“What will happen if I do?” he asked, tracing his finger over the fifth hook. “Your daughter’s breasts are feeling so heavy, Dad...” I said, overcome with desire. Dad let out an “Mm...” and as he undid the final hook, I felt a sudden sense of release and let out a long, deep sigh—*“Ugh...”* Dad gently pulled my blouse aside and began to caress my breasts through my thin bra.

As he stroked them, my heart raced wildly. Unable to hold back any longer, I urged, "Ah... squeeze them faster, Dad!"

He replied, "The bra is in the way—how can I?" Feeling like I couldn't wait another second, I reached behind, unhooked my bra, and set my heavy breasts completely free.

"Mmm..." I let out, signaling for him to squeeze them now. Dad pulled me close, placed his hand on one of my breasts, and gave it a gentle squeeze.

"Ahh..." I moaned. Continuing to squeeze softly, Dad asked, "Does it feel good, having your dad squeeze them like this?" "Mmm..." I replied, leaning forward. "Will you let your dad squeeze them like this every day?" he asked, while gently rolling my nipple between his fingers. "Uh-huh..." I groaned, lost in the sensation.


"Oh, you moan so sweetly. Do you know what hearing you moan like that makes me want to do!?"

"Hmm... wh-what... w-will... you... do... oh... iss... Dad..."

"Right here, I want to..."

"Uh-huh... uh-huh... ahh... Da-ad..."

"I want to fuck you with such intense passion..."

"Hmm... iss..."

"Shall I tell you how I’m going to fuck you?" “Hmm..”

“Shall I tell you??”

“Hmm.. ah.. te..ll me..”



“I won’t tell you; I’ll show you when the time comes..”

“Ugh.. oh.. no.. no..”

“Mm.. mm..”

“Ah.. mm..”

“Should I suck your breasts?”

“Mm..”

“Tell me, should I suck them or not..”

“Oh… ah… suck them, Daddy…” I said, pulling him toward me. He slipped under the blanket and planted kisses between my breasts. Moaning, “Hmm…,” I pressed his head firmly against my chest and exclaimed, “Oh, Daddy! What are you doing? You’re not even thinking about the fact that I’m your daughter!”

“What am I doing?”

“Hmm… so… so… mmm…”

“Hmm… tell me…”

“Sss… you’re… you’re making me… ah… so aroused… iss…”

“Do you know how wonderful it feels to arouse one’s own daughter like this?” he asked, taking one of my breasts into his mouth.

My entire body was drenched in sweat from the intense heat. He took his time, trapping my nipple between his lips and licking it with his tongue. As he did this, my nerves felt completely unraveled. I let out a soft moan, stroking his hair, feeling as though I were floating on air. The sensation left me soaking wet below, and my ‘flower’ began to throb with a restless, aching intensity.

Perhaps noticing this, he stopped sucking my breasts, emerged from under the blanket, looked into my face, and asked, “How does it feel?” “Oh, honestly! Look at him—he does all these things to his daughter and then has the nerve to ask!” I replied, feigning a coy, delighted tone. “That’s all well and good, my daughter, but tell me—has the weight of your breasts been eased yet?” he asked, resuming his massage of my breasts. I couldn't even catch my breath to answer, so I just managed a, "Mmm... uhh..."

"So, how does it feel down there?"



"Ahh... ugh..."

"Tell me..."

"Mmm... ahh... I... I..."

"Go on... tell me..."

"Oh God... you're killing me, Dad..."

"Wow... my daughter is already overwhelmed by just a little bit of touching..."

"Hmm... this is the first time a man's hands have been on me, after all..."

"So, that means my daughter's virgin treasure is all mine, then. Let me take a look..." Saying this, he slid his hand between my thighs. As soon as he did, I stretched my legs wide apart. He placed his hand over my panties and felt around, saying, "Hmm... my daughter's 'field' is completely soaked." As he kept touching me, I became even wetter. He then slipped his finger under the edge of my panties and began to gently stroke my labia. Writhing in response, I gasped, "Oh... Dad... it feels so strange..."

"It’s really itching for some attention, isn't it?"



"Mmm..."

"Tell me, what should we do to satisfy that itch?"

"Mmm... oh... I don't know..."

"Shall I tell you?" “Iss… mmm…”

“Instead of using your finger on that itchy spot…”

“Umm… mmm…”

“You should rub it with your dad’s cock…”

“Hmm… ahh… hhh…”

“Do you want to see Dad’s cock?”

“Uh-huh… umm… iss…”

“So, should I take it out?”

“Iss… mmm… umm…”

“Just a minute…” Dad said, reaching to move his hand away from my flower, but I quickly grabbed his hand and stopped him.

“Hmm… has it gotten that hot down there?” Dad asked with a laugh.

“Well, wouldn’t it get hot if you keep poking around like that?” I retorted sharply.

“In that case, take off your panties. I’ll cool you down,” Dad said.





I glanced around; everyone else was fast asleep.

Just to be safe, I adjusted the blanket, slowly slipped off my panties, and was about to set them aside when Dad said, “Here, give them to me…”

“Ugh… why on earth would you want them!?” I asked, feeling shy.

“They’ve been hiding my daughter’s treasure all this time—let me have a look,” Dad replied.

“Ugh… you have absolutely no shame!” I said, feeling even shyer.

“After everything we’ve done, why be shy now? Come on, hand them over,” Dad insisted.

Still feeling shy, I handed them to him. He took them, took a deep, long sniff, and said, “Wow… so, my daughter’s juices smell this sweet.”

As soon as he said that, I pinched his thigh hard and laughed, “Ugh… you really have no shame at all!”



“What’s the rush? Let me extract your juices first—then we’ll see,” Dad said.

The moment he said that, I felt a sharp, intense tug deep within my flower. Unable to wait any longer, I pulled Dad’s hand and placed it between my thighs, letting out a soft, “Mm…” Dad gently caressed my sex, murmuring, “My, it’s gotten so hot…” as he pressed his thumb right where my labia met.



I jolted, hissing, “Sss…” Just as he began to stroke between my labia and reached my clitoris—ready to press down—the bus lights suddenly flickered on. Startled, we both quickly adjusted ourselves and sat upright. The bus had stopped in a village, and some passengers were getting off.

Still hidden beneath the blanket, I hurriedly fastened the hooks of my blouse. Seeing an empty seat next to her, Mom called me over. “It’s alright, Mom; I’ll just stay here,” I replied. “Come over here, dear. Let your father get some sleep,” Mom insisted. Fearing she might scold me if I kept resisting, I moved to sit next to her and glanced back at Dad. Seeing him sitting there with a crestfallen, pouting expression, I gave him a playful, mocking look before pulling the blanket over my head.

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Chubby Divya