Ananya walked through the inner courtyard with her thighs pressed tightly together.

Every step reminded her of the fresh load of her father’s cum still coating her tongue and the slow, warm leak between her legs. The soft cotton salwar clung to her sticky skin. She kept her gaze lowered, the empty brass tray held in both hands, and prayed that no one would look too closely at the faint dampness already beginning to darken the fabric at the juncture of her thighs.