The rest of the day was a special kind of torture.

Ananya moved through the haveli like a ghost wearing her own skin. The large wooden plug sat heavy and unyielding inside her ass, every step shifting it against sensitive walls still slick with her father’s cum. When she sat, it pressed deeper. When she stood, she felt the thick base keeping everything locked inside. A slow, warm seep still managed to escape around it and dampen the soft cotton of her salwar. She kept her thighs close together and prayed the darkening fabric would go unnoticed.