Ananya stood in front of the small mirror in her father’s bathing room and barely recognised the girl looking back at her.

Her hair was freshly braided. Her face was clean. The simple cream salwar-kameez she had chosen hung loosely on her frame. From the outside she looked almost the same as she had every morning of her life. Only she knew what the soft cotton concealed: the leather collar snug around her throat, the thick wooden plug locked deep in her ass, the slow, warm seep of her father’s fresh cum that still escaped around the base of the wood and dampened the cloth between her legs. Her cunt remained slick and swollen from the morning’s use. Every step she took shifted the plug and sent a soft, shameful pulse of sensation through her core.