His Nanny (On Request Story) – Contains Taboo Themes | Read at Your Discretion

Hello dear readers,

Thank you so much for choosing this book. I hope I won’t disappoint you.

Unlike my other stories, this one won’t begin with a character sketch, prologue, or foreword. I want you to dive right into the story without any preconceived notions.

This is a fan-fiction, like many of my previous works on Wattpad. If you’ve read my earlier stories, you might already be familiar with the kind of content and scenarios I explore. If not, I encourage you to read with an open mind — and if it’s not your cup of tea, that’s completely okay. You’re free to stop reading.

I know this note might sound a little direct, but please understand — it’s not coming from a place of rudeness. Some harsh or disrespectful comments in the past have made it necessary for me to set clear expectations. I’ve always treated my readers like family, and I’ll always be grateful for your love and support.

💌 This book was requested by many readers and I’m respecting their privacy and keeping their names anonymous. Thank you for trusting me with your idea.

⚠️ Content Warning:

This book contains mature, explicit, and incestuous content (Father x Daughter).

If you are under 18, or if this subject matter makes you uncomfortable, please do not read further.

You have been warned clearly.

Disclaimer:

This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places, incidents, businesses, and medical references are purely fictional and a product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or real-life events is purely coincidental. This story is not intended to hurt anyone’s sentiments, culture, or beliefs.

If you enjoy the book, please don’t forget to vote, share, and leave your thoughts in the comments. Your support always means the world to me.

Love and respect,

SAM

Chapter- ONE

“But Mom, I can’t do this,” I sigh, glancing toward the door. The doctor gives me a sympathetic smile before quietly stepping out, leaving us alone. I turn in my chair and take my mother’s trembling hand in mine.

“Mom, please try to understand... I just can’t. It’s beyond awkward. And Dad—he would never agree to this idea of yours.”

I press my fingers against my temple. A headache is forming, threatening to explode. I want to scream—to cry—but I hold myself back.

We’re sitting in a doctor’s office, discussing something I never imagined would be part of my life. Something so absurd and painful. But it’s come to this... because my father is dying.

Yes, health issues. Serious ones.

“For my sake, beta... I love your dad so much, and I don’t want to lose him,” Mom pleads, her voice breaking as she clasps my hands tighter.

“And what about me, Mom? My reputation? My life? I’m at the age where I should be getting married, not doing this!”

I push back my chair and start pacing the room, my chest tightening with each breath.

Unable to bear the conversation anymore, I walk out of the cabin and head to the hospital room where my father, Manik Malhotra, lies unconscious.

He’s battling a rare and aggressive intestinal condition—one that’s left him unable to eat or drink anything. Not even water. Even traces of chlorine found in drinking water worsen his condition. Alcohol? Beverages? Solid food? All banned.

For the last three months, he’s been surviving on saline and nutritional syringes, inserted through his veins, nose, and mouth. But his body is deteriorating rapidly. He looks like a fragile skeleton, a shadow of the strong man I once knew. My heart breaks every time I look at him.

The doctors are at a loss. They’ve tried everything. Now, they’re suggesting something almost unimaginable.

He needs something pure—a form of nourishment close to mother’s milk. But if water can’t pass his system, how can milk? I asked the same thing. Why not formula? Why not a nutritional substitute?

But according to the specialists, nothing works. His body is rejecting everything artificial. This—breast milk—is the only option left.

(A/N: I deeply respect the medical community. This is entirely fictional.)

We’ve tried everything—reached out to donor women, lactating mothers, even paid women and volunteers. But my father’s body rejected all of them. He vomited violently each time. My mother even tried herself, but her milk didn’t suit him either.

We asked relatives. Most declined. Some couldn’t help. Others... they mocked us. Called us insane.

Now, only one option remains.

Me.

The doctors suggested it. My mother begged me to consider it. If I don’t agree, the doctors say we should start preparing for the worst. The saline solution is beginning to damage his system. We might only have two months left. And that’s being optimistic.

And I… I can’t lose him.

I’m a daddy’s girl. Always have been.

So I go back into the room. My mom and the doctor are waiting for my decision.

I rake my fingers through my hair, pulling hard, hoping the sting will distract me from the pain in my heart.

“Fine,” I whisper.

“You’re a lifesaver,” my mother gasps and drops to her knees in front of me, but I quickly stop her and pull her into a hug.

The doctor walks back in, notebook in hand.

“So… what have you decided?” he asks gently.

I take a deep breath, trying to find strength in the middle of all this chaos.

And then, I say it.

“I’ll breastfeed my father.”

**************

🌸 A Heartfelt Request to My Readers 🌸

Dear Readers,

First of all, thank you for choosing to read my story. Your time and presence here mean the world to me.

I know this story explores sensitive and taboo themes, and I understand it might not be everyone’s cup of tea. But if you’ve decided to stay and read, I kindly ask for your open-mindedness and respect.

This book is a fictional creation, written for a specific audience who enjoys unconventional narratives. If it doesn’t align with your interests or values, I completely respect that — and in return, I ask you to respect my work and those who enjoy it.

Please do not report the story just because of its theme. Instead, you are always welcome to exit quietly without hate or judgment.

Every writer deserves the freedom to explore stories in their own voice. I write for my readers, and for those who have requested such content — not to hurt, offend, or provoke anyone.

Your understanding, kindness, and support allow me to keep writing and sharing more stories with you.

With love and gratitude,

SAM 💌