Caring for Carrie Pt. 02

FORWARD

I'm trying something a little different for Part Two. This chapter will be told from two different points of view; both Carrie, and her father.

ALL CHARACTERS ARE AT LEAST 18 YEARS OF AGE OR OLDER.

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(Carrie)

It's not like I PLANNED on seducing my father. Outside of porn, it's simply not something that even crosses a young woman's mind.

But the accident that put both my arms and legs in casts also wound up bringing us closer in ways I never expected.

I doubt it was something he'd ever considered either. My father is a good man. He spent years after Mom died raising me on his own, and never once did I ever feel he acted, or even looked at me, inappropriately.

I could see in his face how awkward and uncomfortable it made him to have to clean me after going to the bathroom, or undressing me, or bathing me in the shower.

Even when I noticed his arousal after giving me that first bath, I knew it was involuntary. He wasn't a father thinking perverse thoughts about his nineteen year old daughter, simply a man, reacting as any man would upon seeing a young woman so naked and openly exposed, and having to be in close physical contact with her.

The experience did, however, start me thinking about him as more than simply my dad.

He'd never dated after mom died. I don't recall him ever having a woman over to visit, or making plans to go out with one.

But he's a man. He must have needs, right? And some kind of outlet for them?

I know I do. While my sexual experience is rather limited, it doesn't mean my hormones aren't working properly. I enjoy masturbating as much as anyone, and never felt shame about indulging myself on a very regular basis.

I suppose that's what led to where we are now, of course. Having dad discover me fallen on the floor, helpless, legs agape, my vibrator rattling away beside me was the most embarrassing thing I've ever had happen.

But being honest, it was also the most thrilling.

My ex-boyfriends would probably call me "prudish" if you asked them. But the simple truth is I didn't feel they truly cared about or respected me enough to have earned more than the occasional handjobs I'd give them.

Laying there on my bedroom floor, I was suddenly struck with the realization that my father was the only man who'd ever seen me naked. Several times now since the accident, but this time certainly in the most sexual way. It was obvious what I'd been doing, there was no hiding the still buzzing vibrator, or my swollen and slick vagina, despite my best efforts to close my legs.

Watching his face, knowing he was seeing my most intimate area so exposed, knowing he was the first to see it, and fully understood what I'd been doing, made my already aching pussy throb even harder.

And then there he was, helping me up, comforting me and playing it off as no big deal despite his own obvious discomfort with the situation.

It was my understanding of just how much I loved and trusted my father, knowing he would never intentionally hurt or mistreat me, along with my pent up sexual frustration that gave me the courage to ask him to help me masturbate.

My request shocked him, of course. It shocked me as well, frankly.

But oh how that shock had changed to pleasure once he finally agreed. It was such an incredible mix of new feelings and sensations: Having someone else doing it to me, looking at me, watching me while I writhed in orgasm. Knowing that someone was my father. Knowing how "wrong" it was, but also knowing there was no one else I loved or trusted more to share this with.

I lay awake for some time afterwards, considering it all. But not, as dad was afraid would happen, in a regretful way.

Instead, I again found myself thinking about exactly what dad did to satisfy his own sexual needs. He'd left my room with an obvious erection. I wondered if he was now satisfying that urge, and if he was thinking about me while doing so.

I wondered if he felt guilt over it, or excitement. Or both.

I knew he was also thinking about mom. I couldn't begin to imagine how conflicted he must be feeling, especially knowing how much I reminded him of her.

I felt at once proud to know just how much like my mother I was to him, but also guilty that that likeness would stir such conflicting desires in him.

And with no other woman in his life, no outlet for his desires and urges, I worried about how it could affect him mentally.

The last thing I wanted was for him to be consumed by guilt or shame, especially since I was the one who goaded him into such an intimate encounter with his own daughter.

The next day, I decided to push things a little further. He made it easy by inviting me out to the pool. An innocent offer, until he understood that he had to dress me in my bikini, and put the suntan lotion on.

He thought he could hide his erection by diving into the pool, but I noticed it. I expected it, of course.

What I didn't expect was how easily, how eagerly, he accepted the idea of using the vibrator on me again in the shower, or the way he took control of things; no longer passively just holding it, but finding creative and highly stimulating ways of using it on me.

After two mind blowing orgasms, we came to the moment of truth. Dad was hard, his erection straining at the fabric of his bathing suit.

I was flush with a mix of pride and guilt. Pride at being the one responsible for arousing him so fully; guilt at not being able to truly help him release it.

It didn't take much convincing to get him to masturbate for me. I knew he'd never ask, never suggest it, but I also knew he'd be willing if he was sure I was okay with it.

I've seen several penises before, as I've mentioned, but seeing Daddy's, so long and firm and swollen, knowing I caused it, watching his eyes as they roamed my body while he stroked...I was shivering with excitement.

And then he surprised me again by shoving the vibrator between my legs at high speed.

I was yelling profanities at him as our climaxes built and finally exploded. His cum was a hot lava on my face, the first time I'd gotten cum anywhere on me but my hands. I instinctively licked at it, my mind and body running on pure, primal instincts.

It was the most erotic experience of my life. And it was with my father.

We spent the rest of the day in far more normal Father / Daughter ways; playing games, watching TV etc.

We also talked a lot. About mom, about the past, about the future. We've always been close, but somehow our recent experiences brought us even closer instead of driving us apart.

I certainly felt no guilt or shame, and if he did, he was hiding it well.

We spent the night in his bed at my suggestion, although nothing more happened than some innocent snuggling.

My last thoughts before drifting off to sleep were simply that I loved my father, very much. I wanted to be there for him, in any way I could. And, I wanted him, too.

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(Dad)

Waking up next to Carrie was such a comforting treat. I'd forgotten what it was like to sleep beside someone you loved.

Carrie was still asleep, random strands of her blonde locks scattered across her cherubic face, her chest rising and falling with her breathing.

She looked so sweet and innocent, reminding me yet again of Shelle. But I knew now that, also like her mother, Carrie had a playfully naughty sexual side to her.

A side we had unexpectedly explored together the past several days.

Part of me still felt regret. I was her father. I shouldn't have allowed any of it to happen. No excuses, no twisted rationalizations changed that fact.

But there was also no denying I enjoyed it thoroughly, and so, it appeared, did Carrie.

As I watched her sleep, my mind retraced every moment that had led up to what happened yesterday, and I could find nothing that stood out as an attempt to take advantage of her, or push her into it somehow. If anything, she was the one that encouraged it.

Not that I was trying to affix "blame" on her. At nineteen, she was now an adult, but I was far older and wiser. So if there was blame to be laid, it would squarely fall on my shoulders.

Certainly any outsider would see it that way.

I should end it. Today. Put my foot down, insist it went no further. Even if it upset her.

But I didn't want to. Nor did I want to force things to go beyond whatever Carrie was comfortable with.

Carrie stirred as I was considering all of this, her eyes fluttering open. "Good morning, Daddy. Sleep well?"

I gave her a peck on the cheek. "I did. How about you?"

Carrie squirmed on her pile of pillows. "Alright I guess. It sucks being stuck on my back like this though, I'm usually a side sleeper. So I'm feeling a little stiff."

"Well the doctor encouraged you to start moving around more and doing some simple exercises as soon as you felt strong enough. Perhaps today we can try a few things to help work your muscles and get the kinks out."

"That would be great," Carrie smiled. "But first, I um, gotta pee."

Instead of hauling her back to her room, I brought the portable toilet to mine, helped her onto it, then left her in privacy to handle her business.

After cleaning up, I made us breakfast, Carrie sitting at the kitchen table in her wheelchair. Her finger dexterity was improving by the day, and she was able to handle eating pretty much on her own, although she still needed a straw for her orange juice because the glass was simply too cumbersome to handle with the casts.

I cleaned the kitchen and a few other things around the house while Carrie digested her breakfast. She also took that time to research a few exercises she could do with the casts on.

We decided the open floor of the living room was the best place to try them. But first we had to find her something better to wear than the baggy nightgown.

At her direction, I found a pair of Lycra shorts and a matching sports bra she'd used for her yoga routines. Both were elastic enough to stretch over the casts.

Yet again, the process of dressing her meant seeing her fully naked, and while I admittedly enjoyed the view, I forced myself to remain focused and not sexualize things, although it wasn't easy.

The form fitting nature of her garments didn't help, with the sports bra highlighting her ample cleavage and the spandex shorts forming a perfect outline around her vulva and cleft.

Carrie lay herself flat on the floor and again I placed a few pillows under her legs to help elevate them and take the weight of the casts off her a bit.

She started simply with some light stretching, while I sat on my knees by her legs, holding her ankles steady.

She could only do so much with the casts on her arms, but she had regained more mobility in them than in her legs.

Crossing her arms awkwardly across her chest, she then tried some sit ups, me still holding her legs for support.

She managed more than I expected given the situation, but I could see the strain of the exertions on her face. "Don't overdo it, Carrie," I warned gently.

"You're...right," she puffed heavily, laying herself prone. "This is...gonna take some...getting used to."

"You're doing great," I encouraged, "just try not to push yourself too hard. We can do a little everyday, build you back up slowly, okay?"

She nodded, still calming her breathing. "I wanna try some leg lifts next, but I'm gonna need your help stretching them out."

Following her instructions, I held onto her right leg, allowing her to do most of the lifting but helping to support it as she slowly raised it upwards.

Carrie's eyes were closed in concentration as we repeated the motion several times, her leg getting higher on each repetition. "Now, push my leg up, slowly, as high as you can," she guided me, "I want to stretch my hamstrings out."

We took it slowly, pushing gently until her leg was almost fully extended straight up. Again Carrie's face flushed with the effort.

"Does it hurt?" I asked, concerned.

"Yeah," she grunted, "but it's a...good hurt. Now just...hold it...a few more seconds...okay, let it back down."

I eased her leg back down to the pillows. We then repeated the routine with her left leg, working and stretching her stiff muscles and ligaments.

Despite my promise to myself, I found myself looking between her legs as we stretched her left leg up, seeing her perfectly outlined sex and noticing with awe the damp spot forming there.

"Dad?" Carrie broke my spell. "Focus. Push harder, I'll tell you when to stop."

After several moments she finally instructed me to release the tension, and eased her leg back down.

Carrie lay there quietly for a few moments, just breathing. Her skin shone with her sweat. "I think that's enough of that," she panted, "but I do wanna stretch a bit more."

Again following her guidance, I helped her extend her arms up over her head, then went back to hold her legs as she stretched out the length of her body as best she could, rolling slowly side to side, then arching her back and buttocks up off the floor.

After several minutes of this, she again relaxed and simply lay there, taking several long, slow breaths to calm her body.

"I think that's enough for today," she said, "but I definitely want to get into a routine of doing this every day. It certainly helps."

"Of course," I said, "I'll help whenever you want."

Carrie groaned as I lifted her off the floor and back into her chair. "You okay?"

"Yeah, just...still a little sore," she sighed. "I may have overdone it."

"Would you like a massage?" The words had left my lips before I even thought about it, or the implications of what could come from it.

Carrie flashed me her beautiful smile. "Yes, please. That would be wonderful."

I wheeled her into my room, stripped the blanket off the bed, then helped her onto it. "What about the sheets?" Carrie objected. "I'm all sweaty."

"Don't worry about it, I'll change them later," I assured her.

After getting her comfortable, I retrieved a bottle of baby oil from the bathroom.

Carrie gave me a playful look when I returned with it. "What'cha planning on doing with that, Daddy?"

"Now behave, young lady," I smirked. "This is supposed to be therapeutic."

"I know," she grinned. "But we both know it'll be more than that, especially once you realize that to properly massage me you're going to have to undress me again."

I sighed. "Carrie, seriously, I wasn't trying to..."

"I know," she interjected. "And I actually really want a good massage. But that doesn't mean we both won't get some excitement from it, so I just figured that instead of worrying or wondering, we'd get it out of the way and just be upfront about it."

I couldn't argue her logic. Despite my innocent, fatherly intentions when I'd offered the massage, there was no denying that I'd become sexually aroused by doing it, especially after everything that had already happened between us.

"So much for putting my foot down," I thought to myself with an inward laugh as I sat her up to remove her sports bra. Her breasts sprung free from the elastic band with a light bounce that made my heart flutter.

Even with the knowledge that Carrie was comfortable and consenting to the idea of us having sexual feelings towards each other, I was determined to try not to force things. So I intentionally left her shorts on as I helped get her into a comfortable position on her stomach so that I could begin the massage.

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(Carrie)

Dad's hands felt amazing. Starting at my shoulders then down my back, working out the knots formed by spending too much time cooped up in bed.

I could tell he was trying not to sexualize things, avoiding my breasts that pushed out to either side as his hands kneaded my sore muscles. Laying on my stomach, I couldn't tell whether he was becoming aroused, but I certainly was.

I'd had a massage several times before, at the salon I frequented, but always by another woman.

Dad was almost as good. He certainly knew the right spots and just how much pressure to apply. I let out a loud groan as he cracked my back several times. It hurt, but in a good way.

"Have you..done...this before?" I asked, grunting between breaths. "You're really...good."

"I used to massage your mother all the time, especially after a long day on her feet at work," his voice responded from behind me. "So I suppose I've had some practice at it."

Again my thoughts went to the fact that the first man to be touching my body this much was my own father. The furthest I'd allowed my boyfriends to go was the occasional grope of my breasts while we made out or I gave them a handjob. But none of them had run their hands over me so thoroughly or intimately as Dad was now doing. And while he wasn't intentionally trying to arouse me, I felt myself getting excited.

Especially when his oil covered hands finally moved to my legs. I could feel my vulva parting slightly as he worked my inner thighs, applying firm but not overly rough pressure. I couldn't help but shift my hips a bit, pushing down on the mattress, stimulating my clit. I could feel the moisture building inside me, seeping slowly from my pussy into my snug nylon shorts. I was sure there must be a wet spot forming. I wondered if dad could see it.

I wanted him to touch me. Not just massage, but more intimately. His hands were so close to my now aching pussy, just under my ass, his fingers digging into the flesh of my inner thighs, so close and yet so far from where I wanted them to be.

I was groaning again, louder, but not from pain. I tried to be subtle about it but couldn't help but grind myself harder against the mattress, feeling the intense waves of pleasure building in me. I tensed, then shook as a small but electrifying orgasm hit me.

It wasn't enough.

"Are you okay?" Dad asked as his hands finally released their grip on my thighs.

"Yes," I gasped softly, "that was...wonderful, thank you."

Dad was quiet for a moment. I wondered if he'd realized what had happened, or was just considering what, if anything, to do next.

I decided to coax him along. "Can you turn me over?" I asked innocently. "The massage was great, but laying on my stomach like this with these casts is kind of awkward."

Without a word, Dad helped roll me over, then sat me up against the headboard, propping me with some pillows for support.

I could feel his gaze on me as I sat, half naked with what I was sure was an obvious stain in my shorts. I could also see his erection, strong and powerful, straining for release under his loose fitting shorts. Again I felt that sense of pride, knowing I was responsible.

I finally broke the silence with a laugh. "Seems like we both got some enjoyment out of that."

Dad blushed a bit, but smiled. "Yeah, I guess we did."

It was time to stop being coy. "I need more. You realize that, right?" I parted my legs, giving him an even better view. My shorts were snug around my vulva, my slit clearly defined, the damp spot over it dark and unmistakable.

Dad flushed deeper, then nodded in understanding. He stood and moved towards the door. "I'll go get your vibrator."

"Wait," I called, the desperation in my voice apparent. "I...I don't want it."

Dad stopped midstep, turned, his gaze intense.

Sitting back beside me on the bed, he took my hand. "What DO you want, Carrie?"

"I want..." I hesitated, not out of fear, only to find the strength to actually voice my inner desires. "...I want you to touch me."

He didn't look surprised, only thoughtful, contemplative. It was several seconds before he responded.

"I think we should talk first."

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