Once Upon a Christmas with Daddy

"Yeah." I agreed, puzzled as to how she meant it.

She must have seen my bewilderment. She glanced downward and my eyes followed hers: as I stood over my injured daughter, who was wearing only a skimpy bikini over her ripe woman's body, one breast now almost falling out of a triangle now moist with her father's sweat, my cock stood straight out over her.

I spun away from her in shock, trying to hide my entirely inappropriate arousal. Flustered, I repeated once more. "I'll be right back."

I fled, embarrassed and more distracted by my body's response than I had been by the injury. Fortunately I knew right where I kept the first aid supplies. I grabbed the kit and some towels and pulled on a pair of shorts, then ran back to her.

My heart melted looking at my angel like that. Tears streaked her face. She had blood on her hands and a small red pool had formed on the couch cushion under her heel.

"It's okay, baby." I murmured as I knelt beside her again. "Daddy will take care of you."

I placed a folded towel under her foot, then examined her heel. I experimented, pulling lightly on the bottle bottom.

"Ow-ee." She whispered. Her face was tight. Her bloody hands were clenched over her belly. I considered how to proceed. I couldn't tell how far into her heel the glass went, or if it had done serious damage. My initial tug had not moved it at all, indicating it was not a shallow wound.

Pausing to think freed my brain from doing nothing but react. It took the opportunity to point out how smooth and firm my daughter's calf felt as I cradled it in one hand while examining her foot. Then it pointed out that, further up her leg and clearly in my sight, her bikini bottom was pushed slightly to one side and I could see a narrow strip of smooth shaved flesh that should not be exposed.

I stayed kneeling, so the returned erection I was now very aware of in my shorts would not be tenting right above her again. "Baby, we should get you to the emergency room. This needs stitches, and you may have injured a tendon or something."

"Can't you take care of it, Daddy?"

"I wish I could." I noticed her stomach seemed more bloody. "Honey, let me see your hand."

A shallow but long slice had opened her palm. Probably cut it while reaching for her heel. Glass cuts are so sharp, sometimes they're hard to feel.

-----

Four hours later, I helped my daughter back into the house. They'd given her crutches, to keep her bandaged heel safe. But they were awkward to use because of the bandaged left hand.

I resisted an urge to sweep her up and carry her up the stairs. Especially after the painkillers they'd given her. I'd have trouble walking with two good feet on that stuff.

At the hospital, both in the waiting room and once the nurse had closed our little dividing curtain while we waited for the doctor, Christi seemed to really enjoy being cared for. Attended to. By me. Her voice took on a more dependent and immature tone. Wanting me to hold her hand, stroke her hair.

She squeezed my hand with hers, locking her eyes on mine, the entire time the doctor was working in her foot. Fortunately, there was no structural damage though she had to get several stitches. Her left hand probably would have been fine with a bandage, but they put a butterfly on after they cleaned it.

I set her up on the reclining couch after raising the foot rest. My other couch would need some new cushions, at least, after all the blood. I put the TV controller at hand. I could tell the painkillers were kicking in by the glazed way she looked up at me, smiling.

"Daddy, you take the best care of me ever!" Her brows came together as I laughed. "No. I mean it. You do, Daddy. I love you."

Her arms came up in the universal sign for a hug. After losing his only, beloved daughter for years before finding her, and blaming himself for her loss, what father's heart wouldn't glow a bit to have her tell him he's the best ever?

I couldn't help it. As as leaned down into her embrace and let her fold her arms around me, I started to cry.

She was really here. She was really safe; except for some stitches. And she loved me like she always had. When I pulled back enough to look her in the eyes, her arms still loose around my neck, she saw my tears.

Christi made the cutest surprised baby face. And said, "Ohhhh."

My daughter took my face in her hands and kissed at the streaks running down my cheeks. The kisses were quick and soft. The last one, just as soft and just as quick was right on my lips. Not an intimate kiss at all, but still not where my daughter had usually kissed me.

As her arms slipped from around me and I stood back up, Christi spoke slowly, thoughtfully. "Dad? About earlier..."

My old friend Shame awoke. My hard-on after carrying her? Her fingers on her slit under her bikini bottoms as she cried out how horny she was? Me standing behind her naked as she did? I had tried not to think about it all yet. Tried and failed.

She spit out her question. It came out in a rush. "Was that a joint in your mouth in the kitchen?"

I burst out laughing. So hard I had to sit down next to her. "I thought you meant your...frustration proclamation."

She looked puzzled. I hammed it up, leaning back on the couch and cupping my crotch. I tried for a sultry Kathleen Turner voice. "I'm so...fucking...horny."

Christi was laughing now, and covered her face with her hands. Her voice was muffled by fingers and bandage. "At least I wasn't running around like you. 'A man's gotta spleef and he's got his flip flops. Who the hell needs clothes?'"

"Sorry, hon. I've been alone around here too long; I forget some people wear clothes at home. And you," I shoulder bumped my daughter next to me on the sofa, "were supposed to be out all day."

"You." She bumped me back. I think we were both a little giddy after the stress and excitement. She had a better excuse with the pills. "I just couldn't stand to be away from my dear Pa Pa, my first day home and Christmas Eve."

"But I was going to be golfing." I reminded her. "That doesn't make sense."

She surrendered. "Oh yeah. Well, then Jasmine had to work and I didn't want to hang out with just Michelle all day. I know I haven't seen her in years, and she means well, but I was already starting to get bored just listening to her go on on the phone when I called her. I thought some me time would be nice. Soak in the spa."

"How'd that work out for ya?"

She bumped me again, but stayed leaning against my shoulder. She sighed. "It's been mixed so far. Let's see. I got to go on a field trip to the hospital, got pretty killer pills and these nifty bandages, but now I'm banned from the spa and drinking. I committed alcohol abuse on that nearly full bottle of Pilsner Urquell, sliced the fuck out of myself, and found a convenient source for my marijuana needs.

"Speaking of which, you didn't answer my question. Even though I know the answer. So I'll ask another one, dearest Daddy: what is it going to take for me to get you to go get that damn joint I saw?"

"All you had to do was ask the right question, baby girl. It's gotta be somewhere in the kitchen. It flew out of my mouth and then I got distracted."

I had turned the corner to the kitchen and stopped at the sight of beer and broken glass forgotten on the floor, when I thought I heard my daughter say, "Oh yeah. And I also got to see Daddy's nice hard dick."

I must have misheard.

Before I could deliver on my poor wounded baby's request, I cleaned up the kitchen floor. Of course, the skinny pinner I had rolled had soaked up beer, so I rolled us a decent sized joint before joining her again on the couch.

I lit the twisted end of the joint, filled my lungs as I made sure it was burning evenly, and passed it over to my daughter. Something I certainly wouldn't have considered five years ago. After she inhaled deeply and handed it back, she let her head drop back, eyes closed. While holding in the smoke, in a tight voice to avoid exhaling, she let a out a long "Ahhhh.

"What. A. Day."

I shook my head in agreement. "Not the way I had it planned. But I'm still glad you're home, sweetheart."

"Me too, Pop."

We sat in silence for a while, shoulder to shoulder, passing the joint back and forth. The comfortable silence of old friends, who hadn't seen each other in a long while. Then she asked me. "Would you do it again for me?"

"Hmm?" I answered.

She rested her hands on her lap and arched a little upwards. I couldn't help notice how her arms squeezed her full breasts together under her T shirt. I didn't see any signs of the bikini I had pulled the shirt over before we headed to the hospital. "You know. Do the 'I'm...so...horny' thing again."

I turned toward her to roll my eyes. "I was just a pale imitation of the original. But obviously, we have learned that the original is a highly dangerous maneuver, which I will not attempt to duplicate."

"Daddy!" She whined, still smiling. "That's not fair. You invaded a private moment."

"In my kitchen."

The beauty beside me pouted again. It made her adult face once again transform into the little girl who had helped me change oil and repair fences, eager to have the next tool I'd need ready to hand off to me like a surgical nurse in an operating room.

"Our kitchen?" Her voice was small.

My shoulders slumped as tension left them: a burden I hadn't been aware I was carrying had been relieved. "You mean you want to stay, sweetie?"

She must have been able to see my joy. "Of course. I never wanted to go."

She paused. "If you'll have me."

"Oh, baby girl. I never wanted you to go." I babbled. "I can fix your room back up. You are welcome as long as you like. This is your home."

Thanks, Dad." She nuzzled sideways against me.

Then her voice suddenly sounded commanding. "Now do it."

Her eyes were bright looking up at me and she was smiling wide. My daughter pulled her elbows in to her ribs to again squeeze her breasts between her upper arms, then shimmied side to side briefly. I tried to forget the way they shook and sprung back, with only the tiniest hints of two nipples poking through the thin fabric.

I was a child of the 70s, and my daughter had 70s tits. Not late 70s Disco tits, smallish and pointy. Early 70s burned-my-bra free love jugs. Full, firm titties as nature intended. Ideally barely constrained by a holey tie dyed shirt or, better yet, a hand-macramed bikini top, over low hip hugger jeans.

Now that I thought about it, my daughter had 70s hips too. Narrow but soft waist, not a six pack by any means. Then a hard curving flair outward of those hips. Designed to just barely prevent low-slung faded denim from slipping...

As I moved my hands down to cup my crotch for her show, it had taken my brain a fraction of a second to favorably compare Christi to one of my ideal fantasy girl types.

She's your daughter, idiot! She had just come back, and she would leave again and never return if she knew what I was thinking.

At least I could use it to fuel my 'performance.'

I made a show of wrapping both hands over my groin. I arched my back, thrusting my chest upward and my shoulders back. I could feel myself semi-hard under my hands. I groaned, overly prolonged.

"Oh. My. Sweet. Lord." I hoped my own over-acting would distract me as I saw my daughter's legs wide again as she bent over the kitchen sink, the empty, eye-catching space between her thighs capped by the motion of frantic fingers captive beneath her bikini bottoms, stretching the thin nylon material.

I groaned again. I had always been a bit of a ham and couldn't help myself: I began to mock 'finger' myself with the fingers of one hand while I arched, my crotch thrust toward the ceiling and shaking. I probably sounded like an exaggerated, drawn out Divine. "I...am...so...fucking...horny."

I collapsed in a trembling heap, quivering in mock orgasm. Partly to continue the show and see my sweet baby laugh. Partly to hide my now completely hard cock.

Unfortunately she did laugh. Too hard. She kicked her feet as she laughed at me, then yelped. She had banged her bandaged heel back down on the raised recliner footrest.

"Are you okay, sweetie?"

She bit down on her lip in pain. "Not too bad, Daddy. Good thing I'm on drugs. It just scared me."

I had sat up and leaned over her in my concern. My daughter was reclined, looking almost directly up at me. She bit her lip again.

She slid her hands down slowly to mold over her crotch, the unbandaged one resting lightly over the other, her legs extended and slightly apart.

Still biting her lip, still looking up at her father, my little girl arched her back toward me. Those perfect, fantasy titties lifted and displayed as though her arms were carefully presenting a succulent dish for my enjoyment.

Then she stuck out her tongue and started to pulse her good hand rapidly. Her body shook in exaggerated convulsions. "Uhhhuuhhuuuh."

I flopped back on the couch as we both laughed. Christi, at herself. Her father, in relief that she had broken the sexual tension.

"Daddy, can we watch TV?"

"Of course."

"Yay!" She sat up and grabbed the controller, checked channels. And warmed my heart with her choice: comedy animation. The same sort of 'adult cartoons' the two of us had giggled at years ago as her mother shook her head in disgust.

She looked at me, her head cocked to one side.

"What?" I asked.

She acted surprised that I didn't know what she wanted. "Daddy! Assume the position."

I remembered then. When my daughter had been little she always wanted to lie with me on the couch. Since she was so small, I could hold her in front of me and still see the TV over her. I don't know how many times I carried her to bed after she fell asleep that way.

She was bigger now. Taller and curvier. Once I had stretched out with my head on the puffy arm rest, scrunched as far back as I could, Christi eased down in front of me. She placed the bandaged foot hanging off a pillow so there wouldn't be any pressure on it.

As she adjusted, I became aware of her body and the different ways she pressed against me. Eventually, she settled down. I could see over her ear. I could feel her round ass pin me against the back of the couch. I caught a whiff of her hair. Earthy, spicy. Pheremonal.

My daughter seemed to sense it when I inhaled her scent. She wiggled back against me from shoulders to hips. She leaned her head back toward me, bringing my nose and face right into her thick hair.

"Daddy, can you move back? I'm right on the edge."

"I'm back as far as I can, baby. You're...you've grown up since we did this last."

"You have to hold me then." She fumbled back for my hand and pulled it around her waist. Her shirt must have pushed up as my hand came to rest on her bare stomach. Smooth and soft skin filled my palm.

"Daddy! Hold me." Her hand pulled mine up along her sternum, towing my arm around her. When she stopped, my daughter had my upper arm securely around her mid section with my hand, clasped in hers, under her shirt and positioned directly between her pillowy breasts.

She sighed, wiggling her hips one more time. "That's better. You don't want me to fall off the couch do you, Daddy?"

What could I say to that. "Of course not, little one. Daddy will keep you safe from the big bad fall."

My daughter actually cooed at that. I felt her hand squeeze mine. Another waft of her scent hit me. I tried to concentrate on the cartoon.

When I woke up, it was dark. Christi must have turned off the TV. She had twisted toward me in our sleep. Her bandaged foot was now draped over my legs and...oh god.

My hand was filled with the most perfect breast it had ever held. Definitely more than a handful, but firm and yet so soft under my fingers.

If I jerked my hand away, I'd wake her up to the sensation of her father perving on her tit. I slowly eased my hand down and out of her shirt. My middle finger, the longest and therefore the last to leave her, betrayed me. I felt it slide over the slightest bump in her smooth flesh. Entirely of its own will, that finger stayed momentarily to caress that tiny forbidden nipple. My daughter's elusive nipple I had been seeing only hints of all day.

Christi grumbled in her sleep and my hand finished its retreat. She stretched as the fog lifted a wee bit.

"Daddy?"

"Daddy needs to get up, honey. I know you said you'd be okay on the couch for the night, but your father needs to go to bed."

She still sounded asleep. "Okay. Good night. I love you."

She rolled towards me, tucked her head against my chest to sleep.

"Honey, I need to get up."

No answer. So I extracted myself as best I could, leaving her sprawled in the space both of us had filled. "I love you too."

I stumbled to my own bed. Fuck! The instant my head hit the pillow, I remembered I didn't get a present for Christi. Christmas was tomorrow.

I looked at the clock. Christmas was today.

--------

I'm not sure what the dream was about. I usually forget my dreams very quickly, except a few feelings, images or impressions.

The image that stayed with me was of, strangely, a nurse from the hospital yesterday. Not a classic beauty, but I had noticed her striking look even in all the commotion. Strong, chiseled cheeks and jawline, small but muscular arms on the verge of being 'guns.'

She was on her knees in front of me, balancing my very hard penis carefully on her fingertips while she examined it.

The odd thing, and the last memory from the dream, was her chest. She wore a thin T shirt that showed every curve of beautiful, full breasts she hadn't had in the hospital.

They were pushed together by her arms, like Christi's were on the couch. Very prominent nipples pushed the thin cotton outward. I was mesmerized by them, drinking in the way they stretched to the side over her arms as they were squeezed together.

Even in the dream, I recognized this nurse's breasts, full, firm, nipples erect, were my daughter's. Even though they were on someone else, and sporting much larger nipples, they were hers. My final thought was glee that I could check them out now, even picture tearing that shirt down the middle and sucking one of those nipples hard between my lips and teeth, because they weren't on Christi.

I was awake. As I lay on my back, my cock stuck almost straight up. I could dimly see that my daughter sat cross-legged on the bed by my hip. Her unbandaged right hand, ever so gently lowered over my erection.

She moved it like the crane bucket of one of those stuffed toy rip-off vending machines. Fingers open as they dropped down, surrounding my head and upper shaft. Closing in until fingertips lightly touched at five sensitive points.

Her mouth was open slightly and her eyes focused on what her hand was doing. Like five feathers, her touch began slowly traveling upwards. My hips moved. Probably, my breath changed too.

My daughter's fingertips paused as she turned to look up at my face. Five fingers, all lightly resting right on the raised ridge where my swollen head began. One tip was directly on the soft sensitive skin at the very bottom of the ridge, where it pinched up into a V shape.

I couldn't even remember the last time a hand not my own had been on me, just touching. The gorgeous woman touching me now would have been still a girl then.

I looked up at her. To let her know this was wrong, that it was probably the pills. My eyes found hers. She was smiling broadly. Her voice was low. "I guess I'm not the only horny one around here."

I felt her fingers move slightly on my ridge as she said it. I groaned. Unable to look her back in the eye, I lowered my gaze.

The way she had twisted above me pressed her tits hard against the threadbare knit. I thought of the nurse's hard nipples and my eyes searched for them. They found the slightest hint of a tiny shadow at the peak of each pert mound.