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From: <hoisingr@hushmail.com>
Subject: {ASSM} Wynter: Daddy's Nurse 02/02 {Hoisington} (Mg rom inc g-soloM g-solo)
Date: Tue, 22 Apr 2003 03:10:08 -0400
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This story is copyright 2003 by Russell Hoisington.  Please do
not remove the author information or make any changes to this
story.  You may post freely to non-commercial (free) sites, or in
the "free" area of commercial sites. Thank you for your
consideration.

                           WYNTER KING:
                       DADDY'S LITTLE NURSE
                      by Russell Hoisington

                           Four of Six

     Wynter gently removed Richard's pajama bottoms, wiped most
of the semen off his penis and scrotum with them, and put them in
the washer to soak.  She reclined him at a forty-five degree
angle and fetched a washcloth, a dispenser of liquid soap, and
basin of warm water to finish cleaning him.  She wheeled the
bedside table into place, put her load on it, and hopped onto the
bed beside him.  He'd seemed to recognize that she was struggling
with something, so he had remained quiet as she sorted her
thoughts while soaping his penis.  As she began wiping it with
the washcloth she found her courage.  In a hesitant voice she
said, "Daddy, I -- I have a question.  If you don't mind."

     He gave her an exaggerated frown.  "After all that, you have
only one?"

     She looked up at the funny look on his face and giggled,
releasing her nervous concern that he might object.  "Nah.  I
have a bunch of 'em."

     "Ah!" he said.  "Then that's more like it.  What do you want
to know?  And Wynter, you can ask anything you want.  I'll try to
answer the best I can."

     She smiled and turned back to the task in hand.  "Tell me if
I wash too hard," she said.  Then the smile faded.  "Daddy, did
looking down my top help?"
                               -

     Richard blinked in surprise.  For a moment he wondered how
to answer that.  Wynter had, of her own volition, just given him
a handjob -- and one of the most satisfying handjobs he'd ever
had -- because she was concerned for him, for his comfort and
need.  She had done so not out of prurient interest, of that he
was certain, or because she wanted something, but simply because
she cared about him.  She deserved no less than the most honest
answers he could give her, for this and all other questions.

     "Yes," he said.  "Honey, I'm really sorry if that
embarrassed you."

     She shook her head.  "No.  Not really.  But how did it
help?"  She turned to rinse the cloth in the basin before
resuming her task.

     "It's kind of hard to explain, honey.  Different guys get
turned on by different things.  I'm what other guys call a 'tit
man.'  I like to look at women's breasts of all shapes and sizes,
and especially on the pretty ones like you."
                               -

     <WOMEN'S."  Not "girls'."> She sat a little straighter and
smiled.  "So, you liked them?"

     "Oh, yes.  Definitely.  Actually, I could see the outlines
through your top when you turned on the light.  That made me very
horny.  You know; turned me on.  I could barely keep it down.
Then I saw one through the sleeve opening and...."  His voice
trailed off.  "Uh, oh."

     She froze in mid-stroke, afraid to move.  "What's wrong?  Am
I doing it wrong?  Does it hurt?"

     "No, honey, it definitely doesn't hurt.  It feels REALLY
good when you wash it, and that plus the thought of what your
breasts looked like are starting to turn me on again."

     A look of surprise crossed her face, but she forced it into
what she hoped was a grownup expression.  "Then I'm doing okay?"

     "Oh, yes!  In fact, if you aren't careful it might get hard
again."

     Her brows arched.  "Really?"  As he nodded, she smiled
brightly and looked at his limp noodle to see if she could see
any change in its size.  Finding none, she resumed wiping it in
silence, rinsed the rag again, and asked in as conversational a
tone as she could manage, "What does it feel like when you get --
turned on?"

     He shrugged.  "It's probably the same for me as it is for
you."

     Wynter avoided his eyes.  "I don't know what that is," she
said in a quiet voice.  "Mother didn't tell me."

     Her father watched her for a moment, his mouth open in
surprise.  "You don't know?"  She shook her head.  "Honey, have
you ever -- uh, masturbated?"

     Her voice was almost inaudible.  "Mother didn't tell me how
to do that, either."

     "Well, most mothers don't.  You haven't learned to do it on
you own?"

     Wynter's eyes were moist as she looked into his and said,
"No."  Was this something she was supposed to teach herself, but
had been such a child that she hadn't done so yet?  But she
didn't have the first clue as to how to begin.  She didn't have a
penis-thingy she could grasp the way she did her father's.

                               -

     Richard guessed her thoughts.  "Well, a lot of girls don't,"
he said, hoping she didn't ask how many since he had no clue to
the percentages.  "I would guess, based on what your mother and
other women have said, that it's probably an empty or itchy
feeling up between your legs, especially near the front.  A
feeling that demands some sort of attention."

     Her hands stilled.  "Is that what that weird feeling is?"
she asked.  "I've felt it before, but I didn't know what it was.
Some times it won't go away for hours."

     Richard was amazed at what she did and did not know.  Surely
she had friends who had by now discovered the delights of
fingering the furrow.  But, of course, Wynter spent much time
isolated from them.  His and Angie's needs were fulfilled by
their jobs and their home.  They hadn't consciously considered
what Wynter's needs might be.  Guilt swept over him, and not the
guilt from letting his daughter handjob his joint to orgasm.
"Well," he said softly, "now you know what you can do about it."

     She shrugged.  "But I don't know HOW.  I wish your hands
were loose so you could show me."

     That did it.  The image that rushed into his mind rushed a
torrent of blood into his cock.

     She felt movement in her hand and dropped her eyes to watch
his erection sprout.  "That has to be the neatest thing I've EVER
seen," she said with a trace of awe.  She squirmed and added,
"Daddy, that feeling is back.  Am I getting turned on, too?"

     The apology for erecting again died in his throat.
"Probably.  Well, this time you can do something about it."  He
hoped he didn't sound as eager to watch that happen as he
actually was.  Then he moaned as her hand encircled his rigid rod
and pumped a few cautious strokes.

     "Didn't I get enough out of you the first time?"

     Richard explained the difference between sexual excitement
and seminal pressure, and how they weren't related.  "So it's a
reaction to an emotional need, not a physical one.  Understand?"

     "I guess," Wynter said.  She no longer made any attempt to
avoid looking at her father's -- her patient's -- throbbing
penis-thingy.  His erection.  She gazed at it openly and without
embarrassment as her hand moved to show it from several angles.
"But how come I feel it -- I guess that's what it is -- since I
don't have any emotional need like you do with Mother gone?"

     Richard shook his head.  Wynter had always been brilliant,
but sometimes she couldn't see a floodlight shining in her eyes.
"Honey, I don't think you understand.  Your mind and body are
telling you that you DO have an emotional need."

     As her eyes lifted to stare at him, her hand lifted his pole
and started jacking it with slow, gentle strokes.  "But I'm not,
well, having to do without."

     Richard laughed gently.  "You said you weren't masturbating.
If you aren't hiding a boyfriend in your closet and letting him
out at night, then you ARE doing without."

     "DADDY!"  She flushed a brilliant scarlet and looked away.

     "'Daddy?'  I thought I was your patient.  Honey, your
hormones are doing more to your body than just making your
breasts grow and turning you into a woman.  Well, no, I guess
that those feelings are a part of them turning you into a woman.
Anyway, they're what's causing the feeling."

     "Oh."  Wynter dropped the subject and began stroking his
stiff stick, causing him to abandon the topic as well.  The soft
moan escaping from his throat made her smile.  After several
seconds her eyes wandered back to his.  A thought struck her.
"Would it help if you looked at my, uh -- at me again?"  She
winced when she realized how childish she must have sounded.

     Richard discovered he was staring at her top, trying to see
through it.  He met her eyes.

     "Honey, not if it makes you uncomfortable."

     "I already said it didn't," Wynter reminded him, a smile
flickering across her lips.  And it didn't.  In fact, the thought
was causing the itch between her legs to intensify.  She guessed
that must be what it was like when he looked at her boobies.  Her
breasts, she corrected herself, not wanting to sound like a
child.

     Her TITS.  That thought caused the odd itch to surge in
intensity.  She squeezed her thighs together involuntarily and
released his rod long enough to strip her top off over her head
and flip her hair back.

     Richard's eyes feasted on his lovely daughter's half-naked
body as she twisted to show herself from several angles.  She was
long in the torso, the way he was, and slender like her mother,
with arms that were skinny like a child's.  The interplay of
light and shadow made her ribs stand out below the small,
wide-spaced hemispheres that looked soft, yet firm at the outer
edges of her chest.  Darker pink, quarter-sized circles drew his
eyes to the small, round nipples that stood out as if inviting
lips and fingers to caress, to worship them.

     Her waist pinched in between her ribcage and her hips.
Above the top of her pajama panties, her navel sat at the top of
a small mound of -- muscle or baby fat?  He wished his hands were
free to determine the nature of the filling under the smooth,
creamy skin.  And what lovely skin!  Either she used moisturizer
all over her body, or the dry mountain air hadn't begun to affect
her the way it had Angie and himself.  Her skin glowed with a
smooth, translucent softness that made him want to sandpaper his
fingertips to make them more sensitive before he stroked them
over the surface of her body, her arms, her legs, her face.

     "Honey, you are absolutely beautiful," he said, unable to
keep a tone of awe from his voice.  "I mean, I knew you were
pretty, but a field of columbines growing in front of a waterfall
would pale in comparison."

     As he expected, she ducked her head and blushed at the
comparison to her two favorite things.  While she enjoyed
compliments, she never knew how to react to them.  <Something
else to discuss with Angie,> he told himself.  His list was
growing.

     Richard wished desperately that his arms, or at least his
hands, were free of the casts and that they were large enough to
touch her everywhere at once, the way he wished his eyes could
focus on every square inch of her at once.  Later he would wonder
what she looked like under the pajama panties.  At the moment,
what he could see was more than enough to fuel his desire for a
month.  She was a superb blend of innocence and eroticism, the
innocence of youthful beauty and the eroticism of blossoming
sexuality.  <If I'm to be struck blind in his life, let it be now
so that this would be the last sight, locked forever in my mind,>
he thought.

     She reached for his dick and began pumping again.  <I wonder
if somebody else masturbating me would make me go blind,> he
wondered.  She froze when he suddenly laughed.  "It's okay," he
said.  "I just thought of something funny, sort of a variation on
an old joke."  She gave him an uncertain look.  He told her what
it was and then had to explain it to her.

     She looked confused but relieved.  Apparently she had
thought he was laughing at her, and he remembered her emotional
roller coaster.  "Never mind about the joke," he said.  "We'll
discuss it later.  You're doing just fine, honey.  It feels every
bit as wonderful as you look."

     Wynter blushed again and whispered, "Thank you," so quietly
that he read it on her lips more than he heard it.  Realizing she
had slumped in girlish embarrassment, she straighten, thrusting
her -- her TITS out for her patient to see.  She squeezed her
legs together because of that dratted itch as she turned to
unblock the view caused by her right arm crossed over her body.
The combination caused her thighs to rub THAT place and send a
small, pleasant wave throughout her body, but she forgot about it
when she realized she was in danger of bumping the suspended cast
of her father's left arm.

     She switched hands.  "I'm sorry," she said after a minute.
"I have trouble keeping the beat with my left hand.  Do you want
me to move to the other side of the bed where I can use the right
one."

     The question brought Richard back from teetering on the
brink of release.  "No, honey, that's not necessary.  I know sex
has been called  The Symphony of Love,' but you don't have to
stick to any beat. You can think of it as a syncopated symphony,
if that helps."

     "Okay," she said in a small voice, wondering if her
ignorance had made her seem childlike again.  Well, one thing was
for sure:  hunching down every time she made a stupid mistake
certainly made her seem so.

     Again she straightened and thrust her tits -- the word
sounded strangely grown up to her and made her itch tingle more
- -- forward for him, flipping back the hair that had crept around
her shoulders when she hunched like a child.  She watched her
father's eyes roam about her body, always returning to her tits
before wandering down another path.  Every time they returned to
her tits, the tip of his tongue crept out and swept along his
lips.  That triggered a forgotten thought which triggered a surge
in the odd itching sensation.  It was something she'd heard her
mother say one night when she couldn't sleep and was about to
knock on their bedroom door.

     "Daddy, would you like to suck my tits?"  She hoped her.
voice wasn't as soft as it had sounded to her.

     "Oh, yes, honey!" he said in a gasp.  "Oh yes!  Oh, fuck!
I'm CUMMING!"  His penis-thingy swelled and began throbbing in
her hand, the way it had when he had shot his semen earlier.

     <Fuck?>  Susie Middleton had told her that word.  Susie
didn't know what it meant, but she said that it was a naughty
word that only grownups said to each other, and Wynter had better
not use it around them.  But Daddy had used it with her, just
like she was a grownup.  She smiled and swelled with pride just
like his penis-thingy had swelled with -- with what?  She guessed
it was the semen that made it swell up, since it went down after
he shot it out.

     And shoot it out he did!  Again she held it to shoot upward,
and again it splashed down all hot and wet and thick and sticky
over her hand and wrist and his belly and legs.  There wasn't as
much as before, but she was still surprised at the amount.  Even
though it was one of the most exciting things she'd ever seen,
she worried that the quantity meant she hadn't done it right the
first time.

     Wynter continued to pump her small, slick fist up and down
the shrinking tube until he opened his eyes and smiled at her.
"Honey, that felt even better than the last time.  You can stop
now, because it's starting to get too sensitive."

     Fear crossed her face.  "Am I hurting you?"

     He laughed weakly. "Not at all.  It feels really, REALLY
good when you keep rubbing after I cum, but after a while my dick
gets too sensitive.  I have to tell you when that is, and then
you can stop before it hurts."  He looked sleepy, but there was
another, happier, look on his face that she hadn't seen since his
accident.  Not counting, of course, after the first time he -- he
CAME.  And he'd called his penis his DICK.  She wondered if she
should start a notebook of all these new terms and what they
meant so that she could use them properly.

     "Oh, good grief!" he said in an exaggerated, playful voice.
"I've really made a mess, and you'd just finished cleaning me up.
I must be the most difficult patient you've ever had."

     "Yep," she agreed with a bright smile that showed her
perfect teeth.  "I can truthfully say that except for Dragon,
I've never had a worse one."

- -----------------------------------------------------------------


                           Five of Six

     Dragon decided it was time for his early morning trip
outside.  Wynter let him out while she replaced the cold water in
the basin with warm water and rinsed the wash cloth which held
most of her father's semen.  She put her hair in a ponytail and
went back to the kitchen to let Dragon in.  He paused at his
water bowl, but stopped drinking and tore across the kitchen
floor when Wynter disappeared down the hall.

     She opened her father's bedroom curtains.  They watched in
silence as the heavy snowflakes tumbled down from the gray sky.
After a few moments she returned to his bedside.  Since it was
warm in the room, and since looking at her tits made her father
happy -- and that other word, 'HORNY,' she left her top off,
thinking she could put it back on if he said anything negative.
She could just pretend she had forgotten all about it.

     She washed and rinsed his -- his DICK, he'd called it;
another word to remember -- and cleaned away the other traces of
his semen.  This time his dick stayed soft, though she noticed he
spent much of the time looking at her tits.  Perhaps this time
she had done her job correctly.  But she couldn't know unless she
asked.

     She didn't replace his pajama bottoms because he said she
would have to bathe him after breakfast and would just have to
remove them again.  She put the wash rag in the bowl, toweled him
dry, and sat on the edge of the bed, carefully turning to give
him a good view of her boobies -- no, her tits.

     She looked him in the eye, because that's what grownups
would do, though she desperately wanted to look anywhere else.
"I have a stupid question."

     His green eyes were looking directly into her blue-green
ones, just like she was another grownup, but the smile that
spread across his face was part of the loving gaze that a father
gives his daughter.  She hoped that fathers gave that same look
to grownup daughters because it made a warm, tingly feeling
spread throughout her, and she never, ever wanted to stop seeing
it.

     "Honey, there's no such thing as a stupid question."

     Her face melted into a sorrowful look that made him want to
hold her in his arms and comfort her.  "Well, this one is 'cause
I don't know the answer."

     Despite himself, he laughed.  "Wynter, if you knew the
answer, you wouldn't have to ask the question.  If you asked
anyway, then THAT might qualify as a stupid question."

     She shrugged.  "I just -- I feel so ignorant about things I
should already know."

     He understood.  "Really?  Do you know how to do an F-seventh
augmented fifth chord?"

     "Sure."

     "I don't.  I don't know how to make any chords on a piano.
I don't know an F-seventh augmented fifth from a C-major."

     Her face brightened and grew animated.  "I can show you.
Just as soon as you get the casts off, I can ...."

     "Maybe later," he said, cutting her off gently.  "But since
I don't know the difference, does that make me ignorant?"

     "Well, no."

     "Of course it does.  No, let me finish.  Being ignorant of
something just means nobody has taught you YET."  He emphasized
the last word to be sure she heard it and understood.  "Honey,
everybody is ignorant of a whole lot of things, but over time
they become less ignorant because they learn new stuff.  Look how
much you've learned since you woke up yesterday morning."

     Wynter thought about that, then became angry with herself as
she felt her cheeks warming.  She sat straighter and thrust her
tits forward, hoping they would keep him from seeing that her
face was blushing like a child's.  His eyes dipped to look at
them, but quickly returned to hers.

     "Wynter, it's not the same thing as being stupid, where
people tell you things over and over and over and you still don't
remember them.  Smart is trying to learn the answers to your
questions; stupid is living in ignorance when you don't have to.
So don't you EVER be afraid to ask somebody a question because
you want to learn something.  Especially of me.  Okay?"

     "Okay," she said in a small voice.  "I love you, Daddy.
Thanks for helping me."

     "I love you, too, honey.  Helping each other is what family
and love and all that mushy stuff is about.  Now:  what's the
question?  Let's get it answered so we can get on to breakfast!"
He gave her a wink and a grin.

     Her head dipped slightly and a small smile spread across her
sweet lips, causing the corners of her eyes to crinkle.  The
smile faded.  "Why did you get, uh -- horny? -- erected that
second time.  Is it because I didn't to a good enough job the
first time, 'n' all the semen I missed made it stiff again?"

     "We're going to bypass college and go straight to graduate
school, eh?"

     The warm feeling tingled through her whole body again.
Whenever her father said that, it was because she had surprised
him with a grownup question, not something a child might ask.  It
really WASN'T a stupid question after all!

     He made a face.  "If you'll scratch the side of my nose
where it itches, I guess I'll have to go on a diet long enough to
answer all your questions.  Uh, you do have more than one
question, don't you?"

                               -

     Breakfast was late because her father had spent over an hour
talking with her and answering all of her questions.  He didn't
try to hurry her, and he didn't duck away from any answers.  She
couldn't believe how wrong some of her assumptions had been, but
he told her that her assumptions made perfect sense based on the
knowledge she had at the time.  Some people, he'd said, could
watch the sun rise in the east all their lives and still assume
that it might rise in the west tomorrow, ignoring what they knew.

     She thought of more questions while she cooked breakfast.
He answered those while they ate.  She liked the way he talked to
her as if she were a grownup, but still managed to tease her just
enough to show that he loved her and was trying to make her
comfortable.  It was like the way he teased Mother.  She thought
about that while she loaded the dishwasher and then brushed his
teeth and shaved him.  When she was a nurse and had to train
students, or when she was a mother and needed to train her
children, she wanted to talk to them just the way her father was
talking to her so that they would feel comfortable and would want
to learn from her.

     Then it was time to fetch the bedpan.  After all that had
happened since she became his nurse, that was less difficult than
either anticipated.  She put the empty bedpan back in its place,
gave him more coffee, and then kissed him before excusing herself
to take her shower before his sponge bath.

     The most difficult part of sponge-bathing him was removing
and replacing his armless, one-legged pajamas because of the
suspended casts.  She took much longer than Mrs. Carter did, but
he said that she also caused him much less discomfort.  After
that praise, her feet didn't touch the floor for hours.  Wynter
also took extra precautions to insure that she didn't wet the
plaster casts and was gentle where the stitches had been removed
the day he came home.  By the time she was finished it was almost
noon.

     She was buttoning his pajama tops when her mother called
from Geneva.  She barely had time to tell her mother that she was
now the nurse when the cell phone rang.  She held the handset to
Richard's ear with one hand and answered the cell phone with the
other.  It was Nurse Carter.

     "I was worried," Mrs. Carter explained.  "I hadn't heard
from you, and then when I tried calling on the house phone I got
a busy signal."

     "Mother called.  Daddy's talking to her now.  We're doing
great so far.  He says I've been a good nurse.  He says I'm a
natural!"

     She thought she heard Mrs. Carter laugh softly.  "Well, I've
been telling you that, too, haven't I?  And that you'd also be a
natural at being a doctor, too, if you wanted to go to medical
school?"

     "Yes, ma'am," she admitted, keeping her eyes on the handset
she was holding to her father's ear.  "But everything's okay
here.  We had breakfast, 'n' I gave Daddy his pills after I
checked all his vital signs, just the way you showed me how to do
them, 'n' I wrote everything on the forms.  Everything was
normal.  I just finished his sponge bath.  Oh, he's taking ibu...
- -- i-bu-pro-fin instead of his pain pills because he wants to
save those in case he needs them 'n' you can't get back here
yet."  She was gushing.  She told herself to slow down and speak
professionally.

     "Very good," Mrs. Carter said.  "Sheriff White said they
should have the road clear late tomorrow afternoon, but I may
have to park by the mailbox and walk the rest of the way.  Did
you have any problems with the bedpan or the urinal, since he's
your father?"

     Wynter liked the crisp, professional tone that Mrs. Carter
used.  She sounded just like one grownup nurse talking to
another.  "No, ma'am.  But he's not my father, he's my patient."

     Again she thought she heard a soft laugh, but the cell phone
always had some static noise here, and Wynter couldn't be sure.
"That's exactly the way to handle it," she said.  "You really are
a natural."

     "Actually, it was his idea," she confessed.

     "Only because he thought of it first.  I know you.  You'd
have realized it yourself if you'd had some time to think about
it.  Can you interrupt to ask if he needs anything from me?"

     He didn't.  "That's nurse business," he explained.  "You
have to handle that.  I'm just the patient, after all, and you
are my professional."

     Wynter's heart suddenly felt as if it were too big for her
chest as the warm tingly feeling spread throughout her body
again.  "I guess that's all now.  No, wait.  When you talk to Dr.
Taylor, ask him what's the soonest we can get Daddy's fingers out
of the casts."

     She had been afraid that Mrs. Carter would ask why, and she
didn't know what she would say in reply, but there was no
question.  Mrs. Carter must have assumed that there was a good
reason, and that was enough for her.

                               -

     Ellen Carter stared at the phone on her desk, leaned back in
her chair, and silently sipped her honeyed tea.  Nervous tension
slowly seeped away.  She was certain that she'd have heard it in
Wynter's voice, even over the noisy connection, if there had been
any problems.  The girl really was "a natural," but she was also
a perfectionist, and her voice revealed when things weren't going
perfectly.  Professions with critical personnel shortages, like
nursing, needed people who could do the job quickly and
accurately enough for the current situation.  Perfectionists,
even the naturals, burned out rapidly.

     Ellen worried about Jack's "problem."  She'd had to remove
the catheter because he was having frequent erections, and it was
causing him additional pain, along with the pain from the semen
buildup that stretched the damaged and weakened vas deferens.
That would be why he wanted his fingers free.

     She knew that she was within a day or so of having to find
some solution for the problem, even if it meant masturbating him
herself.  Unfortunately, that was the only solution she could
think of.  Not that she'd have minded if he wasn't married.  He
was an attractive man, after all, with a wonderful sense of humor
and a way of putting everybody at ease even before he said a
word.  But she couldn't afford to become involved with another
married man the way she had in Pennsylvania.  She liked where she
was and the people around her.

     She didn't want to be forced into moving again.

                               -

     "We'll talk about it when you get back," her father was
saying as she turned the cell phone off.  Her eyes jumped back
and forth between the phone she was holding to her father's ear
and the one she was trying to place in the charger on the night
stand.  "But start thinking about where."  After a moment of
listening, he said, "I love you and miss you, too.  Here's
Wynter."

     Her mother sounded pleased with the job she had done as the
new nurse, and the warm tingly feeling spread again.  Wynter gave
her some of the highlights of her nursing activities, omitting
any reference to certain new skills she had learned, updated
Dragon's situation, reported that she had finally memorized that
piano sonata, and told her what Mrs. Carter had said about the
roads.  She noticed that it sounded more like a conversation
between grownups than their usual mother-daughter exchange.

     "Well, darling, I'm counting on you to keep Daddy safe and
comfortable for me while you're in charge," her mother said.  "If
I'm lucky, I might get to come home a day or two early, and I
hope so, because I really miss both of you.  I found a perfect
present for you yesterday, and I'll bring it, too.  The silly
meeting's running after dark again, and it's about to resume.  I
have to go.  I love you."

     "I love you, too.  Daddy and Dragon and I miss you.  Bye."
She hung up the phone, determined that this time the tear
wouldn't trickle down her right cheek the way it had the last two
times she'd spoken to her mother.

     Richard recognized the struggle within her.  "Wynter," he
said to distract her, "let's not bother with the pajama bottoms.
They're too difficult to put on because of the cast, and the
covers keep me warm enough anyway."

     She glanced to the sheet that was pulled up to his waist,
happy for the distraction.  "Are you sure?"

     "I didn't want them in the first place.  They were your
mother's idea, and, stupid me, I never thought to tell Ellen that
I'd be happier in a hospital gown after your mother left.
Besides, it's plenty warm in here.  You seem to be comfortable
enough without a top."

     He watched her eyes drop and widen.  After her shower, she
had donned frilly yellow pajama panties, but had left the top in
the drawer.  She'd been so busy that she actually had forgotten
she was nude from the waist up.  He was trying to forget that
himself, which wasn't easy with her standing just a foot from his
shoulder and him reclined at an angle that put her sweet, firm
breasts at his eye level.  Those beautiful, fresh young orbs,
pushing their way out from her juvenile chest like new spring
growth, were a mixture of child and adult that he found
maddeningly enticing.  And that very thought was about to awaken
the Beast.

     "Oh.  Uh, do you want me to go put my top back on?" she
asked in a hesitant voice.

     <No way in hell!> he wanted to shout.  Instead he kept his
voice steady and said, "It's up to you.  If you're more
comfortable with it on, I understand."

     "Not really," she said, with a casual air that convinced him
she meant it.  "You said you were a 'tit man.'  Well, there
aren't any other tits around for you to look at.  Or do you only
like to look at tits when you're, uh, horny?  Is that the right
word?"

     "That's the word, though when you're in polite society
instead of here alone with me, the word is 'excited' or
'aroused.'"

     Wynter nodded.  She felt no embarrassment or unintended
reprimand at his words.  He had covered that aspect of the names
and nicknames of sexual objects and activities in their talk
earlier that morning.  He wasn't correcting her; he was only
"reinforcing the lesson," the way he had said all of her teachers
would do in nursing school.

     "And as for when I enjoy looking at titties, honey I like
looking at them anytime, even when I'm not horny or excited or
aroused."  The way he emphasized those last words and his facial
expressions when he spoke them caused her to laugh.  In a softer
voice he added, "Sometimes just looking at them can make me horny
when I'm not."

     Wynter's eyes shifted to his crotch, half expecting to see
the sheet move.  That odd, itchy sensation down THERE suddenly
returned.  When she looked back to his face, his eyes were on her
chest and the tip of his tongue was disappearing back into his
mouth.

     She remembered.  "Daddy, when I was -- uh, jacking you off?
- -- that last time, you said you'd like to suck on them, but then
you -- uh, came?  Do you still want to?"

     Richard struggled with both the physical Beast that he could
feel beginning to swell and with the emotional Beast that desired
his lovely pre-teen daughter.  He knew that the answer had to be
a resounding "No!"  <It's the only possible, permissible answer.
It isn't morally right.  She's my daughter.  She's only eleven
years old.  She's innocent.  She has the most exciting body I
have ever seen in my life.  NO!  BAD ARGUMENT!  She's illegal
jailbait that could land my ass in a sling for years.  She's....>

     "More than anything else in this world," he heard himself
saying, even though he wasn't finished arguing with himself.  His
argument might have been more successful if he had conducted it
while looking at her face instead of her delicious young pink
sweater-fruits.  The battle between reason and desire, he
suddenly realized, was unconventional warfare, and desire always
fights dirty.

     Wynter stroked his face with her left hand and smiled.  "I
guess you know you'll have to talk me through it," she said,
liking the way she managed to avoid sounding childish.

     "Huh uh!" he grunted.  "Remember what I said earlier.  As
long as it doesn't hurt, there's no 'wrong' way.  Honey, part of
the fun of sex is learning about not only your partner but
yourself, too.  You experiment together, rather than following a
script, to discover what pleases both people the most."

     Wynter had remembered that and was pleased with herself for
having done so.  "Oh, I knew THAT part," she said in her most
grownup tone.  "I meant you'd have to talk me through it because
of your casts, 'n' the ropes 'n' things."

     "Oh.  Well, let's see here...."  Within two minutes they had
the bed adjusted to an angle that placed his head where Wynter
could comfortably lean forward, brace her hands on the other edge
of the mattress, and have her small, pink nipples hover just
above his face.  The look on his face as he looked at the soft
little mound in front of his nose made her heart swell with joy
because she knew she was making her father -- her patient -- no,
THIS was for her father -- happy.

     It also made the odd, itchy sensation explode down THERE.

     The itch grew even more worse when she saw the sheet stir
with movement because his dick was hardening.  She wished she
could help him with that immediately, but the suspended arm casts
were in the way.  She would have to wait until after he was
through sucking her tits.

     <"Sucking her tits.">  She liked the grownup sound of that,
but she wondered what it would feel like for her.  Her nipples
were sensitive, though not as sensitive as when she was about to
have her "friend visit."  No!  That wasn't what grownups called
it!  Like her father had said, when she was about to have her
period.

     She hoped that her father's sucking on her tits wouldn't be
painful or even uncomfortable, but if it made him happy, she'd
suffer through it as long as she could.

     His voice interrupted her thoughts.  "Honey, you can still
change your mind if you want to."

     She DIDN'T want to, and the sound of his voice said he
didn't want her to, either.  She twisted slightly at the waist,
rubbing the tiny knob of her left nipple across the tip of his
nose.  She had just invented a new version of her special kiss
for him!  He let out a moan that she now recognized as desire.
HORNINESS.  The itch down THERE became harder to ignore, and she
squeezed her sleek, slender thighs together to try strangling it.

                               -

     Richard was surprised by the coolness of the hard, pink
nipple that brushed across his nose.  Desire flooded through him
in a torrent that almost washed away his guilt over what he was
about to do.  He was glad that Wynter still wanted him to do this
because he wasn't sure she could have stopped him if she had
changed her mind.

     Well, that was stupid.  All she had to do to stop him was
stand up straight.  But she didn't.  And if he guessed correctly,
she was as horny as he was, though she clearly didn't know what
to do about it without his help.  That thought triggered an
onslaught of forbidden ideas that made him gasp and made his cock
hard as iron as it pulled upright, tenting the sheet, and then
continued on until it was aimed at his head.  Despite himself, he
wondered how many of those ideas he would be able to try with his
daughter before Angie returned.

     He also wondered how he would explain them to Angie.  She
had correctly assumed from one of his answers that his pain had
been relieved by a handjob.  She had incorrectly assumed that
Ellen had provided the relief, which Ellen would have done if
Richard had asked her, and he was on the verge of asking for that
very favor.  It was why he had wanted Ellen as his nurse:  he had
suspected that Murphy's Law might separate him from Angie for a
few days.  Angie didn't mind his using Ellen for relief because
she understood the sharp pain that stabbed through his groin if
the built-up semen wasn't released.  She also knew that release
through a wet dream was rarely effective for more than a few
hours.  She would understand that a handjob from Ellen was simply
a medical procedure.

     However, Angie was certain to be pissed that he'd used their
own daughter.  She'd get over it when she understood that Ellen
was trapped in town, that he was in discomfort and Wynter knew
it, and that it was Wynter's idea.  Angie knew how determined
Wynter would be once she realized that her father was in
discomfort, if not pain, and that she might be able to help him
somehow.

     Angie would also be pissed that he hadn't done more to
discourage their daughter, but she'd eventually calm down enough
to understand there was little he could do about it.  She
would....

     The tiny hard berry of his daughter's nipple brushed across
his lips, and they automatically parted to enfold it. The little
pink cone and some of the surrounding velvety white pad eased
into his mouth as he applied gentle suction with his tongue,
stroking it from her left to right because she was leaning over
him from the side.

     His nose drank in the faint, heady aroma of her
freshly-scrubbed skin beneath the subtle bouquet of perfumed
soap.  He could imagine no sweeter aroma -- except, perhaps, that
of her virginal young cunt.  He wondered if he would find a way
to test his theory.  As if from a vast distance he heard the gasp
of her sudden intake of breath that pushed her sweet, sweet young
breast gently downward toward the suction.

     He'd have traded ownership of all the world for a mouth atop
his head to suck the breast pressed there.  He'd have traded
twice that much to have his hands free.  He wanted to hold his
daughter, to squeeze her, to caress every part of her slender,
nubile body at once.  He wanted to run his fingers gently over
every inch of her.  He wanted to run his tongue over every inch
of her.

     God help him he wanted, to the very core of his being, to
fuck her.

     His hips began an autonomous primeval thrusting, rubbing the
underside of his steely cock against the roughness of the sheet.
If he hadn't already cum twice that morning, it would have been
enough to get him off.  For a moment he was almost angry, but
then he was grateful.  He didn't want the sheet to get him off,
he wanted his daughter's gentle young hand to relieve him.

Again.

                               -

     Wynter was startled when her father's mouth swept around her
nipple, taking it and part of her underlying tit into his mouth.
Immediately afterward the wet roughness of his tongue pushed
against her tender flesh and pulled across, suctioning a
wonderful hollow feeling that ran from the tip of her breast --
her tit -- through her supple body to -- THERE, where the itch
was.  The feeling both relieved the itch and made it grow
stronger.  That effect THERE made her gasp, and she gently leaned
into him.

     As her father alternated between sucking and licking, the
hollow feeling throbbed.  This, she knew, was being horny, and
now she really understood why it was so necessary for her to give
her father the relief he needed.  But what about her own need?

     <Later,> she told herself, <after I take care of Daddy.  The
patient's needs come first.  I'll ask him after that.>

     She closed her eyes and bathed in the fascinating new
sensation her father was giving her through her nipple.  It
flowed through her body, warm and exciting, like the feeling she
got when she was treated like a grownup, but even better.
Eventually she opened her eyes, and realized she was moaning
softly.  When had she started that?  It was what her father did
when she jacked him off.  She really WAS horny!  That's what that
feeling was down THERE.

     Movement to her left.  She looked.  Her father's hard dick
was outlined against the sheet, and he was slowly moving it up
and down the sheet using his hips.  She wondered if that's how
FUCKING was done.

     Wait a minute.  She was also thrusting her hips.  They were
slowly moving, just as her father's were, and she was squeezing
her thighs together as she pulled back.  It felt really good down
THERE, near the front, where her -- her -- what was that
"c"-word? -- was located.

     Her father was also moaning -- whimpering, really.  It was
in time with the rhythm of his rubbing against the sheet rather
than sucking and kissing and licking her breast.

     "Daddy?"

     "Wha?" he asked without releasing her from his mouth.

     "Would you like me to jack you off now?"

     A low moan escaped from her throat as he again sucked and
licked his mouthful before grunting a yes.  As she lifted, he
said, "But first I want to kiss and suck the other one, too, for
just a second."

     As she moved her right breast into place he said, "Wynter,
you have the sweetest titties I've ever seen.  They are every bit
as wonderful as the rest of you.  Oh, honey, I love you so very
much."

     "I love you, too," she said as she eased the nipple down to
his mouth.  She meant it with all her heart.

     Five minutes later she watched less than a tablespoon of cum
dribble down his upright cock and over her hand.  "Better?" she
asked when he opened his eyes.

     "You bet!"  His voice was exhausted but happy.  "How are you
doing?"

     She stopped stroking and let her father's dick grow soft in
her hand.  It wasn't as much fun as feeling it grow hard, but
still it felt nice, too.  "I think maybe I'm horny."

     "Well," he said with a yawn, "if you aren't, you did a
superb job of acting like you were."

     "I did?"

     His head fell over to his shoulder, as if he hadn't the
strength to keep it upright on the pillow, and he smiled at her
with sleepy eyes.  "Yep.  It was fun watching you masturbate --
what little I could see with your chest in my face.  Not that I'm
complaining about the view, you understand."

     A look of surprise exploded across her face.  "Masturbate?
Me?  How?"  She was so surprised that the questions blurted out
before she could think of a grownup way to ask them.

     He looked as if he were trying not to laugh, but he did,
though it came out as a strangled chuckle.  A flush spread
against her will.  <Drat!>  It was the first time she'd blushed
in over an hour.

     "I'm sorry," he said.  "I wasn't laughing at your question.
It was the look on your face, and I shouldn't have laughed at
that, either.  It's something all parents do at different times,
and you'll do the same with your kids someday.  You'll feel bad
about it afterward, just like I do now, but you'll do it.  If it
makes you feel better, I'll tell you a secret:  you'll do it
because you love them so much that you can't control it.  No,
that doesn't make sense, but it's true.  I didn't believe Grandpa
King any more than you believe me right now.  You won't
understand until it happens."

     "Daddy," she said, her eyes wide with horror, "I didn't
say...."

     "No, you didn't SAY it, honey, but you THOUGHT it.  You
forget that I used to be a kid, too.  I'm not so old and senile
that I've forgotten those days, you know.  Now: let's answer that
question and then you can clean me up.

     "I think it's called  thigh masturbation,' where the woman
squeezes her legs tight against her clitoris..."

     <That was the word!>

     "...and releases, over and over.  Supposedly some women can
get off while seated in a crowded room and nobody will notice.
Unless she starts screaming with joy, of course."

     Wynter laughed, her eyes sparkling with both humor and
understanding.  And with joy of a different sort:  her father was
once again talking to her like she was a grownup.

     His eyes flicked to her hand still wrapped around his soft
dick and the wet love goo, as he had once called it in their
talk, covering both.  "If you'll clean us both up, then I'll talk
you through getting yourself off with your hands.  It's much
easier that way."

     "Okay."  <Drat!>  She had whispered again, like a kid.  She
gave him a big smile with lots of even, white teeth to let him
know how she really felt.  He smiled back at her, and she rose
from her seat on the edge of the bed.  She held her cum-slimed
hand out for him to see.  "There wasn't much at all this time,"
she said.

     "Well," he said, trying to look apologetic and making her
giggle, "that's the third time in just one morning.  I haven't
done that in -- oh, I guess since before you were born.  But I'll
certainly make more, and you'll have to help with that, too."

     "Good!" she said.  That had sounded like an excited child,
but she didn't care.  She was playing, just like he was.  She
bent to kiss him, first on his nose and then on his lips, holding
her ponytail in her right hand while her left hand hovered aside,
carefully not smearing his semen everywhere.

     She thought she felt his tongue gently caress her lips just
before she straightened and turned for the bathroom.  She wasn't
certain, but it sure did leave a tingly, horny feeling THERE.  In
her "clitoris."  Then she remembered.  Susie Middleton, who had
also called it a "clitty," had told her about "French kissing."
As usual, Susie knew the term but not the reason for its name.
Maybe it was how people in France kissed.  It didn't sound very
good, but apparently grownups really liked it and did it a lot,
so she supposed she'd have to learn how to do it.

     She was about to stick her hand under the running water when
she noticed that the aroma of his semen -- his "cum" -- was
making her horny clitty throb more.  She brought her hand to her
nose and sniffed.  It was odd, but not unpleasant.  She sniffed
twice more before realizing she was doing thigh masturbation
again, just like she'd been doing when Daddy was sucking her
titties.  Well, she was about to learn a much better way than
thigh masturbation!

     She washed her hand and filled the rinse bowl with warm
water, putting it, the liquid soap, and a wash cloth on the tray.

     Lost in thought, she almost tripped over Dragon as she left
the bathroom.

- -----------------------------------------------------------------


                            Six of Six

     Exhausted by his third cum of the morning, her father had
dozed off while waiting for Wynter to return with the wash cloth
and warm water.  She put the tray on the roll-away table and
stood beside the bed, watching him for almost a minute.

     He lay there at a forty-five degree angle with his green
eyes closed and his head tilted down toward his left shoulder.
His arms and right leg in their suspended casts looked terribly
uncomfortable, and she supposed they were, but he never
complained about them to her.  The hem of his pajama top was
pushed halfway to his rib cage, and his exposed, semen-coated
dick hung over the left side of his scrotum -- his NUTS, or his
BALLS, he had called them -- the way his head drooped to his
shoulder.  His left foot and ankle were under the rumpled pile of
the sheet.

     His dark hair was in desperate need of a trim and
shampooing, but he was still the handsomest man in the whole
world to her.  With as much gentleness as she could manage, she
washed away the cum, dried him, and pulled the sheet into place.
At the last second she leaned forward, holding her long blonde
ponytail to keep it from tickling him, and placed a gentle kiss
on his limp dick.  Her father never moved, but she almost jumped
out of her skin when the horny feeling exploded THERE between her
legs as her lips touched his limp flesh.

     The horny itch was more intense than ever while she rinsed
out the wash rag and cleaned the washbowl in the bathroom sink.
She wondered if "thigh masturbation" would help, and realized she
was already doing it.  It was helping -- some.

     She hung the wash cloth to dry, pushed the bowl to the back
of the vanity top, and then braced both hands on the front of the
sink.  She began thrusting her hips and squeezing her slender
legs together, really hard.  It still helped some, but she knew
she could do it easier with her hands.  Her father had said so.

     She wished he hadn't fallen asleep before he could tell her
how.

     <NO!!!>  She immediately took that wish back.  That wasn't
fair to him.  He was, after all, badly hurt, and she was being
selfish.  She should have wished instead that he hadn't had the
accident in the first place.

     Okay, she would just have to teach herself.  Or try to teach
herself until he woke up.  He had said that some girls taught
themselves, so maybe she could, too.

     Where?  Her room?  He might wake up and need her, and it was
her responsibility to be there with him if he needed her.  Okay,
then:  his room.  But what if she made too much noise and
disturbed him while he was getting his rest?  He really did need
to rest so his body could heal.  Mrs. Carter had explained that
part of healing to her.  And he had said something about
"screaming with joy."  Would she do that and wake him up?  Maybe
she should just wait.

     But the -- the HORNY feeling was so strong!

     <Okay,> she decided as she entered his recovery room, <I'll
just experiment.  If I can't be quiet, then I'll stop until he
wakes up.>

     Now where?  Her sleeping bag or the chair?  Her sleeping
bag, she decided, would be best because she didn't know what
would happen when she did it.  She might pass out or fall over or
something strange.  She didn't know if that was possible, but a
nurse was supposed to be prepared for anything.

     She slid off her frilly yellow pajama panties and carefully
spread them in the seat of the chair.  Her white cotton panties
joined them, and then she lay down on top of her sleeping bag,
spreading her legs so that her knees were at the sides of the
bag.  Dragon watched briefly from where he had sprawled at his
door guard station, then lowered his head.

     Wynter felt strange lying there naked on the floor.  It
would have felt strange to her even if her sleeping father and
Dragon weren't in the room with her.  <No, that is being
childish,> she decided.  After all, she had already been
half-naked in the room with her father awake, and she'd seen --
she'd handled -- his sex stuff.  And she'd been eager to let him
teach her how to masturbate with her hands.  What did she think
she was going to do -- sit in her room and listen to him over the
intercom?

     She arranged her pillow and a fold of the sleeping bag to
raise her head.  She looked down the long, white distance between
her titties and across the slight rise of her tummy to the small
fluff of blonde hair on the bulge right there at the beginning of
her VAGINAL REGION.  Her SPLIT.  What else was it Susie had
called it?  She had forgotten to ask her father what adults
called it, but she was too horny to care now.  She idly wondered
if her father would like looking at her down THERE, too, and felt
the horny sensation grow stronger.

     She ran the fingertips of both hands through the fine hair
that looked like corn silk where it grew just above the point of
her split and down the fat little pads on either side of it.
That felt nice and made the horny feeling stronger, but it didn't
give the relief that thigh masturbation had.

     Her fingertips pressed down on the fat little pads and slid
downward.  That felt better, and it helped a little more.  She
slid her fingers back to the beginning and then pushed them
toward each other, squeezing her clitoris -- her clitty --
between them.  Her clitty was hard.  Her father had said it was
like a tiny version of his dick, and it sort of felt like it.
Her fingertips met and squeezed her hard little clitty between
them.

     She gasped at the wave of pleasure that radiated outward
from it like heat from a candle.  It was like the warm feeling
when she was praised for acting like a grownup, but lots more
intense.

     She pulled her fingers back and then pushed them together
again.  And again.  And again.  She began to understand why her
father liked having her stroke his dick so much -- it felt so
good that she didn't have words to describe the sensation.  She
was making the horny feeling grow stronger, yet she was also
relieving it at the same time.  That seemed odd, but she could
worry about the reason for that later.  Or she could ask her
father.  He would know, and he wouldn't think it was a dumb
question, either.

     That noise -- she was making a squishing noise when she
squeezed and a smacking noise when her fingers pulled back.  She
hadn't urinated -- PEED, the grownups would say.  Then she
remembered:  had her period started early?  <Drat!>

     She slid a fingertip into her split and down to her vaginal
opening.  CUNNY was what Susie had called it, and no, Susie
didn't know why it was called that, either.  As her fingertip
slid along her clitty the wonderful feeling seemed to grow ten
times better.  Her eyes made big circles and she gasped, but she
had to check her cunny.  She didn't want to get blood all over
her sleeping bag if her period had started, and as much liquid as
she found between the two flaps inside her split and at the
entrance of her cunny, she just knew that this was her strongest
period yet.

     She steeled herself before removing her finger, reminding
herself that nurses couldn't be squirmy about the sight of blood,
and then lifted it to where she could see...

     ...that it was covered in a clear liquid, not blood, that
felt something like her father's cum, but slicker.  It must be
her "natural lubrication" that he had mentioned when she asked
him about the mechanics of sex, sort of like the natural
lubrication that oozed out of his dick after he got hard but
before he came.  She jumped up and rushed to the bathroom for a
towel to place under her butt to keep from staining the sleeping
bag.  Then her fingers moved back to her split.

     She slid one finger between the two flaps and noticed that
they seemed not just thicker but also longer, too.  Normally they
were even with her split, but now they seemed to stick out a
little bit past the edge of it.  She slid the finger along her
clitty again.  This time the wave of pleasure was like heat from
a fireplace.

     After a little experimentation she discovered the most
comfortable way to rub her clitty that gave her the most
pleasure.  Strange: it wasn't the same as the way she rubbed her
father's dick.  But he had said there were different ways to do
it.  After a while it became uncomfortable, but she could dip her
finger in the slippery wet pool of natural lubrication and then
go back to rubbing.  Strange how the horny feeling got better,
yet got stronger and more demanding at the same time.  Strange,
but fun because it felt really GOOD!

     She began to understand her father's reactions as she jacked
him off.  She must be experiencing the same feelings.  But what
made him cum, and how did THAT feel when he did it?

     Without conscious thought on her part, her fingertip dipped
for more lubrication and resumed rubbing along the side of the
tiny hard stick of her clitty.  It felt really intense when she
rubbed the tip of it, but she could take only a few seconds of
that before it became uncomfortable, even with lubrication.  But
along the side and bottom like this -- that must be what her
father felt when she rubbed the sides and bottom of his dick.

     The feeling got stronger whenever she thought of her
father's dick.  Her mind replayed the times she had jerked him
off, and her whole cunny felt like a giant spring was being
tightened inside it.  She remembered the feel of his dick in her
hand, the sight of the cum shooting upward, it's hot wetness as
it splashed down around and over her hand, how slick his dick was
when she began sliding her hand along his shaft instead of
working the loose skin up and down it.  The spring grew tighter
and her clitty seemed to swell.

     She thought of the kiss she placed on the dick of her
sleeping father.

     The overwound spring exploded in a thousand pieces, each one
surfing through her body on a wave of super-wonderful pleasure
that she never dreamed even existed, let alone could be felt by
anyone, especially by young Wynter King.  She felt her cunny
spasm like a charley horse in her leg, except that in her cunny
it felt GOOD!  Her clitty was the center of the universe, and
wave after wave after wave of pure, absolute, wonderful pleasure
was pulsing out from it, and she never ever wanted it to stop.

                               ���

     Richard awoke, though his eyes remained closed against the
light.  The twist in his neck was becoming painful.  He twisted
his head to the right and stretched it to relieve the kink that
was developing.  He should have Wynter lower the head of the bed
so he could sleep comfortably, but she wasn't in the room.  If
she had been, she'd have jumped to his side when he moved.
Perhaps she was preparing lunch.  His stomach said it was
time....

     Soft, faint whimpers reached through his drowsiness and
slapped his mental face into full consciousness.  There was no
mistaking what they were.  His eyes opened.  The noon sun was
almost poking through the clouds despite the heavy, wet flakes
that were still cascading from the clouds.  He turned his head
back to the left and raised his head as much as he could.

     Because of the bed and his left arm cast, he could see just
Wynter's head, shoulders, and the very upper part of her chest
where she lay on her sleeping bag.  The swell of her growing
breasts was hidden by the arm cast, and there was no way he could
move enough to see around it.  <Damn.> Her sweet sweater-meat
excited him more than any other pair of knockers he had ever
seen, large or small.  He wasn't certain whether that was because
of the forbidden aspect of his family relationship to her, the
forbidden aspect of her pre-teen age, or just because they were
so goddamned cute.  All of the above, perhaps.

     Her eyes were squeezed shut and her lips were drawn back in
a grimace.  Her right shoulder was moving, responding to the
movement of her hand which he knew was buried in her young furrow
- -- he could hear the liquid, slurping sounds of her fingers
moving in her wet flesh.  She was panting like Dragon on a warm
day, with an occasional moan or grunt slipping softly from her
throat like a prisoner seeking freedom.

     Richard suffered from mixed emotions.  He had anticipated
having her sitting in the chair beside him where he could watch
her fingers discover the pleasures to be found in the
honey-drenched valley at the bottom of her delicious naked body,
where he could watch the expressions on her beautiful young face
as she felt each new thrill that her fingers could coax from the
slippery wet toys she had owned for eleven years but had never
played with.

     He was also happy that she had discovered the joys on
masturbation on her own.  Children should make that discovery
themselves.  He'd been half her age when he discovered that he
could have more fun with the Beast than with the entire contents
of his toy chest.  If she weren't so damned isolated during parts
of the year, then perhaps she'd have heard about the act from
some little friends who had already discovered that a finger in
the right spot beat a Barbie doll hands down.

     He again was shamed by his guilt over the disadvantages
Wynter had experienced because he and Angie had wanted to indulge
themselves with this isolated house.  But that would be corrected
soon enough.  He'd told Angie that they would be moving when he
was able to resume a normal life and to think about where she
wanted to move.  She hadn't understood why, and she didn't have
time to stay on the phone to talk, but she knew that he was
serious; she knew he had already decided for Wynter's sake, and
that nothing she could say would change his mind.  Not that she
would try to change it once she understood.

     His attention was jerked back to the present by the strained
groan coming from below the foot of the bed.  His daughter's dark
red face was now turned toward him.  Her blonde eyebrows had
been pulled together by the grimace distorting her fragile
beauty.  In the quiet of the room he could just hear the squishy
sounds that indicated how rapidly her fingers were now moving in
her juicy young twat.  A soft, "Ah!" was repeated and then
stretched into a long "Eeee!" sound as her head thrashed back to
her left.

     And then she came.

     If his hands had been free, Richard would have been trying
to beat the Beast back to life, but it was as dead as last
Tuesday's road kill.  But then he'd have been distracted from the
spectacle barely visible to him.

     He thought words were mixed in with the soft grunts, groans,
and gasps that his young daughter voiced as her first ever orgasm
rippled throughout her, but they weren't clear enough for him to
be certain.

     She slowly wound down, and her "aaah"s of pleasure devolved
into happy giggles that made him ache to hold her while she was
still a child and told him that her childhood would end far too
soon to suit him.

     Her shoulders showed him the progress as tension left her
body.  Soon the vowel sounds ceased, but she continued to pant
for air.  Her head lolled back to her right, but her eyes
remained closed for several more seconds.

     Dragon had arisen when she started whimpering.  He stood by
her head and sniffed.  Deciding she was apparently okay, he lay
down by the top of her sleeping bag, just in case he were needed
for an emergency.  He put his chin on his forepaws and watched
her.

     When Wynter's eyes opened, they were looking directly into
Richard's.  They went wide and she gasped.

     He had anticipated it.  "I see we left the classroom and
went to the lab exercise," he said with a huge, heartfelt smile.
"We did good!"

     The moment's hesitation on her face vanished in a smile all
white toothed and coral lipped and beautiful.  "The classroom was
closed," she explained, pleased with how grown-up she sounded,
"but I didn't want to get farther behind on my lessons."

     "I liked that last chord.  Was that an F-seventh augmented
fifth?"

     To his surprise she didn't laugh.  Instead, her face jumped
to the panicky expression she wore when she decided she had made
a mistake.  <Now what have I said?>

     She bolted upright and scooted back so that he could see her
face.  He told himself to concentrate on that and ignore those
heavenly young titty mounds for a moment or two.  "Oh, Daddy, I
didn't mean to make noise and wake you up!"

     "But you didn't, honey.  A neck spasm woke me up, otherwise
I'd have slept right through it."  Well, that might not be
exactly truthful because her orgasm itself was a little loud, but
perhaps he might have slept through that, too.  He was exhausted,
after all.  But her face returned to normal, then to mother hen's
look of concern.

     "You have a neck cramp?  Do you want me to rub it?"  She
rose quickly to her feet.

     His eyes locked on the small blonde thatch.  The hair next
to her slit gleamed wetly.  Peripheral vision noticed that her
head dipped as she froze in place and looked down.

     "Oh."  Her head came back up, but his eyes wouldn't --
couldn't -- rise to meet hers.  The Beast stirred, and she
smiled.  "Do you like looking at me like this, too?" she asked in
true innocence.

     Richard's mind raced to find the right thing to say, but his
mouth opened and blurted, "That has to be the cutest little pussy
that was ever created.  It never occurred to stupid me that you
were growing hair on it."

     Wynter felt the warm glow spread through her.  <"Pussy.">
Another word for her to remember.  "I'm glad you like it," she
said with a shy smile, forcing her head to stay up so that she
could look him in the eye like a grownup.  His eyes however were
still locked on her split.  Her pussy.  "But Daddy, what about
your neck?"

     "Huh?  Oh.  It's okay now."

     She wanted to get closer to him, but then he wouldn't be
able to see her pussy, and he really seemed to be enjoying
looking at it, the way he liked looking at her tits.  Her mind
raced for a solution.  "Daddy, do you want me to sit on the edge
of the bed so you can see my pussy better?"

     "Yes," he whispered.  She was surprised because her father
suddenly sounded like a kid, and looked like one, too, the way he
stared with wide eyes.

     She perched on the edge of the bed with her left foot on the
mattress, then flopped her leg over his left leg, but not bumping
the right one in the cast.  She had just enough room to hook her
heel onto the edge of the mattress and spread her legs for him to
see her pussy.  When she did so, the horny ache in her clitty
returned to life.

     "Guess what?" she said in an excited voice.  "I think I
came!"

     Her father's eyes roamed over her pussy.  It was all wet
with her natural lubrication smeared over the half-inch long,
fine blonde hair around her split, and she wanted to go wash and
dry it for him, but he seemed to enjoy looking at it anyway.

     "Honey, I know you did."

     "Really?"  Her wide-eyed smile faded into a look of
satisfaction.  "It was AWESOME!  Thank you for telling me that I
could do that.  I never knew it would feel so -- so -- awesome!"

     "It was my pleasure.  Yours, too, I see," he added in an
exaggerated voice.  They laughed together, and then he spoke
quietly, as if embarrassed.  "Honey, next time you need to get
off, maybe -- maybe you could sit where I could watch?"  If he
had tried to hide the hopeful tone in his voice, he had failed
miserably.

     "Sure," she said.  "I just wish your hands were free so that
you could do me the way I do you.  If -- if you'd like to, I
mean."

     She watched his eyes change to the way they looked when he
was trying to decide something hard.  He was quiet for many long
seconds, not moving except for his eyes.  She guessed that
whatever it was, it must be something very important, so she
remained seated there with her legs spread and the itchy, horny
feeling growing stronger.  She was thinking about rubbing her
clitty with her fingers when he finally spoke.

     "Wynter," he finally said in a quiet voice, "have you ever
heard of oral sex?"

                             THE END


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