I watched as the doctor removed the cast from my arm and leg. The itching had driven me crazy and it was such a relief to finally have them off.
"Hey, Sam. That must feel better," Dad said.
"You've been an excellent patient, Samantha," the doctor said. "The receptionist will set up a follow-on appointment."
Dad helped me down the corridor and into the car. My broken bones were caused by a drunk driver speeding through a red light. He hit the driver side of the car and I thought I was going to die.
I started therapy the next day and Dad acted as my driver and workout partner. In the evenings, Dad helped me stretch and began the most wonderful massages I ever imagined.
The first massage was a bit awkward. Dad had rented a massage table and I wore only a bra and panties. Mom had left us years ago and although Dad had seen me in bra and panties before, it seemed a little weird to get touched in such a personal way with so little clothes on.
I started on my tummy and was all covered. Dad lifted the blanket up until my legs were exposed and poured oil onto his hands. It felt warm as he touched just below my knees and the warm oil and soft touch felt especially good on my broken leg.
"Am I rubbing too hard?" Dad asked.
"No. It feels good."
Both the tibia and fibula had been fractured and Dad's touch was just what the doctor ordered. He continued on my left leg and then moved to the right. His grip was strong, but he seemed to know where to add more pressure and when to use a feather touch.
I never used to like my feet being touched, but the way his thumbs moved made my whole body shiver in a most delicious way.
He started to pull on my toes. "This little piggy went to market. This little piggy stayed home. This little piggy had roast beef. This little piggy had none and this little piggy cried wee wee wee all the way home."
At the end of the verse, Dad ran his fingers over my legs and up the the end of the blanket that was just covering my bottom. For a moment, I didn't know he would stop and I clenched my cheeks hard.
"There we go,"he said and lowered the blanket over my legs and then rolled the top of the blanket down until it rested level with the top of my panties.
He varied his touch over my back from his fingers, to his palms, to the lower half of his arm. My bra strap was getting in the way, but he didn't ask to undo it and I didn't offer.
He helped me roll over and he massaged my right arm and then the left. My left arm had been broken and he spent more time on that one. After the pain of the breaks and the frustrating itching, his touch was heavenly.
He placed my arms over my tummy and then moved to the end of the table by my head. My hair was long and straight and he moved it over my ears and let it hang down.
He rubbed my temples and I sighed with pleasure. Nothing had felt this good, nothing until he rubbed over my forehead and down around to my chin. It was relaxing and arousing and I hoped he didn't see that my nipples were stiffening.
I was like a wet noodle by the time Dad was done and he assisted me to the shower and off to bed I went. I normally slept wearing a t-shirt and undies, but I was too relaxed to put them on and slept in the nude.
Therapy was every second day and each time Dad would end my day with a massage. I was getting spoiled and loved the concern and consideration he was giving me.
After the first week, the massages were changing slightly. His hands went past my thighs and touched the lower part of my bottom. They never lingered for more than a moment and I didn't want to mention it and then him doubting if he should touch me at all.
He also touched the sides of my breasts when I was laying on my tummy, but he never touched near them when I was on my back. Perhaps my mind was playing games on me.
Mid-way through the second week, Dad was massaging my left thigh and went high enough that I felt his finger touch my panties and pussy. I didn't move or say anything and his finger rubbed slightly over my lips and then he quickly rubbed down my leg to my feet.
I had kissed boys and let the last guy I went steady with touch my breasts. Many times he tried to rub between my legs and every time I moved his hand away.
When my Dad switched and rubbed my shoulders he asked if I would let him undo my bra. I thought for a moment and then said, "sure."
He slowly undid the three clasps and I felt a twitch of arousal. My mind raced and I wondered what thoughts were going through his mind.
His fingers glided over my back and it was much better this way than being blocked by the back of my bra. He stood beside me, both hands pressing along my spine and then slipping down to my sides. I was getting spoiled and hoped the day would never come when he would stop doing this.
My breasts were underneath me, but the exposed parts were now being massaged by my Dad. I thought of telling him to stop, but for weeks I was in such discomfort and now every touch felt so good.
"Roll over, sweetie," Dad said and I turned, with his help, onto my back.
My unstrapped bra covered my breasts, but a gust of wind could easily change that.
