Samantha's Soothing Hands

The moment Hank touched the hot pipe he knew he'd made a mistake. He snatched his hand away quickly as he could, but the damage was done. He thought he'd gotten lucky at first—he didn't feel anything—but then came the searing pain, and he thought he was going to black out.

Hank was usually a tough guy, but the pain was bad enough that when the foreman insisted he go to the ER, Hank didn't resist. He intentionally didn't look at his hands. Seeing the damage would make it real. The foreman called his son to meet him at the hospital. Tom was in college and available. His daughter Samantha was working, and he did not want to pull her away. Hank was long divorced and between girlfriends, so there was no one else to call.

"You got lucky," the ER doc told him. "It's only second degree burns. If you didn't have excellent reflexes the damage would have been much worse. You should be able to make a full recovery."

"How long will I be out?" Hank asked. He was one of those men who needed to work. He hated being idle.

"It is fairly deep, so I'm guessing you're going to need a couple weeks to recover. The good news is that I doubt there will be much scarring, and no permanent damage."

"Thanks, doc."

On the inside, Hank was cursing. He worked with his hands, so returning to work before he was healed was not an option. Not only that, the wound was on his dominant hand, which was going to make performing everyday tasks difficult. The burn would have to be treated and redressed daily. He knew Samantha would be right there to help him, but Hank hated leaning on anyone. He did not want to be a burden.

"Daddy! What happened?" Samantha said when she got home from work.

"It was just a little work accident. It's no big deal. I might need a little help with the dressing, but I'll be fine, really."

"Don't worry, I'll take care of you."

"Really, Sam. It's not your responsibility."

"I know you like to think you're a big strong man, but it's okay to take some help."

"It'll be fine. Trust me."

Hank was already finding it difficult to do things with his off-hand. Opening a beer with one hand was nearly impossible. He'd been trying for 10 minutes when his daughter came home.

"Let me do that, Daddy." She took the bottle from him and twisted it open.

"Thanks, Sam."

Samantha hated seeing her dad like that. she knew it was important to him that she saw him as invincible. It was going to kill him to accept help from her, but she was not going to let him struggle to fend for himself. She felt obligated to be there for him—especially since he didn't have anyone else right now. It had been a couple years since he'd been serious with anyone and had increasingly become a homebody. Samantha didn't understand it. She knew he was a good looking guy. He was in his early 50s, but was still strong as an ox and had a full head of steel-gray hair. More than one of her friends had come sniffing around him, only to be warned off by Samantha. She didn't know if it would really bother her if her father dated someone younger, but she did not want it to be one of her friends. She had always felt oddly jealous when one of her friends talked about how hot her father was.

Hank went through to the living room and Samantha followed with a beer of her own. She had become a good companion to him, but he really wished she was out leading her own life. Samantha was only 26. She should be out having fun and hanging out with her friends—not watching the game with her old man. His daughter had had a serious boyfriend for several years, but they broke up about six months ago, and it was bad. Samantha had not expressed any interest in dating since then. Hank knew she had to have guys chasing after her. Even though she was his daughter, he knew she was beautiful. Samantha was tall and fit, but thicker and curvy, like her mother had been. Her ass was nice and round and her tits were big and beautiful—not that he dwelled on that stuff. She had fiery red hair and wonderful emerald eyes. Hank knew from an early age that he'd be chasing the boys away from his door. No boy would ever truly be good enough for his little girl.

"So what did the doctor say? What do we have to do?" Samantha asked.

Hank ran down the doctor's instructions, but assured her he could do most of it himself. "I don't want you anchored to the house because of this."

Samantha gave him one of her luminous smiles. "Did it ever occur to you that I like spending time with my dad? At least there's one man in my life who I know is not a jerk who's going to screw me over."

"Sam, not all men are like that. Your brother isn't like that."

"No, he's a sweet kid. He's also always at his girlfriend's, so he's not going to be much help with this."

Hank ignored that. "I just think you need to get yourself out there again. I've found that the best way to get over heartache is to get back on the horse." It was another version of a conversation they'd had numerous times since Samantha's break up.

"Like the way you went tearing through all those women after you and mom divorced?"

Samantha recalled how in those first couple years it seemed like her father was with a different woman every week. At first she was embarrassed by it, but then her interest was piqued by the sounds coming from his bedroom. Their house was small enough that if her dad was having a particularly good night she could not avoid hearing it. That knowledge had always made Samantha shy about having sex in the house herself, and on the occasions she did, she struggled to be quiet—quite unusual for her. The curvy red head had a robust sex drive.

"I'm not suggesting..." Hank couldn't even finish the thought.

"No double standards here, Dad. If you really want me on the horse, I could throw on a low-cut top and go down to the bar."

"Sam, come on. Knock it off. You know what I mean."

"I'm just teasing you, Dad."

"It's not funny."

"I'll meet someone when I meet someone. I believe in leaving things in fate's hands. Besides, I could say all the same things about you. When is the last time you had a date?"

"It's not as easy when you get older, Sam. Hopefully you'll never have to worry about that."

"You're not old yet. And I'm sure there are still plenty of women who'd like to jump on the horse."

"Sam! Stop it. We shouldn't talk about that sort of thing."

On more than one occasion Samantha had wondered how much of a horse her father was. No, she didn't think of him in those terms, but based on those noises coming from his bedroom he had to be pretty large down there. She'd always thought it was unfair that a woman's assets were right there for all to see—and judge—but she couldn't find out what a guy had going on until it was too late.

"You started it."

"How about you get us more beers and we concentrate on the game?"

"Yes, sir!"

Neither Samantha nor Hank were lightweights when it came to drinking, but combining beer with painkillers was not a good idea, and Hank was pretty goofy when it came time to go to bed. Samantha was tipsy too, but she was able to stand on her own two feet. Hank stood and fell right back to the couch.

Samantha helped her father back to his feet and then assisted him upstairs to his bedroom. He had to stop and pee, but once in the bathroom Hank found it impossible to get his jeans open. Reluctantly, he called in his daughter.

"It's okay, Daddy. It's not the first time I've had to get a guy's pants open," she laughed.

"Hey! I don't need to know about that," Hank insisted, while thinking that his daughter was a little too good at getting his belt unbuckled and his jeans open. He wasn't under any illusions that she was a virgin, but still, he didn't want to think about that.

Samantha flipped up the toilet seat for him and said, "Let me know when you're done."

"I can take it from here," he insisted.

She closed the bathroom behind her and waited outside. She heard the flush, followed by the sink, and then Hank running into the door. She eased it open and he stumbled into her arms and she held onto him tightly. Although she was nearly 5'8", Hank had a good six inches on her. It was a good thing she was so strong.

"Come on, big guy. Let's get you to bed."

Samantha pulled back the sheets with one hand, and deposited him on the double bed. Hank fell with a oof. Flat on his back, it felt like all the blood was rushing to his head and he was suddenly confused. It took him a moment to remember the dark bedroom was his. He did not remember that the busty woman standing over him was his daughter. He took in the silhouette of those big tits in the tight t-shirt and the long hair hanging down as she bent over. Did he get really drunk and bring some woman home from the bar again? If he did, he'd stuck gold this time. This woman was built like a brick shithouse, just like his ex-wife. He tried to reach for her, but his right hand didn't seem to be working. She pulled his shirt over his head, brushing his hands away. And then she was pulling his jeans down. This one must really want it, he thought. He tried to reach for those tits again, but she easily pushed his hands away.

"Easy there," Samantha said.

Hank was confused, she could see that, so she didn't take Hank's wandering hands personally. Besides, he couldn't be doing what it seemed he was, could he? Samantha had to rethink that when she saw the giant snake hiding in her father's boxers. It wasn't standing straight up, but it clearly wasn't soft either. She was entranced and kept staring at it for a long minute. Her dad was indeed hung like a horse. It was the biggest cock she had ever seen. Samantha finally realized what she was doing and snapped out of it. She pulled the sheets over him to get that thing out of her sight.

"Goodnight, Daddy," she said, giving him a kiss on the forehead.

The words shocked Hank, and he was instantly ashamed. That stacked girl he was trying to grope was his own daughter. He mumbled a goodnight and was relieved when she left. He tried to think of anything but those tits, willing his tingling prick to go back down.

Samantha closed the door to her own bedroom and lay down without undressing. She was trying to get her head clear, and tried to chalk her jumbled thoughts up to having too many beers. Her heart was thumping and she kept telling herself that it was not because of what she saw in her dad's boxers. It couldn't be. Even when she pushed a hand inside her black stretch pants and panties she told herself the dampness down there was completely unrelated. She cleared her mind as she touched herself, because she could not be thinking of her dad as she did that.

+++

Hank's head was full of cotton in the morning and he groaned when he rolled over. The pain meds from the night before had worn off and his hand was throbbing. He tried to recall the night before, but it was all a fog after a certain point. He and Samantha were watching the game and talking, and that was all he remembered. He had no idea how he ended up undressed and in bed. The only explanation was that Samantha put him there. He pulled on a pair of sweatpants, because it was all he could manage, and followed the smell of coffee downstairs.

Samantha was moving around the kitchen, getting her day started. She wore a tight, low-cut black tank top emblazed with a logo and short denim skirt that laced with a leather thong at the waist—her waitress uniform. It was more revealing than Hank liked, but all the girls at the bar and grill wore the same top. They just didn't wear it the way his daughter did. Although she had a college degree, she'd had trouble finding a job in her field. Hank felt bad about how difficult it was for kids these days. He never even went to college, but he'd found a good paying job in the trades right away when he was young.

"Hey, Dad. Want some coffee?" Samantha asked. Hank sensed something odd in her body language.

"That'd be great, Sam. Thanks." He sat at the table and she brought him a mug of steaming black coffee—just the way he liked it. "You're up kind of early."

"It's after ten o'clock. You slept in."

"Really? Wow. I don't think I've slept late in the last twenty years." Hank grabbed his pill bottle from the table, but it was impossible to open one-handed.

"Here, let me," Samantha said. She leaned over and took it from him, her tits temporarily in his face. He could see right down to her black bra. He immediately looked away, and she jerked up. Hank had no idea why he noticed that, but he didn't like it. God, he hoped his daughter had not noticed his peek.

Samantha noticed, and she turned away when she opened the bottle, not wanting her father to see the strange look on her face. She knew it was not his fault, but she could not get the effect she'd had on him out of her mind. And worse, she could not forget the way she'd responded to that reaction. After she climaxed last night, she told herself it was nothing. She was drunk and it had been forever since she'd gotten laid, that was all. Her dad was probably right. She needed to get back out there and meet a guy. If nothing else, she needed to blow off some steam. But even now, she was all too aware of how manly her shirtless father was, with his muscular chest covered with sparse graying hair.

"It says to take one now, and another in four hours. I won't be home from work then, so should I leave the bottle open for you?"

"Yeah, I guess so," he said, defeated.

"Dad, this is only temporary. Don't sweat it. I'll be back tonight to make dinner and change your dressing."

Hank put his good hand on hers and squeezed it. "Thanks, Sam. You really are the best."

"I'm going to take off early today, unless you need me. I have some errands to take care of." The truth was that Samantha felt awkward and hoped that some time away from her father would get her head straight.

"Go do what you need to do, hon. I'll be fine."

Hank watched Samantha hustle around the kitchen and was sure something was up—he just had no idea what it was. Had he said something stupid when he was drunk? He remembered being on her about getting out and meeting someone. He hoped he hadn't ridden her too hard—or said something inappropriate. Samantha left and he was left alone to figure out what was bugging his daughter.

The day was long and boring. Hank just did not know how to be still. He grew bored with watching television. He wanted a beer, but could not open a bottle by himself. He ended up pouring a couple shots of whiskey, since he managed to twist that cap off.

Hank was also oddly horny. It had been a while since he'd gotten laid, but that didn't explain why he couldn't think of anything but sex. He wished he knew how to use the computer in the corner because he knew he could easily find porn there. He wondered if it would be like being with a stranger if he jerked off with his left hand. He put his hand in his sweatpants and rubbed himself experimentally. He was hard in a second.

Without any porn, Hank went back to his spank bank. It had been a long time since he'd done that. the shots of whiskey took him all the way to his youth, back to when he first met his ex-wife. He remembered a night in the woods when they had gone to a bonfire with a bunch of other kids their age. As the night got late, Hank dragged Christie away and they'd gotten busy on a picnic table in the moonlight. God, she'd looked incredible. Christie had been the prototype for his kind of woman—nice juicy tits and a tight, around ass. And she had all of the fiery passion red heads are known for. Hank stroked himself harder as he fantasied about his ex back in her 20s.

Hank had always known Samantha looked like her mother. Everyone remarked on it. But for the first time it popped into his mind how they much they really were alike in all the ways that matter to a man. His daughter really was the image of Christie way back when—except that Samantha's tits were even bigger. Hank pushed that thought right out of his brain. He concentrated hard as he stroked his cock faster. He insisted it was Christie's body he was thinking of—not his daughter's.

He came hard with a strangle cry and settled back into the couch. He'd made a huge mess in his sweatpants. He was going to have to change. But first he grabbed for the whiskey bottle again.

+++

When Samantha came home, the house was dark and the television was playing to no one. She spotted her father by the glow of the television. He was sprawled on the couch with a half-empty whiskey bottle next to him. She knew the poor guy had had a tough day, and debated waking him. But he had to eat something and she had to change his dressing. She turned on the lamp on the coffee table and froze in her tracks.

The big stain on the front of Hank's sweatpants was obvious. For a moment she felt pity, thinking her dad had pissed himself. But no, that stain had hardened. Piss didn't do that. Tentatively, Samantha poked at it. She had to be sure. She was. That was a cum stain on his sweatpants.

Samantha recoiled. It had been busy at the restaurant, and she'd been successful in putting the weird encounter with her father out of her mind. Seeing the cum stain brought all that back. She didn't think men his age had wet dreams, so he had to have been jerking off and passed out.

It had been awhile since Hank had a date, but Samantha hadn't thought about him doing that. He was her father! It made sense, though. He was a man, after all. And she knew he liked to fuck—a lot. She'd heard it often enough. As soon as the thought entered her mind she banished it: Did he do that thinking about me? No way, she thought. He couldn't have. In fact, she'd gotten the impression that morning that Hank didn't even remember the night before, and she was glad.

Samantha decided to ignore the stain and wake him. She shook him by the shoulder and said, "Dad. Dad, wake up." She had to shake him for a bit before he began to rouse.

Hank blinked his eyes open, but was still out of it. A haze hung in his head from the pills and whiskey. The last thing he remembered was fucking Christie, and now here she was leaning over him, shaking him awake. She wore a tight tank top—which was unusual—and her tits were jiggling in it as she shook him. Hank couldn't tear his eyes away. His right hand was stiff and ached, but he still managed to grab Christie and drag her onto his lap.

"Come here and give me a kiss, baby," he cooed. He tried to kiss his wife, but she turned her head. He didn't understand. His stiff right hand rested on her hip and he grabbed for her tits with the other.

Samantha was horrified. What was her dad doing? His hand slid over her breasts and she tried to pull it away, but when she did that he tried to pull her in for a kiss. A real one—not a daddy/daughter smooch. The pain pills and whiskey must have scrambled his brain. He squeezed her breast and her body naturally reacted. She felt her nipple stiffening inside her bra and she prayed he couldn't feel it. It wasn't the only thing getting hard. She felt a growing bulge in his lap while she wiggled her ass. She batted his hand away again, but he succeeded in kissing her.

Hank didn't understand why she was so stiff. He didn't recall making her mad. But he could feel her melting. He knew his wife. If he just kept pressing she would melt like she always did.

Samantha felt his tongue pressing to her mouth and she snapped out of it, cursing herself for even briefly succumbing to her father's kiss. It just felt so nice, and feeling his cock throbbing against her ass was very distracting. Hank had the excuse of being medicated. She had no such excuse. She wrestled out of his arms and stood. She felt guilty before she even did it, but she gave his injured hand a little squeeze, and that snapped him out of it.

"Hey! Whoa!" Hank said.