Skip to content This is part 1 of Daddy’s Little Nurse Series.
*****
I could still feel the crack echo in my bones. It was like my whole right arm had been slashed with a red-hot ruler and then packed with a colony of live bees for good measure. My wrist, a thing I’d built my life around, taping hands for boys who thought they were men and holding pads for men who wished they were boys, had given up today.
I was a boxing coach, and four hours ago, I was in the gym, barking at Declan to keep his chin down, holding up the mitts for his uppercuts, and then one flinch, one bad step, and my world dissolved into white pain and shouts. Declan kept apologizing until the paramedics wheeled me out, but it was my own damn fault for thinking I could move as I did ten years ago.
I was driving home from the hospital. Every tiny bump in the road sent a new ripple up my arm. My phone buzzed at least six times: coworkers, old friends, Declan again, but not a peep from my daughter, Maddie, because I hadn’t told her.
I tried to justify it to myself: She’s got finals next week. She’s just started the new rotation at the hospital, her first real taste of what she wants for her life. Eighteen years old and already the most responsible human being I’d ever met, and the idea of yanking her out of class for this felt selfish, like robbing her of a childhood I already suspected she’d skipped. So I let her believe I was just working late, and I’d let her find out the rest when I hobbled in.
The house was pitch dark when I pulled in. I struggled to get out of the car, and then I shouldered the door with my good arm. The sling was tight, too tight, and the bandage itched already.
Inside, the TV glowed blue from the living room, but the rest of the house was still. I heard the faintest giggle from the couch. She must be bingeing that dating show again. I turned the corner into the living room.
She was curled up in the corner of the sectional, blanket up to her chin, feet bare and tucked underneath her. Her laptop was open on the ottoman, notes and highlighters around her. I barely had time to clear my throat before her eyes snapped open.
“Dad!” The blanket fell away, and suddenly, she was on her feet, crossing the room. She stopped short when she saw the sling, her face going from confusion to full-on nurse mode in half a second.
“Oh my god. Are you okay? What happened?” She reached for my wrist, then stopped, hands fluttering helplessly before she settled for a light touch on my forearm.
“It’s nothing,” I lied. “Just a little sprain, got stupid at work.”
She squinted at me, the way her mother used to when she didn’t believe a word I said. Maddie’s hair was long, the color of wheat just before harvest, and lustrous. Her face was heart-shaped and open, soft as a favorite pillow, and her eyes, huge, blue, and full of every question in the world, were fixed on my injury. Even in her baggy sleep shirt and leggings, she looked so pretty, a perfect blend of girl and grown woman.
“Don’t bullshit me,” she said. “You never wear a sling unless it’s serious. Did you go to the ER?”
“Yeah,” I admitted, sinking into the recliner. “Just got back. They x-rayed it, said to keep it elevated and, uh, take it easy.” I left out the part about possible surgery; she didn’t need to worry about that.
She bit her lower lip. “You should have called me. I would have come right away. Why didn’t you—” The words cut off and she just stared at me, her eyes getting shiny.
“Hey.” I tried to smile, but my face wouldn’t cooperate. “I’m fine, sweetheart, just didn’t want to ruin your day.”
She shook her head. “I’m not twelve, Dad. You know I’m in nursing school, so I can help people, especially you.”
The words stung in a way I wasn’t ready for. She dropped to her knees next to the recliner, inspecting my bandaged wrist as if she could will it back to health with a glance. “Did they give you any meds? Are you supposed to ice it?”
“They gave me something,” I said. “I’ll take it in a bit, just hurts like hell right now.”
“Are you hungry?”
“A little bit, yeah.”
“I’ll make you something.” She stood and headed for the kitchen. “You need real food. Did they say anything about your blood sugar?”
“Normal,” I called after her, but she was already banging pots around.
I watched her from the living room, feeling a little useless. “You want grilled cheese? I can make eggs if you’re not in the mood.”
“Grilled cheese sounds good, sweetheart.”
She hummed a little as she worked, and for a moment, I just sat back and closed my eyes. The pain in my arm was manageable, but the ache in my chest was different. It was the realization that she had grown and was no longer a little girl. Where did all that time go? It felt like yesterday, and I cradled her in my arms.
A few minutes later, she returned, two plates balanced on her forearms, thick wedges of sandwich stacked with steaming tomato soup. She set one in my lap and curled up next to me, feet tucked under my thigh.
“Eat,” she said with a smile.
I took a bite, the cheese so hot it scalded my tongue. “I love this,” I mumbled around a mouthful.
She beamed, then turned serious again. “So, tell me exactly what happened. Did you fall?”
I gave her the rundown, skipping the more humiliating details. She listened, nodding along, and at the end of it, she just shook her head.
“Promise me you’ll ask for help next time, even though guys need backup.”
I tried to look indignant, but it just made her laugh. “Alright. I promise.”
She set her bowl aside and snuggled closer, careful of my injured arm. Her body was warm and soft against mine, and it felt lovely to have her close to me.
“I’m glad you’re home,” she said, voice muffled against my shoulder.
“Me too,” I said, squeezing her hand with my good one. The words meant more than I’d intended.
*****
After dinner, she collected the dishes and set them in the sink, then reappeared with a glass of water and two pills. “Take these, doctor’s orders,” she said playfully, holding them out.
“Yes, ma’am.” I took them, feeling a little lightheaded from the pain and the medication already working its way through my system.
Maddie folded her arms, studying me. “Do you need help getting ready for bed?”
I grinned, shaking my head. “I think I can manage. It’s just a sling.”
She pouted. “You sure? I can help with your shirt, or if you need to … you know, shower.”
I coughed, embarrassed. “I’ll be okay. I promise.”
She didn’t look convinced, but let it go. “Okay, but if you need me, yell. I’ll be up late studying.”
I watched her pad down the hall, the line of her back slim and confident, her hair swinging. When the door to her room closed, I let out a long breath.
I thought about how lucky I was. And, for reasons I couldn’t quite pin down, I thought about the hug, how close she’d pressed, how her cheek had brushed my neck, how her hands had lingered a second longer than needed on my shoulder.
It was nothing, just comfort and love.
I made my slow, one-armed trek to the bathroom.
Showers were supposed to be the great equalizer: everyone standing naked and alone, warm water scalding away the day. I thought of Maddie, in her room, her voice sweet even when she was swearing at a textbook. I thought about her hands, her fingers warm and soft when she’d brushed my arm earlier. I tried not to picture how she looked in that t-shirt, or how the curve of her hip pressed against mine when she’d snuggled close on the couch.
It wasn’t a perverse thought. It was just the familiarity of her, the comfort and the fact that she was the last person in the world who would look at me and see anything but love.
The ache in my groin surprised me. I looked down, mildly disgusted with myself, but also, if I was being honest, grateful. Maybe the body still worked after all.
I braced myself against the tile and let the heat and water wash away the last of my pride. The urge to relieve the pressure was there, but the logistics were laughable. Left hand, slick and awkward, and then the jab of pain every time I twisted too far.
I gave up, finally, and turned off the tap, and that’s when I realized I’d forgotten a towel.
“Shit,” I muttered. Maddie kept the linen closet stocked, but all the towels were gone, probably in the dryer. So I called out, hoping she’d have headphones on and not hear. “Hey, sweetheart? Can you bring me a towel?”
There was a pause and then shuffling. “Uh, yeah! One sec!”
I’d barely gotten the shower door open before she knocked. “I’m coming in, okay?”
“Yeah, thanks.”
The door creaked, and Maddie entered, arms full of folded towels. She set them on the counter, then turned, eyes flicking over me in an instant.
I hadn’t even thought to grab a washcloth, and she saw everything: my wet, naked body, the half-mast erection bobbing awkwardly with my heartbeat and the pathetic attempt at modesty with my left hand.
Her cheeks flamed pink, but she didn’t look away. In fact, her eyes softened, like I was a wounded animal she wanted to comfort. “Here,” she said, voice a notch lower than normal. She unfolded a towel, careful to keep her gaze on my face as she wrapped it around my shoulders.
I tried to mumble an apology, but she shook her head, cutting me off. “You’re hurt, don’t worry about it, and let me know if you need anything else,” she said and closed the door behind her.
I toweled off in a daze, the memory of her eyes on me burning hotter than the shower had. My hard-on didn’t subside right away. I tried to will it down, but it just throbbed, insistent, alive with a need I didn’t want to name.
When I made it back to my room, the overhead light was on. Maddie had already laid out a fresh pair of pajamas for me: soft shorts and a loose old t-shirt, the kind she used to steal from my laundry basket as a kid. She was waiting at the end of the bed, sitting cross-legged, her own pajamas looking super cute, tiny sleep shorts and a ribbed tank top that hugged her in all the ways I wished it wouldn’t.
She grinned when she saw me. “You survived.”
“Barely,” I said, smirking. “Thanks for the rescue.”
“Always,” she said, and then her face went serious again. “Let me help with your arm.”
I sat beside her, and she unwound the sling, gentle as ever. Her fingers were warm on my skin, her touch careful as she checked the bandage. “Does it hurt a lot?”
“Not as much now,” I admitted. “The meds are kicking in.”
She nodded, not meeting my eyes. “You should try to sleep soon. Your body heals faster when you rest.”
I let her fuss over me, let her tuck the sling back in place, let her smooth down my hair with her palm.
“You did a good job tonight, sweetheart,” I said. “You always do.”
She looked up, blue eyes shining, and in that second, I could see the worry underneath her nurse routine. “I just want you to be okay,” she whispered. “You know I love you, Dad.”
“I love you too, Maddie.”
I wanted to hug her, but my arm was useless. She must have seen the thought cross my face, because she leaned in, wrapping both arms around me, face pressed against my shoulder.
We sat like that for a long time, the warmth of her body so close that I forgot about pain, forgot about anything except her.
Eventually, she pulled away, but her hands stayed on my good arm. “Can I ask you something?”
“Anything.”
She bit her lip, cheeks going pink again. “When I was in your bathroom earlier, I saw—” She stopped, searching for the word. “I mean, you were … excited.”
“I’m sorry—”
“Don’t apologize. I just …” She breathed in, steadying herself. “If it’s because you’re frustrated or hurting, I could … help, if you want.”
She must have seen the horror on my face, because she squeezed my hand, her touch fierce. “You don’t have to be embarrassed. I read somewhere that, after an injury, sometimes … you know, people need release.”
“I don’t think this is appropriate,” I told her.
“Well, can you … uhm, masturbate with your left hand?” she asked, her cheeks turning pinker.
“Not as well as with my right.”
“Well then, why don’t you let me … It doesn’t count as incest.”
“I think it does,” I said. The logical part of my brain screamed at me to shut this down, to laugh it off, to send her back to her room. But I just sat there, stuck between shame and a need I hadn’t let myself feel in years.
“You’re considering it,” she said excitedly.
I couldn’t help but laugh. “Alright, but this stays between us, okay?”
She pressed her sweet, youthful lips to my cheek. “Of course, Dad.”
She eased the shorts down, careful not to jostle my bad arm. My cock sprang free, stiff and pulsing, the sight of her staring at it making me harder than I’d ever been in my life.
Her hand wrapped around me. She gave one experimental stroke, then glanced up, checking my face for any hint of regret.
“Feels good,” I said.
She smiled, shy and proud, then leaned in, her hair tickling my stomach. “Okay, I’ve never done this before. I’ve just seen how they do it in porn, so feel free to lecture me.”
I knew she was a good girl. “You can start off by spitting on your hands to make them slicker.”
She followed my instructions, spitting on her hands and smearing it over my cock in a pearly mess. She stroked me slowly, learning the rhythm, thumb gliding over the tip with each upward pull, every motion was gentle, as if she were afraid I’d break again.
My head fell back, breath coming in sharp bursts. It was just a handjob, but it felt so taboo and so good.
“You’re so big,” she murmured. “Or is this an average cock?”
I chuckled. “No, you aren’t the first who’s commented on it.”
She stroked me faster, her grip tightening and occasionally spitting right on my cock, spilling some on my lower abdomen. “Sorry,” she said shyly.
“Don’t worry about it,” I told her. “You’re doing a wonderful job, sweetheart.”
She tried to twist her hand, varying speed and pressure. “Where does it feel the best?”
“The tip is very sensitive, so you can focus there.”
She slid her hands up and twisted her hand around the head, while her left hand stroked the rest of my shaft. “Oh, that’s wonderful.”
I moaned deeper and started to thrust my hips into her hands. She giggled, and the sounds only helped me toward my climax. “Are you getting excited?”
“Yeah, you’re doing a great job.”
It motivated her, and she leaned over my cock and let saliva land right on the tip. The pearly globs then ran over her hands as she stroked me quicker, the purple tip getting constantly rubbed and massaged by her young, smooth hands.
“Geeze, Maddie, I’m going to cum.”
“Just come, I’ll clean it up for you,” she said, stroking me quicker. Five more pumps, and I came, hard, pulse after pulse spilling over her hands in a big, pearly mess. She kept stroking, milking every last drop, her other hand steadying my hip. “Wow … that was a lot.”
“You did a wonderful job.”
She beamed with pride. She let me catch my breath. Then she got up, disappeared into the bathroom, and came back with a warm washcloth. She wiped me clean, careful as if she was dressing a wound, then tucked me under the covers.
She then kissed my forehead. “Rest now. I’ll check on you in the morning.”
“Thank you so much … love you, Maddie.”
“I love you too, Dad.”
She slipped out of the room. I stared at the ceiling, trying to make sense of what had just happened, but the meds and the afterglow of the climax dragged me under.
To be continued
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Or if you want to read part 2, click here: My Daughter Sucked Me Off.