Bound Gods - Nasty Cop and the Sex Offender (Jeremy Stevens, Caleb Colton)
That's the last time I tell Dad "no."
Dad always makes me get up an extra hour early to help with chores.
Dad always gets a little carried away when he gets home from work.
I monitored the water level as it crept up to touch the tip of the skin that had eased back to cover the head of Dad’s heavy, limp dick.
He groaned. “Oh… nice.”
A few seconds later it lapped at the bottom of his hairy ball sack. “Oh, god,” he groaned. “I usually take showers. I’d forgotten how good laying in warm water felt.” His dick thickened and grew again. “Damn good.”
I kept looking up to make sure his eyes were still closed, but had trouble tearing my eyes away from the slowly growing semi.
I watched the water eased its way up his body. His dick was finally covered and became more buoyant. He kept his eyes closed until the water reached his flat stomach.
“Better turn it off,” he said, opening his eyes. “Don’t wanna get the casts wet.”
I dove for the faucet knobs and quickly turned them.
He chuckled. “It wasn’t an emergency kid.”
“Yes, sir. I’m sorry.”
He rolled his eyes.
“I’ll… I’m gonna leave you to it.” I got up to leave.
“The hell you are.” Dad scooted forward in the tub as far as his extended leg would let him. “Go grab a big cup or something out of the kitchen.”
“Yes, sir…” I was out of the bathroom in seconds. We had a few large plastic cups from a fast-food place that Mom used for cleaning. I hoped that when I brought that back, I’d be able to go watch television or something until he was done and needed help getting out of the tub.
No such luck.
“You have to wash my hair,” he said when I walked back in.
I took a deep breath and sat on the edge of the tub behind him. He leaned his head back and I wet, shampooed, and rinsed his hair. It wasn’t much different than when I’d helped my cousin bathe his dog… except Dad didn’t shake when I was done. So, it was actually easier.
It also gave my crotch time to calm down. Thankfully.
When I was done, he used his good hand to push his hair back and squeeze some of the water out so it wouldn’t drip into his face.
He scooted back and soaped his chest, stomach, and as much of his hurt arm as he could. I looked at the medicine cabinet while he rinsed himself with the cup.
“Well…” he said, and handed me the cup.
I put the cup on the sink and held out my hands, ready to help him out of the tub.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
“Oh. Did you want to stay in longer?”
He closed his eyes and shook his head. “I swear… No. I’ve washed all I can and need you to do the rest.”
I swallowed. “The rest?”
He looked at me like I was an idiot. And, in all fairness, I felt like one.
“Start with this arm…” He held out his right arm.
I knelt beside the tub and dipped the soap into the water beside his hip, then ran the wet bar of soap over his arm.
I eased the back door open, listening carefully for signs of life behind it. Mom was supposed to be at work and Mason should be at school. I knew Dad was home, but he would probably be in the living room.
That had essentially been his headquarters since the past Friday when he’d fallen at work and broken his leg and one of his arms.
I didn’t want to explain to him why I was home at noon on a Tuesday. And, the man was like a human lie-detector, so making something up was out of the question.
What I would do about the rest of the week I would be home instead of school… that was something to think about later. One crisis at a time.
Nobody was in the kitchen, just as I’d hoped. I held my breath as I closed the back door. The soft click was no match for the applause booming out of the television in the other room.
So far so good. But that had been the easy part.
I tiptoed through the kitchen to the door to the living room, careful to make sure my backpack didn’t know anything off the counters.
Sure enough, Dad was just where I expected him to be. Sitting on the sofa watching some talkshow old people raved about. And, best of all, facing away from the path between me and the stairs.
My first few steps were slow—and torture. I figured it was best to move quickly, like ripping off a bandage. Before I knew it, I was across the living room and at the base of the stairs.
The first step squeaked. Fuck.
“Hey, Jordan,” Dad said, turning to look at me. “What ya doin’ home?”
I tried to be slick. “Half day,” I said cheerfully. “Teacher work day… or something like that.”
Dad’s expression went blank and he looked at me for what seemed like forever.
My heart landed somewhere around my feet. On my way over, I pulled out the sheet of paper the principal had given me. I hadn’t been sure whether to tell Mom or Dad first. But, that was being taken out of my hands.
Dad sat on the sofa in just a pair or really baggy boxers and his two casts. Those shorts were the only things he owned that would make it over the cast on his leg.
He had tank tops that fit over the arm cast, but I’d seen him try to struggle into one, so it was no wonder he wasn’t wearing one. Hell, if it were me, I’d probably just want to sit around naked and not have to worry about either. But, Mom would have a fit if he did that.
Dad almost looked like a lifeguard. He always went to the gym after work, so he had the muscles and flat stomach. But, I’d never seen a lifeguard with as much chest hair.
“Your brother’s not with you,” Dad said.