I never thought I'd be here, in this position, but the truth is, I've been thinking about it for months. It all started when Dad came home with that damn medical kit he bought online. He was so proud of it, showing me all the gadgets and gizmos, talking about how it was a great way to stay healthy and catch any issues early. Little did he know, it would become the catalyst for our secret.

"Look at this, son," he said, his eyes gleaming as he pulled out a digital thermometer. "This can take your temperature in seconds. Imagine how much time that saves!"

I nodded, pretending to be interested, but my mind was racing with other thoughts. Thoughts I had no business having about my own father. But there it was, a growing desire that I couldn't shake off.

Days turned into weeks, and Dad kept using the kit on himself, narrating every step like he was hosting a health show. One evening, he caught me watching him intently and smiled. "You should get checked too, you know. It's important."

His words hung in the air, heavy with suggestion. I swallowed hard, my heart pounding in my chest. "Maybe I will," I heard myself say, surprising even myself.

That night, I couldn't sleep. Images of Dad examining me filled my mind, each one more vivid than the last. By morning, I had made up my mind. I needed this. Not just for health reasons, but for... other reasons.

The following day, I found Dad in the living room, sorting through his medical supplies. He looked up when I entered, a question in his eyes.

"Hey, Dad," I began, trying to keep my voice steady. "You were right. About the check-up. I think I'm ready."

His eyebrows shot up in surprise, but then he smiled, a warm, approving smile. "Good man. Let's do it now, while everything's set up."

He motioned for me to sit on the couch, and I did, my nerves tingling with a mix of fear and excitement. Dad pulled out the blood pressure cuff first, wrapping it around my arm with practiced ease. As he pumped it up, his face grew serious, focused.

"Everything okay?" I asked, my voice cracking slightly.

He glanced up, a soft chuckle escaping his lips. "Relax, son. You're as tense as a coiled spring."

His words should have reassured me, but they only fueled the fire inside. I watched as he removed the cuff, replaced it with the stethoscope, his fingers brushing against my skin. Every touch was electric, sending shivers down my spine.

"Heart rate's a bit high," he noted, his voice low and intimate. "Maybe you're more nervous than you let on."

I didn't reply, couldn't reply. My throat was dry, my mind a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. Dad moved on to the next tool, a small flashlight, checking my eyes and ears with meticulous care. Each action was deliberate, sensual almost, in its intensity.

By the time he reached for the tongue depressor, I was breathing heavily, my body responding in ways I couldn't control. Dad paused, his hand hovering over the kit, his eyes meeting mine. There was a moment of understanding, a silent agreement between us.

"Maybe we should stop," he suggested, his voice hoarse.

But I shook my head, a desperate need taking hold. "No, Dad. Please. Just... finish it."

He hesitated, then nodded, his resolve visibly strengthening. The examination continued, each step pushing the boundaries of what we knew was right, yet neither of us could bring ourselves to stop.

As he prepared to take my temperature orally, our gazes locked, the air thick with unspoken desires. This was it, the point of no return. And as his fingers gently pressed against my lips, urging me to open, I knew there was only one way this story could end.

As Dad's fingers lingered near my lips, I parted them slowly, allowing the digital thermometer to slide in. The cold metal against my tongue sent a shiver through me, not of chill, but of anticipation. His eyes never left mine as he pressed a button, the device beeping softly to indicate it was working.

"Just hold it there for a moment," he instructed, his voice barely above a whisper. The room seemed to shrink around us, the only sounds our breathing and the occasional beep from the thermometer. I closed my eyes, focusing on the sensation of his hand so close to my face, the warmth of his presence overwhelming any rational thought.

When the beep signaled completion, he withdrew the thermometer gently. "Normal range," he announced, though his tone lacked its usual clinical detachment. Instead, there was a hint of something else—desire, perhaps, or maybe just the echo of my own longing.

He placed the thermometer back in the kit, his movements slow, deliberate. "Anything else you want to check?" I asked, my voice hoarse with need. He looked at me, his gaze intense. "Maybe one more thing," he replied, his voice low.

Without another word, he moved closer, his hand resting lightly on my thigh. The touch was electric, sending sparks through my body. He leaned in, his breath warm against my ear. "I think we both know what this is about," he murmured, his words a confession as much as a question.

I turned to face him, our lips mere inches apart. "Yes," I whispered, the single word carrying the weight of all my hidden desires. His hand tightened slightly on my thigh, a silent acknowledgment. Then, without breaking eye contact, he leaned in and kissed me.

The kiss was soft at first, a tentative exploration. But as our tongues met, it deepened, became urgent. His hand slid up my thigh, under my shirt, his fingers tracing patterns on my skin. I gasped into his mouth, my hands finding their way to his shoulders, pulling him closer.

Our bodies pressed together, every curve and angle fitting perfectly. He broke the kiss, his eyes dark with passion. "Are you sure about this?" he asked, his voice ragged. I nodded, unable to speak past the lump in my throat.

With a groan, he pushed me back onto the couch, his body covering mine. His kisses trailed down my neck, his teeth nipping playfully at my skin. I arched into him, my hands tangled in his hair, guiding him where I wanted him most.

His hand found the waistband of my pants, hesitating only briefly before undoing the button. I lifted my hips, helping him slide them down, along with my boxers. He paused, his gaze fixed on my erection, his own growing visible through his slacks.

"Beautiful," he breathed, his hand wrapping around me, stroking gently. I cried out, my head falling back against the couch. His other hand cupped my balls, rolling them lightly, adding to the exquisite torture.

He leaned down, his tongue flicking out to taste me, sending waves of pleasure crashing through me. I bucked beneath him, desperate for more, for release. His hand continued its rhythmic motion, his tongue laving over the sensitive tip.

"Dad," I gasped, my body tensing, nearing the edge. He looked up, his eyes filled with love and lust. "Let go for me, son," he whispered, his voice a velvet caress.

With a shout, I did, my orgasm flooding through me, pulsing into his waiting hand. He held me as I came down, his own release coming moments later, spilling onto my stomach as he collapsed beside me.

We lay there, panting, our bodies entwined, the afterglow settling around us like a warm blanket. "That was... unexpected," I managed, laughing shakily. He chuckled, kissing my forehead. "Maybe, but not unwelcome," he replied, his tone content.

As we cleaned up, the reality of what we'd done settled in. But instead of fear or regret, I felt only peace. This, whatever it was between us, felt right. And for now, that was enough.