0 comments/ 107633 views/ 5 favorites A Week of June: Monday By: columfa That night I had a very vivid dream: in it, I had been back at our Westchester house, having an argument with Alice, my ex-wife. For some reason, she was only wearing a bra, her clean-shaven pussy staring at me. All of a sudden, her voice seemed to emanate from her lower lips, shouting at me with vulgar words. And then June came in with a magnificent black dildo and shoved it up her mother's cunt, saying sprightly, "At last, a way to SHUT YOU UP!" I woke up, at first shivering, and then amused at the startling image of my daughter silencing Alice in what seemed an all too appropriate fashion, given Alice's insatiable need for extramarital sex. And then, all of the last night's events came pouring into my consciousness once again. My daughter's teasing, the intense pleasure I felt in her presence, and the incipient desire I felt for her. And finally, my plans for playing her game, my competitive nature urging me to one-up her. As usual, my morning erection called my attention to it. Adjusting myself in my silk boxers, I stepped out of the room. June was still in bed, asleep. I stopped at the sight of her. The sheets had gotten all tangled during the night, and she was lying mostly on top of them, with her shirt rucked up around her waist. Her long legs were just as I remembered them from the night before, and with her shirt so high on her body, her ass was also in the open. The glorious double curves of her cheeks with only the thin strip of white thong panties separating them were some of the finest I had ever had the honor to lay eyes on. The sound of the ancient air conditioner sputtering away seemed to be drowned out by the roaring in my ears. My thoughts were a jumble. Perhaps I had misapprehended June's intentions the night before? And even if I hadn't, was I willing to go along with her in this game? Certainly I found her arousing in a manner I had never anticipated, and in the past, such an attraction would have led me to attempt a liaison. But the circumstances were different here. I was risking more than just a temporary humiliation: I was risking my relationship with my daughter, so newly reestablished. On the other hand, I believed that I had read June correctly over the previous day. If she had been any other woman, the signs she had given me would have compelled me to take action towards her. In either case, I rationalized, I could take cautious steps and see where it led me. If she gave me any sign she was displeased, I could back away quickly enough. As our attitude towards nudity had been fairly relaxed when we were living as a family, I could easily claim misunderstanding. So I sat down on the bed beside her, and shook her shoulder, to waken her. "Good morning, princess. Did you have a good night's sleep?" "Mmmmm..." she sighed, stretching like a cat next to me before opening her gorgeous eyes and smiling up at me. She made no attempt to cover herself, but rolled over onto her back and pulled her arms over her head, much like she had the morning before. Only this time, there was nothing covering her lower body outside of the skimpy panties. I gazed in wonder at the sight of her flat tummy and the sexy curve of her hips, and then at the soft junction of her thighs, where the white silk dove between her legs. I swear you could see the outline of her labia as if the panties had been painted on. I looked up to see her still smiling at me. "Mmm, Dad, I had a dream about you last night; you were holding me just like you used to when I was a kid and we watched TV together at night. I felt so comfy, so secure. Yeah, I guess I slept pretty well last night, probably the best night's sleep I've had in months!" I felt my cock stir in my boxers as I gazed into this sexy girl's eyes. I could hardly believe this was my June, the girl I had known from infancy to high school. The look she was giving me would not be out of place in the boudoir, from a woman to her lover. She was so clean, innocent, dewy, and yet erotic in more than just a schoolgirl way. I thought I could lose myself in her if I wasn't extremely careful. "Well, kid," I said, standing up, and stretching myself, "we've got some bagels in the kitchen. I'm going to take a shower and shave, OK?" I knew full well what my motions would do: in my stretch, I felt the silk of the boxers glide over my partial erection, and mold itself to the contours of my balls. Standing just in front of her, I knew she couldn't miss the "unconscious" display. I took a quick shower, and then stepped out to shave in front of the mirror. Since I regularly shave my cock and balls after I shave my face, I usually don't wear a towel while I stand in front of the sink. Today, however, this habit had unexpected consequences when June knocked lightly on the door and stepped into the bathroom. "Oh! Whoops! Sorry, Dad," she said, averting her eyes, and making as if to leave the room. "S'OK, June. You can come in, just don't look, OK?" "Oh. OK, I was just going to hop into the shower myself. So don't you look either, right?" "Uh-huh," I replied, pretending to be engrossed with my shaving. The mirror was fogged in all but a small area for me to look into, but in that small area I could catch glimpses of my daughter as she stood, looking squarely at my backside. Let her look, I thought to myself. Two can play at that game, as she turned her back to me and pulled her T-shirt over her head. Once again, I was free to admire the lack of tan-lines on her back. I couldn't see her lower half, but she stooped to remove her panties, and then stepped into the shower. I heard the spray of water begin. I finished shaving my face, and then sat down on the toilet to begin to remove the stubble surrounding my genitals and perineum. I lathered up, and began carefully stroking the razor over the skin of my balls. "Dad, do you have an extra razor I can borrow?" came June's voice from within the shower. "Um, sure thing, doll. Hang on, I'll get one for you." I got an extra disposable and stepped to the tub. I put my hand with the razor into the gap of the curtain. "Here you go." I felt her take the razor from me, and then I felt the glide of some wet and smooth skin across my fingers. I could not identify what part of her body it was, but the feel of it was electrifying. I jerked my hand out of the shower. "Sorry, hon," I stammered. I heard a little giggle from within the confines of the curtains. I sat back down and finished shaving the delicate skin of my scrotum, and started on the area around the base of my shaft. I find that removing the hair from this area makes the erection stand out that much more. I saw one foot perched on the edge of the tub, the pink toenail polish glistening. I knew that June was busy shaving her legs. In a second, the foot was replaced by its partner. I stood up to shave between my legs, the area behind my balls. Then I heard a snort of laughter from inside the tub. "There's really no graceful way to do this, is there?" June remarked. "What's that, hon," I replied, offhandedly, in the midst of contortions of my own. "Shaving the bikini area, of course!" I laughed. "We all have to shoulder our crosses in the name of fashion, dear." I finished my work, and cleaned up, just as I heard the shower turn off. I stepped out of the room before she could get out of the shower. Although I had an intense desire to see her handiwork, and to display my own, I was beginning to enjoy the feeling of a cat-and-mouse game. In my room, the enormity of the events of the last fifteen minutes hit me. June and I had been simultaneously shaving our privates, not five feet removed from each other. And she had let me know that she knew about it too! Any doubts I had remaining about her intentions were swept out the door by this realization. The only question remaining was how far she wanted our game to go. I was willing to let her play leader, as long as I could have my fun too. To that end, I got out a pair of button front jeans from my closet. These jeans were the oldest pair I owned, and they were faded nearly white. In addition, they were so thin that they molded themselves to the skin underneath like a wet cloth. Finally, in several strategic areas, the material had frayed into long collections of parallel threads, including over both knees, both ass cheeks, and alongside the inner thighs on both sides. I pulled the nearly non-existent piece of clothing up my legs and adjusted myself in the crotch so that my unit was all on one side of the seam. I knew from experience that with an erection, the threads would be pulled apart, revealing the turgid flesh beneath. I also knew that bending over would afford anyone behind a stellar view of my ass. I had more daring outfits, but few I enjoyed as much as these pants. For a top, I put on a black mesh muscle shirt. If I thought I was going to trump my daughter, I had a lot to learn about June. For when I stepped out of my bedroom, I found her seated at the table, dressed in an outfit whose image is burned into my brain. For a top, she was wearing a very simple lycra stretch top that reached just below her breasts, and which had short sleeves. Although the material was not see-through, every inch of her tits was encased with the lycra so that they were perfectly outlined. Then she had on a flouncy schoolgirl like skirt in blue checks with pleats that could only be described as a micro-mini. The skirt had two suspender-like straps that went over her shoulders, with each one lying on the outside of one breast. Her midriff was proudly bared, showing off her sexy navel. When she sat down, the skirt went up behind her so that she sat on her bare bottom. Her blond hair was pulled into two pigtails, and she wore four-inch transparent plastic blue heels. To cover my astonishment at June's audacity, I went and got myself a bagel. True, I had met many women who enjoyed displaying their charms. In fact, I had seen a number in outfits far more outrageous than the one June was wearing. However, none of these sirens had been my daughter. I was clearly going to have to update my thinking on June. At the same time, I can't say I was disappointed. I have never liked prudes, or women who could not enjoy their physicality. I could tell that June had the wherewithal to withstand unwanted advances, and the self-confidence to appear perfectly natural in costumes in which other girls would have come across as stumbling fools. I sat down next to June and put my foot closest to her on the seat of her chair, by her leg, and leaned back slightly. This action opened my crotch directly towards her. I could feel the warmth of her bare leg, only an inch or so away from my foot. "So, Kid, what are you going to do this morning? Remember, I've got my meeting in a little while." She turned slightly towards me, bringing her outer thigh into contact with the side of my foot. "Well, Daddy, I've got some cash burning a hole in my pocket, so I thought I'd go shopping." "Honey, I'd be astonished if you have a pocket hidden somewhere in that outfit," I laughed. "Hmph," she replied, with a pretty pout, "I have a pocket all right, but it's not usually used for money!" "Just be careful, princess. New York City isn't like Connecticut. I know you can handle yourself, but keep an eye out for weirdos." "Oh, Daddy," she said, as she stood up and moved between my legs to hug me, "you're so sweet. Nothing's going to happen to me that I don't want." She put her arms around my head and pulled me to her sweet body. My cheek was pressed against her belly, and my arms were around her waist. I put my hands on her upper legs and hugged her back, delighting in the firm tone of her leg muscles. "OK, sweety," I told her belly-button, "Go get 'em, tiger!" She giggled and turned back toward her plate. She leaned forward slightly to pick it up, pushing her butt back towards my face. Her skirt flipped up, showing me her astounding cheeks for the third time since the night before. This time, there was only a small string disappearing between them, the same color blue as the checks on her skirt. She was wearing a g-string! I could barely stop myself from running an appreciative hand up her legs to fondle those sculptured half-moons so close to my face. I felt those threads stretching thin in my pants. And then the moment was past, as she stepped to the kitchen to clean her plate. **** Not ten minutes later, she was set to go, with a purse and blue sunglasses shaped like hearts perched on the top of her head. At the door, she gave me a quick peck on the cheek and wished me luck with my meeting. As she stepped out of the door, the elevator chimed. Out stepped a woman in a dark-blue, conservative skirt suit, hair pulled back severely, with horn-rimmed glasses, carrying a portfolio. As June walked past her and into the elevator, the woman's eyes never left her, staring at her, even as the elevator doors closed. Then she turned to me, and raised one eyebrow. "Ray Carlson, I presume? I'm Deirdre O'Phelan, representative of Flirty Girl Products." Her eyes raked across my body, from head to toe, and back up again, lingering briefly over my groin. "Won't you step into my office?" I swept my hand in front of me, indicating the open door. She moved past me into my apartment, smelling gently of jasmine. She sat in one of the chairs, decorously tilting her knees to one side. I sat down opposite, with my legs spread, and took a moment to examine Ms O'Phelan. Despite her austere appearance, I could see that she was really quite becoming. Her jet-black hair contrasted with her pale skin, and behind her glasses her eyes had a sharp intensity to their ice-blue color. Her round face had very delicate features, and was set upon a graceful neck. Her clothes were tailored, and fit her slim body perfectly. Her nylons set off the fine turn of her legs. I noted that the shirt under the navy blue jacket appeared sheer, and I wondered if she were wearing a bra. "Mr Carlson," she said, abruptly beginning her business, "We are looking for an accomplished photographer to film our new swimwear collection for our web-site. We are prepared to pay very well, and you have come highly recommended. However, I need to see your portfolio before I can make any decisions." "Certainly. I have several, but I think the one you will be most interested in is my portrait collection." I stood to retrieve it from the bedroom. When I returned, I handed the portfolio to her, and stood next to her chair. The first several pages of the album are dedicated to simple head shots. These she moved past with seeming impatience. I could tell she was looking for something specific. She also breezed through my standard portraits, until she came to a series of black and white photos I had done for personal interest. These featured a stunning young woman in different degrees of undress in various parts of NYC. I had been inspired by the photos of Frank Wallis to attempt something similar. Instead of his images of women as architecture, I had attempted to represent my subject as unexpected decoration. In each photo, the girl had some portion of her sexuality exposed as it were by accident, to the stunned astonishment of passersby. And yet, despite the supposedly humiliating experiences, the young girl seemed entranced by her sudden freedom, her unexpected power to amaze. Ms O'Phelan's breath caught in her throat when she turned to the first of these pictures. All of a sudden, I had this lady's character pegged. Desperate for some release for her sexuality and yet too embarrassed by it to let it show, she went through her days in an eternity of frustration. She wanted the freedom she saw in this young lady's expression, yet did not dare take the risk necessary to achieve it. It would only take a few shoves, I estimated, to send her spiraling down the slope of her desire. "See, you can see right up her skirt," I murmured, gently, yet insistently, moving closer to her in the chair. I felt my prick begin to harden at the start of another game. I was standing with my hip only inches away from her ear. But she was too lost in examining the photograph to note my closeness. "It's hard to tell whether she tripped by accident, or faked it to get attention, isn't it," I went on. "In any case, I think she's enjoying the end results." Her breath quickening, Ms O'Phelan turned the page. This time, the girl's blouse had caught on a fence and ripped open, her naked breasts within suggested by the play of shadows and light. A woman, walking in the other direction had her hand over her mouth in astonishment, but the girl's face seemed ecstatic. "Her tits are out in the open, aren't they," I whispered. At the word "tits" Ms O'Phelan sighed slightly. My cock was pushing against the threadbare cloth covering it, and I stealthily undid the top button with one hand, while I leaned a little closer into her space. Her eyes flicked across to the next in the series. Here, the wind had flipped up the girl's skirt in the back, showing her ass, unclad. The girl was actually laughing. A young man sitting nearby watched with very wide eyes. "Naughty, wasn't she, to go without panties on a windy day. But with an ass like that, how could anyone want to hide it?" Ms O'Phelan's breath was shorter now, and she seemed to be feeling a little warm. She undid the buttons on her jacket and let it open. Underneath, she was wearing her white sheer blouse, covering a white lacy bra. Her breasts were heaving slightly, up and down. I released two more buttons on my jeans, and gently rearranged my cock so that it was standing up. If she had chosen to turn and look at me, she would have seen the head of my penis reaching up out of the V of the open pants. But she was too engrossed, too caught up in the experience of seeing someone live her fantasy. She turned the page, and audibly gasped. On the subway platform, the girl's skirt had been ripped off of her by a dog, revealing her freshly shaved pussy to a large number of onlookers. The girl's expression was one of orgasmic delight. "Look," I purred, "there's her cunt!" At the words, Ms O'Phelan closed her eyes and softly groaned. Her legs spread slightly under the album, and I could sense she wanted to scratch the itch she was feeling in her own cunt. I finished unbuttoning my pants, and allowed them to drop to the floor in a soft susurration. I stepped out of them, and my fully erect organ shamelessly pushed forward. I let the warm length of it rest against her cheek obscenely. She refused to look at it, but also did not pull away or resist its lewd onslaught. "Turn the page," I commanded softly, enjoying the power I had over her. She obeyed, her rapid breathing and her erect nipples pushing at the lace of the bra cups betraying her overwhelming arousal. "Ohhhh..." she moaned at the next picture. Here the girl was standing in the middle of a subway car, wearing only a ripped blouse, gripped with one hand, and a pair of high-heeled shoes. Her eyes were closed, and her legs were slightly parted, revealing her nether lips, glistening in the fluorescent light. Some of the passengers looked away in embarrassment, while others, fascinated seemed unable to tear their eyes away from the remarkable sight. Ms O'Phelan, clearly, would have been one of the latter. I rubbed my prick against her warm skin, and reached up to her hair to remove the cruel barrette and pins holding it in check. In an instant, her gorgeous black tresses spread around her face. I let my cock slide through her hair, leaving a slight trail of pre-cum shining behind. She, clearly still overly heated, shrugged her jacket off her shoulders, and kicked her heels off her feet. She glanced at the next photograph. Here my subject had quit the confines of the subway and was sitting on a park bench, her legs spread, one hand dipping to touch herself between her legs. Her blouse was wide open, and her other hand toyed with a dark nipple. A young man sat at the other end of the bench, watching with evident interest. Ms O'Phelan was continuously moaning now, and I guided my cock so that it rubbed across her lips. She made no move to stop me, but also did not take any initiative. It was clear that she needed me to push her all the way. I reveled in the rude sight of my member against this woman's perfect features. I reached behind her and started to undo the buttons on her blouse. She sat, passively, but rubbed her legs against each other subtly under the portfolio. A Week of June: Monday "The next picture is the last in the series," I whispered, as I released the clasp on her bra, and finished unbuttoning her blouse. The cups of her bra fell away from her breasts, and I saw her brown nipples, hard, crowning each breast. She turned the page, this woman, my student, her lips caressing my hard cock, her clothes being removed. As her eyes fell on the final picture, her mouth opened in an unconscious gasp, and I took advantage of the movement to rest the head of my prick on her tongue. The last picture showed the young man from the picture before between the legs of my brown-haired beauty, still seated on the park bench. She had her legs over his shoulders, and he was evidently dipping in with some passion. I slid her blouse and bra off of her torso, all the while maintaining my position in her mouth. I felt her rapid breathing across the crown of my penis, and the soft and wet warmth of her tongue against that most sensitive place just beneath the ridge of my glans. It was then that she made her first active move: she put the portfolio down, reached beside her and pulled on the zipper on the side of her suit skirt. I stepped across her body, now squarely facing her, and allowed my cock to slowly slide into her mouth. Her eyes were closed. "Ms O'Phelan. Look at me," I ordered. Her eyes sprang open, behind those horn-rimmed glasses, the supplication evident in them. I held her gaze in mine as I continued, slowly, to invade her mouth. She had accommodated around three inches of my seven and a half, when she started to gag slightly. I pulled back a little, leaving the head and an additional inch or two of cockmeat in her mouth. "Take off your skirt, please." She lifted her hips, and wriggled the garment off of her legs. Her eyes continued to plead with me, her humiliation at being mastered so easily at war with her arousal. I maintained my position in her mouth, rocking back and forth a little so that she would feel the movement. I glanced down and was pleased to see that her nylons were thigh highs. She was wearing a pair of lacy panties that matched her bra. I could see that the panel between her legs was moist, and could smell her desire. I pushed forward once again in her mouth, and this time, she took four inches of my manhood before beginning to gag once more. Again I pulled out some. "Now your panties, if you will." With a little fear in her pretty blue eyes, she obeyed, lifting her hips once more. Her little pussy now revealed, surrounded with a little thatch of hair as black as those on her head, her submission was almost complete. "Now, Ms O'Phelan, you will play with yourself while I fuck your mouth." With these words, I pushed into the depths of her mouth, and passed her gag reflex to rest securely in her throat. A tear welled over in her eye, but she gave into the last command, and started to rub her clit while pushing a finger into herself. I began a motion back and forth in her mouth, while an unconscious moaning started vibrating in her chest. Her self-stimulation became more and more frenzied. "Mmmm... Mmmm..." she hummed around my member, her mouth full to straining. All the while, she kept her eyes locked on mine, straining for the plateau of her arousal. I felt the pressure of the erotic situation building up inside me, and I quickened the pace of my to and fro in her mouth. And now, she started to participate in pleasuring me, her tongue creating suction around the invading member. Her moaning increased, becoming louder and louder. And then, she crested, her senses overcoming her resistance, the walls around her sexuality crumbling. With a scream around my cock, she arched her back, spasming with her whole body. For minutes, seemingly, she orgasmed, lost in her world, experiencing only the pressure of her fingers and the presence of my cock in her mouth. And then she opened her eyes, and looked at me, the supplication replaced with gratitude, another soft tear escaping the lid of her eye. She deliberately grasped my shaft and began to blow me with passion. I felt my own orgasm build within me, rising from my balls up into my cock, and finally erupting out the head, connecting me with my conquest in a rope of semen caught in her mouth. She pulled off of me for the next several shots, allowing them to spray across her face, hair, and tits, decorating herself in the evidence of her breakthrough. **** When June returned that afternoon from her shopping trip, I had in my hand a contract to shoot the new Flirty Girls swimwear line. The rate for the shoot had been more than doubled based on the evidence of my ability to create erotically charged photos that would help sell the items. In addition, Ms O'Phelan had offered a hefty bonus if I used "that stunning young model I saw leaving your apartment this morning." I didn't know how to tell her that that had been no model. She promised to courier the swimwear that day. June, for her part, had had a highly successful morning shopping, from the looks of the numerous bags and parcels she was carrying as she entered the apartment. She was positively glowing, her cheeks flushed, her eyes shining. When I asked her what she had purchased, she just smiled secretively and told me to be patient. "How did your meeting go?" she asked. "It was very provocative," I answered. "In fact, they've given me the contract. There's only one catch, though. The representative wanted you to be their model." "Me! I have no experience with modeling!" "I think that you would be a natural, princess. You've got the looks and you have an inherent flair that translates through the camera. And, to boot, they're offering me a lot of money to entice you on board, money which you can keep for yourself!" June's got a pretty level head: the combination of flattery and monetary reward would have overwhelmed anyone, but she asked for some time to think about it. I told her I was getting the swimwear today, and wanted to do the shoot tomorrow morning when the light would be best. She promised that she would let me know by the end of the afternoon. **** The heat was still pounding the pavement flat outside. Even if the thermometer read 94 degrees, the combination of the humidity and the heat absorbing asphalt made the atmosphere thicker than molasses, and decidedly unpleasant to push your way through. So June and I ordered lunch in, and made the delivery guy travel through the soupy air. When he arrived, sweat plastering his hair under his hat, I took pity on him and gave him a hefty tip. Although I felt so relaxed around June, I still could not take my mind off of her outfit. As we sat eating, I stole glimpses of her golden legs, seeing the curve of her ass on the chair. I suppose that being at the beach with her, I would actually see more of her than I was seeing now, but context is a powerful stimulant for the imagination. Choosing the right combination of clothing for its shock potential is an important weapon in the arsenal of the exhibitionist. If you saw me in a g-string at the beach, you'd probably call me confident in my body, vain perhaps, but hardly inappropriate. However, if you saw me in an art gallery wearing a g-string, your impression would be much different. I knew that June, in her turn, was surreptitiously checking me out. I sat with my legs spread, the thin threadbare cotton clinging to the outline of my package. I felt the stretch of the material across my penis like a caress, a stimulant to my already hot imagination. We talked about many things that afternoon; where her friends were going to college, the relationships she had enjoyed in high school, and naturally flowing from that, the boyfriends she had had over the last few years. She'd had a few, but she had not been interested in any longterm affairs with any of them. "They acted so young, Dad. Sure, they were beautiful, each in his own way. But I could never see myself settling down with them. I think I'm really only interested in older men." As she was saying these words, she was lounging on one of the chairs in the living room. She had one leg up, over the side of the chair, the other angled towards the same side. I was sitting on the floor, my back to the wall. I could see almost all the way up her legs, but the last few inches were blocked from my view because of the angle from which I was watching her. "Older men, kitten?" "Yeah," she replied, moving her leg back and forth. "Older men seem so much more grounded in life. And yet, with their experience, they seem to have a greater imagination, a better sense of the possibilities inherent in a relationship." I couldn't tear my eyes away from those legs. With each movement, the spread of her legs increased, and I could see more and more. "I mean, these kids I dated, for them, sex was always grope for a few seconds, and then wanting to climb on." The angle continued to increase: now I could see all of each leg. "How interesting is that?" she went on. "You could make a girl feel appreciated first." Now her legs were spread fully towards me. I could briefly see the blue of her thong pouching over the mound of her sex before her leg swung back towards its mate again. The frank discussion combined with her display was beginning to get me aroused. I felt the blood begin to rush into my cock. "You're right about that, princess," I replied. "Men get better at these things as they get older. It's natural for guys your age to be obsessed about getting their own; their hormones allow nothing less." "That's my point exactly. I need a man who isn't governed only by testosterone. Although he better have a lot of it in any case!" Once again, the leg made its journey; now it paused at its nadir, and I was afforded a better view of her lips encased in the blue thong. A slight sheen suggested that June was feeling much the same as I. The slow return journey recommenced. "A man who can make a girl feel warm all over..." Her eyes were half-hooded now, lost in thought. My cock was starting to feel uncomfortable, forced to stretch down the leg of my pants. And then, my ancient air conditioner, its capacity stretched finally beyond its pathetic ability to respond, sputtered, coughed, and died. My eyes locked onto June's. She giggled. "Not like that, Daddy!" **** Without the constant inflow of cool air to keep it at bay, the humidity seeped in inexorably. Almost immediately, the atmosphere felt damper. I got on the phone at once to find out if a repairman could come to fix it. The earliest anyone could get over was tomorrow morning. Within half an hour, the entire apartment felt as if it had never been air-conditioned in the first place. I felt sweat dripping off of my forehead. We opened windows to get a flow of air through the place, but the breeze was pretty much non-existent. I changed out of my jeans and into a pair of shorts, and suggested to June that we get out of the apartment, but she said she was too tired to go anywhere. The heat had plastered her lycra top to her chest, becoming semi-transparent in the process. I could see the outlines of her areolas. I watched her breasts sway slightly as she languorously fanned herself with a magazine. "I've got to get out of these things," she said, standing up. "Even this much clothing is too hot." She grabbed something from her bag and stepped into the bathroom, emerging a few seconds later in a sleeveless cropped t-shirt and just her thong. The t-shirt stopped just below her breasts, and read "I like boys... and girls" on it. "That's better," she sighed, and went to the kitchen to get a cool drink. I stared at her, unsure what to look at. The bottoms of her breasts were visible with each step, the rounded pink flesh glowing slightly in the heat. At the same time, her fantastic ass would jiggle slightly, then firm up as the muscles under the flesh tensed. The thong, barely a string in between each cheek, went over her hips and then came down in front to join in a small strip of material over her pubic bone and vulva. Not a single hair peeked out from behind the thong; she appeared to be almost completely shaven. Then she seemed to notice the effect she was having on me. "Oh, Dad! I'm sorry! I just can't stand being so hot. Could you just not look if I'm too exposed?" "If you're embarrassed, honey, I'll try not to look," I responded, staring outright at her. "Great," she said, as she sat down, her legs spread in an unladylike pose, her shirt riding up so that the bottom halves of her breasts were exposed again. "Then I won't feel self-conscious." "You're right about the clothing, kiddo," I said. "The less the better in this kind of heat." I stood up and pulled off my shirt, standing in front of her in just my shorts. I sat down again, my legs copying hers. "Oh! Daddy! I can see up your shorts like that!" June gasped, with a twinkle in her eyes. "I'm sorry, June," I replied, not moving an inch. "If I'm too exposed, maybe you'd just better not look also!" "OK, Daddy, I won't," she said, her eyes not budging from my crotch. "Is it true?" I asked, after a few minutes. "What?" "What your shirt says." "I thought you weren't looking!" "I'm not," I said. "I noticed it when you came out of the bathroom." She looked down at her shirt, and then lifted up the bottom of it, as if to read it better. This motion revealed each of her breasts, the firm golden flesh upstanding on her chest, each rounded mound capped with an erect nipple. She held the shirt there longer than she needed to, then let it drop. The sight caused my cock to expand. I had a feeling that June would no longer need to peer up my shorts to see it. "Yup," she said, carelessly. The shirt had caught on her right nipple, leaving that breast almost entirely out in the open. "Any experience that way?" I queried. "Oh, sure. Cheerleader squads always lead to a little experimenting on road trips." My mind was agog with the imagery summoned by that statement, and my cock started to stand upright, pushing up the front of my shorts. The head was still caught on the edge of the left leghole, creating a gaping hole through which June could see all of me. "It's a good thing you're not looking at me, 'cause this conversation has gotten me a little heated up," I essayed. "Really? You mean your thingie is hard?" "Yeah. I'm a bit embarrassed about it, getting an erection in front of my daughter." "Don't worry, Daddy," she said, her eyes fixed on my gaping shorts, tented by my increasingly immense hardon. "I'm not looking anyway. And in any case, I'm a bit aroused by remembering getting it on with Cheryl Parks. So it's a good thing you're not looking at me and seeing how wet I'm getting!" Indeed she was, the crotch of her skimpy thong turning a deep shade of blue from the moisture emanating from her valley. As I watched, she reached down and tucked one finger in the damp cloth. "Be sure you're not looking now, Dad. I've got to adjust my panties." My breathing became faster as I watched her pull the panties away from her cunt. Her hand blocked my view for a moment, and then she languidly moved her hand back to her side again. Now the blue silk was engulfed by the lips of her vulva, which bulged obscenely around the cloth. Some detached part of my mind noted distantly that her genitals were indeed shaved smooth, while another more primitive part of my brain gibbered joyfully at the first sight of my child's adult sex. "Well," June announced, all of a sudden, standing up, "it's time for a shower and to get ready for dinner. I made reservations at Alva on 22nd St. I'll be ready in about an hour." And she disappeared into the bathroom, carrying two of her bags of shopping from the morning. The quick transition left me fairly gasping. My daughter: the tease! **** An hour and a half later, I emerged from my bedroom. I had taken a shower after June, but had not caught sight of her. Despite the close environment, her whirlwind preparations somehow masked her from me. While she had been in the shower, the courier had arrived with the package of swimsuits. It seemed suspiciously small. I knew Alva: it had a casual but elegant atmosphere, so I dressed accordingly. I was wearing deep brown leather pants and a burgundy silk shirt with brown cowboy boots. I had chosen not to shave again, sporting an afternoon shadow on my cheeks. I left my long hair untied. My daughter, however, had outdone herself again. She had her hair done neatly in a french braid. Her face was made up very lightly, professionally to give her features a classic appearance. Her deep red lipstick matched the color of the dress she was wearing. It was a tunic style short-sleeved dress which came down to mid thigh. Each side was slit up to the bottom of her ribcage, clearly revealing that she was not wearing panties. The neck was scooped just to the top of her cleavage. She was wearing a pair of modest red pumps on her feet, and she had a small handbag. The entire outfit complemented her curves superbly. As she walked, her breasts swayed, dangerously announcing how free they were from constraint. Her nipples pushed through the dress, confirming June's arousal at her audacity. And indeed, it was audacious. If she leaned forward, it would appear to a person at the side as if she was wearing nothing from her ribs to her shoes. But I had not the slightest idea how audacious it could be. June's breathing seemed a little ragged, her cheeks somewhat flushed, her eyes a little glazed. Her hand shook a little as she reached out to me. "L-let's get going, sh-shall we?" She said, trying to be cool in the face of her obvious excitement. "I would be honored to be seen in the company of such a ravishing creature," I said as I took her hand. "But tell me, what have you done with my daughter?" The weak joke seemed to give June a chance to get a hold of herself, and she laughed gently. We stepped out to ride down in the elevator. The trip to the restaurant seems like a blur in my memory. The cab ride was a near disaster, as the cabbie could not decide whether to watch the road or my daughter in his rearview mirror. I myself was a little in awe of June, despite my inveterate exhibitionist tendencies. Her chest rose and fell rapidly, and I could see that she was trembling. Yet she kept her eyes fixed out the window, watching the evening activity on the streets of New York City. When we arrived at the restaurant, I slid out of the cab and held my hand to her to help her out. She slid one leg out, and the front flap of the dress slid entirely off of the leg. Her sex was covered, but the entire right side of her abdomen was revealed. Without missing a step, she slid out, readjusting the dress naturally as she stood up. She was a little unsteady as we walked to the door and stepped inside. The maitre d' showed us to our table, clearly unhappy at having to walk in front of us. The interior of the restaurant is dimly lit, with candles on the tables. Our table was a circular booth, and June sat down , hiding her lower half behind the tablecloth. From this perspective, she actually looked decorous, as the high side slits were hidden from view. She was clearly relieved. "Well, kiddo," I said, "tomorrow you'll be eighteen. Do you want to do anything special?" "Um. I'll let you know later on tonight," she replied enigmatically, and no further amount of probing would elicit any more information from her. We shared a bottle of 1996 Chassagne-Montrachet, the cool white wine relieving some of the tension that had built up on our trip over. I ordered a goat cheese and beet salad, while she had crab cakes. The ambience, the fine food, and the alcohol created a relaxed atmosphere between us, and our conversation flowed naturally. We discussed my current work, both professional and artistic. I attempted to explain my search for the beauty in the mundane, particularly in often overlooked manmade objects. She kept up her end of the conversation, surprising me once more with her remarkable intellect and her wide-ranging curiosity. A Week of June: Monday For our main meal, I had the bass with cockles and mussels, while she had the halibut. The food was succulent, and June's eyes sparkled in the half-light. Continually I found myself staring deep into her blue gaze. I felt myself drowning in the depths of her eyes. I loved my daughter, but could I be learning to love her in an entirely different way? We had finished our first bottle of wine, and had started on a 1998 Gevrey-Chambertin Pinot Noir. The richness of the red enhanced the flavor of the fish. "Dad, do you think I'm pretty?" The question came out of the blue. How to respond? As a father? As an interested male? Could she really have any doubt at all of my response? She was looking down, toying with the last few bites on her plate. Then she looked up at me, fixing me with her intense blue eyes. "June. You are, without doubt, the most attractive girl I've ever known." The simplicity and earnest nature of my words seemed to satisfy her, and she nodded gently to herself. "Well, mister," and her usual gaiety seemed to have returned, "you ain't half-bad yerself. Fer an old codger!" "Watch it young miss! I can still tan your backside if you don't mind yer sassiness!" "Is that a threat or a promise?" she shot back, looking coyly from under her eyelashes. I laughed outright, the mood restored. For dessert she had a small dish of vanilla ice cream, while I had the lemon pound cake. There was a new bond between us: it was forged out of the same strong metal that had formed our father and daughter relationship, yet it was tempered by an acknowledgement of a mutual sexual attraction. The potential for a stronger alloy was there, yet I needed to let June test the strength of it. I paid for dinner, and we got up to go. Was it my imagination, or were the side slits on June's dress higher than they had been before? Now I could see her ribs through the sides of the dress, the parting of the material awfully close to the undersides of her breasts. As she sashayed ahead of me, the rear flap swung gently from side to side, allowing glimpses of her ass. Gone was the hesitancy, the confusion she had shown on our way to the restaurant. In its place was a confidence, a self-assurance in her sexiness. The maitre d' hailed a cab for us, openly ogling my daughter. I felt a surge of pride: my gorgeous daughter was learning the freedom of exhibitionism! We got into the cab, and I gave the cabbie my address. When I turned back to June, the side slits had opened up even more. In fact, there were only two inches of closed dress under each arm. The undersides of her breasts were obvious through the slits. She leaned forward to ask the cabbie some question, and the front flap of her dress fell forward. Suddenly, it was as if I was sitting next to a naked young lady. From the lower curve of her breasts to her red pumps, all I saw was golden flesh. Now I could tell for sure: she had no tanlines on her astounding form. Because of the way she was leaning forward, I could not see her mons. But the sexy girl, essentially nude, sitting on the cab seat next to me, was one of the most memorable sights in my entire life. When we got to my apartment, she slid out of the cab ahead of me. The back part of her dress slid away from her body as she moved across the seat, and when she stood up, her back and ass, like the front part earlier, was completely uncovered. I paid the cabbie, and he gave me a wink as I stepped out. I stood next to my daughter and looked down at her. She smiled up at me, stood on her tiptoes, and raised her arms around my neck. "What shall we do now, Daddy?" I looked down into her flushed face. My arms went around her, and I felt the free movement of her dress across her shoulders. She giggled, and I stepped back to take another look at her. The side slits were now all the way up to her armpits, and the dress was only held together by the short sleeves. "Concealed zippers. Pretty cool, huh?" "Is this your way to experience Gauguin's freedom?" I said in a mock stern voice. "Oh, don't be hypocritical, Dad. I've seen the clothes you like to wear." "All right, kitten. Let's take a walk then. It's a beautiful night." I slid my arm around her waist, under the dress, enjoying the feel of walking alongside a girl covered only with two long flaps of dress in front and behind of her. The smooth soft skin under my hand felt like satin, and I loved the way her muscles shifted under the skin as she walked. She had her arm around my waist, her head leaning against my upper arm. People we passed openly stared, or did double-takes as they realized the state of undress June was in. And indeed, from the side, the curve of her ass was easily visible due to the drape of the dress over my arm. And in front, her breasts proudly pushed the dress out so it hung slightly removed from her belly and legs. For all intents and purposes, June could have been walking around NYC in shoes alone. Yet the bare covering heightened the erotic picture she presented. And she was walking with me! I did nothing else to push her into further exhibition. This was her maiden voyage: she needed to be in control. And yet she needed the support of my arm to make it on our little walk without falling over. I felt the strain in her legs as she endured the opprobrium of the unenlightened admixed with the admiration of others. She told me later that all she heard was the pounding of her own heart within her ribcage; the catcalls and wolf whistles went unnoticed. Finally, as we rounded the corner back to my apartment, she shuddered, shaking all over as an orgasm silently ripped through her. Her eyes closed, she sagged into me. I supported her weight, and guided her through my door to the elevator. She continued to lean on me, the dress askew on her shoulders, hanging off of her breast so that the majority of its curves were hanging out; further down, the line of her dress intersected the junction of her legs. We stumbled into the elevator. All the way up, all I could hear was the deep breathing of my daughter; the smell of her arousal was overwhelming in the enclosed space. I held her up with two hands, grasping her waist, feeling the soft curve of her hips. My eyes were fixed on the numbers on the elevator; finally, the door opened, and we spilled out. I opened the door, and June went through, flopping down on her sofabed. "I think I need to sleep now, Dad," she murmured into the pillow. I took her shoes off her feet and helped her to the middle of the bed. Already her breathing was becoming deeper. I moved quietly towards my bedroom, when I heard her say softly: "Let's do that shoot tomorrow morning."