0 comments/ 94301 views/ 9 favorites A Week of June: Tuesday By: columfa The alarm ripped through my sleepy mind like a lion through a defenseless herd of zebra. I gasped and jerked upright. The clock read 4:45 AM in angry red numbers. And then memory came flooding in. Was it really last night that June had walked around NYC in almost nothing? And was she actually going to model for me this morning? I suddenly recalled a dream I had had the night before. In it, I had been running away from some unknown dread, but it was like I was running through molasses. Each step was unbearably hard, and each one drained energy from me like a leech. Suddenly, June was there before me, reaching out a hand. "Here, Dad! Let me help you!" She cried. But before I could get to her, I sank deep into the ground, unable to grasp my salvation. Already the heat was reclaiming the apartment from the relative cool of the night. The air conditioner had pooped out the day before, and the repairman was supposed to come by later on that morning. Well, we had a lot of work to do to get the shoot completed before the good light of the early morning diappeared on us. I pulled on a pair of cutoff jeans over my bare ass, and went into the living room to get June up. My daughter was sprawled over her bed, still in the dress from the night before. She was on her stomach, with the dress wrinkled up around her arms. I frankly gawked at the sight of her. I had seen her ass on several occasions already in the last two days, but the sight would continue to astonish me for a long time to come. The sinuous curve of each cheek was drawn directly from classic sculpture, yet had the modern allure of the swimsuit model. And that thought jerked me out of my reverie. I had to be all business this morning. I went over to her bed, and shook her shoulder. "Happy birthday, sleepyhead. We've got some work to do!" I started the coffee machine, and opened the box of swimsuits. June sat up in bed, yawned, and stretched, the action causing her dress to bunch up in the middle of her chest. On either side of the dress, her tits winked at me. Oh, dear. This was going to be a difficult morning, I could see. She sat for a second, blinking her eyes, not bothering to cover herself. I had to shake myself to proceed. "OK, June, here's the deal. Go take a shower, you can wash your hair, but don't blow-dry it. I need you to shave everywhere. If you want, you can leave a thin line of pubic hair, but it can't go more than one inch up from the top of your labia. Everything else needs to be clean. And no nicks, please! You can use a fresh razor from my medicine cabinet. For make-up, I want a fresh, innocent look. Don't overdo it! The light is going to be gentle, not harsh, so you don't need to emphasize any features. Then, just put on a robe, and we'll go upstairs to the roof. There's a shed up there you can change in. And get a move on! Sunrise is in thirty-five minutes!" If she was shocked at my instructions, she didn't show it. Instead, she got up from her bed and went into the bathroom. In a few seconds, I heard the shower running. I brewed up some strong coffee, and poured some in my tarvel mug, and some in a mug. I quickly looked through the box of swimwear, and made some preparations. Then I knocked on the bathroom door and yelled to her that there was coffee on the kitchen counter for her, and that I would be upstairs, setting up. I grabbed my tripod, lights, two cameras, and two packs of film, and started up the stairwell. The door at the top was nominally locked, but I knew you could get it to open with a push at just the right spot. Outside, it was still dark, but there was a hint of dawn coming from the east. Even though sunrise was at 5:24 today, it would be five to ten extra minutes before the light cleared the buildings to the east of us. I already had in mind several places that would be good for posing, and I set up the lights and tripod by the nearest. The roof was covered with black insulation, so I knew that in short order it would be too hot to be barefoot up here. There were a number of antennae, the wooden shed I told June about, and a water tower. Having finished setting up, I took a few sips from my travel mug, surveyed the roof, and went back down, making sure to prop open the roof door on my way. Downstairs, June was in a short pink terry-cloth robe, drinking from the coffee mug. Her hair was still wet, as I had asked her to leave it. She had just the right amount of make-up on. "OK, kid. You ready?" I grabbed the box of swimsuits. "I'm a little nervous, Dad. I've never modeled before." "Don't worry, I'll give you directions. I think you'll be a natural." She held my eyes for a second, and then nodded. She got up, her robe coming down just below her ass. As we walked upstairs, I told her that there were ten suits in the box, and I had numbered them in a particular order. She was to start with the first, and progress through. I had numbered them in order to give her some comfort with the idea of modeling before we moved on to the more daring suits. "How much can I show?" "Don't worry about what shows or what doesn't show. We'll have a lot of pictures to choose from. If something shows that isn't appropriate, we won't use that shot." I showed her the shed, and told her to get into the first suit. In a moment, she emerged. The first suit was the most conservative. It was a one-piece, made of lycra. The top part was black, but the lower part was bright red, and there was a pattern of flames at the interface. The suit went over one shoulder, and left the other bare. The legs were cut above the hips. The shiny material hugged her curves, but was modest enough that she felt comfortable. At that moment, the first rays of the sun peeked over the rooftops. "Allright! Let's go!" I kept up a patter of directions, having her face me, turn sideways, look over her shoulder at me. She was awkward at first, but then she started to relax into the situation, as I knew she would. A woman who had been able to do what she did last night could have few inhibitions. I gave her encouragement when she was moving well, and she started to shine in front of the lens. Even though she was wearing a suit that would have drawn little attention on a typical American beach, she exuded sexuality. The representative of FlirtyGirls surely had an excellent eye for models. In no time I had used up a roll of film. I had her return to the shed to try on suit number two, as I reloaded my camera. The next suit was also a one-piece, but this one was gold, with a tie around the neck, and two large keyholes on the sides, so that there was a thin strip of gold down over her navel, attaching to the bottom half. The legs were again cut high, and the material going between her legs was thinner than in the last model. The back was brazilian, covering half of each butt cheek. The suit clung to her skin, molding itself lovingly to the undersides of her breasts. Her hair was beginning to dry out, and hung together in long strands. A very light perspiration spread on her forehead. She was alluring, a siren. We began our dance again, quickly picking up the rhythm once more, establishing a tempo. She flaunted herself at me, and my camera drank it up like a man finding an oasis. I kept my professional front, allowing the camera to stay between us, establishing a necessary distance. Another roll of film finished, and she returned again to the shed. In a minute, she emerged, wearing the first two piece. This was in white, with a spaghetti strap camisole like top, and thong style bikini. The top hung gently over her breasts, leaving an inviting space between its edge and her belly. Her nipples were erect by now, visible only as small tents in the cloth of her top. She posed again, pulling at her thong, lifting it away from her hips. We shot in silence now, instinct taking over. Once she toyed with her top, lifting it up slightly in order to show off the curves of her breasts. The sounds of the city intensified around us as people started to go about their day. The light remained golden, soft. I knew we had at most another hour. Before we finished this roll of film, she stepped over to the water tower, and stood under the spigot. She opened it, and allowed a rush of water to drench her. She stepped away, revealing the top plastered to her chest, every detail of her gorgeous tits prominent through the wet top, the nipples, the areolas. I spent the rest of that roll in a rush. The fourth suit: classic triangle bikini in purple. The top, strings attached to small triangles over each nipple, allowing generous flesh to escape in all three directions; the bottom, string bikini with side ties, a triangle of cloth in front, a triangle behind. The camera explored every inch of her body, from the muscles of her calf, to the length of her neck. She was a natural: a coquette, flirting with the lens. She untied one side of her bikini bottoms, holding it in place, looking at me from under her lashes. Suit number five: halfway there. This one was a tube top and hot pants in screaming pink. The top was only an inch or two wide, and merely served to cover the tips of the breasts, leaving the lower curves uncovered below. The hot pants were v-shaped, dipping in front almost to the top of her pubic bone. My shaving instructions had served her well, as she was smooth all the way down her abdomen. In the rear, the pants seemed to be in a permanent wedgie; the bottom edge described an arc across the middle of her ass, her perfect globes half-exposed. She stuck a thumb in the pants and pulled the side down, laughing. My camera was in love with her, idolizing her, turning her into a sexual icon. She turned around and stuck her ass out at me, her hands on her knees, inviting me to investigate closer. When she turned around again, the top popped off of her breasts, and she pulled it back into place with mock embarrassment. I caught it all on film; the pink nipple, the soft tit underlying it, the artful re-tuck. The sixth suit was a silver slingshot. With a slight widening at the breasts, the material crossed north-to-south over the nipples, but allowing the entire curve of the breast to be seen. Then, the two strips connected right over the mons, and dove between her legs. In the rear, they formed one strip up to the shoulder blades, where they separated again to pass over her shoulders. June was a goddess. The perspiration on her forehead and upper lip emphasized the heat arising from her nymphlike form. Sideways to me, she hardly appeared to be wearing anything. Memories of last night aroused me, but I kept my professional stance. Her stomach was so flat, the suit stood out several inches from her breasts all the way to her groin. With a slight arch of her back, she achieved the same behind her. The arc from her shoulders down her back to her ass was one long expression of desire. The camera was burning up. By concentrating on the technical side of my shooting, I was able to prevent myself from getting an erection, but the battle was a long and hard one. I steeled myself for the suits to come. The heat of the day was only going to be increased by the actions of the girl on the roof of that New York City apartment building. Many windows were aimed directly at us; I imagined others watching, taken by the beauty and allure of June as she modeled. Then I banished the thought, as June came out of the shed in the seventh suit. Another slingshot, this one white, but only strings instead of strips of material. On top, a tiny triangle bikini covered her nipples and nothing else. The strings of the slingshot sat on the outside of each breast, emphasizing the youthful way each stood out from her chest wall on its own. Down the strings coursed to the groin, where they joined in a miniscule triangle barely above the start of her vulva. She must have shaved almost entirely, I mused. In between her legs, the suit obscenely cupped her sex, the lips outlined clearly in the golden morning light. In the rear, the string disappeared between her ass cheeks, before reappearing at the very top of the cleft. Good god, I thought. Three more suits. What is there left to show? How flirty are these girls, anyway? June's posing had become even more provocative, if possible. She pulled the string away from her hip, causing the suit to pull even tighter against her pussy, until finally, one side popped over the labia and was swallowed by her cunt. I was sweating profusely. She turned and bent over at the waist, keeping her legs straight, and gazed back at me with a secret smile. The action had spread her ass cheeks, exposing the string running down the middle of them. Her asshole was covered, barely; her young cunt, moist from the heat and excitement, was framed by her thighs, the suit barely managing to contain it. Without realizing it, I continued to snap shots several times after the film was used up. She sashayed sexily back to the shed. I took a second to recapture my breath. Reloading the film, with my back to the shed, I wiped my brow, closed my eyes, and prayed for endurance. I heard the shed door shut. I turned around. The eighth suit. Leaning against the shed, her eyes shut, soaking in the rays of the sun, June was clad in a black fishnet one-piece. Her nipples, harder than I had seen them even to this point, pushed through the huge holes. Her tits stood out firmly, her lithe arms arrayed gracefully, her legs elegantly crossed at the ankles. The suit was cut high, to just below her ribs. Now I could see, she had left only a tiny tuft of hair right at the tip of her pussy, which, however, could not be seen in this position, as the fishnet material gathered to a black obscuration between her legs. And yet, her position, her expression, her self-confidence made this the sexiest suit yet. Not as brazen perhaps as the last, but suggestive in a classic girlie magazine way. She turned and showed me her ass, encased in the fishnet, the peachlike cleft mysterious and inviting. I knew now: I wanted to ravish my own daughter. The child had turned into a woman I could not live without. I struggled with my racing thoughts. The job required only a few more minutes of self-control. The ninth suit nearly broke that self-control. It was in a stars and stripes motif. The top was the skimpiest yet: simply two small strips of cloth, maybe one-half inch by one and a half inches, struggled to cover her nipples. They were blue, with one tiny white star on each. The top part narrowed into strings that went up and tied behind her neck. The bottom parts were attached to another string that went straight around her torso, just below her breasts. The top did not even pretend to cover her areolas, their puckered flesh and goosebumps proudly riding the forward thrust of her breasts. The bottom was skimpier even than the top! In red with one white stripe directly down the middle, the material pretending to cover her pussy was barely one-half inch wide. In microchip style, it was attached at the top to a single string running around her hips. On either side of the 'suit,' her labia pouched out. The lewd display was finished with a single dental-floss string running down her ass. In all, the suit had to have about three square inches of cloth. Probably the jackasses selling the suit were charging over fifty bucks for the ludicrously small amount of clothing. June's eyes were shining, a mischievous smile playing around her lips. She blew a kiss towards me, bending forward. She was sex personified, the archetype, the avatar of eroticism. Venus herself could not have outshined my daughter that morning. Despite myself, I felt my prick burst into a huge erection, the head poking down my leg. June laughed, a shout of joy splitting the thick heat of the early morning. Triumph radiated from her, as she posed for me. She pulled both sides of the bottom up into her pussy; she turned around and gyrated her ass at me; she lifted her breasts and offered them outward. The camera whirred, taking on a life of its own, snapping shot after shot, as if it were attempting to devour her. I knew these were going to be the best pictures of my life. Suddenly, she disappeared into the shack; the void left by her departure was palpable. Shaking from desire, I readjusted myself so that at least my erection was pointing upward. And even that was uncomfortable, my length poking at the constricting waist. So I unbuttoned the shorts and allowed my cock to burst out the top. Hell, if she could let her arousal show, I had the same rights, didn't I? And then she emerged in suit number ten. At first glance, it seemed almost shockingly normal. The top was full, encasing both breasts in their entirety. The bottom was also full, covering both cheeks of her ass completely. And then I saw: the suit was completely see-through. No lining hid anything. She could have been completely naked. She stood proudly, her hands on her hips, as if to prove she had nothing to hide. And then she started to pose. I didn't know what to take pictures of first: her unearthly breasts, their spectacular symmetry and gravity-defying position, topped by succulent nipples, pushing out, hard as iron; the sweep of her waist and hips, emphasized by the tone of her stomach muscles; the triangle leading down to her sex, the clean lines of the border between abdomen and pelvis, the bottom corner decorated by the miniscule tuft of pubic hair; the long lines of her golden legs leading the eyes down and then back up; the insistent curvature of her buttocks, the chiaroscuro between the two globes denying definition to the descrying eye; or finally, those two lips, the dewy valley between, the promise of the depths within, the invitation to penetration nearly irresistable. The challenge was to frame the pictures in such a way that only suggested lewdness, but did not outright proclaim it. "I have three more bottoms in different styles," she told me. Inspiration hit. "Allright, here's how we'll do it. You'll need to take your top off, and cover your breasts with your hands. That will focus the eyes on the bottoms in order to truly appreciate the difference between them." The illogic of my statement had an apparent effect. Her breathing sped up, her eyes sparkled. With shaking hands, she reached behind her and untied the bikini top. It came off in her hands, and she was almost entirely nude, standing on a rooftop, surrounded by taller buildings. We had only a few minutes left of the right kind of light. I had her turn away from me, and shot the rear of the full bottoms, and then the front, with her covering her nipples with her hands. The shots were unreal in their erotic intensity. "Quick, honey, the next bottom!" She dashed into the shed, and emerged a few seconds later in a brazilian cut bottom, also see-through. She was actually panting now, her hands barely covering her nipples, as I shot her from behind and in front. "Oh, fuck it," she said, and simply stepped out of the brazilian bottoms right out in the open. There she was, my daughter. Finally completely nude in front of me. She grabbed the next bottom, a thong cut, and pulled it up her legs. She half-adjusted, half-caressed the part over her pussy, carelessly disregarding her nudity. Then, she placed one finger over each nipple and turned to face me with a wanton look of lust in her eyes. "Go for it," she said, throatily. I couldn't tell whether she was talking about taking the picture or taking her, but I had a job to complete. Even so, I could feel pre-cum leaking out of the head of my cock as I gazed at my siren daughter through the camera view-finder. I took the necessary pictures. "Help me with the last one?" I almost collapsed as she held up the last bottom, a dental-floss style g-string, dangling from her finger. I gently placed the camera down, and took the flimsy thing from her. The sudden closeness was nearly unbearable. How was I going to be able to tear myself away to take the last pictures? She placed one finger on each side of the thong bottoms, turned away from me, and bent forward, inching it down off of her hips. I watched, entranced, as it peeled off of her ass. Her labia, once again framed by her thighs, appeared next, the lips wide spread and drooling arousal. Finally, the thong dropped to the ground, and she stepped out of them. I kneeled next to her, and looked up at her. A Week of June: Tuesday I had not dressed my daughter since she had been four years old. The distance between then and now seemed like light-years. She bent one leg to place her foot through the g-string I was holding out for her, and I found myself inches away from her steaming cunt. I could not tear my eyes away. She stepped into the other side, and I pulled the miniscule piece of clothing up those long legs, allowing my fingers to trace along their smooth length. When I reached the top, I pulled the strings up over her hips, and then reached between her legs to adjust the cloth that would nominally cover her sex. The heat emanating from her center was incredible, pushing out in waves I could feel even in the midst of the summer heat wave. I gently spread the cloth over her labia. It was immediately drenched in moisture. As I pushed between her legs, my finger slipped under the cloth and swam the length of her introitus. A gasp burst from the lips of my beautiful daughter. I looked up at her, and saw that she was pulling at her nipples, her eyes closed, her mouth open, a look of intense concentration covering her exquisite features. I continued the motion of my finger back, pretending to adjust the string that was going to sit nestled between her ass cheeks, but in reality just looking for any excuse to continue the contact. My questing finger brushed over her perineum, and then settled against her anus, the little ring of muscle quivering under my touch. To remove my finger was as hard as if I had been glued to that spot, but we had a job to finish, and it wasn't the consummation of our mutual lust. Regretfully, I pulled away, retrieved my camera, and peered through it at June. She was almost out of control. She didn't bother covering her nipples, and in fact, one hand snaked down to touch herself. I had to take pictures of this, and snapped off several shots. And then, when she made contact with her clit, she exploded in orgasm, her second in less than twelve hours due to being exposed. My own cock felt close to bursting, and my shorts were wet from the combination of sweat and the pre-cum flowing in little spurts from the tip of my member. When she came down from her climax, I reminded her to cover her breasts for the shoot. These were almost the best pictures of the lot. Her cheeks and breasts flushed, her hair matted to her forehead by sweat, the glow that consumed her face, all announced that here was a girl who had just experienced the heights of sexual pleasure. I had a feeling that FlirtyGirls, if it dared to publish these photos on the web, was going to have a huge boost in sales. I made a mental note to invest. **** Once again, following her intense orgasm, June announced that she needed to lie down. Now, I am not averse to self-stimulation for release, but this time, masturbation would only seem like a let-down. So I cleaned up the rooftop, removing all the equipment, and gathering together the swimsuits from the shed. My excitement slowly waned through this activity, and I was finally able to button my shorts again. By this time, it was 7:30 AM, so I made some breakfast, eggs and bacon. June partook, lying in bed, before she conked out again. I spent two hours in the bathroom, starting to develop the film. I had some 350 pictures of June in the various suits, and I quickly became absorbed in the developing process. I barely heard June announce that she was going shopping again. By 10:00, I had to step out of the darkroom to give myself a break. Yet during that time I had confirmed that these pictures were the height of my career to date. Erotic, showy, confident. They mirrored June's modeling, using the light and shadows created by the early morning to create an astonishing view of the human body at its peak of physical life. I got myself a drink of OJ, still sweating in my cut-off jeans, when the doorbell rang. Walking to the door was like swimming through soup, so thick was the humidity. I guessed I had lost several pounds while working in the sweatshop that was my darkroom. I opened the door, and there was the air-conditioner repairman. I am not generally given to admiration of my own sex. I have experimented in the past (particularly during my college years), but my primary fancy is directed towards women. Therefore, I can only attribute the events of that morning as arising from the heightened sense of sexuality I was experiencing from the ongoing tease between June and myself. The sight of this young man hit me like a freight train. In the movies, he would have been outlined by a heavenly glow, and revelatory music would herald that here was a true hunk. Standing over six feet tall, the first thing you noticed was the density of his build; like a classic quarterback, he was graceful and yet solid, the muscles of his arms outlined as if they had been sculpted from granite. He was wearing a white, smudged sleeveless T-shirt, tight against his pecs and abdomen. Below, he had on a pair of black stretch shorts. His legs were muscular like his arms, and proportioned like a Greek god's. He wore only a pair of white sneakers otherwise. My eyes were drawn like a magnet to his package: it was proudly outlined, thrust forward due to his stance, his weight on one hip. "Uh... Hi? I'm the guy who's come to fix you up?" He spoke with an accent redolent of eastern Europe, and while his English might not be perfect, his statement struck awfully close to home. I tore my eyes away from the front of his shorts, and looked up at his face. He had deep brown eyes, with thick brows above them, lending his face an expression of gruffness, yet intimating the capacity for deep compassion. His nose, sharp and long, had a bare deviation to the left, and his full lips were quirked in the same direction. His hair was short on the sides, and full on the top, dark brown. He was unshaven, the stubble darkening his cheeks, somewhere between a devil and an angel. "Oh. Right. C'mon in." All of a sudden, I was aware how I must appear. Soaked in sweat from head to toe, my hair drenched from it, my chest hair matted. My cut-offs, as brief as they were, completely saturated with sweat. And now, I became aware of the funk arising from me, a combination of my sweat and all of that pre-cum that had leaked into my shorts from the photo shoot earlier. "Listen, why don't you get started. I'm going to take a quick shower. I'll be out soon." I pointed to the air conditioner, and escaped into the bathroom again. Under the spray, I found myself wondering what I was going to do. Like a gift from heaven, this gorgeous creature had appeared on my doorstep right when I was desperately in need of sexual relief. And I could not be sure what June's intentions were, even now. I dried off, and donned a deep blue silk kimono. Coming out of the bathroom, I found him on his knees by the air conditioner, cursing in some slavic tongue at the appliance. I came up and stood next to him, looking down at the ancient device. I knew what he was about to tell me. "Mister, you are screwed. An old unit like this does not have much power left in it." He looked up at me, from where he was kneeling. His eyes widened, and a comical look of surprise covered his face as he took in the sights from his position. The kimono barely came below my crotch, and from his angle, my cock and balls were obvious. Now, as I've said before, I'm very proud of my equipment. I could tell from his expression that he was impressed as well. "You might be surprised," I replied, "Even an old unit like this has got a fair amount of going power!" He spread his legs a little, and squatted up on his toes. The motion brought him a little closer to me, and also emphasized the fair package he was sporting between his thighs. "Really? I think I might need demonstration." He spoke directly to my crotch. I leaned back on the edge of the sofa, the kimono parting to frame my member. My cock started to rise up, blood rushing into the shaft, lengthening it. I pretended to pay no attention to it. "All it takes is pushing the right buttons, I've found, and it will work hard all night long." He laughed in delight, as he watched my member extend first out, and then up. The veins, distended along the shaft, pulsed in time with its movement. The head, pink at first, took on a shade of deeper purple as more and more blood was forced into it. In short order (not really), my cock had grown to its full seven and a half inches. I rested casually against the furniture, as if unaware of the rude display I was making. For his part, I could see motion underneath his black shorts. I was dying from curiosity, wanting to see what snake was hidden between his legs. Would it be tall and dark? Or equally possible, thick and powerful? Either possibility would complement his build well. He beckoned to me. "Stand next to me, mister, and we will test your idea." I moved across the few feet that separated us, and stood next to him. He carelessly put one of his hands through my legs to reach the useless air conditioner. His action forced me even closer to him, and now my erect cock was only inches from his face. I straddled his shoulder, and could feel his incredible muscles working as he demonstrated the flaws in my air conditioner. I paid little attention to his explanations, because every so often, his face would bob forwards, and his lips would brush against my hard-on. The feel of his cool lips on my organ, feathery, dry, gentle, was a distraction made in heaven. I noticed he had fallen silent, and was looking up at me, the head of my cock resting against his chin. I knelt down, slowly, dragging my swollen prick along his neck, and then down his chest, until I was squatting. My balls sat in the crook of his elbow, my cock distended along his biceps. I noticed I had left a trail of glistening pre-cum down his shirt. I steadied myself with one hand on his shoulders. With the other, I reached towards the A/C unit. "You mean, if I touch here," and I pointed to the on switch, but then let my hand fall into his lap, where I made thrilling contact with something steely under the smooth mesh of his shorts, "I won't get much of a response?" "Well, you can try and see," was the soft reply. With my finger extended and my throat dry, I traced the length of his rod. It seemed to be endless as I sought downwards with my finger. Finally, I plumbed the depths and reached the base of his cock. "Hmmm... I seem to be getting something here." He flexed his elbow, and I felt his forearm push against my ass. I ground down slightly, bringing my anus into contact with his skin. My nerves felt twitchy, and I could feel my asshole spasm from the contact. He brought his other arm over and gathered my front leg onto it so that I was facing him. In one smooth motion he stood up, hefting my weight with ease. He sat me down on the sofa arm and faced me. He lifted his shirt over his head. His pecs and abdominal muscles were like oiled machinery. His shorts tented out obscenely towards me, and he pushed his pelvis forward as a demand. I reached out and gently pulled the waistband outwards and down. How to describe the sight that met my eyes when he was finally uncovered? Proportions are everything to a photographer: the art lies in finding the angle at which lines converge, and beauty is formed. But this organ was aesthetically pleasing at whichever angle. Aristotle himself could not have designed a more perfect prick (and I'm sure he tried more than a few times, the old devil). I estimated its length to be slightly longer than my own, around eight inches, with a circumference around five inches. He was uncircumcised, and the foreskin was stretched taut over the head in its current state of engorgement. The color was olive, deeper than my pale skin. He was unshaved, and the nest of pubic hair surrounding the base of the organ was thick and black. Under, his testicles hung, each the size of a small plum. "I think I found something that works," I murmured as I grasped this paragon of male sexuality in my hands. I leaned forwards, inhaling deeply the musk that arose from him. I placed my lips on the tip of his organ, and tightening my lips, pushed forward over the head, carrying his foreskin with me. With a gentle pop, his head pushed through both the foreskin and my lips to rest on my tongue. I tasted the salty sweat of a working man, combined with a deeper saltiness of emanation from the slit at the end. I swirled my tongue around his glans, savouring the taste, as well as the satiny texture of the skin and the sponginess of the organ. I loved the feel of his iron hard shaft in my hands, the skin slipping up and down the length of it as I gently jacked him. I pulled off to look at his uncovered glans, shining with my saliva. I practically drooled at the sight, and a new drop of pre-cum formed out of the winking hole. I spread my spit from the top down his shaft to lubricate my working hands. A moan escaped from my synchronicitous visitor. Moving back forwards, I accepted his cock back into my mouth. It had been a very long time since I had experimented with guys, and the feeling of being invaded was at the same time alarming and arousing. I guided him forward, letting his shaft glide over my tongue. My mouth was stretched, but not uncomfortably so. I let one hand slip down, between his legs, cupping his balls, caressing them, squeezing them. I could take half of his organ into my mouth, and I moved back and forth, using my tongue and suction to stimulate him. His breathing was coming faster now, and with each exhalation he moaned. I pulled back slightly, disengaging his cock from my mouth, and now licked down its whole length. I sucked gently on first one testicle, then the other. My hand now sought between his legs, massaging his perineum, approaching his anus. I quickly sucked my finger to get it wet, and then pushed it back between his ass cheeks. "Ohhh..." he groaned as my finger encountered his asshole. I circled the sensitive area with my finger, and then pushed against the muscles, feeling them yield with practiced relaxation. My finger slipped within, deep into the hot, velvety rectum. His muscles clenched me and released. I resumed my ministrations on his cock, sucking it deep into my mouth. The pulsating organ was insistent in its motions towards my throat, and I felt his hands grasp the back of my skull, forcing me forward. In time with the motion of my finger, I gradually accepted more and more of his eight inches into my throat. By now he was grunting animalistically with each thrust. And then I made it: all eight inches, his pubic hair pushed up against my lips and nose, my chin resting against his scrotum. I had never deep throated anything before, and the fullness was terrifying and exhilarating. I felt used, yet wanted nothing more than to bring about his climax. My tongue and throat muscles milked his cock as he fucked back and forth in my mouth, my finger in his ass massaging his prostate in circular motions. He yelled some word in his native language, pushing forward with all of his might. His balls tensed, and his hands kept a tight grip on my head. A sudden river flooded the back of my throat, spilling both deep, down my esophagus, and up, filling my mouth with the bitter salty taste of semen. He jammed into me once, twice, three times, then pulled back, the last few dribbles landing on my tongue. I felt some of the deluge escape my mouth and drip down my chin, but I swallowed as much as I could, knowing full well how much better that makes a blowjob. He stood, swaying, his eyes closed, keeping my face flush against his still erect cock, my finger deep in his vitals. Then, he breathed a deep sigh, and looked down at me. "Now you must do me favor, yes?" And he reached into his toolchest and pulled out a condom and some K-Y jelly. "Always prepared, I see," I managed to say. He knelt down and grasped my painfully erect cock, and unrolled the condom over the tip, settling it into place with the ease of experience. He squirted some of the lubrication onto his hands and began to massage it over my length. The sensations brought me back to reality, and I began to feel a hunger to possess him as he had possessed me. He turned around and got onto his hands and knees, his ass offered up towards me. I reached out and grabbed one muscular cheek in each hand, spreading them outwards. His little brown hole sat deep in the cleft, inviting me inward. I took hold of my cock, and placed the head right at his opening. Fuck finesse, I thought, and shoved forwards. With surprisingly little resistance, I felt my prick sink into his ass a few inches. The sudden invasion elicited a forceful cry from him. The tightness of his rear entry was intense, gripping my organ so that I felt every millimeter of skin being stretched and aroused. He pushed his ass back against me, forcing more of my cock deep into his rectum. I held his hips, and started fucking back and forth. In a few strokes I had bottomed out, my prick buried fully within him. I could feel his own member twitching as I passed over his prostate. I pulled back and started savagely cramming him with my cock, driving it home again and again. His cries of pleasure were music to my ears, and I starting groaning along with him. Pleasure danced like lightning along my erection. Continual input from every nerve ending built up like a summer storm, increasing in intensity with every motion. My being was centered in my cock, the crescendo of thunder in my ears building up to a fortissimo. I crested suddenly, my balls spasming their load out the length of my cock into the condom as I yelled my passion blindly to the ceiling. I felt him jerking beneath me, and realized he must have come a second time. I came down slowly from my orgasm, not willing to relinquish the tight embrace his ass had on my deflating organ. "Well, we fixed something," he said in a bemused voice. **** I didn't see June for the rest of the afternoon. I made some phone calls and found out that all the stores were out of air conditioners due to high demand in the heat wave. On-line purchasing couldn't get anything to me before Thursday, so we were out of luck until then. I continued to work in the darkroom on the photos, until I heard the phone ring. I had lost track of time: it was nearly five o'clock. "Hey Daddy!" said June's voice across the receiver. "Hi, princess. Had a good day?" "Absolutely. I shopped almost until I dropped, then I ran into a friend who lives here in NYC. I'm over at her place." "Well, listen, honey, I'm taking you to Lespinasse tonight." A squeal of delight emerged from the receiver, and I heard her excitedly telling someone the news. "What time's the reservation, Daddy?" "7:30 PM." "OK, I'll meet you there. I've got the clothes I need with me, and I can shower and change here." At 7:30, I was waiting at the St. Regis Hotel, sitting in one of the armchairs in the lobby. I had dressed up for the occasion, or at least as much as I ever did. I was wearing a crisp collarless white shirt, a tan suede vest, and black brushed silk chinos. Of course, I was not wearing underwear, and the smooth silk whispered against my shaved balls like a lover's sweet nothing. I wondered what June would be wearing tonight. Each day she had surprised me with a new revealing outfit, and had teased me with glimpses. Yet up until now, she had evinced a certain level of reluctance, or perhaps of anxiety, for where her path was leading her. There was some other agenda going on here, and I was anxious myself to understand her game. "Hi, Dad," came the soft greeting from behind me. I turned, and saw June. I hadn't had the chance to see June in her prom dress; that moment of classic fatherly revelation of the child turned woman had been denied me by my ex-wife. Yet that void was more than filled by the sight in front of me now. June was dressed in a long black gown that seemed to be missing one side. It started on her left shoulder and flowed down the middle of her chest, over her abdomen where it flared out to the right to cover her navel. From there, it continued to the right a little more, where it was secured around her right hip by a one-inch wide strap, after which it fell straight down the midline of her right leg. Her right breast was contained by a simple triangular cup that was supported by a string over her right shoulder and one string around the back. The effect was of a dress somehow suspended over her left body, leaving her right side almost completely bare. A Week of June: Tuesday "Do you like it?" She asked, somewhat hesitantly, and then spun to show me all sides. Like in the front, the right side of her back was bare from her left shoulder down her back to her hip, where the strap came around from the front, and then half of her right buttock and the rest of her leg. She was wearing five-inch black heels, and she carefully walked around to stand in front of me. My wondering expressing must have been the response she was looking for, for she smiled a private smile. I took in her face, done up perfectly, allowing her own fine complexion to shine through. Her hair was swept up, exposing her swanlike neck. "Um. Wow. Uh... how do you keep the dress in place?" I managed to ask. She giggled, handed me her handbag, and artfully twitched the dress slightly. Right there, in front of me, in the middle of the St. Regis Hotel lobby, her pussy came into view. Just as I had remembered it this morning, with the tiny tuft of hair at the top, the lips extending below and out of view in the enticing darkness between her thighs. And then just as quickly, the dress settled back into semi-propriety. She winked at me. "Silly," she replied coyly. "You don't!" And she turned and started to walk towards the restaurant entrance, her well-turned ass swaying from side to side with each step she took on the tall heels. I stood up and rushed to her side. The restaurant is a beautiful room with plush carped with large medallions on it, and a large waterford chandelier in the middle. The walls are white with gold trim, and the tables and chairs match. The maitre d', an older woman, elegant and attentive showed us to our table, which was in the back corner. We settled into our chairs, June sitting slightly towards the room with her right leg crossed over her left. In this position, the entire leg up to her hip was uncovered, and the center of the gown threatened to bare her navel. The waiter was a young man, whose general air of uncertainty revealed him to be new. June seemed to take pleasure in unnerving him: she made a great show of uncrossing her legs and recrossing them when he approached. The motion almost certainly let the boy know that she was pantyless. The tease went on through the evening. During the appetizer course, she dropped her napkin, and gracefully bent forward to pick it up. The dress shifted a bit to the rear, and the waiter was treated to a quick glimpse of the right side of her ass. After the main course, she walked to the bathroom just as the young man was coming to clear the plates. As she walked towards him, she performed the same trick for him that she had for me in the lobby, uncovering her mons for his eyes only. As she brushed past him, magically the dress was back in place. I had to cover my amusement at the poor boy's discomfort. "Listen," I said to her when she returned, "take it easy on the poor kid. You don't want to make him lose his job, do you?" "Oh, I suppose you're right. I'm just having a bit of fun." "I'm enjoying myself, too, kiddo. You're pretty accomplished at this." "Well, I've had some experience." "So I gathered. Do you want to tell me about it?" She hesitated. Her amusement of a moment before was replaced by a solemnity that made her appear even more mature than all of her dressing up had done. "I'm not quite ready to tell you that story yet. In fact, I'm not entirely sure where I'm going with all of this." It was her frankest revelation to date. "June, I'm fascinated by what you've been doing, and more than a little bit flattered. I trust you to let me know what you're hoping to gain from it when you're ready to." "Thanks, Dad," she whispered, gratitude in her eyes. My emotions for June were becoming more and more complex with every minute I spent with her. Combined with fatherly love and a towering lust was an appreciation for the woman she was becoming. I covered the sudden lump in my throat by retrieving a small wrapped package from my pocket. "Happy birthday, princess." She looked at me with surprise, and then took the present and opened it. Inside was a flat box, containing a velvet choker with a round diamond pendant attached. Her eyes glistened. "Oh, Dad." She murmured. "Could you help me put it on?" The unexpected echo of this morning's photo shoot awoke a frisson of arousal deep within me. I stood, and moved behind her. She held the choker around her neck, and I hooked it together at the back, and then let my hands fall on her shoulders. She put one hand over mine, and looked up at me, one tear gliding down her cheek. "For all of the years we've missed, honey," I said. She smiled up at me, angelic, perfect. I sat back down again, marvelling at my daughter, so changed from the fifteen-year old child she had been. The meal passed in a blur. June let up her teasing of the waiter, and he got a grip on himself. I left him a hefty tip when we left. I am sorry to say that I remember little about the meal. I was too involved in June and her blossoming maturity to note the fine food and wine. But every penny I spent on that extravagant dinner was well spent indeed. **** We walked for a while that night, holding hands. I don't really remember where we went, and I know we spent most of the time in a companionable silence. Her hand felt so right in mine, bringing back memories of crossing the street with a little girl, her energy boundless, her life ahead of her. At one point she laid her head on my shoulder, and I passed my arm around her waist, resting my fingers on her bare hip. She seemed content like that, so we continued on, the gentle swell of her hip communicating security and happiness through my hand. Eventually, we took a cab home. The hour was late, although the sounds of the city remained as dense as ever. At the door of my apartment building, she took both of my hands in hers as she faced me, looking up at me, searching my face for some answer. Then without a word, she stretched up on her tiptoes and placed her lips on mine. The kiss was at once chaste and demanding. Her soft mouth was insistent against mine, although she did not open her lips. The space between our bodies remained patent, a reminder of the continued gulf between us, one I hoped would be bridged by June in the days to come. Finally, she pulled back, still looking at me with a fiery intensity. I tried to defuse the tension. "A kiss on the second date? Better watch it, girl, you're going to get a reputation!" "Idiot," she said, punching me in the arm, but she smiled anyway.