A Week Of June Tuesday

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.