As he held me like that, I couldn't help my mind going back to the dance we had at the party. The time when I experienced the first significant event in our taboo relationship. Yes, the time when he'd got an erection dancing with me. And as he held me now, it was happening again. I could feel it hardening and growing. He tried pulling away, tried to hide it, tried to avoid me noticing and him being embarrassed, but it was hopeless as it was growing too quickly and hardening too far and too fast as I clung to him. It was a lovely sensation and I was determined that he wouldn't escape me this time. No, this time I wanted to feel its full length and hardness against me, but then it struck me and I thought 'what else do I want?' But my mind couldn't go there. I couldn't work out clearly what, if anything further, I wanted. Did I really want to see it, touch it, feel my dad's erection? Did I want more? Did I want him to go further, I was thinking as I gently writhed my stomach and now my mound as well against his swollen manhood? And what was further, I asked myself, as this time he didn't ease himself away from me? Was it sex? Did I really want to have sex with my dad, did I want him to fuck me? I had no answers as we stood there in each other's arms, the most intimate parts of our bodies as good as glued together.
Of course, I'd had other guys hold me as they squirmed their hard-ons against me, so it wasn't a new situation for me. And it had happened before with him, but that had been just a brief brushing of it against me at a party, so there was no chance of a follow-up. But now, as we were alone in the house and she wasn't due home, there was every chance of a follow up. With a couple of other guys I had reached down and rubbed their bulge, and with one I had slid my hand into his trousers and had actually held it. Should I do that, I wondered? Was that what a woman would do to him? Would a grown up take the initiative and fondle his bare cock? But if I'd got it wrong what the fuck would happen, what would he do, I was thinking? So, I did nothing other than leave my stomach and pussy mound pressed against its lovely length as I whispered, "Oh dad."
"Don't Jayne, just don't," he replied in a husky tone.
"Don't what?"
"Nothing. Don't do anything. Don't say anything. This is madness."
"No dad, no it's not madness, you want to hold me, don't you?" I asked. He didn't reply so I persisted. "Don't you dad? You do want to hold me, don't you?"
"Oh god yes darling, yes of course I do, and that's the madness."
"Why's it madness if you want to and I want you to, how's that mad?"
"You're my daughter, we're father and daughter," he groaned as I pressed my boobs harder against his chest and squirmed my stomach against his erection.
"Yes. But we're also a man and a woman, aren't we?" I quipped back quickly.
"Oh shit, yes darling, yes we are, I know."
"And you want to take photos of me, don't you?"
"Oh Jayne don't ask; please don't," he said in almost a groan, making me feel a little sorry for him.
"Dad, darling it's fine, it's okay, I understand," I whispered stroking his back.
"Do you Jayne, do you really understand? Do you baby?"
"Yes dad, yes I do, I think I do, and I want you to," I replied although I had no clear idea of what I was saying that I understood.
"Really Jayne, you really want me to take shots of you?"
I didn't know what had got into me or what was making me say that. But something inside my head, well, inside my body as well, was telling me to say that to him. It was telling me to offer to pose because deep down I wanted to. I was quite amazed at both what I was saying and what I was doing. Just a short while ago I would never have believed that I could be in my father's arms offering to pose for him in various stages of undress as he photographed me, but that was precisely what I was doing right now. And I realised I was doing it because I wanted to. I wanted to expose myself to him, show him my body, flaunt it and have him record that on film. I was turned on so much by the thought of both the posing and seeing the resultant shots of myself and that was hard to understand and accept, but it was true and what I wanted.
As I was telling him that I'd like to pose for him, my mind went back to the other time I had done that and how it had made me feel. It was when I was at the sixth form college I attended to resit my exams in an effort to improve my grades before applying to universities. I was asked by one of the guys in my group if I would pose for the art students. I did it a couple of times before they asked if I would pose nearly nude. It was all very above board and the art lecturer was in attendance to ensure good behaviour. That wasn't necessary as the students were all perfect gentlemen and two ladies. It was only me that strayed from the straight and narrow. Firstly, as I sat there with the dozen or so students staring at me, I felt myself becoming aroused. Thankfully my nipples were covered as I knew full well that they had hardened. It was only as I got dressed after the session that I realised that my knickers that I had worn when posing, were soaking wet.
"Yes dad, honestly, I want to pose for you," I told him, thrusting my earlier posing memories out of my mind as I broke the clinch and moved away a little. Then, plucking up all my courage and looking right into his eyes, I made big decision. Holding his gaze, I took hold of the hem of the sweater again, but this time when I pulled it up, I didn't stop and I lifted it over my head and off. As I dropped the it onto a chair, everything seemed to stand still. We stared at each other with his gaze rivetted firmly on my chest and mine roaming from his face down to the, now, very evident shape of his erection in his chinos; he looked magnificent. I broke the silence by asking, "Well dad, are you going to get the camera?"
Now, some seven or eight years later when I am a professional photographic model with so many shoots under my belt, I can recognise that wanting to pose for my father was both the starting point of my career and the event that has to a large extent conditioned my sexual thinking and behaviour. That was where my exhibitionism came to the fore and where I realised just what a driving force it was. What I didn't realise then, though, was of course just how the need to satisfy my need to exhibit myself would influence my future. What I also didn't realise back then was just how simple it is to cross the line between being a nude model who merely poses, albeit in a sexually provocative way, to one who offers sexual services for money. In other words, how easy it is for a youngish, fairly attractive girl to become in effect, a hooker as I have!
But standing there all those years ago in just my bra and jeans I remember that the need for him to look at me and to photograph me was so strong and my arousal so high that I was near to having a climax without even being touched.
"Are you sure about this love?" he asked as went to the large lounge and returned with his expensive camera that I suddenly recalled 'she' had bought for him. Out of the blue that made me wonder if she had posed for him and if he had taken raunchy photos of my mother. After all he seemed to know a lot about posing me, the positions I should take up and how to best set up the scene for the camera.
"Yes dad, yes I am, are you?"
"Oh my god yes", he said, starting to fiddle with presumably the focus and distance thingies as I struck up a pose. I had one hand on my hip and the other in my hair that I wore quite long in my teens as I thrust my crotch out towards the camera and pouted at it as he snapped away.
"Ok dad?" I asked giving him what I hoped was a sexy smile.
"Brilliant love," he replied as, without planning or even really thinking, I took hold of the brass button at the top of the zip and looked right into the camera as I whispered, "Shall I dad?"
"Oh yes please," he said in a croaky groan. I hardly hesitated before flipping it undone and watched as he focused on where the top of my jeans had opened a little. He took several shots there as slowly I slid the zip down, gradually revealing the front of the black panties that would have made mum go barmy, since she insisted a woman's underwear should always match - silly old-fashioned bitch that she can be. As the zip went down, so the front of the jeans opened up, although the waist band stayed in place at the back.
I had moved into the mode that I developed years later of flaunting my body at the camera in provocative poses. So, taking hold of the waist of the jeans on both hips and looking right at him and the camera I asked, "Shall I?" as I looked down at where they were gaping open, showing that I was wearing a thong, and not panties.
"Oh god Jayne, oh my god my darling," he muttered.
Posing as I now was, my confidence soared and I felt at least equally if not actually in control of the situation and smiling I retorted, "I'll take that as a yes, shall I dad?"
