A Gift For My Father
He crafts beauty. With light and shadow, a rainbow of color, and an eye for composition, he produces art. He is a master of photography; and he’s my father.
My mother died when I was twelve. I took it really hard. My twin brother, Dusty, kept a lot in. My father grieved for a long time. My mother had been his muse, his true love. Loneliness emptied his heart.
But Dusty and I felt safe with him, even when life was cruel. Dad prepared us to discover ourselves like a sculptor finds a shape in stone. In fact, I found that art was my passion too. It’s what I wanted to study in college and to do in life.
I love the sensual and erotic themes in the paintings and photos and sculpture I look at. I love the vibrant colors and the moody pastels, the smooth metal and the rough stone. I crave the immersion in the world of creation.
And so I got ready to leave for the university, full of excitement and ideas. Dad was cheerful, even though Dusty and I were about to go far away from him. I was so grateful that I wanted to give him something to let him know and understand the young woman I had become.
I found him in his studio, a large converted barn, behind our rambling house. He was drying some black and white prints. All around were examples of the renowned artist he is. Dad can capture the essence of anything, be it a landscape, an a****l, an object, or a nude. Now, I wanted him to capture me.
“Well, hi yourself, Jana,” he said, greeting me with a smile.
“These look great, Dad!”
“They’re not bad. But they could be better.” He always sought perfection. “What are you up to?”
“Oh, a little more packing, a little more tossing things away,” I said. I should be ready in a couple more days.” He seemed in a good mood and I gave him a hug. No one lacked for affection in our family.
“Dad,” I said, looking him straight in the eyes. “I’ve been thinking that I’d like to give you something.”
“For being the greatest Dad in the world.”
“Oh, is that all,” he said.
Most of Dad’s models were older than I. Also, he preferred dark-haired women and men. My pure blond hair and pale blue eyes, like Dusty’s, rarely showed up in his portraits or nudes. He also liked a little fat on his models for, he said, the ripple and crease effect. I was about twelve pounds overweight with a little extra poundage on my hips and ass and thighs. There, I met Dad’s model criteria.
Dusty was bigger, a bit more cut, and in great shape. Like many twins, we were very close. We could talk about anything. When we were younger, we even did a little mutual groping as we first discovered the tactile pleasures of the body. I told Dusty that I wanted to give Dad a special present and he thought it was pretty cool.
“So, what’s the gift?” Dad asked.
“Me!” I smiled. “Blond hair, blue eyes, the works!”
“What? I don’t get it,” he said.
“Dad,” I said, “you are a great artist. You create beautiful things. Now, I’m not beautiful but you did create me—with Mom’s help. I just thought that, since I’m going away to school, I wanted to give you something as a remembrance of your creation, in gratitude for all that you’ve done to help me become a woman.”
“I still don’t get it.”
“Dad, I want you to photograph me for you. I want to be your muse for once. I want to model for you for a whole day. So, no matter what happens to me, you’ll have me forever on film, just as I am now.”
He stood there silently, looking at me, trying to figure out what was going on. He was really puzzled.
“It’s simple, Dad. I want you to make me part of your art; some art that you can keep.”
“Jana,” he said, “I’ve taken photos of you your whole life.”
“Yes, but they’re just candids, you know, family photos and stuff. I want you to use me like your other models.”
“You want me to take nudes of you?”
“Yes,” I said, looking right into his eyes. He didn’t look away.
“Jana, when things go right, there’s a special rapport that develops between artist and model. It becomes very intimate. What I mean is that the model opens herself up, lays herself bare, so that the artist can render an idea. There’s…”
“I can do that, Dad.”
“But, honey, you’re my daughter.”
“All the better,” I said, insistently. “Dad, I’m a woman now. I’m still a virgin, but I have feelings and longings and urges. I want to give you something that other models can’t. I’ll feel safe doing it. It’s my way of thanking you for making me and raising me. It’s my way of giving you a theme to explore. It’s my way of showing you how much I love you.”
He stood there silently, thinking. I stood there smiling, waiting for his response.
“The history of art is filled with examples of artists using lovers as models. But fathers using daughters, well…,” he hesitated. I could see the artist intrigued by the idea; the father troubled by its portent.
“Dad, I’m an adult. I have free will. I’m going to be an artist myself. I want to do this. If it was anyone else, I know you’d say ‘yes.’ But it’s me, just me; a daughter giving her father a present of love.”
I saw his face soften. Then he smiled and said ‘okay.’
“But, Jana, I want you to know that you can stop at anytime. I’m an artist. I get lost in my work. I can forget who you are. If the rapport occurs, we’ll both be vulnerable, we’ll both reveal ourselves. And when the day is over, we’ll be daughter and dad again; hopefully, with no remorse.”
I hugged him hard. “Thank you, Daddy, thank you.” I kissed him on the cheek. “When do we begin?” I asked eagerly.
“Whoa,” he said. “Let’s slow down. Give me an hour or so to arrange some things here and think about how I want to proceed. You come back at eleven.”
“I’ll be here,” I said, a broad smile on my face as I left the studio.
Dusty was gone when I got back to the house. I was so excited and filled with love for my father. I took a hot shower and put on a loose denim dress. My wavy blond hair dried quickly in the warm August morning. I drank some cold g**** juice and sat in the kitchen watching the clock move in its own time. Then I tried a little meditation to center myself for the session ahead.
At 10:55 a.m., I was standing outside the studio door. What lay ahead was unknown, but my mind was clear and my heart was full. I walked in quietly.
“I’m back, Dad.”
“So you are, Jana. Are you ready to be a model?”
“Great,” he said. “We’ll start with a few Polaroid test shots to check the lighting. Stand over there by that chair.” Dad was all business, very professional. After he took the shots, he told me to relax while he made some adjustments to various lights. Then he called me back.
“Okay, I usually don’t know what I’m looking for exactly; things just seem to work out after a while. I’ll give you some direction and then let you go with it. Remember, there’s no rush. We have all afternoon.”
I nodded and suddenly felt uncoordinated. I just stood there waiting for his commands.
“Ok, Jana. See that chair? I want you to use it, play with it, hang your body on it, flay your dress around it.” I did that, getting more used to the click of the shutter and the pop of the lights.
“Work to the camera, Jana. It likes what it sees.” Dad sounded funny, personalizing his camera like that. But his tone and humor helped me relax and soon I started striking poses that I knew looked pretty good. He kept encouraging me and I felt a true collaboration between artist and model.
“Slip your dress off, Jana, and put it on the chair.”
That broke the spell. Dad, the artist, had just told his daughter, the model, to strip. No warning, no hesitation, no nonsense. The artist was very much into his work; more so than his first-time model.
I paused just long enough for Dad to ask, “Do you want to stop, honey? It’s ok if you do, really it is.”
“No, I… I… no, it’s alright.” He photographed me as I unbuttoned my denim dress. He kept shooting as I took it off and d****d it in the chair. My bra and panties shown brilliantly under the lights.
“Good,” he said, “now put one foot up on the seat of the chair.” I did as he asked. “I’m concentrating on the curves of your calf and the bend in your leg. Just stand like that for a bit.”
He moved in real close, changed his lens, and shot some more. “Ok, throw the dress over there and sit in the chair facing the back. That’s it. Move your shoulders forward and round your spine. Good. Hold that position.”
Dad backed away from me and stared silently. Then he walked around, softened a light, and took a few more pictures. “That doesn’t work,” he mumbled to himself. “Relax, Jana,” he said.
“What’s wrong, Dad?”
“Nothing, k**do, I just don’t like the composition.”
He walked around some more as I sat there in my underwear. “Let’s try something different,” he said. “Get up from the chair and go over to that post.” I stepped over to the 8 x 8 that held up part of what used to be the barn loft. Dad moved the lights so that the post and my body cast shadows on the light gray scrim behind me.
“Ok, Jana, take off your bra and panties.” He seemed distracted as he said that. I acted cool but, in spite of my desire to do this for my Dad, I must confess that I had a million butterflies as I removed the rest of my clothes.
Dad looked at me standing there naked in front of him. He looked at every part of me.
“Jana,” he said with a smile, “your gift is wonderful.” I started laughing. He did too.
Whatever tension there was broke with our laughter. For a moment, we were father and daughter, not artist and model. Clothed father and naked daughter laughed and embraced. Then, it was back to creation.
Dad had me use the post as a prop. I hugged it, pushed it, and leaned against it. My curves met its straight lines; my smooth skin, its rough surface.
The artist got more than he asked for. I felt free to express myself through my body. I started flirting with the camera, acting more boldly, more energetically, more sensually. Dad pushed me to explore my wilder side as again he became the artist and I became the model.
I was getting turned on and he knew it. He could see it. He encouraged it. He photographed it.
And then he stopped it. “Let’s take a break,” he said. There’s a robe over there.” We sat in some old chairs by his antique desk, sipping raspberry iced tea. Dad talked about technique and themes, giving me a glimpse of the master’s mind at work. Then he got more personal.
“Honey, I pushed you a bit just now and I want to make sure you’re ok with it.”
“Would you have pushed another model, Dad?”
“I would have, yes. What I saw and photographed was a young woman unself-consciously abandoning herself to her sexuality, to her desires. I think the shots will be good but I am aware that you are my daughter and that I’m observing something daughters don’t share with their fathers.”
“But I want to, Dad. That’s my gift to you and I’m really happy that it’s working out. Right now, I’m your model and you’re an artist and we’re creating art. We can be father and daughter afterward.”
I smiled at him reassuringly and touched his hand with my own. “Thank you, Jana,” he said.
“Thank you, Dad, for letting me work with you.” We were still talking and drinking tea when there was a knock on the door. It was my brother.
“Hi,” he said.
“Mr. Dusty,” Dad said. “What brings you round here?” Dad drawled.
“Jana told me about working with you. I wanted to see how things were going.”
“They’re going great!” I said. “Dad’s a task master, but he gives me breaks and tea once in a while.”
“And Jana’s an expressive model. She takes to it naturally,” Dad said.
“Mind if I stay and watch? Maybe help out?”
“Uh, I don’t think so, son. I want Jana to be able to lose herself in the work and I’m afraid you’d be a distraction. No offense, but I think things would go more smoothly if no one else was here.”
“Dad, wait a minute,” I said. “I don’t mind if Dusty stays. I’ll be able to get back into it. He can help you with the lights and stuff.”
“Let’s talk over there for a moment,” my father said. “Please excuse us, Dusty.” We walked over to the other end of the studio where Dad spoke to me in a low voice. “Jana, I think Dusty staying is a bad idea.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, I know from experience that a model exploring her sexuality in front of the camera is very vulnerable. She has to trust the photographer. What we’re doing here is unusual to say the least. It’s gone this far because you trust me to act professionally. And I do, always. But Dusty’s not a professional and he is your brother, don’t forget.”
“So, the point is I don’t know what will happen next. What I mean is that you may want to open yourself more to the camera and I don’t think having your brother here to see it is good for you or him.”
“It’s okay, Dad, really. You know Dusty and I are very close. I guess most twins are like that. I don’t mind him seeing me pose naked.”
“Are you sure?”
“I’m sure. Look, I know you know I got turned on back there earlier. I was able to because I felt safe. I’m so grateful that you’re letting me do this, that you’re letting me help you capture an intimate moment for a woman. Dusty’s my best friend. I want to share this with him too. But you’re the artist. It’s your call.”
Dad searched my face. He looked over at Dusty and then back at me. I wondered who would decide: my father or the artist.
“Alright, he can stay. But I reserve the right to stop the session or have him leave. Understand?”
“Of course, Dad. You’re the artist. I’m just the model,” I said, trying hard to sound very serious. We walked back to my brother.
“I’ve decided you can stay for now, Dusty. We’ll just see how it goes.”
“Thanks, Dad. What can I do to help out?”
“Nothing for now. Let’s see how things develop. Are you ready to get back to work, Jana?” The artist had resumed control.
“Yes,” I said.
“Good. Let’s try some static poses on the platform. I’ll do some full shots and some closer torso shots. We’ll vary the angles and lights to get some abstract compositions.”
Dusty was watching intently. I was very relaxed even though I was about to take my robe off. Dad positioned some lights and put the large-format camera on a sturdy tripod. “I’m ready, Jana,” he said.
“Okay, Dad.” I quickly loosened the waist tie and stripped off the robe. “Here, Dusty, hold this,” I said. He caught the robe I threw to him. “Good hands,” I said, smiling, as I stepped up on the platform. For the next ten minutes, Dad had me strike very specific poses, both abstract and classical, as he worked with the large-format camera. Often he would move my arm or my foot a little to get just the right shot. It wasn’t easy standing so still while he focused the camera and framed the image.
“Dusty, come over here a minute,” he said. “Take this reflector and stand about three feet on Jana’s right. I’ll tell you how to angle.” Dusty took the shiny board and stood next to the platform on my right side.
“Well, Dusty, what do you think?” I said, holding a difficult position.
“Awesome,” he said. “You look great!”
“Tilt the reflector up a bit,” said the artist. “A bit more. Good. Jana, stand very still.” He took one shot. “Now, tilt it down, Dusty. That’s it.” He took one more. “Okay, enough of these,” he said, sounding pleased with the results.
I jumped off the platform. Dad said he needed a few minutes, so Dusty and I walked back to get some more tea. He handed me my robe. “That’s okay,” I said. “I don’t need it. I’m too not right now.”
“I’ll say!” he joked, and we both laughed.
I liked being naked. I liked it more and more. It felt so natural being in front of the camera and I must say that it turned me on even more than before. I wanted to express that to the artist. I wanted him to use that in his art. I wasn’t ashamed or embarrassed at all. And I told Dusty what I was feeling.
“So that’s why Dad didn’t want me here. He thinks I’ll inhibit you.”
“Yeah, but I told him you were cool about it. I think I surprised him with that but he accepted it. I told him he’s the boss and we’ll do what he says.”
“Well, are you really comfortable with me being here?”
“Of course I am. Doesn’t it show?” I laughed. “It’s a bit kinky but it’ll make a good story for our grandc***dren.”
“Yeah, right,” he said with a smile.
“What are you two giggling about?” the artist asked. Photos https://cpmlink.net/Pm7uAA
“You,” I said, and nothing more.
“Me? How dare you mock the photographer,” he said. It was a special moment I’ll always remember.
“Dad,” I said, “I’d like to try some stuff, if you don’t mind.”
“Like what?” he said.
“Oh, I’d like to use that curvy modern chair and I’d like some music and I’d like you to shoot me in black and white.”
“You’re a demanding model, Jana, but I’ll give you a chance. What about Dusty?”
“He can stay. I told him about how I wanted to express a young woman’s sexuality. He’s cool about it. Maybe he can help with the reflector again.”
“Dusty,” the artist said in his professional voice. “Your sister seems to know what she wants and she’s been an excellent model so far. Can you handle this?”
“I think so, Dad. It’s pretty cool, you know.”
“Yes, it is,” the artist said. “Okay, let’s get back to work. Roll that chair over here, Dusty. Jana, you choose the music you want.” I walked over to the CD player and picked out some bluesy rock and roll. I turned up the volume and danced over to Dusty and Dad.
“Dad,” I whispered, as I moved by him. “I feel really free, brazen even. I want to see what I look like when I go over the edge. I want you to apply your artist’s touch to the images. Will you do it?”
“I’ll do what I can, Jana. But, right now, I’m not your Dad. I’m your photographer and I’ll do what feels right. Don’t stray too far from the chair. And forget about Dusty and me. If it’s not working, I’ll stop the shoot. Got it?”
“Yes, sir,” I said. The artist had regained control. I moved to the chair and danced around it. Dusty hung back in the shadows and swayed to the music. A few shutter clicks and light pops broke the rhythm of the song.
After a minute or so, I was lost in the sound and my sexy feelings. I began to touch myself a little on my face. I traced the contours of my shoulders and sides and hips. I grabbed my ass. Then, I slid a hand around to my crotch, held it there for only a second before moving up to my belly. Then, I brought my other hand around from my ass. Slowly, I raised my hands to my breasts and began to squeeze them and push them together. Most of the time, I boldly looked right into the camera.
The photographer gave me a few directions but generally let me do what I wanted. I sat down on the chair and reclined against the back. Now, I was openly fondling myself. I tweaked my nipples and pulled on my blond pubic hair. I stroked the insides of my thighs but I didn’t touch my mound. A few soft moans escaped my lips. As I kept playing with myself, I could see Dusty moving some lights.
“Grab the reflector,” the artist said to Dusty. “Bounce the light from below her face.” Dusty moved closer, about three feet from me, and the reflected light obscured my vision. But I didn’t care. I wanted one thing. I wanted to cum.
I brushed my blond hair back from my face. I sucked on my index finger, pushing it in and out of my mouth. I’d never given a blow job but I pretended my finger was a thin cock and I licked it lasciviously.
“Easy, Jana,” the artist said. “Feel more, do less.”
“What should I do?” I asked breathlessly.
“Let you passion grow naturally. Don’t rush it. Enjoy the moment…and turn this way a little.”
That direction brought me back to the chair, to the realization of what was happening. I was masturbating in front of my father and my brother. I was being photographed doing it. And I loved it.
I repositioned my self in the chair. My skin glistened with sweat as I slowed down. Each touch was electric; each caress lubricious. This was the gift I imagined for my Dad and I was so happy that he was taking it.
Dusty coughed and I turned toward him. Our eyes locked until I caught him shift his gaze to my breasts. I pinched my nipples for him and licked my lower lip. Then I slowly slid my fingers down to my crotch, wet with sweat and sex.
I spread my legs. The lights popped. The artist was focused on my face as I began to rub my vulva and search for my swollen clitoris.
“Dusty, keep the light bouncing off her chin,” he said. “Jana, close your eyes and feel the sensations.” In spite of everything, he still sounded so professional.
I knew I was closed to cumming but I held back to make it more intense. I found my clit but pressed around it, not on it. With my other hand, I reached under my ass and finger-fucked myself from below. I withdrew my sopping digit and pushed it slowly into my asshole. My sphincter held it tight.
And then, in a great powerful rush, I exploded, screaming with pleasure. My legs stiffened and my toes curled. I lifted my hips and threw back my head, gasping for breath. Cum gushed out of me as I furiously rubbed my clit. God! I throbbed and bucked on the chair. My asshole sucked my finger in deeper. I was consumed.
From somewhere, I heard the shutter clicking. Slowly, I opened my eyes and saw my dad lowering the camera. He said nothing. Dusty had his mouth open, just staring at me. I took a deep breath.
“Wow!” I said, smiling, laughing, spent. I inhaled again. “I hope you got some of that on film,” I laughed.
“Don’t worry, Jana. I got it all. Thank you so much.” He paused. “In all my years doing this, I’ve never had a model just let it all go. I think I’ve captured the essence of a young woman in the throes of ecstasy. You were fantastic!”
“I second that,” Dusty said. He still looked half in shock.
“Thanks, Dusty, I’m glad you’re here.” I casually cupped my tits.
“Here, Jana,” Dad said, as he handed me my robe.
“Wait, Dad. I’d like to try something else. I want you to take some photos of Dusty and me together.”
“What?!” my shocked brother said. I turned to him.
“I think Dad would create some terrific artistic photos of us as twins. It’s a great subject to explore and you know he’s the best photographer on the planet.”
“I’m not arguing that, Jana, but …”
“But what? Are you afraid to be nude with me, Mr. Dusty? Are you, huh?” I teased him with my taunts. He looked at me and then at Dad who just shrugged his shoulders.
“It’s up to you, son,” he said. “I’m just the photographer.” I could see Dusty silently debating with himself before taking up the challenge.
“Okay,” he said. “What should I do?” “Well, first take off your clothes,” I said, smiling.
“Wait,” Dad said. “I’ve got an idea. I want to shoot the contrast between you twins. Dusty, keep your clothes on for now at least and let’s try some formal portraiture. If you want to go on after that, fine. Otherwise, we’ll call it a day.”
“That sounds cool”, I said. “What a great idea!”
Dad set up a dark backdrop and placed two Queen Ann chairs in front of it. Then he posed Dusty and me exactly the same in the separate chairs, side by side. He used the large-format camera for the shots and asked us to look very serious. Then he did some shots with us smiling and with us making goofy faces.
“Okay, that’s enough of that,” he said. “Let’s do another approach. Dusty, is it alright if Jana sits on your lap?”
“I guess so.”
“Jana, is it okay with you sitting on your brother’s lap?”
“Sure,” I said, getting up from my chair. “How do you want me to do it?” The artist took my hand and had me sit on Dusty at a 45 degree angle.
“Fold your hands together,” he said to me. “Good. Now turn your head forward a bit but look off to the right of the camera. Great! Now, hold that for a minute.” He prepared the camera and then took the shot.
“Now, stay as you are but look right at the camera, both of you.” He took another shot. “Now, Dusty, you look away to the right.” Another shot. Then he took a few more with me wrapping my arm over Dusty’s shoulders. My brother seemed to loosen up as photo after photo was taken.
“Okay, k**s, let’s do these again, except this time both of you will be nude.” I felt Dusty flinch.
It’ll be ok, Dusty,” I said to him. “It’s fun. You’ll like it.” He looked at me as I stood up. I smiled back.
“Well, here goes,” he said, as he fumbled with the buttons of his shirt. He quickly took off his clothes and stood by me. For the first time in years, I saw his cock and balls and his hairy ass.
The photographer positioned Dusty in the chair and then had me sit on my brother’s lap. I could see Dusty was a little nervous; he felt frozen to the spot; his biceps twitched. “Relax,” I said, and he seemed to loosen up a bit as the shutter clicked and clicked.
“Okay, let’s do something else,” the photographer said. “Stand up and move the chairs away.” We did. “Now, face me and stand side by side. Dusty, put your hands in front of your crotch. Jana, use one hand to cover your breasts and one to cover your crotch.” We did. The lights popped.
“You’re doing great,” I told Dusty.
“Yeah, right,” he said, smiling a little.
“Okay,” the artist said. “I want you to stand back to back and clasp hands and look at the lens.” Dusty is about three inches taller than I but our legs are almost the same length. So, when we stood back to back, our wet asses touched. I reached for his hands and gripped them firmly, as we waited for the photographer to snap the shots.
“Shit!” Dusty said, breaking the pose and turning away.
“What’s wrong?” I said.
“I can’t do this.”
“Because my cock started to get hard.” I looked down and smiled.
“I don’t mind,” I said, touching his arm.
“But I do. It’s embarrassing,” he said.
“What’s wrong?” Dad asked.
“Dusty’s cock was acting up,” I said. “He’s embarrassed.”
“Well, I can shoot around that, Dusty. And I can pose you so it doesn’t show. But it’s up to you. You don’t have to and we can stop now.” My brother had his back to us, his hands on his hips.
“It’s okay,” I said. “It’s natural, sexy actually. Besides, you watched me cum awhile ago.”
“You wanted to, Jana. I don’t. And you’re my sister, for god’s sake.
“So what,” I said. There was silence. “Look, Dusty, I told you before and I told Dad today that I wanted to give him a gift. I wanted to model for him as a sensual, erotic young woman. Tasteful, but erotic. Your hard-on makes me feel sexier, even though you are my brother. There’s nothing wrong with that. I can handle it.”
Dusty sighed and looked at our father. “Do you mind, Dad? I mean, is this alright?”
“It’s up to you, he said. “I’ve never asked a model to do something she or he didn’t want to do. I’ve gotten some good shots of you both so we can stop now. But I will say that you’re not the first model to get an erection.”
“See. It’s natural,” I said. “Let’s keep going.” By now, Dusty was soft—and small. I smiled at him again. “Please, Dusty. For me.” He looked at me, sighed again and shrugged his shoulders.
“What the hell. Let’s do it,” he said. I kissed him on the cheek, and then punched him playfully on the arm.
“What’s next, Dad?” I asked.
“Well, let’s try this,” he said. “Lie down here, Jana, on your left side. Dusty, you lie down behind her. Both of you bring your knees up in a fetal position so your thighs, Dusty, are beneath your sister’s. The old spooning position it’s called. I’ll use the large camera to shoot some pictures from above.”
We both lay down on the white satin sheet spread on the floor. The photographer lifted Dusty’s right arm and d****d it across my chest. He had me put my head on top of my brother’s left arm. Then he had me nestle my ass up against Dusty’s crotch.
“I don’t want anything private showing,” he said. “So, Jana, is it okay if Dusty puts his hand on your left breast? His arm will cover your right one.”
“I don’t mind,” I said. “Okay with you, Dusty?”
“Sure, I can handle it.” All of us laughed at his unintentional pun. And then, he reached over and gently cupped my breast.
“That looks good,” the artist said. “Relax, but hold that pose while I frame the shot.” He moved the camera into position and then climbed onto a ladder to adjust the framing and the lens. Dusty and I lay there not saying anything.
Then, it happened again. I felt his bent cock stiffen against the crack of my ass. “Is this okay?” he whispered. I told him it was. My nipples grew hard and I knew he could feel them. And I knew we were both comfortable with what we were doing for my father and for me.
The photographer took six shots, some with our eyes open, some with them closed. I could feel my brother’s heart beating on my back and his cock throbbing against my ass. And I could feel him gently squeezing my tit.
“Those were good,” the artist said. “Want to try a different idea?”
“You bet,” I said, moving away from Dusty and standing up. As I did, his cock sprang out and up. He made no attempt to hide it. Dad saw Dusty’s hard-on too but it didn’t seem to bother him at all.
“I’d like to do some abstracts,” he said, grabbing a smaller camera.
“Dad,” I said, “can we talk for a minute?”
“Sure,” he said. I reached for Dusty’s cock.
“What the …!”
“Shush!” I said to Dusty, keeping my hand on his engorged penis. “Dad, I want to do some real sexy shots. Just for us, you know, not for publication.” I tugged on Dusty’s cock.
“I’m not sure that would be a good idea, Jana,” he said. “You and Dusty have long lives ahead of you and I want you to have a good relationship with each other. Later, you might regret what you’re asking to do now.”
“No, Dad, I want to do it as well.” My mouth fell open as Dusty spoke. “We love each other. I don’t mean romantically. But you know we’re very close. I admit I was uptight when we first started doing these pictures. But, look at us. We’re standing here naked. She’s got her fingers wrapped around my boner.” He paused. “This is too cool.”
I started laughing. I couldn’t help myself. I let go of Dusty and brought my hands to my face. He looked at me and then at Dad. And he laughed too. Dad threw up his hands in mock exasperation. At last, the artist looked at his c***dren, walked up to us, and put his hands on our shoulders.
“What would your mother say?” he asked, and we all laughed again. Then, very seriously, very professionally, and very paternally, he spoke.
“You’re both young adults who happen to be my beautiful twins. One thing I’ve tried to teach you is to be yourselves, to follow your passions, and to consider the consequences of your actions. I respect you as individuals. I love you as my c***dren. If you want to do this, then we will. But, after I make a set of prints for each of you, I’ll destroy the negatives. Just in case.” He winked and smiled. Dusty and I both kissed him on the cheek. “Let’s get to work,” he said.
The three of us talked about what we envisioned and how to achieve it. We arranged the studio set so that the photographer could shoot in a 180 degree range. He put a pile of multi-colored cushions on the floor.
“I won’t pose you,” he said. “You do what you want and I’ll try to get some good shots.”
“Okay,” I said and then turned to Dusty. We stood there, awkwardly, figuring how to begin. The artist saw this.
“Hmmm, how about we start with a couple poses after all? Then, well see how it goes,” he said.
“Good idea,” Dusty said. His cock was limp.
“Lie on your back,” the artist said to Dusty. “Jana, sit on his chest and lean back on your arms.” He took a shot.
“Stay as you are, Dusty. Jana, get up, turn around and straddle his torso with your rear end toward his face.” I did as I was told. He took a few shots.
“Hold that pose. Now, Jana, lower your chest and head and rest them on Dusty. Turn your head away from the camera.” I did what he asked. My ass jutted in the air above Dusty’s face. He took more shots.
“Okay, Jana, lower your body all the way down onto Dusty so your legs are on either side of his head.”
I could feel Dusty’s breath on my cunt. His bobbing cock pointed at me, just inches from my face. Then, he put his hands on my ass and squeezed. Instinctively, I slid back onto his mouth. His tongue found my slit. I lay still, enjoying the wet warmth probing me.
Above us, I heard the shutter click once, then again. I reached under Dusty’s right leg and massaged his tight balls. He raised his hips. I circled his asshole with my middle finger. He pushed against it. And then, I fucked him. I penetrated him with my finger.
His sphincter grabbed it tightly at the first knuckle. I eased it out, then back in. Out, then in. I pushed deeper, down to the second knuckle, feeling him tighten around it. He wanted more and, slowly, I gave it to him, plunging my finger in as deep as I could.
Dusty’s cock head turned purple. I flicked it with my tongue. He moaned a little. I muffled the sound with my pussy hard against his mouth. He found my clit and licked it. I found his cock and sucked it. And the shutter kept clicking. Clicking. Clicking.
I didn’t want my brother to cum yet. I wanted more pictures. So, I pulled my finger out of his ass. I lifted my mouth off of his cock. And I slid away from his wonderful tongue.
“Time out,” I said, standing up quickly. “I need to pee.” I ran to the little bathroom stuck in a corner of the studio. My face was flushed and I was breathing deeply as I sat on the toilet.
When I walked out, my brother and the artist were talking. They stopped as I approached. “I hope you got some good shots, Dad,” I said.
“I did, Jana. But I must say that you two went beyond what I expected.”
“Are you okay with that?” I asked.
“I’m okay,” he said. “Dusty tells me he’s okay too.” I saw something in his expression but I didn’t know what it was and I didn’t inquire. Instead, I smiled.
“Good,” I said. “I’d like to try a couple more things before we quit. Is that okay?” I looked at the artist who looked at my brother.
“I’m cool with it,” Dusty said.
“Sure,” the artist said. “What are you thinking?”
“You’ll see,” I said. “Just let us do what we do and shoot it as you see fit, but focus on Dusty more than me.” Dusty looked puzzled. I smiled at him and told him to follow my lead. I had been naked in front of my father for more than three hours. My brother had been nude for almost half that time. I felt free to do anything.
“Are you guys ready?” I said. They nodded. I motioned for Dusty to lie down on his back. When he was settled, I knelt down a couple feet from his head and faced his toes. Then, I bent down so that I was on all fours, my tits hanging above his face. Slowly, I brought one to his mouth to suckle. The photographer took some shots.
“Gently,” I said to Dusty. “Don’t bite me.” He sucked my nipple and it grew hard in his mouth. His cock got harder too. Then I pulled away and gave him my other tit. He took it like a baby.
I rocked back and forth and side to side, sliding my breasts slowly over his mouth. I stuck my tongue out and flung my head back, eyes closed, listening to the shutter click. Then, I rose back up on my knees.
“Dusty,” I said, “reach up and gently pull on my nipples. Pull, but don’t let go.” As he did, I cupped my crotch with both hands, closed my eyes, and pretended to be in ecstasy. After a few shots, I lifted Dusty’s hands from my tits. His cock was growing larger.
“Stand up,” I said. “Put your hands behind your back as if you were handcuffed. Whatever happens, don’t move from this spot.” He got up and did what he was told. His hard-on was full-blown but he stood there unashamed. I walked over to the photographer and whispered, “Please, for the remaining shots, just shoot Dusty, not me, from his chest on up. I’m going to make him come.”
My father smiled and nodded. He grabbed a different lens and put it on the camera. “Ready,” he said.
I walked back to my brother and reminded him to keep his hands clasped behind him and not move away from the spot where he stood. Slowly, I circled him, raking my fingertips softly on his skin. I rubbed his nipples until they were hard. I poked at his belly button and pulled on his pubes. His breathing grew heavy. His cock bobbed and pulsed.
Turning away, I backed my ass up against the underside of his raised penis and moved slowly side to side. His breath warmed my neck. His cock settled in my crack. The artist hadn’t taken a shot. He was watching me stimulate his son, waiting for me to move out of the frame.
I crouched down, and then got on my knees. I turned and faced my brother’s glistening cock. I wrapped my right hand around it and began stroking him slowly. His scrotum tightened around his balls.
Dusty started thrusting his hips. He shifted his feet wider, giving me access to his asshole. I teased it with my left thumb, pressed it with my middle finger. I stroked him faster, squeezed him harder. He was very close.
The camera clicked behind me. Dusty started to moan. He pushed against my hand urgently. And then, he came, splattering my face with three long streams of jism. His knees buckled but he held his ground. More cum flowed from his cock onto my stroking hand. His first spurts dripped off my nose and chin.
I turned to the artist, who lowered his lens to shoot my face. I smiled and licked Dusty’s cum from my lips. Then, I licked the tip of his cock and let go.
“That was way cool,” I said, looking up at my brother. He smiled, still breathing hard.
“Yeah,” he said, “way cool.” I got up, grabbed a towel and wiped his cum off my face. The photographer started to put his equipment away.
“Wait, Dad,” I said. “Can I get a photo of you and me? Let Dusty take a shot of us.”
“Yeah, Dad. Give me the camera,” Dusty said. I grabbed my father’s hand and pulled him under the lights. I put my arm around his waist and my brother took a shot of father and naked daughter. Then another.
“Dad,” I said. “Will you do me a favor?”
“What’s that?” he asked, as Dusty took another shot.
“Can I have a photo of you and me naked together?”
“Jana, I don’t think …”
“Jana, I …”
“Please.” I looked straight into his eyes. He smiled.
“Okay,” he said. The artist had won over the father. He removed his shoes and socks and then his shirt. When he took off his trousers, I was surprised to see that he wasn’t wearing any underwear. For his age, my father still has a trim body, one coated with gray hair.
We stood there again with our arms around each other’s waist. Dusty took a couple photos of us smiling and making silly faces. Suddenly, I turned slightly into Dad and, with my free arm, placed my hand over his penis. He flinched a little but didn’t move away. Wide-eyed, Dusty took another shot.
“A couple more,” I said to him, looking straight into the lens. My father’s cock stiffened in my cupped hand, like it did when I traveled through it long ago.