A Week of June: Monday

"The next picture is the last in the series," I whispered, as I released the clasp on her bra, and finished unbuttoning her blouse. The cups of her bra fell away from her breasts, and I saw her brown nipples, hard, crowning each breast. She turned the page, this woman, my student, her lips caressing my hard cock, her clothes being removed. As her eyes fell on the final picture, her mouth opened in an unconscious gasp, and I took advantage of the movement to rest the head of my prick on her tongue. The last picture showed the young man from the picture before between the legs of my brown-haired beauty, still seated on the park bench. She had her legs over his shoulders, and he was evidently dipping in with some passion.

I slid her blouse and bra off of her torso, all the while maintaining my position in her mouth. I felt her rapid breathing across the crown of my penis, and the soft and wet warmth of her tongue against that most sensitive place just beneath the ridge of my glans. It was then that she made her first active move: she put the portfolio down, reached beside her and pulled on the zipper on the side of her suit skirt. I stepped across her body, now squarely facing her, and allowed my cock to slowly slide into her mouth. Her eyes were closed.

"Ms O'Phelan. Look at me," I ordered. Her eyes sprang open, behind those horn-rimmed glasses, the supplication evident in them. I held her gaze in mine as I continued, slowly, to invade her mouth. She had accommodated around three inches of my seven and a half, when she started to gag slightly. I pulled back a little, leaving the head and an additional inch or two of cockmeat in her mouth.

"Take off your skirt, please." She lifted her hips, and wriggled the garment off of her legs. Her eyes continued to plead with me, her humiliation at being mastered so easily at war with her arousal. I maintained my position in her mouth, rocking back and forth a little so that she would feel the movement. I glanced down and was pleased to see that her nylons were thigh highs. She was wearing a pair of lacy panties that matched her bra. I could see that the panel between her legs was moist, and could smell her desire. I pushed forward once again in her mouth, and this time, she took four inches of my manhood before beginning to gag once more. Again I pulled out some.

"Now your panties, if you will." With a little fear in her pretty blue eyes, she obeyed, lifting her hips once more. Her little pussy now revealed, surrounded with a little thatch of hair as black as those on her head, her submission was almost complete.

"Now, Ms O'Phelan, you will play with yourself while I fuck your mouth." With these words, I pushed into the depths of her mouth, and passed her gag reflex to rest securely in her throat. A tear welled over in her eye, but she gave into the last command, and started to rub her clit while pushing a finger into herself. I began a motion back and forth in her mouth, while an unconscious moaning started vibrating in her chest. Her self-stimulation became more and more frenzied.

"Mmmm... Mmmm..." she hummed around my member, her mouth full to straining. All the while, she kept her eyes locked on mine, straining for the plateau of her arousal. I felt the pressure of the erotic situation building up inside me, and I quickened the pace of my to and fro in her mouth. And now, she started to participate in pleasuring me, her tongue creating suction around the invading member. Her moaning increased, becoming louder and louder.

And then, she crested, her senses overcoming her resistance, the walls around her sexuality crumbling. With a scream around my cock, she arched her back, spasming with her whole body. For minutes, seemingly, she orgasmed, lost in her world, experiencing only the pressure of her fingers and the presence of my cock in her mouth. And then she opened her eyes, and looked at me, the supplication replaced with gratitude, another soft tear escaping the lid of her eye. She deliberately grasped my shaft and began to blow me with passion. I felt my own orgasm build within me, rising from my balls up into my cock, and finally erupting out the head, connecting me with my conquest in a rope of semen caught in her mouth. She pulled off of me for the next several shots, allowing them to spray across her face, hair, and tits, decorating herself in the evidence of her breakthrough.

****

When June returned that afternoon from her shopping trip, I had in my hand a contract to shoot the new Flirty Girls swimwear line. The rate for the shoot had been more than doubled based on the evidence of my ability to create erotically charged photos that would help sell the items. In addition, Ms O'Phelan had offered a hefty bonus if I used "that stunning young model I saw leaving your apartment this morning." I didn't know how to tell her that that had been no model. She promised to courier the swimwear that day.

June, for her part, had had a highly successful morning shopping, from the looks of the numerous bags and parcels she was carrying as she entered the apartment. She was positively glowing, her cheeks flushed, her eyes shining. When I asked her what she had purchased, she just smiled secretively and told me to be patient.

"How did your meeting go?" she asked.

"It was very provocative," I answered. "In fact, they've given me the contract. There's only one catch, though. The representative wanted you to be their model."

"Me! I have no experience with modeling!"

"I think that you would be a natural, princess. You've got the looks and you have an inherent flair that translates through the camera. And, to boot, they're offering me a lot of money to entice you on board, money which you can keep for yourself!"

June's got a pretty level head: the combination of flattery and monetary reward would have overwhelmed anyone, but she asked for some time to think about it. I told her I was getting the swimwear today, and wanted to do the shoot tomorrow morning when the light would be best. She promised that she would let me know by the end of the afternoon.

****

The heat was still pounding the pavement flat outside. Even if the thermometer read 94 degrees, the combination of the humidity and the heat absorbing asphalt made the atmosphere thicker than molasses, and decidedly unpleasant to push your way through. So June and I ordered lunch in, and made the delivery guy travel through the soupy air. When he arrived, sweat plastering his hair under his hat, I took pity on him and gave him a hefty tip.

Although I felt so relaxed around June, I still could not take my mind off of her outfit. As we sat eating, I stole glimpses of her golden legs, seeing the curve of her ass on the chair. I suppose that being at the beach with her, I would actually see more of her than I was seeing now, but context is a powerful stimulant for the imagination. Choosing the right combination of clothing for its shock potential is an important weapon in the arsenal of the exhibitionist. If you saw me in a g-string at the beach, you'd probably call me confident in my body, vain perhaps, but hardly inappropriate. However, if you saw me in an art gallery wearing a g-string, your impression would be much different.

I knew that June, in her turn, was surreptitiously checking me out. I sat with my legs spread, the thin threadbare cotton clinging to the outline of my package. I felt the stretch of the material across my penis like a caress, a stimulant to my already hot imagination.

We talked about many things that afternoon; where her friends were going to college, the relationships she had enjoyed in high school, and naturally flowing from that, the boyfriends she had had over the last few years. She'd had a few, but she had not been interested in any longterm affairs with any of them.

"They acted so young, Dad. Sure, they were beautiful, each in his own way. But I could never see myself settling down with them. I think I'm really only interested in older men."

As she was saying these words, she was lounging on one of the chairs in the living room. She had one leg up, over the side of the chair, the other angled towards the same side. I was sitting on the floor, my back to the wall. I could see almost all the way up her legs, but the last few inches were blocked from my view because of the angle from which I was watching her.

"Older men, kitten?"

"Yeah," she replied, moving her leg back and forth. "Older men seem so much more grounded in life. And yet, with their experience, they seem to have a greater imagination, a better sense of the possibilities inherent in a relationship." I couldn't tear my eyes away from those legs. With each movement, the spread of her legs increased, and I could see more and more.

"I mean, these kids I dated, for them, sex was always grope for a few seconds, and then wanting to climb on." The angle continued to increase: now I could see all of each leg.

"How interesting is that?" she went on. "You could make a girl feel appreciated first." Now her legs were spread fully towards me. I could briefly see the blue of her thong pouching over the mound of her sex before her leg swung back towards its mate again. The frank discussion combined with her display was beginning to get me aroused. I felt the blood begin to rush into my cock.

"You're right about that, princess," I replied. "Men get better at these things as they get older. It's natural for guys your age to be obsessed about getting their own; their hormones allow nothing less."

"That's my point exactly. I need a man who isn't governed only by testosterone. Although he better have a lot of it in any case!" Once again, the leg made its journey; now it paused at its nadir, and I was afforded a better view of her lips encased in the blue thong. A slight sheen suggested that June was feeling much the same as I. The slow return journey recommenced.

"A man who can make a girl feel warm all over..." Her eyes were half-hooded now, lost in thought. My cock was starting to feel uncomfortable, forced to stretch down the leg of my pants. And then, my ancient air conditioner, its capacity stretched finally beyond its pathetic ability to respond, sputtered, coughed, and died.

My eyes locked onto June's. She giggled.

"Not like that, Daddy!"

****

Without the constant inflow of cool air to keep it at bay, the humidity seeped in inexorably. Almost immediately, the atmosphere felt damper. I got on the phone at once to find out if a repairman could come to fix it. The earliest anyone could get over was tomorrow morning.

Within half an hour, the entire apartment felt as if it had never been air-conditioned in the first place. I felt sweat dripping off of my forehead. We opened windows to get a flow of air through the place, but the breeze was pretty much non-existent. I changed out of my jeans and into a pair of shorts, and suggested to June that we get out of the apartment, but she said she was too tired to go anywhere. The heat had plastered her lycra top to her chest, becoming semi-transparent in the process. I could see the outlines of her areolas. I watched her breasts sway slightly as she languorously fanned herself with a magazine.

"I've got to get out of these things," she said, standing up. "Even this much clothing is too hot."

She grabbed something from her bag and stepped into the bathroom, emerging a few seconds later in a sleeveless cropped t-shirt and just her thong. The t-shirt stopped just below her breasts, and read "I like boys... and girls" on it.

"That's better," she sighed, and went to the kitchen to get a cool drink. I stared at her, unsure what to look at. The bottoms of her breasts were visible with each step, the rounded pink flesh glowing slightly in the heat. At the same time, her fantastic ass would jiggle slightly, then firm up as the muscles under the flesh tensed. The thong, barely a string in between each cheek, went over her hips and then came down in front to join in a small strip of material over her pubic bone and vulva. Not a single hair peeked out from behind the thong; she appeared to be almost completely shaven. Then she seemed to notice the effect she was having on me.

"Oh, Dad! I'm sorry! I just can't stand being so hot. Could you just not look if I'm too exposed?"

"If you're embarrassed, honey, I'll try not to look," I responded, staring outright at her.

"Great," she said, as she sat down, her legs spread in an unladylike pose, her shirt riding up so that the bottom halves of her breasts were exposed again. "Then I won't feel self-conscious."

"You're right about the clothing, kiddo," I said. "The less the better in this kind of heat." I stood up and pulled off my shirt, standing in front of her in just my shorts. I sat down again, my legs copying hers.

"Oh! Daddy! I can see up your shorts like that!" June gasped, with a twinkle in her eyes.

"I'm sorry, June," I replied, not moving an inch. "If I'm too exposed, maybe you'd just better not look also!"

"OK, Daddy, I won't," she said, her eyes not budging from my crotch.

"Is it true?" I asked, after a few minutes.

"What?"

"What your shirt says."

"I thought you weren't looking!"

"I'm not," I said. "I noticed it when you came out of the bathroom."

She looked down at her shirt, and then lifted up the bottom of it, as if to read it better. This motion revealed each of her breasts, the firm golden flesh upstanding on her chest, each rounded mound capped with an erect nipple. She held the shirt there longer than she needed to, then let it drop. The sight caused my cock to expand. I had a feeling that June would no longer need to peer up my shorts to see it.

"Yup," she said, carelessly. The shirt had caught on her right nipple, leaving that breast almost entirely out in the open.

"Any experience that way?" I queried.

"Oh, sure. Cheerleader squads always lead to a little experimenting on road trips." My mind was agog with the imagery summoned by that statement, and my cock started to stand upright, pushing up the front of my shorts. The head was still caught on the edge of the left leghole, creating a gaping hole through which June could see all of me.

"It's a good thing you're not looking at me, 'cause this conversation has gotten me a little heated up," I essayed.

"Really? You mean your thingie is hard?"

"Yeah. I'm a bit embarrassed about it, getting an erection in front of my daughter."

"Don't worry, Daddy," she said, her eyes fixed on my gaping shorts, tented by my increasingly immense hardon. "I'm not looking anyway. And in any case, I'm a bit aroused by remembering getting it on with Cheryl Parks. So it's a good thing you're not looking at me and seeing how wet I'm getting!"

Indeed she was, the crotch of her skimpy thong turning a deep shade of blue from the moisture emanating from her valley. As I watched, she reached down and tucked one finger in the damp cloth.

"Be sure you're not looking now, Dad. I've got to adjust my panties."

My breathing became faster as I watched her pull the panties away from her cunt. Her hand blocked my view for a moment, and then she languidly moved her hand back to her side again. Now the blue silk was engulfed by the lips of her vulva, which bulged obscenely around the cloth. Some detached part of my mind noted distantly that her genitals were indeed shaved smooth, while another more primitive part of my brain gibbered joyfully at the first sight of my child's adult sex.

"Well," June announced, all of a sudden, standing up, "it's time for a shower and to get ready for dinner. I made reservations at Alva on 22nd St. I'll be ready in about an hour." And she disappeared into the bathroom, carrying two of her bags of shopping from the morning. The quick transition left me fairly gasping. My daughter: the tease!

****

An hour and a half later, I emerged from my bedroom. I had taken a shower after June, but had not caught sight of her. Despite the close environment, her whirlwind preparations somehow masked her from me. While she had been in the shower, the courier had arrived with the package of swimsuits. It seemed suspiciously small.

I knew Alva: it had a casual but elegant atmosphere, so I dressed accordingly. I was wearing deep brown leather pants and a burgundy silk shirt with brown cowboy boots. I had chosen not to shave again, sporting an afternoon shadow on my cheeks. I left my long hair untied.

My daughter, however, had outdone herself again. She had her hair done neatly in a french braid. Her face was made up very lightly, professionally to give her features a classic appearance. Her deep red lipstick matched the color of the dress she was wearing. It was a tunic style short-sleeved dress which came down to mid thigh. Each side was slit up to the bottom of her ribcage, clearly revealing that she was not wearing panties. The neck was scooped just to the top of her cleavage. She was wearing a pair of modest red pumps on her feet, and she had a small handbag. The entire outfit complemented her curves superbly. As she walked, her breasts swayed, dangerously announcing how free they were from constraint. Her nipples pushed through the dress, confirming June's arousal at her audacity.

And indeed, it was audacious. If she leaned forward, it would appear to a person at the side as if she was wearing nothing from her ribs to her shoes. But I had not the slightest idea how audacious it could be.

June's breathing seemed a little ragged, her cheeks somewhat flushed, her eyes a little glazed. Her hand shook a little as she reached out to me.

"L-let's get going, sh-shall we?" She said, trying to be cool in the face of her obvious excitement.

"I would be honored to be seen in the company of such a ravishing creature," I said as I took her hand. "But tell me, what have you done with my daughter?"

The weak joke seemed to give June a chance to get a hold of herself, and she laughed gently. We stepped out to ride down in the elevator.

The trip to the restaurant seems like a blur in my memory. The cab ride was a near disaster, as the cabbie could not decide whether to watch the road or my daughter in his rearview mirror. I myself was a little in awe of June, despite my inveterate exhibitionist tendencies. Her chest rose and fell rapidly, and I could see that she was trembling. Yet she kept her eyes fixed out the window, watching the evening activity on the streets of New York City.

When we arrived at the restaurant, I slid out of the cab and held my hand to her to help her out. She slid one leg out, and the front flap of the dress slid entirely off of the leg. Her sex was covered, but the entire right side of her abdomen was revealed. Without missing a step, she slid out, readjusting the dress naturally as she stood up. She was a little unsteady as we walked to the door and stepped inside.

The maitre d' showed us to our table, clearly unhappy at having to walk in front of us. The interior of the restaurant is dimly lit, with candles on the tables. Our table was a circular booth, and June sat down , hiding her lower half behind the tablecloth. From this perspective, she actually looked decorous, as the high side slits were hidden from view. She was clearly relieved.

"Well, kiddo," I said, "tomorrow you'll be eighteen. Do you want to do anything special?"

"Um. I'll let you know later on tonight," she replied enigmatically, and no further amount of probing would elicit any more information from her.

We shared a bottle of 1996 Chassagne-Montrachet, the cool white wine relieving some of the tension that had built up on our trip over. I ordered a goat cheese and beet salad, while she had crab cakes. The ambience, the fine food, and the alcohol created a relaxed atmosphere between us, and our conversation flowed naturally. We discussed my current work, both professional and artistic. I attempted to explain my search for the beauty in the mundane, particularly in often overlooked manmade objects. She kept up her end of the conversation, surprising me once more with her remarkable intellect and her wide-ranging curiosity.