tagExhibitionist & VoyeurA Week of June: Monday

A Week of June: Monday


That night I had a very vivid dream: in it, I had been back at our Westchester house, having an argument with Alice, my ex-wife. For some reason, she was only wearing a bra, her clean-shaven pussy staring at me. All of a sudden, her voice seemed to emanate from her lower lips, shouting at me with vulgar words. And then June came in with a magnificent black dildo and shoved it up her mother's cunt, saying sprightly, "At last, a way to SHUT YOU UP!"

I woke up, at first shivering, and then amused at the startling image of my daughter silencing Alice in what seemed an all too appropriate fashion, given Alice's insatiable need for extramarital sex. And then, all of the last night's events came pouring into my consciousness once again. My daughter's teasing, the intense pleasure I felt in her presence, and the incipient desire I felt for her. And finally, my plans for playing her game, my competitive nature urging me to one-up her. As usual, my morning erection called my attention to it. Adjusting myself in my silk boxers, I stepped out of the room.

June was still in bed, asleep. I stopped at the sight of her. The sheets had gotten all tangled during the night, and she was lying mostly on top of them, with her shirt rucked up around her waist. Her long legs were just as I remembered them from the night before, and with her shirt so high on her body, her ass was also in the open. The glorious double curves of her cheeks with only the thin strip of white thong panties separating them were some of the finest I had ever had the honor to lay eyes on. The sound of the ancient air conditioner sputtering away seemed to be drowned out by the roaring in my ears.

My thoughts were a jumble. Perhaps I had misapprehended June's intentions the night before? And even if I hadn't, was I willing to go along with her in this game? Certainly I found her arousing in a manner I had never anticipated, and in the past, such an attraction would have led me to attempt a liaison. But the circumstances were different here. I was risking more than just a temporary humiliation: I was risking my relationship with my daughter, so newly reestablished.

On the other hand, I believed that I had read June correctly over the previous day. If she had been any other woman, the signs she had given me would have compelled me to take action towards her. In either case, I rationalized, I could take cautious steps and see where it led me. If she gave me any sign she was displeased, I could back away quickly enough. As our attitude towards nudity had been fairly relaxed when we were living as a family, I could easily claim misunderstanding.

So I sat down on the bed beside her, and shook her shoulder, to waken her.

"Good morning, princess. Did you have a good night's sleep?"

"Mmmmm..." she sighed, stretching like a cat next to me before opening her gorgeous eyes and smiling up at me. She made no attempt to cover herself, but rolled over onto her back and pulled her arms over her head, much like she had the morning before. Only this time, there was nothing covering her lower body outside of the skimpy panties. I gazed in wonder at the sight of her flat tummy and the sexy curve of her hips, and then at the soft junction of her thighs, where the white silk dove between her legs. I swear you could see the outline of her labia as if the panties had been painted on. I looked up to see her still smiling at me.

"Mmm, Dad, I had a dream about you last night; you were holding me just like you used to when I was a kid and we watched TV together at night. I felt so comfy, so secure. Yeah, I guess I slept pretty well last night, probably the best night's sleep I've had in months!"

I felt my cock stir in my boxers as I gazed into this sexy girl's eyes. I could hardly believe this was my June, the girl I had known from infancy to high school. The look she was giving me would not be out of place in the boudoir, from a woman to her lover. She was so clean, innocent, dewy, and yet erotic in more than just a schoolgirl way. I thought I could lose myself in her if I wasn't extremely careful.

"Well, kid," I said, standing up, and stretching myself, "we've got some bagels in the kitchen. I'm going to take a shower and shave, OK?"

I knew full well what my motions would do: in my stretch, I felt the silk of the boxers glide over my partial erection, and mold itself to the contours of my balls. Standing just in front of her, I knew she couldn't miss the "unconscious" display.

I took a quick shower, and then stepped out to shave in front of the mirror. Since I regularly shave my cock and balls after I shave my face, I usually don't wear a towel while I stand in front of the sink. Today, however, this habit had unexpected consequences when June knocked lightly on the door and stepped into the bathroom.

"Oh! Whoops! Sorry, Dad," she said, averting her eyes, and making as if to leave the room.

"S'OK, June. You can come in, just don't look, OK?"

"Oh. OK, I was just going to hop into the shower myself. So don't you look either, right?"

"Uh-huh," I replied, pretending to be engrossed with my shaving. The mirror was fogged in all but a small area for me to look into, but in that small area I could catch glimpses of my daughter as she stood, looking squarely at my backside. Let her look, I thought to myself. Two can play at that game, as she turned her back to me and pulled her T-shirt over her head. Once again, I was free to admire the lack of tan-lines on her back. I couldn't see her lower half, but she stooped to remove her panties, and then stepped into the shower. I heard the spray of water begin.

I finished shaving my face, and then sat down on the toilet to begin to remove the stubble surrounding my genitals and perineum. I lathered up, and began carefully stroking the razor over the skin of my balls.

"Dad, do you have an extra razor I can borrow?" came June's voice from within the shower.

"Um, sure thing, doll. Hang on, I'll get one for you." I got an extra disposable and stepped to the tub. I put my hand with the razor into the gap of the curtain. "Here you go." I felt her take the razor from me, and then I felt the glide of some wet and smooth skin across my fingers. I could not identify what part of her body it was, but the feel of it was electrifying. I jerked my hand out of the shower.

"Sorry, hon," I stammered. I heard a little giggle from within the confines of the curtains.

I sat back down and finished shaving the delicate skin of my scrotum, and started on the area around the base of my shaft. I find that removing the hair from this area makes the erection stand out that much more. I saw one foot perched on the edge of the tub, the pink toenail polish glistening. I knew that June was busy shaving her legs. In a second, the foot was replaced by its partner. I stood up to shave between my legs, the area behind my balls. Then I heard a snort of laughter from inside the tub.

"There's really no graceful way to do this, is there?" June remarked.

"What's that, hon," I replied, offhandedly, in the midst of contortions of my own.

"Shaving the bikini area, of course!"

I laughed. "We all have to shoulder our crosses in the name of fashion, dear." I finished my work, and cleaned up, just as I heard the shower turn off. I stepped out of the room before she could get out of the shower. Although I had an intense desire to see her handiwork, and to display my own, I was beginning to enjoy the feeling of a cat-and-mouse game.

In my room, the enormity of the events of the last fifteen minutes hit me. June and I had been simultaneously shaving our privates, not five feet removed from each other. And she had let me know that she knew about it too! Any doubts I had remaining about her intentions were swept out the door by this realization. The only question remaining was how far she wanted our game to go. I was willing to let her play leader, as long as I could have my fun too.

To that end, I got out a pair of button front jeans from my closet. These jeans were the oldest pair I owned, and they were faded nearly white. In addition, they were so thin that they molded themselves to the skin underneath like a wet cloth. Finally, in several strategic areas, the material had frayed into long collections of parallel threads, including over both knees, both ass cheeks, and alongside the inner thighs on both sides. I pulled the nearly non-existent piece of clothing up my legs and adjusted myself in the crotch so that my unit was all on one side of the seam. I knew from experience that with an erection, the threads would be pulled apart, revealing the turgid flesh beneath. I also knew that bending over would afford anyone behind a stellar view of my ass. I had more daring outfits, but few I enjoyed as much as these pants. For a top, I put on a black mesh muscle shirt.

If I thought I was going to trump my daughter, I had a lot to learn about June. For when I stepped out of my bedroom, I found her seated at the table, dressed in an outfit whose image is burned into my brain. For a top, she was wearing a very simple lycra stretch top that reached just below her breasts, and which had short sleeves. Although the material was not see-through, every inch of her tits was encased with the lycra so that they were perfectly outlined. Then she had on a flouncy schoolgirl like skirt in blue checks with pleats that could only be described as a micro-mini. The skirt had two suspender-like straps that went over her shoulders, with each one lying on the outside of one breast. Her midriff was proudly bared, showing off her sexy navel. When she sat down, the skirt went up behind her so that she sat on her bare bottom. Her blond hair was pulled into two pigtails, and she wore four-inch transparent plastic blue heels.

To cover my astonishment at June's audacity, I went and got myself a bagel. True, I had met many women who enjoyed displaying their charms. In fact, I had seen a number in outfits far more outrageous than the one June was wearing. However, none of these sirens had been my daughter. I was clearly going to have to update my thinking on June. At the same time, I can't say I was disappointed. I have never liked prudes, or women who could not enjoy their physicality. I could tell that June had the wherewithal to withstand unwanted advances, and the self-confidence to appear perfectly natural in costumes in which other girls would have come across as stumbling fools.

I sat down next to June and put my foot closest to her on the seat of her chair, by her leg, and leaned back slightly. This action opened my crotch directly towards her. I could feel the warmth of her bare leg, only an inch or so away from my foot.

"So, Kid, what are you going to do this morning? Remember, I've got my meeting in a little while." She turned slightly towards me, bringing her outer thigh into contact with the side of my foot.

"Well, Daddy, I've got some cash burning a hole in my pocket, so I thought I'd go shopping."

"Honey, I'd be astonished if you have a pocket hidden somewhere in that outfit," I laughed.

"Hmph," she replied, with a pretty pout, "I have a pocket all right, but it's not usually used for money!"

"Just be careful, princess. New York City isn't like Connecticut. I know you can handle yourself, but keep an eye out for weirdos."

"Oh, Daddy," she said, as she stood up and moved between my legs to hug me, "you're so sweet. Nothing's going to happen to me that I don't want." She put her arms around my head and pulled me to her sweet body. My cheek was pressed against her belly, and my arms were around her waist. I put my hands on her upper legs and hugged her back, delighting in the firm tone of her leg muscles.

"OK, sweety," I told her belly-button, "Go get 'em, tiger!" She giggled and turned back toward her plate. She leaned forward slightly to pick it up, pushing her butt back towards my face. Her skirt flipped up, showing me her astounding cheeks for the third time since the night before. This time, there was only a small string disappearing between them, the same color blue as the checks on her skirt. She was wearing a g-string! I could barely stop myself from running an appreciative hand up her legs to fondle those sculptured half-moons so close to my face. I felt those threads stretching thin in my pants. And then the moment was past, as she stepped to the kitchen to clean her plate.


Not ten minutes later, she was set to go, with a purse and blue sunglasses shaped like hearts perched on the top of her head. At the door, she gave me a quick peck on the cheek and wished me luck with my meeting. As she stepped out of the door, the elevator chimed. Out stepped a woman in a dark-blue, conservative skirt suit, hair pulled back severely, with horn-rimmed glasses, carrying a portfolio. As June walked past her and into the elevator, the woman's eyes never left her, staring at her, even as the elevator doors closed. Then she turned to me, and raised one eyebrow.

"Ray Carlson, I presume? I'm Deirdre O'Phelan, representative of Flirty Girl Products." Her eyes raked across my body, from head to toe, and back up again, lingering briefly over my groin.

"Won't you step into my office?" I swept my hand in front of me, indicating the open door. She moved past me into my apartment, smelling gently of jasmine. She sat in one of the chairs, decorously tilting her knees to one side. I sat down opposite, with my legs spread, and took a moment to examine Ms O'Phelan. Despite her austere appearance, I could see that she was really quite becoming. Her jet-black hair contrasted with her pale skin, and behind her glasses her eyes had a sharp intensity to their ice-blue color. Her round face had very delicate features, and was set upon a graceful neck. Her clothes were tailored, and fit her slim body perfectly. Her nylons set off the fine turn of her legs. I noted that the shirt under the navy blue jacket appeared sheer, and I wondered if she were wearing a bra.

"Mr Carlson," she said, abruptly beginning her business, "We are looking for an accomplished photographer to film our new swimwear collection for our web-site. We are prepared to pay very well, and you have come highly recommended. However, I need to see your portfolio before I can make any decisions."

"Certainly. I have several, but I think the one you will be most interested in is my portrait collection." I stood to retrieve it from the bedroom. When I returned, I handed the portfolio to her, and stood next to her chair. The first several pages of the album are dedicated to simple head shots. These she moved past with seeming impatience. I could tell she was looking for something specific. She also breezed through my standard portraits, until she came to a series of black and white photos I had done for personal interest. These featured a stunning young woman in different degrees of undress in various parts of NYC. I had been inspired by the photos of Frank Wallis to attempt something similar. Instead of his images of women as architecture, I had attempted to represent my subject as unexpected decoration. In each photo, the girl had some portion of her sexuality exposed as it were by accident, to the stunned astonishment of passersby. And yet, despite the supposedly humiliating experiences, the young girl seemed entranced by her sudden freedom, her unexpected power to amaze.

Ms O'Phelan's breath caught in her throat when she turned to the first of these pictures. All of a sudden, I had this lady's character pegged. Desperate for some release for her sexuality and yet too embarrassed by it to let it show, she went through her days in an eternity of frustration. She wanted the freedom she saw in this young lady's expression, yet did not dare take the risk necessary to achieve it. It would only take a few shoves, I estimated, to send her spiraling down the slope of her desire.

"See, you can see right up her skirt," I murmured, gently, yet insistently, moving closer to her in the chair. I felt my prick begin to harden at the start of another game. I was standing with my hip only inches away from her ear. But she was too lost in examining the photograph to note my closeness.

"It's hard to tell whether she tripped by accident, or faked it to get attention, isn't it," I went on. "In any case, I think she's enjoying the end results."

Her breath quickening, Ms O'Phelan turned the page. This time, the girl's blouse had caught on a fence and ripped open, her naked breasts within suggested by the play of shadows and light. A woman, walking in the other direction had her hand over her mouth in astonishment, but the girl's face seemed ecstatic.

"Her tits are out in the open, aren't they," I whispered. At the word "tits" Ms O'Phelan sighed slightly. My cock was pushing against the threadbare cloth covering it, and I stealthily undid the top button with one hand, while I leaned a little closer into her space. Her eyes flicked across to the next in the series. Here, the wind had flipped up the girl's skirt in the back, showing her ass, unclad. The girl was actually laughing. A young man sitting nearby watched with very wide eyes.

"Naughty, wasn't she, to go without panties on a windy day. But with an ass like that, how could anyone want to hide it?" Ms O'Phelan's breath was shorter now, and she seemed to be feeling a little warm. She undid the buttons on her jacket and let it open. Underneath, she was wearing her white sheer blouse, covering a white lacy bra. Her breasts were heaving slightly, up and down. I released two more buttons on my jeans, and gently rearranged my cock so that it was standing up. If she had chosen to turn and look at me, she would have seen the head of my penis reaching up out of the V of the open pants. But she was too engrossed, too caught up in the experience of seeing someone live her fantasy.

She turned the page, and audibly gasped. On the subway platform, the girl's skirt had been ripped off of her by a dog, revealing her freshly shaved pussy to a large number of onlookers. The girl's expression was one of orgasmic delight.

"Look," I purred, "there's her cunt!" At the words, Ms O'Phelan closed her eyes and softly groaned. Her legs spread slightly under the album, and I could sense she wanted to scratch the itch she was feeling in her own cunt. I finished unbuttoning my pants, and allowed them to drop to the floor in a soft susurration. I stepped out of them, and my fully erect organ shamelessly pushed forward. I let the warm length of it rest against her cheek obscenely. She refused to look at it, but also did not pull away or resist its lewd onslaught.

"Turn the page," I commanded softly, enjoying the power I had over her. She obeyed, her rapid breathing and her erect nipples pushing at the lace of the bra cups betraying her overwhelming arousal.

"Ohhhh..." she moaned at the next picture. Here the girl was standing in the middle of a subway car, wearing only a ripped blouse, gripped with one hand, and a pair of high-heeled shoes. Her eyes were closed, and her legs were slightly parted, revealing her nether lips, glistening in the fluorescent light. Some of the passengers looked away in embarrassment, while others, fascinated seemed unable to tear their eyes away from the remarkable sight. Ms O'Phelan, clearly, would have been one of the latter. I rubbed my prick against her warm skin, and reached up to her hair to remove the cruel barrette and pins holding it in check. In an instant, her gorgeous black tresses spread around her face. I let my cock slide through her hair, leaving a slight trail of pre-cum shining behind. She, clearly still overly heated, shrugged her jacket off her shoulders, and kicked her heels off her feet.

She glanced at the next photograph. Here my subject had quit the confines of the subway and was sitting on a park bench, her legs spread, one hand dipping to touch herself between her legs. Her blouse was wide open, and her other hand toyed with a dark nipple. A young man sat at the other end of the bench, watching with evident interest. Ms O'Phelan was continuously moaning now, and I guided my cock so that it rubbed across her lips. She made no move to stop me, but also did not take any initiative. It was clear that she needed me to push her all the way. I reveled in the rude sight of my member against this woman's perfect features. I reached behind her and started to undo the buttons on her blouse. She sat, passively, but rubbed her legs against each other subtly under the portfolio.

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