Daddy Likes His Camera

My step-daddy's a horndog. I have no problem with that. Ever since I turned eighteen he's looked at me with the eyes of a man, and now that I'm nineteen even more so. I grew tits like my momma's, you see, and since she's gone and run off and left him, I guess Daddy, being a man and all, looks upon me as somewhat of a substitute.

It didn't start out like what you think, though. It was purely a thing I've heard called 'the male gaze', and it's not exclusive to him, not by a long shot. I guess it's because I look pretty much just like my momma, and she was a lingerie and swimsuit model, a real professional one, and with me having her same body men tend to look my way with nice happiness in their eyes.

Daddy, he used to take pictures of Momma, pretending he was in on her modeling in a real way. He's always taken lots and lots of pictures, a lot of 'em normal family stuff, but I found a box with some other stuff, the sexy pictures, and the sex pictures, my momma dressed in lingerie in some, not dressed at all in some, being fucked by other men in some. My daddy liked it all, you see, and he took pictures of it all, the way a real photographer would.

Me, I look so much like my momma looks in some of them old pictures, it freaks me out sometimes. It's not really a problem or anything, but it is sort of odd. Genetics and all, it's some freaky stuff, making my daddy's male gaze see me like my momma, and making the real me feel sorta maybe like the way the real her felt when he does it.

So I found all them private pictures, the box of 'em sort of overflowing, the ones on top just normal pictures of me when I was young, maybe there as a sort of a decoy. I don't know if Momma put 'em that way, or maybe Daddy done it, but there weren't no dust on top of 'em so I think maybe he looks at the underneath ones kinda regular.

I confess, I looked at 'em, too. Kinda regular. Sneaking around in his room when he wasn't home, sitting on the floor, looking at pictures of my momma sucking big cocks and being fucked. Really big cocks seemed to be the theme, though Lordy, I do not know where she found 'em all. I mean, I'm a sexual girl now, almost twenty years old, and I never found any boys or men with cocks bigger than average, though out here in God's country there sometimes isn't much to choose from. Good men are thin on the ground around here, ones that ain't drunk and playing with their guns even thinner. And by guns I mean guns, not the "thirty-odd-six" one dumb boy called his cock. It weren't no six, maybe just five or a little under, which don't make it special at all, but it surely was crooked and a little odd.

My daddy has had a real nice camera for as long as I can remember, one of them Nikons with lenses that come off and switch around. He does take good pictures, him telling me once that he took a real art photography class in high school. He's not the artsy type, but I guess anything's possible. He says his favorite lens gives a 'soft focus', saying it makes girls and women look more girlish and womanly, smoothing out our rough edges, I guess. He favors a real yellowish light, so when he's taking pictures outdoors it's often just before sunset, but indoors it looks like that just naturally, I guess.

You can call me a bad girl if you want. I have no problem with that. See, I got sort of obsessed with all those pictures, so, one day, pretty much right after I graduated high school and turned eighteen, I told him I knew about them. It happened because he'd scolded me for coming home drunk one night, and we got into a loud fight, which we rarely do. I called him some bad things and accused him of being a pervert. Said I had evidence of it. He stayed mad, calling me some things, too, so I marched right into his room and pulled that picture box out of his closet. I couldn't tell if he was mad or what, because he looked so different than usual. Scared, maybe, or maybe just shocked. He blabbered on about how my momma was a model, and that she'd wanted to do all that dirty picture stuff and he was just along for the ride. It made a sort of sense, and I felt bad for him, and bad for me because I'd gone and done something stupid I couldn't take back.

It was the next day, when we were both feeling bad, when I asked about the simpler pictures -- the bikini ones, and the ones of Momma in the pretty undies.

"Where'd all that stuff go?" I asked. "Did she buy all that?"

"They come from the photo shoots," he said. "The real ones, where she worked. The clothes weren't new anymore after she wore 'em, so lots of times they gave 'em to her. You were too young back then, those bathing suits and lacy stuff wouldn't have fit you. It's all out in the pole-barn, I guess. I don't think she took none of it with her. Ain't you seen them boxes? Mice mighta got into 'em."

"Shit, Daddy! All them boxes up high? That's all fancy undies and stuff?"

"Yup. You and your friends are welcome to 'em. You'll probably fit right into 'em."

Daddy's male gaze, sizing up the size of me, slowed at my tits, then drifted lower, to my hips and then my legs. "Yup," he said. "You're sure old enough."

Even though it was cold outside, I marched right out there to the pole-barn with bikinis and such on my mind. I found 'em, too, dusty-topped boxes that Momma had packed up -- bikinis, cute pajamas and lingerie that was all nicely folded and clean. Only one box had had mice in it. I salvaged what I could, but the smell of it made me throw most of that one away.

Daddy saw me carry the boxes into my bedroom, him shaking his head and smiling at my interest. Just a few minutes later he saw me in one on my momma's bikinis, me walking out to the living room where he was watching football, so I could show him me wearin' it.

"It fits," I said, feeling funny, but sorta proud, about how purely sexy I looked.

"I figured it would."

"You think if I wear this on a nice beach I'll get hit on?"

"You best be ready for it. Your momma never minded."

"She didn't? Even with you there?"

"Made her feel good, she said. Like...desireful."

"You mean desirable."

"I know what I mean."

My daddy's eyes made me feel all warm. "This here one makes my titties look like momma's sometimes did," I said, looking downward at the way they was so sexed up, the bikini making 'em look real plump and full.

"Them aren't titties, little girl. Titties are like babies. There's babies, and there's babes. Babies are little children, babe's are women. Them there ain't titties."

"Daddy, you think funny," I said. "Is that your round-about way of sayin' these here of mine are tits?"

"Yup. I wouldn't call 'em titties."

Feeling all warm again, talking about 'em and all, I craved the feeling of hot sun on my skin, the sound of waves on the shore, and seagulls overhead. "How far away is the beach where Momma got hit on?"

"Most of 'em's far. A couple are a day's drive. One's half a day."

"Can we go? I wanna be where she was, wearin' what she wore."

"Yeah, we can do that," Daddy said. "Work's slow right now. I got time. There's an old motel that's cheap, where your momma and I stayed. Got a tavern built right into the end of it."

"Is it warm, though? This time of year?"

"Yup. Should be okay."

"I'll wear this, and some of the other ones," I said, with a nice excitement building inside me. "A real vacation!"

Daddy smiled. That day, he didn't tell me that he was bringing his camera with him, but I should have known it, even just for pictures of the sunsets and waves and whatnot. He likes to do those kind of regular pictures, too, taking ones of old empty buildings and other interesting things he sees here and there. A few days later, when we was on our drive down there, he even stopped the car a couple times so he could take a picture or two, one of a funny old tree that was laying dead on its side in an empty parking lot, and one of a fence made of thick rope that had a different kind of big old bird perched on it. A pelican, he said it was.

I felt excited the whole way there. Under my warm-weather clothes I had on some of my momma's pretty lingerie underwear, a matching bra and panties that was both black and see-through, sorta wispy like smoke. If you took the hazy black smoke from an old diesel truck and wrapped it around a woman's privates, that's sort what it looked like. It felt real fun having that kind of see-through stuff on under my everyday shorts and top, with nobody knowing but me.

"This is the first place your momma and me come to, just a few weeks after I met her, when you was little," Daddy said. "Your granny had you for that time. You remember?"

"I think I do. Did you bring me a baby alligator when you got home?"

"Yup," said Daddy. "That little thing looked real. They said they used to sell real stuffed ones, but they can't no more."

Daddy drove us to the parking lot of the quiet-looking motel, the pavement sorta lighter colored than up at home, with sand all blown in over it, making the lines we was supposed to park between hard to see. There was only one car there, but a few more down at the end, where the word TAVERN was lit up in neon red. We had the windows open on the drive down, so I could already feel the humidity and the warmth, and smell what Daddy said was salt, a whole different kind of air than the kind we breathe up at home.

I soon realized that the warmth wasn't as hot as I'd been dreaming about, but it was nice enough. Maybe the not-so-hot weather kept the beach empty, or maybe it was the old motel being run-down and far from fancy. Turned out the only guy that hit on me was the bartender of the tavern, him seeing me in my bikini whenever he stepped outside the back door to smoke a cigarette, which was often. Either he had real bad smoking habit or he just liked seeing me there on the beach, I'm not sure which.

It was a yellow bikini, that one he first saw me in. The catalog Momma was modeling for must have been a sexy one, because pretty much all her old bikinis are thin little wispy things, almost fragile little coverings that let the big bumps of my nipples show whenever they decide to harden up and look sexy. I never could control that kind of thing much, don't know if any woman can, but as I grew and became a woman I sorta realized that it's fun to have 'em seen, and I like it. Maybe that's why I've been wearing t-shirts with no bra underneath around the house with Daddy for years, even after my titties became real womanly tits.

So the bartender guy, he's not cute or anything, but he's a strange kind of handsome. Sorta big, but not fat. Sorta dark, but not black. Sorta weathered, but pretty clean. I'm not yet twenty-one for drinking yet, just nineteen, but he began to bring me drinks anyway, out the back door, and Daddy didn't mind. Probably because he brought Daddy drinks, too. It was our first full day there, me lying in the sun when I wasn't flirting, Daddy walking the beach with his camera, me wishing the weather was hotter.

Daddy brought out sandwiches he bought in the tavern, and we ate them on the beach. He told me about having picnics with my momma and me, and I told him I remembered some. Then the sky turned silver, and a breeze blew tight little ripples on the top of the ocean. The warmth, such as we had it, was cooling.

I looked for my bartender friend, but the open door was empty, the gray metal of the tavern's kitchen there to be seen when we walked by.

Our room had it's own door facing the beach, no patio or anything, just sand and bit of beach grass and years-old trampled paths that I imagined my momma walking. The cool breeze blowing in from the ocean made my nips all hard and pointy, my arms and even my stomach and my tits all covered with goosebumps.

"Damn this cold!" I said, as Daddy and me went inside our room. I'd known that I recognized the place, from some of Daddy's pictures of Momma, but I hadn't yet said anything about it. "Are all these rooms the same, you think, or is this the actual same one you and Momma was in?"

"Probably all the same. I can't remember which one."

"She was posed on the bed. Like this," I said, moving there quickly, like a child would do. "And like this."

Daddy chuckled, knowing I was being playful. I didn't remember which poses were what in which pictures, it was all sort of a jumble in my head, but I knew Momma was probably sexy, right here maybe on this very bed, and I wanted to be, too. So I flopped onto my back and I arched my chest upwards, my pointy hard nips riding the soft spread of my breasts, the wispy bikini letting 'em balloon off the sides of me the way I'd seen Momma's do. "Take my picture, Daddy. Do you want to?"

Looking back now, I'm sure those were the words that started it all. Me asking, and Daddy wanting to. It was so simple, really, a cool afternoon, a cozy room, the comfort of my step-daddy's smiling eyes. It felt so fun to have him point his camera at me, again and again, his artistic mind searching for the nice angles, my hidden show-off self deciding it didn't want to be hidden so much anymore.

He took a whole set of pictures of me in that yellow bikini that afternoon, poses that included me on my back, me on my stomach, me on hands and knees, all of them on the bed. It was so easy to feel beautiful, and desirable, and sexy. The light was soft that first afternoon, Daddy manipulating the drapes, playing with the natural daylight, sometimes asking for slight changes to my pose but mostly just smiling as I positioned myself however I wished. It was my first little taste of modeling, and I loved it.

My bartender friend, his name's Micky. He got off work right after Daddy and me had fried fish for dinner in the tavern, so Daddy stayed there to do some more drinking, and to watch TV at the bar with the new bartender, and Micky and me drove off in his little sports car with the top down. He showed me another stretch of beach miles away, then took me to his dark little apartment and we got high and did shots of tequila. You didn't think I was a good little Daddy's Girl, did you? I sucked Micky's cock, he put a crazy ribbed condom on it and he fucked me, and my first full day in Vacation Land felt like a real nice success.

--

That next morning, after I woke up in my bed and looked over at Daddy still sleeping in his, I got up and quietly rummaged through my things, looking for a good bikini for the day. The morning sun angled in through the window, the shaft of its brightness leaking through a space between the curtains, hitting my rumpled bed, turning it into art. I knew Daddy would like it, and then an idea hit me, my tequila hangover helping me to not think too much as I went into the bathroom and put on the black bra and panties, the ones made out of smoke. I laid on my bed the way a movie star might do, and I called out for Daddy.

"Want to take my picture, Daddy? These are some more of Momma's things I'm wearin', and the light's really nice."

I felt new and brightly alive when Daddy's eyes saw me, the bra so sheer my big nipples were right there to be seen, the panties just as naughty, or maybe more so, my pussy that Micky had ate so good now so adultly and sexily on view.

Daddy sat up, and pulled on his shorts. He'd been sleeping in his underwear and stayed bare chested as he sat there. "I remember those," he said.

I wondered if he meant the bra and panties, or my hard-nippled tits just like my momma's. I felt all funny inside, and could barely speak words. "Do you...like 'em?"

"They're my favorites," he said, not clarifying which he meant. "That light on you, it's perfect. Damn, where's my camera."

"It's settin' on that travel bag, under the window," I said, watching as he picked it up, quickly put it to his eye, and found me in it.

I felt like I was there, in the camera, and not directly in my Daddy's eye. It gave a dreamy distance, even though there was none, but my mind felt it that way, and maybe I was still kinda lost in the feeling of just hours ago, when Micky fucked me so good with those crazy ribs on his hard dick. So, as I lay there on my back, I arched my back upward like I'd done yesterday, but now, with just smoke on my tits, Daddy's camera shutter seemed to click a thousand shots.

I spread my legs for him, something I'd not done too much of yesterday, but now it felt right, and proper sexy, the right kind of thing to do when wearing super see-through sex lingerie. I'd seen my momma do it, in the pictures, and damn if doing it myself didn't make me feel so excited in a new kind of way! Daddy didn't say a word, just capturing every fleeting moment that flew by, saving them forever and ever, for his box of picture treasures.

Since he was leaving the posing all up to me, I kept going with it, the nice low rays of morning sun splashing me with light and painting me with shadows as I formed myself every sexy way I could think of. My tequila-numb, sex-rememberin' mind experienced it all like it was some kind of a dance, and I wished there was music but there was none, so I just let my mind go to sex and soon I was posed for some good doggy style, my ass up so high, my back arched so low. I sensed Daddy back there, seeing my pussy right through the sheer, and I heard the camera, and I let my hips move like I was fucking it.

"Turn around. Into the light."

That was Daddy's first direction, inspiring me in the happy part of my brain, making me think Yes! Tell me what to do and I'll do it!

I turned around, still on hands and knees, and I sensed his desire. My tits were hanging under me so pure, so womanly heavy, the arousal of my nipples caressed by the sheer black smoke of the see-through bra. His camera captured these moments, too, and I made my tits as big-titty as I've ever done, my eyes watching into the shiny glass of Daddy's lens.

After some more nice long minutes of it, my voice came out of me sounding all soft. "Did you take all of me? Just the way you want?"

"So perfect," Daddy said. "Just like your momma."

It was later, out on the beach, me in Momma's purple bikini, when I remembered those words. It struck me all warm and nice again, Daddy thinking I'm just like Momma.

Laying there on a towel on the sand in the bright of day, I asked him, "Daddy, how do you get them pictures done these days? All those old prints, they don't make them anymore, do they?"

"Sure, they can do it. You can upload a file and they'll send real prints in the mail. Think the photo man that makes 'em will enjoy seeing 'em?"

I got that butterfly feeling in my insides. "He better, because you took 'em. You don't take no bad ones."

"Sure I do. That's why I take so many. Just the good ones get made up into prints. Maybe I'll buy a printer so I can do 'em myself."

"You'd spend money on that?"

"Sure, if you wanna keep posing. You like it? You looked like you liked it."

I blushed like a shy girl, all pink-faced at Daddy. "I do. Maybe what made Momma a model is making me like the camera, too."

"I'm sure of it. She loved it. I don't think there was nothin' she wouldn't do in front of a camera."

"You think she still does it all?"

"That, little girl, I don't want to think about."

I reached for Daddy's hand, and held it for a minute, there on the beach, both of us trying to soak in the warmth from the big ol' sun that was none too warm that day.

Micky was there again, smoking outside the back tavern door, waving at me in a slight way just so I'd know he was interested. He waved again, then he pointed down, showing me two plastic cups of beer he'd left there for us.

That happened two more times that day, though one time I stood there and talked to him for a while. The way his eyes kept going to my tits I knew my Momma's little purple bikini was a good one. "Wanna fuck me with them ribs on your dick again tonight?" I asked him. "I'll wear somethin' special for ya."