Jayne's World Pt. 27

My dad and I take things further, much further.

Author's message.

This is the final part of my world -- well at least for now. For any of you who have been with me on all or most of the journey, thank you and I hope you have enjoyed it.

This last part is looking more at the 'why' and not really the 'what' of my sex life. As a result, I have stepped back even further into time when I was still in my teens and lived at home with my mum and dad. It took me quite some time to embrace this topic and even longer to recognise how the relationship I had with my dad had such a significant influence on me.

I hope you'll bear with me on this approach and that you'll enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.

Thanks, and all my love,

Jayne xx

*

"Jayne, this is getting ridiculous - we have to talk," my dad said, staring at my boobs in the diaphanous white bra.

"Ridiculous, dad? How? What do you mean?" I asked, hopefully sounding surprised.

"You know what I mean love."

"No, no I don't; well, I don't think I do," I told him, turning my face away and avoiding his gaze so that he wouldn't notice my arousal and that I was lying.

"We can't do this," he said, in almost a groan.

Still holding the sweater up above my breasts in the flimsy bra, I whispered, "Can't do what dad? What can't we do?"

"Jayne for Christ's sake, you must know what's been going on."

"Nothing's been going on," I replied as I felt my Dutch courage starting to diminish.

"Oh, Jayne you must know, look what you're doing right now."

"What? Sorry, don't you like it?" I asked, genuinely surprised and feeling deflated.

"Of course, I like it, I love it, that's what I wanted when I took the other photos," he said as I let the sweater fall back into place, covering my boobs.

"Then why? Oh fuck it dad, fuck, fuck, fuck," I groaned, as the tears welled up and I started to sob.

"Oh don't baby, please don't."

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have done that, should I?"

"Yes, darling yes, it's okay, I know what you mean and" he said, quietly moving closer to me and taking me into his arms and holding me, "I understand and, oh god Jayne."

"What?"

"Yes, I do, I do want to photograph you like that but I know I shouldn't, it's wrong, so very, very wrong."

"But if I don't mind," I murmured, snuggling up against him and feeling so wanted in his arms, "surely it can't be wrong, can it?"

"Oh baby, life is so strange. I know what you mean, but if anyone found out, all hell would break loose."

"By anyone, I take it you mean her?" I asked, using the term I employed nowadays for my mother.

"Well, yes, and anyone else."

"But dad they won't. No one will ever know," I said, writhing my boobs against his chest. It may well have been my imagination but, I thought he was holding me tighter and was pressing back against me squashing my boobs. "I won't ever tell anyone."

"Oh Jayne, I just don't know."

As he held me like that, I couldn't help my mind going back to the dance we had at the party. The time when I experienced the first significant event in our taboo relationship. Yes, the time when he'd got an erection dancing with me. And as he held me now, it was happening again. I could feel it hardening and growing. He tried pulling away, tried to hide it, tried to avoid me noticing and him being embarrassed, but it was hopeless as it was growing too quickly and hardening too far and too fast as I clung to him. It was a lovely sensation and I was determined that he wouldn't escape me this time. No, this time I wanted to feel its full length and hardness against me, but then it struck me and I thought 'what else do I want?' But my mind couldn't go there. I couldn't work out clearly what, if anything further, I wanted. Did I really want to see it, touch it, feel my dad's erection? Did I want more? Did I want him to go further, I was thinking as I gently writhed my stomach and now my mound as well against his swollen manhood? And what was further, I asked myself, as this time he didn't ease himself away from me? Was it sex? Did I really want to have sex with my dad, did I want him to fuck me? I had no answers as we stood there in each other's arms, the most intimate parts of our bodies as good as glued together.

Of course, I'd had other guys hold me as they squirmed their hard-ons against me, so it wasn't a new situation for me. And it had happened before with him, but that had been just a brief brushing of it against me at a party, so there was no chance of a follow-up. But now, as we were alone in the house and she wasn't due home, there was every chance of a follow up. With a couple of other guys I had reached down and rubbed their bulge, and with one I had slid my hand into his trousers and had actually held it. Should I do that, I wondered? Was that what a woman would do to him? Would a grown up take the initiative and fondle his bare cock? But if I'd got it wrong what the fuck would happen, what would he do, I was thinking? So, I did nothing other than leave my stomach and pussy mound pressed against its lovely length as I whispered, "Oh dad."

"Don't Jayne, just don't," he replied in a husky tone.

"Don't what?"

"Nothing. Don't do anything. Don't say anything. This is madness."

"No dad, no it's not madness, you want to hold me, don't you?" I asked. He didn't reply so I persisted. "Don't you dad? You do want to hold me, don't you?"

"Oh god yes darling, yes of course I do, and that's the madness."

"Why's it madness if you want to and I want you to, how's that mad?"

"You're my daughter, we're father and daughter," he groaned as I pressed my boobs harder against his chest and squirmed my stomach against his erection.

"Yes. But we're also a man and a woman, aren't we?" I quipped back quickly.

"Oh shit, yes darling, yes we are, I know."

"And you want to take photos of me, don't you?"

"Oh Jayne don't ask; please don't," he said in almost a groan, making me feel a little sorry for him.

"Dad, darling it's fine, it's okay, I understand," I whispered stroking his back.

"Do you Jayne, do you really understand? Do you baby?"

"Yes dad, yes I do, I think I do, and I want you to," I replied although I had no clear idea of what I was saying that I understood.

"Really Jayne, you really want me to take shots of you?"

I didn't know what had got into me or what was making me say that. But something inside my head, well, inside my body as well, was telling me to say that to him. It was telling me to offer to pose because deep down I wanted to. I was quite amazed at both what I was saying and what I was doing. Just a short while ago I would never have believed that I could be in my father's arms offering to pose for him in various stages of undress as he photographed me, but that was precisely what I was doing right now. And I realised I was doing it because I wanted to. I wanted to expose myself to him, show him my body, flaunt it and have him record that on film. I was turned on so much by the thought of both the posing and seeing the resultant shots of myself and that was hard to understand and accept, but it was true and what I wanted.

As I was telling him that I'd like to pose for him, my mind went back to the other time I had done that and how it had made me feel. It was when I was at the sixth form college I attended to resit my exams in an effort to improve my grades before applying to universities. I was asked by one of the guys in my group if I would pose for the art students. I did it a couple of times before they asked if I would pose nearly nude. It was all very above board and the art lecturer was in attendance to ensure good behaviour. That wasn't necessary as the students were all perfect gentlemen and two ladies. It was only me that strayed from the straight and narrow. Firstly, as I sat there with the dozen or so students staring at me, I felt myself becoming aroused. Thankfully my nipples were covered as I knew full well that they had hardened. It was only as I got dressed after the session that I realised that my knickers that I had worn when posing, were soaking wet.

"Yes dad, honestly, I want to pose for you," I told him, thrusting my earlier posing memories out of my mind as I broke the clinch and moved away a little. Then, plucking up all my courage and looking right into his eyes, I made big decision. Holding his gaze, I took hold of the hem of the sweater again, but this time when I pulled it up, I didn't stop and I lifted it over my head and off. As I dropped the it onto a chair, everything seemed to stand still. We stared at each other with his gaze rivetted firmly on my chest and mine roaming from his face down to the, now, very evident shape of his erection in his chinos; he looked magnificent. I broke the silence by asking, "Well dad, are you going to get the camera?"

Now, some seven or eight years later when I am a professional photographic model with so many shoots under my belt, I can recognise that wanting to pose for my father was both the starting point of my career and the event that has to a large extent conditioned my sexual thinking and behaviour. That was where my exhibitionism came to the fore and where I realised just what a driving force it was. What I didn't realise then, though, was of course just how the need to satisfy my need to exhibit myself would influence my future. What I also didn't realise back then was just how simple it is to cross the line between being a nude model who merely poses, albeit in a sexually provocative way, to one who offers sexual services for money. In other words, how easy it is for a youngish, fairly attractive girl to become in effect, a hooker as I have!

But standing there all those years ago in just my bra and jeans I remember that the need for him to look at me and to photograph me was so strong and my arousal so high that I was near to having a climax without even being touched.

"Are you sure about this love?" he asked as went to the large lounge and returned with his expensive camera that I suddenly recalled 'she' had bought for him. Out of the blue that made me wonder if she had posed for him and if he had taken raunchy photos of my mother. After all he seemed to know a lot about posing me, the positions I should take up and how to best set up the scene for the camera.

"Yes dad, yes I am, are you?"

"Oh my god yes", he said, starting to fiddle with presumably the focus and distance thingies as I struck up a pose. I had one hand on my hip and the other in my hair that I wore quite long in my teens as I thrust my crotch out towards the camera and pouted at it as he snapped away.

"Ok dad?" I asked giving him what I hoped was a sexy smile.

"Brilliant love," he replied as, without planning or even really thinking, I took hold of the brass button at the top of the zip and looked right into the camera as I whispered, "Shall I dad?"

"Oh yes please," he said in a croaky groan. I hardly hesitated before flipping it undone and watched as he focused on where the top of my jeans had opened a little. He took several shots there as slowly I slid the zip down, gradually revealing the front of the black panties that would have made mum go barmy, since she insisted a woman's underwear should always match - silly old-fashioned bitch that she can be. As the zip went down, so the front of the jeans opened up, although the waist band stayed in place at the back.

I had moved into the mode that I developed years later of flaunting my body at the camera in provocative poses. So, taking hold of the waist of the jeans on both hips and looking right at him and the camera I asked, "Shall I?" as I looked down at where they were gaping open, showing that I was wearing a thong, and not panties.

"Oh god Jayne, oh my god my darling," he muttered.

Posing as I now was, my confidence soared and I felt at least equally if not actually in control of the situation and smiling I retorted, "I'll take that as a yes, shall I dad?"

"Please dear yes, yes of course."

Almost inch by inch I slid my jeans down gradually, revealing all of my thong, which I knew hardly covered my full thatch of tawny pubic hair. Wriggling my hips, I fumbled them down to around my ankles and stepped out of them. Looking directly at the camera, I put both hands on my hips and smiling asked, "Okay dad?"

"Yes Jayne oh yes, it's very okay but it's also so wrong. We should stop now."

Reaching behind my back and taking hold of the clasp on my bra, I asked, "Really? You really want me to stop now without you seeing these?"

"No, no of course I don't but we should really," he replied with a wry grin.

"So shall I?"

"What?"

"The bra, shall I dad? Shall I take it off, so you can see my boobs?"

"That's up to you love."

"Well, you have seen them before, haven't you?"

"Yes, and they're lovely."

"So do you want to see them again dad? Do you want to see my tits?"

"Oh god," he groaned, "Yes, yes of course I do."

With no further ado, I undid the clasp, shrugged the shoulder straps down my arms and holding the bra by the cups, I eased it off and held it in one hand by my side. Arching my back a little I posed and preened a bit, turning firstly to my left then my right and then with my back to the cameras as he fired off shot after shot.

"Okay dad, getting what you want?" I asked, almost smiling at the possible double entendre.

"Yes dear," he mumbled, "I'm getting all and more, thank you so much. Just few more if that's ok?"

"Yes of course it is. How do you want me now?" I asked, realising that was quite a come-on sort of question.

He got me to sit, then lay on the floor looking at the camera and then lying on my front before standing with my back to the camera bending forward so that, presumably he could take shots of my bum, and since I was wearing a thong, both cheeks were bare. Even with the lack of modelling experience I had at the time, it struck me that he seemed to know an awful lot about how to pose me which again made me wonder if he and her had used photography as part of their sexual repertoire in their past.

"Fantastic Jayne; you really have a beautiful body."

"Thanks dad, you really like it?" I asked, turning to face him as he knocked off a few more shots.

"Mmmm, yes such a beautiful figure."

"Not like a little girl then?"

"No, it's the figure of a real woman love," he said rather huskily. That description excited me as I realised that he was seeing me as a woman and not a girl and I liked that. His reaction to seeing me in just the thong, and what he was saying, aroused me even more and I knew that it would take hardly anything more for me to cum. And at that moment that was probably what I wanted more than anything else in the world, but I didn't know what to say or do. It was not just a surreal situation but also a very delicate one as well. I was unsure of myself and what I really wanted, and dad, unlike other guys I'd been with, wasn't forthcoming with what he was after. Although I may have thought about it whilst masturbating, I couldn't really believe that he and I would actually have sex. To me, it was such a monumental thought, let alone a deed that, when I was thinking rationally, I mostly discounted the idea. But recently when I had been lying in my bed, or on it, naked with one hand working my breasts and the other between my legs, with the ravages of super arousal sending my thinking crazy, then dad could and did fuck me. Not only that, but also at times, particularly after a little too much to drink, I sucked him and imagined his sperm spurting into my mouth and me swallowing it, which was something I had not then done with any guy.

Posing for him, with his words about me having the figure of a woman ricocheting around my mind, I felt different to anything I had ever felt before. His words were doing something to me. They were elevating my erotic thinking upwards and taking me onto a different sexual plane to any I had ever been on before. Standing before him in just the miniscule black thong, I was in uncharted waters with which, however, over the subsequent years I became very familiar. It was intense sexual arousal

brought on by flaunting my body and being admired. It was that, I realised, more than the vague prospect of sex with him, which itself, was a rather daunting thought, that was doing this to me. It was my extreme exhibitionist tendencies and not my need to be fucked that was the paramount motivator for me right at that moment. And that was something I got to know so well as I became a professional model.

Then, without fully thinking things through, I slid my fingers into the elastic waist of the thong and looking at him and, of course the camera as well, I asked, "What about these dad?"

Holding the camera away from his eyes, he stared at me. He didn't move or speak for a few moments, making me wonder what was going through his mind and if it was anything like the thoughts going through mine, which were all concerned with what might come next. Then, in a soft and rather husky tone, almost a gruff whisper, he said, "Oh my god Jay, yes please."

"You want to see me naked do you dad?"

"Yes dear, yes, yes I do."

He couldn't have known that there was nothing at that moment that I wanted to do more than be naked for him and to flaunt my body at him. That is, of course, other than us making love, but that was too huge a situation for my sexually under-developed, immature, young mind to fully embrace. So, I simply said, "Yes of course dad," as I slid the thong down my stomach revealing my full patch of hair with my glistening lips poking through them between my legs. His eyes were immediately devouring that intimate place and were shortly followed by him pointing his camera there.

"Okay if I take a few?" he mumbled shooting away. That again sort of empowered me and gave me the pluck to pose for him rather than just standing there like a statue. And being absolutely honest, I loved it. He didn't need to ask or direct me as the positions and movements came naturally to me. I struck up a series of poses showing the camera and my dad my body from most angles. It seemed to be so obvious what I had to do. In short, that was to give the camera, and of course my father, the best possible view of my most womanly places. So, I was front on for many, both sides for a few and rear to the camera for quite a lot. I bent forward so that my breasts dangled and leaned backwards thrusting my stomach and, of course my pussy towards the camera. Turning away from dad and the cam, I looked over my shoulder and leered at the lens, then bent forward so that my ass was the focal point of the pose. As I moved around and struck up the poses, the longer we went on the easier and more natural they became and, I realised with a big jolt, the more I was enjoying it. But what was it that I was most enjoying? Was it posing because he was dad? Was it because, in a way, I was seducing him or was it what part of me thought might happen when we finished the session? Or was it, I asked myself as I cupped my breasts and lifted them up as if offering them to the camera, purely because I was giving vent to my exhibitionist tendencies that until recently I was unaware I possessed.

As I writhed, gyrated and flaunted my body, dad was complimenting me and telling me what great poses I was displaying, how fantastic I looked and what a great body I had. I lapped up all of those with them simply egging me on to more adventurous positions. I toyed with the idea of lying down, opening my legs, raising my knees and offering him some beaver shots but, decided that should wait until and if he asked for them.

"Maybe we should check the photos Jay?" he suggested after he'd just taken several with me kneeling as I held my breasts as if offering them to him which, in a way, I was.