I'd always taken pictures of her, from the very moment she was born. She was the most beautiful little girl I'd ever seen, and while I recognized that my opinion was influenced by the fact I was her father, I never stopped believing it with all my heart, and never stopped recording her magnificent beauty with my camera. But I didn't begin to think about photographing her formally, as a model, until shortly after her eleventh birthday.
We were alone by then, my Laika and I. Claudia, her mother, had died in a car accident when Laika was only nine years old. In retrospect I would have to say that my daughter took her mother's death harder than I did, but even so we were both devastated. Claudia had been a splendid mother and wife, the kindest and sweetest soul ever to grace this earth.
But we managed to survive somehow. Through trial and error and many difficult moments we learned to work past our grief and get on with our lives, and in the process we grew closer than we ever had been before. We learned to count on each other and trust each other, and to cherish the other's simple presence.
And, I must admit, I began to grow inordinately fond of my one and only daughter. Laika's feelings for me could be construed as somewhat too clinging, I suppose, but she was just a little girl and still given to the kind of unboundaried worship of her father that's common to little girls, but my own feelings for her can't be so easily excused, or explained.
She was almost always nearby, and as she grew older she took on more of the responsibility in the household. She willingly did the housekeeping and the laundry, helped me shop for groceries, learned how to cook meals. Consequently, I grew to regard her as a companion as much as a daughter. Even something close to a wife.
I started taking studio photos of her, as I've said, shortly after she turned eleven. It was around that time that she'd really begun to develop into that sweet combination of young woman and little girl, not just in the way her body began to change shape and fill out, but in the way she carried herself, the way she stood or sat or handled things with practiced poise, the way she spoke, carefully enunciating each word, watching her language and softening her tone. She was becoming a woman before my very eyes, and I was compelled to capture her transformation on film.
The photo sessions started out innocently enough. Asking her to pose a certain way or to wear a certain outfit, taking the time to make sure the light was just the way I wanted it. Thinking about desired effects and outcomes before taking the first picture. Laika was happy to pose for me. She'd never been camera shy, and when she came to understand that I was doing more than just recording her image for posterity, that she was now the object of a specific kind of focus, the luminous actor in a new and flattering dynamic, she became enthusiastic. She wanted to pose for me, to sit or stand as I asked, to smile or pout when required, to model whatever brand new outfit I would bring home. The more photos I took, however, the more candid they became.
The first one was on a cold gray day in the first week of March. I took some pictures of her in a couple of different nightgowns, then one set of her wearing nothing but a thin teeshirt and a pair of panties. I took that photo while she was getting undressed prior to taking her evening shower, and it gave me the idea to take another one when she got out. So I waited, and when she came out of the bathroom wearing just a towel around her slim young body, still damp and clammy, I snapped the photo. She was surprised at my unexpected action, but not upset, and she simply smiled and went on to her room.
I followed her to her door but didn't go inside. I just stood there in the hall, looking through her partially closed door and watching her as she removed the towel, dropping it onto the floor, and began looking through her closet for whatever particular nightgown she wanted to wear. I saw then for the first time what a lovely body my little daughter had. She was slim and almost boyish, but shapely at the same time, with a firm little bottom, a narrow waist, a flat smooth belly, and small slightly pointed breasts topped with tiny pink nipples. I also saw the shy cleft of her cunt, pale and fresh and completely absent of hair, for just an instant before she angled the front of her body away from me. A little girl's cunt, but at the same time more than that. It epitomized the reality of what the girl herself was, a sweet lolita merely waiting to become a woman, biding her time until her sexual identity caught up with her. I believe I fell in love with my daughter at that moment, as she stood there nude and indecisive in the cold Spring evening, but I fell in love with her image too, with what I knew she could become with the right focus, the right exposure, the right guidance. I didn't photograph her that night, but the seeds for what I would ultimately do had been sown, and as a result our lives would change forever.
I found the perfect look. A dark blue jumper with long narrow shoulder straps and a sleek skirt with the hem coming down to just above her knees. The blouse was white and ruffled, with a small dark blue bow at the neck, and I added white knee socks and black patent leather shoes. I brushed her hair loose around her shoulders, combed it into bangs in the front. A lovely little schoolgirl, innocent and adorable.
I took several photos of her as she walked through the snow, from the road up to the house, holding her school books against her chest. I followed her as she came into the house, walked through the living room and up the stairs to her bedroom, snapping pictures all the way. She went into her room, tossed her books on top of her dresser, then turned to face me, waiting for instructions.
I told her to sit on her bed, clasp her hands in her lap, then to move over to the window. She stood in the meager sunlight coming through the curtains and it glowed around her like the light surrounding an angel. I took five shots of her like that, then asked her to sit on the window sill. She sat, with her knees together and her hands clasped once again in her lap. I shot a few more photos, then looked at her over the top of my camera.
"Laika, sweetheart," I said, "drop your hands to the sides. Yes, just like that. Now, put your right hand on the sill. Good, perfect. Now....put your right foot up on the sill. Now move your knee just a little bit toward the window."
My beautiful daughter did exactly as she was told, without question or complaint, and the result was that she was now bringing into full view the delicate lace panties I'd asked her to wear. I snapped the photo, just the one, then brought my camera down again. Laika met my gaze, her face an impassive and elegant mask, but in her eyes I could see that she understood with full clarity what we were doing.
"Open your blouse," I said softly.
I raised my camera again, watched her through the lens as she reached up and unfastened the bow at her neck, then carefully unbuttoned each button. When she reached the last one, at her waist, she pulled just one side of her blouse open, exposing her small right breast. I told her to drop her leg and she did so, bringing her knees back together, and the shutter clicked again.
"Good girl," I said. "Now, pull the blouse all the way open. Good, good. Laika, you're so beautiful. Okay, put your left hand on your right breast. Yes, good. Oh, so lovely."
After the last shot I put my camera on top of her dresser and went over to her. Laika put her hands on her knees and looked up at me expectantly. I held her gaze as I touched her hair, sifted it in my fingers, let my hand drop down to her cheek. Neither of us spoke as I traced a line along her jaw, then down her slim throat to her breast, the one she'd just held herself a moment ago. I cupped it in my palm, squeezed it tenderly. It was soft and firm, her skin smooth beneath my fingers. Laika looked down at my hand, watched me touching her.
"I'm sorry, sweetheart," I said.
"It's alright, Papa," she replied in her light quiet voice. She was still watching me fondling her. "I know you miss Mama. I miss her too."
She looked up at me and I looked into her dark blue eyes, could see Claudia in the sad and loving expression there. I wanted to tell her she was beautiful, but suddenly the word seemed inadequate. There was no word that could describe her, not anymore.
I left my hand on her breast as I leaned down to kiss her. Laika brought her mouth up to meet mine and our lips touched, pressed gently into each other. It was just for a moment, then the kiss ended and I let her go, took a step away from her. Laika stood and held out her arms, her blouse still fully open and exposing her small pale breasts. We embraced and kissed again, this time more fully, more passionately, like lovers instead of father and daughter.
The photographs progressed from stage to stage. A few more sets of her partially nude, teasing, then the nude ones, sitting in the same window, in a chair, laying down on the living room sofa, on the carpeted floor, in her bed. I followed her to the shower again, but this time photographed her as she removed her clothes, stepped into the tub, lathered herself up and rinsed herself off. Followed her out of the shower and as she dried off, wrapped a towel around herself. I got several shots of her wandering around the house without a stitch, even outside on a relatively warm May day, among the trees and clearings of the forest that surrounded our property. All of the photos were done in good taste, nothing suggestive or sordid. I wanted to present her in the most flattering light, in a way that would bring out the most artistic and wonderful things about her. It wasn't difficult at all. Like taking candy from a baby.
But few things continue to bring comfort in stasis. Life must change in order to remain fulfilling. Relationships must grow, or else they whither and become stale and unsatisfying. And my darling Laika, she was so compliant, so willing to please. Not that she bears any responsibility for the direction of our activities. She was, after all, just a child, no matter what she appeared to be. No matter what she might have thought she wanted to be.
On the first of June I bought her a new nightgown, white, knee length, sleeveless, and except for the plunging neckline its design was plain and functional. Not the kind of thing I usually bought for my daughter, at least not for her photo shoots. But I bought this one specifically to have her model it because it was so sheer. I could drape it over my palm and easily see the life lines and the love lines in my skin through the diaphanous fabric, and I knew that, in the right light, she would look absolutely stunning.
It was waiting for her when she arrived home from school. I'd laid it out on her bed, with no other clothes, not even a pair of panties, and waited in the living room while she changed. She only took a few minutes, and when she came out I was still checking and adjusting the lens on my camera.
"Here I am, Papa," she said softly.
I was facing the living room window, and when I heard her voice I turned around to look at her. She was a vision, a perfect goldenhaired treasure of a girl clothed in a gossamer veil of white. I could see every contour of her sweet young body, the smooth pale planes and valleys, the tiny hills of her breasts, the hairless line of her cunt at the juncture of her legs. I could even tell what color her nipples were. I was so stunned I couldn't speak.
"Where do you want me to go?" she asked.
I blinked and looked her over again, wanting just to prolong the moment, then quietly told her to stand by the window. Laika obediently walked past me, stopped at the window, and turned around. She fixed me with a direct gaze and joined her hands together in front of her, hiding her cunt. I raised my camera and took her picture.
"Alright, now, darling," I said. "Turn a little to your right and put your hands behind your back."
She did, and I captured her silhouette in the light coming in from outside. I directed her in a few more poses, then asked her to pull the nightgown down. Wordlessly Laika crossed her arms over her chest, almost hugging herself as she touched her shoulders, and brought the nightgown slowly down her arms, letting it slide with a soft whisper to her waist. She turned slightly toward me, already knowing how to manipulate the light, and I took the last picture.
I put the camera down on the coffee table, simply stood there and looked at her for a moment. Laika returned my gaze, her face still an exquisite mask, but her eyes knowing everything. I went to her and took her hand, led her from from the living room to her bedroom. She was still holding the nightgown around her waist, but as soon as we were standing at the end of her bed she let it fall to the floor. I took her in my arms and kissed her and she put her arms around my neck. I caressed her back, her waist, and finally her small soft breasts.
Laika sighed against my shoulder and I kissed her hair, wanting to tell her again that I was sorry, that I'd never meant any of this for her. I wanted to try to explain to her why this was happening, why I was doing what I was doing, but I couldn't understand it myself, not in any way that I could express. It was out of a nameless yearning that I found the need to touch her, to feel her soft sweet body in my arms and hands, to disregard the carefully tended boundaries of a father daughter relationship. I should have spoken, I should have said something, forced myself to find the words, but instead, in my weakness, I allowed my wonderful little girl to believe that she bore a portion of the responsibility for what I would do.
"Darling," I whispered to her, "I want you to sit in the chair by the window."
"Okay, Papa," she replied, her own whisper a veiled promise that she would keep our secret.
She went over to the chair, sat with her knees together and her hands in her lap. I stood in front of her, looking down into her eyes, then letting my gaze wander over her body. Laika waited passively, even calmly. Finally I reached to the fly on my jeans, undid the buttons, pulled the zipper down. As I did so I told her to lean back in the chair and open her legs. She did as she was instructed, then watched and waited again as I brought my cock out into the open. It was long and hard, and there was already a drop of glistening fluid on the tip. Laika's blue eyes took it in but her placid expression didn't change. I stepped closer to her, stood between her ankles.
"Alright, now," I said, my voice low and sounding strange to me, "take it in your hands."
Laika reached up and took hold of my cock, wrapping her thin fingers around the shaft, one hand above the other.
"Good girl," I said. "Now move your hands up and down, slowly. Good, very good. You're such a good little girl, Laika."
She kept her eyes locked on the head of my cock as she stroked me, moving her hands almost artlessly up and down the shaft, but at the same time she was tender and loving in the way she handled me. For the most part I just watched her lovely face, but occasionally I would study her body as well, the taut creamy skin of her breasts and belly, how her hair fell in feathery strands around her small shoulders, or the smooth innocent lips of her cunt. I touched her, but only the warm silk of her widespread thighs as she patiently caressed my cock. Before long I felt the rise of pleasure in my balls and surrendered an involuntary moan as it grew slowly to its peak. Laika continued to stroke me at her steady pace, her eyes still focused on the head, and I gently gripped her legs as the pressure within me forced my come up through the shaft and out. It spurted in jets of milky liquid across the small space between us and splashed onto her breasts, between them, and onto her belly, then began spilling directly onto her pale hairless cunt. Laika kept stroking me even as it lessened to just a few drops. Finally I touched her hands, signaling her to stop, and she let go.
I suddenly felt weak in the knees and moved over to her bed, sat on the edge. Laika stayed where she was in the chair, bathed in the early summer light, and watched the glistening liquid trickle down her sleek body, from her breasts down to her belly, and from her belly like a tiny ivory stream, joining and pooling with the drops of come on her bare little girl's cunt. She touched it, her fingertips swirling it in circles around one of her nipples, then she looked at me and gave me just the slightest hint of a smile.
I developed more ideas, about new outfits, poses, locations, themes. Most of them never materialized; I'd begun to sense a certain repetitiousness in my work, there were only a few times in the next month when I felt I'd captured something truly original and striking about her that I hadn't captured before, and consequently my interest in photographing her waned. My interest in her, however, did not.
I went in to look at her early one Saturday morning while she was still asleep. She had the blankets pulled up past her neck, almost covering her entire head, and I pulled it down to her shoulders. Like any child, she looked like an angel in her sleep, and I was moved to take at least a perfunctory photograph of her. I got my camera, adjusted the lens, and snapped her photo, then pulled the blanket down to expose her breasts. But I wasn't satisfied with that and brought it down further, all the way to the bottom of the bed. Her entire nude body was laid out before me. She was sleeping flat on her back, with her hands laying lazily on her belly, her legs together and straight. I took another photo of her, and it must have been either the flash or the shutter, or even both, because she stirred after that. She opened and blinked her eyes, drawing one knee up as she did so. She looked at me as if she were looking into a bright light, then turned onto her side. She murmured, drew her legs up into a fetal position, and closed her eyes again. I took one more picture, then set my camera on her dresser.
I stood by the side of her bed and began to undress. Laika opened her eyes again and watched me as I removed my shirt, then my shoes. When I opened the fly on my jeans she sat up, drew her legs up under her. My cock was hard and angled toward the ceiling and she took it in her small hand without my having to say anything. I touched her hair as she began to stroke me, sifted it through my fingers. Her small hand was soft and warm as it moved with a slow steady motion up and down my cock, and I let her do this for about a minute before I told her to open her mouth.
Her lips parted, forming a small pink oval, and I touched the back of her head, guiding her forward. Laika left her mouth open as she brought it down over the end of my cock. She closed her lips around it and, again without having to be told, began to move her mouth up and down in sync with the motions of her hand. It was as if she already knew this part and was doing it by rote, and I wanted to ask her if she'd done this kind of thing before. But I remained silent, in part because I was simply too preoccupied with the sensation of her hand and mouth on my cock, but also because I didn't want to know.
I watched, fascinated and almost startled with pleasure as my daughter sucked and stroked my cock. She kept her eyes open, usually looking up at me, as she worked, and before long I felt the familiar pressure of approaching orgasm. I still had my hands on her head and left them there, but kept a light touch; she would be the one to decide whether or not to take her mouth away when I came.
Laika noticed the changes in my cock, the way it seemed to swell and grow harder, and in response she began to stroke me a little faster, gripping me tighter in her thin fingers, and finally my orgasm burst from me. She kept her lips closed around my cock as it throbbed and spilled come into her mouth, and I groaned and held her golden hair in my hands. Laika continued to stroke me until I was finished, just like she had when I'd come on her body, then almost casually let me go and took her mouth away. She visibly swallowed, then wiped her lips with the back of her hand.
I asked her again if she was alright and she nodded her head, said, "Yes, Papa."
She laid back down on her bed and I laid down next to her, took her in my arms and just held her and caressed her back for a while. I thought about what I wanted to say, how to phrase it, coming up with several different and overly elaborate ways, but finally I just stated softly and simply what I wanted.
"Laika," I said, "I believe you're the most beautiful and wonderful girl I've ever known, and I want to share some of that with the world. I want to put some of the photos I've taken of you on the internet, to show the entire world just how lovely you are. I know I've asked so much of you in the past months, especially the last few weeks, and I'll understand if you don't want me to do that."
"It's alright, Papa," Laika said, her voice somewhere between a whisper and a murmur. "I don't mind if you share my pictures."
"And what about this other thing?" I asked. "How we've been making love? You're alright with that too?"
"Yes. But only you, Papa. I only want to make love for you. No other boys. And no pictures of it."
"Of course not, darling. It'll just be you and me" I kissed her forehead. "You can be like my girlfriend."
"Or your wife," she said. "Like Mama."
"Yes," I said. "You can be just like Mama. I would like that very much."
But it would be some time before my daughter took on the full role of my wife. For the next six weeks or so, through the majority of the rest of the summer, our relationship didn't progress very much beyond the new and anomalous borderlands we'd crossed that early July day. With some guidance on my part, along with the simple remedies of experience and experimentation, Laika learned how best to touch me and lick me, how to take more of me into her mouth, how to increase the pleasure as well as to prolong it. Within a short period of time she began to rival even the most talented women I'd ever been with, becoming something of an artist in the act of cocksucking, and the more she developed her skill the more she seemed to enjoy it. And I began to return the favor, sucking her youthful breasts and licking her hairless little girl's cunt, using my mouth and tongue and fingers to bring her to orgasm as she lay in her bed or on the living room sofa or on the living room floor.
And I still took photographs of her; the occasional angelic pose, the innocent girl in the innocent dress. The quality of the photos never lessened, although with the changing contours of our love, they did seem to lose their authenticity.
The last erotic photos I took were on another Saturday, the last Saturday before the new school year began. Laika had a friend, a pretty little darkhaired girl named Ella, who'd stayed over the previous night. She was a relatively new friend and I didn't know her that well, but she seemed to me to be an unusually quiet child, saying very little even to Laika, and when she did speak she kept her voice at such a low pitch that it was almost impossible to understand her. She was older than Laika, having already turned twelve, and more developed, with more womanly contours, larger and rounder breasts, but it was obvious that she adored my more confident and slightly more outgoing daughter, following her around like a little slave, indulging her every request or instruction.
I'd gotten up long before them, spent the early morning drinking coffee and reading the newspaper, then around eight o'clock I went in to wake my daughter and her friend for breakfast. I found them lying in each other's arms, Ella's head resting on Laika's chest, which in itself might not have meant anything, except their blanket had been pulled down to their waists and it was obvious that both girls were nude. My first impulse was to grab my camera and photograph them, but I resisted it; I didn't want to take the chance of waking them and having Ella reporting my behavior to her parents. Instead I just stood there and took them in, two brilliant little angels, luxurious in their innocent and loving sleep.
After several minutes I turned to go but was stopped at the door by Laika's voice.
"It's alright, Papa," she said.
I turned to see both of them awake now, still cuddled together, with their serious eyes and faces. I went to get my camera, and when I returned they began to pose of their own accord, changing positions on the bed, touching and hugging, kissing each other's cheeks. I realized as I continued to snap the photos that they weren't really posing so much as just indulging themselves and allowing me to record it. Their kisses and caresses, which I'd thought to be relatively chaste, became more sensual, their lips touched romantically, then Ella dipped her head and began to kiss Laika's breasts. Laika sighed and moaned, a light kittenish sound I'd only heard during the moments when I was going down on her and she was near orgasm, brought about now simply by the touch of Ella's lips and tongue on her nipples. I was surprised as well by Ella's passion; it seemed that in bed their relationship became a mirror image of itself, with Laika the docile and pliant one, willing to follow Ella's more dominant lead.
It was a mesmerizing sight, these two young girls, only eleven and twelve, joined in an erotic embrace, making love with such quiet intensity. Laika with her long blonde hair spilling all over the pillows, Ella's midnight colored hair like dark rivers on her shoulders and arms, their pale youthful bodies, their soft childish sighs. When Ella began to move farther down Laika's body, lowering her head between my daughter's widespread legs, when her lips were just a few inches away from that perfectly smooth and bare cunt, I took the last erotic photo I would ever take. I set my camera on the dresser and just stood there watching as Ella's small pink tongue lapped and licked at Laika's cunt, stirring her to a higher level of pleasure, bringing forth more murmurs and sighs, inspiring her to caress her own breasts and belly, finally making her come with such force that everything I'd done with her before seemed inconsequential now.
Ella went back home late in the afternoon, and for the next several hours Laika was dolorous. With a sad face she either lingered in her room or wandered around the house, apparently not knowing what to do with herself. At dinner she just picked at her food and kept her eyes mostly downcast, and only an hour after the dishes were done she went in to take a bath, then found me in my den to tell me that she was going to bed early. I might have just kissed her goodnight and let her go to bed, considering the mood she'd been in since Ella had left, but she'd come to me wearing nothing but her panties. I was right in the middle of scanning a few of the photos of her and Ella, but when I saw her standing there practically nude, with her hands clasped together in front of her and her small breasts so perfect and her eyes so lonely, I put away my work and followed her down the hallway.
She led me not to her own room but to mine. She went in casually, like she belonged there, and pulled back the covers on my bed, crawled on and laid down. She waited, eyes focused on something far away as I undressed. When I got in beside her she turned and embraced me, and for a while all we did was lay there and hold each other. But eventually I couldn't resist her anymore. I began to kiss and touch her, fondled her breasts and cunt, then lay on my back and guided her mouth down to my cock. She leaned over my stomach and took me into her mouth and I held one of her small breasts in my hand as she sucked and stroked me until I came. She swallowed obediently, as she always did, then lay back on the bed, looking at me expectantly. Even she knew that wasn't the end of it, not this time.
I rolled over on top of her, took her in my arms and kissed her face and her neck, fondled her breasts with their hard little nipples, then reached down between us for my cock. Laika closed her eyes and pressed her small nose against my collarbone, waiting for what I would do. I was a bit surprised to find my cock just as hard as when we'd begun, as hard as it had ever been, but I didn't pause to appreciate the development, I simply pressed on, bringing my cock up to her sweet hairless cunt, then, as gently as I could, pushing it past the lips. She had her arms around me and as I pushed into her she gripped me tighter and caught her breath. I didn't stop, continuing to go further, and as my cock came up against her cherry she gasped and said, "Papa...." I told her it was going to be alright, shushed her and kissed her, then pushed through her cherry. Laika cried out, whimpered a bit as I drove into her as far as I could go, and I softly told her that she would be alright, that the pain would fade. I slowly pulled my cock out, then pushed it back in, a groan escaping from my throat.
"Oh, sweetheart," I said, "this feels so wonderful." And it did; the sensation of my little girl's tight cunt gripping my cock as I slid in and out of her, her small birdlike body so seemingly fragile beneath me, her soft hair in my face and her tiny breasts pressed against my chest, were the most exquisite things I'd ever experienced. She was an unbelievable dream, a myth of romance and eroticism that had somehow found reality in my bed. She was my little girl already become a woman, and I was leading her forward into her new and amazing life. I fucked her slowly and gently for a lost period of time, my cock sliding in and out of her warm tender cunt until finally the pleasure became too grand, too much to hold back any longer, and, tightly embracing her and peppering her beautiful young face with kisses, I came inside of her.
Afterward, Laika hugged me and kissed me as if in gratitude, then we held each other and fell asleep in my bed. We slept until the next morning, and when I woke up I found her sucking on my cock. This wasn't the first time she'd woken me up with a blowjob (she'd done it once before), but this time instead of sucking me until I came in her mouth, she stopped after a few minutes and got on top of me, lowered herself down on my cock, and began fucking me. She was slow and seemingly cautious at first, but within a short time she was moving furiously above me, raising and lowering herself on my cock with heated passion, her eyes closed and her little breasts bouncing minutely as she finally brought herself to orgasm. She fell on me then, hugging me and pressing her face into my shoulder and I rolled her over onto her back, fucked her just as hard as she'd fucked me. She came again, then once again before I reached my own orgasm, spilling my come into her young body.
When we were done we got up and got dressed and spent a relatively normal day, living the life of a typical father and daughter, interspersed with atypical and intense bouts of fucking every few hours.
Laika is twelve now, she's grown into even more of a woman, and while I no longer take erotic photos of her I still linger over the ones I have, still adoring her youth, her fantastic beauty. I've posted some of them on the internet, but most I keep to myself. We share the same bed every night, like husband and wife, still pursuing the special brand of love we've managed to develop since Claudia passed away. And while she still has Ella sleep over occasionally, she's made it clear that her little lesbian lover is her own province and not for my delectation. But I'm alright with that. I have enough just with my sweet young daughter.
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