Shooting in Hannah - Version Alpha

by Lubrican

Chapters : 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8

Chapter Two

I thought that was it. I'd gotten caught, but it made her feel good so she didn't burn me. I thought it was over.

Months passed and we got along a lot better. It wasn't like we were best buddies or anything, but we no longer snapped at each other and we chatted about stuff once in a while. Our parents noticed it, and expressed pride that we were growing up.

Then Hannah entered a Valentine's Day contest that was put on by a local photo studio. It was characterized as a search for models.

They took "complimentary" head shots and then sent those off to various modeling agencies. If they got a positive response back, they showed that letter to the girl and tried to sign her up to create a portfolio. The girls had to pay for that, of course, which was the whole point of the exercise. It was just to generate business (and profits) for the studio that sponsored the contest.

Two things messed up this business plan. One was that the portfolio cost a thousand bucks. The other was that to try to increase business, they made up phony letters from modeling agencies. They were stupid about this because they took real letters and spoofed them on the computer, putting other girls' names on the letters. One girl's parents did some checking and found out the letter about their daughter was counterfeit and the shit hit the fan. The studio closed down and there's even a rumor there's going to be a court case.

But part of the investigation into all this was that the cops verified which letters were real, and which were fake.

Hannah's was real.

That didn't really matter, though. There was no way our parents could afford a grand for her portfolio.

So there she was, with stars in her eyes, and in need of a portfolio.

She did her due diligence. She spent hours researching what should be in a portfolio, the order pictures should appear in and all that sort of thing. Everybody recommended that she use a professional photographer and makeup artist, but she couldn't afford either of those.

She felt confident she could do her own makeup.

And ... she had a brother who had taken killer sexy pictures of her in the past.


I looked up from my book. This time it was a Clive Cussler novel about some guys who found a civil war era ironclad that somehow ended up in the Sahara Desert. It didn't have much sex in it, but it was an exciting read. It was May and school was almost over. Finals were scheduled for the next week, but I wasn't worried about that. The homework load was getting light and when I woke up that morning I felt lazy and just stayed in bed to read. Hannah was standing in the doorway to my room, leaning against the door jamb.

"What's up?" I asked.

"I need another favor."

"And what dire consequences will befall me should I refuse to offer this boon?" I asked.

Yeah, I know. That's pretty silly talk. Who talks that way in real life? What can I say? I think I do that because of all the reading I do.

"If you do this, you'll be glad you did," she said. Then she added, "I think." She made it even more interesting by tacking on an, "I hope."

"That doesn't sound very dire."

The truce had led to terms that were very different than they'd been a year past. I was aware of this, but it seemed normal, now.

"I need you to take the pictures for my portfolio," she said.

"Is this for that modeling thing?"

"Yeah. All the sources I checked say you should have a professional take the pictures, but I can't afford that. I don't have a fancy camera, but they're shooting movies on iPhones these days, so maybe my phone would work. I just need somebody to take them."

"And none of your bevy of bff's can do that?"

"I don't want them for this. I want you."

"I'm honored, but could you explain that? The last time I took pictures of you they didn't turn out the way you intended."

"Actually, the first time you took pictures it was that way. The second time was completely to my satisfaction." She didn't smile.

"How long will this take?" I asked. I'd planned on going to a friend's house later that day.

"It will have to be done in stages," she said. "There are a lot of shots and the makeup and outfits will change from one to the other."

"So we're talking hours?" I felt both my eyebrows rise.

"More like ... days," she said. "But not all day." She sounded nervous.

"Now I think we're at the part where my boon is described," I said.

The concept of spending "days" taking pictures of her didn't bother me, really. It was almost summer and other than odd jobs and hanging out with friends at the pool or whatever, I didn't have much to do. That's why I read so much in the summer. Still, if I was going to spend that much time doing this favor, there should be something in it for me.

She blinked, and then said, "If you do this for me, I'll let you take some ... um ... special pictures ... just for yourself."

Now I don't know about you, but if a cute girl stands in your bedroom door - even if she's your sister - and suggests you might get to take special pictures of her ... and that those pictures are for you ... that will put some stiff in your dick. At least that's what happened to me. It's not like I got a raging hardon in my briefs, but my lump got bigger. I know it did because I could feel it.

"How special?" I asked.

"So you're still a pervert," she said. It looked like she might be about to smile, but she didn't.

"I'm still a guy," I said.

"We can negotiate how special as things go along," she said. "Will you do it?"

I concentrated on my cock. It was still filling up and pretty soon it was going to be impossible for her to miss that fact. I shifted my book to cover my groin and saw her eyes notice I had done that.


"If I ask you a question, do you promise not to get mad and storm out of here?"

One of her eyebrows rose.

"Okay," she said.

"Will there be any ... um ... nude shots?"

I was surprised by how calmly she took that question.

"That's not on the list of recommended photos."

"Curses," I said, hamming it up. I grinned, hoping she'd assume I'd been trying to push her buttons. "What the heck," I said. "Sure."

Then she did smile and blushed at the same time. She was obviously excited about this and even if the "special pictures" only turned out to be shots down her cleavage, or more stiff nipples shots, I figured it would be fun. Who knows? Maybe I could con some girl in the future into letting me take shots for her portfolio. Those would have to include nude photos, of course.

And no, the fact that I'd hoped I might get to see more of my sister than I had since we were like six, and Mom had stopped giving us baths together, didn't bother me. I'd decided a long time ago that seeing your sister's beauty and appreciating that wasn't the worst thing you could do in life.

"Thank you," she said.

"How come you don't want one of your friends to do this?" I asked.

"Because I think a man would take better pictures," she said.

Wow. She had just characterized me as a man! That felt good.

"When do you want to get started?"

"How about now?"

So much for a lazy Saturday morning.

This 'project' didn't turn out anything like I thought it would.

She had a list. The layman thinks of "model" as a generic term, but there are different kinds of models. For example, we don't normally think of the people who appear in commercials on TV as "models" but they are. Those people are chosen specifically for their physical attributes, and for the purpose of promoting a product. In the fashion world that is also to promote a product, but the requirements are very different. I used to think that models just got pictures taken of them for no particular reason, kind of like how the Kardashians are famous for no particular reason, but not anymore.

Hannah's list had pictures on it that were specific to a type of modeling, but she hadn't chosen a particular field. Her plan was to have every kind of photo she might need to submit to whatever agency might want a model. In effect she was going to put together more than one portfolio and she'd use that to apply for whatever work she thought she might be able to get. A portfolio might only have six shots in it, but if you were going for any job you could get, you might have to have five or six different portfolios.

She wanted to start with what's called a beauty shot, or clean head shot. That's basically just the model's image from the neck to the top of the head. It's a close-up, and any imperfections on the face will be visible. We're talking freckles, zits, scars, dry skin, eyes too close together, just about anything someone could call a "flaw."

Think of someone you know. Does their appearance change from day to day? Your answer is probably, "Not much," but if you think about it a little longer you'll realize you've seen them on days when you might comment, "Rough night, huh?" Your mood changes the appearance of your face. The weather can change it. Whether you took a shower recently can make a difference.

The average face does not look the same from day to day. Not in terms of looking at a close-up of that face.

I took over thirty head shots of Hannah over the next few days. She changed her hair. She changed her makeup. One time she wanted me to take one right after she came back from a run, with her hair in a pony tail and no makeup on at all.

Then we moved on to a full body shot. That one should have been easier, because all it entailed was a picture of her against a background with her arms hanging at her sides, wearing something that clung to the body. I shot her full on, and in profile, with a light background. Then we did it again with a dark background.

During the first profile shot I told her to stand up straight and put her shoulders back.

"Are you staring at my boobs again, Bobby?" She sounded relaxed.

"You have great boobs," I said. "Be proud of them."

"Thanks," she said. But my comment meant something else to her, too.

As soon as we finished those shots, she called a pause and went and put on a bra that was much tighter. She wanted full body shots that didn't make her look as busty. It was amazing. She looked a lot flatter.

"What's next?" I asked.

She went to a three ring binder containing her notes and consulted a page.

"Swimsuit or lingerie shot," she said.

"Now we're talking," I said, trying to leer. How do you leer? I had no idea. You read about it, but they never identify something in a movie as "leering."

"Down, boy," she said.

"Surely you jest," I kidded.

"You just control yourself. And don't call me Shirley." She grinned.

The concept of a "swimsuit shot" sounds simple, but it isn't. If you're going for fashion modeling, you use one kind of pose. If you want to actually model swimsuits, you have different poses. If you're trying to get in an advertisement for a magazine like Sports Illustrated, you want something different still. We had converted one wall in her bedroom to use as a background for the shots we'd already taken. There were nails on the wall, up high, that supported a wooden rod we hung sheets off of. If there are any professional photographers out there, I'm sure they're cringing right now, but that was the best we could do on a very limited budget. The idea was to start with that, and then move outside.

Then there's the whole "one piece versus bikini" argument. Again, it depends on what kind of job you're looking for.

Long story short, I shot her in different swimming outfits. The first ones were supposed to be in a one piece she borrowed from Megan Cross, who is on the swim team. It was blue and she looked fantastic in it. A little too fantastic, as it turned out. Megan was slimmer than Hannah, and she'd stripped down her suit to make it less bulky. What that meant was that she took out the modesty panels in it.

Hannah came out of her bathroom, looked at herself in the mirror and said, "She didn't give me the modesty panels. No way I can wear this."

"Au contraire," I said. "You look fabulous."

She turned to face me. First, her hands came up and she used her index fingers to point to her nipples, which were clearly trying to rip through the material of the suit. Then she lowered both hands until her index fingers pointed to her crotch. The cloth was narrow there, but still managed to produce one of the sweetest looking camel toes I'd ever seen.

"Hannah?" I said, my voice a little husky.


"Would this possibly be one of those times when I get to take a ... um ... special picture?"

"You mean one that you, and only you would ever see?"

"Absolutely!" I said. "Cross my heart!"

"Pervert," she said, softly.

"Guilty as charged," I admitted. "Please?"

"You have no idea how that makes me feel," she said.

It occurred to me that she was grossed out, disgusted by the fact that I wanted a picture of her pussy lips, shielded only by a thin sheet of shiny cloth. I felt guilty.

"Never mind," I said. "I'm sorry."

"What?" Her eyebrows rose. "Wait. I'm not mad about it, Bobby."

"You're not?"

"No!" she said, forcefully. "When you look at me like that it makes me feel ..."

I waited. I'd already ascribed emotions to her that were not true. I wasn't going to make the same mistake again.

"Do you swear you'll never tell anybody what I'm about to say?" she asked.

"If you want me to," I said.

"Swear," she ordered.

"I swear I'll never tell anybody what you're about to say," I said.

"When you look at me like that, it makes me ... horny."

The perfect response to that would have been, "So I'm not the only pervert in the room," but I didn't say that. I didn't say anything at all. I was speechless.

"Why do I feel horny when you look at me like that, Bobby?" she asked. She sounded genuinely puzzled.

My tongue finally came loose.

"I don't know," I said. Then my brain kind of came loose, too. "Maybe because when you look like that I feel horny, too?"

"Fuck!" she said, her voice low and intense.

That left me speechless, too. She just didn't use that kind of language.

She stared at me for a few seconds and then suddenly moved. There was a chair at her vanity, an antique chair that our great grandmother had owned. It was what Mom said was Rococo style, with elaborately carved arms and legs, but with a simply covered cushion in blue fabric. The wood had originally been gilded but my dad had refinished it, taking the gold off and then staining the wood. The original seat cover had been in bad shape, so he replaced that, too. They'd given it to Hannah for her fourteenth birthday, along with the vanity.

She took the chair and dragged it over to the background wall, which had a white sheet hung on it at the moment. She sat down in it, with her ass on the front edge of the seat, and leaned back, draping her arms on the arms of the chair. Then she spread her legs, with her toes maybe two feet apart.

That camel toe was screaming at the viewer.

"How's this?" she asked, softly. "Does this look sexy?"

I tried to swallow, but my mouth was too dry.

"Uh ... yeah, it does," I sighed.


For a couple of seconds I thought about dropping my pants and letting her see what my cock was doing to the front of my briefs ... but only for a few seconds.

"Trust me," I said. "That's definitely sexy."

I stood there, staring, while she sat there, staring back.

"So are you going to take a picture or not?" she asked.

I took eight. Or maybe ten. I don't know. I moved around, getting her from different angles. In some she had her head erect, and in some she laid it back against the wood of the backrest.

And yes, I took a close-up of that camel toe.

"Wicked," I sighed, at one point.

"It feels wicked," she whispered.

"I meant wicked good," I said.

"I know. You wouldn't believe how this is making me feel."

"Yes I would," I said, taking another shot. My cock was fully stiff in my pants.

She moved her ass back and lifted one foot. She draped that leg over the arm of the chair with the wood under her knee. It opened her crotch up completely.

"How about this?" she said, breathing faster. "Is this sexy, too?"

"You don't want to know," I said, moving to frame her and click the shutter button.

"So it's not," she said.

"Oh it is," I said. "It's just that you don't want to know how sexy."

"Yes I do," she said.

Again I thought about dropping my pants and showing her. But you just don't do that to your sister. It had not occurred to me that she was doing something very much like that ... showing off her sexuality. Granted you couldn't tell if she was turned on or not, but there were similarities.

I have to break the mood, here, for just a second. When I looked at those pictures later, you actually could tell she was turned on. The fabric covering that camel toe got darker than the surrounding material in the later shots.

But I didn't show her my boner. Instead I just said, "Hannah, if you ever do this for Steve, it will kill him. And if it doesn't, I'll have to kill him."

"Bobby!" she chided. "I'd never do this for Steve."

"Then if you ever get married and want to give your husband a heart attack, do this then," I said.

She grinned, got her leg off the arm of the chair, and then stood up.

"I need to change. We can't use this suit for the swimsuit shot."

"Maybe you could," I said. "Surely there's something around here that can ... uh ... mute things?"

She looked down at her breasts. The nipples were still standing proud.

"Maybe," she said. "Stay here."

She went back into the bathroom. She came back out ten minutes later. No nipples. I looked down. No camel toe, either.

"What did you do?" I asked.

"Band-Aids for the nipples," she said. "A panty liner cut to the right shape for the other."

"You still look fabulous," I said.

"Awww." She smiled.

I took a set of shots of her standing, bent over, arms and legs positioned as if she were walking and some others. Then we went outside and I took some there. That didn't work, though. Even Band-Aids couldn't deal with the fact that it was still pretty cool outside. Her nipples were only rounded humps, but it was obvious they were nipples.

We went back in and she put on her favorite white bikini. That wheat-colored hair is dark enough that it looks good with the white so I told her to lose the ponytail after a couple of shots. With her hair down she looked really good. In one picture I had her stand upright and draped it all along her arms. In another I had her look over her shoulder at me. Her hair hung to within five or six inches of the waistband of her bikini bottoms.

"The way your hair covers your back it's easy to imagine you don't have a top on," I said.

"Is that what you're imagining?"

"I guess I am," I said.

"Don't move," she said. Her hands came up behind her, under her hair. Then they moved to her shoulders, where the straps of her top were now loose. I watched one strap slide down her arm. She held the bikini bra in her hand, letting it hang, and looked over her shoulder at me again.

"What does this look like?" she asked.

What it looked like was that this woman was obviously clothed only in a bikini bottom and was about to turn around and make your day.

"It's amazing," I said.

"Is it sexy?" she asked.

"You have sexy nailed," I replied.

"You want me to turn around?"

"Don't tease me," I groaned. "I'm already in trouble."

"Trouble? What kind of trouble?"

"You said this makes you horny, right?"

"Uh huh."

"Well it makes me horny, too."

She dropped the bikini bra and started to turn. My breath froze in my lungs. When she faced me, though, the tips of her fingers covered the tips of her breasts. You could still see how round they were, but the nipples were hidden.

"Take one like this," she said, softly.

I took two and the phone informed me the memory was full.

"Time to download," I sighed.

"You do that," she said. "I'll be in the bathroom."

Then she bent over, picked up her top, and stood, turning to head to her bathroom.

But she wasn't covering her breasts anymore. I didn't have time to stare, but I had a very sweet shot of creamy breasts with dark brown nipples.

I went to my room to download the photos.

But I masturbated, first.

I would have felt a lot better about that if I'd known she was in her bathroom doing the same thing.

I knew it was wrong to think about what I was thinking about as I lay on my bed and jerked a soothing load out of my balls that day. It's one thing to appreciate your sister's breasts, and imagine how some day a baby might suck on her nipples. It's another entirely to imagine being the one who gets her pregnant with the baby that will suck on those nipples.

I was kind of freaked out, to be honest, but you want to know what the freakiest part of it all was? It was the orgasm. That fucking orgasm was the best one I'd ever had in my life. I didn't even know cumming could feel that good.

Of course I knew it was because I was so excited - sexually excited - but it who I was excited about that made it next dimension strange.

I couldn't just lie there and work things out in my mind. I knew she'd want to look at all the shots we'd taken. So I had to get up. If you're a guy, then you know how hard it is to feel guilty about one thing while you're trying to get another thing done. At least that's how it is for me. I was reviewing the shots when Hannah came into my room. She didn't knock, but by now that didn't seem all that odd. Our relationship had undergone a fundamental change already, even though I don't think either of us knew it, yet.

"So ... did you do it?" she asked, coming to stand behind me.

"Do what?" I was staring at the bikini shot of her looking over her shoulder at the camera. At me. Her face had that same look I'd seen on the faces of models in magazines my mother would wig out about if she knew I had hidden in the bottom drawer of my chest of drawers. Those were usually the magazines I used if I wanted to look at something hot while I jerked off.

"Sneak a picture of my boobs," she said.

I'd just been thinking about her boobs. I'd been looking at that picture and part of my mind had been whining, "Turn around. Come on ... pleeeease ... just turn around so I can see them."

"I didn't sneak a picture of anything," I said. "What do you mean? Your boobs are in lots of these."

"I didn't cover them there at the very last," she said. "I thought you'd try to sneak a picture of them as I went to the bathroom."

"The chip was full, remember?" I said.

"Oh," she replied. It almost sounded like she was disappointed that I hadn't tried to take advantage of her. I decided to take a chance.

"Anyway, you were moving too fast," I said. "Next time you need to stop and think about kittens or something, before you leave. And the chip can't be full when you do that."

She slapped my shoulder.

But she also laughed.

Then we reviewed the pics, saving some and deleting others. I had to admit that she was a good looking girl. She needed very little makeup and her eyebrows just naturally made a pleasing line with a little upturn at the outside ends. It wasn't exactly Vulcan, like on Star Trek, but it was very interesting. She was just a beautiful young woman.

I finally had time to feel guilty again, though.

That's because I got stiff in the pants again while we reviewed the shots.

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