Shooting in Hannah - Version Alpha

by Lubrican

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

Chapter Four

I don't know how long I thought about "Christy" before my mind came back to the here and now.

I realized I was lying on my bed with my stiff pecker in my hand. I wasn't stroking it or anything. It was like I came back from some far off place where I had been thinking about all that stuff I recorded in the previous paragraphs.

The girl in the open magazine was some poor guy's daughter. Probably because of how I felt about Hannah, I wanted to believe she also had a brother. And I also assumed that both men looked at these pictures just like I did, imagining her as a sexual being ... imagining fucking her.

This is the sort of thing that worms its way into your mind and convinces you, somehow, that you're not alone ... you're not so different after all ... and that thinking about fucking your sister might not be as crazy as it first seemed. I mean there are literally millions of pictures of naked daughters and sisters out there, so there must be at least hundreds of thousands of fathers and brothers who have seen them and wished they could fuck the girl in the picture.

Regardless of the logic (or lack of it) in that argument, when I saw Hannah the next day I was all worked up.

"I need to talk to you," I said at breakfast. Mom and Dad were already gone to work.

"That sounds ominous," she said.

"Why do you say that?"

"You announced that you need to talk to me, rather than just doing it," she said.

"Something happened last night and it weirded me out," I said.


So I just showed her. I got the magazine and opened it to the pictures I'd been jerking off to the night before. I pointed to the open magazine.

"That girl is somebody's daughter," I said, dramatically.

She looked up at me.

"Duh," she said.

"Maybe that girl is somebody's sister," I said, meaningfully.

"I doubt he took these pictures," she said, trying to be cute.

"Hannah! Think about it! Look at her. She's like, 'Look at me, folks. See my pussy? It's been fucked a bunch of times.' And that means when her father or brother look at this they know that!"

"She could still be a virgin," said Hannah. "Just because she takes her clothes off doesn't mean she's not a virgin."

"I'm not explaining this very well," I sighed. "What do you think of when you look at those pictures?"

She glanced at the magazine.

"I think of all the guys she went out with and wouldn't do anything with, who are now going crazy because she posed like that."

I blinked.

"That's close," I said. "I think what I meant was, doesn't it make you want to be with her ... like this?"

"I'm not into girls, Bobby," she said.

"I know that, but if you were a guy you'd want to be with her, right?"

"I'm not a guy, Bobby." She grinned.

I lost it. Or got frustrated.

"Hannah!" I groaned. "What if her father or brother looks at this and wants the same thing I want?"

Now she blinked.

"Oh," she said, her eyes going to the pictures and staying there. "You think that's ever happened?"

"It has to have happened," I groaned. "It probably happens a lot!"

"What's your point, Bobby?" she asked, looking away from the nude woman lying on our kitchen table.

"My point is ..." I stopped.

My point was that when I looked at pictures of her, just as I looked at pictures like were in the magazine, I thought about fucking her. But I couldn't just say that.

"My point is that I don't feel so alone anymore. I get it. She's gorgeous, and she's probably just as gorgeous to her brother as she is to me. That makes me feel better about how I feel about you."

She looked at the pictures and then at me. Her face was oddly calm.

"So you want to do with me what you want to do with her." Her voice was also oddly calm.

My face must have answered for me.

"Bobby, this is a lot different than just getting turned on by being naughty," she said, softly.

"I know," I said.

She sat there. I had no idea what she was thinking about. Suddenly she spoke.

"I saved up my allowance and got something at the triple N."

"Nora's Naughty Notions?" I asked.

"Yes. I think I need to have a lingerie shot in my portfolio, so I got something."

"What is it?" I asked.

"Come with me," she said.

I followed her to her bedroom and she went to her dresser. She opened a drawer and got out a flat bundle of yellow cloth. There wasn't a lot of cloth there. She took it into the bathroom and it was quiet for a while. For some reason I imagined her getting naked in the bathroom. That's the first time that happened. She'd changed in there dozens of times, but I'd never had this particular fantasy before.

She stepped out. It was hesitantly and I could tell she was nervous. I couldn't think about that, though, because every ounce of my attention was on how she looked.

I don't know what they call this kind of outfit but it consisted of three pieces. There was a filmy jacket that came down to her hips and just barely covered the panties she was wearing. The panties were darker than the jacket, sort of an apricot color. She had on a bra, too, the same color as the panties. Her hair was down and flowed down her back, with some of it draped over her shoulders. Her hair looked like a luminous copy of the apricot color, only different.

"So?" she asked softly.

"You look good," I said. "Your legs look like they're a mile long." I have no idea why I said that. What I mean is that it wasn't an intentional comment.

"Where do you want me?" she asked.

I thought it would probably be a mistake to say, "On the bed," so I tried to think about it.

"It would look good outside, by some green stuff, but we can't do that. The neighbors might see. The white background is too light. Are there any green sheets in the house?"

"Mom and Dad have a green flannel set," she said. One of her chores was laundry, so she knew what everybody had in their drawers.

"Let's try that."

She went to the linen closet and came back with a flat, dark green sheet. We hung it up on her wall and she stood in front of it.

"That's good, but too stiff," I said. I looked around. Her vanity chair fit this outfit much better than it had Megan's swim suit. I got it and took it over in front of the sheet.

She sat down, looking fairly prim. I had her move into five different positions before I finally decided on having her lean back with her arms on the arms of the chair, like she was just relaxing. Her head was up and she was looking at the camera when I took the first shot. She looked serious. What I thought about was that she looked like she was contemplating getting naked for the photographer, but hadn't made up her mind yet about whether he deserved to see her that way or not.

I took a few more and then said, "There's not a lot more we can do to show you off."

"Yes there is," she said.

She stood up and removed the jacket. Filmy as it was, it turned out that it covered a lot of detail.

Such as the fact that her dark brown areolas showed plainly through the thin fabric of the bra. And, in the front of the panties, which I could now see were of the thong variety, with a really thin front panel with the cord rising high on her hips, there was an equally obvious round dark spot. It looked odd, because it looked too high. She sat back down and assumed a pose very much like what she'd done in the swim suit. It wasn't with the leg cocked over the arm of the chair. Her legs were straight and her heels maybe a foot and a half apart. Then she lay her head back.

"What do you think?" she asked.

"I think it's too close to being porn," I answered, honestly.

"Take some pictures," she said.

"Hannah, I can see through things."

"I know," she said. "Take some pictures."

I took some and we stopped to download. I pulled her shots up on the computer screen with her leaning over my shoulder. I could feel her breast pressing into the back of my shoulder.

"Wow," she whispered.

"I told you you were hot," I said.

"These are just for us," she said.

"It's too bad, because this would look killer in your portfolio."

"I have something for that," she said.

We went back to her bedroom and she got in another drawer. She pulled out a zip lock bag with something round in it.

"The woman at the store gave me these," she said. "They're just for models."

It turned out she had two flesh-colored pasties in the bag, and one of those super-wide Band-Aids.

I blinked and swallowed as Hannah casually lifted up the bra, baring her breasts, and carefully applied the pasties. She did it right in front of me, knowing I'd be able to see. I didn't have to ask what the big Band-Aid was for. I held my breath, waiting.

She put the bra back in place and stood there, breasts thrust out.

"Do they work?"

I looked. They did. I nodded.

She pulled out the Band-Aid, looked at it, and then looked at me.

"I had to shave a little bit because of my bikini," she said. "I tried to make it a Vee, but it got messed up and ended up as a circle."

That explained the dark dot in her panties.

"I need to put this over that," she said, holding up the Band-Aid.

"Okay," I sighed.

"Should I go to the bathroom to do that?"

I had no idea what to say. I swallowed. Apparently my face was speaking loud and clear that day.

"You want me to stay," she said. It was an accusation, but it wasn't harsh in the slightest.

"Would you hate me if I did?"


Then, as if she'd done it a hundred times, she reached for the waistband of that yellow thong and pushed it down, bending over and stepping out of it a foot at a time. She stood up and held the thong out to me.

"Hold that, please," she said.

My eyes must have been the size of saucers. I know they were. I couldn't have blinked if my life had depended on it. That spot of dark hair was maybe two inches above the top of her split. That split went downward, between two distinct, fleshy, wrinkled pussy lips that were rose-colored. She stood there, her feet eighteen inches apart, just letting me stare as she peeled the backing off the adhesive bandage and covered what was left of her pubes. It did nothing whatsoever to cover her labia.

As she reached for her panties and put them back on, tugging here and there, getting everything into place, it occurred to me that she could have done what she'd done with her panties lowered to her thighs. But she hadn't. She'd shown me everything she had ... intentionally.

"How about now?" she asked. I saw her look at the front of my shorts. I knew the fact that I had a raging boner was evident. "Must be okay." She gave me a grin, but it was a false one. I could see worry in her eyes.

"Thank you," I said.

"What for?"

"For making this the best day in my life," I sighed.

"You're sweet, but we need to hurry up," she said, putting the jacket back on.


"Because when I get horny things happen and I don't want there to be a dark spot in the crotch of this thong when you take the pictures," she said, calmly.

I froze, but it wasn't for long. She went back to the chair and sat in it. Then she got up and moved around the room, having me take pictures of her in her "normal" environment. We got a really good one of her sitting at her vanity, her hands lifted to grab her hair together, like she was going to put it in a ponytail. It made her breasts thrust out and almost looked like I'd sneaked the shot through a door or something, catching her as she primped. She fussed with the covers on the bed, which looked really appropriate because it looked like she was in her "jammies". We took four or five with the jacket back on, but she liked it better without. In the end, we got some really good lingerie shots, at least in my opinion.

When I said we were done, she said, "Thank you."

I said, "No problem. Any time you're in your undies and want pictures taken, I'm your man."

She lifted the bra again and peeled off the pasties, wincing as she did so. She rubbed each nipple after the pasty came off.

"I don't like those," she said.

"Me either," I said. I couldn't resist. "Need me to kiss them better?"

She shot me a look, but then smiled. To get the Band-Aid off all she did was pull the front of the thong forward and reach in. I had a quick fantasy about her doing that to masturbate and she pulled the Band-Aid out.

"What I meant when I said thank you was that I can't be like this with any other boy. I can't help but think about it, though, and wonder how I'd feel if I could, and if he would think I was pretty. You let me do that. You give me the freedom to try things."

"Like showing me your breasts? I hope you haven't showed them to anybody else."

"Yes, like letting you see them, and no, I haven't."

"Good," I said.

"You sound jealous."

"I probably am."

"Don't be. You'll probably be the first for lots of things."

That rocked me and again my face said something.

"Not that, Bobby. That would be going way too far!"

"Right. Of course," I said.

"I just meant other things."

"Like what?"

"I don't know yet. I'm kind of playing this by ear."

"What astonished me is that you're playing this at all," I said.

"Why? I can trust you."

"Absolutely, you can," I said. "I guess I'm still not used to the idea that my sister turns me on."

"Or that you turn your sister on," she said, softly.

"Yeah, that, too," I sighed.

"You need to go," she said. "I have things to do."

I didn't stop to wonder what those "things" might be. I just left and went and did "things" of my own.

The last shot for the portfolio was called a "Closing Shot." Basically it was another head shot from a different angle. She didn't have to be looking at the camera. It could be a profile shot, maybe showing her bare shoulders. It was just something to leave a positive image in the reviewer's mind when he or she closed the folder, a 'last impression' of sorts.

For that one I got kind of artsy. I'd been reading a little on the internet about portrait photography, and now knew about things like hair lights, so I rigged one of those up above her head. I had the black background on the wall and sat her on a barstool from Dad's den. I told her to take her top off and she did it without a word. She was wearing a plain, white bra that day. I got her in place, looking off to one side. I wanted her collar bones in the shot, and that thick cord of muscle in the neck that pops out when you turn your head. I had her look a little upwards and then slid the straps of her bra down over her shoulders so they wouldn't show.

"Pretend your boyfriend is in the Army and is stationed overseas. You haven't seen him for months and you're worried he might get hurt. You're thinking about him right now."

Her brow furrowed and I took a shot, though I didn't think we'd like it.

"He's going to be okay," I said. "You know that. He's strong and brave. You just miss him a lot."

"I can't," she said, turning her head to face me. "I don't know any guys in the Army."

"Just listen and try to imagine it," I said, physically turning her head again. "And don't move."

"Okay," she said. "I'll try. Should I try to imagine Steve in the Army?"

I had a thought.

"No. It's me." I had to bark out, "Sit still!" before she moved too much. "It's me. You miss me."

"I would miss you," she moaned.

"And I'd miss you. Think about that."

And suddenly, like magic, there it was, a poignant, melancholy look, wistful but strong. I took the picture.

I still have that one framed on my desk now, too.

But that wasn't the end of things.

Not by a long shot.

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