Date: Tue, 29 Jan 2013 14:54:11 +0000
From: calamity123@fido.blackberry.com
Subject: Camera Shy

This is a story of a father and his young son. If this is not for you then
please feel free to move on to other stories. Nifty has them all. Please
make a donation.

Although I have enjoyed incest I in no way condone non-consensal
interaction with minors. Sex is for adults who are aware of the risks and
possible ramifications. Not for minors.

If you would like a list of stories that I've also posted here, please
contact Rob at: Calamity123@fido.blackberry.com


Camera-Shy


Warren received his first camera for Christmas when he was seven. By the
time he was twelve he had aspirations of becoming the worlds next great
director. His sisters, his mother, his father all had posed for his digital
camera or 'acted' in his movies. Afterwards the film would be played much
to the delight of his family and friends. His confidence grew and he began
to study composition so that each still became a story in itself.
    It was with this skill in mind that he approached his dad.
    Bert was in the backyard raking leaves as he watched his brunette
freckle-faced son approach. He knew that enthusiastic gleem and immediately
thought to himself 'this ought to be good'. "What's up?"
    "I want to do a study of you."
    Bert got back to it. "I think you can think of something more
interesting than me raking up leaves - which, incidentally, you were
supposed to do two days ago".
    Warren held open the garbage bag. "I have thought of something more
interesting".
    "Oh yeah".
    "Yeah. You in your blue polo shirt sitting in the blue and white
striped chair in the den".
    After releasing an armful into the bag Bert looked at his son. "That's
your idea of interesting?"
    "Well, yeah, you'd be in the shirt sort of offsetting the stripe".
    "I guess". He reached down gathering up another pile. "I'll put on the
shirt after this and you can click away".
    Warren sort of cleared his throat. "Okay, but there's just one more
thing".
    "What - a blue hat?"
    "No, I just want you in the blue shirt".
    "Okay. I said I'd put it on". Bert raked up the last remaining pile.
    Warren swallowed. "And nothing else".
    Bert stood up staring at his son.
    "You would be the blue and white on the blue and white".
    Bert stared.
    "Dad, it's about structure; shape".
    Bert cocked his head as his eyes narrowed.
    Warren exhaled in exasperation. "Dad, all great photographers do some
kind of nude study".
    "Not of their fathers".
    "See, it'll be innovative". Warren watched his father shake his head in
amazement as he bent to picked up the final pile of leaves. "Well, will you
at least think about it?"
    "No".
    "Well, I think if you mull it over you'll see that it's actually a
compliment to have your son so admire you that he'd want to glorify you in
all your maleness".
    Bert pulled the bag from his son tying it up. "You know, that kind of
crap doesn't work with your mother. It sure as hell isn't going to work
with you".
    "Just think it over".
    "No".
    "Thanks", he said ignoring the last response.
    As he watched his son bound back to the house he called, "I should'a
got you a Sno-Cone machine instead of a camera!"

On the following Sunday two events happened that changed
everything. Warrens' grandmother became ill and the girls went over to see
to her leaving the boys alone. The second was more fortuitous. As Bert
settled into 'his' chair armed with a bowl of pretzels and a fresh can of
beer the game was called because of the weather in Atlanta.
    "Oh, for christ-sake", Bert muttered. "Now what?"
    Warren stared at the downpour on the television then smirked at his
dad. "I could get the camera".
    Bert looked up. "You gonna start that crap again!"
    Warren shrugged. "Why not? You've got nothing else to do". He offered a
big grin.
    "I'm not posing naked for you".
    "You wouldn't be naked. You'd be in a shirt".
    "Naked from the waist down!"
    Warren walked over to the chair taking a pretzel. "Art, dad. Art".
    "No, son. No".
    "Don't you want to further my education?"
    Bert chuckled. "Depends what you're studying to be".
    Warren laughed. "I'll set up the background and you can put on the
shirt" and he disappeared into the den.
    "Not gonna happen".
    From the other room the lad called, "and take off the chain. Nothing
around your neck. Only the bottom button should be done up. Leave the top
one open".
    Bert heard the furniture being moved. He looked about focussing on the
front door and its open lock. Rising the door was his first stop. Then the
back door was secured. He found himself in the master bedroom changing into
the blue polo. The shoes were kicked off. The socks discarded. The belt
unbuckled. And then he paused. His mind raced in a void of incomplete
thoughts and uncertainty. Then the doorway was filled with his son holding
his camera.
    "No. Take 'em off in the den in case the girls come back early".
    Bert followed his son. "You have the mind of a pornographer", he
muttered.

Bert sat straight in the chair, legs spread, hands cupping his
crotch. Click.

Bert with one ankle crossed at the other knee, hands clutching the end of
the chair arms. Click.

Bert sitting cross-legged, arms folded across his chest. Click.

One leg over the arm the other raised up as shield, his elbow over the back
of the chair as he sat sideways. Click.

    Warren tried using a tolerant tone as though he were speaking to an
obstinate child. "Dad, I think you need to . . . um . . . relax".
    Bert raised an eyebrow. "I will if you will".
    "I'm already relaxed".
    "Yeah but not like me"
    Warren looked over the camera.
    "Drop the pants or no reveal", Bert challenged.
    The boys eyes widened. "Mine?" When his father nodded in confirmation
he swallowed hard, placed the dc on the table and stripped
down. Everything. Self-conscious and red-faced he retrieved the camera.
    Bert smiled. "Not so easy, hunh?"

Bert, legs spread, arms folded. Click.

One leg over the arm of the chair, hands folded behind his head. Click.

One foot on the floor, the other on the seat of the chair, arm over the
raised knee. Click.

Hand on stomach; thumb on the shirt, fingers up inside. Click.

Hand covering naval. Fingertips in black bush. Click.

Hand adjusting hairy nuts. Click.

Cock thickening. Foreskin pulled back enough to see the pee-slit of the
purple knob. Click.

    "What else do you want to see, son?"

Hand beside balls. Thumb on base of cock. Click.

    "This is my favourite toy".

Hand wrapped around cock.

    "Take the picture".

Click.

    "You're showing me how much you admire my tool".
     Warren looked down to see his own cock, hard, defiant, skinned
back. Then back to his dad.
     "I admire yours, too".
     Warrens hands trembled as he tried to focus the lens.
     "Get the movie camera".
     Warren looked up. Hesitated. And as he moved quickly to his room felt
the weighty bounce of his cock as it metronomed with every step. Upon
returning he saw his dad now sat with a leg over each arm and his butt
moved forward. His hand was extended. Demanding in the silence. The new
camera was deposited.
    Bert took aim. The lad stood before him in his glorious youth. Cock
hard sprouting from the few trace hairs. "Show me".
    Warren took hold of his cock. He fingered up and down the shaft and on
one of the downward strokes let his fingers fondle his balls.

Three weeks later and once again alone they were on the master bed. With
his back against the headboard, Bert looked down as Warren sucked his
cock. Satisfied on many levels he looked over at the television.
    The picture was at first shakey. But it steadied soon enough. Berts'
voice was clear as the camera zoomed between his legs. Warrens eyes wide as
he looked into the lens(?); his fathers eyes(?).
    "Not at me, son. Look at my hole. Hairy. Waiting. Kiss daddys hole,
son".
    Warrens eyes closed as his face moved in to the parted cheeks. He
kissed the puckered asshole. Once. Twice. Three times. Then his tongue
flicked out.
    "Yeah. Yeah. That's it. Use your tongue. Oh, yeah, lick daddys arse".
    The tongue slobbered the asshole in a wet slippery assault. Lapping in
delight at the hirsute treasure.
    "Nice. Very nice. Now slide your tongue up to my balls. That's the
way. Lick daddys bag. Yeah, like that. Good boy".
    Warren lapped at each egg then sucked one into his mouth. He almost
smiled as his father let out a low growl. Warren had never felt such power.
    "Oh, fuck. Ah, fuck!"
    Warren sucked the other nut. Harder.
    "Fuck me. Fuck me". Bert groaned low and steady and long.
    He tried for both but together they were too big.
    "Get up!" Bert commanded. As the lad stood he pulled at the rod. "Fuck
me. Stick your fucking cock in me and split me open!"
    The boy pressed his oozing knob against the cherry. His dads hand viced
his hip.
    "Fuck me, you fucking cocksucker. Fuck your old mans hole!"
    The cock slid in. All the way. Warren grabbed each of his dads
knees. And he began his rythm. In and out. Quick short strokes.
    "Oh, yes! Fuck my shitter! Seed your fucking dad. Seed me!"
    Bert looked away from the screen to watch his hungry boy bob on his
knob. Sucking in ravenous delight. One hand resting on his sons head. Then
back to the screen.
    Berts hand was stroking his meat furiously. The slim boy hips bucked
his hole.
    "Take it, daddy! Fucking your ass!"
    Then Berts cock fountained up the first blast of splooge. His son
pushed in and held as his body shuddered and his throat growled. The second
blast was aimed at his sons smooth chest and landed.
    Bert looked away from the set and down at his son. "Fuck, son, daddy's
real close. Suck harder. Harder. Yeah, like that. Don't stop. Oh
god. Don't. Stop".
    Warren's head pistoned the meat. The sounds of his slurping suck
resonated. Sucking. Sucking. Sucking.
    "Yeah. It's here. Here. Get it, son. Get daddy. Ahh, fuuuucckk!"
    With unbridled abandon the lad sucked up every volcanic spurt. Nothing
was wasted. No cum drops missed. Noisily he sucked up allowing the fat knob
to plop free. He smiled at his dad.
    Bert tussled his hair. "Good boy". He helped raise the lad up to his
knees. "Now. Face the camera and show how well you did".
    Warren turned to the movie camera beside the bed opening his mouth to
reveal the milky flow. His dad bent forward as the met in a cum-filled
tongue battle. Streams oozed down chins as mouths and tongues fought and
sucked and swallowed.
    Bert cupped Warrens chin. "Smile for the camera. It's your turn". And
he lowered his head to begin sucking his sons cock for the camera.
    Ahh. Art.