"Your niece is adorable!" the photographer gushes. "She's absolutely perfect! Just what I had in mind!" His shutter clicks and whirrs with excitement.
Mr. Banks smiles. "I thought she might be," he says. "When I saw your ad, she immediately sprang to mind."
"Perfect, just perfect," the photographer repeats in a mumble, his attention already re-focused on the little girl in front of him.
She is very young, with blond hair that falls down to her shoulders in naive ringlets. Currently, she is dressed in a light pink blouse, with a simple dark pink dress over top of it. It is the stereotype of the young feminine, which is compounded by the fact that she's sitting in front of a low table with a plastic tea party strewn across its surface. In two more chairs sit a doll and a stuffed rabbit, obviously guests at her party. She smiles demurely at the camera.
What the photographer does not know is that under the makeup, the blond wig, and the pale dye in his eyebrows, the "little girl" is not a little girl at all, but Noah, Mr. Banks's young son. He is doing his best to look cute and shy, as his father instructed him, but it is quite difficult. The tight, lacy panties that his father has dressed him in are biting somewhat uncomfortably into his skin, and he feels nervous and uncomfortable in these strange clothes.
His father is watching impassively, a small, vague smile on his lips. The photographer moves from angle to angle, snapping away with frenetic energy. As far as he is concerned, he's found his perfect little model, and these photographs will serve brilliantly in his next book.
"Alright," says the photographer a few blinding flashes later. "I'm gonna go reload, then change the lights some and get some new props. I'll be right back."
As the photographer putters around his studio, Noah's father strides over to his son and kneels next to him. "How are you holding up?" he asks, ever the concerned parent.
"Papa," Noah whispers, "this feels really weird! And the lights are hot…"
Noah's father smiles and strokes the blond wig on his son's head. "It'll be fine. Not too much longer, I think." As he speaks, his hand drifts down his son's back and under the dark pink skirt. "Do you need to take a break?"
Noah nods, and gasps quietly as his father's fingers slide deftly under the waistband of the frilly white panties and gently caress the cleft between his butt cheeks. Noah's eyes follow the photographer warily, to see if he notices, but the man is off in his own world, muttering to himself about lighting coloration and digging through his equipment. The fingers of Noah's father idly knead his anus, teasing, apparently not in any hurry. The photographer turns right towards them, but if he sees anything at all in his preoccupation, it is nothing more than a man kneeling next to his niece, ensuring her comfort.
Noah braces himself for his father's fingers to enter him, but they don't. They push at him, rubbing over sensitive flesh and sometimes pressing forward as though about to penetrate him, but always they hang back. Noah feels his penis twitch at the insistent teasing, but the panties are very confining, and his penis can only strain at the cloth.
"Papa!" Noah hisses in an embarrassed whisper, "You're going to make me hard!"
"Remember," Noah's father murmurs, "it's 'Uncle,' not 'Papa.'" The tip of his middle finger jabs abruptly into Noah's anus.
"Uncle…" Noah moans, a bit too loudly; the photographer turns and looks at them.
"Is she okay?" he asks, voice concerned. "She looks a little pale."
"I think the lights are a little hot for her," Noah's father confesses in an apologetic voice. "Is it alright if I take her to the dressing room so that she can cool off? I'll re-apply her blush while we're there."
"That's fine," says the photographer, his voice already distracted again. "Gives me time to set up. You know where it is."
Noah's father lifts his son out of the chair and sets Noah on his feet, motioning him towards the dressing-room door. The room is actually little more than a walk-in coat closet, with a couch against one of the walls and a mirror at the far end with a small table next to it. Noah's father shepherds his son into the room and closes the door behind them.
Noah has already seated himself on the couch, and Noah's father approaches him, seats himself beside his son, and lifts Noah's skirt without preamble. Noah's small penis draws the white, lacy panties taut over his crotch. A small red bow at the top center of the panties strains upward towards his father.
Noah's father smiles at the endearing sight and pushes his son over onto his stomach, lifting the rear of the skirt as well. His son's soft buttocks sit pertly, waiting for him, a thin strip of white fabric running down the cleft between them. He runs a finger lightly down the bridge of cloth. Noah shivers.
"Papa," he murmurs, the start of a question, but he does not finish it.
"Papa's gotten pretty hard too you know," Noah's father tells him. "Watching you parade around like that. What are we going to do about it, hm?"
Noah cranes his head over his shoulder, his large eyes wide. "Do you want me to suck your cock?"
"Later," decides Noah's father, after a moment's pause. "When we get home, before you change out of the dress, then you can suck my cock. Right now though, I think I'll fuck you."
Noah's cheeks redden. "But we're supposed to go back out soon!"
"We'll do it quickly," Noah's father assures him and, wasting no more time, hooks a finger under the thin strip of fabric covering his son's anus and pulls it aside. He unzips his fly with his other hand and pulls out his considerable length, guiding himself into his son without even bothering to remove the boy's underwear.
Noah starts to cry out at the rough penetration, but his father grabs up a pillow from the couch and presses it against Noah's face, muffling his cries so that they cannot travel beyond the dressing room. Ruthlessly, Noah's father forces his cock into his son's ass, cleaving him wider and wider as he pushes forward. He is rough and quick by necessity, his thrusts brutal. The fabric of his son's panties rub against the side of his cock, and he uses a hand to hold up the skirt against Noah's back so that he can watch the process: the thin fabric of the panties twisted to the side as his penis plunges in and out of the tight orifice. The blond hair of the wig fans out over the couch fabric, in disarray.
When Noah dares to look up from his pillow, he meets his own eyes in the mirror at the far end of the room. From this angle he can see little more than his flushed face and, behind it, his ass, slightly raised up, and his father's cock as it pounds into him. Too embarrassed to face himself, Noah buries his face in the pillow once more.
Noah's father can be fast when he wants to, and his thrusts are already speeding up towards climax. Noah bites down on the pillow in front of his face to brace himself against the pain. None of this is helping to soothe his own erection.
There is a knock on the door, and the photographer's voice says, "Mr. Banks? Are you and Noel ready for another round yet?"
At that moment, Noah's father plunges forward, his balls brushing against the soft skin of Noah's bottom, and comes deep inside his son. For a few moments he waits, still seated inside Noah, and catches his breath.
"We'll be out in a moment!" he calls to the photographer once his voice is steady. He yanks himself out of Noah's passage, causing a muffled whimper, and pulls the boy's panties down around his knees. From the table near the mirror he grabs up a tissue and pushes it part way into Noah's anus to soak up his cum as it begins to leak out of the boy. Then he sits Noah up on his lap and grabs his son's penis in one large hand.
With a wrenching motion he forces Noah's penis downwards, efficiently foiling his erection. Noah cries out in protest, but his father places a hand over the boy's mouth to muffle the sound. He keeps pushing until Noah's small penis once more fits easily inside the panties, and then pulls up the skimpy underwear, patting the little red bow once they are in place.
"If you get hard again during the photo shoot," he murmurs in Noah's ear, "I'll have to punish you." His lips curve in a smile. He noticed while he was fucking the boy the way Noah was embarrassed to watch himself in the mirror. He will have to put that fact to use later.
He straightens his own clothes and Noah's, and opens the door, pushing Noah out in front of him.
"Nice job with the blush," says the photographer. "Her cheeks look nice and flushed. You guys ready for more then? I'm sorry this is taking so long. Oh, and this is for you." He pulls a check out of his shirt pocket and hands it to Noah's father, payment for Noel's services as a model.
"Take as long as you need," says Mr. Banks pleasantly.