I’m sitting on the couch, pulling together a new portfolio for Shoshana that highlights her recent mature shots, when the front door bangs open and my daughter bursts in.

“Daddy! I got it! I got the job!”

I barely have time to push my laptop aside before my daughter tumbles onto my lap. I can’t help grinning at her excitement.

“I got it! I got the job!” she keeps shrieking as she hugs me. I hug her back as she straddles my legs, pressing her long body against mine in her giddiness.

“That’s great, honey,” I tell her when she finally pauses to draw her breath.

Shoshana pulls her head and shoulders back enough that she can grab my head and plant feathery kisses all over my face—which only presses her crotch more firmly against mine. “Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!”

I have to laugh. Her leaning back pushes my hands down till they’re cupping her upper ass, pulling her tighter upon my swelling cock.

Shoshana grins, cups my cheeks in her warm hands, and announces, “Thank—” and she plants a big smack on my lips, “—you!”

I grin back. “Not to argue against thanks like that, but what for?”

My little girl wriggles with joy. I keep my hands on her ass as she wraps her arms around my neck. “For believing in me—for telling me I should go for it.” I start to protest that of course I believe she could do a simple outdoor modeling gig, but she continues, “And for the record, it was a right call to go without you, so thanks also for not insisting.”

Ah, I think. And then, Ah-ha. This is, as I’d suspected, the sort of gig where a parent tagging along would definitely get in the way of looking grown-up.

“Any problem with your ID?”

It was fake, of course, but I’d paid good bucks for a good fake. We quickly realized, when Shoshana shifted away from child modeling, that the paperwork gets a lot easier if everyone believes she’s 18. She’s the tall and leggy type, but even six months ago no one would’ve mistaken her for that old for more than a moment. But since turning 15, the planes of her face had lost the last of its childhood softness and her waist was more defined—not to mention, her breasts filled into roundness, while still keeping those delectable puffy nipples. As long as she doesn’t act too childish, she can easily pull off being taken for a young-looking 18.

“Nope,” she grins, in that impish way she’s been practicing—looking playful-mature instead of bratty-child. “Didn’t give it a second glance.”

“Good. And you,” I give her ass a little squeeze, “I knew you have what it takes.”

“Oh really?” she drawls, grin even more impish.

“There was competition?”

“Yup! Eight other girls, but even after half of them dropped out, I... blew ... them away.”

Okay, there’s clearly a story behind that—one she’ll tell in her own sweet time, I know. I give her the straight line she wants. “And why did half the girls drop out?”

“Because they hadn’t realized it was a nude shoot.” She smirks—an expression that betrays her true age. I make a mental note to mention that later.

“And the other four?”

“Well one, when the boss asked us to disrobe so they could check whether our bodies were the right type, she pulled on her ranty-pants, how that was sooo unprofessional, and left.”

The gal was right—they can tell what the models have from their portfolio. Doesn’t stop some people from making the request, of course.

“So down to three others.”

Shoshana nods, which has the effect of bumping her crotch against my now quite stiff erection. No way she doesn’t notice, but she doesn’t show it. “So then the photographer lady—the boss is running things, but she’s taking the shots—so she says, the scenario involves some light sexual contact, does anyone have a problem with that, and another girl leaves.”

“Before or after getting dressed again?”

My daughter sticks out her tongue at me. “After, duh.”

I shrug with a smile. “Just checking.”

“Kinda a shame, though—she was pretty hot.”

Her tone that suggests she wouldn’t mind some light sexual contact with that girl. It’s not the first time my baby’s hinted she’s bi, which arguably will help her if she sticks with modeling. Again though, that’s a subject for later.

“Down to two now.”

“So then the boss guy, he undoes his pants and pulls out his hardon, and asks us all to prove it, that we’re okay with performing sex acts, by giving him a blow job.” She pauses for my reaction.

This is waaay into unprofessional, of course, but that’s never stopped a casting couch from being used. Before warning her about this, I want to know how she handled it. And I’m very curious what scenario they’re planning.

“And both the others left?” I guess, though of course the way she’s telling it at least one of them stayed.

“Nope! Just one. Although,” and Shoshana pretends to be thoughtful, “come to think of it, she just grabbed her clothes and stormed out, without getting dressed.”

“Ha,” I say without heat. Whether I believe it or not, the detail does add to the excitement of her story.

“So then it’s down to me and Gabby, she’s the other girl, down on our knees. Gabby goes first, while Oxana, she’s the photographer, circles around us checking out angles and shots. Gabby’s a little awkward, like she’s just sticking a dick in her mouth, not making love to it. So after a minute, it’s my turn, and I wrap my hands and lips around his cock, and worship it.”

Her recitation is leaving her breathless and aroused—her hard nipples tent out her spaghetti-strap top, and her crotch grinds lightly against my own rock-hard cock. I can all but feel the heat from her pussy even through two layers of denim.

I have to wet my lips to speak. Somehow I manage to keep my voice light. “So you blew her away with your superior blow-job.”

“Minute and a half, tops, he was popping in my mouth.” Her lush lips grin impish again. “So as a consolation prize, I gave Gabby a snowball.”

Yeah, that’s my girl, flexing like mad. “Did you get her number?”

An eye-roll of a young teen. “Of course. We shared an Uber home, and made out in the back seat till we dropped her off.”

Of course. Not to mention, so much for merely hinting she’s bi.

“Well, I know my little girl has what it takes,” I tell her, squeezing her ass once more.

“Thanks, Dad.” She throws her arms around me again, this time for a solid hug that presses her entire body against mine, including those firm young breasts against my chest. I hug her back, just as hard.

When we finally let each other go, I ask, “So when’s the shoot?”

“Saturday morning in MacArthur Park—my call’s at like 6:30, ugh.”

I chuckle—yeah, getting this teenager up and there on time won’t be easy. “Care for some company?”

“Of course! I want you to come watch—and not just to pick up photo-pro experience.”

I snort—when Shoshana returned to modeling, after a couple-year break at the start of middle school, I returned more seriously to photography. Most of the mature shots in her new portfolio are mine, and while it’s hard to photograph her badly, I know I’ve a lot to learn.

“Except,” my daughter says, then hesitates, biting her lower lip. “Um.”

I have an idea what’s up. “Arrive separate?”

Relieved, she nods. “Just to make me look more adult. I’ll introduce you to everyone, though, including Oxana. Maybe she’ll let you watch her at work in exchange for assisting.”

I nod. “Thanks. Any word on who this ‘light sexual contact’ will be with?”

“Not yet. For all I know, it’s a solo nude shoot, with us out in the park. Maybe a second girl—wouldn’t mind that.” Her hips twitch, the barest grind of pube against still-hard cock.

“I can tell,” I say dryly.

Shoshana laughs hard enough, she falls off my lap, almost off the couch. By the time I help her upright, the moment is over. Which is fine. All the more time to look forward to Saturday.

I’m woken up Saturday morning by Shoshana bouncing onto my bed. “Uber’s here, gonna go,” she blurts out, grabbing my face and delivering a scorcher of a kiss. If I didn’t already have a morning woody, that would have given me one. Before I can grab this delectable nymph and hold her close for more, she bounds up again. “Wish me luck bye!”

“Break a leg!” I croak at the figure disappearing out the bedroom door.

I lay there panting as feet thump down the stairs, then the front door opens and slams.

Okay, given she’s that jazzed, Shoshana apparently got enough sleep. Took her a while to settle down last night. Which meant bugging me all evening, having me double-check her skin was smooth and unblemished all over, that her eyebrows were shaped perfectly, that her touch-up bikini waxing was completely smooth—lips bare, and an acute triangle of hair pointing at the top of her slit. I reassured her she looked great, wonderful, perfect, sexy, but it took a few rounds. That girl can soak up compliments like a sponge.

And now I had an hour to wake the rest of the way up and follow her—it should take about that long to check in, and get wardrobe and makeup organized. We both know how modeling works.

It actually takes me more like an hour and a half to get to the set—I forgot about the construction downtown. And then there’s the parking problem—the park is at the edge of town, on the lake, and on a sunny late-spring Saturday, the place is packed. But I finally find a space. The shoot is easier to find, over by the lake shore—a production crew with lighting equipment are kinda obvious. But when I get closer, I’m not prepared for what I see. This is like no modeling job I’ve ever seen.

Down by the water, surrounded by the crew, surrounded in turn by people enjoying the park, is my precious baby. Shoshan’s straddling an ATV, wearing cutoffs so short and tight they’re less modest than most underwear, a bikini top pulled down to completely expose her luscious breasts, and cowboy boots.

Did I say people are enjoying the park? Enjoying the sight of her, more like it. And I don’t blame them in the slightest.

As I move through the crowd, though, I’m in for an even bigger surprise. Lying on the grass around her, in various sexy poses, are five naked men. This gives me pause, but then I realize, Shoshana will be purely modeling with them. Only one naked guy, I might worry they’ll want her to have sex on camera, but with all five, no way—especially out in public.

When Shoshana sees me, she flashes me a twinkling grin, then returns to her pose.

The photographer, a woman about my age with a short white ponytail says from behind her camera, “Oh perfect, babydoll. Make that expression for the camera.” My girl tries, but while she recaptures the smile her eyes don’t twinkle the same way. The woman continues, “Imagine the camera’s that person you just saw.” Shoshana regains that twinkle and her smile lights up like a sunrise. “Beautiful! Hold it! Guys, that smile’s for you—reactions, please. There! Perfect!”

The photographer lowers her camera and hands it to an assistant. “Great high note for a break. We’ll start the next segment in ten.” As she steps towards Shoshana, she ruffles one of the male model’s hair. “You guys will have more to do this time—as will you,” and she bends down to give my girl a quick smooch on the lips. “Go say hello to whoever you smiled at, then scoot back to makeup.”

And only then does Shoshana strip off the useless top and leap off the ATV. “Daddy!” she calls, bounding over without bothering to cover up—breasts bouncing as she runs. As we embrace, her pointy nipples poke my chest. “I’m so glad you made it. It’s been so awesome, and I’m learning tons. Come on, meet the crew—and my guys!”

She introduces me to lighting and wardrobe and makeup and the boss, though not the photographer right then as she’s busy with her equipment, before turning to her five co-models. She rattles off names so fast, I don’t catch which one is Brad or Mick or Lamont or Tyler. Xander, though, I figure out—there’s always a fucking Xander with a cocky smirk and shitty tats covering one shoulder and upper arm. Each of them is ridiculously good-looking and fit, and they all dangle good-sized cocks, proving they’re ‘show-ers’ not ‘growers’. At least, I hope none of them is a grower.

Two of the naked Mick-Tyler-Lamont-Brads stand on either side of Shoshana, and she puts her arms around their waists, which puts their dicks just inches from touching her. Then another behind her wraps his arms around her body, just under her breasts, pressing hard against her back. They’re all very pleasant, at least when Xander keeps his mouth shut. Despite Xander’s smugging, though, the guys put me right at ease. I can tell my daughter is in good hands with them.

“Come on, kids,” shouts the boss, “let’s get a move on! Shoshana, scoot over to makeup, babe!”

After one last hug, pressing her naked puppies against my chest again, my model daughter skips over to a stool in front of a mirror on a stand.

Beside me, the photographer suddenly says, “You must be Pavlo.”

She uses the Ukrainian pronunciation, like my grandmother did, but her accent otherwise is light enough I can’t place it any more specific than vaguely Slavic. I turn from watching Shoshana to shake her hand. “I am—and you must be Oxana.”

With a brief nod, she replies, “She said you shot her portfolio?”

I resist the impulse to clarify just the new portfolio—no point in muddying the waters. “Most of it.”

“You’ve a good eye for composition and catching the moment, but you need better lighting. A body like that girl’s deserves better.” She turns to watch my scantily clad daughter at the makeup station.

Um, yeah, we do—we’ve had to make do with the available light. But I’m still pleased by the praise. “I’m still learning the tricks of the trade. Can I watch?”

“As long as you stay—” then she pauses and looks at me again, this time more speculative. “Actually, want third camera? A roving one, looking for serendipity shots. Any I use, you’ll get credit plus a percentage. This is a contract with me, mind, not the boss.”

“A subcontractor,” I clarify.

“Da.”

“I’d love to,” I admit. Experience with a pro camera and a proper set, plus legit reason to watch my girl up close? Of course!

Oxana nods once. “I’ll get you contract and camera.”

And with that, she strode over to the lighting tech, leaving me to watch my daughter prepare for work—and it was a stunning sight.

A crew of three, two guys and a gal, are tending to her entire body. One guy is chattering as he teases her hair into place, while the second, having touched up her face, is rubbing her breasts, darkening the skin to match the rest of her body so it looks like she sunbathes topless. Meanwhile, the young woman kneels between her spread legs, rubbing a cream into her thighs, working all the way up under the ragged hem of her cutoffs.

Shoshana is a total pro about all this, accepting their ministrations as her due, even lifting her hips slightly to grind her crotch up against the gal’s fingers. Then my daughter shifts and leans over the stool, breasts hanging down, to let the makeup guy and lotion gal touch up her back and bottom, the latter pulling those tight shorts as far up into her crack as she can work it.

They’re putting way more work into it than anything we did, shooting her portfolio, and I’m memorizing everything they do. Not to mention this new view of my little girl. I’m looking forward to doing myself everything they’re doing, the next time I shoot her.