A Little Humiliation Never Hurt Anyone, Love

[EddieDavidson]

This is a repost - I took this down after I was trolled and I am going to finally put a proper ending to it.
The general premise was that I wanted to do a saucy British mum - that says things like "Caw" and "Cheeky" who wants to have some snaps taken - I really had fun with the dialogue.

I wrote this without knowing "Girl's Don't Need modesty" but it's basically in line with that.

[EddieDavidson]

eep"Alright, Mum, I've compiled the grocery list for the week," Jack said, his red hair a fiery halo in the morning light. "I want you to pop over to Sainsbury’s in the next two days and get a proper porridge, some Weetabix, Jammie Dodgers, Digestives, Rich Tea biscuits, a few loaves of Hovis, some Warburtons, and a dozen eggs. Don't forget the milk, we need gold top and semi-skimmed, and some yoghurt, the kind with the fruit on the bottom. And can you get some grapes, the red kind, not the green? Also, pick up some Wensleydale cheese, a block of cheddar, and some crackers. We're running low on cereal, so grab some Coco Pops, Rice Krispies, and some Alpen. Oh, and get some more bread sauce, we're having roast chicken on Sunday. And don't forget the veggies, we need some carrots, peas, and some spuds. I've made a list, compiled the totals, as well as the menu for the next three days.”

My Mum futzed around the kitchen in her housecoat and slippers. She's an attractive woman if you go for tavern slappers. She's got more boobs than brains, I'd say, but she means well. She's been raising us on her own for years since our Dad skipped out. Mum was listening to Jack rattle off instructions while scraping up some breakfast for the four of us.

The kitchen was filled with the sound of sizzling bacon and the smell of fresh tea brewing. I didn’t care for tea, but Jack and my Mum did.

"Yes, Jack, thank you!! You are so helpful. I don't know what I'd do without you, dear. How much do you think it will all cost?"

Mum treats Jack like he’s Prince Charming, her golden boy who can do no wrong. While Joy and I get tap water slapped down without so much as a word, she’ll ask him, “Milk in your tea, love?” every single time—like she doesn’t already know he takes it black. The whole thing’s ridiculous, really. She’s polite with him in a way she never is with us, like rolling out the red carpet is just part of her job. And Jack? He knows it. Plays his part perfectly, charming her socks off while keeping that air of authority like he’s the King of the House. Meanwhile, we’re the court jesters, here to amuse her or annoy her, depending on her mood. I’ve never even seen her frown at him—not properly. Not like she does with us. He’s Mum’s golden boy, and we’re just… extras.

Mum definitely has some ideas about the role of sons and daughters in the house – and despite his being younger than both of us – he’s been the one to sort out the pantry, the meal planning, we’d never even been asked -not that we wanted that kind of responsibility.

My little brother Jack is mommy’s golden boy – can do no wrong. He's the baby of the family, but Mum props him up like he's the smartest and most responsible – which by some accounts he might be. "I'd say around £120, maybe £150. I’ll come with you on the bus, and we’ll sort it out!”

“Thank you, Jack!”

“The cupboard isn’t bare, but we’ve not had a proper breakfast in some time.”

My mom nodded without even so much as looking at me and my sister Joy. Joy was half-asleep, with her elbows on our small kitchen table. We’ve lived in this wee flat in South Godstone, just outside of London for about eight years now.

It gets smaller and smaller every year, and privacy is at a premium. My sister and I share a small room upstairs, and my mom has the other. Jack sleeps in a smaller room under the stairwell.

Downstairs, we’ve only got the kitchen for dining with a door outside to a so-called garden. It’s barely three meters of broken boards for fencing, to grow weeds, and store Jack’s old rusted 10-speed.

We’ve got a living room with old hand-me-down furniture that was in fashion when Queen Elizabeth was my age. It smells like old England in there – brown canvas coverings and faux-chocolate wood coffee tables. We’ve got a telly, but it barely gets channels, and almost none of us watch it.

Most of our daily lives at home revolve around this tiny kitchen, as the center of our world. It’s where we sit to talk and congregate. My sister and brother are too old to go out and play in the woods, and we’ve fuck all to do in Godstone. There are a few taverns, a few shoppes, a gas station and a church.

Most of the boys around the area are proper turds, or wannabe gangsters, so I spend most of my time at home with this lot.

“You're right of course, Jack. Now, let's have a look at the menu for today. What did you have in mind?” Mum asked sweetly.

Joy mouthed the words behind my Mum’s back, imitating her for my amusement. I giggled.

Jack grinned, his confident personality shining through. "Well, Mum, for lunch, I was thinking we could have some sandwiches and crisps. Maybe some sausage rolls and a few scotch eggs. And for tea, we could have some toast and jam, and maybe some biscuits. And for dinner, we could have a nice roast beef with some roast potatoes and veggies."

“Oh, that would be very nice, would you girls like that?” Mum asked my sister and me.

We didn’t have a chance to say fuck all, when Jack continued with what he had to say.

“On Sunday, we could have a big roast chicken with some roast potatoes and veggies. And for lunch, we could have some leftovers from today, maybe some cold meat and pickles. And for tea, we could have some cake and a few sandwiches. And for dinner, we could have a nice roast pork with some apple sauce and roast potatoes."

My Mum smiled like a silly git. "That sounds like a lovely menu, Jack. You're so clever and helpful, I don't know what I'd do without you."

“How come Jack gets to pick what we are having to eat?” I asked in frustration.

“We’ve been over this, Soph!” my mom reminded me. I knew perfectly well what was decided about three months ago. I still didn’t agree with it. “Jack wanted some additional responsibility around the flat. I have trouble keeping up with the pantry, and so he agreed to take an inventory of what we need and prepare a shopping list. He did so well at it, that he comes with me to the Sainsbury’s to look for discounts.”

“Yeah, I know,” I scrunched my nose and grimaced. “I still don’t see why that makes him the King of deciding all the meals?”

“That’s because Mum keeps forgetting what we had yesterday and making the same boring meal. I said I’d create the menus in advance!”

“Why can’t we have a go at it?” I asked to have a try at managing the cupboard and pantry.

“Don’t include me in this,” my sister frowned. My older sister’s been going through that Goth-Chav phase, she’s been going through it now for over 15 years.

“No need, Jack has it!” Mum declared as she poured herself a steaming cup of British tea with milk, she asked Jack, "How do you take your tea this morning, dear?" like this was a perfectly normal topic of conversation.

"Just milk, please, Mum," Jack replied, looking like the cat who'd got the cream.

Mum added a splash of milk to Jack's tea, then turned to us. She automatically poured us water without asking our preference.

Joy and I exchanged a skeptical glance but said nothing as Mum filled two glasses with water from the tap. Godstone water isn’t that bad – if you like terrible tap water.

I’m not the rebellious type—that’s my big sister. Well, sort of. Joy dresses like she’s a Goth bitch, all lace and leather and scowls, but she’s a pussycat without claws. She talks a big game, and sure, she can cut you to the quick with that sharp tongue of hers. But the truth is, she’s not the tough-as-nails club-kid punk rocker she lets on to be. Underneath it all, she’s a Mum’s girl, just like me. We were both just raised to do what she tells us.

My Mum has always been considerate, and she’s generous to a fault on some things. However, she can also be strict, such as with the water over tea thing she mentioned. Jack always had his drawings hung on the fridge, while mine were considered “nice”. Mum doesn’t enforce bedtime, but when we were little – Jack always got to stay up a wee bit longer than us girls.

We used to take baths together until our pubes started to come in, and by that time, Jack was taking his first so the hot water wouldn’t be all gone for him. It’s always been that way, so I didn’t question as much. Today, I decided to question why she didn’t even ask my sister and if we wanted a proper cuppa.

“Mum, why do you never ask us if we want tea?" I asked. I’d never been asked if I wanted tea – I’ve had the stuff before, and I don’t particularly care for it. My Mum’s never offered it to my sister or I as long as I can recall.

"Tea’s a bit of a ritual, isn’t it? Something you earn when you’ve got enough going on to need a moment’s peace. Jack does so much around here, bless him,” Mum said good-naturedly. “You’ve never raised a fuss about it before, Sophie!”

“I am just asking, it seems like a double standard,” I said. My sister raised her head and said she doesn’t care for tea. Jack smiled and sipped his tea.

“Tap water’s always been good enough for you, girls, and you’ve never complained before. I was raised in Blackpool in the North, and my family was dirt poor. Tea is a luxury not a need and we were lucky just to have our needs met. Young girls did without tea, so the adults and older boys could have some – but if you are truly fussed, I’ll put the teabag Jack, and I used back in the pot, and you can let it steep longer. That should do the trick.”

I took a sip of the lukewarm tap water, grimacing slightly as I swallowed. "So that’s it, then? Girls just get their needs met, and boys get their needs and wants because they’re so special?” I was trying not to sound bitter.

I don’t know why I even asked these questions – the answers always been the same – something -something that boys are different than girls and if you don’t like it than tough titty- too bad, so sad.

It was still fun sometimes to have a poke about her old-fashioned ideas.

You might wonder why my sister and I do what Mum tells us without question. Well, we don’t. Not always. Joy and I have been known to sneak out or find ways to bend the rules. But when Mum ropes us into her schemes—babysitting the neighbor’s screaming kids, selling Avon door-to-door, or signing us all up for some mad cabbage soup diet—we go along with it. Chores, though? She doesn’t bother. Says we’re “more trouble than we’re worth” when it comes to housework. She’d rather do it herself than hunt us down, explain what needs cleaning, and then check to make sure we haven’t half-arsed it, which we always have. “By the time I’ve fetched you lot and made you redo it properly,” she says, “I could’ve done it twice over.”

So, the house stays standing—just barely—and my sister do what she asks when it matters. I was also raised to just have an unwavering belief that what Mum says goes – and we can say no, we can scream, bargain, reason, or yell into the wind – she’s gonna have it her way when it comes to us.

Because, let’s be honest, if she ever did kick us out, we’d probably deserve it. Not that she would. It’s love, really. Or guilt. Either way, when Mum asks Joy, and I end up doing whether we like it or not. Simple as.

"Tea and milk is fancy, Sophie. It might not seem it to you, but when you’re the one stretching every pound to make ends meet, those little extras matter. I’m doing the cooking, cleaning, laundry, and ironing, and your brother’s sorting and organizing, helping with the shopping, and even managing some of the bills. Between us, we’ve earned a spot of tea now and then. You girls DO have your needs met – wants are another thing all together. I’d go broke trying to care for the wants of a teenage girls, let alone two!”

“Jack’s got a hold of the bank account now does he?” Joy suddenly perked up and wanted to interject into the conversation.

Mum sighed, setting her teacup down. "Don’t be daft, Joy. He’s not holding the purse strings—he just keeps track of what’s coming in and out, so I don’t have to. You think I’ve got time to juggle receipts on top of everything else?"

Jack preened like a good boy, and my mom took another sip of tea. She changed the subject “Sophie Ann, Why are you wearing that wretched hoodie and sweatpants, to hide your figure, it's a nice day out! You should be wearing something that will show off your figure and maybe attract a boy? You haven’t been out in ages!"

“What about me Mum, should I take off me black lace top and jeans and walk around the house in nothing but my knickers and stockings?”

“Actually, I wanted to talk to you about that,” my Mum said as she cleared away the breakfast table.

“Let me guess, we’ve got to strip off our kits at the door and let Jack decide whether we can put on fresh undies or wear the ones we’ve had on for three days?” Joy said sarcastically.

“Not quite,” my mom’s answer made me nervous. “Jack wants to take some pictures of us, and I told him it would be a good idea”

I felt a surge of alarm at this. "Pictures? Like porn?" I asked, trying to keep my voice steady.

My brother Jack frowned defensively. "No, not porn!" he said defensively. "I am not selling it online!"

My sister Joy waved her hands up in the air, looking just as outraged as I felt. "But we've got to take our kit completely off?" she exclaimed. "Now, I've heard it all."

“Look, Jack brought it up, but I think it’s a good idea and it’s not up for debate, it’s always been a dream of mine, girls. I’ve always wanted to run around me own house naked, and get snaps done!”

“No, you told me this was your fantasy a few days ago when we were talking!” Jack clarified.

Mum shot my brother a look of chagrin and blushed, “Fine, I may have mentioned since I was a lass growing up in Blackpool, I’d always wanted to be a Page 3 model – fair enough. This is as close to page three as this fat old lady is going to come, and I am not doing it alone, so off with your kits! I don’t want to hear another word about it! You’ve nothing to do anyway!”

I wondered how the topic of nude photography and fantasies had ever come up between Mum and Jack. It wasn’t something I’d think would come up naturally in conversation – I’d have never dreamed of having that talk with my Mum!

I didn’t bother to put up much of a resistance; when my Mum got some wild idea, she was usually all-in and by that I mean she would buy the t-shirt, get the bumper sticker and make her entire life about whatever new idea she had for about three days maximum and then never talk about it again.

It was usually something to do with a quick-rich idea to sell something door-to-door, charity, volunteering down at the church, a new fad diet – nothing about getting naked or fantasies.

Our place was littered with old boxes of Amway, or cartons of some “Goji Berry” what was supposed to be the super fruit that will cure cancer and make your skin is pure as driven snow, tucked away by the bin, in the pantry and closets from previous crusades she suddenly had a fervor to pursue.

The only common thread to all of them was my Mum was never satisfied to do it alone – she’d always say “Right, Joy and Sophie, we’re gonna start doing Zen Meditation now, and you are doing it with me! It’s going to purify your thoughts and your mind! Now light this incense!” or “I’ve got six boxes of chocolate to sell by Monday to make our money back, Sophie you take Lagersham and see what you can sell door to door, and Joy take the other three boxes to the Petrol station and see if you can sell them to the cars filling up! Let’s go, Chop! Chop!”

This was no different.

“There is no point thinking you are going to be sitting on your lazy bums like a couple of magpies laughing about my big fat tummy and ass hopping about getting my snaps taken! We’ll do it together, we’ll make some fun memories and have a laugh together!” she promised.

Oh, sounded like a laugh riot, alright! I’d rather be selling stale candy up and down the street on a Saturday morning, but this was what she wanted, and there was no surprise that no wasn’t going to be an option for us.

“Any modeling we do – we are doing together! The four of us!” Mum insisted that’s the way it was going to be – and there was no changing it -we’d do it together or not at all.

Only thing is, there were only three of us who were going to be naked, and that seemed unfair to me. My Mum had a different idea of fair when it came to boys and girls though, so it was also not entirely surprising to me.

Mum just kept on talking, like she was trying to calm us down. "We've one bathroom, you've all seen each other's bare bottoms," she said, as she dished out some toast with scrambled eggs and baked beans. I wasn't really thinking about food at the moment. “This would be artistic, right Jack?”

“It depends on the model, I’ve got shoots planned up until lunch, we’ll do a few warm ups first, and move on to eventually pics just like the paintings you see in galleries,” Jack said, his tone calm but clearly trying to sell the idea.

Joy scoffed, folding her arms. "Oh yeah, because the Louvre’s just full of family snaps in the buff. How are you going to flatter Mum’s big buffalo butt, and massive boobs?”

You’ll look your best, Joy. Trust me—I wouldn’t let you look anything less than perfect. You’ll see when it’s done."

Oh, I know I’ll look my best—because I’ll be shoving that camera right up your bum." My big sister flashed a grin of cheeky defiance, and leaned back in her chair, arms folded, with a smirk that dared Jack to say otherwise.

Mum shot her a sharp look. "Don’t be ridiculous, Joy. This is something we’re doing this afternoon. What else have you got on your busy social calendar?”

I had a feeling we were going to end up doing this anyway. My Mum has a way of not taking no for an answer when she makes up her mind. She often volunteers me and my sister to volunteer at the church or babysit her friend’s kids. Usually, doesn’t even ask. It’s just “Right, Sophie, I need you to go down to Mrs. Carlyle’s house tonight around 5pm and watch their kids til 9pm, be a dear!”

You can argue, you can yell, you can bargain, you can cry, I’ve done them all – you’d be better off yelling into the wind during a storm to get it to change its direction. Now, with my brother Jack -it’s different. Then my Mum is all “Would you like milk with your crumpet? Oh, best not bother Jack! He’s got some studying to do!”

She’s always had that double standard. The interesting thing about it is that she’s always found it easy to send me off to the vicar, or some charity to wash dogs or cars – but when it comes to housework for her it’s quite the opposite.

Then she’ll say it’s too much fuss to bother telling us what to do, only to come around after and check to see we didn’t do it proper, and then go round us up to do it all over again the correct way – so she’ll complain and bluster, but end up not making us do much at all around the house.

Which, all in all is a fair deal. I’ll be honest – It’s not that I am a prude at all about my body. I’ve skinny dipped at parties, I’ve been with my share of boys, I’ve even sent a few nudies on Snapchat and Instagram.

It’s that I am flat chested and self-conscious about it – and I could see not only Jack having a field day, but the pictures getting out to his friends. I wear padded bras all the time -and let’s just say the difference is quite a bit remarkable.

I don’t like to be confrontational, and If my big sister couldn’t bluster her way out of it, what chance did I have? I tried my luck anyway.

I swallowed hard, staring at the plate of toast and beans. "And if we say no? What happens then?"

My Mum stood up, removed her house coat, revealing her big nylon panties, thigh high flesh toned pantyhose and huge white brassiere. “You can say no, but Jack’s trying to do something special, and we’re going to support him. Right, Tops off, Ladies! No more arguments.”

“Mum!” I protested while Jack grinned like the Cheshire cat. He’d managed to talk her into going completely starkers – this was mad!

Mum reached behind her back and couldn’t get the clasp on her old-fashioned Berlei bra – the kind that shapes your tits like two great torpedoes ready to fire off during the great war. “Jack, do you mind being a dear?” She bent down and turned around for him to undo her clasp.

“Oh for heaven’s sake,” Joy pounded the table. “We’ve got to strip off completely. What about just wearing bra and panties?” Joy stood up at the breakfast table.

“Are you really doing this, Joy?” I asked my big sister if she’d even go as far as bra and panties. If we both sat down in solidarity, our Mum would have to take us seriously. The part that I left out was I hadn’t worn panties – so stripping down was going to be a bit humiliating anyway. I am sure I’d get some funny looks from my mum.

“What choice have we got, Sophie?” Joy replied, as she removed her black jacket, revealing her pink tank top underneath. Joy was clearly not wearing a bra because her nips poked through the material. “I kind of want to see if Mum loses her patience with golden boy when he tries to take pictures of our nippers!”

“Oh now, a nipper is nothing special, everybody’s got one, and if Jack wants to take a picture of me old pooh hole, I’d be flattered he thought it was special enough to have a look – and so should you,” My Mum chided my older sister, but once Joy had her pink tank top off and stood there just in jeans and Doc Martens in the kitchen, Mum changed her tune altogether.

"That’s the spirit, Joy! Come on now, Sophie. You too! Chop chop!" Mum unsnapped her 1950s-style brassiere, and it was like two boulders colliding. Her massive tits sagged over her belly. "One good thing about being top-heavy—it keeps men’s eyes off your stomach!" she giggled, bending over as she wriggled out of her oversized knickers.

"Ya sure you won’t lose your appetite seeing me in the buff, Jack?" Mum asked with a coy glance over her shoulder. Her short blonde hair, ragged and tied back, made it clear she didn’t often splash out on a proper haircut. If I had to compare her to an actress, I’d say she’s a dead ringer for Sheridan Smith. Most people outside the UK wouldn’t know her, but I’d seen plenty of reruns of Two Pints of Lager and a Packet of Crisps and saw Janet and thought, That’s my Mum!

Mum frequently quoted Janet’s iconic line from the show: "I love 'things that go bleep bleep,' Cheeky Vimto, cigarettes, Coronation Street, and rich tea biscuits." It was her to a tee. It was a good show while it lasted. I’ve seen every episode! My favorite episode was the first one I ever saw called Spunk.

Donna's waiting for Gaz to call her, but when he doesn't, she marches over to see him, and they decide to have loads of uncommitted sex. Only, it all goes tits-up when Gaz ends up at Sunday lunch with Donna's mum, Flo, and her flirty sister, Katie—he’s so out of his depth it’s hilarious! Meanwhile, Jonny tries to be meaner to my Janet, ’cause Gaz reckons it'll spice up their relationship, but of course, it all goes horribly wrong. Jonny ends up missing, Janet gets furious, smashes Gaz’s nose with a telly remote, and then they all end up in hospital. Turns out Jonny was concussed by some old lady he was trying to help cross the road. Oh, and Janet punches Jonny for showing Gaz naughty Polaroids of her in a nurse's outfit!

If I had to pick someone more widely known, I’d say she looks like the curvier actress Nicola Coughlan from Derry Girls and Bridgerton. It’s not the most flattering comparison, but Mum has that proper turned-up piggy nose just like her. She’s not nearly as flabby as Nicola, but she’s got the same big chest and fat arse.

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I wouldn’t say my Mum’s fit enough for Playboy, but by the standards of some of the lads in the village, she’d definitely be a MILF—though to be fair, they’d shag anything with a pulse. Back in the day, she might’ve been considered hot by Benny Hill standards. Even now, she could still turn a head or two at the local pub after the boys had downed a few pints.

"How long have we got to do this for?" I asked, dragging out my undressing to buy myself a few more seconds of dignity. If I was going to be humiliated, I’d at least be the last one standing.

"No set time," Jack said casually, lounging in his chair as if he were the bloody king of England, watching us strip. "Got somewhere to be, Sophie? A hot date, maybe?"

"No, but I’d like to know what I’m supposed to do," I shot back, tugging my hoodie off with deliberate slowness. I was currently between boyfriends. “This is going to be humiliating, Mum!!”

“Nonsense, a little humiliation never hurt anyone, Love,” Mum said. I’ll never forget her bemused grin standing there with her hairy muff. “It’s always been my fantasy to run around the house naked – you lot are old enough to handle it. What’s the big deal? You’ve all seen what each other’s got!”

“What am I supposed to do while I am naked? Sit here in the kitchen?” I asked – we only had a joined kitchen and living room downstairs, and no place else to go other than the Loo and my little brother’s tiny loft under the stairs.

"Just stand there like you always do—doing nothing," Jack replied with a sarcastic grin “I’ll take snaps – candid, we’ll do some stuff together as a family! Modeling!”.

Mum chuckled and agreed that it was “modeling time”, stark naked except for a pair of high heels, which felt bizarre. She normally mucked about in house slippers on a Saturday. "Jack, should the girls have put on heels as well?" Mum asked, glancing over at Joy, who was tugging off her battered Doc Martens.

I have to admit -my mom looked like she might top heavy, with her huge bazooka tits, fat ass, and thighs, resting on these wobbly heels – big silly grin on her face like she was thrilled to be naked.

"Have you got anything better than that, Joanne? I told you to wear your best heels this morning," Jack said, smirking. My mum was more of a basic type of woman – house coats, slippers -nothing fancy or refined at all. She never went anywhere really except the Sainsbury’s or Tesco Express to shop, and the Fox and Hounds for a couple of ales, and either way she could get by in very simple outfits.

I couldn’t help the sly smile that crept across my face. None of us had ever called Mum by her first name—not once. Even the almighty Jack Marsh was about to get knocked down a peg and I was there for it- it’d make this whole humiliating exercise in nude “modeling” worth it.

"Joanne?" Mum’s head snapped around, her face a picture of outrage.

"How’s it going to sound if I tell my Mum to be sexier? If I’m going to direct, I’ve got to use your first name—but you’re still, and always will be, my Mum!" Jack said, looking annoyingly earnest.

"Aww!" Mum’s face softened immediately, and she pulled the little bugger into a hug.

My sister stood up and began to slide off her jeans, revealing a sexy pair of pink panties, that I recognized as mine.

“Oi, that’s my undies!" I snapped at Joy, pointing at the frilly pink knickers with the embroidered daisies on the front and Tuesday stitched across the waistband. It was bloody Saturday—she couldn’t even nick the right day of the week.

“Oh, get over it, Soph. You’ve got loads, and these were just sitting in the drawer. It’s not like you were wearing them!"

"I wasn’t wearing them because I wanted them clean, you thief!" I snapped back.

"Are you worried I was going to poop stripe them or cream in them?" Joy fired back, smirking as she stood there topless, showing off her pointy nipples, and perfectly shaped boobs. She definitely had nothing to be ashamed of when it came to breasts. They weren’t pendulous and heavy like our Mum; they weren’t bird breasts like mine.

Joy’s tits were at that perfect medium – gravity had nothing on them. They sloped down slightly in a natural tear drop shape and then stood straight up at attention – so perfect that they seemed unnatural.

Mum groaned, clearly at her wit’s end, over our argument. "Enough, both of you! This is just bickering to waste time. If you can’t manage your own knickers, maybe I should start keeping them all together and hand them out myself."

Mom wasn’t having it – she grew impatient with the arguing and accusations. It was the moment of truth between talking about it and actually doing it.

I knew we were doing it, and so did Joy. You may think my sister is defiant by looking at her – the bitchy expressions, the knotted brow, mostly black wardrobe, little chains here and there, with skulls and a Motorhead logo on her shirt.

She looks like a proper tough Chav from South London, or maybe a slutty Essex girl at times – but Joy believed the same way I do that you do what Mum tells you even if you don’t want to do it.

Joy was first to start stripping with me following her lead. It wasn’t that Joy was an exhibitionist or daring! She might want you to think that – but I’ll tell you why she beat me to it. She’s all-in when it comes to doing what our Mum tells us to do.

It's that simple -almost a competition between us at times, and other times like a compulsion – force of habit.

Joy sighed. There was no getting out of this humiliation, and she knew it. She could beg, whine, or yell and Mum would still have her way. At this point, all she could do was put on a brave face and act like she didn’t mind baring her bum and bits in the kitchen – she glanced at me like she was daring me to crack on and join her.

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“Go on then Soph, off with your kit – Mum’s decided we are to be models, then so be it – who are we to argue with Prince Jack and Lady Mum,” my sister quipped. I didn’t reply – what could I say to that?

Joy dared Jack to take a photo of her bare bum once she started to strip. “Go on then Jack, get a proper picture of me bare bum and quim? First time you seen one, up close?”

Our mum dourly reminded my sister that all three of us would be naked, and it wasn’t just her who would be bare ass. “Jack will be bored of girly holes, bits, and slits by the end of it – you aren’t the only one who’ll be naked, and you’ve nothing special between your legs that you need to hide, Joy!”

My older sister placed her thumbs in the waistband of MY panties that she was wearing, and then bent over and slowly rolled them down, mooning Jack and my Mum with her lily white British ass. “That sounds like another job for Super Jack! He can collect our panties, sniff them, jerk his pud into them, and then pass them out after we beg him for a fresh pair?”

“I’d never do anything of the sort, but I’d be happy to manage the undergarments if it meant a peaceful harmonious household,” Jack said graciously – like he would be doing us a favor.

“C’mon Sophie, you are holding us up. I am standing here starkers, and your sister is as well. You’ve still got your sweatpants on!”

I had folded my hands over my boobs – well, ant bites if you must know. I’d not blossomed as I should have up top. I had a perfectly large bubble butt like my sister and Mum, but I was all knees and elbows, about as flat as Jack – two puffy nubbins.

I hadn’t worn any knickers this morning, but that’s simply because I had planned to put on a fresh pair after creaming mine last night in bed -having a quick diddle, but I wanted to wash up after breakfast. I rolled my sweatpants down, trying not to make it such a big deal – much to my chagrin my sister was the first to laugh.

"You’re complaining I nicked your knickers—so who pinched the ones off your own arse, then?” Joy said. She had me to rights on that.

Cheesy as it sounds, Joy was my best friend, confidante, biggest rival, and archenemy all rolled into one. She’s my big sister, and where she went, I was always right behind her. If there’s a bond closer than sisters, that’s us—but she’s also the biggest pain in my arse. We’ve got a reputation for this kind of bickering. It never ends well for either of us, but Mum usually lets us go at it until we’ve hung ourselves, throwing out accusations left, right, and center. Today was shaping up to be no different.

I sighed, feeling – I should have been embarrassed that I was naked, but I was more humiliated that Mum and Sophie knew I had gone commando. "Fine, I forgot, alright? I didn’t put any on this morning." My voice was quiet, and I couldn’t meet anyone’s eyes. I didn’t want to explain my reason for not putting on a fresh pair as kicked off my sweatpants. Now, there was one male fully dressed, the rest of the women fully undressed – seemed unbalanced.

Mum’s head snapped toward me, her expression switching from exasperation to scolding. "Forgot? With sweatpants? Sophie, you’ll get snail trails in your sweatpants! Are you as forgetful as me? It’s me that has to do your laundry, you know!”

"I was going to put on a clean pair after breakfast! How was I supposed to know we’d be stripping off right after we’d eaten?" I protested, folding my arms.

Mum raised an eyebrow, not letting me off the hook. "And why didn’t you put them on in the first place? Did it just slip your mind?"

Joy smirked, ever the instigator. She began making obnoxious squelching noises, like stirring macaroni and wiggled her fingers in the air to imitate the sound I make when I am having a go at myself – sadly, quite accurate. "What’s the matter, Soph? Slip your finger instead and muck them up?"

"Joy!" I snapped, my voice sharp as I fought to keep my composure. "You do it as well!"

Joy folded her arms and raised an eyebrow, her smirk practically daring me to keep going. "Are you really going to air all our beeswax to Mum and Jack while we’re standing here starkers? Bold move, Soph."

I clenched my fists. "You’re the one implying I make macaroni and cheese sounds when I grind one out!”

I can assure you that this was not our normal family breakfast conversation on a Saturday morning in sleepy Godstone – I’d had many an argument with my sister. Quite a few had to do with swiping each other’s clothes because we could wear many of the same things. There were times it was an accident, but most of the time, we knew whose clothes belonged to whom.

What began as a simple argument over the ownership of a pair of frilly panties, had turned into a full accusation of masturbation – something we all know everyone does. I could have simply taken the high road – admitted I had a wank and been a good sport about it. Instead, I doubled down. "You’re the one calling me out, Joy, when you’re at it more often than I am! And don’t even try to deny it—I hear you buzzing away every other night."

Joy let out a sharp laugh, her smirk widening. "Oh, so we’re going there, are we? In front of Mum and Jack? Shall I tell them how you sound like someone wringing out a wet sponge? Or better yet, how you leave your knickers looking like they’ve been dipped in custard?"

I’ll give proper credit to Joy – she was making me feel like a slag that has to frig herself constantly. I mentioned Godstone has fuck all to do – one thing to pass the time is play with yourself.
Jack, who’d been trying to stay above the fray, finally lost it and started tittering from his chair. The little bugger was clearly loving every second of watching us tear into each other, revealing all our dirty little secrets.

The truth was, sharing a cramped bedroom meant there were no real secrets between us. If either of us wanted a bit of pleasure, there was an unspoken rule: stay under the covers, keep it quiet, and don’t bloody talk about it.

“If you hadn’t stolen my panties and then given me grief about being the Macaroni and cheese girl, we wouldn’t even be talking about this" I shot back, my voice rising. "I bet if we had a proper sniff of those panties that you’re so proud of, they’d stink like cod!"

"Mum, can we get on with the photoshoot, or are my sisters going to argue about panties and jilling off all day?" Jack interrupted, his voice calm but laced with irritation.

“Ladies, I’ve about had enough of this back and forth! And this foul language in front of your brother! You have the audacity to act like prudes when asked to take some artistic pictures, and before we’ve had one snap, you are on again about fingers! You share a room; your panties are bound to get sorted in the bin together! Why must you be at each other’s throats over something so petty?”

“She knows exactly which panties are mine,” Joy countered and boldly said she took my pair as compensation. “I know it’s not Tuesday!”

I wasn’t going to allow my sister to paint me as the villain in this scenario. "I am not the panty burglar!" I stood holding my arms across my chest. I’d less of a problem being bottomless because at least I had pubes to cover my slit, and I was facing my brother.

"I paid good money for you and your sister to have nice panties. I just explained to you when you suddenly wanted tea after never expressing any interest in it that you can do without wants as long as you get your needs met! "Should I just lock the knickers away entirely, so there’s nothing left to argue about?"

My Mum might do something like that. She’s a sweet lady. I still remembered one Christmas that my sister Joy and I fought over our Tiny Tears doll and Sylvanian Families that we used to play with. Mum locked them away permanently, and we never got to play with them. That was back when our dad still lived with us.

"No, of course not!" my sister and I insisted.

"Then I see no other alternative!" My Mum apologized again to Jack for delaying the photo shoot. "Did you mean what you said earlier?"

"I am sure I did, Mum!" Jack asked her politely what it was while Joy and I fumed and glared at one another.

"About managing the girls’ underthings. Were you having a laugh, or would you mind taking on another chore and doling out the panties? Sorting them so that they don’t argue about who owns what, making sure your sisters have got a fresh pair every morning, and they’re not running about like slags with nothing underneath?"

"I’d be glad to, Mum!" Jack answered back crisply, like a seasoned Colour Sergeant drilling recruits at Horse Guards Parade.

"MUM!" Joy and I cried out in unison, glaring at her in outrage. We could’ve made the obvious case that Jack was a boy and, therefore, entirely unfit to manage panties. I might’ve said he’d probably sniff them or wank in them—but that would only make me sound crass. (Though, to be fair, there were times I suspected he had.)

I crossed my arms, my voice dripping with sarcasm. "So how is this supposed to work, Mum? Are we stripping off at every breakfast now, just so Jack can check we’re wearing a fresh pair?"

I don’t see why you’re suddenly so concerned. You didn’t mind going without knickers earlier, and he’s already seen you naked. Now, if you’d both kindly stop arguing about masturbating and stolen panties—that’s been sorted, at least for now! Can we move on with the photoshoot? You were so eager to be done, but all you’re doing is adding more time to the end!"

“So, what do we have to do?” I asked, frowning – looking around at our naked bodies and finally taking a really good look.

Mum’s tits were bulging, nipples hard and stiff – no surprise there, it was cool in the kitchen and all three of us had stiff nipples. Her pubes though – were something else. They were bright orange and smelled of stale urine. I’d seen Brillo pads that weren’t as fuzzy.

I’ll say this about Mum – she could be pragmatic, flighty, stubborn and most would describe her as a Curmudgeon – complaining about this or that. She’s quick to anger, but just as quick to laugh -so not all cloudy skies.

However, it was obvious to everyone in that room that the moment she had her kit fully off and was standing there in front of us something clicked for her. Radiant blue eyes lit-up, and a happy, I’ll say it; sexy grin took over. I’ve NEVER seen her look so radiant and like 10 years of worry and frowns just melted off of her.

“This has always been my fantasy, ya know? To model and have someone take my picture doing naughty stuff! Imagine me? Joanne Crump, a nobody from Blackwood, growing up one day to be one of those ladies in page three with her great fat tits out? Everyone wants to see em, and wonders what outrageous thing I’d do next and who I am going to shag. I am famous just for having a slit and tits that everybody wants a piece of, ya know?

“I can’t go back in time, and nobody wanted to see me on page three in my prime. The best I can do is snapping nudies with you lot around the house . That’s what we’re gonna do today -the four of us! Jack will be our photographer and you lovely girls and me, we’ll be his models! You’ll give me that fantasy, right girls? It was Jack’s idea, but I’ve waited all my life for someone to ask me to strip down and take some pics. Nobody has to see the pics – they will be just for us. It’ll be fun!”

Fun, she said? I didn’t see how this would be fun at all, and the idea of there being photographic evidence of it wasn’t a thrill. My Mum didn’t see it that way at all -and honestly, there was no telling my Mum no, anyway.

There are some people that are raised to believe that there is a God, and a heaven and there is no time they’ll have a doubt. There are some people that are raised to believe that you don’t break the law, and it stands for something. There are some people that are raised to believe that you serve your country and fight and die for it.

I had been raised to believe that you do what your mom tells you and so had my sister. The thing is, even if we hadn’t, there was no telling her no once you saw her face. She would have been heartbroken if we said no. This WAS her fantasy! She wasn’t just having a laugh or talking out of her ass this time.

My Mum believed in every quick-rich scheme you see on the telly, fad diets that will slim her down and make her look like the real Sheridan Smith and not the real Nicola Coughlin from the Derry Girls. She believed in miracle cures that cost $19.99 and would cure every ailment, and she’d get all excited about whatever her latest crusade was and make me and Joy do it with her, believing it was going to make us wealthy, healthy, or look sexy – and five days later it was in the trash forgotten.

The way she spoke about this fantasy was just as passionate, but somehow, I believed that Mum REALLY needed this one to come true, and I could see it on Joy’s face that she did as well. I was already bare-ass with my tits out – so even the thought of protesting was pretty much right out.

It wasn’t like we were all-in and wanted to jump on board, but I knew that I’d probably be snapping pics with the two of them. I wasn’t thrilled my brother would be the one to snap the pics, but I had no reason to think he might share the pics out. He was many things but he wasn’t like that.

I found it kind of hard to suppress the butterflies, but the little buggers were already coming to land in my tummy, telling me that I’d better just get on with it – because it was happening whether I liked it or not.

My big sister’s body was as pale as mine – we’re brits, so the sun doesn’t do us very much good. She had a raven-colored patch of straight pubes – well-groomed but still thick enough to cover her slit. Tits I’d have given anything to have – and she stood there like she was extra proud of those puppies.

She’s got beautiful blue eyes, like our Mum, but it’s balanced out by her stereotypical British crooked teeth, and resting bitch face. It doesn’t matter if she’s sad, happy, or angry – she always looks a bit like she’s plotting your demise. She loves to look scary, but her knotted brows and scowl is all just an act. I know the real Joy, and she talks a big game but she’s not that scary.

She dresses like a Goth-chav, but that’s an act as well. I doubt she knows one Motorhead song other than Ace of Spades but you’d think she’s Lemmy’s number one fan given all the Motorhead shirts and memorabilia she has about our room. The worst part about my sister (I am joking) is that she’s got the most perfect set of tits, and a nice ass. I wouldn’t mind it so much if I wasn’t flat as a pancake. Mum likes to joke that she gave out the last set of nice tits she had when she had Joy and I got the stock issue ironing board.

It's not Joy’s fault, though – but I’d love to have a set like hers!

Me, I had the traditional short brown and curlies – that hopefully covered my slit fully. I’ve been told my face is my best feature – which I take as a compliment. There are some who say I bare a resemblance to Holliday Grainger. She’s another British actress that’s best known for playing Lucrezia Borgia in the Borgia’s mini-series. Unfortunately, there aren’t many.

Most people compare me to “Saffy” -the bookish, nerdy daughter from the old British TV show Absolutely Fabulous. I bare more than a bit of a resemblance due to my glasses, hair and general demeanor. I apparently bear more than a passing resemblance – I hate to admit that I see it too. It's not exactly my favorite "compliment," so fair warning! That said, I don't mind too much when it's said in jest.

[[[ image 01_saffy.jpg goes here centered ]]]

After all that whinging and arguing – I was left standing naked in my kitchen with my sister and mum while Jack maintained a shit-eating grin and snapped pics of us – and naturally, he got to keep his clothes on.

[EddieDavidson]

I have a huge crush on Sheridan Smith and that was the genesis for the mum. Originally, I had her being a little chubbier in my mind - but I decided that in HER mind she's a cow but not reality.

[EddieDavidson]

There were several versions of this picture, it was tough to decide which one - various emotions on her face from angry to humiliated - what expression do you see here?

[EddieDavidson]

This was the toughest to get the AI to do correctly. I subsequently found some settings that I liked but what I wanted was just a girl with average looks, glasses, and small tits - reminiscent of "Saffy" from Absolutely Fabulous.

[EddieDavidson]

(No pictures for this one, although I am open to trying to make something)

"So, after all the bickering and wasting time, what do we do now, Jack?" Mum asked. She was clearly ready to get started “modeling”.

“Right, you lot, your kits are off,” Jack gave her his trademark cocky smirk, and addressed the three of us as if he truly was in charge. “Let’s make Mum’s fantasy a reality – we’ll start off with something easy, not very challenging! Think of it as a warm-up! I am the director, I’ll brook no interruptions, or outside instruction. I want you to be natural and comfortable, but most of all, I want you girls to fall in line and follow instructions!”

Easy for him to say – he wasn’t the one who had to be naked and get this picture taken!!

“I want to capture everything, the highs and lows of it, the smiles and the natural expressions – you just do what I tell you, focus on being an open book – no inhibition. Don’t think about being naked if all you do today is what I tell you, we’ll be done by lunch, and that’s it! Fair enough?”

I felt like it didn’t matter if we said yes or not, it was a foregone conclusion, and we were already naked. Jack seemed to want to hear us confirm we agreed- but interestingly he even wanted Mum to confirm it out loud for him that she understood what he was asking. I couldn’t believe he’d talk to her like she was one of us -but he’d already been confident enough to call her by her first name, so why not?

“Oh me?” Sure, Jack! Whatever you say!” she giggled like a silly schoolgirl. Mum was just happy we were starting.

“Relax, girls! Let’s do one start by standing together—Mum in the middle, arms linked. Like a family portrait! Get in close! Smile, forget you are naked! No inhibitions – crowd together and we’ll do some portrait shots -smile, stand up straight, look pleased to be there! straight at the camera for this one!”

"Naked?" Joy deadpanned, earning a chuckle from Mum. Mum didn’t seem the least bit shy about it at all – it was like she thought the two of us were silly for thinking there was any other way to take a family portrait than in the raw.

"Wait," I interjected, narrowing my eyes at Jack. "How is it a family portrait without you in it? Isn’t the whole point to capture the entire family?"

I wasn’t exactly nervous—at least, not any more than usual. But it still felt strange, standing there starkers for a “family portrait” with our bits out, while Jack stayed fully dressed.

Jack lowered his phone just enough to lock eyes with me- disturbed I was already questioning him as director. I hadn’t intended to be confrontational; that was usually Joy’s thing. “I’m not the photogenic one anyway. This way, the focus stays on you lot.”

I wasn’t buying it. “This is just so you don’t have to strip off. I could take one of you, Mum, and Joy if that’s the issue.”

Mum was having none of it. "Jack’s the artist; we’re the models. You’d do well to remember that, Sophie!" She said it so sharply, it was like I’d asked something utterly mad. “It’s the three of us! I told Jack this morning—the only way I’ll do this is with you and Joy. So, stop trying to get Jack to whip out his plonker and wiggle it around.

"Thank you, Joanne!" Jack sounded positively delighted. I still couldn’t get over my little brother’s sheer audacity addressing our Mum as Joanne. I’d never have heard the end of it if I had tried that.

I was mortified – I hadn’t meant that I wanted to see my brother’s penis. I’d seen it plenty of times when we were younger and bathing, and I’d seen more than my share of cocks -it wasn’t that I was a total slag. I just dated around (couldn’t keep interest in one boy for very long). I’d seen foreskins, and circumcised, ones that curved right, left and even one that hooked upward! Mostly mediums and little-wee ones, but I’d even made it with a black guy. The last thing that I wanted was to brag about my experience with cocks.

“I don’t crave to see Jack’s willy! It’s just not FAIR that he gets clothes, and we’ve got to be fully exposed.”

I realized I had accidentally fucked up the minute that I used the word fair with my Mum. It’s not that my Mum was unfair – at least that’s not how she saw it. In her mind, it was as silly for a girl to want to be able to do the same things a boy can do, as it was for a dog to want to do the same things a person can do.

I fully expected an incoming lecture about girls trying to be football players and astronauts, and the natural order, and what she called the ‘female condition’ – I usually tuned those lectures out.

“I am not going to argue with you about fair, Sophie! Fair is fair, all the women in the house are naked, and the photographer doesn’t strip! Then it would just be barmy! When have you ever heard of such a thing!”

“Exactly, Joanne, looking good!” my brother had the audacity to take informal snaps of us just as we were talking around the kitchen, while addressing our Mum by her first name!! Yet, I couldn’t ask about fairness.

"Oooh! Hehe," Mum cooed, almost like hearing her first name the third or fourth time made her a star. This time, she wasn’t outraged or uncomfortable when Jack said it at all. "I do see why you chose that arrangement—I approve of that, Jack."

"Glad that you do," Jack replied, raising his phone with a cheeky grin. "But remember, for now, you’re not Mum the frumpy-—" what was she anyway? Not a housewife, certainly. "You’re Joanne Marsh, the sexy goddess!"

"If that’s the case, my maiden name’s Crump!" Mum quipped with a laugh, “Not Frumpy-Crumpy, either! Joanne Crump, Page three Superstar, Introducing her beauties, Joy and Sophie Marsh! Smile girls, stop frowning! Stop being so frigid!”

"Even better—Joanne Crump!" Jack declared triumphantly before adding sternly “Don’t tell the other models how to pose! I’ll handle that, Mrs. Crump! You are a movie star! You just worry about doing what I tell you and leave that to me! Joy and Sophie! I want you to be natural -I want you to be open books! Right now, your covers are closed! Open your pages up!”

Crump? I love my Mum dearly, but that last name sounded like something you’d drop in the loo after a dodgy curry -and what was Jack on about, an open book? The nerve!

“Listen to your brother, girls! I won’t say boo to you; as long as your brother turn to the proper page!”

“Oh, that’s clever! I love it,” Jack kissed her ass and Mum melted like butter for that – giving him an even bigger, warm smile. The worst part of it was? I felt like a bit of a tosser because Mum was having such a good time – the least I could do was smile, so I painted one on my face for her. I noticed my sister did the same.

“Jack, could we do a few snaps like we are on Naked Attraction? We could stand over by the wall with our hands by our sides like we’re the finalists, and somehow has to choose between the old fatty, the frowny ice-princess, and the quiet mouse!” Mum offered helpfully.

“Joanne, I am going to hand you the camera if you want to direct. You had all morning to tell me your ideas for a shoot and I’ve already got enough ideas for today to keep us going until lunch! Maybe even teatime!” Jack countered. The boy had a lot of bottle to just talk down to our Mum that way. I’d have never had the courage.

“What about tomorrow? It’s Sunday; would you mind doing a few more? Just a couple, if we can do the Naked Attraction, Jack? Please?”

How about that? Mum practically begged Jack to simply stand there and press the button on his phone. We could have replaced him with a selfie-stick or a tripod and no one would be the wiser!

“I don’t know,” Jack scratched his head like this was some great imposition to him. What did he have to do in South Godstone on a Sunday? Natter with the Vicar down at Saint Stephens?

Funny story about the last vicar, Me and my sister both shagged the last Vicar, but neither of us knew about the other one until they moved him to another Church out in Africa somewhere. He was young and handsome, the new Vicar is old and bald, but just as handsy, so he’s right out.

My brother is a handsome enough bloke. He reminds me of Suggs, the lead singer from the band Madness when he was back in his younger years. Joy and I like to jokingly ask Mum if she’d been to any Madness concerts years ago and went “ONE...STEP…BEYOND!!”

“C’mon please, Jack? You know that Naked Attraction is my favorite show, besides Goggle-box! I’d love to pretend I have a chance up there against these two slags!” She quipped. My mom didn’t mean anything by that – she teases us all the time like that.

“You know that I can’t say no to you, Three slags coming up, yellow, green, and blue! Whose tits do you like best, these majestic knockers,” he pointed to Mum, and I was already frowning because I knew I was going to be the punch line to whatever joke Jack was about to tell. “Slightly-above bog standard tits from Surrey,” Jack teased my sister. She’s got more than decent Tits I would say! He should be lucky she was even letting him look at her breasts! I share a room with her, and when we change – even I get a little excited by Joy’s tits.

Joy had no reason to shoot him the evil eye, but she did anyway. Now it was my turn, what was he going to say? There were so many possibly ways he could put my tiny boobies down. I was already instinctively bringing my hands up to cover my tits. “Or Blue, we call her blue because she blew the security guard, the cameraman, the director and three audience members before the show!”

That wasn’t so bad. I could live with being ridiculed as loose. Obviously, it was hyperbole – I barely even gave head to my boyfriends. As I said, we have a bit of a randy sense of humor and usually I’d fire right back at my brother, but I had a feeling an outburst would just earn me longer “modeling” tomorrow. It was a foregone conclusion in my mind that Mum had just volunteered us for a Sunday afternoon “session” as well.

Jack posed us standing up straight, but said he’d figure out something better for tomorrow and this was just a practice run. Imagine, having to stand straight like you are getting a mugshot, except it’s front of 100,000s of Brits, and you are basically telling everyone you’ll show your puss to everyone in order to get a date? And then come away with not having a good enough to even get past the first round? I’d have been devastated!”

“You can only pick one,” Bloody hell, Jack wasn’t done play acting as Anna Richardson. He’d definitely goose me with a tiny titty insult this time. “Will it be the Poolie in Yellow with her Magnificent Melons, Green, the Goth from Godstone, with the bubble butt that could crack walnuts and the permanent scowl like she’s smelled a fart,” Jack said with a straight face.

I have to admit, that I chuckled, and Joy was caught so flat-footed by that one she almost laughed too. I was almost looking forward to the shellacking I was going to get just to hear if it was as good a burn as that last one.

“Or will it be tiny Red, the Surrey stick insect, with a gash so thick, you’ll have to bugger her up the ass if you want any action, and the most adorable puffy nubbins you could almost call them Bee stings!”

“That’s just cruel!” I cried out!” while my sister and Mum chuckled – my Mum laughing the loudest. If it wasn’t so specific and directed at fucking me in the ass, I might have just let it roll off my back!

“Oh, stop your whinging Sophie!” Mom chastised me for even daring to get upset. “Did you just come up with that zinger off the top of your head, Jack?”

“Yeah,” Jack answered modestly as he captured my unhappy frown on film forever.

“Do me, then! Please? Like that?” Mum was elated to invite Jack to roast her. I loved my mom more than anything in the world – but I was hoping he zapped her with the cruelest, most bitter and scathing critique of her body he could. She had a bit of a belly, buck teeth, glasses, droopy Jugs, a big bottom, and an even hairier quim than me! He probably would dare go there, but she had an upturned piggy nose like Nicola Coughlin, and Mum’s thick red and curlies were so thick and mangy and my Mum was so old-fashioned that she probably hadn’t ever shaved since she started growing them in. Then again, she really didn’t date since Dad left– so who did she have to trim them up for?

“Okay! but you can’t be mad!” Jack insisted.

“You are the host of the show – give me both barrels, Jack!” Mum clearly seemed to want to hear the raunchiest introduction Jack could come up with off the top of his head. She was already giggling with anticipation. I changed my mind. I didn’t want my Mum’s feelings to be hurt. I wanted Jack to go a bit too far, and make Mum cancel our next session. I was already doing this one and hoped it would be over soon enough. Jack had told us just through lunch, so there was no point in being too greedy with my wish.

“You can take a ride on Yellow, Blackpool’s finest seaside sow, with droopy udders, a gut like a pub landlord, and a quim that looks like a bird’s nest no one’s cleaned since the '80s. How about that ass? Yellow turn around for the gentleman and let him see that ass! Sir, you can park your car in there when you go on a date!” Jack spun his fingers around and told her to let the man see by pulling her arse cheeks apart if the house was wide enough and she was strong enough to lift them.

Cruel, mean-spirited, not even funny to me – I wanted to take back my wish, because I felt that one in the pit of my stomach and it wasn’t even. Joy was throwing eye-daggers at him with her stare for the same reason.

Mum was beside herself, hysterical! Already turned around dancing back and forth, grabbing her big butt and spreading completely! “Oh, hoo-hoooo! That was cold! You got me on that one! I felt a stabbing right here,” She pointed to her arse and then dropped her cheeks and danced back around to the front. “How did you do that so fast? You had to have had that one prepared for years and ready to lock and load to give me that one?”

“No, I just kinda thought about what someone would say if they are trying to give it to someone. Use a bit of truth, and what you know they are sensitive about. You don’t give a rip about your glasses, so I thought you’d probably be a little hurt! I am glad you liked it!” Jack was proper proud of himself for making my Mum so giddy.

“Oh, what are you lot so down about?” Mum scolded us for staring angrily at Jack. What did she want us to do? Applaud him for bagging on our Mum? That went far beyond the pale of what anyone might say for a joke!

“Those were cruel!” I finally declared.

“Oh, a little cruelty never hurt anyone, if anything it’s good to be taken off your high horse now and again? You don’t think I know I have a fat gut, and an ass like a bag of spanners? You’ve got small tits. The worst thing that can happen is you start to think you don’t because everyone’s too afraid to say it to you and you start to think your shit doesn’t stink like Joy!”

Today, I had heard my Mum say a little rain, a little hard work, and a little snow never hurt anyone all the time. Today was the first day that I ever heard her use the term ‘a little humiliation never hurt anyone’ and at the time I didn’t say anything. Now, she said a little cruelty never hurt anyone. It could hurt their feelings!

I was surprised My Mum didn’t seem to think so. She’d probably say the opposite if I had said something that scathing to her precious Jack!

Jack clapped his hands together to get our attention before Joy could unload on our Mum for saying something about her ego, his grin firmly in place. “Having shared a loo with Green all of my life, I can assure you that Joy’s shit stinks, and so does every one of you! Sorry guys, if I went too far! Now, can I get my barmy little contestants to pay attention and show their hairy little cunnies - tits out, stand straight, smile for once - instead of doing fuck-knows-what and taking the piss!"

“Nonsense, please do that tomorrow!! That was fun! It felt like I was on the show, and the host just turned and saw me up there and thought – what is this slapper doing up here! I better warn the lads before the pick her!! Do you have time to write a few more before tomorrow?”

Clearly, Mum meant to continue the scenario into roleplaying territory! This was already humiliating enough without giving Jack the freedom to critique our bodies!

“Sure, I’ll just think of some off the top of my head!”

“Just throw them out when you think of them! it’s all in fun! We all Love each other – if we can’t laugh at each other, who can we laugh at?”

"Alright, let’s continue, Ladies. Let’s go back to what I planned for today, and I’ll think of some observations about your badly packed kebabs!! Heads up, shoulders back. Joy, a little less sulky, if you can manage it. Sophie, stop shrinking into yourself. Think statuesque—like something you’d see in a gallery."

“Badly packed kebabs? Hoo-hoo, you mean our fanny?” Mum pointed to her pussy. Who uses to describe their pussy these days? “Did you just make that up?”

“I didn’t make that up, and I won’t do anymore, Joanne if you are going to disrupt the session laughing like a drain! If you keep at it, I’ll put you on half-rations for tea today at lunch!” He teased.

“You are in charge of the meal plans, Jack! I’ll be a proper kebab! We all will! Sorry!” Mum giggled playfully through pie-eyes for Jack. I’ll give it to him, I was envious. Not that I would ever do it, but he could get away with calling Mum by her first name, full on insulting her, talking down to her while taking naked pictures of her, and then even jokingly mentioning he’d restrict her from tea!

My mom’s a proper English tea-fanatic! I’d love to see him try that, if he thought she was serious.

I could hardly believe we were naked in our stodgy living room – what on earth would these pictures look like when we were done? I wasn’t sure that I wanted to see how silly this all looked when it was over.

Mum—Joanne, as Jack was now calling her—linked arms with us and gave him a bright smile. "How’s this, love?"

"Perfect, Joanne," Jack said smoothly, already angling his phone. "Joy, chin up a bit. Sophie, shift your weight to one leg—it’ll look more natural. Yes, just like that. Hold it… brilliant."

The faint shutter sound from his phone filled the room as Jack moved around us, snapping photos from different angles. I could feel the initial tension slowly easing; even Joy let out a small laugh when Mum made a joke about feeling like the Venus de Milo. Against my better judgment, I found myself loosening up, though it still felt ridiculous.

"You’re naturals," Jack said, his tone genuinely pleased. He gestured for us to adjust. "Alright, Joanne, step forward a bit. Joy and Sophie sit on the floor behind her, like a tableau. Joanne, cross your arms like you’re guarding the whole of the British empire. Yes, just like that!"

I had to sit my bare bum on the old shag carpet – scratchy, boggy, carpet we walk on day in and day out and Mum barely passes the roller over it to pick up the big bits of dirt.

I have to admit, even as unpleasant as it all was, that this was kind of a thrill – the carpet was scratchy like a dish sponge – it might be dirty, but it made me a little thirsty to spend some time upstairs finishing the job after lunch. I’d half a mind to make a joke about snail trails but, I was afraid my Mum would bite my head off for being too vulgar and pin a medal on Jack when he said that I had left poo tracks along with cummy-juice trails because I was on heat! I was still steaming he had been able to get away with saying those things about us and Mom had just ordered a fresh lot of more for us!

I’d do anything to let her live out her fantasy of being a page three starlet in the Daily Star because she was loving this – but …well, to be honest, I wasn’t the type to rock the boat. I’d do it, and I already knew not to make plans for Sunday afternoon – not that I had any.

Mum beamed, striking a regal pose while Jack continued to tell us to lift our butts, or shake our hair, and part our lips. I wanted Joy flopped down next to me, muttering under her breath as we adjusted ourselves on the carpet. "Are you believing this?" she whispered, her tone somewhere between incredulous and amused. I really was NOT believing we were all doing this.

It seemed zany, not sexual, but at the same time, more than a bit naughty even though we were related.

Before I could respond, Jack barked, "Models! Quiet on the set! You want me to cut your cheese sandwiches in half!" His exaggerated seriousness earned a stifled laugh from Joy and an eye roll from me.

Joy glared at him with her “Go on, do it, I DARE you,” face. She’s a pussycat, if Mum actually let this wanker have that kind of authority, she’d probably go right along with it and complain under her breath just like she was about the modeling.

I had reason enough to complain, and I thought about it plenty, but there was no point in popping off about it. Mum was having the time of her life; we’d be on lunch soon and we’d have another day of this humiliation to get through -life would go on. We were already naked; pictures were already taken. A few more, or a few hundred more, wouldn’t change that, any more than whinging would be useless. It would just make Jack look like a Saint and us like sour-faced bitches who dragged their feet when Mum wanted to have a special day with all of us.

This isn’t the special day that I would have chosen, but there was no denying, she was practically radiant and over the moon with the whole thing.

"Oh, listen to him now!" Mum—Joanne Crump, apparently—teased, throwing her arms wide like she was center stage. "You’d think we were on a bloody runway in Milan!"

Jack gave her an approving nod, keeping his tone professional. "That’s the spirit, Joanne Crump—the sexy goddess herself. Now, back to your marks!"

The photoshoot continued, with Jack directing us like we were in some high-brow magazine spread. At one point, he had us move in front of the TV. "Joanne, strike a pose like you’re presenting the evening news. Girls, flank her like game show hostesses."

The absurdity of it all made me stifle a laugh, but I had to admit, Jack had a knack for making the whole thing feel… oddly professional.

Joy leaned closer as we rearranged ourselves, whispering again. "He’s gone barmy."

"Quiet!" Jack hissed, pointing dramatically at us with his phone. "I can hear you. Hostesses don’t talk. They smile."

Mum’s head snapped toward Joy, her voice sharp and commanding. "One more word, young lady, and I’ll make you pick up those panties you just threw on the kitchen floor for me to pick up later, and stuff them in your mouth to gag you. Now behave!"

Joy’s smirk faded, and she quickly adjusted her pose, muttering under her breath. Mum crossed her arms and shot me a look that warned against testing her patience.

My older sister is the stereotypical slouching goth with her arms crossed and a perpetual scowl. She seemed inspired to suddenly straighten up, and bring her shoulders back like a parody of elegance. Her movements were exaggerated, almost theatrical, as she gracefully swept one hand across her chest like she was unveiling fine jewelry. I couldn’t tell if she was behaving over the top for a laugh and taking the piss or being serious. Then, with an overly exaggerated strut, swaying her lovely knockers and bubble butt like she was trying to get a laugh – Jack made her stop and do it again, but this time seriously.

Joy walked the length of the room, wiggling her hips and sashaying like she was on a high-fashion catwalk. Joy’s lips were pursed. Jack and I often teased her about her ‘resting bitch face’. That’s where a woman unconsciously looks like a bitch just sitting there. The ice princess look actually worked perfectly for her to pretend to be a high fashion model!

My Mum was up next – huge melons swaying, trying to walk in three-inch heels, while swinging her big dumper – it was comical, and she had a great laugh at how she probably looked, incapable of keeping a straight face. Jack chided her but, he wasn’t too hard on her – I was surprised that he got away with talking down to her, but he was the golden boy.

I was next—it felt strange walking barefoot and trying to pull off a catwalk strut. I was sure I looked like a proper newborn foal on wobbly legs, arms flapping as I tried to keep my balance.

“With your bony frame, skinny arms and spindly legs, and lack of titties, I’d have thought you’d be a proper Kendall Jenner out there, but you’re stomping around like a donkey with two left hooves.”

I can’t say we were squirming, defiant, angry or even nervous anymore. Joy and I were well past any of that. We were getting through it together and having a bit of a laugh about it all at this point. I just ignored Jack’s rude comment. He was trying to get my goat. I wasn’t going to take the bait and get accused of “bickering” and being disruptive.

"Oi, we need proper shoes," Joy declared, stopping mid-pose and glancing over her shoulder with a cheeky grin. "This is too hard in bare feet!"

Jack stopped the photo shoot and agreed with Joy for once. "Joanne, I asked you to wear proper shoes, and the girls don’t seem to have anything but flats and boots like bloody builders. Heels make women walk better—more wiggle, more jiggle, sexy, more grace. That’s what we’re missing here."

“We’re your sisters; should we even be sexy to you?” I asked pointedly.

"Yes, you should. That’s why you’re nude—it’s sexy. You’re Sophie, the model, not Sophie, the sister. Tits, butt, pussy, face—arms, legs—just like Joanne and Joy are."

I was a bit disgusted by his response, but my Mum? Oh, she was flattered—hook, line, and sinker. "You don’t think I’m sexy, do you?" she asked, her blue eyes lighting up like she’d just been paid a compliment at the pub.

"You’d be a might sexier with proper heels, makeup, and a proper grooming as well," Jack replied smoothly.

"We might take the train to Crawley sometime and buy some proper heels, Jack," Joanne offered, glancing down at her own scuffed two-inch heels and frowning slightly. Crawley’s where the Gatwick airport is – not much there but it’s closer and less boggier than London.

"We don’t have money for girls to have tea," I snapped, my arms crossing defensively, "but we’ve got money to pay for heels?"

Joy snorted, folding her arms as she shot a look between Jack and Mum. "Wait, so we’re doing more sessions like this? Perfect. What’s next, lingerie and a pole?"

Mum’s gaze narrowed at me first, her voice steely. "Sophie, don’t start. You want to go on about tea again? Heels are a one-time investment, and Jack’s the one trying to make something of this family, not just whinge about it."

Jack smirked, his eyes flicking over Joy. "More sessions? Of course. You’ll need the practice walking in those heels anyway. And don’t give me ideas about props unless you want to see them in the next shoot."

“How MANY sessions?” Joy asked our little brother, point blank.

Mom glanced at Jack, tilting her head and answered for him. “You’ve already pissed away about an hour with your accusations about whose fingers went where, and whose panties belonged to whom, and now you’ve got the audacity to ask how many sessions it will take to get all of the pictures? What makes you think that it’s up to Jack? Besides, it’s not like you’ve got anything better to do with your time, Joy.”

“I only assumed it was Jack’s decision because he’s been handling everything else—meals, money, even this photoshoot. If it’s really your call, Mum, then I’ll go along with whatever you decide. I’m not trying to start another fight,” Joy said in a surprising change of pace. She was normally snarky and even bitter – but she did a complete about face and actually backed down.

Joanne cocked an eyebrow at Joy’s unexpectedly cooperative attitude. “That’s surprising, Joy. You’ve been giving me grief all morning—I half expected you to tell me to piss off,” she said, a playful laugh escaping her lips despite her earlier sternness.

Joy shrugged, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. “I’m just not in the mood for another row, Mum. We’re naked as jaybirds now -fine. Let’s do this, but you are saying we’ve got more sessions – I am simply asking how often are we talking about doing this?”

“Frankly, I’ve not given it much thought, Joy,” My mom said and continued “You were ready to believe it was solely Jack’s decision and not mine. If we’ve nothing better to do, We’ll do it as often as Jack wants—every day, if he’s got the time and the ideas. As you said, you are naked now; you’re not concerned much about modesty around your sister when you have a go at yourself and want to flick your hairy little quim; why are you suddenly acting like a prude?”

“I’m no prude, Mum,” Joy shot back. “You know what I’m like—I’m not exactly clutching my pearls over here. I am standing here with my bits and tits out! But you sprang this on us this morning. What if I’d had plans?”

Despite it all, her bluster and bravado - my sister WAS blushing. This was as humiliating for her as much as it was for me. I’d say possibly even more because Joy is more tightly wound and has a bit more to show than I do.

“You didn’t have plans, Joy, and you don’t now. If you ever do, we’ll deal with it then.”

Mum didn’t give us the impression that meant we could do as we pleased – or that she’d accommodate us though.

Joy scoffed, clearly annoyed. “Alright, but how about some kind of notice next time? I might want to make plans, you know.”

Mum raised an eyebrow, her voice cutting. “And if I say we’re doing a photoshoot, are you saying you’d cancel your plans? Why else would you need to know in advance? I honestly don’t know how often we’ll do this, Joy. Jack asked me about it this morning and I was more reluctant than you – but I saw the value in it. Sorry, I hadn’t prepared you a proper schedule. That’s more Jack’s area anyway!”

Before Joy could answer, Jack, grinning like the Cheshire cat, chimed in. “Let’s just focus on getting through the living room and the kitchen for now. It’s Mum’s call, not mine. I’m not asking to be in charge of scheduling our sessions, Joy, if that’s what’s got your knickers in a twist. But I am glad we’ll have more sessions, especially since we’ve mucked about and wasted half the day already.” He leaned back slightly, still smirking. “I’ve already got enough on my plate—like sorting through your underwear, figuring out who owns what pair of fancy panties with lacey stripes and who owns the ugly ones, and sitting each of you down to tell me the truth. And let’s not pretend that won’t involve a lot of lies and manipulations.”

I sighed, crossing my arms. "Really, Jack? You make it sound like a full-blown investigation. They’re just knickers, not state secrets and if I happen to claim a nicer pair, well… who’s to say Joy hasn’t nicked one of mine first?”

I didn’t mean to incriminate myself; I was just joking about that last bit.

Jack raised an eyebrow at me, still looking smug. “You think so? Girls lie about the littlest things when it suits them, Sophie. ‘Oh, I didn’t mean to take those; I thought they were mine.’ Or, ‘I’ve never seen those before, Mum, they must be hers.’ You’re natural manipulators—it’s in your nature.”

Mum stepped in before the argument could spiral, her tone sharp and final. “Jack’s got a point, girls. Women are natural liars and manipulators—it’s part of who we are. And let’s face it, you two were ready to throttle each other over a pretty scrap of fabric! You bicker, you lie, you covet—all over the vanity of panties you shouldn’t even be showing to anyone. It’s not entirely your fault; you were born women, and that’s our lot in life. But I can remove the need to argue, and that’s why I put Jack in charge of the knickers. Someone has to keep you accountable. In fact, it’s long overdue.”

I couldn’t believe my Mum was siding with Jack—but it wasn’t just some knee-jerk defense of her golden boy. The way she spoke, so passionate and certain, made it clear this wasn’t new to her. She had been on his side all along. She said it was long overdue, like she’d been thinking about it for a while. But how? How could being in charge of knickers be something planned? Was this just something she’d been waiting for the right moment to spring on us?

Joy’s jaw dropped, and I could only stare as Mum continued, utterly unfazed. “And that goes for bras as well—all underthings, not just knickers!”

Joy tilted her head, her voice calm but pointed. “What do you mean, ‘long overdue’? Have you scheduled the day we’d lose the right to manage our underthings, and we’ve gone past the expiration date?”

Mum sighed, shaking her head. “No, Joy, it wasn’t planned. This wasn’t something I woke up thinking about, believe me. It’s entirely brought on by the way you two carried on today. I wouldn’t have even considered putting Jack in charge of managing ladies’ underthings—never crossed my mind. But it’s happened naturally because of your behavior.”

She crossed her arms, fixing us with a look. “I’d never have expected you to go on at length about your naughty habits in the bedroom in front of Jack and me. I’m still stewing on that—absolutely mortified. If I catch either of you playing with your knobs or making mac and cheese out in the open, I might just have you come downstairs and finish the job in front of everyone since you’re so brazen about it!”

I was absolutely mortified my Mum now knew the sound my cunny made when I fingered myself and made it into a household joke!!

Joy and I exchanged horrified looks. “We don’t do it in front of each other,” I blurted, heat rising in my cheeks. “We do ourselves under the covers, Mum!”

“Under the covers or not, it’s proof girls can be wicked perverts who care only about self-pleasure!” Mum shot back, clearly unimpressed.

My big sister answered defensively, but with the attitude that everybody does it – so what’s the big deal. “I’m sure you and even the newly Saint Jack Marsh have had a wank or two when his left hand got bored, and his right wanted a visit.”

Jack rolled his eyes, and my mom didn’t see the humor in that. Joy was treading on dangerous ground with this topic.

Mum’s eyes narrowed, and her tone sharpened. “If you’ve nothing better to do than finger bang your twat, come see me, and I’ll find you some ironing. You girls are lazy—if I don’t nag you, you won’t do anything, and then I spend more time nagging to get you to do it and checking after you than if I just did it myself. Why do you think I adore Jack and give him extra privileges? I ask him to do something, and he does it. He steps up. You act like it’s a big prize to be able to plan the meals and inventory the pantry, but it frees me up for other things. I don’t enjoy having to keep track of every little thing or decide if we are having tuna or grilled cheese – I didn’t see either of you ask for the job until AFTER he did.”

Mum’s words sometimes had a way of feeling both pointed and exaggerated as if she was stating the obvious but also reaching for effect. I’d never heard her preach before about womanly shortcomings and us being the weaker sex. She does have a standing rule against masturbating, but she’s only ever been mad when she caught us before – and she definitely never threatened to make us finish downstairs before.

She’s also called us lazy (obviously) because we do take my Mum for granted. She’s a bit of a workhorse and cooks much better than we ever could. There was some merit to the observations she made – but I certainly didn’t agree with all of them. If anything, I thought it was exaggerated hyperbole to rile us up.

“So, this is why I can’t have tea?” I asked, raising an eyebrow and plastering on a grin. “Because I’m lazy, selfish, conceited, and a liar? Did I leave anything out?” I kept my tone light, but the jab was obvious. I didn’t take her laundry list of faults seriously—not entirely, anyway.

I certainly didn’t want to debate it with her. I thought just calling back to the tea would be funny.

Mum didn’t laugh, but her expression softened slightly. “It’s not that you can’t have tea, Sophie,” she said, leaning back in her chair, her hands resting in her lap. “It’s that you don’t deserve it—not yet. Like all women, you’ve been told you can’t have something you never wanted or liked, but now you want it anyway just because you’ve been denied it. That’s the way we are. We’re stubborn like that, but I’m not giving in. You’ll keep asking until you get it, won’t you?”

I shook my head, rolling my eyes. “You’re making it sound like I’m obsessed with tea now. I don’t even like tea.”

Jack for his part in this was outside of the conversation, letting me and my sister twist in the wind while Mom talked to us. However, he was busy – snapping pictures of us. He was capturing our facial expressions and probably saw me gnash my teeth or bite my lip.

He was also snapping pictures of our bodies, I still had a tendency to fold my arms over my chest, but he moved my hands politely while I stood there – wondering what my mom was on about.

Mum crossed her arms, leaning back slightly as her gaze swept over us. “You girls think this is about tea? It’s not really what we are talking about. It’s about everything you do—or don’t do.” She gestured between Joy and me, her voice firm but measured. “Vanity, indulgence, greed, spite—it’s all connected. You spend more time squabbling over knickers and padding your bras than you do stepping up and helping out. Jack doesn’t have to be told; he just gets on with it. That’s why he gets leeway.”

Joy scoffed, but I could tell she wasn’t ready to push her luck. “Alright, I think we know the only who pads her bras,” Joy quipped about ME, before getting serious “You make it sound like girls are the only ones who are wicked and have cruel intentions. What about boys? They lie and steal!”

Mum’s eyebrows arched, her response swift. “Boys don’t lie and scheme the way girls do. You twist things, you pout, you manipulate—sometimes without even realizing it. Men go to war; they have an honesty in how they approach conflict. If they don’t like each other, they’ll go to blows in the pub. Girls can be best friends with their biggest enemies and rivals and not see the problem.”

That much was true – men usually told someone who was their biggest enemy to sod off.

Mum sighed, rubbing her temples. "I’ve tried to let you figure these things out on your own—but you keep pressing, Sophie, so I’ll say it plain. I give you water because you’re a girl. Not out of spite but because you need the discipline. When I was your age, we had water or nothing—no Ribena, no Lucozade, no Coca-Cola—just water. You drank what was given, and you were grateful."

I clenched my jaw. I didn’t expect this at all. Arguments tumbled around in my head—girl power and fairness and everything in between—but none of them made it past my lips. This was the kind of thing I’d expect from a bratty boy in primary school, the one who’d tug on your pigtails and shout, “Boys rule, girls drool!” But hearing it from my Mum? It didn’t feel real.

“This is why we should be held to a higher standard,” Mum continued. Her voice hardened, and I realized she wasn’t just talking to me anymore—she was making a point. “Girls, by our very nature, need supervision and restriction for our own good. Vanity, pride, cruelty, whims—we’re all susceptible. And when those things take over, we make poor choices."

She gave Joy and me a long, pointed look. "So, when you bicker, I take away a privilege—not as punishment, but to stop the madness and strife. If I catch you sneaking out after dark or doing something else foolish, I’ll have to hold you to a higher standard. Because if I don’t, girls will take advantage every time. That’s just how we womenfolk are."

I tried to keep my face neutral, but my expression betrayed me. Jack had his camera out and snapped a picture just as I stuck my neck out like someone being hanged. “Oh, brilliant,” he muttered, grinning at the screen.

“Something funny, Jack?” Mum snapped. “Or you think this doesn’t apply to you?”

I expected her to chide him, but she didn’t. Instead, she turned her attention back to me and Joy. “And you, Joy, don’t think you’re off the hook either. We should be doing a proper family photo shoot, but instead, here we are in the living room, looking at each other’s franks and beans while I give this lecture. So, pay attention—I’m not saying this twice.”

I noticed she didn’t scold Jack for distracting everyone with his camera, but I let it go.

Mum sighed again, softening her tone slightly. “Look, I know I’m not perfect. I’m flighty, and daft at times, and I’m not pretending to be a genius. But you’ve been acting like Jack has some special privilege just because he manages your knickers. Do you really think he enjoys that? All he does is pass them out in the morning and make sure they’re yours. That’s the power and authority you crave?”

She didn’t wait for an answer. “Jack offered to help with the pantry because, frankly, I couldn’t keep up. Even with money in the account, I couldn’t make a Tesco run when I should have. We had Weetabix and Vegemite to eat and not much else. So, Jack keeps the shopping list, inventories the pantry and icebox—yes, I know it’s a refrigerator—and holds me accountable for when to shop and how much to budget. That’s the authority you want? He’s doing me a service.”

She paced slightly, gesturing with her hands. “A few months later, it was clear I was making the same meals over and over, so he suggested taking over meal planning. And I thought, good on you, son! If it stops the bickering, have at it. Honestly, Sophie, you’ve never had a say in what’s for dinner before, so why does it matter now? You eat what’s made, same as always.”

Mum folded her arms, her voice firm again. “You’ve always had water, and you’ll always have water. If you really want tea, I’ll let you use a teabag that’s already been used once—if you’re a good lass. Is that fair enough and understood? Can we get back to modeling now?”

I couldn’t help but feel like I LOST something, even though my Mum was absolutely right – I did always have tap water – but now that I knew that I had no choice I felt it was unfair. I assumed my Mum was once again being a hypocrite—tea for her, but not for me!

I frowned, tilting my head as I looked at Mum. “Hang on a second—so this is high standard for US, is for you as well? Or is it just Joy and me you’ve decided can’t handle our own knickers? Was it really long overdue to take our choice of panties and bras away?”

Mum turned to me with a raised brow, clearly unimpressed by my question. “It applies to all of us, Sophie—including me. When I was your age, my Mum wouldn’t have batted an eye at taking away every last pair of knickers and bras if she thought I didn’t deserve them. They’re not a need; they’re a privilege—and only for proper ladies, not girls who can’t manage themselves.”

I didn’t want to keep talking and risk talking myself out of having a bra or panties altogether. It wasn’t like I needed a bra for support—let’s be honest—but I had a few padded ones I liked wearing, and I wondered if Jack would give me grief over them. Now wasn’t the time to ask, though.

I hesitated, then asked, “Wait, are you saying you’re not raising us to be proper ladies? How are we supposed to manage anything if we’re not even trusted to do it without Jack’s supervision?”

I blinked, not expecting Mum to laugh, but she did—a full, genuine laugh that caught me off guard. “Proper ladies?” she said, shaking her head. “Sophie, look at us. We’re standing here naked in our living room, hairy quims and all. Do I look like I’m raising debutantes for a finishing school?”

Joy snorted, unable to hold back. “Well, you’ve got a point there, Mum.”

We needed some levity after that long discussion, and I was glad that Mum was laughing and not glaring at me.

Mum waved a hand, her grin widening. “I don’t think either of you have any delusions of growing up as proper ladies—regal and refined, wearing finery, visiting fancy ballrooms, and choosing the proper spoon for soup. Manners and all that. I certainly didn’t. Our lot is more… honest women.”

Joy raised a sarcastic eyebrow, quick as ever. “You just said all women are liars. And that we need everything we say checked because we tell the biggest whoppers for our own wicked desires and self-gain!”

Mum laughed again, throwing her hands up in mock surrender. “Alright, fair point. What I mean by honest women is that we shouldn’t be spoiled or made into uppity sorts. We’re Surrey Country Girls – and no one expects you to polish a country turd and call it a Faberge egg.”

She gave us both a deliberate look, her gaze flicking over our bodies and making an obvious face of recognition that we’d developed into young women. “Now that you’re both obviously women, you need to be held to standards—standards that force us to be honest, even when our selfish, backward nature wants to get in the way. And sometimes, that means accepting our shortcomings, facing the truth, and being about to laugh about our own shortcomings when everyone else does. You are both so prideful that the first time you face a little ridicule for anything, you fire back at each other and talk about the way you sound when you touch yourself!”

That was true – I did feel a bit bad about that.

Her expression softened, but her words didn’t lose their edge. “We’re not ‘proper’ ladies, and neither am I. Never have been, never will be. You’re not getting groomed for tea parties with fancy hats or dining with the right fork. No one’s going to call us refined. Look at us? We’re naked in our living room. Would you imagine Queen Camilla doing that?”

“Speaking of which,” Jack offered politely. “Do you want to see what I managed to capture during your lecture?”

“I would – certainly an hour or two about the nature of women, that I’d think by now the women of the house would already know,” Jack observed politely. He gestured toward the camera on the counter. “Here’s Sophie, sucking her finger like she’s working through some great existential crisis. Here’s Joy, saying ‘wicked’ for the third time, like she’s plotting world domination. And here’s you, Joanne, giving me nothing but raw emotion. Not one of these shots is gratuitous or inappropriate!”

I can’t deny that Jack’s photographs were impressive. He may have been using a special filter, but he captured some of the raw essence of those moments. I was a bit embarrassed about the pubic hair, or moles on my body, and whenever I was caught bending over with my bum exposed – but the face shots were perfect. There were times he caught my Mum’s passion as she spoke, and my wide eyes as I listened that could have gone in a textbook.

“Speaking of which, it’s lunch time! Let’s continue the modeling session! But Joanne can make lunch, and we can talk about a few changes I’d like to make as we proceed and then continue shooting in the kitchen to make up for lost time!”

[Mental_Shifter]

Glad to see this being put back up. I was looking for this earlier, but as I couldn't remember the title, I just thought I was dumb and couldn't find it.

[EddieDavidson]

Thank you!

[EddieDavidson]

[EddieDavidson]

Just for fun