A Little Humiliation Never Hurt Anyone, Love

[EddieDavidson]

Jack continued on to pose Joy as he had me where I wanted and now, I just had to manage the position without wobbling over or giving in to temptations and reaching down to snap off the bit of snail juice forming at the base of my cunny and fling it somewhere like excess snot.

It seemed like it might be easy to do, except my face was flushed with embarrassment, and all I wanted to do was get rid of the evidence. I am sure the others noticed and thought I was having lusty thoughts and turned on. The truth was I just couldn’t control my runny pussy. I was wet, and the smell of my arousal was obvious – even if someone didn’t notice my sticky thighs.

Now, Jack was capturing it all with his camera, and I was mortified. I tried to politely smile and pretend I wasn’t turned on – it was after all, completely involuntary on my part. The stimulation and being naked was turning me on – even if I was standing there bare arsed with my mum and sister in the mix.

“Stop wriggling about, and trying to blast get your girly cream everywhere, Sophie,” Jack clicked a few snaps directly between to document my humiliation. I instinctively closed my legs, but Jack tapped my thighs and reminded me that I was now his “open book”.

“Stop trying to hide – it won’t do any good, Sophie!” Jack sounded frustrated.

“Should I pull back my quim hair, and pull me bean out so you can have a better look at my quim?” I asked dryly – clearly facetious.

“That would be lovely, but I want a natural shot tis time,” Jack didn’t acknowledge my sarcasm and merely continued to photograph my dripping pussy in its natural state. “In future, I might ask you to groom it a bit more.”

It was as humiliating to photographed while I couldn’t stop my pussy from dripping like a runny nose, and at the same time degrading to have him talk down about my hairy bush.

“For such a thin girl, you’ve got a nice fat gash,” he observed, making me blush even harder.

“Yeah, as open books go – that’s not a pamphlet,” my sister joked, adding that if I ever get pregnant I’d probably have twins simply because of how deep my pussy was.

“You’ve no tinny gapper between your legs, slag,” I countered angrily.

My mom harumphed and told us to stop bickering – “Let Jack do his work and be open books – you’ll see your cunnies soon enough when he lets us review the pictures. You WILL let us review them, won’t you Jack?”

“Sure,” Jack basically ignored my mother and remained focused on snapping pictures around my pussy and even my bum hole – at times, posing me and making me stand in such a way that I fully exposed myself to his camera without touching myself.

The worst part was that now I was gagging to touch myself because I had been thinking about it. It’s like an itch that you can’t scratch, only feel worse because you know you can’t scratch it.

I could imagine the pic of my hairy twat with a proper long sliver of my cum juice now framed in Victoria and Albert Museum in Kensington – memorialized for all time to come. The caption would say ‘Here is Sophie Marsh’s gash, dripping wet because she couldn’t control her naughty thoughts when she was standing naked in her kitchen – others laughing in repose – photograph by Jack Marsh.”

My bum hole puckered and sucked in air – just for the thought that I’d ever see those pictures of my quim drippings again.

Jack didn’t seem all that fussed. Honestly, I couldn’t decide what was worse—standing stark naked with your girly-juice trailing down your thigh while people point and laugh, or someone snapping a picture like you’re a pigeon in Trafalgar Square, then just carrying on, leaving you there like some forgotten statue nobody cares about.

“Legs up on the table, bimbo,” Jack snapped, his tone making it clear there’d be no room for dithering. Joy shot him a look but didn’t argue, shifting to lift her leg like mine and lining herself up behind me. “Get close enough that your quim is almost directly behind Sophie’s tight little bum -if she so much as lights a dainty fart – I want you to feel the wind, Joy! Let’s get on with it unless you fancy being here till tea,” he added, a sharp edge to his voice. “And I’d advise you to mind the gap.”

“The one between her legs, or the one between her and her sister,” Mum asked with a hearty laugh and a lusty expression like a deviant horn bag. Joy merely glanced over her shoulder as she placed her body close enough to me that we were almost touching. “Oh, get over it - little teasing never harmed anyone, Dear!”

‘A director who has to listen to a babbling dribbler like you direct his models might harm someone,’ Jack seethed at Mum for talking. Whether he meant it as a joke or not – that’s how she took it when she giggled and apologized. “You’ll be the central star for our little London Bridge exhibit, Joanne -I like your enthusiasm, but I’ll have to gag you with a dirty dishrag if you can’t manage to shut it!”

Mum chirped a quick, ‘Sorry, Jack!’ but I wasn’t so sure he was joking about the dish rag. His tone wasn’t playful—it had that edge, the kind that made you straighten up a bit, even if you weren’t sure why. If Mum had somehow morphed into a playful trollop, Jack had undergone his own transformation—straight into a proper bastard

He’d started the morning strict, determined, and now he was running the room like a proper Soho pimp in Piccadilly Circus—‘arses here, tits there, no talking, just smiling!’ It was all a bit much, but none of us dared say so out loud.

We were like naked props, he had little time and patience to actually talk to.

My big sister was surprisingly limber – she had her leg much higher, and straighter than I could manage. I’ve never seen her do Yoga or stretching exercises. Up went her sexy long leg on the table, and he removed her shoes. “We’ll need these toenails polished and trimmed!”

Mom spoke up to answer Jack’s question about ground rules. We were able to pose and talk at the same time and had been all afternoon. “I won’t make the same mistake of lecturing you girls today like I did this morning around the telly. That cost me my tea at lunch—and you know, it was a small thing to some, but it shocked me to be told I couldn’t have something I wanted, and I’m used to. Here I was, preaching about women being self-indulgent and expecting things, not realizing I do that too. I never really thought about it until Jack had the nerve to call me out.

“So, yeah, I’m not Mum while we’re doing this—I’m just Joanne. I won’t say boo to you girls either—it’s on Jack to be the director. But, Jack, let me ask you this: let’s say my darling daughters, who I love dearly but also sometimes want to wring their lovely necks, decide to start bickering and teasing each other. Are you going to tell me I have to go back to being Mum during the session and sort it out, or do I deal with it after?”

Joy smirked, her voice dripping with mock accusation as she shifted slightly in her pose. “Oh really? So, let’s say I call you a dirty perv for how you’ve got your hand close to my quim right now, making little circling motions with your fingers. Giving me goosebumps and chills—how are you going to sort that, Jack?” She wasn’t angry, far from it. There was a flicker of excitement in her eyes, her breathing shallow, almost expectant. His fingers hovered near her labia, deliberate but never quite crossing a line. Her nipples were stiff, goosebumps rising on her skin.

I couldn’t decide how I felt about it. Watching Joy like this—so openly affected—made me wonder if I’d want Jack to touch me the same way -or even let him. On the one hand, he was my brother, but on the other... I felt a pang of jealousy. I was already drippy, but I craved a thrill—a moment like hers that might send a shiver down my spine.

Jack didn't pull away when she called him out for touching so close – it wasn’t just touching either. He was running his finger in delicate little circles right outside her pussy lip. If anything, in defiance to being called out, he moved his fingers on to her pussy lips.

My sister’s eyes went wide – like she’d be goosed, but she didn’t pull her leg off the table.

Jack had brushed our orifices or nipples lightly posing us before - never gratuitously, but he'd not apologized or acted like it was an accident, either. He'd also posed us in such a way we were touching - standing nipple to nipple, butt to butt - close embraces - so we'd do a lot more touching of each other than I'd ever done in my life.

"That's why I am talking about ground rules now, Joy - you are my model, I'll pose you and prepare you – that’s how this will work. In order to do that, I may have you touch Joanne or Sophie in a way that as sisters you may find awkward - but as models with no inhibitions, no barriers, you'll just get on with it, for the shot. I want your goosebumps, I want you aroused; look at Sophie over there - raw, female energy – excited.

All eyes were on my pussy – now almost like a big wad of spit -the collected dripping of my pussy was hanging off my lips. I looked pitiful, I am sure – horny and pitiful.

“I want you to look like you are thrilled - sometimes it's not touching, it's the anticipation of being touched- the tease that it never comes, other times, I may have to pinch your nipples and give them a twist" He reached up casually with one hand, and gave Joy's nipples a tweak so fast she couldn't react.”

"Hey!" Sophie called out -like she was going to smack him, but she didn’t.

"Hey What? you are my model, quim, tits, arse, face, shoulders, legs, all of it - you are an open book, and I want to film you three turned on and ready -so to answer your question, I am not sure what I'd do if you called me a filthy pervert

“If you’re having a laugh, and we’re in the middle of it like now, I might laugh along with you. If you’re doing it because I want you to act like you’re being treated rough by a filthy pervert—I’d have encouraged you to yell it at the top of your lungs! But if you’re doing it to be disruptive, degrade me, and waste our time, I’d say I’d put you in the corner with the soap—this time for real. Leave you there for a bit, maybe twenty minutes. Then, I’d have you turn around, hold yourself here at the table just like you are now—since this is where you said it—and apologize to me properly.”

He leaned in slightly, his tone sharpening. “You’d tell me what you did wrong, what you won’t do in the future, and thank me for straightening you up. Earlier, when Joanne was saying how, left to your own devices, you’d be bickering with Sophie and doing bugger all today anyway, your apology was basically that you thought it went without saying. I photographed Joanne’s face this morning when you two were giving your faint little apologies. I captured the look of disappointment when you didn’t even use the word ‘I’m sorry.’ I can tell you; she didn’t see it as an apology—but she let you get away with a half-ass one. I won’t.”

Jack didn’t pause, running his hand purposefully along Joy’s skin. “You’ll be whole assing during modeling—and I’m asking, if I hold Joanne to the same standard, are you going to test me and find out?”

Mum, standing nearby, let out a soft laugh, warmer than mocking. “Look, I don’t care what you lot say about this – it’s always been my fantasy to be photographed in the nude! I’ve never thought about running around the house with my knickers off, and then Jack suggested we do some pictures today. You two bickering and arguing, and the three of you teasing each other is the norm most of the time – if we can have less of that – I’m in and you both are as well. If Jack can get a proper apology out of you – then that would stand all the time – not just for the modeling sessions. I’d love it!”

Joy held her pose but shifted slightly, her tone sharp but not combative. “Look, it’s not like I’ve been dreaming of being manhandled by my little brother, alright? And yes, fine—I’m wet. So’s Sophie. It doesn’t mean you’re turning me on, Jack; I just want that clear. I can’t control it, but it’s not the point. I ASKED to put soap in my mouth earlier for a prop, so it’s not like that’s some huge punishment to me. Do you really think sticking me in the corner with a bar of soap is going to teach me anything?”

Mum chuckled, leaning slightly on the counter as her eyes darted between Joy and Jack. “It’s gotta be a meaty enough consequence you’d think twice, love. Losing my tea did it for me—and you know how I get without it. So, tell us—what would make you think twice about cussing out your brother if soap in the mouth won’t bother ya?”

Mum raised a brow, her tone light but pointed, clearly expecting Joy to come up with something she couldn’t easily shrug off. “Let’s hear it, Joy. Got a better idea?”

"Whatever I come up with would be the same for all three of us, then? Even Mum?"

"So much so, that I want you to address her as Joanne during modeling. She's a fellow model, and she can't say boo to you about your behavior," Jack smiled, his fingers drifting in the crack of her bubble butt while his other hand painted tiny circles on the outside of her raven-haired quim, goosebumps appearing on the base of her neck.

"Ooh, what do you think about that, Joanne? Are you still fine with being treated like one of the girls during modeling?" she asked her Mum, clearly thinking she wouldn't agree.

"Ach! It's fine if Jack does it, he's my director, but you girls? How will you respect me if you call me Joanne? Next, you'll be calling me slag and chav and slut like you do each other! This was a punishment for you, we were talking about Joy—I wouldn’t insult your brother, so even if you said scrubbing the toilets with your toothbrush, it wouldn’t apply to me."

“Nope, no negotiation," Jack stated firmly, his hand casually drifting further along Joy's thigh, fingers teasingly brushing close to her quim. "You've already agreed you're an open book when modeling, and the book's title is Joanne. If you aren't going to intimidate them like Mum and say boo to them, you’re one of the girls."

Mum hesitated for a fraction of a second, her expression shifting slightly. "Right then," she said, her tone measured but agreeable. "Only during modeling!"

"And you're fine with him giving you goosebumps like this, Joanne?" Joy asked coolly, her foot still perched on the table, her tone dripping with mock innocence as Jack continued his light touches. She stood frozen, a mix of defiance and submission, daring Mum to contradict herself.

Mum drew in a breath, her posture steady. "I am an open book," she said evenly, her gaze meeting Joy’s. "And I’m one of the girls. her tone softened slightly, But, I’ll admit, hearing you call me Joanne is going to take some getting used to."

“You won’t hear me complain if you want to quit, Joanne," Joy said, her voice steady, though her breathing betrayed a hint of nerves. "I’m sure almost every inch of my body has been touched, photographed, and breathed on. I don’t even know what fascinates Jack about me—I’m not exactly the hottest looking girl. Pretty ordinary, really.”

“I’ll be the judge of that,” Jack said, his touch growing bolder as three fingers gripped the line of her butt crack while the other hand grazed her nether regions with deliberate care. “I’m not here to film a Barbie—I want raw, unfiltered passion. No barriers, no holding back. Lusty, aroused—that’s what I’m after. And I think we’re almost there,” he added, his voice low with determination.

“Well, if Mum—or ehm, Joanne—is in for this treatment too, and she’s fine being called Joanne, I’d do it just for the privilege of seeing her cringe every time I say her name. But if you’re asking for a punishment that’s a real deterrent, I’d say it’s harder to think of one than having my leg up on the table, my little brother's hands wandering fumbles around trying to edge me to arousal, leaving me all hot and flustered with no one to actually be satisfied.”

"I’ve not had a man ever show that kind of interest in getting me to that state; it’s hardly a punishment, Joy," Mum said with a lusty laugh. "You were bragging about what you do up in your room—have a row with yourself later tonight and finish it off. The anticipation will make it better."

"This is definitely not meant to punish you, Joy! And it's gonna be happening a lot—so I don't want you to think of this as a bad thing. Touching is fine," Jack decided.

Joy gave him a look of exasperation mixed with embarrassment. "Well, if you're going to do it, can I ask you to stop touching my butt and put your hand here?" She grabbed his hand, moving it to her breast. Her cheeks flushed, and she avoided his gaze. "Just rub circles—don't squeeze or maul—delicate, like you’re doing below. We’ll get there faster. I might not even think to call you a name after that..."

“Joy!” I gasped, incredulous at her boldness.

“What?” she shot back. “It’s like giving a handie on the bus to London and stepping on the bloke’s foot instead! I’d rather he just tell me to stroke him at a medium pace!”

Mum’s eyes widened, her voice rising in shock. “Caw, Joy! Have you ever given a handie on the bus to London?”

I knew full well she had—she’d bragged about it to me before, alongside tales of her escapades at clubs. She looked defiant, a sly grin creeping across her face.

“That’s the kind of energy I want you to bring to this scene, Joy,” Jack said, shifting his grip and following her instructions. He began to work her breast as she requested, his voice steady and coaxing. “Think about it—sitting down next to a stranger on the bus. You reach under his coat, unzip him. There are people around, and some of them are watching—they have no idea where your hand is.”

Mum laughed heartily, throwing her head back. “Blimey, that’s making me want to ride that bus!”

Jack turned his focus back to Joy, his tone firm but playful. “But first, tell me—what punishment do you think would be fair if you call me a name and disrupt the session?”

Joy huffed, clearly trying to enjoy the moment despite the intrusive question. “You’re still on about that? You say ‘fair,’ but you’d get to tease me, so the punishment would only apply to the three of us—not you!”

Jack abruptly pulled his hand away from Joy, leaving her trembling slightly, clearly affected. When her hand started to drift toward her own body, he slapped it away with a firm, “Simmer.”

“More like seethe,” Joy muttered under her breath, though she made no move to challenge him further besides saying that was unfair and pouting. How do you think I feel? I was left out of the conversation, long strand of climax juice dripping almost 12 inches off of my quim and all I could do was stand there and wait for it to finally hit the ground.

Jack took a few quick snaps of both me and my sister before moving on to turn his attention to Mum. “Right, Joanne, let’s get your engine started.” He guided her to sit in her kitchen chair, both legs up and spread – hairy gash wide open.


Mum flushed deeply, her hands gripping the edges of the chair for balance. Jack’s touch was deliberate and slow, drawing reactions she couldn’t hide. “Ooh, oh… um, this is hard to talk and let you do that… oh my…” Her voice trailed off, a mix of embarrassment and pleasure coloring her words. Mum exhaled, a deliberate pause before she spoke. “Look, this is new for all of us, yeah? I didn’t expect to have my bumhole and cunny open like this today -while you two gawk at me getting a thrill.”

“Neither did we, Mum...” I said defensively, before the two of them corrected me and reminded me to call our mother Joanne. It felt so wrong when I heard myself say it out loud – she was “mum” to me.

Jack grabbed mum’s boobs and started to shake her big tits – just touching them like ripe cantaloupe while Mum grinned at him. He reminded her that she was now an open book while she giggled and let him have his fun smacking her boobs together. He let her do it for him while he took snaps. I thought it would be intensely humiliating for my mum to jiggle her tits like they were party favors, but she seemed to thrive on the attention her fat jugs were earning her.

“I just thought we’d have a stress free time taking snaps and feeling free and naughty – you are both old enough to get a thrill from it – and obviously, there are things I didn’t know about your habits, Joy,” she said alluding to the hand job on the bus. “If following Jack’s rules helps cut down on the usual bickering and sulking between you two, then I’m willing to give it a shot. It’s not like we’re doing this all day, every day—it’s just during modeling. And frankly, we could all stand to benefit from a bit of structure for once.”

She straightened up slightly, brushing her hair back, as if composing herself. “I’ve let things slide too often, and where has that got us? Nowhere good, that’s where. I don’t do enough to stop the squabbling, and that’s on me. I let it go because it’s easier, but all that does is spoil you both and make the behavior worse. I haven’t been firm enough, and the truth is, you’ve taken advantage of that.”

Mum’s voice softened, but there was no mistaking the self-awareness in her tone. “I’m not saying I’m better than you—I’m just as guilty. I get indulgent, I pout when I don’t get my way, and I can be as petty as either of you -talk, talk, and more talk.”

Jack reached down between my mother’s legs and pinched her clit.

“OOH, not there,” she called out, but the look on her face was that she liked it. Jack continued pushing on it and she made a face somewhere between pained and orgasm. He had to stabilize her ankles because her restless leg shaking was making the table shake causing all of our asses to shake with it.

“It’s part of being a woman, isn’t it? The vanity, the nagging, the indulgence—we’re wired for it in some ways. That’s why I’m saying yes to this—modeling, being treated like one of the girls. It lets Jack take charge and means I’m not stuck letting my own habits or stubbornness get in the way of what we’re trying to do.”

Mum glanced at Joy, her eyes narrowing slightly as she continued. “But we can’t let this fall apart because of our usual nonsense. Joy, your constant jabs and name-calling spark bickering that spreads like wildfire. Sophie, you sulk and pout the second things don’t go your way, dragging everyone else into your mood. And me? I’ve been indulgent and lazy, letting it slide instead of stepping in to keep order. Girls like us are naturally prone to drama, vanity, and pushing boundaries. Without clear rules, we’d turn this into a mess of jealousy and power plays.”

She folded her arms, leaning back slightly. “Discipline isn’t about being unfair—it’s about keeping us honest. Boys don’t have these tendencies the way we do, so if it’s just us models who aren’t allowed to disrupt the sessions, that’s exactly how it should be. Jack is directing—he decides when we take a break. If treating me like one of the girls helps him keep all of us—myself included—focused and cooperative, then it’s exactly what we need to make this work. I’m not just fine with it—I’m all for it,” Mum finished firmly.

Despite her words, it was clear she was struggling to concentrate—her hands twitched slightly, and her gaze flicked between Joy and Jack as though trying to find her grounding. Every time she tried to touch herself for relief, Jack smacked her hand away, the sharp slap echoing like a reprimand.

She looked back at us, her voice steady but pointed. “Modeling is fantasy time. If Jack says I’m a butterfly, a slut, or anything else, then I’ll play the part. But we need rules—real ones—so we don’t ruin it with jealousy, laziness, or bickering. We’ve all seen what happens when I let things slide, and it’s never pretty. If treating me the same keeps us on track, I’m not just fine with it—I’m for it.”

Mum’s expression hardened as she turned her attention to Joy, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. “I know you girls love all that ‘girl power’ talk, but it’s not as simple as that. A little discipline, a little accountability, never hurt anyone—especially not women. Sometimes, we need a kick in the backside to remember we’re not above the rules.”

Her voice dropped slightly, but her tone remained sharp. “So, Joy, if soap in the mouth isn’t enough to make you think twice, then pick something that’ll actually make you cringe, seethe, or whatever it is goth girls do. Because I’m not letting you off easy just because you’d rather pout than own up to it.”

“Spice Girls are 20 years ago, Joanne,” Joy quipped, clearly enjoying the way calling her ‘Joanne’ made Mum squirm slightly. Although, to be honest, it was hard to tell if it was Jack’s touch or the name. “So, you’re saying because I have a gash, my brother is better than me?

"You’re like Sophie with the tea—you keep poking and prodding until I stop beating around the bush and just say it. I envy Americans sometimes, you know. They can just blurt things out, even if it cuts deep. You’re not going to like what I have to say, Joy—but yes. When I was growing up, girls got the last of everything, and we were told to be grateful for it—or we got nothing at all. My family was so big, we ate in shifts because there weren’t enough seats. The men, my Mum, and the boys ate at the table. The girls scraped their leftovers into portions and ate standing up. Just like today when we grabbed the scraps off Jack’s plate. I hadn’t thought about Blackpool in years until now."

Mum licked her lips; Jack wasn’t subtle at all about touching her body – and she wasn’t subtle about liking it. Mum was grinning like a ninny – basking in being touched. I am sure it was ages since she had a proper shag after dad left. I’ve never seen her date. He fingered our Mum – penetrating. I couldn’t see it because the pubes, but I could see her face. “Oi Jack, you might have warned me about that,” she said. I couldn’t believe I was watching this happen – the same woman who said she’d punish me this morning if she caught me having a wank in my room!

“I wanted to see your surprise,” Jack snapped pictures with his other hand – pushing a single fingertip into Mum’s pussy. The moment her hands went to her crotch to help, he withdrew his finger and slapped them away. Mum reluctantly put her hands low to her side, so that he would continue.

Her voice cracked slightly, but she pressed on, her tone sharp. "You’re already testing me by calling me Joanne—and it’s working. I nearly lost it a moment ago. So, if you’re wondering, yeah—maybe if I’d been born with a cock and raised to lead, I’d be a proper role model. But I wasn’t. I’m not. Go on, then, Joy. Tease me about Joanne. Call me Crumpy-Bumpy Big Fat Goat Humpy like the other lasses did in Blackpool. But we’re all sitting here waiting on pins and needles for you to tell us what you think is worse than soap in the mouth in the corner. Because if you’re fine with that and think it’s no problem, I might just start doing it when we’re not modeling!"

Fine, it’s fun to be able to tease Jack, so are you saying even an off-handed goof like ‘Saint Jack’ or ‘King Jack’ is going to get me in hot water?”

Jack’s gaze hardened for a moment, his voice cutting through her playful teasing. “I hate ‘King Jack’ and ‘Saint Jack’ more than anything. One implies I’m some sort of lord and master, which clearly you don’t think I am. The other makes me look like a brown-noser, lapping up to Mum’s ass. So, yeah, I’d say those names, in particular, would get you punished! It seems like you talked a big game though – you said you weren’t afraid of having a bar of soap in your mouth and being put in the corner as a consequence for being disruptive during modeling,” Jack said.

“ And if I say something outside of modeling, you won’t make me face your judgment, almighty penis man?” she teased, her tone dripping with mockery.”

“Almighty penis man? Because I wasn’t born with a slit? Calling me that is definitely punishable, but we haven’t made any decisions – and I’ll grant you that’s clever, Joy. Outside of modeling, you’re free to call me whatever the hell you want—be a complete c-word if you like. Joanne won’t do anything about it, and that’s not likely to change – it’s more work than it’s worth to play referee all day,” He answered patiently.

“We’re just talking about modeling; as much as I’d like to promise I’d make you three apologize, put you in the corner and all that – I know I am really not the disciplinarian type, and I am just as guilty of having a go at you three when you have a go at me. All I’ll say is this, if ya starting cracking on me as Joanne, when I am outside of modeling, I may just enforce whatever Joy suggests is the proper consequence!”

He left Mum high and dry, but we continued the conversation - he told her definitely not to touch herself. “That would be punishable as well! No making macaroni and cheese without permission,” he said as he put his head in the fridge and told us he was getting our dessert ready.

I was famished, and I have a sweet tooth – that long strand of cunt dripping just kept elongating and expanding. I wiggled a little hoping that I could snap the long slender spider-like web hanging from my clit off. I was a bit suspicious he was thinking of dessert while we were in a humiliating pose like this.

Joanne sighed, glancing between them. “We’re just talking about modeling here. As much as I’d love to stand firm and say I’d make you three apologize, stick you in the corner, and all that, I’m really not the disciplinarian type. Let’s face it—I’m just as guilty of snapping at you when you snap at me. But here’s the deal—if you start cracking on me as Joanne outside of modeling, I might just go along with whatever Joy reckons is the proper consequence.”

Joy leaned back with a sly grin, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Oh, so it’s up to me then? Fine—take away our tea. That’ll really put us in line.”
“No, Joy. You’re dodging – I think you are scared to actually say what might work as a deterrent for bad behavior? Something that’ll make you think twice. You said soap in the mouth wouldn’t faze you, and I doubt a couple of slices of bread will bother you either. So, what would remind you not to push it? And don’t look at me—it’s up to Joanne,” Jack decided.

“Not bloody likely,” Mum outright rejected the idea of approving the punishment. I am the only one of the girls who loves tea, and I can’t be objective – I am not the director. If it’s strict enough they’ll actually take it seriously, and we all three have to do it when we break the rules – that’s fair enough.”

Jack came back to the table with a can of squirty cream, maraschino cherries, and a bowl of ice cubes—making me wonder about the promised dessert. This was not going to pan out well for us, I reckoned.

"Fine," Joy said with a sly grin, clearly wanting to push boundaries. "Since Jack is in charge of the food, then the next meal—unless we have a guest or something—the model remains nude whether it’s modeling or not, hands tied with a belt behind her back, and eats whatever Jack decides is the meal—face only. Bend over—clean the plate. If it’s that squirty cream and cherries, you’d eat it face first."

We were stunned. Jack raised his eyebrows, momentarily taken aback. Mum opened her mouth to say something, then closed it, clearly struggling to process the suggestion.

“How would we even drink at the table like that?” I asked, genuinely curious despite how ridiculous it sounded.

Jack didn’t miss a beat. “I suppose I’d have Mum set out a bowl of water. You’d dunk your face in it. Good for washing off bits of food too—and whatever we serve would have to be cut up or mashed, like cold oats.”

Joy’s grin widened as she looked at me, then at Mum. I could tell she was enjoying the reactions, and frankly, I wasn’t sure if she was joking or being serious. Either way, the thought of actually doing it made my stomach flip.

“We’d have to eat oats, with tea in a bowl like some barnyard animal, dear?” Mum finally said, her voice unusually high-pitched.

“Nah, barnyard animals eat off the floor. You’d still get a table—but no tea if you’re being punished. Not even a third of a cup,” Jack replied as he shook up the squirty cream canister.

I had no clue what he was planning to do with it. My sister and I had huffed the nitrous out of a squirty cream canister before and gotten an earful from Mum for it. My first thought was that he was about to do a whippet himself – no inkling that he might spray one of us down with it.

He walked around the table and sprayed a generous mound of cream over Mum’s nipples, making sure to completely cover both of her massive boulders. My mom looked down at herself, grinning with amusement. I couldn’t believe she would let Jack cover her in squirty cream!!

“Jack!!”Mum couldn’t believe my audacity.

He sprayed my sister’s boobs, covering them with squirty cream. My sister knotted her brow, “Really?”

When she went to lick the cream, he smacked her hand and said, “All in good time! dessert will be served!”

My sister frowned at him like he cut a fart and walked away from it-leaving her to smell it as he turned to me next.

He roughly lifted one of my tiny boobs, sprayed it until my puffy nipple was completely covered, then did the same to the other – like I was a living bowl to be decorated for a Banana split. It was more cream than I needed—probably twice as much as Mum—but that didn’t stop him. He was having fun making a mess out of me.

I blushed so hard, and the worst part was as he pinched and tugged around my tits – I found myself getting wet. They might have been small, but they were quite sensitive. He treated them like they were simply ornaments to be covered in cream for his photograph and not a sexual part of my body.

“And because you’re a boy, observations about my body are allowed all the time?” I shot at him, rolling my eyes.

Yep, because there are times I may want to wind you up, tease you a little, like with Joanne,” Jack said, rubbing Mum’s tummy and giving it a playful push, making it ripple like an old waterbed. She laughed, but her expression soured as he went on, “She’s chunky! Today I put her on a diet, but what I should’ve said is she’s a chubby-wubby crumpy baby!”

Mum glared at him, her nostrils flaring in indignation. “Don’t you dare—”

Before she could finish, Jack sprayed squirty cream right into my Mum’s open mouth before she could close it. “Don’t swallow yet! Want cherries? Hold on until I’ve got the scene set!” he said, snapping a few pictures of her, mid-outrage, cream-filled mouth agape like a roasted pig with an apple.

He turned to Joy next, stepping back to size her up as she frowned. “Joy, it’s tough to tease you because, let’s face it, you’re bloody gorgeous. But if I’m honest, you’ve got the face of an Addams Family extra—beautiful, sure, but not a hint of a smile. All brooding and sour, like someone pinched your favorite makeup palette.”

Joy’s glare deepened, but before she could snap back, Jack squirted cream into her mouth, cutting her off. “Keep that sourpuss open, or you’ll be wearing a belt to your next meal.”

I was terrified – wondering what Jack was going to do next? I expected Mum or Joy to put a stop to this -it was more than a bit much! However, for Mum’s part, she seemed to think it was amusing and Joy kept giving my brother a look that suggested she dared him to treat her the same way.

Circling her, he gestured grandly. “If I had chocolate syrup, I’d drizzle it down your back, Joy, right along this bubble butt of yours. It’s perky, round, and unmistakable—even if you try to hide it under that moody pout.” He sprayed a dollop of cream on her backside, then another on her front. “Now, look at that! A proper human cupcake, frosted front and back. Picture-perfect.” He snapped a few photos, chuckling at the visible fury in her eyes.

Next, he turned to me. “Sophie,” he started, grinning as he grabbed the squirty cream, “You’ve got a mouth big enough to hold an entire bottle of cream, but boobs about a third the size of that. Ratio’s off, don’t you think?” He sprayed a puff on my chest, then moved behind me to add another on my backside. “As for your macaroni maker…” He leaned in mockingly. “Let’s just say, it’s the real star of your show, isn’t it?”

I wanted to protest, but Jack held up a finger. “Keep your gob open—don’t swallow, or you’ll lose your cherries too.” He chuckled, grabbing his camera to snap a few shots of me looking mortified, cream dripping onto my chest.

Then, with a flourish, he turned back to address us all. “Now, vanity,” he began, gesturing with the can, “Vanity’s an excessive focus on appearance. You lot get bloated egos being snapped for the camera. I like you to have high self-esteem, but I draw the line at excess vanity. Mum critiques it as counterproductive, and I tend to agree. You’ve makeup, padded bras, and perfumes to make you seem like more than you are. But here? Here I get the real picture.”

He circled back to Mum, gesturing at her with mock seriousness. “Hairy arms, chunky legs, a bum that doesn’t know when to quit—and, of course, the piggy nose. We’ll have to do something about all of that, Mum. Americans have the right of it; subtlety’s overrated. Sometimes, you’ve just got to say it outright.”

Mum’s furious glare returned, and Jack, as if daring her, sprayed another puff of cream on her belly button, “There we go. Cherry on top!”

Jack decorated us with cherries – one on each nipple, one in between Joy’s butt crack and mine. Three in our mouths, and then he managed to get one to rest on the squirty cream over our vaginas.

There was a point that I was so shocked that all I could do was stand there like the Banana in a Cherry’s Jubilee Sundae, with a dumb look on my face. I think all three of us were stunned. It was so audacious that Joy and I both laughed after Mum had a giggle.

“Watch it! Squirty cream in the mouth, ladies, not on the floor! Remember, you’re desserts, not babbling Muppets!” Jack barked, clearly unimpressed.

For clarity’s sake, I should mention that any attempt to speak with the cream in our gobs came out more like muffled mumbles and jumbles. It was ridiculous enough to make us laugh—and, of course, spill more cream down our chests. I am sure we looked like naked dunces to be ridiculed.

It started out sexy, but it was quickly morphing into something else—like he was determined to make us feel like dumb slags who had no choice but to prance about and obey. All except Mum, of course. She thought it was bloody brilliant, grinning like a horny loon and struggling to keep her laughter—and the cream—from spilling out of her gob. She clutched her belly, eyes sparkling like she’d just nicked a bottle of sherry on Christmas morning.

No idea why he’d want pictures of us like that unless it was to whip them out one day just to watch us squirm and burn up all over again. The thought of blackmail didn’t cross my mind—Jack wasn’t that sort, and honestly, I didn’t have anything worth the trouble to bargain for anyway. It was clear he wasn’t scheming; he was just taking the piss, turning us into a pair of starkers jesters, tits out, cream dribbling everywhere, and looking like right fools for his own bloody amusement.

He snapped pictures of us standing like complete freaks – I wasn’t sure what to do with my hands. I hadn’t had any concerns about these pictures leaking out. Every girl on Instagram or snapchat had sent nude selfies -including myself. Naked pictures of me were probably already over the internet and I didn’t care. It wasn’t like I was alone in that.

However, the horrifying thought that these humiliating pictures might make it out started to occur to me. What would people think? These pictures probably weren’t sexy! If anything, they were degrading like being teased and told my boobs were bite-sized.

I wondered if Jack had intended this all along or happened spontaneously upon this idea and it just so happened that it occurred to him that putting us down would keep us from getting bloated egos.

“In primary school, we learned about the sin of vanity—an excessive focus on appearance. Like fretting over knickers or padded bras. Mum critiques this sort of thing as counterproductive, and she’s probably right. It comes naturally to girls—you’re born pretty, and then there’s makeup, padded bras, perfumes—things designed to soften features, to pretty up smells, to make you seem like you’ve got more than you were born with.”

He let the words linger for a moment, then smirked, leaning in slightly as if letting us in on some unspoken truth. “But here, I get to see what’s real. I can smell what your bodies really smell like. The sour fruit between your legs is ripe—sweaty, raw, unadorned. And that’s what’s interesting, isn’t it? If I tease you, it’s not just for the hell of it. It’s to put you in a humbler mindset during modeling. That’s the point—to strip away all the pretenses.”

Jack stepped back, clicking the camera rapidly as his grin widened. “You all look scrumptious, silly—delicious human cupcakes. Don’t worry, though. You’ll get to eat every bit of squirty cream and the cherries when we’re done. Now, stand just like this,” he directed, motioning with his hands for Joy and me to adjust our poses while Mum remained seated.

I wasn’t particularly thrilled to have squirty cream under these conditions!! No one else seemed that way either. I assumed Mum would draw the line here – and so all I had to do was go along with it until he pushed her too far.

He focused on shooting pics of Mum; covered in cream nose, mouth, boobs, belly, and cunny! Even some on her hairy butt. “So, during modeling, if I bring up how much you love to stuff your face with ice cream—well, you won’t be doing it any longer, even outside of modeling, because you’re a chunky monkey, and it takes you down a peg. That’s fair. As a girl, vanity is something that should be stripped away like a diet for the soul, right?” He paused to snap another photo of Mum, her cheeks reddening as the whipped cream melted on her skin. “As long as I’m honest, I won’t embellish. I won’t make things up because lying wouldn’t make you feel like a stuck-up twat.”

He turned to me then, his camera clicking again. “But if I say you, Sophie, got an older boy to take you to a party because he was invited and you weren’t, and he had a car, that’s not a lie, is it?”

I started to make a choking noise, trying to protest. My face burned with shame. “That’s not—”

“Burgess Hill, wasn’t it, Sophie?” Jack interrupted smoothly, clicking more photos as he changed our poses so that Joy and I were standing face-to-face. “I can see from your expression that you remember it well. You ditched him the moment you arrived, found a handsome boy to drive you home, did a bit more with him, and never called him again. I only know because you bragged to Joy about it the next morning, didn’t you? She thought it was hilarious.”

He gestured for us to lean slightly closer to Mum, who was still glaring at him from her seat. “So, if I tease you about that—and it’s true—that’s fair. But outside of modeling, I won’t. Same as if you tease me, I won’t hold it against you later. Deal?” He didn’t wait for a response, snapping another picture as he grinned.

“I can see why men don’t really suffer from vanity,” Jack continued, circling around us. “The boy you ditched—he probably knew he was a loser but thought it was enough that you sat your precious bubble butt in his car. You smelled nice, wore fancy clothes Mum probably had to buy, and look at this place—rickety old chairs and all. Mum says it keeps women from thinking they’re too refined and uppity. Makes honest women out of you.”

He sprayed another puff of cream onto Mum’s chest. “Speaking of honest, whipped cream looks good on you, Mum. Covers up that beastly hair. You were worried you’d be mistaken for a barnyard animal if you had to eat off the floor. I can see why—hairy pits, hairy bits, hairy everywhere. No perfume in here either, so all we’ve got is you.”

We didn’t dare move, though the tension in the air was thick enough to carve. Jack motioned for Joy and me to stand over Mum. “Boob to boob, ladies—think ‘London Bridge.’ You know the one. Oh, I can see it now—Tower Bridge in all its cream-covered glory.” He sniffed theatrically, wrinkling his nose. “And the Thames running beneath? Right here, I’d wager. Proper ripe.”

Joy rolled her eyes but didn’t argue, while I squirmed in place, feeling humiliated.

“That’s honesty,” Jack said, smirking. “Hairy arms, piggy noses, sour faces—oh yes, the Thames herself couldn’t compete with the aroma of women who think they’re too good to be criticized. And what’s Sophie’s big concern? After being told she’d eat her next meal with a belt around her wrists if she misbehaved, she’s worried I’ll call her a name. Oh no!” He pulled an exaggeratedly horrified face, spraying another dollop of cream onto my chest. “Don’t ruin the whipped cream, Sophie. Keep your gob open—don’t swallow, or you’ll lose your cherries too.”

I glared but obeyed as Jack snapped a few more photos, then motioned for me to lean lip-to-lip with Joy. “Now, each of you eat the other’s cherry—proper teamwork, girls.”

I almost dropped my whipped cream – the implication that we were eating each other’s “cherry” wasn’t lost on any of us - this was quite a naughty scenario and there was no way this was "clean fun". It looked like we were going down on each other and having a bit of incestuous girl-on-girl fun.

The fact that my mum was grinning and laughing accentuated the "fun" aspect of it all. I have to admit - my first thought was that if anyone saw the photos they would think that I was a naughty little carpet muncher with my sister and mum.

Joy hesitated but leaned forward reluctantly, and Jack snapped pictures gleefully. Mum’s face was red with outrage, but she said nothing. She looked less like a bimbo in a tavern full of wealthy punters three pints deep and more like someone moments away from flipping the table.

Jack turned to me again. “Then there’s Joy, my precious ice princess. Always pretending to be edgy, but what’s this?” He glanced at me “Did you know she uses your toothbrush, Sophie? Not to brush her crooked teeth – she wipes her bum with it, when she’s mad at you – I know this because she brags about it and seethes.”

Joy looked at me like she was ANGRY at me for learning the secret and then glared at my brother to stare daggers at him for betraying her confidence. I was horrified – this was humiliating enough!

"Joy!" I snapped; my voice sharp enough to cut through the air. "You stuck my toothbrush in your butt? How many times?"

Joy rolled her eyes, barely pausing as she adjusted the whipped cream on her chest like it was a fashion statement. "Oh, please, Sophie," she scoffed. "We just practically made out with cherries in our mouths, and you're hung up on a toothbrush? Relax—I didn’t leave any ‘poopy sprinkles’ on it, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

I should mention that with the squirty cream in her gob, It sounded more like my sister said “Whoa, Pweez, Sofee, weeef, juss praktacallyfftthh..” but I’ve translated it to make it a bit less naff to read.

[EddieDavidson]

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[EddieDavidson]

[EddieDavidson]

Jack continued on to pose Joy as he had me where I wanted and now, I just had to manage the position without wobbling over or giving in to temptations and reaching down to snap off the bit of snail juice forming at the base of my cunny and fling it somewhere like excess snot.

It seemed like it might be easy to do, except my face was flushed with embarrassment, and all I wanted to do was get rid of the evidence. I am sure the others noticed and thought I was having lusty thoughts and turned on. The truth was I just couldn’t control my runny pussy. I was wet, and the smell of my arousal was obvious – even if someone didn’t notice my sticky thighs.

Now, Jack was capturing it all with his camera, and I was mortified. I tried to politely smile and pretend I wasn’t turned on – it was, after all, completely involuntary on my part. The stimulation and being naked was turning me on – even if I was standing there bare arsed with my mum and sister in the mix.

“Stop wriggling about, and trying to blast get your girly cream everywhere, Sophie,” Jack clicked a few snaps directly between my legs to document my humiliation. I instinctively closed my legs, but Jack tapped my thighs and reminded me that I was now his “open book”.

“Stop trying to hide – it won’t do any good, Sophie!” Jack sounded frustrated.

“Should I pull back my quim hair, and pull me bean out so you can have a better look at my quim?” I asked dryly – clearly facetious.

“That would be lovely, but I want a natural shot this time,” Jack didn’t acknowledge my sarcasm and merely continued to photograph my dripping pussy in its natural state. “In future, I might ask you to groom your cunt a bit more.”

I was aghast, but too shocked to say anything. I expected my mum or Joy to speak up on my behalf and tell Jack that he couldn’t dictate our hygiene standards.

“You both as well, obviously,” Jack regarded all of our hairy pussies with a look bordering on disgust but more like apathetic disregard – like pubic hair was an excessive frivolity for a girl that we didn’t need or deserve.

“Yes, Jack – but where would I get a pair of garden sheers to trim my thick cunnie hairs?” My mum chuckled and as she did her belly rolled and her tits jiggled – making her seem like a jolly trollop with a heart of gold. It was hard to seem sarcastic or counter Jack with my mum being so self-deprecating about her own pubic hair.

My brother snapped a few shots of my mother’s quim before turning his attention back to my hairy, wet pussy.

“Not all of us have insanely hairy beavers, thank you very much!” Joy pointed out she had the most manageable of pubic hair.

“It’s still in the way, covering your best features, and unmanaged,” Jack made it clear he considered his sister’s pussy to be her best feature – not sure if that was a compliment or not. “It’s not only the volume and thickness of hair, it’s the scent – you’ve a snapper that reeks like a haddock that someone’s peed on and left out in the sun for days!”

Before my sister could fire off an angry tirade, my mother gleefully interceded and assured Jack that we’d do better in future. “Obviously, we’ll do our best to try to be a little less smelly and runny, but horny girls will be horny girls,” my mother promised we’d try not to seem so sexually stimulated in future photo shoots. It was just now hitting me that my mother might have intended that there be several more photo shoots.

“I prefer the natural look, so if you drip or even get gassy – I want to photograph you as you are, and I’ll tell you if I want you to appear as rigid, non-sexual, and uninvitingly cold as ice princess Joy then I’ll direct you,” Jack said – still focused on snapping pictures of my hair pussy while I stood there with an embarrassed look on my face and let him take close ups of my flappers.
“Hey, that wasn’t snot I left on that broom handle!” Joy took offense to our little brother’s comment, even though she normally embraced the mantle of Ice Princess with her goth friends at school.

“Oh, believe you me, we noticed,” Jack agreed, but didn’t look up or acknowledge Joy. It seemed as though the fact that he barely gave her any notice only fueled her ire and wound my sister up to seek more validation. “It’s your face – like a cauliflower that ate a lemon. You cunnie is open and inviting to all comers, but your face says that they’d better off coming round to the back door and having a go buggering you!”

My sister gave him an evil eye, but she was not able to muster a quip or witty retort in response. Jack ignored it all and focused strictly on taking pictures of my pussy.

It was as humiliating to be photographed while I couldn’t stop my pussy from dripping like a runny nose, and at the same time degrading to have him talk down about my hairy bush.

“For such a thin girl, you’ve got a nice fat gash,” he observed, making me blush even harder.

“Yeah, as open books go – that’s not a pamphlet,” my sister joked, adding that if I ever get pregnant I’d probably have twins simply because of how deep my pussy was.

“You’ve no tiny, delicate gap between your legs, slag,” I countered angrily.

My mom harumphed and told us to stop bickering – “Let Jack do his work and be open books – you’ll see your cunnies soon enough when he lets us review the pictures. You WILL let us review them, won’t you, Jack?”

“Sure,” Jack basically ignored my mother and remained focused on snapping pictures around my pussy and even my bum hole – at times, posing me and making me stand in such a way that I fully exposed myself to his camera without touching myself.

The worst part was that now I was gagging to touch myself because I had been thinking about it. It’s like an itch that you can’t scratch, only feel worse because you know you can’t scratch it.

I could imagine the pic of my hairy twat with a proper long sliver of my cum juice now framed in Victoria and Albert Museum in Kensington – memorialized for all time to come. The caption would say ‘Here is Sophie Marsh’s gash, dripping wet because she couldn’t control her naughty thoughts when she was standing naked in her kitchen.” Jack held up his hands to indicate he would title the photo “Naked chav, others laughing in repose – photograph by Jack Marsh.”

My sister was livid, I was incensed, but my mum found it all to be a proper laugh, and her chuckles drowned out any chance we had of making the case for sympathy or that Jack was going a bit far with his grandiose direction as the photographer.

“That is such a funny title, Jack! I can’t wait to see the pictures and have a gander at how we all look in the buff!” she laughed.

My bum hole puckered and sucked in air – just for the thought that I’d ever see those pictures of my quim drippings again.

Jack didn’t seem all that fussed. Honestly, I couldn’t decide what was worse—standing stark naked with your girly-juice trailing down your thigh while people point and laugh, or someone snapping a picture like you’re a pigeon in Trafalgar Square, then just carrying on, leaving you there like some forgotten statue nobody cares about.

“Turn around, spread your bum cheeks, and let me take a gander at that hairy cheese hole back door of yours,” he instructed.

I reluctantly obeyed, and allowed my brother to take snaps of my arsehole. “Oi, like a balloon knot, all twisted up – how many lads have you allowed to bugger you?”

I blushed and managed to mumble that I’d had a few when my embarrassed silence didn’t seem like enough of an answer.

“How many lads have YOU had take you up the arse, Jack?” my sister asked playfully.

“Jack’s not the open book here, just answer his questions and be a good model – for me? Stop with all the bickering, ladies,” my mom didn’t seem angry – more disappointed that we were raining on her parade. We both sighed and agreed to put up with the intrusive and deeply intimate photographs. I was thankful he let me release my butt cheeks even if his intention was to continue on to another humiliating pose – at least this time he had something in mind for all three of us. I was simply the first to have to do it.

“Legs up on the table, bimbos,” Jack snapped to my sister and me, his tone making it clear there’d be no room for dithering. Joy shot him a look but didn’t argue, shifting to lift her leg like mine and lining herself up behind me. “Get close enough that your quim is almost directly behind Sophie’s tight little bum -if she so much as lights a dainty fart – I want you to feel the wind, Joy! Let’s get on with it unless you fancy being here till tea,” he added, a sharp edge to his voice. “And I’d advise you to mind the gap.”

“The one between her legs, or the gap between her and her sister,” Mum asked with a hearty laugh and a lusty expression like a deviant horn bag. Joy merely glanced over her shoulder as she placed her body close enough to me that we were almost touching. “Oh, get over it - little teasing never harmed anyone, Dear!”

‘A director who has to listen to a babbling dribbler like you direct his models might harm someone,’ Jack seethed at Mum for talking. Whether he meant it as a joke or not – that’s how she took it when she giggled and apologized. “You’ll be the central star for our little London Bridge exhibit, Joanne -I like your enthusiasm, but I’ll have to gag you with a dirty dishrag if you can’t manage to shut it!”

Mum chirped a quick, ‘Sorry, Jack!’ but I wasn’t so sure he was joking about the dish rag. His tone wasn’t playful—it had that edge, the kind that made you straighten up a bit, even if you weren’t sure why. If Mum had somehow morphed into a playful trollop, Jack had undergone his own transformation—straight into a proper bastard

He’d started the morning strict, determined, and now he was running the room like a proper Soho pimp in Piccadilly Circus—‘arses here, tits there, no talking, just smiling!’ It was all a bit much, but none of us dared say so out loud.

We were like naked props that he had little time and patience to actually talk to.

My big sister was surprisingly limber – she had her leg much higher, and straighter than I could manage. I’ve never seen her do Yoga or stretching exercises. Up went her sexy, long leg on the table, and he removed her shoes. “We’ll need these toenails polished and trimmed!”

Mom spoke up to answer Jack’s question about ground rules. We were able to pose and talk at the same time and had been all afternoon. “I won’t make the same mistake of lecturing you girls today like I did this morning around the telly. That cost me my tea at lunch—and you know, it was a small thing to some, but it shocked me to be told I couldn’t have something I wanted, and I’m used to. Here I was, preaching about women being self-indulgent and expecting things, not realizing I do that too. I never really thought about it until Jack had the nerve to call me out.

“So, yeah, I’m not Mum while we’re doing this—I’m just Joanne. I won’t say boo to you girls either—it’s on Jack to be the director. But, Jack, let me ask you this: let’s say my darling daughters, who I love dearly but also sometimes want to wring their lovely necks, decide to start bickering and teasing each other. Are you going to tell me I have to go back to being Mum during the session and sort it out, or do I deal with it after?”

Joy smirked, her voice dripping with mock accusation as she shifted slightly in her pose. “Oh really? So, let’s say I call you a dirty perv for how you’ve got your hand close to my quim right now, making little circling motions with your fingers. Giving me goosebumps and chills—how are you going to sort that, Jack?” She wasn’t angry, far from it. There was a flicker of excitement in her eyes, her breathing shallow, almost expectant. His fingers hovered near her labia, deliberate but never quite crossing a line. Her nipples were stiff, goosebumps rising on her skin.

I couldn’t decide how I felt about it. Watching Joy like this—so openly affected—made me wonder if I’d want Jack to touch me the same way -or even let him. On the one hand, he was my brother, but on the other... I felt a pang of jealousy. I was already drippy, but I craved a thrill—a moment like hers that might send a shiver down my spine.

Jack didn't pull away when she called him out for touching so close – it wasn’t just touching either. He was running his finger in delicate little circles right outside her pussy lip. If anything, in defiance to being called out, he moved his fingers on to her pussy lips.

My sister’s eyes went wide – like she’d be goosed, but she didn’t pull her leg off the table.

Jack had brushed our orifices or nipples lightly posing us before - never gratuitously, but he'd not apologized or acted like it was an accident, either. He'd also posed us in such a way we were touching - standing nipple to nipple, butt to butt - close embraces - so we'd do a lot more touching of each other than I'd ever done in my life.

"That's why I am talking about ground rules now, Joy - you are my model, I'll pose you and prepare you – that’s how this will work. In order to do that, I may have you touch Joanne or Sophie in a way that as sisters you may find awkward - but as models with no inhibitions, no barriers, you'll just get on with it, for the shot. I want your goosebumps, I want you aroused; look at Sophie over there - raw, female energy – excited.

All eyes were on my pussy – now almost like a big wad of spit -the collected dripping of my pussy was hanging off my lips. I looked pitiful, I am sure – horny and pitiful.

“I want you to look like you are thrilled - sometimes it's not touching, it's the anticipation of being touched- the tease that it never comes, other times, I may have to pinch your nipples and give them a twist”. My brother reached up casually with one hand, and gave Joy's nipples a tweak so fast she couldn't react.”

"Hey!" Joy called out -like she was going to smack him, but she didn’t.

"Hey What? you are my model, quim, tits, arse, face, shoulders, legs, all of it - you are an open book, and I want to film you three turned on and ready -so to answer your question, I am not sure what I'd do if you called me a filthy pervert

“If you’re having a laugh, and we’re in the middle of it like now, I might laugh along with you. If you’re doing it because I want you to act like you’re being treated rough by a filthy pervert—I’d have encouraged you to yell it at the top of your lungs! But if you’re doing it to be disruptive, degrade me, and waste our time, I’d say I’d put you in the corner with the soap—this time for real. Leave you there for a bit, maybe twenty minutes. Then, I’d have you turn around, hold yourself here at the table just like you are now — since this is where you said it — and apologize to me properly.”

He leaned in slightly, his tone sharpening. “You’d tell me what you did wrong, what you won’t do in the future, and thank me for straightening you up. Earlier, when Joanne was saying how, left to your own devices, you’d be bickering with Sophie and doing bugger all today anyway, your apology was basically that you thought it went without saying. I photographed Joanne’s face this morning when you two were giving your faint little apologies. I captured the look of disappointment when you didn’t even use the word ‘I’m sorry.’ I can tell you; she didn’t see it as an apology—but she let you get away with a half-ass one. I won’t.”

Jack didn’t pause, running his hand purposefully along Joy’s skin. “You’ll be whole assing during modeling—and I’m asking, if I hold Joanne to the same standard, are you going to test me and find out?”

Mum, standing nearby, let out a soft laugh, warmer than mocking. “Look, I don’t care what you lot say about this – it’s always been my fantasy to be photographed in the nude! I’ve never thought about running around the house with my knickers off, and then Jack suggested we do some pictures today. You two bickering and arguing, and the three of you teasing each other, is the norm most of the time – if we can have less of that, I’m in and you both are as well. If Jack can get a proper apology out of you – then that would stand all the time – not just for the modeling sessions. I’d love it!”

Joy held her pose but shifted slightly, her tone sharp but not combative. “Look, it’s not like I’ve been dreaming of being manhandled by my little brother, alright? And yes, fine—I’m wet. So’s Sophie. It doesn’t mean you’re turning me on, Jack; I just want that clear. I can’t control it, but it’s not the point. I ASKED to put soap in my mouth earlier for a prop, so it’s not like that’s some huge punishment to me. Do you really think sticking me in the corner with a bar of soap is going to teach me anything?”

Mum chuckled, leaning slightly on the counter as her eyes darted between Joy and Jack. “It’s gotta be a meaty enough consequence you’d think twice, love. Losing my tea did it for me—and you know how I get without it. So, tell us—what would make you think twice about cussing out your brother if soap in the mouth won’t bother ya?”

Mum raised a brow, her tone light but pointed, clearly expecting Joy to come up with something she couldn’t easily shrug off. “Let’s hear it, Joy. Got a better idea?”

"Whatever I come up with would be the same for all three of us, then? Even Mum?"

"So much so, that I want you to address her as Joanne during modeling. She's a fellow model, and she can't say boo to you about your behavior," Jack smiled, his fingers drifting in the crack of her bubble butt while his other hand painted tiny circles on the outside of her raven-haired quim, goosebumps appearing on the base of her neck.

"Ooh, what do you think about that, Joanne? Are you still fine with being treated like one of the girls during modeling?" she asked her Mum, clearly thinking she wouldn't agree.

"Ach! It's fine if Jack does it, he's my director, but you girls? How will you respect me if you call me Joanne? Next, you'll be calling me slag and chav and slut like you do each other! This was a punishment for you, we were talking about Joy—I wouldn’t insult your brother, so even if you said scrubbing the toilets with your toothbrush, it wouldn’t apply to me."

“Nope, no negotiation," Jack stated firmly, his hand casually drifting further along Joy's thigh, fingers teasingly brushing close to her quim. "You've already agreed you're an open book when modeling, and the book's title is Joanne. If you aren't going to intimidate them like Mum and say boo to them, you’re one of the girls."

Mum hesitated for a fraction of a second, her expression shifting slightly. "Right then," she said, her tone measured but agreeable. "Only during modeling!"

"And you're fine with him giving you goosebumps like this, Joanne?" Joy asked coolly, her foot still perched on the table, her tone dripping with mock innocence as Jack continued his light touches. She stood frozen, a mix of defiance and submission, daring Mum to contradict herself.

Mum drew in a breath, her posture steady. "I am an open book," she said evenly, her gaze meeting Joy’s. "And I’m one of the girls. her tone softened slightly, But, I’ll admit, hearing you call me Joanne is going to take some getting used to."

“You won’t hear me complain if you want to quit, Joanne," Joy said, her voice steady, though her breathing betrayed a hint of nerves. "I’m sure almost every inch of my body has been touched, photographed, and breathed on. I don’t even know what fascinates Jack about me—I’m not exactly the hottest looking girl. Pretty ordinary, really.”

“I’ll be the judge of that,” Jack said, his touch growing bolder as three fingers gripped the line of her butt crack while the other hand grazed her nether regions with deliberate care. “I’m not here to film a Barbie—I want raw, unfiltered passion. No barriers, no holding back. Lusty, aroused—that’s what I’m after. And I think we’re almost there,” he added, his voice low with determination.

“Well, if Mum—or ehm, Joanne—is in for this treatment too, and she’s fine being called Joanne, I’d do it just for the privilege of seeing her cringe every time I say her name. But if you’re asking for a punishment that’s a real deterrent, I’d say it’s harder to think of one than having my leg up on the table, my little brother's hands wandering, exploring and fumbling around trying to edge me to arousal, leaving me all hot and flustered with no one to actually be satisfied.”

I wasn’t sure if he’d ever touched a girl before, given how awkward his touch was – but then I realized he wasn’t really trying to get me off. He just wanted the involuntary reaction of my body for his camera shot and nothing more.

"I’ve not had a man ever show that kind of interest in getting me to that state; it’s hardly a punishment, Joy," Mum said with a lusty laugh. "You were bragging about what you do up in your room—have a row with yourself later tonight and finish it off. The anticipation will make it better."

"This is definitely not meant to punish you, Joy! And it's gonna be happening a lot—so I don't want you to think of this as a bad thing. Touching is fine," Jack decided.

Joy gave him a look of exasperation mixed with embarrassment. "Well, if you're going to do it, can I ask you to stop touching my butt and put your hand here?" She grabbed his hand, moving it to her breast. Her cheeks flushed, and she avoided his gaze. "Just rub circles—don't squeeze or maul—delicate, like you’re doing below. We’ll get there faster. I might not even think to call you a name after that..."

“Joy!” I gasped, incredulous over my sister’s boldness.

“What?” she shot back. “It’s like giving a handie on the bus to London and stepping on the bloke’s foot instead! I’d rather he just tell me to stroke him at a medium pace!”

Mum’s eyes widened, her voice rising in shock. “Caw, Joy! Have you ever given a handie on the bus to London?”

I knew full well she had—she’d bragged about it to me before, alongside tales of her escapades at clubs. She looked defiant, a sly grin creeping across her face.

“That’s the kind of energy I want you to bring to this scene, Joy,” Jack said, shifting his grip and following her instructions. He began to work her breast as she requested, his voice steady and coaxing. “Think about it—sitting down next to a stranger on the bus. You reach under his coat, unzip him. There are people around, and some of them are watching—they have no idea where your hand is.”

Mum laughed heartily, throwing her head back. “Blimey, that’s making me want to ride that bus!”

Jack turned his focus back to Joy, his tone firm but playful. “But first, tell me—what punishment do you think would be fair if you call me a name and disrupt the session?”

Joy huffed, clearly trying to enjoy the moment despite the intrusive question. “You’re still on about that? You say ‘fair,’ but you’d get to tease me, so the punishment would only apply to the three of us—not you!”

Jack abruptly pulled his hand away from Joy, leaving her trembling slightly, clearly affected. When her hand started to drift toward her own body, he slapped it away with a firm, “Simmer.”

“More like seethe,” Joy muttered under her breath, though she made no move to challenge him further besides saying that was unfair and pouting. How do you think I feel? I was left out of the conversation, long strand of climax juice dripping almost 12 inches off of my quim and all I could do was stand there and wait for it to finally hit the ground.

Jack took a few quick snaps of both me and my sister before moving on to turn his attention to Mum. “Right, Joanne, let’s get your engine started.” He guided her to sit in her kitchen chair, both legs up and spread – hairy gash wide open.


Mum flushed deeply, her hands gripping the edges of the chair for balance. Jack’s touch was deliberate and slow, drawing reactions she couldn’t hide. “Ooh, oh… um, this is hard to talk and let you do that… oh my…” Her voice trailed off, a mix of embarrassment and pleasure coloring her words. Mum exhaled, a deliberate pause before she spoke. “Look, this is new for all of us, yeah? I didn’t expect to have my bumhole and cunny open like this today -while you two gawk at me getting a thrill.”

“Neither did we, Mum...” I said defensively, before the two of them corrected me and reminded me to call our mother Joanne. It felt so wrong when I heard myself say it out loud – she was “mum” to me.

Jack grabbed mum’s boobs and started to shake her big tits – just touching them like ripe cantaloupe while Mum grinned at him. He reminded her that she was now an open book while she giggled and let him have his fun smacking her boobs together. He let her do it for him while he took snaps. I thought it would be intensely humiliating for my mum to jiggle her tits like they were party favors, but she seemed to thrive on the attention her fat jugs were earning her.

“I just thought we’d have a stress free time taking snaps and feeling free and naughty – you are both old enough to get a thrill from it – and obviously, there are things I didn’t know about your habits, Joy,” she said alluding to the hand job on the bus. “If following Jack’s rules helps cut down on the usual bickering and sulking between you two, then I’m willing to give it a shot. It’s not like we’re doing this all day, every day—it’s just during modeling. And frankly, we could all stand to benefit from a bit of structure for once.”

She straightened up slightly, brushing her hair back, as if composing herself. “I’ve let things slide too often, and where has that got us? Nowhere good, that’s where. I don’t do enough to stop the squabbling, and that’s on me. I let it go because it’s easier, but all that does is spoil you both and make the behavior worse. I haven’t been firm enough, and the truth is, you’ve taken advantage of that.”

Mum’s voice softened, but there was no mistaking the self-awareness in her tone. “I’m not saying I’m better than you—I’m just as guilty. I get indulgent, I pout when I don’t get my way, and I can be as petty as either of you -talk, talk, and more talk.”

Jack reached down between my mother’s legs and pinched her clit.

“OOH, not there,” she called out, but the look on her face was that she liked it. Jack continued pushing on it and she made a face somewhere between pained and orgasm. He had to stabilize her ankles because her restless leg shaking was making the table shake causing all of our asses to shake with it.

“It’s part of being a woman, isn’t it? The vanity, the nagging, the indulgence—we’re wired for it in some ways. That’s why I’m saying yes to this—modeling, being treated like one of the girls. It lets Jack take charge and means I’m not stuck letting my own habits or stubbornness get in the way of what we’re trying to do.”

Mum glanced at Joy, her eyes narrowing slightly as she continued. “But we can’t let this fall apart because of our usual nonsense. Joy, your constant jabs and name-calling spark bickering that spreads like wildfire. Sophie, you sulk and pout the second things don’t go your way, dragging everyone else into your mood. And me? I’ve been indulgent and lazy, letting it slide instead of stepping in to keep order. Girls like us are naturally prone to drama, vanity, and pushing boundaries. Without clear rules, we’d turn this into a mess of jealousy and power plays.”

She folded her arms, leaning back slightly. “Discipline isn’t about being unfair—it’s about keeping us honest. Boys don’t have these tendencies the way we do, so if it’s just us models who aren’t allowed to disrupt the sessions, that’s exactly how it should be. Jack is directing—he decides when we take a break. If treating me like one of the girls helps him keep all of us—myself included—focused and cooperative, then it’s exactly what we need to make this work. I’m not just fine with it—I’m all for it,” Mum finished firmly.

Despite her words, it was clear she was struggling to concentrate—her hands twitched slightly, and her gaze flicked between Joy and Jack as though trying to find her grounding. Every time she tried to touch herself for relief, Jack smacked her hand away, the sharp slap echoing like a reprimand.

She looked back at us, her voice steady but pointed. “Modeling is fantasy time. If Jack says I’m a butterfly, a slut, or anything else, then I’ll play the part. But we need rules—real ones—so we don’t ruin it with jealousy, laziness, or bickering. We’ve all seen what happens when I let things slide, and it’s never pretty. If treating me the same keeps us on track, I’m not just fine with it—I’m for it.”

Mum’s expression hardened as she turned her attention to Joy, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. “I know you girls love all that ‘girl power’ talk, but it’s not as simple as that. A little discipline, a little accountability, never hurt anyone—especially not women. Sometimes, we need a kick in the backside to remember we’re not above the rules.”

Her voice dropped slightly, but her tone remained sharp. “So, Joy, if soap in the mouth isn’t enough to make you think twice, then pick something that’ll actually make you cringe, seethe, or whatever it is goth girls do. Because I’m not letting you off easy just because you’d rather pout than own up to it.”

“Spice Girls are 20 years ago, Joanne,” Joy quipped, clearly enjoying the way calling her ‘Joanne’ made Mum squirm slightly. Although, to be honest, it was hard to tell if it was Jack’s touch or the name. “So, you’re saying because I have a gash, my brother is better than me?

"You’re like Sophie with the tea—you keep poking and prodding until I stop beating around the bush and just say it. I envy Americans sometimes, you know. They can just blurt things out, even if it cuts deep. You’re not going to like what I have to say, Joy—but yes. When I was growing up, girls got the last of everything, and we were told to be grateful for it—or we got nothing at all. My family was so big, we ate in shifts because there weren’t enough seats. The men, my Mum, and the boys ate at the table. The girls scraped their leftovers into portions and ate standing up. Just like today when we grabbed the scraps off Jack’s plate. I hadn’t thought about Blackpool in years until now."

Mum licked her lips; Jack wasn’t subtle at all about touching her body – and she wasn’t subtle about liking it. Mum was grinning like a ninny – basking in being touched. I am sure it was ages since she had a proper shag after dad left. I’ve never seen her date. He fingered our Mum – penetrating. I couldn’t see it because of the thick, shaggy barrier of blackish-red pubes in the way, but I could see her face. “Oi Jack, you might have warned me about that,” she said. I couldn’t believe I was watching this happen – the same woman who said she’d punish me this morning if she caught me having a wank in my room!

“I wanted to see your surprise,” Jack snapped pictures with his other hand – pushing a single fingertip into Mum’s pussy. The moment her hands went to her crotch to help, he withdrew his finger and slapped them away. Mum reluctantly put her hands low to her side, so that he would continue.

Her voice cracked slightly, but she pressed on, her tone sharp. "You’re already testing me by calling me Joanne—and it’s working. I nearly lost it a moment ago. So, if you’re wondering, yeah—maybe if I’d been born with a cock and raised to lead, I’d be a proper role model. But I wasn’t. I’m not. Go on, then, Joy. Tease me about Joanne. Call me Crumpy-Bumpy Big Fat Goat Humpy like the other lasses did in Blackpool. But we’re all sitting here waiting on pins and needles for you to tell us what you think is worse than soap in the mouth in the corner. Because if you’re fine with that and think it’s no problem, I might just start doing it when we’re not modeling!"

Fine, it’s fun to be able to tease Jack, so are you saying even an off-handed goof like ‘Saint Jack’ or ‘King Jack’ is going to get me in hot water?”

Jack’s gaze hardened for a moment, his voice cutting through her playful teasing. “I hate ‘King Jack’ and ‘Saint Jack’ more than anything. One implies I’m some sort of lord and master, which clearly you don’t think I am. The other makes me look like a brown-noser, lapping up to Mum’s ass. So, yeah, I’d say those names, in particular, would get you punished! It seems like you talked a big game though – you said you weren’t afraid of having a bar of soap in your mouth and being put in the corner as a consequence for being disruptive during modeling,” Jack said.

“ And if I say something outside of modeling, you won’t make me face your judgment, almighty penis man?” she teased, her tone dripping with mockery.”

“Almighty penis man? Because I wasn’t born with a slit? Calling me that is definitely punishable, but we haven’t made any decisions – and I’ll grant you that’s clever, Joy. Outside of modeling, you’re free to call me whatever the hell you want—be a complete c-word if you like. Joanne won’t do anything about it, and that’s not likely to change – it’s more work than it’s worth to play referee all day,” He answered patiently.

“We’re just talking about modeling; as much as I’d like to promise I’d make you three apologize, put you in the corner and all that – I know I am really not the disciplinarian type, and I am just as guilty of having a go at you three when you have a go at me. All I’ll say is this, if ya starting cracking on me as Joanne, when I am outside of modeling, I may just enforce whatever Joy suggests is the proper consequence!”

He left Mum high and dry, but we continued the conversation - he told her definitely not to touch herself. “That would be punishable as well! No making macaroni and cheese without permission,” he said as he put his head in the fridge and told us he was getting our dessert ready.

I was famished, and I have a sweet tooth – that long strand of cunt dripping just kept elongating and expanding. I wiggled a little hoping that I could snap the long slender spider-like web hanging from my clit off. I was a bit suspicious he was thinking of dessert while we were in a humiliating pose like this.

Joanne sighed, glancing between them. “We’re just talking about modeling here. As much as I’d love to stand firm and say I’d make you three apologize, stick you in the corner, and all that, I’m really not the disciplinarian type. Let’s face it—I’m just as guilty of snapping at you when you snap at me. But here’s the deal—if you start cracking on me as Joanne outside of modeling, I might just go along with whatever Joy reckons is the proper consequence.”

Joy leaned back with a sly grin, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Oh, so it’s up to me then? Fine—take away our tea. That’ll really put us in line.”
“No, Joy. You’re dodging – I think you are scared to actually say what might work as a deterrent for bad behavior? Something that’ll make you think twice. You said soap in the mouth wouldn’t faze you, and I doubt a couple of slices of bread will bother you either. So, what would remind you not to push it? And don’t look at me—it’s up to Joanne,” Jack decided.

“Not bloody likely,” Mum outright rejected the idea of approving the punishment. I am the only one of the girls who loves tea, and I can’t be objective – I am not the director. If it’s strict enough they’ll actually take it seriously, and we all three have to do it when we break the rules – that’s fair enough.”

Jack came back to the table with a can of squirty cream, maraschino cherries, and a bowl of ice cubes—making me wonder about the promised dessert. This was not going to pan out well for us, I reckoned.

"Fine," Joy said with a sly grin, clearly wanting to push boundaries. "Since Jack is in charge of the food, then the next meal—unless we have a guest or something—the model remains nude whether it’s modeling or not, hands tied with a belt behind her back, and eats whatever Jack decides is the meal—face only. Bend over—clean the plate. If it’s that squirty cream and cherries, you’d eat it face first."

We were stunned. Jack raised his eyebrows, momentarily taken aback. Mum opened her mouth to say something, then closed it, clearly struggling to process the suggestion.

“How would we even drink at the table like that?” I asked, genuinely curious despite how ridiculous it sounded.

Jack didn’t miss a beat. “I suppose I’d have Mum set out a bowl of water. You’d dunk your face in it. Good for washing off bits of food too—and whatever we serve would have to be cut up or mashed, like cold oats.”

Joy’s grin widened as she looked at me, then at Mum. I could tell she was enjoying the reactions, and frankly, I wasn’t sure if she was joking or being serious. Either way, the thought of actually doing it made my stomach flip.

“We’d have to eat oats, with tea in a bowl like some barnyard animal, dear?” Mum finally said, her voice unusually high-pitched.

“Nah, barnyard animals eat off the floor. You’d still get a table—but no tea if you’re being punished. Not even a third of a cup,” Jack replied as he shook up the squirty cream canister.

I had no clue what he was planning to do with it. My sister and I had huffed the nitrous out of a squirty cream canister before and gotten an earful from Mum for it. My first thought was that he was about to do a whippet himself – no inkling that he might spray one of us down with it.

He walked around the table and sprayed a generous mound of cream over Mum’s nipples, making sure to completely cover both of her massive boulders. My mom looked down at herself, grinning with amusement. I couldn’t believe she would let Jack cover her in squirty cream!!

“Jack!!”Mum couldn’t believe my audacity.

He sprayed my sister’s boobs, covering them with squirty cream. My sister knotted her brow, “Really?”

When she went to lick the cream, he smacked her hand and said, “All in good time! dessert will be served!”

My sister frowned at him like he cut a fart and walked away from it-leaving her to smell it as he turned to me next.

He roughly lifted one of my tiny boobs, sprayed it until my puffy nipple was completely covered, then did the same to the other – like I was a living bowl to be decorated for a Banana split. It was more cream than I needed—probably twice as much as Mum—but that didn’t stop him. He was having fun making a mess out of me.

I blushed so hard, and the worst part was as he pinched and tugged around my tits – I found myself getting impossibly and embaressingly wet. They might have been small, but they were quite sensitive. He treated them like they were simply ornaments to be covered in cream for his photograph and not a sexual part of my body.

“And because you’re a boy, observations about my body are allowed all the time?” I shot at him, rolling my eyes.

Yep, because there are times I may want to wind you up, tease you a little, like with Joanne,” Jack said, rubbing Mum’s tummy and giving it a playful push, making it ripple like an old waterbed. She laughed, but her expression soured as he went on, “She’s chunky! Today I put her on a diet, but what I should’ve said is she’s a chubby-wubby crumpy baby!”

Mum glared at him, her nostrils flaring in indignation. “Don’t you dare—”

Before she could finish, Jack sprayed squirty cream right into my Mum’s open mouth before she could close it. “Don’t swallow yet! Want cherries? Hold on until I’ve got the scene set!” he said, snapping a few pictures of her, mid-outrage, cream-filled mouth agape like a roasted pig with an apple.

He turned to Joy next, stepping back to size her up as she frowned. “Joy, it’s tough to tease you because, let’s face it, you’re bloody gorgeous. But if I’m honest, you’ve got the face of an Addams Family extra—beautiful, sure, but not a hint of a smile. All brooding and sour, like someone pinched your favorite makeup palette.”

Joy’s glare deepened, but before she could snap back, Jack squirted cream into her mouth, cutting her off. “Keep that sourpuss open, or you’ll be wearing a belt to your next meal.”

I was terrified – wondering what Jack was going to do next? I expected Mum or Joy to put a stop to this -it was more than a bit much! However, for Mum’s part, she seemed to think it was amusing and Joy kept giving my brother a look that suggested she dared him to treat her the same way.

Circling her, he gestured grandly. “If I had chocolate syrup, I’d drizzle it down your back, Joy, right along this bubble butt of yours. It’s perky, round, and unmistakable—even if you try to hide it under that moody pout.” He sprayed a dollop of cream on her backside, then another on her front. “Now, look at that! A proper human cupcake frosted front and back. Picture-perfect.” He snapped a few photos, chuckling at the visible fury in her eyes.

Next, he turned to me. “Sophie,” he started, grinning as he grabbed the squirty cream, “You’ve got a mouth big enough to hold an entire bottle of cream, but boobs about a third the size of that. Ratio’s off, don’t you think?” He sprayed a puff on my chest, then moved behind me to add another on my backside. “As for your macaroni maker…” He leaned in mockingly. “Let’s just say, it’s the real star of your show, isn’t it?”

I wanted to protest, but Jack held up a finger. “Keep your gob open—don’t swallow, or you’ll lose your cherries too.” He chuckled, grabbing his camera to snap a few shots of me looking mortified, cream dripping onto my chest.

Then, with a flourish, he turned back to address us all. “Now, vanity,” he began, gesturing with the can, “Vanity’s an excessive focus on appearance. You lot get bloated egos being snapped for the camera. I like you to have high self-esteem, but I draw the line at excess vanity. Mum critiques it as counterproductive, and I tend to agree. You’ve makeup, padded bras, and perfumes to make you seem like more than you are. But here? Here I get the real picture.”

He circled back to Mum, gesturing at her with mock seriousness. “Hairy arms, chunky legs, a bum that doesn’t know when to quit—and, of course, the piggy nose. We’ll have to do something about all of that, Mum. Americans have the right of it; subtlety’s overrated. Sometimes, you’ve just got to say it outright.”

Mum’s furious glare returned, and Jack, as if daring her, sprayed another puff of cream on her belly button, “There we go. Cherry on top!”

Jack decorated us with cherries – one on each nipple, one in between Joy’s butt crack and mine. Three in our mouths, and then he managed to get one to rest on the squirty cream over our vaginas. He made us squat, and mashed a few of the cherries into the cream until they wouldn’t fall off – pinching our nipples and squashing the cherries when needed.

I was hungry for dessert, but not to munch it off of my sister's or mum’s naughty bits.

[[[ image 04_cherry.jpg goes here centered ]]]

“Fuck me, this is a bit of work to get these cherries to stick,” Jack expressed frustration that the fruit didn’t stick.

“How do you think we feel being poked, and prodded while you decorate us – what’s next, thumb tacks and needles to pin them to our twats?” Joy groaned angrily as my brother squished a cherry over her clitoral hood, without a second thought to my sister’s sensitivity or modesty.

“Needles? Not a bad idea, but your cunnies are so sticky, I think it should stay there,” Jack acted like it was a serious recommendation, but one he wouldn’t accept as he admired how the cherry hung in place over my sister’s pussy crease.

“That’s it, just don’t start flicking your bean and it should stay in place,” he said as he moved on to do the same to me. “Let that lot dangle and merge with your natural cream, so that the cherries hang down,” he said as he stuck his finger in his mouth to suck a bit of cream off of it. “It seems to be missing something,” he pondered as he sucked some excess clean off his finger.

“You realize that you’ve sucked down whippy cream that’s come from our quims?” Joy asked sourly.

“Right,” Jack held up a finger and flashed an Eureka expression like a light bulb went off over his head when my sister made her sarcastic criticism. He didn’t respond directly to her comment, but putting two cherries on her tongue to shut her up was a response of its own.

“You photographed beautifully with soap in your mouth, let’s see if you can keep from gobbling those down long enough for a few proper snaps holding them in your gobby mouth,” Jack clearly tired of my sister’s wit. I could tell from my mum’s lack of intervention that it wouldn’t do much good to mock Jack.

“A work of art, they are,” my mom admired what Jack was doing to us – and seemed a bit jealous not to be included. Jack didn’t acknowledge our mother’s compliment. He kept right on futzing with us, arranging our bodies, keeping us close in, and then reposing us individually to take snaps before returning us to stand close to one another on the table—the cream on my cunny, touching my sister’s arse cheeks.

“The canvas is weak, but you ladies look almost good enough to eat – just a few more touches,” he promised without acknowledging he’d just hinted he’d like to go down on us. No one else challenged what he said, so I kept my mouth shut (well, as shut as I could since I had some cherries in my gob).

There was a point that I was so shocked that all I could do was stand there like the Banana in a Cherry’s Jubilee Sundae, with a dumb look on my face. I think all three of us were stunned. It was so audacious that Joy and I both laughed after Mum had a giggle.

“Watch it! Squirty cream in the mouth, ladies, not on the floor! Remember, you’re desserts, not babbling Muppets!” Jack barked, clearly unimpressed.

For clarity’s sake, I should mention that any attempt to speak with the cream in our gobs came out more like muffled mumbles and jumbles. It was ridiculous enough to make us laugh—and, of course, spill more cream down our chests. I am sure we looked like naked dunces to be ridiculed.

It started out sexy, but it was quickly morphing into something else—like he was determined to make us feel like dumb slags who had no choice but to prance about and obey. All except Mum, of course. She thought it was bloody brilliant, grinning like a horny loon and struggling to keep her laughter—and the cream—from spilling out of her gob. She clutched her belly, eyes sparkling like she’d just nicked a bottle of sherry on Christmas morning.

No idea why he’d want pictures of us like that unless it was to whip them out one day just to watch us squirm and burn up all over again. The thought of blackmail didn’t cross my mind—Jack wasn’t that sort, and honestly, I didn’t have anything worth the trouble to bargain for anyway. It was clear he wasn’t scheming; he was just taking the piss, turning us into a pair of starkers jesters, tits out, cream dribbling everywhere, and looking like right fools for his own bloody amusement.

He snapped pictures of us standing like complete freaks – I wasn’t sure what to do with my hands. I hadn’t had any concerns about these pictures leaking out. Every girl on Instagram or snapchat had sent nude selfies -including myself. Naked pictures of me were probably already over the internet and I didn’t care. It wasn’t like I was alone in that.

However, the horrifying thought that these humiliating pictures might make it out started to occur to me. What would people think? These pictures probably weren’t sexy! If anything, they were degrading like being teased and told my boobs were bite-sized.

I wondered if Jack had intended this all along or happened spontaneously upon this idea and it just so happened that it occurred to him that putting us down would keep us from getting bloated egos.

“In primary school, we learned about the sin of vanity—an excessive focus on appearance. Like fretting over knickers or padded bras. Mum critiques this sort of thing as counterproductive, and she’s probably right. It comes naturally to girls—you’re born pretty, and then there’s makeup, padded bras, perfumes—things designed to soften features, to pretty up smells, to make you seem like you’ve got more than you were born with.”

He let the words linger for a moment, then smirked, leaning in slightly as if letting us in on some unspoken truth. “But here, I get to see what’s real. I can smell what your bodies really smell like. The sour fruit between your legs is ripe—sweaty, raw, unadorned. And that’s what’s interesting, isn’t it? If I tease you, it’s not just for the hell of it. It’s to put you in a humbler mindset during modeling. That’s the point—to strip away all the pretenses.”

Jack stepped back, clicking the camera rapidly as his grin widened. “You all look scrumptious, silly—delicious human cupcakes. Don’t worry, though. You’ll get to eat every bit of squirty cream and the cherries when we’re done. Now, stand just like this,” he directed, motioning with his hands for Joy and me to adjust our poses while Mum remained seated.

I wasn’t particularly thrilled to have squirty cream under these conditions!! No one else seemed that way either. I assumed Mum would draw the line here – and so all I had to do was go along with it until he pushed her too far.

He focused on shooting pics of Mum; covered in cream nose, mouth, boobs, belly, and cunny! Even some on her hairy butt. “So, during modeling, if I bring up how much you love to stuff your face with ice cream—well, you won’t be doing it any longer, even outside of modeling, because you’re a chunky monkey, and it takes you down a peg. That’s fair. As a girl, vanity is something that should be stripped away like a diet for the soul, right?” He paused to snap another photo of Mum, her cheeks reddening as the whipped cream melted on her skin. “As long as I’m honest, I won’t embellish. I won’t make things up because lying wouldn’t make you feel like a stuck-up twat.”

He turned to me then, his camera clicking again. “But if I say you, Sophie, got an older boy to take you to a party because he was invited and you weren’t, and he had a car, that’s not a lie, is it?”

I started to make a choking noise, trying to protest. My face burned with shame. “That’s not—”

“Burgess Hill, wasn’t it, Sophie?” Jack interrupted smoothly, clicking more photos as he changed our poses so that Joy and I were standing face-to-face. “I can see from your expression that you remember it well. You ditched him the moment you arrived, found a handsome boy to drive you home, did a bit more with him, and never called him again. I only know because you bragged to Joy about it the next morning, didn’t you? She thought it was hilarious.”

He gestured for us to lean slightly closer to Mum, who was still glaring at him from her seat. “So, if I tease you about that—and it’s true—that’s fair. But outside of modeling, I won’t. Same as if you tease me, I won’t hold it against you later. Deal?” He didn’t wait for a response, snapping another picture as he grinned.

“I can see why men don’t really suffer from vanity,” Jack continued, circling around us. “The boy you ditched—he probably knew he was a loser but thought it was enough that you sat your precious bubble butt in his car. You smelled nice, wore fancy clothes Mum probably had to buy, and look at this place—rickety old chairs and all. Mum says it keeps women from thinking they’re too refined and uppity. Makes honest women out of you.”

He sprayed another puff of cream onto Mum’s chest. “Speaking of honest, whipped cream looks good on you, Mum. Covers up that beastly matted quim hair. You were worried you’d be mistaken for a barnyard animal if you had to eat off the floor. I can see why—hairy pits, hairy bits, hairy everywhere. No perfume in here either, so all we’ve got is you.”

We didn’t dare move, though the tension in the air was thick enough to carve. Jack motioned for Joy and me to stand over Mum. “Boob to boob, ladies—think ‘London Bridge.’ You know the one. Oh, I can see it now—Tower Bridge in all its cream-covered glory.” He sniffed theatrically, wrinkling his nose. “And the Thames running beneath? Right here, I’d wager. Proper ripe.”

Joy rolled her eyes but didn’t argue, while I squirmed in place, feeling humiliated.

“That’s honesty,” Jack said, smirking. “Hairy arms, piggy noses, sour faces—oh yes, the Thames herself couldn’t compete with the aroma of women who think they’re too good to be criticized. And what’s Sophie’s big concern? After being told she’d eat her next meal with a belt around her wrists if she misbehaved, she’s worried I’ll call her a name. Oh no!” He pulled an exaggeratedly horrified face, spraying another dollop of cream onto my chest. “Don’t ruin the whipped cream, Sophie. Keep your gob open—don’t swallow, or you’ll lose your cherries too.”

I glared but obeyed as Jack snapped a few more photos, then motioned for me to lean lip-to-lip with Joy. “Now, each of you eat the other’s cherry—proper teamwork, girls.”

I almost dropped my whipped cream – the implication that we were eating each other’s “cherry” wasn’t lost on any of us - this was quite a naughty scenario and there was no way this was "clean fun". It looked like we were going down on each other and having a bit of incestuous girl-on-girl fun.

The fact that my mum was grinning and laughing accentuated the "fun" aspect of it all. I have to admit - my first thought was that if anyone saw the photos, they would think that I was a naughty little carpet muncher with my sister and mum.

Joy hesitated but leaned forward reluctantly, and Jack snapped pictures gleefully. Mum’s face was red with humiliation despite the belly laughs, but she said nothing. It was impossible to tell if she was enjoying this degrading pose or angry about it – because she seemed to be balancing on both conflicting emotions.

She looked less like a bimbo in a tavern full of wealthy punters three pints deep and more like someone moments away from flipping the table.

Jack turned to me again. “Then there’s Joy, my precious ice princess. Always pretending to be edgy, but what’s this?” He glanced at me “Did you know she uses your toothbrush, Sophie? Not to brush her crooked teeth – she wipes her bum with it, when she’s mad at you – I know this because she brags about it and seethes.”

Joy looked at me like she was ANGRY at me for learning the secret and then glared at my brother to stare daggers at him for betraying her confidence. I was horrified – this was humiliating enough!

"Joy!" I snapped; my voice sharp enough to cut through the air. "You stuck my toothbrush in your butt? How many times?"

Joy rolled her eyes, barely pausing as she adjusted the whipped cream on her chest like it was a fashion statement. "Oh, please, Sophie," she scoffed. "We just practically made out with cherries in our mouths, and you're hung up on a toothbrush? Relax—I didn’t leave any ‘poopy sprinkles’ on it, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

I should mention that with the squirty cream in her gob, It sounded more like my sister said “Whoa, Pweez, Sofee, weeef, juss praktacallyfftthh..” but I’ve translated it to make it a bit less naff to read.

[EddieDavidson]

[EddieDavidson]

I wanted to slug my sister right in the mouth for what nasty things she’d done with my toothbrush.

Jack’s voice sliced through the tension like a whip. “Ladies,” he said, his tone clipped but calm, “unless you’d both prefer to eat dinner without silverware, I suggest you table the bickering.”

[[[ image 05_Suggs.jpg goes here centered ]]]

Could he forbid us to use silverware? I wouldn’t put it past my brother to insist – but would our mum allow him to do that? all because we were bickering again?

When my mother didn’t immediately call him out for his threat – I assumed that he might be able to have his way on that sort of punishment as well and froze in place!

He snapped a photo of our furious expressions, no doubt delighted with his ability to catch the moment in all its awkward glory. “Now,” he continued, his camera poised for the next shot, “Joy, kiss the whippy cream out of Mum’s navel. Sophie, you don’t have to lick anything, but squat down by Mum’s quim, tongue out—like it’s the best Old English cream pie you’ve ever seen. And hold that pose until I tell you to stop.”

I blinked, momentarily stunned by the absurdity of the instruction. Jack wasn’t done. “Joy—make sure we can see your face. Smile; you’ve got lovely teeth for a Britisher. Mum—just keep gurgling like a prized pig on market day. Look happy.

I thought certainly this was the moment that Joy would revolt, or Mum would say we’ve gone too far and to pack it in.

Joy didn’t hesitate—of course she didn’t – she gave my brother that look like “Okay, you dare me? Then watch this! I’ll do it, and hopefully YOU will be disgusted!”

I groaned, crouching down by Mum’s hips, sticking my tongue out like I was about to lick the world’s most disgusting dessert. “This is f’ing ridiculous,” I muttered under my breath, glaring at Joy. Jack’s camera clicked rapidly. “Joy, tilt your head a bit—perfect. Sophie, tongue out, don’t half-ass it, I want it convincing.

Bending over, spreading herself, grinning as if this was all a game. “If I have to kiss whippy cream out of anyone’s navel, might as well be hers,” she said, biting down gently on the cherry lodged there. She turned her head toward me, clearly enjoying herself.

“Quiet, Joy,” Jack interrupted, his tone firm. “Clench the cherry from the belly button in your teeth and then pass it down to Sophie. Sophie, hold it in your teeth and get your nose right up to the edge of Mum’s whippy cream, like you’re about to spit it right into the sudsy lather!”

I grimaced as the cherry was passed to me, the taste of the whippy cream hitting my tongue. It was fine at first—sweet and vanilla—but there was something off about it, the way whippy cream turns rank after sitting out too long. With my face so close to Mum’s skin, it was all I could do not to gag.

Mum, meanwhile, was coughing softly, her attempts at laughter coming out in odd bursts as she tried to stay in character. I was surprised by her self-discipline – she must REALLY have a fantasy to be filmed to still be willing to humiliate herself like this. I assumed perhaps Mum felt like she HAD to go along with it to get Jack to film her – but she’s a pretty lady.

I thought about suggesting Mum find some bloke online with a thing for bigger women who’d pay to take pictures of her and let her feel sexy without all of this. Hell, I’d even let him take pictures of me, too—if it meant we got paid and didn’t have to deal with Jack’s antics.

For me, a quiet day in South Godstone doing absolutely nothing would’ve been far better than being teased, mocked, and posed like I was going down on my own Mum. I’d have taken that deal in a heartbeat, as long as I could keep my clothes on. This morning had been fun in its own way, but now I was just humiliated.

You know the worst part? It wasn’t even the cream, the cherries, or the fear of those pictures getting out online. No, I was still fuming about my sister using my toothbrush as toilet paper. I couldn’t believe it. I’d bet she’d wiped her dirty bum with my brush more than once, too—our arguments got nasty at least once a week, and this felt exactly like the kind of petty revenge she’d pull.

I’ll be honest -poopy teeth was quite a bit worse than maraschino cherries! How hard had she scrubbed her rump with my brush? I was livid with my sister – much more so than I had been in quite some time.

I glanced at Mum while my brother laughed at me, holding the cherry like a dumb bunny that was about to pop it in my mom’s creamy white cunny! I was half-wondering if she was choking on the cherries, but I stayed in position, playing along with the orders I’d been given. Squatting, I looked up at Joy as she dropped another cherry into my mouth like a red marble.

How many was he going to make me hold in my mouth? That was two now I had to hold.

“Alright, get another cherry from Joanne’s mouth and pop that one in Joy’s mouth! Let’s pack up her chubby chipmunk cheeks with as many as her pretty mouth can hold!”

Jack patted my head, like I was a dumb dog, and snapped a picture of me looking at him. “Vulnerable! Very good,” he said as he leaned over Mum and added a few cherries to her belly button.

“Don’t worry – you’ll get to eat them as soon as we are done with this bit!” he assured me. “You’ll just have to spit half into Joy’s massive gob. None for fatty-fatty-boom-boom, because she’s too chubby as it is!”

I couldn’t believe how patently mean my brother was being about our Mum’s weight! Her whole reason behind the fantasy of nude modeling was to feel sexy and wanted!!

“Hahwhwha—oh, I am so sorry, Jack!” Mum’s voice finally broke as she doubled over, heaving hysterically with laughter. “I ate my whippy cream, but I’ve still got the cherries... I can’t take it—this is too funny! Oh my God, oh hoo-oh f***!! I’m sorry, punish me if you have to, but I have to stop for a minute! I’m literally gonna poo myself if I don’t have a good laugh!”

I abruptly stood up. She was probably joking, , I was on my feet in a flash, putting as much distance as I could between me and the “line of fire.” My sudden jump only made Mum laugh harder, her face red as she gasped for breath. Joy, of course, lost it completely, her obnoxious snorts and cackles filling the room like some kind of twisted laugh track.
Mum’s hysterics were in full swing, her body jostling awkwardly in the chair with her legs still propped on the table. Meanwhile, the whippy cream was staging its own quiet rebellion. A glob clung precariously to the underside of one boob, swaying dangerously, while faint streaks had somehow made their way lower—far too close to her two bottom orifices. The room was starting to stink of souring dairy, the sweet vanilla scent curdling into something nauseating. Combined with the unmistakable human odor radiating from Mum’s position, it hit me hard enough to turn my stomach. I gagged, struggling to hold it together, but Joy’s perverse sense of humor latched onto my discomfort. Mum kept her legs propped on the table, wide open like she was putting on a show, cackling so loudly I thought she might topple right out of the chair.

I’d never seen her laugh this hard—not even at her favorite TV shows. She was always quick to laugh, but this was something else—completely hysterical, as if she couldn’t stop herself.

Mum was sprawled in the chair, legs propped up on the table, her laughter mixed with apologies to Jack for disrupting the scene – please Jack, enough give us a break, yes? Hoo-Hoo, I can’t take it,” she pleaded. He made her stand and hold her leg above her head – surprisingly my mother was able to do.

[[[ image 05_laughter.jpg goes here centered ]]]

The whippy cream was all over my mum AND the kitchen – and I mean everywhere – her hair, her face, her quim, even in her arse crack! The messier she got, the more she laughed. The more she bellowed and hooted, the more her enormous bazookas bounced, and her ass cheeks clapped together.

Her legs got shaky and I thought she was going to teeter over – but Mum continued to pose and smile for the camera – all while begging her son to allow her to bring her leg back down and predicting she’d fall on her great, fat arse!

Yet, the more he ignored her pleas and took snaps – the more she smiled, laughed, and pulled her leg up further to spread herself as much as possible! It was amazing, really. I didn’t think she’d have the balance or the flexibility to manage it.

I don’t think she had the foggiest notion, either.

What I couldn’t understand was why was she pleading with Jack to let her stop? Did she not know we could stop anytime? It really wasn’t up to him, even if we pretended! Why not just insist that it’s break time? how could she find this amusing? She wasn’t pleading to stop posing. She was not begging to end the humiliation either, but to help her stop laughing so hard about what she was doing.

Mum was certainly smitten with Jack since the day he was born – she’s always doted over him. However, she’d never extended him the decision on whether she could or couldn’t do something – not that I’d ever seen.

I could understand Joy’s cackles – she had a bit of a twisted sense of humor anyway. My sister probably found some humor in the absurdity of it – or the fact that I was now pouting, but if I had to guess – the laughter was her way of showing Jack that this assignment didn’t really bother her.

I could see right through that, and I assumed Jack could as well.

However, my mum’s laughter was altogether different. Her entire body was shaking as she laughed her head off and smiled. I felt a few times that our mum may have been nervous and possibly laughing as a way to cover for it, but not this time – no. This time, she was laughing because she found the whole thing hilarious and silly.

I knew it was her fantasy to be a nude model, but I assumed she would be a sexy one. This felt degrading – like we were meant to be the butt of a joke and take a pie to the face (or the entire body). Yet, my mum couldn’t stop her incessant chuckling and found it all more than hilarious.
The kitchen floor was now a sticky mess, streaked with melting whippy cream. Jack, as usual, remained unfazed, snapping picture after picture of the scene with a tight-lipped focus. His voice finally cut through Mum’s relentless "hoo-hoo" noises.

“I’m glad to see you’re having a good time, Piggy,” Jack said, his tone sharp but controlled, the camera clicking steadily. “But no break—you’ve ruined a perfectly good shot. I was planning to fill Soph’s mouth with cherries off your tummy. Mind telling me what’s so funny?”

At least my brother wasn’t laughing along with her, and he also wondered what had gotten into our mum.
Mum tried to stifle her laughter, but it only made her more breathless. She shook her head, still chuckling, her voice breaking between words. “Hoo-hoo—oh, Jack! I—I was livid at first, I wanted to choke you! I was so angry that you’d do this to me—it was so humiliating, oh God! You shut me up with the whippy cream just when I was about to snap it off.”

Mum could barely contain herself as she continued her explanation – bursting out into uncontrollable laughter that almost made her choke as she tried to talk.

I glanced at her, trying not to roll my eyes. Why didn’t you just swallow the whippy cream and do it, you silly git? I love my Mum, but she can be so flighty sometimes.

Mum’s chuckles turned into another bout of wheezing laughter. “And then you started on about me being a grumpy-beanie baby or some such—hoo-hoo!—and I was starting to laugh, thinking, ‘I could just eat one of the cherries you popped in my mouth.’ But then I heard you say something about Soph’s chipmunk cheeks—hoo-hoo-hoo!—and I nearly lost it! I just couldn’t hold it together!”

Her laughter picked up again as she waved her hands, gesturing wildly. “All the while, this cream is dripping on my insides, driving me wild. Arse and Quim – full of squirty cream and girly cream – like a proper tart – as brazen as you please! Then you are snapping way like I am Princess Diana on her wedding day. You’re talking about my piggy nose. And then I thought, ‘If I break and start laughing, I’ll be the one to end up with my hands behind my back, eating like a chicken pecking at feed while the girls laugh!’”

She was gasping between her words now, her voice thick with laughter. “I’d only agreed to that punishment because I thought I’d just follow the rules—hoo-hoo!—and here I am holding my breath, and you’re cracking me up something hysterical, teasing and talking about my piggy nose. Then it hits me: oh God, if he makes me laugh, I’m going to pooh myself—hoo-hoo-hoo!”

Mum’s laughter was infectious, and before I could stop myself, I let out a giggle. Joy followed, covering her mouth as she doubled over, the ridiculousness of the moment too much to bear.

“Hoo-hoo—oh, Jack! I—I can’t stop! I just—hoo! I just keep thinking about Sophie’s face! Hoo-hoo! The way she—hoo—jumped up like she’d seen a ghost! Oh my God—hoo-hoo-hoo—it was like I was going to spray her!”

Finally, she managed to compose herself with a few coughs, placing her hand over one of her big boobs as if clutching her heart. “Brilliant, that was!” she wheezed, waving a hand toward Jack. “Please, Jack, can I take my feet down, close my legs, and stretch? Hoo-hoo—I promise I’ll get back into position after!”

Jack’s gaze didn’t waver as he replied dryly, “You should be punished, Piggy. Your loss of control scared the bejeezus out of my chipmunk. And now she’s eaten all her cherries—Jack!” His voice turned stern.

I panicked, my hands shooting up in defense. “I did eat my cherries! But it was on accident, Jack! I swear!” My voice cracked as I tried to plead my case. “I didn’t cause Mum to laugh! I didn’t disrupt this session! I just had three cherries!”

“Relax, chipmunk cheeks,” Jack said with a smirk, his tone calming but still firm. “I’m not punishing anyone—yet, anyway. Let’s get this sorted.”

He gestured toward me with the whippy cream canister in hand. “But I want you to squat, knees as wide as you can get them, open your big fat gob, and wait. I’ll come back and finish taking a few snaps, and then you can eat half the cherries.”

His voice made it sound like he was doing me some great favor – and all I had to do was expose everything between my legs and wait while he humiliated me further. I was incensed but I went right along with it like it was my job and he was now my boss.

The way Jack carried on and acted like he was in charge – made it hard to argue – especially since our Mum didn’t tell him to settle and ask instead of telling us what to do and how to pose.

Here I was, on my knees—legs spread so my cunny was open, still dripping squirty cream myself! Probably smelling like cheese—and holding my mouth wide open, while me own Mum says I’ve chipmunk cheeks? I do—and I am sensitive about it. Then Jack calls me that name – I felt vulnerable? I don’t even know – gosh, what if he starts calling me that all the time?

My first thought was simply – finish this modeling session, and then hope that mom and joy say we aren’t doing it again. I still couldn’t believe this was my Mum’s reason for finding the whole thing hysterical!

“Bloody hell, I've never seen Mum laugh that hard in my life! She must think you’re a regular Ricky Gervais!" Joy exclaimed, her voice dripping with mockery as she leaned against the counter, arms folded.

“Yes! Yes! Oh God, he’s so cheeky! Just like him!” Mum barely managed to choke out the words between bursts of laughter, her face red and glistening.

Jack turned toward Joy; his voice sharp. “Joy, it’s Joanne now—no more Mum during modeling!” He scolded her like she was a naughty schoolgirl.

“What?” Joy shot back, her brows shooting up in mock surprise. “I thought it was optional—like, you had to call her that, but we could choose to do it?”

I could sense that my sister was only pretending to be reluctant and that she’d love to be permitted to call our mum by her first name – she just needed it to come from Jack and not sound like it was her idea.

Behind them, Mum was still chortling uncontrollably, her body heaving with laughter as she gasped, “Hoo-hoo—I’m going to fall out of this chair! Let me put my legs down, Jack, please!”

“Not during modeling,” Jack snapped back, his attention returning to Joy. “It gets all of you in the right mindset!”

Joy groaned dramatically, rolling her eyes. “I was afraid you’d start this.”

“Start what?” Jack asked, his tone growing impatient.

“Making up rules after I break them, just so you can make me eat off the table with my face!” Joy countered, her tone a mix of sarcasm and genuine exasperation.

Why was he making up rules at all, was my question – but no one asked me for my opinion, so I remained silent.

Jack shook his head, his expression softening slightly. “No, I’m not going to do that—you didn’t know. Besides, I don’t think there should be one punishment for everything. If you forgot once or twice in the next couple of days, I’d understand.”

Joy’s jaw tightened as the realization hit. “Wait, we have to do this every day now!?”

Good! If she was mad about it, now I WANTED to model everyday -just to piss her off, and don’t think I wasn’t going to get all up in my own business tonight and wipe all this whip-cream encrusted hiny hole all over her toothbrush!!

Mum’s laughter finally started to subside, her breaths coming in shaky gasps as she wiped at her damp face. “Oh, Joy, don’t wind him up too much—hoo-hoo—I don’t think I can handle another fit like that,” she said, her voice still quivering with leftover giggles. She tried to regain her composure, though her flushed cheeks and watery eyes betrayed just how hard she’d been laughing.

Mum wiped her eyes with her sweaty fingers, still catching her breath, before turning her attention to Jack. “I’d like to, yes. Jack, I can’t make you do modeling every day, but I’d like for me and the girls to at least do a few hours. Would you mind? I know you’ve got the budgeting and the inventory to handle.”

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Mum wouldn’t even consider giving me or Joy that kind of leeway—no chance. “Normally, Mum doesn’t take no for an answer from us,” I muttered, glancing at Joy to see if she was just as incredulous. I had just wished to do this daily, to spite my sister – and now I was regretting that wish!!

Jack tilted his head slightly, his face unreadable. “Well, don’t forget that now since the girls can’t manage their own panties without choking each other out, I’ve got to sort that. At first it will take me a while to sort, but are you saying I’ve only got to do two-hour sessions, whether I like it or not? Or can I have some leeway there?”

Mum straightened up slightly, brushing her hair back from her damp forehead. “Oh, Jack, of course you’ll have leeway—it’s your call. I’m just saying I’d like us to have a consistent rhythm to it. A few hours a day, at least, so we all get something out of it.” She paused, her expression firm but warm. “It’s fun, and let’s face it, the girls and I don’t have anything better to do. Meal breaks and such can be worked around.” Her eyes flicked to Joy and me, a knowing smirk playing on her lips.

Jack tilted his head, his voice calm but probing. “Let’s say tonight I decide we’re going till nine. Are you going to tell me no sometimes? Or can I say you’re doing it whether you need it or not? What happens if you’re tired or claim you’ve got laundry to do?”

It wasn’t even tea-time yet! Was he expecting another seven hours of this lot?

Mum smiled, her tone softening but staying resolute. “Jack, if you’re tired or don’t feel like doing it, that’s your call. But the girls and I will commit to doing this whether we feel like we need it or not—that’s the structure I want for all of us.”

Classic Mum! Committing me to something without asking- story of my life. She once volunteered me for an entire weekend at the church to do garbage detail. She volunteers me and my sister to babysit (FOR FREE) for her mates, and now she volunteered me to be my brother’s nude model! Sheesh. I’ve tried telling her no before – which is only makes things worse.

The ironic part is Mum doesn’t make us clean up, stop arguing, and do stuff round the house... She says she’ll spend more time yelling at us to do the work, coming around to make sure we did it right, and then trying to find us to make us do it over again correctly when we didn’t – which is pretty much true, heh.

She’s fine volunteering me to the vicar to do lawn work, or to do babysitting! She’d just say “Alright Sophie, Mrs. McAlister, down the way wants you at six PM to watch her three brats! Pop off now and be back sharp after she gets home from Fox and Hounds! Her and I are going to have a couple pints, so it’s probably not going to be until last call “

She leaned back slightly, brushing her hand over her lap. “That said, if you’d be kind enough, on Fridays and Saturdays, could you let the girls know ahead of time if there’s a session? They might have a date or plans to juggle, and it’d help them work around things.” Her expression turned wry, her eyes flicking to Joy. “After all, Jack, even if we’re doing this every day, a bit of notice isn’t too much to ask, is it?”

Joy uncrossed her arms, knotted her brow, humorless goth frown on her face and leaned slightly forward, her voice taking on a sharper edge. “So, let me get this straight—Mum’s all in, Sophie is over there staring daggers at me with her beady little eyes – squatting with her quim quivering like she’s about to piss herself, and Jack gets to decide how long, how often, whether we get a face full of squirty cream, and basically everything else? We’re just... what, along for the ride? She paused, her eyes narrowing. “And what if he decides five hours is just the warm-up? Are we supposed to rearrange our lives for this every day or is there at least a veto vote somewhere?”

Mum adjusted herself in the chair, her expression firm but not unkind as she addressed Joy directly. “Yes, Joy, it’s going to happen every day,” she said clearly, leaving no room for interpretation. “And no, you don’t get to pick and choose when. Jack sets the schedule, and I’ve made it clear I want at least two hours each time. If he decides on five or six, then so be it.”

“This is infuriating, Mum! I don’t mind that much if I’ve nothing to do, but if Jack says drop my trousers at 7am and we’re going all day, now? And if he tells me on a Tuesday, I am going to have to jiggle my bum in the kitchen for 3 hours on a Friday, are you saying that I can’t go out with Andy Holliday? I am supposed to phone him up and tell him I’ll be eating squirty cream and getting my quim tickled by my little brother for my own good?”

“You have a roof over your head, and food in your tummy, you should be grateful for that, Joy! You live in my house, by my rules. I didn’t say you got your quim tickled for your own good – that was a bonus, and you didn’t mind it, you naughty alley cat! I saw your face. I meant the teasing to knock you down a peg, and a little disciple would do you some good, that’s all! And no, you won’t have to CALL Andy Holliday and tell him what you are doing on Friday night. You can’t keep a boyfriend for more than a week anyway,” Mom said bluntly – causing Joy to seethe and simmer but shutting her up.

Dammit, I was so conflicted. On the one hand, I absolutely dreaded this. This wasn’t funny. Not one bit. My knees were killing me, my jaw felt like it was going to snap. I was holding my mouth so wide a fly could drop in and I could smell cheesy-funk coming up from my lady business.

On the other hand, my sister was livid – Mum’s snap response left no doubt and Joy was left standing there flat footed with her jaw on the floor.

I really didn’t want to give up my Friday and Saturdays either – not that I had boys beating my door down for a date, but I liked the option.

Mum clasped her hands together, glancing at Jack thoughtfully. “Jack, dear, how would you handle Fridays and Saturdays if the girls already have plans? I don’t want to be unfair, but I also don’t want them using this as an excuse to duck out every week. I know how crafty girls can be—and they’d just make up a date to get out of modeling for the entire weekend. Maybe they need to prove their plans are genuine, or there’s a limit to how often they can skip?”

Dammit (AGAIN!) I hated to admit that Mum was right. I was already planning to do that—just hang out with friends or loiter down at the petrol station while Joy and Mum took one for the team.

“You’re asking me to have a plan when we’ve just started, Mum. I really don’t know, and I don’t want the girls to hate me, saying I’m ‘King Jack’ managing their dating lives and telling them they can’t go out with boys,” Jack said emphatically.

Jack’s a good bloke and brother. He’s never been given this much authority before, and honestly, he hasn’t been as big of a tyrant as he could’ve been under the circumstances. Most of what he’s managed so far—like taking inventory of the food and giving Mum shopping lists—were things nobody else wanted to bother with anyway.

“I’m willing to compromise because, let’s face it, calling their boyfriends to check if they’re real might embarrass them. Besides, most of them are probably on work release during the week, and they can’t take phone calls from prison,” Jack joked.

Joy rolled her eyes dramatically enough for both of us, while Mum smiled and nodded -like it was up to him and not her. I hoped she was having a bit of fun and enjoying the modeling session – but now she was giving away all our free time.

I could only hope that like many of the ideas that pop into my mum’s head – this one would pop back out again quickly.

“If they’ve been good all week, done all the sessions with minimal disruption or complaint, then I don’t see why I can’t promise to finish up by 9 p.m. on Fridays and Saturdays. That way, they’d have at least an hour to get ready, and their date won’t arrive to pick them up while their kits are off. How’s that, girls—fair? Soph, just nod your head. You’re doing good, by the way.”

My little brother snapped a few pictures of me squatting on the balls of my feet, patiently waiting, knees apart, mouth open, looking like an absolute twit -or possibly some street whore from Manchester taking a piss in a back alley between punters.

Why he would want photos of a munter like me – I still wasn’t entirely sure. I was just a plain Jane typical Surrey girl – flat chested, big bum, hairy quim, glasses – not much to look at.

I have to admit though – being stared at so intently was a bit creepy and unsettling – but it also made me feel sexy on some level – but not sexy like a movie star – more like a porn star.

[[[ image 05_kitchen.jpg goes here centered ]]]

Then, after he had had enough of me, he left me in that position and took some of Mum, still on the chair, legs apart, and a few more of Joy standing there with her arms at her sides, covered in cream, head to toe like a drippy tart.

If I weren’t so humiliated by it all – I might have laughed as much as my mum was over how absurd we all looked naked with cream all over our bodies.

My little brother waited to respond to my mum – I’d almost forgotten she had said something to him before his latest rounds of pictures. “You lot are doing better as models going – getting more comfortable as open books – thinking less like silly cows and more like models to be photographed from all angles – you’ll get the hang of it,” he added – somewhat patronizingly, like he was skeptical we ever would.

“I think the girls need these modeling sessions as much as me—that was refreshingly honest,” she added. "Now, I’ll be perfectly frank—I’ve given some thought to the modeling scheduling and while I see no reason the girls can’t get on with it when you want to take pictures - There may be days I’m in a mood and don’t feel like doing this. Or I’ve got some mates I want to meet up with at the Fox and Hounds for a pint or two. Maybe there’s shopping or laundry piling up that’s overdue. And since I’m only Joanne when we’re modeling, what sort of override do I have if I really need to step away?"

“Oh no! Absolutely not!” Joy exclaimed, knotting her brow furiously at the double standard. “We are not having that, Joanne! You said you’d set the example for us models. No more ‘do as I say, not as I do.’ And now you’re asking to swan off to the Fox and Hounds whenever you fancy? What if I want to have a pint on a Thursday? It’d be ‘too bad-so sad, tough titty for Joy,’ wouldn’t it?

Mum shifted, clearly her muscles were cramping, but she didn’t get up. She could have if she wanted. It wasn’t like she HAD to do what Jack told her! What was he going to do if she told him that it was time to take a break?

This was mad. Never in my wildest dreams would I imagine the three of us nude, squatting in our kitchen, covered in whippy cream – arguing about being permitted to go out on a Thursday night.

I felt that surely my sister or Mum would stand up to him – I certainly wasn’t going to be the first to try. Yet, my mum was having the time of her life, and Joy seemed intent on seeing just how he’d far push the the three of us.

I suspect that my sister had completely forgotten about the bit with the toothbrush - but I certainly hadn’t. I was still fuming about that and so – I kept cracking on and posing – showing my ass and cunnie or any other part of me when Jack pointed his camera my way.

Squirty cream drying on her quim, as she let out a sharp laugh. “It’s my house, you ungrateful brat! My rules, and as long as you live in my house, you will obey them! If I want a pint at the Fox and Hounds, I’ll bloody well have one, and all I’d need to do is ask Jack. He’d probably say yes if I’ve been good.” Her tone turned cutting.

I couldn’t believe that our mum didn’t hear herself -rattling on about how she’d have to ask Jack’s permission – she’d never had to do such a thing before today.

“Not that you’d understand being good for five minutes, would you? And don’t start whining about fairness—you’re always ready to piss off somewhere or pull some stunt like the toothbrush incident, thinking you’re clever.”

Joy’s face darkened, her arms tightening across her chest. “Oh, so you get to call Jack and beg off whenever you’re feeling lazy, but I can’t skip a weekend if I’m on my period? Or if I fancy pissing off to Brighton for a bit? Then it’s too bad, so sad, Tough titty for me, then?”

“That’s right. Tough titty,” Mum shot back. “You’ve got no money to piss off anywhere, let alone Brighton. I’m surprised you’ve kept Andy Holliday around this long. What’s it been—a whole week?”

“Stuff it, Mum!” Joy barked. “At least I’m not the one lying on the table looking like a trussed-up Christmas ham!”

“Enough!” Jack barked, his voice cutting through the brewing storm. Mum’s head dropped, She knew exactly where this was headed—straight into the kind of bickering and arguing that Mum said she hates – I felt bad as well. That was classic Marsh girls on a Saturday afternoon.

“Here’s how we’ll stop the bickering and the spiteful jealousy,” Jack continued, his tone flat and unyielding. “You’re both trying to get something over on each other, a special privilege, and it’s pathetic. Since Joanne is one of the girls, the rules apply to her too. It’s simple: Fridays and Saturdays, after 9 p.m., Mum, you can duck out if you’ve behaved—and that’s a big if.”

Mum opened her mouth, but Jack cut her off. “And I mean really behaved, Joanne. I’m not blind. I’ve seen the laundry pile up for weeks at a time. Other than me, the rest of you won’t even need clothes from now on. So, as far as I’m concerned, if the girls don’t pop their clothes in the bin, or you fuck about all week, I am not going to manage it and stand over you – you’ll just go bare-ass around the house!”

I’ve never seen Jack be this assertive with anyone – much less Mum, and the weirdest part to me was she just stared at him like I would have if Mum were yelling at me.

“You’ll manage chores around the modeling—not the other way around. Same with schoolwork, not that the girls give a bloody crap about homework, but I won’t be taking excuses that an essay is due. Get it done ahead of time. I am the one who tells you when to make a Sainsbury’s run anyway, so I’ll go with you, and we’ll bring the girls and do some modeling there.”

I cringed – what did he mean modeling run? On the train to Redhill? In town? Just what I need, to go viral on YouTube like those naked cyclists every year ringing their little bells and showing their fannies on TV riding across England.

No one else either noticed Jack say that, or they already didn’t mind!

Joy shifted her weight, glaring at Jack with an incredulous look. “Mum is never going to go for this! In two days, she’ll be over it! It’s like every fad diet she tries at the new year. I don’t give it a week!”

“It’s Joanne to you right now,” Mum looked indignant “You’ll drop your trousers at 7am if that’s when we start modeling, and you’ll thank your brother if he lets you go out on Friday and Saturday, and so will I!”

Joy looked down at her feet, unwilling to give more ammunition to use against her.

“Now, weeknights? Nobody’s going off to fuck about. I am not keeping a special calendar where I’ve got to keep tickets and requests and sort it. If one of you can’t do it, that means everyone else has to just lay about and wait with their thumbs up their butt waiting, right? So, on a Monday, Joanne would have an excuse, and a Tuesday then Joy would have an excuse, Oi my arse hurts from clenching it all the day and not smiling,” Jack imitated my sister before motioning to me and adding “…and of course on Wednesday my other bratty sister Sophie’s suddenly volunteering down at the Church again because some cute boy she wants to shag has turned up! And every night we’re standing here unable to do modeling properly!”

Jack clearly seemed frustrated in advance for excuses he just knew we’d be making – and came off like a victim of his excuse prone and lazy sisters and mum.

Our Mum is the one who volunteers me for church duty – and I wanted to suggest to my brother, that he just carry on with whoever is home – but I had my mouth open wide for snaps, and I was frankly a bit afraid to get involved in this heated conversation. Jack was getting passionate about the whole thing. He might suddenly decide because I opened my trap that Friday and Saturday are out as well!

“The girls and I will come home straight from Secondary. I’ll give you as much notice as I can, but I’m not playing the game of ‘Joy gets off at 8, Mum until 9, and Sophie until 6 because Gogglebox is on.’ If, after a few weeks, you’ve all proven you can behave, we’ll revisit. That’s the end of it. No negotiations, no bartering.”

“If that’s the way you want it, the girls and me will do it,” Mum signed us up for that as well – sure, why not!

Mum shifted in her chair, the laughter fading, though she still looked like she might burst again at any second. “Please, Jack, let me take my legs down and stretch? I promise I’ll stay ready for the next shot.”

Joanne wiped her sticky hands on her thighs, the whippy cream smearing against her skin as she awkwardly shifted her weight, trying to stand. “Oh, bless you, Jack,” she said with an exaggerated sigh, rolling her shoulders as she stretched. “I was beginning to feel like one of those pigs you talked about—trussed up and ready for market. Give me a second to clean this off—”

Jack raised a hand sharply, cutting her off. “I didn’t say you could clean up,” he said, his tone calm but with an edge. “You’ve already had a much longer break than you needed, Joanne. You can lick it off your hand if you like, but it stays on your lips until I tell you otherwise.”

Mum froze mid-motion, her cheeks flushing as she looked at him. “This was in my cunny, Jack,” she stammered, her voice caught between incredulity and embarrassment.

Jack didn’t flinch. “I wanted you to look worn out and covered in cream. Unless you do want to eat with a belt around your wrists and miss teatime altogether, I’d suggest that if your cunny is so sour that even you wouldn’t put it on your lips, you might want to see a gyno.”

Her eyes widened, and for a moment, she looked as if she might protest, but then she quickly complied, licking the cream from her fingers before letting the remaining residue shine on her lips. “Jack, I apologize,” she said, her tone contrite. “Please don’t punish me—it’s my first day at this.”

“We’ll see,” Jack said simply, then popped her firmly on her ample butt, the sound of the slap echoing through the room. Mum’s eyes went wide as she turned to him, her mouth forming a shocked “what!” Joy, meanwhile, giggled, clearly enjoying the moment.

“We’ve all agreed Saturdays are a 9 p.m. quitting time, right?” Jack continued, his tone shifting back to businesslike authority. “So, since you haven’t done any modeling all week, I hope no one has any dates planned tonight?”

I didn’t, so I shook my head when he glanced my way. But the day was dragging—I could feel the ache in my knees—and I couldn’t help but blurt out, “Jack... didn’t you say we’d stop at teatime though?”

Jack turned to me; his expression unreadable. “Didn’t I say to hold your big fat mouth open as wide as you can, as if you’re waiting for someone to dump some money into it?” His voice was calm, but the implication made my face flush. I immediately opened my mouth wide, feeling the familiar sting of humiliation as he snapped pictures.

“Good little slut,” he said. “As for teatime,” he added, finally addressing my question, “We just agreed it’s 9 p.m. on Saturday—and if you’ve behaved reasonably, then we’ll stop then! I will expect you at breakfast at 7 a.m. Sunday morning: showered, hair dried, makeup—go heavy tomorrow, use the loo before you get to the table, teeth brushed… well, you may want to skip that one, eh, Sophie?”

I scrunched my nose in disgust and scowled—he just reminded me! I might have actually forgotten and used that brush if he hadn’t mentioned it, though—so joke was on him! I almost didn’t notice that he called me a slut! While, technically, I may be – Jack’s never called me that, and Joy only does as a term of endearment when I call her one for the same reason.

It just seemed quite a bit more vulgar than “chipmunk cheeks” and I don’t think Mum or Joy even noticed he said it – they may if he says it to them!! It was hard to predict if Mum would go along with
being teased like that!

Jack had also said teasing has to have a basis in honesty to be effective, and Mum doesn’t even date and hasn’t since Dad left. Despite my Mum’s recent wild fantasies – she hardly acted like a slut – she might show her tits in the bar as a prize for a dart game, but she wasn’t sleeping around with 20-30 men.

My big sister found it funny as well. I am not sure if she thought she could keep wiping her pooper on my brush or not. I’d definitely need to find a new spot after I get Mum to buy me a new one.

Jack didn’t answer her right away. Instead, he turned his attention to me. I was still kneeling there, legs spread, mouth wide open like a total idiot. He reached for the whippy cream, the corner of his mouth twitching into a smirk. “Joanne and Joy,” he said, spraying a huge glob of whippy cream directly into my mouth before I could react. You’re going to have to help Joy pick out about a third of these cherries…”

Before I could process what he’d said, he grabbed the jar of cherries and dumped the entire thing into my mouth. Jack didn’t waste time setting the stage. “Joanne, Joy, squat down, knees apart as wide as you can, hands behind your back pulling your fat arse cheeks apart,” he instructed, his tone firm but calm. “Hold your butt cheeks apart wide enough so I can put two cherries on your bugger holes. Sophie, keep your mouth open—you have the easy job, you are just like life – a bowl of cherries! They’ve got to bob for them by taking turns picking them up one by one by the stems!”

Jack plucked two long-stemmed cherries out of my mouth and told them that they had to get the rest and hold them in their own mouths – once they had at least half, he’d let them swallow. My brother had another humiliating twist to add.

He pushed one of the cherries straight up my Mum’s cheese factory – so that it stuck out halfway and forced the hole open.

“Oh my!! What will I do if that falls in?” Mum quipped, her lips curling into a wicked grin, her eyes alight with a teasing hunger that made it clear she wasn’t dreading the possibility—she was savoring the anticipation, practically chomping at the bit to see how it might all play out.

“I would imagine it would come tumbling out when it’s ready the old-fashioned way,” Jack replied – suggesting she’d have to poop it back out.

‘It feels nasty, Jack! Take it back out, please!” My Mum begged. She could have just reached behind her and plucked it out or popped it out with her butt muscles.

“You’ll get used to it – we’ll take it out by tea-time; you won’t even notice it! It paints your arsehole a nice shade of red, Joanne.”

My mom blushed -not quite as red as the cherry in her caboose, and smiled shyly.

My brother guided her to my face, and helped her to bend forward while squatting so she could pluck a juicy, bright red cherry out of the squirty cream in my mouth – our lips touched it was basically a kiss.

Then Jack pushed a cherry into Joy’s bum the same way – and she acted like it was not a surprise he’d mount her a-hole with a cherry. I could tell that my sister didn’t want to give Jack the feeling he made her scared. “Fun is fun, but come on! Jack,” My sister appealed to Jack’s sense of decency. He ignored her and took some more pictures of our tits and asses.

It frustrated my sister, but she knew better than to fold her arms and pout – Mum wouldn’t have any of it.

I wasn’t an extrovert by nature, and I didn’t particularly enjoy attention. Still, on some level – it wasn’t half bad and we’d already started at it – so it wasn’t like Jack hadn’t already seen every nook and cranny on our bodies and taken a picture of it.

He directed her to lean forward, alternative with my Mum and suck a cherry out of my mouth – holding it in her mouth and not eating it. I was just glad/hoping my brother wouldn’t think to pop a cherry in my butt. It would have probably made me horny and soaked. The good news was he either forgot or didn’t bother.

Sometimes it was nice being the middle child – you feel a little invisible.

“Mum, I get this is your fantasy, but it’s not mine! You can volunteer me to work for the vicar, and he can even play a little grab-ass with me in his office, and I wouldn’t mind – but come on! You can’t possibly enjoy this!”

“It’s Joanne when I am modeling, and you won’t tell me what I enjoy and what I don’t. That vicar isn’t there anymore. They’ve sent him on a mission in Africa, and I had no way of knowing he was handsy-grabby! I didn’t send you there to get you molested!”

“Look, he was cute, and I was not molested. I was bored, and he was 22 and fresh out of seminary school if anything; I had seduced him and probably got him sent out to the middle of Africa!” my sister said as she popped the cherry out of her butthole and let it slide on the tile of our kitchen under her.

“There are some things we’ve done today that I didn’t mind, and thought were fun. I want some of the pictures – but this is getting ridiculous. Are you really telling me that it’s your fantasy to squat in our dusty old kitchen by the bin and kiss cherries out of each other’s mouths? That’s what you’d rather be doing of all things today?”

Joy took a turn, bending deep, fishing for a cherry in my mouth with her tongue. I sucked in as many as I could to make her have to fish for it. I was still pissed about her using my toothbrush to wipe her bum.

“I wouldn’t choose to do this particular scenario or modeling scene or whatever it’s called, sweetheart. I like being naked, and Jack is making it interesting. Tell me that little cherry is the biggest thing you’ve had up your arse, then?” She paused to see if my sister would try to lie.

I was certain the question was embarrassing, but given the circumstances, I could see why our mum had to ask – my sister was certainly protesting a bit much, given what we’d already done for Jack’s camera.

Even I’ve had bigger things up my butt, and technically I did not do anal sex – not full on buggering. I have let boys finger my butt, and I like putting my thumb up my butt when I masturbate, and a few have put the tip of their cock in my arse – but just the tip, and I’ve been strict about that!

I knew it may be my turn soon enough to pop a cherry in my bum, and I’d have to decide if I was going to make a stink about it and raise a fuss, or go along with it. I was glad, at least, that I wasn’t the first to be asked to do it. I already knew what I’d do when Jack told me it was my turn – fantasizing about throwing a fit over a tiny little fruit in the bum wasn’t going to solve anything.

A cherry probably felt like nothing, anyway – I just wouldn’t want it to be covered in chocolate when I pulled it out – if you know what I mean.

[EddieDavidson]

The inspiration for Jack is a young "Sugg" from Madness - which coincidentally, he was born around the time that their mum used to visit clubs to see Madness.

[EddieDavidson]

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