Pantsing and Stripping Forums

Absolutely loving it. I Love the humor and references pretty much in all of your stories. I'd love to see more sessions in thr trailer if you can keep it interesting. Maybe some unexpected sessions/timings with more compromising situations. I love it when they keep complaining and bugging about it and somehow gotta accept it and give in at the same time. Underwears sorting is another thing with whole lot of scenes stored there. Maybe brother can take more responsibilities like shaving or maybe sleep arrangements. Overall, environment is amazing with brit element and conversations. Looking forward to where this journey will go. Thanks for all the stories

Thanks! I know I should be working on the finish of the Twatmas story - but Christmas is over (I was hoping to finish by then) and this has been compelling to write.

I love the cheeky dialogue. In retrospect, I wonder how it would play out if the Mum had remained strict and stodgy, not delighted by the modeling but still insistent that they proceed all-in with Jack's plan, often having more of a "Alright girls, put on a smile and crack-on...It's Jack's plan, and you'll stop your whinging" as Joanne was early - maintaining that aloof "How dare you call me Joanne!" quality from earlier before she got used to it.

I am also having fun with Jack being a human being with nuance - not a villain or a power mad person - but simply playing it by ear and pushing the envelope. I feel the dynamics are more organic and realistic.

I'd love for additional ideas outside of the obvious.

I may work on a story in 2025, where the family goes biking nude, inspired by the world nude bike ride out of London. They bring minimal supplies and I could research the trip, and write the locations.

I don't have an editor and MS Word doesn't seem to love UK English - so if you see major issues in the story, let me know, I appreciate it.


So, it’s not Naked Attraction, then. It’s the whole “female condition” thing Mum’s always preaching about—girls drool, boys rule. It seemed obvious now! I was hoping it was just a game. Maybe it still was.

“I knew it had to be something like that,” Joy said, her voice steady now. “Some of the things we’ve done, I quite enjoyed—I like weird shit, and I think you know that. But I don’t want to be humiliated constantly just because I was born a gender I didn’t choose. What does ‘all in’ even mean? If you want me to be all in, I’ll be all in. I’ll put my back into it, okay? Can I get up now, please, Sir? How’s that? Let’s go take a bath. I’ll do whatever you tell me.”

“I am a twat because I was born with a great massive one between my legs, birthed two more twats, and never spread my hole to get a man to come raise them properly. I’m vain, stubborn, fat, lazy, dumb—to be honest, I’ve never been book-smart. I thought myself above being held to the same standard as these two cunts and taught them to do as I say, not as I do. I suppose that’s one reason of many, Jack, but I’m all in. I don’t mind admitting I’m a twat, and I respect your decision to let them call me what I am—even if I don’t think they’ve earned that right.”

Joy, still bent low, glanced up briefly from the cherry, her face a mix of resignation and defiance, before pressing her nose back to the floor. “I get it—this is about some of that ‘girls are shit because they were born with slits and tits’ talk. No matter how hard I try to make you both happy, I can’t win, is that it? Why even try if I’m always going to be found lacking?”

“You’re found lacking, Joy, because you say you’re all in, but you aren’t!” Jack shot back; his voice steady but firm.

I stood there, puzzling over his words. Jack meant every word he said about me—not cruelly, but it still stung. It wasn’t entirely wrong, though. I was just standing there, blank-faced, trying to piece it together. What shocked me more was that Joy, of all people, seemed willing to keep going.
“I knew it had to be something like that,” Joy said, her voice steady now. “Some of the things we’ve done, I quite enjoyed—I like weird shit, and I think you know that. But I don’t want to be humiliated constantly just because I was born a gender I didn’t choose. What does ‘all in’ even mean? If you want me to be all in, I’ll be all in. I’ll put my back into it, okay? Can I get up now, please, Sir? How’s that? Please, let’s go have a shower—we stink to high heaven. I’ll do whatever you tell me while I am your model, Jack. Okay, please??”

Jack folded his arms, his expression unreadable. “Yeah, I am not an ogre—I want you to be happy, Joy! I like everything you just said. I don’t want us to have conflict—I am the boss while we are modeling. Hold the cherry in your mouth until tea, and we’ll have a happy lunch, talk about whatever questions you have!!” Jack was satisfied—conflict de-escalated.

Holy shit, that was tense! Everyone else kept referring to this as modeling—but something else was happening between us. I just wasn’t able to say what.

“Being all in means giving yourself over to it—no reluctance, no rebellion. I don’t expect you to be perfect—look at Sophie! She’s been a good girl, but she’s far from perfect. Standing there with a blank look in her eyes, barely paying attention. There’s nothing wrong with being a girl so long as you know your place, but you keep acting like your shit doesn’t stink. Then you throw a tantrum when I call you out for breaking a rule you knew full well you were breaking, didn’t you?”

“Fine, Jack! I’ll put my back into it, okay? You’re right—I broke the rule just to get under your skin and Joanne’s. You can slap my arse if it makes you feel better. We’ll do it your way. I’ll be better, alright?” Joy’s voice was firm but tinged with an edge of frustration, the effort to submit clearly weighing on her.

Jack wasn’t letting up. “If you were all in, you’d be an open book—no holding back. Mouth, twat, arse—all of it. But you couldn’t even hold the cherry for two bloody minutes. You had to pop it out and let it roll onto the floor, just to make a point. That’s what you do, Joy. You go along with it just enough to look like you’re trying, then muck it all up at the end to prove you’ve still got control. I was going to give you a treat for being such a good girl, but no—you had to ruin it.”

“It’s not like that, Jack!” Joy’s voice cracked, teetering on the edge of defensiveness and desperation.

“You’re a natural little liar, Joy. I saw you do it—the way you glanced back over your shoulder at me, sly as anything, while the cherry rolled away. If you’re truly all in, prove it. Suck the cherry up, clench it in your teeth—don’t bite down. Hold it in your mouth while you take a shower, and then I’ll let you have a proper lunch.”

Joy’s face twisted with conflict—I could see her battling every instinct not to explode at him. Instead, she bent down, scooped up the cherry with her teeth, and stood, showing it to him. Her lips curled slightly, but she held it firm between her teeth, speaking just a little muddled, like a Scotsman who’d had one too many pints.

“Good choice. I’ve been hard on you because you’ve been hard on me—and Joanne too. Sometimes you need a bit of that to set things right.” Jack’s words hung in the air.

“A little hard on?” Oh, why did he make it so easy? I could see Joy’s mind racing, her lips pressing together as she battled every instinct not to say something cutting.

Joy stood, lips curled slightly, still holding the cherry between her teeth—nothing left to say, but Mum cleared her throat. Her expression softened, her usual bubbliness replaced with a patient, demure demeanor.

"Jack, honey?" she said, her voice sweet as Banoffee pie, careful and deliberate. "I know you’ve got a schedule today, and I wouldn’t interrupt unless it were important. May I say a brief something to the girls?"

She delivered the request like a queen addressing her king, ready to accept a “no” without protest.

Jack didn’t even look up. "If it sets back lunch by more than five minutes, you’re going without today—and you’ll pop off at ten instead of nine tonight for the inconvenience, my fat little turd blossom. Now, turn around, spread those farty-cheeks. Let’s see if that cherry you had in your gobber dropped out or got swallowed by the mighty poop worm inside you."

"Oh, ha-ha, really? I’d all but forgotten! I am a dolt," Mum laughed, her previous restraint dissolving into her usual jubilance. "Thank you, Jack! I’d have left the sweet cherry up there if you hadn’t said—can you see it?"

She turned without hesitation, her mood shifting like the break of dawn as she bent over. Her tone was cheery and light, as though this was just another part of her day.

Jack leaned in with mock concentration. "Nope. Swallowed whole by the dookie monster," he announced, then, in one audacious motion, popped a finger in, retrieved the cherry, and held it up triumphantly.

Mum let out a hearty laugh, her reaction like one of her bar giggles when a Fox and Hounds regular goosed her on the way to the taps. "Ooh, you might have warned a lady!" she exclaimed.

“I would have if you were a proper lady,” Jack joked. “You are just a horny old slag, who puts cherries up your bum though—so what goes in, must come out.”

Jack smirked while Mum had a proper laugh at that. He held the cherry he took out of her sweaty rump aloft. "Here—chocolate-covered cherry." He wiped it clean with a quick flick and brought it to her lips.

Without hesitation, Mum clamped her teeth around it, holding it like a prize. Jack gestured toward Joy. "Clench it, like your sister. Now, pose cheek to cheek so I can at least get a few snaps while we waste time on your gabbing."

Mum’s eyes sparkled as she turned toward Joy. "Which cheeks, Jack? Gassy-ass or face?" Her voice oozed marmalade warmth, her gaze playful.
"Start face to face," Jack replied, clearly pleased that my mum had been so respectful and courteous. I was still a bit confused by how the tables had turned so much. Jack was the boss, at least for modeling—but how would it work outside of modeling?

Mum released her ass cheeks, wrapping her arms around Joy with natural affection. For once, Joy didn’t resist or squirm away. Instead, she leaned into the embrace, her cheek resting against Mum’s. The tension melted in the quiet stillness of the moment—a rare tenderness in the midst of absurdity.

After Jack snapped the photo, Mum lingered in the embrace, her arms still wrapped around Joy. She glanced at us, her smile warm but mischievous. The moment would’ve been legendary if they didn’t look so ridiculous—both of them holding cherries in their mouths like a pair of daft mice. Mum’s big buck teeth made it even funnier, like she was about to scurry off to some hidden den.

“Girls, I know this isn’t easy for you, and I need you to know how much I appreciate it. You didn’t have to do this, but you did it because I asked you to do it, and I thank you both for that!”

She didn’t ask us—she told us we were doing it in no uncertain terms. But I wasn’t going to challenge my Mum. Seeing her eyes light up like that, I would’ve done it anyway. I didn’t sign up for this—I thought it’d be simple cheesecake photos or something sexy. But now that I was here, her gratitude actually meant something. I didn’t expect it to hit as hard as it did.

“You don’t want to be here right now, and I know that. I want to thank you for putting up with it. When I started this morning, I had no idea how it would all go—it’s been bubbling up since lunch, I think. After you told me, ‘A little meanness never hurt anybody,’ I suppose you meant it as a joke, but it stuck with me. I thought, ‘Why not? Why not lean into it a bit?’”

Mum glanced at Jack with a small wink, then back at Joy. “When he roasted me playing Naked Attraction, I felt this… release. Like, finally, I didn’t have to pretend to be some proper lady. I could just say, ‘You know what? I’m a bit of a twat,’ and lean into it. And then I looked at you, Joy—not yelling, not bickering with Sophie, just taking it. And I thought, ‘If she can handle this, maybe I can too.’”

Her voice cracked slightly. “I’m not saying I’ve been perfect—I know I haven’t. But this is… it’s been good for me, and I think it could be good for you too. Maybe if we give this a proper go—a week of just going all in—it’ll do us some good. I’m asking you, no, I’m begging you. Be an open book. I promise, you’ll get something out of it.”

Mum turned to Jack, chuckling. “Don’t think for a second I’m not humiliated. You fingered my hairy butthole to grab a cherry, took a photo of it, and told me to clench it between my teeth. I’ll never live that down, but here I am. If you tell me to put another up my bum, put it in my mouth again, I’ll do it, you can take pictures, have a laugh, fish it out if you dare get bit by the poopy-snake or whatever you called it. That’s the deal. I am your open book! If you want to touch that page – by all means! Have a go at me! I’ve never had a man, touch me there before- even the gyno doesn’t go there!”

“Does it turn you on, Joanne?” Jack asked – not sarcastic, more like he was curious. “I want the honest truth!”

“It…doesn’t make me hot to trot, if that’s what you’re asking, and I know you are my son, so it makes me feel, for lack of a better word like the world’s worst mum and a proper slag, because It excited me –it’s embarrassing to admit this out loud, but since you want honesty, I may as well tell you – it makes me feel like I shouldn’t have liked it, but it excited me.”

“A little embarrassment never hurt anyone, Love,” Jack used my mother’s quote perfectly. My mom smiled at him. “You aren’t the world’s worst mum. You amaze me, Joanne. The past few days, you kept dropping hints you wanted to do some modeling – I think you are modeling the correct behavior.”

She called Jack over, and he joined the group hug – the three of us naked and him clothed – nothing sexual, just us holding each other in silence for a long, perfect, minute.

I thought I’d cry—something about her honesty was just… moving. Joy’s face softened, her usual snark absent, and even Jack seemed momentarily still, as if considering what to say.

“Sophie, love,” Mum said, her gaze turning to me. “You’ve been a rock. Quiet, steady, just doing what’s asked of you. I saw you squatting off to the side earlier, wide open because Jack told you to, and you didn’t bat an eye. I thought, ‘If Sophie can do that, I can let go too.’ Your brother reminds me of my own dad back in Blackpool. Hard but fair, a man who didn’t let us girls grow up spoiled.”

She paused, wiping her eye before turning back to Jack. “Thank you, sir. You’re a good son. I respect you. I’ll be here tomorrow, ready to start again at 7 a.m., bright and early. And if you’ll let us shower and have a lunch break now, I’ll try not to tear up.”

Our bathroom isn’t much space for one person. There is a toilet, sink and shower, and it opens right into the kitchen, so if you make a stink or a loud noise, everybody else hears it or smells it through the kitchen door.

It's still a might of privacy, even if the lock’s been broken for years, and we end up walking in on each other. Mum said she’d get around to calling the landlord about it, but she hasn’t in a few years.

Today, Jack decided that girls would be showering together. “You lot can leave the door open from now on when you go to the loo or shower during modeling. You are to have no inhibitions or privacy – I’ll take snaps from out here and make sure you are scrub-a-dub-dubbing instead of rub-a-rubbing,” my brother made the universal woman rubbing one out gesture around his crotch.

“What if we’ve got to go pee or worse?” Joy scrunched her nose in disgust, talking around the cherry in her mouth.

“Worse? You’ve got to learn to be more like Joanne and get explicit. We all know you mean taking a shit- so say it! You’ll sit on the bowl and plop one out like proper little twats! You’ll have no privacy – I want to see everything!”

“Why that though?” I managed to ask. I couldn’t imagine any reason he’d want to take snaps of us doing it or wiping up after. I got that Jack liked to humiliate, but this was something I didn’t want to do in front of my sister – much less the whole family.

“You need to get used to doing everything in front of me – I’ve not asked you if you are all in! Sophie. Joy and Joanne say that they are – what are you?”

“I am here – doing what you told me, Jack!” I said as I turned on the shower.

“Then hop in that tub, wash yourself good, re-apply your make up out here after you dry off – you can all shower together.”

“Dear, look at me, I am a whale, these two won’t get any water with me blocking it all,” my mum pointed out to her son, sweetly.

“Try it, you’ll sort it. Get cozy,” my brother insisted.

We tried it, and it turns out that we couldn’t do it – it was either my mum, or me and Joy. My Mumm sat on the commode and either pretended to pee or did it for real, while Joy and I washed up.

“Sophie, do you trust me?” my sister whispered conspiratorially.

“You two cunts, wash each other, don’t play with yourselves, I don’t want to see one hand touching your own bodies! When Joanne hops in, you two can dry yourselves while you wash her with the other hand!” Jack reluctantly accepted that our shower was just not big enough for the three of us.

Jack was frustrated that we couldn’t just hug each other tightly and squeeze in – it went against his vision of how it would work. “It’s the first day – I’ll think of a better way for you to shower,” he shrugged. I assumed that Jack intended to make even going to the bathroom and private time in the bathroom some sort of humiliating modeling experience.

Mom was elated we had to shower together and saw nothing wrong with it. Her main concern was that Jack was beating himself up for what she saw as her weight problem “You are doing the best you can, given the circumstances, Jack. If I were not a lard-arse, we might all fit, Jack! Hopefully, the diet you have me on will shed a few pounds, but I am afraid I can’t manage it in here with the other girls!”

My sister leaned in and whispered, “Make a good show of it; go on! It’s what the little wanker wants to see.”

I furrowed my brow, a bit lost on what Joy was playing at, but I couldn’t deny being curious. Honestly, I was enjoying the way she scrubbed my arse. It felt... nice. Not something I’d ever admit aloud, but out of the few girls I’d been with, none of them had a touch quite like Joy’s—though I wasn’t sure what to make of that thought.

“Of course,” Joy said, flashing a grin over her shoulder at Jack as she posed for one of his shots, pulling me close under the stream of water. “We’ll sort it, Jack! This is so much fun!”

I almost laughed at how blatantly she was laying it on thick, flashing that cheeky smile like she hadn’t just told a complete porky. I couldn’t tell if Jack bought her over-the-top enthusiasm, but he didn’t call her out on it.

“When Mum loses—what, seven stone, give or take—on this massive diet you’ve got her on, I’m sure we’ll squeeze her in with us and make it work!”

That’s the spirit, Joy!” Mum reached up from the crapper, giving her a soft touch and a big smile.
I have to admit, I felt a bit obliged to back Joy on her grand plan—couldn’t exactly leave her whistling in the wind, could I? At the same time, seeing Mum this happy was something else. I’d never seen her so loving—it was like all the angels were singing to her, and bells were ringing.

“How long d’you reckon it’ll take to slim Joanne down into a proper stunner, Jack?” Joy asked, her tone light, but with that usual bite underneath. “Knowing Mum’s track record, these miracle fat-loss, total-body-transformation diets of hers barely make it to day three before she’s binned ’em. We’ve got to work fast!”

She wasn’t wrong. Mum loved dragging us along for her latest “guaranteed” slimming schemes, even though I’m basically a twig. Her logic? “I’m not suffering through this bloody cabbage soup or boiled egg nonsense while you two tuck into a proper fry-up!” Every time, like clockwork.

I was pretty sure Joy was nudging at the same thing I’d been thinking—Mum’s new passions always burned hot for about three days before flaming out spectacularly. Maybe my sister figured this modeling gig would follow the same pattern. If that was the case, there wasn’t much point kicking up a fuss. We’d just ride it out until Monday, and Mum would probably chuck the whole idea in the rubbish along with the rest. No point pretending we were “all in” when we were just along for the ride.

As much as it embarrassed me to strip and pose, and let Jack call me a munter with tiny tits, I’d probably go all-in just to keep her smiling. I was already going to have to do it anyway, so maybe it wasn’t such a big thing to slap on a big toothy grin and mind the gap. Was that all there was to going all-in? Just not be annoyed, look happy, and do as you’re told?

I’d been doing that my whole life—Secondary School, Sunday service, Tediously predictable dates with boys I didn’t even fancy just to fill the time. Just slap a smile on your face and crack on.

I’d have never thought of nude modeling to pass the time, not by a long shot. I’d never in a million years thought I’d be standing around starkers, striking poses, while Jack bosses us around like Gordon Ramsay calling us all Donkeys. I didn’t have fantasies of being a page three model, they stopped doing that years ago and those slags found Twitter to show off their honkers a lot faster and in higher resolution.

I wouldn’t have thought to show off for the hell of it—no way. I did sell a few snaps of my tits to some bloke on Snapchat once. For what little there was to see, I’d say he got a raw deal.

But here I was, and some bits of today were, dare I say, almost fun. Not all of it, mind you—plenty of it was awkward and humiliating—but still, fun wasn’t entirely off the table.

The truth was, I didn’t have anything better to do. South Godstone was dull as dishwater, and we had fuck-all going on most days. There’s only so much wandering about, staring at the same fields and fences, a person can do before their brain starts to rot. At least this gave us something to talk about when it all fizzled out—which, knowing Mum’s track record with sticking to things, was bound to happen sooner rather than later.

What really tipped the scales, though, was Mum. She looked chuffed to bits, more alive than I’d seen her in ages. If me plastering on a big, daft smile and jumping when my little brother said “jump” was enough to keep her beaming, then I could manage that. It wasn’t like I had to enjoy it to play along. Call it “going all-in” or whatever you like—if it meant keeping her happy, I’d give it a shot. The embarrassment wasn’t exactly fun, but seeing Mum so genuinely thrilled took the sting out of it.

And anyway, at least I’d have the story. Joy would, no doubt, try to one-up me later, claiming she’d done it twice as long or twice as hard. That’s her style—always a topper, turning every shared experience into her own exaggerated triumph. But for now, I had the satisfaction of knowing we’d done something a bit mad, something that would stand out in a sea of days as dull and predictable as South Godstone itself.

The thing with Joy’s plan that worried me (other than I might not even know what it was and how it worked), was we might be doing something deceptive and manipulative just like Mum said all women did, for nothing really. if modeling was going to fizzle, then we may as well see it through to Monday and we’d never have to hear of it again – no point in pretending we are “all-in” when it was pretty obvious we were just sort of along for the ride of it all.


“You don’t want to keep doing this modeling or whatever it’s become, do you?” Joy asked, her hands on my tits, rubbing and making me feel a bit better than someone’s sister should make them feel.

“What choice have we got? It’s what mum wants,” I whispered. I was having second thoughts about participating in the plan at all.

“I didn’t ask you that,” Joy frowned, putting one of my hands down around her pussy.

“You want me to finger you?” I asked in a whisper -wondering if she really wanted me to give that a go. It was one thing to play at rubbing each other – but we are sisters!!

“You can pretend, or you can go for it, either way, if we continued doing this, we’re going to have to at this rate,” Joy seemed fine with it. I shrugged and gave it a go. I know I should have felt guilty about finger banging my sister – but I didn’t think of her as my sister in that moment. She was now just Joy the other model to me, and that made it easier to lezz out with her. She wasn’t half bad at it, either -which also helped.

I was just pleased she didn’t make a macaroni and cheese reference for once.

She was also making me drippy, teasing my nips and they are super sensitive. The worst part of it was that I wasn’t feeling guilty when I knew I should have about playing with my own sister. I was thinking to myself that if Jack DID sell the pictures, and I got a cut – sister on sister porn would probably put us in a Weybridge mansion instead of a cruddy old rowhouse in South Godstone.

“Don’t just wash each other’s tits and beef curtains!” he shouted. We switched our hands around to wash other, more mundane areas for one another. I know it’s crude, but I had to laugh over beef curtains.

“Do you want to be naked, scrubbing my bum when you go to third form?”

Third form? I was still in Secondary school. I hadn’t even thought about Monday yet – much less what life would be like in third form. I’d never even thought much about my future. I assumed I’d live with me Mum for the rest of my life.

Joy turned me so that we were close enough to kiss, embracing me like she was going to French kiss me. My heart started beating rapidly as I waited for her to take the initiative.

“Remember last month, Mum went full pelt in the Women’s Institute? She volunteered us to lug trays of flapjacks and Victoria sponge door-to-door and then four days later, she couldn’t even be assed to go again, and now we never hear about it?”

“Yeah, I guess she went all in on that too,” I giggled, a bit disappointed we hadn’t really kissed. It would have been the perfect moment to do it – hot water cascading off our bodies.

“Alright, Clean each other’s filthy Growlers, and hop out, let Joanne have a go- we’ve not go all day! If you want to be at this until 11pm, you’ll still be out here bright and early at 7am naked as jaybirds! I think I’ll take you to Crawley tomorrow!” Jack insisted.

Joy gave me a wink and showed the cherry in between her teeth to Jack with a big, broad, pleased smile, and told him she was still all in, but her freshly cleaned growler was out and ready for firming.

“That’s what I wanted to hear, well behaved little gits,” Jack teased and asked me.

“Um, All in, Sir?” I had no idea what to say – my voice cracked a little. I played along with my sister-somewhat confused on the plan.

Meanwhile, my Mum got in the shower. Jack made her lift her hands up over her head and hold them there -while we dried ourselves with one hand and washed her with another.

Joy had to whisper in my ear to continue telling me about her so-called brilliantly thought out plan. The problem was that I didn’t have a lot of faith in that. My sister wasn’t exactly a master planner any more than I was. That was more Jack’s thing. I could barely hear her. “I can’t talk about it now -they’ll hear. Just follow my lead. Take your toothbrush and try to clench it between your butt cheeks.”

Had she gone mad? Was she taking the piss? I was still angry with her for USING my toothbrush to wipe her own bum. Now, her “secret plan” was to make me do the same?

I doubted there was a secret plan at all! Mum would either run out of steam and have enough of Jack or we’d be bare-assed for most meals and bending and squatting for Jack in the foreseeable future as I saw it. The only way to end it would be to just stand up to the two of them and say we aren’t doing it.

The only reason I hadn’t was that like Joy, I had been raised to do as my Mum told me and found the idea of open defiance, to be about as likely as living as a life of crime a gangster and robbing banks. As much as I bicker with my sister, you’d think I’d love confrontation, but I’d have rather Mum decide we’ve had enough and that’d be the end of it.

“Are you having a laugh?” I instinctively replied angrily. Joy hushed me and gave up the pretense of hiding what she was plotting. Instead, she made it obvious to me with her body language that she wanted me to just do what she told me.

“Everybody knows what I did to your toothbrush, I did it because I am a vindictive twat, Sophie. All I am saying is prove to Jack you are all in. There aren’t any cherries – so put your brush up your bum, brush end first – and hold it between your cheeks to show Jack you are all in and you are going to do what he tells you.”

“Wha?” I didn’t like that idea, and I thought she meant long-ways inside my asshole. She had to stop me from trying to shove it up my backside and correct me, so it went lengthwise in between my crack . The thought occurred to me this an elaborate prank to make me end up brushing my teeth with a brush that I flavored myself with my own clag. Fortunately, I had just washed my ass, and there was no chance of that.

It wasn’t easy clenching my brush, but I managed. I slid it between my cheeks, lengthwise, with the bristles sticking out. Jack rushed us out of the bathroom in record time, barking orders like he couldn’t wait another second. I had to waddle to keep the brush from falling out, carrying only a few bits of makeup I’d grabbed in the scramble.

I wondered if this would be my routine every morning from now on—putting on makeup like this, rushed and awkward. I felt bare without a touch of foundation, but I’d had to leave it behind in the scramble. I felt like such a dumb goat.

It truly did feel like Jack wanted to take every aspect about being a woman and make us feel sorry we were one – or punish us by making something like spending time in the bathroom painting our faces up pretty into a more cumbersome task we had to do in front of him while he laughed at us rushing about to please him and hauling our makeup to the table.

I wondered if I’d really be putting my makeup on like this every morning from now on -I felt naked without a little foundation, and I’d left it behind in my hurry.

Maybe I was reading too much into it, and Jack was just having a laugh watching us jiggle, dripping wet and rushing about. The thing is—my sister and Mum were now completely in sync, treating it like his right and their privilege to go along with it.

Jack sat in his chair in the kitchen, snapping pics of us scurrying back to the kitchen from the bathroom with an armload of makeup to set up at the table.

Mum and I were already working on our makeup at the kitchen table. We tossed down the essential mess of brushes and compacts we’d need to paint back on our faces after a shower, I ran my mascara wand over my lashes and squeezed my butt cheeks together – very much aware of the toothbrush. Jack hadn’t even noticed it yet – or if he did, he didn’t seem to care much about it.

Joy had barely started on her eyeliner. I wondered what she was plotting!

I wished my Sister hadn’t even told me about her “secret plan” – now I ran the risk of giving it away if I didn’t say yes or no at the right time when she asked me. All I knew was that she claimed to have one, and it would speed up the time it took Mum to get over the modeling thing all together.

I doubted My mum would want to give this up – she seemed so blissful and excited to be here – she was adapting even to applying makeup in the kitchen – even though we had a mirror just in the bathroom.

Mum’s unwavering reverence for Jack and the idea of doing what he told her during modeling sessions seemed so different than how excited she normally got about one of her schemes. I didn’t hold out much hope that my sister’s plan would get us out of this jam – worth a try, perhaps.

Honestly, I was starting to think this truly was gonna be my life, at least for a bit anyway, when it lost its luster for my Mum.

We were overdue for tea, and all of us were hungry. Mum was getting a little antsy about it. She might forget to pay the rent on time and let the laundry pile up for weeks, but tea after three o’clock was downright sacrilegious to her. It was already creeping up to a quarter past, and she looked like she might boil over before the kettle did.

“If you don’t want to be here shaking your butts for the camera until 11 tonight, you’ll clear out of the loo and put your makeup on at the table.”

“I don’t mind staying as long as you want, Sir!” Joy offered graciously, flashing a sweet smile—revealing that cherry was still clenched between her teeth, after everything it had been through today.

I’d have said she was laying it on a bit thick, but my sister’s “secret plan” seemed simply to kill Jack with kindness. I just wasn’t sure how that was supposed to get us out of modeling altogether. Mum was thrilled, though, copying her as if they’d rehearsed it.

“Aye, we can go all night; we’ve got nothing to do on Sunday, Jack! It’s totally up to you!” Mum was delighted -although it seemed like perhaps, she was a bit unnerved by not eating, or maybe she was already starting to find the idea of modeling as much as she had committed us to doing was too much to keep up with.

“You dumb cows ever think I may want to sleep sometime instead of watching your slutty monkey-antics and taking pictures of it? It’s our first day at this, and now we are at it seven days a week. I like your enthusiasm though Joy. It’s unexpected, I guess it was worth taking a moment to give you an attitude adjustment.”

Jack was basically patting himself on the back for what I felt was an obvious act from my sister. My sister agreed with him and thanked him – now I knew for sure that the plan was to pretend like she loved it. I assumed I’d better do the same.

I hoped I hadn’t misread the plan or else I’d end up even worse off.

“Let’s go, girls. Get your faces painted back on! That’s the way of women, isn’t it? If you’re a bloke born ugly, you just live with it. But you lot? You paint over it. Isn’t that right, Mum? Are you an uggo without your precious blue eye shadow?”

Mum seemed a bit hurt, The cherry still clenched between her teeth as she fumbled with her eye makeup, no mirror in sight -not an easy task to do. She normally laughed herself silly when he was mean, but seemed sullen, perhaps resigned to accept his teasing. "Do you want me to look pretty for the next shoot, Jack? Or would you rather I leave it off altogether?"

You're putting it on because I said so, you blithering tubby sod! Now tell me—are you just plain ugly without it, or what?

“I am a fat, old fart of a twat, you said it yourself earlier when you got me good, Jack. Blackpool’s finest seaside sow, with droopy udders, a gut like a pub landlord, and a quim that looks like a bird’s nest!” Mum smiled sweetly, still holding the maraschino cherry between her teeth. “I couldn’t give it away at the Fox and Hounds with a tenner shoved up my holes for the first piker who wanted it, could I?”

Jack grinned, leaning back slightly. “Hey, a little meanness never hurt anyone, right? I also said you were Goddess Crump, the Poolie in Yellow with her Magnificent Melons,” he countered, his voice taking on a playful yet oddly supportive edge. He reached out and gave her nipple a cheeky tweak. Mum didn’t bat his hand away—instead, she flushed and lit up like she’d just won ten grand on Mastermind. “If you’re so sure, Mum, how about I dress you up, take you to the Fox and Hounds one night modeling, and we’ll see how much the punters would fork over? What do you say to that?”

“No, it never did hurt anyone, Jack. I don’t mind being teased -I know what I am. “Mum smiled, flattered by Jack’s unexpected compliment but less excited than when he was mean to her. “Even three pints deep, I’m last choice for a goose from the old farts up at the tavern, so I doubt you’d get more than a free pint of ale and a packet of crisps for a tumble with me,” she said, brushing him off as if he were joking, she added, “What can I make for tea?”

"Since we’re modeling, girls stand, men sit for all meals from now on, you can work off a little extra calories and it makes it easier to take snaps of your entire body. I haven’t forgotten that you are being punished, Joanne. You’ll sit your big butt on the wooden, floor, legs crossed after you’ve brought the tea and laid out the food."

I expected as much for today - given Jack was making us model past supper and he thought it was good fun to make us stand at the table. However, it was still unclear to me if that meant every day, and when we weren’t modeling. I was afraid to ask, because he’d probably say we’d have to stand all the time and Mum was probably willing to go right along with any pure muppetry Jack suggested at the moment.

We’d started at breakfast with the idea that we just had to hold out until lunch. Then Mum had the brilliant idea to do Naked Attraction and Jack told us we’d have to show up tomorrow for that bit. Then Mum gave us one of her “Back in Blackpool” stories about the way women should behave, and Jack set our schedule just until tea.

All the time, no one asked us Joy and if we minded – just cracking on and bending over, wiggling our bits, and letting him snap us like “open books” anywhere Jack well pleased. Then Mum said wouldn’t it be a posh idea if we just did this every day for two hours from now on. That because as long as Jack well pleased, because he felt we’d shortchange him when we went out on weekends or came home from school.

Mum ASKED Jack earlier if he was alright with us going just until 9pm on Fridays and Saturdays, as if it was a favor to us, and a big hassle to him -when we had only ever signed on for lunch. He only reluctantly agreed on the stipulation we be good girls and show up on time and give our all each day – every day. We’d gone from one day of modeling, to two days, to now every day for the foreseeable future.

Lucky us, right?

Just a few minutes earlier, Jack was saying that Mum and Joy’s outbursts made us late for tea, so now he was pushing us back to 5 pm, and 5 pm became 9 pm for reasons I couldn’t even remember, and suddenly we were likely to go until 11 pm?

When would we sleep? Was this truly going to be like this everyday? Or would it collapse by Monday like most of my Mum’s other off-the-deep end crusades that end with her tossing it all in the bin and forgetting it about it?


I’d trust in Joy’s plan, or wait for someone to get tired of it all and put a stop to the modeling or just slap a smile on my face and crack on with it, – we’d find out soon enough one way or the other what he decided. We’d probably end up well past 11pm at this rate. I could whinge and wail but at the rate things had been changing any answer I’d get at half past 5 would be different by 6pm.

I can tell you one thing for sure – no one was going to ask me my opinion of it, anyway – so there was no point in asking and making things worse.

I will share some anecdotes/inspiration/insight for those that care that "may" or "may not" be true for purposes of discussion.

The inspiration for this story is a real Joanne. In my mind, the way a story feels authentic is if you can draw elements from people and events you've been apart of it and embed them in there. The real Joanne went on and on about "Two Pints of Lager and a packet of crisps"

In America, we'd never have had such a show. It's too long of a name to say, and they don't just call it "Two Pints" the way we would, or at least she didn't. I had no idea what was talking about at the time.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ToV9iweUnDU
If you want some clips, here is a good one. The regular show takes some getting used to for Americans, i'd say. This is sort of funny bits and explanations.

I know the word Lager, never could tell you what the difference is from beer. A packet? it's a bag, in America. To quote the neighbor from Office Sapce "I believe you'd get your ass kicked around here for saying something like that"

I was thinking about them, and I finally watched the show on Youtube - holy fuck, it's so cheeky and full of sex stuff. Her and her daughters were recounting the episodes like they were episodes of Friends -mainstream. In one, the guy wipes his dick on his curtains after he has a wank and his girlfriend only agrees to stop smoking in the house if he'll stop making the "Curtains Cummy"

That's British humor? I thought it was Benny Hill slapping the back of an oldie's head, and dry wit. Imagine if Rachel tells Ross to stop wiping his dick on the curtains and Ross isn't ashamed, he says "Now hold on, you may as well ask me to hold in me farts! What's the fun in that?"

I don't know any British people really, but I knew a tubby self-described "Fat arse" named Joanne, always laughing, loved to flash her tits and do things "For a laugh"

She and her fat husband rented a place where I lived for vacation - except in England they get real vacations for months at a time. I got to know them one day at the community pool.

"Oi, do they have a bar at the pool, or can we sneak in gin?" I think she asked.
I said no.
"I told you we should have brought some gin in a lotion bottle, George! My name is Joanne, and this lurker is me husband, George!"
"I am Eddie"
"Pleasure!"

Never met a stranger in her life. She's outgoing, constantly giggling. "He works for a bank, I work for a bookmaker."

A bookmaker? I imagine Michael Caine is his square glasses, his name is "Mr. Randygig" or something and he's an old school gangster that sits at the local bakery all day, lending money and taking bets. He's got a guy named "Tam" who will "come around and have a chat" if you don't pay up. Joanne works the phones, keeping the books or something.

Everything they say sounds interersting (Well she does, he is more like Silent Bob). "We've got to pop around the gay-rajj, in the morning."

What? That sounds so cool. I'd like to go with her, just because that sounds like an adventure. The way I say it "I've got to go down to tire kingdom" sounds stupid. I wrote the dialogue to this story in my head from her voice, which is northern accent. I wrote this Joanne to be from Blackpool, so I could mix regional accents with the South as an excuse in case an actual British person reads this story and thinks i write the way Hollywood writers do parts for Hugh Grant.

A lot of things British people say (her in particular) were incomprehensible to me. They leave out words, so spell check hates the fuck out of me and is pretty much useless. I'd imagine a real Brit will say this isn't authentic. I did the best I could to capture the energy and spirit of it. Their grammar doesn't follow our rules. You'll see that in the story if you read it. I wrote the storyteller's introspective voice as British, because i want you in her head, not Eddie's head.

I made the storyteller the quiet, shy one (who is really a bit saucy if you come to find out) that never gets noticed, while the other more developed daughter is about. I thought that was great, because as narrator, she's not the focus and she can just soldier on with "What choice have I got? let's crack on, then." letting the other characters take focus in the storytelling.

Joanne was larger than life, but not much to look at in reality. Cute chubby face, piggy nose, pale skin, tubby, fat droopy tits, big "arse", short dumpling build.

They really do say "arse". I thought it was just how they wrote it. They also say "Shite". It sounds like it'd be easier to say Shit and Ass, but that's how they usually said it, so that's how I write it (mostly). They say things like "Chuffed"

"I am really chuffed about that"

As an American, that sounds like you are angry about it to me. It turns out, that means you are happy about it. The have about 10x more ways to say vulgarities than we do, and they are all clever sounding "Proper twat" or "Wanker", etc. They have all of ours, plus theirs and the adjectives that punctuate them. "Drippy cow!", "Gibbering sod"

That's all in this story, but what I can't do entirely is capture the tone where most of the time it was met as a term of endearment, or light hearted. If you write it, it sounds like they are toxic assholes when you add up all the lines where they insult each other. That's just how it was.

Imagine writing:
"How are mummy's little cunts?" the mum asks, as they kiss their mum on the lips.

in an America story, that would sound twisted as fuck. That's the norm for them. it sounds so fun and completely normal when you hear them and see them do it. It's surreal. I added that flavor as much as I can to this story, but changed them enough that I wasn't just writing this family.

She's very cheeky - he's quiet as fuck, she's never met a stranger. She was at the pool in a one piece, very big woman, but constantly laughing. Cute english titties, looks a bit like Nicola coughlin, the piggy nosed actress on Derry Girls/Downton Abbey but older. Red hair, I think but dyed. I made this Joanne blonde, because I wanted her to have that Karen haircut. Ai isn't kind when it comes to making bodies like this.

Most AI can't/woke make British teeth. They aren't nasty, but they are kind of outdented/overbite or crooked. It gives them a sexy look, maybe even a gap tooth way that is hard to describe. You can't make a proper Freddy mercury without a Lora trained on his face, and you can't make a Joanne consistently because no one uploads a Lora that looks like Joanne. I tried it and i got back exaggerated humungous tits. That's good but i can't recreate the body exactly. Joanne's weight will fluctuate 50lbs from picture to picture, more top heavy in some, more bottom in others, so if i post AI pics for this later - it will probably be precious few of my vision of the character.

Joy and Sophie, i got spot on for consistency and the way i wanted them to look sans the slightly crooked teeth.

Their actual daughters had similar look - noses dappled with freckles, one with narrowed brows and a pissy expression that had nothing to do with her mood. "That's just how her face looks, she can't help being a munter"
"MUM!"
"What? you get it from George's side of the family"

The other with the glasses and nerdy face, was compared constantly to "Saffy" from a TV show called Absolutely Fabulous. Instead of pushing back, she'd sigh and just sort of take it. I tried to capture the resigned expression of "no point in trying to come back at my mum, she'll just make me the joke again"

When I was at the community pool, George and Joanne were sitting nearby, set up to watch their daughters at the pool, and have some gin (during the day/early). "We're on vacay, so a reasonable time to start drinking I'd say is 10am, because it's what 3:00pm in Newcastle, George?"
George sits there quietly, and Joanne just prattles on while they both drink and "chat me up" as if we've known each other for years.

I was completely enamored with how clever she was. She called ME A "Cheeky Monkey". I still think about how fun and exciting that conversation was, but it was quite one sided. i wanted to hear her talk, and she liked to talk.

finally at one point, George says something like;
"Show eddie your baps!"
"no one wants to see my slaggy titties"
"Go on and flash, Eddie.."
"There are other people here, George! Don't be so cheeky!"
"So? have they never seen droopy bazookas like yours?"
"Fine, Eddie - meet the girls, alright? now buy me a biscuit, and some gin, and we'll call it even."

Drops her one piece down, flashes her tits real fast, and smiles, like it's just a friendly thing to do to a total stranger. The brazenness, and completely harmless fun of it all was what drew me in. She wasn't expecting me to get all weird on her, because where she's from, that kind of humor is considered just friendly/normal.

That was fun, she was fun. I made Joanne in this story like that, but maybe amped her up 100x, to laugh when she does something hot. In retrospect, I may have kept her just like this version and had as much fin writing.

Then TWO hot daughters. I say hot, but not in the traditional sense. Bookish little minxes, wth curly brown hair, and pretty pale skin, very pissy and often argumentive with one another but polite as punch around me.

Swimming in the community pool;

"Look, Mummy and Daddy," I assure you they were older, and that's just how they talk "The Butt moon Dance"
"Let's see you, cheeky monkeys!"
They both jump out of the water, ass cracks to us, let their bottoms slide down, stick their asses up in arch as they go under the water with a quick flash of their crack.
"You gamey twats!" Joanne laughs hysterically - term of endermeant..

Joy and Sophie are very much inspired by that.

Joanne was super clever.
They were from Newcastle, near Scotland. I said I always wanted to go to Scotland.
Not missing a beat, she asks "Do you like rain, Eddie?"
So quick and clever. I'll never forget how everything she said sounded so fucking interesting and smart.
She's implying that I better love the fuck out of rain because other than snow, you might get one day of sunshine or two and then back to rain.

I took them to an Irish pub, because I thought it would make them feel at home. Big mistake, I can still hear their words.

"Eddie, we hate the Irish, but we'll go anywhere for a proper pint" I will never forget how she said it. On the way we had to cross the street. "We have to queue to cross the road?" she acted like we were barbarians.
"Eddie, we come to America to get away from places like this. This is all we have where we come from..Let's go to applebees, it's 2 for one"

I am here because I like ENF/CNFM/humliation stories. I like all kinds, but I write the kinds I REALLY enjoy in the hopes I'll inspire others.

The girls in the English family were all extroverts, but reluctant ones. That's what I wanted to capture in this story. it's doubtful that I did. I didn't set out to make exact copies; when I write this dialogue I sort of wish I had. They weren't really "embarrassed" at all - but the reluctance is what got me. All George had to really do was ask her once to flash her knockers, and when she said no - he just asked her again and she did it with a huge grin and a laugh.

I came back to their rented place, immaculate vacation rental.

"Right, off with your drippy suits in the suite, Girls"
"But the American is here."
"His name is Eddie, girls..don't be so stodgy, he's seen what you got before, won't be surprised by your bits and tiny tits. When we went to Brighton, you tossed your suits in the channel without a care for whoever to see..so no dripping on the shag, girls..starkers, now, chop chop."
"That was different! we we were at beach and there were cute guys!"
"Eddie, can you believe this?" Joanne lamented their lack of obedience.

Now, they weren't starkers for more than 3 seconds at the hall, and I've run out of salacious stuff. I hope you don't mind a quick interlude of inspiration.

I know it's a bump, and it's not a proper story - but it's how the sausage is made if you are interested. I apologize if this is boring - but I thought I would share that the best stories have an ounce of truth in the creation of the people to make them less one-note.

Among other things, I drew this story together around these characters primarily. The Godstone setting is because I visited there. It's just outside of the Gatwick airport, and nothing happens there. We have Walmart shopping plazas that are about as big as their entire village, and unlike Americans, they don't over develop the shit out of it. I don't understand how people can even live there. There is literally fuck-all-to-do. What I liked about that was to use it as a motive to "Right then, we'll take some snaps for a few hours and it'll kill the time, Sophie! You've no grand plans, anyway."

I felt like a proper knob with my toothbrush clenched between my arse cheeks. I could picture this playing out on Two Pints of Ale and a Packet of Crisps. Janet is trying to make it up to Johnny for shagging her ex-boyfriend while he had stomach flu and he’s calling her a slaggy cum rag.

“Johnny! What else can I do to prove to you I probably won’t do it again unless I get drunk?”

“Stick your toothbrush up your arse, Janet…it’s the only way.”

That would be a banger of an episode! Lol

My little brother still hadn’t even noticed what I had done. No shock there – Joy and me mum tend to suck all the oxygen and attention out of the room, and I am a bit of a shy mouse.

I was also facing him at the table, and I’d said nothing about it. What was I to say? “Oi, Jack! I’ve got me brush up on my backside! Come have a look and a laugh!” that wasn’t me. This was my sister’s plan anyway, and I was still unsure that she wasn’t setting me up for another prank.

Joy wasn’t giving me any clues about the plan. She had her resting bitch face on, and she looked like she smelled some foul gas – nothing new there, either.

If being told she had to just to stand at the table for tea made her knot her brow, I wasn’t sure how convincing her “all-in” was really going to be. Then again, my sister had resting bitch face and probably didn’t know she looked a little pissy all the time.

"Dear, we’re starting at seven in the morning tomorrow, and you said we’d likely go to eleven tonight—that’s supper and breakfast. Are we even going to need the chairs again, or shall we just clear them away now?"

“You're making me sound like I'm being unreasonable, Joanne!” Jack said, acting hurt as he slouched on his arse, while the rest of us stood around in the kitchen.

“I’m sorry, Jack! I didn’t mean to sound sarcastic! I was just having a laugh! You told us we’d be standing past supper, and I wasn’t sure if we were going to have another meal where we’re not sitting down, or if we’re just standing around so you can get your pictures, that’s all!”

Mum acted like she had just accidentally stubbed his toe, when she laid on the thick apology -all the while clenching the cherry he made her hold in her mouth.

"Leave the chairs where they are. If I decide you’re sitting, I’ll tell you. As for the modeling schedule—if you’re ‘all in,’ then you’ll be ready to model whenever I say, no matter when. Don’t worry about when we’re stopping; just focus on doing what’s asked of you. Got it?"

“Got it, Jack! I was really just having a laugh! I love the modeling, but you have us back for 7am before breakfast, and I was just wondering if we’re modeling all the time now – oh, I am being daft is all! I’ll hush, and get the tea prepared, Jack!”

“is it that your legs hurt from standing, Joanne?” Jack asked as my Mum turned toward the counter.

“No, they don’t hurt now, but they might after a few days of standing and trying to eat my soup. We haven’t really had much of a break since breakfast,” Mum replied nervously, her lips curving into a light smile as her fingers absently tugged at the tips of her drooping nipples like she was trying to remind herself to stop talking, Mum glanced away, shifting her weight uncomfortably.

“I thought tea WAS the break,” Jack frowned, then softened his tone, adding with a hint of patience, “I completely understand, Joanne! Anyone else worried about standing too long? Your legs might get tired after twenty minutes, and I’ll take some better snaps while you bints stuff your cake holes?”

Before I could process Jack's words, Joy jumped in with a bright grin, practically bouncing in her seat. “Not here, all in!” she said, her voice full of energy, as though she was already on board with whatever Jack had suggested, eager for it to begin. It was so out of character for her – but strangely natural this time.

“All in, Jack!” I replied crisply.

“How are you all in, you Muppet?” Jack grinned, looking well pleased with my response. A shiver ran down my spine – it felt good to be noticed, and I wasn’t fussed about answering that way. Mum beamed at me like I’d just bagged a spot on the honours list at Carrington School. I am a the most average of all the average students – books aren’t really my thing.

“Show him, Sophie!” My sister suggested excitedly.

I turned around slowly, clenching my butt cheeks and let my brother take a few snaps of my toothbrush facing out of my backside length wise. He was delighted. “Sophie, you came up with this, yourself?”

“Joy’s idea,” I responded.

“Oh, I see what’s happening here,” Jack grumbled, his face lighting up as if he'd just cracked the case. A chill ran down my spine – I had a horrible feeling I’d just bungled my sister’s whole plan without even realizing. “You bamboozled Sophie into sticking her toothbrush in her bum crack because you want to be the one doing the teasing and have another of your pranks, is that it?”

“No, Jack!” my sister assured him. “Sophie wanted a way to show she was all-in too! You let me and mum have a chance at it with this cherry – which by the way, tastes fantastic! Thank you!!” Joy piled on the sweet charm of someone trying to avoid a misunderstanding. “I suggested she go ahead and lean into my prank, show you she’s fine with it – might amuse you!”

“Is that right, Sophie?” Jack asked, looking as pleased as punch, as if he’d just heard the best news of the day.

“Yeah!” I wasn’t even lying when I said it – it had been Joy’s idea, and it might’ve been a trick, but Jack was happy, so no harm, no foul. It wasn’t like it was rammed up my bum. “I didn’t want to be a nuisance and ask for a chance to show you or take up time with nattering on while you were snapping shower pics! I thought I’d just wait till you noticed, Sir!”

“Oh, Sir, is it? I like that!” Jack grinned. I couldn’t even tell you why I said it – it just felt right in the moment. I wasn’t even being cheeky about it. It meant nothing to me to toss that out there. That may have been a mistake to put that in his head.

“Brilliant Sophie,” Jack genuinely loved my effort -that much was for sure. My reward for my troubles? “Just like Mum isn’t here – we’ve got Joanne during modeling, I don’t think directors should be on a first name basis with their models! Too informal – let’s go with Sir, Sir Jack, Mister Jack!”

Now, I had stepped in it – and I instantly regretted it. “Yes, Sir!” I replied.

“May I ask? Why not turn the brush around and face your sweaty, stink hole? What good does it do facing out?”

“Um, I wasn’t planning to brush with it, Sir. I just wanted to show you I could clench it and like Joy said, she thought it might be funny!”

“It’s dead funny, better than the biscuit rap on Two Pints of Lager and a Packet of Crisps, Sophie! Go ahead and crack on with it! Literally! Scrub your crack with it – give it some elbow grease! These will be ace shots!”

I was gobsmacked. Standing like a proper slag, scrubbing up and down with the bristle end, and my back to Jack. Even though he probably had several pictures taken throughout the day of my sheer humiliation, terror or confusion, and utter disbelief plastered across my face, at least he didn’t get another. I think I preferred it when Jack didn’t pay much attention to me. “Hold still, now wiggle, now spread those ham , slide it down, slide

I had no choice but to get on with it, scrubbing at my arse like I was trying to sandpaper it off. I kept glancing over my shoulder, hoping Mum or Joy might step in and save me before I ended up raw.

That’s when it hit me—all-in definitely didn’t just mean plastering on a fake grin and hopping about on Jack’s command. This was something else entirely.

“How am I meant to brush now, until we get another?” I shot at him, desperate for some sense of reason.

“What d’you mean?” Jack fired back, all smug. “You’ve been brushing with it since Joy used it—and she’s probably had it up her dumper a hundred times! And you didn’t even clock it!”

I cringed at the thought – he was spot on. I had been brushing my teeth with the nasty brush for probably more than a year. The disgusting realization made my butthole pucker, and my stomach quiver with disgust.

“I didn’t shove it up my bum, Jack,” Joy snapped defensively, more worried about what Jack might think of her than the fact I was quite literally dragging the bristles up and down my arse crack while he stood there having the time of his life. Mum was off sorting the tea service, but not before having a proper giggle at my expense. “There wasn’t any poo on it!” she added, like that somehow made it better.

“Yeah, but you didn’t shower just before, did you?” Jack fired back, his tone all smug as he turned to me. “And you’ve just washed your arse, haven’t you? So, if you’d done it properly, what’s there to worry about? Joanne and Joy didn’t whinge when they had to hold a cherry that had been jammed up their filthy, unwashed arses to get a few snaps. D’you think you’re entitled to more than they had?”

“I have to brush my teeth with this, even when I am not modeling, though?”

“You don’t think it’s fair, Sophie?” Jack asked me sweetly – I should have known my brother’s sweetness was sarcasm.

“It’s a poopy brush, Jack!” I reminded him.

“Who?” He slapped my arse for the first time—it sounded much worse than it felt, barely even a sting.

“Sorry, Sir!” I remembered a bit too late, that’s he’s changed his name.

“That’s right, not King Jack, Saint Jack, Lord Jack – Sir, Mister Jack, Director, I’ll not be on a first name basis with you girls.”

If he wanted it that way; it was no skin off my nose if he wanted to be called Ringo Starr for all I cared.

“It’s the first day, Sophie! I am not a heartless bastard. I am not going to pretend I have answers for all the questions you knobs might babble. We’ve gone from one or two days, to every day and we’re going to need some ground rules, some limits.

“I’m glad to hear you say that, Jack!” Joy brightened up, but she tacked on a cheeky “Sir!” too late. Jack’s hand cracked across her backside, sharp enough to make her yelp and shift her stance, a proper sting for forgetting his self-appointed title. My big sister pouted like she’d been wronged, rubbing her so-called sore bum cheek. Bet it hardly even stung—such a bloody pansy.

“Sophie, I can’t be expected to have a contingency for every nit that you lot could think to ask about on day one of your new modeling career – it’s absurd and demanding,” Jack shamed me for daring to even ask how I would get on with a dirty toothbrush from now on. “Even if I had prepared a custom Debrett's Etiquette and Modern Manners booklet for dippy tarts, piss flaps and gobby cows, after the chapter on not whinging, nattering, and losing the plot, I wouldn’t have gotten around to how does Sophie use her toothbrush from now on.”


I figured she might need a slap or two on the bum herself to remind her she had to call him Sir as well, but no—she was all-in, properly committed. None of Joy’s half-assed pretending; Mum was practically glowing with enthusiasm.

“I might have to, you needy slut," Jack fired back, sounding more exasperated than serious. "You’ve got me doing this daily now, and the girls are already asking about breaks, toothbrushes—what’s next? How many sheets of poo tickets you goblins can tear off?”

Hopefully, he was kidding about rationing the loo roll. I wasn’t about to ask, though—I just blushed, kept brushing, and stared straight ahead like my life depended on it.

“I do want to thank you for bringing it to my attention, though,” he continued, in that maddeningly smug tone of his. “Apparently, I’ve got to sort even the minutiae now, since I’m the director. So, here’s the answer: no, you don’t have to brush your teeth with the brush when you’re not modeling. I’m the director of modeling now. I don’t have the patience or the crayons to explain how to brush your teeth around the clock. Sort it out with Joanne when she’s done modeling—and not a minute before!”

Mum wiped her hands on the towel and didn’t say a word about what Jack had just laid down—her being “Mum” off hours again. She picked up the teapot and poured his cup, her tone all sweetness. “Milk, Sir?” she asked, like she didn’t know the answer. Then, without looking up, she added, “May I still call you ‘Dear’ sometimes, Sir?”

"While you’re modeling?" Jack laughed, shaking his head. "The rules are the same for all the girls, Joanne. You know that, don’t you? You’ve had that cherry stuck in your fat gob so long, it might as well sprout roots."
Meanwhile, here I am wiping my bum raw with a toothbrush, and Jack’s not even bother to take snaps. I slowed down a bit and he didn’t notice I stopped raking over my crapper so hard and fast.

"Yes, Sir. All in, Sir," Mum said, her voice light but obedient. "Same rules for all the girls, cherry roots and all!"

"Good. Eat the cherry—you’ve earned it," Jack said, his gaze flicking to Joy. "Shoulders back, tits out, you piss mop! Same question—same rules for all the girls. You’re all-in. I know Joanne gets what that means—do you?"
Mum was thrilled – probably the best tasting cherry she’d ever eaten in her life by the look of it. I guess she’d earned it. I have to admit – I was tempted to say I was all-in and mean it, just to make her happy. There was more to this than just snaps! It was changing the way things worked in our house – the question was for how long and how much.

"Yes, Sir," Joy said, her voice steady this time. "I’m all-in. It means doing what I’m told, without making it difficult or holding back. Same rules for all of us, no exceptions." She straightened her shoulders as she spoke, like she was settling into the role properly for the first time.

"Good," Jack said, nodding. "Eat the cherry, Joy. Both of you—grab your toothbrushes and get right back here. Line up next to Sophie, backs to me—Joanne in the middle, Joy on the left. We’ll do a bit of modeling before tea! I’m sure that you sods won’t mind performing another scene!”

Joy bit down on the cherry with a slow, exaggerated chew, grinning like a cat with cream. She winked at me, her mouth half-full, as if to say, Mission accomplished. I wanted to smack her smug face but settled for glaring instead.

Jack carried on, unbothered. “Since all girls follow the same rules in the house—during modeling anyway—Joanne will probably go back to being a self-indulgent tosser and impose her hypocritical do-as-I-say, not-as-I-do rules outside of modeling. Nothing I can do about that one, girls. Not my circus, not my monkeys.”

Mum’s lips tightened like she wanted to argue, but after a moment, she nodded, her face pinched. Maybe it stung, being called out for her double standards. It was funny, really—she could laugh off getting ripped into about her belly, her massive tits, or even being called a slapper. But when it came to being told she could have tea and biscuits while we couldn’t? That clearly hit a nerve.

Jack wasn’t done. “Joy and Joanne, you two are all-in! You both agreed the same rules apply to all girls—and since Sophie’s got a dirty toothbrush, you’ll all have a dirty toothbrush. Line up, arses toward me, same position as our Sophie. Joanne in the centre, Joy on the right—brushes in your arse cheeks—let’s see you scrub-a-dub-dub those balloon knots!”

There I was, scrubbing my arse with the brush I was supposed to clean my teeth with, and I hadn’t even been asked if I was all in. Not that it mattered—I’d been playing along this whole time, hadn’t I? If Jack ever did ask, I wasn’t sure how I’d answer, but I was leaning toward yes. Mum would probably tell me I had to be, anyway.

The two of them surprised me by not kicking up a fuss and getting into position without a word. They both looked a bit grim about it. I know it’s mean, but after Joy had used my toothbrush to wipe her arse God knows how many times, I was looking forward to her getting a “taste” of her own medicine. Mum, though—she didn’t deserve it.

We’d be able to clean our toothbrushes after this, and honestly, I’d never noticed anything foul on mine. If I had, I’d have binned it long ago. It wasn’t the reality of it; it was just the idea that made it seem so disgusting.

Mum glanced over her shoulder at Jack as she stuck the brush between her cheeks. “Jack, is this for snaps, or did we do something to deserve this, Sir? Because I’m a crap mum, I’ve got to have crap on my brush?”

“Right now, you’re Joanne, the crap model,” Jack teased, his tone sharp and mocking. “You think I’m daft enough to slag off my mum and risk burnt biscuits when we do shift change from models back to proper twats? Not a chance. I’m not falling for your manipulations, Joanne.”

Mum grinned at that, clearly chuffed with his response, and started scrubbing her arse a bit harder, making sure to push her cheeks apart as she did. “See everything, Sir?” she asked, her voice almost cheeky. “And just so we’re clear, I—or your mum, I suppose—won’t be holding anything you say or do to Joanne or the girls against you. This has been a proper laugh so far. If this is a punishment, I can’t see it. That’s all!”

“You’ve hit the nail there, Joanne,” Jack said, his sneer softening into a wicked smile. “This isn’t punishment. This is just breakfast entertainment. And since you’re all enjoying it so much, we’ll make it a regular thing. Every morning, arses out, brushes in, so you butt-breaths can take in the aroma of your own handiwork before you wash up.”

“I’m all in, Jack,” Joy piped up, her voice laced with just a hint of hesitation. “But why every day? If you’re getting the photos you want, do we really need to keep doing this?”

Jack didn’t bother with words at first. Instead, he slapped her bum hard enough to echo through the room. “That’s Sir to you, Joy,” he snapped. “And don’t question what I decide. You’re not here to think.”

He leaned in closer, snapping a few photos of Joy as she followed his direction to spread her cheeks further. “This isn’t just for the pictures, either,” he said, his tone icy. “It’s about teaching you lot a lesson that you aren’t to be put on pedestals and put on fancy airs like a posh princess when you are modeling. It’ll make it easier to work with you twats as models. You’ve got swollen egos and too much pride. You hold back when it matters. I want you to be open books, every last inch of you. Look at Sophie over there—cheeks clenched so tight I’d need a crowbar to get them apart!”

Mum burst out laughing, and I flushed red, muttering a quick apology before doing my best to follow his orders. I gave him as much of a view as I could manage. “You weren’t even snapping me, Sir!” I added in a small voice.

“And why do you think I haven’t asked if you’re all in yet, you tight-arsed slug?” Jack shot back, his voice dripping with disdain. “Because you’re natural liars, that’s why. You’ll say whatever you think I want to hear, but you’re never fully honest. You can’t help yourselves—not you, not Joy, not even Joanne. It’s in your nature.”

So much for my sister’s “Super Secret Master Plan.” I could see right through her over-the-top act, and I knew Jack could too. He might be younger than us, but he’s sharp enough to know she hadn’t suddenly gone full-on, no-doubts committed.

Joy predictably denied she was a liar. “I’m trying, Sir! I didn’t lie! I want to be all-in.”

Jack wasn’t having it. “You’re trying—but you’re not all-in, Cunt. An all-in Cunt would be holding her cheeks apart, showing me everything, and taking this as a challenge. You’d be nasty, filthy, and getting off on entertaining the camera!”

“You told us to scrub our bums, Sir,” I reminded him. “That’s why we’re doing it—not to get our jollies.”

“Yes, and only wicked little twats wouldn’t think that was filthy! Now, show me everything—all of it. Here, dip this brush in your tap water.” He held out my glass, waiting.

I frowned but reluctantly dunked my brush into my own cup of water. There weren’t any bits of pooh on it, and I had to admit—it wasn’t half-bad scrubbing with a wet brush. I even quite liked it.

He made Joy and Mum do the same with Joy’s cup. “If you lot were all-in, you’d take this in stride and have fun with it! Spread your cheeks—every one of you snobby mares! Wider! Show me what you had for lunch, and scrub like you’re trying to clean your dirty minds, not just your dirty behinds!”

That was funny—I giggled along with Mum, but Joy stayed sour-faced, glaring daggers at the floor.

“Can you see it, Jack, my rear hole?” My mum asked as she held her ass as far apart as it would go.

“Gobby hole, looks like a bearded man chewing tobacco,” Jack acted like his cell phone lens cracked. Mum found that amusing enough and began to play at it – putting the tip end in the hole.
I’ve never been buggered, you know. I can’t imagine a man wouldn’t be put off his tea trying to hump this. I was raised to think the arsehole was strictly for holding in farts and turd balls—nothing goes in, only out. It’s not a sexual orifice. So, are we supposed to be enjoying this, or is the point to make us suffer a bit?”

“Can’t you tell, you old cow?” Joy’s nose wrinkled in disgust, but she was holding her cheeks apart wider than the rest of us, showing Jack everything he asked for.

Jack said we could call Mum names, but neither of us ever had—not until now. Hearing it from Joy felt wrong, off. It wasn’t the same as when Jack said it.

I suppose I wasn’t much better than Mum. A double standard, really—thinking it was fine for Jack to say things a girl shouldn’t. Maybe Joy was just angry about being humiliated this way and took it out on Mum since she couldn’t take it out on Jack.

“I think girls like you might need to suffer a bit to learn a lesson, but I’m not trying to torture you,” Jack said, ignoring Joy’s sour look as he answered Mum instead. He snapped a few pictures and gestured for me to spread my cheeks wider. “This is just a little exercise for today. We should be having tea, sure,” Jack took a long sip from his mug.

“Instead, we’re working on humbling you – because your egos need a check. You twats thought you could lie to me about being all-in? Please. Sexy snaps are great, but sometimes you lot need knocking down a peg. You need to stop hiding yourselves from me—open it up! If it hurts Sophie’s feelings when I say her turd cutter’s so tight you could shove a piece of coal up there and six weeks later you’d have a diamond, it’s because I want her to understand that nasty little starfish isn’t special enough to be worth hiding from anyone.”

I cringed as Jack described my arsehole like it was a piece of meat. I’d never even seen it before. I should have been flattered to hear it was tight, but now all I felt was mortified. Joy and Mum snickered at me, clearly enjoying my humiliation—even though they were in the same bloody boat as me! How was that fair?

“Have you ever had anal, Soph?” Jack asked as naturally as if he were asking about the weather.

My stomach churned. All eyes were on me. I’d told Joy about the times I had—only a few, and naturally, she had to rub it in that she’d done it more. “Come on,” Jack pushed. “We all know you’re a lying git, but Joanne confessed to us she’s never been buggered- fair is fair, same rules for all girls. I am not going to ask again -Has some bloke ever greased up his hog enough to shove it in your dirty backdoor?”

“I… I… yes,” I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper. Mum’s eyes widened, but instead of looking horrified like I’d expected, she almost seemed proud. That threw me off. I wasn’t about to argue that there wasn’t some rule saying we had to spill all our naughty secrets to Jack. Besides, if Joy had half a chance, she’d blab about me anyway.

“How many times? And did you enjoy it?” Jack pressed, his tone making it clear he wasn’t going to let me off with a vague answer.

“Gah, I don’t know… a couple of times, maybe. It was alright! I wouldn’t recommend it,” I said, frowning.

“You told me you’d done it a dozen times. And I know you made it with the vicar! If you did, then he slipped it to you!” Joy called me out, her voice dripping with that smugness she always had when she thought she had one over on me.

The truth was, I had done it dozens of times—but it wasn’t exactly my favourite thing. It was more something I put up with when I wanted a guy to buy me something nice.

“How many times have you had it up that cock hole of yours, Joy?” Jack asked, turning the heat on her now.

“I don’t keep count—probably thirty or forty times,” Joy said proudly, as if it were some badge of honour. I rolled my eyes. There was no way it was that many times; it was just her nature to try and outdo me at every turn. “It can feel good if it’s done right,” she added, “but if they just slam it in, then it’s painful!”

“Naughty ass-slut, you’ve probably had more riders on your tube than King’s Cross St Pancras during rush hour,” Jack laughed wickedly, shutting my sister’s pie hole with that one. “You’re a proper filth monger! A little pain never hurt anyone—anal’s not for your pleasure, it’s for the man’s.”

That sounded exactly like something our mum would say. Her face lit up at Jack’s words, but she kept her mouth shut for once—just carried on doing what she was told while Jack spoke directly to our arses like they were our faces.

“I told you during the cherry bit earlier that I like weird stuff,” Joy muttered, a tinge of defiance in her voice. “Not all of its fun, though. I’m doing it, Sir, so I should get credit for that.”

“You will,” Jack replied sharply. “But you’re being treated like the proper slut you are—embrace it! Stop being such a stick in the mud with your mudflaps!”

“Do me next, Jack?” Mum begged, bouncing on the balls of her feet like an overexcited schoolgirl. Her tits jiggled wildly as she hopped, eager for her turn to be roasted.

“If I tell this nasty old gash that she’s got a hole so wide she could push out two turds at once, she’d fall on the floor laughing,” Jack said, smirking. “She needs to be degraded, to embrace it—and that’s why I believe Joanne isn’t lying. She doesn’t have to lie. She needs this. She needs to be all in.”

“Thank you, Sir!” Mum gushed, clearly flattered. Jack had just called our Mum a liar, who just didn’t need to lie about this one thing, as well as a nasty old gash, and she’d thanked him. I was flummoxed!

Jack wasn’t done. “Show me you’re all in! You’re already bored of lengthwise—take it longwise now. Tip end, not the brush end. Put it to your hole and pop it in—let’s see you bugger yourself.”

“Ooh… Sir, should I? Really?” Mum was already doing it, of course—pressing the small tip end against herself. Her face twisted like it hurt, but I doubted it did. I’d been told I had a much tighter arse than hers, and it felt like nothing to me once Jack had us dip the brushes in water.

“Hoo-hoo, I feel it!” Mum chirped like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“How far in must we go?” my sister asked, already following suit, just like I was. Jack hadn’t even told us to start—it just felt like he expected it. I have to admit, this was not how I thought I’d be spending my Saturday. Not one bit!

“Just slide the tip in—no more than the first inch or so. Don’t go any deeper, and don’t you dare start pleasuring yourselves. Stop there. I want the brush part hanging out like a white tail on a wild female jack-ass!”

Jack wasn’t wrong about the temptation to pleasure myself. Once I started sliding the tip in and out of my bum, I dreaded having to stop and just leave it hanging. It wasn’t doing anything to excite me—at least not physically—but letting it droop there like it was about to fall on the floor felt ridiculous and uncomfortable.

He snapped some pictures of us, then made us turn and tap the brushes together like the three musketeers. I couldn’t help but laugh at how absurd it all was. If he was doing anything, it was breaking down my shyness bit by bit. I was laughing at how outrageous the situation was while simultaneously mortified that I could laugh at something so humiliating and degrading.

Jack gave us a choice—either keep sliding the brush in and out, no more than an inch, or leave it hanging. All three of us chose to play with it, sliding it back and forth. “Twisted little pigs and bimbos, that’s what I want you to be right now,” Jack said with a sneer. “But I also want you to be ashamed of what you are.” Then he asked us if we knew why he wanted that – I hadn’t the foggiest.

I was too busy trying not to drip down my legs and leave a sticky mess on the floor to get too philosophical about the state of the world. I’m not the type to raise my hand in class with the answer unless the teacher’s staring daggers at me. And as much as Mum goes on about the “female condition,” most of it felt like claptrap.

Sure, a lot of girls I knew were liars, manipulators, vain, and stubborn, but it’s not like the boys were any better. Mum’s whole theory was probably true in bits, but it all seemed half-baked to me. Like it was missing a page or two of explanation.

Still, I ventured a guess. “You’re doing this because you really like arses. You’ve been staring at our doo-holes all day more than our quims.”

The second the words left my mouth; I wished I’d swallowed them back down. It sounded like I was offering Jack a chance to play gyno with a flashlight, see if he could hunt out my ovaries while he was at it.

Jack frowned. “Guess again,” he said flatly, and I wished I hadn’t opened my yap.

This is exactly why I rarely offer a guess at all. It’s easier to keep your mouth shut than say something daft and regret it. Jack told me not to stop scrubbing my bum with the toothbrush, pointing out that he could see I was wet. My cheeks burned as I blushed furiously. A thought popped into my head—half-formed but nagging at me.

“This is your way of knocking the three of us down a peg, isn’t it, Sir?” I ventured, hoping I didn’t sound stupid. “I once dated a boy who liked me to crawl on all fours to pick up my clothes after we’d, you know…” I trailed off, cringing at how much I’d just admitted. “He said it made me look proper submissive. I didn’t think much of it then, but now I’m wondering—do you want us crawling about like pigs?”

Jack’s eyes gleamed with wicked amusement. “Keep those brushes in your arses, get down on all fours, and oink like the pigs you are, the lot of you.”

Mum was the first to her knees, always eager to impress. She let out an over-the-top squeal, half-laughing, half-oinking as she threw herself into the act, her toothbrush tail wagging with every bounce of her hips.

Joy followed next, though less enthusiastic – clearly seeing this as another pointless lesson in humility. She oinked like she was reading lines in a bad school play, her tone flat and unimpressed. Crawling on her hands and knees, the slender toothbrush swayed between her cheeks like a wagging piglet’s tail.

I was the last to drop to the floor—me and my big mouth. Snorting like a piggy, I crawled after them, feeling my cheeks burn brighter than ever. Danny Mulcahey would’ve been green with envy if he saw me now. All I ever did for him was crawl around his floor gathering up my jeans and knickers before sneaking out. Nothing like this.

“If all I wanted was to see you act like pigs, I’d have let you eat,” Jack sneered, his laughter sharp and cutting. That was a proper burn—I’ll give him that. Mum, naturally, found it hysterical, her oinks turning into giggles.

“I want you to be proper pigs,” Jack continued, snapping more pictures as we crawled, “but I don’t want you to stop blushing or feeling ashamed of yourselves for doing it. Look at this.” He held up his phone, scrolling through a dozen pictures he’d just taken.

I wasn’t expecting much. Maybe a picture of my backside, or something I’d want to delete. But he showed us our faces instead—dozens of them. My own mug stared back at me; caught in moments I didn’t even know he’d snapped.

“Look at your mug, Sophie,” Jack said, waving the phone toward me. I almost didn’t bother, expecting some nasty remark, but I’m glad I did. In the photo, my face was a kaleidoscope of emotions—humility, humiliation, excitement, fear, confusion, arousal, and shame—all tangled up in one expression. It wasn’t pretty, but it was raw. Honest.

Mum let out a little gasp, craning her neck to see more. “That’s stunning, Jack! I mean... Sir. You’ve really captured something!” She practically stopped crawling altogether, mesmerized by her own photo.

“We were in awe,” I admitted. Some of his pictures were magazine quality, as promised—artful and breathtaking. Others, well… not so much. Some were plain mortifying—ugly, angry faces, furrowed brows, glaring eyes, and sneers. All of it was us, though. Real, unfiltered.

“I’ve not even had time to find the best ones yet,” Jack said, swiping through the screen. “But I’m not just snapping at random, you know.”

“Send me all of these, please, Sir?” Mum asked breathlessly, her oinking forgotten as she stared intently at her own image. “You made me look beautiful in some of these, Jack… Sir.”

Jack didn’t even smack her arse for stopping. He just kept scrolling through the pictures, showing off his work. There were shots of pretty faces, pretty pussies, and pretty tits—then my little pokeys, standing awkwardly to attention. There were also shots of sour expressions, eyebrows furrowed, and lips curled.

“Pissing you twats off makes you passionate,” Jack observed, his voice smug.

“So, you aren’t trying to teach us a lesson?” Joy’s jaw dropped. “You’re just trying to get us to show you emotion?”

“It’s my first day as your director, you little Minge-pocket! I’m learning just like you are, turd-face! I thought I was just going until lunch to get some snaps. We’ve been at this now, going on 4pm, but we’ve only JUST started. If there’s any lesson, you’ve taught me more than I’ve taught you,” Jack said.

He let us look at the pictures on his phone—some of them were properly humiliating. Great hairy snatches, and there it was—my so-called tight arsehole. It looked quite lovely and pink—except for the long, slender black hairs growing out of the crack like spider’s legs. Why had no boy ever told me about those?

“How did I teach you anything other than the parts of the female anatomy?” Joy asked with a smirk, still on all fours like the rest of us, gazing into pictures of ourselves. Some of the snaps looked like they were pictures into our souls, and others just into our arseholes.

“I thought you’d just tell me you’d do so much, then start your snarky little tantrums. You may not be all-in, but you stepped up and did what you were told to do—mostly,” he said, laughing as he scrolled. Then he glanced back at me and Mum. “You were a good sport about the teasing, the whipped cream—but you slack, you frown, you give me evil eyes. You know you’re going to do it anyway, but you still try my patience, just enough to let me know you think you’ve got the power. You’re just letting me think I’m the boss—am I right?”

Joy’s face faltered. She hadn’t thought of it like that, but now the idea seemed to sink in. There was a flicker of truth to it.

“You taught me you’d lie just out of instinct. I don’t know why; you claimed to be all-in when you weren’t. You’d be called to the carpet to prove it constantly, so unless you were willing, I don’t know why you would. Maybe I’ll never know why – it could just be that you lie because that’s what you do. There’s no way you went from slouching and slacking to being a proper super-slag, committed to being an open book. You’re such a practiced liar; I was shocked at how easy it was to see you were having a laugh.”

Joy didn’t argue. She just looked at the floor in shame—he’d called her out. I’d never really thought about why my sister was such a “topper.” I always assumed she just liked to one-up me, but maybe it wasn’t something she could help.

EddieDavidson wrote: ↑Tue Dec 31, 2024 12:06 pm

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

Wow! I haven't thought about Goji Berry Juice in years. I love the stuff. All of my grey hair turned back to its original color. Too bad it's so expensive—$155/L back then.

Interesting story, Eddie. I'm curious to see where it goes other than getting the women naked and taking pictures. Maybe have some friends over to join them. Take some naked pictures outside and be seen by neighbors.

Fixitman8267 wrote: ↑Sat Jan 11, 2025 10:45 pm Interesting story, Eddie. I'm curious to see where it goes other than getting the women naked and taking pictures. Maybe have some friends over to join them. Take some naked pictures outside and be seen by neighbors.

I puzzled for an entire day why you wrote this on my story. You were explictly asked by me to have no contact with me after the drama and genuine pain you caused me last time you decided to comment that my stories were all slow, "sucky and boring".


I asked you to stop in multiple threads, and in private message, to which you responded by claiming you did not say the things you said, and took no responsibility. I didn't imagine it.

I don't want to start that over by giving you the impression you are welcome or encouraged to post on anything I write - even if it's seemingly innocuous. You cost me dearly in terms of creativity, and desire to write.

I wrote a very detailed accounting at the start of twatmas, of why I would even dare put myself out there after the things you did to create drama.

I no longer feel comfortable even asking specific questions about the direction and pacing of the story, because I feel like someone will respond as you did -demanding things accelerate or attacking motivations of the characters. I just feel like it may invite negative responses like the ones you posted before.

Your comments were the genesis of my almost giving up writing, dude - how dare you fucking respond to my story as if we are buddies and I want you to respond to them after I literally told you never contact me or write on my stories.

You have left me with the most sour taste anyone can have for writing/interactive fiction. I'd love to have an ongoing story where authors take turns continuing it, or get really into the nitty gritty of feedback, but I've been gunshy that would open the door for you or one of your alter egos to roast me. Here you are anyway. Imagine the audacity of thinking that I would want to write a story that makes you happy after what you did to me?

I do not want any contact from you. Obviously, after the first day they were bound to go outside at some point. That had already been discussed in the story., so your comment is not only unwelcome but superfluous

I am perplexed why you think I wanted this remark - my guess, is that you knew from the many times that I told you that I didn't - that this would derail the story. There is no way I could forget the responses you made in the past and I am not the only author you have harassed in the past. Pretending I forgot and "all is forgiven" is not going to work.

I am positive the Mods also asked you to have no contact with me.

There was no conditional "unless you can avoid saying how sucky it was" or "if Eddie does (X) then you can respond to his posts"

I rarely get positive, constructive and encouraging remarks on my threads. However, you and "Somebody else" scurried out one day to bombard my posts. I haven't forgotten. I know that you haven't forgotten. So it's not that somehow you can suddenly start posting remarks here and it not be seen as an attempt to troll.

I do not want, nor solicit any responses from you. I've been nothing but clear about that. You didn't just troll me. you trolled other new authors as well.

While your comment isn't outright discouraging, it's a reminder of your past comments.

I cannot stress enough that not only did you cause me a great deal of grief, and time to delete my posts - but you also cost me the desire to write three stories that I was enjoying. I have a 28 chapter story (That was GETTING positive remarks) on my hard drive that will NEVER be completed because now anytime I think about it - all I can remember is the drama that you created.

It may not sound like a lot to you, because I assume your time has no value, and you exist to rob others of their time - but I had put a great deal of effort into that story, and was getting a lot of enjoyment out of sharing it. I now do not get that time back, and that story will remain unfinished forever. It was a great deal more than 28 hours, probably easily 5-6 hours per chapter - all wasted, because you decided you would start posting a bunch of negative comments under the guise of "Free speech". I do not wish to revisit the things you did, or give you another platform to say how I was the villain because I did not want you crapping all over my story in the thread I was using to post it.

It's nearly 200,000 words, at 28 chapters, that you cost me in time, effort and joy with your trolling about how it sucked and was boring and was too slow. I cannot stress enough that I do not want you replying to me, interacting with me, commenting on my stories even if you pretend you are being constructive. I never said anything conditional about "You can if you can avoid calling my stories sucky"

It would most certainly have blossomed to twice that length, but now it is a constant reminder of the trolling, and so anytime I even open up a chapter, that's literally all I can think about.

That's one of three active stories that I took down where you decided to post your unwelcome comments.


I'd rather get ZERO feedback and positive encouragement than have you or the alter ego "Somebody else" who appeared the same day you started to troll me to respond to any of my stories.

I tried very hard to sit down and continue to write this last night, and I was simply reminded of the drama, and now I find my inspiration for this story completely gone.

Please leave me alone. There is no "unless" or "Sometimes" or "Obviously you can under these conditions". I Simply do not want you to reply to any thing that I write, positive, negative, or otherwise. I get it - you want to direct where the story is going. You want it to be less boring. etc. or maybe you knew exactly how I'd feel after you replied and having no attention from mommy and daddy, decided to see if you could poke me again.

It is and remains an unconditional "no contact" with no caveats. It seems like you are not happy unless you make it unfun to write stories and follow me about from thread to thread. There is a reason every thread you posted your nonsense on had to be deleted. Now you have started here. Let's nip that in the bud.

This was probably your goal, but. for now, this story will remain permanently on hold. My desire/will to write it evaporated.

I write for escapism - to get to live through the eyes of other characters in a different situation than my own. You make it impossible to enjoy that.

You are on another thread saying you "hate bullies" --dude, you are a bully. Leave me alone. I've even tried to rework this story somehow to find a way to enjoy it. All I can think about is the 20+ posts you left on three of my previous stories like burning turds.

step in them to put them out and respond, or leave them burning and try to ignore them -either way you bring shit and add no value.

Eddie your stories are incredible. Im not much of a writer myself but i still wanted to find words to say how good you are in writing. You jokes and humors amazed me. The casual talks your characters do among themselves are always so entertaining and you mold it everything in a way which always brings humor and story progression at the same time. I could just read their conversations all day and would never get bored. You have so much material and knowledge to work with. On top of that you have words to play around with. We even use some of your jokes amoung us friends and have our laughs. Like making a mac n cheese is so funny and has become our new reference. Overall I love your style of writing. Please don't any brat upsetting you. We always love to read your stories and look forward to see more from you. That being said , keep the writing coming our way . Thanks again for all the stories. Im mad at this brat when you had to take your time and address this issue where you could have written some good segments with happy humorous mind.
All the love for you and pardon me for any misspell or wrong impressions. As i said im a big fan but not a writer. Cheers

>Please don't any brat upsetting you.

When he did it before, it was a litany of personal attacks. I am disabled, so things like "Go outside and touch grass" that he was writing hit me at a time when I wish I could do just that. I had to have three of my stories completely deleted. He doesn't like how much time I put into the stories, or something. The worst part of it? now he denies even writing the shit that hurt so much, so not only will he not take responsibility, he blithely pretends he didn't do it and somehow I imagined it.

He doesn't care. He doesn't add anything, and he's proven he can do as he pleases here.

I pretty much gave up writing for about a week because of his toxic comments, and here he is pretending to be my "Buddy" just to let me know that he's not going to adhere to my ask that he not have any contact with me.

We shouldn't have to wade through a cess pool of toxicity and edgelord rantings to just post stories. We shouldn't have to have "thick skin" to enjoy writing, and endure people adding their personal attacks to our story posts. It's one thing if he wrote it on his own. He can write how "Eddie the no life writer wrote boring stories" on his own story and I would not had said boo to him.

But he adds nothing to the forum, only takes. The ironic thing is he is on another thread where he harassed another author saying it was because he "hates bullies"

You would have loved the other stories that he ruined. They were even better than this one. I can't write them, because all I can think about was the days of posts where he added 6-8 posts about me personally and how "sucky and boring" they were to each story before I had to ask them to all be deleted. I was 28 chapters into one, and it was going really strong. totally detailed one weekend he and his alter-ego "Somebody else" decided to just make it completely personal.

He definitely knows how to kill the momentum on any story.

Trying to get inspiration to continue after Captain Troll chimed in.

Questions from an Interviewer: Six Months Down the Road:

1. Sophie, how do you feel about the "all-in" rule Jack set? Have you ever regretted agreeing to it?
“All-in” works because it’s simple. You’re either doing what’s asked or you’re not, and Jack doesn’t have patience for half-measures. Do I regret it? Not really, because once you get past the awkward bits, it’s easier just to go along and let him take charge. Besides, Mum seems happy with it, so what’s the point in fighting it?

2. Sophie, has modeling changed how you see yourself or your family relationships?
It’s shown me how much we’re all willing to adapt, really. I’ve learned I’m tougher than I thought, standing there through it all, and Mum’s confidence has grown a ton. Jack’s got his ways, and Joy’s still Joy, but I think we’re more honest with each other now, even if it’s not always comfortable. We've also got to be a bit more touchy-feely with one another for sessions, which is honestly a bit weird, but I've gotten used to it and don't mind it as much.

3. Sophie, what’s been the most awkward situation you’ve faced since this all started?
That's a hard one to answer, really. I'd have to say that going to Sainsbury's modeling, and Jack having us to slip out of our panties in the shop, and pass them over while he was taking snaps. My mum started laughing so hard, that everyone started watching and several of the grocery boys are ex-boyfriends of mine. There is no going back from that. I stood there red-faced, unsure how to explain why my brother was collecting our panties from us and taking snaps.

Jack didn't back down, at all even though some of them were his mates as well. Mum told me this was all good for me, and as she likes to say a little humiliation would do me good. “It’ll be good practice,” she said, like we were learning piano, not baring our arses in public. The worst part? She didn’t even try to act embarrassed. She chatted with the cashier about the price of tea biscuits while her tits bounced about like she was doing aerobics in the flimsy number Jack chose for her to wear.

That's probably in my top five most embarrassing this week, anyway.

4. Sophie, do you feel like Jack's role as director has gone too far at times, or is it fair?
It’s fair enough most of the time, though he definitely pushes boundaries. Like that first time he made us line up for what he called a “domestic routine” shot—Mum holding a tea tray, Joy scrubbing the floor, and me bent over to dust the skirting boards. I didn’t get why my arse had to be up in the air or why Joy needed to spread her legs while scrubbing. Jack said it was about “aesthetic angles,” but it felt more like testing how far we’d go. Still, we’re all still here doing it, so I can’t say it’s unfair—he’s just thorough. I mean he's the boss most of the time, but Mum wants it that way.

Honestly, i thought she'd be done with it in three days, but we've gone on six months now and haven't missed a day.

5. Sophie, how has living without privacy affected your friendships outside of the house?
Not at all, I don't generally have to talk about what i do at home, and Jack is pretty good about letting me hang out with my mates. He's been true to his word about not humiliating us in front of our friends, but if truth be told, I think my mum would rather us get outed as total bimbos because she thinks we can get a little too vain.

The only real downside is I am not allowed to wear push-up bras, so everyone knows i was always a flattie, and my pokey nipples generally stick straight up through the sheer blouses Jack chooses for me at school.


6. Sophie, what’s the strangest thing you’ve had to explain to someone about your daily life?
Oh, that’d be when Jack made us carry in the washing during a rainstorm. Mum thought it’d be funny to do it in heels and nothing else “for the shot.” A neighbour peeked over the fence and asked if it was for some charity streak or what. I told him it was a "modeling thing" and left it at that. The weird part was how natural it felt to just say that and move on. Like, six months ago, I’d have been mortified, but now? Just another day.

The people of south godstone just think we are mad, and have a good laugh when they see us up to our antics around the neighborhood.

7. Sophie, are there any new rules you’d want to implement, or ones you think Jack should drop?
It probably sounds trivial, but I'd like to be able to play with myself without Jack watching and taking snaps - just have a proper wank at home under the covers. I don't mind if Joy is in the room so much, but other than that, I'd say that I'd like to go back to closing the door to use the loo.

8. Sophie, do you think the dynamic at home would change if someone else was in charge?
What kind of question is that? Mum's gone all in on the female condition, I don't think she'd ever let me or my sister be in charge of wiping our bums without thinking we'd go full Mad Max.

9. Sophie, how do you manage the embarrassment of modeling in town versus at home?
At home, I am used to doing nasty, filthy things with the door closed, and since everyone else is in on it, we can get up to some rather sexual things. I suppose in public, the worst thing we might do is have to humiliate ourselves around neighbors - and for me it's easier to flash them, then have to explain I am doing it because either my brother wants to take a snap, or he's punishing me for misbehaving. That's probably the most embarrassing part, yes, definitely.


10. Sophie, how has your relationship with Joy evolved over these six months?
It’s shifted. We are still competitive and thick as thieves, but now that we've gone as far as eating each other out, and masturbating one another, I suppose one unexpected thing is we don't have to compete over the same lad. We both liked this one bloke, and we decided to shag him together. it blew his mind.


1. Joy, do you think Jack’s standards for modeling are reasonable, or are they unnecessarily strict?
I wouldn’t say they’re unreasonable, but he’s definitely strict. Jack’s got this way of making everything sound like it’s for the greater good, but when he made me squat by the fireplace with a cherry in my mouth for thirty minutes, I started to wonder what “good” that was for. Still, I get it—he wants things done properly. If he didn’t push us, it’d just feel like we were playing dress-up.

I've nothing to compare it to really. I've never done anything quite like this. I do at times feel more like a pet or a model than a sister, though.

2. Joy, has modeling challenged or reinforced how you see yourself as a person?
It’s been a mix. Part of me likes pushing limits—like when Jack had us pose like statues in the garden for an hour. I never thought I’d stand there with my tits out, pretending to be some Greek goddess while the neighbours peeked over the fence. But it’s shown me I’ll do more than I ever thought if I just get on with it. On the flip side, I see how nasty I can be sometimes—lazy, vain, selfish, all the things Mum calls the “female condition.” Jack calling me out on my pouting or slacking off is humiliating, yeah, but it’s made me less of a brat. He makes me dress like a total bimbo in public now, instead of an Ice Queen - a lot of my friends have a good laugh. At least he doesn't make me tell them what I have to tell random strangers when they ask why I am behaving so oddly in public - that I am being humbled due to my vanity.

It's hard to know what is a punishment for something that I did, and what is a training to condition us to be better models at times, it all blurs together. It’s not fun being called out, but I think I needed it. I hate to admit it - but this has been a bit of an adventure.

3. Joy, how do you keep your sense of individuality when every day feels like it’s planned for you?
You don’t. You lean into it. I used to fight it, but now I just roll with whatever Jack throws at me. He’s made it clear it’s not about “me” anymore—it’s about the vision or the session. That’s why I sneak in my little moments of cheek, like winking at the camera when he’s not looking. It’s small, but it’s mine.

4. Joy, has Mum’s attitude toward Jack’s rules surprised you? Do you think she secretly enjoys it?
Secretly? That's a laugh. She'd get Jack's name tattooed on her bald twat if he told her to do it. She's pretty much roasted her reputation at the pub. if he could get the barman to let my mum strut around nude on top of the bar, and stand in front of the dart boards as a target - she probably would.

5. Joy, what’s been your biggest victory in dealing with Jack? Any moments where you’ve felt you’ve outsmarted him?
Oh, I had a cracker of a moment last week. Jack was trying to get this “teamwork” shot with Mum and me balancing bowls on our heads, and I deliberately tilted mine so it spilled on my foot. He thought it was an accident and laughed, but I knew it’d ruin the symmetry he was going for. It’s not much, but when you’re dealing with Jack, small wins count.

6. Joy, do you feel like the modeling sessions have brought the family closer or driven you apart?
Sexually? on that one, definitely. We've pretty much crossed all barriers that might have existed for that, but as to everything else, I'd also say Closer, weirdly enough. There’s less arguing, and we’ve got this unspoken understanding now. We work more as a team of girls than we do as mum and two daughters.

7. Joy, what’s been the hardest thing to accept about the rules Jack enforces during modeling?
The no privacy thing, hands down. Having to leave the loo door open or share showers has been the biggest adjustment - having him stick his finger up my doo hole and wiggle it around whenever he wants. Jack says it’s to keep us uninhibited, but it’s hard not to feel exposed even in your own home. I mean, it’s not like I can sneak a quick moment to myself anymore without someone knocking or snapping a picture.

8. Joy, do you ever wish you could take a turn directing, or do you prefer being one of the models?
I’d love to take a crack at directing. I could come up with some freaky things, I'd probably lean into Goth subculture, but my mum has convinced Sophie that girls are secondary and don't need privacy - we are better off being models and I don't think I'd ever get a chance to direct. Jack swapped me the worst phone of the lot in the house, so I could barely snap a picture with that one if I wanted now anyway. It doesn't hold a charge.


9. Joy, how do you handle the pressure when you feel like you’re being singled out during sessions?
I lean into it. Jack loves to see a reaction, so I give him one. Like when he called me out for not holding a pose properly, I grinned and said, “Maybe you should try it, Sir.” He got all huffy but didn’t push it further. It’s a balance—you can’t let him think he’s won, but you also can’t push too hard or he’ll make you regret it.

10. Joy, do you think the modeling has become more about control than the original intent?

Oh, it’s definitely about control now, but that’s not all bad, is it? Jack’s turned it into something bigger than just Mum playing out her page-three fantasies, and, honestly, I think we needed it. Mum’s always banging on about the “female condition”—vanity, selfishness, all that—and I used to think it was just her way of keeping us in check. But the modeling made me see bits of it in myself. Like, I catch myself pouting when Jack calls me out for slouching or being lazy, or I’ll get jealous when Sophie nails a pose better than me. It’s humbling, yeah, but in a way that makes you look at yourself differently.

Has it changed me? A bit. I still hate being told what to do, but I don’t kick up as much of a fuss now. It’s like Jack’s forcing us to strip back—not just the clothes, but all the little habits and tricks we’ve used to coast through life. So, yeah, it’s about control, but maybe we’re better off for it. I don't have to think much about what I'll wear because Jack will tell me. I strip off when I hit the door at the house because I know it's modeling as soon as Jack wants it.

I never cared much what we'd have to eat, and I still don't. However, now Jack has a belt I wear pretty much for every meal he can use to bind my wrists if I get uppity.

1. Joanne, do you think the modeling sessions have changed you for the better?
Changed me? They’ve transformed me! I’ve gone from feeling like some fat frump shuffling about in tracksuit bottoms to strutting around like a page-three model. Jack’s diet has worked wonders—I’ve lost three stone, shaved myself bare, and started wearing fitted dresses again. I love the way men look at me now. Even the butcher down the road gives me an extra slice of ham when I walk in. Modeling’s reminded me that I’m still sexy, still worth looking at. I wouldn’t trade this for anything.

I've not been fucked in over a decade, now I am having sex with punters almost nightly. I don't think i'd want a relationship with any of them, but getting shagged randomly behind a tavern, or in my house is nice.

2. Joanne, how do you feel about Jack taking over as head of the household during modeling?
Oh, I’m thrilled with it. Jack’s got a firm hand, and I think we all needed that. He’s fair but strict, and I like having someone who keeps things moving smoothly. When he tells me to pose with my arse in the air or calls me out for slouching, I know he’s doing it because he wants perfection. It’s a relief not having to be in charge all the time. Let him handle the rules—I’ll focus on looking good. If I could justify I'd say he could take it over all the time, but I'd feel like even worse of a bad mum for abdicating completely. as it stands, I am really only in charge at night, and most times we don't finish modeling until 10pm.

Technically, when Jack goes out with his sisters, I am still modeling at home, so I've got to obey the rules. I feel like a tosser standing her in the house at the table having my tea by myself.


3. Joanne, what’s been your proudest moment since starting modeling?
Pride’s one of those things I’m working on letting go of, love. Women don’t need pride—not the way we cling to it like it’s some precious thing. Jack’s helped me see that. Like the time he had me kneeling in the garden with clothespins clipped all over my tits and stomach. He handed me a banana and told me to hold it in my mouth like a dog. I thought I’d die of humiliation, especially when Sophie walked out and burst into laughter. Jack told her to join in, made her pin a few on herself too, but it didn’t take the sting out of being the one on display.

It wasn’t just the embarrassment—it was the lesson in letting go. Jack teased me the whole time, saying things like, “Good girl, Joanne. See? This suits you better than barking orders in the kitchen.” And he was right. Pride had me thinking I was above this sort of thing, but kneeling there, with the pins tugging at my skin and the banana making my jaw ache, I realised I didn’t need to be above anything. I just needed to let myself be part of it, no matter how ridiculous it felt. That was the moment I stopped fighting and started enjoying it properly.

4. Joanne, do you ever feel tempted to break the rules when Jack’s not home?
All the bloody time! Especially the no-wanking rule. When the house is quiet, and I’m folding washing or scrubbing the floor, the temptation hits me hard. I’ll sit there, biting my lip, thinking, “What’s the harm in a quick one?” But then I hear Jack’s voice in my head, telling me I’d have to confess it later, and I stop myself. It’s maddening, but it’s also part of the thrill, isn’t it? Knowing I’m playing by the rules makes it all the more exciting when I do get permission.

We've got a cage now, and a proper set of handcuffs but Jack doesn't keep me locked up all the time when he's out. It's when I get to his laundry.

5. Joanne, how do you feel about the changes to your diet and lifestyle?
Oh, I love it, darling. Jack’s taken me in hand, and I’ve never felt better for it. Dropping all the biscuits and crisps has done wonders—I’ve lost a few stone, and my curves are finally showing in the right places. I can’t stop running my hands over my hips and tummy, just enjoying how good it feels to be lighter and tighter. And the portion control? Honestly, I’d rather have Jack keeping me in line than let myself go back to stuffing my face. If it means my arse stays looking this good, I’ll happily go without pudding.

I have had me arsehole stretched to, my cunt, and my nipples lifted and stretched but I think it's downright amusing - I feel a bit like a sex clown or something to be ridiculed. it's odd how many men want to shag me now, that may never have given me a second look before I got the "anal only" t-shirt to wear to the pub.

6. Joanne, how has modeling affected your relationship with your daughters?
They are good girls, but they need a bit more discipline, I should think. I would like to think they take my behavior as a role model of what Jack wants and emulate but neither of them really puts their back into it. They still bicker and secretly hold onto their vanity. I love them though - and I'd say we are closer now than before, but we were always close.

7. Joanne, how do you feel about being treated the same as your daughters during modeling?
I wouldn’t have it any other way! If Jack’s telling them to spread their legs or hold a pose, I want to be doing the same. It’s part of what makes this so exciting. Like when he had us all crawling around the kitchen floor, pretending to be pets. I could’ve moaned about it, but instead, I barked louder than anyone else. Being treated the same reminds me that I’m still one of the girls, not just the Mum.

8. Joanne, how do you handle the teasing and humiliation during sessions?
If Jack would dare make me do more, I'd do more - I'd love to be ridiculed on Naked Attraction like he does at home, in front of the entire UK. That would be it then, wouldn't? Once all of Brittain sees me as the slaggy mum from Surrey who sticks tea bags up her ass and sings Chick Chick Chicken for a laugh, I'd no longer have to hide it at the grocery store. I could just go full on - probably do me some good to be humiliated a bit more.

9. Joanne, do you think modeling has helped you overcome your insecurities?
In a way, yeah. but in a way, no. I lean into being a craggy, droopy-titted cum bag, so I like being treated like a dumb bimbo in public and ridiculed - and if I didn't let it bother me then it wouldn't do any good. It takes a lot to humiliate me, but that doesn't mean it cant be done and shouldn't be done. All of my neighbors know I can be poked for a 10 spot, and I'll do anything for a laugh, even drink my own pee in a tea-cup while sitting on a carrot and humming the British National Anthem - I know I am a bad mum, and at the same time, I feel good about embracing being kept in my place and teased.

I've accepted what I am, and embraced it, but I don't think self-esteem is all that it's cracked up to be.

10. Joanne, what’s your ultimate goal with modeling?
My goal? To be the kind of fat slag that turns heads and makes blokes choke on their pints. I’ve spent years hiding under baggy jumpers, pretending I didn’t care, but now? I want to be the bird everyone stares at, the one they whisper about after. Jack’s taught me that being embarrassed doesn’t mean being ashamed—it means owning it, flaunting it. If he tells me to spread my legs or get on all fours for a shot, I’ll do it, because every bit of it makes me feel alive. I don’t want to go back to being invisible—I want to be seen, and I want to bloody enjoy it.

I have a fantasy to be kept as a dog, like a real pet - taken out on a leash, tummy rubs, eat off the floor, the whole nine. I think maybe a few weeks of that would be exciting but I don't have a permanent goal for me and the girls. I can't bloody well ask Jack to stay here in Godstone after he finishes Sixth Form. I suppose we'll have to see.