A Little Humiliation Never Hurt Anyone, Love

[EddieDavidson]

A Little Humiliation Never Hurt Anyone, Love- it's a bit of a slower start, still needs some editing. no images.

[EddieDavidson]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thank you, Jack!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why can’t we have a go at it?” I asked!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This was no different.

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

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

“Any modeling we do – we are doing together! The four of us!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[EddieDavidson]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Those were cruel!” I finally declared.

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

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

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

Jack clapped his hands together, to get our attention, before Joy could unload on our Mum for saying something about her ego, his grin firmly in place. “Having shared a loo with Green all of my life, I can assure you that Joy’s shit stinks, and so does every one of you! Sorry guys, if I went too far!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[flashharry]

Hi Eddie,

I find your general writing style very comfortable to follow and as such I'd call myself a fan. I certainly don't wish to see you leave any board.

The scene is now set for Jack to decide how far he wants to take this initiative and test his new harem. I will be interested to see what comes of it and if, indeed, these pictures do remain for his personal use only.

If there's a critcism (constructive) it's the ease with which his sisters got naked. The gradual build up that was in Nude Rules (much missed, hoping to see its return somewhere) was missing. However, we have got to the point where it can get interesting. It's a "Yes" from me.

[Bobmagn]

Loving it. I really love the idea and im impatiently waiting for the next chapter. I love it when there is a certain level of protest and rejection but at the same time they have to somehow accept and obliged. Can't wait for the next part fo ths story. Personally i like this softcore nature as compared to some of your other works where all of a sudden shit just hits the fan. For example i was reading the beatings once and i was really looking forward to such situations where the cousins will slowly start to loosen up and get acquainted but i felt like that part was just skipped forward to where things just got ugly and filthy. For me at least. Im just speaking my mind. Not trying to offend anyone. Maybe im the only one who thinks that way. But hey always looking forward to read more of your works. I specially like the humar and solid vocabulary of your writings. You got words, a lot of them and your style of telling a story is of masterclass in my opinion. Thanks for the words. I learned a lot of jokes and sayings from your works. Keep it up. Thanks again.

[EddieDavidson]

“Caw, is it lunchtime already?” Mum was surprised at how the time had flown. I wasn’t – we had been talking for ages. I looked at it as a nice respite from silly poses and I learned a lot of things that I still wasn’t sure how passionately my Mum really believed. “If I am going to make lunch, am I still Joanne, or am I back to Mum?”

Jack leaned against the counter, his tone calm but firm. “You’re still Joanne. This is part of the session. I'll be taking snaps the entire time - capturing you sweating over the stove, and the girls sitting waiting to be fed like baby birds."

I rolled my eyes but stayed quiet, knowing better than to add to it. Mum, on the other hand, tilted her head, giving him a look that was half-amused, half-disbelieving. “Capture me sweating? Aren’t I allowed even an apron over my bosoms?”

Jack shook his head, his tone unyielding. “No. I want it to be natural. Sweat is part of the female form—especially during hard work. It’s honest, and that’s what I’m after.”

Mum raised an eyebrow, crossing her arms. “But what if I burn my boobs off?”

You won't Jo-Anne, you are just making sandwiches, it's in my meal plan, but I’m going to have a change today – , I’m going to make a small adjustment to keep everyone focused and on track.”

I was surprised that Jack was going to be generous with us! We usually just had whatever was written up on the fridge with no surprises! I was genuinely intrigued to hear about his change even if it was minimal.

“What do you want me to sort, Jack?” My Mum was already in motion heading to the kitchen. The living room and Kitchen were all one room with a single divider, so she didn’t have to go far.

“Make mine with an extra slice of cheese, a pickle, and crisps on the side. For the girls, plain bread—no butter. Mum, just a bit of cheese, nothing fancy. And tea for me. No one else.”

That last bit hit me like a slap. It wasn’t the food choices. I was used to my mom deciding what we had to eat, so when my brother started making the meal plans it really didn’t change much. I could obviously live without tea. I’d just been informed why I couldn’t have it—but the way he said it, so casually, like it was just how things worked now. Like it was his call to make, and no one, not even Mum, was going to challenge it – and what of Mum? Surely, a bit of cheese wasn’t her normal lunch!

Mum nodded, heading off to the kitchen without further comment -still participating in the conversation. “Wait, is this even on the meal plan you created? Why am I only getting a bit of cheese?”

Jack leaned back, unbothered. “No offense, Joanne Crump, but you’ve got a bit of a tummy. Let’s slim that down, yeah? Unless you’re starving?”

Her lips tightened for a second, but she just turned toward the kitchen. “Cheese it is, then,” she said briskly, leaving no room for argument. I wanted to gloat and tell my mom that she’s the one who chose him to make that decision, but I didn’t.

Jack led my sister and I. into the kitchen. Sitting on the creaky wooden kitchen chair with my bare bottom was a new experience. It was cold on my bum! It was definitely a new experience having lunch in the buff.

Joy folded her arms, her tone sharp. “Hang on a second. We’ve been standing in the living room, being told we’re naughty, wicked little lying vixens, allowing Jack to take naked pictures of us, doing everything posed he’s asked, even when my nipper was exposed. Why are we just having toast? We’ve been good!”

“Toast?” Jack repeated, arching an eyebrow. “I didn’t say toast, did I Mum?” Jack sat like he was a Regal lord in his dining hall instead of a cramped, cluttered kitchen in an old brick rowhouse. “I said bread without butter. Let’s not get fancy.”

I was hoping Mum would set him straight – that was unfair! He had never split the meal out like that. He'd given me tuna on days, that we had something that I didn’t prefer. This felt like a punishment and an overreach!

Before Joy or I could respond, Mum interjected, her voice firm. “Girls, let’s get one thing straight. You didn’t LET Jake take pictures. I told you to strip off, and if I hadn’t, neither of you would’ve done a thing for your brother – you’d be sitting up in your room stirring a fresh pot of macaroni until I called you down for lunch.

Mum playfully imitated having a big bowl of Mac and Cheese in one arm and stirring it – I scrunched my nose in disgust. I’d never live my sister’s description of how it sounded when I fingered myself down now. I felt particularly horrified my mother and little brother would never forget it – and anytime we have mac and cheese, I’m sure someone would say “Sophie! Is this making you horny, baby!” in their fake Autin Powers accent.

“Left to your own choices, you’d still be bickering over why water isn’t tea and arguing about panties! You girls would’ve done bugger all today, and at least now we have amazing photos to show for it!”

I opened my mouth to protest but closed it again. Mum wasn’t wrong. The endless bickering, the snide accusations, and my part in all of it—it was embarrassing. I felt a knot of guilt twist in my chest, realizing how petty I’d been. “I’m sorry,” I simply said.

Mum nodded, her tone softening slightly. “Well, that’s a start—a genuine apology. Thank you, Sophie. Joy?”

Joy shrugged, glancing away. “Yeah, of course. I thought it went without saying.”

“It’s not a proper apology, but I’ll take it. Thank you, Joy,” Mum said firmly. “And don’t think saying sorry makes us forget what you did in the first place.”

I wanted to ask what she meant by “us,” but I had a feeling she was including Jack in that—and I didn’t want to answer to my brother. I decided it was best to keep my mouth shut.

“An apology is a start,” Mum continued, gesturing toward Jack, her annoyance evident. “But as I see it, you both owe the lad back an hour and a half. He barely got any snaps before we devolved into a debate over your precious drinks and whether or not you deserve privileges—which, by the way, you don’t. You’ll have your water, and you’ll manage without complaint.”

Jack leaned back against the counter, arms crossed and shot me a look like he was daring me to argue. “She’s got a point, you know. We’re already running late on today’s plans because of all this nonsense the three of you were talking about during what was to be our modeling session.”

“Well, it’s not nonsense, Jack. It was things that need to be said to the girls that I’ve put off for too long. I am sorry that we ate up your time today, and we’ll stay naked until we finish the shoot, I promise you that. I am trying to be more honest—when the girls ask a question, I need to answer it instead of making up pleasant excuses.”

Joy’s voice cut through, sharp with skepticism. “Wait, we don’t even know how long he’s planning to keep us like this! What if someone pops by? Are we just supposed to sit here getting splinters in our bums from these chairs with our hairy twats out?”

My Mum frowned when Joy asked the question. I felt it was perfectly reasonable to ask how long we’d be at this for. I’d have phrased it a little more diplomatically, but it was still fair to ask.

Mum rolled her eyes, exasperated. “Joy, if I tell you we’ll finish, then we’ll finish. It’s not up for debate. Now, tell me—who exactly is likely to come over? Mr. Kessler from next door? He’s 87, bless him. He’d have a heart attack seeing two pretty young things and a fat-butt like me sitting here starkers.”

She turned toward Jack, her tone more measured. “Dearest, how long shall we be at this then?”

Jack glanced at the clock, calculating. “Another three hours, maybe four. I need to finish the shots we missed this morning, plus the kitchen series. We’ll wrap up before tea.”

I supposed four more hours wouldn’t be all that bad – after all, there was not fuck all to do in town anyway – and there was NO way I was going to my room straight away or someone would come to check if I’m making the mac and cheese!

Mum was almost finished making the food – for us all she had to do was open the bread bin and take out a few slices of Hovis. I still couldn’t believe Jack had been able to get away with this and neither did my sister.

I wasn’t that hungry, and normally I don’t care what I eat as long as it’s something that I like. However, it felt like he was punishing us – and I didn’t feel he had that right.

“I just don’t understand, Jack. You’ve never changed the meal plan before.” Joy huffed, clearly biting back her frustration. “Can we at least have mayo or some kind of condiment? Or is that too much? Who do I even ask—Mum, Jack, or Joanne?”

Mum’s lips tightened slightly, but she didn’t interject, leaving Jack to handle it.

Jack gestured to the counter, utterly unbothered. “You ASK me and then get up and get it from the fridge. But the answer’s no. Condiments are for next time—if you’ve earned it.”

Joy’s eyebrows shot up. “Is this because we’re naked, or is it going to be like this all the time? Even at dinner?”

Jack took a deliberate sip of tea. “Naked or clothed, it doesn’t matter. You heard Mum today – girls eat what is given, and express gratitude!”

I didn’t think Jack believed that – none of us did except for Mum.

“I am in charge of the meal plan, and if I decide to change it then I will. I won’t starve you, but I am definitely not going to give you extras after you bickered about stolen panties an masturbating!

“Are you still on about that? that was like two hours ago!”

“And then Mum spent another hour talking to you about in the living room, and you never had to face a consequence for it – so I don’t think it’s much to tell you that you’ll do without fancy relish or mustard. It may make you appreciate having the privilege and not keep taking it for granted!”

“This is absurd! If you think I’ll cry over some mayo, then you are mistaken, King Jack!” Joy said. She smiled as Mum approached with the tray of food.

Mum placed the plate of cheese sandwiches in front of Jack first, her smile warm and doting as though she were presenting him with a banquet. Then, she handed the plain bread slices to me and Joy. She hesitated for a moment before adding, “Sorry, girls, but all I’ve got is a block of cheese, so you should be grateful. This is your brother’s decision, not mine.”

I was hoping that King Jack might have a tumble and break his shiny crown on the way down if he pushed things too far with Mum.

“Milk, dear?” Mum asked Jack, her tone light and cheerful, a smile softening her face.

Jack nodded, his grin widening as he leaned back in his chair like a king. “Please. And don’t forget the crisps.”

Mum’s smile grew as she fetched the milk, clearly pleased to humor him. She set it down beside him with a small, graceful flourish, like she was offering something precious. “All I’ve got is a few slices of cheese. I may as well stand and skip the chair altogether. Burn a calorie or two!”

Her cheeks puffed up in a grin so wide it looked like her face might split in two, and she practically buzzed on the spot, like she was holding back a laugh she didn’t want to spoil the moment with. It wasn’t just the smile, though—her eyes darted around, brimming with a giddy sort of mischief, like a kid let loose in a sweet shop with no one to tell her no.

I couldn’t fathom how she could be so utterly over the moon about it—nude modeling on a Saturday had taken hold of her like nothing else. Mum had thrown herself headfirst into all sorts of schemes before, from charity crusades to church bake sales to wild get-rich-quick ideas involving billionaire starter kits. She’d been ecstatic about every single one, but this one was the topper of the lot.

As for Jack, I couldn’t tell if she took him seriously when he talked down to her and teased, or if she didn’t quite grasp it—but her reaction baffled me all the same. It was as if the more rules he piled on, the freer and more content she became. She still followed his instructions to the letter, but the way she seemed to revel in it made no sense at all.

Mum’s smile didn’t falter as Jack made his decree. “Good thinking, Joanne! Girls, up you go—big bums off the chairs! You can firm up your thighs and work off those big floppy-jiggly-bubble butts of yours.”

After what Jack said about us during Naked Attraction – that sounded practically like a compliment! Joy groaned audibly and shot him a sharp look. “You can’t be serious.”

Jack leaned back, his tone firm. “If you want a proper dinner, you’ll do as you’re told.”

“Mum, can he do that? Forbid me from a full meal?” Joy asked, her voice tinged with disbelief.

Mum raised an eyebrow but kept her tone even. “He never said forbid you a meal. But you did agree to follow his lead today, didn’t you? So, humor your brother. Stand up, have a bite, and let’s not turn lunch into another debate.”

Joy hesitated but eventually stood, muttering under her breath. Mum glanced at Jack, a glint of amusement in her eye. “Happy now, Your Majesty?

I rolled my eyes and stood as well, holding my plain slice of bread. “Oh boy, what are we supposed to do, marching in place or jumping jacks?”

“Don’t give your brother more ideas, Sophie!” Mum chuckled; her tone playful but with a warning edge.

If my little brother told us to start a proper calisthenic workout like gym class, I was going to tell Jack what he could do with his two slices of bread!

Mum fidgeted with her cheese as she noticed my brother taking a sip of his hot tea. “Dear, I’m okay with you changing the meal plan, and even having us stand up. After all, you might want to photograph us at the table.”

Jack thanked her for the reminder and promptly had us put our arms around each other and smile—the fakest smile I’d ever been forced to make – I was certain Joy was thinking the same thing I was. Mum however, seemed quite happy to be filmed in the buff in our kitchen- for reasons still unknown to me.

“Yes, er, um, and as I said, I support your decision on meals while we’re modeling, but did I hear you right that I can’t have tea as well? I still have some hot water in the kettle,” Mum said, her tone and inflection laced with hope. It was clear she wanted him to reconsider, given her love for tea and how religiously she drank it.

Jack shocked me. I assumed he would say, “Oh Mumsy-wumsy, apple of my eye, obviously that was just an oversight! When I said make one tea, I meant one for YOU!” and backtrack. He had my mom’s ear, and she doted on him—but if push came to shove, and he told her she couldn’t have any today, my mom might just choose the tea over him.

Jack leaned back, clearly savoring the moment. “You can turn off the kettle, Joanne. You heard me correctly.”

Mum’s lips pressed into a tight line. “Jack, I don’t—”

He cut her off, his tone steady but firm. “Joanne, it may have gone in one ear and out the other for my dim-witted sisters, but I listened to you today. You droned on about how the female condition requires women to be held to higher standards, to be kept in check. That they’re more prone to lying, manipulating, and expecting special treatment. And here you are, proving that to me by expecting special treatment.”

Her nostrils flared as she crossed her arms. “I’m your Mum, you know, and I could just make the tea!”

Jack’s grin widened. “And we AGREED that if we were going to do this modeling session, I wasn’t to treat you as my Mum. Otherwise, I’d give you special treatment—like I always do. You could ground me, tell me I’m a naughty boy, and put me in the corner, right?”

“I would never! It’s just a cuppa!”

“Exactly, just a cuppa. Look, it’s simple. The girls received plain bread slices because they were being silly and not paying attention—that was their consequence.”

“Yeah, and I got a few slices of cheese!” Mum’s voice rose slightly as she gestured to her plate.

Jack reached out, gently rubbing her stomach, which made Mum’s eyes widen in surprise. “And that’s because I’m helping you—putting you on a diet for your own good. I won’t starve you, but I want you to look sexy for our pictures. It’s all for the art, Joanne.”

Mum’s cheeks flushed. “Awww, but what about my tea? I barely use sugar!”

Jack’s expression hardened, his tone still calm but uncompromising. “Today, you’re losing your tea because you wouldn’t stop talking when we were supposed to be modeling. You made it all about you—taking over, telling me to put away my camera. If I’d treated you like my Mum, that’s what I would have done. But I didn’t. And I got some of the best pictures while you weren’t even aware! You saw them yourself.”

She hesitated, then nodded grudgingly. “That I did, aye.”

“Good. Now, I’m not going to pretend this is fair—it isn’t. But girls simply don’t deserve tea, do they? That’s what you said, wasn’t it?”

“I didn’t mean me!” Mum shot back, incredulously.

“Right, because you think it’s ‘do as I say, not as I do.’” Jack’s tone was cutting, his eyes sharp.

I wanted to cheer for him but kept my mouth shut. Joy, however, let out a barely audible snort.

“JACK!” Mum was beside herself that golden boy had turned her own words against her.

“So, today you’re going to set an example. If you won’t hold yourself to the same standard, why should they? You stood up, right? I made them stand. Right?”

“Well, yeah…but—”

“No buts.” Jack’s tone was final. “Pour yourself a glass of water, drink it all before you leave this kitchen, stay hydrated and be grateful for it—just like you said women should. And tonight, if you behave, I’ll consider letting you brew a cup with my used tea bag. After all, that’s good enough for Sophie, right?”

“She doesn’t even like tea!” Mum snapped, but the fight was already draining from her voice.

“Exactly. Which makes her even better at going without than you.” Jack leaned back, smirking.

“Now, Joanne, you said you are not a proper woman, elegant and refined – Refined women are used to simply demanding what they want and getting it. You are a self-described honest woman. You are not going to be spoiled, or allowed to be uppity, and neither are Joy and Sophie while we model. I am almost done with my cheese sandwich. You can all have my left-over crisps.”

Jack pushed the six or seven small crisps he hadn’t eaten to the center of the table. I wasn’t going to dignify his offer of having his leftovers, but my sister and Mum immediately grabbed for them, so I did as well. I clawed back two.

I was still standing like a dumb bird behind my pushed-in chair, while Jack—the only one fully clothed—sat back, finishing the last sip of his tea. The chairs were rickety, but I’d have given anything to sit in one. I felt stupid – if someone could see me through the garden window – thick hairy bushy, pale British skin, tiny boobs, standing there watching my brother finish off his lunch like the three of us were waiting on him – they’d think I was off my rocker!

“Oi, I can’t eat another bite,” Jack said, pushing his plate forward. After being fed two slices of dry Hovis and scrapping over a handful of crisps, the sight of that untouched corner of his toasted sandwich—a thick slab of cheese slathered with beer mustard—felt downright heartbreaking. And there was still a third of a cup of tea left, probably still warm. It looked yummy. Not the tea, obviously – but I knew Mum wanted it.

Mum glanced at his plate. “Jack, alright to clear this away, or can me and the girls have it?” Her tone was light, but there was something behind it—a hint of her own hunger, maybe.

Jack shrugged, leaning back. “The girls can have half the sandwich each, but you can have my tea – will that make you happy?”

“It would, Jack! I thought you were being a proper meanie!” Mom said.

Joy turned a phrase we heard her say earlier around on our mom “Having someone be a meanie to you, never hurt anyone, love!”

Mom shot my sister a dour expression, she clearly didn’t like hearing her own comment reflected back to her. “Not helpful, Joy!”

If it had been Jack, I am sure my mom would have laughed like it was the funniest joke of all time.

My sister tore the sandwich in half and we both had a quick munch! It was strange – I might not have appreciated the sandwich as much if I’d had a full one. There was something about just getting a quick bite that made it worth so much more – and the unexpected gift at the end of lunch.

I hate to say that I appreciated it – but I did.

Jack snapped a picture of my face -I suppose he wanted a picture of me elated, or stuffing my face with mustard on my lip. I didn’t disappoint in either department.

“I am just doing what you taught me, Mum! I love the three of you! I love that you are willing to pose for me! It means a lot that you’d sacrifice your time and dignity to do this with me.”

Dignity? I hadn’t thought about being naked quite like that, but he wasn’t wrong – there was nothing dignified about eating up half my little brother’s sandwich like a starving ghoul while I stood in front of me with my kit off! I’d felt humiliated – but this was my family. I felt it wasn’t sexual to run around naked in front of them. I changed in front of me Mum and sister plenty of times, and I’d bathed with my little brother until just a few years ago.

“What exactly did I teach you, Jack?” my Mum hefted his mug to her lip and had a good long sip.

“You told the girls today you didn’t spoil them by giving them tea, and things they didn’t need, because you didn’t want them to be uppity. I want you to trim down because I know you can afford to lose a few stone, and you will look hot!”

“Hot, am I?” Mum was quite flattered; she took another long sip of the tea. Draining the mug. “My belly is a bit empty though – so being hot is a bit uncomfortable. You called me out today and told me to put my money where my mouth was, and if I believe girls aren’t to be spoiled – I should not spoil myself. I was about to cry when you took my afternoon tea away. Then you go ahead and spoil me anyway, with almost half a cup! So, I don’t know about that, Jack. It’s a bit of a mixed message,” she grinned playfully.

“It’s hard to be strict – I don’t want to be called King Jack or Saint Jack. Just Jack is fine. I think we should have some ground rules – but I don’t want you guys to hate me because I am sitting down and not naked.”

“About that,” Joy asked. “Can we please sit down, if we are going to have a conversation?”

“No, I think you look good standing, and I am snapping pictures,” Jack took another snap of Joy while she made a frowny face.

We transitioned from eating lunch, to basically taking pictures without even being told that it was picture time. It just happened organically like we were meant to be taking pictures all along anyway. My little brother had practically never stopped with his snaps while we ate – so it was like we had never really stopped from morning.

Mum giggled, laughed like it was thrilling and exhilarating and clearly enjoyed the attention -to the point that her confidence and self-esteem soared the more Jack focused on her. She wasn’t narcissistic about it though – she wanted us in the picture as much or more than she wanted pictures of herself. “Caw, come here and give me a big hug, get in this picture with me, Sophie! That’s it!”

Mum had no boundary as it related to personal space with me and my sister either. That’s how she always was when she was dressed too, but it was quite a bit different when your eye-level to her nipples or just touching bare skin to bare skin in an embrace.

Joy and I were along for the ride; not frigid and standoffish – not after the warmup pictures this morning. We were just not as ‘into’ the touchy-feeling stuff and posing as Mum. She was off the deep end in terms of giving Jack carte blanche to film anything.

A great example is that even though she wasn’t baking anything in the stove, he had her bend over and act like she was taking something out of the oven. “Take your oven mitts and pull your bum apart, Joanne!”

“Why would I do that if I were checking on the oven, Jack? Am I supposed to look like I am gonna take the roast out with me teeth?” Mum remained bent over, wiggling her big bum, and looked over her shoulder.

“I am the director, and I want you to have no inhibitions – you are a cheeky chef, and you know you are being photographed, so you are showing off! An open book to me! I can see every page!”

“Right you are!! I love it!! Brilliant, Jack!” she snickered eagerly, and used her mitts to give him a proper look right up at her hairy quim and poo hole – no concerns. She didn’t even ask what the pictures would be used for.

I’d have thought maybe he was taking these to sell for porn – but that didn’t seem to be Jack’s intention, and I didn’t ask. It just wasn't the vibe that this was some commercial production. Honestly, I may have preferred that - if we were gonna do this, we may as well be able to afford a proper flat with more space, hah! I kept my thoughts on that to myself.

He took pictures of me and my sister pretending to scrub dishes.

“That’s the first proper work these two slags have done all year, and it’s all pretend,” Mum giggled playfully. It was light-hearted fun, and we laughed back while Jack directed us to squirt each other with suds from the dish soaps – no problem there. I loved getting my sister wet!

At least I wasn't just standing at the table like an awkward bird, Jack directed us around the kitchen in mostly odd or unusual poses - I wouldn't call it "sexy" because to me sexy is runway models in Milan and lingerie. I wouldn't call what we were doing "humiliating" because it wasn't much different than being naked in my room or the bathroom and dancing around singing Lily Allan with my sister and being goofy. It was embarrassing, probably more so if anyone from the outside could see in our flat.

I'd call it something between - where we were bending, exposing ourselves, and doing often random poses, with no context. it wasn't like a story where I was playing a role of a scullery maid cleaning and scrubbing the floor

It was more like Jack directed "Oi, Soph get on your hands and knees with the scrubber and pretend you’re polishing the tiles, stick your bum up, all the way up, yep - legs apart, wider, wider, yep, now reach back, brush away some of the hair on your quim in the back".

It felt safe to be this open with my body around my sister, Mum and even Jack. I wasn’t used to the idea of a male looking at everything I got or taking pictures especially, but once we got rolling, I was there laughing and snickering along with Joy. My Mum was just the boisterous one encouraging us all and acting more like Jack’s cheerleader to keep us motivated.

Joy was more grounded, but compliant – always a smirk like she was thinking of some joke or knew punch line that I didn’t know. She rarely even rolled her eyes like she had in the morning session. We knew Jack would scold us for talking out of turn during the session. We did it anyway as we had the chance between poses – and Jack largely allowed us a little minimal talking.

My brother wanted to see everything - not just quims and clits - our poo-holes were on full display. Mum told him we'd be open books and there was frankly no point in complaining or being snarky because if Mum was doing it - and insistent, we were doing besides once he had one photograph of where I go to the loo - what was 100 more, right?
There was a point, he asked Joy to pull her butt cheeks apart and slide the broom handle between them. I thought my sister was going to tell him to get bent. There was a look on her face that I wouldn’t call defiance because she was playing along, even smirking and laughing at times.

Joy often had an expression of shock and surprise, like she couldn’t believe Jack would dare to ask us to do this and take pictures of it while she went along with it. When he told her to basically ride the broom like a witch and put the smoothed rod in between her bubble butt – she shifted to an incredulous look that I would describe as begging the question “If you really want to see me do that? I don’t mind but having to see me slide up and down on this is YOUR punishment.”

She’s a goth-type who is naturally sullen, and a bit of a lay about who likes being lazy. She’d rather argue with Mum for ten minutes than wash a single dish in the sink. I expected her to look angry and say, “HOW DARE YOU MAKE US DO THIS!”

And while there were a few times she did in fact make a face like that, more often than not when Jack wanted her to do something salacious, the expression was more like “Okay, if you really want to see it, but now you’ve had to see me do this – so good luck erasing the mental image out of your head”

That was my take on it anyway. She’s into skulls, Motorhead, and all that Gothic vampire stuff, so I might have been reading the expression wrong entirely. Another example in the kitchen, was Jack wanted my sister to pretend she had been naughty and was being put in the corner – like when we were little.

Jack quoted a line Mum always used to say “Nose and toes in the crease of the kitchen, Joy! Hands on top of head, palms flat on top of your head so I can see you can’t get into any mischief!”

My sister scoffed, and I thought because it was such a silly punishment for little kids that my sister’s scoff meant she wasn’t doing it. “How about I put a soap bar in my mouth, and look angry over at the camera, like you’ve punished me unjustly?” she suggested.

It wasn’t the wanton, unabashed, excited suggestion my mom would make – it was more like she wanted the scene to be more wicked, and so she was embellishing it to make it better because it wasn’t good enough to be worth her time.

“Brilliant, Joy! Extra butter and cheese for tea,” my brother agreed. As Joy bit down on the soap and clenched her teeth.

“You’d do that for a scene?” I whispered.

She shrugged and Mumbled around the soap “I won’t hold it in my mouth for long, it’s not like I am sucking on it – it’s just for kicks, Soph!”

After about twenty minutes or so, Jack started having us do random poses around the table – more like exercises and stretches really – leaning, turning, twisting, look this way or left or right, back again at the camera – make this facial expression or that. I was hoping for a bit of a break. It was exciting, but I was getting aroused at the strangest times – mostly while doing what I was doing – in this case, I had one leg on the table stretched out straight, and another flat on the floor. Jack told me to stand on the ball of my foot, lean forward and hold the pose.

Having to be in such a compromising position, with cool kitchen air touching my flaps and bits – was causing me to juice up and drip a bit. It wasn’t the first time any of us were obviously wet while we posed – but normally I could hide it.

I was lucky that I had such a hairy quim – it camouflaged the lake that was forming inside of me a little – but once I started to get excited the hairs started to slick up, and you could clearly tell by looking.

It wasn’t that I was getting aroused from touch or something sexual – entirely involuntarily like my brother’s morning chubbers in his jammies. He had said precious little about my arousal earlier, which was a godsend, really. Jack had treated it like a normal part of modeling and acknowledged it – but he hadn’t said “Oh Sophie! It’s so good you’ve got a waterfall going!” or anything quite like that.

Anytime I moved to wipe away the gathering slime on my vagina, Jack chided me while he posed the others – I think he was going for a three musketeers pose with our legs crossing like swords. I couldn’t wait to see if my Mum was limber enough to get a leg up on the table.

“So, Joanne, Joy, and Sophie, brilliant work on the warmup. I hope you enjoyed your lunch, as it is. I think we need to establish some ground rules.”

“I think when you say ground rules,” I said, trying to ignore how silly I must have looked with a glistening vagina trying to hold a conversation, “You mean ground rules just for girls – girls stand, you get to sit on your bum, girls pose or they get no crisps, that sort of thing?”

“You’ve almost got it – if I say no crisps or cheese for Mum, because I want her to look beautiful, or as a consequence for being an obstinate Billy goat- I want there to be no hard feelings, and I don’t want to have to face repercussions after the session because I posed you a certain way to bring out your natural feminine qualities. When we’re modeling, it’s not Mum and sisters—it can’t be. I want you to have no inhibitions, to be open books to me. If it’s Mum, I’d defer to her—I’d let her run the modeling session, and instead of directing, she’d be the director.”

Mum chimed in with a smile. “Oh, I’ve got no interest in directing. It’s far too much exciting being the subject – I can’t believe anyone would even take a picture of these old bazooms! I’ve never done anything like this before! I don’t want to direct, but I can see why I’d make you nervous and you need to be able to tell us what to do to pose. I admit I was talking when I should have been posing earlier.”

Jack nodded, looking pleased. “I don’t want sour faces later when you’re back to being Mum and sisters. Look at Soph! she’s looking miserable, because I am making her keep her hands away from her macaroni and cheese maker!”

I was mortified – now all eyes were on the strand of my “cheese” beginning to form on my labia like a silvery fluid spider web.

Joy and Mum had a good laugh at my expense – I knew I’d never live that term down.

“I can also see you lot are unhappy about your lunch, and the lack of crisps, but I thought that would motivate you and I think it did. We’ve had an outstanding session in the kitchen thus far. I do have a bit of good news—I’ll be adding dessert shortly, if you’re ready for it.

But I want you to think of yourselves as three models, a team. That means Mum follows the same rules as you lot. If you have to stand, she has to stand. No ‘do as I say, not as I do.’ No special privileges or treatment. Yah?”

[EddieDavidson]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

“Neither did we, Mum...” I said, before the two of them corrected me and told me to call her Joanne.

Jack started to shake her big tits – just touching them like ripe cantaloupe while Mum grinned at him. He reminded her that she was now an open book.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He roughly lifted one of my tiny boobs, sprayed it until it was completely covered, then did the same to the other. It was more cream than I needed—probably twice as much as Mum—but that didn’t stop him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[EddieDavidson]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I’ll be honest -poopy teeth was worse than maraschino cherries! How hard had she scrubbed her rump with my brush?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I abruptly stood up. She was probably joking, , I was on my feet in a flash, putting as much distance as I could between me and the “line of fire.” My sudden jump only made Mum laugh harder, her face red as she gasped for breath. Joy, of course, lost it completely, her obnoxious snorts and cackles filling the room like some kind of twisted laugh track.

Mum’s hysterics were in full swing, her body jostling awkwardly in the chair with her legs still propped on the table. Meanwhile, the whipped cream was staging its own quiet rebellion. A glob clung precariously to the underside of one boob, swaying dangerously, while faint streaks had somehow made their way lower—far too close to her two bottom orifices. The room was starting to stink of souring dairy, the sweet vanilla scent curdling into something nauseating. Combined with the unmistakable human odor radiating from Mum’s position, it hit me hard enough to turn my stomach. I gagged, struggling to hold it together, but Joy’s perverse sense of humor latched onto my discomfort. Mum kept her legs propped on the table, wide open like she was putting on a show, cackling so loudly I thought she might topple right out of the chair.

I’d never seen her laugh this hard—not even at her favorite TV shows. She was always quick to laugh, but this was something else—completely hysterical, as if she couldn’t stop herself.
4o

Mum was sprawled in the chair, legs propped up on the table, her laughter mixed with apologies to Jack for disrupting the scene – please Jack, enough give us a break, yes? Hoo-Hoo, I can’t take it,” she plead.

Why was she pleading with Jack to let her stop? Did she not know we could stop anytime? It really wasn’t up to him, even if we pretended! Why not just insist that it’s break time? how could she find this amusing? I could understand Joy’s cackles – she had a bit of a twisted sense of humor anyway, and my pouting probably only amused her.

The kitchen floor was a sticky mess, streaked with melting whipped cream. Jack, as usual, remained unfazed, snapping picture after picture of the scene with a tight-lipped focus. His voice finally cut through Mum’s relentless "hoo-hoo" noises.

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

Mum tried to stifle her laughter, but it only made her more breathless. She shook her head, still chuckling, her voice breaking between words. “Hoo-hoo—oh, Jack! I—I was livid at first, I wanted to choke you! I was so angry that you’d do this to me—it was so humiliating, oh God! You shut me up right when I was about to snap it off.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She’s fine volunteering me to the vicar to do lawn work, or to someone else though

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Joy rolled her eyes dramatically enough for both of us, while Mum cackled like a squirrelly git.

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

Jack snapped a few pictures of me squatting on the balls of my feet, patiently, knees apart, mouth open, looking like an absolute nitwit. Then he took some of Mum still on the chair – legs apart, and a few more of Joy standing there with her arms at her sides.

“I think the girls need these modeling sessions as much as me—that was refreshingly honest,” she added. "Now, I’ll be perfectly frank—there may be days I’m in a mood and don’t feel like doing this. Or I’ve got some mates I want to meet up with at the Fox and Hounds for a pint or two. Maybe there’s shopping or laundry piling up that’s overdue. And since I’m only Joanne when we’re modeling, what sort of override do I have if I really need to step away?"

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

Mum shifted in her seat, whip cream drying on her quim, as she let out a sharp laugh. “It’s my house, you ungrateful brat! my rules and as long as you live in my house, then you will obey them! If I want a pint at the Fox and Hounds, I’ll bloody well have one, and all I’d need to do is ask Jack. He’d probably say yes if I’ve been good.” Her tone turned cutting. “Not that you’d understand being good for five minutes, would you? And don’t start whining about fairness—you’re always ready to piss off somewhere or pull some stunt like the toothbrush incident, thinking you’re clever.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Now, weeknights? Nobody’s going off to fuck about. I am not keeping a special calendar where I’ve got to keep tickets and requests and sort it. If one of you can’t do it, that means everyone else has to just lay about and wait with their thumbs up their butt waiting, right? So, on a Monday, Joanne would have an excuse, and a Tuesday Joy would have an excuse, and of course on Wednesday Sophie’s suddenly volunteering down at the Church again because some cute boy is there! And every night we’re standing here unable to do modeling properly!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

We like boys! (and sometimes other girls)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’ll get used to it – we’ll take it out by tea-time; you won’t even notice it! It paints your arsehole a nice shade of red, Joanne.”
My mom blushed -not quite as red as the cherry in her caboose, and smiled shyly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Look, he was cute, and I was not molested. I was bored, and he was 22 and fresh out of seminary, school if anything; I had seduced him and probably got him sent out to the middle of Africa!” my sister said as she popped the cherry out of her butthole and let it slide on the tile of our kitchen under her. “There are some things we’ve done today that I didn’t mind, and thought were fun. I want some of the pictures – but this is getting ridiculous. Are you really telling me that it’s your fantasy to squat in our dusty old kitchen by the bin and kiss cherries out of each other’s mouths? That’s what you’d rather be doing of all things today?”

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

“I wouldn’t choose to do this particular thing, sweetheart. I like being naked, and Jack is making it interesting. Tell me that little cherry is the biggest thing you’ve had up your arse, then?” She paused to see if my sister would try to lie. Even I’ve had bigger things up my butt, and technically I do not do anal sex. I have let boys finger my butt, and I like putting my thumb up my butt when I masturbate – but I don’t even do that in front of my sister and we share a room – so I keep it super-secret.

A cherry probably felt like nothing, anyway.

[EddieDavidson]

“It’s not that it hurts – it’s just humiliating, and Jack isn’t just filming us! he’s bossy and mean!” Joy complained. Mom didn’t seem to care. They both had a few of the cherries in their mouth while they spoke so it was a bit of fun just listening to them try to talk and not let them drop.

“A little meanness never hurt anybody, Love! Isn’t that what you told me at lunch? Just roll with it – your brother is in charge, I don’t mind him being assertive, and honestly you are not all in on modeling,” Mum observed.

“All in? I am naked, doing everything I am told and Jack’s never happy with me!” she added.

Jack was right behind Joy filming -ignoring her criticism.

“Look, he has high standards, wants us to live up to them! I’ve no hard feelings about it, and he talks down to me, as well! If I can do it, you can suck it up, Buttercup! Don’t like a little tough talk, then tough titty, too bad, so sad! You are no worse for the wear, and I’ve seen you smiling, so don’t act like a broken wing dove all of a sudden.”

“That doesn’t mean I can’t have my feelings hurt!” Joy added.

“You? the Ice Princess? Since when did you care if you hurt anyone else’s feelings? If anything, you should have your feelings hurt, so you can see how you make other’s feel,” Mum added unflinchingly. “You said if I am willing to be treated like one of the girls – you’d be treated the same, he talks to all of us the same – so a little meanness won’t hurt!” Mum got annoyed and flustered and repeated back again what my sister had said to her during lunch.

“I just don’t see why this gets you off! This is the weirdest thing I’ve ever done in my life, and I’ve done some weird stuff.”

“You’ve already got the cherry up your bum, and you are already squatting – stop whinging!”

“I am not whinging!” Joy sucked in air in sudden surprise as she pulled her shoulders back. Jack found the cherry and popped it back up her a-hole. I’d imagine he pushed it in a might further things time because my sister’s eyes grew extra wide.

“Drop it again, and don’t immediately pop it back in. You might be whining,” Jack suggested. “You are my model – hold your cheeks apart, chin up! You can complain when we are done. You need to learn teamwork with the other girls – stop working against Joanne to get cherries faster – take turns!”

“You pull that cherry back out with your tongue, Jack, and chew it up like a good little boy. How’s that for teamwork?” she winked at him, but it was pure crass snark – classic Joy Marsh. It wasn’t defiant because she let him do it – but it was like even though he had the power, she wasn’t going to let him know she was intimidated.

"You have a hairy cherry in your dairy hole, and still you act like your shit smells of roses? Hold it open nice and wide—let me get it from a few angles. I’ll make sure to share it with the cheese maker over tea. Keep joking like that, and maybe you’ll get a real reward... though I’m sure you’ll have plenty to chew on by then. And no, Joy—I won’t make you eat the cherry. Unless you beg."

I recognized what Jack just did. I would have taken the bait and told my sister that I thought I was feeding the cherry to her mouth and pretended I couldn’t tell her face from her ass. We would have started an insulting match, and on and on, it would go.

Jack didn’t sink to her level or take the bait. He made her model it for him, said what he said about her, and then told her that she could still earn a treat – meaning he had the power to give it and take it away. I was impressed! I would never have thought of that.

“Joanne, you’ll still need to work on that posture—next time, I want you holding your head high, no slouching!” Jack said.

“Yes, Jack!” My mom preened happily and did as she was told.

“Good girl,” Jack rubbed her shoulders, and she smiled up at him.

Mum and Joy exchanged a quick glance but obeyed, shuffling into position beside me. Joy muttered something under her breath about "cherry-picking in the weirdest way possible," but Mum shot her a warning look that silenced any further complaints.

As I knelt there, still basically a human trash can for whipped cream and cherries, I could feel the absurdity of the scene sinking in. My big sister reached out first, her fingers fumbling as she tried to grab a cherry by the stem. Her nose brushed against Mum’s, smearing whipped cream across both their faces.

“Hold still, Joy!” Mum hissed, her own attempt just as clumsy. Their heads bumped lightly, and Joy let out an exasperated giggle.

Joy winced, rubbing her head where it had collided with Mum’s, her face already streaked with melting whipped cream. “Oh, bloody hell, Mum! Watch your great fat noggin next time, yeah? Fucking hell, it’s like wrestling a bull in a China shop!”

Joy being Joy, she was in pain so after lashing out Mum because of their accident and mutual pain, she lashed out at Jack. I was probably only spared because I had a mouth full of whip cream and was more like furniture than a person to the rest of them.

I hope you’re enjoying the show, Jack. You getting off on watching us bash our bloody heads together, you pervy little git?”

Jack’s response was swift. He stepped forward and delivered a sharp slap to her backside! She yelped and held her bum – but didn’t get out of her squat.

“Don’t be a brat, Twinkle Toes!” Jack snapped, his tone firm but not cruel. “You deserved to bump your head—you weren’t taking turns. The two of you are like bloody seagulls fighting over a chip, instead of working as a team! And let me make one thing clear: I won’t tolerate any sass during modeling. And any time you call Joanne ‘Mum’ instead of her name? I’m going to pop you one until you get it right. Now, what’s her name?”

Mum snorted, half-amused by Joy’s startled reaction and half-focused on her task. Her own cherry-picking skills weren’t much better, but at least she avoided earning a slap—barely. When Jack’s hand hovered near her, she quickly adjusted her posture, muttering a breathless, “I’m trying, dear!”

They were both down in a squat – but their knees were not nearly as far apart as Jack expected me to hold mine! Double standards!

Joy rubbed her butt like it was this great wound that Jack gave her—though she was just being dramatic. Her cheeks weren’t even pink. I couldn’t help but roll my eyes. Seriously, it was one slap, and she was acting like he’d taken a belt to her. It made me think about the time I convinced a boyfriend to spank me with a hairbrush. I hated it—it stung like hell and left me gritting my teeth, swearing I’d never try that again. Maybe Joy felt the same, though she sure didn’t seem to mind embarrassing herself if it got her a little attention.

“Mum!” Joy whined, overplaying her indignation. “Jack can’t just slap our butts any time he wants, can he? That’s not modeling! This is starting to become BDSM or something!”

Mum sighed and glanced between Joy and Jack, clearly trying to tread carefully. “Jack, dear—I don’t mind a quick playful slap on the butt now and again—but Joy has a point. You can’t just smack us about during modeling, can you?”

Jack arched an eyebrow at Mum’s attempt to mediate and turned his attention squarely on Joy. “First of all, Joy, stop acting like I am a petulant child! You've a great big bubble butt - I am assuming women are born with such big butts because it’s expected you’ll need some padding for all the spankings you deserve that you don’t get!”

“Keep rubbing your turd cutter and see if I don’t put you over my knee!” Jack pulled Joy’s hand away from her bum. Joy’s a bit bigger than Jack and I’ve seen her fight other girls at post-secondary – so I am not sure that Jack really wants to anger her that much! My sister can be a brat, but she’d been a good sport about the modeling all today! There had to be a limit to how much crap she was going to take from Jack today.

Mum gave a look of approval when Jack said that, but added, "I don’t mind a quick slap to my bum if I’m cheeky, but I’ve got a big bum and probably wouldn’t feel it much anyway, so it’s more a hit to my ego. But, Joy, what is BDSM?"

“C’mon, Muh...” Joy corrected herself mid-word, still rubbing her bum like it smarted (when it didn’t—it was more like a hard tap). “Surely, you’ve heard of BDSM? Bondage? Whips and chains and leather? Sometimes I go to clubs in London and see people tied up and spanked, shoved in cages like dogs or ponies—even people having sex right there on stage!”

“Caw,” Mum said, her tone caught somewhere between shock and curiosity. “There’s nothing sexual about spanking to me—when I was growing up in Blackpool—”

“Oh crikey, not another Charles Dickens tale of the ancient age of Blackpool,” Joy interrupted, rolling her eyes. She mimicked Mum’s enthusiastic tone, “In my day, we ate porridge, and girls only got it on Sundays, and we had to throw it up and spit it back in each other’s mouths, and you know what? We were grateful for it.”

“You’re making the case for a proper over-the-knee spanking,” Mum said, pursing her lips. “All I was going to say was that my parents didn’t believe in sparing the rod and spoiling the child, even for boys. If we were going to get the tawse, we had one room, so it was done right out in the open for everyone to learn the lesson when one of us needed an attitude adjustment. We didn’t have to strip completely; girls could keep their nightgowns on and just pull them up in the back. But everyone had a good laugh when it was me—I had a big dumper even back then.”

“What’s a tawse, Joanne?” Jack asked – clearly in awe. That was the Jack I knew and loved. He was Mum’s favorite precisely because he was respectful and asked questions and concerns. This blustering, swaggering tough guy thing was an act – and I think all three of us recognized Jack was just testing the waters.

I’d say that Jack was doing a fair job of the role he seemed to be thrust in simply by virtue that Mum considered anyone born with a penis to be superior to us who just have a slit and tits (well, in my case, a slit anyway). If I were in his place, I’d have been wishy-washy and trying to please everyone and getting consensus. I doubt I’d have come up with such humiliating games.

I’d probably let the power go to my head though, and just start bossing everyone around like a female Napoleon. Jack seemed more restrained with his sudden authority to simply take a picture of us anyway he liked– like he knew it had to have some limit.

“You’ve never seen a tawse at school?” Mum looked genuinely surprised. She got a little nostalgic as she described it. “It’s a strap made of old leather with a worn wooden handle. It stings—puts a welt on your backside—but it’s not like it’s going to kill you. After twenty licks, even with a well-padded bum like mine, you’d feel it proper. It wasn’t done out of malice, though. If we sassed, made excuses, or got caught bickering, we’d answer for it. You’d be surprised how much harmony and peace it could buy. I swore when I had you lot I’d never use one, but sometimes I think it would’ve made you girls less uppity—and less likely to go to clubs to watch it done for sport!”

Mum was flighty and absent-minded but come on! Everybody and their brother with the Internet had heard of dog collars, handcuffs, and riding crops. They sold that sort of stuff in Gatwick Airport, for crying out loud. I didn’t have much personal experience with it, because boys my age weren’t that creative, but I’d seen pictures of people in leather and read a few naughty stories. I wasn’t a total prude.

My sister looked down, unable to keep a straight face. “Joanne, do you really want to get spanked anytime he has a whim and just feels like making you bend over, tits on the table, bum up?”


“As far as I’m concerned," Mum continued, "Jack should be a bit hard on us during modeling. We need it. You girls are going to test his patience, push his buttons, and even call him names. If he thinks you need a spanking, then you bend over and let him give it to you. It won’t do more than sting your bottom pink and remind you that my name is Joanne now.” Mum giggled.

“Oh c’mon, I’d have a bum that’s black and blue!” Joy predicted. “He could run us ragged!”

“Any time I step in the Fox and Hounds, I’ll get a pinch, or a smack on the bottom, even a goose now and again. It’s just something women like us have to endure for a few pints. And don’t tell me you haven’t had a finger poke up your skirt from some dirty old man. You’ve been to the tavern with me—I’ve seen you slap their faces!”

Mum seemed to find it shameful that we did that much to old men that got fresh with us! I’ve turned a beer over on an old codger’s head.

“Endure? Pitiful, Joanne! You’re in there laughing, flashing your droopy boobs, and encouraging them to get handsy. You’re not a poor, put-upon virgin at the bar. And you know that’s not what I’m talking about! They don’t make you grab your ankles, stick out your cunny, and give you a paddling! Are you really saying Jack is judge, jury, and executioner? He gets to decide if we broke a rule—or no rule at all! Just for his bloody pictures?”

My sister was being pretty dramatic—all for a single slap. Bloody hell.

"Well, first of all," Mum said, her voice firm but not unkind, "I can see why your first thought is that you’re worried your brother might be vindictive or cruel. That’s the first thing you’d do if the tables were turned, Joy. But he’s not like that. Jack isn’t going to make you girls model if I’m not there—it’s all three of us or none of us. Right, Jack?"

I didn’t think that was actually a rule, but Jack nodded anyway, his tone matter-of-fact. “Why do you think I said I can’t sort it if Sophie’s out one day, and the next it’s Joy? I want all three of you girls together—it’s the whole point.”

The cherries in my mouth nearly fell out as I fought back a laugh. Every time Jack referred to Mum as a "girl," it felt absurd. She was our mother, not one of us. Still, the word didn’t seem to bother her in the least.

Joy, however, wasn’t satisfied. Her voice rose with the dramatic flair only she could muster. “It just seems like there are no boundaries or limits—suddenly you’ve gone from Jack my brother to Jack my literal Lord and Master! Judge, jury, and executioner! You can put me over your knee and spank the snot out of me just for laughing at you wrong—or make me cut a birch branch off a tree to switch me! You’ve already blocked off Sunday morning to model, and you said 9 p.m. quitting time on weekends like it’s some sort of gift! What’s to stop you from keeping us going until one in the bloody morning?” She crossed her arms, her pout more pronounced than ever. “I’m overwhelmed, Jack!”

Jack’s gaze softened slightly, his tone even but understanding. “This is our first day doing this,” he said. “And I’ll admit, it’s going to take time to work out how everything runs—managing the pantry, sorting the shopping, and now this. You’ve got to work with me too. I’ll listen. When we’re modeling, I’d prefer we handle the chit-chat during meal breaks and not while I’m taking snaps. No one’s talking about dungeons and cages, Joy. We don’t have any. But if we did and you wanted pictures there, I’d take them. You’d survive.”

Joy started to open her mouth to protest, but Jack cut her off with a wry grin. “Simple solution to the butt-slapping issue—don’t sass me, don’t call her Mum during modeling, and don’t act like a brat. If you can manage that, your two fat butt cheeks won’t be jiggling and sore. Now, let’s finish this scene and talk more over tea.”

Honestly, it wasn’t unreasonable. I had questions too—plenty of them—but I couldn’t exactly ask with a gob full of cherries and whipped cream.

Joy’s lips pursed as she sunk into a full pout, pulling out what Mum always called her “poor abused goth girl face.” It was classic Joy—glossy-eyed, over-the-top, and begging for sympathy.

Jack didn’t even blink. He’d seen this routine too many times to be fooled. “Save the act,” he said dryly. “I know you’re fine.”

Mum, meanwhile, was watching Joy with a mix of amusement and exasperation. “Look, for my part, I can understand why you might see this as infringing on your time and privacy,” she told her gently. “But I think Jack shouldn’t go easy on us either. And I recognize that pouty face you just pulled out of your magic hat of tricks,” Mum added, a knowing smirk tugging at her lips.

Then, glancing at me with a wink, Mum couldn’t resist a bit of teasing. “Let’s get back to it—your poor glossy-eyed sister over there is going to scream if she doesn’t get to be the center of attention again.”

I nearly choked on the cherries in my mouth. Me? The attention seeker? Hardly. That was Joy and Mum’s department through and through.


I watched as they continued their awkward attempts, their giggles and protests filling the room. Whipped cream smeared across their faces as they leaned too close, noses bumping again. Mum managed to hold a cherry by its stem, triumphantly dropping it into my mouth with an exaggerated flourish.

“One down,” she said with a grin, licking the cream from her fingers.

Joy rolled her eyes but followed suit, the two of them alternating as Jack kept a watchful eye. “Pick them up properly, or I’ll help you remember how,” he warned, his palm hovering dangerously close to Joy again.

I wondered if this counted as kissing my sister and Mum? We were touching lips but not really tongue... I’ve kissed boys before with no tongue that I didn’t like. I didn’t consider that kissing—just sort of being polite for a dinner and a movie, or out of boredom because they were the only bloke about and I wanted to play kissy face.

I felt bad for them. It was hard to get the stems out, so I pushed one cherry up with my tongue for Mum. She’d put me in this situation, but I still loved her and wanted to help her. But when Joy leaned in, I sucked it back down through the cream, making it that much harder for her—serves her right for laughing at me and dipping my toothbrush where the sun doesn’t shine!

“Hey, you’re doing that on purpose!” Joy complained, pulling back and glaring at me before turning to Jack.

I was scared Jack was going to blow his top at me. I think he could tell from the look in my eyes that I was up to something—half-grinning like an idiot with cream running down my lips and onto my tiny boobs and thighs.

“This,” Jack said, his voice sharp but steady, “is exactly why Joanne thinks you both need modeling. It’s not about the photos! It’s because Sophie probably is sucking the cherries down, and Joy is trying to get her in trouble—and now it’s on me to sort it out, isn’t it?”

Joy shook her head quickly, denying it. “I’m not lying!” she snapped.

Jack didn’t flinch. “You know how I know you’re lying, Joy? Your lips are moving.”

Mum giggled—no, actually laughed—at my sister. And honestly? She wasn’t wrong.

Jack turned to me, his tone softening just enough to be unsettling. “Sophie, my sweet sister?” he said with a smile, looming over me. I didn’t say anything. My little brother told me to stick my tongue out through the cream, and I did, not even thinking about it. I’d already been following his instructions, so what was one more?

He grabbed my tongue and gave it a firm squeeze, nearly making me drop all the cherries as I wobbled on my knees. Jack plucked a cherry off the pile on my tongue, balancing it delicately on his finger. “Joy, come here,” he said. She shuffled over, reluctantly taking the cherry off his finger with her teeth.

“Now you’re both even,” Jack declared, looking between us. “And let me be clear—if I hear about this nonsense again, whether it’s sucking cherries down or accusing each other of doing it, here’s what’s going to happen: I’m punishing both of you. I don’t care if it’s over stolen clothes or toothbrushes. If it’s during modeling and I can’t tell who’s at fault, you’ll both take the blame. And trust me, that would mean no more cherries for anyone. So… do either of you want to spit them on the floor?”

I shook my head quickly, feeling like the world’s biggest idiot, and Joy did the same. Funny thing was, these maraschino cherries had been sitting in the fridge for a year untouched. Now, all of a sudden, they were the only thing I wanted to eat—like I’d earned them, right? And no way was I about to let Joy ruin that for me.

I nearly spit the wad of whip cream and cherries I had stored up in my so-called “Chipmunk cheeks” when Mum tried to talk with a few in her mouth – she sounded like a silly baby lisping.

"Brilliant! Joy, how dare you suck the cherries down when your sister has to kiss them out of your mouth? That’s dirty! And here I thought you were actually helping me for once!" She paused, turning to Jack with a pleased smile. "And I absolutely love the idea of punishing the two of them if they bicker—regardless of who’s wrong or right!"

“Don’t brown nose, Joanne – you should have told me that Sophie was cheating by helping you,” Jack told her to open her mouth and spit those three she pulled out back in my mouth and start over. “I’ll punish the THREE of you together if you all pile on!”

Mum was caught off guard by Jack’s stern condemnation. She was being supportive after all. If I were him, I’d want Mum on my side, rooting for me and not want to piss her off!

"I’m innocent here, Jack! They girls are the ones causing all the drama, not me!" Mom clearly felt like Jack judged her too harshly – her feelings were probably hurt.

Instead of just agreeing with her and apologizing like I would have, “Joanne, you ARE one of the girls – and you said it yourself, that girls cheat and lie – you have a special compulsion and if were to ignore it I am not doing you or anyone else any favors. You behave just like the two brats you are raising – and letting you get away with it without calling you out only makes you a stubborn brat!!”

You should have seen Mum’s face – her lips parted and she looked at Jack like he had just kicked her in the face. If she had cherries in her mouth still she would have dropped them.

“You let Sophie cheat to help you! Now, you have the audacity to tell me that you are innocent? That’s the drama and manipulation you told me that is natural for you! You didn’t start the drama, but you created some – now apologize properly from right where you are!”

Her shoulders slumped and her face a mix of embarrassment and contrition. "I’m sorry, Jack. I knew Sophie was helping me, and I didn’t say anything. I shouldn’t have blamed the other girls, and I’ll do better. I promise."

Mum called herself an “other” girl – that was something that was subtle and Jack may not have picked up on but I did and I was shocked that she seemed to believe she was on the same level as me! Joy must have picked up on it as well, because she was grinning wickedly when Mum got taken down a peg by Jack.

“Decent for your first of what may be many apologies today, Joanne - "At tea, you’ll take yours without milk, squatting on the floor, eating off a plate. You will thank me after you pour my tea, and not ask for anything I leave behind today. You’re already expecting special privileges, Joanne. Do you still want to model every day?"

Mum hesitated for a moment, then lifted her head, her tone subdued but resolute. "Yes, Jack. I still want to model every day."

“Then act like it – I am going to dress you down just like I would any other girl in the house! and after tea -we’ll do something about those ghastly pubes as well. They are disgusting. I can smell the dried squirty cream from here!”

Once I was left with about half the cherries in my mouth, Jack stepped back, snapping pictures. “Joanne, Joy, pass them back and forth. French kiss and keep it smooth—I want this to look good.”

Mum’s eyes widened for a moment, but she recovered quickly, leaning toward Joy with an almost playful smirk. “Come on, Joy. Let’s give him what he wants.”

Joy groaned but complied, their lips meeting as they passed the cherries between them. The sound of the camera clicking filled the air as Jack captured every moment. Their giggles resurfaced as cherries slipped, forcing them to start over more than once.

“Good,” Jack said finally, lowering the camera. “Now hold it. Don’t move until I say so.”

Jack snapped the last photo, lowering the camera with a satisfied smile. “Right, that’s all for now. You girls have done well—better than I expected for a first day. I’m proud of you.”

Jack said it like he meant it – not like he was being condescending, which surprised me. He had been teasing us pretty harshly during the game, punished Mum for “brownnosing” and not turning me in for giving her an unfair advantage, and slapped my big sister's big butt pretty hard when he sassed him and forgot to address our Mum as Joanne during modeling.

All in all, I would have expected him to say we were barely adequate just given his high standards and are performance. “Stand up, twats! You can bathe and then tea-time Shake your legs and move around. You’ve done well—better than I expected.”

My mom took a big stretch, with a grin! “You’ve got a way with compliments, Jack. Twats now, are we? Lucky us.”

My Mum wasn’t roaring with laughter like she had earlier, but it wasn’t sarcasm either. I would have expected sarcasm when you are called a twat. No, my Mum’s tone was more like she had just received the world’s best mother’s day card from Jack.

She’d be on cloud nine though a lot of this, but I’d seen her struggle, and look ashamed when he punished her during the cherry game – if you can call it anything.

There were no points, no scores, no timer, no goal or way to win. It had just been a laborious chore of holding my mouth open while my Mum and sister kissed me with whip cream in my mouth. It had been grueling, humiliating, and unlike some of the earlier things we had done – it just hadn’t been fun.

My sister noticed my Mum’s reaction and gave my brother a double take -almost like she couldn’t believe he had said it, and she had reacted that way. “That was exhausting! We put in all this effort to give you the best pictures possible – humiliating ourselves, Jack! If anyone sees these pictures, I will be a laughing stock in the Goth community!! And for my effort I get a thank you and also that I am a twat!!”



Jack’s voice cut through the room like a whip. “Turn around, Joy. Let’s take a look.”

Joy froze, her jaw tightening, but she didn’t argue. Slowly, she turned, shifting her hips awkwardly as she bent forward just enough for him to see.

“See that?” Jack’s tone was cold, dissecting. “That’s why you’re a twat, Joy. It’s not just about doing what I tell you—it’s how you do it. Sulking, eye-rolling, acting like the world owes you a medal for barely following instructions. You think that counts as effort? That’s not effort—it’s you being a brat.”

I bit my lip, glancing at Joy. Her shoulders were rigid, her knuckles whitening against the edge of the table.

“Even now, look at you,” Jack went on, relentless. “Stiff as a board like I’m asking for something unreasonable. If you’d just leaned into it, done it properly, we wouldn’t even be having this conversation. But no, you’ve got to make every bloody thing an ordeal.”

Joy’s head dipped slightly, but Jack wasn’t done. He moved to her side, his gaze narrowing. “Chin up, tits out, Joy. Jesus Christ, you’ve got nearly perfect tits, but they sag like you’ve given up. What is it? Afraid someone might call you a ninny if you stand up straight? Or are you clinging so hard to this ‘goth-bitch’ act you can’t risk looking halfway presentable?”

I couldn’t look at her anymore - Joy was just dumb to keep on about it. We’d just have to endure this until Mum finally had enough and ended it. She doted on Jack, but just like her gym memberships, fad diets, and quick-rich Amway ideas, it wouldn’t be long before she let him have it, and we were back in to our norms around here – hopefully, Mum wouldn’t have any more crazy ideas about being starkers – I could only imagine going door to door and selling THAT! lol.

I was just going to keep my head down and not cause waves.

“Sort yourself out,” Jack finished, stepping back like he’d had enough. “If you’re going to sulk, at least look good doing it!”

Joy predictably snapped back, her voice sharp and trembling. “Can you believe this, Mum?” She knew the rules—she should’ve said Joanne—but the words spilled out anyway. “Is this living out your fantasy? We’re spreading our bums, getting roasted, and he’s having a laugh. Aren’t you the least bit angry he’s calling you a twat too?”

Joy was physically rigid, maybe fidgeting slightly, but unwilling to turn away and move from the position Jack had her in – holding her ass cheeks apart with her back to him. I almost laughed because of that stupid cherry lodged in her bum!

“Oh, that’s alright! It’s all in fun, love!” Mum giggled, almost amused by Joy’s anger, like she thought it was a kick to see her upset.

“In fun? Don’t you think he means to say you and I are twats?” Joy snapped, her arms crossing tightly over her chest.

“I am a twat, love! So are you! Look at us—naked, whip cream dried all over our faces, acting like fools, bickering like twats. And you’ve got a sweet cherry in your tailpipe!” Mum grinned broadly, clearly unbothered.

Joy glanced over her shoulder, her brow furrowing in surprise. “Bloody hell, is that still there?” With a quick motion, she let it drop to the floor between her feet, then looked up at Mum, her lips twisting into a grimace. “How long are we really supposed to go along with this constant humiliation, Mum?” she asked, her tone low and exasperated as she dropped her hands from her bum.

“A little humiliation never hurt anyone, love, and it’s Joanne to you, and I can’t say boo to you, but I’d put my hands back where they’re supposed to be if you want tea.”

Mum didn’t miss a beat, her voice taking on that light, teasing edge that always made Joy bristle. “A little humiliation never hurt anyone, love. And it’s Joanne to you.”

You’d think Jack would be fuming, but he stood there cool, calm, and collected while our big sister threw what seemed like a tantrum. Jack’s the typical British soft-spoken teenager—he didn’t raise his voice or yell. He merely spoke formally and firmly. “You are not to talk to Joanne that way, Joy!”

Even Mum looked startled, blinking like she’d just been slapped. Joy’s head snapped up, her eyes wide, clearly thinking Jack had lost it.

“She can call you ‘twat,’ because you are one. You can call each other twat, slut, bitch, or big butt—that’s what you are.” His hand cracked hard against Joy’s arse, the sound sharp and final. She yelped, stumbling slightly but holding her position.

“That’s for once,” Jack growled, his voice low and steady. “That’s for twice saying ‘Mum.’ That’s for calling her Mum—because right now, Mum’s out. The Twat is in.”

He stepped closer, looming over Joy like he was daring her to say something else. “Now get down on your hands and knees. Get your cute little nose on that cherry you just farted onto my floor – take a sniff so you know your shit does stink! Look straight at it – you belong where you are, and I want you to know why!”

Joy hesitated, her mouth opening slightly as if to protest, but she caught herself, probably realizing it wouldn’t do her any good. Slowly, she lowered herself down, her hair falling forward as she settled onto all fours, her nose hovering just above the squashed cherry. I could tell she was mortified – no act. My sister was truly stunned into silent compliance. I knew that feeling well, but it was my default, and I’ve never seen her back down quite like this.

I wasn’t sure whether to laugh, cry, or pretend I wasn’t there. I love my sister dearly, and I was still miffed over learning what she had done to my toothbrush. Mum stayed quiet, though her lips twitched, caught somewhere between amusement and disbelief.

“It’s been in my butt, Jack!”

“You’re kidding? I’m the one who bloody placed it there, you ignorant troll-doll! It’s still bright red and shiny—if it was brown and looked like it had been dipped in peanut butter, I might believe you weren’t trying to manipulate me for sympathy! How does it smell? You have a clean asshole, don’t you?”

“I don’t know what you want from me, Jack! This isn’t fun or funny anymore! I’ve gone all in and done everything you’ve asked of me! Why do you want to be cruel? What did I do to you? I didn’t use YOUR toothbrush if that’s what this is all about!!”

“Use my toothbrush for what?” Jack stood over my sister, looking down at her like she was a pitiful specimen of humanity. I felt bad for her—we had done everything he asked, and it seemed like Jack was just on a power trip!

“You know what,” Joy looked up at him- she must have been afraid or ashamed to say it out loud. I don’t know why not – it’s not like it was any secret now.

“Nose touching the cherry, Joy. I want to hear it from you. What might you have done to my toothbrush, explicitly—tell me. We all want to hear.”

Joy, still bent low, looked up from the cherry briefly, 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 silts 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.

[EddieDavidson]

I was going to play it straight with this story and stick with the Mum as she was in the earlier part of the story, but I feel like she's having so much fun that angels are ringing and bells are singing - she''s so happy/excited, that she's got them backward!

Things shifted quickly. I love pushing the time back.
"Just until lunch? I guess we can manage"
"What? an extra hour?"
"Hang on, til tea time?"
"Wait, we've got to to do this again tomorrow at 7am? wanker!"
"Now we are on until 5? but...but..."
"9? bollocks!"
"11? how's that again? Jack, when will we sleep? Of course, I am all in! but...fine, Midnight it is, but not a minute past, fair? alright a little after midnight."



Any thoughts on where you'd like to see it go?

What feels plausible?

I was thinking about having them go on a bike ride. I keep futzing with the chapters, making changes, studying up on England. I learned a bit too late that they do NOT capitalize Mum in every instance after I did a find and replace to do that because some "wanker" told me that.

Does the language feel authentic? I've done my best to keep it UK sounding - to me the "cheeky" quality is what sells it.

I was inspired by watching some 2 pints of ale and a packet of crisps. If that were in the US it probably would have caused a stir.

Production quality stinks and they talk so fucking fast I can barely understand them, but Sheridan Smith - wow, she's the perfect sassy Brit.

The plot lines in the show are awesome, so I've incorporated a bit into it - just because I think it's so funny. the first episode I watched was called "spunk" and it's about what you might think it's about.

Production quality looks like they recorded it on a Betamax in the 1970s, but it's actually I guess about 20 years old. It still holds up though.


I'm working on the pics for this a bit at a time as well.