A little humiliation won't hurt you

[EddieDavidson]

Fanny Clapper - a story about a woman that gets her ass caught in the pet flap

AKA Fanny Slapper

This is a story that has been in my head for a while. I've written some of this wonderful lady in past stories but never captured the jolly way she goes about Runcorn. Most locals call her Fanny Slapper, and aren't that shock when she's getting spanked or in some new predicament.

She's got great massive tits, and an ass but she's not fat, cute smile, two daughters, two sons and lives with her parents Nan and Gaff in a cramped flat with limited privacy.

I base her heavily on Sheridan Smith's character Janet in the wonderful "Two pints of lager and a packet of crisps." If you've not seen it, it's worth watching on Youtube.

I did not stay true to the accent and for good reason. I don't know what the fuck "Lino" is, so I went with an 80/20 rule. 80% Americanized, no UK spellings and 20% British slang if an American can guess what that is.

I have two chapters at the present 10/25 and they will be posted in the next two posts. Then I will start a primative table of contents in this post, because I've no idea how to make a fancy one. I have illustrated this story, it's on Deviant Art.

There is an element of what I'll call slapstick for lack of a better term. Most people know Moe poking someone's eyes out would have possibly blinded them, but it was relatively harmless. This is not a story about abuse, cruelty or rough shitty things.

The story begins with her ass up in a pet flap. It continues with her ass up in a pet flap for quite a bit. It starts raining, a frog jumps on her ass and scares the shit out of her. It's not a sitcom, but I wrote it to be light, have fun with reluctant nudity and included some wedgies and a game I call "Tiggles" which is like tickling but way more of it.

Chapter One
viewtopic.php?p=55868#p55868
Chapter Two
viewtopic.php?p=56339#p56339
Chapter Three
viewtopic.php?p=56340#p56340



Let me see if I have a picture.



The dirty old man is my twin from across the pond, Limey Davidson. He's a pervert, just like me.

[EddieDavidson]

“Duht-duht-duht-dught, I am sitting in the morning... At the diner on the corner... I am waiting at the counter... For the man to pour the coffee... And he fills it only halfway.”

I tapped the floor of my parents' terrace flat to the tune of my off-key rendition of Tom’s Diner. I had fuck all to do, and all day to do it. I couldn’t get the bloody earworm out of my head, and I was not going anywhere for a while.

It was not only rainy and overcast, but proper nippy in Runcorn that October afternoon. My tits were resting on the floor mat in the entryway, and I counted my lucky stars that at least I was wearing a sweatshirt when I got trapped trying to shimmy in the pet flap of the flat.

I should have known I didn’t have a chance.

“Gah, the dust down here is unbearable,” I complained to nobody in particular.

“Well dear, if you’d pick up a broom and mop and move it about, I am sure we could clear that right up.”

“Nan?”

“No, it’s the tooth fairy, come to see about whether those braces will come off before you have gray hair, Fanny. Now, why am I looking at you on your knees with your fat arse sticking out of my doorway?”

I heard my mother’s delighted smirk in her voice outside the front door. I blushed and swallowed before responding. The goosebumps on my backside stood up on their own, and a cringe ran down my spine.

“I hurried to the curb to take the rubbish out, the door locked behind me, Nan. I managed to misplace my house keys, and I couldn’t get in the backdoor either”

“That’s the third pair of housekeys you’ve lost this month. I’ll have to talk to your father about this.”

“Great, you can punish me later, mum. Do you want to help me out of this jam?”

“First, I want to know what got you INTO this jam. You were locked out, but how did you get wedged in the pet flap?”

“I didn’t want to try to pop out a window. It was raining and we’ve got no awning. I was soaked to the bone in my trackies and trainers and it was almost tea time so I panicked.”

“ You mean biscuit time,” my mum teased sweetly. “What’s the rest of the story? Did someone stuff you in here to keep you out of the rain?”

“No, mum,” I chuckled. “The whole story is that I noticed the pet flap and thought I could give it a go.”

“The pet flap! With an arse as big as yours?” Mum really had a laugh at that idea.

“You're right,” I admitted to my chagrin. “I got as far as pushing my tits and torso through by holding my breath and squeezing through. I thought I might be able to do the same with my bum.”

“It’s a pet flap for dogs and cats, dear. Not donkeys' arses.”

I rolled my eyes. My mother doesn’t have an ounce of malice in her when she makes fun of my arse, and it’s nothing I haven’t said about myself.

“I realize that now. I thought the worst that might happen is I’d have to back out and try something else. It was the only path in the house and out of the rain. I assumed I could pull out what I put through the door.”

“The fathers of my four grandchildren probably thought the same thing, but they never managed it. Get to the point, Fanny.”

“I would have been able to back out of the pet flap if not for my great, fat jugs weighing me down like two anchors. I was caught midway, tits on the inside, arse on the outside."

My knees were sore from kneeling, and I was hungry. Missing my tea had made me cranky and a bit surly, but I tried to remain hopeful.

“How long have you been out here on the stoop with your sweatpants around your ankles?” she asked with genuine concern in her voice. My mom is quite loving but she can be strict, on everyone except my eldest son Jack. He’s her golden boy that can do no wrong..

“I don’t have a watch or phone, but I am certain I missed tea,” I said, and added an explanation. “Whoever had a laugh and pulled my kecks down around my ankles didn’t say a word.”

“Most people in Runcorn have seen your arse or tits by now, but I do have to think of the neighbors, dear. It’s very unseemly.”

“You could give me a shove through the pet flap?” I suggested while swaying my backside to let her know just how delighted I would be if I were free of my perpetual prison inside our front door.

“Caw, I could never budge that great mound of pudding, Fanny! I’d throw me back out!”

“Nan, you are quite fit, and barely have a single gray hair,” I reminded my mother that for her age she looked quite fantastic. She wasn’t the gray-haired, sweater-wearing granny. Some would say that my mum could be my older sister.

“I could move mountains before I could move those flaps of yours through the flap of that door, I’ll tell you that.”

“Don’t be cheeky, Nan,” I blushed. “I hope my flaps aren’t hanging out. Would you at least pull my kecks back up and give me a little modesty until Gaff gets home? He’s got tools. He might be able to get me out.”

“Your father is a repairman, you need some lotion and a good diet, Fran. Everyone from Halton to the Pig and Whistle has seen your flaps, I’d imagine, and what’s between. You definitely don’t need modesty.”

I was about to say something, when my mother added, “But I’ll help you, my love.”

“Thank you….rrgreerreghhrr!!” I stammered in sheer agony as I felt my mum hike my knickers straight up my sweaty ass crack and pull up.

“Brilliant, I’ve pulled them up,” she admired her handiwork while I pleaded with her to pull them back out of my bum.

“Better I do it than some neighborhood hooligan that hiked your sweatpants down, dear. Though perhaps they were trying to help keep you from catching cold.”

My mum yanked my sweatpants completely off and left me exposed, barefoot, with only a thong of my pink strawberry panties to protect my bits from the naked eye.

“I’ll just dash around back and hang these up for you on the line and let them dry. Then I’ll pop in through the back door and start a kettle of tea.”

Yet, Mum took her sweet time coming in the back door, and it started raining again. I knew there was a joke in there somewhere.

“Raindrops keep falling on my bum,” I sang off-key to the tune of an old B.J. Thomas song. Even I couldn’t stand my own shrill singing, but I kept singing while rain came down on my back from the sky and the gutters positioned just over my back.

I smiled and carried on singing. “And just like the gal whose fat arse is too big to wiggle out of the pet flap, nothing seems to fit. Those raindrops are falling on my arse, they keep falling...”

“Look at what that silly cow has done now, Saff,” my eldest laughed hysterically.

“Glad I could amuse you, Baps.”

Her birth name was Barbara, but she took Baps as a nickname before she started sprouting her own big balloons. Women in the Capper family mostly have huge tits, big arses, and few brains.

Baps is a great example.

“How did you pull this one off, Mum?” Baps asked. I heard not only my youngest, Saffy, trying to stifle her tittering at my expense, but her twin brother Simon having a laugh as well.

“It’s a bit of a long story, and it’s raining, Baps. Can you three put your backs into it and give me a shove?”

“Sure, Mum! We got you. Don’t worry about the rain one bit. We have our galoshies and umbrellies out.”

Suddenly, three pairs of hands grabbed me from behind. There was no thought for modesty at all. I felt Baps pulling while Saffy pushed.

“Simon, are you spreading my butt cheeks?”

“Um, yes, Mum,” Simon answered dumbly. He’s book-smart, loves Star Wars and anime, but he has even less common sense than I have, and that’s saying something.

Baps momentarily paused pulling my arse out of the flap. Saffy paused pushing me through. Simon continued to hold my cheeks apart even wider. The other girls giggled.

“How is that getting me out of this predicament, Simon?” I asked calmly. It wasn’t the first time they saw my bum, nor would it be the last. Privacy is at a premium in our three-bedroom flat. It’s Simon and his older brother Jack to their room, my mom and dad have the master, and the smallest room somehow wound up being shared by me and my two daughters. This is all with one bathroom between us.

“It’s not,” he said as if he had lost the plot and thought it was a free-for-all grab Mummy’s cottage cheese and pull as you like.

“Are you trying to read a map, or see what I had for my breakfast?” I joked. I have a wry, self-effacing humor, probably because there are so many ways that people can laugh at me, I’d feel left out if I didn’t at least chuckle now and again.

“No!” he said while pulling my cheeks to maximum wideness like my buttocks were a great taffy pull. “I know you had what you always have, a tin of biscuits.”

“I don’t eat just biscuits for breakfast.”

“Mum, we are looking right in your fudge factory, and I think it’s a tin of biscuits,” Baps could barely pretend she was serious as she broke into a snicker.

I could just imagine my eldest standing there with her hands on her hips, looking down at my piehole as she had a laugh at my expense. Dark eyeliner around her big brown eyes because she’s going through a bit of a Bamber Glam Bimbo Goth phase.

Chubby cheeks on face and bum just like all the Capper women have, thick hips, heavy melons wrapped in a crop top, high-waisted pleated plaid purple and black skirt like she wore in sixth form, and combat boots with a raincoat and Hello Kitty umbrella.

Saffy’s short hair is brown and curly like her twin brother. They have the same pug nose and chubby cheeks like her older sister and me. She’s developed some big heavy jugs of her own, Kermit the Frog-themed rain jacket and Miss Piggy umbrella, with thick rubber rain boots. She probably wore something simple like bike shorts and a tank top under it despite the chill today.

Simon’s a bit of a butterball, so he has little room to tease me about biscuits. Round glasses, his favorite rugby team shirt, jeans, rain slickers, and Danger Mouse umbrella.

Not being able to see the three of them cutting up and carrying on over my latest humiliating escapade didn’t make me cringe and blush any less.

“Will you at least stop stretching my cheeks so far apart, Simon? Raindrops are dropping in my rose hole, and my panties are soaked.”

“Which one is the rose hole?” Saffy asked dumbly about my anatomy.

“That’s easy, Sis! I’ll show you,” Baps explained. I hadn’t been able to beg for her not to carry on when she stretched my panties all the way out to the side of my hip and tapped me on the arsehole. “This is the rose hole.”

I was stunned and mortified at the same time. My jaw popped open in utter shock as the butt of her joke.

She tapped the crinkle of my sphincter and caused it to pucker while stretching out one of my favorite pairs of undies. “See how it puckers up like a rosebud?”

“Awwwwwwwwwwww,” Simon and Saffy oohed and aahed at their older sister's explanation like my butthole was a magic trick.

“This is the tulip hole,” Baps turned her attention to my pussy and explained like an airheaded stewardess talking about my vagina like it was an inflatable flotation device.

“Please don’t,” I stammered.

“Oh, it’ll only take a minute and your panties weren’t hiding them anyway,” my daughter smacked my bum playfully before taking hold of my hang-down on either side like she was about to milk me from the vagina.

“It’s called a tulip hole because there are two lips. One,” she yanked the labia on the left and held it stretched taut to bring home the point. I was thankful at least that I’d shaved recently.

“Two!” she held the pussy lip she had recently pulled and called one, and then pulled my other one equally as far as the first to even them out.

“They are like lampshades, then?” Simon was in awe.

“This isn’t an anatomy lesson, Baps. Please unhand my pussy flaps,” I said, realizing too late that I had unintentionally rhymed my demand, which automatically made it sound like I was joking about.

“Baps and her pussy flaps,” Saffy pointed and laughed at her older sister.

“Saffy Capper, meet the pussy slapper,” Baps let go of my goodies, only to directly connect the palm of her hand with what I can only assume was Saffy’s crotch.

“OW! Your name rhymes with slapper, too,” Saffy reminded her sister, and I heard the two scuffle and bicker a bit on the sidewalk, but no more slaps.

All the while, my hang-downs weren’t as stretched as they were before the impromptu lesson in what girls have downstairs, but they hadn’t snapped back. My panties were yanked to the side as far as they could go, and I was truly mortified, much more than normal.

Nan chose that precise moment to walk in the back door. “Oh, there you are, Fanny,” my mum said as she walked briskly toward me, holding up a finger.

“Were you outside this whole time looking for me?” I frowned.

“No, why would I be? You are stuck in the pet flap, dear,” she reminded me as if I hadn’t noticed. “I ran into Mrs. Davidson outside at the line, and we started gossiping. I told her all about your mishap and how you lost the house key.”

She was about to tell me something else when she heard the girls bickering outside over the ownership of a particular blouse in our shared closet.

“Girls? Girls, is that you?” my mum asked as if she didn’t know full well it was them.

“I am in the pet flap, Mum. I am not blocking the peephole in the door,” I frowned.

“If I wanted to see who is at the door, I’d just open this window,” she said as she slid the window up and pulled the curtain open to tell them to come in out of the rain.

“The window was unlocked this whole time?” I asked with a tinge of regret over my choice of entry.

“Simon, you come in as well. You’ll catch cold. I’ll put a kettle on, and we can have a spot of tea while we wait for Jack and Gaff.”

“Grandpa can get Mum’s fat arse and tulips out of the jam she’s in,” Simon assured no one in particular. “Gaff can fix anything.”

For as long as I’ve been alive, I’ve never known if my father’s real name is Gaff, but that’s what everyone calls him. It’s even stitched on the name tag of his work shirts.

“Yes, I am sure if your grandpa doesn’t stop at the pub for a pint or two, he’ll be along shortly and free Fanny. Now, come around to the back door and don’t dally.”

The wind picked up, and the rain started to come down a bit harder. My ass cheeks began to clap on their own, much to my deep shame.

“But Nan, I want to see if Mum’s tulips start to clap back and forth like her butt cheeks are,” Simon pleaded like he wanted to stay and complete a science experiment.

“It’s raining far too hard out there, Simon. Come around to the back door, dry off, hug your Nan, and have a lovely hot cuppa. Your mum’s butt cheeks flap whenever she has a jog, you’ll see it again.”

It might have sounded mean, but in my mother’s erudite, nurturingly smooth Kensington accent, she sounded nothing but concerned for his welfare and it registered more as an observation of truth than a put-down.

“You are the best, Nan,” Simon cheered and dashed off, while daring his sisters to race him around the row houses we lived in.

“Wait, will someone pull my panties back in place? I can’t reach,” I held up my arms inside the flat in frustration.

It was too late. They were off, and either they ignored me, or the sound of their boots sloshing in the mud puddles that formed on the sidewalks drowned me out.

The flats on Speakman in Runcorn were built way back in the booming 1890s for the tradesmen working to construct the Manchester Ship Canal.

The gutters and plumbing haven’t been updated or maintained so well, nor is the sidewalk level. Grit and muck were starting to form around my poor red knees while I endured the chilly rain gusts spraying my backside.

“Mum, what about me?”

“Don’t mewl and whine, dear, it’s embarrassing,” my mother observed un-ironically. That was the least embarrassing thing of what happened to me today.

“A little rain won’t hurt you, and frankly, I’d imagine the cool rain on your backside feels a bit like going to a spa and having a colonic.”

“Mum, this is so humiliating!” I pressed.

“A little humiliation won’t hurt you, either, Fanny. You’ve no doubt been humiliated quite a lot in your many years on this earth, and you are still alive to see another day. There won’t be any foot travel while the rain keeps up, so you are upset about nothing. You’ll dry, and I’ll have a nice warm cuppa waiting for you when your father gets home and wedges you out of that flap. In the meantime, you are half completely dry and you’ll be able to talk to the rest of us from down by the door stopper.”

“Peachy, Mum, everything is just coming up roses,” I frowned as I watched Baps, Saffy, and Simon come in through the back door and drip rainwater on the floor as they crossed the kitchen to the door to hang up their slickers and rain boots. I noticed I was almost spot on about what I thought they wore underneath.

“Coming up rose holes, Mum,” Simon got in a clever quip as he stood over me dripping his Mackintosh on my head. It was clearly meant in jest, and it was hard not to chuckle a bit while the others giggled and undid their wet boots at the bristly doormat that I had been resting my tits and chin on until it soaked up the excess wet muck like a sponge.

[flyingmonk]

Splendid

[EddieDavidson]

thank you! Hard at work on chapter 3,. I am hoping the boner goes down soon because I am at work.

Is anyone else getting shitty constant "protect unsafe" warnings if they even click on a post?

[KylePilot]

Hey Eddie. Enjoying reading this story in all its variations! So sorry you lost another deviantart account. You do see so much more activity on that site than any of the others from the sheer userbase alone. Hope you’re not too discouraged!

[EddieDavidson]

Buckets of cold rain sloshed against my bum, and I had to admit that at times it tickled my quim. There were many ways I would have loved a quim tickle, and I would not recommend having one's arse hanging out the pet flap for the world to see with your knickers pulled away.

I was just thankful that Simon and his sisters had been called away before my rose hole ended up continuing to be the topic of conversation, or they began one of their tickle attacks.

It was not that I hated them all that much, and they were like a force of nature. A tsunami of tickles and digs to my ribs that you could not avoid. It was that they would not relent and kept on for hours at a time.

“How is your rose hole, anyway, Mum?” Simon shook his wet raincoat all over me, getting water all over my hair, my head, and the baggy jumper top I had thrown on in a rush to get the rubbish bin out of the flat in time for pick up.

Now, the baggy sweatshirt was my only article of clothing aside from my poor strawberry knickers after they were yanked up my crack and pulled to the side to leave me wide open to the outside world. What was worse was that my rose hole, as they called it, was still being discussed.

At least I was not getting tickled to death.

“Sweetie-pie,” I chimed brightly. I knew he meant well, and we were from Runcorn. We were not posh royals. We joked about bums, bottom burps, and the like. I just wished mine were not often the ones that got the most laughs. “Would you be a doll and do Mummy a favor? Stop shaking off like Alfie after a proper bath and spare my poor rose hole any more attention. My backside is already soaked, and now you are making your mum all wet in here.”

Simon and his sisters listened to my every word, while he grinned at the sight of my new predicament from the front, and continued to drip water on my head from his coat.

“Mum, you absolute slag,” Baps smirked as she put her arm lovingly around her little brother and leaned on him. “This pervy git obsesses over girly bums enough as it is. He creeps about our door while we change or when we shower, hoping to catch a gander of a wet quim. Don’t you, Simon?” Baps placed one finger on his chin to intimidate him.

It worked because Simon stammered and quaked. “No, I don’t! You’re mad!”

“Could you two take your scuffle off to the side? You’ve only managed to get me wetter, and I do not mean my quim, thank you very much,” I huffed.

“Happily,” Baps accommodated my wishes as she reached right down the back of her little brother’s trousers. He already knew what was going to happen and wriggled like a caught fish as Baps hoisted him up on his tiptoes with a firm yank of his waistband that lifted him off the floor enough to splash me right in my eye while I remained at knee-level to the pair.

“If Simon wants to see boobs so much, why not just show him?” Saffy asked her sister dumbly as she ganged up on her little brother with Baps.

It was a bit like guys against girls, or dogs against cats with them. Simon and Jack usually partnered against Saffy and Baps in family disputes and prank wars.

“You can show him YOUR saggy melons,” Baps shook Simon like a toy as she looked at her little sister like she was bonkers for suggesting it.

“It’s not my melons I had in mind,” Saffy smiled sweetly and ignored her sister’s insult. They were like night and day in some ways. One sunny and bright and the other dark and bitchy. One had stringy blonde hair like me and the other jet black, but they also had massive jugs and a butt just like mine.

Saffy squatted down in front of me like she was doing me a favor. Suddenly, I was presented with a bird's-eye view of her own knickers up Saffy’s skirt.

“I’ve no interest in seeing your pink bits, or having my top off,” I assured my daughter.

“You said it yourself, you are all wet and you’ll catch a cold if we leave you in this damp rag.” Saffy forced my arms through the sleeve holes to relieve me of my sweater.

“Mustn’t grumble,” I joked to myself as I made no attempt to stop her. The sweater was coming off, and to be honest Saffy was right. It was going to get drafty and smell like bog water before long.

I kept my nipples pressed to the bristle mat under my boobs after the sweater was peeled away. “We share a room, Mum. I’ve seen parts of you that I can’t unsee, and you’ve seen every part of me. This is for your own good,” she told me sweetly as she yanked away the soaked bristle doormat.

“Yow! You almost clipped my nips,” I complained and grabbed my bowling-ball-sized tits to soothe them. “It felt like running sandpaper along one of my most sensitive lady parts!”

“Oh c’mon, don’t be so glum,” Simon had the audacity to tease me over the sorry state of affairs I was presently having. All the while, Simon’s fat arse was being held two inches off the ground by the back of his Fruit of the Looms. “Now your frontside matches your backside, and you seem to be enjoying holding your whoppers.”

I dropped my tits out of the sudden realization that it might look like I was fondling myself, when I was simply nursing them after a painful rip of the mat they were resting on. My knockers slapped together on the way down and bounced once, and then a second time before coming to a rest.

“You cheeky monkey, how can you tease your dear old mum about nursing my poor nipples after your sister scraped them on the mat, when you are being held aloft like a rag doll?”

“Baps will eventually get bored of tossing me about, and I am quick enough to run from Saffy. You are wedged in there nice and tight, Mum. So, all things considered, this isn’t great, but it isn’t that bad.”

His smiling response was enough for Baps to drop him dismissively on his arse. I had always known Saffy was a great deal like me, but I suddenly realized Simon had more in common with me than I previously realized.

“Thanks, Sis,” Simon said cheekily and asked me if I was really and truly wedged in the pet flap after all.

“No, Love, I thought I’d just have a lie down with my knockers on the floor and my massive cheeks whistling in the wind for all of Speakman Street to come and slap,” I quipped with a sarcastic smirk.

“Have you tried wiggling forward?” he asked as he yanked both my arms and told me to wiggle for all I was worth.

All I managed to do was mop the floor with the tips of my boobs and dance the macarena with my ass wiggling outside, while scraping my hips in a futile effort to free myself.

“Have you thought about backing out?” Simon asked, and without waiting for me to tell him that I had obviously tried that, he grabbed my honkers from the bottom like two grapefruits. Simon lunged forward with all his might and I really thought I might get free. It would be worth having my tits felt up to get out of this jam.

“Simon, could you leave mummy’s breasts alone?” I asked nicely while blushing after he gave up on freeing me. “I am not Rapunzel. You can’t grab hold of my hair and yank me down from this tower, love. I am probably stuck here until your grandfather gets home to have a look.”

I was not expecting a white knight any time soon.

“So, you are well and stuck then?” he asked.

“Seems that way, dear.”

“Then you know what time it is?”

“Tea time, I hope?” I was gagging for some PG tips with hot steamy water, cold milk and sugar.

“Close! It’s tiggle time,” Simon dove onto me and began tickling me. “Dig in, girls!”

“Tiggle, tiggle tiggle,” Saffy piled on with a laugh, and Baps followed suit with a big honking smile on both their faces.

Tiggle was not a mispronunciation. I was not sure who coined the term in our family, but it was a bit more than a tickle.

A tickle is when you touch someone lightly with fingers or a feather to cause laughter, or to produce a mild, itchy, or scratchy sensation on the skin. We have all been tickled a time or two in our lives and know what it means.

I bet even if you have been tiggled, you have never been tiggled for as long and intensely as I have. Imagine three Tasmanian devils from the Bugs Bunny cartoon spinning and laughing at hyper speeds like badgers having a go at you with their fingers every place. They poke, they pinch, they pull, they prod, but most of all they dig in between my ribs and find my funny spot that makes my legs do all sorts of gyrations and causes me to nearly pee myself.

At first, tiggles made me jolly and hysterical. The back of my neck was fair game, because it was so sensitive. They would send shivers down my spine running their fingers down my sensitive spot. Baps was the master of what she called Spider-Fingers.

I was not sure if that was a real thing, but she knew just where to touch on my calves, knees, and ultra-sensitive parts to make my goosebumps become engorged to the point of exploding.

It was like support tickling. Spider-Fingers by themselves might even have been pleasant if Baps was not so relentless, but it did not make me laugh.

The sensation while being tickled was excruciatingly unbearable and made me cringe, spasm, blush, and gasp so hard that I felt like I would pee myself at any moment.

Usually, they grabbed my feet bottoms and got me right in the arch where my calf muscles and thighs began to spaz out and wobble uncontrollably. This time my entire lower half was off-limits, so thank heavens for small favors.

Saffy stood with her legs on either side of my head, facing away, with her knees bent and yelled, ”Bundle!” enthusiastically. I braced for impact as she landed on my shoulder blades like my back was a trampoline and my tits were meant as springs to soften her fall.

My daughter’s inner thighs clamped around my ears while bouncing her plump butt cheeks on my back and mashing my tits. She leaned forward and grabbed my wrists so I could not defend myself with them.

Not that I was even able to mount a defense while I was laughing and gasping like a mad woman. The move left my torso vulnerable and stretched. I do not know about you, but when I am stretched tight, the nerve endings are ten times more sensitive.

“Hasn’t your mum gone through enough? Hahah! I can’t take it, Saff!!” I shouted, but to no avail.

I tried to put up a much better fight than I was today before they got my wrists pinned down. Fast bongo playing by slapping my butt cheeks set a frantic tone of chaotic, professional-grade tickling.

In short, tiggling was to tickling what I would imagine proper British rugby was to American football.

“Oi, get Mum’s ribs, dig in, dig in, dig in,” Simon droned on to replace the sound of the butt smacks I would be getting at this point. I had to admit it was a bit strange to be tiggled with only the sound of my non-stop laughter.

“You lot are being so ruthless, no fair! I can’t escape,” I begged while spit flew from my mouth, laughing so loudly that my diaphragm had begun to hurt.

I was already gasping and gagging on my own tongue through the constant stream of laughs that kept my mouth gaping open, and my chest heaving because I could not catch a lungful of air between my spastic laughter and the onslaught of fingers, feet, elbows, and even chins on my body.

They had only recently learned that after a while, I got used to the sensation of fingers, and they changed it up. Digging their bony British chins into my fleshy parts made me explode with laughter after they broke my defenses down and wore me out first.

Simon and Baps went for my “floating ribs” as they called it. The fleshy flanks of my pale sides by my tits, and the side of my boobs were easy targets to make me laugh like mad. The constant sensation of blunt thumbs digging in with rapid little circular gouges was quite like torture, but without malice.

You see, despite making me jump and twitch, laugh my ass off until I began sweating and turned red from embarrassment, the three of them were laughing their own asses off and working as a team to take me down like three laughing hyenas bringing down a great white elephant together.

Once Saffy was certain I could not manage a defense with my wrists, she let go and replaced her hands with her feet to hold my hands down. Then the armpit tiggles.

“Mumsy, you really must shave these pits,” Saffy giggled incessantly, and without the least bit of concern for my modesty, attacked my sweaty armpits by focusing two pokes on the under-bust creases. She worked the ultra-ticklish soft flesh right where my tits met my ribcage and sent electric jolts through my nervous system.

“Ahahaha, no, I beg you, Saff! Have a heart! I am desperate!! Oh! Aw-hah!!!” I gasped and begged in vain. If I was looking for mercy, I was not going to get any. Tiggle sessions were not just humiliating tickle attacks in a short burst.

They had gone on for hours, and I was already feeling like I was going to burst with laughter, and my entire body was turning pink.

Outside, if anyone had been watching my bum in the rain, they would have seen the most awkward kicks, dances, and spasms anyone might do with their lower half.

They had learned something they called the “Poop Needle” from a Korean exchange student many years ago. It was a bit like a wedgie, only way more annoying and personal. You put two fingers together like dual guns and jabbed them between someone’s butt crack. Apparently, that passed for wedgies in Korea, and I took small consolation that my lower half was completely off limits.

"Tiggle, tiggle, tiggle! Dig it right in!" Baps sang, and soon the others were chanting it with her like a driving rhythm to time their prodding fingers digging in my folds and completely vulnerable body parts.

“Mum, Mum, Mum!” I gasped for my mother to help me. “Save me from these piranhas!” I begged while in hysterics.

“Don’t be daft, a little tickle won’t hurt you,” she yawned and put on her raincoat. “I’ll be right back. Your knickers and the rest of my clothes will never dry in this downpour. How bad is the rain?” she asked calmly.

I could not gasp out an answer fast enough, but she wandered off before I could get out that it was cold and wet, and I did not mind it as much as the tiggling I had to endure.

“Come on, Mum, we’ve only just begun your tiggles. You know you are gagging for it,” Baps chuckled as she pinched my nose, pulled my ears, and tried to grab my tongue when I started laughing so she could give it a hard pull.

“You can tiggle me tomorrow when I am out of this pet flap,” I managed to gasp out while having a proper heaving fit of laughs between inhales.

“Thanks, Mummy,” Saffy patted my head and said, “We’ll tiggle you tomorrow as well!” Then she started pushing her crotch against the back of my head while grabbing my spindly blonde hair to pull my head back while she pushed forward.

If Simon or Jack did it, they called it a Mushroom slap. The four of them pranked each other the same way, but I was the easiest target next to Saff. They had learned it after finding out Americans “tea bag” one another after they lose at video games.

No proper Englishman would waste or profane tea. Mushroom slaps begat Clam slams on the rare chance the girls actually beat their brothers at video games.

“I meant I’d take a rain check on these tiggles, literally!” I managed to laugh out the words while Simon worked my ribs like a xylophone.

“Can you hear that, Mum?” he said as he proudly poked my ribs and the fleshy meat between to the beat of a melody he heard in his head.

“Rain, rain go away?” I mumbled while Baps held my tongue between her fingers and pinched.

“Crazy Train,” he corrected as he hummed an old Ozzy song in time to the pokes and prods he was giving me.

“This IS a crazy train! And you are the mad conductors!” I gasped while Baps used her other hand to poke a finger down my throat and try to touch my tonsils.

“And you are our train, Mumsy,” Saffy yanked my head backward into her crotch. She had panties on under her skirt, but I could still feel the indentation of her chubby pussy lips against my neck and it made me cringe.

“We should put coal in her caboose when it stops raining,” Simon began drumming on the side of my mashed tits.

“Coal goes up front near the boiler and the engine,” Baps corrected her little brother while pinching my tongue like she wanted to flatten it. She let go of it and I quickly shut my mouth, but the compulsive laughter didn’t let that last long.

“This is the compartment we put the coal in,” Baps stuck two fingers up my nose and pulled upward. “Snouted! Oink like a piggy!”

“Aaahhh! Oink, oink,” I immediately capitulated and managed two oinks before I laughed myself into tears while Saffy turned around to face away from my head and used her rump to rub my neck, and dug her chin into my lower back. I began to gyrate outside again and my left leg simply would not stop shaking.

I won’t go blow by blow, but a better part of an hour was relentlessly tickling and digging into my ribs as a constant. No rib was left unfunny-boned, and my sides were red and sweaty.

They rotated between Simon’s mushroom slaps to the back of my head, snouting, and the like. None of it out of cruelty or malice, but I was exhausted after only an hour. I had been tiggled as much as three hours before.

“Let’s ruby booby those udders,” Baps was clam slamming me and pulling my hair in two messy pigtails like they were reins on her personal pony. She got off my back and pulled me upward.

“No, no, tiggle me, no ruby boobies,” I begged them to keep going if they’d only leave out one of my least favorite parts of the whole grueling marathon tickle session.

It did not hurt that much, but it made my nipples impossibly stiff and my pussy drip like the plumbing under our sink. My dad was a handyman, but he was also cheap and too lazy to bother with it.

It was quite humiliating to get a ruby boobie, because the whole goal was that by the end of it, the nubs of my tits were bright red and quite sore.

After what felt like three hours at their mercy but what was only an hour, I was about to piss myself.

I had forgotten my pussy was on display outside and had a whiz in the rain, while hoping no one noticed a little yellow stream amongst all of that water pouring down on my butt.

Americans call it a purple nurple, but I am not sure why. It had always been a ruby boobie since I attended primary school. I developed boomers early just like my daughters and became an easy target to have my nipples yanked and pulled through my school uniform.

Saffy spat on two fingers, and Simon grabbed my other bare nipple with his fingers and the pair began to simultaneously pinch, pull, and crush them.

It was bad enough through my top when I was younger, but bare-chested, it was like raw fire. My anus and vagina are the most sensitive parts of my body, but my nipples are a close third, followed by armpits, soles of my feet, and the backs of my knees.

I was at least spared the compulsion to laugh. One night, I had been forced to watch a Russell Brand film, and tiggled during the parts someone was supposed to laugh because I said he was about as funny as a crab wedgie when you are wearing a thong.

“Aiiee, you're pinching too hard, Simon! Don’t twist ‘em like you are trying to pull my raspberries off the vine!” I yelped as he yanked down hard on my nipples.

There was nothing about this titty torture rooted in sex. They had seen someone at a store give me ruby boobies one day, and it just became part of what they called tiggle time and I called tiggle torture.

A quick smack to my boobs sent one knocker against the other, and suddenly Saffy and Simon were slapping the sides of my tits like they were playing Greek tennis at Wimbledon and smacking the ball back and forth over the net.

“Have you had quite enough?” I frowned. I did not think they had, and I thought that I was going to be in for another two hours of tiggles as a captive target at the least.

“Fish and chips!” my mum announced as she brought in some takeaway.

“Did you go and get some in the rain, Nan?” I asked as I inhaled the smell of the freshly fried cod, and the malt vinegar on the chips. Baps, Simon, and Saffy descended on their grandma like seagulls at the Mersey harbor when the fishing boats come in.

“I took the clothes off the line since you were lying about,” Nan told me with a frown, as if I could do something about my sorry state and was having a grand time like this. “Then I went looking for Alfie and ended up at the Wellington for a pint. The fish and chips smelled good, so I brought some home.”

“The Wellington!? That’s our rival, Mum!” I pouted that my mother had turned traitor and ordered at the pub across the street from the one where I tended bar.

“The Pig and Whistle serves shite fish and chips,” Nan shrugged in earnest.

She was quite right. “The owner is a bit of a skinflint and waters down the beer, and serves frozen fish even though we are less than half a kilometer from the Mersey harbor. I’m famished!”

“Of course you are, dear. Look at you,” she laughed at my chubbiness. Nan was the only thin woman in the bunch of us. “Since you are floor-bound for the time being, I am deciding whether to serve you on a plate or Alfie’s chow bowl.”

I flashed her a lemony smirk in response to what I hoped was a joke, and remembered that Mum had gone looking for our pup and he wasn’t begging for fish like he normally did. “Did Alfie ever turn up?” I asked after our dog.

“If he had, he’d be licking the salty sweat off your pink face, and wagging his tail for some fish,” Nan said dryly as she ripped off a piece of the golden fish.

“So, is he out there in the rain?” I asked glumly.

“He’ll be fine. He’s probably gone for a shag with the local bitches, and he’s hunkered down somewhere dry. If Alf only went outside when it wasn’t raining in Runcorn, he’d never go out.”

She was right to be dismissive. Alfie was a good boy, and a bit smarter than me, it seemed. He would be fine. It was just with the rain falling down on my bum, after the runaway train explosion of frenetic energy I had just endured, I was once again reminded of my nearly bare bum outside.

Countless people might have driven or walked past, but most of the neighbors would probably have a laugh and recognize me strictly by my ass if I was being perfectly honest.

This conundrum was a new one for me, but I doubted anyone would be surprised I ended up wedged in the pet flap.

“Did you feel the slap on your bum I gave you as I walked up, Fan?” she asked me casually as she doled out the delicious fish, lemons, and tartar, the others eagerly crowding around snatching chips like seagulls on a mission.

“No,” I blushed.

“Your legs had gone all wobbly and I thought a quick pop might convince you to show a bit more modesty about how you present yourself.”

“We were tiggling Mum since she’s stuck and can’t run and hide,” Simon laughed proudly at the accomplishment.

“How am I to show modesty while my backside is stuck out and knickers left pulled to the side? Instead of smacking my bum, you could have shifted them to cover my bits, Nan.”

“I had two steaming cartons of cod in one arm and my umbrella in the other, love. All I could manage was a quick pop. I love you, darling daughter, but I’m not going to adjust your soggy knickers.”

“Fair point,” I said and waited patiently for everyone around our table to get their portion. The old wobbly wooden tea-stained table has been in the Capper family for generations. It has not been painted, and the wood is old and smooth from wear. The initials of my great-grandfather as a boy are carved into the side of it.

It’s the social center of our entire flat. We never take food into the living room off to the side to watch television. In fact, we almost never use the living room at all. It’s pristine, with outdated furniture, my mum’s Princess Diana collectibles, and we’ve only got an out-of-date 14-inch Trinitron from the early 1980s anyway.

My sons have a better telly upstairs for video games that they sometimes share with their sisters, but for the most part, everything happens around the table.

Now, I was bare tits out, on my hands and knees, just watching the others stuff their faces and laugh like I was not there.

“Be a dear, Baps,” my mum asked politely as she dished out a steaming portion onto a cracked plate. “Take this over to your mother.”

“What happened to serving her out of Alfie’s dog dish?” Baps grinned, taking the plate with both hands.

“I was only having a laugh, love,” Nan replied, waving a bottle of vinegar dismissively. “Your mum might be an uncoordinated, clumsy cow who manages to trip over her own udders and fall on her arse in the most delightfully humorous ways, but getting her tits caught in the pet flap steel might be one of the best ones yet.”

Yes, I had a bit of a reputation for fucking up, which my family and the barflies where I tended bar loved to remind me about. It was like birds on a wire assembling nightly to squawk to one another about the time they “accidentally” nicked me with one of their darts and watched my boss punish me for being late.

“Remember the time Mum was putting up clothes on the line behind the flat and she got all tangled in the clothesline? The lads that lived around the neighborhood snapped clothespins on her tits and nose.”

“As I recall, you joined them, Simon,” I frowned as I remembered that humiliating day. It wasn’t raining, and the sun was shining at least.

“Remember that time Fanny thought she had a surefire plan to make some quid, and she bought a massive wheel of Stilton Cheddar cheese from a knocker at a steal and planned to sell it?”

“We don’t have to go through my greatest hits, do we, Mum?” I grumbled as my daughter squatted down and passed me a bit of fish. I hadn’t even realized she was not letting me eat it myself with a fork and knife because I was so mortified about the rest of the story.

Saffy began to blush as well, because she had gobbled more of that cheese than I did, and we were bound up something awful and thought we’d never shit again.

“Mum and Saff got so constipated and their bellies inflated like they were preggers when they ate it because no one would buy stolen cheese,” Baps smiled and looked over her shoulder as she ripped off a bit of fish and absentmindedly stuffed it into my mouth before I finished chewing the last bit.

“Mind the tartar,” I said, and Baps apologized and dipped the next piece in tartar before stuffing it into my mouth before I could swallow the last two bites she had handed me.

“I told Fanny and Saff there was no way I’d pay for an enema kit down at that chemist that fit their big arses,” Nan began to laugh uncontrollably and hold her stomach. She sounded aristocratic, but she didn’t always act it. “I sent the pair to knock on the neighbor’s door and ask to borrow their proper enema kit. Eddie Davidson came over here wheeling in this massive shiny stainless-steel kit with tubes, hoses, even gauges and gadgets hanging off the side, with four red rubber bladders and mixed up a tonic to clear their intestines. It was like the neighbor was wheeling an artillery piece over here when all that was needed was a pea-shooter from a corner chemist.”

Simon was almost doubled over with a big smile as he relived that day in his head. “He said it was like Mr. Muscle for the butthole!”

(That’d be your brand of Drain-O for Americans reading this).

Saff lowered her head, stopped eating mid-bite, and blushed. “It felt like Mister Muscle was trying to climb out of my bum and rip it in half!”

That got a great laugh from even me. In retrospect, I should have asked our perverted old neighbor why he had a recipe for an atomic enema handy, and such an elaborate medical grade contraption that looked like he might have ordered it from some bondage store in London.

My neighbor effectively concocted a bomb to blow out our arseholes and fired it up our shitters with a shotgun masquerading as an enema kit. I was so bound up and groaning because the cheese felt like it was hardening in my tummy that I didn’t ask why it had four nozzles.

Who has four butts at the same time needing an enema? And more importantly why does that old pervert have one? He lives alone with his wife.

“Mr. Davidson told the Saff and Mum to strip off their kits, and they didn’t hesitate even a little. There was no modesty when they were trying to birth a baby cheese wheel of their own. Tits, bums, and quims out, bent over, grabbing their thighs, ready to have the tube inserted,” Baps continued the story with a snicker.

Saff and I blushed profusely as we relived the humiliating experience in our heads with every word that Baps said.

“They had no idea it’d take him almost fifteen minutes while Old Man Davidson chatted up my grandmother while he brewed up his tonic of black pepper, hot sauce, coffee, Colman’s mustard, pickle juice, and then he had to run home to get some things because our parlor is usually bare because Mum forgets to do the shopping.”

“I don’t have use of a car, so it’s a bit of a bus ride to the Tesco, Baps.”

(For Americans, Nandos is sort of like your Tabasco for Brits).

“The old git promised we’d lose fifteen pounds, and if someone promises I could lose fifteen pounds without dieting or exercising and all I have to do is stick something in my butt, I’ve done a lot more for a lot less,” I offered with a bright chagrin.

Saffy and I would have happily agreed to the enema even if we were not bound up once our neighbor promised us we would lose fifteen pounds. We hate diet and exercise and we’d have smiled and asked him to return the next day until we were fit and hot.

I wouldn’t do it again after the disgusting things that came out of our ends. It’s better I not describe them, but suffice to say it was not quiet, and it did not smell any better than it sounded. My daughter and I both had to take a massive dump immediately, and there was only one loo.

“Saffy shot chocolate milk all over the garden behind the flat,” Simon guffawed and poked her in the side boob.

Saffy didn’t strike him back. She’ll talk a good game, but she is as gentle as I am. She sulked and admitted, “It was that or in your bed. Which do you prefer, because I can leave you some chocolate under your pillow.”

She didn’t mean it. It was just harmless threats. If Baps said it, she might have been seriously considering it.

“The less said about that poopy-nasty day the better!” I said while chewing the fish that Baps kept feeding me. “The cheese binding us up inside wasn’t nearly as awful as the cure.”

“How will you go to the loo while you are in the pet flap, Mum?” Simon looked up from the table and waited for my answer.

“I hadn’t thought about it until you mentioned it,” I admitted. I’d peed during tiggle time in the hopes no one was out walking the sidewalk in the rain. “Hold it and hope Gaff brings his tools home.”

“Hard pass on atomic elixir up my bum. I am already mortified.”

“Then it can’t get any worse, dear. You may as well see if it knocks something loose out of your belly and propels you through the pet flap,” my own mum had a great smile on her face as she zoomed her open hand to pantomime how far my poo might project me across the room.

“Yeah, if you lose fifteen pounds, you could probably just wiggle your way out, Mum!” Simon was on board with it.

“We could send Saff to Mister Davidson’s house and see if he’s got that enema kit again. You might as well lose fifteen pounds while you wait,” Baps laughed and tucked a chip into my already full mouth.

“I’d rather not poo out the front door,” I blushed and had to speak with my mouth full to answer with my kisser completely full to capacity. I added, “I hope you are taking the piss! That was quite painful and humiliating and not something I’d do by choice.”

“Oh c’mon, Mum, your capacity to endure pain and humiliation is one thing I admire about you,” Baps fed me again, and this time I stopped her and shut my gob before she could slip the fish in.

I chewed and held up a finger until I had swallowed enough to ask, “Baps, my hands are free. Why are you stuffing my cheeks like I am a squirrel?” I waved my hands to show I could manage a fork on my own. We didn’t keep the weight off, and it was explosively humiliating.

“No,” she laughed, “but that would be cute. I am feeding you because you’re stuck flat on your belly like a seal at feeding time, Mum,” Baps shrugged, lining up another chip with my mouth while I chewed the mouthful and a half I already had. “You should be thankful I don’t snout you and make you oink like a piggy for your supper. Besides, Nan said it’s not every day we get to hand-feed you like a naughty toddler.”

I began to blush and my spine quivered because I realized how vulnerable I was in this predicament. I was quite certain after my daughter painted that very embarrassing scenario in my head that anyone outside our flat that saw my quim would have seen it twitch, and my arsehole pucker up and tighten.

“Oooh, I want to feed Mum!” Saffy practically slid away from the table on her knees to the front door. She even left half a plate of fish, and in this house, you don’t do that or someone will nick it right away. Light giggles wafted from the table across the room to where I was as she joined her sister to have a go at stuffing my face.

Simon dashed over and wanted his turn feeding me, as well. It was cute and loving in a weird way, and equally mortifying at the same time.

“Mum, please! It’s three against one, save me!” I croaked out a desperate plea to save me from the new peril I found myself in. Saffy and her twin brother both drew a chip and dunked it in tartar sauce. They grinned as they leaned forward and held the tips on each side of my already half-full mouth and tried to push past my lips and down my throat.

“Mrrmmmth!!!” I murmured and kept my trap shut tight while shaking my head no. I felt like some monkey in a zoo being fed whether they like it or not. Even worse, I felt like a naked baby waddling on her tummy that was about to get jammed up with a mouth packed full of fish and chips and who knows what else they wanted to feed to me for a laugh.

“Mum, open up and finish your plate. The chips are going up your nose or in your mouth, your choice,” Baps grinned and my eyes widened in panic. I had no idea what I was going to do to get out of this one with a shred of dignity remaining.


I made some great pictures, but not sure where I can post them to show here.



Does this open?

Sheridan Smith is my mental image of Fanny and Saffy.

[EddieDavidson]

Set in Runcorn United Kingdom - Fanny Capper finds herself wedged in the pet flap and unable to free herself as things go from bad to "that may as well happen, too."

Does this open? not sure how to make it a little smaller. It opens on my end. I decided to go with this painterly style.

---

“Caw, don’t ask me to start being referee for your squabbles, Fanny. You’ve managed to cork yourself into the pet flap, and you aren’t going anywhere anytime soon unless Gaff comes home soon. They’ve got fuck all to do while it rains cats and dogs outside and they just want to have a bit of fun, Fanny.”

My mom was sweet and firm, but she wasn’t going to intervene, and I probably knew that before I began begging.

All the while, Simon and Baps were happily poking and jabbing food into my mouth as my mum read the paper. She was old-fashioned and liked to have a read, and my father needed it for the sports page.

The sound of their giggles instead of bickering would have been far more delightful if I wasn’t being stuffed like a chubby teddy bear for two devious gits to see who can stuff more fish down my piehole than the other.

There finally came a time when I caught up with their pace and finally had a moment to get out a word or two when I wasn’t chockalock and loaded with my meal, and at least half of each of theirs.

I could feel my belly grumble. I was well and truly feeling so stuffed that my belly had inflated and given I was already budged into the pet flap and unable to move, it was uncomfortable to say the least.

“You lot are fattening me up even more to keep me wedged in the pet flap!”

“Hadn’t thought of that, Mum!” Baps was quite impressed with what I said, and took it more as a suggestion for later. “Absolutely Brilliant.”

"Not my finest hour,” I admitted and then feeling quite a bit parched, I begged with fishy-bits dripping down my chin, that they promptly fed me with their fingers.

“Can I have a spot of tea or water?” I mumbled with crumbs dripping down my chin. I was quite well and truly pathetic, and completely at their mercy to have whatever they felt like bringing me for better or worse.

“Come on, drink up, have a little tartar, mumsy-wumsy,” Saffy teased. She cheerfully tried to feed me a tablespoon that was heaped high with tartar sauce leftover from the finished takeaway box.

I love tartar sauce, but not by the spoonful.

“Gah! Don’t you dare, Saffy!” I mumbled with my mouth crammed full of fish and chips. It was delicious, but I had to keep swallowing to keep up.

“You're thirsty, and you like tartar,” she booped a little of the white sauce on my nose and let it drip down to my chin. “Open up!” she insisted with a chuckle.

Saffy and Simon were a bit naive and timid around most people. I love them both dearly, Lord knows I do.

Saffy’s sweet but comes across to most people like an awkward, knock-kneed, empty headed dork that carelessly takes your grand mum's ashes from the mantle and accidentally drops it in the bin.

She does have big tits, and a big ass, so even if she is a munter she can still get laid now and again.

Simon is book-smart, but he lacks basic common sense and even nerds and dorks pick on him. If not for me and his sister, he’d have no one to pick on at all (half-joking). He’s not as blessed with natural assets as his twin sister and he makes it difficult to pity him because he is so confident in his own foolish beliefs that I sometimes enjoy seeing him come home with his undies shredded up his arse.

I’ve seen his little dork plenty of times when he’s been pantsed and it's a bit of Vienna sausage. He’s a bit of a twit, really. I mean that with all the love in the world.

Let’s put it this way, Billy-No Mates would only invite Simon over so he could yank Simon’s underpants up over his head and have a great laugh.

They became completely different people when they had the upper-hand over me. You might say gregarious and giggly, and I don’t mind so much being the butt of jokes when we’re having a laugh.

A quick wedgie or yanking my skirt down and giving my rump a great slap is one thing, but being wedged in the pet flap? I might laugh if it were one of them that was stuck, but I doubt I’d tease them as hard as they were riding me.

At times, I thought they liked to gang up on me because they couldn’t gang up on anyone else. It was nice at least, that they seemed to be working in unison.

So, there we were. A fine day in Runcorn near the Mersey. My great big ass being rained on, stuck out so the whole world could give it a slap should they pass by while my own flesh and blood thought it was great fun to stuff me with food until my cheeks and belly exploded.

“I like tartar sauce, but not—” GULP! A heaping spoonful of the gooey white tartar slipped down my throat, hit my tonsils, and nearly made me heave. It wasn’t so bad.

“Mum’s thirsty and tartar won’t wash all this fish down,” Baps announced sweetly. The tiny goosebumps at the nape of my neck started to prickle that she meant to top her sister’s prank by giving me something like malt vinegar to wash it all down with.

“No, no, I’m fine, Baps,” I mumbled while trying to finish the food in my mouth.

“I won’t hear of it, Mumsy-Wumsy, we’ve got to keep you hydrated, your backside can’t be the only part of you that gets wet.”

“Are you getting wet, Mum?” Saffy giggled. Baps and I knew instantly what she meant but Simon remained dumbfounded. My eldest got up from her squat and left Saffy and Simon to feed me.

“Of course, Mum is wet,” Simon carelessly pushed a bit of fried fish in my mouth with his finger all the way to my tonsils and almost made me hurl. He barely noticed me trying to stop heaving. “It’s raining on Fanny’s fanny.”

I was named for my grandmother when that name was common. It’s the equivalent of naming your son “Dick” and expecting people not to have a laugh. It would be a lot less funny to people who tell that same joke about my name if I didn’t turn red and blush, but it happens every time.

“Look at Mum!! She’s turning pink. Nothing to be embarrassed about Fanny! It happens to all us girls when we’ve got raunchy intentions and are gagging for it. Is your Fanny soaking wet, Fanny?” Saffy squeezed my nose like it was a toy and had a fun laugh.

Simon still didn’t get it, and I doubted he ever would. Nan was like Switzerland in all of this. She remained neutral and minded her tea and paper.

“One, glass of water, for the wet fanny!” Baps danced over with a glass of warm tap water from the sink and came back over.

“I don’t prefer tap water, but any port in a storm,” I joked with my belly and my mouth full. A light rain fell on my backside on the other side of our front door, and they’d have had a proper laugh if they knew my minge was dripping wet even without rain.

It’s not that this felt sexy or turned me on. I always get wet when I am embarrassed, which embarrasses me further, which makes me hornier, and you get the picture.

“Ooops, I spilled it,” Baps said calmly as she stood over me and poured it slowly on my head and let the water cascade down my back to the light puddle of water I was already lying in. “We can’t have your fanny being the only part of you getting wet.”

“You meanie, what did I do to deserve having a full glass of water dumped on my head?” Thankfully, we had old scuffed hardwood floors that were installed decades ago, and a little water wasn’t going to hurt them.

“Mind the floors, girls,” my mum interrupted, and with casual disinterest took a sip of tea while enjoying the paper she was reading.

“I couldn’t let Saffy have all the fun and feed you tartar sauce pudding without something to wash it down with,” Baps replied.

“Oi, I’ve got an idea,” Simon’s eyes immediately lit up brightly, and he held up a finger in the air like he was pointing at the imaginary light bulb that had just buzzed on. “I’ll get you a proper drink, Fanny!”

“You can call me, Mum, you know,” I called after him as he dashed into the kitchen. “I don’t want anything to drink. I’ve been properly and thoroughly punished for something I did in another life, I am certain of it.”

“Nonsense, this isn’t a punishment, Mum!” Simon assured me. I didn’t believe my son.

“No, thank you,” I stammered. I knew my son’s tone when he thought of a sneaky prank to pull. “Let’s not make this a competition of who can make mummy swallow the most bitter, muckiest, disgusting slop from under the sink.”

“Oh, trust me, this will be no contest,” Simon bragged with pride that whatever he had in mind for me would be the best prank yet. I was quite nervous when he opened the fridge. I do the shopping and I am shite at it.

Now the girls and even Nan were invested and curious in what he had planned for me.

Simon took out the cottage cheese from the ice box. That worried me. He took out the whippy cream next, and visions of myself holding my mouth open with a banana pushed down my gob and a cherry on top danced through my addled brain.

“Ah, here! Two pints of milk! What do you say to that, Mum? That quench your thirst?”

It certainly wasn’t my first choice, but I could drink two pints of milk even if he tried to pour it down my throat. I assumed that what was coming next.

“We’ve got mum over a barrel, and your brilliant idea is milk?” Baps frowned and Saffy laughed at him. She laughs at anything and everything, just like I do. I wasn’t laughing at the moment, though.

“Oh, Simon,” I swooned sarcastically and rested my chin on the wet messy floor. “My absolute hero. Go on and have your fun, then.”

Pleading for mercy hadn’t worked, so why bother?

“Grand!” Simon responded with a dramatic flourish like a master showman with a top hat and proceeded to remove the tops of the pints.

I hoped the lad was bluffing and didn’t have something dastardly in mind for me.

“Wait, what is this going to cost me?” I began to get skeptical that the milk would come without a price of some kind. Simon is a sneaky little git. He had just bragged he had some master plan to outshine his sisters. Now, he was all smiles and generosity.

“How so?” he asked sweetly.

“Are you going to expect me to do something to embarrass myself in order to make this little ordeal you have in mind for me a little less grueling? Or pour those two pints down my throat at the same time, I am guessing?” I asked as I looked up at him with my big blue eyes in the hopes I’d get a reprieve.

I suppose I was back to hoping for mercy. It was worth a try.

“No, Mum, trust me. This is going to help you more than you realize. You just have to be patient and relax.”

I did not like the sound of that. The girls and even Nan were surprised. “I am quite certain that I won’t like it. A pint in a frosty mug, a glass of proper filtered water, I’d take a Ribena, if I hadn’t forgotten to buy some the last time I went to Tesco.”

“No, Mum. I’ve got what you need right here! Milk, Milk,” he said as he held the pints to his chest and stood over me.

I told you that Simon is a product of the Runcorn education system, and despite his glasses and nerdy appearance, he can be quite daft at times. All the better for me. I could almost taste that creamy milk.

My food was all gone. I’d swallowed every bit and my stomach felt inflated already. I held back a burp, and a fart at the same time. If I had, my daughters would have asked if it was a fart or a queef. Simon would have asked what the difference was, again.

All in all, things could have always been worse. It's a creed I've learned to live by over the years.
It even stopped raining, and the sun broke through the clouds. I could feel the warmth on my bum already.

“Milk, milk,” Simon sang to himself as he futzed around the kitchen, looking for something else to torment me with.

“No need for anything too elaborate, Simon. I will drink from the bottle if that is alright,” I offered, and I smiled up at him. I almost always have a dumb smile on my face.

“Milk, milk,” he hummed as he rooted through his grandfather’s tool set. My bum clenched, and so did my pussy. I was starting to get quite worried that my son had some elaborate plan that involved me. Yet, I kept smiling.

“Mind you do not break or lose any of Gaff’s tools, or it will be your bare bum at the dinner table that gets spanked for a week after dinner,” Nan advised him politely.

“Milk, milk… LEMONADE,” he added to his cadence, and butterflies fluttered in my stomach when he pulled out a plastic funnel.

“Clever little gremlin,” Baps conceded that the funnel was a far more humiliating way to make me swallow the milk.

“Would you at least wash it before you put that in my mouth?” I begged nervously, and I prepared to pace myself and swallow it all down. I assumed it was inevitable, so there was no use in fighting it.

“I planned to do just that,” he said with a smile, and he continued his little tune about milk with obvious mirth on his face and mind.

Simon scrubbed the funnel nice and cleaned it with soap. Suddenly, I thought he was planning to also pour soapy water down my throat. “Please do not make me drink soap, Simon. It’s Nan who usually makes you lot wash your mouths out!”

You are probably not surprised that I am not much of a disciplinarian.

“I will let you give me a wedgie whenever you want for a week if we cut back to just one pint of milk and absolutely nothing else. No soapy suds, that will do the trick. Fair? Here, I’ll even hold my gob open for you.”

It was going to happen whether I fought it or not, so may as well avoid getting the milk all over myself.

“Anybody can give you a wedgie, and you will not do anything about it,” he scoffed at my offer. We often bartered chores, desserts, favorite shirts, and the acceptance of certain really painful wedgies, and I thought he would go for it.

He started to walk out the back door with two pints of milk and a funnel. I was perplexed. “Oh dear, where has he gone off to now?”

I hoped he’d get distracted and forget to return for a bit.

I could hear Simon when he came around to the front window. He was off key and had no rhythm, so it took me a bit before I recognized the old schoolyard rhyme we all used to sing back in primary. “Milk, milk, lemonade… around the corner? That is where fudge is made.”

Oh dear. Not THAT kind of fudge, I hoped, and my smile fell off my face. “Simon, you were supposed to give mummy a drink. My mouth’s back inside.”

“Did you see the look on mummy’s face when Simon said fudge and walked out the backdoor?” Saffy gave a cheeky giggle and dashed over to the window to have a look at what Simon was getting up to. “Yay, the rain stopped!”

“Now, mum is pouting like a toddler who's got her head stuck in the baby gate, and about to get her fudgy diaper changed,” Baps lifted my chin and patronized me with some baby talk. “Fanny-wanny-fanny, want her fanny wiped? This should be good. Either Simon makes an utter fool of himself with a prank that falls flat, or he tops us. Entertaining either way.”

"Glad you think so," I shrugged and tried to think of some clever retort.

She joined her sister at the window, ready to take a snap with her phone to capture the moment. Then she turned and yanked her sister's skirt down and pulled her white cotton panties up her arse crack.

So much for their solidarity!

"Hey, what did you do that for?" Saffy whinged about being reduced to knickers and her top.

"Because you are a fat arse, and I didn't want you getting too uppity. Consider yourself lucky that I don't do more," Baps warned. "You had to know you'd be getting a wedgie. Why else wear your froggy undies?"

"That's a Keropie! and he's cool!"

"He's a frog, standing guard on your fat, hairy quim, and I can't be sure if it's him ribbiting or you queefing out of that furry beef burger of yours," Baps teased.

Saffy frowned and ran a finger down her ass crack to pull the panties out of her arse.

"I wouldn't remove that wedgie that I went to the trouble of giving you, if I were you," Baps warned.

Saffy abruptly let her hands drop, and stood at the window watching what her twin had in mind. She was rather used to spending the afternoon in panties wedged up her ass crack. If anything, her sister's constant teasing had managed to toughen her up that most bullying at school was a breeze compared to Jack and Bap's near constant, but loving pranks.

I suppose that my own brothers and sister dunking my head down the toilet and giving it a flush, while yanking my undies up my fat arse, and hanging me on the towel hook to dry, as well as a lifetime of being a spank magnet had given me an edge at being able to endure humiliation like this.

My knees ached, and my pussy was in over-drive. I couldn't stop the waterfall that was pooling down my thighs. I wasn't sure what sexy or enjoyable about any of this, but my body decided to over-produce girly-goo and let it hang like snot from my flappers.

I hoped that Simon wouldn't notice when he finally came round the flat to deliver whatever devious or dorky prank he had in store for me.

“You don’t think Simon is going to pour a pint in my quim and another up my arse, do you?” I asked nervously of the girls.

“I sure hope so,” Baps smiled wickedly.

“Fun is fun, and I am tolerating you lot having a laugh because I’ve certainly signed up for it with my foolishness, but he wouldn’t dare do THAT? Out on the street? SIMON! Please have a bit of mercy.”

“Technically, your bum is barely out the door, and still on the sidewalk, nowhere close to the street,” Saffy patted my head like I was our pup Alfie. She began hopping up and down while waving at Simon with a look of approving encouragement on her face.

“You wouldn’t be so chipper if it were your bum in the flapper,” I groaned. My smile had temporarily gone back behind a dark cloud even though the sun was shining on my butt.

I wasn’t sure what Simon was doing. That was making me even more concerned. He rubbed my bum and pulled my cheeks apart, and my eyes shot open.

“Look at Mum, she is laying there pouting like a toddler who got her head stuck in the stair rails. Smile for a snap, Mum!”

“You’ll be smiling when I get even with you lot,” I threatened. It was an empty threat and everyone knew it. They had the best of me, and all there was left was to endure it. “Simon, do you mind not playing with mummy’s bottom?”

“I am not playing, I am giving you a massage,” he answered.

“How about a foot rub then. Is there anyone out on the road?”

“Not yet,” Simon answered, and made my butt cheeks move as if I were saying it with my butt.

“Simon, please don’t do that to my bum,” I asked firmly, and I could tell he was just moving my ass open and closed as I spoke, so I stopped talking immediately. At least, he was ignoring my quim, for the time being.

“Chin up, love. You’ll probably think twice about trying the pet flapper again, won’t you?” Nan asked.

“As long as I live,” I swore. Simon pulled my cheeks apart much wider.

“I know why people love to give you wedgies, Mum,” Simon shouted through the door like he made a great discovery.

“Mum is a dorky swot, who trips over her own two feet, and that deserves it?” Baps asked while pinching my nose.

“Mum likes it?” Saffy patted my head.

“Those things as well,” Simon responded seriously. “The main reason is her big ass. It’s so round and wobbly. The crack is so deep and wide, and it’s perfect for wedgies.”

To demonstrate, he pulled my knickers back into the groove of my ass, and I braced for a merciless wedgie, and received it.

“Ooff!! Okay, okay, you had your fun. Now come back inside. I am parched, I want to drink two pints of milk.”

I’d rather drink the milk, than have it poured where I thought was going to pour it.

“Keep your hair on! Mum. It’s not raining, and there is no one about. It’s not like you are going anywhere. I thought you’d enjoy a butt rub.”

Baps was ready to declare his prank a dud, and I would have agreed if she was in the same position.

“I’d really rather you didn’t,” I assured him.

“You won’t say that after I am finished,” Simon responded with certainty. “Remember when you said you might have to spend a penny after that big meal?”

(Spend a penny means go poop).

“I will hold it until your grandfather comes home,” I began to turn red in the face imagining what he had in mind.

“We’ll get it over with before anyone comes walking down the sidewalk, and I’ll be here to shield you from sight.”

“You do have a rather fat ass, Simon, which in stark contrast to your tiny limp dicklet,” Baps sighed and assured him that it wasn’t fat enough to hide mine. That was a fair observation. “If we say you had the most clever prank, will you come back inside and stop lusting after mum’s arsehole?”

“This isn’t a prank, anymore,” Simon answered and that worried me even more. What was it meant to be? “Why would I lust after an arsehole?”

The girls looked at each other and sighed, and even Nan rolled her eyes.

“Don’t be daft, Simon. We all know you are obsessed with our butts,” Saffy giggled her accusation.

“Not in a perverted way,” he assured the three of us.

“What other way is there for a pervert like you to be interested in girly butts, Simon?” Saffy responded.

“The arse is for farting and going poo. What would it have to do with sex? You aren’t making sense, Saff.”

“You really don’t know about anal sex?” Saffy was shocked that her brother could be this naïve.

“Anal, wot? How would that even work? Are you putting me on?” Simon sounded genuinely unaware of how the butt had anything to do with sex. The poor, poor, sod. I was happy that at least my son wasn’t sexually attracted to my bum. Even the rubbing he gave me felt more like curiosity.

“Do they slide their peckers up the crack of the bum like a hot dog in a bun?” he asked.

“Men put their peckers in our asses and bugger us, Simon,” Saffy explained without her usual giggle.

“You must be taking the piss, Saff!” Simon laughed nervously as he tried to come to grips with the truth that the rest of us knew. “A woman’s butt can’t make a baby.”

“How do you think you were born, Simon?” Saffy yelled through the door. “You were a butt baby.”

“You are my twin sister. That means you came from mum’s arsehole as well,” Simon countered. I suddenly realized that my son’s lisp reminded me of Rik from the old Young Ones television program.

“Don’t be a wanker, lots of girls take it in the bum,” Saffy assured him in a way that made it obvious she was one. “Butts don’t get preggers, and it's not so bad if they go slow.”

“Why have sex if you aren’t trying to get pregnant?” Simon asked.

“Don’t worry about it, Simon. You’ll never have a girl bend over and let you fuck her in the arse,” Baps teased him.

“I thought getting fucked in the arse was a bad thing. People always say they got fucked in the arse, when they move to Runcorn and buy property here, and they are always chuffed about it.”

“Simon, if you want to learn the birds and the bees, your sisters and I will be happy to teach you, but can we not yell through the door? The neighbors are just next door and will hear us,” I suggested.


Simon yanked my knickers down around my thighs, pulled my cheeks apart and placed his thumb on my arsehole to measure the circumference.

“I didn’t mean teach you by way of example,” I squawked.

“You lot frequently remind me that I have an admittedly below average sized cock, and even I couldn’t fit my cork into this tiny bottle! It’d be easier to fuck a nostril than the gap here.”

He tapped my butthole a few times with his thumb. It wasn’t entirely unpleasant but I wiggled my ass and warned him to please mind MY gap.

(That’s a British joke).
“I couldn’t get my pinky finger in mum’s bottom, much less my cock,” Simon insisted. I had no desire for either of those things to happen, in equal measure.

“No, you don’t have a cock at all. Your tiny wee-wee doesn’t qualify as a penis, much less a cock, Simon,” Baps scoffed. “Men don’t just ram their cocks up our arse, like they would down our throats.”

There was a silent pause, as we all processed what Baps just admitted.

“They don’t? Guys usually just pop it in my butt without as much as asking or a thank you when they are done,” Saffy assured her sister.

I wasn’t all that shocked by these revelations, the girls were old enough to know what they liked. “Men always just pop it in our bums without asking, don’t they?” I asked.

The girls and I were always fairly open about sex with one another. All the while, Simon had been rubbing my bum, pulling my cheeks apart and having a close up gander at my arse.

“Simon, If you are done trying to see the fish and chips you lot just fed me, can we…ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooh, what are you doing?” I began to wiggle, shake and my pussy squirted.

Simon pushed the tip of my funnel straight into my bum and twisted it.

“Caw, you got pee all over my trousers,” Simon slapped my ass punitively. We just spent 15 minutes talking about anal, I wasn’t about to explain what had just happened.

“What did you put in my butt?” I demanded.

Baps got up, and even Nan walked to the window to see what Simon had done.

“The funnel. We don’t have a fancy enema kit like the neighbor, but I think this will do the trick,” he poured the entire pint of milk into the funnel and I instantly felt it start sliding into my butt.

“SIMON! Take that out at once!” I insisted.

“You said guys don’t ask. They just put things up your bum, and you said enemas take 15 pounds off, and you’ve got to go poo anyway. You said if someone promises you could lose weight without dieting or exercising you’d gladly let them stick something in your butt and that you’ve done a lot more for a lot less.”

I wasn’t sure if the reddening of my face was me becoming furious or embarrassed or a bit of both. “I was over-egging the pudding on that, Simon.”

(Over egging the pudding is a way of saying you were embellishing, for the yanks).

“I didn’t lose 15 pounds, anyhow!” I added.

“Well, you lost something because your bellies were inflated like a balloon, and when you both finished unleashing a great maelstrom of shite in the loo, it was gone. And anyway, you're stuck here, so you may as well make the best of it. What do you have to lose?

“My dignity?” I replied.

“You can’t lose what you never had, Dear,” my mum took Simon’s side of things, she always took the guys' side of things.

“Mum, are you really going to let Simon pour milk into my arse right outside on Speakman?”

“I am afraid it’s a bit late to stop him,” she assured me. “You did tell the lad, you’ve done a lot worse, for a lot less.”

“That was a figure of speech…..oh..oh..oh, are you pouring the other pint in my arse?”

“Aye, Mister Davidson said he gave you each three pints and let it drip until your stomachs swelled up like you were preggers, and after the first time you did it again with four.”

“Was it really four?” I scratched my head. Four pints of that horrible Mister Muscle concoction was like an atomic bomb exploding out of my asshole each time I expelled.

“You didn’t mind Mister and Mrs. Davidson walking in and out of the flat, with the rest of us having a gander, while you and Saff were bent over getting an enema up your arses. Why are you so worried, Mum? Your bare hole was visible until I put a funnel in it. Now, they can’t see it at all.”

“You could have brought me a fresh pair of knickers and some bottoms to wear to protect my modesty,” I assured him bitterly.

“As I said earlier,” Nan reminded me that I was never entitled to modesty before. “It won’t be the first time or the last you are starkers on Speakman. I doubt most neighbors will be all that surprised when they find out it’s you.”

I gritted my teeth and tried not to think about how my pussy was dripping wet. I certainly didn’t feel turned on. At least, most of my family were standing in the window and couldn’t see that I was dripping slimy trails down my thigh.

“The milk is already coming out the other hole,” Simon used his finger to collect a little spindly bit of spiderweb I’d just produced.

“Make sure it’s milk, lick your finger, Simon!” Baps suggested with a wicked snicker.

Simon is way too trusting and naïve for his sister’s dark sense of humor. The ignorant clod was actually going to taste my juices.

“BAPS!!!” I shouted. In retrospect, tasting me might have been a proper punishment for him. “Don’t lick my cunny runoff, dear!” I added “For that matter, can this be the last time you shove something up mommy’s arsehole?”

I have to admit, even I had to chuckle after I asked that question.

“You let our perverted neighbor plop those enema tubes up Saffy’s puckered rim and down your own arsehole, three or four times before the water ran clear. Why not me?”

I grumbled that it was different somehow. “Just at least, you might have asked if I wanted it plopped in, just now?”

“Does it hurt?” he asked as he twisted the funnel to examine the milk level.

“Does what hurt? the massive funnel you jammed into my arse, or the strangely vulnerable feeling of being filled with milk and not being able to stop it? Or just having my stomach expand while I try to digest the fish I was stuffed with?” I asked rhetorically, but I realized what he meant. “The funnel doesn’t hurt much after the first push, but that is not the point, Simon.”

“The milk is draining quite slowly into your bum,” he cut me off with his observation. “Will it shoot out like chocolate milk, the way the water turned brown?”

My face went flush and I groaned with humiliation and discomfort at the very thought of chocolate milk spraying out of my arse. I’d been so keen to stop groaning about my inflated tummy, that I’d forgotten just how long we’d been arse up, legs spread, and a hose stuffed up our bums during the cheese wheel incident.

“The only bright side to today is after this horrendously embarrassing spectacle, I might stop hearing about the time I foolishly ate so much cheese that I couldn’t go poo, and had to beg four enemas from the neighbor.”

“Don’t worry, Mum,” Saffy patted my head and patronized me. “We won’t let you forget either of those humiliating days.”

“You were arse up with me, and had it just as bad.”

“Oh, yeah,” Saff drifted off and sucked her finger in contemplation.

The milk was going to spray back out of my bum, one way or another, now. On the plus side, Simon would be standing over me to keep someone from randomly passing by and tossing a cigarette butt in my butt, or nicking the funnel for a laugh.

The thought that someone might pass by and hump me had crossed my mind. I’ve been rather horny and lonely as of late, but even I wasn’t this desperate to hang my arse out for anyone to have a go.

The naughty thought that someone could hump me at my own door, made me uncontrollably wet. I suppose in a way it’s “reverse dogging”. Instead of going somewhere else and parking for random sex, you are inviting them to your door.

I tried to get my mind out of the gutter. It wasn’t easy. I decided to do what any woman would do if she wanted to stop all perverted thoughts of lust; talk to Simon.

“How long do you mean to leave me like this, Simon?” I changed the subject to the matter close at hand. I realized it was a bit too late to stop him, so there was no point in trying to reverse it.
“The first enema? I am not sure. I think they last twenty minutes.”

“The first? We’re out of milk, Simon. Surely, one will do the trick. I am not all bound up and the bottles at the chemist recommend 3-5 minutes. Can we just do the one, and get mummy some proper water to wash down her fish?”

“I’ll head over to Mister Davidson’s house and ask him to brew up some of his Mister Muscle, while you are letting this milk go down the hatch.”

“Please don’t, Simon!” I gasped when Simon started to dash toward the flat right next to ours. “You said you would stay here and make sure no one sees or messes with me. I’d rather not get the neighbor involved.”

“Don’t worry, Mum! I’ll stay right here and protect you,” he assured me, and then Simon started playing bongos by drumming on my butt with the flat of his palms to pass the time.

“My brave defender,” I sighed sarcastically and winced as some of those taps were getting closer and closer to my cunny.

“Day-Oh, me say Day-Oh, Daylight come and me wanna go home,” Simon sang almost as miserably as his sister and I did. His Jamaican accent had to be offensive on every level to not only Jamaicans but humanity in general.

“Can you go play on Baps or Saffy’s arse for a bit, Simon?” I asked as sweetly as I could with a smile in my voice.

“You said I need to remain here and keep guard,” Simon didn’t stop his drum-solo. If anything, he began to slap harder and faster.

“It’s just that some of your swats are getting dangerously close to my minge,” I politely reminded him while enduring the rapid succession of slaps.

“Don’t worry, I won’t slap your bits!” he assured me even though his hand landed very close to my pussy lips every now and then. “Just your tulips when I need a bit of a splosh for cymbals.”

Simon played double-time on my labia and came away with sticky fingers. I was about to protest when he asked another question. “I know what the gash is, and the tulips, but is this bit a penis?”


My son pinched my clit hanging down between my legs, to make sure I was thoroughly mortified and intimately aware of what bit he meant.

Baps and Saffy had a great laugh when the expression on my face shifted and my eyes rolled up in my head involuntarily.

“That’s a clit,” Baps correctly guessed where her little brother’s fingers had landed. “Don’t worry. You’ll never be asked by a woman to find hers.”

“Does it have balls?” he asked as he shook it. I was paralyzed, because he was accidentally giving me a stroking that turned my screws in a way that I would have enjoyed if it had been anyone but him, Gaff or Jack.

“You are rattling Mum’s bean!” Saffy was thrilled because she could tell from the faces and the silent way I was moving my mouth that I was not able to even process what was happening.

“Mum looks like Alfie when you scratch behind his ears just right,” Baps was thrilled by my reaction. She and Saff had a great laugh at my expense while I made a silent “O” face.

We share a bedroom and a bed, so it’s not like we hadn’t seen each other make that face while our fingers played under the covers.

“Simon, would you stop wanking your mum, off?” Nan asked impatiently. “She’s put me off my crumpet and jam.”

“Was I really wanking Fanny on her Fanny?” Simon was thrilled with his wordplay and sudden realization he had the key to turning me on whether I liked it or not. The poor git had no idea that I get turned on being set loose on a Chinese buffet, or binge watching East Enders.

It really doesn’t take much for me to start gagging for it. That’s why I usually end up dating the absolute worst Runcorn has to offer in men.
I didn’t want to answer, and I was afraid I’d swoon or coo in a way that made Simon think I was enjoying this.

“I thought I was just giving you a goose,” he rubbed me across my entire pussy quickly in a goosing motion. I’ve been getting goosed since before I could grow hair on my quim. It still shocks me every time. “I thought I had to slip a finger into a slag’s gash to make her whimper.”

I bit my lower lip and asked very firmly. “Please, you’ve got a funnel up my arse, you’ve drummed my butt cheeks, pinched my clit and goosed me. Could you stop short of a full wanking, dear?”

It was at that point, the rain started to sprinkle lightly on us.

“Sorry, Mum. You are quite right. It’s just that Baps is right about one thing. No regular girls would stand still long enough to let me pop their hoods and see how their motors work. Don’t worry though, I’ll stay right here even though it’s raining.”