Chapter Three
Posted: Mon Apr 21, 2025 1:05 am
Jack continued on to pose Joy as he had me where I wanted and now, I just had to manage the position without wobbling over or giving in to temptations and reaching down to snap off the bit of snail juice forming at the base of my cunny and fling it somewhere like excess snot.
It seemed like it might be easy to do, except my face was flushed with embarrassment, and all I wanted to do was get rid of the evidence. I am sure the others noticed and thought I was having lusty thoughts and turned on. The truth was I just couldn’t control my runny pussy. I was wet, and the smell of my arousal was obvious – even if someone didn’t notice my sticky thighs.
Now, Jack was capturing it all with his camera, and I was mortified. I tried to politely smile and pretend I wasn’t turned on – it was after all, completely involuntary on my part. The stimulation and being naked was turning me on – even if I was standing there bare arsed with my mum and sister in the mix.
“Stop wriggling about, and trying to blast get your girly cream everywhere, Sophie,” Jack clicked a few snaps directly between to document my humiliation. I instinctively closed my legs, but Jack tapped my thighs and reminded me that I was now his “open book”.
“Stop trying to hide – it won’t do any good, Sophie!” Jack sounded frustrated.
“Should I pull back my quim hair, and pull me bean out so you can have a better look at my quim?” I asked dryly – clearly facetious.
“That would be lovely, but I want a natural shot tis time,” Jack didn’t acknowledge my sarcasm and merely continued to photograph my dripping pussy in its natural state. “In future, I might ask you to groom it a bit more.”
It was as humiliating to photographed while I couldn’t stop my pussy from dripping like a runny nose, and at the same time degrading to have him talk down about my hairy bush.
“For such a thin girl, you’ve got a nice fat gash,” he observed, making me blush even harder.
“Yeah, as open books go – that’s not a pamphlet,” my sister joked, adding that if I ever get pregnant I’d probably have twins simply because of how deep my pussy was.
“You’ve no tinny gapper between your legs, slag,” I countered angrily.
My mom harumphed and told us to stop bickering – “Let Jack do his work and be open books – you’ll see your cunnies soon enough when he lets us review the pictures. You WILL let us review them, won’t you Jack?”
“Sure,” Jack basically ignored my mother and remained focused on snapping pictures around my pussy and even my bum hole – at times, posing me and making me stand in such a way that I fully exposed myself to his camera without touching myself.
The worst part was that now I was gagging to touch myself because I had been thinking about it. It’s like an itch that you can’t scratch, only feel worse because you know you can’t scratch it.
I could imagine the pic of my hairy twat with a proper long sliver of my cum juice now framed in Victoria and Albert Museum in Kensington – memorialized for all time to come. The caption would say ‘Here is Sophie Marsh’s gash, dripping wet because she couldn’t control her naughty thoughts when she was standing naked in her kitchen – others laughing in repose – photograph by Jack Marsh.”
My bum hole puckered and sucked in air – just for the thought that I’d ever see those pictures of my quim drippings again.
Jack didn’t seem all that fussed. Honestly, I couldn’t decide what was worse—standing stark naked with your girly-juice trailing down your thigh while people point and laugh, or someone snapping a picture like you’re a pigeon in Trafalgar Square, then just carrying on, leaving you there like some forgotten statue nobody cares about.
“Legs up on the table, bimbo,” Jack snapped, his tone making it clear there’d be no room for dithering. Joy shot him a look but didn’t argue, shifting to lift her leg like mine and lining herself up behind me. “Get close enough that your quim is almost directly behind Sophie’s tight little bum -if she so much as lights a dainty fart – I want you to feel the wind, Joy! Let’s get on with it unless you fancy being here till tea,” he added, a sharp edge to his voice. “And I’d advise you to mind the gap.”
“The one between her legs, or the one between her and her sister,” Mum asked with a hearty laugh and a lusty expression like a deviant horn bag. Joy merely glanced over her shoulder as she placed her body close enough to me that we were almost touching. “Oh, get over it - little teasing never harmed anyone, Dear!”
‘A director who has to listen to a babbling dribbler like you direct his models might harm someone,’ Jack seethed at Mum for talking. Whether he meant it as a joke or not – that’s how she took it when she giggled and apologized. “You’ll be the central star for our little London Bridge exhibit, Joanne -I like your enthusiasm, but I’ll have to gag you with a dirty dishrag if you can’t manage to shut it!”
Mum chirped a quick, ‘Sorry, Jack!’ but I wasn’t so sure he was joking about the dish rag. His tone wasn’t playful—it had that edge, the kind that made you straighten up a bit, even if you weren’t sure why. If Mum had somehow morphed into a playful trollop, Jack had undergone his own transformation—straight into a proper bastard
He’d started the morning strict, determined, and now he was running the room like a proper Soho pimp in Piccadilly Circus—‘arses here, tits there, no talking, just smiling!’ It was all a bit much, but none of us dared say so out loud.
We were like naked props, he had little time and patience to actually talk to.
My big sister was surprisingly limber – she had her leg much higher, and straighter than I could manage. I’ve never seen her do Yoga or stretching exercises. Up went her sexy long leg on the table, and he removed her shoes. “We’ll need these toenails polished and trimmed!”
Mom spoke up to answer Jack’s question about ground rules. We were able to pose and talk at the same time and had been all afternoon. “I won’t make the same mistake of lecturing you girls today like I did this morning around the telly. That cost me my tea at lunch—and you know, it was a small thing to some, but it shocked me to be told I couldn’t have something I wanted, and I’m used to. Here I was, preaching about women being self-indulgent and expecting things, not realizing I do that too. I never really thought about it until Jack had the nerve to call me out.
“So, yeah, I’m not Mum while we’re doing this—I’m just Joanne. I won’t say boo to you girls either—it’s on Jack to be the director. But, Jack, let me ask you this: let’s say my darling daughters, who I love dearly but also sometimes want to wring their lovely necks, decide to start bickering and teasing each other. Are you going to tell me I have to go back to being Mum during the session and sort it out, or do I deal with it after?”
Joy smirked, her voice dripping with mock accusation as she shifted slightly in her pose. “Oh really? So, let’s say I call you a dirty perv for how you’ve got your hand close to my quim right now, making little circling motions with your fingers. Giving me goosebumps and chills—how are you going to sort that, Jack?” She wasn’t angry, far from it. There was a flicker of excitement in her eyes, her breathing shallow, almost expectant. His fingers hovered near her labia, deliberate but never quite crossing a line. Her nipples were stiff, goosebumps rising on her skin.
I couldn’t decide how I felt about it. Watching Joy like this—so openly affected—made me wonder if I’d want Jack to touch me the same way -or even let him. On the one hand, he was my brother, but on the other... I felt a pang of jealousy. I was already drippy, but I craved a thrill—a moment like hers that might send a shiver down my spine.
Jack didn't pull away when she called him out for touching so close – it wasn’t just touching either. He was running his finger in delicate little circles right outside her pussy lip. If anything, in defiance to being called out, he moved his fingers on to her pussy lips.
My sister’s eyes went wide – like she’d be goosed, but she didn’t pull her leg off the table.
Jack had brushed our orifices or nipples lightly posing us before - never gratuitously, but he'd not apologized or acted like it was an accident, either. He'd also posed us in such a way we were touching - standing nipple to nipple, butt to butt - close embraces - so we'd do a lot more touching of each other than I'd ever done in my life.
"That's why I am talking about ground rules now, Joy - you are my model, I'll pose you and prepare you – that’s how this will work. In order to do that, I may have you touch Joanne or Sophie in a way that as sisters you may find awkward - but as models with no inhibitions, no barriers, you'll just get on with it, for the shot. I want your goosebumps, I want you aroused; look at Sophie over there - raw, female energy – excited.
All eyes were on my pussy – now almost like a big wad of spit -the collected dripping of my pussy was hanging off my lips. I looked pitiful, I am sure – horny and pitiful.
“I want you to look like you are thrilled - sometimes it's not touching, it's the anticipation of being touched- the tease that it never comes, other times, I may have to pinch your nipples and give them a twist" He reached up casually with one hand, and gave Joy's nipples a tweak so fast she couldn't react.”
"Hey!" Sophie called out -like she was going to smack him, but she didn’t.
"Hey What? you are my model, quim, tits, arse, face, shoulders, legs, all of it - you are an open book, and I want to film you three turned on and ready -so to answer your question, I am not sure what I'd do if you called me a filthy pervert
“If you’re having a laugh, and we’re in the middle of it like now, I might laugh along with you. If you’re doing it because I want you to act like you’re being treated rough by a filthy pervert—I’d have encouraged you to yell it at the top of your lungs! But if you’re doing it to be disruptive, degrade me, and waste our time, I’d say I’d put you in the corner with the soap—this time for real. Leave you there for a bit, maybe twenty minutes. Then, I’d have you turn around, hold yourself here at the table just like you are now—since this is where you said it—and apologize to me properly.”
He leaned in slightly, his tone sharpening. “You’d tell me what you did wrong, what you won’t do in the future, and thank me for straightening you up. Earlier, when Joanne was saying how, left to your own devices, you’d be bickering with Sophie and doing bugger all today anyway, your apology was basically that you thought it went without saying. I photographed Joanne’s face this morning when you two were giving your faint little apologies. I captured the look of disappointment when you didn’t even use the word ‘I’m sorry.’ I can tell you; she didn’t see it as an apology—but she let you get away with a half-ass one. I won’t.”
Jack didn’t pause, running his hand purposefully along Joy’s skin. “You’ll be whole assing during modeling—and I’m asking, if I hold Joanne to the same standard, are you going to test me and find out?”
Mum, standing nearby, let out a soft laugh, warmer than mocking. “Look, I don’t care what you lot say about this – it’s always been my fantasy to be photographed in the nude! I’ve never thought about running around the house with my knickers off, and then Jack suggested we do some pictures today. You two bickering and arguing, and the three of you teasing each other is the norm most of the time – if we can have less of that – I’m in and you both are as well. If Jack can get a proper apology out of you – then that would stand all the time – not just for the modeling sessions. I’d love it!”
Joy held her pose but shifted slightly, her tone sharp but not combative. “Look, it’s not like I’ve been dreaming of being manhandled by my little brother, alright? And yes, fine—I’m wet. So’s Sophie. It doesn’t mean you’re turning me on, Jack; I just want that clear. I can’t control it, but it’s not the point. I ASKED to put soap in my mouth earlier for a prop, so it’s not like that’s some huge punishment to me. Do you really think sticking me in the corner with a bar of soap is going to teach me anything?”
Mum chuckled, leaning slightly on the counter as her eyes darted between Joy and Jack. “It’s gotta be a meaty enough consequence you’d think twice, love. Losing my tea did it for me—and you know how I get without it. So, tell us—what would make you think twice about cussing out your brother if soap in the mouth won’t bother ya?”
Mum raised a brow, her tone light but pointed, clearly expecting Joy to come up with something she couldn’t easily shrug off. “Let’s hear it, Joy. Got a better idea?”
"Whatever I come up with would be the same for all three of us, then? Even Mum?"
"So much so, that I want you to address her as Joanne during modeling. She's a fellow model, and she can't say boo to you about your behavior," Jack smiled, his fingers drifting in the crack of her bubble butt while his other hand painted tiny circles on the outside of her raven-haired quim, goosebumps appearing on the base of her neck.
"Ooh, what do you think about that, Joanne? Are you still fine with being treated like one of the girls during modeling?" she asked her Mum, clearly thinking she wouldn't agree.
"Ach! It's fine if Jack does it, he's my director, but you girls? How will you respect me if you call me Joanne? Next, you'll be calling me slag and chav and slut like you do each other! This was a punishment for you, we were talking about Joy—I wouldn’t insult your brother, so even if you said scrubbing the toilets with your toothbrush, it wouldn’t apply to me."
“Nope, no negotiation," Jack stated firmly, his hand casually drifting further along Joy's thigh, fingers teasingly brushing close to her quim. "You've already agreed you're an open book when modeling, and the book's title is Joanne. If you aren't going to intimidate them like Mum and say boo to them, you’re one of the girls."
Mum hesitated for a fraction of a second, her expression shifting slightly. "Right then," she said, her tone measured but agreeable. "Only during modeling!"
"And you're fine with him giving you goosebumps like this, Joanne?" Joy asked coolly, her foot still perched on the table, her tone dripping with mock innocence as Jack continued his light touches. She stood frozen, a mix of defiance and submission, daring Mum to contradict herself.
Mum drew in a breath, her posture steady. "I am an open book," she said evenly, her gaze meeting Joy’s. "And I’m one of the girls. her tone softened slightly, But, I’ll admit, hearing you call me Joanne is going to take some getting used to."
“You won’t hear me complain if you want to quit, Joanne," Joy said, her voice steady, though her breathing betrayed a hint of nerves. "I’m sure almost every inch of my body has been touched, photographed, and breathed on. I don’t even know what fascinates Jack about me—I’m not exactly the hottest looking girl. Pretty ordinary, really.”
“I’ll be the judge of that,” Jack said, his touch growing bolder as three fingers gripped the line of her butt crack while the other hand grazed her nether regions with deliberate care. “I’m not here to film a Barbie—I want raw, unfiltered passion. No barriers, no holding back. Lusty, aroused—that’s what I’m after. And I think we’re almost there,” he added, his voice low with determination.
“Well, if Mum—or ehm, Joanne—is in for this treatment too, and she’s fine being called Joanne, I’d do it just for the privilege of seeing her cringe every time I say her name. But if you’re asking for a punishment that’s a real deterrent, I’d say it’s harder to think of one than having my leg up on the table, my little brother's hands wandering fumbles around trying to edge me to arousal, leaving me all hot and flustered with no one to actually be satisfied.”
"I’ve not had a man ever show that kind of interest in getting me to that state; it’s hardly a punishment, Joy," Mum said with a lusty laugh. "You were bragging about what you do up in your room—have a row with yourself later tonight and finish it off. The anticipation will make it better."
"This is definitely not meant to punish you, Joy! And it's gonna be happening a lot—so I don't want you to think of this as a bad thing. Touching is fine," Jack decided.
Joy gave him a look of exasperation mixed with embarrassment. "Well, if you're going to do it, can I ask you to stop touching my butt and put your hand here?" She grabbed his hand, moving it to her breast. Her cheeks flushed, and she avoided his gaze. "Just rub circles—don't squeeze or maul—delicate, like you’re doing below. We’ll get there faster. I might not even think to call you a name after that..."
“Joy!” I gasped, incredulous at her boldness.
“What?” she shot back. “It’s like giving a handie on the bus to London and stepping on the bloke’s foot instead! I’d rather he just tell me to stroke him at a medium pace!”
Mum’s eyes widened, her voice rising in shock. “Caw, Joy! Have you ever given a handie on the bus to London?”
I knew full well she had—she’d bragged about it to me before, alongside tales of her escapades at clubs. She looked defiant, a sly grin creeping across her face.
“That’s the kind of energy I want you to bring to this scene, Joy,” Jack said, shifting his grip and following her instructions. He began to work her breast as she requested, his voice steady and coaxing. “Think about it—sitting down next to a stranger on the bus. You reach under his coat, unzip him. There are people around, and some of them are watching—they have no idea where your hand is.”
Mum laughed heartily, throwing her head back. “Blimey, that’s making me want to ride that bus!”
Jack turned his focus back to Joy, his tone firm but playful. “But first, tell me—what punishment do you think would be fair if you call me a name and disrupt the session?”
Joy huffed, clearly trying to enjoy the moment despite the intrusive question. “You’re still on about that? You say ‘fair,’ but you’d get to tease me, so the punishment would only apply to the three of us—not you!”
Jack abruptly pulled his hand away from Joy, leaving her trembling slightly, clearly affected. When her hand started to drift toward her own body, he slapped it away with a firm, “Simmer.”
“More like seethe,” Joy muttered under her breath, though she made no move to challenge him further besides saying that was unfair and pouting. How do you think I feel? I was left out of the conversation, long strand of climax juice dripping almost 12 inches off of my quim and all I could do was stand there and wait for it to finally hit the ground.
Jack took a few quick snaps of both me and my sister before moving on to turn his attention to Mum. “Right, Joanne, let’s get your engine started.” He guided her to sit in her kitchen chair, both legs up and spread – hairy gash wide open.
Mum flushed deeply, her hands gripping the edges of the chair for balance. Jack’s touch was deliberate and slow, drawing reactions she couldn’t hide. “Ooh, oh… um, this is hard to talk and let you do that… oh my…” Her voice trailed off, a mix of embarrassment and pleasure coloring her words. Mum exhaled, a deliberate pause before she spoke. “Look, this is new for all of us, yeah? I didn’t expect to have my bumhole and cunny open like this today -while you two gawk at me getting a thrill.”
“Neither did we, Mum...” I said defensively, before the two of them corrected me and reminded me to call our mother Joanne. It felt so wrong when I heard myself say it out loud – she was “mum” to me.
Jack grabbed mum’s boobs and started to shake her big tits – just touching them like ripe cantaloupe while Mum grinned at him. He reminded her that she was now an open book while she giggled and let him have his fun smacking her boobs together. He let her do it for him while he took snaps. I thought it would be intensely humiliating for my mum to jiggle her tits like they were party favors, but she seemed to thrive on the attention her fat jugs were earning her.
“I just thought we’d have a stress free time taking snaps and feeling free and naughty – you are both old enough to get a thrill from it – and obviously, there are things I didn’t know about your habits, Joy,” she said alluding to the hand job on the bus. “If following Jack’s rules helps cut down on the usual bickering and sulking between you two, then I’m willing to give it a shot. It’s not like we’re doing this all day, every day—it’s just during modeling. And frankly, we could all stand to benefit from a bit of structure for once.”
She straightened up slightly, brushing her hair back, as if composing herself. “I’ve let things slide too often, and where has that got us? Nowhere good, that’s where. I don’t do enough to stop the squabbling, and that’s on me. I let it go because it’s easier, but all that does is spoil you both and make the behavior worse. I haven’t been firm enough, and the truth is, you’ve taken advantage of that.”
Mum’s voice softened, but there was no mistaking the self-awareness in her tone. “I’m not saying I’m better than you—I’m just as guilty. I get indulgent, I pout when I don’t get my way, and I can be as petty as either of you -talk, talk, and more talk.”
Jack reached down between my mother’s legs and pinched her clit.
“OOH, not there,” she called out, but the look on her face was that she liked it. Jack continued pushing on it and she made a face somewhere between pained and orgasm. He had to stabilize her ankles because her restless leg shaking was making the table shake causing all of our asses to shake with it.
“It’s part of being a woman, isn’t it? The vanity, the nagging, the indulgence—we’re wired for it in some ways. That’s why I’m saying yes to this—modeling, being treated like one of the girls. It lets Jack take charge and means I’m not stuck letting my own habits or stubbornness get in the way of what we’re trying to do.”
Mum glanced at Joy, her eyes narrowing slightly as she continued. “But we can’t let this fall apart because of our usual nonsense. Joy, your constant jabs and name-calling spark bickering that spreads like wildfire. Sophie, you sulk and pout the second things don’t go your way, dragging everyone else into your mood. And me? I’ve been indulgent and lazy, letting it slide instead of stepping in to keep order. Girls like us are naturally prone to drama, vanity, and pushing boundaries. Without clear rules, we’d turn this into a mess of jealousy and power plays.”
She folded her arms, leaning back slightly. “Discipline isn’t about being unfair—it’s about keeping us honest. Boys don’t have these tendencies the way we do, so if it’s just us models who aren’t allowed to disrupt the sessions, that’s exactly how it should be. Jack is directing—he decides when we take a break. If treating me like one of the girls helps him keep all of us—myself included—focused and cooperative, then it’s exactly what we need to make this work. I’m not just fine with it—I’m all for it,” Mum finished firmly.
Despite her words, it was clear she was struggling to concentrate—her hands twitched slightly, and her gaze flicked between Joy and Jack as though trying to find her grounding. Every time she tried to touch herself for relief, Jack smacked her hand away, the sharp slap echoing like a reprimand.
She looked back at us, her voice steady but pointed. “Modeling is fantasy time. If Jack says I’m a butterfly, a slut, or anything else, then I’ll play the part. But we need rules—real ones—so we don’t ruin it with jealousy, laziness, or bickering. We’ve all seen what happens when I let things slide, and it’s never pretty. If treating me the same keeps us on track, I’m not just fine with it—I’m for it.”
Mum’s expression hardened as she turned her attention to Joy, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. “I know you girls love all that ‘girl power’ talk, but it’s not as simple as that. A little discipline, a little accountability, never hurt anyone—especially not women. Sometimes, we need a kick in the backside to remember we’re not above the rules.”
Her voice dropped slightly, but her tone remained sharp. “So, Joy, if soap in the mouth isn’t enough to make you think twice, then pick something that’ll actually make you cringe, seethe, or whatever it is goth girls do. Because I’m not letting you off easy just because you’d rather pout than own up to it.”
“Spice Girls are 20 years ago, Joanne,” Joy quipped, clearly enjoying the way calling her ‘Joanne’ made Mum squirm slightly. Although, to be honest, it was hard to tell if it was Jack’s touch or the name. “So, you’re saying because I have a gash, my brother is better than me?
"You’re like Sophie with the tea—you keep poking and prodding until I stop beating around the bush and just say it. I envy Americans sometimes, you know. They can just blurt things out, even if it cuts deep. You’re not going to like what I have to say, Joy—but yes. When I was growing up, girls got the last of everything, and we were told to be grateful for it—or we got nothing at all. My family was so big, we ate in shifts because there weren’t enough seats. The men, my Mum, and the boys ate at the table. The girls scraped their leftovers into portions and ate standing up. Just like today when we grabbed the scraps off Jack’s plate. I hadn’t thought about Blackpool in years until now."
Mum licked her lips; Jack wasn’t subtle at all about touching her body – and she wasn’t subtle about liking it. Mum was grinning like a ninny – basking in being touched. I am sure it was ages since she had a proper shag after dad left. I’ve never seen her date. He fingered our Mum – penetrating. I couldn’t see it because the pubes, but I could see her face. “Oi Jack, you might have warned me about that,” she said. I couldn’t believe I was watching this happen – the same woman who said she’d punish me this morning if she caught me having a wank in my room!
“I wanted to see your surprise,” Jack snapped pictures with his other hand – pushing a single fingertip into Mum’s pussy. The moment her hands went to her crotch to help, he withdrew his finger and slapped them away. Mum reluctantly put her hands low to her side, so that he would continue.
Her voice cracked slightly, but she pressed on, her tone sharp. "You’re already testing me by calling me Joanne—and it’s working. I nearly lost it a moment ago. So, if you’re wondering, yeah—maybe if I’d been born with a cock and raised to lead, I’d be a proper role model. But I wasn’t. I’m not. Go on, then, Joy. Tease me about Joanne. Call me Crumpy-Bumpy Big Fat Goat Humpy like the other lasses did in Blackpool. But we’re all sitting here waiting on pins and needles for you to tell us what you think is worse than soap in the mouth in the corner. Because if you’re fine with that and think it’s no problem, I might just start doing it when we’re not modeling!"
Fine, it’s fun to be able to tease Jack, so are you saying even an off-handed goof like ‘Saint Jack’ or ‘King Jack’ is going to get me in hot water?”
Jack’s gaze hardened for a moment, his voice cutting through her playful teasing. “I hate ‘King Jack’ and ‘Saint Jack’ more than anything. One implies I’m some sort of lord and master, which clearly you don’t think I am. The other makes me look like a brown-noser, lapping up to Mum’s ass. So, yeah, I’d say those names, in particular, would get you punished! It seems like you talked a big game though – you said you weren’t afraid of having a bar of soap in your mouth and being put in the corner as a consequence for being disruptive during modeling,” Jack said.
“ And if I say something outside of modeling, you won’t make me face your judgment, almighty penis man?” she teased, her tone dripping with mockery.”
“Almighty penis man? Because I wasn’t born with a slit? Calling me that is definitely punishable, but we haven’t made any decisions – and I’ll grant you that’s clever, Joy. Outside of modeling, you’re free to call me whatever the hell you want—be a complete c-word if you like. Joanne won’t do anything about it, and that’s not likely to change – it’s more work than it’s worth to play referee all day,” He answered patiently.
“We’re just talking about modeling; as much as I’d like to promise I’d make you three apologize, put you in the corner and all that – I know I am really not the disciplinarian type, and I am just as guilty of having a go at you three when you have a go at me. All I’ll say is this, if ya starting cracking on me as Joanne, when I am outside of modeling, I may just enforce whatever Joy suggests is the proper consequence!”
He left Mum high and dry, but we continued the conversation - he told her definitely not to touch herself. “That would be punishable as well! No making macaroni and cheese without permission,” he said as he put his head in the fridge and told us he was getting our dessert ready.
I was famished, and I have a sweet tooth – that long strand of cunt dripping just kept elongating and expanding. I wiggled a little hoping that I could snap the long slender spider-like web hanging from my clit off. I was a bit suspicious he was thinking of dessert while we were in a humiliating pose like this.
Joanne sighed, glancing between them. “We’re just talking about modeling here. As much as I’d love to stand firm and say I’d make you three apologize, stick you in the corner, and all that, I’m really not the disciplinarian type. Let’s face it—I’m just as guilty of snapping at you when you snap at me. But here’s the deal—if you start cracking on me as Joanne outside of modeling, I might just go along with whatever Joy reckons is the proper consequence.”
Joy leaned back with a sly grin, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Oh, so it’s up to me then? Fine—take away our tea. That’ll really put us in line.”
“No, Joy. You’re dodging – I think you are scared to actually say what might work as a deterrent for bad behavior? Something that’ll make you think twice. You said soap in the mouth wouldn’t faze you, and I doubt a couple of slices of bread will bother you either. So, what would remind you not to push it? And don’t look at me—it’s up to Joanne,” Jack decided.
“Not bloody likely,” Mum outright rejected the idea of approving the punishment. I am the only one of the girls who loves tea, and I can’t be objective – I am not the director. If it’s strict enough they’ll actually take it seriously, and we all three have to do it when we break the rules – that’s fair enough.”
Jack came back to the table with a can of squirty cream, maraschino cherries, and a bowl of ice cubes—making me wonder about the promised dessert. This was not going to pan out well for us, I reckoned.
"Fine," Joy said with a sly grin, clearly wanting to push boundaries. "Since Jack is in charge of the food, then the next meal—unless we have a guest or something—the model remains nude whether it’s modeling or not, hands tied with a belt behind her back, and eats whatever Jack decides is the meal—face only. Bend over—clean the plate. If it’s that squirty cream and cherries, you’d eat it face first."
We were stunned. Jack raised his eyebrows, momentarily taken aback. Mum opened her mouth to say something, then closed it, clearly struggling to process the suggestion.
“How would we even drink at the table like that?” I asked, genuinely curious despite how ridiculous it sounded.
Jack didn’t miss a beat. “I suppose I’d have Mum set out a bowl of water. You’d dunk your face in it. Good for washing off bits of food too—and whatever we serve would have to be cut up or mashed, like cold oats.”
Joy’s grin widened as she looked at me, then at Mum. I could tell she was enjoying the reactions, and frankly, I wasn’t sure if she was joking or being serious. Either way, the thought of actually doing it made my stomach flip.
“We’d have to eat oats, with tea in a bowl like some barnyard animal, dear?” Mum finally said, her voice unusually high-pitched.
“Nah, barnyard animals eat off the floor. You’d still get a table—but no tea if you’re being punished. Not even a third of a cup,” Jack replied as he shook up the squirty cream canister.
I had no clue what he was planning to do with it. My sister and I had huffed the nitrous out of a squirty cream canister before and gotten an earful from Mum for it. My first thought was that he was about to do a whippet himself – no inkling that he might spray one of us down with it.
He walked around the table and sprayed a generous mound of cream over Mum’s nipples, making sure to completely cover both of her massive boulders. My mom looked down at herself, grinning with amusement. I couldn’t believe she would let Jack cover her in squirty cream!!
“Jack!!”Mum couldn’t believe my audacity.
He sprayed my sister’s boobs, covering them with squirty cream. My sister knotted her brow, “Really?”
When she went to lick the cream, he smacked her hand and said, “All in good time! dessert will be served!”
My sister frowned at him like he cut a fart and walked away from it-leaving her to smell it as he turned to me next.
He roughly lifted one of my tiny boobs, sprayed it until my puffy nipple was completely covered, then did the same to the other – like I was a living bowl to be decorated for a Banana split. It was more cream than I needed—probably twice as much as Mum—but that didn’t stop him. He was having fun making a mess out of me.
I blushed so hard, and the worst part was as he pinched and tugged around my tits – I found myself getting wet. They might have been small, but they were quite sensitive. He treated them like they were simply ornaments to be covered in cream for his photograph and not a sexual part of my body.
“And because you’re a boy, observations about my body are allowed all the time?” I shot at him, rolling my eyes.
Yep, because there are times I may want to wind you up, tease you a little, like with Joanne,” Jack said, rubbing Mum’s tummy and giving it a playful push, making it ripple like an old waterbed. She laughed, but her expression soured as he went on, “She’s chunky! Today I put her on a diet, but what I should’ve said is she’s a chubby-wubby crumpy baby!”
Mum glared at him, her nostrils flaring in indignation. “Don’t you dare—”
Before she could finish, Jack sprayed squirty cream right into my Mum’s open mouth before she could close it. “Don’t swallow yet! Want cherries? Hold on until I’ve got the scene set!” he said, snapping a few pictures of her, mid-outrage, cream-filled mouth agape like a roasted pig with an apple.
He turned to Joy next, stepping back to size her up as she frowned. “Joy, it’s tough to tease you because, let’s face it, you’re bloody gorgeous. But if I’m honest, you’ve got the face of an Addams Family extra—beautiful, sure, but not a hint of a smile. All brooding and sour, like someone pinched your favorite makeup palette.”
Joy’s glare deepened, but before she could snap back, Jack squirted cream into her mouth, cutting her off. “Keep that sourpuss open, or you’ll be wearing a belt to your next meal.”
I was terrified – wondering what Jack was going to do next? I expected Mum or Joy to put a stop to this -it was more than a bit much! However, for Mum’s part, she seemed to think it was amusing and Joy kept giving my brother a look that suggested she dared him to treat her the same way.
Circling her, he gestured grandly. “If I had chocolate syrup, I’d drizzle it down your back, Joy, right along this bubble butt of yours. It’s perky, round, and unmistakable—even if you try to hide it under that moody pout.” He sprayed a dollop of cream on her backside, then another on her front. “Now, look at that! A proper human cupcake, frosted front and back. Picture-perfect.” He snapped a few photos, chuckling at the visible fury in her eyes.
Next, he turned to me. “Sophie,” he started, grinning as he grabbed the squirty cream, “You’ve got a mouth big enough to hold an entire bottle of cream, but boobs about a third the size of that. Ratio’s off, don’t you think?” He sprayed a puff on my chest, then moved behind me to add another on my backside. “As for your macaroni maker…” He leaned in mockingly. “Let’s just say, it’s the real star of your show, isn’t it?”
I wanted to protest, but Jack held up a finger. “Keep your gob open—don’t swallow, or you’ll lose your cherries too.” He chuckled, grabbing his camera to snap a few shots of me looking mortified, cream dripping onto my chest.
Then, with a flourish, he turned back to address us all. “Now, vanity,” he began, gesturing with the can, “Vanity’s an excessive focus on appearance. You lot get bloated egos being snapped for the camera. I like you to have high self-esteem, but I draw the line at excess vanity. Mum critiques it as counterproductive, and I tend to agree. You’ve makeup, padded bras, and perfumes to make you seem like more than you are. But here? Here I get the real picture.”
He circled back to Mum, gesturing at her with mock seriousness. “Hairy arms, chunky legs, a bum that doesn’t know when to quit—and, of course, the piggy nose. We’ll have to do something about all of that, Mum. Americans have the right of it; subtlety’s overrated. Sometimes, you’ve just got to say it outright.”
Mum’s furious glare returned, and Jack, as if daring her, sprayed another puff of cream on her belly button, “There we go. Cherry on top!”
Jack decorated us with cherries – one on each nipple, one in between Joy’s butt crack and mine. Three in our mouths, and then he managed to get one to rest on the squirty cream over our vaginas.
There was a point that I was so shocked that all I could do was stand there like the Banana in a Cherry’s Jubilee Sundae, with a dumb look on my face. I think all three of us were stunned. It was so audacious that Joy and I both laughed after Mum had a giggle.
“Watch it! Squirty cream in the mouth, ladies, not on the floor! Remember, you’re desserts, not babbling Muppets!” Jack barked, clearly unimpressed.
For clarity’s sake, I should mention that any attempt to speak with the cream in our gobs came out more like muffled mumbles and jumbles. It was ridiculous enough to make us laugh—and, of course, spill more cream down our chests. I am sure we looked like naked dunces to be ridiculed.
It started out sexy, but it was quickly morphing into something else—like he was determined to make us feel like dumb slags who had no choice but to prance about and obey. All except Mum, of course. She thought it was bloody brilliant, grinning like a horny loon and struggling to keep her laughter—and the cream—from spilling out of her gob. She clutched her belly, eyes sparkling like she’d just nicked a bottle of sherry on Christmas morning.
No idea why he’d want pictures of us like that unless it was to whip them out one day just to watch us squirm and burn up all over again. The thought of blackmail didn’t cross my mind—Jack wasn’t that sort, and honestly, I didn’t have anything worth the trouble to bargain for anyway. It was clear he wasn’t scheming; he was just taking the piss, turning us into a pair of starkers jesters, tits out, cream dribbling everywhere, and looking like right fools for his own bloody amusement.
He snapped pictures of us standing like complete freaks – I wasn’t sure what to do with my hands. I hadn’t had any concerns about these pictures leaking out. Every girl on Instagram or snapchat had sent nude selfies -including myself. Naked pictures of me were probably already over the internet and I didn’t care. It wasn’t like I was alone in that.
However, the horrifying thought that these humiliating pictures might make it out started to occur to me. What would people think? These pictures probably weren’t sexy! If anything, they were degrading like being teased and told my boobs were bite-sized.
I wondered if Jack had intended this all along or happened spontaneously upon this idea and it just so happened that it occurred to him that putting us down would keep us from getting bloated egos.
“In primary school, we learned about the sin of vanity—an excessive focus on appearance. Like fretting over knickers or padded bras. Mum critiques this sort of thing as counterproductive, and she’s probably right. It comes naturally to girls—you’re born pretty, and then there’s makeup, padded bras, perfumes—things designed to soften features, to pretty up smells, to make you seem like you’ve got more than you were born with.”
He let the words linger for a moment, then smirked, leaning in slightly as if letting us in on some unspoken truth. “But here, I get to see what’s real. I can smell what your bodies really smell like. The sour fruit between your legs is ripe—sweaty, raw, unadorned. And that’s what’s interesting, isn’t it? If I tease you, it’s not just for the hell of it. It’s to put you in a humbler mindset during modeling. That’s the point—to strip away all the pretenses.”
Jack stepped back, clicking the camera rapidly as his grin widened. “You all look scrumptious, silly—delicious human cupcakes. Don’t worry, though. You’ll get to eat every bit of squirty cream and the cherries when we’re done. Now, stand just like this,” he directed, motioning with his hands for Joy and me to adjust our poses while Mum remained seated.
I wasn’t particularly thrilled to have squirty cream under these conditions!! No one else seemed that way either. I assumed Mum would draw the line here – and so all I had to do was go along with it until he pushed her too far.
He focused on shooting pics of Mum; covered in cream nose, mouth, boobs, belly, and cunny! Even some on her hairy butt. “So, during modeling, if I bring up how much you love to stuff your face with ice cream—well, you won’t be doing it any longer, even outside of modeling, because you’re a chunky monkey, and it takes you down a peg. That’s fair. As a girl, vanity is something that should be stripped away like a diet for the soul, right?” He paused to snap another photo of Mum, her cheeks reddening as the whipped cream melted on her skin. “As long as I’m honest, I won’t embellish. I won’t make things up because lying wouldn’t make you feel like a stuck-up twat.”
He turned to me then, his camera clicking again. “But if I say you, Sophie, got an older boy to take you to a party because he was invited and you weren’t, and he had a car, that’s not a lie, is it?”
I started to make a choking noise, trying to protest. My face burned with shame. “That’s not—”
“Burgess Hill, wasn’t it, Sophie?” Jack interrupted smoothly, clicking more photos as he changed our poses so that Joy and I were standing face-to-face. “I can see from your expression that you remember it well. You ditched him the moment you arrived, found a handsome boy to drive you home, did a bit more with him, and never called him again. I only know because you bragged to Joy about it the next morning, didn’t you? She thought it was hilarious.”
He gestured for us to lean slightly closer to Mum, who was still glaring at him from her seat. “So, if I tease you about that—and it’s true—that’s fair. But outside of modeling, I won’t. Same as if you tease me, I won’t hold it against you later. Deal?” He didn’t wait for a response, snapping another picture as he grinned.
“I can see why men don’t really suffer from vanity,” Jack continued, circling around us. “The boy you ditched—he probably knew he was a loser but thought it was enough that you sat your precious bubble butt in his car. You smelled nice, wore fancy clothes Mum probably had to buy, and look at this place—rickety old chairs and all. Mum says it keeps women from thinking they’re too refined and uppity. Makes honest women out of you.”
He sprayed another puff of cream onto Mum’s chest. “Speaking of honest, whipped cream looks good on you, Mum. Covers up that beastly hair. You were worried you’d be mistaken for a barnyard animal if you had to eat off the floor. I can see why—hairy pits, hairy bits, hairy everywhere. No perfume in here either, so all we’ve got is you.”
We didn’t dare move, though the tension in the air was thick enough to carve. Jack motioned for Joy and me to stand over Mum. “Boob to boob, ladies—think ‘London Bridge.’ You know the one. Oh, I can see it now—Tower Bridge in all its cream-covered glory.” He sniffed theatrically, wrinkling his nose. “And the Thames running beneath? Right here, I’d wager. Proper ripe.”
Joy rolled her eyes but didn’t argue, while I squirmed in place, feeling humiliated.
“That’s honesty,” Jack said, smirking. “Hairy arms, piggy noses, sour faces—oh yes, the Thames herself couldn’t compete with the aroma of women who think they’re too good to be criticized. And what’s Sophie’s big concern? After being told she’d eat her next meal with a belt around her wrists if she misbehaved, she’s worried I’ll call her a name. Oh no!” He pulled an exaggeratedly horrified face, spraying another dollop of cream onto my chest. “Don’t ruin the whipped cream, Sophie. Keep your gob open—don’t swallow, or you’ll lose your cherries too.”
I glared but obeyed as Jack snapped a few more photos, then motioned for me to lean lip-to-lip with Joy. “Now, each of you eat the other’s cherry—proper teamwork, girls.”
I almost dropped my whipped cream – the implication that we were eating each other’s “cherry” wasn’t lost on any of us - this was quite a naughty scenario and there was no way this was "clean fun". It looked like we were going down on each other and having a bit of incestuous girl-on-girl fun.
The fact that my mum was grinning and laughing accentuated the "fun" aspect of it all. I have to admit - my first thought was that if anyone saw the photos they would think that I was a naughty little carpet muncher with my sister and mum.
Joy hesitated but leaned forward reluctantly, and Jack snapped pictures gleefully. Mum’s face was red with outrage, but she said nothing. She looked less like a bimbo in a tavern full of wealthy punters three pints deep and more like someone moments away from flipping the table.
Jack turned to me again. “Then there’s Joy, my precious ice princess. Always pretending to be edgy, but what’s this?” He glanced at me “Did you know she uses your toothbrush, Sophie? Not to brush her crooked teeth – she wipes her bum with it, when she’s mad at you – I know this because she brags about it and seethes.”
Joy looked at me like she was ANGRY at me for learning the secret and then glared at my brother to stare daggers at him for betraying her confidence. I was horrified – this was humiliating enough!
"Joy!" I snapped; my voice sharp enough to cut through the air. "You stuck my toothbrush in your butt? How many times?"
Joy rolled her eyes, barely pausing as she adjusted the whipped cream on her chest like it was a fashion statement. "Oh, please, Sophie," she scoffed. "We just practically made out with cherries in our mouths, and you're hung up on a toothbrush? Relax—I didn’t leave any ‘poopy sprinkles’ on it, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
I should mention that with the squirty cream in her gob, It sounded more like my sister said “Whoa, Pweez, Sofee, weeef, juss praktacallyfftthh..” but I’ve translated it to make it a bit less naff to read.
It seemed like it might be easy to do, except my face was flushed with embarrassment, and all I wanted to do was get rid of the evidence. I am sure the others noticed and thought I was having lusty thoughts and turned on. The truth was I just couldn’t control my runny pussy. I was wet, and the smell of my arousal was obvious – even if someone didn’t notice my sticky thighs.
Now, Jack was capturing it all with his camera, and I was mortified. I tried to politely smile and pretend I wasn’t turned on – it was after all, completely involuntary on my part. The stimulation and being naked was turning me on – even if I was standing there bare arsed with my mum and sister in the mix.
“Stop wriggling about, and trying to blast get your girly cream everywhere, Sophie,” Jack clicked a few snaps directly between to document my humiliation. I instinctively closed my legs, but Jack tapped my thighs and reminded me that I was now his “open book”.
“Stop trying to hide – it won’t do any good, Sophie!” Jack sounded frustrated.
“Should I pull back my quim hair, and pull me bean out so you can have a better look at my quim?” I asked dryly – clearly facetious.
“That would be lovely, but I want a natural shot tis time,” Jack didn’t acknowledge my sarcasm and merely continued to photograph my dripping pussy in its natural state. “In future, I might ask you to groom it a bit more.”
It was as humiliating to photographed while I couldn’t stop my pussy from dripping like a runny nose, and at the same time degrading to have him talk down about my hairy bush.
“For such a thin girl, you’ve got a nice fat gash,” he observed, making me blush even harder.
“Yeah, as open books go – that’s not a pamphlet,” my sister joked, adding that if I ever get pregnant I’d probably have twins simply because of how deep my pussy was.
“You’ve no tinny gapper between your legs, slag,” I countered angrily.
My mom harumphed and told us to stop bickering – “Let Jack do his work and be open books – you’ll see your cunnies soon enough when he lets us review the pictures. You WILL let us review them, won’t you Jack?”
“Sure,” Jack basically ignored my mother and remained focused on snapping pictures around my pussy and even my bum hole – at times, posing me and making me stand in such a way that I fully exposed myself to his camera without touching myself.
The worst part was that now I was gagging to touch myself because I had been thinking about it. It’s like an itch that you can’t scratch, only feel worse because you know you can’t scratch it.
I could imagine the pic of my hairy twat with a proper long sliver of my cum juice now framed in Victoria and Albert Museum in Kensington – memorialized for all time to come. The caption would say ‘Here is Sophie Marsh’s gash, dripping wet because she couldn’t control her naughty thoughts when she was standing naked in her kitchen – others laughing in repose – photograph by Jack Marsh.”
My bum hole puckered and sucked in air – just for the thought that I’d ever see those pictures of my quim drippings again.
Jack didn’t seem all that fussed. Honestly, I couldn’t decide what was worse—standing stark naked with your girly-juice trailing down your thigh while people point and laugh, or someone snapping a picture like you’re a pigeon in Trafalgar Square, then just carrying on, leaving you there like some forgotten statue nobody cares about.
“Legs up on the table, bimbo,” Jack snapped, his tone making it clear there’d be no room for dithering. Joy shot him a look but didn’t argue, shifting to lift her leg like mine and lining herself up behind me. “Get close enough that your quim is almost directly behind Sophie’s tight little bum -if she so much as lights a dainty fart – I want you to feel the wind, Joy! Let’s get on with it unless you fancy being here till tea,” he added, a sharp edge to his voice. “And I’d advise you to mind the gap.”
“The one between her legs, or the one between her and her sister,” Mum asked with a hearty laugh and a lusty expression like a deviant horn bag. Joy merely glanced over her shoulder as she placed her body close enough to me that we were almost touching. “Oh, get over it - little teasing never harmed anyone, Dear!”
‘A director who has to listen to a babbling dribbler like you direct his models might harm someone,’ Jack seethed at Mum for talking. Whether he meant it as a joke or not – that’s how she took it when she giggled and apologized. “You’ll be the central star for our little London Bridge exhibit, Joanne -I like your enthusiasm, but I’ll have to gag you with a dirty dishrag if you can’t manage to shut it!”
Mum chirped a quick, ‘Sorry, Jack!’ but I wasn’t so sure he was joking about the dish rag. His tone wasn’t playful—it had that edge, the kind that made you straighten up a bit, even if you weren’t sure why. If Mum had somehow morphed into a playful trollop, Jack had undergone his own transformation—straight into a proper bastard
He’d started the morning strict, determined, and now he was running the room like a proper Soho pimp in Piccadilly Circus—‘arses here, tits there, no talking, just smiling!’ It was all a bit much, but none of us dared say so out loud.
We were like naked props, he had little time and patience to actually talk to.
My big sister was surprisingly limber – she had her leg much higher, and straighter than I could manage. I’ve never seen her do Yoga or stretching exercises. Up went her sexy long leg on the table, and he removed her shoes. “We’ll need these toenails polished and trimmed!”
Mom spoke up to answer Jack’s question about ground rules. We were able to pose and talk at the same time and had been all afternoon. “I won’t make the same mistake of lecturing you girls today like I did this morning around the telly. That cost me my tea at lunch—and you know, it was a small thing to some, but it shocked me to be told I couldn’t have something I wanted, and I’m used to. Here I was, preaching about women being self-indulgent and expecting things, not realizing I do that too. I never really thought about it until Jack had the nerve to call me out.
“So, yeah, I’m not Mum while we’re doing this—I’m just Joanne. I won’t say boo to you girls either—it’s on Jack to be the director. But, Jack, let me ask you this: let’s say my darling daughters, who I love dearly but also sometimes want to wring their lovely necks, decide to start bickering and teasing each other. Are you going to tell me I have to go back to being Mum during the session and sort it out, or do I deal with it after?”
Joy smirked, her voice dripping with mock accusation as she shifted slightly in her pose. “Oh really? So, let’s say I call you a dirty perv for how you’ve got your hand close to my quim right now, making little circling motions with your fingers. Giving me goosebumps and chills—how are you going to sort that, Jack?” She wasn’t angry, far from it. There was a flicker of excitement in her eyes, her breathing shallow, almost expectant. His fingers hovered near her labia, deliberate but never quite crossing a line. Her nipples were stiff, goosebumps rising on her skin.
I couldn’t decide how I felt about it. Watching Joy like this—so openly affected—made me wonder if I’d want Jack to touch me the same way -or even let him. On the one hand, he was my brother, but on the other... I felt a pang of jealousy. I was already drippy, but I craved a thrill—a moment like hers that might send a shiver down my spine.
Jack didn't pull away when she called him out for touching so close – it wasn’t just touching either. He was running his finger in delicate little circles right outside her pussy lip. If anything, in defiance to being called out, he moved his fingers on to her pussy lips.
My sister’s eyes went wide – like she’d be goosed, but she didn’t pull her leg off the table.
Jack had brushed our orifices or nipples lightly posing us before - never gratuitously, but he'd not apologized or acted like it was an accident, either. He'd also posed us in such a way we were touching - standing nipple to nipple, butt to butt - close embraces - so we'd do a lot more touching of each other than I'd ever done in my life.
"That's why I am talking about ground rules now, Joy - you are my model, I'll pose you and prepare you – that’s how this will work. In order to do that, I may have you touch Joanne or Sophie in a way that as sisters you may find awkward - but as models with no inhibitions, no barriers, you'll just get on with it, for the shot. I want your goosebumps, I want you aroused; look at Sophie over there - raw, female energy – excited.
All eyes were on my pussy – now almost like a big wad of spit -the collected dripping of my pussy was hanging off my lips. I looked pitiful, I am sure – horny and pitiful.
“I want you to look like you are thrilled - sometimes it's not touching, it's the anticipation of being touched- the tease that it never comes, other times, I may have to pinch your nipples and give them a twist" He reached up casually with one hand, and gave Joy's nipples a tweak so fast she couldn't react.”
"Hey!" Sophie called out -like she was going to smack him, but she didn’t.
"Hey What? you are my model, quim, tits, arse, face, shoulders, legs, all of it - you are an open book, and I want to film you three turned on and ready -so to answer your question, I am not sure what I'd do if you called me a filthy pervert
“If you’re having a laugh, and we’re in the middle of it like now, I might laugh along with you. If you’re doing it because I want you to act like you’re being treated rough by a filthy pervert—I’d have encouraged you to yell it at the top of your lungs! But if you’re doing it to be disruptive, degrade me, and waste our time, I’d say I’d put you in the corner with the soap—this time for real. Leave you there for a bit, maybe twenty minutes. Then, I’d have you turn around, hold yourself here at the table just like you are now—since this is where you said it—and apologize to me properly.”
He leaned in slightly, his tone sharpening. “You’d tell me what you did wrong, what you won’t do in the future, and thank me for straightening you up. Earlier, when Joanne was saying how, left to your own devices, you’d be bickering with Sophie and doing bugger all today anyway, your apology was basically that you thought it went without saying. I photographed Joanne’s face this morning when you two were giving your faint little apologies. I captured the look of disappointment when you didn’t even use the word ‘I’m sorry.’ I can tell you; she didn’t see it as an apology—but she let you get away with a half-ass one. I won’t.”
Jack didn’t pause, running his hand purposefully along Joy’s skin. “You’ll be whole assing during modeling—and I’m asking, if I hold Joanne to the same standard, are you going to test me and find out?”
Mum, standing nearby, let out a soft laugh, warmer than mocking. “Look, I don’t care what you lot say about this – it’s always been my fantasy to be photographed in the nude! I’ve never thought about running around the house with my knickers off, and then Jack suggested we do some pictures today. You two bickering and arguing, and the three of you teasing each other is the norm most of the time – if we can have less of that – I’m in and you both are as well. If Jack can get a proper apology out of you – then that would stand all the time – not just for the modeling sessions. I’d love it!”
Joy held her pose but shifted slightly, her tone sharp but not combative. “Look, it’s not like I’ve been dreaming of being manhandled by my little brother, alright? And yes, fine—I’m wet. So’s Sophie. It doesn’t mean you’re turning me on, Jack; I just want that clear. I can’t control it, but it’s not the point. I ASKED to put soap in my mouth earlier for a prop, so it’s not like that’s some huge punishment to me. Do you really think sticking me in the corner with a bar of soap is going to teach me anything?”
Mum chuckled, leaning slightly on the counter as her eyes darted between Joy and Jack. “It’s gotta be a meaty enough consequence you’d think twice, love. Losing my tea did it for me—and you know how I get without it. So, tell us—what would make you think twice about cussing out your brother if soap in the mouth won’t bother ya?”
Mum raised a brow, her tone light but pointed, clearly expecting Joy to come up with something she couldn’t easily shrug off. “Let’s hear it, Joy. Got a better idea?”
"Whatever I come up with would be the same for all three of us, then? Even Mum?"
"So much so, that I want you to address her as Joanne during modeling. She's a fellow model, and she can't say boo to you about your behavior," Jack smiled, his fingers drifting in the crack of her bubble butt while his other hand painted tiny circles on the outside of her raven-haired quim, goosebumps appearing on the base of her neck.
"Ooh, what do you think about that, Joanne? Are you still fine with being treated like one of the girls during modeling?" she asked her Mum, clearly thinking she wouldn't agree.
"Ach! It's fine if Jack does it, he's my director, but you girls? How will you respect me if you call me Joanne? Next, you'll be calling me slag and chav and slut like you do each other! This was a punishment for you, we were talking about Joy—I wouldn’t insult your brother, so even if you said scrubbing the toilets with your toothbrush, it wouldn’t apply to me."
“Nope, no negotiation," Jack stated firmly, his hand casually drifting further along Joy's thigh, fingers teasingly brushing close to her quim. "You've already agreed you're an open book when modeling, and the book's title is Joanne. If you aren't going to intimidate them like Mum and say boo to them, you’re one of the girls."
Mum hesitated for a fraction of a second, her expression shifting slightly. "Right then," she said, her tone measured but agreeable. "Only during modeling!"
"And you're fine with him giving you goosebumps like this, Joanne?" Joy asked coolly, her foot still perched on the table, her tone dripping with mock innocence as Jack continued his light touches. She stood frozen, a mix of defiance and submission, daring Mum to contradict herself.
Mum drew in a breath, her posture steady. "I am an open book," she said evenly, her gaze meeting Joy’s. "And I’m one of the girls. her tone softened slightly, But, I’ll admit, hearing you call me Joanne is going to take some getting used to."
“You won’t hear me complain if you want to quit, Joanne," Joy said, her voice steady, though her breathing betrayed a hint of nerves. "I’m sure almost every inch of my body has been touched, photographed, and breathed on. I don’t even know what fascinates Jack about me—I’m not exactly the hottest looking girl. Pretty ordinary, really.”
“I’ll be the judge of that,” Jack said, his touch growing bolder as three fingers gripped the line of her butt crack while the other hand grazed her nether regions with deliberate care. “I’m not here to film a Barbie—I want raw, unfiltered passion. No barriers, no holding back. Lusty, aroused—that’s what I’m after. And I think we’re almost there,” he added, his voice low with determination.
“Well, if Mum—or ehm, Joanne—is in for this treatment too, and she’s fine being called Joanne, I’d do it just for the privilege of seeing her cringe every time I say her name. But if you’re asking for a punishment that’s a real deterrent, I’d say it’s harder to think of one than having my leg up on the table, my little brother's hands wandering fumbles around trying to edge me to arousal, leaving me all hot and flustered with no one to actually be satisfied.”
"I’ve not had a man ever show that kind of interest in getting me to that state; it’s hardly a punishment, Joy," Mum said with a lusty laugh. "You were bragging about what you do up in your room—have a row with yourself later tonight and finish it off. The anticipation will make it better."
"This is definitely not meant to punish you, Joy! And it's gonna be happening a lot—so I don't want you to think of this as a bad thing. Touching is fine," Jack decided.
Joy gave him a look of exasperation mixed with embarrassment. "Well, if you're going to do it, can I ask you to stop touching my butt and put your hand here?" She grabbed his hand, moving it to her breast. Her cheeks flushed, and she avoided his gaze. "Just rub circles—don't squeeze or maul—delicate, like you’re doing below. We’ll get there faster. I might not even think to call you a name after that..."
“Joy!” I gasped, incredulous at her boldness.
“What?” she shot back. “It’s like giving a handie on the bus to London and stepping on the bloke’s foot instead! I’d rather he just tell me to stroke him at a medium pace!”
Mum’s eyes widened, her voice rising in shock. “Caw, Joy! Have you ever given a handie on the bus to London?”
I knew full well she had—she’d bragged about it to me before, alongside tales of her escapades at clubs. She looked defiant, a sly grin creeping across her face.
“That’s the kind of energy I want you to bring to this scene, Joy,” Jack said, shifting his grip and following her instructions. He began to work her breast as she requested, his voice steady and coaxing. “Think about it—sitting down next to a stranger on the bus. You reach under his coat, unzip him. There are people around, and some of them are watching—they have no idea where your hand is.”
Mum laughed heartily, throwing her head back. “Blimey, that’s making me want to ride that bus!”
Jack turned his focus back to Joy, his tone firm but playful. “But first, tell me—what punishment do you think would be fair if you call me a name and disrupt the session?”
Joy huffed, clearly trying to enjoy the moment despite the intrusive question. “You’re still on about that? You say ‘fair,’ but you’d get to tease me, so the punishment would only apply to the three of us—not you!”
Jack abruptly pulled his hand away from Joy, leaving her trembling slightly, clearly affected. When her hand started to drift toward her own body, he slapped it away with a firm, “Simmer.”
“More like seethe,” Joy muttered under her breath, though she made no move to challenge him further besides saying that was unfair and pouting. How do you think I feel? I was left out of the conversation, long strand of climax juice dripping almost 12 inches off of my quim and all I could do was stand there and wait for it to finally hit the ground.
Jack took a few quick snaps of both me and my sister before moving on to turn his attention to Mum. “Right, Joanne, let’s get your engine started.” He guided her to sit in her kitchen chair, both legs up and spread – hairy gash wide open.
Mum flushed deeply, her hands gripping the edges of the chair for balance. Jack’s touch was deliberate and slow, drawing reactions she couldn’t hide. “Ooh, oh… um, this is hard to talk and let you do that… oh my…” Her voice trailed off, a mix of embarrassment and pleasure coloring her words. Mum exhaled, a deliberate pause before she spoke. “Look, this is new for all of us, yeah? I didn’t expect to have my bumhole and cunny open like this today -while you two gawk at me getting a thrill.”
“Neither did we, Mum...” I said defensively, before the two of them corrected me and reminded me to call our mother Joanne. It felt so wrong when I heard myself say it out loud – she was “mum” to me.
Jack grabbed mum’s boobs and started to shake her big tits – just touching them like ripe cantaloupe while Mum grinned at him. He reminded her that she was now an open book while she giggled and let him have his fun smacking her boobs together. He let her do it for him while he took snaps. I thought it would be intensely humiliating for my mum to jiggle her tits like they were party favors, but she seemed to thrive on the attention her fat jugs were earning her.
“I just thought we’d have a stress free time taking snaps and feeling free and naughty – you are both old enough to get a thrill from it – and obviously, there are things I didn’t know about your habits, Joy,” she said alluding to the hand job on the bus. “If following Jack’s rules helps cut down on the usual bickering and sulking between you two, then I’m willing to give it a shot. It’s not like we’re doing this all day, every day—it’s just during modeling. And frankly, we could all stand to benefit from a bit of structure for once.”
She straightened up slightly, brushing her hair back, as if composing herself. “I’ve let things slide too often, and where has that got us? Nowhere good, that’s where. I don’t do enough to stop the squabbling, and that’s on me. I let it go because it’s easier, but all that does is spoil you both and make the behavior worse. I haven’t been firm enough, and the truth is, you’ve taken advantage of that.”
Mum’s voice softened, but there was no mistaking the self-awareness in her tone. “I’m not saying I’m better than you—I’m just as guilty. I get indulgent, I pout when I don’t get my way, and I can be as petty as either of you -talk, talk, and more talk.”
Jack reached down between my mother’s legs and pinched her clit.
“OOH, not there,” she called out, but the look on her face was that she liked it. Jack continued pushing on it and she made a face somewhere between pained and orgasm. He had to stabilize her ankles because her restless leg shaking was making the table shake causing all of our asses to shake with it.
“It’s part of being a woman, isn’t it? The vanity, the nagging, the indulgence—we’re wired for it in some ways. That’s why I’m saying yes to this—modeling, being treated like one of the girls. It lets Jack take charge and means I’m not stuck letting my own habits or stubbornness get in the way of what we’re trying to do.”
Mum glanced at Joy, her eyes narrowing slightly as she continued. “But we can’t let this fall apart because of our usual nonsense. Joy, your constant jabs and name-calling spark bickering that spreads like wildfire. Sophie, you sulk and pout the second things don’t go your way, dragging everyone else into your mood. And me? I’ve been indulgent and lazy, letting it slide instead of stepping in to keep order. Girls like us are naturally prone to drama, vanity, and pushing boundaries. Without clear rules, we’d turn this into a mess of jealousy and power plays.”
She folded her arms, leaning back slightly. “Discipline isn’t about being unfair—it’s about keeping us honest. Boys don’t have these tendencies the way we do, so if it’s just us models who aren’t allowed to disrupt the sessions, that’s exactly how it should be. Jack is directing—he decides when we take a break. If treating me like one of the girls helps him keep all of us—myself included—focused and cooperative, then it’s exactly what we need to make this work. I’m not just fine with it—I’m all for it,” Mum finished firmly.
Despite her words, it was clear she was struggling to concentrate—her hands twitched slightly, and her gaze flicked between Joy and Jack as though trying to find her grounding. Every time she tried to touch herself for relief, Jack smacked her hand away, the sharp slap echoing like a reprimand.
She looked back at us, her voice steady but pointed. “Modeling is fantasy time. If Jack says I’m a butterfly, a slut, or anything else, then I’ll play the part. But we need rules—real ones—so we don’t ruin it with jealousy, laziness, or bickering. We’ve all seen what happens when I let things slide, and it’s never pretty. If treating me the same keeps us on track, I’m not just fine with it—I’m for it.”
Mum’s expression hardened as she turned her attention to Joy, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. “I know you girls love all that ‘girl power’ talk, but it’s not as simple as that. A little discipline, a little accountability, never hurt anyone—especially not women. Sometimes, we need a kick in the backside to remember we’re not above the rules.”
Her voice dropped slightly, but her tone remained sharp. “So, Joy, if soap in the mouth isn’t enough to make you think twice, then pick something that’ll actually make you cringe, seethe, or whatever it is goth girls do. Because I’m not letting you off easy just because you’d rather pout than own up to it.”
“Spice Girls are 20 years ago, Joanne,” Joy quipped, clearly enjoying the way calling her ‘Joanne’ made Mum squirm slightly. Although, to be honest, it was hard to tell if it was Jack’s touch or the name. “So, you’re saying because I have a gash, my brother is better than me?
"You’re like Sophie with the tea—you keep poking and prodding until I stop beating around the bush and just say it. I envy Americans sometimes, you know. They can just blurt things out, even if it cuts deep. You’re not going to like what I have to say, Joy—but yes. When I was growing up, girls got the last of everything, and we were told to be grateful for it—or we got nothing at all. My family was so big, we ate in shifts because there weren’t enough seats. The men, my Mum, and the boys ate at the table. The girls scraped their leftovers into portions and ate standing up. Just like today when we grabbed the scraps off Jack’s plate. I hadn’t thought about Blackpool in years until now."
Mum licked her lips; Jack wasn’t subtle at all about touching her body – and she wasn’t subtle about liking it. Mum was grinning like a ninny – basking in being touched. I am sure it was ages since she had a proper shag after dad left. I’ve never seen her date. He fingered our Mum – penetrating. I couldn’t see it because the pubes, but I could see her face. “Oi Jack, you might have warned me about that,” she said. I couldn’t believe I was watching this happen – the same woman who said she’d punish me this morning if she caught me having a wank in my room!
“I wanted to see your surprise,” Jack snapped pictures with his other hand – pushing a single fingertip into Mum’s pussy. The moment her hands went to her crotch to help, he withdrew his finger and slapped them away. Mum reluctantly put her hands low to her side, so that he would continue.
Her voice cracked slightly, but she pressed on, her tone sharp. "You’re already testing me by calling me Joanne—and it’s working. I nearly lost it a moment ago. So, if you’re wondering, yeah—maybe if I’d been born with a cock and raised to lead, I’d be a proper role model. But I wasn’t. I’m not. Go on, then, Joy. Tease me about Joanne. Call me Crumpy-Bumpy Big Fat Goat Humpy like the other lasses did in Blackpool. But we’re all sitting here waiting on pins and needles for you to tell us what you think is worse than soap in the mouth in the corner. Because if you’re fine with that and think it’s no problem, I might just start doing it when we’re not modeling!"
Fine, it’s fun to be able to tease Jack, so are you saying even an off-handed goof like ‘Saint Jack’ or ‘King Jack’ is going to get me in hot water?”
Jack’s gaze hardened for a moment, his voice cutting through her playful teasing. “I hate ‘King Jack’ and ‘Saint Jack’ more than anything. One implies I’m some sort of lord and master, which clearly you don’t think I am. The other makes me look like a brown-noser, lapping up to Mum’s ass. So, yeah, I’d say those names, in particular, would get you punished! It seems like you talked a big game though – you said you weren’t afraid of having a bar of soap in your mouth and being put in the corner as a consequence for being disruptive during modeling,” Jack said.
“ And if I say something outside of modeling, you won’t make me face your judgment, almighty penis man?” she teased, her tone dripping with mockery.”
“Almighty penis man? Because I wasn’t born with a slit? Calling me that is definitely punishable, but we haven’t made any decisions – and I’ll grant you that’s clever, Joy. Outside of modeling, you’re free to call me whatever the hell you want—be a complete c-word if you like. Joanne won’t do anything about it, and that’s not likely to change – it’s more work than it’s worth to play referee all day,” He answered patiently.
“We’re just talking about modeling; as much as I’d like to promise I’d make you three apologize, put you in the corner and all that – I know I am really not the disciplinarian type, and I am just as guilty of having a go at you three when you have a go at me. All I’ll say is this, if ya starting cracking on me as Joanne, when I am outside of modeling, I may just enforce whatever Joy suggests is the proper consequence!”
He left Mum high and dry, but we continued the conversation - he told her definitely not to touch herself. “That would be punishable as well! No making macaroni and cheese without permission,” he said as he put his head in the fridge and told us he was getting our dessert ready.
I was famished, and I have a sweet tooth – that long strand of cunt dripping just kept elongating and expanding. I wiggled a little hoping that I could snap the long slender spider-like web hanging from my clit off. I was a bit suspicious he was thinking of dessert while we were in a humiliating pose like this.
Joanne sighed, glancing between them. “We’re just talking about modeling here. As much as I’d love to stand firm and say I’d make you three apologize, stick you in the corner, and all that, I’m really not the disciplinarian type. Let’s face it—I’m just as guilty of snapping at you when you snap at me. But here’s the deal—if you start cracking on me as Joanne outside of modeling, I might just go along with whatever Joy reckons is the proper consequence.”
Joy leaned back with a sly grin, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Oh, so it’s up to me then? Fine—take away our tea. That’ll really put us in line.”
“No, Joy. You’re dodging – I think you are scared to actually say what might work as a deterrent for bad behavior? Something that’ll make you think twice. You said soap in the mouth wouldn’t faze you, and I doubt a couple of slices of bread will bother you either. So, what would remind you not to push it? And don’t look at me—it’s up to Joanne,” Jack decided.
“Not bloody likely,” Mum outright rejected the idea of approving the punishment. I am the only one of the girls who loves tea, and I can’t be objective – I am not the director. If it’s strict enough they’ll actually take it seriously, and we all three have to do it when we break the rules – that’s fair enough.”
Jack came back to the table with a can of squirty cream, maraschino cherries, and a bowl of ice cubes—making me wonder about the promised dessert. This was not going to pan out well for us, I reckoned.
"Fine," Joy said with a sly grin, clearly wanting to push boundaries. "Since Jack is in charge of the food, then the next meal—unless we have a guest or something—the model remains nude whether it’s modeling or not, hands tied with a belt behind her back, and eats whatever Jack decides is the meal—face only. Bend over—clean the plate. If it’s that squirty cream and cherries, you’d eat it face first."
We were stunned. Jack raised his eyebrows, momentarily taken aback. Mum opened her mouth to say something, then closed it, clearly struggling to process the suggestion.
“How would we even drink at the table like that?” I asked, genuinely curious despite how ridiculous it sounded.
Jack didn’t miss a beat. “I suppose I’d have Mum set out a bowl of water. You’d dunk your face in it. Good for washing off bits of food too—and whatever we serve would have to be cut up or mashed, like cold oats.”
Joy’s grin widened as she looked at me, then at Mum. I could tell she was enjoying the reactions, and frankly, I wasn’t sure if she was joking or being serious. Either way, the thought of actually doing it made my stomach flip.
“We’d have to eat oats, with tea in a bowl like some barnyard animal, dear?” Mum finally said, her voice unusually high-pitched.
“Nah, barnyard animals eat off the floor. You’d still get a table—but no tea if you’re being punished. Not even a third of a cup,” Jack replied as he shook up the squirty cream canister.
I had no clue what he was planning to do with it. My sister and I had huffed the nitrous out of a squirty cream canister before and gotten an earful from Mum for it. My first thought was that he was about to do a whippet himself – no inkling that he might spray one of us down with it.
He walked around the table and sprayed a generous mound of cream over Mum’s nipples, making sure to completely cover both of her massive boulders. My mom looked down at herself, grinning with amusement. I couldn’t believe she would let Jack cover her in squirty cream!!
“Jack!!”Mum couldn’t believe my audacity.
He sprayed my sister’s boobs, covering them with squirty cream. My sister knotted her brow, “Really?”
When she went to lick the cream, he smacked her hand and said, “All in good time! dessert will be served!”
My sister frowned at him like he cut a fart and walked away from it-leaving her to smell it as he turned to me next.
He roughly lifted one of my tiny boobs, sprayed it until my puffy nipple was completely covered, then did the same to the other – like I was a living bowl to be decorated for a Banana split. It was more cream than I needed—probably twice as much as Mum—but that didn’t stop him. He was having fun making a mess out of me.
I blushed so hard, and the worst part was as he pinched and tugged around my tits – I found myself getting wet. They might have been small, but they were quite sensitive. He treated them like they were simply ornaments to be covered in cream for his photograph and not a sexual part of my body.
“And because you’re a boy, observations about my body are allowed all the time?” I shot at him, rolling my eyes.
Yep, because there are times I may want to wind you up, tease you a little, like with Joanne,” Jack said, rubbing Mum’s tummy and giving it a playful push, making it ripple like an old waterbed. She laughed, but her expression soured as he went on, “She’s chunky! Today I put her on a diet, but what I should’ve said is she’s a chubby-wubby crumpy baby!”
Mum glared at him, her nostrils flaring in indignation. “Don’t you dare—”
Before she could finish, Jack sprayed squirty cream right into my Mum’s open mouth before she could close it. “Don’t swallow yet! Want cherries? Hold on until I’ve got the scene set!” he said, snapping a few pictures of her, mid-outrage, cream-filled mouth agape like a roasted pig with an apple.
He turned to Joy next, stepping back to size her up as she frowned. “Joy, it’s tough to tease you because, let’s face it, you’re bloody gorgeous. But if I’m honest, you’ve got the face of an Addams Family extra—beautiful, sure, but not a hint of a smile. All brooding and sour, like someone pinched your favorite makeup palette.”
Joy’s glare deepened, but before she could snap back, Jack squirted cream into her mouth, cutting her off. “Keep that sourpuss open, or you’ll be wearing a belt to your next meal.”
I was terrified – wondering what Jack was going to do next? I expected Mum or Joy to put a stop to this -it was more than a bit much! However, for Mum’s part, she seemed to think it was amusing and Joy kept giving my brother a look that suggested she dared him to treat her the same way.
Circling her, he gestured grandly. “If I had chocolate syrup, I’d drizzle it down your back, Joy, right along this bubble butt of yours. It’s perky, round, and unmistakable—even if you try to hide it under that moody pout.” He sprayed a dollop of cream on her backside, then another on her front. “Now, look at that! A proper human cupcake, frosted front and back. Picture-perfect.” He snapped a few photos, chuckling at the visible fury in her eyes.
Next, he turned to me. “Sophie,” he started, grinning as he grabbed the squirty cream, “You’ve got a mouth big enough to hold an entire bottle of cream, but boobs about a third the size of that. Ratio’s off, don’t you think?” He sprayed a puff on my chest, then moved behind me to add another on my backside. “As for your macaroni maker…” He leaned in mockingly. “Let’s just say, it’s the real star of your show, isn’t it?”
I wanted to protest, but Jack held up a finger. “Keep your gob open—don’t swallow, or you’ll lose your cherries too.” He chuckled, grabbing his camera to snap a few shots of me looking mortified, cream dripping onto my chest.
Then, with a flourish, he turned back to address us all. “Now, vanity,” he began, gesturing with the can, “Vanity’s an excessive focus on appearance. You lot get bloated egos being snapped for the camera. I like you to have high self-esteem, but I draw the line at excess vanity. Mum critiques it as counterproductive, and I tend to agree. You’ve makeup, padded bras, and perfumes to make you seem like more than you are. But here? Here I get the real picture.”
He circled back to Mum, gesturing at her with mock seriousness. “Hairy arms, chunky legs, a bum that doesn’t know when to quit—and, of course, the piggy nose. We’ll have to do something about all of that, Mum. Americans have the right of it; subtlety’s overrated. Sometimes, you’ve just got to say it outright.”
Mum’s furious glare returned, and Jack, as if daring her, sprayed another puff of cream on her belly button, “There we go. Cherry on top!”
Jack decorated us with cherries – one on each nipple, one in between Joy’s butt crack and mine. Three in our mouths, and then he managed to get one to rest on the squirty cream over our vaginas.
There was a point that I was so shocked that all I could do was stand there like the Banana in a Cherry’s Jubilee Sundae, with a dumb look on my face. I think all three of us were stunned. It was so audacious that Joy and I both laughed after Mum had a giggle.
“Watch it! Squirty cream in the mouth, ladies, not on the floor! Remember, you’re desserts, not babbling Muppets!” Jack barked, clearly unimpressed.
For clarity’s sake, I should mention that any attempt to speak with the cream in our gobs came out more like muffled mumbles and jumbles. It was ridiculous enough to make us laugh—and, of course, spill more cream down our chests. I am sure we looked like naked dunces to be ridiculed.
It started out sexy, but it was quickly morphing into something else—like he was determined to make us feel like dumb slags who had no choice but to prance about and obey. All except Mum, of course. She thought it was bloody brilliant, grinning like a horny loon and struggling to keep her laughter—and the cream—from spilling out of her gob. She clutched her belly, eyes sparkling like she’d just nicked a bottle of sherry on Christmas morning.
No idea why he’d want pictures of us like that unless it was to whip them out one day just to watch us squirm and burn up all over again. The thought of blackmail didn’t cross my mind—Jack wasn’t that sort, and honestly, I didn’t have anything worth the trouble to bargain for anyway. It was clear he wasn’t scheming; he was just taking the piss, turning us into a pair of starkers jesters, tits out, cream dribbling everywhere, and looking like right fools for his own bloody amusement.
He snapped pictures of us standing like complete freaks – I wasn’t sure what to do with my hands. I hadn’t had any concerns about these pictures leaking out. Every girl on Instagram or snapchat had sent nude selfies -including myself. Naked pictures of me were probably already over the internet and I didn’t care. It wasn’t like I was alone in that.
However, the horrifying thought that these humiliating pictures might make it out started to occur to me. What would people think? These pictures probably weren’t sexy! If anything, they were degrading like being teased and told my boobs were bite-sized.
I wondered if Jack had intended this all along or happened spontaneously upon this idea and it just so happened that it occurred to him that putting us down would keep us from getting bloated egos.
“In primary school, we learned about the sin of vanity—an excessive focus on appearance. Like fretting over knickers or padded bras. Mum critiques this sort of thing as counterproductive, and she’s probably right. It comes naturally to girls—you’re born pretty, and then there’s makeup, padded bras, perfumes—things designed to soften features, to pretty up smells, to make you seem like you’ve got more than you were born with.”
He let the words linger for a moment, then smirked, leaning in slightly as if letting us in on some unspoken truth. “But here, I get to see what’s real. I can smell what your bodies really smell like. The sour fruit between your legs is ripe—sweaty, raw, unadorned. And that’s what’s interesting, isn’t it? If I tease you, it’s not just for the hell of it. It’s to put you in a humbler mindset during modeling. That’s the point—to strip away all the pretenses.”
Jack stepped back, clicking the camera rapidly as his grin widened. “You all look scrumptious, silly—delicious human cupcakes. Don’t worry, though. You’ll get to eat every bit of squirty cream and the cherries when we’re done. Now, stand just like this,” he directed, motioning with his hands for Joy and me to adjust our poses while Mum remained seated.
I wasn’t particularly thrilled to have squirty cream under these conditions!! No one else seemed that way either. I assumed Mum would draw the line here – and so all I had to do was go along with it until he pushed her too far.
He focused on shooting pics of Mum; covered in cream nose, mouth, boobs, belly, and cunny! Even some on her hairy butt. “So, during modeling, if I bring up how much you love to stuff your face with ice cream—well, you won’t be doing it any longer, even outside of modeling, because you’re a chunky monkey, and it takes you down a peg. That’s fair. As a girl, vanity is something that should be stripped away like a diet for the soul, right?” He paused to snap another photo of Mum, her cheeks reddening as the whipped cream melted on her skin. “As long as I’m honest, I won’t embellish. I won’t make things up because lying wouldn’t make you feel like a stuck-up twat.”
He turned to me then, his camera clicking again. “But if I say you, Sophie, got an older boy to take you to a party because he was invited and you weren’t, and he had a car, that’s not a lie, is it?”
I started to make a choking noise, trying to protest. My face burned with shame. “That’s not—”
“Burgess Hill, wasn’t it, Sophie?” Jack interrupted smoothly, clicking more photos as he changed our poses so that Joy and I were standing face-to-face. “I can see from your expression that you remember it well. You ditched him the moment you arrived, found a handsome boy to drive you home, did a bit more with him, and never called him again. I only know because you bragged to Joy about it the next morning, didn’t you? She thought it was hilarious.”
He gestured for us to lean slightly closer to Mum, who was still glaring at him from her seat. “So, if I tease you about that—and it’s true—that’s fair. But outside of modeling, I won’t. Same as if you tease me, I won’t hold it against you later. Deal?” He didn’t wait for a response, snapping another picture as he grinned.
“I can see why men don’t really suffer from vanity,” Jack continued, circling around us. “The boy you ditched—he probably knew he was a loser but thought it was enough that you sat your precious bubble butt in his car. You smelled nice, wore fancy clothes Mum probably had to buy, and look at this place—rickety old chairs and all. Mum says it keeps women from thinking they’re too refined and uppity. Makes honest women out of you.”
He sprayed another puff of cream onto Mum’s chest. “Speaking of honest, whipped cream looks good on you, Mum. Covers up that beastly hair. You were worried you’d be mistaken for a barnyard animal if you had to eat off the floor. I can see why—hairy pits, hairy bits, hairy everywhere. No perfume in here either, so all we’ve got is you.”
We didn’t dare move, though the tension in the air was thick enough to carve. Jack motioned for Joy and me to stand over Mum. “Boob to boob, ladies—think ‘London Bridge.’ You know the one. Oh, I can see it now—Tower Bridge in all its cream-covered glory.” He sniffed theatrically, wrinkling his nose. “And the Thames running beneath? Right here, I’d wager. Proper ripe.”
Joy rolled her eyes but didn’t argue, while I squirmed in place, feeling humiliated.
“That’s honesty,” Jack said, smirking. “Hairy arms, piggy noses, sour faces—oh yes, the Thames herself couldn’t compete with the aroma of women who think they’re too good to be criticized. And what’s Sophie’s big concern? After being told she’d eat her next meal with a belt around her wrists if she misbehaved, she’s worried I’ll call her a name. Oh no!” He pulled an exaggeratedly horrified face, spraying another dollop of cream onto my chest. “Don’t ruin the whipped cream, Sophie. Keep your gob open—don’t swallow, or you’ll lose your cherries too.”
I glared but obeyed as Jack snapped a few more photos, then motioned for me to lean lip-to-lip with Joy. “Now, each of you eat the other’s cherry—proper teamwork, girls.”
I almost dropped my whipped cream – the implication that we were eating each other’s “cherry” wasn’t lost on any of us - this was quite a naughty scenario and there was no way this was "clean fun". It looked like we were going down on each other and having a bit of incestuous girl-on-girl fun.
The fact that my mum was grinning and laughing accentuated the "fun" aspect of it all. I have to admit - my first thought was that if anyone saw the photos they would think that I was a naughty little carpet muncher with my sister and mum.
Joy hesitated but leaned forward reluctantly, and Jack snapped pictures gleefully. Mum’s face was red with outrage, but she said nothing. She looked less like a bimbo in a tavern full of wealthy punters three pints deep and more like someone moments away from flipping the table.
Jack turned to me again. “Then there’s Joy, my precious ice princess. Always pretending to be edgy, but what’s this?” He glanced at me “Did you know she uses your toothbrush, Sophie? Not to brush her crooked teeth – she wipes her bum with it, when she’s mad at you – I know this because she brags about it and seethes.”
Joy looked at me like she was ANGRY at me for learning the secret and then glared at my brother to stare daggers at him for betraying her confidence. I was horrified – this was humiliating enough!
"Joy!" I snapped; my voice sharp enough to cut through the air. "You stuck my toothbrush in your butt? How many times?"
Joy rolled her eyes, barely pausing as she adjusted the whipped cream on her chest like it was a fashion statement. "Oh, please, Sophie," she scoffed. "We just practically made out with cherries in our mouths, and you're hung up on a toothbrush? Relax—I didn’t leave any ‘poopy sprinkles’ on it, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
I should mention that with the squirty cream in her gob, It sounded more like my sister said “Whoa, Pweez, Sofee, weeef, juss praktacallyfftthh..” but I’ve translated it to make it a bit less naff to read.