Little Titties
by EddieDavidson

It was Friday night, and I had a dick in my mouth in the front seat of my boyfriend’s car. I know that is a pretty wild place to start a story, but I think it is where I’ll begin. It wasn’t my first time giving a BJ, and there wasn’t anything particularly magical about my technique.

I couldn’t deep throat, without gagging myself. I wasn’t particularly keen on swallowing, even though I knew guys liked it when girls did that for them after they finished. I looked at that like swallowing a teaspoon of mayonnaise – close your eyes and swallow quickly and it’s over.

It felt degrading to swallow jizz for a guy’s amusement, like he was treating me like a cum gobbler or something. It felt degrading when a guy tries to fuck my face or force my head down on his dick. It felt equally degrading when a guy rubbed my head like he was petting a puppy dog and that’s what Steve was doing.

I didn’t say anything to him about it, though – I had voluntarily placed my head in his lap, unzipped his pants, and took his dick out so that I could suck it. I had been doing it for so long that I forgot what spontaneous reason I had for making this grand gesture, and I was starting to sober up a little.

It occurred to me that I had a couple of shots of vodka at the party, and I had chosen to blow my boyfriend for a very logical reason. I didn’t want to go inside my house and face my parents with vodka on my breath, and was too embarrassed to tell Steve that I just wanted to sit in his car and wait because my parents would definitely not be cool with me drinking at a party.

I was supposed to be on a date and hadn’t told them we were going to someone’s house with alcohol. My parents were pretty cool and laid back, but they weren’t THAT cool, and they certainly wouldn’t have let me drink booze.

I didn’t love giving head. I knew slutty girls at my school that claimed they loved sucking dick – but I couldn’t see how they did. It felt like I had a kielbasa in my mouth, and I wasn’t getting any pleasure out of it.

I didn’t want to unzip my jeans, and start masturbating in Steve’s car. I didn’t want to come home hot and bothered and looking guilty. At the same time, I wanted some reciprocation. I moved Steve’s hand to my breasts.

I was extremely flat-chested, but because my nipples were puffy and developing, they were incredibly sensitive, and getting felt up could be an instant orgasm. All Steve had to do was play with them the right way through my shirt.

Unfortunately, he didn’t have much to play with, and he either got bored, or misunderstood my intention. He withdrew his hand and went back to stroking my hair – something I found annoying and patronizing.

I didn’t feel sexy, or grown-up, I felt silly. I also felt obligated to finish what I started. I didn’t want to be a tease – I was prepared to blow him until he came – which I assumed would be fairly quickly.

It wasn’t and I felt like a pervert trying to stroke his cock and give him a hand job at the same time. I didn’t know how to talk dirty, but I wanted Steve to talk – anything to cover up the sound of fa-fa-fa-fa, while I wrapped my lips around his dick and licked.

I wondered if he would try to cum on my face – that would be gross. No guy had ever dared to do something like that to me, but I’d seen porn like that. It felt like something men did to dominate a woman and make her feel like she had just been “nutted” on.

I was also worried that my parents would figure it out, maybe notice some semen on my face or in my hair. Did you ever see that movie “What about Mary?”

It came out in the 1990s, starring Ben Stiller and Cameron Diaz. I saw it when I was much younger, on cable TV. They left the scene where she has jizz in her hair, and it’s standing up. She doesn’t realize that her hair is stiff because of the cum in her hair. That scene irrevocably put me off the idea of getting nutted on.

In middle school, I had plenty of boys who would have gladly accepted a BJ from me if I had offered like I did for Steve. I didn’t offer back then.

I was in high school now, and I felt like I needed to mature – do what women do and get on with it. Steve was hard, his dick was about six inches long, and he seemed into it – but in my limited experience most guys didn’t last more than a few minutes.

This felt like an eternity.

“Is it good for you, baby?” I asked in a whisper, trying to sound slutty, while probably coming across corny.

“Yeah,” he put his dick back in my mouth, and encouraged me not to break the rhythm of pumping my mouth up and down on his cock by guiding my head with his hands. It felt condescending and controlling, but I let him do it.

I wanted to get him off, and go inside and go to bed. I wasn’t turned on by this – and I didn’t feel very good at giving oral. Stopping now would feel kind of wrong and I wanted to make him feel good. I assumed he might be encouraged to return the favor the next time we are alone.

I live in the suburbs, but it was late at night, and I had no concerns someone would walk by the car and catch us. It wasn’t a very busy neighborhood and my head was down in his lap.

I started to get a little bit of a thrill from the adrenaline rush of wondering what I might do if some random stranger DID catch us – and since the risk of being caught was so low, it didn’t worry me.

I sucked Steve’s prick so long that my mouth was getting dry, and I started to ration my spit – rubbing it into the vein on the bottom of his cock – the one that stuck out and pulsed. It seemed to be where men get a lot of pleasure, and I assumed it worked a little like my clit.

I was starting to regret not unzipping my pants and fingering myself. I was starting to worry that we had been outside for far too long and my parents may get worried. I started to think about my mom and dad frowning at me – and that turned me off.

I erased them from my mind, but it was too late. I couldn’t get them out of my head. I started to say something to Steve, and he hushed me.

He had the audacity to HUSH me. Steve was a Senior and much bigger than me physically. He was much more physically mature than I was, but I felt like he was still as goofy as my little brother Albert.

“Shut the fuck up, Molly – just blow me, hurry,” he whispered.

I frowned on his cock, unable to pull my head completely off of his dick – I wanted to stop. He had pissed me off by talking down to me. Instead, I politely continued “gurk, gurk, gurk,” was my only reply.

“Molly? Are you in there?” I heard my mom’s voice, and an abrupt tap on the window.

“Oh shit,” Steve whispered as he released my hair, and adjusted his pants.

“Oh my,” my mom obviously saw me or figured out what we were doing. She pivoted, and walked away – without another word.

I quickly composed myself and dashed inside, without another word to Steve. He sped away and didn’t text me for the rest of the night.

When I got inside the house, my mom didn’t say a word about it, and my father was already in bed. She looked disappointed in me. I think she could smell the vodka on me, and maybe even the familiar scent of sweaty penis – I could taste it on my lips, and it was unmistakable.

My mom must have told my father because he looked at me strangely the next day – like I had crossed some invisible line that should not be crossed. They didn’t say anything more about it, they didn’t punish me but, I was obviously not their “little girl” anymore. That wasn’t a position that I wanted to have for life, but clearly they realized I wasn’t as innocent as I may have let on.

At School, Steve didn’t ask what happened to me, and I didn’t talk about it again. I felt like I moved on, but a lingering suspicion continued in my mind that my parents trust in me had been eroded, and I had shocked them emerged.

I should have had the courage to have a discussion with them about it. It would have been good to clear the air and just let them know that as a teenager and a girl, I had sexual desires and urges just like anyone else, and I acted upon them – let them know I was capable of making my own decisions.

Instead, it was easier to let it all linger and say nothing at all.

I mention this story because a few weeks later, my Aunt and cousins arrived to stay with us. It had nothing to do with the incident with Steve. My Aunt was going through a messy divorce and needed a place to stay for a while. However, I think that my mom definitely told my Aunt about what happened.

My Aunt Katy immediately bristled when she was around me – like I was some sort of harlot and a bad influence on her son and daughter Willie and Penelope. They were around my age, and she homeschooled them. They seemed nice enough and polite but a little out of place in the modern world.

They knew how microwaves and televisions worked, and they didn’t speak in Pidgin Shakespeare. They knew what computers were, and Willie liked video games as much as my brother did – There was just something about my Aunt and her kids that their values seemed old fashioned and outdated like they would have been at home in the 1950s or 1960s rather than the year 2018.

It was hard to believe she had only moved in a few weeks ago. I had a fairly normal teenage life before my Aunt moved in. Aunt Katy has been going through a rough divorce. I remember when my parents told me that she had divorced my Uncle. He’s a charming, grizzly bear of a man – quick to laugh, quick to anger, and just as old-fashioned as my Aunt. I’d only met him a few times, and I was surprised to hear that they had separated.

“We’ll have to accommodate your Aunt, and cousins,” my mom told me. She said they do things a bit differently out in Nebraska, and that I’d have to adjust to it. I thought that meant simply sharing my room with Penelope.

I have a small room, and only one bed – so sleeping with my cousin wasn’t exactly on my bingo card as something I expected to do. My brother Albert had to accommodate Willie – but the two of them were like peas in a pod.

Willie is a little more rough and tumble, but Albert and him get along really well. They both love video games, computers, cars, and science fiction, and like most boys, they are a couple of perverts who like staring at girls.

Penelope and I couldn’t have been more different. She was dainty, sweet, and bookish, always polite, always poised. She sat up straight without thinking about it, spoke with a careful, gentle tone, and actually seemed to enjoy cooking and cleaning—smiling the whole time like it wasn’t a chore. She reminded me of someone pulled straight from Little House on the Prairie—the perfect blonde-haired, blue-eyed, picture-perfect daughter.

Penelope dressed like she’d stepped out of a different decade—not in a vintage, trendy way, but like she genuinely hadn’t gotten the memo that girls our age wore jeans, sneakers, or anything remotely casual. She stuck to long sundresses, always soft pastel colors or delicate floral prints, with skirts that never landed above her knees. No shorts, no long pants, no sneakers. Instead, she wore saddle shoes with white lacy anklet socks, the kind you’d expect on a doll or a little girl at Easter. Her makeup, when she wore it, was barely there—just muted earth tones that blended into her skin like they were afraid to make a statement.

And yet, somehow, despite all that primness, she still managed to look impishly cute, her upturned nose giving her this spoiled-princess effect, like she could get away with anything just by batting her lashes the right way.

I used to dress like a typical girl my age—apple bottom jeans, boots with the fur, you know that song? Sneakers, short-shorts, padded bras, crop tops. Casual was my middle name. But that all changed abruptly after my aunt moved in.

Now, I looked like the before picture in one of those “modesty makeovers” online. My shorts were replaced with knee-length skirts, my sneakers traded for stiff ballet flats, and my tops all had sleeves, even in the middle of summer. I should rewind to before my wardrobe change to give you a little context.

I was in the bathroom, legs spread, pleasuring myself with my electric toothbrush. It wasn’t exactly what it was made for, but it worked. I didn’t own any actual sex toys, and aside from a hairbrush handle or the bathtub faucet, this was my go-to when I was bored or a little lonely. I always made sure to clean it thoroughly afterward, and I was very discreet about it. If anyone in the family suspected, they never said anything to me about it.

It was kind of my fault that I didn’t lock the bathroom door, but I figured basic manners would cover me. Everyone knew to knock—at least, that’s what I assumed. I didn’t expect my cousin Willie to just barge into our shared bathroom like he owned it.

He froze. I froze. His eyes went wide for half a second before he spun on his heel, nearly tripping over himself in his rush to get out. He didn’t linger; he didn’t stare longingly or make it weird.

Honestly, in retrospect, I would have preferred my cousin take a good long look after catching me red handed buzzing my clit over running off to tell everyone what he just saw.

“Oh my God, Molly!” His voice cracked, halfway between horror and triumph. “You are so dirty! Disgusting!!”

I might have reminded him that everybody masturbates, but I was stunned into silence – staring up at him like a deer frozen by oncoming headlights.

The door slammed shut behind him, and I barely had time to yank my towel over myself before I heard his footsteps pounding down the hall.

“Mom! Aunt Carol! Everybody! You will not believe what Molly was just doing in the bathroom!”

his was pure humiliation, raw and inescapable. It felt like my world was collapsing in a red rush of tingling shame—my entire family now knew I had been making myself cum in the bathroom, and there was no living that down.

The worst part? I was still in the aftershocks of making myself reach a small orgasm, my body throbbing while I had to listen to Willie shame me, gleefully describing every detail of what he saw.

“Molly has red pubic hair! Just like the hair on her head! I thought she was sticking the toothbrush inside her, but she was rubbing it on the outside—over a big flap of skin that looked like a penis!”

I remained in the bathroom for almost thirty more minutes – paralyzed by shame, fear, humiliation. I simply didn’t know what to say. That only made things worse, because eventually my mom came to the door.

“Molly, we need to talk. Come out of there, please.”

My mom didn’t sound mad. She wasn’t yelling, wasn’t stomping around, but there was no mistaking that she wasn’t happy about what my cousin had seen.

I had no defense. I could have argued that Willie should have knocked, and maybe if he had just caught me on the toilet or drying off, that excuse would have worked. But this? I couldn’t really play the victim.
I hung my head and followed my mom to the kitchen, dread settling in my stomach. My father and Aunt Katy were already seated at the dinner table, waiting. It felt like an intervention.

“Molly, you are trying to grow up way too fast,” my mom said as she invited me to have a seat.
“Here it is, Mom.” My cousin Penelope retrieved my electric toothbrush like it was evidence in a murder trial and placed it on the table—the object of my shame standing upright on its base for everyone in my family to see, to visualize exactly what I had been doing with it.
“I would have brought it out,” I pouted.

“Was that all you were using in there?” my aunt asked, like it was any of her business.

I could have been sassy, defiant, crude. I could have smirked and joked about still having a tube of toothpaste up my butt, just to see the look on her face. Instead, I just looked down at my hands.
“If you are asked a question by a grown-up, girls must answer honestly in full, thorough answers,” Aunt Katy lectured, as if this was some universal law that I had to abide by.

“It’s not the end of the world. Everybody plays with themselves. I don’t even know why we’re talking about this,” I grumbled, arms folded on the table, staring down in frustration.

“Penelope, please find something to do. I abhor eavesdropping,” Aunt Katy said, her tone firm but even. “This is a time for us to discuss your cousin’s behavior, and it does not concern you.”
Penelope obeyed without a word, slipping out of the kitchen like she was relieved to escape. At least if they were going to shame me any further, Willie, Albert, and Penelope wouldn’t be part of the audience.
I waited, heat creeping up my neck, as the silence stretched. My mother sighed first, the kind of sigh that carried weight—disappointment, exhaustion, something else I couldn’t place.

“Girls and technology are a dangerous mix, Where did you get the idea to use such a device to satisfy your primal urges?” my Aunt asked.

I had no idea how to respond to that.

“I told you that she’s defiant, and she’s not even willing to answer my question,” my Aunt warned my parents. “Using a household item—one that belongs in your mouth—for that purpose is simply not acceptable. I would make Penelope clench a bar of soap in her mouth for an hour if I caught her doing something salacious!”

I almost snickered – imagining Penelope’s cute upturned nose, and her pretty blue eyes tearing up with humiliation as suds rolled down her lips, cheeks blushing, felt a lot better than being the one whose ass was being raked over the coals.

Not that I had any real grudge against my cousin. She was nice enough, and even though she looked stuck up—dainty and prissy like some Victorian doll—she was generally agreeable. I didn’t see her as a rival, and I didn’t wish her any actual suffering. It just made me feel better to imagine that she had been the one caught, rather than me.

“I think a bar of soap might be a little much?” my Dad spoke for the first time – as if he were asking if my mother and aunt were seriously considering it.

“Spare the rod, spoil the child,” my aunt folded her hands neatly on the table, like this was a casual discussion about chores instead of my absolute humiliation. “Sometimes, you have to be cruel to be kind,” she said matter-of-factly. “Penelope would be no more harmed in the long term by holding a bar of soap clenched in her teeth than she would by eating a bag of candy. However, she would carry the lesson a lot longer and take the consequences of her actions far more seriously. I don’t see why, at their age, we would coddle either of them.”

I assumed my aunt was bluffing—trying to scare me with vague threats, watching to see if I’d squirm.

My mother exhaled slowly, fingers tapping against the table before she nodded. “I see your point,” she admitted, voice careful. “I do. But this is… a lot for Molly, all at once.” She glanced at me, but it wasn’t a rescue, just an observation. “That said, I will take your recommendations into consideration.”
My stomach twisted. What exactly did that mean?

Aunt Katy’s lips curled into a satisfied smile, like the matter was already settled. “Good. I believe we will have harmony and order in this house, without salacious behavior from naughty girls.”

She picked up my toothbrush by the very tip, as though it were a contaminated relic, and turned to my mother. “I recommend we throw this in the garbage and purchase a good old-fashioned hand-powered one. And as for Molly—she should have to apologize to Willie in front of the entire household for her crude and unseemly habit of fiddling her oyster in shared spaces. I believe a full and proper apology is appropriate in this case – the same kind that Penelope gave you.”

I had the distinct feeling that my father wasn’t entirely on board with this, but my mother was sold. “I don’t question your methods, Katy. The results speak for themselves,” she said carefully. “But Albert and Molly aren’t used to how you do things—would you mind if we eased into that?”

Aunt Katy scoffed. “There’s no need for modesty. Willie’s already seen your daughter’s *naughty bits* and lived to tell the tale.” She gestured broadly, as if this was all just a trivial cultural exchange. “We weren’t eased into anything when we arrived here. My family simply had to adjust—to cell phones at the dinner table, video games, short-shorts, mini-skirts.” She tilted her head, looking pointedly at my mother. “Your failure to address your daughter’s bad influence on Willie and Penelope sends a clear message that permissive parenting is acceptable.”

I wished that my parents would push back. I hardly dressed like a stripper – yes, I wore short shorts, mini-skirts, padded bras, and high heels, but it was what all the girls at my school wore.

My mother pressed her lips together, exhaling through her nose. “What must she do?”

“Stand up, Molly,” my Aunt instructed like I was her puppet. I did as I was told. “If a young lady has no sense of shame, no sense of decorum, then of course she’s going to act on impulse.” She glanced at my mother again. “And if she isn’t corrected, she will continue.”
I bristled, heat prickling the back of my neck. “Corrected?”

“Hold the object of your shame and don’t speak until you are told to apologize to everyone.”

I thought I was just going to have to apologize to my cousin Willie. My Aunt’s way of thinking was that I had offended everyone with my behavior because Willie TOLD everyone what he saw me doing.

Penelope entered the kitchen and took her place, standing straight with her shoulders squared, chin up, facing me directly. It was almost like she was sharing my fate—except she wasn’t the one in trouble. I didn’t mirror her posture, but something about the way she stood made it feel like she understood. Like this was some kind of silent show of solidarity.

My brother Albert and Willie arrived at the same time, still laughing, still snickering—completely unbothered by what I had done. Clearly, neither of them had been traumatized by what they saw or heard what I did to my clit with the toothbrush in my hands.

As far as I was concerned, it felt like I was going to make things worse by continuing to talk about it.
Albert wasn’t trying to rub salt in the wound, but his wide, amused grin wasn’t exactly helping, either. He stood in front of me, hands in his pockets, looking thoroughly entertained by the whole situation.
Willie stood a little straighter, not nearly as stiff or posed as his sister, but his easy, good-natured grin made it clear he was enjoying this more than he should have been.

“Albert, Penelope, I know you’re both aware of what Molly was caught doing—and that she’s been very naughty,” Aunt Katy said matter-of-factly. “She’s getting off easy. We’ll be replacing the brush with a good old-fashioned toothbrush she can use by hand, and she’s going to apologize to the three of you for her behavior.”

Willie smirked. “Can’t she still scrub her naughty parts with a regular toothbrush?”
Albert’s head snapped toward him, eyes wide, shocked that our cousin would say something like that so openly in front of the whole family. I was just as stunned—but more by the fact that Aunt Katy didn’t so much as flinch. She let the comment hang in the air, refusing to dignify it with a response.

I had assumed that ridiculous rule about answering thoroughly only applied when she, my mom, or my dad asked a question—not when Willie threw out some crude joke.

I glanced around the room, desperately searching for an out, but my mother looked expectant, my father looked exhausted, and my aunt looked absolutely certain that I owed an answer. Albert and Penelope didn’t even move, like they had been trained not to interfere.
And Willie? He just grinned, waiting.

I opened my mouth. Nothing came out.

What was the correct response here? “No, I don’t plan to defile a toothbrush?” That was obvious. “I’ll try my best not to bring shame upon the family with my reckless self-indulgence?” Too theatrical.

Maybe I could just curl up and die instead or make myself six inches tall and escape. That would be easier.

“I don’t plan to play with myself with my new toothbrush,” I said stiffly. “And I will lock the door when I use the bathroom. Would it be too much to ask for you to knock first, Willie?”

“There, was that so hard?” Aunt Katy smiled, turning to Penelope. “Penelope, was that a proper apology?”

“No, ma’am,” my cousin answered. She didn’t normally call her mother ma’am, but under the circumstances, I could see why she might. “Cousin Molly admitted what she did wrong and what she’d do differently, but she didn’t actually say she was sorry or express sympathy for exposing her… erotic behavior to my brother. Instead, she tried to bargain by insisting that Willie take a preventive action.”
“Exactly,” Willie said, his tone almost annoyingly reasonable. “Why would I have to knock if you’ve locked the door? It would already be locked.”

Then, in a tone so polite it had to be insincere, he added, “I am sorry I walked in on you, Molly. Back at my old house, we just locked the door when we needed privacy. It never even occurred to me that you might be playing with yourself in the bathroom.”

His lips twitched, barely suppressing a grin.

My aunt didn’t call Willie out for being crude. Instead, she turned her attention back to me.
“Try again,” Aunt Katy instructed, her tone calm but firm. “This time, be more considerate. Focus on what you did wrong and what you will do differently, without placing blame anywhere else.” She coached me like she was correcting my backhand on the tennis court.
I exhaled sharply through my nose, swallowing my pride. “I’m sorry for what I did,” I said, forcing the words out evenly. “It was inappropriate, and I should have locked the door. In the future, I will make sure I take more care to respect the shared space of the household.”

I could feel everyone watching me. The air was thick with expectation – I gripped the electric toothbrush in my hands tightly – before realizing it only made me look worse.

Aunt Katy tilted her head slightly. “Do you not curtsy when you give an apology?”
My stomach dropped. What?

I had only curtsied when I was a little girl during ballet. I was wearing shorts. My Aunt’s expression told me that she wasn’t joking.

Heat crept up my face as I hesitated, then, feeling ridiculous, I bent slightly at the knees and gave a half-hearted imaginary curtsy in Willie’s direction, my expression caught somewhere between defiance and embarrassment.

My brother Albert snorted. My dad barely hid his smirk.

“We’ll work on that,” Aunt Katy said, unimpressed. Penelope looked equally disappointed, as if my lack of form personally offended her. “Now, apologize to your brother, please.”

I clenched my jaw. I wasn’t sure what I had done to Albert, but I wasn’t about to start arguing now. I couldn’t just repeat the apology; Albert hadn’t actually seen me fiddling with my clit. “I know it was embarrassing for everyone involved, and I regret putting you in a position where you had to be part of this conversation at all.”

Then with my dignity already in tatters, I gave him a more serious curtsy—stiff, awkward, and completely humiliating.

“Was that a proper apology, Penelope?” my Aunt asked.

“No Ma’am, my cousin expressed regret, but didn’t say she was sorry, barely expressed remorse, and used a pronoun without an antecedent to say what she did wrong. She offered absolutely no promise of improving her behavior, but her form was much better on the curtsy at the end.”

Penelope had ever reason to smirk or snicker, the deadpan analysis of my apology seemed comical to me. However, nobody was laughing.

“I’m sorry that you had to hear about me masturbating in the bathroom,” I said, the words nearly catching in my throat. “It was inappropriate and disrespectful to the rest of the household. I should have locked the door, and I should have been more mindful of where I chose to do something so private. In the future, I will make sure I am more discreet and that nothing like this happens again.”

Then, with what little dignity I had left, I gave him another curtsy—deeper this time, more practiced, but no less humiliating.

“Much better, Molly,” my Aunt put her hand on my shoulder to comfort me. “Your knees are rattling, and your jaw is clenched. Relax,” she suggested calmly before pointing out that she caught the last part of the apology. “If you thought it was clever to say that you’d be more discreet in the future and do a better job of hiding yourself while you masturbate, then you’ve only served to prove my point that you are a very naughty girl.”

I wasn’t sure what to say to that – but I thought better of being defensive. “You do not have to lock the door, either. We won’t ask you to change for us,” she added sweetly.

“Penelope, Willie, you will both knock on the bathroom door if it is closed before entering,” she added firmly. I was pleased to see that she could compromise until she added the first of what would become several new house rules.

“We have harmony and order now; you’ve apologized to your brother and cousin for your behavior. You’ve lost your sex toy, and because you have admitted that you plan to be much more discreet, you will ask permission to use the bathroom from now on. I do not want you to be in there for more than twenty minutes – and that’s 10 minutes before and after your shower. Your mother and I will walk in as we see fit to ensure that you’ve not chosen to try being discreet with your new toothbrush. Anything to say before you throw away your old toothbrush and with it your naughty behavior, Molly?”

I stared down at the toothbrush in my hand, my fingers curled tightly around it. My stomach knotted as I hesitated, the weight of everyone's attention pressing down on me.

“I…” My throat felt dry. “I understand.” The words barely came out.

Aunt Katy nodded. “Then go ahead and throw your naughty sex toy in the garbage.”

I felt like my Aunt was trying to psychologically make me feel like I was throwing away my need to diddle myself in private – but I still planned to be discreet about it and continue. I just said what I thought she wanted to hear.

I stepped forward and dropped the toothbrush into the trash. It landed with a dull clunk, final and inescapable.

“Very good. Now, wash your hands – that brush has been in unseemly places.”

I turned to the sink, scrubbing my hands under the warm water even though they didn’t feel dirty. This was about obedience, not hygiene, and I wasn’t about to test her patience.

When I turned back, Aunt Katy stood waiting.

“Albert, Penelope, Willie—you may go.”

I looked up slightly at that. Them, not me.

The three of them left without hesitation, moving quickly like they didn’t want to linger. My brother cast a brief glance my way—whether it was sympathy or amusement, I couldn’t tell—but then he was gone. The room felt smaller without them.

I swallowed, shifting slightly. “Wait… don’t I need to apologize to Penelope?”

Penelope turned back around, delight dancing on her face, her pretty blue eyes twinkling. I wasn’t sure why I had even made the offer. Apologizing to Albert and Willie had been far more humiliating than being caught in the act itself. But something about Penelope being left out felt wrong. My sense of fairness had kicked in before my brain could stop it.

Aunt Katy arched an eyebrow, clearly puzzled but pleasantly surprised by my offer. “Do you really want to apologize to your cousin Penelope?”

I hesitated. “Well… it just seemed like I had to apologize to everyone else, and she does know an awful lot about apologies,” I said, glancing toward Penelope. Willie and Albert remained to see what would happen next – because of course they would.

My Aunt chuckled softly, shaking her head. “Molly, Penelope is not above temptation or naughty behavior. And the consequences for her, had she been caught, would have been far more severe. Wouldn’t they, Penelope?” Aunt Katy prompted.

“Yes, ma’am,” Penelope answered immediately, standing stiff and proper—not pouting, not reluctant. If anything, she seemed proud to be asked the question. Not enthusiastic, not smiling, but like a teacher’s pet who had just given the entire room detention—including herself—for talking.

Aunt Katy met my gaze and gave a slight shake of her head. “Penelope does not require an apology,” she said simply. “She was not wronged. She was not offended. She was merely witness to the consequences of your actions. “My Aunt continued, her voice warm but unwavering. “The only apology you might have to give her would be that you weren’t held to the same standard she would have been when she is caught doing something naughty. You don’t know what is – so you have nothing to apologize for.”

Penelope didn’t seem disappointed – she seemed to agree with her mother. My Aunt softened slightly, tilting her head. “You’ll also ask permission before using the bathroom from now on, Penelope, just like Molly. You will be limited to ten minutes before and after showers, or twenty minutes total—no more, no less. Your Aunt and I will check on you at will – to ensure you aren’t tempted to behave like your
“I didn’t mean to get Penelope in trouble,” I said, wincing as I realized how this was making me sound—like some perverted horn-dog who couldn’t stop diddling herself. “I just thought that since I apologized to the boys, I’d have to apologize to the other girl.” I shrugged, unsure why that logic didn’t apply.
“You didn’t get me in trouble. You’re keeping me out of trouble,” Penelope said sweetly.
I blinked. “I… don’t understand.”

“My mom is just saying that the same rule for you applies to me,” she explained. “That way, no one will have any reason to suspect either of us of being naughty.”

“Very good, Penelope,” Aunt Katy said, clearly pleased with her daughter’s response.

I frowned slightly. “Okay… does the same rule apply to my brother and Willie?” I asked, sensing a huge double standard.

Aunt Katy and Penelope both looked taken aback. Albert looked outright offended, like I had just suggested he be punished for something I did. That wasn’t what I meant. Willie, on the other hand, just grinned, completely confident that his mother would never hold him to the same restrictions.

Aunt Katy shook her head, her tone patient but unwavering. “Girls are held to a different standard than boys because we are wired differently. We can give birth and create life—boys cannot. They are physically stronger than us, meant to be husbands, while we are meant to be wives. It’s simple biology, Molly.” She shrugged, like this was the most obvious thing in the world. “And if you’re suggesting that your mother and I should be walking in on your brothers in the shower—that’s disgusting, and it smacks of turnabout on the boys as some sort of revenge – they did nothing to warrant additional restriction.”

I felt the same was true of my cousin Penelope but I wasn’t going to argue for her -since she seemed fine with it. I held up my hands. “No, I didn’t mean it like that. I just thought it’d be fair if all four of us had to do it.”

Aunt Katy gave me a knowing smile, like she had been expecting that response. “Your brother and Willie are not held to the same standard because they don’t need to be. They do not carry the same responsibilities that young women do.”

I was dismissed shortly after that by my parents and Aunt, just relieved that the humiliating ordeal was finally over. I had never been “dismissed” before – but I was about to learn that was just the beginning of the changes they had in store for me starting that weekend.

When I went to my room, my cousin was already in bed—wearing a full-length nightgown, her hair neatly braided into twin tails. She looked like something out of a historical reenactment, untouched by the modern world.

I sighed as I stripped down for bed. “I’m sorry for getting you in trouble. I didn’t mean to make you have a time limit or have to ask permission to use the bathroom. That’s ridiculous.”
Normally, I slept naked, but with Penelope sharing my bed, I pulled on a training bra and panties instead. Before climbing under the covers, I gave her a half-serious curtsy to go along with the apology.
She didn’t laugh. “You can ridicule me if you want,” she said softly, “but you don’t have to apologize to me.”

I frowned. “I’m not ridiculing you,” I said, a little defensively. Okay, maybe the curtsy had been a bit of a dig, but it was hard not to make a joke out of something so over the top. I sat on the edge of the bed, studying her. “I just don’t understand what you have against apologies.”

Penelope smoothed her blanket over her lap and shrugged. “I don’t mind having a reasonable limit on bathroom time. In exchange, I earn trust. After what you did, if we didn’t have this rule, Willie or your brother would be right to snicker and ask if we’re going to make love to our toothbrushes or stick a can of shaving cream where the sun doesn’t shine…”

I cringed. “Okay, gross—point made.”

I didn’t think little miss priss would use a vulgarity, or even think about places where the sun doesn’t shine on her body.

She gave me a small, knowing look. “Now, they can’t say that. We actually save some dignity.” She leaned back against her pillow. “And besides, I have nothing to hide from my mother or your aunt. I’m just a girl. It’s not like I have anything they haven’t seen before.”

I frowned. “You really don’t care that they’ll be checking in on you?”

Penelope shook her head. “Why would I? I don’t do anything wrong. It doesn’t bother me if my mom or your aunt sees me brushing my teeth or fixing my hair. It’s just easier to be good and let them see that for themselves than to argue about it.”

“What about wiping your butt? Or shaving your legs?” I asked, scrunching my nose.
Penelope didn’t even blink. “It’s perfectly natural. And I’d rather they know I wiped my ass than think I didn’t.”

I gawked at her. “You say ass?”

She smirked. “Why not? I have one, and I wipe it. What, do you think you have some special, starfish-shaped, sparkly fairy butt hole that poops chocolate and farts rainbows? Like we have to charge admission just to get a look at two floppy butt cheeks and a poop hole?”

Penelope stretched her arms over her head, settling deeper into her pillow. “Girls don’t really need modesty.”

I blinked. “What?”

She didn’t elaborate. She just said it like it was an obvious fact, like water is wet or the sky is blue.
Before I could push for an explanation, she added, “I’m sure by tomorrow, your parents will have forgotten all about you getting caught masturbating—as long as you ask permission to use the bathroom.”

It still felt humiliating to be relegated to asking to use the bathroom in my own house. But, like a lot of rules my mother made up, I assumed this one would eventually be forgotten. She had been strict before, but nothing quite like Aunt Katy.

The next morning, I braced myself for the embarrassment of having to ask permission just to do my hair and put on makeup. But when I asked my mom privately, she didn’t make a big deal out of it. She didn’t ask for details, didn’t barge in on me—not that she would have seen much anyway.
I decided I had probably made too much of it in my head. When my phone stopped working, I assumed it was a glitch—until I saw my brother scrolling like nothing was wrong. His data, his Wi-Fi, everything worked fine. My phone? Nothing. Not even Wi-Fi.

I asked my parents about it, holding onto the slim hope that this was all just a mix-up—maybe they had secretly bought me a brand-new iPhone, and in the process of switching things over, the phone company had deactivated my old one a little too soon.

The idea wasn’t completely unrealistic; my mom loved surprise gifts, and my dad had a habit of acting nonchalant about big purchases until the moment of reveal. It was a comforting thought, at least—one that kept me from assuming the worst.

“We discussed it after your behavior last night,” she said casually. “Your father and I decided that you’ll follow the same rules as your cousin. It will be less confusing for both of you and fair since you’re both held to the same standard. Penelope doesn’t have a phone, and your aunt and I grew up without one—we turned out just fine.”

Dad nodded. “And maybe now, I’ll actually get to have a conversation with you at dinner,” he quipped with a smile.

They weren’t being ogres or sadistic. But it still felt deeply unfair—especially since my brother’s phone was untouched. “What? Are you going to do the same for Albert? He looks at his phone during dinner too!”

Albert’s ears must have been burning because, right on cue, he and Willie walked into the kitchen with Aunt Katy.

“Good morning, Molly,” my aunt greeted, far too cheerful for my mood. “Judging by that frowny face, I assume you’re not thrilled about handing your phone over to Albert?”
I blinked. “What? I wasn’t told that.”

Aunt Katy arched an eyebrow. “Well, you won’t be using it, and your parents told me you have an iPhone 13—while your brother is still using an iPhone 7. Do you think that’s fair? That he has to keep using an outdated phone when there’s a perfectly good, newer one available for him?”

“I’m never getting my phone back, am I?” I pouted.

“You don’t need a phone,” Aunt Katy said dismissively. “You’ll have plenty to do—you won’t even have time to worry about looking at one.”

She turned to Albert. “Go ahead and thank your sister for the iPhone 13. I’m sure it’ll be much faster and take far better pictures.”

Albert grinned. “Thanks, sis! This is gonna be great for gaming!” Then, as if to twist the knife, he actually said, “Yoink!” out loud as he snatched my phone from my hands.
Then he turned and handed his old phone to Willie.

“Thank you, Molly! I’ve never had a phone before! This is neat-o!” Willie beamed as he fumbled with the iPhone, clearly having no idea how to use it.

I was still processing the injustice when Albert looked back at me, completely unfazed. “Oh, and sis? Can I get your charger too? You have one of those really fast ones, and my phone uses a different USB cable.”

I gawked at him. Was he serious? It felt like he was pouring salt on a fresh wound.

Before I could snap back, Penelope strolled into the kitchen, still in her nightgown, completely oblivious to my plight. Her blonde hair was in double braids. She seemed tired, sweaty – she looked tired, a light sheen of sweat on her forehead—like she’d already had a rough morning.

“I finished trimming the hedges, weeding the front and back yard, and I can start on the hedging,” she announced. “Do you mind if I use the bathroom to shower and change into something else to do yard work, Mom?” she asked boldly.

We hadn’t even had breakfast yet, and she’d already been outside doing yard work—in her nightgown?
It was their first full weekend at our house since arriving, and I had never—not once—done yard work in my life. That was something my father usually took care of, with the occasional, half-hearted help from my brother.

Aunt Katy gave her a once-over and nodded. “Yes, dear, I’ll ask your uncle to go around and inspect what you did this morning. You may have the full twenty minutes. You know what’s appropriate to wear—no shorts, no jeans. When you’re done, you can help me with breakfast, and after cleaning the kitchen, you’ll continue your yard work.”


“Yes, ma’am. Thank you,” Penelope agreed without a hint of complaint. What a little butt-kisser!
“Wow, I didn’t even know you were out there! Did you find my power tools?” my dad asked, clearly more grateful than shocked at the unexpected help.

“Power tools, sir?” Penelope asked, genuinely confused.

“Yes, I have electric clippers in the garage,” Dad explained.

“Oh, I wouldn’t know how to use those,” she admitted. “I used the old-fashioned clippers and pulled the weeds by hand. I hope that’s okay?”

Dad blinked. “Those clippers are really dull—I’ve been meaning to throw them away.”
Penelope’s eyes widened. “Oh! I’m so sorry—I didn’t know!”

I half-expected her to curtsy just to make her obsequiousness complete.

“I’m afraid my daughter probably isn’t suited to handling power tools,” Aunt
Katy interjected smoothly. “Do you mind taking Albert and Willie outside and showing them how to inspect the job Penelope did? If it’s not right, I’ll have her use the power tools.”

My dad chuckled, shaking his head. “Well, Penelope, I’ve got to say—I appreciate the effort. That’s a lot of work to do by hand.”

“I don’t mind, sir,” Penelope said sweetly. “It builds character.”

Aunt Katy beamed at her daughter, clearly pleased. “Exactly.”

My father smiled approvingly. “That’s the kind of attitude that gets you far in life. Hard work, discipline—your mother’s raising you right.”

Albert, who had been half-listening, suddenly straightened up when Dad turned to him. “Come on, son, let’s take a look at the yard. You too, Willie.”

Albert groaned. “Do I get character points for inspecting the yard?”
“Less talking, more moving,” Dad said with an amused shake of his head.
Albert muttered something under his breath but didn’t argue as he and Willie followed my father outside.

Penelope folded her hands neatly in front of her, waiting for permission to leave.

Aunt Katy nodded. “You were already given permission to use the bathroom. Clean yourself thoroughly. I didn’t want to embarrass your Uncle and cousin by pointing out that you reek of sweat, but it’s just us girls now. You may go shower, dear.”

“I am sorry, Mom! I assumed I had to wait to be dismissed from the room.” Penelope dipped into a full curtsy—deep, graceful, practiced.

"I haven't discussed the rules here with your Aunt and Uncle fully yet- we have to make a few compromises so as not to disrupt their house - we'll have to find something more suitable for you to do yard work in than your birthday suit. Your Aunt and Uncle have neighbors who may be offended by your little boobs and butt hanging out.

“Whatever you think is best, Mom, I appreciate being allowed to wear the nightgown to do my outside chores. They have a fenced in back yard; so I probably wouldn’t be seen if I have to work naked.”

“You can't keep wearing that nightgown or else you’ll ruin it; it’s hardly suitable. Every minute you stand here gabbing is a minute that’s counted against you for bathroom time,” my Aunt said. Penelope briskly left.

Suddenly, I felt like my issue with losing my phone was hardly worth stressing about.

“Do you see how easy you’ve had it? " my mom said. Penelope was up doing yard work before you went to the bathroom—and she’s not complaining.”

“I don’t think she has much choice,” I shrugged bitterly.

Aunt Katy gave me a pleasant smile, the kind that somehow made her words sound even firmer. “Penelope isn’t arguing, and she wouldn’t complain—she certainly can if she wants to.”

My mom nodded. “Your cousin understands structure and rules are meant to help, not punish. Maybe there’s something to that. I know it came as a shock to you that you can’t use your phone, but you’ll get used to it.”

“How am I supposed to text my friends? Or my boyfriend?” I huffed, steering the conversation back to the only thing that mattered. Losing my phone was one thing, but being cut off from him? That was another. We’d been dating off and on for a few months.

"If your relationship can’t survive without constant texting, he can still come by the house. You just have to ask permission to go on a date," my mom said.

I looked between the two of them.

"Did you already decide that rule?" I asked.

I wasn’t being openly defiant, but the resentment was building. I wasn’t happy about it.
That weekend, I went through the five stages of grief: denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance. It didn’t matter what I said or how I said it—the decision was made, and I wasn’t going to convince my mom, dad, or aunt to change their minds.

Right now? I was firmly in the denial and anger stage.

"No, we didn’t discuss it," my mom admitted, her tone still soft, almost cheerful. "But if you want to leave, you should ask for permission. I don’t think that’s too much to ask. That way, I’ll know where you are, dear."

I exhaled slowly, pressing my lips together before finally saying, "You just made me give away my phone. You could’ve always texted me to find out where I was when I had that."
I knew it was a little smart-mouthed, but the words slipped out before I could stop them.

"I would advise you to watch your tone," she warned, her voice still calm, but carrying an unmistakable edge. "I wouldn’t allow Penelope to have a suitor calling on her—they are both just girls. Molly obviously wants to live in the fast lane, make out in the backseat of cars, and talk dirty behind bushes. What’s the hurry to be an unwed mother and drop out of school?"

Penelope returned briskly, now dressed in a floral-print sundress, simple heels, and a white apron, her hair neatly arranged, a touch of subtle, natural makeup on her face. She looked completely put-together and ready to work.

“I’ve been looking forward to this all week, Aunt Carol,” she said eagerly. “Will you show me where you keep everything in the cupboards?”

My mom usually did the cooking, but she seemed more than happy to teach both of us how to make breakfast and set the table. Aunt Katy joined in as well.

For the first time, it was all four of us in the kitchen, working together. And, I had to admit—it was kind of fun. I’d never been asked to help in the kitchen before.

Just as we were getting into a rhythm, my dad returned with Albert and Willie from their inspection. He looked pleased.
"You did an outstanding job with the yard, Penelope," my dad said approvingly.

Penelope immediately turned, bowed her head demurely, and lifted the sides of her apron as she dipped into a deep, graceful curtsy, bending her knee low. Aunt Katy beamed, clearly delighted by the praise for her daughter.

"All things considered, anyway," Dad added. "You missed a few spots, but that’s understandable, given you were using dull hand tools."

I found it hard to believe, but my cousin looked mortified—her face flushed red, and she apologized profusely. My father waved it off, assuring her it was no big deal and that she had done a remarkable job under the circumstances.

"Do you mind teaching the girls how to use power tools and showing them what they did wrong, Charles?" my aunt asked.

There was no point in arguing. If I refused, I’d look lazy compared to Penelope.
Once we had the table set, the guys sat down, and we poured drinks for them. I half-zoned out, imagining I was a waitress in a diner, taking orders and delivering plates.

Mom and Aunt Katy joined the table once we finished preparing breakfast, and I slid into my seat next to them. Penelope, however, remained standing.

Aunt Katy glanced at her daughter; her expression unreadable. "You can also sit, Penelope."
If anyone else noticed that she had to be given permission, they didn’t say anything.
I hadn’t paid much attention to how things worked at the table before now. Most nights, if I ate with the family at all, my head was buried in my phone.

As conversation picked up—my parents talking, Willie and Albert joking around—I leaned toward Penelope and muttered, "We have to ask permission to sit?" I pouted slightly, not expecting anyone to hear.

But the table went quiet.

Aunt Katy laughed lightly. "No, dear. Penelope just likes to help—you two can sit and eat. If anyone needs a refill, you'll get up and get it. We aren’t ogres," she chuckled, like I was being ridiculous for even asking – the others continued eating, seeing that there was no drama.

Penelope brightened, turning toward me eagerly. "This is going to be great. It’s like we’re going to be sisters! We can help each other out, play dolls and dress-up together, and do different activities!"

Penelope nodded excitedly. "Of course! We can help each other pick outfits, do each other’s hair, practice curtsies—I can help you learn to sit up straight and stop slouching, even show you how to walk properly in heels!"

I sat up a little straighter – suddenly aware that I was slouching.

I glanced at my mom, expecting her to bail me out, but she simply smiled when I made a face.

"It sounds fun," she said. “You aren’t a maid – you just have certain chores you are going to be required to do from now on. We’ve never made you lift a finger around the house, and you haven’t been grateful. All the work you feel you ‘suddenly’ have to do, your father, brother or I had to do.”

Aunt Katy nodded approvingly. "Girls should enjoy learning how to present themselves well. I think this will be good for both of you. Once you finish cleaning the kitchen, you can ask your father to show you the spots that Penelope missed, and the two of you can clear those. Then you’ll have an hour or so of free time for some good, clean fun. How does that sound?"

I wanted to say, "Yass Massuh, that shore do sound good," but I thought better of it.
My parents and Aunt were serious—dead serious. And then my mom said something that really stuck with me.

All these chores I suddenly had to do? Someone else had been doing them before.

I wasn’t being punished. I was just taking my turn.

They probably thought it had been unfair that I got to do whatever I wanted while they had to handle these chores before—so fair was fair.

I looked back at Penelope, who was practically glowing with excitement.