Momma and Me: The Burger Flipper (F/F)

[AlexUSA3]

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Momma and Me: The Burger Flipper
Thursday, July 19, 2018

No one has a Momma like I do. I still remember how it felt, my excitement when it all happened so suddenly. Momma surprised me, and she continues to surprise me. It all started with my shift at McDonald's, my place of summer employment. I worked there once I was old enough to have a job of my own. We needed the money, and I was young, eager, and willing.

You have seen the uniform: red, tight, borderline objectifying polo shirt, cap, black slacks, etc. It is a matter of formality, and I usually kept a bandana in my pocket to replace the cap the moment I walked out of the restaurant upon my liberation from my shift. I mounted my bicycle and rode home at my usual casual pace. I liked my job, actually, but some days would prefer to be home with Momma in the little 4-room house that had been ours as long as I could remember.

"Мама, я дома!" I said as I walked into the house, "Мама, где ты?"

I adjusted the black bandana to be just so and played with my braid, my precious braid. Vanity is a vice of mine, especially my pale blonde hair, so I keep it in a braid to minimize compliments. I look around the rooms. Momma's car is in the driveway, so she is either here or next door. Her big brother lives right there in a big house with his five children, a wealthy man. I am Momma's only child, and we have lived a hard life, escaping destitution when I was in junior high school as a home school student sitting at the table alongside my cousin's while their mother led the room. I will not keep writing in my native language although it brings joy to this St. Petersburg native. I put the ice cream sundaes I'd brought home—just for us—on the table with a smile.

"Momma, do not hide from me," I called out, a grin forming on my face, "Mommmmaaaaaaa!"
"This is robbery, missy," I suddenly heard from behind, and turned to see her with a water pistol in her hand and a scarf masking her face, "Keep your hands high and where I can see them."
"Yes, ma'am," I slowly obeyed and innocently asked, "Are you going to tie me up?"
"I suppose I must. Pull your bandana over your eyes. Tie a new tight knot," she ordered me.
"OK," I continued conversing in our home language, obeying Momma and pulling my bandana down over my eyes, and I knotted it and tied a second knot around my braid, "Is this OK?"
"This is fine. You have much experience with being kidnapped, I see," Momma dryly quipped.
"Thanks. I have more experience than Nancy Drew and Penny Gadget combined," I answered.

To elaborate, I just finished my first year of college. During orientation, my high school rowing teammate, who was a college senior, introduced me to the Cool Girls' Club and Tie-Up Games (TUGs). I fell in love with the games instantly and found happiness in the play, and that joy was so strong that Momma quickly learned how to play the game because she found joy in my joy. I had played many games with Momma over the course of this first summer home from college.

I certainly wasn't expecting Momma to lean into her bandit role so strongly. A roll of tape is lots of fun in TUGs, but I'd never experienced duct tape right against my bare skin except whatever I had experienced from being gagged with duct tape. How many girls can boast of playing TUGs so intensely with their mother? And the best part was that, despite the intensity, they always fell into what the Cool Girls jokingly call "PG-13 TUGs," games that could be played with a child so long as she's mature enough to handle a game that, like other sports, can be dangerous if safety is ignored in the course of play. Yellow duct tape went with the McDonald's outfit, too.

"Hands together behind your back, my pretty," Momma ordered me in crisp Russian, "Obey."
"Yes, ma'am," I responded, enjoying the comforting sound of my mother's sweet, loving voice.
"Like this is good," she said, and then she began wrapping the duct tape around my wrists.
"Are you bandit? Robber? Who are you?" I questioned her while the tape wrapped me tightly.
"I am broke into home for purpose that is not your business," she said and broke the tape.
"Why?" I asked while she wrapped more tape above my elbows, easily making them touch.
"You are flexible young woman," my captor smiled, "That is to your disadvantage."

Momma wrapped my elbows securely and then, without breaking the tape, wound it around my torso both above and below my boobs, pinning my arms to my body. I watched with flat lips on my face and a smile in my heart while she did this. She then wrapped my waist, also pining my arms there. It was sticky and tight, just as I like it. I was stuck. I was a prisoner of love. I tried a little test and found that the tape was strong. This was it. I was Momma the thief's captive.

Then Momma sat me on the sofa. I recognized the texture and give of our sofa under me. More of the tape wrapped my legs, and Momma didn't waste any time. She completely encased all of my thighs from my waist down to my knees, wrapping the tape tightly. Then she repeated it on my legs, winding from knees to my ankles. I felt that familiar sensation of Momma untying my shoelaces and removing my sneakers one at a time and my socks on at a time.

"Samantha," I could see her grimace despite the blindfold, "Your feet smell terrible."
"That's how God made me, Momma," I answered kindly, "You know thammmmppphhh!"
"Clean your socks, my child," just the same, I saw her smile despite the blindfold.
"Mmmmmm!" was all I could say while the yellow tape sealed my lips and squished my cheeks.
"My child, this will keep you safe while I make our supper," she said in a kind but sneaky tone.
"Mmmmmm!" I groaned into my disgusting, cheesy socks, but 6 layers of tape cannot be beat.
"Don't worry. I will put the ice creams in the freezer," she almost laughed, "Enjoy, Samantha."

One last thing Momma did was to apply strips of double sided tape across my lips. Then she tied a red bandana (notice a certain restaurant's color theme here?) as a tight OTM gag, also knotting it around my braid just like I'd tied my own bandana when she told me to blindfold myself with it just a few minutes earlier; even my hair was part of my captivity. As only mothers can, she gave me a kiss on the forehead and walked away. I soon heard the sounds of the sundaes being put in the freezer so that they'd stay cold for dessert after supper.

I guess my socks were the appetizer then. They were a nasty appetizer, accompanying me to the gym in the morning and through a full shift at McDonald's. It's so humiliating to be gagged with your own sweaty, wet, worn socks. It doesn't taste good, but somehow it's good. I can't explain why I like it. Momma, however, humors me on these little things, and I think she grew to enjoy it in her own way over the years. Silly, I know, but my friends also joke that I am a connoisseur of dirty socks. Once, I volunteered to be bound and have friends take turns putting their socks in my mouth to decide whose tasted the worst.

"Mmmmmmmm!" I said into the socks, blindly squirming on the sofa. The stickiness of the duct tape felt so good. It was not my first experience with duct tape binding me, but past adventures I had all saw the duct tape over clothing. Really, for me, this wasn't so bad, but I could understand why some people couldn't handle duct tape wrapping around their bare skin. However, no gag is as good as a duct tape gag, even if packing tape and Gorilla tape are better in the right context. I am rambling now, aren't I? I tend to do that, getting into this muddled picture of reflection.

"Mmmmmmmm!" I squirmed to position myself so that I was on my stomach on the sofa. My favorite aspect of these games is that I never know if, when, or how Momma will escalate things. Will it be a can of vegetables that will release nerve poison or blow up the house if I don't escape in time? Maybe it will be a hogtie? Perhaps she will layer my head with numerous scarf gags so that I cannot smell the supper she is preparing? Whatever it is, if there is escalation, it is going to work to increase the happiness we both get from the moment. I always felt safe when bound and gagged by Momma in those days back when we lived in that little cottage.

"Mmmmmmmm!" How many girls can say they've ever been a burger flipper in distress? Well, I sure was one, and I was one who had been served up one tasty appetizer. Those socks stewed on my toes and feet for over 11 hours not knowing that they'd be turned into my personal prelude to supper. This put a brand new perspective on dishing it out and taking it. I served bad food to my customers all day long, and now I get served something that doesn't taste much better.

"Mmmmmmmm!" I am joking. I grew to appreciate the slop, and I preferred being the cashier as I got paid to smile especially since I had friends who frequented my particular McDonald's as but another small way to show their love. When I did long shifts, I often would sneak some food the customers had rejected and turn it into my lunch. During the numerous Orthodox fasts, I'd feast on French fries for my lunch since they had neither meat nor dairy. I am a Russian to the core in so many ways, but ironically my parents moved to America shortly after I said my first words.

"Mmmmmmmm!" I never try to say much when I am bound and gagged. I like that sound of my muffled voice and see no reason to put the effort into saying garbled nonsense. There are times I think it's worthwhile, but the sound of a gagged captive is what people are hoping to hear when a girl has a pair of black crew socks in her mouth. My arms were like a giant pinned club, and my legs weren't much better but at least could flex at the joints. I wiggled my toes too many times, I think, because Momma approached me and used narrow black electrical tape to bind my big toes together. No one can escalate a TUG like sweet, considerate Momma!

"Mmmmmmmm!" Silence is golden, and Momma knows how to weaponize all the senses. This time, she tied a yellow bandana over my nose as an OTN gag merely to block me from smelling the supper she was making. That normally meant that she was making something that I liked or that was a treat for us. I suppose you need context to appreciate this. It's a lot to explain, but the story of how we got to be here can be distilled into a paragraph or two. I immediately started to squirm on the sofa, trying to get either the OTM or OTN gag off me purely for satisfaction.

"Mmmmmmmm!" Momma loved Papa. Papa had a troubled past and moved from Finland first to Estonia and then to Russia. He met Momma, they fell in love, they married, and they had me as Momma's firstborn. Long story short is that they ended up divorcing, and Papa went through rough patches of his own that caused him to miss his child-support payments. I was horrible to Papa, so horrible that even Momma broke down in tears one time because of how I tried him. It was a long way to reconciliation, but I finally made amends with Papa the week before this story took place. I discovered a harsh reality, that Momma was right, that Papa had fixed his ways, and that I was hurting him and her all these years by my stubborn, selfish refusal to forgive him.

"Mmmmmmmm!" During those times, Momma and I often went hungry, silently arguing over a piece of bread, each one of us refusing to eat it. The thermostat was often set to temperatures as low as 50 during the winter, sometimes being turned off. Momma refused to accept help from a brother who lived next door and loved her. I was a tall, strong rower with bulky muscles and ribs that could be seen through a sweatshirt. I finally went next door for help because even I couldn't wait for Momma's next paycheck because she'd used all of our money to make the final payment on the mortgage for the little house. I begged Uncle to help us. My mother could not have been more proud of me. Remember, she survived the Soviet Union. Thankfully, with the end of those payments came the end of struggling, and we now only put the thermostat down out of bad habit.

"Mmmmmmmm!" I struggled blindly in the tape, unable to see or smell anything.
"Samantha, my child, you make the happiest sounds when you cannot talk," Momma teased me.
"Mmmm Mmmm!" I decided to exaggerate my sounds to bring her some amusement.
"Yes, you are fast in the tapish grip of a strange bandit," she gently rubbed my arms, "Patience."
"Gmmmmmmm!" I chose to remain in the thrill of our innocent roleplay.
"Don't worry, young beauty, I will soon have all I want and leave your home," she played along.

"Mmmmmmmm!" the conscious efforts we make to love another! Oh, Momma, how precious I am to you, and how precious you are to me! I struggled in the sticky yellow tape, a McDonald's themed captivity. How my boss would drop her jaw if she could have seen me right then! When I can't escape, the game is so much more fun. I'm trying so hard, but the blindfold makes escape nearly impossible because I cannot see anything to make proper use of it.

"Mmmmmmmm!" I was enjoying my captivity so much. With a grunt, I got myself down to the carpet in a vain effort to use the rough material to either the blindfold, the OTN gag, or the OTM gag off my face. I was a mess of tape and bandanas, but I was a happy, safe, loved mess. With a loud groan, I surrendered to my captivity. Momma had again won, and I was truly her captive. I loved defeat no more than when I was defeated by my sweet, caring mother.

"My child, it is time to release you," Momma began cutting the tape off my body.
"Mmmmmmmm!" I responded with a happy squeal, eagerly awaiting the surprise.
"Hold still," she said while gently peeling the tape off my body to ensure I wasn't hurt.
"Mmmmmmmm!" I patiently waited, trusting in my mother's tenderness and wisdom.
"There you are, Sammy. Now let's enjoy some beef stroganoff, hmmm?"
"Thank you, Momma! You know me so well!" I hugged her so tightly it probably hurt.

Momma, I love you.

THE END

[harveygasson]

Cute story and I like the colour coordination for the bondage haha

[Crocodile]

A burger flipper in distress, that's funny.
Like this Story very much, real nice relationship between mother and daughter.

[AlexUSA3]

Cute story and I like the colour coordination for the bondage haha

I tried to do the colour coordination this time because it seemed to make things even more playful than usual.

A burger flipper in distress, that's funny.
Like this Story very much, real nice relationship between mother and daughter.

Sammy and Momma do have a fun and unique relationship that makes their stories a true delight to create.

[hafnermg]

I love this family!! Great story!! I think I might have tok many favorites among your characters!!

[Lb1900]

Cool story, a fun read

[CarouselCowboy13]

Cute and Adorable Little Story. One question what type of sneakers did Sammy where. Vans Keds Canvas