No more nudity mum (FF/F)

[Jennyjay]

Two twenty something young women are fed up with their fifty something mother walking round the house in her underwear.


Claire's fingers tapped impatiently against the kitchen counter, her nails—freshly painted a sharp cherry red—clicking like tiny hammers. She hadn't slept well. Again. Across the room, her mother stood barefoot in front of the open fridge, humming off-key, wearing nothing but a pair of faded floral knickers. The sight was nothing new, but today, it scraped against Claire's nerves like sandpaper.

Emma caught her sister's glare and followed it to their mother's oblivious form. She rolled her eyes, mouthing, "This again?" Claire responded by grabbing a roll,of parcell tape left casually on the breakfast bar, tossing it between her hands. A silent understanding passed between them—one that had been brewing since childhood, fermented by years of shared irritation.

Their mother sighed dramatically, leaning deeper into the fridge. "Where did I put that yogurt?" she murmured, oblivious to the way her daughters exchanged glances. The fluorescent light caught the dimples above her bare thighs, the softness of pendulous boobs pressing against the appliance's edge. Claire's grip on the tape tightened; Emma cracked her knuckles and pulled a pair of grey socks from thenpile of washing besides the machine.

Emma took a step forward, the old floorboard creaking under her weight as her black,stockinged foot led forward. "Mum," she said, voice deceptively light, "put some fucking clothes on." Their mother turned, blinking as if noticing them for the first time. She chuckled, wiping her hands on her hips—as if she were wearing an apron instead of standingalmost naked.

"Oh don't be so dramatic, girls. It's just family."

“Mum!” Snapped Clair. “Younhave been abusing us like this since we were born.”

“Hey girl. When younwere born we were both naked!” Emma grimaced at this thought “and you have both sucked my nipples.” Mother grinned.

Claire’s face twisted in disgust, the tape in her hands suddenly feeling heavier. “Jesus Christ, Mum—that’s not the point and you know it.” Emma, meanwhile, had already circled behind their mother, grey socks dangling from her fingers like limp puppets. Their mum barely had time to register the shift in the air before Emma’s arms snaked around her waist from behind, pinning her elbows tight to her sides. “What the—?” she gasped, but Claire was already tearing off a strip of parcel tape with her teeth.

Claire lunged, the tape unspooling with a sharp ripping sound as she grabbed her mother's wrist. The older woman yelped, half-laughing, her confusion twisting into genuine surprise when Emma shifted her grasp, pinning her mother’s arms behind her back as if with practiced ease. Their mother's skin was warm and slightly clammy from the fridge's humidity, the familiar scent of her lavender body lotion mixing with the metallic tension in the air.

"Girls, stop—this isn't funny!" Their mother twisted, but Emma’s grip was relentless, her fingers digging into the soft flesh of her mother’s forearms. “Tie her. Quickly!” Emma yelped.

As soon as claire had about four turns of tape,round mother’s wrists, Emma stuffed a sock into her mouth. Claire slapped the tape across her mother’s mouth in one swift motion, muffling her protests into startled grunts. The adhesive clung instantly, pressing her lips together in a grotesque parody of a kiss. Their mother’s eyes widened—real panic flickering in them now—as Claire tore off another strip, crisscrossing it over the first.

Their mother bucked violently, her bare feet skidding on the linoleum as she tried to kick backwards. Emma barely dodged a heel aimed at her shin, laughing breathlessly as she yanked their mother’s arms higher up her back. “Oh no you don’t,” she hissed, pressing her knee into the small of her mother’s back to keep her still. Claire seized the opportunity, wrapping tape around her mother’s thighs, just above her knees, in quick, efficient loops, the material biting into soft flesh with each revolution.

“Mmph! *Mmph!*” Their mother’s muffled protests grew frantic as they half-dragged, half-carried her towards the living room, her toes dragging uselessly against the hardwood. The scent of her shampoo—something cheap and coconut-scented—mixed with the tang of sweat as she writhed. Emma kicked open the lounge door with her foot, sending it banging against the wall. The morning sun streamed through the bay window, illuminating the faded floral sofa where they’d spent countless childhood afternoons—now destined for a very different purpose.

Claire shoved their mother onto the couch face-first, her bare stomach squeaking against the leather as she wriggled like a landed fish. Emma wasted no time, straddling her mother’s lower back and pushing her face into the cushions. “Domt wory mum. Well have you all,wrapped up soon.” she taunted.

Claire ripped another strip of tape with her teeth, the sound sharp and final. She knelt beside her mother’s thrashing legs, methodically winding the tape around her ankles first, pulling them tightly together until the skin bulged slightly between the silver bands. Their mother kicked weakly, her muffled protests dissolving into frantic nose-breathing as Claire moved up to her shins, then just below her knees, creating a grotesque mummy-effect with each overlapping layer. The tape pulled at the fine hairs on her legs, making her jerk with every sticky pass.

Emma yanked her mother’s greying hair back with one hand, forcing her onto her knees on the scratchy living room rug. “Up you get,” she muttered, ignoring the wet, indignant sound her mother made around the sock. Claire circled them like a shark, tape hissing as she unspooled another length. She grabbed her mother’s wrists—still pinned behind her back—and wrapped them in a tight, crisscrossing harness, running up her forearms; her elbows were next, pulling until the older woman’s shoulders strained backwards at an unnatural angle. Their mother’s chest heaved against the sudden constriction, her bare breasts swaying with each panicked breath.

Then came the corset-like binding: Claire wound the tape just beneath her mother’s sagging breasts first, pinning her cinched elvows to her back whilst lifting her boobs upwards with a brutal yank that forced a muffled squeal. Another loop went directly *over* the soft flesh, mashing them together in a way that made her mother’s face flush crimson beneath the gag, pinning her upper arms to,her sides and makimg her nipples bulge as her breasts were squeezed. The final bands circled her doughy stomach, pulling her midsection taut until the skin dimpled around the tape’s edges and her wrists oinned to,yhe small,of her back. Her ribcage expanded visibly with each laboured inhale—limited now by the unforgiving pressure.

As a final restraint Clair wrapped tape round her mum’s thighs, squeezing he cubby flesh bulging abive and bekow, whilst emma reinforced the gag, holding her mum’s hair kit if the way as she wrapped tape around her head.

Emma snatched the remaining sock—still warm from the laundry pile—and pressed it roughly over their mother’s eyes, blotting out the frantic darting of her gaze. The fabric clung damply to her eyelashes as Emma wound tape around her head in swift, merciless revolutions, sealing the sock in place forming a grotesque blindfold. Their mother’s breathing hitched—sharp, panicked inhales through her nose—as darkness swallowed her vision. Claire watched, mesmerized, as her mother’s head twitched side to side, nostrils flaring, the once-powerful matriarch reduced to a bound, gagged, and now sightless lump on the sofa.

Emma grinned, stepping back to admire their work. Their mother’s body was a patchwork of silver tape and flushed skin: the harsh lines where the adhesive dug into soft flesh, the way her bound arms forced her shoulders into an unnatural arch, the obscene swell of her gagged mouth. Claire traced a finger along the ridge of tape pinning her mother’s bare breasts down, delighting in the muffled whimper it elicited. “Now what?” Emma echoed, nudging their mother’s ribs with her toe. “We could always leave her like this.”

Claire crouched, bringing her face level with her mother’s blindfolded head. She inhaled sharply—lavender lotion, sweat, fear—then exhaled slowly onto her mother’s taped lips. “Oh no,” she murmured. “Where’s the fun in *that*?” Their mother jerked at the proximity of her voice, straining uselessly against her bonds. The tape creaked, but held firm.

[LunaDog]

Hope the girls have somewhere else to live, when they finally free their mother. Or do they intend to let her out of the trap that they've set for her?

Enjoyed reading this, great fun!