Annie and Me (F/fF)

[AlexUSA3]

This is a sequel to Momma and Me. @Lucky Lottie @Phantomette

Annie and Me (F/fF)

Annila looks a lot like me only with a lighter shade of blonde at her brightest and darker brown at her darkest. Her nose is smaller and rounder than mine, and her eyes are bluer. My nose and eyes are an exact match of my momma’s, and her nose and eyes are an exact match of her momma’s. Our face shapes are identical, though, and we can see it in the pictures of the late Grandma Räänta.

I am a godsend to this girl, or so says Momma. She sure seems to act like it. In the past three weeks, the last weeks of my summer, Annie has slept over at the little house with Momma and I (I got the grammar correct!) seven times. It’s hard for me, though, because I know she is a little dead inside from her mother’s sudden death and that we are her source of strength right now; for me, it’s different because my long since divorced parents are considering fixing what broke some 16 years ago.

Annie is only 13, and I am 20. Yet, it started before now. As soon as her parents moved back to Madison, she started clamoring to see me. I had many invitations to eat dinner with Papa and my half-siblings and, I guess, my step-mother, many times the food being cooked by Annie. Now, she had to do all the cooking, but more than that she spent many Sundays and such with Momma and I at our Russian Orthodox church instead of Papa’s English speaking Orthodox church.

Maybe this is why I am standing in the kitchen cooking supper for the girl while she stands by me. Perhaps there is a reason why she wears headscarves to church now and why she asks for a bandana to wear when she’s here. She has heard so, so much about me through Papa, and now she has seen for herself and made the decision that whatever Papa said was truthful and worthy of admiration.

Am I admirable though? I wear tight shorts and bandanas most of the time, I play bondage games, including some pretty intense and dirty ones, with my own friends, and have slept with men who weren't my husband. I might be a scholarship rower who backed it up with a dean’s list academic scholarship, but I am pretty awful in my own eyes. Papa would be disappointed if he knew because of the regret he carries; I am just blessed that my sins didn't get me pregnant.

“What is this?” Annie asks as I pour the meat mixture over egg noodles.
“Stroganoff,” I say quietly without looking at her.
“That's Papa’s favorite!”
“I hope you like mine, then. Momma taught me how to make it.”
“Why did you cook?” the questions continue, “You cook all day!”
“Because I love Momma. Just because I work in a kitchen doesn't mean I do not split the kitchen duties with her. I cook; she cleans. She cooks; I clean.”

I have never cooked at home for more than just Momma and I before the youngster started coming over so frequently. Perhaps I am a spoiled brat even if I grew up with such horrible conditions. Little has changed even in these days of better money. The same simple meals are made simply; there is no television; we still skimp on heat and AC. But, we now have quality phones with data, and the computer I use for school is no longer bottom tier. We are not rich, but gone are the days of hunger.

She asks many questions. Why do you sing in the choir? Why did you choose Minn Tech? Why do you braid your hair? What is…? How do…? I cannot evade her by pretending to not speak the language she speaks because she is my sister, but she does emotionally tire me out many times. If my answer is not satisfactory, she simply turns and asks Momma instead because Momma never hide anything although she answers with “that is not a good question” like when Annie asked about my “resting b face,” as my friends call it.

TUGs are the hard point. Papa does not mind, but he doesn't want my little brother to see. If Momma allows it for me, then it is fine for Annila. We inevitably play those games each time Annie is here; if I like it then she also likes it. We get to the games faster when Annie dries the dishes and I put them away.

Annie is younger but dressed similar to me. I am wearing tight jean shorts that came halfway down my thighs, a white and green striped t-shirt, and a green bandana in the headband style. As always, my hair is braided and held by a white tie back. Annie is also, by chance, in similar shorts, but her shirt is for the Milwaukee Brewers, so she is wearing a navy kerchief bandana I let her borrow. Both of us wear canvas sneakers and white socks.

“Momma, I think rope is good tonight. Do you?” I ask her.
“Well, if we do scarves, some bandanas will be needed to tie both of you.”
“Rope it is,” I stare at Momma with my loving gaze.
“All right, Samantha. You win,” Momma grabs my big bondage tote.
“We will have fun,” I say to her, “Maybe more fun than board game.”
“You girls are being robbed. Outside window is my accomplice who will ruthlessly shoot to kill. Kneel in front of sofa with your hands behind you. Look straight ahead. Do not turn around. Do not talk.”

Annie’s eyes grow wide, but she sees me obey Momma and decides to also obey. We kneel on the floor as we were told and put our hands behind us. Annie smiles a little before we focus our eyes on the wall. I gaze at her from the corner of my eye, and she does the same to me. After letting out a couple of giggles, we look forward. It makes me a little sad that I did not choose to enjoy our sisterhood a little sooner.

Momma remembers something in the bag though… there is wire that my friends use on me. I am in deep trouble now, and I only know when I feel the wire tying my arms behind my back. Anne is also tied but with rope both at her wrists and at her elbows. I am a foolish girl and do not notice that Momma has taken my phone and is filming us for my friends; Annie is working toward being my beloved Cool Girls’ Club’s next junior member.

Just because I am Momma’s child does not mean I am spared the tightest ties. In fact, Momma might be rougher on me than many of my friends because she knows tighter ties make me happier. She wraps the wire on either side of my teats, around my neck, through my armpits, and in the V between my teats before cinching it and knotting it near the back of my neck. Another piece crushes my arms to my waist. How good it all feels to me.

Annie gets tied the same with a piece of rope except, of course, being 13, her body is smaller in all regards. A glance from my eye reveals that there is a competitive fire in her eye, and I can tell she is thinking about an escape race. Tonight, it would be a bit unfair given how I am bound, but she doesn't notice that I am wired instead of roped.

Momma helps us both to stand and reminds us to be quiet as she has us sit on the sofa while further reminding us not to look at each other. She ties us very well along our legs: below the hips, above and below the knees, near the middle leg, at our ankles, and, after removing our shoes and socks, at our big toes with strong rubber bands like you get from produce.

A yellow bandana blindfolds Annila, and a pink one blindfolds me. Perhaps Momma is a little eager and has things she likes because into my mouth go Annie’s socks and into Annie’s mouth go mine! Momma wraps our faces in 7 layers of duct tape whilst we retch and groan unhappily! We are laid on our stomachs–I on the coffee table and Annie on the sofa–and hogtied from our ankles to our elbows. We each get one of my sneakers put over our noses and laced behind our heads so that now we are tortured by smell as well as taste,

“I have prepared bombs. In 30 minutes, this place goes with you in it. Farewell.”
“Mmmmm! Mmmmmmmm!” Annie wails a little bit in character.
“-ou -on’h -eh a-ay -ihh hihh!” I vow knowing wire is practically inescapable.
“Maybe, if I’m never identified, I will attend your funeral,” Momma intimidates us.
“Mmmmmmm!” Annie enjoys being unintelligible.
“Don't worry. I am certain you cannot escape. If you can, I will stop my bombs.”

I wish I could see Annie because she gets into these games more than I. One occasion Momma pretended to rob us, and Annie reacted with natural flair while I was “forced” to tie her to a chair and gag her. That had been my younger sister’s first experience with dirty sock gags, and I frankly thought she was too young. Momma insists on the things that are not expressly adult that it is better we do it to her before she discovers it on her own.

I squirm around on the coffee table and feel the wire doing its best to keep my body as rigid as possible. I have no hope for escape and know I do not. I keep fighting only to encourage Annie to keep fighting. Memories are being made; I want Annie to think of me as the sister she did get to love and cherish. I have so many troubled thoughts of my older half-siblings whom I never have met except through a screen.

Why me? Even if I cannot actively see, I can picture the youngster in the shorts, shirt, and my bandana squirming like her sounds indicate. She is much livelier than I at that age, and I wonder if my trauma, my past, ruined me and prevented me from being like that. I am quiet and fearful, unlike Momma, who is strong and a leader in hard times. Annie loves me still.

Why? Why does Annie love me? Why did Annie love it when I brought the scarves to Papa’s that night and kidnapped her to introduce her to TUGs? I feel responsible now as the trusted elder female figure in her life. All of her female relatives are dead or in Finland; she has no grandparents left; her momma was an only child; Papa has one sister in Finland and one brother in Kansas City; our half sister is in Estonia and older than me. I feel bad for her; she is alone in life. Instead of becoming bitter as I did, she has chosen to pour her soul into her father, brother, and me.

Why me? Why not Momma? Why not the ladies at her church? Why must it be me, who can be such a deplorable and hurtful person? I rejected our father unjustly for so many years that she should hold a grudge against me. The horror in her eyes as she sat in the hospital room, wondering if Papa would die, comes back to me. I did give Papa a piece of my own liver so he would not die; was that the start? Did she love me before ever meeting me just based on what Papa said? Does she love me based on my own behavior within her purview? What did God have in mind with this set of circumstances that led up to the moments like these?

Imitation is the highest form of flattery, and Momma flatters us with a shoe exchange of a gross kind. My sneakers are removed from our noses and replaced with Annie’s instead. In my opinion, this is an improvement, but Annie may disagree. If we cycle like this, then we inevitably will get to Momma’s horribly smelly shoes. The taste of my little sister's feet is bad enough as it is.

I struggle in my wire bondage and realize that it is useless. I wonder if Annie is making progress since I hear her squeaking; her gag talk intersperses the moment with unintelligible nonsense that Momma mocks a little. I can’t imagine being 13 and already receiving my first dirty sock gag in my mouth and at the hands of my half-sister’s mother at that! The joys of youth can be many.

There is nothing in my imagination like in hers though. Annie has been captured by a horrible woman, a secret spy maybe, who has infiltrated our lair and is boastfully waiting for us to die. She is trying to escape to save her and, she hopes, my life. There is a timer counting down with her blood embedded into it, and she must bring this foul criminal to justice. This is what I hear in her voice anyway. For me, there is no imagination; I never had TV or read many fiction books as a child. My imagination has only been captured by icons and religious texts more by a lack of time and money for such luxuries.

My legs are so tightly crushed together by the wire; wire is so much tighter than rope because it does not expand and contract like rope. This is why I prefer wire for bathtub peril play as water soaks rope and helps it to loosen, but Momma and I do not play that game more the other peril games I like to play with my adult friends. My arms are rigid, and my chest is pushed out more strongly by the wire but without the form fitting of a rope harness. I am a statue when tied like this, and Momma knows that she has placed all hope of escape on my clueless little sister.

It’s a good feeling to be unable to escape and be forced to suck on my little sister’s socks, which do not taste at all like Momma’s stove top pudding. I turn my head a lot trying to at least lower the blindfold, but Momma soon tires of my searches and ties a piece of the wire to my braid and pulls my hair back to my toes so that I am almost looking straight ahead. The Gangsta Row, as my friends call me, is now in a painful and exciting situation and less than 15 minutes away from her death, it seems.

“Nnnnnn!” I finally groan a little from the soreness caused by the pull on my hair.
“The pain ends soon, my beauties,” Momma says, “It’s a shame you walked in while I was here.”
“MMMMMmmmmmmmmMPH!” Annie continues her strong-willed effort to escape.
“Nmmmmmmm!” I try to shake my head in rejection of our captor’s death threats.
“Mmmmmmmmm!” Annie does not surrender at all.
“It’s time for one last shoe swap.”

I take this to mean there are 10 minutes left in my strict wire captivity. One shoe is swapped for another, but Momma’s flats do not have laces. Instead, she ties them to our faces using scarves near the toe and the heel. Momma has the easiest stench of all, and now Momma removes our blindfolds so that we may see each other and mourn together in our waning moments on earth. Annie, sweet Annila, takes a look at how I am tied and squeals.

I love my little sister and her lack of surrender. She is not a squealing fighter light some girls I know, but she is a determined girl. She wants to escape, and the sight of me bound and my hair so roughly tied with the wire appalls her. The youngster has done a fine job of loosening many of the ropes, and the hogtie has almost completely loosed. I feel I do not deserve, but just as my rowing teammate was my hero so I, too, am now in the role of a hero to a younger girl of whom I have the delight of calling my little sister. Suddenly, I appreciate it; I’m a sister!

Annie pulls her arm out of the rope and is free from the hogtie. I watch her sit up and begin moving her arms in an effort to make the ropes slide down. How silly she looks with the shoe on her face, but how cute she looks in the dress of her favorite baseball team and with my bandana on her head. It’s like staring at myself at that age, but I did not play TUGs then. She makes the funniest faces because she feels the same about my socks in her mouth as I do about hers.

Never have I seen someone so determined to escape, but then again this is her first time playing such a scene with us. Momma and I so often make scenes like this, but Annie is still new to this and our ways. I do not believe rowing is in her future, but I can see this girl still being a sporting girl like myself. She does not like how I am tied because she does not understand, but she does not let this change her mission to escape.

How Annie squirms so adorably! She stomps her feet on the ground and springs up to stand in front of the sofa while continuing to shake her arms up and down. There is a distinct happiness in her eyes, not a sparkle but still something special. Not all eyes sparkle when someone is at their happiest, and Annie is such a girl. She wants to win so badly.

“MMMMMMMMM!” she squeals and hops up and down desperately as the clock ticks down.
“Mmm mmm mmm mm!” I cheer her efforts as best as I can.

Annie seems to be making progress while loathing her sock gag and Momma’s shoe. She tries so hard and appears to be figuring out how to escape, and I am unable to give her any advice, although I am woeful at escaping as well. The more flexible girls can be more easily tied in an escapable manner. I saw the timer, though, and Momma had a smile on her face. It was all timed so perfectly; Momma had clearly planned this in advance.

As soon as the timer hit zero, Momma played a montage video of explosions that filled the little house with its sounds. Annie wailed loudly in disappointment at her failure to save us from being exploded spies to be mourned by our families, and I was shocked when Momma laughed. It was that distinctive Lagunov laugh for sure, and I laughed with her.

“For this, my loves, you will watch Brewers while tied up,” Momma began undoing my hogtie, “When game is in 3rd inning, I remove the shoes and gags. After 6th, I remove the gags. After the 9th, you are free no matter what happens.”

I remember nothing more of what happens. I just remember my little sister buried against me while we watched the game with my computer on the coffee table because they had TV in her home. I remember the teenager smiling at me, telling me how she admired me, and hugging me. But it is all a blur. That night was the night we made the transition from simply being sisters in body to truly being sisters in spirit.

I, no we, love you, Momma.

THE END

[Nadiatugs]

This was a nice story. Very fun to read.

[Lucky Lottie]

What a lovely little story. Nice bondage too. Always a fan of toe ties

[hafnermg]

Fun story between family! The fake bombs are a fun touch!

[TheEngineer]

Great story! Would like to see more

[AlexUSA3]

Great story! Would like to see more

Good news for you, then, as I am actually working on the sequel to this story!

You would probably also enjoy the stories Snowies, Momma and Me, and
Their Little Secret