Alex Bridges

July 10, 2022

7 hours ago, Sarah Penguin said:

the author identifies as nonbinary because they are haunted by the soul of two platypusses, one male and the other female abdls who posses the author to write new tales.

Who told?!?

July 9, 2022

Scene #179

Everyone hates when vacations end. Mary, for instance, hates when vacations end because she has to go back to work. I, for another instance, hate when vacations end because Mary has to go back to work.

I don’t think I’ll ever puzzle out how it can be that when you’re not working the days can fly by so fast but you can still be bored, but after years of not working, I still get bored. Not on vacation, though, and not because it’s a new place with more things to do, but because I have Mary to play with or even just sit next to. I tried doing that at home, but it somehow wasn’t the same just sitting next to her in her office (it was actually powerfully boring).

One day left in our vacation, and I didn’t wanna go home. I was very mature about it though. I didn’t grump or get in a bad mood or take my feelings out on … dammit.

“Are you packed yet,” Mary asked me. She’s so Type A. Like I couldn’t just throw my stuff in my bag the next day, drive four hours back home, and then dump it all into the washer. It was going to end up in the washer when we got home whether I folded it or not.

“No. I’ll do it later.”

“It’s almost dinner time. It’ll only take a few minutes.”

“Exactly. We have all evening and the morning.”

“We’re leaving by eight.”

“Yeah. I can get it done before then. I’ll get up an extra twenty minutes early … Stop looking at me like that. I can too get up early.” I mean, obviously I can. I did it just a few days prior when I got up even before Mary. Now, getting up early on purpose is like climbing a mountain with another mountain on your back, but I can surely do it. Probably.

“Why don’t you pack right now and have an extra twenty minutes to sleep in?”

“Mary, just …” I stopped because I recognized her be-ever-so-careful-with-what-you-say-next face. It’s her way of telling me without telling me I should be ever so careful with what I say next.

“Think hard about what you say next,” Mary told me. She can a sphinx when it comes to what she’s thinking, or she can telegraph it like a professional telegrapher.

“Urgh! Fine. I’ll go pack.” Not because I gave in, for the record. I just acceded to her suggestion to make life easier. I was told later that everything about my body language between the couch and the stairs screamed sulky teenager. I disagree. It was more of a groan than a scream.

Of course, once I got to the bedroom, I discovered a flaw in Mary’s ‘it will only take a few minutes’ logic: there’s a bed in the bedroom. As far as furniture goes, beds are so much way better than couches. I mean, they’re just the best. I’m a fangirl for beds.

I knew if I sat down on it, it was game over. When it comes to beds, I have a weak core; if my butt cheeks touch the bed, I would almost certainly just tilt over into one of the laying down positions (laying down positions are the best; total fangirl) and probably end up scrolling on my phone. I resolved to put the suitcase on the bed and keep myself off it.

But I have weak resolve sometimes. Truly it is rare as I am abstemious in my appetites and determined in my aims as all paragons of the virtuous life are. Yet paragons of the virtuous life are also human, and of all the paragons, I am the best at being human. Very humble of me to say so (which is also a virtue; just sayin’). True story.

Hence I was found on the bed next to an empty suitcase. In my defense, I was being very human, which is to say alternating between scrolling and staring at the ceiling. I was being so human, I didn’t even look toward the door when Mary came in or turn my eyes toward her when she stated, “You haven’t even gotten started.”

“I got distracted.”

She sighed her exasperated sigh – ya know, the one she saves for when she’s exasperated, often by the choices I’ve been making – but nonetheless offered to help me. “I’ll help you,” she said. She’s very helpful.

“Kay.”

I probably – maybe, possibly, it’s a thing that coulda happened – could’ve been a little less rude there. I admit this. I’m a paragon of admitting my own mistakes and flaws. Really.

“Scooch,” was Mary’s ever patient response as she moved the suitcase out of her way, nudged my legs and sat down on the edge of the bed next to me so she could put the back of her hand on my forehead. “Are you feeling okay?”

“I’m fine.”

“Are you getting a flare-up?”

“What? No.”

“Didn’t get enough sleep?”

That made me at least look up from my phone. Probably shouldn’t have; it just made it that much worse when I said, “Mary, would you please just chill? Alright? Just …”

I would one day like to capture on video how she can toss me over her knee no matter where we are in relation to each other. I was lying down, she was sitting by my knees, and my legs were behind her, and before I could even get out the next syllable, my head was at the opposite end of the bed, and my whole body was in front of her, sprawled across her lap. She’s a ninja or a sorceress or a teleporter because the physics and biology of how even does that … friggin ninja sorceresses.

SPANK!

“Because I haven’t packed my suitcase yet,” I incredulously exclaimed by way of demanding to know why I was about to get spanked.

“Because of your attitude. I have no idea what has gotten into you, but I’m gonna spank it outta you, and then you’re going to tell me what’s bothering you so much that you’re being such a pill today.”

“I AM NOT! I wanna be OW! Stop it! I OW!”

“Up.” I got back on my feet. And if you’re thinking she calls that a spanking, no. No, she doesn’t.”

“No,” was my very clever and well-reasoned response to her attempt to unbutton my shorts. She can usually pop that button with just one one hand, but she needed both because I, well …

“You keep your hands at your side,” Mary said with way more calmness that I deserved. She turned me sideways and landed a couple of her signature thunderspanks on the back of my thighs before turning me back toward her. “You know better than to try to stop me from taking your pants and undies down, little girl.”

“I’m not a little girl,” I didn’t whine. I also didn’t try to stop her again, and down came my shorts and panties. But I did give her about 1% resistance to being put back over her knee. I didn’t mean to. I swear.

“Over, Daphne Ann.” I think she was spanking me before I even got all the way across her lap. Good on me for clenching my throat shut while she wailed at my butt and made it very clear to me, “You had better hold still, or so help me …”

I didn’t hear the rest. I was too busy focusing on the injustice of it all. I’m allowed to be in a bad mood if I wanna be.

SPANK SMACK WHAP SLAP SPANK!

I’m allowed to pack my suitcase last minute.

SPANK SMACK WHAP SLAP SPANK!

I’m allowed to be a total bitch to my wife who was nothing but reasonable and patient even while I was being bratty and rude.

Actually, wait a sec …

SPANK SMACK WHAP SLAP SPANK!

This isn’t injustice, said me in my head. This is justice, said me to me in my head. And then Me 1 and Me 2 agreed on a proper course of action:

We should cry pretty hard.

Yes, it will make us feel better.

And express our remorse.

So it is agreed.

We shall cry.

Very hard.

Very, very hard.

Let us commence.

“M-M-Marrrrryyyyyyy I’m sorrrrrrrrrryyyyyyyy! Waaaaahhhhhh!”

I’m not such a fan of that onomatopoeia, but you get the idea. I made ows and ouches, eeps and meeps, grunts and groans, boos and hoos, and sobs and so many tears.

“What bee is in your bonnet today? You know better than to cop an attitude and take it out on me …” SPANK SMACK WHAP SLAP SPANK! “… Nothing but back talk since breakfast …” SPANK SMACK WHAP SLAP SPANK!

“…I did nothing to deserve the way you’ve treated me today…” SPANK SMACK WHAP SLAP SPANK! “…Is this how you want to end our nice trip?” SPANK SMACK WHAP SLAP SPANK!

I did my very best to explain myself. “Meemee-mee (distressed chipmunk noises) and didn’t mean (distraught capybara noises) and futternuusin (ashamed hippopotamus noises).

SPANK SMACK WHAP SLAP SPANK!

“Is that enough,” she asked me. SPANK!

“Eeee!”

“Do you need me to get the hairbrush?” SPANK! SPANK!

“Neee!”

“Are you ready to talk to me about what’s bothering you?” SPANK!

“Yeee!”

SPANK! “Okay, up you go.”

Scooped up off her lap so I could sit in her lap, put my head in her shirt, let her rub my back, and do some more crying while she cooed at me.

“Shhh. You’re okay.”

“Yarrry!”

“What was that, baby?”

“I’m sorry.”

“I know. I forgive you.”

“I eedn’t meebemeatuyu.”

“Take a breath and tell me again.” I always forget the breathing part, and Mary always reminds me. We complement each other’s skills.

“I didn’t mean to be mean to you.”

“I know. I know you didn’t. Shhh. Try to catch your breath.”

Easy for her to say. She wasn’t the one sobbing with the cramping diaphragm and freely flowing nose.

“Can you try telling me why you were in such a bad mood?”

That’s easy. “Cuz I don’t wanna go home.”

“Neither do I.”

“You have to go back to work. I … (sob sniff snort).”

“What?”

How pathetic is this? “I miss you when you’re at work.” I’m the most mature person ever, for the record. I can miss my person when she’s away for just a few hours and express my impending sadness by taking it out on her and it’s not at all childish and doesn’t make me any less mature … and stuff. Really.

“Daffy …”

“(Snort).” I am so attractive at all the times. 11/10 easy, and that’s the humble version. “I mean I get bored and wanna do stuff with you and you can’t. I know it’s stupid.”

“It’s not stupid.”

“Yes it is.”

“Your feelings are never stupid. I know what you’re trying to say. You just wish we could be so playful and carefree all the time and do everything together.”

“Yeah …” I mean, I get bored, and Mary is also the very best person to do anything with.

“Me too. I wish we could stay here and send for Suzy and never go back to our responsibilities.”

“It sucks.”

“I know. But we’ll do our best, and you have to admit,” my Mary said cuz she’s always trying to get me to admit stuff, “our best is pretty darn good.”

“I admit nothing and you can’t make me.”

“One of these days, Daffodil (kiss), I’m gonna find out (kiss) just how long (kiss) and hard (kiss) I have to spank you until you’re sass-free for more than 5 minutes.

“(Snort) Do I habba be bere bor it? (Snort).”

She scortled at me. “Let’s go wash your face and blow your nose.”

And ya know what she did? She held my hand to the bathroom. What is wrong with me that I’m ever short-tempered with her?

“I’m sorry,” I told her while she ran warm water over a washcloth.

“Look up.” She gently wiped the tear streaks away while reminding me, “you said sorry already, and it’s all forgiven and over. You’re my good girl always.”

I wonder if I’m the only person in the world who can whimper and be happy at the same time. I mean, she forgives me? (Whimper.) And I’m her good girl? (Squee!) Always (Whimper-Squee? Squimper? Yep, new word).

“There’s my pretty girl again. Honk,” she told and and held the washcloth for me to blow my nose into. I don’t honk, by the way.

“(Honk! Snnnnn Snnnnnrfurgh Hoooonk!” I don’t honk.

“How much you got in there still?” She was chuckling at me. She thinks I’m cute when my nose is running uncontrollably. I won the wife/best friend lottery.

“(Snrf snrr snrif snfff). I’m done.” So pretty; that's me.

“And after getting so much on my shirt too. But comes with raising little girls who sometimes forget they aren’t naughty.”

“Can you do something for me,” I asked.

“Anything.”

“Don’t be so patient with me next time. When I get in a mood like that and start taking it out on you. Don’t be so patient with me. I hate that about me, that I do that to you.”

And why was she out of nowhere hugging me like a riptide might carry me away? Like, oof.

“I don’t hate anything about you,” she replied in her you-better-listen-and-listen-good tone. “I’ll promise to be quicker to help snap you out of those moods, but you have to promise to try to stop hating anything about yourself. No one’s perfect.”

“But I am, is the thing.”

Her hand slid down my back to my butt and squeezed kinda definitely hard. “Daffy.” That was said in her you-will-not-get-out-of-dealing-with-your-emotions-by-making-jokes tone.

“I promise to try.”

And she kissed me before letting me out of that hug. Couldn’t help myself; had to say it. “I’m sorry I’m so much trouble sometimes.”

“I love that you’re so much trouble sometimes. Let’s go pack your suitcase.”

“Really?”

“Really, little girl. We’ll do it together.”

It takes way longer with Mary’s help. She folds things. Ugh.

July 7, 2022

16 hours ago, SolSombraYSoldados said:

I had a lot to catch up on with this story! And then this chapter made me cry. Are you happy, Alex?

Because I am!

That was super sweet and awesome. ❤️

I’m pretty happy ?

July 3, 2022

Scene #178

Ever intend to do something sneaky and right as you’re about to do it, you get the sense of being watched? Like if you were to tilt your eyes upward, you would see an eye looking back at you? Like Sauron’s eye just watching you?

As I slithered up the bed in which my sleeping beauty was snoozing and laid my cheek on Mary’s chest, I sense I’d been caught. Looking up, not at all chagrinned or blushing, there was the one eye. Not that Mary only has one eye like Sauron does, but only one was open which really accentuated the vibe of suspicion she was giving off.

“What are you doing,” she asked me. Reasonable question. Did I also mention I’d pulled the covers back to expose a, um, Mary? Cuz I didn’t, and I will deny I did and no one can prove the covers didn’t shimmy down during her nap.

“I, uh, was gonna wake you up so we could go to dinner at seven like you said.” See, I was obeying her, actually. If I had my way, dinner would be served every hour from one to nine, but Mary says we only need one dinner and that she wanted it on that day around seven. I’m a good rule follower. Mary must agree with my assessment of my rule-following abilities cuz she smiled at me. Not that I’m basically a golden retriever or nothing, but when she smiles at me I do a little happy dance inside and no, I’m not obsessed with her to the point of being a love-sick teenager either.

“Well,” said to me, “what if I pretend to go back to sleep and you can do whatever it was you were gonna do?” She is such a good problem solver! And I’m not a fan girl who believes Mary can do no wrong and is great at everything. It’s just that I’m very in love with my wife and you’re jealous and how did you even get a copy of my diary? Pervert. But anyhoo …

Mary and I can read each other’s minds sometimes, and she musta read mine cuz she scooted herself up to pretend to sleep sitting partly up. That makes it so much easier for me to wake her up by, what’re the words I’m looking for here … putting my lips around her nipple and doing stuff to it with my tongue.

“Mmm. Aheehee!” It’s not so easy to make some dominants giggle like schoolgirls, but I can make my Mary do that and more. I mean, she thinks I’m hilarious (which she’s correct about), and also I can make her cum just by teasing her nipples. I’m so talented at so many things that I think it’s time I start introducing myself as Daphne Taylor, Polymath.

“Good girl” is what Mary called me. Not that I’m basically a Labrador or nothing, but if I had a tail, I’da been wagging it. Also, my says I’m a good girl. Squeee! Must be a very good girl cuz she reached over and pulled me close so she could – and I’m inferring this from subsequent context – put her hand between my legs and stroke my thighs and do that thing where she just reaches between then, plants her hand on my butt and just holds it. Almost like she owns it or something, but she just has permission to use it however she wants. One might even say she’s encouraged to use it however she wants.

Cumming just from having my nipples played with is not one of my talents (so maybe I’m not a polymath after all? nope, I am), so I couldn’t say if it’s more powerful than the standard path to orgasm that is deeply rooted in our nation’s history and traditions. I can say, however, that Mary prefers I don’t touch her down there when I’m sucking on her nipples. She wants that o single-sourced.

“Ooo! Daphne Ann, no biting or I’ll sp-spank you-r b-b hhh!”

She always says that. Every single time. Not once has she ever done it. And somehow I’m the one gets accused of doth protesting too much.

I’m the only woman who has ever made Mary do that. I’m quite proud of that, so it was with some smug satisfaction, after, that I asked Mary, “Am I better than any alarm clock?”

“By far. Hold still.”

“Why? What’re you gonna do to me,” I may have said in my please-do-something-to-me voice. Talk about setting yourself up for disappointment. All she did was pinch the back of my diaper and look down it. Dammit …

And o yeah, she’d put one of her diapers on me before we took our nap Double dammit …

“All clean.”

“Of course it is, meanie,” I said with authority. Didn’t pout, and if someone says I did, they are telling a lie to you. Don’t associate yourself with lying liars who tell lies when they’re lying.

“So many clean diapers, it almost makes me think you must be backed up. Hmm? Do you need Mary to give you an enema so you can fill your diapie?”

“Marrrry!”

“Heehee! Clean but not dry.”

“Whose fault is that?”

“I’m not blaming anyone, sweetie. Especially a little girl I know who just can’t help herself.”

“You put it on me almost as soon as we came in from the beach.”

“I heard the word ‘almost’ in there. Sounds like you decided not to go straight to the potty when we got back. Haven’t we talked about you needing to go straight the potty after we’ve been out so you don’t have an accident?”

It's very hard to stand up for yourself or even get upset with her teasing when you’re laying against her bare skin and she’s running her fingers through your hair and using her firm-loving-kindness voice. Also, ya know, when you like to get teased. If only I didn’t also not like to get teased, I’d wouldn’t have done any of the mental or physical squirming I did or pathetically whimpered, “We never talked about that.”

“Maybe you just forgot. You’re so little, and little girls forget sometimes. That’s why their wives have to be patient and remember how small they are.”

“Gaslighting,” I muttered. “I’m not small, and I’m not a little girl.”

“It wasn’t a very long nap. You couldn’t hold it for an hour? A big girl could.”

“Hmmph.”

“That was a very weak hmmph. I think someone know I’m right. Now tell me the truth, did you wet your pampers before or after you got in bed?”

“I won’t lie to you, Mary.” That’s it. That’s all I said.

“I think that means both.” She patted the part of me that’s not quite my front but isn’t quite my back. We’re both big fans of that part of me. “And now I think it was maybe more like before, during, and after. You got a heavy diaper!” Yeah, but so uncouth to say so. I mean, I never mention the time she … nope, not gonna mention it. But it was all over the sheets. I was so proud of myself that I made her do that. True story.

“Be nice to me”, I reminded her.

She rolled over and took me with her, as she is wont to do and has no trouble at all just moving me around like a doll. I’m not tiny. She’s just freakishly strong while maintaining an almost slender figure that belies that she could just tear me apart with her bare hands … I love it when she does that.

“I think,” she said while trapping me underneath her, “that you (kiss) need (kiss) kisses (kiss kiss kiss) all the way down (kiss) to your (tummy).”

Not that tummy kisses make me turn into a very biddable puddle, but also a little bit yes.

“You want out of your diaper?” To which I nodded. “Because you wet it?” To which I didn’t not nod. “Let’s see again how wet.”

I don’t know what made Mary think she should tell how wet my diaper is by snoofing it, and also, where did that new and interesting behavior come from. But I she could certainly feel it, and feel me she did.

“What would you say,” Mary asked me, “if I told I’d let you out of that wet diaper, but only after you rubbed it against my leg until you came?”

I don’t think we’ll ever know what I’d say because, according to Mary cuz I think I blacked out for a second, my eyes just got big and I put a pillow over my face. I just … needed a minute alone.

But I didn’t get more a couple seconds cuz Mary pulled the pillow away in her don’t-you-wanna-be-my-good-girl voice said to me, “What’s the matter? Don’t you wanna desperately hump my leg until you make cummies in your pampers?”

I had an answer to that, but I never got to say it because Mary gave me. two swats to the outside of my thigh, chuckled, and said, “Just teasing. We’re gonna be late for dinner. C’mon; let’s get in the shower.”

“(Sound of me blinking.)”

And off she bounced like a naked person on her to take a shower, leaving me on the bed wondering how serious she was and why my body once again betrayed me by responding as though I liked the … idea of … being … which I didn’t like … at all. Really … DAMMIT!!!

So there I was sitting on the bed with a pillow in my lap trying to remember where I was and what my name is when Mary popped her head back around the door.

“You coming?”

“What!?! Pshh! Pfft! Phsaw! Not even!” Like geez, Mary – flatter yourself much? The ego on that woman. And the hips on her too moving her across the room toward me.

“Are you coming to the shower?”

“ … I knew that. Really.”

Mary waited, I think for something to happen, before asking me, “Like, now?”

“O! Sure.”

I got off the bed. I was ready to take a shower. And there was Mary just standing there staring at me. What was she waiting for anyway?

“Daffy, do you need me to fuck you in the shower?”

“Yes. That is a thing I need.”

“Well let’s go then, you silly goose.”

And she's so romantic too!

June 25, 2022

Scene #177

Splish-splash we were taking a … Not a bath. More like trespassing. Yep, that’s the right word. Trespassing.

We made it a short day, had an early dinner, went to bed super early (thank you, melatonin!), and got up at one of those hours that you could argue either way was very late or very early. Why did we do this? So we could go pool hopping … nakedly.

If you’ve never been, pool hopping is when you go to pools you don’t have access to. Like for instance, the neighborhood we were renting in had a pool, and we could go to that one. But the next neighborhood over, we could also go to but only if we hopped a small fence or otherwise got past the gate. It’s easier in the daytime cuz there are people there and you can just be like, ‘oops, I forgot the code’ and people will let you in cuz they’re all renters this time of year and wouldn’t care even if they didn’t believe you. But daytime with the clothes and the whole ‘no nakeditity’ thing is just so ugh.

So we went to bed early, got up arguably late or arguably early, got on the bikes our rental came with and pedaled in search of pools to hop.

We’re not really naked-in-public kinda people. We didn’t so much plan that part as … planned for the possibility of it. Which is different, somehow.

I was wrapped around my Mary for warmth, keeping my body underwater from the neck down to protect myself from the breeze. “I forgot how cold it can get here at night,” I remarked cuz brrr. Not bad if you’re not all wet, but if you are, brrr.

“I love running my hands through your wet hair. And (kissing) your wet forehead.”

“Cuz you like me.”

“I do. I’ve decided to keep you.”

“You decided that a long time ago.” True story. She even told me so. She said, I’m keeping you, and I asked, You are, and she said, Mhmm, and I exclaimed, Squeee!

Actually, I think I got overcome with feels and cried happy tears nestled in her arms.

“Yeah, but I have to reaffirm the decision every twelve months. It’s the law.”

“Whose law? … Now you’re nibbling on my ear cuz you just made that up and don’t know what to say next.” I know from trying-to-change-the-subject ear nibbles, cuz I do that too sometimes.

“Tell me the story again,” I asked Mary. More of an order, actually, cuz I’m the boss. Really.

“You know the story.”

“But I wanna hear it again.”

“Once upon a time, in a land on the other side of the city from where we live now, a friend convinced me to go to a party I didn’t really wanna go to. She said I’d have fun and that it didn’t matter if it was the end of the week and I was tired, that you sometimes just hafta party.”

“What kind of party was it,” I asked knowing exactly what kinda party.

“A spanking party. That’s where people who like to spank can play with people who like to be spanked, all in the safety of friends. I didn’t really feel like playing though, so I chatted with people and figured I’d been there long enough to not feel guilty about leaving early …”

“You should never feel guilty about leaving early.”

“Easier to know than do, little miss. Who’s telling the story here?”

“Go on. Who’s stopping you,” I giggled.

“And then I heard that giggle.”

“What giggle?”

“The same one that just came outta you.”

“It’s an attention grabbing giggle.” And I don’t even do it on purpose. Not vivacious exactly. More of charming giggle … sometimes I snort.

“It grabbed mine. I looked around the corner, and I saw this petite redhead with a pixie cut across the lap of a woman I’ve known for a long time who goes by Tiny.”

“She is so butch. She has hands like a big rig mechanic.” I well remember that part of the story.

“She is a big rig mechanic, and those hands were playing slap-and-tickle with the redhead’s butt.”

“Hence the giggling.”

“Is this an interactive story, or do I get to tell it?”

“(Silent shrug),” I silently shrugged.

“So I asked my friend what the redhead’s name was, and she said she didn’t know and that Kristy invited her. And my friend knew from the way I was looking at that bouncy little redhead that I wanted to take her home.”

“Take her home and do what with her?”

“She was so little, I was gonna take her home and put her on a shelf.”

“Marrryyy! She wasn’t that petite.”

“O really?”

“She hadn’t shopped in the junior Miss department for almost a decade … and then she met you.” Now she shops there not often but not never. Grrr.

“But,” Mary said and tapped my nose. OMG nose taps, amiright? “But I was nervous about approaching her.”

“Fibber.” Mary? Nervous? I don’t believe it.

“Really! She was so cute and sexy and so way out of my league.”

“No, she wasn’t.”

“Yes, she was. She could’ve had her pick of anyone in the room. She could break hearts. You should’ve seen what she was wearing.”

“Something super slutty?”

“Something super innocent. She had on white socks that stopped at her ankles. The cleanest white socks I’d ever seen. And she had on a white cami that left her shoulders mostly bare, and such collar bones on display. I wanted to feed her something.”

“Was she really that skinny?”

“She was slender. And graceful … in an overexcited, wobbly knees sort of way from having so much fun. And why shouldn’t she be having so much fun with all the people there wanting to play with her?”

“But what else was she wearing?” Gimme the details!

“Plain white undies.”

“Like a bikini cut?”

“Nope.”

“A thong?”

“Just regular panties, just as clean as her socks and making her look so scrumptious and innocent. And the way her cute pink bottom was peeking out from under those undies.”

“So did you just look, or did you talk to her?”

“I was too nervous to talk to her.”

“Then how did you meet her?”

“Well, it seemed like she was playing with everybody.”

“You’re making her sound like she was

easy.”

“It wasn’t a very big party.”

“That’s mostly better.” Better enough, anyway.

“And since everybody was playing with her, I thought, maybe she’ll let me play with her.”

“But you didn’t ask if you could play with her?”

“I took a chance. I figured if so many people were playing with her, and she’s only just met most of them, she might be alright if was a little presumptuous.”

“A lot presumptuous.” She’s such a presumer.

“I moved on an armless chair a little further in the room sort of in the circle of people, and I sat down, and as she was walking by, I snatched her right off her feet and put her over my knee.”

“Why over your knee?”

“She’s been over so many knees, I just assumed she really liked it.”

“The old assume-and-snatch. Who spoke first?”

“I did. I said, ‘Hi.’”

“You put your elbow between her shoulders, rested your chin on your hand, smiled with all the confidence in the world, and said, ‘Hi.’ You were so smitten.”

“Was not.”

“You were so the smitten kitten!”

“If you know the story so well, what did the redhead say?”

“She said, ‘Hi.’”

“With a squiggly smile on her face. She was one who was the smitten kitten.”

“She was mostly intimidated by the tall brunette who just grabbed her off her feet. She should’ve gotten up and slapped you silly.”

“Then why didn’t she?”

“Cuz the party was vetted, and she saw her friend across the room looking at her, and her friend didn’t look worried … and also, alcohol and butt endorphins had lowered her inhibitions.” And actually, far from worried, that friend looked jealous. At the time, this redhead hadn’t ever made anyone jealous in her whole life. True story.

“Any other reason?”

“The brunette was pretty hot.”

“Even though she came straight from work and looked like a programmer stereotype?”

“Sexy nerd vibes. And then you accused her of being naughty.”

“She was getting spanked by so many people, I just figured she must’ve done something naughty to deserve it.”

“She has a very spankable bottom. She’d been nothing but well behaved and has been ever since, but you didn’t believe her.” True story … Nor fibbing. Really.

“I didn’t.”

“And you guys had just met! So rude. You asked the redhead if she knew what fibbers get, and the redhead practically dared you to show her.”

“She was so spunky.”

“High spirited … And a little tipsy, you then you showed her what fibbers get.”

“How’d did I do that?”

“You spanked the redhead good. So good there was hardly any of her bottom left for the other guests. Again with the rudeness.”

“And then I put my elbow back between her shoulders and rested my chin and looked at her. She wasn’t the least bit upset. In fact, she looked pretty blissed out.”

“She was pretty happy with how the evening was going, despite the rudeness. She complimented you on your spanking skills, and you just said, ‘I know.’ Arrogant and rude.”

“Little bit.”

“But the redhead just thought how confident you are. You just scooped her off her feet and smacked her butt. Confidence is so sexy.”

“And I had no intention of letting that redhead off my lap.”

“Nope. She asked, and you said no. Again with the bad manners, and you said you wouldn’t let her up cuz you wanted her to talk to hang out with you for the rest of night.”

“I didn’t wanna share her.”

“Again with the bad manners.”

“It’s bad manners to point out someone else’s bad manners,” Mary pointed out to me without even noting the irony. I mean, c’mon Mar.

“I’m just telling the story, adding a little commentary to make it more interesting.” I am a raconteuse, after all.

“But I did let her get up.”

“After she promised to hang out with you more.”

“Was it a hardship for her?”

“Not so much.”

“I didn’t think so. She was flirting with me pretty hard,” Mary said. Maybe she even believed it. Maybe she was even right.

“You had her trapped! Of course she was flirting with you, trying get your guard down and make her escape.”

“But she kept flirting even after I let her up. She didn’t try to get away even a little. I flipped her over in one motion and sat her on my lap. She was so teeny!”

“Not so teeny! You’re just so tall and strong.”

“We talked for a long time.”

“But you didn’t ask her back to your place?”

“Nope.”

“Why not,” I asked.

“Cuz that’s not what I wanted from her.”

“So what did you want?”

“I just wanted her to like me and like being with me. Do you think the redhead would’ve said yes if I asked her to go home with me?”

“Honestly? No, but she’d have been tempted. Her childhood priest warned her about temptation, but that’s not why she would’ve said no.”

“Then why?”

“One thing to go over a stranger’s knee at a spanking party, and a whole other thing to go between a stranger’s knees after. She wanted you to have a good opinion of her.”

“I would’ve either way, but why would she care what I thought?”

“Because she wanted you to like her too. She wanted to get to know you. She’d never met someone who could be so charming and presumptuous and nice at the same time.”

Though it’s not like this anonymous redhead had some proclivity for tall, strong, dominants who just, ya know, are presume. I mean, Mary wasn’t exactly being rude or taking liberties. That redhead had been over just about every set of knees in the apartment. So not exactly off base for Mary to assume this redhead was just passing her butt around … which we’re going to agree to agree she wasn’t. Really. She wasn’t just playing hard to get when she when she sassed; that was real sass. Really.

Though one could maybe also accurately but we’ll call it speculatively say she wasn’t playing hard to get from the moment she walked in the door. But she for sure wasn’t giving off I-wish-someone-would-just-put-me-over-their-knee-already vibes to every top in the room. Um … really … Did I mention already she was a little tipsy?

“I did ask her out,” Mary said.

“And she accepted.”

“I was so relieved. I was still so nervous.”

“She never would’ve believed that. She would’ve guessed that you’d never been nervous in your whole life.” I think I read somewhere that psychopaths never feel nervous. Anyhoo …

And Mary continued telling the story, “And when I went home that night, I was so excited that I’d get to see her again. What do you think she did when she got home?”

“She texted her friend Kristy, the one who’d invited her to the party, back and forth like high school girls until Kristy must’ve fallen asleep.”

“I’ve never been so glad someone changed my mind about going to a party before.”

“Mary, can I tell you a secret? That redhead? That was me.”

“Ha! I’ma (kiss) kiss you for that.”

“Can I tell you something else? When I played with people before you, they never sat me in their lap afterwards.”

“Never?”

“Mmm-mmm. I didn’t even know I wanted to sit in someone’s lap until I sat in yours, and …” I did that thing where I blush and shake my head and I’m not doing either of those things on purpose (cuz sometimes I do that on purpose).

“What,” Mary asked. She really wanted to know. I could tell because Mary was making her please-tell-me face. I pick up on these things. I’ve very empathic.

“It’s embarrassing,” I demurred.

“Tell me anyway.”

“Uh, when I was sitting in your lap, and we talking for, like, almost two hours, you kept your arm around my waist the whole time.”

“I did?”

“Mhmm. And if you took that arm away, you put the other one around me.”

“How do you remember that?”

“Cuz I thought how sweet it was. You were making sure I didn’t fall off, and you didn’t even realize you were doing it. You were protecting me.”

“(Mary making that sound you make when you catch a sob in your throat).”

“I liked that. I liked that a lot. That’s why I said yes to a date with you. It so sweet, like you wanted to protect me and you’d only just met me. Just saying.” You know me, just saying. But true story. I’ma go cry now … and I’m back.

“And you sat on my lap and and went from shy to sassy to talking so excitedly about everything, and it made you seem so fun. That’s why I wanted to take you on a date and not just back to my place, because I wanted to keep having fun with you.”

“Do you still have fun with me?”

“Daffy, it’s 4:30 in the morning, and we are trespassing naked.”

“You’re right. Sorry I’m so boring.”

“Such a smartalecky little girl I have.”

“I’m not a little girl.”

“Maybe not, but I’m gonna dry you off, get your suit back on you, and then we’re gonna go sit on the beach and watch the sunrise.”

“Mary? Happy anniversary.”

“Happy anniversary, little girl.”

“I’m not a little girl.”

“You’re my little girl.”

______________________
BTW, the 3rd anniversary of the first chapter Mary and Daphne’s story is this Wednesday, June 29. It’s so surreal to realize I’ve been writing their story for 3 whole years ?

Sigh … I love my Mary and Daffy ?

June 21, 2022

On 6/19/2022 at 7:52 AM, diaperboymi said:

That was Amazing!!!!!! I just love how how Daphne fells to pieces ????????

What?!? Daphne never falls to pieces. If she heard you say that, she'd probably turn all the shades of red and call you a hurperhumper snoozledorfer.

June 18, 2022

Scene #176

I’m a lake girl. Don’t get me wrong - the ocean is great. But my heart belongs to freshwater (and Mary). Bear Lake isn’t Lake Michigan, but it’s big enough you can’t see the far shore, and the beach is wide and sandy. Mary gave me carte blanche to book any vacation rental I wanted, and I chose a house across the street from the beach (we’re not beachfront-rich … or any other kind of rich, which is such a bummer. Haven’t I earned it?).

We got there Saturday afternoon, had some trouble getting the key lockbox to work, had an early dinner while some person from the rental agency went and pried they heccin thing open, and settled in.

We could rent a condo. It’s just the two of us, and vacation rentals are always huge and meant to sleep 14, but the thing with condos is those shared walls and the shenanigans Mary and I get up to and the neighbors … The last time we rented a condo, we were, um, asked to not come back to that building. Not all of that noise was me, btw. O, to be in our twenties again (wistful sigh).

So we had a house, two stories with a porch on both levels and something like nine beds. Mary suggested we make use of each one, and I blushed because I’m very easily embarrassed by these things. I’m innocent and … stuff. Really.

The only downside to staying in a house, or a condo, and not a resort is there isn’t a restaurant right there. We’re also not private-chef rich, which would solve that problem very well, and neither were we think-far-enough-ahead-to-order-groceries-online smart that week, which meant we had to go to the grocery store Sunday morning. In a vacation community of Saturday-to-Saturday rentals, do you know what the grocery stores are like Sunday mornings? Bedlam! Chaos! Crazytown USA! Woodstock ‘99! So unpleasant that even Mary the Pious was okay missing zoom church so we could go early.

And I was out of bed even before Mary. Showered, dressed, a fully functioning person ready to be seen in public. I’m like an celestial body: visible at that hour only once every seven or so years.

“Mary,” I called out over the shower she was taking, “I’m gonna go walk to the beach. Text me when you’re out of the shower.” So that I could be back by the time she was dressed and ready to leave. And you know what Mary said? If you’re patient, I’ll tell you.

“Okay.” That’s what she said.

I like the way sand feels first thing in the morning. Cool and damp. It’s like the beach hasn’t woken up yet. The breeze was gentle, and the water was calm, small waves lapping quietly onto the shore. Seabirds. A few early risers walking or jogging and one guy fishing. I am not an early riser, but I like to think I blended in with them, for I am a shadowy super spy who can camouflage herself amongst the unsuspecting and expecting alike. Very smooth, totally suave, always on guard, ready for anything, in complete control of all events. Really.

SMACK!

“What the ….” SMACK SWAT.

“What are you …” SPANK!!

“I told you not to go far,” said some crazy lady who said no such heccin thing to me. Me! A sane person who did not! Go! Far!

Caprice! Impulsiveness! Pervsity both notorious and public! Public! As in a public beach with people on it!

That crazy lady grabbed me by my elbow and spank marched me most of the way to the boardwalk! Which goes to the beach! The public beach! Which is in public! And had people on it!

It’s a good thing I’m cool as a cucumber in a yeti or else I’d have probably sputtered, “What but hey what crazy you mean random nulrson! Big bully!”

“I already told you the rules apply on vacation, and it’s not safe for a girl like you to wander away. You know better, and you disobeyed me anyway. What happens when you disobey?”

“Marrrryyy!”

SPANK!!

“Ow!”

“You earn a spanking. Just wait til I get you back to the house and over my knee. You’ll think you were sitting bare bottom on hot sand by the time Mrs. Hairbrush gets through with your butt.”

“Who the heck is Mrs. Hairbrush?!?” I was caught off guard, okay? There was confusion and lots of noises, most of them from me, plenty from Mary. I still think I was the more coherent of the two of us. Really. For one thing, I wasn’t living in a whole other reality where she told me not to go anywhere. Hmmph!

“But I didn’t do anything,” I whined in a very righteous, very non-whiny way as we approached the front door. In fact, it was more of a righteous bellow. Eloquent, actually. Really. For I am the embodiment of eloquencioscity.

“Back talk is a very bad idea right now, little girl.”

And then we were inside the house, and Mary spun me around and pushed me against the wall right next to the door and … stuck her tongue in my mouth and went to second base.

For the official record, which I keep and so everything I say is the official version which history will preserve (though some things I rather not preserve), I didn’t for a moment think she was at all serious. I wasn’t caught by surprise. I didn’t sputter nonsense. I didn’t whine or plead. I didn’t for a moment think Mary was really going to spank me. Not counting all those spanks I got on the beach and one or two or twelve up the boardwalk and across the street and one really hard one on the porch. Those don’t count because reasons (and you’re not allowed to know them).

“Mar mmm. Mary mmm. Mary! Give a girl some air!” And then she backed off and just smiled at me. A big, derpy smile because Mary, and never me, is derpy. We’ll see who’s derpy smiling when I’m through with her!

“What the (jackhammer jackhammering) on the beach and (tornado tornading) in front of (asteroid hitting the earth and not a moment too soon)! People saw, Mary! Nerple fruunehopper and yousudipperningen standing there with your derpy smile and feeling me up like some kind of aqwersive mooglesnoofer! Hmmph! … And get that derpy smile off you face!”

“Or what? What will my little girl do I don’t get this smile off my face?” A wolffish, aggressive, derpy smile now.

“I’ll … I’ll fuss! I’ll fuss so … heccin … hard that you’ll wish I … That I didn’t fuss so heccin hard.” Dammit.

“Aww, is my little girl fussy?”

“Marryyy! People saw!”

“Only three, and they weren’t very close.”

“It was more than three!”

“Only three saw, Daffy. I was discreet on our way back to the boardwalk. Just little underhand spanks to keep my little girl marching.”

“Underhanded thunderspanks,” I grumbled. That’s when I noticed what she had in her pocket. I’m usually very good about noticing things, especially things happening to my butt cuz a spanko like me has a sixth sense I like to call butt sense which isn’t very clever but means exactly what it says, but I was sensing so many sensory experiences that I guess I just didn’t notice she was spanking me with the hairbrush paddle. That sorta aggression will not stand.

“You came looking for me with a paddle!?! That people could see?!?”

“Once upon a time, women would waltz right into the neighborhood hairbrush in hand to discipline their little girls and boys no matter who saw. I’m very traditional,” she fibbed. There is nothing traditional about our lifestyle. For examples, read everything I’ve ever written in this diary that you shouldn’t even be reading because it’s private and stuff.

“Mary!” I was gonna say something else, really tell her off, but that was all I could think of … at first. And then I thought some stuff I didn’t wanna say.

Alas, Mary is a good noticer. I mean, I’m better and nothing escapes my attention, but she’s Al pet as good. She notices things like, o, say, my eyes flitting up and to the right as if I’m thinking about something, and my lips turning into a tight little smile while I smile about something. And Mary, being my soulmate, knew what that something was. Dammit …

“Aww, what’s the matter now? You thinking about how I came looking for you paddle in hand to scold you and spank your bottom in front of whoever was there?” I hate it when she’s right about this kinda stuff.

She took a step forward into my personal space - so called because it’s directly around my person - and put her thigh between, um, things of mine and, uh, moved it in, um, a way that involved movement.

“Are you thinking about those people who heard me say you were gonna get a bare bottom spanking over my knee for wandering away like a naughty little girl? This knee right here,” she said and emphasized it with a … gesture of said knee.

“Hhhh!” That’s a word. I wasn’t just making involuntary sounds like some person responding to certain emotions and sensations. I have so much more self control than that. Really.

“They probably think that’s what you’re getting right now, my paddle across your naughty little bottom. Do you think they’re picturing it? Your shorts around your ankles? Your little feet kicking furiously? You arching your back and trying so hard not to cry? When they picture it, do you think they picture a true redhead, or smooth as a baby down there? I bet they picture you crying and whimpering, begging for your spanking to be over. Do you think they went home and told their friends and family about the little girl they saw spanked right on the beach? Do you think any of them are gay and have new ideas ideas about how to handle their own willful little girls?”

“Mmmary.”

“If you cum in your undies, little girl, you’ll be in diapers until tomorrow morning.”

Like I’ve ever done that or let me her put me in diapers before. Puh-lease. Um, really … and stuff.

“It was - uhhh - still - mmm - wr-wrong to - hhh! do.”

“That’s why I did it so early when fewer people would see. But some still saw, didn’t they? They know you’re a little girl who still gets spankings. They’re probably picturing your red bottom oN display, all the modesty spanked out of you, as you sit in my lap and cry into my shoulder. Imagine what they’ll say when they see your red bottom peeking out around your bathing suit this week ‘That’s the girl, the one I told you about. She must be such a handful. Good thing she has that tall brunette to teach her right from wrong. … Your knees are wobbling. Why are they doing that?”

I can hold it. Don’t let her win. “Mar-Mary. Mary. Groceries. Gotta go, no crowd. Pl-please?”

She relented, and she’s not one to relent (unless I ask, cuz she likes me and respects me and stuff). “Can I feel your underoos?” What? Heccin now she asks permission?

“But no touching me.” Cuz one touch and … Did I win? If no one has an orgasm, did anyone win? And how come Mary never cums in her panties just from teasing and touching? Not like I don’t try! And it’s not cuz I’m little and she’s not! So shut up! Hmmph!

“Daffy,” my ocean mistress said with her hand in my shorts, “did you wet your pants?”

“No,” I said quietly cuz I’m not a loud person, not because I was feeling smol and submissive. Me? A submissive? Um, never. Really.

“But your undies are all wet.”

“Yeah.” I mean, the woman wasn’t wrong.

“O well,” she said like we just had to get over it and move on cuz wet panties just happen to girls like me, which they don’t … except for sometimes … but not the way we meant (pretended to mean?) … so I’m clearly right … about something but forget what it is.

“We’re already running late, Daffy Dewdrop. You’ll just have to go to the store in wet underpants again.”

“Okay.” Wait, ‘again’? Bullplop! I should’ve said so. I had so many words to say that they all got stuck trying to come out. Really. Mary didn’t render me barely verbal. She has no such power over me.

“And Daphne, you’d better be on your best behavior at the store. The paddle is in my purse. I’d hate to have to take you to the girl’s room for one of our discussions.”

“Eep.”

“And I will be spanking you on the beach this week.”

“Where?”

“On your bottom, silly goose.”

“No, where?”

“We’ll find somewhere private. Now, come along, my little angel. We need to get you some pull-ups if you’re gonna get your undies all wet like that, and you need some swim diapers before you can get in the water.”

“Not funny.”

“Am I laughing?”

“Mary.”

“Daffy.”

“Please no?”

“Yes please.”

“Are you gonna be mean to me all week?”

“Only in the very nicest ways.”

Well, that’s a relief. Sort of. We’ll see.

June 13, 2022

Scene #175

“I don’t think you appreciate that sometimes the things you say are mean.” There, I said it.

“Daffy,” Mary tried to say, but nope, I was having none of it.

“Seriously, Mary.”

“Daphne Ann, all I said was take a bite of your vegetables.”

“There you go again! We’re on vacation. Give it a rest.” Ooo, Mary’s you-are-this-close-to-taking-a-trip-to-the-restroom-with-me face. Been a while since I got spanked in a public restroom or in public at all, but something about being on the road where no one knows us and there’s a convenient highway getaway makes Mary very quick to spank.

“Daphne,” she said sorta firmly, like I’d pushed the wrong button or something. I didn’t though. Brats push the wrong button, and I’m not one of those. But I digress, because Mary who loves to continue continued, “The rules still apply on vacation. We go over this every time, and every time ends the exact same way: me running out of patience and you getting seriously spanked on Day 2. Do we really hafta do that again?”

Good thing it was Day Zero. We were on our way to the lake; we stopped for lunch at place that serves green stuff. I’m okay with some green stuff, like a single piece of lettuce on a sandwich or a salad with yummy things in it or raw veggies and dip, but steamed veggies are just … flavorless mush? If you’re lucky, that is; otherwise they’re just bitter mush.

“I don’t know,” I told Mary, which was very honest of me. I have moral fiber and rectitude and stuff. “I’ve been very good lately, and I’m not sure yet if I’m gonna be well behaved … It’s not like plan it out in advance.” Well, not very far in advance. Heehee!

“What does you being good recently have to do with whether you behave this week?”

“I might decide I need a break from being good. It’s a lot of work for me, Mary. I mean, I’m saintly and stuff, but it takes a lot of forbearance. You should hear the things I don’t say! … You’re giving me your not-impressed face.”

“Tell ya what, Daffodil. This time there won’t be a big spanking on Day 2.”

“Aww, how sweet of you!”

“This time if you can’t make good choices, you’ll find out what a diaper punishment is really like.”

Well color me concerned. And Mary nodding with her smirking you-better-believe-I’m-serious face. So … crap.

“If I finish my vegetables, may I eat yours too?”

“You’ll be my baby for a whole week.”

“May I order more vegetables?”

“You’ll drink out of a baba.”

“There’s the waitress. I’ll just get her attention.”

“Baby food twice a day, and of course you’re too baby to feed yourself. I’ll get one of those rubber coated baby spoons so you don’t hurt your toofers!”

“She’s not a very good waitress. How did she not see me?”

“Cuz you’re little, sweetie. Too little to ride up front. We’ll put you in the back, buckled in all tight.”

“Maybe the people at that table aren’t going to finish their vegetables.”

“I’ll have to hold your hand everywhere.”

“I’d like that, actually.” I mean, yes please. Mary’s hands are basically therapeutic devices for me.

“And diapers diapers diapers. Daytime diapers, nighttime diapers, and you’re favorite – swim diapers. I’d remind you they don’t hold weewee, but neither do you … cuz you’re baby.”

“We’re only two hours from home. I think I may have left some vegetables in our fridge. If we turn around now, we could …”

“And no bathroom except for baths.”

“Should’ve packed some vegetables. Did you pack any vegetables?”

“You’ll make the cutest red faces when you fudge your huggies.”

“Mary, I’m begging you, please stop.”

“And we’ll get you changed right on the beach. No one cares if a baby gets their diapers changed in public no matter how messy their bottom us. And we’ll wait a little while to make sure you’re done. Wouldn’t wanna hafta wipe your bottom twice in ten minutes.”

“Okay, that’s just gross. Please stop talking.” How am I supposed to finish food when she’s talking about … blech!

“I’ll rent a crib and playpen from the resort. We’ll set the playpen up outside. If you make stinky pants and I just don’t feel like dealing with you right then, I’ll just put you in the yard. Like stinky puppy.”

“Nana would be livid to hear you say that.” True story.

“And we’ll give you a bath every night and when we come in from the beach.”

“I was gonna ask for that anyway.” And I wasn’t blushing! The plain, steamed, seasonless vegetables were just, uh, spicy. Really.

“And you’ll be so cute in your water wings and your floatie.”

“Okay, but now seriously, could you please?”

“And I might need some alone time after caring for such a needy baby all day and night, so I might hafta hire a babysitter.”

“… Would … Would we find this babysitter on Fetlife?” Asking because reasons.

“O shoot. I just remembered I didn’t bring any toys with us.”

“We packed a backpack full of toys … O. You didn’t mean that kinda toy.”

“You wanna stop at a toy store?”

“I thought we were going already to get some water toys.” Rafts. Specifically the kind with cup holders cuz we had plans to drink frozen alcohol drinks and float.

Mary got our waitress’s attention, not that I was irritated about her paying attention to Mary and not to me. Hmmph!

“Are we ready for a check,” I asked Mary. I certainly hoped so and that Mary wasn’t waving her over to increase do that thing where she embarrasses me in front of people we’ll never seen again. It’s very rude to those people (for real) even if she does keep it PG-13. I did finish my veggies, by the way. They were terrible, but they probably came out of the ground that way.

“We’re ready for our check,” Mary said. “Which way is the restroom? My little girl needs the potty.”

“(Sound of me not making any sounds as my jaw dropped).” They probably heard the blood rushing through my veins as I blushed all the way to the top of my head.

“It’s … right that way?” That was a fair response from our waitress. She had this look on her face as if what she really wanted to say was ‘your what now needs the where now?’ So … could on her for catching herself.

And Miss Mary Owes-Me-Bigtime just couldn’t let it drop. Nope. “Can you hold it five more minutes, or do you need me to come with you right now?”

“ … Muh?”

I think that was very articulate of me considering how little blood was actually getting to my brain. I really hope Mary left her a heccin good tip. And she owed me so big.

June 12, 2022

Found a picture of Daphne sitting on Mary's lap

June 9, 2022

11 hours ago, YourFNF said:

Me after catching up on the last few updates:

You’re cute

(haha! Made you blush!)

June 7, 2022

Scene #174

Ever have a dream where you’re peeing and you wake up and you actually were peeing? Me neither. But I have had a dream where someone was smacking me on the butt with vigor, and when I came to, very quickly, sure enough, there was Mary wearing her I’m-not-done-with-your-butt face swinging away. Not the playful version but the serious version. Thank goodness for the comforter or she might’ve actually made my butt hurt or something.

“Get this out of the way,” she mumbled as she took away my comforter. Drat.

“Mar ow ow ow what ow did ouch friggin yipe dammit! I do?!” According to some people I share a home and bank account and marriage certificate with, I’m not always so good at knowing whether or not I did something, but I’d been very well behaved lately. Even my alleged bratty had been minimal.

“Like you can’t even guess.” Heccin lord almighty she was steamed, which explains the paddle she took off my nightstand (which is fine cuz it’s hers; my nightstand just holds it up) and SPLAT!

“OW! I didn’t eep! Stop!” I’m usually very good about taking my spankings with just token physical resistance, and not because I couldn’t overpower Mary. She may have size and strength on me on the outside, but I’m actually a much more powerful individual who can bend steel bars and stuff. Nope, it’s because I’m obedient (when I want to be, which still counts according to experts who are me) and she’s in charge and I like that very much. But usually she has the courtesy to explain why I’m getting spanked before she starts paddling my butt.

With my hands on the edge of the mattress, I pulled with all the might on my mighty yet petite and ladylike body … and Miss Mary Where-Do-You-Think-You’re-Going grabbed my ankle and just kept up paddling. Hmmph. She must not realize I’m stronger than her or something. And iron willed. I have an iron will, very incontestable, and Mary was really getting on my nerves with the whole contesting it thing.

“Hold. Still!” (SPANK!)

“Not til you ugh! Tell me YOW! What I fuggernootin! Did!”

“What’s the spending limit?”

Urgh! That stupid rule! That stupid, fucking not-adjusted-for-inflation-since-2017 rule! And I didn’t even break it!

“I didn’t break the rule!”

“What’s the rule?” (SMACK!)

“I hafta ask if it’s over a hundred -owhuhow- dollars! But Mary (sniff!) I didn’t break it!”

“So that three hundred charge on our credit card is a mistake?”

“… No …”

(SMACK!) “Then explain it.” (SPANK!)

“I can’t.” (SPANK SMACK PADDLE SPLAT!!) “it’s a present! It’s a present for you! Stop spanking me-hee-eee (snorfle)!”

“A present for me?”

“Yes!”

Which is when she let go of my ankle. Timing is everything, and I was gonna explain that to her but before I could, the floor was coming up at my face. Good thing my forearm was there to to stop it … dammit.

“Ouch … Are you gonna heccin pull me back up or do I hafta slide the rest of the way to the floor?”

She pulled me up and I think she was lost in the moment or something cuz she said to me, “Another reason you should hold still while getting spanked.”

“(Sound of me glaring at my wife.) And!?!”

“Sorry?”

“Heccin right you’re (righteous rhino noises) and since when do you (violent car crash but no one was hurt, thank goodness) and outta nowhere with the (elephant trumpeting) and the ‘o look at me I’m Mary I can do whatever I (power substation exploding) and dammihurnermer, Mary! Hmmph!”

“Really sorry.” Mary’s oops-I’m-chagrined face. Not gonna cut it.

“Good … But if you don’t wanna spend the money, I can always take your present back.”

“If it’s so important you decided to break the rule, I guess we’d better keep it.”

Lemme count the things wrong with that statement: one. One thing. “How can I ask permission when it’s a present for you? I wanted it to be a surprise.” And don’t even listen to anyone who says I sounded pathetic and disappointed. I mean, I did, but don’t even listen to those people because reasons.

“I’m sorry. C’mere.”

“I’m only letting you hug me because you’re good at making things all better.”

“Do you still like me?”

“Very much. What even got into you? You haven’t spanked me like that in a while.”

“We’ve talked about the spending limit rule so many times. I thought this time the paddle could do the talking.”

Did she just tell a joke? Was that a forced chuckle? Screw that. “You thought wrong. You should always explain to someone why you’re spanking them … especially if you woke them out of a dead sleep.”

“Bet you wish you’d let me diaper you last night.”

“No! But I do wish I’d worn panties.”

“How can I make it up to you?” Ooo, an opportunity for emotional extortion. Whatever shall I do with it?

“Well, you can go get the lotion.”

“One butt rub coming up.”

“I didn’t say that. Listen with your ears, Mary.” I take risks. “You can go get the lotion and then finish my spanking, but with more fondling this time. And maybe get my front too. And a present of equal or greater value.” I may have said that last part soto voce just to see if that idea would float.

“I heard that,” Mary said pianissimo.

“It’s rude to talk under your breath. You’re on a definite rude streak today. Maybe part of my present is you working on that.”

“One of these days, I’m gonna spank the sass outta you.”

“You did that one time … for a few hours, I think.”

“Dinner. We got through dinner without anymore sass, but you were all better by bedtime.”

“Kinda rude to give me a bedtime spanking too.”

“So what did you get me,” she asked. She doesn’t always segue smoothly, bless her heart. And see how alike we are? Turning the subject back to gifts and asking what they are even when they’re supposed to be a surprise is such a me thing to do!

“Do you really wanna know?”

“When were you gonna give it to me?”

“At the lake next week. It’s a vacation surprise.”

“I guess I’ll just hafta be patient.”

“It is a virtue, Mary. You could stand to be a lot more virtuous.”

“Uh-huh. How do you want this combination spanking-fondling?”

“With me straddling your left thigh.”

“You’re gonna hump my leg, aren’t you?”

“That’s my plan.”

“You’re the most virtuous woman I know, Daffy.”

“Yeah, our crowd is pretty shamelesss. Hey, can we have sex in the blow up pool later?” What? I meant after dark, of course. Really.

Mary’s you’re-just-barely-in-control-of-your-hormones-aren’t-you smile. It’s a happy smile, with a dollop of whatever-shall-I-do-with-you as though I’m running her ragged or something. But she’s the one who came out swinging, and I’m the one who fell off the bed. If anyone is running anyone else around here ragged, it’s definitely Mary and also me.

“You know what,” Mary asked me, but it wasn’t really a question. “I paddled your bottom pretty hard, and it hardly fazed you. That tells me the next time you get in trouble, I’m gonna hafta up my game. Do you need a Kleenex to blow your nose?” And then she got up and started walking away to get the lotion.

“That’s not a good conclusion,” I called after her.

“Yes it is.” Aw. Touché. Dammit …

“And yes on the Kleenex … thank you.”

She emerged in moments from the bathroom holding the lotion and the Kleenex. “We wouldn’t want you to not be able to breathe through my apology.”

“Definitely not … You should take your pants off or get a towel.”

“Planning to make a mess on my leg?”

“How else will I know you’re really sorry? And I am too virtuous.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You were thinking it.” And she decided to take off her pants, which is awesome cuz that’s what I was hoping for. And poor Mary, I’ve rarely seen her so sorry.

June 5, 2022

Scene #173

Nothing much doing, just laying on my Mary who was laying on the sofa, stroking my hair and humming. If you’ve never laid your head on your lover’s chest when they hum love songs, I highly recommend it. Eleven out of ten.

“What’s V stand for,” I asked.

“Hmm?”

“The song you’re humming. What’s V stand for? I can’t remember.”

“Very, very extraordinary.”

“O, that’s definitely me. I don’t know if you knew this about me, but I’m the very essence of quite a few superlatives.”

“Of course I know. Remember when I sponsored that motion at our kink club to have your butt declared Most Spankable?”

I do remember. They don’t give those awards out to just anyone, and they don’t come cheap either. So many voters insisted on giving it a few spanks before lending their support, which now that I think on it, I suspect was Mary’s plan all along. It was a very good plan, if so, and I can’t say I didn’t like it a bunch.

“I like it when you sing me love songs.”

“You know why I do it?”

Heck yes I do. “Cuz you’re in love with me.”

“Cuz I’m in love with you. Also, it’s good for little girls to hear lots of words to help their brains develop.”

“I’m not a little girl, and maybe you didn’t notice this about me, but I already have a very rich vocabulary.” True story.

“Yes, you are very verbal. At least until you get flustered and start saying nonsense words.”

“You and your button pushing is what does it.” So many emotions, my brain gets choosy and decides to reduce verbal recall to put more effort into resolving all the conflicting feelings. Plus sometimes I think some blood flow gets redirected to … other parts.

“And you are too a little girl.” She always says that. I don’t even know what she’s talking about.

“Am not.”

“So when I felt my thigh getting warm a few minutes ago, that was a big girl wetting her diaper?”

“Let’s play a game: I’ll be the koala, and you be the tree that hums love songs and strokes my hair and doesn’t ask any questions.”

“My little girl is so good at make believe.”

“Nurfle skoozit.”

“What?”

“Huh?”

“Did you say something?”

“ … ”

“I thought you said something. Maybe it was just another hissing sound coming from between your legs.”

“Now who’s talking nonsense, Mary. You. That’s who.”

“It’s okay to wet your diaper, honey. You don’t have to be embarrassed.”

“Yes I do, and I only do it because you make me.”

“My little girl is very good at obeying, most of the time. You know what that makes you?”

“What?”

“A good girl.”

O my god she said it! Squeee! But dignity, always dignity, that’s me. “That’s very kind of you to say.”

“Your whole body got warm just now.”

“No it didn’t,” I chuckled.

“Good girl … It just did it again! It’s like you have a physiologic reaction to being called a good girl or something.”

“Heehee! Very funny.” Sigh … my wife makes me laugh. Also, I do kinda sorta have a physiologic reaction to being called a good girl. It’s called a praise kink and tickles just the right spot in my brain.

“And while you’re always a good girl, you do follow the rules selectively sometimes, don’t you?”

“Who, me? Couldn’t be.”

“Yes you. But you know what rule you follow a hundred percent of the time? When I put you in your pampers, you always stay in them and make your tinkles in them. Why is that?”

I still had my cheek on Mary’s chest, and I craned my head up so I could look her in the eye, and yep, she was looking down at me all smiley with her I-adore-you face on. “You wanna know why,” I asked. “You really wanna know why? Cuz I love you and it makes you happy.”

And with that, I put my cheek back on her chest and snuggled in closer.

“I love you too, Daffodil. Very much, all the time and every day.”

“I know you do.” Like, I know it. The very deepest part of me knows it and loves her back just as much and then some. My Mary.

“Wanna play that koala game you just made up?”

“Mhmm.”

“You gonna fall asleep on me?”

“That’s the goal. We were up awfully late.”

“What if you be the koala bear, and I just be a plain old tree that falls asleep too?”

“You’re taking my game way too seriously.”

And then she kissed me. Sleepy squees!

June 3, 2022

Scene #172

That time I bought the oversized inflatable pool had to be one of my best ever decisions. Did I spend too much and get spanked for it? Yeah, but it was a little one. Does it take up too much of our patio and make it difficult to get from the door to the yard? You betcha. Does it contain a couple hundred gallons of water we have no good way to dispose of? Yep. Is it cool and wet and behind a privacy fence where there’s no one to judge me for sitting in it up to my hips sipping one of those frozen alcoholic alcohol drinks? You better believe it.

Just me in my two-piece (for once, cuz I wanna get a tan or something approximating one), my good friend margarita came to visit at 11:00, which is earlier than she usually comes but I’d been up since early and it was a super nice outside and why not enjoy it before it got truly hot.

I think I may have been born to this lifestyle. That’s not really something I like admitting cuz we’re all about work in this culture and having an identity inextricably tied to what we do, but I think what I do – what I was meant to do – is be Daphne. It’s harder than it looks but a lot more rewarding than, say, anything else. Thank goodness I married well, not that either of us knew Mary was gonna one day make enough money that I wouldn’t have to work.

I’d say we (mostly me) lucked out except it wasn’t luck. Mary is the prototypical Type-A personality, and she worked heccin hard for everything. She works heccin hard now, and sometimes I’m that wife who whines about how hard she works as if I don’t know she’s doing it for us, but that’s okay because part of my job is to cajole, bully, pout, or anything else I need to do to get Mary to take care of herself in all the ways I can’t take care of her for her.

But no such cajoling needed on that Saturday. I didn’t know what was keeping her, but I knew she’d be along eventually. I could just close my eyes and let the rays of sun caress my face with their warmth … for about twenty seconds before Mary (yes, the Mary, a legend in her own time, much like myself) opened the sliding door behind me.

“I saved you a seat,” I told her.

“Are you Daphne Ann Taylor,” was Mary’s suspicious reply. She’s a very suspicious person, my Mary is. Shifty; a dodgy character always plotting.

“Um,” I said cuz I was stalling for time. Who knew what she scheming this time. “No? Never even heard of her.”

“Turn around.” So bossy. Not that I turned around cuz she’s the boss of me or nothin’. I just wanted to, so I did. “Are you sure you’re not Daphne Ann Taylor,” asked Mary. All five-feet-eight-inches of Mary, clad in only a lifeguard’s red one-piece with her legs all … mmmm.

“I am Daphne Ann Taylor. Yes … please.” Mary’s faux-stern face. It’s just like her actual stern face, but there’s a twinkle in her eye that tells me firstly that I’m not in trouble and thusly that fun will soon commence. Gay fun. Gay, kinky fun.

“I’m the head lifeguard around here,” Mary (the head lifeguard) said as she strode toward me all goddess-of-summer like with her … one-piece (for which I have this thing called a fetish, which is when something not usually sexy makes you have lusty feelings and stuff; yep, just me in my pool, feeling lusty … and stuff).

“That must be a very powerful job,” I said all coquettishly to the head lifeguard. I am a coquette, ya know. The dictionary says that’s the same as being flirtatious but it’s not, and I know that because I’m terrible at flirting and ever so good at being a coquet.

“I’ve had several reports about your behavior at the pool today.” She pulled a chair up behind me. Mary behind me always makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. She has, um, a tendency, we’ll call it, to, uh, take advantage of me – yeah, we’ll use that phrase – when I’m not looking. Not that I’m not a hundred and ten percent okay with that and sorta kinda definitely encourage it in subtle, femininely wily ways.

Still, I turned over so I could look at her cuz, ya know, she’s pretty all the time and smokin’ hot in that one-piece and I like her and stuff. “What’d I do.” An innocent question cuz I’m ever so innocent. Really.

“Were you running on the pool deck?”

“Mhmm. Very fast, totally unsafe, endangered everybody.”

“And is that an alcoholic beverage in an open container?”

“I don’t think I’ve ever had alcohol. What’s it taste like.”

“Give it here.” I dutifully handed it over, and she took a sip, by which I mean a long, slow drink that would give us mere mortals brain freeze, but not head lifeguards. No siree.

“Drinking on duty,” I chided her.

“How would you know if you don’t even know what alcohol tastes like?”

“Oops. Caught me.” Keep your hands to yourself. Don’t paw the lifeguard. Her fun bits are, like, right at eye level and she’s not crossing her legs and it’s just … geesh! I want it! But don’t paw the lifeguard. Don’t paw the lifeguard. Just … be patient. I shoulda had that margarita faster. My inhibitions were clearly way too strong still.

“And we have rules about what little girls wear at this pool.”

“I should prolly just take this off then, huh?” Not that I’m a little girl, but I did stay at a Holiday Inn Express, like, eight or so years ago.

“Stand up and bring me your towel.” Which I did. Not because she’s the boss of me but because I realllyyy wanted her to do whatever she was gonna do next to me. After all, I’d misbehaved at the pool. That must have consequences. I know when I need a consequence (I’m very self-aware), and I needed a heccin consequence … possibly two or three of them … and another at bedtime.

I handed over my towel, and she dried me off, paying special attention to certain special parts of me (hence the special attention; hence indeed).

“Was your misbehavior worth it,” the head lifeguard in her cardinal red head lifeguard one-piece swimsuit (no pawing … yet!) asked me. “All these people looking at you, seeing you get scolded by the head lifeguard like a naughty little girl. Turn around.”

When I turned around, gone was our backyard, and in its place was the pool I spent almost every summer day at growing up. Mom would drop us off for swim practice at 8:00. She’d pick us up at 4:00. The same people sat in the same spots and did the same things day in and day out, and I very happily transported myself back to that place, imagining hundreds of potential onlookers, some of them onlooking and most of them reading their books and swimming their laps because – and I know you’re not gonna believe this – in my head, 30-something redheads get spanked by the lifeguards all the time. Sure, it’s embarrassing, but it’s not out of the ordinary.

As I was settling every so delightfully into that headspace, these seemingly familiar hands patted the inside of my thighs, and I spread them as if I didn’t mind the head lifeguard taking such liberties, like, at all.

“Are you embarrassed yet,” she asked me while working that towel in between my legs to dry a spot she’d gotten from the front pretty well but for some inscrutable reason was belaboring in the most belabored way. “Cuz you will be when I take your swimsuit down and spank your bare bottom where everyone can …”

“Rmmm,” was all I said to cut her off in mid-sentence.

“Did you,” she said all scandalized and more determined than ever to teach me a lesson, “Did you just cum in your bottoms? Right here on the pool deck? In front of everybody?” Not my fault. Her fault. And the swimsuit’s fault (her swimsuit, not mine). You don’t shake up a bottle of soda and then blame the bottle when it explodes. That’s just science and basic manners. Emily Post said so or would’ve if she’d been asked. Let’s just get these down right now then.”

She hooked her thumbs into my bottoms, and while things were a bit foggy, I did remember that these games (actually, not a game; a Very Serious Activity, if you take these kinds of things seriously, which we do) are more fun if I play too (not play; Very Serious and Enthusiastic Participation).

“No,” I cried and stepped back (and almost fell into the pool cuz sometimes I lose all sense of place when I’m participating Very Seriously), “you can’t take my suit down in front of everybody!”

“Like you’re leaving much to the imagination anyway,” she replied and – true story – had to fight me a little to get them down. “Fine,” she said as she won our battle of wills (funny, what with us both willing the same thing), “I was going to (spank!) use my hand, but if you’re going to be so naughty, you can march your bratty buns over to the table and bring me what’s on top of it.”

“But I’m naked!” (Almost … even with the mostly private backyard, I’m not naked back there very often … pants and panties around my ankles, well, more than I’d like to admit).

This very authoritarian lifeguard – and she has a lotta chutzpa too – smacked me very hard on my butt, surely leaving a handprint there as though signing her artwork, and told me “March. Right now, little girl.”

“I’m not a little girl,” I spat back as I marched (but totally out of step – take that!) to the table and brought back a paddle. A paddle I hadn’t seen before. Lexan, hard and heavy without being too heavy. It can pack quite the sting but still leave a bruise, which I surely didn’t deserve. I can honestly say I’ve never earned a spanking, let alone a paddling, in my life. Really.

“You look like a little girl,” the head lifeguard retorted, and I know this seems weird, but I think she was referencing my lack of a certain patch of body hair. I’d never met a lifeguard like this before; such a pity, and I don’t think I’ll ever get over what I missed out on.

“Why are you being so mean to me?”

“I’ve giving you a consequence for your poor choices. You’re the one making an exhibition of yourself.”

“That’s bull whoah! Hey!” Yanking me off my feet and over her knee the moment I was in reaching distance like she’s queen of the darn pool1 Hmmph! “Don’t you …” SMACK! “Ouch!”

“Are you gonna settle down and take your spanking, or do you wanna draw an even bigger crowd?”

We’ll just see about that! If I’d had sleeves, I’d have rolled them up and everything before telling her, “I will not settle down! I will not hold still! I will not be quiet! And I will not learn my lesson!”

And this lifeguard, my hand to god, takes everything so literally. What gives with that? It’s like just because I said those things, she thought she had to tilt me forward so my feet weren’t even on the ground, clamp her arm around my hip, and paddle me like a kayak. I meant to struggle and fight back and tell her exactly what I thought of her and the stupid rules, but at the first strike of that paddle, all I could think was, O fuck yeah. Red – ow! – one-piece and – ouch! – spanked at the – eep! – pool lifelong – oof! – fantasy with her hand – mmf! – o fuck yes! “Rrr, rmmm!”

How very … unusual. And I’m a very usual person. Really. It’s not like as soon as it was over I was wondering whether I could engineer a scene like that in real life cuz that, too, would be very unusual.

“Did you learn your lesson,” the head lifeguard asked me while rubbing my butt. Pretty sure they’re not allowed to do that.

“Hemmm.”

“Daphne?”

“Hmm?”

“Did you learn your lesson?”

“Sure,” I yawned. Something about no outside snacks. Who knows? I was suddenly very sleepy, all limp and stuff over Mary’s knee.

“Up you go.”

You mean I hafta to hold myself upright using my own body? That’s way too difficult, but I did it cuz I’m strong and stuff.

“The other rule,” Mary Queen of Lifeguards said to me as she unfolded her towel to reveal a thing she’d kept concealed, “is that little girls who get their bare bottoms spanked at the pool hafta wear a swim diaper so everyone knows what they’re to keep an extra close eye on them cuz they’re so small.”

“Do I hafta?”

“Every spanked little girl does. Do you think the rules don’t apply to you? Are you special?”

“Yes. Very,” I replied while she threaded that thing up my legs. I woulda minded more, but I was feeling like I owed Mary a little something for her all the planning and effort that went into this surprise fantasy fulfillment, and if it made her happy, then … and I wasn’t planning on wearing them very long.

“There,” she said and swatted my butt. “Remember, these don’t hold tinkle.”

“Mary, get in the pool.”

“Excuse me, little girl?”

“Get in the pool or take me inside right now.” Funny how my voice got all breathy must then.

Mary’s it’s-cute-how-bossy-you-get-when-you’re-horny face.

Mary stepped into the pool and held my hand as I did the same cuz she likes me and stuff, and as we sank into all ten inches of water, I told myself, you can paw at the lifeguard now.

“Do you think it’s a one-piece fetish, a lifeguard fetish, or a pool fetish,” she asked someone. Probably not me cuz I was so clearly not into having a conversation just then. Nope, I was more intent on getting that one-piece off her shoulder to expose a … never you mind what. I’m a very private person after all, even if I forget sometimes. Really.

June 3, 2022

Wow! I was so neglectful in posting additional chapters! I'm such a space cadet this ... year ?

Here are two more chapters, and the full book is available on Kindle.

Chapter 2

I waited to hear the garage door close for probably a couple seconds longer than it should’ve taken to realize I didn’t hear the garage door open, and no surprise given the size of the Rooney McMansion. I just wanted to make sure Mr. and Mrs. Rooney were gone before I turned my attention back to Gordy.

“I am so sorry,” I said as I crossed the kitchen in three big steps. It was a very confused Gordy that I turned around and hugged. Didn’t even occur to me a hug was kind of invasive, but maybe I’d already internalized that it was doing to be the least invasive physical contact we’d be having that evening.

“I am so sorry. Are you okay?” I mean, this was Gordy! Don’t be mean to Gordy is just a rule. Like he doesn’t have enough crap to deal with never getting out of diapers without his peers giving him a hard time. I’d known him since kindergarten, and his stepmom was just out of line. He was twenty! We both were, but I was the babysitter … And he was the babysat. He didn’t need a babysitter, he should be allowed to change his own diapers, and he’s way too old for a spanking! But even if his stepmom disagrees, and clearly she did, her being royally pissed off for calling someone the ‘C’ word didn’t justify embarrassing him the way she did by having me over and asking me to do it. I knew she was strict, but I didn’t think she was, well, a ‘C’ word herself until that night. I mean, I didn’t know the whole story, and what a saga it must be, but that’s how she came off.

“What,” the clever boy said and who can blame him for having a little whiplash considering a minute and a half had passed since I’m silenced his protest with a spank on the butt.

“For you having to sit through that …” My turn to blush. “And the spanks. I didn’t want to, but … Are you okay?”

“Um, yeah.”

I took one look in his eyes. “No, you’re not. You poor thing. Go sit down in the family room. I’ll order the pizza and be there in a sec. What do you want to drink?”

“A coke. I can get it.”

“Shoo. I’ll be right there.” Was I being sort of ridiculously nice because I felt bad for him? Yes. Because I felt guilty for swatting him on the butt, even though it couldn’t have hurt through his diaper? Yes. Because I felt extra super guilty for how it turned me on? Hell yes.

And maybe also because of how awkward I felt, which was only getting worse as the reality of the situation set in? Super goddam yes. I watched him in his jammies walking toward the living room, and thinking that I’d be diapering and spanking that butt in the next few hours was definitely weird, to understate if dramatically.

I ordered dinner and made two cokes, and my normal babysitter brain reminded me kids who wear diapers to bed don’t get caffeine in the evening before correcting itself. Not normal babysitting. I found him on the couch wearing the saddest puppy dog face I’ve ever seen on someone over the age of twelve and felt like I owed it to him as a friend, and babysitter, to cheer him up or at least try to. His stepmom may be pissed at him, but I wasn’t. No good reason why we couldn’t at least try to have a good time despite, well, we could at least try. What’s the point of being twenty if you can’t ignore consequences as far away as three hours?

“Hey,” I said as I sat down next to him and handed him his coke, “Cheer up. I won’t tell anyone.” Though like that even half the point. He took his glass without looking at me. Commiserating sometimes works to cheer up my usual babysitting charges, so why not give it a shot? “Your stepmom is kind of a bitch, huh?” Had the added benefit of being true.

That got some engagement. “Yeah, sometimes.”

“Just sometimes? Cuz if I were you …” Probably shouldn’t have said that. I’m not him. Doubt he wanted to hear what a twenty-year-old classmate who got out of diapers at age two and hasn’t been spanked since age eight would do in his shoes. Our shoes don’t come from remotely the same place. “Anyway, you wanna tell me what happened?”

“Not really.” He took a drink.

“Might make you feel better.”

He took another drink. “I … This girl I asked out, she … She made fun of me.” He asked someone out? Brave. Respect.

“What did she say?”

“I …”

“Was it about your diapers?” He jerked his head in a nod and took another swallow. I’d have told him to go easy, but like it would make a difference. “How did she even know?”

“I don’t know. It’s just … Been a long time since anyone made fun of me for it. Didn’t think I’d have to deal with that now that I’m an adult.”

“Is it true Kyle Berman punched Billy Kosterson in tenth grade just for asking if you wear diapers?”

“Yes.” He rolled his eyes. “Like it did me any favors.”

Probably shouldn’t have said this, but, “As cruel as kids can be, I think you were kind of lucky. I mean, I always thought people didn’t really make fun of you. It was kind of a rule that no one made fun of you. Better than the opposite, right?”

“I just want to be treated normal.”

“You’d rather people had made your life miserable all through school? Much better to have Kyle sticking up for you than be on his receiving end.”

“Yeah, but … no. Kinda.”

“So what did this girl do exactly?” Back to the present.

“I … It’s embarrassing.”

“You and I aren’t going to have a lot of secrets left by the time you go to bed.” Well, I will.

“I asked her out. After class. I just asked if she wanted to get Starbucks sometime and she just … she laughed at me.”

“What a bitch!”

“Huge bitch! And then she posted about it on TikTok and called me … diaper boy. So god knows how many people I know found out … And then on campus today I saw her and she and friends started laughing at me and I tried to ignore them but … I lost my temper and called her …”

“A cunt? Cuz that’s a seriously cunt thing to do.” I’d have called her a cunt. I’d have called her friends cunts. I mean, yeah, that’s a fucking ugly word but what she did was even uglier. If ever that word applied to someone … I was hoping my saying it would at least make him smile, but nope. “So how did that get you in trouble on campus?”

“She fucking … I can’t even believe this. One of her friend’s moms knows my stepmom.”

“Seriously?” He got tattled on? Like, fucking seriously? “Did you get to tell your side of it?” Like he should even have to justify himself, even if he were in the wrong.

“Yeah, and she still … She said it’s a slur and what if someone filmed it? It would always be out there. I said she was being totally unreasonable and unfair but she … Anyway.” He started out with a rush of indignant words and trailed in resignation.

Talk about having one of the worst days of your life. “Sorry. If it makes you feel any better, I think you’re right, those girls are horrible, and your stepmom is wrong.” I swear I saw a little light bulb go off over his head.

“So,” he tentatively asked, “since you don’t think I did anything wrong and that my stepmom is being ridiculous, does that mean …”

“Nope. Sorry.”

“Come on,” he whined more than demanded.

“Sorry.”

“But why!?!” Okay, that was a demand. And not that I didn’t see his point, but I had to think of myself too. A spanked butt and wounded pride will heal, but student loans are forever (no matter what the loan agreement says). True story.

“Hey,” I said firmly but didn’t raise my voice, “Don’t cop an attitude with me. We can still have a fun evening.” Which is when he looked at me like I was crazy; can’t blame him.

“Not really,” he said like it was pretty obvious that no, it would definitely not be a nice evening, at least not for both of us. “Just tell her you did everything she said. Please? How is she gonna know?”

“Is your stepmom going to change your diaper in the morning? Is she going to see your butt?”

“O … yeah.”

“So you’ll probably get an even worse spanking when she finds out you wiggled your way out of your consequence, and she’ll probably blab to everyone that I’m not trustworthy.” I would’ve expected a twenty-year-old, heedless as we are about the future sometimes, to see ahead twelve hours to how that would play out, at least for him. I mean, I don’t expect him to care about what it meant for me, but in his very unique circumstances within his other very unique circumstances, she’d find out.

“Yeah …”

“But we can still have a nice time. Does it seem like I care that you still get spanked and that she hires a babysitter for you?”

“You’re getting paid for it.” Little bit of acid in that remark. Also fair. I’m nothing if not a fair babysitter.

“Okay, fine. Half of it’s yours.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Spend it on whatever you want. You want to have a two hundred copies made with her picture and the ‘C’ word on it, goo put clothes on and we can go to Kinko’s right now.”

“Heh. Thanks.”

“There’s a smile.” I reached over and nudged his shoulder. “Dinner is going to be here in a couple minutes. Need a diaper change?”

“Um … no.”

“That ‘um’ is a little suspicious,” I tried to say in a way that lightened the mood for what I was about to ask. “Mind if I check?” And it wasn’t really a question. I sat up and leaned toward him, and he reared back like he’d been bit by something. In my experience, it’s not that hard to get boys to do what you want, at least at our age. They’re actually better able to resist our entreaties at about half our age. I made my best disarming smile and tried in as charming a tone as I could without resorting to my come-hither voice to say, “Don’t be silly. You don’t wanna sit in a wet diaper, do you?”

I’ve checked a lot of diapers, and I tried to tell myself this was no different as I put my hand on the outside of his jammies while he blushed fire engine red. “Hold still,” I said as gently as I could and with my left hand pulled back the waistband of his pajama pants and with my right, reached down to put two fingers inside the leg gather between his thighs. That’s how you check a diaper, and he was wearing a diaper so … I know it was more awkward for him than me, but hey, maybe not. He certainly opened his legs when I out my hand in his pants, probably a reflex by now. It was my first time checking an adult in a diaper, but it for sure wasn’t his first time. It wasn’t even his first time getting checked by someone other than his stepmom. I felt for him, but he could also lighten up a bit.

“You’re wet, but it can wait until after dinner. Unless you’re uncomfortable; I can change you now if you want.”

“I’m … fine. And I can do it myself. You don’t have to.”

“Gordy,” I said and saw him grimace a little at my firm-but-patient tone. “Sorry, Gordon. I’m not trying to be mean, but let’s just get this out of the way. I’m the most popular babysitter in a town for a reason. It’s my job. I’m going to do what I told your stepmom I’d do.” O my goodness, what a sad face he made. “But,” I said because every experienced babysitter knows about carrots and sticks, “if you cooperate and be a big boy about it, you can stay up til 11:30.”

“Did you just call me a …”

“Sorry. Figure of speech.” Really. But now that I’d said it, also not uncalled for. He got in trouble; he knows what consequences he gets; and the most mature thing he could do, short of calling his stepmom the same thing he called that girl and telling her what she could do with her rules, was not try to get out of it.

“But why can I stay up late but not … you know.”

“Because I wanna hang out with you. Don’t you wanna hang out with me?” I meant it too. I’d rather hang out with him than put him to bed at 9:30 and watch Netflix on my phone for the rest of the evening. And if I said it in my you-don’t-wanna-hurt-my-feelings-do-you voice, well, so what? Like I said, not that hard to get boys our age to do stuff, and that trick works on charges of all ages. Do you know how many boys have puppy love crushes on me? Professional hazard that just so happens to make my job easier.

“Yeah,” he said. I think I detected a bit of shyness there beyond the utter embarrassment he’d been feeling since I walked in the door (actually, probably ever since he asked that girl out and got her response, the huge ‘C’ word).

“Good. I’m glad. If you behave yourself, you can stay up.”

“Okay.” Did I detect some conflicted feelings? Couldn’t blame him if they were. From having a babysitter, even a super fun one like me, to what his stepmom had told me to do, I wouldn’t have been upset with him if he said he just wanted to be alone his room. I was wondering why he wasn’t doing exactly that. I wouldn’t even have been upset with him if he threw me out of his house, or at least tried to. I could overpower him (he’s kinda little), but who wants to do that? I figured if his stepmom could get him to go along with her ridiculousness, so could I, and I intended to do it without being a bitch like her.

But so far it hadn’t even been an issue. He just … did everything I said. Maybe he didn’t go upstairs, slam his door, and pout in his room because I told him to go to the family room. Or maybe it was because I’d apologized for swatting his butt in the kitchen. Either way, he’d been a pretty cooperative, almost meek, kiddo since I’d arrived.

Chapter 3

Anyway, pizza is itself a great tool in the babysitter toolbox. Just about everyone likes pizza. In my experience, it’s a great way to get sad kids, mad kids, and bad kids to cheer up, and it worked on Gordy like a charm without my even trying. And I like pizza too. I did say we could still have a good time; I’m a babysitter – we know these things.

“You want another coke,” I asked him as he got some plates out.

“I’m not supposed to.”

Wow, yet another rule from the stepmonster. “Seriously? As if you might wake up dry if you don’t?”

“No,” he replied with some well-earned indignant irritation, “because it keeps me up.”

“Oops. Sorry.” My turn to blush. “Well, you’re going to stay up anyway, so up to you. I won’t tell.” Also, show me another adult who still gets affected by a coke that way. Weird. Sounded like another example of stepmom not updating a rule since he was eight.

“It’s okay. Yeah, I’d like another please.” He’s polite.

The Rooneys have a thing about eating in the family room, so we ate in the kitchen, and with a little pepperoni, Gordy plucked up the courage to initiate some small talk. “So, do you wanna find something to watch after dinner?”

I’ve always thought as a babysitter that it helps if you seem confident about everything. When you hesitate or sound unsure, some kids see that as a chance to get away with stuff they can’t get away with around their parents. Then the kid gets in trouble, the babysitter comes off gullible and less-than-competent to the parents, and nobody has a good time. I like having a good time; I like the kids having a good time; and when kids tell their parents they had a good time (without any booboos or property damage), the parents hire you again. Sometimes they even give tips. And they don’t negotiate as you steadily raise your rates. It may ‘just’ be babysitting, but it’s a business, and I’m a business major. My brand is competent, confident, fun, and safe.

But try as might, I could only come off as about 90% confident when I answered his question with, “Actually, I think it would be better if we got your spanking over with early. Like, right after we do the dishes. That way it’s over and done with, and we can go back to having fun. Sound good?”

Yeah, really wish I hadn’t tacked that on to the end. Force of habit, phrasing a here’s-what’s-gonna-happen statement as a question. Effective, but yeah, obviously didn’t sound good to him. He went right back into his shell with a morose, “Okay,” and added, “I’m full.”

What else could I do but try once more to downplay the whole thing, even if it did come off as half-assed justification for my suggestion to get him spanked ASAP, which wasn’t a suggestion at all. “No you’re not. You didn’t even finish one piece.” At least I didn’t say it in my you-silly-goose voice or tack on ‘three more bites.’

“Can’t I even decide if I’m full on my own?”

I don’t appreciate the kids I sit for raising their voice with me, but I made an exception. “Sure you can. Hey, be my guest. But you’re not full. You’re just feeling sorry for yourself.”

“And I have every right to be!”

Alright, the first one was a freebie, but not twice. “Do not raise your voice to me, young man. I can move your bedtime up too.” I waited for an apology, and when I didn’t get one, I asked, “You wanna go to bed right after your spanking?”

“Sorry.”

“Thank you. And cheer up already. We’ll get your spanking out of the way, we’ll get you in a fresh diaper, and we can sit on the couch and watch a movie together. Your choice. Isn’t that better than having your spanking hanging over you all night?” Maybe that’s specifically why she made it a bedtime spanking instead of giving it to him as soon as she heard. She did say it’s best to give consequences right away, so the delay didn’t make a ton of sense. I’d have really (like, reallllyyyy) appreciated it if she’d gotten it over with before I arrived instead of laying it off on me.

“I guess.”

I gently scoffed at him. He’s cute when he’s guessing. “I think you know it’s better, don’t you? Don’t you,” I asked again with a wink.

He took a deep breath through his nose and let it out before responding, “Yes.”

I slid his plate just a quarter-inch in his direction, and he started eating his dinner again. Not often that I have to work to get a kid I sit for to eat pizza. But he’s not a kid, and none of the others I sit for ever had a spanking coming after dinner. I know I probably shouldn’t have, but I was just too curious not to, so in the hopes of hearing wtf, I remarked, “Besides, it’s not your first spanking, right?”

Cute how he his tummy went from being too full to eat another bite to his mouth being too full to answer. But I was really curious (who wouldn’t be!), so I just said it. “I’m just curious. You don’t have to tell me, but obviously this isn’t normal.” I mean, I assumed it was obvious to him. It had to be, right? “Maybe it will make it less awkward to just talk about it. How does a twenty-year-old still get punished by his stepmom? I’m not judging,” I hastened to add, a white lie. I was judging. I was judging the stepmonster a lot more harshly; I was just sorry for Gordy, but if I’m being more honest than I was with him, I was judging him a little for going along with it. Just seemed like a self-respect thing. He should’ve shut her down hard.

“I don’t know,” he said and took a very long drink. Either he’s a thirsty boy or was trying to not answer and didn’t have the guts to just tell me to stop asking. Or both. Both would fit just fine.

“But you do know why you go along with it, right?”

“I don’t have anywhere else to go. Their house, their rules.”

“You really think they’d kick you out if you refused?”

“I guess not.”

“So why don’t you just refuse? They can’t physically make you at twenty.” I mean, they could, but not legally.

And that thought is when I had a horrifying revelation that I’m ashamed to say I didn’t have an hour earlier. “Gordy,” I said softly and put my hand on his wrist, “are they abusing you?” Cuz the whole thing wasn’t legal! There’s no such thing as implied consent for an adult to get hit. Just because he went along with it didn’t mean he was okay with it, which just left that he wasn’t okay with it, and they were doing it anyway! And I was a half hour away from being complicit in it just because … she told me to? I felt sick to my stomach.

“What? No.”

“Gordy, look at me. We can pack some of your things right now and you can come stay at my house until we call the police. Are they?”

“No, they’re not.”

“They’re treating you like a little kid. She spanks you! You’re an adult. That’s … It has to be abuse. I’m not trying to upset you, I just … C’mon. Let’s go get some of your things.”

“Stop it.”

“Gordy …”

“I asked for it, okay? Geez.”

Well … that shut me up. You coulda heard a pepperoni drop in the awkward silence that followed. So many twists and turns, and I’d only been there seventy-five minutes. I ran through a number of very appropriate responses in my head, such as ‘what’ and ‘huh’ and ‘whuh?’

I settled on, “You … asked for it.” And to compound the awkwardness, that’s when I realized I was still holding his wrist. I really had been about to drag him upstairs and start throwing stuff in a bag. I take my job seriously, and I take protecting people who can’t protect themselves even more seriously. I know it should’ve occurred to me to just reject all of it out of hand the moment the stepmonster pretended like this was all a mix up, but … I dunno. It seemed so natural to the two of them that it just felt natural to me, like a weird but normal-for-them stepparent-child relationship more than an emergency in the moment. Now that it wasn’t an emergency again, it was back to be a weird stepparent-child relationship … times about a million.

“You asked for it.” I really thought that bore repeating. “Are you telling me the truth?”

“Yeah.”

“If you want me to believe you, you need to explain.” I was still curious, but also suspicious. I needed him to explain. I wasn’t fully over my instinct to get him out of the house.

“I didn’t do so well my freshman year. I told my stepmom that I, um … thought I needed more … structure. Okay?”

“This … is a lot of structure. Sorry, not making fun, but … did you tell her specifically …”

“I just told her I thought it would help if I was accountable to someone again.”

“Did you say how?”

“Just that I did better with the rules I had before college.”

“So you got spanked all the way through high school.” Good thing he was already changing for gym in private. “Can I ask you something personal?” Like I hadn’t already about fifty times. “Do you like it?”

“What? Of course not!”

“Cuz most … well, just about everyone our age wouldn’t even let their parents ground them, let alone …”

“Grounding didn’t work before. She tried that for a while but … It’s like I have a super active social life. I never really cared if I got grounded so … She said grounding didn’t work with me so she went back to …”

“Spanking you? Just recently?”

“… No. She, um, told me when I, uh, brought up needing accountability that … she’d use the same consequences I got before college.”

“And what did you say?” Legit just fascinated now. Like, woah. IRL talk show.

“I said I didn’t want that.”

“And?”

“And she said I didn’t get a choice about how. That we either did it her way or not at all.”

“And you said yes.”

“Yeah.” He’s so cute when he blushes, though he’d been red-faced for so much of the time I’d been there it would’ve been fair to assume that’s just what color he always is.”

“And … you really don’t like it? Really?”

“No! I hate it. It hurts, and it’s embarrassing. But that’s what makes it a consequence”

“And not being allowed to go to your friend’s, having a sitter, the mouth soaping. That’s all part of it too?” He nodded. “And not being allowed to change your own diapers?”

Just above a whisper, turning an even deeper shade of red, he answered, “That’s only when I get a rash … I never get one when she does it, but … Not like I do it on purpose. It hurts.”

Learning a lot about Gordy and a lot about myself, from the eureka discovery that smacking him on the butt turned me on to finding, to my complete confusion, that learning he had a hard time doing a good job changing himself seemed a little adorable. I got a soft spot for adorable, but boys my age … well, Gordy was the first boy my age I ever thought of as adorable.

“Well,” I said, trying to get back to lightening the mood and salvaging our evening, “Hey, to each their own. I think it’s actually pretty cool that you were brave enough to ask for help and are doing what you need to for your own good. Not many people our age are mature enough to do that.” Especially the boys. Most of them, in my experience. The whole thing was lots of other things besides cool (and it wasn’t very cool at all, but I was trying to be positive). I just wanted him to feel better. He was having such a hard day.

“Um, thanks, I guess.”

“Yeah, and you know what? That just makes it a good thing,” I rambled and had to think fast to justify that bizarre point of view. “I’ll give you your consequence, and you know you need your consequence, and … yeah.” And he looked at me like I was nuts again. If I could have looked at me, that’s how I would’ve looked at me too. But at least I was polite enough to not look at him like he was even nuttier. Everything he said made a bizarre, if screwed up, kind of sense right up until the ‘and then I agreed to get treated like a little kid whenever stepmom thinks I’ve been naughty, up to and including pulled my diaper down and spanking my bottom.’ Just paraphrasing.

“Can I ask you a couple more things?”

“I guess,” he said like it made no difference by this point. Fair enough.

“What about like today? When you didn’t do anything wrong and you’re getting punished anyway? That’s not what you meant when you said you needed accountability. ”

“Part of what I agreed to. She said it couldn’t just be when I thought I needed it or just for some things. She said that’s not real accountability.” He finished off his soda. “And that just like she would decide the consequence, she would decide what I’d get consequences for. I didn’t think … I was just worried about grades and getting lazy with certain … things. I didn’t think she’d take it so seriously … or so often.” I wondered just how often but kept that question to myself. If I knew anybody who got spanked growing up, I wasn’t aware of it. How often was ‘often?’ I guess it didn’t matter.

“You could change your mind,” I suggested. Sort of an obvious suggestion. They can’t legally make him, and it would be a hundred percent illegal if they tried to force him. And now that I think on it, he hadn’t mentioned a word about his dad in all this. Maybe this was just between him and his stempmom.

“Yeah, but … my grades are better. I’m doing better in other ways. I just wish it weren’t so embarrassing. Kinda used to being changed cuz … But … And it hurts.” Couldn’t help but think of him as a little wimpy. He’s an adult. How much could it hurt?

“Ever tell her how it makes you feel?”

“She says embarrassment isn’t on purpose; it’s just a side effect. If I don’t wanna be embarrassed, I should behave, is what she says.”

“So if you’re, ya know, generally okay with this, why were you so upset when I got here? Just because I’m not your stepmom?” He nodded. “And because we’re the same age?” He nodded again. “Well, I won’t do it unless you say it’s okay. I’ll explain it to your stepmom so you don’t get in more trouble. I really owe her a talking to anyway. But it’s up to you.”

“It’s not like I want you to.”

“I know. You already tried to get out of it … I was kinda wondering why you didn’t try harder …”

“I … It helps most because I don’t get to decide.” Ah; so that’s why he didn’t try harder. Still thought it was weird, but I guess I understood.

“So you want me to give you your spanking?”

“No! … I mean, I don’t want a spanking at all, but since I’m getting one anyway … yeah.”

“And you’re not just saying that cuz you’re afraid you’ll get in more trouble?” I needed consent. Truly free consent. Then he could get what he (supposedly) needed, I’d continue to be known as the best babysitter in town, and I wouldn’t have to feel guilty. And maybe, fringe benefit, I’d get a chance to get hired by Mrs. Rooney again at three times my normal rate. Just sayin’. Lady owed me an apology and then some cuz in all my focus on consent, no one had asked me for mine until I’d already been sucked into her vortex of weirdness.

“No.”

“Well, okay then.”

“You don’t have to seem happy about it.” Finally he shows a little spunk!

“I’m not happy about having to give you a spanking, but since I do, I’m going to choose to treat it like it’s perfectly normal. I’ve had to give consequences to kids I’ve babysat before. Same thing: they get the consequence, it’s over, and we can have fun with the rest of our evening, but that only works when the kid doesn’t pout about it.”

“I’m not pouting!” I just looked at him. “Well, I’ll stop,” he said with a chuckle.

“Good. Not your first spanking. We’ll just do it, and then it will be over.” I think I was giving myself a pep talk as much I was giving him one. It wasn’t his first spanking, but it was my first time giving one, and it was going to be on the other side of my first big boy diaper change. But I could hardly ask him to be brave about it if I wasn’t going to be. Besides, like I said, babysitting always goes best when the sitter pretends to be calm and confident, whether they feel that way or not.

May 31, 2022

24 minutes ago, diaperboymi said:

That was AWESOME ? god i live these two so much. What a wonderful start to the day, reading a new chapter?????

BTW...i hope you are feeling better Alex???

Thank you! I am feeling better. My stomach has calmed down, and I’m slowly getting over this pneumonia.

May 30, 2022

Scene #171

I’m not a flopper, but I did flop over Mary’s lap today. I was outside gardening, I was tired, it was hot, I was sweaty, the air conditioning made all these goose bumps appear, and there was Mary, sitting on the couch with her legs propped on the coffee table with her shorts all ridden up on her thighs. What better place to flop in all the land? None. That’s how many.

“Hi,” I said because it’s polite to greet a person whose lap you’re sprawled over, ideally beforehand but in the first few seconds are permissible too.

SPANK!

“Hey! What was that for?”

“I thought you wanted me to.” A likely story.

“Can’t a girl sprawl across her lover’s lap without collecting a spank? I think we need marriage counseling.”

“What? Why on earth would we need marriage counseling?”

“Cuz I wanna see the look on the therapist’s face when we do that thing where I roleplay as you and you roleplay as me heehee!”

“You’ll say anything for a laugh,” Mary said as she laughed. I make her laugh … sigh. “You are such a sweat ball.”

“Excuse me, I don’t sweat. I glisten. Ladies glisten.” And did I describe myself as sweaty above? Well, what a girl says in her diary is private.

“And if I didn’t know better, I might mistake the dirt just above your ankles for tan lines.”

“I labored for you, Mary. I labored to make out house more beautiful and full of fresh produce all summer. I’ma put you to work harvesting berries soon … Do you think if I were to get caught eating the berries during harvesting that I might be made to take my shorts and panties down and submit to a switching right there in the yard and have to finish my work with my bare bottom on display?”

“I think that could be arranged,” she said while – get this – leaning all the way over to nibble on my earlobe. Like, does she even know whose ear that is? “But we wouldn’t want to sunburn your bottom. You should sunbath without your bottoms on for at least an hour every day.”

“If you say so. You’re always saying stuff and things.”

“Are you gonna fall asleep across my legs?”

“Yeah. You uncomfortable?”

“Yeah.”

“Tough. I worked hard and wanna sleep on your legs.”

“Excuse me, little girl. I’ll show you tough.”

I married a ninja, for real. Does she even know whose body she flipped over and manhandled and was straddling on the couch?

“Mar-eeeeeee! St-eeeeee! Stop heeheehee! No heeheeheehee fair-eeee tickling!”

“If you say so. You’re always saying stuff and things.”

“Um, scoff? Rude much? And do you even know whose sides you were tickling just now?”

And as soon as I said, I saw. She had definite Afternoon Delight face. I suddenly felt a second wind. A second wind and … stuff. And, like, does she even know whose mouth she was putting her tongue in? She should be so rude every day and maybe twice a day on weekends.

So, um, anyway, forty minutes later …

“You have such a pretty little body,” my Mary (so called because she’s mine and no one can have her) said to me while running a fingertip up and down my pretty little body.

“You’re just saying that cuz you love me.”

“I love (kiss) you and (kiss) your body and (kiss) I especially love (kiss) your minnie.”

Excuse me? “Excuse me? My what?”

“This.”

Zipe! She is so wonderfully handsy. “I know what you meant. Don’t call it that.”

“Why not,” she chuckled.

“It’s … weird.”

“You don’t like it when I call it a p…”

“Stop! I have delicate little ears. I don’t like that word.”

“The things you choose to be bashful about. Such a cutie.”

“Am not.”

“Are so. You don’t mind the part that shall not be named being on display in our backyard though, do you?”

“I must’ve missed the day in Sunday school when they said we shouldn’t do that. And Mom did used to say she had such a hard time keeping clothes on me.”

“Yet more proof you’re still a little girl.”

“Am not.”

“C’mon, let’s go get my little girl a bath … and I think I’ll join you in the tub.”

“You can call it a kitty, if you must refer to it as anything.”

“Lemme see your kitty moving toward the bathroom. Scoot.”

“Hey, Mary? Do you think that spray we got for cleaning up Suzy’s accidents will work on the couch? Asking for my friend named Mary who, um, really enjoyed herself just now.”

“I think so,” she chuckled.

“And my friend also wants to know if you think it will work on the wall next to the side table.”

“Harhar. You flatter yourself.”

“Yes. Yes, I do.”

May 27, 2022

20 hours ago, WBDaddy said:

Good to hear (hope it isn't COVID too!) - thankfully you've got the proper equipment available to deal with the runs while you're physically limited.

If it weren't for needing to protect the incisions ...

I did have a caregiver who changed me a couple times, cleaned me up once, and helped me shower, but I can't say any of it was enjoyable. I was just too miserable. In addition the surgery and the diarrhea, I picked up an awful head cold in the hospital.

May 27, 2022

I’m home and recovering. I have a head cold (that I hope isn’t COVID) and the runs because of all the antibiotics I’ve been on.

But I’m home and mending.

May 24, 2022

So here’s the deal

I had a hip repair surgery yesterday, and unbeknownst to anyone, I had a ton of fluid in my abdomen pressing on my diaphragm, and I also had pneumonia in a very early stage.

When they took me off the anesthesia, both of my lungs partially collapsed.

So I’m in the hospital being treated for pneumonia and they’re trying to figure out the source of the abdominal fluid.

Send all the vibes!

May 24, 2022

The surgery went well, but I had bad reaction to the anesthesia when I woke up. I’m doing okay, but I’m in the ER while they figure things out.

Gone through three diapers and been cathed twice. Having a very very hard time emptying my bladder.

So a rough go, but I’m doing okay all things considered

May 23, 2022

My surgery is today! Wish me luck.

May 22, 2022

Scene #170

“Daffy, you’re looking a little poofy pants.” Nana is just … like an older version of Mary sometimes. Whereas by contrast, i.e., difficult to see in the glare of the brilliant light I shine down across all my eyes survey, am always me.

Except not exactly cuz if Mary said that, I’d have told her where she could go (nowhere; I like having her around, if only to reach stuff on the top shelves). But in the case of Nana saying it (and I thought my shorts hid it well, dammit!) I just turned tomato red and almost swallowed my tongue (and I don’t even like tomatoes!). Hmmph!

“Daphne isn’t potty trained,” Mary helpfully informed Nana. If she gets any more helpful I’m gonna need to talk with about being a less charitable person and stuff.

“Huh?” Exactly!

“Until the puppy is potty trained, Daphne isn’t potty trained.”

“Do you gotta tell all our secrets,” I hissed at Mary. “She’s gonna develop a bad opinion of you.” I was referring to the dog. I remind Mary frequently that the dog sees and hears everything. She’s gonna grow up thinking I’m the only one she can trust with secrets.

“Such a silly girl.” Can you believe she calls me names like that, and in front of the neighbor no less. Then, o hell naw, she reached over and gently lifted the puppy off my lap and into hers. I told her she should’ve gotten her own (shortly after we got it home following my years of saying I didn’t want one and only getting this one cuz she wanted it so badly … but still, should’ve gotten one of her own).

“And you still haven’t named her,” Nana asked.

“We can’t decide,” Mary replied.

“I can decide. I’ve decided several times.”

“Maybe more you can’t agree,” Nana commented. That would be the crux of it. “What names have you come up with so far.”

“Well, Ferris,” Mary suggested.

“She’s a dog. She doesn’t get a day off.” That was me. Nana would never be so mouthy. At least, not to Mary. To me, yeah, she can be quite the smart-aleck, which is kinda rude cuz I wanna be the smart-aleck and I got there first (despite being less than half her age).

“Super dog.” That was me, cuz this dog is so super! I’m obsessed with it, just not in the overly anxious, I’m-gonna have-a-panic-attack-any-moment way that I was worried about. I guess I’ve grown.

“I’m not standing at the back door shouting ‘Super Dog’ when it’s time to come in.”

“Why not? That would be pretty funny.” I’d tell people the dog’s name is John and that Mary’s just getting weird or something … as opposed to myself who’s been a smidge weird the whole time except for the fact I’m a hundred and ten percent normal and an example to all on how to be exceptional at it.

“I’m with Mary on that one,” Nana added. “Any other ideas, Mary?”

“I like Daisy. Daffodil and Daisy. Wouldn’t that be so cute?”

“I am the flower. You do not get two flowers.”

“What about Ducky,” Mary asked Nana. “Daffy and Ducky.”

But like I gave Nana a chance to respond to that ludicrousness. “Firstly, why a Looney Toons reference? Do we owe Warner Brothers money or something?”

“Cuz you’re looney,” Mary said when I wasn’t even done talking, and anyway, my alleged looneyness (looneyoscity?) is neither here nor there (cuz it’s everywhere despite my stellar normality, but still not the point).

“And second, what is this and you keep referring to? ‘Daffodil and Daisy,’ ‘Daffy and Ducky.’ Are you promoting the dog to spouse or demoting me to pet?” Damn I’ve been wanting to say that for days!

“Neither.”

“Then stop trying to pair her name with mine.”

“I think she has a very good point,” Nana chimed in.

“I hadn’t thought of it like that,” Mary replied. “I was just thinking of what would be cute.“

Yeah, cute as in like playmates. The dog is not my sibling, and I am not her littermate.

“Daffy,” Nana said like someone’s mom interjecting to put a stop to an argument, “what are some of your other ideas?”

“Scoots.”

“Vetoed,” Mary practically coughed out. No one appreciates my sense of humor sometimes. But I’m still gonna call her that sometimes (the dog, not Mary, cuz I want my butt to live).

“What about Suzy,” I asked very nicely. They say when you ask nicely for things, you’re more likely to get them. And whudduya know? It worked.

“I like Suzy,” was Mary’s answer. “Do you like Suzy,” she asked the dog, who responded by wagging her tail but she does that literally every single time attention is directed at her in any form. “She’s ecstatic,” Mary pronounced. True story.

“Settled,” asked Nana, mediator extraordinaire (but good thing we’re not paying her cuz maybe more ordinaire than extraordinaire, which is not a knock on her so much as Mary’s and my positions were closer together than we let on).

“Suzy,” Mary enunciated to the dog (whose name is now Suzy, which I came up with, further solidifying that she’s really my dog first and loves me most, which I will tell her when she’s old enough to understand these things). Though I am starting to get a little [insert emotion thats not jealousy here] about how much time Suzy is occupying Mary’s lap. Mine. Not that I’m possessive or jealous or anything. Really.

“So Suzy is slow to house train,” Nana asked. “What have you tried? I was always able to potty train our dogs pretty quick.”

O, poor Nana didn’t know just how big a can of cats she opened with that offer to be helpful. I took it upon myself to tell her. “She is house trained. Mary just doesn’t wanna admit it cuz she won’t lemme out of her stupid diapers.”

“She is not,” was Mary’s rejoinder. Weak, Mary. So weak, so unlike you.

“She hasn’t had an accident in two days!” I wasn’t shouting. I was just being exclamatory. True story.

“Did you call them Mary’s diapers,” Nana asked. I think she was confused, which is Mary’s fault.

“They’re not mine. They’re hers. I just wear them cuz she makes me.”

“O … kay.” I detected some doubt in Nana’s tone. Hmm. Not sure what she could be confused about or what she may have been getting at.

“I just think we she should be safe. I don’t want any relapses.”

“She won’t.”

“I mean you not letting her out often enough.”

“I won’t, and I didn’t in the first place. She just wasn’t ready.”

I didn’t want to do what I did next. I didn’t even plan on doing it. I hadn’t ever even previously thought of doing it. But right then, sitting in that damn diaper that Mary owns listening to her bull plop reasoning she could barely get out with a smirk plastered to her face, I decided to tattle. Except, and this is a question for the philosophy majors out there reading my very private diary (still unemployed, huh?), is it still tattling if you totally make it up? Like, can you lie and tattle? Or is that just framing someone? Anyhoo, I just couldn’t help myself. After all, I’m allegedly looney and therefore blameless. Really.

“Mary’s only been changing me once a day.”

In my right ear, I heard a stunned scoff.

In my left ear, I heard a woman of a certain age and then some go, “Mary Taylor, how many times have we talked about this? You can’t put her in diapers and then just let her sit in it. You think not putting the dog out enough is bad, well, what the heck are you thinking when it comes to her bottom? What if she gets a rash? I am disappointed in you. You need to take better care of her. If you were my daughter, I’d spank you like you spank Daffy right here in this yard, and then I’d put your butt in a diaper for a whole day and see how you like it and your age and hers wouldn’t even slow me down. Now, you get up out of that chair and go change her right now.”

Woah. What a telling off. Wasn’t really expecting that. That was, um, some reaction. So fun (if super embarrassing, a fair price to pay). Maybe too fun. Maybe, and tell me I’m crazy, only fun for me, judging by, o, say, the glare Nana was giving Mary and the glare Mary was giving me. Ruh roh, Suzy.

“Daphne Ann,” this red-faced woman I married whose is usually more of a sultry cream color said to me like she wasn’t very happy with my choices or something. Not sure why she wouldn’t be. Really.

“Don’t you get cross with her for telling me,” Nana shot back at Mary. Eep.

“Mae, I have been changing Daffy whenever she needs it, more like 5 or 6 times a day, and those diapers can hold way more than that comfortably. The only problem here is Daffy telling lies to get me in trouble cuz she thinks it’s funny.”

To my credit, I only thought it was funny when I thought to do it, when I did it, and for a very brief moment right after. As soon as that moment passed, I didn’t think it was funny at all … or maybe just a little.

“Daphne,” Nana said as she turned her eyes toward me.

Well, that would be my cue to exit. I’m not one to tell two lies in a row. “I’m gonna go let the dog out,” I said as we sat on Nana’s patio and enjoyed the out of doors. “In, actually. Heat’s not good for her.”

“I got a better idea,” Mary said like she’s ever had an idea better than one of mine. I mean, she has and often does cuz she’s, like, brilliant and stuff and I love her very much, but why would you even bring that up right now and you’re sposed to be on my side.

“I love you,” I blurted out. Just, ya know, as a reminder before she did anything she couldn’t take back.

“You want out of diapers, fine,” Mary said as she set Suzy down and stood herself up. My goodness but she’s tall and strong and stuff, not that I was intimidated. Never have been, in fact, except some of the times. And as for what she just asked, the answer was a resounding yes but not just right then what with not wanting to be naked in the neighbor’s yard. I’m very conscientious like that, very community minded and stuff … and things too.

“You’ll get out of diapers just as soon as we get home,” Mary pronounced as she helped me to my feet by way of taking me by the arm like I was in trouble or something. IDK what I might’ve done to get in trouble. Really.

She marched me to the wall, which is to say the siding on Nana’s house, and cuz Mary’s just not very polite, she smacked my butt on the way there and - so not cool even if we were in Nana’s backyard behind a fence which makes it as private as our own private yard - yanked my shorts down. Like, there was a new experience after all these years. Corner time (siding time?) with no shorts but yes a diaper in the neighbor’s yard. Very low risk of being seen (if we’re not counting Nana, which I won’t, which just tells you how much my life has changed in a few short years - ugh), but not impossible if the person in the house behind looked out any of their many top-floor windows.

“You’re in timeout until our visit is over. You keep your nose on that wall and your hands at your sides, and I might march you home through the backyard and not go through the front, and don’t you plan on sitting comfortably for a few days.”

“But …” Which she mistakenly took as the signal to smack my butt again and shush me (as though there’s no talking timeout or something. Is that even legal at the international level?).

So here’s a thing, maybe. Mary gets not so very pleased with me when I suggest she do something she normally associates with submission, not unheard of for a domme and the reason why I don’t do it cuz she gets all I’m-gonna-assert-my-authority and my butt plays a prominent role in that assertion. So maybe since I’m the humiliation bottom and she’s the humiliation top, I could’ve foreseen how she’d react. Except I couldn’t because I had idea Nana was gonna threaten to spank her and put her in a diaper. Empty threats, but I guess let that be a lesson to me to now embarrass the humiliation top I married. If I’d suggested those things, I’d get spanked like a left-handed, red-headed, rented step-mule (and I’m only two of those things, but I won’t tell you which and you’ll just hafta guess).

And then Mary sat back down and turned on this really unsettling tone of voice as she said, “I’m so sorry, Mae. Sometimes I don’t know what gets into her,” like she was apologizing for a small child’s public misbehavior. As if! “I can assure you she’s getting quite the bare bottom spanking when I get her home. She’ll be a very sorry little girl. She’ll stop by to apologize tomorrow.”

Nana would never play along with that or countenance such an offense against my adulthood and honor. Mary just doesn’t understand Nana.

“No worries,” Nana told her. What the heccin heck, Nana? Seriously. “We’ve all been there. I can’t tell you how embarrassing mine could sometimes be in front of others.”

She always says that! Nana never had one of me! Not unless she was ever secretly married to a lesbian into erotic humiliation with an ageplay twist.

“And I’m sorry I flew off the handle like I did. I just care about Daphne very much.”

“I know you do, and I really appreciate everything you do for her. I can tell you right now, if Daffy is gonna make choices like that when she’s over here without me, I may just have to ask you to put her over your knee and redden her little fanny for her.”

Noooooo! I said silently from my timeout.

“She’d need to cross more than a few lines for me to do that, and you know I won’t ever tattle on Daphne …”

Score!

“… unless she really goes above and beyond with her naughtiness. And then I’ll be sure to let you know. Won’t be the first girl I’ve sent home with a note pinned to her sleeve. I’m sure you’ll get to the bottom of it.”

Did Nana just chuckle? Did Nana just heccin chuckle!?!

Hmmph! Hmmph hmmph hmmph! HMMPH!!! ???

I am not a little girl! Really!

May 10, 2022

I know I’m not posting much, and it’s because I’m finishing up a very big work project, getting my garden ready, and preparing for a major surgery.

But the good news is I’ll have 3 weeks off from work and will try to write during that time provided I’m not in too much pain or too high from the meds ?

May 1, 2022

Scene #169

“Daffy,” someone said, very rudely interrupting my nap even if they were sorta softly singing my nickname. And not just my nap, but the puppy’s too. Doesn’t Mary know the puppy is just a baby and needs her rest? Which is nothing like me, an adult who needs her rest because, well, you need a lot of sleep in your thirties, for some reason.

“Hi,” I said.

“Come with me.”

“But I have a warm puppy on me.” True story. She was sleeping on me. I think she likes me, so I got two awesome women who like me. Maybe even like like me. Heehee! So it took exactly two weeks for me to get over being anxious about having a dog. We’re buddies.

“And we’re going to have a little talk about responsible puppy care.” Well, a ‘little talk’ is one of those phrases that snaps me out of the deepest stupor.

Setting aside my well-founded reservations, I set the pupper down and followed my lovely wife to the kitchen. Here’s a secret for you – I love following her cuz, and I know this is a shocker, I’m a fan of butts. And yet when we reached the kitchen and she turned around, gone was the wakey-wakey-sleepy-girl face from which came the dulcet tone of her singing my name.

I can always tell when she’s irked cuz she makes her I-am-irked face. That, and the tone she uses when she’s gotten the ridiculous idea that whatever is irking her must be my fault. I mean, even when I am the thing irking her, it’s still not my fault. I even told her once that we can’t control other people’s behavior, only our emotional response, so if she was feeling irked, that was on her. That’s just facts. But they were not well received, and she did a helluva demonstration showing who can control what. Besides, I’m a ray of sunshine. How could I ever be irksome? Can’t. Really.

“Daphne,” Mary said to me, “do you have something you want to tell me?” As a matter o’ fact, I didn’t, but when she asks me that, it’s very rarely a random question. Whatever she thinks I have to tell her, I’m better off just telling her something else entirely cuz sometimes she thinks very spurious things about who did what and what the consequence should be. Very spurious indeed.

So I naturally, exactly because I am a ray of sunshine and care about her and knew it would help her to redirect her attention, responded, “Um, the Gay Men’s Choir is having their craft fair at Redwood Park this weekend. I thought we’d go look at stuff, get a hotdog.” Something about the park makes hotdogs taste better . And gay men and crafting? Fuhgeddaboudit. They make the best stuff. Plus it would be full of gay people, which is always eight kinds of fun.

“Daphne, look down.” My eyes followed Mary’s the floor.

O come on! How much can such a small dog pee so much?!? That’s the second time she’s peed inside just today!

“Now tell me the truth,” Mary said with her faux earnest face on, “is that your puddle, or the dog’s?” She’s so friggin faux sometimes.

But I’d heard that joke before. Several times. And I didn’t like it those times either. “Mary, I swear to god, you make that joke one time and I’m gonna launch my entire body at you.”

“And do what? The last time your tried to pounce on me, you just bounced off.”

“So now I know what not to do.”

“Try to be big?”

“Akdienfowsj, Mary!” Akdienfowsj indeed.

“You still haven’t answered me.”

“It’s the dog’s! There, are you happy now?”

“I’m not happy at all. We need to get to the bottom of this right now.”

Ooo, so that phrase ‘get to the bottom’ is, uh, never good and often prelude to (bottom) stuff. And Mary sure did seem, all of a sudden, as serious as a very serious person (why are they always so serious? Lighten up!)

“Do you need me to show you how to clean it up?”

“Stupid rhetorical question,” I mumbled but not mumbly enough cuz Mary swatted my butt when I passed her on the way to the paper towels. At least she peed on the tile this time. I wiped it up, threw away the paper towels, and washed my hands, all under the watchful eye of Captain Mary Sour-Face. She was making way too big a deal out of this. Puppies have accidents.

“I’ll go take her out again,” I told Mary and got all of one step before Mary took me by the upper arm.

“Not so fast. We’re not done talking.”

She reached behind her to get something off the counter, which is when I said, “We don’t need the wooden spoon to talk!”

“We do for this kinda talk.”

“You can’t be serious!?! It was an accident!”

“The puppy had an accident. You were negligent.”

“In what possible f-(smack) ow!”

“Language, little girl. Do you wanna get your mouth washed out too?”

“No, but I didn’t do anything.”

“Exactly,” Her Royal Butt Tenderizer pronounced like that heccin meant anything. She sat down on a kitchen chair, and then – get this – she just yanked my shorts and panties right to the floor. Who even does that? Spanking someone on their bare bottom? A very new and off-putting experience for me … and stuff. Really.

But if Mary wasn’t going to have any manners or dignity, I had dignity to spare. “Marrry! I didn’t do anything and this isn’t fair and you can’t spank me for something the dog did and I can too stomp my feet if I want to!” Super dignified … and stuff. Super really. Sigh …

Not like I was feeling insecure about the prospect of becoming the whipping girl for our puppy, but, ya know, let’s not ever let that come to pass.

“Are you done having a temper tantrum,” Mary asked me calmly. I wish just once she’d be the least bit perturbed by one of my righteous soliloquies, which she insists on referring to as tantrums.

“For now,” I didn’t pout with my arms crossed.

“Over my knee.”

“Make me!” Which she then did (with distressing ease). “That was rhetorical, Mary! I can be rhetorical too!” Like she’s queen of the heccin rhetoric or something. What the heccin heck?

“Daphne Ann, you will stop struggling, close your lips, and open your ears right now, or I’ll take you upstairs and spank your bottom with the hairbrush. Is that you want? … I asked you a question: is that what you want?”

O my god, one damn more rhetorical question. I gotta break her of that habit somehow. But I chose to just say (pouted, actually, but only because I’m ever so put upon), “No.” Btw, is it still a rhetorical question if she demands an actual answer? I say yes cuz the answer is so friggin obvious … or it would be if not for all the times I enthusiastically answered yes to that question … but those don’t count because reasons … and stuff. True story.

“When I’m working, you need to be watching the puppy more closely and taking her out to potty. Maybe you haven’t noticed, but she hasn’t had a single accident in the house when I’m not working.”

“But it was. An. Accident! You don’t spank people for stuff they don’t do on purpose.” It’s just not done in polite circles, but try telling that to Miss Mary Rude … Person whose lap I was splayed over. And actually, she is so damn classy, but in that moment, she was being quite the troglodyte. I’ve been meaning to have a talk with her about her manners, but I always remember at the worst possible moment to bring it up and then forget it in the ensuing chaos.

“If you had an accident on the floor, I wouldn’t spank you for it, just like I never spank you for the tinkle accidents you have in your diapers.”

“They’re not mine, and they’re not accidents!” … Hey Daphne, shut up. I’m begging you, who is me, to just shut up.

“Whatever you want to tell yourself, little girl, but you didn’t have an accident. The dog had an accident. You were negligent in taking the dog out.”

“That’s just mean. I take great care of our puppy.”

“Wonderful care of the puppy, but bad care of our floors. You’re getting a sore bottom, and you’re going to get another sore bottom every time the puppy piddles in the house. Let’s see if a red fanny will remind you to take her out.” And then with the spanking without even, ya know, a warning. What is even with her sometimes?

“I remem-ow!-ber. She stares – ow! – at me and then – ouch – comes insides and – eep! – pees on the -stop that! – floor! Stop it!”

“I decide when your spankings are over, little girl.”

“Well how ‘bout now?” Me, defiant? Never. Me, sassy? So rarely as to be all but nonexistent. Indignant? Heck yeah I was indignant, and I had zero intention of going down without a (verbal) fight.

And therein lies my strategic error – I brought words and logic to this fight, whereas Mary brought her physical prowess, feminine wiles, the almost mystical sway she holds over me, and that damn wooden spoon. I hate that thing! Mary can just flick that thing against my butt twice a heccin second without her wrist even tiring. It weighs like an ounce and a half. How can it pack so much wallop?!? Stingy little balsa bitch should stick to stirring stuff and leave my butt alone! But trying telling that to Miss Mary Spoon-Maiden. Which I did, and it went like this.

“Mary! Mary! Ouch. Stop! This is not what spoons are for!!!”

“Is that your way of telling me you want to get a special spoon just for spanking?”

“That’s not what I meant! Owie!” O my god. Just o. My. God. Daphne, did you really just say owie? What’s wrong with you today? Maybe it’s been too long since you got spanked. It’s just the spoon.

To which I say, shut up, Brain!

“Good,” Mary sassed me (can you believe she sassed me? Me!?!), “because the middle of a spanking is a terrible time to ask for a new toy.”

I’m telling ya’ll for real, Mary has highly selective hearing and/or a deviously motivated way of interpreting things. And the hypocrite (there – I finally said it!) has accused me of selective hearing more than a time or three. I mean, she was right some of those times. And the other ones, I heard and chose to ignore what she said but that’s not even the point because reasons.

“I think, little Miss Tiny Butt …”

“You ow take that ow back! Eep! I have a great butt!” It’s very shapely and womanly. One of the few curves on my otherwise slender body in which I still get mistaken for a twenty-something sometimes. And when I was a twenty-something, I got mistaken for a college student. And when I was a college student, sometimes on campus people asked me if I was lost and offered to help me find my mom. Dammit …

“I think,” Mary continued (know who loves to continue? Mary), “that it will go a long way helping you to behave if other people know you still get spanked.”

“Eep! Stop that! Eeeep! That stings!!!” My thighs! My poor thighs. “Those aren’t for spanking!”

“They are for spanking, and the spoon leaves such pretty red welts on the back of them. Everybody who’s ever wielded a spanking spoon knows what those look like, and you are officially forbidden from wearing pants until they go away.”

“That’s just mean! Mean! And I can wear what I want!”

“I can pull them down for a spanking just as fast as you can put them on.”

“Urgh!”

“All this backtalk I’m getting is telling me this spanking isn’t even close to getting through.”

I will not be silenced! But sometimes I will choose – as an agent of my own fate – to shut up. Which I did. Chose to. Very brave act. Really.

“Is that silence a sign of contrition?”

Like she’s gonna trick me into me in saying something. Doesn’t even work … anymore. She set the spoon down and rubbed my butt with some squeezing thrown in lagniappe. Like that makes up more than almost all the injustice I’d just suffered.

“Are you ready to talk some more,” she asked me like it was ever my idea to not talk. “Sit up for me … What’s this,” she asked when I sat up and faced her. Looked her right in the eye, too, cuz I’m afraid of her (actually kinda definitely hopelessly in love with her). She reached out and wiped a tear away with her thumb. O, the things she can do with her thumbs. “I spanked you to tears.”

“Tear,” I moped, “Singular. Just the one.” Like, geez, exercise a little humility and don’t be too proud of yourself. Excellent it’s just allergies cuz pollen. Really.

“You sound like a pouty princess. Are you gonna be a pouty princess?”

I hadn’t decided yet, but I took a moment to make up my mind. “… Hmmph.” Bet you can’t guess what I decided.

“Save some, because we’re not done yet.”

“Marrry! I don’t want any more spanking.”

“You didn’t want the first one, and if you’re a good girl …”

“Mary!” What the hell?!?

“Sorry. You’re always a good girl.”

Did you hear that? She thinks I’m always a good girl. She loves me and stuff. Sigh …

“If,” she continued, and I swear if she keeps continuing to continue … “If you remember to make choices like the good girl I know you are, there won’t be any more spanking today. Will you try extra hard for me?”

“Stop babying me,” I said to her as I – like an adult! – leaned forward and rested my head on her shoulder. I was quite vexed what with the spanking and the rubbing (and squeezing!) and the button pushing.

“If that’s what you want, sweetie. Let’s go get your diaper on.”

“What? Seriously?”

“Of course seriously. You know you always wet yourself after a spanking,” she actually said (grr!) as she led me by the wrist up to our bedroom.

I know nothing of the kind, and she knows I know nothing of the kind, and I know she knows I know nothing of the kind! That’s called slander, so I mumbled, “Slander.”

“What was that?”

“Slander,” I said clearly.

“That’s what I thought. Lay down on the bed.”

I did, and who should come into my field of vision? The furry little pee-anywhere anarchist whose fault this was! “Mary, close the door, she’s looking at me.”

“Such a silly girl.”

“Seriously, she’s laughing at me.” I wasn’t projecting my emotions onto a dog, by the way. Not me cuz that would be ridiculous and I’m the least ridiculous person I know. Really.

“Well, she does kinda look like she’s smiling. Aren’t you? Aren’t you smiling at your mommy and her little girl? Yes you are! A-yes you are!”

“Don’t encourage her. This is all her fault. Puppy, get her! Get Mary!” Can’t get her to pee outside, can’t get her to sic Mary. All very disconcerting for an all-powerful wonder woman like myself. “I don’t want her watching.”

“Daffy, you’re just going to have to get over that because we don’t keep secrets in this house. Do we? No we don’t. No we don’t keep secrets. A-no we don’t.”

“Stop talking to me like a dog … Or at least wait longer after talking to her that way.”

“Did that make you uncomfortable or jealous?”

“… No.” Mary’s o-really face with her right eyebrow climbing her forehead like Alex Honnold on a rock. As if!

“Where are my manners,” she said.

“Been meaning to ask you that for like, forever.”

“You’ve been laying there with your pink bottom on display probably needing to tinkle all this time, and here I am holding your diaper.”

“It’s been forty seconds.” And I did have to pee, but purely coincidental. I did just wake up from a nap, after all.

“Which is a very long time for a little girl to be holding her weewee.”

It’s distressing how quickly Mary can tape me into a diaper. That’s undoubtedly the result of practice, which is just so not cool. It wasn’t that long ago that when she put me in a diaper, she used the nursery cream and took her time with it. But however many assaults against my adulthood later, it’s gotten much more utilitarian. The cream is for special occasions and bedtime, apparently, not that I wear these things to bed very often … My life is weird.

“Sit up for me,” she said and helped me up, then sat down next to me and motioned for me to climb into her lap. Good thing I like it there or I would’ve … obeyed. Dammit.

“So here’s the thing, Daffodil. It’s been two weeks, and she isn’t any better at peeing outside than when she got here. So until she’s potty trained, you’re not potty trained either.”

“What!?! Kernoffler furnamuffin and that’s urterwingen and so gurstufirder and mean! Just mean!”

“Don’t look at it that way. Look at it as a chance for you to brush up on your own potty skills.”

O. My. God. Which, because I’m the agent of my destiny and brave and powerful, came out as, “(Whimper). You can’t be serious.”

“You can still use the potty for the other thing, but Daffy, if she has just one poopy accident in the house …”

“No!”

“So.”

“You are such a butthead sometimes.”

“You mad at me?”

“Yeah.”

“Is that why you’re snuggling in closer?”

“That’s one reason.”

“What’s the oth … you’re peeing on me.”

“(Silence) … I had to go when you woke me up.”

“You mean you’re not waking up to pee on your own anymore? Are you becoming a bedwetter?”

“Stopppp!” Keep pushing buttons and one of them is gonna get stuck like that!

“Are you feeling motivated to get the dog housebroken yet?”

“Shut up.”

“Gonna watch her like a hawk and take her out every twenty minutes?”

“Every ten.”

“Good girl.”

“Damn right, and you’re still a butthead.”

“Spanked little girls in wet diapies say the most emotional thing.”

“Eat farts, Mary.”

And then she kissed me! True story. She’s a chaos demon … a very pretty one I’m pledged to for life, which I’m heccin incredibly over the moon happy about, and I’d write more about it, but I need to go google how to potty train a dog in less than an hour.

April 20, 2022

Puppy names still needed!

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Wow! I was so neglectful in posting additional chapters! I'm such a space cadet this ... year ?

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