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“Do I have to take them down myself, little girl?” I hate it when my girlfriend calls me that! Yes, I’m six inches shorter. Yes, she’s eight years older. Yes, she’s the one in charge in our relationship, and yes, this whole domestic discipline thing had all been my idea three years ago, but I’m 30 and Not. A. Little! Girl! Dammit!
But all I did instead was whine, “Not here. Please? I’m sorry. Can’t we just wait until we get home?”
“Daphne,” Mary said, “this is not up for discussion. Besides, Brenna has seen plenty of bare bottoms spanked, including yours.” I glared at Brenna. We knew her through a local Fetlife group. Sometimes we did just plain vanilla stuff with her, like regular friends, like today, when she’d asked us for help planting trees in her yard. Mary has the green thumb. I hate yard work.
“Bare? Can’t it just be over my shorts?” You’d think I’d have gotten used to being spanked, what with not a week going by when I wasn’t, but I never had, which I guess is the point. I looked at Brenna, who was smiling approvingly from the couch. Mary had pulled a kitchen chair into the living room and sat down.
“Did your shorts make a rude comment to Brenna? Did your undies? So why would I spank those,” Mary asked me in her stern voice, the one she saves for when she’s talking to me like I’m a naughty little kid.
“No,” I mumbled. I’d learned the hard way that there is no such thing as a rhetorical question when I’m in trouble. Mary reached out and grabbed me by the waistband of my innocent shorts and pulled me closer. None of this would have happened if Brenna had just been grateful we were over there helping in the first place. So I’m not Ma Nature - did it really matter if the hole wasn’t exactly fifteen inches deep? Of course, I do have a tendency to kill houseplants, even succulents. But anyway, she was harping on it, and I got irritated and said, “Then why don’t you just do it yourself, dammit?” I’m not sure if I’d have been in so much trouble if I hadn’t added the ‘dammit.’
At least I didn’t interfere while Mary popped the button on my shorts and whisked them, along with my panties, down to me ankles.
“How did you get so dirty, anyway,” Daphne asked. “Not like you were putting that much effort into it.”
I didn’t need to respond because Mary easily tossed me over her knee. My hands were on the floor, but my feet were not, leaving my butt hanging there.
“Anything to say, Daphne,” Mary asked as she rubbed my butt.
“I’m really sorry?”
“Not as sorry as you will be.” That little rub is all I ever get for a warm up. Mary believes spankings are best delivered hard and fast, and within ten second she’d probably spanked me thirty times. 
This all started as a relationship with spanking involved, a little role play and bedroom fun. I even spanked her a couple times, though neither of us liked it. Eventually, I said I wanted it to be more than roleplay. I wanted it to be our lifestyle. I shortly thereafter found out just how many issues Mary had with my behavior and how much she’d been wanting to fix them for a while by then. But I wasn’t thinking about the time she had needed to spank me three times in one day. I was thinking about the spanking she was giving me right then.
Mary is thorough in everything she does, and a creature of habit. She always starts out spanking me seemingly at random, no order to which side she wails on or how many. She likes to make sure I can’t anticipate anything. I lay there doing my best to hold still and be quiet, trying to keep my eyes closed and pretend Brenna wasn’t there, probably smiling.
Only when my butt is a dark pink from top to sit spots does Mary really get going. As she says, this is when the real spanking starts. She stopped assaulting my butt and said, “Hand me the paddle, Daphne.”
I freakin’ hate the thing. It’s small, heavy, and has four holes in it. She got it specifically to keep in her purse. She could just use her hairbrush when she disciplines me away from home (dressing rooms are the worst - everyone can hear!), but no, she says knowing she has a just-for-spanking implement with her at all times does a better job reminding me to behave.
I pick it up with my left hand and reach behind me to give it to her. She takes it, then takes my arm and pins it behind my back. I’m a wiggler when she uses that thing. She’s like a freakin’ ninja with it.
Equal parts thuddy and stingy, she paddles as fast as she hand spanks, but in a tight pattern. Up and down, each spank overlapping with the one before it, in a tight row, then shifting over and working a line from top to sit spot again. She never makes it from one side to the other but that I go from grunts to sobs to tears. Every. Damn. Time.
The small paddle bounces off my bottom so fast I don’t even feel the individual spanks anymore. It’s all one swollen throb.
She’s gentle, by comparison, with my thighs, but before she’s done with those ten spanks to the tender backs of my legs, I frantically promise, “I’m sorry! I’ll be good! I’ll be good!”
Mary finished the last spank, and I lay over limp over her soft lap, big tears falling, and my nose running. It takes me a few seconds to realize Mary is rubbing my back, like she always does after a hard spanking, shushing me gently. When I’m ready, I start to get up, and Mary helps me so that I’m sitting on her lap, my crimson bottom aching when I do, and crying into her shirt as she calms me.
“It’s okay, little girl,” she coos to me, “All is forgiven.” She kisses my temple. “Let it all out. That’s my brave girl.”
When I get myself under control, though still struggling with the occasional sob and needing badly to blow my nose, she helps me off her lap.
“What do you say to Brenna,” Mary asked. I don’t know when I kicked off my shorts and panties, nor do I care. I shuffled over to Brenna.
“I’m sorry for being rude,” I said.
“I forgive you,” she says, opening her arms. Brenna is big woman, and I all but collapse into her softness. I do like her, even though she has a way of bringing out the brat in me, but that brat never seems to be that far away. I stand between her big thighs, and she rubs my butt with one hand while she hugs me with the other. I’m grateful she does because I’m not allowed to rub.
“Mary, why don’t you go take her to wash her face, and I’ll get lunch ready,” Brenna suggests.
“Can I have my shorts back,” I ask meekly.
“After lunch,” Mary says, holding out her hand. I take it. I like Mary’s hands. I also know she’s gonna lift me up and seat me on the cold vanity, and that it’s gonna feel good for about five seconds then feel clammy and hard.
After lunch, I’m for sure gonna dig those holes right, and without a world of complaint.
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I think he night have been underestimateing how rough things could get when he agreed to this lifestyle change. 

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  • 3 weeks later...

Scene #2


         Nordstrom is the only store I can stand to shop in. I rarely do, because who can afford it, but everything is spaced out more, everything is nicer, everything is more organized. Everything is just better, including the salespeople, which is how I got in trouble. The salespeople at Macy’s get paid by the hour. The sales people at Nordstrom get paid by the hour plus commission, which is why they tend to follow you around at a distance. I find that annoying.

         Mary and I were looking through blouses after having already told the woman working in that department we didn’t need her help, but everywhere we went, she was just ten steps behind us, pretending to straighten the racks and fold shirts on the tables. Maybe I was in a bad mood already, but I snapped at her, “We don’t need any help! Stop following us!”

         “Daphne!” Crap. “Apologize right this instant,” Mary ordered me. The saleswoman looked more surprised than hurt by my comment or happy with Mary’s rebuke.

         “I’m sorry,” I said to her.

         “Can you point us to the junior miss department,” Mary asked as she put an arm around my shoulder.

         “Oh, Mary, no. Please? I apologized. I meant it, really!”

         “Hush, little girl.” Dammit! She knows I hate that, and I know nine out of ten times she uses it, I’m about to get my butt spanked.

         “Stop calling me that!”

         “I can’t believe the scene you’re making,” Mary said, making me more aware of our surroundings. Now the saleswoman was smiling, and a couple shoppers were looking in our direction.

         “I’ll take you over there myself,” the sales woman said, and Mary took my hand. I walked alongside her, knowing if I didn’t she would pull me along.

         “Anything in particular you’re looking for,” the woman asked.

         “She needs some new undies.” I decided the least embarrassing thing I could do was stay quiet.

         “Hmm. Everybody has their own style I guess,” the saleswoman quipped, “but I think you’ll find some to fit her over here. She’s pretty small.” How is it I’m the one who deserved a spanking right then, but Miss Shop Girl Schadenfreude didn’t? If I could have taken back my apology, I would’ve.

         “Thank you. We appreciate your help, don’t we, Daphne.”


         “’Yes’ what?”

         “Yes, thank you for your help,” I said with zero enthusiasm. Too late now, so might as well say it like I feel it, or at least use the tone I was feeling.

         “See,” Mary said, “She can be very polite when she remembers to be.” The saleswoman left, and Mary turned to me with her you’ve-really-done-it-now smile on her face. “Go ahead and pick out a pair.”

         “Mary, I said I was sorry. What’s the big deal?”

         “The big deal is she was doing what she’s been trained to do and needs to do to earn her living. You were rude to the waiter at lunch and to her, and you need to learn that you lead a privileged life even if it doesn’t always seem like it.”

         Put that way, she was right, and I was wrong, and I told her so. “I’m sorry, really. You’re right. I’ll try to remember … But I don’t really need another pair of panties.” In fact, I have an entire drawer of panties from junior miss departments. Mary makes me wear them when she wants to remind me to be good, which is to say probably four days a week.

         “Yeah, you do. You definitely, definitely do,,” Mary said. “C’mon, pick out a pair.” I reached for a pair of plain, heather grey ones. “Uh uh. You know better.”

         I smiled at my attempt to get away with that, but Mary didn’t. I looked over my choices. Mary wanted me to pick something cute and girly, like always. I have ones with hearts already. I have rainbows. I have a pair just like the ones with the little pink bow on the front.

         “What about the ponies,” Mary suggested.

         “Fine,” I said.

         “Let’s go try them on.” I knew that code!

         “No! Please? We know they fit. I can try them on at home.” Mary’s just shook her head.

         “I think we definitely need to try them on here.”

         “Why?” This was just unfair. Mary loves finding reasons to spank me in public, and this one was a little contrived. She was right – I had been rude – but I didn’t think that called for a spanking in the dressing room. “This isn’t fair,” I pleaded.

         “Do you want to try them on twice? Once here and again at home?”

         “No,” I meekly replied.

         “Then let’s go.” Mary took my hand again, and this time she did have to pull a little to get me to stop dragging my feet. When we got into the dressing room, Mary indicated for me to walk in front of her, and I walked down the aisle of booths to the one at the very end. I’m not sure how many other people may have been in there, but I know there were at least two because we could hear the girl bickering with her mother.

         If Mary had any intention of being discrete, she wouldn’t have made me try on the panties there. As far as she was concerned, she closed the door behind us, and therefore we were being discrete even if others could hear us. I knew and Mary knew that anyone would think they were hearing some very old fashioned parenting going on, and while that embarrassed me all the way to the middle of my tummy, it didn’t embarrass Mary at all. And why should it? She wasn’t the one who people would hear yelping or the one they might see walking back through the aisle with an obviously sore butt.

         The booth was big enough for both of us, but it didn’t have a chair. I sorta like going over Mary’s knee – if I didn’t, I never would have asked for this relationship dynamic – but I really hate the position she spanks me in when there’s nowhere to sit. That’s when I really do feel like a naughty little girl, because it only works because of our size difference. She knelt down in front of me.

         “Lift,” Mary said, and I lifted by right foot, and she took off my sandal. I lifted my left without being told. Without a word, Mary reached up under my skirt and pulled my panties down. She likes me in A-line skirts just for that reason: they make it easy for her to take my underwear down. She stood back up.

         “Tell me why you need to be spanked,” Mary directed me at her normal volume.

         “Because I was rude to the saleswoman and the waiter, and I need to remember that I’m privileged,” I whispered.

         “That’s right,” Mary lectured. “Those people work hard all day long, on their feet, and they make a lot less than we do in our jobs and get a lot less respect. But they’re going to get that respect from you from now on, won’t they?”


         “I swear, Daphne. I don’t know what’s gotten into you lately. It seems like I can’t take you anywhere that you don’t embarrass me or need a trip to the dressing room half the time.”

         “I’m sorry,” I sniffled. I felt guilty. She was right. It wasn’t half the time, but it was definitely more than it should have been. I probably got around two public spankings a month, although not all of them were at stores and restaurants (and rest stops and hiking trails). Some were at munches and play parties and were deliberate on my part. But obviously plenty of 30-year-olds can go shopping with their girlfriend without earning a spanking ever.

         “So am I. I want to go places with you and have fun, not need to spank you in the dressing room.”

         The bickering from the other booth stopped, and after a pause, in its place, we heard, “Is that what you need, Annie? A spanking like that little girl?” I don’t think the girl answered verbally, but she didn’t start arguing with her mom again.

         “I want that, too,” I said. “Please don’t stop taking me out with you.”

         Mary smiled at me, and gave me a kiss. “Maybe you need a break from it for a while, but I don’t think we’re there yet. Let’s get this over with.” Mary reached down into her purse and took out the small paddle she keeps there. “Bend over.”

         Facing Mary, I bent at the waist, and Mary tucked me under her arm so she held me by my middle. With her other hand, she took the hem of my skirt and tucked in into its own waistband. I looked up and got a good look at myself from both sides as there were mirrors on both walls. I looked back down at the floor; I didn’t want to watch. That just makes it harder.

         SMACK! Mary wasn’t holding back. I grunted and struggled to stay in position.

SMACK! “Ow!” SMACK! “Oomph!” SMACK! “Ugh!” That last one got my right sit spot. SMACK! That one got my left.

“Five more,” Mary said. SMACK SMACK SMACK SMACK CRACK!

She delivered them fast, so fast I didn’t have time to make five sounds in response. My legs were quivering, and my cheeks were wet. I wasn’t sobbing – I’m used to much worse spankings – but it was definitely hard enough for me to let go a tear from each eye.

“Wow,” I heard from some stall, not the one with the mother and daughter in it. “Glad that’s not me.”

Mary let me up and hugged me in one motion, and I put my cheek against her breast and let her shirt wick the tears away. “I’m sorry,” I said, my voice muffled by Mary.

“Shhhh. I know you are, babygirl.” She kissed the top of my head, a gesture that always makes me feel small and loved. “Are you going to behave the rest of the day, or are we going to need to visit another dressing room?”

“I’ll be good.”

“Okay. Here.” Mary knelt back down, and took the tag off the underwear we’d picked out, then held them open for me to step into. She pulled them up my legs, pulled the hem of my skirt back down, and gave me a love tap on my bottom after she’d straightened my skirt out. She put the paddle away, along with my panties, and took out a package of wet wipes. I held still while she used one to wipe the tear stains from my cheeks.

“Are you ready,” she asked me.


“Okay. Let’s go pay for these, and then we’ll go back to the tops.”

I followed Mary out of the booth and down the aisle, keeping my eyes on the floor when we walked past a woman who looked bug eyed when she saw me, obviously shocked I wasn’t about twenty years younger.

We went to the register. Thankfully there was no line. I tried to look inconspicuous. Mary handed the woman behind the counter the tag.

“We had a little emergency and needed to change into these right away,” Mary explained to the woman.

“Oh, that’s okay. I think we’ve all been there. Some just need a little more …” the woman said to Mary, trailing off when she took a closer look at the size listed on the tag. Wait, I thought, what kind of emergency does she think I had? My face was undoubtedly as red as my butt, more so when the clerk looked up and saw me, obviously not the age she expected. Her lips closed tightly, and she made an inscrutable expression, finishing the transaction without another word.

“Now, let’s go back and find what we came here for,” Mary said as she took my hand. “Then we can go home and play.”

“Promise,” I asked with a smile. Between the spanking and the humiliation, she had me wound up like a spring. We were definitely going to have a nice rest of the day.

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Scene #3


The only thing worse than going to an office party is going to an office party at someone else’s office. That, and a few fatal diseases. That’s just medical science. I had zero desire to go to Mary’s office event – some anniversary something or other – Mary knew that, so when I told her I wasn’t feeling well and asked if I could stay home, she said yes knowing I felt just fine. Unless you count a case of the I-don’t-wannas as being sick, in which case I was on my deathbed. Or maybe that’s a little dramatic.

Anyway, Mary’s response was typical. I was changing from my lazy-day-around-the-house clothes into my lazy-evening-around-the-house clothes as Mary got ready, and she stuck her head back out from the bathroom and said, “I know. Why don’t I call Sandy and see if she’ll come hang out with you. She was complaining earlier this week she didn’t have anything to do this weekend.”

I don’t know what it is about watching a woman get dressed for an evening out, but I surmised I couldn’t both pretend to not feel well and get frisky with her. That was more on my mind than Sandy, but since Mary brought her up, it certainly redirected my attention.

“I don’t need a babysitter,” I said, “I’ll just watch Netflix for a while and probably go to bed early.” Mary and I went to a monthly play party once upon a time, and we found Sandy. She was new to the scene at the time, but over her knee was a man a foot taller than her, twice her weight and twice her age, and she had him in tears. Not just tears – absolutely bawling, snot running down his face, begging her to stop. Naturally, she and Mary bonded while he was on display in a corner. We were shocked to learn Sandy was only 19.

That was two years ago, and though Mary always, always denies it, she basically uses Sandy as a babysitter for me. Imagine a teenager who doesn’t think she needs a babysitter and a mom who doesn’t want to get into that fight, so she has an older teen “friend” come hang out while she’s gone. That’s basically the game Mary likes to play, and she told me that Sandy was officially on the list of surrogate disciplinarians for me. It’s not a long list, but the gist is if they think I’ve earned a spanking, I’d better take it or Mary will make my bottom wish it had.

“Don’t be silly. She’s not a babysitter. She’s just a friend. Do you really wanna sit home alone all night?”

“She’s bossy,” I whined.

“Well, sometimes you need bossing around. Besides, I hate to think of you alone all evening and not feeling well. What if you need someone to take care of you?” The ear to ear grin Mary was wearing told me she knew damn well I felt fine, and now that I’d told that fib I was gonna have to live with it. Why hadn’t I just said I didn’t wanna go to her stupid office party? Even she didn’t wanna go.

I pouted on the couch in my pajamas wishing Mary would stay home and keep that black dress on while I put my head under it for an hour and reminded her why I’m so much more fun than an office party. Barring that, I just wished she hadn’t called Sandy. I mean, I like her; I just like her more after she’s, well, it’s obvious where this is going, isn’t it? Anyway, Mary was closest to the door, so she answered it when the doorbell rang.

“Hey,” she said, “so glad you could come over.”

“Happily,” Sandy replied. “I was hoping something fun would turn up tonight.”

“I gotta run, but you know the drill. We haven’t had dinner yet, and like I said on the phone, she says she’s not feeling very well.”

“Aw. Poor thing,” Sandy said. They both knew I could hear them from the living room. “I’ll take good care of her.” I heard their footsteps coming down the hall.

“I’m leaving, Daphne,” Mary said. “I’ll see you when I get home tonight if you’re still up.”

“Have a good time,” I said. “Be safe.”

“You, too.”

Sandy interrupted with, “And don’t worry, Mary. The two of us have everything under control here.” Sandy winks about as subtly as an arctic icebreaker. She put her purse down and sat next to me on the sofa as the door closed behind Mary in the kitchen.

“So what do you want to do tonight,” she asked me.

“Order a pizza and watch a movie, if that’s alright with you,” I replied.

“Are you sure you’re feeling up to that?”

“Um, yeah.”

“I don’t know. Maybe you should have some soup instead. Or maybe just some saltines and ginger ale.”

“My stomach feels fine.”

“It does? Well, still better safe than sorry. When a little girl doesn’t feel well, better to play it safe.”

“I’m not a little girl! I’m almost ten years older than you!”

“Don’t get upset. I’m just thinking about how to make you feel better.” She leveled her eyes with mine. “Unless you were fibbing about not feeling well so you didn’t have to go out this evening. You’re not fibbing, are you, Daphne?”

If I’d been wearing a watch, I’d have checked it and registered the time from when Sandy came in to when she found a pretext to spank me at about 70 seconds. Maybe not even that; she probably figured it out one the phone with Mary. It was just after six, but I figured my best bet for my butt was to dig into the lie.

“No,” I said, “In fact, I think I just wanna go to bed. I don’t need dinner tonight.”

“Hmm,” Sandy said. “That’s pretty convincing. Alright. Why don’t you head up, and I’ll bring you a glass of water in a few minutes.”

“Okay. Sorry to ruin your evening with, uh, me not being able to hang out.”

“Oh, don’t worry about that, sweety pie.”

I went up to our bedroom, and I was about half certain I had avoided trouble, but that’s the same as half uncertain. If I were more honest with myself, I’d just accept the fact that Mary and Sandy and a few other people are usually two steps ahead of me. I should’ve just put myself in the corner and bared my own bottom as soon as Mary said she was calling Sandy. I believe they call that accepting the things we cannot change.

Anyway, I was in bed when Sandy came in with her purse and a glass of water. “Here you go,” she said. She sat down on the edge of the bed. “You need anything else?”



“’Hmmm’ what?”

“Oh, I was just thinking that there’s another girl I babysit for, and when she’s sick her mom has her wear these,” Sandy said as she took a pink pull-up from her purse.

“First, you’re not my babysitter. Mary said,” I answered petulantly, “And second, I don’t need those.”

“Of course you don’t! I was just musing. And I know I’m not your babysitter.” Her lips curled up to the left, following her eyes as she play-acted having an innocent thought. “But I still feel sorta responsible for you, and I think I should find out just how sick you are.”

“I’m not sick. I just don’t feel well.”

“Well, you could be coming down with something. So why don’t you just hop out of bed, and I’ll give you a quick once over. I am a nursing student, ya know.” Yeah, remind me how young you are. That’ll really make me feel better about this.

“Fine,” I said, admitting defeat. I enjoy a game of kinky mental cat and mouse, but as the mouse, sometimes I get tired of running when I know the most likely outcome. All that work to get eaten anyway. I threw the covers back. “Whadduya wanna check?”

“Your temperature.”


“So stand up.”


“Because I can’t use the thermometer with you sitting down, silly.” Ever step on a rake and get whacked in the face? That’s what it felt like, something that stupidly obvious in retrospect.

“No way!”

“Yes way, little girl. Unless you want me to give Mary a bad report.” I knew what that would mean.

“But …”

“Nope. Just be a good girl, and it’ll be over soon.” She reached into a purse and came up with a ziploc bag whose contents I tried not to look at.

“What do I do,” I said, the exasperation in my voice obvious.

“Why don’t you just flip over onto your tummy for me? That’ll be more comfortable for you than bending over the bed.” I did. “Hips up,” she said as she took the waistband of my pajamas in her hands. She yanked them down to my knees when I lifted up.

“You’ve done this before, right? I’m not your guinea pig,” I asked.

“Of course I have.”

“And you clean your toys?”

“Of course. You’re sure you’re good with this?”

“I’m naked, aren’t I.” I couldn’t see what she was doing. I just listened to the sound of a glove snapping. “The trick is to use plenty of lubricant, and to get make sure it gets where it needs to go.” I shuddered when her hand touched by bottom. She giggled. “See? You don’t hate this.”

“Yet,” I said.

“Just relax.” She narrated as she went. “I’m going to spread your bottom cheeks now.” I sighed. “And you’re going to feel some petroleum jelly on your button.” It was cold. “And then my finger inside of you. Just relax … don’t clench … there.” She slowly but firmly pressed her finger into me, and I could feel each knuckle pass my sphincter. “We want to make sure we get that everywhere the thermometer might go.” I bit my lip. “And a little further, just to be safe.”

“Mmmmm,” I moaned.

“What a good girl you can be when you want to.” She kept fingering me for another thirty seconds. “I’m taking my finger out now.”


“And now here comes the thermometer.” I felt the cold, thin glass slip gently in.

“That needs to stay there for about two minutes. You comfortable?”

“Yes,” I squeaked.

“Good.” Her finger tips were massaging and tickling my bottom cheeks, and I couldn’t help but squirm under them. She twisted and flicked the thermometer every few seconds, or pushed it in a little further and drew it back out. “Ya know, there’s good news and bad news if you're temp is normal?”

“What’s the bad news?”

“I’ll have to spank you for fibbing.”

“And the good news?”

“I’ll get to spank you for fibbing, and we can order pizza.” She kept tickling my butt, letting her fingernails run gently down my thighs. Mary and I agreed I could get sensual with other women that she approved of, which – what a coincidence! – is a list that overlaps with my disciplinarian one, but I couldn’t cum with them, a rule they all respected. Sandy took that rule to mean she had license to make me writhe under her hands, which neither I nor Mary ever disabused her of. I think Mary actually likes to see me revved up by her, getting my body hypersensitive, because there’s nothing at all sensual about her Sandy’s hands once she’s ready to mete out discipline.

“Out it comes,” she said as she withdrew the thermometer. I sighed. It was fun while it lasted. “Hmmm. Looks like some little girl is a fibber.” She put her things away and slapped my butt hard after. “Sit up.” I did, and there was no mirth in her face. Playtime was over.

“I’m sorry,” I said.

“You usually are, but that doesn’t mean you don’t get the spanking you deserve, does it?” I’ve always wondered what kind of household she grew up in, because even when she was 19, Sandy could lecture and scold like puritan.

“No,” I said.

“’No’ what?”

“No, Miss.”

“Am I boring you?” I guess I sounded less than rapt, maybe because I’d heard I don’t know how many variations on this lecture since I told Mary I wanted a full time domestic discipline relationship.

“No, Miss,” I said in a more crisp voice.

“You know better than to lie,” she told me. “Mary has taught you better than that.”

“It was just a little lie.” It wasn’t even really a lie. Mary knew I didn’t mean it.

“Daphne! There is no such thing as a little lie. We need to know when you’re telling the truth, and we can’t do that when you tell lies. How will we know when you’re really sick?”

“I … sorry.”

“We care about you, and we want to keep you healthy and safe.”

“I know,” I said softly.

“And Mary wanted to be with you tonight. She’s proud of you and wanted to show you off to her colleagues. Would that have been so hard for one evening when she does so much for you?” I’m pretty sure Mary didn’t care if I went or not; even she didn’t want to go. But I’m a soft touch, and Sandy has a way of eliciting guilt where there’s no reason for any. My response was to sniff.

“You know you need to be punished, don’t you?”

“Yes, Miss.”

“And you know that punishment needs to be a spanking.”

“Yes, Miss.”

“Show me how you know.” Sandy positioned herself with her left leg on the bed and her right on the floor. With my pajamas still just above my knees, I got up and then laid myself across her left thigh. I took a pillow and put it under my head, knowing in a few minutes I’d be burying my face in it.

“I don’t like having to spank your bottom,” Sandy lied like the world’s biggest liar, ironic under the circumstances, but she and I both love the little roleplay touches that bring us both into the right headspace. But then I wasn’t sure how much we were roleplaying or not. I had fibbed, and every time I get caught doing that, I get my butt spanked. So maybe this was reality+, or roleplay lite.

Her hand brought my philosophical thoughts to an immediate end. I’ve been spanked by people much bigger than Sandy. I don’t know how she does it. She has the softest skin, but whatever is under it is like ironwood. It’s like whatever boxers do to toughen their knuckles, she does to her palm.

Mary is a fast, ferocious spanker. Sandy is a steady, methodical spanker. There’s no clear line between her warm ups and the aching fire she really ignites when she gets going. I grunted and oomphed and ahhed and oofed with each spank, and each spank overlapped with the one before it as she worked her way up and down, sparing no flesh all the way down to halfway between my sit spots and knees.

I passed from tears escaping shut-tight eyes to sobbing, and Sandy took that as her cue to begin to lay in her heavy spanks, now focusing on one spot for three four five spanks in a row before moving on, targeting my tender sit spots and thwacking the backs of my thighs with her fingers to make it really sting. I buried my face in my pillow but still heard her say, “And you think you’re a big girl,” as she assaulted my butt. I’d had enough.

“Please! I learned my lesson! I learned my lesson!”

“Now we’re getting somewhere,” Sandy replied as her hand bounced off me again and again. “But this naughty caboose of yours isn’t done yet.”

“I’ll be good! Waahhh! I p-promise – ah! – I’ll be good! Ah! Waah-ahh!” Bawling. That’s the word for it. It’s like it sets a timer in Sandy’s head, because she never spanks long past bawling, not with me. I laid limp over her lap and bawled into my pillow. After so many hard swats, I didn’t even fully feel Sandy’s hand rubbing gentle circles across my butt. I color easily but don’t bruise easily. I’m sure I was close to purple in spots, but I knew when I was done crying, I’d bounce back quickly. But first I had to cry it out. I always do after a spanking like that.

“Shhh. It’s all over, and it’s all forgiven,” Sandy cooed. She bent down to place a soft kiss on my hair. I’ve seen Sandy head to toe in leather lingerie laugh and push away bottoms when she was done, and I’ve seen her cry real tears when she accidentally broke skin without meaning to. With me, she’s always very gentle when she’s done. I think she likes the babysitter role. “Up we go,” she said as she helped me back to my feet. She bent down and pulled my pajamas back up for me and gave me a hug. “Why don’t you go wash your face, and I’ll order that pizza, and then we can have a nice evening together.”

“Pepperoni,” I asked and sniffled again.

She laughed. “Sure.” She sent me on my way with a soft swat that made me jump. After I washed my face, and cleaned the vaseline from between my cheeks, I decided to change my sob-stained top, too. When I got downstairs, she was leaning against the arm of the sofa.

“C’mere,” she said.

“Why,” I asked warily.

“Just c’mere.” I shuffled over, each step reminding me what a good spanker she is as each step hurt. I could feel my skin growing taut as my cheeks swelled. Sandy held out her arms. “Come sit.” I dropped down to the sofa, that dull throb sending a wave of pleasure through me. I felt glowy, that wonderful whole-body sensation of peace that makes every bit of pain worth it. Endorphins are fucking awesome. “Just lie back.”

Mary and I snuggle all the time, whether it’s aftercare or not. That was a first with Sandy. I laid back against her, and she stroked my hair.

“Thank you,” she whispered in my ear.

“My butt hurts,” I said with a giggle.

“It’s reminding you good girls don’t fib.” She kissed my hair and my ear and my neck, and then crossed her arms over me.

“You’re a good babysitter.” I dreaded her coming, but like always, I was glad she had. Way better evening than Netflix.

“I’m not your babysitter,” she said lightheartedly. “I’m just a friend. That’s all.”

We got back into that position after our pizza, and I dozed off. I woke up when Mary got home and pretended to still be asleep.

“How was she,” Mary whispered.

“Just like this after our little talk about fibbing.” Mary touched my hair.

“Ooh. Did she cooperate?”

“She always does.”

“I wish you’d let me pay you for babysitting.”

It dawned on me. We’d all been telling little white fibs all evening, and I was the only one who got her bare bottom spanked for it.

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2 hours ago, Author_Alex said:

It dawned on me. We’d all been telling little white fibs all evening, and I was the only one who got her bare bottom spanked for it.

That does seem to be the way of things in a BDSM relationship.

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2 hours ago, WBDaddy said:

That does seem to be the way of things in a BDSM relationship.

Very true. I think that contributes to the power exchange of the dynamic. It’s arbitrary, and when you’re subject to arbitrary discipline, it reinforces who is and isn’t in charge.

Particularly in an ageplay context, I think “do as I say, not as I do” is a very realistic element reflecting actual adult-not adult relationships.

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Scene #4


Ever have a shitty, shitty day in a crummy, bullshit week? I mean a day straight from the crapper that started off lousy and just got worse as it went on, and you just had to sit there and endure the train wreck until all you wanted to do was cry? Because I did last week, and since I couldn’t say it to all the people whose fault it was, I’ll say it to all of you instead: fuck those people. Fuck them. Fuck their parents. Fuck their third grade teachers. Fuck their goddamn houseplants. Ugh; still feels good to say it.

Anyhoo, that was the mood I left the office in last Friday, usually my favorite day like everyone else’s, and by the time I pulled into our garage my righteous anger had transformed into exhaustion and melancholy. Fortunately, I have Mary, who had gotten home first.

“Happy Friday,” she called out to me as I opened the door. “I’m making lasagna.” She was putting a baking dish into the oven. My Mary, I thought as I watched her. She was already changed into her sweatpants and the stupid oversized t-shirt I got her on vacation once as a gag gift. My Mary. My safe place. My person. The only person who gets me entirely and loves me for it, too.

That’s what went through my head as I stood there before I’d even set my purse down. It all caught up with me. My lips quivered, tears came, and I dropped my purse as I held out my arms.

“O, baby,” Mary exclaimed as she gave me the hug I needed. She knew what a bad week it had been. “What happened?”

I didn’t want to say, which worked out great because all I could say was, “These (sobbing with what may have been words) and it was (weepy gibberish) and (unintelligible babbling) and it wasn’t even my faaaaauuuuulllllllt (more sobbing)!”

Mary can pick me up, but not easily. She did and sat down in the nearest kitchen chair to put me in her lap. “Shhhh,” she cooed to me while stroking my hair. “It’s all okay now.” I wanted to hear her say she would make it all better, but the reality was she couldn’t, and we both knew it. “I don’t like it when people are mean to you.” Her lips touched my forehead and my temple and my neck. I felt tension disappearing, and I gradually went from tight and clinging to her to loose and hanging from her. “What can I do make you feel better?”

My voice was still thick, that heavy voice when you’re done actively crying but not feeling any better yet. “I wanna spanking.”

“That’ll make you feel better?” Yes, a flood of pain to bring my mind away from all the bullshit, followed by a flood of endorphins to make me feel better inside.


“Okay,” my Mary said. “Upstairs?”

“Mhmm.” I lifted myself off Mary’s chest and saw the wet stain my tears had left on that ridiculous shirt. I eased myself off her lap but kept ahold of her hand and tugged her up the stairs behind me. In our room, she sat on the bed, and I kicked my shoes off and stood in front of her.

“Naked,” I said before she asked. Her eyes softened, she breathed out, and she gave me another kiss.

“It’s okay, little girl,” she said to me as she unbuttoned by blouse. I pulled my arms out of it as soon as she had it open, and she started on my jeans. I pulled my cammy over my head and threw in the direction of the laundry basket. When my pants were at my ankles, I stepped out of them and climbed on to the bed in one awkward motion to put myself over Mary’s lap. I’m safer there and feel more loved there than anywhere else, if that makes any sense, and I already felt a little better with her soft, familiar thighs under me.

SMACK. She didn’t say anything or wait at all. She didn’t even adjust me over her lap, but then I’m pretty experienced getting into position for her. SMACK. She was going slower than normal, and she wasn’t spanking me very hard. I told myself to be patient and let her get going. With each spank, my body was pushed forward a little, and I recoiled back, and she spanked me again. She’d leave her hand there, rubbing my butt, tickling me with her swirling fingertips. My breathing slowed, which it never does during a punishment spanking, and with each exhale I felt myself sink a little deeper into her.

Mary knows when I’m ready for the next level, so she didn’t ask before she picked up her tempo and force. My toes curled. I grabbed a fistful of bedsheet. I sighed. She spanked, and me and my bottom bobbed up and down under her rhythm. That round part, the undercurve, that’s what Mary loves to spank most, and she went to work on it, angling her hand catch me there and following through in a way that made my cheeks wobble with each of her wonderful smacks.

Mary also knows when I need to cry and what I need to get me there. I was already weepy, so it took just a little more, but I wanted Mary to take me further than that. I needed her to. If those easy tears were enough, we’d still be in the kitchen, and I’d be feeling better. So she spanked me harder and harder, switching hands when she needed to, until I was crying anew. And yet she kept spanking. Kept spanking me to the point where I’d normally be pushing myself up on my elbows, arching my back, lifting my feet. And I took it all just lying there, my head in my arms, letting it all out.

And then I was done, and so was Mary, and she bent at the waist to lay herself down alongside me still over her lap, and she brushed my hair back from my face. Already, the warmth down there was spreading everywhere. That chemical, whatever its name is, that my heart was pumping through my body to take away the pain, it feels something like I imagine grace feels. My toes curled and uncurled again, and I stretched out all my muscles, sniffed back my stuffy nose, and laughed.

“How does that feel,” Mary whispered into my ear.

“Uh-huh,” I said as I laughed again.

Mary sat up. “You’re just a puddle now, aren’t you?” I certainly felt like it. Like dead weight, everything relaxed and heavy and weak. “Every time,” Mary said proudly as she traced a finger down my spine to the cleft of my red cheeks.

I sat up and planted a hand on the bed to lean against. Now I was tired.

“That lasagna is going to be in the oven for another hour. How about a bath while we wait,” Mary suggested.

“Sounds good.” I love how the non-slip texture of the bathtub feels on my butt right after a spanking.

“K. I’ll meet you there is a sec.”

“You’re … gonna give me a bath?” I instantly loved the idea and was surprised neither of us had ever had it.

“If you’re not too big to need spankings from me, then I can certainly give you a bath, little girl,” Mary said to me. She punctuated the last two words with two taps on the end of my nose. I blushed.

“I’m not a little girl,” I playfully whined.

“You’re not?”

“Um, no?”

“You’re my little girl,” Mary said, sliding her hand gently from my temple to my chin along the soft skin of my cheek. “Now get those pink buns of yours into the bathroom before I warm them up some more.”

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These little stories have me so ... ? (this face is a

blushing face in case you can't see it because I

can't lol) so excited and ...?

But I have to ask this question because

it is driving me nuts since I started to read it but

also because of the last chapter when Mary's asked

Daphne if she was her little girl and Daphne answered

"no". Is Daphne a 26 year old Boy dressed as a 12 year

old girl?


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7 hours ago, Eagle0769 said:

These little stories have me so ... ? (this face is a

blushing face in case you can't see it because I

can't lol) so excited and ...?

But I have to ask this question because

it is driving me nuts since I started to read it but

also because of the last chapter when Mary's asked

Daphne if she was her little girl and Daphne answered

"no". Is Daphne a 26 year old Boy dressed as a 12 year

old girl?


Daphne is a 30 year old woman.

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Scene #5


Our honeymoon was ... interesting. We were at a resort in Florida, and we’d been out on the beach since just after breakfast. I’m more of a water person, while Mary is more of a sun person. She tucked into a book, and I got onto a raft with a mimosa in hand and Mary’s explicit instruction not to go too far out. She worries about me, and I get it. I’m a better swimmer than she is, and left to my own, I’ll go out further than she will.

Well, I fell asleep on the raft. Not for long. Maybe just five minutes. But enough to get pulled out to where even I didn’t want to be. I wasn’t in danger - there was a sandbar out there that I bumped against - that’s what woke me up - so I was only in ankle deep water, but I was on the wrong side of the breakers and had a long swim. I stood up and saw Mary waving. Not in a happy how’s-it-going-out-there way. More of a get-your-ass-back-here wave.

It was an effort, and it was tiring. Hard enough to swim against the current, but to do it on a raft is just a pain in the butt. I considered abandoning the thing but started to think of it as a flotation device. When I got to where Mary could stand, she came out and towed me the rest of the way. I was pretty pooped.

“What on earth were you thinking,” she asked as she toweled me off in front of our chairs.

“It was an accident. I fell asleep.”

“You scared me!” She put the towel down and wrapped her arms around me. “Do you hear me? You scared me.” The look in her eyes was so sweet, so earnest, so caring. I sighed, feeling inconsiderate and guilty.

“I’m sorry.” Sometimes I have sad puppy dog eyes without meaning to, like right then. I thought of her scared, and it made me sad. Then I thought of the vows we’d just taken, and it made me feel guilty. Hence the sad I’m-sorry-I-peed-on-the-rug-please-don’t-stop-loving-me puppy dog eyes. She hugged me again and gave me a kiss before parting.

“I know you are, but …”

“But you don’t have to,” I whined. Like I didn’t know what she was going to say next. “I know I did wrong. I’m sorry.” What’s the point of spanking when the person about to be spanked already knows what they shouldn’t have done and promised not to do it again? I’ve thought about this philosophical question a lot while over Mary’s knee, sometimes for things I’ve been spanked for before, but I had my reasons so those don’t count and …

“Little girl …”


“Okay,” she said oh so condescendingly, “Little Miss Bratty Buns, then, you know the rule.” She sat back with a very satisfied look on her face. “In fact, you tell me the rule.”

“One strike,” I grumbled.

“That’s right. No warnings, no two strikes, no three strikes.”

“Can we at least wait until later? It’s nice out and I don’t wanna miss it.”

“Funny. I was thinking the same thing.”



“Not out here!”

“Mhmm,” she said more slowly still, nodding her head as she did.

“We’ll get thrown out!”

“Here we’ll get thrown out. But behind those dunes we should be alone.”

They weren’t that far from the bathing area. “People could walk back there!”

“And you could have gotten caught in a riptide, so be grateful the only thing I’m going to rip into is your bottom!” She reached out and gave me a swat that mostly caught the outside of my thigh. I gasped as my hands went to my butt and I looked around at who might have seen. “But I’m willing to bet the manager would see things my way once I explained it all, so start marching or I’ll just drop your bottoms right here.”


“Pouting isn’t gonna help,” Mary said as she took my upper arm, turned me sideways, and gave me a spank on each butt cheek. I wanted the sand to swallow me as I made eye contact with a woman about my age, or maybe a little younger, just a few chairs over. Mary’s hand was poised on the air. “Well?”

“I’ll go!” I tried to pull away and start walking away from there as fast as I could, but Mary held on.

         “Okay, then.” I kept my eyes down but could feel that woman staring at us as we walked right by her. Swat Smack Spank! “And you can drop the sass right now!”

         Mary loves to spank-march me on the way to wherever I’m to be punished. On the way to the corner. On the way back from the corner. On the way to the bedroom. On the way to the kitchen. On the way to the back porch. On the way to the car, dressing room, lady’s room. I think you get the picture. Once we were behind the line of chairs and a little ways away from people, I got swatted every step of the way. Mary kept a firm grip on my arm as I twisted left and right trying and failing to move my butt out of her reach.

         “You naughty (smack) little (swat) girl (smack)! I specifically told you (spank) not (spank) to (spank) go (spank) too (SPANK) far (SPANK)!” It was like an exercise to see how far fifty yards can be made to feel, and the whole time I was doing my best to dodge while not struggling so much that we attracted any attention. And I don’t know if we attracted attention or not. I was dead set on keeping my eyes to the front to at least not see if anybody saw.

         “Can you – ow! – at least wait – ouch! – until I’m over your – ow! – knee,” I growled.

         “Oh, don’t you worry, little girl. I won’t run out (smack smack smack).”

         We ignored the sign that said “No walking on the dunes” and Mary immediately sat down as soon as we were out of sight, tugging me down with her and right over her outstretched legs.

         She sighed and put her hand on my back, rubbing it a little. “Do you have any idea how scary it was watching you struggle to get back and knowing I couldn’t help you?” And cue my weeping. Well, I thought, now you really feel like an inconsiderate shit.

         “I’m sorry.”

         “And I’m sorry I need to do this, but it’s for both our sake’s.”

         I nodded and turned by weepy eyes forward, folding my arms under my chin. Mary wasted no time in spanking my butt full force. No warm up. My cheeks wobbled under her assault and went from white to pink almost instantly. Instead of pulling my bottoms down, she stopped and pulled them up between my cheeks and kept going.

         I buried my head in my arms and cried. I kept picturing Mary panicking as I got too tired and drifted back to the sand bar. It didn’t happen, but it conceivably could have. I’d have been fine, but that wasn’t the point. The point was how awful I’d have made her feel. I didn’t struggle or squirm or move my legs. I laid there and let Mary take out her frustrations and anxiety and fear on my ass, teaching me a lesson in the process because she loved me and I loved her and because, ultimately, I wanted and needed this. Sure, it was an accident, but an irresponsible one. I’d been inconsiderate, and now I was paying through my bare bottom, which if nothing else would expiate the guilt.

         The spanking stopped, and Mary moved, and then the spanking started again with a thwock sound. A flip flop on a pair of naked buns tends to make that sound. I wanted to plead. I wanted to say I was sorry and had learned my lesson. I wanted to say stop. I didn’t.

         At last, Mary was done. I scrambled up and put my arms around her neck.

         “I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry,” I cried.

         “Shh,” she cooed while stroking my hair and kissing my neck. “All is forgiven. You misbehaved, got spanked, and now it’s over.”

         I sobbed in response. That was why I loved her. That was why I wanted her – not someone else, her – to be the woman who disciplines me. That was why I’d married her, among many other reasons. She makes me feel, I don’t know how to say it, accepted. Even when I’m naughty.

         “You’re my good girl again,” she said as she kissed my forehead when I’d calmed down. We stood up together, and I straightened out my suit. She took a peek at me from the side. “Yep, you are showing off a well-spanked bottom there.”        

         “Oh my god, I have to walk past all those people like this!” She put an arm around me, and we started walking back like that, with me leaning on her.      

         “If they knew you, they’d understand it’s just something you need from time to time. Like twice a week or so.”

         “Can I go put upstairs and put on my suit with the skirt?”

         “Actually,” my wife said with a voice full of mirth, “I took that out of your bag before we left.”

         “What? Why,” I whined.

         “So you couldn’t hide this butt,” she said as she squeezed it hard.

         “You are so mean!” SMACK! Sigh, melt, love.

         “Too late now.” That same woman was apparently waiting for us and dropped her jaw when we walked past. Mary is my defender in all things, and I think she especially likes that role when it embarrasses the ever loving shit out of me. “She needed a spanking, and you do, too, if you can’t mind your own business.”

         I’m not often a speechless person, but I had nothing to say to that – to either of them – in response.

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Scene #6


Thinking back on it, I can see how silly it would’ve looked to anyone who didn’t understand us. Mary, fully dressed and sitting on our bed. Me, in socks and a t-shirt and nothing else. When Mary had said to hold on while I was getting dressed, all of three minutes ago, I thought it was for a pair of my little girl undies.

I saw Mary last weekend saying something to Sandy alone while I was parked on that concrete. I don’t think I saw them exchange anything, but then I was mostly focused on my butt going from hot to roasted on the pool deck. My god, did the water feel good when my timeout was over. Anyway, apparently they did exchange something.

 “They will, too, fit, you silly goose,” Mary admonished me. I didn’t want them to fit. I didn’t want them at all. Sandy is always giving Mary evil ideas. “Lift your feet.”

“Ohhhgh,” I responded and stomped my feet instead, folded my arms across my chest, pouted my lips and declared, “No! I don’t wanna wear stupid pullups. I wanna wear my regular panties!”

“Daphne, these are you’re your regular panties today,” Mary said to me in a voice that was trying to be nice but was clearly running out of patience.

“Where did this even come from? This is so out of the blue!”

“I know,” Mary chuckled. “Consider it a surprise.”

“You are so mean sometimes!”

“Well, think of it this way, if you have an accident …”

“I don’t have accidents!” What healthy 30-year-old has accidents?

“If you have an accident,” Mary continued, ignoring me and raising her voice, “it won’t be obvious to every at the winery.”

“Did you rehearse this with Sandy or something? Is this some new game?” One of Mary’s fun tricks – dropping some advent to our relationship out of the sky to see how I’ll react. It keeps things fresh, and sometimes, but not always, she’ll back off if she sees I’m really not into it. Other times, she’ll try to be nice and gently coax me into it, and failing that, she’ll just remind me she’s in charge and tell me to deal or else.

“I just think that before we go out today it will help you to remember to behave, and since you’ve been acting like such a little girl lately, I thought these might help you remember more than the panties.”

“I have not been acting like a little girl,” I whined.

“What about at Brenna’s pool party last weekend?”

“He splashed me first!” The only consolation I had that day was that while I was sitting directly on the hot concrete on a freshly spanked butt as extra punishment, I got to watch him get spanked too.

 “That argument didn’t work when I was baring your bottom last weekend, so why do you think it will work now?”

“Can’t I … ughh.” I’ll admit I get frustrated and have a hard time holding it in, and when I let it out I don’t express it so productively. I took a deep breath to calm myself down. “I’ll just wear a pair of punishment panties.” I tried not to sound whiny, but I definitely, definitely did.

“Daphne Anne, I am done having this conversation. You are wearing this pullup to the winery, that’s all there is to it. Now, lift your feet.” I looked away. “Don’t make me tell you a third time.” I took a breath and pushed it out in a huff. I wasn’t giving in this time.

Before two beats, my feet were in the air as Mary bodily hoisted me up and laid me across her knee. “No!”

“Do you have anything to say to me,” Mary asked. A ‘sorry’ wouldn’t make a difference, I knew. She was looking for our safe word. We’re sorta past that (she just knows my threshold), but when it’s something new like this, she still asks.

“I’m sorry?”

“You will be.” Mary reached for the paddle she keeps on my nightstand. Always there, always reminding me. I keep thinking one day it’s going to break, but it never does.

“Why do you always have to be so naughty – SMACK – on the weekends – SPANK – the only time – SMACK SMACK – we can have a – SPANK – whole – SPANK – day – SMACK – together?”

Did she really feel that way, or was she just saying that? I don’t mean to be.

            “When will you – SPANK! – learn – SPANK!! – to do as I say – SMACK – the first time – SPANK – I say it?” Mary may start a spanking while she lectures, but she quickly stops the lecture and switched to lighting my butt on fire.

            “I’ll wear the pullup,” I said, hoping submitting would avoid a full-on punishment.


            “I’ll wear the pullup.” SMACK!


            “Because you told me to.” And then Mary helped me back to my feet. She picked up the pullup and bent over to hold it open for me.

            “Feet,” Mary said, I picked up my feet one at a time and stepped into the pullup. Mary slid it into place and patted me between my legs and over my pubic mound, then turned me around and did the same to my butt. “See? It fits just fine. Do you want to wear a skirt or shorts today?”

            “Skirt,” I whispered without looking up. Mary cocked her head to the side.


            “Do I really spoil our weekends,” I asked. I didn’t think I did, but then she said that, but sometimes she says things while spanking me just to add to the headspace, but I didn’t know if she meant it or not.

            Mary reached out and pulled me close. “No, baby, you don’t.” She kissed me. “I love our weekends together. I’m sorry I said that.”

            “Wanna make it up to me?”

            “How,” Mary replied with a twinkle in her eye. The winery wasn’t going anywhere.

            “Let me take off this pullup.” SWAT! Of well, worth a shot.

            “Nice try, little girl.”

            I don’t know why the pullup was so distracting. It did fit fine and didn’t feel uncomfortable. It was thicker than my panties, obviously, but it didn’t make me waddle or anything. It was just there. While we were touring the vineyard, it was there. While we were touring the winery, it was there. In the tasting room, there. On the veranda, while we ate hummus and veggies from the garden and drank their wine, it was there. I was only half enjoying myself because the other half kept thinking, “It’s there!”

            I considered going to the lady’s room and taking it off, and to my credit I thought two steps ahead of that and pictured myself back in that lady’s room getting my butt warmed as soon as Mary found out, and she of the wandering hands would definitely find out. And that would be to say nothing of the spanking I’d get when we got home. So I was stuck in the pullup at least until we got home. Okay. So how do I avoid pullups in the future?

            At this point, I’ll admit to having had a little too much wine. Long story short, I peed it. I thought if I peed it, Mary would be all squicked out – I certainly was – and that would be that. No more pullups. It wasn’t easy, but I managed, and I think I managed discretely, and I’ll admit it felt not terrible – warm liquid down there always feels good, but I urine – ew. At least it didn’t feel all wet and clammy.

            We finished our lunch, and we had an hour-drive home ahead of us. We paid our bill. “Let’s use the restroom before we go,” Mary said.

            “I’m good.” I figured I’d rather spring this surprise on her at home.

            “Nonsense. You always have to go.” I do. Tiny bladder. So not a big deal, right? I’ll just go in, pretend to pee, wash my hands, and voila. We walked back inside toward the restrooms near the entrance.

            “You first,” Mary said and gave me a gentle swat. Well, shit.

I froze. Mary froze. I started to move again, but it was too late. Mary reached around me to open the door, put her right hand on my shoulder, and guided me inside with her on my heels, locking the door behind us.

            I stood stock still. I blushed so hard I felt lightheaded, or maybe I just felt lightheaded because of how unreal this was. Maybe I didn’t think so far ahead after all. I intended to just tell Mary later. I didn’t expect her to find out like this.

Mary walked around me to my front. Her forehead was wrinkled in confusion and surprise. Her eyebrows were arched. She knelt in front of me and flipped up my skirt. I looked at the ceiling and bit my lip. I felt her hand between my thighs.

“Huh.” That’s what Mary said. Just, ‘huh.’ And then she flipped my skirt back down and straightened up.

I ran through excuses in my head. The truth – I did it so you’d never make me wear pullups again – would get me spanked then and there. I at least knew that. I could hardly claim it was an accident, which is not to say this one time in college when I had way, way too much to drink I hadn’t done that, but I just a little tipsy.

Mary’s face was inscrutable. That concerned look faded slowly, and her eyes got brighter, and then she smiled and laughed at me. I didn’t like that. “Okay,” she said while suppressing a giggle, “what happened?”

My eyes were looking everywhere but at Mary’s. “Um, I was curious?”

“Uh huh.”

“And then I did it, so there,” I pouted.

“No need to be like that.”

“You’re laughing at me!”

“Oh, honey, no I’m not. I think it’s cute.” Aw, crap! That was the exact opposite of what I was trying to accomplish. “I knew you’d like it if you tried it.”

I didn’t say that. “I didn’t say that!” I didn’t!

“Oh, you are just too adorable when you’re embarrassed!”

“I don’t like it.”

“You don’t?” She leaned in close to me and put her hand back under my skirt, pushing that warm pullup against me and pressing her fingers into the soft padding.

“Well – ugh – I – hmmmm,” I shook my head and tried to get my knees to stop wobbling. “I … not really.” Mary took her hand away.

“That’s too bad,” she said as she reached into her purse. Instead of the dreaded paddle, she pulled out a now-dreaded pullup. “Because after your little experiment, if that’s what it really was, I’m definitely not letting you go without one all the way home.”

I closed my eyes and did my best to hold in my annoyance. “I don’t want it,” I whined.

“You didn’t want that one, either.”

“I don’t need it!”

“Said Little Miss Potty Pants.”

“That’s not fair!” A knock on the door interrupted whatever Mary was about to say.

“Just a few minutes,” Mary called out. “That person is going to hear a paddling if you don’t cooperate. Shoes.” I decided to just cooperate because the only other alternative was getting my butt warmed again, and I’d still end up in a pullup

I took off my shoes and stood on them – no way was I putting my socks on the bathroom floor. “Hold up your skirt.”  I held it up, and Mary ripped the side of my pullup – no, the pullup, not mine; in fact, hers, I decided – and pulled it out from between my legs. She looked inside at the yellowed padding. “It could hold more,” Mary said as though she were talking to herself. I started to lower my skirt. “Not yet.”

Mary reached over and pulled some toilet paper free. “Spread your legs a little, honey.” I did and she wiped me off. “Oh yeah,” she chuckled, “I can see how much you’re hating this.” Like that was a fair assessment!

“Feet,” she said, and for the second time that day she was sliding a pullup up my legs, making sure it was seated snuggly. With my skirt back down, Mary gave me a knowing pat on my – no, her! – pullup. “Some of us still use the big girl potty. Want me to show you how?”

I huffed at her and washed my hands and left, squeezing through the door and getting a very dirty look from the woman who was waiting. “She needs a minute,” I said.

When Mary came out, she also apologized, in her oh-so-special way. “Sorry we took so long,” Mary said. “I had to help her change into dry undies.” And as my jaw dropped, Mary reached over and patted my butt. She took my hand and tugged me toward our Subaru.

“Why did you say that,” I whined. She stopped walking and took both my hands, leaned over, and kissed me hard.

“Because I know a little humiliation gets your little engine revving, we’re going straight to bed when we get home.”

I hate it when Mary is right.

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Scene #7



            “Hey,” my friend, Jane, said to me. We were at a party. Someone from the scene was hosting it. It wasn’t a play party. Just a couple who led a small Fetlife groups and were having some people over for the evening. Really, it’s a wonderful thing for them to do. “I heard a rumor about you,” Jane told me.

            “What’s that?”

            “I heard you wear pullups now.” Small community.

            “Did Sandy tell you that? I don’t.”

            Mary walked up from behind us, startling me with a hand on my shoulder. “Only when I make her. Is your mommy here, Jane?”

            “No, she had to work,” Jane said. Mary gave her a once over.

            “You look awfully cute tonight.” Jane is a little, a real one, dedicated to the lifestyle. She works, of course, but Lisa, her mommy, is definitely the head of the household. “I wish Daphne would let me do her hair like that.”

            “I don’t like my hair grown out,” I said. Jane does have the most beautiful, thick, blonde hair, and she often wears it braided. It would work on her even if she wasn’t a little.

            I believe the name for the grin that came over Jane’s face is known as “shit-eating” or possibly “Cheshire Cat” in more polite circles. “Well, ya know,” Jane said, “Mommy says until I grow up I’ll wear my hair the way she tells me to or she’ll put her hairbrush to work some other way.”

            “What way is that,” Mary innocently asked.

            “Oh, I forget what she calls it, but she uses the flat part and bounces it off my butt really hard. It hurts a lot.”

            “Oh, sweetie,” Mary said, “that’s called a ‘spanking.’ Don’t feel bad though. Girls a lot older than you get them, too. Like Daphne here.”

            “Who wants more appetizers,” I asked.

            “Really,” Jane asked, “I thought she was a big girl.”

            “Those egg rolls were good. I wonder who made them.”

            “She thinks so, too, but big girls know how to behave themselves, unlike Daphne.”

            “I think I’ll go start a kitchen fire,” I said, wondering at what point they’d acknowledge me again. “And then drive the car through house and into the back yard.”

            “Will I still get – what did you call them, spankings? – when I’m her age?”

            “Probably not, sweetie. You’re a much better girl.”

            “Okay,” I said, finally irritated. “Please stop, both of you.”

            Mary turned back to me, at last. “Sorry, kiddo. Just teasing.” She reached over and gave me a squeeze. Jane was smiling at me as if to say haha, and then she stuck her tongue out at me. Every once in a while people will mistake me for a little. A middle, maybe (really, why even label it? I’m just me.). But as much as I like Jane, and we are friends and do regular people stuff all the time, I never could stand bratting from a little. I know it’s playful, but I also feel like sometimes being a little is used as a license to start shit.

            “She …” I started to say, and then stopped. And the thing about littles bratting is it has a tendency to bring out the brat in me, too. So I bit my tongue, realizing how ridiculous it would be for me to tattle on Jane for sticking her tongue out at me. Mary looked from me back to the innocent looking Jane.

            “You two play nice,” Mary said. “I’m gonna go say hi to Franklin.”

            Fast forward two hours. It’s about 10:30. There’s still about fifteen people there, including Jane.

            “I think that’s enough,” Mary said as she took a drink out of my hand. “You don’t want you to be hungover tomorrow.” I didn’t care. That’s just one of the things Mary does for me. She also does it with chocolate and pizza and pornography.

            “Does she wet the bed if she has too much,” Jane asked. She was a drink past tipsy, too.

            “You, too, little girl,” Mary said to her, and took her glass. I guess someone was giving her a ride or she was calling an Uber.

            “You’re not my mommy,” Jane said.

            “Hey,” I shot back. “Could you cool it with the bratting for like, five seconds?”

            “Daphne,” Mary admonished me. “No need to snap.”

            “Ha,” Jane honked.

            “And that’s enough from you, too,” Mary scolded her. “What would your mommy say?”

            “She’s not here.”

            “Drunk littles are the worst,” I said as I put my head back against the couch. Mary gently smacked me on the thigh.

            “Then stop egging her on. And you,” she said, turning her attention back to Jane. “I will text your mommy right now if you don’t behave.”

            Enough is enough, so I just said it. “Oh for god sake, Mary, she wants you to spank her. Just do it already!”

            “Alright,” Mary said, spotting an opening and running for it like a linebacker. “Both of you.” She turned to the hostess, who was seated on the opposite couch watching with interest. “Can I use your bedroom?”

            “What did I do? That is such bullshit,” I protested.


            “You can’t,” Jane whined.

            “Please do,” our hostess said.

            “If I call your mommy right now, what would she say,” Mary asked Jane.

            That seemed to settle Jane down. “She’d tell you to spank me.” Well, duh, because Lisa had spanked me, and Mary had spanked Jane on more than one occasion.

            “Daphne, my purse is by the door.”

            “No, seriously,” I said, “what did I do?”

            “You’ve been bickering right back with her.”

            “She’s been acting like a bratty five year old!”

            “And you’ve been acting like a bratty teenager,” Mary said as she stood up and took Jane by the elbow. “Scoot,” she said to me.

            I stood up, knowing way better than to say no, and when I did I realized just how tipsy I was. I wasn’t wobbling or anything, but I was definitely not fit to drive. The stairway was by the door, so we all walked over there, I got Mary’s purse, and then I followed them upstairs and into the master bedroom.

            “You want want to act like little girls,” Mary asked as she sat down on the edge of the bed, “Fine. Daphne,” she added, pointing at the floor to her left. I stood there while she undid Jane’s jeans and pulled them down to her ankles along with her undies. I couldn’t help but notice they were black satin. I looked at Jane, whose lips were quivering. She was in her headspace.

            “Your turn,” Mary said, taking her purse from me and putting it on the bed. And just like that, Jane and I were twins from the waist down, except my panties were cotton with Care Bears on them. “Daphne, find a corner and put your nose in it.”

            “Can I close the door,” I asked.

            “No,” she said as she took the crying Jane over her knee. She reached for her purse, took out her paddle, and started spanking. I only heard it. Jane was sobbing. And then it was over. Huh?

            “There, there baby,” Mary was cooing. “It’s all over. Can you sit up?” My head was spinning. How did … what? Seriously? I heard feet shuffling across the carpet. I heard a kiss on a cheek.

            “You stay right here in time out until I come get you,” Mary said. And then she took my arm, tugged me out of the corner, and put Jane in. Somehow, Jane looked spent.

            That was about all I could take, because I knew damn well the spanking I was about to get would be a lot worse. I mean, if two people get in trouble for bickering, shouldn’t they get the same punishment? That’s only fair. “Are you serious,” I said. “What was that? Was that even ten?”

            “Daphne,” Mary said to me with an angry cloud settling over her head. “She’s just a little girl.” Mary started tugging me toward the bed

            “But she’s not! She’s two years older than me!” Which, when you think about it, has nothing to do with anything since women in their thirties don’t get spanked at all, except kinky little monkeys like me and Jane.

            “And she learned her lesson already.”

            “Because she’s a little,” I reasoned while Mary was tipping me over her knee. “She cries when you take away her cookie! Ow! Ow! OW!!” And you can imagine how it went from there.

            “She is a little,” Mary lectured as she wailed on my butt. “And all you had to do to avoid this spanking was not take her bait. You should know better.” I was crying now and pretty darn sober as I arched my back and did my very best not to squirm across the bed to get away from that paddle. Not that I could anyway because Mary had her usual firm grip around my middle. I don’t understand how people can take the kind of spanking Mary can dish out and just hold perfectly still the whole time.

            Or be quiet, which I was not. “Okay,” I moaned. “I’m sorry!” Which did not make the spanking stop. “I’ll be good,” I tried instead. Which also didn’t work. OW! Thighs! THIGHS! “Waaahhhh!” That wasn’t an attempt to make it stop. That was genuine.

            And Mary stopped. “Are you going to act your age now?”


            SMACK! Mary always gives me one more before letting me up. I call it The Exclamation Mark. I so wanted to rub my butt and knew I wasn’t allowed to. I never count, but I knew I had gotten many multiples of the patty cake session Jane got.  Mary hugged me.

            “Can the two of you behave for the rest of the party?”

            “Yes,” we both said.

            “You can turn around now,” Mary said to Jane as she bent over to pull my undies and jeans back up. Then she crossed the room to Jane and did the same for her.

            “Go wash your faces and come back downstairs,” Mary instructed us.

            When we got back downstairs, we got a lot of knowing looks and smiles. I sat down on the couch with a wince. Jane brought me a glass of coke and flopped down next to me, apparently not feeling her spanking at all anymore. She was smiling ear to ear and, not entirely to my surprise, snuggled up next to me and put her head on my chest.

            “Seriously?” Gee, I’d been saying that a lot that night.

            “Yep. Can you still go shopping on Wednesday?”

            “Yes,” I sighed as I started to play with her hair. “Troublemaker.”

            “I can’t help it. I’m just a little.”

            “One of these days I’m gonna spank you like you deserve it,” I told her, “And it will totally be worth the butt blistering I get for doing it.”

            Maybe if I lean into my ‘middle-ness’ I can get away with stuff like that. Probably not.


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Scene #8



         “But you can’t,” I said to Mary. Like that meant anything. Of course she could.

         “And why not,” she asked me. She was sooo out of patience with me. I was in a bad mood and had been for a few days, and I may have taken it out on her, if you were inclined to interpret it that way (also known as the correct way). Now, here we were in our backyard, me with a pair of pruning shears in my hand.

         “Um, because it will kill the plant?”

Mary’s angry face. I don’t like Mary’s angry face. It’s not as bad as her scary-angry face, but when I’m in trouble, her I’m-so-disappointed face is definitely preferable.

         “Little girl…” Dammit, she knows how much I hate that! “You can now cut two switches.” When will I learn to shut up?

         “Muugggh,” I whined. Mary’s not-impressed face.

         “And you can do it without shorts if you’re gonna be a brat about it.” I bit my lip, both to keep silent and to keep from making the frustrated face that only ever succeeds in strengthening Mary’s resolve. She pulled my shorts down, turned me around, and sent me on my way with a swat on my undies. She took my shorts with her inside. I had ten minutes to cut now two switches and prepare them, then she’d be out to put them to work. I know my wife. No way was she going to switch my bottom inside on such a nice day. That’s the double-edge nature of the switch: quiet enough to be discreet is the same as quiet enough to use it anywhere.

         We have a big, flat, grassy yard with trees and bushes inside a waist-high retaining wall lining a privacy fence. I love the feeling of grass under my feet early in the summer time. It never lasts. As soon as it gets too hot, the grass dries up, but when it’s still early June it’s so lush and soft. I headed for the magnolia bush. It’s actually the only plant in our back yard I can name, except the sunflowers.

         Mary taught me how to do this way back. A straight-ish branch at least eighteen inches long. It has to be green wood, so no picking it up off the ground. It should be thin, because it’s a switch, not a cane. And it can cut you, so choose carefully and clean it even more carefully. I looked at the bush, and I figured the hell with it, I had ten whole minutes. I flopped onto the grass on my back and let out a throaty grunt of frustration.

         “Knock knock,” I heard from behind our fence. Mae Wilson, our widow neighbor. About seventy, heavyset, bit of a hippy vibe, long, silver hair, and often in her yard with dirt on her hands from working in her garden.

         “Hi, Mrs. Wilson.”

         “Sounds like you’re in trouble again, Daffy.” Her pet name for me. It would be rude to have a pet name for her, but if I were to give her one, it would be ‘Grandma,’ because I kind of think of her that way, in an affectionate way.

         “Yeah,” I sighed. She knows about us. It wasn’t intentional. She overheard me getting it through an open window one time, and she came to me not long after. She was afraid for me. I told her I was fine, and she said no way, and she was about ready to call the cops, so I told her the whole story. She smiled at me, said, “To each, their own,” and from then on she kind of saw me as the neighbor kid-slash-half of a kinky lesbian couple.

         “Can I come over?”

         “Sure.” We have a gate in our fence. I laid there with my eyes closed against the sun and heard the latch open and gate crash back shut.

         “Oh,” Mrs. Wilson said, “You are a sorry looking thing.” And she would know. She’s seen me with no pants on and with a red butt before. We’re all women, after all. Though I’m sure she’d be embarrassed to see Mary like that, she and Mary don’t have the quasi grandma-grandkid relationship we have. Even I’d gotten over the embarrassment of her seeing me like this.

         “You wanna talk about it,” she asked me.

         “Not really.”

         “Okay. I’m just gonna sit and pout with you then,” she said as she laid down on the grass next to me. We stayed like that for about twenty seconds, and then I felt her thumb – that rough texture of dirt from her garden dried over her soft skin – on my upper arm.

         That did it. That’s all it took. One sympathetic stroke of a thumb.

         “I was mean to Mary,” I said as my voice broke with a sob.

         “Oh, honey. Why?”

         “I was just in a bad mood. I didn’t mean to … I just ...”

         “Do you need a hug?”

         I sat up, and so did she, and we met in the middle, and she put her big, soft arms around me, and I put my head on her big, soft chest. I like that about her. Mary is young and firm and strong. She’s my wall. Mrs. Wilson is big and soft. She’s more like a safety net, like my real grandma had been.

         “I’m sorry,” I said to her with my voice muffled.

         “Wanna try telling me again what happened?” We pulled apart. I wiped my eyes.

         “I … work has been going really bad lately. I keep getting blamed for things that aren’t my fault, and it’s like there’s nothing I can do to succeed, and I’ve just been taking that out on Mary.”

         “How so?”

         “Just, I don’t know, I’ve been really curt, when I talk to her at all, and I’ve just been rude. I’m … does that make sense?”

         “I know what you mean. Sometimes George and I would get like that sometimes. It happens to everybody.”

         “I know. Mary is so supportive,” I said as I picked up the shears, stood up, and started inspecting the magnolia tree.

         “Do you want some help with that,” Mrs. Wilson asked.

         “Sure.” She held out her hand, and I gave her the shears. I boosted myself on to the retaining wall and let my feet dangle. “Do you know how to do that,” I asked.

         “Honey, I grew up in the country in a very different time. I haven’t done this in about fifty-five years, but I remember.” She started looking through the branches. “You can keep talking, if you want to. What happened just now?”

         “It’s stupid.”

         “So? You can tell me, sweetie. I won’t judge.”

         “I didn’t get Mary a soda.” I sighed and looked at my feet.


         “We were in the kitchen, and I got up, and Mary asked me to grab her a soda, and instead I got myself a glass of water and sat back down.”

         Mrs. Wilson cut a branch and started peeling the leaves and knots off with the shears.

         “I don’t even know why,” I said. “I … I heard her. I was just kind of zoned out and didn’t care.”

         “Still, a switch is a bit harsh for that,” Mrs. Wilson said as she ran her hand down its length to make sure it was smooth and wouldn’t cut me.

         “It’s not the soda. I’s my general attitude, is what Mary said. She’s right, too.”

         “I got more than my fair share of attitude adjustments when, well, not when I was your age. More like a third of your age, but you know what I mean.” She gave it a flick, and I winced to hear it cut through the air. “Mary said two, right?”

         “Yeah.” I kept replaying the last couple days in my head. It wasn’t once incident or really even a string of incidents. It was just me being a bitch for four days. The only thing Mary did wrong was not spank me sooner to try to knock me out of it. I shook my head. I felt myself getting teary again and sniffled. “I don’t deserve her sometimes.”

         Mrs. Wilson set the half-finished second switch down and knelt in front of me, taking both my hands in hers. “Yes, you do. Of course, you do. Mary loves you so much.” Oh, sure, make me cry again.


The back door opened, and out came Mary. “Why don’t you go give her a big hug and tell her you’re sorry?” She wiped a tear off my cheek. “Go on.”

         I hopped down and met Mary half way across the yard. Of course she opened her arms for me. She kissed the top of my head. Oh, how that makes me go all to pieces in her arms.

         “I’m so sorry.”

         “I know, little girl.” Mrs. Wilson approached us. “You have a little talk with her, Mae?”

         “She’s a very contrite little girl, Mary. Do you really have to spank her?” Ya gotta love grandmas.

         “Hmm,” Mary said, “you want to tell Mrs. Wilson the rule on that Daphne?”

         I let go of Mary and turned part way so I wasn’t quite facing Mrs. Wilson. “PMS and bad moods are no excuse for being a bitch.”

         Mary shrugged. “We both live by that rule in our house.”

         “I see,” Mrs. Wilson said. “Well, rules are rules. But maybe you could go a little easier on her. She knows she did wrong. Maybe just a light spanking?” Of course, perhaps Mrs. Wilson, not being a kinkster herself, has a different notion of what constitutes a ‘light spanking’ than we perverts do.

         “What do you think, Daphne? Would that be enough to get you back on track?” I nodded. With an arm around my shoulder holding me close, we walked over to the bush. “Nice job, Mae,” Mary said as she looked at the first switch. I guess she was watching us. “Here,” Mary said, “I think we only need one of these today and …” she broke a a few inches off the other one. “There. That should be sufficient.”

         Mary sat down on the retaining wall where I’d been sitting. “Mae, can we have you over for tea in a little bit to say thank you? We’ll only need a minute. Or you can just stay.”

         Mary may have made the switch a little less painful, but of course she’d make that little joke just to see me turn red. There’s no way Mrs. Wilson …

         “Well, if it’ll only be a minute.”

Wait. What? “Um, Mary …”


         “What,” Mary said, “Mrs. Wilson has seen you spanked before.”

         That was news to me. I looked at Mrs. Wilson, who nodded sympathetically. “Sorry, kiddo, but we do live kind of on top of each other, and you’re not the quietest little girl when you’re getting spanked.”

         “And we’ll even keep your unicorn undies up.” I looked from Mary to Mrs. Wilson to my unicorn undies. “Of course,” Mary said, “If you’d rather go back inside, we could do that, but then there’d be no good reason to not bare your little, pink bottom.”

         “Does she have to watch,” I whispered. I’m bad at whispering. Did you know people could be bad at whispering?

         “The poor thing,” Mrs. Wilson said about me. “She’s having a hard enough time as it is. Tell you what – I’ll just duck back into my yard for a minute, and you just take care of her, then I’ll come right back.”

         That was agreeable to Mary, because she nodded and lifted me across her lap as Mrs. Wilson excused herself. Being over the knee on the retaining wall was awkward. It’s narrow and of course has no give, so I felt like I was laid out like a board.

         “Let’s get these down,” Mary said as she pulled my panties toward my knees. I didn’t protest. I at least had visual privacy. SMACK SMACK SMACK SMACK SMACK SMAK SMACK SMACK SMACK SMACK.

I guess that was my warm up, because Mary picked up the switch. There’s something about a switch resting against your bottom. It’s so much worse than a hairbrush or paddle resting there. It feels so small. So light. You know much it’s about to hurt, but it just gently teases you back there. And then you hear it cut the air just a little when your spanker moves it away from you, and then cut a lot more as it’s flicked down onto your very cute, very spankable bottom (well, in my case).

         SWISH! “Eep!”

         SWISH! “Eep!”

         SWISH! “Ow!”

         SWISH! “OW!!”

         SWISH! “Umph!”

SWISH! “Muuhhuh!”

“Just let it out, Mary cooed in my ear.

SWISH! “Wah …”

SWISH! “Uh huuh huhh huuh.” And I was sobbing again. I laid across her lap and took my punishment.

SWISH! SWISH! SWISH! SWISH! SWISH! The last two delivered to my thighs.

“Okay, baby,” Mary said. She ran her hand down my bottom to my thighs, her palm crossing each stripe she’d left behind. “I forgive you. Here.” She helped me sit up, and as best I could on that wall I turned so my legs were wrapped around her and I could bury my head in her chest.

“I’m sorry I treated you so bad.”

“I know you are. There, there. Shhh.” She was gently tickling my back with her finger nails. My mom used to put me to sleep doing that when I really was a little girl. I told Mary about it one time, and she happily embraced it.

It only took me a minute to calm down. Mary set me on my feet. “Was that enough to snap you out of your bad mood?”

“Yes,” I nodded. She looked doubtful.

“I hope so. Any more attitude today, and you’re getting paddled and sent to bed.” It wasn’t even lunch time yet.

At least, I thought I was fine. It was a short spanking, and it did hurt like a mother, but it wasn’t enough for the warm, fuzzy, endorphin-y feeling. So maybe it was enough to break the pattern, but maybe I could also use a real butt blistering. All I ever have to do is ask, so I put that on the back burner. Mary pulled my underwear back up.

“Can I come back over,” Mrs. Wilson called out.

“Yes,” Mary called back. Mrs. Wilson came back through the fence, and I felt embarrassed and turned red all over again.

“Can I give her a hug,” Mrs. Wilson asked, “or is she in timeout now.”

“Nope, all over and done with. Hug away.”

And I got my second (or was it third?) hug from Mrs. Wilson. “You were very brave.”

“I cried like a little girl,” I scoffed.

“And I bet that made you feel so much better, didn’t it?”


“What else do you say to Mrs. Wilson,” Mary asked.

“Thank you.”

“Darn tootin’,” Mary said as she reached down swatted my butt. “She saved you from the much worse spanking you had coming. Now, let’s serve our guest some iced tea and cookies, hmm?”

“I’ll get everything,” I said.

“She can be very polite when properly motivated,” Mary said with a wink to Mrs. Wilson. I started toward the house.

         “Oh, she is just so darling with her little red fanny peeking out from under those adorable undies with the little grass stain. And her little, dirt-smudged feet!”

         Now I was blushing again. I like hearing how cute I am.

         “Hey Daphne,” Mary called after me. “Tell you what, Mae. How about you go help her wash her face and hands, and I’ll get everything.”

         “I’d be happy to,” Mrs. Wilson replied.

         “Where are my shorts,” I asked as I stood with a foot in the door.

         “It’s warm out. You don’t need ‘em for the rest of the day,” Mary declared. “Run along with Mrs. Wilson, and be a good girl for her.”

Mary’s smirk. I like that a lot more than her angry face. Especially when she find just the right button to push to get me all blushy and tingling in my tummy.

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  • 2 weeks later...

Scene #9



         I took the day off, and I’m damn glad I did. I just needed a day. I woke up when Mary got up, went back to bed when she left, went for a trail run, came home and spent a little time with myself doing, well, you know. Then, because I really am adult, despite Mary’s insistence on calling me …

         “Oh, little girl,” Mary sang from the kitchen. “Bring your naughty buns into the kitchen.” Crap. What did I do now? She just got home!


         “Coming.” I hopped off the couch and walked to the kitchen, trying to look sexy to distract her from whatever she was grumpy about. She telegraphs it every time she calls me ‘little girl,’ which I’m not. Okay? Not. It says so right on my driver’s license.

         I walked right into the kitchen and got a look from Mary that was part amused and part sympathetic. “What happened to your pants?”

         I looked down at my bare legs and undies. Not the little girl undies she makes me wear when I’m in trouble or one of those stupid pullups she makes me wear, well, I haven’t figured out why she makes me wear them or when. And not to toot my own horn, but I look pretty damn good in the underwear I had on, so I shot back, “Nothing. What happened to your pants?”

         Mary took a deep breath and cocked her head to the side, smiling at me. “Thank you for cleaning the kitchen, bratty buns.” What could I have done in the minute she’d been home? “Anyway, I thought I’d get a glass of water, and seeing that the dishwasher was clean …”

         Oh, fuck fuck fuck fuck.

         “Want to tell me what I found,” she ased me.

         “Clean dishes that make up for anything else you found in there,” I ventured.

         “Maybe try again.”

         “And clean silverware?”

         She opened the dishwasher and pulled out the top tray.

         “At least I cleaned it.” I just forgot to put it back before Mary found out I borrowed it.

         “What’s the rule about my toys,” she asked me.

         “Ask before you borrow,” I huffed. “I didn’t think you’d find out.”

         “I wouldn’t have if you’d emptied the dishwasher, but that’s not really the point, is it?”

         “I’ll put it away.”

         “Of course you will, little one …”

         I stamped my foot and whined, “You know I hate that!”

         “Putting things away,” Mary innocently asked. “Is that why you didn’t put this away,” she said as she waved it at me. I snatched it from her and started to walk back to our bedroom, with, maybe, if you wanted to see it that, a little too much stomp in my step. I wasn’t any more irritated with her calling me that than I normally am. I was more upset with myself for having made such a stupid mistake. But if anyone is really to blame, it’s Netflix for making it so easy to binge watch Friends and distracting me from hiding my misdeed. Which was totally worth it, twice over.

         “And then wait in the corner for me,” Mary called out after me.

         “Arrggh,” I responded.

         “And watch that attitude!”

         Oh, bite me. But I had the good sense to keep that to myself. I put the toy away and put myself in the corner. Mary doesn’t make me do anything silly like put my hands behind my back or on my head, but she did, the day we moved in, have me stencil “Daphne’s Naughty Spot” on the wall. If you ignore what it says, the calligraphy is kinda pretty. It’s purple. I did get to pick the color myself at least.

         So I stood there with my hands at my side and waited. And waited. And finally Mary came in, marched right up to me, and gave me one smack on my rear. I kept my eyes straight ahead. Those are the rules for naughty spot time: look nowhere else but the corner. Mary says I’m like the Night’s Watch from Game of Thrones, only instead of being The Watcher On the Wall, I’m a watcher of the wall. She was quite delighted with herself when she came up with that. That she was so pleased with herself, I found endearing. She’s such a nerd sometimes. I listened to her change her clothes.

         She crossed the room and took me by my upper arm, and she led me over to her night stand. She opened the drawer, and said, “What a good job putting away!” Then she sat down on the bed and took my hands in hers. “Did you have a nice day off?”


         “What did you do?”

         “I went for a run.”

         “It shows,” she said as she pinched my tummy, “you’re such a fit little thing.” I blushed. Mary likes reminding me of our size difference. She’s in shape, too, but she has a sturdier build and is six inches taller. “What did you do when you got home?”

         “You know,” I blushed.

         “And you borrowed my toy to do it.”

         “Mhmm,” I nodded and looked down. She lifted my chin gently with her hand.

         “Without asking.” I nodded. “You know the rule. What were you thinking?”

         Well, when you’re already in trouble, you might as well tell the truth, right? “That I wanted to anyway.”

         “Well, breaking rules needs to be punished.”

God, why can’t you just toss me over your knee and get on with it? I mean, that’s why we have some of these silly rules. To remind me who is in charge, like I could ever forget since it was my idea. But the belittling little scoldings. I don’t what that triggers in me, but it just gets to me.

         “I’m sorry,” I said. Because I did break a rule, and part of the way Mary shows she loves me is by setting boundaries, and part of the way I show I love Mary is abiding by them, and then submitting to punishments when I don’t. So she made me feel a little guilty. But just a little.

         “You could have waited until I got home, and then we could’ve played with it together. Now I have to punish you instead.”

         I nodded.

         “I’d rather play with you then punish you.” Oh, you are such a fibber! It was probably more like 50/50. Maybe 60/40.

         But instead of calling her on that fib, I moved my arms out of the way, and she accepted the invitation to lower my panties. I wish I had been wearing pants.

         “Over you go, little girl.” Insult met injury as her hand smacked my bottom. That first smack always take a second to register. The second one and sometimes the third have landed by the time you realize you’ve been spanked the once. And you can feel your butt wobble and your body gets pushed ever so slightly forward and recoil back.

         Ten. Twenty. And now it hurts, and your instinct is to get up, and you resist that, partly because you know better – you take the spanking you’ve earned or even the one you haven’t because she said, and she’s in charge. And partly because you like it. The warmth radiating out from your butt all over that part of you, inside your thighs and everywhere else.

         That’s how I knew that I didn’t feel too guilty for what I did and that Mary’s lecture didn’t get too deep under my skin, because I was thinking about that and not my misbehavior or the little fire she was setting on top my bottom. And Mary knew that, too, because thirty spanks and she paused and ran her fingernails over my pink cheeks, and instead of wincing I shuddered at her touch.

         “Up you get,” Mary said to me and helped me to my feet. “Go get your paddle.” Oh, crap!

         “But …”

         “The only butt that matters right now is the one that still needs to be spanked,” she shot back and landed a big smack on my butt as she turned me sideways. I hope that hurt your hand!

         I kicked my panties off and walked around to my side of the bed where the paddle is ever present on my night stand. It’s small, tear drop shaped, and made of some hard wood. I don’t know wood, but I know it has to be hard wood because it’s so dense and heavy. She doesn’t need to apply much force with it if she doesn’t want to, but when she does, hear me wail. I walked back around the bed, and it felt like a trek to the principal’s office, but worse, because I never got sent to the principal’s office and because if I had, there wouldn’t have been a butt blistering waiting for me when I got there.

         May held out her hand as I stood in front of her, and I placed that paddle in her palm. She took it and wagged it under my nose, lecturing, “If you’re not feeling repentant yet, then clearly you need to be spanked with this. Isn’t that what you need?”

         “Yes,” I said weakly, knowing that silence was not an option. Or it was, but Mary would make me wish I had answered with one swing of that paddle. But what’s one more? What Raphael the painter was to a paintbrush and Raphael the ninja turtle is to those little knife thingies, my loving wife is to that tear drop shaped weapon of correction, another cute phrase she trots out from time to time, especially when showing off for our friends.

         Mary turned me sideways and held my left arm out of the way and WHAP!

         Motherfucker, I wanted to say, but instead what came out was, “Eheh, eheh, waaaah.”

         “Crying after one swat? Tsk tsk tsk. Just like a little girl” Well, it fucking hurt! She swung it like a freakin’ tennis racket! “C’mon, little girl, back over.” Except this time instead of guiding me over her knees she pulled me down so I was bent over the bed with her left arm under my tummy, her hand coming up on my other side and gently keeping me in place, tight to her hip.


         Which I answered with more tears and sobbing even though each one of those was about half of that first one, but she’d opened the floodgates, and did I mention that thing freakin’ hurts. I mean, I’m just a bitty thing! She just said so!


         “Mary! Please! I won’t borrow it again!”


         “I know you won’t, because you’ll (WHAP!) remember (WHAP!) this (WHAP!) spanking (WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP!)

         “Ahhhhheeee.” And then I said some more stuff that was unintelligible even to me, but Mary knows what I meant. She’s my person. She’s fluent in Daphne Bawling While Getting a Spanking. We could’ve exchanged vows in that language, but I didn’t want to give my grandma a stroke.

         “Five more,” she said to me as she leaned down and brushed the hair out of my face.

         WHAP! She left it there and let it sink in. WHAP! Same. WHAP! WHAP! WHAP!


         I sobbed into our bedspread (I made the bed, too! Do I get no credit for that!?!), and this time I did wince when her fingernails touched by butt. It was swollen, I could feel that from the way her fingers felt, and I knew I must have been a dark red. I’d have a bruise shortly, visible, something to look at and enjoy every time I sat down for a few days. Mary won’t paddle a bruised butt (‘cause she loves me. sigh, flutter, melt…), but she’ll spank one. That gave me a few days to be naughty while keeping the consequences to a minimum.

         But at the moment, I was just thinking about Mary’s hand, so gentle and soft finding its way from my butt to my back, and into my hair as she bent down and kissed my temple and my ear and the back of my neck. I sighed as my tears dried up and felt myself sink lower into the bed.

         “Roll over,” she whispered to me. I did, and I looked at her, and she had one of her devious smiles, the kind that says we’re both about to enjoy what she’s going to do but that she’s going to enjoy it more. She turned me so my feet were right next to her and my were legs drawn up (I love that she can toss me around).

         “Spread your knees,” she said. I did, and she liked what she saw. She picked the paddle back up, reversed it, and I bit my lip and closed my eyes, knowing what was coming.

         She brought that paddle down gently on my … TAP. Oh, the very best part of same-sex relationships is your partner knows where everything is. TAP. She had me squirming in a whole different way than when she was spanking my ass. TAP. TAP. TAP. I was already limp at the end of my spanking, and I was a puddle when she was done with my other spanking.

         “Ok, all done,” Mary announced.

         Wait, what? Did she not know that I was in no condition to even get up off the bed?

         “Um, Mary?”

         “Yeah,” she said as she stood up.

         “Aren’t we …”

         “Gonna go to dinner? Sure we are.”

         “But …” Oh, she is such a meanie sometimes!

         “And,” she said, drawing out the word. I was expecting her to say ice cream. “We’ll go to the Toy Chest.”

         I sat right up. “Really?”

         “Yeah. For doing such a good job cleaning the kitchen, I think we’ll go get you one of your very own so you won’t be tempted to take mine.”

         Everybody loves new toys! “Oh, thank you thank you thank you!” I was on my feet and hugging the woman who just beat my butt like it stole something (but I only borrowed it, teehee?).

         “But,” she warned me, “if you misbehave in the toy store, like little girls sometimes do, we may have to cut our trip short.”

         “I promise I’ll be good.” Everybody gets carried away in the toy store; was she ever gonna let me live that one time down? She turned and started to put on shoes.

         “Go put on a pullup,” she said to me.

         “Why,” I whined. “I learned my lesson.” 

         She straightened up and sauntered back toward me, that glare of hers gluing my feet to the floor. “Little girl, do you need another reminder of who’s in charge?”

         “No,” I squeaked, remembering how much my butt was throbbing right then. It wouldn’t have been the first time I got two spankings in a half hour, each one just as severe as the other.

         “Then scoot,” she said as she tapped my butt again. I scurried to my closet to get one of those stupid things.

         “And thanks for making the bed,” she called after me.

         She noticed! Sigh …


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Scene #10


“No,” Mary said. Some disinterested parties might say that I don’t respond well to the word ‘no.’ It’s not that Mary says it to me a lot. Very rarely; in fact, usually after trying to be more diplomatic about it. She reserves her flat ‘no’ for when I Maybe, and again, this is subject to some debate, have pushed the issue a little too far. A touch. A tad, perhaps. 

“It’s not that expensive,” I said again, as though that argument that didn’t work 60 seconds ago would magically work now.

“Daphne, I said ‘no.’ We can’t afford it right now. If you want it, you’re going to have to save up for it.”

Mary is in charge of our finances because she’s better at it. I am not and never have been good with money. I make my own money, obviously, and we share a bank account that I can take from what I need to when I need to. It’s not like I’m on an allowance or anything. It’s just that we both agreed to ask each other for permission before buying any non-necessity that costs more than $100. 

“Fine,” I said in response, and began to engage in some major league pouting. To her it was just a new version of something I already had, but to me, it was the awesomenew version of something I already had. I mean, c’mon, that is so totally different!

“C’mon,” she said and led me back into the walkway of the mall. We went into another store a few doors down, and Mary gave me a warning look when I pretty much just stood there with my arms crossed and waited for her. She’s sometimes more patient than others when I pout.

I like to think I’m a funny person whose humor is not always appreciated. I have a habit of making a joke when I know I shouldn’t. They just come out. That’s what happened when the salesperson approached and asked, “Can I help you find anything?”

And the funny/not funny/sorta bitter but still funny thing that came out of my mouth because, I’m guessing, my prefrontal cortex was running on too little sleep was, “No, we can’t afford anything.” I mean, funny, right? If you’re not Mary.

And I’m not stupid. As soon as I said it, I looked behind me to see just how far over the line I’d gone, and Mary’s slack-jawed expression told me: wayyyy over.

“Too soon,” I asked while trying to look apologetic and cute. I’ve been told I do an awesome apologetic-and-cute, it’s just that Mary isn’t so easily swayed. She takes being my disciplinarian seriously.

“Much too soon, little girl.” Dammit! I hate that phrase and I know that code!

“I’m ...”

“Don’t! You can say it after your spanking, understand?”

Time for staring my shoes so as not to see the reaction of the saleswoman who was still within hearing distance. It’s not humiliating if you can’t see them, right? RIGHT?!? (No, it’s not right. I just wish it was).

“Let’s go,” Mary said, this time guiding me by the shoulder and discreetly, I hoped, swatting my butt. Not hard but hard enough to be a dull thud.

The thing about a mall is there are so many places to spank a naughty shopper like me. Most of them are out of the question, but I knew Mary would definitely not be waiting until we got home. She almost never does. I started to panic as we walked back toward the entrance we came in at. The car would’ve been little better than any of the dozen empty benches we walked past. There’s not enough room, and our windows are not tinted. I’d be on complete display.

A dressing room would be preferable to that, but they’re not all the same. In the store we’d just come from, the dressing room was right off the sales floor and would’ve have been all but public. It was more of a dressing booth. 

We were also heading in the direction of a department store, and their dressing rooms are better, being buried in at the backs of departments and being deeper. They got booths way back, where we usually go. If Macy’s punched a card for every time you get spanked in one of their dressing rooms, I’d have gotten a free bottle of Macy’s-branded water by now, and those suckers ain’t cheap.

My heart sank as we made a sharp right near the entrance to the department store and headed toward our car. My last chance now was the ladies’ room. That’s the opposite of a car. Plenty of room for Mary to tuck me under her arm, and while no one would be able to see, everyone would hear, once when Mary’s smacked my butt, and once again when the smack echoed off the tile.

I was decidedly of two minds when Mary pointed us toward the ladies’ room. “Please,” I pleaded, knowing it would do no good but having to try, “please at home. I’m sorry.” I got a real swat for that and almost tripped.

“Here,” Mary said. At the last second she turned away from the ladies’ room toward a door I hadn’t noticed. A family restroom! A minor mercy for what I suspected was going to be a a real spanking, not the ten swats I got the last time I got spanked at the mall.

Mary reached for the handle, and it was locked. “We’re waiting,” Mary declared as she led me to the wall. I started to turn to lean my back against it.

“Uh uh. You can face the wall and listen to me,” Mary instructed.


“Daphne Anne, I’m keeping my voice down for your sake, so unless you want everyone here to know you’re about to get your bare bottom spanked like a five-year-old who didn’t get what she wanted, you are going to listen to me.” She paused, I guess to see if I was going to say anything. Not a peep from me as I endured what amounted to a public timeout and what was obviously a lecture to anyone passing by, even if they couldn’t hear it. (And it’s not embarrassing if I can’t see them seeing me, right? Please?)

“I am sorry we can’t afford that this month. I know you work hard, and I do, too, and it sucks that despite that we have to wait for little pleasures sometimes, but when I say no, that’s it. You stop arguing. Understand?”

I nodded.

“We agreed I’m in charge of our finances, and we agreed we would ask each other before we bought anything expensive. It took us a long time to get you out of credit card debt, and we’re not putting a purchase on the card that we can’t pay off in full just because you want it. Is that clear?”

I nodded again.

“And I know you think that was a joke you made, but it wasn’t. It was mean, and it was embarrassing, and it was disrespectful, childish, and pouty. I don’t deserve any of that.”

Okay, pause. We’re really gonna talk about who was embarrassed? But if my mouth got me into trouble, it wasn’t going to get me in deeper, so I just nodded again.

“We’re going to go in there, I am going to yank down those yoga pants of yours, you’re going to bend under my arm, and I’m going to spank your naughty, bare bottom. Understood?”

Before I could nod, a woman emerged from the restroom pushing a stroller. She nodded at Mary, and I’m not sure she even saw me. Mary put her foot out to keep the door from closing, reached across me, and tugged me by the shoulder. Feeling sorry for myself and on the verge of tears already from what was a blistering talking to that left me feeling, as usual, guilty and contrite, I shuffled in. A standard family restroom for a mall.

Mary hung her purse from a hook and took out the paddle. I gave a moment’s worth of consideration to hiding that thing or even throwing it away later. What a whupping is get for that, I’m sure.

“Arms up,” Mary said. I wanted to say something, but what was the point? My yoga pants were around my ankles a second later. “Maybe it’s my fault for letting you wear big girl panties today,” and then they, too, were around my ankles. “Even better,” Mary said as she looked behind me.

I turned and saw what she saw: a step stool next to the sink. I groaned, knowing what she intended. She slid the stool toward me, planted her left foot on top of it, crooked a finger at me, and said, “Over my knee.” I looked at her knee, I looked at the paddle in her right hand, and I had an instant vision of what I’d look like in a couple seconds with my feet and hands both off the floor (preferable, given it’s a restroom) as I dangled there helplessly, folded over at the waist and offering my butt to her at the perfect angle. I started to breathe hard already and tried to keep my eyes mostly dry as I shuffled over to Mary.

Standing at her right side, I put my foot on the stool, and as I stepped up, Mary lifted me under the arms, and with effort, I was over her knee. I looked up at the mirror, and I looked just how I’d pictured it.

“You need to hold still,” Mary warmed me. “I don’t want to drop you.” What a coincidence! I didn’t wanna be dropped. I was pretty uncomfortable like that.

When she wants to, Mary can make a spanking last an hour. It’s like edging (which she can do for way longer than an hour, or at least it seems that way), except instead of keeping me from pleasure, she keeps from going over the edge with pain, holding me in that crappy, crappy zone where my butt is burning and aching and I’m sobbing and there’s snot on my shirt but I’m not wailing. I’m not incapable of taking more. I’m still in just enough control of me, and Mary can hold me there because she’s in control of us both and knows my body like her own.

This was not gonna be that kind of spanking.

The first blow made me jerk my head up and cry out. She was swinging that teardrop paddle like a school paddle, taking all that force and concentrating it on a much smaller area. All that energy shot through me in the form of lightning pain. One a second, or so it seemed, alternating cheeks and moving from up to down and down to up.

There was no way anyone passing by couldn’t hear through the hollow, steel door, and I was putting in every bit of effort I could into holding still and not crying out again.

What escaped my throat even as I kept my mouth clamped (ya couldn’t‘ve done that five minutes ago, ya little brat?) was a low, continuous moan. I kicked my feet and felt myself slip, then Mary’s strong arm pulling my back toward her, and Mary delivered two more stunners to the tune of, “Hold. Still!”

I reached down and put my hands around Mary’s calf, the only thing to hold onto. I could hardly see it through the tears. My throat hurt from straining to stay quiet.

Mary saw me at the edge and finished off with two blasts from that hateful paddle, and then it was over.

Before I was aware of it, Mary righted me, put me on my feet, and pressed my face into her breast where I could wail as loud as I could without being heard. And wail I did. Big, heaving swells of sobs.

“Shhh. It’s over. You did so good. Shhh.” Her hand rubbed my back, her lips kissed the top of my head, and my knees wobbled. I wanted to collapse and be held, and there was no where to do it. Instead I got myself down to just the choking type of sob, quiet at least, as I sniffled and tried to get my diaphragm to stop cramping and picked my head up off Mary.

“Do you understand why you needed that spanking,” Mary asked as she brushed my hair out of my face.

“Because I was being a brat, and I said something mean to you.”

“That’s right. I understand how life can be frustrating at times, and you can have a lot of feelings come up and not know the right way to express them, but throwing a tantrum is unacceptable.” 

Geez, she made it sound like I was a two year old shouting “Mine!” as I hurled myself to the floor.

“I’m only trying to do what’s best for us,” she continued, “and we need to save for little extras like that.”

“I know,” I said, trying not to sound whiny. Ya know what I wanted more right then? To be allowed to rub my butt. That’s free! At least I knew better than to ask for that instead.

“And when you don’t get your way, it’s unacceptable to then be angry and pouty and make cutting remarks. You are old enough to know that.”

Of course I am! I’m 30! And I did know it. I just had a hard time putting that knowledge into practice sometimes. It was a case of those who can’t get taught by those who can with the aid of a paddle that fits in her purse. It’s always there. It’s even there when she’s not with me in case, she says, she needs to come give me a spanking wherever I am.

“Now, do you have something to say to me?”

“I’m sorry, Mary. I’m really sorry. You’re right.” (As usual) “I’m sorry I didn’t listen to you, and I’m sorry I threw a tantrum and said what I said.”

“Good girl. I forgive you,” she said. Three words go a long way to making me feel better pretty much any time. That’s all I need in life, to be in Mary’s good graces. My friends in vanilla relationships? I don’t understand how they can have fights and not make up right away. That’s a blue moon even for us, because nine out of ten times we argue, if that, it’s the kinda fight where there’s a definite wrong person (me, about eight of those nine times), and the argument ends with me suffering through a swollen butt while Mary tells me I’m forgiven. I think we have the best relationship in the world. 

“Thank you,” I said. The burning sensation was giving way to a warm ache, and with it came the soft, endorphin-fueled afterglow that’s better than any drug.

Mary bent down and pulled my pants up. I winced, and my butt felt hotter under the tight fabric.

“There’s one thing we need to get while we’re here,” Mary said a she wet a paper towel. I held still while she wiped my face. “Blow,” she said as she held the paper towel over my nose. That is one of the few things that’s easier to do with a toddler. It took us a few tries to coordinate that right (we missed the Kleenex entirely once, but don’t worry - Mary’s shirt kept If from getting everywhere), but we were old hands at it now.

“Ya good,” she asked me as she threw the paper towel away.

“Hmmmm,” I said, feeling floaty. Who needs that thing anyway? We should buy more paddles is how we should spend that money, because this feels so much better, now, not that I was in a hurry to experience it all over again. I bit my lip and smiled my I’m-experiencing-too-many-pleasure-hormones-to-speak-intelligently smile. 

Mary took her purse from the hook after she put my paddle away, then took my hand and we left the restroom. No one paid us any mind. Each step hurt, a deep, dull ache that I love.

“Where are we going,” I asked. I had both hands around Mary’s arm as I leaned on her.

“The drug store at the other end.” 

I was too busy enjoying my buzz to notice until we were in the drug store and standing in the diaper aisle. Mary was reaching for a package of Goodnites. I know better than to whine after a serious spanking like the one I’d just gotten, but the prospect of pull-ups made that life lesson fly from my head.

“Mary, no, please? I learned my lesson.”

“Shh. It’s okay, sweetie.”

“Please? I don’t want those.”

“You want the boy ones instead?”

I exhaled sharply. “No. That’s, you know that’s not what I meant.”

“You mean you want some real adult diapers?” Boy, did that shut me up. “Because ...”


“‘No’ what?”

“These are fine,” I hissed through my teeth.

“I’m so glad to hear you say that. I wouldn’t want to get you something you don’t like.” She started toward the register. “And besides, it’d be a shame to go shopping and not get you anything at all.”

I stood meekly behind her while she paid. “Good thing these aren’t too expensive, right, Daphne,” she asked as she inserted her card. 

Wow, I thought, way to hammer the point home. Did I mention my wife is one of the world great sarcasm strategists? She deploys it like a general deploys nuclear missiles. The clerk handed Mary the receipt.

“Can we use your restroom?”

Wait, what?

“Sure, in the back,” the clerk said. Mary started walking away. I stood there. The clerk looked around me like she was expecting to see a little kid behind me. She just gave me this look I tried to disarm with what must’ve been a stupid and guilty smile.

“C’mon, Daphne,” Mary called before I could start babbling. I scampered after her, and she held the bathroom door open for me again.

“Ya gonna fight me on this,” she asked when the door was closed.

“Only verbally,” I said as I pushed my left shoe off with my right foot.

“Let me do that, baby.” 

She knelt down as I protested, “I’m not a baby!”

“Of course you aren’t,” she said she took off my other shoe and started tugging my pants back down again. And then I was naked from the waist down except for my socks, again.

She tore the package open, withdrew one of those damn things, unfolded it and held it open for me. “Ya know,” she said, “a diaper actually would be easier. We wouldn’t have to completely undress you to change you into it.”

I chose not to engage with that sentence. I put my hands on Mary’s shoulders for balance and stepped in, then Mary pulled it up my legs. I looked at it for a second.

“What,” Mary asked.

“I was just seeing who was on it. Just hearts and flowers.”

“Disappointed,” Mary asked with a smile.

I responded by pulling up my yoga pants. I put my shoes on while she stashed my panties in her purse. I twisted around trying to see and wishing I had worn a longer shirt.

“Can you see it,” I asked as I tried to adjust my pants.

“Leave it alone,” Mary replied as she swatted me on the butt. It hurt, but not terribly. I was already recovering even if I would have an invisible bruise for a day or two.

“Can you,” I asked again.

“The truth? Yeah. Pretty obvious through those yoga pants.” She adjusted the hem of my shirt.

“Did that help,” I asked.

“Nope. Here,” she said as she handed me the package of pull-ups. I’d rather take a spanking again than wear these things with yoga pants through the mall, and I’d rather take a caning, which I find not sexy at all, then do it while carrying the package openly. But discipline is not a negotiation. If I protested, I’d end up getting that second spanking and still marching through the mall with an obvious pull-up butt.

“Can we ask the clerk for a bag?” I could at least safely try that.

“No. They’re bad enough for the planet as is.”

“But ...”

“Daphne Anne, do you really already need a reminder about what to do when I say ‘no?’”

“Sorry.” Little did I know that as we walked back out into the mall, every step shifted my hem and showed off the top of the waistband of that pull-up. Mary knew. She elected not to tell me, which I’m actually glad of. I was embarrassed as is. I’d have crept through the mall holding my shirt down if I knew.

Mary saved a surprise for me until we got home. She fixed us lunch and slid a glass of iced tea to me across the table.

“One more thing. From now on, since we are tying to be more economical, no more buying anything we’re not going to use.”

“Okay,” I said, not realizing where she was going. We use everything we have.

“Which means when I put you in one of those pull-ups, you don’t get your undies back until you tinkle in it.”

I sat quietly for a moment. The pain of sitting kept me from protesting right away. “And then I can have my panties back,” I asked hopefully. Like, maybe pee a few drops and then whip the thing off?

“I didn’t say that, sweetie. I only said you can’t have your undies back until your pull-up is wet.”

“So I may have to sit in it?!?”

“Honey, you may have to change into another pull-up, and then that one stays on until you tinkle in it, and then you may have to sit in it. It just depends on how naughty you’ve been.”

“You are such a meanie.”

“Love you.”

“Love you, too.”

“How’s your sandwich?”

“Yummy. Thank you.”

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23 minutes ago, ABAlex said:

Awesome addition, but is there something wrong with the font? It looks huge on my computer

Glad you enjoyed it.

I posted it straight from my phone, and I can’t seem to correct the font from it. I’ll fix it later on my computer.

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  • Alex Bridges changed the title to I am not a little girl! (Really!) (Scene #214 posted 12/6/23)

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