I am not a little girl! (Really!) (Scene #214 posted 12/6/23)

[Alex Bridges]

6 hours ago, diaperboymi said:

Thank you soooo much for the wonderful update!!!!!!   I always a joy to read ?

You’re very welcome

[Alex Bridges]

Scene #102

 

            I didn’t do anything. Let’s just lay that fact out there, and let’s keep it in mind for the duration of the tale I’m about to relate to you, for it may seem fanciful and strange and nothing that follows will seem wondrous or even make sense if you don’t remember that Marley was dead to begin with and that I didn’t do anything.

            In fact, I was a very good girl. My arm was sore after my shot, but I felt fine otherwise. Mary did not feel fine, and I played nursemaid very attentively. If she felt a little better, I would’ve even put on my nursemaid outfit. Mary recovered after a couple of days feeling oogy, and as she often does after being down with something or having a migraine, she gets a little (lot) frisky and wants, I think, to show her appreciating for my taking care of her. Of course, when you’re us, showing your appreciation can seem … not so appreciative. Maybe more … punitive.

            But I wasn’t thinking about that when she made me do the oatmeal thing. And I wasn’t thinking about it when she suggested I take a nap because I had been yawning the whole time we were cleaning the house. I was thinking that it would be awesome to take a nap. I was thinking it would be awesome to not clean anymore. I was thinking it would was very nice of Mary to offer to do my half of the cleaning so I could get some extra sleep and assumed that was her showing appreciation for taking care of her. You know what they say about assuming – don’t – but you can’t go through life questioning your wife’s motives all the time. I went upstairs, I flopped face down on our bed, and I promptly passed out and dreamt about the fact that I didn’t do anything.

            “Daffy,” I heard from somewhere in the inky darkness. “Daffy,” a dulcet voice called to me. “You’re gonna sleep the day away.” I was okay with that. “All the chores are done.” Well, that being the case, I may as well wake up, right?

            I opened my eyes to find my Mary lying next to me petting my hair. “Hi,” I said. I’m clever like that.

            “Did you get a good nap?”

            “Mhmm. Thanks for finishing all the cleaning.” See, I’m polite. I didn’t do anything, and I’m polite.

            “You’re very welcome. You ready to enjoy our afternoon?”

            “What are we gonna do? Is it gonna be delightful?” I may have had that stupid smile on my face I sometimes get. When we’re fully vaccinated, we’ll resume our usual Sundays. Until then, one month hence, we’ll probably keep having a lot of Sunday sex. I’m not in as huge a hurry to rejoin society as I was a few months ago, because reasons.

            “I think so,” my Mary said in her sultry voice with that I’m-gonna-do-stuff-to-you look on her face. She lifted the covers off me, leaned forward, and gave me a kiss on my neck (there was nibbling too). I figured she was going to slide under those covers and devour me like a small woodland creature, seeing as she is a she-wolf, but no. No, that is not what happened.

She kissed her way down to my shoulder (it got a nibble too) and paused. I was about to lean into her and find something to nibble, but she stopped me. I was confusaled, and she had this what-is-going-on-here look on her face. I missed the old look. She reached down and touched my butt, reminding me of what I was wearing and making me want to bury my face in the pillow again. She touched it again, took the waistband of my shorts, and folded them down.

“Young lady, are you in a diaper!?!”

O, she is so full of …

She was out of bed before I could finish my thought, standing on her feet on those long legs of hers. She missed her calling as an actress. “Why are you wearing a diaper?”

I learned long ago that when she plays this game, which I call the Do Stuff to Daphne Then Deny All Knowledge Game, it doesn’t matter if I play along or not. She’s going to just keep playing her role in the game regardless. “You made me,” I retorted, deciding not to play along. And yes, it is a game and I decided not to play, but Mary doesn’t let me not play. There’s no getting out of it, and I don’t particularly enjoy it (at the time; I just have to give it a few seconds). I guess my not playing along is a kind of playing along, but let’s not say so because it’s less fun that way. But also, it’s not fun (really), and even though it is a game and I know I didn’t do anything, trying telling that to the part of my brain that isn’t interested in logic. It just responds to the tone of Mary’s voice, and Mary’s voice said I should be contrite and embarrassed to have been caught doing something she made me do.

“You naughty little girl,” Mary continued (I told you she loves to continue) like I wasn’t even there. “You have no excuse to be wearing diapers at your age.” Her contradicting herself in the space of a sentence does remind me of certain adults growing up (like, all of them). “You have no idea how much trouble you are in.”

“I’m not a little girl, and I was following your stupid rules!” I could’ve said nothing and gotten the same results. It’s just … when Mary said something, the sub in me (also the brat in me) … (also possibly me) feels compelled to respond, especially in defense of my honor.

“Where do you keep them,” she asked. I started to get up. “You can stay right where you are.” So instead of getting out of bed, I rolled over and plopped down on my butt. Nothing squished, for the record, but only because it already had several hours prior. “Tell me where … And you can do it without rolling your eyes at me unless you want to make your spanking even worse.”

“What?! That is such bullcrap!” Smack, her hand went on my thigh.

“In the trunk in the closet.” I pointed, getting caught up in the game because I was going to have to answer for my imaginary misdeed anyway. I may have sat there on the bed with my arms crossed and pouting like arm-crossing and pouting champion (I’m a multi-sport athlete, like all the greats), and what was that about a spanking? What was I gonna get spanked for? I didn’t do anything! Hmmph!

In fact, I followed the rules. I didn’t wanna wear a diaper. I didn’t wanna a pantload of oatmeal. And I didn’t wanna take a nap in a diaper. All of those things were Mary’s idea, and I did such a good job obeying that a casual observer could have inferred I did them willingly. And I really wanna have a one-on-one with my brain in the near future to remind it that it doesn’t need to participate in Mary’s chicanery. I didn’t do anything and wasn’t actually in trouble, but the weak-willed, anxious approval slut in me just decided that I was gonna be pouty (even though I never am) and remorseful (even though I didn’t do anything) and on the edge of weepy (even though it was just a game). I can’t very well defend my virtue and honor if half of my brain won’t remember it’s just a game. Of course, games have a way of turning into other things for us, but first things first (that’s why they call them first things, silly).

“Daphne Ann, this trunk is a call for help,” Mary said from our closet, where she was looking in her trunk. “It’s filled with diapers and sex toys. There’s just no excuse.” Well, shit. I’ve been saying that about the diapers for over a year now, but did she listen? She came out of the closet holding a cloth diaper, plastic panties, changing stuff, and a paddle.

“Hey,” I said when I saw that paddle. “I didn’t do anything to deserve that! That’s gonna hurt.”

“It’s a spanking – it’s supposed to hurt.”

“Urgh!”

“Don’t you take that tone with me. I’m not the one who decided to wear a diaper and use it like a little girl.”

Ah, hell na. “That’s just fernoplering hilfenschtule, Mary! It’s totally (bear sounds) and just another (sound of shattering glass) and you’re just being a (chipmunk noises) and nerfermurmur!”

“Such big words for a girl wearing a full diaper,” was her response to my very well reasoned and brilliantly articulated protest. People say I’m a brilliant articulator all the time. There goes, Daphne, they say, one of her generation’s great orators.

I felt a distinct pop that I’m pretty sure was me bursting a blood vessel. When I came to, I was standing in front of Mary, who was sitting on the ottoman with her hands on my hips. Well, for a moment.

“Not only are you wearing a diaper,” she gaslighted me, “but it’s soaked. You peed your pants! Are you a pants pee-er?”

“No!”

“Well, obviously you are, Daphne. You’ve piddled a puddle in your diaper.” And she was rubbing and squishing things, too. Dammit … “So you must be a pants wetter. Are you a bedwetter, too?”

“No! Marrry!”

“What a shame. At least you’d have a good reason to be in diapers at your age if you were. That must mean you’re just being naughty. What happens to naughty girls who wear and wet diapers?”

“I dunno. They get elected mayor or something?” SMACK! “Hey!” So uncalled for. She turned me sideways and delivered a smack to my butt. Her hand paused in mid-air before she could deliver a second.

“You didn’t,” she said all dramatically like she’s Frances McDormand or something. I mean, come the fuck on. Who’s she fooling (other than that anxious girl in my head.

“I didn’t,” I pleaded. She planted her hand back on my butt. Firmly.

“You didn’t. You are standing in front of me with a mushy butt, and you’re telling me you didn’t mess your diaper.”

“I didn’t!”

“Then what is this,” she asked as she rubbed and squeezed and patted and kneaded. “This is a messy diaper. You fudged your huggies.”

“Marrrry! I didn’t.”

“You’re a mush tush.” She took my wrist and pulled it toward my butt. “Feel. Feel what you did in your diaper.” Which, of course, I didn’t. And also, she did it. But she didn’t let me keep my hands to not myself. When I didn’t move, she planted my palm on my butt for me. “Feel what you did. Is that how a big girl feels, or is that how a girl who made a mess in her pampers feels?”

“Marrrrrry!” It was getting to be a bit too much. I was gonna get weepy, and Mary must’ve known cuz she ninja’d me over her lap. Ahhh, over Mary’s lap. I’ll be safe here, the naïve and kinda dumb part of my brain chimed in. She’s nice and all, but she’s usually wrong about stuff. Fortunately, there’s a very realistic girl who also works in my brain who went, Pshaw! This is gonna get worse before it gets better. I hate it when she’s right.

“Look at you,” my (mean) Mary (who’s very mean) continued her lectur (cuz she’s mean and loves to continue, especially when she’s being mean). “You call yourself a big girl, and you’re over my knee wearing a dirty diaper about to get your bottom spanked. Does that happen to any other big girls you know?” My silence got me a smack.

“Ewww!”

“Darn right ‘ew!’ You dirtied your diaper!”

“Marrryyy!” And with that, she put the paddle to work. At least it didn’t hurt. It felt gross, but at least it didn’t hurt.

“Spanking your dirty pampers,” she mumbled while she … well, did what she said. But at least it didn’t hurt.

“OW! OW!” Until she worked her way down to my thighs. But it was just the two. “OW! OW!” Four. “(Sniff!)” I wasn’t crying. Really.

“I’ve never had to spank a 31-year-old in a dirty diaper before,” Mary (who’s mean) said as she put the paddle down. “I hope you learned something from it. What did you learn?”

“Don’t wear diapers,” I said with just a tinge of exasperation in my voice. And why shouldn’t I be exasperated? Can’t win for trying when Mary decides you don’t get to win.

“O, that’s what you think. You wanted diapers, now you got ‘em. You’ll wear them til you’re sick of them.”

See?!? I can’t win! “(Sniffle.) Marrry, I don’t wanna wear diapers.”

“You say that now, but if I let you out of them, you’ll be craving them and sneaking them behind my back in a just a day or two, and I’ll have to spank your bottom all over again.”

“I won’t.” And also, “I didn’t.” O yeah. I almost forgot. “You’re being mean and it’s not fair.” You know who whines about fairness? Little kids, hypocritical politicians, and me when Mary is being unfair.

“I’m trying to help you,” she cooed at me. “Dirty diapers are a very dirty habit.” She pulled my shirt up and let her fingertips drift over the small of my back. “And now I’m going to help you into a clean diaper.”

I started to sit up, and her hand on my back stopped me. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“You said you were gonna …”

“And you’re fine where you are. Just do what I tell you.” She reached across and under me to find the tapes and tore them open, then did the same the other side.

“Ewwwwwwww,” I groaned as she peeled back the diaper and all that sticky (oatmeal) mess (that was oatmeal and only oatmeal). “Marrrry!”

“I’m sorry it feels icky, baby, but you remember that the next time you decide pants are for poopin’. And it’s not exactly a treat for me either.”

Faithful readers, don’t try this at home, and always remember that Mary is mean. Sweet, but mean.

As bad as the feeling is when it’s in the diaper, as soon as the diaper is open, it starts to cool down and feel like … I can’t even say it. “Hurry,” I pleaded. I was doing so much pleading that day.

“It’s a big mess, baby. You made a very big mess in your diapee.” I closed my eyes as tight as I could and lay over her knee like a statue while the opened the container of wipes. I’m not an expert on being over someone’s knee (I’m the expert on being over someone’s knee), but in my humble (expert) opinion, it doesn’t present one’s anatomy to these ministrations as easily as one (nonexpert) might expect. O, it can work, but it’s an effort. “I’mma clean you up as fast as I can. I wanna see your cute pink bottom, too.”

Too? Did I ask to see my own butt when I wasn’t listening? That line of thought got cut off as soon as that wipe reached my skin. “Urgh!”

“Not a Sunday drive up here, either, Miss Dirty Bum. If you hadn’t decided to wear diapers, we wouldn’t have this mess to clean up, now would we?” Wipe Number 2 came off the bench. “And a girl your size – forget about your age – I don’t think I’ve ever changed such a messy diaper. But I do it because I love you.” Wipe Number 3’s turn. “I do it because I love you, just like I spank you bottom when you need it because I love you, and why I’m going to help you get over your little diaper problem because I love you.”

Excuse me!?! “Marrry…”

“Time to get between your cheeks.”

“(Sound of my eyes shooting open and my mouth making a shape like on Charlie Brown’s shirt).”

“So much mess in here. Open your legs, sweetie.” Can’t; had a stroke; not one with my body anymore. “Open …” She did it for me. “There. We’ll get you all clean. Clean eberywhere. Eb-ber-ry-where … Such a messy girl. This is hard work. You made such a mess that cleaning you up is hard work! You’s just a messy girl! Yes you are! Yes you are!”

Stupid humiliation fetish. Makes it so hard to stay on message, with her (evil) words and (soft and also evil) hands and (evil) words. “Mary,” I said with my I’m-about-to-start-crying voice while at the other end my toes were doing that thing where they ball up and open and ball up again.

“Is you getting squirmy during your diapee change? We’re almost done.”

Oatmeal in a diaper get very sticky. We were not almost done. Part of me needed extra attention.

“Almost,” she said while giving it maybe more attention than extra. “And just to make sure …”

“Mmmuh.” That part didn’t come into contact with oatmeal.

“All clean,” she cheerfully sang. “All clean eb-ber-ry-where! Hold still.” I tried to hold still while she pulled that diaper out from under me and I’m guess) put all the wipe she’d used in it before rolling it up. “Up ya get,” she said and gave me an up-ya-get spank. I felt wobbly as she helped me to my feet. I looked down and saw the wadded-up diaper. I smelled quaker oats. I felt the breeze from the fan on my butt. “Did you learn a lesson about fudging huggies,” (mean) Mary asked me (so mean).

“(Lip quivering).”

“Aww, c’mere.” She pulled me into her lap, where I buried my face in her shirt and did some crying. No sobbing. Just had an overflow of hormones going on, and they needed to come out as tears. Sometimes that happens. They’re not sad tears. Just overwhelmed tears. And damn she can be mean. “There there. Your Mary’s got you.”

“Mean,” I said into her shirt.

“What was that,” she ask.

“Mean!”

“Ohhhh. Yes, I was very mean, but it was for your own good,” she said like she was talking to a toddler.

“You did it, and you’re mean.”

“So mean. Did I hurt your feelings?”

“(Sniff). No,” I grumbled. “But very mean.” I didn’t have full command of my words. I’m sure I could’ve come up with many more incisive things to say. People say, There goes Daphne, off to be incisive. But I get picturing myself over Mary’s knee getting spanked on that full diaper and her wiping my bottom, and I couldn’t get those pictures to stop, and I couldn’t access my full dictionary cuz the pictures were taking up way too much RAM.

“And I gotta be mean again and put your princess parts in a clean diapee to make sure you learned your lesson.”

“No.”

“No? Daphne, little girls who get spanked on their dirty diapees and need help wiping their bottoms don’t get to decide whether they need to wear more diapees.”

“(Sound of me shutting Mary up by sticking my tongue in her mouth). Take a bath with me first, please?” Stupid humiliation fetish. Really!

[Guilend]

I love it

[Bel George]

Whenever there is a new chapter, I have a great start to the day. And I always look forward to it.

[YourFNF]

I feel ya Daphie on both loving and hating this.....

[Alex Bridges]

Scene #103

 

         Before you judge me, please understand I was just trying an experiment, sorta to prove a point. See, if Mary was gonna simulate me ... doing that thing, I was curious if what she was really doing was trying to ease me into it. She has given me plenty of reasons to be suspicious, like making me wear junior miss panties for years and then trying out pullups on me on her way to diapers. If she wants me to trust her implicitly – which I do because she is my Sun Queen – then she shouldn’t do so many (wonderfully) mean things to me under false pretenses.

And if, along way the way, there’s some self-humiliation, I could deal with that. Not a hardship. Really.

         “Mary,” I called down the the stairs. “Mary, I need your help.”

         “Can it wait a bit,” she called back. “I’m in the middle of something.” Even better – I’d get her to stop working on a non-work day. I really want to put that boundary back up. She was better about it a year ago.

         “No. Mary, I ... Please come.” She’s not the only actress in the family. To our bedroom I retreated and closed the door.

         “Daffy,” she called. “Where’d you go?”

         “I’m in here.”

         “What’s wrong?” She tried the nob. “Did you lock yourself in our room somehow?”

         O, come on. I’m not that mechanically challenged. “No, I ... promise you won’t be mad?”

         “I won’t be mad. Open the door.”

         “Not yet. I ... o, Mary! (Sad sub noises). It’s awful!”

         “Daphne, what? Open this door.”

         “I don’t want you to see.”

         “Did you cut your hair again? What’s wrong?”

         “I ... I was trying to ... I thought you’d like it, but now it’s just ...”

         “Daphne, please open the door.”

         “The ... The other day when you were ... You were really into it. I just ... I thought you’d want to try the real thing.”

         “What real thing? Into what? Daphne Ann Taylor, you open this door right now, young lady.”

         “The oatmeal ... I thought you’d want to try the real thing.” There was so much silence we coulda sold our extra silence.

         Tentatively, Mary said, “You ... you didn’t.”

         “I ... It’s so terrible and I need your help. I ... I don’t think I can clean it up myself.”

        

         “O MY GOD!!!”

 

 

         Birds took wing from the roof of our house at that exclamation while I was chewing on a pillow so she wouldn’t hear me laughing hysterically. Cue the crocodile sniffles.

         “I’m sorry. I wanted to surprise you. I thought you’d like it ... My feelings are really delicate right now. Please don’t think less of me.” Okay, so I laid it in a little thick.

         “Daff? Daffy, I’ll never think less of you ... I ...” There was some of that excessive silence again. “How bad is it?”

         “I can’t do it myself.” And back my face went in the pillow. I decided to wear The Outfit for the occasion: white ankle socks, white panties, white cami. She likes me in that.

         “Okay, okay, um ... Ya know what? This isn’t a big deal. I’ve changed poopy diapers before. We’ll just, we’ll just clean you up, is what we’ll do.” I think my speech pattern has rubbed off on her, but it only comes out during moments of high stress. “Okay, just open the door, and we’ll see what we’re dealing with, and we’ll get you cleaned up.”

         “Promise you won’t laugh?”

         “I promise.”

         “Promise you won’t make icky faces?”

         “Mhmm.”

         “Promise you want call me stinky?”

         “Daphne...”

         “Mary, I’m having a very hard day!”

         “I promise I won’t call you stinky.”

         “Okay. I’m opening the door now. Just ... let me unlock it, and I’ll step back.”

Which I did, and Mary opened the door not as slowly as you’d expect considering what she thought she had waiting for her. She did a double take when she saw my pristine panties.

I was biting my lip just so I could get the punchline out. “Two can play at that game, Miss Mary Does Mean Things to Me.”

         “You ...”

         “Of course not! I didn’t and I never!” Punctuated with a foot stomp and scowl. Or I tried to scowl. Hard to scowl when you’re smiling.

         “You naughty little girl! You are in so much much trouble!”

         Damn, she’s fast. I shoulda done it in a more open area where I’d have a chance to scamper away. She was between me and the door. I went right, and she blocked me. I juked left, and she grabbed me by the arm and spanked me all four steps the bed and ninja flipped me over her knee.

         “When I get through with you,” is a thing she said before drowning out her own voice with the fury of her spanks.

         I wasn’t done fighting. I tried to kick my way off her lap and pulled at the covers and struggled and tried to block until she practically lifted me in the air and got her leg over mine.

         “Not fair!” I pout-shouted over the spanks. “Not fair! You pretended and I can pretend too and OW OW OW!”

         The butt beating stopped. I turned and looked over my shoulder at her to see her I-am-not-happy-with-you-but-you-have-a-point face.

         “I am not happy with you, but you kinda have a point.” She sorta telegraphs her feelings sometimes, my Mary does.

         “Mary, you spanked me.”

         “O, like you’re dying. Sit up.” I did, right into her lap. “Why did you do that?”

         “To get you back ... and because I wanted to know if you really wanted me to.”

         “... Do you really want to?”

         We did a thing where we both closely inspected the other’s face for clues as to true feelings. She doesn’t telegraph all her feelings

         “No, never,” I said

         “Okay. It can be a just-in-case punishment then.”

         “Oka WHAT?!? Mary, that’s not funny.”

         “No, it’s not, and if you ever make me scared something is wrong with you, I will give you an enema and make you dirty your diaper, do you understand me, little girl?”

         “Yes’m.”

         “Your punishment for fibbing is losing pants privileges for the day.”

         “Not fibbing. Pretending.”

         “For pretending then.”

         “That’s not fair.”

         “I bet you can’t talk about what’s fair if I tickle you til you squee.”

         “Mary! Heeheeheehee!”

         So that’s ... not really settled at all. Sorta? Anyway, I got a tiny spanking out of it and a tickle fight that I lost. She never lets me win tickle fights. I think it must be a dominance thing. You don’t think she’s one of those people who sexualizes dominance, do you? How weird that would be.

[YourFNF]

2 hours ago, Alex Bridges said:

“Of course not! I didn’t and I never!” Punctuated with a foot stomp and scowl. Or I tried to scowl. Hard to scowl when you’re smiling.

Called it... *Cackles*

[Bel George]

2 hours ago, Alex Bridges said:

         “Okay. It can be a just-in-case punishment then.”

         “Oka WHAT?!? Mary, that’s not funny.”

         “No, it’s not, and if you ever make me scared something is wrong with you, I will give you an enema and make you dirty your diaper, do you understand me, little girl?”

Or a sneaky suppository, just before Daphne goes to work in the garden (and nana unexpectedly comes to talk along the hedge)?  

We can only dream of it.
Thank you Alex for continuing the story.

[Sarah Penguin]

poor mary she has a live one

[The Cle-venger]

wonderfully written

[Jayme]

Daffy should really learn when to set up her battles, bedrooms with limited access are not good standing points.

Anyways I'm loving this story, Alex you are very talented and I really enjoy your stories.

[Alex Bridges]

Scene #104

 

         Of the two of us, we had assumed that if one of us was going to have nasty side effects from our shots, it would be me. But nope; Mary did. Nothing major, though. She just felt like she had the flu for a couple days.

         I think it’s a domme thing, being sick and vulnerable and then, when she’s better, feeling like she needs to make up for it to prove she’s still in charge. Like the way she gets so frisky after she’s had a migraine.

         “Daffy,” she says to me from her sick bed, “go get a diaper.” She sounded miserable.

         “You ... wanna wear a diaper?”

         “Silly – goose. I should spank you – for that.”

         “If you say so,” I sassed and dipped the washcloth back in the bowl and pressed it to her forehead. Had she tried to sit up to make good on her threat, I coulda pushed her over with my pinky. “Go back to sleep.”

         “Mkay. But I’m gonna spank you later.”

         “No more flirting. Just go to sleep.” I stroked her (sweaty) hair to complete the role reversal until I was sure she was asleep.

         “(Snot-snore).” That’s how I was sure. Sigh ... She’s so pretty when she sleeps.

         As it happens, we do have a naughty nurse outfit in the basement among our Halloween (and whenever we want to role play) costumes, and a set of scrubs because those are just plain sexy with the way they hug butts and that plunging V-neck that exposes so much ... Anyhoo, I was happy to play nursemaid in my regular clothes. In sickness and in health, I did take Mary to be my lawfully wedded wife. Sigh …

         Mary snapped back from being under the weather (what a strange phrase) just in time for our long weekend and the official start of summer. I got all kinds of smooches to the tune of, “Thanks for taking care of me.”

         “I like taking care of you.” Taking care of people is one of my love languages.

         “My turn,” Mary said.

         “It’s always your turn.” She likes taking care of me. Or maybe it’s just that I need a lot of care. But I don’t think I need any more care than the average (anxious, unemployed, praise junky) person. And because I’m the average (anxious, insecure but not really because I don’t have that problem) person, I’m not going to interrogate that question further.

         “It’s always my turn because I’m always in charge,” Mary reminded me. “If I’m gonna be in charge, I have to take care of you. That’s how it works, silly.”

         “I’m not silly, and I’m not protesting. In fact, I think you should take care of me as soon as lunch time. You can be the chef and I can be the ... condiments.”

         “That one got away from ya, huh?”

         “Yeah, not that I’m silly. Are you coming,” I asked her as I led her out into the sunshine in our backyard using only the sashay of my hips to entice her to follow me. Of course, I can wiggle my butt and get Mary to follow me anywhere. She likes butts. She positively loves my butt.

         “Where did these come from,” she asked me as she discovered my new purchase.

         “I ordered them the day before yesterday. If you don’t like them, we can return them for a different kind,” I told her as I bent forward to spread my towel across one our two new chaise lounges. SMACK! “Ow! What was that for?”

         “How much were they?”

         “But they’re a necessity. The rule is only for non-necessities.”

         “What’s wrong with our old ones?”

         Well, for one, “I gave them to Goodwill. They we’re getting old anyway. Look,” I said, pointing to a spot on the concrete, “one of them was dripping rust.”

         She eyed me suspiciously. “How much?”

         “Just $250 total. That’s not even that much when you look at what these costs.”

         “Fine,” she told me, “This time.”

         “Do I need to be on my toes today? Are you doing that thing where you look for any reason to spank me to remind me that you’re in charge?” For onsies, I didn’t’ forget For twosies, she’s always calling me out on my stuff, so just this once I called her out on hers.

         “I don’t do that,” she shot back as she spread out her towel, incredulous in her incredulity that I should call her out on such a quirk.

         “You so do too.”

         “Are you doing that thing where you sass just to get a spanking?”

         “Well, I don’t think I am, but it’s possible. Ya know I don’t always know I’m doing it when I’m doing it.” True story. Really.

         “Maybe I oughta just put your over my knee right here and now,” she said with her hands on her hips. Hoo boy, when she cocks those hips of hers in a two-piece, who needs a pool to get wet, know what I’m sayin’? (You do know, right?).

         “Maybe you oughta.”

         “Maybe I will.”

         “I don’t see you doing it.”

         “Well, you just sit right there and see what happens.”

         “I’m sitting and seeing, and I don’t see ...” Ruh-roh. She’s coming for me.

         “Up you get, bratty buns,” she instructed me as she helped me to my feet. She spun and sat at the foot of my chair and tipped me over her knees in one motion. That’s what I get for marrying a ninja.

         “See,” I said from my spot face down across Mary’s lap. “Our old chairs would’ve flipped if we tried this.”

         “If you’d waited, we could’ve gone to the store together and tested the chairs to see if this would work.”

         “Well, um, ha! We still can. No rule against shopping and not buying anything.”

Mary rubbed her hands over my butt in these wonderful circles that had me thinking that every other shape is just wrong somehow. “No one-piece fetish today?”

         “Tan lines.” I got pretty bad tan lines going from working in the garden so much. I switched to a bikini top too late, and now from my feet to on up I’m four different shades. I look like a paint sample card.

         SMACK! “So much easier to take these down than your one-piece.” She was fondling me, is what she was doing. I’ve been fondled by her before, and that’s how I know when I’m being fondled by her. That’s a fun word to say. Anyhoo ... “Have you been naughty enough to deserve a bare bottom spanking?”

         “Maybe hhhh!” Yep, fondling.

         “Maybe you should ask for one then.”

         “But I don’t decide when or how I get spanked. I just do as I’m told.” She squeezed my butt. Ha!

         “Good girl. Such a good answer.”

         Ooo, did you hear what she called me? I don’t wanna brag, but my wife thinks I’m a good girl. Which did not, thankfully, save me from my spanking.

         Her palm did an energetic slap dance over and around my bikini bottoms, that thick material dulling the spanks just enough to make it last longer and let her spank me harder without it hurting too much. “Huhuhuh,” I snickered when it started to get good to me.

         “Are you enjoying this,” she asked all unbelieving like as her spanking hand stopped spanking and wrapped itself around that wonderful part of me that isn’t quite my back and isn’t quite my front. I thought she might do that, hence my opening my legs for her to do it. “Such a naughty girl,” she said as she cupped and squeezed and stroked places and stuff and things. “How can such a good girl be so naughty.”

         “Skillz hhh! Mad – hhhh! – skillz.”

         “Maybe I need to take these down and bare your bottom after all.”

         “No hhhh!”

         “No? What happened to you not making these choices? You’re supposed to be my submissive little girl who does what she’s told, and I’m telling you,” she said as she squeezed me harder and stroked me with heavier and heavier fingers, “you need a bare bottom spanking, little girl. (SMACK!) Isn’t that you need? A good, hard spanking on your ...

         “Mffffff!”

         “Did you just cum in your pants?”

         “Rnnngh.”

         SMACK SMACK SMACK SMACK her non-spanking hand went because he spanking hand was preoccupied.

         O, like that does anything but make it happen again.

         “Is my good girl all done making a spectacle of herself?”

         I dunno? Is my wife all done grinding her hand into my ... Nope? Then one more. “Mfffff! Hehehehe!”

         Mary’s spanking hand was back on my butt rubbing those circles again. “Your little pump sure was primed,” she said, clearly very satisfied with herself. “Usually takes a little more than that.” But not much. I can testify to that. (And I just gave myself a courtroom fetish, dammit…)

         “Lucky day,” I speculated from somewhere off in post-orgasm land where things are floaty and endorphins run like water. “Thank you. Heeheehee.”

         “You gonna be giggly?”

         “I just had a fun thought.”

         “What’s that?”

         “I came in my pants.” I don’t know why that’s one of my fetishes, but it is and I like it. A lot. Really.

         “Trust me, I know, Daff,” she said in a knowing way. Perhaps because her bare thighs were under that part of me. “Whatever shall we do with you?”

         “I dunno. Probably chastise me.”

         “O, for sure. Consider yourself sentenced to a major bedtime spanking. Now you have all day to think about it. Up you go.”

         She helped me up, and we pivoted back around like when she sat down, except I was the one sitting and she was the one sashaying back into our house, tossing, “Wait here,” over her shoulder.

         Suddenly and for no obvious reason, I was very sleepy. Really. No idea why. That lasted only until she came back. “Aww, no, please? I’m trying to fix the tan lines, not have a diaper shaped tan line.”

         “We’ll fold it down at the top, but a girl who just got her swimsuit so wet should be in something more absorbent in case it happens again.”

         “Is it gonna happen again?” Cuz I can be bribed into compliance just as easily as I can be punished into compliance. Sometimes at the same time. Really.

         “Let’s not take the risk. Lie back, hips up.” I reclined on my chaise lounge and was very glad to have a new one because it was quite comfy. “Let’s get these down,” she said as she slipped my bottoms off me. She chuckled.

         “What?”

         “Your little pump really was primed.”

         “O, like you didn’t know what you were doing to me. You’re always doing stuff to me, like hhhh!”

         “Like wiping you off after you’ve cum all over the inside of your bikini bottoms?”

         “Stop – hfff – saying that unless you ...”

         “Save at least a couple for bedtime,” she told me. “Lift.”

         “This is gonna leave a weird tan line,” I said as she folded that stupid diaper over me. “Not that that’s my only objection.” I felt a desire to put up a fuss about it, but I knew I was gonna lose. At least I objected verbally to make my position clear.

         “Here,” she said and folded the waistband down and tucked the stray parts around my thighs in. “That won’t be so bad.”

         “Why am I in a diaper again at all,” I asked as she held her hands out and helped me sit up.

         “Because you’re right, Daffy.”

         “What am I right about?”

         “I do want to remind you I’m in charge. I’m the one who spanks your bottom. I’m the one who makes you cum in your pants. I’m the one who puts you in diapers.”

         Well, when she puts it like that my toes curl and uncurl and do it again and my heart goes all a-flutter. Even if I was wearing that stupid diaper and nothing over it in our backyard. She mistreats me so. I need to stage a mini-rebellion just to remind her I’m not a diaper girl. I’ll have to think on the best way to do that. Anyhoo ...

         “Ya know what I think,” I asked.

         “What?”

         “I think you like me and stuff.” I wasn’t flirting. Um, really.

         “I most certainly do.”

         “And because you like me, I wanna share a secret with you.”

         “You’ve been keeping secrets from me? Naughty girl.”

         “But I’m coming clean now. Here goes. Ya ready?”

         “Mhmm.”

         “Mary, I’m gay.” I made her lol. I do that a lot. I’m funny and stuff.

         “Pbbbbt! Haha! I’ll just have to add keeping secrets to the list of things you’re getting spanked for tonight, but so long as you’re gay ...”

         “What?”

         “I brought your paci outside with me. I think you should use it.”

         “But why? And that’ll leave an even weirder tan line.” Like, hey, I’m trying to have a hot girl summer here. I don’t need tan lines mucking that up.

         “Because I said so. Don’t you wanna be my good girl?”

         “Emotional blackmail isn’t very nice ... Don’t look at me like that ... O, fine, gimme the stupid thing,” I said without caving. Really.

         “Good girl.”

         “Give it here.”

         “It’s in my pants.”

         “You’re not wearing any pants.”

         “Daphne, do I need to guide your pretty little mouth to where I put it?”

         “O!” Got it. I’m all caught up now. “Ooo, Mary. You’re making me blush.”

         “She cums in her pants in the back yard, and then she decides to blush. Such a silly goose.”

         “I’m complicated,” I defended my modesty as for the first time ever I really wanted that pacifier between my lips. Really.

         I like it when she’s in charge, and I like it when she reminds me she’s in charge. Really really.

[YourFNF]

*Does a daphne in my panties and swoons*

[Alex Bridges]

1 hour ago, YourFNF said:

*Does a daphne in my panties and swoons*

Okay, I’m calling it “doing a Daphne” from now on ?

[YourFNF]

1 hour ago, Alex Bridges said:

Okay, I’m calling it “doing a Daphne” from now on ?

*giggles snorts*

[Alex Bridges]

Volume 5 is available on Amazon now in kindle and paperback.

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B096QW6GRT

[Bel George]

I don't want to rush you, and I think you have other stories and projects that might deserve your attention just as much.
But I come here a few times every day in the hope that a new scene will appear from Mary and Daphne's life. I'm sure I'm not the only one.
They are something to look forward to, especially during this still difficult pandemic.

[Alex Bridges]

I know, I know. I want to get these out faster too. The main challenge right now is work and school. Yep, I’m taking online classes all summer.

I’m aiming for 2 post a week but sometimes not even managing 1. Is much rather spend my time with Daphne and Mary, so I’ll do what I can.

[Guilend]

12 minutes ago, Alex Bridges said:

I know, I know. I want to get these out faster too. The main challenge right now is work and school. Yep, I’m taking online classes all summer.

I’m aiming for 2 post a week but sometimes not even managing 1. Is much rather spend my time with Daphne and Mary, so I’ll do what I can.

While I am missing them I am happy you are okay and furthering your education and bettering yourself 

[Alex Bridges]

Scene #105

 

            Oscar Wilde said, “There are only two tragedies in life: one is not getting what one wants, and the other is getting it.” Not that I ever read Oscar Wilde, but Frasier Crane did, and I binged a lot of Frasier over the course of the pandemic.

            Just one week to go until we’re fully vaccinated, and Mary decided I could use some help reintegrating into polite society. Me, I don’t know anyone from polite society, but Mary says that’s what we used to belong to before she turned into a Zoom dweller, and – get this – I allegedly turned feral.

            I’ve been a forest creature and defenseless woodland bunny and a spritely wood nymph and a sylph and a faerie and a mischief elf and was once accused of being an underpants gnome, but I don’t think I’ve been feral before. I didn’t even do much. I was just making a point. I was just making a point in my own special way and it got away from me a bit. It all began with, “What are you gonna do today,” being asked of me by my dear darling spouse.

            “I thought I’d go through our closet and move some stuff we don’t need right now down to the basement.”

            “Aren’t you a productive member of society,” she complimented me. And you’re probably wondering how I went from a productive member of society to a feral so quickly. Well, it all stems from different perceptions of what “we don’t need right now.” Either that or I was using my productivity as a cover for mischief, and we’ll just never know which is the more accurate description. O darn. What a pity. Whatever will we tell generations yet unborn.

            Anyhoo, we have those trunks in our closet. Each of ours is full of what in Alabama are called ‘novelty products’ for legal reasons and among the rest of us are called ‘sex toys.’ See, they’re toys for when you’re having sex, solo or otherwise, hence the clever name. Also some outfits, paddles, more paddles, a cane, and a paddle or two because we like paddles. And of course, Mary’s incontinence undergarments and related accessories. And let’s pause to note they’re in her trunk, lest anyone still believe they are mine and not hers despite my many explanations of how this works: they are hers, I wear them on my lower half on her behalf. For realizes really.

            I don’t own diapers. I don’t need diapers. The seasons have changed, and while diapers really are never in season for a non-diaper wearer like me, they’re for sure not a summer thing. I checked all the what’s-hot-what’s-not articles on summer apparel (turns out, being beautiful is really in right now), and I looked what the top clothing influencers were saying on Instacartagram, and diapers were nowhere to be found. We want to fit in when we re-enter this polite society Mary referred to (after the alleged misbehavior) and not commit any faux pas, right? And all the trends were unmistakably pointing toward an underpants-optional summer sex romp. On top of which, someone has to pump the brakes on Mary’s nonstop slow train to ageplay town, and that someone is me. I boxed the diapers and accessories up, reorganized the trunks like I said I would because I’m scrupulously honest even when I’m not being wholly truthful, and took all the stuff we didn’t need, diapers included, down to the basement. Did I get called one of the best railway conductors to ever grace the cover of Time Magazine? No. I got called feral and mischievous and deceptive, which I felt was a little strong despite the deliberate deception.

            All of which came after Mary emerged from the bedroom and asked me, “Daphne Ann, where are your diapers?”

            Which just goes to show what she was gonna do to me whether I did anything or not, and despite that and despite so many things being wrong with her assertion of who owns what in the diaper department, I didn’t sass back at all. Really. Unless you count, “Hmm. I don’t know because I don’t have any diapers and never have.” See? No sass, which is why I was so confused by Mary making her you-better-cut-the-sass face.

            “Little girl…”

            “Nope, sorry. I’m not a little girl.” Completely sass-less, right? No back talk at all. In fact, I was back taking so little that Mary grabbed my wrist and yoinked me toward a kitchen chair that she magically managed to spin around, sit down on, and tip me over her knee in a single motion. I married a ninja sorceress … a kinky ninja sorceress.

            SPANK! “What has gotten into you, Missy?”

            “I put the diapers away because the pandemic is almost over.”

            “What’s that got to do with anything?”

            “I don’t wanna wear them anymore, so I put them with the other stuff we don’t need.” You can’t fault that logic, but leave it to Mary to try.

            “I don’t recall saying the pandemic had anything to do with padding your little butt, and you darn well know it.” Mary swears like a six-year-old. Which of us is the little girl again?

            “But I … urgh! Marrrry, I don’t wanna go places in those stupid things and you’re gonna make me.”

            “I’ll make you when I have a mind to, but I remember what we talked about. I’m not gonna put you in them all the time.”

            “But any of the time. People will see.”

            “Well, they might, but I doubt it, and that’s neither here nor there. You wear diapers because I put you in them, just like you’re over my knee because I put you there. So either you’re having a little rebellion or you wanna red light something.”

“I don’t … Can we revisit the rules?” Face down over Mary’s lap isn’t the best time to negotiate rules what with the dictum always negotiate from a position of strength, but ya know what, there’s this other dictum about there being no time like the present, which, back then in the past, it currently was.

            “What rule would you like to revisit?” Is it me, or did she sound kinda and smartassy when she said that? Maybe you had to be be there

            “The one where you tell me to do stuff and I do it.” Which, yes, is kinda a big rule. Like, the biggest rule. Sorta the only rule and all the other rules are subchapters. “But only for when I don’t want to. So, um, I’ll just do the things you tell me to do that I like and won’t do the others. Would that be okay?” SPANK! “Ouch! … Does that mean you’re thinking about it?”

            “It’s a good thing you’re over my knee, Daffy, because your ears work better when you are. Are you listening to me?”

            “Mhmm.” Of course. Not like ever just ignore what she says. Um, really. I’m not making shifty eyes; um, you are … so there. Really.

            “Are you asking because you’re not happy and want to change how our lifestyle works, or are you asking because the pandemic is ending and you’re worried about going out?” I don’t wanna brag about my wife or nothin’, but she’s so good at being perceptive and asking questions that cut right through the bullcrap. Not that I ever muddy the waters with bullcrap.

            And it was a good question. I mean, we’ve barely left the house in fifteen months, and we’ve seen pretty much the same handful of people and some of them not even in person, and you probably haven’t noticed and maybe Mary hasn’t noticed, but the two of us and our thing has gotten a smidge intense. With me not working and not going anywhere, our little world has become like Fetish Island, which is great and all until you have to step back onto Vanilla Mainland.

            Like, since when did I become such a crybaby, and does Mary remember people besides her, like business owners and lawmakers, also have a say in when I hafta wear pants, and she is aware, right, that some people don’t appreciate people peeing in their dining rooms, right? Because I’m not so sure how well the current versions of us transfer to the post-pandemic world of Not Our Own House.

            So I said, “The second one … I mean, you know I can’t just … do all the things in public, right?”

            “You mean do I remember you’re not allowed to be naked over my knee in the park? Yeah, I do remember reading something about that.”  

            Did she just … Grr! “Are you being snarky with me?”

            “Me? Never. Really.”

            Which is when I spun my head around and glared at her so heccin hard. I know when I’m being mocked! I know when I’m being made a fool of! And sometimes I like it but grrr.

            “You shoot the cutest little daggers out of your eyes. I’m not going to make you do anything you’re not comfortable with, Daffy. You know that. Why would you think I would?”

            O, let’s see: “The time you diapered me after our hike, the time you diapered me during our other hike, that time you pantsed me on a hike, the time you spanked me … also on a hike.” Maybe we just shouldn’t go hiking? “And you put one of those things on me when I was just sunbathing. And at Easter. I’m not a diapergirl, remember?”

            “Sit up,” my Mary said to me. I like sitting on her knee. Thank goodness I’ll never outgrow being able to fit (mostly) in her lap. “We did that stuff before the pandemic, too. Are you just worried I’m going to take you out in diapers and let other people see?”

            “A little. I think I only wore them three or four times before the pandemic. We didn’t do this then.” Was she just gonna take the way we’d been and keep doing it after we went back out into the polite society she’s always recently started talking about?

            “I’m not going to go around exposing you, silly. It wouldn’t be fair to you or to all the people who don’t wanna see our little sexcapades.” I always thought of them as big sexcapades, but then I’m shorter than she is.

            “But the … They show even when I’m wearing pants.” At least I think they do. Kinda hard to tell what with the whole mental bias of I don’t wanna be wearing them at all.

            “Says who? I don’t think so. And some are thicker than others; remember when we we got you the thinner ones?” She has such a loose relationship with the first-person plural. I don’t remember “we” getting anything. I remember them just showing up moments before she put one on me … at her parents’ house (grumble). “You can pick out your own if you want.”

            So I told her, “No I can’t, because that would be mistaken for me liking the things.” She’s always trying to trick me into participating in her crimes. “Would be a lot simpler if we just left them in the basement,” I didn’t pout. It was more of an exasperated how-many-times-do-I-need-to-explain-this sorta way of saying it. And in case you hear otherwise from lying liars who tell lies when they’re lying, I didn’t snuggle into Mary’s chest in a transparent attempt to curry sympathy with my alleged adorability. That’s just a thing that didn’t happen, is what that is. Really.

            “You little fink.”

            “A what?!? How am I a fink?”

            “A rat fink with your little mini rebellion and bratting and the uwu face you just made before burying burrowing into my shirt. Do you think I was born yesterday?”

            “Well I sure as heck wasn’t born yesterday, not that anyone would ever know it when you make me wear those things! … And you’re a name caller, too! That’s not nice, Mary. That’s not nice at all … … Shame.” Hmmm. Mary’s not-impressed face.

            “Are you done with your little performance?”

            Ugh! As if! Like …maybe a little. “I think so … for now.” I’ve tried the direct approaches and indirect approaches, and a little subterfuge and misdirection have proven to be semi-potent (but not really) tools in my war to stay diaper free.

            “You’re gonna be a little handful when we start going out again,” Mary concluded. I personally feel that was a leap of logic. “Maybe you’re not ready to go out in public again.”

            “Am too!” Grrrrr! And urrrrrrrgh! I want out! Lemme out!

            “Tell me the truth: am I putting you in diapers too much?”

            Loaded questions from Queen So-and-so. I mean, at all is too much if you ask little ol’ me, which I did and she said at all is too much. But in the balance between me being happy and Mary being happy and the weird, conflicted humiliation fetish the good lord gifted me with, no. Unfortunately. Dammit.

            “No,” I said and may have let a little disappointment creep in. Why am I so honest when it really counts? I mean, I’d been smudging the truth just fine until she asked me to tell the truth. It’s almost like those times Mary spanked me for fibbing and told me never to do it again actually worked, which is just ridiculous. I got into this for the feels, dammit, not to grow as a person! Unfair! “But I don’t wanna wear ‘em as much this summer. I wanna wear cute stuff and go places and do things and those are too big for summer outfits and they’re hot and feel icky when I get sweaty.” Whoah. That came out more plaintive than I meant.

            “Deal,” Mary said. “And you could’ve just said that instead of going to all this trouble. You got me worried now.”

            “I’m not gonna pee my pants, Mary.” She always … that stupid joke that’s not even funny.

            “I’m not worried about that, silly goose. I’m worried you’ve been away from polite society for so long you don’t know how to behave anymore.”

            “Marrrry. I do too know how to behave.”

            “Then what’s with this little episode? Is that how little girls behave? And you said so yourself that you need lessons on how to interact with people again.”

            “I was joking.” I mean come on! Everybody has made that joke. It’s like she has a special memory bank for the things I say that she can turn around into ways to bedevil me. Which is what she is – a magical ninja bedeviler … and stuff.

            “Don’t be embarrassed,” she teased me. “I recognize your little cries for help when you eep one out.”

            Sigh… “What are you gonna do to me?” I mean, could we cut to the chase?

            “I’m going to put you on a behavioral improvement plan. We have one more week until we’re fully vaccinated, and until then, I’m making it my mission to make sure you’re as ready to be the bestest version of you that you can be.

            I’m pretty sure by definition I’m always the bestest version of me. “What does that mean?”

            “You’re getting at least one spanking a day.”

            “What!?! But I don’t even do anything every day!”

            “Aren’t you the one who’s wanted maintenance spankings since I’ve known her?”

            “Weekly! Not every day!” Like, we have butts for reasons. I need mine so sit on … and stuff.

            “Shush your little voice, Daffy Dew Drop. You’re getting exactly what you wanted whether you like it or not.” Mary’s I’m-so-smug-and-satisfied face. “And I think the no-strikes rule should stay in effect for a while, just to make sure you’re on your very best behavior for, o, a month.”

            “But … My butt!”

            “Mhmm. That’s what I’m gonna spank: your butt. And another thing.”

            “Please no more things. I have enough things.”

            “Nope. One more thing. If you’re not going to be wearing diapers as much after next week, you’ll just have to wear them more now.”

            “But …”

            “It’s decided. You’re gonna be my extra widdle piddle puddle pants with a sore bumbum for the next week, starting right now for what you just tried to pull.”

            “But …”

            “Yes?”

            “(Defeated noises).” How the heck did my firing a shot across the bow about the diapers end up with me getting spanked every single day and wearing them even more for a week?!? And another thing – I have a suspicion born of experience and innate distrust that what I consider ‘not as much’ and what Mary thinks it means in the diaper department are not the same, and I have another suspicion that difference of opinion will come to the fore prior to Indpendence Day in a way one of us is going to like less than the other. Hmmph!

            “This is a good thing, Daffodil. You can re-enter society confidently, knowing that any socially inappropriate behavior or naughtiness of any kind will be dealt with on the spot. Doesn’t that sound reassuring?”

            “No! … A little … But this week, Mary …”

            “Maintenance spankings, diapers, and any other corrections you need.”

            “This is gonna be a long week.” No pretense. I just plopped my cheek and Mary’s shirt and sighed. That she likes cuddling so much delayed my first maintenance spanking was just a delightful benefit.

            Anyhoo, that was all a few days ago. My butt hurts. That’ll teach me to want things.

[Guilend]

I have a feeling this week for her is going to end up more eventful then she knows. Good job ? 

[Alex Bridges]

2 minutes ago, Guilend said:

I have a feeling this week for her is going to end up more eventful then she knows. Good job ? 

Thank you. Comments spur creativity, as diaper butts like Guilend know

[Guilend]

13 minutes ago, Alex Bridges said:

Thank you. Comments spur creativity, as diaper butts like Guilend know

Yay I’m a diaper butt

*bows* thank you, thank you

[Bel George]

4 hours ago, Alex Bridges said:

If you’re not going to be wearing diapers as much after next week, you’ll just have to wear them more now.

They still have that pair of training pants, I suppose.  Those might come in handy after next week. ?

4 hours ago, Alex Bridges said:

“I’m not gonna pee my pants, Mary.”

Probably not on purpose, but maybe by accident?

Whatever happens, I'm already looking forward to the expansion of their social contacts. That, compared to being stuck at home, offers many more possibilities for exciting and (slightly) humiliating situations.
Especially since there are even more people in their circle of friends who like such games, where they can go a little further than with the vanilla friends and family.

 

[YourFNF]

*gay squirming* OwO