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

[Alex Bridges]

Scene #114

 

         I’m not saying I’m great. I’m just saying that my chroniclers will one day write, “Whatsoever she did, she did with utmost grace and surety, as though the embodiment of the apotheosis of womankind.” Surely beauty, munificence, and pleasure should follow one such as me all the days of my life, and my word shall be as infallible as that of a pope on his throne (though I’m not on speaking terms with the papacy right now now, and he knows why). This, by way of scene setting …

 

 

         “I will too!”

         “You won’t if I tell you no, little girl,” said my chief tormentor and love of my life.

         “Yes, I will, and you can’t stop me!”

         “O yeah?”

         “Yeah! And there’s nothing you can woah! Stop doing that!” Thinks she can just grab me and bend me over her knee whenever and wherever just because I gave her permission like she’s queen of the darn universe or something which she sorta is but don’t tell her cuz it’ll go straight to her head.

         “I’ll stop doing it when you learn to do as you’re told the first time (spank).”

         “I don’t believe you ow! That hurts!”

         “It’s a spanking! It’s! Supposed! To! Hurt!”

         O yeah. I forget sometimes. Not that I’m forgetful. I remember most things most of the time, the very opposite of forgetful. Lots of people are not forgetful, but I like to think of myself as exceptional in that regard, as I am in all other regards. “There goes Daphne,” people say, “Mind like a steel trap and butt like a wounded animal.” I hadn’t, for instance, forgotten how awkward it is to be fulcrumed over a knee with the foot attached to said knee planted on the coffee table, leaving me hanging there staring at a bowl of old cereal and getting my butt spanked.

         “I don’t know what’s gotten into you today, but it is not okay,” a very irate Mary said as she dismounted me from her thigh and spank-marched me to the corner. “Stay.”

         “I am not a dog! You can’t just tell me to stay.”

         “Stay.”

         O. Okay. No doubt she was hunting down things to spank me with. “There goes Mary,” people say, “tyrannical but in a good way and probably off to inflict depredations upon that saint in royal garb, Daphne.”

         I only stay in the corner because because I want to, not because she’s in charge of anything, let alone in charge of me. I’m a free woman living in a free country! And stuff. It’s not like I’m scared of what will happen if I leave the corner. I just like it in the corner … And stuff. And what do other people even know about the intricacies of corner time after the age of thirty? Nothing, that’s what … And stuff.

         “Don’t know where this little outburst even came from,” Mary the Cruel said behind me.

         “You mean your outburst? Ow ow ow ow ow Mary that’s my ear!” Like, seriously, grab your own ear if you wanna do some ear pulling.

         “Is that why when I pull on it, the rest of you follows?”

         “We’ll, yeah, that’s how OW! Keep your hands to yourself!”

         “I’ll keep my hands on your bottom. Over.”

         “I hate the bar stool.” Leaves me just dangling there with all my stuff on display … and stuff. “Hey!”

         “I should’ve known this is how our Sunday would go,” she said as she just hoisted me over her lap like she was going to give me an over-the-knee spanking, which would just be absurd, right? Spanking me? Her wife!?! … And stuff … dammit. “I hoped losing pants privileges would’ve snapped you out of it, but I can see your attitude needs an old-fashioned remedy.”

         “Hey, what are you no! You can’t take my panties down!”

         “Okay, fine.”

         “R-really?” Yoink! “Yowwwwlllll!”

         “There’s more than one way to bare your little bottom.” Spank spank spank.

Dammit … I’mma be picking this wedgie until Christmas. She practically split me in half, which is so much fun in other context but not when we’re talking about her repetitiously striking my unbeclothed bottom with her hand. There’s a name for that … I just forget what it is … And stuff.

         “When I tell you no, what are you supposed to do?”

         “Whatever the heck I heccin I want OW! Go easy on me, Mary, I’m a redhead OW!”

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

         “Um (ow) we’re (ouch) we’re rare (ugh!) and (ack! dammit!) valuable ow ow ow ow no fair hairbrush hairbrush ow ow OWOWOW eeeeeee!”

         “Stop!! Struggling!! And hold! Still!!!”

         “Eeeeeeee!”

         Gets kinda fuzzy after that. I remember, “What the heck has gotten into you! (Sound of grizzlies protecting their young) Don’t know where this attitude came from but (artillery preparation before a battle) And I am not going to put up with (bellowing she-elk). Do you understand me, (chest thumping sasquatch)?”

         Glad I never make such caterwauling nonsense when we have these little chats. “Eeeeee (bleating of a moose) eeeeee (screeching tires) eeeeeee (sound of loons over a still lake) and I eeeee (sound of someone crying).”

         “I mean it, Daphne Ann. If it means leaving the stool and brush in the living room and putting you across my lap every day, you will remember to be my submissive little girl and do as I say.”

         “But I’m not (sob inward) a little girl (sob outward)!” And stuff.

         “You are if I say you are (spank).” Which is such a big thing to say.

         This whole thing coulda been avoided.

         Like I really need the voices in my head siding with her.

         Woulda saved you from a spanked butt.

         Aw, bite me.

         Very mature. You know there’s a forty to yes percent chance she puts you in one of your diapers before lunch.

         They’re not mine and you know it!

         Mhmm.

         Shut up!

          Make me.

         Urgh!

         “I asked you a question, Daphne.” It so rude to interrupt people when they’re arguing with themselves. “Are you going to make good choices the rest of today?”

         “Yes.” But I make no promises about tomorrow.

         “Okay then, sit up and let me give you a hug.”

         “‘Kay.” One of these days, I’m going to be sitting in her lap on that stool after one of her spankings, and we’re gonna tip backwards and probably get hurt. We should maybe do something about that.

         “I’m sorry you needed such a hard spanking.”

         “Me too.”

         “Your eyes are all puffy.”

         “Cuz you spanked me,” I said while not nuzzling into her neck.

         “Cuz you needed a spanking.”

         “I needa bow my ‘ose (snurlfle).”

         “Heehee. Let’s go get you a tissue to honk, and I’ll wash your pretty face for you.”

         “Okay.”

         “And then you can have a cookie.”

         “Okay … hey!”

         “What,” she asked like she’s innocent of anything which she is not and never has been!

         “You telling me no to a cookie is what started it!”

         “What is it you say, Daffy? That was, like, three hundred seconds ago?” She stood me up and led me toward the bathroom.

         “You’re cruel.”

         “I know.”

         “And my butt hurts.”

         “I know that too.”

         “And I love you … And stuff.”

         “I love you too and stuff.”

         “Justice will find you one day.”

         “I am the justice around here.”

         “Yeah … dammit.”

         “Ha!”

[Sarah Penguin]

[Alex Bridges]

Scene #115

“I know what you’re doing,” I told Mary because I knew what she doing and wanted her to know I knew what she was doing. And she knew I knew and wanted her to know, and I knew that wouldn’t change her mind. A lot of knowing glances passed between us.

“I know you don’t want to go,” she said like I didn’t know what she was really up to. “If I’m wrong, you’re welcome to come.”

Mary, or really Mary’s company, had decided it was time for people to glimpse their coworkers in person, so Mary had arranged to meet her team at one of those places that had discovered the remunerative benefits of al fresco dining and was going to treat her team of vaccinated coworkers to dinner. I’m not sure if she has five people on her team or twenty, not that it matters. Mary told me about the outting in that special way of hers that makes it even less appealing to me than work functions always are.

“Are people bringing their partners,” I asked.

“Some, but you don’t have to go. It’ll just be people talking about tech stuff. I know you hate that.”

“I don’t hate it. I just have no idea what anybody’s talking about and get bored and dizzy from smiling and nodding my head to not seem like a total dolt. Besides, you’re the boss now. You probably have to … do boss stuff.”

“‘Boss stuff?’”

“Host and what not.” Not sure why that word eluded me for a sec.

“Yeah, probably, so you can just skip it.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yeah, it’s no big deal. Stay home. In fact, why not invite Sandy over and have a girl’s night.”

That would be the part that I knew she was doing, or rather leading up to, and that I knew she knew that I knew. ‘I have a work thing blah blah blah. You don’t wanna go to my work thing blah blah blah. And o hey, why not invite over the woman who babysits for you except we don’t call it that because pretense is fun blah blah blah.’

To which I say, urgh!

But also, I didn’t wanna go. Not that just about anything is more fun than yet more time at home, but I just … don’t want to go to a work function. I didn’t like them before, but now that I’m retired or whatever this is, I just think … I feel like I don’t belong. I get this is probably my own hang up, but I feel people would judge me for not working. I’m still young (though not a little girl!) and it’s not even like I’m staying home watching kids or even that I’m some wealthy lady of leisure who spends her time planning the next debutante ball and raising money for charities that don’t really need to exist. I am, instead, a lady of leisure who decides how to fill her time on a day to day basis. Sorta like a retiree, but instead of paying my dues for forty years and retiring, I got fed up and quit and am letting my partner support us, and hence I’m not comfortable going to a work function where I’ll just be, to everyone else’s eye but Mary’s, the unemployed person or quitter or something.

But make no mistake, it’s not like I’m insecure about my life choice or anything. Um, really.

“I can stay home alone, ya know,” I told my Mary. “I don’t need a babysitter.”

“She’s not a babysitter. It’s just two friends hanging out.”

“O yeah? Do any of our other friends spank me when they think I’ve misbehaved?” Hmm. Mary’s ya-wanna-ask-that-again face. “Okay, bad example, but she is too and you guys won’t ever say it. Besides, I’ve barely gotten any alone time in over a year.”

“You’ve barely gotten any time with friends in over a year, too. The doctor said you could be with other vaccinated people indoors, and I know Sandy would love to come hang out.”

“She’s gonna find some excuse to punish me.” See, Sandy is on Mary’s list of people who can discipline me, and that basically means they have the same rights as Mary and I have the same obligation to obey. I disobeyed one of them once, and when Mary found out … well, they took turns and it hurt and convinced me never to disobey again.

“Not if you’re on your best behavior.”

“I’m not going to be on my best behavior, though. I’m gonna punch her right in the nose.” Yep. I shall fetch her a very sharp blow upon her nose.

“What? Why would you do that?”

“Because this is all her fault! The pullups, the diapers - she talked you into it and don’t you make a face like you have no idea what I’m talking about. I saw her give you the thing that one time at Brenna’s and the very next weekend you sprung that darn pullup on me before the winery.”

“Ha. Yeah …” Mary’s weren’t-those-good-times-face.

“They were not good times!”

“Yeah they were, and I think you think so too.”

“Do not.”

“Do too, and I bet I can get you say it.”

Crap! Mary’s-I’m-about-to-pounce-on-you face.

“Don’t you eeee! Marrrry! Heeheehee! Stop - heeeheeeee ticking me - hahahaheeeee! Eeeee! F-fine! Heehee! She can come over heeheehee! Stop!”

“What’ll ya give me if I stop?”

“All the heeeheee all the things!”

“Deal.”

“Hmmph! One day someone bigger than you is gonna come along and pounce on you and tickle you and I’m not gonna stop ‘em.”

“Yes, you will.”

“Yeah …” Someone pouncing on my Mary? I’d hit ‘em with the floor.

“As long as you’re underneath me and I’m straddling you…”

“Yeah?”

Ooo! She really does like me! I can tell.

 

[Sarah Penguin]

Someone's panties should be permently replaces with a bunch of packs of diapers with different pretty ABDL prints on them. I leave you all to choose which woman in this story it should be.

[Alex Bridges]

2 hours ago, Sarah Penguin said:

Someone's panties should be permently replaces with a bunch of packs of diapers with different pretty ABDL prints on them. I leave you all to choose which woman in this story it should be.

I got $5 in imaginary money says @Guilend is gonna nominate Mary.

[Guilend]

1 minute ago, Alex Bridges said:

I got $5 in imaginary money says @Guilend is gonna nominate Mary.

?

 

 

”shhhhh don’t tell Alex but I nominate Mary”

[Alex Bridges]

Happy Tuesday, everyone! I am hard at work on the next chapter because I want it to be truly great. It’s going to be a long one. The confrontation between our Daffy and the woman who instigated the diapers has been coming for 2 whole years! Can you believe that?

Meanwhile, those of you wishing to own a copy of this book can get the latest volume on Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B09CR4HLP2/ref=nodl_

[Bel George]

2 hours ago, Alex Bridges said:

Happy Tuesday, everyone! I am hard at work on the next chapter because I want it to be truly great. It’s going to be a long one. The confrontation between our Daffy and the woman who instigated the diapers has been coming for 2 whole years! Can you believe that?

I'm so curious now...  

[Sarah Penguin]

4 hours ago, Alex Bridges said:

Happy Tuesday, everyone! I am hard at work on the next chapter because I want it to be truly great. It’s going to be a long one. The confrontation between our Daffy and the woman who instigated the diapers has been coming for 2 whole years! Can you believe that?

Meanwhile, those of you wishing to own a copy of this book can get the latest volume on Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B09CR4HLP2/ref=nodl_

You should end the novel with Daffy  secretly happy she has he has only super adorable ABDL  pattern diapers along with even   more super adorable new  waterproof   panties as diaper covers to match all of her outfits. Sooooooooooooooooooo humiliating she literally  explodes  into one last humiliating orgasm before her body hits the floor. Three days later she rises as a humiliation feeding heavily diapered vampire then+ goes home to her Mommy.
Roll credits.

[Guilend]

Yay I can’t wait. 

6 hours ago, Sarah Penguin said:

You should end the novel with Daffy  secretly happy she has he has only super adorable ABDL  pattern diapers along with even   more super adorable new  waterproof   panties as diaper covers to match all of her outfits. Sooooooooooooooooooo humiliating she literally  explodes  into one last humiliating orgasm before her body hits the floor. Three days later she rises as a humiliation feeding heavily diapered vampire then+ goes home to her Mommy.
Roll credits.

Seconded

[Alex Bridges]

 Scene #116

I think Mary’s plan is to keep me always a little miffed and always a lot in love with her. She likes it when I’m twitterpated and conflicted and all squirmy. How weird. She’s weird. That’s what she is.

I couldn’t help but notice as she was getting dressed for her work gathering that she was gradually getting hotter in a way that’s different from her everyday hotness. She was wearing a going-out dress. The last time she wore a dress for going out was New Year’s Eve, when we stayed in and just got fancy for the sake of feeling fancy. I was surprised because she was going to go sit on patio and have a dinner with her direct reports, not exactly the office holiday party calling for semi-formal attire. And also maybe not appropriate for the weather even if it was this sleeveless number … and even if it did have that slot doing up her thigh …

“Hey Mary,” I said like the innocent lamb I am.

“Yeah, Daffy,” she said like the temptress she is, putting on these earnings I bought her once.

“Do you think maybe if you sat down on the bed I put my head under that dress of yours for a bit?” See? Innocent as a lamb. That’s me.

“That’s a very nice thought, but I gotta get going soon.”

“Yeah, but like, until then.” A persistent lamb.

“I think we can do something fun when I get home, if you’re still awake.”

“You’ll be home by nine. I think I’ll still be up,” I said while rolling my eyes very subtly, not at all like someone who was (1) tired of being talked about like a little girl and (2) was kinda horny, which as you should know by now if a rarity for me. I have a very low sex drive. Um, really.

“Then how come when I leave you with Sandy you’re usually asleep when I walk in the door?”

“Because she does stuff to me, Mary. Mean things. It’s safer to be asleep.”

“Fibber. I know you’re looking forward to seeing her. Should we review the rules for when you’re with someone else?”

“See, that’s the type of thing that makes me refer to these little visits as babysitting even when you deny it.” And ‘leave you with Sandy’, like leaving me with a sitter? I notice these things. She thinks she’s so tricky, but I know what she’s up to a good twenty - no, twenty-two percent of the time.

“She’s just a friend. You guys can do anything you want.”

“Anything I want or anything she wants?”

“Anything you want, but remember she has permission to spank.”

How could I forget. “And see, I have a lot of friends, Mary, and until you came along none of them had permission to spank me.”

“You’re welcome.”

Well, yeah.

“And,” Mary said with this wolffish grin on her face, “if you do get up to any hijinks, it’s okay if you have an accident.”

I could’ve sworn we didn’t live near train tracks but I hear this loud whooshing noise passing from one ear, through my brain and out the other. Did she really just give me permission to pee pants? Because let’s deconstruct that. Firstly, I’m a grown up. If I wanted to pee my pants, I don’t need anyone’s permission. Twosies, I don’t like peeing my pants. I don’t want anyone’s permission. Threesies, I don’t pee my pants. Worst case scenario, I pee in one of Mary’s diapers, which is Very Different In A Way That’s So Important It Deserves To Be Capitalized.

Moreover, “(Grumble), I don’t have accidents, and you know it.”

“Who made a number three in her panties last week while I was lecturing her about bedtime?”

“But you were … You know exactly what you were doing, with your hands in the places doing the things. If anyone had an accident, it was you.” If you shake up your soda and it explodes when you take the cap off, it’s not the soda’s fault! Hmmph! And also, could we please not call that a ‘number three?’ Besides, she gets very proud of herself when that happens, just more proof that it’s her doing and I’m just the soda bottle … or something cooler but I didn’t have time to come up with metaphors in the moment because I was busy fending off assaults against my honor.

“I’m just saying that if she needs to take you to task or you two decide to play any of your little games and you can’t hold it, it’s okay.” Don’t think I didn’t notice her choice of phraseology in that twisted sentence, but I knew she meant well (in her keep-Daphne-slightly-off-kilter sorta way).

Gone was the wolffish grin and present was the reassuring smile and hand on my shoulder. We’ve had a rule for a very long time that if I’m playing with any of the women Mary has given me permission to play with, which suspiciously mirrors the list of people who are allowed o spank me, I can’t cum. That’s the line we’ve drawn between kinky people have kinky fun and infidelity. This has resulted in a lot of almosts. Some people, like, o, say Sandy as a random for instance, take a certain delight in making me almost. As does Mary. That’s one of her fetishes, though she can never deny me for long. Either she’s too nice or I’m too … skilled. Yep, we’re calling that skilled.

“But I don’t wanna do that with anyone but you.”

“And you don’t have to. I’m just saying it’s been a long time since one of our friends came over, and if you get a little too excited, it’s okay.”

“Well … I won’t. Besides, we’re just going to watch a movie probably and catch up. Sandy isn’t coming over here expecting a play session, is she?”

“No, but I know things escalate with you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Ha! That a certain someone’s brattitiude gets her into trouble and things spiral from there.”

O, like that ever happens (many, many times that has happened). “Don’t you have a dinner to go to?”

“Careful. A case of the grumps isn’t a good way to start out an evening with Sandy.”

“I’ll be downstairs looking for a new place to live.”

“Hold on a sec.”

“What? Mmmm!” Ha! With the kissing and the tongue and the hoyven! She likes me. “Heehee.”

“I’ll be down in a sec. I want to talk to Sandy before I leave.”

“So you can tell her to be nice to me, right?”

“Yep.”

“…right?”

The doorbell rang, and Mary was closest to the door, which is just as well as I could tell I’d have to wait my turn to get a word in. I managed to get in a, “Hi,” and got a mini wave from Sandy before Mary jumped in. There was a hug and an “It’s been so long yada yada,” before Mary got down to business.

“I left a note on the fridge. There’s money for pizza, and you know how to reach me if there’s an emergency.”

O yeah, tell me again she’s not a babysitter. And also that it’s not 1998. And can we rewind a moment?

“What note?” She thinks I don’t hear things, but I do hear them and just can’t do anything about them. Also, sometimes I don’t hear them, which is very different from not listening and I think more people named Mary need to think hard about that before taking off anyone else’s pants.

“I’m sure we’ll have a good time. I’ll see you when you get back,” Sandy, my jailer, said.

“And you,” Mary said while giving me a hug hug like she was going away for the weekend, “you be good, and I’ll see you in the morning if you’re asleep when I get home.”

Why does she keep saying that? “I’ll still be up. Have fun. You look pretty.” And a kiss! I got a kiss! Never gets old.

What I should’ve done is dashed into the kitchen and grabbed that note. I should’ve eaten the darn thing without even reading it. That would’ve been the wise thing to do, but call me sentimental. I stood there and listened to my wife give our friend instructions on how to hang out with me. Yep, definitely not a babysitter. I should’ve said I’d go hang out with Nana for the evening. At least the pseudo-babysitting she does doesn’t include me getting my butt beat, and Sandy, she loves to beat butts at least as much as Mary does. That I enjoy getting my butt beat is only mostly a consolation.

“Just the two of us,” Sandy said as she set her backpack down. Of all the times not to have x-ray vision.

“Yep, just me and my babysitter.”

“I’m not your babysitter. Just a couple friends hanging out.”

“That’s what 16-year-old babysitters say to 14-year-olds when their mom doesn’t want to fight over whether she can stay home alone and conveniently arranged a play date, which she’s also too old for.”

“Buh-ha! I missed you, kiddo.”

The thing about Sandy is she’s an expert at getting my goat. (I wish I were around to see the origin of that phrase.) Let’s start with her being nine years younger than me and calling me kiddo. Let’s move on to it being her idea for Mary to start making me wear pullups. She even gave her the first one! Let’s keep going and discuss the fact that she never spends anytime alone with me, at least in private, but she invents some ridiculous reason to spank me. And it hurts! She’s spanks hard. Mary and I found her at a play party making a man the size of an icebox cry. Not to mention that she scolds like a puritan! Even when she makes up the lamest excuse for me being in trouble, she can make me teary before I’m even over her knee. And also, she’s still in her twenties, and that just pisses me off lately.

On the other hand, “I missed you, too. Hug?”

“Yes please.”

“Oof!” And strong. She’s strong. And apparently starved for affection. “Sandy?”

“I really missed you.”

“I’m not so special.”

“Yes you are. And Mary. Not the same talking to you on Zoom.”

“No, it’s really not. Why don’t you go freshen up?”

She seemed confused, but only for a moment. “Why? Is there something on that note you don’t want me to see?” Also, she’s strong, like when she’s finished hugging me and holds my wrists in a we’re-friends-but-also-you’re-not-going-anywhere way.

“I dunno. I haven’t seen it. But whatever it says is merely a suggestion.”

“Let’s go and see what it says then.”

“Could we talk about what’s in your bag first,” I asked as she led me to our kitchen. Like, what instruments of degradation did you bring, cuz I’d like to avoid them … probably. Maybe … Depends on what they are.

“Later. When did you paint your kitchen?”

“Last week. It was Tuesday and I got bored.” I shrugged. True story. The kitchen was blue before Mary even left her office. She was surprised in a good way, which was a relief. If you get in trouble for drawing on the walls (I only did it cuz she thinks it’s cute, dammit!), imagine the possible penalty for painting the whole room.

“How industrious of you. You’re welcome to come be bored at my apartment.”

“By the way,” I said because it’s a good way to say the thing you’re going say next like it’s casual and not a big deal, “I need to punch you in the nose.” I mean, I don’t wanna be mean about it, so I might as well be honest and let her know it’s coming, and if I’m going to end up in trouble anyway, I may as well earn it.

“You ‘need’ to punch me in the nose?”

“Yes. But just the once. It would be best if you hold still for it. Maybe we can do it on the couch with you sitting on your hands. I think you’ll flinch. I’d flinch.”

“What did I do to deserve being punched on the nose?” I don’t think she was taking me seriously. Story of my life, people not taking me seriously when I’m being serious. “There goes Daphne,” people say, “she seems serious, but she’s not.” Yep, that’s a thing people say.

“What did you … what did … you (sound of a steam whistle) and it all started because (cattle stampede) because you just can’t (all the buddle wrap in the world popping at the same time) and in my pants! In my pants (shriek of a bald eagle)! In public with the (caterwauling of alley cats) and (old mall being imploded) and you started it! Your fault!”

         (sound of the vacuum of space) Wow – I don’t think I ever got sweaty from a rant before.

         “Feel better to get that off your chest,” she asked me. She was nonplussed. Or at least minimally plussed. Frustrating as heck because when you’re super plussed, the least people around you can do is be somewhat plussed. That’s why technology pisses us off so much – no matter how pissed you are, it is indifferent. Sandy stood there like a 404 error.

         “Sorta.”

         “Good, because this note says to help you get into your nighttime diaper.”

         “(Tornado siren) (rending of steel) (wounded triceratops)!”

         “Hey,” she said like the T-rex that wounded it, “what happened ‘nice to see you?’ Can that Daffy come back out, because I really wanted to hang out with her tonight.”

         “ … What else does the note say?”

         “It says, ‘Appreciate friendship.’”

         “And what else?”

         “That’s it.”

         “Help Daphne into her nighttime diaper and appreciate friendship?”

         “Mhmm.”

         “Well, what if I don’t?” I am an agent! I can refuse. What if I don’t want to appreciate friendship? What if I want to disdain friendship and the whole darn institution? What if I don’t want a babysitter? What if I reject Mary’s little aphorism and embrace bitterness and misanthropy? Those are valid choices because they’re my choices!

         “Then … you don’t.”

         “I just don’t? You won’t spank me? You won’t go into that bag and come up with some pre-medieval torture device?” Color me skeptical.

         “Nope. It’s okay if you don’t want to. In fact, if you really don’t want me here, I can go home.”

         “No … It’s just … Those things seriously complicated my life.”

         “They’re just a thing. Did they complicate your life, or was it something that was there all the time?”

         “You … I don’t want to do that either. I have plenty of alone time to think deep dive into my own head.” And by the way, I hate it that she’s so insightful and only twenty-three. It’s just rude. She should respect her elders … or something. Not that I’m an elder. I’m wise, don’t get me wrong, but I’m more of a sage than an elder.

         “What do you want to do then?”

         Aww crap. I have to say it. Dammit dammit dammit and crap. It’s easier when they force you, and don’t even start on how that’s contradicting yourself because you already knew that and just have to live with it. “I wanna … If you smile, I really will give you such a punch in the nose … (possum squeaks).”

         “What?”

         “I wanna … obey Mary.”

         “What does Mary want you to do?”

         “The note.”

         She didn’t smile at me. She didn’t smirk either. I don’t think we have a word for it when someone tightens their lips and makes a poor-you face, but not in a condescending way. More of an aren’t-you-a-trooper way. “You want help?”

         “Yes, but only because I refuse to put them on myself.”

         “Are they in your bedroom?”

         “There’s some in the living room.” I walked (trudged) into the living room (dank pit) with my friend (instigator of so much stuff) on my heels (the back of my feet). I was halfway into my passive this-is-just-a-thing-happens-to-me mood by the time we got there and I pointed at the basket Mary keeps under the side table. I never see her restock it, and I sure as heccin’ heck don’t do it. It’s either some kind of elf or Mary does it when I’m not around. Or maybe even when I’m asleep, and if that’s the case, it really just proves that she’s the weird one in the relationship.

         “Huh,” Sandy said as she got down on her knees and got the basket out. I sat down on the floor. “Mary really does treat you like a princess.”

         “Why? Are the other princesses made to pee in their pants?”

         “Daffy,” she said like I’m crazy and had been missing the point, “peeing in a diaper is not peeing your pants. It’s peeing in a diaper.”

         “I don’t even want to hear you justify that.”

         “If you’re still grumpy, Mary has a pacifier right here.”

         “And you’re suggesting it would cheer me up to see you use it?”

         “There’s my bratty little friend. Do you want me to turn around while you get it situated?”

         “I’m not a little, and how would that work?”

         “You get it on you, and I’ll tape it up.”

         “Ew. No thank you. I refuse to put the things on myself. I could be mistaken for acceptance.” Or worse, liking it. Sandy started getting things ready.

         “Mary does take certain things for granted, doesn’t she?”

         Well, yeah! But also no, she never takes me for granted. “Like what?”

         “That she can invite me over and expect that neither of us will have a problem with you being naked. Does this pad go under you?”

         “Yeah, but I think that’s just for Mary’s benefit. And yeah, I guess she does do that, but she then, I guess she knows us. It’s been a while, but we are still friends and playmates.” Playmates in the kink sense, for clarity. “And she’s so into being a big that she probably didn’t think twice about asking my babysitter to do this.”

         “I’m not your babysitter.”    

         “O yeah, I forgot that you were just my friend who came over to hang out with me because Mary asked her to and left a note on the fridge and money for pizza. Do you think you’ll stay in town for college or follow your boyfriend to Football State, friend?”

         “You are this close to the line.”

         “See, that’s a thing babysitters say.”

         “And on the other side of that line is a good girl spanking.”

         “And that’s another … ‘good girl?’”

         “Mhmm. I can see the only way to adjust your attitude is to be extra special nice to you. Besides, Mary said we should appreciate friendship, and you’re my friend, and I’ve always appreciated your butt.”

         “Heh. It is kinda nice.” If I do say so myself, which I just did.

         “Ready? Lift up.”

         “Cooperation does not imply that I like this,” I reminded her as I lifted my hips up and let her slide down my shorts. I’ll spare you the rest because I know you’re not into that kinda thing.

         “Comfy,” she asked me. I opted to nod. Once upon a time, this would’ve been mortifying, but it being Sandy and Mary having warped my mind to make this seem almost like normal was interfering with my brain function.

         “Do you let Mary know if you need to be changed,” she asked me as she handed me my shorts, “or would that also imply that you like this?”

         I thought that was a smartass thing to say until I sat up and saw that she didn’t mean it that way. “I’ll let you know,” I said. I stood up and put my shorts back on before plopping back onto the couch. “You wanna order dinner and pick out a movie?”

         “That’s what you wanna do tonight?”

         “Mhmm. I wanna talk to my friend … and later for that other thing.”

         “I wanna do that too.” She sat down next to me, and we leaned on each other the way friends do. Friends who haven’t seen each other in a long time. It’s hard to stay mad at friends for very long.

         “Can I tell you something if you don’t tell Mary I told you,” she asked me.

         “Mhmm. Promise.”

         “She likes the diaper stuff because really likes you being her little girl.”      

         “I know.”

         “And can I tell you something and you promise not to hit me in face?”

         “You can try.”

         “I think it’s made the two of you even closer.”

         “ … Yeah … But I still don’t like them … But I like that they make Mary happy. That’s why I keep doing it.”

         “Okay.”

         “Stop sounding skeptical.”

         “Okay.”

         “I said quit it.”

         “Okay.”

         “Knock it off.”

         “If you say so … It’s hard being a submissive. You don’t get enough credit for that.”

         “Darn right. What do you want to order for dinner?”

[Guilend]

Poor Daffy. 

[Sarah Penguin]

[Bel George]

This time I really want to know how the evening went. Pretty please?

 

P.S.: too bad the e-mail notifications no longer work as they should. I almost missed this chapter.

[YourFNF]

On 8/18/2021 at 9:35 PM, Alex Bridges said:

killed. Yep, we’re calling that skilled.

“But I don’t wanna do that with anyone but you.”

I ummm woah.... Is Mary giving a "hall pass"? OwO

On 8/18/2021 at 9:35 PM, Alex Bridges said:

“If you say so … It’s hard being a submissive. You don’t get enough credit for that.”

         “Darn right. What do you want to order for dinner?”

I'm glad they are finally having an honest conversation about the little stuff

[Sarah Penguin]

[Alex Bridges]

I re-read what I posted, and just too many typos. I speed-typed on my phone. I’ll fix it and repost it’s tomorrow.

[WBDaddy]

45 minutes ago, Alex Bridges said:

I re-read what I posted, and just too many typos. I speed-typed on my phone. I’ll fix it and repost it’s tomorrow.

Aw, and here I thought you were posting an update for me on my birthday.   

 

[Alex Bridges]

11 hours ago, WBDaddy said:

Aw, and here I thought you were posting an update for me on my birthday.   

 

Happy birthday! ??? 

I’ll re-post after work.

[Alex Bridges]

Scene #117

 

The picnic was my idea. Specifically, having a picnic and to make turkey sandwiches for it. Also, the array of sides and the dessert. The activities surrounding the picnic were Mary’s idea. I informed Mary of the menu (and that I was taking her on a picnic, when she asked me why I was telling her I got potato salad because I forgot to say the picnic part first) well in advance of the event, whereas Miss Mary I’m So Funny (which she is not!) sneak attacked me. When I say she’s a ninja I don’t just mean the physical stuff (is spanking a martial art?) but the trickery and lightning reflexes and the ambuscading out of the shadows.

It all started normally enough (and seriously, fuck my life that this is normal), with Mary laying out my clothes for the day. Know who looks hot in a sundress? Mary. Know who else? Me. I was fine with that. She neglected to lay out a bra, and I didn’t mind that either; I think she likes my body or something? But that’s not the point. The point is that was just one of two undergarments she neglected to lay out for me. I noticed this as she ninja-spun me out of my bath towel and onto the bed flat on my back.

“Are we having morning sex,” I asked, knowing Miss Mary I’m So Squared Away wouldn’t have laid my clothes on the bed if she intended for us to roll around on them, but a girl can dream. She didn’t even answer me. She just chuckled as she went into the closet and came back out with one of her stupid diapers.

“But why,” I didn’t whine. I’m neither a whiner nor a complainer.

“These are your picnic panties,” she said very sunnily like she had solved some deep and intractable problem.

I sighed. You might say it was a sigh of the put-upon, fitting since she was about to put that thing upon me. “There’s not even such a thing as picnic panties,” I didn’t grump, for I am a paragon of perpetual good cheer. Really.

“Now you don’t have to worry about finding a potty at the park. Lift up.”

“The restrooms – not potties – are clearly marked, and even if they weren’t, we’ve been to that park a bajillion times,” I didn’t exaggerate. I’m very objective. ‘There’s goes Daphne,’ people say, ‘who can always be relied upon to be objective.’ Really.

“And now if there’s a line, you don’t have to worry about accidents.”

“Then you should wear one, too,” I didn’t mean to say out loud. “I didn’t whoa!” Ninja-flipping me like she “Ow ow ow! Marrry!”

“I’ve told you before (spank) that you (spank) do not (spank) say (spank) that I (spank) should do (spank) submissive things (spank spank spank spank spank). Do I need to wash your mouth out with soap to make my point?”

“No!” SPANK! “Yow!” Damn she takes that seriously. Like, for serious? And like, yeah, damn, for serious.

“Good. If you’re all done sassing me, we can finish this diaper change,” she said like I should have felt all better because she flipped me over and smacked my butt. O, why thank you for spanking the sass outta me. I feel ever so better.

“This sure is a funny way of saying ‘thank you for planning a picnic,’” I didn’t sass (that was so sass). Maybe she didn’t spank all the sass outta me after all. Like, nice job, Captain Half-Ass. But crucially, this time I remembered not to say that out loud.

“I think we’re going to have a red bottom in this house before the sun goes down, and thank you for planning our picnic. Spread your knees (crinkle noises). Speaking of thanks, where’s my thanks for making sure you’re protected from the potty monster?”

“You have got to be kidding.”

“I bet I can make you say it.”

“And I bet I can sneeze on your sandwich.”

“Heehee. All done. Who’s a padded princess?”

Did she wake up on the big side of the bed or what? I mean, geez, with the teasing and the butt smacking and the … it’s hard having a humiliation fetish. Much harder than, say, a people-bringing-me-gifts fetish. Maybe I can develop one of those next. It was after I got dressed, naturally, that it occurred to me we weren’t leaving for two more hours. It was barely past nine.

“Um, Mary,” I asked as she rolled up my dress in her hands.

“Yes, Daffy? Arms up.” I don’t need help getting dressed. Don’t hate it, though. She slipped it over my head and smoothed it out. Couldn’t help but notice she felt me up a little. I married a randy one. I like her and stuff.

“Do I hafta wear this until we leave, and then I get to take it off?”

“Of course not, sweetie. I already told you – those are your park pampers. You can piddle a puddle at our picnic and no one will be any the wiser … if for once you can not make your potty pants face.”

“I do not have a potty pants face!”

“ … Okay.”

Grrr! Shining me on! She was shining me on! “What if I have to pee before we leave?”

“Daffodil,” she said as she took me by my shoulders, stooped down just a little to look me in the eye like that she was imparting some very important information, and said, “Don’t worry about it. You take care of the picnic, and I’ll take care of you …” Awww. “…and your huggies.” DAMMIT!

I sighed again. It was a sigh to regather my patience. Or possibly a sigh of resignation. Definitely not a sigh of relief. Really. “Fine.”

“What should we do until it’s time to go,” she asked.

I shrugged. “I was going to get everything together in about an hour.”

“I have an idea until then.”

“Will you like this idea of yours more than me?” Don’t know why I’d be suspicious. It’s not like she ever comes up with random ideas to that leave me blushing or crinkling or rubbing my butt or all three.

“Will you come sit on the couch with me and watch Saturday morning informercials?”

Ugh, that is just so stupid it’s romantic somehow. “Can we make fun of them?”

“Of course.”

 

 

 

We have a backpack cooler. It’s very convenient even if it is heavy. There’s an art to packing a cooler, and it was taught to me by my father, that paragon of Midwestern suburbanism who perfected the art of cooler-packing alongside the high science of packing a car for a road trip. And to think he did this in the bad old days before seats folded into the floor and coolers lacked high-quality insulation.

“Mary,” I called out, “are you ready to go?”

“All set,” she said as she came around the corner into our kitchen carrying our pool bag now stuffed with a blanket and sunbrella. “You ready?”

“Yeah, but um …” I finished the sentence by wiggling my hips, producing a thunderous crinkle. Nuff said, right?

“…What?”

“You know.”

“ … ”

“The … underpants.”

“Sweetie, you’re wearing diapers for the day.”

“Urgh! I mean … You know what I mean!”

“Did you wet,” she asked like maybe she didn’t know what I mean. I couldn’t spread mayo on a brioche roll without crinkling like all the plastic bags in the ocean so I don’t see how she couldn’t get it … unless it was only noticeable to me.

“Marrry!” She rolled her eyes at me, set the bag down, lifted my dress, and put her hand on her diaper.

“Your diaper’s just a little wet. It doesn’t need changed yet,” she announced like this was good – no, great! – news.

“But … Mary, I don’t wanna go out wet.”

“Daffy, I already told you once that I’ll take care of you and your diapers today, so don’t worry your pretty little head.”

Of all the … urgh! “Do I get to win today, like, at all?”

“If you’re my good little submissive today.”

“… Fine. And they’re your diapers.”

“Then I guess I should thank you for keeping them warm for me.”

“Buh! Not funny.” Okay, that was a little funny.

“I see a little twinkle in a little someone’s eye,” she said right before she kissed me on the cheek. I mean, the presumption! She thinks that can make everything all better, but really, it only makes most of the things all better. “Hey,” she said and lifted my chin so I was looking up into her eyes … her hazel eyes, all deep and smiling, “promise me something.”

“I promise.” You really shouldn’t promise stuff without knowing what it is, but I like her. Also, she’s a sorceress and coyote, mythology’s trickster. I think she cast a spell on me or something.

“I know you’re feeling anxious, but I want you to promise me to lower your anxiety level to about here and go with the flow, and we’ll have a very fun day.”

Give up my worries and let Mary lead the way, in other words. Guess I sorta (definitely) signed up for that when I asked for a lifestyle relationship. It’s always a work in progress. But I do trust Mary. She knows my boundaries even if she does push them a little, but that’s how growth happens. I like how our relationship has grown.

“I promise.”

“Good girl.”

O hot damn my wife thinks I’m a good girl! Teehee!

The park was so friggin crowded. It’s great that everyone is enjoying the outdoors more these days, but I’m not sure these folks got the message that this public park is mine. I mean, I appreciate their tax dollars helping to maintain it, and I’m happy to share, but couldn’t they wait until after I’m done with it to share it? It’s not that I mind crowds. It’s just that I wanted a little more space for our blanket without us having to go so far from the path.

“Amateurs,” I said as we passed the people picnicking on picnic tables. “Is it even a picnic if you don’t sit on the ground?”

“I’ll remember you said that in 10 years,” Mary said as she walked alongside me. I don’t know why she thinks ten years will make a difference; if she thinks I’m going to get older and make noises when I have to sit all the way down on the ground, nope. I’m not going to get any older. I refuse to age anymore. In fact, I’m going to start counting backwards at my next birthday, and I’ll keep doing that until I hit twenty again. Then I’m just going to turn twenty a bunch more times.

There’s a path that goes across a narrow creek, up a hill, and back down, with a spur that goes into a clearing where the city hides a water tower in an open field. It’s a sunny spot nice for a picnic. We weren’t the only ones there, but it wasn’t crowded like the main part of the park. We spread out our blanket, sat down, and … looked at each other. Is a picnic more than just eating outside? Cuz I didn’t plan anything else.

“Hungry,” I asked.

“Very.” We only had half a breakfast because I went a little overboard on the food. There are so many salads that don’t involve actual salad, and I think got all of them.

“And thirsty, too,” I said as I got one of those alcoholic seltzer drinks out.

“You packed water, too, right?”

“Of course, but what, you don’t think I can hold my liquor?”

She chuckled at me. “I’m not sure that counts as liquor, but I do know sometimes you get tipsy after one drink.”

“Which is one of my delightful qualities … most of the time. I think you have a thing for tipsy Daphne.”

“Tipsy Daphne is very suggestible,” she said all lasciviously. This one time (at band camp), I got tipsy and Mary talked me into cleaning the kitchen while she did the bathroom.

“Maybe you didn’t notice,” I said while looking down at the place where my underwear was supposed to be, “but I’m pretty open to your ‘suggestions’ pretty much all the time.” I even used air quotes. Air quotes alone have gotten me in trouble before; something about them being hand signal sass. I dunno; I wasn’t paying attention, but if she ever asks, I always pay attention during lectures and scoldings. Which I do. Um, really.

“Are you comfy,” she asked me.

“Yes,” I said truthfully because I’d never fib unless it was to get something I really want or to avoid something I really don’t want. Also, um, really.

“I chose that diapie special,” Mary said like she’s the most attentive and caring big ever. She might be, which is so ugh. I mean, better than the alternative, unless the alternative is a plain ol’ domme who doesn’t like me to pee on myself. “It’s one of the breathable ones. I know the plastic makes you sweaty. I brought another just in case.”

“Keep your voice down,” I whispered like a field mouse. Fittingly since we were in a field, but whereas I am just a little ol’ mouse, Mary is a hawk ready to swoop down and do stuff to me.

“No one can hear us.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Can you hear them?”

“No,” which is so just a fact unrelated to anything and I don’t even know why she bothered to say it. “Quiet, you.” I got up on my knees and and started unpacking our picnic.

“Quite the spread,” Mary commented.

“I got carried away.”

WHAP! “I meant your diaper butt.” I don’t think I ever sat down so fast in my life, and I’ve had many an occasion on which I needed to shield my butt. “Aww, don’t feel shy.”

“Did you choose this dress on purpose?!?” J’accuse, mon ami! The dress went to my knees when I was standing. I didn’t even think about it riding up when I got on all fours. And now that I was sitting, it did seem like it was threatening to give people peeks of my underpants. Regular underpants don’t don’t do that, but these were more … prominent. Sort of like myself, who is very prominent in certain elite circles – literary, television and film, diplomatic, sports. Really, but I digress.

“Nope,” Mary said, “and don’t worry. Just sit crisscross apple sauce and I’ll get everything out. And take a breath before you keel over.”

What the heck is ‘crisscross apple sauce?’ I swear sometimes I think Mary only pretends to be a systems engineer (or whatever) and that she’s really in her office all day teaching Zoom preschool.

And then – then! – you know what she called me? “Cutie.” Such effrontery!

“I am not!”

“So cute.”

“O yeah? Well, you’re … you’re … so are you.” Touché? I hate it when she gets me so flustered I can’t even think in a straight line. So many things I could’ve called her. ‘Meanie,’ ‘jerk face,’ ‘darling,’ ‘love of my life,’ ‘my light in the darkness.’ That’d show her I wouldn’t be pushed around and called cute without serious consequences. Dammit …

“Being cute isn’t a bad thing.”

“I’m sexy, too. And smart and independent and strong willed and fierce.” A veritable force to be reckoned with.

“You are all those things,” she said as she stalked toward me on all fours. When she’s not being a hawk, she’s being a she-wolf. I’ve seen that look of hers before, predatorial and aroused and in absolute love with me. I got this kiss right on the lips, and she was very insistent about putting her tongue in my mouth for some reason. She traced a finger down the center of my chest, and whispered, “If we were alone, I’d be jumping your bones right now.”

“Ha!” I’m so suave it’s scary. Dammit …

I would never accuse her of taking me out and exposing my diaper – dammit! Hers! Her diaper! – on purpose (except for a moment ago when I just did accuse her of doing that), but if she had gotten outta bed feeling all big, the sight of my padded butt out in public seemed to change her mood from big to rowrrrrr. And don’t ever tell her or I’ll be very cross with you, but despite myself I liked feeling the heat rise in my cheeks as I blushed all the reds.

But I couldn’t tell her that. A girl has gotta play hard to get, so I said, “You don’t hafta to put out just because I made lunch.” That made her snorf (snort-laugh; I am a force to be reckoned with, and I make portmanteaus).

“Hmmm,” she sighed, “I like spending time with you. My Daffodil.What did you pack?”

What didn’t I pack? Lots of stuff. In fact, most of the stuff, and really, too much. But summer is coming to an end – officially anyway; not so much with the weather where we live – and Mary’s work always gets busier when the summer ends. People aren’t going on vacation and the summer Friday thing her company does ends, and even setting all that aside, if there’s one thing the pandemic has taught me, it’s to seize the moment. Do you know how many moments I let pass because I was trying to be a good employee in the hopes that I’d get some kind of recognition or reward for it? Well, fuck that! My job is to live life, and sometimes that means buying two kinds of potato salad for the same meal because the little things make moments just as much as the big things.

We should picnic more often. It felt a little like dating again when we went on many a picnic. Our non-picnic dates had a way of ending up with me spread across Mary’s lap while she beat out a tattoo on my butt, sometimes instigated by her and other times by me, and a picnic was a way of making it so we couldn’t do that (at least, not there) and could actually get to know each other before our hormones took over. It makes me smile to remember it: Mary, glamorous as all get out, and me walking hand in hand with one of those old fashioned, wicker picnic baskets.

And now, Mary laying on her side under an Audrey Hepburn sunhat playing footsie with me. Enough to make me forget what I was wearing and feel like I was falling in love again. That’s what sunny Sundays are for, nostalgia and time together, and that’s how I ended up sitting between her legs as she rested her chin on my shoulder and kept her arms loosely around my body, watching the other picnickers coming and going as the day wore on and there was no reason in the world for us to ever go home.

“Mary,” I said.

“Yeah, Daffy?”

“You know how our disgusting newlywed phase is over three years old now? I don’t want it to end.” Ooo, did that get me squeezed.

“I love you,” she said and kissed my neck and again and my temple and squeezed me tighter.

“I love you too.”

We stayed like that a little longer. We have this thing at home called a bed, though, and it seemed like a great way to continue our day would be to go use it for sleeping, wake up, eat more food, and then use it for other activities. Did you know it’s hard to pack up a picnic held on the ground when you’re wearing a sundress and … an undergarment that’s not underpants without flashing your not-underpants to everyone in the meadow?

We got to the car, stowed are things, and Mary said, “I need the restroom before we drive home.”

“K,” I said, not thinking where this might lead. Personally, I, um, didn’t need the restroom. Because … because reasons! Yep, that’s why. Reasons. Just remembered the … reasons. I would just wait in the car, thank you very much.

“C’mere,” she said innocently. She’s not innocent. I’m innocent. In fact, I’m an innocent, a veritable angel of probity and goodwill and excellent behavior and … stuff. I think Mary might have been innocent once upon a time, but then she met me and has been committing the foulest deeds against my person and psyche ever since. Which is fun and all, but there’s a time and place. And yeah, most of the times and most of the places count, but we’re not talking about those so shhh.

“Um, why,” I asked out of curiosity. I’m a very curious person. ‘There’s go Daphne’ people say, ‘she’s a curious character.’ That’s what they mean, right?

Mary rolled her eyes at me and came over. This one time, when I had maybe (definitely) pushed her buttons a little too much with the alleged sass and brattiness (as if! But also, yes, I did that) all it took was one eye roll from me, and I found myself outside in our backyard with zero pants already sniffling from the swats she gave me as she sent me outside to cut a switch. Fun times …

You know who has a three-foot vertical jump? Me, when Mary lifts the hem of my knee-length dress in a public parking lot to grope my diaper (sunuvabitch! Hers! It’s hers! Dammit! Dammit it all to crap!) “Mary!”

“I thought I felt my leg grow warmer while you were sitting on my lap.”

“And who’s fault is that?!?”

“No ones fault. Accidents happen.”

“Fnurple kernuh hesson, Mary!”

She got that o-Daphne-is-so-flustered-she’s-not-making-real-words-anymore-and-this’ll-be-fun smirk on her face. Less expressive and more uncouth diarists than myself have a phrase for that sort of grin, and it involves eating something. I saw it coming and just had to stand there with my fists balled up waiting for it to land, like I always do.

“You’re just a late trainer. It’s okay, sweetie.”

Defamation! Slander! Libel! “Sernamoffer, Mary!” Um, yeah, that’s it … dammit …

“If you say so,” she said as she reached around me and grabbed …

“No!”

“Mhmm,” she said as she put the backpack she bought to keep in our car on her shoulder.

“No!”

“‘Fraid so.”

“But mmm-mmm.”

“There’s a family restroom right over there. It’ll only take a second.”

“But … no.” I think I said that already, but that’s okay because it bore repeating.

“What kind of no is this,” she asked me. Good question. And sigh … not a hard no.

“I … but please?” Mary interpreted that as permission, which technically it was if she wanted to make me. “But you can’t make me,” I said like a dunderhead who didn’t appreciate that to a domme those words are just a challenge they can’t bac down from.

“Little girl…”

“Am not!”

“Ahem! Little girl, your bottom is soaked. I know you can’t be very comfortable even if you have gotten used to having soggy pampers. You’ll feel so much better when you’re dry.”

So many things (like, all the things … except one … perhaps two) wrong with that sentence I didn’t even know where to start.

“But … we’re in public.”

“Since when do we have a problem using public restrooms to deal with your needs? I know I’ve spanked your bottom in that very restroom at least once, and that’s what you’re about to get again if you don’t let me take care of you.” I tried making bambi eyes at her, to no avail. “What’s it going to be? Fresh pampers, or a spanked bottom and then fresh pampers?”

“But … there’s a line for that restroom.”

“So we’ll stand in it.”

“But …but …” I’m not hyperventilating! You are!

“Hey,” she said as she put her hands on my shoulders just like she had that morning and stooped down to look me in the eye, “you’re okay. Nothing bad is going to happen. I won’t let it. Do you trust me?”

I think my lip was trembling. I bit it and nodded.

“Then take my hand.”

With that backpack hanging off one shoulder, she took my hand and walked us toward the family restroom. If it had been a line to get into a sex shop I wouldn’t have felt as self-conscious as I did. Mary? She just stood there holding my hand, rubbing her thumb against the back of it, like this was a normal part of our outings. We’d barely had any outings in a year and a half, and this was not a normal part of them. I could still count on my fingers the number of times I’d worn those dumb things in public.

I looked at the woman in front of us with her little ones and snuck a look at the woman behind us with hers, and despite thinking of how it would look, I gripped Mary’s hand tighter and took a half step closer to her. What must the other people in line have thought, us waiting there and me leaning on Mary? I don’t even want to know.

“You’re okay,” she whispered.

When it was our turn, Mary locked the door behind us. “Perfect,” she said as I wondered what in the name of the sweet baby jeebus could possibly be perfect about the situation. Then I saw: an adult-sized changing table for people with disabilities.

“Can’t we just do this standing,” I practically pleaded. “Let’s just get this over with fast. The other people are waiting.”

“Your diaper change is no less important than theirs,” she said, and I could tell she meant it. Like, as a statement of moral principle. But she relented, I’m pretty sure because she could sense just how close to the edge I was. She’s usually pretty good about that, taking me up to the edge without taking me over.

“Hold your pretty dress up for me.” I did. “Goodness! You is soaked! You piddled a puddle in your pampers!”

“Marrry,” I said with my voice shaking. That made her more business like.

“Okay, spread your legs for me a little.”

If I didn’t just want the hell out of there, I’d have protested when she got out another diaper. She powdered it, which I used to hate and now understand that it actually does make these things more comfortable, especially on a warm day. I think we were done in less than five minutes, but o yeah, Mary still had to pee.

“Wait right outside for me,” she said. Hoo boy – later, when I had a chance to process, I recited this awesome rant in my head about how it’s not fair that her privacy gets respected while I’m ordered to go in my pants (in public!) and submit to being naked in front of our friends (not that I mind very much … or at all … sometimes) but I had to go stand alone with those people in line who saw us go in together, probably with all sorts of ideas about why, and wait. This was the winery all over again (or as I’ve come to call it, “D-Day” because reasons), except at the winery, no one saw us go in together. No one saw a backpack slung over Mary’s shoulder. And it was a regular restroom, not one marked “Family.”

And the Mary who argued with me in my head asked, “What, did you wanna watch me pee?”

And the me in my head responded, “Well, now that you ask, yeah, sorta,” and I just shut that train of thought right down because I don’t need another fetish at the moment. Like life isn’t hard enough with a humiliation fetish, a spanking fetish, general submissive tendencies, and whatever the heck this not-ageplay thing between us is.

I went back outside, glimpsed those people, put my head down, and went around the corner.

“There you are,” Mary said when she found me after a whole two seconds of looking. “Ready to go home?” Head nod. “Don’t feel like talking?” Head shake. She put her arm around my shoulder, tugged me close, and I leaned on her back to our car. “You’re okay.” Head nod. “Are you okay?” Head nod. “Promise?”

“Yeah.” She kissed my temple.

“Let’s go home and take a nap before dinner.” See? We’re simpatico like that.

All the way home and all the way to our bedroom she kept glancing at me, reaching over to touch me, give me these reassuring pats and squeezed. In bed, with her being the big spoon, she asked, “Are you mad me?”

“No.”

“Really?”

“Really … Would you really have spanked me with those people right outside?”

“You know I would’ve,” she said. Yeah, I did know.

“When you said my diaper change was just as important, it’s not. We shouldn’t make other people wait when we’re just …” I left the rest unsaid.

“You needed a dry diaper. That’s just as important as anyone else. Didn’t I say I’d take care of you?” I really liked that she said that, even if I didn’t like at all the context.

“Yeah … Mary?”

“Close your eyes, baby.”

“Just one thing … Can we have all the sex later? Asking for my friend.”

“Yes, we can, my horny humiliation fiend.”

“I’m not a fiend!”

“The fiendiest. Now close your eyes.”

“(Yawwwwn.) Okay.”

[Bel George]

I have the impression that, since the famous "red light" scene, the age-playing is getting stronger and stronger, while I expected it might be toned down a bit.
But, you don't hear me complaining, quite the contrary.

Thanks for another awesome chapter.

[Sarah Penguin]

[kerry]

21 hours ago, Alex Bridges said:

We got to the car, stowed are things

Oopsie!

Also: I am so in love with these characters and with your writing here! I swear you must have been an adorable submissive lesbian in a past life. ?

[YourFNF]

On 8/23/2021 at 6:15 PM, Alex Bridges said:

In fact, I’m going to start counting backwards at my next birthday, and I’ll keep doing that until I hit twenty again. Then I’m just going to turn twenty a bunch more times.

Do I hear chechov's gun cocking? XD

[YourFNF]

Reading this after 3 months on E be like...

 

??