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

[Alex Bridges]

Scene #118

 

 

         Well excuse me for trying to make our home prettier … sort of.

         “Daffy,” Mary called to me from our living room. I came out of our bedroom freshly dressed and looking lovely. Ya know how some days you just feel pretty? Well, dammit, I felt pretty and had a little case of twinkle toes because it made me silly happy inside.

         “Yes, my love,” I called back to her as I came down the stairs.

         “What is this,” she asked, referencing an objet d’art on our bookcase.

         “About time you noticed it. I put it there last week.”

         “Why?”

         “It’s pretty.”

         “Daffy …” She looked perplexed, maybe even a little vexed. Not my intent in beautifying our home. “Daff, you, um … you do know this is a dildo, right?”

         “Of course I do, silly. Isn’t it pretty? It’s glass and has these colors inside. How do you think they do that?”

         “Daffy, we can’t put sex toys on our living room shelf. What if we have company?”

         “Well, it took you a week to notice it, and maybe they won’t even know what it is. We’ll just say it’s a sculpture.”

         “Of a dick.”

         “Ugh, Mary, you know I hate that word.” I have sensitive little ears. If I were at all interested in penises, I would’ve been straight … Speaking of straight, you know what’s not straight? My sculpture … yep, sculpture.

         “Why did you even buy this,” my wife asked as she handled that … sculpture. “We have glass dildos. Two, in fact.”

         “Actually, that one makes four.”

         “Since when?”

         “Since I saw that one and got two.”

         “Why did you get two,” she asked with her I-don’t-understand-Daphne’s-thought-process face. Surely that’s because my thought process is on a higher plane, like just me and the late Steven Hawking occupy that plane.

         “Mary,” I said blushing, “We couldn’t display the one we use for … stuff. I mean, how weird would that be? … What? Why are you looking at me like that?” It was her you-make-no-sense face. And I do too make sense!

         “How much did this cost?”

         “Don’t you shake that thing at me,” I shot back. I’ll learn you to threaten me with a good time! Seriously, she was standing there interrogating me and shaking that sculpture at me. It’s very rude to shake a sculpture of one of those things at someone.

         “Daphne Ann?”

         “Forty dollars plus shipping for the two of them, way under the hundred-dollar limit.”

         “Hmm,” she said. I saw where she was going with this, what with having been there many, many times before. I decided to head her off at the pass. Sure, in retrospect it might have been wiser to live to sit another day.

         “What ‘hmm?’ There’s no ‘hmm.’” She narrowed her eyes in that you-better-believe-there’s-a-hmm look of hers. “You can’t spank me for buying that if I didn’t even break a rule!” I declared my declaration in a very declaratory way, with a grumpy face and a fist clench and a little stomp.

         “Excuse me, little girl.”

         “Dammit! I am not!” Ya know, she doesn’t even slow down when I say that.

         “I can spank you for any reason or no reason at all because I'm the domme and you're the sub. When I’m done speaking, we’re going to upstairs, I’m going to sit down on the ottoman, and you’re going to stand in front of me while I unbutton those shorts of yours and bare your little bottom. Then it’s over my knee for a long, hard dose of the hairbrush.”

         “The hairbrush!?! Marrry, that is so not fair! All I did was try to make our home a little prettier, so excuuuuse me for being thoughtful.” Thoughtful, and sassy. The thing about an unjust spanking is the more your protest it, the more you justify getting spanked for talking back. That’s so not a fair dynamic. Like, where do you turn for justice? I’ll tell you – there is no justice!

         “If you were putting thought into it, you wouldn’t have put a glass penis in the living room, and by the way, setting aside the spending limit, you could spend our money a little more wisely. So no, you are going over my knee for a spanking on your bare little girl butt, and then I’m going to show you what this sculpture is really for.”

         “But that is just so …” Wait, what? “Well … okay.” She was right. I was in dire need of correction. She and only she could teach me the lesson I so badly, so very badly – what was I even thinking? – deserved.

         “Take my hand,” she said as she held out her right hand while her left held my sculpture. We do have two of them. They could be bookends … and I could be the book!

         “You look very pretty today,” my wife said as she led me upstairs

         “Awww. Thanks for noticing.” She likes me! I can tell these things about my Mary.

[Guilend]

Okay that was hilarious. It made my day thanks. 

[kerry]

LOL! Daphne is the best narrator ever!

[Alex Bridges]

23 minutes ago, Guilend said:

Okay that was hilarious. It made my day thanks. 

I'm wanting to do some redecorating and had a mischievous idea ?

[Sarah Penguin]

11 minutes ago, Alex Bridges said:

I'm wanting to do some redecorating and had a mischievous idea ?

Totally  surprise your friends and family with randomly placed decorative glass dildos in your home too

[Alex Bridges]

1 hour ago, Sarah Penguin said:

Totally  surprise your friends and family with randomly placed decorative glass dildos in your home too

I already have copies of these books on my shelf, and the spine clearly says “a spanking and ageplay novel”.

BTW, thank you to the two people who posted 5-star ratings. If you can’t support me on Patreon, leaving an anonymous review on Amazon is very very much appreciated.

1 hour ago, kerry said:

LOL! Daphne is the best narrator ever!

I know! I wish I could talk like her IRL. So many situations call for it … like, all the situations.

[kerry]

18 minutes ago, Alex Bridges said:

I know! I wish I could take like her IRL. So many situations call for it … like, all the situations.

I always find it amazing how you can write such a realistic lesbian relationship, albeit fetish-oriented. There has never been a beat that has felt "off" in this story; most guys can't do that.

[Alex Bridges]

16 minutes ago, kerry said:

I always find it amazing how you can write such a realistic lesbian relationship, albeit fetish-oriented. There has never been a beat that has felt "off" in this story; most guys can't do that.

Yeah, about that. Me and a therapist have been talking about just how much of a “guy” I am … Not as much as my T levels and outward appearance make it seem…

I can’t speak to the realism of their relationship as I don’t have the experience. I try to just write them like any married couple, albeit one that is oddly cutesy. Hence the running joke about their sickening, never ending newlywed phase.

 

 

[bobindiapers]

On 8/28/2021 at 11:59 AM, Alex Bridges said:

“Daffy, we can’t put sex toys on our living room shelf. What if we have company?”

         “Well, it took you a week to notice it, and maybe they won’t even know what it is. We’ll just say it’s a sculpture.”

From the time I was born until my mid 20s my parents had displayed a fancy, antiqe-ish "pipe" on a shelf of knick knacks right near the front door, so every person who came in the house saw it. I went over to visit one day and for some reason it finally clicked that it was a bong. When I asked about it, my mom was mortified, she just thought it was a fancy pipe, but my dad laughed for about 10 minutes. Apparently a friend who was a huge pot smoker gave it to them as a wedding gift 30 years earlier, it had been on display since then and I was the first person to ever ask about it, despite my mom babysitting for three different cops for at least 10 of those years. Nobody ever noticed it, or noticed it and just didn't care even though their kids could easily see it. It might have been a different story with a dildo though.

[Alex Bridges]

I wrote a new chapter! And I really don't like it. For the first time ever, I'm tossing it and starting from scratch. Dammit ...

[Alex Bridges]

Scene 119

 

I wish I were one of the people who dressed for the season rather than the weather. They always look so stylish. September happens, and they just pretend it’s not still hot outside even though it stays hot outside here until almost November. If I tried wearing jeans in this weather, I’d pass out.

“Anything you like,” Nana asked me as we window shopped.

“Yeah, but nothing I need.” And yes, I got Mary’s permission to spend more than a hundred dollars on this shopping trip. Or more accurately, Mary gave me some cash and told me to knock myself out as she ushered me out the door. She’s right and I do need to leave the house more, but I just don’t have anywhere to go. We don’t have any friends who don’t work, except Nana. And I don’t want to hang out with her every day and I don’t think she wants to either. For one, it makes it less special when we do. For two, it would get boring. I guess I could go do more stuff on my own, but that gets boring too. I could use a routine though. I’m on repeat, this being my usual ennui.

“How about lunch then,” Nana suggested. I’m always down for lunch, even right after lunch. Mary told me once that my metabolism would slow down like everyone else’s, and I call her a bitch and made her take it back. Either that, or I she couldn’t just tell she hurt my feelings and took it back on her own.

“You seem pensive,” Nana said to me once we were seated at our patio table. “Something bothering you?”

“No … yes. I dunno.”

“That would be a yes.”

“Mary and I got in a little spat this morning.”

“What about?”

“Nothing. It’s nothing. What do you wanna order? Wanna split some appetizers?”

“Does it have anything to do with your outfit?”

“W-why? What’s wrong with my outfit?”

“Nothings wrong with it, but I see you brought that little backpack with you. Are you wearing your special …”

Ya know what? It was rude of her not to finish that sentence. And I’m not being defensive! You’re being defensive! … And stuff.

“Can you see it? She promised me she couldn’t see it.”

“No, I can’t see anything. Promise. It’s just … I know what you keep in that bag.”

“I don’t even need the bag but she said I had to bring it. O, correction, the magic eight ball said I had to bring it.”

“What?”

“Exactly! She …” Grrr. “She got this magic eight ball, and she’s been so friggin delighted with herself to shake the thing and tell me I have to do something or don’t get to or whatever. It’s just a joke, but … anyway.”

“That’s kind of mean of her.” I know, and I love her for it, also urgh!

“Sort of.” Dammit … “She only got the thing because …” Like I have any secrets left with Nana. “She got it because we were talking about how I like feeling not in control and how being subject to arbitrary decisions is as out of control as you can get, so she got that thing as a joke, but she’s just making it up and making me do whatever she wants me to anyway.” 

Ya know how I know that she’s just making it up? For onesies, the ball is always taking her side. Always. For twosies, she won’t let me see it. She says it’s too complicated for submissive little girls and that it’s ‘off limits.’ I mean, what kinda bull … breathe deep breaths. I’m not a little girl! I’m an adult! There’s no such thing as off limits (except for some of the things she’s told me I’m not allowed to touch or play with without her … dammit…).

“So are you mad about the ball or about her making stuff up?”

“Both and neither. The ball is funny. I’ll give her that.”

“So what did you two get in a tiff about?”

“I didn’t wanna wear one of these … underpants. Mary referred that question to the oracle, as she calls it cuz she’s a smart mouth, and panties ‘weren’t in the cards.’ And I didn’t want to bring this bag along, and ‘the survey said I had to.’ She’s just making it up. Those phrases aren’t even in an eight ball.”

“I’m sorry,” Nana said.

“It’s fine. Sometimes we just get in little tiffs about things.” Kind of amazing it’s not happening more since it’s been almost two years with us spending more time together than in the previous four combined. We’re bound to get on each other’s nerves. I guess it’s a good thing it’s been over some pretty inconsequential things, mostly. I mean, even the underpants she makes me wear sometimes is a pretty inconsequential thing if I let it be.

“Not really fair to you, is it,” Nana said.

“What’s that?”

“You can probably only argue so much before you get in trouble for arguing.”

“Yeah … Sometimes I think you’ve been in our kind of relationship before.”

“Nope, but I’ve had little ones … Not that you’re ..”

“I know.” Nana sees me not as a little, but as someone who needs a little extra help. This is what I’ve decided from the conversations I’ve had in the subject with Mary and a few with Nana. I don’t really understand it, but I don’t take offense anymore when she implies things like that.

“You don’t have to do what she says,” Nana reminded me.

“I know, but I like to. I like following her rules.” I’m a very good rule follower. Rewind the clock and you’ll find school counselors who told my parents how anxious I’d get when the kids around me weren’t following the rules. I got over that just in time to discover how much fun it is to ignore the rules, and yeah, I am selective in my rule following, but not all rules are created equal. There are rules one can ignore without upsetting the relational apple cart, and there are rules that are more fundamental, and sometimes those aren’t obvious if you’re not the one the domme is staring at telling you to do something. She looked me right in the eye and told me what to wear this morning … and stuff. That means I have to. It’s not like the rule about spending or peanut butter. She told me directly. And yes, I understand the irony that if I didn’t dislike some of what she told me directly to do it wouldn’t be fun in its own way. Except, um, it’s not fun. In any way. Um, really. Please believe me? Anyhoo …

“So you’ve said,” Nana replied. I caught a look as she unwrapped her silverware. 

“What?”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You made a face.” I’m good at reading faces.

“Nothing.”

“Don’t be like that. You can say it.”

“It’s just that we’ve had this conversation a few times specifically about you’re … outfit, and as much as you say you don’t like it, I don’t see you putting a stop to it or toning it down. If anything, it’s more frequent.”

As if! 

But also yes. Dammit …

“It’s because I’m not working; if I were working, she wouldn’t make me so often. And we’ve had a lot of conversations about it, a lot more than you know about.”

“I understand.”

“I set my boundaries. She respects them.”

“I know.”

“And anyway … it’s complicated.”

“I get that,” Nana said, “at least I think I do. I just meant that … maybe you like being made to do it even if, um, it doesn’t take much to, um, make you … anymore.”

“(Silence).”

“Sorry.”

“I … yes, kinda … But it’s not like I just gave in.” I made her work for it. Mary wanted me to start wearing the Spring 2019 line of incontinence wear, and she had to coerce me into it. I didn’t just cave like some kinky spelunker. She did things to me. Things that were only mostly fun … and stuff. Really.

“All I know is what I see from the outside looking in,” Nana said, “and I see that as much as you claim to hate wearing those, it never stops you from having fun when you are. It’s not like your creeping around self-consciously. I bet if you didn’t argue with Mary this morning, you wouldn’t even be bothered by it.”

“ … I’ve adjusted.”

“Mhmm.”

“I’ve overcome.”

“You have.”

“I adapted.”

“I’ve seen that.”

“… Besides, if anyone is weird about it, it’s you.”

“Why me,” she asked me.

“Because you act like it’s normal. It’s not normal! You should be all squicked out like the other ‘nillas.” That would be normal; I could use some normal in my life. Like, sorry, Mary, but I can’t wear those today because I’m going out with Nana and they squick her out, is a thing I’d say and that she’d respect.

“But I’m not bothered by it. I like the two of you. You’re fun and entertaining and sweet.”

“But …” I glanced down at my lap. “You know.”

“Doesn’t bother me. If I didn’t know, I’d probably never even realize. It’s not obvious, and I bet sometimes when you are I have no idea. As for those few times I helped you out, I worked at that respite camp when I was younger. I’ve dealt with adult diapers before. Trust me: yours are a lot easier to deal with than some of those.”

“O god.” I should’ve ordered soup so I could drown myself in the bowl.

“Sorry, but what do you want me to say? That it’s awful and I wish you two weren’t my neighbors? That’s just not true. I like you, and I’m glad you’re my neighbors.”

“But you didn’t hafta to offer to help,” I said maybe more quietly than I meant to. “You could like us and not offer to help.”

“Do you want me to stop helping?” I shook my head just ever so slightly. “We don’t have to talk about these things.”

“I like spending time with you, and it’s helpful sometimes to have someone to talk to about it. I can’t talk about it with my vanilla friends, and my non-vanilla friends don’t always get it.”

“I enjoy our time together. If you enjoy it and it helps you to talk through some things, that’s what neighbors are for. As for the other stuff, it’s just something you need from time to time. It’s not like I’m your babysitter. One friend helping another.”

“Do you help your other friends with that though?” Ha! Called her out.

“Daffy, if one of my friends ever needed that kind of help, you bet your butt I would.”

O gawd, she would! That’s when I realized it. She is such a nana. I mean, geez with the nana vibes, not that I ever went looking for them, but she just gives them off so darn much. “But if you don’t want me to…”

“No. I mean, thank you. I appreciate the help … when I need it. And the talks.”

“What are friends for?”

We paid the bill (my treat) and went back to her house. Mary was still working, so no reason to go home and just watch Netflix or something. Maybe if I stayed at Nana’s I’d get lucky, by which I mean she’d suggest baking cookies. Not that I don’t get to bake at home, but Mary has limited me to one pound of cookie dough every two weeks. I may - may, mind you - have thrown a tantrum over that which served as evidence - according to Mary and Mary only - that I lose my dang mind on the topic of sugar and need to adopt a healthier relationship with my drug of choice, but Mary says all sorts of crazy things while I’m across her lap. Who even listens during those little sessions except me because she makes me repeat stuff back to her before she lets me up. I mean, ugh, so cruel (delightfully so).

Or we could talk about gardening. I get to talk about gardening at home, too, but Mary did tell me recently, “Daffy, I love you and I’m happy you found something you’re passionate about, but one more word about what kind of dirt you’re going to buy and I’m gagging you for the rest of the day.” Threaten me with a good time why don’tcha, but point taken. I guess that can get a little tedious.

Or we could talk about her grandkids. Nana lights up when she talks about them. Talk about being in love. It’s so wonderful hearing people talk about the people they love. I’d be a great relationship therapist for couples who don’t need one.

But nope, none of those things.

“Daffy, do you need some help,” she asked me when we got inside.

O, so that’s our euphemism now. A heckuva lot better than Mary’s ‘how’s your diaper holding up?’

Was I walking funny, or did she just ask me because we’d been out all morning? “Um, no. I’m good.”

“Hold it,” she said as I turned away from her and toward the sink to get a glass of water. “Are you saying that because it’s the truth or because you’re embarrassed?”

“Can it be true and I’m also embarrassed?” Haha! I’m funny! Be distracted by my humor dammit!

“You look a little …”

“So you can tell! Mary said …”

“I can tell now. Would you like some help? You don’t have to be embarrassed, but if you want to be embarrassed, you can do that and I can still help.”

“It’s a pullup,” I said impulsively for some reason.

“Okay. Do you have some more of those?”

“Not with me.”

“You can run home and get one. Or you can change into underpants.”

“Mary said I can’t today.” Specifically, she said if I couldn’t keep my pullup dry until three o’clock then I wasn’t ready for underpants and would have to go back to diapers for the rest of the day. Specifically, that’s when I lost my trademark cool and got grumpy with her, and she tapped the eight ball like it and not she had decided. 

“Here,” Nana said and took the bag Mary said I had to take everywhere with me today off my shoulder. “May I help you?”

“Um … mhmm. Please.”

“It’ll only take a minute. You’re okay.”

“I know.”

“We takes about this at lunch,” she said as she led me into the living room.

“I know. It’s just … hard still. Do you think we … could just not talk until after?”

“Yes, we can do that, sweetie.”

And that’s how it would’ve stayed except to apocalypse happened. Me on my back, pullup off, Nana helping, and one of the four horseman appeared. No knock, no nothing. Just, “Hello?” Mary!

It would be awesome if Nana had a bigger house or if we’d opted for her to help me upstairs, but nope, one second I was being helped and the next second there was Mary, standing in the doorway of the kitchen looking into the living room. And here I didn’t think Mary could physically blush, but she was tomato red

“I’m sorry,” she said and turned away.

“It’s not what it …”

“I’m just giving her a hand,” Nana said, cutting me off. “The two of you, honestly, looking like you’re not married or something.”

“I’ll, um, take over,” Mary said.

“We’re almost done,” Nana said. “There.” Damn was i glad to not just be out for the whole living room to see.

“Mary, I can explain.”

“She needed dry underpants,” Nana explained for me. “It’s not big deal to me, but maybe the two of you would like a moment alone,” Nana said as she rolled up the wet goodnite and left the room.

“Is she mad at me,” Mary mouthed at me. I sat up and got on the couch, eager to hide what I was wearing yet somehow forgetting - because I’m a friggin genius - to put my shorts back on. Nothing to see here, folks, unless you wanna see a space cadet who forgot to put her shorts back on because she was too embarrassed to think straight.

“I don’t think she’s mad at you. I told her about our little spat this morning.”

“Is that the first time she’s …”

“No. More like the fourth. A couple times when you were sick or busy and I needed … help.”

“Are you okay?”

“Mhmm.”

“Look at me,” she said and put her hand under my chin, turning me to face her. “Are you okay?”

“Yes.”

“You’re sure?”

“Mhmm. I promise. I’m okay.”

“Good. I guess we should apologize to her. Get your shorts on and we’ll go home and talk about it.”

“It’s not like that. She doesn’t mind. She said so again today … a few times. But maybe you should say something since … it’s not like there were other options.”

“You couldn’t make it til three,” she asked me with a very sorry look on her face, like I was a puppy and she forgot she’d left me outside and it had rained.

“I could have, actually, but Nana … She noticed.”

“Did she make you,” Mary asked like she was ready to throw hands. 

“No! It’s just that she’s a nana. She’s not gonna let me be … wet, so she offered and I just … let her. Please don’t be mad at us.”

“I’m not mad. I’m just worried she’s mad.”

“Maybe a little. She doesn’t like it that I get out in these positions where I don’t have a good choice. She doesn’t … understand that part of it.”

“Do you want to explain it to her?”

“Not really.”

“Should I just go? I didn’t mean to walk in and cause a problem. I just saw the car was back and thought I’d come over.”

“Suddenly feels like we were doing something bad even though we weren’t.”

“Mae,” Mary called out but not very loudly. Nana came back. “Thank you for helping her.”

“I’m happy to.”

“And sorry for barging in.”

“It’s okay. I’m sure that was probably a shock.”

“Are you okay with what just happened?”

“I’ve told you before,” Nana reminded her, that if you send her over in a diaper and don’t let her change herself, either I’m going to do it or I’m going to send her home.”

“It was a pullup,” I said because the voice in my head that should’ve told me to shut up was on a coffee break or something. Not that anyone heard me.

“I’m okay with it if you two are,” Mary said.

“And so am I.” They both looked at me.

“Yes, if you’re gonna make me wear ‘em.”

“I won’t,” Nana said.

Mary? She just said, “Okay, so we’re all okay.”

“Meanie,” I said under my breath, except I’m not good at talking under my breath.

“I know, sweetie,” Mary said and out her arm around my shoulder and gave me a kiss on the temple.

“Get rid of the eight ball.”

She tilted her head back and looked me in the eye for a second. “Okay,” she said and kissed me again. “Sorry.”

“That’s okay.”

“Just trying to keep things interesting.”

“I know. And hand me my shorts please.” Because reasons.

[Guilend]

Awww I love the eight ball idea. Poor daffy. But I get it. Instead of her domme straight up telling her to do something she has an a ball and even if it’s basically the same thing it has a different feel to it and some people aren’t into it. On occasion like hey today is eight ball day or let’s have an eight ball day on Thursday that might’ve been better. But Mary over did it and probably ruined what could have been a fun thing to do a couple of times a month. 

[Bel George]

12 hours ago, Alex Bridges said:

Specifically, she said if I couldn’t keep my pullup dry until three o’clock then I wasn’t ready for underpants and would have to go back to diapers for the rest of the day.

Maybe the rules have changed, but I think I remember a rule where Daphne was allowed to use the toilet when wearing a pullup, but then had to keep wearing that pullup until she had wet it.  

If that rule still applies, she apparently made a conscious choice to use the pullup (before three o'clock), so she would be put in diapers for the rest of the day.  

12 hours ago, Alex Bridges said:

“She needed dry underpants,” Nana explained for me. “It’s not big deal to me,

That is why I like Nana so much.  Until now, Nana hasn't really been the babysitter (as she herself claims), but she seems to be gradually becoming one. 

And now that Mary is also aware that Nana likes to help (or at least doesn't mind), I think it will happen even faster.

[Alex Bridges]

4 hours ago, Bel George said:

Maybe the rules have changed, but I think I remember a rule where Daphne was allowed to use the toilet when wearing a pullup, but then had to keep wearing that pullup until she had wet it.  

If that rule still applies, she apparently made a conscious choice to use the pullup (before three o'clock), so she would be put in diapers for the rest of the day. 

You have better recall of the original rules than I do (and maybe than Mary and Daphne too). ?

[Bel George]

3 hours ago, Alex Bridges said:

You have better recall of the original rules than I do (and maybe than Mary and Daphne too). ?

I assume Daphne forgot it on purpose. 

But will she ever admit that? Maybe if Nana explicitly asks for it, because I don't see her lying to Nana.

[YourFNF]

*conflicted sub noises*

[Alex Bridges]

Scene 120

 

I do NOT have an attitude … anymore. I’m not the kind of person to find themselves in a funk for no reason (um, really), but sometimes maybe as in yes I do. Though to be fair to me, because someone needs to be, Mary did come within ten feet of me.

When she did that inconsiderate thing to me, I didn’t get up and leave the room in a huff. That’s just not true. I’m not that unhinged when I’m not in one of those bad moods that appear for no reason that I don’t get. And I wasn’t hunched over my laptop getting angry at there being nothing to read except the news when Mary cast a shadow over me like a giant over an unsuspecting, bucolic village tableau.

“Ahem,” she said from behind me. I turned to find her with her arms folded and leaning against the doorframe, a pose I’ve come to associate with when she’s feeling randy or when she’s feeling cross with me. The look on her face? Yep, the cross one.

“I didn’t do anything!” I didn’t say at an elevated volume in a certain tone Mary insists in a totally unreasonable way is unacceptable for me to direct at her.

“The ‘tude,” is all she said as she walked toward me.

“What ‘tude? If anyone has a ‘tude, it’s you.” She didn’t respond to that. She just gently closed my laptop, and I just let her do that but not because I knew she was right. That’s just not how it was. Um, really.

“Come on,” she said and set my laptop aside, took me by the hand, and led me to our bedroom.

“But why,” I didn’t whine.

“That’s a very good question and one I should ask you. Any reason you’re in a bad mood?”

“I’m not,” I also didn’t whine.

“Don’t you roll your eyes at me.”

“I didn’t,” I double didn’t whine pinky promise.

“Good thing we’re catching this early,” she said like she was catching something before it turned into a much bigger deal like, o, say, me exploding at her for no reason in a verbal tirade and ending up getting my butt beaten black and blue. But like that’s ever happened. Um, really.

She led me right to my nightstand and took the paddle off it. One day it would be super nice to not have a paddle kept on my nightstand. Mary says it’s to help me remember to make good choices and also so she can find it in a hurry. I said then she should keep it on her nightstand, and can you believe she put me in timeout for that sass? As if! But also yes, a little. Which is the extent of all the wrongdoing I ever wrongly did ever. I’m very well behaved and always have been. Really.

Paddle in one hand and me in the other, she walked over to the ottoman and sat down, looking up at me with this searching, why-are-we-here face.

“We’re here because you said,” I didn’t pout. And the ottoman? Seriously? That’s for when I’ve been really bad - o, excuse me, when my choices have been really bad, according to Miss Mary I-Read-a-Book-About-How-To-Talk-To-Willful-Children. All my declaration achieved was for her to make a you-say-the-silliest-nonsense face for a second.

“Want to try again and tell me why you’re in a bad mood?”

“I’m not,” I didn’t pout while balling up my first and stomping my foot. “I don’t wanna spanking! I didn’t even do anything!”

“Daphne Ann.”

And at the very sound of my person saying my name, I didn’t start sobbing and climb into her lap. That’s just fake news. Never happened. I wasn’t having a hard week for no particular reason. That’s just not true, one of many things that isn’t true. For instance, Mary didn’t coo at me and shush me and tell me, “You’re supposed to wait until I’m spanking your bottom before you start bawling.”

“I’m sorry,” I didn’t apologize. I had nothing to apologize for … and stuff.

“I know you’re sorry, but I’m not upset with you,” she said and kissed my temple. “I know it’s been a hard week.”

“But why,” I didn’t ask in a pleading voice like I really wanted her to explain the bad mood I wasn’t in. 

“I don’t know, but I can see how tense you get with those little shoulders of yours hunched up around your ears.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Stop saying that. Everyone gets in a mood sometimes.”

And I didn’t do that thing where you’ve been crying and snort back a snootful of crud and wipe it on your wrist but not before getting some on your wife’s shirt.

“No, I mean I’m sorry you didn’t get to spank me.” I had a hunch born of knowing her in the biblical sense that she was maybe twenty percent sorry she needed to spank me and a hundred percent looking forward to it. 

“Aww, sweetie. I just don’t get to spank you right now. But at bedtime …”

“Really?”

“Why the pouty face? Don’t you want a spanking?”

“Um … What kind of spanking?”

“What kind do you want?”

“Just your hand.” I like her hands. I wish they were touching me all the time, except when I’m in one of my not-a-bad-moods, and then it’s like, omg, do you still live here? But that never happens. It’s not we’re some old married couple. We’re … young.

“It’s a date.”

Ooo, I get to go on a date with my wife and she’s gonna feel me up and stuff.

“Were you gonna spank me for being bad or to make me cry,” I asked.

“Like ninety-eight percent to make you cry. I can always tell when you need a good cry. And only two percent for taking out your grumpy on me. Not a good choice.”

“Sorry.”

“You silly goose,” she said and managed to smack my butt with me sitting in her lap. That’s a ninja type move right there. “Stop apologizing.”

“So you’re not cross with me,” I didn’t ask because I wasn’t feeling vulnerable and insecure for no good reason.

“Of course not. Come on, up you get. Lie down on the bed for me.”

“Aww, do I hafta?” I knew what she was gonna do! But, um, she didn’t do anything. She certainly didn’t diaper me on the bed, and since there was no diapering, she didn’t use the cloth diapers that are so poofy and get so heavy when they’re wet, which I wouldn’t even know because I never wear them and certainly never wet one … or three.

“Why so many,” I didn’t ask because there was just no reason to ask that.

“Because it’s cute when you waddle.”

She didn’t help me up because I wasn’t even laying down, naturally, and because I didn’t feel like I was wearing a pillow around my nethers.

“Let’s go wash your face … and change my shirt.”

“Sorry.”

THWUMP. “It’s okay for you to cry on me.”

Someone might even think Mary likes it when I cry on her because it makes her feel needed and loved, which she is. True story. But how weird of her, right? Glad I don’t do weird things that most adults don’t do. Um, really.

[Sarah Penguin]

[Alex Bridges]

I think I’ll have a new chapter to post today. I know I’ve been slow and short lately, and the reason is … (drum roll) … the last two weeks have been a roller coaster of getting rejected from a job I really wanted and then getting not one but two job offers from companies I like just as much! (Sound of stadium cheering)

The one I chose won’t be official for two weeks and I hafta keep working at my current company for a month, but then whammo! New job, better lifestyle. Very excited. Wish it were official already

[Sarah Penguin]

44 minutes ago, Alex Bridges said:

I think I’ll have a new chapter to post today. I know I’ve been slow and short lately, and the reason is … (drum roll) … the last two weeks have been a roller coaster of getting rejected from a job I really wanted and then getting not one but two job offers from companies I like just as much! (Sound of stadium cheering)

The one I chose won’t be official for two weeks and I hafta keep working at my current company for a month, but then whammo! New job, better lifestyle. Very excited. Wish it were official already

Hugs!

[YourFNF]

1 hour ago, Alex Bridges said:

I think I’ll have a new chapter to post today. I know I’ve been slow and short lately, and the reason is … (drum roll) … the last two weeks have been a roller coaster of getting rejected from a job I really wanted and then getting not one but two job offers from companies I like just as much! (Sound of stadium cheering)

The one I chose won’t be official for two weeks and I hafta keep working at my current company for a month, but then whammo! New job, better lifestyle. Very excited. Wish it were official already

Congrats hun! so happy for you! ?

[Disk]

That's super cool news Alex! Exciting times

[Alex Bridges]

Scene 121

 

I am so many kinds of fun it’s not even funny, and I should get some credit for that the next time someone accuses me of being a grumpy goose. I mean, I play along with all kinds of stuff, so people should play along with me. For goodness’s sake, it was a play date! We’ll get to that, but first …

Who wanted to have a play date? Jane. I was very happy to have Jane over, and it’s not like she sprung it on me. She texted and said, “Can we have a play date?”

I texted back, “Like a ‘play date’ play date?”

“Yeah, I want some little time. Be little with me?”

I can recognize a cry (text) for help when I hear  (read) one. Did I suspect Mary’s hand at the virtual keyboard? Nope. Jane doesn’t need Mary’s instigation to want a play date. Still, I asked Mary about it (and no, I didn’t ask if I could have my friend over. I’m not a little girl).

“What’s up, buttercup,” Mary asked me as I sat down on the couch next to her. She put her arm around my shoulder. I think she likes touching me and stuff? Anyway, anytime she calls me buttercup, it means she’s in a silly mood. I like that she gets into silly moods. Some people want their domme to be all serious all the time, and I don’t think that’s fair (dommes are people, not characters) or fun (I live with this person; who wants to be with someone who never feels silly?). 

“Jane wants to have a play date.”

“Like a ‘play date’ play date?”

“Heh. That’s what I asked. She asked me to be little with her.”

“And what did you say?”

“Nothing yet. It was just a second ago … I’m not a little.”

“I know.”

“Jane should know too. Like, pretty sure I’ve said that a few hundred times in the last forever years.” Minor, but only minor, exaggeration.

“I think she does know. Maybe she didn’t mean it that way.”

“How many ways are there to mean it? I don’t mind her coming over and being little. She does that sometimes anyway, or she did before the pandemic. And sometimes when we play at her house, she’ll be little and I won’t.” Because I’m not, again, for clarity.

I thought very carefully about what I said next. “I … she could be little, and I could be her babysitter.”

I wasn’t looking at Mary, but if I was, I’m so positive I would’ve seen a smirk that it’s not even funny. Ya know what that woman said? Well, I’ll tell you what she said: “But Daffy, you’re too little to babysit.”

Me? I didn’t dignify that with a (verbal) response. 

“Hey,” that woman exclaimed. “What have I told you about hitting,” she said as she rubbed her arm where I gave her the tiniest love tap. Such a wuss!

“Do it whenever I feel like,” I said back. 

“Such a sarcastic squirrel,” she said like that’s even a thing.

“That’s not even a thing … I just don’t know what she wants me to do.”

“You can just tell her no.”

“But she … She’s never asked me to be little with her. She wouldn’t be asking if she didn’t really need some little time.” Saying no to playing with a little, if you’re not totally hands down not into it, is like saying no to an actual little kid. ‘No, small child who looks up to me, I won’t play with you cuz I’m a monster.’ Who does that? Monsters, that’s who. I play with her when she’s little; I’m just not little also.

“You still get to say no. You can hang out with her and not play. Just tell her you’re not comfortable playing that way.”

“I’m okay with her being little while she’s here.” Her cry for help aside, I was getting a little miffed she asked me that. Had she just asked to play and not specifically asked me be little with her, no problem. “I just don’t … I’m not a little. I wouldn’t even know what to do. Ya know, that’s what I’m gonna tell her. If she wants to be little, she can be and I’ll have fun with her, but I’m not going to try to be little. It’s just not my thing. I don’t wanna even try.”

“What will you do with her,” Mary asked.

I shrugged. “Whatever she wants. I’ll offer to be her sitter for the day. We can do whatever she wants. If she wants to play little games, that’s fine. I’ll play along. I’m just … it’s not my thing. I don’t have that headspace.” True story. Really.

“We can both play with her. We’ll make it a fun day for her.”

“I hope so. Why do you think she’s asking? She gets to be little with Lisa whenever she wants. Have you talked to her lately?”

“Not in a week or two. Nothing is going on that I know of.”

“Then maybe she really does want time with a little,” I reasoned. She gets to be little on her own all the time. “So … I can play with her. I just can’t be in that headspace.”

“Daffy,” my very reasonable wife said, “just tell her no. If you don’t want to …”

“It’s not just that I don’t. It’s that I can’t. I’m not a little. I don’t do the whole headspace thing … And I don’t really wanna try to fake it. It’s … It’s just not fun for me. It’s boring.”

Mary gave me one of her why-are-you-overthinking-this looks. “Why are you overthinking this?” See?

“I’m not.”

“Yes you are. Just tell her she can come over and play but that you aren’t going to be little. You’ll play with her, but not as a little.”

“But that’s not what she asked.” Ya know what? I was overthinking this.

“So eager to please. You know you can’t be that way.”

“Just trying to do something nice for her. She is my second best friend ya know.”

“Who’s you’re first?”

“You.” She knew I was gonna say that and gave me a smooch and a squeeze anyway.

“I like that you want to do nice things for your friends. You’ll both have a good time, and I’m sure you’ll think of something to make it even more fun. Text her back right now.”

So I texted her, “Sure! You can come over and have little time. I’ll play with you, but not as a little. But we’ll have fun! I’ll think of some fun things, and we can do whatever you want. Mary says she’ll play too.”

Jane was either staring at her phone anyway or was waiting for me to text her back cuz she responded right away and said yes. There was a smiley face, so whether she was disappointed or not, she didn’t say and I couldn’t tell.

“All set,” Mary asked me.

“Yep.”

“Good. We’ll have fun. Go get your shoesies on.”

Ugh, with the baby babble. “Where are we going?”

“Not sure yet. We’ll figure it out when we get on the road, but we hafta deal with your behavior.”

What the fernopter fruhlinhoffer? “What behavior?!? I didn’t do anything!” In case she didn’t notice, I was just sitting there talking to her trying to figure out how to do a nice thing for our friend. There’s no way I could’ve misbehaved! And I should know because I was there!

“Daphne Ann,” she said in her I-have-the-authority voice, “you do not hit.”

“I didn’t! What are you even talking about? I didn’t hit anyone.”

“You hit me right on the shoulder, little girl.”

“But but but but … that was a love tap! It was playful! You were teasing me!”

“Doesn’t matter. You do not hit.”

“That doesn’t even count as hitting! I never hit anyone.” The one time I tried to top someone else, I ended up crying and they ended up comforting me. I’m not a hitter. I don’t hit. I don’t I don’t I don’t!

“I decide what counts, and not only do little girls not hit, they never, ever hit their dommes. It’s disrespectful.”

Well, that put a slightly different twist on it that had a little more validity, but still, “Bullcrap!”

“Daphne Ann, I’m going to count to three, and if you’re not putting your shoes on by the time I’m finished …”

Why the heck does she think counting scares me? I’m not five! I’m not a little girl! Really!!! “Count til you’re hoarse for all I care!”

And the thing is, if there had been a mirror in front of me, I’d have been able to look in it and see the line I’d just crossed right behind me. “Um, what I meant is woah! Mary, no!”

SPANK SPANK SPANK!

“You (SPANK). Do  (SPANK). Not (SPANK). Hit  (SPANK).

“Can we at least stop and appreciate the irony!?! Ow ow ow! Marrry!”

“And (SMACK). You (SPANK). Do (SWAT). As (SPANK). You’re (SPANK). Told (SPANK SPANK SMACK SPANK!). Are you ready to put your shoes on?”

“Or what? You’ll spank me some more! Eep! Ow ow ouch!” So … that would be a yes. She coulda just said yes.

“Do I need to take your pants down?”

More irony - she spanks me for not getting dressed, and her solution is to take off more of my clothes. Must be nice being a domme and being freed from the need to be logical, like, at all.

“No! I’ll put my shoes on. Geez!” SPANK!!!! “OUCH!! Marrry, be gentle! I have a very delicate bottom.”

She scortled at that. “No you don’t. Up. Get your shoes.”

I slid off her lap, not that I’m even sure how I got there in the first place, and almost but not quite dodged the swat I knew she was gonna send me off with. “Why are we leaving the house? Can’t you just punish me here?” Because reasons, like I didn’t want to get spanked in public. The only time that ever happens is when we’re already in public, and not exactly a fan. And about the irony - submitting to her to stop the spanking … so she can spank me somewhere else. I need less irony in my life, or it could take a less painful form.

“First off, i never punish you. I give you consequences for your bad choices. Second, ya know how when you misbehave away from home, you get spanked at home? New rule: misbehave at home, and I’ll spank your bottom in public,” she said like she was so darn proud of herself and her stupid innovation that is so stupid but also kinda like woah and maybe a little titillating.

But before it was titillating, which actually it isn’t and never has been and is just mean and cruel and unfair, her new rule stopped me in my tracks, one shoe on. “What the heck kind of crapping nonsense is that with your smug smirk right now and (dolphin chatter) and friggin (howler monkeys fighting) and (slamming of piano lid), Mary!”

“Who makes the rules?”

“Marrry…”

“Who. Makes. The. Rules, little girl?”

Dammit! “Stop calling me that! I’m not a little girl!”

“Daphne Ann Taylor, you are throwing a tantrum like one. Who makes the rules?”

A tantrum is the cry of the oppressed, so even if I were throwing a tantrum, and I wasn’t because I don’t do that, it would be justified. But, sigh … “You make the rules. But, what, we’re gonna leave the house every time you wanna spank me?”

“Daffy, you know I don’t spank you because I want to.” O my god such lies! Lies and wickedness! “I spank you because you need spankings.” Truth, but let’s not focus on that. “And no, we’re not going to leave the house every time you need your bottom warmed.”

“But you just said!”

“I know what I just said, but I think I’m going to unmake that rule later today.”

Blink-blink, my eyes went. All I heard was the sound of blood rushing through my ears.

“Put your other shoe on, unless you need help.”

“I’ll give you some help, you mumble mumble murmur,” I mumbled and murmured.

“What was that?”

“There. My shoe’s on. Where are you gonna do this mean thing to me?”

“If you don’t take your consequence like the good girl I know you are, I won’t buy you lunch.”

Ooo, my wife knows I’m a good girl. Heehee! “You will, too,” I called her bluff.

She tilted her head a little. “Yeah, I will, but I’ll make you eat asparagus.”

“Ew.”

“Come along,” she said and took my hand to lead me toward the garage. “Just need to get my purse and your diaper bag.”

“Awww, really?”

“Really.”

If Jane ever fully understood what playing with Mary could mean - not that we’re playing; this is how we are - I’m not sure she’d wanna come within a mile of our house.

As for Mary, it’s a good thing I like her and stuff. Like, all the stuff. Even the mean (actually kinda nice) bits. Really.

[Sarah Penguin]

1 hour ago, Alex Bridges said:

Scene 121

 

I am so many kinds of fun it’s not even funny, and I should get some credit for that the next time someone accuses me of being a grumpy goose. I mean, I play along with all kinds of stuff, so people should play along with me. For goodness’s sake, it was a play date! We’ll get to that, but first …

Who wanted to have a play date? Jane. I was very happy to have Jane over, and it’s not like she sprung it on me. She texted and said, “Can we have a play date?”

I texted back, “Like a ‘play date’ play date?”

“Yeah, I want some little time. Be little with me?”

I can recognize a cry (text) for help when I hear  (read) one. Did I suspect Mary’s hand at the virtual keyboard? Nope. Jane doesn’t need Mary’s instigation to want a play date. Still, I asked Mary about it (and no, I didn’t ask if I could have my friend over. I’m not a little girl).

“What’s up, buttercup,” Mary asked me as I sat down on the couch next to her. She put her arm around my shoulder. I think she likes touching me and stuff? Anyway, anytime she calls me buttercup, it means she’s in a silly mood. I like that she gets into silly moods. Some people want their domme to be all serious all the time, and I don’t think that’s fair (dommes are people, not characters) or fun (I live with this person; who wants to be with someone who never feels silly?). 

“Jane wants to have a play date.”

“Like a ‘play date’ play date?”

“Heh. That’s what I asked. She asked me to be little with her.”

“And what did you say?”

“Nothing yet. It was just a second ago … I’m not a little.”

“I know.”

“Jane should know too. Like, pretty sure I’ve said that a few hundred times in the last forever years.” Minor, but only minor, exaggeration.

“I think she does know. Maybe she didn’t mean it that way.”

“How many ways are there to mean it? I don’t mind her coming over and being little. She does that sometimes anyway, or she did before the pandemic. And sometimes when we play at her house, she’ll be little and I won’t.” Because I’m not, again, for clarity.

I thought very carefully about what I said next. “I … she could be little, and I could be her babysitter.”

I wasn’t looking at Mary, but if I was, I’m so positive I would’ve seen a smirk that it’s not even funny. Ya know what that woman said? Well, I’ll tell you what she said: “But Daffy, you’re too little to babysit.”

Me? I didn’t dignify that with a (verbal) response. 

“Hey,” that woman exclaimed. “What have I told you about hitting,” she said as she rubbed her arm where I gave her the tiniest love tap. Such a wuss!

“Do it whenever I feel like,” I said back. 

“Such a sarcastic squirrel,” she said like that’s even a thing.

“That’s not even a thing … I just don’t know what she wants me to do.”

“You can just tell her no.”

“But she … She’s never asked me to be little with her. She wouldn’t be asking if she didn’t really need some little time.” Saying no to playing with a little, if you’re not totally hands down not into it, is like saying no to an actual little kid. ‘No, small child who looks up to me, I won’t play with you cuz I’m a monster.’ Who does that? Monsters, that’s who. I play with her when she’s little; I’m just not little also.

“You still get to say no. You can hang out with her and not play. Just tell her you’re not comfortable playing that way.”

“I’m okay with her being little while she’s here.” Her cry for help aside, I was getting a little miffed she asked me that. Had she just asked to play and not specifically asked me be little with her, no problem. “I just don’t … I’m not a little. I wouldn’t even know what to do. Ya know, that’s what I’m gonna tell her. If she wants to be little, she can be and I’ll have fun with her, but I’m not going to try to be little. It’s just not my thing. I don’t wanna even try.”

“What will you do with her,” Mary asked.

I shrugged. “Whatever she wants. I’ll offer to be her sitter for the day. We can do whatever she wants. If she wants to play little games, that’s fine. I’ll play along. I’m just … it’s not my thing. I don’t have that headspace.” True story. Really.

“We can both play with her. We’ll make it a fun day for her.”

“I hope so. Why do you think she’s asking? She gets to be little with Lisa whenever she wants. Have you talked to her lately?”

“Not in a week or two. Nothing is going on that I know of.”

“Then maybe she really does want time with a little,” I reasoned. She gets to be little on her own all the time. “So … I can play with her. I just can’t be in that headspace.”

“Daffy,” my very reasonable wife said, “just tell her no. If you don’t want to …”

“It’s not just that I don’t. It’s that I can’t. I’m not a little. I don’t do the whole headspace thing … And I don’t really wanna try to fake it. It’s … It’s just not fun for me. It’s boring.”

Mary gave me one of her why-are-you-overthinking-this looks. “Why are you overthinking this?” See?

“I’m not.”

“Yes you are. Just tell her she can come over and play but that you aren’t going to be little. You’ll play with her, but not as a little.”

“But that’s not what she asked.” Ya know what? I was overthinking this.

“So eager to please. You know you can’t be that way.”

“Just trying to do something nice for her. She is my second best friend ya know.”

“Who’s you’re first?”

“You.” She knew I was gonna say that and gave me a smooch and a squeeze anyway.

“I like that you want to do nice things for your friends. You’ll both have a good time, and I’m sure you’ll think of something to make it even more fun. Text her back right now.”

So I texted her, “Sure! You can come over and have little time. I’ll play with you, but not as a little. But we’ll have fun! I’ll think of some fun things, and we can do whatever you want. Mary says she’ll play too.”

Jane was either staring at her phone anyway or was waiting for me to text her back cuz she responded right away and said yes. There was a smiley face, so whether she was disappointed or not, she didn’t say and I couldn’t tell.

“All set,” Mary asked me.

“Yep.”

“Good. We’ll have fun. Go get your shoesies on.”

Ugh, with the baby babble. “Where are we going?”

“Not sure yet. We’ll figure it out when we get on the road, but we hafta deal with your behavior.”

What the fernopter fruhlinhoffer? “What behavior?!? I didn’t do anything!” In case she didn’t notice, I was just sitting there talking to her trying to figure out how to do a nice thing for our friend. There’s no way I could’ve misbehaved! And I should know because I was there!

“Daphne Ann,” she said in her I-have-the-authority voice, “you do not hit.”

“I didn’t! What are you even talking about? I didn’t hit anyone.”

“You hit me right on the shoulder, little girl.”

“But but but but … that was a love tap! It was playful! You were teasing me!”

“Doesn’t matter. You do not hit.”

“That doesn’t even count as hitting! I never hit anyone.” The one time I tried to top someone else, I ended up crying and they ended up comforting me. I’m not a hitter. I don’t hit. I don’t I don’t I don’t!

“I decide what counts, and not only do little girls not hit, they never, ever hit their dommes. It’s disrespectful.”

Well, that put a slightly different twist on it that had a little more validity, but still, “Bullcrap!”

“Daphne Ann, I’m going to count to three, and if you’re not putting your shoes on by the time I’m finished …”

Why the heck does she think counting scares me? I’m not five! I’m not a little girl! Really!!! “Count til you’re hoarse for all I care!”

And the thing is, if there had been a mirror in front of me, I’d have been able to look in it and see the line I’d just crossed right behind me. “Um, what I meant is woah! Mary, no!”

SPANK SPANK SPANK!

“You (SPANK). Do  (SPANK). Not (SPANK). Hit  (SPANK).

“Can we at least stop and appreciate the irony!?! Ow ow ow! Marrry!”

“And (SMACK). You (SPANK). Do (SWAT). As (SPANK). You’re (SPANK). Told (SPANK SPANK SMACK SPANK!). Are you ready to put your shoes on?”

“Or what? You’ll spank me some more! Eep! Ow ow ouch!” So … that would be a yes. She coulda just said yes.

“Do I need to take your pants down?”

More irony - she spanks me for not getting dressed, and her solution is to take off more of my clothes. Must be nice being a domme and being freed from the need to be logical, like, at all.

“No! I’ll put my shoes on. Geez!” SPANK!!!! “OUCH!! Marrry, be gentle! I have a very delicate bottom.”

She scortled at that. “No you don’t. Up. Get your shoes.”

I slid off her lap, not that I’m even sure how I got there in the first place, and almost but not quite dodged the swat I knew she was gonna send me off with. “Why are we leaving the house? Can’t you just punish me here?” Because reasons, like I didn’t want to get spanked in public. The only time that ever happens is when we’re already in public, and not exactly a fan. And about the irony - submitting to her to stop the spanking … so she can spank me somewhere else. I need less irony in my life, or it could take a less painful form.

“First off, i never punish you. I give you consequences for your bad choices. Second, ya know how when you misbehave away from home, you get spanked at home? New rule: misbehave at home, and I’ll spank your bottom in public,” she said like she was so darn proud of herself and her stupid innovation that is so stupid but also kinda like woah and maybe a little titillating.

But before it was titillating, which actually it isn’t and never has been and is just mean and cruel and unfair, her new rule stopped me in my tracks, one shoe on. “What the heck kind of crapping nonsense is that with your smug smirk right now and (dolphin chatter) and friggin (howler monkeys fighting) and (slamming of piano lid), Mary!”

“Who makes the rules?”

“Marrry…”

“Who. Makes. The. Rules, little girl?”

Dammit! “Stop calling me that! I’m not a little girl!”

“Daphne Ann Taylor, you are throwing a tantrum like one. Who makes the rules?”

A tantrum is the cry of the oppressed, so even if I were throwing a tantrum, and I wasn’t because I don’t do that, it would be justified. But, sigh … “You make the rules. But, what, we’re gonna leave the house every time you wanna spank me?”

“Daffy, you know I don’t spank you because I want to.” O my god such lies! Lies and wickedness! “I spank you because you need spankings.” Truth, but let’s not focus on that. “And no, we’re not going to leave the house every time you need your bottom warmed.”

“But you just said!”

“I know what I just said, but I think I’m going to unmake that rule later today.”

Blink-blink, my eyes went. All I heard was the sound of blood rushing through my ears.

“Put your other shoe on, unless you need help.”

“I’ll give you some help, you mumble mumble murmur,” I mumbled and murmured.

“What was that?”

“There. My shoe’s on. Where are you gonna do this mean thing to me?”

“If you don’t take your consequence like the good girl I know you are, I won’t buy you lunch.”

Ooo, my wife knows I’m a good girl. Heehee! “You will, too,” I called her bluff.

She tilted her head a little. “Yeah, I will, but I’ll make you eat asparagus.”

“Ew.”

“Come along,” she said and took my hand to lead me toward the garage. “Just need to get my purse and your diaper bag.”

“Awww, really?”

“Really.”

If Jane ever fully understood what playing with Mary could mean - not that we’re playing; this is how we are - I’m not sure she’d wanna come within a mile of our house.

As for Mary, it’s a good thing I like her and stuff. Like, all the stuff. Even the mean (actually kinda nice) bits. Really.

Daffy is 110 percent little all the time. Her permanent all-consuming perfect and eternal littleness collapsed into a black hole and is slowly and inevitably going to destroy the world. There is no adultness in her. never will be. She is perfectly little but maybe she prefers identifying as a little baby boy or a stuffed platypuss?

[Alex Bridges]

11 minutes ago, Sarah Penguin said:

Daffy is 110 percent little all the time. Her permanent all-consuming perfect and eternal littleness collapsed into a black hole and is slowly and inevitably going to destroy the world. There is no adultness in her. never will be. She is perfectly little but maybe she prefers identifying as a little baby boy or a stuffed platypuss?

? I’ma tell her you said that, and she’s prolly gonna get all floopy and make nonsense words and blame Mary for sullying her reputation … and still want Mary to make it all better. 
 

Which is not even something a little would, before you say it. Um … really ?