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

[YourFNF]

14 hours ago, Alex Bridges said:

“My Daffodil.”

“My Mary.”

Fuck I may be starting mine next week so....

Either that or the mood disorder....

[Alex Bridges]

9 hours ago, YourFNF said:

Fuck I may be starting mine next week so....

Either that or the mood disorder....

*wraps you in fuzzy blanket and squeezes you til you make adorable happy noises

[YourFNF]

3 hours ago, Alex Bridges said:

*wraps you in fuzzy blanket and squeezes you til you make adorable happy noises

*blushes and squeaks* Can I haz choclate shake?

[Alex Bridges]

10 hours ago, YourFNF said:

*blushes and squeaks* Can I haz choclate shake?

You can haz chocolate shake *pats head *pats butt *nose kiss

[YourFNF]

11 hours ago, Alex Bridges said:

You can haz chocolate shake *pats head *pats butt *nose kiss

Thanks! *blushes*

[Alex Bridges]

? daffy Is gonna get in so much trouble this weekend ?heeheeheehee 

[YourFNF]

11 hours ago, Alex Bridges said:

daffy Is gonna get in so much trouble this weekend ?heeheeheehee 

[Alex Bridges]

Daffy will tell you all about it tomorrow. It’s been a  long weekend. 

[Alex Bridges]

Scene #127

I like Mary. I even love Mary. But she can be such a pain in the butt. Apparently I’m not even allowed to break a lamp anymore. Which is how I’m spinning this because it’s my story and you can shush.

CRASH!

“Daphne,” Mary called to me from the top of the stairs, “are you okay?”

“Yeah! Um, fine.” Don’t come down don’t come down don’t come down. Aw, crap – she came down. “Hi.”

“What happened?”

“I fell and bumped into the table and knocked the lamp off. Never liked it anyway, though, right?” That’s why it was in basement, may it rest in pieces. Not that Mary heard anything after the word fell.

“You fell are you okay did you hurt anything let me feel,” Mary exclaimed, asked, asked, and commanded. I don’t know what she thought she was feeling for. She just started running her hands all over me, which, yeah, is a thing I like a little bit (a whole lot) under most circumstances, but these stances were not circum.

“Did you hit your head? What hurts?”

“Nothing, Mary. I’m fine.”

Mary has this look that I call the o-thank-goodness, and that’s how she looked at me before taking my face in her hands and kissing me on the forehead. She’s so weird. I think she’s in love with me or something? Anyway …

“How did you fall?”

“I just lost my balance. I’ll clean this up.”

“You just lost your balance? Did you get dizzy?”

“It’s fine, Mary. Really.” Ruh roh – she’s onto you.

“People don’t just fall down. Are you not telling me something?”

“What? Of course I’m - Mary, you’re being - I just tripped over my own feet or something.” Um, yeah! That’s it!

“Daphne Ann,” she said while giving me her good-little-girls-tell-the-truth look, “why are you acting so nervous?”

“Nervous? Me? That’s silly, Mary. You’re being so silly. I’m not nervous … but if I am it’s because the lamp breaking startled me.” She’s looking at me funny again. How odd, what with me acting so normal and all.

“Little girl.”

“Dammit, Mary, I’m not a little girl!” I can fall down if I want! I can break my own lamp it’s mine and I bought it and it was impulsive and I never liked it and of course I’m not jabbering because I know did wrong and was in trouble that’s just stupid and I’m not being defensive you are! Gah! What is wrong me?

“You know what happens to little girls who fib,” Mary asked me all confident and sexy like and I’m not a pushover and I’ll prove it by not saying anything.

“(Me not saying anything.)” See?

“Daphne Ann, if the truth is stuck inside you, then you must need a good cleaning out.”

“I bought a virtual reality headset and some accessories and games and it was way over the hundred dollar limit and isn’t a necessity and I’m sorry but not very and please please(!) don’t give me an enema!”

See, I’m not a pushover. Really … because she had to threaten me first. So … dignity intact … even if I did just spill my guts and plead with someone not to put a hose in my … place.

Also, for a technology professional she sure doesn’t notice stuff like, o, say a virtual reality headset sitting on the old dresser right next to us. I would’ve hid it, but in her zeal to ensure my well-being, she got downstairs before I could stash it in a drawer.

Ooo, she’s doing that thing where she takes a deep breath before she says something. That’s … never good.

“Daphne Ann Taylor.” Yep, that’s my name. And you might be thinking she had more to say than that, and she did, but first …

“Ow, Mary Mary ow that hurts Mary let’s be reasonable ow ow ow ow no twisting!” To my knowledge, she has never been taken by the ear, and if you’ve never had the pleasure, it hurts. Especially if you’re in the basement and your ear is being taken all the way to the living room. I mean, yeah, you could decide you’re not going to go wherever your ear is being taken, but I don’t recommend it.

“You’re in a timeout,” Mary said as she delivered me into the corner and without so much as a how-you-doin’ whisked my pants and panties to my ankles. “Don’t move until I come get you.”

She, um, seems kinda pissed. Which was whiplash from not three minutes ago when she was checking me over like I broke my body. Not really sure what the big deal was since it’s not the first or even the thirtieth time I’ve broken that rule. I mean, I was gonna let her play with it too. Only right what with her paying for it and all.

And I’m not sure I see the necessity of bare bottom timeouts. Like, my butt’s out. It’s just … out. And I don’t see why I needed to be in timeout at all, let alone for ten minutes. Friggin’ eternity when you know what you have waiting for you on the other side of it.

“Mary,” I said because I knew she was right behind me doing stuff. Pretty good idea what it was too.

“No talking.”

But on the plus side, she didn’t take me by the ear when she retrieved me from the corner. She took me by the elbow. So #winning? Nope.

Mary had gotten the stool out of the hall closet. I hate being over her knee on the stool! I’m too short for my feet or hands to touch the ground, which is exactly why Mary uses it when I’ve outdone myself in naughtiness, and I don’t think I even came close to outdoing myself. I’m talented! I can misbehave in much bigger ways that breaking the spending limit rule. Really!

“Mary, can we talk about …” WHAP! “Owww!” So that would be a no with the talking about it first, just guessing based on the way she turned me sideways and delivered an underhand thunderspank that damn near lifted me up on my toes. Which was so heccin unfair cuz when Mary sat down on the stool, she got to talk but not me.

“When we are done with your spanking, then you can talk. First, you are going to listen and not say a word.” She paused. I sensed a trap and took the risk of giving her half a nod. “I don’t make many rules. I’m not one of those dommes who tries to control their sub’s life. When I do make a rule, it’s for your own good. The spending limit rule is for our own good. I follow it. I never buy anything unnecessary over a hundred dollars without talking to you about it first, but of the very few rules I make, this is the one you consistently break.”

Exactly! She doesn’t normally take it so seriously. The last time I broke it she gave me a couple smacks on my butt and then gave me a bath. Not so much a punishment. So what was the big deal now?

“We have goals, Daphne. I want to retire someday too.” Ouch. “I want to go on trips and make our house beautiful and maybe even someday have a vacation home, and we can do those things if you’re putting an extra four hundred a month on the credit card. All you have to do is ask, and we’ll talk about it, and if it’s not something we can afford that month, we’ll save for a little while.”

About that, see, I was the kid who didn’t wait for the second marshmallow. Also maybe threw a tantrum when I wasn’t given the second marshmallow despite the rules being explained to me very clearly.

“You need to follow this rule, Daphne. And if I ever, ever catch you lying to me …”

Whoah! Hold the horsies! I didn’t lie. I … concealed the truth. So, um … okay I lied. But, um, only to get away with breaking a different rule. That’s somehow better, right? … No, it’s worse.

I started sniffling before Mary finished her sentence (I hate being scolded when I did something wrong! I have a very low tolerance for feeling guilty) and when Mary finished her sentence, hoo boy.

“… I will give you a punishment enema and you will not be using the potty. If I have to change a poopy diaper blowout to get you to always tell me the truth, I will.”

Holy crappin crud she means it! “I’m sorry (sob)! I didn’t (sob) think (sob) you’d …”

She cut me off with a hug. “Shhh. Everything is going to be okay. I’m sorry I have to give you such a hard spanking, but this is really important. Are you ready?”

“Mmm-(sob)-hmm.”

“Over you go,” Mary said and helped me over her knee. That’s when I saw it. Actually, them. There on the coffee table. The hairbrush and a switch. A two-implement spanking. Mary leaned back to get hairbrush first. Not sure if that’s better or worse than getting the switch first and heck, let’s never find out. She tightened her arm around my hip and said, “You are going to be ready make good choices by the time I’m done with your bare bottom, little girl.”

Holy damn that hurts ow ow ow ow ow slow down where’s the fire ow ow ow remember ow to fuck! breath dammit!

And just because I couldn’t hear a dump truck crash through the house over my own crying doesn’t mean I couldn’t hear my own reproachful thoughts in my head. I so I so wish my conscience wouldn’t take Mary’s side or would at least be quiet about it. Between my conscience and Mary’s, I’m seriously over-conscienced (which is a word … apparently).

This wouldn’t have happened if you’d followed the rule.

I know that.

But you did it anyway.

Where were you when I was doing it? You work here too.

Don’t blame me for your naughtiness.

O what is this, the 1950s? Who even says naughtiness except dommes and stepford wives?

Is that really the issue? You could have asked and maybe gotten it right away. Worst case you’d have to wait a few months. But no. You had to have it now, and now you can use it with a bruised butt.

Shut up! Who even cares if you’re right?

You do.

Yeah, but, like … shut up!

Kind of amazing that I can argue with myself and keep up a spanking monologue out loud the whole time. “Ow! Ouch! Eheh! Eeep! Eheh. Eheh. Ehehuhuhuh wahhhhhhhh!”

Add in Mary and there were four of us talking, and I could just make out what she was saying over the nearly continuous slap of that damn brush and my own caterwauling. “You (spank) will (spank-spank-spank-spank) follow (spank-spank-spank-spank) the (spank-spank-spank-spank) spending (spank-spank-spank-spank) rule (spank-spank-spank-spank-crack-slap-whack-spank) or so help me, Daphne Ann (spank-spank-spank-spank) I’ll make (spank-spank-spank-spank-thwack-whack-smack-spank) this (spank-spank-spank-spank) feel (spank-spank-spank-spank) like (spank-spank-spank-spank) a (spank-spank-spank-spank) picnic (spank-spank-spank-spank).”

Etcetera.

Mary has this habit of saying she’s going to give me more than one punishment – excuse me, more than one ‘consequence’ – with more than and decide against doing the second (or sometimes third) part of the consequence because she likes me and takes pity on me when I’m already butt hurt and crying my eyes out. Apparently, she’s making progress on breaking that habit, because when she was done with the brush, she picked up the switch. Thought I heard her go outside during my timeout; I was just hoping it was for something else. Anything else.

She pushed my shirt up with the hand not holding the switch and rubbed the small of my back a few times before wrapping her arm back around me and holding me extra tight.

“You do not tell lies, Daphne.” Thwick that damn thing went against the back of my thighs.

“Eee!”

Thwick.

“Eeeeeee!”

Thwick!

“Aieeeee!”

Thwick!

“Maryyyyyyyyyyy!

Thwick Thwick Thwick Thwick Thwick Thwick!

“Good girl for holding so still.”

“Waaaaaaahhhhhh!”

And then that hand was rubbing my back again. “I know. Shhh. That was a very big spanking. Shhh. You’re okay.”

I think she was rubbing my butt for me. Couldn’t really tell what with all the nerve endings down there having rendered senseless.

“Are you ready to get up?” She took something I said or did for a yes because she helped me to my feet and guided me toward the couch. She sat down on it; I sat down on her. And if you thought I’d carried on before, you should’ve heard me wail once I buried my face in her shirt and really let loose.

“I’m (moose sounds) and (polar bear groans) and (grizzly snarls) and (wookiee mourning) and I’m sorry-y-y.”

“I know you are. Shhh.”

“I didn’t mean to lie-ie-ie.”

“I know. You got your consequence and it’s all over.”

My howls gave way to puppy whimpers as I cried it out into Mary’s chest while she cooed at me and rubbed my back and even rocked me a little. I swear it’s like she’s fond of me or something?

“I didn’t mean to lie,” I repeated because that’s what I felt guilty about, or at least a lot more so than about the rule.  It didn’t feel like a lie in the moment. More of an omission. Or a fib. I don’t think I ever lie to Mary. But I know I do fib.

“I’m sorry,” I said just in time for my boohoos to start again.

“Stop up those tears, Daffy. You’re okay.”

“Iryifiwunoo.”

She chuckled at me. “What was that?”

“(Heh-heh-sniff-snort.)” Damn I’m pretty. “I said I’ll cry if I want to.”

“There’s my bratty little girl. She never disappears for more than a few minutes.”

“Do I lie to you?”

If I hadn’t been staring at the wet spot I made on her shirt, I’d probably have seen a lightbulb appear above her head. “No, Daffodil. Sometimes you fib though.”

“That’s the same thing.”

“No it’s not. If it were the same thing, they wouldn’t have two different words for it.” That is so something I would say to get out of trouble, and I’d fail at it too.

“You’re just saying that to make me feel better.”

“Of course I’m not just saying that.”

“(Sniff). Know what I think? I think you’re fibbing.” With my head against her chest, I felt it before I heard it. “It’s not funny,” I whined at her chuckling.

“Of course it isn’t.”

“Stop laughing. I wanna be a good wife.” That put an end to the chuckling.

“O Daffodil.” Ack! Can’t breathe with hugging and squeezing and need air! “You are the very best wife.”

“Mary … Mary …” And kisses all over the face. I wanna be a good wife who also breathes!

“You are my wife and the love of my life, Daphne Ann.”

She stopped with the squeezing and just pressed my head back to her chest, bent her head forward on top of mine, and held me there, hardcore snuggling. I kinda like the idea of hardcore snuggling. That should be a thing.

“Um, are you okay,” I asked.

“Of course I am. I have everything I’ll ever need right here in my lap.”

“You sure you’re okay? You were … a little, um, intense when you came downstairs.”

“I don’t like you hurting yourself.”

“I didn’t.”

“But I didn’t know that.”

Hmm. “Mary? I think you’re as emotionally fragile as me sometimes.”

“When it comes to you.” O, with all the kisses again! On top of my head where I like them bunches.

“Mary? My butt really really hurts.”

“It’s reminding you you’re a good girl and that you need to act like it.” Touché. “Up we go. Let’s go wash your face.”

I hate but don’t entirely hate when she lifts me (and my spanked butt) onto the bathroom counter to wash my face. It hurts, sort of a lot after she’s hairbrushed the stuffing out of me and switched my thighs to go with it. Ow much? Yeah, much.

“Hold still,” she said to me and wiped my face with a soapy washcloth.”

“I like it when you wash my face.” Also, those nerve endings were coming back to their senses and holy schnikees ow!!!

“Why is that?”

“Because I get to look at you looking at me.” She’s so pretty when she’s doing that. Very focused on the task at hand (which is me).

“Because I like wiping away your tears. I always find such a pretty little girl underneath. Are you blushing?”

“No!” Except so much!

“That’s a fib.” She ran her hand across the bar of soap and asked me, “Do I need to wash that fib out of your mouth?”

“But it was a little one.”

“Open.”

“Aww, dammit.” I opened because I’m such a good girl and only because I’m such a good girl. And ya know what Mary did? She wiped the soap on my nose! “You are so mean sometimes.”

“Am not.”

“That’s a fib, Mary.”

“Look up for me.” She used a clean, wet cloth to wipe my face for me and did a little scrubbing because she likes me spick and span and stuff. “There’s my pretty little girl.”

“I’m yours?”

“You get so clingy and cute when you’ve been spanked until you’re a bawling mess. Speaking of …” She looked down at her shirt. “You slimed me.”

“Well, you spanked the slime outta me. And my butt hurts.”

“And it’s going to hurt for about another four days.” Yeah, she’s experienced enough in both spanking in general and in my butt to know that. At least four days, with bruises probably lasting a week. She may spank me that hard for lots of reasons, but she only spanks that fast when she’s had up to here with me (I’m pointing to my forehead right now).

         “Sorry,” I said again.

         “I know, sweetie.” She gave me a peck on the cheek. “Let’s get you in a fresh diaper.”

         “Do I have to?”

         “You always ask that.” I know. Like, take a hint why don’tcha. “But we can make it one of your fluffy cloth ones, how does that sound?”

         “Are you really asking?” She shook her head at me in that nope-you-caught-me-humoring-you way she does when I catch her humoring me.

         “C’mon, down you go.” She helped me down off the counter. “Your butt is purple. You wanna look?”

         “Yeah, but only because I’m a kinky subby girl.” Holy heccin fuscia! Mary swatted my butt as I turned back toward her. “Kernopple, Mary!” Gah! That friggin’ hurt!

         “Do you understand about the spending rule now,” she asked me.

         “Yes.” I’ll either break it smaller or larger but less frequently. I haven’t decided yet. But for sure I’ll lay off it for a while. “Do I have to return the headset?”

         “How much did it cost?”

         “Four hundred.”

         “You don’t have to return it, but you can’t play with it for four months.”

         “That’s fair.”

         “And if I find you playing with it, so much trouble.”

         “I won’t. Promise.”

         “I’m going to play with it.”

         “What?!? That’s so not fair.” Swat! Gach! “It’s very fair.”

         “I’m so glad you feel that way. Lie down and don’t piddle until I get your diapee under you.”

         Hmmph! Also, my butt hurts.

[YourFNF]

I feel like spending is probably the one rule I wouldn't break but then again I've had to learn to be super tight with money.... Then again if I ever had cash I might suddenly need a limit like this just to avoid going wild. ?

[WBDaddy]

I feel like I should make my babygirl read this episode.   Every day things come in the mail for her, and she has no idea what they are or when she ordered them.   

[Alex Bridges]

Scene #128

 

“No,” Mary said to me like she’s in charge of anything which she’s not because I am! Hmmph!

“Mary, please!” I’m in charge and polite. Just because you’re in charge doesn’t mean you shouldn’t say please. And, um, ask permission. Really.

“I said no twice already. Do I need to say it a third time?”

“But … but … I don’t want to. Please may I go use the bathroom?”

“Nope. You’re too little.”

“I am not little!”

“You are if I say you are. C’mere.”

“Whoah! Mary, you can’t just go snatching me off the ground and into your lap like that. It’s super uncool.”

“Aww, did I hurt a little someone’s little feelings?”

“That’s just mean, Mary.”

“Put your head down here.” Well, might as well. It is a very inviting chest to lay one’s head on. And she so smells nice. “Daphne Ann,” she said while stroking my hair, “you really need to stop pretending you’re not a little girl.”

“But I’m not a little girl.”

“Of course you are. Would a big girl be sitting on my lap instead of going to the potty when she needs to?”

“She would if she’s submissive and a good girl.” Bathroom use denial is a whole other fetish separate from ageplay. Fact.

“Would she be curled up on my lap in just her tank top and diapee about to soil herself?”

Once again, “She would if she’s submissive and a good girl and I am not about to poop myself!”

“Aww, who thinks she’s a big girl and isn’t going to fudge her huggies? Hmm? Is it you,” she goaded me with her hands tickling my sides where I’m ticklish. “Isn’t you just a mush tush diaper girl? Yes, you are! A-yes you are! Just a stinky pants baby girl who likes filling her pants for her momma. C’mon and push for momma. I bet you’ll like it so much I have to chase you down before you’ll let me change your bum. What a mess you’ll make, and I’ll clean it all up because you’re my little girl and I’m your mommy.”

“I don’t like it when you call yourself that, Mary. We had a big talk about it.”

“But I am your mommy. I spank your bottom when you’re naughty. I change your tinkle diapers. I buy you everything you need. I hold you when you’re sad. I feed you your baba. I am most definitely your mommy, and it makes me happier than anything else I’ve ever been. Don’t you wanna make mommy even happier and pack your pampers for me? You’ll feel so much better.”

“Stop,” I pleaded when she started massaging my tummy. “I don’t want to, and stop calling yourself that!”

“Someone’s in denial,” she whispered into my ear. “Be a good girl.”

“I am a good girl,” I whimpered in my I’m-about-to-cry voice.

“Be a good girl. Just push it all out.”

“Aheh aheh aheh (sniffle),” I sobbed into her chest. “F-fine. I am a good girl. I am!”

“Yes, you are. Yes, you are momma’s good girl … Ope! What’s that I feel on my leg? Are you poopin’, baby? Yes, you are! A-yes you are. You’re just filling your diapee like such a good girl for mommy.”

“A-wah-hah-wah!”

“Aww, no need for those tears, baby girl. And that’s what you are cuz I don’t know anyone who sits in their mommy’s lap and mushies their tushy and cries about it except baby girls.”

“Waaaaahhhhhh!”

“I know. Ooo, you are making such a big, warm mess against your momma’s thigh. Mommy can feel what you’re doing to your diapee. You’re just a regular diaper destroyer, aren’t you? A-yes you are! Hhh! Yes you are. And such a stinky wittle girl, but mommy doesn’t mind. All done?”

“Please! Please change me,” I said through my huge and pathetic sobs.

Mary looked around us on the couch. “My little girl is so baby, I’m gonna hafta start making sure I always have one your pacis with me.” She fiddled with the buttons on her shirt and exposed her breast. “Let’s wait a while to make sure you’re all done. We wouldn’t wanna get you into a clean diaper and have you make another dirty one right away, would we? You just nurse from mommy, and don’t you even worry about being messy or stinky. That’s mommy’s job to worry about.”

I don’t know why I started nursing from her. Because it was there and I felt disgusting and I maybe it would help me stop crying. I don’t know why I did it at all except I really had to go and she wouldn’t let me use the bathroom and I really, really had to go. And I don’t know why I didn’t fight my way off her lap and red light and tell her to never, ever call herself my mommy again. And I don’t know why I let her baby talk like that to me. I never felt so small and belittled in my life. Not smol and little. Small and belittled. And gross. Absolutely gross. I can’t believe she did this to me. I just … I sat there on her lap feeling what I did under neath and trying not to smell it and just trying to come back to my right mind.

“Okay,” Mary said softly as she stood up and somehow managed to put me on her hip, making what I’d done in my diaper smush and spread around and feel even more awful after I was sure it couldn’t feel anymore awful, “let’s go up to the nursery and get you changed.”

“We don’t have a nursery.”

“But we will soon. We’re going to fix up the guest room as your nursery, and that’s going to be your play space and where you sleep from now on.”

“What? No!” I struggled in her arms. “Red light, Mary! Red light! Put me down! I said red light!”

“No more red lights, little girl. You’re baby now, and baby girls obey their momma’s.”

 

“Mary! I said red light,” I almost shouted as I sat bolt upright in bed. I was drenched in sweat, and I really had been crying. “I said red light.” To my left was Mary, sleeping soundly. Well, nope, that’s not gonna happen. Can’t let this aggression stand.

WHAP! I hit her with my pillow. WHAP! I did it again and I’m not sorry.

“I am not a baby!” Whap! “And you are not my mommy!” Whap! “And I’m not a mush tush or a diaper girl or a pamper packer or any of those other things you said and I will not fudge my huggies ever!” Whap! “And they’re not mine!” Whap! “They’re yours!”

I think Mary was trying to say something, but she didn’t listen to me, so I didn’t feel in the mood to listen to her and whatever she was trying to say as she got tangled in the sheets and rolled off the bed trying to get away from my assault (that even Saint Augustine would find justified). I peered over the side of the bed to see her still tangled in the sheets and looking up at me gaping.

“What the heck, Daphne?!?”

Good question. Lemme try to answer that: “I’m never going to be a baby and you’re not my mommy and I don’t wanna poop in the diapers and it doesn’t matter if you want me too and it feels awful and it stinks and I’m a grown up and stop calling yourself mommy and momma and we’re not putting a nursery in the other bedroom and I’m not sleeping in there! I’m sleeping in here with you always cuz I’m not a baby and you’re my wife and don’t you ever, ever(!) do what you did again!”

Ooo, her mouth is gaping open again. “Daphne,” she said as she tried to untangle herself. “Daphne,” she said as she kicked herself free.

I was on my knees on the bed clutching my pillow and looking down at her. At the same moment, because we’re sympatico like that, we both asked, “Are you okay?” I let her answer first, which was awfully nice of me considering she started it.

“Yeah.” She untangled the sheet from around her ankles and stood up. “Um,” I said because I’m clever like that, “you look pretty.” I mean, she did. Sort of in an I-was-sleeping-and-then-what-the-heck way, but pretty nonetheless.

“What the heck was that,” she asked. Not in a brusque way. If I made a habit of beating her with a pillow in her sleep, I think she would’ve been brusque, but since it’s a rarity for me (could be a one-off, what with that being the first time, but let’s not rule it out forever), she seemed more concerned. I sat back down on the bed against the headboard and held the pillow to myself. For onesies, I wasn’t ready to disarm. For twosies, it hid that I was wearing one of those things. She flipped on the light. “You’ve been crying.”

“I had a bad dream.” Which seemed kinda ridiculous now. She sat down next to me against the headboard, conspicuously not wearing anything embarrassing under her pajama shorts. In fact, not wearing anything under her pajama shorts. Not that I was jealous. Really.

“Were you attacking me in the dream or …”

“Nope. That was after I woke up. Sorry.”

“So …”

“You’d like to know why,” I surmised. If she were me and I were her, I’d like to know why. Not every day the person you share a bed with pillow-slays you out of said bed while you’re fast asleep.

“What happened in your dream?”

“You mean what did you do to me in my dream,” I said with a little edge because I apparently wasn’t over it.

“Well?”

“You made me … You made me do the, um, other thing … in my diaper.”

“Poop?”

Good thing I didn’t disarm. Whap! She has such good reflexes when she’s conscious. “I coulda said it if I wanted to say it,” I grumbled.

“That had better have been the last one unless you wanna lose pillow privileges, little girl.”

“You made me, and you guilt tripped me into it.”

“Well,” she said, “I’m sorry for doing those things … in your dream, I guess.”

“And you told me to stop denying being a baby and you kept calling yourself my mommy.”

“Also sorry.”

“And you said I was going to start sleeping in the nursery and not with you.”

“Honey,” she said and brushed stray hair away from my face, “you know I’d never do that.”

“And I red lighted and you wouldn’t listen because you said babies obey.”

“I wouldn’t ever do that. You know that.”

“I know. Sorry for hitting you. I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

“No. It was a slow-motion roll off the bed more than falling.” She chuckled. “Are you okay?” She probably asked that because I was hugging my knees, but I only do that when I’m anxious and upset, so … glad she asked.

“I just didn’t like that dream.” I stopped hugging my knees and leaned over to rest my head on her shoulder.

“So what exactly happened again?”

“I had to go to the bathroom, and you wouldn’t let me. You grabbed me and sat me in your lap and I, uh, had an accident.”

“In your diaper?”

“Yeah. On your lap. And you said you could feel it and I started crying and you wouldn’t change me.”

“I wouldn’t?”

“You said to wait to make sure I was done, and you started nursing me, and then you started carrying me upstairs and said you’d build me a nursery to sleep in. That’s when I red lighted and you didn’t listen.”

“        You didn’t red light until I said you couldn’t sleep with me anymore?” I saw where she was going with that and opted to not even go down that rabbit hole. “Anything else?”

“There was emotional blackmail and you kept calling yourself mommy … And if you’re getting off on me describing the dream I’m gonna hit you with the whole mattress.”

She chuckled. “I don’t think I’m ever as mean as in your dream.” J’accuse! So she admits she’s mean. “And I’d never not want you in our bed … Unless you make a habit of hitting me with a pillow when you have a bad dream.”

“Not a habit, but not making promises … I’m not in trouble, am I?”

“Course not. Can I ask you something and you promise not to hit me with anything?”

“Ask first, then I’ll decide.”

“You know how sometimes people can have a dream that they’re peeing?”

“No! No I didn’t!”

“Just asking.”

“Well I didn’t. I … I …” I didn’t, right? I couldn’t have. But … in a way I really hoped Mary wouldn’t notice, I felt my butt.

“Here,” Mary said and peered over my shoulder, pulled out the back of my diaper, and patted my butt. “No.”

Praise jeebus! “Could you turn the light off? I’d like to be humiliated in the dark please.”

“Don’t be. Even if you had, it wouldn’t have been your fault.”

“It would’ve been yours.”

“If you say so, sweetie.” Of course she wasn’t done checking me. Well, half checking and half feeling me up. “You’re wet though,” she said as she took her hand off the front of my back.

“I was awake for that, before you make any jokes or ask. Also your fault.”

“Lie down, and I’ll get you into something dry.”

“I’d rather just go back to sleep.”

“You don’t want a dry diaper?”

“I just wanna go back to sleep and forget this night ever happened.”

“Do you wanna be the big spoon or the little spoon?”

“Little.” She leaned over to switch off the lamp. “Roll over for me.” I did, and she put her arms around me and held me extra close. “You’re not a baby,” she said and kissed my hair, “but you’re my little girl.”

“Can you start work late tomorrow?”

“Yeah. Why?”

“I wanna sleep in with you.”

“Okay, little girl.”

“Sorry again,” I yawned.

“Close your eyes,” she yawned back.

[Guilend]

YOU ARE SUCH A TEASE!

 

[Alex Bridges]

42 minutes ago, Guilend said:

YOU ARE SUCH A TEASE!

 

Heeheeheehee!

 

1 hour ago, WBDaddy said:

I feel like I should make my babygirl read this episode.   Every day things come in the mail for her, and she has no idea what they are or when she ordered them.   

I do that sometimes

[Sarah Penguin]

Poor pillows what did they do to you daffy?

 

So Daffy only really cared about not sleeping with her Mommy in the nursery. If some oone finds a crib built for two together  in the nursery Daffy is emotionally fine being diapered, using them for both 1 and 2, having a playroom in her new nursery, and being a baby girl under the control of her Mommy

 

[YourFNF]

*an alarm flashes from my com sent by my cyberwear*

"THIS IS TRAUMA PAL BIO STABILIZATION SYSTEM. USER DOWN, REQUESTING ASSISTANCE.

USER DOWN CARDIAC ARREST DETECTED

USER DOWN, SHOCKING PLEASE STAND CLEAR"

*flops like a fish*

"USER DOWN, REQUESTING ASSISTANCE......"

.....

*Sits up with a massive exhale at the third shock and dose of chems*

"Holy fuck..."

Uhhhh Yeah wow that was one hell of a scene....

??

Damn it hone don't do that again...

*whacks you with pillow*

??

[Alex Bridges]

6 hours ago, YourFNF said:

Uhhhh Yeah wow that was one hell of a scene....

??

Damn it hone don't do that again...

*whacks you with pillow*

??

 

aww, did I get someone al hot and bothered with the idea of mushing her diaper on her mommy’s lap?

Other than myself I mean. ?

[YourFNF]

2 hours ago, Alex Bridges said:

 

aww, did I get someone al hot and bothered with the idea of mushing her diaper on her mommy’s lap?

Other than myself I mean. ?

More like a jump scare TBH with the last bit of.... ??

[Alex Bridges]

Scene #129

 

I’m just a woman making lunch. And yes, I know you’re used to me protesting my innocence, but that’s only because I always am. Really. I’ve never done a crime or misdeed. Because, um, it’s not a crime if a princess does it.

Just standing at the counter making lunch, and a sneaky someone snuck up behind me and folded the back of my skirt up. “What are you doing,” I innocently asked. I started to turn around, and this sneaky someone’s hand on my shoulder stopped me … and pushed me forward a little and I had to plant my hand on the counter to avoid becoming part of the pasta sauce I was making.

“What did …”

“Shh.”

Omg! Did she just shush me? What did I (allegedly) do to deserve a spanking in the kitchen? AND BARE?!? is a thing I thought when a sneaky someone peeled my panties down to around my thighs.

“What’s I do?” Allegedly.

“Do you feel that,” a sneaky someone who sounds like my wife asked me.

“Feel wha …” Yep. Felt it. “Mary,” I giggled.

“Do you want it?”

“Y-yes,” I gasped as it rubbed against … a thing.

“You can have it, but only if you can guess which one it is.”

Ooo, that’s mean. It’s not like we have a color coded set of the … things. 

“Need a hint?”

“Y-yes. YES!” Hoo boy can I take a hint. “Huhuhhee! It’s the blue one.”

“You seem awfully confident,” she teased me.

“It’s the b-blue whuh-one.”

She leaned forward, but my ear, and whispered, “It’s the blue one,” before she thrust good ol’ blue into me … a few dozen times.

Afterwards, as I was leaning against the counter because reasons, she wordlessly raised my panties back into position, folded my skirt back down, gave me a spank, and kissed me on the cheek. All without me turning around since a sneaky someone came into the kitchen.

I turned, blushing hard, and exclaimed, “Mary! When did you get here!?!”

“Buhah!” She smiled at me, inhaled, and let it out. “Look at you, blushing like a virgin.”

“Am not.” I gave her a kiss that let know she’s a woman (and that I am too). “We’re you sitting at your desk thinking about me,” I coyly asked while running my finger in little circles on her chest.

“Mhmm.”

“Do you wanna maybe trade toys?”

“Not right now. But after work.”

“I made spaghetti for lunch.” Sure to make me comatose after. Poor Mary’s would be at her desk all sleepy and horny. Not that I planned that, but I do kinda like her that way.

“It smells yummy.”

“Um, Mary?”

“Yeah.”

“You’re wearing a phallus.”

“Want me to take it off before we sit at the table?”

“Yes please.”

“Such a silly goose.”

“I just get shy around those.”

“Pshaw! You put one on our bookshelf a few weeks ago.”

“That one was more decorative … and it was on a shelf and not on you.”

“Cutie,” she said and kissed me. “I’m gonna tell everyone I know that my 34-year-old knows all her colors.”

Such as red, the color of my face. 

 

[Alex Bridges]

 

16 hours ago, WBDaddy said:

I feel like I should make my babygirl read this episode.   Every day things come in the mail for her, and she has no idea what they are or when she ordered them.   

You say that, and this morning I was cleaning out my closet and found a box I’d never even opened.
 

No idea what’s in it! I’m tempted to wrap it and save it for Christmas! ????????????? 

 

postscript: Glad I didn’t cuz it’s diapers!!! Squeeee!!!!?????

[Sarah Penguin]

2 hours ago, Alex Bridges said:

 

You say that, and this morning I was cleaning out my closet and found a box I’d never even opened.
 

No idea what’s in it! I’m tempted to wrap it and save it for Christmas! ????????????? 

 

postscript: Glad I didn’t cuz it’s diapers!!! Squeeee!!!!?????

Every year I get Halloween stuff. Previously I had been getting coloring/activity books or books for infants and for Halloween and already have a pile from previous years.. So as I had seen some  Halloween rattles on eBay and grabbed them for myself earlier and  are fun, super spooky spooky and cute to look at  so I blew all of my  fun money late night earlier this month I forgot my email filled up with eBay notices for a pile of random surprising thing being shipped in my email.

 

[Alex Bridges]

Scene #130

 

It was sorta unspoken that with me not working I’d be taking on a larger share of the housework. I mean, I gotta pull my weight around here, dainty as I am. Gotta pull on my big girl pants and … clean up after myself cuz I have a habit of not doing that. Sure, the occasional dish goes missing and turns up in Mary’s office (plates and bowls and glasses, not hot little ol’ me), but the general clutter in other rooms of the house is majority-owned by me.

Take the bedroom: I’m content to live out of the laundry basket. Wear the clean clothes in the basket, discard the dirty ones in a pile next to the basket, re-wears to go on top of the dresser. Not folded neatly on the dresser; more haphazardly strewn, but I prefer to think of it less as haphazard and more as candid, like an unposed photo. Except pants and shorts, which I hang up on a coat hook behind the door. Not on a hanger; just through a belt loop. When Mary discovered that in my bachelorette pad, she said (get this!) that it was the kind of thing she expected in a boy’s dorm room. As if! Really.

Self-awareness being one of my many stellar attributes, it’s not like I’m unaware that I make messes and clean them up belatedly - which is the proper way to think of it and not, as mary says, ‘never.’ I’ve been meaning to get around to fixing this personal flaw. Mary, bless her heart, had a fun reminder waiting for me when I descended to the kitchen to find a note waiting for me.

Morning, Daffodil,

I had an early call and already made myself breakfast. I have an activity for you: a treasure hunt! There’s a clue in each room, but to find it, you’re probably going to have to clean up. Aw, don’t be sad!

Look high, look low, look under things. Make yourself a nice breakfast (with protein!). The first clue is in the kitchen.

I’m not sure, but I think I married a smartass. But takes one to know one, or something, I guess. A smartass who really looks after me. She cares more about me getting enough protein than I do, and I know from painful experience that peanut butter and cream cheese don’t count (which I’ll grudgingly agree with since the main macronutrient in both of those is fat, which is why you should never read labels and just pretend everything that tastes good is phenomenal for you). An egg and an English muffin later, and I set about the treasure hunt.

Let us first consider that whatever the providence of the English muffin, no it’s not. And then let us move on to how sweet Mary is: calls me Daffodil, she wants me to be strong and healthy and full of protein, and she makes treasure hunts for me even though she’s working. It takes a lot of creativity to come up with clues for a treasure hunt. She could’ve just asked me to do some cleaning, but she wanted to make it fun. She’s such a softie! When she isn’t being a (delectable) hardass. 

I wiped down the counters; I swept the floor (cuz I wiped everything onto the floor); I sprayed the stuff that kills the orange stuff in the space between the sink and counter that is the stupidest design ever which is why it’s always wet which is why there’s orange stuff; I did the dishes; I wiped down the sink; and I unloaded the dishwasher, which contained both dishes and a clue (heck I’m good at treasure hunts! But what else would you expect of me, a paragon of ingenuity?).

And the clue said, Living room. Don’t forget to get up high.

Huh. That’s less a clue than instructions. So what if Mary didn’t spend time thinking up clues so much as putting instructions on post-its? That’s still sweet of her. I mean, there’s still treasure at the end of the hunt.

I skipped to the high parts, which required me to get the stepladder. Know when the last time someone dusted on top of our bookshelves was? I think maybe never. Lo and behold, a clue fell down. I pocketed it. Time enough for that after I wiped off the tables; flipped the sofa cushions; thought better of flipping them when I saw all the crap under them; decided what the hey and took everything off the bookshelves to dust and wipe both the things and the shelves; wiped off the TV (before buying a new TV, maybe just windex it first?); and vacuumed the sofa, the loveseat, and the carpet. 

I took out the note and read, Downstairs bathroom.

Well, that was just curt. But no matter. I went and got the headphones I’d suffered for, turned on cleaning music, and vacuum-danced down the hall to the bathroom because hallways, ladies and gentlemen, get dirty, too. 

It was my idea to keep all the bathroom cleaning supplies under the sink under the theory that I’d use them more often if they were right there ready to go. Turns out, not so much. But what can ya do (besides actually use them … really, I’m asking if there’s an alternative to actually using them … please?). And Mary must’ve lost her mojo cuz the next “clue” was “hidden” in plain sight on top the sink. That sent me upstairs.

I did a good job cleaning. I wouldn’t call it a deep clean because we still do that together on the second Saturday of every month, but I gave everything more than a once over. Know what we never deep clean though? The basement, where the last clue took me.

We have all kinds of fun stuff in the basement. We could turn it into a museum of our kinky fun times if we unpacked some of the boxes and put some of the outfits and things on display. What sorts of things? Never you mind what sorts of things. Just stuff … and things. And somewhere, I think, she hid the virtual reality headset I got my tail whacked for. Maybe she’d feel differently about it if I explained there’s this thing called virtual reality porn.

The cleaner the basement got, the dirtier I got. Sweaty and dusty from moving boxes so I could sweep behind them. We got maybe too much stuff. Of course, a lot of it is Christmas stuff and just seeing the boxes made me want to carry it all upstairs and decorate, but that would be premature … under normal circumstances. Maybe there’s no such thing as premature on the tail-end of a pandemic that’s messing with everyone’s perception of time anyway. That decorating is only mostly fun without Mary is the only reason why I didn’t.

And at last I came to the far corner of the basement, having swept my way there, and o my how many dead bugs we own. Blech!

On that far side of the basement lay a box where no other boxes were. There’s the box side of the basement and gym side of the basement, and this box did not belong. But it was less that than the post-it on top that peaked my curiosity: DO NOT OPEN!!! BRING UPSTAIRS WHEN YOU’RE DONE CLEANING.

Sensing a trap and avoiding a trap are not the same thing. Besides, I reasoned, if she really didn’t want me to open it she would’ve taped it shut. It was just folded shut. Could it be a present for being a good cleaner? Could it be a present for being me (which deserves praise and tribute, dammit!)? Could it be (squeee!) an early Christmas present? Could it be my VR headset cuz Mary’s a softie and wouldn’t make me wait for four months after all?

Mary was working. I doubted very much she rigged the thing with an alarm (she’s not that devious; that’s my job), and it’s not like we have cameras in the basement. And it wasn’t taped, so I could just open it and fold it closed again and she’d be none the wiser. Also, I am too a good rule follower! Really. Just, um … shut up.

And what delightful treasure did I find inside? Jewels?  Bearer bonds? Panties from the grownup section of a department store? Nope. Course not. Dammit …

I found the hairbrush, a diaper, and a note: Such a naughty girl! Now you’ve earned yourself a bare bottom trip over my knee for a spanking on your naughty bottom. Tsk tsk tsk. But I know at heart you’re a good girl (maybe even the best, as you’re probably grumbling to yourself right now), so I know you’ll fess up and bring the box upstairs still open to show me how naughty your choice was.

Well, crap. She’s lucky I am the best girl or I’d have given her an earful about her crummy clues and chore list disguised as the crappiest treasure hunt ever. And I barely even stomped up the stairs, so good on me for that too.

“Mary,” I called out. “I found your stupid treasure.” And no I did not have an attitude. Really.

“I take it from your tone and choice of adjective you didn’t follow directions,” she said as she emerged from her office. “Daffy,” she chuckled upon seeing me, “you are a mess.”

“It’s dusty down there,” I said as I surveyed myself. I was gross.

“I’m not putting you over my knee like that.”

“Well good because your treasure hunt sucked.”

That just made her chuckle more. “You haven’t even seen the treasure yet, have you?”

“Um, hello,” I said and shook the box.

“So what’s the treasure,” she asked.

“A spanking and a diaper.”

“Then you didn’t find the treasure.”

“Is it better or worse?”

“Better,” she said. She took the box from me, tsking as she did. “Curiosity may prove fatal to cats, but for little girls it just results in spanked butts.” She put the hairbrush on the table and took out the diaper. “The treasure is inside.” She unfolded the diaper and revealed a piece of paper. “Wanna guess?”

“A certificate for a free spanking?”

“I’m saving that for your birthday.”

“Another trip?”

“Think much smaller.”

“What?”

She unfolded it. “Tickets to the new Bond movie.”

“(Gasp!) Really? We can go?” She wouldn’t let me near a confined space for almost the past two years!

“Yes, and it starts in an hour and we have a lot to do.”

“Like what?”

She scoffed. “You need a bath, I have to spank your bottom, and we gotta get you into your movie diapie.”

O. “Well, what if I take too long in the bath? Can we skip the last two?”

“Guess I’ll have to give you that bath myself.”

“Well, that helps.” She does this thing with her hands when she gives me baths called rubbing soap all over methat I like lots.

“And since you were a good girl and didn’t try to hide what you did, I’ll even dry your bottom off before I spank it.”

“How … sweet of you.”

“Let’s go.” She swatted my butt. “Scoot.”

“Thanks for the present.”

“You’re welcome.”

[YourFNF]

3 hours ago, Alex Bridges said:

When Mary discovered that in my bachelorette pad, she said (get this!) that it was the kind of thing she expected in a boy’s dorm room. As if! Really.

I feel called out??

[Sarah Penguin]

[Alex Bridges]

Scene #131

 

There’s a penis on our floor. Just … yep. So I guess I should explain how that happened.

 

“Daffy,” Mary called to me as she emerged from our kitchen.

“What’s up,” I said as I didn’t look up from my video game. I was winning! Mostly. Doesn’t happen often so I wasn’t about to pause.

“That was Sandy. She had a favor to ask.”

“What? D’oh!” Okay. Pause.

“She has a new play partner and wanted to know if she could do a scene with him at our house.”

There were several interesting things about that sentence. The “him” part definitely caught my ear. I know Sandy is bi, and I’ve seen her play with men. I have no problem with that, but she’s never done it at our house, which would be the second interesting thing.

“What’s so special about our house?”

“She wants us to be part of it, sort of.”

So glad I paused. I’ve scened with a penis owner exactly once. I’ve scened with owners of girldicks (or as I like to call them, outties) a few times.

“Wait, is this like a cishet guy?”

“Yeah.”

“O.” I didn’t mind that one way or the other, I think. On the other hand, if I wanted to play with men, I would. I don’t; nothing against men, but as a lesbian I would feel remiss if I didn’t point out that they’re not women. Women are women. Trans women are women. Non-binary femmes can have huge wieners, and all that matters to me is how they identify. Gay men? Not to stereotype, but so much fun (at least the people I’ve known; not fun people don’t need to be a part of my social circle). Cisgender heterosexual men? Like, yeah, I’ve only had a few kink experiences, but not something I seek out.

I once asked to be spanked by a man at a play party, but only because he was the size of our refrigerator and I wanted to know what it was like to be completely overpowered by someone intent on disciplining me. Wasn’t bad, but was kinda scary, even with Mary right there pretending to be my aunt while he played the disappointed uncle.

I’ve been part of scenes with subs who were cishet men, but those scenes didn’t involve much interaction between us. Like that one school scene Mary and me sorta kinda definitely commandeered, with the men playing the role of naughty classmates. All we did was stare a the wall together in timeout. I didn’t even watch when the men who were tops spanked my ‘classmates’ because I was in timeout and I’m a good girl who follows the timeout rules. Really.

And of course, Tommy. I don’t scene with Tommy. That’s lifestyle stuff even if he essentially turns it into a scene. But he’s not being a cishet man in those scenes. He’s being the world’s annoying fake pre-adolescent.

“Is he fully vaccinated, I asked despite knowing Mary definitely asked or wouldn’t even be considering it, and that Sandy almost certainly volunteered the information or wouldn’t be asking.

“Yes.”

 “What does she want us to do?”

“Nothing. Just have a normal conversation with her while he plays on the floor.”

“… Plays with what exactly?” We have no need of make masturbation on our floor. Penis in his pants? Fine.

“Toys.”

Ya know, sometimes Mary isn’t the best at explaining things. Of the two of us, I go on nonsense safari way more, but Mary isn’t immune from explaining herself a piece at a time. “You’re not explaining this very well.”

“He’s an adult baby.”

And my spidey sense is tingling. “O.”

I’ve never actually been around an adult baby (that I know of). There are none at the play parties or munches we go to. There are some ageplayers, Jane and Tommy being two of them, and definitely some bratty subs, but no adult babies or, as far as I know, diaper lovers … except maybe Mary in the topping role. And I guess Sandy in the same role.

“Are you okay with it,” Mary asked me.

“Okay with what? I don’t get it.”

“He wants to feel baby, and he says that nothing feels so baby like playing on the floor while the adults talk about adult stuff.”

“What kind of adult stuff? Like adult adult stuff?”

“No, just a regular visit while he plays with his toys.”

“And that feels like being a baby?”

“They call it being baby, as in ‘I’m so baby.’”

Well thank you for the lingo lesson but, “Who calls it that?”

“Gen Z ageplayers, I guess. I see it on Twitter, too.”

“What are you doing on ABDL Twitter,” I asked maybe kinda somewhat for sure accusingly.

“It’s just kinky Twitter. I see some ageplay and ABDL stuff on it.” 

I didn’t fully believe that. Here I’ve been wondering where she’s picked up some of her ideas; maybe I was giving Sandy too much credit (blame). “So be just wants to play on our floor while we talk,” I asked for a final clarification. Clarification is super important in kink.

“Yeah. I’m fine with it,” she shrugged.

“And this isn’t an elaborate trick to get me to do adult baby stuff?”

“Course not,” she said with a dismissive eye roll like that isn’t exactly something she would do. I’m on to her. I know exactly what she’s doing at all times (30% of the time max).

“I guess I’m fine with that … So are we supposed to talk to him or about him, or literally just pretend he’s not there?” Kinky people can be awfully specific about their scenes, which is not a critique. They build up this perfect scenario on their head and wait maybe a lifetime to play it out, assuming they actually get to. Lord knows I’ve done it (and she knows why too).

“Imagine a friend came over for a Sunday visit and brought their little one. We can talk to him and about him, but he’s not supposed to the center of attention. That’s the baby part. We’re just supposed to pretend it’s normal to have an oversized toddler playing in the floor.”

“I guess that’s okay. Yeah, sure.”

“She says we can improvise. If we want to be a little more active in the scene.”

And there’s the trap. “Like what,” I deadpanned.

“I know a certain someone who likes the idea of getting spanked while we have non-kink company. As long as we’re pretending it’s a normal visit …” She fluttered her eyebrows at me in the classic hint-hint move.

“I don’t want to take away from his scene.” I mean, yeah, I like that scenario she brought up, but this was his scene. I don’t seek out cishet men, but I get what it’s like to want to live out a fantasy (as you may have guessed from this lifestyle of ours I’ve been chronicling for two years), so I was content to let the focus stay on his scenario.

“Tomorrow,” Mary asked.

“Works for me.”