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

[YourFNF]

6 hours ago, Alex Bridges said:

Cutie

Nuuuuuhhhhhh!

[Alex Bridges]

1 hour ago, YourFNF said:

Nuuuuuhhhhhh!

yuh-huh!

[WBDaddy]

Probably the most fun thing about this series is, I don't have to worry about plot continuity or anything else story-related, and why I kinda got the cringe-ies when you hinted at being done writing it - there isn't a plot.  It's just these cute scenes, and while there may be an over-arching direction for those scenes, it's not a "plot" per se, it's just these little slices of life, which just happens to be the life of two kinky lesbians, one of which is a CG, the other of which is ABSOLUTELY NOT IN NO WAY NO HOW (but also might be a little tiny bit) AB.  

[Alex Bridges]

10 hours ago, WBDaddy said:

Probably the most fun thing about this series is, I don't have to worry about plot continuity or anything else story-related, and why I kinda got the cringe-ies when you hinted at being done writing it - there isn't a plot.  It's just these cute scenes, and while there may be an over-arching direction for those scenes, it's not a "plot" per se, it's just these little slices of life, which just happens to be the life of two kinky lesbians, one of which is a CG, the other of which is ABSOLUTELY NOT IN NO WAY NO HOW (but also might be a little tiny bit) AB.  

It’s the Seinfeld of diaper stories ?

[YourFNF]

11 hours ago, Alex Bridges said:

yuh-huh!

*whines and hides under blankets*

ALKfkjajssajfaksfsakjfajsfakfj

[Alex Bridges]

Scene #140

 

Mary thinks she’s so suave and focused and put together and she so is but not nearly as much as she thinks. I can discombobulate her at least as good as she can me; it’s just that it takes more effort on my part. So really, of the two of us I’m the better discombobulater: yeah, she does it more often, but I’m easier to twitterpate (except I’m not because I’m so super stoic and sanguine and stuff).

“Mary, o Mary,” I called out in the dulcet tones of my angelic self. I sing great, is a thing my mom told me when I was five and I’ve just assumed was objective and true and continues to be objectively true all these years later.

“Yeah,” she called back from her office.

“Come be with me. Business hours ended twenty minutes ago and I’m lonely.”

“Aww. We can’t have that.” I heard her office door close behind her. That was my idea: when the work day is over, the door gets closed so we (mostly she) can’t see her workplace.

“Ya know what happens when wives get lonely,” I asked as she strode into view. What a view it was, too: a blouse I bought her once and sweatpants.

“What happens when they get lonely,” she asked as she flopped down on the couch next to me.

“They stray from their marriage, except I wouldn’t ever. I’d just get sad and reminisce about the way we once were.”

“Daphne Ann, tell me the truth: have you been drinking?”

“Yeah, but just this much,” I said and gestured toward my wine glass which had two whole sips missing.

“How do you get tipsy on not even half a glass of wine but it takes like three shots of vodka?”

“I don’t do shots anymore, Mary. I outgrew those.”

“You just put three shots worth in a nice tumbler.”

“Yes, like a grown up. Here,” I said and slid my glass toward her. “Don’t make me drink alone.”

“We definitely wouldn’t want you to be That Housewife,” she chuckled before taking a swallow.

“I’m not a housewife. I’m a homemaker … who rarely leaves the house, but that’s different.”

“You just don’t work outside the home.”

“Why would I need to work outside the home when you’re here? You’re the boss of me … In fact, you’re the best boss I’ve ever had. Really.” By a way lot. Really.

“And you’re my bestest and naughtiest and cutest employee.”

“Ooh, I have an idea!” And I don’t get all bouncy when I’m excited for one of my ideas. That’s just not true, and I am nothing like Tigger so don’t even compare me to him and also cuz he’s the only one (according to him and he kinda won’t shut up about it).

“What?”

“After dinner, we could put on our work clothes, the office ones, and you could, um, chastise me for my work-related offenses.”

“And what offenses would those be,” Mary practically growled at me. It’s dangerous getting jungle predators aroused. Sometimes they pounce and sometimes literally and sometimes when they do that you accidentally land on your arm funny and they spend hours bringing you ice and Ibuprofen and days feeling guilty. It really is a jungle out there. Anyhoo …

“Um, my tardiness. I haven’t been to work in more than two years.”

“That’s not tardiness, young lady. That’s chronic absenteeism, and the consequences are much more severe. We might have to put you on an employee improvement plan.”

“Could it be severe in a way that you get distracted and then, um, do non-boss-like stuff to me.”

“What kinda stuff?”

“Ya know, stuff … and things.”

“Is this a fantasy of yours I don’t know about?”

“Yeah, but only for the past two minutes … so actually you’ve know about it for as long as I have.”

“Cutie.”

“And it’s not even on purpose.” That part. Other parts were on purpose. ‘There goes Daphne,’ people say, ‘determinedly set upon her purpose.’ Yep, that’s a thing people say about me. Really.

“So what should we have for dinner,” she asked.

“I ordered dinner already. Thai.”

“That sounds good.”

“I have an idea for until then.” Not bouncy at all cuz I had this idea way earlier and all the excitement had drained out of it by the time I told Mary.

“What?”

“I sit on your lap and rest my head on your chest.”

“And?”

“And you rub my back … or pat my butt. You choose.”

“And?”

“And we just hold each other and maybe fall asleep until dinner gets here.”

“That’s it? You just wanna be held?”

‘Just?’ I think Mary is selling herself short on how much being held by her is all the kinds of awesome at once.

“Not just. I wanna hold you back. I like holding you.” And cue my adoration eyes looking all adoringly at Mary.

And bam! Mary’s Daphne-is-so-lovable-O-can’t-stand-it face. I am, ya know. Really.

“C’mere, Daffy.”

“I like this probably more than you really understand,” I said once snuggled in.

“Same goes. I don’t even mind risking you cuddling with me without your diapers on.”

“Be nice to me. I’m smol.”

“What’s that? You’re little?”

“Smol! Now shush. I’m trying to concentrate.”

“Concentrate on what?”

“Falling asleep like this.”

“My little girl,” she said and kissed the top of my head (wistful sigh).

“Smol.”

“My little girl.”

[Sarah Penguin]

:)

[YourFNF]

*gay squeeeinng*

[Alex Bridges]

Hi folks!

The latest volume of INLG is on Amazon. I know some of you like owning a copy (particularly one that's been proofed better than what I post here). Enjoy!

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B09MDDBTKN

[Alex Bridges]

This was cathartic for me today. I needed this.

__________________________

Scene #141

Someone bit me, and then Mary asked, “Are you alright?”

“Mhmm,” I said.

“No you’re not.” Which was awfully presumptuous of her to say.

“What makes you say that,” I asked Miss Mary Know-It-All

“Because usually when I sink my teeth into your butt, you do this shivery squirming motion and let out happy little sighs and giggles.” She laid down next to me, equally naked on the blanket in from of the fireplace. If someone were to ask us how exactly we ended up her after dinner, or even which one of us took off our clothes first, I don’t think we could say. At least I couldn’t.

“You were staring into space all through dinner,” Mary reminded me, “and you weren’t even paying attention when I started getting you undressed.”

“So that’s how this happened. Huh.”

“Daphne, seriously, look at me. Lemme see your eyes.” I turned and she looked into my eyes and felt my forehead and my cheeks. “Are you feeling okay? Are you coming down with something?”

“No.”

“I’m getting the thermometer.”

“Mary, stop. It’s not that.” Smack! O my gawd she just spanked me! “What was that for!?!”

“I just asked you if you were alright and you said yes, and now you’re saying it is something after all. You tell me when you don’t feel good, understand me little girl?”

Gulp. She’s so sexy when she’s all take charge and and being concerned about me. “Yes.”

“Good. Hold still,” she said and wrapped a blanket around us and pulled in close for some of that good skin-to-Mary contact time. “What’s wrong?”

“I’ve been thinking about Christmas. Kinda nervous about going home.”

“Why are you nervous?”

“I just …” Truth or joke? “I’m nervous about telling my parents I’m gay.” Joke. What with me having come out to them at seventeen and them being at our wedding and stuff.

Mary lifted her head off me and gave me an appraising look. “If you’ve been making me worry about you all day just so you could tell that joke, I’m getting the bathbrush off the wall.”

Yikes! She’s serious. Like, for serious? And yeah, for serious … seriously. She doesn’t muck about when it comes to how I’m feeling.

“No,” I said shook my head for emphasis.

“Then tell me what’s wrong,” she said as she laid her head back down on my shoulder.

“I’m nervous about seeing my family.”

“Can you tell me why?”

“Cuz I haven’t seen them in so long.”

“They’re still your family. You’ve talked to them. You’ve zoomed with them a couple times a week.”

“I know … It’s just different.”

Mary started doing that thing where she puts tiny kisses on my shoulder and neck and hair. “They’re still your family. I don’t know them as well as you, but I don’t think you ever have a reason to be nervous to see them.”

“What if they got old?”

“We’ve seen them on Zoom.”

“Yeah, but … What if they got old? I’ve never been away from them for this long. I’m not ready for my mom and dad to be old.”

“I don’t think they did, but Daffy, look at me: whatever happens, everything will be alright. You’ll be so glad to see them and hug them that nothing else will matter. And years from now, when they do get old, I’ll be there and we’ll deal with it together, you and me. Like always.”

I wasn’t crying. You were crying. So nyah! Hmmph!

“It’s going to be our last Christmas in that house.” They’re moving. “I grew up in that house.”

“I know, sweetie.”

“That’s home. That’s where I grew up. Mom still takes a pencil every year and traces the lines she made on the wall to measure our height growing up. Our treehouse … Ervine is buried there.” Dog, BTW. “All my Christmases were there until … until I moved in with you.” Mary just kept her head on my shoulder. “But I like … Mom and Dad and Greg … I like knowing they’re around the tree just like we always were … If that’s not …”

Okay, so I may have sobbed a time or two there.

“Shhh. You’re okay, Daffy. Deep breath; do it with me.”

“If that’s not our home then it really is over.”

“What is?”

“Being a kid … The way … It’s not the same.”

“What’s not the same?”

“When you’re all adults, you’re not a family in the same way. I just … Even when, after, when I stopped going home for Christmas, I could … pretend. I could at least pretend we were always the way we were.”

Okay, I’m just gonna cry now. Good thing I got this Mary person to hold me while I do that, even rock me a little. Coo at me and whisper little shushes in my ear and pat my back and tell me to let it all out. OMG I like her and stuff.

I know it’s all just what happens. You grow up; you move out; your parents get older; eventually they move. I know nothing had ever really stayed the same, and even back then it didn’t stay the same, that we were all growing all the time and it wasn’t perfect and that I had been remembering it as idyllic when nothing is idyllic. I know that I was just pretending when I thought of my parents and my brother back there at home celebrating Christmas in our house as if the only thing that changed was that I moved away.

But also, I know that families really are different when they grow up. Relationships change; they stay the same, too, in some ways, but they also change. I liked being a kid. I liked my childhood. I liked being my brother’s little sister and Mom’s daughter and a Daddy’s girl. I still am, but not in the same way. I don’t get to pick on my brother and fight with Mom about what I’m wearing to Aunt Christine’s and sit on Daddy’s knee while he reads The Night Before Christmas.

That home isn’t just a house. It’s the setting for all that. It’s not like driving by my old school. It was my home and where I had a very happy childhood, and every time I’ve ever gone home, I stepped back into that place. It wasn’t stepping back in time, but I could pretend it was. I was so happy there, and then I moved away and it was so hard, and I wasn’t that happy again until I found Mary. And in those almost ten years in between, I could always go home.

So our last Christmas there, and the next time I go home for Christmas, it will be to a house I never lived in that my parents bought so they’ll have an easier place to take care of as they get old.

I don’t want any of that. No one does. I’m not ready for that, and probably no one ever is, but knowing that does nothing at all to make it easier.

“All done,” Mary asked me when I stopped got my tears down to sniffles.

“Mhmm,” I squeaked.

“Can I leave you alone for a minute while I get a washcloth to wash your face?”

“Yeah.” She always asks that if I have a big cry and she doesn’t take me to the bathroom to wash my face for me. The answer is always yes; not like I’m going to collapse in on myself like black hole with major depressive disorder … but I really like that she asks.

She was in her pajamas and carrying mine when she came back. “Know what I think,” she said as she sat back down next to me. “I think I was wrong. Face up for me.” She wiped the tear streaks off my cheeks gently like she always does. “I thought some big girl time would make you feel better, but I think what you really need some little girl time. Honk.”

Holy heck did I heccin honk. Maybe I am getting a little seasonal cold.

“Lay back for me,” she instructed.

“I don’t want a diaper tonight.”

“Too heccin bad, cuz I say you’re wearing it and I’m in charge. On your back, knees up.”

I was too tired and bummed to even put up a fuss about it. That’s always her fallback position … except when it’s her first line of defense. That’ll learn me who I put in charge of me. And did you hear what kind of time she said I needed? Do not and am not! Really! Hmmph!

“Good job being my helper and getting your pampers on.”

“Marrry,” I straight up whined. No artifice. I did it: I whined.

“Stand up. Let’s get your footie pajamas on you.”

“I’m only cooperating cuz I like how fuzzy those are,” I said as she helped me into those pajamas. Never actually sleep in them because I’d die of heatstroke overnight, but fine for before bedtime.

“You’re putting no conviction into that at all.”

“Yeah, but don’t read anything into it.”

“You want your soother,” she said as she produced a pacifier from her pocket.

“You mean my ‘shut up plug?’”

“I never called it that!”

“I know – I called it that cuz you get it out when I’m about to talk myself into trouble.” It’s saved me from some serious spankings, which is why I don’t hate but also don’t love it. It’s helpmeet and a buzzkill at the same time.

“Here if you change your mind.”

 “I won’t.”

“How do you feel?”

“… A little better now that I got all that off my chest … and fuzzy.”

Mary smiled and closed her eyes and shook her head at me. “C’mere.” I did and I hugged her tighter than she hugged me this time, on purpose cuz I physical affection is one of my love languages.

“Thank you for listening to me lose my shit.”

“I like being there for you when you lose your shit. Do you wanna pick out a movie while I make hot cocoa?”

“‘Kay.”

“Nothing over PG,” she told me and turned before she could see the face I made at her … And then I followed her. Fun fact: if you’re wearing footie pajamas without the slipper sole on them, you can glide across hard floors silently. I don’t recommend it cuz it’s a good way to break every bone in your body, but I have skillz. I made Mary jump when she turned around and saw me leaning on the doorframe.

“What happened to picking out a movie?”

“I already did … in my head.” And it’s a total coincidence that it’s PG. Home Alone is a great Christmas movie.

“I like that movie. You gonna help or just watch?”

“I like watching you. But I also like helping you.” And it’s best not to leave Mary alone in the kitchen. She’ll make something healthy if you don’t keep an eye on her.

“C’mere,” she said to me again, and I skated across the floor. “I should’ve gotten you the ones with soles. You’re gonna break your neck. I miss when I first got them and you were terrified to walk down the stairs in them.”

“I practiced.”

“Daffy?”

“Mhmm?”

“You okay now?”

“Mhmm. I just needed to cry. Thanks for the push.”

“Any time.”

“I’ll do the same for you when you need to do it.”

“I know you will. Come stand next to me and we can wait for the milk to boil.” She put her arm around my waist and gave me a peck on the cheek.

“Love you.”

“Love you more.”

“Love you muchly.”

“Mary? Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas. It’s gonna be great.”

“Can we put up the tree tomorrow?” Tell ya a secret: if she said no, I was gonna do it anyway.

“Yep.”

“Can I wear panties when we do it?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Can we make cocoa for it and add alcohol to it?”

“A little bit.”

“Good. That’s how I like it.” Just a little Bailey’s.

We’d make it a great Christmas. I knew we would. Big happy reunion, and yeah, change. I’ll miss my childhood home, but as long I have Mary and she has me, I have my true home wherever we are so long as it’s together.

[WBDaddy]

This was a scene that I wish I could relate to, but even though there was a childhood home, it was a hellscape for me, and I no longer speak to my mother.  The only person from that time period that I miss was my grandfather, and I got the best closure (and the happiest memories, including some wonderful follies) I could ask for when he came to my house in Virginia for Thanksgiving a few months before he died.  

A couple years ago, my wife and I drove by that old place when we were up in New England (owned by someone not in the family), and I felt nothing.  Or, at least, I didn't feel enough to be moved.  And that was a good thing. 

All that said, you did a great job of illustrating a feel that I've no doubt lots of people feel.  Enough to where I really wished I could feel it.  

[Sarah Penguin]

[YourFNF]

My childhood wasn't horrible but my parents were.... A lot... They had a lot of stuff they hadn't processed and worked on (Cause boomers TBH) and that got put onto me as expectations as I could never meet + a lot of toxic religious indoctrination. So ummmm yeah... Lot's of complicated feels here.

[AndTheChips]

This is my favorite story of all time. I am rereading it and it just gets better on the second go. ?

[kerry]

27 minutes ago, AndTheChips said:

This is my favorite story of all time. I am rereading it and it just gets better on the second go. ?

I suspect that this is because of the unique narrative perspective. You just are not going to find a more fun narrator than Daphne. ?

[Alex Bridges]

Scene #142

 

Oops I did it again! Play with your heart? Nope, broke the spending limit rule. Which, firstly, needs to be adjusted for inflation and not because inflation is high right now but because Mary put that rule in place 6 years ago when a hundred bucks went a little further.

Did I decide to hide my malfeasance? Nope. I decided to flaunt it kinda flamboyantly. Because reasons. Reasons which I will now relate to you.

“Mary,” I called out, “o darling love of my life Mary.”

“Are you drinking again, Daffy,” she called back from upstairs.

“Yes but that’s not important. Come downstairs. I need you.”

“Then why don’t you come up here?”

My mom used to say that. It’s a good point - if you need someone, should go to them barring a reason not to. Did I have a reason? Kinda sorta depending on how you look at it.

Not that the tree was the reason, but I used that as my reason. “Because the tree is down here, and it’s not gonna decorate itself.” Would be kinda neat if it could but also less fun for us.

“Like a kid at Christmas,” I heard Mary grumble. 

“It is Christmas, and I’m not a kid. What’s taking you so long? Are you on your phone again?”

“No,” she said in that way you do when you’ve been caught doing exactly the thing you were accused of. I’d get spanked for outright lying like that, but since I don’t work anymore I’m not on my phone nearly as much. No email to check, and a lot less need to procrastinate without work to do. Can you be jealous of yourself? Sorry-not sorry.

“Fibber,” I called back. Now that I’m not working, I’ve decided to be one of those thick headed people who just tells working folk to stop checking their email as if it were that simple. I mean, it is, but there can also be consequences to that, which the thick headed folk ignore.

“I’m coming.” Squee! She’s coming! “My little girl couldn’t wait five more minutes to decorate our tree; is she just so excited for Christmas,” Miss Mary Smartmouth said as she got to the bottom of the steps. Very smartalecky, but also very right. We never should’ve waited so long. It’s a Christmas travesty that we didn’t put it up the day after Thanksgiving.

“I am so excited for Christmas. I’m just sorry we couldn’t get a real one this year.”

“Where did you get that outfit?”

“What outfit?” Like, who me? And o, this old thing? And wait what? And stuff.

“That outfit,” she said kinda lasciviously. She’s always getting all lascivious with me. Which is goals.

“O, you mean this Christmas elf outfit that I’m wearing. This rich green velvet minidress and the pointy shoes and the hat and the bells,” I asked innocently, because I sooo am, while running my hands over the velvet as if to draw her attention to what was underneath it. “You wanna ring my bell for me?” Was that sexy? I can’t always tell anymore. 

“Hold still.” Which I did, and she attacked me with her mouth and the kissing and the hoyven! She likes me. I can tell.

“Is that a yes,” I said as I collected myself and straightened my hat.

“I’ll jingle your jangle, little elf.”

“Heh. Yes please … but after the tree.”

“Such a good worker.”

“Just trying to impress my boss. Could you get the other box of ornaments out of the hall closet?”

“This isn’t all of them? Did you buy more?”

“You can never have too many,” I said all light and breezy and sorta hid behind the tree for some reason, watching her discover my other purchase. I like to imagine a great big smile on her face when she saw it.

“Where’d my little elf go,” she said as she carried it back into the living room and totally saw me but since I was pretending to hide she could pretend I was hidden cuz we’re sympatico like that.

“Do you like it?”

“Do I like my red velvet sexy Mrs. Claus outfit? I do.”

“These cost more than a hundred dollars.” She can’t spank me if she can’t get me (without knocking over the tree), right?

“Such a naughty elf.”

“What happened to a hard working elf?”

“Works hard, plays harder.” Yeah, that’s me.

“So am I in trouble,” I asked as I came out of my faux hiding place.

“I haven’t decided yet.” Ooo, that tone and that expression: I wasn’t in trouble, but that’s not the same thing as not getting spanked silly.

“Will you hold this chair so I can get the top part,” I asked because reasons. See? I can plan ahead just like Mary can. Not as far ahead, but far enough.

Mary was good enough to hold the hold chair, and I took a single, shiny red ornament from the box, very inefficient way to decorate the tree, one at a time. Maybe not such a good worker elf after all.

“I did save money on these though,” I said as I leaned forward to place my ornament. And stayed bent forward. “What do you think?”

Mary made on of those o yes damn sighs that are like aural signal flags for here I come. “Hold very still,” she ordered me, “and don’t move while I decide.” 

Easier told than accomplished when she runs the tips of two fingers up each thigh and folds the hem of my skirt up across my back. Did I mention is a short skirt? Did I mention the bending over? O yes I did. And did I mention I saved some money on the outfits.

“Did you by chance,” Mary asked as she palmed and squeezed my cheeks, “save that money by not buying the panties that are part of the outfit?”

“Maybe,” I said as, “woah! Um, safety first. Heehee! You’re gonna make me fall.” Miss Mary of The Wandering Hands Lesbians does honor to her people’s legacy. Ya know, I think she likes what she saw or something cuz it’s not like her to forget about safety. Especially mine.

“Then I’d better snatch you off that chair.”

“Noooo,” I said as she snatched me right off that chair. When did she get so strong? Ya know how people get super strength when a loved one is in danger? Do they also get super strength when they’re thirsty and wanna get at their loved ones lovely bits? And, like, the world’s strongest ninja. Off the chairs and a spinny thing and we’re both on the couch.

“Um,” I said as her weight held me down and I traced a line from her neckline down the v of her shirt. “Hi.”

“I think it’s time to promote you.”

Ooo! Really? I guess I do deserve it and stuff … for something. “To what?”

“Such a delicate beauty like yours would be wasted in the worker elf department. How would you like to get promoted to the harem?”

“Yes please.” Things sure have changed since Santa died and Mrs. Claus took over the operation. Much more casual work culture but much more strict discipline; periodic nudity, free snacks in the break room, adult situations, team lunches, workplace affairs, and a company discount on gym memberships. Mrs.

Claus is quite the benevolent tyrant (my favorite kind of tyrant). Well, I guess it’s Ms. Claus now. Do we even know her maiden name?

“Promotion effective immediately.” And she’s necking me. Yep, she likes me and she’s not subtle about it at all.

“Wait. We have to get your outfit on.”

“No we don’t.” Ooo, she likes me and she’s in a hurry.

“Yes we do.”

“Uff … really?”

“Is that what I sound like when I allegedly whine?”

“Yes and even worse.”

“I saved money on yours too, ya know. And actually, I got you something a little special to wear with it.”

“O yeah?”

“Yeah.” Such witty repartee the two of us have at all the times. “Lemme up and I’ll get it for you.” She did, but reluctantly. “Maybe you wanna start changing into your new outfit,” I suggested cuz wives don’t let wives jingle alone. The bells definitely have a shelf life on not being annoying.

She got so distracted by the outfit she forgot about the box of ornaments I asked her to get. And what ornaments! For her; not for the tree.

“You can’t open it when you’re dressed in regular clothes,” I told her.

“Long as you got your bossy pants on tonight, wanna help me get undressed?”

“You’re the boss. I just work here.” I’m a very good worker; definitely earned my promotion and wasn’t didn’t sleep my way to the top at all. Really. Also, don’t be calling me bossy. I’m emphatically not the bossy type. I’m better at doing as I’m told and following the rules. “You won’t needing these. Lift your hips.”

“Only if you don’t use your hands.” Is it hot in here or is it just me? Nope! Not just me with the warmth coming from the places and the yes please. True story: taking them off with my teeth is not as much of a challenge as it used to be because practice. I didn’t practice my flute or my French lessons or my calligraphy, but this skill, I practiced.

“You can open … The box! … I mean, your present … The present!” Dammit… Remember that time you were suave, like for a one-minute period five minutes ago? Maybe practice that more?

“Aww, are you losing your composure and getting flustered? How cute.”

“Quiet, you.” She opened the box, which I should’ve wrapped but didn’t. I was busy giving her present a test to ask sure I liked it and it wouldn’t, um, hurt.

“That’s quite the candy cane,” she said as she took it out of the box, “Are you sure this is the right size candy cane?”

“I tried it on … at home, not the store.”

“Good girl.“ O heck heccin yes she called me a good girl! Score! 

“And a matching red and white harness. It seems there’s a theme to this outfit. Does someone have a little Christmas fantasy about getting railed by Mrs. Claus at the office holiday party? … You can get up now.” O, am I still on my knees in front of her? Silly me (but not a silly goose). Sometimes I don’t even know where I am … and stuff.

“Honestly? I just thought the dildo was funny. It’s more of a Mary-in-a-short-red-velvet-minidress fantasy. … In fact, I don’t think it’s a Mrs. Claus outfit.”

“No?”

“I think it’s a Mary Christmas outfit.”

“Am I still in charge of the elves?”

“Well, this one.” That’s one more elf than I’m in charge of.

“Then my first order is for you to lay back again.”

“Not yet.”

“Disobeying orders? Is someone looking for a punishment?”

“The tree.”

“You are so single-minded sometimes.” 

“And most of those times are about you. Boxing Day role reversal comes early this year.”

“When we’re done, I’m hanging this candy cane on the tree.”

“Marrry!”

“Well you wanted one on our shelf!”

“You’re teasing me.”

“You’re saying I’m the tease right now. That’s rich,” she said right before she kissed me and did this groping maneuver to my butt … again. I may have jumped a little. “Is my silly Christmas goose jumpy,” she chuckled. “Ha! I goosed my silly goose.”

“I’m so much more fun than your phone,” I reminded her. She was glowing: one part lust, one part Christmas spirit, one part liking me and stuff equals a glowy Mary.

“Yes, you are. C’mere.”

“Tree.”

“Just c’mere.” I did but only cuz she’s in charge. And when I got there (all four feet away), a hug! “Thank you for the outfits and for doing so much of the decorating this year. I’m sorry I’ve been so busy.”

“It’s okay.”

“It is and it isn’t.” And a kiss too?!? Awww shucks I’m blushing.

“Just one more week,” I reminded us both. Just one more week and then Mary would be off for the rest of the year and could spend all that time with me and I could spend all that time with her.

“You’re wearing this outfit on Christmas Eve at your aunt’s.”

“No way!”

“We’ll talk. Maybe add tights.”

“O gee, ya think?”

“And maybe a diaper.”

“Yeah, not, is the thing.”

“At least a pull-up.”

“Like my butt isn’t hanging out enough.”

“We’ll think of something.”

“And you think I have a North Pole fantasy?”

“At least wear it on the plane?”

“… … ‘Kay.” That sounds fun. Will definitely have to add tights or we’ll be on the news.

“Ha! My naughty little elf.”

“So I’m not in trouble for spending so much?”

“No, but you are getting one heckuva spanking before bed.”

“Before or after you candy cane me?”

“Yes and,” she said very confidently like she was going to both plus the heck outta me which, ya know, she was gonna and I was gonna enthusiastically participate.

“Marrry! You’re gonna make me swoon.”

“Such a silly Christmas goose.”

“Eep! Stop goosing me!” Like, geez with the squeezing and the tickling and the … sigh. I like her back. Really.

“No,” she answered to my command.

“Ugh. Fine … Do you wanna do the … thing later?”

“You mean that thing that you’re too shy to say out loud now?”

“Yeah …”

“With my nipples? Aw, you’re blushing.”

“Am not!”

“Are too!”

“I’m flushed. That’s different.”

“And why would you be flushed?”

“Cuz your hand is on my butt again … and it’s moving.”

“I like your butt.”

“I like your hands.”

“My little elf.”

“My Mary

[Sarah Penguin]

[YourFNF]

[Alex Bridges]

Scene #143

 

I think I get why some people think baths are icky. I think they’re wrong – very wrong – because baths are delightful, but I get where they’re coming from. I’d been in said bath for almost a half hour already, and my date was late. Yes, I had a date.

I texted my date. “Are you coming,” is what I texted her.

“Almost done,” my date texted back.

Well, I’d gotten started without her by drinking one of those alcohol drinks and eating a strawberry. I mean, am I supposed to starve and be wholly sober on the best date night of the year? A little pregame.

And my heart went pitter-patter when I heard my date’s office door open and close. My date sauntered (I’m guessing cuz she’s the sauntering type) down the hall and turned the corner into the bathroom, and the thing about my date was she wasn’t wearing pants.

“Were you talking to your boss without any pants on,” I asked my date. Her name is Mary, btw.

“Let’s not get started on who wears what below the waist, little girl.”

“That’s just not fair,” is what I said back to her. “Take off the rest of your clothes.” Was that too forward? Too pushy? Too much of an order? Cuz I was trying to do those things.

“Not even a please,” my Mary said as she complied cuz I’m the boss of her (is a thing she lets me believe from time to time because it amuses her to snatch that illusion away … and I sorta kinda definitely like it too). “I see one full flute and one empty flute. Did you get started without me?”

“Heehee! I know you like me all suggestible and stuff.”

“One glass of champagne,” she said and shook her head. “Such a cheap date.”

“It’s Prosecco, and I’m not a cheap date, which is why you should tell me what your Christmas bonus is.”

She stepped over the side of the tub and sat down opposite me in the water. “Does my making more money make me more attractive to you?”

Which is when I realized that in a weird way that, “Kinda, yeah.”

“Ha! You’re blushing! And I thought I couldn’t be any more attractive to you.”

“You can’t, is the thing, but also, just a little because, um, I don’t know why.”

“What if I gave you an orgasm for every ten thousand dollars in my bonus?”

“Then I would know exactly why you making more money makes you more attractive to me.” I waited patiently for a whole two seconds before asking, “So how many orgasms is that?”

“Three-and-a-half.”

“Holy crap!” Also, we’re gonna round that up because that half isn’t fair.

“Language.”

“But … geez! Like … What do you even do for work again?”

“Internet stuff.”

“So I guess that’s going into the retirement account.” Hers, specifically, cuz I’m already retired. I guess that would just be my bank account … Not that I don’t still have a retirement account. I’m just not contributing to it and can’t touch it for another few decades.

“Some of it. I thought for the rest of it we’d do something special. What do you think of remodeling this bathroom?”

“I like that idea. What were you thinking?”

“Replace the double vanity with a single, move the toilet over, and put in a real jacuzzi tub.”

“Like big enough for us to …”

“Yeah.”

“But how will we know which ones are big enough for that? Can we try the ones in the showroom?”

“Ha! We’ll use our imaginations.”

“Cool I’ll start now thanks.”

“Silly goose … Are you playing footsie with me under the water,” my date named Mary asked me.

“Yeah. What’re you gonna do about it?”

“Play it back.” Ooo, my date is playing footsie with under the bubbles. Heehee!

“Is it weird this has become our stay-at-home date thing, soaking in the tub together?”

“Nope.”

“Maybe when we renovate, we can just take the toilet out of here altogether.”

“You don’t wanna use the potty anymore? You want your pampers full time.”

“I’m being so nice right now not splashing you that you had better call me a good girl before I even start counting to five.”

“You’re a good girl.”

Ooo! It works even when I hafta coerce it out of her. “I just think it’s a little weird we’re eating strawberries in the same room as the toilet.”

“Then we’d have to go upstairs to use the bathroom.”

“Maybe we should change that bathroom then, the hall one. It doesn’t get used.” We have an en suite bathroom in the master, and we have one downstairs. The one in the upstairs hall is presumably for the people who live in the other bedrooms, except no one lives in the other bedrooms.

“Maybe we should rent out one of those rooms,” Mary said with that gleam in her eye that tells me she’s not serious.

“Who would we rent it out to?”

“A 20-year-old college student to be your little playmate.”

“As if! You can hardly handle the sub you’ve got,” I said. Said it bravely cuz I might as well have run a brat flag up a mizzenmast and dared her to capture it.

“She could be your sub. Didn’t you say you wanted someone to boss around?”

“I say lots of things. Most of it’s nonsense. The rest of it, gibberish.”

“It’s only gibberish when I’ve got you so twitterpated you don’t know down from up.” She was just sitting there up to her … however you measure someone half reclining in a tub. Anyway, she was just sitting there looking so proud of herself, almost making me think she does that to me on purpose … OMG she does that on purpose. Ha!

“There’s no room for another sub in this house,” I said even though I knew she didn’t mean it.

“I’m just teasing.”

“You’re barely in control of little old’ me.”

“I’m gonna spank you for that later.”

“You had better. Had to say it twice …” I mean, geez, who lets their sub get away with that even once? I’m trying to start some shit here; she’s gotta work with me! It’s a team sport and stuff.

“You should just be glad I get in the tub with you without making you put a swim diaper on.”

“O my god, you are such a B sometimes.”

“Excuse me, little girl? You wanna try that again?”

“What’ll you do if I don’t?”

“The same thing I’ll do if you do.”

“Ooo, that sounds fun. Yeah, let’s do that.”

“You sure you only had one glass of this?”

“I’m thinking of getting a cannabis card,” I said because yeah, I was thinking about it but also was thinking not, but I figured it would get a fun reaction from my Mary. And that doesn’t make me a brat. Really.

“That’s a very bad idea, Daffy.”

“And why is that?”

“Because you can’t stand strong smells …”

“I’ll get edibles.”

“… and you can’t help yourself around sweets. And I don’t think you can handle your shit, Miss One-Glass-of-Champagne-Makes-Me-Goofy.”

“I can, too, handle my shit. I put up with your shit all the time,” I said and stuck my cute little nose in the air. Mary, see, her jaw dropped, and she gasped a little. Not that I was trying to provoke a reaction. Really.

“It’s gonna be fun going to Wisconsin with you like this. So many freezing cold places to drop your drawers and spank your little bottom.”

“That why I married you, Mary, cuz you come up with such wonderful ideas. We should make a list of places.”

“Your childhood bedroom.”

Wait what? Um, that’s sort of in my parents’ house. And the things Mary does to me can be loud. And I can be even more loud when she does them. Not that I hated the idea, but that my mom and dad would hate the idea.

“I’m not so sure that’s a good idea.” For someone who comes up with such good ideas, she also comes up with not good ideas.

“Little girl, we’re not changing the rules just because we’re traveling. If anything, I need to keep you on an even shorter leash. If you’re even the littlest bit naughty, I’ll spank you just as soon as we’re outta sight.”

“… What about earshot?”

“As soon as we’re outta sight. And I know for a fact you’ve earned way more spankings than you ever got in that bedroom.”

“Because I got zero. I was a good girl. I am a good girl!” Really!

“You’d better be. Besides, I’ve spanked you in that room before.”

So this one time at Easter, yes, that’s a thing Mary did while there were people, about thirty of them, downstairs. Luckily my mom and dad thought we were upstairs having sex, so it was only really awkward and not super heccin awful awkward when we went back downstairs.

“And ya know what I think,” Mary asked me.

“If I say no, will you tell me?”

“Are you a bratty smartaleck or a smartalecky brat?”

“All brats are smartalecks, and I’m neither of those things. Really. So tell me what you think?”

“I think you love the idea of getting taken to your childhood bedroom, scolded like a naughty little girl, having your pants and undies taken down, and being turned over a knee for a good, hard, long spanking on your bare little girl bottom … Aww, look at you trying so hard not to squirm. I bet you’ll be squirming in embarrassment when your dollies listen to you get talked down to and see your underpants come down while you blush and try so hard to keep your hands at your sides. Because how do good girls take their spankings?”

O god my buttons! “Marrrry!”

“Tell me, or I might just decide we need to start that lesson over all the way from the beginning.”

“Good girls take their spankings with a minimum of trying to stop their pants and undies from coming down, covering their princess parts, or trying to shield their bottoms.” Not that I memorized that, but if I did it’s because she made me. Good times …

“That’s my good girl. So smart!”

“Ha!”

“What?”

“You called me a good girl. Admit it: that’s what you think. You think I’m a good girl.”

“I think you’re the best good girl … And you’re getting squirmy and blushing again. You’re like a little puppy when I call you a good girl.”

Okay, that’s a true story. If I had a tail, I’d be wagging it whenever she calls me that. Not that I’m a puppy.

“Are you gonna do this the whole time we’re there,” I asked her.

“Do what?”

“Use my being home as a chance to dial up the humiliation kink.”

“How would you feel if I did?”

“Aroused … Nervous.”

“A little scared?”

“Yeah.” And the thing is, all that just contributes to the arousal part. Like, having a humiliation kink is just so extra sometimes. That’s how young people say “hard sometimes,” right? Anyhoo, my feels get complicated in a hurry.

“Do you want to,” she asked me seriously.

“Want to what?”

“Use being back home as a way to pack in a little extra embarrassment.”

“I need examples, not that I don’t trust you.” I do trust her, but examples would be quite helpful. Examples with lurid, drawn out descriptions are even more helpful. Heck, with the right example told the right way with the touching of the places and rubbing of the things as accompaniment, who needs to do the actual thing? Me, that’s who. And Mary. But still examples are all kinds of fun.

“Like if you start to get a little tipsy, I’d take your glass away and say you’ve had enough at a volume someone might overhear … especially at the dinner table. Or when we go to that walk through with all the Christmas lights, I might zip up your coat for you and remind you to behave yourself so it doesn’t, quote, turn out like last time, with your sister in-law right there next to us.”

“I kinda feel like right now you’re asking permission to do that.” I’m perceptive like that.,

She made this thinking face for a moment that was ‘am-I-or-aren’t-I’ before she said, “Yeah, I am.”

“Of the two us, when it comes to being with others right now, you’re the one who needs to watch her behavior. You’ve been pushing boundaries lately.”

“Pushing or crossing?”

“Pushing extra.” Is that how young people use that word? I can’t keep up.

“Can I push if I promise to not go too far?”

Tough question. Normally when we travel, kinda why not? Like our trip to the lake with that gift store clerk. She’s a stranger; low level of reputational risk. Not like I’m actually worried what she thinks of me or knows about me. But we were traveling to see my family. I do care what they think and know about me.

“Yes, but you have to promise. If I say ‘yellow’ you need to … pretend I said orange.”

“Why orange?”

“It’s between yellow and red.” Um, duh?

“Why not just say ‘orange?’” And do you know what? When she said that she was making this isn’t-that-kinda-smarter-and-simpler-you-should-probably-have-figured-it-out-on-your-own face. To which I rolled my eyes cuz it was preferable to admitting she had a point, which she did. But I’d had a flute-and-a-half of prosecco by then.

“Fine,” I sighed like I’m so put upon cuz I am, “if it will make you happy we can have yellow, orange, and red. You’re so particular sometimes; very demanding and hard to satisfy.” That’s not actually true. She’s not me with the hair trigger on her zipper sometimes, but she’s far from hard to satisfy if you know the ins and outs and tips and tricks and … stuff and things. Which I heccin do.

“Good thing you already got a spanking coming cuz you seriously need one.” And then she winked at me! The temerity! The presumption!

“O heavens no, not that,” I very sincerely pleaded in my best I-may-faint-at-the-mere-thought tone.

“It’s a good thing I didn’t send your spanking hairbrush ahead with the presents,” she said as she sipped her wine.

“As if you don’t have your purse paddle with you all the time.”

“I could leave it behind.”

“Yeah right.” As if. She forgets her phone more than she forgets that, and she almost never forgets her phone.

“Really. If you need a correction, I can send you to your room, or better yet, the corner in the living room. Wasn’t that your timeout spot when you were little?”

“Marrry!”

“And I could ask your mom, “Hey, Angie, do you mind if I borrow the wooden spoon out of the crock? I need to address some of your daughter’s poor choices.’”

O gawd I wish that didn’t make my tummy tingle, but it does and in a fun way and stuff.

“And you know she’ll say yes, won’t she, Daffy? She’ll be confused at first, but I know she’ll agree poor choices need a consequence right away. And she’ll probably be embarrassed when I take your pants down right there in front of her and your dad and your brother.”

“Marrry, stopppp,” I didn’t whine. But of course she continued cuz my Mary loves to continue. True story.

“But when she sees your jeans come down and the wet diaper you’re wearing – I sent ahead some princess ones, some plain white ones, and the ones with the animals on them …

“You didn’t!”

“Of course I did. A week is a long time for you to make it to the potty without a single accident, and you behave so much better when you have your pampers on. Almost like it’s a soft reminder that I’ll treat you the way act.”

I can’t even believe her sometimes except yeah, I can totally believe she would do that and did do that. And am I really better behaved when she makes me wear those? I don’t think so, but then I also don’t think of the allegedly naughty things I allegedly do are that naughty even when I do them (except I don’t ever. What? Really!)

“So anyway, your mom will probably have all kinds of questions, and I can just hear your sister-in-law explaining to your little nieces and nephews that some girls need longer to stay dry, and some need even longer than that.”

“(Waves of steam silently coming off hot pavement.)” Yep, that’s a good metaphor for how I felt and sounded in that moment: hot and silent. But I was in a bath and that and the humiliation kink were responsible for any physical reactions to Mary’s effrontery. Not the diaper part; pure coincidence.

“And she’ll lead them into the next room and explain to them what a spanking is because they’ve never had one, and you’ve had how many?”

“(Sound of snow falling on a windless day.)”

“How many, Daffy? I know you can use numbers. Give it a try, like a big girl.”

“I am a big girl,” I may have said very quietly.

“What’s that?”

“I am too a big girl, and you’re just mean! You’re mean, and you’re … so nice too. It’s very confusing sometimes.”

“Is it? Is it really?”

“No,” I admitted. “You’re nice and mean and really good at being both at the same time and I’m glad we get to spend all our Christmases together.” Dammit…

“You wanna get out and take turns drying each other off?”

“Can we let the sheets dry us off while we roll around and do stuff on ‘em?”

“Probably gonna hafta to wash the sheets after anyway.”

Which I took to mean she was aroused as well. We’re simpatico like that …

And I was already planning to watch what she packed like a hawk. Not that I don’t trust her. Just wanted some intel on exactly what she might could and definitely would do to me … so I could give her all the excuses she needed to do it all … at least twice.

Not that I was gonna try to get in trouble. I mean, as if. It’s not like I’m a brat or anything. Um, really.

[Sarah Penguin]

Mary should use her bonus money to move the toilets to her office so lucky  lucky  Daffy is forced to wear and user her  diapers  or leave  puddles.

[Bel George]

I have to say, I'm already looking forward to Daphne being spanked and then nappied while they visit her family. With all the risks of being caught wearing a diaper and then having to explain things.
Would they tell the truth that would make everyone feel embarrassed? Or do they just stick to a white lie that is especially embarrasing (of emarrasingly fun?) for Daphne, since everyone would think that she really needs diapers and she has to keep it up for the rest of the visit.

We can only dream of it ... until Alex/Daphne decides to tell us everything.

[kerry]

15 hours ago, Alex Bridges said:

We’re you talking to you boss

Is this supposed to be Daphne a bit tipsy or does it need proofreading?

15 hours ago, Alex Bridges said:

who wears what belies the waist

I guess I'll go with the proofreading thing.

15 hours ago, Alex Bridges said:

you should tell me what your Christmas bonus.

yup

15 hours ago, Alex Bridges said:

What I’d I have you an orgasm

um...

15 hours ago, Alex Bridges said:

“But how will we know which ones are big enough for that? Can we try the ones in the showroom?”

“Ha! We’ll use our imaginations.”

Nothing wrong with this one.. I just like the mental image of it. ?

15 hours ago, Alex Bridges said:

“I’m thinking of getting a green card,”

I'm just quoting this because I don't get it. A green card is for immigration; is there another kind?

15 hours ago, Alex Bridges said:

I sighed like I’m so out upon cuz I am

Not that I don't like the thought of Daphne being "so out upon," whatever that might mean...

16 hours ago, Alex Bridges said:

a good metaphor for I felt

I did enjoy the metaphor though.

Have I mentioned just how much I love Daphne? ❤️

[Bluebird67]

29 minutes ago, kerry said:

I'm just quoting this because I don't get it. A green card is for immigration; is there another kind?

Opposite of “red card”? (Consider the discussion of orange, yellow and red further on?)

[kerry]

2 minutes ago, Bluebird67 said:

Opposite of “red card”? (Consider the discussion of orange, yellow and red further on?)

Wow. Sometimes I miss things that are so obvious! ?

[Alex Bridges]

7 hours ago, kerry said:

Is this supposed to be Daphne a bit tipsy or does it need proofreading?

I guess I'll go with the proofreading thing.

yup

um...

Nothing wrong with this one.. I just like the mental image of it. ?

I'm just quoting this because I don't get it. A green card is for immigration; is there another kind?

Not that I don't like the thought of Daphne being "so out upon," whatever that might mean...

I did enjoy the metaphor though.

Have I mentioned just how much I love Daphne? ❤️

Yep. I wanted to post it without proofing so I could get back to baking Christmas cookies ?

 

and a “green card” sometimes means a card that lets you buy medical cannabis