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

[diaperboymi]

AWESOME chapter!!!!!  Really thought Daffy was going to get it ?

[WBDaddy]

17 hours ago, Alex Bridges said:

but not having an exit strategy is a proud American tradition.

PRICELESS! 

[Alex Bridges]

4 hours ago, WBDaddy said:

PRICELESS! 

I figured if anybody would enjoy that, it was you ?

[diaperboymi]

Absolutely...i LOVE everthing you write ?????

[YourFNF]

*gay squirming* OwO

[Alex Bridges]

Scene #165

“Diaper, could you come here?”

Did I hear my Mary right?

“Diaper?”

What is she even … I hear footfalls.

“Diaper, I was calling for you,” Mary said as she stood in the doorway.

“Um, huh?”

“Diaper, you silly goose. Fine,” she said as she walked from the doorway to the basket of changing supplies under the side table, “I can get my Diaper into a new diaper right where she is.”

She sounds happy. I like her happy and stuff, but I have reasons to be suspicious of that little lilt in her voice.

“C’mon, Diaper. Lay down all the way.”

“What is happening right now?”

“I’m changing my Diaper.”

O. My. Gawd! “So you finally admit it’s yours! Ha!”

“Ooo, such an excitable little Diaper. Of course you’re all mine.”

“Mary, you’re being …

“No, you’re being goofy little crinkle pants. Lie all the way down so we can get you into dry pampers, Diaper.”

“What?” I think she left a word or something out of that sentence.

“Diaper, enough of this silliness. Are you gonna let me change you or do you wanna sit in your peepee until you leak?”

What is she … Did she … O hell no! “Did you just call me ‘Diaper?’”

“Of course I did, Diaper. That’s your new nickname. I’m gonna make sure everyone we know calls you Diaper from now on.”

“Marrryy!! That’s mean!”

“Diaper is so fussy today. We have to hurry.”

“Why do we hafta hurry,” I asked as I did my darndest to make her sense my displeasure.

“The courthouse closes at four.”

“Why are we … I don’t even wanna know. I’m not playing along with your nonsense.” I’m in charge of nonsense, and I’m better at it too! She’s too dominant to do nonsense. She’s never even uwu’d!

“So we can officially change your name to Diaper and get remarried with your pretty new name, Diaper.”

“That’s the stupidest joke you’ve ever (squawking noises) and don’t ever call (caribou stampede) and so help me I’ll (angry hyena snarls) and you can suck a (so many explosions) just no! Bad! Bad Mary! Poor choice! You’re making poor choices! Naughty, bad Mary! Bad!”

Apropos of nothing, I don’t think I’m ever too dramatic. I think I’m just the right amount of dramatic. And if you or anyone, including Mary, doesn’t like it, then stop pushing my buttons and shush. Yeah, I said ‘shush!’ So there … and stuff. Really.

“Aww, is my little Diaper grouchy cuz she didn’t get her nap-nap? Does my Diaper need a nappy?”

She’s giggling! She thinks this is fun! We’ll see if she still thinks that if I hit her with my emu! I reared back my bird, and as I swung it forward with all my might, I bellowed, “Watch out, Mary! Here comes my emu!”

I woke up on the follow through. No Mary. No emu. Daytime. No … Nope, I was wearing a diaper (sigh). Woulda been nice if that part was a dream too, but … Well, I’ll tell you one thing: this aggression will not stand.

“Mary!”

“Yeah?”

“Where are you?”

“In here.”

We’ll just see about that! I heccin stomped the heck through the dining room and into the kitchen where she was smugly sitting on a chair doing something on her laptop, and ya know what? Nope. If only I had my emu …

“What the hell is wrong with you,” I demanded. And her just sitting there looking all stunned and innocent which she isn’t and never has been. No innocent Mary! Guilty! Guilty as sin! “Sinner! Making funna me and calling me names and saying we’re gonna change it and get married and no! No, do you hear me, Mary? No and don’t you ever never again or so help me stuff and things and you’ll wish it was just an emu!”

In retrospect, I can see how that could seem a smidge dramatic and a little ridiculous and nonsensical and totally outta the blue, but I can assure you it only seems those things. In actuality, it was entirely called for and made perfect sense.

Mary’s what-is-she-even-o-she-musta-had-a-dream-again face. “Did you have one of those dream where I do something to you again?”

“So you admit it!”

“C’mere.”

“Who are you to give me orders?”

“Just c’mere,” was Mary’s reply. She’s as diplomatic as a wolverine – she says the words, but she says them at the same time she’s just reaching out, grabbing me gently by the wrist, and tugging me close (I had a weird experience with a wolverine once). “Other than your dream …”

“Nightmare and your fault!” Swat.

“Are you gonna talk about it without raising your voice and accusing me of something I did in your dream, or do I need to spank your bottom first?”

I made my fine-but-grudgingly face and grudgingly said, “Fine.”

“Did you have a nice nap?”

“Except for the last part, yes.”

“Sit,” Mary said and patted her lap. I climbed on with a (dammit!) crinkle. “Wanna tell me about your nightmare?”

“You’ll laugh at me.”

“Probably.” My Mary is very honest when she’s not up to her devilry and tricks and things.

“You called me … a name.”

“What name?”

 

 

“Name calling is wrong. Isn’t that what you always say? And then you just go and …”

“In your dream.” I know she’s not responsible for what she says in my dreams, but on the other hand, she plants an awful lot of the ideas that make their way into my dreams. Is that where the term dream girl comes from? Anyhoo…

“You called me … Diaper.”

“I called you a diaper?”

“No,” I said with a teensiest eye roll because she was in the dream and ought to know what she called me even if that doesn’t make any sense, “you called me Diaper and said it was my new name and we were gonna get it legally changed and get married again so it would be on our marriage certificate, and it …” Okay, so maybe possibly a little bit kinda if you say it loud it might be could be sorta perhaps funny. But also not. Let us not forget, also not.

“O…kay.”

“I knew you’d say that. You’re so mean!

“Daffy, I’m not responsible for the things that happen in your dreams.” O, like we haven’t had that conversation before, and I still don’t see her point.

“I know that, but still,” I pouted.

“Remember how you once asked me if I’d still love you if you went crazy and I said yes?”

“That’s a totally random thing to bring up right now. I don’t even know why you bring that up right now or all the times.” Um, really.

“I still love you. To the moon and back.”

“Good. I love you too.”

Then there was an awkward pause, and Mary got a funny look on her face. “So, we’d be Mrs. Mary and Diaper Taylor?”

“I can feel you laughing on the inside.” True story cuz I was sitting in her lap and could literally feel her shaking. And I could see her having a harder and harder time not laughing on the outside. “O fine, go ahead.”

“Buh-ha! Hahahahahaha!”

And if you must know, I didn’t let out even a little giggle. Not true. And if someone says otherwise, they are not be ping truthful, unlike myself who has only ever told the truth ever (except when it’s not to my advantage but those times don’t count). Really.

“It’s not funny.” And contradicting yourself in the space of a few sentences isn’t lying (necessarily).

“If you say so,” she tittered.

“I did, so there.”

“I guess I had better not ever call you Diaper, huh?”

“Not if you wanna live with someone who likes you.” I mean, I’ll always like her but for brief periods I might not. Like, a few minutes here and there (at most).

“Speaking of,” she said all casual like she wasn’t about to do one of the worst things she ever did to me, “you stayed dry during your nap. Good girl.”

It wasn’t the unrestrained groping (she calls it a diaper check, but I know when I’m being groped and don’t get me started on that whole bundle of knotted conflicted feels). It was being called a good girl (squeee! My wife thinks I’m a good girl!) for not sleep wetting (what the heck! I haven’t done that since this one time college after my first and last experiment with 100-proof tequila. I was led astray by older girls who mistook me for a party beast when I’m at most a party gerbil and was o so innocent at the time). I had to let Mary know not to go mixing and matching the button pushing like that, and it’s super important to communicate very clearly about these things in a kink relationship.

To wit: “Marrryy!”

I think maybe she was confusing the (gay) squirming I was doing for my enjoying the internal push and pull between my praise kink and humiliation kink cuz she responded with, “What, I can’t congratulate my wife for being a good girl and not piddling her pampers during her nap?”

I was about to tell her to stop (and to stop reading into the (gay) squirming I was still doing) when I took notice of her laptop and what she was looking at before I confronted her. “What are you doing?”

“What?”

“What are you looking at?” Well, I knew what she was looking at, so my question was more of a why.

She said, “Um.” Nice to wrong foot her for a change. “Puppies.”

“Why are you looking at puppies?” Also, PUPPIES! WHICH ARE SO CUTE AND NATURALLY UWU AND I JUST WANNA SQUEEZE EM AND HUG EM AND PET EM AND LOVE EM AND UNDER NO CIRCUMSTANCES BE RESPONSIBLE FOR ONE!

“Hear me out,” she began because we’d talked about his before, “I want a dog.” I knew that part because that was a major part of what we talked about before, the driving force of that convo, actually.

“And …” I asked when there was no more context forthcoming.

“And I think it would be good for us, and for you. It’ll give you something to do. You could use a little responsibility in your life.”

“I’m responsible for lots of things!”

“Lots of small things. A medium-sized thing would help you …”

“Yes?!?” I gave her my choose-your-words-carefully look.

“It would help you get out of those more … And give you … Help you … Perspective.”

“It would help me perspective. Good job with the words.” I’m the wordsmith in these parts. Mary just lives here.

Saying that seemed to have triggered Mary’s fine-I’ll-say-it-plain face. “It will help you be a little less like a bored middle schooler home for the summer with nothing to do.”

“Scoff! Am not! As if! Rolling my eyes now!” Okay, so she may have had a point, but still. Honor and stuff to defend and things. “Give me one example.”

Mary’s you-really-want-to-cuz-I-will-and-you-won’t like-it face.

What having a dog to take care will or won’t do for my behavior was beside the point. The point was, as I explained for not the first time, “You know how responsibility for living things makes me feel.” Anxious as fuck. Really.

“You’re taking good care of your garden.”

“I threw a tantrum when my chard had leaf spot!”

“Yeah, but that was an emotional time of the month.”

“And proximity to dogs stops periods, Mary!?!” I put my head on her shoulder because reasons that are none of your concern. Keep your mind in your business. “Do you really want a dog?”

“I do. I really do.”

“I’ll worry about it all the time. Like last time.”

So, um, this one time I adopted a dog, discovered being responsible for another mammal all on my own made my anxiety sky rocket, and had to find it a new home. I cried so hard I lost my security deposit (not really, but also really almost), and I’m still ashamed about giving up on a living thing after taking responsibility for it.

“That was a long time ago. Your anxiety wasn’t under control then, and you were on your own.”

So hey, scary thought: the current me is the me whose anxiety is under control. Yikes, right?

“And it’ll be something we do together,” Mary continued. “We’ll take care of her and love her together.”

“You really want a dog?”

“Not if you really don’t.”

“I like dogs.” Actually love them. Well, almost all of them. My brother has a dog that eats its own poo, and when it burps, which it does every few minutes, you just wanna flee the room and die and I don’t go over to his house when I go home to Wisconsin anymore. True story. All too true story.

“I know you do.”

Mary is so good to me. She really wanted a dog. I know she wouldn’t hold a grudge if I said no. But she did have a point about not doing it alone this time and me being in a better place now. And maybe possibly cuz stranger things have happened in the world, she might’ve had a point about me needing some more responsibility and a reason to leave the house more and not spend so much time planted on my butt in front of the TV.

“You know if we go look at them we’re coming home with one, right?” Just thought I’d point out to her that I’m weak. If I see one and hold one and squeeze one (and I will squeeze it. O heck yes I will squeeze it), I’m too weak willed to not bring it home. Weak willed but at least self-aware about it.

“I know, which is why we don’t have to. If you really don’t want to, we don’t have to.”

I gave it a few seconds thought, cuz it wasn’t the first time I’d thought about it, and decided, “Okay,” I said. “Let’s have a puppy together.”

“Are you really sure? I won’t be upset if you say you don’t want to.”

“I know. I’m sure.”

And then Mary squeed (and she’s not a squee’er) and squeezed me (she is a squeezer) and not that I could see cuz she was hugging the stuffing outta me, but I’m pretty sure she was making sparkly uwu anime eyes.

“Thank you (kiss)! It’s gonna be so wonderful (kiss)! And you’re (kiss) gonna do (kiss) so (kiss kiss kiss) great (kiss kiss kiss) and you’ll see (kiss kiss kiss kiss).”

“Save some for the puppy,” I giggled.

“No (kiss kiss kiss kiss).”

“Heehee! Marrry! You’re gonna make me … ow!” Fall of her lap is how I was gonna finish that sentence. Mary’s o-my-god-what-have-I-done face. “I’m okay.” It was an anticipatory ow, ya know the kind you say just in case? I think maybe only humans do that. We’re weird.

“Up!” She didn’t wait for me to get up so much as she swept me to my feet. “Let’s go find you some pants.”

“Where are we going?” Because, as we all know now, leaving the house is one of the very few reasons to wear pants anymore.

“The pet store. We have some shopping to do.”

“What panties will I be wearing with my pants,” I asked her as we ascended our staircase.

“You didn’t bedwet, silly, remember? Why would I change you out of a dry diaper?”

“But this one is really crinkly.”

“I know. I can hear. Heehee. You wish you’d tinkled your huggies after all?”

“That’s just a mean thing to say … If I pee now, can I wear panties?” Not that I’d lower myself to … dammit.

“You are such a silly goose! Of course you can’t wear undies if you wet your diaper while you’re awake. That just tells me you need them.”

“Like, forever?” I’m wary of every word she says (when I deign to listen to her, commoner that she is).

“Of course not. Just until tomorrow. But you can wear undies over your diaper,} she said fast while moving fast in a manner that she called over-stimulated when I do it.

“Mary, love, look at me: I think the prospect of having a baby animal in the house is making your mommy hormones surge.” That so didn’t even slow her down.

“Speaking of baby animals, if you’re a good girl at the store we can get a leash and collar for you too, and maybe even a chew toy.”

I remember once upon a time not that long ago when that wouldn’t do anything for me at all, and to my utmost regret, her saying that caused a tingly feeling in the lowest part of my tummy. The kink spiral is long and unpredictable. True story.

As she was approaching me with a wild momma bear look in her eye, I asked, “Can we go out to lunch too?”

“Of course. For a trip that long, we’ll have to take your diaper bag.” She held out a pair of panties for me, which are somehow more infantilizing when worn over a diaper than wearing a diaper on its own, like it’s such a transparent effort to humor my pretensions to being a big girl (which I am and they’re not pretensions! Really!). “Step in.”

I did, and she slid them up my (very slender and attractive) legs and seated them firmly (as thought trying to wedgie me, which fortunately she doesn’t do when she decides she wants to dress me but does do when she decides she wants to spank bare cheeks without taking my panties down … dammit).

“Daffy, did you wet your diaper just now?”

“Um, no?”

“O, so you don’t feel that?” She was feeling it enough for the both of us. “That means you really must need pampers then. Can you feel if I do this?”

“Gah! Mhmm … mmm. Y-y-yeah … I mean urf … no.”

“No, you can’t feel it or no, you don’t need pampers?”

“No … diapers.” And then she just stopped. Hmmph! Her orgasm denial kink is just so … Deep breath. You like all the other things about her.

“We’ll see. Pants, shorts, or skirt today?”

“So heccin unfair,” I grumbled understand my breath. Don’t start it if you’re not gonna finish.

She didn’t notice me pouting and I didn’t notice her still on Cloud Nine bouncing around like me on peanut butter until she said, “And I have a feeling, Daphne Ann, that you and our new puppy are going to be sharing some puppy pads.”

“You wouldn’t!”

O. My. Gawd. Mary’s yes-I-will-too face.

Eep.

[diaperboymi]

That was Great!!!!  Well... that will give Daphne something to do ????????

[Sarah Penguin]

Quote

 

[YourFNF]

I feel Daphne so hard on the pet thing. Only I'm not even a dog person.... It would kill me to say it to my wife but that's a negative ghost rider ??

[Alex Bridges]

Scene #166

 

 

“Wakey wakey,” this annoying person said to me. For serious.

“Did I ever tell you your morning perkiness is one of your worst traits,” I grumbled as I sat up in bed. Seriously one of her worst traits, leavened only by the way she looks in the morning, all hot and adoring and excited and stuff. It’s not her perkiness that bothers me; it’s the hour and that it’s direct at me when I’m definitely not perky.

“Just for that, I’m gonna be mean to you today.”

“No, you’re too nice for that.”

“Even the times you call me mean?”

“Especially when I call you mean, except for also yes, kinda mean those times.” Really.

“Then let’s see how you feel about this: today’s the day.”

“What day?”

“The day you finally poop your diaper. Get excited!”

“What!?! No way! I’m … No! I won’t! I’ll … I’ll … run away from home first!” I’m not hyperventilating! You are! And stuff! And things! And no! Just no!

“Daffy? April Fools.”

“Mean! Mean Mary!” Mean Mary who’s looking at me with her pre-pouncing look. She always looks that way when she’s about to – “Oof!” – pounce on me. “You’re very wound up today.”

“No you!” That’s it; it’s official – I’m a bad influence on my wife. And I’ll tell you this for free: she was all on top of me and necking me and stuff with the hands all over all the places and things.

“Marrrryyy, heehee! What’s gotten (smooch) into you?” Not that I was complaining. If she woke up this kind of perky, I wouldn’t mind it so much. I’d have bruises from her pinning my shoulders to the bed like she was doing, but I wouldn’t mind those either. Who would bother showing off a hickey when they can point to a bruise and say, ‘This is where my dominant goddess wife pinned me down while she did stuff to me … gay stuff.’ Yep, that’s a story I’d tell every single time.

“I’m just excited for today.”

“Why? What’s special about today?”

“I took the day off. Last minute decision.”

“What are we gonna woah!” Just flipping me over whenever it suits her. The woman loses all her manners when she’s a certain kind of excited. “What are you doing back there,” I ventured to ask as she peeled my pajama bottoms down.

“This.”

EEP! Teeth! Teeth biting my butt! She’s a butt biter. Has been ever since I’ve known her. As for me, I gave her a piece of my mind and just flat out told her, “(Happy shuddering noises.)”

“One of these days, Daffy,” she said when she let me go.

“Wh-youch!”

“One of these days I’m gonna gobble you all up.”

“Ouch! Heehee! Butt biter.”

“Just for that, I’m gonna … (gay snarfing sounds).”

“Yeebus! Marrryyy, that one hurt!”

“And now I’ll make it all better.”

If this is what her hormones do when she’s puppy pregnant … o my god what if we were having an actual baby? I might not survive it, but what a way to go!

[Guilend]

Not nice. Not nice at all. Just speaking for those of us waiting for her to take that plunge. To be fair the moment I clicked on the story I knew that part was going to be in it. Not sure why but I was like that would be a cruel April fools joke for Alex to play in my poor, poor soul. You didn’t fail lol

[Sarah Penguin]

[YourFNF]

[diaperboymi]

This is the Best story ever???????

[Alex Bridges]

On 4/2/2022 at 5:21 PM, Guilend said:

Not nice. Not nice at all. Just speaking for those of us waiting for her to take that plunge. To be fair the moment I clicked on the story I knew that part was going to be in it. Not sure why but I was like that would be a cruel April fools joke for Alex to play in my poor, poor soul. You didn’t fail lol

Maybe Daffy’s already taken the plunge but was so embarrassed that she didn’t write a journal entry ablut it ?

[Sarah Penguin]

1 hour ago, Alex Bridges said:

Maybe Daffy’s already taken the plunge but was so embarrassed that she didn’t write a journal entry ablut it ?

Yeah she will be far happier and less anxious when she admits she inside a newborn baby girl diapered 24/7 and treat by everyone that she is totally helpless happy only when she is playing with her newborn safe baby rattles. She is not meant try to adult. She ishould let mommy take care of.

[Bel George]

1 hour ago, Alex Bridges said:

Maybe Daffy’s already taken the plunge but was so embarrassed that she didn’t write a journal entry ablut it ?

I find that hard to believe since the humiliation of telling these kind of things is just part of her fetish.

I must confess that I hope that one day it will happen, preferably by accident, and that Nana will be around to comfort her (and then Nana will tell Mary all about it).

[Alex Bridges]

12 hours ago, Sarah Penguin said:

Yeah she will be far happier and less anxious when she admits she inside a newborn baby girl diapered 24/7 and treat by everyone that she is totally helpless happy only when she is playing with her newborn safe baby rattles. She is not meant try to adult. She ishould let mommy take care of.

Um, I don’t know if you know this cuz it’s kinda a secret, but Daffy isn’t a little girl ?

11 hours ago, Bel George said:

I find that hard to believe since the humiliation of telling these kind of things is just part of her fetish.

I must confess that I hope that one day it will happen, preferably by accident, and that Nana will be around to comfort her (and then Nana will tell Mary all about it).

Maybe she was so embarrassed she hid it from everyone. Or maybe she liked it so much but couldn’t bear to admit it to Mary.

[Sarah Penguin]

38 minutes ago, Alex Bridges said:

Um, I don’t know if you know this cuz it’s kinda a secret, but Daffy isn’t a little girl ?

Maybe she was so embarrassed she hid it from everyone. Or maybe she liked it so much but couldn’t bear to admit it to Mary.

Daffy is not a little girl. Little girls learn to potty in toilets, little girls are all about learning new skills,so every day they up more than they were when to bed that night.  Little girls are magical and quicksilver. Daffy  by her own words she is not a little girl. She knows in her mind she is  not a little girl she a baby girl. She is helpless, she cannot grow happily unless  because she returns to a the  baby girl life . Her soul screams for her to diapered, loved by her Mommy,nursing her paci, bottle fed formula, burped,and given some playtime wither newborn rattles hung over her cot, before being put to bed for the night. She needs only those few actions repeatedly for forever. No growing,, no changes, no new 1 year fancy rattles rattles for birthday growing up is anathema for daffy.  Forcing Daffy become a little girl by her and stop being her real self destroyed her  when her parents forced her to change.

[Alex Bridges]

Scene #167

 

“Are you nervous,” I asked my Mary.

“A little. You?”

“O my gawd yes … I mean, a smidge … What? You’re looking at me funny again.”

“No particular reason.”

“Don’t roll your eyes while driving.”

“Why not,” she scoffed at me. Scoffing! At me! Ridiculous. That’s what she is.

“I dunno. My mom told me it’s dangerous.”

“When?”

“When she was teaching me how to drive … O, she just wanted me to stop rolling my eyes at her, didn’t she?” I remember it cuz she, um, said it a lot when I was learning how to drive. The woman had some saintly patience during that formative experience. And I’m great at picking up subtext now, much better than when I was seventeen (yes, I didn’t get my license til I was seventeen; I was very wise for my age, wise enough to value the privilege of being chauffeured).

“God, you are so perfectly adorable sometimes.”

Not to be telling tales outta school or nothin’, but my wife thinks I’m perfectly adorable sometimes. So I got that going for me.

Also got impending puppy syndrome, which would resolve itself into chronic puppy ownership syndrome within hours. I say syndrome because it’s a collection of symptoms rather than a disease: anxiety, puppy love, anxiety, chewed furniture, anxiety, possible the only thing in the world that could love me more than Mary. I wonder if Mary realizes she was bringing the competition into our home.

“You do realize you’re going to have to compete with the puppy, right,” I asked her.

“What do you mean?”

“The puppy will love me unconditionally, and you love me unconditionally. One of you might get jealous.”

“Are you flirting with me?”

“Yes.” I’ve been told if you have to tell someone that you’re flirting with them, then you’re not very good at flirting. But I think Mary likes to ask just cuz it puts me on the defensive, where we both like me to be. Must be so much work being dominant. Every time I put on bossy pants, I can’t wait to take them off again.

“How abut if every time I buy the puppy a present, I buy one for you too?”

“That’s an excellent idea. Best idea ever. I like presents.”

“But they’ll come from the same store.”

“But what would a puppy do with jewelry?” Touché!

“I told you I’d buy you a diamond-studded collar, but you have to wear it everyday.”

“It wouldn’t go with my yoga pants.” Yep, that’s the reason I’m sticking with not wearing a jeweled dog collar. “Tell me why we’re driving all the way out here to get a puppy when we could’ve waited for the next adoption day at the farmers’ market?”

“Because Lisa’s friend runs this rescue, and one of their rescue dogs came in pregnant and had her litter. We’ll get first pick. Plus a little country air won’t hurt us. Speaking of…”

Mary got off the highway, much to the disappointment of the lady who narrates directions in her phone. I had a feeling, let’s just say, that Mary had something extra planned. She’s always plotting things. It’s one of the qualities I like about her most. Plus I saw the picnic blanket in the back and made an educated guess that underneath was a picnic basket. I could do Sherlock Holmes’ job easy; I don’t even need a Watson to boss around, which would work out cuz I’m not especially bossy. Really.

“Where are we going,” I asked because an inquisitive like that.

“I’m not sure. Somewhere secluded.”

“You’re just … driving down this road hoping to find a secluded spot?” She’s very alpha; not quite like her to not have more of a plan.

“I’m just looking for a good picnic spot.”

“We passed a sign for a park two exits up.”

“A park wouldn’t be very secluded, now would it, sweetie?”

Don’t you heccin condescend to me! But also yes please. “Why? What’s gonna happen?”

Mary looked at me with her just-you-wait eyes and said, “As a little girl I know would say, ‘Stuff and things.’”

O my. Not just stuff, but things also? “Aren’t we going to be late?”

“No. I told her told her between 1:30 and 2:00.”

“You told me noon.” See? She’s always plotting and planning stuff. We’re not exhibitionists, mostly. If we were, she wouldn’t the looking for someplace secluded. I had an inkling, though, we were going to be trespassing, cuz it looked like fallow farmland. “It may be secluded, but it’s not exactly private.” We could see quite a ways, and two people doing stuff and things would be, um, noticeable.

“We just need to find a little stand of trees.”

And we did, a narrow strip of woods dividing two fields. Had to be someone’s land, but where the entrance to it was, I don’t know. We didn’t pass it. Mary just pulled onto the shoulder, checked the side mirror before getting out, and said, “This is perfect.”

She got the picnic blanket and basket from the back, and I followed her to the edge of the trees, where we set up just inside the line tree line. It wasn’t entirely private, but we were mostly hidden from the road.. It was a good spot for a picnic, provided no angry farmers showed up. It was sunny, the ground was flat and soft, and there was just enough breeze to stay cool. Mary in her sundress and me in my springtime cutest skirt and top, on a picnic blanket in an empty field just sorta had this 1940s movie starlet vibe, except gay. Very gay.

“What did you bring for lunch,” I asked e en though I wasn’t hungry. We had breakfast and it was only 10:30.

“You.”

“Mary! You’re making me blush.”

“I brought some snacks,” she said, “but first I want to talk a little bit.”

“About what? Am in trouble?”

“Nope. I just wanted to say thank you again for agreeing to do this, and I wanted to ask again if you’re sure you’re good with it.”

“I am. Really.”

“But maybe a little anxious?”

“Yeah. Like, we’re going to have to keep this puppy alive. What if it gets out of the backyard and runs away? What if it gets sick? Who will take care of it when we’re out of town? So yeah, a little anxious. And …” Dammit. I told you not to say anything about this.

“What?”

“Nothing. That’s it.”

“You’re fibbing. You know what fibbers get?”

Eep. Yes, I do. “I was just thinking that, one day, and I know it’s a long time away, we’ll lose our puppy, and … it’ll be very hard.”

Dammit! You made Mary make a sad face.

“O, sweetie, c’mere.” We scooched closer, and Mary put her arm around me. I put mine around her and rested my head on her shoulder. I know it’s stupid to be thinking years and years ahead to how sad I’ll be when the dog is gone, but, well, that’s what anxiety is like sometimes. And I know it’ll be worth it, that the dog will make us very happy, but my catastrophizing mind wants to poke that bubble and think instead of all the things that could go wrong and how one day it’ll break my heart. But I also know that broken hearts mend, and that if we’re forever afraid of what we’ll lose, we’ll never muster the courage to love anything. And it does take courage.

“My sweet Daffodil. I know, but that’s a long time away, and it’ll bring so much happiness into our lives.”

“I know. It’s just my anxiety talking. It tells me lies.”

“You’re sure you’re sure, though?”

“Yeah. A little pupper to play with. I do have some ground rules, though.” I’d seen the way Mary was looking at pictures of puppies. I know my Mary; I know how her mind works.

“It’s so cute that you wanna try to make rules. What are they?”

“No dressing it up. We’re not referring to ourselves as ‘dog moms’ or calling it out ‘fur baby.’ And it’s only allowed to sleep in our bed if it doesn’t stop us from snuggling.”

“You’re so adorable.”

“I’m serious. I wanna roll over and spoon my Mary, not roll over and find a dog beat me to it.”

“Okay. It can’t sleep in our bed unless if it gets in between us.”

“And the other rules?”

“We’ll see.”

“That means no.” Remember childhood and being told ‘we’ll see’? Nine times out of ten that meant no.

“We’ll see,” she said as she – get how rude she is – tickled my side.

Hmmph! Which I pronounced, “Heehee!”

“I’m gonna have two bellies to rub.”

“Another rule: no implicitly comparing me to the dog.”

“Does that mean you’ve outgrown belly rubs?”

“Of course not. Don’t be silly.”

She mock gasped. “Me silly?!? Such a disrespectful little girl! I have half a mind to give you a spanking right here and now.”

“Well, I have half a mind to let you.”

“You know what happens next.”

As matter of well established fact, I do. I put myself over her lap and folded my arms under my chin. Mary flipped my skirt up and peeled my panties down.

“You get so mouthy when I let you wear your big girl undies. And you think you’re ready for bikini style.”

“I’m ready for all the things.”

“See? Big girl undies give you big ideas. But you’re still a little girl.”

“I’m not a little girl!” Hmmph!

“Is that so?” She, um, worked her hand under me into a, uh, place. “Then where is the hair on your princess parts? Big girls have hair down their.”

“Meanie.” SPANK! O heck yes. Like that times a hundred.

“A name caller? That’s definitely little girl behavior. Or should I say, misbehavior.” SPANK!

“You called me a name first!” SPANK!

“What did I call you?”

“A little girl. Duh.”

“That’s not name calling, Daffy. That’s just a fact. You’re my little girl. Do you know any big girls who get their bottoms spanked on the side of the road?”

“Um, yeah, six or seven. You introduced me to most of them.” True story.

“Ha!” SPANK SPANK! “Well, you’re still my little girl, and I’m not ever gonna let you grow up.”

“Grr.” SPANK!

“That’s right. My little girrrl.” SPANK!

“Hmmph!” SPANK!

“Let’s see if I can’t spank the sass out of you today.”

And I gotta give her a gold star for effort. She gave it the ol’ college try. It’s just that the sass is strong in me. Really.

“You, little girl, have a very red bottom.”

“It feels red (yawn!).”

“You tired now!”

“Mhmm.” Who doesn’t get sleepy when they have a warm butt? Beats ambien any day. “Hey, Mary? The dog is just gonna hafta get used to seeing me get spanked.”

“What?”

“I know it might upset it, but we’re confining our okay to the bedroom. The dog is just gonna hafta get used to seeing me get spanked and stuff.”

“You think it’ll upset it?”

“It might. It’ll get over it the more it’s exposed to it though.” I could feel Mary chuckling. You can feel just about everything a person does when you’re laid over their lap.

“Then I guess someone is gonna be in for a lot of sore bottoms for a while.”

“O heavens no (yawn).”

“Naughty little munchkin. Hold still.”

While I was holding still, this Mary person took my shoes off and rolled my panties all the way off. How unusual … for most people.

“I think we may just leave this if girl undies here.”

“No way. I like those.”

“But think of how it’ll tickle the farmer’s imagination when he finds them.”

“Heh! But no.”

“Fine,” she said like she was so wounded, which she wasn’t. Big faker. “But I’m not giving them back.”

“There are worse things than going commando … especially on a breezy day,” I added when the breeze picked up because, well, who wouldn’t enjoy a good airing out?

Mary motioned for me to roll off her lap, and just as I was rearranging my skirt, she tutted at me, “Not yet, silly goose. We gotta get you dressed again.” And who would’ve guessed that she would reach into the picnic basket and pull out a diaper.

“Yeah,” I said, “there are worse things than going commando, like that.”

“Lay back down.”

“But that’s one of the crinkly ones.”

“All the better to protect your pretty skirt and your socks.”

“My socks?”

“Mhmm. Just imagine yourself having an accident …”

“I never have accidents!” Malicious insinuation started by a woman with a very loose morals (gawd I love her so much!)!

“Just,” she repeated like I hadn’t said a word, “imagine yourself having an accident. It would run down your pretty thighs and your o so smooth calves and get your socks and shoes all wet. How embarrassing, right? We’d have to ask Lisa’s friend if she had some clean bottoms for you, and I can just picture her now when I ask her for socks. ‘O,’ she’ll say, ‘so it was a big total flood. Glad my toddlers are past that stage.’ And how embarrassed you’ll be.”

I’m not blushing! You are! Nyah!

“None of that will happen.”

“It will if I make it happen,” she threatened me. Mary and her threats and the way her eyes just light up like o so hopeful I’ll give her the reason she needs to follow through on it. Hot damn is she so sexy.

“You can’t make me pee my pants,” I pointed out to her.

“No, but I can not let you use the potty. You know I have my doubts about you being ready for the potty. It would be a shame for you if you proved me right. I wonder if I don’t let you go for long enough if paddling your bottom will make you lose control. Do you think Lisa’s friend has ever heard – or seen – a girl your age get her bottom paddled? Maybe she’d want to help.”

“Marrry! Stop it.”

“Nope.”

Ugh. Can you believe she said that? “Fine,” I said as I flopped onto my back and put my arms over my face cuz I needed a moment alone.

“Such a good girl when you wanna be.”

“You take that back!”

“Such a good girl all the time.”

“All the times.”

“Time.”

“Times.”

“Such a good girl all the times,” she said to me all patronizing. How rude! But also, yes please.

Me? I’m never rude. Really. In fact, I’m not ill mannered or short tempered or bratty or naughty ever. Never have been. Not once in all the times. Really. I even totally cooperated with Mary ash she put that diaper on me, and when she patted the last tape and said, “There. All snug and safe,” I didn’t go hmmph. True story.

“Yogi Bear would be so confused and disappointed if he stole our basket.”

“I brought snacks too. Here,” she said as she held out her hands to help me sit up.

Watching her sort through the basket, I had a notion – an epiphany, an idea – that now would be an excellent time to do to her something she does to me all the time. I mean, we were alone, and it seemed like a good moment.

“Mary,” I said, and when she turned to look at me, I did it. I pounced on her.

And bounced off. Dammit …

“Are you okay,” she asked me as I sat up and pretended like I meant for that to happen. Which I did, actually, for the record. I’m smooth like that, totally collected and in control of myself and y surroundings. So … I meant to do that. Really.

“O my god, how are you so sturdy,” I asked. Which is when she started laughing. Hmmph!

“What were you trying to do?”

“Pounce on you … like you do on me … and then we do things and stuff.”

“Honey, you’re too little to pounce on me.”

“Am not!” Hard to be that offended cuz she looked so happy. Ya know something? I think Mary was having one of her best days. Sigh … I’m so happy when she’s happy.

“We can practice pouncing later this week. I’ll show you how to do it like a big girl.”

“Hmmph. I was gonna put my head up your dress. I was promised stuff and things.”

“And you got your bottom spanked and put in one of your pretty diapers.”

“Like that even counts. Don’t start the engine if you’re not gonna drive the car.”

“Wanna cookie?”

“Ooo, yes please.” What? I’m not easily distracted any more than I’m easy to please.

“Two hands please.”

“What?”

“Hold it with two hands,” Mary repeated, accompanied by pantomiming as thought I were new to using language.

“Why?”

“Cuz you’re so little. You don’t wanna drop your cookie on the ground, do you?”

“Marrry!”

“Heehee!”

“It’s a good thing dogs can’t talk. This one is gonna have so many secrets.”

“And they don’t judge either, especially little girls.” Well, I didn’t respond to that for a moment, a long enough pause for Mary to actually say me, “I bet you feel so much better piddling a potty puddle in your pampers.”

“Was not!” Ooo, Mary’s o-really face. “I was gonna go behind a tree before we left, but you just had to put your special underwear on me.”

“You could’ve asked to go potty first. If you don’t tell me when you need to go, I don’t think you’ll ever make it out of diapers full time.”

To which I responded by giving her my unimpressed face. A borderline sneer, in fact, very aggressive for a sub, so yeah, I took a risk. I’m a risk taker. I’m brave … and stuff.

“Lemme feel,” she said. Coulda predicted that. “Ooo, such a warm, wet potty pillow between your thighs, but you don’t need a change yet.”

“Are you having a good day,” I asked her.

She nodded her head. “Mhmm. Thanks for letting me tease you. I’ll make it up to you after the puppy is in bed … Ha!”

“What?”

“I just had a thought. When we get there, all those dogs will be snoofing. Wouldn’t surprise me if you got some extra attention when they smell your peepee pants.”

Aw crud! She’s probably right! “Marrry!”

“Aww. It’s okay. They won’t tell anyone.”

“We should get going. I don’t wanna be late.”

“My good little rule follower. Can you get your shoesies back on yourself?”

“I’m telling the puppy all about the ways you mistreat me.”

“I dote on you.”

“Yeah … dammit.”

And she laughed at that. I love hearing my Mary laugh. I love making her happy. So off we went to pick out a puppy.

[Sarah Penguin]

Puppy will be a werepuppy and nom the author.

[Alex Bridges]

1 hour ago, Sarah Penguin said:

Puppy will be a werepuppy and nom the author.

?I love your silliness ?

[diaperboymi]

AWESOME chapter ? That was Great!!!!  Poor Daffy.... trying to be all grown up.  Doubt if it will happen under Mary's watch ????  Great job Alex????

[Alex Bridges]

Scene #168

 

 

It’s a heccin good thing I’m independent and reliant on no one but myself, cuz otherwise when I rolled over in bed and didn’t find my comfort person, I would’ve been very upset. But nope, not me. I was merely curious where she went until my very pretty ears (so says the person who nibbles on them on) and very good hearing (so says the same person who likes to bring that up when I’ve allegedly not been listening) detected a soft sound coming up from our living room.

I tip-toed downstairs in the dark and heard the dulcet tones of my Mary singing.

 

 

 

Goodnight, my angel
Now it's time to dream
And dream how wonderful
Your life will be
Someday your child may cry
And if you sing this lullaby
Then in your heart
There will always be a part of me

 

 

 

My Mary sings very well, though I’m not sure if that’s objectively true or I just love her so much and stuff that I just think she sings very well. I turned the corner into our living room and there she was, sitting next to a sleeping puppy wrapped in a blanket. Mary couldn’t have not noticed me when I came in, but she didn’t stop singing.

I sat down next to her and waited for her to be done before whispering, “Do you sing that song to everyone their first night living with you?”

“You wake this puppy, Daphne Ann, and I’ll spank your bare bottom,” was her reply. Hmm. So … wasn’t expecting that. I mean, I was whispering. Granted, I’m not great at whispering, which apparently is a skill I haven’t mastered, but I wasn’t any louder than Miss Mary Sing-Song.

“Rude,” I whispered back even more softly.

“She just fell asleep again.”

“I feel kinda bad for her,” I said. “She must miss her mom and brothers and sisters so much. And she was shaking so hard almost all the way home.” I leaned my head on Mary’s shoulder and held her arm. “But I feel happy for her, cuz she has you.” And I’m an expert on how awesome it is to have Mary. Make me shudder just thinking about it.

“She has you, too.” And o my gawd, cuz Mary turned and kissed my hair. O heck with the heccin feels.

“So do you sing that song to everyone on the first night they move in with you?”

“What do you mean?”

“You sang me that song the first night we lived together. In bed, before we fell asleep.”

“I didn’t remember what song it was. I guess I do, since you two are the only ones I’ve ever lived with. Doesn’t make you jealous, does it?”

“Heehee. No.” At least, I don’t think so. Not yet. Not that I ever get jealous. Really.

“Tell me more about that night. Our first night living together.”

“We spent the whole day moving my stuff into storage and your apartment, and we were sweaty and gross.”

“Mhmm.”

“And your neighbor across the hall was super helpful cuz he was so obviously wanting to ask me out.”

Mary giggled. “Poor Joshua. The man had no gaydar at all.”

“Yeah, but as a consolation prize he got to go to bed thinking about what the lesbian neighbors were doing. Not that I’m judging cuz that’s the same thing I’d be doing if we had lesbian neighbors.”

“My hypersexual Daffodil.”

“I’m not hypersexual, Mary. I’m homosexual.”

She let out a “Ha!” before stifling herself down to a suppressed chuckle, but not before she snorfed (snort-laughed; I make portmanteaus sometimes). “We can’t wake the puppy,” she whispered again.

“Then stop snorfing,” I whispered back. “Snort-laughing. I made a new word just now.” Just got that out there preemptively cuz Mary had huh-what? face.

“What happened next?”

“We ordered Gino’s and ate pizza and drank beer on the balcony.”

“And you waved hello to everybody who walked by,” Mary added.

“I was getting to know my new neighbors.”

“And then when we were done eating, we crashed. Completely out of energy as soon as the food hit our bellies.”

“We took a shower together.”

“No funny business.”

“And we got in bed, and you appointed yourself the big spoon.”

“You appointed yourself the little spoon.”

“And you sang me that song.”

Mary turned and kissed my hair again. “You are, you know.”

“What?”

“My angel. That’s what you are.”

“No you,” I answered cuz she so heccin is! Mary, guardian angel, ninja, sorceress, coyote, computer something or other, love of my life.

We sat in silence for a moment watching our puppy sleep. We have a puppy together. Still hard to believe, like woah, hey teen bride, that’s such a big step for a married couple in their thirties. You sure you're ready? And so much cuteness! I had already made peace that until the dog reached her awkward adolescent phase, I wouldn’t be the cutest thing in the house.

“You were awfully cute today at the rescue,” Mary told me as though she can read my mind. She might be able to; she is a sorceress, as I’ve said. Would explain how she always stays a couple steps ahead of me despite my preternatural knack for strategizing and subterfuge. If I wasn’t a homemaker, I’d probably be a spymaster or something. Really. But back to the rescue.

“The swarmed me all at once. I was knocked off my feet,” I reminded her. She must’ve forgotten cuz I told her that at the rescue.

“Really? Because to me it looked like maybe you were hoping to have puppies crawling all over you and licking your face.”

“Who wouldn’t?” I’ve never wanted to be at the bottom of a pile before, but so many puppies! It’s like the physical manifestation of uwu just all over you with the terminal adorability and puppy breath and puppy toes and puppy eyes! Oof!

“You know you flashed your diaper to that woman?”

“Aw geez.” That stings. “Seriously?”

“Super seriously. Your skirt rode almost all the way up while you were rolling around on the ground.”

“Did she say anything?”

“Nope. I just saw her do a double take, but she didn’t say anything. I didn’t think you’d want me making an even bigger scene by saying something like, ‘Daffodil, what did we say about showing strangers your Pampers? That’s not how you’re supposed to tell me you’re wet.’”

“You wanted to, though, didn’t you?” I’m on to her.

“I so wanted to.”

“Thanks for not telling me. I’d have been too embarrassed to enjoy picking out our puppy together after that.”

 

A lot to pick from, and I said to the woman, “Are these all of them?”

“There’s one still inside. She’s shy.”

“Can we see her?”

“Of course. They shy ones always get picked last, but they outgrow it with the right family.”

And Mary, brushing the dust and grass off me, put her arm around me, and we followed the woman inside. (Know what stinks? The room nine puppies live in.) We sat down on the floor near the puppy, and we called to it and patted the floor and held out a treat and a toy … and she didn’t budge.

“What do you think,” Mary asked me.

“I think we should pick her.”

“My dad always said you should let your dog pick you,” Mary said, nodding toward her across the room, sitting there shaking (the puppy, not Mary).

“Yeah, but it’s just because she’s scared of strangers. We won’t be strangers by tomorrow.”

“You’re sure?”

“Mhmm. If you are. It was your idea.”

Mary looked me right in the eye and made her you’re-too-sweet face at me. “You don’t want her to get picked last, and you wanna be the one who helps her come out of her shell.”

“I want us to help her come out of her shell.”

“Yeah,” Mary said, “but it’s literally all I can do to keep just a little of you in your shell.”

“Not even. It’s all I can do to keep you from running away with what’s left of my shell.” It sure as heck wasn’t my idea to spank me in dressing room at the mall (or the many, many times and places thereafter … well, some of them were my idea … okay, insistence, but whatever).

 

And that’s how we picked out the puppy. “You think of a name yet,” I asked Mary.

“Still not sure.”

“Me neither. Should we try to put her back in her crate,” I yawned.

“She’ll wake up and start crying again if we do.”

“She’s gotta get used to it at some point.”

“Yeah, but she’s had a hard enough day. I’ll stay down here if you wanna go back up to bed.”

“How about I bring a couple pillows down?”

“Even better.”

I got halfway to the stairs and turned around, looking at Mary looking at the puppy. I resolved to relent: if she wants to call herself a dog mom, I won’t make fun. Having things to take care of just makes her so happy.

 

 

_______

I'm choosing this ferocious uwu beast as the model for their puppy. What should we name her? If people send suggestions, I'll set up a poll so everyone can vote.

 

 

[bobindiapers]

I think Puddles would be a good name for the puppy, or Daisy to go along with Daphne's Daffodil nickname