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

[Alex Bridges]

7 hours ago, Sarah Penguin said:

the author identifies as nonbinary because they  are haunted by the soul of two platypusses, one male and the other female abdls  who posses the author to write new tales.

Who told?!?

[Sarah Penguin]

59 minutes ago, Alex Bridges said:

Who told?!?

your writings were analized by an AI after some weird things in your first posts here seemed odd for a random human in so decided to subit all of your posted publically text to a text analizing AI with other free onlne analing your fiction comparatively. It finished it's analysis. Still a fan of your even if your haunted by a platypus pair.

[SolSombraYSoldados]

I love that Daphne not only accepted the punishment, but asked Mary to be more strict. She spends a lot of time railing against how unfair Mary is being, (which is cute and totally part of the story's draw!) that it's easy for a reader to feel that Mary is being unfair sometimes.

I like the little peeks into the couple's negotiation, like the (2?) times that Mary has overstepped and needed to apologize or correct herself.

It makes the DS relationship seem way stronger, IMO.

[Jayme]

That is the worst part of some vacations, there are times where the looming end just sits like a weight yet others pass like a feather. I still haven't found a correlation as to why...

[Alex Bridges]

Scene #180

 

When we got home, I couldn’t help but notice Suzy was all over Mary (who is not me)the moment we walked in the door. All wagging ball of puppy fluff dancing from foot to foot and jumping and squealing and crying and piddling. Not that my feelings were hurt, but as I said to Suzy, “Hey! I’m also home.”

Only when she was done with Mary did she take notice of me. I think she loves me just as much but was all tired out from her antics. I know the feeling. I’ve reacted like that when Mary’s come home from a trip before (minus piddling on the floor in excitement). But need I remind that dog who gives her the vast majority of tummy rubs, takes her on walks, and feeds her vegetables from the dinner table when Mary isn’t looking? Me! She’s lucky she chose my lap to snuggle up in that evening or I’d have been very put out.

But I know how much Mary loves that puppy. So much that I didn’t even make a snide remark in the gift shop when Mary bought the dog a shirt. So much that when Mary sat the dog upright in her lap, the dog got bored of the baby talk before Mary did. She hugged that pupper to pieces. I was surprised because she didn’t say anything about missing her while we were gone, but she did fawn over the pictures and video Nana sent. I’m glad the dog makes her so happy; she makes me happy too.

But the post-vacation honeymoon was soon over, and there we were again, just two very kinky, slightly unhinged people living together. It’s not like I expected the return to regular to suck that second to last day of vacation when I got myself in such a ‘tude. I’d just forgotten, cuz I was comparing vacation fantasy land to real life, just how interesting our real life is.

We got home on a Sunday, and on Friday, as I do almost every day, I made lunch and wooed Mary away from her desk to dine with me (we had sandwiches cuz were such fancy people). Lunch was over, I was gonna do the dishes, and Mary said to me, “Alright, it’s test time.”

To which I responded, “For who? At work?” She’s in IT; I don’t understand what she does, but sometimes they gotta test stuff.

But nope. “Your first summer reading test. Don’t tell me you forgot. I reminded you last week.”

Ooo, dilemma: do I wanna get in trouble for not listening, or do I wanna get in trouble for fibbing (also known as lying)? I’m so smart, I chose both.

Or rather, I thought I was smart enough to pass the test (or cheat; I thought I could cheat), so I said, “O! Of course not. Don’t be silly.”

Mary gave me her uh-huh-yeah-I-bet face, but left me o so much room to dig the hole deeper. “Which book is this test on?”

O gee yeah, thanks for asking follow up questions. Here’s also a good question: what were the books she assigned me? I responded by slowly pronouncing consonants while closely scrutinizing Mary’s face for any sign I was in the neighborhood. “Mmmm hhhh ttttt ppppp …” Ooo! She titled her head half a degree! Add a vowel! “Paaa pe peeee pi ….” Ooo! She smiled a little (probably cuz she likes watching me squirm). But I remember! “Pippi Longstocking! Ha. … Was that the whole test?” Cuz that would’ve been sweet.

“Now who’s being silly. Come on; you can take it in my office.”

Wuh? She’s actually going to proctor the test? She is such a nerd! I knew she just wanted to give me something to do during the summer when she assigned me summer reading, but if she told she had a fantasy about being a proctor (or hall monitor or eraser clapper or apple polisher or narc) I would’ve been exactly not surprised at all.

“I’ll go get the book.” If I can remember where it is.

“Sorry, Daffy Duckling, it’s closed book. But that’s okay because you read it already, right? When I asked you if you’d read it yet and you said yes?“ Ugh; she’s knew the truth and looked darn happy to not intervene in my quest to get in more trouble. She’s got a good poker face, but I can always see it in her eyes. Why didn’t I stop myself? Because reasons, so shut up.

As to her asking me if I’d read it, Mary asks a lot of questions. It’s super inefficient to listen to each one before saying yes or no. I got a 50/50 shot of being right, and even when I do listen, my average is at best 80/20. Sometimes I think she phrases questions in funny ways to entrap me, but a dedicated lifestyle dominant wouldn’t do that, right? Or ask questions she already knows the answer to to trick me into revealing my less than stellar behavioral choices? Like, o, say, right then?

Well, two can play at that game. “No problemo. I know the book backwards and forwards.” It’s a kids’ book. How hard could it be to guess? Wait, how is that me playing the game again?

Mary escorted me to her office where she had the test printed out (nerd!). And ya know what? “This isn’t multiple choice.” Fuck.

“Yeah,” she replied as she sat down at her desk, probably already planning all the things she was gonna do to me. Scratch that: she keeps a running list in her head. She knew exactly what she was gonna and had probably been fantasizing about it all through lunch.

“I just expected multiple choice is all. Is … is there a time limit?”

“Nope.”

“Um, I hafta go the bathroom.”

“I can fix that,” was her clever retort. “Gimme your phone.” 

Dammit to heccin fudge muffins! I’m not even allowed to cheat!?! What kinda summer reading program is this? Pedagogical tyrant! That’s what she is. Hmmph!

Not that either of us was prepared to back down (cuz we’re both too mature to back down; yep, it’s a maturity thing, not an immature competitiveness thing like, at all … even a little bit … really). I tried very hard to suppress a glare as she shut her laptop (dammit!), took my phone (fuck nuggets!) and left, only to reappear in under a minute with a Goodnite. I really (super heccin really!) shoulda put up a much bigger fuss when she started keeping that stuff on the first floor. Not that it would’ve done much good …

“No need for interruptions now,” she announced like it was great grand wonderful news as she simultaneously pulled my shorts down and my panties with them (the seahorse ones; not the sexiest pair I own but way better than the latest Disney princess on the pull-ups), and bade me step into the pull-up. She pulled it up snug (very snug; take half a second to ask yourself why she likes to do that), and squeezed my butt. “All set for a tinkle during your test.”

“But I have to, you know.”

“Then you can have a diaper, or you can use the potty, but you won’t be taking any reading material or electronics into the bathroom,” was her rule-bound proctor’s response. Professional buzzkils; that’s what proctors are. And this one was grinning at me like a she-wolf. “You’re looking kinda pouty there, kiddo. Something you wanna say?”

“I’m thirsty. Can I get some water?”

“Swallow your spit.” 

Woah! How super aggressive. Unnecessary. But I’d address that later. Just then, rolled with it cuz I’m smooth like that.

“I’d rather swallow yours.” Actually, btw, ew. Gross. But worth a shot, right? Mary’s libido isn’t exactly dormant.

“Nice try. Anything else?”

So many things I wanted to say. In fact, I wanted to say all things, but that’s rarely an act that gets me anywhere but deeper in trouble. “Just that I’m gonna ace this test.” 

It’d be like one of those movies where the one teacher thinks the students are failures and the inspirational teacher helps them succeed and shows up the bad teacher! But instead of an inspirational teacher, I had me, an historically semi-successful practitioner of the guess-and-hope method. Of course I was such a good rule follower growing up that I never missed a single homework assignment or got worse than a C even in the subjects I sucked at (mostly got As and Bs, for the record), but since attaining grownup status, I’d adopted a new philosophy on life: I’m a good rule follower, unless I don’t wanna. Which is totally a legitimate life philosophy that doesn’t make me not a good rule follower and that everyone has to respect because reasons. Really.

Skipping ahead in the story to the part where she graded my test out loud.

 

“Why is she called Pippi Longstocking? ‘Because she has long socks.’ Good guess, but the correct answer is that’s her name.”

Once again, I failed to apply the principle of Occam’s Razor. Dammit.

“What pets does Pippi have? ‘A dog and cat.’ A monkey and a horse, sweetie. What superhuman thing can Pippi do to her horse? See right there, where it says ‘her horse’ in the next question?”

“I should’ve connected the dots on those questions.”

“You should’ve connect the dots on those questions. You wrote ‘talk to it.’ Nope; she can lift it.”

“I get half credit for that, right?” Hmm, Mary’s this-isn’t-funny-but-I’m-laughing-on-the-inside face. What could that mean?

“What are three things Pippi has in common with Daphne? ‘1) She has red hair. 2) Stuff. 3) Things?’ Why did you put a question mark at the end of things?”

“Because I … don’t know why.” What is this, a quiz?

“I would’ve accepted she’s cute and sweet, she doesn’t wanna grow up, she tells tall tales, her manners need some improvement, she can be very loud, she’s rebellious, she’s beautiful, she’s unconventional, she likes to go on adventures, she likes to misbehave, and she wants to be a pirate.”

“I disagree about some of those. And I’m so over my pirate phase; that was, like, five years ago.” Get with the times, Mary. And while some of Pippi’s qualities I’m happy to share, no way do we have some of those in common. Tall tales? Misbehaves? Doesn’t wanna grow up? As if! … Hey, Daff, you never put your shorts back on to cover the bedwetter pants. Shut up!

But my answers were correct anyway, as I explain the Miss Mary Test Tyrant. “That’s stuff. And those are things too. I got all three points.”

“One point for the hair color.”

I remembered that from the cover.

“And lastly, summarize the plot of the book … Daphne, this is the plot of the Scooby Doo episode you watched during breakfast.”

“Um, no it’s not?”

“‘Scooby and Shaggy then ran from the ghost but it was really the butler who didn’t want anyone to buy the mansion after his boss died.’”

“Maybe we just took different things from the book? No two readers are alike, ya know.” Mary’s try-again face. “I read it in the original language?”

“Which is?”

“ … Portuguese?”

“You just lost your only point.”

“Dammit.” Hmmph!

Proctor Mary was displeased (though pretty sure she was heccin pleased too). “You didn’t do your homework, you failed the test, and you fibbed multiple times.” Silence  prevailed.

“ … … O, were you waiting for me to say something?”

“You got detention, little girl.”

“Aw, seriously?”

“Yes, seriously. I have a half a mind to give you swats right now and again after school.”

“There is no school!”

“Life is a school, Daphne.”

“For what, to prepare for death?” And also, OMG COULD SHE HAVE COME UP WITH A WORSE CLICHÉ! I’m embarrassed that I love everything about her. As for my response, see how I disarmed her whole (ridiculous) point (that she didn’t even seriously mean … I hope) by carrying it through to its logical conclusion, thus showing how nonsensical it is? I am too smart! There goes Daphne, people say, too smart for her own good. They really say that! I just didn’t read the book because I was busy not reading the book (and you can try to prove me wrong, but that’s bulletproof logic).

Try telling any of that to Mary the Ninja Master who was on her feet, spinning me around, and smacking the backs of my thighs before I could even … something. I’m sure if she was just a little slower, I’d have stopped her with some awesome move. Really.

“That,” Mary said with a hard slap that left a handprint, I’m sure, “is for being a smartmouth. Report to detention at 3:30.”

“You’re stopping work early?” Yay!

“I have a naughty student to deal with, and you can leave that pull-up on until then.”

Good thing I didn’t roll my eyes or go, “Hmmph.”

“You want those swats now? You wouldn’t be the first student of mine to get two spankings in one school day, little girl.” Yeah, because I was that student of hers, like, four or eleven times in school years past.

“Can I at least put my shorts back on?”

“If you’d like.” And I’m somehow the smartmouth?!? Hmmph!

“These feel different,” I casually remarked.

“That’s cuz you’re wearing training pants under them, sweetie.”

“I meant the Goodnite … meanie.”

“It’s not a Goodnite. They’re called Ninjamas. If you prefer the Goodnites though, you can wear those all weekend until they’re gone, and then we can go to the store and you can pick out any training panties you want. I promise.”

“No, thank you. These are fine.” MEANIE!

“You sure,” she said to me with her aren’t-I-being-so-pretend-sweet-to-Daphne face (with matching tone). Grrr!

“I’m sure. Can I go over to Nana’s or am I grounded until the fake detention?”

“You wanna run away to Grandma’s and tell her how mean I am to you?”

“Basically, yes.” There! I said it!

“Of course. Just be back by 3:30.”

“K.” And I turned on my heel to huff my way out the door. But nope, the ninja (of course she bought something called Ninjamas! Of course she heccin did!!!) had one more thing she wanted to do to me

A big hug and several kisses. “I love you muchly.” Aw geez! 

“I love you more,” I replied and meant it.

“Be a good girl at your Nana’s.”

“I’m always a good girl.”

“Yeah you are.”

OMG! She thinks I’m always a good girl! Not to brag or anything, but also yes.

[diaperboymi]

Oooops!  Should have read the book. ????

[YourFNF]

I feel like Daphne should just own her middle side at this point... Then we can have a sleep over and stay up watching horror movies! XD ?

[Alex Bridges]

Scene #181

 

I knocked on Nana’s door and waited for her, and I don’t know why I even wanted to go over there. I wasn’t mad at Mary. I was just … disgruntled. Which is very unusual for me as I tend to be quite gruntled, even over gruntled sometimes. It’s not like I was fishing for sympathy (was totally fishing for sympathy).

“Hi Daffy,” Nana greeted me. She had a whole garden grandma thing going, or maybe a countryside vibe. Sleeveless blouse, high-waisted shorts, a working-outside tan. I half expect her sometimes to welcome me in with a ‘O honey, did you walk all this way down Rural Route 4? Does your momma know where you are?’

“Hi. Can I come in?”

“Of course. How’s Suzy doing?”

Wtf? Is everyone more enamored with the dog than they are with me? Cuz I’m pretty awesome.

“Happy to have us home. You miss her?”

“Yeah. We bonded.”

“You want me to go get her?”

“No. No need for … Well, if it’s not too much trouble.”

“Be right back.” I went out her back door and through the fence. Suzy is an awesome dog, one of the all-time greats, very much like myself but among humans. She heard that fence open and was at the backdoor yapping her happy yap in an instant, most assuredly because she could tell it was me coming as opposed to any other person whose company she enjoys.

She zipped out right past me, ran in eight circles around the yard, dove face first into the grass, and proceeded to roll and flop every which way. I gotta try it sometime. Looks fun, but exhausting. 

“Suzy.” That was all I had to say to get her to upright herself, shake the dust and grass loose, and wag her way over to me. Mary has commented that when I want attention I have a  similar habit of swinging my ass at her, to which I say, yeah, what’s your point? To which she said, I’ll show you my point. To which I said, yes please and thank you because I’m polite like that.

I scooped her up, and remarked, “You’re getting heavy, girly.” She’s still at the age when that’s taken as a compliment to be proud of whereas if someone said it to me, I’d just cry. “You wanna go see Nana?”

Heck yeah she did. I could barely keep her in my arms. I let her go the moment the gate was open, and she propelled herself off me and straight to Nana, who was setting up a tray of iced tea and cookies on her patio. How does she always have cookies in the house and ready to go? I think it’s because she doesn’t live with Mary, because if I didn’t live with Mary (and perish the thought! kill with fire!) I’d always have cookies in the house. TBD on my willingness to share them.

“How do you always have cookies,” I asked while Suzy jumped at her legs. “Suzy, behave.”

“They give you a lifetime supply when you become a grandma,” she chuckled.

“Maybe we shouldn’t have Suzy fixed,” I mused. I don’t like calling myself a dog mom, but if unlimited cookies are part of the deal, I’ll call myself all the things. “Suzy, no.”

Mary says now I know what it’s like when she’s trying to get my attention, to which I say, Hmmph!

“Down,” Nana said, and I felt very self-conscious and almost sat my butt down. I’m very good at following instructions. Really.

“That’s her word,” Nana explained. “We worked on it while you two were away. Have a drink; you look warm.” She sat down next to me and patted the space between us, which was quickly filled by hot, panting dog.

“It’s hot today,” was my reply when I reached for a glass of her tea. I’m told British people drink it hot year round; this confused me until I went to Britain and learned what their summers are like.

“You’ve been spoiled by air conditioning.”

“I guess I’ve always like to be pampered like a princess.” Did I just … “With air conditioning! That’s the … indulgence … comfort.” She’s giving you that look you used to call weird and now it’s kinda normal.

“We didn’t have air conditioning in our house growing up. Even when we insisted and had it installed in my parents’ house when they were older, they still wouldn’t use it.”

“I can’t imagine that.”

“It was hot but not like this and not so often. We kept a lot of fans on and the windows and doors open. If it was real hot, we’d sleep on the porch.”

Mary sometimes jokes about me being out of control, running bare foot with the dogs all hours of the night, and she’s gonna make me live in the yard, but that’s just not true because I turn into a pumpkin at 11:00 most nights. Mary sometimes jokes she’s gonna bake me into a pie and gobble me up, and I tell her to skip the pie part (and I loathe pumpkin pie; can’t even stand the smell).

“Daffy?”

“Hmm? Yeah?” Whuh, people near me talking words?

“You were day dreaming.” Heh. Heck yeah I was.

“Sorry. Got lost in my own thoughts for a second.”

“Something on your mind?”

I assumed it would make her uncomfortable if I were to tell her I’d been thinking about sweaty lesbian sex, so I told her the other thing that was on my mind, the thing that ought to make her uncomfortable but that she is oddly fine with because - and I know because I asked her once - Mary and I explained our relationship once upon a time, and Nana has ever since seen me ever since in much the same way Mary does because that’s who we told her I am. Which is super kind and open minded, but also maybe more the way Mary sees me than the when I see me. I’d complain, but Mary is in charge. Besides, I like that I can talk to Nana about this stuff. When I talk to our kink friends, they’re sympathetic, but they’re also secretly (and sometimes openly) rooting for me to be treated like a little girl. Nana doesn’t have a dog in that fight.

“I got in trouble for failing my summer reading test.”

“You failed a test?” I take satisfaction knowing that surprised her.

“I didn’t read the book.”

“Ah. That’ll do it.”

“I just didn’t want to. I was busy … doing stuff. I think it’s the first homework in my whole life that I didn’t do.”

“I thought you were excited to read those books. You said so right on this porch when Mary told you she was assigning you the books.”

“I get excited about a lot of stuff until I actually hafta do them … which assumes I even remember.” Call it 60% pandemic and 40% not remembering how I used to remember things before I started working and out everything on a calendar. Just don’t it any percent getting older cuz shut up! But it’s really just that I didn’t want to. Had I wanted to, I would’ve remembered. Stupid brain.

“Maybe you need a tutor. I used to be a teacher, ya know,” Nana joked with what I hope was a very dry sense of humor and not announce of sincerity.

“You’re gonna tutor me on Pippi Longstocking,” I asked with a smile on my lips and in my cheeks and shining out my eyes, hoping to communicate what a silly idea it was without calling it a silly idea just in case she was sincere.

“Mine loves that book, even my son.”

‘Mine’ as in her what? Nana never had one of me. She really isn’t kidding when she says she sees me the way Mary does. Not entirely the way Mary does, but call it 60% the same. She’ll stop if I tell her to, but I haven’t and not for any particular reasons that others may mistakenly assign to my motives. Really! So shut up.

I changed the subject. “I have to report to ‘detention’ at 3:30.” Unused finger quotes and rolled my eyes because I’m very mature. Really. And shut up!

“What happens in detention?”

“I’m gonna get a spanking … Which I don’t even deserve.”

Nana, when I ventured to look up at her … not that I was looking down to avoid her eyes like I was embarrassed or anything … looked puzzled.

“I … I don’t understand.“

“Well, technically I also fibbed to her when I told her I read the book.” ‘Technically’ is such a weird word. Was does it technically even mean? Don’t look it up. Just accept that I have a valid point. Really.

“I mean, you like it. When she’s strict and when she spanks your bottom. Right?”

I let out the world’s biggest ever sigh and collect my puppy from Nana’s lap and deposited her into my own. That thing about dogs picking up on your mood, does that come with age? Cuz Suzy was ready to bounce off my lap and play chase (she always wins). I wasn’t feeling bouncy or playful at all.

“It’s,” I sighed again, “complicated. I don’t like being punished.”

“Daffy, that’s what makes it a punishment.”

“I know.” Like, I know! “But I don’t like even though I do. I like getting pretend punished.”

“What’s the difference?”

“I don’t feel guilty when I’m being pretend punished. Actually being punished … it’s not fun at all.”

“Then why do you do it?”

“It’s fun later.” Nana’s now-you’ve-lost-me face. “It’s not fun at all during, but it’s fun after.” 

I once read a blog by a hiker who broke fun into two categories: Type 1 fun is fun while you’re doing it; Type 2 fun sucks while you’re doing it and is only fun when it’s over. 

Being punished is decidedly Type 2 fun. I hate when I disappoint Mary or break a rule without meaning to. At least I have my reasons when I mean to, but when I do it carelessly, even when it’s silly like, o say, reading a children’s book because she told me to, I hate it. It’s a mismatch: when I break a rule on purpose, it’s usually a rule Mary actually cares about. When I don’t mean to, it’s usually a rule Mary doesn’t take seriously. She takes the punishment seriously either way, but I get much more disappointed with myself when I just plain forgot.

I was catching the worst of both worlds now because while I forgot to read the book (also known as disobeying since she told me), I kinda sorta maybe possibly probably definitely did fib about it on purpose (which is a euphemism for ‘lie’).

“I don’t wanna spanking. Hmmph.”

“Might make you feel better.”

“After. The during part stinks when I’m actually in trouble.”

“Does Mary spank harder when you’re in trouble?”

“Not any harder than a pretend punishment.” I opted to leave other categories of spanking out of the conversation.

“Well, I don’t know what to tell you, Daffy, except that if you don’t like getting punished…”

“Follow the rules,” we both said simultaneously but only one of us rolled her eyes (it was me, btw, and the eye rolling was directed at me, not her).

“I know. Wish she’d have done it already.”

“The waiting is hard, isn’t it? I remember that from when I was … half your age.”

“And if she’d done it already, I’d be feeling better and enjoying it by now.”

“Enjoying what by now,” Miss Mary Sneaks-A-Lot asked as she strolled into Nana’s yard so quietly even Suzy didn’t hear her. She’s a ninja! She’s a freakin’ ninja and it’s NOT FAIR!

“It’s not 3:30,” I was quick to say even if I had just been complaining about having to wait and wishing it was over with by now because reasons. Complicated reasons. If they weren’t complicated though, I guess none of this would be fun at all.

“My meeting got canceled.”

“Detention still isn’t until 3:30.” I got the strange sense that Nana was looking at the back of my head thinking, ‘wow; she’s actually making it worse.’ Probably just a feeling though, not an actual thing.

“My meeting got canceled,” Mary continued cuz she loves to continue, “and I saw the gate was open decided to join my favorite and second favorite girls. How are you, Mae.”

I negotiated that terminology, by the way. I made it very clear to Mary that if she kept referring to us collectively as ‘her favorite girls’ that we would have words because I’m not on the same level as a foof ball puppy dog. Mary responded by saying she was concerned that would hurt Suzy’s feelings, and I responded to her responses by saying, ‘She doesn’t speak the damn language and it’s not funny and I’m not being silly and too sensitive and jealous or silly!’ Mary stopped calling Suzy that, and for reasons probably unrelated, she started patting me on the head more. I like it because reasons no one is allowed to scrutinize or draw conclusions from.

“I’m good. We’re just having one of our talks, setting the world to rights. Cookie?”

“I take it from Daphne exclaiming detentions starts at 3:30 that she told you about detention.” Nana nodded and Mary munched a cookie. “Isn’t she a good exclaimer?”

I. Did. Not. Blush.

“Good news for you, Daff. I’ve decided to offer a make-up test. If you can pass a new test Monday morning, no detention. I spoil her, Mae.” Looking so darn delighted with herself with that gleam in her eyes that are just so deep unfit lost in them for three days and Mary said I’m not allowed to take Ambien ever again cuz it makes me weird for, like, three days.

“So no spanking today?” Not gonna lie - kinda hate that it’s gotten normal to discuss this stuff in front of Nana.

“No, sweetheart, no spanking today.”

What the heck, Mary? Just making unilateral decisions about what you will and won’t do to me like I once upon asked you to and just deciding I don’t get a spanking today. Screw that!

“But … But Mary, I broke rules.”

“And you’re getting a chance to make a better choice.”

“But what about … Consistency is key to discipline. And … And giving a consequence as soon after the offense as possible.”

“I know those things, sweetie, but it’s also important to give little girls like you some slack.”

Says who!?! They don’t get to take away my Type 2 fun!

“But … I don’t think you should.”

“Why not?”

I looked behind me and saw Nana watching these whole goings on intently (like a anthropologist studying a tribe of strange people with strange ways) and wanted to at least keep this part private. I whispered into Mary’s ear. She sat back and looked at me.

“You didn’t an hour ago.”

“I know, but … ya know?”

“So you do want a spanking.”

Which is when our semi-private discussion was interrupted by an older woman going, “Ha!” like swan honk and laughing in a manner one (who is me) would describe as trying and failing to be polite.

“What,” Mary asked.

“Nothing,” Nana said through her nose cuz she was trying to stifle herself. Hmmph. “You’re right, Daffy. It is complicated.”

I. DID. NOT. BLUSH. If only cuz I was already blushing.

Trying to talk Mary into a punishment has a track record only slightly better than talking her out of one. It could make a person think this power exchange thing is really about power and who gets to decide things, which would be weird.

Anyhoo, fast forwarding to later that same day.

“Are you ready for your good girl spanking,” my Mary asked me.

“But I wasn’t good.”

“You’re always good, Daphne Ann. It’s only your choices that are sometimes naughty.”

Aw geez! “Stop saying that!”

“Because it makes you feel so loved and wonderful?”

“Aw geez!” Yes! Yes it does!

“Who decides when your choices have been naughty?”

“You.”

“And who decides what consequences you get when you make a naughty choice?”

“You.” I never know what to do with my hands during these conversations or where to look or how to keep my feet still cuz I bottles up all the anxiety and I just wanna ugh! Get it over with already and skip to the good part.

“And who does the spanking in those house?”

“You.”

“And who gets her little bottom spanked?”

“Me.”

“So if I decide you’re not getting a punishment spanking, I guess you’re just stuck with that.”

“Yeah.”

“And if I decide you’re getting a good girl spanking, that’s what you’re gonna get, isn’t it?”

“Mhmm.”

“So come here.” 

I did, as in shuffled across the ten inches separating me and Mary.

“I get to decide,” she intoned like she was trying to create atmosphere which she was doing a pretty heccin good job of. “I get to decide to whether you’re allowed to take your own shirts down for a spanking, and I’ve decided you’re not allowed because your too little.”

It’s so sexy the way she can just flick her thumb and open the button on my shorts. Like The Fonze could do with that juice box, Mary and her thumb to … so, so many things. 

“I decide what you wear under your shorts, and I decided today that you are wearing a pull-up. Is it still dry?”

She also decides whether to check my (her! It’s hers!) pull-up by discreetly putting a finger in the leg gather or pawing the front of it like she’s searching me for contraband.

“I decide whether to start your spanking on your pull-up or your bare little girl bottom, and I decide how I want you for your spanking. What do you get to decide?”

“To obey.” I didn’t guess. We’ve had this conversation at least 5 times, and I’m a very good listener. I even memorized the conversation so I could replay it in my head while … doing stuff.

“Obey is good choice. Good girls make good choices. You’re a good girl, so I know you’ll obey when I tell you to lay across my knee facing the wall.”

This is also known as straddling Mary’s thigh. She doesn’t like to call it that cuz the phrase ‘across my knee/knees/lap/etc.’ tickles her brain just the right way. I understand this. We’re simpatico like that.

“I knew you’d make a good choice. Good girl.”

Did you hear what she called me? Squeee!

“Daphne Ann, are you grinding your pull-up against my thigh?”

Wait, was I?

“I’d better check your pull-up again.”

Different sensation when she paws at me from behind that like. Good sensations. Cuz I’m a good girl. Such a good girl, I didn’t even protest when she stuck her fingers into the leg gather and chuckled at me, “You are so sticky.”

She dropped the pretense of checking the pull-up and just straight grabbed me back there and pressed.

“Such a good…”

“Hhhh!”

“Did you number three your pull-up against my leg?”

“(Sound of embarrassed post-orgasm happiness).”

“We’d better just get this pull-up off you now.”

“Don’t. I squirted. I don’t wanna make a mess on your skirt.”

“Ah-ah, little girl,” Mary asked me. “Who decides whether to bare your bottom?”

She tore the pull-up open.

“And I’ll where you make your mess. All you have to do is obey. Will you be my good girl and obey?”

“(Squimper).”

“Then lift up and open your legs wider. We’ll just use the clean part of this to … Back down. Ah-ah - I said back down; I didn’t say close your legs.”

“(Squimpering more urgent and of a higher pitch because reasons).”

“There’s my good girl. Here comes your good girl spanking.”

 

Also, I got a perfect score on my make-up test. Fun book.

[YourFNF]

*gay bottom squirming and whining*

[Alex Bridges]

27 minutes ago, YourFNF said:

*gay bottom squirming and whining*

Cutie!

[YourFNF]

6 hours ago, Alex Bridges said:

Cutie!

[kerry]

On 7/17/2022 at 2:21 PM, Alex Bridges said:

Nana has ever since seen me ever since in much the same way Mary does because that’s who we told her I am. Which is super kind and open minded, but also maybe more the way Mary sees me than the when I see me.

hee hee. I love this story so much! Seriously, though, I'm happy to proofread for you if you'd like. I have only included errors I am certain of; given Daffy's narrative patterns, there are some things she might well say. And when Mary uses "lay" instead of "lie," well...lots of folks do that.

On 7/17/2022 at 2:21 PM, Alex Bridges said:

Looking so darn delighted with herself with that gleam in her eyes that are just so deep unfit lost in them for three days

On 7/17/2022 at 2:21 PM, Alex Bridges said:

Just don’t it any percent getting older cuz shut up!

On 7/17/2022 at 2:21 PM, Alex Bridges said:

cuz I bottles up all the anxiety and I just wanna ugh! Get it over with already and skip to the good part.

“And who does the spanking in those house?”

take your own shirts down for a spanking and I’ve decided you’re not allowed because your too little.”

 

[Alex Bridges]

6 hours ago, kerry said:

hee hee. I love this story so much! Seriously, though, I'm happy to proofread for you if you'd like. I have only included errors I am certain of; given Daffy's narrative patterns, there are some things she might well say. And when Mary uses "lay" instead of "lie," well...lots of folks do that.

 

i so hate proof reading I decided to post as soon as i was done so i could go do stuff and things

[diaperboymi]

AWESOME chapter???????  I was Just about to think Daffy got out of her spanking but Fun spankings are Great.  ?????

[Alex Bridges]

Scene #182

 

The last time we had Mary’s family over was for my birthday back during the plague-iest days the plague. Mary and I sat on one side of our yard, and her family sat on the other. They stayed a half hour and left so that other guests could pay tribute to the day I came into and immensely and immediately improved the world. In fact, this was the first time since before March 2020 that we had more than two people in the house and hadn’t quarantined for ten days and/or tested prior to it. We take the safety of my immunocompromised body super seriously, and if you think I get anxious, you should see how Mary gets when it comes to my health. I think maybe cuz she likes me or something?

“Mary,” I said after I’d gotten out of the shower. I was trying to get her attention. “Mary … Hey, Mary?”

“Yeah.”

“I don’t wanna wear a diaper around your family.” I’m not even sure she knew she was taping one on me. For that matter, if she was even aware of how the moment I crossed our en suite bathroom into our bedroom, she just appeared with a towel even though I already had one on and started drying my mostly already dry body off, then wrapped the thing around me like I might catch my death of cold. Before I knew which way up was, I was flat on my back on our bed with both towels pushed up past my bellybutton while Mary put me into one those ugly but silent medical diapers (and my lower half was a little cold).

“Um, Mary? … Hello?” You don’t draw attention to yourself when in close proximity to a predator. That was my main mistake, and I knew it just as soon as she turned her wolfish grin on me; she’s such a she-wolf sometimes. She’s always up to something, which is highly entertaining and fun almost all the times, but like all public figures with obsessive fans like my Mary, I get a little nervous not knowing if they’re gonna ask for an autograph or try to steal a lock of my hair. “Mar…”

“Pbbbbtttttt!”

“Mar-eee-hhh-heeeheee-st-nurmf-hahahaha nurmfnhrmr snoozit, Mary!”

“I should blow a lot a lot more raspberries on your tummy,” Mary said like that was any excuse for her effrontery. Fangirls have no manners.

And I really told her off. I mean, I just let her verbally have it. “Well, I mean, if you want to … Or you could just tickle it sometimes … Or give me more tummy rubs.”

“Who likes tummy rubs more, you or Suzy?”

“Hmmm. She does that thing where she kicks her leg.”

“You’ve done that before.”

“That wasn’t my tummy.” Fangirls have no sense of boundaries, like the boundary between my tummy and … stuff.

“Sometimes I wonder if we should give tickling fetish a try. You’re awfully ticklish.”

“Yeah, but only because I’m ticklish.” True story. “I don’t think I enjoy tickling in that way.”

“What if I make you do it anyway?” Uh-oh; Mary’s she-wolfish grin again. “In fact, what if I got a bunch of our friends over and we all tickled you.”

“Um … I mean …” I finished that sentence with my patented yeah-if-you-want-let’s-give-it-go head motion, complete with my eyes turning up and to the left cuz I was imagining it and it was … intriguing.

“And I think you should drink a lot of water beforehand, and two glasses of wine.”

“Two glasses!?! Mary, is that even safe?” I am NOT a lightweight. Who even starts these rumors? Scurrilous rumormongers, that’s who. I’d rather spend my time with fishmongers, and they smell. True story.

And then, see, Mary, she gave me a peck on the cheek. She likes me. “Whadduya wanna wear today,” she asked as she sauntered to my dresser. Just once I wanna saunter. It looks fun and very smooth, all Jane Cool and stuff. I sashayed once, but I don’t remember how I did it. I can flounce though. I’m great at flouncing. I also just like to say ‘flouncing.’ Try it; you’ll like it, I promise.

I can multitask, really. I was singing a flouncing song I made up in my head (‘flouncy flouncing flouncer flounce …’, very creative of me), and to Mary, I said, “I was thinking about these panties I found in the women’s section of this department store once …”

“You silly goose, you’re already wearing underpants.”

“Marrryyy.”

“Okay, fine. You can wear them over your pampers.”

“Urgh!”

“You wanna wear them under your pampers?”

No! I lost one of my favorite pairs like that! She’s so mean and I only like it basically every time she does it. “Over would be agreeable.” I’m a very amenable negotiator.

“Good. I wouldn’t want you to wear anything you don’t want or need to wear.”

“I don’t want or need this diaper.”

“We’ve been over, this little girl. Yes, you do. Tell me why.”

“The inherent unfairness of the world.” True story.

“Do you wanna wear a handprint below the hem of your skirt too?” Actually, yes, but after Mary’s family leaves.

“Because you tell me too.”

“But Daffy,” Mary said as if she were confused and surprised and perplexed and stuff, which she very seldom is (unless it’s in response to some of the nonsensical things I say. I spout of a lot of nonsense; I’m even known for it, but that’s not to say every thought and word I spout doesn’t totally make sense … just sometimes only makes sense to me). Anyway, Mary continued because she loves to continue, “I could tell lots of people to wear a diaper, and they wouldn’t do it, so how come you do it,” she asked as she tossed an outfit for me on the bed.

“(Sound of me not answering).”

“You know, you have a shorter top that tends to ride up and show anything that sticks up even a little bit past your waistband.”

“Cuz I’m the submissive. There. Happy?” I mean, I was happy. Not about the diaper but so heccin happy being Mary’s submissive. Everybody should get a turn but nope not ever go get your own I’ll bite I swear I will!

“And a little girl.”

“I’m not a little girl.”

“You’re my little girl.” She flopped on the bed next to me and still managed to do it sexy and stuff. When I flop, people who don’t know that’s always how I flop ask if I’m okay and should they call a family member or ambulance. Mary’s eyes were bright and shiny and happy, and what was even with her? “You’re my little girl. If you can be that, why would you ever wanna be anything else?”

Aw geez! My feels! I put my arms over my face to have a moment alone, and I may have gay-squirmed a little, by which I mean I squirmed because I’m so gay for my Mary! So gay.

“Ya know,” Mary said while lightly tickling my belly and observing no distinction between my tummy and the front of the diaper she was making me wear, “Milo has been out of diapers now for three years, and you’ve been back in them for three years.”

Welp, that brought our nice moment to an end. I have not ‘been back in them.’ I’ve been occasionally made to wear them … with gradually increasing frequency (dammit …). “Whose fault is that,” I accusingly interrogated her. J’accuse!

“You say ‘fault’ like it’s a bad thing. I know how much you like your diapers, but Milo made his own choice, and I’m really proud of …”

“Hurninombler, Mary!”

“…his accomplishment.”

“Stop smirking and being so proud of yourself.”

“I’m proud of my nephew, and I’m proud of my little girl for being brave enough to follow her diaper dreams.”

“I’ma hit you with a pillow. Stay where you are.” Stupid pillows always being at the other end of the bed when you need em. (During the war, we called them feather weapons, which was the style at the time).

No sooner did I flip over to reach for one of those feather weapons, than Mary walloped my butt hard – not that it hurt through that garment she was making me wear (I mean, why even bother? What fun is that?) – and took the opportunity offered by my vulnerability to just get on top of me, put her arms under my shoulders, hold me tight, and start nibling her way from my earlobe to my elbow.

“Daffy.”

“Yeah.”

“Nothing. I’m just happy today. I like saying your name.”

“Aw geez!!” She says stuff like that like there’s some way I can respond other than getting gayer and squirmier, and those are pretty much the only tools in my toolbox for that sorta thing.

“Know what I wanna do later when we’re alone?”

“Not specifically, but I have several ideas.”

“I’m gonna get massage oil out.”

“Ooo. What part of me do you want slippery?” Asking for my friend who is me.

“All of you. I’m gonna give you a massage from your toes to your scalp, and it’s gonna feel so good, I bet you fall asleep partway through, little girl.”

“And why would you do that when being awake can be so much fun?” I mean, sleep is on my top-10 list of most fun things ever, but the awake things on that list are pretty fucking awesome too and three of them aren’t even peanut butter or sugar (which isn’t to say the addition of peanut butter can’t make those things even more special).

         Mary laid her head against my back, and I felt her breath on the back of my neck. “Because taking care of you makes me happier than anything else.”

         I’d have turned around to see if she was okay, but she kinda had me pinned down (which is how she likes me, and I’m not about to object cuz it’s a pretty heccin awesome place to be). “Mary? Are you okay?”

         “I’m perfect.” And then she kissed the back of my neck and rolled off me so I could get dressed.

         But was she okay? I kept an eye on her the whole time her family was over. She had Suzy in her arms as much as that active little puppy meeting new people would let her; Mary was overjoyed to have new people to show her off to. I didn’t even make a sarcastic joke about Mary putting the dog in a onesie (poor dog; poor dog who seemed to be as happy as she’d ever been).

And almost the whole rest of the time she was playing with our nephew. She showed him how to play with the toy we got him. She fawned over the picture he drew for us. She got down in the grass and wrestled with him and blew even bigger raspberries on his tummy than mine (and mine is bigger; it needs bigger raspberries!). She chased him around the yard with Suzy so many times, he almost fell asleep on her lap at the kitchen table.

I tried to join in, and I could’ve sworn he was just tolerating me, which sucked and hurt a little because pre-pandemic, I was one of his favorite people. Not that I can blame him cuz is heccin awesome and my favorite too. He’d seen more of Mary than me in the almost three years since. He wanted Mary, and Mary had a blast with him.

And I only tantrumed a little when Mary said to me later, by way of (allegedly) trying to make me feel less put out by being downgraded to second-favorite aunt, “Now that he’s dry day and night, he’s too young to understand some people need diapers longer than others. I’m sure he’ll play with you again when he gets older and more mature about differences.”

Watching Mary showing off our puppy and playing with that little boy and hardly paying any attention to her sister or her husband or her parents, I realized something: Mary is so beautifully happy when she’s mothering someone.

 

[diaperboymi]

OMG.... that was Amazing!!!!!  I just Love this story???? Thank you fior keeping it going??????

[Alex Bridges]

Scene #183

 

            When you wake up at night, but not really cuz you’re just barely conscious and don’t even remember it, does that count as still being asleep? If so, I’m misbehaving in my sleep now according to some people who don’t handle being concerned about their loved ones very well and go on offense to cover it and are called Mary.

            She’s sweet though, which is why she stripped the bed even though the laundry is my chore Most littles chores are my chores since I’m a stay-at-home queen now, though sometimes I give into the temptation to not do my chores to see how the rest of the royal household will react. But she was just being nice cuz I was groggy when I woke up and was still sitting on the couch processing breakfast. Yep, took me three hours that morning to go from awake to doing anything; one hour to get out of bed; twenty minutes to eat breakfast; eighty minutes to stare into the middle distance and try to conjure a cogent thought or the will to stand up. And in came Mary, holding up the fitted sheet from our bed.

            “Daffy,” Mary who was talking way too early to be talking (10am) talked at me. “Do you know what this stain on our sheets is?”

            “Shhhh. We’re not talking yet.” And I wasn’t even hungover. I was just super tired from not sleeping well twelve nights in a row.

            Mary sat down on the coffee table right in front of me and looked at me like she sometimes does when I eat too much sugar, i.e., checking my pupils. She frowned a little, and while I was distracted by the effort of keeping myself upright, she reached out without my noticing and squeeze-tickled my side. I’m usually much better with the reflexes and noticing and (attempted) stopping of that move, but she snuck it through and made me go, “Yipe! What was that for?!?”

            “Are you okay?”

            “I’m just slee-yawwwwn-py.”

            “So speaking of things we do in bed,” she said, and that’s a phrase that’s bound to catch my ear, “what is this? Because it looks like …”

            “Chocolate.”

            “How did this much chocolate get on our sheets? Did you fall asleep on a a Hershey bar,” she said with her signature chortle.

            You know I’m not one to waste chocolate, but when you’re eating in the one-eighth conscious state described above, well … “I must’ve fallen back asleep and rolled over on it.”

            There’s a super easy way of knowing for sure that Mary, clever as she is, deduced straight away. “Stand up for a sec.” Which I did, because I’m very cooperative. She turned me left, turned me right, turned me around, checked my pajama bottoms and yep, a matching chocolate stain. “When did you eat chocolate in bed last night?”

            “I dunno. Too late to be early but too early to be late.” I plopped back onto the sofa, and Mary, who was being kinda bossy if I’m telling the truth which is what I always tell because someone has to (do I gotta do everything for everyone? You’re welcome, ya buncha ingrates!), took hold of my upper arm and pulled me back onto my feet.

            “Well, don’t get it on the couch, silly goose.”

            “I’m not a silly g-yawwwwn-oose.” She just took my pajama pants off me with one hand is what she did. She’s very good at that; almost like she’s had an abnormal amount of practice taking my pants off with one hand while her other hand … does stuff. She was being so bossy she didn’t even let me sit back down. She just dropped the sheet and my pajama bottoms and took me upstairs to our bedroom. It’s gotta be one of my all-time favorite places.

            She took me straight to my nightstand, opened the drawer, and asked me, “What gives?”

            “I’ve been waking up a bunch of times at night. It makes it easier to go back to sleep.”

            Hmm. Mary’s there-she-goes-with-her-nonsense-again face. I honestly have no idea what she means by the nonsense or again with that face. I’ve made nothing but sense since I’ve known her and then some. Just because I leave out a lot of details that would help her understand doesn’t make what I say nonsense. True story. And if anyone, including me, ever says I say any nonsense, then you just look them in the eye and kindly but firmly tell them that’s some nonsense they’re spouting (especially if it’s me).

            “Remember last week I was getting up a lot,” I reminded her.

            “Yeah.”

            “I was really hungry, and then I couldn’t fall back asleep so I put some candy in the drawer so I could eat something without getting up.” I’ve been getting back to sleep easier, a little too easy if I feel asleep on a chocolate bar, but I wasn’t any better rested. Mary took a deep breath and let it out while eyeing me with her I’m-considering-something eyes.

            “By ‘really hungry,’ do you mean your blood sugar has been getting low at night again?”

            “Yeah, I think so.”

            “Sit.”

            “W…”

            “Sit, little girl.”

            “How am I trouble?” My emotions were being pulled in so many directions. One the one hand, I love being on the bed. Other the other, what did I do (other than fall asleep on a piece of a Dove bar)? So count those directions I was being pulled in: one, two … two directions! That’s a lot for me; I’m only five-foot-two.

            Mary walked to the bathroom and came back with the thermometer. “Hold real still,” she said in a very sweet voice. It’s the kind you can press against a forehead, but she always puts it in my ear. I can’t complain cuz sometimes she uses the other kind and seems to take some sort of pleasure in putting it right in my butt. How weird is that? She’s weird. I only squirm when she does that because there’s something in my butt and she’s usually teasing me and sometimes smacking my cheeks and and flicks the thermometer and I kinda like it.

            But that thermometer is for playtime. The thermometer she just put in my ear is for healthcare. “You don’t have a fever.”

            “I know that.” Totally ignored me. Looked at my eyes again. Pressed on the lymph nodes in my neck (both sides, kinda hard).

            “Do you have a headache?”

            “No.”

            “Cough?”

            “No.”

            “Ears hurt?”

            “No.”

            “Sneezing? Itchy or watery eyes? Upset stomach?”

            “O my gawd, you sound like the disclaimer at the end of a medicine commercial.”

            “Are you getting a flare up?” Super good question that I’d also been wondering.

            “Nothing hurts. Other than being tired and hungry at night, I think I’m fine.”

            “Daphne,” Mary said with her I’m-so-serious-you-don’t-even-wanna-know-how-serious-I-am face, “should we call Dr. Murray?”

            “Mary, you’re being a worry wort.” 

I don’t what happened (and I was there), but one half a second I was sitting upright and the next half a second I was sitting upright but my left butt cheek hurt, like, a lot. I made my what-just-happened-and-how-is-she-a-ninja-and-a-sorceress-all-at-once face with the darting eyes and furrowed brow I often exhibit when trying to figure out what my ninja-sorceress wife just did to me.

            “Is that a yes or a no?”

            “No … and ouch.” Even if I was getting flare up, my immunologist couldn’t do anything about it. I’m already on daily meds and have the ones I need to cope with a flare up. If Dr. Murray could do anything more, she’d have done it all the time before.

            “It’s my job to worry.” She sat down next to me, put her arm around my shoulder, and leaned her head against mine. “Are you eating enough,” she asked me.

            “That is such a sapphic thing to say,” I tried to very gently joke. I got nary a titter so I answered the question. “I think so. Not exactly one of my problems.” I’m ear for someone 1.3 times my size; a lot of people have just come right out and told me how much they hate me a little cuz I can eat a small cake all on my own but only gain about three pounds a decade.

            “Are you eating enough real food, I mean? Protein and fiber.”

            “I think so. Maybe it’s because I’ve been outside a lot lately. Not eating enough for all the walking I’m doing with Suzy, maybe.”

            She kissed my temple. “Your bedtime snack is a protein bar until you’re not waking up hungry at night anymore, and if you do wake up hungry, you’re eating a protein bar, not candy.”

            “Okay … Mary, are you alright? You’ve been weird the last few days.”

            “I’m fine. I just worry about you. You’ve been so tired for the last two weeks. I don’t like it when you don’t feel well.” We have so much in common; neither do I. “Stand up.”

            “Why? What are you gonna do to me?”

            “I’m gonna make the bed while you sit the chair and look pretty.”

            “I don’t look pretty this morning.” But I sat in the chair anyway, and Mary made the bed and didn’t even need two tries to figure out which was the long end of the fitted sheet. I’m getting better at it, but I still sometimes need two (or five) tries. She started putting the pillowcases on the pillows and shot me a back-on-your-butt dirty look that had me sitting back on my butt instead of helping her.

            “On the bed,” she ordered me in that way she has of being bossy and nice at the same time. She’s very talented, and I’m so very susceptible to her talents it’s almost like I’m submissive to her or something weird like that.. She walked right past me into the closet and emerged with two diapers. She was being so nice to me she didn’t even scold me for rolling my eyes or kicking my heel against the bed. “Such a handful,” she chided me instead. “You know the rules: when you don’t feel well, you wear a diaper. Which one do you want?”

            I only chose the cloth one cuz I hadn’t worn one of those in forever, and I hoped it would be a little more breathable around my hips than the disposable one. I have way too much pride to ever point this out to Mary, but it’s summertime and the only other diapers she has right now are the plastic kind. I get clammy around my butt and hips. But I’ll sweat until I shrivel before asking her to buy the cloth-like kind; she’ll surely (willfully) misinterpret that request as an admission of enjoying wearing diapers. It would take months to undo that just to get back to the status quo.

            “Where’s your phone,” Mary asked.

            “I left it in the living room.”

            “Good.” She opened my drawer again and took out my small stash of candy. “I’m putting in the freezer, before you start pouting.”

            “That’s ridiculous, Mary. I’ve never pouted over candy or anything else. Really.” And she didn’t even roll her eyes at me! Geez, when she’s serious it’s, like, such a serious thing.

            “Here,” she said and handed me my sleep mask. I used to keep it with our travel things for long flights, and then pandemic and I started wearing it for naps instead.

            “I’m taking a nap?”

             She answered, “Yes. A long one,” while pulling our comforter over me. “You’re going to stay in this bed until I come get you. I’m going to come check on you in half an hour, and if you’re still awake, you’re taking a Tylenol PM.”

            I, uh, get goofy on Tylenol PM. Also pretty much anything medicine ending in PM or starting with Ny. But I sleep well on it (and have the weirdest, most vivid dreams; kinda fun, but very groggy when I wake up).

            “But we have things to do today,” I said and propped myself up on my elbow.

            “Yes,” she said and unpropped me up. “You have to get some sleep. I have to make sure you get some sleep. And when you wake up, I’m going turn you over my knee and spank your bare bottom with that paddle on your nightstand.”

            “What? What’d I do?”

            “Two weeks, Daffy. Two weeks, and you didn’t tell me your blood sugar was getting low and you were losing sleep because of it. You tell me when you don’t feel well, little girl.”

            “But …”

            “Yeah, your butt over my knee getting spanked with your paddle until you cry, and then I’ll give you a bath and wash your pretty face and hair. I bet you could use a good cry.” 

            “Well, yeah, probably.” I mean, I almost always could. 

And then she kissed me on my temple again. “Sleep well.” She got up and started toward the door.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I didn’t want to make you worry for no reason”

“You’re the reason.”

“I know … Sorry.”

“We’ll take care of sorry after your nap. You want the fan on?”

“Yes, please.”

“Put your mask on and get to sleep.”

She’s so heccin nice to me sometimes that it hurts (especially on my butt). But seriously, the woman heccin loves me, and I love her back just as much. Sleepy, wistful sighs …

[YourFNF]

Gods this is exactly what I need... ???

[Alex Bridges]

12 minutes ago, YourFNF said:

Gods this is exactly what I need... ???

??

[Guilend]

What she needs is an enema. It’ll make her feel better. 

[diaperboymi]

Loved this.   The thermometer bit is Fantastic ???  Daffy had to know that hiding something from Mary would get her spanked.   But...i guess that's the idea????

[bobindiapers]

On 7/27/2022 at 9:39 PM, Alex Bridges said:

Mary is so beautifully happy when she’s mothering someone.

Will Daphne finally admit she's a little girl so that she can make Mary beautifully happy all the time? Or has Mary been acting weird because she wants to be a mother for real and is trying to figure out how to bring up the subject with Daphne? Regardless, that was a fun chapter!

[Alex Bridges]

Scene #184

 

I hate doorbells. I much prefer a good knock. Knock from a delivery person? I could do without, tbh. Knock from someone going door to door? Not gonna answer probably. Knock from a friend? Heck yes please. But as with all things in retail and life, location location location. And timing. Location and timing.

Let’s take for instance my location at the time of this happening that happened: the living room corner. And the timing: post-getting my butt spanked (hard! I mean, geez Mary; think of your rotator cuff!). And the location of other items of import. 

Pants: over the arm of the couch.

Panties: no idea. They flew off my ankles, and I didn’t see where. About half the time that happens, an underpants gnome steals them before I can find them, and about most of those times, the gnome is named Mary and she’s five-foot-eight, much bigger than the average gnome but no less delighted to hide my underpants from me.

And what about Mary’s location: on the couch. Probably taking a breather after all that exertion. That, and waiting for my timeout to be over cuz - and she’ll deny this if asked - she HATES putting me in the corner if I’m still crying. Her caregiver self just wants to caregive the stuffing outta me, but she parks me in the corner anyway cuz she says I learn from it.

I don’t know about that cuz I think I’ve learned all the things. I mean, I legit know it all. A lot of people agree with me ‘There goes Daphne,’ people say, ‘she’s such a know it all.’

So ya might say we were having a private moment, what with my nuditity and weepiness and fighting the good fight against the little sobs I hadn’t yet gotten under control when, DING DONG! I swear I’d disconnect the thing if I had any idea how.

I startled a little, cuz I always do when the doorbell rings, and I even (horrors!) turned around a little, verboten during corner time, and Mary gave me one her you’re-still-in-timeout-sweetie looks as she got up to get the door.

Our house has one of those foyer things, so opening the door doesn’t mean my girl parts will be out there for all visitors to see in the event they’re already out there for Mary to see. However, if we had no foyer, that wouldn’t stop Mary from letting certain visitors walk on in. I know this because Mary did! That’s what she did! With my butt out! And stuff too!

“It’s just your Nana,” Mary called to me as she unlocked our door. And that was purely informative. It was not a company-is-here-cover-your-shame warning. Not that she needed to warn me, because I’m cool as a zucchini, not at all the type of person who gets stressed just because someone who isn’t my wife is about to see my spanked butt standing in timeout like a nighty little girl circa 1962. I certainly did not suffer a setback in the fight against the diaphragm cramping and the sobs and tears. Not a thing that happened; ahistorical; libelous. Really.

“Good morning, Mae. Come in.”

“Good morning. I came to ask Daffy a favor,” Nana conveyed to Mary as Mary conveyed Nana right into the living room. The woman has no social graces! Like, friggin at all! She takes liberties, is what she does. Has way too high a risk tolerance for the possibility of offending people with the sight of our lifestyle just all out there and stuff. True story.

“Have a seat. I was just about to let her out of timeout.”

I’m guessing that’s about when Nana established line-of-sight with my butt. The rest of me too, but something about bare butts just draws the eye, ya know? Mystery of human psychology (and I’m not too sarcastic! where do these rumors start?).

“O,” Nana said, putting it quite lightly. In my fantasy world, she followed that up with ‘I’ll back out of the room and we’ll all pretend this never happened.’ But nope. Just nope.

In the world that actually exists (allegedly; I’m starting to have doubts), Nana followed up her interjection with, “Am I interrupting something?”

“Not at all. Have a seat. Can I get you a drink?”

You suck, Mary. So, so much sometimes.

“I’m fine, thank you. Is everything alright?”

“We had a little problem with attitude this morning. You can come out, Daffy. Come sit with me.”

‘With me’ is Mary-speak in certain circumstances for ‘on me.’ Once upon a time, in the misty past, Mary and I didn’t so much with my naked butt around vanilla neighbors. And those vanilla neighbors would’ve been quite offended (despite what a great butt I have). But not Nana; at least, not for a while now. 

But me, personally, I like my person covered when we have company. Called me repressed or something, I guess. If I knew where my panties were, I’d have put them back on. Unfortunately for me, I was too well spanked to care enough to go looking, though when Mary says to go to her, she doesn’t appreciate detours anyway.

Mary and Nana were on the couch. If I sat on Mary’s lap, which is how I understood her instruction, I’d either be giving Nana a full frontal if I sat on Mary’s left or an even better closeup of my newly spanked butt if I sat on her right. I opted to deliberately misinterpret (at least I think) Mary’s instructions and sat down between them, not exactly much better. I put my head on Mary’s shoulder, which I wanted to do no matter where I was sitting. Sometimes I wish I could her to be shorter just for a few minutes so I can rest my head there easier. Then she could go back to being tall and strong and authoritative and stuff.

“Closer,” Mary said all nice to me. My consequence was over. She’s nice to me even in the middle of a consequence, and consequences can be quite mean, which just goes to show how talented she is. Manhandling me in that nice way she does, she lifted my legs right off the floor and did a pivot-and-lift move to sit me on her lap. I like that she’s strong enough to do that, and I usually like that she does it without asking. I didn’t mind right then because I was still upset and because sitting in between them wasn’t as good at concealing my princess part (Mary’s term) as I thought.

With my head on her shoulder, I sniffed back a head full and wiped my eyes on her tee shirt. A hand was suddenly in my peripheral tapping Mary on the shoulder, offering a tissue. Mary took it, held it for me, and told me, “Honk.”

I don’t honk because I’m not waterfowl, but it certainly sounded honk-like. I’d had (and was still slightly having) a serious cry. Mary reached for another, Nana handed it to her, and Mary told me, “Look up, sweetheart.” When I did, she dabbed at my eyes and cheeks.

Nana being in the room has not, in recent years, stopped Mary from spanking me. Not like a full on spanking, cuz that would terrify the poor vanilla, but the lady has seen my butt smacked. So of course Mary thought nothing of finishing my talking-to with Nana looking on.

“Why did I have to give you that spanking?”

“Cuz I was being a bitch.” Which is very unlike me. I’m usually just as sweet as sugar candy all fine and dandy, but sometimes, for someone who’s only five-foot-two, a lot of bitchiness comes out.

“And what’s the rule?”

“Bad moods and PMS are not an excuse for being a bitch.” True story. Mary made that rule when we were dating, and it applies to both of us. When Mary does it, I tell her to stop. When I do it, Mary tells me to stop. When Mary does it after having been told to stop, I tell her to stop again. When I do it after having been told to stop, Mary takes the nearest paddle to my butt.

In the midst of this private moment, some hand that didn’t belong to anyone named Taylor stroked my back. Of course Nana doesn’t know the rules, but being touched by someone during aftercare who wasn’t involved from the get go or invited to touch is not cool. I buried my face in the little space between Mary’s arm and body, snuggled in closer, and think, though I’m not sure, I felt Mary just barely shaking her head. I like aftercare from others, but not til I finish my aftercare with Mary. Mary stroked my hair and leaned her head against mine and I could feel the heat of her breath and smell her scent. What a safe place.

“You want to try telling me again what’s with the attitude you had,” Mary asked. Past tense. Anything I hear of someone getting punished for a bad attitude, I think how ridiculous it is. How’s a punishment supposed to make someone feel better? But what I’m really asking is how it’s supposed to make normal people feel better, because nine times out of ten I get spanked for bad attitude, a butt warming totally resets my mood.

“Nothing. I just didn’t get enough sleep,” I said with Marty’s shirt muffling my answer. I wasn’t in a bad mood because I didn’t get enough sleep. I was in a bad mood because I didn’t get enough sleep and Mary had the TV while she was making breakfast, and the sound of people speaking just really ticked me off. That’s a perfectly reasonable reaction. Um, really.

“You stayed up late last night with those video games of yours.” I swear Mary channels my mom when it comes to gaming. She understands only marginally better than my mom did circa 1994. It’s not like I’m constantly playing or streaming it or anything. I just got in a groove and then it was after midnight. “Maybe you need a bedtime again.” Funny thing, I get physically excited for sleep sometimes. I love sleep. But sometimes other runs things lead me astray and I stay up too late. Mary gave me a bedtime shortly after I stopped working so I wouldn’t get into bad sleep habits, and it just gradually became one of those things we forgot about.

“Okay.” I was feeling awfully malleable, as I so often do after Mary spanks the me into a weepy mess (she likes me suggestible and stuff because reasons), and I was surprised Nana hadn’t commented on how red (and purple and probably with a couple of those white patches you get when you really get it good). She’s had words with Mary before about spanking me too hard, but I guess the words Mary had back (and some of my own) got through to her. Too bad I’m not the kind of person who can correct her behavior just by being told to … which would actually be horrible, not that I think on it. No fun at all.

“Your bedtime is no later than when I get in bed. That way we can have some snuggle time. You never wake up in a bad mood if you fall asleep in my arms.” True story. A smidge embarrassing to have Nana overhear that.

“I’ll make good choices today. I promise.”

She kissed my hair. “I know you will.” She kissed me again. “My good girl.”

“Sorry again.”

“No more sorries. You got your consequence, and all is forgiven.”

I’m forgiven and a good girl? O fuck yes! What’s better than that? Nothing. That’s how much.

“Ready to get up?” I nodded and got a good squeeze. “Up you get.”

I slid off her lap, and what lay before me but Nana, on the floor on her knees next to a throw blanket, on top of which was a pre-powdered diaper. What the heccin hey. I looked at Nana, then Mary.

Nana very nicely said, “You don’t wanna go around naked all day, do you?” She said it all innocent and stuff, easy for her to do because she was, ya know, actually innocent. The same question from Mary would be faux-innocent (which I kinda like, but please don’t tell her). When Mary does does the faux-innocent thing, I feel embarrassed yet righteous, which leads to me going hmmph! and helps get me back to my equilibrium. Turns out when Nana does it and is actually innocent, I feel very smol. Gone is the fun teasing. In its place, neighbor who assumed I either wear diapers pretty much all the time, or because I’d just gotten in trouble, or that I was wearing one before I went over Mary’s knee.

I looked at Mary again, who made might-as-well eyes at me and said, “It’s okay. Lie down.”

“Okay.” Sometimes I’m too suggestible. Mary likes me that way too.

So I laid down and let Nana put one of Mary’s diapers on me. “Look like you could use the padding today,” Nana chuckled as she sealed the last tape.

“What do you say,” Mary chimed in.

“Thank you.”

Nana helped me sit up. “I was going to ask you to come over and help me move something, but I think you you should take a nap first.”

“That’s a good idea,” Mary joined in. She held out her hand and helped me up. “Will you be home all day? She can come over after.”

“I’ll be there. It’ll give me time to bake some cookies. I’m going to make some ice cream sandwiches with them after they cool. You wanna help me do that too?”

Uh, heck yeah. “Mhmm.”

“I’ll let her down and send her over around 10:30. How about I make some lunch while she’s over there and I’ll bring over a picnic?”

Mary was tucking me in, moments after telling me she’d find one of the onesies Nana made for me to wear over there (under my shorts, I assumed). Before I fell back asleep, I first thought to myself, wow, it’s only nine and it’s been a full day already. And then, did I just get spanked by my wife, diapered by the grandma next door, put down for a nap, and promised cookies? What is even happening anymore?

[diaperboymi]

Loved this chapter????  looks like Daffy is going to a full fledged little sooner than later ??????

[Alex Bridges]

Scene #185

 

         “Mary, I’m back,” I announced as I dropped my keys on the kitchen table. I don’t usually announce myself by the Royal Herald has Sunday mornings off cuz I’m very benevolent and stuff. And there she was, Summer Sunday Mary, with the shorts and the long legs and the grubby tee shirt and messy hair and I kinda wanna wrestle with her in the grass and let her win. So there’s a new thing I learned about me.

         She came right up to me and gave me a kiss (which was nice; I liked it) and said, “Three Sundays outta four, I gotta swat your bottom to get you out of bed for church, but you decide you want a donut and you’re out the door.”

         “Yeah, cuz donuts.”

         Mary flipped open the box. “Where’s your chocolate twist?”

         “They only had one left.”

         “Why didn’t you get it? That’s your favorite.”

         “I don’t like taking the last one. Someone else might’ve wanted it.”

         “You’re someone else.”

         “But I don’t like taking the last of stuff.”

“So your favorite donut is a chocolate twist, right?”

“Mhmm.”

“And you didn’t get one?”

“Nope.

“Because it was the last one?”

“If I got it, someone else who wanted it would’ve been sad.” This is so totally logical; I don’t understand why Mary was confused.

“Of all the ways you’re a silly goose, I love you the most for this one.”

She loves me! She really loves me! I’ma tell everyone Mary loves me!

“A little girl as nice as you,” Mary told me in preparation of telling what she had to tell me next, “deserves a present.”

“I’m not so nice.”

“Yes you are.” Yes, I am. I just deny compliments about of politeness, anxiety, and a desire to keep expectations manageable.

“If it had been the last peanut butter pumpkin, which are available again at retailers near us, I’da told the next person to fuck the fuck off.”

“I know, sweetie. I remember the time you almost bit me.”

“Didn’t your parents teach you not to get between a sapphic and her food?” I didn’t mean to actually bite her. It was a warning snap, and for once her reaction time was slower than mine. It was a close call is all. But if I had bitten her, I’da let her bite me back … and stuff.

“Hey Mary,” I asked with my I’ma-make-her-say-it grin plastered to my face, “if I’m so nice, does that mean I’m a good girl?”

And Mary said back to me with her nice-try grin, “But you said you weren’t so nice.”

“Only cuz I’m super modest and don’t take compliments well.”

“Yes, it makes you a good girl.” Squee!

“So I’m a good girl?”

“Isn’t that what I just said.”

“Not sure; didn’t hear you.”

“You are a very good girl!” Squeeee!

“So that makes it official and stuff?”

“In every state except Delaware.” Delaware – so easy to incorporate there, so hard to be an official good girl.

Anyhoo, during the pandemic, we really wanted to go back to church in person. We have friends there, and I like singing. I mean, sure, we could sing along at home, but we sound best when at least fifty people are singing around us. It’s not that we’re tone deaf, but yes, we are. It runs in the family. You should hear us sing Happy Birthday; it’s like we’re not even singing the same song despite us practicing multiple times a year.

But after all the pandemic Sundays of Mary and my immunocompromised body watching zoom church in bed together, and it’s become another of our special times together. And yeah, sometimes Mary has to spank my butt awake (I think she underestimated it when she said three out of four Sundays; she does that on purpose sometimes cuz she likes being nice to me), and if you don’t pay attention to Pastor Sarah (who is the very embodiment of nonsectarian positivity and gayness), Mary gives you a for-real spanking as soon as zoom church is over. I don’t know how she knows when I’m not paying attention to zoom church; I’m usually sitting between her legs laying back against her while she rests her chin on my shoulder, so I don’t know how can tell (except the couple times I was snoring), but she’s never wrong.

I was raised Catholic and stopped going to church when I still in high school (which was somehow a big deal in my Christmas-and-Easter-only family), then I started going again when I was home from college because it made my Grandma happy to have the whole family at Mass, and then I just stopped. I was pretty skeptical of the whole Unitarian Universalist thing (is it even church if the priest doesn’t think you’re going to hell for being gay?), but Mary and I were dating and she really wanted me to try it. I can’t remember if I ran out of excuses or decided it was worth it if it’d make her happy. Making Mary happy became goals for me very shortly into dating cuz I wanted to keep her around and was very insecure for a … person who is generally insecure.

So I went with her one Sunday, and I didn’t know anyone else there and it’s not a big congregation and I didn’t understand what was going on, and of course my mind wandered. Mary saw me staring into space, leaned over, and whispered, “Hold my hand.”

I like holding hands, and because I was still learning Mary’s tones and faces and body language, I thought, ‘how sweet; she wants to hold my hand during church.’ And then she stood and started walking toward the back with me in tow. Not a big congregation, like I said, so everybody knows everybody and I’m so obviously new and the person I learned is Pastor Sarah was preaching and conspicuous much? Yes, it was.

Did Mary think she was wrong and I didn’t like it and so we were leaving? Had I embarrassed her? What she disappointed? Not that I was already insecure about our relationship and my chances of holding on to a Mary (the original and only!), but ugh. The door was a long walk for not a big building.

Except we didn’t go out the door. Mary made a right in the narthex (turns out Unitarian Universalists just call it “the lobby”) and down a set of stairs. She took me past a multipurpose room (they really can be anything; that one was where brunch was gonna be; Mary didn’t tell me about the brunch part) and to another multipurpose room for the purpose of scolding me (see? they can be anything).

She closed the door first, thank goodness, and said to me, “I know you aren’t enthusiastic about being here, but it’s still a worship service, and not paying attention is very bad manners.”

This wasn’t like being scolded for leaving dishes in the sink. Had I offended her? She obviously took church much more seriously than I had understood, and I was freaking out inside that this was going to be the end of our relationship, which Mary couldn’t foresee cuz she didn’t yet know the entire extent of my approval-hunger and relationship insecurity. Even setting that aside though, relationships do end over religious differences.

“I’m going to spank your bottom. Do you understand it’s for your manners and not because you don’t like church? … Daphne?”

“Y-yes.”

I was too busy catastrophizing in my head to appreciate what was happening. She sat down in a chair, drew me across her lap, and delivered ten hard (hard!) swats to the back my dress and set me on my feet again. If I had been logical about it (and I’m the queen of logic, as you all know; no nonsense from me ever), I would’ve realized that no one spanks their partner just before breaking up with them. Instead, I just stood there quietly, unable to even look at Mary, and rubbed my butt.

“When you’re in a house of worship, doesn’t matter what faith, you need to be respectful, which means paying attention. Understood?”

“Mhmm.”

And then she hugged me. My being stiff as a board and not really hugging her back tipped her off that I was not okay. I think that set off her own alarm bells. We were past the point of negotiating scenes and I encouraged her to give me consequences whenever she thought I needed them (but had yet to fully hand over the disciplinary reins; that came much later), but her voice suddenly had this o-crap-did-I-go-too-far tone when she asked me, “Are you okay?”

I nodded. “Mhmm.”

“What’s wrong?”

I sniffled first cuz I’m pathetic and stuff. Then I asked, “Are you mad at me?”

“No. Of course not.”

“Really?”

“Yes, really. I’ve never been mad at you.”

“So … we’re okay?”

And that’s when Mary figured it out. She put her hands on my shoulders, bent her knees to look me right in the eyes, and said, “Look at me. We’re okay. We’re better than okay.” And then came the impact hug, so named because we both went for it at the same time and oof! My Mary is very solid, and did I ever mention I’m smaller than she is? Those inches make so much difference.

I sniffled a snotty sniffle and felt relieved enough to let my guard down and expose just how insecure I was. “So you’re not breaking up with me?”

“No. I’m sorry if I scared you. I didn’t mean for that.” I’m sure she was thinking to herself what a basket case I was. She hadn’t seen that part of me yet. I’m better now (what with the therapy, medication, and the teachings or Mary to guide me), and I’m not sure if Mary, with her caregiver instinct, was thinking, what a basket case; I’ma gonna have to think about this relationship or what a basket case; I wanna hold her forever.

“I’m sorry,” I said.

“It’s okay. We’re okay.”

We let each other go, and I said, “We should go back upstairs,” even though what I really wanted to do was literally anything that didn’t involve walking back to our seats past all those people.

“We don’t have to. We can leave, or we can just stay in here for a while.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. We can go, or we can stay for brunch. The service is almost over. I’d like to introduce you to some of my friends here, but we don’t have to. Just tell me what you want.”

Real answer: I wanted to make her happy. “Even though I embarrassed you?”

“Who said you embarrassed me? Are you embarrassed?”

“Yeah.” Um, of course.

“But maybe also a little nervous because I’m gonna introduce you to people and you feel like you have to make a good impression?” I nodded, feeling silly. I was a grown woman, and as embarrassed as I was by everything that had happened in the last ten minutes, I wasn’t any more nervous than I would’ve been in any other circumstance meeting new people. I don’t like being the center of attention, and I know nine times out of ten when you think you’re the center of attention you’re really not, but getting introduced to your girlfriend’s friends even one-on-one more attention-central than I like being. I’m better at being attention-adjacent.

Mary told me, “We’ll stay side by side the whole time. You can even be shy and barely say anything.”

Countless times in my life I’ve wondered why I couldn’t be normal when it comes to socializing and not need forty hours with a person until I feel comfortable with them, but I learned something: having Mary means I don’t have to be normal. She’s not normal either (like, not even close) but you wouldn’t know it to watch her vanilla socializing.

Her friends were very nice, and Pastor Sarah was so disarming that I actually talked to her. I – and I’d never had this happen in a church before – had fun. When Pastor Sarah asked if she’d see me again, and I told her next week, I could feel Mary internally squeeing, and she’s not much of a squee-er.

Only years later, about ten minutes before our appointment with Pastor Sarah for some pre-marriage counseling and to talk about our wedding ceremony, did Mary tell me Pastor Sarah knew I’d been spanked that day, and I only had a small stroke when, twelve minutes after that, Pastor Sarah told me how proud she is with my attentiveness and active participation on Sundays. It’s kinda a shame that Mary won’t ask if she’ll play with us. I mean, we know she’s kinky, but Mary has overruled my suggestion and says if I wanna get spanked by a kinky lesbian clergywoman I’ll just have to find another. Easier said than done.

         It’s amazing how church and brunch on a Sunday cuts through a morning. After brunch, we found ourselves back at Mary’s apartment, and I had Sunday chores to do. Mary wanted to do some more apologizing for freaking me out, so I did some more apologizing for not being respectful in services, and Mary told me to stop apologizing and I apologized for that, and then she told me some more about how proud she was to show me off and how everyone liked me. Even though being praised by Mary is literally my favorite thing, I really did need to go run some errands.

         Maybe it was the panic I was experiencing in that multipurpose room, but it wasn’t until my hand was on Mary’s doorknob that I realized, “O my god. You spanked me in public. In a church! For not paying attention to the sermon!” In public! Not play party public, but actual public. Not a discreet swat either, but over her knee!

         “Yeah,” Mary said nervously like she was having her o-shit moment again.

         I’m very modest and easily embarrassed, and I couldn’t make myself say it except I did. “Take me to bed. Right now. Please.” Remember how you felt the first time you scratched a kinky itch you’d been waiting to scratch your whole life? I had a need, and it was urgent.

And all these years later, I’m still going to church with Mary almost every Sunday, doing my best to pay attention. It’s not about respect anymore, Mary says when I get in trouble for not paying attention, but that church, just like the spanking she is about to give me/is giving me/just gave me, is about helping me make good choices. All part of growing up, she says (hmmph!).

         After church, which I managed to pay attention to even though I was thinking I should’ve just gotten the last chocolate twist, I said to Mary, “For my present for being a good girl, we should get an emu.” I’d been thinking on how to bring that up.

“You wanna live on a farm like that woman on Twitter and have emu friends?”

“She’s gay, ya know. Her girlfriend films her videos.”

“We can sell the house and buy a farm. I can work from anywhere.”

“Ya know, you think you’re the grounded one, but all I have to do is bat my eyelashes and you promise me my every whim.”

“Can’t help it. I’m in love with you.”

“So in love with me.”

“You’re kinda like her emu.”

“How the heck am I like the emu? I’m the cute gay girl in overalls and a sun hat.”

“You choose violence sometimes, Daffy, like Emmanuel.”

“Um, projecting much, woman who’s so quick to spank?”

“So maybe we don’t sell the house and buy a farm, but we can buy you some cute overalls and a new hat.”

“Kay … Do we know anybody with a barn and a video camera?”

She scoffed at me. “You wanna make Twitter videos now?”

“I wanna be a naughty farm hand who gets her comeuppance at the stern hands of her employer … And maybe it’s an all-lesbian farm and the other hands just keeping doing their work and don’t even take notice cuz they’re so used to seeing me get spanked for slacking off.”

“How is it you haven’t been fired if you’re always slacking off?”

“I’m the boss’s favorite.”

“How did you get to be her favorite.”

“We’re sleeping together. The other girls are very resentful. I used to sneak outta the bunk house, but the farmer and me don’t even hide that we’re fucking anymore.”

“Does the farmer tolerate that kind of language?”

“Only during moments of passion … Or when the tractor falls on you.”

Mary sighed; I felt her breath on my neck. “Of all the ways you’re a silly goose …”