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

[SolSombraYSoldados]

3 hours ago, Alex Bridges said:

Other options include 

• But not really - really!
• But only cuz Mary says

Nice! Those are much more in Daffy's voice. I'm guessing you've spent a wee bit of time thinking in her voice in the years you've been writing that story.

[Alex Bridges]

16 hours ago, SolSombraYSoldados said:

Nice! Those are much more in Daffy's voice. I'm guessing you've spent a wee bit of time thinking in her voice in the years you've been writing that story.

Yeah, and Daffy is dead right - she says a ton of nonsense! You only see what comes out of her mouth whereas I am privy to every last bit. Tbh, she’s a bit much sometimes ?

[Alex Bridges]

Scene #206

 

I’m just a mess lately. I admit this. A messy mess. An overheated hot mess. I mean, I’m fine like I always am cuz I keep myself busy being a paragon and stuff, but also like, holy shit. 

And for what reason am I this fine? I don’t even know, but I’m fine in a way that’s not and sure would like to get to the bottom of it. So what did I do? Well, if you’ll shush and stop interrupting me with your questions I shall tell you what I did.

“Mary,” I said to Mary, “punish me.”

“What? Why?”

“Cuz you haven’t in a while.”

“Cuz you’ve been a good girl.”

How much of a mess am I? My wife - Mary! The one and only! - called me a good girl and I didn’t experience any internal squeeing. Wtf?!?

“I have not. I’ve been terrible,” I argued.

“In what possible way,” she said incredulously. She was totally misreading my signals.

“In all the ways and things. Just punish me.”

“Do you want a good girl spanking?”

“I want a bad girl spanking.”

“But you haven’t been bad.”

“I know! I’ve been so good! It’s like I’m losing my edge. I used to be such a handful. I used to keep you on your toes. I used to push the envelope! I’m going soft! Punish me for going soft!”

“Daffy, I can’t punish you for no reason.”

“Yes, you can. You’ve done it before.”

“When have I ever punished you for no reason?”

O. My. Gawd. Lemme count the times: one … One time. “Just punish me. C’mon,” I didn’t whine.

“Daffy, c’mere.”

“So you can punish me?” Score!

“So I can hug you.”

“Punish. Me.”

“I don’t punish for no reason.”

“Do you want me to give you a reason?” Cuz I’ll do it! I’ll heccin give her a reason!

“What? No. You can have a good girl spanking, or you can have a hug.”

“Bad girl spanking and snuggles.”

Which is when she folded her arms and gave me no answer. I was in no mood for these shenanigans. I was in zero mood to wait until I misbehaved on accident. And I was standing next to the console table … upon which was a vase.

In the past, I may have deservedly earned a reputation for always making good choices. Perfect choices, even. ‘There goes Daphne,’ people say, ‘I wouldn’t do that if I were her’ and it’s like, of course they wouldn’t cuz they’re not me and thusly do not have my perfect choice making ability. I mean, not that I wanna criticize but I don’t even know why Mary reminds me so much to make good choices.

I looked at the vase. Mary looked at me looking at the vase.

I nudged the vase toward the edge of the table.

“No,” Mary said. “Too far.”

Which I interpreted as exactly the right amount of far. I nudged the vase a little more.

“Daphne Ann, you do not wanna …”

In the moment the vase was in mid-air, time slowed down just long for me to step out of myself. I had a good third-person view of the situation and thought, firstly, about all the insta videos of cats doing exactly what I’d just done and thenly, For someone who makes perfect choices this might have been a bad idea.

And the vase? It fell to the carpet and went klunk into a thousand shards that somehow maintained the exact shape and structural integrity of a vase. Dammit. Mary’s not-impressed face.

“You hafta punish me now. I … broke the vase.”

“You didn’t even chip the vase.”

“I … dented the carpet.”

“That’s not even a thing.”

“How are you even tolerating my attitude right now?!? Adjust it!”

“Good girl spanking or hug. Those are your choices.”

“God fucking dammit!”

“Excuse me?”

Mary’s no-you-just-didn’t face. Been a while but I’d recognize it anywhere. “Whuh huh?”

“What words did you just use at me?”

“Um … They weren’t. I … Crap.”

At the time - when the spanks were landing to the tune of you-do-not-swear-at-me - I distinctly recall thinking I had bit off more than I intended to chew. Now, as the swelling goes down, I have this odd sense that I’d been baited into breaking such a big rule. She’s so sweet to me.

“You are gonna get it,” Mary said as she spank-marched me up the stairs. “Using curse words at me. That is totally unacceptable.”

“Got you - ow! - to listen - eep! - though. (SMACK!) OUCH!”

“Not the time to be getting smart mouthed with me.”

I’d estimate that it’s fifty steps from where we were to our bedroom, and I got at least two spanks for every step. Mary played softball, and lemme tell you the lady knows how to put some force into her underhand. Spank after underhand thunder-spank, practically lifting me up the stairs and propelled me down the hall.

She’s gonna put me over her knee on the bed, I thought, but she spanked me right past it. Nope? She’s gonna do it in the wing chair. No? On the ottoman? No. Huh.

“Little girls do not speak that way,” Mary said as she marched me into our bathroom and parked me at the sink pressed against the counter. She reached around me and started the tap.

Little girls - which I am not! - may not speak that way, but they think it. And not that I’m a little girl, but I was thinking, O fuck o no o fuck o no not the soap not the soap shiiiiiiiiittttttt!

“Mary (spank) no soap (spank) I don’t want (spank) soap (spank spank). I just want (spank) a spanking.”

“You don’t get to decide what consequence you get when you make bad choices. You’re getting your mouth washed out, and then you’re getting a spanking.”

“But (sob) I don’t (other sob) want (sound of pants and panties being whisked to my ankles) …”

“Of course you don’t. Soap tastes yucky. Almost as yucky as the words you said to me.” She lathered the soap, and I just, well, I didn’t just stand there. I mean, how pathetic would that be? I stood there and got weepy and kinda begged. The exact opposite of pathetic because reasons which are mine. Really.

“Open.”

“Mmm-mmm” SPANK!!!

“Open … If I have to pinch your nose …”

O yeah, this is what soap tastes like. It’s even worse than I remember. A minute ago we were arguing about me getting a bad girl spanking and here I am actually getting punished. How did that even happen?

“You. Do. Not. Use swear words at me. You can cuss up your little girl storm, but you know better, much better, than to swear at anyone, let alone me. Bite down … Harder.”

Who even taught her to spank along with the syllables? And this is gonna be in my molars for a day at least. Please don’t throw up. This is so gross it almost distracts me from how much my butt hurts. I mean, how does she even do that with her hand? My hands hurt just from … O, I’m clenching them. Boy, she is really going to town back there.

Just kidding. My thought process wasn’t nearly that cogent. It was more like, Ow gross ouch ew ow yuck ow ow ow gag gag gag ow gross ow gross eep blech.

‘There goes Daphne,’ people say, ‘Quite a deep thinker when she’s not super focused on keeping her lunch down.’ True story.

“Look at yourself,” Mary said. “Undies around your ankles getting your bottom spanked and your mouth washed out. Still feel like a big girl? Does it still feel good to swear?”

True story? It never felt good. It just came out. And I’ll beat Mary to the spank and admit that isn’t an excuse for what I said (I’m one of the all-time great admitters … when Mary reminds me of the things I did wrong and makes me admit it).

“Open.” Which I did and made all kinds of unspellable onomatopoeias spitting and hacking while Mary filled my cup (for tooth brushing; thankfully I’m not verbally naughty enough to need one just for rinsing out soap) and held it to my lips. Cuz yep, she doesn’t even let me hold my own cup after she washes out my mouth. It’s non-negotiable, akin to not being allowed to take my own pants down.

“You can brush your teeth after your spanking. C’mon.”

Taken by the wrist back into the bedroom, just shuffling along behind Mary as she beelined to my nightstand to get her paddle (she says it’s mine, but she’s the one swinging it - it’s so hers even if it does live on my nightstand as a reminder to make good choices) and then beelining back to the wing chair.

“You wanted a bad girl spanking,” she said to me while shaking that paddle, “you’re gonna get one and regret it.”

Joke’s on her - I already regret it. Not supposed to say that though, cuz then I’d really get it. You can sass during your spank-march, and you can sass when you’re being bared, and you can even sass during your warm-up spanking. But sassing post-warm-up is only if your have a butt-death wish. Take it from me, a girl who has taken it from Mary.

Mary didn’t scold or lecture. She just tipped me over her knee leaving my feet in the air and my elbows practically on the floor, and she started spanking. And paddling. And spanking with a paddle. Me? What was my part in this? Well, I shall tell you: cried. 

I cried. Like some emotionally addled person; an emotionally addled person getting the worst spanking she’s gotten all year … And possibly in the last twelve months. It’s really unsustainable, this whole me going without a seriously bruised butt for more than a month thing. I mean, thank goodness I swore at Mary cuz I think I really would’ve broken something. And I like our somethings.

Round about the time I’d slid so far forward the only things holding me upright were Mary and my face against the carpet, the she-beast I married swooped me off her lap and pressed my face into her chest. And what did I do? Well, I shall tell you: wailed.

I wailed. Muffled by Mary’s shirt, which I totally slimed. One might even say I unashamedly wiped my nose on her, but she knew the risk when she decided to hug me so tight.

I recover quickly both physically and emotionally (kinda like a vampire slayer), so even through my tears I was able to say, “My butt hurrrrrrrrrts and my mouth taste yuckyyyyyyyyyyyyy!”

And Mary treated me like an adult. I mean, so much like an adult that it was rated M for adult situations (and nudity cuz I wasn’t wearing any bottoms and my bottom was on display and I was straddling Mary’s lap so more than my bottom was on display and stuff). Yep, treated me exactly like an adult by shushing my tears and stroking my hair and rocking gently back and forth.

When I had soothed myself - yep, soothed myself; no help from Mary cuz I didn’t need any cuz I’m totally independent in all the ways and stuff … really - Mary said to me, “Feel better?”

And I sniffled and snurfled and … apologized. “Sorry.”

“For what are you sorry?”

“For swearing at you. And sliming your shirt.”

“You didn’t swear at me. Not really. And I’m used to you sliming my shirt. Do you know why?”

“Why?”

“Cuz you’re a crybaby.”

And I did NOT make uwu eyes at her! My lips did not tremble! And I did NOT whine “I’m not a crybaby” in a pathetically squeaky, whiny squeak. It didn’t happen, and I wish you’d just let it go already. Geez.

“Ready to brush the soap out of your teeth?”

“Mhmmm … Which was totally unnecessary and stuff (snurfle) … I needa bow my ose (snurrrrrrfle … snurf).”

I. Am. So. Pretty.

Mary likes washing my face after I’ve been crying. It’s just one of those ways that she likes to take care of me, and I like letting her. But this was the first time she took my tooth brush from me.

“I can do it,” I said to her and made (alleged) grabby hands for my toothbrush.

“No, I think you’re too little today.”

“I’m not little ever.”

Mary answered that by looking at the spot I’d left on her shirt (is it still a ‘spot’ if it’s the size of a … shirt?). Hmmph!

“But …”

“Daff, I got this. You’ll be okay. Hop up on the counter.”

“But that’ll hurt.”

“Yeah, cuz I spanked your bottom,” she said in what I perceived to be a smug tone. I mean, yeah she did, but does she gotta be so happy about it? Never you mind how happy it makes me when she’s happy. And she lifted me by my hips right onto the counter.

“Hhhh!” I may have gasped, but only from surprise at how strong she is and not out of pain cuz I’m not susceptible to pain. What even is that? I, for one, don’t know and certainly have never derived any emotional or physical pleasure from it. That’s for sure. Um, really.

“We’ll get that yucky soap out of your teeth, and we’ll get you a bath, and …”

“I already took a shower today.”

“Then I’ll just rub you all over with soap and rinse you off. How’s that sound?”

“Like a bath.”

“Don’t you get smart with me, missy. You know I won’t hesitate to spank your bottom twice in one day.” True story; fun day; more fun after the fact than during.

“Sorry.”

“Daff, look at me.” Which I did, and all I could say is awwwwwwwww. She was making her I-love-my-Daphne face and I’m a total pushover for that. “If you keep apologizing, the bath brush is coming off the wall.”

Sweet lord, she loves me! She really loves me!

[diaperboymi]

That was Awesome ?.  So cute how they have these Wonderful moments????

[YourFNF]

This is exactly the kind of treatment I'm craving lately...  *wistful sigh* Although I'm self-aware enough that I probably would have gone to my Big and been like "I need a 'break me' level catharsis spanking...." ??‍♀️?

[bobindiapers]

On 3/18/2023 at 12:57 PM, Alex Bridges said:

“I … dented the carpet.”

“That’s not even a thing.”

The silly back and forth like this is why I love this story.

[Alex Bridges]

11 hours ago, bobindiapers said:

The silly back and forth like this is why I love this story.

Are you suggesting Daphne is a silly goose? Cuz you know how she feels about that. ?

[Guilend]

7 minutes ago, Alex Bridges said:

Are you suggesting Daphne is a silly goose? Cuz you know how she feels about that. ?

She's so silly that she probably will poop her diaper for the first time thinking it's a punishment for her Big or like she things it'll mean she won something like an "argument"

[AndTheChips]

I’m having a really hard day and this helped. I think I’ve told you this but the stuff that feels dumb or trivial sometimes really really helps somebody and Mary and Daffy make things feel better 

[bobindiapers]

On 3/22/2023 at 9:17 AM, Alex Bridges said:

Are you suggesting Daphne is a silly goose? Cuz you know how she feels about that. ?

Oh heavens, no, I would never disparage Daphne like that. I was referring to Mary and her complete lack of knowledge about dentable carpet

[Alex Bridges]

Scene #207

 

Getting my butt beat by Mary reminded me of something: I fucking love spanking! So much so that I’ve been giving Mary excuses (kinda insisting actually) to smack my butt on the regular. It’s hard to come up with fresh ways of misbehaving, but I’m nothing if not creative. Of course, I’m creative and all the other things too. And I thought I had a really good one.

“Mary,” I said to Mary to start off my confession, “I have something to confess.”

“You’re late.”

“How am I late?”

“I turned off my computer five minutes ago. This is the longest you’ve waited for me to be done with work before you’ve come looking for a spanking for, like, the last two weeks.”

I’ve been ever so naughty but very forthcoming about it. True story. “Then I have two things to confess. First, I’m late.”

“What’s the other one.”

Hoo; deep breath; not sure how this is going to go over. I reached into my pocket and took out (drum roll please) … … … a blindfold.

I handed it to Mary. She looked at it. She looked at me.

“See the tag? Where it says to only wash it by hand. I machine-washed it.”

Mary made her patented you’re-trying-so-hard-and-it’s-adorable face. I love that face cuz it tells me she recognizes how hard I’m trying and that she thinks I’m adorable. Which is really just the best. Sigh …

“C’mon,” she said and took my hand.

And all I could think as she led me to our bedroom is I can’t believe I get to hold hands with her for the rest of my life. She’s so awesome! Not that I’m all fan girl for Mary and stuff, but I so am.

“Sit down on the bed, baby girl. We need to have a talk.” She doesn’t call me baby girl very often. I dutifully sat down, knowing heccin darn well what kind of talks we have in situations like this. My butt was all a-tingle in anticipation, and … other parts … were ancitipatey too. She knelt down in front of me and took both my hands in hers.

“This misbehavior has got to stop, Daphne Ann,” she said all softly and stuff like she was so very disappointed in me. That tone can make me cry all the tears when I’m actually in trouble, but when I’m not it sends this electric spark down my spine and makes me wanna (can’t think of the word … ope! got it) jump Mary’s bones. Yep. Wanna jump her bones.

I saucily replied (cuz I’m saucy and stuff), “Make me.”

“Tsk tsk tsk. How many times have I spanked your bottom this month?” I was about to say but Mary was asking one of her rhetorical questions, apparently. “Too many, which tells me something.”

“What does it tell you,” I asked in my coquette voice. I was hoping that would convey to her that she needed to spank my front after spanking my back. Haven’t done that in a while, and I think it’s really starting to show in my deportment. True story.

“Sometimes little girls act out …”

“I’m not a little girl.” But like she even paused in whatever she was saying.

“… because they’re not getting enough discipline, and sometimes they act out because they’re not getting enough love.”

“Got it – loving discipline. Let’s go!”

“So we’re gonna try something a little different today.”

Not that I was impatient or anything, but I looked at my wrist. A watch used to be there, like ten years ago. Tick tock, Mary. My butt’s gone un-spanked for twenty-four hours. “What are we gonna try differently, and how long will it take?” Not that I wanted to get through it fast so there’d still be time left to try the same thing over (and over), but …

“To start …”

Ruh-roh; she has pounce face.

And then she pounced on me.

“Marrryyyy, what’re you doing,” I pleaded from flat on my back. This tall lesbian was totally straddling me and …

“I’m trying to get to your tummy!”

“Mar no ugh sto heeheehee!”

“Pbbbbbbbtttt!”

“Heeeheeee eeeeeeppp!”

“Who’s my good girl?”

“Me! Sto eeeeeeeeeee!”

“Whose tummy am I tickling?”

“Mi eeeeeeee!”

“No squealing.”

“I can’t help eeeeeeeeeeee!”

“I’ma wear you out. Pbbbbbbbtttt!”

“Hi heeee heee heeeheeheeeee! Marryyyyyy!”

And then she stopped, and I opened my eyes, and she was on her knees, still straddling me and with a hand planted firmly on either of my (ticklish) sides. Her hair was messy and she was a little out of breath and she looked very pretty. Sigh … Not that I could let on that I like her and stuff. Just cuz we’re married doesn’t mean a proper girl like me can stop playing hard to get. “O, Mary. When did you get here?”

And then – get this! – she kissed me. Me! Her wife! On the lips and everything. Literally, everything, working her way down to my belly. I think she likes bellies or something; so weird.

“I think (kiss kiss kiss),” she said as she started unbuckling my pants, “you shouldn’t (kiss) wear pants with buttons anymore (kiss kiss). They take way too long to pull down.” She says that, but she can open the button on any pair of pants I own with the flick of a finger. She’s got lots of practice and stuff from doing all these things to me she likes to do so much. Heehee! “What pretty undies you’re wearing today. Who’s this?”

“Um, me?”

“No, silly, on your underpants. Who’s this character?”

“O, a Disney princess, I think.”

“You don’t know?”

“You’re the one who bought them. By the way, where are you hiding my regular panties? Asking for my friend.”

“It’s cute your friend thinks these aren’t your regular undies, and it’s kinda funny your friend thinks your old undies are even in the house anymore.”

“Wait, seriously?” I liked those panties! They were sexy; even the ones that were just functional were sexy compared to the ones Mary didn’t apparently, throw out..

“Focus, little girl. What’s the name of this princess?”

“I dunno. Moana?”

“You always guess Moana.”

“Cuz that’s the last Disney movie I saw.” O crap; Mary’s her the-wheels-are-turning-in-my-head face.

“You just got a new homework assignment. You have two weeks to watch every major Disney movie that’s come out since 2010 and memorize all the major characters.”

I just threw up in my mouth a little. “Blegh; can’t you just beat me or something?”

“It’s not a punishment, sweetie.”

“Feels like it.”

“Do you want a punishment?”

“Um, yeah. That’s literally what I came to find you for.”

“Okay.” Ruh-roh; Mary’s I’m-so-delighted-with-the-mean-thing-I’m-gonna-do-to-Daffy face. “At the end of those two weeks, you are gonna serenade me with two Disney songs … And I will be recording them. How good a job you do will determine how many friends I share them with.”

“Ourgghhh … So if I do a good job they get shared with fewer people or more people?”

“I don’t know yet.”

“Ourgghhhhh!”

“What I do know,” the fiend I married said, “is you’re way too little to wear undies tonight.”

“I’m not little!”

“Yes.”

“No!”

“Mhmm.”

“Hmmph!”

“Who’s a pouty princess? Who’s my pouty pout princess?”

“I don’t know! Moana?”

“No, you silly little girl, you. You’re my pouty princess!”

“Marrryyyy! Stop teasing me!”

“Pbbbbbbbttttt!”

“Heeeheeeee no! Mean!”

“(Kiss kiss kiss) So mean. Wanna pick out your diaper, or do you want me to do it?”

“Let’s go lingerie shopping.” I suggested that because reasons. I mean, even if we didn’t buy anything for me, I could watch Mary try stuff on. There’s this one store with this salesgirl with pink hair who totally clocked our gayness and was totally flirting when she offered to do a fitting, and I think we should take her up on that for science and stuff.

“Let’s see how you feel about going lingerie shopping after we get your princess parts padded.” She slunk off the bed (and me) cuz she’s slinky and stuff. She moves like a fox; it’s part of what makes her so foxxy, I think. “I got you new diapers,” she said. All excited and just ugh.

“You mean you got you new diapers. I don’t own any diapers.”

“When a momma buys diapers for the baby, are they momma’s diapers or the baby’s?”

“Buh! Nuh! Hurnoopler! M-marrryyy!”

“It’s okay. I know you’re not a baby. You just wear diapers like one.” She disappeared into the closet, leaving me stunned by her effrontery and stuff.

“I only wear them cuz you make me!”

“And when a momma diapers her baby girl, does the baby girl do it cuz they want to or cuz they can’t stop momma?”

“Forniwobbly!”

“Aww, you’re getting all flustered. You’ll feel better when you got your pampers on.”

She had everything she needed, including an unwilling wife. She took the cuffs of my pants in her hands, and I raised my hips to let her pull them off (cuz I have agency, dammit!), and she pushed me back down. “I don’t need any help from you. You just lay there and look pretty.”

I wasn’t blushing, for the record. I was just red. Sometimes that’s just what color I am, and Mary should get no credit for it ever. It only encourages her.

“You say you’re not a little girl, but you’re so tiny I can lift your legs by the ankles to take your pants off.”

“Ourgh,” I didn’t whine. Didn’t turn redder either. Those are lies, in case you hear differently. “I’m just petite,” I said from behind my arms. Just needed a moment alone (not because I was embarrassed; I had way too much righteous indignation at her treatment of me to be embarrassed) and what better place to be alone than hiding behind your arms. Not that I was hiding (another lie, if some liar tells you I was).

Nothing happened for a moment. I peeked out from behind my arms and Mary was making her I-like-Daffy’s-bare-legs face. I saw my chance. “We could skip the diaper and have sex instead,” I helpfully suggested. I’m very helpful. ‘There goes Daphne,’ people say, ‘such a good helper.’ I have pre-school report cards singing my praises for always being eager to help and follow rules and to share.

“O no ya don’t, piddle pants. We need to get you in a diaper.”

Drat. “Can I go pee first?”

“That’s what your diapies are for, sweetums!”

“Stop baby talking!”

“Make me.”

“O my gawd! Marryyyy! Hhh!”

“Why are you gasping?”

“Cuz you’re – hhh! – touching my …”

“Your undies? Your undies and what’s under them? Goodness o gracious, Miss Daffy, you are just radiating heat down here.”

“Don’t … read anything into it.”

“All I’m reading into it is I need to get you diapered before you leak anything anywhere.”

She whisked my panties down my legs. I heard crinkling, and she raised my ankles, slipping the diaper under me. “I remember the very first time I put you in a diaper. I needed three tries to get it in the right spot. Now if only takes one. How about that.”

“Groan.”

“You can just groan, Daffodil. You don’t have to say ‘groan.’”

“Grrr.”

“You’re so pretty lying on top your diaper. Who’s a pretty girl?”

“Grrr.”

“Who’s a pretty girl? Do I hafta tickle it outta you?”

“I’m a pretty girl, and it has nothing to do with the diaper. Nothing!” NOTHING!

“You’re a pretty girl in anything and nothing, but you’re just o so cute in your pampers. Yes you are! A-yes you are!” She sprinkled powder on me; I like how that feels despite not liking how it feels. She smoothed it in. I really like how that feels. “You’re smooth as a baby down here, and now you smell like one too. So sweet and fresh. Well, considering.”

“Considering what? What’s that supposed to mean?!?”

“Considering how … eager you seem down here.”

“Am not!”

“Wanna bet?”

“A million dollars!”

“How about if I can make you cum in the next five minutes, you do the same for me?”

“ … Yes, but only cuz I have a gambling problem. And only if you promise not to draw any conclusions from anything if you win.” Just a gambling addiction that I just discovered that I have right this moment and not at all cuz I viewed her proposal as a win-win, and certainly not cuz I was aroused. Really. And even if I was aroused, it was only cuz she was touching me down there. And cuz I have a humiliation fetish. Nothing at all to do with the way she was talking down to me; it’s, uh, not that kind of humiliation fetish. Um, really. Yep; don’t like diapers; just like being made fun of. And cumming. Being made fun of and cumming. True story.

“I win,” she said.

“What!?! I didn’t.”

“Daffy, look at me.” She moved my arms away from my face, revealing to me her perfectly confident expression. Confidence is … sexy. I know for her it’s the opposite; she sees insecurity and wants to make it all better, but as a sub, I see her confidence and want to attach myself to her like a koala to a tree “I’ve already won,” she said.

She took my wrists in her hands and pinned them to the bed above my head, getting back on top of me. Only her hands and knees were touching me as she hovered above me.

“All I need to make you cum are my words.”

That’s … a true thing. Not often, but sometimes she finds just the right button to push and smashes it. I find something hot as fuck about that, the way she can make me cum in my pants with just the right words sometimes (and how embarrassing it is to cum in my pants or just cuz she’s verbally teasing me; stupid but fun humiliation fetish). It’s also really hot just how proud of herself Mary is when she manages to do that. Making Mary feel positive feelings might be my number-one fetish.

“You know why you have a diaper under you,” Mary said to me, “Because I put it there. You’ll lay there on your diaper and let me powder your kitty and try to hide behind your arms all embarrassed because not so very down deep you know that I know what’s best for you. You know that if I say you need to wear a diaper for the evening, you need to wear a diaper. If you need to wet your pampers, you’ll piddle a puddle in your widdle pants cuz I say so. And you’ll toddle around in your huggies being adorable and cute cuz you can’t help being so adorable and cute even if you don’t wanna be. And if I wanna tickle your tum-tum, you’ll writhe in my arms and protest ‘no no no’ but do nothing to stop me.

“And you’ll tell yourself you only do it cuz you’ll get in trouble if you don’t. But you’re not afraid of a spanking. You like it when I spank your little pink bottom. You just don’t want to disappoint me. And yeah, that’s cuz you’re a subby kinky mess, but do you know the real reason?”

She leaned down to whisper in my ear, “It’s cuz you don’t wanna disappoint your momma.”

What. The. Fuddruckers. And what the heccin hell is my body doing? I said to my body, I said, s’top liking this right now.’ But my body doesn’t listen to me, like, ever.

“O, did I say the magic word? You’re getting so blushy. You’re starting to squirm. Little girl laying on her diaper trying so hard not cum. But you will. You’ll make a cummy mess, and I’m gonna wrap you up in that diaper, and you won’t be able to stop yourself from feeling like the bestest girl in the world cuz you did just what momma wanted. You’ll be all conflicted, and that’s okay cuz I’ll be right here. Holding my little girl while she works out her little girl feelings and nurses from momma until momma cums too.”

I’ve never wanted to win so bad in my life. Don’t cum don’t cum don’t cum don’t cum. Body, stopppppp!

“C’mon. Make a cummy mess for momma. Be momma’s good girl.”

O gawd no fair all I ever wanted was to be Mary’s good girl don’t cum don’t cum don’t … dammit! “H … hh … uhffffff!”

“There you go! There’s my good girl! Big finish for momma!”

“(Squeaky orgasm noises).” Dammit.

“Open your eyes,” she said to me. I did, and she looked so … proud. “Such a good girl.”

Sigh … Not to brag or nothing but my wife thinks I’m a good girl and she should be absolutely trusted cuz she can make me cum with just her words sometimes and they don’t give that superpower to just anyone.

She quickly finished putting the diaper on me and laid down next to me, pulling me close. “How are you doing?”

“(Squeaky conflicted noises).” Yep, so she had that part exactly right.

“Are you mad at me?”

“Mmm-mmm.”

“(Kiss). Ever since you called me your mommy, I’ve been trying to bring it up. You don’t have to ever call me that again if you don’t want, but sometimes, if you do want to …”

“(Squeaky whimpering noises).”

“(Kiss). You’re just a crybaby (kiss). You go right ahead and get those feelings out (kiss).”

A deal is a deal. I started to lift her shirt. She stopped me and asked, “Do you really want to?”

I nodded, and she helped me expose her breasts. She offered me one of her nipples, and I closed my lips around it, embracing her tight and teasing her with my tongue. I started to slide my hand down to her pants, and she stopped me, putting my hand back on on her side and writhing at the sensations I was giving her with my mouth.

“You’re so good at that,” she said softly. “What a talented little hhh! Hhh! …. Mmmmm. Haha! I’m not sure which of us was more primed.”

Mary was. Definitely Mary. I’ve been to known have a hair trigger on my … But when Mary is wound up, she can set speed records if she’s got the right … car. Some metaphors get away from me. Sorry.

“I’m not a little girl,” I reminded her. “But you can still be my mommy … And I’ll call you that sometimes.”

“To make me happy or to make you happy?”

“(Sound of me not answering).”

“Okay. Can I call myself that sometimes?”

“Yeah; you can.” I felt her muscles tense and relax in mild excitement and happiness at getting to use a term that meant so many things to both of us. She’d wanted to use it for so long. I don’t want her to use it all the time (in no small part cuz I don’t wanna live with someone who refers to herself in the third person), but I guess I’m okay with her using it sometimes.

“Thank you, Daphne. I promise I’ll be careful with it.”

“I know you will.”

“But,” she said mock-seriously, “I don’t care what you say. You are my little girl … And don’t think I don’t feel your warm diaper against my thigh.”

“I told you I had to pee.”

“Heh. Yeah, you did. I’ll change you at bedtime. Do you like the new diaper?”

“It fits really well … Like, really well.” Which is a thing I regret knowing. O, to rewind the clock to when I had no reference point for how a diaper fits. “I don’t like it.”

“I know.” She patted my butt. “Momma knows.”

“Marrryyy!”

“Too much too soon?”

“Yeah. Big meanie.”

“The way you’re holding me so tight makes me think I need to be mean to you more often.”

“You promised not to draw any conclusions.”

“Oops; I did. I won’t draw any more … Puddle Pants.”

“Marrryyy! Be nice to me. I’m emotionally vulnerable over here.”

“Look at me.” I did, and she saw in my eyes that I wasn’t kidding. “Okay. I’ll be super nice to you. How about a nap before dinner? We can order in from somewhere. And I’ll let you be the big spoon.”

“I don’t wanna be the big spoon today.”

“(Kiss). My sleepy good girl.”

“(Sleepy gay sighs).”

[YourFNF]

*lays there stunned in mixed horni and "I want it so bad it hurts"*

[Guilend]

She probably needs to talk to someone other then Mary about how she feels about calling Mary mommy. Just to flesh out her feelings before talking to Mary. Maybe Grams next door could help lol. Or a Little/Mid, but I don't think she's ready to have that kind of talk with her friend since it'll almost be saying she's a Little. So maybe a Big that has a Little. But I think the neighbor would be best since she like neutral in everything. I mean she could just have a very long conversation with Mary with lots of crying and tissues involved, but where's the fun in that? Lol

[TDAD22]

just gotta say been following this story for awhile and it's tremendous. 

First, it's character driven rather than action driven, which is my preference in general as well as the mark of any good storytelling. with distinct characters as well. 

second, it solves so many of my perceived problems of AB/DL writing in general. 

The first being, how the hell do you make ABDL narratively interesting? The goal of ABDL writing in general is wish fulfillment, either of erotic, emotional or cathartic varieties. 

But wish fulfillment is not interesting to read. There's no inherent conflict to drive narrative tension. So authors have to create one. 

Some authors create it with conflict exterior to the main narrative focus of ABDL. Generally these conflicts are pretty thin, but even when well executed they are an obstacle to the main focus. The wish fulfillment. I just don't care that you character is a billionaire, private eye or that there parents are getting divorced. That's not why I am reading. I'm reading because of the diapers.

The other issue is that after the wish fulfillment happens whatever narrative tension exists is gone. Also it is pretty boring to read about the idealized ABDL life. The life of an infant or toddler is boring. 

What I love about this story is the solutions to those problems. First the narrative focus isn't the ABDL wish fulfillment, it's the characters relationship, with ABDL sprinkled on top. And the relationship is very well executed, with enough abdl/ageplay tension to keep the tension going. this solves the wish fulfillment is boring problem.

The second solution is vignettes rather than continuous storytelling. Skipping forward in time to moments that are heartwarming, sexy, funny or conflict focused is brilliant  It skips all the day to day moments that none of us really care about and firmly focuses on how the characters relationships grows over time. this solves the idealized ageplay is boring problem.

I could write more but ill just say this not just the best ABDL writing I've ever read. Heck this is the best romance writing I've ever read. I've seen other ABDL authors pick up on what makes your work special and I hope even more do too. 

Great work. Looking forward to the next chapter.

[diaperboymi]

Wow????. Now that was a Wonderful moment?????

[AndTheChips]

On 3/29/2023 at 10:36 PM, TDAD22 said:

just gotta say been following this story for awhile and it's tremendous. 

First, it's character driven rather than action driven, which is my preference in general as well as the mark of any good storytelling. with distinct characters as well. 

second, it solves so many of my perceived problems of AB/DL writing in general. 

The first being, how the hell do you make ABDL narratively interesting? The goal of ABDL writing in general is wish fulfillment, either of erotic, emotional or cathartic varieties. 

But wish fulfillment is not interesting to read. There's no inherent conflict to drive narrative tension. So authors have to create one. 

Some authors create it with conflict exterior to the main narrative focus of ABDL. Generally these conflicts are pretty thin, but even when well executed they are an obstacle to the main focus. The wish fulfillment. I just don't care that you character is a billionaire, private eye or that there parents are getting divorced. That's not why I am reading. I'm reading because of the diapers.

The other issue is that after the wish fulfillment happens whatever narrative tension exists is gone. Also it is pretty boring to read about the idealized ABDL life. The life of an infant or toddler is boring. 

What I love about this story is the solutions to those problems. First the narrative focus isn't the ABDL wish fulfillment, it's the characters relationship, with ABDL sprinkled on top. And the relationship is very well executed, with enough abdl/ageplay tension to keep the tension going. this solves the wish fulfillment is boring problem.

The second solution is vignettes rather than continuous storytelling. Skipping forward in time to moments that are heartwarming, sexy, funny or conflict focused is brilliant  It skips all the day to day moments that none of us really care about and firmly focuses on how the characters relationships grows over time. this solves the idealized ageplay is boring problem.

I could write more but ill just say this not just the best ABDL writing I've ever read. Heck this is the best romance writing I've ever read. I've seen other ABDL authors pick up on what makes your work special and I hope even more do too. 

Great work. Looking forward to the next chapter.

Literally all of this. I’ve tried to say such things before but get stuck on the mmmphfuldrusmshfpj feelings 🤭😂

[Alex Bridges]

New pic of Mary and Daphne just dropped 😂🤣😂🤣🤣🤣🤣

[Guilend]

Mary is the kitten right? 😏

[diaperboymi]

Love it 😍😂😂

[YourFNF]

Accurate XD .... TBH kinda also my girlfriend and I 😅😆🤷‍♀️🙈

[Alex Bridges]

11 hours ago, YourFNF said:

Accurate XD .... TBH kinda also my girlfriend and I 😅😆🤷‍♀️🙈

Cutie!!!

[YourFNF]

12 hours ago, Alex Bridges said:

Cutie!!!

🙈

[Alex Bridges]

Scene #208

 

Can I just say in my defense that it’s been a long time since I went on a peanut butter bender and that if you’re not sposed to go all berserk and stuff they should make peanut butter Easter eggs less delicious? That’s my defense, and it’s strong like yours truly. Truly? Yes, really.

I explained that to Nana. I said, “Good afternoon, Nana. Can I hang out at your house for a little while? Mary thinks I’m hyper and I don’t think I’m hyper; I just think I had too much sugar which isn’t the same as being hyper though I guess that’s where the word hyperglycemic comes from and anyway, Mary said I should see if you’re doing anything cuz if I stay at home I’m gonna get a spanking, so I said she already spanked me today and she said no, like a serious one and not like the one I got this morning and I didn’t even do anything except eat a bunch of peanut butter Easter eggs which I’m not allowed to do but I don’t think that’s a rule that makes as much sense as Mary thinks it does and …”

Somewhere during my not at all hyper soliloquy, Nana just stepped aside and in I strode to her living room. In fact, my recollection of events is that I was calm. Like, so calm. So calm that Nana invited me to “sleep it off,” the ‘it’ in question being my calmness and not, ya know, a sugar crash. But if any fault attaches to anyone - which it doesn’t cuz nothing was weird about anything - it’s Mary for letting me make peanut butter pancakes for breakfast and put syrup on them and her failure to, ya know, sniff out the illicit peanut butter eggs I brought home after being reminded about what’s happened on past Easters (and halloweens, valentines, and christmases) and specifically told not to buy any this year. She’s going soft on me. All talk; no action. Except for when she takes action, like she did that very morning. Not that it hurt (very much) but she left a handprint on my thigh. Little something she calls an ‘attention getter’ for when I’m (she’s so melodramatic) ‘out of my mind’ on sugar and not listening to her.

“Welcome back,” Nana said to me as I yawned and stretched on her sofa. She was - how very much like a nana my Nana is - sitting on the sofa watching The Price Is Right and knitting.

“Was I asleep very long?”

“A half-hour.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. Sometimes I take a nap after breakfast too. Can you stay a while?”

“I think I’m supposed to.” I nodded toward the backpack I had set down next to the door. “Mary handed me that when she was swatting me out the door. I think that means I’m supposed to stay out of the house for a few hours.”

“That’s a little harsh.”

“I may - okay, ‘may’ - have been making it impossible for her to get any work done. I don’t know what came over me.” So if you drown your worries in alcohol, do you suffocate them in peanut butter? Squash them under a pile of candy? Not that I have worries; leading an exemplary existence over here. ‘There goes Daphne,’ people say, ‘Stellar example of existence.’ Really. More like I have stress. We all have stress. I think having stress is supposed to be a marker of status now or something: stress - the new conspicuous consumption. How fitting that I addressed it by consuming chocolate; must be why they call it ‘stress eating’ or something.

“I should …” I started to say.

“Change,” she asked, cutting me off.

“No.”

“What were you gonna say?”

“Text Mary and apologize. Why? And I didn’t bring any clothes.”

“Your clothes are fine.”

“Change wh… O. O!” I forgot, okay? I forgot I was wearing a diaper cuz, um, it was a helluva bender. Yeah, that’s it. And cuz wearing diapers has become distressingly normal. 

Wow. I’m stressed and distressed at the same time. You’d think that couldn’t be possible but if something can be flammable and inflammable at the same time, then … What a crazy world we’re living in. I’m not rambling again. Again? I never rambled the first time. Or ever. Really … Teehee. Plus I was, “Dry. I’m dry. She’s making me … She’s been in a … Anyhoo …”

“Daffy,” Nana said like I’m so delicate her words might destroy me, “are you sure?”

Ach! I was until she asked me that! Don’t panic don’t panic don’t panic just focus on what you’re feeling … except diapers don’t feel wet until they’re totally soaked so … “Um, yes?”

“Do you need to check,” she asked me in a halting, confused tone because Nana - and like I needed the reminder by-contrast - is normal and doesn’t know that diapers don’t feel wet until they’re really, really wet.

“I’m not … I’d remember. Unless I …” O gawd did I wet in my sleep!?! O fuck o no o fuck o no o fuck fuck fuck fuck ahhhhhhh!!!!!!

I was totally calm on the outside. Yep, just a woman sliding her hand up the leg of her shorts in full view of the other woman whose house she was in. “I’m … dry.” Praise and glory and stuff!!! “Why did you think I … (sniff … sniff sniff). O.”

Either I’m getting blind to the scent of Mary-made-Daphne-sleep-in-a-diaper-and-Daphne-hasn’t-showered-yet or Nana has a nose like a grandma, which she is so I guess her nose technically is a grandma’s … Anyway, I’m not the kind of person who suffers from embarrassment or humiliation or mortification so I just, ya know, didn’t at all wanna crawl between the sofa cushions and die. Not even a little. I wanted to go outside and dig a hole and jump in and pull the earth in after me, but for totally unrelated reasons. Really.

“I, um,” I confidently stuttered, “didn’t have a chance to shower and …”

“Wanna take a shower?”

“Yes please.”

So I did. Felt great. Felt really, really great to be taking a shower at the neighbors cuz I slept in a wet diaper and smelled like wee and got spanked out of the house before I had a chance to shower cuz I was annoying my wife cuz I ate too much sugar. Yep. Felt great. Yep yep yeppers … 

I mean, at least I didn’t cry in the shower? Cuz that would just be pathetic. Got that silver lining, and got another one: Nana is the sweetest, most understanding vanilla in the world so while I turned all the shades of red I can turn, I at least knew she wasn’t judging me.

“Come to the guest room,” I heard her say when I shut off the water, “I got your things.” I wrapped myself in a towel and walked down the hall to the sound of a seventy-year-old woman going, “Squee!” I didn’t think women of that generation could squee; scream at the boy singers on American Bandstand until they pass out, sure, but squee? Who knew? Not me; that’s who didn’t know. “This is perfect,” she was saying as I rounded the corner to discover her discovering the contents of my backpack. Good thing I was done being embarrassed; yep. I was just red from toe to hairline (and my hair also but that’s red all the time) cuz the shower was hot. Yep. Really.

“That’s … Mary’s. Her idea. She’s so … dweeby.” Not that Nana noticed cuz she was too busy examining the bunny diaper.

“It’s so Easter. How was your shower?”

“Um, wet … Are there any underpants in there?l

“No, sorry.”

“Um - I can’t believe I’m saying this - a pull-up?”

“Just diapers.”

“Ugh. Well, I guess I can just pull the old one back on.”

Nana grimaced. “Ew. You just washed all that yuckiness off you. I threw that away already.”

“I would’ve … Thanks.”

“So diaper,” she asked, “or commando?”

I wanted to walk across the room to the wall so I could bang my head on it a time or three, but I didn’t cuz I’m an adult fully capable of handling life maturely and constructively. “Mary doesn’t let me go commando anymore. I mean, sometimes, but as a general rule, no.”

“Does she let you put these on yourself?”

[INSERT AWKWARD PAUSE HERE]

“No worries,” Nana said. “Not our first time.”

No, but been a while since Nana put one of Mary’s diapers on me. Or saw me naked. In fact, the last time those things happened was at the same time. That wouldn’t have happened, just like it wouldn’t be happening again, if I weren’t such a good rule follower. One of the best. And no, weren’t not counting Mary’s general anti-sugar rules or her specific anti-novelty-shaped-peanut-butter-treats rule. I only broke that rule because I have an addiction … And because I wanted to. And we’re not going to read anything into my selective rule following or while rules I choose to follow or why or when because, um, … Because, actually … and stuff … I always follow every rule to the letter. As well as the spirit. Let’s move on.

To Nana spreading a bunny diaper on the bed. Crap.

“I’m just gonna put my shirt on,” I said cuz I felt the need to narrate, apparently. I turned away and wiggled my towel down so I could put my shirt on without flashing Nana, but she was busy sorting through the backpack looking for stuff.

“At least she sent you over with a diaper bag, but how does she find anything in here? She should get an actual diaper bag; so much easier to stay organized.” I turned back around just in time for Nana to go, “O my,” and turned to look at me with a bemused grin on her face, a paddle in one hand and a pacifier in the other.

“Um … That’s a joke. Just a … joke. A mute button, Mary calls it. I don’t actually … unless she makes me … And not in public yet … Ever, actually, but also yet … When she says my mouth is gonna get me in trouble …”

“And this is for the trouble,” she said, giving the paddle a shake. “I can’t imagine spanking you with this thing. You’re so small, and how could you ever get in 

enough trouble to deserve such a … This thing is brutal.”

Nana likes Mary and accepts our lifestyle, but she disagrees with some of the details. To Nana, the way Mary does diaper stuff is borderline negligent. And Nana has seen my severely spanked butt before and all but accused Mary of beating me (in a bad way; not in the kinky good way which is the way I experienced it which was awful at the time but o so wonderful not very long afterwards; sigh …..

Can’t exactly blame Nana for not getting it. It’s definitely one of those things you either get (cuz you’re kinky) or you don’t. The two of them have agreed to not talk about it, and I’ve made clear to Nana that I don’t really care for it when she brings it up in a way that makes it seem like she’s criticizing Mary (who I am obsequiously loyal to cuz she is perfect and I love her and stuff).

“I can get into all sizes of trouble,” I haughtily replied. Awfully haughty for a woman about to be diapered by the neighbor lady cuz she’s following her wife’s rules (which I do cuz I’m devoted to her and to us and our delightful if embarrassing lifestyle which is delightful because it’s embarrassing; it’s like, a whole-ass thing, pun retroactively intended).

“If you say so. You ready for your diaper?”

“It’s not mine,” I said as I approached the edge of the bed.

“Remember, we’re both women and you don’t need to be embarrassed. This is just a friend helping out a friend.”

At least she’s quick at it? At least she didn’t make a big deal out of the handprint Mary left? At least I had the good sense not to panic and explain the handprint out of some misguided attempt to get out in front of the issue as though that would be less embarrassing? O wait; actually no, I didn’t have the good sense not to do that. Crap.

“That’s just … Mary calls it an attention getter. I, um, well, in Mary’s opinion I was having trouble holding still when she was diapering me this morning and not whining about wearing a diaper out of the house, so … But I settled down eventually.” And what is that except proof that I’m great at following directions (when they’re enforced)?

“Heh. I would’ve settled down too. I bet that stings.”

“Not anymore.” Cuz I’m tough and brave and stuff. I mean, like I’m even scared of breaking rules or getting caught breaking rules or even need to get diapered by my pseudo-grandma so as to avoid breaking the rules. Right? Of course I’m right. Really.

“All done,” Nana announced. She picked up my shorts and held them out for me as I stepped back into them. “Amazing how you almost can’t tell you’re wearing such a thick diaper under those.” And then she swatted my butt. Great; just great. All I needed in my life was another person patting my butt when it’s in a diaper. What is it with people and the atavistic need pay butts in diapers?

“‘Almost’ can’t tell,” I asked.

“Well, I can tell but only because I know. Your hair is getting awfully long.” She changed the subject! Thank gawd! I should try changing the subject more often. 

“Mary likes it long.” Of course, I have this knack for changing the subject back to Mary (almost like I’m obsessed with her or something). “I told her I’d grow it out for her but that she’s in charge of it. Do you think it’s long enough to braid yet?”

“Just about. Want me to braid it for you?”

“No, I want Mary to do it.” Which is, but the way, not at all like when a little kid says they want their mom to do something. I just, ya know, wanna sit between Mary’s legs while she braids my hair and if she should - and this is a thing that may happen and. It something I’m specifically wanting to happen and will be upset if it doesn’t happen - call me a good girl and whisper sweet things in my ear and tickle my sides and also call me a good girl whiles she’s braiding, that would be really wholesome and stuff and okay with me. Alls I’m sayin’.

“Do you need help with anything while I’m over here,” I asked cuz I wanna be helpful and not just a taker. I’m very aware of how much Nana gives of herself and I get anxious that I don’t give back. Plus I’m very fit and stuff and can help with lots of things that Nana might find difficult despite her being so spry.

“I need to cook for tomorrow, and I need to hide Easter eggs.”

“We can hide Easter eggs while it’s in the oven,” I helpfully suggested cuz I’m helpful. I prepped fruit salad while Nana prepped a ham. I have childhood trauma with ham, but I’m pretty fruity myself so it all balances out and stuff.

“So how is Mary,” Nana asked. “I haven’t seen her for a bit.”

“She’s been busy at work the last couple weeks. She’s okay. Kinda …”

“What?”

“She’s been kinda all over the place, I think. Sorta.”

“How so?”

“Some days she’s kind grumpy and a little overly strict and other days she’s been really indulgent and doting.“

“Sounds kind of stressful. Is she okay?”

“She’s fine. It’s my fault, I think. I think I threw her for a loop a couple weeks ago. I got jealous of the way she was being with a friend and we had a little fight and I called her a name that kinda, well, maybe changed some things.”

“Did you take it back?”

“Not that kind of name calling. Actually, kinda the good kind of name calling, but I wouldn’t say it for a long time and then I did cuz I was upset and now we don’t know what it means.”

“Can I ask what the name is?” Good ol’ Nana sensing that if I wanted to say it, I would’ve. She’s gotten really good at seeming to know what I’m talking about even when it’s not at all clear to a vanilla what I’m talking about. I could’ve told her, but she wouldn’t have understood. Plus I didn’t want say the truth. I mean, the whole ageplay thing weirds out a lot of kinky people too, and I don’t think my neighbor needs to know I called my wife ‘mommy.’

“Um,” I said, searching for a way to say it without saying it, “this isn’t what it is, but it’s kinda like a title. Like how some people might refer to their partner as ‘mistress.’ So it’s like that, if that makes any sense.”

“So what does that change for you guys?”

“That’s the thing - we don’t know.”

“Maybe it doesn’t change anything.”

“I think we both kinda think that, but maybe we’re both just nervous that we don’t know yet. That and … I dunno. I’m the one who was weird about it for so long. I’m still kinda meh on it. I still don’t know why. She’s being weird because I’m being weird … Actually, that’s not really fair to me. She’s being weird because she doesn’t know what it means, and I’m being weird because I don’t know what it means … And also cuz I’m weird.”

In fairness to me - and we should always be fair to me; I mean, we should be fair to everybody, but more so to me and if we ever have to choose, we should be fair to me first and everybody else second because reasons - Mary is weird too. We’re weird separately and as a unit.

“You want an old lady’s opinion?”

“You’re not old, but yeah, I’d like your opinion.”

“You’re just getting used to it and it won’t be weird at all in a little while. Probably pretty soon if it’s already been a couple weeks.”

“So we should stop being stressed about it?”

“Yep.”

Good ol’ Nana. Cutting right through our BS.

“Did you ever text her? She’s probably wondering where you are,” Nana said. “You should text her so she doesn’t think you got stolen.”

“Yeah.”

“And tell her she can’t rush you out the door without a shower if she have you sleep in a peepee diaper. Three years with you back in diapers and she’s still learning how to take care of a girl in diapers.”

O. My. Gawd. Kill me. Kill me now.

[Bluebird67]

Said it before, but I’ll say it again: I love   Nana, and not just because she’s the closest to my age of any of the characters in my favourite ABDL story.

[Bel George]

Nana is my favourite person in this story as well, except for Daphne and Mary of course.

Because her intent with how she treats Daphne seems so genuine.