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

[bobindiapers]

I love halloween, especially coming up with ways to hide diapers under costumes, so I thought your halloween chapter was really cute. It's funny that you came up with a duck costume, Rosie-BRS just posted a drawing and story of a super cute duck costume themed CNC ABDL story on Deviant Art https://www.deviantart.com/rosie-brs/art/Quacked-858773134

 

[Alex Bridges]

#54

 

“Maaaaaarrrrry!” That wasn’t a whine; that was a shout. “O Maaaaaaarrrrryyyy!”

“What, Daffodil, what?” Mary asked, mayhaps a little perturbed by my shouting at four-ish while she was sposed to be working.

“Hi,” I said all shy like. “I been drinkin’.”

“I can see that,” she chuckled.

I propelled myself off the sofa with champagne bottle in hand and threw my arms around Mary’s neck for a very suggestive kiss because mwaaaahhh!

“Wanna glass,” I asked when I let her come up for air.

“How much did you have,” was her question when she took the bottle from my hand.

“Just a glass.” I’d been mostly sober for all of pandemic, and I didn’t want the champagne to expire before we had a chance to drink it ? 

“I can see that, ya little lightweight,” my Mary said as she held the bottle up to the sunlight. The sun, she was a’shining. 

“We’re celebrating.”

“O, I see. What are we celebrating?”

“I didn’t have anything particular in mind ... But we can celebrate that if you drink alcohol it will turn into acetic acid and it will get ya a little drunk, so bottoms up, babe!”

“Kinda random, Daffy Duckling.”

What, me, random? Naaaah. “Wanna go celebrate in the bedroom?”

“O, how will we do that,” she said trying to be as oblique as me.

“Roleplay! You be the kazoo, and I’ll be the, uh ....”

“The girl who gets drunk on one glass of champagne?”

“Ha! What a good idea... but I’m not too drunk to blow a kazoo, if ya know what I mean.”

“I think we all know what you mean.”

“Good, because explainin’ takes away from the celebratin’ time.”

“After you, ya little booze puppy.” 

I collected a butt spank as I sashayed past my Mary on the way to celebrate kazoos and party favors and champagne and stuff and things ?.

[Sarah Penguin]

[YourFNF]

Awwww needy horny subs are so cute.... *giggles* ??

[Alex Bridges]

Scene #55

Sometimes it takes the sharp, piercing clarity of sunlight the day after you had an entire glass of champagne to help you realize that things have spiraled out of control.
“Morning, sunshine,” Mary said to me.
“Morning,” I yawned as I stretched.
“How you feeling this morning?”
“Like I need to practice drinking more before it’s winter. I don’t think I’ve had a drink since March.” And no way were we getting through winter with the same degree or sobriety as the last nine months. I mean, I gotta admit I’m pretty tired of being in my right mind, such as it is, what’s left of it.
She reached over and laid her hand on top my chest, leaving it there for me to think of how wonderful her hands and all the things she can do with them are. “I think you were mostly just excited and got a little happy. You certainly had no trouble concentrating when the moment of truth came.”
“Wait,” I pretended to be confused, “which one of us was the moment of truth again?”
“Hehe. You wanna go to breakfast?”
“We can?” Getting to leave the house? Count me in. Getting to have people make me food and bring it to me? Count me in! Supporting our local businesses and workers? Hellz yeah!
“Sure.” She drummed her fingers once on my chest before she sat up. “But let’s go right now while there won’t be anyone there.” She was on her knees above me, and for a second I thought who needs to be out of the house when Mary can be the line cook and I can be a puddle of pancake batter (I’m better at roleplay starting around 9ish), but she practically bounced right off the bed. Mary in boy shorts and a halter ...
She walked to her dresser and looked at me and laughed.
“What,” I asked.
“You’re making your potty face.”
“Am not!”
“Well,” she said as she sauntered back to the bed. Mary may be the only person who can break into a saunter in just two steps. “There’s a way to prove that.”
“I was just thinking of ooomooofoo,” I was in the middle of saying when she threw the comforter over my head, grabbed me by the ankles, and tugged me to the foot of the bed. I pulled the covers back down and clarified, “I was just thinking of how pretty you look this morning.”
“Aww,” Mary said as she patted my front, flipped her hand over, and did an underhanded pat on the part of me that isn’t my front and isn’t my back. “You look pretty too, and you’re right. That wasn’t your potty face. But you are wet, Daffy Dew Drop. When did that happen?”
“Before we went to sleep last night,” I protested indignantly. “And again around ... I don’t know but I was awake for it!”
“Daffy, you silly goose, don’t go to bed in a wet diaper. Say something and we’ll change you before we turn out the lights.”
“I thought you might have been asleep already.” I was about to suggest she just let me change out of them and into regular pajamas if she was already asleep, but no, she had to jump in there first.
“I’m gonna hafta start checking you before we turn off the lights.”
“You’re just saying that to make me blush.”
“And because it gives me an excuse to make fondling you the last thing I do every day.” And with that she tickled my tummy lightly.
“Hehe!” I sat up. “ ... but I don’t wear them every day.”
“Then I’ll just hafta to check that your jammies are still dry. Lay back down and we’ll get you all cleaned up.”
“I wanna shower.”
“Later. We don’t wanna hafta wait in line.”
“O. I’ll just ...”
“Daffy, down,” she said and gave my shoulder a nudge.
“I can just throw on some ...” I tried to say from on my back again.
“You don’t wanna wear undies after being in wet huggies all night without a shower.”
“Um, pretty sure I’d be fine with that.” I doubled checked in my head, and yep, fine with that.
“Nonsense,” she said as she got out a diaper from the closet. “Just imagine if you were Elsa.”
“Elsa?”
“From Frozen, Daffy. The little girl on your undies. Just imagine if you were Elsa and how you’d feel if you were on a clammy bottom that had been in a wet pampers all night. That wouldn’t be very fair to her.” Well, I’ve never seen that movie, but Elsa strikes me as a generous spirit who would be okay with that.
“Mary, but seriously, I don’t wanna wear a diaper to breakfast.” I’d been outside the house in them three times, and that was at least seven times too many for me.
“Well, I can see how you’d feel that way.” Wtf? Dismissing me … She went into the closet and emerged with a diaper. “Open your knees for me, just like last night,” she chuckled.
I did because I’m a very good girl, but I wasn’t gonna just give up. I mean, sure, a little wetness kissed my toes when the plastic panties came off, but grrr. “I can just wear pull-ups to breakfast,” I ventured as she undid the velcro holding on one of the cloth diapers.
“Yes you could. Up.”
“Mary…”
“Up up.” I rolled my eyes so hard the springs creaked but lifted and felt cool air on a butt getting clammier by the second since the plastic panties came off. They do hold in body heat kinda well. She put a new diaper under me, the kind she dropped on me at her sister’s house that are quiet and thinner but look like I came from a nursing home. Not that I like the other kind …
“Hhhh,” Mary gasped.
“What?”
“I see a naked butt.” She looked at me very seriously. “What color is it gonna be when you go to bed tonight?”
“The same color it is now,” I answered.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes,” dammit.
“Are you sure it isn’t going to need to be spanked today?”
“Well,” I wondered out loud and made my I’m-wondering face, “it might need a good girl spanking around lunch time … and again at bedtime … and possibly while dinner is in the oven.”
“Does that mean you’re gonna be good today?” She took her fingers in a wipe and tickled parts and places. “Is you gonna be a good girl?”
“Marrrry!” I wanted to say stop with the little talk. And I wanted to say down and to the left with the tickling part. Because reasons. But she stopped on her own. “What gives this morning,” I asked her.
“What do you mean,” she asked as she wiped my personal area off. I swear if she calls it my diaper area one more time I’m gonna sit there silently and stew about it because apparently that’s what I do now.
“You’re being a little … big.”
“It’s a new day, Daffodil, and I’m excited. You should wake up early more often.”
“Well, I didn’t mean to.”
“Wanna go back to bed?”
“Maybe after breakfast … but seriously, I wanna wear panties today.”
“That,” Mary said as she sealed the last tape on her diaper, “is a very interesting story. You should tell it at parties.”
“Mary! That was kinda bitchy.”
“Sorry, but no can do until after you’ve showered.”
“What if I wear a pull-up,” I decided to ask instead of merely suggest.
“Daffy, you don’t wear pull-ups.” I remember when that statement would’ve been a duh. And I remember when that statement would’ve been a good thing.
“I do, too! … When you make me.”
“And when was the last time I did that?”
“Um … a while?”
“Yep,” she said and held out her hands to help me sit up. “You ran out of pull-ups months ago. Uuuuup you go. You’re getting heavy, Daffodil.”
“Take that the fuck back,” I said when I was on my feet.
“I’m just teasing.” And then she gave me a kiss because she’s impertinent. “Because I like seeing how red you turn when you make a grumpy face. Yoga pants or jeans?”
“I’ll wear the jeans. You wear the yoga pants.”
Breakfast wasn’t much better. Well, it was really good and I was glad to just be out, but Mary had her devilishness turned up to 11, like when she asked the waitress, “Actually, can we can get her milk in a cup with a lid on it.”
“Mary,” I grumbled under my breath.
Or when the waitress asked if we were ready to order, and Mary said, “She’ll have the Meg Ryan, but can we get that as an egg white omelet with turkey instead?”
“Mary,” I said when the waitress left, “I can order for myself. I haven’t forgotten how ya know.”
“I know, but what were you gonna order?”
“A waffle with chocolate chips and bacon.” Which is a very grown up breakfast, dammit!
“I thought so. We need to start eating a little better. It’ll be bikini season before ya know it.”
“It’s November, and you ordered a waffle!” Double talking so and so.
“And you can have some of mine if you eat enough of your omelet.”
“I’m not a little girl! You’re being so mean to me today.”
“I’m just looking out for you,” she said like she was innocent. “And I can see you enjoying yourself.”
“Am not … how?”
“Your collar bone has that little red spot,” she told me and winked, “and you only get that little red spot …
“I know when I get that little red spot!” Stupid spot broadcasting my … feelings. I’m gonna stop wearing scoop necks.
When we got home, after I showered, I did some snooping, and Mary was right, there were not pull-ups. Ruh roh.

[YourFNF]

Mary being mean for sure.... I mean that would be helpful when I blue screen but like if I want the waffle I want the waffle.....

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[Sarah Penguin]

[Alex Bridges]

Scene #56

 

         I live in the world of facts. I say this because it’s important to be clear from the get go that I did my research, gathered my facts, and came up with several conclusions.

Fact: Mary keeps putting diapers on me.

Fact: this doesn’t seem to be connected to my alleged misbehavior anymore.

Fact: When this was new, I was spending part of the day in diapers. Then whole days. Then overnight.

Fact: it used to be once a week. Then a couple days a week.

Fact: I can see where this is going.

Fact: I didn’t go straight from panties to diapers. Mary made me wear pull-ups first.

Fact: I began spending more time in diapers after Mary apparently stopped buying pull-ups.

Fact: if you rewind about 29 years, I didn’t go straight from diaper to panties, either. I was put into pull-ups first.

From this litany of facts, I draw several conclusions.

Conclusion: fuck my life.

Conclusion: the diapers are going to become more frequent if I don’t do something about it.

Conclusion: I need to get my pull-ups back.

Conclusion: seriously, fuck my life.

Luckily for me, in addition to being very fact based, I’m also in charge of grocery shopping, and we’re having them delivered. I don’t even need to be sneaky about it. I could just, ya know, order some and pretend everything was normal. Like, haha, nothing to see hear, just ordered some … fuck my life. It worked, though. Sorta. Not so much.

“What’d you get,” Mary asked me as she emerged from her office. I may be the number one chow hound around here, but Mary must’ve heard grocery bags and come in search of goodies. I mean, what the hell else is there to do around here except me and eat (I’m just going to enjoy the deliciousness of that accidental pun for a moment … sigh …).

“Stuff,” I said as I clorox-wiped a bag of beans. I know they say we really don’t need to do that, but may I remind you that it was touched by a person and persons have, for a long time pre-dating COVID, been gross? We’re gross. I suspected she would come out of her office in search of fresh fruit or a broccoli tree to eat, which she only does to remind me how responsible she is (is my theory). Little did she know I’d cloroxed the pull-ups first and put them under the sink.

And I did that so they’d be a surprise for her. Not because I was worried about her taking them away. I’ve made a lot of concessions, and I’ll wear her stupid diapers when she makes me, but these were my pull-ups. I declared it so. I’m a declarerer! She can’t take my pull-ups away from me, I declared in my head. No, but seriously, fuck my life.

I had a plan, too. The first part of the plan was holding it for the whole damn day after Mary had decided it was a diaper day. I make my decisions based on facts. I have no idea how Mary decides things, but she did. So I held it and held it. I held it while I unpacked the groceries. And I held it while Mary nibbled on a carrot and kissed me on the temple. I even held it when I gave her a pat on the butt to send her back to work, which was very brave of me.

She turned and looked at me. “Well,” I said bravely and not nervously. In fact, which is me getting going again with facts, I declared, “you do it to me all the time.” I did not whither under her glare. That’s not a fact, if you hear someone say I did.

And then she left, and my god, did I stop holding it. I stopped holding it a lot. I don’t care where you go when you stop holding it that much, it feels good.

I got the pull-ups out from under the sink and took them to our room first, and I put them away. I guess it may have been more wise to hide them, but I had a plan, and hiding them wouldn’t help. I only hid them in the kitchen so I could get to the first part of my plan. Then I peed in Mary’s diaper, then I put the pull-ups away in my underwear drawer. Here’s another fact: that drawer used to be more full. Ever since Mary started keeping the occasional diaper in there, it’s been less full, and I don’t know what she did the pairs of panties she took out of there. At least, I think she took some out. I’m fact based but not the best observer and who know how many pairs of panties they have. Anyway, I put them all away except one, and I took it downstairs and went out to the car and got her diaper bag and got the thing of travel wipes, and then I went to her office and knocked. The door was open, but I’ve gotten very good at remembering to knock because Mary has gotten worse at closing the door when she’s on the phone or zooming.

Being cute wasn’t part of the plan. It just happened. I knocked, and Mary saw the thing of wipes in one hand. And then because she’s trying to give me a heart attack she turned back to her computer and said, “I gotta disappear for a sec, team. I got a diaper to change.” Which is when I retreated – I repeated, retreated, which I am repeating because I did not scamper away. Bunnies scamper. I am not a bunny. I’m tigress. A tigress so big I don’t even eat bunnies because they’re too small to satisfy my appetite. A six-hundred-pound tigress packed into a size 4 whose roars come out like meeps sometimes, but that’s just a thing. Fierce, being the takeaway I’m going for here.

“Daffy, where’d you go,” I heard Mary, who would quake in front of tigresses like myself if she weren’t an uber-huntress, call out behind me.

“Living room,” I roared quietly. Some might call it a purr, but it wasn’t, so there. I just kept reminding myself of the plan: get put back in pull-ups. (Fill in the blank: “_______ my life.” If you answered “fuck,” gold star for you.)

She emerged from the hallway being all huntressy, no firearms as she prefers to use her hand and various kinds of paddles. “Why’d you scamper away like that?”

“I didn’t scamper.”

“If you say so.”

“Who’d you say that to?”

“Just my new boss and a few other people – maybe.” She takes way too much delight in making me wonder stuff like that.

“No, really.”

“Well, sorta not maybe.”

“Mary!”

“Relax, she doesn’t even know me yet. I’ll tell her I watch my nieces and nephews sometimes if she starts asking questions. Not like she overheard me giving a spanking.”

“You gotta be careful,” I admonished her.

“I will be. Can I guess the reason you did the pamper scamper?”

“There are so many things wrong with that statement,” I muttered.

“Lemme check,” she said.

“I don’t need a check. I’m telling you.”

“But how do I know you really need a fresh diapee,” she said to me.

“A marriage built on trust and scrupulous honesty,” at least when it doesn’t have to do with candy.

“Okay, fine,” Mary said, “I believe you, and I’m going to check anyway.”

“Fine.” I stood still, because I’m tigress who’s not afraid of “YOW! Marrry! Be gentle with the squeezin’. I’m a tiny little woman.” On the outside. Inside: tigress.

“You most definitely need fresh pants, Daffy Dew Drop.”

         “I know.”

         “Lie down for me.” I did. “This feels kinda warm, Daffy.”

         “I was saving it for you since you seem to like it so much.”

         “Is that an attitude I detect?”

         “No.” Me? Have an attitude? That’s ridiculous. I’m way to engaged with facts to be ridiculous, but sometimes Mary gets all ridiculous with her loose accusations of attitude.

         I was surprised she didn’t notice the pull-up, but I guess it made sense because her attention seemed to be captured by, um, the task at hand. My task, her hand. I’ve never really understood what she does for a living, but I’m starting to think it’s a union job because when she takes a break to deal with these little life tasks she sure takes her sweet time. Even a teamster would’ve been done by the time she said, “Is that a boo boo?”

         “Is what?”

         “There’s this spot that looks a little red. Does it need a kiss?”

         I’m fact based and responsible and Mary is usually way more responsible but I guess she’s been having trouble concentrating on her job (not that kind of job, ya buncha pervs) because I had to be the one to remind her, “Aren’t you in the middle of a call?”

         She clucked her tongue. “Don’t worry,” I assured her, “It will still be red when work is over.”

         “Lift,” she said, and I lifted, and she slid out the diaper and balled it up, and the moment of truth arrive. I handed her the pull-up. She looked at it for a moment with a look like she was trying to figure out what to say. I imagine my mother would make the same face if I were to hand her a pull-up under similar circumstances. “Where’d this come from,” she decided to ask.

         “With the groceries … you said we were out.”

         She sighed and held out her hands, and I did my best to not roll my tigress eyes and took her hands and let her pull me up. She patted her lap, and I scooted my bare butt onto her thigh. She gave me a kiss. I wasn’t sure if I was in trouble or not.

         “I said we didn’t have anymore,” she reminded me.

         “Uh huh. So I, um, got some.”

         “Aww, you were trying to be my helper?”

         “Um, yeah?” Just say whatever, I told myself, if it gets you back into pull-ups. It’s a process. What my life, everyone? That’s right: fuck it.

         “I appreciate you trying to be my helper, but that’s not really what I meant, and I think you know that.”

         “But …” I figured I’d decide what the second word of that sentence would be when I got there, but Mary got there first.

         Her eyes twinkled before she said it, which tends to happen whenever she makes her you’re-trying-to-outsmart-me-but-I’ve-already-outsmarted-you face. “You miss your pull-ups, huh?”

         “Um …”

         “You really want them back?”

         “Yes?” Perhaps. I was sure I did until a second ago. Doesn’t she know it’s mean to be mean to a tigress?

         “You wanna give them a try again?”

         “Yes.”

         “Are you sure you’re ready?”

         “Marrry!”

         She patted my butt and gave me another kiss. “I’m not so sure, but I’ll a deal with you.”

         “Okay,” I asked and visibly flinched, because I knew I wasn’t going to like the deal. I’m all about facts and declaring things and being a fierce jungle tigress. I’m not as good at negotiating deals as Mary is. For evidence, remember that the whole domestic discipline relationship thing had been my idea.

         “We can give pull-ups a try, but if you can’t keep them dry than it’s back to diapers for the whole next day if you tinkle in them.”

         “But I’m not allowed to use the bathroom when I’m wearing them!”

         “Sure you are.”

         “You said I can’t take them off until they’re wet.”

         “Exactly. You can use the bathroom, but you can’t take them off until they’re wet.”

         “So I’ll hafta wear a diaper for a whole day every time I wear pull-ups?”

         “If you can’t keep them dry.”

         “But that’s … so I can keep wearing the pull-up so long as I keep it dry?”

“You can wear it until it falls apart, and we’ll get a new on you, so long as you keep them dry.”

“So when do I get to wear panties again?”

         “When you’ve proven you can keep your pull-ups dry.”

         “I don’t like this deal.” This deal was bullshit. This deal was a one-way ticket to either breaking the rules about taking a pull-up off before it was wet or else a one-way ticket to never wearing panties until Mary got tired of this game and found a whole ‘nother way to poke my buttons.

         “Well, that’s the deal: I can put this pull-up on you, and it could be a while before you get to wear panties again, or you can turn down the deal.”

         “Fine. I don’t want the deal,” I said. It wasn’t attitude in my voice. It was dejection. She kissed me, and still I left out a deject, “Hmmph.”

         “Don’t be like that. Stand up.” I did, and she unfolded the pull-up and held it open for me. “Foot,” she said. I picked up my foot, because she’s done a very good job conditioning me to do as I’m told, and hesitated, because she’s done a very good job of conditioning me to be suspicious.

         “But I don’t want the deal.”

         “I know, but you get to wear this pull-up anyway.”

         “And when I wet it?”

         “I have faith in you, Daffy Pants. If you really try …”

         “Marrrry.”

         “We’ll see how the mood strikes us. Only don’t wait so long before coming to find me for a change. This won’t hold what you put into your diaper.”

         “Urrrgh! What’s the point of the deal then if I get to wear this pull-up anyway?”

         “None at all, except to remind you that I’m the decider. If you’re very good, I’ll even let you wear undies after the pull-up today.”

         “For how long,” I asked. No particular reasons I was suspicious. If I didn’t know better (and I definitely no better) I’d suspect she had a forked tongue.

         “I’ll decide later. Know why?”

         “Because you’re the decider?”

         “Very good girl!”

         Oooh! Hear what she called me? So many conflicting feelings. People think we tigresses are singularly focused, but we have conflicting feelings a bunch.

         I let her (I think; she may have let me; it’s really not clear, and I don’t think there’s a right or wrong answer, so we’ll go with I let her) put that pull-up on me, and when I did she, “Yow! Ya can’t just go pinching tigresses on their … places.” Well, actually she can, but it’s less fun if she knows that.

         “Hehe. Why don’t you go get the pull-ups you bought and put them on top my dresser. I’ll make sure they get put away in the right place.”

         I heard her back in her office as I went back upstairs. “Sorry that took so long,” she said, “We had to have a little talk about the when it will be time for pull-ups.”

         I mean, c’mon, like I’m supposed to believe she was talking to anybody. I think. She went and forced my hand. I tried the indirect way. I was gonna hafta try the direct way. Well, direct for me, anyway.

[WBDaddy]

And if you gaze long into the absorbent underwear, the absorbent underwear also gazes into you... 

[Sarah Penguin]

[Bel George]

Magnificent. Curious how it continues ...

[Sarah Penguin]

1 hour ago, Bel George said:

Magnificent. Curious how it continues ...

I'm guessing an armed revolution where someone tries to spank Mary and set new rules but her plans go awry when you know who shows up and tells our protagonist is a bad girl and won't get presents for Christmas except for coal if she doesn't put that paddle down and apologize for being a bad little baby girl immediately.

[YourFNF]

I really feel Daphene's conflict...... I'm not sure I could handle my dom pretending I'm not trained. I think it would feel like their treating me like I can't be trusted. If they want to make me wear them I'd prefer that they just straight up tell me they want me in them 24/7..... ? Is it weird though that my main objection though would probably be lack of variety? IRL there are like three ABDL designs I really like and all diapers have the same basic cut by necessity.... ? Where as there a seemingly infinite variety of panty configurations....

[Alex Bridges]

Scene #57

 

I was officially miffed. I’m not a damn mind reader, and Mary gets so caught up in enjoying her little surprises and teasing and trying to find the newest and bluest ways to make me go Marrrrryyy that she sometimes doesn’t notice when I’m trying to tell her something. This whole house of kinky cards rests on the two of us communicating and not all of it can be super-rosa. Most of it is sub-rosa, and a lot of it falls under the “please don’t stop” heading but some of it falls under the “please. don’t. stop.” heading. It’s hard living this lifestyle; if it wasn’t, every kinky person would do it. 

I really don’t like being mad at Mary, and I try not to be, but it feels like every time I try to communicate subtly, I get out maneuvered like it was all part of the game and not like I was actually trying to say something, and every time I say something directly, Mary has been either having or pretending to have a really hard time distinguishing between me meaning what I’m saying or me just playing the game. 

“How about I wash and you dry,” Mary asked me when we finished dinner. “Later. I wanna talk first.”

“Um, okay.”

“No,” I said and put my hand on hers as she was about to put her plate on the counter, “I need you to pay attention.”

“Sorry. I’m listening.”

“How come when I gave you the pull-up you had to make a thing about it? I was trying to compromise.”

“Compromise on what?”

“You were gonna make me wear another diaper and I didn’t want to.”

“I don’t know that I was going to do that. You came to me for a change.”

“And ever since you started insisting I don’t take those things off myself you just put me in another one half the time. I’m not a little.”

“I know you’re not.”

“But you keep … you ordered my breakfast for me and made me wear one out after I said I didn’t want to.”

“You say that about just about everything.” Part of the game, and she needs to play it better.

“Yeah, that’s a signal. I shouldn’t have to yellow and red everything all the time. You’re not reading my signals lately.” She sat up a little straighter.

“I’m sorry. I thought I was.” 

“You just keep saying, ‘Looks like you don’t object so much down here.’ That’s not my only signal, yaknow. I don’t wanna be a 24/7 diaper person, and it’s like that’s where this is all heading. I was hoping you’d figure that out before I had to start red lighting stuff.”

“Is that what this is? Are you red lighting?”

“This … is a yellow … I … like being your little girl, but I don’t wanna be a little girl.”

“So you’ve said before, and I don’t think you’re turning into a little girl.”

“But you keep making it like you want me to be! Like that stupid quote unquote deal of yours today. I was trying to compromise and suddenly you’re just shutting down … They’re not even a punishment anymore.”

“Do you miss that? Do you want them to be a punishment again?”

“If they’re not, then what are they?”

“I hadn’t really thought about that.”

“Yeah! Because you’re not the one peeing on yourself!”

“Please don’t raise your voice.”

“Sorry.”

“So what are you asking for?”

“For a promise that this isn’t just going to turn into me being some stay-at-home diaper wearing sub.”

“I promise it won’t.”

“And for you to try harder with reading my signals.”

“That’s fair. I guess maybe I’ve been pushing things a bit because there’s nothing else to do in Month 10 except poke your little buttons.”

“You’re gonna wear them out … And if I wanna eat waffles and peanut butter until I’m a fat old lady I’m gonna.”

“I’m not so sure about that.” Well, that’s fair because I don’t wanna be.

“Just don’t order for me again. I’m not a little girl, and I don’t like you just doing that stuff.”

“I promise I won’t again without asking. I’m sorry.”

“I forgive you … we can wash the dishes now.”

“One thing first.” She slid her chair out and pointed at her lap.

“What’d I do?”

“Just c’mere, you silly goose!” She reached over and took me by my wrist and pulled me over and into her lap. “I’m proud of you,” she told me.

Oooooo, dose da words that make me into a puddle.

“For what?”

“For telling me about your feelings without getting yourself so worked up I have to give you a spanking first.”

“O … I told you some of those spankings got through to me.”

“Were you upset this afternoon?”

“Kinda.”

“I’m sorry, Daffy. You know I’d be perfect for you if I could be, right?”

I nodded and tried very hard not to sniff. She’s proud of me and she tries to be perfect? I mean, that is sooooo like Mary. Not that I idolize her. Just that she’s, well, she’s my Mary.

“When we’re done with the dishes, can we snuggle on the couch,” I asked.

“If you’re gonna make me.” She set me on my feet and gave my butt a love tap.

“Can I be the big spoon?”

“But you’re so little!”

“If you don’t let me I’m just gonna wait until you’re asleep and do it.”

“Such a naughty little girl!”

“I’m not a little girl! Really.”

“Ooops! My mistake.”

“Darn tootin’.”

[WBDaddy]

Why does that feel like the end?   

[Alex Bridges]

19 minutes ago, WBDaddy said:

Why does that feel like the end?   

Because it ends with the title of the story, which always makes things feel like the end.

But it’s not.

[Bluebird67]

5 hours ago, Alex Bridges said:

Because it ends with the title of the story, which always makes things feel like the end.

But it’s not.

Thank you!

Real life is hard and so are stories that try to stay somewhat realistic. Thanks for doing a great job with this one.

[YourFNF]

22 hours ago, Alex Bridges said:

“Just c’mere, you silly goose!” She reached over and took me by my wrist and pulled me over and into her lap. “I’m proud of you,” she told me.

I'm also proud of Daphne. They really needed to have this convo

[Sarah Penguin]

This story needs more spooning I feel.

[Alex Bridges]

Writing a new chapter today. In the meantime, thought folks would enjoy this (nothing naughty in it)

[Alex Bridges]

Stay safe out there, readers. This, too, shall pass.
 

Scene #58

 

Stupid fucking lockdown number two because people can’t deal with reality and I’m gonna move to a private island and clean the owner's mansion because that’s the only way I’ll ever live on a private island because I’m unemployed and no one is hiring and I’m just stuck in this house full damn time again and dammit fuhthureial guhhurnuh eeeyeh crap schnitzel! 

 

Not that I’m so frustrated I can’t sustain a decent rant before I stop making words and just start making sounds.

 

“Having trouble getting into a rhythm,” Mary asked me when I came inside.

 

“Apparent-fucking-ly.” Hence my getting pissed and throwing the jump rope down on the patio. Just trying to get some exercise in.

 

“Well, can I just say you look cute as a ladybug jump roping in your Goodnite?”

 

“Can I put on pants?”

 

“It’s a warm day. You’ll miss no-pants days when it gets cooler … if you roll your eyes that hard you’re gonna detach a retina.”

 

“Sorry.”

 

“You want lunch?”

 

“Not yet. I’m gonna go lie down.”

 

“You feeling okay,” Mary asked and put the back of her hand to my forehead. She’s been obsessed with my health again lately. Sweet, but a bit much sometimes.

 

“Fine. Just frustrated.” I’d have showered before getting in bed if I’d actually worked up a sweat. All I managed to do was trip a bunch and whip myself hard enough to leave a welt on my back, a feat of uncoordination even for me. My mom still likes to tell people how she took me to a gymnastics class when I was three and the instructor said, “Trust me. Not her sport.” And mom said, “They’re toddlers! They’re all uncoordinated.” And the instructor said, “Trust me. Not her sport.” If the Warner Brothers hadn’t made me Daffy Duckling, people probably woulda started comparing me to waterfowl anyway. Daffy One-Minute-Old-Gazelle just doesn’t roll off the tongue.

 

I tried to sleep. Or I tried for about eight seconds before I opened my phone again and started scrolling. Then I tried to sleep for eight more seconds and concluded it was a lost cause and went back downstairs where Mary was reading on the couch. I walked over and sat down with my legs under me and leaned on her. She closed the book.

 

“Couldn’t sleep?”

 

I shook my head.

 

“Any reason you’re having a hard day?” 

 

“No. Just is.”

 

“Nothing happened? You promise?”

 

“The county is in lockdown again.” But that was announced yesterday and didn’t go into effect for another day, not that it made a difference to us.

 

“That doesn’t change what we’ve been doing much,” Mary said as she started teasing my hair and gave me a kiss on my temple.

 

“No … it’s just … it was hard the first time. It’s like people don’t even care. They just did whatever they wanted and … now we hafta do it again … and …”

 

“Tell me.”

 

“People are getting hurt. People are sick and unemployed and lonely and it’s gonna get worse because people wouldn’t follow the rules,” I vented.

 

“They’re hard rules to follow.”

 

“But we followed the rules!” I’m good at following rules, dammit! World-class rule follower! And I know the rules were relatively easy for us to follow, and I know we didn’t follow them perfectly, but still.

 

“I know,” Mary said and kissed my temple again.

 

I opened up my phone and showed her an article. “I want it to be like there. Now. Not a year from now. Now.”

 

“I know. Me too.”

 

“I wanna go to church, and I wanna go to the grocery store, and I wanna … (cry voice) go to see my family (big sniff).”

 

“I know, Daffy. Me too.”

 

We sat just like that, her teasing my hair, me leaning against her with my trademark pandemic thousand-yard stare. 

 

“May I have a spanking please,” I asked my Mary.

 

“That’ll make you feel better?”

 

“Mhmm.”

 

“Okay. Let’s go upstairs. We’ll do it on the bed with you nice and comfy.”

 

I got up, and Mary held my hand all the way to our bedroom. I let it go when we got there and went and got something I never get for spankings. It’s not even for that. I just wear it, or did back when there was a reason to wear pants that button.

 

“You’re sure,” Mary asked, taking the belt from me.

 

“Mhmm, but your hand first … please.”

 

“Let’s both get comfy,” Mary said and stripped down to her panties, leaving her in those and socks and a tee, leaving us dressed almost alike. She sat down on the edge of the bed and tore the sides of the Goodnite open. I hadn’t even used it yet. Mary leaned forward and planted a gentle kiss just below my tummy. “Shirt on or off?”

 

“Off.”

 

“Arms up,” she said and took my shirt off me. “Will you be warm enough?”

 

“Mhmm.”

 

She scooted herself to the middle of the bed and stacked some pillows behind herself, settling in for what would be a long spanking. I crawled across her thighs and pulled a pillow under my chin. Mary wasted no time and put her finger tips to work, dragging them gently across my skin from the back of my knees to my neck, paying extra attention to my thighs and butt and back, making me shudder like I always do when her fingers just barely kiss the small of my back.

 

“Do you know why you’re getting this spanking,” Mary asked quietly.

 

“Because it will make me feel better.”

 

“And because I love you very much, Daphne Ann.” 

 

Slap … Slap … Slap she got started, slow like she never is at the start of a punishment spanking. She was going light, just enough to produce that momentary sting, giving me an extra long warm up. I laid still, not moving or flinching, just trying to feel. I felt the pillow in my arms. I felt Mary’s bare thighs under mine. I felt her arm across my back, her hand tight to my hip. And her spanking hand just slap slap slap turning my butt a healthy pink, bringing the blood to the surface.

 

Smack … Smack … Smack she started spanking me for real. With each spank, she pushed my body just slightly down, and I recoiled back. Or she caught me on the undercurve of my bottom and pushed me a little forward, and I recoiled back. I laid there still and quiet, my arms loose around the pillow. Her spanks started to hurt, not a moment too soon. I laid there, not moving or talking or making a noise, knowing if I let her keep going it would hurt better and better until my whole world was just the pain and my Mary.

 

SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! Mary knows how this works. She was spanking me like I was in trouble, but I wasn’t. I was the very opposite of in trouble. I was in the safest place there is for me, over my Mary’s knee, under my Mary’s hands. I was in love and kindness and adoration. I adore my Mary, and she adores me, and that’s why she was doing what she was doing, showing she loves me and understands me and wants to chase away all my bad feelings like I do for her.

 

If I were in trouble, I’d have been crying. I probably would’ve been sniffling before I even went over Mary’s lap, her scolding having hit much harder than she can. But I wasn’t crying. I wasn’t flinching. I was wincing. I was grimacing. I was biting my lip. I was squeezing the pillow. I was grunting. I was sweating. I was holding still even as my hands wanted to pull me right off Mary’s lap. I wouldn’t let them, holding the pillow tint, I was doing my best to keep feeling the entire spanking, to take in all the sensations as SMACK-SMACK-SMACK-SMACK!!!!!!!

 

Mary stopped, giving me a chance to catch my breath as she swirled her fingertips over hot skin and squeezed aching cheeks. “How you doing,” she asked me.

 

I managed a nod.

 

“Up,” she said and helped me to get up on my knees. She slid out from under me and off the bed, taking one of the pillows she was leaning back against and placing it on the ottoman. I got up and laid myself across it with the pillow under my hip, presenting my butt for the belt. “Ready,” was all she asked, and again I nodded.

 

CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! Mary didn’t need to ask how hard. I wouldn’t have handed her the belt if I didn’t need it hard. Very hard. She never whips me for punishment. We don’t like that, neither of us. But the belt for this? Yes. I laid across the ottoman with my butt up and let Mary leave one welt after another across my already spanked, hot skin. I let myself stifle a yelp with each stroke. I let the yelp out when the belt found the backs of my thighs. CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!

 

Mary stopped after not one fewer than I needed or one more than I could stand. She got down on her knees next to me and gently took my chin, turning my face toward hers. Big wet silent teardrops fell from my cheeks.

 

“C’mon,” Mary said, and helped me up. She pivoted into the overstuffed armchair and pulled me into her lap so I could lay my cheek against her, my butt a fire fading to embers. “Ooo, up,” she said, and I sat up enough for her to take her shirt off. “Back down,” she said softly and put one arm around my middle, the other across my shoulders with the same hand that spanked me now resting against my face as I put my head back on my Mary’s chest and sniffed back my runny nose.

 

“Such a good girl,” she called me, and I couldn’t help but writhe at her words and snuggle into her closer, putting my arms around her middle and holding her as tight as she was holding me.

 

“Thank you,” I told her, and she kissed me.

 

“Feel better,” she asked.

 

It didn’t hurt anymore. My body flooded itself with endorphins and oxytocin, deadening the pain and making me feel as good as I ever had skin to skin with my Mary. Later, in maybe an hour, those hormones would wear off, and I’d feel instead a swollen, bruised butt that would be showing vermillion welts for a few days, fading but not disappearing for maybe two weeks.

 

“You wanna hold the heat in,” Mary asked.

 

“Mhmm,” I said, knowing what she meant. I stood up with her and laid myself on the bed, feeling pressure and nothing else when my numb butt hit the covers. “No cream,” I said to Mary when she emerged from the closet with a white plastic diaper and the desitin. She set the desitin aside and did most of the work getting the diaper under and on me.

 

“Can I take a nap with you,” she asked me.

 

“Please,” I said as I yawned. She got the pillow from the ottoman and rearranged it with the others. 

 

Mary disappeared into the closet with the desitin and came back out with a wipe. “We’ll take a bath together when we wake up,” she said as she wiped the tear streaks off my cheeks. “Such a pretty girl.”

 

I put myself in the nest she’d made of our pillows, and Mary took the pacifier she insisted on keeping on my nightstand and held it out for me to take in my mouth. I did, because Mary wanted me to and apparently thought it would make me feel better, and Mary knows things, like how to make me feel different feelings. I’d take it out when I got tired of it, likely as soon as it began to make my palate feel funny. Mary’s nipple in my mouth never makes it feel that way. Mary got in bed behind me, and we intertwined our legs and she put her arm over me.

 

“No devices or tv news for three days,” Mary said to me. I wanted to impose that rule on myself so often, and I never could. I was glad she did. What did I need to know except what was in our home? “And I’m repealing the rule you hafta use the diapers. I won’t make you if you don’t want to.”

 

“Why,” I asked as I yawned again.

 

“Because I love you and because of what we talked about the other day. Up to you … Miss Potty Pants,” Mary smirk-whispered as she sure felt my diaper grow hot against her thigh. That’s not the worst part of them, I reasoned as a reason to do it besides needing to before I could fall asleep and not wanting to get out of Mary’s arms for a million years and a million days.

 

“Do you need help sleeping,” Mary asked, referring to the Xanax the doctor prescribed.

 

“Not today,” I said, and snuggled into our bed. I found my Mary’s hand with my eyes closed and held it. She placed a kiss on the back of my head. “And you think you’re big enough to be the big spoon,” she chuckled.

 

“I love you, Mary.”

 

“I love you, too, Daphne Ann. Go to sleep.”

 

“K.”

 

The last thing I remember before falling asleep is Mary humming a lullaby.

 

[Sarah Penguin]

[YourFNF]

5 hours ago, Alex Bridges said:

 

 

“I love you, too, Daphne Ann. Go to sleep.”

 

“K.”

 

The last thing I remember before falling asleep is Mary humming a lullaby.

 

Damn I could really use a good catharsis spanking.

[Alex Bridges]

10 hours ago, YourFNF said:

Damn I could really use a good catharsis spanking.

I’d settle for either catharsis or a spanking right now, but together? Mmmm ?

[Alex Bridges]

Scene #59

 

“I just can’t believe this, Daphne Ann.”

“I didn’t mean to,” was my clever response.

“Didn’t mean to? ‘Didn’t mean to’ doesn’t put the money back in the bank, Daphne. It’s not going to save our house.”

“But ...”

“You bankrupted us, Daphne!”

“But it’s just Monopoly!”

I hate Monopoly. Until Mary came along, I just thought you played until you got pissed off and turned on a movie. Turns out there’s an actual winner in Monopoly - whoever is left standing after everyone else goes bankrupt.

“Is that really the point,” Mary asked me. She’s get smidge competitive. Not to mention always happy to find an excuse to smack my butt a time or two (doze) or three (hundred). You can always tell when she’s not even gonna pretend it’s not a put up job because she smiles the whole time like a cat just batting a mouse back and forth.

“Yes,” I countered. It very much is the point. “And need I remind you we played this as a team?”

“Need I remind you who landed on Park Place not twice but thrice?”

“Well, you went to jail a buncha times.”

“Ahem,” Sandy said over Zoom. “I think you owe me a little plastic house or all your money.”

“Don’t be so smug,” I shot back.

“Now now,” she responded. “There’s no need for that. We’re all good capitalists here.”

“I wanna go to bed,” Jane said from her side of the Zoom call. She had the right approach to Monopoly: play until you get bored and then decide you’re gonna be little for the rest of the evening. She was leaning on Lisa looking like a tired toddler.

“Time to call it a night,” Mary asked the group.

“I think so,” Lisa said. “She needs to get to sleep or there’ll be tantrums tomorrow.” So what if there were? Lisa would just threaten Jane with taking away her Barbie and Jane would crumble like shortbread. I haven’t forgotten - I owe that brat a spanking.

“What do you say,” Lisa asked Jane.

“Goodnight,” she yawned.

Lisa chuckled and said, “I think she means ‘happy birthday.’ Happy birthday, Mary!”

“Thanks, Lisa, and thank you, Jane, for coming to my Zoom party. Sleep tight.”

“Goodnight,” Lisa said and turned off their feed.

“And then there were three,” Sandy said.

I sighed. Mary’s annual birthday game night was fun, but I’d have traded it for the ability to see our friends in person. Even just Sandy. Jane and Lisa could quarantine for two weeks and then see us, but Sandy, being a nurse, can’t do that. As much as I owe her a punch in the nose for introducing Mary to the idea of incontinence wear as kinky attire, I missed her, even if she won’t admit to being my babysitter from time to time. Funny thing being in the kink community, how you make friends with people you wouldn’t otherwise. We don’t have any other friends ten years younger than us.

“Congratulations on your winning,” Mary said, “on my birthday.” Being the Type A personality she is, Mary isn’t such a fan of losing. I guess no one is, but I could see a lightbulb go off above Mary’s head when she turned her predatory glare on me. Ruh roh. She clearly had one of those ideas that ends with me hot and bothered but also embarrassed and sore.

“Thems the breaks,” Sandy replied. “What else did you guys do today?”

“C’mere,” Mary said, and I creeped closer to Mary on the sofa. She put her arms around me in the affectionate way she does but also the way she does to make me know I’m not going anywhere. But like I would want to anyway. “What did we do today? Well, I got my birthday spanking.”

“You got a birthday spanking,” Sandy asked. A domme getting spanked was obviously an idea that didn’t compute in Sandy’s mind.

“Tell her how that works, Daffy.”

“Why me?” But of course I knew why.

“Because you tell it so well.” That’s not why. She just wanted to watch me get all blushy, not that I entirely minded.

“When it’s my birthday,” I explained, “a birthday spanking means I get spanked. When it’s Mary’s birthday, a birthday spanking means I get spanked.”

“I bet that doesn’t seem fair to you, huh,” Sandy asked.

“No.” I also get birthday spankings on Christmas, Presidents’ Day, and Independence Day. Pretty much any birthday is a valid excuse. Many is the time Mary will be burning time on Wikipedia and will look up and say, ‘you’ll never guess whose birthday it is today.’ Being known to expect the world to celebrate my birthday like an international day of jubilee (only fitting, given all I do for mankind and setting such a sterling example for the world’s youth) I can hardly begrudge those random people a birthday spanking, even if they’ll never know.

“What else did we do,” Mary prompted me. She’s always prompting me.

“We made brunch together, and went for a walk, and opened presents, and ... things.”

“Sounds like a nice birthday.”

“Which we could have you here,” Mary said.

“Me too. I miss you guys. I haven’t gotten to really see anyone since this started excepted my parents.”

“When it’s all over you can come play with Daffy and me. The Daffster could use some time with you. You’re always such a good influence on her.”

“O,” Sandy said, “we always have fun together. Has she been a good girl lately?”

“I’m always a good girl!”

“Hehe, yeah,” Mary said, “she’s my good girl.”

Ooh! Hear what she called me? Hehe!

“But,” Mary continued, because she loves to continue, especially in front of others, “even good girls need the occasional correction.”

“How often is ‘occasional’ these days,” Sandy asked.

“O, no more than two or three times a week. The pacifier you suggested does wonders for keeping her from letting her mouth get her in trouble.”

“That was your idea too!?! Urgh! When I see you ...”

“What?” She looked so damn confident on Zoom, safe behind the screen. Bet she wouldn’t be so tough here in person. “What,” she asked again.

“I’m gonna ... be very ... rude.”

“No ya won’t.”

“Yes I will.”

“Nope.”

“You wouldn’t be so confident if Mary didn’t give you spanking privileges,” I shot back.

“Speaking of,” Mary interjected, “I have to get Miss Bankrupt the Household spanked for her poor performance tonight.”

“What,” I interjected, “that is such bullshit!”

Sandy gasped. “This is why you shouldn’t keep little girls up past ten.”

“I’m not a little girl, dammit!”

“Of course not, honey.” See? Mary said, and of course she’s not just being patronizing, right? “But because it is so late, we’ll just ignore that little outburst and deal with the other naughtiness. Stand up.”

First, I noticed what she called my outburst. Second, “What naughtiness?”

“You bankrupted us, Daphne Ann.” Since when is that naughtiness? She just throws around that words to mean so many things. I’m very vulnerable to suggestion, ya know. She’s gonna make me think I’m in trouble when I’m just being victimized (yep, that’s the word) by her lusty sex games.

“It’s just a game, and you were playing too.”

“That’s an interesting take on events,” Mary said with her wolf grin plastered to her face. I was about to get pounced on. “And you can tell it in Hasbro bankruptcy court, but first you’re getting a spanking.” Well, under the circumstances, if she’s gonna pretend I’m in trouble I would normally pretend to protest because it’s just more fun that way. Maybe even protest so much she has to hold me down and force my legs ... anyhoo, I had a reason to protest for real, but I just didn’t wanna say.

“But I already got a spanking today! ... And Sandy is watching ... and ... stuff.” She knew damn well what stuff. She put it there.

“And now you get another spanking, and I’m sure Sandy doesn’t mind. Do you?”

“Not at all. Do what you need to.”

“And like she hasn’t seen your naughty bottom spanked. She’s even done it a few times.” More like thirty, I chose not to remind them.

“But ... stuff,” I said to Mary. She couldn’t. I mean, right?

“What stuff,” Mary asked. That would be the pouncing on me I referred to earlier. She bats me around like a cat playing with a mouse, she grins at me like a wolf, and she pounces like a take your pick. I’m a defenseless woodland creature! I’m just helpless and innocent, or at least that’s my story, and since no one else is writing their side of it it shall remain the true version of the story. I’m innocent, and helpless, and, um, don’t even enjoy these erotic humiliation games. Really.

“You know,” I said, referring to the stuff. Enjoy these games or not (but don’t tell anyone), I much preferred to keep that particular aspect of the game between the two us. I only let her because it was her birthday. Also because she told me to and she’s in charge, but mostly birthday (and mostly also because she’s in charge).

“What do I know?”

“You know,” I whined. She friggin’ knew!

“If you don’t wanna say then it must not be a real reason not to spank your bottom. Do you have anything to say to me?” My chance to red light. I glanced at Sandy, who was leaning toward her camera like this was the best part of the movie.

“Um ... please? HEY!” Never marry a ninja. One minute you’re stalling and deciding not to red light, and the next your wife is flip-turning you over her knee.

THWUMP!

“O!” Mary pretended like she just remembered. If she had panned the camera down at any point during our failed attempt to corner the railroad market, our friends would’ve seen her hands ably demonstrating she hadn’t forgotten for a moment, what with her fondling and squeezing and pinching. “I forgot!” Mary reached over my phone body to tilt the laptop down to get me over her knee in the frame.

“What did you forget,” Sandy asked with a chuckle. I imagined she had a giant Cheshire Cat smile plastered to her face. I can’t say for sure because I had folded my arms to make a hiding place for my face.

“Daffy’s been in a diaper all evening,” Mary reported. “Is that why you didn’t want a spanking, Daffy?”

“Muhbuhbuhbuh feenessin and meuhnstuhf,” I replied from my hiding place, rather testily if the truth be told, and I never tell anything else.

“I think she said yes,” Mary translated for Sandy.

“Urghhh!”

“Yep,” Mary replied to my grunt, “she said yes.” She reached down and moved my arm so I was facing the camera.

“It’s been so long since I played with her,” Sandy said, “I can’t remember if that’s Daphne’s I’m-pissed-off shade of red or her I’m-embarrassed shade of red.”

Mary brushed my hair, which I’d been growing out, off my face so she could tell Sandy, “Definitely not pissed off, but maybe more than just embarrassed,” she chuckled and pinched the back of my thigh.

I eeped and fixed her wagon with a withering glare over my shoulder, except she didn’t whither. Instead, she grinned at me like I was a slice of birthday cake and pat-pat-squeezed the diaper I’d let her put on me because it was her birthday. Also because she just did it without even asking, not that I wouldn’t have protested if it wasn’t her birthday and if she wasn’t in charge and stuff.

“No need to be embarrassed,” Sandy helpfully chimed in. “I’ve seen plenty of little girls in diapers before, including you.”

“I’m. Not. A. Little!” I reminded the room.

“O,” Sandy said, “it would probably be less embarrassing if you were though, huh? I mean, wearing a big girl diaper and all.” I hate-love Sandy so much. It’s very frustrating. “But,” she continued, because like Mary, Sandy loves to continue, “you still shouldn’t embarrassed. I’ve seen more than my share of big girls in diapers. Changed plenty of them, too.” I reached for a throw pillows and out it over my head. I needed a moment alone.

And then Mary took my pillow. I wasn’t pissed, but ya might say I was starting to get a little twitterpated. “You have more experience with this than me,” Mary said to Sandy with her elbow casually against the small of her back, resting her chin in her upturned palm and drumming her fingers on the diaper with the other hand. “Can you give an effective spanking through a ‘big girl’ diaper?” She even put the air quotes there without even moving her hands. Ninja ...

“O, for sure. You just need to swing a little harder, and don’t spare the parts the ‘big girl’ diaper doesn’t cover, especially her ‘big girl’ thighs.”

“Hey, shut up,” I whined and directed my withering glare at the camera. She didn’t whither either. It’s hard to whither a domme.

She just chuckled at me and explained, “But you’re gonna need to lose the yoga pants first.”

“Of course,” Mary said. “Up you go.” She helped me up. Well, I was fine where I was, so perhaps she didn’t help me so much as she just guided me and I cooperated.

“Marrry,” I whined. “Please?”

“Please what,” she asked me.

I had no idea, actually. So many feelings, all in conflict. I wouldn’t wish an erotic humiliation fetish on my worst enemy, but I’d wish it on myself, which is, quite literally, a symptom of having one. What did I want? Who knows? Not me, and I’m kinda past the point of trying to figure it out. It’s tiring, and I have Mary, and even if she doesn’t know what I want, she has a good track record of being right most of the time and a perfect track record of keeping me safe.

So I didn’t say anything, so Mary brushed my hair out of my face even though it wasn’t in my face and kissed me right on the lips. She takes a lot of liberties on her birthday, kissing her wife on the lips without permission ... and stuff. “You’re being a very good girl,” she said. And she said it quiet enough that only I heard it, which must mean she meant and loves me and stuff. O, the twitterpation and feelings in the tummy and places with the mmmmmm.

She turned me so I was facing the camera and reached for my waistband, careful to tug them down without taking the diaper with it because ...

“Hmmm,” Mary said. “Sandy, mind if I ask another question?”

“I’m here to help.” That, boys and girls, is what you call a ‘bullshit statement’, but I chose to say nothing.

“If you can give an effective spanking through a diaper – excuse me,” Mary said, pinching the back of my thigh again, “a ‘big girl’ diaper, is it still effective ...”

In the ideal version of the story, this is the part where I pass out and come to and it’s 2021 and the pandemic is over and I won a real game of Monopoly and made a billion dollars in the railroad industry. In the true version of the story, just to rewind a second ...

“... is it still effective if the ‘big girl’ made a mess in her ‘big girl’ diaper?”

“I didn’t! Marrrry! I didn’t. Sandy! She’s lying! I didn’t!”

Mary turned me butt-to-the-camera, face-to-her so I could see her smirking with complete and utter delight. She shrugged and stuck her head out from behind me so Sandy could see her face. “You’re the expert, Sandy. Doesn’t that look like a dirty diaper?” I wasn’t sure if dropping the ‘big’ made that statement ten times worse or infinitesimally better than it would’ve been with it.

         Rewind to a few hours ago …

        

“Really, Mary,” I asked with my not-impressed ton of voice, and accompanying facial expression, when she emerged from the kitchen with a ziploc bag – the big size – full of oatmeal. “Really?”

         “Yes really. You got a very long birthday spanking today, and we want your bottom to recover as quickly as possible. I mean, we wouldn’t want to have to spank you on a sore bottom, would we?”

         “Half of a dozen of one, six of the other,” I muttered and got up from the couch where I’d been setting up the game on the coffee table. I even pulled my yoga pants down by myself because I’m obedient and helpful like that. Also because having your pants taken down, as Mary insists on doing most of the time, makes you feel about two inches tall. “What’s with the bag?”

         “Less mess – ironically.”

         “And it’s brown because …”

         “Cocoa powder.”

         “Ugh.”

         “It has antioxidants,” which she assured me are very good for me, somehow. They make my butt less prone to oxidizing. I hope she doesn’t think I actually believe her nonsense and chicanery. “Hold still.” She reached around me and undid the top tape on my left side. “You still dry in there,” my darling spouse asked me before sticking one hand on the diaper.

         I was about to say yes when oatmeal. So instead I said, “Ughhhhh that feels so ughhhhh.”

         “Temperature good?”

         “Meaning you didn’t scald me this time? Nope.”

         “And no mess,” she proudly said while showing me the corner of the bag she had cut off to squeeze the oatmeal out of. “Well, not outside your diaper, anyway.”

         “It’s your diaper. I’m just wearing it.”

         “Uh huh. You keep telling yourself that.” She re-taped it and pulled my pants up for me, giving me a firm swat on the back of the diaper with a decidedly upward trajectory. Followed by five more just like it. “Turn around.”

         Legs apart, I rotated. “Tomorrow there will be a sharp curtailing of birthday privileges,” I told her.

         She smirked. “What o what did we do today that is different than what you’ll do if I say on any other day?”

         I ran over the day’s events in my head and told her, “We wouldn’t play Monopoly?”

         She got a queer look on her face like she sometimes does. “Did I tell you I love you today?”

         “Yeah,” I said. “Do ya still?”

         “Even more than yesterday.” I got a very good kiss from her. She’s a good kisser. When we were first dating and were getting to know the boundaries of our BDSM likes and dislikes, she told me she was gonna kiss me like a whore. Well, that just made me cry, so ever since she calls that ‘kissing me like she means it’ but with the visual the former probably conjures for you, you probably understand what it is she means – that she loves me, and also that like she doesn’t care if I can breathe because she wants to kiss me.

When she let me up for air, she asked, “And did I tell you that you look pretty tonight?”

         “I’m not sure,” I said, putting my finger on my chin.

         “You look very pretty tonight.”

         “It’s an occasion. Since I haven’t worn makeup in almost a year, I thought I’d dress myself up for you.”

         “You even put on earrings.”

         “I’m a classy lady, dammit,” I coyly said and kissed her right back like I damn well meant it. Very upper crust, that’s me.

         Fast forward back to the then-present …

 

         “Yeah,” Sandy said, “that looks like a stinky diaper. Glad I don’t hafta change it.”

         “It’s …” And there was a pacifier in my mouth. Didn’t even see it coming, and there it was. What kind of ninja keeps a pacifier in their pocket? An ageplaying ninja. Mary is such a big, carrying a paci in her pocket.

         “I think that needs to stay in.” She gave her I-mean-it look. Lucky for her, perhaps not so lucky for me, I’m very good at doing what I’m told when I remember to be good at it. It’s not, as I’ve explained to Mary, that I have a hard time remembering what she tells me as that I have a hard time remembering to be good at doing what I’m told. Totally different even if she doesn’t see it that way. Anyhoo …

         “Ahergggh urgggh!”

         “Shush. You don’t mind if I change her right now, do you, Sandy?”

         “Not at all … so long as you don’t mind angling her away from the camera.”

         “O, I wouldn’t subject you to that, at least if you’re not babysitting, but if you are babysitting …”

         “Comes with the territory.” Funny how they’ll admit she babysit me when it suits their purposes – NOT!

         “Wait right here, honey.”

I willed myself to have an out of body experience, and then I imagined if I actually did and pictured myself looking down at myself and what that would look like and willed the floor to swallow me instead. But it didn’t, so I did the next best thing I could think of and just went with it, hoping to avoid instigating anymore embarrassment than was already coming my way.

Mary disappeared around the corner and emerged a moment later with a wicker basket containing everything she needed for a diaper change. I’d have pretended to be surprised, but in retrospect, it was pretty obvious she’d planned this. If it hadn’t been losing at Monopoly, she’d probably have found another excuse like sitting too close to the ceiling or something. She pushed the coffee table out of the way, put the laptop on the floor, spread out the changing pad (man, I miss the days when we only used that to avoid getting cum everywhere), and tugged at my wrist so I joined her on the floor knees up and open and the laptop above my head.

         “Aww,” Mary said to me, “don’t make that face. We’ll get that yucky diaper right off you.” She reached up and wiped a tear away. Well, maybe a tear. My eyes were watering since I was laying on the floor and happened to be starting up at the light fixture. Really. I think. And anyway, it was just the one tear. Lot of emotions and adrenaline. “But ya gotta hold real still for me.”

         “Ya know,” Sandy chimed in, “in can be helpful to give them a toy to hold.”

         “Yeah,” Mary said, “but you know Daphne – hand her a vibrator and she just gets so hard to control.”

         Okay, I’ll give Mary credit – that was funny, even if I didn’t laugh.

         “And we’re ready,” Mary said and opened the diaper. “Pee yew!”

For the record, I smelled like Cocoa Puffs. I’m not sure I can ever be coocoo for Cocoa Puffs ever again.

“And you made a wet diapee too! Yes you did! You peed eber-y-where! Eber-y-where!” I didn’t giggle at her baby talk. I giggled at her tickling my tummy. Really. (No, really).

I sure would’ve liked to be able to see Sandy’s face. Mary used the front of the diaper to clean away some of oatmeal, a process that felt suspiciously like she was pawing at me down there, but then I get paranoid when Mary has been plotting like she so clearly had been. On the other hand (and she was using both, for the record), I’ve been pawed at down there before, by Mary, and the sensations were very similar. So was I red in the face because I was pissed or because I was embarrassed or because I was flushing with arousal? In no particular order, no, yes, and uh-huh.

“Hold your knees for me,” I was instructed. I did as I was told.

“Remember to wipe from front to back,” Sandy jumped in again. Nice of her to think of my welfare that way, sort of, considering her role in bringing all this about, but thinking back on it now, Mary seems to be enjoying herself so much I wondered if Sandy maybe hastened something Mary already had on her mind.

“Almost clean again,” Mary added like it was play-by-play commentary. “There. Knees down. We’ll get you a nice bath in the morning, but for now,” she said and got out another diaper.

“O yeah,” Sandy once again said, “make sure you get that rash cream everywhere. Plenty of it … you know it’s enough when she’s squirming like that,” she finished a laugh.

She didn’t need to say anything as Mary had once again gotten herself lost in doing a very thorough job taking care of me.     There were hands in places and fetishes fetishing and an audience audiencing and I was fighting the impulse to get up and throw a tantrum and the impulse to lift my hips to push my … there were hands in places, and then Mary winked at me. Then there were no hands in places. Then there was a diaper being closed over and me and sealed in place.

“All done!” Mary announced. She wiped her hands on a wipe and held them out for me to help me sit up. To say I damn near bolted myself upright and flung my arms around Mary and buried my face in her chest would be a true thing to say, is what it would be. I wanted to hide, and Mary’s chest is a good place for that. I wanted to be comforted, and Mary’s chest is a good place for that. I wanted to scream, and Mary’s chest is also a good place for that. And I wanted my Mary, and there she was.

Mary put her arms around my shoulders and pressed my head to herself, a hand in my hair. “Shhhh,” she cooed, “You’re okay. Shhhh. You are such a good girl.”

For the record, I was not okay. I was embarrassed, and I was kinda shocked, which added to the embarrassment, and I was – what’s the word or phrase? – aroused. Which all added up to kinda numb.

“I don’t think she needs a spanking tonight after all,” Mary said. O yeah, Sandy was still there. I had forgotten while in the almost-throes of, um, embarrassment and hating every damn moment of that. Yeah, um, that’s it. Yeah.

“Ya know,” Sandy said, “I am looking forward to babysitting Daffy again, but if she’s gonna mess she has to do it in a diaper. Not taking the risk of a pull-up blowout.”

Well, if ever there was a phrase to bring me back ‘round to the moment … I yanked the paci out, spun around, and just-shy-of-shouted, “It was oatmeal, dammit! It was oatmeal and cocoa powder! She made me!”

Even with bad Zoom lighting I could see Sandy biting down on the inside of her lip to keep from cracking up. Her shoulders were rocking with laughter. “You two are too much. O, I miss you guys.” Sandy let out a long sigh.

I looked from her to Mary to her not sure what I was expecting. I lapsed back into silence and put my head back on Mary’s chest.

“Mary,” Sandy said, “I think she needs some aftercare.”

“For sure. We’ll talk to you later. You know you’re a Healthcare Hero, right?”

“I know I’m a nurse, but thanks for saying so. Stay safe … and happy birthday.”

“Thanks. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, and goodnight, Daffy.”

I didn’t answer that. Mary reached over and closed the laptop before rocking back onto her butt next to me. She kissed my hair. “Can I leave you alone for a second?” I nodded, and she picked up the refuse of that scene. If it was a scene.

I sat on the floor while she went to go discard all of that, trying to process it all. So many feelings to parse, all of them big. But maybe they don’t need parsing. Mary joined me on the floor a moment later, this time with a blanket to put over us.

“Daffy? You doin’ okay?”

Head nod.

“Do I owe you an apology?”

Head shake.

“Do you need to cry?’

No, but good guess. Head shake. I put my head on her shoulder, and she gave it a kiss and leaned her head back on me.

“You planned that,” I said when I was ready to reengage beyond the tactile.

“Yeah.”

“For how long?”

“A day.”

“O … can I ask you something serious?”

“Mhmm.”

“Are you an evil genius?”

“Yeah, but not in a bad way.”

“Good.”

“You sure you’re not mad at me?”

“Mhmm.”

“So that was fun?”

“It was … something.”

“Think I know what you mean.”

“Did you have a good birthday?”

“Every birthday with you is the best since the one before it.”

“Funny.”

“What’s that?”

“How God made you. She made you kinda funny, thirty-eight years ago today.”

“And six years later she did it again and made you.”

“Mhmm.”

“Mary?”

“Yeah, baby?”

“I need to cum.”

“I know. Me too.”

“This is one of our weirder conversations.”

“I know, and that’s really saying something.”

“And not that you have to make it up to me, but if you wanted to, you could hold me all night.”

“O, I think that’s only fair,” she whispered into my ear and gave it a little nibble. “A very (kiss) good girl (kiss). Are you ready to go upstairs?”

“We’re gonna need this,” I said, reaching over and grabbing the corner of the changing pad.