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

[Bel George]

What. A. Story! Really!

[YourFNF]

15 hours ago, Alex Bridges said:

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.

God this is such a sub mood ??

15 hours ago, Alex Bridges said:

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 would probably yellow in this situation just to explain ?

[Guilend]

56 minutes ago, YourFNF said:

I would probably yellow in this situation just to explain ?

I'm sure a few would, but as someone that is very much into humiliation as Daffy and I am, the mindset I'd be in at that moment I probably wouldn't even think of calling yellow and Daffy did try to explain it and I'm sure everyone knew afterwards that she didn't actually mess herself. However no one wanted the humiliation sub to be 100 percent sure of that lol

I just love this story. My sub side is so much like Daffy and my dom side is like Mary. What's funny is my little/sub is named Mary and she doesn't have a dominant bone in her body lol

[Sarah Penguin]

[PastelConnection]

Such a great story! I am new to the site, but the only thing I've done the past few days is read this story to get caught up. Keep up the good work. Also im a huge fan of the spanking scenes, but I know not everyone here is 

[Alex Bridges]

1 hour ago, PastelConnection said:

Such a great story! I am new to the site, but the only thing I've done the past few days is read this story to get caught up. Keep up the good work. Also im a huge fan of the spanking scenes, but I know not everyone here is 

Thank you! I’m glad you enjoy the story, and welcome to the site ?

[Alex Bridges]

My readers, it makes me very happy you enjoy my stories. I love seeing your comments and the way you get so invested my characters. So on this Thanksgiving, in this weird and terrible year, I'm thankful for having a talent I can share and even more, I'm thankful for all of you.

I wish all of you a happy Thanksgiving and every good thing in this world. To those of you celebrating alone this year, as I am, make that two of every good thing, and someone to celebrate with soon.

 

Scene #60

 

Splish splash we were taking a bath. By which I mean, we were both in the tub, not Mary giving me a bath. The sub in me, which is to say me, wants to give Mary a bath, but she’s not so into that idea, but anyway, we usually go to my parents’ for Thanksgiving, and since we can’t this year, we decided to make up our own tradition, which we decided involves us in the bath. It’s not the reason we bought the house, but having a tub big enough for both us to use while facing each other and not having a faucet digging into someone’s back was definitely a bonus.

“We should use this thing more,” Mary suggested. “I don’t know why we don’t.”

“Water bill,” I reminded her.

“Yeah, but when we’re both in it that means less water ... the flowers were a nice idea.”

I ordered flowers. Mary, as usual, was more concerned with me having a good holiday, especially since we couldn’t travel to be with my family, but I wanted her to enjoy it and not just worry about me, so I ordered flowers for the table and added some petals to our bath along with some scented oil and a nonslip mat because I’m safe like that.

“I’m just trying to pamper you,” I told her. “You need a break more than me.”

“What makes you say that?”

“You’re working, I’m not. You do most of the emotional labor around here, I just emote.”

“You do plenty of emotional labor in the relationship.”

“But most of it is my own anxiety,” I chuckled nervously. Didn’t really chuckle.

Mary shrugged. “We all have our things, Daffy. Once we’re out of the pandemic you’ll feel so much better, and then we can get you back to work. You’ll feel better if you have more to do ... Besides, I like taking care of you. Makes me feel needed.”

“Thanks. I worry sometimes ... I just don’t want to dump all my feelings on you and ... not do my share.”

“You do plenty. You’re keeping the house clean and cooking most days and you made us that pretty garden.” She giggled. “And you’re always finding new ways to be naughty and sexy.”

“I am good at that ... I just wanna take as good of care of you as you do me.”

“You do. You give me exactly what I need - a kinky little minx to cherish and protect. Makes me so happy I’m the person you come running to when life is hard. Makes me feel like the best person ever.”

“You are!” Which is a totally stereotypical sub thing to say, but she is! And I’ve met a lot of people, probably at least nine. Perhaps more and I just don’t remember them all because that was before the pandemic times.

“You’re just saying that because I know how to make it all better,” she winked at me.

“And almost no one else does.”

“Almost? Who’s my competition?”

“For making it all better? Dad.” I was a total daddy’s girl. Sorta still am when I go home.

I must have let out a forlorn sign or something, because Mary said, “What are you thinking?”

“That if we were there he’d be asking some clueless but cute question about being a lesbian right about now.” He does it on purpose. Or it started out as actual questions and now he just asks because it makes me laugh. Yes, Dad, “lesbian” is spelled with a capital L, like the Lakers. And so on while mom keeps smacking him on the arm and telling him to stop.

“We’re Zooming with them this afternoon at least.”

“Yeah ...”

“Alright, let’s talk about something else,” Mary said and took a sip from her breakfast wine. And you’re probably thinking, I’ve never even heard of breakfast wine. And more’s the pity for you. The recipe is simple: pour wine in a cup (cup is optional) before noon.

“Are you changing your mind about having kids,” I asked. Mary nearly spit her breakfast wine across the tub.

“What? No ... Why? Are you thinking ...”

“No. I just ... wondered if, um, maybe that’s where your, um, sudden big tendencies came from. Forget I asked.”

“I’m not rethinking it ... you know I would if you wanted to.” Which is so like her, but she totally would, and she’d be a great mom, too.

“I know! But I don’t.” There was this other thing I had been thinking about. “... I was, though, thinking maybe, um, when the pandemic is over we, um, could find a, um, another bottom to play with?”

“Like a poly ...”

“No! Just play.”

“You wanna playmate?” I sensed a smidge jealousy and also her predator instinct kicking in as she considered the possibilities.

“Well, no, but, uh, I wouldn’t mind, um, someone I could, uh, ya know?”

“You want someone to dominate?”

“Sorta?”

“Where’d that come from?”

“I dunno. Maybe just wanting someone I can boss around. Would be nice to not always be on the receiving end...”

“Do you remember what happened the last time you tried to domme someone?”

Not my finest hour. It was at a monthly play party put on by a local kink group, and there was this girl who was kinda new to it and didn’t know anyone and we were talking and it turned into talking about a scene. Naturally, I went and asked Mary if I could do it, and she was skeptical. Like straight up told me that was not a good idea. Well, ask anyone and they’ll tell you that telling me I shouldn’t do something is just gonna make me more determined. Little wonder that personality trait still hasn’t been spanked outta me despite many having tried and Mary trying many times. But of course she’d be so disappointed if she succeeded.

But Mary gave in and came with me and I introduced her and the three of us took over a play area. The girl brought her very own flogger, and Mary stood there with her arms folded like she’s knows every-damn-thing and looking all skepitcal, but I can so domme someone if I want.

The girl put her arms up and spread her legs (she wasn’t ready to try the restraints on the cross thingy), and I swung that flogger gently just to get her warmed up. I did a good job too: just right for a warm up, not hard but not too soft. The girl enjoyed it. Mary told me good job.

And that’s when I started crying and apologizing profusely. I even needed a hug from Mary. And the girl. Who also apologized. We even attracted the attention of one of the organizers, who we knew, and when Mary told her why I was crying (I needed another minute before I could explain), our friend chastised Mary, not me, for letting me try. Apparently lots of people just know, or think they know, that I don’t have a dominant bone in my whole body.

“Well, that was a long time ago,” I reminded Mary. “I spanked Jane that one time.”

“Yeah, but that was less you being dominant than you being a naughty little girl who lost her temper,” Mary reminded me. “But we could find you a playmate, someone else to do, um, things with.”

“I have Jane for that.”

“Maybe someone who takes a little less glee in getting you in trouble.”

“Yeah...”

“Elizabeth always has some new friend or other.” Which is because Elizabeth runs a group that makes a point of being extra welcoming to newbies, but notice how Elizabeth never seems to keep her playmates around for long.

“I don’t like Elizabeth.”

“That’s because she makes you call her ‘mistress.’”

“And she is not! It should bother you more than it bothers me.”

“You just don’t like calling anybody by a title. I had to wash your mouth out before you’d call Mae ‘Mrs. Wilson.’”

“Which Nana doesn’t even like. And I don’t see why you made such a big deal out of that in the first place.”

“It’s rude to call your elders by their first name.”

“She’s your elder, too.”

“But more so yours.” She grinned at me, trying to goad me into something or other. I’m not so easily goaded. Take Jane for instance – she had to goad the heck outta me before I finally tossed her over my knee. And I still owe her a real spanking. Her crocodile tears may fool her mommy, and she may be a little, but she’s not a little girl, and I owe her a big girl spanking. Anyhoo …

“By all of six years,” I countered to Mary. “Know what you should be thankful for,” I asked. I prefer to say that I said it sassily rather than in a pouty way.

“What’s that, Daffodil?”

“That I put up with your excuse finding and chicanery, and I only do it because I love you.” Also because I love our kinky game of cat-and-mouse, and getting tossed over her knee so often, and never exactly knowing what shade of Daphne my butt will be when I got to bed, to say nothing of all the other (mostly) fun things she’s done to me over the years.”

“I love you, too, and I’m thankful for every little thing about you.”

“Daww!” Hehehe.

“Especially the way you blush like a maiden whenever I remind you how much in love with you I am.”

She had this grin on her face like she I was going to go, “Ha!” before I could stop myself.

“See!?! You are so the smitten kitten.”

“Of course I am! I like you and stuff,” I said and played footsie with her. People probably think, why is Daphne so tired all the time, and the reason is because it’s hard work being a mouse and a maiden and a kitten, let alone a smitten kitten, all at the same time. Go ask the other smitten kittens, and they’ll tell you they can’t do it, but with the loving support of my Mary, anything is possible.

“Meantime,” Mary said, “if you want something to be in charge of, offer is still on the table.”

“Puppies are expensive though.”

“So? We can afford it. And it would give you something to be do. You could totally nerd out and be an expert dog trainer in a month.”

“I’ve never had a dog.”

“First time for everything.” Damn if between the two of us we hadn’t proved that a dozen million times.

“I don’t want something to be responsible for.” Because being responsible for living things that don’t photosynthesize makes me anxious AF. “I just wanted someone to boss around.” Not a lot. Just a little. For a change anyway, at least until the novelty wore off, and then we could just be friends. Maybe that’s what I really need, a new friend. “Or maybe I just need to make a new friend.”

“Kinky or normal?”

“Either.” Though personally, I don’t understand why everyone isn’t kinky. Way back when, when I was a freshman in college and was getting to explore and experiment, it was brought to my attention through a series of intermediaries that I was developing a reputation as a prude, if you can believe that. Which, firstly, what a buncha unpleasant people I was hanging out with my freshman year for even thinking like that, and two, I am not a prude (no, really, it’s true – stifle your shocked gasps). I just didn’t get it. And before you ask, I’m not talking about the mechanics. I just mean I only knew vanilla people, and they just wanted to have sex and I just … didn’t. Plain vanilla sex didn’t turn me on. I needed sprinkles and oreo bites and (OMG) peanut butter crumbles, and I didn’t know how to ask for what I wanted. I mean, how the heck was I supposed to have sex if no one had even hit me with a board yet? It was just boring. Did very little for me.

It wasn’t until I was a junior that I liked someone enough and that someone liked me enough to badger me into showing them what I liked. Out came the laptop, up came a website now sadly defunct call Spank That Brat (I’s on C4S, but those two performers aren’t making new videos together), and my partner was so clearly hiding (or trying to hide) her distaste but agreed to give it a try. People are really averse to hitting other people, even when those people are asking for it, literally.

I eventually got desperate enough to go to a munch, scary AF on your own as a twenty-one year old, and got lucky enough that someone decided to make it their business to introduce me to the local scene. Probably (possibly? perhaps?) helped that I was a cute young thing with wide eyes and a butt crying out for chastisement. Wasn’t so hard to meet people, lot more hard to be and feel safe, but I had found my crowd, and then I found my people inside that crowd, and there was a little spot in the world where I could be safe doing my thing, which is where I met Mary.

“We could start going to munches again when things are safe,” Mary suggested, because she reads my mind when I’m not looking. “We can do that thing where I meet new people and you act all shy and stand behind me.” Um, yeah, that’s an ‘act,’ uh-huh…

“We go to play parties,” I said. Or we did in the before times.

“But munches are easier for meeting friends. There’s less pressure.”

“We met at a play party,” I reminded her.

“And I was nervous as hell.”

“I don’t think you’ve ever been nervous in your life.” She bestrides the world like a lioness, at least in my eyes.

“It took a lot of guts to pluck you over my knee.”

“You did a good job hiding it.”

“I kept thinking how out of my league you are …”

“Flattery will get you nowhere,” I interjected. Except, actually, it will get her all the places because I like flattery, I like Mary, and I like it when she’s in my places. And in what universe am I the one out of her league?!? I suppose our leagues are all about what type we have. Mary’s type is ballet dancers (not me, because I’d just fall down, which is a true story, but in terms of build), whereas I guess my type is Mary. I have other types, but Mary is the main one, and God only made the one.

“Everyone in the room wanted a crack at your bottom.”

“That’s because they’re a buncha pervs,” I snarked, “and all they had to do was wait their turn. You cut the line.”

“And shut the door behind me. I didn’t wanna risk letting you go.”

“Is that why you didn’t let me go?”

“Mhmm.”

“I’m starting to think you like me and stuff,” I said and played some more footsie.

“We could try a new munch we haven’t been to before. There’s probably going to be a lot of new ones when the pandemic is over … we could, um …” So she does get nervous.

“What?”

“Try an ageplay munch.”

“We could …”

“Might be fun for you to get to play with another little.”

“I’m not a little!”

“Fine, a middle.”

“I’m not that either.”

“Well, there are a lot of other people out there in the world who ‘aren’t’ littles or middles, and you might enjoy spending time with one is all I’m saying.”

“You and your air quotes … I don’t even know what we’d do.”

“You play with Jane sometimes.”

“Because she likes it. I don’t like the cutesy stuff.”

“Well, somewhere out there is someone who is a little who’ll look at you like the big kid you are and will just be happy to do whatever you wanna do.”

“Really packing in the double entendres today.”

“You guys could play with Jamie together,” Mary said with her I’m-gonna-verbally-poke-you-in-the-belly smile.

“Marrrry!”

“Seriously, you could have tea parties and eat whatever you wanted, whether Jamie likes it or not. He’s easy to boss around”

“Never was a tea party kinda girl.”

“Why don’t you like him? I thought you’d like a teddy bear.”

“He’s cute,” I shrugged. “I just don’t, I dunno, like stuffies that much. Probably because,” I said with my finger on my chin like I was contemplating great mysteries of the physical universe, “I’m not a little!” And I sent a tiny splash her way. Maybe more of a wave. I didn’t want any wet bottom spankings.

“I just thought he’d be a comfort object. Something to snuggle at night.”

“He’s too small to snuggle with.”

Mary’s eyebrows shot up. “So you’d be happier with a bigger bear? Something big enough to snuggle?”

“I already have someone to snuggle with,” was my response, and I played more footsie with her under the water just in case she missed my meaning.

“Well, Christmas is coming up, and you’re getting some toys whether you like it or not.”

“Why?”

“To give you something to do. Some adult coloring books or something. Puzzles. Anything. Without a garden to play in you’re watching too much Netflix and reading too much news that send you into a funk.”

“Can they be dirty coloring books?” As you can see, I’m over that part of my life where it takes extra to get my engine revving, but the fun part, I was thinking, would be when I went to show Mary what I colored and mayhaps recreating the picture live, or maybe being chastised for being so naughty with my coloring.

“What’d you think I meant when I said ‘adult coloring books’?”

“Heehee ... I was thinking more about taking a class online, maybe something free to start with, see what I like. Think it’s time to think more seriously about going back to school.”

“What’s your latest fancy,” Mary asked.

“I don’t have fancies! I just haven’t decided yet. I was thinking about being a teacher, if you must know.”

“Finally!”

“What finally?”

“I wanted to suggest that fifty times!”

“Why didn’t you?”

“Because suggesting you do something has the same effect on you as suggesting you don’t do something.” Which is ironic because I can be very suggestible in certain contexts.

“Well, I got there on my own.”

“What were you thinking about teaching?”

“I don’t know. Not teens. I don’t need any mean girls in my life.”

“I don’t think you’d like teaching high school anyway.”

“Were you a mean girl,” I asked my darling wife.

“Of course not! What would make you ask that?”

“Well, you’re sorta awesome at plotting mean things to do to me.”

“That reminds me - I remembered we own a turkey baster today,” she said with her I’m-gonna-baste-you face, apparently. That’s a new one.

“I don’t even wanna know ... but I’ll try it ... but only because it will make you happy.” Really. I’m sweet like that.

“I think you could teach grade school or preschool.”

“Preschool?”

“You’d be so cute running around chasing toddlers,” she chuckled, “and if there’s one place you could get away with a pull-up sticking over your waistband without being judged ...”

“Marrrry! Such a mean girl ...”

“So what were you thinking?”

“Grade school or outdoor education.”

“Why that?”

“Because I liked being outside so much this year. I missed that.”

“That could be your thing. You should reach out to a couple of schools and see if someone will talk to you about it.”

And in the meantime, it was time to get out of the tub. We had a Thanksgiving chicken to make. There was also a noticeable uptick in innuendo in our Thanksgiving kitchen compared to my mom’s, like when Mary told me to say ‘gobble gobble’ and when I asked why she said it was time to stuff the turkey.  Mary said every turkey she’s ever had has been dry, except me. And so on. I was just glad she didn’t emerge from the closet with a turkey outfit for me. I can handle her sudden interest in ageplay, but I draw the line at fowl.

It was fun cooking such a big meal together, even if there was no way we’d ever eat all those leftovers ourselves, and even if Mary threatened to put pumpkin pie filling down my diaper (vetoed; I cannot stand the smell of that stuff stuff. I made an apple pie just for me, and I told Mary I’d even let her have some if she decided she didn’t like her orange gloop pie, or even just because she wanted some. Also, I wasn’t wearing a diaper, which lasted until the chicken was in the oven, which is when Mary declared it was time to dress for dinner.

I would’ve protested, but that baster was nearby and was making me paranoid. It being a special occasion though, I at least got to wear the cloth ones even if I also had to wear a onesie. But we both had dinner with our pajamas on, something that’s a perennial topic at Thanksgiving and Christmas (seriously, why not just wear your jammies? Everyone is tired and just wants to be comfy).

It was halfway through dinner, right I was about to do a thing, that I remembered Mary said I didn’t have to do that anymore if I didn’t want to. I would’ve raise the issue with her, but, um, why interrupt our meal, is the only reason I didn’t say anything. Take off the jammies, the onesie, the plastic panties, and the diapers to do that, with Mary’s help? It would delay pie. And we don’t have pie often, is a reason I’m going with. So … there’s a thing?

[kerry]

This is a thing to be thankful for. ?

[Bel George]

Alex,
I cannot thank you enough for this beautiful story. The way you can tell over and over again about "a day in the life of Daphne and Mary", is what makes this story so unique, so different from all the other stories on this site. It is by far my favorite here.
I would occasionally like to suggest how I would like the story to evolve or what a new scene could be about, but it's your story and it's so good I don't want to influence it.

I can't comment on every chapter without repeating myself, but you know that every continuation makes me happy.

Thanks again and please keep up the excellent work.

[Baby Toni38]

Alex

I have said it before about this work of art and your others, You are a talented writer.   Please continue, Others and myself look forward to reading your stories.

 

[Sarah Penguin]

I lost it laughing at drawing the line at fowl

[Alex Bridges]

20 hours ago, kerry said:

This is a thing to be thankful for. ?

Your kitten profile pic is something to be thankful for. Always makes me smile.

[YourFNF]

On 11/26/2020 at 6:41 PM, Alex Bridges said:

Thanks. I worry sometimes ... I just don’t want to dump all my feelings on you and ... not do my share.”

This has been a big worry for me in relationships

On 11/26/2020 at 6:41 PM, Alex Bridges said:

Either.” Though personally, I don’t understand why everyone isn’t kinky.

Mood XD

[Alex Bridges]

Scene #61

 

I woke up alone, which I’m kinda used to since Mary is an earlier riser than I am, and went downstairs to the kitchen where Mary had beat me to it.

“A-ha-hem,” I said from the dooorway. I even folded my arms. Mary always folds her arms when she a-ha-hems me , and being my role model like she is, I thought I’d try it. It’s as satisfying as it looks. “Are you eating pie for breakfast?”

With a mouthful, Mary said, “C’mere,” so I shuffled across the kitchen in my slippers. “Open.”

“Mmm,” I said when she put a bite of pie on my tongue.

“I like feeding you pie,” Mary giggled. “You look so happy.”

“It’s a new day, and you’re feeding me pie. What’s not to be happy about?” By unspoken mutual consent, I think we both agreed 2020 didn’t count and therefore we get to be disgusting newlyweds for an extra year.

“What are we doing today,” she asked me.

“Christmas shopping. There’s only four weeks until Christmas. We have a lot of shopping to do.”

“So ya know how you go overboard with the shopping every year?”

“Mhmm,” I mumbled because pie.

“Just because you have the time, please don’t go over overboard.”

“I won’t ... but since it’s Christmas can I start stress baking again?” I mean, speaking of going overboard...

“Yes, just don’t eat your weight in Christmas cookies. Maybe you can arrange another cookie exchange.”

“Sounds like someone wants more of my labia lemon bars.”

“Just don’t send any to your mom by mistake,” she teased.

“You’re gonna jinx it if you joke about that stuff.” Last thing we needed for the holidays was to send the right cookies to the wrong person. I suppose I could just not do any erotic baking rather than risk it, but what fun would that be?

“C’mon, let’s go sit by the fireplace,” Mary said, taking my hand and pulling me along.

“Can I change first?” I’d been wearing what Mary put me to bed in (does “put me in before bed” sound less childish? no? dammit...) since, well, she put me to bed last night. Put us to bed? We went to bed at the same time.

“Right in the living room,” Mary replied. “Lay down in front of the fire.” She made a hard right but not before giving me a love swat. 

When I was a really young kid, I had a torrid love affair with the heating vents (torrid - heating vent - get it? ba-dum-chhh! that’s my rimshot since I can’t have an in-house band during COVID). The vents were in the floor, and until I was maybe six I had a habit of taking naps on them with my blankie and bunny (a stuffie, not a rabbit; rabbits are mean, and I’ve had the scratch marks to prove it). Then we moved into a house with no heating vents in the floor but that did have a gas fireplace. I parked myself in front of it pretty much all winter. I used to get in trouble for opening the window so I could do that without getting too hot.

I laid down in front of the fire, and Mary was right behind me with that basket that mysteriously appeared on her birthday game night. “Maybe you need some bigger jammies for Christmas,” she suggested.

“Maybe you need to stop putting diapers on me at bedtime. My jammies fit fine without them.”

“Or we could find you a Christmas nightgown.”

“Only little kids and old ladies wear nightgowns,” I reminded her while wiggling to try to help her get my pajama pants off.

“You mean there’s a piece of comfy loungewear you don’t want to wear,” she chuckled. “And maybe it’s time for new slippers,” she added. She took one off and waved it at me.

“They’re fine. They’re just well loved.”

“You’re gonna fall and hurt yourself in them one of these days. She paused and, “Snfff ... snfff.”

“I know,” I said blushing. Or maybe it was the fire turning my face so red. “I smell like a ...”

“Bedwetter?”

“I could’ve finished the sentence if I wanted to say it out loud.” I mean, yeesh, like she had to actually say it.

“Maybe ten hours is a little too long to be in the same cloth diaper.”

“Has it become as apparent to you, as it has to me, that these things create more problems than they solve, and also that they don’t solve anything?”

“I think they solve lots of problems.”

“Like what?”

“Like reminding you to behave. When’s the last time you got spanked with a diaper on?”

“Day before yesterday, right before you took it down and paddled me.” 

“Okay,” Mary said, “bad example ... how ‘bout when we’re out in public and you have a diaper on, you get adorably clingy with me?”

“I’ve only been out in them four times ... and I can be clingy without them.” Surely she noticed that what with my tendency to cling to her.

“Well, Miss Smart Bottom, here’s a problem they definitely solve: when you’re wearing a diaper, you’re not not wearing a diaper. What’s your response to that? Lift your butt.”

I lifted my butt and she got the plastic panties offbeasily. That’s kinda a yucky feeling, the way the little bit of wetness feels going down my legs. The kind that snap on would be better, but I’m never, ever telling her that (and if you do, we can’t be friends anymore, so shhh!).

“That’s not a real problem.”

“Sure it is, and do you know why,” she asked as she opened the velcro.

“Because you say it is?”

“Good star A-plus for Daphne!”

“What’s it like getting to just to declare something,” I asked as I put my hands behind my knees to give her access to my nouns: my person and places and things.

“Intoxicating,” she said with a smile. 

I smiled back as she cleaned me off and asked, “And what’s it like getting to punish those who don’t accept your declarations?”

“Positively orgasmic ... there. That’s as clean as you’re getting without a bath.”

“I need a bath.”

“Yep, but what’s the rush? Don’t you wanna sit next to the fire with me? I bet the heat is good for your naked diaper area.”

“I don’t have a diaper area,” I reminded her for the bajillionth time ... I simultaneously pivoted so as to point nouns toward the fireplace. No judging. That was precisely what Mary was suggesting. “What’s it like getting to suggest things when what you’re really doing is issuing an order,” I asked after she laid down next to me.

“Like being a mafia don,” she told me. “What’s it like getting your bare bottom spanked when you mistake an order for a suggestion?”

“Like I got someone who loves me even when I’m naughty.” I got a kiss for that answer. I got her wrapped around my little finger. It may not be obvious, what with the way she’s in charge and is always paddling me and making me wear diapers, but ... dammit.

“And I love you even when smell like weewee. I think we’ll only use ‘sposables at night from now on.”

“But not every night,” I reminded her. I had my limits. I wasn’t going to be a 24/7 diaper person, and I wasn’t going to be 8/7 or 24/3 or any of that. “Like we talked about.”

“Like we talked about (kiss). How’s that fire feel down there?”

“Um ...” I think everybody should try this for twenty minutes a day, like a self-care routine. I just liked a warm spot to nap when I was little, but Mary’s ‘suggestion’ was pretty friggin’ comfy. I was already thinking about rearranging the furniture to make it easier on my back. I am in my thirties after all. How many more years can I just keep laying on floors with my knees open before it catches up to me? (No seriously, I’m asking ... I’ma google that later).

“Ha. How do you think a bare bottom timeout in front of the fireplace would feel after a good spanking?”

I made my raccoon-in-the-flashlight face. “A good spanking or a good spanking?”

“A good, hard spanking for my naughty Daphne Ann when she gets into more mischief than her bottom can handle.”

“How is it you’re so nice and can come up with the meanest things?”

“How is it you’re so sweet and can come up with so many ways to misbehave?”

“Luck.”

“Ha! Can I feel?”

“So you do know how to ask permission before groping me,” I teased my Mary.

“Such a sass mouth.” She put her hand on, well, it’s also a noun. I had a feeling there would be verbs soon. “And I need to put my hands on your princess parts. Someone has to take care of your diaper area, because lord knows you’d never do it on your own ...”

“Because I don’t have a diaper area,” I whined. She talked right over me.

“... and if I asked permission to touch your butt every time you need a spanking, you’d never get the all spankings you need.”

“Well, that’s just not true.” Also, I guess we’re just gonna pretend she doesn’t have permission, because I’m the one who gave it to her in perpetuity. But what fun is acknowledging reality?

“Speaking of your butt, remember a moment ago when I was changing you out of your night diaper?”

“Marrrry...”

“O good, you do remember. I saw this bite mark on your butt cheek. When and how did that happen?”

My poor wife, her memory beginning to fail so young. That must be why she asks me if I remember stuff. “You did it,” I coquettishly refreshed her memory. I’m quite the coquette when I wanna be.

“I did, hmm? Was I trying to gobble you up?”

“Sure seemed like it.” There I was tied up like that goat in Jurassic Park, innocent as a ... baby goat (?) minding my own business when there was Mary. I’ll give her more credit than the T-Rex though. Mary knows how to savor her meals. I mean, sure, sometimes you just want to be swallowed whole ... anyhoo ...

“Are there any leftovers,” Mary asked. Whereas I am a coquette, a little red riding hood (I even have the outfit somewhere), and was being all coquettish, Mary is most definitely my big bad wolf, as evidenced my her wolffish grin and matching appetite. 

“Remember before the pandemic when we were too busy to do things like lay in front of the fireplace talking about spending most of the day in bed?”

“Yeah.”

“Let’s never live that way again.”

“Ha. Deal.”

[YourFNF]

I love these conversationds and the more "don't you want to be a good girl for me?" approach ? Honestly this dynamic is just really great and it's impressive how hot it can be despite the more softcore writing style. Your also one of the few men I know of who can actually write lesbian couples well. I hope that didn't come off as rude? I really like your work ??

[Sarah Penguin]

They should not get a stupendously loud fan to try to increase the heating of the fireplace.  Thought it will be painfully loud enough in the morning in front of the fireplace to distract from somewhat off resultant diaper area smells it's too loud so it will only get used once and forgotten about.   They should instead maybe get a diaper pail for next to the fireplace just in case. Remove diaper, wipe diaper area, and toss them into the pail.  *nodsnods*

[Alex Bridges]

2 hours ago, YourFNF said:

I love these conversationds and the more "don't you want to be a good girl for me?" approach ? Honestly this dynamic is just really great and it's impressive how hot it can be despite the more softcore writing style. Your also one of the few men I know of who can actually write lesbian couples well. I hope that didn't come off as rude? I really like your work ??

Do I write lesbians well?

I don’t know. At the very beginning, I wanted mostly to write some kinky scenes, and I liked the dynamic between two female characters. DDLG just isn’t my thing, and when I think of Daphne’s personality, I can’t picture the same personality and mannerisms in a man.

As for the softness of scenes like this, I like alternating between sexy scenes and discipline scenes and rest-of-our-lives scenes. I woke up this morning and ate a piece of pie, and I thought, it’d be kinda cute if Daphne caught Mary doing that, and then I had that conversation in my head just imagining how these two characters I’ve developed would have it, knowing who they are pretty well and that at the center of their dynamic is the fact that they are cutely-to-the-point-of-makes-me-jealous in love. An hour later, posted what I wrote.

Maybe I just write women well. Ironic given how unpleasantly single I am ...

1 hour ago, Sarah Penguin said:

They should not get a stupendously loud fan to try to increase the heating of the fireplace.  Thought it will be painfully loud enough in the morning in front of the fireplace to distract from somewhat off resultant diaper area smells it's too loud so it will only get used once and forgotten about.   They should instead maybe get a diaper pail for next to the fireplace just in case. Remove diaper, wipe diaper area, and toss them into the pail.  *nodsnods*

Word to the wise: keep diaper pails away from heat sources ??

[Alex Bridges]

Scene #62

 

“Alright. Get your buns outta the corner,” Mary instructed me. I shuffled over with my pants already around my ankles as Mary sat down. I hadn’t worn jeans in a while. If you think they feel tight after sweats for weeks, well, they’re even tighter in a bunch around your ankles, Mary having done the honors of taking them down herself. I got to her side, and she used her eyes to direct me over her knee. You’d think I’d have gotten graceful at that by now, but she’d pulled a dining chair out, and my jeans were stuck, and I just sorta did a trust fall Mary was generous enough to break for me.

“Do you know why you’re getting this spanking?”

“No.” SMACK!

“Over my knee is probably not the best time to be a smartalek, Daphne Ann. Why are you getting this spanking?”

“But I don’t know! You didn’t tell me.”

“Of course I did. What did I say?”

“You said, ‘Daphne Ann, get your naughty butt in the corner and wait for me.,’ and took my pants down.”

“And what else did I say?”

“You didn’t! You just left for ten minutes and came back with the chair and the paddle.” And I’m (mostly) positive I didn’t do anything to deserve the paddle. “What did I do?”

“You ... ... sit up.” I sat up and pivoted so I was sitting on her knees. “You ... cripes, what did you do?” Mary was making her thinking face. Every time I make that face lately I get accused of pottying in my pants.

“You mean you don’t even remember?” Her turn to blush. The only time Mary blushes is when she’s embarrassed by my alleged misbehavior in public. “Ya can’t take back a spanking, Mary!” My butt almost got executed, and she didn’t even know why!

“Well, you’re finding so many ways to misbehave lately.” She has a guilty-embarrassed-forgive-me grin on her face.

“I am ...” I was going to say ‘not’ but I didn’t wanna risk refreshing her memory. Or my own; I was developing some theories as to what I might’ve done, but I wasn’t sure Mary knew about and didn’t know about. Not that I had more than three (or so) different streams of naughtiness going on, but that I had some things that could be misperceived as naughtiness before they fully unfolded. So instead, I said, “Well, it couldn’t have been that bad if you can’t even remember.”

“I’m sorry. Guess it wouldn’t be fair to paddle you now.”

“No it would not ... I’m sorry for it ... or I would be if I knew what it was.”

“You’re ... forgiven?” 

“Well,” I said, “this is kinda awkward.” I wasn’t sure I’d ever not been spanked once Mary put me over her knee; talking her out of a butt reddening is like talking a cat into a bathtub. Your chances of success are almost nonexistent and you’ll probably end up chasing it all over the house and ending up all wet.

“So what do we do now?”

“I vote for letting me pull my pants back up.”

“Daffy, that’s a terrible idea. Then I couldn’t see your butt in your cute little undies.”

“Urgh. Fine.” I got up and muttered, “Almost spanks me for no reason and I’m the one who loses pants privileges...” while I hopped one-footed trying to get my stupid jeans off. “What are they even caught on!” Thunk. That would be me sit-falling. That’s where you sorta sit/sorta fall, but the important thing is you land on your butt none the worse for the experience. I’m pretty good at that, not that I’ve had more than the average person’s practice...

“Hahahaha! Hold still,” Mary said, getting off her chair and onto her knees. “Lay back.” She took the cuff of the stuck pant leg and managed to wrestle it off, taking the sock it’s been stuck on with it.

“I’m good at other things,” I defended myself.

“Besides dressing yourself? Who’s that on our undies?”

“The blonde chick who lets everything go.” She’s kinda flaky like that. I mean, geez take a stand on something, anything.

“Elsa,” Mary informed me.

“How do you even know that?”

“Everybody knows that, Daffy.”

“We didn’t even see that movie.”

“Still, everybody knows. Here.” She handed me my sock back. “Can you do it yourself?”

Know who needs her butt paddled? Mary. For attempted spanking without a reason, snarky remarks, and possibly seeing movies without me. Sure, Mary would hafta to paddle me nude in the lobby of the theater to get me to see a Disney musical, but not the point ...

“Now what,” I asked as I put my sock back on (all by myself!).

“Go check the mail.”

“Marrrry! ... Are you okay?”

“Of course.”

“Are you sure? You never forget a punishment. What gives?” I mean, I almost certainly did something; for all I know, I could still be in the middle of doing it. Whether it deserved a spanking is another matter, but I must’ve done something. Mary has kinda an encyclopedic memory of my misdeeds. It’s like an oral history of (allegedly) bad behavior. I guess we can add “historian” to all the titles Mary has that begin with “oral.” (That was inartfully put, but it still works and I should know.)

Mary shrugged. “Hard to focus today.”

“Why?”

“I guess everything just caught up to me. It’s Christmas time, and it doesn’t feel like Christmas. I was kinda counting on Christmas to end the year on a high note.”

Just now catching up to her? I knew it had caught up to her before, like her sudden obsessiveness about my health, but I guess it comes in waves. 2020 can kiss all the asses.

“Well, it’s only been Christmas time for a couple days,” I reminded her.

“I know. It’s just ... it feels different.”

“Because we didn’t go to the tree lighting at city hall ... So let’s do something Christmasy. We can decorate ... or what about getting our pajamas on and watching a movie? You can even pick out the movie.”

She smiled her thanks-for-trying-to-make-me-feel-better smile and nodded just a little. Mary doesn’t get out of sorts often. Granted, she’s a Christmas fiend, but I think something else was really bothering her. It was kinda like a role reversal, where Mary was the one who was so bothered by something she got herself all turned around. I had an idea what it was, but if Mary didn’t wanna talk about it, at least for the moment I would let it go. I’d make her talk about it if she didn’t in a day or two.

Still, you’re only ever as happy as your Mary (who’s only ever as happy as me). I had a thought and went ahead of her to the bedroom while she put the chair and paddle away, intending to make a little surprise of myself for her.

“Daffy,” she called out when she came in behind me and didn’t see me. “What are you doing in the corner?”

“I remembered what I did.”

“What?”

“I fell behind on my quota.”

“Huh?”

“Mrs. Claus, I’m very sorry for not being a good worker elf. I’ll try o so much harder tomorrow if you don’t paddle me too hard. But please o please don’t spank me hard, Mrs. Claus, o pretty please?”

Mary bit her lip and made her you’re-so-sweet-I-wanna-love-you-to-pieces smile and walked up to me and put her hands on her hips. She stood purposefully close to me to make me feel smaller looking up at her. 

“I’m proud of you for being honest with me, um, what’s your name again, little elf?”

“Teacup.” She held in a snort. It’s just the first cute word that came to mind.

“I’m proud of you for being honest with me, Teacup, but we have a quota to make, as you well know. Would Santa let you off easy if he were here?”

“No, Ma’am.” Wonder what happened to him anyway.

“No. Now come get your elfin’ butt over my lap.” I did as Mrs. Claus told me to, and she leaned over and got the (other) paddle off my nightstand. I’m not even sure how many we have. She tapped it on my butt a few times.

SMACK!

“Eep!”

“Now, do you want to tell me why you didn’t make your quota today?”

“I got distracted.”

“And what did you get distracted by?”

“Um, candy?” A very believable reason for anybody who knows Teacup.

“Is that the only reason?” SMACK!

“Um, drinking on the job?”

“That’s a fib.”

“It is?” 

“Uh-huh. I know the real reason.” Ruh roh. There was a fifty-fifty chance I wouldn’t care for her reason.

“I know,” she told me, “what the other elves call you behind your back.”

“They’re always talking about me and saying mean things ... it makes it very hard to focus on my toys.”

“Do you want to tell me what they call you?” SMACK!

“Um ...”

“I know it’s an embarrassing nickname, but you can tell me. I already know.”

“They call me ‘Spanky,’ ma’am.” I thought that was a pretty good guess at what se was thinking.

“Do they call you that, too? I heard they call you ‘Puddles.’”

“Aww m...” SMACK!

“I’d think very hard about appropriate elf language if I were you.”

“Muffin basket?”

“Ha! Good choice.” SMACK! “I think that’s enough spanking.”

“But what would Mr. Claus say? ... God rest his soul.” Yep, I killed off that jolly judgmental bastard in our little role play universe. “Woah!” Mrs. Claus has ninja skills, like flipping me over. And condescending skills, like pinching my chin between her thumb and forefinger.

“Well, Ms. Piddles...”

“I thought it was ‘Puddles?’”

“O, you have lots of nicknames. I think the most effective way to ensure you meet your quota is to solve your puddle piddling problem with some pampers for that cutie patootie of yours, which is so elfin’ adorable.”

“A worker in diapers on an assembly line. I didn’t know they made iPhones at the North Pole.”

“(SNORF!) Let’s get you in your diapee and go pick out that movie.” I got a kiss and a thank you.

“Does it feel like Christmas yet?”

“It feels like something. Thanks for being my naughty little elf.”

“Thanks for being my hardass sweatshop owner ... and I said you could pick out the movie. You do that, and I’ll make cocoa.”

“If you insist ... Teacup?” She had that I’m-gonna-make-you-blush grin n her face.

“Yeah?”

“You know you can always come talk to me about your tinkle problems when the other elves make funna you?”

I did blush, and I got her meaning, and maybe that would be cute some time and a nice treat for her, but her other point is what I chose to respond to. “I know,” I said. An then I kissed Mrs. Claus. Ya know, if I ever caught mommy kissing Santa Claus when I was a little kid, I wouldn’t have cared. But if I had caught her kissing Mrs. Claus, I’d probably still be working those feelings out.

“You know that when something is bothering you, you can always tell me too, right, even if you’re not sure what it is,” I reminded her.

“I know.” And I got a kiss, from Mary.

“You don’t hafta to be brave all the time. Just because you’re the boss doesn’t mean you can’t be vulnerable, too.”

“O, sweetheart, I know. Can we talk about it tomorrow?”

“Whenever you’re ready.”

“Thanks.” She went and got what she needed to make me a more efficient elf and got to work putting it on me. “Ya know,” she said, “I’m not sure what I put you in the corner for, but it must’ve been something. I gotta punish you at least a little.”

“That’s not fair.”

“Well, if I remember later, I’m going to hafta punish you like I was about to.”

“And if you punish me a little now and remember later?”

“Then you’ll already have been punished.”

“I take it back. That’s very fair.” She’s such a fair boss. Not like that bitch Mrs. Claus, who now that I think about it should’ve spanked all the bully elves for calling me things and slandering the proud name of Teacup instead of making me work in a diaper.

“I’m glad you agree,” she said as she sealed the last tape. “For your punishment, tomorrow you will assemble an elf costume for yourself spending no more than twenty dollars.”

“Hehe! A sexy elf costume?”

“I think it should do double duty as sexy and for our Christmas card.”

“We never send out a card.”

“We do this year. New tradition.”

“K. Can I assemble a ‘Mrs. Claus’ outfit for you?”

“You’re just a glutton for punishment,” she said and tapped my nose. I like nose taps.

“Mary?”

“Yeah, Daffodil?”

“Merry Christmas.” Ooh, that got me all the kisses.

It looks like Mary takes care of me, but that’s not true. We take care of each other.

[Sarah Penguin]

[Alex Bridges]

Scene #63

 

It could be worse. She could’ve tied me down. This is what I think to myself with my wrists secured to a spreader bar that’s securing my ankles. At least I’m face up, getting to inspect our ceiling, enduring my double super secret timeout.

And I don’t think I did anything to deserve it. I mean, other than what I did to get myself deposited in timeout. All I said was, “Dammit, Mary.” Which kinda deserves a double super secret timeout.

Or maybe ‘said’ isn’t the right word. Whined, pouted, moaned, cursed. Any of those would work. My coming to agree with those descriptors, and admitting I had a ‘tone’ and an ‘attitude’ and a ‘bitchy demeanor’ are proof that this timeout did, as my wise Mary must’ve known it would, show me the error of my ways. Mary knows things. That’s what she does: she bedevils me, and she knows things. The two are often closely intertwined.

And having learned my lesson, surely my timeout should’ve been over. I learned it probably within the first twenty minutes, and that was four hours ago. I think. I was hallucinating for part of that. 

The rules for the spreader bar timeout are different than for other timeouts. I’m allowed to move. I just can’t move much, and if I move too much I’ll fall off the bed. That rule variation helped at first. Mary put my paci in my mouth, so after the fist hour I occupied my time by spitting it up into the air and trying to catch it. I never did manage that, but it was something to do. But then around hour seven it landed on the floor. 

For the next nine hours, I occupied myself doing core exercises. I struggled to my feet, flopped forward, and did it backward. Maybe eight hundred reps? I’ma be sore tomorrow. So that made me sleepy, and I napped for a day and a night.

I’m not allowed to talk in regular timeout, but I can be a regular chatterbox in the spreader bar. I sang Gilbert and Sullivan’s best hits, all of Jesus Christ Superstar, Rent, and all of Puccini’s operas. That filled in a couple days but made me thirsty. That’s when the hallucinations started.

First I was turtle someone had flipped over. Then I was in a magical land called Turtleville, and all the turtles who walked by (slowly) told me I deserved to be flipped over if I was gonna wear diapers like an otter, which made perfect sense to hallucinating me and makes no sense now. 

That’s when I turned into an otter, on my back ready to eat dinner off my tummy, but there was no dinner. That’s when I turned into dinner. I was relieved when the bears didn’t want to eat me, because apparently bears won’t eat anything that wears a diaper, but then I felt left out because I think I’m good enough to eat no matter what.

I said as much, which attracted the attention of the smallest bear, and they can be just The Worst.

“No,” I pleaded. “Please!”

“No,” the bear asked. “Why not?” Such a mean bear. It was hairless, and it said stuff to me like, “You wanna stay in timeout, you silly goose?” 

“Mary! Don’t let them eat me!” Oo, if anyone can save me from the bears. Even if she was tickling my feet.

She scortled at me. “Wake up.” 

Huh?

I opened my eyes and checked the room for bears, and I just saw the small evil one sitting on my dresser, inert.

“Did you have a good nap?”

“There were ... bears.”

“It was just a dream.”

“It was a hallucination. How long have I been up here? Did I miss Christmas?”

“Such a silly Christmas goose, plenty of time to fatten you up for our Christmas dinner.”

I didn’t respond to that for a moment in case this was Chapter 4 of my hallucination and I was about to turn into a goose. Only when I was sure I was in the clear did I say, “I’m sorry I was bad.”

Mary grimaced at me. “You were not bad, Daffy. You just made a bad choice. Did you learn anything while you were up here?”

Other than that I know all the words to ‘Modern Major General’? “Don’t whine.”

“Yep. I’m sorry you got frustrated, but I don’t appreciate you whining at me and using a swear word to do it.”

“I know. I know better. Sorry.”

“If I tell you don’t need a change, you just need to wait.”

“But ... sorry.”

“You were barely wet.” Which was true then but not now.

“It was cold.” That was the real point. It was clammy and seriously uncomfortable.

“How could it be cold? It’s the same temperature as your body.”

“I took it down to, you know ... you do know, right?”

“Yeah, I can guess.” Mary shouldn’t get to roll her eyes. That should exclusively be my right as the bratty sub.

“And then I slid it back up,” I told her.

“Ah. Well, there’s a couple ways to fix that.”

“Does one of them involve me peeing more?”

“Yep. The other one involves ...”

“You’re not allowed to say it!”

“I married the silliest goose.”

“May I get up now?”

“Yep, but first I’m going to feel you up.”

Which she did. Well and thoroughly.

“Hmm,” she smirked, “doesn’t feel cold now, and you definitely need changed. Was your dream that scary?”

“Marrryyy!”

“Fine, I’ll unlock you ... after I change you.”

“Can I have panties!”

“No way.”

“Why not ... I asked not whinily?”

“Because you’re already in diaper changing position, so secretly you must really want another one.”

“But ... urgh ... hmmmph,” I mumbled and let my head fall back to the mattress. I missed the bears. They were so much more forthright in their torture of me.

“You should be grateful I even let you use the spreader bar after the brattitude you gave me,” Mary said as she emerged from the closet with a new diaper and wearing her I’m-gonna-gaslight-you-even-though-we-both-know-it-because-it-makes-you-go-urgh smirk.

“Urgh!” See? You see what she does?

She sat down next to me and started giving me some pretty solid thumps on what’s not quite my bottom and not quite my front. “What am I gonna find when I open this diaper?”

“Pee,” I didn’t pout.

“I know that, sweetheart. I have lots of experience checking for peepee in your pampers. I meant what else will I find?”

“Just pee.”

“I won’t find princess parts?”

“O, well, Mhmm.”

“And this princess- is she chaste and pure?”

“Muh-ha! I mean, um, she’s been very chaste, but it gets harder everyday ... And she, um, has so many questions.”

“That just won’t do. No no no.”

“No?”

“No. I will not have a chaste princess in this house. I’ll just have to teach her some things while I’m changing her diaper.”

Ooo, conflicted. “I’ll be a good student.”

“I know you will, and I’ll let you out as soon as your lesson is over.”

“Can it be dinner time after?”

“Daphne, it’s not even lunch time yet. You’ve only been up here an hour.”

[YourFNF]

On 12/1/2020 at 9:05 PM, Alex Bridges said:

No. I will not have a chaste princess in this house. I’ll just have to teach her some things while I’m changing her diaper.”

Ooo, conflicted. “I’ll be a good student.”

“I know you will, and I’ll let you out as soon as your lesson is over.”

“Can it be dinner time after?”

Can.... Can I be taught things? OwO

[Alex Bridges]

2 hours ago, YourFNF said:

Can.... Can I be taught things? OwO

Well, you already got your skirt unbuttoned like you’ve been reading ahead in the text. Are you an eager ? for some learnin’?

[Sarah Penguin]

[YourFNF]

11 hours ago, Alex Bridges said:

Well, you already got your skirt unbuttoned like you’ve been reading ahead in the text. Are you an eager ? for some learnin’?

Yesh ???

[Alex Bridges]

Scene #64

 

Q4 is Mary’s busiest time of year. I don’t really understand why that is, but then I don’t really understand what it is she does. I just know I’d gotten used to her leaving her desk during what I derisively call “business hours” to come and talk with me or hang out or even do stuff since COVID started. I worked hard to get her to do that and not sit at her computer for nine straight hours. I even suffered an almost-concussion for my efforts. But Mary is super responsible, and when she needs to be at her desk, that’s where she is, even if it means she doesn’t get her steps in or eats well or gets to do anything else besides work and sleep.

And she won’t admit it, but I know why she’s been acting kinda funny (because she told me, because I’m a great interrogator with skills like asking her what’s bothering her and her telling me, which seems easy but is also the definition of a great interrogator) and burying herself in her work even more than usual for the time of year. I mean, she’ll admit what’s bothering her but won’t admit it’s having any impact on how she’s acting: she thinks this might be her grandparents’ last Christmas, and she doesn’t think we’ll get to see them in person for it.

Packed into that little sentence is all the anxiety and fear and guilt the ever responsible, always confident, but just-as-real-and-vulnerable-as-the-rest-of-us Mary feels. She wants to be everything to everyone: the perfect wife, the perfect domme, but also the perfect daughter and the perfect granddaughter. If I’m pathologically eager to please, Mary is pathologically driven to be all things to all people. If I wear my emotions on the outside and in so many places I lose them from time to time, Mary keeps her negative emotions inside. She lets me see them. Just me, which is one of the ways I know we’re made for each other and a reassurance that our marriage’s emotional labor is not all on her. But when it’s an emotion not easily processed, when there’s not easy solution to what’s behind it, Mary sometimes doesn’t share. I don’t know if it’s because she doesn’t want to admit there’s something she can’t solve (she’s not always good at admitting that) or because she just wants to ignore the emotion until it passes. But Mary isn’t the kind of person who can just ignore an emotion until it goes away. And anyway, emotions never go away if they don’t get shared. You may forget them or get used to them, but they don’t go away.

So she’s been using work to distract herself and not acting like her usual self. I think she’s feeling guilty, and I know from experience what a toxic emotion that is, especially when you didn’t do anything wrong and especially when there’s no way to expiate the guilt. When I feel that way, all I need to do is tell Mary, and down my shorts go so she can expiate the crap outta my bare ass (that’s where the guilt exits from, apparently). Mary doesn’t have that option.

I’ve been doing what I can to get her away from her computer and thinking about what’s good about this Christmas instead of just what’s sad, and failing that, she always feels better at least for a bit after swinging a hard, flat object at my butt. I’m happy to be her sacrificial ass, and if she won’t just do it because it makes her feel better, I’ll brat until I push her over the edge and she pushes me over her knee. It doesn’t resolve the emotion, but it at least relieves some stress for her and makes us both feel, well, a whole range of good feelings. Sometimes feeling better just for a little while is all we can hope for, and the little whiles add up until for one reason or another, we’re fine again.

It was when I couldn’t brat hard enough, no matter what, to get her to give me more than some token swats that I got worried and called in an expert. Lisa, Jane’s big.

“If bratting isn’t working, maybe try the opposite and be super sweet,” Lisa suggested.

“I thought I was being super sweet.” I’ve been doing every chore, getting up earlier than her to make her a real breakfast, making her have dinner at the kitchen table, giving her foot rubs, running her baths. I even laid out her choice of spanking implements and included the bathbrush! She just used her hand and didn’t even make me sniffle before declaring I’d learned my lesson and telling me never to hide her phone again, which I only did so she’d stop staring it all evening waiting for work emails that never came.

“Maybe she doesn’t want all that.”

“Well, you’re a domme,” I said, “what would you want?”

“I’m a mommy-domme. I’m not into the whole slave thing.” I’ve never seen Jane lift a finger, but then how often do you see your friends doing chores while you’re at their homes. I mean, unless it’s a party or something and they’re being a host.

“Neither is Mary. I’m just trying to do nice things for her.”

“You’re the nice thing that makes her feel better,” Lisa told me. It felt like we were going in circles.

“Normally, yeah.” Many is the time Mary arrived home after a bad day and tossed me over her lap, sometimes with the pretext of some misbehavior and sometimes just exercising her prerogative to spank my butt for any reason or none at all. “Maybe she’s bored of the discipline.”

“Maybe she doesn’t want to be a domme right now.”

“But ... she is! That’s who she is.”

“That’s not all of who she is.”

“Well of course it isn’t.” Lisa was not being helpful. I considered wrapping up the conversation and calling Brenna instead.

“I’m saying maybe she’s feeling more like a mommy than a domme right now, Daphne.” 

Okay, firstly, that’s not what Lisa said. Secondly, “Mary is not my mommy.” Thirdly, “And I’m not a little.”

“I know! I know,” she said like she was backpedaling and humoring me at the same time. So tired of people humoring me about my alleged littleness. “But ...”

“ ... Yeah?”

“Jane says you told her Mary referred to herself as a big not that long ago.”

“Finally, I mean, like, was she ever going to admit it?” There was a moment of silence on the other end of the phone, broken by what may have been audible eye-rolling and muttering. No idea what may have prompted that. Certainly couldn’t have been something I said. Really. Maybe Jane did something? Anyhoo...

“So maybe she’s feeling more like a big than a domme right now,” Lisa ventured.

“And I practically put myself over her knee.” What was Lisa’s point? It’s not like I handed her a hundred feet of rope and told her tie me up until she felt better.

“Seriously, Daphne Ann, you can be so singleminded sometimes.”

“But that’s what Mary does when she’s stressed!”

“But that’s not all that bigs do. When I get stressed, I just want to cuddle with Jane.”

“We do that all the time.”

“As her wife.”

“I am her wife.”

“So if she’s a big ...”

“But ... what’s the difference?”

“It’s ... it’s hard to explain. Just try it.”

I had no idea what I was even supposed to try. “Try what?”

“Dial up the adorability and let her take care of you.”

“But ...”

“She’s takes care of you in more ways than smacking your bottom for you. Let her take of you. Speaking of, we’re having a little night. It’s Jane’s bedtime. I have to run.”

Jane and Lisa must take bedtime on a little night seriously, because it was only 7:30. And dial up the adorability? I am adorable! It gets me in trouble, being so adorable. 

And how is taking care of me going to make Mary less frazzled? I’m trying to take responsibilities off her plate, not add to them.

And so maybe Mary was feeling more like a big than a domme. We’re spankos! Discipline and being a big go hand in hand. I mean, if it weren’t for how embarrassed it makes me, would Mary even do the other big stuff? I mean ... would she? It’s always been so tied to the erotic humiliation thing. I know she likes me cute, but she likes me blushy and cringing at the same time. Most of the time. So it ... seems. But fine. It won’t hurt to try it once, whatever it is. 

My confusion, I decided, is proof I’m not a little or middle. Jane is a little. I’m sure she would just know what to do to make a big feel enough warm-fuzzies to pull their mind away from their troubles for more than ten minutes. She’d just know and do ... something. Just do what Jane does. Except how does coloring a picture and asking to have the crusts cut off my sandwich help?

All I could think of was it being Jane’s bedtime. She and Lisa were probably snuggling before she turned the lights off. She’d be wearing one of her pairs of little jammies, and when she’s being little she sleeps with her bear. Into my closet I went to search for a good stand in for little jammies, and I emerged with a pair of Christmas footie pajamas. Mary has a matching pair (they were purchased during our disgusting-new-couple period; we alienated a lot of people with the lovey-dovey stuff). Maybe she should find hers some time, but not the night for it. 

I eyed the toy chest hard before I closed the closet door. Nope, I decided. If it was going to cater to Mary’s bigness by pretending to be a little or middle or whatever, I could do it just as easily in panties. 

As for the other props, after I changed into the PJs I got Jamie off the dresser. It’s hard not to anthropomorphize a teddy bear; it’s just so ingrained culturally. But it’s just a teddy bear, and it isn’t sad because no one ever pays it any attention. This wasn’t, I assured myself, Jamie’s best day ever.

And in getting Jamie off the dresser, I knocked Mary’s pacifier onto the floor. Like so many other things Mary got to afflict me, the pacifier is hers, and since this was all about her, I put it between my lips voluntarily for the first time ever.

Footie pajamas, teddy bear, paci. So I guess it is possible for me to dial up my innate adorability. Still, looking at myself in the mirror, this felt a little desperate. My instinct told me the way to make Mary feel better was to leave the bear and take the paddle and let Mary take out some stress on my buttcheeks before snuggling with me, but if Lisa’s a big and Mary really is a big, and if offering my butt hadn’t gotten the desired reaction yet, maybe Lisa knew something I didn’t. 

That thought triggered a whole other set of thoughts that freaked me out. Why didn’t I understand this about Mary? Had Mary told things to Lisa I didn’t know? And why wasn’t Mary interested in spanking me? I mean, she’d done it since her little funk set in, but she didn’t put her all into it, and it didn’t have the anti-stress properties that particular form of exercise normally has. Why? And spanking me is a way Mary takes care of me, so if what Mary needed was something to take care of, why didn’t that do the trick? Was spanking me not fun for her anymore? What it a chore now?

Good thing I’m not insecure (?). Really ...

Or at least good thing I’m not self-centered. My insecurities could wait. Mary’s needs first. 

I walked downstairs feeling like I was part of a real-world experiment to test Lisa’s hypothesis: does Mary just need a little girl to take care of? 

It made less sense to me the closer I got to Mary’s office. My instinct was to do more for her, not get her to do more for me. Hence the chore doing, meal making, and wellness monitoring I’d been doing. This seemed backwards, to say nothing of muddying up my message, even if it never seems to get through, that I’m not a little. I don’t have a little personality or persona, and I don’t like the things littles like.

Mary was at her computer with the lights off. Typical Mary, straining her eyes in service of ... whatever it is she does. 

“Mary?”

“Yeah?”

I probably should’ve thought of something to say after that. All I came up with on the spot was, “Um...”

“What is it, sweetie,” Mary asked when she turned toward me. She probably couldn’t see well going from the computer to the dark room, so I turned on the light. Then she really couldn’t see well.

“Sorry,” I said. “I ...” 

Remember Daphne? The woman who had crawled under that very desk to proffer cunnilingus without even being asked? The woman who gets spanked in public? The Daphne who, the last time she was worried about Mary working too much, pretended to be a lawn servicer and got instructed (reamed) by the lady of the house in our backyard?

I bring this up by way of pointing out that at least around Mary, I’m not shy. I may be super easy to embarrass, and I may be modest on certain subjects, but having walked into her office wearing nothing before, I certainly didn’t expect to feel shy walking in wearing footie pajamas and carrying a bear. I blame the bear. That, and Mary’s expression. I have a mental catalogue of those, and she has as many expressions under the “Daphne is adorable” header as linguists have words for the parts of speech, but this was a new one. Like sure, she thought I looked adorable, but something else was in her face and in her eyes and behind that smile.

She got up from her chair and crossed the room, taking the hand that wasn’t holding the bear and brushing my hair away from my face even though it wasn’t in my face. “You okay,” she asked me, softly and quietly.

“Mhmm.”

“What’s this all about?”

I shrugged. It was a truthful answer. There were other answers that were equally truthful, but I didn’t know what this was all about. I didn’t get it. Again, my instinct was to turn it into a scene, to brat and say something like, “I don’t care of it is my bedtime! Bedtimes are stupid,” and kick off some role play. But I didn’t.

“C”mon, sweetie.” And why was she talking in a tone she usually saves for when I’ve been bawling? She flipped the light back off and led me to the living room, where she sat down and pulled me into her lap. That, I was used to. She got a blanket and spread it over us, guided my head to I was resting on her chest, and pulled my legs across her’s. She pet my hair for a minute, just like that.

“What’s this all about, hmm,” she asked again.

I shouldn’t have felt nervous. We snuggle all the time. I sit in her lap all the time. She holds me all the time. She comforts me all the time. All the time, we do pretty much what we were doing, and we do it when I’m an emotional wreck and when there’s no reason other than we’re in love and physical affection junkies, both of us.

So why did this feel different? I’ve thought a lot about it, and what I came up was this.

It didn’t feel different because I brought down the bear and the pacifier.

It didn’t feel different because it came from me thinking about how a little would do this.

It didn’t feel different because Mary was holding me extra tight, though she was, and being quiet and gentle, though she was being those things too.

And it didn’t feel different because I was giving Mary a hug to make her feel better. Hundreds of times I’ve done that over the years, and thousands more times will I do it again.

“Hmmm,” Mary asked a third time, “what’s all this about? Can you try to use your words?”

“I wanted ...”

“You can tell me, baby.” Being shy wasn’t the problem. Not being sure what I wanted is why I didn’t finish the sentence.

“Are you happy right now?”

Mary didn’t say anything, and her hand in my hair paused. Which didn’t help with my nervousness. I think I held my breath until her hand started stroking me again. “I’m very happy right now.”

“That’s what I wanted.”

“(Sniff). Such a good girl. (SNIFF!)

“We’re gonna make it a good Christmas, Mary. It’s gonna be our best yet.”

“It will be,” Mary said.

“Remember what I said at the beginning of the pandemic?”

“What’s that?”

“That if you take of me, and I take care of you, everything will be fine.”

“You’re so smart, Daffy. And so kind and so beautiful inside.” I guess I sound like she sounded just then, all the times I’m just barely holding in the tears.

“If I take care of you, will you take care of me?”

“Forever and always, Daphne Ann.” I got a kiss on my head, the slow, gentle, quiet kind against my hair, and the gentle rocking of my Mary. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For being my little girl.”

Which was great and all, but I still didn’t exactly get how I missed that’s what she needed and Lisa just seemed to know it. And Mary was still being sniffly and kept losing a tear here and there. “You can cry if you need to. Now, or whenever,” I told her. Not my exclusive right, and certainly doesn’t make her any less of my domme. She’s that and a million other things, no less the amazing warrior-queen she’ll always be to me.

I could feel her holding her breath, waiting for her diaphragm to stop cramping so the sob could pass. She took in air again in a halting breath.

Not that I was trying to make her cry, but I kinda was (definitely was) if that’s what it took to get her to get all the feelings out. That wasn’t part of my plan, but I barely had a plan to begin with. I of all people should know when someone needs a good cry. I said to my Mary, “It’s brave to let it out.” It’s another way of asking for help; that’s what my parents taught me, and that’s what Mary more or less has said to me many times before, and it’s true. It takes guts to ask for help.

And she did let it out. Had that been part of my plan, I presumably would’ve planned for her to squeeze me so hard when she did. I tried to sit up to she could put her head on my shoulder for a change, but she kept me where I was and leaned forward so her head was resting on mine. And of course if Mary was gonna cry, so I was I. I don’t do so well around other people crying, but Mary crying? Fuggedaboutit. Done.

She didn’t cry long (nowhere near my record - she didn’t even wail or get snot on me; I’m definitely the household champion at crying). We sat quietly for a bit, until Mary gave me another kiss, a quick one this time, before she sat up and said, “It’s a little girl’s bedtime.”

I got off her so she could stand, holding her hand and the bear. “I’m not a little girl,” I yawned. “And I’m not going to bed unless you are, too.”

“You’re my little girl. My very bestest good little girl.”

“And you’re ...”

“What?”

“My Mary.”