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

[Alex Bridges]

 Technically it's still Tuesday so I'm not posting this later than I said. ? 

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Scene #69

 

Thanksgiving with my parents, Christmas with Mary’s. At least, that’s usually the plan. Sometimes we flip those, but with 2020 being the best fucking year ever we’re doing neither. I’m being churlish because we’re having a good Christmas, but still. Anyhoo, our much anticipated delivery was on its way, per my mom’s text. But first…

“Daphne, I need to see you in the living room please,” my Mary called for me. I was ninety percent sure I hadn’t done anything, but my butt makes up approximately ten percent of the surface area of my body and we all know how that works out sometimes. Yeesh!

“Coming,” I replied and made the trek from the other room. Can’t say I’d be entirely averse to getting a good butt beating because it’s been more than a week, but I like to know what I did so I can prepare myself for the whupping I got coming.

“Here,” Mary said and held out a tissue for me.

I took it, totally rolled my eyes, and asked, “Where?” Mary pointed at the little bug cowering in a corner. “Big fraidy cat,” I called her as I collected the thing. I can call Mary a big fraidy cat when I’m getting rid of bugs for her. ‘Bout the only time I have the high ground on who’s a nervous nelly. “What would you do if I threw it at you?” Like I didn’t know.

“Bathbrush your butt until it was blue, make you take a two-quart enema, and wrap you in a diaper until you pooped your pampers.”

“I’ll go get rid of this.”

“Good idea,” she winked at me.

I went to the door to let it go, and announced, “It’s here,” when I found the box on our porch. I picked it up and brought it into our living room, leaving it on the floor.

“Wipes,” Mary said like I had forgotten the ways of quarantine living. I went to the kitchen to get the clorox wipes so we could sanitize the box and whatever was inside. Mary got down on the floor with me, and we took did it together. It’s a weird way to open a box of Christmas gifts. It’s also the lesser of two evils, because bleach irritates my lungs. It’s never given me an asthma attack before, but it’s given me asthma symptoms. You think you’d build up some resistance to it after wiping down every box, bag, package, and letter to enter the house since March, but nope.

“There’s so many this year I remarked. Kuhf.”

“Go wash your hands, Daffy. I’ll finish.” I got up to wash the bleach off my hands. “And turn on the fan for a moment.”

We’re not allowed to open them until Christmas morning, per Mom’s rules. Not only am I a good rule follower, but I also believe in not opening Christmas presents until Christmas morning, except for the white elephants Mary and I do on Christmas eve. I washed my hands and headed back to the living room, passing Mary. She’d arranged all the boxes under the tree except for one on the coffee table.

“What’s this one,” I asked.

“Wait til I get back,” she called from the kitchen. When she came back, it was with a snack. “What’s the note say,” she asked and held the bowl or party mix toward me.

The outside of the envelop said, “NOT A GIFT” in my dad’s scrawl. I opened the note and read it aloud: “Merry Christmas to our Daffodil and favorite daughter-in-law.”

“Aww,” Mary said.

 

 

“We’ve been considering downsizing for a while now, and we’re leaning toward it. We’ll talk more about it after Christmas. But know that no matter where we live, it will always be your home, too.

“In the meantime, we thought you’d like some of your keepsakes from your bedroom. This isn’t everything, but they’re some of the most special. Or at least we think they are.

“We can’t wait to see you again in person. Mary, I told you the day you we met I expected you to take good care of my baby girl, and you’ve done that and more. Thank you a million times. I wish you every good thing in the world this Christmas and hope your family is well. Please tell your folks I says hi. I have no doubt the two of you are taking wonderful care of each other, and that Mary will give Daphne all the hugs we can’t give her this year.

“We’ll talk on Christmas day if not before.

 

 

“Be safe, merry Christmas, and watch out for deer,

Dad and Mom

 

 

“PS, Mom says to text her when you get the package. She’s doing that thing where she gets nervous stuff won’t arrive in time and get all flappy with her arms.”

 

 

“Your dad’s a sweetie,” Mary said and put her arms over my shoulder for a squeeze.

“I know.”

“Did he teach you to talk like that?”

“Guess it rubbed off.”

“You okay?”

“Yeah, just a bummer. I don’t like the idea of going home and it not being the house I grew up in. I know their house will always be my home, but not really the same. And … they’re downsizing because they’re getting older.” As much as I may be rather, ahem, obsessed with celebrating my birthday, that’s really just a celebration of me. I don’t like aging, I don’t like my parents aging. I don’t like the idea of my parents being old. I’m not sure if they are yet, but it’s not that far off when they could be.

“I know.” She gave me a kiss on my temple. “But we can’t let it get us down.”

“I tried to talk to them about moving out here, but they weren’t interested. They’re lived there their whole lives. Their friends are there. Greg; their grandkids. Sigh…”

“It’s not because they love you less.”

“I know that, silly. I get it, I just … want them to move here anyway, if they’re going to move anywhere at all. And Greg can come to. It’ll be like the Joads moving west.” I sat up and sighed again. “Truth be told, I might’ve moved back there if I didn’t meet you.”

“I don’t believe you,” Mary teased me. “You didn’t move back because of the Milwaukee winters.”

“Eh, those too. I knew I was different from the other girls back home when they told me I was a wimp for being so cold all the time. Plus I can’t drive on snow.”

“Weather, mean girls, driving on snow – any other reasons?”

“You. I was really thinking about it. I was only twenty-five still. Work was meh, as you may have noticed what with the med sticking with it until I was insufferable to be around.”

“You are happier. Took you a while to adjust. Your poor bottom,” she said and poked me in my ribs where I’m ticklish.

“Yeah, and thank you again for the telling me to quit and the keeping a roof over our heads. And feeding me. And putting up with my pandemic hobby obssessions.”

“Makes me happy you’re happy.”

“Hehmmm. I was this close, but I didn’t want to slink back to my hometown.” I took a deep breath and smiled. “And then you, and I had a reason to stay.”

“There’s no such thing as slinking back. There’s nothing special about people who like one place better than another. I like it there when we visit. I’d move there if you wanted to.”

It’s nice, especially during the months when you can go outside without the inside of your nose freezing. Don’t have that problem here, but we do have to deal with some disgustingly hot and humid days. Worth it, though, when I decide I’m cold and the temperature is still in the fifties.

“What wouldn’t you do for me?”

“Huh. I’ll get back to you on that. Do you want to move back, or think about it?”

I shook my head. “Not really. Just the pandemic talking. When we can travel again we can see them more … And our life is here, like theirs is there.”

“Yeah, the life we made together,” Mary said and kissed me on the temple. Those are some of my favorites. We sat quietly for a moment, just holding hands.

“Daphne? I really need to open this box, like right now.”

“Why? I mean, okay, but why?”

“Because I wanna see your childhood keepsakes. If you’re adorable now, like, whoah, what’s in the box?”

“We can open it. Just … let’s see what’s in there before you get your hopes up.” It’s not like Mary had never seen some of my things from my childhood. It’s just that Mom had intervened to stop Dad doing what dads do and embarrassing me by showing her the worst pictures and mementos. Couldn’t stop him from asking when we were gonna get married every time we saw them for the three and a half years between when I first introduced her to them and when we got engaged.

Mary dove into the box. I got some “oohs” and some “awws” and some “You were quite the little dish” when she saw my photos from freshman year of college (and such a pity, as I had no one to eat me yet). And then there was the, “Um, cute, in a … cute way.”

“I was a late bloomer!”

“O, and when do you think you’ll start blooming?”

“Grrr.”

“So your hair … and that’s a lot of …”

“Yes, dammit, yes! I was a ginger. Are you happy now? Are there any other secrets you want to take away from me?”

“Are you keeping secrets from me?”

“Um, no? Good girls don’t keep secrets from their wives.”

“Aww, good girl,” she said and pinched my cheek, which I decided to not take as patronizing.

“Heh. I am, aren’t I?”

“A very good girl.”

“And I evolved into a Day Walker, as you can see.” My hair turned more red than orange during that otherwise terrible time known as puberty, and my freckle forest faded to a few cuteness dots. Took ‘til damn near the end of puberty, but by the fall of my senior year of high school, saying I wanted to go to college somewhere sunny and warm no longer made people exclaim “But you’ll be immolated!” I wasn’t immolated, obviously, but I did spend that first fall walking verrrrrrry slowwwwwwwly lest I be overcome by the heat.

I was quite happily watching It’s a Wonderful Life after dinner when I roused from ruminating on how someone should’ve put a shiv in Mister Potter (like, fucking seriously) by that so familiar sound of my Mary calling out, “Daphne Ann, I need to see you right now, little girl,” in that I’m-only-doing-this-because-I-love-you tone she has. Not that I’m intimidated by her or that I’ve been trained to come a-scurrying when she sounds like that, but I didn’t dawdle. One might even say I cleared all the wickets in a single leap lest I tempt fate.

“Do you wanna tell me what this is all about,” Mary asked as she thrust a piece of paper at me. I took it, noting she’d spread a bunch of stuff from the box on the kitchen table.

“Um, my report card from the first semester of ninth grade.”

“And? Anything to tell me?”

“About …” She stood up and took my report card back.

“This, Daphne, this right here! You got a C in physics. Explain yourself, young lady.”

“Mary,” I chuckled. “Stop.”

“Am I laughing?”

“Um, no.” No, no she wasn’t. She was doing that thing where she’s conspicuously not laughing. I have a theory that means she’s cracking up inside, but I think that theory is only accurate sometimes. The other times she’s not laughing anywhere.

“Are C’s acceptable for someone as smart as you?”

“No.”

“So do you have an explanation, because what the teacher writes here is you didn’t finish your final project.”

“I had my reasons … probably.”

“This isn’t funny. When you brought this home, what did your parents say?”

“That they were disappointed … probably.” It was almost twenty years ago! I don’t remember the project, the teacher, how my parents reacted, or why I didn’t finish the project. Was starting to wish I had finished it, though.

“And did you get a consequence?”

“I think I might have been grounded for a couple weeks.” I mean, also probably. That’s the kind of consequence I got. Or maybe my car keys taken away after I got my license. Not that I was in trouble much. I really am a good girl (really). The time with the party in the woods with the cops was a one-time thing (even if only because the cops didn’t show up the other times).

“Well,” Mary said shaking her head, “how other parents choose to raise their kids is their business, but you’re mine now and I’m not at all satisfied you learned your lesson.” And with that she put the report card, which was practically an antique (!) down.

“Other what raising their who,” I tried to interject before she grabbed me by the elbow, held my arm out of the way and landed a zinger on the back of my leggings.

“Mary! Ow ow!”

“Move your hand this instant, young lady, you know better than to try to cover your butt.”

            “But-but-but OW! Marrrry!”

            “Stay,” she ordered me and crossed the kitchen to get the spoon out of the crock. She came right back, turned the kitchen chair around, and sat herself down in it. “I’m disappointed in you, Daphne.”

            “It was twenty years ago! You can’t spank me for something I did twenty years ago!”

            “Well if someone had then we wouldn’t be in this situation, would we?”

            “No, literally!” Urgh! Such bullplop! Statute of limitations! And double jeaopardy. I am a victim of so many injustices and I only enjoy, like, most of them.

            “You’re going back to school soon,” she lectured me as she whisked my leggings down and took my panties with them. “I might as well tell you now that you are getting straight A’s or so help me, you’ll be doing your homework in the corner with your naughty red bottom on display for the whole study group to see. Do you understand me?”

            “Yes.”

            “Over.” If you take the number of times I’ve been turned over Mary’s knees and multiply by the number of knees she has you get at least three – count em! – three spankings I didn’t deserve. “And don’t you dare try to cover your bottom again.”

            “This is ridic… ow ow ow ow ow could you slow ow ow OW! Mar-OW-y!”

            “A girl as smart as you (spank spank spank spank SPLAT!), that kind of laziness is not acceptable! I ought to call your teacher and let her know just how I dealt with you.” I’d actually really like to hear that conversation. Like, really.

            “YOW! Thighs Mary thighs eeeeeeeeee,” is a noise I make when she spanks me on my thighs with that spoon. Little oval welts that thing leaves without even putting much force into it.

            “I’ll physics you good!” Whack whack SPANK!

            “What does that even mean! OW!” She let fly with a bunch of stingers and then finished me off with two forceful wallops to the undercurve of my butt cheeks.

            “Are you going to not finish your school projects ever again?”

            “No!” Hmmph!

            “Am I ever going to see anything less than A on one of your report cards?”

            “Well if you keep looking in the box, you OW!”

            “In the future, little girl, or do you want to see what happens if you smart me right now?” Wow, what an ironic use of the word smart under the circumstances.

            “No, you won’t. I’ll get all A’s. I promise.” This whole schooling thing, by the way, being about seven months away; twelve if I decide not to go back until it’s safe for me to be in class in-person.

            She squeezed my butt and said, “Up.” I got off her lap and stood in front of her rubbing my butt. “Look down at your undies,” she instructed me. “Isn’t it embarrassing getting your bare bottom spanked and all those penguins seeing it?”

            Christmas penguin undies. They’re ice skating and wearing scarves. “Mhmm.” It’s always embarrassing getting spanked at ice skating parties. (Now there’s an episode to try to engineer in the future, with the leotards and the … mmmmmmmm).

            “Then you know how to avoid that in the future. I don’t care if the penguins and the ponies and the seahorses and all the characters on your undies know you still get spankings at your age. And if you need help with your classes or if the other boys and girls are bullying you, I’ll help you and we’ll talk to your teachers together, okay?”

            “Okay.” She may be joking about the other students (but then again, maybe not, because I’ll be the old lady in the class), but I knew she really would come with me to see professors if she thought it would help. If I didn’t think it would help or thought it was super embarrassing (which it would be, which is thirty to fifty percent of why she would do it), she’d be not so much with the interested in that opinion.

            “And Daphne Ann, you better believe I won’t hesitate to spank your bottom for you right there on campus if you need it.” Ooooo, with the mixed feelings and the tingling in my butt and the burning sensations. Ha!

            “I know the rule,” I said.

            “Tell me the rule then.”

            “Misbehave in public, get spanked in public.”

            “That’s right. On the spot, no waiting until we get home.” Or at least that’s the goal, because it’s important to correct misbehavior as soon as possible. Or twenty years later, apparently. Guess that was as soon as possible from Mary’s perspective. “Come here,” she said and stood up. I got my post-spanking hug, complete with an extra spank and some butt squeezes. She pulled my leggings back up for me. Just may have been too hot for penguins in there now.

            “Am I forgiven,” I asked.

            “Of course. You got your consequence, and you’re all forgiven.” Sigh… She likes me; I can tell. “It’s almost time to get ready for bed.”

            “You coming,” I asked.

            “Mhmmm.” I turned off the TV and admired our Christmas tree for a moment. We did a really good job. “Daphne Ann,” Mary said from the stairs, “little girls who just got spanked can’t be late for bed.”

            “Coming.” We held hands on the way up the stairs. “Mary?”

            “Mhmm?”

            “When you said the thing about the other parents raising their kids, that wasn’t …”

            “Just for headspace. I know I’m not your mommy.” She may be a big, but she’s not my mommy. We’ll figure out the difference later, but I’m sure there is one. She’s not my mommy; she’s my wife.

            “If my parents had spanked me for that bad grade, would you still have spanked me?”

            “Well, if you parents had spanked you growing up, I wouldn’t like them, for one. And no, I wouldn’t have. You’d have already been spanked for it.”

            I sat down on the bed. “But if I get spanked away from home by someone else, I get another from you when I get home.”

            “But that was your home back then. And still is.”

            “Your rules sometimes have very thin logic,” I informed her.

            “Did the penguins tell you to say that?”

            “Ha! … If I make a friend on campus, can I bring her home to meet you?”

            “Of course.”

            “Like maybe a twenty-two year old grad student with big glasses who wears her hair up and is barely getting by on her stipend and despite her sexual inexperience needs to be dissuaded from turning to sex work but has so much sexual energy she’s going to burst?”

            “Daphne, you are going to be in so much trouble if you find one of those and don’t bring her home. C’mon, get your jam-jams on.”

            “I can sleep in leggings. They’re clean.” That had the desired effect.

            “Some little girls,” Mary muttered and got pajama bottoms and a top out of my dresser.

            “Mary, did I really just get spanked for a bad report card?” I don’t often feel like a middle, but hehehehehe. Oof, that was fun.

            “You sure did. You got those little ovals on your butt to prove it.”

            “Maybe I should confess some other misdeeds to you from back in the day.”

            “O, like what,” she asked with that predator look she has while she took my leggings down for the second time in fifteen minutes.

            “You know how I was on the swim team?”

            “Mhmm. That helps explain this svelte little body of yours,” she said while tracing a finger down the sensitive side of my svelte little body.

            “Well, sometimes I didn’t practice as hard as I could have.” There, I confessed it.

            “Tsk tsk tsk,” Mary said as she laid down on the bed next to me.

            “And the coach, see, she never yanked me out of the pool dripping wet and spanked me in front of the whole team right on my one-piece.”

            “Not a two-piece?”

            “No, definitely a one-piece.” Because, um, I like stretchy one-pieces, for reasons and stuff. Like that leotard I’ll be wearing to that skating party when the pandemic is over and I figure out the logistics of scheduling a play party at a skating rink.

            “Well, your coach may have let that kind of behavior go, but I won’t. Tomorrow you’re going to learn a lesson about always trying your hardest.”

            “Aww, darn.” My whole tomorrow ruined (if I’m lucky).

            “’Darn’ indeed, little girl.”

            “I’m not a little girl.” I have twenty-year-old report cards to prove it.

            “Fine, you’re not a little girl. Now,” Mary said propping herself up on her hand, “about this sex we’re having tonight, should we get you in your nighttime diaper before or after?”

            That’s my Mary, queen of the smooth segue.

[Sarah Penguin]

[YourFNF]

Mean Mary punishing Daphe for something she can't even remember ??

 

[Alex Bridges]

8 hours ago, YourFNF said:

Mean Mary punishing Daphe for something she can't even remember ??

 

And creating a lot of mixed incentives for her future school performance in the process. I’d be bringing home an A-minus like a cat bringing home a mouse. 
 

“You’re in trouble. Stop smiling.”

”No.”

[YourFNF]

7 hours ago, Alex Bridges said:

And creating a lot of mixed incentives for her future school performance in the process. I’d be bringing home and A-minus like cat bringing home a mouse. 
 

“You’re in trouble. Stop smiling.”

”No.”

?

[Alex Bridges]

Scene #70

 

 

 

Christmas Eve is the most magical day of the year for people who like Christmas. You might think Christmas Day would be more magical, but nope. Christmas Eve wins by a North Pole mile because it’s packed with anticipation. Scientists know that the anticipation of something is usually better than the something itself, to which I say, word.

As for our Christmas Eve plans, we did what we usually do. We spend big parts of the day doing last minute stuff (Mary hadn’t wrapped any of my presents yet, and she thinks she’s the responsible one; cutting it close with my tribute – okay, presents – is not responsible at all). Then around three it’s time to dress for dinner. We’re pretty formal around here. Yeah, we wear our jammies, but they’re new and freshly laundered because we’re classy AF. We make dinner together, and somehow I always end up collecting all these butt swats every time one of crosses the kitchen, like the recipe says ‘stir frequently, swatting Daphne intermittently.” That would make a good recipe book. Bet we would get a TV show out of that.

After dinner, it’s present time. We save the real presents for Christmas morning. Christmas Eve is when we exchange white elephant gifts. For the uninitiated, those are gag gifts. Well, in our house some of them are gag gifts, but I guess if we use them they’re not entirely gag gifts. We turn on the fireplace, we pour (more) wine, we turn on Christmas music, we get all ready to open, and then Mary likes to pretend she’s not in a hurry and relaxes on the sofa in this really see throughable way. Yawning and sipping her wine and looking at her wrist like she still wears a watch even though she hasn’t in a decade, all because she likes to tease me by making me wait an extra two minutes. It works, too. It’s interminable!

This year she didn’t do that. Instead, we did the fire, wine, and music parts, and she got down on the floor in front of the fire and said, “Bring your basket, baby.”

“Aw, do I hafta?”

“Santa gets real-time reports, Daffy. You better be a good girl if you don’t want coal in your stockings.”

“I am a good girl,” I countered, “And Santa always takes your side,” I muttered as I got the basket of changing supplies that lives under the side table. “And it’s your basket,” I said to Mary, “and everything in it is yours too.” I set it down and sat down next to Mary.

“Fine,” Mary said, “it’s all mine, and so are you.”

“Heeee.” Well, yes.

“Lay back for me.”

“How are we gonna do this with me in footies?”

“Don’t worry your pretty little head,” Mary said as she unzipped the front of my footie pajamas. “This is the best present I’ve ever unwrapped,” Mary said as opened my jammies. “Arms out. Mmmm, such a pretty girl.” Her fingers and hands were teasing and tickling and squeezing, and then her lips were kissing and her hair was caressing my tummy as it brushed back and forth. “Mmmm. Maybe we don’t need to open presents tonight.”

“It’s not an either/or,” I reminded her.

“Some little girls are so singleminded around Christmas,” she accused me.

“You don’t mind my singlemindedness in other things,” I said, twirling some of her hair around my finger. I so got the rest of her wrapped around my finger, too. “And like you always say, my ability to focus on certain things is how you know I don’t have ADHD.”

“You’re just adorably random and delightfully impish.”

“Mhmm. Though we should find a word other than ‘impish’ for future use.”

“How about ‘elven’? A mischief elf.” I liked that. “Lift.” She got my pajamas down to my knees and got one of her diapers from the basket. “Now, I know how much you hate this, but you have to tolerate it. I made it myself.”

“You didn’t make a diaper.” She’s talented but not that talented.

“No, but I did decorate it. See? Your very own Christmas diaper. But the stars don’t disappear when you potty, so I’ll just have to reach into your pants every so often to check if you’re wet.”

“You can poke a finger into the leg band too, like with Milo … when he was still in diapers.” It’s hard being the only person in the family in diapers. Not that I’m in diapers. It’s … I’m guessing that’s how people who are in diapers feel. Not me. Really. Others. Those poor souls. Really.

“That tells if your diapee is wet, but it doesn’t tell me anything about how wet you are.”

“Ha! I mean, o.”

“The way you blush sometimes I’d think you were a virgin if I didn’t know better. Lift.”

“I’m just very modest,” I said as I opened and raised my knees and thrust my … parts in Mary’s direction for her to rub, or, um, apply whatever she, um, wanted to do to me. Rub on me. Apply! Which she did.

“Such a squirmy thing. Maybe I need to start giving you my keys to play with to keep you entertained while I’m doing this.”

“But I’m already entertained,” I protested and closed my eyes and bit my lip to make my protest more performative. Really. “I mean, no need. I’ll just -hhhh! – fffffff … Hey! You’re not done! I could get a rash, a terrible, terrible rash.” Who needs presents? We got plenty of stuff.

Mary just chuckled and wiped her hands on a baby wipe. She’s such a tease. Wonder that I’m as patient as I am to be able to endure this mistreatment; I must be a saint or something to be so patient. I’d ask the pope, but he and I aren’t on speaking terms. Really.

 She closed the thing over me and bade me, “Sit up.” She got my jammies back on me and did that thing where she brushes my hair away from my face and looked at me with her adoration eyes. Good thing I never look so dopey.

“Hmmmm,” she smiled at me.

“What?”

“You’re making Bambi eyes at me.”

“Am not! I just like having you around.” Not that I was trying to manipulate her into doing it (it was just a bonus) bu that got me one of those kisses that makes me go, “Ha hehehe!” when it’s over. Nope, I’m never dopey. Much too dignified and self-possessed for such gauche behavior. Queen Elizabeth herself wishes she could be as dignified as me. I told her all she has to do is lose the flowery hats, but she said they were part of her brand. Really.

“Wait here for me,” she said and dashed away. She was back very soon. “Turn around.”

“Why? What did you get?”

“Hair ties. Your hair is getting long enough to use these.”

I turned so I was facing the fire and said, “Because I haven’t had a real haircut since March.”

“Are you saying the haircuts I gave you were no good,” she said while gathering my hair into a pony.

“No, just that you won’t go as short as the stylist does.”

“Because I don’t want to bald you.”

“You’d still love me if I was bald … you like other parts of me bald.”

Her face appeared over my left shoulder. “You are about as modest as a toddler after bath time.” And she gave me a kiss on my cheek.

“Are you saying I’m not ladylike?”

“Of course not! You’ve got all the parts.”

“Ha!” I said it; I didn’t honk in case you ever hear that I make honking noises when Mary makes jokes. I only honk when she makes my heart go all a-flutter. Maybe that’s why she started calling me a silly goose. Also when she says ‘honk’ and I blow my nose after I’m done crying. But she made me cry, assuming I wasn’t crying already because I felt guilty. And in either case those don’t count. I’m not sure what they don’t count as, but they don’t. Really.

“All done! Who’s a pretty girl?” I like my hair short, but I don’t hate it longer.

“You,” I said and turned back around.

“I think it’s time for presents.”

“Ugh, just making me do all sorts of things I don’t wanna do tonight. Ope!” That was me getting a swat for my sass, not that I could feel it.

“You can take the girl out of Wisconsin, but you can’t take the Wisconsin out of the girl,” Mary said as she held my hand all five steps to the tree.

“Lots of people say ‘ope.’”

“Like who?”

“Minnesotans. You go first.”

“Pick one for me.” So I did.

And she opened it and said, “This is the paddle from my purse.”

“Turn it over.” She did, and saw I had a friend carve ‘Mary’s’ into it.

“Ah.”

“Because you keep forgetting it’s yours, so now you can say, ‘Daphne Ann, bring me my paddle.’ I don’t own any paddles, as you know.”

“So you took this from my purse …”

“Not like we’re going anywhere.”

“And let me guess – you had Devon do this.”

“Mhmm.”

“Well, we’re going to have punish you for your sneakiness.”

“I knew you’d say that, and I didn’t it anyway because I’m a very giving person.”

“Ha! Yeah you are. Do you think if I give you a good hard spank your butt will say ‘Mary’s’?”

“Doesn’t it already? And yes.”

“I love it.” She slapped it into her palm a couple times. “Your turn.” She handed me a box all wrapped in shiny green paper with a gold bow.

“Marrry,” I said - didn’t whine – upon opening it. “You shouldn’t have,” I politely – it was politeness, not poutyness, really – said as I got a good look at my first ever baby bottle.

“What, you don’t thirsty when we snuggle?”

“I married a smart aleck.”

“So did I.”

“Then you’ll really like this,” I said and handed her another.

“What is it?”

“Ya gotta open it, silly.”

“Who you calling silly?”

“You, silly,” was my clever response. That’s one of the reasons she married me, my cleverness. Really.

“O.” And she opened it. “O, I am so using this.”

“You … are? Really?”

“Yeah, for sure. It’s perfect for, o, the backseat of the car. Or a dressing room.”

“I can’t do that in a dressing room!”

“But you’re okay with the back of the car?”

“…. Where are we parked?”

“Ha.” And she set the nursing bra aside. My intent was to get a laugh out of her and then exchange it for something sexy. Guess maybe I underestimated just how much Mary likes orgasming that way. Maybe we should go on one of those TV talent shows. I can just see the male judges conferring in the corner and accusing us of witchcraft, but it’s not witchcraft. It’s a talent. And all the woman judges would be like, ‘Told ya so.’

“You turn again,” Mary announced.

“The big one,” I instinctively said.

“You’re sure?”

“Yes.” Everybody wants the big present, even though, let’s face it, it turns out to be something not any more special than the other presents nine times out of ten.

“Okay,” she said and lifted it over herself and set it down next to me. “Guess what it is first.”

“Giant teddy bear?”

“Nope.”

“Scale model of the Eiffel Tower?”

“Nope.”

“Oversized garden gnome?”

“I told you how I feel about those.”

“How can anyone be afraid of a garden gnome?” Not that I wanted to have that conversation again, but it still confuses me.

“Because. Open,” she ordered me.

“O! Um … Good thinking. Guess we do, um, need somewhere to put your diapers,” I dug at her.

“As interesting as your theory of ownership is,” she said to me, “by the time they go in the pail I think they’re indisputably yours.”

“What will it do the other seven days of the week?” See what I did there?

“It’ll replace the bathroom wastebasket.”

“Eh, that’s a good idea. Your turn again.”

“That one.”

“You hafta promise to actually wear it,” I told her. Custom tee shirts are perfect for white elephant gifts.

“I promise nothing,” she said as she tore the paper and beheld my creation. Slogan aside, she looks good in lavender.

“‘Daffodil is my favorite flower,’” she read. “Awww.”

“Turn it over.”

“And it’s got your face on the back! I love it.”

“Sure you do.”

“I do! It’s got you on it. I’ll wear it all the time … when I’m cleaning the house.”

“That counts.” I didn’t mean wearing it out of the house. Still wouldn’t be the nerdiest thing she’s ever worn in public, but I digress.

“Your turn again.” She handed me the box.

Naturally, I shook it. “Sounds like clothes.”

“Open it and find out silly goose.”

“Don’t rush me,” was my response as I opened it. “Are you sure this is a white elephant? These are nice,” I said as I held up the pajamas she got me.

“Look here,” she said and showed me the snaps up the legs. “It’s for when…”

“I know it’s for when. Big meanie.”

“Turn them over.”

A trapdoor in the back said, “‘Care and feeding of a silly goose. Step 1: Check for wetness in the front. Step 2: Spank the bottom often to maintain happiness levels.’ Well, it’s still classier than those ones that say juicy on the butt.”

“I think so too.”

“That company must think we’re freaks.” Not the first time we’ve gotten white elephants from that website.

“I didn’t get them there. Nana made them.”

“Mary!”

“Ha! I’m just teasing. I had someone on Etsy make them.”

“What interesting questions they must have now.” So many vanillas we’ve corrupted over the years.

“Last two. Should we open them together,” she asked.

“K. One … two … three.” So I got a little taste of what it must feel like to be Mary there, getting to decide when the present opening begins. I didn’t find it very titillating, but then I’m a sub. Either that, or it’s just not as special it appears from my rung on the step stool.

“A pumpkin,” Mary said a little quizzically. I don’t know what she was confused about it. It was a pumpkin. Specifically our pumpkin from Halloween. Ya might say I started my Christmas shopping early. Told ya I’m responsible.

I shrugged. “They can’t all be gems, Mary.”

“Where did you find this?”

“Our porch. If you don’t cut them open, they last a long time. I’m very economical.”

“Well, I love a good pumpkin. Maybe we can make pie out of it.”

“Blech. Warn me first and I’ll go hang out in the backyard until the smell dissipates.”

“So,” Mary said.

“Hmm?”

“You are, too, a silly goose. Read your present.”

When you get a piece of paper for a white elephant gift, you expect it to say something like good for one day of fun with so-and-so or, if you’re like us,  get out of a spanking free. But you have to read the fine print, because it always says something like not redeemable for spankings at the bottom.

 But this one said a bunch of stuff about a rental cabin in the mountains.

“This’ll be nice, Mary, thank you.” Something to look forward to when the pandemic is over. She rolled here eyes at me. “What?”

“Look at the dates, Daffy.” I’m good at other things besides noticing. What I lack in observation skills I make up with cunning and feminine wiles. They landed me Mary, after all. But anyhoo, on to the dates …

“Eeeeeeeeee!” Christmas Day until the third of January!

“So you like it?”

“Eeeeeeeeee!”

“You really have been cooped up too long,” Mary said as I somehow made myself bounce with just my butt. I didn’t know I could do that.

“Thankyouthankyouthankyouthankyou!”

“You’re very welcome.”

“And you’re sure it’s safe and clean? Of course you are! Of course it is! You always think of those things. Cuz you love me and stuff. Hehehehehe!” I was as merry as a schoolgirl, as light as a feather, and as giddy as a drunken Daphne. Which I may have been, a little.

“I spoke with the owner. Everything was cleaned on Monday and no one has been in there since.”

“O, my Mary.”

“You’re making Bambi eyes at me again.”

“Of course I am! You’re awesome! … Now I’m feeling a little guilty about the pumpkin.”

“I love my pumpkin! In fact, we’re taking it with us.”

“That’s just silly.”

“Maybe the deer will eat it … not that I’d put your present out for the deer to eat.”

“Meanie.”

Mary took a deep breath and sighed. “That’s it. No more presents until tomorrow morning.”

“What should we do now?”

“C’mere you,” my Mary said to me. If I was making Bambi eyes, she was making huntress eyes, and there I was, a deer in the headlights. She grabbed me by the wrist and pulled me into her lap, where I put my head on her chest and snuggled in … until hands started to wander. “Are you unbuttoning my pajama top, Daphne Ann.”

“No,” I said as I unbuttoned it.

“What is it you think you’ll find in there?”

“Breasts.”

“What do we say first?”

“You’re welcome.”

“Ooo … hhh! Be gentle or I’ll spank your bottom, little girl. Hhhh!”

“Umnutaittlegrl.”

 

[Alex Bridges]

[WBDaddy]

Future installment of this story:

"How the hell was I supposed to know that repeated oral stimulation of Mary's nipples could actually cause lactation when she'd never even been pregnant?!"

Also

"Just because I help Mary out with her lactation problem (it's her milk, not mine!  Just like the diaper she makes me wear when I do it!) doesn't mean I'm a Little!"

[Alex Bridges]

3 hours ago, WBDaddy said:

Future installment of this story:

"How the hell was I supposed to know that repeated oral stimulation of Mary's nipples could actually cause lactation when she'd never even been pregnant?!"

Also

"Just because I help Mary out with her lactation problem (it's her milk, not mine!  Just like the diaper she makes me wear when I do it!) doesn't mean I'm a Little!"

I dunno. I can see Daffy deciding that while the paddles and bottles and diapers are Mary’s, the milk belongs to her. (And no she will not share and Mary can’t make her). She’d be so proud of herself. “Look what I made them do. Hehehehe”

[WBDaddy]

1 hour ago, Alex Bridges said:

I dunno. I can see Daffy deciding that while the paddles and bottles and diapers are Mary’s, the milk belongs to her. (And no she will not share and Mary can’t make her). She’d be so proud of herself. “Look what I made them do. Hehehehe”

Well, you know Daffy better than I do, but it sure seems like it'd be a hell of a schism in her brain between willingly breastfeeding and not being a Little...

[Alex Bridges]

17 minutes ago, WBDaddy said:

Well, you know Daffy better than I do, but it sure seems like it'd be a hell of a schism in her brain between willingly breastfeeding and not being a Little...

O yes there would be. “I’m not a little! Littles aren’t as talented as me. A little couldn’t make them ... dammit.”

And I think she’d also just be possessive because Mary is hers. Daphne isn’t so much with the sharing of her Mary. Her Mary, her milk.

[Sarah Penguin]

silly 

[Alex Bridges]

10 hours ago, Sarah Penguin said:

silly 

Who you calling silly, ya big silly!?!

[YourFNF]

Great as always!.... I wonder if Daphne is going to be diapered for the drive up so she doens't have to use public bathrooms? ?

[Alex Bridges]

10 minutes ago, YourFNF said:

Great as always!.... I wonder if Daphne is going to be diapered for the drive up so she doesn't have to use public bathrooms? ?

That's crazy! Daphne doesn't wear diapers. How do these rumors get started? ?

[YourFNF]

10 minutes ago, Alex Bridges said:

That's crazy! Daphne doesn't wear diapers. How do these rumors get started? ?

??

[Alex Bridges]

Scene #71

 

O my god fuck fucking yes! Being in the car going somewhere and not going back to our house right away was the best thing since ever (or at least March). It’s not that I don’t love our home, but once we’d been in the car for two hours I realized I’d been living like a shut-in for the past it’s-too-depressing-to-type-the-number months. And you can take the girl out of Wisconsin, or rather the girl can leave Wisconsin which I did, but she’s always gonna miss the cold a little bit. Not enough to make it so she missed it that many months of the year, but enough that she’s gonna miss it being cold for a week or so at a time. And I like the cold only because it makes warm things that much more pleasant. And I look cute in scarves and mittens.

It’s a five-hour drive, and of course we couldn’t stop to use restrooms, so Mary made me wear (you guessed it!) absorbent undergarments. I said five hours is a long time for her to hold it, too, and said she should wear one, and she asked me if I wanted to spend five hours sitting on a paddled butt. Which is such a trick question. I made my conflicted face and didn’t answer.

This was of course after we’d opened presents in record time, thrown stuff into suitcases and hit the road by noon. It turns out we were both good girls this year. I must’ve been especially good because Santa brought me a heart necklace made out of some shiny yellow metal. Just goes to show that a person can get in all kinds of trouble, but that doesn’t mean they’re not a good girl. Probably helps that Mary had been so distracted finishing up her work year she didn’t notice the Elf on the Shelf went missing (he’s in the toaster oven, which is in the box it came in down in the basement; we didn’t register for it, not that we don’t like toast; we just like our regular toaster; and so ends the story of how Mary and Daphne like to make toast.)

The necklace gave me an idea that I’ll save for our anniversary next year: a heart-shaped locket for Mary, and on each side of it will be a teen tiny picture of one of my butt cheeks. Ha! She’ll like that. Anyhoo…

She picked the perfect place to rent. Pretty basic in the scheme of things, but it was very picturesque with the porch and the snow and the pine trees. It looked like the place L.L. Bean models return to each year to reproduce, like caribou or the salmon that often appear in the same pictures. “It’s perfect,” I told her.

“Careful getting out. It might be slippery.”

“It’s good,” I said as I got out and streeeeeeetched. Oof, that always feels good after a long drive.

“Why don’t you go use the potty first,” said Mary. If you’re thinking she uses words like potty as part of the ageplay thing, nope. She just calls it that. So does her mom, and so did her mom. I know literally no other set of adults who refer to it that way when speaking to anyone over the age of ten.

“No, you go.”

“Daffy, I know you need to go. Just go; I’ll start bringing things in.”

I probably should’ve just gone inside, but because I’m me – which is a seriously tiring endeavor sometimes – I walked right into her trap. “I don’t need to.” And then she was at my side, hands on her hips, looking down at me with that I’ve-got-you-now smile on her face. “Actually,” I tried to backpedal, “my back teeth are floating. See ya in …” I turned and may as well have stepped on a rake for how suddenly my escape came to screeching halt. Maybe less of a screech and more of a, “Yelp!” I don’t care how many times I get grabbed by the back of my pants; it never fails to surprise.

There’s this guy in our local kink group who goes to a lot of the same play parties, and I was really shy but Mary had no qualms – like zero, as though she likes making me blush or embarrassing my in public or something – asked for me, and he picked me up by the waistband of my jeans and smacked my butt. I mean, I gave my permission and everything. I was just wondering what it felt like to be so totally as the mercy of someone who thought I needed a spanking. That was around the time I suggested to Mary she consider adding lifting to her exercise routine. I got spanked for that … but she did. She can’t pick me up one-handed like that (that guy is the size of our couch), but she can definitely overpower me. I think. I’ve never actually resisted much, but don’t tell Mary or she’ll think I like that kind of things. Really. Anyhoo, back to our main story…

“Little girl …”

“Am not!” I exclaimed as she yanked me back. “Lemme go!”

“Nope.” Guess we’ll never know which of us would’ve won that contest.

“Hmmmph!”

It wasn’t like the place was isolated on its own plot of land, but the cabins were far apart and there were woods and it was dark, so Mary felt, I’m sure, no hesitation in just groping me in the driveway. I can picture her now on the phone with owner: “I’m looking for a place exposed enough that my wife will be super embarrassed to be fondled in public but private enough we won’t get arrested. O, that sounds perfect,” is how that historically imaginary conversation went.

“Daphne Ann,” Mary said as she slipped a hand down my pants, “is there something you wanna tell me?”

“Um, I read an article recently about migratory bird die offs.” I’m not random. She is. Really.

“You wet your pants.”

“I did not,” I blurted. It was instinctual. I didn’t mean to blurt. Or deny the very obvious. (“My hand isn’t in the cookie jar! Yours is!” Yeah, being cute doesn’t get you outta trouble when you were told no more cookies until after dinner.)

She spun me around to face her. “We’ll talk about this inside.” And then she headed inside with,  “Coming,” tossed over her shoulder with a suitcase in her hand.

“About the birds, right? Please?” Dammit. Well, we unloaded the car and Mary took her trip to the bathroom and I … didn’t and we put things away in the kitchen and unpacked and took a look around the place. And you know who’s responsible? Me, because I started preheating the oven knowing we’d be ready for dinner soon. I am, too, a big girl who can think ahead.

We like to make places our own, so to speak, when we visit, and it doesn’t feel like our own until someone has gotten their butt spanked. Sometimes it’s a spanking I actually earned (so I can be a grumpy traveler, spank me why don’t ya – o, wait…), and sometimes it’s a total pretext but the fun kind (“What have I told you about wheeling your suitcase across the carpet, little girl?”) or the ‘just because’ kind (“O look, I packed that paddle I literally take everywhere.”) It’s part of the fun of going on vacation with Mary, not knowing what kind awaits me. Unless I’m being a grumpy traveler. Then I know what awaits me, with a healthy chance I got a preview somewhere along our journey.

The Philadelphia airport has the best disabled bathrooms. My protest that we really shouldn’t use those for that has been shot down with, “It’ll only take a minute, and besides, you are having a serious behavioral disorder today, little girl.” I’m also pretty sure if she ever was feeling too responsible to use the disabled restroom for that, it would almost certainly mean a trip to the regular lady’s room. I do not care for that; it’s not over even when she’s done with my butt. (“Now go wash your hands.” “Why?” “So everyone in here can get a good look at what a naughty little girl looks like.” “(Gulp).”)

We did experiment with the galley on an international flight, but I wasn’t in trouble so much as New Zealand is really far away and we agreed it would be healthiest for me to not go unspanked for that many time zones (because blood clots; our doctor friend told us it was probably fine, but she agreed why risk it?), but that was in our crazy pre-married days and we stopped when the flight attendant needed more of those little napkins. She cocked her head at us and grinned. I blushed and looked at my feet. Mary being Mary probably winked. We returned to our seats and I whispered to Mary, “Do you think she’s gay,” for reasons (like finding out where she was staying, also for reasons). To which Mary replied, “I think your gaydar is off.” To which I blushed again and replied, “Well, they made us turn off our phones … and nobody has said gaydar since 1999.”

But probably the worst ever was a road trip when we so totally got caught at a rest stop. Guess we should’ve put an “Out of Order” sign on the “Picnic Table Ý” sign. We thought we were alone at the end of a little trail. They didn’t see me, whoever it was. They just saw Mary from behind and probably my feet with my shorts around my ankles and my flipflops, well, wherever they’d flown. I was distracted by, um, stuff, but Mary almost knocked me off her lap when she was startled by someone drawling, “Sorry! Take ya time, hun. We all been dere.” It was just the worst. Really. Haven’t been back to Gulf Shores since.

Or our bus trip through Europe (“You were very rude to that person.” “Well they were rude to me.” “Daffy, she’s French.”). It was my first time there, and I was trying not to stereotype.

Or our trip to England (“Do you need a smack bottom?” “Stop talking like them!” SMACK!). Only Mary can spank and culturally appropriate at the same time. She’s so talented.

Or our river cruise down the Rhine (“O look a castle.” SPANK! “Ouch! Tomorrow I’m picking the landmark.”).

Or our Caribbean cruise (“I’ve never seen someone lose a scavenger hunt so badly.” “Scavenger hunt? I thought it was a bar crawl.” “Over my knee.” “Look how many stickers I got on my coconut.” “Over my knee, Daphne… One, two …” “This one is for the margarita and this one is for the daquiri and this one is for the other margarita. Did you know I don’t like piña coladas? This one is for the piña colada.” “Where are your sandals?” “The ocean I think. I’m gonna need a new coconut.” “Wow, just … wow. Daphne Ann … You look a little … Over the toilet! Over the toilet!”). Natural consequences are The Worst. Anyhoo, back to Christmas 2020…

“Come sit,” my tormentor beckoned. I had a little hop in my step, wondering what kind of spanking I’d get to start off our vacation right. And it was still Christmas Day. A vacation and Christmas and a spanking? It was like a holiday or something! Really!

“Ooo, sounds like someone is getting taken out to the woodshed. Does this place have a woodshed?”

“And a sauna.”

“Thanks for bringing me here.” I got a kiss and everything.

“Thanks for coming with me.”

“Heeee. Wanna get some beers and make out like freshman?”

“I think the mountain air is making you frisky, Daffodil.”

“Um, yeah, it’s the air’s fault. Mhmm.”

“Ha. And I want to indulge that thought, but we do have something to discuss first. Stand up.”

“Why’d you tell me to sit, ya big silly,” I snarked as I stood up. I was so excited for my vacation and that it was still Christmas and it was almost dinner time and I was about to get a good girl spanking and there would be (naked) sauna time I didn’t mind Mary taking my pants pants down. Except she left the diaper up. That’s not how bare bottom spankings work. You’re maybe thinking I don’t know what I’m talking about, but trust me, I’ve had about four (hundred) of them in my life.

Mary made a show of looking at me down there and taking a deep breath and pushing it out (also known as sighing) and pulled me into her lap.

“I think this is done face down. Want me show you,” I generously offered. I’m a teacher at heart, I’ve recently decided.

“If you needed to stop and use a restroom, Daffy, you should’ve asked me.”

“O, quiet you.”

“No, Daphne, we are having this conversation. Don’t you roll your eyes at me. I’m trying to help you. When did this happen,” she asked and took a handful of, um, me.

“Nothing happened. It’s been a very uneventful day. Uneventful year, in fact. Very boring. Not much has changed in, um, our lives.” Mary was making her faux earnest face. Maybe some people can be tricked into thinking it’s her earnest face, but not me. I know faux when I see. I took one look at her face and thought to myself, faux sure.

“It couldn’t have happened very long ago, Daffy. It’s still warm.”

“O, that. Well, I’m just happy to see you.” Maybe if I start unbuttoning her shirt again,” I hypothesized.

And my hypothesis was proven wrong. She out my hand back in my lap. “Just tell me, did you hold it until you just couldn’t anymore, or did you potty more than once?”

“Which one will earn me my spanking?”

“Daffy! O, sweetheart, I’m so sorry. I will never spank you for wetting your pants. I know you can’t help that. I didn’t mean to make you think that.”

“Uh-huh. Sure ya didn’t.”

“O, I feel so bad now. You must’ve been so worried and feeling like you were going to be punished for something that’s not your fault. How awful for you. I bet you need a hug now.”

“N – yes, yes I do.”

“Aww. It’s okay,” she told me as she gave me a squeeze and let me go again. Not off her lap, but so she could look me in the eye, very intently, the way she does. “I love you even if you piddled your pants before we even got on the highway … Did you, by the way?”

“Marrry.”

“So before we even got on the highway. This must be worse than I thought.”

“I didn’t say that!”

“Exactly, you didn’t say anything. You didn’t ask me to pull over or find an exit. Is that because you didn’t know it was happening or because you were too embarrassed.”

“(Icy glare).”

“I’m gonna need an answer to that one,” she said with her I-mean-it look.

“Too embarrassed,” I decided was the less embarrassing answer and rolled my eyes so hard I made a little ow sound.

“You don’t need to be embarrassed with me ever. I expect you to use your diapees.”

“Because you made it a rule.” She pretended to not even hear me.

“But were you embarrassed because it was an accident, or because you don’t want me to know how sexy and submissive it makes you feel to pee your pampers like my good little girl who does what she’s told?”

“(Wide-eyed expression).” I was going to answer that question, really. But just then I remembered there was something on Mary’s shirt and that I needed to bury my face in it. For reasons. I just needed a moment. Really.

She chuckled and patted my back and hugged me and even rocked back and forth a couple times until I was ready to take my face off her. Did you know that among other warm things cold mountain air make even more pleasurable is my Mary? Really.

She brushed the hair away from my face and made her faux sympathy smile. “So it was an accident. I’m so sorry, but I don’t think any less of you.”

“Marrry!”

“Your face is turning so red. Are you having an accident right now?”

“Marrrrrrry!”

“I’d better check … No peepee. Better check in the back …”

“O sweet baby Jesus.” I’ve learned over the years to alternate the direction when I role my eyes.

“Nope,” Mary said after she’d pulled out the back of my diaper (hers! dammit…) and announced, “Nothing in there but a pretty pink bottom. Good girl.”

“Hemmm,” I didn’t whimper. Didn’t. Fake news. It was a powerful, throaty cry of power, it what the sound I made was.

“A whole hour without an accident. That’s progress, Daphne, but I know it must be so hard to try all the time. It’s okay with me if you want to take a break from trying to be a big girl while we’re on vacation.”

Mary knows when she’s right at the edge of pushing me from erotic humiliation fun having to just plain humiliated, though I’d like to think most people would be able to read the signs, a/k/a my bottom lip quivering and eyes getting teary.

“O, c’mere, Daffodil.”

And back to burying my face in Mary’s shirt. I do like it there, with the kisses on my hair and her hot breath on my neck and her hand pressing me closer to her. Sigh…

“Myuhrtyand kernfumphle,” I said into her shirt.

“Aww, of course you are,” Mary said because she would never deny me anything (except for things she denies me, but I’m not counting those) and because she’s the only person who speaks Daphne-muffled-by-Mary fluently. Even I don’t know what I’m saying half the time. Really.

I turned my face to the side. “May I have my good girl spanking now please?”

“Over my knee, little girl … and we’ll keep diapee on just in case.”

“Hmmph! … Okay.”

THWUMP! “A spanking over a wet diaper. Tsk tsk tsk.”

“Urggggh!” I didn’t like that tsking.

“Awww. One more question, what makes you think you’re getting a good girl spanking and not bad a girl spanking?”

“Because you said you’d never spank me for …”

“Yes?”

“Mrrfurrer my diurnifer.”

“Use your words, little girl.”

“Grrr!” Which I accompanied by kicking the bed with just a smidge of frustration. And it was definitely the kind of frustration that comes with not being listened to. There wasn’t any sexual frustration in there at all …Not at all … None … Really. “You won’t spank me for wetting my diaper … and it’s yours.” And yet she will spank me for not wetting my diaper … and it’s her’s. And I’m thinking of giving it back to her at high velocity when she least expects it.

“And I’m not spanking you for your wet pampers. This spanking is for all that backseat driving you did on the way up here.”

“What backseat driving?”

“All those turns and lane changes and exits you told me to take.”

“Bullcrap! You told me to be the navigator!” I navigated the shit outta that drive.

“Yep. And you did a great job.”

“This is entrapment.” A clever enough instance of it to belong in a law school textbook. Really.

“Probably. Good thing you got all this padding over your butt.”

“We’re having the frozen lasagna for dinner.”

“Why that?”

“Because it takes forever to cook and you owe me so much after care.”

She bent forward, kissed the back of my neck, and whispered, “Deal, my very bestest good girl. I’m happy we’re on vacation together.” THWUMP!

“Mmmm.” THWUMP! “(Yawn!)”

[Bluebird67]

You write such a lovely story that I begin to wonder whether I could get into being spanked. By the way, when we get back from the cabin, please can we see how Nana is getting along?

[Alex Bridges]

Scene #72

 

I woke up early, even earlier than Mary. That happens maybe eight times a year. Usually I wake up with Mary, and with her rule about me getting up at a regular time even though I’m not working I’ve been getting up when she gets up for work for the whole pandemic. She drove the day before, so I eased myself out of bed and got dressed as quietly as I could and decided to go for a walk.

I can’t decide if I’m a beach girl or a mountain girl. I think probably both. I like the beach, but something about mountains and woods makes me happy. Probably has something to do with me comparing myself to an innocent forest creature sometimes. Just a little woodland critter am I, while Mary is a Big Bad Wolf. Maybe even The Big Bad Wolf. She’s always out to get me you know, and all I wanna do it be furry little foofball hopping through the forest and nibbling the greenery. If you ever see a picture of a wolf who made friends with a bunny, those would be our spirit animals. Or at least let’s pretend that’s true.

Every time I wake up early, if I’m not too grumbly about it, I remember how much I like mornings. Right around sunrise especially. You just don’t see those often, or most people don’t, and the air has that stillness to it and the sky has those softer colors and even when it’s frigid out it feels good. Up in the mountains, the sounds travels so far in the thin air. The crunch of your feet on the snow. The songbirds talking to each other. Squirrels rustling the leaves. The sharp voice of your wife calling to you, “Daphne!” as you come in sight of her waiting for you on the porch. Ahh, a new morning, and the faint hope her face is red because of the cold air.

“Morning,” I sunnily said when I reached the steps up to the porch.

“Morning. Get your butt inside now, little girl.”

Well, shit. Maybe there’s an actual wolf I can go live with. It’d be safer.

“Where were you,” she asked me as I walked in front of her through the door. She’d made a fire. She put a hand on top of each shoulder and steered me to the sofa in front of it. I sat (with a little help from her) and she put a blanket around me and put her hand on my cheeks.

“I went for a walk. Why are you mad?”

“I’m not mad. I was worried.” She sat down next to me and started rubbing my shoulders.

“I’m not made of glass. I can go for a walk.” Geez, why not just take me to the vet and get me chipped. I mean, just because sometimes I get all giddy and eager like a golden retriever doesn’t mean I am one.

“You didn’t take your phone, and you didn’t leave a note. What if something happened? You don’t even know where we are.”

“I walked up the street for a half hour, I turned around, and I came back.”

“O, geez, and you didn’t even wear a hat,” she said as she felt my ears.

“Mary?”

“Stay.”

“Mary?” She completely ignored me and came back with a cup of tea.

“Drink.”

“I’m okay.” Her response was to put her hand on the bottom of the mug and tilt it toward my lips. I took a couple swallows. “I’m an adult, Mary. I can go for a walk on my own.”

“Of course you can, but you could’ve been a little more courteous about it and left a note. You didn’t even take your phone, and you’re not even wearing a hat.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine! You’re freezing.” And then she just hugged the stuffing out of me and started rubbing my back. I think the months of pandemic have caused Mary to form some kind of attachment disorder.

“I’m alright, Mary. Please. Calm down.”

“I have half a mind to paddle your bottom, little girl,” she said in her you-had-me-worried-sick voice while still hugging me.

“For going for a walk?” That’s what the experts call bullshit.

“For being inconsiderate and for not wearing your mask.”

“But I did wear …” Ooooo. Makes sense now. That’s the real reason she’s upset. It was on the table by the door, where I’d left it.

“What if you ran into someone? What if someone else was taking a walk and you passed each other, huh? We need to be extra safe while we’re here.”

“I just … forgot.” This was a break in my routine. It just didn’t cross my mind to grab it on my way out the door.

“I know you did, but you can’t, Daffy. You just can’t.”

“I’m sorry (sniffle).”

“Did you run into anyone?”

“No.” Mary sighed and let me out of her bear hug. She put a hand on each side of my face and made her don’t-you-ever-scare-me-like-that-again face before giving me a kiss.

“Good. Good … Are you hungry?” She was over her worry and was smiling and seemed okay.

I took my coat off, and we made breakfast. “You need something warm inside you, something that sticks to your ribs,” Mary said as she made oatmeal. My feelings about oatmeal are that it tastes like soggy cardboard and brown sugar, but it’s one of those things that if Mary makes it then it’s not up for discussion. It’s good for me and keeps me regular, she says, even though we don’t eat it regularly so I don’t know what one has to do with the other. Plus I don’t remember every saying I was irregular. I try to add more sugar when she’s not looking, but not that morning.

Mary asked me if I saw anything cool or saw any trailheads, which I didn’t. We didn’t exactly plan for anything for our time there. We knew there were places to hike, and the area was a ski resort, but I don’t ski downhill and can’t hangout in the lodge. I can ski cross-country though.

“There are some sleds in the shed and some snowshoes if it’s deep enough,” Mary told me.

“That’ll be fun.”

“What’s wrong?”

“I’m sorry I scared you.”

“And I forgive you. We’re gonna have a fun day. Really. You all done with your breakfast? Can you take three more bites for me.”

I put my spoon down. I wasn’t hungry, and I didn’t want oatmeal. “I wanna punishment.”

“Really, Daffy, it’s fine. You’re fine. No harm was done, and I know you’re going to be more careful.”

“But … please?” Plenty of times I’ve made Mary miffed or downright pissed, and plenty of times I’ve disappointed her and plenty of times I’ve goaded her, and depending on what exactly I did I might feel guilty or defiant, but no matter which, if she thinks I need a punishment I’ll never do more than try to argue my way out of it or at worst drag my feet. Doesn’t work as often as I’d like.

But making Mary worry about me is different. If it’s her own anxiety, I can shake that off pretty easily. She loves me, so she worries about me. That’s how love works.

But if it’s because I actually did something I shouldn’t have, accidentally or otherwise … well, you find someone who takes better care of you than anyone in the world and see how you feel after you made them worry about you. It sucks. It really sucks.

And what if I had run into someone? Mary would’ve been as anxious as, well, as me, and the whole trip she’d be wigged out every time I cleared my throat. I don’t like being inconsiderate and I don’t like making people afraid for me and I don’t like that I’m not the kind of person who can let her bad feelings go so easily, but I was, I did, and I am.

Mary sighed at me. The one thing you can say about Mary is if she wanted to punish me, she would. She would never emotionally manipulate me into wanting a punishment. For one thing, that’s not the kind of person she is. For two things, I can do that all by myself, for I am, after all, a (very needy) adult (who craves the approval of her Mary). And being an adult, I’ve had a long time to nurture my own neuroses and a pandemic to level that shit up.  If this were a roleplaying game, I’d be a Level 99 Approval Junkie and with Mega Moping and Self-Induced Funk skills. I sometimes wonder who I’d be without Mary, and besides alone in a cold, dark world, I’m not sure if I’d be more independent or a total basket case. I didn’t use to be so needy, but then I guess I never had someone who meant so much to me or whose opinion of me I cared so much about.

I remember the first time she said it. We were in bed, post-aerobics session, and I was laying my head on her chest and she was playing with my hair, and she said, “You were a very good girl.”

And I don’t remember it because she said it. I remember it because it felt like two wires in my brain were instantly spliced together for the first time, and I went, “Hmmmmmmm.”

 And she said, “What? You like being called a good girl?”

To which I replied, “Huhuhuhuhuhuhuhheeeeeee.” I’m sure she thought I was a veritable genius.

She chuckled at me and said, “I think we just found a ticklish spot.” And so we had. But more than that, all I’ve ever wanted in life was to be a good person (damn Presbylutheran upbringing), and Mary says I am.

Back in our mountain hideout, Mary said, “Well, if you feel so strongly about it that you ask for one, I guess you do need a good hard spanking, don’t you?”

“Y-yes.”

“Okay then.” She stood up and didn’t have to tell me to do the same. She took me by the elbow and walked me into the family room, stood me in front of the fireplace with my back to it, and took my pants down. “Hands behind your back and keep your feet where they are. This is all the warmup you’re getting.” She sighed at me again and made her I’m-sorry-you-have-these-feelings-but-I’ll-make-it-all-better face at me before she shook her head just a little. Her hand came to my hip, and she said, “I’m doing this because you asked me to, not because I’m upset with you. You know that, right?”

“Em,” I squeaked. It wasn’t time to start crying yet.

“Okay. You wait right here.” She disappeared down the hall into the bedroom. I wonder sometimes if she gets tired of tending to my emotional needs, or if she wonders what makes me tick and why. I’m still puzzling it out, little by little learning just who I am.  I’m the way god made me, but that’s a reason, not an explanation.

I don’t know what Mary was doing in there, but she wasn’t long. She was back in a minute, put her hand on my butt like she was checking my temperature, and with an arm around my shoulder walked me to the bedroom. I stood at the foot of the bed while she knelt down and took my shoes off before taking my jeans and panties all the way off. “Arms up,” she said and pulled my sweater over my head, leaving me in just my cami.

She’d put the paddle on the bed, the one I had our friend carve her name into. She sat down next to it with her left leg cocked up on the bed, picked up the paddle, and I laid myself over her thigh. She locked her right leg over my mine. “Do you want me to hold your hand,” she asked. I answered by twisting my right arm behind my back, and she took a firm hold of my hand with her own. “Ready?”

“H-h-h-h-h-h.” I gave up on trying to say an actual word and just nodded. CRACK!

“Aieee!” CRACK! “Aaaaa!” CRACK! “Aaaa-huh-huh-huh!” CRACK! “Waaaaaah-haah-haah-haahhhhh!”

“Let it all out, baby girl.” CRACK!” So I did. But I didn’t kick my feet or try to get away or even arch my back. I just held still and squeezed my Mary’s hand. Mary really let me have it, too, finishing off my spanking with one heckuva spank that even behind my eyelids registered as a bright red flash.

Mary let go of my hand, and her fingertips pushed up my cami and brushed up and down between my shoulder blades while I sobbed into the covers. I was still crying pretty hard when Mary said, “Roll over, baby.” I did, and as I wiped at my eyes and sniffed back a running nose and let those twin impulses – the one to stop and the other to keep crying – fight it out, Mary put me in a diaper without any rash cream or help from me. She got back on the bed helped me sit up just enough to pull me into her lap, where I buried my face against her belly and started to calm down.

“Shhh,” she cooed at me. “You’re alright, Daffy. Everything is okay.”

“I’m sorry,” I said in my still-crying voice.

“You don’t have anything to feel sorry for.” She was alternating between rubbing my back and patting my butt and shushing me. I’m not so easy to calm down when I’m all up in my own head like that.

My sobs turned into a cramping diaphragm. “I’m sor – h! – sorry I nee – h! – eeded that.”

“Don’t be sorry for the things you need, Daffodil.”

“I don’t – h! – even know why. I shou – h! – should’ve – h! h! – worn a mask.”

“I don’t think that’s why you needed that, Daffy. I think you just had some feelings to get out. It was a very hard year, and it’s almost over. We’re outta the house, and I think you just needed a little release. If it wasn’t that, it would’ve been something else.”

“I’m sorry I n-need so m-much from y-you.”

Mary didn’t say anything to that. Her hand stopped where it was, and with my face against her belly, I could feel her diaphragm tighten. She choked back a sob. “Don’t you … ever, ever … be sorry for … for needing me, Daf … Never, ever … for being … who you are.”

O, goodie, now we’re both crying. Bet I can cry harder.

“I’d fall apart without … you, Daffodil … I n-need you … more.”

And with that, I proved once and for all who among the two of us can cry harder.

So we had our little cryfest. I not only got started first; I cried longer, too. I felt Mary lift her shirt, pulling it away so my cheek was against her bare skin. “Here,” Mary said.

In the dark behind my eyelids, I turned my face up and felt Mary’s breast brush my lips. I found her nipple and latched on. It felt different that time, not so much sexy as warm and soft. Something very familiar and comforting.

“And when you dry up those tears,” Mary whispered, “we’ll get you a nice warm bath together, and you’ll just be my snuggly little girl today. Does that sound okay? Momma’s good little girl.”

“Hmmmmmmm.”

[Sarah Penguin]

[PastelConnection]

Those last lines! ??

[Bel George]

This will be a trip to remember for a long time. I am very curious to read what else is going to happen.

[YourFNF]

8 hours ago, PastelConnection said:

Those last lines! ??

I know right? ?

[Disk]

No honk? Sad times... ?

Also, I need MORE! Please...

[bobindiapers]

On 12/28/2020 at 10:14 AM, YourFNF said:

I know right? ?

It was a surprising end to the chapter, I loved it!

An important question remains though: did the paddle leave "Mary's" shaped marks on Daphne's butt?