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

[Alex Bridges]

1 hour ago, WBDaddy said:

I can feel, palpably, the amount of energy you've spent on these last couple chapters.  Really deep stuff here man.  Touching on a lot of the delicate aspects of lifestyle D/s.

Yeah, after the first couple sentences, I really didn't know where they'd end up on this. I want Daffy to be okay calling Mary her mommy, too, but that's not what Daffy wants.

Did I ever share this? I can't remember stuff anymore ?

I just commissioned a new one of Daffy. Might have that next week.

 

[diaperboymi]

Wow!!!!!   What an Amazing chapter.  I loved how you explored the dynamc of the relationship.   I'm a little bummed about loosing the Mommy thing but I totally understand.  Even non lifestyle relationships are hard sometimes.   This was Brilliant.   Thank you for not letting it end.  We need soooo much more of Daffy and Mary ?

[Bel George]

Glad it's not the end.  

What I love about this story is that it sounds so real. I can't remember any scene that I thought was too far-fetched. It always seems perfectly possible, and it makes me dream of such a lifestyle.

As far as I am concerned, this story can go on for a long time, even if it sometimes takes a little more time to write the next chapter.
I hope the diapers don't disappear from the story, that Daphne would miss them if she didn't have to wear them for a while. That she then does what has to be done to get them put back on.

[YourFNF]

This was great and I love that you actually showed the dom being being vulnerable for once. That's like really important.

[Alex Bridges]

Scene #99

 

            Mary is sweet as sugar candy, maybe even almost as sweet as me, and I’ve been described sometimes as being cloying and treacly what with my tendency to cling to partners like a koala to a tree trunk. And that’s fine and dandy for Mary to be sweet as sugar candy. She’s very attentive when she’s feeling that way. Ever since our little (pretty big) talk, the phrase “do you need anything” has been coming outta her mouth pretty much any time she’s nearby. And the answer to that question was yes, I needed my domme to do stuff and things to me.

            See what I mean about a red light throwing everything off for a while? She was nervous to go back to her usual loving yet strict and arousing discipline of me. I mean, it’s been more than a few days. She knows what she can and can’t do. We talked about it; we talked about it again later. And yet no one has touched by butt in days. My butt needs physical affection. It’s what keeps it so perky. And that’s to say nothing of my psyche. As Mary has been eager to tell so many people over the years, the key to a happy Daffy is a perpetually pink bottom and a blushing face (which may be why she was so eager to tell other people about the optimal condition of my butt – see how she takes care of me?).

            But really, as confident as I am – and why should I, your fearless narrator and warrior princess – not be confident? Yet as much as I know better, the part of my brain that told me Mary was slowing down because she was nervous was not entirely drowned out by the part of my brain that wanted to tell me I’d hurt her feelings or that she didn’t want to keep up our lifestyle. I’m not insecure. I’m just an anxious person who rarely (sometimes) has a difficult time (the medication helps) shutting down the cognitive distortions (bitch monsters) that cause some self-doubt. Which is different than being insecure. Really.

            It’s not that I need the approval of just anyone. I know of plenty of people whose approval I do not have, and this doesn’t cause any self-doubt. But that bitch monster in my head that always seems ready to find a chink in my armor and poke its bitchy finger through is always on high alert for any chance to make me worry about my relationship with Mary, the Queen of my Heaven. I know the bitch monster tells lies and nothing but lies, but that doesn’t always make it easier to ignore her.

            But it does make it hard sometimes to be direct. Red lighting and the convo that followed was super direct. I was running low on directness. My directness batteries needed to recharge. And nott that I ever brat or anything, but seeing as I was seeking attention (which I also don’t do – attention just comes to me naturally somehow, especially when I make what Mary calls ‘naughty chocies’) I did employ some brat-like behavior, which my lawyers (and I am acting as my own counsel) have advised me to characterize as acts of brattiness, that did escalate over the past several days.

            And still nothing. Not so much as a scolding or a “little girl” or a “you’re in so much trouble.” My anxiety was turning into being miffed, and since I didn’t want to say something I would regret (and I regret nothing, to be clear – someone as confident and anxiety free and uber-competent as myself has nothing to regret) I went outside to lay in the sun. And one-piece fetish aside, I put on a two-piece to do it because tan lines. I spread out my towel, I put on my sunscreen, I put in my earbuds (the ones I bought without permission and got paddled for, and there was some short-lived regret after that  but it went away, so that doesn’t count), and was soon snoring adorably (except I don’t snore, so it was more of the noise Disney princesses make when they sleep).

            I was awakened from my light slumber by a silhouette casting a shadow over me. I could not see the owner of this shadow against the sunlight, but I could make out it was a she and that her arms were crossed. “Daphne Ann,” this silhouette said to me.

            “Hi,” I said from flat on my back and feeling rather defenseless, which is how I like to feel until I feel that way, and then this low-level sense of (temporary) regret sets in (that fades with time and so doesn’t count).

            She sat down next to me, which is when I noticed she’d brought that wicker basket with her, the one she started keeping in the living room and that is not part of her prop comedy routine. “I think we need to have a little talk.”

            “Um, what about, pray tell.” Hmm, that just came out that way.

            “About some of your choices this past week. Sit up, please.” Which I did. “I let a few things slide, which is my fault, and I can tell you’re on the verge of a serious streak of bad behavior, little girl.”

            “I’m not a … What choices?” The key to stellar act of brattiness is subtlety. She might not have discovered all the traces of said acts. I decided to just to find out if we had the same list of misdeeds, just, ya know, to find out how much I’d bitten off.

            “Let’s start with what I found in the back of the cabinet behind the canned goods.”

            “More canned goods?”

            “Daphne Ann, we can have this conversation with you over my knee. Is that what you want?”

            “Nutella.”

            “Are you supposed to buy Nutella?”

            “No.”

            “And why not?”

            “Because it … It doesn’t really, though. That’s just …”

            “Fine, have it your way.”

            “Really? Tha…” Hey, how did I end up over Mary’s knee? SMACK! “Ouch!”

            “You’re not allowed to have Nutella (SMACK!) because it’s basically your Fentanyl, Daphne Ann.”

            That is so an exaggeration. It’s more like my … crack. It’s just … See, the thing is, it’s like peanut butter but it’s made with chocolate, and while I like peanut butter mixed with chocolate, chocolate with the consistency of peanut butter – creamier, actually – is just so versatile and I first tasted it in Europe and it fueled several days of sightseeing I don’t fully recall and it comes in crepes and in gelato and in more gelato and also in crepes and I wasn’t too wound up and that nun at the Vatican raised her voice at me first and besides, I wrote a really nice letter to His Holiness apologizing for the whole thing even though it wasn’t my fault.

            “But I like it,” I said in defense of my prerogative and my right to trip balls on creamy chocolate that’s practically just chocolate-flavored sugar. And that nun had an attitude, and the Swiss Guard totally took her side.

            “Doesn’t matter. It’s a rule, and also strike one.”

            “Just so I can strategize, how many strikes did you identify?”

            “We’ll just lump that little remark in with all the other sass.”

            “Pshaw! What other sass?” And that doesn’t count as sass, before you go and take Mary’s side which you always do.

            “And I can’t seem to find my favorite red panties,” Mary said to me as I moved a small rock that was under my arm. I was paying attention. Really. It’s just that we never got around to punishment-prepping our yard.

            “Well,” I said, “they’re my favorite too. I just wanted some alone time with them. And I’m keeping them somewhere safe, promise.” I was going to write a ransom note the next day. Really.

            SMACK SMACK SMACK!

            “And do you want to tell me what I found on the wall under the calendar in the kitchen?”

            “O, did you finally get around to putting up the 2021 calendar?” Like 2020 ever ended, right? We didn’t exactly feel a burning rush to hang it up.

            “Well, Daffy, you unwrapped it and left it on the table, and I guess the mood just struck me, like I’m guessing it did you when you decided to draw on the wall.”

            “Tell me that drawing wasn’t hot. Seriously, I dare you.” I’m not a great artist, but I’m pretty good for an amateur who doesn’t do it almost ever and naturally, I drew something NSKW (Not Safe for Kitchen Walls). This is the kind of behavior that has gotten me labeled “impish” in the past, but I prefer to think of myself as just a dirty ol’ lady trapped in dirty young lady’s body.

            “And I saw you put two hundred dollars on our debit card for something from Etsy that I’m guessing isn’t a necessity.”

            “Eye of the beholder, Mary.” It is necessary. It is.

            “Just proves my point,” she said while taking a handful of my butt and squeezing it the good kind of hard. “When’s the last time you got a spanking?”

            “Ten days, give or take.”

            “And you just can’t go ten days or even a week without a serious drop-off in your behavior.”

            “Funny, Mary, that you don’t sound all that upset about my behavior,” I said hopefully.

            “Of course I’m not upset with you. I understand why you did those things.”

            “Good.”

            “It’s because you’re just a little girl, and sometimes little girls have a hard time making good choices when they don’t get frequent reminders.”

            “That statement isn’t wholly accurate, but please continue.” I’m very polite when I’m over her knee (sometimes), and I don’t know why. Really. Just something about that position brings out my politeness (occasionally). Also, she was fondling me. She’s a recidivist when it comes to fondling me. It’s like she’s hopelessly attracted to me or something. Really.

            “So I’m going to have to punish you,” she said with a certain lilt in her voice suggesting she was not going to punish me very hard at all. Which was okay, I guess. But on the other hand, really needed someone to smack my butt a buncha time. It was dangerously unspanked.

            “How,” I asked, turning my head over my shoulder to cast a come hither look at her and wiggling my butt for good measure.

            “I’ma smother you with affection.”

            “Okay, but how?” I girl can only wiggle her butt so much. Like, geez, take a hint.

            “By putting you in the new diapees I got you.”

            I take this pause to point out those are not necessities and easily cost over one hundred dollars in the quantities she sometimes buys them if you add up the quantities over a few months.

            Anyway, I shut my eyes for a moment. Not exactly the kind of response from her I wanted. Yes, as I said, I like the humiliation that comes with the diapers, but you can only tap that well so many times before it runs dry. Just wearing one around Mary, while sometimes fun, just wasn’t all that embarrassing anymore. It could be. She could make it be. But that particular day I needed more, and did I mention my need for a good hard spanking was practically a medical condition?

            “O,” I said, letting all the disappointment come out. “Is that, um, all?”

            “And letting you pick out which onesie you want for the day.”

            “Marrrry.”

            “I’m going to snuggle you all afternoon and deep into the evening.”

            “ … Fine.”

            “And I’m gonna make you cut a switch from the magnolia bush and stripe your butt all the way down to your knees.”

            What now?

            “And then I’m going to paddle your little welted bottom.”

            “O,” I said, letting all the conflicted feelings come out. All the feelings. All the conflicted. All coming out in one that started high, went low, came back up, and settled down with a a little reverberation that I feel did a good job expressing all the feelings. Which were conflicted.

            “And I’m going to take pictures to share with some kinky friends.”

            “(Sound of me biting my lip).” I don’t bite my lip often. Say pretty much whatever is on my mind. More biting my lip so I didn’t make any involuntary arousal noises. We don’t share pics hardly ever. For obvious reasons but also because if we did, I’d probably do it way too often.

            “And I bought a big thing of oatmeal, Daffy, and you’ve lost pants privileges for a couple days.”

            “Ugh.” The oatmeal thing. I … ugh.

            “It gets worse.”

            “It does?” Those short-term regret feelings … they can be powerful. Maybe I shouldn’t have taken her panties. That did get a pretty strong reaction the last time … from both of us.

            “Yeah. I forgot the sugar. Once I do all these things to you, I’m going to need you to go over to Nana’s to get a cup of sugar.”

            Well, not ashamed to say that made me a little dizzy in an I-wish-that-didn’t-sound-sorta-fun kinda way. “Marrry. I … Does she know?”

            “Mhmm. She and I talked about it. After I told her about your shenanigans, she understands you need a firm reminder that I’m still in charge.”

            She talked about the oatmeal thing with Nana? Sjgorhvkfhgfpbfgh! (I don’t resort to the keyboard smash ever, but she talked about the oatmeal thing with Nana? Ohbelbghspjfdfj!!!)

            “Can there be something else besides that?” I … the oatmeal thing with Nana? She … I’ve developed a sudden case is tinnitus, I said to myself as I considered the oatmeal withing with Nana (yowhfgjhprtdghhj!!!!!)

            “I read about this thing some diaper fetishists do with bananas, if you wanna try that instead.”

            “What do they do with them?”

            “(Sound of Mary giving me a pointed look).”

            My lips made a pop sound they parted when I grasped her meaning and felt some of my brain circuitry short out. There was a moment of us just looking at each other. She had that I’m-a-very-nice-person-but-I-will-not-be-dissuaded look of hers. And whenever she has that look, it reminds me that while she’s a very nice person, she’s not going to be dissuaded.

            “Need some help deciding?”

            “What kind of sugar?” Well, I answered that quick fast and in a hurry.

            “Whatever kind you need to make cookies. That’s the days plan: spank you silly, diaper your butt, fill your pampers, send you over to Nana’s, bake cookies, and snuggle. How does that sound?”

            I considered possible replies. “Is there any answer I can give that won’t make me seem like a total weirdo?”

            “I hope not. If there was, then I’d be the only one in the house, and that just wouldn’t be fair to me. Besides, you strung together some of your greatest misbehavior hits. I think that calls for some of my greatest consequences hits.” She gestured for me to roll off her lap. “Stay here. I’ll be right back with the paddle.”

            “We’re doing it outside!?!” I’ve been switched outside. That’s quiet (the switch; less so me). But paddled? That makes noise. An unmistakable noise. And I was gonna make my own unmistakable noise. We have the privacy fence, but passersby might hear. I didn’t even know if there were any passersby passing by. How could I? How could Mary!?!

            “Of course. It’s a nice day,” is what she said.

            “But …” She waited for my rejoinder and I sucked it up and told her something I didn’t want to tell her yet. “Don’t you wanna know what I got on Etsy?”

            “What?”

            I may have inadvertently (somewhat advertently) twisted my toe into the dirt in an ostentatious display of cuteness (which has gotta work in my favor sometimes, right?), “I got us necklaces. Mine says ‘Mary’s Little Girl’ and yours says ‘Daphe’s Mary.’”

            I was saving that as a surprise, but I was hoping the revelation would move my overdue chastisement indoors or even save at least my thighs from a switching. I had my own psychological processes flowing in my brattiness that led me to maybe push more buttons in a short period in my quest to get a reaction. I didn’t think about whether Mary would have her own post-red light issue besides feeling nervous about giving me a firm hand, but it occurred to me sometime between her description of the switching and her insistence on sending me waddling over Nana’s with a pantload of Quaker Oats that she had apparently decided she needed to reassert who was in charge and do it like the boss’s boss.

            Note that I wasn’t exactly putting up a fuss about it, but don’t go reading into that. It’s not like I enjoy the way she mistreats me except for pretty much all the time or at least shortly after the fact.

            Anyway, the revelation of my unlawful expenditure led to getting the kind of kiss where she makes it so abundantly clear she’s not concerned if she’s holding me so tight I can hardly move and kissing me so hard I can barely breathe, and when she let me up for air, I don’t mind telling you I did some swooning (and not just because I was mildy hypoxic).

            She had me by both arms and was holding me right up against her. She kissed my forehead and just rested her head against mine. O, possibly the best way she ever holds me except there are so many best ways. Sigh …

            “Just for that, Daffodil, I’ll let you keep the Nutella this time.” And she kissed me again before telling me, “Stay right here while I go get the paddle.”

            Aww, she really likes me.

[Bluebird67]

I just came back from a holiday where I only had SFW internet, so I got to read the last two chapters back-to-back and l’m literally crying with “wow!” and “so happy for them” feels.

Congratulations on conceiving, describing and resolving that crisis so well. And thank you for all the investment you have put into building these characters that we care about so much.

[Bel George]

I am eager to read how this will continue, and very curious to know how the visit to Nana will go.
And those "new diapees" that Mary got for Daphne, would there be anything special with those? Or are they just the same type that Daphne has worn before?

Thanks for continuing this wonderful story.

[YourFNF]

[diaperboymi]

AWESOME chapter!!!!!   Sounds like Mary is back to her old self ?  poor Daafy.  Love the necklaces.  That was a really nice touch.   Hey....looking forward to  #100 ?  Thank you!!!!!!!!!!

[Alex Bridges]

5 hours ago, YourFNF said:

*Offers you tissue.

Cutie

[YourFNF]

2 hours ago, Alex Bridges said:

*Offers you tissue.

Cutie

*takes it and blushes*

[Alex Bridges]

Anybody wanna help me out with a review?

 

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B093T73HY7

[Alex Bridges]

Scene #100

 

         I was really not liking my brain that day. Or actually, not my brain. My brain and I are on the same side. We’ll blame my heart. I myself am more than the sum of my parts, so I’ll be blameless while one of my parts takes the wrap.

         The problem is for some inexplicable reason that I’ve tried to explicate to myself since the day prior that while Mary is not my mommy, I felt this unwelcome desire to do something special for her on Mother’s Day. I don’t even like Mother’s Day! Never have. It’s a greeting card holiday. I can appreciate my mom any and every day of the year, and I do. Flowers and cards and overpriced prix fix brunches just are not necessary, but anyhoo. I guess I just wanna do something nice for Mary.

         And we talked about having kids a lot of times. It’s just not right for us. We’re more the footloose and fancy-free types (or the Very Responsible Type A and Anxious and Quirky types but same diff). Still, Mary deserves a day regardless, and because my heart is weak and turns to water when I think of Mary, it overruled my brain and decided it didn’t matter if she’s not my mommy, Mother’s Day would be a perfect day to do something nice for her.

         My heart is not so great at planning, though (great at pumping blood), so I didn’t actually know what I wanted to do for her. And I may have forgotten to tell her I was gonna do something special, but that was okay since I didn’t know what the something was. For sure it wasn’t resting my cheek against her chest while we watched Zoom church in bed. We do that every Sunday since the pandemic started.

         “What are you thinking about,” she asked me after Pastor Sarah wished us a blessed day. I like her; she’s very kind and a little hot. Anyhoo…

         “That I can hear your heartbeat when I lay on you like this.”

         “Does it sound like ‘Daph-ne Daph-ne Daph-ne?”

         “It does now that you said that,” I giggled. “Do you think we’ll always be this disgustingly cute?” I had previously blamed the pandemic for extending our sickening newlywed phase, but now I’m not so sure.

         “Let’s hope so.” She kissed my hair and rubbed my shoulder, which I knew was prelude to, “We have to be at my parents’ in an hour.”

         “How come no one does Mother’s Day happy hour,” I asked as I sat up. “The happy part is built right into the name.”

         “You just don’t like leaving the house on Sunday mornings unless it’s to go to breakfast.”

         “And brunch isn’t breakfast. It’s balled melon and egg casserole.”

         “And mimosa.”

         “… I do like that part. I might hafta save room for a lunch waffle when we get home.”

         “You’re a lunch waffle,” Mary called me right before she pinched my butt and swung her legs out of bed. Such effrontery. Totally unacceptable. I really like it. And totally unacceptable. But don’t tell her or she might stop.

         “I don’t even know what that means,” I said and followed her to the bathroom. I took my shower last night and was not required to pee on myself, so no need for another one. I brushed my teeth and combed my hair and put on a little makeup while the pinching lady cleaned her body. Her lithe, powerful, firm body. Not that I was staring through the glass trying to see through the condensation … Maybe she’d let me install a camera in there.

         While she saw to her hygiene, I stood in front of my dresser trying to decide what I should wear to her parents’. This was going to be our first family gathering since the fall. We had a nice day for it. I always say fall is my favorite season until spring gets there. Then that’s my favorite. Until summer gets there. I have a fickle heart for the seasons. And not that we were treating this like a reunion or something, but it was still kinda an occasion, hence the makeup. I’m surprised I remembered how to put it on. I think the last time was New Year’s Eve. I’m sure Mary would have been delighted to come out of the shower and find me looking like a girl who got into her mother’s lipstick, but I did a very good job. I do look kinda pretty as fuck when I wear a little blush. It just goes with my complexion and the whole redhead day-walker vibe I give off.

         Anyhoo, my standing at the dresser considering options had only gotten me as far as putting on a necklace. I walked to the closet, and that’s when it occurred to me it might be time to consider buying some clothes. I had work clothes that I should’ve packed away months ago, since I’ve been not working since before the pandemic, and I had being-at-home clothes in abundance, but I didn’t really have any leaving-the-house-just-cuz clothes. At least not any that I liked. Looking at my work clothes made it seem foolish to invest so much in clothes, but on the other hand, who doesn’t want to be feel and look good in what they wear? Maybe even excited by what they wear (in the gleeful way, not the other kind of excited; we have those clothes already and they’re mostly in the basement). All of which was prelude to the end of the pandemic being soon, and I wanted choices that would make for fun outfits when we ventured back out to something like normal. Peering through the closet, which was somehow stuffed and yet I didn’t feel like I had anything to wear (and sorry if I’m calling anybody out with that), my eyes came to rest on the trunk.

         It’s not the forbidden trunk. I am allowed to go in there whenever I want. It’s just the foreboding trunk. It contains … stuff. My … stuff … is in its own smaller box. I don’t need a huge trunk like Mary because I’m not a perv. And because a lot of our stuff, including my many impulse buys, is in the basement. And Mary wouldn’t need such a big box if she did keep … other stuff in there.

         So here’s a thing Mary likes and is not a total random segue if you’ll just shush a minute. She likes it when I initiate some of the things that are things she likes and that I (mostly) don’t. I guess it makes me seem more submissive to her, which makes her feel more dominant and reminds us both that we love each other, like, a bunch. I think I even like her.

         So yeah, out came one of her diapers and some of the needed accessories to put it on me. I laid it out on the bed, and I thought two can play at that game, whichever game it was, and went fishing in her drawers for the Christmas gag gift that she apparently thought was actually pretty awesome, the nursing bra. That’s how she found me, still in my pajamas and rifling through her underwear drawer.

         “A-ha-hem,” she pretended to clear her throat. Did I ever mention that when she wears a towel I kinda wanna jump her bones? Cuz I do. “Are you being an underpants gnome again?”

         So first off, I was never an underpants gnome, and second, “No,” I said, taking out my prize. “I was picking something I want you to wear today.”

         “And what is that,” she asked in her sexy huntress voice as she sexy strolled across our carpet. Stupid Mother’s Day celebration. We coulda spent the whole morning doing acrobatic monkey sex stuff but, no, we had to go help ball a honeydew.

         “This,” I said and tossed it to her. “I, um, thought you could wear it … for reasons.” For she is the sexy huntress, and I am the sexy prey who’s only gonna make a pretense of resisting cuz I’m tired of the chase and just wanna be eaten. That’s a thing, right? I think it I saw it on National Geographic. At least, it looked like those animals were fighting. Anyhoo…

         “O really,” she said and took it from me. “Will you help me put it on?”

         Did I ever mention that when she shrugs her shoulders and the towel just falls right to the floor I cum in my pants a little? Cuz I don’t, unfortunately. It would be pretty cool if I did though, right? I mean, how does she even do that? I’ve shrugged until I got a cramp, and nothing happened to my towel. Must be a ninja move.

         “So,” I asked as I helped her into what was the least sexy bra ever except it is sooo sexy for us. Seriously, it’s pretty utilitarian. But what a utility! And I was gonna utilize it. Anyhoo, I asked, “Exactly how long do you think we’ll need to stay at your parents’? I have, um, stuff to do later.”

         She turned with her sympathetic face on and stroked my cheek. “Aww, Daffy. Did you do that thing where you your sex drive goes from zero to thirsty in two minutes?”

         “Well, you’re the one who had to walk around in a towel.” Didn’t help that said towel was on the floor. I was positively dehydrated drinking in the view of my wife.

         Whatever she was gonna say next, which probably would’ve been something to the effect of why do you do these things to yourself and whatever shall we do with you, both of which just make the problem worse, she got distracted looking over and spying the underpants I’d chosen.

         “Really,” she said, even though that’s my word, “you really want to? You don’t have to.”

         “I know,” I said while maybe, if you believe certain sources who very accurately describe things, blushing pretty damn hard.

         “We have some of the medical ones. Those are thinner.”

         “This is fine. I don’t think people can see.” She likes these ones more. Why not go all in?

         “Well that just sounds like a challenge,” she snarked. “I’ll have to pick the rest of your wardrobe.”

         “Har har, Mary … But will you, um, put it on me? … Asking for my friend.”

         And that, ladies and gentleman, is called a joke. Mary’s snark doesn’t even compare to mine. Even Mary must think so cuz she laughed harder at my joke than I did at hers, which was at most a titter from me … Ha – “titter.” … What? I can find unintentional (stupid) puns funny … Especially that one, when Mary is wearing that … gift I got her. Really.

         I guess the answer to my friend’s question was yes because I was very soon not wearing my pajama shorts. All well and good until Mary slid them up her own legs. They barely even fit … sigh …

         “What are you doing,” I asked. Very confused.

         “Look at me,” was her witty reply, “I’m Daphne. I’m petite and use a quirky sentence structure. Uwu uwu uwu.”

         “That’s not funny!”

         “Then why are trying to hard not to laugh,” she asked as I tried very hard to laugh. Red face, shoulders shaking, lip biting, that sorta thing.

         “Marrry,” I tried to whine and then did not laugh like Elmer Fudd. I didn’t. Um, really … yep, really. “Hey,” I cleverly exclaimed as my wife pushed be backward onto our marital bed. We do marital stuff in it … stupid brunch.

         “We’d better get you in your diapee, little girl,” she said leaning over with me with those strong arms of hers pressing her palms into the bed on either side of me and making me feel trapped and helpless even though I am neither of those things every..

         “I’m not a little girl.” I said it by reflex because in my head I was thinking, She is barely in those shorts.

         “Okay. You’re not a little girl.” She straightened up and traced a finger across my cheek and swirled it down my tummy. “You are a very big girl who needs her diapee on before she goes to her in-law’s house.”

Cross out the word need and that’s a hard sentence to argue with, at least on that day. Of course, Mary wasn’t done. She unfolded that garment of hers, taking her sweet time about it for someone who said a half-hour ago that we needed to be at her parents’ in an hour.

“And look,” Mary took way too much delight in saying, “it has aminals on it.” Nope, not a typo. That’s what she said. “What’s this one say?”

“It says we’re gonna be late.” Why did I do this again? Remind me? I don’t even like her that much … Really … Okay, not really. I like her so friggin much … But she coulda skipped this part, which was her idea entirely and was not something I started. I just got the thing out. It was the first one I saw.

“But the aminals wanna know what they say,” she said. “You don’t wanna make them sad, do you? Won’t you tell them, for me?” If this was an impression of my Aunt Bertie’s emotional blackmail routine, it was very good.

“It says moo.” As in mooove faster cuz we’re gonna be late. And did I mention my brain and my heart do not work together well? My heart wanted me to take a bite out of Mary’s butt cheek, which was hanging out of my pajama shorts. My brain, being the obnoxious little rule follower that it is, was getting anxious about being late to something it didn’t even wanna go to. I like Mary’s family, and I wanted to go to a gathering of people I don’t live with, but I think it’d like it more for lunch on a Tuesday. Sunday mornings with Mary, or waffles or both, are just special. But my brain didn’t care. It just knew there was a scheduled event and that, despite the scheduling not being to my liking, it was important for us to be on time and to go because while Mother’s Day doesn’t mean much to me, it does to Mary’s mother. She’s not my favorite person, but I do like her and would never do anything to hurt someone’s feelings if I could avoid. I’m very nice like that.

“And what’s this one say,” Mary asked me as she pushed my knees back and lifted my butt off the bed. I would’ve helped had she asked, but no, sometimes she wants to do it all herself.

“Oink.”

“What else does it say?”

“I dunno. Depends on who it’s talking to?” That one in the book about the spider said lots of stuff. I don’t read the book about the spider and the pig. It makes me cry like someone ran over my puppy’s puppy. Anyhoo…

“It also squeals,” Mart informed me as she dusted me with powder. I do like how that smells. “Know what else squeals? Daffodils.”

“I do n eeeeeeep!” That was an eep, not a squeal. They are totally different. And there she went again with the pinching of the places that are a part of me.

“O, I am gonna make you squeal today,” she threatened me. Which I took to be a promise. An addendum to our marriage vows, actually. I was planning to hold her to it.

“Aww, Mary. Did you do that thing where you go from zero to thirsty in two minutes?”

“Well, you just had to be adorable and sexy at the time. You know what that does to me,” she said as though imitating someone. Don’t know who.

“Whatever shall we do with you?” SLAP! “Urfff! Heeheehee” Stars were circling me interspersed with dizzying little hearts cuz that’s the part of me she’s not supposed to spank unless she’s prepared for the consequences.

“The question is what I’m gonna do with you, and when,” she growled.

Who said that? My eyes were closed and I was taking deep breaths.  Whoever it was sounded like she was very prepared for the consequences.

“Stupid brunch!” I may have finally said out loud.

“I give us permission to be late,” the boss lady said.

         We weren’t that late. And on the way home, we found this wonderfully secluded place to park and try out Mary’s present. It was a very special day.

         Because we had waffles for dinner. Really.

[Alex Bridges]

I had someone draw a new picture of Daphne. She’s writing in her journal about the most recent thing Mary did to her. ?

[Bel George]

100 chapters. Wow. That is a huge achievement. Congratulations.
Many stories start to lose their appeal over time, but that's not the case here at all. On the contrary, I always look forward to the next scene.

Thank you very much for everything you've already written and shared, and I hope you find enough inspiration to add another 100.

[YourFNF]

[diaperboymi]

On 5/9/2021 at 5:13 PM, Alex Bridges said:

Scene #100

 

 

 

         I was really not liking my brain that day. Or actually, not my brain. My brain and I are on the same side. We’ll blame my heart. I myself am more than the sum of my parts, so I’ll be blameless while one of my parts takes the wrap.

 

         The problem is for some inexplicable reason that I’ve tried to explicate to myself since the day prior that while Mary is not my mommy, I felt this unwelcome desire to do something special for her on Mother’s Day. I don’t even like Mother’s Day! Never have. It’s a greeting card holiday. I can appreciate my mom any and every day of the year, and I do. Flowers and cards and overpriced prix fix brunches just are not necessary, but anyhoo. I guess I just wanna do something nice for Mary.

 

         And we talked about having kids a lot of times. It’s just not right for us. We’re more the footloose and fancy-free types (or the Very Responsible Type A and Anxious and Quirky types but same diff). Still, Mary deserves a day regardless, and because my heart is weak and turns to water when I think of Mary, it overruled my brain and decided it didn’t matter if she’s not my mommy, Mother’s Day would be a perfect day to do something nice for her.

 

         My heart is not so great at planning, though (great at pumping blood), so I didn’t actually know what I wanted to do for her. And I may have forgotten to tell her I was gonna do something special, but that was okay since I didn’t know what the something was. For sure it wasn’t resting my cheek against her chest while we watched Zoom church in bed. We do that every Sunday since the pandemic started.

 

         “What are you thinking about,” she asked me after Pastor Sarah wished us a blessed day. I like her; she’s very kind and a little hot. Anyhoo…

 

         “That I can hear your heartbeat when I lay on you like this.”

 

         “Does it sound like ‘Daph-ne Daph-ne Daph-ne?”

 

         “It does now that you said that,” I giggled. “Do you think we’ll always be this disgustingly cute?” I had previously blamed the pandemic for extending our sickening newlywed phase, but now I’m not so sure.

 

         “Let’s hope so.” She kissed my hair and rubbed my shoulder, which I knew was prelude to, “We have to be at my parents’ in an hour.”

 

         “How come no one does Mother’s Day happy hour,” I asked as I sat up. “The happy part is built right into the name.”

 

         “You just don’t like leaving the house on Sunday mornings unless it’s to go to breakfast.”

 

         “And brunch isn’t breakfast. It’s balled melon and egg casserole.”

 

         “And mimosa.”

 

         “… I do like that part. I might hafta save room for a lunch waffle when we get home.”

 

         “You’re a lunch waffle,” Mary called me right before she pinched my butt and swung her legs out of bed. Such effrontery. Totally unacceptable. I really like it. And totally unacceptable. But don’t tell her or she might stop.

 

         “I don’t even know what that means,” I said and followed her to the bathroom. I took my shower last night and was not required to pee on myself, so no need for another one. I brushed my teeth and combed my hair and put on a little makeup while the pinching lady cleaned her body. Her lithe, powerful, firm body. Not that I was staring through the glass trying to see through the condensation … Maybe she’d let me install a camera in there.

 

         While she saw to her hygiene, I stood in front of my dresser trying to decide what I should wear to her parents’. This was going to be our first family gathering since the fall. We had a nice day for it. I always say fall is my favorite season until spring gets there. Then that’s my favorite. Until summer gets there. I have a fickle heart for the seasons. And not that we were treating this like a reunion or something, but it was still kinda an occasion, hence the makeup. I’m surprised I remembered how to put it on. I think the last time was New Year’s Eve. I’m sure Mary would have been delighted to come out of the shower and find me looking like a girl who got into her mother’s lipstick, but I did a very good job. I do look kinda pretty as fuck when I wear a little blush. It just goes with my complexion and the whole redhead day-walker vibe I give off.

 

         Anyhoo, my standing at the dresser considering options had only gotten me as far as putting on a necklace. I walked to the closet, and that’s when it occurred to me it might be time to consider buying some clothes. I had work clothes that I should’ve packed away months ago, since I’ve been not working since before the pandemic, and I had being-at-home clothes in abundance, but I didn’t really have any leaving-the-house-just-cuz clothes. At least not any that I liked. Looking at my work clothes made it seem foolish to invest so much in clothes, but on the other hand, who doesn’t want to be feel and look good in what they wear? Maybe even excited by what they wear (in the gleeful way, not the other kind of excited; we have those clothes already and they’re mostly in the basement). All of which was prelude to the end of the pandemic being soon, and I wanted choices that would make for fun outfits when we ventured back out to something like normal. Peering through the closet, which was somehow stuffed and yet I didn’t feel like I had anything to wear (and sorry if I’m calling anybody out with that), my eyes came to rest on the trunk.

 

         It’s not the forbidden trunk. I am allowed to go in there whenever I want. It’s just the foreboding trunk. It contains … stuff. My … stuff … is in its own smaller box. I don’t need a huge trunk like Mary because I’m not a perv. And because a lot of our stuff, including my many impulse buys, is in the basement. And Mary wouldn’t need such a big box if she did keep … other stuff in there.

 

         So here’s a thing Mary likes and is not a total random segue if you’ll just shush a minute. She likes it when I initiate some of the things that are things she likes and that I (mostly) don’t. I guess it makes me seem more submissive to her, which makes her feel more dominant and reminds us both that we love each other, like, a bunch. I think I even like her.

 

         So yeah, out came one of her diapers and some of the needed accessories to put it on me. I laid it out on the bed, and I thought two can play at that game, whichever game it was, and went fishing in her drawers for the Christmas gag gift that she apparently thought was actually pretty awesome, the nursing bra. That’s how she found me, still in my pajamas and rifling through her underwear drawer.

 

         “A-ha-hem,” she pretended to clear her throat. Did I ever mention that when she wears a towel I kinda wanna jump her bones? Cuz I do. “Are you being an underpants gnome again?”

 

         So first off, I was never an underpants gnome, and second, “No,” I said, taking out my prize. “I was picking something I want you to wear today.”

 

         “And what is that,” she asked in her sexy huntress voice as she sexy strolled across our carpet. Stupid Mother’s Day celebration. We coulda spent the whole morning doing acrobatic monkey sex stuff but, no, we had to go help ball a honeydew.

 

         “This,” I said and tossed it to her. “I, um, thought you could wear it … for reasons.” For she is the sexy huntress, and I am the sexy prey who’s only gonna make a pretense of resisting cuz I’m tired of the chase and just wanna be eaten. That’s a thing, right? I think it I saw it on National Geographic. At least, it looked like those animals were fighting. Anyhoo…

 

         “O really,” she said and took it from me. “Will you help me put it on?”

 

         Did I ever mention that when she shrugs her shoulders and the towel just falls right to the floor I cum in my pants a little? Cuz I don’t, unfortunately. It would be pretty cool if I did though, right? I mean, how does she even do that? I’ve shrugged until I got a cramp, and nothing happened to my towel. Must be a ninja move.

 

         “So,” I asked as I helped her into what was the least sexy bra ever except it is sooo sexy for us. Seriously, it’s pretty utilitarian. But what a utility! And I was gonna utilize it. Anyhoo, I asked, “Exactly how long do you think we’ll need to stay at your parents’? I have, um, stuff to do later.”

 

         She turned with her sympathetic face on and stroked my cheek. “Aww, Daffy. Did you do that thing where you your sex drive goes from zero to thirsty in two minutes?”

 

         “Well, you’re the one who had to walk around in a towel.” Didn’t help that said towel was on the floor. I was positively dehydrated drinking in the view of my wife.

 

         Whatever she was gonna say next, which probably would’ve been something to the effect of why do you do these things to yourself and whatever shall we do with you, both of which just make the problem worse, she got distracted looking over and spying the underpants I’d chosen.

 

         “Really,” she said, even though that’s my word, “you really want to? You don’t have to.”

 

         “I know,” I said while maybe, if you believe certain sources who very accurately describe things, blushing pretty damn hard.

 

         “We have some of the medical ones. Those are thinner.”

 

         “This is fine. I don’t think people can see.” She likes these ones more. Why not go all in?

 

         “Well that just sounds like a challenge,” she snarked. “I’ll have to pick the rest of your wardrobe.”

 

         “Har har, Mary … But will you, um, put it on me? … Asking for my friend.”

 

         And that, ladies and gentleman, is called a joke. Mary’s snark doesn’t even compare to mine. Even Mary must think so cuz she laughed harder at my joke than I did at hers, which was at most a titter from me … Ha – “titter.” … What? I can find unintentional (stupid) puns funny … Especially that one, when Mary is wearing that … gift I got her. Really.

 

         I guess the answer to my friend’s question was yes because I was very soon not wearing my pajama shorts. All well and good until Mary slid them up her own legs. They barely even fit … sigh …

 

         “What are you doing,” I asked. Very confused.

 

         “Look at me,” was her witty reply, “I’m Daphne. I’m petite and use a quirky sentence structure. Uwu uwu uwu.”

 

         “That’s not funny!”

 

         “Then why are trying to hard not to laugh,” she asked as I tried very hard to laugh. Red face, shoulders shaking, lip biting, that sorta thing.

 

         “Marrry,” I tried to whine and then did not laugh like Elmer Fudd. I didn’t. Um, really … yep, really. “Hey,” I cleverly exclaimed as my wife pushed be backward onto our marital bed. We do marital stuff in it … stupid brunch.

 

         “We’d better get you in your diapee, little girl,” she said leaning over with me with those strong arms of hers pressing her palms into the bed on either side of me and making me feel trapped and helpless even though I am neither of those things every..

 

         “I’m not a little girl.” I said it by reflex because in my head I was thinking, She is barely in those shorts.

 

         “Okay. You’re not a little girl.” She straightened up and traced a finger across my cheek and swirled it down my tummy. “You are a very big girl who needs her diapee on before she goes to her in-law’s house.”

 

Cross out the word need and that’s a hard sentence to argue with, at least on that day. Of course, Mary wasn’t done. She unfolded that garment of hers, taking her sweet time about it for someone who said a half-hour ago that we needed to be at her parents’ in an hour.

 

“And look,” Mary took way too much delight in saying, “it has aminals on it.” Nope, not a typo. That’s what she said. “What’s this one say?”

 

“It says we’re gonna be late.” Why did I do this again? Remind me? I don’t even like her that much … Really … Okay, not really. I like her so friggin much … But she coulda skipped this part, which was her idea entirely and was not something I started. I just got the thing out. It was the first one I saw.

 

“But the aminals wanna know what they say,” she said. “You don’t wanna make them sad, do you? Won’t you tell them, for me?” If this was an impression of my Aunt Bertie’s emotional blackmail routine, it was very good.

 

“It says moo.” As in mooove faster cuz we’re gonna be late. And did I mention my brain and my heart do not work together well? My heart wanted me to take a bite out of Mary’s butt cheek, which was hanging out of my pajama shorts. My brain, being the obnoxious little rule follower that it is, was getting anxious about being late to something it didn’t even wanna go to. I like Mary’s family, and I wanted to go to a gathering of people I don’t live with, but I think it’d like it more for lunch on a Tuesday. Sunday mornings with Mary, or waffles or both, are just special. But my brain didn’t care. It just knew there was a scheduled event and that, despite the scheduling not being to my liking, it was important for us to be on time and to go because while Mother’s Day doesn’t mean much to me, it does to Mary’s mother. She’s not my favorite person, but I do like her and would never do anything to hurt someone’s feelings if I could avoid. I’m very nice like that.

 

“And what’s this one say,” Mary asked me as she pushed my knees back and lifted my butt off the bed. I would’ve helped had she asked, but no, sometimes she wants to do it all herself.

 

“Oink.”

 

“What else does it say?”

 

“I dunno. Depends on who it’s talking to?” That one in the book about the spider said lots of stuff. I don’t read the book about the spider and the pig. It makes me cry like someone ran over my puppy’s puppy. Anyhoo…

 

“It also squeals,” Mart informed me as she dusted me with powder. I do like how that smells. “Know what else squeals? Daffodils.”

 

“I do n eeeeeeep!” That was an eep, not a squeal. They are totally different. And there she went again with the pinching of the places that are a part of me.

 

“O, I am gonna make you squeal today,” she threatened me. Which I took to be a promise. An addendum to our marriage vows, actually. I was planning to hold her to it.

 

“Aww, Mary. Did you do that thing where you go from zero to thirsty in two minutes?”

 

“Well, you just had to be adorable and sexy at the time. You know what that does to me,” she said as though imitating someone. Don’t know who.

 

“Whatever shall we do with you?” SLAP! “Urfff! Heeheehee” Stars were circling me interspersed with dizzying little hearts cuz that’s the part of me she’s not supposed to spank unless she’s prepared for the consequences.

 

“The question is what I’m gonna do with you, and when,” she growled.

 

Who said that? My eyes were closed and I was taking deep breaths.  Whoever it was sounded like she was very prepared for the consequences.

 

“Stupid brunch!” I may have finally said out loud.

 

“I give us permission to be late,” the boss lady said.

 

         We weren’t that late. And on the way home, we found this wonderfully secluded place to park and try out Mary’s present. It was a very special day.

 

         Because we had waffles for dinner. Really.

 

OMG...CONGRATULATIONS on chapter 100!!!!!!!!  This is the best story ever!!!!!   Thank you soooo much for keeping it going.  Please don't ever stop  ?

[Alex Bridges]

Scene #101

 

            “Daphne,” her majesty called out. “Time to go.”

            “I can’t get up,” I called back. “I’m gay.” I saw that in a meme and have been waiting very patiently for an opportunity to say it. I heard footsteps coming up the stairs.

            “Silly gooses say the silliest things,” Mary said to me just before she came around the corner into our bedroom. I think our bedroom needs a name. Or the whole house. Like Kinkmoore. Or the Lezdomicile! Yep, that’s our house now. “What are you doing in bed?”

            “Admiring the inside of my eyelids.” I’m not a smartass. Other people are smartasses. Really.

            “Up,” she said and whipped the covers off me. “O – you’re dressed already.”

            “Of course I am. You think I’d just sit around all day? I’m ready to bounce out of my shoes.” I’m very bouncy. I’m a lot like a Tigger: bouncy, Mary sometimes calls me kittenish, and I’m the only one (yes I’m the only one). And yes, I am hyper. On the cusp of squeeing even. Mary was excited too. I could tell because no sooner was I on my feet than she was sliding a hand down my lower back all the way to the undercurve of my butt, which she does often but she was doing it in an excited way. Trust me. And speaking of my butt, I’ve been a doing a very good job not getting spanked lately. I’ve been so good! I’ve only gotten some good girl spankings for fun stuff. Very fun stuff. Very good girl. Very spanky.

            “Tsk tsk tsk,” Mary tsked at me. “You’re not properly dressed.”

            “Am too,” I replied with what misinformed people might characterize as poutily suspicious. These misinformed people are wrong, of course, because I never pout (really!) and I wasn’t suspicious. I was certain.

            “Let’s just see.”

            Ya know, just because she has standing permission to take my pants down whenever the mood suits her doesn’t mean she should do it. It’s like offering to drive someone to the airport. You’re not supposed to say yes every time. That’s just manners. And so what if she was wearing the scent I bought her and a v-neck tee and was standing in front of me and I felt a little tingle in my tummy when she popped the button and unzipped my shorts. That’s just … things. And so what if she put her hand in my shorts and cupped my … me. It’s not like I went, “Hehhhhm” or shuddered or anything. And why the heck had we been so horny? Could it be the promise of an end to quarantine? Fuck yes!

            “I want you in pullups for our outing,” Mary said as her thumb did thumb stuff in my shorts. What can you do? Thumbs are gonna thumb.

            “That’s an interesting story. You should tell it parties,” I said. Except she shouldn’t. “Except you shouldn’t … please.” Bad story. No telling it at parties. Bad, bad story. Really.

            “Where did that come from?” She was smiling at me. O, when she smiles at me … sigh.

            “You said it to me a couple weeks ago, and I’ve been waiting for a chance to say it back.” I didn’t stick my tongue out, for the record, in case any witnesses say I did. That’s my burden in life, all these misinformed people and mistaken witnesses and perjurers and libelists who tell all the things I did when I really didn’t but may have and also did.

            “So you do listen to me.”

            “I listen to every word you say,” I told her as I leaned in for a kiss. A very good kiss. They can’t all be gems, but some of them are diamonds. “I just don’t always do what you say.”

            I mean, I always do. I just also don’t. I’m a very good rule follower. It’s just that I’m also pretty good at not following the rules. And I do have that thing about obeying Mary kinda obsessively, but sometimes that obsessive desire runs into other desires. The important thing is to (1) never doubt how good a girl I am, (2) never doubt how good a rule follower I am, (3) never question how anxious I get about obeying Mary on the important stuff (for realzies … like for real realzies), and (4) don’t question my nonsense. Anyhoo…

            “I do seem to recall you having some trouble following instructions,” she said and kissed me back. “But you’ve been very good about it lately, which is why I’m sure you’ll indulge me.” And with that my pants came down. “After all, it is for your own good.”

            “This should be good,” I mumbled while not mumbling or rolling my eyes. Which is when my panties came down and I got one of those – what do they call those? – a smack on the thigh.

            “We have a line to stand in, and it may take us a while, and I just want you to be protected in case you need to go potty and can’t hold it. We wouldn’t want you wetting your pants.”

            “When did I ever wet my pants?”

            She scooped up my panties as I stepped out of them and twirled them around her finger. “You wanna feel?”

            “You did that.” She did that. I don’t have proof, but I’m the official record keeper, so let the record show she did that.

            “I wet your panties? How would I do that?”

            “I didn’t say you wet my panties.” A little bit of sass in that. “I said you got my panties wet.”

            “If it makes you happy to believe that,” she said sympathetically, “I’m happy for you.” Yep, sympathetically. Or condescendingly. One of those. I did get a kiss on the cheek out of it, either way. “Though,” she continued ‘cause she loves to continue, “this doesn’t feel like weewee. Doesn’t smell like it either.”

            Setting the record straight again, my knees did not wobble when she did that. I didn’t make any sounds. Not a “Fffffff” or a “Hemmmm” or a “Fffffff.” Did I say that already? She doesn’t do that on the regular, btw. But she just did. And ffffffff *wobble* sigh … fuuuuuuck she’s a temptress, is what she is.

            “Mary,” I said over the sound of me blushing so hard, “you’re … a bad influence.” She. Is. Such. A. Good. Influence. One of the best. Really.

            “Hmmmmmm hmm-hmm hmm hmm,” she hummed as she strutted over to the closet where she got a pullup out. She tossed my panties toward the bathroom door to put in the hamper later.

            “I thought you didn’t want me wearing those anymore?”

            “Do you want a diaper?”

            “You’re reading an awful lot into everything I’m saying today … And no.” Also, no.

            “I wanna see your cute butt in a cute little pullup. Besides,” she said as she knelt down to hold the thing open for me to step into, “there’s always a chance you’ll make it to the potty. A teeny tiny chance.”

            “I’m not gonna wet my pants,” I had to say out loud ‘cause she can’t away with besmirching my honor like that. I mean, there are not consequences but I can’t let myself be besmirched. I have to … unsmirch myself … yeah … that’s a word. Really.

            She slid it up my legs, seated it firmly, and then there was more cupping. She’s good at cupping. Wasn’t quite cupping my butt. Wasn’t quite cupping my front. I like it lots when she remembers that part of me. And to get there, she had to put her forearm against my … me.

            “Of course you won’t wet your pants. If you have an accident, you’ll wet your pullup.” She was putting my shorts back on me. “And if you do, it won’t be a big deal – that’s what they’re for, for peepee accidents. It can even hold a mush tush accident, or at least we hope.”

            “Marrrry!”

            “And I won’t be mad if you wet your pullup. It’s a long line and little girls sometimes can’t hold it for very long. I’ll just take an extra one in my purse, and if we need to, we can change you in the little girl’s room.”

            “I’m not a little girl!”

            “And I’m sure someone would be fine holding our place in line. I’ll just tell them you wet your pullup and I need to get you into something dry. After all, if you wet again before we change you, it might run down your leg and get your cute little socks and shoes wet.”

            “Marrrry…” She took my hand and started leading me toward the car.

            “And of course we don’t wanna make puddles. I’m sure they’d clean it up without any fuss, but they’d have to get out one of those yellow signs so everyone would know to step around, plus the big mop bucket, and that would draw everyone’s attention to the not little girl who piddled a puddle on the floor. I mean, we’d offer to help, but I don’t think you’d like cleaning up your own piddle puddle in front of everyone, plus they do have their hygiene protocols in a healthcare setting.”

            “Marrrry…”

            “You need shoes.” Which are kept by the backdoor. I put my shoes on while she fixed me a bottle of water. “And you need to stay hydrated.”

            “Mary…”

            “Mhmm?”

            “Let’s go get our first shot.”

            “You’re the boss, Daffodil.” And I got another kiss on the cheek. I’d say I was winning the day, all things considered.

            “Am not.” I don’t wanna be the boss. And I took her hand, and to our car we went, off to get our first vaccine shot.

[WBDaddy]

Huh.  Here in FL, we had drive-through vaccine.  My little one wore pampers because we knew it'd be a long line, but we never had to get out of the car, which made it easier to convince her that pampers were the best choice.   

[Alex Bridges]

I went inside a place. It wasn’t a long wait. Been fully vaxxed for a couple weeks now. And of course I was padded. I’m not letting myself out of diapers.

[Alex Bridges]

54 minutes ago, Alex Bridges said:

I went inside a place. It wasn’t a long wait. Been fully vaxxed for a couple weeks now. And of course I was padded. I’m not letting myself out of diapers.

And I did wet myself while waiting ... and again while waiting to see if I had a reaction. So yep, piddler my pampers at the vaccine place. *checks item off bucket list

[Guilend]

I went to Walmart and got mine. No line. I just got my first shot last Sunday. I’ll get my second one in June. My little one got her first one a week before that and she had to drive through and get it while in the car. She lives in Virginia for now. I live in Oklahoma. 

[Sarah Penguin]

also fully vaccinated at walmart

[YourFNF]

Got my second shot at the pharmacy

[diaperboymi]

Thank you soooo much for the wonderful update!!!!!!   I always a joy to read ?