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

[WBDaddy]

5 hours ago, Alex Bridges said:

? Thanks.

Sometimes I feel this is a vastly under-read and under appreciated story.

Trust me, bud.  This is my favorite thing that you're currently writing.  I read and enjoy every installment, whether I comment or not.

 

[herezulo]

8 hours ago, Alex Bridges said:

? Thanks.

Sometimes I feel this is a vastly under-read and under appreciated story.

That's understandable. Both this story and Fear of Missing Out are incredible, but they don't get much love. The emphasis on spanking might not appeal to everyone, but both stories are amazing for the niche they fill.

[justforfun]

17 hours ago, Alex Bridges said:

? Thanks.

Sometimes I feel this is a vastly under-read and under appreciated story.

Some of us appreciate it! 

[Bluebird67]

Well, those of us who appreciate it really, really like it. I loved the interaction with Nana - what a lovely, wise lady - and at first regarded time with Jane as an interruption. But the description of the different headspaces was brilliant: congratulations!

[Alex Bridges]

Scene #17

 

EVERYONE IS STUPID AND CAN GO FUCK THEMSELVES! 

I thought it but didn’t say it. It was just one more rejection, but that made nine in a month, and that’s not even counting the applications I sent that didn’t even get a response. I should sic Mary on all those people who couldn’t even bother to tell me to go to hell. Assholes. Mary would teach them; she spanked the habit of sending out thank you cards into me, and I bet those pencil pushing HR reps with their business casual shirts and their policy handbooks couldn’t even take a swat from Mary without filing a workmen’s comp claim.

A month, and I don’t know how many applications, and all I had to show for it was the time wasted on phone interviews that went no where and two in-person interviews that went no where and finally, after two rounds of interviews with the same company and a third scheduled for tomorrow morning, I get a thanks-but-no-thanks email. Couldn’t even fucking call me. I thought I had the job sewn up. Why else would they spend that much time on me?

At least I only slammed the lid on my laptop. I wanted to chuck it through a window. 

I hate being angry. Walking it off doesn’t help, but I tried anyway and went outside and just paced around the yard. And being angry never ends with being suddenly not angry. It turns into being sad. It’s not even that I loved those companies; I wanted to work at some of them, but it’s not like I missed out on my dream job. It was just so much rejection. 

It’s no wonder by the time I got to my last chore of the day, grocery shopping, that I got home with three bottles of the same wine and four kinds of chocolate. Felt like every woman at the store saw what was in my cart and wanted to tell me, “You poor dear.” And then I wanted to tell the checker, “I didn’t get dumped” just to avoid the humiliation of that assumption.

Mary was home when I got home, though. That’s a bonus. I put the groceries on the counter and went upstairs ready to have an epic rant. I’d been holding it in all day. What good is ranting without an audience?

Mary hadn’t made it very far after getting home. She had her shoes off but her work clothes on and was sitting up on the bed typing on her phone. Answering an email probably; they never let her alone. I had to wait.

I got on the bed next to her and went through my mental notes to cover all the points I needed to make: they all suck; ass hats; can eat a buncha dicks; incompetent; inconsiderate; Mary should give them all spankings; may they dry up and shrivel; may their children and their children’s children have ugly babies.

It was gonna be an epic rant. Which is, by the way, is just a word for “adult temper tantrum.” The kind of rant that makes you YouTube famous and that you never live down.

Mary was writing a damn tome over there, and I was getting more wound up inside: may they dry up, shrivel, and lose their hair on their heads and get way more hair everywhere else. Mary hit send. My time to shine. She turned to me.

“What’s up, buttercup?” Here it goes, the rant the sages would sing poems about. Deep breath...

“Eheh, eheh, waaaaaah.” 

Well, it would’ve been a good rant.

“Oh, honey, come here. Shh shh shh.”

I don’t exactly understand why I was so upset. I knew the job market for what I did wasn’t that big in our area and it was very competitive because of that. I didn’t think it would only take a week to get a new job. Maybe I didn’t think I would get so much interest that went no where. That’s the flip side, that while it’s not a big market for what I do, there’s not many people who are really good at it. 

“What’s wrong, honey?”

“I (babble) and (not real words) and fucking (chipmunk noises) and I don’t even (unintelligible).” I have no idea how she deciphers me sometimes, or maybe she just pretends to.

“I’m sorry. Can I help at all?”

“No.” I don’t see how she could. And I’m glad she asked. Nothing worse than someone who offers advice when you’re just trying to vent. I just wanted to lay on Mary for a while. 

“Would a spanking make you feel better?”

“Uh uh.” Well, maybe later. It’s a standing (ha!) offer.

We laid there for a while with her petting my hair. That’s all I wanted. When I sat up; she rubbed the back of her hand on my cheek and gave me a kiss, a good one, before she went to the bathroom and came back with a warm washcloth. I held still while she wiped the dried tears from my face. She smiled at me. Amazing how such a small gesture can make you feel better.

“Such a pretty little girl.”

“I am not little,” I whined. “I’m just unemployed.”

“You’re my little girl. Let’s change our clothes.” I was already in just a skirt and top. Grocery shopping clothes. Mary took off her pants and laid them on the bed to hang up later. Then she turned her attention back to me.

It’s hard to be sad when your wife is prancing around in panties and a button-down blouse. I may have been unemployed, but I could think of a job to do.

“Your turn,” she said. She grabbed me by ankles and yanked so I was flat on my back before she pulled my sandals off, reached up and grabbed hold of my pull-up (yes, I was still wearing the fucking thing) and tore the sides open. She yanked it out from under me, followed by my skirt.

I just watched her the whole while. Little peeks of her panties from under the hem of her shirt. That queer little smile she wears when she’s up to something. I had a pretty good idea what she was about to be up to. 

“Open your legs for me,” she said in this steamy little coo. I obliged, ready to lay there and let it happen. She grabbed that wet washcloth, and I let my eyes roll back in my head while she went to work with it. It was still warm, and the rough terry was ... helpful. Her thumb was ... aggressive. Her fingers were ... suddenly not there. Huh?

I laid there motionless for a moment and let my eyes flick from right to left like there was an explanation somewhere in the room. “Um, Mary?” I sat up. Mary was across the room in the closet. In the chest I’m not supposed to go in. But I’ve been in there a time or two or once a week when I can get away with it. Sometimes something new and wonderful shows up. I stared at her butt as she bent over and wrestled something out of it.

Mary had that queer smile again when she stood up and turned around. 

“No! What’d I do?”

“Shh, everything is okay,” she said as she started unfolding that stupid, assing diaper. I hate them! I’d only worn them twice, and they are so much worse than pull-ups. They’re thick and they’re obvious and they make noise and I didn’t even do anything!

“I don’t wanna,” I whined. 

“Hey,” Mary said softly as she got back on the bed and knelt over me. She put a hand on my cheek and turned my face so I was looking up at her. I got a kiss, a very sensual one. I didn’t reciprocate. Not fully. Or fully but with maybe some reticence. Not a lot, but enough so she knew it was my protest tongue. “It’s okay,” she said.

Easy for her to say! She wasn’t about to be wearing plastic underwear with sea animals on them. Nothing wrong with my panties with whales on them - couldn’t I just wear those?

“But I didn’t do anything. Why am I being punished?”

“You’re not.”

“It is, too!”

“Do you want a punishment?”

“No.” I wanted to go back to hugging. Or what I thought was gonna be sex. Or maybe a sandwich. Is that asking so much?

“Then let me do this for you.”

“Urrrgghhh.” I folded my arms across my chest and stared at the ceiling. I didn’t have to help. Cooperate, sure, but I wasn’t lifting my hips for her. Which doesn’t matter, because she had my ankles in the air in a heartbeat and that stupid thing under me.

I started to make a list. Jane was on it. I owed her a spanking still. Add to that Sandy, who introduced the pull-ups and stupid diapers to Mary; I don’t even know what know her. That’s as far as I got before my butt was back on the diaper and my feet were flat against the bedspread with knees up and open.

“I don’t like this,” I pouted. That got me zero response. Mary walked away again, and I started memorizing the ceiling. I’ve memorized so many tiles and carpets face down over her knee - why not memorize a fucking ceiling?

“This’ll be a little cold,” she said when she got back. I jumped a little. It was cold, but not for long. It felt so thick.

“What is that?”

“Desitin.”

“What’s that?”

“Diaper rash cream.”

“Mary!” I didn’t need that. I don’t even know where this whole new obsession of hers came from. Rubbing that stuff into me. So thick and ... o, now I see what she was driving at. Okay. This is tolerable. Fair trade. Warming up.

“I think someone likes this treatment,” Mary said with a laugh. Smug little laugh. 

“I do n...” There I was trying to stay on message - yes to her hand, no to the diaper and the rash cream - and my body wouldn’t cooperate. Stupid hips moving on their own. I need a communications director, someone to follow me around ready to say, “What Daphne means to say is ...” and “Read her lips - no, the ones on her face.”

And then Mary stopped again. I was honestly pissed off. What the fuck about me crying for twenty minutes said Hey! I wanna be played with and teased!
 

Mary is usually spot on with reading my signals, and really, like anyone couldn’t read the ones I was putting out, along with, I dunno, the words I was saying?

I was so close to calling a red light, and close to crying again.

“Mary, what are you ... I don’t wanna.” She got back on the bed and put lips close to my ear.

“Trust me. You’ll enjoy this. I promise.”

I nodded but still let out a sob. She brushed a tear away, and I didn’t even look at the ceiling. I just laid with my eyes closed. I kept my legs open for her hoping she would tape up the damn diaper and I could get back to my shitty day.

A hand was back on me, and then another hand, and then she was inserting something. Like I needed more teasing. Then she pulled the diaper closed and taped it on. 

Fucking great: the wireless vibrator. Another toy best described as hers. Goes inside me, but she controls the remote. I am not allowed to touch the remote. Old men for whom TV is their only true friend are more generous with their remote than Mary is. It’s the ultimate edging toy, and I was not in the fucking mood. Mary was way off; if she thought this was going to make me feel better, she was wrong. Red light. I sat up to say it, and Mary put her finger to my lips before I even could.

She pushed me gently back down and laid down next to me, and I tried to breathe through my anger. Why the fuck couldn’t she read my signals? Where was her head? It’s essential: you wanna be in a kinky lifestyle relationship, you have to always be reading your partner’s signal. Otherwise, it’s not a lifestyle; it’s just a bunch of scenes negotiated as you go.

“It’s not a punishment,” she said to me. “It’s a treat.” 

I was aware I needed to say ‘no thanks’ politely. She was, after all, trying to be nice, she was just way off the mark. This was much more a treat for her. 

“But ...”

She stopped me again, took my hand, opened my fingers, and handed me the remote.

“All yours for the evening. Diaper stays on. Go nuts.”

Best. 

Present. 

Ever! 

That little remote was like holding a million dollars wrapped around a Nobel prize for Outstanding Contribution to Solo Sex hung around the neck of an Oscar awarded for Best Feature Length Orgasm.

I didn’t know quite what to say. I never get to have the remote. The closest I ever came (ha!) to getting the remote is when she offered it to me and then yanked her hand away and started using it to play keep-away-from-Daphne with Brenna. I thought I was gonna win when Brenna dropped it, but I was getting spanked before I could even bend over. The rules to that game are very unfair.

I just looked at the thing. I’m not sure, but I think it was what’s was inside the briefcase in Pulp Fiction.

“Do you need me to show you how to use it,” Mary asked when I didn’t say anything. Well, no, because discovery is the most fun part; well, second most fun.

“Thank you,” I said.

I got another sensual kiss, and I didn’t hold anything back, and I didn’t care that I squirmed when she slid her hand down there and pressed deep into that stupid diaper. All those sea animals were about to get quite the ride. The world’s oceans have never been such a happy place.

“You’re very welcome. What can I make you for dinner?”

The remote and dinner? Who needs a job? What are those for anyway?

“Grilled cheese.”

“Ya gonna come downstairs?” 

Was I ever!

I was gonna have my sandwich down there, too.

“Yeah. I’ll, uh, meet you there.”

“Is there anything else I can do for you,” she asked.

“Leave your pants off?”

There’s nothing she won’t do for me. She can read my signals better than me sometimes.

[WBDaddy]

Oh that's just all full of win for everyone!  Diapers aren't a punishment, they're a treat!  Never mind the fact that I'm reducing your station with them and you're debasing yourself in them, it's a TREAT!  

[Alex Bridges]

19 minutes ago, WBDaddy said:

Oh that's just all full of win for everyone!  Diapers aren't a punishment, they're a treat!  Never mind the fact that I'm reducing your station with them and you're debasing yourself in them, it's a TREAT!  

Whatever are you suggesting? ? 

[WBDaddy]

8 minutes ago, Alex Bridges said:

Whatever are you suggesting? ? 

 

 

I'll respond with a song....
 

 

[Alex Bridges]

Scene #18

 

It’s always pool weather where we live even if most people don’t keep their pools open year round. I don’t exactly get it; maybe it’s a cost thing, because it’s definitely warm enough to swim in January. We hit March, though, and everyone who has one opens their pool. I hope that’s me some day.

Every year, our kinky friend Brenna has a big pool opening party with a bunch of friends from the local kink scene on the first Saturday in March. As Mary reminded me before we left, I don’t have the best record with pool parties. 

I guess the problem stems from who I am, which is totally unfair as a person should never be punished for something they can’t change. In my case, that something is that’s I’m too adorable. It’s true. Really.

It’s not a kinky pool party per se, but it is behind a privacy fence, and there’s always a few people there who are a little more playful than others and always seem to get me into trouble. 

Jane and Lisa always go. It can always be a bit of a struggle around Jane for all the aforementioned reasons. Sandy always goes, and she’s never happier around me than when she’s stirring the pot. And Brenna’s boyfriend, my arch nemesis: Tommy.

Tommy is Brenna’s bottom, and when he wants to, he decides to act like a middle. I’m still not sure I’m a middle, but that doesn’t matter to Tommy when he decides that’s who he is for the day, and like any middle of that “age,” he delights in picking on girls. Or at least me.

Last year, not at the party but on a random day we were hanging out at the pool with Brenna and Tommy (‘Voldemort’ is his last name), I did the most grown up thing I could think of and tattled, as though Mary and Brenna weren’t pool side watching. I guess if ever there was a good time to admit that Mary sees me as a middle is when she told me, “Honey, little boys play that way when they like a girl. It just means he thinks you’re cute.” 

Hence the root of my problem: I’m just too adorable. He got a telling off, but it worked for less than ten minutes. Tommy doesn’t do anything inappropriate; he just makes a pest of himself, and last year I got fed up, and our splash fight (I was friggin Switzerland until I just couldn’t take it anymore) ended with both of us getting our butts spanked on the pool deck. Mary didn’t bare my butt, but she did give me a wedgie spanking and made me sit in timeout on my spanked ass on the hot pavement. The thing she did with the after-sun lotion at home made up most of the way for it.

It was a great day for a pool party. Sunny, not humid, gentle breeze. I had my one-piece on under my clothes and a fresh outfit in our pool bag. Mary had the same, but a two-piece. I like my one-piece, and Mary likes to remind me most little girls where a one-piece, a not so subtle point. 

I was on guard from the moment we got ready to leave. Tommy, Sandy, Jane, and a bunch of kinksters who would think nothing of seeing me get my butt spanked, and I didn’t even know how many people on Mary’s Spank-Daphne-As-Needed list were going to be there. Even if it does take a village to raise Daphne, I am seriously over-parented sometimes.

Anyway, we weren’t the first people there, and I carried the pool bag, and Mary carried the dessert we brought.

“What did you bring,” Brenna asked after she gave each of us a hug. 

“A cake,” I said. “Thank you for having us over.” See? I’m very polite and well behaved.

“You’re so welcome, sweetie,” Brenna said.

“And Daphne decorated it,” Mary proudly said as she unveiled the cake. I know how to use a pastry bag. Mary would be telling everyone who would listen that I decorated the cake. It’s sweet that’s she’s proud of me for little things and likes showing me off (most of the time).

I got down to my bathing suit, and Mary just took her tee shirt off and set our bag in a corner. I was getting a couple glasses of lemonade for the two of us, minding own business when my adorability led to the first incident: someone slapped me on the butt. 

This is a thing that happens to me pretty frequently what with Mary’s list of approved Daphne Butt Handlers, but I was a bit wound up in preparation for the instigators and consciously trying to avoid trouble, and my first thought was Sandy. Sandy, our good friend, my sometimes babysitter who won’t admit to me that’s what she is, and the woman responsible for introducing Mary to the joy (exclusively hers; mostly) of pull-ups and diapers.

“Daffy, good for you!”

Oh, Lisa.

“Hi, Lisa.”

“I told you so,” she said. What did she tell me again?

“Um, what did you tell me ?”

“You’re out of pull-ups. Like I said, everyone grows at their own pace.”

How does one politely respond to that? Mary is very strict about lying, so thanking her for her confidence in me was wrong, presumably.

“I guess so,” I said with a smile so fake I thought my face was going to crack.

“We had a little slide backward,” Lisa said and stepped to her right, revealing Jane in a purple one-piece with ruffles Lisa had to have sewn on herself. And peeking out from that suit, could it be?

“Is that a ...”

“A swim diaper,” Lisa said in the most chipper way ever. “Don’t be shy, Janey.”

“Hi,” Jane squeaked. There’s a very subtle difference between blushing in embarrassment and flushing in arousal, and Jane was doing both. 

“See,” Lisa said, “If Daffy can do it, you can, too.”

I tried hard not to laugh. Tables turned. “Aren’t swim diapers in case...”

“Well, you can never be too safe,” Lisa said with that condescending smile she turned on me not long ago.

“Mommy,” Jane whined. She is a cutie pie. 

“Mary’s over here if you guys wanna say hello,” I said. And they followed me, and I could see evil cogs turning in Mary’s head when she saw what Jane was wearing. Sometimes I wish we had no kinky friends at all.

“So what happened,” I asked Jane when we were both leaning against the edge of the pool. Mary was standing next to Brenna with a beer in her hand by the grill.

“I piddled on the floor,” she said in her adult voice.

“Why?”

“Level 99 Bratting. I’ve done it before, but she never made be wear pull-ups for more than a day before. Or ever in public.” She sounded less than thrilled. Good. I’m a mature person, though, so I didn’t say, “Who’s a pull-up butt, now?” Or “Na na na na na!”

“How many days has it been,” K asked instead.

“Three. I think she saw you in them and liked it. She kept talking about cute they are.”

See? My adorability even gets my friends into mischief.

“So you did it to get put in pull-ups on purpose?”

“No! I didn’t even think about that. I just wanted to do something naughty.” I’ve been unfairly (and fairly) accused of being a brat at times, but at least I have a goal in mind when I do. Gimme credit for that at least. I may be a brat (debatable), but I’m not a bratty nihilist.

“What would you know about naughty,” I asked, “No one even spanks you right.”

“I’m just a little girl, dammit. We have more delicate heinies than you ... And at least I don’t hafta use the pull-ups.”

“We’re gonna be alone one day, and I’m going to paddle you like a canoe,” I reminded her. Two kinky adult friends, but talking and teasing each other like good friends do.

Or so I’ve been lead to believe. It’s a conspiracy, is what it is. It has to be. All these people ganging up on me. A little good natured joshing between friends as we got out of the pool. All I said was, “That thing is like two times the size now.” And it was! It was filled with pool water. And maybe I gave her a pat on the butt (maybe as in, yeah, I did, if you happened to be looking at me when I did it).

We gravitated toward the food table. I don’t know what it is about the smell of pool water on your hands that makes eating Fritos while you’re still dripping so much better than fritos at any other time. I think it must be the magic of pool season.

“You guys having fun,” Mary asked us with Lisa at her side. Lisa had a towel for Jane, also purple with “JANEY” monogrammed in big pink letters.

“She said my pull-up was huge and threatened to spank me,” Jane said in her little voice. 

So freaking unfair. One second, adult. Next, takes our adult conversation, changes the tone of her voice, and BAM! How am I supposed to compete with that? Or even just deal with it? I didn’t want to start up with that stuff that day. I know I says ‘really’ a lot, but really (I’m being serious). 

So, fine. I won’t spank her. I’ll just hold her under the water until the bubbles stop.

“Daphne Ann, why would you make fun of her,” Mary scolded me.

“I wasn’t! I was just saying. And she was an adult until just now.” Context, people! Fucking context!

“You of all people should know better than to make fun. You say you’re sorry right now.”

“I’m sorry,” I said grudgingly. Jane is such a little rat fink. Saw her opening to stir trouble and ran for it.

“I’m so sorry,” Mary said to Lisa. Mary turned back to me and put a hand on my shoulder. “You go play nice and remember she’s just a little girl ... And you can do it without attitude,” she added when I made my not-impressed face. “This is your second warning today. Next time is strike three. Behave yourself like you know how to.”

“Yes,” I said, maybe like a stroppy teenager. That is how you use the word ‘stroppy,’ right? 

I walked back toward the pool in perhaps not the best mood. I lost my second warning over nothing. Even the first was over nothing; it was over my alleged tracked record at pool parties. I mean, at least let me misbehave first! Not the time or place, but Jane and I had to have some time soon to talk about boundaries. I’m o so glad she likes to turn on the littleness all the time, but it’s not fair to do shit like that to me. 

Knowing darn well she’d retreat into her little space like a friggin surrender monkey if I confronted her about it right then, and then that I’d probably end up raising my voice, I swallowed it down, poured myself a G&T, and got back in the pool.

This is what Spring and Summer and Fall are all about (don’t you wish you lived here?): sun on your face, cool water, and liquor that’s full of alcohol. Not that I was out to get drunk, but a little tipsy never hurt a girl, and that’s what we were there for, to enjoy ourselves. 

Then he appeared, Tommy. I hadn’t seen him, and then there he was at the edge of the pool with Jane. I don’t know how friendly they are, but they connect at an ageplay level that I don’t really connect with unless I put some effort into it. 

I’ve been meaning to ask Mary when she thought we started ageplaying, but it seemed irrelevant anyway. I like playing with Jane because we’re friends outside of kink, even if we needed to have a Jane-to-person-who’s-going-to-drive-you-to-the-desert-and-leave-you-for-dead heart to hear very soon. Just because Mary and I live a lifestyle relationship doesn’t mean I’m always okay with her playing in ways that get me in trouble. Drive her into the desert, pull her pants down, spank her in front of all the coyotes and leave her there. Floor piddler that she is, apparently.

Trying to salvage my good mood, I got out of the pool, poured myself another drink, had some snacks (oooh, shrimp), and talked to a few people.

Or tried to. Suddenly I heard Tommy calling my name. Always happy to converse with him when he’s not in middle headspace, but obviously he was. In what way was it obvious? Adults don’t usually call the name of someone over and over and over again trying to get their attention. They get their ass out of the pool and walk over.

“I think Tommy wants you,” the person I was talking to said. Duh. I mean, duh, what else is there to say than that?

“He can walk his butt over here, then,” I said and returned to what we were talking about.

And I kept mingling. I’m a world class mingler. Or is it mingleress? I have people skills. I’m a delight. I’m a pleasure to be around. I brighten a room. I’m getting sprayed with a water gun.

That little shit! “Tommy! Knock it off,” I didn’t quite shout. He sulked away.

“Act your actual age,” said my conversation companion who likewise has no patience for Tommy the Middle. I get that it can be harder for boy ageplayers. We girls are cute and don’t even get me started again about me, but boys are hairy and have beards and have all these toxic expectations they have to fight through. So I have sympathy for Tommy. I just don’t like how he usually expresses his middleness around me. It feels more directed at me.

And we’re mingling again. And then Mary is there checking on me, and everyone knows I decorated the cake, and every one is congratulating me on a job well done, and Mary drifts away, and then a beach ball bounces off my head.

Well, fine, if he wants to play, then I’m gonna play Daphne, 31-year-old unemployed account manager, and he can be the simpering pretend ten-year-old when I walk over and warned him, “I will march you over to Brenna and tell her what a bad boy you’re being if you don’t behave yourself ... And you, too, Jane,” I added because she was standing there smirking. For I am Daphne, and I’m not to be trifled with!

And how did they respond to my threat? In the appropriate way. Well, not appropriate but expected, unfortunately. “No you won’t!”

“Yes I will.” Odd, how quickly I said that without thinking.

“No you won’t.” And then there was a tongue sticking out at me. And then there were two tongues sticking out at me.

You can’t win that sort of fight with ageplayers. They have no shame. All you can do is walk away, but I did add, “I’m serious.” Whatever that means. I’m sure they got a good chuckle out of getting a rise out of me.

And we’re mingling. We’re discussing music and the latest movies and the newest restaurants. The things erudite, mostly young people discuss at parties. Totally low key. And we’re then we’re on to discussing travel plans for the summer and the inevitable work questions slip in and I tell the truth because I have nothing to be embarrassed about and people are offering tips and some of them don’t even suck and we’re in the middle of talking about the state of the economy and then then conversation turns to snapping the strap on my swimsuit.

MOTHERFUCKER!!!

Line crossed. Rubicon over there; Tommy no longer on his side of it.

Tommy the Middle isn’t even smart enough to run away. I turn, and he’s grinning at me with this stupid ‘now will you come play’ smile on his face, and I was by all accounts (especially the one I wrote) no more pissed than I had a right to be.

I don’t remember what all I said, but I do remember poking him in the chest and saying something to the effect of “I’ll serve you to the Devil on a platter made of damned souls and pita bread.” Subsequent eyewitness accounts report that I said something a lot less quirky and a lot more expletive laden. I don’t really remember, but I do remember him falling into the pool. Potentially in fear of me as I am both adorable and fearsome (or as Mary says, “My little handful,” which makes it really hard to let others know how fearsome I am when she tells them that) but also maybe because I poked him a few times while walking toward him while he said words that sounded like “Sorry” but it was hard to tell over the hissing sound of steam escaping my ears.

I probably would’ve gotten away with it if he hadn’t fallen in the pool. Not even gotten away with it. I didn’t get in trouble for telling him off. I got in trouble, according to Mary, for getting physical.

No sooner had I finished telling him what I thought of him than Mary had my upper arm, Brenna was leaning over the edge of the pool telling him to get out, Jane was pretending like chocolate wouldn’t melt in her swim diaper, and some bystander said, “Every year, the Daphne and Tommy Show. Love it.” And whoever said it said it like it’s the best part of the party.

I got frog marched to the patio, and Tommy and Brenna weren’t far behind. Mary picked up our pool bag, and a conference was held. Mary said, “I’ll take care of this inside if that’s alright.”

And Brenna said, “Be my guest. This naughty boy is going to sit in time out for a while.”

Brenna keeps her house freezing, as was very apparent, and since all I had on was a swimsuit, I knew I’d be nude and shivering in a minute. I didn’t even wanna hear from Mary on the subject of what I supposedly did wrong, but that’s not an option, nor is getting marched somewhere without “Ow! Ow! Can you you at least wait OW!”

“I will not wait,” she said as she swatted me across the living room, with guests watching, and upstairs. A couple of those swats practically lifted me to the next riser and propelled me into the guest room. Mary at least shut the door.

Way back when we were negotiating the parameters of the domestic discipline lifestyle I asked for, we reached an agreement: I didn’t have to agree with why I was getting punished. I just had to submit to it. Pretty standard stuff (well, for people like us), and I was feeling mighty righteous in the moment.

“I didn’t do anything!”

“You pushed him into the pool, Daphne.”

“I barely poked him.”

“Hard enough that he fell into the pool.”

“So fucking ... “ SMACK! Well, that handprint will be on my thigh for a few hours. Deep breath, try again. 

“So what? He squirted me with a water gun, he threw a ball at me, and he snapped my swimsuit.”

“What’s the rule when playing with other littles?” 

Well, let’s just unpack that statement: “IamnotalittleandIwasn’tevenplaying!” SMACK! There’s a lot of room between your butt and your knee. Plenty of room for individual handprints.

“Don’t you raise your voice at me, little girl. I asked you a question: what’s the rule when playing with other littles? If they’re being mean, what are you supposed to do?”

“Come tell you or their big.”

“Now, you had every right to to be mad, and even though you shouldn’t at a party, you had every right to yell at him. But you shouldn’t ever get physical.”

One of the whole points of domestic discipline relationships is the bottom doesn’t always have to regulate their emotions. I chose to exercise that right with my signature bawling-and-babbling.

“I wasn’t (babble) and Jane (bawl) and he (wounded moose impression) and everybody’s out to get me today!” It works best if you cap it off in the traditional way, by opening your arms just a little and leaning forward so that Mary catches you and you end up on her lap getting a very good hug. And it wasn’t a sympathy ploy. They were being mean to me and Mary just took Jane at her word and dammit, my feelings were hurt.

And Mary will never deny a hurt Daphne comfort, and she knows when that’s what I need. She likes to pet my hair when I’m like that. I like it, too. 

“I’m sorry, baby girl. I know it’s hard sometimes. You had every right to be upset. I just wished you’d come and told me.”

“But I’m an a-(sob inward)-dult (sob outward). I shouldn’t have to. They should just do what I say if they wanna play like littles. They didn’t even ask. They just wanna get me in trou-u-uble.”

“Ask you what, honey?”

“If I wanted to play. I was just - hhh! - trying to enjoy the par-ar-arty.”

“I’ll have a talk with Lisa and Brenna both about that.” One, two, three pats on the back. “Honey, why do you think they didn’t ask?”

“Because they think I’m a little or a middle, too.”

“What do you think?”

“That I’m just Daphne. I don’t wanna have a label. And they still need to a-a-ask. I didn’t me-ee-ee-ean to get in trou-u-uble.”

“Okay,” Mary said. She was rocking back and forth. “That’s okay. You’re okay.” She just keeps patting my back and petting my hair until I stopped crying.

“You’re not my mommy,” I whine-sobbed with a big (kinda nasty) sniff when I was done.

She thought that was pretty funny. “Who said I was?”

“Lisa and Jane.”

“They were just teasing, honey. I’m not your mommy.”

“You’re my wife.”

“And you’re my wife, sweetiekins. Do you feel better?”

“A little.”

“You know I still have to punish you for pushing Tommy in the pool.”

“Mhmm.”

“You ready to get it over with?”

“A-hhh-hhh,” I said (does that count as saying, when you nod and cry and suck in air at the same time) and stood up. Mary stood up with me and kissed my forehead. I was actually hoping she would wallop me but good. I needed the endorphin rush. Anything less than that would’ve been cruel. But I couldn’t say so. For one, trying to top from the bottom is always a bad idea, and for two, I’m always conflicted. Yeah, I wanted that endorphiny feeling, but it’s on the far side of the OW-OW-OW-MY-ASS feeling.

I like one-piece swimsuits and I don’t fully know why. There’s just something about them. Kinda that they’re wholesome, a bit of the girl-next-door vibe. And they make you looked toned, provided you are actually at least a little toned. It’s a fetish for me, obviously, and it’s the same fetish behind why I like women in leotards and singlets and ballet outfits and, yes, onesies. (I fucking love the summer Olympics.)

But to this day, no one has ever invented a one-piece that’s not a nightmare when you have to pee or when your wife is trying to peel it off you so she can spank your bottom. That’s what you get when you let vanillas design things. It’s awkward standing there while she tugs at it. It always ends with the thing inside out in a heap at your ankles. 

“Do you understand why you’re getting this spanking,” she asked me after she sat back down on the bed and cocked her left leg up.

“Because I shouldn’t have poked Tommy.” Risky, I know, but I still didn’t want to admit I pushed him.

“What should you have done instead?”

“Come found you or Brenna.”

“That’s right. We’ve had this problem several times now, haven’t we?”

“Yes. I’m sorry.” 

She turned around and reached into the pool bag and out came the paddle, the one that goes everywhere with her before turning her attention back to me. “I’m going to put you over my knee, and I’m going to spank your naughty little girl bottom very hard, and maybe I won’t have to spank for this issue ever again.”

That wasn’t a question, I laid myself over her left knee. She scooted me forward so most of me was on the bed, and my toes were just off the floor.

And I gotta say, she wasn’t lying because CRAP! did she skip the warm up. Mary knew I needed a good one and not just because of my (alleged) naughtiness, and she didn’t waste time.

I didn’t try to be stoic. I didn’t try to hold still. She was spanking me like she almost always does, fast, and harder than normal. I couldn’t help but arch my back, and my feet wanted to come up and I gripped the bedspread and was pulling myself forward without even trying. Mary got a firmer grip around my hips, and from top to bottom, side to side, she didn’t miss a single spot of butt. She’s thorough m like when search parties lock arms and walk through tall grass. 

I was actually sweating, and that little sob session I had a few minutes ago was now a wailing session. No way the people downstairs didn’t hear me. Probably the people outside heard me. Birds flew from trees. Rabbits dashed into their dens. Dogs started barking. Car alarms went off. People hit rewind on their DVRs because they missed what the characters were saying.

Well, not really, but you get the idea. That part of my spanking was over, blessedly, with not warning and the next part was the other kind of spanking. There’s no mistaking it for something other than punishment, but it’s more, too. 

Mary slowed down. She swung that paddle hard, but she didn’t bounce it off my butt. She let it settle before she raised it again and brought it down in the same spot, or a different spot, or the same spot six times in a row. I couldn’t anticipate it, and even though I always try not to, just the feeling of the paddle coming off my butt made one or the other or both thighs flinch away after the half beat pause that told me the paddle was on it’s way back.

I was damn well punished, and now this was the other thing. You don’t get the endorphin high off a punishment spanking. You get it from being taken way past that point. To the point where you’re not flinching or wailing anymore. Just sobbing quietly into the mattress until whoever is dishing out the paddling thinks you’re done. Mary decided I was done.

I kept crying, and she put the paddle down and ran her fingernails down my bare back, getting to my swollen butt where every nerve ending was electrified by her fingertips. It hurt in the best way. 

That feeling of warmth spread outward until it was in my feet and belly and cheeks and hair. My heartbeat was throbbing in my ass, and everywhere else felt as good as it ever had. It’s the same feeling as the afterglow of an orgasm, but even better and even longer. I still remember the first spanking that got me to the endorphin rush, and I’m not kidding: food tasted better.

Mary bent down and kissed the nape of my neck, my shoulders, my back, all the way down.

“You ready to get up?”

I moaned, sighed, and moaned again as I stood up. She helped me and got out of the way before guiding me back to the mattress, flat on my back, knees up and open.

“Feel better?” I nodded. “No one can do that like I can, can they, little girl?”

“Nuh uh.” 

She chuckled. “Why don’t you just stay close to me the rest of the afternoon? I’ll make sure no one else picks on you.”

I was in my happy place. 

“But you have to wear clothes,” she said and got my things out of the pool bag. “Lift up.”

Crinkle noises, somewhere in the endorphiny distance. What?

“I gotta wear a diaper?”

“Yes, sweetie. Lift ... good girl,” she said when she got it adjusted.

“Can’t I wear a pull-up?”

“I didn’t bring any. Besides, this is much better after a spanking. Holds the heat in. I know you like that.”

True, but, “Everyone will see.” I couldn’t even whine well. No conviction behind it. I’m very biddable after a spanking like that. Mary takes advantage of me when I’m like that in the best and worst ways.

She taped the thing up, offered me her hands, and helped me sit up. “This one’s different.” I said. It wasn’t plastic like the other ones. I didn’t know what this material was.

“It has monsters on it,” Mary said, “just like my little girl can sometimes be. Can you go RAAAWWWRRR for me?”

“Rrrr?”

“Good first try,” she laughed. I stood up, she held out my skirt for me, I stepped in, up the skirt came. Out came my shirt next.

“Stick up your arms,” which I did, and she pulled the shirt over my head. I helped.

My swimsuit went back into the pool bag, but the paddle went in her back pocket. Warning received.

“I’ll be good,” I meeped.

“I know you will, sweetie. Let’s go wash your face.” To the bathroom we went, and Mary washed my face like she always does, and she got out the brush from our bag to comb my hair for me. She put it in a pony tail, which I always do after swimming since that’s the easiest thing to do without showering first, and then she turned me around. 

“Wanna look,” she asked. Too proud of herself by half. Halfway between my knees and butt, her handprints. Just north of that, overlapping paddle marks. Just north of that, diaper.

I didn’t mind the battle scars; kinky friends would just be jealous. But, “It doesn’t cover my diaper.” I really meant ‘her diaper’ but I was so floaty I didn’t know what I was saying. Really. “Everyone will see it.”

“So? They won’t make fun, not with me around.”

“Lisa and Jane will.” They’d say I had a relapse or some smart remark like that.

“They will not if they know what’s good for them. I’m gonna be right by your side.”

“Will you give Jane a real spanking if she makes fun?”

“Absolutely.” In that case, I wouldn’t mind getting made fun of by Jane. “Ready to go back outside?” I just nodded. Pretty sure I was making Bambi eyes. I didn’t mean to. Again with the congenital adorability.

No one was in the living room when we got back downstairs. I probably scared them away. Or Mary did. We walked back outside, and got blinded for a second, and Mary handed me my sunglasses back. To say I felt conspicuous would be a massive understatement. Everyone knew I just got spanked; not just shanked, but spanked like Justin Bieber shoulda been a long time ago. And looking down at myself, I had a diaper pooch. No one had even seen me from behind yet with the monsters peeking out from under my skirt like they were checking to see if the coast was clear.

Twenty or thirty people were staring at us. Mary squeezed my hand twice. I gripped hers tighter. I was ready to start crying and hide behind Mary the way Jane does with Lisa.

“Woooo!”

Huh?

“Daphne Ann, everyone!” Applause. Hoots (the non-derisive kind). 

Everyone was cheering for me. I was getting applause. Me! About damn time, too. I don’t know what took everyone so long to recognize my greatness, but I, magnanimously, forgive them.

Mary held up my arm like I’d just won a prize fight (and like I couldn’t take any kind of punishment my imaginary opponents could dish out). And then, o, then, she put both arms round my shoulders, pulled me in close, and kissed me so hard I almost lost my balance.

Which also would’ve been classic Daphne. Falling down like a baby deer. Endorphins and Mary and I don’t mind saying I got a little lightheaded. Definitely had nothing to do with the three cocktails I had or the fact I hadn’t had any water (I forgot! Okay? I don’t need a lecture). I can hold my liquor. Really. I can. So long as I don’t have too much.

Brenna stepped forward, and I got a great big hug from her before she said, “Everyone told me who started it, so I kept his butt in timeout for you.” 

There, with his nose in the corner of the fence and his swimsuit tugged down in back and his pale butt on display, Tommy. Not so tough now.

“What’d I miss,” said a familiar voice from behind.

“Lots of good things,” Mary told Sandy.

Sandy looked me over. “Too adorable for your own good in that outfit.”

“Daffy and Tommy had their annual naughtiness contest,” Mary reported. Felt like tattling to me, but she’d call it a report.

“Who won?”

“I got a standing ovation,” I said proudly. “And I got my punishment in private at least.”

“Tommy’s gonna get it still?”

“Big time if I have my way,” Mary said.

Still holding my hand, she led me over to where Brenna was putting a folding chair.

“I have to pee,” I whispered to Mary.

“That’s what diapees are for,” she whispered back. “Stay with Sandy.”

Tommy was still standing there with his butt hanging out, seriously pale between his still-damp navy swimsuit and his slightly tan back.

Sandy was standing behind me and put her arm around me. “You got it good, huh”

“Got it perfect,” I was pleased to say.

Like almost everybody, we wanted to watch the show. Brenna was giving him then talking to of his life. It was kind of a whiplash the way she went from, “You will respect women” to “that is not how we play with girls” to “don’t you interrupt your elders when they’re talking” to “a grown man acting this way” to “every year you behave like a naughty little boy who doesn’t get spanked enough. Well, we’re gonna start fixing that right now.”

Tommy was looking straight at the ground. He couldn’t look at Brenna or at the rest of us. But he couldn’t help himself, either, and said, “It won’t even hurt! I’m not Daphne.”

No, he’s definitely no Daphne. Enter the ninja I married. 

“Excuse me,” she said to Brennna as she strutted through the crowd, “mine just got the daylights spanked out of her. Since he started it and was picking on my Daphne, how about I spank his bottom?”

“Great idea. He deserves at least what Daphne got.” Brenna stood. I don’t know if she knew what she had just agreed to.

“And then some,” Mary added. She sat down in Brenna’s place. A cheer went up from the crowd like Santa Clause had hit a walk-off grand slam to win the Heisman Cup (did I get that right? that’s a real sportsball thing, isn’t it?).

And Tommy’s face went from defiant to ‘o shit’ in a heartbeat. Mary thought he deserved more of a lecture, and I don’t know if Tommy is into humiliation or is just an exhibitionist or neither, but he did not look like a happy camper.

Mary really laid into him. “How dare you pick on my Daphne again! She’s just a little girl, and you tease her almost every time we see you.” SMACK! “You hurt her feelings, Tommy. You made her cry. Do you understand that?” SMACK! “I asked you a question.”

I’m guessing he mumbled yes, which didn’t stop Mary from delivering two more. SMACK SMACK!!

“Do you feel like a big boy now?” He was smart enough to answer before she got him again.

“Big boys don’t pick on little girls. Big boys don’t make little girls cry. And you know what? It hurt me, too. I don’t like my little girl crying. It hurts me inside.”

O my god, she got him to sniffle. I’ve never seen Tommy sniffle. I held back my cheer because there’s a certain etiquette to these things. Decorum, always decorum. That’s me. And because I’d rather hear her lay into him than myself cheering.

“And she got in trouble because of you. She just got her bottom spanked because of you! You started it, but I still had to give her a spanking.”

She reached out and yanked hard on his swimsuit and it landed with a wet plop around his ankles. “You,” she said with her finger pointed under his nose, “are definitely not a big boy.” He tried to cover himself. That only got his thighs swatted again and his hands smacked. “I’m going to treat you just Ike the little boy you act like. I’m going to put you over my knee, and I’m going to spank your bottom purple, buster, right in front of all these people. All your friends are going to see you you get your bare bottom spanked, little boy. Like a naughty toddler who can’t keep his hands to himself.”

She stood just to grab his earlobe, and pulled him down over her knee, took a firm grip on him, and gave him the punishment spanking she just gave me times about two, and he didn’t get any of the fun kind of spanking either. She just paddled him and kept at it.

He didn’t carry on like I did, probably because we were outside, but he was struggling and tears were streaming down his face and his jaw was quivering when she was done with his butt. 

He danced right off my Mary’s lap at the end. All modesty gone, holding his butt (holy ass cheeks, Batman! That color...) and dancing with his thingy flopping around. Although Mary was right; I’ve seen floppier.

Mary wasn’t done. She was back on her feet, grabbed his ear again, and asked him, “Are you ever going to tease my Daphne again?” He couldn’t twist away as she landed that paddle again and again and again.

“No!” He said with little sobs he was trying so hard to hold in.

“Why not?” Just cracking his butt with that paddle. I was honestly pretty damn impressed that he didn’t use a red light. Brenna didn’t stop it, but she did look like this was beyond any spanking she ever gave him. I’d have thought less of her as a top if she didn’t look concerned about the walloping Mary was giving him. Maybe she gave him the same sometimes, but it’s different when another top is doing it.

“Because it’s wrong,” he said.

“And?” Four more, all directed at his thighs.

“You’ll spank me again! Please!” All those little sobs came out now.

She kept hold of his ear and marched him back to the corner, landing more swats along the way. 

“You stay here in this corner and think about what you’ve done, and no rubbing you little fanny or I’ll start your spanking all over again, mister.”

“I won’t! I swear!”

Mary gave him one more hard one on each cheek, let go of his ear, and marched with determination right back to Brenna.

“That’s how you spank a boy like Tommy,” she said proudly. “Why don’t you keep Daphne’s paddle for next time?”

It’s. Not. MINE!!!!

And it’s definitely not mine anymore (yay!). And I guess that means we get to go paddle shopping (yay paddle testing!).

She put the paddle down with a clank on the table, and now she was getting cheers and applause while Tommy was standing naked in the corner with his shoulders quaking and his hands around in front of him shielding his dingaling from the eyes off he fence, I guess.

Mary strolled right back to me, and if I could’ve, I’d have lifted her on my shoulders. My Champion. My Lover. My Always Defender. 

I got on my tiptoes, three my arms around her neck, and all the cheers turned to awws.

She let me go, and with a big smile said, “Anyone else wanna pick on my Daphne?” She looked around and her eyes zeroed in on Jane, who had a raccoon-caught-in-the-flashlight look on her face. “Jane?”

“No, ma’am.”

Jane and I still needed to have a talk, and I knew Mary would follow up and talk to Lisa like she said she would.

Sandy was standing there the whole time, looking absolutely delighted. Everything in the world that makes her happy just happened right in front of her. The only other person I’ve ever seen put a hurting on a man like that is Sandy. Not that I spend much time slaying attention to men playing.

“Nicely done,” Sandy said. “It’s always so satisfying when you make boys cry.”

“He’ll remember that for a while, but I’m betting he’ll need plenty more reminders.”

“Boys always do.”

I didn’t even realize I was looking up at Mary with an adoring smile on my face until she she looked down and tapped my nose. “My Daphne certainly does.”

“Littles always do, too,” Sandy added.

“She’s my little girl, but she’s not a little. She’s just Daphne.” O, my wonderful Mary.

“Well, Daphne’s a little wet, but those diapers hold a lot. She’s good for a while,” Sandy helpfully chimed in.

I’d actually forgotten I was wearing it. And how did she know it was wet?

“She’s got the cutest little potty face,” Sandy added.

O my god. From my thighs to my face I probably had so many shades of red on me I looked like a paint sample card.

“She’s making funna me, Mary, go get the paddle back.”

“No, she’s not, sweetie. Are you?”

“Of course not, kiddo. You’re just too adorable, is all,” said the woman almost ten years younger than me. Calling me ‘kiddo’...

“I’m gonna get her home,” Mary said, “and into a bath, and then into bed.”

“It’s two o’clock,” I said. Then I got her meaning. I’m good at other things besides innuendo. And not sounding ditsy saying things like, “O!” when I figure it out.

I don’t know who said it was the annual Daphne and Tommy Show, but it was quite a show. Not that I was eager for an encore for quite some time. Might’ve chosen a different venue (our bedroom!).

But I like to think we taught people a thing or two, chief among them don’t fuck with Mary’s little girl (that’s me; just don’t call me that because only Mary is allowed, but please don’t tell her), and that a lot of Brenna’s guests went home and did the same thing we did. Probably minus the diaper.

All because I’m everybody’s adorabilibuddy. I can’t help it. Really.

[littleTomás]

Great chapter, very interesting!

[justforfun]

13 hours ago, Alex Bridges said:

“Great idea. He deserves at least what Daphne got.”

Great chapter.  Was rather surprised Tommy's bum didn't end up wrapped in a diaper like Daphne's was!

 

[Alex Bridges]

38 minutes ago, justforfun said:

Great chapter.  Was rather surprised Tommy's bum didn't end up wrapped in a diaper like Daphne's was!

 

I’m probably with Daphne right now I’m not knowing why Mary put her in a diaper. Honestly, not sure of Mary’s motivation.

[justforfun]

53 minutes ago, Alex Bridges said:

I’m probably with Daphne right now I’m not knowing why Mary put her in a diaper. Honestly, not sure of Mary’s motivation.

Despite my obvious preference to have Daphne in full-time diapers quickly, I do like your pacing and the direction of the story.  I guess I see this story as a domestic story, where one partner is clearly dominant.  Perhaps the same-sex aspect brings it out more, where the dominant partner wishes to remind the other that while they may be equal in the relationship as adults, that doesn't mean one of them is not in control.   Mary uses the spankings, etc., to remind Daphne of her position (which Daphne accepts, and even appreciates). 

Now, Sandy has provided a mechanism which Mary sees can also remind Daphne of her place.  Diapers/pullups are not just a moment in time, like a spanking, but are an ongoing representation of that control.  It's not the diaper, per se, it's the implications of the control that it implies.  This is a reminder that can be private between them, or more public, like a diaper under a short skirt, and is an ongoing reminder, rather than just a moment in time like a spanking.

I saw Daphne's (semi-)public diaper as a statement by Mary, in front of friends, of that relationship dynamic, and Daphne's acceptance as agreement.

Tommy didn't get diapered because it would seem that its just not part of that relationship.  Mary wouldn't do it because it's not Tommy that she's dominant over; from her perspective he just needed a punishment to protect Daphne.  Brenna wouldn't do that because it seems it's not part of their dynamic.  So it didn't happen, which, in hind-sigh, makes sense, despite it not being 'fair'.

I like how the 'little' aspect comes into this only tangentially... of course there will be an intersection, but that's not what I see this story as being about (so far!), and Daphne's own words seem to confirm that.

Anyway, that's my two cents!

Edit to add: Just to be clear, I have no significant insight into same-sex marriages at all, so my speculation on the control dynamic is purely speculation and assumption.

[Alex Bridges]

26 minutes ago, justforfun said:

 

Edit to add: Just to be clear, I have no significant insight into same-sex marriages at all, so my speculation on the control dynamic is purely speculation and assumption.

I just wanted to write about female characters. I don’t think a same-sex marriage is relevant here. I think the point is one is a submissive who enjoys getting spanked, and one is a domme who likes giving spankings. They share complimentary kinks, and both wanted those to be part of their lifestyle and not just play. 
 

Whether Mary is looking for ways to be more dominant or just likes watching Daphne squirm (their other shared kink: erotic humiliation), I’m not sure. It’s all from Daphne’s perspective, so Mary’s motivations are opaque.

[justforfun]

Fair enough.  Don't let my idle and uninformed musings affect your wonderful story.

 

[Alex Bridges]

49 minutes ago, justforfun said:

Fair enough.  Don't let my idle and uninformed musings affect your wonderful story.

 

That’s the fun of it! Even as the author, I don’t understand what drives all the characters and their decisions.

[WBDaddy]

I love, love, love, love, love how Mary just keeps nudging Daphne towards being Little, without ever admitting that's what she's doing.  The pull-ups, the diapers, the "my little girl" thing, the "playing with other littles" thing, just little nudges.  I get the vibe that she, at some point, is going to put the hammer down and say "if we can't be bothered to find a new job, then we don't need to be a big girl anymore, do we?" or something.

[Alex Bridges]

Scene #19

 

Sometimes we gotta cut our losses. I finally started getting some interviews, and I got pretty far into the process on a couple of them. An offer was on the way and Mary finally called me on the way I’d been talking about it.

“You don’t sound very enthusiastic about these jobs,” she said when I was talking about the one that seemed like I was gonna get offered within a couple days.

“I am,” I sort of protested. “It’s just, ya know; it’s still work. I mean, I’m ready to go back to work. It’s a good company. And I do want this job.”

“No ya don’t.”

“I do.” She gave me the same look she gives me when I’m trying to get out of something. “It pays well. They have a good PTO policy. Lot of potential for growth.”

“You don’t want the job.”

“I ... do.”

“Daffy,” she said in that cut-the-cute-BS voice she has.

“Alright. I’m not crazy about it. I just ... how much longer can we go without me working? And it’s not like the offers are pouring in.”

“Do you like the other one you might get more?”

“Kinda the same.”

“What if you did something else?”

“Like what? It’s the only thing I’ve done.”

“So what? It’s not what you studied in college anyway,” she reminded me. That was true. Kinda fell into it, like most people do.

“I’m not sure I can get hired for anything else.” That’s the way it is these days. Everyone is so specialized that it can be hard to completely switch gears when you’ve been working for ten years.

“If you’re willing to start over, then you could. If you could do it all over again, what would you do?”

I did always feel like the day I graduated college is the day I figured out what I wanted to major in. No one ever tells you when you’re 18 that you won’t figure out what you like for at least four years and that you might not ever figure out a way to make it pay, but in the meantime they keep shoving student loans your way even thought you’re a terrible credit risk and have no idea how much work it takes to actually earn a thousand dollars and how that much money doesn’t even go far.

“Something with people,” I told her. “But I’m not sure what. Something that actually contributes.”

“Your job contributes.”

Well, nice of her to say, but, “C’mon. Society wouldn’t suffer if what I do disappears. Garbage men are more important to society.”

“So,” she said, “what if you went back to school and did something else?”

“How could we afford that?” She gave me a look. I thought I recognized that look. Like I should know what she’s thinking.

“No way,” I said.

“Hear me out.”

“I am not doing cam work!”

“Daphne! How could you even think that’s what I meant?”

Well, that was an incredible relief. “What did you mean then?”

“My little girl has her mind permanently in the gutter,” she said with a grin. “That’s the one problem spanking you can’t fix.”

“Well, we could try,” I suggested. “You be the little engine that could, and I can be ... the train tracks, I guess.” So that metaphor got away from me. They can’t all be gems.

“Okay. Pants off,” she said and hopped off the bed to get a toy. Best spankings sometimes are the ones when I’m not actually in trouble. There just fun. I get a good warm up, and my butt stays fully functional for sitting.

“What’d you get,” I asked. She was holding it behind her back.

“A treat for you,” she said as she revealed her implement of choice. “The paddle from the paddle ball game.”

FUCK YES!!! I love that thing. It’s just a light piece of balsa wood. It stings just a bit, but it’s not heavy enough to actually hurt. She can wail away and I can just enjoy the sting and the warmth and having her thighs under me. She never uses it but she adds in a few hand spanks and lets her hands wander. It’s not a punishment tool at all.

She sat down, and I dove across her lap. Her right hand then dove into...

“Daphne!”

“What?”

“Your underoos are all dry!”

“Mary!” I whined. They were literally panties. Granted, they came from a junior miss department and had sea horses on them, but what does that have to do with anything? Of course they were dry. “Of course they are! I don’t do that.”

“Who needed a fresh pull-up at lunch tike today?”

“You make me! You won’t let me take them off until I use them!” It’s hard to defend my honor when her hand is ...

She completely ignored me. “I’m so proud of you.” 

“Well, you always are ... heh! ... You ... o...” I took a debate class in college. However many thousand dollars that was to have a so-called ‘well rounded education’. They taught us many strategies for sticking to our talking points when there’s distractions, but this wasn’t one of the distractions we practiced for.

SMACK! Aw, she really loves me.

“Such a good job,” she said as she pulled my panties down. “Now, about this problem you have with thinking too much about sex...” SMACK SMACK!!!

“It’s not a problem. It’s a delightful personality trait.”  SMACK SMACK SMACK!!! “You couldn’t do this so often if I wasn’t in the mood.”

WHACK! 

Okay, that one was her hand and it hurt.

“Yes, I could. Because I’m me, and you’re you, and you told me you wanted me to decide when you get your bumbum spanked and promised to love, cherish, and obey or else.” SMACK! “Didn’t you, little girl?”

She’s got my number. “Yes,” I meeped. 

“You submit...” SMACK SMACK SMACK CRACK!!! “because you’re a kinky little monkey who just (SMACK!) can’t (CRACK!) help herself (WHACK WHACK!) .... Ya know, I don’t want you camming, but I bet we could make a lot of money just streaming this. You have one of the most spankable butts ever,” she said as she grabbed a handful of it and squeezed hard.

“You would know,” I answered back with a laugh.

“Is that a crack about how many butts I’ve spanked?”

“It’s a crack about how much spanking porn you watch!” WHACK!! WHACK!!!

“You have such a mouth on you sometimes.” Understatement of this young millennium. “Good thing you do so many good things with it.”

I was hoping that was the signal that the paddle was done and we could move on to other activities. Not so much.

SMACK!!! “So,” she said, “back to paying for school, if you want to go back, and I’m not pushing either way, what I meant before you jumped to the conclusion I wanted to digitally pimp you out (CRACK!! that was her hand again), is that we can ask my grandparents.”

O! Duh! Her grandparents are in their nineties, physically in just terrible shape, mentally totally with it, and rich. Not ‘our descendants never have to work rich’ but ‘if we don’t spend it all on nursing care, we’ll leave you a great big chunk of change’ rich. 

“I don’t wanna take their money,” I said. WHACK!

“Why not? They’ve said several times now they’d rather see us spend it while they’re still alive to enjoy it.”

“What if they need it? They could end up need a nurse full time or have to move into a nursing home.” SMACK!

“They could, but they have more than enough. And frankly, they couldn’t spend it all on a nursing home even if they tried. They’re too old.” 

She and I talked about that. It’s sad.

“We’d still need to cover expenses.” I knew she didn’t mean asking for so much from them I didn’t have to work.

“Well, if you found a part time job or freelanced, we could make it work. We can make a budget tomorrow. House, utilities, cars, spanking implements, insurance, food, diapers, wipes, powder, rainy day fund, gas, healthcare, retirement account...”

“I heard that!”

“Good. It’s important that you understand the importance of saving for retirement.” SMACK SMACK CRACK WHACK!

“It’s too late to apply for the fall.”

“You can be a visiting student. And you can take some summer classes and see what you like.”

“Sarina likes being a hospice nurse...” I thought out loud.

“You don’t wanna do that.”

“Why not? I can do that.”

“Because you cry enough as it is. You’d be a weepy little basket case every day.”

“What ideas do you have?”

“Well, it’s not up to me. I think you need to think it through some more.”

“I will.”

“What will you do if they offer you that job?”

“Turn it down unless the money is amazing.”

“What will you do if I switch to the real paddle?”

“Do as I’m told.”

“What will you do if I throw out all your undies?”

“Go commando.” Ha! Let her be conflicted for once.

“What will you do if I flip you over and ...”

Ooo. My Mary.

[littleTomás]

Nice chapter! I like where things are headed. I wish I had rich grandparents who just threw money at me, but oh well.

[Alex Bridges]

Scene #20

 

We’re practicing. This is what Mary calls it. She even keeps a straight face while she says it. I haven’t been a student in so long, she says, that I have to practice. It’s important that the details are right.

If you’re thinking she has me brushing up on math skills or reading textbooks and taking notes, you’re way off base.

I’m practicing looking like I’m back in school. Great big smile when she said, “I got you a present.”

I open the box, and it’s a tartan skirt and white blouse and knee socks.

Does she even love me? Does she know what Clan Macalister will do to me if they catch me wearing their colors? Does she understand what could happen if the girls from St. Cecilia’s see me walking through their neighborhood?

It wasn’t a sexy schoolgirl outfit, either. It was a legit school uniform. I looked like a sophomore at Our Lady of Perpetual Teendom. 

Why are there so many pleats!?! There are people in the word with no pleats at all, and some of them desperately need them ASAFP.

The pull-ups are much less embarrassing. They’re hidden. Everybody was looking at me at Target.

“Can we get what we need and go,” I asked. 

“I’m just seeing if they have anything cute,” she said.

O my god. She is such a liar. She wouldn’t wear dress pants from Target if they were the only pants purveyor to survive the pantspocalypse. 

“See, look at these,” she said.

“You don’t put bows in your hair.” Into the cart they went.

“Okay, moving on,” she said without answering me and steered the cart toward our normal Target aisles. I actually have zero patience for Target. I know some people love it. I would too if they would close the store to everyone else while I shopped. Steering those gigantic carts around people just staring into space, taking up room, breathing my air, existing in my plane of existence... I don’t like box stores in general.

“Wanna split up,” I asked. We could get done faster and get on to the good part of the day. Lunch and then literally anything else. Getting hooted at by construction workers (again; they’re fixing the parking lot), playing catch with a watermelon, visiting with Tommy, simultaneous dental and anal surgery, watching a loved one be autopsied.

“Nah. Let’s stick together.” 

“Can’t we split up and finish faster?”

“What’s the rush? Don’t you like shopping with me?”

“You know I hate Target, and everyone is looking at me.”

“They are not. That’s just your imagination.”

“Yes they are!”

“Like who?”

“Like him,” I said and pointed at a boy who looked about sixteen and like he wanted to ask me to junior prom. And he saw me point and smiled this big stupid smitten teenager smile. Mary just laughed while I turned around mortified and hoped for one of the fluorescent lights to fall on me. Why fluorescent? There’s too much fluorescence in these stores!

We don’t need to go down every aisle. I, too, love the serendipity of finding something you want to have without knowing you wanted it, but come the fuck on. We don’t have any surfaces in need of lamps. We don’t eat off placemats. There’s nothing wrong with our tableware. Our shower curtain is holding up like a champ. We don’t buy linens at Target. We haven’t bought a DVD in I don’t know how many years. We don’t have a baby. We don’t need or want flat-pack furniture. Our patio umbrella is fine. 

And how the hell are we back in the greeting cards again? Who are we greeting? And why does greeting them require spending six dollars? ‘H! How are ya? Happy birthday!’ Blam! Free! 

And why can’t we use the leftover Christmas wrapping paper for non-Christmas events? Santa gonna chew us out? It’s literally something people tear up and throw away. People should give presents in the shopping bag they give ya at checkout or just right in the friggin Amazon box. Use your reason people!!!

“Would you stop,” Mary finally said.

“Stop what?”

“Looking like you’re pissed off.”

“You know I hate these stores.”

“Sometimes we have to do things we don’t like.”

“Gee, thanks for the words of wisdom.”

Oops.

It’s not my fault. It’s shareholder capitalism’s fault. It leads to box stores that just grate on your nerves until you can’t stand it anymore. You say stuff without thinking. Maybe I could get out of trouble if I found a really good apology card. Totally worth the six bucks.

“Daphne Ann,” she said in that calm way that makes me know she’s pissed at me. She says she’s never pissed, merely disappointed or upset. Mom and Dad used to say that to me, and I can tell the damn difference. She took the shopping list out of her pocket, tore a piece off the end, wrote something on it, handed it over, and said, “Five minutes or else. I’ll be by the laundry stuff.” She turned on her heel - well, not really; she would’ve, but the cart was too wide and one of the wheels was dragging and the aisle was narrow, and some guy was bent over staring at coffee makers (why are we in this aisle!!! We don’t drink coffee!!!) with his gigantic ass sticking out, so it was more of pivot, scrape, squeezing - and walked away.

Well, crap. There’s my mouth getting me in trouble again. Like I didn’t know how this was going to play out. No way was she not going to spank me in the restroom. No way. Not even worth trying to get out of it.

If I’d done something not so bad like pull the fire alarm or deliberately knock over all the shelves and crush the other shoppers or robbed the customer service desk with a homemade flamethrower, she’d just tell me, ‘Wait until I get you home, missy.’

For smarting off like I just did, it would be, ‘Misbehave in public, get spanked in public.’ Semi-public. This Target has a family restroom. This wouldn’t be my first time in there with.

So what’d she write? With a great big butterfly in my tummy and people still staring at me as they spotted me in that school uniform, I looking at the paper.

AWW, DAMMIT IT ALL TO HELL! CRAP FUCKING ASSHAT FUNGUS MUFFIN!!!

I didn’t even know where they keep the adult diapers at Target. I headed toward the pharmacy section and about fell on my ass in the stupid shoes Mary got for me to wear with this outfit. 

Painkillers, stomach ailments, supplements - ah hah, incontinence. Sandwiched between humidifiers and condoms. Why didn’t I think of that? 

I was hit by an ethical-slash-ass-risking dilemma. Did I dare get pull-ups and pretend I was confused? And which of these were pull-ups and which were diapers? They all looked sorta the same. The only brand name I recognized was Depends. Those looked more like underwear.

“Can I help you?”

Fucking really? Out of all the Target employees in all the Targets in all the strip malls in all the land, the only helpful one had somehow found me? Did I piss off the Target gods with my lack of reverence for their bargains and tasteful home goods? Was I cursed by a wood nymph? Maybe I could try that excuse when I returned to Mary, which I needed to do pronto: it’s not my fault I snapped; I was cursed by a woodland creature who possessed me with a bitchy demon. 

The clock was ticking.

“Um, yeah, I’m shopping for my grandma (like he gives a shit), and she’s, uh, ya know, and I need to get her some diapers (I said very quietly without even meaning to) and I can’t tell which are, um, those, and which are pull-ups.”

“Oh, hmm. Ya know, I’m not sure.”

Of course he’s not sure! He works at Target! They don’t hire their employees because of their intimate knowledge of medical supplies! Why did he even ask? Did Mary send him? Is there an actual vengeful wood nymph?

“But,” he said, “I can ask the pharmacist.” Just what I need. A bigger audience.

“Um, thanks,” I said, “but I think these are probably it.”

“It’d be no trouble.”

“I appreciate it, but I think I got it.”

“Well, good then ...” And he just stood there.

O my fucking lord. I’m being hit on by forty-year-old Target employee while buying adult diapers. 

I pissed off the wrong wood nymph. She is one bad muthafucka.

 Not burdened by a cart, I turned on my heel and speed walked away. Not burdened by a cart, I had no where to hide the diapers.

“Took you a few extra minutes,” Mary said in The. Most. Chipper. Voice. Ever. So glad she was having so much fun.

I started to lift the bag into the cart. “Ah ah. You can hold on to those.”

“Mary,” I said in my very own I’m-so-past-my-breaking-point-I’m-oddly-calm voice, “look at how I’m dressed. Unless you want to end up in a Schoolgirls of Target video on the internet with me, I’m putting them in the cart.”

“Well, I’ll give you that.”

“I just got hit on by a guy who smells like Doritos.” Glad she thought that was so funny. It’s not that I mind guys hitting on me; it’s just that I don’t like getting hit on in public at all. I mean, who hits on strangers in public anymore? Go to a club, get on an app. I’m here to shop for (I’m dying a little inside) diapers, not to be some rando’s flirting post.

Mary took a thing of detergent off the shelf, the kind with no perfumes or dyes. She knows I’m sensitive to smells.

“Are we gonna check out first,” I asked.

“Still in a hurry?”

“No ... I just ... I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap at you.”

“I know, sweetie. It’s not the first time, though, is it?” A rolling lecture as I tagged along. “Keep your hand on the cart, hun.”

“No, not the first time.” I said dolefully. A mom and her eight year old walked the opposite way; she, too, was holding the cart.

“I wish we could break that habit of you not thinking before you say something. And you ought to be mature enough to just suck it up when you have to be somewhere you don’t wanna be.”

“I know.”

“I know you know. But I’ll keep giving you reminders until you remember to behave like you know.” I knew that, too. “So let’s go take care of this, finish our shopping,  and if you can be pleasant for the rest of our trip today, I’ll get you a treat.”

Still with my hand on the cart, we walked toward the restrooms. You think Target is big, just try walking from one end to the other with a spanking waiting for you when you arrive and a bag of adult diapers in the cart.

Mary parked the cart, or more like wedged it sorta outta the way, and I just waited to be told what to do or be taken by the wrist.

“What are you doing,” I asked when she started tugging at something in the cart and hoping the answer was something other than ...

“Getting a diaper out,” she said at a completely normal volume.

I was in damage control mode. You don’t raise your voice in damage control mode. You don’t do anything to make the other person raise their voice. You focus on the possible, not the ideal.

“They make these so hard to get out,” she said with a grunt.

“Just grab the whole bag then.”

“No, I got it.” With one more hard tug, she got one out. And tossed it into the air. It landed on the floor between us, and she bent over to pick it up, looking not in the least fazed to be holding a giant diaper in public. Meanwhile, I was ready to wander away muttering, “Does anyone know this person? I don’t know her. Wonder who that is. La dee da...”

My brother thinks that’s the most hilarious thing ever when his kid throws a fit at the store. Walks away ten feet and says, “Whose kid is that?”

Not an option for me.

“Come on,” Mary said, stretching her diaper-holding arm out and putting her hand on my shoulder to usher me into the restroom. All hard surfaces. It’s just so loud in these. And this one was right by the entrance, too. Does she just not care anymore if we get caught? Could be worth it if we got banned from Target. I still cared, though. She locked the door behind us, put the diaper on the sink, and hung her purse on the hook.

“What do you think, Daphne? Is this the third time we’ve visited this restroom together or the fourth?”

“I don’t know,” I said trying be to a lot quieter than she was.

“Not everything is fun. Not everything is fun for both of us. I do things you like that I don’t, and you do things I like that you don’t. Why couldn’t we do that today? For just an hour, just while we got some stuff we needed?”

“I’m sorry. I just ... I didn’t realize I had such an obvious attitude. And I didn’t mean to say that to you.”

“You let a lot of things slip out of that mouth when you don’t get your way. You need to learn to bite your tongue.”

“I do, mostly.” I’m just more comfortable around Mary. I don’t always remember to filter myself. 

“Clearly not enough. You’re gonna be in school soon. Are you gonna make smart remarks if the class is boring?”

“No.”

“I hope not. Now, I’m going to lift that pretty skirt of yours and spank your naughty bottom, then you’re wearing a diaper for the rest of our day out. You let both of those things remind you to watch your mouth today, or you’ll be one sorry little girl when we get home.”

“Yes,” I said, trying very hard to keep the attitude out of my voice. If there was any attitude, it was directed at me, not her.

“Been a while since you needed two spankings in one day.” Geez, now a little attitude is directed at her. She just likes watching me squirm.

“I’ll take that diaper right Back down, and spank your fanny for you if you need it this afternoon.”

I couldn’t help picturing that. It seemed best avoided. I just nodded. She turned back to her purse and got out the hairbrush. We hadn’t replaced the purse paddle yet.

“Mary,” I whined. “Not that.”

“Who does the spanking,” Mary asked. I think she was a little incredulous that I would be arguing with her after the lecture. I don’t very often do that. Not unless I’m trying to get a worse spanking than she has in mind. Which sometimes I do.

“Everyone will hear.”

“Who does the spanking, little girl?”

“You.”

“And who gets her naughty caboose spanked?”

“Me.”

“That’s right. I spank little girls, and you are the little girl who gets her tushy spanked.” About one inch tall; that’s how I felt.

She stepped up to me so that we were facing opposite walls. I didn’t have to be told to bend over; I just did, and she grabbed my skirt and tucked me under her arm. 

I hated that paddle so much, and now I missed it as that brush bounced off my butt. And when we get a new paddle for the purse, I’ll surely miss the brush. Give Mary credit, though. She left my panties up, and it was a lot quieter. Not quiet, but muffled enough that there wasn’t a giant cracking sound ricocheting off the walls.

I hate being bent over under her arm. I don’t like bending over for spankings at all. I wanna be over her lap. It’s a loss less fun and a lot more painful if I don’t get to touch her. There was nothing fun about this spanking anyway. She swung it hard enough to hurt and not hard enough to actually get any endorphins flowing. SMACK CRACK STING BURN. It just hurt, and I just stood there trying to hold still and let Mary give me the spanking I earned. I may misbehave sometimes (stop laughing!), but I know how to take a spanking like a good girl.

I started to squirm, and she held me tighter, delivered five really hard ones, and let me up. I didn’t cry or get teary - even if I deserved a punishment spanking, I didn’t deserve a bad one - and I straightened up chastened and with light red butt under those silly school uniform panties. Even the stuff from the junior miss departments are sexier than those friggin granny panties. Mary reached down and rubbed my butt for me.

“Anymore naughtiness in you for the day?”

“No. I’m sorry.”

“I know, sweetie.” 

She gave me my post-spanking hug and kiss, squatted down at me feet, reached up under my skirt, whisked the granny panties down and said, “Don’t need these anymore today.” I lifted my feet, and she had to work a little to get them off with my shoes still on. I kept my skirt up, and she pivoted back toward her purse hanging from the wall. She put the brush away, grabbed the diaper, and threw the panties at the trash can.

“You can’t take away my panties,” I sorta whine-shouted. Where did that come from?

“Excuse me?”

“You can’t! Please don’t throw my panties away!”

“Honey,” she said as she stepped forward and hugged me, “don’t cry.” 

I was crying? Since when? Then I felt a tear drop on my cheek, and my nose was all stuffy. Yep, crying. What the fuck?

“Shh. Calm down. You don’t even like those.”

Had to sniff back a runny nose so I could say, “You’re not throwing all my panties away?”

“Of course not. What made you think that?”

“I ...” Just panicked when I saw the diaper in her hand and the panties in the trash. She did joke about it the once, too. Guess I made a little emotional leap there. “I just ... I dunno.”

“I’m not gonna throw your undies away, sweetie. They’re too cute on your bottom.” She kissed me on my forehead.

“I ... I’m sorry I snapped again.”

“You didn’t snap. You just got scared.” She kissed me again. “Now let’s get this diapee on your bottom, and we can get out of here.”

First time I’ve been put into a diaper while standing. I held my skirt up and did a cowgirl impression so she could get it on me. I wanted like you wouldn’t believe to say no. I’d have begged for a pull-up if she had any. Shoot, why not just roll up the skirt a few inches and give everyone in the store a peak at my ass cheeks? Like they weren’t trying to look anyway.
Anyway, she got it on me, washed her hands, took a wet paper towel and wiped my face before letting me blow my nose. Of course she insisted she hold the paper towel while I did it, but we’re experienced with that. She holds the towel and says, “Honk.” I honk. She wipes my nose, and we’re done. I stood there through the whole procedure until she got her purse down, and once again held her arm out to gesture me to the door.

Back into the bright, awful light of Target. I almost panicked again when I didn’t see our cart right away. Go ahead and spank the crap outta me, because no way was I gonna start all the way over with this trip. I’d rather go hang out with the construction workers.

“We only need two more things,” Mary said as she started pushing the cart again. “Hold on to the cart, hun.”

There was no sign anyone had heard a thing. I breathed a sigh of relief. But i didn’t get to finish it.

“Mary,” I whispered.

“Yeah,” she said once more at her regular volume. Is that a top thing? Choosing to ignore that signal?

“I don’t like this.”

“What?”

“This feels ... awful.”

“It’s a spanking, sweetheart. It’s supposed to hurt for a while.” That’s definitely a top thing - choosing to mistake your meaning so they can make you squirm some more.

“Not that,” I said while rolling my eyes, not that she could see because I was looking at the six inches in front of my feet as we walked. “This is so uncomfortable.”

“Your diaper?” 

Good thing Our Lady of Perpetual Teendom taught me how to silently pray for patience.  Should probably actually do that more.

“Yeah.”

“That’s a punishment, too, Daffy Pants. This time at least.” Huh? That’s a brand new pet name. And a decidedly stupid one. I hoped it wouldn’t somehow take. What else did she say? I couldn’t hear over THE SOUND OF MY UNDERWEAR!

“I know, but ...” I was having a hard time even finding the words. “Feels ... like ... a grocery bag.”

“Really?”

“It feels ... cheap. And it’s so crinkly!” I’m not an expert, but Huggies makes a better diaper, I’m sure. God help me if they ever make a size big enough for me, because Mary will, no doubt, join Costco just to buy them in bulk, probably at Sandy’s suggestion.

“You like your ones at home better?”

“Yes ...” Crap! Crap!! Crap!!! “I mean, no! But they feel better than this ... I don’t like any of them them ... Stop looking at me like that,” I whined. I really needed to do a self assessment and figure out what was up with my whininess lately.

“Like what?”

“Like I’m the world’s cutest baby chick.”

“You are so adorable when you blush. I could gobble you up.”

“Stop saying stuff like that,” I whined.

She reached over to put her arm around my shoulder and pulled me close so I was leaning on her. She ran her hand through my hair and kissed me as we walked. “I’ll start keeping one of your good diapers in my purse when we go out, how’s that?”

“Horrible.” She just kissed me again. “Can I go take this off?”

“No, sorry, sweetie. Punishment stands. But we can just throw them away when we get home.”

“Why even buy them then?”

“Or we could go up to the customer service desk and try to return them. They’re gonna ask why they’re open, but if you want ...”

“No! That’s okay.”

“You do sound like you’re wearing a grocery bag.”

“You can hear it?”

“Yep.”

I didn’t dare look up. I’m sure I was probably getting looks, and I didn’t even want to think what they were for now. Looks for the outfit we’re better than looks for sounding like I was wearing cheap diaper. Or any diaper! I mean any diaper.

I kept my eyes down and inched forward as we waited in line, practically moonwalking to keep me from moving anymore than I had to. Turned into a slightly longer trip than it would’ve been, totally my fault, but we were almost home free.

“You know these are open, right,” the checker asked Mary.

Funny how blushing like a stop sign can bring heat to your face even as all the rest of you suddenly feels cool all over and that bitter adrenaline taste rises in your throat. Maybe this would finally be the one. That final embarrassing incident in my life that would literally kill me. Death by stroke as all the blood rushed to my cheeks and ears.

“Yeah. We had a little emergency,” Mary said while turning and looking pointedly at me. 

Checkers don’t care, and maybe shoppers in line don’t care, but I cared. Come on, massive stroke! Kill me here, and bury me under the Target parking lot. I’m ready!

But I lived through it, and Mary paid, and we walked back into the midmorning sun which is actually not as searing as box store lighting even if you stare right at it. And the parking lot noise masked the diaper noise.

“How ya feeling,” Mary asked me.

Real answer? I needed to cum so bad. So. Damn. Bad. Because of the spanking and humiliation. Not because of the diaper. Really.

But like I’d tell Mary that.

“You’re so mean sometimes,” I whined.

“Gonna be my sweet little girl for the rest of our trip?”

“Mhmm.”

I kept my promise, and Mary kept hers: she got me a peanut butter cup on the way home. We split it.

“Who takes such good care of you,” she asked me.

“You do.”

“Because I love you so much.”

“I love you, too.”

“You talking to me or the peanut butter?”

“Peanut butter.”

“You little stink rat.”

“I am not a stink rat.”

“Are, too.”

”Am not.”

[Diaperingdaddy]

Aww! Hopefully mary takes care of that pleasure need so she starts to have that attachment to her diapers too!

 

Great chapter! 

[WBDaddy]

She's not even surprised by the diaper thing anymore.  It's become part of the accepted "punishment" for mouthing off.  Mary needs to break out a Magic Wand and show little Daphne how pleasurable wearing a diaper can really be...

(addendum)

Also, since most of Daphne's trouble is centered around her mouth, perhaps Mary should turn this up a notch and get her an adult paci...

[Alex Bridges]

42 minutes ago, WBDaddy said:

She's not even surprised by the diaper thing anymore.  It's become part of the accepted "punishment" for mouthing off.  Mary needs to break out a Magic Wand and show little Daphne how pleasurable wearing a diaper can really be...

 

Funny, that particular tool crossed my mind, too.

[Guilend]

Or just put that vibrator inside her, diaper her then once her diaper is nice and soaked turn it on and leave it on. Let her start to associate wet diaper with orgasms. That's what I'm gonna do to my little ?

[Alex Bridges]

48 minutes ago, Guilend said:

Or just put that vibrator inside her, diaper her then once her diaper is nice and soaked turn it on and leave it on. Let her start to associate wet diaper with orgasms. That's what I'm gonna do to my little ?

I could see your little staging a rebellion and putting you in diapers.