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

[Sarah Penguin]

:)

[YourFNF]

Cute art! *giggles*

[Alex Bridges]

Scene #135

I can’t help myself: I like Sundays. I used to get the Sunday Scaries, but early retirement did away with those, so now it’s just church in the morning (which we’re still doing on Zoom), and then anything I want. I can mostly do anything I want any day of the week, but I can do it with Mary on Sundays. I know some couples who don’t do much together and some who don’t do much apart, and whatever works for them. But I’m firmly in the doing most things together camp. And at night, in our tent, hoo boy!

It had been before March 2020 that we last went to the mall. I didn’t really know what to expect. I guess I expected more empty storefronts and fewer shoppers. I at least hoped there’d be fewer shoppers, but with Christmas having begun - apparently - the day after Halloween and people trying to buy gifts early in case it stocks were down or things arrived late, it looked like any pre-pandemic Sunday at the mall.

Mary picked a parking spot at the edge of the lot and just sat for a moment looking around before turning off the car. “What,” I asked, pretty sure I knew the answer.

“I was hoping it wouldn’t be so crowded.”

“We’re both vaccinated and wearing masks,” I shrugged. “It just is what it is.” We can’t avoid crowds forever. It wasn’t even Christmas crowded. It was just regular crowded. I don’t like crowds for reasons having nothing to do with the pandemic or my condition, but I learned long ago to tolerate them because that’s life.

Mary turned off the car and put her hand on my forearm, fixing me with one of her meaningful stares. “Stay close to me,” she said.

“Okay,” I replied while resisting the urge to roll my eyes. Stay close to her because why? So she could swat virus away from me? Speaking as a someone who has been accused of being a tad dramatic from time to time, Mary was being so dramatic. And I didn’t care. I wasn’t planning on going far from her. That’s the whole point of spending the day together, the togetherness part.

In retrospect, I’m surprised we didn’t get locked out for gratuitous hand holding. I like Mary’s hands. They do all these fun things to me. Hand in hand, shopping. Swap the mall for a farmers’ market and put us in matching fleece vests, and we’d be That Couple, the one everybody hate-envies.

“You know what we haven’t gotten you in a long time,” Mary said after we’d perused for a bit.

“Jewelry.”

“I got you jewelry for Christmas.”

“And it’s beautiful and I love it,” I said as I fingered a heart necklace she once gave me that was resting very suggestively at the soft spot between my collarbones. Anything there is suggestive; it’s just such a sexy spot, and I don’t know why.

“We haven’t gotten you any Junior Miss undies in almost two years,” she said as though I don’t deserve jewelry on a more regular basis. In millennia past, people would come from far and wide to deliver gold and jewels to my forebears. True story.

“Pretty sure I don’t need any of those,” I said to Mary because I didn’t need any of those.

“Because you wear diapers now?”

“Marrry,” I whisper-whined, “I do not, and keep your voice down.”

She had that wolffish grin of hers plastered on, her I’m-gonna-pounce-on-you-and-you-can’t-stop-me grin. And of course I can’t stop her! I’m just a small woodland creature! Doesn’t mean she has to give in to her predator instinct every darn time the mood strikes her. She’s a beast is what she is, a sleek, beautiful, vicious beast. Which is only awesome almost all the times.

“I thought you wanted back in panties.”

“I’m wearing panties,” I continued to whisper while she continued to talk at a normal volume.

“Training panties.” Okay, so yeah, but whose idea was that? Mary’s! With a capitol M which stands for Mary!

“I don’t need any,” I hissed, “because I have like fifty pair and fifteen regular pair that you’ve hidden somewhere in our house.” She didn’t leave enough in my drawer to get through even a week without laundry. How would we even go on vacation?

“Okay,” she said, “if you don’t think you’re ready.” She shrugged her I’m-not-done shrug. “After all, Doctor Spock did say not to force it and to wait until they tell you they’re ready for potty training.”

“Ugh! You are such a nerd.”

“How,” she asked.

“Quoting Star Wars,” I said while making my duh-ya-big-nerd face at her.

“There so many things wrong with that,” she said as we kept walking. O please jeebus don’t, I silently pleaded as she started to explain the things wrong with it.

“Wanna go in,” she said to me as we were about to pass a lingerie store.

“Who are we shopping for?”

“Us,” she said and took my hand. It must be kink related, but lingerie has never been on my top-ten list. I’m gonna venture that given that my kinks lean so heavily toward roleplay, the idea of a woman in lingerie was never itself so sexy to me that I got all drooly about it. I’m all about the domestic discipline, and a woman in lingerie isn’t especially domestic, at least not to me.

On the other hand, Mary in lingerie. Things that lift and things that are tight and things that are shiny and things that are lacy. Doesn’t throw me over the moon, but I do like looking and touching. And me in lingerie? Depends on what it is. Anything that could be considered a one-piece, heck yes. Anything else? Meh.

One thing we can agree on are things that open with bows. I didn’t think much about it at first, but it’s obvious in retrospect why Mary likes me in things with bows. For my part, anything that opens with a bow is something I can open hands free. Taking something off Mary hands free? Color me yes.

And to be clear, this wasn’t like a kinky lingerie boutique. We’re not talking about leather or plastic with matching boots. Most of what the store had was something you’d actually wear, not purely fun stuff.

“Wanna try this on,” Mary asked as she took a bra off a rack.

“I don’t need to try it on. I know my size.”

Her eyes darted left and right like she was going to do or say something inappropriate. Mary? Saying something inappropriate in public? Never happens. Really.

“I wanna see you in it,” she said. Ah, I got it now. If what she says is embarrassing to me, she’ll say it loud and proud. If it’s embarrassing to her, she looks around like she’s making sure no one will see her shoplifting.

“You’re blushing,” I chuckled at her.

“It’s … feel.” I did.

“Yeah, that’s how satin feels.”

“You don’t have to,” she said like she knew she could bait me into it. “Not like it’s a necessity. You can keep wearing your training bras if you want.”

And like I ever take her bait. “As if! Give it here.” Dammit … I started toward the dressing room with it, Miss Mary Voyeur hot on my heels. “You wanna come in,” I asked her flatly. Like, big surprise.

“Yes, but I wasn’t gonna ask.” She sounded delighted. She gave me a playful shove into the dressing room and closed the door behind us. “Arms up.”

“What is it with you and dressing me lately?”

“Ask yourself, Daphne: is it dressing you or undressing you that I like so much?”

“I swear you’re in heat or something.”

“Arms up,” she repeated. I complied cuz I’m a good girl, not because she’s the boss of me. But also because she’s the boss of me and as a good girl I do what I’m told (when I want to … and some of the time when I don’t).

If you’re gonna live with Mary, ya gotta have some moves. Ya gotta have reflexes. “No!” I propelled the word out of my mouth as I clamped my arms against my side. I knew what she was doing.

“What’s gotten into you,” she asked as though she was innocent of anything which she is not. Not! Okay? Not.

“You were gonna tickle me.” Like, hey lady, save it for the bedroom. And slow tickles. Soft tickles … and stuff.

“I …” She cut herself off and blushed. I made the boss of me blush cuz I straight up called her out. Not that she apologized. “Fine,” she acquiesced, “I’ll save it for later. I wouldn’t wanna make you wet that pair of panties too.”

“What ‘too?’ There’s no ‘too!’”

“Little girls always say that.”

“Grr!” Ya know what? Calling her out again. “You’re just teasing me cuz you’re embarrassed I caught you trying to tickle me.”

She didn’t blush, but she did say, “And what are you gonna do about it?”

“I’ll… grumble and take my shirt off. Hmmph!”

“Lemme help.” She set my shirt aside and stood behind me, opening the clasp on my bra.

“It’s been a while since I helped anyone try on a bra. Do my hands go here?”

“Yelp!” I didn’t yelp. “No pinching either.” And btw, no, her hands would only be in the way there … no that we were in a hurry.

“I guess I’ll just have to have my fun with you later,” she said with with all this faux innocence not really masking her lascivious intent.

“How about looking but not touching, Miss Mary Handsy.” I can put on a bra quite fast when I’m trying to get it on before Mary has any more ideas or loses her ability to resist the temptation that is me.

“Mmmm,” she said as she wrapped her arms around me from behind and put her chin on my shoulder. “I like it.”

“Both of them?”

“(Snort snorf gasp cackle).” I can make her blush and dissolve into hysterics. I’m talented. “You’re on your toes today.”

“Gotta be around you. Especially in public.”

“Does it feel good?”

“Yeah.”

“Wanna wear it home?”

“Just promise me you won’t tear it when you ravish me later.”

“Promise.”

“You gonna get anything?”

“Not today.”

“Can I get some panties while we’re here?”

“Hmmm. Have you been a good girl?”

Ugh! So not cool. “I’m always a good girl.”

“Really?”

“You better say it if you wanna go to bed with someone who likes you tonight.”

“You’re always a good girl.”

“Whose good girl?”

“My good girl.” Ooo, she’s kissing me! She’s got the hots for me. I can tell. “Let’s go pay and see what else we can find today.”

This may surprise you given my penchant for breaking the spending rule, not that I ever did that or anything, but I’m hit and missing shopping. Some days I’m just not feeling it. I think maybe I like in person shopping less than online shopping. I like being out, but I like the limitless possibilities of online shopping and discovering things I need that I don’t actually need. But Mary is one of the shop til she drops or feels a Type A sense of responsibility and couldn’t possibly spend another cent type. Which won’t stop her from fingering the merchandise. I think or two about that … from the merchandise end of things.

I wanna point out that accidents happen. Though not the kind you’re probably hoping, not to me anyway. What I mean is sometimes things are no one’s fault, but try telling that to Mary. I turned around for two seconds, and she was gone. She was looking at a table of tops, I was looking at a table of different tops right next to her table, and she vanished. I know she’s a sorceress ninja, but just plain disappearing is pretty cool trick even for her. Cool in one of those ha-that’s-cool-don’t-ever-do-it-again way. Not that I was scared or anything. But Mary …

I turned a full circle and didn’t see her. Said her name and heard nothing. I texted her, and I got a ‘Not Delivered’ thing right back because the mall is a dead zone or something. I walked out of the store and looked up and down the concourse, and no Mary. I thought about just staying there, but that’s for people who are lost, and I wasn’t lost. We’d come from the left, so if Mary moved on to the next store, it would most logically be a store to the right, so I turned right and slowly walked in that direction keeping my eyes peeled (which is such a gross expression; ugh!).

I got about halfway to the end of the mall when I decided to turn back. She wouldn’t walk that far without realizing I wasn’t with her. But my deductive reasoning proved unnecessary because ya know what electronic device works just fine in the mall? The public address system.

“Daphne Ann Taylor, please come to the customer service desk in front of Macy’s.”

Did she just have the public address lady double name me? Really Mary? Just … really?We’d been separated maybe six minutes. Did she even look for me before resorting to the lost kiddo service?

I was mildly embarrassed. I wasn’t very embarrassed or even regular embarrassed because it’s not like everyone knows my name. I looked just like any other woman waking through the mall. The customer service desk is this circular desk in the middle of the concourse, and there was Mary standing near it with her arms folded.

I waved, she saw me, and she started walking toward me. Not running or jogging or speed walking, but at quick step, and, “Oof! Mary!” Um, quite the hug.

“Are you okay?”

“Of course I am,” I said as I tried to wiggle my way out of her death hug. She stepped back but kept a grip on each of my upper arms. I saw het relived face turn into her angry face in real time. Mary has a disappointed face for when she’s disappointed in my behavior. She has an irritated face for when she’s irritated at me. Her angry face is for when she’s (did you guess her?) angry with me.

Not that I have a praise kink or anything or that being in Mary’s good graces is all I ever wanted and not being in her good graces is The Worst, but … yes. Not fair. I didn’t even do anything. And whenever I see Mary’s angry face, I hear this watch commander in my head go, Ruh roh. Not gonna be good.

“I told you not to wander away,” she said to me.

How is she so strong, is a thought I had as she practically spun around and started marching me toward the Macy’s entrance, still gripping my upper arm. Good thing being dragged through the mall by your arm like a ten-year-old in serious trouble isn’t embarrassing, right? Really. … Dammit. Debatable whether this was a mistake or not, but in preparation for telling her what was wrong with her version of events, I tried to shrug my arm free.

Perhaps Mary has forgotten the rules about being in public. It’s has been two years. She’s delighted in telling way too many jokes about me being to learn how to socialize again, but take a look in the mirror, lady, because while discreet smacks are on the list of okays, the spank she delivered was not discreet at all. One might go so far as to say it was downright conspicuous.

I don’t know who saw. I wasn’t paying attention. I was paying attention to me and to Mary and concentrating my efforts on not (1) getting another one of those and (B) attracting anymore attention because while she’s said it to me before, this was the first time I believed her when she said, “I will put you over my knee right here, young lady. Right on that bench. Do you want that?”

Who the heck was this person!?! She made a sharp left just before the entrance and took us down a hallway to – o wonderful! – a family restroom. I say wonderful because if she forgot the no-conspicuous-BDSM-in-public rule, I wouldn’t put it past her to give me a full on bare bottom spanking in a regular restroom. For onesies, she’s done that before. For twosies, she didn’t, um, seem inclined to be lenient.

No sooner were we inside than she turned me sideways and started delivering a bunch of spanks to go with the one she gave me in front of about a hundred people. I was saying something to the effect off, “Hey! Ow! That’s not ouch! I didn’t ow!” Let that settle for good and all whether a hand spank through jeans and a, ahem, pullup (that belong to Mary) can hurt. The answer is yes if you really put your all into it, and Mary’s Type-A-never-do-things-by-halves personality was a-shining bright … Dammit …

I think, based on my perfect-never-been-wrong reasoning skills because I couldn’t make out what she was saying over my own voice and the sound of her hand on my butt, Mary was saying, “I (SPANK!) told (SPANK!) you (SPANK!) to (SPANK!) stay (SPANK!) right (SPANK!) next (SPANK!) to (SPANK!) me (SPANK!) and (SPANK!) I (SPANK!) turn (SPANK!) my (SPANK!) back (SPANK!) for (SPANK!) one (SPANK!) second (SPANK!) and (SPANK!) you (SPANK!) disappear (SPANK! SPANK! SWAT! SPANK!)!”

I know for sure I transcribed the spank parts of that correctly cuz ouch.

“Hold still,” she ordered me when she got tired of doing the spanking two-step and spun me to face her. I broke a major rule of submissiveness and tried to stop her as she tried to get my jeans open. All that achieved was her telling me, “Hands (SPANK!) by (SPANK!) your (SPANK!) sides (SPANK!), little girl, or I’ll take you right back out into the middle of the mall and everyone can see what a naughty (SPANK!) little (SPANK!) girl (SPANK!) you (SPANK!) are (SPANK!)!”

“Mary, stop! Stop it! STOP!” Ooo, that got her attention. Trouble was I wasn’t sure how much of her attention I wanted just then. “I didn’t do anything!”

“You wandered away after I specifically told you …”

“You wandered away! I turned my back for a second and you were gone! Where were you?!?”

“I was right there.”

“No you weren’t cuz I was right there, and you weren’t. I looked! I looked, and I waited, and I then I went looking, and that’s when the PA person called me.”

“Exactly! You left the store.”

“Because I thought you left the store!”

“I was in the dressing room.”

O, yeah … guess I shoulda looked there, but that didn’t put me in the wrong. “You didn’t say anything.”

“I …”

“I think the word you’re looking for is ‘sorry,’” I didn’t say nearly as petulantly I was my right to.

“But you shoulda …” She started to say something, but I see she’d lost her mojo because she made her oops-lost-my-mojo face, a face she often makes halfway into realizing I’m right and she’s wrong. I don’t see that face as often as I’d like for reasons I’ll never understand. Um, really.

“No. I stayed right in the store, and you weren’t there when I turned around.” Ooo, now she’s making my oops-I-screwed-up face.

“ … Sorry.”

“You should be, Miss Mary Too-Quick-to-Spank!” I reached back and gave my butt a rub. “I hope your hand hurts,” I said in my cute-but-petulant voice. “You’re the one who needs to readjust to being in public again.” That was my regular voice. “Nothing is gonna happen to me if I’m out of your sight.”

She took a deep breath and pushed it out through her nose, looking down and away from me. “I’m sorry.” That’s when I got attack-hugged. “I’m sorry. I just … sorry.”

“Well … good. Just … you don’t hafta try to protect me from … whatever you thought.”

“I just worry about you getting sick.”

“You don’t get so anxious when I go out without you.” She’s been encouraging me to leave the house.

“I know. I just … When you’re right there I just … get anxious cuz I can I guess.”

“It is so hard being married to a big sometimes,” I joked (sort of) trying to lighten the mood. I like that she worries about me, but she can be overprotective. Unreasonably so. Like she’s there to protect me so she feels anxious, but when I’m doing literally the exact same thing on my own, she’s not? Totally a covid thing. I get it. But she’s gonna hafta get a grip on that. Not that I’m judging the emotion cuz (this may surprise you) I’m an anxious person myself, but better ways to deal with it than, as a random for instance, spanking me in the middle of the mall!

“You spanked me in front of everyone,” I said in my I’m-being-very-calm-about-it-but-what-the-crappin’-crud! tone.

“No I didn’t.”

“Um, yeah ya did, Mary.”

“That was just a …” So that’s what it means when someone’s eyes are like saucers. “IsosorryandI’msorryandalsoI’msorry!” Ugh, it is so discomfiting when she talks like me.

I responded from once more inside one of her murder hugs with, “Isoaygiveyou.”

“What?”

She let me up for air. “I forgive you.” Because I’m gracious like that and also because I’m sorta in love with her. “And for the rest of the spanking too.”

She shook her head and chuckled. “You have no idea how lucky you are.”

Excuse me? “How am I lucky? You just spanked me in front of a hundred people and then did it a bunch more times!”

“Because I was gonna paddle you like … People would’ve seen one weepy, red-faced little girl walking through the mall with her hand on her butt.”

“As if! When have I ever cried during a spanking?”

“(Guffaw cackle snorf cackle snorf snorf)!”

“What’d I say?” Um, really.

“(Horselaugh snorf snorf). O you,” she said and made to hug me again, but I dodged. “Hey, c’mere.” Ya know who’s she like? That guy from Mortal Kombat who says, Hey! Get over here!

“You hug too hard sometimes, and I only like it most of the time.”

“Awww. I forget what a delicate flower you are. C’mere.”

“I’m not a delicate flower.”

“Uh-huh.”

“ … You spanked me in front of all those people … And dragged me through the mall like a naughty kid … And had the PA lady call me by both names … Gave me a spanking I didn’t earn.”

“O, like you’re dying.” She gave me a swat on my butt to emphasize her point.

“I think you owe me stuff.”

“That’s fair.”

“I don’t own any platinum.”

“How about an ice cream after lunch?”

Ooo! Sugar! “I accept.”

“How’s your diaper holding up? Need a change?”

“It’s not a diaper, and it’s not mine,” I whined.

“Well excuse me for forgetting it’s a pullup, which is just a diaper that gets pulled up.”

“It’s not! It’s totally different,” I whined as she put her arm around my shoulder and walked us back into the hallway.

“That’s just something they want you to believe,” she with a wink in my direction (who was she winking at, do ya think?) and gave me a peck on the cheek.

“Um, Mary?”

“Yeah, Daffodil?”

“When you said you’d put me over your knee right on that bench,” I asked as we walked by the bench in question. “When we get home, could you, um, tell me more about that … exactly … while we do stuff … and things?”

“(Snorf)! What sort of stuff?”

“Ya know stuff … and also things.”

But, um, yeah, I was deeply traumatized by being spanked in front of the whole mall … and stuff. Um really.

[Sarah Penguin]

[kerry]

Two whole weeks without an update? I think Daphne is not the only one who needs a spanking...

[Alex Bridges]

7 minutes ago, kerry said:

Two whole weeks without an update? I think Daphne is not the only one who needs a spanking...

I had a picture made! ?

But, um, I mean, if you want too (*drops pants and wags butt)

[Alex Bridges]

Scene #136

 

I never wanted a written list of rules. I find that artificial and confining. I need room to grow and flourish! I can find ways to misbehave that Mary hasn’t even thought of yet! Don’t fence me in, man!

But sometimes it would be nice to know what will and won’t get me in trouble. I think I know about ninety-five percent of it, and while the other five is fun to explore, sometimes I’m out exploring and fall down a mineshaft. Btw, this is Western Metaphor Day, apparently, but that was the least one - promise.

Here’s a thing they don’t tell you about quitting your job and never getting another one - you get bored. Or they do tell you that, and I was aware of it, and I think I’ve done a really job managing it. But some days, I guess whether you’re employed or not, you’re gonna get bored, and you’re gonna find yourself going to doing random stuff in the hopes of entertaining yourself even for just a few minutes. Which is what I was doing, innocently.

“There you are,” my beautiful wife said when she found me in our bedroom.

“Here I am.” Wherever you go, there you are. Stupid human condition.

“What are you up to,” she asked as she crossed the room to stand over my shoulder. “Daphne Ann,” she said when she saw what I was doing, “what is the rule about my makeup?”

“But it looks pretty on me,” I chuckled.

“Turn.”

Which I did so we were facing each other and I wasn’t feeling intimidated by her looming over me pinning me against her dresser or anything. Really. So I kissed her. “How’s your workday going?”

“What’s the rule about my makeup, little girl?”

“So … we’re not gonna talk about your day?” Don’t tell her cuz she’ll think I’m starting to like her or something, but I like talking about her day. This domesticity thing fits me well. She smiled at me and looked up to her right like she was having an epiphany. Ruh roh.

“Maybe it is time,” she said.

“Time for …”

“Time to teach you how to put on makeup.”

“That is so mean! I’m great at putting on makeup.”

“You are becoming a young woman,” she said as though puzzling out these puzzle pieces in her head.

“Grumble,” I grumbled.

“I’ll be teaching you about bras and hair in new places and about your period soon.”

“You … just … hmmmph!”

“Though I guess pads are taken care of.” Sometimes I wonder if she even realizes whose crotch she’s grabbing. “What did we say about that,” she asked like I should have a clue what we said about anything in an imaginary conversation we didn’t have.

“That you’re sorry and will stop making me wear them,” I said as I maybe - eyewitness accounts differ and we’ll never know what really happened - leaned into her hand.

“You’ll wear them til you learn.”

“Meany.” And I may - why even try to untangle a truth we’ll never learn - have kept leaning into her hand. Her hand which comes with fingers that were … pressing … stuff. They do call me fingers, and I have seen them fing.

“But we were talking about makeup,” she said and took her hand away. So mean. So, so mean.

She reached around me and took a pencil off her dresser. “Look up for me.” We don’t actually do this a lot. Like, hardly ever. “You hafta hold still,” she admonished me after an abortive attempt.

“You try not flinching when a pencil comes at your eye.” It’s so awesome that she wants to not blind me and stuff.

“Maybe you’re not ready for makeup after all.” But I did my best and let her draw the eyeliner on. She picked up the blush. “You’re so pretty with rosy cheeks.”

“They’re always rosy.”

“Especially when you’re embarrassed.”

“And cold. You shoulda seen me back home in Wisconsin. Terminal adorability.” Or terminal windburn and a forever war against dry skin. She picked up the lipstick.

“And these lips. They’re just so naturally pouty.”

“Which is odd because I never pout.” She smiled at me. Sigh.

“Such a chatterbox. Go like this.”

Which I did and she made my lips a shade of red that works much better on her than me.

“And how ‘bout some earrings,” she said and opened her jewelry box. There’s a rule about her jewelry too, and it’s super harsh: I hafta ask first. I mean, come on! She’s lucky I even let her keep any precious stones. Back in the days of the sumptuary laws, a peasant (goddess) like her wouldn’t even be allowed to wear pointy shoes!

“You should wear earrings more often,” she said as she put them in for me.

“Cuz they’re pretty on me?”

“Cuz they’re pretty on you, and because your ears are going to close up if you’re not careful. You used to wear them every day.”

“I don’t think that’s how it works. … I used to wear a pantsuit twice a week too.”

“Maybe that’s what you should do today, make a goodwill box.”

“I’m wear them again at some point.”

“Like when?”

“I dunno. Court dates?“

“Court dates? Honey, I already told you your adoption is final and no more court dates.”

“Jerk,” I muttered.

She chuckled at me. “Look.” She turned me around so I could look in the mirror.

“There I am.”

“There you are. What do you think?”

“This lipstick looks better on you.”

“Yeah … You look like your mom is making your big sister share her makeup with you.”

“What?!”

“Mhmm. And like she’s making her take you to a club.”

“This club … Will there be boys there?”

“Not one.”

“Ooo. Hey, speaking of, The Dungeon is open again. Vaccinated perverts only.”

“Are you asking me out on a date?”

“Maybe,” I coquettishly said while fluttering my eyes like a coquette … whatever one of those is.

“I should’ve prepared myself,” Mary said with a sigh. “I think I knew this day was coming and just didn’t want to let myself believe it was so close.”

“We’ve been going places.” True story. We’ve been going places.

“First the puberty talk. Then a makeup tutorial. Now she wants to start dating.”

“Marrry,” I said, “I’m thinking epithets right now.”

“Hhh! Naughty girl! You’re not old enough to think those words yet.”

“What are you gonna do about it?” If she’s gonna treat me like a brat, I guess I’ll just have to be bratty. That was my first time being bratty; hope I did okay. Really.

“Turn,” she said like she’s the boss of me or something. This boss who put one hand against the small of my back and another in my hair and kissed me … hard and stuff. 

“Ahmm,” I said when she let me go because I’m clever like that and also because I needed a moment to get my bearings. “Will you, uh, teach me how to do that too?” And there was that smile of hers again.

“I’ll teach you lots of things … after work.”

“Dammit.”

“And no practicing on your own. You could get hurt.”

“I’m willing to risk it.” I’m risk acceptant, as the actuaries and political scientists say.

“O no. No one is going to hurt you accept me.”

I may - why are we even wasting our time on unknowable unknowns - have leaned against her and said, “Can you also teach me how to talk dirty and make it sound romantic and classy?”

“We’ll see. Maybe when you can keep your pants dry.”

I stood up straight because I was actually never leaning on her cuz I don’t like her very much, and I told her, I said, “I can and you know it!”

“So if I put my hand in your pull-up, it wouldn’t be even a little damp with something?”

“O … well, um, if you … heehee!”

“You’re blushing. I think I have my answer.”

“You put blush on me.”

“And your lipstick is a little smeared. How did that happen?”

“Hold still and I’ll show you,” I said like a coquette who says stuff coquettishly … whatever that means.

“Ah-ah,” she said holding up a finger. “After work.”

“Dammit. What’ll I do til then?”

“You make that goodwill box and think about how it feels to be sexually frustrated.”

“Fine … If I have to.”

“You do have to, and do you know why?”

No maybe about it; she went and swooped me into one of her lust hugs again. “Because you … mmm.” With her hand handing and her fingers finging. “Because of … ahmmm hhh! Hhh! Mmmmmm.” Sigh …

“Did you … Did you just cum in your undies?”

“Huhuhahahaha!”

“I barely touched you!”

“Heeheehee!” It’s a neat trick, I gotta admit.

“Could you teach me how to do that?”

Ooo, tables turned. “I can try.”

“And don’t think you’re not paying for that later.”

“I like paying you … That sounded sexier and less prostitution-y in my head.”

She shook her head and sighed at me. “Incorrigible.”

“So I guess now I’ll just make that goodwill box and, ya know, not be frustrated about anything a’tall.”

“Did you just say ‘a’tall’?”

“Mayhaps.”

“You’re weird when you’re post-orgasmic. Did I ever tell you that?”

“Maybe. I don’t listen much after.”

“That’s because you have a listening disorder.”

“Maybe if you nibbled on my ear,” I suggested and helpfully swept my hair back. I’m helpful. Really.

“After work.”

“There’s that frustration again,” I sighed.

“Sure was quick.”

“Easy come, easy go.”

She did a double take. “Did you … Was that pun on purpose?”

“I’ll never tell while the sun is shining. After work.”

[YourFNF]

asjhfjkahhafdkagddgvsjfvdkjskjsdkjfvdfjkds

[Alex Bridges]

50 minutes ago, YourFNF said:

asjhfjkahhafdkagddgvsjfvdkjskjsdkjfvdfjkds

I knew you’d like this ?

[Sarah Penguin]

[Alex Bridges]

Scene #137

 

Pre-pandemic, we belonged, in a loose and informal sense, to a couple of fetish clubs in our city, one of which had their very own clubhouse. Sort of. It was just a space open twice a month for a kink gathering. Plus certain holidays (I love Spanksgiving the most out of all the kinky portmanteau holidays). I’m not sure when they started having events again, but I’m not sure when anything happens anymore. Not working means not having to pay attention to the calendar, and I along with most people (so it seems) have lost all perception of time. Everything seems like it happened last week and last year at the same time.

Anyhoo, we hadn’t been to an kink event is way too long. So long that I actually felt nervous, like it was my first time. And it definitely, definitely wasn’t. I mean, heck, I met my wife when she yanked me over her knee at a spanking party. I still remember the first thing I ever said to her: “Hi.” Sigh …

Excited, but nervous. Not coincidentally how Mary likes me. She was nervous, I could tell that. She didn’t say it after our trip to the mall, but I could see the words ‘you stay right next to me’ wanting to come out her mouth. I was planning on staying with her, but you never know who you might run into at these things. None of our friend-friends were going, but we were event-friends with lots of people. Who knew who we might meet? That’s how we found Sandy. I mean, Sandy found herself l, obviously, but we met her at an event. She had this really big man over her knee, and he was sobbing, and Mary declared right then we had to meet her.

Anyhoo, maybe we’d meet someone. Maybe we’d get reacquainted with someone. Maybe neither of those things and Mary would just do delightful things to me in a semi-public space which is always fun. Maybe it would have something to do with what she had packed in that backpack. “What’s in the backpack,” I asked in the car as we pulled into the parking lot.

“Hand sanitizer and extra masks.”

“Yeah, but that could only fill half at most.”

“Two-thirds,” was her response, and I knew she wasn’t kidding. I think she needs therapy or something to help her get over this fear of my impending doom. Like, I was scared for me, and I’m still not not scared, but I’m also not preparing for what might happen if I rapidly lose a dozen masks in quick succession.

“What else is in the backpack?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” she said so devilishly.

“Yes. Yes, I would. That’s why I asked.”

“Smartass.”

“Yes. Yes, I am.” You don’t think being a smartass will get me in trouble, do you? Like, as a random for instance, at a play party in a public venue.

We showed our vaccine cards at the door, and lemme just say you could tell who among the party goers has a mask fetish. I had a theory that people with a mask fetish would be happy as a pig in a poke (whatever that means) this whole time, but I didn’t think how elaborate some of these masks would be. And that’s among a group that can get pretty from elaborate when they have a mind to.

“I don’t recognize anyone,” I said to Mary, who reached out and took my hand like I’m precious and stuff and need to be kept close.

“Are you nervous?”

“No … I think.” Not so much Stranger Danger as Strangers-ugh-gotta-socialize-and-not-be-awkward. We’ll name that later.

“Thirsty,” Mary asked me.

“A little.” I watched as she unzipped the bag and produced a bottle of water … and a sippy cup for someone.

“O thanks,” I said and snagged the bottle with my cat-like reflexes.

“Nice try, little girl,” she said and snagged it back with her … ninja-like reflexes. Damn ninjas always beating the cats at bottle snagging.

“I’m not a little girl, and I can’t believe you brought that.”

“We don’t wanna spill on their floor.”

“Then I’m not thirsty.”

“Okay for now, but if I think you’re looking dehydrated, I’ll feed that to you if you won’t drink your water like a good girl.”

“Did you just imply I’m not a good girl?” Bitch!

“You’re a very good girl.” Ya know what? I think I detected a note of condescension in her tone, and whether I liked it is not the point (but I did like it, but please don’t tell her).

“You should say so more often,” I told her. “Just sayin’.”

“Maybe your can meet someone else here who has a praise kink, and the two of you can just say reassuring things to each other all day long.”

“You jest, but that’s not a terrible idea … Speaking of which, do you remember how to talk to strangers cuz I think I forgot.” Like seriously, how am I supposed to talk to these people?

“That’s cuz you’re too little to talk to strangers. Hand.”

“Just because I’m letting you hold my hand doesn’t mean I’m a little girl.” Also, she was holding my hand! Squeee!

We walked around for a bit to see if we knew anybody, and we recognized some faces (or foreheads, what with the masks … or at least we thought we recognized them). Mary actually said, “Ooo!” when she saw someone getting a spanking. I think she has a spanking fetish or something? How sad for her.

“Mary,” I didn’t nervously whine, “that’s a man.” Ya know, just in case she forgot what they look like.

“We’re just going to watch.”

And we did. I’m not the biggest fan of watching men dominate women. I’m very happy for everyone to do whatever tickles their pickle if the pickle tickling is consensual, but it doesn’t mix my metaphors, which is my way of saying it just doesn’t float my boat.

“She’s being kinda a wimp about it,” I whispered to Mary.

“Excuse me?”

No one ever says ‘excuse me’ in the sense of ‘I didn’t hear you,’ which shoulda been a clue that Mary heard me just fine and I shouldn’t have said, “She’s crying and she’s barely pink.”

“It’s not very nice to make fun of someone for getting spanked, Daphne.”

“I’m not making fun. I’m just saying.”

“I know a certain little girl who sometimes starts crying before I even get her over my knee.”

“Who is she,” I asked (because I’m not a little girl!).

“Where did this mouthy version of you come from?”

“Excuse me! I am not mouthy. Sassy, maybe.”

“I can’t take you anywhere,” she said and clicked her tongue like the biggest B.

“More like you don’t take me anywhere.” I wonder if Mary noticed that we were attracting some eyeballs. I sorta kinda did, but my honor was at stake and I couldn’t just back down from … whatever we were competing over. I don’t even know what, but not the point. The point is that I was right about … something, and Mary was wrong about … also the something. In fact, knowing Mary, she was probably wrong about several things. Must be hard being wrong all the time. Poor Mary. I’m sad for her. Really. (But not very sad cuz she’s so right all the most of the time and also tall and pretty and statuesque and a total hard body in my opinion which is humble cuz so am I).

“You sound like Lucy telling Ricky he never takes her to the club.”

“That’s silly. We’re at a club right now.” Which explains all the people. “Um, hi,” I said to the people cuz I’m smart (stupid) like that (so stupid).

Mary grimaced at them or possibly at me but she winged a few of them. “Such a smarty pants for a little girl.”

“I’m not a little girl! Stop saying that!”

“I never should’ve let you out of the house in your big girl undies. They just give you all sorts of ideas.”

“O, like you even let me wear big girl undies. They have kittens playing with yarn on them!”

“Are they a diaper? Are they made by pampers? Then they must be big girl undies for the littlest girl I know.”

“I am so not even the littlest girl you know!”

“Know what I think?”

“Yes, because you haven’t had an unexpressed thought since we walked through the door.”

A collective gasp was emitted from the dozen and a half people who were watching us, including the ones who were pretending to not watch us. It was at least somewhat gratifying to see I’m not the only person who pretends to check their watch only to be confronted with an empty wrist. Besides, what I was wasn’t that mean. In fact, it wasn’t even mean. It was just … rude … and cutting … and mean. Not that I meant it that way. Our tet a tet just got me going, and out it came. Verbal incontinence … ew. Let’s never call it that again.

“I’m sor,” I tired too say.

“Little girl, you’ve just earned yourself a trip over my knee.”

Hell yes I had, but a girl of any size has gotta try. “No, please. I’m said I’m sorry and I meant it. Ow!” What is it with her and pulling ears? She should pull on her own if she wants to pull an ear. 

“Being sorry doesn’t mean you don’t get a consequence, and you know that, don’t you,” she socratically lectured as she tugged me to the nearest place to sit. 

“Not a barstool,” I tried to convince her with the power of saying ‘not a barstool’ as though that’s an argument. Also, I felt eyes.

We arrived at the barstool, and Mary unslung that silly backpack that contained (what a surprise!) the paddle she takes with her everywhere. In The Before Times pre-pandemic, she literally took it everywhere whether I was with her or not just in case, she said, I was naughty and she needed to come give me a spanking wherever I was. And it doesn’t matter if it proved useful a time or fourteen … or eighty-three. Red herring. Really.

She sat herself on the barstool and grabbed me her the front of my jeans which is just so unfair and maybe I should start wearing clothes I can’t be grabbed by. “Why are you getting this spanking?”

“For saying something mean.”

“Why else?”

Huh. Good question. “Um … reasons?”

“I know,” said some helpful but totally bitchy and who needs that kinda help anyway voice from the folks who were watching us.

“Shut up,” I said as I spun my head around and tried to guess who said it. “Ow!!” Sometimes it’s better if I say nothing when Mary’s already got the paddle in her hand. Plus she oughta be more careful cuz one day she’s gonna miss and break my phone (again, cuz this one time …) and she’s the one who pays for all the stuff now.

“Daphne Ann, you apologize right this instant!”

“Sorry,” I said and sooooo didn’t mean it. Heck, I wasn’t even sure who I was apologizing too.

“You made fun of that poor girl, and you know better than to talk back to me. I don’t tolerate making fun, especially for earning herself a spanking. You’re over my knee two or three times a week.”

Well yeah, but only one to all of those is a punishment. Really.

“She’s embarrassed enough without your teasing, just like you’re feeling embarrassed right now, aren’t you? … Do you need help answering?”

“No … I mean yes.”

“It’s embarrassing getting a spanking, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“Especially in front of strangers, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“But it’s important to spank little girls right after they misbehave, and do you know why?”

“O gee, no, why ow!” To my credit, I knew she was gonna do that as soon as those words started leaving my mouth.

“Because little girls forget very quickly, and they’ll never learn if they don’t get their consequence until they get home.”

“O, well thank goodness you’re here ow ow ow!!!” Worth it. Totally worth it.

“And making fun of her for crying during her spanking. What’s gotten into you? I thought you were a good girl.”

“What? I am and you know it!”

“‘Good girl’ isn’t a title you just get to have, Daphne Ann. You actually hafta to be a good girl.”

“I am!”

“You’re not being a good girl when you say mean things.”

“It was an accident.”

“And you’re not being a good girl when you talk back and say snarky things to me.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It hurts me on the inside when you say those things to me.”

“O nice try!” She was just trying to get me to cry to prove a point. She can’t snark half as good as me, and she wouldn’t like me half as much if didn’t snark as much as I do.

She sighed. “Little girl, little girl, little girl … I guess the only way to get through to you is a good, hard spanking, which is exactly what you’re gonna get.”

She started undoing my jeans, and maybe because I’m out of practice at not wearing any pants in public, I may have backed up just a quarter step. Oops.

“I was gonna start in your undies, but if you can’t even be a good girl and hold still …”

“I didn’t mean to!” Hey I’m not wearing any pants. How’d she do that? Magic ninja that she is.

“Over,” she said to me. It was less an order than a statement because I was up and over her knee without much purposeful effort on my part. A strong magic ninja.

“Do you still feel like a big girl now, across my knee about to get your barre bottom spanked in front of all these people? They wanted to have a nice night out, and instead they get treated to this spectacle. You owe them an apology when I let you up.”

“They owe me a thank you,” I may have accidentally said out loud but I was so right. “Mary,” I said, “make him move!” I was referring to the person I saw upside down through the legs of the barstool who was getting way more of a show than I wanted to give. Good ol’ Mary, she did shoot him a look that made him move cuz she likes me and wants to protect my virtue … sort of. After a (kinky) fashion. 

“(SPANK!),” Mary said and maybe to you it doesn’t seem like she said anything, but to me she was saying ‘I love you!’ “(SPANK!)” ‘And I’m having so much fun!’

Of course, to everyone else, that came out as, “I won’t have you mouthing off and making fun.” Spank spank spankety spank … and stuff.

“Especially of someone else who gets spankings. Whack spank thwackety whackety spank … and stuff. “And you can be quite the crybaby when you’re over my knee.” Truth (spank spank spank and stuff and spank). “And a weepy little girl pretty much all the time.” Aw! Low blow (spank spank spank and CRACK!)

“Marrry! That hurts!”

“It’s a spanking! It’s supposed to hurt. That’s exactly (spank) what I meant (spank) about (spank) little girls (spank!) forgetting (SPANK!!!).” 

No fair snarking! Talk about kicking me while I’m down. 

“You … urgh! You!” Um, take that? Dammit …

“I think you were overdue for an attitude adjustment,” Mary said while she adjusted my attitude. There are other ways to do that. As a random for instance, presents and surprise orgasms always out me in a better mood. Just sayin’.

“You’ve been in a mood ever since you had that potty accident and I put you back in diapers for the day.”

“What? That never happened!”

“Uh-huh.”

“It didn’t! Really!”

“Are you saying it wasn’t an accident?”

“That’s bit what I meant and you know it and you’re just making stuff up!”

“Little girls have accidents. I told you it was no big deal.”

“I didn’t wet my pants this week!” I didn’t! I’m pretty sure.

Pandemic has screwed with my sense of time, but I didn’t. I think. And it would’ve been Mary’s fault regardless. She’s in charge of the absorbent undergarments and … you know what? I don’t hafta justify myself.

“You’re just trying to embarrass me,”

I accused her. Also, my butt was really starting to hurt.

“Back talking stick. Tsk tsk tsk.” 

“Don’t you Ow! Tsk! Ow! Meow!!! Mar-ow! Oof! Ugh! Marrry! Eep! Eeeeeeee!”

I didn’t even know I made that sound until I met Mary. Of course, she made all kinda sounds come outta me.

“Sounds like someone is a little girl after all.”

“(Sob) Not (sniffle) funny (snot-snort).”

“Are you gonna be nice?”

“Y-ouch-es!”

“Are you gonna make fun?”

“Oomph! No!”

“Are you gonna talk back?”

“Mhmm. Yowl! No I won’t!”

“Are gonna be a good girl!”

“I ow!!! Pro-om-omise!”

“Then you learned your lesson.” Funny how often she declares lesson learned but keeps spanking me. I could totally see her on an aircraft carrier with a big ‘LESSON LEARNED’ banner.

She dropped the paddle on the rug and started rubbing my butt, which I could barely feel. She pushed my shirt up and ran her nails softly up and down my back. “Alright,” she said, “on your feet. Up you go.”

She helped me up and very quickly, cuz she likes me and stuff, bent down to pull my panties back up for me cuz that part of the show is for her eyes only.

“Couch,” I said because there was a couch behind us, which Mary looked half over her shoulder and saw.

I kicked my pants off, and good on me for not kicking them across the room during my spanking #winning, and we stumbled to the couch just a few feet behind the barstool. Mary sat down in the middle and I crawled flopped myself into her lap for my much deserved aftercare.

“You were very brave,” she whispered to me. “Are you all cried out or do you need to cry some more.”

“More,” I didn’t say with my lip quivering. Mary put her hand on the back of my head and pressed my face into her breast, a wonderful place to cry more. 

“I didn’t u-used to d-do th-this,” I sob-said.

“What?”

“Cry I’m not in trouble.”

“It’s okay to cry.”

“I kn-know.”

“You just have some feelings to get out.”

“Okay!” I did that thing with the tears and the sobs and the snot and that’ll teach Mary to wear nice tops when she spanks me. In fact, she should just take her shirt off next time. Really.

“(Sniffle),” I heard just when I was finishing up.

“Huh?” I picked my face up off the wet spot I’d made on Mary’s shirt, and she was sniffling. Mary! I don’t handle Mary sniffling well. You might even say I handle it very poorly.

“What’s wrong?”

“I guess I have some feelings to get out too.”

And back my face went into her breast where I could cry some more. We’re pathetic.

“You don’t have to do that,” Mary said.

What happened to it being okay to cry? “What?”

Mary wasn’t looking at me. She was talking to someone who had taken it upon herself to fold my pants and put the oddly back in our bag.

“It’s nothing,” she said and set the bag next to us. “Just … anyway.” She started to walk away.

Super intrusive. Nice, but intrusive … even if all she did was toss the paddle in the bag and move it four feet. Intrusive … but nice?

“I’m Mary,” Mary said.

“I heard,” the person chuckled. “And this is Daphne.”

Smartass! Get her, Mary!

“Is it okay if she sits down,” Mary asked me. Wait, what?

“I guess.” Wait, what?!?

“I’m Ann.”

“That’s her middle name,” Mary said. Grr.

“I heard that too.”

Grrr. I started to sit up, and this strong person who’s a magic ninja kinda didn’t let me. “I want pants,” I said cuz, ya know, still wasn’t wearing any.

“O,” this Ann person said. She reached into the bag and took my jeans back out. She handed them to me, and then, to Mary who I have yet to forgive (except I have but don’t tell her) she reached into the bag and produce (fuck my life) a diaper, asked, “Do you need this too?”

“No. That’s just for bedtime. I brought tinniest case she was sleepy for the drive home.”

“I so … you! Urgh!”

“Calm down. She knows I’m teasing. Could you hand me the wipes though?”

“Why’d you even bring that,” I asked (indignantly).

“Just in case.”

“She means in case she wanted to be mean to me,” I told this Ann woman.

“You took such a hard spanking.“

“What do you … yeah. I did.” Pride, is what color I was turning. “Thanks for picking up our stuff.” Okay, so I may possibly be an easy mark, but taking a hard spanking is a thing to be proud of. I already had bruises.

“Are you here alone,” Mary asked.

“My partner couldn’t make it tonight. She’s working a double.”

My favorite kind of woman: married to someone who isn’t Mary. Cuz Mary is mine, and I’m not good at sharing. 

“I just came to watch tonight,” Ann said as Mary opened the wipes and started wiping the tear streaks off my cheeks.

“Honk,” Mary said to me.

“Um but a duckwing,” I said (right before I honked) to Mary cuz my nose was stuffy.

“Are you a spanko too,” Mary asked cuz she’s forward like that. Remember, this is a woman I met when she snatched me off my feet and over her knee.

“Mhmm. I’m a switch. How long have you guys been into ageplay.”

“We’re not,” I said before Mary could answer.

“About five years,” Mary said, “But Daphne isn’t a little.”

“Louder for the people who are you,” I might have said.

“She’s spunky,” Mary explained in case it wasn’t obvious.

“Always for me,” Ann said, “into ageplay.

“Do you wanna play,” Mary asked. 

“Um, yeah, but I need permission.”

“I see,” Mary said. “That’s okay.”

“Would you like to meet my partner?”

A little fast, but also not. Nice thing about kink is that the transactional part pushes things along quick. And ya know what, yes, I would like to meet her partner cuz we haven’t made a new kink friend in forever. Nothing against our crowd, but a fresh face would be welcome. And stuff. Really.

[Guilend]

Yay new peeps

[YourFNF]

[Sarah Penguin]

[Alex Bridges]

Wow did I typo the heccin heck outta that. i'll fix it later.

[Alex Bridges]

For those of you who like to own a copy of this, Volume 7 is now available on Amazon ?

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B09MDDBTKN

[Alex Bridges]

Scene #138

 

“You make the cutest orgasm noises sometimes,” my very pretty wife said to me. She’s tall and has a very athletic but slender figure for a computer jockey. It’s probably why she feels confident enough to say stuff like that, post-coitally on blanket in front of the fireplace no less!

“I do not!”

Ya know, sometimes I just object to what she says sorta by reflex. I mean, what, do I wanna be someone who makes ugly orgasm noises? Of course not … Hey, you don’t think me saying no and objecting to stuff reflexively is because I’m a brat, do you? I don’t think so. They may be traits or even acts of brattiness, but acts of brattiness do not equate to acting bratty, and acting bratty does not equate to being a brat so … I’m not a brat. Good. Very reassuring and thanks for nothing.

Back to our marital … floor. “I swear you actually squeaked.”

“Well, you made me.”

“Heck yeah I did,” she replied to me and rolled us over so we were on our side looking in each other’s eyes. It was a nice position to be in cuz I like snuggling my wife and cuz my butt was pointing toward the fire, and I like having a warm butt. I’d say not to tell Mary, but she knows. She knows darn well and she knows other stuff and things too.

She had this lascivious gleam in her eye. She’s always being all lascivious and gleamy around me. I leaned forward and rested my forehead against her chest just below her collarbones, and she kissed the top of my head, and she would probably tell you I went, “Eee-hee!” But she says lots of stuff and also I did.

“You really are squeaky today. I’ma start calling you my little squeak toy.”

“Then I’m gonna start calling you my big bad wolf.”

“Do wolves play with squeak toys?”

“When they don’t have other wolves to play with.”

“I don’t want another wolf to play with.”

“Because you like pouncing on defenseless woodland creatures like myself. We’re like one of those Instagram famous predator-prey couples, like a she-wolf who’s friends with a bunny.”

“You haven’t worn your bunny tail in a while,” she said while running a finger down the length of my arms and taking my hands in hers when she got there. “You can wear it to Thanksgiving dinner if you want.”

“I’d rather wear it at home where you can gently pull on it when I’m not expecting it because reasons.”

“I’m gonna fall asleep like this,” she said as she laid her head on the pillow because yes, we made a sex nest in front of the fireplace and tricked it out pretty good … Or really just a blanket and pillows in front of the fireplace.

“Good,” I told her (very bravely), “cuz then I can sneak around you and be the big spoon.” And then, because I’m a smartaleck, which is different than being a brat (it is too! really!), and knew she was going to say it, I timed it perfectly and said, “You’re too little to be the big spoon” right when she did. I grinned at her with mischief dancing in my eyes cuz they do that sometimes. Heehee!

“Such a sassy girl. We should get you in a diaper.”

“For that? Seriously?”

“You’re not in trouble, sweetie. You just need to pee after sex.” See, Mary didn’t need to pee … well, I mean, not a bad idea but not quite as essential because, um, I was the one who … reasons.

Anyhoo, I reminded her, “We have three rooms of the house with a contraption just for that purpose.”

“Yeah,” she said, ignoring what I said, “we’ll get you into one of those thinner diapers …”

“Doesn’t make it better.”

“… and I’ll just hold you in my lap, maybe bounce you on my knee until you potty. You like straddling my knee, don’t you? Going for a little ride?”

Now I see where she’s going with this. All caught up. “Um, I forget,” I said because I can play the game too, “Maybe we should try it a time or three without the diaper just to be sure I like it.”

“And have you make a mess on my knee?”

“I’m not gonna pee on you,” I said and rolled my eyes. Not one of our kinks, but then, she was just teasing me.

“And I didn’t say ‘pee,’ did I?”

Hoo boy. Well, just damn. “Aw geez,” I said.

“What?”

“We’re gonna be late for dinner.”

“It’s not for six hours.”

I shook my head because this was just terrible. “I know, and we’re gonna be late and walking funny.”

Mary mock gasped and poked me in my side where I’m ticklish. “You dirty little turkey!”

“I am not a turkey!”

“Does that make you a silly goose?”

“If you had your way with the pet names, I’d probably be a Turducken.”

“Ha. Roll over.” Which I did. Mary made herself the big spoon, and I had the fire on my face, and Mary curved around behind me.

“Are you cold,” I asked her from the best spot on the whole planet between her and the fire.

“Just my back half,” she chuckled and rolled away from me to find the edge of the blanket and pull it over us as she curved back around me. “There. Comfy?”

“Mhmm. We’re gonna fall asleep like this.”

“I know.” She kiss-kiss-kissed my shoulder and worked her way up. A tingle went up my back as she did, and we both sighed as she placed her lips once more against my hair.

“I like spending holidays with you,” I said.

“Me too.”

“My Mary.”

“My Daffodil.”

[Sarah Penguin]

Silly. You wear turkey tails to thanksgiving! Not bunny tails.

[YourFNF]

[Alex Bridges]

11 hours ago, YourFNF said:

Heeheehee ?

 

I got you all twitterpated again ☺️

[YourFNF]

1 hour ago, Alex Bridges said:

Heeheehee ?

 

I got you all twitterpated again ☺️

[Alex Bridges]

Scene #139

 

Our home is beautiful. Not like super expensive look-at-our-Carrara-marble-wall-sconces beautiful, which isn’t to say I wouldn’t like some Carrara marble in my life, but more in a we-made-a-home-together-and-it’s-cozy-and-ours way. Which is definitely the superior way.

We didn’t curate so much as combined our stuff and got some more stuff, and fortunately we both have excellent taste if you ask people who are us and we did and we agree that we do. We have similar tastes most of the time, so even before we bought our first objet d’art together, our stuff meshed.

Why am I talking about our decor? Well, if you’ll be quiet and listen, I’ll gently tell you why: Mary ruined the whole house.

I wouldn’t have thought that was possible with just one new piece of decor, but apparently yeah, you can ruin a whole house with just one new piece of decor. It’s in our bedroom, and even though it’s in there and there only, it ruins the bathrooms, living room, family room, guest bedroom, Mary’s office, the kitchen, dining room, basement, porch, patio, and even the garage. The whole dwelling where we dwell is unfit for habitation.

Worse, Mary disagrees with my assessment, which is correct and expert and expertly correct, and says it’s great and grand and wonderful. As someone who is great and grand and wonderful, I feel I can authoritatively say it isn’t. This is what I get for putting Mary in charge, and she’s also great and grand and wonderful, but apparently not when it comes to what we should hang on our bedroom wall.

Let’s say one day you’re walking upstairs and you pass your wife on the way up. Let’s further say that you notice her carrying a hammer. Let’s also say that you think you saw her turn her head and hide a smirk. Spidey sense tingling yet? Let’s say you go into your bedroom, and something seems different. Let’s say you weren’t so good at the find-the-things activity in the Highlights magazine at the pediatrician’s office but that your mom assured you that you were good at other things and so it takes you almost a minute to recognize what’s different. Let’s say once you spot it, you impulsively shout, “Mary! Heccin get back up here!!!”

Let’s say you can hear your wife literally fall over on the floor laughing hysterically ?

But I can be demonstrative too, so I stomped my foot really loud (as us Very Mature Adults do), and said in my very authoritative and not at all whiny voice, “Stop laughing! It’s not funny! I’m counting to five and then I’m tearing it off the wall.”

“You’d better not,” said my wife who is mean to me as her gasping guffaws turned into chuckles interspersed with brief fits of laughter. I heard her snorf as she came up the stairs.

“Explain,” I commanded in a sharp and sorta definitely huffy tone.

Gone were the merry peals of laughter and delight, replaced with that faux-earnest way she has of talking to me when she’s trying to embarrass me. She doesn’t say mean, humiliating things cuz that’s no fun and just makes me angry. She says sweet things like I’m a little girl which I am not which makes it like she’s twisting my humiliation knob and poking all my buttons like an elevator that won’t come down, except that doesn’t work on an elevator but does work on me.

“It’s a bedwetting calendar,” she said with a straight face which is such a dishonest face cuz her eyes, those sparkly windows into her beautiful soul, were dancing with comedic abandon. “So we can track your bedwetting.”

“I don’t wet the bed and you know it!”

“Daphne, sweetheart, it’s okay. I know it’s embarrassing for a girl your age to not be able to keep the bed dry, but you shouldn’t be so hard on yourself. You’re just a little girl.”

“I am not a little girl and I can, too, keep the bed dry you know it and you’re just being mean!”

“Indoor voices, please.”

O gawd my buttons! “Marrry!”

“Aw, c’mere,” she said, “someone needs a hug.” Oof. At least the hug was sincere … right up until she goosed me and said, “are you upset because you’re having daytime accidents now too?”

It became a race against time to defend my honor and my good name and my honor before all the blood drained out of my brain and into my face, which I could feel turning all the shades of red. “I can, too, keep the bed dry,” I groaned.

“Sit down, sweetie. Nope, right here in my lap,” she said when I tried to sit on the bed like a normal person. “Let’s be honest: your diapers keep the bed dry, not you.”

“Fernonnuhner frowerhoffin, Mary!” She gave my thigh a slap.

“Shush. I already said indoor voices. Please don’t make me tell you a third time. Your diapers keep the bed dry, and lately you’ve been making them work awfully hard, haven’t you, cuz you’re getting to be such a big little girl.”

To which my clever and heroic and all the superlatives response was, “(Whimper).”

“We might have to start keeping you in bigger diapers cuz your bladder is getting so big but you’re still a little girl. Remember where your bladder is? It’s right here,” she said while putting her hand right heccin there and just leaving it to wander slowly up and down and across my tummy all down low and stuff and then lower where it stopped … and stuff.

I … may not have helped my case when I squeezed my thighs around her hand. I thought she may have correctly misinterpreted that as lusty feelings (I never feel lust toward her; she’s mean and I don’t even like her very much except that I do so much and stuff), but she chose to misinterpret it as, “Why are you squeezing your legs together, honey? Do you need to go potty? Are you about have one of your daytime accidents?”

“(Meeping noise) (dragon breathing all huffy in its sleep noise) serneepin ferfle.”

“Okay, but tell me if you need the potty. Any more accidents, and it’s back to diapers until I think you’re ready to try again. And this calendar will help us get you dry at night.”

“H-how,” I managed to say. Not as in ‘o goody, how’ but as in, ‘o yeah, and just how the heck will it do that when you are so full of it’ but I left that part unsaid because whereas Mary so rarely has a thought she doesn’t express when she’s pushing my buttons, I, ever the composed one, manage to maintain a dignified subtlety. Um, really … what?

“Well,” she said and paused cuz she had no idea cuz she just makes stuff up and I called her out on that like a boss. But unfortunately, she recovered. “It will help us keep track of whether you’re ready for pull-ups, and then we’ll use it to keep track of when you’re ready for big kid undies. Do you wanna hear the rules?”

I’d bet our whole house she was making up the rules on the spot.

“When your diaper has been dry in the morning for 30 days in a row – that’s one month; remember when we learned how long a month is?”

O come the crap on with your button pushing … and soft shoulder to rest my head on and stuff. I shot her the worst dirty look I could muster, which she ignored.

“When your diaper is dry every morning for a month, you can sleep in pull-ups, and when your pull-ups are dry every morning for two months, you can sleep in underpants. But,” she said in the longest rendition of that syllable ever, “if you have just one wet morning, it’s back to diapers and starting over all the way at the beginning.”

Wait a heccin second; that’s changing what we agreed on. “But we both agreed I wouldn’t wear diapers every night.”

“And you won’t, but you won’t wear pull-ups or underpants on those nights either. Remember when we talked about what ‘going commando’ means?”

Hmm. That’s an interesting twist. Mary sleeps commando under her pajamas. True story.

“But on nights I do put you to bed in diapers, they’re going on at 8:01, so you better try to go potty before then.”

“That’s just mean,” I told her in case she didn’t know but she did cuz Miss Mary Mean Girl is mean on purpose like all mean girls. Also, that’s not any different than what she’s been doing, which is why I didn’t protest more. The only thing new was the calendar cuz let’s be forthright: with her rules, there was no way I’d ever go thirty nights without using one of my – her! Her, dammit, her! – diapers.

“If you say so,” she said in the most condescending tone anyone has ever used to condescend to me. Grrr!

“But I wanna take the calendar down. It’s embarrassing. What if someone sees?”

“I hope lots of people see,” she said like she was saying how hopes the sun will rise in the morning.

“What?!? Marrry!”

“The only people who will ever come into our bedroom are people who will encourage you and want to help you learn to stay dry.”

“But it’s embarrassing! I don’t wanna look at it all the time!”

“I’m sorry you feel that way, but my mind if made up. It’s staying there, and every morning, I’ll watch while you put sticker on it. Gold stars for dry mornings, rain drops for wet mornings, and anthropomorphic chocolate ice cream in case you mess in your sleep.”

Hey, guess who shot off their wife’s lap like a firecracker. This girl!!! “I don’t and I won’t and I’ll never and (steam whistle) and (glacier calving) and (caribou bleating) and frumpernutter and mean! Just mean!”

Which is when I got yanked off my feet and over her knee. “Dammit,” I said out loud for once.

SMACK! “I already told you to use your indoor voice, and I don’t like that language. I understand you don’t like talking about your problem and that almost no other girls your age still wet the bed, but they’re not little girls, are they?”

“Neither am I!” SMACK!

“Are they,” she said with a sharp edge in her voice.

“No. Hmmph!”

“And you shouldn’t compare yourself to them.

“Why did you have to get a special calendar? Why couldn’t you just get a regular one?” Which, yes, dammit, suggests I’m okay with some version of this which I am not … Dammit …

“It’s your bedwetting calendar, so it should say ‘Daphne Ann Taylor’s Bedwetting Calendar.’ And I picked out the pictures myself; they’re the prettiest ones of you we have, and I like seeing your pretty face.”

“Where did you even get it?”

“A copy store. And I told that mean boy behind the counter to stop snickering because I’d never let anyone make funna you.” So a person has now seen this calendar with that title and my name and picture on it. That’s … heccin dammit!

“Except you,” I said and tried to sit up. SMACK! She wouldn’t let me get up and didn’t need much effort to keep me there, which is great and all most of the time but that thing was defacing our house!

“Never! I would never make fun of you,” she said all faux hurt by my accusation which was the heccin truth which is the only language I speak (when I’m not fibbing). “And I especially would never make fun of your potty problems. I take them very seriously. Some people just need more time to practice and learn … Why are you squeezing your legs together again?”

I’m doing what? Cuz I didn’t mean to. Really.

“Do you need to use the potty?”

“No. I need you to let me up so I can tear that off the wall!”

“You do, and you’re going right over my lap for a good, hard spanking on your naughty bare bottom with the bath brush.”

Gah! No! Never again!

“Is that what you want?”

“No!”

“Then you better leave that calendar alone unless you’re putting a sticker on it. The stickers are staying in my nightstand, and I better not find you’ve been putting stickers up without my supervision. Now, I asked you, do you need to go potty?”

“No (whimper).” How come she always wins? Hmmph!

“It certainly looked like you did. Did you already go?”

“What? No!”

“It’s okay if you did. Accidents happen to little girls.”

“I’m not a little girl,” I whined. Yes, I gave in and whined. One short blip in my otherwise perfectly dignified decorum.

“You can tell me. I promise I won’t get mad,” she said and started rubbing the small of my back before her hand started wandering south. “Accidents happen, and have I ever gotten cross with you for piddling yourself?”

“N-no,” I said kinda breathily cuz she was giving me sorta a deep tissue massage on my butt, and you might be surprised to learn this, but that’s sorta a major erogenous zone for me.

“That’s right. If you have an accident, we just get you in a diaper for the day and maybe sometimes two in case you’re still having trouble the nexr day, and I never make fun of my little diaper wearing Daffodil with her cute widdle diaper butt.”

“Mar-rry, st-stop.”

“Stop what, sweetie? I think I had better check your undies myself to make sure you didn’t …”

“Ur! O-urgh! Huff! (Sigh).”

We had ourselves a moment of silence during which Mary behaved abominably. It’s very bad form to laugh during a moment of silence no matter how well you stifle it. I could feel her shaking under me. How rood!

“Aww, did my little girl just cum in her undies? Hmm? Did you make a number three in your pants? I think the answer is yes cuz I can feel something on my …”

“Mmm!” O, well now this is just embarrassing. “Mmm! Awurgh! Oof! (Pant).”

Well, now, um, how ‘bout that? Never two before from just her (delightfully evil) words. Such is the power and burden and burdensome power of the humiliation fetish that embarrassing words are sometimes enough, which is itself embarrassing, the kinky Irony of Ironies.

“All done,” Mary cooed at me while chuckling and stroking my hair. “Do you have anymore in you?”

I think I mostly understood her, but I was in sleepy post-orgasm land where a constant white noise makes everything sound kinda foggy and distant, so I told her, “Summur funnigain think so maybe dunno.”

“Okay,” she said quizzically even though I was perfectly clear. Really. “Up you go.”

She helped me up and led me toward the bathroom. Good idea cuz I, uh, well … anyway.

“See,” she said, “you can even have an accident on my lap, and I won’t ever get mad.” Mayhaps her outlook has changed because the one time that happened, she was not happy with me.

“I’ll just get you cleaned up and we’ll go about our day. Hold still.”

And cue me snapping back to the moment: Hold what now for what? “I can…”

“O hush. It’s nothing I haven’t seen before,” she said as she yanked my pajama pants down. “Step out.” She held them up. “Yep, that’s more than a little wet.”

Curse you, light blue scrub pajamas!

“And o my goodness,” she squealed, “look at these underpants!”

Damn you,traitorous heather grey panties! Damn you all to hell!

“Someone musta had a big accident, huh?”

“O don’t flatter yourself … It was two small ones.” Really.

“Big enough to get on my lap,” she pointed out as she pointed to her right thigh and chuckled again. “Why are you blushing? I already told you it’s okay for you to have accidents,” she said kindly for the first time in the last twenty minutes and leaned forward to give me a very kind kiss. Sigh … I like her and stuff.

“Now,” she said, “you sit here in case there’s any more, and we’ll just give it a few minutes.” She pivoted me by my shoulders and sat me down on the toilet.

“Mary …”

“We’ll just give a few minutes.” She took off her pants and put all the things in the hamper. How come she gets to wear white satin … which looks so … I like her and stuff and things.

“I don’t have to pee,” I said as she folded her arms and leaned against the wall looking at me with her arms all folded and that smug smile on her face.

“Maybe you will in a few minutes, which is why we wait. I mean, it certainly looks like you got it all out, but just to be safe,” she chuckled again. Whole lotta chuckling at my expense.

“Hmmph! That wasn’t pee, and could I have a little privacy please?!?”

“Leave such a little girl alone in the bathroom? How unsafe would that be? But if you’re sure you don’t hafta pee, let’s clean you up.”

We switched to wet wipes a while back cuz they do feel so much better, but that doesn’t mean I didn’t practically bounce of the toilet when Mary stuck her hand in there without so much as a ‘how you doin’.

“Mar …”

“Gotta get you clean as a whistle. Lean forward.”

Lean where now? “EEP! Marrry!”

“All clean. You okay? You're looking a little twitterpated.”

“Fuh humunuh humunuh.”

“Let’s get you in a diaper. Up up.”

Ever get disoriented in your own bathroom? Good; me neither. Really.

She washed my hands and hers, and I stood there naked below the waist while she got out her Mistreat Daphne Supply Kit. Ever been so mentally exhausted you forgot to tll your wife how much you hate that kit? Good; me neither.

All done, she held out her hands to help me sit up. “Can I at least have some pants, please?” Ya hear that? I said please cuz I’m nice and polite, unlike Miss Mary … Isn’t. Every get some twitterpated you can’t come up with stinging nicknames? Go; me neither. Really.

“I wanna be able to see your diapie to so I see right away if you have any more accidents in your pampers today. But how ‘bout I keep my pants off so you don’t feel so alone?”

Well, that’s not the worst idea she had that day. Literally. “But about the calendar, Mary, please can we take it down?”

“I thought you might feel this way, so I got one to put up over my side of the bed too.”

“Really? A bedwetting calendar?”

“Of course not, silly goose!” She went to her night stand and took a calendar out of the drawer to show to me. “It’s my Wake Up Next to Daphne calendar, and look – all the days are already filled in with gold stars.”

“Aww. That’s sweet. You’re sweet and mean.”

“And you’re my good girl for letting me be sweet and mean to you.”

O my goodness! My wife thinks I’m a good girl. Squeee!

 

 

[Sarah Penguin]

silly

[YourFNF]

Once again so many confllicted feelings.

I feel bad for Daphene cause I'm not 100% sure she's in on the joke but god damn is this hot and no I totally don't want....

totally doesn't want it to be more direct and be an "un-potty training" calendar slander! lies and slander!

 

[Alex Bridges]

1 hour ago, YourFNF said:

Once again so many confllicted feelings.

I feel bad for Daphene cause I'm not 100% sure she's in on the joke but god damn is this hot and no I totally don't want....

totally doesn't want it to be more direct and be an "un-potty training" calendar slander! lies and slander!

 

Cutie