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

[WBDaddy]

Guilend also doesn't seem to be aware that no cordless (or corded for that matter) vibrator can hold a candle to the raw power of a Magic Wand.

[Guilend]

2 hours ago, Alex Bridges said:

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

Not going to happen. However there's a chance she'd get mommy to do it. Lol

 

19 minutes ago, WBDaddy said:

Guilend also doesn't seem to be aware that no cordless (or corded for that matter) vibrator can hold a candle to the raw power of a Magic Wand.

Oh I know, not personally, but I've been informed many times. My other idea was to much to type out while at work lol

[Alex Bridges]

7 minutes ago, WBDaddy said:

Guilend also doesn't seem to be aware that no cordless (or corded for that matter) vibrator can hold a candle to the raw power of a Magic Wand.

Anything more powerful is sold under the name “reciprocating drill” or “air hammer”

[Alex Bridges]

Scene #21

 

“Daffy!”

“Come in,” I called downstairs. That was Nana. “I’m upstairs!” We’d gotten even closer, to the point she didn’t knock and I didn’t feel the need to meet her at the door. I wasn’t expecting her.

“What are you doing up here,” she laughed when she saw the bed. A large portion of my closet was laid out on it. 

“Trying to pick an outfit for tonight. It’s our anniversary.”

“Congratulations! How many is it?”

“Our first.”

“I didn’t realize you two were still newlyweds.” Understandable, since we’ve been living together for four years. We’re out and proud and have the tee shirts and pins (and NSFW photos) to prove it, but you try moving in next to a boomer. We wanted to figure out just how big a problem she’d be, which was all my nervousness because I had a not so good experience with neighbors once. They genuinely believed the best way to show they loved me was with ... well, never mind. Better to have someone detest you because at least they’ll leave you the hell alone. And to our very happy pleasure, we moved in next door to Nana, who had no issue with us. It didn’t even seem to register with her. She was almost as nonplussed when she found out about our kinky lifestyle.

“We’re not doing anything special tonight since it’s a Wednesday. We’re going out Saturday. I just wanna look special for her when she gets home.”

“I can see you’ve narrowed it down to only fifteen choices,” she said while looking at everything I’d gotten out, “and that’s not counting mixing and matching.”

“I think a dress. I hardly ever wear them. Not so special if I’m just wearing my usual skirts or something.”

“You’re pretty in dresses.”

“How would you know?”

“I’ve seen you in them a couple times.”

“I was thinking the black one, but maybe that’s better for Saturday.” This is why I’m not a big fan of clothes. Who wants to make so many decisions? Yoga pants, shorts, cammies, tees, jeans when I have to, skirts - it’s enough work as is. I’d rather put my energy elsewhere. 

“What about this,” Nana asked as she took a sundress out of my closet.

“I do like that, but I was thinking something a little more ...” I didn’t know how to finish that sentence with Nana. 

“Sexy?”

Can you believe Nana said that? She made me blush a little. Nana’s aren’t supposed to say stuff like that. I guess she picked up on the blush and what it meant, because she put the dress away and looked at the choices I had on the bed.

“I think the red or the blue,” she said.

“The red definitely sends a message,” I said without thinking.

“What shoes will you wear with it? Or does Mary like you in your cute little bare feet?”

“Nana!” 

“I’m only teasing. You need heels with a dress like this, obviously.” 

Well, I guess most women would but, “I don’t own any.”

“Really? Why not?”

“They hurt, and I never was good at walking in them. Plus I don’t like being taller.”

“Why’s that?” The truth? Because I like being shorter than Mary. Not all the time but most of the time. And they do hurt, and I never put any effort into getting good at walking in them, much to my mother’s insanity, because believe or not, I don’t like pain for it’s own sake. Why get used to something that hurts purely because other people think you should? And I was once compared to a five-minute-old gazelle while wearing flats. Why tempt fate?

The lie? “There’s less oxygen up there.” I’m delightfully quirky, see?

“You are such a silly goose.” Well, that’s the other way of seeing me. It’s a pretty popular way. “Wanna try it on?”

“Nah. It fits. She won’t be home for a few hours,” I said and started putting everything away. “Can I get you something?”

“Glass of water? Just thought I’d come by and see what you were up. Gets lonely being an old woman sometimes. All your friends do is go to the doctor.” She really shouldn’t talk like that. No ways she’s over seventy. I guess everyone has a thing they’re unhappy about though and uses it as self-deprecating humor. Not sure what mine is, but I’m no stranger to jokes at my own expense. Water glasses in hand, we went outside to the patio.

“With all the free time you have right now, you should do some gardening back here,” she said. We never did anything with the beds except clean them out. What the last owner had planted, we just let be.

“I don’t know the first thing about that.”

“You dig a hole, plant something, and wait. Anybody can do it.”

“I killed every houseplant I ever bought.”

“Let me teach you then. It’s the time of year for it, and I’m almost out of garden to garden. I’d love to have more beds to play with.”

“Mary would be upset if you were over here working.”

“It’s not work if you like doing it. It’s a hobby. We could plant a herb garden, maybe some peppers, and some ornamentals. You guys have great sun back back here. Let me show you.” She set her glass down and led me to the raised bed against the fence. “See,” she said, “you get full sun in the morning and partial in the afternoon. That’s perfect for lots of things; things won’t bake as much in the summer. And these hedges - why have hedges when you got a fence? You could have stuff that flowers. Morning glories would climb up the fence or big irises or lillies.”

“The hedges are kinda boring. Lot of work to take them out, though, right?” I don’t like hard work. I’m not made for manual labor. It’s not a snob thing. I just don’t like it. Plus I’m so very delicate. Lots of people who aren’t snobs are delicate.

“You don’t have to do it all at once. And you could leave the hedges in and just plant in front of them. It would still cover them a little and add some color.

“Is our dirt good?” I only asked because it sounded like something someone who wasn’t totally ignorant of how not to kill living things would ask. I don’t even know what it means to have good dirt. 

“Same as mine. A little fresh soil on top wouldn’t hurt. I’ll take you to the garden store anytime you want.” She started walking toward the patio and I followed. 

“I wouldn’t mind growing stuff we could eat,” I said as I crossed the patio to the sofa I’d been sitting on.

“You okay there, Daffy?”

“Fine,” I answered quickly and suspiciously and sat my diapered butt down in a hurry.

“You’re walking like ... O.” It would have been very courteous of her to at least look as embarrassed as I’m sure I did. Avoiding her gaze only brought the situation into sharper focus: I looked down and saw the shorts I was wearing made what was under them very obvious when I sat. I definitely had something between my thighs, and it definitely looked the same as when my nephew was wearing the same thing when it was in the same condition.

I tried to keep going on like everything was normal. I mean, ha! everything’s normal, don’t look over here. Nothing to see, folks. Isn’t that the best way to get other people to stop paying attention to something, if you don’t make a big deal out of it?

“So how much room do you need to grow...” I started to say. I figured I’d pick a random vegetable when I got the end of the sentence, but I didn’t get the chance.

“Daffy, is that ... Honey, are ...” Eager to discuss the many varieties of lettuce? I sure was! “Are ... Is that different from what I saw you wearing before?”

“Yes,” I said, still trying to put on a mask of nonchalance. Little ol’ Daphne. Not a care in the world. “So what could...”

“Is it ... Would you like a minute?”

“Huh?”

“To, uh ... I’m sorry, sweetie,” she said as she finally broke into a nervous chuckle, “I don’t mean to embarrass you. I guess I’m not that good at that sometimes; just caught me off guard is all,” she rambled. “All a little different to me, but whatever makes you two happy.”

“It’s okay?” I said. Or asked. Back to gardening, please! “So could we grow...”

“Would you like a minute to change? I mean, you are,” she paused and sort of made a gesture with her shoulders, “aren’t you?”

Well, I know Nana wasn’t trying to embarrass me. Mary was trying to embarrass me. And it was working a lot more right then than it had before Nana had noticed. I didn’t so much worry about it when she came in because I couldn’t quite tell when I put shorts on and they seemed to muffle the sound. Or I’d just gotten used to the sound and didn’t notice how much puffier it was than when Mary helped me sit and handed me my shorts at 8:15. 

“Uh, yeah,” I said because the only thing more embarrassing at that point would’ve been getting caught in an obvious lie like a kid with her hand in the cookie jar (boy, did Mary not find that cute, and no, I learned, it didn’t matter if I hadn’t had one yet; she said to wait for dinner. Anyway...).

“Well, I’ll wait out here. And don’t you feel embarrassed. It doesn’t bother me one bit. Mary must have her reasons.” I suspected she was telling the truth about it not bothering her, but she was being so chipper about it that she did seem like she was covering being embarrassed.

And Nana takes my side a lot, or at least doesn’t actively take Mary’s, but she does make me feel like her little granddaughter the way she sometimes says ‘Mary must have her reasons.’ I have reasons; they take a back seat to Mary’s. And I signed up for it, but it would be nice if others weren’t so quick to take Mary’s over mine. I mean, I guess that’s a way of accepting us for who we are and the lifestyle we chose, but it’d still be nice for people not to default to Mary.

“I’m fine,” I said, hoping to go back to talking about radicchio. And what is butter lettuce anyway? Is that like a butter face? ‘The chicken was fine, but her lettuce ...’ Amiright? Anyone? Please?

“No, go on. I’ll be fine,” she insisted.

“I, um...” Hoo boy, this was getting awkward. I want sure what to say.

“Daffy, go change.” O. Nana gives orders now. That’s new. She still didn’t seemed bothered, and now she didn’t seem embarrassed. She seemed like my grandma telling me to go do something. Gently still, but not a friendly suggestion anymore. You wouldn’t think something so captivating would be at the bottom of my water glass unless you saw me staring into it so I wasn’t looking anywhere else. 

“I, um, can’t.”

O goody! Now Nana looked embarrassed again, at least when I peeked and out my eyes back down. Fascinating stuff, ice. She sat back in her chair and seemed to think for a moment. On my side of the patio, I was thinking about running away and living with circus folk.

“You mean you don’t know how,” Nana asked. Which would be a ridiculous question to ask of an adult, unless you ran through the other possibilities in your head and realized it was the least ridiculous.

“I know how.” Though I’d never actually done it. Mary lets me take pull-ups on and off, but she’s the only one who ever diapered me. And we were will at the pint with all this that I could count how many times she had: seven.

“Then go do it, silly.”

“It’s ... fine. Really. Could we ...”

“Enough of this nonsense, Daphne Ann. It is not fine. I raised three children and have three grandchildren and I can spot a wet diaper waddle when I see one. You must be soaked. Go change your pants.”

Could we please go back to talking about gardening, and then I could borrow a shovel and dig a hole and hide in it? The last I wanted to do was tell Nana to mind her own business; I don’t ever want to say anything cross to her even if that’s what it takes to get my point across. She’s too nice and well meaning for that, and I’m too nice for it. Plus Mary would make my butt live to regret it. If Nana wasn’t going to let it drop, I had to tell the truth.

“I’m not allowed to do it.”

Well, my attempt to not make Nana angry didn’t work, at least going by her face. And iI was fine, really. I was wet, but I wasn’t super wet. I didn’t feel wet. These things just swell a lot. Mary said I could take it off at 3:30. I was doing as I was told (which I’m very good at - really!). So even if Nana was mad at me or just grossed out, I wouldn’t be in trouble with Mary.

I didn’t know what to say. Nana was squirming like she wanted to jump up and tell me off or something, and then she did. Except instead of shouting at me to go change or else, she took out her phone while I sat there feeling suddenly invisible.

“Mary? I’m over at your house ... No, Daphne’s fine. Well, no, she not fine. How could leave her in a wet diaper and not let her change? ... I’m surprised at you. You take such good care of her, but this? ... I don’t care how absorbent they are ... No, she didn’t ask me to call ...”

I bit down on my bottom lip hard. Yeah, it was super humiliating to hear myself being talked about like that, but Mary was getting yelled at. Mary was the one in trouble. Mary! It was just too funny. Tables all turned, world on its head. Super fun to hear anyone tell Mary off for once. 

“I’m her Nana, so it is, too, my business. If I knew your middle name you can bet I’d be using it right now ... She’s gonna get a rash! ... Rash cream isn’t a fail safe, Mary. Believe me, I’ve tended to plenty of diaper rashes. And what if she needs to do a number two?”

Well, that ended any fun I was having. Fun was an armadillo walking across the road, and that comment was a run down old truck sending it skittering across the blacktop.

“Well I just don’t accept that. ... She may be a grown woman, but clearly she needs a little looking after sometimes like we talked about. It makes me very happy to do it, but I have to actually do it when I do.”

And an even bigger, even more run down, even older truck fell from the sky and landed on my armadillo of fun. 

And they had a conversation about me and that’s the conclusion Nana reached? The monologue, from where I sat, continued.

“Yes, we did talk about that, but ... I do understand that you’re in charge ... I do. I’m not questioning whether it’s a fair punishment or reminder or whatever. That’s up to you ... Mary, I’m happy to check in on her during the day for you and have her at my home, but I’m going to have to insist ...”

And the truck caused a fault line to open up and my armadillo fell deep into the earth.

“No ... No ... Mary, you put someone in a diaper, they’re gonna need to be changed ... You’re not here right now to be the decider, though ... Well, what time did you diaper her? ... Until 3:30?! ... Well, I’m sorry. I respect the two of you and want to support you, but you can’t leave her in a wet diaper this long. I’m putting my foot down here. Either you let her do it, or I’ll do it for her.”

And my armadillo landed in the molten core of the Earth and caused volcanoes around the world to go “Phtph” in a pathetic little lava fart of what was so briefly my armadillo of fun. If only I could’ve joined it.

“Alright ... That’s fair. I’m sorry to come off so aggressive, but I’m only thinking of her best interest, just like I said I would and because I care about her and the two of you. Alright. ...Bye. And happy anniversary ... Bye bye. She wants to talk to you,” Nana said and handed me her phone. Amazing I even managed to follow the conversation given how loud the blood rushing through my ears was. For the record, I wasn’t trembling when I took the phone. It was just an aftershock of the earthquake the armadillo caused.

“Hi, Mary. Happy anniversary.” Just throwing that back out there by way of reminder.

“Happy anniversary, Daffy. Is Nana telling the truth about you not asking her to call me?”

“Yes.”

“Well, I guess her heart is in the right place. How’d she find out anyway?”

“I, um, well...” I could bring myself to use the word ‘waddle.’ “They, uh, swell.” Ya know what? ‘Swell’ is a very ugly word. Hard to pick which was worse.

“How wet are you? Because I think those will last eight hours with the soaker pad I put in there.”

“Um, more than a little?”

“Are you uncomfortable?”

“Well, no. I mean, a tiny bit ...”

“I’m sorry, Daffy. I thought they last longer. Sandy told me they did, but maybe with your skin that’s just too long. Why didn’t you say anything when I left you in one yesterday, honey?”

“I thought that was the point.” I mean, sometimes they’re a punishment and sometimes a reminder (other categories have become clear; I continue to work on this taxonomy), and I thought them getting uncomfortable sometimes was the whole point. Complaining about it would be like complaining about a spanking hurting.

“I’m sorry. This is all my fault. When you’re not in trouble, I don’t mean for your bottom to be uncomfortable.”

“It’s okay.” I mean, what else was I supposed to say? “So I can go change?”

“Well, it’s close to 3:30, and you know I don’t like going back on things like this, so it’s up to you.” 

I don’t hear that often in stuff like this. My career and fling back to school were up to me. Anything kink related was rarely up to me short of hard limit or red light.

Mary continued, “You can wait until 3:30 or your Nana can change you. She’s okay with you deciding.”

Well, fuck. What a crappy set of options.

“I have to go, but I’ll be home by five. I really am sorry. Shower good, and I’ll show you just how sorry, baby.”

“Bye.”

“Bye bye, kiddo.”

And silence. Like the world was having a moment of silence for my armadillo of fun. May he rest in carapieces. (See what I did there? Don’t you wish you’d thought of it first?)

And unfortunately, neither I nor Nana had ceased to exist, so I handed her phone back to her, and she sat down next to me on the couch. Usually Mary needs to paddle the stuffing out of me to make me so quiet. Nana was looking at me expectantly, or I figured she was since I couldn’t look at her. 

Part of me wanted to thank her for sticking up for me. Part of me was irritated she was interfering.

“Daffy,” Nana said quietly as she put a hand on my thigh, “may I please help you?” 

What a loaded way to ask the question. Part of me wanted to take the diaper off and better yet never wear one again. Part of me wanted to be Mary’s good girl and just do as she told me. A teeny part of me wanted to let her help so I’d get sort of both of those things.

It was kinda clammy, but I was okay waiting until 3:30. It wouldn’t kill me. Wasn’t it more important that I stick to my commitment and show Mary? It sounded like she was gonna change the rule tomorrow, so it wasn’t the worst thing waiting.

My mouth was so dry. It felt sticky when I tried to answer. “Thank you for caring so much, but no, thank you. I’ll wait.”

Nana sat a little more upward and looked I guess at the same spot I was staring at. I couldn’t look her in the face and she was thinking.

“Daffy,” she said again and put her arm around my shoulder, “We’re both women ... And I had some issues after I had my third for a while. Please let me help. You don’t need to be embarrassed.”

Well, humiliated was a better word, but that wasn’t the whole issue. Though I couldn’t imagine letting Nana do that. So far, I couldn’t imagine it being anybody but Mary and maybe Sandy if Mary made me.

I shook my head. It was hard to talk. She sighed and rubbed my shoulder. “Will you tell me why,” she asked.

“I want to ...” I had to swallow. My tongue stuck in my throat. I needed some water and took a drink. “I wanna obey Mary.”

“You won’t disappoint her because she gave you permission, sweetie. You would be obeying her, and you must be so uncomfortable.”

Well, yes and no. I felt more sweaty down there than anything else. And there are degrees of obeying sometimes. Wouldn’t I be obeying more if I did what she told me to do when she left the house to go to work?

“But,” I tried to say again, “That’s how I show her I love her.”

Nana sighed again, probably not able to understand that or maybe even thinking there was something wrong with me or us. It’s not like I was afraid Mary would stop loving me or be hugely disappointed. It’s just, well, I promised to obey, and she promised to take care of me always, and it’s important that we both do that. Even when I disagree, I obey (or try to; no one’s perfect). Even when she’s tired, Mary takes care of me (even if she’s a bit off the mark sometimes; ditto). We both try and don’t always get it right, but we try.

And no, being bratty isn’t the same as disobeying. That’s a whole other thing, so nyah.

I didn’t want to explain all that to her. I shouldn’t have to explain our lifestyle to anyone anymore than I need to explain my being gay to anyone. I hoped she wouldn’t ask me because I could just about guarantee that I’d just cry if she did. 

I just needed Nana to accept it. I’m glad she stood up for me; well, not exactly glad, but she did it for the right reasons. That made me feel a little more fuzzy about her. She said some things that stung a little, but not because she said them. 

“I’m sorry, Daffy,” she said instead and pulled me closer. “I should‘ve minded my own business, I suppose. I only did it because I thought it was best for you. That’s a nana’s job. I worry about you like you’re one of my own sometimes.”

Aww, dammit. She had to go and say that. Just friggin had to. “Me, too,” I said and sounded like I was about to get weepy, which I was.

O, honey, c’mere.” She pulled me close so I was leaning on her and was patting my shoulder and rubbing my arm. “I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. I don’t judge you for anything. I just wanna make sure you’re taken care of.”

How can I be expected to not get weepy when the people I care about say stuff like that to me? She kept rubbing my arm, and I don’t even notice where her hand was headed until I felt the pat and heard the little thwump.

“O. You’re still all dry back here. I guess you can wait if you’re not too uncomfortable.”

Fuck my life. We could’ve avoided the last seven minutes and me coming this close to having my vanilla neighbor change my diaper if I had just let her check it first? Fucking really?

And if she weren’t my Nana I’d throw a shit fit about her touching my butt.

But she is my Nana. Guess it’s part of the territory. I needed to talk to Mary about whatever she’s been talking about with Nana.

[WBDaddy]

The threshold has been crossed.  She's in diapers on the regular now.  And she learned a valuable lesson about dressing to hide them.  

[Alex Bridges]

Thought I’d reveal the inspiration behind this story. I’ve always loved these two performers, Audrey Knight and Abigail Whittaker. They had a now-gone website called Spank That Brat depicting their domestic discipline relationship (not sure if it was real) and now sell on clips4sale. I always thought their dynamic would be great fodder for ageplay.

A Real Spanking for Abi

[Guilend]

One thing she probably needs to ask her dom mommy about is the answer to nana's question about if she needs to go number 2 ?. I'm not sure if they'd already discussed that as I don't know if it ever crossed her mind till Nana asked such an embarrassing question lol. However she is in a diaper that she's not allowed to take off till a certain time so I guess she'd either have to try and hold it till then or use her diaper and stay in it till that certain time. This story is fantastic. 

[Bluebird67]

Yay, more Nana! She may have been “vanilla” before Mary and Daphne came next door, but can she really be called that now? She’s human, open minded and loving - I think she is now an honorary member of a kink community.

[Alex Bridges]

Scene #22

 

Ever listen to someone else eat? It’s amazing how you never notice the little sounds like a fork scraping against a plate or the click of the tines against the ceramic. In a completely otherwise silent kitchen, when that’s all you have to focus, it seems very loud.

Though I guess I did actually have other things to focus on. I was standing in the corner, so I had not one but two walls to look at (lucky me!), my butt hurt (lucky me!), and I knew in another few minutes I’d be getting a much worse than the swats I collected on the way to the corner. So I could focus on the possibility that Mary wasn’t done with my bottom yet (lucky her!).

The day didn’t start out auspiciously. My feet hit the floor in a bad mood, and not just any bad mood but a mood directed at Mary. She didn’t know that. If she did, she probably would’ve stayed out of my way for a while.

I stepped out of the shower, and there she was in her impossibly cheery morning mood getting dressed, and on the bed was an outfit for me. Nothing about it I didn’t like. It was actually the most grown up thing she’d picked for me in a while. The panties were actually a solid color, and that color was black. I mean, she doesn’t lay out clothes for me everyday, but when she does, hardly ever does she lay out age-appropriate panties. She’s still laying out a pull-up for me on weekdays. I didn’t want one of those. I just didn’t want to wear anything she picked out for me. I guess I was maybe a little too vocal in my non-verbal grunts and opening and closing drawers because by the time I was done dressing myself and putting away what Mary had gotten out, she was leaning against her dresser with her arms folded.

“Nope,” she said.

“I just didn’t wanna wear that,” I said, not really with attitude but maybe a little bit with some weariness in my voice. Despite some people’s misimpression, being Daphne can be a seriously tiring affair.

“Which is fine by me,” she said, “but we’re not starting our day with you in a ‘tude.” She sat down on the bed and waved me over.

“Mary,” I whined (like, really whined), but walked (foot-dragged) my way over. She grabbed me by the waistband of my skirt, and I let myself be bent over the end of the bed next to her. She started giving me a firm hand spanking over my shorts.

“It’s Saturday. (SPANK SWAT SMACK) We’re not starting it with you in a bad mood. (SPANK SPANK SPANK)” She kept that up for maybe thirty swats. A wakeup call is all she intended. “If something is bothering you, we can talk about it. If it’s just a general not-happy-with-the-world mood, you know how to handle that maturely. You’re gonna pout your way into trouble before the morning’s over at this rate.”

She gave me ten more and let me up. It was just a warning, an attention getter. It hurt a little but not much. She’s given me much worse without even taking me off my feet. She gave me a hug I didn’t fully return; she smiled at me and brushed my hair our of my face and kissed me. I tried to smile back and didn’t succeed, and I think she resolved to be extra sweet to me. Well, I wasn’t gonna let her.

Second Saturday of every month is deep clean day. No one likes cleaning; I especially hate it. Most months, it’s not that bad between the two of us. We do a decent job keeping up with the basics, so divided between us, it’s at most a morning’s work. Or it is if you get keep working at it. Mary had Adele blasting away on our speaker upstairs, the windows were open, it was a nice spring day, and I had exactly one of those windows cleaned before sitting down on the couch and getting lost in my phone.

“Daphne!” She scared the crap outta me. “Thought I’d lost you there.”

“Sorry,” I said as I got up with my paper towels and bottle of Windex.

“No worries; I’ll help. Where should I start?”

“This one,” I said as I tore off a paper towel for her.

“You’ve only gotten one done?”

“It’s only been like …”

“An hour. I got all three bathrooms done.” Mary didn’t exactly reproach me with that statement. She wasn’t mad or even irritated. She might have even meant it in an inspirational ‘if I can, you can too, cowgirl’ way. Didn’t matter.

“So I’m not Martha Stewart’s maid. Here,” I said held out a paper towel. You may have noticed I’m not the kind of person who can be in a bad mood without others knowing it or be mad at someone without it being obvious. I guess I wear my emotions on my sleeve. Mary certainly knows this even if she is intent on helping me learn to not wear my grumpy on the outside. I sometimes know when I’m doing it, and sometimes I don’t, and I confess that I did know then. Almost certainly did not help that as she crossed her arms and looked at with me with her lips pulled all the way to one side in a little scrunch that said she was not at all impressed, I held out that paper towel and had the very bad sense to jiggle it, my way of saying, ‘hurry up and take it already.’

She executed a perfect Marine Corp about face and walked out of the room. I cursed myself silently for being so stupid, but I didn’t really feel sorry about it. I knew I should’ve, but I didn’t.

I was kneeling on the sofa to get the middle window behind it when Mary marched back into the room, her heels striking the floor hard enough to be audible. I started to get off the couch to face the music and didn’t even get one foot on the floor.

“Stay.” I huffed and waited. I mean, it’s hard to even be bothered sometimes. So I was going to get the day’s second spanking. Viewed in its own light, you could argue I deserved it. I wasn’t feeling so interested in learning lessons and was just impatient: get the spanking over with, get the cleaning over with, and then I could find some space, preferably with a glass of wine for lunch.

“Hands on the back of the couch,” she ordered me. She reached for my skirt and undid it so it fell around my knees. “I don’t know what’s gotten into you, but you do not talk like that to me or anyone,” she said before giving me a wedgie and letting fly with the paddle she (recently) hung on the back of our pantry door. At least it’s on the inside, not that we have many people over who don’t know that Mary, at a minimum, has a paddle in her purse in the kitchen at all times.

I only got some testing spanks with the new kitchen paddle before. It’s light, but it packs a heckuva sting that starts feeling like a burn pretty quickly. Good thing we live at the end of the street; less of a chance of people waking by seeing me in the window with my eyes squinched shut and a grimace on my face and the unmistakable sound of wood-on-butt through the open windows. I clenched the back of the couch and tried to keep my knees from wobbling. She wasn’t giving it her all, but she was putting a zing on it and getting me at a funny angle that made flat WHAP! sound on the fleshiest part of my butt.

I was partly fed up and partly in such a rotten mood I wanted to cry, but I didn’t want to give her the satisfaction. I rubbed just a little dampness from my eyes when she was done and waited for her to finish lecturing me.

“Do you have something to say to me,” she asked.

“I’m sorry.” Meant-didn’t-mean-it. I shouldn’t have said what I said or slacked off on my part of the chores, but I still was mad at her. I tried to actually sound sorry, and I’d say I managed to sound about eighty percent sorry. That’s a lot of sorry. That’s worth something. She agreed, so it seemed, because she put the paddle down.

“Stand up.” I did. “Step out.” I did, and she took my skirt. “You can stay like that until dinner time. Any more sass or attitude, and you’ll be sitting on a bruised butt for a few days. Understood?”

“Yes.”

She didn’t help with the windows, but she did do the kitchen, which should’ve been mine. I think she was trying to be nice, or maybe just get stuff done so we could get on with our day. 

She’s not dense. She left to go run errands, and she didn’t ask if I wanted to come. She knew I needed some space and maybe some time to just chill. That paddle packed a burn that lingered for an hour and made my butt feel clammy. I wish I could say I was in a much better mood when she got home, but I wasn’t. I was a little better at hiding it though. We made dinner together and made small talk while we did. A little stilted, but not frosty or anything. So how did I end up in the corner?

“Try your Brussels sprouts.” 

That’s how. I didn’t want Brussels sprouts. I was going to eat them anyway because we all need fiber and iron and vitamins and minerals, but then she told me to. Well, just on principle I had to not eat them now. I just ignored her.

“Daffy, you gotta eat some veggies,” she said when she noticed I hadn’t touched them.

“I don’t want any.”

“You like Brussels sprouts. I’ve seen you eat them. I’ve seen you make them.”

“Well, I like them the way I make them.” That earned me a dirty look. 

“Just have a couple, for me.” She took her fork and rolled one toward me on my plate. “Or no dessert,” she said in a faux sweet way to tempt me into not being a bitch.

“I’ll eat what I want.” Gauntlet, thrown. Test of wills, commenced. I choose what goes in my body. She can’t take that away. She also couldn’t back down now. I backed her into a corner; funny, since I ended up in the actual corner less than a minute later.

“Daphne Ann, I’m gonna count to three.”

“I am not eating the damn Brussels sprouts, and I am not five years old!”

She stood up so fast she almost knocked her chair over as she grabbed me by my upper arm and propelled me toward the corner with all the force she could pack into an underhand spank. “You’ve been acting like one all day!” 

“Ow! Ow! I don’t want any stupid Brussels sprouts!”

“Good thing you’re done with dinner then (SMACK SMACK SMACK!). You can keep your nose in the corner until I’m done, and think about what you have coming.”

Okay, so I may have chosen a stupid hill to die on, but the vegetables really weren’t the problem, obviously. The problem is Mary has been dropping all these new things on me for months without even asking, and she’s been talking to Sandy and Lisa and probably Nana behind my back. It’s been bugging me since our anniversary last week when Mary told Nana she could change me. I didn’t even want to be in the stupid diaper, and Mary knows that or damn well ought to, and the more I ruminated on it, the more pissed off I got until I hopped out of bed this morning ready to fight.

So I stood there and listened to Mary finish her dinner and could only imagine how much she was looking forward to beating my butt. I may have been in a terrible mood and pissed at Mary, but I wasn’t about to leave the corner and tell her no. I asked for domestic discipline; she decides when I get spanked; I don’t want to change that. The nuclear option? Refuse? I wasn’t pissed enough to court those long term consequences. I heard her glass clink as she set it back on our table; I think maybe ten minutes had passed.

“Alright,” she said, “let’s go.” I walked ahead of her trying very hard not to stomp and thinking of everything I was going to say when she was done lighting my ass on fire. I kept my mouth shut. I stepped out of the doorway into our bedroom and just stood there waiting for her to tell me how she wanted me. She walked around me without a word and went straight to her nightstand and got the hairbrush out.

“Is this enough,” she asked me, brandishing it. “Or should I go get the bathbrush? ... That was an actual question,” she added when I stood there silently pouting.

“Yes, it’s enough. Geez.” Her eyes lit up as she tightened her lips, drew in a sharp breath, and pushed it out hard through her nose. If she wasn’t pissed before ...

Instead of the bed, she sat down on the ottoman in front of the arm chair in our bedroom. It’s a little bit easier to control me on that since it’s lower to the floor. Mary only uses it for spanking when she’s really going to lay into me. I walked over with my hands at my sides, and she yanked my skirt and panties down at once without popping the buttons.

“Shouldn’t have even let you put this back on. Like I didn’t know we were going to end up here tonight,” she said to herself as I stepped out of them. “Over,” she said, and I lowered myself over her lap. He put her right leg around both of mine, leaving a clear target for her. “You do not do this, Daphne,” she said to me. “When you are upset about something, we talk about it. When you are made at me, you tell me like an adult. You do not sulk. You do not sass. You do not talk back, stomp around, and act how you acted today. Do you understand me, little girl?”

“Yes,” I said and didn’t bother to hide that I was as pissed as she was.

“I shouldn’t have to give you three spankings in one day. I shouldn’t have to give you any spankings because you can’t control your temper or talk to me like a mature person would. You say you’re not a five year old? You are acting just like a five year old. If there’s a next time, if you let yourself get so wound up without coming to me to talk about it, we won’t need to bother hanging the bathbrush back up when we’re done with it. We’ll be using it far too often. Do you understand?”

“Yes.” Just do it already! Geez!

“I am going to spank your bottom until it glows, missy.”

Welp, no more waiting because HOLY SHIT she has never spanked me that hard or that fast with that thing. I couldn’t have held still even if I wanted to, and I didn’t want to just hold still for her. With my legs trapped and her arm around my waist, I arched my back while she flailed me with that damn brush. That didn’t get me anywhere, and I practically grabbed onto the carpet fibers trying to get away. There’s no leg on the ottoman to hold onto. I couldn’t even hold onto Mary’s legs. She didn’t slow down or ease up, and I ended up pounding my fists into the carpet a time or five and bawling.

Anything approaching a spanking like that o e never lasts more than twenty or thirty seconds. That’s long enough for her to pepper my backside sixty times. We went right past thirty seconds. A minute. Maybe more. I couldn’t even hear the brush over my own crying and sobbing. She was in complete control of herself and that brush, and I had no control over myself. 

Different implements get used in different ways. If she made a habit of using the hairbrush that way, I’d have happily thrown it away again and embraced the bathbrush. The thudding slap of that thing couldn’t be worse than this. The hairbrush always feels like a swarm of bees. She was putting enough force behind it to make it a swarm of killer bees or wasps or pterodactyls or something.

She stopped spanking and held me there. I did not stop bawling. Carrying on, really. I even pounded the floor a few more times, I think just in frustration. My ass burned as mush as it ever had before. She waited patiently until I had exhausted myself.

“You feel better,” she asked me. I nodded my head. I was ready to fall asleep (I had no dinner, hence no energy; I needed every Brussels sprout calorie I could get). She lifted more than helped me up, I crawled onto the bed, and I curled into an almost-ball. She crawled up behind me and put her arm over me. I was still crying, but I wasn’t angry anymore. We spankos are weird; how is it being spanked by the person I was mad at could take away the anger?

I think I fell asleep for a few minutes. Mary’s fingers tracing up and down my arm woke me or else enough sensation returned to my butt that the searing heat was turning into duller ache. Worse, in some ways.

“You ready to talk now,” Mary asked me. “What’s going on?”

You’d think with my ability to snap at Mary and anyone else that when I actually had something of substance to say I’d be better at saying it. Clever, articulate (more so in writing) am I, but terrible at broaching hard topics. 

“I ...” That’s as far as I got in ten seconds.

“Can I tell you what I think?”

“No. I mean, me first.” I swallowed. Didn’t help that I had a seriously full nose and my sinuses were stuffed to the top. “Everything happened too fast.”

“What’s that?”

“I ... You made me wear pull-ups and then diapers and you make me pee in them and all our friends know and Nana knows and you didn’t even ask me,” I whined with one those thick I’ve-just-been-crying voices. Mary rubbed my arm again and didn’t say anything for a few seconds.

“Do you remember the first time I put a pull-up on you?”

“Mhmm.”

“I gave you a chance for a red light. Remember? You didn’t take it.”

“I ...” So this was my fault? I started to get a more upset. I was not to blame. I was sure of that.

Mary sensed me getting upset again and said softly, “Say it calmly, baby.”

I breathed out. “I didn’t want to red light then. I thought it wouldn’t become a thing, and now you make me pee in them. I only did that the first time because I thought you’d think it was gross and stop.”

“It’s been months, honey. You never said red light or a safe word. You know you don’t have to wait for me to ask of you want to use a safe word.”

I did say no a bunch of times, but I say that over a lot of things I love and she knows it. That’s what any power exchange relationship is. It’s the difference between, “Please don’t! Stop!” and “Please don’t stop!” 

“How come you haven’t used a safe word,” she asked me.

Complicated question that I wasn’t prepared to answer. “How come you started doing this,” I asked instead.

She kissed my shoulder. “Because I think you’re adorable in them and you get off on being humiliated. They seemed perfect for that. You squirm so adorably in them and it looks like you enjoy that. I thought was why you never safe worded.”

“I don’t like disappointing you.” Well, that was about half an honest answer.

She called me on that, saying, “That’s not how safe words get used, and you know it. C’mon, honey. What’s really going on? I know you were wet when I first put you in them, and I know how turned on you were when I took you out in public diapered. I do think they make a good punishment for you, too, but that’s not why I have you in pull-ups so much or diapers sometimes.”

“They do,” I said.

“They do what?”

“They do turn me on a little. Or it’s more when you’re ... with me when I’m in them or even Lisa. It’s just ... It’s different.”

“How is it different? Different like not the good kind of humiliation? Too much of the wrong kind?”

“I ... Nana found out. I ... I felt so ... ashamed.” I choked on that word. Shame is a much more powerful emotion than humiliation. It’s a toxic emotion.

“O, honey. That is your feeling, and it is valid, but I don’t think you ever need to be ashamed with Nana. You never need to be ashamed with me or our kinky friends, either.”

“I know. I just felt it anyway. She must think I’m such a ... she said I was a ... she sees me like I’m not a grown up. She didn’t do that before the pull-ups.”

“She does, too, see you like an adult. She said so. That’s why she was okay with you deciding whether to change that day.”

True. She did say that. “But she still doesn’t see me like she sees you. She thinks I need looking after, and I don’t really. I’m not ...” I trailed off.

“Not what? You can tell me anything.”

“Defective or something.”

She adjusted herself she could get her other arm around me and hold me. “You are not defective. You never have been, and no one sees you that way. Nana does not see you that way.”

“I didn’t want her to see me like that.”

“She doesn’t.”

“I mean wet. Peed on myself. She didn’t know I do that.”

“Why don’t we go see her together tomorrow? We can talk through these things.”

“Okay. But have you been talking to her without me, too?”

“We’ve had a couple conversations over the years and few since you started spending so much time with her.”

“Why?”

“She wants to understand. She wants to make sure you’re okay, and she wants to understand so she doesn’t say the wrong thing.”

“You didn’t tell her to babysit me?”

“Of course not, Daphne. You know I’d never ask someone outside the lifestyle to do that.”

“Then why does she?”

“She isn’t.”

“She was gonna change my diaper.” That’s definitely a babysitter’s job or a grandma’s job. That’s not something even very understanding friends do.

“She just ... she sees you as an adult, okay? She just also sees you as needing a little extra TLC, just like I do. That’s all. She just sees you like I do because that’s who we told her you are. And that is who you are, and she likes that so much.”

“It’s happening too fast.” It still seemed too fast. It had only been a few months from Sandy bringing up pull-ups for the first time to what happened with Nana. Why did it happen so fast? And how? I should’ve said something sooner, but I didn’t. I’ll take the wrap for that, but Mary could’ve been a little more attentive and been a little slower.

“When do you think it started,” she asked me.

“With Sandy that time you had your office party and I didn’t go.”

“Why then?”

“That’s when she tried to get me wear a pull-up for the first time.”

“Daphne, I think the pull-ups and diapers are just a thing. That’s not when this started.” 

Okay, so apparently we have different understandings of what ‘this’ was. To me, ‘this’ was pull-ups and diapers.

“You’ve been becoming a little for a while,” she said. O. I’d been wondering when our domestic discipline relationship took on so much of an ageplay flavor, so I guess that’s what she saw ‘this’ as. I guess I did, too, somewhat.

“I am not a little,” I almost shouted. “I am not a little girl.”

“Okay, baby, okay. Don’t get upset again. You’re not a little, but you have gotten littler over the years, haven’t you?”

Well, maybe. I’ll concede that. “A bit, I guess.” More than that, I knew, but why should I carry the burden of truth alone? I’m not that big, either.

“And there’s nothing wrong with that. There’s nothing wrong with being littler.”

“Littles are needy and bratty and don’t always know when to turn it off. And I don’t even like doing little things. I don’t color or have toys or any of that.” It’s important to focus more on the coloring and toy part of that statement when considering whether I’m a little or middle or anything. Of course, Mary didn’t do that, which led her to, well, a conclusion different than I would’ve drawn.

“No, but you are littler in some ways. And, honey, you can’t always stop yourself from being bratty either. You just threw a fit over eating your veggies, and you did it because you were mad about something else entirely and didn’t use your words to tell me.”

O, sure. Throw that back in my face. That was, like, over a thousand seconds ago.

“It’s hard to talk about this stuff sometimes. You’ve been ...” I do have a hard time talking about the things Mary doesn’t get quite right. It’s not always easy to tell where the line is between questioning her but still trusting her to decide and questioning her and not having that trust. You have to have that trust in a domestic discipline relationship.

“For heaven’s sake, Daphne, just tell me,” she said gently.

“Making so many decisions. These are all big decisions. Making me wear a diaper for eight hours is a big decision, and I don’t think you get that.”

I felt the warmth of her sigh against the back of my neck. “You’re right. That’s a bigger decision that I thought. I did apologize, but I should’ve walked it back more after last week.”

“And the rule about using them and making me wear them in public, too, at the party.”

“I should’ve asked like I did with the pull-ups. I’m sorry.”

“And I didn’t mean to get myself so worked up. I just ... I can’t help it sometimes ... I did warn you when we started dating, ya know.”

“Hehe. I do remember that. I’m still okay with it, but I’m not ever gonna stop trying to break your naughty habits.”

“So what now,” I asked.

“How do you feel?”

“Better.”

“I mean, do you want to safe word anything? Is that what you’re trying to tell me?”

Ya know what I think? I think I just wanted to want to safe word something. Sorta planting the flag just so I wouldn’t be giving in so much. I wanted to slow down, get Mary to give me more time to adjust with these new things she was adding. Underneath it all, I do want her to decide. Just decide with a little more input from me and time to get used to stuff. I don’t like the diapers, and I don’t like pee, but I do like how I feel when wear them and do that. I feel submissive, and I like that, and sometimes I feel humiliated, and I like that, too. It just happened too fast. First in front of all our friends at that party when I was too high on endorphins to mind until I thought about it later and then last week in front of Nana. It was too much too soon. It tipped the humiliation scale too far in the wrong direction.

So, “No. I’m not saying that. I want you decide those things. I just need more time to get used to it.”

“What are you still not used to?”

“Other people knowing. I mean, it’s fine with the people who do know now, but I don’t want anyone else to for a while at least.” Although between the pool party and Nana, that took care of most of the people we know besides vanilla friends and family, who we wouldn’t tell anyway.

“We can do that. I’m sorry again for making you go too fast.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you and was mean today.”

“I don’t like it when you’re mean. You’re supposed to be my submissive little girl.”

“I am your submissive girl. Otherwise I wouldn’t have let you spank me tonight.”

“I know.”

“And I’m sorry about the Brussels sprouts. You make good ones.”

“I should make you have them for breakfast. That’s what my parents would’ve done.”

“No way.”

“You want something to eat?”

“Ice cream.”

“Ice cream!” She reached down and swatted my butt, and damn was it a swollen, bruised throb. “She gets three spankings in one day, doesn’t finish her dinner, and has the nerve to ask for dessert. That’s definitely not something someone a bit littler than other girls your age would try to get away with.”

“Okay,” I said. Hard to argue with her logic. I didn’t deserve a treat.

“We’re out of ice cream, but we do have some pudding and vanilla wafers. How’s that sound?”

“Yummy.”

“Okay. Then after, I think we can get in bed earlier tonight. Been a rough day, hasn’t it?”

“Mhmm.”

“I don’t like having to give those kinds of spankings. It’d be nice not to have to for a long while.”

Notice how she didn’t say ever. Mary is a realist. “I’ll try really hard.”

“Good girl. Let’s go get that dessert.”

Well, I felt better, but I was honestly a little more confused having said it all out loud. I’m pretty sure I was angry at Mary before, but not just Mary. I had a lot more of my own feelings still to work out.

[Guilend]

I love this one. It shows a deeper understanding on how this type of dynamic works in real life. Some stories show it the wrong way completely while others do it way too perfect. This chapter shows how it really happens and at the same time shows how it's supposed to work. It's not too far one way or the other. While communication is a must, in real life sometimes it's difficult for the submissive or even the dom to communicate properly as I've definitely learned a lot about these past few months. 

[WBDaddy]

7 hours ago, Guilend said:

I love this one. It shows a deeper understanding on how this type of dynamic works in real life. Some stories show it the wrong way completely while others do it way too perfect. This chapter shows how it really happens and at the same time shows how it's supposed to work. It's not too far one way or the other. While communication is a must, in real life sometimes it's difficult for the submissive or even the dom to communicate properly as I've definitely learned a lot about these past few months. 

100% agree.  Communication is such a huge thing in these kinds of relationships.  When people stop communicating, it can all go sideways in a hell of a hurry.

[Diaperingdaddy]

Awesome chapter. Should have let her decide if she needed a diaper to hold the heat in or not.

[Alex Bridges]

Scene #23

 

I was such a good girl. Multiple, trustworthy parties attest to this. For a whole two weeks, I did virtually nothing wrong. Certainly nothing spankable, and that’s impressive because I’m a very spankable woman. Even more people attest to that. 

It wasn’t easy, either, after Mary and I had that little talk. We were both feeling around for what “slowing down” meant as far as the ageplay stuff went. Mary lifted her decree that I wear a pull-up when she was at work but did not lift the provision that if I was wearing one, I had to use it before it could come off. In two weeks, she decided to I needed to wear one maybe five times.

I tried to point out that the things weren’t cheap and so she should consider carefully whether I deserved one, but then she reminded me that was why she insisted I use them when I did wear them and asked if I wanted to use them even more. I was getting away with tinkling in them just a little and then taking them off. I wanted to keep it that way, so her question shut me the hell up.

Nana will tell you I was good, too. Mary still “dropped me off” there a couple days a week, but Nana and I found ourselves enjoying each other’s company almost every day of the week. She was teaching me about gardening, and I was teaching her about how to use her phone. 

But two weeks is an awfully long time to be perfectly good, and no one is perfect, and I won’t be held to impossible standards. I reserve the right to grump, whine, be occasionally bratty, inconsiderate, and even testy. But I wasn’t any of those things much at all.

Mary says sometimes she can see a dark cloud forming over my head. Of course, Mary says a lot of things, but she says she can see it happening right in front of her when I’m on my way to trouble, and that’s when she says she can smell a spanking coming like people can smell rain.

And she told me so around day twelve of my spank free streak (not including an odd smack or two here or there; if those count as spankings, I don’t think there’s been a day in five years I didn’t collect a spanking for some reason or other, maybe only half In chastisement), she told me she could smell it coming on the wind.

It’s a problem sometimes that I can behave well enough to not do anything to earn a spanking, but over a long enough period, the tiny things accumulate, and then in Mary’s mind it’s suddenly a big, overdue deal. That’s when Mary says stuff like, “I see rainclouds,” as a warning. 

And now I write that down, if I’m too sarcastic sometimes, what does that make Mary? Patronizing and too cute by half; that’s what. 

From my point of view, I don’t see rainclouds. I hear thunder that sounds remarkably like a paddle. And sometimes I do need rain. I am a delicate flower, after all. We need to get watered. And sometimes Mary needs to thunder.

And I bring all this up because, again, third parties will testify under oath that I was remarkably well behaved even without curving the grade. I was earning a B+ in deportment, an A- in sharing, an A in putting away, and at least a B+ in sociability. 

Bear all that in mind before you pick sides, because accounts differ on exactly why what just happened happened. I was in my lavender silk pajamas watching TV at 7:30 in the evening. According to Mary, I was watching TV in my pajamas at 7:30. So you can see how open to interpretation the immediate instigating transgression was. 

She’d worked late. I called out, “Hi,” when I heard her come in. I heard her purse hit the floor. That’s never a signal she had a good day, when she just drops it by the door. We have a hook thingy. God forbid I don’t use the hook thingy because that would just be verboten. She walked through the kitchen and into the living room looking quite tired. “Rough day,” I asked. I’m pretty sure I could see a little dark cloud over her head. I was in jammies and had chocolate; sunshine and  butterflies were above my head.

“Is that the last truffle,” she asked me. More specifically, it was the last half of a truffle. 

“Yeah,” I said with my mouth full. “You want the rest?” I was more than happy to share. I’m good at sharing! I have twenty-five-year-old report cards with a smiley face in the box next to Sharing. “Daphne is a good sharer,” said a preschool teacher. and they are sharing experts!

“Why are you dressed for bed already?”

This seemed like a trick question. I have maintained a strong A in recognizing trick questions since around Grade 2 of Mary’s Finishing School for Daphne. Still, I don’t think I’ll ever graduate to the third grade. So I told the truth, which I had no reason not to, and said, “I took a bath.” I love baths. Who doesn’t love baths? I had my hot water, my bubbles, and a glass of wine. 

“In the middle of the day?”

Okay, so many questions from someone who hasn’t even sat down yet. “No, at sox when you texted me you’d be late.”

“Did you make dinner?”

“I had leftovers. We have most of the chicken I made Monday. I can fix you a plate while you go change,” I offered and started to get up.

“We need to talk about that tone you’re using and your general backchat for the past two weeks,” she said as she sighed as though she had let something go for too long. “You need a spanking.”

“For what? I just offered to make you dinner,” I asked a little indignantly.

“You’ve been grumpy and a little inconsiderate, and we’re just going to nip it in the bud before it gets any worse.”

“Because I didn’t make dinner?”

“Because you’ve been living the life of Riley while I’ve been slaving at the office. Did you think of waiting for me? I like baths. I like chocolate.”

Who the fuck is Riley and why am I being compared to her all of a sudden? And why can’t I live her life? Is it too good for the likes of me? I have class, godammit!

“And,” Mary continued, “you’ve been getting brattier and brattier. I warned you on Monday. You just can’t go two whole weeks without getting spanked. It puts you all out of sorts. Come on; stand up.”

Reverse psychology? Is that what was happening? My sorts were arranged just fine. There’s definitely something to what Mary said about me ending up in dire need of a punishment spanking if I go too long without one, but I was not there yet. No way. Clearly, Mary had a bad day and needed to spank something. That is a perfectly acceptable reason for giving a spanking in a domestic discipline marriage. I’d have been fine to offer my butt as sacrifice. They’ve been sacrificing asses to assuage unreasonable gods since biblical times, literally. I just didn’t like the pretense that I’d done something to deserve it.

“I am not out of sorts,” I said as I stood up and started toward the stairs. “You’re out of sorts.” 

This whole living room was out of sorts! (Not really. I cleaned it during the day.)

“See, right there with the talking back. You just forget how to act like a good little girl if I let it go too long.” She grabbed me by the upper arm gently before I got past her. “Over here.”

“I am not a little girl,” I whined. I guess that’s just a reflex now, like saying “huh?” when someone says your name. Her response was to plant a foot on the edge of the coffee table. “I hate that position!” Just completely dangling there.

“You’re not supposed to like a punishment,” she said as she helped me over her knee. Freaking balancing act: too far forward and you face plant; too far back and you get accused of trying to escape. Do you know how many years get tacked onto a prison sentence for trying to escape? Murderers would gladly serve twice as many years than face my Mary. She got a firm grip on me so I wouldn’t fall off.

Silk pajamas (Mary got them for me. They’re my favorite) offer pretty much zero protection from a spanking. I don’t know what kind of day she had exactly, either, because she was spanking faster than I’m typing, and she wasn’t being delicate or precise about it either. I guess my hot bath counted as my warm up.

“Ow ow ow ow! Could you OW!”

“No I cannot!”

“I didn’t ow ow even ow ask ugh ugh! That hurt!” 

There really is something about receiving a spanking that clears the mind, including a fact that Mary, like all spankers, never forgets even when I do: “It’s supposed to hurt!”

Changing tactics, I sniffled. I went, “Uummm,” and sniffled again.

“O don’t you dare try crocodile tears with me!” 

Girl’s gotta try, amiright? In the language of Daphne getting a spanking, that’s pronounced, “Urrgh!” You got real frustration into, from the back of the throat. Daphne-Being-Spanked is a tonal language, like Chinese.

“See? All that attitude.” The other thing about silk jammies is that they practically fly off your legs. I’ve always been secretly impressed by Mary’s ability to yank those down with me over her knee without tearing them. “You needed this. I should have done it! A week! Ago!” I broke left, she spanked right. I broke right, she spanked everywhere. “Stop! Squirming!” She paused. “Do you wanna get the paddle, too?”

“No.”

“Then hold! Still! Like a! Good! Little! Girl!!” 

People can talk about the physics of every spanking position, but unless they’ve been fulcrumed over a single knee with their hands and feet in the air, they don’t know as much as they think. Thighs easily in reach and unflexed, butt presented in its most undefended way with cheeks wobbling and sit spots the most they’ll ever be exposed. Your average spanker just things of where to spank, but Mary knows with this particular position she has lots of angles, too, including the one I - Ow! - hate most: the upward swing connecting where butt meets thigh so the hand connects with the fleshiest part of your ass and sorta lifts it. You can’t even - OW! - clench.

“Ow! Ow! Mary! I’m sorry. OW! I’ll be more considerate. Ow!”

“I know you will. I’m helping you to remember. You won’t talk back! Or whine! Or brat!  And you will! Remember! To think! Of! Me!”

Maybe my parents are to blame for instilling in me an overly strong guilt reflex. I think of Mary in almost everything, and she knows that. She just had a bad day. I guess when she said she’d be late I should’ve maybe made some dinner for her or waited to take a bath with her, but it’s a marriage, not a slave/mistress thingy. I didn’t do anything wrong so much as I didn’t do anything extra. And still what she said made me sniffle.

I gave up verbalizing and squirming and just let her finish what had to have been at least a eight-minute wonder, and then she stopped. “Are you going to do better,” she asked with me still draped over her knee (like all fine things, I drape well ?).

“Yes.”

“What happens if you don’t?”

“I’ll get a spanking.”

“Where?”

“The living room? Ow ow OW!”

“On your bottom. That’s where you get spanked, isn’t it?”

“Yes, I get spanked on my bottom.” She was gonna make me say the whole thing anyway, so I said it before she had a chance to ‘prompt’ me some more.

“When you misbehave, I spank your bare bottom, don’t I?”

“Yes, when I misbehave, you spank my bare bottom

“Okay. Up you get.” She slid me back to my feet gently, and my hands went to my butt. “My good girl again,” she said and then kissed me. “That little dark cloud is all gone.”

Oh yeah? Over whose head? She collapsed more than sat down on the couch.

“Do you want me to make you dinner,” I asked.

“We ordered pizza at the office.”

Well, motherfuck that; finding a pretext much? “Can I run a bath for you?”

“No, honey. That’s okay.” 

Well, dammit. She looked less happy than me, and I just got spanked. I sat down on the couch next to her and basically put myself in her lap with my head on her shoulder. “What can I do to make you feel better?”

“You already did, sweetie. Thank you.” She kissed my forehead and started playing with my hair.

“You don’t look happy.”

“It was just a long and not very good day. And now it’s better because I’m home with you.”

Do you wanna know how considerate I am? A demonstration of just how selfless I am? Something to show that it’s not all about Mary making me feel better when I need it but us supporting each other and doing everything we can for one another? Because when I look sad, Mary usually won’t let it go. When she looks sad, I won’t be put off either.

“I’ll wear a diaper for you tonight, if you want,” I offered.

[Bluebird67]

Now if that doesn’t put the smile back on Mary’s face, then she definitely goes down a little in our estimation!

[Alex Bridges]

Scene #24

 

I can’t believe I actually got sent to my room. Well, our room, but seriously? A time out is one thing, but being sent to my room? Might as well have told me “wait to your father gets home,” except he’d already be home because he’d be stuck in this fucking quarantine with the of us!  Argg!!!

She took my phone, too. We don’t have a TV in the bedroom. I napped, but I’ve was up there for three hours. At least she didn’t make me wait in the corner, but I knew I had a spanking coming, and, apparently, so did Sandy. Call me a brave little toaster, because I crept to the stairs to listen to them talk over the phone. I guess Mary’s ear buds died - she’s had one attached to her right ear almost constantly with the working from home for over a month now - because Sandy was on speaker phone and I heard her clearly even up the stairs.

“You have everything you need,” Mary asked Sandy.

“Yeah. We’re managing pretty well here. Rough to be thrown into it like this, but it feels good, too, to be doing my part. I’m close to graduating anyway,” Sandy was saying. Remember she’s a nursing student. She got a battlefield promotion to nurse, as it were, I guess.

“Anything we can do for you,” Mary asked.

She meant that she could do. Mary made

It clear to me I’m not allowed to leave the neighborhood. I’m high risk, and I think Mary’s exact words were, “I don’t care if you wear a diving bell. If you leave this neighborhood and get sick, I will never forgive you.” Literally the worst thing she could threaten me with, and I get her point. I’m scared for me, too.

“Yeah,” I heard Sandy say, “talk about anything other than the hospital right now. How are you guys doing?”

“Bored, like everyone else. I at least have work though. Daphne has cabin fever big time. Getting to be a bit problematic.”

“How so?”

“It’s been six weeks. She’s just antsy. I’ve done everything I can to help keep her entertained, but she’s restless and it’s showing.”

“She been getting into trouble,” Sandy asked. It’s like listening to my mom talk with her friends, back in the day. Makes me feel about two feet tall. They do that when I’m in the room sometimes, but at least then it’s obviously at least in part to embarrass me on purpose. This is just Mary talking about me like I’m eleven.

“Some. I’m trying to be extra patient. We’re all stressed, right? I don’t want her to remember this as the time she got spanked six times a week, but it wouldn’t be unjustified. She’s got one coming when we hang up.”

“What’d she do?”

“She interrupted me during a conference call. Third time I’ve had to tell her stay out of the  office when the door is closed. Important call, too ... though I guess my boss’s boss thinking I have a kid could be a little extra job protection.”

“What?”

“She came in and got one word put before I said, ‘Do I need to find you another chore to do?’ I thought I was one mute.”

“What happened?”

“A brief pause and then every parent on the line laughed, and then we started talking about the struggle of having the kids in the house and home schooling and trying to get work done. Luckily, no one I work with everyday is on the call.”

“Are you worried about your job?” Something Mary and I had talked about a lot, with her reassuring me over and over we were secure. I guess if she were fibbing to protect me I was about to find out.

“Not really. We’re pretty busy. Keeping software systems running right now is even more critical with all the demand. Might change in six months, but word is the company is making much more this month than the same month last year.”

“I guess that’s one worry off your chest,” Sandy told her.

“Yeah. Still not sure what to do with Daphne, though.”

“You know she’s acting up because she’s scared, not just because she’s bored, right?”

“I know she was scared. She says she’s not now.”

“Of course she’s scared. Forgot about her own health. Her parents, you, your neighbor. Daphne is such a sensitive little thing.”

“I know. I just ... it’s not easy for anyone.”

“And she knows that. I’m sure she’s worried about you, and probably feeling guilty that you’re working and she’s not, and you’re venturing out to get stuff and she’s not.”

“Yeah. Though I haven’t left the neighborhood in a week now, either. Sort of in solidarity. We’re just getting everything delivered, which now means planning way in advance ... anyway, any suggestions on what do with her?”

“She was talking about getting into gardening. Buy what you need and have it delivered, then put her to work. Maybe some craft kits, too. And you can do what my mom did with me when I’d say I was bored during the summer time: download a bunch of math worksheets and make me do them.”

“Yeah, I guess. I asked her about some stuff like that, but she was reluctant to spend the money.”

“Well, she’s not in charge. Try to just take that concern away from her entirely. Your job is safe, right? Then she doesn’t need a grown up concern like that right now.”

“For now, maybe not. But we always do share in those decisions.”

“Then help her decide. But she’s gonna worry about the things she can control right now just because worrying about them makes her feel in control of something. I think for the moment you just gotta take some of that away.”

“She’s ... “ Mary stopped, and I heard her sniff back a snootful, as she always says about me when I’m crying. My Mary was crying. Only a little, but Mary almost never cries. So then I wanted to cry. And I wanted to run downstairs to comfort her, but I’m supposed to be in my room ‘thinking about what I’ve done’ or something. If Mary wanted to smack my ass with an ice cream truck I’d happily take it over anything like grounding, even just for a few hours. I was one of those teens who would’ve preferred a spanking over a grounding, but it wasn’t a choice, and I knew better than to ask anyway. They’d have put me in therapy, at best. Not that I was in trouble a lot as a teen; I mean, I got chased by the cops, but they never caught me, so no trouble and why is it their business if we were having party in the woods in the middle of the night?

Anyway, Mary was still talking. “She’s been being so sweet, too. Trying all kinds of things to make me feel better. She’s cooking almost every meal. She’s wearing the outfits I like the most. She even - you’ll love this - said if we run short on toilet paper that she’ll use her diapers.”

“Ha! You’re kidding,” Sandy said.

Okay, for the record, I was also kidding. Mary says to me, “That’s very sweet of you, honey, but you’d still need to, um, clean up.” Well, duh! I guess her sarcasm sonar was on the blink. Besides, I wouldn’t do that anyway.

“And she’s even voluntarily worn one a few times lately. You know the rule, that if I put her in one it doesn’t come off until it’s wet? Usually she just tinkles and waits for me to take it off and gets back in her undies, but a couple times since last week she’s been actually using them until she’s pretty wet, and then - geez, this was so adorable - she brings me a fresh diaper and wipes and powder and just hands it to me and lifts her skirt.”

“Awwww. Maybe she’s finally starting to like it.”

For the record, nope.

“I think she just likes feeling submissive and making me happy,” Mary said.

Bingo. That’s why I’ve been doing that. Mary is taking on so much right now. She has been busy at work, and she’s supporting us on her own and making sure I have everything I need right now. There’s not much else I can do that I’m not already, so I thought that would make her smile at least.

And I haven’t meant to be bratty or act up. I’ve tried to be the opposite, but of course I’m gonna get in a little more trouble under these circumstances.

“I can’t wait until I can babysit her again,” Sandy said. See - I told you she’s my babysitter and they both know it and just won’t admit it to me.

“Well, I shouldn’t make her wait any longer,” Mary said.

“How many times a week is she getting spanked lately?”

“I don’t know. Maybe twice. At least one real one, but a lot more on-the-spot corrections. Last Sunday, I just kept the spoon in my back pocket all day. But real ones, like over my knee and everything, only a little more frequent than now.”

“Wow. You really have been lenient with her.” Which, yeah, I’ve noticed.

“Too lenient, ya think?” And here I thought Sandy wouldn’t get a chance to stir the pot.

“Well, it’s stress relief for both of you. Maybe you should be a little more quick to spank but maybe don’t go as hard on her as you normally would. It could make you both feel better and give her plenty of reminders.”

“Maybe. Well, I’ve got a butt to paddle. Thanks for listening to me complain.”

“Anytime.”

“And seriously, if you need anything, let me know. Stay safe.”

I didn’t hear the rest because I was scampering back to the bedroom. Honestly, I had mixed feelings about Sandy’s advice. It did sound good, but I also saw how it could quickly turn into me sporting a bruised butt all the time. What constitutes “not as hard” can be pretty damn hard in our house.

I decided to put myself in the corner and get rid of my skirt while I was at it. Might as well be cooperative. I just forgot about the door rule, and Mary has the door closed a lot. It’s not just when she’s on the phone. She hurt my feelings a little, the way she snapped at me. I know she didn’t mean it, but still. I guess my nerves are just jangled, and I am ready to start bouncing off the floor like Tigger.

I’m trying to extra empathetic, too. Mary is going through the same thing, and she’s working on top of it. I never forget that, and I know even if she says she’s not that she really is stressed. She’s starting work earlier, and she’s working until the time she would normally get home. Some days have been pretty long for her, and she’s just tired. I can see it. So yeah, I’ve been cooking and cleaning and trying to take care of her, too. Like she takes care of me.

“Alright,” Mary said when she came in our room, interrupting my thoughts. “Have you been in the corner the whole time?”

“No. I just thought you’d be upstairs soon.”

“And pants less, too. Come over here.”

Mary’s been putting on her work clothes everyday. Maybe not quite as nice as usually, but still wearing stuff with buttons, which is a lot more effort than most people I know are putting into it. I stepped free of my skirt and walked over to where Mary was standing. I never know where to look when I’m making that walk. There’s so much implied by it. Straight at the floor says “guilt and shame.” At the floor but in front of you, “I know I did wrong and am ready to take my punishment,” but if the angle is wrong then it can be read as defiant and “you may spank my butt, but you’ll never take our freedom.”

“You’re cold,” Mary said when I got to her and she put her hand on my shoulder to guide me toward the foot of the bed. She rubbed my arm to warm me up. My naughty spot corner is next a vent. “How are your undies,” she asked and put her hand on the Goodnite I was wearing. Again, she apparently likes me in that stuff now. Only reason I was wearing it, and only reason I had, uh, used it and not immediately asked if I could go back to panties. “A little soggy,” she said and gave my butt a squeeze. I just stood there.

“I’m sorry I interrupted your call. I didn’t mean to,” I said, kinda pathetically.

“I know, sweetheart, but it’s important you remember.”

“Did I get you in trouble?”

“O, no, honey, of course not. There’s a bunch of people who think I have a bored nine-year-old now, but I didn’t get in trouble.” I was looking at the floor still, or I would have been if she weren’t right in front of me. I nodded.

“I don’t mean to be such a pain right now. I just …”

“Daffy, you are not a pain. You’re just cooped up. I get it; you got all this energy and all these emotions and you just wanna explode. I understand. Arms up.”

I don’t get spanked nude very often, unless I’m coming out of the shower or getting my bathing suit stripped off or something. I lifted my arms, and Mary pulled my shirt off over my head and guided me toward the head of the bed. It’s a little easier to get spanked there, for me anyway. I think it’s probably harder for her because she can’t throw her leg over mine so easily.

I waited for Mary to get on the bed. She looked at it and then turned and looked at me. I wasn’t sure why. Her forehead was scrunched up like she was thinking something. She turned back around and got on the bed and patted her lap. More weary now than anything, I got in position laying across her thighs. She rubbed my butt and the backs of my legs and the small of my back with her hands and fingernails.

“You need to follow the rule about the door more carefully.” Smack! Her hand was heavy over the Goodnite. It didn’t hurt, but it was a solid thump. “Up ya get.”

What? That’s not how it usually works. Not bare and just one smack?

“But you haven’t spanked me yet,” I actually said. I turned and looked her.

“Yes, I did, too” Mary said. “It’s over. You’re all forgiven.”

“But … you need to spank me for real. C’mon.” I wiggled my butt and put my chin back on my crossed arms. I haven’t had to beg for a spanking since our relationship was almost brand new. I just had tp remind her I had a butt.

“Topping from the bottom, missy,” my Mary asked with a chuckle.

“No, but you need to.”

“Are you going to follow the rule about the door?”

“Yes.”

“Then I don’t need to spank you more tonight.”

“But it’ll make you feel better.”

“What?”

“You’ll feel better,” I said quietly. She didn’t say anything for a moment.

“Will it make you feel better,” Mary asked me in that tone she uses when she’s trying to get me to talk about something. It’s the same tone parents use when they’re trying to help a kid express their feelings when they don’t have the vocabulary to do it yet. “Do you need a spanking tonight?”

“No,” I said honestly. I wasn’t particularly in the mood.

“Are you being truthful?”

“Mhmm.”

“Sit up for me,” Mary said, and I did and she helped, and when I got to my knees, a gentle nudge told me turn around so I was leaning my back against her, and she reached over and pulled the covers over us and closed her arms around me.

“This is what I need tonight,” she said. “My cute little girl to hold.” I would’ve protested about being called a little girl, but she kissed my bare shoulder, and then my neck, and then my temple, and then put her chin on my head, and pulled me back so we were laying there, just laying there.

I was pretty content. That’s all I really wanted and had wanted since this whole thing began. Not that we didn’t cuddle plenty, but after the first week, I didn’t want to go out; I didn’t want to Zoom anyone or have virtual happy hours; I didn’t want to shop. I just wanted to cuddle with Mary.

“I know this is hard,” she said to me. She’d said that a lot. So had I. “We’ll get through it. It’s okay to be scared and worried and bored and all those other things. We’ll make it all work.”

“Sorry if I’ve been a difficult,” I told her.

“No more than you have a right to be. I haven’t been a pleasure to be around all the time either. I’ve been more impatient than I should be … sit up.”

I did, and she took off her shirt and motioned for me to lay back, and I did, except this time I turned and sat over her legs so I could put my head on her shoulder. She put her arms around me again, and we sat like that. We didn’t say anything for a while. Maybe twenty minutes. I’m sure I’d have fallen asleep if Mary didn’t ask, What are you thinking?”

“Nothing,” I said.

“I bet you’re thinking about something,” she said and started to twirl a finger on the outside of my bare thigh.

“I was thinking, that if you take care of me, and I take care of you, then we don’t hafta worry about anything else.”

I felt Mary sigh. Leaning against her, I felt her diaphragm fall as she pushed the air from her lungs and drew in slow, gentle breaths. She kissed the top of my head, and I snuggled into her deeper and kissed her neck.

“You’re a very smart, kind, beautiful woman,” she said to me.

“I love you, Mary.”

“I love you, too, Daffy. How about a nap, and then we can make dinner together?”

“Sounds good.”

“Okay. Let’s get you into a dry diaper for the evening first. Your little fanny is soaked.”

 

 

[Guilend]

I needed this. ♥️

[Bluebird67]

Wow! Absolutely loving the love here! So much good thought about how to cope in these times.
One thing: advice I have taken from long time workers-from-home and which Mary might want to follow: go out for some exercise at the time you would normally have been travelling to work.

Yes, these characters are so real to me that I’m hoping Nana is Ok and that they are keeping company at a safe distance over the garden fence!

[YourFNF]

On 7/20/2019 at 6:41 PM, Alex Bridges said:

Scene #2

 

I followed Mary out of the booth and down the aisle, keeping my eyes on the floor when we walked past a woman who looked bug eyed when she saw me, obviously shocked I wasn’t about twenty years younger.

 

We went to the register. Thankfully there was no line. I tried to look inconspicuous. Mary handed the woman behind the counter the tag.

 

“We had a little emergency and needed to change into these right away,” Mary explained to the woman.

 

“Oh, that’s okay. I think we’ve all been there. Some just need a little more …” the woman said to Mary, trailing off when she took a closer look at the size listed on the tag. Wait, I thought, what kind of emergency does she think I had? My face was undoubtedly as red as my butt, more so when the clerk looked up and saw me, obviously not the age she expected. Her lips closed tightly, and she made an inscrutable expression, finishing the transaction without another word.

 

“Now, let’s go back and find what we came here for,” Mary said as she took my hand. “Then we can go home and play.”

 

“Promise,” I asked with a smile. Between the spanking and the humiliation, she had me wound up like a spring. We were definitely going to have a nice rest of the day.

TBH if I had been in one of the fitting room next door I may have gotten egg all over my face for trying to intervene. Boy would I have been embarrassed.  ??

[WBDaddy]

Really missing this one.  Any chance there are updates on the horizon?

[Alex Bridges]

1 hour ago, WBDaddy said:

Really missing this one.  Any chance there are updates on the horizon?

Could be.

[YourFNF]

On 7/22/2019 at 2:32 PM, Alex Bridges said:

“I’m naked, aren’t I.” I couldn’t see what she was doing. I just listened to the sound of a glove snapping. “The trick is to use plenty of lubricant, and to get make sure it gets where it needs to go.” I shuddered when her hand touched by bottom. She giggled. “See? You don’t hate this.”

 

“Yet,” I said.

 

want.... all of the want

On 7/22/2019 at 2:32 PM, Alex Bridges said:

“Just relax.” She narrated as she went. “I’m going to spread your bottom cheeks now.” I sighed. “And you’re going to feel some petroleum jelly on your button.” It was cold. “And then my finger inside of you. Just relax … don’t clench … there.” She slowly but firmly pressed her finger into me, and I could feel each knuckle pass my sphincter. “We want to make sure we get that everywhere the thermometer might go.” I bit my lip. “And a little further, just to be safe.”

Whines and squirms before running out of the room, face flushed

On 7/22/2019 at 5:46 PM, Alex Bridges said:

Very true. I think that contributes to the power exchange of the dynamic. It’s arbitrary, and when you’re subject to arbitrary discipline, it reinforces who is and isn’t in charge.

Particularly in an ageplay context, I think “do as I say, not as I do” is a very realistic element reflecting actual adult-not adult relationships.

Very true. Although not for me. Unfair treatment just pisses me off. ? I want to either earn my punishment by obviously bratting or have my dom just admit their doing it because they own my ass and can. That I'm mistresses little toy to use as she pleases ????

[YourFNF]

On 7/28/2019 at 10:00 PM, Alex Bridges said:

What can I do make you feel better?”

 

My voice was still thick, that heavy voice when you’re done actively crying but not feeling any better yet. “I wanna spanking.”

 

“That’ll make you feel better?” Yes, a flood of pain to bring my mind away from all the bullshit, followed by a flood of endorphins to make me feel better inside.

 

“Mhmm.”

 

“Okay,” my Mary said. “Upstairs?”

 

“Mhmm.” I lifted myself off Mary’s chest and saw the wet stain my tears had left on that ridiculous shirt. I eased myself off her lap but kept ahold of her hand and tugged her up the stairs behind me. In our room, she sat on the bed, and I kicked my shoes off and stood in front of her.

I actually really like this idea. The spanking as catharsis. I think in a lot of ways it gets to the core of Kink and BDSM.

[Alex Bridges]

34 minutes ago, YourFNF said:

I actually really like this idea. The spanking as catharsis. I think in a lot of ways it gets to the core of Kink and BDSM.

Yep. I think us kinky people who enjoy pain are wired differently. What should be painful is painful and pleasurable. Like an overreaction of endorphins.

[YourFNF]

On 8/10/2019 at 2:00 PM, Alex Bridges said:

I huffed at her and washed my hands and left, squeezing through the door and getting a very dirty look from the woman who was waiting. “She needs a minute,” I said.

 

When Mary came out, she also apologized, in her oh-so-special way. “Sorry we took so long,” Mary said. “I had to help her change into dry undies.” And as my jaw dropped, Mary reached over and patted my butt. She took my hand and tugged me toward our Subaru.

 

“Why did you say that,” I whined. She stopped walking and took both my hands, leaned over, and kissed me hard.

 

“Because I know a little humiliation gets your little engine revving, we’re going straight to bed when we get home.”

 

I hate it when Mary is right.

On 8/12/2019 at 10:26 PM, Alex Bridges said:

Scene #7

 

            “I can’t help it. I’m just a little.”

 

            “One of these days I’m gonna spank you like you deserve it,” I told her, “And it will totally be worth the butt blistering I get for doing it.”

 

            Maybe if I lean into my ‘middle-ness’ I can get away with stuff like that. Probably not.

 

 

Yay! Mid represent! ?

[YourFNF]

On 2/16/2020 at 7:44 PM, Alex Bridges said:

Okay, so I actually don’t mind living in a mess, so the state of our house is arguably more her problem than mine. Like, leaving the pizza box on the floor doesn’t bother me all that much. It’s not like I’ll never pick it up. I’ll just get to it when I get to it. If it doesn’t bother me, it’s not problematic to me, hence it’s really not my problem. It’s really Mary’s problem since it does bother her. Over a knee or not, that is some irrefutable logic. But I’m not dumb. I kept that thought to myself. Anyway, if I didn’t care about leaving a mess behind myself, it was obvious Mary was going to give me a reason to care.

This is my fucking dysfunctional brain to a t..... Cleaning doesn't seem worth the effort until I absolutely have to... Just one more reason I need a big ?#called out