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

[YourFNF]

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

She turned and tossed the old panties into the wastebasket. I wasn’t exactly sentimental about them – they were just one of those items of clothing that somehow stays in your dresser long after everything else that old has gone on to clothing heaven (Goodwill). Maybe they weren’t even old; perhaps they were just a classic, or vintage … or throwback!

I actually still have the first undies I bought, back before I even really started transitioning... I think it was actually Obama's first term still... Or maybe the start of the second... ? God damn it Alex why you got to call me out like this ?

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

I’ve never cried before a spanking just because I was scared. Mary walked with purpose into our bathroom and came out with the bathbrush. It was more an experimental implement when we first got it. It was my idea, actually, and we found out through our experiments that it was like the school paddle and the hairbrush had a child that even they couldn’t love. A heavyset, small child that concentrates a lot of force into a small area. A mutant child that outgrew its parents’ ability to control it before it reached its first birthday, so out of control it’s on X-Force’s most wanted list. Even Deadpool gives it a wide berth. The thing gets used for sexy showers way more than punishment. It’s practically just a bathroom decoration; give it a couple more years, and the paint under where it hangs in the bathroom will be a lighter shade than the rest of the wall.

WTF is this instrument of torture? Hmmm it doesn't look too intimidating, but something is up.... Oh fuck this is a rabbit of Caernobog situation isn't it?

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

The day did not go at all like I thought it would and I had some serious thinking to do that I hoped Mrs. Wilson would be okay with me talking with her about the next day. If I’d known just how upset Mary was with me prior to that spanking and that it was gonna be one of the ten worst I ever got (up to that point), I’d have fixed my own attitude. Mary was right; she gave me enough warnings to tell me before it came to that.

And the funny thing of that day is that while I still hated the bathbrush the most out of anything I’d ever been spanked with, it wasn’t scary any more. If I hadn’t been so emotional when she went to get it I’d probably have been rational enough to know it could never be more than I could take so long as Mary was the one swinging it. It wasn’t more than I could take. It wasn’t even quite at the limit.

But she did spank the smartass out of me, mostly, for an evening (that’s only ever happened twice before ) and that’s gotta be a sign that I’ve got the message. I hoped, when she sent me to bed right after dinner, that she’d spanked whatever had me being so difficult out of me. I like the sweet me better, too.

[Alex Bridges]

Scene #25

 

 

I don’t know exactly what Mary does. She tried to explain it to me once, but I think she’s either responsible for making her company’s website stuff work, or possibly for keeping the internet on. Or both.

Either way, she’s always been pretty good at finding a balance between work and everything else. Then the pandemic hit, and her whole company and the rest of the world started working remotely, and the internet was breaking, and she fixed it. Or something. Anyway, she was working a lot.

And then they got through that, and Mary wasn’t working fourteen hours days, but she was starting work at the time she’d normally be just getting in her car, and she was finishing work at the time she would normally be relaxing on the couch with me after dinner, and she wasn’t taking breaks like she’s supposed to. And she knows she’s supposed to. Like I said, if she takes care of me and I take care of her, we have nothing to worry about, so I took it upon myself to get her to take those breaks.

My first attempt was what I call the Human Fitbit. I went in her office and gently shook her chair. She looked at me, I paused, and did it again. “What are you doing,” she asked with a bemused expression.

“Reminding you to get your steps in.”

“Awww,” and she got up and came to the kitchen with me and we chatted for a few minutes.

Of course the thing about a Fitbit is it doesn’t just remind you the once. An hour later, she smiled at me and we had lunch together.

An hour after that, she stood up, grabbed me by the upper arm and spank-marched me out of the room. Which I guess I should’ve seen coming because that’s pretty much how I feel about my actual Fitbit, wherever it is.

My second attempt was a solid idea in theory, but the execution of it didn’t go as planned. I was in the middle of cleaning the house, again, and we all know how I feel about cleaning but I got jack squat to do unless I make it up, and the feather duster gave me a naughty idea. I thought it would be a nice surprise. I went into the office, casually tidied up, and said, “Can I get under your desk?” It’s the glass kind, like a table, and Mary scooted her chair out, and I got under there, saw the one particular spot I wanted to clean, and went for it.

It’s a bit of a blur after that. There was a knee coming at my face and a clattering sound I think was responsible for the bump on my head. Then somewhere in the foggy distance I heard, “What are you … Daphne? Daphne?”

So I guess that was basically successful insofar as Mary took the rest of the day off and sat with me on the bed doing a concussion protocol every thirty minutes. Mary felt so bad about it she ordered me my very own French maid outfit, and I’m really conflicted with myself over how much I like it.

We did end up spending way too much money on gardening stuff, and that at least gave me something to do. I found out I actually enjoy it. I wrestled some old scraggly bushes out of the ground, put in a bunch of new soil, and planted some flowers and vegetable seeds. Little lettuce leaves we have growing in our backyard. Mary says I’m adorable when I come in wearing my gardening shortalls all dirty and smudged with grass stains, I’ll admit I didn’t help matters when I got a little teary when I found leaf spot on our chard plants. I don’t remember it this way, but according to Mary, my exact words when she asked me what was wrong were, “My chard is sick (sniff).” It was an emotional time of the month, okay?

And it was deliciously sunny one day, and Mary was inside, and I was puttering around the garden without much to do because once you plant the things you just kinda wait, more or less, when I had another one of those ideas. I knocked on the back door and waited for Mary.

She came and opened it and said, “It’s not locked,” and started walking back to her office, and I knocked again.

“Excuse me, ma’am. I’m from the lawn service. Are you the lady of the house?” She picked up on that game right away, and she was not at all satisfied with the quality of my work. I was soundly punished for my indolence right there in the garden, and then she showed me the proper technique for ploughing. Plus I didn’t get kneed in the head so everyone was a winner.

Other techniques worked just as well, like the time I made a sign that said, “Headmistress” for the door to her office and wrote myself a note for detention. Or the time I put on a toolbelt and knocked on the office door and said, “Did someone call for a vibrator repair?” That was a super easy fix (turns out the problem was the on button was in the off position), but a service call is a service call, and she refused to pay the bill but did barter services of her own. And much to my chagrin I found out quite by accident that if I’m wearing a pull-up or diaper, Mary is never so wrapped up in her work that she forgets to come check it. She’s so wonderfully conscientious like that, to my friggin benefit.

And I even, god help me, took a page from Jane’s book when nothing else worked and bratted. If I timed it right around five, she’d deal with me right then and not go back to her laptop. It’s actually pretty hard to brat that often and not repeat the same things. I found myself on the internet googling ways to misbehave, and I’m not proud but I will admit I drew the prettiest picture on a small section of kitchen wall. I’m not an artist or anything, but I’m pretty good. Mary seemed, I’m not sure exactly.

I went into her office and said, “Come see what I drew,” and she said, “Just a minute,” and I said, “But I wanna show you now,” and she got the queerest look on her face and followed me to the kitchen. I could see she was trying to look disappointed, and it was a real struggle because she sort of looked actually delighted, and she had a hard time at first lecturing me without laughing. I got quite a spanking with the wooden spoon right there at the table, but not before she told me it was a very pretty picture, and despite myself that made me happy all over that she thought so. Plus I had to do corner time after, and then while she made dinner I had to scrub the wall bare bottomed. I did sorta wanna marry her all over again when I went downstairs the next morning to find she had taken a picture of my drawing while I was in the corner, and printed it and put it on the fridge.

And I did sorta wanna hide my face in a pillow when I found out she texted that picture not just to every kinky person we know but also to her mother and my mother.

And after the first few weeks, I didn’t even get in much trouble (not counting the on purpose stuff). Just a tiny bit of trouble. You know how it wasn’t uncommon way back when for someone to give a spanking in front of company without even pausing the conversation? I found out what that’s like, except over Facetime. I wasn’t in major trouble, but according to 50% of the people who live in our house, some interloper named Miss Sassy Pants needed her seat warmed. I didn’t agree, but 50% of our household is made up of 100% of the people who decide these things, so I ended up across Mary’s lap on the couch getting a pretty thorough hand spanking when Mary’s phone rang and she actually answered it.

“Hey Brenna,” Mary said without missing a beat to my butt.

“I can’t see you,” Brenna said. “But I can hear you just fine,” she giggled.

“Sorry about that,” Mary said. “I’m spanking someone’s little fanny for her. Say hello.”

“Hello,” I said as I blushed with my entire body. Brenna has seen me spanked. Brenna has spanked me. But something about how casual it was, like this was just an unremarkable thing that shouldn’t interrupt their conversation made me feel about four years old.

“Is this a bad time,” Brenna asked. For which one of us?

“No, I can multitask,” Mary laughed. “What’s up?”

“I’ll be quick. I was just calling to see if you how you felt about a socially distant get together.”

“Hmm, (SMACK!) I’ll need to think about it. Daphne is vulnerable, and I’ve been pretty much keeping her at home.”

“I understand. Give it some thought, and I’ll text you the details.”

“Will do.”

“Behave yourself, Daffy.” No one expected an answer from me, because she hung up and Mary kept spanking my butt for another minute and then it was over.

“You going to think twice before you sass again,” she asked me.

“Yes.”

“Good. Sit up, little girl.”

“I’m not a little girl,” I said as I did and totally undercut that argument by sitting up and leaning my head against her shoulder.

“How do you feel about going to something like that,” she asked me.

“I don’t think I should, but you can if you want.”

“I think that kind of defeats the purpose a bit.”

“People do it, though. People who have to. They just put everything straight in the washer and get in the shower when they get home. You should go. You’ve been cooped up even more than me.” Which is why I was trying to get so creative in getting her away from her laptop a few times a day. She didn’t say anything for a moment.

“Can I ask you something, and you promise to tell me the truth,” she asked.

“Mhmm.”

“When this is all over, how will you remember this?”

“It’s awful, for so many people. But, um, just for us, we’re doing okay, and I, um, I think I’ll look back on it as one of the best times in our life together. Does that make me selfish?”

“It’s not selfish, little girl.”

“I’m not a little girl. And you need to stop work at the normal time.”

“But then I lose out on all your fun hijinks.”

Of course she put two and two together. “When did you figure it out?”

“When I answered the door and found you wearing the girl scout costume.”

“Heehee. I liked that one.”

“So when are my thin mints getting here?”

“Maybe that can be tomorrow’s project, figuring out how to bake homemade thin mints.”

“You’re becoming quite the little DIYer.”

“Ooh! There’s an idea.”

“What?”

“I could dress up as a ‘do me yourself kit’”

“You’ve been awfully single minded,” she laughed.

“I watched everything on Netflix already.”

“Well how about I stop work no later than 5:30 from now on? I’ll put it on my calendar every day.”

“Can I still make a ‘do me yourself’ costume?”

“If you don’t, you’re gonna be in so much trouble, little girl.”

“I’m not a little girl!”

“Mhmm.” And then she did that thing where she kisses me on the forehead and my nose and my lips and my chin and my neck and any resistance that was once in me just goes away. Such an unfair trick.

[YourFNF]

On 2/24/2020 at 10:43 AM, Alex Bridges said:

“Let’s go try.” She had me by my upper arm, and I was speechless, not my usual condition. I wasn’t surprised by the talk about the pull-up but this was out of left field. She was taking me to the bathroom. To pee. Mary takes me to bathrooms all the time, to spank me. Suddenly that didn’t seem so embarrassing. Yet I walked along side her and never even gave a thought to saying “red light.” It never even crossed my mind. I can’t remember the last time I said it.

“I’ll wait out here,” she said and nudged me, and there I was in the bathroom. I have no idea who was in the mirror. Daphne, kinky minx, or a middle with potty problems? Yes? 

God's I'm torn. I feel bad for Mary because this isn't her scene and I think that while not Red worthy this is defenilty a yellow to clarify parameters out side of scene, buuttt.... I personally love being the mid with control issues. ???

On 2/24/2020 at 5:59 PM, Alex Bridges said:

? Thanks.

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

It is ?

[YourFNF]

On 3/1/2020 at 10:38 PM, Alex Bridges said:

Scene #18

“Littles always do, too,” Sandy added.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No, she’s not, sweetie. Are you?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

I really liked this one ?

[Alex Bridges]

22 hours ago, YourFNF said:

I really liked this one ?

I love how into the story you get. Makes me think I must be doing something right.

[YourFNF]

On 3/8/2020 at 12:36 AM, Alex Bridges said:

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.

Girl you need to talk to your wife. Let her know it's too much at once.

On 3/8/2020 at 12:36 AM, Alex Bridges said:

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.

I am so glad they finally had this convo

[Miss Jenn Davis]

Great story! You are a very talented writer & obviously have a passion for your favorite topics

Mommy Jenn

[Alex Bridges]

On 5/20/2020 at 4:53 AM, Miss Jenn Davis said:

Great story! You are a very talented writer & obviously have a passion for your favorite topics

Mommy Jenn

Thank you. I like your work as well.

[Alex Bridges]

Scene #26

 

“Did you have fun,” Mary asked me when I got home from my first drive in almost two months. Whoever thinks hybrids aren’t fun to drive obviously hasn’t driven one. With not that much traffic on the interstate and a perfectly sunny day, it was a perfect little drive. Just forty-five minutes down the highway and back.

“Mhmm,” I said, though I didn’t really. Yes, the drive was good, but the whole time I just kept thinking how tired I am of all of this. I miss normal. I know there’s no going back to the ways things were for a while, but some of the really basic stuff, I miss. Like not wearing something on my face. Sitting down at a restaurant. All that stuff, and not even that stuff so much as not having to worry about all of that. Just being able to go out carefree. So the drive was fun, but I couldn’t stop thinking about that, and it had me not exactly upset but maybe on the cusp of it.

“How much fun?”

Crap. What did I do? “Not too much,” I asked warily.

“What’s your speed limit on the highway?”

“Seventy-five,” I said but sort of asked in that way you do when you’re in trouble. Mary took out her phone.

“Remember that app I installed on your phone the last time you got a ticket?” Well, obviously not or I would’ve kept it under seventy-five. For the record, I’ve gotten three tickets in my entire driving life. Mary, being so conscientious that she makes Tom Hanks look like a jerk, has gotten zero, so she put one of those apps for teen drivers on my phone. It was over a year ago. Knowing she was about to tell me just how fast I was going, I reached for the waistband of my shorts. Why wait? “Ah ah, little girl. I’ll take those down when I’m ready.”

“Urgh! I’m not a little girl!”

“Don’t get grumpy with me. I’m not the one who was driving ninety-three miles per hour.” Okay, so she had a point; I didn’t even realize I was going that fast. “And I hate to break the news to you, kiddo, but taking down your own pants for your spanking isn’t as grown up as you think.” Well, that was just a low blow.

She crooked a finger at me, and I followed her to the living room. She sat down on the couch, and I went and stood in front of her like always. “I don’t even know what to say,” she started, which is one of those weird things people say right before they say a whole lot. “I could not possibly care less about you getting a ticket, Daphne Ann. But you getting hurt? Do you have anything to say for yourself?”

“I’m sorry.”

“I know,” she said as she nodded. Mary never raises her voice to me. “I know, and you …” She shook her head. “It scared me. Do you understand? It would scare me if you were driving that fast with me in the car, and then I get an alert on my phone, and I can’t even text you to tell you to knock it off because we don’t text and drive. You scared me.”

Some may say I have an eager to please personality, and the reverse of that is when I disappoint someone whose opinion matters to me, I really do take it to heart. Mary being upset with me upsets me, and her being scared or sad because of me makes me very unhappy with myself. Which is to say she got me all teary and sniffling just from that short lecture.

“Yes (Sniff!). I’m sorry,” I said again. “I didn’t mean to.”

“I don’t know what you were thinking, but it’s just not acceptable. The thought of you … getting hurt … We’ve gone to great lengths for the past two months to keep you safe, and …”

Maybe I’m a little emotionally fragile at the moment. I don’t know if Mary thought I was going to just let that comment pass, but nope. I was fully aware of everything Mary had done for me, and I don’t know if she meant to really connect that to me breaking my speed limit, but she already had me upset with myself and feeling lousy about making her feel lousy, so not really a surprise that drawing the line between A and B tipped me from feeling upset to feeling ashamed. Which is when I went from sniffling to crying in earnest, which I guess she wasn’t expecting and neither was I. It stopped her midsentence.

 “Hey,” Mary said as she stood up and put her arms around me and pulled me back down to the couch with her. “Hey. Shhh. Don’t cry yet. Calm down.” She was rubbing my back and stroking my hair.

“I’m (bawling) and (sobbing) and I didn’t (inaudible) and please (babbling),” I said, if that counts as saying.

“Calm down. Shhh. You’re okay.”

“My um fel hing.”

And you don’t speak that language, but Mary does, and she said, “I know, Daffy. I know.” I started to calm down; I didn’t stop losing tears, but I did stop blubbering. “You’re such a silly goose. You’re not supposed to cry like that until halfway through your spanking.” I would’ve apologized for that, too, but instead I just nodded and felt like my sinuses had ballooned up in the past two minutes. Mary was still patting my back as I sat on her lap with my head on her shoulder. I was ready to get my punishment over with, and I think I needed to finish crying, too.

 “Can I have my spanking now,” I asked.

“Yeah, sweetie, we can do that.” I started to stand up, and she stopped me, saying, “No no, baby. Just lay back.” I wasn’t sure what she meant, and she guided me with her hands so I was sitting on her lap with my feet out in front of me. “Lay back.”

I hate hate hate the diaper position. I hate it. I don’t know if people are right that it hurts more, but I do know that all your goodies are on full display and that you have to look at the person spanking you. It’s just more humbling to have to watch it happen. Never, though, had I ever been spanked in the diaper position while across her lap. On the bed, the floor, a table, a desk, and once on a dais, but never on her lap. I was laid out flat, and it felt pretty awkward.

“Lift,” Mary said, and I lifted my hips and she pulled my shorts to my ankles before turning to look down at me. “If you ever hurt yourself, it will break my heart. Understand?”

“Yes,” I meeped.

“Be a good little girl and hold still for your spanking.” She lifted my legs and put her left arm across the back of my knees, and there I was butt out and flat on my back. Talk about defenseless, not that I’d ever dream of resisting.

From behind a throw pillow, Mary produced the paddle and put it to work. It was awkward; there wasn’t enough room to swing it right, but she adjusted and put a lot of wallop into it. I gritted my teeth and let the tears flow. She didn’t spare my thighs, either. I was going to have bruises for a few days.

She stopped, and I opened my eyes, and we looked at each other for a moment. She glanced from me to my butt and back, shook her head gently, and started paddling again, slow and hard, with her eyes locked on mine. It took a lot of effort to hold still and not roll off her lap. I wanted to close my eyes again, but the way she was looking right at me, I couldn’t.

“You’re going to drive safe, little girl (WHAP!). And you’re never (WHAP!) going (WHAP!) to (WHAP!) scare me (WHAP!) like that (WHAP!) again (WHAP WHAP WHAP WHAP!)!”

I promised both those things and let myself keep sobbing once she’d set the paddle down and proceeded to rub and knead what I’m guessing was a dark red pair of cheeks. She cooed at me and told me it was all over and I did a very good job holding still, which I did. I’m very obedient (stop laughing!). “You’re my good little girl again.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I know you are, and you’re all forgiven.” That’s what I needed to hear, and it spread a new warmth in my tummy. My tears dried up, and I felt a big sinus headache coming on.

“Can I sit up,” I asked as she kept her arm under my knees and kept playing with my butt, which was going from hot to clammy and would soon have that awful pins-and-needles feeling. I’d be feeling uncomfortable for the rest of the day, at least.

“One more thing.” She reached back under that throw pillow and produced a diaper. Not really surprised, I let my head fall back to the couch and put an arm over my eyes, feeling that pressure in my forehead and behind my eyes. She tilted me back, and I listened to the crinkling as she spread the diaper out. She lowered me back down, parted my legs, and taped the diaper on, all with me still over her lap. I got two solid, thwumping pats to my poor backside, and she helped me up.

“You’re a mess,” she said. “Let’s go wash your face.”

“Not yet,” I said. I got up off her lap, spun around so my legs were where my head was, turned so I was facing Mary, and put my head in her lap, not quite burying my face in her tee shirt.

She chuckled and then I guess realized I wasn’t trying to be cute. She started stroking my hair again. “What’s the matter, honey?”

“I want this to be over.”

“I know, Daffy.”

“I miss it.”

“What’s that?”

“Our … it’s like our world … I wanna do normal stuff again and not hafta worry and do things differently. I just wanna … you know.” Of course she did. She’s living this right alongside me.

“I know. Me, too.” She let me lay like that for another minute or two, playing with my hair, and then she said, “But we’re not going to be upset about things we can’t change. I got a surprise for you. C’mon.”

I sat up, and she led me upstairs. “Can I put something on,” I asked as I sat down on the bed with my legs under me, feeling the pain of my paddling and wishing I could look at my butt. It’ a spanko thing, wanting to see how red your butt is after a spanking and if there were any marks.

“You can put on what I got you, sweetie,” Mary answered me as she went into the closet and came out with a gift wrapped box. “I was going to wait a little bit, but I think you could use this now, even if you were naughty.”

I smiled at how sweet my wife is. “I wasn’t naughty. I was careless. There’s a difference.”

“How is it you can go from sobbing at a lecture, to blubbering over my knee to almost falling asleep in my lap to being a smartass in less than a half hour?”

“I dunno, but aren’t you glad I can?”

“Yes. Now, open that box.” I carefully tore through the tape because I believe in saving wrapping paper, plus there’s a certain decorum a dignified lady such as myself should maintain at all times. And maybe I was purposefully torturing Mary by going to slow, which I know drives her nuts. I can make Christmas morning last well into the afternoon.

And then I set the lid to the side.

And then I parted the tissue paper ever so gently.

And then I saw new pajamas. Blue with yellow ducklings on them. Okay, so that was a little unexpected, but considering my current attire, I can’t say it was entirely out of left field. She likes me in cute things, and that’s alright with me. Wearing a pair of too cute pajamas, that were really more appropriate for Jane than me, was a small price to pay to make Mary happy.

“Thank you. They look so … cozy. I’ll wear it to be tonight.”

“No, no, no, silly.” She reached around me and pulled the top out. And then I saw: it wasn’t a pajama top, because pajama tops don’t button at the crotch. “It’s a onesie!”

“Yeah it is,” was my clever response.

“But you don’t have to wear it if you don’t want to, unless I decide you’re in trouble.”

“I don’t?”

“No. It’s just something I saw and thought you’d look cute in. You can wear it just because, or we can keep it as a punishment outfit.”

“Well, which one would you like?”

“I wanna see you wear it, and I’ll get to eventually, but I think it’s up to you. Will you try it on for me at least?”

I couldn’t say no. That would just be rude, for any gift. I remember when I was maybe seven and my grandmother got me a swim suit for Christmas, and we lived in Minnesota at the time, and I still had to try it on for her. She assured me I’d appreciate it come summer. “Um, okay.”

Mary reached out and tapped the end of my nose. “Good girl.”

“You’re being weird.”

“I can’t help it. I’m in love with my wife. C’mon.” She took my hand and led me to our bathroom when she turned on the tap and I took off my shirt. “Daphne! I’m surprised at you.”

“I didn’t mean to!” That was just reflex, because I didn’t know what I’d done to surprise her.

“You didn’t mean to put on a bra this morning?”

“Well, I haven’t left the house in two months. I thought I’d just go cray and dress up today,” I said as I kicked my faded tee toward the hamper.

She helped me out of out it and tossed it toward the hamper, wet a washcloth with cool water, and wiped the tear streaks from my face. She held out the washcloth in her hand and ordered, “Honk.” I leaned in and she held the cloth to my nose and I honked. Pretty hard to. “You’re gonna hurt your ears doing that. How are your allergies?”

“Crummy.”

“You taking your medicine?”

“Every day.” Being home so much, I was taking advantage and spending my time outside. On the positive side, I was pleasantly tan when normally I’d just be pink this time of year. But I’m allergic to Spring. And then I got a kiss on my forehead, which made me all blushy and smiley.

“See!” I protested. “You’re being all weird.”

“Since when (kiss) is it weird (kiss) for me to not be able to keep my hands off you?”

Well, that’s pretty normal, but it was the way she was looking at me ever since she handed me that box. She was so excited to see me in that ridiculous onesie. She’d been hinting at wanting to to up the ante on the ageplay stuff, and she was doing it exactly the way she said she would after our little talk: slowly and with my permission. If I didn’t like the thing – well, I didn’t like the thing, but if I hated the thing, I could just say so and it would end up with all the other things I hate that get reserved for punishments. No biggie.

“Arms up.” I put my arms up, and she slipped it over my head and knelt down in front of me. “Open your legs for me.” I did, and she tugged the flappy part through, and I counted one, two, three, four clicks as she buttoned it in place. She stood back up, brushed my hair out of my face and looked at me with her hands on my shoulders, smiling like when I drew on the kitchen wall. “You wanna see?”

I turned to look into the mirror Mary behind me. Well, crap. I huffed and made my not impressed face. “Dammit,” I said under my breath.

“What’s wrong?”

“I’m adorable. Again.” Fucking of course I am.

“Awww,” she laughed, “you always are.” She put her chin on my shoulder and one arm around me and tickled my belly with her finger tips. Which made me go “He he,” which only exacerbated the adorability.

“Stop it,” I whined.

“So, is that a punishment outfit or not,” she asked me.

Well, it made her so happy. “Not,” I pouted. Like I said, eager to please.

“You really don’t have to.”

“No, it is cute. And comfy.”

“And it hides your diaper, which you’re wearing for a whole day.”

“Why?”

“Because you drove ninety-three miles per hour.”

Oh. So there were now three kinds of diapers: just because, reminders to behave, and a punishment diaper. “But, the same one?”

“Of course not, silly. I’ll change you when you need it.”

“Well, what about if I have to, ya know?”

“Then you can take it off first.”

“But, what if … I mean … But I don’t wanna.”

“I know, but that’s why it’s a punishment.”

“You’re sending a lot of mixed signals here with your punishment and presents and Tom Hanks driving and forehead kisses,” I pouted. I think Mary has just learned not to ask what I mean when I start saying non sequiturs that only make sense if you heard what I’ve been saying in my head.

“If you’re gonna be pouty, I’m gonna hafta to give you another present, and it’s only for punishment.”

“I’ll be good.”

“Uhuh.” I followed her back out of the bathroom, and she went straight for the closet, leaving me wondering what was in store for me next. She produced a little white box, walked over to my nightstand, and removed a…

“Nooo! I’ll be good. I promise!”
            “Daffy,” she admonished me. “Consider this a new reminder to watch that pretty little mouth of yours.” She left it there next to the paddle that adorns my nightstand, just sitting there. A giant pacifier.

“Where did you even find this stuff anyway?”

“The internet. I just saw it and thought there’s a little tool that might save her butt from swats. So you mind your tongue and it will stay a reminder.”

“Can we at least put in the drawer?”

“Nope.”

“But …” Dammit it all to crap! I can’t even say it. I just stamped my foot instead.

“See? It’s helping you already. Now c’mon.”

“Where are we going now?”

“The kitchen. Let’s make lunch together.”

“Okay.” And then I said something I only half meant. “Thank you for my presents.” Kinda like that swimsuit. I’d appreciate it eventually.

“You’re very welcome.” I got a step past her when she reached out and gave me a hard, underhand spank, producing a loud pop and making me jump and hold my butt. I gave her an especially dirty look. “You,” is all she said.

“Me what?”

“You and your padded butt and little red thighs peeking out of your ducky onesie and that face you make when you’re all pouty and blushing.”

“What about it?”

“Too cute.”

I knew she was going to say that.

“How about,” she said as she put an arm around my shoulder and kissed me on the nose, “we make lunch and eat outside. We haven’t had a picnic in forever.”

“Okay.”

[WBDaddy]

Poor Daffy, sliding further and further down the AB rabbit hole.  Next thing you know they're going to TeddyCon...

[YourFNF]

Yeah tracking app would be a red for me ?Just too creepy....

[Alex Bridges]

8 hours ago, YourFNF said:

Yeah tracking app would be a red for me ?Just too creepy....

Then you drive safe, kiddo.

[YourFNF]

8 minutes ago, Alex Bridges said:

Then you drive safe, kiddo.

I mean 93 isn't that bad on the Interstate at least if your in the left most lanes.  Fuck you should have seen my dad try to drive my grandma's little corolla like it was in the Indie 500. ?

[Alex Bridges]

Scene #27

 

 

 

Some adults hate their birthday. No one likes getting older, so why celebrate it? And my answer to that is because you need to take any and every excuse you can think of to celebrate, and then celebrate the ever loving crap out of it because life is too damn short not to. And besides that philosophical belief, I also think I make the world a brighter place, and a little recognition of my contribution isn’t just for my benefit – it’s good for everybody.

According to anonymous sources who agreed to be quoted on background because they didn’t have permission from their wife to speak on the record, the prospect of not getting to celebrate my birthday in the style to which, being of my station, I am both accustomed and entitled, made me a little pouty. A tad. A touch. And a teensy bit mouthy. This source lifted my skirt right there in the kitchen and gave me one of those underhand spanks that make even little ol’ me’s butt cheeks wobble, to which I may have unwisely exclamed, “What the fuck was that for?”

            Well, shit. She caught me off guard, okay?   

One look at Mary’s face told me I needed to at least try backpedaling, so I followed up my little outburst with, “Said the lion to the wardrobe about the witch?”

Mary’s not-impressed face. “Stay right here,” is all she said.

            That kicked my heart rate up a notch. We were in the kitchen, where a number of spanking implements live. There’s the spatula (fucking prick that he is), the spoon (I like her a lot), the paddle hanging in the pantry (he’s always in a bad mood), and the paddle ever present in Mary’s purse (we don’t get along). Which isn’t to say our bedroom doesn’t contain a variety of butt punishers, and therein lies the anxiety: if everything in the kitchen wasn’t enough to pick from, what toy was she picking out upstairs? I looked at the pot of boiling water on the stove and imagined my butt being scalded.

            Mary was back in a moment, and there was no implement in her hand. Ruh roh.
 

She strode across our kitchen like the graceful goddess that she is and said simply, “Open.”

            “Mmm mmm,” I said (hummed?). I’d sooner go get the extension cord from the garage and tell her to beat me like a rented, left-handed, red-haired step-mule than get my mouth washed out. If a spanking is at least a little fun (and sometimes the most fun ever) and if a timeout is at least kinky and submissive and her stupid absorbent undergarments make her happy, mouth soaping is more like chemical warfare, and there are treaties against that. What kind of example would I – me, whose birthday is cause for public celebration – be if I were a party to treaty violations? I’m a role model for our nation’s world’s youth!

            “One … “

            Pshaw. Does that even work after the age of 9?

            “Two …”

            Well, it is a little intimidating, not knowing exactly what happens at three, but it can’t be that bad.

            “Thr… Good girl,” she said as I stood there with my lips parted. I’m not even sure how it happened. Magic, I think. Mary is a ninja, as you well know, and also a sorceress. She’s ensorcelled me for many years.

            And then very quickly – so quickly I couldn’t tell if she drew on her ninja or sorceress skills – there was a rubber nipple in my mouth. I’d forgotten about that fucking pacifier.

            As I stood there like a friggin toddler, giving Mary the dirtiest look I could muster, something terrible happened. I mean, it was just awful. I’ve been fortunate in my life that nothing too terrible has ever happened to me. Shitty boss, lost my grandpas kind of young, but I’m loved, financially secure, and overall healthy. And what happened next was, at least in the moment, such a game changer that I’m still not over it, as you can probably guess.

            That same anonymous source has gone on record many times in the past to just about anyone who would listen to tell them that my dirty looks are legendary. They have made lesser women and men than her capitulate and quake. It took years for my mother to build up immunity to them. I knew this anonymous source was the person I was meant to marry because she was immune from the very start. Those pouty faces and dirty looks didn’t make her change her mind; they rarely even faze her. And when they do, she doesn’t  retreat. She’d gives a dirty look right back and often accompanies it with one or a hundred smacks to my ass.

            Tragedy: an event that is tragic in character.

I gave her the very worst (or is it best?) dirty look I could with that pacifier between my lips, knowing full well I was courting a smack bottom but refusing to knuckle under without registering any protest at all, and all she did was say, “Aww.”

            I mean, what the fucking fuck am I supposed to fucking do with that?

            And then that sorceress witch turned her back to me and resumed chopping vegetables for dinner.

            “I don wike dis,” I mumbled.

            “No talking, sweetie. We’ll leave it in until dinner.”

            Well, I don’t know who she thinks she is, but I know damn well who I am: I, at the time, was the Birthday Girl. And Birthday Girls don’t have to put up with that kind of bullshit (even when our actual birthday is the next day).

            Birthday Girls say and do what they want, and what I wanted to say was, “Errrrmmm (stomp) urrrggh (stomp, clatter).” And if a Birthday Girl wants to pick up a dish towel and toss it weakly at the exact spot on the counter she picked it up from at a height of about four inches, she’s gonna. She’s fucking gonna. Take that, sorceress!

            Calamity: a complete breakdown in the social order of our household.

            She put her kitchen utensils down, turned, put her hands on my shoulders, leaned over, and gave me a kiss on the temple. Then (then!) she turned me around, squeezed my butt, and gave me a kiss on the forehead. Have you ever heard of such effrontery to a Birthday Girl of my stature!

            “Don’t be like that.” Another kiss. “But if you really don’t like it, we can get online after dinner and order a ball gag. Up to you.”

            She’s a ninja, and a sorceress, and a coyote, well known in the mythology of the Americas as the trickster. I married a coyote, and she just tricked me. Or maybe this is even worse and she’s not a coyote: she could be a lawyer. Or (fuck my life) I may have been sharing a bed with a politician this whole time.

I mean, I just threw a tantrum. A pretty big one by the standards of emotionally stable adults. Our marriage license – a legally binding contract – dictates that in the immediate wake of such behavior I be turned over any convenient and suitable thing and beaten about the thighs and buttocks with a flat, hard item. I’m not saying that’s what I wanted to happen. I’m just saying that’s what was supposed to happen, and it didn’t, and I didn’t understand why. It’s like I dropped an apple and it floated up.

Conceivably, it could have been because of my birthday, but that doesn’t even make sense because, one, I’m me and she’s she and we’re us. For another, birthdays have stopped zero spankings in our house.

But I don’t want a ball gag. I deployed the pouty face. She smiled at me. I escalated to a frowny face. Maybe she couldn’t see it behind her pacifier (and yes, it’s hers too, just like all the paddles and hairbrushes and pull-ups and diapers). I had only three escalation strategies left: the nuclear option, the medieval option, and the biblical option (listed in order of increasing direness). Knowing now, however, that she’s a coyote, I couldn’t risk the medieval option (a.k.a., get angry) or the biblical option (a.k.a., refuse) without knowing what other tricks she had up her sleeve (Birthday Girls get to mix metaphors all we want), I went fucking nuclear: sad face. Bam! Mic drop. Yeah, I went there. She couldn’t miss it, not with my quivering lip making my paci tremble. I knew that would set her straight and put the world back in order.

She looked at me, my darling wife/ninja/sorceress/coyote, and she said to me, “O, little girl, don’t be sad.” And then she gave me a goddam hug.

I’d lost. And I’m not even sure what we were playing. Was this a mind game? I’m not even sure if she was playing too or if it was all in my head.

And then she spiked the fucking ball. “Why don’t you lay down on the couch while I finish dinner?”

I nodded and turned to shuffle to our living room, and as if she needed to gloat some more, she sent me on my way with a loving pat to my bottom. Not a smack. A loving pat.

Life in the Upside Down sucks. And so does that show, but it’s an apt reference. Apt!

After my power nap, I was allowed to take the paci out. Mary rinsed it and put in the drainer, admonishing me to remember to take it upstairs after dinner and put it back, and happily telling me (happy unto the point of snark) that I was welcome to use it whenever I thought it would keep me out of trouble or, in her words, “whenever I just wanted to” because I might “come to like it.” Fat chance.

I know when I’ve lost a battle, if it was a battle. I don’t know what it was. I wasn’t bratting. I wasn’t trying to get a spanking. I didn’t want a spanking. But thems the rules. Had she spanked me and then kissed me and told me she’d finish dinner, that would’ve been perfectly in keeping with how things work and how sweet she is.

I’d been mouthy, according to her. Enough so to deserve a really hard whap to my butt, and when I had a little outburst as a result, she gave me a kiss and told me to take a nap. I am not a little girl, dammit! Pouty little girls get sent to take a nap. Pouty minxes can get sent to bed, but it ain’t to sleep.

            I wasn’t about to lose the war though. She’d forced my hand. I couldn’t just brat. I had to make her see me as the grown, beautiful, complex, kinky submissive sylph that I am. Except I didn’t get to. I was all set to walk right up to her and prove it, and when I was within a foot of her, she patted the bed and told me to sit. Which I did (hmmmph!)

            “I was going to tell you in the morning, but since it’s bothering, I’ll you now,” she said to me in her ever so assured and confident way.

            “Tell me what?”

            “We’re having a birthday party for you tomorrow.”

            “We are?” On Zoom? Because I’m so fucking over Zoom. I couldn’t be in a crowd of people. I hadn’t even seen my parents in months because they’ve been going out to the grocery store. I’d only talked to Nana through the fence.

            “Yep. There’s an itinerary and everything.”

            “An itinerary?” I was confused, okay? I’m sure I’d have had better questions if she didn’t catch me off guard. Again.

            “For instance, your birthday breakfast is at eight tomorrow.” I liked the sound of that. She patted the pillow and I scooted over and laid down next to my wife.

            “I like breakfast.”

            “And your birthday spanking is from 8:45 to 11:30.”

            “That’s a long spanking.”

            “Are you doubting I know how to spank you for three hours?”

            “Hehe. No.” Because she’s done it before. It happens on birthdays, certain major holidays, and the occasional slow day.

            “And then we’ll get you cleaned up and dressed. I have something picked out for you to wear.”

            “Am I gonna like it?”

            “I can get it out right now.” She slid off the bed and went into the closet. She tossed out my favorite skirt for laying around the house; nothing fancy about it at all. It’s just a bright blue jersey material that cost all of $13; it’s what sweatpants wear when they’re lazy. Things got a little more dismaying from there: a diaper; a plain white onesie. Mary sat down on the bed looking very satisfied with herself.

            “Um, that’s, uh, thoughtful of you, but, um, I can’t be around people yet, I don’t think.” Nor did I want to be around people while wearing all that. Except the skirt.

            “Hence the itinerary,” she explained. “We’ll be outside, on opposite sides of the yard. Your parents are going to come over for an hour; then fifteen minutes later, your brother and sister are coming over; then Jane and Lisa; then Sandy; and then nana.”

            “Oh. That’s sounds fun. That’s … thank you for going to so much trouble.”

            “Is that all I get?”

            “It’s great. I just … don’t wanna wear a diaper for that.”

            “I thought you might feel that way, but it’s non-negotiable. It’s going to be a full day, and we can’t have you making a mess.”

            “Mary, could you stop pretending I’m gonna wet my pants? It’s old.”

            She rolled over so were facing each other. “Now you listen to me, little girl …”

            Dammit!

            “… I’m not worried about you wetting your pants, but I know you and that little body of yours like the palm of my hand. There’s no way you can wear the wireless vibrator and a plug for the whole day without getting something somewhere. And before you ask, I’ll have both remotes.”

            “Oh (giggle) um, well – the whole day? – well, um, ha, okay, if you think – the whole day – hmmm.” As skilled as she is, even she can’t edge for a whole day. She’s welcome to try, though, and god willing will fail at least four times.

            “That’s what I thought. And I know you’re worried about people seeing, but they won’t. Chairs on opposite sides of the yard. You don’t even have to stand up.”

            “If I even can stand up. Hehehehehe.”

            “You’re blushing,” she said with a very delighted smile on her face.

            “Well, I’m a very modest woman,” I said in defense of my honor.

            “Uh huh. With a long day ahead of her. Why don’t you run downstairs and get your paci, and then we can go to bed.”

            Darn it. “I have to sleep with it in? Why?”

            “No, you silly goose. It just belongs on your nightstand. We can’t leave your toys out where they don’t belong … Don’t give me that look. It’s a rule. Scoot.”

            Well, fine, but it’s a rule she just friggin made up. There’s a mirror at the foot of our stairs, a small one the size of a photo in a thick frame that’s just for decoration. I checked first to make sure she wasn’t coming down the stairs before putting the paci between my lips and checking myself out in the mirror. To my horror, it looked really endearing.

            One problem at a time, though. In fact, no problems at all. It’s my birthday, and I’m getting to do kinky things on it and see people I haven’t seen in months, plus she’s making me breakfast, which is probably gonna have bacon.

[YourFNF]

This is great even if I have mixed feeling about her reluctant regression. ??

[Alex Bridges]

Scene #28

 

It was hot out, okay? It’s not like I was naked. I just decided that with it being so hot, if I was determined to work in my new garden, as I was, that it would be more comfortable to do in my one-piece swimsuit.

And sun is very damaging, so I put on my floppy hat. Okay? I am very aware of the dangers of too much sun, from heat exhaustion to dehydration to melanoma to looking like a dried up old purse. 

There’s nothing wrong with my one-piece either. It’s blue and has purple piping down the side. Back when I swam competitively in high school, our competition swimsuits looked pretty much like it. I don’t mind saying I look pretty fit in my one-piece, never mind my little one-piece/leotard fetish. A fit woman in a sexy swimsuit wearing a floppy hat is a fashion icon, right? Sexy as hell.

The only problem, as far as I could see, is that Mary had declared it a pull-up day, and to my now-horror, I didn’t even think about how that would look under my suit. I just got dressed like normal, slipped on my flip flops, and walked outside. Which mean this has been normalized. I’d like to think I’d have thought it through more if she declared a diaper day.

I’m becoming a good little gardener. We can eat a meal right out of the garden. My chard survived its illness, my lettuce and arugula did well, my carrots are coming along, there are peas, and I even planted potatoes, anti-potato hysterics be damned. I kinda wanna start keeping chickens.

Nana has helped at a distance, and she even gave us some cuttings from her garden. I was tending to one of those cuttings when she stuck her head through the gate of our privacy fence. “Uh oh,” she said.

“Hi, Nana. What’s ‘uh oh’?”

“Did you get in trouble?”

“Nope.” I hadn’t gotten in trouble in five - count ‘em! - five whole days thanks to a sharp curtailing of Birthday Girl privileges. I learned a long time ago if you keep acting like a Birthday Girl after your birthday, you’re in for it.

“I see a little palm print on your thigh. And you’re wearing a pull-up again.” Blushing from head to toe, or is it just the sun?

“That was a love pat,” I assured her, “and Mary put it out for me, so I put it on.”

“Is that a rule,” she asked as she took a seat on our retaining wall.” I think she’s getting curious about how our relationship works, like an anthropologist from vanilla land trying to suss out our kinky little society of two.

“Hmm,” I said when I thought in it for a beat. “No, come to think of it, unless she tells me to, which she doesn’t often. Sometimes she just lays something out for me.”

“Well, it looks adorable with that swimsuit. Sorry, I know you hate it when people say stuff like that, but you are a precious sight sometimes. My granddaughter has a floppy hat just like that for the beach.” What, does she mean her other granddaughter or something? I mean, come the crap on. “And you look sorta like the girl on the sunscreen bottle,” she racked on for fun.

“Uh uh! No, I do not.”

“She has red hair like yours.”

“Well, yeah but she has ... she has freckles. And she’s wearing a two-piece. With ruffles!”

“The way your pull-up is sticking out kinda looks like ruffles.”

I hate these things. I hate these things. I hate these things. I hate these things.

“But ... dammit.” I couldn’t think of another retort. Though the girl on the bottle isn’t wearing sunglasses, now that I think on it.

Nana chuckled at me and said, “Don’t take it the wrong way. I just think ...”

“I know. I’m cute. Sylph-like and adorable. That’s me. An adorabilibuddy.”

“Oh my, that’s just the most perfect word. Did you think of that?”

“Maybe. I don’t remember. Maybe I saw it somewhere once.”

She got more serious. “You don’t like being adorable?” She patted the retaining wall, and I walked over and hopped up at the right distance. I wouldn’t mind a nana hug. I’d take a hug from just about anybody these days.

“I don’t mind it. It’s just ... that seems to be what people see first these days. Not that we’ve seen any new people in three months.” I wanna be sexy, too, not just cute. And hello! Complex woman over here! Just because I’m petite and spunky doesn’t make me a manic pixie dream girl. For one thing, I’m way too filthy minded to be one of those. And I have layers; those don’t have layers.

“Well, you are cute, and also, if the opinion of an old lady helps, a beautiful and sexy and confident and empathetic and smart woman. I’ve always admired you.”

“Well, I am a role model for the world’s youth,” I joked.

“And funny, too,” Nana chuckled. “Your garden is coming along so nicely.”

“I take all the credit. People doubted me when I said if you plant a seed it will turn into a plant, but you can’t argue with success.” This is the first time I’ve ever planted something that didn’t die, which may have to do with me actually taking care of it. I once killed a cactus by not watering it enough.

“Maybe that’s what you should study when you go back to school,” Nana said.

“I don’t think I quite have the talents for horticulture. Too much science.”

“What about landscape design?”

“Hmm. I’ll have to think about that.” I could see me doing that. Bossing around laborers, being outside, charging $100 an hour to say, put a rock there. 

“What are my two favorite people talking about,” Mary asked as she strode across our lawn like the queen of my universe that she is.

“Going back to school,” I chimed in. “Nana thinks I should study mortuary science.”

“Funny and naughty and smart-alecky,” Nana responded. “Adorable, sexy, naughty, and a smart-aleck. I was suggesting she think about studying landscape design.”

Mary was right in front of me, looking directly at me, in that almost predatorial way she has sometimes. “Taking a break from work,” I asked.

“She did turn out to have a little green thumb,” Mary said, ignoring my question and taking my hand in hers, kissing my fingers and putting my hands back in my lap. I’m starting to suspect she likes me or something.

“I like it,” I said. “It’s like I made an onion. The onion made itself, but it sorta feels like I did it ... I’m very god-like.” Now that I think about it.

“Ha! Of course you are,” Mary said as she hopped up on the wall next to me. “How are your pants,” she whispered to me. I should’ve guessed. Never does she take a break and not ask that question, or just reach down and check, if I’m wearing something other than panties. I’ve decided it’s just something she does because she’s bored and watching me get all blushy has fewer calories than other distractions. All I can say for myself is that now that I’m not working and procrastinating, I find myself eating a lot fewer carbs. I think shareholder capitalism was making me, well, not fat, but definitely hangry and a little fluffier than I should be. I just nodded in response to Mary’s question. A very shallow nod. A surreptitious nod, in fact. Furtive. And I didn’t say anything because sometimes when I get all blushy I cover it by starting to ramble, talking on and on and on and just not letting something go or end or be over or come to a close or ... see?

“How’s your workday going,” I asked.

“A little slow. I was thinking of taking the afternoon off.”

“Yes, please.”

“Too bad the pool isn’t open,” Nana said. “Even a wrinkled thing like me wouldn’t mind a dip.”

“Actually, I was thinking about getting a pool,” Mary said. Did we come into twenty thousand dollars I didn’t know about.

“We can’t afford that,” I said.

“I mean a wading pool. We can we get a big inflatable one just to have somewhere to cool off. We can put it on the deck.”

“That’s kind of a brilliant idea,” I said. I could see myself spending the summer that way, like a complete lush with no shame whatsoever, sitting in a blow 

-up pool drinking frozen margaritas. I wouldn’t go so far as say that’s how nature made me, but it has its appeal.

“She does look overheated,” Nana volunteered. 

“I’m okay. Just a little warm.” 

“You’re awfully sweaty,” Mary said.

“Excuse me, darling spouse,” I said a little haughtily, “it’s called glistening. I glisten.” I glow, like all sylph-like creatures.

Mary hopped down off the wall and walked inside. I didn’t know if I had been a little too haughty or what, but I didn’t think I did or said anything to deserve a punishment. I do glisten. Kinda of a lot sometimes, but it’s still early in the season. I’m just not used to the heat yet, and besides, I was working in the dirt, not like some cosseted laptop jockey like Mary. We salt of the earth types tend to glisten a lot, and I’ve been the salt of the earth for a couple months. Learning is hard work.

She came back out with a glass of water in one hand, her other hand hidden, and a look I couldn’t decipher. I did not deserve a spanking, much less in front of Nana, which mercifully hand’t happened yet, but I could hardly throw an anti-spanking tantrum in front of her either. That would just compound the embarrassment, so I sat there with my heart in my throat for all thirty steps of hers across the yard.

Instead of an implement, Mary produced three popsicles. “A banana for my favorite little girl,” Mary said. “It’s her favorite,” she said to Nana as she handed her one.

It is my favorite, and, “I’m not a little girl. I made leafy greens from scratch,” I added by way of proof. “Plus,” I proudly proclaimed looking at Nana, “I’m not afraid to eat the habaneros I grew, unlike some people.”

Nana shook her head and chuckled again. I guess she was in a chuckling mood. “I’m sorry, Daffy, but you are too cute. There’s just no two ways about it. That outfit, with the droopy little hat and the pink pull-up and the popsicle - too much.” 

So we’re not even gonna talk about my chili eating prowess? I once tried a real ghost pepper at a fair, and I only cried a little. 

“You should see her when she has her binky in,” Mary said off handedly.

“Her what?”

“I got her an adult pacifier to help her keep her mouth from getting her in trouble. You know what a Sassy Mollassy she can be.”

I looked at my garden. My big shovel was all the way in the garage, too far to help me dig a hole to hide in. And what the hell is a ‘Mollassy?’ 

“Where on earth did you find an adult pacifier,” Nana asked.

“You should see some of the stuff you can find on online. Especially Etsy. Just the other day I found Sailor Moon underoos in her size.”

Well, us big girls wear panties, but Sailor Moon is awesome and so much better than the stuff decorating the many pairs of junior miss department panties she’s made me wear over the years. I very nearly asked if she got them for me, and if not, why on earth not? I made a potato from scratch; surely that deserves a reward. 

“Huh,” was what Nana said. “Well, just be sure you leave some of that sass right where it is. She just too funny.”

“Don’t I know it. She’s been so good lately, too. Wonder how much longer that’ll last.”

“Indefinitely. I am thirty years old, ya know.”

“Where did that little outburst come from,” Mary asked. She was having way too much fun. “Does someone need a nap?”

“Mary,” I said in a stentorian, sonorous, authoritative voice that others always mischaracterize as whining. 

“She’s just teasing you, sweetie. Right, Mary?”

“Nana,” I said a little less authoritatively.

“Ooh, I wish I had a picture of you when you get all pouty.”

“We have quite the scrapbook. I got one of her with her little bottom in the air playing in the dirt just before you came over,” Mary assured her.

“Excuse me! I wasn’t playing. I was ... tidying up because I’m bored and I’m making up chores to do.”

“That’s a good thing,” Nana said. “When mine were young, when they’d get bored I always used to say, ‘Find something to do, or I’ll find something for you to do.’ Suddenly they had all kinds of ideas that weren’t vacuuming or washing windows.”

One of her what? Her wives? I’d get mad at Nana except she doesn’t mean anything by it. She’s not trying to embarrass me the way Mary sometimes does. She just sees me like Mary sees me, minus the kinky part. Which is actually weirder in a way. But whatever. Kinda hard to deny I like it in a weird way. Erotic humiliation is just my burden to bear, like my adorabilibuddyness.

And unlike Nana, Mary knew exactly what she was doing. She had definitely decided to take the afternoon off.

 

 

 

[ABAlex]

Awww what a cute situation. Trying to hide even a pull up under a swimsuit can't be easy.

I love these little snippets, well done!

[Sarah Penguin]

[YourFNF]

I mean why does she need a pullup with the swim suit she can just pee through it? ?

[WBDaddy]

27 minutes ago, YourFNF said:

I mean why does she need a pullup with the swim suit she can just pee through it? ?

I'm thinking the fact that she's not swimming might play a role there...

 

[Alex Bridges]

50 minutes ago, YourFNF said:

I mean why does she need a pullup with the swim suit she can just pee through it? ?

 

30 minutes ago, WBDaddy said:

I'm thinking the fact that she's not swimming might play a role there...

 

Because Mary said.

[WBDaddy]

10 minutes ago, Alex Bridges said:

 

Because Mary said.

And besides, she should be glad it wasn't a tape-on.   

[Alex Bridges]

18 minutes ago, WBDaddy said:

And besides, she should be glad it wasn't a tape-on.   

The more fun question is why she wore it under the swimsuit at all. If she had been dressed and changed into her swimsuit, she wouldn’t have kept her panties on, right?

[Galdamax]

There is a 'little' denial going on me thinks

[Alex Bridges]

Scene 29

 

Well, there’s a first time for everything, and most of things happen at a fairly young age. I think my brother was 12 when he did it for the first time. Somehow I got all the way to 30 before I ran away to my grandma’s house. Or really Nana’s house. Maybe not run away, exactly, so much as disappear over there for a few hours while avoiding Mary. 

It felt like going on an adventure after so many months cooped up. I had been on walks and drives but this was the very first time since March I’d gone over to Nana’s. I guess one of the benefits to having a retired friend in a quarantine is you know they’re going to be home and won’t be busy. I knocked on the backdoor and stepped back a few feet.

“Hi,” Nana said to me when she slid open her patio door.

“Hi. Can I hang out for a while?”

“Of course. Would you like to come inside?”

“Yes, but I think it’s better to stay outside.”

“Okay. Can I bring you anything?” I held up my water bottle and she stepped outside, closing the screen door behind her. We sat down in her chaise lounges under the patio umbrella. 

“I’m glad you came over. I miss your visits.”

“Me too. I miss, well, everything. I wanna go out.”

“Things are starting to reopen. I’m sure you can find some safe things to do.”

“We’re thinking about it. Mary is ... she’s worried about me. She doesn’t want to take any risks. I’m worried about me, but I’m ready to take some baby steps.”

“You can’t stay cooped up until there’s a vaccine. You’ll both go insane.”

I grimaced at the very thought of that. “Mary isn’t quite there yet. I think if I weren’t immunocompromised, she’d feel different, but her exact words last night were, ‘You’re my little gold nugget, and I’m not taking you out where there are virus breathing dragons.’ ... She’s such a nerd sometimes.”

“That’s sweet of her. I can understand that. Still, it wouldn’t hurt to dip a toe in the water.”

“Literally. I wanna go to a pool so bad. Or the beach.” But it could hurt, is the thing. It seems small, but it’s really not. It’s the same risk as back in March.

“Maybe we could start small. You could come inside.”

“I think I should ask permission first,” I said because I’m apparently I’m nine. Or not nine, just someone who knows there might be consequences to breaking the social distancing rules. 

“You wouldn’t get in trouble for coming inside,” Nana said like someone who doesn’t get how domestic discipline works. I can get in trouble for anything if Mary decides.

“I’m already in trouble today,” I fessed hope. “I came over to hide,” I said as the blood rushed to my face.

“What happened, sweetie?”

“I deleted something from Mary’s work computer by accident. Or at least I think I did. I would’ve tried to fix it, but she told me to just let it be. I think I got it coming when she’s done with work.”

“You shouldn’t be playing on her computer,” my Nana said in an odd way. Like, when did she become an a actual nana telling me what I should and shouldn’t do?

“I was just reading the news,” I protested softly. “I just closed something by accident.”

“Well, I don’t think you’ll get in too much trouble for that. It was an accident.”

“I know. I don’t think it’s going well at work for Mary. She was in her office with the door closed for a couple hours yesterday, and she was really quiet when she came out. I don’t know why.”

I tried to talk it out of her, but she didn’t want to. I gave up and tried to just snuggle with her while we watched TV, but she ended up taking a bath with the door closed. She usually leaves it open. 

“Well, I bet things will work out, whatever it is. They usually do, and I know because I’m old.”

“You are not old,” I said to her, even though she kinda is. She’s at that age where she could be old if she wasn’t energetic, but she is, so she’s just advanced in her years, as I like to think about it. I get kinda sad when I think about the people I care about getting old. 

We sat there quietly for a minute, and then Nana said, “I was going to save this, but you seem like you need some cheering up. Be right back.”

I was hoping she’d come back with some wine or other consciousness altering substance, because it sucks being in your right frame of mind all the time. Mary and I both tried to turn a corner with the pandemic diet, and I do think we both feel better, but it also sorta took away one of the few things we had to look forward to every day.

Nana came smiling so big. That’s my kinda person, the kind that’s so excited to give a gift, which it apparently was because it was in a gift wrapped box.

“You didn’t hafta do that,” I said partly to be polite and partly because I meant it. I love giving gifts, and second to that is getting them.

“Well,” she said as she sat down again and passed me the box, “I got time on my hands and didn’t get you anything for your birthday.”

“You didn’t have to get me anything for my birthday.” Though technically as I was empress for a day, I should’ve gotten tribute from my admirers and vassals.

“It’s just a little something I made. Open it.”

Trying to have a little decorum even though fuck yeah presents, I opened it carefully.

“I wasn’t really sure if this was something you’d like, but I saw the other one and thought maybe it would be and you look so cute in the one you have so if you don’t like it you don’t hafta wear it,” she rambled nervously.

I folded back the tissue paper to find a lavender colored shirt with a rainbow on it. Okay, not something I’d wear out of the house, but okay for around the house. “Thank you. I ...” paused as I lifted it from the box. “It’s ... uh,” I tried and couldn’t even mumble. I think I blushed so hard I had a mini-stroke. “Thank ... thank you.”

“You don’t like it,” Nana concluded. She didn’t sound unhappy, more just disappointed with herself.

“No, I ... it’s just a surprise, is all,” I said covering, or trying to.

“Well, like I said, if you don’t like it that’s fine. I just took a little chance, and it gave me something to do.”

“No, I will wear it. Really. I just, um, am surprised to, um, get a onesie from you.”

“Is that what you call them? I thought a onesie was footie pajamas.”

“O, no. I call them a onesie. What do you call it,” I asked because etymology is good distraction when you want to not talk about your Nana sewing you a onesie.

“When I was growing up,” Nana said, “we called them diaper shirts.”

Well, fuck my life. And fuck etymology, too. It failed me. And when the heck did she see me wearing a onesie?

“Heh. So, um, you sewed this from scratch?”

“No, i actually bought two of the shirts and used materials from the second to make the flap. Turn it over.”

Yep, second rainbow right on the butt. Well, it is Pride Month.

“That’s how I make them for all my grandbabies.” Nana realized what she’d just said and turned almost as red as me. “I don’t mean...”

“I know. It’s cute. Ill definitely wear it.” 

“Good. Like I said, you don’t have to be embarrassed about the things you like around me.” 

“Okay,” I said, not having the heart to explain where that statement went astray, for my own benefit more than hers though I didn’t really want to explain any more link to Nana. “When did you see me wearing one of these?”

“Out on your patio with Mary one evening, from my window.”

“O. Guess we’re really not as alone as we think sometimes.”

“Just me,” she said, “and I don’t mind. And Mary was right about the pacifier . Too cute.”

“Well, thanks for being understanding. I should probably go home and start making dinner. Maybe that’ll get me some brownie points and Mary won’t be so mad at me.”

“I doubt very much she’s mad at you,” Nana said.

“I’m pretty sure she is. Usually if I’m in trouble, I get my consequence right away. Even in public. She only makes me wait when she’s angry.”

“In public?”

“Hmm?” Did someone say public, because I sure didn’t. Nothing happens in public. Ever. Stupid mouth saying stuff without consulting with my brain first. Where is that friggin’ pacifier when I actually need it?

“Anyhoo,” I said, and Nana took the hint.

“Well, take it from me, Daffy, Mary isn’t mad at you. I can sense these things. It’s a special Nana power.”

“I just hope it wasn’t important, whatever I deleted.”

“You’ll feel better if you find out. Run along home, and maybe tomorrow we’ll talk about you coming inside my house. Or me in yours. Who knows? By the end of the week, you could even go eat out on a patio.”

I took my present home and started on dinner. I decided to make a veggie and chicken pasta salad. It was too hot for hot food, and there was enough time for it to chill in the fridge before dinner time.

I went upstairs to put my present away, and I was surprised to find Mary on the bed. I thought she was in her office. I tiptoed to my dresser and left the box there, not wanting to open a drawer and make it squeak or something.

“Whatcha doing, pumpkin,” Mary asked.

“I didn’t mean to wake you,” I whispered. She rolled over and sat up. She looked like she’d been crying. I felt my stomach fall through my feet.

“I was just resting my eyes. Come sit with me.” I climbed on the bed and crawled toward her, sitting in the space she made for me beside her.

“Is everything okay?”

“Fine,” she said in the way people say it that makes it clear it is not fine. Not fine at all.  

Here’s the disadvantage of domestic discipline: when something bugs me, Mary has a tried and true way of getting me to talk about it, but when something is bugging her, I don’t have that option.

“No it’s not,” I said. She turned and kissed me on the head. Well, I was not gonna be put off. I can be quite forceful when called to be. “Tell me.”

“It’s just work stuff.”

“So? I tell you work stuff ... when I’m employed.”

“You got your big girl britches on today or something?”

“I’m a big girl everyday,” I said a little petulantly. “I just wanna know what made you cry so I can tell them to be nice to you.”

“I had to lay someone off today.,” she said. “I’ve never had to do that before. Adverse effect of being a boss.” She’d been in her new position for not quite a year.

“I’m sorry. That’s terrible. I thought your company is doing well.”

“It could be doing better. Here, sit up for me.” I did, and she stood up from the bed, turned, grabbed my ankles, and pulled so I was flat on the bed with my knees over the side. Don’t gotta be a rocket scientist to know where this was going.

“I’m sorry I deleted that thing,” I said, trying to get out of it.

“I rescued it. Just please be more careful.”

“Well, I think you should spank me for it. Very hard.” Maybe a distraction would do the trick, and I’d muuuuuch rather get spanked than hafta wear a diaper.

“No, that’s okay. No harm done,” Mary said as she got a diaper and stuff from the closet.

“But I didn’t tell you the other stuff I did today. I, um, spent more than $100 without telling.” 

“Uh huh,” Mary said as she peeled my shorts down along with my underwear.

“I told lies.”

“Butt up,” she said as she lifted my ankles and bent me backward until my butt was off the bed.

“I didn’t do my chores.”

“I watched you do ‘em, silly.” She plucked a wipe from the thing and ran it where - ooh! it was cold. Talk about a sensation to steal your train of thought.

“Well, I, um, hhh! I - Ahh! Maryyyy! Eee!- I - Ah! - I - I committed wire fraud,” I said kinda loud with my eyes pinched shut.

“Daphne Ann!” Wait, that’s what gets her attention? She is so weird sometimes. At least her finger wasn’t ...

“You naughty girl. Look at this.” I picked my head up. “What do you have to say for yourself?”

That I wish I were a tree. Not fair. I let my head fall back to the mattress and crossed my arms over my eyes.

“Nuh uh,” Mary said, taking my arms away from my face. “You are too old to be forgetting to clean up after the potty.”

“I do,” I whined. So unfair! Put up job! I’m good at the potty! One of the world’s all time greats, and she damn well knows it, so there! Nyeh!

“Then what am I holding?”

“You stuck our finger halfway up my ...” SMACK! “Ow!”

“A girl your age.” SMACK SMACK SMACK

SPANK! “You just might not be ready to use the potty on your own.” SMACK SMACK CRACK!

“Mary, that is so not fair!” She practically poked me in the brain. No one is clean in there. I mean, have you heard some of the things they call that part of human anatomy? Gross.

“I decide what’s fair, little girl.”

“I. Am. Notalittlegirl!” WHACK! Okay, that one legit hurt.

“Who just got her bottom cleaned?”

“My bottom is on the outside,” I shot back. SMACK! “Ow!”

“Tsk tsk tsk.”

“Stop tsking me!” I whined again. She put my legs down, and my feet were flat on the bed.

“Now we’ll clean your front, too.”

“Mary, I just - hhh! Ooh - Mar - mmm.” It’s impossible to argue a point when someone is - ooh! Hahuhhahaha. Mary is kinda awesome at - hehehe.

“Well, you can have your underoos back tomorrow, but you had better keep them pristine, little girl, or I’ll wash your bottom myself and spank your pink little bum dry.”

That is such a mixed incentive. She’s an evil genius. She could totally run a death star.

“Now,” she said as she pulled that stupid diaper up between my legs, “you just keep this on for tonight. Maybe a break from your undies will help you remember what a special privilege they are and how important it is to keep them clean.”

“They are clean,” I protested as she sealed the tapes shut. I do gotta admit, though never to Mary, that when she gets it taped just right it feels sorta like a hug down there. She held out her hands for me to sit up, and I looked right at her and said, “Go wash.” She laughed all the way to the bathroom.

I hopped off the bed, crinkling all the way, and picked up my clothes.

“Ahem,” Mary said to me from the door to our bathroom. Dammit! Dammit all to crap!

“I was just ...”

“I see what you were doing. Well?”

“They’re clean,” I said as I handed her my panties. I was just double checking, because, well, because it’s my right as a grown up to not have to explain myself. Except to Mary. Stop looking at me like that!

“You know, sweetie pie,” she said with that look where you can see the evil wheels are turning in her head, “if they’re so important to you, you could always wear them under your diapees.”

“Diaper! -per. Don’t make it worse than it is,” I decided to argue because I don’t know why, “and no. That’s gross.”

“Could be a good punishment.”

“I could never wear them again.”

“You could, if we wash them well.”

“You know what I think,” I said, “I think you should wear a diaper for being so mean.”

“Don’t be silly, you silly goose.”

“Iamnotasillygoose,” I whine shouted.

“Tsk tsk tsk.”

Welp, Nana was right. Our prolonged quarantine has driven us both insane. The seeds of it were there before, but we’ve been pushed over the edge. That’s how I explain those fifteen minutes.

“Sit back down, honey.” I did. “Wuddya get,” she asked turning to the box.

“Nana made it for me.” I swear, you would’ve thought she’d opened a moving box and found pot a of leprechaun gold and spanking porn.

“It’s perfect! Did you say thank you?”

“Yes.”

“Let’s get it on you. Arms up.” I was shortly wearing the thing, and Nana had done a good job. I hadn’t noticed she’d sewn elastic around the leg holes. “It’s a good thing you’re cute,” my wife said to me after she’d stepped back and admired me. She’s always admiring me. She’s a predator is what she is. She’s a siren out to wreck my ship and steal my picnic basket.

“You’ll have to make her a card.” 

I’m thirty. I don’t make cards. I send thank you notes.

“Mary?”

“Mhmm?” I took her hand and sat back down on the bed and she sat with me.

“I think you should spank me.”

“Why is that, honey?”

“You had a bad day. You’ll feel better.”

“I feel better.”

“I don’t believe you. I think you’re covering.”

“C’mere.” I scooched over. “Today sucked. I hope I never have to do that again, and I feel awful that I had to. It wasn’t my choice, and I feel much, much worse for that person, but I want you to know that we’re going to be okay, and that I don’t want you worrying about that or about my work or about any of that stuff.”

“But I do.”

“But you shouldn’t.”

“But I should. We’re a team. That’s how it works. Lemme do something to make you feel better.”

“You did, honey.”

“I didn’t do anything.”

“Well, let’s see what you did. You obeyed, you held still, you made the most adorable little faces, you turned the prettiest shades of red, you pouted o so cutely, and you’re pretty as a picture in your rainbow onesie ... and the grumpy face you’re making right now is too much to even stand,” she added with a giggle. She patted her lap and I swung my legs over and gave her the hug she needed.

“You’re not allowed to be sad alone,” I lectured her. “You’d have given me an earful if I wouldn’t say what was bothering me and spent the evening in the bathtub alone.”

“Of course I would’ve. You’re too little to deal with emotions that strong all on your lonesome.”

“Mary, I’m trying to be serious here.”

“I know, sweetie. I’m sorry. I’m okay now.” THWUMP.

“Urghmmm.”

“You are just whiney butt today.” THWUMP.

Fine. If patting my butt is gonna make her smile, fine. Just friggin’ fine.

“Mary? Can we go out soon?”

“Yeah. Let’s talk about it after dinner.”

”Mary, if I didn’t delete your thing, why do I hafta a wear a punishment diaper?”

”You’re not, little girl.”

“Then what is it?”

”It’s a diaper,” Mary said, tapping out the last two syllables on my nose. I’m pretty sure she’d just wrapped a sympathy card around my butt. Well, that’s new and different.