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

[WBDaddy]

Poor thing wanted a spanking, but she got something else on her butt instead...

[Alex Bridges]

42 minutes ago, WBDaddy said:

Poor thing wanted a spanking, but she got something else on her butt instead...

She’s just going to have to brat if she wants to get what she wants.

[Bluebird67]

21 hours ago, Alex Bridges said:

“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.

This x 100 ! I'm 63 and my mother still isn't old!

So much to love in this episode

• “When I was growing up,” Nana said, “we called them diaper shirts.”
• I swear, you would’ve thought she’d opened a moving box and found pot a of leprechaun gold and spanking porn.
• "It's a diaper", Mary said

Thank you!

[Alex Bridges]

Scene 30

 

Mary is about a subtle as a falling air conditioner sometimes. Like I’m not going to notice, o, say, opening my underwear drawer and finding she’d lined half the drawer with pullups. I’m not dense. I don’t know how she thought I would react, but it’s not like I’d just decide that’s my underwear for the day. 

Or the present she bought me. She thinks she’s sneaky or funny or something, but of the two of us, I’m definitely funnier. I’m good at being sneaky, too, but Mary is even better at being vigilant, to the detriment of my ass. The doorbell rings, I go to answer it, and there are fresh cut flowers in a vase on the porch along with a note and a teddy bear.

The note said, “Roses are red, violets are blue, one upon a time, I deflowered you.” Which isn’t true, which she knows, but I will give her credit for taking my vanilla sex life and my kink sex life to the next level. 

By the time I was done putting the flowers in fresh water, she was standing in the door to the kitchen looking at me with a look best described as, “Now.” 

After I’d come down, I forgot about the bear until it, shocker, showed up on my pillow before bed. I’m not so much the kind of person who keeps stuffed animals. I moved it to the top of my dresser. Mary didn’t say anything about it. I didn’t want to hurt her feelings and toss in the closet or anything, but I also knew what she was doing and didn’t want to give her the satisfaction.

And if you think that’s not subtle of her, you should hear her say, “No.”

I hate that word. It’s a bitch. And unfair.

“Bu...” I started to respond.

“No.”

Well, clearly a different angle was needed. Something along the line of, “Bu...”

“Little girl...”

“Would you stop friggin calling me that!” I’ll accept it in cute and cuddly moments, but I was trying to have an adult conversation/fight. You have to be taken seriously to have even a chance of winning a fight, and it’s impossible to be taken seriously when the other person calls you that.

“Daphne Ann, I said, ‘No.’ That’s it. End of discussion.”

“Bu...”

“One...” she counted. Perhaps the most childish - well, not childish; parental, I guess - habit she’s adopted, like I’m supposed to be so scared by whatever comes at three. I don’t even give in when she starts counting, except maybe half or more of the time (also know as a majority of the time). Wasn’t going to budge this time, though.

“However...” I said, which totally caught her off guard. It’s a synonym for “but,” right? Just that no one uses it like that. She looked at me like I was I weird or something, and I’m weird and she’s weird, but I guess not like that. Anyway, progress...

“Two...” Dammit!

“I want to,” I whined. I’d made that point already, but I thought it bared repeating just in case. A lot might have changed in the three minutes between when I’d asked if I could go to lunch and just then. I was going to sit on a patio and everything. 

“Three. Enough,” Mary said, “Enough of this nonsense.” She took me by the upper arm, spun me around, swatted me all the way to the corner, and told me, “You’re in timeout until I come get you.”

There’s only one dignified way to respond to that. “Humph!” Accompanied by folding your arms and scowling at the wall. I know it sounds undignified, but I’m a timeout expert. Trust me. I mean, there’s no dignity in meek acceptance of timeout. And no, pouting is not a form of meek, nor is it born of meekness. Really.

So I don’t hold it against her that she responded in the proper way from her side of the equation, by delivering one heck of an underhand spank to the undercurve of my butt. “Ow!”

I really am not a fan of timeout. Yes, it’s a form of domestic discipline, which I am the World’s Number One Fan of, but it’s so boring. I once left a magazine between the couch and the wall, just close enough to lean over and grab without leaving the corner, just a little reading material. I didn’t exactly think I’d get away with it, but I tried anyway. I didn’t leave the corner, right? 

Violating the spirit of timeout is apparently an even bigger deal than violating the letter of timeout. How was I supposed to know that without being taught? She really ought to write these things down. She said writing these things down was a brilliant idea and that she would be very happy to write down all the rules and consequences, frame them, and hang them in the living room corner I do my timeouts in to review when I’m on my naughty spot, but she’d be leaving them up even when we had company. I had to talk her out of that; or she made me think I had to because it amused her to watch me squirm. She contented herself to make me stencil “Daphne’s Naughty Spot” in a corner of our bedroom. Meanie.

“Alright,” Mary said as she walked back into the living room, “get that naughty bottom of yours over here.” I turned to face the music and was relieved she only had the wooden spoon. She sat down on the sofa. “Over,” she said and patted her right thigh. I dutifully crossed the room and laid myself across her lap. It wasn’t even worth trying to get out of having my seat warmed.

No sooner had I adjusted myself than she flipped my skirt up. “Little girl,” she of course said. For the record, if you saw me in that state of dress from that angle, you would not be mistaking me for a little girl. Now stop picturing it. “Where are your undies?”

I shrugged. “It’s hot out. I just didn’t put any on.”

“You have to wear undies, Daphne. Having nothing on under your skirt is not ladylike.”

Seriously? What lifestyle was she leading? Not much ladylike about a lotta things the two of us do. Like, I dunno, an entire chest in the closet as a just for instance filled with stuff you ain’t gonna find in Queen Elizabeth’s bedroom. 

“What are you even talking about,” I asked with complete disregard for the vulnerability of my butt.

“Little girls don’t go commando ... well, not without permission.”

“Since when?” Uh, been going commando when I want to since we’ve known each other. You shoulda seen what I wasn’t wearing on our fifth date.

“Well, Ms. Sass Bottom ...” (I am so fed up with nicknames) “... if you just don’t wanna wear your undies, we can give them all to a little girl who does. After we’re done here, you can get a trash bag...”

“I get your point,” I interrupted.

“... and you can march your little red bottom up those stairs and ...”

“I said I get your point!”

“O, do you now? You wanna wear your undies?”

“Panties.” Smack!

“What are they called?”

“Panties!” CRACK!

“Excuse me?”

“Fine. Urgh! Undies.” There are more important hills for my butt to die on. 

“Who wears undies?”

“I do.” 

“Who else?”

“Ladies.”

“Little girls.” Welp, walked into that one. “But if you really don’t want them, just tell me.”

“But I’m not supposed to go commando.” Or did I have blanket permission for that now? She tries to confuse me on purpose, ya know. She’s a trickster; as I’ve said, a coyote, whereas I am an innocent. A little lamb lost in the woods. With a hooded, red cape specifically made for riding... 

“We’ll get you all stocked up on training pants if that’s what you want.”

I didn’t even respond. Like I needed to even acknowledge that. Not gonna give her the satisfaction.

“Is that a yes?”

“No!”

“Okay then,” she said, “if we have that resolved, for now, we can deal with your other naughtiness. Why are you across my lap about to get that cute little caboose of yours spanked?”

Ya know, once upon a time she called it an ass. I have ass, she has an ass, you have an ass, even asses have their own asses.

“Because I want to go out and you won’t let me,” I said like a completely petulant teenager. Well, she was treating me like one.

“Daphne Ann, do you want to go upstairs and get the bath brush instead?” I’dcrather put my tongue in an electric socket.

I held my breath for a second because otherwise a whole lot of non-verbal sass woulda come spilling out. “Because you told me no and I didn’t stop.”

“And what’s the rule?”

“When you say no it means no. But...” SMACK!

“And when I say no, we can talk about it, but how do we talk about it?”

“Calmly.”

“And?”

“Without whining.”

“And you have been whiny for a couple days, and a little sass mouth, too. Everything has been a smart remark lately.”

“Sorry.”

“I know you are. You always are. I just don’t know why I have to keep teaching you these lessons.”

BECAUSE I’M COOPED UP WITH NOTHING TO DO! Well, that explains lately. Not so much the many, many times my sassy attitude has gotten adjusted via my butt prior to covid. 

“Sometimes I don’t think a single spanking  I’ve given you has gotten through. What do we need to do differently?”

“They’ve gotten through. It’s just that I forget, in the moment, sometimes.” You know what it is? It’s bottom privilege. I’m the bottom, she’s the top. If she’s going make the decisions, then I don’t hafta moderate myself as much. That’s the deal: she gets to be in charge, and I get to be taken care of, and when you don’t hafta take care of yourself, you don’t hafta be quite as mature. That’s my story, that’s it’s a side effect of kink and not at all something more inherent in me. Really. Stop questioning my story; I’m the narrator and the hero, so you can shh!

“Well, you better hope this one takes.” And with that she put the spoon to work. I know it’s stupid to personify the spanking implements, but the spoon has two personalities: fun and light when Mrs. Oxo Goodgrips is in a good mood, and a convex little cunt when she’s in a bad mood. Guess she was having a rough day.

Usually Mary starts at my butt and finished at my thighs, but I guess it was backwards day, and CRAP does that friggin spoon sting. The hairbrush feels like a paddle, and the paddle feels like a paddle, but the spoon feels like bee stings, and I just knew it was leaving those stupid oval welts everywhere it smacked me. I’d have them on my thighs below my skirt for a day, not like it mattered because no one would see because I DON’T GO ANYWHERE ANYMORE! ARGHH!

I was practically relieved when Mary finished with my thighs, but once she got to my butt she stopped flicking it down on me and start whamming it. It’s made of balsa wood or something; how the crap can something so light be so heavy at the same damn time? Schrodinger’ spanking spoon. (I’m good with words; not physics, but I know enough to know that’s not quite right, but give a spanked girl a break).

“When I say no! I mean no!” I really do try to listen when Mary lectures during a spanking, but there’s a lot of sensory inputs going on, including the EEPS and OWS and OUCHES and AH AH AH! NOT THERE NOT THERE NOT THERE coming from me. I’m pretty forgiving with myself for not listening even though I know I should try because Mary never shows any sign of listening to me during a spanking. Either that or she doesn’t understand what NOT THERE means. Those are the only two logical explanations, right?

She spanked me to the point of sharp intakes of breath and watery eyes and sniffles. She stopped at the first sob from me, not because she has any qualms about spanking me to the point of an out-of-body experience of tears and wailing and carrying on but because I wasn’t that bad. O, excuse me: as Mary would say, I wasn’t bad; my choices were bad. She learned that from her sister the teacher, who says it to her kindergartners.

She put the spoon down and started rubbing my butt. That’s another way I can tell she’s not that upset about whatever I’ve done, the way she rubs my butt. If she’s really displeased, it’s less a rub than squeezing handfuls of hot, bruised, ass. O, and because she was letting her hands wander a little far south.

“Do you understand why I spanked your bate bottom?”

“Because I didn’t stop when you said no.” SNIFF.

“That’s right, and I hope that got some of the brattiness out. If it didn’t, we’ll have to try a different tool, and we’ll have to try it ASAP. Understood, little girl?”

Of course I did, because Mary is at her least subtle when I’m across her lap. I took a shallow but forceful breath in and out. It was more a surrender breath than a bratty one. “Yes.” 

She flipped my skirt down and rubbed my back right between my shoulders. I took an even shallower but forceful breath in and out. I could use an actual, professional massage. I feel like one big knot back there living through all this bullcrap.

“I have one more work thing to get done. It won’t take long. Why don’t you go upstairs and wash your face, pick out some undies, and by the time you get back downstairs I’ll be done and we can make dinner.” She sent me on my way with two pats to my butt.

When I got to our bedroom, that stupid bear was on the bed again. I wasn’t in a rush, so I flopped down face first/butt up on the bed, flipped my skirt back up, and rubbed some of the sting away. 

I know I should’ve stopped when she said no, in particular the second or, face up to facts, the third time she said it. It just wasn’t fair is all. Or it was. I don’t know. I don’t feel like I know much of anything anymore. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do now or next or how to even weigh my choices and risks and what the fucking fuck I’m supposed to do for the next however many weeks or months or years.

And that stupid bear was staring at me from on top of my pillows like it was the king of Pillow Mountain. I sat up, grabbed the fuzzy little shit, and was about to chuck it at the wall just to relieve some of my own frustration. I didn’t even feel that frustrated until I got upstairs.

Mary didn’t go a good enough job, is what I decided. If she spanked me to a sobbing, tear-soaked, snotty mess then I wouldn’t be frustrated. I didn’t deserve that kind of punishment, but punishment aside, that woulda helped relieve some stress. I’m not sure Mary understood I was stressed and frustrated. Or maybe not how badly stressed I was. Or maybe I didn’t. 

I laid back down on my side and just thought for a bit. I have too much time to do that now. I reached back to give my butt another rub, which led to a sniffle, and then I was crying. Not sobbing; not big tears and loud boohoos (an onomatopoeia that doesn’t really work), but crying and sniffling and my breath catching, you know the way you do when the hormones and the stress and the whatever catches up to you. I don’t know, for ten minutes maybe?

“What are these tears for,” Mary asked sweetly when I guess she came upstairs to see what was keeping me. She sat down on the bed and started stroking my hair. I just, god, I don’t know, but it’s like she and I have some kind of weird physiological thing because her hands just make me go limp sometimes. Not all the time; it’s like with a puppy where sometimes you find the right spot and they do that leg thing and sometimes the same spot doesn’t work. “C’mon,” she coaxed me, “why are you crying, baby?”

I opened my eyes, and it was all blurry. “I (high pitches meeping noises) and I just (sad elephant sounds) and it’s just (babbling) and I want ou-ou-out.”

“C’mon,” she said, “sit up for me. Right here.” She scooched to the top of the bed against our pillows and opened her arms for me. I got up just enough to pivot and put my head against her breasts. She put her arms over me. “You’re okay.”

“I’m not,” I said a little desperately. “I’m not okay. None of this is okay!” I needed her to understand that.

“Hey, hey, shhhh, baby girl. Tell me calmly.”

“I wanna go out.”

“I know ...”

“I just ... dammit, I just wanna go sit down somewhere and have a meal. Things are reopening, and I wanna go out.”

“I know things are reopening, but that doesn’t change your health.” Exactly what she’d said to me downstairs after the first time she told me no.

“I know that; it’s my health. It’s not like I’ve forgotten. I can’t just stay here for the next two years. I mean, everything got put on hold. I couldn’t find a job now if I tried, and it’s like there’s no point in starting school right now except online, and I’m not even sure that’s worth it. And I just wanna see people; I wanna do things; I want to leave the house.”

“I understand all that. I’m right here with you.”

“And I want you to come with me. Just, anywhere. We can just go anywhere that seems safe. Anywhere at all.”

“Daphne, the risk to you is exactly the same as it was three months ago. That hasn’t changed. I will stay here with you for two years if that’s what it takes because you are the most important person in this world, and I vowed to cherish and protect you, and that’s what I’m going to do.”

“I feel like I’m losing my mind.”

“I know.”

“No you don’t! You have a job. You have things to do. You get to talk to people. I don’t have any of that!”

Mary didn’t say anything to that. She patted my shoulder and sat quietly, and I just laid there with tears drying on my face. I know it’s as big a risk to me now as it was then. We flattened the curve, and all these people seem dedicated to unflattening it, and the curve really has nothing to do with my health. I’m still immunocompromised.

But other people are at risk too, and they’re doing what they have to. We don’t know what’s going to happen; we don’t know how things are going to turn out. But if people are mostly following guidelines, that might be as safe as it can get for a long time.

And Mary bringing up our marriage vows was not entirely fair. She did vow to cherish and protect, and I did vow to honor and obey, and if we weren’t kinky we never would’ve used those words. Really, it was just kind of an inside joke because we knew what those words meant to us and so did some of our friends there. Even my dad thought it was odd, but we said it and meant it for our own reasons. I like being cherished and I like being protected, but I don’t like being on a pedestal in a glass case on top of another plinth surrounded by velvet rope.

“Daphne,” Mary almost whispered, “you are the light of my life, and I’m ... I’m scared for you. For both of us.”

O great. Now Mary was teary. You could beat my butt with a hose without making me cry if I didn’t want to (true story), but when one of my people cry, I can turn into a hot mess quick. Mary leaned over and kissed my head, which depending on the circumstances makes me horny or weak kneed or weepy.

And Mary was scared for me, but also scared of losing me. And then I thought of Mary alone, and then I rolled to my side and buried my face in her breast and choked on a couple sobs and put my arm over her. Mary alone is a terrible thought. She needs me.

“Shhh. Shhhh,” she cooed at me. “Come on, sit back up for me.” I did and wiped my eyes, pressing my palms into them. She looked at me and shook her head just a little. “I don’t trust anyone when it comes keeping you safe. I don’t know what to make of the news. One place seems like people are following directions; other place, people aren’t. It’s impossible to plan for that; you don’t know what you’ll find when you get somewhere.” She shook her head again. 

So we’re still on no. It’s not that I don’t understand.

She kept talking, “You’re the most important person in the world, Daffy.” She sighed. “Tomorrow, let’s call your doctor and figure out a plan, okay? If she says yes and tells us how, we’ll figure something out.”

Ohhhh, thank goodness. “You mean it?”

“Of course, sweetie.”

“Thankyouthankyouthankyou.” I turned back again and put my arm over and her and laid my head against her, and o, my Mary.

“But you have to promise me you will do exactly as I say. Wherever we end up going, you need to do exactly as I say.”

“I promise.” I gave her a very unladylike kiss but didn’t hear any complaining. “I really do. I’ll be sooo good.”

“I know you will.” She patted my shoulder and played with my hair and, ya know, in general couldn’t keep her hands off me because, after all, I am the most important person in the world. Really. Mary said and she’s in charge.

Her hand got as far south as my thigh. “You didn’t put on any undies yet.”

“I didn’t get that far,” I said in my own defense. “And they’re panties,” I said under my breath. I’m bad at whispering or Mary is great at hearing.

“Did you change your mind again about getting rid of your undies?”

“Marrrry.” I had changed my mind about not whining. Or at least not sounding whiny. Those are two different things, and people need to stop mistaking them for the same thing. I don’t even think they’re mistaking them in good faith. Motivated reasoning, the motive being getting to slap my ass.

“It’s still an option; lot of little girls would be so happy to have your underoos; poor but musical ones who live in orphanages with cruel directors and other musical children.” I just let her have her monologue. “Don’t you want the orphans to have your pretty undies? No? But I tell you what.” She started to get up, and I sat up so she could. She walked to my dresser. “You can wear panties tonight.” She plucked a pullup from my drawer.

“Those aren’t panties,” stating the obvious was I.

“They are too,” she said as she unfolded them. “They’re training panties.”

“Marrrrry.”

“Blushing like a virgin,” she said with a chuckle as she walked back toward the bed.

“Uh! I am not!” Wait, which?

“Hop up.” I got off the bed, and Mary knelt in front of me and held the pullup open for me to step into. I steadied myself with both hands on her shoulders and stepped in, and she slid it up my legs. She stood up, took my chin in her hand and kissed me hard. Really hard. Her other hand was, well, I did that thing where I giggle and get wobbly knees, and it’s only maybe thirty percent an affectation.

“Who’s your new friend,” she asked me, nodding toward the bed.

“You should know. You got him.”

“It’s a he?”

“Marrrrry!” Wow, I really am whiny. I mean, sound whiny!

“Well, I don’t know his name.”

“Neither do I.”

“You really ought to learn someone’s name if you’re gonna a hug him like you were. We’re not in college when you can just hook up with any bear and not learn his name.” I chose to ignore that joke, but I admit it was pretty good.

“It’s just a thing.” I’d have grabbed a pillow, but he - it! inanimate objects are “it” - was on top of the pillows. And anyway, I was gonna throw it. Because I was frustrated and not a little girl. Lot of very adult emotions. I’m virtually a senior citizen.

“Don’t say that about your bear,” she whispered. “You’ll hurt his feelings.”

“Jamie,” I said with the biggest eye roll I could manage. I think I saw inside my own head for just a split second. (And I saw a lotta kinky shit in there, surprise.)

“Jamie Bear.” Mary said. She reached for the bear and shook its - his! no, its. Wait ... Dammit! See what she made me do - paw. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Bear.”

“Aw, come on. Don’t even.”

“What? Too formal? ... He is naked; commando like you were.” She got a twinkle in her eye like she was about to say something funny that would make me cringe in embarrassment. “Maybe we could get him some training panties like yours. You guys could dress alike.”

“But he’s a boy! ... I mean, shut up.” Seriously, what spell did she cast? How does she do this to me? After five years together, she still makes my head spin, and when she’s doing the whole erotic humiliation thing and making me embarrassed on purpose, it’s like I can’t even think in a straight line.

“You’re just all a-flutter,” my darling wife said to me. “And no surprise after the emotional roller coaster of a day you’ve had. Shouldn’t have any trouble getting you to sleep tonight.” 

Well, no, she wouldn’t, because I’m thirty. You hit thirty, and it’s like, “Fuck yeah! I can’t wait to be unconscious! Come on, bed time!” But I digress. And also, I put myself to sleep, okay? Even if I do have a bed time. And even if she does sometimes tell me it’s an early bed time if I’m extra tired. And once in a blue moon helps me put on my pajamas. The most important person in the world (Mary said!) should get dressed for bed by her admirers every now and again. Seriously. But I put myself to bed.

“What do you want for dinner,” I asked, changing the subject. She put the bear down.

“What do you want?”

“Breakfast.”

“Breakfast for dinner? We haven’t done that in a while.”

“Well, it’s backwards day.” 

“Why is it backwards day?”

“I dunno, but you started it.”

I’ve assured Mary that everything I say makes sense if you hear my inner monologue first, and she said that was good because she didn’t wanna hafta start medicating me. Smartass.

She gave me the look like she married an adorable crazy person, as though it were dawning on her I wasn’t kidding about losing my mind, but I’ve been adorably quirky for a very long time. If I were rich, I’d get to be called eccentric. Ooh! And then I wouldn’t be unemployed - I’d be the idle rich. Hehe.

“Pancakes, eggs, and bacon,” she asked.

“Mhmm.”

“Kay. Go wash your face, and we’ll make it together ...” There was that look on her face again, the one when she’s about to try to make my face turn red again. “Is Jamie going to have dinner with us?”

“Marrrrry! He’s just a bear,” I muttered as I stalked off to the bathroom, leaving Mary smiling at me like I was an adorably confused and conflicted three-year-old. 

I figured something out as I was splashing water on my face in the bathroom: all this time, I’d been thinking about when I started to turn into a middle, but I had it all backward.

The real question is, when did Mary turn into a big?

And who did what first?

[Baby Toni38]

Great story

[kerry]

Guest appearance from Jamie Bear. ?

 

[Alex Bridges]

4 hours ago, kerry said:

Guest appearance from Jamie Bear. ?

 

I wanted him to make a little pseudo-cameo. ?

[kerry]

This story isn't really in my wheelhouse but it is fun. What I can't figure out is that it isa whole year old and this is the first i've even heard of it. I have literally never seen it before, and I check this site daily at least once.

 

[WBDaddy]

Trying to think of who said it was arrogant to self-reference in... oh wait, that was music.  Apologies, I do both, I can't keep the rules straight between them sometimes.  

 

1 hour ago, kerry said:

This story isn't really in my wheelhouse but it is fun. What I can't figure out is that it isa whole year old and this is the first i've even heard of it. I have literally never seen it before, and I check this site daily at least once.

 

He changed the title when he posted the last chapter, the sneaky bugger.  I've been following it the whole time...

[kerry]

What was the title before?

 

[Alex Bridges]

8 hours ago, kerry said:

What was the title before?

 

“You’re Not Too Old for It.”

I didn’t like that title.

And I think this story is under-read. A lot of people seemed to have discovered it pretty deep into the story.

It’s my current favorite. Daphne is a fun person to write as.

[Alex Bridges]

8 hours ago, WBDaddy said:

Trying to think of who said it was arrogant to self-reference in... oh wait, that was music.  Apologies, I do both, I can't keep the rules straight between them sometimes.  

 

He changed the title when he posted the last chapter, the sneaky bugger.  I've been following it the whole time...

I am arrogant. After all, Daphne is really me, and she’s the most important person in the world. Mary said.

[kerry]

So I have just read everything up until now, and I really love this! (I'm surprised at that, but hey: I'm entitled to a little unexpected kinkiness.) I love their relationship, their friends, Nana, and especially Daphne's wonderfully snarky narrative. (She's maybe my favorite narrator ever that I didn't create. Maybe even without that caveat.) I do think I missed something somewhere though: did you ever explain how she is immunocompromised?

[Alex Bridges]

57 minutes ago, kerry said:

So I have just read everything up until now, and I really love this! (I'm surprised at that, but hey: I'm entitled to a little unexpected kinkiness.) I love their relationship, their friends, Nana, and especially Daphne's wonderfully snarky narrative. (She's maybe my favorite narrator ever that I didn't create. Maybe even without that caveat.) I do think I missed something somewhere though: did you ever explain how she is immunocompromised?

Nope, you didn’t miss anything.

[Alex Bridges]

6 hours ago, kerry said:

So I have just read everything up until now, and I really love this! (I'm surprised at that, but hey: I'm entitled to a little unexpected kinkiness.) I love their relationship, their friends, Nana, and especially Daphne's wonderfully snarky narrative. (She's maybe my favorite narrator ever that I didn't create. Maybe even without that caveat.)

You chose a good weekend to discover this. Enjoy.

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Scene 31

 

Mary put the car in park and fixed me with one of her icy stares. Every time I start to think they only look icy and that she’s a big softie, she paddles that whole notion right outta me. Anyhoo, I felt self conscious, because I hadn’t done anything. We’d had a pleasant ride to the park Mary said we could go to to go hiking.

“What are the rules,” Mary asked me.

“Do everything you say. Wear a mask until we’ve gone half a mile, put it back on if we hear anyone coming, and put it back on when we get a half-mile from the car.”

“Good girl.” She leaned over and kissed me. It’s not like I was deprived of affection and approval growing up, but something about being called a good girl makes my self-esteem meter and happiness dial go all the way up. It’s like a little verbal tummy rub.

We drove an hour from home to a conservation area. If you’ve never been, think of a state park and take away all the amenities except a gravel parking lot and some hiking trails. Mary chose it specifically because it was less likely to be busy, or so she thought, but who knows these days. At least when we got there, the parking lot was empty, but that’s what happens when you arrive anywhere at 6am. I didn’t even know there were two 5 o’clocks a day, and now that I do know, I think whoever decided that made a horrible mistake.

We’d been there before, way back toward when we started dating when I was twenty-five and we were still in the everything-is-shiny-and-new phase. We had scened together, but it was before Mary would take me over her knee without negotiation and a couple years before I asked for a lifestyle domestic discipline relationship.

“Ya ready,” Mary asked me. I nodded, got out, grabbed my backpack off the floor in front of me, and Mary did the same from the backseat. It was just a day hike, and the plan was to be home by noonish, but we had the makings of a picnic breakfast to carry. That was one of Mary’s dalliances, camping, for a hot minute. She said she loved it, and I said she just liked shopping for it, but we had everything needed to make an actual breakfast in the woods despite not having gone camping in a couple years.

I felt out of shape walking up those hills. I thought gardening replaced some of the workouts I wasn’t getting, but nope. I’m still svelte little me, but tell that to my quads and lungs.

“This is why we need a pool in the backyard.” I huffed and I puffed and did it again because that’s how to get the oxygen inside you fast.

“I don’t get it,” Mary said behind me. She also wasn’t in the best shape of her life. It’s not like either of us was out of shape, just that we were in average shape and the trail was in the same shape it had been the last time we were there. Another reason Mary thought it would be a good place to go: it’s a bitch of a trail, so she didn’t expect as many people. It was a Sunday though, so even if life was normal we were bound to cross paths with someone on the way back.

“To do (breathe in) laps in (and another). I need a break.” Maybe instead of plants for the garden I should’ve bought a Peloton.

I think we hiked about an hour and a half when we got to a spot with a clearing on one side of the trail, and Mary said, “How about here?”

“Good enough for me.” 

“Let’s go to the other side,” she said, and we walked across the clearing high stepping over tall grass and hoping we didn’t step on any snakes. I don’t do snakes. Mary has got no problem with them; she has a thing about spiders though. So do I. My niece makes fun of me for both. My brother says he hopes she doesn’t grow up to be half as spunky as me; I hope she grows up to be twice as spunky.

Mary didn’t tell me what was for breakfast; she wanted it to be a surprise. She even packed the backpacks so I wouldn’t know. In a few minutes, we were on a blanket, and Mary laid out all the goodies. She brought everything to make an omelette.

“Do you know how to do that,” I asked when she was trying to start up the camping stove. “How old is that gas anyway?”

“We never opened it. It should be fine,” Mary confidently asserted. All the trouble to keep me safe and Mary blows herself up and I go to jail for starting a wildfire. “See? Still works,” she said proudly.

I wouldn’t call Mary the world’s best cook, but makes yummy food and she’s creative. I would not have thought to freeze a tablespoon of butter to make it last a couple hours in a backpack.

She didn’t let me help cook; she actually swatted my hands away and told me to sit and look pretty, which, okay, I get the joke.  And appreciated the compliment. She got the thing going and reached into my bag and came up with a hydroflask, which must be why the damn bag felt so heavy, filled with mimosa.

“You’re going all out here,” I told her.

“We deserve a treat. Both of us, but you especially. I’m sorry again for not thinking enough about how being unemployed feels for you right now.”

“If I’d known this was going to happen, I 

wouldn’t have quit. No unemployment checks for me.” And I’m positive my asshole boss would’ve fired me. Bad timing.

“Yeah, but we’re fine.”

“Plenty to be grateful for,” I said and raised my Champaign flute (solo cup). 

“Cheers.” We tapped our cups together and ate directly out of the pan. We had a peach for dessert and got all sticky, and Mary had wetnaps for that. She really is one squared away marine, as my father who didn’t even join the Boy Scouts would say.

“Remember what we did here the first time we came,” I asked. 

“Hehe. Yeah. How could I forget?”

“Do you wanna?”

“You naughty little girl! We could get caught.”

“We do it all the time.”

“Behind doors.” Restrooms, dressing rooms, broom closets, cloak rooms, empty classrooms (so my phone went off during a lecture series lecture after being told to turn it off twice by Mary and once by the guy who introduced the speaker; I still don’t think I deserved to get spanked; and then to have to go to the reception with a sore butt and everyone who saw Mary walked me out holding my hand? Grrr.)

“We’re alone. There are woods, which doors are made of.”

“I’m not gonna spank you just because. What kind of example would that set?”

“A fucking good one,” I rejoined with a very happy laugh.

“O, well, there - I can’t have language like that coming outta your mouth. We’ll just hafta deal with that right now.”

Mary fits right in in the woods. Not that she’s an outdoors woman but that she had that predatory look she sometimes gets when she got up on all fours and started coming toward me. And I’m just a tiny woodland creature; I shouldn’t be out in the open during the day like I was. Some she-wolf was going to... “Woah!” ...pounce on me.

“I need to see bare buns if we’re gonna do this right,” she said as she brought her hands down my sides, letting her fingers find my most sensitive spots along the way, until she got to the hem of skirt, reached underneath and yanked down my panties.

“Uh oh,” she said as she worked them over my shoes.

“What?”

“They tore. You’ll hafta to hike back without.”

“Aww. I really like those. Lemme see.”

“No,” she said as she stuffed them into her pack.

“What? Why not?”

“You’ll just hafta take my word for it. They’re destroyed; very gruesome sight. Will give you nightmares.”

“I thought I wasn’t sposed to go commando,” I said.

“Does someone have a case of the ‘sposed tas?’ I told you no commando without permission. You have my permission. And if you get a little chub rub, I’ll take personal responsibility for rubbing lotion on it,” she winked. “But first, we need to deal with your potty mouth.”

I shrugged. “When you come from an old sailing family, you curse like a sailor.” My dad’s a dentist; my mom’s a teacher.

“You curse like a kindergartner trying to find out which words get a reaction.”

“I do not! Besides, ‘fucking’ always gets a reaction. In fact,” I said coyly, “I’ve never done any ‘fucking’ but at least one of us reacted pretty fucking hard.”

Mary’s jaw dropped and she scoffed. “You’re just digging yourself a little hole, missy.” I had a joke about her having a shovel back home in her nightstand to fill it, but I saved it for later. “Now, sit up.”

I did, and she flipped my skirt up so I basically bare on our blanket. Anyone hiking by probably wouldn’t be able to see from the trail. Probably. I watched her wander the edge of the woods examining undergrowth. I knew what she was looking for, and it made my butt (and surrounding area) tingle.

With effort, she managed to break off a green branch from a bush (that probably wasn’t poison ivy) and stripped the leaves off, giving it some test flicks as she walked back toward me.

“We can’t have you swearing like the daughter of some biker gang kingpin. I just won’t have it,” she said as she stood over me and worked her fingernail over the spots the leaves had been until she was satisfied it was smooth enough to not cut me. “Tell me what happens to little girls who use bad words,” she instructed me after she’d sat down again.

“I dunno,” I said, “kinda depends on your mood.”

“Joke time is over, little girl.”

“I’m not a little girl!”

“Such a little girl.” She patted her leg. “You know where your naughty bottom goes.”

I’ll admit I was trembling a little. Sooo much adrenaline. The risk of getting caught, knowing how much a switch hurts, loving how much a switch hurts. I crawled over her legs. She started playing with my butt as soon as it was in reach.

“Now that you’re over my knee like a naughty little girl, I want to make clear to you, Little Miss Thing, we’re not stopping for other hikers. We can have an audience for all I care.”

“What?” WHAP! She started warming me up back there. I spread my legs for her, and she took the hint, getting to the insides of my thighs and giving her a good look at what she had waiting for her at home.

The butt is the body’s guitar: such a versatile instrument. Mary’s hand WHACKING and WHAPPING had my eyes rolling back in my head, helped no doubt by just how inside my thigh she was directing some of those spanks. It’s a good thing Mary finds my giggling a turn on, because “Hehehe,” I tittered as she got to all the right places. Know all those magazines with straight women on the cover complaining about their men can’t find anything but their own wiener? I cannot relate, for more reasons than one.

“Is that so?”

“Ow! No pinching!”

“No pinching? What if I pinch this?”

“Ow!”

“Or this!?!”

“Aieee! Marrryyy,” I whine-moaned or moan-whined or whatever-fuck-It-I-made-a-happy-noise noise.

“But we’re getting distracted from the heart of the issue. Your potty mouth.”

“That word sure comes up more than it used to,” I said under my breath. The ‘used tas’ are frequently comorbid with the ‘sposed tas.’ What are you gonna do?

“Let’s see if we can leave a stripe for every year of your age.” THWIP!

“Eep!”

THWIP!

“Ahh! Ooh! Eesh! Ayyyyy! Eeee! Marrryyyyyyy!” She always switches my thighs, but never so low. Way lower than my skirt goes. Even with breaks and her wandering hands, she was approaching my limit. 

“Drat,” she exclaimed. “It broke.” Her hand was back, rubbing my butt.

“Hmmmm.” 

“Let’s count. One...” 

“Ouch!” With the pinching and the hurting and the pain of the stripes. Hehehe. She got to twenty-seven.

“Daffy, you are quite the sight,” she laughed. “Such a sweaty bitty thing. If we were at home, I’d hose you off.”

“I glisten,” I said kinda pouty and tired and in a happy place where there are muffins and bunnies.

“I have to clean up our picnic on my own, don’t I?”

“I just, ya know, need a minute,” I said in the floaty endorphin world.

“Mhmmm,” she said skeptically. “Well, so long as we cured your potty mouth.”

“O fuck yeah we did,” I said sleepily. “Gonna be none of that fuck this or bitch that - yaaawwwwn - talk from me from here on out.”

“Hardyharhar, but keep it up and I’ll get the paddle out.”

“You brought the paddle?”

“Of course. You know it goes everywhere with me. We never know when you’re gonna misbehave.” She really does carry it everywhere, even when I’m not with her  in case, I’m her words, she has drive across town to warm my seat. The phrase ‘everyday carry’ means something different (and so much more fun) in our house.

“If we hiked the Appalachian Trail and were trying to save every ounce, would you still bring the paddle,” I asked.

“Of course. Out in the woods is where I need to keep the shortest leash on you to keep you safe. And if you were really naughty, I’d make you carry it, too.”

“Imagine the trail names they’d give us. Hehe.”

“Ready to get up?”

“Princess Pink Bottom and Spanky. They’ll call me Pink for short, and you’ll just be Spanky. In fact, that’s probably start calling you Alfalfa by the end.”

She scoffed. “How come you get to be the princess?”

“My regal bearing,” I informed her as I lay bare assed over her legs twisting some blades of grass into a tiara.

“Uh huh,” she said, not sounding convinced. 

For the record, I’m very regal, though: I can wave using just my wrist, I once put a flower pot on my head (at a drunk Halloween-in-April party), and I have no official power but do serve as a national symbol and moral authority. I mean, obviously that’s why so many of our kinky friends say I’m a walking reminder of what happens when you misbehave. Really.

I even have a cognomen: Brass Butt. Ever heard of someone who had a cognomen who wasn’t regal? And yes, cognomens I just made up for myself count.

“Well, Princess, personally, I think my trail name is Amazon, or maybe Paddle Power.”

“Think you could spank march me from Georgia to Maine?” We watched a Walk in the Woods recently. It wasn’t very good.

“I think I can spank your booty off my lap.” Hint taken. I got up as she landed some hard swats to my striped butt. She doesn’t even need a paddle.

Before we left, I put that tiara on her and gave her a thank you kiss, and we held hands on the way back until we both needed our hands back to hike; ya don’t think you need hands to hike, but ya do.

We did start seeing some people on the way back. Not many, but we put our masks on and walked on by with nods and hellos and smiles they couldn’t see until we were back in the parking lot. It was coming up on ten o’clock.

“Holy crap,” I said when we saw how many people were showing up. “It’s like the mall on Arbor Day.”

“There are no Arbor Day sales,” Mary said, looking back at me warily.

“It was a comment about the pedestrian traffic, not the deals and savings.”

“C’mere.” I closed the few feet between us, and she put her arm around my shoulder and gave me a kiss (I think?) through her mask on my temple. “Stay close.”

We finished the walk to the parking lot where people were (like giant assfaces) parking on the grass because the gravel lot was full. I may not be Jane of the Places Our State’s Conservation Department Has Designated as Public Recreation Areas (maybe not actual TV, but I could see that starting out as a Facebook show and moving to Netflix and getting canceled after two seasons; isn’t that their whole business model?), but they all deserved a caning.

Which reminded me, I had spanked legs on display and no panties. I suddenly felt shy. If Mary hadn’t been holding me close already, I’d have closed the distance just the same. You’d think the discomfort of the hike with all those welts woulda reminded me, but that’s just background sensations for me at this point. The breeze threatening to lift my skirt was more of a distraction.

“We were bad,” I said to Mary as we put our daypacks in the car.

“How were we bad?”

“You broke a branch. Leave No Trace.”

“Hmmm. You’re right. But really, it’s your fault,” she said as she walked back around the car to me.

“My fault?!? How is it my fault?”

“If you hadn’t needed a spanking, that poor little bush would still have all its branches.”

“Harumph.” I actually said it and pronounced it and gave her my not-impressed look.

She chuckled at me. “Hop on up,” she said as she patted the back seat.”

“Why?” Um, I ride in front.

“So we can get you diapered for the car ride home.”

“Mary,” I said under my breath. “We’re not alone.”

“So? C’mon.” She patted the seat again.

“I don’t wanna.”

“Well, we have a long drive ahead of us, and I’m not letting you on my seats without you in a diaper.” 

“Church voice,” I reminded apparently no one. Maybe she’d forgotten about church voice because we hadn’t actually been to church since March. Holy schamoley do you get a spanking if you don’t pay attention during Zoom church, but I digress.

“You don’t need to be embarrassed. Lots of little girls need diapers for long car rides.”

“It’s an hour! And I. Am. Not. A. Little. Girl!”

“Honey, really, look. That little girl is wearing a diaper.” 

The little girl she was referring to was about 2 and was sitting in a carrier on her dad’s back while her mom smeared her with sunscreen and plopped a floppy hat on her head. And just because I more or less have the same hat doesn’t mean anything!

“Mary, please not here.” I had zero desire to be naked in the parking lot or to wear a diaper. I was hot enough as is, and the skirt I wore hiking? Not the skirt you wear with a diaper in public! (My god, how surreal my life has become). 

And the diaper was just part of it. Pantsless in the woods way up the trail and across a meadow was one thing. In the parking lot next to the restrooms .... wait, what the fuck? “I’ll just go use the bathroom.”

“You can’t, sweetie. There’s no way it’s clean.” 

Well, duh. It’s a park restroom. And really, calling it even a restroom was surely giving it too much credit. More like a composting toilet with walls and no doubt random scraps of toilet paper sitting and sopping in mystery puddles, but the point being it’s a park bathroom, a.k.a. a contagion chamber since an hour after the thing was installed, so let’s not even with the pretending this has anything to do with covid, okay?

“I’ll pee in the woods.” Or better yet, why am I negotiating where to pee at all? Did I say I had to pee? Nope. See, boys and girls, what I’d done is let my opponent set the terms of the conversation. Communications Mistake #4. Well, now that I’d recognized my error, I could fix it. “I don’t even hafta pee.”

“Yeah ya do.” Okay, well, true but so what? I could hold it for an hour. I shoulda peed up the hill after breakfast like Mary did, but whatev. Home wasn’t far.

Time to pout like a pro. I crossed my arms, looked at my feet, and said in my funeral home voice, “Uhyuhmbuh and uhnuhfulstuhf.” 

Seriously, did I just not get the gene that makes it possible to whisper effectively?

“What did you say, honey?”

“I don’t wanna.”

“Are you telling me red light?”

“Welnuhfkuh permuhnott uhghuhf.” It’s a funeral for a puppy; very somber; audible speech would just be in such poor taste; is regals always have goo taste. Always decorum, that’s me.

“Daffy,” she said, putting her hand under my chin and lifting my gaze.

“No,” I meeped.

“Then, my little hero hiker,” she said as she pulled me into a hug and gave me an Eskimo kiss through our masks (which I liked a way lot and would’ve gone ‘teehee’ if I wasn’t still in pouting mode), you need to get your buns on that seat unless you want me to put you over my knee and give you your second spanking of the day right on the tailgate. Unless that’s what you want. Do you want me to spank your bare bottom on the tailgate where all these people can see? ... And answer with words.”

I did use words! Just very faintly. 

“No ... but people will see. We can’t. Someone will call the cops or something.”

“People will not be able to see because this car is blocking their view, and I’ll be right in front of you. It’s just you and me. I promise. C’mon.”

She took my hand and gently gestured me toward our Outback (I’m sure Subaru appreciates our lesbian brand loyalty, but we are terrible brand ambassadors, what with the public nudity and all). I climbed in and laid down, feeling my heart going as fast as when we climbed that hill.

Mary reached out and put her hand on my belly, giving it a little rub. “You’re safe, Daffy.” Well, duh; I was with Mary after all. But still.

She reached under the seat and pulled out a cheap backpack, like the kind cool kids had back in the early nineties. “Where did that come from,” I asked.

“Remember our trip to Target when you back talked and I had to spank your bottom in the restroom? I told you I was going to start carrying a bag with some of your diapers in it.”

“It’s been there for four months?”

“Mhmm. Which one do you want?” She held a diaper in each hand.

“Mary,” I said again, “church voice.” Like, Catholic Church voice with a nun sitting right behind you who goes “shhh!“ if you make any noise at all ... and she has a ruler, and she’s young and beautiful under that habit, blonde, and ... I’m getting side tracked.

“No one cares. People change diapers in backseats all the time.” I watched in abject horror as she turned to her left and said, “Hey! Nice day. Just changing a diaper,” and then she waved the thing, and I. Was. So. Humiliated. Even though I knew no one was there. She wouldn’t do that to me. Or to herself, for that matter.

“You are so mean sometimes,” I said as I folded my arms across my chest. I was done participating.

“I think you should wear the one with monsters, because you can be quite the little monster,” Mary said as she unfolded the thing. “Lift up.” Well, I participated in that part. “Hold your knees for me.” And that part, but, like, they don’t even count.

“I bet this feels good,” she said as she took a wipe out and gave me a thorough, thorough once over. “And goodness, were you naughty today? Is that how you got these stripes on your bum bum? Did you get a spanking? And I thought you were a good girl. Tsk tsk tsk.”

I put my knees down and opened my legs. “I am a good girl,” I pouted. “I’m letting you do this, aren’t I.”

“You’re a very good girl. You want a little powder?”

“Only if you won’t take my saying yes to imply that I enjoy this.”

“Don’t worry,” she said as she turned the round thing and sprinkled some over me, then lifted my shirt just a little and sprinkled some on my tummy, “I would never dream of mistaking that for you enjoying this. The evidence at this end of you on the other hand...”

“I am not!”

“Okay, if you say so.”

“Not!”

“Mhmm.”

“Not.” At least, I didn’t think. She taped the thing closed and gave the front of it some affectionate pats. 

“Hands.” She held out her hands and helped me up, and I slid out of the car as she fixed my skirt. No bending over for me until we were back in our garage.

“Are we ready to go home,” she asked.

“Yeah. I need a shower.”

“We can take it together.”

“Thanks for bringing me.” I gave her a hug and she gave one back, and she pulled her mask down and then mine just enough to share a kiss that sexy nun would not approve of (but fuhgetaboutit; Sister Mary Hard Body doesn’t approve of anything). 

“Thanks for being patient with me. We did a good job, didn’t we,” Mary asked.

“Mhmm.”

“We’ll try a restaurant this week. Promise”

“Thank you.” Mmmm. Mary. 

We let the hug go, and I stepped back and put my mask on and she did the same until we were back in the car; she said that was the rule, and I’m very good at rules so long as I agree with them and remember them and they’re things I’d probably do anyway. Really.

“Ready to go,” she asked me.

“Mhmm.” She started around the car, and I, um, needed a second. “Daphne?”

“Just a ... hmm.” I mean, I did need to, and I couldn’t use the restrooms and she makes me use them anyway before I take them off, so why not be comfortable?

And you’d have thought I just won the National Standup Comedy Bee or something, because she looked so happy and amused and delighted (and maybe proud, which, ugh). I probably looked sunburned because I knew that she knew and blushed like a boss, and she practically pranced back around the car.

She full on felt me up down there, practically, giving me more pats, and I just wanted to get in the freakin’ car. I stood there very, very nervously, and she put a hand on each of my shoulders, stooped down a little with mischief in her eyes and a Cheshire Cat grin I could see through her mask, and said in not-her-church-voice, “Well, you’re wet again, but it’s not so bad. Do think you can make this diaper last two whole hours more?” And she winked at me, and people were looking in our direction and I couldn’t tell if they were looking at me or just in our general direction.

My response was, “(Puh puh),” because my mouth just opened and closed like a fish out of water without making any words come out. Which she couldn’t even see, because mask.

She just likes watching me turn crimson and knowing it makes me feel tingly sensations that vanilla people do not feel when their wife announces to a parking lot they just wet their diaper. And my feeling them had nothing to do - at all - with the diaper or the warm wetness that was in it by my parts at all. Really.

Mary guided me, still stunned, into the car. At least she didn’t buckle me in. I said nothing until we got out of the parking lot. My breath was a little shaky, and she probably wondering if I was angry, so I informed her, “When we get home ... (deep breath in, forcefully pushing it out, oxygen helping with all the cognitive functions) ... you are going to make that up to me.” And I insistently, maybe if you wanna see it that way, pointed to where she was gonna make it up to me on my person and which basically implied the how.

“I can’t wait,” she said sunnily.

“I wasn’t done,” I cut her off. “And then you are going to work on your church voice ... And order a nun outfit ... And bake something ... And it had better have chocolate.”
 

She just smiled and reached over and ruffled my hair.

And for the record, I could’ve held it for that hour home. And then after Mary’s parking lot announcement And everything leading up to it, I needed a different kind of relief.

But I am not a little girl, and my condition, a.k.a. need to cum everywhere forever for the rest of eternity, was not caused by her stupid diapers. Really!

 

 

[Sarah Penguin]

[YourFNF]

That was fun XD

[Alex Bridges]

Oof. Hard day. I need a nap as soon as I can close my laptop.

[Baby Billy]

I have enjoyed this story, just want to know why you changed the title?

[Alex Bridges]

1 hour ago, Baby Billy said:

I have enjoyed this story, just want to know why you changed the title?

I didn’t like the title. It wasn’t descriptive enough or really aligned with the narrative or characters.

[Baby Billy]

50 minutes ago, Alex Bridges said:

I didn’t like the title. It wasn’t descriptive enough or really aligned with the narrative or characters.

OK I can see that, I almost didn't start reading but got curious when I saw how many chapters there were.  I am glad I did because I have been following it from the start and liked your characters.  Maybe let others know it is the same story for a while. 

[Alex Bridges]

13 hours ago, Baby Billy said:

OK I can see that, I almost didn't start reading but got curious when I saw how many chapters there were.  I am glad I did because I have been following it from the start and liked your characters.  Maybe let others know it is the same story for a while. 

Good suggestion

[justforfun]

I have to say that I don't care what the title is, and I don't know how you write like this.  It's wonderful.  Cheers!

[Alex Bridges]

7 hours ago, justforfun said:

I have to say that I don't care what the title is, and I don't know how you write like this.  It's wonderful.  Cheers!

I think of what a kinky smartass (i.e., me) would say, and then I write it down ?

[thedman]

I think I'm going into withdrawal. I binge read 31 chapters in 2 days and I need more lol