Alex Bridges Posted June 26, 2020 Author Share Posted June 26, 2020 42 minutes ago, thedman said: I think I'm going into withdrawal. I binge read 31 chapters in 2 days and I need more lol If we can get just 10 people to pledge to my Patreon at the $850 a month level, I can write full time. What say you? ? Link to comment
Alex Bridges Posted June 27, 2020 Author Share Posted June 27, 2020 Scene #32 I don’t know why I ever agreed to it. And I knew I would feel that way when it actually came. Our annual local kink convention, for which the organizer asked Mary if she’d be interested in doing a demonstration session on erotic humiliation, and Mary asked me and I said yes because my theoretical future self is wayyyy more adventurous than present me. The convention moved online, and we spent three hours setting up our guest room and twisting every which way to make sure our webcam wouldn’t accidentally capture our faces since we can’t ban recordings like we could do in a hotel ballroom (Cinderella had no idea what she was missing out on when she left before midnight). I went to bed as Daphne, and I woke up as Molly, Demonstrator #2, next to my loving wife Lucy, Demonstrator #1 (for tax reasons, of course). And we didn’t rehearse or talk about what we were going to do. The organizer was going to do a brief intro on what erotic humiliation is, and then “Lucy” was going to take the lead. All Mary and I talked about in advance is whether I was okay being naked at any point, and I said I was okay with them seeing my butt and me naked from the side, and I was fine with it because a whole lot of attendees have seen me bare bottomed over Mary’s knee at play parties anyway. Heck, some of them have seen me bare bottomed over their own knees. So I guess add a smidge of exhibitionism to my happy list. I got dressed like normal, and so did Mary, and we waited while the organizer talked about gentle versus harsh erotic humiliation, the difference between humiliation and degradation, how important it is to walk the fine line between humiliation that gets a person like me all twitterpated and touching on things that’ll hurt feels and ruin relationships, and how other kinks fit into it while we waited for her to turn control of the video over to us. “Come sit,” Mary said. She patted her lap and I sat on her thigh. She put one arm around me and the other low on my tummy, giving me a reassuring pat. “You sure you wanna do this?” “I can d-d-do it.” “But do you want to?” “In the weird way I do enjoy things like this, y-yes.” “Brave little girl.” “I am not a little girl! I’m an unpaid sex worker, at least for the next half hour.” “Ha! We’re gonna have fun. Just remember: we’re the only people here. You don’t have to say a word to the camera if you don’t want to.” “And now,” the organizer said, “I’ll turn it over to Lucy and Molly, who agreed to do a demonstration for us today.” And then the light on our webcam came on. I wish I’d gone to pee again. “Thank you, Mistress Sage. I’m Lucy, and I’m Molly’s top and her wife.” She waved at the camera, which captured everything from our ankles to about Mary’s chest and my chin. She paused, looked at me still sitting on her lap, and when I didn’t say anything she said, “And Molly is feeling shy today. I don’t think we’re gonna get many words out of her, but that’s okay. Can you sit in your own chair?” I really didn’t know what to expect. I wish we had rehearsed, but Mary said we’d just wing it. I didn’t know if she was going to launch into a scene or what. I got off her lap, and then she said, “Molly and I have been together for just over five years, and erotic humiliation intersects with a lot of our other kinks. We are a lifestyle domestic discipline couple, which was Molly’s idea because she knows while she may be a grown up on paper, she needs a pretty firm hand to her bottom to keep her on the straight and narrow. Don’t you, sweetie? … She’s nodding just a teensy bit. “For us, humiliation enforces our power exchange dynamic – Molly obeys not just because she wants to, but because somewhere inside her kinky little mind, she knows she’s better off that way. Domination is about forcing someone to accept power exchange, whereas erotic humiliation is about making them internalize the rightness of power exchange. In our case, it’s taken on a bit of an ageplay flavor over the last couple years, though Molly will be the first to tell you that she’s ‘not a little girl,’ and ours it’s a very gentle form of erotic humiliation. It’s not about being mean, but about constantly reinforcing that Molly needs that firm guidance. Molly is not in charge of Molly and shouldn’t be in charge, and she knows that. Molly, who’s in charge of you?” I almost said Mary, but I managed to squeak out, “Lu-Lucy. You.” “That’s right. And it’s nothing to be ashamed of. You tried so hard for so long, but it’s better this way, isn’t it?” She leaned over and gave me a kiss. Mary paused and looked at me again, then smiled wide into the camera, if only it actually captured her smile, and added, “And one of the ways I like to do reinforce the fact that Molly is not in charge is by putting other people in charge of Molly, and the only way that can work is to have very frank conversations about Molly with other tops, like right now; she squirms every so delightfully when she’s listening quietly to tops discussing how to manage her. She can be quite the little handful. Sometimes it gets to be a bit too much for Molly, and she just jumps in, very rudely, while we’re talking. That’s a perfect example of why Molly needs so much guidance in the first place – she knows that kind of behavior is only going to end with her getting her bare bottom spanked, but she just can’t control her little impulses. I’m not shy about tipping Molly over my knee in front of company, and once company gets to know Molly a little bit, it doesn’t faze them either.” “You can hold a little back, ya know?” Does everyone have to know our business? “Ohh, see, folks? She just can’t help it, especially when she’s tired. I’m gonna let that little outburst slide.” Mary moved her chair so she was sideways to the camera and whispered to me, “Remember, it’s just you and me,” and then in her regular voice said, “Alright, Molly. Come stand right here.” I moved my chair and did as I was told. “Inspection time.” Awww, crap! I hate these. She hadn’t made me do one in years. I started to take my shirt off. “Ah ah ah. Arms at your side, little girl. You know better.” Mary unbuttoned my shorts and whisked them down. If I’d had my choice, she’d have taken my panties down with them. “Ooh, what undies do you have on today? … Molly, I asked you a question: who is that on your undies?” “Mo-Moana.” “Is Moana on a clean bottom?” “Y-y-y-mhmm.” “Aww, you’re so cute when you’re shy. We’ll see in a minute. Arms up.” I put my arms up, and Mary pulled my shirt off over my head. She reached around me and took the scrunchy out of my hair, brushing it out with her fingers so it fell across my bare back. “Molly,” Mary feigned surprise, “where is your bra?” “Um, I, uh, didn’t put one on.” “Did you forget?” “Um, no?” “Well, honey, I wish you’d said something. I’d have helped you put one on. Did you have trouble with the clasp again?” Excuse me! I do not have trouble with the clasps. And anyway, most of my bras are pullovers. “Maybe you’re not ready for an adult bra. You could certainly get away with a trainer.” What a bitch! “Arms out. We’re just gonna check, make sure you’re keeping up with your hygiene.” She started talking to the audience and she looked me over very closely from my forehead to my belly button. “She does a pretty good job, most of the time, but it’s the harder to reach places she has a little more trouble with.” I about fell down, and made the Pillsbury dough boy noise, when she stuck her finger in my belly button, not to mention almost wet myself. That must’ve been added to the inspection checklist since the last time she did this. “Which is okay,” Mary continued, “that’s what I’m here for, to help her get these things right. Turn, honey.” Now my butt was to the camera. “Molly, remind me again why you’re wearing pretty princess undies.” “Mmm mmm.” “Mmm mmm? You don’t wanna say? Are you embarrassed?” “Mmm hmm.” She turned her attention back to the camera. “Now, I could spank the answer out of her, but this isn’t about domination through pain – at least, not right now. It’s about reminding her of the natural order of things. I’m in charge of Molly, and I put her in those pretty princess undies to help her remember to behave. When she doesn’t, it isn’t Moana’s bottom that gets paddled. Is it, Molly?” I was having a hard time with the words and the breathing quietly. SLAP! Well, Moana’s butt might be safe, but she just a face full of Mary’s palm. “Little girl, does Moana misbehave?” “No,” I meeped. “That’s right. Moana doesn’t misbehave, and neither do any of your other underoo friends. When you makes bad choices, it just wouldn’t be fair to spank Moana and your other undies, would it?” “Mmm mmm.” “No, your undies get pulled down and you get spanked on your naughty naked bum bum, don’t you?” “Mhmm.” “Use your words,” she said sweetly just like she was talking to our toddler nephew. “I get my bare bottom spanked,” I forced myself to say to avoid a demonstration of that, too. “And I’m afraid she needed a spanking yesterday.” Mary slid my panties down; I felt all the finest, most invisible hairs on my body stand up. I learned in an instant that it feels one way to be pantsed and flipped over her lap for a public spanking and a whole nother way to just stand there on display. “But her bottom looks pretty healed today. Just a little pink that you all probably can’t see. Someone tried to sneak a soda when I told her to have water, just a little naughtiness. Molly was lucky I caught her, too, because too much sugar and caffeine almost always ends with her in a lot more trouble.” One time! One time on, like, a dozen separate occasions. “Now, back to our inspection.” Mary got up and stepped across the room to the box she put in there that I was not allowed to look in and then she was back with a hand on my shoulder. “Sometimes, folks, taking care of Molly isn’t a pleasant task, but I do it because I love her and because she needs me to. Bend over, sweetie.” O sweet Jebus, no. No no no no no. Nonononono! “Molly Moo Moo…” Okay, what the fuck? “I’m going to check your bottom. Now, do you want to do it standing up, or do you want to do it on the changing mat?” Why did she need to tell everyone we have a changing mat? And it’s not even a changing mat. It’s one of those chair pads old people sit on, and a lot of kinky people have them for reasons I’ll leave to your kinky imaginations. “That’s called ‘authoritative parenting,’” Mary explained. “I gave her two choices, and she knows she needs to pick one before I pick one for her. Well, little girl, which will it be?” Trying so hard to keep my thighs together, I started to bend forward, and Mary, merciful as she is, stepped between me and the camera so my girlish charms remained a secret to the wider metropolitan area. “Now, we’re gonna wipe front to back,” she did with a wipe that was at least the temperature of her hand now. “And I’ll spare you all the results unless … aww, she passed with flying colors, see?” Oh my god! Is she actually showing the wipe to the camera? Of all the ways she’s come up with to make embarrass me, she reached a new low or high or what-friggin-ever. “It’s so important to offer praise when Molly earns it. Can I get some applause for Molly?” The audience was muted, but I’m o so sure I collected plenty of applause from. “You can straighten up, honey. One more part to check. Turn back sideways. Here.” She took my arm and crossed it over my breasts. “There – no need to be immodest,” she said with her eyes dancing with spritely little devils of mischief cackling at her own joke. She stepped around in front of me again. She looked almost as flushed as I was. To me and at a normal volume, she said, “How ya doing?” My answer was to let out a breathy, “Okay.” She leaned forward and brushed the hair out of my eyes and gave me a very good kiss. “You’re being such a good girl.” She smiled at me the same way she did when she married me and every day since. She gave me another quick peck. “Your undies were all dry. That’s a good sign. Now,” she said to her audience, “Molly will protest all day long just how embarrassing this is, and she’ll probably tell me later how she never wants to do this again, but as red as her cheeks are, and as flushed as her face feels, I bet I’m going to find some evidence she doth protest too much. “Now, hold real still …” She took her hand and held it a few inches from where Moana was very recently surfing. “O,” she said in her sweetest faux disappointed tone, “there’s an awful lot of heat coming off her princess parts. That’s never a good sign for a successful inspection. I’m going to have to feel to be sure …” Like I wasn’t trembling enough when we got started. Adrenaline and oxytocin and a hormone I’m pretty sure is just called lust were all mixing and making synapses fire and things with the places and the wobbly knees and lightheadedness. “Mhmm. Unfortunately, she doesn’t pass. There’s just too much, well, no need to embarrass the poor dear further. I might as well tell you now that Molly has never passed an inspection. She’s done such a good job improving in all her other ‘departments,’ but she’s always such a …” She looked at me with a way-too-pleased with herself grin. “… hot mess when we get to the last part.” She shook her head at me. ‘But I’m proud of her anyway. She tries so hard, and if she needs more time to get it right, that’s fine with me. And I also think she’s a very brave little toaster for being my helper today, so despite failing her inspection, she’s earned a reward. And because it’s important to reward good behavior right away just like it’s important to correct naughtiness right way …” Mary took four steps to the camera and turned it off, then unplugged it, then shut our laptop. Damn right I’m a brave little toaster. A brave little toaster that’s gonna get … “How ya doing,” she asked me as she walked back to me and put her hands on my shoulders, making my goosebumps have goosebumps with her touch. I chewed on my lip for a moment. Nothing came to mind, so I repeated her question inside my own head and … drawing a blank. Where was the little smartass woman who’s in my head putting in eighteen-hour workdays for moments just like this? “Um, I need to pee.” Mary just smiled some more, nodding in tight, quick little nods as if to say, I know exactly how you’re feeling inside. I bit my lip again. “Mary?” “Daffy?” “You wouldn’t pass an inspection either,” I said coyly, the little smartass returning from break but maybe not quite ready to dive back into her best work. “That,” Mary said and leaned in and kissed me good, “… is a very disrespectful thing to say …” (kiss) “…and just for that …” (kiss) “… I’m gonna make you stand in the shower while I …” (o, with the kisses; she’s such a good kisser) “… make you cum...” (mmmmmmmmm!) ... “until you’ve learned your lesson.” “Please no, not that,” I pleaded ever so earnestly. “It’s decided.” She took me by the hand and led me toward our bedroom. “Mary?” “Daffy?” “Thanks for being … so nice to me.” “Aww. I like being nice to you.” 4 Link to comment
Bluebird67 Posted June 27, 2020 Share Posted June 27, 2020 Wish I could give both a “like” and a “thanks”! Part of me wants to know if Nana would ever watch that presentation. Mostly, I’m glad she won’t, because her unique character as a generous, open-minded observer is one of the best things about this story, after the brilliant narrator’s voice. It would be nice to see a bit more into how Mary ticks, but I don’t see how you can do that without spoiling the style you have established. 1 Link to comment
Alex Bridges Posted June 27, 2020 Author Share Posted June 27, 2020 4 hours ago, Bluebird67 said: It would be nice to see a bit more into how Mary ticks, but I don’t see how you can do that without spoiling the style you have established. That’s a very good question and one I haven’t quite figured out yet. Link to comment
Bluebird67 Posted June 27, 2020 Share Posted June 27, 2020 34 minutes ago, Alex Bridges said: That’s a very good question and one I haven’t quite figured out yet. Perhaps they could be chatting to Nana and she genuinely wants to know how much Mary sees herself as a caregiver? That would be an opportunity for M to speak for herself, but D would be there, so she’d want to maintain enough of the role to keep Daffy, the readers and the author happy. 1 Link to comment
Alex Bridges Posted June 27, 2020 Author Share Posted June 27, 2020 2 hours ago, Bluebird67 said: Perhaps they could be chatting to Nana and she genuinely wants to know how much Mary sees herself as a caregiver? That would be an opportunity for M to speak for herself, but D would be there, so she’d want to maintain enough of the role to keep Daffy, the readers and the author happy. Maybe. I’m not certain how much I want to explore Mary’s motives. I like not being able to anticipate what she’ll do next, behind the obvious (enjoy her own and Daphne’s fetishes and taking care of each other). 1 Link to comment
Alex Bridges Posted June 28, 2020 Author Share Posted June 28, 2020 Scene #33 Well, this was traumatic. In five years together, Mary has made me wait for a spanking if we had vanilla company over or if we were out somewhere she just couldn’t do it without getting store managers and first responders and clergy involved. Not once had she ever said, “I’m too angry to deal with you right now.” That statement alone would’ve made me feel awful, but she wasn’t too angry to give me a telling off of an intensity that reduced me to practically swallowing my tongue as I tried to not bawl. I don’t even know why I didn’t just let it out, except maybe Mary wasn’t ready to make it all better so I held it in, maybe a little afraid it would make her angrier. “Daphne,” she called out as soon as I shut the door. “Get your butt in here now.” I wouldn’t say she was yelling – she doesn’t really ever yell – but her voice was elevated. I felt my stomach fall through my feet and moved quickly to do as I was told. “Ye-...” I tried to say and couldn’t even get the one syllable out before Mary was on her feet. “Did I or did I not remind you to put on your helmet before you took your bike out?” O, shit; she saw. I just, I don’t know, forgot. I’m as big a fan of my own head as she is, more even; it holds my brain and besides, it’s pretty. She doesn’t need to remind me. I don’t even know how I forgot. By the time I noticed, I was halfway done with my ride and was turning around anyway. “And not one minute later, I look outside and see you riding down the street without it. I can’t even imagine what I’m earth was going through your head. You know better, and you did it anyway. After I just told you!” “I’m sor-...” “It makes me sick to my stomach to think...” She stopped and rubbed her eyes with her thumb and forefinger. “Upstairs.” I turned and scampered up the steps positive the bathbrush was coming off the wall, ready to collapse in a puddle of tears and say I was sorry over and over and over and beg to be forgiven. Mary walked at a deliberate pace behind me. The fact that she didn’t have me by the arm and wasn’t propelling me up the steps with underhanded thunderspanks was so unlike her. Instead of the bathroom, she went into the closet and came out with a diaper. I’ve avoided the toy chest in there she keeps them in, but I’m getting curious what else is in that box. “Lay down.” I did, and not very gently Mary stripped me of my shorts and panties, taking them off around my shoes. “I’m too angry to deal with you right now. I’m going to finish my work day and calm down, and I expect you to be ready to explain yourself to me when I’m ready for you,” she said as she sealed the last tape up. I sat up with a crinkle, wishing she’d chosen one of the cloth-like ones because I don’t get as sweaty in them, and reached for my shorts. She shook her head and said, “You’re dressed.” And I was, in a tee, diaper, ankle socks, and tennis shoes. She looked at me, and her face started to soften before she sighed. “C’mon, let’s get you some water. You look thirsty.” I was; I had planned on showering when I got home, but I guess that was off the table. I followed her back downstairs, and she made me a bottle of water at the sink and handed it to me. My lips were quivering; she sighed again and hugged me, but it just didn’t feel right. As upset as she was, I was just as upset, and normally she’d hug the stuffing out of me and then go to work beating my butt like a snare drum and then hug me some more. “I love you, Daphne, and I’m sorry I’m so upset with you, but I am.” She shook her head. “We’ll deal with this in later. I have phone calls for the next couple hours.” She left the kitchen and went to her office and shut the door. You may not have noticed, but I wear my emotions on the outside, so it’s not like she couldn’t see I was on the verge of collapsing into my own puddle of tears and regret. She didn’t kiss me. She didn’t squeeze me. She didn’t wait for me to apologize. She didn’t even let me apologize or ask me anything. It all happened so fast, and there I was in the kitchen wondering why she didn’t at least, I don’t know, say something reassuring too. She didn’t put me in timeout or send me to our room or anything, and with nothing else to do but dread what I had coming, I decided to go see if there were chores in my garden I could occupy myself with. I didn’t get that far. I got as far as the retaining wall and sat down, with every intention of crying it out for a bit and then maybe going to take a nap. “Who’s over there,” I heard Nana ask. “Me.” “You don’t sound happy. Can I come over?” “Um, no?” “Well why on earth not?” “I’m, um, not … please?” “Well, will you tell me what’s the matter?” “I did something stupid.” I was trying and failing to keep the telltale sounds of crying out of my voice. I wasn’t crying yet, but you know the way a person sounds when they’re about to. “Mary is angry at me, and (sound of a sad puppy)…” “O, Daffy. Sorry, kiddo, but I’m coming over.” I didn’t even so much care at that point. Mary’s reaction to my misdeed had me all flustered. What did it mean that she was too angry to deal with me right then? She always deals with things right then. She never gives half-assed hugs. She never just sighs and shakes her head at me and walks away. Nana sat down on the wall next to me, and she opened her big, soft arms, and I was crying on her chest. Not full on sobbing, but I just needed to cry and needed a hug and the two happened at the same time. “I (gibberish) and she told me (babbling) and no helmet (meeping noises) and now (the melodious language of the Wookies).” Mary and I have enough of a connection, plus experience with one another, that she can actually decipher what I’m saying when I’m like that. Nana’s reaction was, “You didn’t wear a helmet to an open mic?” “Bike!” “Ohh!” She patted my back a few times and loosened her arms. “Try to calm down, sweetie. You’re okay.” I didn’t feel okay at all, I was trying to calm down, but it’s not so easy sometimes. “But Mary (huff) she didn’t … she hasn’t … she didn’t …” I was trying to come up with a less embarrassing way to say she didn’t spank me right away, and I don’t think that would make any sense to Nana anyway, or really the bigger issue, which even in my own head sounded pathetic, Mary didn’t hug me right. I mean, delay a spanking, but not hug me right? That just doesn’t work for me. “She said she was too angry to deal with me.” More tears; wonderful. “I’m sure she just meant she needed some time to calm down. That’s a good thing. I had to do that a few times when mine were young.” “But she doesn’t do that.” She’s never not ended a lecture or a punishment without some affection. And when “hers” were young? Like I needed to point this out, but Nana did not ever have one of me. I’m one of a kind. They broke the mold, possibly because they looked at it and thought maybe less needy next time. And I didn’t used to be so needy. It’s just – dammit! We have a routine, and it works: I make a mistake, Mary corrects it; I get upset, Mary comforts me. Why the break in the routine? “Well, there’s a first time for everything. I’m sure it will be okay.” “She’s gonna use the bathbrush!” It’s a scary goddam implement, aright? It’s the suitcase bomb of spanking implements: it looks small, but it can level an entire butt and render is unusable for generations. She patted the outside of my thigh. “Can I be honest with you?” “Mhmm.” Of course; kinda what makes our relationship so great. “If it keeps you from riding your bike without a helmet, I think that’s exactly what you need.” Okay, clearly she doesn’t know what the bathbrush does. I think it’s pretty awesome she doesn’t mind the whole kinky-lesbian-couple-next-door-doing-kinky-shit and even seems to accept it as just part of her world, but she’s never seen Mary spank me. She’s seen some swats here and there and maybe caught sight of me over Mary’s knee from her window, but I’m pretty sure like all ‘nillas she would be horrified if she saw my butt after full blown paddling. Even I’m not sure if it looks worse than it is or if it’s worse than my kinky brain is capable of understanding or both. “I do wear my helmet. I just forgot and I don’t even know why. I just ... (huff) … I did.” “Okay. Please don’t get upset again. I’m sure you can tell her that. Mary is very understanding from what I’ve seen … um, Daffy, where are your pants?” “Pants are a privilege.” I thought Nana just knew that; she seems so wise, and I just thought in her acquired wisdom she knew pants were a privilege. Of course, I didn’t learn that until I was twenty-six when Mary taught me. And having been asked that question, I had the o so wonderful feelings of embarrassment and awkwardness to partially displace the feelings of disappointment, hurt, and dread. And swamp crotch – also swamp crotch. Or more swamp waistband (?), because it wasn’t so bad inside the diaper but all around my waist and thighs where the plastic was I was feeling sticky with sweat clinging to that stupid plastic prison. Nana sighed; I wish I knew what she was thinking every time she learns a new thing about us. “Do you want to come over for a little bit? I’ll make us a snack and maybe you’ll feel a little better.” “I don’t think that’s a good idea. I should be here in case Mary is ready for me all of a sudden.” “Then let’s go inside.” “She’s on the phone for work,” I said as I hopped off the wall. “We’ll be real quiet.” We went inside, and the air conditioning felt good before I was just freezing. I needed to change my shirt; it was a little damp from my ride and sitting in the sun. “Have you had lunch yet,” I asked. “Not yet.” “Would you like something? I can make us some sandwiches or something.” “I have a better idea. Why don’t you go take a shower, and I’ll make us something? You’ll feel so much better.” “I don’t think I’m allowed to.” She rolled her eyes at that. I’ve never seen her do that. “To take a shower? Daphne Ann, how old are you?” “31. And I meant I’m not sure if I can, um…” I looked down at myself and she got the hint. “You can, Daphne. I say so … and remember a while ago? Mary did say you had the choice.” Well, specifically she said I could take my diaper off or Nana could do it for me, but I’m pretty positive that was a one-time thing. “Scoot.” There are before times and after times: before May, after Mary; before covid, after covid; before the nuclear bomb, after the nuclear bomb; before Jesus, after Jesus; before the big bang; after the big bang. Before Nana swatted my butt to get to me to go start moving toward the shower, and after. All the feelings, all at once. It was like all the characters from Inside Out were in my head and simultaneously said, fuck these fucking working conditions; we’ll come back when management fixes this shit. And management was like, to the barricades! It’s up to ownership to fix this mess, and she’s on the phone. I don’t even remember the shower. I was just suddenly wet and wrapped in a towel looking in the mirror wondering who was looking back at me. Why had Mary been so angry and hands off? Why did I have such a hard time regulating that emotion on my own? Why did I parade outside in a diaper? Why was I letting myself put all this emotional labor on my vanilla neighbor who never asked to be a part of this? And why did she think it was okay to swat the back of my diaper? (With me in it!) I went and sat on our bed thinking about those things, and through the vent I heard Mary say in surprise, “Mae! I didn’t expect to find you here.” She sounded calmer than an hour before, but that was a low bar. Had she found a dead care bear on our kitchen floor, she would’ve been calmer than she’d been an hour before. “I came over to have lunch with Daphne. Care to join us?” “Thanks, but I only have a few minutes before my next call. Where is she?” “I sent her upstairs to shower. She was a little sweatball.” I goddamn glisten, goddamit! “If you have time, I think you should go check on her. She’s awfully upset.” In my defense, I’m always upset these days, apparently. Or at least it seems that way. “She’s in trouble. As soon as I’m off my next call, she and I are gonna have a talk.” “She told me. She’s afraid you’re going to spank her with the bathbrush.” “I haven’t decided.” For the record, I’m not afraid of the bathbrush. So long as Mary is the one wielding it, I’ll know I’ll be fine. It’s less a fear and more of a dread, like you’re not afraid of going to the dentist, but you really really really really don’t wanna go. “She’s going to need a fresh diaper when she’s out of the shower.” “Ya know, before you two had moved in I was aware there were people into spanking and even, ya know, more than that. I didn’t realize people made a whole lifestyle around it, but I’d never even heard of the diaper part. I don’t get it.” “Well, our lifestyle goes well beyond spanking.” “I didn’t mean…” “I know. I just mean it’s what we need from each other; we wouldn’t be happy without it. She’s happiest when she knows she’ll be held accountable for her actions, and I’m happiest doing that for her; it’s a way that she needs me, and I like being needed by her. A lot more goes into than maybe it seems to, um, people who aren’t like us. Just like the marriage vows say, ‘love, honor, and obey; love, cherish, and protect.’” The conversation continued without me. “Ha. This is certainly one approach to that … I still don’t really get the diaper part, or some of the other more childish things.” “If it makes you uncomfortable, you can tell her she can put pants on when she comes back downstairs. Could you ask her to bring a diaper to my office and tell her not to knock?” “Sure. Or I can take care of that if you’re going to be on the phone. However I can help.” Omygod, stop being so helpful! There was a pause. It seemed like a very long pause. “Thanks, but I can’t let you do that without Daphne saying it’s okay. You can do me a favor, though.” “Sure.” “After the two of you have lunch, please tell her to take a nap.” “Happily. She needs it.” That left me in a sticky spot (not literally, thank god). I guess it was just assumed I wasn’t going to diaper myself (excellent assumption, because nope), and that I knew better than to put on panties. But I’d also been told I was fully dressed minus pants. I’d heard that conversation, so if I put on pants, would they know I was eavesdropping? (That word makes no sense, btw.) But what was the alternative? Lady Godiva down the bannister and into the kitchen? Which, safety tip, only works if the bannister has been recently and very thoroughly polished; just don’t even think about trying it otherwise. Anyway, what difference did it make if I they knew I’d heard or maybe suspected it? It’s not like I did it on purpose or that they said anything they probably wouldn’t have said with me in the room, except maybe for some of what Nana said, but she’d already offered to change my diaper once (in fact, had been pretty insistent about it, giving Mary an earful). I put on a skirt, went into the closet, and opened the toy chest I’d been avoiding. I don’t know what I was expecting to find (a magic portal to some weird diaper dimension or something?), and all I found was a mostly empty bag of diapers and the same toys that had been in there the last time I looked. A minute later, I was laying on the carpet of our second bedroom/Mary’s office while Mary diapered me without missing a beat in her conference call. It was kind of weird; since quarantine began, Mary would come find me during the day if I was diapered and make a mini-production out of checking and changing me. Or sometimes I’d go find her, partly to be cute and make her smile. Mary never could resist getting in a little jest here of there, using the opportunity to poke my humiliation bone and ooh and ahh and say stuff to make me blush and feel all fuzzy inside. This time, I just laid down on the floor and she taped me into a diaper like it was just a normal thing. When she fusses over me and says embarrassing stuff, it’s so obviously a put on, but getting diapered while she talked about clouds and networks with someone on the other side of the country took away the put on part of it. Like before she had been teasing me with her little remarks about how much it was a good thing I was padded and we both knew it was teasing, and on the floor of her office, the joke had gone out of it. It didn’t feel good natured or affectionate at all. I hated it. I thought I disliked her little quips and gasps and occasional potty talk, but her holding her work call and diapering me like it was the four thousandth time was so much worse. There was nothing about it that tickled the right humiliation spots. It actually felt like a straight up punishment. Mary did give me a kiss on my way out the door. I very much needed that. I felt I owed an apology to Nana for being such a drag, though it did occur to me that I asked her not to come over. It still didn’t feel right that I had basically used her as a sobbing post (it’s like a scratching post for sad kittens). I was glad when we finished lunch and decided I’d go see her in the next day or so and apologize and remind her that I’m actually fun to be around and not just an emotional dumpster fire who needs a surrogate grandma to run to when I’m in trouble. Mary woke me up a couple hours later. She was sitting on the side of the bed looking at me. I was instantly nervous, feeling a little fight0or-flight response kicking on, and the way she was looking at me, much the way I sometimes look at her when she’s asleep, made me feel that fuzzy feeling. It didn’t take away the nervousness, though. “Hey,” she said softly, “how do you feel?” Dry mouthed and headachy is how I felt. Conflicted in about nine different ways is how I felt. “Crummy,” is how I felt and said so. “Here.” She reached over and handed me a glass of water. “Mary,” I started to say after I took a few swallows. “Not yet. Slide over for me.” I did, and she got on the bed next to me, turned back toward my nightstand, and got that stupid pacifier. “I wanna talk first,” she said. I obediently let her put that thing in my mouth. She took out her phone and unlocked it to a Google image search. “This is why you need to wear a helmet every single time you ride your bike.” Well, yeah, thanks; I freaking knew that. I do wear it. The one time I forget, and she sees it and treats it like I’m trying to ride a motorcycle upside down across the Grand Canyon. “C’mere,” she said, and I got up on all fours and started to put myself over her lap. “No no, just c’mere.” She patted her thigh and I friggin’ hate the diaper position, but I started to turn the other way anyway because the very last thing I wanted to do was give her anymore reasons to paddle my butt. “Daffy, just come here.” She reached over and pulled me to her and put her left hand around my shoulder from behind. O, a hug! Suddenly I remembered these. Sigh… “I know you just forgot. I’m not sure exactly how, but I know you just forgot, and I’m sorry I was so upset with you. I didn’t … I’m sorry I was angry.” She shook her head. O, just friggin’ great. Just what I needed to cap the day off. She was gonna cry, and then I was gonna cry twice as hard. But she didn’t. She put her right hand around my shoulder, and then her left gave me a little nudge, and then I was resting my cheek against her chest. She kissed my hair and said, “I’m sorry. I don’t like how I treated you today. I know how upset you were, and that was my fault, and I should’ve have made sure you knew I was only mad at your choices and not at you; and I didn’t … I’m so sorry. I guess I don’t need to remind you that I’m not always right or so mature.” Well, no, she didn’t, but somewhere in a box in the basement we do have a framed certificate saying Rule #1: Mary is always right. I’m not supposed to talk with the pacifier in my mouth, though Mary has told me several times if I ever decide I just want to use it for a while, I can be a little chatterbox to my heart’s content, but she got to the part I was going to ask about anyway. “I think the reason I was so upset is because it’s about your safety, again. The driving incident. Everything going on right now. I just can’t help it sometimes, picturing the worst case scenario when it comes to you. I worry about that; it’s silly, but I’ve been scared this whole time. I know you know that and that we both have been. It’s just … watching everything out there happening again this week, and this was one more thing to scare me, and it just set me off. That wasn’t fair to you at all. It’s important for you to follow the rules and do all the things you know you should, but I shouldn’t be taking out my anxieties on you, and I definitely shouldn’t be making you feel so awful and just walk away. I’m so sorry, Daffy.” Taking a minor risk, I took the paci out and said, “I’m sorry, too, and I forgive you.” When she says that to me, it can fix pretty much any feeling of guilt I have. Broke a rule, said something I shouldn’t have, accidentally killed our pet care bear, if she forgives me, that’s all I need to hear to stop beating myself up over it. It didn’t seem to have the same effect on her as it has on me, which I guess is just part of what makes me the eager-to-please submissive and her the person who hands out the spankings and absolutions. “Thank you, baby.” She gave me another kiss. “Stop it,” I pouted. “What?” “Whatever is going on inside your head that has you all sad still,” I said, getting my hips into my bossy pants and wiggling around to see how they fit (not great). I was kinda hoping to talk about my own emotional implosion, but it didn’t seem fair. I would’ve offered my butt to make her feel better, but I could tell that wouldn’t have helped. I had an epiphany. “In fact,” I said, “if you’re still upset, you should go cry in the backyard. Nana will appear and help make it better.” “Ha.” She smiled for a moment and then looked sad again. Dammit anyway! “I’m sorry.” “You said that already.” “I mean, if I’d been …” “Mary, please stop. It’s over. I’m okay; you’re okay.” And if she kept talking about it I was sure to l get weepy. This is what I don’t get about vanilla couples, which is basically the situation we were in: we fought, basically, and had no ways to expiate all the shitty feelings and move on. Again, my first instinct was to get up and put my butt over her lap and tell her to start spanking until we both felt better, but she just didn’t seem like she’d appreciate that. All I could think to do was hug her tighter, then she hugged me tighter. Then I made the too-quick decision to sacrifice something way more fundamental than my butt to see if it would get her to stop wallowing. It took a minute; it felt wrong in every possible way, except in the way that I’d been napping for a couple hours and needed to. So I did. Mary’s head slowly rotated to the left and down as she looked me with a look I couldn’t raise my eyes to. She reached down to where I was sorta sitting on her leg and gave my diaper a couple pats. “Wow,” she said, “I didn’t realize just how warm that feels when it’s, um, fresh.” “I had to go,” I said shyly and for the first time ever decided to put that pacifier in my mouth and bury my face in Mary’s chest against. I knew it would make her smile and make me cringe, which would make her smile, and that her smiling would make my cringe more, and she’d find it adorable because I am adorable and she’d also find it sexy because it’s so submissive to use the diapers like she says to and funny to her because it always tickles her to watch me turn red. Did you get all that? “You’re supposed to tinkle in them,” she said. “Are you all done?” O, god, what a horrible question. There’s no way, at all, to answer that question that isn’t excruciating. My non-verbal answer – press my face into the space where Mary’s arm and body meet like I’m hiding from strangers – was at least as bad as any verbal answer I could give, but I did it anyway. “You weren’t this shy at the park.” “I wasn’t sitting on you,” I said around the pacifier, muffled by her body. “Well, that part is different,” she said with a chuckle. “You’ve been in that thing since lunch time,” she said. “Turn over for me.” I rolled off her onto my tummy, and she felt my butt. “It can wait, but let’s get you into some clothes.” “I’m wearing clothes,” I said, taking the pacifier out and eyeing it with disdain, though I was starting to see how it could be something that benefited me: she got it for when she wanted me to not be talking; I could use it when I didn’t want to be talking, like when she was trying to coax me into saying stuff to make me blush. “Maybe something more than a tee shirt. Come on, up you get. Our pity party is over,” she declared. Good. “So I’m not being punished for the helmet?” “No, Daffy. I think you get the message. But if there’s a next time, whether you just forget or not, I’ll spank your bottom blue.” “I won’t. Promise.” “I think you should wear your rainbow onesie this evening.” I hesitated. I kinda felt like it wasn’t the right time to bring it up; she had a rough day, too. And it was ironic, to be concerned about how much emotional support I needed lately and then to turn around and ask for some more, but kicking cans down roads didn’t seem to be working in my favor lately, and it was apropos to the moment. “Um, can we talk about something?” “Of course.” She sat down on the bed again. “I, um ...” It was too late to say never mind. “I ... didn’t like the, uh ... how upset I got either ... and the way I, um, sorta dumped it on Nana ... Or the way I’ve been so emotional lately.” Mary was making her concerned face. She doesn’t make that face often. I asked her, “Have you noticed it, too?” “Noticed you being more emotional than normal? Well, a little, but I think everyone feels that way right now.” “I just don’t think I’ve been handling my feelings well. I should be able to deal with stuff without being so ... dependent.” “I think you do a good job asking for help.” “But it’s not fair to other people to always be asking. Other people don’t.” “What ‘always?’ I don’t think you do that. And I think most other people would be happier if they asked more often.” “I’ve kinda been a crybaby lately,” I said to cut to the chase. “Do you remember what you said to me back at the start of quarantine?” I shrugged. I say lots of stuff, most of it nonsense. I’m known for it, which probably surprises you, but really. “You said that if you take care of me and I take care of you, we won’t have to worry about anything.” “Well, I’m very wise ... and well spoken.” “And I think what you said was very smart. I don’t think you’re a crybaby. I think you’re just sensitive, and that’s one of the things I like so much about you. You’re sensitive because you care. If I had been more considerate today, we wouldn’t even be having this conversation.” True. But I think we would’ve had it some other time. “You’ve never done that before,” I said softly. “What’s that?” “Been upset with me and walked away. Not resolving it right then. Not … not a good hug. I didn’t like that.” “I know. I know, and I’m very sorry. I promise I won’t do that again.” She decided to make up for it by wrapping me in another hug. “And in your office. I didn’t like that either. It felt different, like you were doing a chore.” Instant regret! Instant regret! The Inside Out crew in my head were shouting. If they were better at their jobs we might not have gotten here. Mary’s confused face. Backpedal! “I mean, I, just, see, it wasn’t, um, I don’t mean that I, uh ...” O, sure, I’m sooooo well spoken... “You like it more when ...” “It was just, um, if you’re gonna make me, then ... it felt like not the, um … Like you weren’t doing it because ...” “You can say it.” “It’ll hurt your feelings.” “This only works if we communicate openly and honestly,” she said, paraphrasing from literally every power exchange how-to book ever. “Like you weren’t doing it because, um, not out of, love.” However much I didn’t like the diaper thing, I at least mostly understood that was part of why she did it. She exhaled once, took a breath, and did it again. “I’m so sorry for making you feel that way. I didn’t mean to do that.” “I know. I didn’t think you did, but, uh, that’s how it felt. I just, I needed to say that.” I’m sorry I said anything. I know she didn’t mean to make me feel that way. Bad day all around. I didn’t expect a repeat of that, so I shouldn’t have said anything. But as much as I’d made my peace with all the new and exciting forms of underwear, it couldn’t ever be like that again or I wouldn’t be able to do it. “Well, I guess I won’t have to remind you I’m not perfect for a while,” Mary said. “Guess not, but you’re so close,” I said trying to lighten the mood. “How close?” “This close?” I held my thumb and forefinger an inch apart. Mary got a funny look on her face, like she had an evil idea and was seconds away from putting it into practice. “That reminds me,” she said with her finger on her chin like she was pondering, “I’ve been meaning to ask: how big is Daphne,” she positively exclaimed and threw her arms up high. “Maryyy, nooo!” Not gonna play that game. Nuh uh. “I’m not a little girl,” I felt compelled to remind her. People who are not little girls have no need to announce how big they are, except occasionally when I need to remind Mary six times a week. “Okay,” she said, “you’re right. You are not a little girl. But now I think I owe you a dry diaper.” “Can I wear panties?” “Nope.” “Shocker.” “Why doesn’t my big girl scoot down to the end of the bed, and I’ll get out one of your big girl diapers to change you into to, because you’re a big girl.” Gee, and there I was thinking the word ‘diaper’ couldn’t get any worse, but Mary found a way. She winked at me. I know when I’m someone is shining me on! I know when I’m being patronized! Especially when the person doing it winks at me. “You know what I think,” I said as petulantly as I could, “I think you’re the one who belongs in diapers.” “What did you say, Daffy,” as she walked into the closet, “because it sounded like ‘please paddle me until I don’t know my own name anymore.’” “I said nothing.” She must’ve heard the wind. I don’t talk much, as you know. I’m very laconic. People always say, there goes Daphne, so reserved and quiet... “We’re almost out,” she said as she rummaged. “Which ones did you like most?” “Huh?” “Diapers. I need to order some more. Any preference?” “How many did you go through?” See what I did there? “Not that many. Sandy ordered us a bunch of samples. Which were your favorites?” “Um, none?” “Well,” she said as she emerged holding a diaper and changing supplies, “which did you dislike most?” Mary’s Cheshire Cat smiley face. “That’s the best deal I’m getting?” “And a very generous one.” “I know what you’re doing,” I said, not intending to let her think she was getting away with getting me to buy into this stuff actively. “I’m changing the big girl’s diaper,” she said without missing a beat and tore the tapes open. “Because it’s all full of tinkle.” “Marrrryy!” I really don’t like even semi-vulgar words about bodies and bodily functions, but really, ‘tinkle?’” “Fine, fine,” she said. “I’ll pick out your diapees for you.” “I reserve the right to complain about what you pick.” Beginning with the fact that they’re diapers. “I reserve the right to clip your pretty paci to your onesie and put a stop to that complaining.” “I remember when you used to just spank me.” “I remember when you used to put up a fight about this.” Aw, bite me. “I still don’t like the diapers.” “I know, I know. But you still like this more than my office this afternoon.” “Right ... it’s all relative, and there’s no contradiction ... stop smirking!” “Ha! There. Adorabibble,” she pronounced me as she sealed the fourth tape. “I know,” I said, resigned to my adorability. “What time is it anyway?” “Not quite six. What do you want to do for dinner?” “Takeout.” “How about Chinese and a movie?” “Something sappy but not too sappy.” “A good snuggle movie for my little girl.” “I’m not a little girl,” I said wearily. How many times? Seriously? We can just get them all over at once if that’ll help. “You’re my little girl, Daffodil.” “When did you become such a big?” “What? I’m not,” she said incredulously, like the idea had never entered her mind. “You’re holding a wet diaper, and it was your idea.” Let her be on defense for once. Ha! “Ya know,” she said looking not nearly so confident as she was seven seconds ago, “not that it isn’t a fair question, but I’m invoking my right to decide no more heavy discussions today.” “What right?” “My right as the person who does the spanking.” “O, yeah.” The power of the veto rests in the paddle. “So,” she asked as she carried that diaper to the bathroom wastebasket, “which would you rather choose tonight: the appetizer or the movie?” “Both.” “Both?!? Why should you get to choose both?” “Because you love me.” I wonder what questions Nana would have if she ever actually saw us behind fully closed doors. I mean, I have questions. Overhearing Mary with Nana, it sounds like Mary has questions, and now that I’d called Mary out on her part in our shift toward ageplay, she probably had a bunch more. I don’t think it could ever make sense to Nana. Makes us all the more lucky she just accepts it, most of the time. “Do you think Nana wants to come to a move night some time,” I asked. The three of us don’t really do stuff together besides sit on the patio and have the occasional dinner. “Why not tonight,” Mary asked. Sweet thing that she is, she said it earnestly, as though it was the perfect night for that, me dressed as I was. “Um, lots of reasons,” I said as I watched Mary get the rainbow onesie out. I took my shirt off. “I think she’s a little past the phase of being surprised or embarrassed by your attire. You do know you were parading around in just a diaper in front of her today?” “And shoes and socks.” And only because I needed a hug more than I needed pants, which I didn’t say because didn’t want to open that can of crap again. “Well, she really isn’t fazed at all by it, but if it makes you shy, we’ll invite her next time.” “Good. Another thing.” “What’s that,” she asked before bringing the onesie down over my head. “If I hafta wear a diaper, I don’t think I should hafta pause the movie for you.” “Oh! You are such a little devil!” “I am not! I’m a big smartass.” “That too. Stand up.” Hate to say it, but for not having taken any measurements, Nana did a really good job on that onesie. Snug but not too snug in the right places. 6 2 Link to comment
WBDaddy Posted June 28, 2020 Share Posted June 28, 2020 Seems like a perfectly good reason for Mary to spend more time practicing being loving with diaper changes. Clearly she needs all the practice she can get, amirite? (edit) That practically writes itself... "But Mary, it's been three days! Can't I have my panties back?!" "See that, I clearly need to be more loving when I change your diapers! Otherwise you wouldn't hate it so much and complain all the time like this!" 1 Link to comment
Sarah Penguin Posted June 28, 2020 Share Posted June 28, 2020 Pretty sure Daphne isn't a little girl. She's a giant amazon warrioresswho got hit by a shrink ray and is stuck at the height of a one year old girl and is stuck that way. :) 1 Link to comment
Alex Bridges Posted June 28, 2020 Author Share Posted June 28, 2020 7 hours ago, Sarah Penguin said: Pretty sure Daphne isn't a little girl. She's a giant amazon warrioresswho got hit by a shrink ray and is stuck at the height of a one year old girl and is stuck that way. :) Or maybe they wiped her memory and pushed her into our dimension so her snarkiness wouldn’t spread to the littles. ? Link to comment
Bluebird67 Posted June 28, 2020 Share Posted June 28, 2020 22 hours ago, Alex Bridges said: Maybe. I’m not certain how much I want to explore Mary’s motives. I like not being able to anticipate what she’ll do next, behind the obvious (enjoy her own and Daphne’s fetishes and taking care of each other). Nonetheless, you have done a great job of helping Daphne and Nana to do so. Thank you for that, and for keeping Nana at just the right distance from their relationship. 10 hours ago, Alex Bridges said: “If I hafta wear a diaper, I don’t think I should hafta pause the movie for you.” Possibly my favourite Daphne quote of the last few episodes! 1 Link to comment
Alex Bridges Posted June 28, 2020 Author Share Posted June 28, 2020 5 hours ago, Bluebird67 said: Possibly my favourite Daphne quote of the last few episodes! I think she’s starting to think of ways to turn this to her advantage, but there’s not a lot of room for it. She’s trying to negotiate all the little things because she can’t negotiate the big things. Link to comment
WBDaddy Posted June 28, 2020 Share Posted June 28, 2020 18 minutes ago, Alex Bridges said: I think she’s starting to think of ways to turn this to her advantage, but there’s not a lot of room for it. She’s trying to negotiate all the little things because she can’t negotiate the big things. We care a lot about the little things; the bigger things we cop. 1 Link to comment
YourFNF Posted June 29, 2020 Share Posted June 29, 2020 On 6/27/2020 at 12:20 AM, Alex Bridges said: Molly is not in charge of Molly and shouldn’t be in charge, and she knows that. Molly, who’s in charge of you?” God dam if this isn't me, only I don't have a keeper... *sighs* On 6/27/2020 at 12:20 AM, Alex Bridges said: Scene #32 “Daffy?” “Thanks for being … so nice to me.” “Aww. I like being nice to you.” I love this whole style the gentleness and everything me want bad.... ?? 1 Link to comment
YourFNF Posted June 30, 2020 Share Posted June 30, 2020 On 6/28/2020 at 12:22 AM, Alex Bridges said: O, shit; she saw. I just, I don’t know, forgot. I’m as big a fan of my own head as she is, more even; it holds my brain and besides, it’s pretty. She doesn’t need to remind me. I don’t even know how I forgot. By the time I noticed, I was halfway done with my ride and was turning around anyway. “And not one minute later, I look outside and see you riding down the street without it. I can’t even imagine what I’m earth was going through your head. You know better, and you did it anyway. After I just told you!” “I’m sor-...” “It makes me sick to my stomach to think...” She stopped and rubbed her eyes with her thumb and forefinger. “Upstairs.” I mean yeah this warning level but I definetly feel like Mary can be a bit overprotective at times. Live I love this girl and she's great but she tends to treat Daphne like she's made of glass. On 6/28/2020 at 12:22 AM, Alex Bridges said: O, just friggin’ great. Just what I needed to cap the day off. She was gonna cry, and then I was gonna cry twice as hard. But she didn’t. She put her right hand around my shoulder, and then her left gave me a little nudge, and then I was resting my cheek against her chest. She kissed my hair and said, “I’m sorry. I don’t like how I treated you today. I know how upset you were, and that was my fault, and I should’ve have made sure you knew I was only mad at your choices and not at you; and I didn’t … I’m so sorry. I guess I don’t need to remind you that I’m not always right or so mature.” I'm proud of her for this though. Like these two really comunicate 1 Link to comment
YourFNF Posted June 30, 2020 Share Posted June 30, 2020 On 6/28/2020 at 12:22 AM, Alex Bridges said: But it’s not fair to other people to always be asking. Other people don’t.” I worry about this a lot, needing constant help. It doesn't feel right to like actually be dependent on people scene or no scene at 25 even if I do have a disability. Like I can get out of bed on my own and I'm generally aware of what reality is even if I hate it. So I shouldn't need 24/7 hand holding. It's not healthy and yet I can't help but think about how much easier and less shitty my life would be if I had someone around to take care of me. Link to comment
Alex Bridges Posted June 30, 2020 Author Share Posted June 30, 2020 55 minutes ago, YourFNF said: I worry about this a lot, needing constant help. It doesn't feel right to like actually be dependent on people scene or no scene at 25 even if I do have a disability. Like I can get out of bed on my own and I'm generally aware of what reality is even if I hate it. So I shouldn't need 24/7 hand holding. It's not healthy and yet I can't help but think about how much easier and less shitty my life would be if I had someone around to take care of me. Hug ? Link to comment
Alex Bridges Posted June 30, 2020 Author Share Posted June 30, 2020 1 hour ago, YourFNF said: I mean yeah this warning level but I definetly feel like Mary can be a bit overprotective at times. Live I love this girl and she's great but she tends to treat Daphne like she's made of glass. I'm proud of her for this though. Like these two really communicate Mary has a lot of anxiety about Daphne’s health, and I don’t think she did before the pandemic. It’s just how it’s manifesting for her right now. Link to comment
YourFNF Posted June 30, 2020 Share Posted June 30, 2020 1 hour ago, Alex Bridges said: Mary has a lot of anxiety about Daphne’s health, and I don’t think she did before the pandemic. It’s just how it’s manifesting for her right now. Ahh that makes sense 1 Link to comment
Alex Bridges Posted July 2, 2020 Author Share Posted July 2, 2020 Scene #34 “Daphne Ann!” She said it with that tone you use when you can’t believe someone is still arguing with you and it’s so exasperating it’s almost funny. Almost, but not. “What part do we use to listen?” Ever wish you could go back in time and say to your parents or a teacher or some authority figure from way back when what you’d have said to them if you were a lot more clever and a way lot more brave back then? I, for instance, wish I could’ve said to my first grade teacher and all around snippy bitch what I was about to say to my darling wife: “I could ask you the same question!” Of course, the irony is had I said that to Mrs. Schafer, I probably would’ve gotten in a lot of trouble but I wouldn’t have gotten spanked for it. In fact, had I said it, I’m sure she would’ve realized I was sarcasming at a seventh grade level and my life would’ve been different ever since. I’d probably own my own sportswear conglomerate called LalaLime and I’d be suing the crap out of that store that sells $70 pajamas because I was there first and no one is gonna undersell Daphne! But back to the present day, when Mary didn’t seem as amused with my backchat as she had mere moments ago. “Corner,” she said to me, pointing with just one finger and her arms still crossed. “Bu...” “Cor-ner.” “O-kay,” I said because I can enunciate with the best of them. “Geez ... ow!” Well, I knew I had that one coming. I walked past the hallway on the way to the corner, and at the very end of it was the window I’d broken. It was an accident, as I going to explain had I gotten the chance. You see, while technically I was responsible for the broken window it was really an act of god. Not strictly speaking, but in a figurative-the-universe-brought-these-items-together-and-along-came-I way. Also, maybe a smidge Nana’s fault for getting me interested in gardening, but I wasn’t looking to assign blame. Unlike some people. Of course, it was an accident, but as Mary has since reminded me, I wasn’t in trouble for the window. But as she also pointed out, it (probably) wouldn’t be broken if I’d listen to her. “What are you up to,” I was asked while I was working in our yard to beautify our home just a half hour earlier. “Making a new flower bed,” I said all proud of myself and glistening like an angel digging a hole in the summer sun. “For what?” “More plants.” “How much,” she asked with the earliest signs of being a little fed up with my spending on plants for the last six weeks. “I dunno. $150?” “I think you mean ‘another $150’ and you should’ve asked first,” she reminded me. And yeah, we do have that rule that neither of us spends more than $100 on any non-necessity without asking the other, but I’m bored! That makes stuff to end the boredom necessary, logic any thirteen-year-old would understanding, so why doesn’t Mary get it? “Sorry, but it’ll look so nice when it’s done.” “Those are the last plants you’re buying until the fall. Seriously, we’re out of plant money.” “Okay,” I said sweetly. I was good with that. I had plants aplenty for the moment. “You okay,” she asked. “You look overheated.” “Yeah. I got my Gatorade. There’s just a big rock here. But it’s soft, see?” I hit it with the shovel and chipped off a piece easily. “I’ll get it out.” Mary’s I’m-considering-something face. “How about putting the bed over there? I think it’ll look better.” She pointed to a spot five feet to my right. “Ehhh, I dunno. I think it will be better here,” I replied to her majesty. Let her dig her own flower bed. “But it’s awfully close to the house, and if you just move a few feet over you probably won’t have to be whacking away at that rock, which you should be wearing safety glasses for.” I didn’t actually say ‘okay.’ I just grinned and sorta bobbed my head. Former colleagues could attest that’s my I’m-being-polite-while-ignoring-you gesture, which I used on many a conference call, but Mary must’ve took it to mean yes because she smiled. This isn’t deceptive on my part so much as polite misdirection, like magic. Magicians aren’t dishonest; they’re just, well, something that makes their trickery okay. “Good. Hang on a sec.” I sat down next to my hole that would soon be part of a bed of new plants growing under the fine care of me and nursed my Gatorade. It was disgustingly humid on its way to being a very hot day. I was trying to finish early. Mary came back in a moment. “Here,” she said, handing me my hat and a pair of giant sunglasses. She takes such good care of me. “And please be careful.” Haha, she can’t see me roll my eyes behind these glasses. Or can, apparently. “I’m serious. Please be careful. I don’t want you chopping your foot off.” “I’ll be careful. What are you up to inside,” I asked. “Cleaning out the fridge. When you’re done let’s make lunch together.” “Deal. I don’t think I’ll be that long. It’s getting too hot.” I bent to my task like the good little worker I am. By the time I was done, I’d be done and Mary would be sooo in agreement with me about where the flower bed should be, and besides, I was the one doing the work. She was welcome to find a shovel and join me, but so long as I was doing the work, I’d do it the way I liked. Plus, she’s a laptop jockey; I was a laptop jockey until a half a year ago, but at that point, I’d been an amateur gardener for three whole months, so my aesthetic judgement was obviously superior to hers anyway. No doubt I’d soon be on the cover of Gardens Galore Magazine. And by the time I was done putting the flower bed where I wanted it, I’d be done, and she’d be in no position to say I told you not to because she would just quake in amazement at me, and besides, it would be too late anyway. So you’re wondering, how did Daphne break a window while gardening? Did she slip and throw a tool through the window? And that just shows you’re not listening! Reading comprehension, you so-called adults! I already said it was an act of god. A rock was thrown. And now you’re thinking, don’t you mean me, Daphne, that you threw a rock? But I was merely the universe’s instrument! Which I frequently am; it’s a burden (and no thanks necessary, but y’all are welcome). The rock I was trying to get around broke, so I got down on my knees and tried to get the pieces, but this one piece was wedged and I got both hands on it and was giving it my all and I got it! And I fell back and flung the thing through the window. As I said, an act of god. I didn’t put the rock there. The broken glass shattering scared me, but that was just momentary because I was overcome by that unpleasant feeling you get when you can’t undo something bad that just happened. Funny how that works, the way the world changes in an instant and you can’t change it back. Now, contrary to popular belief, I’m not a little girl, so I looked on this as an unfortunate mishap and an example of the downside of being a homeowner. I was more mad at myself (for having allowed myself to be the universe’s unwitting instrument, of course) than afraid of being in trouble. Accidents happen. Mary was rushing to my side before I was even done brushing the dirt off myself. “Are you okay,” she said, sounding so endearingly concerned. “I’m fine,” I said as she checked me over from head to foot for any hard-to-see wounds. “Are you,” I asked. “Scared the crap outta me but fine. What happened?” “I slipped. I’m sorry.” “The important thing is you’re okay.” “And you.” I looked around Mary at the window. “Really sorry. Guess I’ll get online and find a window guy.” “Guess so,” Mary said, rubbing my shoulder as we started to walk back inside. “How did you do that anyway?” “I broke a piece off that rock and was trying to get it out and succeeded like a boss.” And that’s when Mary stopped walking, and I saw this little lightbulb go off over her head. Hard to see in the sunshine, but there it was. “The rock in the hole I told you to stop digging?” Well, sure, that’s a relevant thing if you decide it’s a thing of relevance, but I’m more of a big-picture-at-least-we-have-our-health kinda person. What’s a broken window compared to our health? If only I was better at redirecting people’s attention; since I can’t buy any more plants, maybe I can start learning magic. “O,” I said because pretending to be clueless has gotten me out of zero trouble but why not try again. “I thought that was more of a suggestion.” “You said ‘okay.’” “Technically I didn’t, is the thing.” “You looked right at me and nodded, so was that you just saying yes to get me to go away?” It helps to me to think sometimes if I chew on my lip, apparently. “See, when you say it like that, it sounds worse because it wasn’t so much to get you to go away as to move on to other topics, plus I was sure that once I was done … well, anyway …” I can tell when I’ve lost my audience. Time to stop digging the hole deeper, which is ironic as all get out under the circumstances. “Sorry.” “Uh huh. When’s the last time I spanked you?” “Um …” There are so many, who even keeps track? And what even counts as a spanking? Her hand makes a high-speed connection with my butt in one way or another almost every time I walk past her. “Thursday – too long ago. We’re gonna fix that right now,” she said with her determined face on. “Well if you knew the answer OW!” We’re not British, dammit! With the stupid leg smacking like she’s the queen of her majesty’s yard. “Let’s finish this discussion in the living room, little girl.” “O, shall we have a spot of tea while we’re at it then,” I may have said – with a perfect Kensington accent! – as I started walking inside inside. “What are you even …” she stopped herself and I guess decided it was her turn to mutter. “…ugh! Like living with a crazy person sometimes.” Well, that’s fair. And the living room isn’t far away, so I didn’t have to wait more than fifteen seconds for the resumption of my talking to. “When was Thursday,” my wife who is pretty good at sarcasm too and especially so when launching into a Socratic lecture. “Between Wednesday and Friday.” “How ‘bout ‘clearly too long ago given how much sass is coming outta your mouth?’ Now let’s count the issues we’re having today. One: the back talk. Two: not telling me before you spent more than $100, again; that’s right – I’ve noticed. Three: you deliberately disobeyed me just now. And four: you lied to me.” “I didn’t lie!” “You looked right at me and nodded when I said to put the bed further away from the house. I swear, it’s like I told my disobedient ten-year-old not to play ball in the yard, and sure enough, you broke the window.” “That was an accident.” “I know that, which is why you’re going to get your bottom spanked for everything right up until you broke the window and all the answering back since. You’re lucky I don’t give you four separate spankings.” “O, because that would just be sooo unprecedented…” Uncalled for, maybe a little? “Daphne Ann …” Which brings us back to where this little episode started, and now you’re all caught up. I really do get tired of corner time. It just sucks. I stood there waiting for Mary to come back thinking about repainting the room since our plant budget had run dry, and maybe a new color to stare at in the corner would be nice. That line of thought got me through about five minutes of corner time. Ya know what I oddly like a little more than corner time? Time out on the stairs. Don’t know why. Ya know what I like less? Naughty stool time outs. Feels more on display to just be seated facing a wall. At least with a corner you have two walls sorta blocking everyone’s view of you; not really, but it feels like it. Of course, there’s no one viewing me most of the time regardless, but still. And that line of thought got me through about two more minutes of corner time. I am not a crazy person, just because Mary doesn’t know where all my non sequiturs come from. I’m just quick witted in a way that would make Patton Oswalt go ‘she’s kinda random.’ And I’m just a little sassy if we redefine ‘a lot’ to mean ‘a little.’ Languages are living things, and I’m a creator, so I’m going with that definition. It’s not like I said anything mean. Maybe a little disrespectful … going with my definition of “a little” again. Which isn’t really fair to Mary. She didn’t do anything wrong. All she did was ask me to put my flower bed a few feet over and away from the house. Not that it would’ve necessarily saved the window, but I did deliberately give her the impression that I would without actually intending to do as she asked. Which is “a little” shitty. Especially since that was on top of the spending thing … which she’s been cutting me slack on … on top of which she’s supporting both of us now. And that line of thought got me through the next seven minutes. Here’s a weird thing about time out – it’s not like you learn your lesson and then get to go free. You’d think that in a perfect system, that’s how it would work. ‘I’ve come to see things your way.’ ‘Good, you can come out of the corner.’ Nope. You just have to wait, like another ten minutes. “Are you ready to listen yet,” Mary asked me when she came back in the room. “Yes.” “Front and center, little girl.” I chose not to say it that time. Instead, I said, “I’m sorry for being smart with you, and spending the money without talking about it first, and disobeying you, and fibbing.” “Lying.” “Lying. Sorry.” “What gives, Daphne?” Okay, here’s something weird I didn’t notice right away. “Is that wine?” She brought a glass of wine to my spanking. Who does that? “I told you – I was cleaning out the fridge. There was just a half glass left. Back to the matter at hand.” “This is so Real Housewives right now,” I said pretty much to myself. Something weird and sitcommy about a woman tipping back a glass of wine just before administering a spanking. Mary snapped her fingers and put the glass down. “Focus, kiddo. Why are you having such a naughty day?” “No real reason … Just am.” Which was the truth. “Well,” Mary said, “I guess we all have days like that, and I suppose it’s my fault for letting you get away with too many things. We’ve been here lots of times. What usually happens if I let things slide too long?” “I get in a lot of trouble all at once.” “You get in a lot of trouble all at once. Maybe we need to put the no-strikes rule into effect for a little while.” “O, please no.” I hate the no-strikes rule! There are no – none, zero, nada, zilch – strikes! Every little thing gets a serious consequence. Last time, I got paddled for rolling my eyes, and it wasn’t even a full rotation! And color me so pathetic for actually saying, “I’ll be good! I promise!” “Sorry, but not sorry, little girl. Zero strikes until the day after tomorrow. From there, we’ll see.” “Marryyyy!” “Enough, Daphne Ann! Enough with the whining and the backtalk. Any more of that, and you’ll be getting your mouth washed out, too. Is that what you want?” O, well, geez, now that ya ask, could ya please? I mean, what am I supposed to say to that? Except, o, just maybe, something not sarcastic. “No.” “No what?” But she gets to be sarcastic?!? Not fair! “No, I don’t want my mouth washed out.” “And I’ll tell you something else …” Of course she will; she’s having o so much fun. “… if you can’t right that little ship of yours, we’ll have to go back so some of the just-in-case consequences.” “Won’t be necessary. Promise.” Those are so called “just-in-case” consequences because I hate them so much Mary agreed they’re for just in case regular punishments lose some of their effectiveness. The mere mention of them is inspiration for me to be so good, she’ll be sick of me being so good. “I’m glad to hear that.” See, with the sarcasm that isn’t even funny; mine is at least funny. “So here’s what’s going to happen: first, you’re going over my knee for a serious spanking. Then, you’re going to call around and get us a good deal on that window. And then, you’re going to cancel whatever plants you ordered to help pay for that window. Understood?” Natural consequences are The Worst. “Yes.” “Good.” And then she disappeared from my field of vision as she bent down to get my – “Lift.” – shoes. Followed by my shorts and panties. “Step out.” I got to keep my socks on, so I wasn’t totally naked below the waist. Small victories, amiright? Please? “Come to this side.” Aw, crap and a half! I hate hate hate it when she puts me over her knee on the coffee table. It’s so uncomfortable and I hate just dangling there like a little kid whose hands and feet don’t even reach the floor, which is exactly why she does it. I couldn’t even complain lest she change her mind about the soap. I may have earned a spanking four times over, but the soap should be reserved for blasphemy and saying mean things to orphans and puppies. “Over you go,” she said as she helped me over her knee. It’s a fulcrum in that position. I’m just draped over her knee (and I drape well, like all fine things, but that’s not the point) practically folded in half in the middle. It’s damn near impossible to even stay in position like that; it’s the opposite of a bucking bronco because ow. Ow. Ow. She could say she’s about to start before she Ow! Ow! Ow! She could slow down, ya know. Where’s the fire, other than the one she OW!!! Dammit! “You! Little girl! Are! Too! Old! To be acting! This! Way!” Mixed signals much? “I! Have given you! Enough! Breaks! To last! Your! Naughty! Pink! Bottom! A! Month!” “I’m sorry!” I don’t know why I even bother to say stuff when she gets going on my butt. She isn’t exactly looking to create a vibrant dialogue in those moments. SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACKSMACKSMACKSMACKSMACKSMACK! And there I am thinking she’s going to pull a muscle – I mean, forget giving me a warm up. She needs one if she’s gonna wail on my butt like that. A few rounds of tennis or something. And thoughts like that are proof that I’m very considerate and also that she’s not spanking hard enough yet because when she is, my thoughts turn to my own vibrant inner dialogue between the part of me that wants to give in and bawl and the part of me that wants to hold out and be brave: Don’t cry. You’re an adult. You can take your punishment quietly. But I don’t wanna! But you do wanna. But I wanna let it out! Have some friggin dignity. Fine, I’ll just sniffle. Fine, go ahead and sniffle. But just a sniffle. And that’s when I sniffle, which is very obviously for my own benefit because it does not dissuade Mary or slow her in her task at all ever. That’s about the time when she … “OW! Umph! Oomph! Ugh! Owie!” Stupid paddle. It’s a sneaky little shit is what it is; I didn’t even see it in Mary’s back pocket. And like I don’t have enough to worry about, I gotta listen to the peanut gallery in my head. Did we really just say ‘owie?’ Really? Who actually says that? It hurts! I can’t believe we have to share a butt. I thought we were an adult. We are! Adults can say ‘owie’ when something hurts. I’ll prove it! “Owie! Marrrry!” That’s it. I’m not sticking around for this. I’ll be back when you’re ready to act our age. And without that part of me, it gets undignified fast. “Waahhhh! Ahhhh! Aieeeee!” Some would say dignity went out the door the moment I was pantsed and tossed over Mary’s knee, but I say that’s hasty and that I should be judged on the way I conducted myself… “Please please please please please! I’ll be good! I’ll be good! I’ll be so good!” Yeah, so there’s that … not my finest moment. Nor was I holding still, and there’s nothing at all to hold onto except Mary’s calf in that position. Meanwhile, she’s just trying to keep hold of me so she doesn’t miss a beat and also so I don’t face plant onto our living room floor, which I appreciate. I’m a very appreciative person. Mary knows this, even if sometimes I have a little trouble demonstrating my appreciativity … appreciativeness … appreciation? It’s hard to find the right words and focus when THIGH! THIGHS! With the paddle and the spanks and the taut skin when they’re landing on the back of my THIGHS!!! “Eheheheheh! Ahehehehehe! Ahaha! Waaaah!” God, what a hot mess she made me. Face planting didn’t seem like such a bad idea by that point, but I was too worn out to flop around by that point anyway. WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! O, I was one sad and sorry Daphne. A wilted little daffodil, as Mary would say. She was saying something, too, not that I could hear it over the sound of my own carrying on. Mary picked me up off her knee, pivoted so she could sit on the edge of the table, and there I was in her lap so I could finish my weeping festival (it’s the worst festival since that Fire Festival dealy). “You got anymore nauthiness in you,” Mary asked when I stopped being so vocal. “Mmm,” I sorta whined and shook my head. “You did so good,” Mary was reassuring me. O sure, now she’s backing up Weepy Daphne. Could’ve used the moral support when the bitchy part of me was being so bitchy to me. “It’s all over. Shhh.” Stroking my hair. Rubbing my back. Planting the occasional kiss on my head because my face was buried in Mary’s breasts (they’re like outer space – no one there can hear me cry, except Mary). Hemph. I was one well punished brat. “Such a brave little girl.” “Umnotuhittlegrl.” I said into the vacuum of outer space. “Hehe. You’re calming down. Shhh. Good girl.” Ooooh! She called me a good girl! Sigh… I picked my head up off her. “I’m sorry for all of that. And the window.” Sniff! “I know.” She brushed my hair out of my face. “I don’t think you’ll need a reminder like that for a while.” “Mmm mmm.” “I hope not, but the no-strikes rule is still gonna in effect.” “I know.” Big sniff! “C’mon. Let’s go wash your face.” She held my hand and I shuffled behind her to the kitchen. She wet a paper towel and wiped the tear streaks away then held it and said, “Honk.” I leaned in and honked, and when I straightened up, Mary had her Daphne-is-such-a-sorry-sight face. “You are such a sorry sight.” See? “I need some Tylenol.” “Headache.” “Yeah.” “You cried awfully hard.” “You spanked awfully hard.” “You needed an awfully hard spankin’, bratty buns.” “I know. I’m sorry.” “You said, I forgave you … And I forgive you for sliming my shirt.” In fairness, I got mine too. “Let’s go change, and then you have some phone calls to make.” “Okay.” “And I’ll text your Nana and see if you can hang out there while the window guy is here.” “Okay.” “And I’m going to tell Nana about the no-strikes rule and give her a hairbrush of her very own if you stay mopey.” “I’m not mopey,” I said mopily. “I’m …” At a loss for words when I’m not allowed to be a smartass? “Chastened.” “You got your consequence, and all is forgiven, so brighten up.” “Ow! No pinching.” “I’ll pinch your bright red bottom all the way up the steps if I want to.” “Marrrry!” It friggin hurts to scamper with a butt that well spanked, but not as much as her “OW! I’m going! I’m going!” “Not fast enough, you little monster!” “Marrrrryyyyyy!!!” 5 1 Link to comment
Alex Bridges Posted July 3, 2020 Author Share Posted July 3, 2020 Scene #35 Mary delivered me to Nana’s door a half hour before the window guy was supposed to arrive in a reprise of the days she’d walk over with me in the morning before she left for the office. I still don’t know why she’d done that except maybe she thought it was cute or liked saying good morning to Nana. “Thanks, Mae,” Mary said when Nana opened her door. “Someone broke a window, and I don’t want Daffy around anyone new even with a mask.” “Does she always tattle on you like that,” Nana asked me. “Yes!” I assumed I was safe to be indignant with Nana around. Mary gave me a bemused look. And she is always tattling on me. “Well, come on in. You can help me make some care packages.” Nana gave Mary a little wave, and Mary reminded me, “Behave yourself. No strikes.” I’d have stuck my tongue out in a show of brattitude, but like I wasn’t already a well spanked woman. I was good on the spanking front for a couple days at least, and with the no strikes rule in effect, that meant I had to be angelic. Not one of those archangels that fight demons, either, but one of those chubby ones that hold up church ceilings. “Who are we making care packages for,” I asked as I walked behind Nana to the kitchen. “My grandkids.” “You still haven’t seen them?” “No, and I’m really losing my patience with it. I don’t want them to forget who their grandma is.” “Aww. That’s impossible. Besides, you’ve been FaceTiming with them.” “I know, but it’s not the same. Here,” she said, sliding me a basket and some ribbon. “Thanks for helping.” “My pleasure.” Nana was in the middle of making cookies. She turned the stand mixer on and I guess turned back toward me because, “Daphne!” “What’d I do!?!” Okay, maybe I get a little paranoid when the no-strikes rule is in effect. “What on earth...” she said as she crossed from the counter to the table. I wish I could say I didn’t know what she was looking at as she zeroed in on my thighs. They weren’t bad. Red with a couple of circles on each one from the paddle. Nana lifted the back of my shorts an inch while I stood there wondering why I was letting her do that. “Are you okay?” “I’m okay. Hurts, but I’m okay.” I was liking the feeling, in fact. “She really let you have it.” Nana looked dismayed. “What?” “Nothing ... well, if you were mine I wouldn’t spank you like that. Looks like too much to me.” “It’s not,” I said, wanting to reassure her but also not explain it. “Doesn’t she know you’re just a little girl,” Nana sarcastically asked. “Am not! I’m an adult ... who got an adult spanking ... for being naughty.” And there are no contradictions in that sentence. At all. Really. “What did you do to earn such a big spanking?” “I was a little - a smidge! - mouthy, and broke a rule about spending, and didn’t do something she told me ... and lied about it.” “Daphne Ann! You had a busy morning.” She switched off the mixer. “Like you got the devil up in you, as my mother would’ve said. Why so much trouble staying outta trouble?” “I dunno. I just did; wasn’t so worried about the rules. Maybe your mom is right.” Daphne: she’s got a little demon in her. I kinda liked the sound of that. “Well, I hope that spanking got through to you.” “Me too. There are no more strikes until the day after tomorrow.” “What does that mean?” “That any misbehavior at all and she’ll ... ya know.” “Put you back over her knee?” “Nana!” “Sorry. But really, Daffy. Maybe try extra hard to behave just for me. I want to see you able to sit comfortably at least some of the time this summer.” “I’ll do my best,” I yawned. I worked in the yard, was very bratty, got my butt walloped, and cried a bunch. I was tired. “Are you sleepy?” “I had a busy morning, like you said.” “You’re welcome to take a nap.” “You don’t need help?” “I can manage. You can use the guest room.” “I can just use the couch.” “Nonsense. I have a perfectly good bed in the guest room.” I followed her up the stairs and realized I hadn’t ever been on the second floor of her house. There were so many pictures on the walls. I’d never met her husband, but there was forty years of him, from when they were younger than I am now to when they had kids to when they had grandkids. Nana really did lead the good life, at least going by the pictures. She opened a door to a kinda messy room. “Sorry about the clutter,” she said, “I guess I never cleaned up from the last time the kids were over.” The clutter was toys and lots of them. “This was Ben’s room. The kids love to come up here and go through his old things.” “So many LEGOs,” I chuckled. “He was my builder.” “A lot of adults are getting into LEGOs now, especially during the pandemic.” “Really? Maybe you can build me something some time.” “I don’t. I mean, I was never good at LEGOs.” “When’s the last time you tried? You’re probably a lot better at it now than when you were a kid.” “Probably.” At least I would hope so. “You don’t need to turn down the bed for me,” I said, stepping over to the bed so she’d stop fussing. “Too late. Is it too warm up here for you?” “A little.” She went back across the room and turned on the ceiling fan. “Ya just gonna stand there,” she asked me as she walked back toward me. “Sit, ya big silly.” So I sat, feeling a lot sillier for sitting on command than standing. “No shoes on the bed, though.” “I know,” I said as I took my sandals off. “You have the most darling little brown feetsies.” “Been outside a lot. I haven’t been this tan since I worked at summer camps. I’m usually the color of the office walls this time of year.” Nana sat down next to me. “You guys are getting by okay, right?” “Yeah.” “Then on the bright side, you get a summer vacation as an adult.” “I’m trying to look on it that way,” I shrugged. “You just gotta stay outta trouble. Maybe the two of us can find some fun things to do together while Mary is working now that we’re back to socializing with each other.” “I’d like that.” “We can think of some stuff later. Hug.” She opened her arms, and I gave her a hug, and then she held the hug for an extra moment. “I’m sorry you got your bottom spanked today. I think you’ll feel better after your nap.” “I feel okay now,” I said while suppressing a yawn. “Just...” “She wore your butt out, literally.” “Ha. I guess so.” “You go to sleep, and when you’re awake we can find something fun to do, or we can just talk if you need to, okay sweetie?” “Thanks. I don’t think I’ll be asleep long.” “Take all the time you need. If you’re lucky, there might even be a cookie and a glass of milk waiting for you when you wake up.” Fast forward three hours, and I woke up to the sensation of someone stroking my hair. Took me a moment to remember where I was, and it was totally inappropriate for Nana to be stroking my hair while I was sleeping. I was just about to scoot away from her when I heard Nana whispering, “She looked a little sleepy, so I put her down.” That was coming from the door. “She must’ve really needed it. Thanks for letting her come over.” Mary – it was Mary sitting next to me on the bed. And just because Nana suggested the nap, walked me upstairs, turned down the covers, flipped on the fan, gave me a hug, and turned out the light does not mean she ‘put me down’ for a nap. That’s just - she didn’t. Really! Dammit… “My pleasure. Though there is something I want to talk about.” “Of course.” Mary stopped stroking my hair. I felt her pivot and decided to play possum to see what I could learn. I know for a fact they talk about me sometimes because of my awesome investigative skills like asking Mary if they did and her saying yes, and I don’t think I ever get the full story on what they talk about specifically. “I got a look at the backs of her legs. I know I said I’d stay out it, but you are spanking her too hard, Mary. That’s practically a beating you gave her.” Okay, for the record I have not only taken but asked for way worse than what Mary gave me. In fact, she never punishes me as hard as some of the impact play I’ve sometimes asked for while playing. I am not a little girl or a delicate flower, and I can take anything Mary would ever dish out. Mary didn’t respond right away. “I appreciate how much you care about her, and us, but I can assure you I’m never more strict with Daphne than she wants me to be or needs me to be. It is a punishment and it’s supposed to hurt, but we know each other’s limits.” “She has bruises.” “She likes bruises,” Mary said and then probably regretted it because I regretted it and we’re simpatico like that. “I mean, it’s just part of it. We had many talks early on about limits, and I never do anything she’s not okay with. It’s just ... I promise you, from the bottom of my heart, I’d never do anything to hurt Daphne. She just got herself in quite the heap of trouble this morning and got her tail spanked for it. She didn’t like it while it was happening one bit, but that’s what makes it a punishment, and she wants someone to punish her when she needs it. Just like a teen won’t admit they want boundaries, but they do.” I could tell Mary was trying to lighten the mood, and if she’s like me she also wanted to not explain every little facet of BDSM to our neighbor and reveal what floats our boats in the process. Maybe we should just give Nana a book if she’s so curious or concerned. “And she’s got a little aftercare coming at bedtime. She’ll be a happy little camper after I rub some cream on her bum bum.” Okay, so Mary talks like that when I’m not around, or awake, which I guess makes it less embarrassing. Or more. I don’t know. She is so a big, and I needed to call her on it again because she’s been happy to let me think all of the ageplay stuff was all in response to me becoming more of an ageplayer, not her. She is so caught. “Okay,” my Nana said. “I’ll trust you on it. But I’m still her Nana; it’s my job to stick up for her.” “I know. We appreciate it.” “Can she have a cookie even though she’s in trouble?” “She’s not in trouble. She misbehaved, got her bare bottom spanked for it, and now it’s done.” And, I would add, I am perfectly capable of deciding when I can have cookies anytime I want except when Mary explicitly says things like ‘no, you can’t have a cookie.’ Shy of that (incredibly unfair bullcrap) I will eat cookies when I choose, thank you very much, because I make my own decisions (when Mary lets me) just like every other adult (who Mary is in charge of). Really! “Daffy...” My love was calling my name. “Daffy...” I had to pretend to just be coming to. “Five more minutes,” I mumbled because I know how to make her smile. “Nice try,” she said, not believing it. “You’ve been asleep all afternoon.” “I was tired,” I said, rolling over and opening my eyes to see Mary right next to me and Nana leaning on the drooframe “I know. But nap time is over.” O no. I recognized the look on her face: her I’m-gonna-make-you-squirm-face. O please not in front of Nana. Please please pleeeeaaassse. Mary always looks so pleased with herself before she says something just to embarrass me; I just gotta sit there and wait for it. Here it comes. “Did you stay dry during your nap?” “Marrrrryyyyy! I don’t. Nana, I don’t, really! She’s just saying that to be mean to me!” “I know she’s just teasing you. But it wouldn’t be the first time someone pottied in that bed. That’s why I keep that waterproof mattress cover on it, for when the kids are staying over.” “Anyway,” Mary said putting her hand on my forehead, “let’s get you downstairs and get some water into you. You’re overheated.” I shouldn’t have used the comforter; I was way too hot and actually felt a little crummy. “I saved you a cookie,” Nana said. “And some cold milk.” “Did the window guy come,” I asked as I yanked the covers off myself and felt almost instantly so much better. “Yep. And when he asked me how it happened, I told him not to worry because the naughty little girl who did it already got her bare bottom spanked for it.” See!?! She tattles on me even to strangers. “Marrry, why you gotta...” “And you know what he said,” she said right over my objection. “He said he hears that a lot.” So friggin pleased with herself. I like the way she seems so happy when she says stuff like that, even if it is embarrassing. Smiling and looking so happy and looking back at me like she loves me bunches, which she does. “You are so mean sometimes,” I said to her. “And I’m not a little girl.” Really! No one will listen! 6 1 Link to comment
Alex Bridges Posted July 11, 2020 Author Share Posted July 11, 2020 ? Reading this again trying to cheer myself up. Lousy week ended in a lousier way. Maybe a new chapter this weekend. 1 3 Link to comment
kerry Posted July 11, 2020 Share Posted July 11, 2020 17 hours ago, Alex Bridges said: ? Reading this again trying to cheer myself up. Lousy week ended in a lousier way. Maybe a new chapter this weekend. So sorry to hear that! I hope you're OK and I look fwd to another chapter. ? 1 Link to comment
Alex Bridges Posted July 12, 2020 Author Share Posted July 12, 2020 Scene #36 “Remembering the rules for the internet now? Well?” O come the fuck on! Now she’s just being mean. How the fuck am in supposed to talk around a bar of soap? “Maybe you can tell me when the timer goes off.” I’m sure I can. Watching Mary leave the room with her bossy pants on... hmph! She trusts me to do what I’m told (when I’m already in a lot of trouble), which is why she left me with the kitchen timer ticking and a bar of soap in my mouth knowing I wouldn’t take the bar out or twist the timer to shave off a minute. Three minutes is a damn long time, too. The punishment didn’t even make sense. I didn’t say anything I shouldn’t have. I typed it. She should’ve washed my hands. And I am not unreasonable - she could’ve used a very harsh soap. Or something strongly scented; I don’t like strong scents on my hands. The punishment would’ve fit the crime! And I didn’t even really do anything I shouldn’t have, unless you count all the expletives. It’s a stupid rule that makes total sense and isn’t stupid at all, but urgh! STUPID FUCKING SOAP! Mary doesn’t care if I swear. She cares if I do it in writing online where it lives forever, especially if I do it in a way that I wouldn’t actually do it out loud. Like unleashing a tirade of curses and epithets that would make a biker gang kingpin say, “Those kinds of words hurt my heart.” That’s what Mary said when she channeling my mother and telling me I was in for it, and while my mother is no shrinking violet, she’s not Mary and Mary would walk all over biker gang kingpins if they ever tried to take over our town. I should thank my mom for getting me in trouble in the first place. Mary barely pays attention to social media. The only reason she even noticed my post is because my mom is on Facebook constantly, and since I didn’t respond to her text asking me why I called on a pantheon of gods from ancient cultures spanning a large swath of the planet and human history (I’m ecumenical) to rain demons and ... Well, not so important. The point is I wouldn’t have gotten in trouble if mom didn’t text Mary and ask what was up with me. And the answer to Mom’s question is virtually the entire world is stupid and I just can’t take it anymore. Like how the fuck are we going backwards? O, now I remember: DUMBASSES! DUMBASSES EVERYWHERE! DUMBASSES IN CHARGE, AND DUMBASSES ATTACHED LIPS-TO-ASSCHEEKS LISTENING TO THE DUMBASSES IN CHARGE INSTEAD OF THE PEOPLE WHO ACTUALLY KNOW WHAT THEY’RE TALKING ABOUT! MAY BAEL CAUSE ALL THE DUMBASSES TO GO BALD AND HAVE UGLY GRANDCHILDREN!!!! Whooo. Did it again. Darn. Never been so sorry-not-sorry in my life. The dumbasses are either too stupid to understand how their actions impact others or just don’t care, which in my case means they literally don’t care if I get sick and die. So I hope their children and their children’s children come out of the womb looking like George Burns (specifically George Burns at age 55, because it only gets worse from there). Anyhoo, Mary shares those sentiments, but that doesn’t mean rules magically go away. Know what also won’t magically go away? CORONAVIRUS!!! AAARRRRGHHHHHH! And DING. I swear Mary was just waiting in the hallway because it didn’t even stop dinging all the way and there she was. “Open,” she said and out came the bar of Dial. I don’t even like washing my hands with Dial (it smells like flowery grey poupon or something). My jaw was sore. I sat on the counter waiting, because I know better than to rinse without permission, or even to move in that direction. I’m very obedient (when she makes me). “Remember the social media rule yet?” Ever try talking without actually moving your mouth? “Dun thay anyting you wubbn’t thay in perthun.” Mary has a heckuva poker face, but she definitely wanted to crack up. Which wubbn’t be very nice. ? “That’s right. I know you lost your temper, and I understand why, but I make rules for a reason. When you’re ready to go back to work, employers would’ve seen that.” “I debeeded it.” “After it had been up. You need to make good choices the first time. Hop down.” I did, and Mary filled a cup for me, and I got to rinse to my heart’s content, and that did virtually nothing to get the taste out. It would be there for a while. That stuff irritates my lips and cheeks, too. When I was done, Mary put the bar back in the soap holder she got just for that reason, rinsed her hands, and cheerily said, “Let’s go get your bottom spanked and then you can call your mom.” Something about that sentence just felt off. It wasn’t the ‘let’s go get your bottom spanked’ part, which sounds like ‘let’s go get your transmission rotated,’ but the mom part. Temporally too close or something. Mary sat down on the end of our bed, and I dutifully stood in front of her, putting my arms up when she said and letting her take my shirt off because it was covered in soapy drool. Soapy drool is weird, too: clean but not clean. Know what happens if you swallow while you’re getting your mouth washed out? It ends up washing the rest of your digestive tract out. So I choose to drool, which is me exercising agency. I am an agent. I choose where to go and what to do. I am the master of my ... “Daphne!” “What?” “I said ‘over.’ You’re such a space cadet today.” She gently tugged on my wrist, and there I was again, over her knee, where she wrestled my panties down (shorts were in the bathroom, because Mary decided I didn’t need them for that part; she just likes my butt). But as I was saying, I am master of my OW! “Marrrry!” Smack! Sniffle. “Don’t you try crocodile tears with me, little girl.” “I’m not,” I said petulantly. I’m a pro at this; I don’t cry after one or two or five - “Eheh eheh eheh sniff” - swats. Not to mention, I’m not a little girl, as I’m sure I’ve said at least once. Really. As for the runny nose and leaky eyes and cramping diaphragm, clearly those are due to allergies and not the paddle. Mary paused and said, “Look at me.” I looked over my shoulder, and she looked very sympathetic. Because she loves me (because I’m awesome). She let out a short sigh and I guess figured I’d been punished enough. “Here,” she said and leaned back and grabbed the bear (that I keep putting on the dresser and that she keeps putting back on my pillow. “Hold on to Jamie.” SMACK WHACK CRACK SMACK WHAP WHACK CRACK! I don’t so much recall how I responded to that, but Mary tells me I was ‘demonstrative’ and ‘verbal.’ I just remember things got blank while she swung at my butt like she was trying to hit home runs during March Madmen or whatever the sportsball thingy is. So anyway, that would be a nope on deciding I’d been punished enough. Don’t even ask me how many paddle swats I got (I think it ends in ‘-illion’ but Mary says it starts with a t and ends in ‘-en’ so I guess we’ll never know the truth). The only person in the world who was in more pain than me in that moment would’ve been Jamie if he - it! - were alive because I squeezed the crap out of him (it!). The next thing I remembered was the feeling of fingers running through my hair and down my back all the way to what was left of my butt. I very much prefer a long, hard spanking to a short, thunderspank spanking. “Let it all out. Good girl,” my Mary said while I (her characterization) sobbed. She musta not thought that I was done yet, because when I started to get myself under control she CRACKCRACKCRACK! Which made be sob harder. I then did something very disobedient and got up, and she didn’t stop me, and spun around so I was sitting on instead of draped over her lap. “Hehe,” Mary said over my (her word) wailing (she’s an inveterate exaggerator, unlike me, who always gives you an objective, accurate, and unbiased account), and continued with the fingernails going up and down the bare skin of my back. “Just cry it all out.” I’m not a little girl. I don’t need to be rocked when I’m like that. You should instead ask Mary-I’m-only-a-big-cuz-you’re-a-middle why she started rocking me. It felt good for very adult reasons I can’t articulate but having nothing to do with my alleged little-girlness. I think I started to fall asleep, but I do that after major spankings all the time. Really. (No, really). “You ready to go wash your face,” Mary asked me before I could completely go to sleep. “Mmm mmm.” “You wanna take a nap instead?” “Yes.” “Okay ... okay ... Daffy? I need to get up now.” I slid off her lap reluctantly. “Lay down.” She went to my dresser and grabbed that damn pacifier and opened my middle drawer to get a pull up, except she got a diaper instead. So that’s what she did for three minutes while I sucked soap, put at least one diaper in my underwear drawer. “Open,” she said and inserted the pacifier. I really don’t like the thing. Makes the roof of my mouth feel funny after a while. “And lift.” And then there was waterproof underwear under me (under where? under me. Ha! Corny but go with it). I’ve learned the process. I just let it happen. I am an agent; I choose to let it happen. I’m the master of my ... “You glad you have your own teddy?” I must’ve held onto it (him. it! dammit!) when I climbed into Mary’s lap. “Wait right here.” Mary went into the closet and came back with baby wipes, which as much as I wish we didn’t own, I do like the smell. She wiped the tears streaks away and held it to my nose for me to blow (or as she said, “Honk.” I am not a duckling.) Then she got undressed down to her bra and panties, got on the bed next to me, and we snuggled into one another. “Feel better after that big cry?” “Yeah.” “Knew you would.” She kissed me. “Close your eyes, sweetie.” The dumbasses may not care about me, but Mary does. 13 2 Link to comment
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