Mary and Daphne #211

“Passengers on flight 315, we will begin boarding in about 10 minutes.”

I know I do most of the talking in my diary with Mary a close second, but that was the gate agent. Or as I like to call them, the agent of the gate. Agent Of The Gate. Sounds like someone who guards a castle or the entrance to another world in a fantasy novel, and sometimes my life is like a fantasy novel. ‘There goes Daphne,’ people say, ‘off in her own little fantasy world.’ You’d be off in a fantasy world too if you had Mary, who was taking me on a trip. An awesome trip! Been so long since we left the country and I was just o so excited that for once my laconic self was downright chatty.

“Do you remember what you called me on the first airplane trip we took together,” I asked Mary.

“Um…”

“O c’mon, you gotta remember.”

“Daph … ne?”

“You called me a carry-on-the-plane size girlfriend. It was very cute. You’ve been cute and kinda derpy the whole time you’ve known me.”

“Do you remember what we did as soon as we got in our condo?”

“I think so, but maybe you can tell me anyway.”

“All passengers who need extra time boarding may board now.”

“They’re gonna board us next,” Mary said.

“You can board me whenever you’re ready,” I said cuz I’ve been derpy and prone to derpy sexual innuendo ever since I’ve known Mary. Two derps being derpy together. Sigh …

And how did Mary respond to my very clever suggestion? Well, I shall tell you. She said, “Do you need your diaper changed before we get on?”

She’s not cute and derpy all the time. She thinks she’s being cute with questions like that, but actually they’re mean and spiteful and other bad things. “No, for the tenth time since we got through security. And did I mention how incredibly unfair it was to make me wear one of these through security?”

“It wasn’t mean at all. I knew they’d send us through a metal detector and not the body scan things.”

“It’s called a millimeter wave scanner.”

“I was dumbing it down for you cuz you’re a little girl.”

“Marrrry!” It’s gonna be such a long flight.

“When you go through TSA Pre-Check, you go through a regular metal detector.”

“And instead of telling me that, you let me get anxious and red-faced and did I mention anxious?”

“And who held your hand through the line and helped you be brave?”

“What you have is a being needed kink. That’s what you have,” I told her very haughtily. I was feeling haughty, I guess. I’m used to feeling bratty (though I’ve only been bratty once in my whole life; really), and sometimes I feel sassy (which is why the love of my life calls me a sass muffin, which aren’t actual muffins if you ever go into a bakery and try to order one at your wife’s suggestion, which is a thing I never did and that she hasn’t reminded me of at least once a year ever since; really), and once I even got mouthy (true story).

“I have a kink for blushy redheads who cling to me when they’re nervous, and lucky for me I married one.”

“You took unfair advantage of the airport security process … which is designed to keep us safe. You should take it much more seriously … and patriotically.” She chortled at that. At me! Frigging chortler not taking security seriously. Hmmph!

“How’s your bottom feel,” is what she asked instead of acknowledging the rightness of my position and dashing off a letter of apology to TSA.

“It hurts.” Okay, maybe it just tingled a little.

“It doesn’t hurt.”

“No, but still. Was that really necessary?”

“It was just enough to remind you to be a good girl on the plane. It’s twelve hours. What if there’s turbulence? What if a flight attendant won’t let me spank you in the galley? A preemptive spanking in the airport has been shown to decrease the risk of naughty little girls making bad choices on airplanes by almost 30%. I showed you the article.”

“Hmmph! You had ChatGPT write that ‘research.’”

“And it gave you another chance to practice changing your own diaper.” Mary smirked when she said that. Didn’t even try to hide it. All week long she’s been making me wear diapers at least part of the day and supervising me changing myself. She made a big production out of it too.

“Daffy,” she called out all dulcet toned like she’s made of sugar and sunshine, “could you come downstairs? We need to talk about our trip.”

I was there in a flash cuz I’m speedy and because ‘We need to talk’ is an ominous phrase. “We’re still going, right,” I asked.

“Of course. Come sit next to me.”

“She sat down with a growing suspicion,” I quietly narrated to myself.

“No need to be suspicious.”

“Our heroine forgets sometimes that Mary has ears like a German Shepherd.”

“This is serious,” she said, which made me take it seriously. “We’re going to be going to a lot of museums, and we’ll be in crowds and unfamiliar places.”

“I’ll wear my mask, like I said.” It was actually my idea cuz even pre-Covid every time I took a trip abroad I came back with some exotic upper respiratory thing. One time a woman coughed on the back of my head in line for a museum and I was sick by the time I got back to the hotel and stayed sick for three months. True story.

“I know, sweetie, I know. What I want to talk about is making good choices.” That’s when I rolled my eyes so hard I gave myself a little headache. “We’re gonna be around priceless works of art and a lot of people. You need to be on your best behavior.”

“We’re in luck cuz I’m always on my best behavior.”

“Well, I know you try your best.” Hmmph! “There will be lots of dangers for a little girl like you on our trip.”

“I’m not a little girl.” But like she even heard me.

“You could get hit by a car. You could get lost. You could get stolen.”

“Well, I am highly portable.” Cuz I’m small and light, which is also how Mary can yank me over her lap so fast all I can do about it is go, “Woah! Marrrry!” SPANK!

“Are going to listen and take this seriously, or do I need to spank your bare bottom for you first?”

“I’ll listen!” SPANK!

“And you can do it without the sass. We’re going to be in unfamiliar, crowded places full of strangers and breakables. When I tell you we need to hold hands, you will hold onto my hand. Is that clear?”

“Yes.” Gotta tell y’all, holding Mary’s hand is not, like, a burden to me. I kinda really sorta definitely enjoy it o so very much. You might even say holding hands is how our relationship started. I mean, her yanking me off my feet and over her knee without so much as a ‘wanna spanking?’ is how it actually started technically, but for polite company, it was love at first handhold.

“And I need to know where you are at all times. I’m putting an AirTag in your pocket every single day so I can track you on my phone.” We’re already signed up on Find My Friend. I think she just likes the idea of tagging me; if we were into puppy play, I’m pretty sure she’d have had me chipped by now.

“You’re going to stay within ten feet of me when we’re out in crowded places.”

“Okay.”

“And you’re going to use your inside voice when we’re inside.”

“Yeah.” Duh; that’s why it’s called an inside voice.

“And you get one warning about bad choices. Second time, I’m spanking your bottom. I’m bringing the hairbrush and your paddle.” It’s. Not. Mine! It’s hers!!! She uses it; I get it used on me. It’s hers! “I’ll take you to the nearest lady’s room, pull your pants down, and turn you over my knee. Capisc?”

“Capisco.”

“Daphne Ann?”

“That means ‘I understand’ in Italian.”

“O. Good girl doing your Italian lessons.”

As I was getting off her lap, I rolled my eyes so hard the other way that my headache went away. Weird. Or maybe it wasn’t that but that she said the magic words, i.e., she called me a good girl and I went squeeeee inside (Squeeeeee! Mary thinks I’m a good girl! Life is so satisfying and awesome! Squeeeeee!)

And I don’t mind her rules. For firsties, I knew she was gonna relax those rules cuz it’s a lot of work enforcing them. For twosies, I’m an excellent rule follower. Even when I’m breaking rules, which I never do, I almost always know I’m breaking them, which means it doesn’t count as rule breaking because reasons. Mary disagrees, but I only go along with her POV to humor her and cuz she makes me. But she only makes me cuz I leave her no choice, for instance when I say things like, ‘O yeah? Make me!’ and cuz many years ago during our courtship I specifically said, ‘I want you to be in charge. You have my consent from here on out to set the rules and discipline me when I don’t follow them.’ It was something to that effect, anyway.

“One other thing. Your diapers on the trip.”

“But we’re not taking any diapers to Europe,” is what I said cuz it seemed wiser than throwing a temper tantrum (which would’ve been my first tantrum ever cuz I’m o so very good inside and out; really).

“We’re crossing a lot of time zones. Do you know what time zones are?” Me giving Mary my not-impressed-face. “Well, it’s going to be a big adjustment, and it’s gonna make you feel funny. It’s called jet lag.”

“You can’t be serious. I’m not wearing diapers the whole time.”

“I didn’t say the whole time, but if I did, you would say yes. Do you know why?” I knew but didn’t wanna say. “Daphne Ann Taylor?”

Ooo, my whole name; she means business. “Cuz you said so.”

“That’s right. We have long flights, long train rides, long lines, jet lag, and beds we don’t own. You’ll wear a diaper when I decide you need to wear a diaper, and you won’t argue with me when I decide, when I check your diaper, or when I change your diaper. Clear?”

I was not, as some people who are mean and dishonest and are always traducing my sterling character (which is never less than dignified and poised and the very picture of equanimity yet never coming off as aloof) making my poutiest pouty face ever. Nor did I cop an attitude or have an attitude; nor did my ‘yes’ in response drip with attitude. Except the attitude of grace, for I am graceful in all my movements and mannerisms. Really.

Mary made one of her I have-to-make-her-understand faces. “Let’s go,” she said, taking me by the wrist and leading me somewhere.

I didn’t drag my feet or try to pull my wrist back or whine, “No! I don’t wanna spanking!” But if I did, I did so gracefully. And I was poised the whole time. And equanimous. And stuff. And things too.

“And you won’t get a spanking if you mind me.”

“I’ll mind!”

“I know you will.” Into the kitchen she pulled me, where that damn wooden spoon lives. The Balsa Bitch, I always call her when no one with permission to spank me is around or ever cuz some of them hear seemingly every naughty (so they say) word I utter. “Stand here, hands on your head.”

Who’s a good rule follower? Me! So I stood there with my hands on my head like a sucker while Mary turned the tap on. “I didn’t say any bad words! Please don’t wash my mouth out! Pleeeeeeasee?” Good thing I didn’t beg cuz that would’ve been pathetic and stuff.

“Hold perfectly still,” Mary said.

In the years I’ve known Mary, I’ve learned that she’s a ninja, a coyote, a sorceress, a so-and-so, a lawyer, and a politician. Apparently she’s also a wild west gun fighter cuz she yanked the nozzle from the sink, spun, and fired right at my shorts.

“Mary!”

“Hold. Still.”

“Are you crazy?”

Satisfied with my wetness, she put the nozzle back, and like she was the sane, reasonable person in the room (which she wasn’t and hardly ever is!) said to me, “How do you feel right now with wet pants and warm wetness running down your legs onto the floor?”

Well, good thing I’m a wordsmith cuz I was feeling o so many emotions and had all the words I needed to describe them: confused, upset, miffed, and wet. Especially wet. “Wet,” I said (and definitely dripping with attitude that time, haha puns but not really).

“Imagine that’s little girl pee that just came gushing out of you while standing in line for a museum cuz you just couldn’t hold your tinkles anymore? All those people would be staring at you, and they’d be a lot less understanding than me. I understand you’re just a little girl. They’d see a grown woman who just wet her pants!”

“I’m not a little girl!”

“What’s worse – having an accident in a diaper where no one can see, or having an accident in your undies so everyone can see?”

“I’m not gonna have accidents!”

“O, sweetie,” she said like the most loving, understanding person ever and stepped right through the puddle she made to give me the most loving hug ever. “I wanna believe that too. I really do. But we can’t take that chance. Every diaper I put you in comes off wet.”

“Cuz you make me,” I didn’t say pleadingly with my emotions so on edge I was on the verge of weepiness.

“Whatever you have to believe to be brave, Daffodil. You know I don’t judge you. I’m just trying to protect you, and I’m going to even if it makes you mad at me sometimes.”

“Marrry!”

“That’s right; your Mary will always keep you safe.”

And I didn’t silently give in. Not true. If you hear otherwise, firmly correct that person with a throat punch. What really happened is I went, “Hmmph! Fine. Friggin’ fine. Just fine! Hmmph!” See? Nothing silent about it at all, which would just be pathetic.

Mary stepped back, keeping a hand on my shoulder. “You’ll see it’s really for the best.”

“But I won’t be in diapers the entire trip, right?”

“No, just when it might be tricky to take you to the restroom and at bedtime, at least until we get adjusted to the time change.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.” And then she actually held out a pinky; what I could do but wrap my pinky around hers? One might say doing so constitutes my agreement, but I prefer to think of it as constituting her commitment. I mean, it’s a pinky promise! That means something! Or at least it does among honorable people, and Mary is nothing if not stalwart (except when she’s being devious … which she very often is when it comes to poking our kink buttons).

“Now,” she continued cuz of course she wasn’t done with her farce, “we might go places where there isn’t a restroom I can help you in. Probably not, but it could happen, and it will for sure happen on the plane. You’ve never changed your own diaper. It’s just not something little girls like you should be doing, but we can’t have you sitting in a wet diaper the whole plane ride.”

“I have to wear it on the plane?!?”

“Of course, hun. You’re gonna be going to sleep on the plane, and your bedwetting has gotten to be four and even five times a week.”

“Cuz you make me wear diapers four and even five nights a week sometimes!”

“I know it’ll be scary and uncomfortable for you, but you’re probably going to have to change your own diaper in the airplane lavatory.”

Years of this ridiculousness and I’ve never changed my own diaper. The reasons are several. Firstly, they’re not my diapers; they are Mary’s diapers, and it just so happens I’m the one wearing and wetting them. Item B, Mary has made it abundantly clear that if I ever take (breathing through my teeth right now using the first-person possessive for the sake of literary clarity) my diaper off, she’ll spank me with the bath brush until I stopcrying. Holy heccin butt wounds. And reason nope-never-absolutely-not-I-refuse-I-reject-I-disown-I-repudiate, changing my diaper myself would be actively participating in the diaper stuff, which could be (and would deliberately be) misconstrued by Mary as accepting – nay, enjoying – the diapers.

“I don’t want to put them on myself,” I said.

“I’ll diaper you if I can, but it might not be possible every time.”

“Then I just won’t wear a diaper on the plane.” She didn’t even reply to that verbally. She just tightened her lips at me. “Fine, but I won’t wet it.”

“It’s twelve hours; no way can you go twelve hours without piddling your pampers. I could double diaper you in extra thick diapers, but it would be obvious to everyone you’re a little girl who still needs potty pants. Would you like to do that instead?”

“Urgh! Fine, I’ll change myself.”

“When I say to.”

“What?”

“I’ll check your diaper, and when I say you need a change, I’ll send you off to the lavatory with a new diaper.”

I didn’t respond verbally to that. I just briefly sighed and slowly blinked as if to say, lord give me patience with this one. “May I go change into dry clothes now?”

“Yes, living room.”

Longer sigh; closed my eyes; took a deep breath. “Why?” Cuz my clothes live in the bedroom.

“To practice diapering yourself, silly. You don’t wanna wing it, pardon the pun, at 35,000 feet.”

“You’ve been planning that pun for days; I know it.” She is so the type to plan a pun like that days in advance. She didn’t show it on the outside, but I knew on the inside she was so proud of herself which is just, like, so cute and endearing. And that I find it so cute and endearing is a big clue as to why I let her make me wear diapers: I’m just a stan for Mary.

“Come,” she said, this time taking me by the hand and walking me back to the living room (at least I’d stopped dripping; #winning?) straight to the side table. “We’re gonna pack you a little changing kit in your carry-on with fresh diapers, wipes, and a little powder.” She bent down to pick up the basket of changing supplies she’s kept in the living room lo these past years. “Alright; let’s see what you got.”

“Here? In front of you?”

“Of course, silly goose. If I can change your diaper, I can certainly watch you diaper yourself. First step is taking off those wet shorts and undies. I know you can do that part yourself.”

If my life were an open-world video game, there’d be stats for miles walked, miles driven, and hours spent bare bottomed in our living room. I took my wet things off and unfolded a diaper.

“Gotta wipe first, silly.”

“But I’m already clean.” I was already clean and then I got cleaner when she hosed me down. If she thought I was gonna clean up that puddle (that Suzy was probably rolling in right then), she had another thing coming. TBD what that thing was gonna be, but it was on its way. Really.

“But you’ll be coming out of a peepee diaper when you change yourself. If it will help, you can pull your wet shorts and undies back up, and I’ll watch you wet them in the bathtub. Will that help? Wetting your underpants so it feels more real? Cuz we can go do that.”

If you say what you wanna say right now, you’re gonna get a major spanking and she’ll really will make you pee your pants. Just say no. “No.” Add thank you. “Thank you.” You are so pathetic sometimes.

“Then show Mommy how you wipe yourself.”

Mary talks about that little spot on my color bone that turns red when I’m aroused. Well, it was under my shirt so we’ll never know. But Mary’s red cheeks, her lascivious, she-wolf grin – she was getting her jollies watching me change into a diaper. She literally leaned forward when I was wiping myself as if to get a better view. All she didn’t do was lick her lips.

“Don’t forget your bottom,” she added ever so helpfully. I didn’t even point out that I have never and will never do that in a diaper cuz she would’ve said something like. ‘You never know’ or ‘and let’s hope it stays that way, but just to be safe’ or ‘a just-in-case wipe is always good for a little girl like you, unless you want me to start wiping you every time you use the potty.’ I know she would’ve said one or all of those things (and other things!) cuz she always always always wipes my butt when she changes my diaper. And the wipe has always always always shown how unnecessary that is except for this couple times when Mary decided to be extra thorough (meaning spear me on the end of her wipe-wrapped finger) or this one time I don’t wanna talk about so shut up.

“Might help to squat down so you can reach all the way back, baby.” I was on the verge of being on the verge of tears, and worst of all, my humiliation kink didn’t hate it as much as the rest of me did.

“Now a little powder on your bumbum, or you can sprinkle some on your diaper.”

I did the former and wiped my hand on my shirt, leaving a powder print. Won’t do that again. Mary gets zero credit for making me practice just cuz I learned something; in fact, she gets zero credit for anything ever.

“Putting your diaper on yourself is the tricky part. You can do it sitting down on the toilet lid, but I think it’ll be easier if you’re standing.” She got up and steered me – diaper in hand, lady parts out – to the wall. “What you do is unfold the diaper …” I did. “Bring it behind you and hold it against the wall with your back …” I did. “And bring it between your legs.” I did. “Now pull it up and see if it’s too high or too low.”

“Um, I think it’s …”

“Lemme,” she said and took the front of the diaper, pressing it to my waist. “You got it on the first try! High five!”

It. Was. A. Reflex! Of course I didn’t mean to high five her for getting the diaper right the first time.

“Okay,” she said, “you finish up.”

I unfolded the wings. “Um, which tapes do I do first?”

“Always the bottom ones. Right, left. And then the top ones; left, right. And you’ll get a better fit if you use your left hand to do the right one on top.”

And done. No celebrating.

“Lemme check how you did.” She checked the waist, she checked the leg gathers, and she patted my butt just cuz. “Feels good to me. How does it feel to you?”

“Fine.”

“Not too tight or too loose?”

“No.”

“Then you did a very good job, sweetie! Good girl!”

Don’t squee don’t squee don’t squee … Squeeeeeeeeeeeee! Dammit! Stupid internal monologue betraying me just cuz the one and only Mary, love of my life, called me a good girl. And why is my lip trembling? Wtf, body?

She’s been teasing you for a half-hour and made you do something you’ve refused to do for three years and it’s just the start of having to wear a diaper on our European vacation.

O yeah. Should I cry?

Yes, but only a little sniffle and a tear or two.

So I did that, and Mary said, “Aww, my baby girl is having some big feelings.” She put her arm around me and steered me to the couch, sitting down so I could flop myself into her lap and bury my head in her chest. “You were very brave,” she said and kissed my hair. “And you did such a good job. I know you like Mommy changing your diapers, so you’ll only have to do it yourself when it’s absolutely necessary.”

Ya know, that didn’t help as much as maybe she thought it would. “I don’t wanna wear diapers on our trip. I’m not …” I choked on the words

“What? Use your words, honey.”

“I’m not a … a diaper girl.”

“You think only a diaper girl would wear diapers on her vacation? You’ve worn diapers on our vacations before.”

“But not overseas.”

“I promise you it doesn’t make you a diaper girl. It makes you my good little girl for doing as you’re told, and I know you like doing what I tell you.”

“Yeah.”

And you like it more when you do something you don’t wanna do because I told you to.”

“Yeah.”

“So it’ll be fun. I promise I’ll be very mindful of your feelings. Everything will be fine.”

“(Sniffle).”

“What that a yes sniffle?”

“Mhmm.”

“Mommy’s good girl … And even if it did make you a diaper girl, which it doesn’t, but even if it did, that would be okay. Do you know why?”

I already disagree with the very premise of that question; politeness more than curiosity required I ask, “Why?”

“Because I’ll always make sure everything is okay. I won’t let anything bad happen to you.”

Mary, my mobile safe space. And the safest space is where I was right then, in her lap with my face buried in her chest, her arms around me and her cheek resting against the top of my head. It’s a pretty awesome space.

“Okay … Mommy.” I looked up at her, and she was smiling one of her this-smile-of-perfect-contentment-doesn’t-begin-to-reveal-how-happy-I-am-because-I-get-to-live-my-life-with-Daphne smiles. Pretty sure only ageplay can be so wholesome and dirty at the same time. I mean, a couple minutes ago she was telling me to squat so I could wipe my butt better, which she was only doing cuz sometimes she might not be able to do it for me, and now she was making eyes at me like I’m the whole universe and a bag of chips. I mean, I am, but she doesn’t make those eyes at me all the time (I think cuz she thinks it would go to my head or something, which is just silly since I’m the humblest person to ever be so awesome and so humble). I started to get up so I could throw those wipes (which were sitting on top my wet shorts - ew) away and put my clothes in the washer.

“Where you going?”

“To clean up.”

“I got one more rule to tell you.”

“Okay.”

“Our hotel rooms will have bidets in them. They are not toys.”

“Ewwww! Mary, we have a bidet attachment upstairs.” And from experience, I’ll just say that if you’re gonna play with one, the water pressure in ours beats anything I’ve sat on in Europe. First time I tried it after it was installed I wasn’t sitting on it, which was good cuz I’d have done myself a permanent injury (it shot clear across the bathroom!).

“And I have a surprise for you.”

“Is it the kind I’ll like?” You won’t believe this, but sometimes her surprises are not very welcome. True story.

“I got us upgraded to first class.”

“Omuhgawd, really!?! How?”

“We’ve been collecting points for more than three years and haven’t spent any.”

First class on a domestic flight is not a big whoop. But on an overseas flight? Each seat is a little pod, and the seats lay flat and the blankets and pillows are better and there’s a gift bag of fancy lotions and the meals are better and there’s a sundae cart and the snacks are name-brand and the alcohol is complimentary and did I mention the seats lay flat so you can actually sleep and not wake up in pain!?!

“This is so awesome,” I said when we’d boarded and they’d already given us a flute of champagne before hardly anyone else had even sat down. Then I whispered, “Do you think the other people in first class know we didn’t pay for it?”

“Aww! Here I am at the birth of a brand-new insecurity, and it’s so cute,” she said to me. “If it makes you feel better, we can afford it; we just spend our money more wisely.”

I doubtfully asked, “Really? We can afford it?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Are we … rich?” Did I miss us getting rich? I miss some details but I’m pretty good at the big picture (and the details) and like to think I’d notice getting rich.

“No, sweetie, we’re not rich.”

“Then since when can we afford to fly first class overseas?”

“Since I got a big promotion two years ago. Our lifestyle didn’t change; we didn’t buy a big house or fancy cars. How is this news to you? You look at our bank accounts.”

“I just … never really thought about it that way.”

“Must be nice being a little girl and not having to think about those things,” she teased me. “You didn’t answer me at the gate when I asked if you remembered our first trip together, what we did when we got to the hotel.”

I remember.

“Our first long trip; our first condo rental,” I observed cuz I’m really clever like that. “Unpack first or go the grocery store first?”

I was guessing unpack cuz she seemed like the type and because she was rooting around in her suitcase already. She turned to me holding a paddle I’d never seen before, at least half an inch thick. I can’t remember if I gulped like in a cartoon or if I just said gulp cuz sometimes I recite my sound effects instead of making them.

“This is a big step for us,” Mary said, sitting on a bar stool moments later with me dangled over her lap. “I gotta get a stool for my apartment; I love having you so you can’t touch the floor.” Which is the origin of that.

“Big step,” I agreed.

“Last week you said you wanted me to discipline you for real, an actual domestic discipline relationship with me in charge of why, when, and how you get spanked, and any other consequence I think you need. Remember?”

Remember? Heck! Waiting on pins and needles for her answer! “Uh-huh.”

“I’m willing to do that for you, but like I said when you asked, that means sometimes you’ll get spanked when you don’t wanna be, harder and longer than you wanna be, and for any reason I say or no reason at all. Are you still okay with that?”

“Yes.” Gawd yes! Meg-Ryan-in-When-Harry-Met-Sally-YES-YES-YES!

“It’ll hurt a lot sometimes (SPANK!). It won’t be easy sometimes (SPANK!). It might seem unfair sometimes (SPANK!).”

Am I crying already? Really?

Yes really! That paddle friggin hurts! How much does it weigh!?! I mean, I’d been spanked by Mary when she was trying to make a point before, but damnnnn!

“You need spankings, don’t you,” she asked me while paddling my bottom like a canoe.

“(Sob sob sucking-in-air) Yes!”

“You need this spanking, because I say you do, don’t you?”

“Yes!”

“When you’re naughty or make bad choices, I’m going to spank your bottom. You know that, don’t you?” She took some of the noises I was making for yes, I guess. “Bare bottom, over my knee. If you need a spanking, I’ll give you one. I’ll spank until you’re crying and kicking like a little girl. I’ll spank you on the spot if I decide an on-the-spot spanking is called for, and I’ll spank you again when we get home. You’ll learn to be the best-behaved girl there ever was or you’ll have a bruised butt every single day. And if other people find out – if people see your bright red butt on the beach this week or hear you crying through a spanking like you’re doing right now, then that’s just what will have to happen. Cuz you know I’ll be strict; I’ll spank hard; and I’ll spank as often as you need it to be the happy, good girl I know you are.”

I left out the SPANK!s from that monologue but they were there, like a hundred of them, and I was carrying on like a lesbian much taller and stronger than myself was beating my butt with a piece of tree cuz that’s what was happening. I sobbed over her knee for a good minute before I got myself under control. She was rubbing my butt, patiently waiting for me to be ready to talk.

“So,” she said, “do you still want a full-time domestic discipline relationship?”

“On one condition,” I choked out, tears still streaming down my face. “I get to throw that paddle in the ocean!”

“Okay. But that’s the very last decision you get to make about your spankings so long as we’re together, unless you take back your consent.”

“Okay.”

“Every trip is kind of an anniversary because of that,” I said.

“And this one is for our actual anniversary.” I went in for a kiss cuz I’m romantic like that and also a total Mary stan, but she was snagging the flight attendant’s attention before she could walk by.

“Excuse me,” she said, dropping her voice to a stage whisper, “is there a disabled lavatory on board? Sometimes my wife needs help in the bathroom.”

The attendant politely didn’t look at me so I got to turn tomato colored in the semi-privacy of my pod. Hmmph!

“Yes, in both aisles. It’s the first lavatory in economy. If she needs it urgently and there’s a line, just buzz me.”

“Thank you,” she said before turning back to me as the flight attendant walked on. “All that practice and you might not have to change your own diaper this trip after all.”

“So. Mean.” She’s gonna take advantage of the ambient noise in every plane, airport, and crowded space to say stuff like that to me in public for two heccin weeks!

“Ya know,” she said all faux nonchalantly, “after dinner is served and the cabin lights are off, if I got caught with my hand up your skirt, I’d just tell them I was checking your diaper.”

O. My. Gawd. I hafta to respond to that quickly and clearly. “Germin flooperer!”

“It’s so cute when you’re too flustered to say words. Just make sure you at least try cuz if you start saying ‘keyboard smash’ I’ll have to put your paci in your mouth every time I want to get you flustered. I brought your paci, by the way, if you want it during the flight.”

“It’s gonna be a long flight,” I observed to no one.

“It’ll be over before you know it. After dinner, we’ll get your pampers changed, and then Mommy will tuck you in with a movie until you fall asleep.”

“Do you, um, think I can fit in your seat?”

“We’ll try when it’s bedtime, but you might be too big to be a lap child.”

“Hoosen hemfin.”

“I know. Mommy knows.”