Mary and Daphne #208

Getting my butt beat by Mary reminded me of something: I fucking love spanking! So much so that I’ve been giving Mary excuses (kinda insisting actually) to smack my butt on the regular. It’s hard to come up with fresh ways of misbehaving, but I’m nothing if not creative. Not a problem for me ff course, cuz I’m creative and all the other things too. And I thought I had a really good one.

“Mary,” I said to Mary to start off my confession, “I have something to confess.”

“You’re late.”

“How am I late?”

“I turned off my computer five minutes ago. This is the longest you’ve waited for me to be done with work before you’ve come looking for a spanking for, like, the last two weeks.”

I’ve been ever so naughty but very forthcoming about it. True story. “Then I have two things to confess. First, I’m late.”

“What’s the other one.”

Hoo; deep breath; not sure how this is going to go over. I reached into my pocket and took out (drum roll please) … … … a blindfold.

I handed it to Mary. She looked at it. She looked at me.

“See the tag? Where it says to only wash it by hand. I machine-washed it, and I need to be dealt with.”

Mary made her patented you’re-trying-so-hard-and-it’s-adorable face. I love that face cuz it tells me she recognizes how hard I’m trying and that she thinks it’s adorable. Which is really just the best. Sigh …

“C’mon,” she said and took my hand.

And all I could think as she led me to our bedroom is I can’t believe I get to hold hands with her for the rest of my life. She’s so awesome!Not that I’m all fan girl for Mary and stuff, but I so am!

“Sit down on the bed, baby girl. We need to have a talk.” She doesn’t call me baby girl very often. I dutifully sat down, knowing heccin darn well what kind of talks we have in situations like this. My butt was all a-tingle in anticipation, and … other parts … were ancitipatey too. She knelt down in front of me and took both my hands in hers.

“This misbehavior has got to stop, Daphne Ann,” she said all softly and stuff like she was so very disappointed in me. That tone can make me cry all the tears when I’m actually in trouble, but when I’m not it sends this electric spark down my back and makes me wanna (can’t think of the word … ope! got it) jump Mary’s bones. Yep. Wanna jump her bones.

I saucily replied (cuz I’m saucy and stuff), “Make me.”

“Tsk tsk tsk. How many times have I spanked your bottom this month?” I was about to say but Mary was asking one of her rhetorical questions, apparently. “Too many, which tells me something.”

“What does it tell you,” I asked in my coquette voice. I was hoping that would convey to her that she needed to spank my front side after spanking my backside. Haven’t done that in a while, and I think it’s really starting to show in my deportment. True story.

“Sometimes little girls act out …”

“I’m not a little girl.” But like she even paused in whatever she was saying.

“… because they’re not getting enough discipline, and sometimes they act out because they’re not getting enough love.”

“Got it – loving discipline. Let’s go!”

“So we’re gonna try something a little different today.”

Not that I was impatient or anything, but I looked at my wrist. A watch used to be there, like ten years ago. Tick tock, Mary. My butt’s gone un-spanked for twenty-four hours. “What are we gonna try differently, and how long will it take?” Not that I wanted to get through it fast so there’d still be time left to try the same thing over (and over), but …

“To start …”

Ruh-roh; she has pounce face.

And then she pounced on me. Totally saw it coming; totally defenseless to stop it cuz she’s a she-panther and I’m a merry woodland sprite.

“Marrryyyy, what’re you doing,” I pleaded from flat on my back. This tall lesbian was totally straddling me and …

“I’m trying to get to your tummy!”

“Mar no ugh sto heeheehee!”

“Pbbbbbbbtttt!”

“Heeeheeee eeeeeeppp!”

“Who’s my good girl?”

“Me! Sto eeeeeeeeeee!”

“Whose tummy am I tickling?”

“Mi eeeeeeee!”

“No squealing.”

“I can’t help eeeeeeeeeeee!”

“I’ma wear you out. Pbbbbbbbtttt!”

“Hi heeee heee heeeheeheeeee! Marryyyyyy!”

And then she stopped, and I opened my eyes, and she was on her knees, still straddling me and with a hand planted firmly on either of my (ticklish) sides. Her hair was messy and she was a little out of breath and she looked very pretty. Sigh … Not that I could let on that I like her and stuff. Just cuz we’re married doesn’t mean a proper girl like me can stop playing hard to get. “O, Mary. When did you get here?”

And then – get this! – she kissed me. Me! Her wife! On the lips and everything. Literally, everything, working her way down to my belly. I think she likes bellies or something; so weird.

“I think (kiss kiss kiss),” she said as she started unbuckling my pants, “you shouldn’t (kiss) wear pants with buttons anymore (kiss kiss). They take way too long to pull down.” She says that, but she can open the button on any pair of pants I own with the flick of a finger. She’s got lots of practice and stuff from doing all these things to me that she likes to do so much. Heehee! “What pretty undies you’re wearing today. Who’s this?”

“Um, me?”

“No, silly, on your underpants. Who’s this character?”

“O, a Disney princess, I think.”

“You don’t know?”

“You’re the one who bought them. By the way, where are you hiding my regular panties? Asking for my friend.”

“It’s cute your friend thinks these aren’t your regular undies, and it’s kinda funny your friend thinks your old undies are even in the house anymore.”

“Wait, seriously?” I liked those panties! They were sexy; even the ones that were just functional were sexy compared to the ones Mary didn’t, apparently, throw out.

“Focus, little girl. What’s the name of this princess?”

“I dunno. Moana?”

“You always guess Moana.”

“Cuz that’s the last Disney movie I saw.” O crap; Mary’s the-wheels-are-turning-in-my-head face.

“You just got a new homework assignment. You have two weeks to watch every major Disney movie that’s come out since 2010 and memorize all the major characters.”

I just threw up in my mouth a little. “Blegh; can’t you just beat me or something?”

“It’s not a punishment, sweetie.”

“Feels like it.”

“Do you want a punishment?”

“Um, yeah. That’s literally what I came to find you for.”

“Okay.” Ruh-roh; Mary’s I’m-so-delighted-with-the-mean-thing-I’m-gonna-do-to-Daffy face. “At the end of those two weeks, you are gonna serenade me with two Disney songs … And I will be recording them. How good a job you do will determine how many friends I share them with.”

“Ourgghhh … So if I do a good job they get shared with fewer people or more people?”

“I don’t know yet.”

“Ourgghhhhh!”

“What I do know,” the fiend I married said, “is you’re way too little to wear undies tonight.”

“I’m not little!”

“Yes.”

“No!”

“Mhmm.”

“Hmmph!”

“Who’s a pouty princess? Who’s my pouty pout princess?”

“I don’t know! Moana?”

“No, you silly little girl, you. You’re my pouty princess!”

“Marrryyyy! Stop teasing me!”

“Pbbbbbbbttttt!”

“Heeeheeeee no! Mean!”

“(Kiss kiss kiss) So mean. Wanna pick out your diaper, or do you want me to do it?”

“Let’s go lingerie shopping.” I suggested that because reasons. I mean, even if we didn’t buy any new panties for me, I could watch Mary try stuff on. There’s this one store with this salesgirl with pink hair who totally clocked our gayness and was totally flirting when she offered to do a fitting, and I think we should take her up on that for science and stuff.

“Let’s see how you feel about going lingerie shopping after we get your princess parts padded.” She slunk off the bed (and me) cuz she’s slinky and stuff. She moves like a fox; it’s part of what makes her so foxy, I think. “I got you new diapers,” she said. All excited and just ugh.

“You mean you got you new diapers. I don’t own any diapers.”

“When a momma buys diapers for the baby, are they momma’s diapers or the baby’s?”

So then my brain stopped working, which she so enjoys and I just, ya know, makes nonsense noises. Such as, “Whudyascwubbit? Buh!? Nuh! Hurnoopler! M-marrryyy!”.

“It’s okay. I know you’re not a baby. You just wear diapers like one.” She disappeared into the closet, leaving me stunned by her effrontery and stuff.

“I only wear them cuz you make me!”

“And when a momma diapers her baby girl, does the baby girl do it cuz she wants to or cuz she can’t stop momma?”

“Forniwobbly!”

“Aww, you’re getting all flustered. You’ll feel better when you got your pampers on.”

She had everything she needed, including an unwilling wife. She took the cuffs of my pants in her hands, and I raised my hips to let her pull them off (cuz I have agency, dammit!), and she pushed me back down. “I don’t need any help from you. You just lay there and look pretty.”

I wasn’t blushing, for the record. I was just red. Sometimes that’s just what color I am, and Mary should get no credit for it ever. It only encourages her.

“You say you’re not a little girl, but you’re so tiny I can lift your legs by the ankles to take your pants off.”

“Ourgh,” I didn’t whine. Didn’t turn any redder either. Those are lies, in case you hear differently, and gently but firmly correct whomever you hear it from. “I’m just petite,” I said from behind my arms. Just needed a moment alone (not because I was embarrassed; I had way too much righteous indignation at her treatment of me to be embarrassed) and what better place to be alone than hiding behind your arms? Not that I was hiding (another lie, if some lying liar tells you I was).

Nothing happened for a moment. I peeked out from behind my arms and Mary was making her I-like-Daffy’s-bare-legs face. I saw my chance. “We could skip the diaper and have sex instead,” I helpfully suggested. I’m very helpful. ‘There goes Daphne,’ people say, ‘such a good helper.’ I have pre-school report cards singing my praises for always being eager to help and to follow rules and to share.

“O no ya don’t, piddle pants. We need to get you in a diaper.”

Drat. And back behind my arms I disappeared. “Can I go pee first?”

“That’s what your diapies are for, sweetums!”

“Stop baby talking!”

“Make me.”

“O my gawd! Marryyyy! Hhh!”

“Why are you gasping?”

“Cuz you’re – hhh! – touching my …”

“Your undies? Your undies and what’s under them? Goodness o gracious, Miss Daffy, you are just radiating heat down here.”

“Don’t … read anything into it.”

“All I’m reading into it is I need to get you diapered before you leak anything anywhere.”

She whisked my panties down my legs. I heard crinkling, and she raised my ankles, slipping the diaper under me. “I remember the very first time I put you in a diaper. I needed three tries to get it in the right spot. Now if only takes one. How about that.”

“Groan.”

“You can just groan, Daffodil. You don’t have to say ‘groan.’”

“Grrr.”

“You’re so pretty lying on top your diaper. Who’s a pretty girl?”

“Grrr.”

“Who’s a pretty girl? Do I hafta tickle it outta you?”

“I’m a pretty girl, and it has nothing to do with the diaper. Nothing!” NOTHING!

“You’re a pretty girl in anything and nothing, but you’re just o so cute in your pampers. Yes you are! A-yes you are!” She sprinkled powder on me; I like how that feels despite not liking how it feels. She smoothed it in. I really like how that feels but not for the reason Mary wishes I did. “You’re smooth as a baby down here, and now you smell like one too. So sweet and fresh. Well, considering.”

“Considering what? What’s that supposed to mean?!?”

“Considering how … eager you seem down here.”

“Am not!”

“Wanna bet?”

“A million dollars!”

“How about if I can make you cum in the next five minutes, you do the same for me?”

“ … Yes, but only cuz I have a gambling problem. And only if you promise not to draw any conclusions from anything if you win.”

Just a gambling addiction that I just discovered that I have right this moment and not at all cuz I viewed her proposal as a win-win, and certainly not cuz I was aroused. Really. And even if I was aroused, it was only cuz she was touching me down there. And cuz I have a humiliation fetish. Nothing at all to do with the way she was talking down to me; it’s, uh, not that kind of humiliation fetish. Um, really. Yep; don’t like diapers; just like being made fun of. And cumming. Being made fun of and cumming. True story.

“I win,” she said.

“What!?! I didn’t.”

“Daffy, look at me.” She moved my arms away from my face, revealing to me her perfectly confident expression. Confidence is … sexy. I know for her it’s the opposite; she sees insecurity and wants to make it all better, but as a sub, I see her confidence and want to attach myself to her like a koala to a tree.

“I’ve already won,” she said. She took my wrists in her hands and pinned them to the bed above my head, climbing back on top of me. Only her hands and knees were touching me as she hovered above me. “All I need to make you cum are my words.”

That’s … a true thing. Not often, but sometimes she finds just the right button to push and smashes it. I find something hot as fuck about that, the way she can make me cum in my pants with just the right words sometimes (and how embarrassing it is to cum in my pants or just cuz she’s verbally teasing me; stupid but fun humiliation fetish). It’s also really hot just how proud of herself Mary is when she manages to make me do it. Making Mary feel positive feelings might be my number-one fetish.

“You know why you have a diaper under you,” Mary said to me, “Because I put it there. You’ll lay there on your diaper and let me powder your kitty and try to hide behind your arms all embarrassed because not so very down deep you know that I know what’s best for you. You know that if I say you need to wear a diaper for the evening, you need to wear a diaper. If you need to wet your pampers, you’ll piddle a puddle in your widdle pants cuz I say so. And you’ll toddle around in your huggies being adorable and cute cuz you can’t help being adorable and cute even if you don’t wanna be. And if I wanna tickle your tum-tum, you’ll writhe in my arms and protest ‘no no no’ but do nothing to stop me.

“And you’ll tell yourself you only do it cuz you’ll get in trouble if you don’t. But you’re not afraid of a spanking. You like it when I spank your little pink bottom. You just don’t want to disappoint me. And yeah, that’s cuz you’re a subby kinky mess, but do you know the real reason?”

She leaned down to whisper in my ear. “It’s cuz you don’t wanna disappoint your momma.”

What. The. Fuddruckers. And what the heccin hell is my body doing? I said to my body, I said, ‘stop liking this right now!’ But my body doesn’t listen to me, like, ever.

“O, did I say the magic word? You’re getting so blushy. You’re starting to squirm. Little girl laying on her diaper trying so hard not cum. But you will. You’ll make a cummy mess, and I’m gonna wrap you up in that diaper, and you won’t be able to stop yourself from feeling like the bestest girl in the whole wide world cuz you did just what momma wanted. You’ll be all conflicted, and that’s okay cuz I’ll be right here. Holding my little girl while she works out her little girl feelings and nurses from momma until momma cums too.”

I’ve never wanted to win so bad in my life. Don’t cum don’t cum don’t cum don’t cum. Body, stopppppp!

“C’mon. Make a cummy mess for momma. Be momma’s good girl.”

O gawd no fair all I ever wanted was to be Mary’s good girl don’t cum don’t cum don’t … dammit! “H … hh … uhffffff!”

“There you go! There’s my good girl! Big finish for momma!”

“(Squeaky orgasm noises).”

Dammit.

“Open your eyes,” she said to me. I did, and she looked so … proud. “Such a good girl.”

Sigh … Not to brag or nothing but my wife thinks I’m a good girl and she should be absolutely trusted cuz she can make me cum with just her words sometimes and they don’t give that superpower to just anyone.

She quickly finished putting the diaper on me and laid down next to me, pulling me close. “How are you doing?”

“(Squeaky conflicted noises).” Yep, so she had that part exactly right.

“Are you mad at me?”

“Mmm-mmm.”

“(Kiss). Ever since you called me your mommy, I’ve been trying to bring it up. You don’t have to ever call me that again if you don’t want, but sometimes, if you do want to …”

“(Squeaky whimpering noises).”

“(Kiss). You’re just a crybaby (kiss). You go right ahead and get those feelings out (kiss).”

A deal is a deal. I started to lift her shirt. She stopped me and asked, “Do you really want to?”

I nodded, and she helped me expose her breasts. She offered me one of her nipples, and I closed my lips around it, embracing her tight and teasing her with my tongue. I started to slide my hand down to her pants, and she stopped me, putting my hand back on her side and writhing at the sensations I was giving her with my mouth.

“You’re so good at that,” she said softly. “What a talented little hhh! Hhh! …. Mmmmm. Haha! I’m not sure which of us was more primed.”

Mary was. Definitely Mary. I’ve been to known have a hair trigger on my … But when Mary is wound up, she can set speed records if she’s got the right … car. Some metaphors get away from me. Sorry.

“I’m not a little girl,” I reminded her. “But you can still be my mommy … And I’ll call you that sometimes.”

“To make me happy or to make you happy?”

“(Sound of me not answering).”

“Okay. Can I call myself that sometimes?”

“Yeah; you can … Just maybe not, like, all the time. And a warning would be good in the future, before we do what we just did. It’s fine, but in the future. I mean, really it is fine.” I felt her muscles tense and relax in mild excitement and happiness at getting to use a term that meant so many things to both of us. She’d wanted to use it for so long. I don’t want her to use it all the time (in no small part cuz I don’t wanna live with someone who refers to herself in the third person), but I guess I’m okay with her using it sometimes.

“Thank you, Daphne. I promise I’ll be careful with it.”

“I know you will.”

“But,” she said mock-seriously, “I don’t care what you say. You are my little girl … And don’t think I don’t feel your warm diaper against my thigh.”

“I told you I had to pee.”

“Heh. Yeah, you did. I’ll change you at bedtime. Do you like the new diaper?”

“It fits really well … Like, really well.” Which is a thing I regret knowing. O, to rewind the clock to when I had no reference point for how a diaper fits. “I don’t like it.”

“I know.” She patted my butt. “Momma knows.”

“Marrryyy!”

“Too much too soon?”

“Yeah. Big meanie.”

“The way you’re holding me so tight makes me think I need to be mean to you more often.”

“You promised not to draw any conclusions.”

“Oops; I did. I won’t draw any more … Puddle Pants.”

“Marrryyy! Be nice to me. I’m emotionally vulnerable over here.”

“Look at me.” I did, and she saw in my eyes that I wasn’t kidding. “Okay. I’ll be super nice to you. How about a nap before dinner? We can order in from somewhere. And I’ll let you be the big spoon.”

“I don’t wanna be the big spoon today.”

“(Kiss). My sleepy good girl.”

“(Sleepy gay sighs).”