Mary and Daphne #207

I’m just a mess lately. I admit this. A messy mess. An overheated hot mess. I mean, I’m fine like I always am cuz I keep myself busy being a paragon and stuff, but also like, holy shit.

And for what reason am I this fine? I don’t even know, but I’m fine in a way that’s not and sure would like to get to the bottom of it. So what did I do? Well, if you’ll shush and stop interrupting me with your questions, then I shall tell you what I did.

“Mary,” I said to Mary, “punish me.”

“What? Why?”

“Cuz you haven’t in a while.”

“Cuz you’ve been a good girl.”

How much of a mess am I? My wife – Mary! The one and only! – called me a good girl and I didn’t experience any internal squeeing. Wtf?!?

“I have not! I’ve been terrible,” I argued.

“In what possible way,” she said incredulously. She was totally misreading my signals.

“In all the ways and things. Just punish me.”

“Do you want a good girl spanking?”

“I want a bad girl spanking.”

“But you haven’t been bad.”

“I know! I’ve been so good! It’s like I’m losing my edge. I used to be such a handful. I used to keep you on your toes. I used to push the envelope! I’m going soft! Punish me for going soft!”

“Daffy, I can’t punish you for no reason.”

“Yes, you can. You’ve done it before.”

“When have I ever punished you for no reason?”

O. My. Gawd. Lemme count the times: one … One time. “Just punish me. C’mon,” I didn’t whine.

“Daffy, c’mere.”

“So you can punish me?” Score!

“So I can hug you.”

“Punish. Me.”

“I don’t punish for no reason.”

“Do you want me to give you a reason?” Cuz I’ll do it! I’ll heccin give you a reason!

“What? No. You can have a good girl spanking, or you can have a hug.”

“Bad girl spanking and snuggles.”

Which is when she folded her arms and gave me no answer. I was in no mood for these shenanigans. I was in zero mood to wait until I misbehaved on accident. And I was standing next to the console table … upon which was a vase.

In the past, I may have deservedly earned a reputation for always making good choices. Perfect choices, even. ‘There goes Daphne,’ people say, ‘I wouldn’t do that if I were her’ and it’s like, of course they wouldn’t cuz they’re not me and thusly do not have my perfect choice making abilities. I mean, not that I wanna criticize but I don’t even know why Mary reminds me so much to make good choices.

I looked at the vase. Mary looked at me looking at the vase.

I nudged the vase toward the edge of the table.

“No,” Mary said. “Too far.”

Which I interpreted as exactly the right amount of far. I nudged the vase a little more.

“Daphne Ann, you do not wanna …”

In the moment the vase was in mid-air, time slowed down just long for me to step out of myself. I had a good third-person view of the situation and thought, firstly, about all the insta videos of cats doing exactly what I’d just done, and thenly, for someone who makes perfect choices this might have been a bad idea.

And the vase? It fell to the carpet and went klunk into a thousand shards that somehow maintained the exact shape and structural integrity of a vase. Mary’s not-impressed face.

Dammit! “You hafta punish me now. I … broke the vase?”

“You didn’t even chip the vase.”

“I … dented the carpet.”

“That’s not even a thing.”

“How are you even tolerating my attitude right now?!? Adjust my attitude!”

“Good girl spanking or hug. Those are your choices.”

“God fucking dammit!”

“Excuse me?”

Mary’s no-you-just-didn’t face. Been a while but I’d recognize it anywhere. “Whuh huh?”

“What words did you just use at me?”

“Um … They weren’t. I … Crap.”

At the time – when the spanks were landing to that ol’ classic tune you-do-not-swear-at-me – I distinctly recall thinking I had bit off more than I intended to chew. Now, as the swelling goes down, I have this odd sense that I’d been baited into breaking such a big rule. She’s so sweet to me.

“You are gonna get it,” Mary said as she spank-marched me up the stairs. “Using curse words at me. That is totally unacceptable.”

“Got you – ow! – to listen – eep! – though. (SMACK!) OUCH!”

“Not the time to be getting smart mouthed with me.”

I’d estimate that it’s fifty steps from where we were to our bedroom, and I got at least two spanks for every step. Mary played softball once upon a time, and lemme tell ya, the lady knows how to put some force into her underhand. Spank after underhanded thunder-spank, practically lifting me up the stairs and propelled me down the hall.

She’s gonna put me over her knee on the bed, I thought, but she spanked me right past it. Nope? She’s gonna do it in the wing chair. No? On the ottoman? No. Huh.

“Little girls do not speak that way,” Mary said as she marched me into our bathroom and parked me at the sink, pressed against the counter. She reached around me and started the tap.

Little girls – which I am not! – may not speak that way, but they think it. And not that I’m a little girl, but I was thinking, O fuck o no o fuck o no not the soap not the soap shiiiiiiiiittttttt!

“Mary (spank) no soap (spank) I don’t want (spank) soap (spank-spank). I just want (spank) a spanking.”

“You don’t get to decide what consequence you get when you make bad choices. You’re getting those naughty words washed out of your mouth, and then you’re getting a hard, bare bottom spanking over my knee.”

“But (sob) I don’t (other sob) want (sound of pants and panties being whisked to my ankles) …”

“Of course you don’t. Soap tastes yucky. Almost as yucky as the words you said to me.” She lathered the soap, and I just, well, I didn’t just stand there. I mean, how pathetic would that be? I stood there and got weepy and kinda begged, is what I did. The exact opposite of pathetic because reasons which are mine. Really.

“Open.”

“Mmm-mmm” SPANK!!!

“Open … If I have to pinch your nose …”

I must’ve opened my mouth, not that I remember doing it, but I do remember thinking, O yeah, this is what soap tastes like. It’s even worse than I remember. A minute ago we were arguing about me getting a bad girl spanking and here I am actually getting punished. How did that even happen?

“You. Do. Not. Use swear words at me. You can cuss up your little girl storm, but you know better, much better, than to swear at anyone, let alone me. Bite down … Harder.”

Who even taught her to spank along with every syllable? And this is gonna be in my molars for a day at least. Please don’t throw up. This is so gross it almost distracts me from how much my butt hurts. I mean, how does she even do that with her hand? My hands hurt just from … O, I’m clenching them. Boy, she is really going to town back there.

Just kidding. My thought process wasn’t nearly that cogent. It was more like, Ow gross ouch ew ow yuck ow ow ow gag gag gag ow gross ow gross eep blech.

‘There goes Daphne,’ people say, ‘Quite a deep thinker when she’s not super focused on keeping her lunch down.’ True story.

“Look at yourself,” Mary said. “Undies around your ankles getting your bottom spanked and your mouth washed out. Still feel like a big girl? Does it still feel good to swear?”

True story? It never felt good. It just came out. And I’ll beat Mary to the spank and admit that isn’t an excuse for what I said (I’m one of the all-time great admitters … when Mary reminds me of the things I did wrong and makes me admit them).

“Open.” Which I did and made all kinds of unspellable onomatopoeias spitting and hacking while Mary filled my cup (for tooth brushing; thankfully I’m not verbally naughty enough to need one just for rinsing out soap) and held it to my lips. Cuz yep, she doesn’t even let me hold my own cup after she washes out my mouth. It’s non-negotiable, akin to not being allowed to take my own pants down for a spanking.

“You can brush your teeth after your spanking. C’mon.”

Taken by the wrist back into the bedroom, just shuffling along behind Mary as she beelined to my nightstand to get her paddle (she says it’s mine, but she’s the one swinging it – It’s so hers even if it does live on my nightstand as a reminder to make good choices) and then beelining back to the wing chair.

“You wanted a bad girl spanking,” she said to me while shaking that paddle, “You’re gonna get one and regret it.”

Jokes on her – I already regretted it. Didn’t say that out loud though, cuz then I’d really get it. You can sass during your spank-march, and you can sass when you’re being bared, and you can even sass during your warm-up spanking. But sassing post-warm-up is only if your butt has a death wish. Take it from me, a girl who has taken it from Mary.

Mary didn’t scold or lecture. She just tipped me over her knee leaving my so high feet in the air, my elbows were practically on the floor, and started spanking. And paddling. And spanking with a paddle. Me? What was my part in this? Well, I shall tell you: cried.

I cried. Like some emotionally addled person; an emotionally addled person getting the worst spanking she’s gotten in the calendar year so far … And possibly in the last twelve months. It’s really unsustainable, this whole me going without a seriously bruised butt for more than a month thing. I mean, thank goodness I swore at Mary cuz I think I really would’ve broken something. And I like our somethings.

Round about the time I slid so far forward the only things holding me upright were Mary and my face against the carpet, the she-beast I married swooped me off her lap and pressed face into her chest. And what did I do? Well, I shall tell you: wailed.

I wailed. Muffled by Mary’s shirt, which I totally slimed. One might even say I unashamedly wiped my nose on her, but she knew the risk when she decided to hug me so tight.

I recover quickly both physically and emotionally (kinda like a vampire slayer), so even through my tears I was able to say, “My butt hurrrrrrrrrts and my mouth taste yuckyyyyyyyyyyyyy!”

And Mary treated me like an adult. I mean, so much like an adult that it was rated M for adult situations (and nudity cuz I wasn’t wearing any bottoms and my bottom was on display and I was straddling Mary’s lap so more than my bottom was on display and stuff). Yep, treated me exactly like a (well-spanked) adult by shushing my tears and stroking my hair and rocking gently back and forth.

When I had soothed myself – yep, soothed myself; no help from Mary cuz I didn’t need any cuz I’m totally independent in all the ways and stuff … really – Mary asked me, “Feel better?”

And I sniffled and snurfled and … apologized. “Sorry.”

“For what are you sorry?”

“For swearing at you. And sliming your shirt.”

“You didn’t swear at me. Not really. And I’m used to you sliming my shirt. Do you know why?”

“Why?”

“Cuz you’re a crybaby.”

And I did NOT make uwu eyes at her! My lips did not tremble! And I did NOT whine “I’m not a crybaby” in a pathetically squeaky, whiny squeak. It didn’t happen, and I wish you’d just let it go already. Geez.

“Ready to brush the soap out of your teeth?”

“Mhmmm … Which was totally unnecessary and stuff (snurfle) … I needa bow my ose (snurrrrrrfle … snurf snurrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrflllle snurf-snurf).”

I. Am. So. Pretty.

Mary likes washing my face after I’ve been crying. It’s just one of those ways that she likes to take care of me, and I like letting her. But this was the first time she took my toothbrush from me.

“I can do it,” I said to her and made (alleged) grabby hands for my toothbrush.

“No, I think you’re too little today.”

“I’m not little ever.”

Mary answered that by looking at the spot my crying left on her shirt (is it still a ‘spot’ if it’s the size of  … a shirt?). Dammit.

“But …”

“Daff, I got this. You’ll be okay. Hop up on the counter.”

“But that’ll hurt.”

“Yeah, cuz I spanked you on your bottom,” she said in what I perceived to be a smug tone. I mean, yeah she did spank me, but does she gotta be so happy about it? Never you mind how happy it makes me when she’s happy. And she lifted me by my hips right onto the counter.

“Hhhh!” I may have gasped, but only from surprise at how strong she is and not out of pain cuz I’m not susceptible to pain. What even is that? I for one don’t know and certainly have never derived any emotional release or physical pleasure from it. That’s for sure. Um, really.

“We’ll get that yucky soap out of your teeth, and we’ll get you a bath, and …”

“I already took a shower today.”

“Then I’ll just rub you all over with soap and rinse you off. How’s that sound?”

“Like a bath.”

“Don’t you get smart with me, missy. You know I won’t hesitate to spank your bottom twice in one day.” True story; fun day; more fun after the fact than during.

“Sorry.”

“Daff, look at me.” Which I did, and all I can say is awwwwwwwww; she was making her I-love-my-Daphne face and I’m a total pushover for that. “If you keep apologizing, the bath brush is coming off the wall.”

Sweet lord, she loves me! She really, really loves me!