Mary and Daphne #205

“Okay,” Mary said in her I’m-fed-up-with-this-frosty-silence voice when we were getting ready for bed after we got home, “what did I miss? You were doing okay, and then you got the look.”

“What look,” I didn’t say in the most passive aggressive you-mean-this-look-and-this-matching-tone-of-voice tone ever?

“That look.” Ooo, big Miss Mary folding her arms like she has a valid point just because her point is valid. Well, screw that!

Where to even start with the many ways the evening sucked? For one, Jo and Ann were the center of attention. And for another, their names are fine on their own but stupid together (JoAnn? Not that they call themselves that, but they could, and these people are not Branjelina, lemme tell you).

And Jane and Tommy were so much more interested in Ann than in me. And Brenna and Lisa were … Like everyone wanted to make the newcomers feel welcome, which is so the right thing to do and I don’t care.

FUCK! I hate this. I hate feeling this way. It’s stupid and not necessary and since when did I turn into the world’s most insecure titmouse? What happened to the me who met her wife while letting people I barely knew at the time spank me? What happened to her confidence?

“Can we not talk about it? I mean, not tonight,” I asked.

Mary sighed and gave me her nope face. “I think we should talk about it.” I knew she was gonna say that. I just sighed and made my woe-is-me face. I gotta say, I’m really getting insufferable, in my opinion. “We’re not going to bed like this. Did someone say something? Do something?”

If Mary thinks she can defrost my frosty silence by being reasonable, well, she’s got another thing coming.

“C’mon,” Mary said and led me to the bedside and pulled me over her lap.

“Are you kidding me right now!?! What did I even do?”

“Nothing, but sometimes you talk more when you’re over my knee.”

“I do not!” I couldn’t see her face, but I knew it had that this-is-my-sarcastic-if-you-say-so look of hers all over it.

“I’ve gotten you to confess an awful lot of things with you in this position.”

“Let me up!” SPANK. Not a hard one. Didn’t even hurt.

“I’m serious, Daphne Ann. You don’t have to look at me from there. Won’t that make it easier to tell me what you’re feeling?” I hate it when she has a point. She usually does. I do, too, but only around eighty percent of the time (seventy percent max on my best day).

“I don’t like Ann. There, happy?” SPANK! Okay, that one had a little zing in it.

“Please don’t get snippy with me.” She paused to see if I had anything more to say. “Why don’t you like Ann?”

“Because she’s just so … She’s … She’s … She’s fine! She’s totally unobjectionable and nice and she makes friends easily, and they’re my friends and I don’t wanna share.”

“Okay, I hear you saying that, and I believe you, but that’s why you’re mad at Ann. Why are you mad at me?”

“I wasn’t until you pulled me over your knee.”

“Yes, you were. What did I do? Tell me, and I’ll apologize.”

“She and Jane and Tommy got right into their little headspaces, and you just went right along with them and Ann sat on your knee, and you let her! Okay? Not over your knee. On your knee. Right in your lap like she’s … You do it with Jane too.”

“Do what?”

“You get all into this big headspace and just … The way you looked at her.”

“It’s roleplay, Daphne.”

“I know, but … I don’t like it.”

“Are you saying you’re jealous of the way I treat Jane when she’s being little, and the way I was with Ann.”

“Not jealous. Just … something like jealous but not.”

“O … kay. Like envious?”

“No.”

“Like what then?”

Hate admitting when she has a point, but she was probably right that there was no way I’d say this while looking her in the eye. “I don’t want other people to make you that happy,” I told her before that sentence even made sense to me. I could practically hear her cocking her head to the side and making her whoa-try-that-on-me-again face.

“What does that mean,” she asked me quietly. Shrinking your voice down to barely above a whisper during hard conversations is a me move. Mary doesn’t really do that unless she’s worried she did something to hurt my feelings.

“I wanna be the only person who can make you that happy.”

“It’s roleplay,” she said again. She sounded confused and a little mystified, maybe a little miffed, and I don’t blame her one bit for it.

“No, it’s not. I mean, it is, but you … You should see how happy you looked when Ann rushed up to you when she was being little. Maybe it is just roleplay, but it makes you so happy.”

I am, by the way, aware of just how unfair this is to Mary. She’s allowed to be as happy as she wants to be whenever she wants to be. But I’m also allowed to not like it just like I’m allowed to really dislike myself for feeling that way in the moment, which I did. I felt like a straight up toxic person.

“I’m sorry,” I said as I sniffed. “I know I’m not being fair, and I feel awful for feeling that way. I don’t like that I’m jealous but I am and it’s ugly and I’m sorry.”

“Sit up,” she said and helped me up. She opened her arms, and we held each other very tight. Also not fair that she’s much stronger than me cuz her tight is like a damn death grip sometimes. “I’m sorry you feel that way,” she said to me.

“I don’t mean to.”

“I know.”

“It’s just … You get that way with littles. I thought it was just Jane, but you were the same way with Ann, and we hardly know her.”

“I just like it. It’s fun to get excited and make them smile. I like making them feel special.”

“I wanna make you that happy.”

“You do, Daffy.”

“I wanna make you smile like that.”

“You do.”

“It’s not the same, the way you look at them. I can tell.” Wow, I really shouldn’t have said that.

“That’s not true, Daphne. Don’t you tell me I don’t look at you the same way.” She sounded cross, in a gentle way but the sharpness in her tone was unmistakable. “It’s roleplay. I feel so many ways about you that I never feel about Jane, and I hardly even know Ann. Don’t tell me I look at you the same way just because I put on a face for them. It’s roleplay. I’ll stop if you want me to, but don’t try to tell me that this is because of how I feel and not because of how you feel.”

I slid off her lap and sat next to her facing the room but not looking at anything. “I’m sorry.” Also missing back when I used to be able to have this kind of conversation (or was this a fight?) and not cry.

“You’re jealous, Daff. That’s what you’re feeling, and you’re making yourself feel worse. It’s okay to feel jealous sometimes.”

“I just … It’s not just that. I don’t like feeling like they can give you something I can’t.”

“Daff, look at me.” I did. She had such a serious face on, I’m not even gonna give it a quirky name. “You don’t like sharing me with other littles.”

O my fucking gawd. “I’m not a little!”

“What then? What do you think they’re giving me that you aren’t? You are everything. You are …” She shook her head. “Fucking cliché,” she muttered. “You are my whole life. You’re everything I ever wanted or will want, and I’ve made sure you know that in every way I possibly can. You don’t like seeing me being a big to other littles. You have no problem seeing me be a domme with other subs, but you get upset when I’m being a big with Jane and now with Ann.”

“I don’t.”

“I’ve seen you shoot daggers out of your eyes at Jane when she’s in little space and wants my attention, and you looked ready to slap Ann across the face tonight.”

“That’s … It’s got nothing to do with her being a little.”

“Yes it does! Why is that so hard? I don’t care if you want to call yourself a little or not. You’re … You’re Daphne! You’re you. I don’t care about labeling roles. I don’t care about all the friggin connotations. I care that we keep ending up back in this exact same conversation, and I don’t know how to break out of this pattern. Sometimes it’s me; sometimes it was my fault, and I apologized til I was blue in the face. But this isn’t. This is you inventing a reason to be upset.”

“That is not fair, Mary!”

She sighed heavily and softened her voice. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Okay, so we slipped into the ageplay thing together by accident, but you’re the one who leaned into it first. You’re the one who pushes the boundaries.

She took a deep breath. “You’re right. I’m sorry, and you’re right. But I still don’t know what you want me to do. Just tell me, and I’ll do it. You know I will. All you have to do is say it.”

“I don’t know what I want you to do.”

“Do you want me to stop being big with Ann?”

My turn to take a deep breath. “No.”

“Then what? Daphne, I need you to tell me what the solution is here.”

“I don’t have a solution. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Then I guess I don’t understand.”

O my god, what have we been talking about? Fine, lemme spell it out for ya: “You’re not her mommy!”

“So it is about her being little and me being big!”

“Yes! But no. It’s about … affection. When littles … You get affectionate. You use … You don’t talk to me like that. You don’t act the same way in the same way, if that makes any sense.”

It must’ve because her response was, “If I did, you’d get pissed at me. Every time I’ve come close, it’s ended in a conversation like this.”

“I know.”

“So then what are you saying,” she practically pleaded with me.

“I already said it.”

“What, Daphne? What?”

“YOU’RE NOT HER MOMMY! YOU’RE MINE!”