Mary and Daphne #187

I hate doorbells. I much prefer a good knock. Knock from a delivery person? I could do without, tbh. Knock from someone going door to door? Not gonna answer probably. Knock from a friend? Heck yes please. But as with all things in retail and life, location location location. And timing. Location and timing.

Let’s take for instance the happenstance surrounding my location at the time of this happening that happened: the living room corner. And the timing: post-getting my butt spanked (hard! I mean, geez Mary; think of your rotator cuff!). And the locations of other items of import.

Pants: over the arm of the couch.

Panties: no idea. They flew off my ankles, and I didn’t see where they went. About most of the times that happens, an underpants gnome steals them before I can find them, and about most of those times, the gnome is named Mary and she’s five-foot-eight, much bigger than the average gnome but no less delighted to hide my underpants from me.

And what about Mary’s location? On the couch. Probably taking a breather after all that exertion. That, and waiting for my timeout to be over cuz – and she’ll deny this if asked – she HATES putting me in the corner if I’m still crying. Her caregiver self just wants to caregive the stuffing outta me, but she parks me in the corner anyway cuz she says I learn from it.

I don’t know about that cuz I think I’ve learned all the things by now. I mean, I legit know it all. A lot of people agree with me. ‘There goes Daphne,’ people say, ‘she’s such a know it all.’

So ya might say we were having a private moment, what with my nuditity and weepiness and fighting the good fight against the little sobs I hadn’t yet gotten under control when, DING DONG! I swear I’d disconnect the thing if I had any idea how. Electrocuted Daphne would be very grumpy.

I startled a little, cuz I always do when the doorbell rings (not because I’m an anxious person though – really!), and I even (horrors!) turned around a little, verboten during corner time. Mary gave me one her you’re-still-in-timeout-sweetie looks as she got up to get the door.

Our house has one of those foyer things, so opening the door doesn’t mean my girl parts will be out there for all visitors to see in the event they’re already out there for Mary to see. However, if we had no foyer, that wouldn’t stop Mary from letting certain visitors walk on in. I know this because Mary did! That’s what she did! With my butt out! And stuff too!

“It’s your Nana,” Mary called to me as she unlocked our door. And that was purely informative. It was not a company-is-here-cover-your-shame warning (not that I’m ashamed of it, but also yeah a little cuz they don’t call ‘em privates for no reason). Not that she needed to warn me, because I’m cool as a zucchini, not at all the type of person who gets stressed just because someone who isn’t my wife is about to see my spanked butt standing in timeout like a naughty little girl circa 1972. I certainly did not suffer a setback in the fight against the diaphragm cramping and the sobs and tears. Not a thing that happened; ahistorical; libelous. Really.

“Good morning, Mae. Come in.”

“Good morning. I came to ask Daffy a favor,” Nana conveyed to Mary as Mary conveyed Nana right into the living room. The woman I married has no social graces! Like, friggin at all! She takes liberties, is what she does. Has way too high a risk tolerance for the possibility of offending people with the sight of our lifestyle just all out there and stuff. True story. And note how convenient it is that you never see Mary’s bits and bobs out for all and sundry to see (especially that damn sundry).

“Have a seat. I was just about to let her out of timeout.”

I’m guessing that’s about when Nana established line-of-sight with my butt. The rest of me too, but something about bare butts just draws the eye, ya know? Mystery of human psychology (And I’m not too sarcastic! Where do these rumors start?).

“O,” Nana said, putting it quite lightly. In my fantasy world, she followed that up with ‘I’ll back out of the room and we’ll all pretend this never happened.’ But nope. Just nope.

In the world that actually exists (allegedly; I’m starting to have doubts), Nana followed up her interjection with, “Am I interrupting something?”

“No, not at all. Have a seat. Can I get you a drink?”

You suck, Mary. So, so much sometimes.

“I’m fine, thank you. Is everything alright?”

“We had a little problem with attitude this morning. You can come out, Daffy. Come sit with me.”

‘With me’ is Mary-speak in some contexts for ‘on me.’ Once upon a time, in the misty past, Mary and I didn’t so much with my naked butt around vanilla neighbors. And those vanilla neighbors would’ve been quite offended (despite what a great butt I have). But not Nana; at least, not for a while now. And shy of backing up like a delivery truck, my butt was the most appropriate inappropriate part of me she was about to see.

Now me, personally, I like my person covered when we have company. Called me repressed or something, I guess. If I knew where my panties were, I’d have put them back on. Unfortunately for me, I was too well spanked to care enough to go looking (which wouldn’t have made things better, as sure as the search would’ve involved bending over), and when Mary says to go to her, she doesn’t appreciate detours anyway.

Mary and Nana were on the couch. If I sat on Mary’s lap, which is how I understood her instruction, I’d either be giving Nana a full frontal if I sat on Mary’s left or an even better closeup of my newly spanked butt if I sat on her right. I opted to deliberately misinterpret (at least I think) Mary’s instructions and sat down between them, not exactly much better. I put my head on Mary’s shoulder, which I wanted to do no matter where I was sitting. Sometimes I wish I could she to be shorter just for a few minutes so I can rest my head there easier. Then she could go back to being tall and strong and authoritative and stuff.

“Closer,” Mary said all nice to me. My consequence was over. She’s nice to me even in the middle of a consequence, and her consequences can be quite mean, which just goes to show how talented she is.

Manhandling me in that nice way she does, she lifted my legs right off the floor and did a pivot-and-lift move to sit me on her lap. I like that she’s strong enough to do that, and I usually like that she does it without asking. I didn’t mind right then because I was still upset and because sitting in between them wasn’t as good at concealing my princess part (Mary’s term) as I has hoped when I plonked my smarting butt down on the couch.

With my head on her shoulder, I sniffed back a head full and wiped my eyes on her tee shirt. A hand was suddenly in my peripheral tapping Mary on the shoulder, offering a tissue. Mary took it, held it for me, and told me, “Honk.”

I don’t honk because I’m not waterfowl, but it certainly sounded honk-like. I’d had (and was still slightly having) a serious cry. Mary reached for another, Nana handed it to her, and Mary told me, “Look up, sweetheart.” When I did, she dabbed at my eyes and cheeks.

Nana being in the room has not, in recent years, stopped Mary from spanking me. Not like a full-on spanking, cuz that would terrify the poor vanilla, but the lady has seen my butt smacked. So of course Mary thought nothing of finishing my talking-to with Nana looking on.

“Why did I have to give you that spanking?”

“Cuz I was being a bitch.” Which is very unlike me. I’m usually just as sweet as sugar candy all fine and dandy, but sometimes, for someone who’s only five-foot-two, a lot of bitchiness comes out. I’m like the clown car of bitchiness sometimes, which is to say all these bitchy clowns come out and say very bitchy things about my misbegotten analogies.

“And what’s the rule?”

“Bad moods and PMS are not an excuse for being a bitch.” True story. Mary made that rule when we were dating, and it applies to both of us. When Mary does it, I tell her to stop. When I do it, Mary tells me to stop. When Mary does it after having been told to stop, I tell her to stop again. When I do it after having been told to stop, Mary takes the nearest paddle to my butt.

In the midst of this private moment, some hand that didn’t belong to anyone surnamed Taylor stroked my back. Of course Nana doesn’t know the rules, but being touched by someone during aftercare who wasn’t involved from the get-go or invited to touch is not cool. I buried my face in the little space between Mary’s arm and body, snuggled in closer, and think, though I’m not sure, I felt Mary just barely shaking her head, and the strange hand disappeared. I like aftercare from others, but not til I finish my aftercare with Mary. Mary stroked my hair and leaned her head against mine and I could feel the heat of her breath and smell her scent. What a safe place.

“You want to try telling me again what’s with the attitude you had,” Mary asked. Past tense. Anytime I hear of someone getting punished for a bad attitude, I think how ridiculous it is. How’s a punishment supposed to make someone feel better? But what I’m really asking is how it’s supposed to make normal people feel better, because nine times out of ten when I get spanked for bad attitude, a butt warming totally resets my mood.

“Nothing. I just didn’t get enough sleep,” I said with Marty’s shirt muffling my answer. I wasn’t in a bad mood because I didn’t get enough sleep. I was in a bad mood because I didn’t get enough sleep and Mary had the TV on while she was making breakfast, and the sound of people speaking before 9am just really ticked me off. That’s a perfectly reasonable reaction. Um, really.

“You stayed up late last night with those video games of yours.” I swear Mary channels my mom when it comes to gaming. She understands only marginally better than my mom did circa 1994. It’s not like I’m constantly playing or streaming it or anything. I just got in a groove and then it was after midnight. “Maybe you need a bedtime again.” Funny thing, I get physically excited for sleep sometimes. I love sleep. But sometimes other fun things lead me astray and I stay up too late. Mary gave me a bedtime shortly after I stopped working so I wouldn’t get into bad sleep habits, and it just gradually became one of those things we forgot about.

“Okay.” I was feeling awfully malleable, as I so often do after Mary spanks the me into a weepy mess (she likes me suggestible and stuff because reasons), and I was surprised Nana hadn’t commented on how red (and purple and probably with a couple of those white patches you get when you really get it good) my butt was. She’s had words with Mary about spanking me too hard, but I guess the words Mary said back (and some of my own) got through to her. Too bad I’m not the kind of person who can consistently correct her own behavior just by telling herself to … which would actually be horrible, now that I think on it. No fun at all.

“Your bedtime is no later than when I get in bed. That way we can have some snuggle time. You never wake up in a bad mood if you fall asleep in my arms.” True story. A smidge embarrassing to have Nana overhear it though. Makes me sound like a little girl or something, which, ya know, I’m not (really!).

“I’ll make good choices today. I promise.”

She kissed my hair. “I know you will.” She kissed me again. “My good girl.”

“Sorry again.”

“No more sorries. You got your consequence, and all is forgiven.”

I’m forgiven and a good girl? O fuck yes! What’s better than that? Nothing. That’s how much.

“Ready to get up?” I nodded and got a good squeeze. “Up you get.”

I slid off her lap, and what lay before me but Nana, on the floor on her knees next to a throw blanket, on top of which was a pre-powdered diaper. What the heccin hey. I looked at Nana, then Mary.

Nana very nicely said, “You don’t wanna go around naked all day, do you?” She said it all innocent and stuff, easy for her to do because she was, ya know, actually innocent. The same question from Mary would be faux-innocent (which I kinda like, but please don’t tell her). When Mary does does her faux-innocence thing, I feel embarrassed yet righteous, which leads to me going hmmph! and helps get me back to my equilibrium. Turns out when Nana does it and is actually innocent, I feel very smol. Gone is the fun teasing. In its place, a neighbor who assumed I either wear diapers pretty much all the time, or that I wear them every time I get in trouble, or that I was wearing one before I went over Mary’s knee and hence should be back in one. Or maybe she (fuck my life) thinks I like them and that wearing one would make me feel better and that she was doing something really sweet for me.

I looked at Mary again, who made might-as-well eyes at me and said, “It’s okay. Lie down.”

“O … kay.” Sometimes I’m too suggestible. Mary likes me that way too.

So I laid down and let Nana put one of Mary’s diapers on me. “Look like you could use the padding today,” Nana chuckled as she sealed the last tape.

“What do you say,” Mary chimed in.

“Thank you.”

Nana helped me sit up. “I was going to ask you to come over and help me move something, but I think you you should take a nap first.”

“That’s a good idea,” Mary joined in. She held out her hand and helped me up. “Will you be home all day? She can come over after.”

“I’ll be there. It’ll give me time to bake some cookies. I’m going to make some ice cream sandwiches with them after they cool. You wanna help me do that too?”

Uh, heck yeah. “Mhmm.”

“I’ll get her up and send her over around 10:30. How about I make some lunch while she’s helping you and I’ll bring over a picnic?”

Mary was tucking me in moments after telling me she’d find one of the onesies Nana made for me to wear when I went over there (under my shorts, I assumed). Before I fell back asleep, I first thought to myself, wow, it’s only nine and it’s been a full day already. And then, did I just get spanked by my wife, diapered by the grandma next door, put down for a nap, and promised cookies? What is even happening anymore?