Mary and Daphne #158

Does anyone besides me ever notice how often I’m just minding my own business? “Where’s Daphne,” people say. “I don’t know,” their conversation partner answers. “That’s probably cuz she’s off somewhere minding her own business,” they reply, “She usually is.”

Yep, that’s a thing people say about me. I mind my own business, and things just happen to me. Don’t get me wrong though – I control my own fate. I am the agent of my own destiny. I’m in charge … and stuff. Really.

“Daffy,” this person I live with named Mary called out all dulcet and stuff. Tell ya two secrets: (A) I like her, and (2) she’s pretty.

“I’m in here,” I answered cuz why would I ever want her to not be able to find me considering how pretty she is and how much I like her? Well, I’ll tell you (dammit).

“There you are. I looked everywhere for you,” the Mary I married said to me.

“That’s just not true,” I replied with one eye on the TV, “cuz I’ve been on this couch for two hours and our house isn’t that big.”

“You’re very verbal for such a little girl. People compliment me on how verbal you are all the time.”

“Pretty sure you just called me a smartass,” I mumbled.

“We need to have a little chat,” she told me. That got my attention. I know what that means, and just then I noticed she had one hand hidden behind her back.

Ruh roh, Shaggy. Wurr win rubble!

And like, we even didn’t do anything, man!(PS, my business that I was minding was watching Scooby and the gang solve a mystery. I’m pretty sure there’s something delightfully gay going on between Velma and Daphne).

I sat up as she sat down. “Before we do that, I just wanna say I’m almost positive I didn’t do anything.” She chuckled at me. Imagine chuckling at someone in distress, especially someone who is legit one thousand percent of the time cool and collected like me and has never been in distress before. Rood. She has no manners, my Mary doesn’t.

“It’s what you haven’t been doing that I want to talk about.”

“But I already did … everything … ever … really.” Did I mention my butt was still four shades of bruised from my clever but ill-advised nicotine scene brilliance (borderline fiasco).

And I’ll tell you something else: I did NOT flinch when she took her hand out from behind her back. I mean, why would I flinch at, “A teddy bear?”

“Not just ateddy bear, Daffy. Your teddy bear. I found her in the closet. I’ve been wondering where she went.” She set the thing down in her lap like it was an infant who hadn’t mastered sitting up on their own (and I didn’t roll my eyes at all cuz I have the best poker face ever). “She must’ve been in there for months. All alone and in the dark.”

“That’s just …” Grrr. Tactic change. I’ll just play the game better than her. “You don’t even know that! She went on vacation, actually. She had so much fun she wanted some time alone after all that stimulation and … stuff.”

“Such an active imagination. People compliment me on what a good imaginer you are.”

“Bullcrap,” I mumbled. “If you can imagine her – it – alone in the closet, then I can imagine she went on vacation. She’s my bear.”

A teddy bear that Mary got me. I’m not really a stuffed animal person, but the thought was sweet (even if I knew it was one of her not-so-subtle ways of implying I’m a little, but I saw through it and decided to think it was just sweet of her because I’m smarter and more forgiving than the average … bear). At first, I humored Mary and would put it on the bed when I made it but move it to the dresser at night. Then I just left it on the dresser, and Mary moved it back to my pillow every (single, damn) day.

“Honey, bears can handle lots of stimulation, and you know that.”

Excuse me!?? Telling me what the heck I know …

Mary continued, cuz she love love loves to continue at times like these, “And as much as I love your imagination, we both know bears can’t take vacations alone. It would be very neglectful and unsafe for them to travel on their own. They’re not even allowed on airplanes by themselves.”

“It rented a car,” I hmmphed.

“That’s just silly. She’s even littler than you.”

“It. Was. A. Little. Car.” Hmmph!

“Daphne Ann, you left her in the closet all alone for months, didn’t you?”

“Mary …”

“Didn’t you?”

“She was hanging out with my summer wardrobe! And our closet is the funnest room in the house! Our best sex toys are in there!” True heccin story.

“Language.”

“Rrrr, Marrrry! Can I please go back to my show? I don’t like this game, and I think this time the ghost is finally real.” I’m not naïve; I’m just hopeful.

“It’s ‘may I please go back to my show,’ and no, you may not.”

O no she did not just ‘may I’ me! Well fine! I can … ignore her! I’m powerful enough to do that, ya know. And not scared of her. So not scared I even gave her my unimpressed face right before I picked up the remote and turned the volume up on Scooby and friends. Something about that Velma – red hair, smart, short – reminds me of someone I can’t put my finger on, and she is just so hot. Really.

And Mary, being the bully that she is, reached over, grabbed my wrist in one hand, took the remote away with the other, set it on the table, and then – what the heck! – smacked my hand! I mean, really? Really?!?

I didn’t say so to Mary cuz I didn’t wanna hurt her feelings or sink to her level, but hitting is what we do we’re not smart enough to use our words. Definitely didn’t hold my tongue cuz I wasn’t clever enough in the moment to come up with that or cuz I’m scared of her or anything or … stuff. Really.

And then the big B turned my show off. Hmmph!

“You’re already getting a spanking, Daphne. Don’t make it worse.”

“What!?! What the fu …” Ooo. Mary’s finish-that-word-and-I’ll-finish-you face. She doesn’t mind me swearing, but when I’m already in trouble, even just “trouble,” or when she wants to play one of her (exclusively hers) ageplay games, she actually takes it super f … heccin seriously. I took a breath and continued, “What I meant to say was that I didn’t do anything wrong, and I don’t want a spanking.”

“I know you don’t want a spanking, Daffodil. That’s why it’s a consequence, and whether you want one or not doesn’t matter. I’m in charge, and I know when little girls need a spanking. And I know that you, little girl, definitely need a spanking.”

It would be so much easier if she said stuff like that in an I’m-out-of-patience-you’re-really-gonna-get-it-now voice instead of her I’m-explaining-this-to-you-gently-and-piece-by-piece-cuz-you’re-smol-and-need-it-explained-and-I-don’t-want-you-to-be-scared voice. Not that the latter pushes any buttons of mine or anything. It (sigh) doesn’t … Really.

“But I didn’t do anything!” I said while not squeezing my thighs together.

“That’s the problem. You’ve been neglecting your bear.”

“But …” I wasn’t getting all huffy and twitterpated. You were! “I didn’t do anything.” I didn’t lower my voice to a resigned whimper. Um … you did! Ya big resignated … sigher … person. (PS, I’m clever and good with words. Really.)

“I think we need to finish this conversation with you across my lap. Stand up.”

“But I don’t wanna. My butt still hurts from last time.” And I didn’t get up because she told me to. Scurrilous lies! I got up because … reasons … and stuff.

“And that’s what happens when your behavior tells me you need two spankings so close to each other. Let’s get these down.” And I didn’t stand there ineffectually letting her take my pants down. It’s just that I didn’t even like those pants and wanted them off … and stuff.

“Are you at least dry? You know one more accident and it’s back to diapers for the rest of the day.” Firstly, I don’t know that cuz she just makes stuff up as she goes. Second, nuh-uh one more! There wasn’t one to begin with! And third but not last, I didn’t just let her touch me through my underpants. Cuz one, I’m not that easy … and stuff.

“Damp but I wouldn’t call this an accident,” she said like a verbal pat on the head. “At least not yet. Turn around.” And I wasn’t even damp! I was … sultry at most. And she made me that way with her ordering me around and talking down to me and pushing the buttons … and stuff. Really!

Just like that, I was facing the other way. Which was fine by me. Really. I wasn’t even thrown off at all when I heard a cautious sniff (ugh!) and felt her pull on the waistband of my panties. “Hey!” is a thing I said cuz I wanted to and not because I was responding to anything anyone else did … and stuff. Um, really? I don’t react to events. I drive events. I am events! … And stuff. (Please?)

“I’ll keep checking your bottom until I’m sure you’re past that stage of growing up.”

I didn’t and I never and I wasn’t and mean! Just mean!

“Turn back around for me.” I started getting over her lap without being told, proof if any was ever needed (and it wasn’t) that I make my own decisions. Um, really. (Please believe me!)

“Ah-ah,” she said to me before I could. “Daphne Ann, I don’t think you’ve heard a word I’ve said.”

If only that were true. Sigh …

“You almost laid down on your bear. You’re much too big to lay down on her. She’d have been seriously hurt … Don’t you roll your eyes at me.” Who, me? “You watch very closely. Bears are very delicate. We pick them up like this, and we set them down very gently where they won’t get hurt, and because we care very much about our bears, we put them where they can see everything that’s happening. Like right now, we’ll put your bear where she’ll have a perfect view of your bottom and everything between your legs. Now, over my knee.” I think Mary thinks my bear might be gay for me or something?

At least I’ll get a spanking out of this stupid game of hers. It’ll hurt, but that’s at least fun after, is what I told myself as I got across her lap. Good thing I like it there given how much time I spend over it. But don’t tell her cuz she’ll take that as an invitation to do it all the time and I already gave her that invitation and look where it got me – in a wonderfully happy marriage and just as in love with my wife as when we first met. It’s awful. Really. Just the worst. (Happy gay noises.)

“Could we please just get this over with already?” What brat? Who? Where? Not me! Really! Hmmph!

“No, we cannot just get it over with. You’re going to lay there and hold still like the good little girl I know you really despite your extra fussy attitude, missy. For a little girl who’s been watching cartoons all day, you really don’t have a reason to be grumpy with me.”

O my god let me count the reasons! Firstly, interrupted my cartoon. Answer B: I was watching live-action shows earlier, so don’t you be telling me I’ve been watching cartoons all day. The truth matters. Thusly, I didn’t like Mary’s game. Thenly, I don’t even like teddy bears! But try telling that to Mean Mary, which is what everyone who’s me calls her behind her back (but only when she’s being mean and even then, almost always in jest cuz she’s actually super nice to me at all the times). But I wasn’t grumpy. I was indignant, which despite how it sounds is a more dignified thing to be … and stuff.

“It is not acceptable for you to neglect your bear. She is your responsibility, and don’t think I can’t see you rolling your eyes through the back of your head.”

Wow, she’s good. It’s like she knows me super well and things.

“I take care of you, Daffy. Imagine if I put you in the closet for months at a time. They’d take you away from me.”

Well, that’s actually true. Though, of course, either one of us being in the closet is a little farfetched at this juncture in our lives.

“But more importantly,” she lectured like visiting lecturer at a very strange liberal arts college, neglecting bears is not a thing good girls do. Good girls take extra special good care of their bears. They show their bears that they love them every day. They take their bears places. Bears, Daphne, love Scooby Doo. Everybody knows that. Would it have been so hard for you to bring your bear downstairs to watch cartoons with you?”

Did … did she just imply I’m not a good girl? Cuz if she did, so help me I’ll know she’s just teasing but it’ll still push my shame button. Grr! And HMMPH!

“Putting you bear in the closet is not nice, and good girls are nice to their bears. Good girls take care of their bears. Your bear,” Mary said before choking up. She’s such a great actress she even got herself going with the sob story she was telling. “Your bear,” she said after swallowing the lump in her throat, “your bear, Daphne Ann, has never … even been to a tea party. She’s never had her fur combed. She doesn’t … (sniffle) even have any pretty dresses to wear.”

O gawd stop that! Stop! No sniffling! I can’t deal with Mary’s cry voice! She knows that!

No, brain, my brain shouted at itself!

“Your bear has been sleeping all alone … literally in a cardboard box without even a blanket. Good girls don’t do that to their bears,” Mary said and barely managed to squeak out the last words.

This is ridiculous! You do not feel guilty! Not today! You didn’t do anything, and Mary is just pressing buttons! She isn’t really sad.

But she might be uwu.

But she isn’t, and don’t you uwu me. Don’t you dare uwu me! She is not sad! We did NOT make her sad.

But can we risk it? What if she really is disappointed in us?

She isn’t! You fall for this crap every time! Resist! Don’t let her win!

“I know you’re just a very little, little girl, but this is very, very serious. You will be a good girl, and you willtreat your bear the way all bears deserve to be treated, because that’s the only way my little girl is going to behave.”

She sounds serious.

She isn’t, brain! You know that!

You’re the knowing side of the brain. I’m in charge of the feels.

So listen to me, the side who knows!

No. Can’t risk it. Gotta be regretful and sad. Uwu.

No uwu! Not regretful and sad!

Uwu.

Dammit, brain, you f#$#@%* surrender monkey!

Uwuuuuuuu!

“I’m sorry. I’m really sorry!” God, I’m so pathetic for someone who isn’t pathetic at all. I am a woman of many contradictions. I contained multitudes (to paraphrase the counselor my parents took me to who said, and I quote, “There’s a lot going on in there.”) It’s hard being me. But back to my being sorry for something I didn’t even do.

“I know you are, sweetie, cuz you’re just like me. You’d never do anything wrong or hurtful or mean on purpose. You are my sunshine. You and I share the same heart …”

That kind of stuff might wow them at Hallmark, but it doesn’t cut any … Huh? What is this wetness on my face!?! Dammit! Just spank me already, and we’ll both feel better. Pleeeeaaasssse!

“And it’s because I love you so much and want so much for you that I have to teach you right from wrong, even if it means giving you very hard and long spankings like the one you’re about to get. And when it’s all over, we’ll cry out all the bad feelings together, and you’ll be my bestest girl like I know you are. Are you ready for your spanking?”

“(Sniffle) Yes please,” I meeped. Get it over with. Lemme have it good! Make the stupid not even deserved bad feels go away. Smack my ass and release me from this headspace!

She peeled my panties down to just below my butt, took a firm hold on my hip, and spank.

I only let out a sob at the very first tap cuz my butt was so sore still. Really … and stuff.

spank

O geez. She’s gonna make me suffer through the longest warmup ever. She’s gonna torture me by dragging it out and making me wait for the catharsis part.

“I’m very sorry you needed such a harsh spanking.”

What the fudge muffin?!? Nooooooooo! I’m not done!!!

“But (sad water buffalo) and I didn’t (sadder wookiee) and I still (basically all the sad animal noises). Please give me a real spanking! I need it! I deserve it, and I need it, pleeeaaasssse!”

“That was a very big spanking for such a little girl.”

“I’m not a little girl!” Which is when she just hauled off and … pulled me into her lap and wrapped her arms around me in as big a hug as she’s ever given me. Oof.

“Shhh. You just let all those tears out. Those are the bad choices leaving your body.”

“Marrrrryyy!”

“I’m right here, baby. Your Mary’s right here. Your Mary’s is always here and always will be.”

I choked on my sob just long enough for a moment of silence as my subby brain processed what she said, and I responded with a very dignified, “WAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!” Also, guilt trip much? I mean geez!

“Awww, listen to those big little lungs of yours. You just scream and cry all you need cuz your Mary isn’t going anywhere until you’re all done.”

“(Sputtering.) (Choking sobs.)” Oof.

“That’s okay. You can wipe your nose on my shirt.” Wait, was I doing that? Didn’t mean to. Um … really.

It’s not fair. She makes me cry all the time, and unless it’s the Daphne-is-actually-sad or I-hurt-Daphne’s-feelings kind of crying, it doesn’t even make her eye twitch. But she sniffles cuz she’s telling a sob story that might as well have been Fido has never eaten food. Won’t you send five dollars to help us find him a forever home and my stupid, eager-to-please, I’ll-shut-down-before-I-disappoint-Mary, subby brain loses the ability to distinguish between actually disappointing Mary to the point of making her cry and Mary just pushing buttons like an unsupervised brat in a high-rise elevator. Hmmph!

Once I’d finished fugly crying over my very real feelings of shame for how’d I’d treated an inanimate object and was merely down to sniffles and trying to make my diaphragm stop cramping, Mary, cooing and patting my back and, dare I admit it, rocking me told me how things would be different with my bear from now on.

“This is partly my fault cuz I didn’t teach you how to take care of you bear. I just assumed you learned from your mom.”

O my god, leave her out of this, or I swear I’ll make my first round of sobbing look like happy hour at the chuckle emporium!

“I got you some of the things you need to get started.”

“Like (snurfle) what?” O, shut up and stop playing along. I’m the rational side of the brain; you’re just around for feelings. Who needs stupid feelings! I think my brain was pouting. Can brains do that?

“Your bear is very smol like you, so I got her some very small diapers to wear. You’ll need to change her at least four times a day.”

What is it with her and diapers? And is she heccin serious? Talk about wasting money.

“And every bear should go to tea parties, so I got you a tea set. You and she have a standing lunch date once a week.”

Okay, she definitely can’t be serious.

“And I got her one outfit, but you need to get online and pick out seven more for her.”

“Why seven?”

“One for each day of the week plus one in case her diapers leak. And I expect to see you taking her places. At least one trip outside the house a week. Most stores don’t let bears inside, but she’ll be happy just to take a car ride, and you’d better buckle her in.”

I’m just not doing that.

“And she needs fresh air. Come springtime, you’ll take her outside when you’re playing in the garden.”

It’s not playing! But … whatever, I guess.

“And when we have movie night, she gets to come when the movie is appropriate for a bear so smol. She even gets to pick what we watch sometimes.”

In that case, she likes Deadpool and David Attenborough documentaries.

“And she’s going to sleep in your arms every night. I even got the two of you matching jammies.”

I will wait to see the jammies before deciding whether to refuse. “But I don’t wanna sleep with a bear.”

“But that’s what bears need. She’s your responsibility. I don’t like spanking your bottom like I just did, but I do it because you’re my responsibility, and you need it.”

“But … fine.”

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“Tell me.”

“I can’t.”

“Of course you can tell me.”

“I mean I can’t sleep with her.”

“Cuz you’re afraid your diaper will leak on her when you sleepwet? Cuz we can double diaper you at night. Problem solved.”

I’m gonna leak on purpose one of these nights just to make Mary sleep in it for once. Hmmph!

“She’s too small. There’s nothing to hug.” It came from the florist with some flowers! Last time Mary made me hug it, I might as we have been hugging myself.

“O … I see. How would you feel if we found a new home for your bear with a little girl the right size, and we could get you a bigger bear?”

“Okay on the first part.”

“Daphne, do you even want a bear?

Wuh? Excuse me!?! After all that, she gives in? After all that? Fuhnominutter! Mother kernoshinator stumbleflunker ganawshifrumhauerhoffer and crap! Double crap!!! And stupid assing dammit all to kerninsplatter!!! All that for her to just give in? After all that!?! All!!! That!!! Mean! She’s mean!! She’s mean, dammit, she’s mean!!!

“That’s what I was trying to tell you,” I didn’t whine-shout.

“I’m sorry I didn’t hear you. You need to speak up for yourself when you have something important to say.”

O my god! Kiss my kernuhmoffer, Mary!

“I know you don’t want to keep your bear, but until we find her a new home, you still need to take care of her like you should’ve been doing all along.”

Whatever. Whatever whatever what the crud ever.

“So what would you like instead? A dolly? A bunny? A kitty?”

No. O god no. Please no. Please don’t tell me she’s really not going to drop this.

“I don’t want anything,” I whined and who can blame me? I went from the high of Scooby Doo to the low of whatever the hell was happening by way of friggin fugly crying.

“But you’re a little girl. All little girls need a stuffy, and stuffies need little girls to protect. How about a nice puppy?”

Watch this ladies and gentlemen. This’ll make her go awww and let this go. “I don’t need a stuffy. I have my hands full just taking care of my Mary.”

“ … How about a monkey?”

“Marrryyyyy!”

“Aww, I’m just teasing my own little monkey. If you really don’t want a stuffy, you don’t have to have one.”

Ha! I won … I think? Or … were we competing over something? Did she actually care if I had a stuffy? Did she buy any of that stuff she said? Of course not. She just saw a button to push and slammed her palm on it. Good thing it only cost me some hysterical fugly crying … I guess? Dignity intact … and stuff? Really?

“And I’ll take care of you and chase away all the nightmares,” she promised.

“I know.”

“You cried so hard.”

“Cuz you cried just a little. ‘Emotional Blackmail Mary’ is what they should call you.”

“Who’s they?”

“Them. Whoever. Big meanie.”

“I can’t be that mean.”

“You are.”

“Then how come you’re snuggling into my shirt even more?”

“Cuz I like it when you’re mean sometimes, and I like you all the time … and stuff. Even when you’re mean.” I swear I’m not a golden retriever; I just have the same needs for love, attention, and affection as golden retrievers.

“I like you all the time too and stuff, even when you slime my shirts.”

“That’s what you get.”

“What I get (kiss) is a little girl (kiss) who needs me to kiss (kiss) the tears away (kiss) and wash her pretty face (kiss) and tell her she’s pretty (kiss) and a good girl (kiss).”

“Heehee!” She was just kissing all over me. The ones on my ear tickled. Also, I’m very grown up and stoic and independent and not easily swayed by words or kisses and don’t even need anyone’s approval of me but my own. Um, really.

“Heehee. You always like it when I (kiss) kiss your ears (kiss). And you know what else I get?”

“What?”

“A little girl who wants to cling to me for the rest of the day. I like it so very much when you’re my little shadow koala-ing me all day.”

“Me too.”

“Wanna go wash your face?”

“Yes please. And I have a headache.”

“I bet you do. Your sinuses don’t even know what hit ‘em.”

I leaned on my Mary all the way to the bathroom.

“Mary,” I said, “if you really want me to have a stuffy, I’ll get one if it’ll make you happy.”

What?!? Shut up!!! Dammit!

I am not pathetically eager to please and easily guilt tripped. Really! … And stuff.

“No, sweetie, that’s okay. I’d rather get you something you really like.”

Thank goodness one of us is rational, sort of. Not really. But it works for us.

We’re weird … and stuff.