Mary and Daphne #157

Me and Mary live a lifestyle relationship. If she says jump, I decide whether to jump or not, but if not, she decides whether and what consequence to give me for my disobedience (or half assed hop, cuz there’s degrees of obedience just like there are of consequences). But as you may have noticed, dear diary, that doesn’t mean every so often Mary doesn’t contrive a kinky little scene.

She usually just springs it on me, and I hate it so much that I just go along with it and feel very happy during parts of it and even happier after it’s over (cuz usually my butt hurts and my pride is in intensive care – so much fun except it’s not except for all the times it is which is always plus or minus yes and sorry for springing math on you there).

But just like Mary is not quite as good with the wordplay as me, she’s also not as good with the subtlety. Perhaps it’s cuz as a smokin’ hottie (if your type is Mary, and my type is definitely positively so heccin Mary), you don’t have to be subtle. Or maybe it’s a dominant thing; you don’t need to be subtle when you’re as in charge like my Mary is, and maybe even subtlety is counter to the whole domme thing. Not that she doesn’t have her ways of persuading me other than outright coercion. ‘Don’t you wanna be my good girl?’ I know exactly what she’s doing when she asks me that, and it still works anyway which is just so heccin unfair with how my mind-slash-hormones work. But my point is that when she decides to spring a scene on me, she’s about as subtle as a rodeo bull at the ballet.

Just as an aside, I don’t know if I think the rodeo is cruel or not. Don’t like animal sports generally, but on the other hand, what a shot of self-esteem those bulls must feel when they throw one of those guys off and make all the clowns run away. I’d feel pretty awesome about myself if I could throw a cowboy, just sayin’. This is how my mind works; it’s very tiring bouncing from thought to random thought.

Anyhoo, my point, because I’m making one and getting to it and be patient for once why don’tcha, is that Mary isn’t subtle with the scenes she makes up. She usually just charges into a room and dives on in. But I can conjure up scenes too, and I can do it with subtlety. To whit …

“Daphne Ann Taylor, where are you?” Of course, while I set the conditions for the scene (subtly), I can get in trouble for any reason or no reason at any time. Hearing all three of my names left me no doubt I was in a lot of trouble, but I didn’t know if I was in trouble in the happy confines of my scene or for something serious. The former would always make me nervous in an anticipaty you’ve-really-done-it-now-you-lucky-girl way, but not knowing if I was in real trouble made me nervous in the o-crap-what-did-I-do way. A worthwhile sacrifice for the fun (I hoped) we were about to have. Did I ever mention I’m one of the world’s great risk takers? Wannabes talk about risking their ass, but I live it, dammit!

But first, just nervous. “Um,” I said at the volume one would use when speaking with someone sitting right next to them (and leaning in close), “in here.” And given how PISSED off she sounded, I decided to, maybe, hide under the blanket I was already partly under. Not really, if anyone asks, cuz I don’t hide from trouble. I confront trouble. In fact, I am trouble. In fact, I’m all the trouble anyone is ever gonna get. But also yes, I got under the blanket. Not saying I hid well. Or at all. Really.

“Daphne,” the big foot I married barked at me as she stormed across our living room. THWAWP! She can find my butt in a blizzard (true story), so managing to connect her hand with my cheeks under the blanket was easy peasy for her. “Out from the blanket.”

“No!”

“You … Gimme!” OMG, she’s actually trying to yank my blanket away. And damn she’s strong. Nice reminder this was gonna hurt before it got better.

“No. Uuf! Mine!” Yep, I wasn’t making it worse at all. Really.

“You get out here right this instant, young lady!” For a second there, I thought she was gonna yank me and the blanket clean off the couch, leaving the blanket dangling from her fist and me dangling from the blanket. Too bad it didn’t; it would really be comforting to confirm that I really do live in a cartoon.

“Not til you tell me why I’m in trouble!”

“Cuz of what I found in your purse. I’ma count to three and then …” Speaking of bulls at the ballet, I guess she lost her patience or something cuz she blew hot angry air out of what I imagine were some seriously flaring nostrils, and with one last yank, she proclaimed, “Three!” Damn; there went my hiding-spot-slash-butt-armor. Spanks don’t hurt nearly so bad through a blanket.

“O, hi, Mary. When did you get home?” Of course, she hadn’t actually left home yet that day, but details. It was in that moment, and not a moment sooner, as I saw how red her face was (but that could’ve been the exertion of our epic blanket struggle) and her narrowed eyes glaring at me (but maybe the sun was in her eyes?) and the way she was white knuckling the hairbrush (perhaps she had something slippery on her hand and needed to comb her hair before she could wash it off?) that I realized that in my haste to be subtle in instigating this scene, she might not have known it was a scene.

“You,” Mary said (Exclaimed? Accused?). She said a ton of other stuff, and I’d tell you what it was except I didn’t hear it so well through the sensory overload I was experiencing at the time.

First there was the shock to my vestibular system as she yanked me right off the couch. Happened very fast; it was like, where even ismy body in space? Up is down, down is up, diagonals are criss-crossing and all at the same time.

And talk about auditory overload. There was the sound of hairbrush-on-jeans, hand-on-jeans, hand-on-panties, hand-on-butt, hairbrush-on-butt, and lot of exclamatory ows and ouches and “hey!” and “no!” and “eeeeeee!” and “waaaah!” And that was just me. From Mary, what little I could make out through her vituperous sputtering, came words and phrases like “Dare you!” and “Disgusting” and “No!” and “Hold! Still!” and “Bad girl!” And I gotta admit, that last one stung a little.

As all that was happening, my visual cortex was going haywire. There was Mary in my line of sight. There was the window. There as Mary again. There was the kitchen. There was the floor. There was Mary. There was that hairbrush. There were my pants and panties around my ankles. There was the couch. There was Mary again. There was the kitchen. Etcetera in a tight circle known as the spanking dance (I think it’s probably a waltz, technically).

And my heart rate was all over the place. First the shock of being exposed to the cold world outside my blanket, to say nothing of being stripped of my clothing. Then the dance marathon she forced me to undertake just to try to stay ahead of that hairbrush.

And my sense of touch? Fuhgeddaboudit. The tight grip on my upper arm. The searing pain on my butt and thighs. The abrupt and and unexpected wetness on cheeks. All put together, I was having a suddenly and inexplicably very hard day.

But I am ever the trooper, every so composed, ever so ready to pull myself together in the harshest of circumstances, to focus on the important things. That stellar ability of mine is how I was able to collect myself and pay attention to what Mary was saying (Shouting? What’s just slightly quieter than shouting?).

“You naughty, naughty …” Of course, Mary, not being as cool as cucumber me, couldn’t seem to even finish a thought. “Never been in so much trouble you think you’re hold still and take your we’ll just see about don’t you try to won’t sit for move your to the stone age when I’m through with you HOLD STILL!”

I mean, geez, Mary, cliché much?

Nothing at all like all the clever things I said (really!) such as, “Mary Mary Mary OW Mary EEP Mary Mary STOP Mary NO Mary Mary Mary NOT MY THIGHS Mary WAAHH Mary Mary Marrrryyyyyyyy WAAH WAAH MaryyyyyyWAAHHHHHHHyyyyy!”

I never did like getting spanked standing up. Best case, you feel like you’re giving up even more control cuz you’re on your feet, perfectly capable of running away or (heaven forfend!) fighting back, but you’re standing there and taking it. Worst case, you do try to run away or at least resist and end up getting pushed and pulled in a continuous circle as you try to get your spankable parts away from whatever is spanking you and the person doing the spanking is basically playing a circular game of whack-a-mole (whack-a-butt?) looking for every opening to land a spank. There’s exactly three ways for that to end. First, your spanker decides you’ve learned your lesson and it’s over, and if you think Mary was going to come to that decision, this must be your first time breaking into my diary. Second, in your effort to not get spanked and their effort to spank, something very hard hits your hand, and the injury brings things to an abrupt stop. But Mary and I are Level 99 at this stuff and wouldn’t make a rookie mistake like that.

The third way is the spanker unilaterally decides (so rude) to finish your spanking (or start your second spanking, depending on how naughty your choices were) in a manner more advantageous to them. And if that happens, the circular spank dance the two of you are playing becomes a beeline linear waltz to the nearest suitable piece of furniture. If you’re lucky, you get dragged there by your arm. If you’re not lucky, you get picked up under their arm or tossed over their shoulder like an unruly toddler.

And if you’re me, you realize just how much you bit off and panic, so it’s not a straight line to the nearest sturdy chair but a zig zag. You zig to try to get away, and they spank you right back zagging toward that chair. In our case, a kitchen chair, pulled with something less than gentle care out from the table, upon which is your purse … and the subtle prop that started all this.

“Marrryyy.” Hey my feet are off the floor. “Whoah!” Hey the floor is coming rapidly toward my face. “Oof!” O goodie, a controlled landing across Mary’s lap.

“Cigarettes!” Mary barked. SPANK! “In your purse!” SPANK! “Explain yourself, young lady!” SPANK!

“Um … I’m holding them for a friend?” SPANK “Yowl!”

“Not like you’re gonna!” Wonder what that means?

SPANKSPANKSPANKSPANK-YOOOOOOOWWWWLLLLLL-SPANKSPANKSPANKSPANK-YOOOOWWWWWLLLLLL-SPANKSPANKSPANKSPANK

O, that’s what she meant. Dammit.

“Try again.”

“They make me look cool?” O gawd wrong answer eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeyyyoowwwwwwwwwwwwaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhh. “Stop! Please!!!”

“There (SPANK!) is (SPANK!) no (SPANK!) smo-(SPANK!)-king (SPANK!) in (SPANK!) this (SPANK!) house (SPANK!) do (SPANK!) I (SPANK!) make (SPANK!) my-(SPANK!)-self (SPANK!) clear (SPANK!)?”

“But it wasn’t in the house!”

SPANKSPANKSPANKSPANKSPANKSPANKSPANKSPANKSPANKSPANKSPANKSPANKSPANKSPANKSPANKSPANKSPANKSPANKSPANKSPANKSPANKSPANKSPANKSPANKSPANKSPANKSPANKSPANKSPANKSPANKSPANKSPANKSPANKSPANK

“I can do what I want!” It’s actually never a good idea for me to say that pretty much at any of the times.

SPANK!SPANKSPANKSPANKSPANKSPANKSPANKSPANKSPANKSPANKSPANKSPANKSPANKSPANKSPANKSPANKSPANKSPANKSPANKSPANKSPANKSPANKSPANKSPANKSPANKSPANKSPANKSPANKSPANKSPANKSPANKSPANKSPANKSPANK

“I’m not a little girl!” You’d think that would go in one ear and out the other for all the good reciting it almost daily does. I mean, does she even hear it?

“You (SPANK!) are (SPANK!) too (SPANK!) a (SPANK!) lit-(SPANK!)-tle (SPANK!) girl (SPANK!)! You (SPANK!) are (SPANK!) MY(SPANK!) lit-(SPANK!)-tle (SPANK!) girl(SPANK!), and (SPANK!) you (SPANK!) are (SPANK!) NOT (SPANK!) going (SPANK!) to (SPANK!) ruin (SPANK!) your (SPANK!) health (SPANK!) so (SPANK!) help (SPANK!) me (SPANK!)! Do (SPANK!) you (SPANK!) under-(SPANK!)-stand (SPANK!) me (SPANK!) lit-(SPANK!)-tle (SPANK!) girl?”

SPANKSPANKSPANKSPANKSPANKSPANKSPANKSPANKSPANKSPANKSPANK

Some people – uninformed, scurrilous, scrofulous, ill mannered, of very poor breeding and worse upbringing – will claim (lie, actually, cuz it’s a lie. Ya know, the things liars do? Yeah, that) that by this point I was limp as a dishrag, bawling my eyes out, and muttering nonsense words punctuated every half-second by outcries of pain and regret. But I wasn’t. I was quite stoic and maintained my characteristic equanimity and good cheer. Um, really.

Some people will claim that Mary, a little out of breath and kinda sweaty, delivered one final thunderspank, set the hairbrush down, and did one hundred percent of the work of lifting my limp body from laying across her lap to sitting in it, and that’s a true story.

“Shhh. I only spanked you so hard because I love you so much.”

“Eeemee meee!”

“And don’t think I won’t do it again if I so much as smell smoke on your clothes.”

“Mee mee meeee meemeemee!” O my gawd she spanked me so hard I turned into a muppet!

“At home, in public, in front of company. This is a very serious, and I’ll drop your pants and panties and bruise your butt right then and there.”

“Meeeeeeeeeeee!”

“Yes, you.”

“I’m soorrryyyyy,” I sobbed (yay making real words again!).

“I know you are. You’d be a very silly little girl if that spanking didn’t get through to you.

“Ionvruagen.” Well, the words were nice while they lasted.

“You know I love you very much?”

O my god – she does!?! “Hhh hhh hhhwaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhh!” Perfectly reasonable response, just the way us perfect and reasonable people always respond to confessions of love.

“You are such a silly goose. Calm down. Shhhhh. You’re okay. …Take a deep breath … Shhhhh … Daphne, breathe. Sweetie, you need to breath.” SPANK!

“(Gasp cough choke snot release).” I’m so fucking pretty. “(Whimper snort snort whimper snort).” And classy.

“Let’s go wash your face, and I’ll rub some cream on your bottom.”

“M-Mar?”

“Yes, my sweet girl?”

“It w-was just a s-scene.”

“I know, sweetie. If I thought you actually smoked any, you’d have a bar a soap in your mouth, an enema nozzle in your bottom, and a second spanking coming with the belt.”

“O.”

“I won’t have you ruining your pretty pink lungs or smelling like a bar or tasting like an ash tray.”

“Me neither.”

“Come on, let’s go upstairs,” Mary said as she put me on my feet and held my hand up the steps.

“You called me a bad girl.”

“I didn’t mean it. You’re a good girl.”

“I didn’t even inhale.”

“My very good girl.”

Ooo! Not to brag or nothin’, but my wife who just spanked my butt purple says that I’m her very good girl.

“(SNURFFLE!) I needuh bow my ose.”

“Heehee! And you already got so much of it on me.”

“I’ma chooz uh eezyer thene neth time (SNURFFLE!).”

“God you are so fucking pretty.”

“I wo, wight? (SNURRFLE!)”