Mary and Daphne #155

There’s something weird about being me (besides me). It’s a catch-22: the things I like most and the things I dislike most are different and the same and often on the same day. Like that little black bag. Mary was going to use its contents to discipline me for my less than honest truth, but also to reward me for being a good girl? And there’s nothing contradictory about that at all. It’s official: BDSM has evolved past the language, cuz there are no words to describe that.

And Mary, bless her heart, didn’t exactly not try to bait me into trouble. I exercised some damn restraint! Mercy, forbearance, charity – these are but a drop of water in the comprehension ocean of my superlative qualities.

Anyway, I put up with all sorts of slights against my honor just to learn what was in that bag under circumstances a little more favorable to me. No defenseless maiden am I. Really. For instance …

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Backsided Compliments

I’m very industrious, which I know is hard to see sometimes because one of my industry’s main products is streaming 90s TV shows, but it’s true. I’m industrious, and I’m fit. And being fit requires making certain sacrifices. I didn’t want to believe that at first, and I tried very hard not to, but you can’t argue with your pants. O sure, you can live in denial like when my Mary said, “All that peanut butter is gonna catch up with you one day,” and I said “I deny that,” but your pants don’t care what you think. Faced with the prospect of eating less sugar or doing more to earn it, I resumed running. I won’t call it a hobby so much as fuck-this-fucking-I-hate-this-every-damn-second-and-screw-everything-ever-and-fuck.’ So named after the words I’ve been known to mutter while running.

“What happened to you,” my Mary who likes me but has a funny way of showing it asked me when I came in from one such perambulation.

“I slipped,” I said with no mirth whatsoever in my tone. Where was my mirth? What little of it I took with me I left in muddy spot I had to detour through because of sidewalk repair. When you’re running down the pass and you fall down on your ass mud gets everywhere.

“Are you okay? Did you bonk anything?”

“No. I wanna shower and then I’m eating a cupcake.” I heccin earned it!

“Come,” Mary said as she closed her tablet with the fake clicking noise they make when you lock them (something more satisfying about the thuddy slap of a hardcover book being closed, but o well; the past is the past).

“Where?”

“A little girl as dirty as you needs help getting clean.”

“I just wanna shower.” Showers take five minutes, ten if you slipped again trying to stand up, did a barrel roll, and ended up face down in said mud. Which I’m not ashamed to say is a thing that happened cuz it was the mud’s fault, not mine. A shower meant I could be savoring (snarfing like a snarfosaurus rex) my cupcake in as little as fifteen minutes. Then I’d probably have a snack or two.

“Nope,” the tall, handsy lady I live with said as she took my wrist and led me toward our downstairs bathroom.

“Urgh. Fine.” Worse things than being bathed by a beautiful woman. True story.

I followed her down the hall, pausing in front of the laundry closet, where she stripped me nude. “Sorry,” I said as she peeled my muddy leggings down.

“Little girls who say sorry are so cute.”

“I’m not a little girl. See?” As in see what you uncovered? All woman.

“I see it every day, sweetie.”

I don’t even know what that was supposed to mean, but I had this general sense it was her way of saying seeing it doesn’t change her opinion of how big I am. A giantess, actually; that’s me. Fighting lions, taming shrews (they bite!), and raiding tombs and such.

“Daphne,” my Mary said to me mere minutes later as she was washing my hair, “do you remember when we talked about taking care of your body now that you’re becoming a woman?”

Did I say ‘my Mary?’ Cuz she’s not; don’t even like her. Like her? I meant I’ve never even met her.

“I think a little someone could use a spa day,” she said like she was voicing a great grand terrific idea. But nope.

“O, please no,” I didn’t whine. “You know I don’t like doing that.”

“But it does a much better job than shaving and lasts longer. Don’t you wanna not have to shave for longer?”

“Yes, but … it hurts.”

“I know.” Wait, what? She knows and makes me do it anyway? Is there anything else she does to me knowing it hurts? Sure hope not. Really.

“But … okay.”

“Excuse me?”

“I said okay. Fine. But if any tears come out, you’re making it all better.” Not that I ever cry during a wax down below, but also sometimes yes. At least it’s an at-home spa, so to speak. And it is one of those things I like after the fact; and at least it’s a quick fact.

“Hands and knees.”

Maybe I’m too accustomed to just doing what she says cuz I did it and thought nothing of it until …

“Make sure you’re clean everywhere…”

“Wait, what HEY!”

“Everywhere,” she repeated after she’d already gotten everywhere but kept ‘em spread for a couple more passes. “Ev-er-ee-where!”

“Omneepatotter frauherhoferen shneedle!”

“Little girls say such nonsense, even little girls who do a good job wiping … most of the time.”

“Fnurl nut, Mary!”

But did I say or do anything beyond sputter in indignation? Did I correct her insult against my rectitude (cuz it’s every damn time, dammit! I’m a good wiper all the time and … kind of a low moment having to defend against that charge). But I didn’t splash. I may have pouted. But I didn’t splash or name call or tantrum or bite (all of which would’ve been justified). Good for me. I guess?

More for instances? I got ‘em.

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Verbal baiting. Soooo much verbal baiting.

Such as:

“You’re the only person I know who has a diaper bulge when they’re not even wearing pants.”

“I’m small framed!”

“I know what size you are. I’m the one who buys your diapers, remember? Size small cuz you’re smol, aren’t you?”

“(Warning cat hiss).”

Or how about:

“C’mon, Daphne! Show that diaper who’s boss!”

“Mary, I swear to god …”

“You can do it! Daffy Daffy, she’s our girl; if she can’t do it, it’s probably cuz she’s so little.”

“(Angry bear noises).”

And this gem:

“Hop up on the bed for your diapie.”

“Seriously? It’s the third day in a row.”

“Such a good counter.”

“(Fed up rhino grunts).”

And if she follows through on this, I’m making her move out. I mean, I’d go with her, but it would be a whole thing:

“We have four bedrooms, and two of them are unused,” she observed.

“One of them is unused,” I pointed out. “The other one is where we keep our junk.” Among other places. How do people acquire so much junk? For sure ours has a lot to do with compulsive kink purchases, but that’s no more than a third … well, maybe half of it.

“So,” Mary continued cuz she loves to continue, “we could put a nursery in the other one and still not really have to move or rearrange anything.”

“Harhar. You’re so funny. NOT!” Which was such a clever thing of me to say. NOT!

“We could get a rocking chair. You could sit in my lap and just rock back and forth.”

“Well … that can go in the living room.” I liked that idea. Wonder what it be like if when she was rocking and I was sitting on her lap she wore this harness things that attaches to a … anyhoo.

“We could make a little space for you to play with your toys.”

“Like my Xbox? With a big TV? Ooo, or a projector.” I mean, I know she wasn’t serious, but I could try.

“And a changing table.”

“How ‘bout not,” I suggested because reasons.

“Diapering you on the bed and the floor isn’t so easy on my back.”

“I have a solution to that – stop diapering me.”

“But you’re too little to do it yourself,” she said and continued right over my protest noises cuz my Mary loves to continue even more after she’s already continued. When I do that, I get a warning about what happens when I test boundaries, which is exactly what Mary was doing – searching for the boundary right before I’d lose my patience and earn myself a spanking.

“And I wouldn’t mind moving your diaper pail in there. You know, that thing where we put your used diapers? It’s like a wastebasket but bigger, to fit you diapers? And it has an inner and an outer lid, to hold in the scent of your used diapers? Remember?”

I took deep breaths. My mom taught me that: when you’re about to blow your stack, take deep breaths. I ignored just about all of that and replied, “That thing is so unnecessary.”

“Maybe you think so, kiddo. If you can’t tell when you’re pottying in your diapers, I guess I’m not surprised you can’t smell your peepee diapies.”

“(Elephant rampage noises).”

But did I cross the line and earn an elephantine spanking? I did not.

More examples of my poise and equanimity in the face of adversity? Here ya go.

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Like I Wasn’t Even There

Right into the living room she came, and I thought for a second she was talking to me which would’ve been really weird since she said, “Hello?”

“Um, hi?” And then I figured out she had one of her earbuds in. I use mine when I go running or work in the garden now that I’m officially retired, but Mary uses hers mostly for work calls. For some reason that makes no sense, it irritates me when she wears it outside the confines of her office. Makes zero sense. Like, does it matter if she’s using that or just holding her phone? Nope, but just … anyway, onto the conversation she conversed.

“So good to talk to you in person,” Mary said to … someone. She sat down on the love seat where she could cast conspicuous glances at me. She’s always being conspicuous when she’s not being inconspicuous, devil demon that she is (and don’t tell me that doesn’t make any sense; I get enough of that at home). “I thought it would be easier to talk details instead of texting back and forth.” I knew it wasn’t a work call. She rarely has those outside her office, and when she does, she usually walks back into her office.

“I’m glad to hear that. We really liked meeting Ann too. She seems so sweet”

Who’s Ann?

“Did she tell you she folded her pants and carried them over to us? It was so cute … I offered to play with her, but she told me she needed your permission. You have her very well trained. How long have you two been together? … Ooo, so practically still in the puppy love stage. We’re coming up on nine years together, and we’re still in that stage … Ha! I know, right?”

Ann who folds pants … and brings them over to us? … The woman from the dungeon club! That was like two months ago! When did Mary even exchange info with her?

“She said she switches … Uh-huh. Does she have a role she likes best? … I thought so. She just has that energy. What’s her play age?”

And me, just sitting on the couch deeply interested in this conversation I wasn’t a part of, wondering what Mary was up to and knowing at the mention of ‘play age’ that it would end up involving me somehow. Mary would never play with another woman without my being there. Less a BDSM thing and more of a marriage thing, not that Mary seems to want to play with others without me (I think she’s fond of me or something?). If she really did want to play with someone else, I’d let her. I mean, not like I’d get jealous or anything. For the most part. Zero track record of me ever getting jealous … ever. Really.

And as for me playing with others, Mary loves it. Just the thought of me being disciplined by others like some naughty neighborhood kid back in the 1960s just gets her all titillated. Weirdo.

“Daphne,” she said while casting one of those glances my way, as if my ears didn’t perk up at the very sound of the first consonant of my name being spoken by the coyote I married, well known as mythology’s trickster. “Well, she doesn’t exactly have a play age. She’s actually really adamant about not being labeled … No, she’ll agree we like ageplay, but she tantrums if you call her a little … Ha! Yeah, that’s exactly the sorta thing a little would do.”

It is heccin not! Don’t fence me in with your labels and stereotypes, Mary. But I just made my irritable face at her. Totally not fair that her irritable face has so much more of an effect on me than mine does on her. Just because she’s the domme she thinks I should respond to nonverbal cues if I know what’s good for me. Totally unfair that I actually did learn most of her nonverbal cues and actually know what’s good for me (even if I sometimes choose to strategically ignore it).

“She doesn’t wear them twenty-four-seven … She doesn’t want to. Her big girl undie time is very important to her … I’m not sure either. Doesn’t make her seem any bigger to me, and anyway, some weeks I keep her diapered more than others. She’s sitting next to me right now with the little plastic wings sticking up out her pants and giving me the dirtiest look.”

Heck heccin yeah I am giving you a dirty look! Whither under my gaze … please? Or at least look away while I tuck those back into my pants and stop reading anything into it cuz you made me!

“She doesn’t like them at all, so she says … It started for us as domestic discipline, a little diaper punishment to go with the other consequences and preventions she gets. They do a good job keeping her out of trouble … I’m not sure exactly, but she’s just sweeter when she’s padded. She even follows me around more, my little shadow.”

“I follow you around all the time.” I like her and stuff. And if I do follow her around more when she’s making me wear the stupid things, it’s only because … reasons. Mysterious reasons that I don’t understand but surely do not have any deeper meaning about my personality or should be construed as liking the stupid things.

“Please be quiet, honey. I’m talking on the phone.”

O my god I’m having flashbacks to 1993 in the kitchen with my mom and she’s holding a corded phone. I need a ‘clear history’ button for my head.

“I’ve kept her in them most of this week, and I haven’t had to give a single spanking … Heh. Nope. Not even close, but if I counted every hand to the back of her pants as a spanking, she’d never have a spank-free day. She’s a handful, but she really is such a good girl.”

Ooo, Mary thinks I’m a good girl! Heck yes! It almost makes up for all the beans she’s spilling about me. Like, doesn’t Mary have any questions for … whatever her name is? A little something to help me understand why this conversation is happening? And I am gonna get a reward for not clobbering her with a throw pillow seven minutes ago, right? Cuz she’s earned it several times over. Really.

“I know what you mean. I’m an on-the-spot spanker as much as possible. I don’t like waiting til we’re home alone. Little girls learn better when they’re corrected on the spot, at least in theory. But hey, if every lesson stayed learned then they wouldn’t be little girls forever haha.”

Don’t you smirk at me you, you … smirker! I’m not getting twitterpated! You are!

“They’re all sweeties. Ageplay for us just grew naturally out of our domestic discipline lifestyle and humiliation kink. We didn’t mean to, but I do love the quiet times. She’ll even take a bottle from me if I bribe her with an orgasm.”

Whoa! TMI! … But also yes, true story.

“Ann does? … Does she prefer ‘Ann’ or ‘Annie?’ … Mhmm … See, I don’t think that makes as much difference as Daphne thinks. It’s not like we’re not physically intimate all the time. I’ve been the big spoon seven hours a day since we moved in together. We’re into nursing as a sex act, but she insists, very adorably, that we can’t consider it part of our ageplay… You do? That’s … I’ve read about it but didn’t know anyone who did until now … I think that might be a step too far for Daffy. Don’t you get sore? … Uh-huh … Lanolin? … Interesting.”

Hey. Hey! What does she do? And what the heck is ‘lanolin?’ I think I know, but I wanna hear you say it out loud so I can scream no-never-nope a bunch of different ways. Don’t let this person lead you astray, Mary. We got a really good détente going on the nursing thing. Don’t screw it up. And also, stop telling her all the things! Have some dignity … said the woman in the diaper cuz her spouse made her. Dammit …

“What are some of the things the two of you like to do? … Mhmm … Aww, that’s sweet … Daffy doesn’t have any other little friends who do. Our friend Sandy brought a little she plays with over, but we didn’t actually play with him. We don’t really even know him … I’d like it. I don’t know how Daffy would feel about it. Well, actually that’s not true. I do know, but I also know she’d enjoy it … She really does; more so after the fact, and she’d sooner burn the house down than admit it, but she does … Yeah, it’s more fun for both of us that way. She’s puts up the cutest fusses.”

Just … no to all of that, whatever it is … Wonder what it is. Because reasons. And if I ever find out, I’m saying no to all of it.

“Mhmm … Yeah … Ha! … Awww!”

O my god, she’s turning into an idiot right in front of me.

“Together, yeah, she might. I wouldn’t let her without me anyway … A couple of times, but with people we both know. She likes it … Exactly. I’m sure you and Ann are the same way … I’ll ask her. I think we’d all have fun … Great. I gotta a little girl’s diapie to check, but it was great talking to you … You too. Bye.”

There was a moment of silence, and when the moment passed, I very calmly, in that super calm and collected and well-reasoned and dignified way of mine, said, “I’ll show you a tantrum!”

“Daffy …”

“Who did you (steel rending) and why you gotta (train derailing) and what are you even (piano falling) and like I’m not even (mall imploding) and stop looking so amused before I hit you with my pillow!”

“You are so …”

“One! One comment about how red my face is and I’ll do it, I swear I will!” Feathers everywhere! … Or probably acrylic stuffing, but it would be heccin everywhere and hard to clean up! I swear!

“You remember Ann, the woman we met at the dungeon before Thanksgiving? That was her partner.”

“Duh. What’s her name anyway?”

“Jo.”

“And when were you gonna tell me you got her number? And you coulda held back some of our secrets.” I may have a humiliation fetish, but Mary has a spilling-all-our-beans fetish, and yes, they do well together most of the time but also geez! Hold something back until we know them better or, ya know, NEVER!

“She just wants to know more about us. Ann was very excited when she got home that night. We texted about the possibility of a playdate and figured it would be easier to just talk … Sorry if I embarrassed you.”

Just because you’re not winking, Mary, doesn’t mean I know you’re not even a little but sorry. Probably aroused … Good thing I’m, uh, not. Really. But all I said was, “I guessed that fifteen minutes ago. Still doesn’t mean you had to tell her so much.”

“Just being safe and getting to know each other more. She’s very protective of Ann, just like I’m very protective of you. I think we’ll like them a lot.”

The Daphne urge to say no to everything just to be oppositional. But I fought it back. “Well, so what do they like then?”

“Ann is a little. We were thinking our playdate could be an actual playdate for the two of you,” Mary said like she knew I wouldn’t exactly love the idea.

“Because the last one with Jane went so well? Remember everyone not named Mary crying?”

“Ann sounds a little more like you than Jane is,” Mary replied in her how-to-put-this-delicately voice. “I think you’ll get along with her when she’s in little mode more than you do with Jane.”

“How so,” I asked in my you’d-better-be-careful-with-your-phraseology-unless-you-want-a-real-tantrum-on-your-hands voice.

“She’s … more active. Um, ‘high spirited’ is what Jo said.”

I know what that means! I heccin know what that means!Because, um, many women in my life, including the one I married, have called me that. “You mean she gets in trouble a lot. Remember what happened when Jane got me in trouble?” As in almost every single time I ever played with her or just been near her when she’s little.

“I think this will be different. I’d really like to give them a try. Please?”

“What do I get for saying yes?”

“I’ll pretend I don’t know about the peanut butter hearts you have hidden behind the canned goods.”

“… Fine. But not here. Their house.” Not letting them into my batcave just yet.