Mary and Daphne #147

I think I get why some people think baths are icky. I think they’re wrong – very wrong – because baths are delightful, but I get where they’re coming from. I’d been in said bath for almost a half hour already, and my date was late. Yes, I had a date.

I texted my date. “Are you coming,” is what I texted her.

“Almost done,” my date texted back.

Well, I’d gotten started without her by drinking one of those alcohol drinks and eating a strawberry. I mean, am I supposed to starve and be wholly sober on the best date night of the year? A little pregaming was called for.

And my heart went pitter-patter when I heard my date’s office door open and close. My date sauntered (I’m guessing cuz she’s the sauntering type) down the hall and turned the corner into the bathroom, and the thing about my date was she wasn’t wearing pants.

“Were you talking to your boss without any pants on,” I asked my date. Her name is Mary, by the way.

“Let’s not get started on who wears what below the waist around here, little girl.”

“Aw! That’s just not fair,” is what I said back to her. “Take off the rest of your clothes.” Was that too forward? Too pushy? Too much of an order? Good cuz that what I was going for.

“Not even a please,” my Mary said as she complied cuz I’m the boss of her (is a thing she lets me believe from time to time because it amuses her to snatch that illusion away … and I sorta kinda definitely like it too). “I see one full flute and one empty flute. Did you get started without me?”

“Heehee! I know you like me all suggestible and stuff.”

“One glass of champagne,” she said and shook her head. “Such a cheap date.”

“It’s Prosecco, and I’m not a cheap date, which is why you should tell me what your Christmas bonus is.”

She stepped over the side of the tub and sat down opposite me in the water. “Does my making more money make me more attractive to you?”

Which is when I realized that in a weird way that, “Kinda, yeah.”

“Ha! You’re blushing! And I thought I couldn’t be any more attractive to you.”

“You can’t, is the thing, but also, just a little because, um … I don’t know why.”

“What if I gave you an orgasm for every ten thousand dollars in my bonus?”

“Then I would have a good and very literal reason for why you making more money makes you more attractive to me.” I waited patiently for a whole two seconds before asking, “So how many orgasms is that?”

“Three-and-a-half.”

“Holy shit!” Also, we’re gonna round that up because half an orgasm is heccin unfair. Unnatural. Unpatriotic, really, if you wanna get political about it. The more lesbian orgasms, the better off all of our countrymen will be. Really don’t get how that’s not a bipartisan position.

“Language,” Mary sorta but not really scolded me. She’s very inconsistent about when she is and isn’t okay with my cussing. She didn’t used to care, but I can be a salty sailor sometimes and I think at some point during the pandemic she got tired of cursing a blue streak every time I turned on the news.

More importantly, “But … geez! Like … What do you even do for work again?”

“Internet stuff.”

“So I guess that’s going into the retirement account.” Hers, specifically, cuz I’m already retired. I guess that would just be my bank account … Not that I don’t still have a retirement account. I’m just not contributing to it and can’t touch it for another few decades.

“Some of it. I thought for the rest of it we’d do something special. What do you think of remodeling this bathroom?”

“I like that idea. What were you thinking?”

“Replace the double vanity with a single, move the toilet over, and put in a real jacuzzi tub.”

“Like big enough for us to …”

“Yeah.”

“But how will we know which ones are big enough for that? Can we try the ones in the showroom?”

“Ha! We’ll use our imaginations.”

“Cool I’ll start now thanks.”

“Silly goose … Are you playing footsie with me under the water,” my date named Mary asked me.

“Yeah. What’re you gonna do about it?”

“Play it back.” Ooo, my date is playing footsie with under the bubbles. Heehee!

“Is it weird this has become our stay-at-home date thing, soaking in the tub together?”

“Nope. I like taking baths with you.”

“Awww. Maybe when we renovate, we can just take the toilet out of here altogether.”

“You don’t wanna use the potty anymore? You want your pampers full time.”

“I’m being so nice right now not splashing you that you had better call me a good girl before I even start counting to five.”

“You’re a good girl.”

Ooo! It works even when I hafta coerce it out of her. “I just think it’s a little weird we’re eating strawberries in the same room as the toilet.”

“Then we’d have to go upstairs to use the bathroom.”

“Maybe we should change that bathroom then, the hall one. It doesn’t get used.” We have an en suite bathroom in the master, and we have one downstairs. The one in the upstairs hall is presumably for the people who live in the other bedrooms, except no one lives in the other bedrooms.

“Maybe we should rent out one of those rooms,” Mary said with that gleam in her eye that tells me she’s not serious.

“Who would we rent it out to?”

“A 20-year-old college student to be your little playmate.”

“As if! You can hardly handle the sub you’ve got,” I said. Said it bravely cuz I might as well have run a brat flag up a mizzenmast and dared her to capture it.

“She could be your sub. Didn’t you say you wanted someone to boss around?”

“I say lots of things. Most of it’s nonsense. The rest of it, gibberish.”

“It’s only gibberish when I’ve got you so twitterpated you don’t know down from up.” She was just sitting there up to her … however you measure someone half reclining in a tub. Anyway, she was just sitting there looking so proud of herself, almost making me think she gets me that twitterpated on purpose … OMG she does that on purpose! Ha!

“There’s no room for another sub in this house,” I said even though I knew she didn’t mean it.

“I’m just teasing.”

“You’re barely in control of little old’ me.”

“Excuse me? I’m gonna spank you for that later.”

“You had better. Had to say it twice …” I mean, geez, who lets their sub get away with that sorta talk even once? I’m trying to start some shit here; ya gotta work with me! It’s a team sport and stuff.

“You should just be glad I get in the tub with you without making you put a swim diaper on.”

“O my god, you are such a B sometimes.”

“Excuse me, little girl? You wanna try that again?”

“What’ll you do if I don’t?”

“The same thing I’ll do if you do.”

“Ooo, that sounds fun. Yeah, let’s do that.”

“You sure you only had one glass of this?”

“I’m thinking of getting a cannabis card,” I said because yeah, I was thinking about it but also was thinking not, but I figured it would get a fun reaction from my Mary. And that doesn’t make me a brat. Really.

“That’s a very bad idea, Daffy.”

“And why is that?”

“Because you can’t stand strong smells …”

“I’ll get edibles.”

“… and you can’t help yourself around sweets. And I don’t think you can handle your shit, Miss One-Glass-of-Champagne-Makes-Me-Goofy.”

“I can, too, handle my shit. I put up with your shit all the time,” I said and stuck my cute little nose in the air. Mary, see, her jaw dropped, and she gasped a little. Not that I was trying to provoke a reaction. Really.

“It’s gonna be fun going to Wisconsin with you like this. So many freezing cold places to drop your drawers and spank your little bottom.”

“That’s why I married you, Mary, cuz you come up with such wonderful ideas. We should make a list of places.”

“Your childhood bedroom.”

Wait what? Um, that’s sort of in my parents’ house. And the things Mary does to me can be loud. And I can be even more loud when she does them. Not that I hated the idea, but that my mom and dad would hate the idea.

“I’m not so sure that’s a good idea.” For someone who comes up with such good ideas, she also comes up with such not good ideas.

“Little girl, we’re not changing the rules just because we’re traveling. If anything, I need to keep you on an even shorter leash away from home. If you’re even the littlest bit naughty, I’ll spank you just as soon as we’re outta sight.”

“… What about earshot?”

“As soon as we’re out of sight. And I know for a fact you’ve earned way more spankings than you ever got in that bedroom.”

“Because I got zero. I was a good girl. I am a good girl!” Really!

“You’d better be. Besides, I’ve spanked you in that room before.”

So this one time at Easter, yes, that’s a thing Mary did while there were people, about thirty of them, downstairs. Luckily my mom and dad thought we were upstairs having sex, so it was only really awkward and not super heccin awful awkward when we went back downstairs.

“And ya know what I think,” Mary asked me.

“If I say no, will you tell me?”

“Are you a bratty smart aleck or a smart-alecky brat?”

“All brats are smart alecks, and I’m neither of those things. Really. So tell me what you think?”

“I think you love the idea of getting taken to your childhood bedroom, being scolded like a naughty little girl, having your pants and undies taken down, and being turned over a knee for a good, hard, long, sound spanking on your bare little girl bottom … Aww, look at you trying so hard not to squirm. I bet you’ll be squirming in embarrassment when your childhood dollies listen to you get talked down to and see your underpants come down while you blush and try so hard to keep your hands at your sides. Because how do good girls take their spankings?”

O god my buttons!“Marrrry!”

“Tell me, or I might just decide we need to start that lesson over all the way from the beginning.”

“Good girls take their spankings with a minimum of trying to stop their pants and undies from coming down, covering their princess parts, or trying to shield their bottoms.” Not that I memorized that, but if I did it’s because she made me. Good times …

“That’s my good girl. So smart!”

“Ha!”

“What?”

“You called me a good girl. Admit it: that’s what you think. You think I’m a good girl.”

“I think you’re the best good girl … And you’re getting squirmy and blushing again. You’re like a little puppy when I call you a good girl.”

Okay, that’s a true story. If I had a tail, I’d be wagging it whenever she calls me that. Not that I’m a puppy.

“Are you gonna do this the whole time we’re there,” I asked her.

“Do what?”

“Use my being home as a chance to dial up the humiliation kink.”

“How would you feel if I did?”

“Aroused … Nervous.”

“A little scared?”

“Yeah.” And the thing is, all that just contributes to the arousal part. Like, having a humiliation kink is just so extra sometimes. That’s how young people say “hard sometimes,” right? Anyhoo, my feels get complicated in a hurry.

“Do you want to,” she asked me seriously.

“Want to what?”

“Use being back home as a way to pack in a little extra embarrassment.”

“I need examples, not that I don’t trust you.” I do trust her, but examples would be quite helpful. Examples with lurid, drawn-out descriptions are even more helpful. Heck, with the right example told the right way with the touching of the places and rubbing of the things as accompaniment, who needs to do the actual thing? Me, that’s who. And Mary. But still examples are all the kinds of fun.

“Like if you start to get a little tipsy, I’d take your glass away and say you’ve had enough at a volume someone might overhear … especially at the dinner table. Or when we go to that walk-through with all the Christmas lights, I might zip up your coat for you and remind you to behave yourself so it doesn’t, quote, turn out like last time, with your sister in-law right there next to us.”

“I kinda feel like right now you’re asking permission to do that.” I’m perceptive like that.

She made this thinking face for a moment like she was too was wondering ‘am-I-or-aren’t-I’ before she said, “Yeah, I am asking permission.”

“Of the two us, when it comes to being with others right now, you’re the one who needs to watch her behavior. You’ve been pushing boundaries lately,” I let her know.

“Pushing or crossing?”

“Pushing extra.” Is that how young people use that word? I can’t keep up.

“Can I push if I promise to not go too far?”

Tough question. Normally when we travel, kinda why not? Like our trip to the lake with that gift store clerk. She’s a stranger; low level of reputational risk. Not like I’m actually worried what she thinks of me or knows about me. But we were traveling to see my family. I do care what they think and know about me.

“Yes, but you have to promise. If I say ‘yellow’ you need to … pretend I said orange.”

“Why orange?”

“It’s between yellow and red.” Um, duh?

“Why not just say ‘orange?’” And do you know what? When she said that she was making this isn’t-that-kinda-smarter-and-simpler-you-should-probably-have-figured-it-out-on-your-own face. To which I rolled my eyes cuz it was preferable to admitting she had a point, which she did. But I’d had a flute-and-a-half of prosecco by then.

“Fine,” I sighed like I’m so put upon cuz I am, “if it will make you happy, we can have yellow, orange, and red. You’re so particular sometimes; very demanding and hard to satisfy.” That’s not actually true. She’s not like me with the hair trigger on her zipper sometimes, but she’s far from hard to satisfy if you know the ins and outs and tips and tricks and … stuff … and things. Which I heccin do.

“Good thing you already got a spanking coming cuz you seriously need one.” And then she winked at me! The temerity! The presumption!

“O heavens no, not that,” I very sincerely pleaded in my best I-may-faint-at-the-mere-thought voice.

“It’s a good thing I didn’t send your spanking hairbrush ahead with the presents,” she said as she sipped her wine.

“As if you don’t have your purse paddle with you all the time.”

“I could leave it behind.”

“Yeah right.” As if. She forgets her phone more than she forgets that, and she virtually never forgets her phone.

“Really. If you need a correction, I can send you to your room, or better yet, the corner in the living room. Wasn’t that your timeout spot when you were little?”

“Marrry!”

“And I could ask your mom, “Hey, Angie, do you mind if I borrow the wooden spoon out of the crock? I need to address some of your daughter’s poor choices.’”

O gawd, I wish that didn’t make me tingle, but it does and in a fun way and stuff.

“And you know she’ll say yes, won’t she Daffy? She’ll be confused at first, but I know she’ll agree poor choices need a consequence right away. And she’ll probably be embarrassed when I take your pants down right there in front of her and your dad and your brother.”

“Marrry, stopppp,” I didn’t whine. But of course she continued cuz my Mary loves to continue. True story.

“But when she sees your jeans come down and the wet diaper you’re wearing – I sent ahead some princess ones, some plain white ones, and the ones with the animals on them …

“You didn’t!”

“Of course I did. A week is a long time for you to make it to the potty without a single accident, and you behave so much better when you have your pampers on. Almost like it’s a soft reminder that if you act like a naughty toddler, I’ll treat you the way act.”

I can’t even believe her sometimes except yeah, I can totally believe she would do that and did do that. And am I really better behaved when she makes me wear those? I don’t think so, but then I also don’t think most of the allegedly naughty things I allegedly do are that naughty even when I do them (except I don’t ever do anything naughty. What? Really!)

“So anyway, your mom will probably have all kinds of questions, and I can just hear your sister-in-law explaining to your little nieces and nephews that some girls need longer to stay dry, and some need even longer than that.”

Waves of steam silently coming off hot pavement. Yep, that’s a good metaphor for how I felt and sounded in that moment: hot and silent. But I was in a bath and that and the humiliation kink were responsible for any physical reactions to Mary’s effrontery. Not the diaper part; pure coincidence.

“And she’ll lead them into the next room and explain to them what a spanking is because they’ve never had one, and you’ve had how many?”

“(Sound of snow falling on a windless day.)”

“How many, Daffy? I know you can use numbers. Give it a try, like a big girl.”

“I am a big girl,” I may have said very quietly.

“What’s that?”

“I am too a big girl, and you’re just mean! You’re mean, and you’re … so nice too. It’s very confusing sometimes.”

“Is it? Is it really?”

“No,” I admitted. “You’re nice and mean and really good at being both at the same time and I’m glad we get to spend all our Christmases together.” Dammit…

“You wanna get out and take turns drying each other off?”

“Can we let the sheets dry us off while we roll around and do stuff on ‘em?”

“Probably gonna hafta to wash the sheets after anyway.”

Which I took to mean she was aroused as well. How unusual that the thought of discipling and embarrassing me in front of others is arousing to her. Good thing we’re simpatico like that …

And I was already planning to watch what she packed like a hawk. Not that I don’t trust her. Just wanted some intel on exactly what she might could and definitely would do to me during our trip … so I could give her all the excuses she needed to do it all … at least twice.

Not that I was gonna try to get in trouble. I mean, as if. It’s not like I’m a brat or anything or like getting in trouble and stuff. Um, really.