Mary and Daphne #130

“No,” Mary said to me like she’s in charge of anything which she’s not because I am! Hmmph!

“Mary, please!” I’m in charge and polite. Just because you’re in charge doesn’t mean you shouldn’t say please. And, um, ask permission. Really.

“I said no twice already. Do I need to say it a third time?”

“But … but … I don’t want to. Please may I go use the bathroom?”

“Nope. You’re too little.”

“I am not little!”

“You are if I say you are. C’mere.”

“Whoah! Mary, you can’t just go snatching me off the ground and into your lap like that. It’s super uncool.”

“Aww, did I hurt a little someone’s little feelings?”

“That’s just mean, Mary.”

“Put your head down here.” Well, might as well. It is a very inviting chest to lay one’s head on. And she  smells so nice. “Daphne Ann,” she said while stroking my hair, “you really need to stop pretending you’re not a little girl.”

“But I’m not a little girl.”

“Of course you are. Would a big girl be sitting on my lap instead of going to the potty when she needs to?”

“She would if she’s submissive and a good girl.” Bathroom use denial is a whole other fetish separate from ageplay. Fact.

“Would she be curled up on my lap in just her tank top and diapee about to soil herself?”

Once again, “She would if she’s submissive and a good girl, and I am not about to poop myself!”

“Aww, who thinks she’s a big girl and isn’t going to fudge her huggies? Hmm? Is it you,” she goaded me with her hands tickling my sides where I’m ticklish. “Isn’t you just a mush tush diaper girl? Yes, you are! A-yes you are! Just a stinky pants baby girl who likes filling her pants for her momma. C’mon and push for momma. I bet you’ll like it so much I have to chase you down before you’ll let me change your bum. What a mess you’ll make, and I’ll clean it all up because you’re my little girl and I’m your mommy.”

“I don’t like it when you call yourself that, Mary. We had a big talk about it.” Sorta a fight about it, actually.

“But I am your mommy. I spank your bottom when you’re naughty. I change your tinkle diapers. I buy you everything you need. I hold you when you’re sad. I feed you your baba. I am most definitely your mommy, and it makes me happier than anything else I’ve ever been. Don’t you wanna make mommy even happier and fill your diaper for me? You’ll feel so much better.”

“Stop,” I pleaded when she started massaging my tummy. “I don’t want to, and stop calling yourself that!”

“Someone’s in denial,” she whispered into my ear. “Be a good girl.”

“I am a good girl,” I whimpered in my I’m-about-to-cry voice.

“Be a good girl. Just push it all out.”

“Aheh aheh aheh (sniffle),” I sobbed into her chest. “F-fine. I am a good girl. I am!”

“Yes, you are. Yes, you are momma’s good girl … Ope! What’s that I feel on my leg? Are you poopin’, baby? Yes, you are! A-yes you are. You’re just filling your diapee like such a good girl for mommy.”

“A-wah-hah-wah!”

“Aww, no need for those tears, baby girl. And that’s what you are cuz I don’t know anyone who sits in their mommy’s lap and mushies their tushy and cries about it except baby girls.”

“Waaaaahhhhhh!”

“I know. Ooo, you are making such a big, warm mess against your momma’s thigh. Mommy can feel what you’re doing to your diapee. You’re just a regular diaper destroyer, aren’t you? A-yes you are! Hhh! Yes you are. And such a stinky wittle girl, but mommy doesn’t mind. All done?”

“Please! Please change me,” I said through my huge and pathetic sobs.

Mary looked around us on the couch. “My little girl is so baby, I’m gonna hafta start making sure I always have one your pacis with me.” She fiddled with the buttons on her shirt and exposed her breast. “Let’s wait a while to make sure you’re all done. We wouldn’t wanna get you into a clean diaper and have you make another dirty one right away, would we? You just nurse from mommy, and don’t you even worry about being messy or stinky. That’s mommy’s job to worry about.”

I don’t know why I started nursing from her. Because it was there and I felt disgusting and I hoped maybe it would help me stop crying. I don’t know why I did it at all except I really had to go and she wouldn’t let me use the bathroom and I really, really had to go. And I don’t know why I didn’t fight my way off her lap and red light and tell her to never, ever call herself my mommy again. And I don’t know why I let her baby talk like that to me. I never felt so small and belittled in my life. Not smol and little. Small and belittled. And gross. Absolutely gross. I can’t believe she did this to me. I just … I sat there on her lap feeling what I did underneath me and trying not to smell it and just trying to come back to my right mind.

“Okay,” Mary said softly as she stood up and somehow managed to put me on her hip, making what I’d done in my diaper smush and spread around and feel even more awful after I was sure it couldn’t feel any more awful, “let’s go up to the nursery and get you changed.”

“We don’t have a nursery.”

“But we will soon. We’re going to fix up the guest room as your nursery, and that’s going to be your play space and where you sleep from now on.”

“What? No!” I struggled in her arms. “Red light, Mary! Red light! Put me down! I said red light!”

“No more red lights, little girl. You’re baby now, and baby girls obey their momma’s.”

“Mary! I said red light,” I almost shouted as I sat bolt upright in bed. I was drenched in sweat, and I really had been crying. “I said red light.” To my left was Mary, sleeping soundly. Well, nope, that’s not gonna happen. Can’t let this aggression stand.

WHAP! I hit her with my pillow. WHAP! I did it again and I’m not sorry.

“I am not a baby!” Whap! “And you are not my mommy!” Whap! “And I’m not a mush tush or a diaper girl or a pamper packer or any of those other things you said and I will not fudge my huggies ever!” Whap! “And they’re not mine!” Whap! “They’re yours!”

I think Mary was trying to say something, but she didn’t listen to me in my dream, so I didn’t feel in the mood to listen to her in our bedroom, whatever it was she was trying to say as she got tangled in the sheets and rolled off the bed trying to get away from my assault (that even Saint Augustine would find justified). I peered over the side of the bed to see her still tangled in the sheets and looking up at me gaping.

“What the heck, Daphne?!?”

Good question. Lemme try to answer that: “I’m never going to be a baby and you’re not my mommy and I don’t wanna poop in the diapers and it doesn’t matter if you want me too and it feels awful and it stinks and I’m a grown up and stop calling yourself mommaand we’re not putting a nursery in the other bedroom and I’m not sleeping in there! I’m sleeping in here with you always cuz I’m not a baby and you’re my wife and don’t you ever, ever (!) do what you did again!”

Ooo, her mouth is gaping open again. “Daphne,” she said as she tried to untangle herself. “Daphne,” she said as she kicked herself free.

I was on my knees on the bed clutching my pillow and looking down at her. At the same moment, because we’re sympatico like that, we both asked, “Are you okay?” I let her answer first, which was awfully nice of me considering she started it.

“Yeah.” She untangled the sheet from around her ankles and stood up. “Um,” I said because I’m clever like that, “you look pretty.” I mean, she did. Sort of in an I-was-sleeping-and-then-what-the-heck way, but pretty nonetheless.

“What the heck was that,” she asked. Not in a brusque way. If I made a habit of beating her with a pillow in her sleep, I think she would’ve been brusque, but since it’s a rarity for me (could be a one-off, what with that being the first time, but let’s not rule it out forever), she seemed more concerned. I sat back down on the bed against the headboard and held the pillow to myself. For onesies, I wasn’t ready to disarm. For twosies, it hid that I was wearing one of those things. She flipped on the light. “You’ve been crying.”

“I had a bad dream.” Which seemed kinda ridiculous now. She sat down next to me against the headboard, conspicuously not wearing anything embarrassing under her pajama shorts. In fact, not wearing anything under her pajama shorts. Not that I was jealous. Really.

“Were you attacking me in the dream or …”

“Nope. That was after I woke up. Sorry.”

“So …”

“You’d like to know why,” I surmised. If she were me and I were her, I’d like to know why. Not every day the person you share a bed with pillow-slays you out of said bed while you’re fast asleep.

“What happened in your dream?”

“You mean what did you do to me in my dream,” I said with a little edge because I apparently wasn’t over it.

“Well?”

“You made me … You made me do the, um, other thing … in my diaper.”

“Poop?”

Good thing I didn’t disarm. Whap! She has such good reflexes when she’s conscious. “I coulda said it if I wanted to say it,” I grumbled.

“That had better have been the last one unless you wanna lose pillow privileges, little girl.”

“You made me, and you guilt tripped me into it.”

“Well,” she said, “I’m sorry for doing those things … in your dream, I guess.”

“And you told me to stop denying being a baby and you kept calling yourself my mommy.”

“Also sorry.”

“And you said I was going to start sleeping in the nursery and not with you.”

“Honey,” she said and brushed a stray hair away from my face, “you know I’d never do that.”

“And I red lighted and you wouldn’t listen because you said babies obey.”

“I wouldn’t ever do that. You know that.”

“I know. Sorry for hitting you. I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

“No. It was a slow-motion roll off the bed more than falling.” She chuckled. “Are you okay?” She probably asked that because I was hugging my knees, but I only do that when I’m anxious and upset, so … glad she asked.

“I just didn’t like that dream.” I stopped hugging my knees and leaned over to rest my head on her shoulder.

“So what exactly happened again?”

“I had to go to the bathroom, and you wouldn’t let me. You grabbed me and sat me in your lap and I, uh, had an accident.”

“In your diaper?”

“Yeah. On your lap. And you said you could feel it and I started crying and you wouldn’t change me.”

“I wouldn’t?”

“You said we’d wait to make sure I was done, and you started nursing me, and then you started carrying me upstairs and said you’d build me a nursery to sleep in. That’s when I red lighted and you didn’t listen.”

“You didn’t red light until I said you couldn’t sleep in our bed with me anymore?” I saw where she was going with that and opted to not even go down that rabbit hole. “Anything else?”

“There was emotional blackmail and you kept calling yourself mommy … And if you’re getting off on me describing the dream I’m gonna hit you with the whole mattress.”

She chuckled. “I don’t think I’m ever as mean as in your dream.” J’accuse! So she admits she’s mean sometimes.“And I’d never not want you in our bed … Unless you make a habit of hitting me with a pillow when you have a bad dream.”

“Not a habit, but not making promises … I’m not in trouble, am I?”

“Course not. Can I ask you something and you promise not to hit me with anything?”

“Ask first; then I’ll decide.”

“You know how sometimes people can have a dream that they’re peeing?”

“No! No I didn’t!”

“Just asking.”

“Well I didn’t. I … I …” I didn’t, right? I couldn’t have. But … in a way I really hoped Mary wouldn’t notice, I felt my butt.

“Here,” Mary said and peered over my shoulder, pulled out the back of my diaper, and patted my butt. “No.” Which I knew (Praise jeebus!) and think she just wanted to look at my butt cuz she likes it and stuff.

“Could you turn the light off? I’d like to be humiliated in the dark please.”

“Don’t be. Even if you had, it wouldn’t have been your fault.”

“It would’ve been yours.”

“If you say so, sweetie.” Of course she wasn’t done checking me. Well, half checking and half feeling me up. “You’re wet though,” she said as she took her hand off the front of my back.

“I was awake for that, before you make any jokes or ask. Also your fault.”

“Lie down, and I’ll get you into something dry.”

“I’d rather just go back to sleep.”

“You don’t want a dry diaper?”

“I just wanna go back to sleep and forget this night ever happened.”

“Do you wanna be the big spoon or the little spoon?”

“Little.” She leaned over to switch off the lamp. “Roll over for me.” I did, and she put her arms around me and held me extra close. “You’re not a baby,” she said and kissed my hair, “but you’re my little girl.”

“Can you start work late tomorrow?”

“Yeah. Why?”

“I wanna sleep in with you.”

“Okay, little girl.”

“Sorry again,” I yawned.

“Close your eyes,” she yawned back.