Mary and Daphne #114

Mary talks me into stuff. She’s very good at it. I talk myself into stuff, like that time I talked myself into asking for a domestic discipline lifestyle relationship and handed over the reins to Mary. Not literal reins, of course, because that’s not one of our kinks. We did try it once and … well, anyway, the point is Mary talks me into stuff, and I only enjoy most of it. That leaves some stuff I don’t like and some stuff I have mixed feelings about. That’s me, little ol’ Captain Conflicted.

“You’re sure,” Mary asked me as she parked the car.

“Yeah,” I said in that shaky way you say stuff when you’re not really sure.

“You don’t sound sure. You don’t have to.”

“I know. I … I wanna try.”

“Do you wanna try to make me happy or because you wanna try?”

“I wanna try.” So that was a fib, but it was for her benefit so it doesn’t count.

“Okay, but you red light the moment you don’t feel comfortable, got it?”

“Yes.”

“I will take the bathbrush to your butt later if I think you wanted to red light and didn’t.”

“That doesn’t seem fair.”

“It’ll help you learn to stand up for yourself.” Me – a grown woman – getting spanked will teach me to stand up for myself. Odd how that sorta computes. “And I’ll red light if I get worried,” she said.

It had been two summers since we went over to Brenna’s to use her pool. What with me being a fraidy cat and Mary being so darn protective, we didn’t even consider social distancing around the pool before we got our vaccines. It had taken all of us a while to get our shit together, what with re-learning how to socialize and make plans and actually keep them, but we finally did it. The reward: being back together at the pool.

Me and my Mary, who you know very well. Probably too well, ya buncha nosy pervs.

Lisa and Jane, who you may remember as our friends living the not-quite-a-lifestyle ageplay relationship. Lisa is Jane’s mommy, and Jane is her little girl with that ability to switch from brat to sweet as sunshine in the space of a sentence. She’s gotten me into trouble more than a few times, and I’ve gotten more than my fair share of butt bruises for it. Even when we get in trouble together, I get spanked like I get spanked while Jane gets spanked like a little who starts crying at the first tap! My butt gets reddened while hers barely gets pinkened which is so unfair that it’s not even a word! I owe her for all the paddlings I got that she should’ve at least shared equally in. One day, o one fine day, she’s gonna get paddled like a canoe for all the trouble she’s gotten me into.

And our host, Brenna, domme to Tommy. Tommy, nemesis. Tommy is a middle, sort of. He doesn’t really claim the label, but he lives the behavior, or at least he does when I’m around. He moved in with Brenna during the pandemic.

I don’t really get Tommy. He’s actually pleasant when he’s not being a middle, but when he is being a middle, he’s the world’s most annoying eleven-year-old-in-a-thirty-something’s-body. I cut him slack because men who ageplay have to cut through all that toxic masculinity crap, but seriously, so annoying. He doesn’t remember – or maybe doesn’t care – that I’m not an ageplayer or think of myself as a little or middle. We’ve been over that, like, many times, but it seems I have to remind people daily that I am not a little girl.

Anyhoo, Mary was being protective not because of covid (everyone was vaccinated) but because she was having regrets about talking me into this, not that she’d come right out and say so, and was worried about my delicate feelings. That’s Mary, Colonel Quiet when it comes to admitting she doesn’t know what she’s doing all the time, but I really shouldn’t say so since she outranks me.

And not that my feelings are that delicate. It’s not like I get my feelings hurt at the drop of a hat, although there was that one time this drunk chick at a party made fun of my hat, but that doesn’t even count cuz I was also drunk. Mary gave me a stern lecture the next morning about how no one likes The Weepy Drunk Girl stock character, and I would’ve been offended but she’s right.

Anyhoo again, Mary, being all protective, held my hand as we walked into Brenna’s backyard and announced ourselves. Everyone was excited. We hesitated over hugging, but Mary did it which was all I needed to give myself permission. Holy shit, by the way, did it feel good to hug people who aren’t Mary. Mary is the best hugger, naturally, but hugs from other people were just … sigh.

“I missed you,” I said to Lisa, getting a little teary without the benefit of a single drink. I got so verklempt, I even hugged Tommy. And Jane? I’d seen Jane during the pandemic, but she’s my bestie, and o my god did I wanna hug her hard, which I did.

Jane was in fine form, too, having gotten into her little headspace before we arrived and flinging herself around Mary like she was a long-lost aunt, which is what she called her.

Mary is sooo a big, another thing she’s not so consistent in owning up to, so I’m stating it again for the record even though it’s already on the record. Mary is a big, and I am not a little, and you could see Mary flipping a switch the moment Jane said, “Aunty Mary! Aunty Mary!”

“Hey, there, kiddo. How ya been,” Mary asked as she hugged Jane like she was a long-lost niece. She even tried to pick her up a few inches, which she did but barely. Not like Jane is a whole lot bigger than me, but it’s nice to see Mary’s superhuman ninja skills have some limits. Or maybe they have no limits but only when applied to me.

In any case, I totally did not get jealous of the beaming smile Mary was wearing when she looked at Jane and hugged her again. Why should I be jealous? Mary is an ageplayer and Jane is an ageplayer, and their ageplay roles are complementary, and they’re friends. Good friends. Why should I, who merely has lived as the submissive of a big in a discipline-based kink relationship with ageplay overtones be jealous of Mary smiling at Jane like Mary is a big and Jane is a little girl? If I were a little girl, I’d be jealous, but I’m not, so no jealousy. Really. Certainly I didn’t have to repress any petty thoughts about Jane, my bestie, who was making my wife look really happy in a way that is, of course, not just reserved for me. Really.

When Mary (finally!) turned her attention back to me – her wife who wasn’t jealous even for a split second but who would’ve been over it by then even if she had been jealous momentarily (which she wasn’t!) – I was spreading our towels on our chairs. Being Mary, and seeing me bending over, of course she pinched the back of my thigh. I didn’t yelp very loud. I’m used to her paying an awful lot of physical attention, gentle and otherwise and in between, to the parts of me between my knees and my waist. She likes those parts, like, a lot.

“You ready,” she asked me when I spun around, one hand going to rub my thigh and any thought I had of chastising her for her effrontery melting away when she smiled that same smile at me that she was smiling at Jane.

“I think you’re even more happy to be here than me,” I said. Happy wife, happy life, is a sexistphrase that happens to be true and applies to lesbians just as well as it does to straight folk.

“I am.”

I didn’t even mind when she wrapped her arms around me and kissed me. Just because she’s the sun to my moon doesn’t mean she should just make me melt into puddle of … whatever the moon is made out of (cheese, but what kind of cheese? they never teach these things ins school). But she did. She was the infectious kind of happy. I thought I was happy before, then I thought I wasn’t jealous (and I wasn’t), and then a whole ‘nother level of happy just because she was. I think I finally made up my mind right then that I like her and stuff.

“I’m happy because you’re happy,” I told my Mary. “I think you’ve been wound up and not in a good way.”

“Yeah, kinda,” she said, “but let’s not talk about it. Let’s just enjoy our day.”

“I’m down with that.”

“Speaking of down,” Mary said for some reason I don’t know. She doesn’t segue as well as she thinks she does. “Let’s get these down.” And down went my skirt into a puddle around my ankles. “And let’s get this off.” And off came my tee shirt.

And no, I wasn’t naked. I was wearing my bathing suit. We were all wearing bathing suits. It’s what we were wearing.

“Is Jane wearing one?” She said she was going to.

“Mhmm. I felt when I hugged her.”

I made the decision to assume it was an accident and not that Mary felt a butt other than mine on purpose. If Mary owns my butt, I own Mary’s hands, and if the sky is blue, then I am not jealous or insecure. And, o, look, the sky is blue. And even if I were to get jealous of Jane for getting Mary’s attention like that or jealous of Jane for making Mary smile like that – which I am not, was not and never have been – it would not, at all, suggest I’m jealous of sharing my Mary with a little because I’m a little and littles get jealous because I am not a little and wasn’t jealous (did you get all that?). So put that thought right outta your mind. I did, and I’m a better, healthier, happier person for it.

Anyhoo, we were all wearing swimsuits. It’s just that Jane and I, by mutual agreement, were wearing more than swimsuits. To whit, swim diapers. Why? Because Mary plied me with potions and compliments and puppy dog eyes, told me Jane would do it if I did it, and in a moment of weakness – my first moment of weakness ever in my life, I will add – I gave in.

I wasn’t as distracted by it as I thought I’d be, which is a distracting thought as distraction is a byproduct of abnormality, and I don’t want absorbent undergarments to achieve normality in my life … and they haven’t, actually, despite their ubiquity in my diary going on two years. Really.

And speaking of getting distracted, back to my point, which is that I wasn’t distracted. I was much more intent on stealing glances at my Mary in her swimsuit (if I were a shark, I wouldn’t eat her, but I would nibble on her ankles … and things) and getting to know our friends again as corporeal beings and not disembodied voices or legless torsos on Zoom. And btw, legs are sexy.

I was even enjoying Tommy’s company. Like I said, he’s a pleasant person when he’s being normal. I forget what he does for a living, but I think something super stressful. Maybe a first responder of some kind? Anyway, I get why when he cuts loose and goes into his middle headspace, but when he does, he really goes into this middle headspace. I don’t get why he’s gotta be so damn annoying about it. Like, if he really were his play age, his parents wouldn’t be able to find a sitter willing to watch him. His middle has a personality only a grandma or equally snotty middle could love.

And my attire went unnoticed at first. I knew I was wearing it, Mary knew, Jane knew, Lisa knew, and that’s everyone who knew as far as I knew, and no one commented on it. I agreed to wear it because Mary activated my humiliation button and plied me with her feminine wiles – she’s a wily one, my Mary is – and I didn’t need the button slammed by anyone. It was nice just to have a little titillating sense of risk and the occasional pat, brush, or whisper from Mary to keep the fire stoked while we caught up with our friends.

Once caught up, we got in the pool, and hellz yeah did it feel sooo good. I really gotta ask Mary about putting in a pool. I would go back to work specifically to pay for putting in a pool. I would then promptly quit my job, take up day drinking, and be that lush woman who has a pool and an almost constant buzz from the ever-present daiquiri in her hand. There’d be flowing, flowery wraps over my sun faded swimsuit and oversized sunglasses and big, floppy hats. What a spectacle I’d make of myself, which would be a new experience for me as I’ve never been a spectacle before. Really.

“What do you do all day,” Jane was asking me now that I’m a lady of leisure.

“I dunno. Stuff … I manage to find stuff to do. It’s funny cuz you you’re bored at first, and then after a while it seems like there’s always something to get done.”

Tommy was standing next to us, not really part of the conversation but part of the group. I’m starting to think his problem is he doesn’t have any male friends in the scene, not that that excuses his constant teasing.

“Like coloring and watching My Little Pony,” Tommy chimed in. Or maybe he just has poor social skills and doesn’t know how to join a conversation (I can relate), and going into Annoying Middle Mode is how he compensates.

“Better than your stupid He-Man re-runs,” Jane snapped back, and just like that, the middle and the little got into their headspace again, leaving me standing there wanting my grown-up friends to come back out.

“Don’t be mean to each other,” I tried, “Let’s talk about travel. Where do you guys want to go on your next trip?”

“You’re probably just going to the diaper changing table,” Tommy snottily said like a little snot who gets snot everywhere.

“Am not,” I said because sometimes I say stuff without thinking. I chastised myself silently. Don’t get sucked into this.

“Are too!”

Luckily for me, I resisted the urge to sink to his level. I remembered what Mary taught me: just ignore it when people are being mean to me.

“You are such a baby, both of you,” he said, turning his attention back to Jane when I didn’t take the rest of his bait.

Jane, however, can’t help herself sometimes when she’s in her little headspace. The same way she can’t take more than a pat on the butt without descending into tears, she just gets to be such a sensitive little thing. And yeah, some of it (maybe most of it) is an affectation, and I can’t help but notice sometimes she’s better at dishing it out than taking it (like when it’s directed at me), but that’s beside the point.

“Don’t call me a baby,” Jane rejoined, and she held her own, sticking out her tongue. Touché, I guess.

“But you are a baby,” the never-clever Tommy threw back at her. “You wear diapers like a baby, and that makes you both babies.”

“I do not wear diapers, Tommy,” this person in my head made my mouth say. I don’t know that person, but we are acquainted. O yes, how well we are acquainted. It’s the same impulsive person who makes me say all kinds of stuff without consulting the wiser parts of my brain. She’s responsible for a disproportionate share of spanked butts in our house, and I really didn’t appreciate her just pushing me back into this sad little tit-for-tat when I really do know better than to engage with a snotty middle. If winning an argument with an adult is hard and winning an argument with a little kid is harder, impervious to logic as they are, winning an argument with an adult in the mindset of a little kid is impossible. It’s futile to try. Little kids can’t be reasoned with. Adults with little kid mindsets don’t want to be reasoned with.

“You’re wearing one right now!”

Well, he had a point, but I wasn’t interested in it. “Am not, and you’re being mean, Tommy. I want you to stop.”

“Big, stinky, diaper girls!”

I think I should get extra credit or a present of something for not decking him. And if I had, it wouldn’t have been for me. It would’ve been for Jane, whose momentary bravery gave way to a trembling lip. But I remembered what Mary taught me, and she was pretty adamant about it: if littles are being mean and ignoring them doesn’t work, go and tell her.

“Come on,” I said, taking Jane by the hand and leading her toward the stairs.

Tommy, who has the sense god gave a mushroom when he’s in middle headspace, tagged along, making up a little song for the journey: “Daphne and Janey sittin’ in a tree, p-o-o-p-i-n-g.”

Ignore him. Ignore him. Ignore him. It’s wrong to drown people. Just ignore him.

“Aww, are you gonna go tell your mommies?”

“She is not my mommy! Mary,” I called to her as we got to the stairs. She turned just in time to see me set foot on the second step and Tommy slap his hand against my butt.

I spun around, ready to tell him what I think of his middle personality and his imaginary upbringing and finger poised to do some chest poking for emphasis just as Mary shouted, “Daphne! Don’t!”

And suddenly all these dommes were there. Mary had me, Lisa had Jane, and Brenna had Tommy, who looked like he was surprised everyone was as upset with him as we were. That little epiphany light over his head blinked on for just a split second, shattering when Brenna, who could’ve been a butcher with those hands of hers, took him by the ear. I had this ridiculous sense of submissive solidarity, having been taken by the ear a time or thousand.

I thought I was in trouble, and if I was, I wasn’t going to stand for it. I mean, sure, I’d end up over Mary’s knee, but I was gonna put up one heck of a heccin fuss about it. She’d win, of course, but only because I let her and also because she’s stronger than me. But instead of being taken by the elbow and swatted to the nearest chair, she put her arm around my shoulder and asked, “Are you okay?”

Jane, who I loved right then more than ever, sucked in a big breath and barely babbled out, “He was makin’ funna us cuz of our underpants,” as the tears started. Glad I’m not a crybaby … What? Really.

But watching Jane turn on either real tears or the best crocodile tears I’ve ever seen, I had my own epiphany: milk this for all you can.

I think I did a pretty good job considering it was my first time crying crocodile tears … What? Really!

I stuck out my lower lip, I sucked in a big breath, and I sobbed, “He (hhh!) called (hhh!) me (hhh!) a (hhh!) baby-(hhh!)-y and it hurt my feeeeeeelllllings!” And just to ice my cake, I tacked on, “And it’s because I wore this diaper like you wanted me to-hoo-hoo.” I may have thrown my dignity to the wind with, “And I’m not a baby and I just wanted to have a nice tiiiiiiiime. Wahhhhhh!”

Now, Mary is a sharp cookie, and even through my world-class fake crying I saw her do a double-take, make her o-for-goodness-sake face, and then her but-I-like-her-so-I’ll-humor-her face. “O, honey, I’m so sorry her was mean to you.” I got a hug and some shushes and some coos and, “I’ll make it all better. Come and let’s get you dried off and get you a drink of water.”

“Is he in trouble,” I asked, even though I knew damn well he was in trouble. Brenna had him standing in the corner of the fence already.

“Yes, sweetie.”

“Am I in trouble?”

“Of course not. You did such a good job not hitting him back. I know you were on your way to tell me, just like I taught you: if another little is being mean to you, you come tell me or their big, and you did exactly that. I’m very proud of you.”

Yeah, see, about that ‘other’ littles things, I am not a little!

And not to be telling’ tales outta school or nothin’, but my wife is proud of me, and once I was dry and had my water, Jane came and sat next to me practically in my lap – did I ever mention she’s bigger than me and also that I’m petite as all get out?

But you can’t deny an emotional little comfort, even if she never was all that upset to begin with. She practically snuggled into my shoulder in her wet towel while we watched Brenna get Tommy out of the corner and march him over to Mary and Lisa. Jane, poor emotionally distraught Jane, suddenly hopped up, grabbed a bowl of Cheez-its off the table, and snuggled back into my shoulder like this was the gonna be the best movie ever. She is a such a faker. Glad I never stoop to that level … What?? Really!!

“Sit,” Brenna hissed and planted Tommy in a chair while all three dommes stood over him. Lemme tell ya, having been in that position before, it’s Type 2 fun at best: not at all fun during, maybe fun in retrospect , and a strong probability of never being fun at all. “Did you make fun of them?”

You’d think being in that much trouble would maybe snap someone out of their middle headspace, like instantly sobering up upon realizing you’ve bitten off way more than you can chew. Not Tommy. Or most littles, in my experience. Just digging the hole deeper, trying to chew the whole thing and swallow. Glad I never do that or mix metaphors like a Cuisinart. Really (yup, really).

“I just said they’re babies cuz they wear diapers,” he said by way of a very weak defense.

“So you were being mean to them,” Brenna said. “They’re littler than you, Tommy. You know better than to make fun of anyone but especially of littles who are littler than you.”

“Objection,” I may have said by way of objection that got totally ignored.

“And what they wear is none of your business,” Mary said.

I guess Lisa didn’t want to be left out, because she chimed in with, “Some people need to be in diapers a little while longer, and there’s nothing wrong with that. Daphne will be back in big girl undies when she’s ready.”

“What the hell, Lisa?”

“We’re handling this,” Mary said and shot me one of her we’re-handling-this-so-shush-or-else looks.

“Everybody grows up at their own pace. They’re just little girls.” O for cryin’ out loud.

“But she lied and said she doesn’t wear them,” Tommy tried like he’s in charge of enforcing the truth or something.

“She doesn’t have to tell you what she’s wearing,” Brenna told him. And damn straight!

“She wears what I tell her to wear,” Mary interjected. “And you. Do not. Touch. My Daphne,” she practically growled.

“And Jane is only wearing one to make Daphne feel better about needing them.”

“O come the crap on,” I grumbled since there was no point in even trying to stand up for myself in the middle of this farce.

“It’s okay,” Jane said and rubbed my back a little, “I don’t mind wearing them until you’re ready to be growed up like me.”

I had an out-of-body experience and saw myself making my not-impressed face with my trademark breathing-through-the-rising-irritation chest heaves.

“And you do not hurt little girls’ feelings,” Lisa said. “You should set an example.”

“I set an example by not peeing my pants!”

“Don’t waste Cheez-Its,” this friggin’ little named Jane scolded me when I may have thrown some Cheez-Its in the general direction of all those people who I don’t even know.

“You are going to get a big spanking from all three of us,” Brenna informed him.

“They can’t spank me!” If I had a nickel for every time I tried that line … I’d have a buck-sixty, I think.

“They can if I let them” If I had a dime for every time I heard that … “And Jane and Daphne are going to watch!”

“No!”

“Yes, and I don’t care if the neighbors do hear. You should’ve thought of that before shouted out to the whole neighborhood that Daphne still wears diapers.”

“I. Don’t! Wear!! Diapers!!!” Well, that got their attention. Ruh-roh, she’s coming over here.

“Daffy,” some woman called Mary said to me as she strutted across the lawn.

“You planned this!”

“I promise I didn’t.”

“Well – hhh! – I -hhh! – just – ”

“Deep breaths, baby,” she said as she put these arms around me, nice arms. Too bad they’re attached to such a butt head!

“Everybody’s being mean to me and I am not a little and I don’t wear diapers and Jane scolded me like she’s queen of the damn crackers and you mmm! Just mmm!” I know this kind of kiss. This is one Mary’s this’ll-shut-her-up kisses.

“Daffy, I promise no one is being mean to you on purpose,” she said as she looked over her shoulder, “Except Tommy.” I leaned over just enough so he could see me scowl at him too from behind Mary, not that I was afraid but that she was between me and him. And lucky him because if she wasn’t … I’d have probably sat where I was on the chaise lounge and done nothing. Dammit …

“See what a mess you made because you couldn’t just be nice,” Brenna said as she took her middle by the ear again and lifted him out of that chair.

“Come on,” Mary said and sat down on the chaise lounge. I wasn’t so happy with her, but I sat in her lap anyway. And when Miss Jane-I’m-in-Charge-of-the-Foodstuffs shifted herself like she was gonna lean on my Mary, I shot her a look that would freeze sea water. I’m a generous person, and Janie is my bestie, but I was in no mood to be sharing my Mary with a little. “Let’s watch.” We all watched Tommy get his.

Brenna can be just downright mean. “The last time we had a pool party, this is exactly what happened,” she said as she untied the little bow that held up his swimsuit. “You teased Daphne until you both got in trouble, and I can see she learned her lesson, but you’re still the same little boy you’ve always been.” She hooked her thumbs into his waistband and yanked his suit down. “And you certainly look like it, and don’t tell me it’s because you were in a pool. I know exactly how big you aren’t. Over my knee.”

Brenna yanked him over her knee and started giving him a punishment spanking. No warmup. Tommy struggled just like you’d expect a middle to. When I struggle, it’s because I’m a warrior princess. When Tommy struggles, it’s because he’s a wimpy little middle.

While we watched him get spanked, Mary said to Lisa, “Do you mind bringing me that backpack.”

“Why,” I whispered to her as Lisa went and got it.

“You’ll see.” Lisa handed her the bag, and Mary opened it, turned to me, and asked, “Do you mind sharing,” as he pulled out the paddle she so incorrectly says is mine when it’s really hers. I shook my head no, and Mary handed the paddle to Lisa. It occurred to me as Lisa handed the paddle to Brenna that if we had a pool in our backyard, there’d probably be a paddle hanging from the fence right next to the skimmer.

Brenna took the paddle without missing a beat to his butt, and what a butt it was … Or used to be. More a smoldering pair of twin mounds attached to some crybaby who couldn’t even take a pants down public spanking without getting all upset about it. I mean, show some dignity.

My butt’s cold.

What made you think of that?

‘Dignity.’

Shut up.

No you shut up.

Would you both shut up so we can watch?

“You. Will. Not. Tease. Daphne. Ever. A. Gain.”

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry! Ow ow ow ow!”

“You are not even close to done,” Brenna said as she walloped him once more and then stood up, helping him off her lap and trading places with Lisa, who yanked him right back over her knee.

“And that goes! For my! Jane! Too!”

So Lisa does know how to give a spanking. But of course I knew that having been spanked by Lisa before. It’s not that she doesn’t know how. It’s that no one can spank her precious Janey, even her, cuz Janey is into bratting but not into consequences. I’m all for consent and a you-do-you approach to living life, but how convenient for Jane that she’s not into spanking. Maybe I should try that some time. Um, Mary, I know I robbed all those banks, but I’ve decided I’m just not into spanking anymore.

Tommy was bawling now, as well he should be. I don’t care about kink this or that. He touched my butt! He’s lucky Mary was there cuz I was ready to hit him with my whole body. If he were some stranger in a bar he’d have had one of those cocktail umbrellas protruding from his forehead.

“Your! Turn! Mary!” Lisa said as she finished spanking Tommy.

“I’ll pass,” Mary said. Wait, what?

“You’re sure,” Lisa said, surprised. Mary skip a chance to give a spanking? To a man? She loves making men cry!

“Mhmm.”

“Well,” Lisa said, “Maybe Daffy wants to finish his spanking.”

“Nope. She’s too little to give someone a spanking.” O that is such bullshit … Except for the one time I tried topping, I cried.  “I have something else for little Tommy,” my Mary said.

She shifted her thighs, and I took the hint to get off her lap. She took her bag and sauntered up to Tommy, still draped over Lisa’s knee (and unlike me and all other fine things, Tommy does not drape well).

She knelt down so she was close to his face, brushed his hair out of his eyes and said, “I think Tommy needs to understand what it’s like to have no say in what he wears.” She glanced up at Brenna, who nodded her permission. “I think it’s time Tommy understands what it’s like to not have any say over where he goes to the bathroom.”

“Noooo,” Tommy groaned.

“I really don’t like hearing that word from spanked little boys,” Mary said like she was trying to be nice to him. I hate it when she’s that nice to me. “Is that ‘no’ as in ‘I’m ready for my real spanking now,’ or ‘no’ as in ‘I’m sorry and will do as I’m told like an obedient man-child?’”

“No … no more spanking,” he sobbed.

“Then be a very good boy,” she warned him. Lisa let him up, or more like let Mary take him off her lap, and Mary gave him a swat before he could even think to rub. “No rubbing. Lie down.”

He did, whimpering as his butt touched the pool deck. I’ve had post-spanking bare-bottomed timeouts on that pool deck. Holy crudding crap does it hurt on a sunny day.

“Little boys who make fun of little girls in diapers either want to wear diapers, too …”

I take issue with the use of ‘too’ in that sentence.

“… or they just need to learn a little empathy,” Mary said as she got one of my diapers – no, dammit! Hers! Her diaper! – out of her bag, “Besides which, your peepee should be in a diapee anyway. Yes, it should. Yes, it should like all widdle man clitties should be.”

I don’t think I’ve ever heard her make fun of a penis before. Penises in general? Yep (but I think I started it), but she’s very good about not teasing people about their body parts unless they want to be. I don’t know if Tommy wanted to be. He just laid there and let it happen.

“And you think they’re babies and you’re not. Pshh. Lift.” He lifted his hips, and Mary took advantage and landed some spanks after all. “This diaper is going to hold in the heat of your spanking for hours. And no cream for you, either. You earned that spanked bottom, little boy, and you have to live with it.”

He wasn’t uncooperative so much as confused. He clearly hadn’t had this happen to him before, but Mary managed to get that thing taped on him. It was one of my ones with the farm animals … Mary’s animals! Mary’s diaper with the farm animals! Dammit!

“There,” Mary announced, “One well-paddled, well-padded boy, who has some apologizing to do. Up,” Mary said and took him by the ear again. That’s a lot of ear pulling for one day, not that he didn’t earn it.

She marched him over to me and Jane. “What do you say?”

“Sorry,” he said.

“Speak up,” Mary said with a little twist, “unless you want that spanking from me after all.”

“Ow! I’m sorry!”

“For what?”

“For making fun of you and teasing you! Ow! I won’t ever do it again! Please!”

“Do you accept his apology, Daphne,” Mary asked me.

“Yes.”

“Jane?”

“Who’s a diaper baby now,” Jane said.

“Jane,” I scolded her. “Don’t you start making fun either.” Why can’t these brats just the nice?!?

“Sorry. I accept your apology.”

Brenna stepped over and landed her palm on the back of Tommy’s diaper. And yes, that’s how it works: when it’s on me, it’s Mary’s; when it’s on Tommy, it’s his. “I think it suits him.”

“I wanna take if off,” he groaned, but only after Mary let go of his ear.

“Does Daphne get to take hers off?”

“Sometimes,” I said to apparently no one but the wind.

“But I don’t like this,” he pleaded.

“And that’s why it’s a punishment. You’ll wear it at least until bedtime, and don’t think it’s coming down until then unless it’s to put you back over my knee.”

“But what if I hafta pee?”

“You can hold it, or you can wet yourself. In fact, Mary, do you have another one just in case I decide he needs to stay in diapers overnight?”

“No, I only have one left and …”

“But I want Tommy to have it,” I said to Mary. “Sharing is caring.” Heeheehee!

“What do you say,” Brenna asked her boyfriend.

“[Sound of something being muttered followed by a SPANK]. Ow! Thank you!”

“I think you can spend the rest of the afternoon sitting right next to me in timeout.”

And while he was doing that, Mary pulled me aside. “Are you okay?”

“Everybody is mean except me,” I grumped.

“I let that get a little out of hand.”

“O gee, you think?”

“O don’t even tell you totally hated it.”

“I did!”

“Then what about that …”

“If you mention the spot on my collarbone, I’m gonna poke you in the eye, Mary.” Stupid humiliation fetish and stupid collarbone spot always broadcasting my innermost thoughts and feelings about it.

“Fine. I won’t say anything about it.”

“Good.”

“Great.”

“Awesome.”

“Terrific.”

“Fabulous … Can I ask you something?”

“What?”

“Can we have sex, like, the exact moment we get home? Asking for my friend.”