Mary and Daphne #104

Before you judge me, please understand I was just trying an experiment, sorta to prove a point. See, if Mary was gonna simulate me ... doing that thing, I was curious if what she was really doing was trying to ease me into doing it for real. She has given me plenty of reasons to be suspicious, like making me wear junior miss panties for years and then trying out pullups on me on her way to diapers. If she wants me to trust her implicitly – which I do because she is my Sun Queen – then she shouldn’t do so many (wonderfully) mean things to me under false pretenses.

And if, along way the way, there’s some self-humiliation, I could deal with that. Not a hardship. Really.

“Mary,” I called down the the stairs. “Mary, I need your help.”

“Can it wait a bit,” she called back. “I’m in the middle of something.” Even better – I’d get her to stop working on a non-workday. I really want to put that boundary back up. She was better about it a year ago. If she’s going to work on anything on a non-workday, it should be me. Really.

“No. Mary, I ... Please come.” She’s not the only actress in the family. To our bedroom I retreated and closed the door.

“Daffy,” she called. “Where’d you go?”

“I’m in here.”

“What’s wrong?” She tried the knob. “Did you lock yourself in our room somehow?”

O, come on. I’m not that mechanically challenged. “No, I ... promise you won’t be mad?”

“I won’t be mad. Open the door.”

“Not yet. I ... o, Mary! (Sad sub noises). It’s awful!”

“Daphne, what? Open this door.”

“I don’t want you to see.”

“Did you cut your hair again? What’s wrong?”

“I ... I was trying to ... I thought you’d like it, but now it’s just ...”

“Daphne, please open the door.”

“The ... The other day when you were ... You were really into it. I just ... I thought you’d want to try the real thing.”

“What real thing? Into what? Daphne Ann Taylor, you open this door right now, young lady.”

“The oatmeal ... I thought you’d want to try the real thing.” There was so much silence we coulda sold our extra silence.

Tentatively, Mary said, “You ... you didn’t.”

“I ... It’s so terrible and I need your help. I ... I don’t think I can clean it up myself.”

“O MY GOD!!!”

Birds took wing from the roof of our house at that exclamation while I was chewing on a pillow so she wouldn’t hear me laughing hysterically. Cue the crocodile sniffles.

“I’m sorry. I wanted to surprise you. I thought you’d like it ... My feelings are really delicate right now. Please don’t think less of me.” Okay, so I laid it in a little thick.

“Daff? Daffy, I’ll never think less of you ... I ...” There was some of that excessive silence again. “How bad is it?”

“I can’t do it myself.” And back my face went in the pillow. I decided to wear The Outfit for the occasion: white ankle socks, white panties, white cami. She likes me in that.

“Okay, okay, um ... Ya know what? This isn’t a big deal. I’ve changed poopy diapers before. We’ll just, we’ll just clean you up, is what we’ll do.” I think my speech pattern has rubbed off on her, but it only comes out during moments of high stress. “Okay, just open the door, and we’ll see what we’re dealing with, and we’ll get you cleaned up.”

“Promise you won’t laugh?”

“I promise.”

“Promise you won’t make icky faces?”

“Mhmm.”

“Promise you want call me stinky?”

“Daphne...”

“Mary, I’m having a very hard day!” Heeheeheeheehee!

“I promise I won’t call you stinky.”

“Okay. I’m opening the door now. Just ... let me unlock it, and I’ll step back.”

Which I did, and Mary opened the door not as slowly as you’d expect considering what she thought she had waiting for her. She did a double take when she saw my pristine panties.

I was biting my lip just so I could get the punchline out. “Two can play at that game, Miss Mary Does Mean Things to Me.”

“You ...”

“Of course not! I didn’t and I never!” Punctuated with a foot stomp and scowl. Or I tried to scowl. Hard to scowl when you’re smiling.

“You naughty little girl! You are in so much much trouble!”

Damn, she’s fast. I shoulda done it in a more open area where I’d have a chance to scamper away. She was between me and the door. I went right, and she blocked me. I juked left, and she grabbed me by the arm and spanked me all four steps to the bed and ninja flipped me over her knee.

“When I get through with you,” is a thing she said before drowning out her own voice with the fury of her spanks.

I wasn’t done fighting. I tried to kick my way off her lap and pulled at the covers and struggled and tried to block until she practically lifted me in the air and got her leg over mine.

“Not fair!” I pout-shouted over the spanks. “Not fair! You pretended and I can pretend too and OW OW OW!”

The butt beating stopped. I turned and looked over my shoulder at her to see her I-am-not-happy-with-you-but-you-have-a-point face.

“I am not happy with you, but you kinda have a point.” She sorta telegraphs her feelings sometimes, my Mary does.

“Mary, you spanked me.”

“O, like you’re dying. Sit up.” I did, right into her lap. “Why did you do that?”

“To get you back ... and because I wanted to know if you really wanted me to.”

“... Do you really want to?”

We did a thing where we both closely inspected the other’s face for clues as to true feelings. She doesn’t telegraph all her feelings

“No, never,” I said

“Okay. It can be a just-in-case punishment then.”

“Oka WHAT?!? Mary, that’s not funny.”

“No, it’s not, and if you ever make me scared something is wrong with you, I will give you an enema and make you dirty your diaper, do you understand me, little girl?”

“Yes’m.”

“Your punishment for fibbing is losing pants privileges for the day.”

“Not fibbing. Pretending.” Also, I was already not wearing pants.

“For pretending then.”

“That’s not fair.” Yes, even when I’m already doing the thing I’ve been sentenced to, I have to protest. It’s part of the Brat Code.

“I bet you can’t talk about what’s fair if I tickle you til you squee.”

“Mary! Heeheeheehee!”

So that’s ... not really settled at all. Sorta? Anyway, I got a tiny spanking out of it and a tickle fight that I lost. She never lets me win tickle fights. I think it must be a dominance thing. You don’t think she’s one of those people who sexualizes dominance, do you? How weird that would be.