The Mary and Daphne Series #4

Scene #4

Ever have a shitty, shitty day in a crummy, bullshit week? I mean a day straight from the crapper that started off lousy and just got worse as it went on, and you just had to sit there and endure the train wreck until all you wanted to do was cry? Because I did last week, and since I couldn’t say it to all the people whose fault it was, I’ll say it to all of you instead: fuck those people. Fuck them. Fuck their parents. Fuck their third grade teachers. Fuck their goddamn houseplants. Ugh; still feels good to say it.

Anyhoo, that was the mood I left the office in last Friday, usually my favorite day like everyone else’s, and by the time I pulled into our garage my righteous anger had transformed into exhaustion and melancholy. Fortunately, I have Mary, who had gotten home first.

“Happy Friday,” she called out to me as I opened the door. “I’m making lasagna.” She was putting a baking dish into the oven. My Mary, I thought as I watched her. She was already changed into her sweatpants and the stupid oversized t-shirt I got her on vacation once as a gag gift. My Mary. My safe place. My person. The only person who gets me entirely and loves me for it, too.

That’s what went through my head as I stood there before I’d even set my purse down. It all caught up with me. My lips quivered, tears came, and I dropped my purse as I held out my arms.

“O, baby,” Mary exclaimed as she gave me the hug I needed. She knew what a bad week it had been. “What happened?”

I didn’t want to say, which worked out great because all I could say was, “These (sobbing with what may have been words) and it was (weepy gibberish) and (unintelligible babbling) and it wasn’t even my faaaaauuuuulllllllt (more sobbing)!”

Mary can pick me up, but not easily. She did and sat down in the nearest kitchen chair to put me in her lap. “Shhhh,” she cooed to me while stroking my hair. “It’s all okay now.” I wanted to hear her say she would make it all better, but the reality was she couldn’t, and we both knew it. “I don’t like it when people are mean to you.” Her lips touched my forehead and my temple and my neck. I felt tension disappearing, and I gradually went from tight and clinging to her to loose and hanging from her. “What can I do make you feel better?”

My voice was still thick, that heavy voice when you’re done actively crying but not feeling any better yet. “I wanna spanking.”

“That’ll make you feel better?” Yes, a flood of pain to bring my mind away from all the bullshit, followed by a flood of endorphins to make me feel better inside.

“Mhmm.”

“Okay,” my Mary said. “Upstairs?”

“Mhmm.” I lifted myself off Mary’s chest and saw the wet stain my tears had left on that ridiculous shirt. I eased myself off her lap but kept ahold of her hand and tugged her up the stairs behind me. In our room, she sat on the bed, and I kicked my shoes off and stood in front of her.

“Naked,” I said before she asked. Her eyes softened, she breathed out, and she gave me another kiss.

“It’s okay, little girl,” she said to me as she unbuttoned by blouse. I pulled my arms out of it as soon as she had it open, and she started on my jeans. I pulled my cammy over my head and threw in the direction of the laundry basket. When my pants were at my ankles, I stepped out of them and climbed on to the bed in one awkward motion to put myself over Mary’s lap. I’m safer there and feel more loved there than anywhere else, if that makes any sense, and I already felt a little better with her soft, familiar thighs under me.

SMACK. She didn’t say anything or wait at all. She didn’t even adjust me over her lap, but then I’m pretty experienced getting into position for her. SMACK. She was going slower than normal, and she wasn’t spanking me very hard. I told myself to be patient and let her get going. With each spank, my body was pushed forward a little, and I recoiled back, and she spanked me again. She’d leave her hand there, rubbing my butt, tickling me with her swirling fingertips. My breathing slowed, which it never does during a punishment spanking, and with each exhale I felt myself sink a little deeper into her.

Mary knows when I’m ready for the next level, so she didn’t ask before she picked up her tempo and force. My toes curled. I grabbed a fistful of bedsheet. I sighed. She spanked, and me and my bottom bobbed up and down under her rhythm. That round part, the undercurve, that’s what Mary loves to spank most, and she went to work on it, angling her hand catch me there and following through in a way that made my cheeks wobble with each of her wonderful smacks. 

Mary also knows when I need to cry and what I need to get me there. I was already weepy, so it took just a little more, but I wanted Mary to take me further than that. I needed her to. If those easy tears were enough, we’d still be in the kitchen, and I’d be feeling better. So she spanked me harder and harder, switching hands when she needed to, until I was crying anew. And yet she kept spanking. Kept spanking me to the point where I’d normally be pushing myself up on my elbows, arching my back, lifting my feet. And I took it all just lying there, my head in my arms, letting it all out.

And then I was done, and so was Mary, and she bent at the waist to lay herself down alongside me still over her lap, and she brushed my hair back from my face. Already, the warmth down there was spreading everywhere. That chemical, whatever its name is, that my heart was pumping through my body to take away the pain, it feels something like I imagine grace feels. My toes curled and uncurled again, and I stretched out all my muscles, sniffed back my stuffy nose, and laughed.

“How does that feel,” Mary whispered into my ear.

“Uh-huh,” I said as I laughed again. 

Mary sat up. “You’re just a puddle now, aren’t you?” I certainly felt like it. Like dead weight, everything relaxed and heavy and weak. “Every time,” Mary said proudly as she traced a finger down my spine to the cleft of my red cheeks.

I sat up and planted a hand on the bed to lean against. Now I was tired.

“That lasagna is going to be in the oven for another hour. How about a bath while we wait,” Mary suggested.

“Sounds good.” I love how the non-slip texture of the bathtub feels on my butt right after a spanking.

“K. I’ll meet you there is a sec.”

“You’re … gonna give me a bath?” I instantly loved the idea and was surprised neither of us had ever had it. 

“If you’re not too big to need spankings from me, then I can certainly give you a bath, little girl,” Mary said to me. She punctuated the last two words with two taps on the end of my nose. I blushed. 

“I’m not a little girl,” I playfully whined.

“You’re not?”

“Um, no?”

“You’re my little girl,” Mary said, sliding her hand gently from my temple to my chin along the soft skin of my cheek. “Now get those pink buns of yours into the bathroom before I warm them up some more.”