Mary and Daphne #2 (Patreon)

Nordstrom is the only store I can stand to shop in. I rarely do, because who can afford it, but everything is spaced out more, everything is nicer, everything is more organized. Everything is just better, including the salespeople, which is how I got in trouble. The salespeople at Macy’s get paid by the hour. The sales people at Nordstrom get paid by the hour plus commission, which is why they tend to follow you around at a distance. I find that annoying.

Mary and I were looking through blouses after having already told the woman working in that department we didn’t need her help, but everywhere we went, she was just ten steps behind us, pretending to straighten the racks and fold shirts on the tables. Maybe I was in a bad mood already, but I snapped at her, “We don’t need any help! Stop following us!”

“Daphne!” Crap. “Apologize right this instant,” Mary ordered me. The saleswoman looked more surprised than hurt by my comment or happy with Mary’s rebuke.

“I’m sorry,” I said to her.

“Can you point us to the junior miss department,” Mary asked as she put an arm around my shoulder.

“Oh, Mary, no. Please? I apologized. I meant it, really!”

“Hush, little girl.” Dammit! She knows I hate that, and I know nine out of ten times she uses it, I’m about to get my butt spanked.

“Stop calling me that!”

“I can’t believe the scene you’re making,” Mary said, making me more aware of our surroundings. Now the saleswoman was smiling, and a couple shoppers were looking in our direction.

“I’ll take you over there myself,” the sales woman said, and Mary took my hand. I walked alongside her, knowing if I didn’t she would pull me along.

“Anything in particular you’re looking for,” the woman asked.

“She needs some new undies.” I decided the least embarrassing thing I could do was stay quiet.

“Hmm. Everybody has their own style I guess,” the saleswoman quipped, “but I think you’ll find some to fit her over here. She’s pretty small.” How is it I’m the one who deserved a spanking right then, but Shop Girl Schadenfreude didn’t? If I could have taken back my apology, I would’ve.

“Thank you. We appreciate your help, don’t we, Daphne.”

“Yes.”

“”’Yes’ what?”

“Yes, thank you for your help,” I said with zero enthusiasm. Too late now, so might as well say it like I feel it. Sort of.

“See,” Mary said, “She can be very polite when she remembers to be.” The saleswoman left, and Mary turned to me with her you’ve-really-done-it-now smile on her face. “Go ahead and pick out a pair.”

“Mary, I said I was sorry. What’s the big deal?”

“The big deal is she was doing what she’s been trained to do and needs to do to earn her living. You were rude to the waiter at lunch and to her, and you need to learn that you lead a privileged life even if it doesn’t always seem like it.”

She was right, and I was wrong, and I told her so. “I’m sorry, really. You’re right. I’ll try to remember … But I don’t really need another pair of panties.” In fact, I have an entire drawer of panties from junior miss departments. Mary makes me wear them when she wants to remind me to be good, which is to say probably four days a week.

“Yeah, you do,” Mary said. “C’mon, pick out a pair.” I reached for a pair of plain, heather grey ones. “Uh uh. You know better.”

I smiled at my attempt to get away with that, but Mary didn’t. I looked over my choices. Mary wanted me to pick something cute and girly, like always. I have ones with hearts already. I have rainbows. I have a pair just like the ones with the little pink bow on the front.

“What about the ponies,” Mary suggested.

“Fine,” I said. 

“Let’s go try them on.” I knew that code!

“No! Please? We know they fit. I can try them on at home.” Mary’s just shook her head.

“I think we definitely need to try them on here.”

“Why?” This was just unfair. Mary loves finding reasons to spank me in public, and this one was a little contrived. She was right – I had been rude – but I didn’t think that called for a spanking in the dressing room. “This isn’t fair,” I pleaded.

“Do you want to try them on twice? Once here and again at home?”

“No,” I meekly replied.

“Then let’s go.” Mary took my hand again, and this time she did have to pull a little to get me to stop dragging my feet. When we got into the dressing room, Mary indicated for me to walk in front of her, and I walked down the aisle of booths to the one at the very end. I’m not sure how many other people may have been in there, but I know there was at least two because we could hear the girl bickering with her mother.

If Mary had any intention of being discrete, she wouldn’t have made me try on the panties there. As far as she was concerned, she closed the door behind us, and therefore we were being discrete even if others could hear us. I knew and Mary knew that anyone would think they were hearing some very old fashioned parenting going on, and while that embarrassed me all the way to the middle of my tummy, it didn’t embarrass Mary at all. And why should it? She wasn’t the one who people would hear yelping or the one they might see walking back through the aisle with an obviously sore butt.

The booth was big enough for both of us, but it didn’t have a chair. I sorta like going over Mary’s knee – if I didn’t, I never would have asked for this relationship dynamic – but I really hate the position she spanks me in when there’s nowhere to sit. She knelt down in front of me.

“Lift,” Mary said, and I lifted by right foot, and she took off my sandal. I lifted my left without being told. Without a word, Mary reached up under my skirt and pulled my panties down. She likes me in A-line skirts just for that reason: they make it easy for her to take my underwear down. She stood back up.

“Tell me why you need to be spanked,” Mary directed me at her normal volume.

“Because I was rude to the saleswoman and the waiter, and I need to remember that I’m privileged,” I whispered.

“That’s right,” Mary lectured. “Those people work hard all day long, on their feet, and they make a lot less than us and get a lot less respect. But they’re going to get that respect from you from now on, won’t they?”

“Yes.” 

“I swear, Daphne. I don’t know what’s gotten into you lately. It seems like I can’t take you anywhere that you don’t embarrass me or need a trip to the dressing room half the time.”

“I’m sorry,” I sniffled. I felt guilty. She was right. It wasn’t half the time, but it was definitely more than it should have been. I probably got around two public spankings a month, although not all of them were at stores and restaurants (and rest stops and hiking trails). Some were at munches and play parties and were deliberate on my part. But obviously plenty of 30-year-olds can go shopping with their girlfriend without earning a spanking.

“So am I. I want to go places with you and have fun, not need to spank you in the dressing room.”

The bickering from the other booth stopped, and after a pause, in its place, we heard, “Is that what you need, Annie? A spanking like that little girl?” I don’t think the girl answered verbally, but she didn’t start arguing with her mom again.

“I want that, too,” I said. “Please don’t stop taking me out with you.”

Mary smiled at me, and gave me a kiss. “Maybe you need a break from it for a while, but I don’t think we’re there yet. Let’s get this over with.” Mary reached down into her purse and took out the small paddle she keeps there. “Bend over.”

Facing Mary, I bent at the waist, and Mary tucked me under her arm so she held me by my middle. With her other hand, she took the hem of my skirt and tucked in into my waistband. I looked up and got a good look at myself from both sides as there were mirrors on both walls. I looked back down at the floor; I didn’t want to watch. That just makes it harder.

SMACK! Mary wasn’t holding back. I grunted and struggled to stay in position.

SMACK! “Ow!” SMACK! “Oomph!” SMACK! “Ugh!” That last one got my right sit spot. SMACK! That one got my left.

“Five more,” Mary said. SMACK SMACK SMACK SMACK CRACK! 

She delivered them fast, so fast I didn’t have time to make five sounds in response. My legs were quivering, and my cheeks were wet. I wasn’t sobbing – I’m used to much worse spankings – but it was definitely hard enough for me to let go a tear from each eye.

“Wow,” I heard from some stall, not the one with the mother and daughter in it. “Glad that’s not me.”

Mary let me up and hugged me in one motion, and I put my cheek against her breast and let her shirt wick the tears away. “I’m sorry,” I said, my voice muffled by Mary.

“Shhhh. I know you are, babygirl.” She kissed the top of my head, a gesture that always makes me feel small and loved. “Are you going to behave the rest of the day, or are we going to need to visit another dressing room?”

“I’ll be good.”

“Okay. Here.” Mary knelt back down, and took the tag off the underwear we’d picked out, then held them open for me to step into. She pulled them up my legs, pulled the hem of my skirt back down, and gave me a love tap on my bottom after she’d straightened my skirt out. She put the paddle away, along with my panties, and took out a package of wet wipes. I held still while she used one to wipe the tear stains from my cheeks.

“Are you ready,” she asked me.

“Yes.”

“Okay. Let’s go pay for these, and then we’ll go back to the tops section.”

I followed Mary out of the booth and down the aisle, keeping my eyes on the floor when we walked past a woman who looked bug eyed when she saw me, obviously shocked I wasn’t about twenty years younger.

We went to the register. Thankfully there was no line. I tried to look inconspicuous. Mary handed the woman behind the counter the tag.

“We had a little emergency and needed to change into these right away,” Mary explained to the woman.

“Oh, that’s okay. I think we’ve all been there. Some just need a little more …” the woman said to Mary, trailing off when she took a closer look at the size listed on the tag. Wait, I thought, what kind of emergency does she think I had? My face was undoubtedly as red as my butt, more so when the clerk looked up and saw me, obviously not the age she expected. Her lips closed tightly, and she made an inscrutable expression, finishing the transaction without another word.

“Now, let’s go back and find what we came here for,” Mary said as she took my hand. “Then we can go home and play.”

“Promise,” I asked with a smile. Between the spanking and the humiliation, she had me wound up like a spring. We were definitely going to have a nice rest of the day.