Mary and Daphne #8 (Patreon)

Scene #8

“But you can’t,” I said to Mary. Like that meant anything. Of course she could.

“And why not,” she asked me. She was sooo out of patience with me. I was in a bad mood and had been for a few days, and I may have taken it out on her, if you were inclined to interpret it that way (also known as the correct way). Now, here we were in our backyard, me with a pair of pruning shears in my hand.

“Um, because it will kill the plant?” 

Mary’s angry face. I don’t like Mary’s angry face. It’s not as bad as her scary-angry face, but when I’m in trouble, her I’m-so-disappointed face is definitely preferable.

“Little girl…” Dammit, she knows how much I hate that! “You can now cut two switches.” When will I learn to shut up?

“Muugggh,” I whined. Mary’s not-impressed face.

“And you can do it without shorts if you’re gonna be a brat about it.” I bit my lip, both to keep silent and to keep from making the frustrated face that only ever succeeds in strengthening Mary’s resolve. She pulled my shorts down, turned me around, and sent me on my way with a swat on my undies. She took my shorts with her inside. I had ten minutes to cut now two switches and prepare them, then she’d be out to put them to work. I know my wife. No way was she going to switch my bottom inside on such a nice day. That’s the double-edge nature of the switch: quiet enough to be discreet is the same as quiet enough to do it anywhere.

We have a big, flat, grassy yard with trees and bushes inside a waist-high retaining wall lining a privacy fence. I love the feeling of grass under my feet early in the summer time. It never lasts. As soon as it gets too hot, the grass dries up, but when it’s still early June it’s so lush and soft. I headed for the magnolia bush. It’s actually the only plant in our back yard I can name, except the sunflowers.

Mary taught me how to do this way back. A straight-ish branch at least eighteen inches long. It has to be green wood, so no picking it up off the ground. It should be thin, because it’s a switch, not a cane. And it can cut you, so choose carefully and clean it even more carefully. I looked at the bush, and I figured the hell with it, I had ten whole minutes. I flopped onto the grass on my back and let out a throaty grunt of frustration.

“Knock knock,” I heard from behind our fence. Mae Wilson, our widow neighbor. About seventy, heavyset, bit of a hippy vibe, long, silver hair, and often in her yard with dirt on her hands from working in her garden.

“Hi, Mrs. Wilson.”

“Sounds like you’re in trouble again, Daffy.” Her pet name for me. It would be rude to have a pet name for her, but if I were to give her one, it would be ‘Grandma,’ because I kind of think of her that way, in an affectionate way.

“Yeah,” I sighed. She knows about us. It wasn’t intentional. She overheard me getting it through an open window one time, and she came to me not long after. She was afraid for me. I told her I was fine, and she said no way, and she was about ready to call the cops, so I told her the whole story. She smiled at me, said, “To each, their own,” and from then on she kind of saw me as the neighbor kid-slash-half of a kinky lesbian couple.

“Can I come over?”

“Sure.” We have a gate in our fence. I laid there with my eyes closed against the sun and heard the latch open and gate crash back shut.

“Oh,” Mrs. Wilson said, “You are a sorry looking thing.” And she would know. She’s seen me with no pants on and with a red butt before. We’re all women, after all. Though I’m sure she’d be embarrassed to see Mary like that, she and Mary don’t have the quasi grandma-grandkid relationship we have. Even I’d gotten over the embarrassment of her seeing me like this.

“You wanna talk about it,” she asked me.

“Not really.”

“Okay. I’m just gonna sit and pout with you then,” she said as she laid down on the grass next to me. We stayed like that for about twenty seconds, and then I felt her thumb – that rough texture of dirt from her garden dried over her soft skin – on my upper arm.

That did it. That’s all it took. One sympathetic stroke of a thumb.

“I was mean to Mary,” I said as my voice broke with a sob.

“Oh, honey. Why?”

“I was just in a bad mood. I didn’t mean to … I just ...”

“Do you need a hug?”

I sat up, and so did she, and we met in the middle, and she put her big, soft arms around me, and I put my head on her big, soft chest. I like that about her. Mary is young and firm and strong. She’s my wall. Mrs. Wilson is big and soft. She’s more like a safety net, like my real grandma had been.

“I’m sorry,” I said to her with my voice muffled.

“Wanna try telling me again what happened?” We pulled apart. I wiped my eyes.

“I … work has been going really bad lately. I keep getting blamed for things that aren’t my fault, and it’s like there’s nothing I can do to succeed, and I’ve just been taking that out on Mary.”

“How so?”

“Just, I don’t know, I’ve been really curt, when I talk to her at all, and I’ve just been rude. I’m … does that make sense?”

“I know what you mean. Sometimes George and I would get like that sometimes. It happens to everybody.”

“I know. Mary is so supportive,” I said as I picked up the shears, stood up, and started inspecting the magnolia tree.

“Do you want some help with that,” Mrs. Wilson asked.

“Sure.” She held out her hand, and I gave her the shears. I boosted myself on to the retaining wall and let my feet dangle. “Do you know how to do that,” I asked.

“Honey, I grew up in the country in a very different time. I haven’t done this in about fifty-five years, but I remember.” She started looking through the branches. “You can keep talking, if you want to. What happened just now?”

“It’s stupid.”

“So? You can tell me, sweetie. I won’t judge.”

“I didn’t get Mary a soda.” I sighed and looked at my feet.

“Oh?”

“We were in the kitchen, and I got up, and Mary asked me to grab her a soda, and instead I got myself a glass of water and sat back down.”

Mrs. Wilson cut a branch and started peeling the leaves and knots off with the shears.

“I don’t even know why,” I said. “I … I heard her. I was just kind of zoned out and didn’t care.”

“Still, a switch is a bit harsh for that,” Mrs. Wilson said as she ran her hand down its length to make sure it was smooth and wouldn’t cut me.

“It’s not the soda. I’s my general attitude, is what Mary said. She’s right, too.”

“I got more than my fair share of attitude adjustments when, well, not when I was your age. More like a third of your age, but you know what I mean.” She gave it a flick, and I winced to hear it cut through the air. “Mary said two, right?”

“Yeah.” I kept replaying the last couple days in my head. It wasn’t once incident or really even a string of incidents. It was just me being a bitch for four days. The only thing Mary did wrong was not spank me sooner to try to knock me out of it. I shook my head. I felt myself getting teary again and sniffled. “I don’t deserve her sometimes.”

Mrs. Wilson set the half-finished second switch down and knelt in front of me, taking both my hands in hers. “Yes, you do. Of course, you do. Mary loves you so much.” Oh, sure, make me cry again.

The back door opened, and out came Mary. “Why don’t you go give her a big hug and tell her you’re sorry?” She wiped a tear off my cheek. “Go on.”

I hopped down and met Mary half way across the yard. Of course she opened her arms for me. She kissed the top of my head. Oh, how that makes me go all to pieces in her arms.

“I’m so sorry.”

“I know, little girl.” Mrs. Wilson approached us. “You have a little talk with her, Mae?”

“She’s a very contrite little girl, Mary. Do you really have to spank her?” Ya gotta love grandmas.

“Hmm,” Mary said, “you want to tell Mrs. Wilson the rule on that Daphne?”

I let go of Mary and turned part way so I wasn’t quite facing Mrs. Wilson. “PMS and bad moods are no excuse for being a bitch.”

Mary shrugged. “We both live by that rule in our house.”

“I see,” Mrs. Wilson said. “Well, rules are rules. But maybe you could go a little easier on her. She knows she did wrong. Maybe just a light spanking?” Of course, perhaps Mrs. Wilson, not being a kinkster herself, has a different notion of what constitutes a ‘light spanking’ than we perverts do.

“What do you think, Daphne? Would that be enough to get you back on track?” I nodded. With an arm around my shoulder holding me close, we walked over to the bush. “Nice job, Mae,” Mary said as she looked at the first switch. I guess she was watching us. “Here,” Mary said, “I think we only need one of these today and …” she broke a a few inches off the other one. “There. That should be sufficient.”

Mary sat down on the retaining wall where I’d been sitting. “Mae, can we have you over for tea in a little bit to say thank you? We’ll only need a minute. Or you can just stay.”

Mary may have made the switch a little less painful, but of course she’d make that little joke just to see me turn red. There’s no way Mrs. Wilson …

“Well, if it’ll only be a minute.”

Wait. What? “Um, Mary …”

“What,” Mary said, “Mrs. Wilson has seen you spanked before.”

That was news to me. I looked at Mrs. Wilson, who nodded sympathetically. “Sorry, kiddo, but we do live kind of on top of each other, and you’re not the quietest little girl when you’re getting spanked.”

“And we’ll even keep your unicorn undies up.” I looked from Mary to Mrs. Wilson to my unicorn undies. “Of course,” Mary said, “If you’d rather go back inside, we could do that, but then there’d be no good reason to not bare your little, pink bottom.”

“Does she have to watch,” I whispered. I’m bad at whispering. Did you know people could be bad at whispering?

“The poor thing,” Mrs. Wilson said about me. “She’s having a hard enough time as it is. Tell you what – I’ll just duck back into my yard for a minute, and you just take care of her, then I’ll come right back.”

That was agreeable to Mary, because she nodded and lifted me across her lap as Mrs. Wilson excused herself. Being over the knee on the retaining wall was awkward. It’s narrow and of course has no give, so I felt like I was laid out like a board.

“Let’s get these down,” Mary said as she pulled my panties toward my knees. I didn’t protest. I at least had visual privacy. SMACK SMACK SMACK SMACK SMACK SMAK SMACK SMACK SMACK SMACK.

I guess that was my warm up, because Mary picked up the switch. There’s something about a switch resting against your bottom. It’s so much worse than a hairbrush or paddle resting there. It feels so small. So light. You know much it’s about to hurt, but it just gently teases you back there. And then you hear it cut the air just a little when your spanker moves it away from you, and then cut a lot more as it’s flicked down onto your very cute, very spankable bottom (well, in my case).

SWISH! “Eep!”

SWISH! “Eep!”

SWISH! “Ow!”

SWISH! “OW!!”

SWISH! “Umph!”

SWISH! “Muuhhuh!”

“Just let it out, Mary cooed in my ear.

SWISH! “Wah …”

SWISH! “Uh huuh huhh huuh.” And I was sobbing again. I laid across her lap and took my punishment.

SWISH! SWISH! SWISH! SWISH! SWISH! The last two delivered to my thighs.

“Okay, baby,” Mary said. She ran her hand down my bottom to my thighs, her palm crossing each stripe she’d left behind. “I forgive you. Here.” She helped me sit up, and as best I could on that wall I turned so my legs were wrapped around her and I could bury my head in her chest.

“I’m sorry I treated you so bad.”

“I know you are. There, there. Shhh.” She was gently tickling my back with her finger nails. My mom used to put me to sleep doing that when I really was a little girl. I told Mary about it one time, and she happily embraced it.

It only took me a minute to calm down. Mary set me on my feet. “Was that enough to snap you out of your bad mood?”

“Yes,” I nodded. She looked doubtful.

“I hope so. Any more attitude today, and you’re getting paddled and sent to bed.” It wasn’t even lunch time yet.

At least, I thought I was fine. It was a short spanking, and it did hurt like a mother, but it wasn’t enough for the warm, fuzzy, endorphin-y feeling. So maybe it was enough to break the pattern, but maybe I could also use a real butt blistering. All I ever have to do is ask, so I put that on the back burner. Mary pulled my underwear back up.

“Can I come back over,” Mrs. Wilson called out.

“Yes,” Mary called back. Mrs. Wilson came back through the fence, and I felt embarrassed and turned red all over again.

“Can I give her a hug,” Mrs. Wilson asked, “or is she in timeout now.”

“Nope, all over and done with. Hug away.”

And I got my second (or was it third?) hug from Mrs. Wilson. “You were very brave.”

“I cried like a little girl,” I scoffed.

“And I bet that made you feel so much better, didn’t it?”

“Mhmm.”

“What else do you say to Mrs. Wilson,” Mary asked.

“Thank you.”

“Darn tootin’,” Mary said as she reached down swatted my butt. “She saved you from the much worse spanking you had coming. Now, let’s serve our guest some iced tea and cookies, hmm?”

“I’ll get everything,” I said.

“She can be very polite when properly motivated,” Mary said with a wink to Mrs. Wilson. I started toward the house.

“Oh, she is just so darling with her little red fanny peeking out from under those adorable undies with the little grass stain. And her little, dirt-smudged feet!”

Now I was blushing again. I like hearing how cute I am.

“Hey Daphne,” Mary called after me. “Tell you what, Mae. How about you go help her wash her face and hands, and I’ll get everything.”

“I’d be happy to,” Mrs. Wilson replied.

“Where are my shorts,” I asked as I stood with a foot in the door.

“It’s warm out. You don’t need ‘em for the rest of the day,” Mary declared. “Run along with Mrs. Wilson, and be a good girl for her.” 

Mary’s smirk. I like that a lot more than her angry face. Especially when she find just the right button to push to get me all blushy and tingling in my tummy.