The Mary and Daphne Series - #10 (Patreon)

Scene #10

“No,” Mary said. Some disinterested parties might say that I don’t respond well to the word ‘no.’ It’s not that Mary says it to me a lot. Very rarely; in fact, usually after trying to be more diplomatic about it. She reserves her flat ‘no’ for when I Maybe, and again, this is subject to some debate, have pushed the issue a little too far. A touch. A tad, perhaps. 

“It’s not that expensive,” I said again, as though that argument that didn’t work 60 seconds ago would magically work now.

“Daphne, I said ‘no.’ We can’t afford it right now. If you want it, you’re going to have to save up for it.”

Mary is in charge of our finances because she’s better at it. I am not and never have been good with money. I make my own money, obviously, and we share a bank account that I can take from what I need to when I need to. It’s not like I’m on an allowance or anything. It’s just that we both agreed to ask each other for permission before buying any non-necessity that costs more than $100. 

“Fine,” I said in response, and began to engage in some major league pouting. To her it was just a new version of something I already had, but to me, it was the awesome new version of something I already had. I mean, c’mon, that is so totally different!

“C’mon,” she said and led me back into the walkway of the mall. We went into another store a few doors down, and Mary gave me a warning look when I pretty much just stood there with my arms crossed and waited for her. She’s sometimes more patient than others when I pout.

I like to think I’m a funny person whose humor is not always appreciated. I have a habit of making a joke when I know I shouldn’t. They just come out. That’s what happened when the salesperson approached and asked, “Can I help you find anything?”

And the funny/not funny/sorta bitter but still funny thing that came out of my mouth because, I’m guessing, my prefrontal cortex was running on too little sleep was, “No, we can’t afford anything.” I mean, funny, right? If you’re not Mary.

And I’m not stupid. As soon as I said it, I looked behind me to see just how far over the line I’d gone, and Mary’s slack-jawed expression told me: wayyyy over.

“Too soon,” I asked while trying to look apologetic and cute. I’ve been told I do an awesome apologetic-and-cute, it’s just that Mary isn’t so easily swayed. She takes being my disciplinarian seriously.

“Much too soon, little girl.” Dammit! I had that phrase and I know that code!

“I’m ...”

“Don’t! You can say it after your spanking, understand?”

Time for staring my shoes so as not to see the reaction of the saleswoman who was still within hearing distance. It’s not humiliating if you can’t see them, right? RIGHT?!? (No, it’s not right. I just wish it was).

“Let’s go,” Mary said, this time guiding me by the shoulder and discreetly, I hoped, swatting my butt. Not hard but hard enough to be a dull thud.

The thing about a mall is there are so many places to spank a naughty shopper like me. Most of them are out of the question, but I knew Mary would definitely not be waiting until we got home. She almost never does. I started to panic as we walked back toward the entrance we came in at. The car would’ve been little better than any of the dozen empty benches we walked past. There’s not enough room, and our windows are not tinted. I’d be on complete display.

A dressing room would be preferable to that, but they’re not all the same. In the store we’d just come from, the dressing room was right off the sales floor and would’ve have been all but public. It was more of a dressing booth. 

We were also heading in the direction of a department store, and their dressing rooms are better, being buried in at the backs of departments and being deeper. They got booths way back, where we usually go. If Macy’s punched a card for every time you get spanked in one of their dressing rooms, I’d have gotten a free bottle of Macy’s-branded water by now, and those suckers ain’t cheap.

My heart sank as we made a sharp right near the entrance to the department store and headed toward our car. My last chance now was the ladies’ room. That’s the opposite of a car. Plenty of room for Mary to tuck me under her arm, and while no one would be able to see, everyone would hear, once when Mary’s smacked my butt, and once again when the smack echoed off the tile.

I was decidedly of two minds when Mary pointed us toward the ladies’ room. “Please,” I pleaded, knowing it would do no good but having to try, “please at home. I’m sorry.” I got a real swat for that and almost tripped.

“Here,” Mary said. At the last second she turned away from the ladies’ room toward a door I hadn’t noticed. A family restroom! A minor mercy for what I suspected was going to be a a real spanking, not the ten swats I got the last time I got spanked at the mall.

Mary reached for the handle, and it was locked. “We’re waiting,” Mary declared as she led me to the wall. I started to turn to lean my back against it.

“Uh uh. You can face the wall and listen to me,” Mary instructed.

“Mary...”

“Daphne Anne, I’m keeping my voice down for your sake, so unless you want everyone here to know you’re about to get your bare bottom spanked like a five-year-old who didn’t get what she wanted, you are going to listen to me.” She paused, I guess to see if I was going to say anything. Not a peep from me as I endured what amounted to a public timeout and what was obviously a lecture to anyone passing by, even if they couldn’t hear it. (And it’s not embarrassing if I can’t see them seeing me, right? Please?)

“I am sorry we can’t afford that this month. I know you work hard, and I do, too, and it sucks that despite that we have to wait for little pleasures sometimes, but when I say no, that’s it. You stop arguing. Understand?”

I nodded.

“We agreed I’m in charge of our finances, and we agreed we would ask each other before we bought anything expensive. It took us a long time to get you out of credit card debt, and we’re not putting a purchase on the card that we can’t pay off in full just because you want it. Is that clear?”

I nodded again.

“And I know you think that was a joke you made, but it wasn’t. It was mean, and it was embarrassing, and it was disrespectful, childish, and pouty. I don’t deserve any of that.”

Okay, pause. We’re really gonna talk about who was embarrassed? But if my mouth got me into trouble, it wasn’t going to get me in deeper, so I just nodded again.

“We’re going to go in there, I am going to yank down those yoga pants of yours, you’re going to bend under my arm, and I’m going to spank your naughty, bare bottom. Understood?”

Before I could nod, a woman emerged from the restroom pushing a stroller. She nodded at Mary, and I’m not sure she even saw me. Mary put her foot out to keep the door from closing, reached across me, and tugged me by the shoulder. Feeling sorry for myself and on the verge of tears already from what was a blistering talking to that left me feeling, as usual, guilty and contrite, I shuffled in. A standard family restroom for a mall.

Mary hung her purse from a hook and took out the paddle. I gave a moment’s worth of consideration to hiding that thing or even throwing it away later. What a whupping is get for that, I’m sure.

“Arms up,” Mary said. I wanted to say something, but what was the point? My yoga pants were around my ankles a second later. “Maybe it’s my fault for letting you wear big girl panties today,” and then they, too, were around my ankles. “Even better,” Mary said as she looked behind me.

I turned and saw what she saw: a step stool next to the sink. I groaned, knowing what she intended. She slid the stool toward me, planted her left foot on top of it, crooked a finger at me, and said, “Over my knee.” I looked at her knee, I looked at the paddle in her right hand, and I had an instant vision of what I’d look like in a couple seconds with my feet and hands both off the floor (preferable, given it’s a restroom) as I dangled there helplessly, folded over at the waist and offering my butt to her at the perfect angle. I started to breathe hard already and tried to keep my eyes mostly dry as I shuffled over to Mary.

Standing at her right side, I put my foot on the stool, and as I stepped up, Mary lifted me under the arms, and with effort, I was over her knee. I looked up at the mirror, and I looked just how I’d pictured it.

“You need to hold still,” Mary warmed me. “I don’t want to drop you.” What a coincidence! I didn’t wanna be dropped. I was pretty uncomfortable like that.

When she wants to, Mary can make a spanking last an hour. It’s like edging (which she can do for way longer than an hour, or at least it seems that way), except instead of keeping me from pleasure, she keeps from going over the edge with pain, holding me in that crappy, crappy zone where my butt is burning and aching and I’m sobbing and there’s snot on my shirt but I’m not wailing. I’m not incapable of taking more. I’m still in just enough control of me, and Mary can hold me there because she’s in control of us both and knows my body like her own.

This was not gonna be that kind of spanking.

The first blow made me jerk my head up and cry out. She was swinging that teardrop paddle like a school paddle, taking all that force and concentrating it on a much smaller area. All that energy shot through me in the form of lightning pain. One a second, or so it seemed, alternating cheeks and moving from up to down and down to up.

There was no way anyone passing by couldn’t hear through the hollow, steel door, and I was putting in every bit of effort I could into holding still and not crying out again.

What escaped my throat even as I kept my mouth clamped (ya couldn’t‘ve done that five minutes ago, ya little brat?) was a low, continuous moan. I kicked my feet and felt myself slip, then Mary’s strong arm pulling my back toward her, and Mary delivered two more stunners to the tune of, “Hold. Still!”

I reached down and put my hands around Mary’s calf, the only thing to hold onto. I could hardly see it through the tears. My throat hurt from straining to stay quiet.

Mary saw me at the edge and finished off with two blasts from that hateful paddle, and then it was over.

Before I was aware of it, Mary righted me, put me on my feet, and pressed my face into her breast where I could wail as loud as I could without being heard. And wail I did. Big, heaving swells of sobs.

“Shhh. It’s over. You did so good. Shhh.” Her hand rubbed my back, her lips kissed the top of my head, and my knees wobbled. I wanted to collapse and be held, and there was no where to do it. Instead I got myself down to just the choking type of sob, quiet at least, as I sniffled and tried to get my diaphragm to stop cramping and picked my head up off Mary.

“Do you understand why you needed that spanking,” Mary asked as she brushed my hair out of my face.

“Because I was being a brat, and I said something mean to you.”

“That’s right. I understand how life can be frustrating at times, and you can have a lot of feelings come up and not know the right way to express them, but throwing a tantrum is unacceptable.” 

Geez, she made it sound like I was a two year old shouting “Mine!” as I hurled myself to the floor.

“I’m only trying to do what’s best for us,” she continued, “and we need to save for little extras like that.”

“I know,” I said, trying not to sound whiny. Ya know what I wanted more right then? To be allowed to rub my butt. That’s free! At least I knew better than to ask for that instead.

“And when you don’t get your way, it’s unacceptable to then be angry and pouty and make cutting remarks. You are old enough to know that.”

Of course I am! I’m 30! And I did know it. I just had a hard time putting that knowledge into practice sometimes. It was a case of those who can’t get taught by those who can with the aid of a paddle that fits in her purse. It’s always there. It’s even there when she’s not with me in case, she says, she needs to come give me a spanking wherever I am.

“Now, do you have something to say to me?”

“I’m sorry, Mary. I’m really sorry. You’re right.” (As usual) “I’m sorry I didn’t listen to you, and I’m sorry I threw a tantrum and said what I said.”

“Good girl. I forgive you,” she said. Three words go a long way to making me feel better pretty much any time. That’s all I need in life, to be in Mary’s good graces. My friends in vanilla relationships? I don’t understand how they can have fights and not make up right away. That’s a blue moon even for us, because nine out of ten times we argue, if that, it’s the kinda fight where there’s a definite wrong person (me, about eight of those nine times), and the argument ends with me suffering through a swollen butt while Mary tells me I’m forgiven. I think we have the best relationship in the world. 

“Thank you,” I said. The burning sensation was giving way to a warm ache, and with it came the soft, endorphin-fueled afterglow that’s better than any drug.

Mary bent down and pulled my pants up. I winced, and my butt felt hotter under the tight fabric.

“There’s one thing we need to get while we’re here,” Mary said a she wet a paper towel. I held still while she wiped my face. “Blow,” she said as she held the paper towel over my nose. That is one of the few things that’s easier to do with a toddler. It took us a few tries to coordinate that right (we missed the Kleenex entirely once, but don’t worry - Mary’s shirt kept If from getting everywhere), but we were old hands at it now.

“Ya good,” she asked me as she threw the paper towel away.

“Hmmmm,” I said, feeling floaty. Who needs that thing anyway? We should buy more paddles is how we should spend that money, because this feels so much better, now, not that I was in a hurry to experience it all over again. I bit my lip and smiled my I’m-experiencing-too-many-pleasure-hormones-to-speak-intelligently smile. 

Mary took her purse from the hook after she put my paddle away, then took my hand and we left the restroom. No one paid us any mind. Each step hurt, a deep, dull ache that I love.

“Where are we going,” I asked. I had both hands around Mary’s arm as I leaned on her.

“The drug store at the other end.” 

I was too busy enjoying my buzz to notice until we were in the drug store and standing in the diaper aisle. Mary was reaching for a package of Goodnites. I know better than to whine after a serious spanking like the one I’d just gotten, but the prospect of pull-ups made that life lesson fly from my head.

“Mary, no, please? I learned my lesson.”

“Shh. It’s okay, sweetie.”

“Please? I don’t want those.”

“You want the boy ones instead?”

I exhaled sharply. “No. That’s, you know that’s not what I meant.”

“You mean you want some real adult diapers?” Boy, did that shut me up. “Because ...”

“No!”

“‘No’ what?”

“These are fine,” I hissed through my teeth.

“I’m so glad to hear you say that. I wouldn’t want to get you something you don’t like.” She started toward the register. “And besides, it’d be a shame to go shopping and not get you anything at all.”

I stood meekly behind her while she paid. “Good thing these aren’t too expensive, right, Daphne,” she asked as she inserted her card. 

Wow, I thought, way to hammer the point home. Did I mention my wife is one of the world great sarcasm strategists? She deploys it like a general deploys nuclear missiles. The clerk handed Mary the receipt.

“Can we use your restroom?”

Wait, what?

“Sure, in the back,” the clerk said. Mary started walking away. I stood there. The clerk looked around me like she was expecting to see a little kid behind me. She just gave me this look I tried to disarm with what must’ve been a stupid and guilty smile.

“C’mon, Daphne,” Mary called before I could start babbling. I scampered after her, and she held the bathroom door open for me again.

“Ya gonna fight me on this,” she asked when the door was closed.

“Only verbally,” I said as I pushed my left shoe off with my right foot.

“Let me do that, baby.” 

She knelt down as I protested, “I’m not a baby!”

“Of course you aren’t,” she said she took off my other shoe and started tugging my pants back down again. And then I was naked from the waist down except for my socks, again.

She tore the package open, withdrew one of those damn things, unfolded it and held it open for me. “Ya know,” she said, “a diaper actually would be easier. We wouldn’t have to completely undress you to change you into it.”

I chose not to engage with that sentence. I put my hands on Mary’s shoulders for balance and stepped in, then Mary pulled it up my legs. I looked at it for a second.

“What,” Mary asked.

“I was just seeing who was on it. Just hearts and flowers.”

“Disappointed,” Mary asked with a smile.

I responded by pulling up my yoga pants. I put my shoes on while she stashed my panties in her purse. I twisted around trying to see and wishing I had worn a longer shirt.

“Can you see it,” I asked as I tried to adjust my pants.

“Leave it alone,” Mary replied as she swatted me on the butt. It hurt, but not terribly. I was already recovering even if I would have an invisible bruise for a day or two.

“Can you,” I asked again.

“The truth? Yeah. Pretty obvious through those yoga pants.” She adjusted the hem of my shirt.

“Did that help,” I asked.

“Nope. Here,” she said as she handed me the package of pull-ups. I’d rather take a spanking again than wear these things with yoga pants through the mall, and I’d rather take a caning, which I find not sexy at all, then do it while carrying the package openly. But discipline is not a negotiation. If I protested, I’d end up getting that second spanking and still marching through the mall with an obvious pull-up butt.

“Can we ask the clerk for a bag?” I could at least safely try that.

“No. They’re bad enough for the planet as is.”

“But ...”

“Daphne Anne, do you really already need a reminder about what to do when I say ‘no?’”

“Sorry.” Little did I know that as we walked back out into the mall, every step shifted my hem and showed off the top of the waistband of that pull-up. Mary knew. She elected not to tell me, which I’m actually glad of. I was embarrassed as is. I’d have crept through the mall holding my shirt down if I knew.

Mary saved a surprise for me until we got home. She fixed us lunch and slid a glass of iced tea to me across the table.

“One more thing. From now on, since we are trying to be more economical, no more buying anything we’re not going to use.”

“Okay,” I said, not realizing where she was going. We use everything we have.

“Which means when I put you in one of those pull-ups, you don’t get your undies back until you tinkle in it.”

I sat quietly for a moment. The pain of sitting kept me from protesting right away. “And then I can have my panties back,” I asked hopefully. Like, maybe pee a few drops and then whop the thing off?

“I didn’t say that, sweetie. I only said you can’t have your undies back until your pull-up is wet.”

“So I may have to sit in it?!?”

“Honey, you may have to change into another pull-up, and then that one stays on until you tinkle in it, and then you may have to sit in it. It just depends on how naughty you’ve been.”

“You are such a meanie.”

“Love you.”

“Love you, too.”

“How’s your sandwich?”

“Yummy. Thank you.”