Mary and Daphne #26 (Patreon)

“Did you have fun,” Mary asked me when I got home from my first drive in almost two months. Whoever thinks hybrids aren’t fun to drive obviously hasn’t driven one. With not that much traffic on the interstate and a perfectly sunny day, it was a perfect little drive. Just forty-five minutes down the highway and back.

“Mhmm,” I said, though I didn’t really. Yes, the drive was good, but the whole time I just kept thinking how tired I am of all of this. I miss normal. I know there’s no going back to the ways things were for a while, but some of the really basic stuff, I miss. Like not wearing something on my face. Sitting down at a restaurant. All that stuff, and not even that stuff so much as not having to worry about all of that. Just being able to go out carefree. So the drive was fun, but I couldn’t stop thinking about that, and it had me not exactly upset but maybe on the cusp of it.

“How much fun?”

Crap. What did I do? “Not too much,” I asked warily.

“What’s your speed limit on the highway?”

“Seventy-five,” I said but sort of asked in that way you do when you’re in trouble. Mary took out her phone.

“Remember that app I installed on your phone the last time you got a ticket?” Well, obviously not or I would’ve kept it under seventy-five. For the record, I’ve gotten three tickets in my entire driving life. Mary, being so conscientious that she makes Tom Hanks look like a jerk, has gotten zero, so she put one of those apps for teen drivers on my phone. It was over a year ago. Knowing she was about to tell me just how fast I was going, I reached for the waistband of my shorts. Why wait? “Ah-ah, little girl. I’ll take those down when I’m ready.”

“Urgh! I’m not a little girl!”

“Don’t get grumpy with me. I’m not the one who was driving ninety-three miles per hour.” Okay, so she had a point; I didn’t even realize I was going that fast. “And I hate to break the news to you, kiddo, but taking down your own pants for your spanking doesn’t make you as grown up as you think.” Well, that was just a low blow.

She crooked a finger at me, and I followed her to the living room. She sat down on the couch, and I went and stood in front of her like always. “I don’t even know what to say,” she started, which is one of those weird things people say right before they say a whole lot. “I could not possibly care less about you getting a ticket, Daphne Ann. But you getting hurt? Do you have anything to say for yourself?”

“I’m sorry.”

“I know,” she said as she nodded. Mary never raises her voice to me. “I know, and you …” She shook her head. “It scared me. Do you understand? It would scare me if you were driving that fast with me in the car, and then I get an alert on my phone, and I can’t even text you to tell you to knock it off because we don’t text and drive. You scared me.”

Some may say I have an eager to please personality, and the reverse of that is when I disappoint someone whose opinion matters to me, I really do take it to heart. Mary being upset with me upsets me, and her being scared or sad because of me makes me very unhappy with myself. Which is to say she got me all teary and sniffling just from that short lecture.

“Yes (Sniff!). I’m sorry,” I said again. “I didn’t mean to.”

“I don’t know what you were thinking, but it’s just not acceptable. The thought of you … getting hurt … We’ve gone to great lengths for the past two months to keep you safe, and …”

Maybe I was little emotionally fragile at the moment (apparently Mary was too). I don’t know if Mary thought I was going to just let that comment pass, but nope. I was fully aware of everything Mary had done for me, and I don’t know if she meant to really connect that to me breaking my speed limit, but she already had me upset with myself and feeling lousy about making her feel lousy, so not really a surprise that drawing the line between A and B tipped me from feeling upset to feeling ashamed. Which is when I went from sniffling to crying in earnest, which I guess she wasn’t expecting and neither was I. It stopped her midsentence.

“Hey,” Mary said as she stood up and put her arms around me and pulled me back down to the couch with her. “Hey. Shhh. Don’t cry yet. Calm down.” She was rubbing my back and stroking my hair.

“I’m (bawling) and (sobbing) and I didn’t (inaudible) and please (babbling),” I said, if that counts as saying.

“Calm down. Shhh. You’re okay.”

“My um fel hing.”

And you don’t speak Daphne-crying language, but Mary does, and she said, “I know, Daffy. I know.” I started to calm down; I didn’t stop losing tears, but I did stop blubbering. “You’re such a silly goose. You’re not supposed to cry like that until halfway through your spanking.” I would’ve apologized for that, too, but instead I just nodded and felt like my sinuses had ballooned up in the past two minutes. Mary was still patting my back as I sat on her lap with my head on her shoulder. I was ready to get my punishment over with, and I think I needed to finish crying, too.

“Can I have my spanking now,” I asked.

“Yeah, sweetie, we can do that.” I started to stand up, and she stopped me, saying, “No no, baby. Just lay back.” I wasn’t sure what she meant, and she guided me with her hands so I was sitting on her lap with my feet out in front of me. “Lay back.”

I hate hate hate the diaper position. I hate it. I don’t know if people are right that it hurts more, but I do know that all your goodies are on full display and that you have to look at the person spanking you. It’s just more humbling to have to watch it happen. Never, though, had I ever been spanked in the diaper position while across her lap. On the bed, the floor, a table, a desk, and once on a dais, but never on her lap. I was laid out flat, and it felt pretty awkward.

“Lift,” Mary said, and I lifted my hips and she pulled my shorts to my ankles before turning to look down at me. “If you ever hurt yourself, it will break my heart. Understand?”

“Yes,” I meeped.

“Be a good little girl and hold still for your spanking.” She lifted my legs and put her left arm across the back of my knees, and there I was butt out and flat on my back. Talk about defenseless, not that I’d ever dream of resisting.

From behind a throw pillow, Mary produced the paddle and put it to work. It was awkward; there wasn’t enough room to swing it right, but she adjusted and put a lot of wallop into it. I gritted my teeth and let the tears flow. She didn’t spare my thighs, either. I was going to have bruises for a few days.

She stopped, and I opened my eyes, and we looked at each other for a moment. She glanced from me to my butt and back, shook her head gently, and started paddling again, slow and hard, with her eyes locked on mine. It took a lot of effort to hold still and not roll off her lap. I wanted to close my eyes again, but the way she was looking right at me, I couldn’t.

“You’re going to drive safe, little girl (WHAP!). And you’re never (WHAP!) going (WHAP!) to (WHAP!) scare me (WHAP!) like that (WHAP!) again (WHAP WHAP WHAP WHAP!)!”

I promised both those things and let myself keep sobbing once she’d set the paddle down and proceeded to rub and knead what I’m guessing was a dark red pair of cheeks. She cooed at me and told me it was all over and that I did a very good job holding still, which I did. I’m very obedient (stop laughing!). “You’re my good little girl.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I know you are, and you’re all forgiven.” That’s what I needed to hear, and it spread a new warmth in my tummy. My tears dried up, and I felt a big sinus headache coming on.

“Can I sit up,” I asked as she kept her arm under my knees and kept playing with my butt, which was going from hot to clammy and would soon have that awful pins-and-needles feeling. I’d be feeling uncomfortable for the rest of the day, at least.

“One more thing.” She reached back under that throw pillow and produced a diaper. Not really surprised, I let my head fall back to the couch and put an arm over my eyes, feeling that pressure in my forehead and behind my eyes. She tilted me back, and I listened to the crinkling as she spread the diaper out. She lowered me back down, parted my legs, and taped the diaper on, all with me still over her lap. I got two solid, thwumping pats to my poor backside, and she helped me up.

“You’re a mess,” she said. “Let’s go wash your face.”

“Not yet,” I said. I got up off her lap, spun around so my legs were where my head was, turned so I was facing Mary, and put my head in her lap, not quite burying my face in her tee shirt.

She chuckled and then I guess realized I wasn’t trying to be cute. She started stroking my hair again. “What’s the matter, honey?”

“I want this to be over.”

“I know, Daffy.”

“I miss it.”

“What’s that?”

“Our … it’s like our world … I wanna do normal stuff again and not hafta worry and do things differently. I just wanna … you know.” Of course she did. She’s living this right alongside me.

“I know. Me, too.” She let me lay like that for another minute or two, playing with my hair, and then she said, “But we’re not going to be upset about things we can’t change. I got a surprise for you. C’mon.”

I sat up, and she led me upstairs. “Can I put something on,” I asked as I sat down on the bed with my legs under me, feeling the pain of my paddling and wishing I could look at my butt. It’s a spanko thing, wanting to see how red your butt is after a spanking and if there were any marks.

“You can put on what I got you, sweetie,” Mary answered me as she went into the closet and came out with a gift wrapped box. “I was going to wait a little bit, but I think you could use this now, even if you were naughty.”

I smiled at how sweet my wife is. “I wasn’t naughty. I was careless. There’s a difference.”

“How is it you can go from sobbing at a lecture, to blubbering over my knee to almost falling asleep in my lap to being a smartass in less than a half hour?”

“I dunno, but aren’t you glad I can?”

“Yes. Now, open that box.” I carefully tore through the tape because I believe in saving wrapping paper, plus there’s a certain decorum a dignified lady such as myself should maintain at all times (no one with a red butt under a diaper has ever been as dignified as me, I’ll have you know). And maybe I was purposefully torturing Mary by going to slow, which I know drives her nuts.

And then I set the lid to the side.

And then I parted the tissue paper ever so gently.

And then I saw new pajamas. Blue with yellow ducklings on them. Okay, so that was a little unexpected, but considering my current attire, I can’t say it was entirely out of left field. She likes me in cute things, and that’s alright with me. Wearing a pair of too cute pajamas, that were really more appropriate for Jane than me, was a small price to pay to make Mary happy.

“Thank you. They look so … cozy. I’ll wear it to be tonight.”

“No, no, no, silly.” She reached around me and pulled the top out. And then I saw: it wasn’t a pajama top, because pajama tops don’t button at the crotch. “It’s a onesie!”

“Yeah it is,” was my clever response.

“But you don’t have to wear it if you don’t want to, unless I decide you’re in trouble.”

“I don’t?”

“No. It’s just something I saw and thought you’d look cute in. You can wear it just because, or we can keep it as a punishment outfit.”

“Well, which one would you like?”

“I wanna see you wear it, and I’ll get to eventually, but I think it’s up to you. Will you try it on for me at least?”

I couldn’t say no. That would just be rude, for any gift. I remember when I was maybe seven and my grandmother got me a swimsuit for Christmas, and we lived in Wisconsin at the time, and I still had to try it on for her. She assured me I’d appreciate it come summer. “Um, okay.”

Mary reached out and tapped the end of my nose. “Good girl.”

“You’re being weird.”

“I can’t help it. I’m in love with my wife. C’mon.” She took my hand and led me to our bathroom when she turned on the tap and I took off my shirt. “Daphne! I’m surprised at you.”

“I didn’t mean to!” That was just reflex, because I didn’t know what I’d done to surprise her.

“You didn’t mean to put on a bra this morning?”

“Well, I haven’t left the house in two months. I thought I’d just go cray and dress up today,” I said as I kicked my faded tee toward the hamper.

She helped me out of it and tossed it toward the hamper, wet a washcloth with cool water, and wiped the tear streaks from my face. She held out the washcloth in her hand and ordered, “Honk.” I leaned in and she held the cloth to my nose and I honked. Pretty hard to. “You’re gonna hurt your ears doing that. How are your allergies?”

“Crummy.”

“You taking your medicine?”

“Every day.” Being home so much, I was taking advantage and spending my time outside. On the positive side, I was pleasantly tan when normally I’d just be pink this time of year. But I’m allergic to Spring. And then I got a kiss on my forehead, which made me all blushy and smiley.

“See!” I protested. “You’re being all weird.”

“Since when (kiss) is it weird (kiss) for me to not be able to keep my hands off you?”

Well, that’s pretty normal, but it was the way she was looking at me ever since she handed me that box. She was so excited to see me in that ridiculous onesie. She’d been hinting at wanting to up the ante on the ageplay stuff, and she was doing it exactly the way she said she would after our little talk: slowly and with my permission. If I didn’t like the thing – well, I didn’t like the thing, but if I hated the thing, I could just say so and it would end up with all the other things I hate that get reserved for punishments. No biggie.

“Arms up.” I put my arms up, and she slipped it over my head and knelt down in front of me. “Open your legs for me.” I did, and she tugged the flappy part through, and I counted one, two, three, four clicks as she buttoned it in place. She stood back up, brushed my hair out of my face even though it wasn’t in my face and looked at me with her hands on my shoulders, smiling like when I drew on the kitchen wall. “You wanna see?”

I turned to look into the mirror Mary behind me. Well, crap.I huffed and made my not-impressed face. “Dammit,” I said under my breath.

“What’s wrong?”

“I’m adorable. Again.” Fucking of course I am.

“Awww,” she laughed, “you always are.” She put her chin on my shoulder and one arm around me and tickled my belly with her fingertips. Which made me go “He he,” which only exacerbated the adorability.

“Stop it,” I whined.

“So, is that a punishment outfit or not,” she asked me.

Well, it made her so happy. “Not,” I pouted. Like I said, eager to please.

“You really don’t have to.”

“No, it is cute. And comfy.”

“And it hides your diaper, which you’re wearing for a whole day.”

“Why?”

“Because you drove ninety-three miles per hour.”

O. So there were now three kinds of diapers: just because, reminders to behave, and a punishment diaper. “But, the same one?”

“Of course not, silly. I’ll change you when you need it.”

“Well, what about if I have to, ya know?”

“Then you can take it off first.”

“But, what if … I mean … But I don’t wanna.”

“I know, but that’s why it’s a punishment.”

“You’re sending a lot of mixed signals here with your punishment and presents and Tom Hanks driving and forehead kisses,” I pouted. I think Mary has just learned not to ask what I mean when I start saying non sequiturs that only make sense if you heard what I’ve been saying in my head.

“If you’re gonna be pouty, I’m gonna hafta to give you another present, and it’s only for punishment.”

“I’ll be good.”

“Uhuh.” I followed her back out of the bathroom, and she went straight for the closet, leaving me wondering what was in store for me next. She produced a little white box, walked over to my nightstand, and removed a…

“Nooo! I’ll be good. I promise!”

 “Daffy,” she admonished me. “Consider this a new reminder to watch that pretty little mouth of yours.” She left it there next to the paddle that adorns my nightstand, just sitting there. A pacifier.

“Where did you even find this stuff anyway?”

“The internet. I just saw it and thought ‘there’s a little tool that might save her butt from swats.’ So you mind your tongue and it will stay a reminder.”

“Can we at least put in the drawer?”

“Nope.”

“But …” Dammit it all to crap! I can’t even say it. I just stamped my foot instead.

“See? It’s helping you already. Now c’mon.”

“Where are we going now?”

“The kitchen. Let’s make lunch together.”

“Okay.” And then I said something I only half meant. “Thank you for my presents.”

“You’re very welcome.” I got a step past her when she reached out and gave me a hard, underhand spank, producing a loud pop and making me jump and hold my butt. I gave her an especially dirty look. “You,” is all she said.

“Me what?”

“You and your padded butt and little red thighs peeking out of your ducky onesie and that face you make when you’re all pouty and blushing.”

“What about it?”

“Too cute.”

I knew she was going to say that.

“How about,” she said as she put an arm around my shoulder and kissed me on the nose, “we make lunch and eat outside. We haven’t had a picnic in forever.”

“Okay.”