Mary and Daphne #31 (Patreon)

Mary put the car in park and fixed me with one of her icy stares. Every time I start to think they only look icy and that she’s a big softie, she paddles that whole notion right outta me. Anyhoo, I felt self-conscious, because I hadn’t done anything. We’d had a pleasant ride to the park Mary said we could go to to go hiking.

“What are the rules,” Mary asked me.

“Do everything you say. Wear a mask until we’ve gone half a mile, put it back on if we hear anyone coming, and put it back on when we get a half-mile from the car.”

“Good girl.” She leaned over and kissed me. It’s not like I was deprived of affection and approval growing up, but something about being called a good girl makes my self-esteem meter and happiness dial go all the way up. It’s like a little verbal tummy rub. And not that I was deprived of physical affection, but, ooo, tummy rubs. Not that I’m a golden retriever.

We drove an hour from home to a conservation area. If you’ve never been, think of a state park and take away all the amenities except a gravel parking lot and some hiking trails. Mary chose it specifically because it was less likely to be busy, or so she thought, but who knows these days. At least when we got there, the parking lot was empty, but that’s what happens when you arrive anywhere at six in the morning. I didn’t even know there were two five o’clocks a day, and now that I do know, I think whoever decided that made a horrible mistake.

We’d been there before, way back toward when we started dating when I was twenty-five and we were still in the everything-is-shiny-and-new phase. We had scened together, but it was before Mary would take me over her knee without negotiation and a couple years before I asked for a lifestyle domestic discipline relationship.

“Ya ready,” Mary asked me. I nodded, got out, grabbed my backpack off the floor in front of me, and Mary did the same from the backseat. It was just a day hike, and the plan was to be home by noonish, but we had the makings of a picnic breakfast to carry. That was one of Mary’s dalliances, camping, for a hot minute. She said she loved it, and I said she just liked shopping for it, but we had everything needed to make an actual breakfast in the woods despite not having gone camping in a couple years.

I felt out of shape walking up those hills. I thought gardening replaced some of the workouts I wasn’t getting, but nope. I’m still svelte little me, but tell that to my quads and lungs.

“This is why we need a pool in the backyard.” I huffed and I puffed and did it again because that’s how to get the oxygen inside you fast.

“I don’t get it,” Mary said behind me. She also wasn’t in the best shape of her life. It’s not like either of us was out of shape, just that we were in average shape and the trail was in the same shape it had been the last time we were there. Another reason Mary thought it would be a good place to go: it’s a bitch of a trail, so she didn’t expect as many people. It was a Sunday though, so even if life was normal we were bound to cross paths with someone on the way back.

“To do (breathe in) laps in (and another). I need a break.” Maybe instead of plants for the garden I should’ve bought a Peloton. I could be one of those Peloton wives … if Mary and me were incredibly insufferable people instead of of who we are.

I think we hiked about an hour and a half when we got to a spot with a clearing on one side of the trail, and Mary said, “How about here?”

“Good enough for me.”

“Let’s go to the other side,” she said, and we walked across the clearing high stepping over tall grass and hoping we didn’t step on any snakes. I don’t do snakes. Mary has got no problem with them; she has a thing about spiders though. My niece makes fun of me for being afraid of snakes. My brother says he hopes she doesn’t grow up to be half as spunky as me; I hope she grows up to be twice as spunky.

Mary didn’t tell me what was for breakfast; she wanted it to be a surprise. She even packed the backpacks so I wouldn’t know. In a few minutes, we were on a blanket, and Mary laid out all the goodies. She brought everything to make an omelet.

“Do you know how to do that,” I asked when she was trying to start up the camping stove. “How old is that gas anyway?”

“We never opened it. It should be fine,” Mary confidently asserted. All the trouble to keep me safe and Mary blows herself up and I go to jail for starting a wildfire. “See? Still works,” she said proudly.

I wouldn’t call Mary the world’s best cook, but she makes yummy food and she’s creative. I would not have thought to freeze a tablespoon of butter to make it last a couple hours in a backpack.

She didn’t let me help cook; she actually swatted my hands away and told me to sit and look pretty, which, okay, I get the joke. And appreciated the compliment. She got the thing going and reached into my bag and came up with a hydroflask, which must be why the damn bag felt so heavy, filled with mimosa.

“You’re going all out here,” I told her.

“We deserve a treat. Both of us, but you especially. I’m sorry again for not thinking enough about how being unemployed feels for you right now.”

“If I’d known this was going to happen, I wouldn’t have quit. No unemployment checks for me.” And I’m positive my asshole boss would’ve fired me. Bad timing.

“Yeah, but we’re fine.”

“Plenty to be grateful for,” I said and raised my Champaign flute (solo cup).

“Cheers.” We tapped our cups together and ate directly out of the pan. We had a peach for dessert and got all sticky, and Mary had wetnaps for that. She really is one squared away marine, as my father who didn’t even join the Boy Scouts would say.

“Remember what we did here the first time we came,” I asked.

“Hehe. Yeah. How could I forget?”

“Do you wanna?”

“You naughty little girl! We could get caught.”

“We do it all the time.”

“Behind doors.” Restrooms, dressing rooms, broom closets, cloak rooms, empty classrooms (so my phone went off during a lecture series lecture after being told to turn it off twice by Mary and once by the guy who introduced the speaker; I still don’t think I deserved to get spanked. And then to have to go to the reception with a sore butt and everyone who saw Mary walked me out holding my hand? Grrr.)

“We’re alone. There are woods, which doors are made of,” I said while batting my eyes at her.

“I’m not gonna spank you just because. What kind of example would that set?”

“A fucking good one,” I rejoined with a very happy laugh.

“O, well, there – I can’t have language like that coming outta your mouth. We’ll just hafta deal with that right now.”

Mary fits right in in the woods. Not that she’s an outdoorswoman but that she had that predatory look she sometimes gets when she got up on all fours and started coming toward me. And I’m just a tiny woodland creature; I shouldn’t be out in the open during the day like I was. Some she-wolf was going to... “Woah!” ...pounce on me.

“I need to see bare buns if we’re gonna do this right,” she said as she brought her hands down my sides, letting her fingers find my most sensitive spots along the way, until she got to the hem of skirt, reached underneath and yanked down my panties.

“Uh oh,” she said as she worked them over my shoes.

“What?”

“They tore. You’ll hafta to hike back without.”

“Aww. I really like those. Lemme see.”

“No,” she said as she stuffed them into her pack.

“What? Why not?”

“You’ll just hafta take my word for it. They’re destroyed; very gruesome sight. Will give you nightmares.”

“I thought I wasn’t sposed to go commando,” I said.

“Does someone have a case of the ‘sposed tas?’ I told you no commando without permission. You have my permission. And if you get a little chub rub, I’ll take personal responsibility for rubbing lotion on it,” she winked. “But first, we need to deal with your potty mouth.”

I shrugged. “When you come from a seafaring family, you curse like a sailor.” My dad’s a dentist.

“You curse like a kindergartner trying to find out which words get a reaction.”

“I do not! Besides, ‘fucking’ always gets a reaction. In fact” I said coyly, “I’ve never done any ‘fucking’ but at least one of us reacted pretty fucking hard.”

Mary’s jaw dropped and she scoffed. “You’re just digging yourself a little hole, missy.” I had a joke about having things for filling holes at home in our nightstands, but I saved it for later. “Now, sit up.”

I did, and she flipped my skirt up so I basically bare on our blanket. Anyone hiking by probably wouldn’t be able to see from the trail. Probably. I watched her wander the edge of the woods examining undergrowth. I knew what she was looking for, and it made my butt (and surrounding area) tingly with happy anticipation.

With effort, she managed to break off a green branch from a bush (that probably wasn’t poison ivy) and stripped the leaves off, giving it some test flicks as she walked back toward me.

“We can’t have you swearing like the daughter of some biker gang boss. I just won’t have it,” she said as she stood over me and worked her fingernail over the spots the leaves had been until she was satisfied it was smooth enough to not cut me. “Tell me what happens to little girls who use bad words,” she instructed me after she’d sat down again.

“I dunno,” I said, “kinda depends on your mood.”

“Joke time is over, little girl.”

“I’m not a little girl!”

“Such a little girl.” She patted her leg. “You know where your naughty bottom goes.”

I’ll admit I was trembling a little. Sooo much adrenaline. The risk of getting caught, knowing how much a switch hurts, loving how much a switch hurts. I crawled over her legs. She started playing with my butt as soon as it was in reach.

“Now that you’re over my knee like a naughty little girl, I want to make clear to you, Little Miss Thing, we’re not stopping for other hikers. We can have an audience for all I care.”

“What?” WHAP! She started warming me up back there. I spread my legs for her, and she took the hint, getting to the insides of my thighs and giving her a good look at what she had waiting for her at home.

The butt is the body’s guitar: such a versatile instrument. Mary’s hand WHACKING and WHAPPING had my eyes rolling back in my head, helped no doubt by just how inside my thigha she was directing some of those spanks. It’s a good thing Mary finds my giggling a turn on, because “Heeheehee,” I tittered as she got to all the right places. Know all those magazines with straight women on the cover complaining about how their men can’t find anything but their own wener? I cannot relate, for more reasons than one.

“Is that so?”

“Ow! No pinching!”

“No pinching? What if I pinch this?”

“Ow!”

“Or this!?!”

“Aieee! Marrryyy,” I whine-moaned or moan-whined or whatever-fuck-It-I-made-a-happy-noise noise.

“But we’re getting distracted from the heart of the issue. Your potty mouth.”

“That word sure comes up more than it used to,” I said under my breath. The ‘used tas’ are frequently comorbid with the ‘sposed tas.’ What are you gonna do?

“Let’s see if we can leave a stripe for every year of your age.” THWIP!

“Eep!”

THWIP!

“Ahh! Ooh! Eesh! Ayyyyy! Eeee! Marrryyyyyyy!” She always switches my thighs, but never so low. Way lower than my skirt goes. Even with breaks and her wandering hands, she was approaching my limit.

“Drat,” she exclaimed. “It broke.” Her hand was back, rubbing my butt.

“Hmmmm.”

“Let’s count. One...”

“Ouch!” With the pinching and the hurting and the pain of the stripes. Heeheehee. She got to twenty-seven.

“Daffy, you are quite the sight,” she laughed. “Such a sweaty bitty thing. If we were at home, I’d hose you off.”

“I glisten,” I said kinda pouty and tired and in a happy place where there are muffins and bunnies and well spanked butts sending endorphins to places.

“I have to clean up our picnic on my own, don’t I?”

“I just, ya know, need a minute,” I said in the floaty endorphin world.

“Mhmmm,” she said skeptically. “Well, so long as we cured your potty mouth.”

“O fuck yeah we did,” I said sleepily. “Gonna be none of that fuck this or bitch that – yaaawwwwn – talk from me from here on out.”

“Hardyharhar, but keep it up and I’ll get the paddle out.”

“You brought the paddle?”

“Of course. You know it goes everywhere with me. We never know when you’re gonna misbehave.” She really does carry it everywhere, even when I’m not with her, in case, she says, she has to drive across town to warm my seat. The phrase ‘everyday carry’ means something different (and so much more fun) in our house.

“If we hiked the Appalachian Trail and were trying to save every ounce, would you still bring the paddle,” I asked.

“Of course. Out in the woods is where I need to keep the shortest leash on you to keep you safe. And if you were really naughty, I’d make you carry it, too.”

“Imagine the trail names they’d give us. Heehee.”

“Ready to get up?”

“Princess Pink Bottom and Spanky. They’ll call me Pink for short, and you’ll just be Spanky. In fact, they’d probably start calling you Alfalfa by the end.”

She scoffed. “How come you get to be the princess?”

“My regal bearing,” I informed her as I lay bare assed over her legs twisting some blades of grass into a tiara.

“Uh huh,” she said, not sounding convinced.

For the record, I’m very regal, though: I can wave using just my wrist, I once put a flower pot on my head (at a drunk Halloween-in-April party), and I have no official power but do serve as a national symbol and moral authority. I mean, obviously that’s why so many of our kinky friends say I’m a walking reminder of what happens when you misbehave. Really.

“Well, Princess, personally, I think my trail name is Amazon, or maybe Paddle Power.”

“Think you could spank march me from Georgia to Maine?” We watched a Walk in the Woods recently. It wasn’t very good.

“I think I can spank your butt off my lap.” Hint taken. I got up as she landed some hard swats to my striped butt. She doesn’t even need a paddle.

Before we left, I put that tiara on her and have her a very sensuous thank you kiss, and we held hands on way back until we both needed our hands back to hike; ya don’t think you need hands to hike, but ya do.

We did start seeing some people on the way back. We put our masks on and walked on by with nods and hellos and smiles they couldn’t see until we were back in the parking lot. It was coming up on ten o’clock.

“Holy crap,” I said when we saw how many people were showing up. “It’s like the mall on Arbor Day.”

“There are no Arbor Day sales,” Mary said, looking back at me warily.

“It was a comment about the pedestrian traffic, not the deals and savings.”

“C’mere.” I closed the few feet between us, and she put her arm around my shoulder and gave me a kiss (I think? Maybe she just bumped her face against mine?) through her mask on my temple. “Stay close.”

We finished the walk to the parking lot where people were (like giant assfaces) parking on the grass because the gravel lot was full. I may not be Jane of the Places Our State’s Conservation Department Has Designated as Public Recreation Areas (maybe not actual TV, but I could see that starting out as a Facebook show and moving to Netflix and getting canceled after two seasons; isn’t that their whole business model?), but they all deserved a caning.

Which reminded me, I had switched legs on display and no panties. I suddenly felt shy. If Mary hadn’t been holding me close already, I’d have closed the distance just the same. You’d think the discomfort of the hike with all those welts woulda reminded me, but that’s just background sensations for me at this point. The breeze threatening to lift my skirt was more of a distraction.

“We were bad,” I said to Mary as we put our daypacks in the car.

“How were we bad?”

“You broke a branch. Leave No Trace.”

“Hmmm. You’re right. But really, it’s your fault,” she said as she walked back around the car to me.

“My fault?!? How is it my fault?”

“If you hadn’t needed a spanking, that poor little bush would still have all its branches.”

“Harumph.” I actually said it and pronounced it and gave her my not-impressed look, which she might not have noticed because mask.

She chuckled at me. “Hop on up,” she said as she patted the back seat.

“Why?” Um, I ride in front.

“So we can get you diapered for the car ride home.”

“Mary,” I said under my breath. “We’re not alone.”

“So? C’mon.” She patted the seat again.

“I don’t wanna.”

“Well, we have a long drive ahead of us, and I’m not letting you on my seats without you in a diaper.”

“Church voice,” I reminded apparently no one. Maybe she’d forgotten about church voice because we hadn’t actually been to church since March. Holy schamoley do you get a spanking if you don’t pay attention during Zoom church, but I digress.

“You don’t need to be embarrassed. Lots of little girls need diapers for long car rides.”

“It’s an hour! And I. Am. Not. A. Little. Girl!”

“Honey, really, look. That little girl is wearing a diaper.”

The little girl she was referring to was about 2 and was sitting in a carrier on her dad’s back while her mom smeared her with sunscreen and plopped a floppy hat on her head. And just because I more or less have the same hat doesn’t mean anything!

“Mary, please not here.” I had zero desire to be naked in the parking lot or to wear a diaper. I was hot enough as is, and the skirt I wore hiking? Not the skirt you wear with a diaper in public! (My god, how surreal my life has become).

And the diaper was just part of it. Pantsless in the woods way up the trail and across a meadow was one thing. In the parking lot next to the restrooms .... wait, what the fuck? “I’ll just go use the bathroom.”

“You can’t, sweetie. There’s no way it’s clean.”

Well, duh. It’s a park restroom. And really, even calling it a restroom was surely giving it too much credit. More like a composting toilet with walls and no doubt random scraps of toilet paper sitting and sopping in mystery puddles, but the point being it’s a park bathroom, also known as a contagion chamber since an hour after the thing was installed, so let’s not even with the pretending this has anything to do with covid, okay?

“I’ll pee in the woods.” Or better yet, why am I negotiating where to pee at all? Did I say I had to pee? Nope. See, boys and girls, what I’d done is let my opponent set the terms of the conversation. Communications Mistake #4. Well, now that I’d recognized my error, I could fix it. “I don’t even hafta pee.”

“Yeah ya do.” Okay, well, true but so what? I could hold it for an hour. I shoulda peed up the hill after breakfast like Mary did, but whatev. Home wasn’t far.

Time to pout like a pro. I crossed my arms, looked at my feet, and said in my funeral home voice, “Uhyuhmbuh and uhnuhfulstuhf.”

“What did you say, honey?” Seriously, did I just not get the gene that makes it impossible to whisper effectively?

“I don’t wanna.”

“Are you telling me red light?”

“Welnuhfkuh permuhnott uhghuhf.” It’s a funeral for a puppy; very somber; audible speech would just be in such poor taste an dnot at all fitting with my regal bearing and royal dignity.

“Daffy,” she said, putting her hand under my chin and lifting my gaze.

“No,” I meeped.

“Then, my little hero hiker,” she said as she pulled me into a hug and gave me an Eskimo kiss through our masks (which I liked a way lot and would’ve gone ‘teehee’ if I wasn’t still in pouting mode), you need to get your buns on that seat unless you want me to put you over my knee and give you your second spanking of the day right on the tailgate. Unless that’s what you want. Do you want me to spank your bare bottom on the tailgate where all these people can see? ... And answer with words.”

I did use words! Just very faintly.

“No ... but people will see. We can’t. Someone will call the cops or something.”

“People will not be able to see because this car is blocking their view, and I’ll be right in front of you. It’s just you and me. I promise. C’mon.”

She took my hand and gently gestured me toward our Outback (I’m sure Subaru appreciates our lesbian brand loyalty, but we are terrible brand ambassadors, what with the public nudity and all). I climbed in and laid down, feeling my heart going as fast as when we climbed that hill.

Mary reached out and put her hand on my belly, giving it a little rub. “You’re safe, Daffy.” Well, duh; I was with Mary after all. But still.

She reached under the seat and pulled out a cheap backpack, like the kind cool kids had back in the early nineties. “Where did that come from,” I asked.

“Remember our trip to Target when you backtalked and I had to spank your bottom in the restroom? I told you I was going to start carrying a bag with some of your diapers in it.”

“It’s been there for four months?”

“Mhmm. Which one do you want?” She held a diaper in each hand.

“Mary,” I said again, “church voice.” Like, Catholic Church voice with a nun sitting right behind you who goes shhh! if you make any noise at all ... and she has a ruler, and she’s young and beautiful under that habit, blonde, and ... I’m getting sidetracked.

“No one cares. People change diapers in backseats all the time.” I watched in abject horror as she turned to her left and said, “Hey! Nice day. Just changing a diaper,” and then she waved the thing, and I. Was. So. Humiliated. Even though I knew no one was there. She wouldn’t do that to me. Or to herself, for that matter.

“You are so mean sometimes,” I said as I folded my arms across my chest. I was done participating.

“I think you should wear the one with monsters, because you can be quite the little monster,” Mary said as she unfolded the thing. “Lift up.” Well, I participated in that part while she pushed my skirt up. “Hold your knees for me.” And that part, but, like, they don’t even count.

“I bet this feels good,” she said as she took a wipe out and gave me a thorough, thorough once over. “And goodness, were you naughty today? Is that how you got these stripes on your bumbum? Did you get a spanking? And I thought you were a good girl. Tsk tsk tsk.”

I put my knees down and opened my legs. “I am a good girl,” I pouted. “I’m letting you do this, aren’t I.”

“You’re a very good girl. You want a little powder?”

“Only if you won’t take my saying yes to imply that I enjoy this.”

“Don’t worry,” she said as she turned the round thing and sprinkled some over me, then lifted my shirt just a little and sprinkled some on my tummy, “I would never dream of mistaking that for you enjoying this. The evidence at this end of you on the other hand...”

“I am not!”

“Okay, if you say so.”

“Not!”

“Mhmm.”

“Not.” At least, I didn’t think. She taped the thing closed and gave the front of it some affectionate pats.

“Hands.” She held out her hands and helped me up, and I slid out of the car as she fixed my skirt. No bending over for me until we were back in our garage.

“Are we ready to go home,” she asked.

“Yeah. I need a shower.”

“We can take it together.”

“Thanks for bringing me.” I gave her a hug and she gave one back, and she pulled her mask down and then mine just enough to share a kiss that sexy nun would not approve of (but fuhgetaboutit; Sister Mary Hard Body doesn’t approve of anything).

“Thanks for being patient with me. We did a good job, didn’t we,” Mary asked.

“Mhmm.”

“We’ll try a restaurant this week. Promise”

“Thank you.” Mmmm. My Mary.

We let the hug go, and I stepped back and put my mask on and she did the same until we were back in the car; she said that was the rule, and I’m very good at rules so long as I agree with them and remember them and they’re things I’d probably do anyway. Really.

“Ready to go,” she asked me.

“Mhmm.” She started around the car, and I, um, needed a second. “Daphne?”

“Just a ... hmm.” I mean, I did need to, and I couldn’t use the restroom and she makes me use them anyway, so why not be comfortable? On the inside, at least.

And you’d have thought I just won the National Standup Comedy Bee or something, because she looked so happy and amused and delighted (and maybe proud, which, ugh). I probably looked sunburned with the blushing because I knew that she knew, and she practically pranced back around the car.

She full on felt me up down there, practically, giving me more pats, and I just wanted to get in the freakin’ car. I stood there very, very nervously, and she put a hand on each of my shoulders, stooped down a little, and said in not-her-church-voice, “Well, you’re wet again, but it’s not so bad. Do think you can make this diaper last one whole hour more?” And she winked at me, and people were looking in our direction and I couldn’t tell if they were looking at me or just in our general direction. I don’t think they could hear, but, um, also not sure.

My response was, “(Puh puh),” because my mouth just opened and closed like a fish out of water without making any words come out. Which she couldn’t even see, because mask.

She just likes watching me turn crimson and making me feel tingly sensations that vanilla people do not feel when their wife announces to a parking lot they just wet their diaper. And my feeling those tingly sensations had nothing to do – at all – with the diaper or the warm wetness that was in it by my parts at all. Really.

Mary guided me, still stunned, into the car. At least she let me buckle myself in. I said nothing until we got out of the parking lot. My breath was a little shaky, and she was probably wondering if I was angry, so I informed her, “When we get home ... (deep breath in, forcefully pushing it out, oxygen helping with all the cognitive functions) ... you are going to make that up to me.” And I insistently, maybe if you wanna see it that way, did a lot of gesturing.

“I can’t wait,” she said sunnily.

“I wasn’t done,” I cut her off. “And then you are going to work on your church voice ... And order a nun outfit ... And bake something ... And it had better have chocolate.”

And for the record, I could’ve held it for that hour home.

And then after Mary’s parking lot announcement and everything leading up to it, I needed a different kind of relief.

But I am not a little girl, and my condition, a/k/a need to cum everywhere forever for the rest of eternity, was not related to her stupid diapers. Really!