Mary and Daphne #43 (Patreon)

I had a streak! Not that it’s anything to be proud of because, I am, after all, an adult and not a little kid who has so much trouble staying out of trouble that not getting in trouble for two whole weeks is cause for celebration. But I’m proud just the same.

Two whole weeks without so much as a timeout. Sure, I collected a spare swat here and there and more than a couple warnings, but I needed warnings only because I’m a good girl who makes good choices. Mary says so. Of course she always adds on, “when you remember to” to the end of that, but I’m usually not listening at that point and thinking instead that I must be one of human history’s all–time good girls and all around wonderful people if Mary says. She’s a tough grader and an expert on good girls, and her opinion is the most important in the whole world.

Of course, the thing about a streak is that they end. Otherwise they wouldn’t be streaks. They’d just be how things are. But I like to focus on the positives in life. So I had a spank–free streak, Mary was very proud of me, I think she even told some people, and they were proud of me, too. I was proud of me, and thinking back on it, getting a big head may have been the thing that led to my streak ending. It’s not like I thought I had finally grown out of needing spankings (perish that awful thought), as Mary accused me of thinking mere moments before the streak ending event. More that the butt pain of bad choices was such a distant memory I wasn’t really thinking about it at the time. And it wasn’t a bad choice. It just wasn’t the best choice, depending on your perspective. But again, Mary’s perspective is the one that matters in all things spanking or just, ya know, relating to my butt in general.

Anyhoo, it was kind of a big day for us. We went over to see Mary’s family, whom we haven’t seen since March. It was in the backyard with her dad manning the grill, which is exactly the right word for how men are with meat (so weird), and her mom grandmomming my nephew to death, who turned four without any hullabaloo during the stupid quarantine. Everyone deserves a hullabaloo.

I was talking to my sister–in–law when I was interrupted by a pair of arms wrapping themselves around me from behind. “Can I borrow Daffy,” Mary asked her sister.

“How are you two still in the disgusting newlywed phase,” my sister–in–law asked.

“Just lucky.” And we went inside to Mary’s childhood bedroom. It’s not a shrine to high school Mary, but only because she lived there for a bit after college, so it’s more a shrine to college Mary, who was pretty fucking hot.

Funny thing about her childhood bedroom is I’ve gotten spanked in there more times than she has (but probably fewer times than some of her dolls), and definitely gotten busy in there at least as many times as Mary. “What’s up, hot stuff,” I asked while starting to get a little handsy with the erstwhile tenant.

She took my handsy hands and kissed my wandering fingers. “The volume of your voice,” she said back to me.

“Ooh,” I whispered, “do we need to keep it down?”

“I mean,” she said while still holding my hands and putting on her serious face, “you’re being awfully loud. I know you’re excited to be with people again, but you need to dial it down to about 5.”

“O. Sorry. Guess I’m just a little rambunctious.” Or buzzing with energy because, like Mary said, we were at a social gathering for the first time in almost six months. A family gathering, but I like these people. It was a taste of normality, or something close to it. And, also, I had a couple sodas, which I generally don’t ever have, and it’s not like I never have caffeine, but not, ya know, except every six months or so, and it kinda hits me like, FUCK YEAH! But not really, because only kids get buzzed on sugar and caffeine, and I’m not a kid. Really (but also yes with the sugar and caffeine).

“Thank you. And could you also chill a little with the political discussion?”

“Why,” I said because we’re not the type of people not to speak our minds. I didn’t even offend anyone because we’re all on the same page. “Everyone agrees with us.”

“Exactly, so maybe you didn’t need to slam your fist on the table and use all those F bombs in front of Milo.” Guess I let the righteousness (and sugar and caffeine, but not really and also yes) get good to me.

“O. Sorry. I forget he’s a big kid now.”

“I know. He’s a little sponge. He hears everything.”

“I’ll chill.”

“Thank you. That’s my good girl.” And she kissed me. I got a kiss and(!) affirmation that I’m a good girl and (!!!) got to go out and be with people. It was a good fucking day.

“I’m sorry, what did you call me?”

“My good girl.”

“Ehee!” So I like that way more than is reasonable, so much so I make squeaky noises sometimes when she calls me that.

“And you’ve been such a good girl for two whole weeks. It’s like some of those punishments actually got through to you.”

“I’m just so good at making good choices. Possibly the best ever.”

“Well, with a little help.”

“A teeny bit, at most,” I riposted.

“And that’s why I brought you up here,” she said as her eyes turned from their beautiful hazel to demon red. “Shorts down.”

“What? Why?”

“Because I said so,” she reminded me. Which seemed like enough of a reminder for me to not need any other form of reminder, but I wasn’t consulted. She sat down on the edge of her bed, grabbed me by the waistband of my shorts, and tugged me over. In a second I was naked below the waist.

“I don’t wanna spanking,” I whined.

“Don’t get all pouty.”

“I’m not pouting,” I pouted, except that I don’t ever pout. I’m way too cool and collected to pout. And I stomped my foot for good measure. Which is neither whiny nor pouty. It’s declarative. I was making a declaration.

“I hope not.” She leaned forward and gave me a kiss on my tummy. “Because you’ve been such a good girl.”

Sigh. Flutter. Melt. Why do I have to be such an approval slut?

“But,” she said as she stood up and pivoted us around, “I’m not going to spank your bottom.” With a gentle nudge, she made me fall backward onto the bed. “Let’s get that reminder on you.”

Aww, fuck nuggets. I only just then noticed the backpack from the car at the head of the bed.

“Marrrrrryyy! I don’t wanna.”

“I know, sweetie,” she said while reaching for the backpack. Like hey! I’m talking here!

“But I don’t wanna,” I repeated.

“Who wears diapers,” she countered.

“Who enjoys diapers,” I threw right back at her.

“Excuse me, little girl.” Dammit! Dammit dammit damn it and crap! “This is not up for discussion.”

I was looking away from her. Bad enough she had me wearing the stupid things around strangers and kinky friends. Around family?!? I ... no. Just no.

“Feet up,” she said. I turned back to look at her, and she had a big white diaper unfolded in her hand.

Ya know what? “No.” Well, that got her attention. She sorta did a double take.

“Are you telling me red light?”

I don’t like those. It throws everything off. You can’t red light in a lifestyle relationship without making things weird for a while. Doesn’t take you back to Square 1 on what’s okay and what’s not, but it definitely takes you back to Square 2. I said I wanted her to be in charge, and she said that means I do what she decides, and I said, Yes please! If she says to take out the trash on trash day and I don’t, that’s not a fundamental relationship dealy. If she says to get over her knee because I didn’t do what she said and I say no, that goes back to the ground rules this whole house of nudey cards is built on.

“No,” I ventured.

“Then feet up, little girl.”

“No. I don’t wanna.”

And then she crossed her arms and glared at me. And I didn’t give in! For I am strong and independent! And don’t need her stupid diapers! Or approval. Or ... other stuff.

I just laid there with my arms crossed and glared back. I had no need to stand up. Or put my shorts back on. Or leave the room. Or ... other stuff.

So I just laid there. Half–naked. Having a staring contest. But not really because I have nothing to prove. I just decided staring contests were beneath me and look at other things that weren’t Mary’s face.

And I was on offense! Let her be on defense with her crossed arms and ‘or else’ look. I don’t need to cross my arms. So I uncrossed them.

Her glare didn’t even frighten me. Not only didn’t frighten me, but with my butt (and ... other stuff) just hanging out there and flat on my back, where a warrioress such as myself is never defenseless, I didn’t even feel self–conscious. I glared right back. And then decided I didn’t wanna glare. I don’t need to telegraph what I’m thinking. I don’t need to explain myself!

Or cover anything. I just wanted to. And when she nudged my hand away from my panties, I didn’t reach for them again because I decided I didn’t want them. They’re stifling. They can’t contain me! Nothing and no one can contain me! I can’t even contain me!

And ... stuff.

She took a deep breath and sighed. She started to say, “If someone knocks...”

And I didn’t panic. I didn’t talk over her. The very sound of her voice did not drive me to instantaneously say anything to avoid deepening the confrontation. I was not intimidated by her changed demeanor. I’m in charge! I am not intimidatable! I make up words to suit my needs!

“Fine,” I did not say too fast. Nor did I groan, roll my eyes, or kick my heel against the bed, despite what others might claim I did.

And she uncrossed her arms! I made her do that! Me! I may be the one naked when she says and red–butted when she says and peeing in my pants when she says, but I am powerful! She uncrossed her arms at the very sound of my voice (giving into her)! Because I am more powerful than her. And ... stuff.

And I was not making a face that was a cross between a sad puppy and a grumpy puppy. That’s just libelous slander if you hear that. And if you do hear that, you should politely, but firmly, correct them.

“But,” I did not sputter, “but ... urgh ... ... ... ohhhhrgh ...” I said those non–words with authority, I’ll have the whole world know.

“Hey,” Mary said softly. “Hey.” She sat down on the bed next to me. She came to me. That shows who wears the pants in this marriage (even when I’m naked because she said.) “Use your words. What’s wrong?”

“I don’t wanna wear a stupid diaper,” I didn’t whine.

I am so powerful I made her do that thing where you scoff and chortle at the same time, for which there is no word in English, so I’m going to call it a scortle. She scortled. I made her do that. Because I’m powerful, I’m funny even when I don’t mean to be, and ... other ... stuff. Really!

“You always say that,” she said.

“I always mean it.” And I recrossed my arms. So there.

“Hey.” She uncrossed my arms. Which I chose to let her do. I have agency. I am agent! “Where did my good girl go?”

Bitch! Now, I am not needy. I am not in need of constant affirmation. I am not desperate for validation. Those are misperceptions, and if anyone, including me, told you I was then they were lying or you misunderstood. “I am a good girl,” I didn’t whine. I did not. Fake news. “I just don’t wanna.”

“Do I need to make you really tell me what’s wrong?”

“No ...” Because she can’t make me do anything. We powerful agents are not subject to coercion or persuasion like you weak minded others are.

“Aww, c’mon,” she said while lifting my shirt and swirling her (perfect) fingertips on my (pretty) tummy.  Which did not make me go, “Eegh” or squirm. “I bet I know, but I want you to say.”

“What if they see?”

“Surely they’ve seen a little girl in diapers before.”

“Marrrryyy.”

“Of course, with Milo being out of diapers now they might not be thrilled to have diapers back in the house...”

“Stooooop!”

“Daphne Ann, do you not trust me?”

And that accusation did not – did not! – scare me into sitting up and furrowing my brow and pledging my devotion with words like, “Of course I do! You’re my Mary.”

“You silly little girl. Then what’s the problem? Don’t you think I’ve already thought of that?”

I am not silly! I am a force of nature. Tornadoes and hurricanes are not silly. I could knock down a building, and the insurance claim would say “Act of God” because I am a force of nature, and forces of nature are not silly! And I am not a little girl!

“Iumntittlegrl,” I said like a thunderclap.

“What was that,” she chuckled at me. Don’t you be laughing at my thunder!

“I’m not a little girl. How many times do I have to tell you?”

“You’re right. I’m sorry.” Don’t you be humoring my force of nature! “C’mere.”

Don’t you be hugging my ... mmm. I don’t know how she can be so soft and firm at the same time. Which is irrelevant because derechos and earthquakes care not for such ... sigh.

“You (smooch) don’t (kiss) need to worry (nose tap) about my family finding out.”

“Yeah I do. They’ll never look at me the same.”

She sighed. “First off, you don’t need to worry because I said so. I’ll do the worrying about my family. Second, they’ll never be anything but nice to you because they love you and because they love me and because they had better if they know what’s good for them. And lastly, I got you new diapers, if you would stop being such a silly goose and pay attention to what I had.”

“Iumntaillyoose.”

She understood my authoritative mumbling that time because she said, “You are such a silly goose!” She reached over and grabbed the (no! my! DAMMIT! her) diaper and handed it to me. “See how thin and quiet.”

“It’s not thin,” I pointed out.

“It’s thinner than your other ones.” Which are hers!

“It’s thicker than panties.”

“And those are thicker than nothing at all, but you’re not allowed to go commando.” Talk about a red herring. And a selectively enforced rule. And a non sequitor.

“Well, it’s ... “

“I’m waiting ...”

I didn’t actually have another objection, other than what it was. And that got shot down already. Again.

“It’s ... ugly.”

“Ugly,” she asked, surprised. I surprised her. For I am full of surprises! Surprises and power and agency. Not neediness or eagerness to please or a constant desire for approval or silliness or any goose parts. Really.

“Yeah. It’s ... plain and ... it has those stupid lines.”

“Honey, those are wetness indicators.”

Oooorgh! “I don’t even need those.” Speaking of dumb things to say.

“They’re not for you; they’re so caregivers can see when someone is wet. These are medical diapers.”

“O.”

“They’re thinner and quieter. I got them for you for when we’re out sometimes.”

“O.”

“But if you’d rather have a pretty one ...”

“No!”

“... you have some in your diaper bag.”

“No! This is ... whatever.”

“Whatever?”

“Yeah. Just ... fine.”

“What do you say.”

Aw, crap no! No way was I going to say, “Thank you ... for thinking of me.” Dammit...

“You’re welcome. Now,” she said while manhandling me so I was spread eagle on my back with her sitting between my legs like she was changing a ... dammit.

“Lift your bottom.”

Whatever ...

“Mary?”

“Yeah, kiddo?”

“Since this is quieter, does that mean I have to wear them more often?” See? She thinks she’s ten steps ahead of me all the time, but I’m onto her game. Mostly. Sometimes. Frequently enough.

“I didn’t even think about that!”

“Liar.”

“There. See,” she said as she smoothed out the tapes and gave my front a pat. Which I don’t like. Even if it feels good. And even if I like it I don’t. Just don’t tell anyone. “How does it feel? And be truthful.”

“It ...” I wiggled my hips, and it didn’t make any noise. I could close my legs. It was snug in the right places. I wasn’t instantly sweaty around the waistband like with the other ones. Dammit ... “It feels ... tolerable.”

“Uh-huh. Sit up.” And she helped me get re–dressed, not because I’m helpless but because I am nobility. We nobles have always had our peasant servants dress us. I’m noble and powerful and an agent and I forget the other stuff I said, but I’m those things too.

“Now,” she said and gave me another kiss, “no one will notice (kiss). And Y]you’re safe (kiss). And do you know why (kiss)?”

“Because you say so?”

“And because I’m right here.”

And I did not get a lump in my throat. I didn’t. I had no emotions at all. I was a (diapered) spartan at Thermopylae (in–laws’ house) making my stand (capitulating) at the Hot Gates (wife’s childhood bedroom) before an angry army (of one – my loving and doting and pretty and kind and soft but firm and darling Mary). Dammit...

“And,” she continued because she loves to continue. If ever someone needed a spanking for not knowing when to stop... “In case that’s not enough of a reminder for you to be on your best behavior and watch that pretty little mouth of yours, I have a paci in this bag, too.”

“Marrryyy.”

“Sweet little thing that you are.”

“I’m not little.”

“How big are you?”

“Marrryyy....”

“Soooo big?”

“Stop,” I didn’t say while chuckling and blushing and leaning my head on her shoulder.

“So big. Ready to go rejoin the others?”

“I never wanted to un–join them.” Swat!

“You know when we get home I have to give you a spanking for telling me no?”

“I know.”

“On your pretty bare bottom.”

“I know.”

“The one under the diaper you’re wearing.”

And then I made that sound where you push the air out of your nose hard because you’re getting excited, and there’s also no word for that in English. “I know ... but your heart isn’t gonna be in it.”

“Is that a challenge, little girl?”

“No...”

“And you’re getting double if I hear Milo dropping any F bombs.”

“That’s not fair!”

“Tough cookies.”

“You’re so mean.”

“Is that why you’re smiling?”

“Am not.” Stupid face making faces without my approval.

“C’mere.” I got another hug and gave a damn good one back.

Funny how we went up to her room because I was so wound up, and she was the one with the sudden energy to burn. YOW!“Mary!”

“What?”

“Nothing ... I ... tell a girl before you’re gonna squeeze her butt that ... hard.” I wasn’t flustered or weak kneed or any other things you might hear. It was, just, ya know, I deserve a little respect for my force of agency sharknados and ... stuff.

“Just checking your diaper.”

I didn’t stick my tongue out and there’s no photographic proof I did. “Fibber. And it’s your diaper. I’m just ... using it ...for you.” Dammit...

And no one noticed what I was wearing. And wearing it did not suddenly make me quieter, and it didn’t make me stay right next to Mary, nor did it put me on my best behavior, in case you hear differently from lying liars who tell lies when they’re lying. So it was completely ineffective, and I didn’t like it, and it wasn’t more comfortable than the other ones, and I didn’t pee in their kitchen. And I didn’t cave. Really.

Because I not an approval slut. I don’t need affirmation or to be told I’m a good girl or the loving embrace of the sorceress I married or her smiling at me like I’m the best thing since sunshine (though I am). Really. I don’t need those affirmation and to be told I’m a good girl or Mary’s loving embrace or beaming smile. I just need them to be happy. Which is different. Really.

And I am powerful and persuasive and full up to my ears with agency and thunder and resolve and noble lineage and decorum and ... stuff … and things. Really.

And I’ll tell you one more thing: that four–year–old has the WORST potty mouth. Dammit...