Mary and Daphne #48 (Patreon)

Mary gets frisky after having a migraine. A couple days after the aftershocks pass and she can move her head quickly without feeling like her brain is bouncing off the inside of her skull, and she gets rather solicitous, wanting to thank me for tending to her so delicately. And what else would I do? She’s my Mary, and it’s my job to take care of her. I wouldn’t go so far as to say it’s a role reversal. It’s just a marriage.

Solicitous in what way, you ask? In the best way, of course.

“Ow! Fuck!”

“Excuse me, young lady,” Mary said from her position behind and to my left.

“Sorry.”

“We’ll just hafta start over now,” she said and lined up the school paddle again.

“Please no. I OW!!!” Ooo. I’d have some narsty bruises for at least a week. Just because we’re lifestyle doesn’t mean we can’t cook up a sexy scene now and again, and I’d been going through the closet cleaning things out when I stumbled across the schoolgirl outfit Mary bought me and made me wear to Target. Having a bit of time on my hands, I broke out the sewing machine while Mary was in her office and made it a little bit – what’s the word? – slutty.

I wrote my own note for detention and took it dutifully to the Headmistress.

“Did you think I wouldn’t notice,” Mary asked as she tapped the paddle against her leg.

“No, Miss.”

“Excuse me?”

“I mean, no, Sister Mary. I OWWW!” She’s so good at that, you might suspect she went into catholic education just for the opportunity to paddle troubled young ladies like myself.

“How many is that?”

“Four, Sister Mary.” We don’t roleplay often, because who needs to in our house, or break out the school paddle because it’s not our favorite. They sorta go hand in hand, so if we’re gonna do the one, we might as well break out the other. Nor do I bend over the kitchen table very often. Mary prefers me over her knee, where I also prefer me, but Sister Mary insisted over the knee spankings are for the little girls. If she was hoping to get me to admit I fell into such a category, she could keep hoping.

“You have two more.”

“Yes, Sis OWWWW!!!” Urgh!! Fuck! I sometimes wish I was normal and my idea of a good time with my wife was assembling a jigsaw puzzle, but we are how we are.

“Last one.” CRACK!

“Aieeee!” My arms we’re shaking as I pushed myself up from the table. My entire diaphragm was shaking as I tried to stay calm and keep my hands from going straight to my butt. Funny, if it were a real punishment, I’d have been sobbing right then, a total mess begging for Mary to forgive me. But it was just role play. I guess I needed some confirmation I was still me and not a weepy emotional dumpster fire after so many months of pandemic and ageplay nuttery. If I could take six from the school paddle and not need to be mopped up off the floor, that was some nice reassurance I was still a functioning person.

“You wanted to show off,” Sister Mary said to me, “so you’re gonna show off.” She tucked the skirt into its own waistband and left me bare assed for the entire school to see. If only enrollment wasn’t down to just me I’d be getting some wonderful attention.  Whatever happened to the field hockey captain with the secret hard on for me anyway? Of yeah, she got expelled for unladylike fondling and failure to exist.

“Now,” Sister Mary said to me with that predatory look in her eye, “the rest of your punishment.”

“The rest?”

“Hush, you, unless you need more ...” She eyed me hard looking for any sign that’s what I needed; I gave her no such sign because did I mentions OW! “You are to write a list of ten reasons why you are not too old to spank. This list will be completed by lunch time when I come out of my office. Is that understood?”

“Yes, Sister Mary.”

“Just how well you write this list will determine whether I send a note home with you at the end of the day. Is that understood?”

“Yes, Sister Mary.”

“Good. Now, come stand right here.” She pointed directly in front of herself. I shuffled over with even those tiny movements enough to make my ass hurt. I got within a foot when, “Mmmm! (sigh) (kissy noises) Eeep!”

Sister Mary kisses better than any nun I know, even if she insists on squeezing bruised butt cheeks. Or maybe especially because she insists on it.

I grabbed the notepad and pen from where we keep it in the kitchen drawer. Once upon a time it was used to make grocery lists. Now that groceries are being delivered, it does that less. I sauntered into the living room and debated for about two nanoseconds between lying face down on the couch and cannon balling onto my perfectly spanked ass before I happily eased my butt down onto the cushions and settled in, letting the ache remind me how much I like everything about getting spanked.

I like the way it hurts when it’s happening. I like the way it hurts right after. I like the way it hurts days after. I like the way it makes everything so sensitive. I like the way it feels when lowering my spanked butt into a hot bath. I like the way it feels under jeans and skirts and just hanging out there for all to see. I like the way food tastes after I’ve been spanked to a sobbing, endorphin–fueled mess. I like the way Mary makes me feel about four inches tall when she’s scolding me and about ten feet high when she’s telling me what a good girl I am for taking my spankings so well.

So I suppose the number one reason why I’m not too old to spank is that I love it, but that wasn’t the answer Sister Mary was looking for. Putting myself into the headspace of the only, and worst behaved, student of Our Lady of Perpetually Swollen Backsides, I had to come up with ten good reasons.

Reason Number One was easy: because Mary says I’m not too old to spank. ‘Mary says’ is a good reason for just about everything in our house.

Reason Number Two was also easy: because Sister Mary says. Half a dozen of one, six of the other.

Hmmm. Reason Number three: because my behavior demonstrates I have not outgrown the need for discipline. Both Mary and Sister Mary would appreciate that one.

Four: because I don’t get spanked enough at home. Sister Mary would no doubt agree, circular logic though it was, while regular Mary would set about correcting that mistake.

Five: because I haven’t outgrown having such a spankable butt. I mean, I can’t be too old for spankings if my butt just cries out for more spankings, amiright?

Six: does anyone ever really outgrow spankings? I don’t think so, and neither does Sister Mary.

Seven: I’m only thirty–one.

Eight: without the threat of spankings to keep me in line, I’d no doubt run wild. True story. Staying up all hours. Running barefoot with the dogs. Raising hell. Listening to Adele at hard rock volume. Just awful behavior.

Nine: years on a calendar mean nothing. That’s a damn good reason for lots of things.

And ten: I don’t wanna be too old for spankings. And me not wanting to is a reason neither Mary nor Sister Mary has ever successfully spanked out of me.

I thought that was a pretty good list, but let’s face up to facts: Sister Mary is exacting and kinda a bitch. Definitely one of those dungeon master sadist nuns you read about in, um, places with books. She’d most certainly be alerting Mary to the fact that I was paddled in school, and sympathetic as Mary can be, she’s rather stern when it comes to the rule about getting spanked away from home: you get spanked again at home, too. Did I mention all this role play stuff works best if you don’t delve into the logic?

I think part of the trouble with this school is instead of being in class like I’m supposed to be, I was assigned lunch duty instead, which is fine by me because peanut butter. Sister Mary looked over my list as she sipped her milk.

“Well, some of these are clearly too snarky to be taken seriously, young lady, and there are definitely some things missing from this list,” Sister Mary said to me. “But it’s moot because I already called home.”

“Drat,” I said flatly.

“And I have some instructions you are to carry out before the end of the school day.”

“O darn.”

“Keep pushing it, young lady, and see where that attitude gets you. Come here.”

“Yes, Sister Mary.” O but goddam she needed to just cancel whatever work she needed to get done that afternoon. I thought the whole work-from-home during a pandemic thing was all about flexibility, and we both had needs we needed to meet the fuck out of. That’ll teach me to start with the role playing so early in the day. I stood in front of Mary aching for whatever she was gonna do to me. She flipped my skirt up in front.

“You are to ensure you are ready to pass an inspection by five o’clock. Not five–o–one. Understood?”

“Yes, Sister Mary.”

Okay, so I wanted to fail that inspection epically. No doubt I’d fail (always do), but I wanted to fail in a way that guaranteed I’d regret never having failed so hard before.

Of course, failing epically requires perfection, ironically. I’m pretty good with keeping up with all the ladyscaping I do, but I took my time that afternoon in the tub getting every part of me all spic and span, whatever that means (I think it’s a nautical term?). I lingered in the tub for a bit doing, um, stuff. Yeah … stuff.

It’s not like we’re method actors when it comes to role play, that’s for sure. I just woke up and wrote myself a note for detention because it was a Wednesday and I think we deserved a fun day. Mary does get frisky after she recovers from a migraine, and I get frisky in anticipation of it, and I didn’t know what was on her schedule, but for sure we’d manage to fit something in. (Ha! Accidental dirty puns are the best kind). And besides, as Mary would tell you, I’d gone four days without a spanking, and that surely meant I was on my way to being in trouble. Might as well just get the spanking out of the way and see what other joyful things we could find to do.

Of all the ways I’ve ever bratted, I never failed an inspection on purpose. I’ve never had to. By the time Mary gets to the last part, I’m not, as she would say, fit for company. She says it’s because I’m just a dirty little girl who needs to try harder, and I say it’s because her standards are too high and her inspection technique too handsy. It comes down to the heather grey test: if she were to slide a pair of heather grey cotton panties up my legs and seat then snugly, would any of the grey be, um, darker than other parts?

I’ve passed every part of inspections except that part, and it may, if you ask me, have something to do with the way Mary’s inspections are so tactile. If she could just keep her hands to herself, who knows what amazing inspirational inspectionational heights I may soar to.

Besides, if Sister Mary sent a note home, whatever the hell that means, I’d be getting my bruised bottom spanked anyway. Might as well do something to really deserve it and maybe get some other funishment along the way.

“Daphne Ann,” I heard from downstairs round about a minute to five.

“Upstairs,” I called back.

“You have some explaining to do, young lady,” she said as she sauntered upstairs. I didn’t actually see her saunter, but I know my wife, and she’s never not sauntering when she’s on her way to do things to me. Also, in my imagination, she’s always sauntering because it’s just what she does, being all sexy and stuff.

I took being ready for an inspection to mean she wanted me nude and standing in front of the ottoman. She likes to sit there while inspecting me so she’s at eye level with, um, my inspection points.

“I can explain,” I said as sexily as I could manage. I should’ve turned the air conditioning down. I had … goose bumps.

“Look how nicely you obeyed,” she said to me with a glint in her eye.

“Of course I obeyed. I’m very obedient.”

“You wanna tell me what gives,” she said as she put a hand on each shoulder and rubbed my arms to warm me up.

“What part?”

“Why don’t we start with that detention note you wrote this morning addressed to ‘Sister Mary.’”

“I told you to buy a nun outfit weeks ago.”

“You just felt the need to get your bottom paddled this morning. Is that it?”

“Well, you always say I get all out of sorts if I don’t get spanked for a few days.”

“You do, and,” she said stepping around behind me, “as long as you started that little game, I think we should finish it. Is Sister Mary a hard spanker?”

Yow! Mary sure loves to a squeeze a bruised butt. Just like Sister Mary. You don’t think they’re secretly the same person, do you?

“Y–yes.”

“And what exactly did you do to get such a hard spanking?”

“I, um, got caught looking in the girls’ shower.”

“Well, that’s just silly, Daphne Ann. You are a girl. You coulda been in the girls’ shower.”

“Now ya tell me.” SMACK! Aww, she really loves me.

“And what did Sister Mary do?”

“You can see.” As in, the marks were very much apparent.

“But I wanna hear.”

“She bent me over a table...”

“And...”

“She paddled me.”

“How many times?”

“Six.”

“Six!?! That’s an awful lot for a little girl.”

“I’m not a little girl.”

“And this list she had you write. Is there anything you’d like to add to it?” SMACK!

“Eep! Um, not that I can think of at the moment?”

Damn, but she couldn’t keep her hands off me. She’s only got the two, but they were in five places at once. Her breath was hot on the back of my neck. It was obvious enough she wanted to skip to the end.

“You’re looking awfully clean.” She took her left index finger and traced a line from the back of my neck across my shoulder, down my side and across the small of my back. I, um, may have shuddered just bit.

“W–why do you li–like inspections so much,” I ventured to ask.

“Because it’s a perfect excuse to check every part of you one (kiss). Spot (kiss). At a time (kiss). Arms up.”

She likes to narrate as she goes, tracing her fingers here and there like she has a pair of white gloves on. I suggested such inspection apparel once and she said she didn’t want to because she likes to feel me. Well, that was just one heckuva nice compliment.

“I like to check,” she says, “that you’re keeping up with all your hygiene. Like making sure you’re smooth in all the right places.” She took a deep breath through her nose. “And smelling like pristine everywhere.” She’s a she–wolf is what she is, always trying to sniff me out and eat me. Heehee.

“And I like to check that all your ticklish spots,” she kept going, “are still ticklish.” She brushed my underarm with the back of her hand. “And that you’re staying in shape by making sure everything is as firm as the last time I checked it. Like these.”

“Hhhh!”

“And these.”

“M–marry.”

“On your back with your knees open.” Don’t gotta tell me twice. I got on the bed and did as she bid me, and she checked things thoroughly, at least as thoroughly as she could without borrowing Sandy’s med fet toys. “I want to compliment you,” she said.

“On w–what?”

“On keeping yourself so shiny and fresh. Can’t be easy what with all the time you’re spending in potty pants.”

“Don’t be mean to me,” I pretended to whine.

“It must help that you don’t have a stray hair on you. Very nicely done.”

“I’m detail oriented.”

“We’ve talked about what this part of you needs to be like in order to pass an inspection. Do you think you pass?”

“No.”

“And why is that?”

I’d have answered that I could feel my own heat radiating off her hand back at me, but I was having trouble with my tongue working in the moment and specifically me not swallowing it when she pinched...  “Hhhh!”

“That’s strike one,” she said. I counted three, but whatever. Ha!

Mary slid off the bed and took an ankle in each hand, straightening out my legs. I kinda love it when she does this. “Over,” she said, and then I was face down. Told ya she was a ninja. I love that she can just flip me over, and she has a standing invitation to do it.

“Let’s look over the back half of you ... Such strong shoulders,” she said, kneading my back muscles, “under such soft skin. You’ve been moisturizing.”

“Mhmm.”

“And this butt,” she said, “what a perfect shade of spanked.”

“Sister Mary does good work.”

“She’s an expert.” One of her hands and then the other were on my butt checks. Kneading, massaging, squeezing. Spreading. “Tsk tsk tsk.”

Mary laid down next to me and brushed a strand of hair out of her face. She had one of those smiles of hers on. “You make the days fun, Daffodil.”

“Quit stalling,” I told her.

“Stalling? What am I stalling?”

“Your findings.”

“My findings,” she said and scooted closer, “are that you’re pretty as a picture, fresh as a daisy, clean as a whistle, and that your inspection is an abject failure.”

“Ya don’t say.”

“I do say,” she said. “Setting aside the wetness I found ...”

“And the redness and swelling,” I helpfully pointed out.

“That too. When I tell you to present yourself for an inspection, what should you be wearing?”

“Nothing.”

“Nothing. But I found something.”

“No you didn’t,” I said.

“But I did.”

“I don’t see a thing,” I riposted. And I didn’t. Not a speck of clothing or other wearables visible. In that position.

“You have to look in just the right spot,” she countered. “Perhaps you forgot it was there.”

“Mayhaps.” That got a funny look.

“Or perhaps you thought I wouldn’t notice.”

“Could be.”

“Or perhaps you put that plug in deliberately so I’d have no choice but to punish you for your insolence.”

“That too.”

“You know I’m going to leave it in for your spanking,” she said.

Hellz yeah I did. Heehee.