Mary and Daphne #55 (Patreon)

The next day, Mary made me eat breakfast with no pants on. She claims my butt needs to air out if I’m going to insist on wearing diapers to bed, which, if you ask me and I did ask me and here’s what I think, is about as funny as her spanking my butt while going, “Why ya spankin’ yourself? Why ya spankin’ yourself?” Not that she ever did that. I’m just supposed to be all naïve and accept that she’s thinking about my wellbeing and has no ulterior motive when she sits down in a chair as soon as I walk into the kitchen, freshly showered with my butt still smarting enough that the hot water made me go “Eep!” and says to me, “Over here, missy.”

“What,” I asked all confusedly as I complied. “It’s not even nine yet. I didn’t do anything.”

“Of course you didn’t,” she said as she pantsed me and tipped me over her lap. “I just wanna check your bottom to see how it’s doing this morning.”

“(Grumble).”

“Hmmm,” she said like she was Sherlock Holmes inspecting a clue. Maybe I can invent a board game: Kinky Clue – Who Spanked Daphne? It was Mary! In the living room! With the paddle! “You’ll recover (pat pat squeeze),” was her considered opinion.

“Eep!”

“Why you eepin’?”

“Because you’re squeezing,” I pouted. I’ll cop to that pout. “Eep! No fair pinching either.”

“If I were a fortune teller,” my wife–of–many–trades snarked, “I’d say this shade of spanked means you’ll behave yourself very well today.”

“Yeah, so?”

“And you’ll be the most biddable and eager–to–please version of yourself.”

“I’m always eager–to–please … mmmmm …” She was rubbing my butt and mmmmm. I like that “… mmmmm prrrr.”

“Such a good girl after a good, hard spanking. What are we making for breakfast?”

Fast forward to the late afternoon, and the suspense was building because even though it was a week away, it was almost Halloween! But there’s no kinky trunk–or–treat this year :(

That event is one of the few places where I can trip balls on peanut butter pumpkins and other intoxicants and generally lose my shit, interrupted by Mary and her Designated Daphne Disciplinarian Corp periodically trying to (so they claim) calm me down by tossing me over their knees in a public venue. I mean, sure, I can do that at play parties, but in the absence of holiday festivities people just look at me weird if I eat a buncha candy and shout “I’m tripping balls” as Mary whacks my butt. And the threshold for weird at play parties is pretty damn high, so I must be really outta my gourd.

I was even getting excited to hand out candy (which, me giving away candy, represents some serious personal growth), but we’re not doing that either. Nope, we decided we’re doing something with ‘nillas. I like vanillas, but I realized I hadn’t been around them, except Nana, for more than half a year. Like I even remembered how to be around normal people. Maybe I need to make a point of zooming with normies more often just to brush up.

Anyway, my sister decided their Halloween would feature a fire pit on their driveway with chairs arrayed too far to really enjoy a firepit on a driveway and a bowl of candy she said is not for me but for trick–or–treaters and is to be left at the end of the driveway (and left alone by me). Costumes optional, but costumes are a good 15% of our Halloween fun. Adjusting upward in the absence of the other things we do on Halloween and adjusting downward for not getting to wear our sexy costumes, I’d put that at around 50% this year. Only problem being, in the absence of a clear theme (‘gettin’ some’, being our perennial favorite), I wasn’t sure what my costume might be. Enter Mary.

I’m beginning to suspect that in addition to being a fortune teller, a detective, an information technology something or other, a ninja, a lawyer, a coyote, and a queen, she’s a philosopher. Now, I took a philosophy class in college, so I know a little even though I’m far from an expert, but I think she’s a philosopher. Who wouldn’t want to marry a ninja philosopher queen?!? Not me, even though I think her brand of philosophy is sophistry, to wit: it’s okay to push limits she herself would never push provided it makes me blush. Which is to say she would never wear an inappropriate costume to a vanilla Halloween party, and she would never make me wear an inappropriate costume to a vanilla Halloween party, but she’d make me wear an almost inappropriate costume to one.

I protested and sort of actually won, so that’s Mary – 2,304 to Daphne – 3. I think. Mary didn’t think three, but I said to her, “I did so get three,” and she just smirked and stopped responding, which counts as me winning that, too. So that’s, four. Really.

We had an audience for that contest, too, so there’s a witness to my two victories. Two in a row, I’ll add for posterity.

“I don’t think your schoolgirl outfit is inappropriate, but if you can think of something better, go for it,” Mary said. But we mostly assemble our costumes rather than buy them, and with only a week being left and us not shopping in stores still, options were running short, and I didn’t have any good ideas on the spot, which is when it turned into an audience participation number.

“I’ll make you something,” Nana offered.

“I can’t let you do that,” I said. I was being polite, and I was being extra polite to impress Mary, and maybe it’s the paranoia talking but I’m beginning to suspect Mary and Nana and Sandy and Jane and Brenna and Lisa are having weekly FaceTime calls to plot against me. Possibly with the aid of foreign governments.

“Sure I can,” Nana rebutted me. “I’m not talking anything elaborate, but I can throw together something simple. What did you go as last year?” Mary smirked again and took a drink.

“Um, the soccer player outfit you, uh, saw me in.”

“Ha! So I guess that theme is off the table.”

“Yep,” Mary replied, “no sports this year.” She thinks she’s so damn funny when she’s being hilarious.

“No ideas at all,” Nana asked.

I had my mouth open and my tongue halfway into making a word when Mary chimed in with, “Well, I think there are a few considerations,” and she held out her hand toward me. I got up (because I’m ever so obedient) and took one–two–almost three steps before I got yoinked so I was sitting on my Mary’s knee. Kinda fun to be sitting on it without first going over it. Not that much fun, though. Mary isn’t much of a drinker, so when she broke out the bottle of scotch for happy hour I knew she’d get a little loose lipped. Not I’m-tripping-balls loose lipped because that is a Daphne specialty (I’m not a big drinker either, but I do forget I’m not a big drinker from time to time).

Anyhoo, she had a little twinkle in her eye. She’s twinkling all the time, but it was a certain twinkle, like an all–of–the–above twinkle, and what did it portend? Well, I’ll tell you: a reminder of why she’s always twinkling, first; second, that she was having sooo much fun; thirdly, that she was about to say something embarrassing on purpose; reason the fourth, that dinner was almost ready; and the funnest number five, that she was gonna make me be the dessert again (I’m so burdened).

“We’re going to her sister’s for Halloween,” Mary explained, “so nothing risqué.” She tightened her arm around my tummy so I couldn’t get away, all while playing it as cool as you’d expect a super confident ninja–queen to play it. “In fact, just to be safe, I think she should wear something disgustingly cute.”

“Marrry,” I didn’t whine. I have a witness!

“How about an animal? I can do animals,” Nana said.

“A fierce animal,” I said into the aether for all the good it did.

“And,” Mary continued because the queen doesn’t pay you any heed if she doesn’t want to. I’m so mistreated. “We’re social distancing. I don’t think we’re going to go inside while we’re there.”

Nana and I figured her out at the same time. “O,” Nana chuckled, “I can leave a little extra room in the seat.”

“A little extra extra room in the seat, if you know what I mean,” Mary tacked on. Nana’s eyes got a little big.

I don’t care if Mary was rubbing soft circles on my tummy, I couldn’t let that go. Not that I panicked or anything like that.

“N!o Eh! Mar! It’s not! Mary, you explain that! Explain that! It’s not what you think! I don’t! Nana, I don’t, really!” I’m beginning to worry the word really is losing some of its effectiveness when I say it. Really.

“C’mere, Daffy. Sit with me.” Mary let me go but not without sending me on my way with a swat. She’s a very handsy drunkard. Or tipsy person. Or really, person who’s had half a drink. Maybe she’s just handsy in general? (She is so handsy in general, which I only like most of the time). Please don’t tell her I said any of that; you’ll get me in trouble.

Of course, Nana can be just as bad without meaning to. I got within a step of her, and being the super–pseudo–grandma that she is, she reached out and checked my (Mary’s! Dammit!) diaper. Which is always awkward, but when you’re wearing panties (with the seahorses on them, because it’s an adventure under the sea in my pants – ‘Where we going other seahorse?’ ‘I don’t know but good thing we got these snorkels’ is how that storybook begins in my head) ...

Anyhoo, when Nana checks your diaper and you’re not wearing one, that’s called Getting Goosed By Nana. Give the lady credit for recovering because she hardly babbled at all. Just an “Ope! Sorry, Daffy. My mistake.” I think she’s from the Midwest because she says ‘Ope!’ so much.

Whereas I, ever so composed that I am, responded with, “Sss muhbuhduh.”

“That means ‘it’s okay, these kinds of things happen to me every day,’” Mary smirkingly translated. I mean, she was right, but she could’ve saved the smirk.

“She’s so mean to me,” I said as I sat my dry, undiapered ass down next to Nana.

“You must be staying out of trouble,” Nana replied.

“What makes you say that,” Mary asked. At least she had the courtesy not to out me and tell Nana all about the spanking I got less than twenty–four hours earlier.

“She’s not wearing a ‘reminder to behave.’” Everybody is mean to me. They start out nice, and then Mary corrupts them without them even realizing.

“Speaking of, her costume should have an elastic waist,” Mary decided. “So much easier to take her pants down that way.”

“At ... other people’s houses?”

“If she needs a change or a little correction.”

“I do not need ...” I lapsed into silence, what with there being no way for me to finish that sentence without walking myself into an accusation of fibbing. Except with maybe ‘an emu.’ I don’t need an emu. We’re thinking about getting chickens though. Anyhoo…

Mary smirked again. “Wanna tell her about last Halloween and the apple bobbing contest?”

“I was pushed!” How many times do I hafta say it!?!

“And why you were so unsteady on your feet to begin with?”

“I was excited,” I defended my honor. I had happy feet, okay? Judgment–free zone established. No takesies–backsies.

“And,” Mary verbally poked me.

“... Peanut butter ...”

“You don’t hafta tattle on everything,” Nana spoke up for me. Noticeably, after the gist of the story had been told. “I’ll make you something you’ll be proud to wear.”

“Are you sure? I don’t want you going to a lot of trouble.”

“No trouble, just some simple clothes with a little twist. You can even pay me back.”

“Will you make Mary something, too,” I asked because I’m as good a shit disturber as Mary is.

“I’m not getting dressed up this year,” Mary said.

“But you have to. We always dress up.” It’s one of our things. She had to.

“I can think of something for you,” Nana offered.

“Something doofy looking,” I helpfully suggested. I’m helpful. And sassy but in the good way. Also, I’m delightful company.

“You’re gonna need one of those reminders to behave at bedtime,” Mary countered.

And quiet. I’m also quiet ... shh!

Bless her heart, is what my mom would say about Nana, because sweet person she is, she wasn’t kidding when she said wouldn’t go to too much trouble. The outfits were even cuter for the extremely homemade quality.

Well, mine was cute, and I couldn’t help but notice Nana picked something that conveniently followed Mary’s instructions. There was plenty of room in the seat of the Daffy Duck outfit Nana made. Plenty of room for, say, cloth diapers because Mary is so mean to me. And was just too damn delighted to voluntell me to accept Nana’s offer to help me get ready, thought at least Mary had already done the first part and still doesn’t know about the time Nana changed me and it’s staying that way, so help me jeebus.

Anyhoo, black leggings, gigantic black sweatshirt, creative use of white duct tape and a store–bought beak I used as a mental reminder to not bend over, and I was declared cute as a duckling, but I hear that a lot already.

But Nana followed my directions, too, and Mary ended up wearing Mr. Wilson’s old clothes as Elmer Fudd.

Nana said she had the ideas because of my nickname and the way Mary is always trying to get me and never succeeding in taming me. I kinda like that. Makes it sound like I’ve won more than four, so we’ll go with Nana’s take.

And she declared us both cute. I couldn’t help myself (I pregamed some peanut butter, but don’t tell Mary because she said I couldn’t have any more until after dark, but what she doesn’t know can’t hurt her and surely peanut butter is the only reason I told you before I could stop to think better of it! REALLY!) ... Anyhoo, when Nana said we looked cute, I took one look at Mary and said, “You look doofy.”

She let me get away with that one.

And to clarify, I never say stuff on purpose and then claim it’s because I’m delightfully unrestrained, because that would be unethical. People say, there’s go Daphne, being all ethical and cute as a duckling. Really.