Mary and Daphne #60 (Patreon)

Stupid fucking lockdown number two because people can’t deal with reality and I’m gonna move to a private island and clean the owner's mansion because that’s the only way I’ll ever live on a private island because I’m unemployed and no one is hiring and I’m just stuck in this house full damn time again and dammit fuhthureial guhhurnuh eeeyeh crap schnitzel!

Not that I’m so frustrated I can’t sustain a decent rant before I stop making words and just start making sounds or anything.

“Having trouble getting into a rhythm,” Mary asked me when I came inside.

“Apparent–fucking–ly.” Hence my getting pissed and throwing the jump rope down on the patio. Just trying to get some exercise in.

“Well, can I just say you look cute as a ladybug jump roping in your Goodnite?”

“Can I put on pants?”

“It’s a warm day. You’ll miss no–pants days when it gets cooler … If you roll your eyes that hard you’re gonna detach a retina.”

“Sorry.”

“You want lunch?”

“Not yet. I’m gonna go lie down.”

“You feeling okay,” Mary asked and put the back of her hand to my forehead. She’s been obsessed with my health again lately. Sweet, but a bit much sometimes.

“Fine. Just frustrated.” I’d have showered before getting in bed if I’d actually worked up a sweat. All I managed to do was trip a bunch and whip myself hard enough to leave a welt on my back, a feat of incoordination even for me. My mom still likes to tell people how she took me to a gymnastics class when I was three and the instructor said, “Trust me. Not her sport.” And mom said, “They’re toddlers! They’re all uncoordinated.” And the instructor said, “Trust me. Not her sport.” If the Warner Brothers hadn’t made me Daffy Duckling, people probably woulda started comparing me to waterfowl anyway. Daffy One–Minute–Old–Gazelle just doesn’t roll off the tongue.

I tried to sleep. Or I tried for about eight seconds before I opened my phone again and started scrolling. Then I tried to sleep for eight more seconds and concluded it was a lost cause and went back downstairs where Mary was reading on the couch. I walked over and sat down with my legs under me and leaned on her. She closed the book.

“Couldn’t sleep?”

I shook my head.

“Any reason you’re having a hard day?”

“No. Just am.”

“Nothing happened? You promise?”

“The county is in lockdown again.” But that was announced yesterday and didn’t go into effect for another day, not that it made a difference to us.

“That doesn’t change what we’ve been doing much,” Mary said as she started teasing my hair and gave me a kiss on my temple.

“No … It’s just … It was hard the first time. It’s like people don’t even care. They just did whatever they wanted and … Now we hafta do it again … and …”

“Tell me.”

“People are getting hurt. People are sick and unemployed and lonely and it’s gonna get worse because people wouldn’t follow the rules,” I vented.

“They’re hard rules to follow.”

“But we followed the rules!” I’m good at following rules, dammit! World–class rule follower! And I know the rules were relatively easy for us to follow, and I know we didn’t follow them perfectly, but still.

“I know,” Mary said and kissed my temple again.

I opened up my phone and showed her an article about a place that was fully out of lockdown. “I want it to be like there. Now. Not a year from now. Now.”

“I know. Me too.”

“I wanna go to church, and I wanna go to the grocery store, and I wanna … (cry voice) go to see my family (big sniff).”

“I know, Daffy. Me too.”

We sat just like that, her teasing my hair, me leaning against her with my trademark pandemic thousand–yard stare.

“May I have a spanking please,” I asked my Mary.

“That’ll make you feel better?”

“Mhmm.”

“Okay. Let’s go upstairs. We’ll do it on the bed with you nice and comfy.”

I got up, and Mary held my hand all the way to our bedroom. I let it go when we got there and went and got something I never get for spankings. It’s not even for that. I just wear it, or did back when there was a reason to wear pants that button.

“You’re sure,” Mary asked, taking the belt from me.

“Mhmm, but your hand first … please.”

“Let’s both get comfy,” Mary said and stripped down to her panties, leaving her in those and socks and a tee, which left us dressed almost alike. She sat down on the edge of the bed and tore the sides of the Goodnite open. I hadn’t even used it yet. Mary leaned forward and planted a gentle kiss just below my tummy. “Shirt on or off?”

“Off.”

“Arms up,” she said and took my shirt off me. “Will you be warm enough?”

“Mhmm.”

She scooted herself to the middle of the bed and stacked some pillows behind herself, settling in for what would be a long spanking. I crawled across her thighs and pulled a pillow under my chin. Mary wasted no time and put her fingertips to work, dragging them gently across my skin from the back of my knees to the back of my neck, paying extra attention to my thighs and butt and back, making me shudder like I always do when her fingers just barely kiss the small of my back.

“Do you know why you’re getting this spanking,” Mary asked quietly.

“Because it will make me feel better.”

“And because I love you very much, Daphne Ann.”

Slap … Slap … Slap she got started, slow like she never is at the start of a punishment spanking. She was going light, just enough to produce that momentary sting, giving me an extra-long warm up. I laid still, not moving or flinching, just trying to feel. I felt the pillow in my arms. I felt Mary’s bare thighs under my hips. I felt her arm across my back, her hand tight to my waist. And her spanking hand just slap slap slap turning my butt a healthy pink, bringing the blood to the surface.

Smack … Smack … Smack she started spanking me for real. With each spank, she pushed my body just slightly down, and I recoiled back. Or she caught me on the undercurve of my bottom and pushed me a little forward, and I recoiled back. I laid there still and quiet, my arms loose around the pillow. Her spanks started to hurt, not a moment too soon. I laid there, not moving or talking or making a noise, knowing if I let her keep going it would hurt better and better until my whole world was just the pain and my Mary.

SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! Mary knows how this works. She was spanking me like I was in trouble, but I wasn’t. I was the very opposite of in trouble. I was in the safest place there is for me, over my Mary’s knee, under my Mary’s hands. I was in love and kindness and adoration. I adore my Mary, and she adores me, and that’s why she was doing what she was doing, showing she loves me and understands me and wants to chase away all my bad feelings like I do for her.

If I were in trouble, I’d have been crying. I probably would’ve been sniffling before I even went over Mary’s lap, her scolding having hit much harder than she can. But I wasn’t crying. I wasn’t flinching. I was wincing. I was grimacing. I was biting my lip. I was squeezing the pillow. I was grunting. I was sweating. I was holding still even as my hands wanted to pull me right off Mary’s lap. I wouldn’t let them, holding the pillow tight. I was doing my best to keep feeling the entire spanking, to take in all the sensations as SMACK–SMACK–SMACK–SMACK!!!!!!!

Mary stopped, giving me a chance to catch my breath as she swirled her fingertips over hot skin and squeezed aching cheeks. “How you doing,” she asked me.

I managed a nod.

“Up,” she said and helped me to get up on my knees. She slid out from under me and off the bed, taking one of the pillows she was leaning back against and placing it on the ottoman. I got up and laid myself across it with the pillow under my hips, presenting my butt for the belt. “Ready,” was all she asked, and again I nodded.

CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! Mary didn’t need to ask how hard. I wouldn’t have handed her the belt if I didn’t need it hard. Very hard. She never whips me for punishment. We don’t like that, neither of us. But the belt for this? Yes. I laid across the ottoman with my butt up and let Mary leave one welt after another across my already spanked, hot skin. I let myself stifle a yelp with each stroke. I let the yelp out when the belt found the backs of my thighs. CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!

Mary stopped after not one fewer than I needed or one more than I could stand. She got down on her knees next to me and gently took my chin, turning my face toward hers. Big, wet, silent teardrops fell from my cheeks.

“C’mon,” Mary said, and helped me up. She pivoted into the overstuffed armchair and pulled me into her lap so I could lay my cheek against her, my butt a fire fading to embers. “Ooo, up,” she said, and I sat up enough for her to take her shirt off. “Back down,” she said softly and put one arm around my middle, the other across my shoulders with the same hand that spanked me now resting against my face as I put my head back on my Mary’s chest and sniffed back my runny nose.

“Such a good girl,” she called me, and I couldn’t help but writhe at her words and snuggle into her closer, putting my arms around her middle and holding her as tight as she was holding me.

“Thank you,” I told her, and she kissed me.

“Feel better,” she asked.

My brain was bathed in endorphins and oxytocin, deadening the pain and making me feel as good as I ever had skin to skin with my Mary. Later, in maybe an hour, those hormones would wear off, and I’d feel instead a swollen, bruised butt that would be showing vermillion welts for a few days, fading but not disappearing for maybe two weeks.

“You wanna hold the heat in,” Mary asked.

“Mhmm,” I said, knowing what she meant. I stood up with her and laid myself on the bed, feeling pressure and nothing else when my numb cheeks hit the covers. “No cream,” I said to Mary when she emerged from the closet with a white plastic diaper and the Desitin. She set the Desitin aside and did most of the work getting the diaper under and on me.

“Can I take a nap with you,” she asked me.

“Please,” I said as I yawned. She got the pillow from the ottoman and rearranged it with the others.

Mary disappeared into the closet with the Desitin and came back out with a wipe. “We’ll take a bath together when we wake up,” she said as she wiped the tear streaks off my cheeks and held it up for me to blow my nose. “Such a pretty girl.”

I put myself in the nest she’d made of our pillows, and Mary took the pacifier she insisted on keeping on my nightstand and held it out for me to take in my mouth. I did, because Mary wanted me to and apparently thought it would make me feel better, and Mary knows things, like how to make me feel different feelings. I’d take it out when I got tired of it, likely as soon as it began to make my palate feel funny. Mary’s nipple in my mouth never makes it feel that way. Mary got in bed behind me, and we intertwined our legs and she put her arm over me.

“No devices or tv news for three days,” Mary said to me. I wanted to impose that rule on myself so often, and I never could. I was glad she did. What did I need to know except what was in our home? “And I’m repealing the rule you hafta use the diapers. I won’t make you if you don’t want to.”

“Why,” I asked as I yawned again.

“Because I love you and because of what we talked about the other day. Up to you … Miss Potty Pants,” Mary smirk–whispered as she surely felt my diaper grow hot against her thigh. That’s not the worst part of them, I reasoned as a reason to do it besides needing to before I could fall asleep and not wanting to get out of Mary’s arms for a million years and a million more.

“Do you need help sleeping,” Mary asked, referring to the Xanax the doctor prescribed.

“Not today,” I said, and snuggled into our bed. I found my Mary’s hand with my eyes closed and held it. She placed a kiss on the back of my head. “And you think you’re big enough to be the big spoon,” she chuckled.

“I love you, Mary.”

“I love you, too, Daphne Ann. Go to sleep.”

“K.”

The last thing I remember before falling asleep is Mary humming a lullaby.