Mary and Daphne #61 (Patreon)

“I just can’t believe this, Daphne Ann.”

“I didn’t mean to,” was my clever response.

“Didn’t mean to? ‘Didn’t mean to’ doesn’t put the money back in the bank, Daphne. It’s not going to save our house.”

“But ...”

“You bankrupted us, Daphne!”

“But it’s just Monopoly!”

I hate Monopoly. Until Mary came along, I just thought you played until you got pissed off and turned on a movie. Turns out there’s an actual winner in Monopoly – whoever is left standing after everyone else goes bankrupt.

“Is that really the point,” Mary asked me. She gets smidge competitive. Not to mention she’s always happy to find an excuse to smack my butt a time or two (dozen) or three (hundred). You can always tell when she’s not even gonna pretend it’s not a put-up job because she smiles the whole time like a cat just batting a mouse back and forth.

“Yes,” I countered. It very much is the point. “And need I remind you we played this as a team?”

“Need I remind you who landed on Park Place not twice but thrice?”

“Well, you went to jail a buncha times.”

“Ahem,” Sandy said over Zoom. “I think you owe me a little plastic house or all your money.”

“Don’t be so smug,” I shot back.

“Now now,” she responded. “There’s no need for that. We’re all good capitalists here.”

“I wanna go to bed,” Jane said from her side of the Zoom call. She had the right approach to Monopoly: play until you get bored and then decide you’re gonna be little for the rest of the evening. She was leaning on Lisa looking like a very large, very tired toddler.

“Time to call it a night,” Mary asked the group.

“I think so,” Lisa said. “She needs to get to sleep or there’ll be tantrums tomorrow.” So what if there were? Lisa would just threaten Jane with taking away her Barbie and Jane would crumble like shortbread. I haven’t forgotten – I owe that brat a spanking.

“What do you say,” Lisa asked Jane.

“Goodnight,” she yawned.

Lisa chuckled and said, “I think she means ‘happy birthday.’ Happy birthday, Mary!”

“Thanks, Lisa, and thank you, Jane, for coming to my Zoom party. Sleep tight.”

“Goodnight,” Lisa said and turned off their feed.

“And then there were three,” Sandy said.

I sighed. Mary’s annual birthday game night was fun, but I’d have traded it for the ability to see our friends in person. Even just Sandy. Jane and Lisa could quarantine for two weeks and then see us, but Sandy, being a nurse, can’t do that. As much as I owe her a punch on the nose for introducing Mary to the idea of incontinence wear as kinky attire, I missed her, even if she won’t admit to being my babysitter from time to time. Funny thing being in the kink community, how you make friends with people you wouldn’t otherwise. We don’t have any other friends ten years younger than us.

“Congratulations on your winning,” Mary said, “on my birthday.” Being the Type A personality she is, Mary isn’t such a fan of losing. I guess no one is, but I could see a lightbulb go off above Mary’s head when she turned her predatory glare on me. Ruh roh. She clearly had one of those ideas that ends with me hot and bothered but also embarrassed and sore.

“Thems the breaks,” Sandy replied. “What else did you guys do today?”

“C’mere,” Mary said, and I creeped closer to Mary on the sofa. She put her arms around me in the affectionate way she does but also the way she does to let me know I’m not going anywhere. But like I would want to anyway. “What did we do today? Well, I got my birthday spanking.”

“You got a birthday spanking,” Sandy asked. A domme getting spanked was obviously an idea that didn’t compute in Sandy’s mind.

“Tell her how that works, Daffy.”

“Why me?” But of course I knew why.

“Because you tell it so well.” That’s not why. She just wanted to watch me get all blushy, not that I entirely minded.

“When it’s my birthday,” I explained, “a birthday spanking means I get spanked. When it’s Mary’s birthday, a birthday spanking also means I get spanked.”

“I bet that doesn’t seem fair to you, huh,” Sandy asked.

“No.” I also get birthday spankings on Christmas, Presidents’ Day, and Independence Day. Pretty much any birthday is a valid excuse. Many is the time Mary will be burning time on Wikipedia and will look up and say, ‘You’ll never guess whose birthday it is today.’ Being known to expect the world to celebrate my birthday like an international day of jubilee (only fitting, given all I do for mankind and setting such a sterling example of grit and fortitude and behavioral uprightness for the world’s youth) I can hardly begrudge those random people a birthday spanking, even if they’ll never know.

“What else did we do,” Mary prompted me. She’s always prompting me.

“We made brunch together, and went for a walk, and opened presents, and ... things.”

“Sounds like a nice birthday.”

“Wish we could have you here,” Mary said.

“Me too. I miss you guys. I haven’t gotten to really see anyone since this started excepted my parents.”

“When it’s all over you can come play with Daffy and me. The Daffster could use some time with you. You’re always such a good influence on her.”

“O,” Sandy said, “we always have fun together. Has she been a good girl lately?”

“I’m always a good girl!”

“Hehe, yeah,” Mary said, “she’s my good girl.”

Ooo! Hear what she called me? Hehe!

“But,” Mary continued, because she loves to continue, especially in front of others, “even good girls need the occasional correction.”

“How often is ‘occasional’ these days,” Sandy asked.

“O, no more than two or three times a week. The pacifier you suggested does wonders for keeping her from letting her mouth get her in trouble.”

“That was your idea too!?! Urgh! When I see you ...”

“What?” She looked so damn confident on Zoom, safe behind the screen. Bet she wouldn’t be so tough here in person. “What,” she asked again.

“I’m gonna ... be very ... rude.”

“No ya won’t.”

“Yes I will.”

“Nope.”

“You wouldn’t be so confident if Mary didn’t give you spanking privileges,” I shot back.

“Speaking of,” Mary interjected, “I have to get Miss Bankrupt the Household spanked for her poor performance tonight.”

“What,” I interjected, “that is such bullshit!”

Sandy gasped. “This is why you shouldn’t keep little girls up past ten.”

“I’m not a little girl, dammit!”

“Of course not, honey.” See? Mary said, and of course she wasn’t just being patronizing, right? “But because it is so late, we’ll just ignore that little outburst and deal with the other naughtiness. Stand up.”

First, I noticed what she called my outburst. Second, “What naughtiness?”

“You bankrupted us, Daphne Ann.” Since when is that naughtiness? She just throws around that words to mean so many things. I’m very vulnerable to suggestion, ya know. She’s gonna make me think I’m in trouble when I’m just being victimized (yep, that’s the word for how she treats me) by her lusty sex games.

“It’s just a game, and you were playing too.”

“That’s an interesting take on events,” Mary said with her wolf grin plastered to her face. I was about to get pounced on. “And you can tell it in Hasbro bankruptcy court, but first you’re getting a spanking.” Well, under the circumstances, if she’s gonna pretend I’m in trouble I would normally pretend to protest because it’s just more fun that way. Maybe even protest so much she has to hold me down to ... Anyhoo, I had a reason to protest for real, but I just didn’t wanna say.

“But I already got a spanking today! ... And Sandy is watching ... and ... stuff.” She knew damn well what stuff. She put it there.

“And now you get another spanking, and I’m sure Sandy doesn’t mind. Do you?”

“Not at all. Do what you need to.”

“And like she hasn’t seen your naughty bottom spanked. She’s even done it a few times.” More like thirty, I chose not to remind them.

“But ... stuff,” I said to Mary. She couldn’t. I mean, right?

“What stuff,” Mary asked. That would be the pouncing on me I referred to earlier. She bats me around like a cat playing with a mouse, she grins at me like a wolf, and she pounces like a take-your-pick of any animals that pounce. I’m a defenseless woodland creature! I’m just helpless and innocent, or at least that’s my story, and since no one else is writing their side of it it shall remain the true version of the story. I’m innocent, and helpless, and, um, don’t even enjoy these erotic humiliation games. Really.

“You know,” I said, referring to the stuff. Enjoy these games or not (but don’t tell anyone), I much preferred to keep that particular aspect of the game between the two us. I only let her because it was her birthday. Also because she told me to and she’s in charge, but mostly birthday (and mostly also because she’s in charge).

“What do I know?”

“You know,” I whined. She friggin’ knew!

“If you don’t wanna say then it must not be a real reason not to spank your bottom. Do you have anything to say to me?” My chance to red light. I glanced at Sandy, who was leaning toward her camera like this was the best part of the movie.

“Um ... please? HEY!” Never marry a ninja. One minute you’re stalling and deciding not to red light, and the next your wife is flip–turning you over her knee.

THWUMP!

“O!” Mary pretended like she just remembered what the stuff was. If she had panned the camera down at any point during our failed attempt to corner the railroad market, our friends would’ve seen her hands ably demonstrating she hadn’t forgotten for a moment, what with her fondling and squeezing and pinching. “I forgot!” Mary reached over my phone body to tilt the laptop down to get me over her knee in the frame.

“What did you forget,” Sandy asked with a chuckle. I imagined she had a giant Cheshire Cat smile plastered to her face. I can’t say for sure because I had folded my arms to make a hiding place for my face.

“Daffy’s been in a diaper all evening,” Mary reported. “Is that why you didn’t want a spanking, Daffy?”

“Muhbuhbuhbuh feenessin and meuhnstuhf,” I replied from my hiding place, rather testily if the truth be told, and I never tell anything else but the truth.

“I think she said yes,” Mary translated for Sandy.

“Urghhh!”

“Yep,” Mary replied to my grunt, “she said yes.” She reached down and moved my arm so I was facing the camera.

“It’s been so long since I played with her,” Sandy said, “I can’t remember if that’s Daphne’s I’m–pissed–off shade of red or her I’m–embarrassed shade of red.”

Mary brushed my hair, which I’d been growing out, off my face so she could tell Sandy, “Definitely not pissed off, but maybe more than just embarrassed.” She chuckled and pinched the back of my thigh.

I eeped and fixed her wagon with a withering glare over my shoulder, except she didn’t whither. Instead, she grinned at me like I was a slice of birthday cake and pat–pat–squeezed the diaper I’d let her put on me because it was her birthday. Also because she just did it without even asking, not that I wouldn’t have protested if it wasn’t her birthday and if she wasn’t in charge and stuff.

“No need to be embarrassed,” Sandy helpfully chimed in. “I’ve seen plenty of little girls in diapers before, including you.”

“I’m. Not. A. Little!” I reminded the room.

“O,” Sandy said, “it would probably be less embarrassing if you were though, huh? I mean, wearing a big girl diaper and all.” I hate–love Sandy so much. It’s very frustrating. “But,” she continued, because like Mary, Sandy loves to continue, “you still shouldn’t be embarrassed. I’ve seen more than my share of big girls in diapers. Changed plenty of them, too.” I reached for a throw pillows and out it over my head. I needed a moment alone.

And then Mary took my pillow. I wasn’t pissed, but ya might say I was starting to get a little twitterpated. “You have more experience with this than me,” Mary said to Sandy with her elbow casually against the small of her back, resting her chin in her upturned palm and drumming her fingers on the diaper with her other hand. “Can you give an effective spanking through a ‘big girl’ diaper?” She even put the air quotes there without even moving her hands. Ninja ...

“O, for sure. You just need to swing a little harder, and don’t spare the parts the ‘big girl’ diaper doesn’t cover, especially her ‘big girl’ thighs.”

“Hey, shut up,” I whined and directed my withering glare at the camera. She didn’t whither either. It’s hard to whither a domme.

She just chuckled at me and explained, “But you’re gonna need to lose the yoga pants first.”

“Of course,” Mary said. “Up you go.” She helped me up. Well, I was fine where I was, so perhaps she didn’t help me so much as she just guided me and I cooperated.

“Marrry,” I whined. “Please?”

“Please what,” she asked me.

I had no idea, actually. So many feelings, all in conflict. I wouldn’t wish an erotic humiliation fetish on my worst enemy, but I’d wish it on myself, which is, quite literally, a symptom of having one. What did I want? Who knows? Not me, and I’m kinda past the point of trying to figure it out. It’s tiring, and I have Mary, and even if she doesn’t know what I want, she has a good track record of being right most of the time and a perfect track record of keeping me safe.

So I didn’t say anything, and Mary brushed my hair out of my face even though it wasn’t in my face and kissed me right on the lips. She takes a lot of liberties on her birthday, kissing her wife on the lips without permission ... and stuff. “You’re being a very good girl,” she said. And she said it quiet enough that only I heard it, which means she meant it and loves me and stuff (and she always means it and loves and me and stuff). O, the twitterpation and feelings in the tummy and places with the mmmmmm.

She turned me so I was facing the camera and reached for my waistband, careful to tug my yoga pants down without taking the diaper with it because ...

“Hmmm,” Mary said. “Sandy, mind if I ask another question?”

“I’m here to help.” That, boys and girls, is what you call a ‘bullshit statement’, but I chose to say nothing.

“If you can give an effective spanking through a diaper – excuse me,” Mary said, pinching the back of my thigh again, “a ‘big girl’ diaper, is it still effective ...”

In the ideal version of the story, this is the part where I pass out and come to and it’s 2021 and the pandemic is over and I won a real game of Monopoly and made a billion dollars in the railroad industry. In the true version of the story, just to rewind a second ...

“... is it still effective if the ‘big girl’ made a mess in her ‘big girl’ diaper?”

“I didn’t! Marrrry! I didn’t. Sandy! She’s lying! I didn’t!”

Mary turned me butt–to–the–camera, face–to–her so I could see her smirking with complete and utter delight. She shrugged and stuck her head out from behind me so Sandy could see her face. “You’re the expert, Sandy. Doesn’t that look like a dirty diaper?” I wasn’t sure if dropping the ‘big’ made that statement ten times worse or infinitesimally better than it would’ve been with it.

Rewind to a few hours ago …

“Really, Mary,” I asked with my not–impressed tone of voice and accompanying facial expression when she emerged from the kitchen with a ziploc bag – the big size – full of oatmeal. “Really?”

“Yes really. You got a very long birthday spanking today, and we want your bottom to recover as quickly as possible. I mean, we wouldn’t want to have to spank you on a sore bottom, would we?”

“Half of a dozen of one, six of the other,” I muttered and got up from the couch where I’d been arranging game time snacks on the coffee table. I even pulled my yoga pants down by myself because I’m obedient and helpful like that. Also because having your pants taken down, as Mary insists on doing most of the time, makes you feel about two inches tall. “What’s with the bag,” I asked

“Less mess – ironically.”

“And it’s brown because …”

“Cocoa powder.”

“Ugh.”

“It has antioxidants,” which she assured me are very good for me, somehow. They make my butt less prone to oxidizing. I hope she doesn’t think I actually believe her nonsense and chicanery. “Hold still.” She reached around me and undid the top tape on my left side. “You still dry in there,” my darling spouse asked me before pulling out the diaper.

I was about to say yes when oatmeal. So instead I said, “Urrghhhhh … that feels so … ugrrhhhhh.”

“Temperature good?”

“Meaning you didn’t scald me this time?”

“And no mess,” she proudly said while showing me the corner of the bag she had cut off to squeeze the oatmeal out of. “Well, not outside your diaper, anyway.”

“It’s your diaper. I’m just wearing it.”

“Uh huh. You keep telling yourself that.” She re–taped it and pulled my pants up for me, giving me a firm swat on the back of the diaper with a decidedly upward trajectory. Followed by five more just like it. “Turn around.”

Legs apart, I rotated. “Tomorrow there will be a sharp curtailing of birthday privileges,” I told her.

She smirked. “What o what did we do today that is different than what you’ll do if I say on any other day?”

I ran over the day’s events in my head and told her, “We wouldn’t play Monopoly?”

She got a queer look on her face like she sometimes does. “Did I tell you I love you today?”

“Yeah,” I said. “Do ya still?”

“Even more than yesterday.” I got a very good kiss from her. She’s a good kisser. When we were first dating and were getting to know the boundaries of our BDSM likes and dislikes, she told me she was gonna kiss me like a whore. Well, that just made me cry, so ever since she calls that ‘kissing me like she means it’ but with the visual the former probably conjures for you, you probably understand what it is she means – that she loves me, and also that like she doesn’t care if I can breathe because she wants to kiss me hard.

When she let me up for air, she asked, “And did I tell you that you look pretty tonight?”

“I’m not sure,” I said, putting my finger on my chin.

“You look very pretty tonight.”

“It’s an occasion. Since I haven’t worn makeup in almost a year, I thought I’d dress myself up for you.”

“You even put on earrings.”

“I’m a classy lady, dammit,” I coyly said and kissed her right back like I damn well meant it. Very upper crust, that’s me.

Fast forward back to the then–present …

“Yeah,” Sandy said, “that looks like a stinky diaper. Glad I don’t hafta change it.”

“It’s …” And then there was a pacifier in my mouth. Didn’t even see it coming, and there it was. What kind of ninja keeps a pacifier in their pocket? An ageplaying ninja. Mary is such a big, carrying a paci in her pocket.

“I think that needs to stay in.” She gave me her I–mean–it look. Lucky for her, perhaps not so lucky for me, I’m very good at doing what I’m told when I remember to be good at it. It’s not, as I’ve explained to Mary, that I have a hard time remembering what she tells me as that I have a hard time remembering to be good at doing what I’m told. Totally different even if she doesn’t see it that way. Anyhoo …

“Ahergggh urgggh!” I around through the pacifier.

“Shush. You don’t mind if I change her right now, do you, Sandy?”

“Not at all … so long as you don’t mind angling her away from the camera.”

“O, I wouldn’t subject you to that, at least if you’re not babysitting, but if you are babysitting …”

“Comes with the territory.” Funny how they’ll admit she babysits me when it suits their purposes – NOT!

“Wait right here, honey.”

I willed myself to have an out of body experience, and then I imagined if I actually did what it would look like if I were looking down at myself with that diaper open between my thighs and decided  to wish the floor would swallow me instead. But it didn’t, so I did the next best thing I could think of and just went with it, hoping to avoid instigating anymore embarrassment than was already coming my way.

Mary disappeared around the corner and emerged a moment later with a wicker basket containing everything she needed for a diaper change. I’d have pretended to be surprised, but in retrospect, it was pretty obvious she’d planned this. If it hadn’t been losing at Monopoly, she’d probably have found another excuse like sitting too close to the ceiling or something. She pushed the coffee table out of the way, put the laptop on the floor, spread out the changing pad (man, I miss the days when we only used that to avoid getting cum everywhere), and tugged at my wrist so I joined her on the floor knees up and open and the laptop above my head.

“Aww,” Mary said to me, “don’t make that face. We’ll get that yucky diaper right off you.” She reached up and wiped a tear away. Well, maybe a tear. My eyes were watering since I was laying on the floor and happened to be staring up at the light fixture. Really. I think. And anyway, it was just the one tear. Lot of emotions and adrenaline. “But ya gotta hold real still for me.”

“Ya know,” Sandy chimed in, “in can be helpful to give them a toy to hold.”

“Yeah,” Mary said, “but you know Daphne – hand her a vibrator and she just gets so hard to control.”

Okay, I’ll give Mary credit – that was funny, even if I didn’t laugh.

“And we’re ready,” Mary said and opened the diaper. “Pee yew!”

For the record, I smelled like Cocoa Puffs. I’m not sure I can ever be coocoo for Cocoa Puffs ever again.

“And you made a wet diapee too! Yes you did! You peed eber–y–where! Eber–y–where!” I didn’t giggle at her baby talk. I giggled at her tickling my tummy. Really. (No, really).

I sure would’ve liked to be able to see Sandy’s face. Mary used the front of the diaper to clean away some of oatmeal, a process that felt suspiciously like she was pawing at me down there, but then I get paranoid when Mary has been plotting like she so clearly had been. On the other hand (and she was using both hands, for the record), I’ve been pawed at down there before by Mary, and the sensations were very similar. So was I red in the face because I was pissed or because I was embarrassed or because I was flushing with arousal? In no particular order, no, yes, and uh–huh.

“Hold your knees for me,” I was instructed. I did as I was told.

“Remember to wipe from front to back,” Sandy jumped in again. Nice of her to think of my welfare that way, sort of, considering her role in bringing all this about, but thinking back on it now, Mary seemed to be enjoying herself so much I wondered if Sandy maybe just hastened something Mary already had on her mind.

“Almost clean again,” Mary added like it was play–by–play commentary. “There. Knees down. We’ll get you a nice bath in the morning, but for now,” she said and got out another diaper.

“O yeah,” Sandy once again said, “make sure you get that rash cream everywhere. Plenty of it … you know it’s enough when she’s squirming like that,” she finished a laugh.

She didn’t need to say anything as Mary had once again gotten herself lost in doing a very thorough job taking care of me. There were hands in places and fetishes fetishing and an audience audiencing and I was fighting the impulse to get up and throw a tantrum and the impulse to lift my hips to push my … there were hands in places, and then Mary winked at me. Then there were no hands in places. And then there was a diaper being closed over and me and sealed in place.

“All done!” Mary announced. She wiped her hands on a wipe and held them out for me to help me sit up. To say I damn near bolted myself upright and flung my arms around Mary and buried my face in her chest would be a true thing to say, is what it would be. I wanted to hide, and Mary’s chest is a good place for that. I wanted to be comforted, and Mary’s chest is a good place for that. I wanted to scream, and Mary’s chest is also a good place for that. And I wanted my Mary, and there she was.

Mary put her arms around my shoulders and pressed my head to her, a hand in my hair. “Shhhh,” she cooed, “You’re okay. Shhhh. You are such a good girl.”

For the record, I was not okay. I was embarrassed, and I was kinda shocked, which added to the embarrassment, and I was – what’s the word or phrase? – aroused. Which all added up to kinda numb.

“I don’t think she needs a spanking tonight after all,” Mary said. O yeah, Sandy was still there. I had forgotten while in the almost–throes of, um, embarrassment and hating every damn moment of that. Yeah, um, that’s it. Yeah.

“Ya know,” Sandy said, “I am looking forward to babysitting Daffy again, but if she’s gonna mess she has to do it in a diaper. Not taking the risk of a pullup blowout.”

Well, if ever there was a phrase to bring me back ‘round to the moment … I yanked the paci out, spun around, and just–shy–of–shouted, “It was oatmeal, dammit! It was oatmeal and cocoa powder! She made me!”

Even with bad Zoom lighting I could see Sandy biting down on the inside of her lip to keep from cracking up. Her shoulders were rocking with laughter. “You two are too much. O, I miss you guys.” Sandy let out a long sigh.

I looked from her to Mary to her not sure what I was expecting. I lapsed back into silence and put my head back on Mary’s chest.

“Mary,” Sandy said, “I think she needs some aftercare.”

“For sure. We’ll talk to you later. You know you’re a Healthcare Hero, right?”

“I know I’m a nurse, but thanks for saying so. Stay safe … and happy birthday.”

“Thanks. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, and goodnight, Daffy.”

I didn’t answer that. Mary reached over and closed the laptop before rocking back onto her butt next to me. She kissed my hair. “Can I leave you alone for a second?” I nodded, and she picked up the refuse of that scene. If it was a scene.

I sat on the floor while she went to go discard all of that, trying to process it all. So many feelings to parse, all of them big. But maybe they don’t need parsing. Mary joined me on the floor a moment later, this time with a blanket to put over us.

“Daffy? You doin’ okay?”

Head nod.

“Do I owe you an apology?”

Head shake.

“Do you need to cry?’

No, but good guess. Head shake. I put my head on her shoulder, and she gave it a kiss and leaned her head back on me.

“You planned that,” I said when I was ready to reengage beyond the tactile.

“Yeah.”

“For how long?”

“A day.”

“O … Can I ask you something serious?”

“Mhmm.”

“Are you an evil genius?”

“Yeah, but not in a bad way.”

“Good.”

“You sure you’re not mad at me?”

“Mhmm.”

“So that was fun?”

“It was … something.”

“Think I know what you mean.”

“Did you have a good birthday?”

“Every birthday with you is the best since the one before it.”

“Funny,” I said.

“What’s that?”

“How God made you. She made you kinda funny, thirty–eight years ago today.”

“And six years later she did it again and made you.”

“Mhmm.”

“Mary?”

“Yeah, baby?”

“I need to cum.”

“I know. Me too.”

“This is one of our weirder conversations.”

“I know, and that’s really saying something.”

“And not that you have to make it up to me, but if you wanted to, you could hold me all night.”

“O, I think that’s only fair,” she whispered into my ear and gave it a little nibble. “A very (kiss) good girl (kiss). Are you ready to go upstairs?”

“We’re gonna need this,” I said, reaching over and grabbing the corner of the changing pad.