Mary and Daphne #64 (Patreon)

“Alright. Get your buns outta the corner,” Mary instructed me. I shuffled over with my pants already around my ankles as Mary sat down. I hadn’t worn jeans in a while. If you think they feel tight after sweats for weeks, well, they’re even tighter in a bunch around your ankles, Mary having done the honors of taking them down herself (as always). I got to her side, and she used her eyes to direct me over her knee. You’d think I’d have gotten graceful at that by now, but she’d pulled a dining room chair out, and my jeans were stuck, and I just sorta did a trust fall Mary was generous enough to break for me.

“Do you know why you’re getting this spanking?”

“No.” SMACK!

“Over my knee is probably not the best time to be a smartalek, Daphne Ann. Why are you getting this spanking?”

“But I don’t know! You didn’t tell me.”

“Of course I did. What did I say?”

“You said, ‘Daphne Ann, get your naughty butt in the corner and wait for me.,’ and took my pants down.”

“And what else did I say?”

“You didn’t! You just left for ten minutes and came back with the chair and the paddle.” And I’m (mostly) positive I didn’t do anything to deserve the paddle. “What did I do?”

“You ... ... sit up.” I sat up and pivoted so I was sitting on her knees. “You ... cripes, what did you do?” Mary was making her thinking face. Every time I make that face lately I get accused of pottying in my pants.

“You mean you don’t even remember?” Her turn to blush. The only time Mary blushes is when she’s embarrassed by my alleged misbehavior in public. “Ya can’t take back a spanking, Mary!” My butt almost got executed, and she didn’t even know why!

“Well, you’re finding so many ways to misbehave lately.” She has a guilty–embarrassed–forgive–me grin on her face.

“I am ...” I was going to say ‘not’ but I didn’t wanna risk refreshing her memory. Or my own; I was developing some theories as to what I might’ve done, but I wasn’t sure what Mary knew about and didn’t know about. Not that I had more than three (or so) different streams of naughtiness going on, but that I had some things that could be misperceived as naughtiness before they fully unfolded. So instead, I said, “Well, it couldn’t have been that bad if you can’t even remember.”

“I’m sorry. Guess it wouldn’t be fair to paddle you now.”

“No, it would not ... I’m sorry for it ... or I would be if I knew what it was.”

“You’re ... forgiven?”

“Well,” I said, “this is kinda awkward.” I wasn’t sure I’d ever not been spanked once Mary put me over her knee; talking her out of a butt reddening is like talking a cat into a bathtub. Your chances of success are almost nonexistent, and you’ll probably end up chasing it all over the house and ending up all wet.

“So, what do we do now?”

“I vote for letting me pull my pants back up.”

“Daffy, that’s a terrible idea. Then I couldn’t see your butt in your cute little undies.”

“Urgh. Fine.” I got up and muttered, “Almost spanks me for no reason and I’m the one who loses pants privileges...” while I hopped one–footed trying to get my stupid jeans off. “What are they even caught on!” Thunk. That would be me sit–falling. That’s where you sorta sit/sorta fall, but the important thing is you land on your butt none the worse for the experience. I’m pretty good at that, not that I’ve had more than the average person’s practice ... um, really?

“Hahahaha! Hold still,” Mary said, getting off her chair and onto her knees. “Lay back.” She took the cuff of the stuck pant leg and managed to wrestle it off, taking my sock with it.

“I’m good at other things,” I defended myself.

“Besides dressing yourself? Who’s that on our undies?”

“The blonde chick who lets everything go.” She’s kinda flaky like that. I mean, geez take a stand on something, anything. Really.

“Elsa,” Mary informed me.

“How do you even know that?”

“Everybody knows that, Daffy.”

“We didn’t even see that movie.”

“Still, everybody knows. Here.” She handed me my sock back. “Can you do it yourself?”

Know who needs her butt paddled? Mary. For attempted spanking without a reason, snarky remarks, and possibly seeing movies without me. Sure, Mary would hafta paddle me nude in the lobby of the theater to get me to see a Disney musical, but not the point ...

“Now what,” I asked as I put my sock back on (all by myself! Hmmph!).

“Go check the mail.”

“Marrrry! ... Are you okay?”

“Of course.”

“Are you sure? You never forget a punishment. What gives?” I mean, I almost certainly did something; for all I know, I could still be in the middle of doing it. Whether it deserved a spanking is another matter, but I must’ve done something. Mary has kinda an encyclopedic memory of my misdeeds. It’s like an oral history of (allegedly) bad behavior. I guess we can add historianto all the titles Mary has that begin with oral. (That was inartfully put, but it still works, and I should know.)

Mary shrugged. “Hard to focus today.”

“Why?”

“I guess everything just caught up to me. It’s Christmas time, and it doesn’t feel like Christmas. I was kinda counting on Christmas to end the year on a high note.”

Just now catching up to her? I knew it had caught up to her before, like her sudden obsessiveness about my health, but I guess it comes in waves. 2020 can kiss all the asses.

“Well, it’s only been Christmas time for a couple days,” I reminded her.

“I know. It’s just ... it feels different.”

“Because we didn’t go to the tree lighting at city hall ... So let’s do something Christmasy. We can decorate ... or what about getting our pajamas on and watching a movie? You can even pick out the movie.”

She smiled her thanks–for–trying–to–make–me–feel–better smile and nodded just a little. Mary doesn’t get out of sorts often. Granted, she’s a Christmas fiend, but I think something else was really bothering her. It was kinda like a role reversal, where Mary was the one who was so bothered by something she got herself all turned around. I had an idea what it was, but if Mary didn’t wanna talk about it, at least for the moment I would let it go. I’d make her talk about it if she didn’t in a day or two.

Still, you’re only ever as happy as your Mary (who’s only ever as happy as me). I had a thought and went ahead of her to the bedroom while she put the chair and paddle away, intending to make a little surprise of myself for her.

“Daffy,” she called out when she came in behind me and didn’t see me at first. “What are you doing in the corner?”

“I remembered what I did.”

“What?”

“I fell behind on my quota.”

“Huh?”

“Mrs. Claus, I’m very sorry for not being a good worker elf. I’ll try o so much harder tomorrow if you don’t paddle me too hard. But please o please don’t spank me hard, Mrs. Claus, o pretty please?”

Mary bit her lip and made her you’re–so–sweet–I–wanna–love–you–to–pieces smile and walked up to me and put her hands on her hips. She stood purposefully close to me to make me feel smaller looking up at her.

“I’m proud of you for being honest with me, um, what’s your name again, little elf?”

“Teacup.” She held in a snort. It’s just the first cute word that came to mind.

“I’m proud of you for being honest with me, Teacup, but we have a quota to make, as you well know. Would Santa let you off easy if he were here?”

“No, Ma’am.” Wonder what happened to him anyway.

“No. Now come get your elfin’ butt over my lap.” I did as Mrs. Claus told me to, and she leaned over and got the (other) paddle off my nightstand. I’m not even sure how many we have. She tapped it on my butt a few times.

SMACK!

“Eep!”

“Now, do you want to tell me why you didn’t make your quota today?”

“I got distracted.”

“And what did you get distracted by?”

“Um, candy?” A very believable reason for anybody who knows Teacup.

“Is that the only reason?” SMACK!

“Um, drinking on the job?”

“That’s a fib.”

“It is?”

“Uh–huh. I know the real reason.” Ruh-roh. There was a fifty–fifty chance I wouldn’t care for her reason.

“I know,” she told me, “what the other elves call you behind your back.”

“They’re always talking about me and saying mean things ... It makes it very hard to focus on my toys.”

“Do you want to tell me what they call you?” SMACK!

“Um ...”

“I know it’s an embarrassing nickname, but you can tell me. I already know.”

“They call me ‘Spanky,’ ma’am.” I thought that was a pretty good guess at what she was thinking.

“Do they call you that, too? I heard they call you ‘Puddles.’”

“Aww m...” SMACK!

“I’d think very hard about appropriate elf language if I were you.”

“Muffin basket?”

“Ha! Good choice.” SMACK! “I think that’s enough spanking.”

“But what would Mr. Claus say? ... God rest his soul.” Yep, I killed off that jolly judgmental bastard in our little role play universe. “Woah!” Mrs. Claus has ninja skills, like flipping me over. And condescending skills, like pinching my chin between her thumb and forefinger.

“Well, Ms. Piddles...”

“I thought it was ‘Puddles?’”

“O, you have lots of nicknames. I think the most effective way to ensure you meet your quota is to solve your puddle piddling problem with some pampers for that cutie patootie of yours, which is so elfin’ adorable.”

“A worker in diapers on an assembly line. I didn’t know they made iPhones at the North Pole.”

“(SNORF!) Let’s get you in your diapee and go pick out that movie.” I got a kiss and a thank you.

“Does it feel like Christmas yet?”

“It feels like something. Thanks for being my naughty little elf.”

“Thanks for being my hardass sweatshop owner ... and I said you could pick out the movie. You do that, and I’ll make cocoa.”

“If you insist ... Teacup?” She had that I’m–gonna–make–you–blush grin on her face.

“Yeah?”

“You know you can always come talk to me about your tinkle problems when the other elves make funna you, right?”

I did blush, and I got her meaning, and maybe that would be cute some time and a nice treat for her, but her other point is what I chose to respond to. “I know,” I said. An then I kissed Mrs. Claus. Ya know, if I ever caught mommy kissing Santa Claus when I was a little kid, I wouldn’t have cared. But if I had caught her kissing Mrs. Claus, I’d probably still be working those feelings out.

“You know that when something is bothering you, you can always tell me too, right, even if you’re not sure what it is,” I reminded her.

“I know.” And I got a kiss from my Mary.

“You don’t hafta to be brave all the time. Just because you’re the boss doesn’t mean you can’t be vulnerable, too.”

“O, sweetheart, I know. Can we talk about it tomorrow?”

“Whenever you’re ready.”

“Thanks.” She went and got what she needed to make me a more efficient elf and got to work putting it on me. “Ya know,” she said, “I’m not sure what I put you in the corner for, but it must’ve been something. I gotta punish you at least a little.”

“That’s not fair.”

“Well, if I remember later, I’m going to hafta punish you like I was about to.”

“And if you punish me a little now and remember later?”

“Then you’ll already have been punished.”

“I take it back. That’s very fair.” She’s such a fair boss. Not like that bitch Mrs. Claus, who now that I think about it should’ve spanked all the bully elves for calling me things and slandering the proud name of Teacup instead of making me work in a diaper.

“I’m glad you agree,” she said as she sealed the last tape. “For your punishment, tomorrow you will assemble an elf costume for yourself spending no more than twenty dollars.”

“Hehe! A sexy elf costume?”

“I think it should do double duty as sexy and for our Christmas card.”

“We never send out a card.”

“We do this year. New tradition.”

“K. Can I assemble a ‘Mrs. Claus’ outfit for you?”

“You’re just a glutton for punishment,” she said and tapped my nose. I like nose taps.

“Mary?”

“Yeah, Daffodil?”

“Merry Christmas.” Ooh, that got me all the kisses.

It looks like Mary takes care of me, but that’s not true. We take care of each other.