Mary and Daphne #78 (Patreon)

“Am not.”

“That kind of answer says otherwise,” Mary said about my answer. Reviewing my answer like she’s queen of the damn answers.

“Urgh!” SWAT!

“Park yourself in the corner,” SWAT, “and no stomping.”

“I’ll stomp if I want to,” I said not as under my breath as I thought.

“Little girl, you are testing all my patience today.”

So what am I not? Dripping with attitude. I don’t know what that dripping sound is. I don’t even hear anything. I’m not having a serious case of the back talk. You are! This whole court room is talking back and stuff! Nyah!

But because I am reasonable, I am open to the possibility that Mary has a point. But if she does, it’s only because she’s right, and no one likes people who are right all the time.

“Front and center,” Mary said. I turned around and walked over to her trying to see what implement she’d chosen. A freshly cleaned implement, I’ll add. I stood in front of her, and she took my pants down. “Little girls get spanked on their bare bottoms, don’t they, Daphne Ann,” she said as she tugged me into position over her knee.

“I’m not a little girl,” I said as I settled in.

“You're pouting around like one, and I know just the way to adjust that attitude.”

Well, there I was, over Mary’s knee getting spanked again. Sometimes I wish I could fast forward through it, not because it hurts and not because I don’t like it and not because I don’t not like it but because I’ve been there, I’ve done that, and we have photos to prove it. Really.

“Are you listening to me,” Mary asked.

“Yes, geez!”

“Then what’d I just say?”

“To … not do it again?” SMACK! Dammit!

“I said, little lady, that you need to fix your attitude and stop taking out your bad mood on me (SMACK). No more sass (SMACK). No more moping (SMACK). No more rolling your eyes (SMACK) like you just did (SMACK).”

“You can’t even see my eyes!”

“Did you just roll them?”

“(Sound of a tumble weed blowing through town).”

“Uh–huh (SMACK!).” I won’t spell out the other spanks, but there were more than a few, bordering on a lot.

“Ow! I’m sorry! Ow ow OW! Marrrry … Urgh! Eeeep! … O eh eh! (Sniffle). I’m sorry. I OWW! Eheh eheh eheh waaaaaaah!”

Okay, sue me; I’ll spell out some more – SMACK SMACK SMACK! “Am I making myself clear?”

“(Repentant wookie noise).”

SMACK! “Am I going to need to spank for this issue again this week?”

“(Injured moose sounds).”

SMACK! “Good. Sit up for me.”

“(Squeaky toy noises) And I’m (foghorn). (Sniffle).”

“You’re okay. C’mon and sit up for me,” Mary cooed at me. “Up you go.”

“(Meeping noises).”

“Of course you can,” she said and gave me permission to bury my face in her chest.

I’m having a rough year, and it’s only the third day. 2021 is too damn much exactly like 2020, and the return from our vacation was like a return to the dumpster fire of boredom, crappy news, and anxiety. Not like I meant to take it out on Mary, but since she’s the only person around, who else am I gonna take it out on except nobody because no one did anything to me. I just got snippy while we were doing the dishes.

To my credit I didn’t say anything I shouldn’t have. I just gave off this vibe that said it all for me, specifically something like ‘The way you’re loading the dishwasher angers me beyond a point which is reasonable.’ Why the heck do people fight over the dishwasher anyway? It was just … I was in one of those moods where if I’d seen a rock, I’d have been mad at the rock. Mary, being Mary, didn’t even give me any attitude back. Just a couple warning glances that I saw, understood, and ignored, and then off to the corner to get to the bottom of me.

“Look up for me,” Mary said. “O, your poor eyes are so red. C’mon, let’s go wash your face.” I got up off her lap. “Step out,” she said and got my leggings off from around my ankles.

“(Sniff),” I sniffed on the way to the bathroom.

“Hop up,” Mary said, and I sat down on the vanity.

“Ow.”

“Butt hurt?”

“Mmm.”

“Wasn’t the fun kind of spanking, was it?”

“No.”

“Or the not–fun kind that gets fun at the end,” she remarked as she wet a washcloth.

“No. I’m sorry.”

“Hold still for me, baby,” she said and wiped the tear streaks off my face. “Honk.”

I blew my nose and forgot to remind her I’m not a duckling. “Because 2021 is just like 2020,” I said.

“What?”

“Why I was in a bad mood.”

“But you’re not in a bad mood now?”

“I hope not,” I said with that I–might–start–crying–again sound in my voice.

“Let’s get you ready for bed.”

“It’s only 7:30.”

“Are you going to tell me you’re not tired?” Taking my hand and leading me to bed like she’s gentle and wonderful and nice to me and stuff.

“I’m sorry,” I said again.

“And I forgive you. Lay down?”

“Do I gotta,” I asked as she went to my dresser and got a diaper out. I wish she’d stop putting those there. And where the heck did the rest of my panties go? I know I used to have more pairs, including a lot more pairs that didn’t come from junior miss departments at our regions fine and not-so-fine apparel retailers.

“Yes, you do … Do you want one of the other ones?”

“Those are for when I’ve been good,” I reminded her of the terms we negotiated for the cloth diapers.

“They’re for whenever I say.” She put the one back and went into the closet and came back out with one of those other ones. It’s not that I want to wear one at all, but since I don’t have a choice, I like those ones better. They feel nicer. They’re snugger, and I like that. Not nearly as nice as Mary hugging me down there though.

“I don’t like 2021,” I said.

“I think,” Mary said, “we shouldn’t even talk about 2021 until we’ve been vaccinated. Lift.”

“We’re gonna lose a whole nother year.” Mary tugged at my hips and sealed the velcro tight.

“Look at me. We’re not losing anything. We have each other, and if the whole world burns down around us, having each other makes us the luckiest people ever. Do you believe that.”

“Of course I do. It’s just … ” I sighed. “I don’t like pandemic me. She’s moody and mean.”

“I like pandemic you as much as I liked pre–pandemic you. More even, and do you know why?”

“Because you love me?” She has to say stuff like that because she loves me.

“Because it’s reminded me of how strong you are, and how proud I am of you.”

“(Sniff).”

She sighed and went to my nightstand. “Here,” she said and took out a Xanax. “And no telling me you don’t need it tonight.”

I took the pill and swallowed it dry. “I’m not so strong.”

“Scoot over.” I did and she laid down next to me. “You have more reason than most people to be scared during all this, and quitting your job right before was also scary, and you’ve been stuck here and more isolated than anyone else we know. I think you need to give yourself credit for all of that.”

I’m not especially good at giving myself credit, which probably sounds odd to you since I’ve told you just how much I’m an example for the world’s youth and your rightful queen second only to Mary and you should be sending me gifts of peanut butter and precious gem. All of which is true, but that’s different. I didn’t respond to Mary and instead said, “I don’t mean to take stuff out on you.”

“I know. I don’t like it either, and I hope the red bottom I just diapered will remember to deal with those moods in better ways.”

“Bad moods and PMS are no excuse for being a bitch,” I quoted the rule from very early on in our relationship. Bad moods caused by a pandemic are no exception.

“That’s right, and you got a spanking to snap you out of it.”

“Mhmm. Thanks for that. Sorry I was a bitch about that, too.” Sometimes I forget getting my butt spanked is for my own good, literally. I suppose I got taught a lesson, and my butt would hurt enough to remind me, and maybe if I hadn’t been such a sourpuss I would’ve realized I just needed a paddle bounced off my butt to put my sorts back in order.

“Do you feel a little better now at least?”

“Mhmm. I was just angry.”

“At what?”

I shrugged. “Like I said, 2021. I … It was good we went on vacation, but coming back and then you going back to work and 2021 just being like 2020, it was just, like, ‘o yeah, pandemic reality.’”

“I know.”

“But you don’t take it out on anyone.”

“I just took it out on your butt … and I totally lost my cool with tech support this morning, so there’s that.”

“Heh.”

“But we should find better ways to deal with it. That’s your project for tomorrow: coming up with one short–term, one medium–term, and one long–term thing to put your energy toward. We’ll talk about it after work.”

“Kay. Can I make a rule, too?”

“Go for it.”

“You have to stop work at noon every day and have lunch with me, no matter what. I’ll make us something.”

“I promise, Daffy. I’ll put it on my calendar every day. Which panties do you want?”

“Can’t I just wear these without them?” Wasn’t that enough?

“Only I’m allowed to take this off, and if you potty in them they won’t stop it from getting on the sheets. And it’s only 7:45.”

“… The white ones.” Back into the closet she went and came back out.

“Gimme a footsie.”

“You don’t have to babytalk at me,” I reminded her.

“You don’t have to always pretend you hate this every step of the way.”

“But I do, is the thing.”

“Always have to pretend, or hate it?”

“(Wind whistling through trees two counties over).”

“Lift … there. All tucked in. Take your shirt off.”

I took my shirt off, and she got a pajama top for me. I put it on (all by myself). “I’ll be better tomorrow.”

“Look at me, Daphne … You listening?”

“Mhmm.”

“If you need to be worse tomorrow, go right ahead, and we’ll deal with that together, too. You know that?”

“Mhmm.”

“But I hope you have a better day tomorrow, and a better one the day after that, the first step of which is a full night’s sleep. Under the covers, little girl. I’ll get you some water and be close behind, okay.”

“Okay. Thanks for taking care of me. I love you.”

“I love you, too. Close those eyes.”