Mary and Daphne #90 (Patreon)

It was Mary’s idea. Well, in a loose sense that she made an off handed comment that made my ears perk up and I thought to myself, self, you can have some pandemic fun with that.

I would’ve let the idea go, too, except Mary keeps moving my laundry. I do the laundry, I put away the laundry, I go to don some of my laundry, and in one particular drawer I don’t find said laundry that I know I put there. Not all the time, but when it comes to panties, that’s something you really need all the times you go looking.

Not that going commando is the worst thing (I could totally be a commando if the criteria were how often and well one goes commando), but in my effort to not succumb to complete pandemic sloppiness, I’m trying to wear actual clothes. Mary is not helping that effort when she takes panties out of my drawer and replaces them with a diaper. Her pre–pandemic delight in buying me panties from the junior miss section led to me having way too many panties, and I don’t know where all those went. I do know that I’m down to maybe three of those and two regular pair, and that’s not enough when it’s laundry day and she decides it would be hilarious to leave me with none to wear.

I don’t even know what she’s trying to accomplish. Unless she’s just trying to make sure I never don’t feel at least a little teased. It’s like bratting in reverse, now that I think on it, and yeah, putting up with a brat is hard. I felt, shall we say, a little competitive, like no one was going to out brat me.

Bratting is an art form. Newbies go rushing in there with the look at me look at me I’m misbehaving look at me approach, and there’s a time and a place for that, but some art needs to build slowly, such as over the course of a laundry cycle, by which I do not mean the machine but the days that pass between loads of laundry. That’s why I don’t call this The Great Panty Raid. I call it The Panty Embezzlement.

“Daffy,” Mary called to me (she’s always calling to me) one wonderful afternoon after her post–workout shower, “is there clean laundry in the dryer?”

“No,” I called back, “I did it yesterday.” Another hard part of being a brat and staying true to your art? Not getting so eager that you don’t let things play out in their natural time. So rather than run upstairs to speed up these events, I waited. And waited. And took off my pants and got under a blanket. And waited until Mary came back downstairs.

“Are you sure you got all the laundry,” she asked as she came downstaits, wearing (I’m guessing because pants) the thong I left her (she’s not a fan; your butt cheeks belong together, she once told me, cuz your butt cheeks are friends).

“Mhmm.” Yep, I got it all. O, I got it all (evil cackle).

“You couldn’t have,” she said as she headed toward our main floor laundry (woohoo! main floor laundry; gotta get excited about the little things these days).

“I keep our house very well, thank you very much.” Let’s see who can gaslight who better.“If you don’t like the way I do the chores, maybe you should start doing your own laundry.” Yeah, that’s risky and likely to only end one way, but it was worth the risk.

“I didn’t mean it that way. I just … can’t find anything.” I waited. I am a patient huntress (sometimes; almost never, actually, but this time I was feeling like I could play the long game, delayed gratification being the mark of a mature soul and all that, especially when it was only likely to be delayed a few minutes).

I heard the dryer door open again. “Could you come help me look, please?”

I hopped out from under my camouflage (blanket) and headed toward our main floor laundry (woohoo! main floor laundry!) and leaned against the edge of the door frame. “Did you check the hamper,” I asked. “It’s not like I’m hiding your panties.” Because we’re sympatico, I and only I could see the little lightbulb flick on above her head. Shut went the dryer drawer, up came Mary from her (wonderful) bent over posture, and pivot she did on her foot to look me right in the eye.

“Daphne Ann, what did you … Are you wearing my panties?”

Her hands were inspecting my wardrobe before I could utter, “Don’t be ridiculous.”

Smack! Worth it. “Explain yourself, young lady.”

“Possession is ninth tenths of the law, Mary.” That shut her up. “And pbbbbbt!” Yep, I raspberried her. This is gonna hurt. So worth it.

“You (spank) are in (spank) over (spank spank) your head (spank spank spank spank spank).”

“Lemme go! Ow!” She thinks she’s always got the upper hand because she spanks me with her hand, but I got game, too. “I just wanna wear pretty panties like you!” And cue the sad puppy eyes.

Had she accused me of being full of shit, she wouldn’t have been wrong. But if she can start kinky sex games, I can too. You might even say I started the very first one. After all, who was letting her butt get passed around at a spanking party when Mary found it? Little ol’ me, that’s who.

Her right hand paused in midair while her left kept its gentle grip around my arm, not that I was trying to get away. “Upstairs,” she said, and walked us upstairs, notably without any more spanks to my butt. Perhaps she just didn’t want to damage her panties. Ha! I got spanked on Mary’s panties. Mary’s panties got a spanking. Heeheehee!

“You’re in trouble. Stop smiling,” she ordered me.

“No.” And ya know what? “Make me.”

Into the bedroom we went, and she sat down on the ottoman. She doesn’t sit on the ottoman often. Usually just when she intends to paddle me silly, so I may have bitten off more than I could chew. But always a chance not.

“What is this,” she said, taking my panties (right then is when I decided they’re mine) and snapping the waistband.

“I like them … Mine.” Heeheeheeheehee! She looked quizzical, one might say.

“But … what are you … Explain yourself, young lady.”

“You said that already.” SMACK! And cue the crocodile tears. “I just wanna look pretty and wear panties like yours.”

“But they’re not yours.”

“But all my pretty ones are missing.” End crocodile tears. “And you can have yours back when I get mine back.” Booyah! And then I went yoink like a cartoon getting yoinked over Mary’s knee and collected six or twenty, give or take, rapid fire spanks.

“You do not take things that do not belong to you.”

“Looks who’s talking! OW! You took all my good ones!”

“Your good ones?” SPANK! She left her hand there. “You don’t have any panties, honey.”

“Yes I do, and you’ve been taking them and putting them somewhere.”

“I took my panties, that I bought for you to wear, and left you the ones I want you to wear.”

“But … I bought most of those … I used to have a job, ya know.” I had my own money. It’s all been spent now, but that is not relevant.

“It doesn’t matter who paid for them, sweetie. I own them.”

“You …” I twisted around to give her one heck of a dirty look. “Whatever happened to equal partners?”

“We are equal partners, Daffy, but this is mine,” she said and took a handful of butt. My butt, not hers. “Which means everything that goes in it or on it is mine.” She took her hand off my butt, placed it back on the part of me that’s not quite my butt and isn’t quite my front, and said, “That’s just the natural order of things.” Motions … in placed. “Besides, you look so silly, like you’re wearing your big sister’s panties.”

“I do not … gggg ... look silly. I … pretty.” Words were hard to come by with her hands doing that thing to the places.

“So silly and pretty. These don’t fit you. They’re much too big for you.”

“But I like them,” I managed to say.

“But you’re just a little girl. You’re not grown up enough to wear … … Daffy?”

… Well, that was unexpected …

“Daffy, did you just cum in your undies?”

“ … … … … Um, they’re not mine? Woah!” She ninjaed me like a griddle cake, flipped me right over so I was sitting on her knee. “Hi.” Teehee.

“You’re in for it now,” she said, looking quite amused.

“Uh–huh,” said I. “You, um, you know your hand is still, um … handing.” Ooh, I made a word … and stuff. She took her hand away. Awwww, consarnit!

“First you go snooping in my drawers.”

“Ha! Guhaha. Haahaaaahaaa (snort). Snooping … (snort) … in your … ha! Hahaha! (snort) … drawers (snort) because the double (snort) mee–meaning (snort) … hmmmmm.”

Mary was trying so hard to not crack up. “Then you. A–ha–hem! Then you take things that don’t belong to you and you …” She was turning purple holding in a belly laugh. “You do a number three in my panties.”

Well, that was fun while it lasted. “A what now?”

“This little underpants rebellion of yours is over, little missy. You will wear what I put in your drawer for you to wear.”

“But … I … Mary, I like my things. I wanna wear … I’m a woman. I like wearing pretty things.”

“I know you’re a woman, and you’re a beautiful one, but you don’t decide what goes on that part of you anymore.” She was about to put her hand back on that part of me and appeared to think better of it, possibly because … anyhoo.

“Since when is that a rule?”

“Hmmm, since a while, but officially, now.”

“But … Mary, I wanna …”

“And you can, when I say.”

“And when is that?”

“Often enough to make you happy. How’s that?”

“Vague.”

“Mhmm. You behave better when you’re on your toes. And you won’t be wearing any undies for at least two days. Guess what you’re wearing for the next two days.”

“Guayabera shirt?”

“Nope.”

“Why two days?”

“For your two offenses.”

“What two? I don’t count two.” Pout.

“Fibbing and being an underpants gnome.”

If anyone in our house is an underpants gnome, it’s Mary! “I am not an underpants gnome!”

“The gnomiest.”

“Marrrry!”

“You just did a number three in your undies, and you know the rule about number one. Do you need a rule about number two, or will you admit you’re just a little underpants gnome who stole panties that are not appropriate for such a little girl?”

Grrr. And nope never! And grrr. “Gnome,” I meeped.

“And look at what you did when you tried to wear grownup undies,” she said. If I did what she did next, she’d have asked me, do we look with our hands or with our eyes?

“I regret nothing.”

“You know who cums in their undies during a spanking?”

“Eager little beavers whose wives are … d–doing what (gulp) you’re d–doing now?”

“Big girls can hold it for …”

Barely long enough to move to the bed.

AND I AM NOT AN UNDERPANTS GNOME! She is! I want my panties back!

But she can have back the pair I borrowed. I, um, don’t want them anymore. Because reasons.