Mary and Daphne #98 (Patreon)

Assholes! Assholes assholes assholes! And butt faces.

I went inside, washed my hands, dried my hands, and threw the dish towel back on the counter because I am fierce. Or just pissed off. And to compound my crappy morning, I knocked a glass on the floor. Mary almost instantly appeared.

“You okay? What happened,” she asked me.

“I’m fine. I knocked a glass off the counter.” She walked over to me and, not kidding, picked me up. “Mary!”

“You’re wearing sandals,” she said and deposited me on the kitchen table. “You’ll get cut.” Which I most very probably and perhaps definitely wouldn’t.

“I can clean it up,” I reminded her.

“I got it. What happened?”

“I tossed the towel on the counter and knocked the glass off. Sorry.”

“Accidents happen.” She got the broom out.

“They ate my flowers.”

“What flowers?”

“All the bulbs I planted. Look outside.” She stopped what she was doing and tiptoed to the back door.

“I’m sorry, Daffy,” she said when she looked outside and saw that every single flower from every single bulb I’d planted was gone. That’s one hundred and thirty-five tulips and crocuses and snowdrops, and some asshole of a deer or rabbit or something ate every last one. Every. Last. Damn. One. Fucker!

“I worked hard on those.” Sort of. I dug tiny holes, put the bulb in, and covered them. I guess that’s kinda not so hard, but not the point. Maybe I emotionally invested a little too much in flowers, but I needed the colors. Reds and yellows and purple and blues and pinks. I needed to see color in my spring after twelve months of immunocompromised quarantine. “There won’t be more flowers blooming in our yard for weeks now.”

“We can buy some tulips. I’ll even plant them with you.”

“Thank you,” I sighed, “but it’s not the same. I made those ones.” Well, not really, but planting from a seed or a bulb is so much more rewarding than planting a plant.

Mary resumed her sweeping while I vented and called down the coyotes and hawks to take care of whatever ate my flowers. The bystanders can go about their business, but the ones who did the chewing are on my list of things to subject to the withering power of nature via the power of wishful thinking. Another year of quarantine, and I’ll probably be one of those insufferable people who talk about manifesting their desires.

“And we need chicken wire and some spray stuff to keep them away,” I said aloud to add to my mental shopping list.

“And I’ll hire a neighborhood kid to sit out there all night with a flashlight and an air horn,” Mary offered.

Which was sweet of her, but, “I’m serious, Mary. All my flowers.” A little bit of whining, which you all know I never do (really!) crept in there.

“I know, sweetie.” I did some world class pouting while she finished cleaning up my mess (except I don’t ever pout, so technically I didn’t. It was more mourning, I guess).

“Come on,” Mary said when she put the broom away.

“Thank you for cleaning up after me.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Where are we going?”

“Bed.”

“O, sympathy sex,” I said. Maybe I’d be more excited for it by the time we got up the stairs. It’s not that I have a high libido but that fifteen seconds is a long time, more than enough for me to get in the mood.

When we got to our bedroom, Mary sat down, bent over and took my sandals offs, then popped the button on my shorts. “Why am I getting a spanking,” I asked. Which may have been a leap of logic, but her sitting on the bed with me in front of her while she pops the button on my shorts, well, ya might say it conjures memories.

She gave me a quick kiss on my tummy. “You’re not, you silly goose.”

“I’m not a silly goose. I’m just someone who’s had their shorts taken down for many, many spankings.” She stood up and turned the covers down. “Hop in.” I made a goofy grin at her that was my best attempt to be alluring and sexy and slid in. I wouldn’t so much mind Mary getting in with me clothed and having me fumble around under the sheets trying to gain entry to her pants. Or her clothes staying on while she used her teeth to … Anyhoo …

Yet I couldn’t help but notice I was also still wearing panties and my tee, and for someone who was going to be getting in bed with me, Mary was suspiciously tucking me in and giving me a kiss on the forehead. Not that I was so in the mood as to be counting on shenanigans, but huh?

“What are you doing,” I asked as she gave me a head pat.

“Putting you down for a nap.”

“But I don’t wanna take a nap.”

“You’ll feel better after a little sleep. I’ll come get you in a bit.”

And then she left. Like, what the fuck? ‘Feel better?’ I felt fine. I was miffed about my flowers (okay, pissed), but I didn’t need or want a nap. Mary could’ve, ya know, asked me.

I got out of bed, put on some pandemic chic no-button shorts, and went back downstairs. I don’t know where Mary went, but I went to the kitchen to get a glass of water. For my trouble, I collected both a glass of water and a spank on my butt.

“What are you doing out of bed?”

“I didn’t want a nap, but I did want a glass of water. What are you up to?”

“Putting you back down for your nap.”

For someone whose wife didn’t want to take a nap, Mary sure was taking me back upstairs for a nap. What was this? Was this Mary, as she had been lately, pioneering her own path on the ageplay stuff? Because I distinctly remember asking her to slow that down. I even have a diary entry literally spelling that out.

“I don’t want a nap, Mary.”

“But you’ll feel better after you take one.” She’s awfully handsy sometimes, a delightful quality when I want her to be and something not so delightful when I don’t especially when her to be and downright annoying when I downright don’t want her to be. Well, I didn’t just then want her to be.

“But I’m not tired.”

“Then just rest your eyes. In you go,” she said as she stood next to the bed again.

“Marrrry.”

“Daffy, in you go.”

“But whyyyy?”

“Because I said so. Unless you don’t want to go to sleep because you’re afraid to close your eyes without a diapee on. Is that the problem?”

“Marrrrrry! But … urgh!”

“In,” she said as she guided me onto the mattress and gave me another smack on my butt. “And stay in until I come get you. If I find you out of bed, I’m going to spank.” O yeah, who?

And with that the friggin’ dictatress turned, strode across the room, and closed the door behind her. For once in my life (really!), my frustration got the better of me and I threw a pillow at the door. Like, seriously, how the fuck was I back in bed?

To say I was displeased would be an understatement. We had just talked about her being all big without me wanting her to be. Yes, we all sometimes get into our headspace and push the envelope, and sometimes that leads to new fun we didn’t know we liked. And yes, sometimes we deliberately try new things to see how they go, like, o, the very first time she made me wear a pullup, and holy schnikees what a mixed bag that’s been. And yes, as a submissive I like her to be in charge and make decisions, but only if she’s reading my signals. And didn’t I say like a week ago to take two steps back?

Bigging out is a new term I’m using. It’s like wigging out except it’s when someone gets all into their big space and makes you do little stuff even when you’re not in your little headspace, which I’m not ever in because I AM NOT A LITTLE! I’ve said so a bunch of times.

I like it when Mary pushes the envelope, but only when I’m in the mood. Some other day she wants to put me down for a nap, fine. That day, I was not in the mood even for twenty minutes or however long she was going to make me stay there.

I got out of bed and crept out of the room when I suddenly remembered I don’t ever have to creep anywhere. If I didn’t want to take a nap, I didn’t have to. That’s called being an adult and an agent of my own destiny and a master of my own fate. It’s called a lot of other things, too. If Mary had a problem with it, I’d just tell her how I felt, like an adult.

I got all the way to the landing on the stairs when I spotted Mary, who turned like predator or a terminator and spotted me from the bottom of the stairs.

“I’m …”

And that’s as far as I got when Mary said, “What did I say would happen if you got out of bed before I came to get you?”

And she’s on her way up the stairs. “Mary, I don’t want to take a nap. Could you just please…”

“No, I cannot just please. When Momma says …”

Excuse me? When who says?

“Mary! Red light.”