Mary and Daphne #106 (Patreon)

Oscar Wilde said, “There are only two tragedies in life: one is not getting what one wants, and the other is getting it.” Not that I ever read Oscar Wilde, but Frasier Crane did, and I binged a lot of Frasier over the course of the pandemic.

Just one week to go until we’re fully vaccinated, and Mary decided I could use some help reintegrating into polite society. Me personally, I don’t know anyone from polite society, but Mary says that’s what we used to belong to before she turned into a Zoom dweller, and – get this – I allegedly turned feral.

I’ve been a forest creature and defenseless woodland bunny and a spritely wood nymph and a sylph and a faerie and a mischief elf and was once accused of being an underpants gnome, but I don’t think I’ve been feral before. I didn’t even do much. I was just making a point. I was just making a point in my own special way and it got away from me a bit. It all began with, “What are you gonna do today,” being asked of me by my dear darling spouse.

“I thought I’d go through our closet and move some stuff we don’t need right now down to the basement.”

“Aren’t you a productive member of society,” she complimented me. And you’re probably wondering how I went from a productive member of society to a feral so quickly. Well, it all stems from different perceptions of what “we don’t need right now.” Either that or I was using my productivity as a cover for mischief, and we’ll just never know which is the more accurate description. O darn. What a pity. Whatever will we tell generations yet unborn.

Anyhoo, we have those trunks in our closet. Each of ours is full of what in Alabama are called ‘novelty products’ for legal reasons and among the rest of us are called ‘sex toys.’ See, they’re toys for when you’re having sex, solo or otherwise, hence the clever name. Also some outfits, paddles, more paddles, a cane, and a paddle or two because we like paddles. And of course, Mary’s incontinence undergarments and related accessories. And let’s pause to note they’re in her trunk, lest anyone still believe they are mine and not hers despite my many explanations of how this works: they are hers, I wear them on my lower half on her behalf. For realzies really.

I don’t own diapers. I don’t need diapers. The seasons have changed, and while diapers really are never in season for a non-diaper wearer like me, they’re for sure not a summer thing. I checked all the what’s-hot-what’s-not articles on summer apparel (turns out, being beautiful is really in right now), and I looked at what the top clothing influencers were saying on Instacartagram, and diapers were nowhere to be found. We want to fit in when we re-enter this polite society Mary referred to (after the alleged misbehavior) and not commit any faux pas, right? And all the trends were unmistakably pointing toward an underpants-optional summer sex romp. On top of which, someone has to pump the brakes on Mary’s nonstop slow train to ageplay town, and that someone is me. I boxed the diapers and accessories up, reorganized the trunks like I said I would because I’m scrupulously honest even when I’m not being wholly truthful, and took all the stuff we didn’t need, diapers included, down to the basement. Did I get called one of the best railway conductors to ever grace the cover of Time Magazine? No. I got called feral and mischievous and deceptive, which I felt was a little strong despite the deliberate deception.

All of which came after Mary emerged from the bedroom and asked me, “Daphne Ann, where are your diapers?”

Which just goes to show what she was gonna do to me whether I did anything or not, and despite that and despite so many things being wrong with her assertion of who owns what in the diaper department, I didn’t sass back at all. Really. Unless you count, “Hmm. I don’t know because I don’t have any diapers and never have.” See? No sass, which is why I was so confused by Mary making her you-better-cut-the-sass face.

“Little girl…”

“Nope, sorry. I’m not a little girl.” Completely sass-less, right? No back talk at all. In fact, I was back taking so little that Mary grabbed my wrist and yoinked me toward a kitchen chair that she magically managed to spin around, sit down on, and tip me over her knee in a single motion. I married a ninja sorceress … a kinky ninja sorceress.

SPANK! “What has gotten into you, Missy?”

“I put the diapers away because the pandemic is almost over.”

“What’s that got to do with anything?”

“I don’t wanna wear them anymore, so I put them with the other stuff we don’t need.” You can’t fault that logic, but leave it to Mary to try.

“I don’t recall saying the pandemic had anything to do with padding your little butt, and you darn well know it.” Mary swears like a six-year-old. Which of us is the little girl again?

“But I … urgh! Marrrry, I don’t wanna go places in those stupid things and you’re gonna make me.”

“I’ll make you when I have a mind to, but I remember what we talked about. I’m not gonna put you in them all the time.”

“But any of the time. People will see.”

“Well, they might, but I doubt it, and that’s neither here nor there. You wear diapers because I put you in them, just like you’re over my knee because I put you there. So either you’re having a little rebellion or you wanna red light something.”

“I don’t … Can we revisit the rules?” Face down over Mary’s lap isn’t the best time to negotiate rules what with the age-old dictum to always negotiate from a position of strength, but ya know what, there’s this other dictum about there being no time like the present, which, back then in the past, it currently was.

“What rule would you like to revisit?” Is it me, or did she sound kinda and smartassy when she said that? Maybe you had to be be there

“The one where you tell me to do stuff and I do it.” Which, yes, is kinda a big rule. Like, the biggest rule. Sorta the only rule and all the other rules are sub-bullets, no pun intended. “But only for when I don’t want to. So, um, I’ll just do the things you tell me to do that I like and won’t do the others. Would that be okay?” SPANK! “Ouch! … Does that mean you’re thinking about it?”

“It’s a good thing you’re over my knee, Daffy, because your ears work better when you are. Are you listening to me?”

“Mhmm.” Of course. Not like I ever just ignore what she says. Um, really. I’m not making shifty eyes; um, you are … so there. Really.

“Are you asking because you’re not happy and want to change how our lifestyle works, or are you asking because the pandemic is ending and you’re worried about going out?” I don’t wanna brag about my wife or nothin’, but she’s so good at being perceptive and asking questions that cut right through the bullcrap. Not that I ever muddy the waters with bullcrap.

And it was a good question. I mean, we’ve barely left the house in fifteen months, and we’ve seen pretty much the same handful of people and some of them not even in person, and you probably haven’t noticed and maybe Mary hasn’t noticed, but the two of us and our thing has gotten a smidge intense. With me not working and not going anywhere, our little world has become like Fetish Island, which is great and all until you have to step back onto Vanilla Mainland.

Like, since when did I become such a crybaby, and does Mary remember people besides her, like business owners and lawmakers, also have a say in when I hafta wear pants, and she is aware, right, that some people don’t appreciate people peeing in their dining rooms, right? Because I’m not so sure how well the current versions of us transfer to the post-pandemic world of Not Our Own House.

So I said, “The second one … I mean, you know I can’t just … do all the things in public, right?”

“You mean do I remember you’re not allowed to be naked over my knee in the park? Yeah, I do remember reading something about that.”

Did she just … Grr! “Are you being snarky with me?”

“Me? Never. Really.”

Which is when I spun my head around and glared at her so heccin hard. I know when I’m being mocked! I know when I’m being made a fool of! And sometimes I like it but grrr!

“You shoot the cutest little daggers out of your eyes. I’m not going to make you do anything you’re not comfortable with, Daffy. You know that. Why would you think I would?”

O, let’s see: “The time you diapered me after our hike, the time you diapered me during our other hike, that time you pantsed me on a hike, the time you spanked me … also on a hike.” Maybe we just shouldn’t go hiking? “And you put one of those things on me when I was just sunbathing. I’m not a diapergirl, remember?”

“Sit up,” my Mary said to me. I like sitting on her knee. Thank goodness I’ll never outgrow being able to fit (mostly) in her lap. “We did that stuff before the pandemic, too. Are you just worried I’m going to take you out in diapers and let other people see?”

“A little. I think I only wore them three or four times before the pandemic. We didn’t do this then.” Was she just gonna take the way we’d been and keep doing it after we went back out into this polite society she’s always but only recently started talking about?

“I’m not going to go around exposing you, silly. It wouldn’t be fair to you or to all the people who don’t wanna see our little sexcapades.” I always thought of them as big sexcapades, but then I’m shorter than she is.

“But the … They show even when I’m wearing pants.” At least I think they do. Kinda hard to tell what with the whole mental bias of I don’t wanna be wearing them at all.

“Says who? I don’t think so. And some are thicker than others; remember when we we got you the thinner ones?” She has such a loose relationship with the first-person plural. I don’t remember ‘we’ getting anything. I remember them just showing up moments before she put one on me … at her parents’ house (grumble). “You can pick out your own if you want.”

So I told her, “No I can’t, because that would be mistaken for me liking the things.” She’s always trying to trick me into participating in her crimes. “Would be a lot simpler if we just left them in the basement,” I didn’t pout. It was more of an exasperated how-many-times-do-I-need-to-explain-this sorta way of saying it. And in case you hear otherwise from lying liars who tell lies when they’re lying, I didn’t snuggle into Mary’s chest in a transparent attempt to curry sympathy with my alleged adorability. That’s just a thing that didn’t happen, is what that is. Really.

“You little fink.”

“A what?!? How am I a fink?”

“A rat fink with your little mini rebellion and bratting and the uwu face you just made before burrowing into my shirt. Do you think I was born yesterday?”

“Well I sure as heck wasn’t born yesterday, not that anyone would ever know it when you make me wear those things! … And you’re a name caller, too! That’s not nice, Mary. That’s not nice at all … … Shame.” Hmmm. Mary’s not-impressed face.

“Are you done with your little performance?”

Ugh! As if! Like …maybe a little. “I think so … for now.” I’ve tried the direct approaches and indirect approaches, and a little subterfuge and misdirection have proven to be semi-potent (but not really) tools in my war to stay diaper-free.

“You’re gonna be a little handful when we start going out again,” Mary concluded. I personally feel that was a leap of logic. “Maybe you’re not ready to go out in public again.”

“Am too!” Grrrrr! And urrrrrrrgh! I want out! Lemme out! Lemme out lemme out lemme out!

“Tell me the truth: am I putting you in diapers too much?”

Loaded questions from Queen So-and-so. I mean, at all is too much if you ask little ol’ me, which I did and she said at all is too much. But in the balance between me being happy and Mary being happy and the weird, conflicted humiliation fetish the good lord gifted me with, no. Unfortunately. Dammit.

“No,” I said and may have let a little disappointment creep in. Why am I so honest when it really counts? I mean, I’d been smudging the truth just fine until she asked me to tell the truth. It’s almost like those times Mary spanked me for fibbing and told me never to do it again actually worked (somewhat), which is just ridiculous. I got into this for the feels, dammit, not to grow as a person! Unfair! “But I don’t wanna wear ‘em as much this summer. I wanna wear cute stuff and go places and do things and those are too big for summer outfits and they’re hot and feel icky when I get sweaty.” Whoah. That came out more plaintive than I meant.

“Deal,” Mary said. “And you could’ve just said that instead of going to all this trouble. You got me worried now.”

“I’m not gonna pee my pants, Mary.” She always … that stupid joke that’s not even funny.

“I’m not worried about that, silly goose. I’m worried you’ve been away from polite society for so long you don’t know how to behave anymore.”

“Marrrry. I do too know how to behave.”

“Then what’s with this little episode? Is that how little girls behave? And you said so yourself that you need lessons on how to interact with people again.”

“I was joking.” I mean come on! Everybody has made that joke. It’s like she has a special memory bank for the things I say that she can turn around into ways to bedevil me. Which is what she is – a magical ninja bedeviler … and stuff.

“Don’t be embarrassed,” she teased me. “I recognize your little cries for help when you eep one out.”

Sigh… “What are you gonna do to me?” I mean, could we cut to the chase?

“I’m going to put you on a behavioral improvement plan. We have one more week until we’re fully vaccinated, and until then, I’m making it my mission to make sure you’re as ready to be the bestest version of you that you can be.

I’m pretty sure by definition I’m always the bestest version of me. “What does that mean?”

“You’re getting at least one spanking a day.”

“What!?! But I don’t even do anything every day!”

“Aren’t you the one who’s wanted maintenance spankings since I’ve known you?”

“Weekly! Not every day!” Like, we have butts for reasons. I need mine so sit on … and stuff.

“Shush your little voice, Daffy Dew Drop. You’re getting exactly what you wanted whether you like it or not.” Mary’s I’m-so-smug-and-satisfied face. “And I think the no-strikes rule should stay in effect for a while, just to make sure you’re on your very best behavior for, o, a month.”

“But … My butt!”

“Mhmm. That’s what I’m gonna spank you on: your butt. And another thing.”

“Please no more things. I have enough things.”

“Nope. One more thing. If you’re not going to be wearing diapers as much after next week, you’ll just have to wear them more now.”

“But …”

“It’s decided. You’re gonna be my extra widdle piddle puddle pants with a sore bumbum for the next week, starting right now for what you just tried to pull.”

“But …”

“Yes?”

“(Defeated noises).” How the heck did my firing a shot across the bow about the diapers end up with me getting spanked every single day and wearing them even more for a week?!? And another thing – I have a suspicion born of experience and innate distrust that what I consider ‘not as much’ and what Mary thinks it means in the diaper department are not the same, and I have another suspicion that difference of opinion will come to the fore prior to Independence Day in a way one of us is going to like less than the other. Hmmph!

“This is a good thing, Daffodil. You can re-enter society confidently, knowing that any socially inappropriate behavior or naughtiness of any kind will be dealt with on the spot. Doesn’t that sound reassuring?”

“No! … A little … But this week, Mary …”

“Maintenance spankings, diapers, and any other corrections you need.”

“This is gonna be a long week.” No pretense. I just plopped my cheek and Mary’s shirt and sighed. That she likes cuddling so much delayed my first maintenance spanking was just a delightful benefit.

Anyhoo, that was all a few days ago. My butt hurts. Which is fun and all but …