Mary and Daphne #111 (Patreon)

“Hi, Nana,” I said with a voice one might characterize as purposefully mopey as I was in search of sympathy and went outside specifically hoping she would be in her yard doing nana stuff.

“Hi, Daffy. You don’t sound as cheerful as you did yesterday.”

“Can I come over?”

“Mhmm.” And through the fence I went. Or the gate in the fence. It would be a good trick to go through the fence, not that I’m gonna go down the rabbit hole of how cool it would be if I were magical. I mean, I’m really good at a few things, but I wouldn’t characterize any of it as magic, though turning flour into cookies is for sure some kind of alchemy.

Anyhoo, “Thanks,” I said when I closed the gate behind me. “How come your garden is bloomed out and a buncha my stuff has leaf spot?”

“Did you try spraying anything on it?” Like, what, did she mean actually taking action to solve a problem, also known as working? Nerts to that!

“Like what?”

“I use copper fungicide.”

“Is that safe?”

“Mhmm. It’s organic. Just wash things well before you eat them. Is that what’s got you down?”

“No. I’m just in a funk.” Post-vacation drop. I mean, what am I supposed to do all day again? It would go a long way to giving me something (or someone) to do if Mary was also retired. I did some back-of-the-napkin math, and that would require us inheriting a fortune from a long lost relative. She’s been working long hours (regular hours, sort of) and by three o’clock I’m thinking about dinner and wondering when she’ll be done and dropping subtle hints like going into her office and asking things like, “Can you stop yet?” Very subtle. People say, “Was Daphne just here? Hard to know because she’s so subtle.” Really.

“What got you in a funk? Did you get in trouble?”

“I’m just bored. Being retired is harder than it looks. I don’t have anything to do that doesn’t involve spending money, and Mary told me I’d better not if I know what’s good for me.” She says that about all kinds of stuff, and then I point out that if I knew what was good for me, I would never have asked for a domestic discipline relationship in the first place (well, for that reason and for some other tingly-between-the-legs reasons), and that never gets me out of trouble. Like, if a person doesn’t know something is wrong, should they really be spanked for it? And if a person does technically know, should they be spanked for claiming not to, because that was a thing one or twice or eight times (or more).

“Daffy,” my darling spouse called from our patio, and not that I’m a golden retriever or anything, but hearing her call for me, and it wasn’t even lunch time yet, made my ears perk up and my imaginary tail start wagging.

“Over here,” I said casually, just playing it cool. A little hard to get never hurt a girl. She doesn’t need to know every little thought that goes through my head like, o, say, along the lines of, we’ve been home for four whole days and I’m bored and I miss you and I swear I’m not pathetic! Nope, cuz I don’t even think that way. Really.

“Hi, Mae,” Mary said when she came through the fence. The gate in the fence. Why is that a thing with me again? O yes, my descent into boredom-induced insanity, I think. “How are you?”

“I’m fine. Daffy and I were just about to go inside and bake something.”

“We were? I mean, okay.”

“Good,” Mary said. “That’ll give her something to do besides moping around the house.”

“I wasn’t moping. I was … being morose.” Totally different. Really.

“I really liked spending so much time with you before the pandemic. You made me feel young,” Nana said.

“You are young, and I did too.”

“What’s stopping the two of you,” Mary asked. “What time should I bring her over?”

“Marrry, you don’t need to drop me off.” As evidenced by my having carried myself all thirty steps to Nana’s backyard on my own two little feet. She just likes embarrassing me and stuff.

“Fine, but what time should I pick you up?”

Nana scortled while I rolled my eyes so hard the springs almost broke. She’s so ridiculous and just loves poking my bear, and I like it sometimes (like right then … dammit.) “You don’t need to pick me up.”

“But if I have to pick you up,” Mary said, “it’ll help me end the day at a regular time.”

“Let’s play it by ear,” Nana suggested.

“Good idea. I like it when you look after her. Such a good influence.”

“I don’t look after her. She looks after me,” Nana said in a way that made me feel as though everybody was patronizing me.

“Can I borrow her back home for a bit,” Mary asked.

“Be my guest. Daffy, just come on back over when you’re ready. I’ll teach you how to make pie crust from scratch.”

“A very good influence,” Mary said and took my hand. I like holding her hand.

“What’s up,” I asked Mary as we walked back to our house.

“Inside,” she said, which made the fine little hairs on the back of my neck stand up.

“What kind of pie should we make,” I asked Mary in the hopes of bribing her with sweets. If only she was as hopelessly addicted to sugar as me. I was pretty sure I didn’t do anything to be in trouble.

“Whatever kind your heart desires,” she said. If I was in trouble, she was pretty happy about it. “This way,” she practically sang as she led me into the living room.

“Aww, Marrry, what’d I do,” I didn’t whine when I saw the bar stool and hairbrush sitting in the middle of the living room just waiting for Mary to sit down and fold me over her lap.

“They’ll be time to discuss that while you’re across my lap.”

“But I didn’t whoa!” I exclaimed as she sat and ninjaed me over her knee in one motion. If you ever marry a ninja, be sure you know how they feel about adult spanking before the wedding. I mean, I knew about the spanking part, but she didn’t mention she was a ninja. And how the heck did she seem to get stronger over the past year without going to the gym any more than me (who went never)?

“Be careful with me! I’m a tiny little woman,” I didn’t sass. Fake news. I’ve never sassed anyone in my life. Just not my style.

“With a giant personality,” she snarked. Pseudo-snarked. It just seemed like snark, but she’s not cool enough to snark like me. Really. (Except she is so friggin cool! Anyhoo…)

“What I do,” I asked very professionally. That’s me. A pro at … stuff. Dammit ...

“Nothing, but I couldn’t help but notice you’ve been a little mopey, and I think a smack on your reset button will help.”

“That’s specious reasoning.”

“Mmmm, nope. It’s excellent reasoning. A good butt warming almost always rights your wagon.” Smack!

“But my wagon is upright.” That’s a stupid metaphor, but she started it. I took note of how my use of it did not even for a second stop her from folding my skirt over my back and sliding my panties down my thighs.

“And your undies are around your axels.” She is such a nerd. Please forget I ever said she was cool (which I didn’t, cuz she's not, except in the lot of ways that she is). “Look at me.”

I twisted my head around to see her resting her elbow on my back, her chin resting on her upturned palm. I couldn’t see her other hand, but it was rubbing ... stuff and things. “What,” I didn’t grump. Nope. Not me. I don’t grump because I'm not a grump.

“I don’t think you’re getting spanked enough.”

“Am too.” Except me? Spanked? Never happened. I mean, how undignified would that be, getting turned over a knee with your tennis skirt flipped up and panties around your axelsankles and your bits on display and … stuff? Dammit ...

“You’re happier when you get spanked more.”

“But I didn’t do anything.”

“I know, and that’s not a good sign. When you’re happy, your mischievous.” The order of causation between happiness, mischief, and spanking is perhaps not as unidirectional as Mary believes, but anyway, she kept talking. She loves to keep talking, especially when I’m over her knee, where not coincidentally she says I listen better. But anyhoo, she kept talking.

“You’ve been well-behaved, and I won’t stand for it. It’s summertime, and I want you running around, skinning your knees, coming home dirty, and getting in trouble. Not a lot, just a little.”

“You are so channeling my mom right now … well, partly,” I tacked on as I considered just where I was. Mom gave that speech most summers, but her solution was to send me to play outside and stop watching TV all day. Unlike my Mary, she very much appreciated me keeping my panties on.

“And you are so channeling a twelve-year-old who’s bored without her mommy to entertain her.”

“You … Just because you have a point doesn’t mean you get to smirk at me. No one likes a sore smarty pants … And I’m not a middle,” I added before she could say it or draw any conclusions on her own. Smack! “Ouch.”

“O, spare me.”

“Grrr,” I didn’t grunt in frustration, and I turned back to staring at the floor.  Didn’t ineffectually kick my feet either. Or pout. Or feel sorry for myself. Or actually, I was already feeling sorry for myself. Mary didn’t do that. I can make myself feel sorry for myself all by myself … so take that, I guess. Dammit ...

“Besides,” Mary said, “you look too adorable over my knee with your bare bottom sticking up and your panties around ankles and your little pink tennis shoes.”

Not too cute to spank, apparently. Not sure if there is such a thing, but if there is such a thing, I’ve never been one. SMACK! “OW! Marrry! Warmup!”

“Nope.”

“Stop – OW! – saying OW! – that OW!!”

So I was not in the best of moods and hadn’t been for a while except while we were on vacation. And so I was pretty much doing nothing unless it was with her. And so I had blamed everything on the pandemic and talked up how much I was going to go nuts when it was over and I’ve been vaccinated for more than a month and haven’t, ya know, done anything. Which is all to say Mary may have had a point … and stuff.

But she coulda chosen a more polite way to make it. I mean, when I’m sad and she decides to adjust my attitude via my butt, I’m okay with that. That usually works at least a little. It ends with me sobbing with great big ol’ tears and sometimes snot bubbles (except I don’t ever do that – can you imagine?).

“Tell me (SMACK!) with a straight face (SMACK!) that you’re not (SMACK!) happier now (SMACK!) than five (SMACK!) minutes (SMACK!) ago (SMACK!).”

“Marrry, that’s, ha,” I didn’t giggle. “Ow! Not (heehee) true! OW! Be careful with me; I have a very delicate bottom!”

“You say that to me one more time, and I’m getting the bathbrush.”

“No – OW OW OW! – fair!”

“I decide (SMACK!) what’s (SMACK!) fair (SMACK SMACK SMACK SMACK SMACK!). Are you going to get off the couch without me telling you to (SMACK)?”

“Yes!”

“Are you going to find yourself some things to do (SMACK)?”

“Eeep! Yes!”

“Are you going to go out and do stuff even if you have to go alone sometimes (SMACK)?”

“Yes! OUCH! Geez!”

“That’s (SMACK) the kind of sass (SMACK) I wanna hear. You ready to go to your Nana’s and make me a pie?”

“Yes please.” (SMACK!)

“Good. I’m going to ask her if you smiled, and if she says no, I’m going to hold you down while she tickles you.”

“Like she’d listen to you.” Also, do you think Mary knew that was my warm, red, tingly butt she was rubbing? Heehee!

“Good girl. Up.”

She helped me to my feet, where I didn’t stand there rubbing my butt like a little girl who just got put over someone’s knee and had their bare bottom spanked. Nope. Didn’t … aw, screw it.

She bent down and pulled my panties back up (and kinda goosed me when she did. She’s very forward, my Mary). Then, because she’s downright grabby at times, she kissed me right on the lips. Can you imagine that? Girls kissing girls right on the lips? Of course, I’ve been imagining it for thirty years and doing it for twelve, so it’s easy for me, but if you never have, my advice is to start out slow … It’s better when it’s slow. Really.

“This is my way of saying that I’m going to pay more attention to you even when I’m working, but that I also want to see you get out and do stuff. You shouldn’t be home and bored just because I’m still chained to my computer.”

“I’m not allowed to be bored?”

“You can be bored after you’ve run out of stuff to do, but first you gotta go do stuff.”

“Yeah …”

“Make a list of things to do while you’re over at Nana’s.”

“Um, can one of the things be a bedtime spanking?” She scortled at me. “Don’t start something if you’re too afraid to finish it, Mary.”

“Ha! Absolutely we can play before bedtime.”

“And also possibly while dinner is in the oven. We’re having roast.”

“My little homemaker. Go help Nana make pie and try to keep your undies dry.”

“Marrry!”

“I’ll make up a diaper bag to leave over there just in case.”

“You’d … better not.”

“Let that be motivation for you to venture further than next door. Now scoot before I wrap your butt in one of the bunny diapers.”