Mary and Daphne #113 (Patreon)

Mary and I had words after I got back from Nana’s, and “got back” is how I’m describing it even though she’d describe it as getting picked up. Specifically picked up by her, knocking on the door and cheerfully asking, “Ready to go home,” when Nana let her in. I have knock-and-enter privileges, whereas Mary still feels she has to be let in. I guess that’s one of the ways our respective relationships with Nana are different, the other major difference being Mary sees Nana as a pseudo-caregiver to me, while I see Nana as my friend. My friend who I hang out with when Mary doesn’t want me hanging out alone. But I hang out with her when I want to, too, not just when Mary tells me, so she’s my friend. My friend who changed my diaper. Twice. Dammit … And anyway, it’s not what it sounds like. Really … And it’s Mary’s diaper! Really! Dammit …

We went to the farmers’ market and window shopping and lunch just like Nana wanted, and we had a good time. See, I can forget I’m wearing one of Mary’s diapers when out in public, if I must, so long as it’s one of the disposable kind. I checked myself in the mirror thoroughly before we left (and btw, I’m kinda hot even with one of those stupid things on), and I couldn’t tell what I was wearing unless I bent all the way over and looked between my legs. Hence I was confident I could wear that skirt and that diaper out of the house without being seen or heard. And even though it was hidden under my skirt, when we got to lunch I tucked my chair under the table very snug just in case. No one saw.

Window shopping round two was a little more trying. See, I was thirsty. It was hot, I drank a lot of iced tea at lunch, and well, you can probably guess. Like, haha, you can probably guess, no need for little ol’ me to describe wetting my pants while trying to not look like I was wetting my pants. I’m starting to think my I’m-not-wetting-my-pants face isn’t effective, like, at all.

The only important part is that Nana did not change me in public, which I wouldn’t have let her even if she had asked. And she didn’t ask. She just looked at me kinda sorta funny and asked if I’d tell her if I needed changed, which is totally different. Maybe not on the surface, but when you think about the different consequences to a ‘yes’ to those questions, world of difference on the outcome.

Of course, Nana was just trying to be a good friend when she responded, “Good. But I will start checking if you get too soggy and don’t tell me. You have a very obvious potty face, by the way. You might want to work on that if you’re going to do this more.”

I mean, that’s stuff a friend would say, right? Please? And anyway, I’m not going to do it anymore. That implies volition, and that’s not of my volition. It’s Mary’s volition. I’m just the instrument of Mary’s volition because I’m a very good girl like all subs should be. So while I may do it again, it’s not because I’m doing it but because I’m being made to do it. Totally different. Really … I think. And I was made to do it. So I didn’t do it? Good for me, I think.

Anyhoo, when my blushing was mistaken for being overheated, Nana bought me an ice cream. And one for herself. See? One friend buying another friend a treat, not caregiver buying her charge a treat. Just friend stuff, just like when we got back to her place and she ordered – no, friends don’t order, so this was more of a friendly request in the form of a directive – “Go upstairs and I’ll be up in a minute to get you changed.”

And like a good friend and neither a doormat nor a little girl, I went upstairs. I realized my bag was missing and was about to go downstairs to find it when Nana appeared with it. “O,” I said because clever people like me say that, “you found it.”

“Was it lost?”

“I thought I left it in here.”

“You did. I grabbed it and took it with us. Diaper bag doesn’t do much good if it’s not with us.”

“I wouldn’t … nope. Not in public.”

“Even if you needed it?”

“Well, I never have in public before. Needed a change. Been changed into one in public a couple times, but never out of one and into a new one.”

“If I know Mary,” Nana said kindly, “if you need a change when you’re out, she’ll change you whether you want to be or not.”

Sometimes I hate it when my friends are right. “Yeah … dammit …”

“Lie back. You must be uncomfortable. It was so hot on sidewalks. Good thing we didn’t wait until the afternoon.”

I’m so brave, I got through a whole diaper change without putting a pillow over my face. And damn did it feel good to get that off me. Talk about sweaty. Yuck! Only a masochist would choose to wear a plastic diaper while walking around in the summer sun, and I’m not a masochist. I’m a submissive, and my dominant is a sadist, and only a sadist would make their submissive walk around in the sun in a plastic diaper. Which is exactly what happened. Dammit …

“What do you want to wear,” Nana asked me halfway through.

Longgggg sigh. “The cloth one, I guess. But could you take the stuffer out, please?”

“This thing?”

“Yeah. Thank you.”

“Ya know, if you promise not to potty, you don’t need to wear the plastic panties. That would be a little more comfortable.”

Only later did it occur to me I could’ve just gone commando. Or at least I think maybe I could’ve. When the diaper thing was new, Mary would have me wear it and told I could take it off at a certain time. Lately, she hasn’t let me take it off because she’s been home all the time to do it. So maybe I didn’t have to put another one on. But then that one time when she said I could change and I didn’t put another one on, I got in trouble. So maybe I couldn’t go commando without getting in trouble. I don’t think Mary confuses me on purposes all of the time; just much of the time, and I don’t think this was one of those times.

So to Nana and her offer to skip the plastic panties, I said, “Okay. Thank you.”

“Lift up.” No sooner was I velcroed into that thing than Nana, totally earnest (which makes it worse), added, “And don’t forget you’re not wearing plastic panties. If you need to potty, we’ll get them on you, or you can just go to the potty. I won’t tell Mary.”

We didn’t have to deal with that ethical conundrum, thankfully. We had perfectly normal friend time, and then Mary came over to get me, asked the obligatory (to her), “Did she behave?”

I answered with the obligatory (to justice), “Of course I did.”

But that didn’t stop Nana from answering, “Of course she did.”

“See? I told ya so.” I didn’t stick my tongue out because that would be immature and bratty, and I’m neither of those things even when I’m bratting. Really.

Mary overlooked my sass, and we went home, her conspicuously carrying my bag. In fact, her bag; its contents, as you know, are hers too, a point I can never point out enough. I went to the living room. I thought Mary was following me, but she went to the kitchen. I got myself back up off the couch to go ask her about her meeting, but she was already coming to me, bag open.

“You didn’t come see me at noon,” she said with what was probably a smile but I took to be a smirk. “Anything you wanna tell me?”

“We had ice cream.” That wasn’t a confession. I’m allowed to have ice cream whenever I want, except for those times Mary says ‘no more ice cream,’ which she only does because I have poor impulse control and a tendency to lean against when I’ve eaten too much ice cream. She’s sturdy and gives tummy rubs. Who wouldn’t lean on her when they’ve eaten too much ice cream?

“Was it yummy?”

“Yes.”

“Did it end up in your diaper?”

“Ooh! You (snarl) are just so egh! And stop looking at me like I’m so adorable!” I wasn’t upset about the day’s events, at least not very, until she made that remark.

“You are so adorable.” And that didn’t help. She so misread my meaning.

“(Hissing sound) inconsiderate and not fair (angry bigfoot noise) and didn’t even think (the sound steel support cables make when they snap) and I’ll sue!”

Mary’s unperturbed face. I can’t even tell you how frustrating it is when she makes that face when I’m trying to perturb her. “Are you all done there, Sally Brown?”

“Yes … for now.” I plopped back down onto the sofa – no, my sofa; she can have the diapers, I’ll keep the furniture – and crossed and uncrossed and recrossed and re-uncrossed my arms.

She sat down next to me on my sofa, which I let her do because I’m nice, and said, “I can’t help but notice you didn’t run to the bathroom as soon as you got home.”

“You didn’t either.” Take that – touché!

“Are you a good rule follower?”

“That is such a bitchy question,” I muttered. “Of course I’m a good rule follower. I’m the best rule follower and you know it.” Except for all those times when I don’t follow the rules, but we don’t count those because reasons. Much more importantly, “That really wasn’t considerate, Mary. I’m not going to go out in public in those ones, and Nana wanted to go out, so it was wait until noon and screw up her morning, break the rules, or let her change it. That really wasn’t a nice position to put either of us in.”

“I didn’t really think about that.”

“Obviously you didn’t think about that.” I was feeling righteous, and righteousness leads to bravery. “If I were that inconsiderate, you’d paddle the stuffing outta me. I should march you over to Nana’s and let her do it.”

Mary suppressed her natural response to that as a dominant, which was good because if I said that any other time, I’d be in the backyard naked below the waist and cutting switches ten seconds after. “So what did happen?”

“No.”

“What no?”

“No. No details for you. What happened can stay between the two of us. Just never send me over in those again.”

“Okay … But is everything alright? Was Mae upset? Were you? Are you?”

“She was fine with it.” That woman is a saint, except when she decides to participate in the poke-fun-at-Daphne game that Mary is always running; then she’s whatever is right below a saint. When I grow up, I wanna be the kindly old neighbor lady.

“And you?”

“It … I don’t like having to choose between the following the rules and putting her out. Cuz I’ll choose you, and that’s not fair to her.”

“O, my Daffodil. You’re right, and I’m sorry. I won’t do that again.” I got a squeeze and a kiss. “Was she put out? Should I apologize to her?”

“No, she wasn’t. She would’ve been if I’d waited until noon to come home, but she wasn’t cuz of the other … thing. And I apologized … more than once. But yeah, I think you should apologize. It’s been a while since you two talked behind my back about this stuff. You should probably do that again.”

“Well, wasn’t that a passive aggressive way to say that.”

“I’m not in trouble for it.”

“You’re not?”

“No, because I say so.” Also, because she felt too bad to get upset over what was a pretty snide remark.

“You’re not in trouble, and I am sorry, and I will apologize to Mae, and I think it’s a good idea for the two of us to talk about what she’s comfortable with.”

“Can the three of us talk about it together? Cuz, ya know, I’m an adult.”

“How about I talk with her, and then I talk with you, and I’ll make sure everyone is on the same page?”

“That is such a dominant, control freak, keep-Daphne-on-her-toes way to go about it, and I’m not in trouble for saying so.”

“No, but you’re real close to it.”

“So may I please go put some panties on?”

“How about we order dinner, and then I’ll help you into a pair of panties while we wait for it get here?”

“Is that your clumsy way of offering me makeup sex?”

“Okay, that’s the last sass you’re getting away with tonight.”

“Pshaw. Threaten me with a good time, why don’tcha?” Which I said on purpose because reasons.