Mary and Daphne #117 (Patreon)

I think Mary’s plan is to keep me always a little miffed and always a lot in love with her. She likes it when I’m twitterpated and conflicted and all squirmy. How weird. She’s weird. That’s what she is.

I couldn’t help but notice as she was getting dressed for her work gathering that she was gradually getting hotter in a way that’s different from her everyday hotness. She was wearing a going-out dress. The last time she wore a dress for going out was New Year’s Eve, when we stayed in and just got fancy for the sake of feeling fancy. I was surprised because she was going to go sit on patio and have a dinner with her direct reports, not exactly an event calling for semi-formal attire. And also maybe not appropriate for the weather even if it was this sleeveless number … and even if it did have that slit doing up her thigh …

“Hey Mary,” I said like the innocent lamb I am.

“Yeah, Daffy,” she said like the temptress she is, putting on these earnings I bought her once.

“Do you think maybe if you sat down on the bed, I could put my head under that dress of yours for a bit?” See? Innocent as a lamb. That’s me.

“That’s a very nice thought, but I gotta get going soon.”

“Yeah, but like, until then.” A persistent lamb.

“We can do something fun when I get home, if you’re still awake.”

“You’ll be home by nine. I think I’ll still be up,” I said while rolling my eyes very subtly, not at all like someone who was (1) tired of being talked about like a little girl and (2) was kinda horny, which as you should know by now is a rarity for me. I have a very low sex drive. Um, really.

“Then how come when I leave you with Sandy you’re usually asleep when I walk in the door?”

“Because she does stuff to me, Mary. Mean things. It’s safer to be asleep.”

“Fibber. I know you’re looking forward to seeing her. Should we review the rules for when you’re with a surrogate?” I hate that she calls the people she’s given spanking privileges to surrogates. Why not just call them step-dommes if we’re gonna get all maternal about it? O yeah, because Mary is not my MommyDomme! She’s my domme and my wife and the love of my life and other things that rhyme because we go so well together.

“See,” I said, “that’s the type of thing that makes me refer to these little visits as ‘babysitting’ even when you deny it.” And ‘leave you with Sandy’, like leaving me with a sitter? I notice these things. She thinks she’s so clever, but I know what she’s up to a good twenty - no, twenty-two percent of the time.

“She’s just a friend. You guys can do anything you want.”

“Anything I want or anything she wants to do ot me?”

“Anything you want, but remember she has permission to spank.”

How could I forget. “And see, I have a lot of friends, Mary, and until you came along none of them had permission to spank me.”

“You’re welcome.”

Well, yeah, it’s kinda nice most of the time.

“And,” Mary said with this wolffish grin on her face cuz she’s really the big bad wolf playing the long game, “if you do get up to any hijinks, it’s okay if you have an accident.”

I could’ve sworn we don’t live near train tracks, but I hear this loud whooshing noise passing from one ear, through my brain, and out the other. Did she really just give me permission to pee my pants? Because let’s deconstruct that.

Firstly, I’m a grown up. If I wanted to pee my pants, I don’t need anyone’s permission.

Twosies, I don’t like peeing my pants. I don’t want anyone’s permission.

Threesies, I don’t pee my pants. Worst case scenario, I pee in one of Mary’s diapers, which is Very Different In A Way That’s So Important It Deserves To Be Capitalized.

Moreover, “(Grumble), I don’t have accidents, and you know it.”

“Who made a number three in her panties last week while I was lecturing her about bedtime?”

“But you were … You know exactly what you were doing with your hands in the places doing the things. If anyone had an accident, it was you.” If you shake up your soda and it explodes when you take the cap off, it’s not the soda’s fault! Hmmph! And also, could we please not call that a ‘number three?’ Besides, she gets very proud of herself when that happens, just more proof that it’s her doing and I’m just the soda bottle … or something cooler but I didn’t have time to come up with metaphors in the moment because I was busy fending off assaults against my honor.

“I’m just saying that if she needs to take you to task or you two decide to play any of your little games and you can’t hold it, it’s okay.” Don’t think I didn’t notice her choice of phraseology in that twisted sentence, but I knew she meant well (in her keep-Daphne-slightly-off-kilter sorta way).

Gone was the wolffish grin and present was the reassuring smile and hand on my shoulder. We’ve had a rule for a very long time that if I’m playing with any of the women Mary has given me permission to play with, which suspiciously mirrors the list of people who are allowed to spank me, I can’t cum. That’s the line we’ve drawn between kinky people have kinky fun and infidelity. This has resulted in a lot of almosts. Some people, like, o, say Sandy as a random for instance, take a certain delight in making me almost. As does Mary. That’s one of her fetishes, though she can never deny me for long. Either she’s too nice or I’m too … skilled. Yep, we’re calling that skilled, especially in light of my famously low sex drive. Really.

“But I don’t wanna do that with anyone but you.”

“And you don’t have to. I’m just saying it’s been a long time since one of our friends came over, and if you get a little too excited, it’s okay.”

“Well … I won’t. Besides, we’re just going to watch a movie probably and catch up. Sandy isn’t coming over here expecting a play session, is she?”

“No, but I know things escalate with you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Ha! That a certain someone’s brattitiude gets her into trouble and things spiral from there.”

O, like that ever happens (many, many times that has happened). “Don’t you have a dinner to go to?”

“Careful. A case of the grumps isn’t a good way to start out an evening with Sandy.”

“I’ll be downstairs looking for a new place to live.”

“Hold on a sec.”

“What? Mmmm!” Ha! With the kissing and the tongue and the hoyven! She likes me. “Heehee.”

“I’ll be down in a sec. I want to talk to Sandy before I leave.”

“So you can tell her to be nice to me, right?”

“Yep.”

“…right?”

The doorbell rang, and Mary was closest to the door, which is just as well as I could tell I’d have to wait my turn to get a word in. I managed to get in a, “Hi,” and got a mini wave from Sandy before Mary jumped in. There was a hug and an “It’s been so long yada yada,” before Mary got down to business.

“I left a note on the fridge. There’s money for pizza, and you know how to reach me if there’s an emergency.”

O yeah, tell me again she’s not a babysitter. And also that it’s not 1998. And can we rewind a moment?

“What note?” She thinks I don’t hear things, but I do hear them and just can’t do anything about them. Also, sometimes I don’t hear them, which is very different from not listening and I think more people named Mary need to think hard about that before taking down anyone else’s pants for a spanking.

“I’m sure we’ll have a good time. I’ll see you when you get back,” Sandy, my jailer, said.

“And you,” Mary said while giving me a hug like she was going away for the weekend, “you be good, and I’ll see you in the morning if you’re asleep when I get home.”

Why does she keep saying that? “I’ll still be up. Have fun. You look pretty.” And a kiss! I got a kiss! Never gets old.

What I should’ve done is dashed into the kitchen and grabbed that note. I should’ve eaten the darn thing without even reading it. That would’ve been the wise thing to do, but call me sentimental. I stood there and listened to my wife give our friend instructions on how to hang out with me. Yep, definitely not a babysitter. I should’ve said I’d go hang out with Nana for the evening. At least the pseudo-babysitting she does doesn’t include me getting my butt beat, and Sandy, she loves to beat butts at least as much as my Mary does. That I enjoy getting my butt beat is only mostly a consolation.

“Just the two of us,” Sandy said as she set her backpack down. Of all the times not to have x-ray vision.

“Yep, just me and my babysitter.”

“I’m not your babysitter. Just a couple friends hanging out.”

“That’s what 16-year-old babysitters say to 14-year-olds when their mom is going out and doesn’t want to fight over whether she can stay home alone and conveniently arranges a play date, which she’s also too old for.”

“Buh-ha! I missed you, kiddo.”

The thing about Sandy is she’s an expert at getting my goat. (I wish I were around to see the origin of that phrase.) Let’s start with her being nine years younger than me and calling me kiddo. Let’s move on to it being her idea for Mary to start making me wear pullups. She even gave her the first one! Let’s keep going and discuss the fact that she never spends anytime alone with me, at least in private, but she invents some ridiculous reason to spank me. And it hurts! She’s spanks hard. Mary and I found her at a play party making a man the size of an icebox cry. Not to mention that she scolds like a puritan! Even when she makes up the lamest excuse for me being in trouble, she can make me teary before I’m even over her knee. And also, she’s still in her twenties, and that just pisses me off lately.

On the other hand, “I missed you, too. Hug?”

“Yes please.”

“Oof!” And strong. She’s strong. And apparently starved for affection. “Sandy?”

“I really missed you.”

“I’m not so special.”

“Yes, you are. And Mary. Not the same talking to you on Zoom.”

“No, it’s really not. Why don’t you go freshen up?”

She seemed confused, but only for a moment. “Why? Is there something on that note you don’t want me to see?” Also, she’s really strong, like when she’s finished hugging me and holds my wrists in a we’re-friends-but-also-you’re-not-going-anywhere way.

“I dunno. I haven’t seen it. But whatever it says is merely a suggestion.”

“Let’s go and see what it says then.”

“Could we talk about what’s in your bag first,” I asked as she led me to our kitchen. Like, what instruments of degradation did you bring, cuz I’d like to avoid them … probably. Maybe … Depends on what they are.

“Later. When did you paint your kitchen?”

“Last week. It was Tuesday and I got bored.” I shrugged. True story. The kitchen was blue before Mary even left her office. She was surprised in a good way, which was a relief. If you get in trouble for drawing on the walls (I only did it cuz she thinks it’s cute, dammit!), imagine the possible penalty for painting the whole room.

“How industrious of you. You’re welcome to come be bored at my apartment.”

“By the way,” I said because it’s a good way to say the thing you’re going say next like it’s casual and not a big deal, “I need to punch you on the nose.” I mean, I didn’t wanna be mean about it, so I may as well be honest and let her know it’s coming, and if I’m going to end up in trouble anyway, I may as well earn it.

“You ‘need’ to punch me on the nose?”

“Yes. But just the once. It would be best if you hold still for it. Maybe we can do it on the couch with you sitting on your hands. I think you’ll flinch. I’d flinch.”

“What did I do to deserve being punched on the nose?” I don’t think she was taking me seriously. Story of my life, people not taking me seriously when I’m being serious. There goes Daphne, people say, she seems serious, but she’s not. Yep, that’s a thing people say.

“What did you … what did … you (sound of a steam whistle) and it all started because (cattle stampede) because you just can’t (all the buddle wrap in the world popping at the same time) and in my pants! In my pants (shriek of a bald eagle)! In public with the (caterwauling of alley cats) and (old mall being imploded) and you started it! Your fault!”

(Sound of the vacuum of space) Wow – I don’t think I ever got sweaty from a rant before.

“Feel better to get that off your chest,” she asked me. She was nonplussed. Or at least minimally plussed. Frustrating as heck because when you’re super plussed, the least people around you can do is be somewhat plussed. That’s why malfunctioning technology pisses us off so much – no matter how pissed you are, it is indifferent. Sandy stood there like a 404 error.

“Sorta.”

“Good, because this note says to help you get into your nighttime diaper.”

“(Tornado siren) (rending of steel) (wounded triceratops)!”

“Hey,” she said like the T-rex that wounded it, “what happened ‘nice to see you?’ Can that Daffy come back out, because I really wanted to hang out with her tonight.”

“ … What else does the note say?”

“It says, ‘Appreciate friendship.’”

“And what else?”

“That’s it.”

“Help Daphne into her nighttime diaper and appreciate friendship?”

“Mhmm.”

“Well, what if I don’t?” I am an agent! I can refuse. What if I don’t want to appreciate friendship? What if I want to disdain friendship and the whole darn institution? What if I don’t want a babysitter? What if I reject Mary’s little aphorism and embrace bitterness and misanthropy? Those are valid choices because they’re my choices!

“Then … you don’t.”

“I just don’t? You won’t spank me? You won’t go into that bag and come up with some pre-medieval torture device?” Color me skeptical.

“Nope. It’s okay if you don’t want to. In fact, if you really don’t want me here, I can go home.”

“No … It’s just … Those things seriously complicated my life.”

“They’re just a thing. Did they complicate your life, or was it something that was there all the time?”

“You … I don’t want to do that either. I have plenty of alone time to deep dive into my own head.” And by the way, I hate it that she’s so insightful and only twenty-three. It’s just rude. She should respect her elders … or something. Not that I’m an elder. I’m wise, don’t get me wrong, but I’m more of a sage than an elder.

“What do you want to do then?”

Aww crap. I have to say it. Dammit dammit dammit and crap. It’s easier when they force you, and don’t even start on how that’s contradicting yourself because you already knew that and just have to live with it. “I wanna … If you smile, I really will give you such a punch on the nose … (possum squeaks).”

“What?”

“I wanna … obey Mary.”

“What does Mary want you to do?”

“The note.”

She didn’t smile at me. She didn’t smirk either. I don’t think we have a word for it when someone tightens their lips and makes a poor-you face, but not in a condescending way. More of an aren’t-you-a-trooper way. “You want help?”

“Yes, but only because I refuse to put them on myself.”

“Are they in your bedroom?”

“There’s some in the living room.” I walked (trudged) into the living room (dank pit) with my friend (instigator of so much stuff) on my heels (the back of my feet). I was halfway into my passive this-is-just-a-thing-that-happens-to-me mood by the time we got there and I pointed at the basket Mary keeps under the side table. I never see her restock it, and I sure as heccin heck don’t do it. It’s either some kind of kink elf or Mary does it when I’m not around. Or maybe even when I’m asleep, and if that’s the case, it really just proves that she’s the weird one in our relationship.

“Huh,” Sandy said as she got down on her knees and got the basket out. I sat down on the floor. “Mary really does treat you like a princess.”

“Why? Are the other princesses made to pee in their pants?”

“Daffy,” she said like I’m crazy and had been missing the point, “peeing in a diaper is not peeing your pants. It’s peeing in a diaper.”

“I don’t even want to hear you justify that.”

“If you’re still grumpy, Mary has a pacifier right here.”

“And you’re suggesting it would cheer me up to see you use it?”

“There’s my bratty little friend. Do you want me to turn around while you get it situated?”

“I’m not a little, and how would that work?”

“You get it on you, and I’ll tape it up.”

“Ew. No thank you. I refuse to put the things on myself. It could be mistaken for acceptance.” Or worse, liking it. Sandy started getting things ready.

“Mary does take certain things for granted, doesn’t she,” Sandy commented.

Well, yeah! But she never takes me for granted. “Like what?”

“That she can invite me over and expect that neither of us will have a problem with you being naked. Does this pad go under you?”

“Yeah, but I think that’s just for Mary’s benefit. And yeah, I guess she does do that, but then, she wouldn’t if we weren’t us. It’s been a while, but we’re still playmates, right?” Playmates in the kink sense, for clarity. “And she’s so into being a big that she probably didn’t think twice about asking my babysitter to do this.”

“I’m not your babysitter.”

“O yeah, I forgot that you are just my friend who comes over to hang out with me because Mary asks her to and leaves a note on the fridge and money for pizza. Do you think you’ll stay in town for college or follow your boyfriend to Football State, friend?”

“You are this close to the line.”

“See, that’s a thing babysitters say.”

“And on the other side of that line is a good girl spanking.”

“And that’s another … ‘good girl?’”

“Mhmm. I can see the only way to adjust your attitude is to be extra special nice to you. Besides, Mary said we should appreciate friendship, and you’re my friend, and I’ve always appreciated your butt.”

“Heh. It is kinda nice.”  If I do say so myself, which I just did.

“Ready? Lift up.”

“Cooperation does not imply that I like this,” I reminded her as I lifted my hips up and let her slide down my shorts. I’ll spare you the rest because I know you’re not into that kinda thing. Really.

“Comfy,” she asked me. I opted to nod. Once upon a time, this would’ve been mortifying, but it being Sandy and Mary having warped my mind to make this seem almost like normal was interfering with my brain function.

“Do you let Mary know if you need to be changed,” she asked me as she handed me my shorts, “or would that also imply that you like this?”

I thought that was a smartass thing to say until I sat up and saw that she didn’t mean it that way. “I’ll let you know,” I said. I stood up and put my shorts back on before plopping back onto the couch. “You wanna order dinner and pick out a movie?”

“That’s what you wanna do tonight?”

“Mhmm. I wanna talk to my friend … and later for that other thing.”

“I wanna do that too.” She sat down next to me, and we leaned on each other the way friends do. Friends who haven’t seen each other in a long time. It’s hard to stay mad at friends for very long.

“Can I tell you something if you don’t tell Mary I told you,” she asked me.

“Mhmm. Promise.”

“She likes the diaper stuff because she really likes you being her little girl.”

“I know.”

“And can I tell you something and you promise not to hit me in the face?”

“I’ll do my best.”

“I think it’s made the two of you even closer.”

“ … Yeah … But I still don’t like them … But I like that they make Mary happy. That’s why I keep doing it.”

“Okay.”

“Stop sounding skeptical.”

“Okay.”

“I said quit it.”

“Okay.”

“Knock it off.”

“If you say so … It’s hard being a submissive. You don’t get enough credit for that.”

“Darn right. What do you want to order for dinner?”