Mary and Daphne #119 (Patreon)

Well excuse me for trying to make our home prettier … sort of.

“Daffy,” Mary called to me from our living room. I came out of our bedroom freshly dressed and looking lovely. Ya know how some days you just feel pretty? Well, dammit, I felt pretty and had a little case of twinkle toes because it made me silly happy inside.

“Yes, my love,” I called back to her as I came down the stairs.

“What is this,” she asked, referencing an objet d’art on our bookcase.

“About time you noticed it. I put it there last week.”

“Why?”

“It’s pretty.”

“Daffy …” She looked perplexed, maybe even a little vexed. Not my intent in beautifying our home. “Daff, you, um … you do know this is a dildo, right?”

“Of course I do, silly. Isn’t it pretty? It’s glass and has these colors inside. How do you think they do that?”

“Daffy, we can’t put sex toys on our living room shelf. What if we have company?”

“Well, it took you a week to notice it, and maybe they won’t even know what it is. We’ll just say it’s a sculpture.”

“Of a dick.”

“Ugh, Mary, you know I hate that word.” I have sensitive little ears. If I were at all interested in penises, I would’ve been straight … Speaking of straight, you know what’s not straight? My sculpture … yep, sculpture. Which makes it visually interesting … and helps reach certain places … where things are.

“Why did you even buy this,” my wife asked as she handled my … sculpture. “We have glass dildos. Two, in fact.”

“Actually, that one makes four.”

“Since when?”

“Since I saw that one and got two.”

“Why did you get two,” she asked with her I-don’t-understand-Daphne’s-thought-process face. Surely that’s because my thought process is on a higher plane, like just me and the late Steven Hawking occupy that plane.

“Mary,” I said blushing, “We couldn’t display the one we use for … stuff. I mean, how weird would that be? … What? Why are you looking at me like that?” It was her you-make-no-sense face. And I do too make sense!

“How much did this cost?”

“Don’t you shake that thing at me,” I shot back. I’ll learn you to threaten me with a good time! Seriously, she was standing there interrogating me and shaking that sculpture at me. It’s very rude to shake a sculpture of one of those things at someone.

“Daphne Ann?”

“Forty dollars plus shipping for the two of them, way under the hundred-dollar limit.”

“Hmm,” she said. I saw where she was going with this, what with having been there many, many times before. I decided to head her off at the pass. Sure, in retrospect it might have been wiser to live to sit another day.

“What ‘hmm?’ There’s no ‘hmm.’” She narrowed her eyes in that you-better-believe-there’s-a-hmm look of hers. “You can’t spank me for buying that if I didn’t even break a rule!” I declared my declaration in a very declaratory way, with a grumpy face and a fist clench and a little stomp.

“Excuse me, little girl.”

“Dammit! I am not!” Ya know, she doesn’t even slow down when I say that.

“I can spank you for any reason or no reason as at all because I'm the domme and you’re the sub. When I’m done speaking, we’re going to upstairs, I’m going to sit down on the ottoman, and you’re going to stand in front of me while I unbutton those shorts of yours and bare your little bottom. Then it’s over my knee for a long, hard dose of the hairbrush.”

“The hairbrush!?! Marrry, that is so not fair! All I did was try to make our home a little prettier, so excuuuuse me for being thoughtful.” Thoughtful, and sassy. The thing about an unjust spanking is the more your protest it, the more you justify getting spanked for talking back. That’s so not a fair paradox. Like, where do you turn for justice? I’ll tell you – there is no justice!

“If you were putting thought into it, you wouldn’t have put a glass penis in the living room, and by the way, setting aside the spending limit, you could spend our money a little more wisely. So no, you are going over my knee for a spanking on your bare little girl butt, and then I’m going to show you what this sculpture is really for.”

“But that is just so …” Wait, what? “Well … okay.” She was right. I was in dire need of correction. She and only she could teach me the lesson I so badly, so very badly – what was I even thinking? – deserved.

“Take my hand,” she said as she held out her right hand while her left fondled my … sculpture. We do have two of them. They could be bookends … and I could be the book!

“You look very pretty today,” my wife said as she led me upstairs

“Awww. Thanks for noticing.” She likes me! I can tell these things about my Mary.