Mary and Daphne #129 (Patreon)

I like Mary. I even love Mary. But she can be such a pain in the butt. Apparently, I’m not even allowed to break a lamp anymore. Which is how I’m spinning this because it’s my story and everybody can shush.

“Daphne,” Mary called to me from the top of the stairs, “are you okay?”

“Yeah! Um, fine.” Don’t come down don’t come down don’t come down. Aw, crap – she came down. “Hi.”

“What happened?”

“I fell and bumped into the table and knocked the lamp off. Never liked it anyway though, right?” That’s why it was in the basement, may it rest in pieces. Not that Mary heard anything after the word fell.

“You fell are you okay did you hurt anything let me feel,” Mary exclaimed, asked, asked, and commanded. I don’t what she thought she was feeling for. She just started running her hands all over me, which, yeah, is a thing I like a little bit (a whole lot) under most circumstances, but these stances were not circum.

“Did you hit your head? What hurts?”

“Nothing, Mary. I’m fine.”

Mary has this look that I call the o-thank-goodness, and that’s how she looked at me before taking my face in her hands and kissing me on the forehead. She’s so weird. I think she’s in love with me or something? Anyway …

“How did you fall?”

“I just lost my balance. I’ll clean this up.”

“You just lost your balance? Did you get dizzy?”

“It’s fine, Mary. Really.” Ruh roh – she’s onto you.

“People don’t just fall down. Are you not telling me something?”

“What? Of course I’m – Mary, you’re being – I just tripped over my own feet or something.” Um, yeah! That’s it!

“Daphne Ann,” she said while giving me her good-little-girls-tell-the-truth look, “why are you acting so nervous?”

“Nervous? Me? That’s silly, Mary. You’re being so silly. I’m not nervous … but if I am it’s because the lamp breaking startled me.” She’s looking at me funny again. How odd, what with me acting so normal and all.

“Little girl.”

“Dammit, Mary, I’m not a little girl! I can fall down if I want.” I can break my own lamp it’s mine and I bought it and it was impulsive and I never liked it and of course I’m not jabbering because I know did wrong and was in trouble that’s just stupid and I’m not being defensive you are! Gah! What is wrong me?

“You know what happens to little girls who fib,” Mary asked me all confident and sexy like, and I’m not a pushover and I’ll prove it by not saying anything.

“(Me not saying anything.)” See?

“Daphne Ann, if the truth is stuck inside you, then you must need a good cleaning out.”

“I bought a virtual reality headset and some accessories and games and it was way over the hundred dollar limit and isn’t a necessity and I’m sorry but not very and please please(!) don’t give me an enema!”

See, I’m not a pushover. Really … because she had to threaten me first. So … dignity intact … even if I did just spill my guts and plead with someone not to put a hose in my … place.

Also, for a technology professional she sure doesn’t notice stuff like, o, say a virtual reality headset sitting on the old dresser right next to us. I would’ve hidden it, but in her zeal to ensure my well-being, she got downstairs before I could stash it in a drawer.

Ooo, she’s doing that thing where she takes a deep breath before she says something. That’s … never good.

“Daphne Ann Taylor.” Yep, that’s my name. And you might be thinking she had more to say than that, and she did, but first …

“Ow, Mary Mary ow that hurts Mary let’s be reasonable ow ow ow ow no twisting ow!” To my knowledge, she has never been taken by the ear, and if you’ve never had the pleasure, it hurts. Especially if you’re in the basement and your ear is being taken all the way to the living room. I mean, yeah, you could decide you’re just not going to go wherever your ear is being taken, but I don’t recommend it.

“You’re in a timeout,” Mary said as she delivered me into the corner and without so much as a how-you-doin’ whisked my pants and panties to my ankles. “Don’t move until I come get you.”

She, um, seems kinda pissed. Which was whiplash from not three minutes ago when she was checking me over like I broke my body. Not really sure what the big deal was since it’s not the first or even the thirtieth time I’ve broken that rule. I mean, I was gonna let her play with it too. Only right what with her paying for it and all.

And I’m not sure I see the necessity of bare bottom timeouts. Like, my butt’s out. It’s just … out. And I don’t see why I needed to be in timeout at all, let alone for ten minutes. Friggin’ eternity when you know what you have waiting for you on the other side of it.

“Mary,” I said because I knew she was right behind me doing stuff. Pretty good idea what it was too.

“No talking.”

But on the plus side, she didn’t take me by the ear when she retrieved me from the corner. She took me by the elbow. So #winning? Nope. Dammit …

Mary had gotten the stool out of the hall closet. I hate being over her knee on the stool! I’m too short for my feet or hands to touch the ground, which is exactly why Mary uses it when I’ve outdone myself in naughtiness, and I don’t think I even came close to outdoing myself. I’m talented! I can misbehave in much bigger ways that breaking the spending limit rule. Really!

“Mary, can we talk about …” WHAP! “Owww!” So that would be a no with the talking about it first, just guessing based on the way she turned me sideways and delivered an underhand thunderspank that damn near lifted me up onto my toes. Which was so heccin unfair cuz when Mary sat down on the stool, she got to talk but not me.

“When we are done with your spanking, then you can talk. First, you are going to listen and not say a word.” She paused. I sensed a trap and took the risk of giving her half a nod. “I don’t make many rules. I’m not one of those dommes who tries to control their sub’s life. When I do make a rule, it’s for your own good. The spending limit rule is for our own good. I follow it. I never buy anything unnecessary over a hundred dollars without talking to you about it first, but of the very few rules I make, this is the one you consistently break.”

Exactly! She doesn’t normally take it so seriously. The last time I broke it she gave me a couple smacks on my butt and then gave me a bath. Not so much a punishment. So what was the big deal now?

“We have goals, Daphne. I want to retire someday too.” Ouch; that was a little harsh. “I want to go on trips and make our house beautiful and maybe even someday have a vacation home, and we can’t do those things if you’re putting an extra four hundred a month on the credit card. All you have to do is ask, and we’ll talk about it, and if it’s not something we can afford that month, we’ll save for a little while.”

About that, see, I was the kid who didn’t wait for the second marshmallow. Also maybe threw a tantrum when I wasn’t given the second marshmallow despite the rules being explained to me very clearly.

“You need to follow this rule, Daphne. And if I ever, ever catch you lying to me …”

Whoah! Hold the horsies! I didn’t lie. I … concealed the truth. So, um … okay I lied. But, um, only to get away with breaking a different rule. That’s somehow better, right? … No, it’s worse. Dammit …

I started sniffling before Mary finished her sentence. I hate being scolded when I did something wrong! I have a very low tolerance for feeling guilty. And when Mary finished her sentence, hoo boy.

“… Even for a little lie, I will give you a punishment enema and you will not be using the potty. If I have to change a poopy diaper blowout to get you to always tell me the truth, I will.”

Holy crappin crud she means it! “I’m sorry (sob)! I didn’t (sob) think (sob) you’d …”

She cut me off with a hug. “Shhh. Everything is going to be okay. I’m sorry I have to give you such a hard spanking, but this is really important. Are you ready?”

“Mmm-(sob)-hmm.”

“Over you go,” Mary said and helped me over her knee. That’s when I saw it. Actually, them. There on the coffee table. The hairbrush and a switch. A two-implement spanking. Mary leaned back to get hairbrush first. Not sure if that’s better or worse than getting the switch first and heck, let’s never find out. She tightened her arm around my hip and said, “You are going to be ready make very good choices by the time I’m done with your bare bottom, little girl.”

Holy damn that hurts ow ow ow ow ow slow down where’s the fire ow ow ow remember ow to fuck! breath dammit!

And just because I couldn’t hear a dump truck crash through the house over my own crying doesn’t mean I couldn’t hear my own reproachful thoughts in my head. I so wish my conscience wouldn’t take Mary’s side or would at least be quiet about it. Between my conscience and Mary’s, I’m seriously over-conscienced (which is a word … apparently).

This wouldn’t have happened if you’d followed the rule.

I know that.

But you did it anyway.

Where were you when I was doing it? You work here too.

Don’t blame me for your naughtiness.

O what is this, the 1950s? Who even says naughtiness except dommes and stepford wives?

Is that really the issue? You could have asked and maybe gotten it right away. Worst case you’d have to wait a few months. But no. You had to have it now, and now you can use it with a bruised butt.

Shut up! Who even cares if you’re right?

You do.

Yeah, but, like … shut up!

Kind of amazing that I can argue with myself and keep up a spanking monologue out loud the whole time. “Ow! Ouch! Eheh! Eeep! Eheh. Eheh. Ehehuhuhuh wahhhhhhhh!”

Add in Mary and there were four of us talking, and I could just barely make out what she was saying over the nearly continuous slap of that damn brush and my own caterwauling. “You (spank) will (spank-spank-spank-spank) follow (spank-spank-spank-spank) the (spank-spank-spank-spank) spending (spank-spank-spank-spank) rule (spank-spank-spank-spank-crack-slap-whack-spank) or so help me, Daphne Ann (spank-spank-spank-spank) I’ll make (spank-spank-spank-spank-thwack-whack-smack-spank) this (spank-spank-spank-spank) feel (spank-spank-spank-spank) like (spank-spank-spank-spank) a (spank-spank-spank-spank) picnic (spank-spank-spank-spank).”

Etcetera etcetera … and etcetera. Dammit …

Mary has this habit of saying she’s going to give me more than one punishment – excuse me, more than one ‘consequence’ – with more than one implement and decide against doing the second (or sometimes third) part of the consequence because she likes me and takes pity on me when I’m already butt hurt and crying my eyes out. Apparently, she’s making progress on breaking that habit, because when she was done with the brush, she picked up the switch. Thought I heard her go outside during my timeout; I was just hoping it was for something else. Anything else.

She pushed my shirt up with the hand not holding the switch and rubbed the small of my back a few times before wrapping her arm back around me and holding me extra tight.

“You do not tell lies, Daphne Ann.” Thwick that damn thing went against the back of my thighs.

“Eee!”

Thwick.

“Eeeeeee!”

Thwick!

“Aieeeee!”

Thwick!

“Maryyyyyyyyyyy!

Thwick Thwick Thwick Thwick Thwick Thwick!

“Waaaaaaahhhhhh!”

“Good girl for holding so still.”

And then that hand was rubbing my back again. “I know. Shhh. That was a very big spanking. Shhh. You’re okay. Deep breaths, baby.”

I think she was rubbing my butt for me. Couldn’t really tell what with all the nerve endings down there having been rendered senseless.

“Are you ready to get up?” She took something I said or did for a yes because she helped me to my feet and guided me toward the couch. She sat down on it; I sat down on her. And if you thought I’d carried on before, you should’ve heard me wail once I buried my face in her shirt and really let loose.

“I’m (moose sounds) and (polar bear groans) and (grizzly snarls) and (wookiee mourning) and I’m sorry-y-y.”

“I know you are. Shhh.”

“I didn’t mean to lie-ie-ie.”

“I know. You got your consequence and it’s all over.”

My howls gave way to puppy whimpers as I cried it out into Mary’s chest while she cooed at me and rubbed my back and even rocked me a little. I swear it’s like she’s fond of me or something?

“I didn’t mean to lie,” I repeated because that’s what I felt guilty about, or at least a lot more so than about the rule. It didn’t feel like a lie in the moment. More of an omission. Or a fib. I don’t think I ever lie to Mary. But I know I do fib.

“I’m sorry,” I said just in time for my boohoos to start again.

“Stop up those tears, Daffy. You’re okay.”

“Iryifiwunoo.”

She chuckled at me. “What was that?”

“(Heh-heh-sniff-snort.)” Damn I’m pretty. “I said I’ll cry if I want to.”

“There’s my bratty little girl. She never disappears for more than a few minutes.”

“Do I lie to you?”

If I hadn’t been staring at the wet spot I made on her shirt, I’d probably have seen a lightbulb appear above her head. “No, Daffodil. Sometimes you fib though.”

“That’s the same thing.”

“No it’s not. If it were the same thing, they wouldn’t have two different words for it.” That is so something I would say to get out of trouble, and I’d fail at it too.

“You’re just saying that to make me feel better.”

“Of course I’m not just saying that.”

“(Sniff). Know what I think? I think you’re fibbing.” With my head against her chest, I felt it before I heard it. “It’s not funny,” I whined at her chuckling.

“Of course it isn’t.”

“Stop laughing. I wanna be a good wife.” That put an end to the chuckling.

“O Daffodil.” Ack! Can’t breathe with the hugging and squeezing and need air! “You are the very best wife.”

“Mary … Mary …” And kisses all over the face. I wanna be a good wife who also breathes!

“You are my wife and the love of my life, Daphne Ann.”

She stopped with the squeezing and just pressed my head back to her chest, bent her head forward on top of mine, and held me there, hardcore snuggling. I kinda like the idea of hardcore snuggling. That should be a thing.

“Um, are you okay,” I asked.

“Of course I am. I have everything I’ll ever need right here in my lap.”

“You sure you’re okay? You were … a little, um, intense when you came downstairs.”

“I don’t like you hurting yourself.”

“I didn’t.”

“But I didn’t know that.”

Hmm. “Mary? I think you’re as emotionally fragile as me sometimes.”

“When it comes to you.” O, with all the kisses again! On top of my head where I like them bunches.

“Mary? My butt really really hurts.”

“It’s reminding you you’re a good girl and that you need to act like it.” Touché. “Up we go. Let’s go wash your face.”

I hate but don’t entirely hate when she lifts me (and my spanked butt) onto the bathroom counter to wash my face. It hurts, sort of a lot after she’s hairbrushed the stuffing out of me and switched my thighs to go with it. Ow much? Yeah much.

“Hold still,” she said to me and wiped my face with a soapy washcloth.

“I like it when you wash my face.” Also, those nerve endings were coming back to their senses and holy schnikees ow!!!

“Why is that?”

“Because I get to look at you looking at me.” She’s so pretty when she’s doing that. Very focused on the task at hand (which is me).

“Because I like wiping away your tears. I always find such a pretty little girl underneath. Are you blushing?”

“No!” Except so much!

“That’s a fib.” She ran her hand across the bar of soap and asked me, “Do I need to wash that fib out of your mouth?”

“But it was a little one.”

“Open.”

“Aww, dammit.” I opened because I’m such a good girl and only because I’m such a good girl. And ya know what Mary did? She wiped the soap on my nose! “You are so mean sometimes.”

“Am not.”

“That’s a fib, Mary.”

“Look up for me.” She used a clean, wet cloth to wipe my face for me and did a little scrubbing because she likes me spick and span and stuff. “There’s my pretty little girl.”

“I’m yours?”

“You get so clingy and cute when you’ve been spanked until you’re a bawling mess. Speaking of …” She looked down at her shirt. “You slimed me.”

“Well, you spanked the slime outta me. And my butt hurts.”

“You said that already, and it’s going to hurt for about another four days.” Yeah, she’s experienced enough in both spanking in general and in my butt specifically to know that. At least four days, with bruises probably lasting a week. She may spank me that hard for lots of reasons, but she only spanks that fast when she’s had up to here with me (I’m pointing to my forehead right now).

“Sorry,” I said again.

“I know, sweetie.” She gave me a peck on the cheek. “Let’s get you in a fresh diaper.”

“Do I have to?”

“You always ask that.” I know. Like, take a hint why don’tcha. “But we can make it one of your fluffy cloth ones, how does that sound?”

“Are you really asking?” She shook her head at me in that nope-you-caught-me-humoring-you way she does when I catch her humoring me.

“C’mon, down you go.” She helped me down off the counter. “Your butt is purple. You wanna look?”

“Yeah, but only because I’m a kinky subby girl.” Holy heccin fuscia! Mary swatted my butt as I turned back toward her. “Kernopple, Mary!” Gah! That friggin’ hurt!

“Do you understand about the spending rule now,” she asked me.

“Yes.” I’ll break it smaller from here on out … or maybe larger but less frequently. I haven’t decided yet. But for sure I’ll lay off it for a while. “Do I have to return the headset?”

“How much did it cost?”

“Four hundred.”

“You don’t have to return it, but you can’t play with it for four months.”

“That’s fair.”

“And if I find you playing with it, so much trouble.”

“I won’t. Promise.”

“I’m going to play with it.”

“What?!? That’s so not fair.” Swat! Gah!“It’s very fair.”

“I’m so glad you feel that way. Lie down and don’t piddle until I get your diapee under you.”

“Hmmph! Also, my butt hurts.”