Mary and Daphne #133 (Patreon)

It was sorta unspoken that with me not working I’d be taking on a larger share of the housework. I mean, I gotta pull my weight around here, dainty as I am. Gotta pull on my big girl pants and … clean up after myself cuz I have a habit of not doing that. Sure, the occasional dish goes missing and turns up in Mary’s office (plates and bowls and glasses, not hot little ol’ me though I am quite a dish if I do say so myself which I just did), but the general clutter in other rooms of the house is majority-owned by me.

Take the bedroom: I’m content to live out of the laundry basket. Wear the clean clothes in the basket, discard the dirty ones in a pile next to the basket, re-wears to go on top of the dresser. Not folded neatly on the dresser; more haphazardly strewn, but I prefer to think of it less as haphazard and more as candid, like an unposed photo. Except pants and shorts, which I hang up on a coat hook behind the door. Not on a hanger; just through a belt loop. When Mary discovered that in my bachelorette pad, she said (get this!) that it was the kind of thing she expected in a boy’s dorm room. As if! Really. The things she says sometimes …

Anyhoo, self-awareness being one of my many stellar attributes, it’s not like I’m unaware that I make messes and clean them up belatedly – which is the proper way to think of it and not, as Mary says, ‘never.’ I’ve been meaning to get around to fixing this personal flaw. Mary, bless her heart, had a fun reminder waiting for me when I descended to the kitchen to find a note waiting for me.

Morning, Daffodil,

I had an early call and already made myself breakfast. I have an activity for you: a treasure hunt! There’s a clue in each room, but to find it, you’re probably going to have to clean up.

Aw, don’t be sad!

Look high, look low, look under things. Make yourself a nice breakfast (with protein!). The first clue is in the kitchen.

Love you muchly,

Your Mary

I’m not sure, but I think I married a smartass (who loves me muchly). But takes one to know one, or something … I guess. A smartass who really looks after me. She cares more about me getting enough protein than I do, and I know from painful experience that peanut butter and cream cheese don’t count (which I’ll grudgingly agree with since the main macronutrient in both of those is fat, which is why you should never read labels and just pretend everything that tastes good is phenomenal for you). An egg and an English muffin later, and I set about the treasure hunt.

Let us first consider that whatever the providence of the English muffin, no it’s not either. And then let us move on to how sweet Mary is: calls me Daffodil, she wants me to be strong and healthy and full of protein, and she makes treasure hunts for me even though she’s working. It takes a lot of creativity to come up with clues for a treasure hunt. She could’ve just asked me to do some cleaning, but she wanted to make it fun. She’s such a softie! When she isn’t being a (delectably delightful) hardass.

I wiped down the counters; I swept the floor (cuz I wiped everything on the counters onto the floor); I sprayed the stuff that kills the orange stuff in the space between the sink and counter (which is the stupidest design ever which is why it’s always wet which is why there’s orange stuff); I did the dishes; I wiped down the sink; and I unloaded the dishwasher, which contained both dishes and a clue (heck I’m good at treasure hunts! But what else would you expect of me, a paragon of ingenuity?).

And the clue said, Living room. Don’t forget to get up high.

Huh. That’s less a clue than instructions. So what if Mary didn’t spend time thinking up clues so much as putting instructions on post-its? That’s still sweet of her. I mean, there’s still treasure at the end of the hunt.

I skipped to the high parts, which required me to get the stepladder. Know when the last time someone dusted on top of our bookshelves was? I think maybe never. Lo and behold, a clue fell down. I pocketed it. Time enough for that after I wiped off the tables; flipped the sofa cushions; thought better of flipping them when I saw all the crap under them; decided what the hey and took everything off the bookshelves to dust and wipe both the things and the shelves; wiped off the TV (before buying a new TV, maybe just windex it first?); and vacuumed the sofa, the loveseat, and the carpet.

I took out the note and read, Downstairs bathroom.

Well, that was just curt. But no matter. I went and got the headphones I’d suffered for, turned on cleaning music, and vacuum-danced down the hall to the bathroom because hallways, ladies and gentlemen, get dirty, too.

It was my idea to keep all the bathroom cleaning supplies under the bathroom sink under the theory that I’d use them more often if they were right there ready to go. Turns out, not so much. But what can ya do (besides actually use them … really, I’m asking if there’s an alternative to actually using them … please?). And Mary must’ve lost her mojo cuz the next “clue” was “hidden” in plain sight on top the sink. That sent me upstairs.

I did a good job cleaning. I wouldn’t call it a deep clean because we still do that together on the second Saturday of every month, but I gave everything more than a once over. Know what we never deep clean though? The basement, where the last clue took me.

We have all kinds of fun stuff in the basement. We could turn it into a museum of our kinky fun times if we unpacked some of the boxes and put some of the outfits and things on display. What sorts of things? Never you mind what sorts of things. Just stuff … and things. And somewhere, I think, she hid the virtual reality headset I got my tail whacked for. Maybe she’d feel differently about it if I explained there’s this thing called virtual reality porn.

The cleaner the basement got, the dirtier I got. Sweaty and dusty from moving boxes so I could sweep behind them. We got maybe too much stuff. Of course, a lot of it is Christmas stuff and just seeing the boxes made me want to carry it all upstairs and decorate, but that would be premature … under normal circumstances. Maybe there’s no such thing as premature on the tail-end of a pandemic that’s messing with everyone’s perception of time anyway. That decorating is only mostly fun without Mary is the only reason why I didn’t haul it all upstairs.

And at last I came to the far corner of the basement, having swept my way there, and o my how many dead bugs we own. Blech!

On that far side of the basement lay a box where no other boxes were. There’s the box side of the basement and the gym side of the basement, and this box was on the latter side where boxes do not go. But it was less that than the post-it on top that piqued my curiosity: DO NOT OPEN!!! BRING UPSTAIRS WHEN YOU’RE DONE CLEANING.

Sensing a trap and avoiding a trap are not the same thing. Besides, I reasoned, if she really didn’t want me to open it, she would’ve taped it shut. It was just folded shut. Could it be a present for being a good cleaner? Could it be a present for being me (which deserves praise and tribute, dammit!)? Could it be (squeee!) an early Christmas present? Could it be my VR headset cuz Mary’s a softie and wouldn’t really make me wait for four months before I could use it?

Mary was working. I doubted very much she rigged the thing with an alarm (she’s not that devious; that’s my job), and it’s not like we have cameras in the basement. And it wasn’t taped, so I could just open it and fold it closed again and she’d be none the wiser. Also, I am too a good rule follower! Really. Just, um … shut up.

And what delightful treasure did I find inside? Jewels? Bearer bonds? Panties from the grownup section of a department store? Nope. Course not. Dammit …

I found the hairbrush, a diaper, and a note: Such a naughty girl! Now you’ve earned yourself a bare bottom trip over my knee for a spanking on your naughty caboose. Tsk tsk tsk. But I know at heart you’re a good girl (maybe even the best, as you’re probably grumbling to yourself right now), so I know you’ll fess up and bring the box upstairs still open to show me how naughty your choice was.

Well, crap. She’s lucky I am the best girl or else I’d have given her an earful about her crummy clues and chore list disguised as the crappiest treasure hunt ever. And I barely even stomped up the stairs, so good on me for that too.

“Mary,” I called out. “I found your stupid treasure.” And no I did not have an attitude. Really.

“I take it from your tone and choice of adjective you didn’t follow directions,” she said as she emerged from her office. “Daffy,” she chuckled upon seeing me, “you are a mess.”

“It’s dusty down there,” I said as I surveyed myself. I was gross.

“I’m not putting you over my knee like that.”

“Well good because your treasure hunt sucked.”

That just made her chuckle more. “You haven’t even seen the treasure yet, have you?”

“Um, hello,” I said and shook the box.

“So what’s the treasure,” she asked.

“A spanking and a diaper.”

“Then you didn’t find the treasure.”

“Is it better or worse?”

“Better,” she said. She took the box from me, tsking as she did. “Curiosity may prove fatal to cats, but for little girls it just results in spanked butts.” She put the hairbrush on the table and took out the diaper. “The treasure is inside.” She unfolded the diaper and revealed a piece of paper. “Wanna guess?”

“A certificate for a free spanking?”

“I’m saving that for your birthday.”

“Another weekend away?”

“Think much smaller.”

“What?”

She unfolded it. “Tickets to the new Bond movie.”

“(Gasp!) Really? We can go?” She wouldn’t let me near a confined space for almost the past two years!

“Yes, and it starts in an hour, and we have a lot to do.”

“Like what?”

She scoffed. “You need a bath, I have to spank your bottom, and we gotta get you into your movie diapie.”

O. “Well, what if I take too long in the bath? Can we skip the last two?”

“Guess I’ll have to give you that bath myself.”

“Well, that helps.” She does this thing with her hands when she gives me baths called rubbing soap all over me that I like lots.

“And since you were a good girl and didn’t try to hide what you did, I’ll even dry your bottom off before I spank it.”

“How … sweet of you?”

“Let’s go.” She swatted my butt. “Scoot.”

“Thanks for the present.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Sorry for not following directions.”

“Not like you’re gonna be, little Miss Hot Stuff.”

“Threaten me with a good time, why don’tcha.”

We’re fun people. Really.