Mary and Daphne #137 (Patreon)

It’s a cardinal sin to get off of Mary’s lap before she tells me I’m allowed, but the rule isn’t strictly enforced. At the sounds of the doorbell, I managed to spring myself upward, yank up my pajama bottoms over the absorbent undergarment Mary put me in before bed the night before, and get under the blanket without my feet ever touching the floor. I can acrobat when I need to. Well, not really and I probably couldn’t execute that maneuver again in a hundred years … at least not on purpose.

“Shit,” I exclaimed.

“Language,” Mary said to me even though she curses just as often as I do. She is a sorceress after all, cursing and vexing and casting spells. She’s been ensorcelling me for years.

“I invited Nana over and totally forgot.” Mary looked at me expectantly, sparking a short-lived staring contest.

“Are we pretending we’re not home,” she asked when neither of us moved toward the door.

“What? No, just go answer the door.”

“She’s your guest,” Mary said with a smirk that wasn’t visible but was so there. A blind cyclops with very little socialization coulda seen it. Mary made her tough-luck-for-you-I’m-having-fun face back at me when I made my are-you-serious face at her.

“Fine,” I said and threw the blanket off of me and over her head in what was definitely a deliberate gesture. She was snickering as I walked to our front door, and I felt the unmistakable rising heat of furious blushing as I walked through our little foyer. I opened the door to find a box and Nana on the sidewalk halfway between our houses with a delivery truck in the background driving down the street. Oops.

“Morning, Daffy. Did you see me walking over,” she asked as she waved. I bent down to collect our package, whatever it was. Stuff just arrives now. Who even remembers what they ordered and when?

“Um, yeah,” I said because that little fib seemed more polite than admitting I had forgotten I’d invited her over and mistaken a package for her. Mary appeared behind me as Nana got to our door.

“Morning, Mae,” Mary said. “I’ll take that,” and she took the box from me. “We’re moving slow this morning.” For a moment I thought that was directed at Nana, which would’ve been very rude to say to a senior citizen, but she was referring to us, still wearing our pajamas as the clock approached ten.

“Good morning for that,” Nana said as I let her in and pretended not to notice the once over she gave me as she took notice of my outfit. “Kinda nice to have a little chill in the air finally.”

“Can we get you anything,” I asked because I’m polite and because if I pretend everything is normal and just try to be a good hostess then it’s not such a big deal to be wearing the diaper Mary put me to bed in – excuse me, put on me before bed; she doesn’t putme to bed no matter what she likes to call it – in front of our guest.

“I’ll have what you’re having,” she said and sat down on our couch. She looked as if she remembered something all of a sudden. “I saw the strangest man on your doorstep the other day.”

“Hmm. Be right back.” I disappeared into the kitchen while hopefully Mary didn’t tell Nana any more about that person than was necessary. In fact, she didn’t need to say anything at all. Not a big deal.

I poured cocoa from the pot (yes, we made it from scratch because it’s the simplest recipe ever) into a mug and put it in the microwave. That gave me twenty seconds to yank down my pajama pants, take off the diaper, and throw it away, but I decided to my ultimate annoyance the risk of being caught with my pants down was too great.

“Daffy,” Mary called to me from the living room, “could you add a little Bailey’s to that?” O great, so now Nana knew our true dark secret: we booze up our cocoa. Cocoa drinkers are so cute, coffee drinkers say, to which my answer is, yes we are and also there’s little alcohol in it.

“Here you are,” I said as I handed her the mug. “I completely forgot I invited you over,” I tried to say all breezily, “or we’d have gotten dressed and made you breakfast. Can I get you anything else?”

“I’m fine. Mmm, this is good cocoa.”

“Daffy makes it,” Mary said a little too proudly. It makes me all sparkly inside that she’s proud of the things I do, but sometimes they’re such basic things that I get blushy, like she’s bragging about how quickly I learned my ABCs. Which is an example I used because my mom was still telling people that when I was almost ten. I had lots of scholarly accomplishments in between, and Mom would rattle those off too, but she liked to start at the beginning.

“I make a mean poptart too if you’re hungry,” I said because apparently I’m a grandma now and just keep offering food to people who’ve already said they don’t want any. Not a very good grandma if all I had to offer on short notice was boozy cocoa and a poptart. Here’s some sugar and some other sugar and some stuff that used to be sugar before someone fermented it, I said in my head. And why is it ‘make a mean’ something? That’s like saying ‘I make a mean pot roast. It’s a total asshole and has no friends.’ Weird language we got here.

“I already had breakfast. How are the two of you? I don’t think I’ve seen you in a bit,” she said to Mary.

“We’ve been good. I’ve been a little head-down with work. We’re hiring like crazy right now.” Yes, about that. Mary made a joke the other day about being a woman trying to work remotely, make ends meet on a single-income, and change diapers between Zoom calls all without any help from a man. I didn’t find that funny at all. Hmmph!

I do hafta admit as our conversation meandered all over the place – how she was, how her family was, how are families were, Halloween plans – even I forgot I was sitting there in a diaper that was not getting any fresher or more comfortable. Sorta kinda definitely the opposite. The plan, as I’ve come to recognize this pattern, was Mary would let me change after breakfast, except we didn’t have breakfast. We were just lounging around, and a shower was sure to happen soon except we had a guest. And it wasn’t commented on, which I guess means it really has gotten normal for me to be wearing one these things … Dammit …

“C’mere,” Mary said to me after I zoned out on our conversation thinking about normalizing the abnormal and how that never seems to work out in my favor. I don’t even know why I got up (actually, I do – a pavlovian, subby instinct to do as I’m told, but let’s pretend that’s not true). Nor did I know why Mary wanted me to come to her, at least not until she sat back against the arm of the couch and opened her arms for me. She just wanted me to sit between her legs so she could wrap her arms around me from behind while leaned back against her. This may come as a surprise to you, but she likes me. She like likes me. And she loves wrapping her arms around me from behind and pulling me backward to lean on her. Yep – like likes me.

Nana let out this little sigh to accompany a wistful smile. “I like having you two as neighbors. It’s nice seeing two people so in love.”

“Is that what we are,” Mary asked me. I just made bambi eyes at her.

After a few beats, Nana asked, “So who was that young man I saw, if it’s okay for me to ask.”

“A friend of a friend,” Mary answered. Come to think of it, we don’t even know if Tyler is his real name. “They just came over for a breakfast visit.”

“I thought he was a friend of Daphne’s.”

“What made you think that,” I asked despite knowing or at least having a darn good idea.

“He had a binky in his mouth. Only other adult I know who has a binky is you.” Okay, blushing again.

“We actually don’t know him. The woman he was with is a good friend of ours.” Mary gave my side a light squeeze as though she wanted to tickle me physically while she tickled me verbally. “Sometimes she comes over to hang out with Daphne while I’m out.”

Nana either didn’t think of whether there was a name for someone who does that or just didn’t think it worth commenting on. “Was it a good visit?”

“Yeah. It’s nice to be seeing people again, and who knows? Maybe we made a new friend. Did you like him, Daffy?”

“I guess. He didn’t talk much. Seemed nice enough.”

“What did you two do,” Nana asked me.

“Me? I didn’t do anything with him.” What would make her think I’d play with him? I can’t possibly imagine that line of thinking. Nope, not me … Dammit. “He played with himself … BY himself, I mean.” Little ol’ Mis Malaprop, that’s me.

“He brought some toys over to play with while we just had a regular visit.”

That seemed to perplex Nana, and I can understand why. Though the word goes unsaid when it comes to Mary and me, or at least the word doesn’t escape Nana’s mouth, it’s pretty clear what motivates our lifestyle. Him just bringing over toys and playing on the floor? I can see why that would make less sense to her.

“He just likes feeling little,” I explained and then regretted it. I really gotta stop trying to explain this stuff to Nana. If she wants to learn, she can google it. “That’s just how he de-stresses,” I added, hoping to clear it up. Not at all like me, I wanted to say and didn’t. That’s how he de-stresses, while Mary’s introduction of absorbent underpants has added quite a bit of stress to my life. Good thing Mary’s so good at taking stress away from me (most of the time) or she wouldn’t be able to add to it like she did.

“Guess that’s one way,” Nana said like she still didn’t get it but also didn’t mind it. If Tyler wanted a person who treat him like his little side was perfectly normal, he could do a lot worse than Nana, not that even loose lipped me will ever say that out loud. Also, I am cypher; nothing escapes these lips unless I mean for it to. Um, really.

Mary leaned forward and whispered in my ear. “I do not,” I stage whispered back. Not because I was trying to be overheard so much as I’m bad at whispering and also did not like what Mary said to me … even if she wasn’t wrong.

“A little bit,” Mary said back in a feeble attempt to soften what she said, that time not whispering. “Daffy needs a bath,” Mary announced before Nana could ask what she said.

But first off, that is not what Mary whispered to me, so that just made me look opposed to baths and anti-hygiene or something. What Mary whispered was that I was a little bit smelly.

“I think so too,” Nana said with this almost condescending, head-tilted-to-the-side look like she was gently telling me to listen to Mary who isn’t even the boss of me. I’m the boss of me! It’s just that, like everybody, I also have a boss … and mine is Mary. Dammit …

“You really shouldn’t keep her in a wet diaper after breakfast,” Nana said to Mary. Gotta say it: not a big fan of that comment. In fact, not a big fan of the way Nana addresses remarks like that to Mary instead of me, like Mary is supposed to take care of me and I’m just supposed to be cared for and not have a say or an opinion. I coulda taken it off! It’s not like Mary woulda stopped me. It’s just that the moment my butt was bare she’d have started hitting it with the flat side of a hairbrush. I am an adult! I have agency! I am an agent with agency who made the decision not to risk a consequence I didn’t want! Really … Dammit …

“I usually don’t, but the morning got away from us.”

“And if I’m a little smelly it’s your fault,” I said instead staying quiet which would’ve been so much smarter.

“How do you figure,” Mary asked me like she was daring me to justify the unjustifiable.

“Because … Because …” Aww, screw it. “Nana, she put this one on me at like eight last night and didn’t change me before bed.”

“Mary,” Nana gasped, directing her ire at Mary where it belongs. All the ire belongs on Mary. And yes! It was Mary’s turn to blush for once.

“She was hardly wet,” Mary tried to defend herself, “and it’s a thick diaper.”

“I can see it’s a thick diaper,” Nana riposted (dammit!) while nodding toward that part of me where it was extremely obvious what I was wearing and how thick it was, “but that doesn’t mean she can stay in it for almost fourteen hours! I thought I smelled old weewee when she let me in.”

Welp, fuck. I guess I hafta move to another state and change my name now. Or I would if Mary wasn’t holding me. She won’t let me go if I tell her I’m moving. I mean, she could come too, but she likes it here.

“Mine were bedwetters, and they never smelled from it. How would you like it,” Nana shot at Mary. Good question, and Nana was actually pretty cross. And once again, her what? She never had one of me. Also, I’m not a bedwetter! Really!

“The morning got away from us,” Mary tried again.

“You don’t put someone to bed in a wet diaper. That’s just unclean. And are you using rash ointment on her fanny at night?”

“No one puts me to bed,” I said quietly, but I coulda shouted it and I don’t think it woulda made a difference. Also, could we limit the amount my fanny is discussed to zero?

“I have half a mind to come over here at bedtime and check on her,” Nana said. Maybe even threatened to do it, perhaps. And holy moly did I not want that, not that Nana was serious … I think and hope and pray.

“I don’t wear them every night,” I tried to get a word in edgewise.

“She’s fine,” Mary said defensively. I think she was on the verge of getting her dander up. How well she fulfills her role as my domme and protector is not something she’s willing to listen to opposing opinions on for very long. I think Nana caught the hint of a this-isn’t-up-for-debate tone; I sure did.

“She …” Nana looked down for a second and exhaled hard through her nostrils. “Sorry. I shouldn’t interfere. I just think she should get her diaper changed more often.”

“I don’t wear them very often, is the thing,” I said to apparently nobody cuz nobody acknowledged or responded.

“She gets changed when she needs it. She’s never gotten a rash. I like that you’re concerned about her though. We’re both very glad to have you in our lives.” This was really starting to sound like a woman and her mother-in-law arguing over how to raise a granddaughter, which no. Just no.

“Can I say something,” I asked because how else was I supposed to be heard? They both looked at me. “I’m fine. No one needs to argue over me, and if they do, I can argue on my own behalf.”

“Of course you can,” Nana said apologetically. “I didn’t mean to imply that.”

“I know you didn’t mean to. As much fun as it is watching you chastise Mary Ow! No pinching,” I said to the woman behind me. “I know how to handle her,” I finished my sentence and gave her a dirty look cuz she pinches and it hurts!

And there are several effective strategies for dealing with Mary. Red lights of course, but also asking nicely, begging, pleading, tantruming, throwing a fit, crying, and crying really hard. A sniffly ‘you’re hurting my feelings’ can get Mary to do or stop doing just about anything, not that I’d ever stoop to crocodile tears. O! And the giving and withholding of sex, though the last one is hard for me because reasons.

“And despite appearances I do take care of myself,” I reminded the room.

Nana reached out and patted my knee. I don’t know if that was good-for-you pat or an if-you-say-so pat. “Well, when you’re with me I’ll make sure you get changed a lot more often,” she said with a wink that I didn’t even know what she meant by.

“You’re with her now,” Mary said because she’s chaotic evil. Which is great and all most of the time.

“I would, but you’re right. She needs a bath first, and I guess I should go so you can do that.”

“I don’t need to be given a bath. I’m perfectly capable of showering by myself,” I reminded them.

“Why don’t the two of you come over for dinner,” Nana invited us.

“We’d love to.”

“But I expect her to be dry and clean,” Nana said with a wink toward me again. Sometimes when she thinks she’s being helpful and is on my side she’s really not being helpful and is just embarrassing me and being a little condescending without meaning to. But at least she doesn’t mean to, unlike other women in my life (who I’m married to) who do mean to embarrass me but never condescend unless it’s in a playful teasing way. And she always makes sure I know it’s just teasing and is (almost completely) perfect at knowing when to stop.

“C‘mon, stinky,” Mary said when we’d seen Nana out.

“You’re gonna take that back if you know what’s healthy for you.”

“I’m sorry.” She held out her hand to me. “You’re fresh as a daffodil, Daffodil. A daffodil that’s been wearing the same wet diaper for too long.”

“And whose fault is that?”

“I don’t recall you asking for a diaper change this morning.”

“I asked last night before bed.”

“And this morning?”

“I got distracted by my phone.” Like literally everyone does. Really.

“Too distracted playing to think about the state of her diaper. What stage of life does that remind you of,” she asked just so friggin delighted with herself.

“Too distracted worrying about whether she’s cool to change a diaper. Ditzy babysitter stereotype much? That’s sad; how sad for you.” Her mouth formed this silently scoffing O that dissolved into a smile.

“In,” she said at the bathroom door.

“I can take a shower myself.”

“You remember that speech you gave about sticking up for yourself? All I heard was ‘uwu uwu uwu.’” My turn to silently scoff. We’re kinda catty sometimes in a fun way.

“Enjoy the visit,” she said as she turned on the faucet. Guess she’s giving me a bath after all. There are worse things than being bathed by the beautiful woman you love. Really.

“Coulda done without the back and forth between you two about … you know,” I said as I stood there wearing the thing. I just don’t like to say it.

“She’s just trying to be helpful. She cares an awful lot about you.”

“And I still don’t know why.”

“Does it make you I comfortable?”

“Just don’t like the way the two of you talk about me like I can’t understand what you’re saying.”

“Hold on,” she said. “I wanna check something.” She pulled out the collar of my top. “I knew it.”

“What?”

“There’s that little red spot on your collar bone.”

Stupid spot revealing my innermost thoughts and feelings. “That’s beside the point.”

“I think you don’t like us arguing, but you do like being talked about like you’re too little to have an opinion.”

“I’m splashing you when I get in the tub, just FYI.”

“Then I better take off my top,” she said and yowza! “Is it me or is that spot on your collarbone getting redder?”

“You have a tell too.”

“What’s that?”

“I can’t point it out with your pants on.”

She grinned at me. “Such a dirty little thing. I just may have to climb in this tub with you to get you extra clean, after I’ve washed the weewee away.”

“I am royalty after all. I should be clean enough to eat out of … OFF of.”

“Princess Malaprop,” she chuckled.

“Even if I do like being talked about that way, which I don’t, she doesn’t know that. Totally different vibe like she thinks she needs to do that sometimes. I’m gonna talk to her about it. I know she means to be helpful. Sweet that she wants to stick up for me, but there’s a line and she’s right on the edge.”

And when she does that, she’s basically questioning my judgment, like I can’t set and enforce my own boundaries for my own good. And need I remind everybody that I’m the one who put Mary in charge? She didn’t pick me off a shelf. We picked each other and I asked her to be in charge.

“And I don’t like her questioning how you take care of me.” Good subs are protective of their dommes too.

“Aww. Such a sweetie pie.” I got a kiss on my cheek and one of her I-am-thankful-for-you smiles.

“Now, let’s get these down,” she said as she stripped my pajama pants off me, “and let’s get this open.” She ripped the tapes off and pulled the thing out from between my legs.

“Ugh. I stink.”

“I told you, but you had to go making a fuss.”

“I’ll show you how hard I can heccin fuss one of these days.”

“In in,” as she gestured toward the tub.

“So heccin hard,” I sighed contentedly as I sat down in the hot water and leaned back as Mary got the sponge soapy.