Mary and Daphne #141 (Patreon)

Pre-pandemic, we belonged, in a loose and informal sense, to a couple of fetish clubs in our city, one of which has their very own clubhouse. Sort of. It’s just a space open twice a month for a kink gathering, plus certain holidays (I love Spanksgiving the most out of all the kinky portmanteau holidays). I’m not sure when they started having events again, but I’m not sure when anything happens anymore. Not working means not having to pay attention to the calendar, and I along with most people (so it seems) have lost all perception of time. Everything seems like it happened last week and last year at the same time.

Anyhoo, we hadn’t been to an kink event is way too long. So long that I actually felt nervous, like it was my first time. And it definitely, definitely wasn’t. I mean, heck, I met my wife when she yanked me over her knee at a spanking party. I still remember the first thing I ever said to her: “Hi.” Sigh…

So I was excited, but nervous. Not coincidentally, that’s how Mary likes me. She was nervous too, I could tell that. She didn’t say it after our trip to the mall, but I could see the words ‘you stay right next to me’ wanting to come out her mouth. I was planning on staying with her, but you never know who you might run into at these things. None of our friend-friends were going, but we were event-friends with lots of people. Who knew who we might meet or run into? That’s how we found Sandy. I mean, Sandy found herself, obviously, but we met her at an event. She had this really big man over her knee, and he was sobbing, and Mary declared right then we had to meet her.

Anyhoo, maybe we’d meet someone. Maybe we’d get reacquainted with someone. Maybe neither of those things and Mary would just do delightful things to me in a semi-public space which is always fun. Maybe it would have something to do with what she had packed in that backpack. “What’s in the backpack,” I asked (for the third time) in the car as we pulled into the parking lot.

“Hand sanitizer and extra masks.”

“Yeah, but that could only fill half at most.”

“Two-thirds,” was her response, and I knew she wasn’t kidding. I think she needs therapy or something to help her get over this fear of my impending doom. Like, I was scared for me, and I’m still not not scared, but I’m also not preparing for the eventuality I rapidly lose a dozen masks in quick succession.

“What else is in the backpack?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” she said so devilishly.

“Yes. Yes, I would. That’s why I asked.” Duh (but I left that part out).

“Smartass.”

“Yes. Yes, I am.” You don’t think being a smartass will get me in trouble, do you? Like, as a random for instance, at a play party in a public venue.

We showed our vaccine cards at the door, and lemme just say you could tell who among the party goers has a mask fetish. I had a theory that people with a mask fetish would be happy as a pig in a poke (whatever that means) this whole time, but I didn’t think how elaborate some of these masks would be. And that’s among a group that can get pretty darn elaborate when they have a mind to.

“I don’t recognize anyone,” I said to Mary, who reached out and took my hand like I’m precious and stuff and need to be kept close.

“Are you nervous?”

“No … I think.” Not so much Stranger-danger as Strangers-ugh-gotta-socialize-and-not-be-awkward. We’ll name that more cleverly later.

“Thirsty,” Mary asked me.

“A little.” I watched as she unzipped the bag and produced a bottle of water … and a sippy cup for someone.

“O thanks,” I said and snagged the bottle with my cat-like reflexes.

“Nice try, little girl,” she said and snagged it back with her ninja-like reflexes. Damn ninjas always beating the cats at bottle snagging.

“I’m not a little girl, and I can’t believe you brought that.”

“We don’t wanna spill on their floor.”

“Then I’m not thirsty.”

“Okay for now, but if I think you’re looking dehydrated, I’ll feed that to you if you won’t drink your water like a good girl.”

Bitch! “Did you just imply I’m not a good girl?”

“You’re a very good girl.” Ya know what? I think I detected a note of condescension in her tone, and whether I liked it is not the point (but I did like it, but please don’t tell her).

“You should say so more often,” I told her. “Just sayin’.”

“Maybe you can meet someone else here who has a praise kink, and the two of you can just say reassuring things to each other all day long.”

“You jest, but that’s not a terrible idea … Speaking of which, do you remember how to talk to strangers cuz I think I forgot.” Like seriously, how am I supposed to talk to these people?

“That’s cuz you’re too little to talk to strangers. Hand.”

“Just because I’m letting you hold my hand doesn’t mean I’m a little girl.” Also, she was holding my hand! Squeee!

We walked around for a bit to see if we knew anybody, and we recognized some faces (or foreheads, what with the masks … or at least we thought we recognized them). Mary actually said, “Ooo!” when she saw someone getting a spanking. I think she has a spanking fetish or something? How weird.

“Mary,” I didn’t nervously whine, “that’s a man.” Ya know, just in case she forgot what they look like.

“We’re just going to watch.”

And we did. I’m not the biggest fan of watching men dominate women. I’m very happy for everyone to do whatever tickles their pickle if the pickle tickling is consensual, but it doesn’t mix my metaphors, which is my way of saying it just doesn’t float my boat.

“She’s being kinda a wimp about it,” I whispered to Mary.

“Excuse me?”

Few are the times someone says ‘excuse me’ in the sense of ‘I didn’t hear you,’ which shoulda been a clue that Mary heard me just fine and I shouldn’t have said, “She’s crying and she’s barely pink.”

“It’s not very nice to make fun of someone for getting spanked, Daphne.”

“I’m not making fun. I’m just saying.”

“I know a certain little girl who sometimes starts crying before I even get her over my knee.”

“Who is she,” I asked (because I’m not a little girl!).

“Where did this mouthy version of you come from?”

“Excuse me! I am not mouthy. Sassy, maybe.”

“I can’t take you anywhere,” she said and clucked her tongue at me like The Biggest B.

“More like you don’t take me anywhere.” I wonder if Mary noticed that we were attracting some eyeballs. I sorta kinda did, but my honor was at stake, and I couldn’t just back down from … whatever we were competing over. I don’t even know what, but not the point. The point is that I was right about … something, and Mary was wrong about … also the something. In fact, knowing Mary, she was probably wrong about several things. Must be hard being wrong all the time. Poor Mary. I’m sad for her. Really. (But not very sad cuz she’s so right most of the times and also tall and pretty and statuesque and a total hard body in my opinion which is humble cuz so am I).

“You sound like Lucy telling Ricky he never takes her to the club.”

“That’s silly. We’re at a club right now.” Which explains all the people. “Um, hi,” I said to the people cuz I’m smart (stupid) like that (so stupid).

Mary grimaced at them or possibly at me, but she definitely winged a few of them with her grimace. “Such a smarty pants for a little girl.”

“I’m not a little girl! Stop saying that!”

“I never should’ve let you out of the house in your big girl undies. They just give you all sorts of ideas.”

“O, like you even let me wear big girl undies. They have kittens playing with yarn on them!”

“Are they a diaper? Are they made by Pampers? Then they must be big girl undies for the littlest girl I know.”

“I am so not even the littlest girl you know!”

“Know what I think?”

“Yes, because you haven’t had an unexpressed thought since we walked through the door.”

A collective gasp was emitted from the dozen and a half people who were watching us, including the ones who were pretending to not watch us. It was at least somewhat gratifying to see I’m not the only person who pretends to check their watch when they’re trying to look like they’re not listening, only to be confronted with an empty wrist cuz they haven’t worn a watch since 2007. Besides, what I said was wasn’t that mean. In fact, it wasn’t even mean. It was just … rude … and cutting … and also mean. Not that I meant it that way. Our tête-à-tête just got me going, and out it came. Verbal incontinence … ew. Let’s never call it that again.

“I’m sor …” I tired to say.

“Little girl, you’ve just earned yourself a trip over my knee.”

Hell yes I had, but a girl of any size has gotta try. “No, please! I’m said I’m sorry and I meant it. Ow!” What is it with her and pulling ears? She should pull on her own if she wants to pull on ears.

“Being sorry doesn’t mean you don’t get a consequence, and you know that, don’t you,” she socratically lectured as she tugged me to the nearest place to sit, which was unfortunately …

“Not a barstool,” I tried to convince her with the power of saying ‘not a barstool’ as though that’s an argument. Also, I felt eyes.

We arrived at the barstool, and Mary unslung that silly backpack that contained (what a surprise!) the paddle she takes with her everywhere. In The Before Times pre-pandemic, she literally took it everywhere whether I was with her or not just in case, she said, I was naughty and she needed to come give me a spanking wherever I was. And it doesn’t matter if it proved useful a time or fourteen … or eighty-three. Red herring. Really.

She sat herself on the barstool and grabbed me her the front of my jeans which is just so unfair and maybe I should start wearing clothes I can’t be grabbed by. “Why are you getting this spanking?”

“For saying something mean.”

“Why else?”

Huh. Good question. “Um … reasons?”

“I know,” said some helpful but totally bitchy spectator, and who needs that kinda help anyway from the folks who were watching us. Not me; that’s heccin who!

“Shut up,” I said as I spun my head around and tried to guess who said it. “Ow!!” Sometimes it’s better if I say nothing when Mary’s already got the paddle in her hand. Plus she oughta be more careful when she swats me when I’m looking at her cuz one day she’s gonna miss and break my phone (again, cuz this one time …) and she’s the one who pays for all the stuff nowadays.

“Daphne Ann, you apologize right this instant!”

“Sorry,” I said and sooooo didn’t mean it. Heck, I wasn’t even sure who I was apologizing too.

“You made fun of that poor girl, and you know better than to talk back to me. I don’t tolerate making fun, especially for earning herself a spanking. You’re over my knee two or three times a week.”

Well yeah, but only one and often all of those is a punishment. Really.

“She’s embarrassed enough without your teasing, just like you’re feeling embarrassed right now, aren’t you? … Do you need help answering?”

“No … I mean yes.”

“It’s embarrassing getting a spanking, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“Especially in front of strangers, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“But it’s important to spank little girls right after they misbehave, and do you know why?”

“O gee, no, why ow!” To my credit, I knew she was gonna do that as soon as those words started leaving my mouth. I just decided to let them come out anyway. Because I have agency. I can make my own decisions. I can say anything and do anything I want, and I can ever say anything about any of the things I do. Just so long as I’m willing to accept the consequences of my words and actions, which is what being an adult is all about. So I can say what I want when I want because I’m an adult, then take my public spanking like an adult … Dammit …

“It’s important to spank little girls as soon as possible after their poor choices, Daphne Ann, because little girls forget very quickly, and they’ll never learn if they don’t get their consequence until they get home.” That’s why Mary is a then-and-there spanker as much as possible. She did warn me about that as soon as our play went from scene to lifestyle discipline lo those eight years ago, and in that time, I must’ve gotten spanked then and there … Never you mind. Don’t be nosy. Rood!

“O, well thank goodness you’re here ow ow ouch!!!” Worth it. Totally worth it.

“And making fun of her for crying during her spanking? What’s gotten into you? I thought you were a good girl.”

“What? I am and you know it!”

“‘Good girl’ isn’t a title you just get to have, Daphne Ann. You actually hafta to be a good girl.”

“I am!”

“You’re not being a good girl when you say mean things.”

“It was an accident.”

“And you’re not being a good girl when you talk back and say snarky things to me.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It hurts me on the inside when you say those things to me.”

“O nice try!” She was just trying to get me to cry to prove a point. She can’t snark half as good as me, and she wouldn’t like me half as much if didn’t snark twice as much as is polite.

She sighed. “Little girl, little girl, little girl … I guess the only way to get through to you is a good, hard spanking, which is exactly what you’re gonna get.”

She started undoing my jeans, and maybe because I’m out of practice at not wearing any pants in public, I may have backed up just a quarter step. Oops.

“I was gonna start on your undies, but if you can’t even hold still like a good girl…”

“I didn’t mean … ,” I protested, estimating I had many seconds until … Holy crappin crud, this princess’s crown jewels are on public display. How’d she even do that? Magic ninja that she is.

“Over,” she said to me as she had me by the elbow. It was less an order than a statement because I was up and over her knee without much purposeful effort on my part. A strong magic ninja. “Do you still feel like a big girl now, across my knee about to get your barre bottom spanked in front of all these people? They wanted to have a nice night out, and instead they get treated to this spectacle. You owe them an apology when I let you up.”

“They owe me a thank you,” I may have accidentally said out loud, but I was so right. This is why they were there in the first place, to do and have things done to them, and whether in addition to or failing that, to see spectacles like little ol’ us.

“Mary,” I said, “make him move!” I was referring to the person I saw upside down through the legs of the barstool who was getting way more of a show than I wanted to give. Good ol’ Mary, she did shoot him a look that made him move cuz she likes me and wants to protect my virtue … sort of. After a (kinky) fashion.

“(SPANK!),” Mary said and maybe to you it doesn’t seem like she said anything, but to me she was saying ‘I love you!’ “(SPANK!)” ‘And I’m having so much fun!’

Of course, to everyone else, that came out as, “I won’t have you mouthing off and making fun.” Spank spank spankety spank … and stuff.

“Especially of someone else who gets spankings. Whack spank thwackety whackety spank … and thingd. “And you can be quite the crybaby when you’re over my knee.” Truth (spank spank spank and stuff and spank). “And a weepy little girl pretty much all the time.”

Hey! Low blow(spank spank spank and CRACK!) “Marrry! That hurts!”

“It’s a spanking! It’s supposed to hurt. That’s exactly (spank) what I meant (spank) about (spank) little girls (spank!) forgetting (SPANK!!!).”

No fair snarking! Talk about kicking me while I’m down and insult meeting injury and … saying mean things about people while they’re getting spanked. That’s just not right, and if someone does that, then they should … Good thing I never do that? Really?

Inner growth and realizations aside, I had some honor to defend and stuff. “You … urgh! You!” Um, take that? Dammit …

“I think you were overdue for an attitude adjustment,” Mary said while she adjusted my attitude. There are other ways to do that. As a random for instance, presents and surprise orgasms always put me in a better mood. Just sayin’. But failing that, yes, as luck would have it, my butt has proven to be the center of my attitude. It’s like a button that gets stuck and you just hafta smack it a buncha times to get it unstuck. Not that I had a bad attitude. I was actually pleasant as heck. It’s when I stop snarking that you gotta worry … or take the snarking past the point of fun and accidentally let slip something rude or cutting or mean.

“You’ve been in a mood ever since you had that potty accident and I put you back in diapers for the day.”

“What? That never happened!”

“Uh-huh.”

“It didn’t! Really!”

“Are you saying it wasn’t an accident?”

“That’s not what I meant and you know it and you’re just making stuff up!”

“Little girls have accidents, little girl. I told you it was no big deal.”

“I didn’t wet my pants this week!” I didn’t! I’m pretty sure. Pandemic has screwed with my sense of time, but I didn’t. I think. And it would’ve been Mary’s fault regardless. She’s in charge of the absorbent undergarments and … you know what? I don’t hafta justify myself. Cuz it didn’t happen, and no matter what happened, I can absolutely positively one hundred (million) percent guarantee that my pants stayed dry.

“You’re just trying to embarrass me,” I accused her. Also, my butt was really starting to hurt.

“Back talking still? Tsk tsk tsk.”

“Don’t you Ow! Tsk! Ow! Me-ow!!! Mar-ow! Oof! Ugh! Marrry! Eeeeeeee!”

I didn’t even know I made that sound until I met Mary. Of course, she’s made all kinda sounds come outta me, but the squirrel-in-distress sound is a once to multiple times a week sounds for me.

“Sounds like someone is a little girl after all, making all those little girl noises just cuz she misbehaved, got her bottom bared, and is getting spanked in front of a bunch of strangers. How little of you.” I feel like in an alternate reality, Mary would be the mean girl on the playground making up double-dutch songs to sing while she and the other mean girls jump rope: How many spanks till Daphne cries? One, two, three, eighty …

“(Sob) Not (sniffle) funny (snot-snort).” Ew. I believe in everyone masking, and not just because I’m immunocompromised, but none of the mask guidance I’ve read has said anything about what to do if you sneeze in your mask or, o, say, cry so hard you make a snot bubble.

“Stop kicking your feet.”

“(Lion sayin make me in lion-talk) (Bear saying I’m trying in bear-talk) (Moose going awwwwoooooo in moose-talk) (Me going a-waah-ha-waah hooooo-awwww-huh-a-huh-a-huh-waaaaaa in me-getting-spanked to sobs-with-real-tears-and-snot-and-everything-talk)

“Are you gonna be nice?”

“Y-ugh!-yes!”

“Are you gonna make fun?”

“Oomph! No!”

“Are you gonna talk back?”

“Mmm-mmm. Yowl! No I won’t!”

“Are gonna be a good girl!”

“I uuf!!! Pro-om-omise!”

“Then you learned your lesson.” Funny how often she declares lesson learned but keeps spanking me for another minute. I could totally see her on an aircraft carrier with a big ‘LESSON LEARNED’ banner behind while she gives a big speech about how proud she is of our spanking implements and declares the lesson learned and the spanking over (and if you’re old enough to get that reference, cool).

She dropped the paddle next to the backpack and started rubbing my butt, which I could barely feel. She pushed my shirt up and ran her nails softly up and down my back, just giving me a little time to collect myself before, “Alright,” she said, “on your feet. Up you go.”

She helped me up and very quickly, cuz she likes me and stuff, bent down to pull my panties back up for me cuz that part of the show is for her eyes only (how sad for the guy she made move so he could see, or at least not see quite as well as he probably would’ve liked. Or maybe not; if he’s a spanko like us, that wasn’t the best part).

“Couch,” I meeped because there was a couch behind us. I nodded toward it, which made Mary looked half over her shoulder and see.

I kicked my pants off the one ankle they were still around, and good on me for not kicking them across the room during my spanking (#winning), and we stumbled to the couch just a few feet behind the barstool. Mary sat down in the middle and I crawl-flopped myself into her lap for my much-deserved (and needed) aftercare.

“You were very brave,” she whispered to me. “Are you all cried out or do you need to cry some more?”

“More,” I didn’t say with my lip quivering. I didn’t cry at all, so don’t even know why she asked. I was so stoic the whole time that it was probably not even fun for those two or thirty people to watch. Mary put her hand on the back of my head and pressed my face into her breast, a wonderful place to cry more.

“I didn’t u-used to d-do th-this,” I sob-said.

“What?”

“Cry when I’m not in trouble.” True story. I never used to cry during a spanking unless I was in actual trouble and Mary was upset with me. You could beat by butt with a rubber hose (like the ones at that fetish club in the opposite corner behind the saltire where someone once beat my butt with a rubber hose), and I wouldn’t shed a tear. But then Mary came along, and if she was upset with me, I’d cry before the spanking even started. And now, post-career and mid-pandemic, I get downright weepy sometimes.

“It’s okay to cry.”

“I kn-know.”

“You just have some feelings to get out.”

“Okay!” Offer heccin accepted! I did that thing with the tears and the sobs and the snot and that’ll teach Mary to wear nice tops when she spanks me. In fact, she should just take her shirt all the way off next time. Really.

“(Sniffle),” I heard just when I was finishing up.

“Huh?” I picked my face up off the wet spot I’d made on Mary’s shirt, and she was sniffling. Mary! I don’t handle Mary sniffling well. You might even say I handle it very poorly. “What’s wrong?”

“I guess I have some feelings to get out too.” Stupid pandemic.

And back my face went into her breast so I could cry even harder, apparently. We’re pathetic.

“You don’t have to do that,” Mary said.

What happened to it being okay to cry? “What?”

But Mary wasn’t looking at me. She was talking to someone who had taken it upon herself to fold my pants and put them neatly on top our bag.

“It’s nothing,” she said and set the bag next to us. “Just … anyway.” She started to walk away.

Super intrusive. Nice, but intrusive … even if all she did was toss the paddle in the bag and move it four feet. Intrusive … but nice?

“I’m Mary,” Mary said.

“I heard,” the person chuckled. “And this is Daphne.”

Smartass! Get her, Mary!

“Is it okay if she sits down,” Mary asked me. Wait, what? “I guess.” Wait, what?!?

“I’m Ann.”

“That’s her middle name,” Mary said. Grr.

“I heard that too.”

Grrr. I started to sit up, and this strong person who’s a magic ninja kinda didn’t let me. “I want pants,” I said cuz, ya know, still wasn’t wearing any.

“O,” this Ann person said. She reached over to the bag and grabbed my jeans off the top. She handed them to me, and then she reached into the bag and produced (fuck my life) a diaper, and asked Mary who I have yet to forgive for bringing it (except I have because I can never stay mad at her), “Do you need this too?”

“No. That’s just for bedtime. I brought it in case she was sleepy for the drive home.”

“I so … you! Urgh!”

“Calm down. She knows I’m teasing. Could you hand me the wipes though?”

“Why’d you even bring that,” I asked (indignantly).

“Just in case.”

“She means in case she wanted to be mean to me,” I told this Ann woman.

“You took such a hard spanking.”

“What do you … yeah. I did.” Pride is what color I was turning. “Thanks for picking up our stuff.” Okay, so I may possibly be an easy mark, but taking a hard spanking is a thing to be proud of. I already had bruises.

“Are you here alone,” Mary asked.

“My partner couldn’t make it tonight. She’s working a double.”

My favorite kind of woman: gay and partnered with someone who isn’t Mary. Cuz Mary is mine, and I’m not good at sharing her. Not that I’m jealous. Just not good at sharing my Mary.

“I just came to watch tonight,” Ann said as Mary opened the wipes and started wiping the tear streaks off my cheeks.

“Honk,” Mary said to me.

“Um nut a duckwing,” I said to Mary (right before I honked) cuz my nose was stuffy.

“Are you a spanko too,” Mary asked cuz she’s forward like that. Remember, this is a woman I met when she snatched me off my feet and over her knee.

“Mhmm. I’m a switch. How long have you guys been into ageplay?”

“We’re not,” I said before Mary could answer.

“About six years,” Mary said, “But Daphne isn’t a little.”

“Louder for the people who are you,” I might have said.

“She’s spunky,” Mary explained in case it wasn’t obvious.

“Always for me,” Ann said, “into ageplay.

“Do you wanna play,” Mary asked.

“Um, yeah, but I need permission.”

“I see,” Mary said. “That’s okay.”

“Would you like to meet my partner?”

A little fast, but also not. Nice thing about kink is that the transactional part pushes things along quick. And ya know what, yes, I would like to meet her partner cuz we haven’t made a new kink friend in forever. Nothing against our crowd, but a fresh face would be welcome. And stuff. Really.