Mary and Daphne #169 (Patreon)

“Are you nervous,” I asked my Mary.

“A little. You?”

“O my gawd yes … I mean, a smidge … What? You’re looking at me funny again.”

“No particular reason.”

“Don’t roll your eyes while driving.”

“Why not,” she scoffed at me. Scoffing! At me! Ridiculous. That’s what she is.

“I dunno. My mom told me it’s dangerous.”

“When?”

“When she was teaching me how to drive … O, she just wanted me to stop rolling my eyes at her, didn’t she?” I remember it cuz she, um, said it a lot when I was learning how to drive. The woman had some saintly patience during that formative experience. And I’m great at picking up subtext now, much better than when I was seventeen (yes, I didn’t get my license til I was seventeen; I was very wise for my age, wise enough to value the privilege of being chauffeured).

“God, you are so perfectly adorable sometimes.”

Not to be telling tales outta school or nothin’, but my wife thinks I’m perfectly adorable sometimes. So I got that going for me.

I also had impending puppy syndrome, which would resolve itself into chronic puppy ownership syndrome within hours. I say syndrome because it’s a collection of symptoms rather than a disease: anxiety, puppy love, anxiety, chewed furniture, anxiety, and possibly the only thing in the world that could love me more than Mary. I wonder if Mary realizes she was bringing the competition into our home.

“You do realize you’re going to have to compete with the puppy, right,” I asked her.

“What do you mean?”

“The puppy will love me unconditionally, and you love me unconditionally. One of you might get jealous.”

“Are you flirting with me?”

“Yes.” I’ve been told if you have to tell someone that you’re flirting with them, then you’re not very good at flirting. But I think Mary likes to ask just cuz it puts me on the defensive, where we both like me to be. Must be so much work being dominant. Every time I put on bossy pants, I can’t wait to take them off again.

“How about if every time I buy the puppy a present, I buy one for you too?”

“That’s an excellent idea. Best idea ever. I like presents.”

“But they’ll come from the same store.”

“But what would a puppy do with jewelry?” Touché!

“I told you I’d buy you a diamond-studded collar, but you have to wear it every day.”

“It wouldn’t go with my yoga pants.” Yep, that’s the reason I’m sticking with not wearing a jeweled dog collar. “Tell me why we’re driving all the way out here to get a puppy when we could’ve waited for the next adoption day at the farmers’ market?”

“Because Lisa’s friend runs this rescue, and one of their rescue dogs came in pregnant and had her litter. We’ll get first pick. Plus a little country air won’t hurt us. Speaking of…”

Mary got off the highway, much to the disappointment of the lady who lives in her phone narrates the turn-by-turn directions (she kinda went apeshit, just sayin’). I had a feeling, let’s just say, that Mary had something extra planned, so I wasn’t surprised when she got off at the wrong exist. She’s always plotting things. It’s one of the qualities I like about her most. Plus I saw the picnic blanket in the back and made an educated guess that underneath was a picnic basket. I could do Sherlock Holmes’ job easy; I don’t even need a Watson to boss around, which would work out perfect cuz I’m not especially bossy. Really.

“Where are we going,” I asked because I’m inquisitive like that.

“I’m not sure. Somewhere secluded.”

“You’re just … driving down this road hoping to find a secluded spot?” She’s very alpha; not quite like her to not have more of a plan.

“I’m just looking for a good picnic spot.”

“We passed a sign for a park two exits up.”

“A park wouldn’t be very secluded, now would it, sweetie?”

Don’t you heccin condescend to me! But also yes please. “Why? What’s gonna happen at the secluded spot?”

Mary looked at me with her just-you-wait eyes and said, “As a little girl I know would say, ‘Stuff and things.’”

O my. Not just stuff, but things also? I like the things most, but a lady doesn’t admit it. “Aren’t we going to be late?”

“No. I told her told her between 1:30 and 2:00.”

“You told me noon.” See? She’s always plotting and planning stuff.

We’re not exhibitionists, mostly. If we were, she wouldn’t be looking for someplace secluded. I had an inkling, though, we were going to be trespassing, cuz it looked like fallow farmland. It may be secluded, but it’s not exactly private. We could see quite a ways, and two people doing stuff and things would be, um, noticeable.

“We just need to find a little stand of trees.”

And we did, a narrow strip of woods dividing two fields. Had to be someone’s land, but where the entrance to it was, I don’t know. We didn’t pass it. Mary just pulled onto the shoulder, checked the side mirror before getting out, and said, “This is perfect.”

She got the picnic blanket and basket from the back, and I followed her to the edge of the trees, where we set up just inside the tree line. It wasn’t entirely private, but we were mostly hidden from the road. It was a good spot for a picnic, provided no angry farmers showed up. It was sunny but not strong, we were in the shade, the ground was flat and soft, and there was just enough breeze to stay cool. Mary in her sundress and me in my springtime cutest skirt and top, on a picnic blanket in an empty field just sorta had this 1940s movie starlet vibe, except gay. Very gay.

“What did you bring for lunch,” I asked even though I wasn’t hungry. We had breakfast, and it was only 10:30.

“You.”

“Mary! You’re making me blush.” What? Really. I wasn’t just saying that to be coy and coquettish. Um, really.

“I brought some snacks,” she said, “but first I want to talk a little bit.”

“About what? Am in trouble?” I’d been sitting in the car being ever so good. What could I possibly have done? Nothing. Never been misbehaved in all my life.

“Nope. I just wanted to say thank you again for agreeing to do this, and I wanted to ask again if you’re sure you’re good with it.”

“I am. Really.”

“But maybe a little anxious?”

“Yeah. Like, we’re going to have to keep this puppy alive. What if it gets out of the backyard and runs away? … What if it gets sick? … Who will take care of it when we’re out of town? So yeah, a little anxious. And …” Dammit. I told you not to say anything about this.

“What?”

“Nothing. That’s all.”

“You’re fibbing. You know what fibbers get?”

Eep. Yes, I do. “I was just thinking that, one day, and I know it’s a long time away, we’ll lose our puppy, and … it’ll be very hard.”

Dammit! You made Mary make a sad face. Bad girl. Bad, bad girl!

“O, sweetie, c’mere.” We scooched closer, and Mary put her arm around me. I put mine around her and rested my head on her shoulder where we both like it to be. I know it’s stupid to be thinking years and years ahead to how sad I’ll be when the dog is gone, but, well, that’s what anxiety is like sometimes. And I know it’ll be worth it, that the dog will make us very happy, but my catastrophizing mind wants to pop that bubble and think instead of all the things that could go wrong and how one day my heart will be broken. But I also know that broken hearts mend, and that if we’re forever afraid of what we’ll lose, we’ll never muster the courage to love anything. And it does take courage.

“My sweet Daffodil. I know, but that’s a long time away, and it’ll bring so much happiness into our lives.”

“I know. It’s just my anxiety talking. It tells me lies.”

“You’re sure that you’re sure, though?”

“Yeah. A little pupper to play with. I do have some ground rules, though.” I’d seen the way Mary was looking at pictures of puppies. I know my Mary; I know how her mind works.

“It’s so cute that you wanna try to make rules. What are they?”

“No dressing it up. We’re not referring to ourselves as ‘dog moms’ or calling it our ‘fur baby.’ And it’s only allowed to sleep in our bed if it doesn’t stop us from snuggling,” I told her and was heccin serious. Seriously.

“You’re so adorable.”

“I’m serious. I wanna roll over and spoon my Mary, not roll over and find a dog beat me to it.”

“Okay. It can’t sleep in our bed if it gets in between us.”

“And the other rules,” I asked because I know Mary, and when Mary agrees to one thing you said that doesn’t mean she’s agreeing to the others.

“We’ll see.”

“That means no.” Remember childhood and being told ‘we’ll see’? Nine times out of ten that meant no.

“We’ll see,” she said as she – get how rude she is – tickled my side.

Hmmph! Which I pronounced, “Heehee!”

“I’m gonna have two bellies to rub.”

“Another rule: no implicitly comparing me to the dog.”

“Does that mean you’ve outgrown belly rubs?”

“Of course not. Don’t be silly.” She’s so silly sometimes when she’s not be serious.

She mock gasped. “Me silly?!? Such a disrespectful little girl! I have half a mind to give you a spanking right here and now.”

“Well, I have half a mind to let you.”

“You know what happens next.”

As matter of well-established fact, I did. I put myself over her lap and folded my arms under my chin. Mary flipped my skirt up and peeled my panties down.

“You get so mouthy when I let you wear your big girl undies. And you think you’re ready for bikini style.”

“I’m ready for all the things.”

“See? Big girl undies give you big ideas. But you’re still a little girl.”

“I’m not a little girl! Hmmph!”

“Is that so?” She, um, worked her hand under me into a, uh, place. “Then where is the hair on your princess parts? Big girls have hair down there.”

“Meanie.” SPANK! O heck yes. Like that times a hundred.

“A name caller? That’s definitely little girl behavior. Or should I say, misbehavior.” SPANK!

“You called me a name first!” SPANK!

“What did I call you?”

“A little girl. Duh.”

“That’s not name calling, Daffy. That’s just a fact. You’re my little girl. Do you know any big girls who get their bottoms spanked on the side of the road?”

“Um, yeah, six or seven. You introduced me to most of them.” True story.

“Ha!” SPANK SPANK! “Well, you’re still my little girl, and I’m not ever gonna let you grow up.”

“Grr.” SPANK!

“That’s right. My little girrrl.” SPANK!

“Hmmph!” SPANK!

“Let’s see if I can’t spank the sass out of you today.”

And I gotta give her a gold star for effort. She gave it the ol’ college try. It’s just that the sass is strong in me. Really.

“You, little girl, have a very red bottom,” Mary informed me when she done trying to teach me a lesson about … something or other. And no, she doesn’t not have a point when she says I don’t listen sometimes. I just also don’t listen sometimes.

“It feels red (yawn!).”

“You tired now.”

“Mhmm.” Who doesn’t get sleepy when they have a warm butt? Beats Ambien any day. “Hey, Mary? The dog is just gonna hafta get used to seeing me get spanked.”

“What?”

“I know it might upset it, but we’re not confining ourselves to the bedroom or putting the dog in another room. The dog is just gonna hafta get used to seeing me get spanked and stuff.” The whole house and yard would remain our playground. If Mary thought otherwise, and I didn’t know if she did or not, I was positive I could brat well enough to ignore the dog and yank me right over her knee. I mean, I’ve never bratted before or been a brat or been bratty or engaged in any acts of brattitude, but I’ve seen it done. How hard could it be?

“You think it’ll upset it,” Mary asked.

“It might. It’ll get over it the more it’s exposed to it though.” I could feel Mary chuckling. You can feel just about everything happening in a person’s body when you’re laid over their lap.

“Then I guess someone is gonna be in for a lot of sore bottoms for a while.”

“O heavens no (yawn).”

“Naughty little munchkin. Hold still.”

While I was holding still, this Mary person took my shoes off and rolled my panties all the way off. How unusual … for most people who aren’t us.

“I think we may just leave your undies here.”

“No way. I like those.”

“But think of how it’ll tickle the farmer’s imagination when he finds them.”

“Heh! But no.”

“Fine,” she said like she was so wounded, which she wasn’t. Big faker. “But I’m not giving them back.”

“There are worse things than going commando … especially on a breezy day,” I added when the breeze picked up because, well, who doesn’t enjoy a good airing out?

Mary motioned for me to roll off her lap, and just as I was rearranging my skirt, she tutted at me, “Not yet, silly goose. We gotta get you dressed again.” And who would’ve guessed that she would reach into the picnic basket and pull out a diaper.

“Yeah,” I said, “there are worse things than going commando, like that.”

“Lay back down.”

“But that’s one of the crinkly ones.”

“All the better to protect your pretty skirt and your socks.”

“My socks?”

“Mhmm. Just imagine yourself having an accident …”

“I never have accidents!” Malicious insinuation started by a woman with very loose morals (gawd I love her so fucking much!)!

“Just,” she repeated like I hadn’t said a word, “imagine yourself having an accident. It would run down your pretty thighs and your o so smooth calves and get your socks and shoes all wet. How embarrassing, right? We’d have to ask Lisa’s friend if she had some clean bottoms for you, and I can just picture her now when I ask her for socks. ‘O,’ she’ll say, ‘so it was a big total flood, huh? She musta wet all over herself. Glad my own toddlers are past that stage.’ And how embarrassed you’ll be.”

I’m not blushing! You are! Nyah!

“None of that will happen.”

“It will if I make it happen,” she threatened me. Mary and her threats and the way her eyes just light up o so hopeful I’ll give her the excuse she needs to follow through on them. Hot damn is she so sexy.

“You can’t make me pee my pants,” I pointed out to her.

“No, but I can not let you use the potty. You know I have my doubts about you being ready for the potty anyway. It would be a shame for you if you proved me right. I wonder, if I don’t let you use the potty for long enough, do you think paddling your bottom will make you lose control. Do you think Lisa’s friend has ever heard – or seen – a girl your age get her bottom paddled? Maybe she’d wanna help.”

“Marrry! Stop it.” I’m not hot and bothered! You are! (True story.)

“Nope.”

Ugh. Can you believe she said that? “Fine,” I said as I flopped onto my back and put my arms over my face cuz I needed a moment alone.

“Such a good girl when you wanna be.”

“You take that back!”

“Such a good girl all the time.”

“All the times.”

“Time.”

“Times.”

“Such a good girl all the ‘times,’” she said to me being all patronizing. How rude! But also, yes please.

But me? I’m never rude. Really. In fact, I’m not ill mannered or short tempered or bratty or naughty ever. Never have been. Not once in all the times. Really. I even totally cooperated with Mary as she put that diaper on me, and when she patted the last tape and said, “There. All snug and safe,” I didn’t go hmmph. True story.

“Yogi Bear would be so confused and disappointed if he stole our basket.”

“I brought snacks too. Here,” she said as she held out her hands to help me sit up.

Watching her sort through the basket, I had a notion – an epiphany, an idea – that now would be an excellent time to do to her something she does to me all the time (times). I mean, we were alone, and it seemed like a good moment.

“Mary,” I said, and when she turned to look at me, I did it. I pounced on her.

And bounced off. Dammit …

“Are you okay,” she asked me as I sat up and pretended like I meant for that to happen. Which I did, actually, for the record. I’m smooth like that, totally collected and in control of myself and my surroundings. Picture of grace, titan of strength, lithe yet powerful. Yep, that’s me. So … I meant to do that. Really.

“O my god, how are you so sturdy,” I asked. Which is when she started laughing. Hmmph!

“What were you trying to do?”

“Pounce on you … like you do on me … and then we do things and stuff.”

“Honey, you’re too little to pounce on me.”

“Am not!” Hard to be that offended cuz she looked so happy. Ya know something? I think Mary was having one of her best days. Sigh … I’m so happy when she’s happy.

“We can practice pouncing later this week. I’ll show you how to do it like a big girl.”

“Hmmph. I was gonna pounce on you and put my head up your dress. I was promised stuff and things.”

“And you got your bottom spanked and put in one of your pretty diapers.”

“Like that even counts. Don’t start the engine if you’re not gonna drive the car.”

“Wanna cookie?”

“Ooo, yes please.” What? I’m not easily distracted any more than I’m easy to please.

“Two hands please.”

“What?”

“Hold it with two hands,” Mary repeated, accompanied by pantomiming as though I were new to using language.

“Why?”

“Cuz you’re so little. You don’t wanna drop your cookie on the ground, do you?”

“Marrry!”

“Heehee!”

“It’s a good thing dogs can’t talk. This one is gonna have so many secrets.”

“And they don’t judge either, especially little girls.” Well, I didn’t respond to that for a moment, a long enough pause for Mary to actually say to me, “I bet you feel so much better piddling a potty puddle in your pampers.”

“Was not! … Really.” Ooo, Mary’s o-really face. “I was gonna go behind a tree before we left, but you just had to put your special underwear on me.”

“You could’ve asked to go potty first. If you don’t tell me when you need to go, I don’t think you’ll ever make it out of diapers full time.”

To which I responded by giving her my unimpressed face. A borderline sneer, in fact, very aggressive for a sub, so yeah, I took a risk. I’m a risk taker. I’m brave … and stuff.

“Lemme feel,” she said. Coulda predicted that. “Ooo, such a warm, wet potty pillow between your thighs, but you don’t need a change yet.”

“Are you having a good day,” I asked her.

She nodded her head. “Mhmm. Thanks for letting me tease you. I’ll make it up to you after the puppy is in bed … Ha!”

“What?”

“I just had a thought. When we get there, all those dogs will be snoofing. Wouldn’t surprise me if you got some extra attention when they smell your peepee pants.”

Aw crud! She’s probably right! “Marrry!”

“Aww. It’s okay. They won’t tell anyone.”

“We should get going. I don’t wanna be late.”

“My good little rule follower. Can you get your shoesies back on yourself?”

“I’m telling the puppy all about the ways you mistreat me.”

“I dote on you.”

“Yeah … dammit.”

And she laughed at that. I love hearing my Mary laugh. I love making her happy. So off we went to pick out a puppy.