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Mary and Daphne #3
🕑 Added 2022-08-25 16:36:16 +0000 UTCThe only thing worse than going to an office party is going to an office party at someone else’s office. That, and a few fatal diseases. That’s just medical science. Really.
I had zero desire to go to Mary’s office event – some anniversary something or other – Mary knew that, so when I told her I wasn’t feeling well and asked if I could stay home, she said yes knowing I felt just fine. Unless you count a case of the I–don’t–wannas as being sick, in which case I was on my deathbed. Or maybe that’s a little dramatic.
Anyway, Mary’s response was typical. I was changing from my lazy–day–around–the–house clothes into my lazy–evening–around–the–house clothes as Mary got ready, and she stuck her head back out from the bathroom and said, “I know. Why don’t I call Sandy and see if she’ll come hang out with you? She was complaining earlier this week she didn’t have anything to do this weekend.”
I don’t know what it is about watching a woman get dressed for an evening out, but I surmised I couldn’t both pretend to not feel well and get frisky with her. That was more on my mind than Sandy, but since Mary brought her up, it certainly redirected my attention.
“I don’t need a babysitter,” I said, “I’ll just watch Netflix for a while and probably go to bed early.”
Mary and I went to a monthly play party once upon a time, and we found Sandy. She was new to the scene at the time, but over her knee was a man a foot taller than her, twice her weight and twice her age, and she had him in tears. Not just tears – absolutely bawling, snot running down his face, begging her to stop. Naturally, she and Mary bonded while he was on display in a corner. We were shocked to learn Sandy was only 19.
That was two years ago, and though Mary always, always denies it, she basically uses Sandy as a babysitter for me. Imagine a teenager who doesn’t think she needs a babysitter and a mom who doesn’t want to get in that fight, so she has an older teen “friend” come hang out while she’s gone. That’s basically the game Mary likes to play, and she she told me that Sandy was officially on the list of surrogate disciplinarians for me. It’s not a long list, but the gist is if they think I’ve earned a spanking, I’d better take it, or Mary will make my bottom wish it had.
“Don’t be silly. She’s not a babysitter. She’s just a friend. Do you really wanna sit home alone all night?”
“She’s bossy,” I whined.
“Well, sometimes you need bossing around. Besides, I hate to think of you alone all evening and not feeling well. What if you need someone to take care of you?” The ear to ear grin Mary was wearing told me she knew damn well I felt fine, and now that I’d told that fib I was gonna have to live with it. Why hadn’t I just said I didn’t wanna go to her stupid office party? Even she didn’t wanna go.
I pouted on the couch in my pajamas wishing Mary would stay home and keep that black dress on while I put my head under it for an hour and reminded her why I’m so much more fun than an office party. Barring that, I just wished she hadn’t called Sandy. I mean, I like her; I just like her more after she’s, well, it’s obvious where this is going, isn’t it? Anyway, Mary was closest to the door, so she answered it when the doorbell rang.
“Hey,” she said, “so glad you could come over.”
“Happily,” Sandy replied. “I was hoping something fun would turn up tonight.”
“I gotta run, but you know the drill. We haven’t had dinner yet, and she saysshe’s not feeling very well.”
“Aw. Poor thing,” Sandy said. They both knew I could hear them from the living room. “I’ll take good care of her.” I heard their footsteps coming down the hall.
“I’m leaving, Daphne,” Mary said. “I’ll see you when I get home tonight if you’re still up.”
“Have a good time,” I said. “Be safe.”
“You, too.” Mary gave me a wink. Or maybe she gave Sandy a wink. Mary and her winking – what can ya do?
Sandy interrupted with, “And don’t worry, Mary. The two of us have everything under control here.” Sandy winks about as subtly as an artic icebreaker. All the winking had me a teensy bit suspicious, ya might say. Sandy put her purse down and sat next to me on the sofa as the door closed behind Mary in the kitchen.
“So what do you want to do tonight,” she asked me.
“Order a pizza and watch a movie, if that’s alright with you,” I replied.
“Are you sure you’re feeling up to that?”
“Um, yeah.”
“I don’t know. Maybe you should have some soup instead. Or maybe just some saltines and ginger ale.”
“My stomach feels fine.”
“It does? Well, still better safe than sorry. When a little girl doesn’t feel well, better to play it safe.”
“I’m not a little girl! I’m nine years older than you!” Almost. No need to age myself.
“Don’t get upset. I’m just thinking about how to make you feel better.” She leveled her eyes with mine. “Unless you were fibbing about not feeling well so you didn’t have to go out this evening. You’re not fibbing, are you, Daphne?”
If I’d been wearing a watch, I’d have checked it and registered the time from when Sandy came in to when she found a pretext to spank me at about 70 seconds. Maybe not even that. It was just after six, but I figured my best bet for my butt was to dig into the lie.
“No,” I said, “In fact, I think I just wanna go to bed. I don’t need dinner tonight.”
“Hmm,” Sandy said. “That’s pretty convincing. Alright. Why don’t you head up, and I’ll bring you a glass of water in a few minutes.”
“Okay. Sorry to ruin your evening with, uh, me not being up to hanging out.”
“O, don’t worry about that sweety pie.”
I went up to our bedroom, and I was about half certain I had avoided trouble, but that’s the same as half uncertain. If I were more honest with myself, I’d just accept the fact that Mary and Sandy and a few other people are usually two steps ahead of me. I should’ve just put myself in the corner and bared my own bottom as soon as Mary said she was calling Sandy. I believe they call that accepting the things we cannot change.
Anyway, I was in bed when Sandy came in with her purse and a glass of water. “Here you go,” she said. She sat down on the edge of the bed. “You need anything else?”
“No.”
“Hmmm.”
“Hmmm what?”
“O, I was just thinking that there’s another girl I babysit for, and when she’s sick her mom has her wear these,” Sandy said as she took a pink pullup from her purse.
“First, you’re not my babysitter. Mary said,” I answered petulantly, “And second, I don’t need those.”
“Of course you don’t! I was just saying. And I know I’m not your babysitter.” Her lips turned up and to the left, following her eyes as she play–acted having an innocent thought. “But I still feel sorta responsible for you, and I think I should find out just how sick you are.”
“I’m not sick. I just don’t feel well.”
“Well, you could be coming down with something. So why don’t you just hop out of bed, and I’ll give you a quick once over. I am a nursing student, ya know.” Yeah, remind me how young you are. That’ll really make me feel better about this.
“Fine,” I said, admitting defeat. I enjoy a game of kinky mental cat and mouse, but as the mouse, sometimes I get tired of running when I know the most likely outcome. All that work to get eaten anyway. I threw the covers back. “Whadduya wanna check?”
“Your temperature.”
“Okay.”
“Stand up.”
“Why?”
“Because I can’t use the thermometer with you sitting down, silly.” Ever step on a rake and get whacked in the face? That’s what it felt like, something that stupidly obvious in retrospect. I mean, like she hadn’t gamed out a kinky little plan as soon as Mary called her.
“No way,” was my final reply. Yep, final. Really … dammit.
“Yes way, little girl. Unless you want me to give Mary a bad report.” I knew what that would mean.
“But …”
“Nope. Just be a good girl, and it’ll be over soon.” She reached into a purse and came up with a ziploc bag whose contents I tried not to look at.
“What do I do,” I said, the exasperation in my voice obvious. My tone has gotten me in all sorts of trouble over the years. But (most of) it was worth it.
“Why don’t you just flip over onto your tummy for me? That’ll be more comfortable for you than bending over the bed.” I did. “Hips up,” she said as she took the waistband of my pajamas in her hands. She yanked them down to my knees when I lifted up.
“You’ve done this before, right? I’m not your guinea pig,” I asked.
“Of course I have.”
“And you clean your toys?”
“Of course. You’re sure you’re good with this?”
“I’m naked, aren’t I.” I couldn’t see what she was doing. I just listened to the sound of a glove snapping.
“The trick is to use plenty of lubricant, and to get make sure it gets where it needs to go.” I shuddered when her hand touched by bottom. “See? You don’t hate this,” she giggled
“Yet,” I said with a nervous thigh.
“Just relax.” She narrated as she went. “I’m going to spread your bottom cheeks now.” I sighed. “And you’re going to feel some vaseline on your button.” It was cold; but most things feel cold back there. “And then my finger inside of you. Just relax … don’t clench … there.” She slowly but firmly pressed her finger into me, and I could feel each knuckle pass my sphincter. “We want to make sure we get that everywhere the thermometer might go.” I bit my lip. “And a little further, just to be safe.”
“Mmmmmm,” I moaned.
“What a good girl you can be when you want to.” She kept fingering me for another thirty seconds. “I’m taking my finger out now.”
“Mmm.”
“And now here comes the thermometer.” I felt the cold, thin glass slip gently in.
“That needs to stay there for about two minutes. You comfortable?”
“Yes,” I squeaked. Sort of? Seemed like an existential question under the circumstances. What is comfort? Are we talking physical, metaphysical, or the inner turmoil that comes with having a thing in my butt! Eeeeee!
“Good.” Her fingertips were massaging and tickling my bottom cheeks, and I couldn’t help but squirm under them. She twisted and flicked the thermometer every few seconds, or pushed it in a little further and drew it back out. “Ya know, there’s good news and bad news if you're temp is normal?”
“What’s the bad news?”
“I’ll have to spank you for fibbing.”
“And the good news?”
“I’ll get to spank you for fibbing, and we can order pizza.” She kept tickling my butt, letting her fingernails run gently down my thighs. Mary and I agreed I could get sensual with other women that she approved of, which – what a coincidence! – is a list that overlaps with my disciplinarian one, but I couldn’t cum with them, a rule they all respected. Sandy took that rule to mean she had license to make me writhe under her hands, which neither I nor Mary ever disabused her of. I think Mary likes to see me revved up by Sandy, getting my body hypersensitive, because there’s nothing at all sensual about Sandy’s hands once she’s ready to mete out discipline.
“Out it comes,” she said as she withdrew the thermometer. I sighed. It was fun (kind of?) while it lasted. “Hmmm. Looks like some little girl is a fibber.” She put her things away and slapped my butt hard. “Sit up.” I did, and there was no mirth in her face. Playtime was over.
“I’m sorry,” I said.
“You usually are, but that doesn’t mean you don’t get the spanking you deserve, does it?” I’ve always wondered what kind of household she grew up in, because even when she was 19, Sandy could lecture and scold like a puritan. Two years later and she'd gotten even better with practice.
“No,” I said.
“’No’ what?”
“No, Miss?”
“Am I boring you?” I guess I sounded less than rapt, maybe because I’d heard I don’t know how many variations on this lecture since I told Mary I wanted a full–time domestic discipline relationship.
“No, Miss,” I said in a more crisp voice.
“You know better than to lie,” she told me. “Mary has taught you better than that.”
“It was just a little lie.” It wasn’t even really a lie. Mary knew I didn’t mean it.
“Daphne! There is no such thing as a little lie. We need to know when you’re telling the truth, and we can’t do that when you tell lies. How will we know when you’re really sick?”
“I … sorry.” There was not getting out of it, so might as well play along. Sometimes the path of least resistance is the best.
“We care about you, and we want to keep you healthy and safe.”
“I know,” I said softly.
“And Mary wanted to be with you tonight. She’s proud of you and wanted to show you off. Would that have been so hard for one evening when she does so much for you?” I’m pretty sure Mary didn’t care if I went or not; even she didn’t wanna go. But I’m a soft touch, and Sandy has a way of eliciting guilt even when there's no reason for it. She's just good at creating headspace, I guess. My response was to sniffle.
“You know you need to be punished, don’t you?”
“Yes, Miss.”
“And you know that punishment needs to be a spanking.”
“Yes, Miss.”
“Show me how you know.” Sandy positioned herself with her left leg on the bed and her right foot on the floor. With my pajamas still just above my knees, I got up and then laid myself across her left thigh. I took a pillow and put it under my head, knowing in a few minutes I’d be burying my face in it.
“I don’t like having to spank your bottom,” Sandy lied like the world’s biggest liar, ironic under the circumstances, but she and I both love the little roleplay touches that bring us both into the right headspace. But then I wasn’t sure how much we were roleplaying or not. I had fibbed, and every time I get caught doing that, I get my butt spanked. So maybe this was reality-plus, or maybe roleplay lite.
Her hand brought my philosophical musing to an immediate end. I’ve been spanked by people much bigger than Sandy. I don’t know how she does it. She has the softest skin, and whatever is under it is like ironwood. It’s like whatever boxers do to toughen their knuckles, she does to her palm.
Mary is a fast, ferocious spanker (most of the time). Sandy is a steady, methodical spanker. There’s no clear line between her warmups and the aching fire she really ignites when she gets going. I grunted and oomphed and ahhedand urghed with each spank, and each spank overlapped with the one before it as she worked her way up and down, sparing no butt all the way down to halfway between my sit spots and the backs of my knees.
I passed from tears escaping shut–tight eyes to sobbing, and Sandy took that as her cue to begin to lay in her heavy spanks, now focusing on one spot for three–four–five spanks in a row before moving on, targeting my tender sit spots and thwacking the backs of my thighs with her fingers to make it really sting. I buried my face in my pillow but still heard her say, “And you think you’re a big girl,” as she assaulted my butt. I’d had enough.
“Please! I learned my lesson! I learned my lesson!”
“Now we’re getting somewhere,” Sandy replied as her hand bounced off me again and again. “But this naughty caboose of yours isn’t done yet.”
“I’ll be good! Waahhh! I p–promise – ah! – I’ll be good! Ah! Waah–ahh!”
Bawling. That’s the word for it. It’s like it sets a timer in Sandy’s head, because she never spanks long past bawling, not with me. I laid limp over her lap and bawled into my pillow. After so many hard swats, I didn’t even fully feel Sandy’s hand rubbing gentle circles across my butt. I color easily but don’t bruise easily. I’m sure I was close to purple in spots, but I knew when I was done crying, I’d bounce back quickly. But first I had to cry it out. I always do after a spanking like that.
“Shhh. It’s all over, and it’s all forgiven,” Sandy cooed. She bent down to place a soft kiss on my hair. I’ve seen Sandy clad head to toe in leather lingerie laugh and push away subs when she was done, and I’ve seen her cry real tears when she accidentally broke skin without meaning to. With me, she’s always very gentle when she’s done. I think she likes the babysitter role. “Up we go,” she said as she helped me back to my feet. She bent down and pulled my pajamas back up for me and gave me a hug. “Why don’t you go wash your face, and I’ll order that pizza, and then we can have a nice evening together.”
“Pepperoni,” I asked in my I–just–finished–crying voice.
She chuckled. “Sure.” She sent me on my way with a soft swat that still made me jump. After I washed my face, and cleaned the vaseline from between my cheeks, I decided to change my sob–stained top, too. When I got downstairs, she was leaning against the arm of the sofa.
“C’mere,” she said.
“Why,” I asked warily.
“Just c’mere.” I shuffled over, each step reminding me what a good spanker she is. I could feel my skin growing taut as my cheeks swelled. Sandy held out her arms. “Come sit.” I dropped down to the sofa, that dull throb sending a wave of pleasure through me. I felt glowy, that wonderful whole–body sensation of peace that makes every bit of pain worth it. “Just lie back.”
Mary and I snuggle all the time, whether it’s aftercare or not. That was my first time snuggling with Sandy. I laid back against her, and she stroked my hair. “Thank you,” she whispered in my ear.
“My butt hurts,” I said with a giggle.
“It’s reminding you good girls don’t fib.” She kissed my hair and my ear and my neck, and then crossed her arms over me.
“You’re a good babysitter.” I dreaded her coming, but like always, I was glad she had, which I guess describes every BDSM interaction ever. Way better evening than Netflix.
“I’m not your babysitter,” she said light heartedly. “I’m just a friend. That’s all.” We got back into our snuggle position after our pizza, and I dozed off. I woke up when Mary got home and pretended to still be asleep.
“How was she,” Mary whispered.
“Just like this after our little talk about fibbing.” Mary touched my hair.
“Ooh. Did she cooperate?”
“She always does.”
“I wish you’d let me pay you for babysitting.”
It dawned on me. We’d all been telling little white fibs all evening, and I was the only one who got her bare bottom spanked for it. No fair!
Comments
Thanks for posting this. Now I can continue the story from the beginning
