alex_bridges
patreon
Mary and Daphne #166
🕑 Added 2022-06-14 22:56:40 +0000 UTCI’ll be okay if I can just live through the night. It’s happened before. But let me back up to explain.
“Why are you putting cocoa powder on vanilla ice cream,” the benevolent tyrant known as Mary asked me.
“Cuz I like it this way.”
I swear she looks at me like an anthropologist inspecting the strange ways of an uncontacted tribe sometimes. “Why not just have some chocolate ice cream?”
“This is better than chocolate ice cream.”
“Yeah,” she said, “that’s a normal thing normal people do.”
Well, that was just rude, and I’ve had my fill of rudeness, even if the rude person may (sorta) have a point. Mary had her back turned to me, which just goes to show she doesn’t fear me or my retribution at all even after such an offense against my honor as the one she just committed, and she should fear me and my retribution cuz I’m fierce and reckless and fiercely reckless.
I pulled back my hand, I swung it forward, and smack. Right on Mary’s butt.
Then I ran like hell with my ass on fire before she could do burn my butt for realzies. I’m very brave, by the way, with the courage of my convictions … and stuff. Really. Just … sometimes retreat is the better part of valor … And I’m very valorous and stuff … and things, also. Um, really.
“Daphne Ann Taylor,” Mary the Vengeful sternly called after me, “you get your butt back here right now, young lady.”
“No.” I think that was very reasonable on my part.
“You’re only making it worse.”
“I doubt that’s possible.” True story. Up the stairs I dashed, not sure what exactly my end game was. The last time I smacked Mary on the butt, well, she returned the favor, quite generously about three hundred times over. She’s very giving, my Mary is. That’s the benevolent part of her tyranny.
Our bedroom is where the spanking implements live. Going in there would be like running into the Swamp Thing’s swamp. The other bedroom, though … Closet full of boxes, and me.
“Daphne, come out here.”
Way to telegraph that you don’t know where I am, silly goose. Yep, if I’m gonna smack my domme on the butt, I might as well double down and call her a silly goose (in my head where she can’t hear me). I can live like this, I thought in my fortress of fortifications; I don’t take up much space, and I can sneak downstairs for food and water when she’s asleep. And sure, hiding in a closet may seem like the second in a rapid succession of impulsive decisions, but not having an exit strategy is a proud American tradition.
“Daphne,” said the voice of the dictatress from within the room. Gulp. “I know you went upstairs, and there are only so many rooms up here. Do you wanna come out of the closet, or do you want me to come in there and get you?” Well, that was a fun seventy seconds of safety.
Ah-hah! Humor will defuse this situation! “Honestly, I’d prefer if you came in here and got me.”
“What?”
“I want the press to say I didn’t give up without a fight.”
“This isn’t funny.” Okay, so humor won’t diffuse this situation.
“Does it help if I apologize and say I’ll never do it again even if your pants are on fire?” I didn’t actually mean that last part. If her pants are ever on fire, I’ll swat at the flames. I do like her a lot, after all. Like, I like like her.
“Fine,” she responded, and then … silence.
Well, that was unnerving. Which is unusual for me. “There goes Daphne,” people say, “she has a lot of nerve.” Yep, that’s a thing people say.
“You just stay in there, and you and I are going to have a little chat about right and wrong.”
“Um, okay?”
“I admit that what I said was a little cutting, and I apologize for that. Do you accept my apology?”
“Yes.”
“But no matter what someone says, you don’t hit.”
“You smack my butt all the time for stuff I say!” She smacks me things I don’t say, for things I do and don’t do, and sometimes just because. I think she likes smacking butts or something? Now which of us weird, amiright?
“I don’t hit you, Daphne. I spank your bottom when you need a consequence to help you make better choices in the future.”
“That’s a distinction that isn’t,” I grumbled.
“When it’s a child, no, there’s no difference at all. But you’re not a child. You are a little girl.”
Wait a heccin second, did I just get demoted to below the rights that a kid has in the don’t-hit-me-on-the-butt department?
“You’re my little girl, and I won’t have you hitting. That is naughty behavior, Daffy, very naughty.”
“You’re talking down to me.”
“No, I’m not.”
O, well, glad we got that resolved?Pbbbbt!!!
“You are the little girl, and I’m the dominant. Is it okay for little girls to hit their dominant?”
O friggin frack. “… No.” That was a valid point. I’m not saying she didn’t have other valid points, which is why I didn’t dispute them very much, but that was the most valid of her valid points. It’s not that I disagreed with her. It’s just that I didn’t want a consequence for my misbehavior.
“I don’t ask for very much, but I expect you to respect me and us enough to know better than to think it’s okay for you to hit me.”
“I do respect you and us. I just …”
“What?”
“Did it anyway?”
“You always did have poor impulse control for a girl your age.”
She wasn’t laughing or chuckling or chortling or snickering, but she was definitely doing all of those things (plus giggling) at my expense. She was just doing it on the inside, which I couldn’t hear but I could see through the door (in my head – I am too normal).
“So,” I ventured, “we’re in a standoff.”
“Not really. I could open that door and pull you out of there right now if I wanted to.”
“But, um, you don’t want to?”
“I don’t need to. You’re going to come out on your own.”
O. That was news to me. I mean, sure, eventually I’d have to come out, but I wasn’t in any pressing hurry. I hadn’t given her a good reason to use her new paddle brush yet, but I had visions of it river dancing across my butt, and ya know, I could do without that. But if Mary thought I was going to come out on my own, futurist that she is, maybe she knew the answer to, “When?”
“Soon.”
“Dammit.” And I swear she was chortling at me again. Me! As though I’m a figure of fun and revelry rather than a paradigm of might whose mere presence causes a hushed awe to descend upon the crowd delighted simply to gaze upon my being. ‘There goes Daphne,’ people say, ‘let’s watch what happens next.’ Yep, that’s a thing people say about me (I’m quite the topic of conversation in certain circles … sometimes … rarely but not never … among very small circles).
“You know you made a bad choice, Daphne Ann Taylor. You know you need a consequence and will feel better the sooner you get it. You broke a major rule, you hit me, and you know you need to pay the price for that.”
“Does the price get higher the longer I stay in here?” That would be a good reason to go out there and face the music (such a weird idiom), but also also a good reason to, ya know, not go out there. But it was dark in the closet. I missed the light, being as I am a beacon of light unto the world. And petite as I am, there was very little room in there for me (plus closets and me being in them have kind of a bad history together). And I was getting a cramp in my leg.
“It gets much higher,” Mary chimed in to answer my question.
Well, friggin fine. Might as well bite the bullet … Unless … Worth a shot. (crunch bump rustle ruckus).
“What are you doing in there?”
“I’m coming out.” I’ve come out of closets before. I’ve gotten pretty good at it, imho.
“I knew you would.” Of course she knew, the big so and so who knows me better than I know myself which is just perfect but also grrr sometimes.
“Here I come.” I slid open the door, and it was so much less dramatic than it should’ve been, all things considered and since I was, well, I’ll let Mary tell you.
Mary: “Why are you naked?!?”
Me: “Took my clothes off.” Um, duh?
“Why?!?”
I anticipated her asking that. In fact, as soon as I thought to myself, hey, take off your clothes before you go out there, I knew she was going to want to know why and prepared my answer before I even got my socks off. “To remind you how much you like my body and please don’t break it.”
“What did you think I was gonna do to you,” Mary asked as she pulled the throw blanket off the bed and put it around me.
“Spank me really hard … a lot.”
“Why would you think that?”
Is that … Is that her earnest face of her faux earnest face? Is she putting me on? I gotta be careful around her at times. It’s like living with a circus tiger – she seems all domesticated and ready to live among the humans and be all soft and furry and then bam! Pounces on you and devours you. Which is fun and all, but also sometimes ouch.
“Cuz I broke a major rule and disrespected you,” I said as she put her arm around my shoulder and guided me toward our bedroom like she wasn’t being weird at all. I may have hidden in a closet and stripped to my nudity before coming out, but at least that sort of thing is in character for me (I. AM. TOO. NORMAL!!!). Mary, by all rights, should’ve been wailing on my butt just then, not gently guiding me to our bedroom like a kitten she found in the rain.
“Do you know you made a bad choice?”
“Mhmm.”
“Then I think the firm scolding you just got is enough.”
“Really?” Call me mistrustful because reasons.
“Yeah. Because you know if you ever smack my butt again after I let you off with just a talking to this time, I’ll take my belt off.”
Gulp. “O … I’d rather not.” I don’t like the belt. Not on a plane or a train or with a moose or a goose because I’ve felt the belt and don’t want to ever again.
“Me too. Lay down for your diaper.”
“Do I hafta?”
“Which one of us is the domme?”
So that would be a yes. Of course, I did say I liked it better – which is to say, not at all – when the diapers were a punishment cuz at least I knew when to expect them. But on the other hand, “I thought you said I wasn’t being punished.”
“You’re not.”
“Yes, I am. You’re making me wear a diaper.”
“That’s not a punishment, sweetie.”
“Um, yeah it is.”
“Nope.”
“Yes.”
“Mm-mm.”
“Yuh-huh, is the thing.”
“I’m not making you wear your diaper for punishment, Daffy. I’m putting you in your diaper cuz you wear diapers.”
“No I heccin don’t,” she said from flat on her back while her wife put a diaper under her butt. Dammit.
“Yes, you do.”
“But I don’t, is the other thing.”
“Then what’s this,” Mary said as she patted the front of my – her! It’s hers! – diaper.
“This probably wouldn’t be happening if I’d left my clothes on, huh?”
“You know who takes their clothes off randomly?”
“Toddlers?”
“You silly goose, what made you think of that first?” Okay, see, now I know she’s putting me on. “Little girls named Daffy take their clothes off and for the strangest reasons. Are you comfy?”
“Physically or more like, on this plane of existence?”
“Such big words. Sit up. We gotta get you re-dressed so we can go out for ice cream.”
That’s right! My ice cream was probably melted. Tragedy. “You’re taking me out for ice cream?”
“Mhmm.”
“I should smack you on the butt twice a week.”
“Excuse me?”
“Just kidding.” Like, obviously. Hey, Daff, I said to me, how about shushing sometimes?
“Excuse me, little girl. Just for that, I shouldn’t let you wear any pants. How would you like to go through the drive through wearing just your diaper?”
Eep! O heck heccin no! “I’m sorry. Very sorry.”
“Look at me,” Mary said as she, um, climbed up on the bed and straddled me, looking down at me with her … big, kind eyes that just love me so much. Oof, she makes it so hard so pick a feeling and stick with it sometimes. “Daffy, I can tell that we’re not getting to Monday without you spending some time over my knee crying your little girl eyes out, and ya know what?”
O, she’s actually waiting for me to ask, “What?”
“Before, during, and after, I’ll love you muchly.”
“O geez,” I groaned and put my arms over my eyes cuz I needed a moment alone to feel all the feels.
But she moved my arms and made me look at her while she added, “When you’re naughty, when I’m taking your pants down, when I’m spanking your bare bottom, when you wipe your nose on my shirt – I’ll love you muchly the whole time.”
I blinked in response, made the same squiggly smile Winne the Pooh makes (according to Mary), and said, “O goodness.”
“Hug?”
“All the hugs please.”
And you’ll never believe me, but I got all the hugs! True story. “Sorry for smacking you on the butt.”
“You said that already. All is forgiven. You wanna take a little cocoa powder to put on your ice cream?”
“Mhmm.”
“I’ll even love you muchly when people look at us funny while you put cocoa powder on your vanilla ice cream.”
Aww! She really likes me and stuff. I can tell.
