Farewell Julie

Continued from: Oops, I did it Again

[spanking] [M/f] [kink] [bdsm] 

In peace, may you leave your blog

In love, may you find the next.

Safe passage on your travels

Until your next project, 

May we meet again. 

I intended on doing a tribute post to our beloved Miss Julie, after she was literally nuked from Blogger, (as she put it). Turns out, I ended up writing six tribute posts...

But, it is well deserved and warranted, I mean, this is Miss Julie we're talking about!

We "cast" her character in the late 90s, an eighteen-year-old Julie Delmar, can you picture it? A yellow Sony Discman in-hand, pouty lips and a bitchy attitude.  

She harboured some pretty strong feelings towards her step-daddy in our tales, which he eventually addressed with his belt, only fueling her fire even hotter. 

"Oh boy" is right. She tried to be good, she really did. But it seemed her horns were too often holding up her halo. 

We ended her 1998 journey in suspense, she was completely bare naked and freshly spanked, as she anxiously waited for him on his bed. I wonder what those two got up to?

I wonder how much of a little handful she was in the proceeding years, into her twenties? 

Just look at that twenty-year-old butt! That's not even fair!

Well into her thirties, long after her Britney phase, she still found people in her life who cared enough about her to give her the spankings that she needed. 

Even into her forties, still being spanked while maintaining the butt of a twenty year old.

In her farewell address to her fans, (which can be found here: Technical Difficulties), Julie is absolutely right, that "kids" these days don't have the attention span to read or write, let alone visit a blog. If we could mainline dumb information and stimulus directly into their brains, so they don't have to raise a phone up to look at it, they'd probably opt for that, it's more efficient. 

I listened to some kink podcasts recently, with two Dommes interviewing a younger person, likely a millennial in their late twenties. This person spent more time trying to tell the Dommes how they identify, rather than enjoying the fact he was in the presence of two Dommes. 

"I'm a service top, dark little...which is different than being an ABDL little, traditional sissy, because I identify with leather tendencies and female feet...blah blah".

Just...shut the front door, establish your safewords, develop a list of hard and soft limits, trust your partner and have fun with it. 

Is my blog dying a slow death too? Is there any appetite to continue it? Or maybe I used the "D" word too liberally in the last six posts (Daddy), and I'll get nuked too? Perhaps the missile is already in the air?

Should I suddenly disappear, like Miss Julie did, should I find myself in my funeral attire, saying goodbye to my fans, it's been fun...just don't put 215,000 views on MY tombstone! Embarrassing! 

Hehe. 

Always reachable at bellagothspanked at g-male dot com. 

 

Mistress Andrea

xoxo

Continued in: Reaching the Peak

Julie 1998: She gets the Belt

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Roommates

Continued from: Boardrooms & Bedrooms

[F/f] [spanking] [OTK] [hairbrush] [cornertime] [tears] [humiliation]

If you remember, during the last post, my ears perked up like a deer, when young Skylar casually made a comment about spanking her roommate in university. That's right, this Skylar, the Librarian, with absolutely no experience in BDSM: 

My mind spun a visual of two giggling 19-year-olds with tequila on their breath, tickling and wrestling on their single beds after the bar. A couple smacks on the bum for one of them being too drunk, followed by a pass-out and the promise of a hangover the next morning. 

"No, it was for REAL." Skylar corrected, and began to tell me the whole story. 

By the end of her tale my mouth was dry, my jaw was on the floor, and the butterflies in my tummy were raging like a storm. 

Skylar has published papers, written a doctoral thesis and obviously reads like a fiend. She is very well-written and well-spoken. I thought I would ask her to write this one herself, she reluctantly agreed. Take it away, Sky. 

*************************

I remember the day we met like it was yesterday. I had just finished unpacking my bags in our shared dorm room, my muscles aching from the effort of lugging my belongings up three flights of stairs. As I stood there, surveying my already cluttered space, the door swung open and in walked this vision of exotic beauty. 

"Hi, I'm Eesha Patel," she said in a subdued tone. 

Eesha was petite, with long, raven-black hair. Her almond shaped eyes were green, framed by impossibly long lashes, and her lips were set in a shy smile. She was dressed simply, in jeans and a loose t-shirt.

I introduced myself, exchanging pleasantries and discussing our fields of study. Eesha was going to be a doctor. I could sense a tension in her, a coiled energy that seemed at odds with her gentle demeanour.

Over the next few months, as we settled into our routines, I noticed small things about Eesha. The way she would bite her lip when in deep thought, the nervous habit of twirling a lock of hair around her finger when stressed. She confided in me about her struggles with the demanding course load, her fear of falling behind. 

One day, in our second semester, Eesha burst into our room, her face flushed with anger and disappointment. She slammed her backpack onto her bed, sending papers flying everywhere. I looked up from my computer, startled by the sudden commotion. 

"What's wrong?" I asked, concern etched on my face. Eesha turned to me, her eyes brimming with unshed tears. 

"I failed," she whispered, her voice trembling. 

"Failed? But you're one of the top students at this entire university!" I protested, rising from my bed to comfort her. 

Eesha shook her head vehemently. "No, you don't understand. I got an 86 on my biochemistry exam."

I frowned, confused. "But that's a great mark. What's the problem?" 

Eesha sank onto her bed, her shoulders slumping. "In my family, anything less that a 90 is considered a failure. If my parents knew..." She trailed off, a shudder running through her body. 

"When I was younger, if I ever brought home a grade like this, my mother...my father would..." She hesitated, her cheeks flushing a deeper shade of red. "They would punish me," she admitted in a rush, her gaze fixed on the floor. 

I stared at her, shock and something else, something darker and more thrilling, coursing through me. "Like…Spank you? For getting a B+?" 

Eesha nodded miserably. 

"I know it sounds crazy, but it's how I was raised. The fear of disappointing them, of facing that punishment...it drove me to excel. And now, here I am, failing without that motivation. 

The next evening, as we prepared for bed, the atmosphere in our room was thick with tension. Eesha moved silently, her movements jerky and uncertain. She was dressed in a simple tee and sleep shorts, as I was. 

She climbed into bed and paused, her hand trembling as she reached for something on her nightstand. Slowly, she turned to face me, her eyes downcast, her cheeks burning with embarrassment. In her hand was the crumpled test paper, the damming 86 circled in angry red ink. Without a word she held it out to me, her arm shaking slightly. I took the paper, smoothing it out on my lap, my heart pounding in my chest. 

When I looked up, Eesha had sunk to her knees beside my bed, her head bowed low. "Please," she whispered, her voice barley audible, "I need you to punish me. Like my parents would. I deserve it for failing." 

I stared at her, my mouth suddenly dry, my palms sweating. The sight of her, so vulnerable, so desperate, ignited something within me. A darkness I had always known lurked beneath the surface, waiting for the right moment to emerge. I swallowed hard, my gaze flicking from the test paper to Eesha's trembling form. 

I sat up straighter on my bed, the test paper crumpled in my fist. 

"Eesh, I...I wouldn't know what to do," I admitted, my voice wavering. "I've never done anything like this befo…" But even as the words left my mouth, Eesha stood and remained silent, hooking her thumbs into the waistband of her pajama shorts. With agonizing slowness, she slid them down to her ankles, then completely off her socked feet. 

Then, in one fluid motion, she gripped the hem of her t-shirt and pulled it up, exposing the smooth expanse of her tummy and lower back. Before I could utter another word, she had draped herself across my lap, her body warm and pliant against mine. 

My hand hovered above the rounded globes of her bare bum, trembling slightly, as I fought the urge to caress her. Eesha's Sobs filled the room and I knew I couldn't deny her this, we had become such great friends over the past months. 

"Please Skylar," she wept, her voice raw with desperation. "Punish me, hard! I need it...I deserve it."

Goddess Sky

nee:

Dr. Skylar St. Germaine 

Continued in: Doctor Patel

 

My Pet

Continued from: Seasons Beatings

A Sarah Jane story 

Hello everyone, it's Sarah. Sorry for the delay in the posting that I promised you. I guess we all just had to make it through the holiday season and get back into our regular routines and rituals. Daddy and I are back into our normal rhythms. I still get spanked each night before bed, over his knee. Then I get special Daddy kisses on my bottom hole, while being permitted to masturbate and cum. I love all our little rituals, this one especially. The only twist...believe it or not, Eleve is still here with us!

Mistress Andrea has not hosted a party lately, so I haven't been able to sell her back into slavery. Part of me wants to be rid of her. I hate it when she is there in the evenings, listening to me get strapped on the bare with Daddy's belt. It's so humiliating for me, as she also sees me dressed like a little girl and sobbing like a little girl sometimes. 

We did the kind thing and offered her a room and a bed when she first arrived. She insisted on being in a locked cage, where she actually spent several evenings. Finally, we settled on a pet bed in the corner of our room, provided she is locked in a chastity belt for sleeping. 

Nice and secure! She can't tempt my Daddy with her slutty cunt. My jealously peeks through sometimes? I can't help it. 

 

Although I just said I'd like to be rid of her, part of me wants to keep her too. She actually alleviated many of my daily responsibilities, allowing more time to focus on Daddy's pleasure and my own greedy desires.

Mondays, Wednesdays and Thursdays I am dressed like a schoolgirl around the house. Traditional and proper-like, not a slutty style. 

Tuesdays and Fridays I am in elaborate French Maid attire. The usual look with lots of satin, ruffles, stockings and heels. On these days I have to clean the house top-to-bottom, scrub toilets and hand-wash my own panties and lingerie, along with all the other laundry and tidying. 

On weekends and weeknight evenings I am dressed like a little girl, very elaborately on Sundays I might add, which is my maintenance spanking day. It's a lovely routine. I thoroughly enjoy having my clothing chosen for me, even though it's difficult to do labourious chores while wearing high heels. 

Since Eleve showed up...SHE does all of this now! Hehe. I can't complain. 

She clicks around the house in only an apron, seeing to literally everything that use to be my responsibility. I barely lift a finger now, as far as domestic chores go. This aspect of buying her has been great! She even cooks us dinner sometimes. 

But...it was a bit of a double-edged-sword. If you remember, after my Upper Floor party of taking cock in every one of my fuck-holes, Daddy declared that I needed a break from penis for awhile. You'll also remember that Eleve's stainless chastity belt ended up on ME! 

This lasted a few days leading up to Christmas and it sucked. I loved it and hated it. Daddy knows all my deepest and darkest desires and one of them is to be cucked by another female. To be reduced to a humiliated, shamed and degraded observer. So this is exactly what happened during my "break" from cock. 

Look at me! Facing the corner in shame, bare naked and shrouded in rigid metal, as I was forced to listen to Daddy fuck her.

It should be me gagging on his cock. But I was in a great big, 2-inch gag ball with a panel covering. 

Does she suck cock better than I do? Is Daddy enjoying her mouth more than mine? These thoughts flashed through my mind and my stomach fluttered with humiliation...but I couldn't stop my confined cunt from throbbing like crazy. I fuckin hated her in these moments. My wet cunt I mean, not Eleve...

He fucked her directly over my face, as my panel gag was replaced with a ring-gag, forcing my mouth open. When Daddy finally pulled out, mid-orgasm, his cum oozed from her pussy and dribbled from his cock, directly into my waiting mouth. I had the sweet taste of their shared arousal, flavouring the inside of my mouth and filling my tummy. 

Two days! Two days I spent locked in that belt and subjected to cuckqueaning. I was about to explode with arousal. Then it was Christmas. Much to my surprise, Daddy gave Eleve back to me, as MY present. And rightfully so. I bought her. She was my pet! 

He literally tied her up with red ribbon and put her under the tree for me. It was pretty cute.

What's the first thing a little kid does when they get a toy for Christmas? They frantically want to play with it, right? Well...I'm a "little"...it was Christmas morning and my cunt had been denied for two days. Of course I played with my new toy! 

I dressed up Eleve and used her mouth! For hours! Daddy allowed it. He wanted to watch anyway, so I became a little more bold. She was just an mouth to me, with no identity.

A very pretty mouth I might add. 

Maybe it was revenge, to degrade her in this way and make her wear a mask-hood? Revenge for fucking Daddy over my face. 

I ended up becoming very bold with my new Christmas morning toy. I had her lick my pussy to multiple orgasms. I made her lick my asshole.

I even had her suck on my toes and lick the bare soles of my feet. It was a lovely Christmas morning. 

Throughout the rest of the holidays, Daddy remained firm in his position that Eleve was my pet and my toy to use. It's during moments like this when I'm torn and I don't want to sell her. 

What do all of you think? Should I keep her as my own sex doll, like Daddy keeps me as his? She does have a pretty amazing mouth!

I'm open to your suggestions. 

Sarah Jane 

xoxo

Continued in: A Mouth Punishment?