Continued from:
[Strict Julie Spanks] [M/f] [spanking] [ddlg] [taboo] [daddy issues]
Yes, dear readers, that's her alright! Long before there was a Strict Julie or Miss Julie it was simply, Julie, and the year is 1998.
Just look at this little bone collector!
It was the late 1990's, and eighteen-year-old Julie Delmar was the epitome of a spoiled, rich brat. With her long, flowing blonde hair, lone green eyes, and slender, toned body, she was every boy's wet dream.
Her perky little tits and juicy, round ass were always on display, barely contained by the skimpiest of outfits that left little to the imagination.
Julie was used to getting her way, and she knew exactly how to use her assets to her advantage. She would flirt and tease, batting her long lashes and pouting her full lips until she got what she wanted. And what she wanted, more often than not, was to be the center of attention.
Her stepfather, Alan, was a handsome and successful man in his early fifties. He had been a popular weather man on local TV for many years, known for his chiseled features and charming smile. But he had always harboured a secret desire to be an actor, and a few years ago, he had finally gotten his big break.
Alan had landed a recurring role on a hit sitcom show, playing the lovable but bumbling next-door-neighbour. The role made him a minor celebrity, and he reveled in the attention and adoration of his fans. But this was a long time ago, back in the 80's, when Alan first met Julie's mother.
Julie had always been a handful, even as a child. But now that she was eighteen, she had become downright defiant. She would stay out late partying with her friends, coming home smelling of alcohol and weed. She would talk back and argue with Alan, pushing his buttons at every turn, yet he would never lay a hand on her.
Lately, there was something else. Something darker, more perverse. Julie had started to notice the way Alan looked at her, the way his eyes would linger on her body when he thought she wasn't watching. She could feel the tension between them, the unspoken desire that hung in the air like a thick, heavy fog.
At first, she had been disgusted by it. Alan was her stepfather, for god's sake! It was wrong, so wrong. But as the days beyond her eighteenth birthday turned into weeks, and the weeks into months, Julie found herself increasingly drawn to the taboo nature of their relationship.
She started to wear even skimpier clothes around the house, bending over in front of Alan to give him a view of her barely-covered ass. She would "accidentally" brush up against him, pressing her soft, supple body against his hard, muscular frame. She even caught herself fantasizing about him, imagining what it would be like to feel his strong hands on her flesh, his lips on her skin.
But there was one fantasy that consumed her above all others. One dark, twisted desire that haunted her every walking moment.
Julie Delmar...wanted to be spanked.
August 15, 1998
Dear Diary,
It had become a ritual for me. Some nights, after everyone else in the house was asleep, I would sneak downstairs to the basement. The stairs creaked under my feet but I knew exactly where to step to avoid making too much noise.
The basement was where we kept all of Daddy's old tapes. Rows and rows of VHS cassettes, filled with recordings of his weather reports, his guest appearances on talk shows, and of course, his episodes of that cheesy sitcom. I knew exactly which tape I wanted, I had watched it so many times, I could probably recite the episode from memory. But that wasn't why I was down here.
No, I was here for something else entirely.
I pulled the tape from the shelf, my fingers trembling slightly with anticipation. I popped it into the VCR, the machine whirring to life as it began to play while the glow from the television illuminated the darkened room.
I fast forwarded through the opening credits, past the first few scenes, until I reached the moment I was looking for.
22 minutes and 12 seconds in, to be exact.
On the screen, Daddy's character was arguing with his on-screen wife, played by a pretty brunette actress who always wore conservative dresses and aprons with heels, like a stereotypical 50's housewife.
In this particular episode, she had done something silly, like forgetting to pick up the dry cleaning or burning the pot roast. And Daddy, in his role as the playful head of household, was about to law down the law.
"I'm sorry, honey," the actress would say, batting her long lashes at him. "I promise it won't happen again."
But Daddy just grinned, grabbing her by the wrist and dragging her over to the couch. He sat down and pulled her over his knee.
I watched transfixed, as his hand came down on her covered bottom before the scene faded to black. My heart was pounding in my chest, and my panties were already damp with arousal. I slid my hand down between my legs, rubbing myself through the thin fabric as I reached for the remote to rewind the scene once more.
In my mind, I wasn't just watching anymore. I was there, in that vintage living room, bent over Daddy's knee. I could feel his hard, muscular thighs beneath me, the rough fabric of his slacks rubbing against my bare skin.
I pictured the sting of his hand on my ass, the way it made me squirm and wriggle with each smack. I could hear the sound of my own voice, crying out in pain and humiliation as he punished me for being such a bad, naughty girl.
And then, as the spanking concluded, my fantasy took a darker turn. I imagined Daddy ordering me to my knees, his cock hard and throbbing in his pants. I imagined dutifully unzipping his fly, pulling out his thick, veiny erection, and shoving it into my mouth.
As I re-wound and re-watched the scene once more, my fingers moved faster and faster, rubbing my clit in tight, frantic circles. I was so close, so ready to explode. And like many evenings before this one, I arched and bucked my hips off the couch, biting my fist to stifle a scream while my orgasm consumed every inch of me.
Please, Daddy, don't make me wait any longer. I need you so badly.
I need you to punish me.
Julie
