Chapter 1

In the half-light of dawn on a clear April morning Samantha pushed her front door key into the lock, succeeding on the second attempt. Her hands slipped off the key momentarily before she steadied herself against the frame. Finally she got the door open and lurched inside the house, hearing the taxi that was ferrying her and her friends back home pull away.

She pulled off her shoes, almost overbalancing in the process, and made her way down the hallway towards the kitchen. Water, then bed, she thought to herself. Her mind was still pleasantly fogged from six cocktails, half a can of cheap lager and a quarter of a bottle of something claiming to be vodka that more likely started out life as some sort of industrial cleaner.

As she came into the kitchen, it occurred to her that something wasn't quite right. It was early on Saturday morning so why were her parents up? Her father was pacing back and forth in front of the fridge while her mother sat at the breakfast bar, both wearing warm dressing gowns. They both turned to look at her. She wasn't a pretty sight.

Samantha's make-up was a complete mess. It had looked great at eleven o'clock the previous night when she and her friends had got into that club, but the cheap foundation had started to run under the hot lighting on the dance floor. Her mascara had streamed down her face when she'd burst into tears at 2am over what a bastard her ex-boyfriend was (even though she still loved him). Her lipstick was now smeared across one cheek where she'd tried to drunkenly re-apply it at 3.15am after snogging a fit bloke with a mermaid tattoo who'd tried to put his hand down her knickers. Her dress had a tear on one side where she'd snagged it on a nail. It was about as short as it could be without being indecent: the sleek black material just covered her backside and came down to the top of her thighs. She knew she looked amazing in it: the skinny, long legged, nineteen year old had spent enough hours taking selfie after selfie in her bedroom mirror and selecting the best for Facebook and Instagram to be well aware that the dress showed her body off to its best advantage.

Her parents were less impressed.

″Where the hell have you been, Sam?″ Her father asked. She really did need some water, she thought.

″Just out, Dad. Calm down, alright. I'm not late am I?″

Her Father gave a resigned sigh. ″It's 6.45 in the morning, Sam. What were you doing?″

Even in her current state, she wasn't stupid. She realised that 'We went to a club, then we went off with some guys we met and drunk knock-off vodka till six in the morning' wasn't going to go down well with her parents.

″Just out with my friends - get off my case Dad. You're always on at me, it's not fair. Anthony gets to do whatever he wants.″ She made her way unsteadily to the sink and filled a large glass with water from the tap.

″Samantha.″ her mother said. ″You're nineteen years old. You've got exams in less than two months that are going to shape the rest of your life. And here you are, disappearing for the whole night, leaving us with no idea where you are, who you're with, what you're doing or when you'll be back. It's not on.″

″Whatever, ″ Sam said dismissively. ″I'm going to bed.″ She drained the water from the glass, banged it down on the work surface and made her way up the stairs to her bedroom.

Her parents watched her go, a glum silence descending in her wake. ″I give in, ″ Sam's father said. ″Call Jack.″


When Samantha's mother had woken at five o'clock that morning, the first thing she had done was to see if her daughter had come home. It had not been a huge surprise to find the bed unslept in: this was maybe the sixth or even seventh time she'd stayed out overnight in the last few months. In that time they'd tried grounding her and stopping her allowance. They'd lectured, argued, shouted, cajoled, reasoned. Nothing seemed to make the slightest difference. Seeing her failing all her exams was rapidly becoming the best-case scenario as visions of their daughter being wheeled into hospital with alcohol poisoning or passed out drunk at the mercy of any passing man filled their nightmares.

They had always prided themselves on their parenting. Both Samantha and her younger brother Anthony were good kids, doing well at school, right up until six months before when Sam had gone off the rails. They seemed powerless to do anything about it.

Jack was Samantha's uncle - her mother's brother. About four years before, Uncle Jack's daughter - Samantha's cousin - had gone through a similar phase. It had been sorted and, though no-one ever went into details, they had the definite impression from both Jack and their niece that it had involved some very tough love. Sam's father had never approved. He had often been critical of Jack, saying that had he been a better parent he would not have needed to resort to those sort of measures. At the same time, he knew Jack thought their parenting was too soft.

When Samantha's mother had suggesting enlisting Jack's help, her father had said no. Not ″let's discuss it″ but a point-blank refusal. It would be admitting he was wrong, admitting Jack was the better parent. But as, yet again, they saw their daughter staggering home in the early hours he had to agree that anything was worth a try. They had done their best and failed, so why not give Jack's method a go. If it worked then the embarrassment of being wrong was a small price to pay for saving his daughter.


10am. Samantha was still fast asleep, the sound of her snoring drifting out across the landing. Her mother picked up the phone and dialled.

″Hi Jack, it's Helen.″

″Hey, Sis. How are you?″

″Not good. It's Samantha. She's getting worse.″

″I've said I'm happy to help - you only have to ask.″

″I know, and I've - we've - decided that we would like your help Jack. I'm really worried about her and nothing we do seems to make any difference at all.″

″When did she last stay out, Helen?″

″Last night. She got home just before seven this morning. She looked a complete sight, Jack - God knows what she'd been doing, to be honest I don't want to think about it.″

″It's OK - we can sort it. We need to get started right away, though - it's not going to work if we leave it. I'll come over in a few hours.″

″Thanks, Jack, I really appreciate it. I'll do you some lunch.″

″No problem. One thing though. This is only going to succeed if you and Ryan get behind it. If Samantha thinks for a moment that she can avoid my discipline then it's a waste of time. I know you won't approve, I get that, but you can't show it. As far as Samantha's concerned, you both have to be one hundred percent behind me.″

″I understand, Jack - I'll speak to Ryan. We'll see you for lunch.″


Samantha woke to see bright sunlight shining through her bedroom window. The house had an afternoon feel to it: warm, no smell of breakfast and the muffled sound of voices from downstairs. She checked her alarm clock. 2.15pm.

It was nearly three o'clock when she finally put in an appearance. She'd cleared off her make-up before washing. Not bothering to dress, she walked down the stairs in her pyjamas, dressing gown and slippers. She knew she was going to be told off - probably the lecture this time. No big deal.

″Hey Sam, how you doing?″ OK, that was odd. She wasn't expecting to see Uncle Jack here today. Her Uncle was a big man: a brickie by trade he stood over six feet tall and had the sort of neck and arms you'd expect to see on a body-builder, though he'd never set foot inside a gym in his life.

″OK, thanks, Uncle Jack. Bit tired.″ She smiled at him - she'd long since learnt that her slim young body, put together with an innocent smile, was enough to get most men to do what she wanted. If it didn't work first time round, exposing more flesh did the trick. Not today though.

″I hear you've been upsetting your parents, staying out all night.″ He said.

″They worry too much - I'm just having a good time. You're only young once, right?″ She picked up a bread roll and nibbled at it.

″No, you're not just having a good time, young lady. You're being stupid, putting yourself in danger, scaring your parents and probably throwing your life away. And I'm going to put a stop to it.″ Her Uncle's words were sharp - he had never spoken to her that way before. What was going on?

″When Roxy started behaving the way you are, I sorted it.″ He continued. ″Now I'm going to sort you out. You won't thank me for it now, but one day you will.″ This was getting scary. What was he talking about? At that moment her parents walked through into the kitchen.

″Mum? Dad? What's going on? What's Uncle Jack talking about?″

″You've brought this on yourself, Samantha.″ Her mother replied. ″You won't listen to us, so perhaps you'll listen to your uncle. You do what he says now.″

″Dad, you can't do this to me!″

″You've left us with no choice, Sam.″ Her father replied sadly.

″Now, Sam - go up to your room and wait there.″ After Jack spoke, Samantha looked around, searching for some sign of weakness on any of the three faces, but there was none. Turning on her heels, she stormed up the stairs, the house shaking as she stamped her feet down hard on each step and slammed her bedroom door behind her. She was an adult - nineteen, not twelve - how dare they treat her like this.

At first Samantha sat on her bed and fumed, but after a minute or so she heard raised voices from the kitchen. Putting her ear to the door, she listened. She couldn't make out every word but it was enough.

″You can't be serious Jack. A belt?″ That was her dad talking. Her mum said something else, but she couldn't quite catch it.

″You agree to do it my way, Ryan.″ It was Uncle Jack that time. Then he said something about Roxy, muffled again.

″But taking a belt to her? On her bare... ″ Sam couldn't quite catch her father's final word, but she'd heard enough. I'm not putting up with this crap, she thought. Quickly throwing on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt, she slipped opened her bedroom window. It was a while since she'd done this, but give it a few hours and all would be forgiven, once their darling little girl came home.

Carefully, being sure not to make any noise, she eased herself through the window onto the flat roof below, and pulled it closed behind her. Carefully squatting down, she shuffled round to lower herself down by her hands. As long as no-one came into the back room, she wouldn't be seen. She just had to cross the garden, slip out of the back gate and she was away.

Holding onto the edge of the flat roof, she dropped her legs down past the window. Now she was no more than two feet from the ground, hanging on with her fingers. The trick was to get a quiet landing. One ... two ... three ... drop. Perfect, she thought. She turned to cross the back garden, and bashed her nose straight into Uncle Jack's chest.

″I don't think so, young lady.″ He said, grabbing her easily by one arm. ″I was hoping we wouldn't have to start like this, but so be it. Back up to your bedroom. He dragged her into the house where her parents were still in the kitchen.

″Take her up to her bedroom and stay with her. I need to get something from the van - didn't want to have to use this, but so be it.″


Five minutes later, Jack came into Samantha's bedroom. He was carrying a stool and had a rucksack on his back.

″Time to get down to business - strip naked Sam. Now.″

″What? No!″ Samantha was incredulous. Even her mother hadn't seen her naked since she was about twelve - there was no way she was about to strip off in front of her dad and Uncle Jack.

Jack sighed. ″Let's try again. Either you take off your clothes right now, or someone else does it for you. Anthony just came in while I was getting things from the van - perhaps you'd like me to call your brother up to help.″

Again she looked to her parents for support and again found none. Turning away from them, she took off her T-shirt and then, huddling down, wriggled out of her jeans. She hadn't had a chance to put on bra or knickers before making her escape earlier, so the skinny nineteen year old was now completely naked.

″Well done, that's a good start.″ Jack said. ″Now turn round.″ His voice was firm - it was an order, not a request.

″Please... ″ She begged.

″I can call your brother to help if you prefer.″ No way. Anthony was a year and half her junior, just turned eighteen, and the two hated each other. There was absolutely no way he was going to see her like this. She shuffled round until she was facing the adults. She had one arm across her breasts, the other in front of her crotch.

″Stand up straight, hands by your sides.″ Jack said sharply. Starting to sob, Samantha slowly unwound herself, straightening up and finally moving her arms away from her breasts and pussy. Her boobs weren't too big, but didn't look wrong against her skinny frame. Below a flat stomach she had a Brazilian wax leaving just a narrow strip of hair along the length of her slit. She burned red with embarrassment, feeling the eyes of Jack and her parents roaming over her body.

″Better.″ Said Jack. ″Not good - you took far too long to obey a perfectly simple command - but better. Give it time, it will come. Later, I'm going to punish you for staying out last night, but right now I'm going to punish you for disobeying me and disobeying your parents by sneaking out of your room. Let me introduce you to the punishment stool.″


″I will explain how it works.″ Jack said to Sam's parents. It's designed specifically for girls who have problems staying where they're meant to - it can be very persuasive. You can see that it's a normal square stool, a bit on the big side perhaps, but there's no seat. The frame's all there, but when you sit down, your bum goes down the hole.″

″So what's that cross-section for?″ Ryan asked. He pointed to a wooden X connecting the four legs of the stool, about six inches below the seat. Where the spars crossed there was something that looked like a candle-holder.

″Ah, that's the secret weapon.″ Jack replied. He took off his rucksack and rummaged about inside. Samantha's eyes widened when she saw what he took out. It was a dildo. Made from black plastic it was about nine inches long, though a pretty normal width. Stuck onto it were metal studs - forty or fifty at regular intervals along the length of the dildo and all around it. Each stud had a groove across it and the grooves were at all different angles.

″I sliced the heads from a pile of round-head screws and glued them on. It adds to the experience.″ He took the plastic shaft and fastened it into the holder, leaving it jutting upwards through the gap where the seat should have been. The tip reached about three inches above the top of the stool.

″The young lady in need of correction sits on the stool, naturally impaled on our friend there. A belt fastened across her thighs stops her from standing up. The question is - how far does she sink down? If she holds herself up she'll find it less painful inside, but harder work ... and those muscles start getting very tired after a few minutes. If she lets herself drop down not only does she start feeling sore but the frame digs into her legs. Perhaps she tries to hold one position, or maybe switches between the two to reduce the discomfort. We can keep her there for longer if a harsher punishment is needed, and if we tie her hands behind her back it becomes unbearable very quickly indeed.″

″I'm ... I'm really not sure about this.″ Ryan said. ″It's too much.″ It was not his brother-in-law but his wife who turned to him. ″No, we said we'd go through with it and we will. We don't have any alternative.″ Helen told him. ″You can leave if you want to.″ Samantha's father decided to stay.

Jack turned to Samantha, who was still stood up to attention, naked with her arms by her sides. ″Time to take a seat, Sam. As it's your first time on the stool, I'll make it as easy as I can but understand that every time you have to come back and sit here it will get harder.″ He reached into the bag and pulled out a tub of Vaseline, smearing a layer over the studded dildo. ″This, ″ he said, waving the tub at her, ″will not happen again.″

He took hold of her arm, firmly but not harshly, and led her to the stool. ″You know where that's going.″ He told her. ″You can put it in, or I can do it. Your choice.″

″Me.″ was all that Samantha could say. Putting a hand on each side of the stool, she lowered herself down, wincing as the point of the dildo penetrated her pussy. As gradually as she could manage she worked it inside herself, wriggling slightly. ″Keep on going.″ Jack told her until her bottom just dipped below the level of the seat.

″Hold it there.″ She breathed a sigh of relief. Even with the lubricant, the dildo not only felt like it was stretching her but the screw heads were scratching and scraping her most delicate parts. Jack took a thick leather belt out of his bag and secured it around her thighs, passing it under the wooden seat frame before fixing it firmly in position. ″Sam can move a few inches up and down, but she won't be able to lift herself free.″ he explained.

″And now, ″ Jack said ″we wait. Ten minutes I think, as this is the first time and Sam has her hands free.″ All I need to do, Samantha thought to herself, is hold this position. Just support myself with my hands and legs and stay here. As long as I don't move up or down, that thing won't hurt inside me. For the first two minutes she did just that. Then she started to realise nearly all her weight was being supported on her arms, and they were really starting to ache. She tried transferring more weight to her legs, but with her backside lower than her knees it was barely possible and almost immediately the front of the stool frame started digging painfully into her thighs.

As Uncle Jack and her parents looked on, the naked young woman shifted her weight uncomfortably from legs to arms and back again, always conscious of the hard, unforgiving rod forcing its way inside her. The pain in her muscles was growing and after five minutes she knew something would have to give. Gritting her teeth against the pain she lowered herself down, feeling the screw heads scraping against her poor, tender flesh with every movement. Another inch, two, three. Samantha finally felt the leather belt under her thighs, supporting her and holding her up but she now had six inches of the studded dildo penetrating her and the edge of the stool dug painfully into the underside of her legs.

She tried to control her breathing. Deep breath in ... and hold ... and out ... and hold. It seemed to help with the pain but after another few minutes she was again finding it unbearable. Her legs were in agony as the wooden edge dug in, her pussy was sore and bruised. Slowly, slowly, she tensed her arms and, gripping hard on each side of the frame, once again pulled herself up. She spread her legs as wide as she could - it moved the pressure point from the frame and lessened the pressure on the dildo, giving her another small burst of relief. As she pushed up, the tears started to flow, running down her face before dropping onto her breasts and thighs.

″Please ... I'm sorry.″ she cried out, looking from Uncle Jack to her parents and back again. They were having none of it.

″It's too late for that, Samantha.″ her mother told her severely. The girl pushed as far as she could, feeling the dildo moving inside her, slipping out bit by bit, screw head by screw head, until she felt the hard leather against the top of her thighs again.

She held the position, the muscles in her arms and legs burning from the effort. Then, just when she thought she would have to lower herself down again, Jack said ″Time's up.″ and undid the strap. ″Get up in your own time, let me know if you need a hand.″ he told her. Now able to raise her legs, though still crying, she gingerly lifted herself off the last two inches of the dildo and stood up, rubbing her sore legs as she did.

″That was your punishment for trying to run away.″ Jack told her. He unbuckled the belt he was wearing and pulled it out of the loops on his jeans in one smooth movement. ″Now you receive your punishment for last night's fun and games. Lie on the bed, on your front.

She did as she was told. Her father marvelled - this girl who had been so protective of her modesty just a few minutes before now barely seemed to notice that she was still completely naked, and the girl who had fought and complained now walked to the bed and lay face down without a word of objection.

Jack turned to Helen and Ryan. ″I'm going to need your help for this.″ he told them. ″Sam's not been properly punished before and she won't be able to keep still. I could tie her down, but much better if the two of you can hold her. All I need is for you to take a leg each and sit on it to make sure she can't kick out.″

Samantha's parents nodded. The bed stuck out into the middle of the room and Sam was lying down with her head next to the wall. ″You're going to have to spread those legs a bit more.″ Jack told her, and obediently she moved her thighs apart. Her parents sat on the end of the bed back to back with Samantha's calves firmly trapped under their thighs.

″Perfect.″ Jack said, and readied his belt. He looped it in half and wrapped the end around his fist in a vice-like grip then, without further warning, brought it down hard on Samantha's unprotected backside. She let out a scream of pain as the stinging, burning sensation from the hard leather spread across her bottom and her flesh bounced and rippled under the force of the blow. This was pain unlike anything she had felt before.

Uncle Jack did not pause or hesitate for even a moment. Ignoring her cries he delivered blow after blow, raising the belt over his shoulder and bringing it down with a hard, unforgiving crack. Sam's wailing grew as a harsh, deep red colour spread over her buttocks. Jack had been right - after no more than ten blows she was writhing and trying to kick out, but with her legs firmly wedged in place she could barely move an inch.

Her bottom continued to bounce and redden as blow was laid over blow, bruise formed over bruise until her soft flesh was a mass of marks and welts, rapidly turning from red to purple. Her cries and screams, increasingly interspersed with sobs and barely-intelligible pleas for mercy, merged into one long keening wail as the punishment continued.

Finally, Jack's hand came to rest and he motioned for Sam's parents to get up. Samantha couldn't move. She lay in a world of pain - at that moment there was nothing in her universe beyond her agony and misery.

For a couple of minutes they all remained silent as Jack tidied up - putting his belt back on, wiping off and packing away the leather strap and dildo. Then, when Sam was a little calmer, he spoke again.

″Think about the pain you're feeling now Samantha, the pain from the stool and from my belt. If you follow the rules, you need never feel that again. Never. All gone. Understand?″ Samantha nodded, her face still buried in a pillow.

″But if you break the rules, I'll be back. I want you to think about sitting on the stool, about what that felt like. If I have to come back, you will find there's no lube next time. Your hands might be tied behind your back. Think about it. Then imagine feeling my belt - your punishment even harder and longer. I don't want to have to come back, Samantha. I want you to follow the rules, study for your exams, do well and live the life you want to live. So do your parents - and they love you so much that they're willing to do this just to make sure you end up right.″

He turned to the door. ″OK, lecture over. I said you had to follow the rules - no-one's told you what they are yet. Take fifteen minutes to sort yourself out and put some clothes on, then come downstairs and we'll discuss it.″

The three adults walked out of the room, leaving Sam in her misery. The fight had gone out of her, for now at least. She lay unmoving on the bed for a few minutes before carefully pulling herself up. Starting to dress, she quickly realised wearing anything tight on her bottom half would be resuming her torture so she put on her bra and T-shirt before carefully wriggling into a dressing gown and slowly making her way down the stairs.

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