Chapter 1 - Friday evening: the beginning of a weekend.
They always enjoyed Steph coming to stay. She was their niece. She was sweet. She was bubbly. She was pretty - she was slim with long black hair, shapely - one day she would be a very beautiful woman - all she lacked was the confidence. For several years she had come to stay once a month for a weekend, and they had had lots of good times together. They had gone to the pictures. Eaten at MacDonalds. Gone for walks. Watched the telly. As she grew to her late teens they wondered if she would find a boyfriend, or choose to stay at home to spend time with friends, but she didn't appear to. She rarely missed her weekend with her "Uncle Les" and "Auntie Joan" every month even though she was now twenty.
From Steph's point of view she loved visiting. She knew that Les and Joan weren't real aunt and uncle - Les was a cousin of hers, Joan his wife, but they were a bit older - in their late thirties, and she had always called them Auntie and Uncle. They were kind, friendly, funny - not in a strange way - they made her laugh and giggle - and did nice things with her. Yes, she had friends, and once had a boyfriend, but she had never wanted to miss her weekend - 29 days a month with family and friends was enough, 2 days with Uncle Les and Auntie Joan were not to be missed. And they were easy to visit - living a bus ride, twenty miles, from her home.
This time, as Steph approached their door, she was distracted. Still wondering about the last couple of weeks, and what it might mean. She had lost her journal. She didn't call it a diary - she only wrote in it every so often, not every day - but it was lost. Her journal was very personal. She had no idea where it had gone: it had completely disappeared. On one level she wasn't too worried - she typed it, never put real names in it - just initials - and she probably couldn't get "blackmailed" through it. But it was very personal. It recorded her fantasies. Her dreams. Her hopes. She had printed stories off the internet that had appealed to her, and stuck them in. She was distracted because although she felt safe, she had been thinking for the hour bus ride how much the journal had meant to her - it was her most private place of all.
At last Steph reached the door, rang the bell, and was excited to see Auntie Joan answer the door. For the moment her worries were forgotten as she was welcomed in, given a coffee, questioned about her parents, brothers and sister, made to talk about college - it happened every time she visited and she loved it - that these people were so interested in her. They were what real Aunts and Uncles should be. They chattered away through tea, washing up, they watched a programme or two on the telly. At about 8 pm they turned the telly off - nothing anyone wanted to see. Steph thought they might play a game, or something like that - she enjoyed playing games with her aunt and uncle. At 20 you don't play games with friends and family, but on these weekends it was nice to be a bit girly and childlike and do those things she had enjoyed so much when younger. But it was uncle Les who spoke first.
"Steph," he paused. "Last time you were here, we were clearing up your room, and found you had left this." Uncle Les held up the note book she used as her journal.
At first Steph was relieved - it had been found, everything was safe. No harm done. But quickly it turned to concern in the quiet - what if they had looked in it, or read some of it. It was very personal. She went bright red with embarrassment. Something not lost on Auntie Jean, who continued.
"Why are you embarrassed honey?" She spoke very affectionately.
Steph stuttered out her answer "Nothing.....um, nothing............." She composed herself. "Can I have it back please?"
It was Uncle Les who continued, a twinkle in his eye, a twinkle in his voice. "I wonder if you are embarrassed because you wrote something like this............." He paused and opened the book, then began to read: "Love all these stories where the girl submits. Where the man makes her his sex slave......."
Uncle Les paused. "Or perhaps this one........." Again her turned over the pages in the book, then began to read. "Watched Mark on the telly. Would do anything for him. Wish he would tie me up and use me for whatever he wants." Mark was the lead singer in Steph's favourite boy band. Again a pause as uncle Les turned over the pages: "Or perhaps this: dreamt last night of being tied naked to a bed and Mark take me over and over, and put his thing in my mouth. Had to play with myself twice before I could risk getting up."
Uncle Les read several more paragraphs, while Steph sat there silently. At last he closed the book and handed it to her. She took it mechanically, paralysed with embarrassment, guilt, fear. She held it to herself and began to cry. Auntie Joan sat next to her, put her arms round her and Steph allowed herself to be hugged. Auntie Joan said, several times, "It's alright honey."
At last the tears stopped, and Auntie Joan moved to a chair nearby. It was Uncle Les who spoke quietly. "Is this what you want, honey? Do you want to submit to someone? Do you want someone to dominate you?"
Steph paused, perhaps for a minute, before she summoned up the strength to speak. She spoke hesitatingly "Yes. No, well, sometimes, not all the time, don't want to be really hurt, but someone to control me, use me.............." her voice trailed off.
Again it was Les who spoke. "Honey, we will do that for you, if you want. We know what we are doing. We adore you and would never hurt you. If you want, you can submit to us. Completely. It will change everything. I suppose it already has. But the weekends will be completely different. You can, if you want, be our servant, our slave, for these weekends."
Uncle Les paused. "I know it's a difficult decision. Let me tell you how it works before you decide. First - you have to choose it. We will not do anything if you haven't chosen it. Secondly there does have to be punishments, and we use this paddle for those - it stings, but not horribly." Uncle Les showed her something which looked like an elongated table tennis bat. "And thirdly, you can pull out whenever you want, and we will think none the worse of you. That clock..........." Uncle Les pointed at a clock in the corner of the room: "..............that clock chimes every hour. If you ask to leave within one minute of that clock chiming, we will simply let you go. It means that every hour you have to choose to stay."
Again a pause. It was Auntie Joan who spoke this time. "Honey, I know it takes time to choose. Why don't you go to your room, and think about it. In your room you will find a set of black bra, panties, stockings and suspenders. They are yours. But if you come down here this evening, sometime, wearing them and only them, then we will take it you want to submit. Wear anything else, and we'll just make you a cup of cocoa and you can watch some more telly with us. There's a good film on later......."
Steph loved the chance to escape. She loved her room - it felt so safe and warm and cosy. "Thank you, Auntie Joan.........." She almost ran out of the room, her life seemingly turned upside down in minutes. Found out. Given the chance for real. For the first time seeing Uncle Les and Auntie Joan in a different light. Uncle Les, quite muscular, bearded, quite tall. A gentle bear of a man. Auntie Joan, slim, smaller, with short dark hair, much more business-like about things. Yes - attractive people, as well as being really nice to her, until now......... But they were still being nice, giving her the choice, respecting her .......
For ages Steph mulled these things over in her mind, wondering what to do.
Once Steph wanted to ask a question, and wondered whether she could, or whether she should go downstairs again, but didn't want to. At last she decided - she would phone. She got her cellphone, rang Uncle Les and Aunt Joan's number. It was Auntie Joan who answered. Steph was very nervous. "Please Auntie Joan, what will you do to me.............?" Her voice trailed away as she immediately regretted the phone call.
Auntie Joan had affection in her voice. "Honey, I can't tell you that, but you have to trust us. Put yourselves in our hands. It will be good." She paused, then ended the call. "Honey, we'll see you in a bit."
Steph still couldn't decide - part of her wanted to run away. Now. Get on the bus home. Part of her wanted the weekend to be like all the others. All of her conscious mind said she did not want to do what her Auntie and Uncle were suggesting. But then............
But then a thought came to her mind. Why not try them on? She had never worn underwear as pretty as those on her bed. She could just try them on to see what she looked like in them, to see what they felt like. Try them on for a couple of minutes, then dress in her Jeans and t-shirt again.
Quickly Steph slipped out of her clothes. She put on the bra and panties. It took her a few moments to put on the suspenders and get them right. It took her a couple of minutes to put on the stockings and to hold them with the suspenders - she had never done that before. Then she looked in a mirror - a long mirror hanging on the wall.
Steph gasped - she looked sensational, or so she thought. All of those years she had worn Jeans and T-shirts, sometimes a dress to a party. But suddenly at this moment everything changed. She WAS a lady. She was an adult. She was a sexual object. Of course she had had sex with her boyfriend and it had been okay, but that was just a boy emptying himself into a girl. Now here she was a woman. A sexual being. She like what she saw. Then she giggled - she would never stop being a girl, but she was adding another layer on top. A new part of her was appearing. She enjoyed wearing the black underwear. Perhaps she should run away with them, get the bus home, ask Auntie Joan if she could keep them..........her mind was suddenly in a whirl again.
Ten minutes later she was walking down the stairs. Everything in her mind told her to run, put her Jeans on, return to being the little girl. But somehow her legs decided what her mind couldn't. She was walking down the stairs. Wearing black bra. And stockings. And suspenders. And panties. And nothing else. Why? She didn't know. Stop, her mind screamed. But something kept her going. She was at the bottom of the stairs. Turn back, her mind told her. Her legs took over her arms. She realised she was knocking gently on the sitting room door. Standing outside. She could still run. Turn back.
The door opened, Auntie Joan was stood there, smiling broadly. "Come on in, honey." She pointed to a spot on the carpet in front of the sofa, in front of uncle Les. "Stand there, honey."
Slowly her legs took her across the sitting room, she stood where she had been shown, facing towards Uncle Les. Her eyes were firmly fixed on the floor.
