The Idle Chair
It’s impossible to guess how long Daddy left me in the Idle Chair. I know I peed myself at least once already, but the humiliation and discomfort I should feel are buried far, far beneath the imperative of the Idle Chair…. Sit Still, Look Pretty. It’s all I want to do, all I can do, really. Despite being unable to leave my chair, it is surprisingly freeing. All my worries and concerns are gone. After all, the entire responsibility of my universe now is Sit Still, Look Pretty.
It all started like so many things do, me being bratty towards Daddy, of course. Some song about feminism had gotten me all riled up and hyper… He very reasonably told me to calm down and do my chores but I was too headstrong and yelled that I was never going to merely “Sit still and look pretty for him”! That, of course was a monstrous mistake, and I knew it, but this is what feminism often does to impressionable young ladies.
Daddy didn’t even punish me beyond a well-deserved scolding, but when I got home from work next, there was a big, heavy thick dark imposing chair with sturdy arms facing the corner. Daddy grabbed me by the hair and cut off all my pretty clothes (a cruel punishment!) and forced me onto the chair.
“Now we will see if you can be taught to sit still!” he growled. “Don’t do *anything*, or else!”
I, not always being the smartest, opened my mouth. “what do-“ was all I got out before a line of fire arced itself across my shoulders. Daddy had hit me with a cane!
“owwww! No D-“ Another huge mistake. Another, even harder cane strike on my unprotected back. I know better than to say “no”. It is rude and is something only bad girls say. I clearly deserved that caning.
An eternity of a few minutes passed. My shoulders throbbed and ached, and in an attempt to relive them… I squirmed. Daddy was there, watching, and rewarded my disobedience with another firm cane strike. I screamed, kicking my little feet… of course, yet another cane strike. Struck by the unfairness of it all, and the pain, I started to sob. Daddy showed no mercy at all, and lashed me several more times through my little fit of pain and frustration.
Realizing he simply was. Not. Going. To. Stop, I finally managed to still my thrashing about, and, with several shuddering gasps, lessen my crying to quiet silent tears trickling down my cheeks. Apparently, my orders truly meant me to do *nothing*. I received no more canings during this period, though Daddy prodded my welts a time or two when I was too fidgety or sniffly.
I have no idea how long I had to sit there on the hard unyielding chair. Daddy didn’t let me see the clock when he finally, finally let me up to potty, bathe, get my bathtime orgasm, and be put to bed, without supper.
The following day was much the same. Daddy stripped me, marched me straight to the chair, and sat me down. For some reason, he had carved the words “IDLE CHAIR” into the back of the backrest. I don’t get his sense of humor sometimes. I knew not to speak, but my squirming was enough to earn me a few strikes from a small whip. Apparently my behavior was good enough for a small salad dinner as a reward.
The next twist was earplugs. Daddy had gotten some fancy plugs that filled my ears up completely, making it very hard to hear anything… aside from the music Daddy played, of course. Daddy created a fancy custom version of the very song that originally got me in trouble, just for me:
I’m that girl
living in a Barbie world
And make up
I need a boy
treat me like a toy
I wanna be the puppet that you’re playing on a string
this is where I’m gonna be because I wanna be
I wanna sit still, look pretty
I wanna sit still look pretty
do the chores
‘Cause that’s what a lady’s for
captivity
I wanna sit still, look pretty
I wanna sit still look pretty
Sure, I’m a pretty girl
But pretty hurts
And I wanna sit still
I’m a pretty girl
I will sit still, look pretty
Sure, I’m a pretty girl
But pretty hurts
And I wanna sit still
I’m a pretty girl
I will sit still, look pretty
I will sit still, look pretty
I will sit still look pretty
I will sit still, look pretty
I will sit still, look pretty
Sit still, look pretty
Sit still, look pretty
Sit still, look pretty
Sit still, look pretty
It played constantly, over and over and over through my earplugs, the entire time I was on the Idle Chair. Daddy says it took only a week before I was singing it in my sleep.
I slowly improved my stillness and duration, despite all the things Daddy did to distract me. Physical abuse was common. Daddy loved to surprise me by pulling my hair, hitting the back of my head, tweaking my nipples, shoving the chair, or even dumping ice down my back. Any time I moved too much or made too much noise, my punishment was immediate and harsh. Crying, begging, screaming, pleading, or even attempting to throw myself off the Idle Chair were met with ever increasing sadistic punishments. Some days merely sitting on my flayed bum on my Chair was agonizing torture.
However, it was way easier to Sit Still, Look Pretty during the physical torments, instead of the sexual ones. I was always loud when I was horny, and nearly deafening when orgasming. Daddy had a pretty low bar for ‘too much noise’ during sexual stimulation, and I paid a lot of consequences for that. Hearing the high powered vibrator rattle against the hard wood underneath my cunny was super distracting. Drooling on myself for hours due to large gags made it very hard to Look Pretty, and I hated disappointing Daddy. But the worst crime came the day I orgasmed without permission.
It had been a long-standing rule that my orgasms belonged to Daddy, and only Daddy. I was never allowed to have my own orgasms, without Daddy explicitly ordering me to cum. And Daddy never let me cum on the Idle Chair. Finally, the teasing was too much one day and I exploded all over my Chair, making a huge mess. I was super scared when Daddy didn’t punish me, but merely took me off the Chair and sent me to bed.
My punishment came quickly the next day. Daddy locked a huge black collar around my neck. It had little metal prongs lightly pressing into my neck… that caused horrible electric shocks every time Daddy pushed a button. Every fidget earned me a tiny, low level jolt that still brought tears to my eyes. It hurt worse than the cane. But it could get so much worse. Daddy had just hit me with a random burst of low-level shocking, and I… I swore. I know it was super bad and super against good lil girl behavior, but it… just slipped out!
And the medium shock was a thousand times worse. I bawled and thrashed, falling out of the chair and kicking my feet. It looked like a terrible tantrum, but it was all pain. The shock went on and on and on, forever. It felt like I was being boiled alive and that my head was exploding and that Daddy had stuffed me with scorching fire and fire ants and was kicking me as hard as possible, all at once! No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t get under control. Daddy would even pause the shocks for a minute, to give me a chance to get back in the Idle Chair, but I couldn’t. It hurt too much and overwhelmed my programming, my need to Sit Still, Look Pretty. I wanted with all my little heart and soul to be in the chair, but the pain was stronger than anything I had ever dreamed possible. I couldn’t even get up off the floor for a second.
Daddy found a good solution… using the collar to shock me immobile. The hardest level of electricity immobilized me completely… a completely indescribable level of pain that left he helpless and stunned and silently screaming. Daddy put me on the chair, the collar still on full. Pretty hurts, and I wanna Sit Still, Look Pretty. The collar, no matter how much it tortured me, was helping me Sit Still, Look Pretty. I loved the collar, down in my Barbie soul.
I think I broke a bit, after that. I was mostly immune to the small shocks and the random abuse. I could sit for hours and hours quietly and still with the Hitachi on full. Daddy sometimes fed me on the Idle Chair. I only earned the medium shock- and then the full insanity causing high shock- once more. I had sat on the Idle Chair with my bladder near to bursting on many an occasion, but Daddy had always let me up before it became a real emergency. This time, however, he was busy with something else… and in my desperation not to pee myself, I called out for him. This was NOT Sitting Still, Look Pretty and Daddy punished me with dozens of medium jolts from my shock collar. It hurt so bad that I couldn’t even pee at first. Eventually, my poor bladder gave out and pee soaked the Idle Chair. Daddy once again immobilized me with the high shocks, leaving me there in my own mess and agonizing pain.
And that was pretty much it. I lost my job sometime during all this. I didn’t want to do anything but Sit Still, Look Pretty. It consumed all my thoughts, and took all of my attention. I hated the Idle Chair, but was unable to leave it on my own. Most mornings I got Pretty, and sat down without being told. I still did my chores, because that’s what a lady’s for, but in many ways I resented the time away from the Idle Chair. Daddy still took me for walks, and to the zoo and stuff, and used me for sex. But all that I could do was long for my chair. I wanna Sit Still, Look Pretty. I could orgasm and wet myself on the chair without so much as blinking. Daddy eventually got another girl, and they both use me. I sometimes think she is making fun of me or hurting me while I do my chores. But it doesn’t matter. All I need to do in life is Sit Still, Look Pretty.
I wanna sit still, look pretty
I wanna sit still look pretty
Sure, I’m a pretty girl
But pretty hurts
And I wanna sit still
I’m a pretty girl
I will sit still, look pretty
Sure, I’m a pretty girl
But pretty hurts
And I wanna sit still
I’m a pretty girl
I will sit still, look pretty
I will sit still, look pretty
I will sit still look pretty
I will sit still, look pretty
I will sit still, look pretty
Sit still, look pretty
Sit still, look pretty
Sit still, look pretty
Sit still, look pretty
((Sit still, look pretty is written by Gino Barletta; Mike Campbell, and Brittten Newbill, and performed by Daya. ))
Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/8lph6w/the_idle_chair_hypnosis