Friday, 20 June 2014

A Girl, a Uniformed Nurse and a Slippering - and Perhaps a Whole Lot More: You Decide!

The juxtaposition of a strict, no nonsense uniformed nurse with what appears to be a domestic environment is a compelling image I always think, an image in this case which could easily have come straight from the pages of a new book I'm working on:

“No, I’m NOT joking, young lady!  If you take in to account the early bedtime I’ve introduced, that we have this rule you stay in bed until I come to get you and you have your afternoon nap time, it hardly seems worthyou getting dressed.  So get those things off – and get back in your pyjamas.  THIS INSTANT!  And not those old ones you’ve been wearing either – those new ones I brought you a couple of days ago from that place I used to work in.  Yes, I’m sure they ARE embarrassing, or they would be if anyone else saw you in them.  But no one else IS going to see you in them, are they?  You’re not going anywhere. 

I’ve told you before; now that I run this household, things have changed; I’M in charge.  There’s no more gallivanting around the shops and arcades, no more mixing with friends, talking to boys – no going out; period!  No - you stay in nowadays.  Ok, up until now we’ve had our little walks in the garden – so long as you hold my hand – but I’m going to put a stop to that as well; too much sun is bad for the complexion you know.  In fact from now on I don’t even want you going downstairs any longer; I’m going to keep you hidden away up here, on the top floor, when people come.   You’re an embarrassment!  And you’ll embarrass yourself if you come swanning down wearing those new pyjamas I got you.  But you’re not GOING to come swanning down, are you?  No you’re not – because you’re going to be sitting quietly in your room writing lines at your desk or kneeling facing the corner with your hands on your head when people come.  I’M the only person you should be thinking about nowadays – how to please ME.  And the best way you can please me right now is by getting those pyjamas on. 

As I said; there seems little point in you getting dressed nowadays…  So I’ve decided from now on it’s going to be pyjamas all day, every day.  The rest of your stuff can go to the charity shop to join all those things I took off you when I first arrived, all those ridiculous ‘designer’ frocks and fripperies you’d been allowed  to get away wearing, the makeup, the hair ‘products’ and sprays.  I expect you’ll be glad to see the back of that school uniform I’ve had you wearing day in day out – but I think I’m going to have to BURN that; I can’t imagine there being much call for something like that in such a large size… 

No, no – slip the knickers on first; they go with the outfit... And fasten the top button of the jacket for heaven’s sake – the jacket is supposed to button high, so it has a peter pan collar; it gives it a little femininity; it’d look like you’re wearing a rather ugly set of men’s pyjamas otherwise…  Yes, I KNOW there is a badge embroidered on the breast pocket, that’s the name of the place where I used to work - and the word under it, that’s just a clinical term, applied to the woman who last wore those pyjamas; it just lets the staff know not to listen to a SINGLE thing the woman says, that she talks nonsense, rambles… Just like you do dear, when you talk about going to university, meeting a boy, getting married and all that – oh no, no ,no you’re not; you’re staying right here!  So I thought it rather apt…

Smelly?  The pyjamas?  Well… I suppose they are – a bit.  That woman I told you about got a new pair - they’re changing the style apparently - that’s why you got these; I don’t expect they got sent to the laundry before they got thrown out…  The knickers are fresh though – brand new… Stop all that fussing and get them on – that’s NOT rubber on the inside, it’s medical grade PVC, polythene if you will, quite soft and comfortable; the outside is nylon; the waistband is so stiff because there is a spring steel band running through it with a little clasp and loop arrangement poking out through the fabric at the rear where I can slip a neat little padlock, make sure you’re all locked away snugly with no ‘tampering’ allowed. 

Yes, I’ll unlock it if you need the toilet – if you ask nicely – but you know the house rules by now; I have to watch; I’m not having you using it as an excuse to play with yourself;  you KNOW I don’t allow masturbation.  If you want THAT kind of relief I’ll do it for you!  All you have to do is come ask me nicely, drape yourself across my lap, part your legs – and I’ll bring you off in no time with my fingers; I’ll have you squirming across my lap in minutes, reduced to a sobbing puddle of sweat and gibbering like the imbecile it says you are on that badge. 

And once we’ve broken through THAT barrier you’ll find you’ll be coming begging… BEGGING… for me to bring you off that way again and again and again.  I can make it VERY addictive for you  And then…  And THEN… we’ll have to see if we can’t teach you to do a few things for ME!  Oh, I beg to differ – I think you’ll find you WILL, you know. 

Now come and lay yourself across my lap – I’m going to give you a good hard slippering to break you in wearing your new pyjamas:  And I’m just wondering whether I need to shave you again ‘down there’ – yes, I think I’ll fetch the bowl, soap and razor afterwards.

Tuesday, 17 June 2014

A Girl in an Amazing Place - and a Procedure Unspeakable

A Procedure To Groom A Girl By


 “What an amazing place this is!  So quiet, so… secluded.  You’d never know it was here.  But I do wonder if they’re looking after her a little TOO well – just look at the size of that bottom.   

Mind you, that examination gown doesn’t hide much… Oh look!  She must have misbehaved again – someone has already warmed up her bottom; and recently by the looks of things.  That must really smart; well, it’s going to smart a lot more in a minute!”

“Don’t you think she’s going to sign today then, aunty?”

“Not a chance, Cynthia!  She was trying to get a message to you, trying to get you to come here, help get her out, get a message through to her fiancé…  Would YOU like to do the honours, Cynthia?  After all – you’re the one she trusts, apparently.”
 “Gosh, really aunty?”

“Yes, of course.  “

"But… I don't know.  She hasn’t done anything wrong… I mean… Perhaps she’d sign if I told her what has happened… I’m not so sure I should…"

 “What you SHOULD do is as you're told!  Besides, you shouldn’t think of it as punishment - it’s therapy, all part of her therapy.  Now, I want you to give her a damn good thrashing, Cynthia, really hard - you just think of all the problems she has created for YOU in the past… And THEN you can tell her the good news – I know you’ve been dying to - all the events that have happened while she’s been in here, how fickle that young man of hers really turned out to be, how he is your husband now.  I’m sure she’ll be grateful you saved her from all that heartache…”

"And the baby?  Should I tell her about the baby?  I know it shows now but...  Well, you said she'd been... you know... had a procedure... I mean how terrible for her - I didn't know they did that sort of thing in these places nowadays...  I mean, I know they USED to.  But nowadays?  To be... to have that procedure... to see someone in MY condition and know that she won't ever be able to... " 

"It was the cost of her outburst last time - that's all - don't let it worry your pretty little head.  If you MUST know; no, it is NOT the kind of thing that happens nowadays, not without good cause.  I had it done, it was my idea.  You'll find there are a great many things one can get done if one has sufficient influence.  So, yes, I WANT her to know about the baby - but don't say anything.  Just let her see for herself and draw her own conclusions when the nurses let her up at the end.  I want to see her eyes when it dawns on her - it's the perfect time.  

As for the procedure itself - only I and one other knows exactly what has been done, though the stitches and soreness should be a clue...  You know - I don't think I'm even going to ask her to sign anything today.  I think I'll just have you give her a damn good caning. and we'll go.  We'll come back after the tour, in three months, see how she's faring then.  With what I've done - or rather, had done - I doubt there will be any need for a signature at that point!  Now, off you trot, go over there and play your part - you know you want to, you can't fool me; I can see it by the gleam in your eyes, sheer glee"

A gleam in her eyes?  Yes, very much so - she'd groomed the girl well; SHE wouldn't be getting away from her any time soon.  Yes, she could safely say she'd got BOTH girls right where she wanted them now!


Storyline - Garth Toyntanen.  The picture origin I am uncertain of - but aint it great! Could have been straight out of my INSTITUTIONALISED series!  Or at least inspired by it. )

Monday, 16 June 2014

Shame Clothing 2 – Extending the Skirt, Extending the Concept

 Wow, but that last article on 'The Imbecile Dress' has proved popular on Tumblr, already re-bloged several times!  And one of those blogs it got re-bloged to had this, which I know you'll have seen before - but it made me think just how versatile those jingle bells could be:

Shame Clothing 2 – Extending the Skirt, Extending the Concept
Yes, she has been nicely posed, and soundly caned before hand – an exemplary example of the disciplinarian’s zeal; the juvenile-looking uniform is to be applauded too.  And now she has been left to reflect on her ‘sins’, left all alone  - you don’t have all day to stand around, there are other things to occupy your mind.   

But how do you know she’ll be holding that charming pose as soon as you’ve turned your back?  How do you know she won’t relax, hurriedly take up the stipulated posture when she hears the key in the lock or the handle turning?  Perhaps rattling, jingling bells sewn on the skirt hem, the blouse collar and cuffs an so on?  Some way of monitoring the sound?  Both easy enough.   

True, if she were to be careful enough, moved slowly enough, she might be able to lower that skirt, drop her hands and arms to her sides without attracting attention – and punitive consequences – but could she resume that posture quickly enough, as you step into the room, without a jingle-jangle cacophony?  Doubtful! 

In essence any dress or outfit, within reason - and there should ALWAYS be SOMETHING which sets the wearer apart from her contemporaries and associates, however subtle that ‘something’ might be – can become ‘The Imbecile Dress’ for the purposes of corner time or other forms of what we might call ‘posture discipline’ with a little though and imagination.  Those jingle bells really are available at any traditional haberdashers stores and haberdashery departments, even today.  They are cheap, unsophisticated yet surprisingly effective in curtailing or moderating unseemly boisterous behaviour, and can be sewn on any part of any garment in minutes, converting something which might otherwise be merely a little embarrassing into a seriously humiliating instrument of discipline and control capable – with a little diligence and forethought – of affecting real psychological change in the longer term, given the right circumstances and a well thought-out disciplinary regimen covering other areas of her life.  And. isn’t the latter what the disciplinarian is setting out to achieve when her or she takes some headstrong young thing in hand or guides – in one way or another – perhaps a more sheltered, naive, shy and self-conscious sort through the metaphorical gates of a secure and strict institution of some form or other?  Rows of little jingle bells can be sewn around the cuffs of a school blouse, the hem of a gymslip (school jumper in the US of A, I believe) or pleated school skirt or the tops of frilled turn-over ankle socks as easily as to a purpose designed punishment dress (see last entry) or indeed night attire.

Yes, the cane, the strap, the Scottish tawse and the riding crop can be effective.  But in isolation, can corporal punishment alone really bring about the sort of radical change in psychological makeup the serious disciplinarian is out to wring from his or her charge, given that the disciplinarian’s agenda and motives may well go beyond short-term behavioural control?  I think to the latter question the answer is a resounding no!  Indeed corporal punishment per se can lead to a hardening of the resolve if seen and used almost as an end in itself.  A rather unfortunate side effect!  In the right hands the role of corporal punishment is to bolster and enforce those other forms of discipline, punitive impositions such AS corner standing repetitious line writing  and so on – onerous, irritating, pointless tasks, restrictions, stipulations and exercises which grate on the nerves like a dripping tap or an itch one cannot reach (or more like a toothache which will not go away and which awakens the sufferer at night) and which, given time, actually ERODE the girl’s resolve. 

Now the dripping tap… now there’s a thing… Whether she be stood in the corner, nose to the wall, sat stiffly upright and straight-backed on a high stool, toes just touching the floor and left staring at a blank white wall or her reflection in a mirror (particularly effective, especially if teamed with ongoing repeated discussions of the shortcomings of her features) or squeezed into a juvenile school desk writing lines,  if it can be arranged that the imposition takes place in a quiet room someplace with perhaps a hand basin or metal sink in a corner or against a wall with a slowly dripping tap…  Well tedium is the thing – and nothing quite adds to the tedium of such impositions as these as a dripping tap she can do nothing about.  Oddly enough, in some ways it is even better if she is aware that with little more than a slight twist of the wrist that tap can be stopped dripping.  This is where those jingle bells come in, combined with a baby monitor and a healthy respect for the repercussions of disobedience.  The latter might not necessarily be limited to receiving a bottom braising from the cane, more efficacious might be the disciplinarian simply starting the imposition again, from scratch – and of course setting that tap drip, drip, dripping again!

…To be continued…

Friday, 13 June 2014

Shame Clothing: And She Shall Have Music... The use of Bells to Enforce Corner Time Discipline

Everyone is familiar with the traditional conical dunce’s hat, a large letter ‘D’ printed in black on the front.  But how many would appreciate the value of a jingle bell sewn on a short tassel attached at its apex?  How many have even thought of such an embellishment?  Jingle bells are easily acquired from any traditional haberdashers or haberdashery department of some larger stores.  So why not?  (See article below). 

Another thought -today’s ‘social media’ actually makes it easier to drive a wedge between a headstrong young thing and her compatriots if properly managed and manipulated.  Ever thought about that?

 So...  The use of bells to enforce corner time discipline?  Nothing paticularly to do with my INSTITUTIONALISED series of novels, but an interesting concept nonetheless.

 The Imbecile Dress is designed with a view to the enhancement and augmentation of the benefit to be derived from such traditional disciplinary impositions as corner standing and other forms of discipline requiring the maintenance of some manner of prescribed posture.  In the first instance the dress itself is designed to draw attention to the wearer, by way of its idiosyncratic styling and short skirt; to this end the sailor collar and integral neck scarf provide for a suitably juvenile aspect.  Variations, such as the high stiffened collar lend scope for even greater disciplinary vigour, in correcting poor posture for example.  The addition of jingle bells on the points of the collar, around the cuffs and hanging from the hem of the skirt allow for an extraordinarily high degree of control to be exerted over the young lady, even in the absence of direct supervision, when the discipline of corner standing is backed up by the threat of corporal punishment.  She can be arranged in any number of postures as a refinement of the discipline - such as with arms folded in the small of her back, hands on head or fingertips on shoulders and elbows out to the sides for example – and the disciplinarian can retire to his or her writing desk or favourite reading chair safe in the knowledge that the slightest deviation from the imposition will ring out like alarm bells. 

Outside of corner standing and so on, worn for extended periods the sound of jingling bells, especially those mounted on the points of the collar in the high collar variation, can be expected to become tiresome in the extreme to the pretty young thing, becoming a form of discipline in itself, encouraging her to ‘glide’ rather than stride, keep her arms down by her sides and her head straight and looking forward and discouraging any sudden energetic movements.  No more her gaily dancing around or rushing about as if on the tennis court, she will be restricted to slow, deliberate and unhurried movements, a tiresome state of affairs for an energetic young thing, but a constant reminder to her that she is under control, that her affairs are no longer her own. 

There is absolutely no reason why the disciplinarian should not take advantage of this aspect of the outfit’s design, after all he or she is unlikely to want to be bothered by jingle jangling bells.  A few days of listening out for the tell-tale tinkling and quickly backing it up with a stroke or two of the cane or crop across the back of her thighs or across her bottom given in a timely manner so that she associates it with the jangling will pay dividends in the long term. 

As far as refinements go, the dress already features a pair of metal loops, one at the rear of the belt, the other at the rear of the collar to which a leash can be attached  much in the manner of a toddler’s ‘reins’.  Alternatively this feature can be used to fasten her in a high, straight-backed chair to enforce maintaining a long-term seated posture for disciplinary purposes, whether for line-writing impositions or simply to keep her out of the way or as a punishment in itself.  It has been shown that simply being left facing a blank white wall in a quite room for an extended period can have a very satisfying salutary effect on a wilful girl and is a good starting off point for the recalcitrant, pouting, foot stamping headstrong type who refuses to submit to corporal punishment and who threatens to run away.  

A further refinement can be the addition of a name badge similar to the type sometimes worn by shop assistants, either pinned over the breast, as illustrated, or directly embroidered on to the fabric.  This can give her name or can have any one of many words or phrases calculated to add to the feeling of humiliation the dress itself is designed to engender written on it.  In the case of the illustration above, that word is ‘IMBECILE’, a term likely to capsulate how she feels with all those bells jingling like a court jester.  Another variation, shown above, has the word ‘IMBECILE’ embroidered across the rear of the collar – which is why it is called ‘The Imbecile Dress’ - where of course it might be covered by her hair, unless, that is, she is threatened with a haircut!   The word ‘imbecile’ is preferred over ‘dunce’ say, in that it better implies simple-mindedness and yet does so more fully than ‘simpleton’, say, in that it also implies some manner of mental instability or mental incompetence.  The use of the traditional dunces’ cap, incidentally, perfectly compliments The Imbecile Dress for corner standing.  Refined by the incorporation of a bell on a tassel attached at its apex, the traditional conical Dunce cap can be expected to magnify any movement of her head causing any attempt to look to the left or the right to result in tell-tale jingling, and a hard slap across the back of her thighs.

While essentially shapeless, to play down the wearer’s figure and thus not risk bolstering her self-esteem in that manner while adding to its juvenile appearance, nevertheless The Imbecile Dress is designed to be worn over heavy, rigidly boned, corsetry of the most restrictive type.  Whether that corsetry supports stockings is up to the disciplinarian.  There is a school of thought that says she should go bare legged, apart from a tiny pair of ankle socks or anklets and childish T-bar ankle strap shoes. 

The Imbecile Dress is designed to go with flounced short-legged bloomer-style knickers, the frilled legs of which – gathered into deep rubber lined leg openings just above the knees - are designed to show below the abbreviated skirt, and this works well with ankle socks.  On the other hand there is the view that stockings provide a juxtaposition with the juvenile appearance of the rest, which actually makes that childishness even more apparent.  Either way, the corsetry is key and in fact is key to ensuring the wearer is not tempted to divest herself of the outfit.  The Imbecile Dress possesses a feature – a metal ring – hidden discreetly beneath the bow, scarf or tie (which is integral with the dress) – which is designed to lock together with a matching ring mounted on the busk of the corset by way of a small padlock.  The design of the corsetry which goes with this outfit is outlined elsewhere. 

Conceptually The Imbecile Dress is as adaptable to the institutional environment as it is suitable to the domestic one, whether it be for the girl continuing her education at home, the new young wife who needs to learn her place or the runaway who, given room, board and shelter, proves reluctant to show her gratitude.                 

Thursday, 12 June 2014

Caned In Their Regulation School Leotards

The regulation school issue leotards were delectable when filled out by the mature figures of the young women placed in his charge, young women old enough to know their own minds under different circumstances, even marry – albeit with parental consent in certain cases – yes, quite divine!  But this was no school.  The cane was banned in British schools – but not here.  Here corporal punishment could be legitimised by a special dispensation if need be.  But there was no need for special dispensation, no need to invite the interference of those busy-body social services types… And then there were all those ethics committees and such, endless protocols and checks to navigate.  No, it was best kept this way, discrete, quite, well away from scrutiny, public or otherwise, no need to legitimise it further. 

These idiots had actually VOLUNTEERED for this, after all, although he doubted any of them had expected to be detained as long as they had been thus far - nor as long as they were going to be.  He’d heard that fresh papers had been drawn up, that the extension they would be agreeing to this time was going to be for a full year, and that the wording was set out in such a way as to pave the way to eventually obliviate the need to put pen to paper altogether, if so desired; basically invoking the mental health act.  VERY clever, it explained why ever greater emphasis was being placed on psychological appraisal and record keeping.  He hoped that when the time came he would be the one overseeing their signatures.  Most probably the sheer force of Miss Swanley’s indomitable personality and will was going to win out – it had done before – but there was always the chance that one or two of them might require ‘encouragement’. 

And then there was that fifth girl; she’d been here longest of all, two years already, and he was pretty sure ‘choice’ had played no part at all in HER coming here, however misguided.  They had something special lined up for HER to sign – now, she WAS going to require some encouragement once she’d read through it! 

But for now he had the cane in his hand – and the unassailable, unquestionable authority to use it.  And all that temptation spread out before him, the glossy stretch nylon fabric of those school leotards adhering to every contour, outlining every dimple, every tempting nook and cranny somehow with greater clarity than if they were actually naked, the cut, fit and styling leaving the majority of the bottom uncovered to bounce and wobble and gyrate in front of his blazing eyes as he had them repeatedly touch their toes or perform those wide-stance deep squats that were such a favourite of his, almost as if DESIGNED to inflame his senses, his lust.  Of course he wasn’t allowed to ‘interfere’ with them, touch them in any way – he could only ever watch with mounting frustration the sheer fabric becoming slick with girl-sweat and ‘feminine staining’ as the backseam slipped deeper where he’d like to slip something else, the shiny dampening gusset worked ever more intimately in contact with...  But no, he wouldn’t use THAT, he’d slip it between those luscious bottom cheeks that tortured him so effectively, taunted him; the girl’s had frustration of their own to endure; and he wouldn’t want to deny them THAT by elevating their passion with his own.  

At an age when their hormones were raging, it took the closest supervision to ensure no unauthorised ‘tampering’ took place, that they were spared the temptations of their own bodies.  He could go home and take it out on his wife, bend her over any which way he wanted and take his pleasure – and HE was an old man in comparison.  He could only guess how it must feel at that age for a girl to have no outlet for her sexuality whatsoever, to not even be allowed to go to the toilet alone, to have her most basic bodily functions closely scrutinised, to not even be allowed to wipe her own bottom lest she use it as an excuse to ‘touch’ herself.  

Yes he was frustrated, frankly BURNING with lust, the obvious result of which was clearly bulging out from his slacks, despite his years.  But he had that cane they had given him in his hand.  He had absolute authority over them, these fat-bottomed temptresses, these little…. harlots!  He couldn’t touch them, but he could slake his thirst in other ways, take out his frustration beating a tattoo across their bottoms, he could thrash and thrash and thrash them mercilessly until his arm went numb, his breath came in agonised gasps – and that infernal throbbing had died down in his loins.  Why not?  Why shouldn’t he, just because he’d held back in the past, just because they’d rarely given him an excuse, just because they hadn’t given him an excuse today?  In fact their obedience had been exemplary, a tribute to Miss Swanley’s discipline and strength of purpose.  But something about that very meekness, that head-bowed submissiveness, for some reason inflamed him more than ever.  And he HAD the cane, right here in his hand, the cane Miss Swanley herself had provided him with.  And SHE obviously intended for him to use it!  He didn’t NEED an excuse.  Why NOT use it?  Why not… yes… enjoy himself….  Yes, he would enjoy it, enjoy watching them squirm, hearing them cry out, perhaps beg!  Yes…  yes he would… he WOULD thrash them, all four of them… girl’s like that had to learn… girls like that had to learn not to be so provocative, to have modesty…

“Ok, I was not happy with your performance today – I think six each across your fat little bums… to begin with!  Then we’ll have those leotards peeled right down, and we’ll see which of you needs to go to matron to be shaved again… yes, and right between those bottom cheeks too – matron has asked me to check there as well.  We don’t want any bottom fluff, now do we?”                  

Tuesday, 10 June 2014

Studying the Effects of Toileting Under Close Supervision

I call this one: 'Lesbian harassment in a private secure psychiatric unit'.  An image forged from an amalgam of three computer generated images originally produced by Angela Fox and put together by Garth Toyntanen.  The images were originally destined for a comic book or adult graphic novel loosely based on scenes taken from all three novels of the  INSTITUTIONALISED series (which may yet go ahead, prompted by the fact that I worked on this one fresh today).  The enema chair comes from an earlier set originally intended for an illustrated version of INSTITUTIONALISED VOLUME 3: A CONTINUUM OF DISCIPLINE.  The wall board I created today.  If I say INSTITUTIONALISED VOL 1 was subtitled 'BEYOND THE STANFORD EXPERIMENT'  you might get some idea of what is going on.   Of course, nothing is ever as simple as meets the eye, all is not as 'voluntary' as it might have started out - and there are shadowy figures in the background conspiring to ensure... Oh well, I expect you can guess... Or make your own storyline up - that is often much more fun.  But let me in on it - that is why I started writing my own stuff in the first place.

"Fully supervised toileting means exactly what it says - close scrutiny throughout!  But it must feel nice to get out of those smelly old pyjamas, hmm?  They make you look like a real mental patient - you look almost normal like this.  Now, what's all that squirming about?  Ahh, what's this, these raised weals?  Has Miss Swanley had to cane you again?  Sting do they?  Even when I brush my fingertips across your bottom THIS gently?  But you like my finger going up your bottom like this, though, don’t you, hmmm?  And my hand running across your breast?  ...   get those hands back on your head!  Now, why don't you wiggle your bottom against my hand, help my finger slide deeper in there?  Come on - wriggle that bottom!  There's going to be something MUCH  larger going up there in a minute - and then hold back as much as you want but you're going to be evacuating your bowels in a metal bucket while I watch.  How do you think THAT will make you feel, hmm?  Yes, I'm going to make you into SUCH a nice quiet mental patient!"