A Bit About Face Slapping & A Very Short Extract from Susan's Cell - A chapter from the upcoming Institutionalised vol 2: Confined in the Workhouse

This weekend has been both hectic and traumatic: first revolves on Saturday I spent pretty much the whole day at The Wedding show at Earls Court accompanying my fashion-journalist partner and long-term fiancee (it's part of one way that I earn my daily crust - not being engaged to fashion journalists - doing a bit of freelance retail analysis and research). Then a friend phoned me to tell me that Bradford & Bingley (a dodgy, it turns out, British bank and once building society) was going tits-up (as we say here in Blighty when things go badly wrong). Needless to say a big chunk of my savings is tied up in said bank and I spent the rest of the day - and the whole of the next - in a state of high anxiety and near blind panic (not to mention drunk of course - how else would you expect me to handle it?). Anyway, very little writing got done of any sort - but the wedding show did inspire me to look through some old vintage pics - of which more in a later post .

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For now, though, I thought it was about time to offer up another little taste of INSTITUTIONALISED vol 2: Confined in the Workhouse, just to give some idea of how things are coming along. None of the work has been properly proof read as yet and so there may well be typos and odd irritating bits of dodgy grammar. I'm currently finishing off two of the chapters and at the same time struggling with the preface. This latter part I'm finding particularly difficult; it needs to be fairly concise, so as not to go over too much well trodden ground and so risk becoming repetitive and boring to those who have previously read volume 1 while, at the same time, providing enough outlining of the characters and storyline so as to make volume 2 accessible to some extent as a stand-alone novel in its own right. It is something that is probably not entirely achievable in a completely satisfying manner - and yet the non-linear time-flow of the storytelling does allow for a fair bit to be sketched in as flashbacks: even to the extent of filling in some of the holes and loose threads left in volume 1. Incidentally, I would be very interested to know reader's reactions to, an interests in, alternative forms of corporal punishment, for example face slapping - you will see why as you read on. By the way: if you click on the matron-with-cane pic on the right you can read another extract taken from elsewhere in the book (but you'll have to work your way back to the first part - I have yet to properly work out the navigation).

Susan's Cell - A small Fragment for your Delectation and Delight

They had come to a halt, the trio of staff and their wheelchair- immobilised subject. There were the two nurse-wardresses in the flare-skirted polyester-cotton ‘hospital-blue’ dresses, their trim waists smartly and sharply belted and each with her breast pocket proudly embroidered with the hospital badge, name and those damning words picked out in the gold thread; psychiatric wing. There was the Senior Wardress, the woman dressed so smartly yet sinisterly in the deepest navy blue. And then there was their charge; a wide-eyed teenage girl seated quietly in a wheelchair with the complacency that comes of learnt-helplessness, herself uniformed and seeming younger than her years in her short black braided pigtails and plastic-bib covered green and white striped dress. To their right lay a continuum of softly glowing, white plastic gloss.

To their left, a narrow alcove, of no more than two meters in breadth at most, was delineated from the corridor by an array of white glossy floor-to-ceiling bars and extended back somewhat less than that. Indeed, the space - the term room being something of an exaggeration - was only of sufficient depth as to allow for the length of an average bed; the latter being the only obvious function of the raised platform area that ran at approximately waist height for the entire length of the right-hand side. This latter elevated area appeared to emerge seamlessly from both wall and floor, as if at one with both, rising up from the latter by around half a metre and extending out from the former by one meter, thus accounting for fully half the available floor-space. Its upper surface was inset, the hollow so formed holding a mattress that rose proud of its edge by perhaps ten centimetres and that had the appearance of the rubber-covered foam construction that Susan was now familiar with and that was seemingly ubiquitous in this institution; already she could detect its latex-warmth intermingled within the sterile, disinfected-polythene ambiance. Towards its far end, where it practically butted up against the end wall, the mattress thickened markedly and sigmoidally. This latter feature formed a gently rising hillock clearly intended to perform something of the function ordinarily provided by a pillow yet its U-shaped central contouring seemed to argue for some augmentation of that function; indeed, an element of restraint seemed to be suggested.

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This latter theme was echoed along the entire length of the ‘bed’. Medical restraint straps lay abandoned in various random orientations upon the mattress, broad white bands held soft padded plastic cuffs of various diameters, their distal ends permanently fixed at purpose-moulded anchor points spaced regularly along the inner edge of both sides of the platform, from its foot, at those prison bars, right up to and including the ‘pillow’, at the end wall, whereupon a broad strap lay roughly corresponding to the position that might be expected of an occupant’s forehead. Here again, at the ‘pillow’, there was a sinister element that went beyond that of mere restraint, being in the guise of a three centimetre diameter circular hole in the relevant strap, neatly let-in at its very centre; its relevance was mercifully obscure to the girl and would remain so if her present docility persisted.

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Roughly one third of the height of the wall alongside the bed platform was presently occupied by rack of closely spaced white cylindrical bars of an appearance similar to those occupying the cell’s front but of a third of their diameter, being of perhaps just over one centimetre in thickness, and longitudinally cross-braced at regular intervals. At its lower edge its weight was taken at a broad hinge, set into the wall fifty centimetres above the bed’s surface and running the entire length of the bed and thus of the wall. Along its upper edge ran a smaller, yet still substantial, hinge from which hung a secondary array of bars; at present positioned parallel to the first, this set was clearly designed to swing out into a perpendicular orientation when the entire contraption was released from the catches securing it to the wall and swung out into position. The length of the bars, being fifty centimetres and matching the elevation of the wall hinge above the bed’s surface, this second set would then form one side of what amounted to a cage around the bed; the array’s lower edge forming a flange designed to dock with, and lock into, a matching slot running the length of the bed-platform’s outer edge. The far end wall had embedded within it, although being difficult to see from the outside being white on white, a curving channel or runner that served to locate and guide the contraption. The external bars to the alcove’s front also incorporated a similar channel, manifested externally as a curving arc interrupting the linear fall of the bars.

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The girl stared dumbfounded; she could do nothing but sit in her wheelchair looking on numbed with fear and incomprehension in equal measure. She had never seen such a thing outside of a flickering wallpaper of images behind an outraged investigative reporter within a report about the mistreatment of psychiatric patients in some far-off ex Soviet bloc country. Nevertheless she recognised the implications of the contraption immediately; it was designed to form, when unfolded from the wall, a caged bed. Here was a device historically employed in asylums and supposedly endowed with almost magical qualities of calming. In truth, although of undoubted efficacy, the patient tending to fall into a stupefied submission given time, its long-term use had always been morally and ethically dubious at best and its mechanism of action even more so; such devices had long ago been abandoned in enlightened, mainstream, psychiatric practice in the west. Indeed, in Britain, it was, and had been for some very long time, illegal and yet here it was, in the flesh as it were and very much extant.

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Any suggestion that what stood here was merely yet another of the building’s Victorian asylum-legacy fitments could only be expected to meet with incredulity; it is noteworthy that no mention was made of, nor attention drawn to, the device, it was just there and that was all there was to it. Indeed it was obvious that there had been much ‘ improvement ’ made upon the antique original; it and the entire cell, despite the apparent antiquity of the layout, had benefited from the incorporation of modern design and technology, as this, its newest occupant, would soon

discover.

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The wheelchair having now been turned to face the bars, the seated, restrained, girl viewed, for the first time, this new home of hers in all its limiting-entirety and did so through fear-widening eyes. Straight ahead and to her left, two chunky square blocks, each of around twelve centimetres on a side, were set within the bars, one above the other and separated in the vertical dimension by approximately ten centimetres, at the point at which the grille met the wall at that side. Mounted at approximately waist height to a standing adult, the uppermost of these was notably dominated by the overly-obvious keyhole at its centre with its bygone-age appearance. Its lower-down sibling had, housed at its centre, an altogether more contemporary key-slot; the latter being of slim profile and mounted in a raised oval section of around three centimetres at it longest axis that extending proud of the surface by, perhaps, two centimetres. Little more than one meter to the right of those locks, a floor-to-ceiling rectangular member, interleaved within the screen of cylindrical bars, housed, a hinge running uninterrupted from the floor to three quarters of the barrage's rise whereupon a horizontal square-section beam ran across to the left-hand side, interrupting the bars and giving notice that here transit was possible, while making quite clear that such movement was not to be subject to the vagaries of free will.

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Within moments that view had been interrupted, the navy-blue, tailored contours of the Senior Wardress’ ample, rounded, rump almost pressing into her face as the woman, having selected a key from the large silvered key ring that hung from her belt by a chain, turned away from her and bent forwards so as to better deal with a lock that was presumably being somewhat awkward in its operation.

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Fleeting though her first full view had been the girl had nevertheless seen enough to send her spirits tumbling in free-fall and for trepidation to turn to despair; indeed she had seen everything that was to be seen, for in truth there was little to see and that sparsity of detail, in itself, weighed her down with its leaden dread. There was nothing there, nothing at all, it was just a bar-fronted glowing white plastic-box of space; the raised bed platform and the contraption on the wall lay to the right and directly ahead, beyond the entry gate, lay a ‘living space’ comprising an open section of flooring of a similar area as that occupied by the bed platform itself. There were no other furnishings or contents to be seen of any kind save for what appeared to be a white plastic hospital bedpan. The latter squatted up close against the rear wall as if trying to merge with it, cringing back from the bars, vainly seeking privacy and to evade prying eyes as if infused with some essence of the previous occupant's fading and flickering spirit; it was a semi-successful camouflaging, an optical illusion that brought with it a strange pearly-transparent quality to the object.

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Simultaneously, from each side, soft-looking, velvety-pink, hands came and went and were accompanied by flashes of white, buttoned, cuffs and rustling, light blue, sleeves. The two women that had, up to that point, existed only in the rhythmically-familiar polyester-swish of their dresses and in the trundle of the wheelchair, began to tackle the various restraints and attachments surrounding her. Turning her head to the left, to the direction from which they had come, she glimpsed a concealed-button, panelled, dress-front constraining an amply-rounded bosom, a flash of gold thread on a blue breast pocket and the silver glint of a ball-clasp belt buckle against a white crepe nurses’ belt...

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It was shocking rather than painful as such but it was that very acuteness that punished the most, that and the shame of being struck in such a manner; more to the point it was the shame of excepting such correction without comment, as if such were simply an expression of the natural order of things. It was just three fingers of the nurse’s left hand, three fingers not particularly long yet notably tapered and slender. There was no movement at all in the arm; the woman's wrist flicked sharply but, describing only a small fraction of its potential arc, contributed little to the actual force of the blow while the majority of the travel originated in the folding of the woman's palm. The efficacy of the slap’s sting lay not in its force but rather in the accuracy of its landing, the sharpness of its delivery and in the commanding confidence of the accompanying rebuke. It was a precisely and expertly delivered sharp little sting, laid diagonally across the lower innermost quadrant of the girl's right cheek, the nurse’s index finger landing close to, but not touching, the girl's right nostril; the side-cheeks of the girl's bonnet limited the

area available to strike.

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“Face forward.” The nurse didn't raise her voice, she didn't have to; the requisite correcting sharpness was there in the crystal-hard crispness of that educated enunciation, her authority was embedded in the tone.

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For Susan's part, a surprised, shocked, exclamation accompanied an embarrassingly, for the girl, contrite compliance and a spreading blush that was already outgrowing and swamping the reddened site of her chastisement. Even then, even as, in obedience to the order she looked away, even though disorientated by the sudden numbness of shock, she knew that something was missing, had been omitted; was there still time to make amends? To the latter the answer came quickly and in the negative; this time delivered by the other nurse, the woman standing to her right hand side, her right-hand delivering a similar sharp-shocking slap to that of her comrade’s and overlapping the site of the latter's sting, her voice just as crisply punishing. There was just a single word this time, it was all that was needed; the girl's detention had already been long enough for the nurse to be confident of that. “Manners” was all she said, her voice soft yet her enunciation crisp, polished, superior.

.....

“Yes n,n,nnurse, a,at w,w,once n,n,nurse,”

.....

Immediately there came another slap, this time delivered to the corresponding position on the girl’s left cheek and coming from the left hand of the nurse on her left hand side, the woman accompanying it with yet another prompting rebuke; “what do we say?”
“ S,s,sorry n,n,nurse, I,I m,m,mean th, th, th,ank y,you n,n,nurse.”

A Vague Outline and a Few Beers More

Hi folks it's another bright sunny day here in North London and I'm off down the pub - yes, at this time of day. The local Wetherspoon's opens its doors at eight and serves its first pint at nine - I'm already behind schedule then! I didn't get much done yesterday past answering the plethora of e-mails that had built up but I did develop some interesting ideas last night over a few pints and those shall be the seeds of today's work. I should think today's outpourings are more likely to become part of volume 3 rather than volume 2 but without giving away too much the basic outline revolves around the concept of a very detailed, personal and embarrassing interrogation of one of the girls by a doctor. Initially she is non cooperative but then the interrogation of another takes place in her presence and she is able to witness first-hand the likely results of the repercussions she is risking bringing down on herself.

The picture today is another supplied by ‘Domestic Disciplinarian’, I think originally from one of the Blushes / Whispers / New Supplement / New Uniform Girls magazine stable. I just think it's evocative of the scene - albeit with a male doctor and an altogether wrongly attired subject. Anyone out there with anything more suitable, than be my guest - please send it in.

I realise I still haven't added the illustrations to the post I made the day before yesterday nor the discussion I promised but this will have to wait to a later date as I'm still suffering quite a lot of visual disturbance.

School Badges and Humiliating Mottos - Any Ideas Out There?

Yesterday was one week to the day since I had my eye laser treatment and so it was off back to Harley Street for an examination and eye test. My eyesight is still a bit pissed up so writing to the computer is still somewhat hard work. Apparently the reason is that I am suffering from dry eyes, despite all the eye drops that I've had to put in each day. Now I have to put in moisturising eye drops every hour on the hour and some new horrid oily substance three times a day - this stuff makes my vision temporarily even worse (around five to ten minutes worth anyway) and turns everything into an oil painting (and a somewhat runny one at that). I had chosen for an early appointment so as to meet up with an old school chum for lunch in a nearby pub (where else?) - The Jack Horner in Tottenham Court Rd - a purveyor of fine pies and even finer pints of Fullers ESB (Extra Special Bitter - and it is, too) (possibly the best bitter in the world -at least I think so). It was all a bit of a disaster though; my old mate didn't turn up until two o'clock in the afternoon by which time I had already knocked back five pints, I hadn't started any writing because I was expecting him to arrive any minute (for around two and a half hours worth) and then we moved to Camden (I think - I can't really remember) and by the time he left I was far too inebriated to start. And then of course there was those bloody eye drops, everything swimming around in an oily sea of colour, and have you ever tried putting in eye drops without poking yourself in the eye while extraordinarily pissed and in some crowded and excessively noisy Camden pub. I do remember that the eye strain was making me feel tired, and then I guess I must have gone home - because the very next thing I knew it was the morning and I was back here. Today I've mainly been gathering source material for the blog, various illustrative pictures and also hoping for inspiration to get me writing again - I have a lot of stuff part written but that at the moment I can't really face finishing off so rather than waste my time completely I'm starting of one or two new story arcs. I have decided that it might be fun if volume 2 and/or volume 3 were to have one or two small illustrations here and there had to start the ball rolling and to explore further the idea I have attempted to create the embroidered blouse pocket badge outlined in that small and partly written fragment that I published a couple weeks or so back, click on badge to link to it. Later today or early this evening I am going to be adding some illustrations to the blog entry that I posted the day before yesterday and some discussion points but for now I'm going to try and get a little bit more of INSTITUTIONALISED volume 2 finished before I go out for a couple of pints (for medicinal purposes only you understand - the cruelest thoughts only ever come after a couple of pints or so, I'm too nice ordinarily).

And finally: Well, I just I couldn't resist showing an example of something of the way I imagine it would look embroidered on the bodice of a gymslip - or perhaps it should mirror the one that embellishes her blouse's top pocket beneath, in terms of size and placement.

Personaly I think the 'great big statement' aproach is rather humbling to the wearer - a nice refinement of her humiliation. But...What do you think?

Corselletes, Corset Discipline & Institutional Hair and Fingernail Cutting

Today's posting was going to be one of those explanatory things - this one dealing with the corselet (corsellete), a garment that crops up in description several times in INSTITUTIONALISED volume 1 and will undoubtedly do so again along with corsets, corset discipline and other associated subjects in the subsequent volumes. I don't have time at the moment to post up any explanatory illustrations as I am hard at work on volume 2 and the writing is coming along quite nicely today so I don't want to interrupt my flow as it were. I have located some interesting articles and a suitable website to visit however and those links are posted below.

On a completely different tack: while looking around a forced-hair-cutting story site last night I came across what I think is a really great storyline, or at least has the potential to be so if it was to be continued by the author. It is called Industrial School Days by Harry Standing and is easily one of the best things I've ever read incorporating the hair cutting (and indeed fingernail cutting) theme. The tale has quite a lot in common with part of the INSTITUTIONALISED storyline in that the main character hasn't really done anything to justify her incarceration (so I guess it has a certain affinity with those so-called ‘blameless punishments’ so beloved of the 1980s Janus letters pages correspondents), secondly (and this part I love), despite being placed in ‘care’ initially just for the weekend it becomes clear that this period is likely to extend to 21 days and it is hinted that such a period could possibly be extended, quite legally, perhaps indefinitely (I certainly hope so). She has done little wrong, she is really there at the whim of others. Finally, the tale is based loosely on the existence of, and the exploitation that allegedly occurred in, the Magdalene Laundries or asylums of Ireland (See also the 2002 film written and directed by Peter Mullan entitled: The Magdalene Sisters, click to view trailer), a little bit of history that went a long way in influencing the direction of my writing in the INSTITUTIONALISED series. Click on the title above to link to this story.

Hopefully I will be returning to this post later today or early tomorrow when I will post up the relevant illustrations etc.

Corset article 1
Corset article 2
Corset article 3
Corset design resource site

The Perfect Gymslip?

Probably not, but very nice nevertheless!

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Greetings good readers, from a still half-blind Garth Toyntanen. post my laser sight correction surgery of last week I now think that one eye is recovering faster than the other, or something similar. Whatever the reason, one eye is an awful lot better than the other at mid range and this difference is causing visual disturbances. It's probably not worth my purchasing reading glasses until my eyes settle down So for now I'm soldering on as best I can. It's all a bit annoying though as I'm about five days in from the surgery and I was led to believe that after 24 hours or so my vision would be very much back to normal.

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There are various points within the story arc so far developed in INSTITUTIONALISED volume 1 and that will continue to develop into the upcoming volumes two and three, wherein a young lady, despite her apparent maturity and physical development, is put in school uniform. Although the story is clearly sat in the present world, or at most a very recent past, the point is that those school uniforms are without exception not only juvenile in design but also both strict and anachronistic in appearance, and therein hangs a great deal of that all-important element of humiliation. Although I have always done my best to paint a picture in words, and will continue to do so of course, for many I fear that the imagery still leaves much room for misconception and puzzlement.

One of the most intractable problems I have had in creating and writing the INSTITUTIONALISED series has lain in getting the modern reader to understand exactly what is meant by the term ‘gymslip’ as pertains to the various encounters portrayed in the books. More specifically the problem has been how best to put over the image of the garment as I see it on the girls in my mind’s eye such that the reader shares the same viewpoint and perhaps understands the mental anguish and bitterness the girl feels in it, particularly having previously viewed herself as being a young woman of some independence and even sophistication. By way of an example; in volume 1 it is recounted how one particular young lady is delivered to the institution’s door in a rather strict example of an English boarding school uniform of a bygone age of a rather juvenile appearance and featuring a rather brief knife-pleat skirted gymslip. In some ways the American ‘jumper’ has come to the rescue to some extent as I expect quite a few readers have come across such garments on the Internet in various ways.

Here a reader’s contribution can lend a helping hand; the contributor known only as ‘Domestic discipline’ has again provided some wonderful vintage illustrations of English school uniform for which many thanks go out to him.

If one keeps in mind the bodice of the example at the top of the page, and considers the second of the two pictures above to be the view from the side (yes, I know it's a different girl in a completely different gymslip, but bear with me) and if you now think of the skirt as being flared and sharply knife-pleaded, coming to perhaps mid thigh, then you are beginning to see the image that I had in mind in that scene in volume 1. One should keep in mind, also, the starched stiff collar, school tie and hat of the first picture -and, of course, the young lady's cheeks, apple-red with embarrassment - in conjuring the picture.

The photo on the right I've included by way of contrast and intending to illustrate exactly what I don't mean by the term gymslip in my writings - this is the type of thing more typically thing seen and depicted in the spanking / discipline literature world but is something I think I would tend to refer to as a gym tunic rather than a gymslip per se as I intended depicted in volume 1 (yes I know the gymslip, as I describe, was originally derived from such gym tunics, see wikipedia for more).

Inspiration is Where You Find It (2): Mind Control, Phone Boxes, Catalogues, Friends Reunited (And Another Bit of Penny's Punishments Too (From Janus)

My eyes are still a little problematic so for a while text will be a bit sparse, but as I have said in the last few posts; I will go over these posts again with updated text, labels and explanations etc once my vision settles down and will then post links to the updated pages. So for now mostly pics. First I thought I ought to post the rest of the pics from that classic photo-story, Penny's Punishments, that I scanned from Janus. I had intended to do so, partly for the sake of completeness and partially to provide some sort of pictorial content while writing was being such a strain. In so doing it occurred to me that there is another tale to tell, unwritten yet embedded within these pictures - to my mind there is a tale within a tale here if one looks deeply enough. Now that I'm thinking about it I do remember it occurring to me at the time and that it was something that fired my imagination ; as it does so still now, looking at them again through fresh eyes.

On the surface, for the time it was a fairly standard Janus spanking / caning / discipline photo story ( click on the link above or here to read more of the outline), but I like to feel that there is a more sinister undercurrent. Particularly in the pyjamas scene, but also to some extent in the following two pictures, the girl has this strangely emotionless look about her, expressionless, blank; even at the time, being relatively youthful and largely unaware of the mind control story genre, I thought she looked sort of...well, hypnotized, for want of any better description.

The impression I received was that, although not eluded to in the text, her guardians had more of a hold over her than might be explainable by the threat of a caning from time to time...Soon after, I came across the works of Victor Bruno wherein, at least in his 'private boarding ' reform school' tales, the use of hypnosis (and even brainwashing) was alluded to -although sadly, never elaborated on beyond expounding on the various benefits in keeping the hapless inmates of his various institutions under control.

And there you have it; notwithstanding one or two other influences that I will discuss at a later date, my interest in mind control, especially in the use of hypnosis, was born. What with my frustration at the lack of detail included in the Victor Bruno novels and then having later come across, first the Erotic Mind Control Story Archive ( click to visit) and then story ideas put out on various newsgroups by Acid Tony (under more than one name I think - click to read) you can, I'm sure, understand the strong element of psychological control and punishment, of various forms and levels of subtlety, that weaves its way through INSTITUTIONALISED volume 1. I have never viewed this element as any replacement for good old-fashioned corporal punishment but rather as an adjunct to it - much like Acid Tony, I see each being in support of the other.

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While on the subject of hidden meaning and inspiration here are a few scans of a couple of pages from a very mainstream 1980s fashion catalogue (below). At the time I thought of her as the perfect mistress figure, a couple of steps up from the governess so to speak, perhaps the haughty guardian of some hapless browbeaten girl. Later she was to become (as part of an amalgam of characters, along with certain other influential models and pictures) the model for the character of Lady Madison Daisy Bartlet as appears in INSTITUTIONALISED volume 1 (click to read extract on this site).

More hidden content: At one point in my life I worked as a cycle dispatch rider in the West End of London and would often throughout the day have occasion to visit a phone box or two. There were always plenty of cards advertising various 'personal services' and from time to time one would catch my eye. This example led me to search for and explore all sorts of medical fetish literature that I didn't know even existed at the time; I wanted to know just what these procedures might consist of. More importantly I wondered just how such procedures might be applied to the young ladies that by then populated the stories and fantasies that, in the absence of suitably imaginative published literature, I was beginning to concoct for my own amusement by this point. These tales existed only as bare bone fragments of ideas that this stage, but as I learnt more about this new world new storylines evolved and necessarily became more complex in order to incorporate techniques and procedures that I was learning about. All sorts of devilish torments came and went in my imaginary tableaux - the ideas that would one day grow into the INSTITUTIONALISED series were beginning to take root. Incidently, a nice collection of such cards can be viewed at Mike's Spanking Booth (click to visit).

Post Eye Surgery: Very Old Influential Publications From my Scans Collection

The bit of eye surgery I underwent yesterday seems to have gone okay but it must be said that my vision is still somewhat blurred and apparently is expected to remain so for the next day or so of slowly improving. I attempted to do a little work on the computer late yesterday afternoon but soon gave up due to the strain. While I can see well enough to enable me to post up a few pictures reading text off the screen presents something of a challenge and a bit of a strain -I write using voice recognition software to dictate my thoughts directly to the computer, but of course the software is nothing like perfect, it makes mistakes and I need to be able to read the output in order to slap it round the face and put it right when it makes mistakes. For this reason this post and the next will consist mostly of pictures with only the barest of bones of an explanation and discussion. I will return to both to add my thoughts in a day or two's time - there'll always be some relevance to the INSTITUTIONALISED series.

Perhaps it's something that inspired me to begin writing in the first place, perhaps it's something that illustrates some event within the story arc or that portrays something of the atmosphere that I try to evoke or serves to clarify some potential source of confusion. The various aspects of 'punishment dress' - encountered in INSTITUTIONALISED volume 1 and that will continue to be encountered from time to time in various guises throughout the series - gymslips, corselletes, nylon overalls, little girl dresses and the rest, comes to mind regarding the latter point (something I attempted to tackle by the inclusion of a glossary - the only instance, I'd wager, of a glossary occurring in a S&M / D&S publication).

Sometimes, as in the post to follow this one, the content is some contribution made by one of our visitors (for which I always have the utmost gratitude). Reader involvement and contribution is something I am always keen to encourage as it criticism both positive and negative, interest and fetishes and storyline ideas that might be woven in to the series. But whatever the content there is always the need to explain the context if this site is to remain more than just a collection of eclectic and seemingly unconnected images, both erotic and otherwise. So there you have it, it's been something of a strain to write this much so I'll return to rewrite both this entry, and that following, in a couple of days time.

Just to quickly set the scene; these are the front covers of a few of the early publications from my formative years and that had their part to play in developing my interest in spanking, discipline and other associated areas.

Anyone out there remember these publications?

A Reader's Contribution: From 'Domestic Disciplinarian'

'Domestic Disciplinarian' has kindly contributed a whole swathe of pictures to the blog ( my thanks go out to 'Domestic Disciplinarian' - clearly a man after my own heart) of which these are just a few - there are more to come and I will add my thoughts at a later date, as I explained in the previous post.

Do Mine Eyes Deceive or Have My Eyeballs Been Resurfaced?

Well not yet they haven't, but by this time tomorrow, all being well, I'll have taken off my horn-rims for the last time - I'm having my vision laser-corrected you see… and in London's well-known Harley Street at that! Sounds very flash, but to be honest I don't have a lot of cash so I'm having it done on the cheap -only the most basic options. Why am I telling you this? Because there might not be any more posts for a couple of days or so while I recover my wits (I'm a bit nervous you see - it's all those death rays and stuff). Ordinarily I wouldn't be quite so bothered but for one reason or other I haven't posted much since the end of last week and before that I was on holiday (vacation, if you really must). What with my last post being all about recommending a commercial bondage film site and conspicuously featuring a clip taken from one of their movies (albeit on topic-ish, being all about some sinister and exploitative asylum-like institution… and I really like those - they're the best sort) there is the distinct nature of newcomers gaining the perception of this blog being a commercial enterprise - which of course it isn't. Okay I'll admit it serves to raise the profile of my book, (or series, as I intend it will grow into in time) and I have signed up to the BondageBank’s affiliate program. But such an enterprise is unlikely to return much in a way of remuneration and, in any case, my hope is merely that it will help offset the cost of writing the next couple of volumes or so - there's very little money to be made from such a niche publication as INSTITUTIONALISED through channels such as Lulu. Indeed, following the principle that ‘one man's poison is another man's meat’ that part of the INSTITUTIONALISED series’ manifesto that states the intention to seek to integrate, incorporate and satisfy many different disparate fetishes and tastes will in all probability serve to ensure that niche status despite my intention that it should appeal to a wide swathe of interests.

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That said, I couldn't resist one more pick from our friends at the BondageBank as it wonderfully illustrates an aspect of the life I imagine for the inmates that populate the experimental psychology unit central to the story arc of the INSTITUTIONALISED series; it is an aspect that will be explored in some depth in volumes 2 and 3 - the interrogation. The essential thing about an interrogation, of course, the thing that makes it so interesting in the context of S&M and D&S, is that the subject should have something to hide, something that she'd much rather not speak of. Sexual peccadilloes, deeply held and excruciatingly embarrassing feminine concerns, distasteful toiletry habits - one can easily imagine many corners to be probed that day young lady might rather keep to herself; particularly should her psychological stability be under question. I'm sure that those that have read volume 1 of INSTITUTIONALISED can think of at least one aspect of Susan Stringer’s life that might make her particularly vulnerable to such an approach. A volunteer research subject suffering from certain problems that have already put her under pressure from some to become a self-committed voluntary psychiatric patient she might well construe such interview as an attempt to further pressurise her. Imagine her reluctance to answer questions about aspects of her life that she herself has come to believe may be evidence of her own instability - could her answers be used against her, could they be used to commit her, properly commit her as a psychiatric patient?

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As I read it, she is sitting there in the hands of a highly skilled psychologist. What while might they do to encourage her cooperation? How long might she hold out? And if she fails, then what, what credibility would she have then, what would her future hold then? And what might be in store for her should she fully fall into their hands?

An Exciting Site

After so many countless years searching for items depicting nurses in a dominant role in a F/f context, not to mention involving bondage and asylum incarceration, that by its absence to my satisfaction I was driven to start to write my own stuff, I have finally come across a site that ticks all the boxes. I would ordinarily be loath to recommend a commercial site but I found their asylum-based films (and a nice little movie depicting a hopelessly dominated maid in an imaginative little PVC uniform - not the usually cliched shiny black-and-white thing) stimulating in the extreme - and I'm pretty jaded. Click on either still picture to visit, or see the asylum entry at the top of the resources link list in the side bar.

Penny's Punishments (from Janus - 1980s) and a Bit That Didn't Quite Make it Into INSTITUTIONALISED Volume 1

Whilst running through my old files occurred to me that one or two of you might be interested in having a taste of some of my early work that never quite made it into INSTITUTIONALISED volume 1. I had come across the following piece that I had originally intended to include in a flashback scene but that there was omitted when I decided to change the entire style of the thing. As you can see it involves a young woman called Sandra who doesn't even appear in the book in its present form and although it includes a character called Julia she is not necessarily the same Julia as Susan's ‘aunt’ of the same name - who of course plays a major role and will continue to in volumes 2 and 3.

It is written a somewhat dated style that I was following at the time but are now find somewhat ‘stodgy ’- I was trying to recreate the feel and style of certain 19th-century works but chronologically placing the story very much in the present time, or a least the recent past. There is absolutely no mention of corporal punishment in any form in this section but its threat hangs there in the atmosphere somewhere; hopefully, that air of oppression is still present, almost as if we have sat through, stroke by stroke, a lovingly delivered caning.

It is very much unfinished of course; I had a lovingly detailed description of her, that is Sandra's, entire wardrobe in mind as well as the change in her mindset as she is gradually taken through Julia’s stepwise program of progressively more restrictive and humiliating dress.

The whole section, really, was inspired by the letters to the Janus magazine as to read in the 1980s regarding the subject of punishment-dress and the various suggestions people made in the correspondence at the time. It is one of the projects I have under way at the moment, to rewrite and remodel it; this piece, and another similar but more detailed piece that I don't want to air publicly at the moment as it is too close to events occurring in volumes 2 and 3 (and far more overtly corporal punishment orientated) will become the template for a couple of sections of both new volumes, but written in the more up-to-date style that I now Favour.

Speaking of Janus magazine: while searching around I came across some scans from a classic Janus story called ‘Penny’s Punishments (see the pictures scattered amongst this posting - I will be happy to post more if there is any interest). This is one of those pieces that I guess could be categorised under the ‘unfair punishment’ banner in that it is clear that the punishers very much have an agenda beyond merely correcting their charge’s errant behaviour.

The basic premise is that too well of folks have chosen to foster this character, not because of her record of good behaviour but rather the complete opposite - they have chosen her specifically because she has built up a reputation for being difficult. The cane is in use frequently, is delivered hard and for the tiniest of infractions. I seem to remember the point being made that the girl is around years of age (the model, in reality, is probably older) which is above the age of consent here in Britain and so I guess is fine, but the storyline does still sound a little dodgy to the modern ear.

The only concern voiced in the letters pages at the time, though, was that her school skirt was somewhat too long; the consensus of opinion seemed to be that it should only just cover her knickers when standing still. This, though, was a period when Janus and other Spanking magazines could still publish photos of models dressed in what they would describe as school uniform, later the heavy-hand of censorship cracked down (even though often the very point of the story was that it was an adult being made to wear school uniform for the purposes of discipline and humiliation). Magazines such as Strictly Uniforms that came along later tended to get around any potential infractions by describing what were quite obviously various variations on the school uniform theme as ‘college uniforms’ (schoolgirls often became college girls or, alternatively, reformatory girls).

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An Imposition of Uniform (An Unused INSTITUTIONALISED Fragment)

For Sandra there was to be no choice - that had always been the intention, for had not the avoidance of such decision been the entire raison d'etre for the Julia's stratagem. If not for such altruistic reasons than one would have to consider less savoury motives, motives that surely would not fit comfortably within the sensibility of a woman of Julia's status. Notwithstanding these possibilities it has to be said that in the erosion of the girl’s freedom lay some salvation; there was little doubt that symptomatically the detriment lifted with the removal of that freedom was greater than she would suffer through the embarrassment that came with her new attire.

The wardrobe’s design was a merciful one, that the door was mirrored was convenience itself, that it was so internally ensured that, once closed, the dark walnut door spared her its criticism. At least it had done so on that first day, when first she had rolled on the knickers. Full in body, bottle green in colour and of anachronistic styling, yet of some finely woven elastic man-made fibre, they had fitted like a second skin, disconcertingly conforming to every curve, even internally wherein the white thickened lining of the double gusset was moulded to fit snugly, its presence manifested externally as an at embarrassingly intimate longitudinal dimple.

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Overseen by the authoritative Julia she had hurriedly buttoned the blouse. There had been no bra to be found in the collection; Julia had apologetically informed her that her housekeeper had somehow erroneously included all of Sandra's underwear when parcelling her things for dispatch to her guardian and that, for the time being, she would have to do without. This had been much to Sandra's chagrin; she was bountifully blessed of bosom, some might say overly so, even melon breasted.

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Although young, having not quite yet turned eighteen years of age at this stage, she nevertheless desired some support. Some small relief had come with the discovery that the blouse incorporated inbuilt support, although tempered somewhat by the strangeness of this arrangement and the embarrassing result.
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Firmly under-wired half-cups were fully integral to the blouse; the latter's seams were appropriately reinforced where ever it was required they perform the secondary supportive role of bra strap by proxy, so to speak, and the whole support structure was covered internally by the blouse's soft satin-like lining. That the lining did not extend above the supporting half cups at the front had not been immediately obvious; had it been so the consequences would have been made more obvious to her earlier, her reluctance to wear the thing made so much the greater.

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The garment's oddity had been apparent the moment that Julia had passed it to her; still neatly folded and buttoned the integral cups stood upwards as if ready wrapping a female torso, the excess fabric created by the darting, so as to allow for the curvature of the wearers breasts, lay loosely behind and either side of the neat buttoning.

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To one side there was visible a slight change in profile and a glimpse of colour, a flash of gold and a glimpse of green, revealed the position of the breast pocket and what had appeared to be some sort of embroidery upon it, an impression confirmed upon further inspection. This latter feature was to be a source of both puzzlement and embarrassment upon her being proffered the garment, her aunt proudly holding up the blouse by its prominently-puffed shoulders.

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A classically-stylised shield, as might appear in any coat of arms and occupying very nearly the entire area of the breast pocket, was picked out in outline in fine gold thread. At its centre a device with the appearance of an open exercise book was embroidered in bottle-green, while traversing diagonally, and crossing at right angles at the centre, two crook-handled canes were detailed in yet more of the gold thread-work, the curvature of their handles matching that of shield at the left and right-hand top corners. Situated below it and following a downward arching path so as to mirror and wrap around the shield’s curving underside, two lines of embroidered text spelled out a motto in flowing italicised bottle-green: Through obedience comes learning / Through discipline comes obedience. The whole stood out vividly against the snow white, almost pearlescent, sheen of the fine satinised nylon.

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The girl’s feminine curves and particularly her breasts had been Julia's greatest despair. Yet to that concern had rushed another legacy of the past; the constriction of the ironically termed liberty bodice had proved to respond well to the combined complaints of over-tight waistbands and overstretched, straining, bodices. Notwithstanding the additional requirement for stockings - the despondently hanging suspenders demanding employment, an obligation Julia had been more than happy to fulfil - she had nevertheless been more than satisfied with the solution.

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Red cheeked, Sandra had dutifully, almost thankfully, squeezed into the gym slip.
Enwrapped and suitably mortified in gymslip, knickers, blouse, tie and hat, Julia considering the latter straw boater particularly attractive set against the gloss of the girl’s jet black hair, Sandra had squirmed in disconcerted bashfulness, her discomfiture complete and obvious to all: Julia would have had no less.

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The pony tail had only been inevitable, obligatory under the circumstances; Julia had had the ribbon ready and waiting. No special purchase this; she had uncovered several lengths amongst the antiquated school wear. Grey with a diagonal bottle green stripe the ribbon’s oddly broad width, of nearly 6cm, initially had Julia questioning the purpose; the lengths just looked too wide for hair ribbons and the luxuriant satin sheen, although of an obviously man-made fibre, seemed at odds with being part of a school uniform. The boater had answered her uncertainty with its matching beribboned adornment, the latter terminating as two broad tails, long enough, by Julia’s estimation, to reach down to the mid point of Sandra’s back in wearing and each ending in a neatly cut V shape.

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That a girl in her late teens, in truth, a woman fully blossomed, should stand so meekly, that she should so silently accept the adornment of ribbons and bows the like of which she surely could not have imagined outside of some flounced portrait of Victorian childhood is testament to the sheer dominating presence and personality of the woman into whose manipulative hands she had become so securely cradled. As for the girl herself one can only guess as to her vulnerability and as to the nature of that condition. To what extent natural reactive consequence and to what extent artifice I. leave open to conjecture. Suffice it to say that Julia soon had the girl's waist length hair neatly tied back in a ribbon of a width commanding a ridiculous oversized bow and of a length sufficient that, despite this, the excess hung as two tails ending at her mid back.

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In truth Julia had wondered as to the excessive length but being loath to take scissors to such venerable and possibly irreplaceable fabric lest it one day be of further utility, she had experimented with different ways of tying beforehand; the result had been delightful in its feminine girlish sweetness, the girl transformed.
In all the gymslip had fitted well enough in that with the aid of the restrictive underlying liberty bodice – at least the skirt now fastened neatly at its waistband.
The gymslip's bodice, now benefiting both from the underpinning foundation and its own especially elongated shoulder straps, was able to encompass the girls flattened and artificially reduced bust line.

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Yes, it fitted well enough, true, and yet on the girl the appearance gave the impression that somehow she was wearing a much younger, smaller girl's clothes. Even Julia, the architect herself, was amazed at the effect; the girl stood as if somehow squeezed into a much younger sister's castoffs and yet at the same time with a perfect fit. It was if a child's dress, many sizes below sufficiency, had somehow been coerced to grow, to mould itself around a mature woman's figure, albeit one of artificially flattened bust.

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In particular the bodice appeared out of scale. Indeed it was only by way of the skilled alterations wrought by Julia's dressmaker that it was able to fit Sandra at all; the shoulder straps had been lengthened but it had not been possible to do anything to increase the size of the bib at the front and back. Even with the restriction imposed by the liberty bodice beneath, the front bib barely covered the vestigial swellings of her breasts; although what it did cover it did so without hint of strain or tightness.

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The overall image was one of an precociously overdeveloped and overgrown young girl dressed in clothing clearly hopelessly outgrown and several sizes too small and yet somehow, magically, fitting her frame all the same.

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Any pretence of adulthood had drained away. For Sandra, from that moment on until her final enclosure, surrounded about by the controlling swaddling of the institution, that image had become her life, it had become her; some precocious freak of a child-woman, to be castigated, to be controlled for her own sake

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The knife pleated skirt was flared, yes, even wildly so some might say, yet not linearly. Initially upon leaving the waistband there was a curvature to the skirt that closely mimicked the womanly spread of the hips below where after the pleats flared out unabated to terminate at mid thigh. Short, yes, but more than sufficient nonetheless to cover stocking tops that, by dint of the liberty bodice’s somewhat truncated suspenders, terminated only just below the outward swellings of the girl’s chubby buttocks, the welts nestling neatly in the very shadow of the overhang. Thus attired she had been expected to totter out to greet the world or at least that limited constellation through which she now orbited.

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The shoes had been Julia's niece’s own original Mary-Janes, wearable only by virtue of that relatives exceptionally large and disproportionate feet and Sandra's equally disproportionately small shoe size. But here though Julia had laid plans; the shoes she had envisaged were not yet appropriate, nor available, the cost was presently prohibitive, the design and manufacture would take time but it was the look she had decided on for the future. She had already created the design plates and had made discreet inquiries; the design she envisaged could best be described as an exaggeratedly adult high heeled version of the girl's present Mary- Janes, complete with childish T-bar ankle straps and silver buckled fastening yet enforcing a mature but sexually defenceless teetering stance, the child in the woman's body. These would be the girl’s indoor shoes and were to be introduced sometime after the introduction of the summer dress; outdoors she would be allowed her flat soled school shoes.

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Julia had drawn up a timetable, there was a sequence to be followed, step by step; each new imposition would be followed up by a period of adjustment, sufficient for the girl to come to terms with it and reach some level of acceptance, before the next restriction would be introduced. She had decided to risk an element of brinkmanship: each imposition was to push the girl as close to the edge of rebellion as possible and yet be calculated to not quite sufficiently galling as to do so. The girl was to always remain within the coercive limits of the authority over her but at each stage, with each acceptance, that authority would grow still stronger; the girl would be drawn still closer into her lovingly woven web of restriction and discipline.

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This was a process that had been ongoing for a long time and was to continue in this stepwise fashion. Putting the girl in uniform had been inspired, although not originally foremost in her mind; the various impositions she now had planned would constitute the next few steps in securing her hold over her.

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The next stage would simply be to encourage the girl to wear her cape for the first time, possibly out in the garden, a cold day providing the pretext. After that there would be her first trip out of the house wearing the long, outdoor, gymslip - she would leave it up to Sandra whether or not to wear her cape; she already knew the answer. Then, in the home, there would be the somewhat abbreviated ‘home’ gymslip then, after a suitable period of adjustment, the frock, the bloomers and finally the shoes, those deliciously humiliating high-heeled Mary Janes she would have manufactured. The coercive shackles were already in place; this next stage would temper the steel, forge new and stronger chains, but the clinic! Ah yes the clinic! There they would forge entirely new bonds…unbreakable bonds.

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Copyright (c) 2008 Garth. P. ToynTanen

Hairstyle Discipline

As any who have read this blog in the past will know, I tend to do much of my writing in various houses of public refreshment. Yesterday's temporary office was the historic Spaniards Inn, in London's Hampstead Heath. The 'other half' had gone shopping in Hampstead proper and was then planning to tour Kenwood house, a nearby historic country house, leaving me free to indulge my passion for real ale. The pew-like seating and dark wood panelling are conducive enough to writing, far more so than my usual venue, but somehow I just seemed to lack that drive. I guess in my mind's eye I had had the idea of a pleasant afternoon sat in a sunny pub garden - the reality was somewhat different, my dream scuppered by freezing temperatures and the idiotic choice of a cap-sleeved top and shorts (I should really know better by now what the word summer actually means here in Britain). Having dragged myself back inside a settled myself down to drag him away for a passport renewal form and reading and out of date copy of New Scientist (something or other about the Large Hadron Collider).

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Anyway, enough rambling, let's get down to business and some more thoughts that occurred to me (after a good few beers) concerning the wonderful subject of forced haircutting - a subject that I would much rather refer to as hairstyle discipline, from the point of view of its context so far within the pages of volume 1 of INSTITUTIONALISED and the plans I have for its inclusion within the pages of the subsequent volumes. Out of the blue (and the beer glass) it came to me that there are at least three distinct categories of writing on the subject to be seen on sites such as the haircutting story archive et al.

1. Consensual (not my thing at all)
   


2. Punishment haircutting / shaving
   


3. Procedural haircutting / styling.

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The latter I would include under that heading so beloved by those letter writers once published within the pages of Janus, that of admission procedures. Psychologically of course the point of such admission procedures, as proposed by those more imaginative 1980s correspondents, is to delineate the change in status from free woman to one constrained by institutional rule and regulation - as if to further clarify that retrograde step from woman to 'girl'.

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Few initiations can have so great an impact as the imposition of some standardised, regulation hairstyle - and in that requirement to conform, perhaps in colour as well as in actual styling, one has succeeded in disrupting part of the very framework of her personality. Put her in the uniform of your choice, one suitably diminishing of status, and the effect is completed - a thorough demolition job carried out on both her self-esteem and confidence. Such a definition, that of procedural hair styling, I would say could be most aptly applied to the scenes depicted within the pages of INSTITUTIONALISED volume 1 but nevertheless I imagine a more diverse approach evolving as the series progresses, and to punishment generally. And as I have in volume 1, I intend to reach further afield than the mere physical in terms of curbing those hapless wenches unfortunate enough to have found themselves incarcerated within the unit. I also have ideas to extend this approach into the more domestic scene and as in volume 1 not all the action is going to be restricted to institutionalised environment of the research centre. Various sources have informed this approach, not least of which the aforementioned haircutting story sites, but in going beyond the usual head cropping, buzz-cut and head shaving scenario (or not as far, depending on your viewpoint) once again those wonderful spanking magazines of the 1970s and 1980s have had their part to play.

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The couple of pictures presented here I found particularly stiring to the imagination, although I'm not sure from which publication I have scanned them from (I'm guessing you can see a pattern appearing here in my disorganised life). I'm sure I have others scattered around somewhere, possibly from scans and hidden away in various files, and as I come across them I will post them up. The point here, as far as I'm concerned, is that there is no actual haircutting depicted but nevertheless the atmosphere of domination is palpable, the discipline implied, obvious. Thereis an outside chance that these particular pics originated from within the pages of Justice magazine (a 1970s spanking magazine, anyone remember it?) But the chances are that in actuality the source was one of the Blushes, Whispers, New supplement et al stable.

A Follow Up to the Strict Governess: More Scans from Janus

As promised I've taken a look through my folders of scans and come up with more from that strict governess photo story that was published in Janus all those years ago and that started me off down the whole strict governess story route in my approach to writing.

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I sketched out several storylines based around these images most of which had been long lost in the mists of time but the bare bones have survived to be incorporated within the INSTITUTIONALISED series in one form or another. For example I have plans for one of the characters from volume 1 and a new character introduced in volume 2 to be placed, together, in the hands of a rather special governess for a period of time and at least part of that particular story arc is based around one of the vignettes that I spun around this photo series. (Quite what is so special about her is all tied up in how she goes about handling recalcitrant charges and the somewhat unorthodox techniques she brings into play - beyond that I can say no more without giving too much away except, perhaps, to say that her charges tend to have a somewhat dreamlike air about them).

Another inspirational spanking photo set published in Janus at around the same period was that featuring the delicious Sarah Jane in a wondrous school uniform set piece. I long ago sold that particular edition and stupidly neglected to scan it but I have just come across it on Richard Windsor's most excellent spanking photo' site. (Click on Sarah's name or pic to view the set or select link from the resource list on sidebar). She has just the look to bring out that cruel side of me; I can't think of a better candidate for the kind of psychological study outlined within the pages of volume 1, take a look...what do you think, what would you do with her??? Lets not just stop at a caning - You could find your suggestion used within the pages of the next volume of INSTITUTIONALISED.

Some Feedback from Inspired by a Strict Governess: Janus (mid-1980s)

The writer of an anonymous comment posted in response to the article, Inspired by a Strict Governess: Janus (mid-1980s), has helpfully pointed out that the issue concerned was, in fact, Janus #25. I am always most grateful for such information as some time ago I sold on much of my Janus collection and although I scanned many of my favourite segments and pictures I wasn’t so organised as to have labelled them with sensible file names indicating where each originated.

'Anonymous' goes on to say that “some of my favourite photos from that story have not been included here”. I tend to post those images and writing segments that have most inspired the ideas and plot arcs that form the foundation of my writing but I’m always happy to oblige any requests if I can and while I can’t promise that I have scanned the full story in this case (I am not at my desk at the moment and don’t have access to all my files – normal service resumes tomorrow) I will post any other pictures that I did not include at a later date. If ‘anonymous’ would write in and describe his / her faves from that story it would be most helpful – even if I can’t find them the feedback would be invaluable in identifying the kind of thing that most appeals to my readership, allowing me to more closely tailor the future direction of this blog and perhaps influencing the story development as the INSTITUTIONALISED series develops.

It’s a sort of ‘hands-up-who-wants-to-see…’ kind of a thing ('you can't always get what you want - but if you try sometimes'...).

I'm Back

Hi

I'm back!!!

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I have been on vacation in Spain (for those familiar with the Costa Del Sol; I was staying at a little place called Carib Playa, situated close to Marbesa, between Calahonda and Marbella, being around 12km east of the latter). I have quite literally just walked in the door, having flown into Luton late last night.

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There have been a few excellent and interesting comments posted while I have been away but it looks as if I will be kept busy for most of the rest of this weekend sorting out one or two problems that have cropped up in my absence in my private life; but it will be ‘business-as-usual’ come Monday and I will be replying to all who have left comments individually by email then. I think my favorite is this one, posted by that well-known contributor, anonymous, who writes:

"I'm always thought a cropped head to be one of the best ways to reduce a snooty female to size. Add a nice little girl's outfit, in which nothing can be hidden and we have the beginning of an obedient girl. This is especially suitable for 18 to 25 year olds."

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Great stuff! And nicely targeted too. It is an approach that while eminently suitable in the domestic environment is equally applicable, with a few tweaks to costume and procedural considerations, to the type of institutional environment I envisage our girls spending so much of their time in.

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For a girl while so incarcerated, that look might well come to bitterly symbolise the enforced innocence of her isolation, her near total ignorance of the events of the outside world and her powerlessness to intervene in any way as her life, future and prospects are being mapped out for her. (I make the point of saying near total ignorance here as, although knowledge of general current affairs might well be deemed unnecessary, it might be considered that her isolation does not need to be complete in every way. Indeed there are several advantages to be had in allowing a little news to filter in from beyond the institution's walls from time to time - the cancellation of a university placement through lack of response to the necessary correspondence perhaps or something of her stepmother's machinations in her absence - perhaps imparted by a concerned figure in her life - after all, she has a right to know how her trust fund is being handled.

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When in the outside world there is the galling frustration of being driven past shop windows filled with the latest fashions, of observing the freedom of her peers firsthand. There is the humbling knowledge of her shaming appearance, and the throbbing reminder of the raised cane-lines decorating her behind.

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On another tack; I have to admit that for one reason or another I failed dismally to get any actual writing done visa vie INSTITUTIONALISED volumes 1 and 2 but I have developed several new ideas, plot directions and deviously subtle ways by which to further humiliate and curb our, once vivacious, heroines (of which more later).

Best wishes to everyone

Garth (Now suntanned and healthy – ish)