Thursday, 23 August 2012


Just a snippet of something I have been working on - it is in a bit of a raw form but let me know what you think.  I can't say I'll answer anytime soon though; it all depends on the state of my home phone-line and so the availability / reliability of my internet connection.  And I could find nothing more apt nor better than my favoritest (is that a word?) ever illustration from my old pale Snoozz!  This one based on the old Roger Benson Reformatory series


It was another one of those days – they all were; they were all the same, give or take.  The bell had rung for bed, but she could no longer just thankfully divest herself of the sweaty nylon prison dress and reach for the rough hessian ankle length nightdress she had been issued with some time back.  Oh no.  She had been presented with a clean, new, pressed prison frock for ‘good behaviour’ - for which she was grateful, the other having become rank, crisp in parts from the build-up of grime, stains and filth and stinking.  But along with this new privilege had come a new stipulation.  
Now the rule was, whenever the ‘night bell’ rang she was to fold the prison uniform dress in the pristine, crisp manner it had arrived from the shop, manufacturer or dressmaker or wherever they had got the thing from and pass it back through the door slot for inspection before receiving her prison nightgown.  And woe betide her if it failed – there might be a night of the tape loop to look forward to, or a visit from the prison-weight cane or the kiss of the hazel switch across her bare buttocks, or indeed some combination.
This new imposition implied folding the Bri-nylon prison frock so as to appear as a dress shirt might in a shop display cabinet, as it had appeared when first it had been presented to her in its clear cellophane packaging.  It was a painstaking and tedious process:  Firstly all buttons had to be correctly refastened and any puckering, wrinkles or (God forbid) creases had to be smoothed out so that the frock was perfectly flat both front and back.  Then she had to find the imaginary ‘fold line’ running from the centre of the shoulder and ending at the skirt hem and fold inwards exactly one-third of the width of the garment each side.  
The next step was to make a preliminary fold of several inches of the skirt, just sufficient so that when the skirt was then folded up and back it would precisely match in length the upper half of the partially folded frock.  The rule was that, once folded back, the skirt hem had to end just behind the collar of the bodice while the two buttons at the front of the fabric belt at the waist (both fastened) faced forwards, the belt perfectly flat.  The substantial flare to the skirt made the latter manoeuvre the most difficult and fiddly to achieve, especially as all the relevant seams had to line up.  
Finally the long sleeves had to be folded around to the front, in such a manner as to display the buttoned cuffs to either side of the bodice's central row of buttons, the cuffs being positioned just below the breast pocket with its embroidered monogram of gold and red overlaid with a large '3' in bold black block thread.  The significance of the latter digit was presently beyond her, but she couldn't shake the feeling that there was something particularly sinister inherent in being 'numbered' in such a fashion.  This was especially so in face of the recent addition of the painted digits '1' to '3' to three of the four doors of an identical pattern leading off the cellar, such that her 'cell' door now sported a large black number '3'.
In all the ritual took many long minutes to get right, and throughout the ‘night bell’ would ring incessantly, stopping only when all stipulations were fulfilled.  It was prison (or reformatory, or indeed ‘reform school’ – the woman seemed to use the terms interchangeably these days) regulations.  And it had to be carried out in this counter-intuitive way, despite the fact that it would have made more sense to fold the skirt back first, prior to folding the garment longitudinally - and definitely prior to bringing the cuffs and sleeves to the front.  She was carefully scrutinised throughout to make sure.  She knew this from painful experience, from the one time she had been tempted to take a 'shortcut' – and had paid for it with a blazing behind, her chubby bottom set alight by a dozen or so landed with a length of finger-width rubber tubing of a type she had last seen supplying gas to the Bunsen burners in her late school's science room.
Yes, it was just one of those days alright!  One of those days when the scrutiny was particularly keen, those observing eyes especially vigilant and the supervision pedantically picky.  It must have been that because she'd gone without sleep completely before now, folding and refolding over and over to get it right, both the dress and the zip-fastening opening-back pantaloons she now had to wear beneath it.  Her fingers were experienced now, educated to the methods of easing out every crease, smoothing flat the perspiration-sleeked fabric, crisply folding along the correct seams and obsessively lining up one seam with the next.  The result nowadays did indeed resemble factory conveyor-belt output, albeit minus the cellophane wrapping, cardboard collar and cuff inserts and plastic clips – her product was all held together through the near-inhuman care lavished in the folding.  But even that perspiring attention to detail had come to nothing this time.  
She had no idea which of her captor's was responsible for overseeing her this time – usually nothing would be said unless she was to be caned for 'slovenliness', for which she would be removed from her cell – but whichever of her tormentors it was, she (he, for all she knew) was proving impossible to satisfy.  Twice now her efforts had been rejected, the garment – to her chagrin, apparently untouched - being wordlessly posted back through the door slot.  Each time she had had to re-dress – that was the rule – before again undressing, button by button, laying the dress out on the cell floor and refastening every button before going through the entire folding procedure from scratch.  
It had only been moments since she had posted her third - and final, another rule – attempt out through the shallow slot at the foot of the cell door, although it had seemed like an eternity to the girl shivering with trepidation.  Her blood froze in her veins at the first glimpse of bottle-green nylon sheen coming back through the letterbox style slot.  Not a word was spoken – it was unnecessary.  She knew to re-dress as quickly as possible in full prison uniform, to stand with hands down by her sides facing the door.  That would be that as far as this night (or day or whatever it was outside) was concerned – there would be no bed this night.  But there would be other consequences – perhaps the cane, perhaps... No!  No! No!...  The cane was infinitely preferable.  The cane did at least get her out of her cell.   But this... THIS... THIS...  
She knew what to do for this too, knew what was required of her.  As her 'aunt' said; she knew the words of that television theme well enough by now not to actually need them.  Aunty Governess Flora would supply the song, and she, Alison, could supply the words herself.  That was another of the new stipulations.  From somewhere a music-only tape had been acquired, a plink-plonk xylophone rendition of the theme to what had at one time been a fond childhood memory but had now become a phobia.  Worse, she was obliged to sing along, over and over.  There would be someone out there listening-in, checking, perhaps sporadically, perhaps continuously – there was no way of knowing.  There was also a second tape recorder, set to record, that could be checked – that much she had been told.  If she sang along, if she didn't falter, then eventually it would cease, she would be given some rest... if she faltered or refused, well then it would go on and on and on, a mental hell without end..
The first notes jingle-jangled out... the first words lisped from her lips, as childishly girlish as she had been taught, her hands clasped in front of her, fingers brushing her prison frock as she rung her hands in helpless anguish... “Andy Pandy's coming to play, la,la,la, laa,la la... Andy Pandy's here today, la, la, la, la..”  Tears running down pretty plump cheeks, a giggle or two spluttered out between the words... then the laughter began, then the sobbing... that was how it progressed, that was how it always went.  Still softly singing she sunk to her knees.  Absentmindedly her hand slipped under the buttoned skirt of her prison frock, her other beginning to kneed and massage a needy nipple thorough the slippery nylon fabric of the button-fronted bodice.  Rocking slowly back and forth to the mind-eradicating melody she began to masturbate, despite the fact she knew that satisfaction wouldn’t come, despite the fact that in so doing she was only reinforcing the mental block that was steadily building between herself and that blessed sweet relief.   It was just one of those days! 


charles said...

very very good as usual
looking forward to the finished article

Toyntanen said...

Hi Charles - thanks for that!

Hi too, 'Non-Victorian Chick'. You posted a comment (I got a copy in my email) but for some reason it failed to appear here: So here it is:

"Hi Garth. Sorry to be so long commenting on this, but things have been kind of hectic. For one thing, the old computer died. I have buried it with full honors, and gotten a new one.

OK, this looks interesting. Obviously a girl trapped in a soul crushing, mind destroying environment where she's under total and highly intrusive control.

And the desperate, hopeless, compulsive masturbation, combined with total control of her sexuality, and probably total and unending orgasm denial. We like that. (Or at least I lke it.)

Cool picture, by the way.

The Non Victorian Chick"

Thanks for that, honey - always encouraging. Sounds like you gave your trusty old machine a good send off! I am having trouble here too - but in my case it is with the phone company / internet, which is why you are not hearing from me much. Just turned on the computer and found the broadband up and running for once, but it wont be for long because it has been raining which usually knackers the line (a new English verb for you - 'to knacker')and so I'm making the most of it, might even get a post up if it keeps going long enough.

Yes the new piece has all that you suggest and more. But it's different too. It's set in the early to mid 1960s in a house once used as a sort of private reformatory back in the Victorian - Edwardian period (Google Richard Manton or R.T Mason and Whips Incorporated - a story that once appeared in the magazine, Janus) the influence, that establishment seems still to wield and its hidden legacy.

I'm not sure I have the skill to carry it off - but I'm trying!

Anonymous said...

A proper send off? Oh, yeah. I had a viking funeral. I put the bitch in a boat, set it on fire, and shoved it out into the middle of the lake.

I did a little reading on Richard manton. An interesting guy, although a little before my time. I'll be looking forward tot he next book. Of course I really really want to see what Dr Ecclestone is up to, but I'm sure the new book will good.

The Non Victorian Chick

The Non Victorian Chick

Anonymous said...

Miss Davis then came in front of them again. “Well I hope that will help curtail any further naughty behaviour from you three, take them to their classrooms. Leave their clothing pinned and the class teachers can decide how they should be dealt with.” They were led down the corridor stopping at classrooms. Those not entering were made to stand outside facing the wall whilst first Morris, then Pritchard and finally Elise were delivered to their designated classroom for the day. Lessons were assigned by the teachers and the pupils never knew the things they were to do each day. “Douglas for you, Miss Davis says you may deal with her dress status as you see fit”, the teacher delivering Elise spoke to Mrs. Robinson as Elise stood at the front of the class. The room had six plain wooden desks and six matching hard wooden stools in two rows of three. The other pupils had stood to attention immediately they had entered as was required and remained there. At the front of the room was the teacher’s larger desk and a comfortable chair. Behind this the blackboard and to the side hung from the wall, as in every classroom, a slipper, tawse, cane and strap. “She must of course remain standing”. “Thank-you Mrs. Collins”, Mrs. Robinson responded in that case I think you can take the desk free in the middle of the front row and keep your clothing as now for a while Douglas.” Elise waddled to her position. Mrs. Collins left. “Everyone sit except you of course Douglas; you must stand at all times – you may put your hands down and fold them neatly in front of you. All of the other pupils sat identically. Their backs straight, looking forward, knees and feet together, feet flat on the floor and their hands folded neatly right over left on the top of the desk. Any deviance was punished. “Today’s lesson is Bible study”, began Mrs. Robinson. We will start with some dictation. Mrs. Collins handed out paper and pencils. She began reading and the girls started writing furiously to keep up. The work would be checked for accuracy and presentation and again failures were punished at least in the class and for serious or persistent offences also by a trip to Miss. Davis. “Leviticus, chapter 1 And the Lord called unto Moses, and spake unto him out of the tabernacle of the congregation, saying. Speak unto the children of Israel, and say unto them, If any man of you bring an offering unto the Lord, ye shall bring your offering of the cattle, even of the herd, and of the flock. ….” Mrs. Robinson continued. Elise hated Bible class and the misery of hours of writing out the spoken or written word were amongst the most laborious of the academic training enforced. She stood bent over her desk, her paper pushed forward on the desk so that she could see, over the top of her tunic skirt pinned back on it’s own bib, what she was writing. Mrs. Robinson talked on and on, being replaced for a couple of hours by another teacher. Her voice however continued just as relentlessly, “And the Lord spake unto Moses, saying, if a soul commit a trespass, and sin through ignorance, in the holy things of the Lord; then he shall bring for his trespass unto the Lord a ram without blemish out of the flocks, with thy estimation by shekels of silver, after the shekel of the sanctuary, for a trespass offering: And he shall make amends for the harm that he hath done in the holy thing, and shall add the fifth part thereto, and give it unto the priest: and the priest shall make an atonement for him with the ram of the trespass offering, and it shall be forgiven him. And if a soul sin, and commit any of these things which are forbidden to be done by the commandments of the Lord; though he wish it not, yet is he guilty, and shall bear his iniquity.” The pupils sat in silence struggling to keep up, their arm aching from the endless handwriting and the need to try and digest the content for they all knew a test might follow in which failure would be equally undesirable as failing to record the dictated text accurately and neatly.

Anonymous said...

After six hours Miss. Robinson completed Chapter 11 and halted, “Ye shall not make yourselves abominable with any creeping thing that creepeth, neither shall ye make yourselves unclean with them, that ye should be defiled thereby. For I am the Lord your God: ye shall therefore sanctify yourselves, and ye shall be holy; for I am holy: neither shall ye defile yourselves with any manner of creeping thing that creepeth upon the earth. For I am the Lord that bringeth you up out of the land of Egypt, to be your God: ye shall therefore be holy, for I am holy. This is the law of the beasts, and of the fowl, and of every living creature that moveth in the waters, and of every creature that creepeth upon the earth: To make a difference between the unclean and the clean, and between the beast that may be eaten and the beast that may not be eaten. Finish. Place you papers neatly in a pile on your desk ready for collection and put your hands on your head girls”. Elise piled her 13 double sided sheets of A4 lined paper into a pile and stretched her arms to take the ordered position. Her right arm ached and was almost numb only the pain of the tawse from the previous evening came through. “Write your name at the top of the first page”, Mrs. Robinson moved from behind her desk as she spoke. Elise neatly wrote, “Schoolgirl Douglas” on her script and placed her hands back on her head. Mrs. Robinson moved forward and then suddenly she heard a slap to her left side but she stayed stationary knowing that to look would risk punishment. “Stop slouching Foster you idle girl”, Mrs. Robinson shouted. She then brushed passed Elise dragging Foster behind her, the girl’s right ear firmly in her grasp. The slap had been the sound of the teacher’s hand clipping Foster across the back of the head, painful in itself as Elise knew from having had the experience herself. Her ear released Foster was told to stand facing the rest of the class with her hands on her head. She was wearing the minimal school uniform of yellow Gingham dress, brown sweatshirt bearing the school badge, brown ankle socks and brown strapped sandals. “I won’t have people slouching – no doubt such slovenly behavior is what led to your being here child. You will stand for the remainder of this lesson and if there is any reoccurrence you will go to Miss. Davis – is that clear Foster?” Mrs. Robinson completed her chastisement. “Yes Maam, I’m sorry Maam”, Foster replied no doubt relieved at the mercy shown but this was short lived. “Now go and fetch the cane and bring it here”, Miss Robinson commanded. The smile went from Foster’s face and she walked to the wall removed the rattan cane from it’s hook and returned with it to the teacher presenting it laid across her two outstretched hands. Right unbutton your dress from the waist, turnaround and bend over child. Foster obeyed immediately and she touched her toes leaving her behind pointing towards the other pupils. Mrs. Robinson flipped back her dress and swiftly stripped Foster’s brown thick gusseted and elastic banded knickers to her ankles. “You know the rules any infringement will be punished I want to hear, “Number stroke, thank-you Maam I deserve to be caned for my lazy and slovenly behaviour please continue my caning until you are satisfied I have learnt my lesson.” Is that clear Foster”, Mrs. Robinson demanded. “Yes Maam”, came the reply. The strokes commenced. “One stroke, thank-you Maam I deserve to be caned for my lazy and slovenly behaviour please continue my caning until you are satisfied I have learnt my lesson”. The thanks were clearly spoken even though for Foster during her four months to date in the school this had been a thankfully rare occurrence. Having warmed her behind Mrs. Robinson turned to the girls legs and continued. “Number eight, Thank-you Maam I deserve to be caned for my lazy and slovenly behaviour please continue my caning until you are satisfied I have learnt my lesson”, the responses continued as needed.

Anonymous said...

At that moment the classroom door opened and Miss. Davis walked in. “I am sorry to interrupt but I wanted to check that Douglas’s behaviour had improved from yesterday following the first few elements of her penance”, she asked politely as she moved towards the scene of the beating. Elise looked at her. She was dressed in a well cut light grey suit. The skirt was just above knee length and the jacket finished with a round collar, as was her usual style. She wore silk tights and a pair of immaculately polished mid heeled black shoes. Her make-up was perfect accentuating the structure of her face. She was clearly of Indian extraction and her hair was likewise beautifully cut and styled. Her presence was enough to make pupils weep and Elise had to stop herself from looking. She was everything they all aspired to be – successful, confident, respected, highly attractive and powerful. Elise thought of her position which was the exact opposite – a failure (that was why she was here), any confidence gone from her failure and now her treatment which removed all sense of responsibility, she couldn’t think of anyone who respected her in her current predicament, her hair was cut like a convict, she wore the outfit of a schoolgirl and currently stood half-naked with her tanned behind on display and she was powerless (she couldn’t move, go to the toilet, eat without permission and was to spend the next eight weeks restrained at night). It all just made her feel worse. “I’ve let her remain on display for the others since assembly but she has been no problem – we’ll have to see how good her work has been from her standing position of course?” Miss Robinson responded as both of the teachers looked Elise up and down as they spoke. Throughout it all Foster had been left doubled – her caning interrupted. “And who have we here needing correction”, asked Miss. Davis her attention turning to Foster. “Foster – slouching after dictation. She is in mid caning please watch the completion”, Mrs. Robinson requested. Miss. Davis stood aside beckoning with her hand for Mrs. Robinson to complete the caning while she watched. More strokes followed – for a class caning it was pretty severe 6-8 was typical, this was twelve strokes by completion. “Number twelve, thank-you Maam I deserve to be caned for my lazy and slovenly behaviour please continue my caning until you are satisfied I have learnt my lesson”, Foster finished. “Right stand up girl and put your hands on your head”, Mrs. Robinson continuing the endless directions which ensured the pupils were removed of the independence even of movement. As she did so Miss. Davis was checking something on her Blackberry. “Thank-you Mrs. Robinson it is as ever reassuring to see strict enforcement of the rules. Will I be seeing Foster later?” Miss Davis asked. “It was not my intention to send her to you. Is there any reason you ask?” Miss Robinson asked demonstrating the respect she had for Miss Davis’s thoughts. “Well given that Foster had the clear lesson from Douglas’s punishment haircut and strapping this morning that those who have behaved appropriately cannot expect lenience when they offend I would have expected someone like this girl who also has never had to be sent to me before to be making an extra effort to behave. Slouching and slovenly behavior demonstrate exactly the opposite careless and uncaring attitude. I think some more stringent measures might ensure that this is her last such deviation as well as serving as a further example to others.” Elise could see the look of horror spreading across Foster’s face. “That is a good point – Foster return to your desk, leave your knickers round your ankles and you will be sent to Miss. Davis this evening for determination of your further punishment” As Foster moved as she had been ordered Miss Robinson turned to Miss Davis, “Thanks-you that was a very useful intervention I shall look forward to the outcome of our discussion later.”

Anonymous said...

With this Miss Davis left. Her role as Head of Discipline enforced again – the pupils driven to recognise their own failings and hopeless position as the opposite of her presence and Foster now facing an unenjoyable first visit to her office where she would dispense further discipline in her usual professional and effective manner. “Right girls test time on the Bible reading in assembly and this morning’s dictated passage. Thirty questions – one minute to answer each one.” Mrs. Robinson placed a new single A4 sheet on each desk and the test commenced. “Question 1 – which book, chapter and verses was this morning’s reading in assembly taken from?” The questions rolled on. “The questions required short answers but were not easy despite the efforts everyone made to remember the facts from both the reading and dictation. “Question 30 – What animal will the priest sacrifice according to the final chapter we read? Put your pencils down on your answer sheet and hands back on your head. The papers were collected and the final one and half hours were spent reading aloud from The Bible – Romans. In random turns Mrs. Robinson specified a pupil to read and they had to stand and speak clearly whilst everyone else followed placing their fingers on the words in their Bible as they were read. Elise and Foster both stood for the entire process. Elise’s legs ached – six hours standing was enough even without the strapping she had received. The pain had reduced from the immediate aftermath but she was still suffering and could only imagine what it would be like when she moved. The lesson ended. “Right Foster pull your knickers up. I will see you later at the Head of Discipline’s office. Douglas come here”, Mrs. Robinson issued her directions. Elise came forward. “ Right pull up your knickers one pair at a time”. Elise bent over, the pain in her legs relighting, carefully as possible pulling up her first pair of knickers. The material dragged over the welts on her legs and bottom making her grimace with pain. She checked to make the seams were aligned. She repeated the procedure pulling the second pair from around her ankles, due to their smaller size, the pressure on her beaten flesh increased making tears start to well in her eyes with the pain. Mrs. Robinson removed first the pin holding up her tunic which Elise then had to button the skirt again going through having to bend over double to reach for the lower back buttons of her skirt. Finally the pin holding up her waistcoat and cardigan was removed and she carefully rebuttoned them so as not to risk another failed inspection. This complete they were marched to the dining hall for their second and final meal of the day – as naughty girls, as they were so frequently reminded, they were always sent to bed without supper. The process from breakfast was repeated in Elise’s case because of her additional punishments, even the food was identical a bowl of lumpy grey gruel. The other girls each collected a plate of mashed potato, boiled cabbage and stewed liver and two slices of bread. This didn’t look much more appetizing but over the coming weeks as the under feeding to which Elise had been sentenced took hold, she would grow ever more envious of this better fayre.
When all of the pupils were present they were directed to place their bowl, spoon and cup on the wooden bench as earlier. A teacher ordered from the front of the room, “Grace begin”. The pupils stood to attention began in unison, “Lord thank you for granting me the privilege of this food which I know my behavior has not merited. I am truly thankful for your mercy and promise to behave in a better way this afternoon”. The command to sit was issued and they all sat yet again on the low wooden stools. “When you have finished eating and drinking put your hands on your head and sit quietly. You may begin”.

Anonymous said...

Elise picked up her spoon and began, for the second time of the day, to eat a bowl of unappetizing gruel. She drank water between mouthfuls from her allocation. At least it helped to remove the lingering taste of carbolic soap from her morning’s mouth washing as well as assisting the swallowing of the gruel. When she had finished she placed her hands on her head looking directly forward. After a few minutes Elise and four other girls were ordered to stand and marched to the front of the hall. They all received a full soap mouth washing lasting 2-3 minutes whilst everyone else watched. The soapy taste which Elise had just managed to remove with her meal was reestablished in her mouth and nose. The teacher ensured that she was left with her mouth still full of soap. When completed they were all dismissed and filed out to the next phase of the day – menial labour. It was 2:00 pm and for all of the pupils a range of activities to occupy them for the next six hours. All being menial labour, of some type, under close supervision.
For the previous couple of weeks Elise had been allocated to laundry duties – handwashing linen and towels brought to the school from outside. She had had to handwash these in hot water with bleach and soap (leaving her hands cracked and sore), wring them through a heavy duty mangle and after drying iron them. The work was relentless but at least in doors although the work was sweaty and hot in the moist laundry atmosphere. However she now knew that she would be allocated to harder labour – no doubt both in terms of physical effort and humiliation – the only question was what? That would soon be answered.
As they filed back onto the inspection yard the answer came. “Douglas – outdoor floor scrubbing”. Elise joined the queue knowing a hard and uncomfortable afternoon lay ahead. They were marched to the scrubbing area and entered through the door in the mesh fence which surrounded the rough concreted patch. As she entered Elise was told to get on her knees and her dress lifted and pinned to her cardigan so that her bare knees made contact with the ridged concrete surface. She and her fellow workers were then made to move on their knees to one of the eight lanes separated by shallow gutters which made up the work area. “Right girls in the next six hours you will scrub your lane so that all of the yellow dye is removed along the entire length of your lane. You will remain on your knees at all times. You will not speak unless spoken to and you will maintain your uniform ready for inspection. Any failures or slacking in your work will earn you a reminder with this,” their supervisor shouted out. Elise stared at the short thick leather strap she was holding up. Elise had spent a couple of days in the first two weeks after her arrival on this yard. Six hours spent scrubbing hard at the rough concrete left your hand and knees skinned and your whole body aching. Today under the hot sun with her hands, behind and legs aching from her beatings, her body wrapped in her punishment uniform and her mouth and nose full of carbolic soap finishing the exercise was going to be hell. However failure would result only in more punishment so she knew she had to do what was necessary. “Right fill your buckets and begin”, commanded the supervisor. Elise picked up her metal bucket and filled it with the cold water from the trough behind her at the end of her lane placing it next to her. Then she picked up the wooden bristled scrubbing brush and soap block and having soaped her brush and dipped it into the water began her penance. The yellow dye was sprayed onto the surface everyday and allowed to dry such that only repeated and rigorous scrubbing removed it – it was a perfect penance – arduous, pointless, repetitive and demeaning. As the girls worked supervisors walked from lane to lane each with a leather strap hanging from their waists.

Anonymous said...

The sun was hot and Elise was soon sweating profusely. Her knickers felt like sandpaper as they scraped backwards and forwards across her behind and thighs as she moved her body to scrub the surface. The lane had to be cleaned in front of you and the five foot width meant moving constantly on her knees across the ridged concrete surface. From her left there was a sudden thwack as the supervisor applied the strap to the pupil in the next lane. “Come on Jackson put some effort in”, she exclaimed before applying a further two strokes to the girl’s clothed behind. There was no way of knowing the exact time and Elise scrubbed methodically. As time passed the pain of having to crawl the extending distance on her knees back to the water trough grew. She thought she must be over halfway but wasn’t sure of whether she was on schedule – only the fact that she hadn’t felt the strap reassured her. More time passed and then she felt her already folded up dress being lifted, she knew what was coming and quickly straightened herself. “Work harder girl, I would have thought you would have learnt your place already today girl but you are obviously stupid as well as lazy and ignorant”, a supervisor scolded her before applying the strap. Even through her two layers of knickers the pain was shocking as the strap bit into her already beaten and irritated skin. Four further short strokes followed causing Elise to gasp for breath. Tears again rolled down her cheeks. “Get on with it you lazy little girl”. Elise continued to scrub scraping her knuckles as she became tired with the effort and pain. The liberal application of the strap increased as the pupils struggled to complete their labour. At last Elise made it to the end of her lane. “Right girl back to the start, remain on your knees facing up the lane with your hands on your head.” As she struggled back the 60 m on her knees Elise could see two girls still scrubbing at their lanes. One had her gingham dress raised over her behind and her brown knickers stripped to above her knees and has Elise passed a supervisor applied the strap to her bare bottom mercilessly. Elise knelt hands on head for about five minutes before the order to stop came. By this time only the one pupil had not returned to the start of her lane. She was brought back and told to stop in her lane facing the rest of them. “I hope that you have also learned a further lesson from your penance today and that you have received the necessary and deserved punishment. This girl here thought she could avoid punishment by being lazy. As you will see she was wrong. Jackson turn and get on all fours. The girl did as ordered so that her bare behind now faced towards Elise and the other pupils. The lead supervisor then applied twelve hard strokes of the cane to the offender.”Let that be a lesson and you will be sent for formal allocation of punishment this evening. Is that clear child?” “Yes Maam, thank-you Maam”, she replied in the demeaning manner required as she gave thanks for the privilege of yet further humiliation and punishment. As they left Elsie tried not to think of the many days which she was probably now going to be consigned here 1 down and 55 to go did not make an appealing prospect.
They were marched from the scrubbing yard to the inspection yard. After 10 minutes of drill and inspection they were then marched, as always under supervision, to their dormitories.

Anonymous said...

The eight of them stood at the ends of their beds as directed. Next to her stood Melanie Hill – whenever Elise saw her she felt nothing but sympathy. She must be in her mid thirties and was serving her second detention in the school. Whether she had had a choice or realized the consequences for someone serving a second period in the institution Elise didn’t know but when she had arrived about six weeks ago she had been “made an example of” for all to see. Brought in front of the whole school the Headmaster had spelt out the minimum enhanced conditions for second offenders. Full woollen school uniform, punishment haircut to be applied regularly, public display every week, gruel, bread and water only, weekly caning to the bare behind before the whole school and weekly strapping to the hand on the dormitory, one toilet visit per day and most menial labour at all times. In addition for any offence punishment to be minimum double normal level and in all cases a minimum of one month to be added to the sentence. Already her four month sentence had grown to seven months.
“Right girls – toilet, wash, strip, discipline and bed. Form two queues as you are directed. Taylor left, Kaul right, Fisher right, Bradley right, Montford left, Peters left ,Hill right, Douglas left”, they were instructed. “Right first pair your two minutes maximum starts now”. With this Taylor and Kaul opened the stall doors and sat on the latrines under the observation of the teachers . As on every evening the procdure continued each pair of girls moving from latrines to sink and being replaced by the next pair until only MelanieHill and Elise remained stood in front of the stalls. Elise clutched her muscles together knowing that she would not be permitted the simple privilege of going to the toilet. “Douglas and Hill both used their privilege this morning. Hill go and was your hands and face; Douglas back to the end of the bed as you have no hygiene privileges as part of you punishment.”
Next they all obediently followed the commands to strip until, with the exception of Marianne Peters and Elise, they all stood at attention naked except for their knickers with their uniform’s neatly folded on the floor. Elise and Marianne stood still in their full punishment uniforms as per their assigned additional punishments.
“Right girls – firstly mouth washing. We have the same two naughty little girls who require their mouths to be washed every night so that they learn to speak when spoken to and in meekly when doing so as their status requires. Peters first you”. The demeaning and distasteful punishment was applied. Elise watched her resignation and hopelessness that this would be her fate next growing. “Douglas here”, ordered Mrs. Saqib. Elise moved to the centre of the dormitory as instructed. “Hands on head little girl”. Elise obeyed and then watched as Mrs. Saqib rubbed the brush thoroughly into the wet bar of carbolic soap before beginning the punishment. “Open your mouth girl” and for the third time of that day Elise suffered the discomfort and indignity of mouthwashing. No part of her mouth was left untouched as Mrs. Saqib thoroughly applied the penance. Finally the rigorous brushing came to an end. “Close your mouth and swallow girl. Hopefully no disrespect will emanate from such a thoroughly clean area”, Mrs. Saqib completed. Elise swallowed as instructed sending the taste which was now never far from her mouth into her throat and stomach.
“Corporal punishment – tonight we have a single offender requiring disciplining which is Hill”, said Miss Campbell stepping forward. “Come here so that everyone can see your beating child”. Melanie Hill stepped into the centre of the dormitory as Elise, as instructed, returned to the end of her bed with her hand still on her head. “Three strokes of the tawse to the palm and back of each hand. Get your left hand up Hill.” The twelve strokes were then applied. Elise flinched with each stroke as it reminded her of the pain in her hands from her tawsing the night before.

Orage said...

We all know here who you are, "Anonymous" ;))
So why don't you just write your pseudo?

Toyntanen said...

Hi Orage and everyone!

Well, I for one have quite enjoyed reading through this contribution of Anonymous's this morning. I do recognize the style from somewhere but can't put a name to it - so why be shy Mr (Miss, Mrs or Ms) Anonymous?

Actually, I'm particularly grateful for any received contributions right now, while I am experiencing so many problems with my home broadband system. The latter has pretty much curtailed my being able to contribute much myself to the blog, beyond these comments and text-only postings, and has already contributed to a series of mis-communications and misunderstandings via my emails as I struggle to get to grips with my new smart phone.

Although a little derivative in parts, there are points here I have touched on in the second part of my last publications, to the extent that it is almost as if the writer has been able to read my mind, although his (her?) style is very different from my own. That second part of which I speak has been postponed at the moment while I complete a piece base on a burst of inspiration that came to me around mid-summer.

In this present contribution the section that most excited me was where the writer mentions the girl's sentence having already been extended from 4 to 7 months by way of an extra month being added for each infraction, in addition to a good hard caning. It was that concept I always liked about Richard Manton's Elaine Cox reformatory novel, wherein the reformatory governor conspires, once he has the eponymous girl in his power for some minor infraction, to add insult to injury by ensuring through particularly bad reports etc that her original short sentences ends up amounting to some five years!!!

charles said...


who is mr/ms anonymous? I don't know.
although i have read his/her work all over the net

Orage said...

In that case, you would identify him on another site as I do. Sorry but it's not for me to disclose his other bogus identity!
Should you be that much interested, give me your mail here and I'll give you a hint.

Orage said...

Well, it's not a secret! He's imreadonly2, his stories are to be found on

charles said...


Do you think so?

For instance I can see the knitting/wool fetish in anonymouus's stories. But they are not apparent in imreadonly2's

imreadonly2 likes the threat of punishment and the sense of humiliation. Anonymous likes real punishment

Perhaps I'm wrong

Madmonkey said...

I don't know why someone would write something without leaving even an internet pseudonym to distinguish themselves from the other anonymous readers.

WIP FAN said...

I love this story and Pic.Being a big women in prison fan I'll definitely be coming back to this blog often and you sound like a great bunch of people who share my tastes

As well as folding their prison issue frocks exactly right, the inmates should also have to tie their prison plimsolls tightly /absolutely symmetrically, make sure their socks are pulled up eacty right and leave trheir cells in the correct order shown in a a diagram on the wall (beds done prefectly, uniform hung up and there's a correct place for everything!

Toyntanen said...

One thing I am fairly sure of, though, is that it is probably not, imreadonly2. He often has some sort of problem posting and gets me to do it for him. I'd forgotten that!

WIP Fan said...

I like the idea of increased sentences for infractions or long sentences to begin with..).

Punishment unforms are always good fun too! How about a prison frock with "PD" for punishment/discipline emblazoned on it in big red letters and extra menial work assignments!