Thursday, 5 June 2014

A Day (An Hour) in the Sun: Discipline in PVC

 “Right, that’s long enough out in the sun for one day – it’s time to go back to your room.  One hour, weather permitting, once a… well how often is not your concern.  Just remember; being allowed out in the garden is privilege – being allowed out of your wheelchair to sit on the grass, even more so.  And privileges are easily taken away – so let’s have you up on your feet, back in your chair and safely strapped in, no argument, no fuss and…   

Get that hand away!  Right now!  Right this minute.  You KNOW you’re not to touch yourself!  I turn my back, just for an instant, speak to your stepmother for a second or two, and the next thing I know you’ve pulled open your top and are trying to play with yourself – DISGUSTING behaviour!”

Turning to the other woman present with an unmistakable expression of revulsion on her face – the smartly dressed blonde thirty-something in her sharp tailored skirt and jacket business woman ensemble – she spoke with urgency, a practiced note of shock in her voice:

“Look!  Mrs…. She’s playing with herself, your stepdaughter is trying to masturbate, right in front of you – and you wondered why I have been talking about having to be still MORE stringent with her care!  If you need to ask about her mental state, I don’t think you need look much further for your answer.  Too much fresh air, if you ask me – I think it is high time we thought about curtailing these garden visits altogether – they get her too excited…  Oh, look – now she’s burst into tears, she’s crying…  She does that a lot nowadays.” 

Squatting down at the quietly weeping girl’s side, placing a supportive arm around her shoulders, her broad haunches filling out the close confines of her dress, pulling at the seams of the skirt:  “Well it’s no good you doing all that weeping now, missy-moos – it’s not as if you get to see the trees, grass and flowers all that often, and…  What’s that?  Did I say you could speak?  You know how strict our no-talking rule is!  Are you’re nodding – yes? Good!  And you’ve broken that rule, one of our ‘golden rules’ – haven’t you?  Good girl, you’re nodding again.  So you know what that means when we get you back to your room – yes, that’s right; the cane!  Good and hard!”

Regaining her full height, smoothing down her snowy apron the uniformed woman fiddles with the clasp securing her tippet, at her neck, the short grey ribbon-trimmed royal-blue cape she has on over the similarly-hued long-sleeved dress, the latter part and parcel of what unequivocally identifies her as a member of the nursing profession.  The abbreviated little cape is overly-warm in the mid-summer sun, despite being open at the front and terminating only a little way below her bustline.  The stiffened white cuffs at the wrists do little to improve matters, three-button deep like something off a Victorian costume and the full-length open bottomed girdle that provides the otherwise over-plump buxom woman with her almost waspish outline, supports her dark seamed stockings and raises her bust to a startling extent, is doing nothing to improve her temper.  But here is a woman to whom – as out of date as it may seem - ‘standards’ are everything.  Perhaps even younger in years than her companion, her charge’s stepmother, the combination of the out-of-date-looking uniform with the raven bun pinned up so severely as to seem to stretch the skin of her forehead like a badly-judged facelift and full breasted, broad-hipped figure conspire to make her look perhaps ten years older.  The cap on her head, a traditional if nowadays old-fashioned form of headdress, dazzlingly white in the sun draws the eye from a face that despite the functional bare-utility of everything else about her has benefited from a modicum of subtly and expertly applied makeup, outlining large coal-dark eyes that hide a hypnotic intensity, bringing out high refined cheekbones only slightly submerged by the excess weight she carries, her surprisingly sensual – given everything else - full lips painted with deep ruby lipstick helping to play down the hinted-at double chin, the latter minimised by her habit of holding her head erect, a habit undoubtedly encouraged and enforced by the dress she wears with its stiff high collar. 

There is something of a triumphal expression on her face as she turns her head to the other woman, the flickering dawning of a barely-suppressed smile twitching at the corners of her mouth – it is something she is not entirely sure she particularly wants the other woman to be aware of; not really ‘the done thing’, not ‘professional’.  And she is VERY keen to be perceived as professional – she had once been so much more than this.  But that panel…  What did THEY know?  And that run-in with social services… and all that legal business… and being struck off – THAT had been the worst; having to change her name, her whole identity – start over.  And her name was recorded on some god-damn register now – a damning indictment indeed.  But among those that didn’t know there were those that didn’t care.  And sometimes, just occasionally – seemingly impossibly rare, one might be forgiven for thinking – there were certain roles for which such an indictment, such a stain, could actually stand as a qualification.  And she was VERY good at what she did – the best:

“You see that, Mrs….. She’s nodding.  She knows what to expect, so why does she keep doing it, insisting on talking without permission?  I – we – have  tried so, so hard to persuade her to desist – and through a firm but fair hand I thought we were getting somewhere; until today.  But we have to have that rule in place for her, otherwise she disturbs everyone else, forever insisting that there is nothing wrong with her, trying to catch the ear of all and sundry – basically trouble making… Oh well…”

She sighs. She shrugs resignedly, absentmindedly toying with the bright silver filigree ball clasp fastening the blue elasticated belt over the top of her apron, an ornate thing shaped like the spreading wings of a butterfly, then checks the fob watch pinned to her breast, before turning her attention back to the girl:

  “Oh well.” She repeats with an irritated puff, almost sighing again.  There is a sense of excitement growing within her somewhere now, within her belly like the ‘butterflies’ many a child has reported feeling when on a playground swing, a warmth she can feel in her cheeks.  She has already planned what she is going to say next - and it is that anticipation that is rising within her now like sap, from the tingling ache flowering around her groin area, spreading outwards from the pit of her stomach, up, up, up, rising like a fountainhead to her heavy breasts hot in the elevated satiny confounds of her corselette’s bra cups, seemingly swelling them like water rushing in to a pair of already over-tight balloons: watching the girl snivel she can feel her nipples stiffening, a moistening where she would rather not admit to:

“Place your hands on your head like you’re meant to when you have got something to ask - you might as well now.  That’s it, that’s better… come on out with it then, quickly… and try not to stutter, for heaven’s sake, child.  We haven’t got time for all that spluttering and stammering.  Oh for god’s sake, try again.  All that b-b-bu-bu-bu…  If you can’t say a word try a different one, a simpler one…  What’s that?  You’re getting very difficult to understand nowadays.  Don’t YOU think she is getting difficult to understand Mrs….?  Lord only knows what she is going on about…  Come along, child, out with it – some excuse I suppose, for your filthy behaviour in front of you stepmother and myself…  You weren’t touching yourself?  All that polythene is sweaty and making you itch?  Where is it making you itch?  Use the proper word.  Ha,ha,ha – sorry Mrs….  But did you hear that?  She says the plastic is making her fanny itch, making it go all red…  Stupid girl; it’s probably red because you’ve been playing with yourself…  Oh, now you say it’s because you were shaved this morning, where the razor burned?  Well, you HAVE to be shaved, for hygienic reasons – and if it itches, it itches; but that is still no excuse for touching yourself. 

You don’t touch that thing – that filthy thing between your legs - you don’t touch your bottom and you don’t touch your breasts; not EVER.  But you cannot be trusted – that is why you have to undergo supervised toileting, be given sponge baths rather than be allowed to wash yourself, not even be allowed to wipe your own bottom lest your fingers be tempted to wander, sleep with your hands in mittens; all to break this vicious cycle of you continuingly masturbating.  Do you think I LIKE having to stand there in front of you watching you strain and wince with your big fat bottom all hanging over the edge of the bedpan, having to pull on a plastic apron and rubber gloves to wipe you clean afterward with you slumped over my lap like a  big pink beached whale? 

What?  You STILL claim you weren’t touching yourself?  But both your stepmother and I both watched you masturbating right in front of our eyes.  So are you saying we’re both liars?  You’d better not be!  Good, sensible girl – you’re shaking your head.  So you WERE masturbating, then – it’s best to admit it; I’m sure you’ve learnt THAT much by now.  Good, good, you’re nodding.  See that Mrs….?  She’s nodding.  Then say it out loud – and watch that stammering – say you were masturbating, AND in front of people, right out in the open…  There.  See?  That wasn’t very hard, was it?  But it makes you think, doesn’t it?  I mean just think about it for a moment.  You keep insisting that there is nothing wrong with you, that you don’t need to be in care, that you could live on your own, fend for yourself that you’re not mentally defective – but there you were just now masturbating away furiously like some… I don’t know what – in front of everybody.  Isn’t that the sort of thing only the mentally ill would do?  

 Don’t start all that again, saying that you were sweaty and itchy and just moving the plastic about to get some sort of relief – you’ve just admitted to us that you were playing with yourself.  Well I can do nothing about you having to be kept shaved, so if it is the polythene making you sweaty ‘down there’ then I can only assume that the sun will be making it worse – another reason to curtail these trips outside I think.  Oh now look at you – you’ve started that rocking back and forth again.  Ahh you look startled, you’ve just noticed yourself doing it.  Rocking – you need to stop yourself doing that; even you must know that is a sign of mental instability…  So there you are rocking backwards and forwards, stammering and stuttering, masturbating in front of people.  And you expect people to believe you to be mentally competent?   

She’s been doing that rocking thing a long time now too, Mrs……  Yes I thought that would convince you of the need to keep her under our care longer.  And the need for more stringent measures?  So no more trips outside for her, a tightening up on her discipline – and a more structured, more institutional way of life.  I know you have many business trips coming up anyway, but I’d like to suggest leaving her in our care to a greater extent, by which I mean far fewer visits, or better still we can arrange for you to see her progress on a regular basis without being seen or making actual contact.  The less contact she feels she has with the outside world, the easier she will find it to let herself be assimilated in to institutional life – and then this question of her mental competence needn’t ever arise.  But if you have any papers that need signing today, I think you’ll find that once we have got her back inside - and she has faced the disciplining she has earned herself for today’s unseemly kafuffle – she’ll be more than amenable to your wishes; I think you’ll find she’ll sign anything you put in front of her… Unless of course she wants to claim to be mentally incompetent to deal with her own affairs, in which case we have paperwork already drawn up that will deal with that eventuality… 

Look she’s shaking her head – I didn’t think she’d want to go down that route.                       


Anonymous said...

Wow, two posts in as many days. It looks like you are returning to form as well as health.

I like where this is going, with all the corselettes and plastic in a sort of miniature version of Institutionalized.


Toyntanen said...

Hi Vlad!

Actually, I had to post your comment myself. It came through on my email as a posted comment but hadn't appeared here for some reason, I don't know why. It just happens sometimes.

The knee still has a long way to go, so I can't be quite as active as I'd like but I don't want to get in to any long-term writing projects either, as I am working with Roger Benson on an art project of his and trying to put more energy in to promoting what I have done thus far.

So this morning for instance I have spent about an hour and a half trying to create a page on the spanking art wiki for Garth Toyntanen - to no avail; what a waste of time! (Anyone know how to do it?)

These sort of vignette things I have been creating of late really started out as captions on pictures I have re-bloged to my Tumblr blog from other folk's blogs. Every now and then I take a look and if something takes my fancy it sometimes inspires an idea - and sometimes it leads on a little longer than a caption! At other times I might add a little something by way of a photoshop-style manip to help things on the way.

I'm glad you like it, though. And that you tell me about it. That's what it is all about! Feedback!

Anonymous said...

Welcome back, absolutly agree there sould be zero tolerance of female masturbation! Hope to hear more about its treatment.

Toyntanen said...

The question is: What would YOU do about it? Does - or should - the way the matter is viewed, its seriousness, depend on the scenario / situation - whether domestic or institutional or something not so clear cut, a kidnapping or hostage taking perhaps (since that has featured here recently)?

If an institutional scenario, does the nature of the institution have any bearing on what might be aceptable in terms of behaviour and the measures taken to curtail or control it? Might the response of a church-run industrial school or 'home for the spirital improvement and moral protection of wayward young women' be different to the official line taken by a small privately owned and run secure psychiatric unit or the medical centre of a secluded, discrete reformatory? Does the nature of the institution affect the range and deapth of the options open to them? And if so, in which way - whether physical or psychological or some combination of both?

Thinking along those lines - how does the deliniation between the domestic and institutional situation affect the definition of what constitutes a physical
or psychological intervention? Can there be a situation that might blur the boundries between the domestic and the institutional and how might that affect the attitude taken and any intervention that might be put in place?

In either situation, what bearing might the gender of the disciplinarian have on either the way the habit is viewed or the way it is dealt with?

And finaly: Should the habit always be curtailed entirely, or might there be advantages in regulating and controling it? Could it indeed be turned in to a punishment or a disciplinary tool in some manner? To that end: can you think of a situation in which the habit might be tolerated or even encouraged? If so, how might control be exercised, in what form, or should it be allowed 'ad libitum' (hope that is right - no spell check available on this device)

Vlad said...

I think controlling masturbation is direction with exploring. At a minimum you could have a regime in which masturbation is forbidden except during mandatory supervised sessions, or even add on the requirement that it be done by staff member or another patient. Alternatively just make it frustrating, use one of those grommets or cages from Institutionalized and allow or even encourage masturbation, secure in the knowledge that the subject will remain frustrated.

Toyntanen said...

The most obvious question that comes to mind, Vlad, is this: If relief comes in the form of an intervention provided by a member of staff or another patient, is it truely what we are talking about when we use the term 'masturbation', i.e the 'solitory vice'? Of course the outcome might be the very opposite of 'relief' - but that is a different matter.

The the Victorians found the question of the control of masturbation a vexed one, leading to many imaginative and novel inovations. One of these was the clitoris cage you speak of, a small thimble-shaped silver or plaitnum wire basket-weave structure that was sutured in place over the offending 'pleasure bud' to keep temptation at bay from overly curious, probing fingers. How successful this was is open to debate as, although it would make climax dificult (though not entirely impossible in some individuals) it would not remove the urges and motivations ('motivation 'used here in its psycological / behavoural context) brought about by raging youthful hormones nor would the device block arousal or the pleasurable sensations that come hand-in-hand with arousal - which is what unwittingly made the clitoris cage such a devilish little thing. And one must remember that the tiny bud we commonly refer to as the clitoris is actualy only a minor portion of that ring of sensitive, nerve-rich tissue which goes to make up that organ - quite literaly the tip of the iceburg! But those Victorians were concerned for the most part in curtailing the habit through fear of what they perceived as 'weak mindedness' and 'mental aboration', not bringing it under control in such a manner as to use it to rule over an individual.

Masturbation, by its nature, is a very private thing and - especialy in the female - still a largely taboo subject that few would want to discuss openly. Supervised masturbation - other than in barely-plausable fiction - would therefore be difficult to bring about in such a way as the subject would become sufficiently aroused to aproach climax and would be deeply and damagingly humiliating for the individual concerned. But under certain circumstances wouldn't that latter factor in itself make such a stipulation desirable.

The question becomes, how to bring about the above situation in a shy, bookish - yet exceedingly well developed and pretty young thing from a sheltered background? How does one - perhaps seruptiously, subliminaly almost - encourage the habit to come about or develop into the kind of addicitive status whereupon its denial might lead to her surrendering her self esteem and self restpect to the point of masturbating or attempting to masturbate in front of witnesess? In psychological terms, how does one increase the behavoural motivation to the point whereupon the subject's discrimination as regards the desired stimulation is reduced to such an extent that all normal tabboos or feelings of revulsion are defeated? Something to chew over.

Meanwhile. What of the other questions I posed? And anybody out there can join in. All invited - the more ideas / critisisms / points of view the better!