Yet More Proofreading, a Cough and a Spanking (blog)

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Induced Image Dysmorphism and Other Wonders

Sorry for sparsity of updates of late but 'yours truly' is buried deep in final proofreading at present. But I am still in connect by email with various folk who have contributed their ideas and what have you in the past and one of these kind people recently sent me a link to a story that I found so intriguing that I damn near lost a whole days proofreading due to the fact that I just couldn't 'put it down' so to speak. And of course I then went on to work my way through a lot of the other tales presented on the same site. Not all turned out to be my thing but I have to urge you to read the tale that got the ball rolling “Rest and Relaxation” (click to go to the story page and then look for the story title. the author is definitely ‘evil’ and is herself the inspiration for the dominant character: Dr Evelyn Benedict. There story touches on many of my favorites: Leg-braces (the use of which you will encounter in the upcoming INSTITUTIONALISED volume 2), humiliation, mind control, corsets, catheters, sensory deprivation, dependence, immobilization. The use of a drug similar to botox and in a way that has been discussed on this site in the past is featured at one point and I have to say that the writing is excellent, give or take the odd typo - even though I generally don't go for first person accounts, I loved this one. The site is called Evil Dolly.com and you can find a link to the main page in the sidebar 'useful resources' list over on the right some place. If you like psychological manipulation I can also recommend you read 'Workout Girl' on the same site, wherein a girl is deliberately addicted to exercising to a pathological extent and encouraged to develop what amounts to a body dysmorphism condition - whereby no matter how slim and toned she becomes she is convinced that she still looks fat and becomes more and more obsessed with exercise regimes and diet to the exclusion of all else (very, debilitating)... see y'all soon with a proper post.

Drip, Drip, Drip - Just an Idea

I'd been working hard, of course, on proofreading volume 2 and it is coming on in leaps and bounds now, although I must admit that I spent the majority of yesterday in a pub in Enfield working on an idea I came up with some time ago for INSTITUTIONALISED volume 2 . I just thought it would be fun to share it with you and see what feedback I get. Basically it is a scene in which a girl has been repeatedly refusing to fully take part in her one-to-one sessions with the psychotherapist. While she insists on this policy of non-compliance she is being kept in an isolated room in between sessions. As, for reasons I won't go into here, she is in plaster casts, she is generally confined to bed and is on a drip-feed. She is thoroughly restrained while in her hospital bed, the worry being that she might twist her back and neck (which may or may not have been injured in an accident previously) a broad webbing strap runs across her forehead to restrain her head and protect her neck while she sleeps (there is also a neck brace involved). The strap has a three centimetre diameter circular hole in its centre - nothing that sinister so far you may think.
The tube from her drip feed hangs across the head of her bed and of course naturally sags in the centre at the point where a coupling connects together two lengths of tubing to extend the run over to the cannula in her wrist on the opposite side. It is in the centre of that deeply sagging section, just above her forehead where the drip first begins to form, the liquid dribbling along the tubing from one of the joints, the golden, viscous heavy oily fluid gathering and growing and stretching until…until…it falls, icy stabbing cold and splashing down dead centre on her pretty little forehead, straight through that conveniently placed opening in the head restraint strap…over and over again.
Of course talking without permission is not allowed and complaining of the fault, having been finally driven to distraction, to one of the nurses that share shifts and sit silently reading by her bed side, only gets her bent across the bed for a few strokes of the cane…then the drip feed is refilled and it all starts again…deprived of sleep she is taken once every 24 hrs to the therapists office and if not yet convinced to co operate? well, then its straight back to bed…drip, drip, drip…

Another Blog to Check - While I Get on With Volume 2 / 3

Hi peeps: If you always enjoyed the stories they used to have in those old classic Janus magazines of the past (as I did) and gloried in the artwork of Lynn Paula Russell (Paula Meadows, as was then) you could do far worse than visit Uncle Peter's Spanking Stories ( click, or see the sidebar blog list). By the way, the marvelous little Paula Russell drawing on the left I just couldn't resist - even though it didn't actually come from that particular site. it evokes a question that was broached in volume 1, is visited from an institutional perspective in volume 2 and will be dealt with in more detail in volume 3 - wherein a strict governess, steeped in Victorian mores to the point at which to her and her charges the modern world might as well not exist, brings to bear her own unique approach to the subject. That question is of course: within a strict disciplinary framework, should masturbation ever be allowed - and if not how should it be controlled or curtailed? Indeed, under certain circumstances, is there a case one could make for masturbation to be not only allowed but actively encouraged, perhaps seven enforced under strict supervision? Of course there are chastity belts and other such physically restrictive measures that could be applied (and were, historically). But with in a hospital / institution environment or even under the guidance of a suitably qualified and skilled governess, as I envisage, there is much scope to think about approaches to aversive tactics or the subtle use of association (perhaps through the provision of suitable books, magazines and images - the perusal of which might be enforced or left up to the young lady herself - or indeed, through psychologically therapeutic means such as guided imagery) to mould and sculpt her ideas and predilections. Well, what do you think? Any ideas out there?

.....

See y'all later when I've got a bit more done - Wicked Uncle Garth.

A New and Intriguing Story to Check Out

A very short posting today, no pics I'm afraid - not enough time to source 'em. I'm hard at work - chained to my desk (not literally - I'm the master here. That's why my significant other has her nice new white satin pinny to wear)....and no drinkies!. I just wanted to take this opportunity (I've awarded myself a tea break) to point you in the direction of an interesting straitjacket / asylum story presently unfolding and developing on http://greggerbits.tripod.com/stories.html (click to read chapter 1 ) the basic premise being that a young college woman who fails a psychiatric exam [is then] committed to a mental hospital for further testing. I love this idea and the avenues it opens up - especially if in truth there is little wrong with the subject to start with! I have always enjoyed mulling over the possibilities for exploitation of vulnerable young things inherent in the asylum / mental health system - particularly as pertains to those often less-than-entirely-ethical days of old when wives, awkward stepdaughters and heiresses could find they had stepped out of society based on little more than the word of a disgruntled stepmother or guardian or even a slighted suitor (And a greasing of a palm or two by silver). Anyway, why not explore the entire site while you are there - a lot of interesting links (very straitjacket / asylum orientated) and a lot of material regarding straitjackets in various media (films, TV etc). Incidentally, yours truly has been kindly thanked by the writer (thanks, for the mention) for having helped but in all honesty I can claim only to have read through, made one or two comments and offered-up a couple of ideas for the story's future development and direction.

While we are on the subject - inspired by the story mentioned above, I did a little searching around and came up with a couple of other little gems: A nice selection of free straitjacket photographs on http://www.straitjacketed.com/freepics.html (click site name - highlighted in blue - to view or see sidebar resource list) and a continuing story that I am sure you (and the writer I have just mentioned above) will just love. Entitled; The Job j and posted on the same site's free section, just click on the title to read the first chapter, then just follow the links to the subsequent sections...enjoy!

As for me? Its back to proofreading / editing INSTITUTIONALISED volume 2 / 3 (At this point, I'm still uncertain whether to split it into two volumes or not).

A New Art Link (Bondage) by Coco & a Little Bit of Stranger than Fiction Inspiration

Hi folks; Its a so called 'Bank Holiday' here in the UK which basically means a few folk get Monday off of work (those lucky enough to still have jobs that is - unlike yours truly). It used to mean practically every one got the day off but nowadays a lot of folk still have to work - just as they now do on Sundays and every other day of the week (and year, before long, I'd wager!). Mind you; if that means the pubs are kept open, then I'm all for it! (but pubs are going down like flies too - crushed beneath the heel of the credit crunch). I was hoping to go to an antiques fair at Alexandra Palace today, but got dragged instead to help run a stool at a car-boot sale in Hertfordshire - a sort of casually arranged bric-a-brac sale usually held in a field wherein folk sell their old junk brought in their car's boot (automobile trunk - for all you State-side people). Now I'm back to the final stages of proofreading, while still considering whether to split volume 2 into two books - and if so - how much extra work, and thus time, that would entail. If I can do so, sensibly, inside one week, then I may still do so - as long as the split ends the first and begins the second part in a sensible way; and a way that makes the story enjoyable to follow on without confusion.

Meanwhile; I have just been sent a new link (for which, much gratitude) to the excelent bondage art of Coco (click on artwork above or on the title highlighted in blue to link - or check out the sidebar resource list over on the right). And on the subject of 'truth stranger than fiction' (and something that should come as a source of inspiration for 'Judith's Aunt' - a contributor from a while ago now and from whom we have heard little of late...hint, hint... as regards the disciplining of her niece) no sooner did I add a little descriptive work to a section of volume 2 dealing with a form of shame-dress discipline (you will see what I mean if and when you read it) then I came across the following text...And I thought I was being so imaginative!

"We sometimes wore itchy woollen combinations, which were really uncomfortable, with sleeves down to the wrist, and our Liberty bodices were fastened with buttons to our knickers, so that meant unfastening them every time we went to the lavatory! On top of the petticoats we wore cotton frocks in summer, or kilts in winter, and sometimes these long shapeless jersey dresses. I had a navy coloured reefer coat and we had to wear laced ankle boots because my mother believed they helped to strengthen the ankle. But my older sister made such a fuss about them, we stopped wearing them in the end. I had a straw hat for summer and a velour winter hat." "Many young teenage girls were still [kept in] corsets [then]: "[That] was before roll-ons and corselets became popular, and [teenage girls had corsets that hooked up at the side. We wore two pairs of knickers, with navy blue bloomers on the outside and a white cotton 'liner' on the inside and at school we wore a black alpaca tabard pinafore over our uniform dress. We had house shoes for indoors, and lace-up shoes outdoors and on Sunday we wore patent leather house shoes. {A tabard seems an interesting idea - lots of possibilities there! But I'm not sure about alpaca, though - Garth}

"At home we wore these ghastly knitted dresses, they were absolute horrors with a belt threaded through round the hips, just where we were fattest, at a time when we were at our least shapely anyway. These dresses were knitted for us by somebody, and they had absolutely no shape whatsoever, and we hated them." Quoted and adapted from http://www.aohg.org.uk/twww/clothes1.html).

Dietary Discipline & Harassment Therapy: A Reader's Account (Part 4) - Of Nappies, Leg Braces and Psychological Bondage

I have to admit to having spent far too long overthe last couple of days investigating the selection of real ales on sale in various London branches of that marvellous pub chain, Wetherspoon's (they have had a 'beer festival 'running since the beginning of April with 50 different ales on sale of which I've been attempting to sample as many as possible). That I am back at the desk finishing off a little work on volume 2 and fiddling around with the text of volume 3 – I've also managed to enlist the much welcomed aid of an e-mail correspondent chum in proofreading volume 2 so all is rushing ahead nicely now. As you can imagine am a little to push the time to write anything much myself today so I thought I would just post the concluding part of the account of sent in by a correspondent regarding her time in a mental hospital. As you probably remember from last time; this takes the form of a series of questions posed by e-maile, by yours truly, along with the anonymous correspondent's responses and so has something of the tone of an interview. With the exception of the use of nappies (diapers) the parallels with the happenings portrayed in INSTITUTIONALISED volume 1 and the treatment meted out to our hapless young volunteers under the guise of an experimental psychology study is remarkable. Along with the accounts that one comes across out there on the Web of life in those wonderful church run institutions, Ireland's industrial schools, with their strict cane or strap wielding nuns, and equally strict dowdy uniforms (is just so much mileage there for the writing of fiction, with a little imagination) and those highly dubious and of the unethical psychology studies carried out in past times; it all goes to show that truth really is stranger than fiction. Click here for part 3 ... here for part 2... and here for part 1... And here to read the original letter that started the ball rolling. Now, as they say, read on:

“In the average small hospital ward (and I imagine the ward you were confined to would have been quite compact) there are usually only one or two (if that) toilet cubicles. A weird subject I know but one with many disciplinary connotations, particularly under the circumstances you describe, as once in a cubicle the patient could be out of sight for example and might choose to regurgitate an unpleasant meal. And bearing in mind the regimentation of the dietary procedures you describe one can't help wondering whether such toilet visits were regimented in any way (I make mention in volumes 1 and two of my book of bedpan use, both for convenience and for ' medical ' reasons - to allow for easy monitoring of waste output, shall we say (humiliating for the patient, I know, but perhaps necessary).”

Toilet Re-training

“The hospital must have been built in the late 1800's and while it did have running water and electricity (would these mod-cons have had to be added after it was built I wonder) nobody had thought to include toilets - unless the staff had access to toilets somewhere within their private domains. But I certainly never saw a toilet. We used pots that were kept under our beds and we were expected to use them when we got up and when we went to bed. The dormitories were kept locked during the day, but we would be taken, in small groups, to use our pots once during the day, usually after the (nominally) midday meal. I know for a fact that great attention was paid to our output - there were charts of volume, weight, colour and consistency and any irregularity would be treated with laxatives, enemas, dietary changes and punishment.
It only took an increase in liquid intake and the withholding of potty privileges once or twice and a girl was bound to be found standing in a puddle of her own making in the dayroom or she would wake up with a wet bed.
Such events, whether deliberately induced, entirely accidental, or just written up on paper, were the usual precursor to the loss of potty privileges (called toilet privileges) altogether. That meant having to wear nappies - at least during the day and maybe at night too. If you were one of the retarded girls they might be regular nappies, but those of us who were deemed to 'know better', or be aware of our 'actions', were often made to wear punishment nappies... (the pictures, I think, evoke quite nicely the sort of thing that would be considered suitable garb for such a patient once ensconced in the experimental psychology department, deep within the secure wing of the institution I depict - Garth).

Girdled and Back in Nappies

The basic punishment nappy was comprised of large thick nappy pads made from old sheets quilted together - and might have canvas or hessian liners that were incredibly abrasive and itchy. They would [on ocasion] be fastened on already soaking wet. After all, the nurses were [often] heard to say, “why bother drying them when a little shit like you is just going to pee in them”. And then to stop them sagging we had to wear a panty-girdle like garment - but made from stronger elastic than any panty girdle I have ever seen and with laces up the back. Big thick brown rubber bloomers finished off the arrangement - unless you had to wear another lighter 'panty girdle' over the rubber pants. Believe me, you could do little more than waddle by the time they were done with you. And it wasn't long before the urine, and whatever else that overflowed from the nappy. would pool in the bloomer legs. There were times that I was put into punishment nappies - and only ever escaped when the rash became so bad that I had to be allowed out - though there was no guarantee that you wouldn't go right back in them as soon as the rash improved.
It was on one of the occasions when I was consigned to punishment nappies that I was taken down to the brace shop to have a crotch plate made. The design is a little hard to explain. Firstly my body brace was modified and the waist was reduced even further - making me look more like a wasp than a girl. Then a narrow and most uncomfortable strap was attached to the back of my body brace and passed between my legs and tightly buckled to the front of my body brace. Then a wide rigid plate was made, rubber covered steel I think, and that was similarly attached, by multiple straps, to the back and front of my body brace. By the time all the straps were pulled as tight as the nurses could manage (the narrow understrap could still be tightened after the crotch plate was attached because the crotch plate did not cover the buckle) I was barely able to walk, for the crotch place was about 5 inches wide at its narrowest, and unless I moved very gingerly it would leave me with wheals where it rubbed against my thighs - even through the rubber bloomers, 'panty-girdle', and layers of nappy. Believe me - the panty girdles were very unpleasant, the way they held the sodden nappies in constant contact with your crotch, but the crotch plate was many times worse. Not that I escaped that - I still had to wear a panty girdle, both under and over the rubber bloomers. If you were unlucky enough to be moved to the 'dirty dormitory' then your nappies were usually only changed at bedtime each day. Your dirty nappy and liner were removed and replaced with a 'clean', but still urine soaked, nappy and liner. The dirty nappy was [sometimes] not placed in the nappy bucket until the next morning.
We deviants had our own dormitory, and normally we would never be moved to another - they didn't want any chance of our corrupting the other girls - but the 'dirty dormitory' was an exception - we could be transferred there, and often were.
But punishment nappies were not usually the first disciplinary measure, of that type, a new girl would encounter. They would usually work up to it. My own first experience was when I came back from the bathroom, shivering from a long cold bath. On this occasion I was not wearing a jacket - though often we would wear our jackets in the bath - and as I stood next to 'my' bed the nurse pulled down the cover, and the rubber sheet below it, to reveal the bed made up with urine soaked, sheets and pillowcases - obviously sopping wet, not just damp. It was a very unpleasant experience indeed, though it became even more unpleasant when I was instructed to remove my nightgown and take the gown from beneath the pillow and put it on. Besides being wet and very cold, it too, was saturated in urine. Getting into it was no easy task because the material would keep sticking to itself and the nurse had to help me, much to her annoyance. When told to get into the bed I soon found that the indentation I made rapidly filled with cold urine. It was only an introduction, but that night, and the following nights pent in that bed were very unpleasant”.

Life Behind the Barred Window

“Under the circumstances you describe and giving your average rebellious teenager (and particularly taking into account the time scale you seem to imply) the temptation must have been to simply walk out. I imagine, therefore, all this would have taken place in a secure, locked ward. In which case I would be fascinated to learn of the security precautions?"

"Yes, I was always kept in a locked ward and would have had to pass through a large number of locked doors to get out. The windows in the dayroom were beyond the line that demarked where we could go so I could not see very much out of them, but on a couple of occasions I was able to sneak a look. On at least one of those occasions I could see patients being taken for a walk outside - but I was never afforded that privilege. We were high up - the 3rd floor I'd guess and the windows were barred, so there was not much chance of getting out that way.
The only times I ever left my ward, where I ate, slept, performed my ablutions, and recreated, was to visit my therapist, the therapy room, or the brace shop - and on all such occasions I was securely fastened into a wheelchair that had a top similar to a pram that could be pulled up, and in my case, pulled down, so that I could see nothing of my surroundings as I was moved between locations.
But I could usually still hear what was going on and it was clear that the nurses from my ward were not able to open many of the doors themselves - they were dependent upon getting assistance from others who would only do so if they recognized 'my' nurse. In fact when there was a new nurse on my ward she would have to leave the ward with one of the old-time nurses in order to be introduced to and later recognized by these 'gatekeeper' nurses.
So stealing keys would not have taken me very far. Besides, escape attempts were punished. One girl was already in a full bodycast for attempting to leave the ward when I arrived and she spent another 2 or 3 months in it before she was released. After that she wore heavy leg callipers (click to view pic on Eric Kroll's site) and only moved around with great difficulty. I don't know if the callipers were necessary because she had lost muscle strength or whether they were just an additional punishment or precaution against any future escape attempt. If it was punishment, she wouldn't have been the only girl punished in that way - there were several girls wearing leg braces and other orthopaedic devices that were made for them in the brace shop as punishment for some infraction or other.
I suppose I could have tried asking if I could go out for a walk, but I knew the answer would be no. And the nurses on the ward did not encourage questions (my oft gagged state bore silent witness to that) and we soon learnt that asking questions would lead to punishment. Equally my therapist did not welcome questions, and even in my sessions I was usually gagged. She would say that she had no interest in my opinions, or my lies, only in the measurable results of my treatment. She said that nodding yes or no when she asked a question was quite sufficient. Of course as you might imagine, not being able to ask questions, or even try to clarify what she meant by a statement or question, and not be able to give a more complex answer than yes or no was incredibly frustrating, and I would often leave those sessions screaming to myself from frustration and the feeling that I had been manipulated into nodding yes or no to something I didn't really agree to. For instance I might have to answer yes or no to a general question and then she would assume that I had said yes or no to a much more specific question - one that I would have answered differently had the more specific question been asked.

Kneeling at the Wall Bars

The only book we deviants were allowed to read was the bible and I had little interest in it or religion. The closest I came to 'education' was writing assignments where I had to copy out tracts from the bible - often the same tract every day for a month. I wasn't very keen on the extended prayers we had to say before bed - which was just one reason I sometimes found myself strapped to the climbing bars the next day. I have no idea why the dayroom would have climbing bars in it - maybe in the original hospital design (I'm sure it was designed as a mental hospital) it was a gymnasium - or perhaps the architect thought climbing bars in the dayroom would be a good idea - but whatever the reason they were there - but no longer used for their original purpose. Now they were a useful place to 'plant' troublesome patients. I often found myself being 'planted' there for the day. I would have to kneel facing them while I was securely strapped to them - with nothing to look at besides the wall behind them, and then my lower legs would be folded up behind me and strapped there so that I was left kneeling on my knees all day.
For the girls on regular diets, being restrained somewhere for the day meant that you would miss a meal or two - meals that were sorely missed judging by their reactions. But for anybody on a 'special' diet, their meals would be saved for them and they would have to eat any missed meals the next day. After a two-day fast, or longer, the 'extra' food might take a couple of days to consume.

"The possibility of the nurses manipulating the results of the tests is a particularly interest aspect; along with denial being virtually taken as symptom and backed up by results guaranteed to prove the point and assuming that the length of stay is dependent on a cure (of a condition not present in the first place) it must have been quite difficult to get out once admitted in one can't wonder whether one or two inmates (for want of a better term) may simply been admitted as a matter of convenience (or even amusement perhaps) to some one or other."

"Well, for me it proved impossible until the program was ended - and even then it was difficult. As for people being admitted as a matter of convenience, you might almost consider me one. Of course there is almost always an excuse - or at least a veneer of an excuse - but when you scratch it you often find there is nothing really there. There is no doubt that people were committed for the most trivial reasons - you only have to read the newspapers from the years when the hospitals were being closed to find long lists of people that had been committed for 'being at risk' (aka too pretty) or difficult (didn't get on with new stepmother). The lists went on and on. And it's probably only because the hospitals have closed down that people are no longer being committed for trivial reasons and as a matter of convenience. Of course there are other avenues available nowadays. There are plenty of 'schools' and 'programs' available for 'troubled' teens in far-flung corners of the world, where the authorities cannot intervene. And some of them sound little better than my program. Well, ok, they do sound a bit better than that. "