Enemas, Beers, Writing, Scans and History

I have noticed quite a few new faces appearing here and to those folk who have just discovered me I would like say welcome and also point out that there is over a year's worth of postings in my archive which can be easily viewed using the archive pull-down menu device over in the sidebar on the right - it's probably the best way of getting a flavour of what this little site is all about.

Yesterday I did a little scribbling in a pub in Tottenham known as 'The Elbow Room' while waiting for an old chum to turn up. Then it was off to 'The Rochester Castle' a Wetherspoons pub in Stokenewington (all these exotic locations are in North London of course) to actually meet my mate. He had been somewhat delayed which turned out to be advantageous and you will doubtless be pleased to know that not only did I manage to re-write from memory the section of the new volume that I lost - and that I spoke about last time - but I also had time enough to extend and expand upon it.

Today I have done a little experimental writing, developing a new theme entirely (see below). I have also at long last dug out an old suitcase I have been meaning to get from the attic for some time now.; filled to the brim with old spanking mags and books it is and I have just started getting around to scanning some of that old stuff for your delectation and delight. A couple of said scans are here. They are reduced in size and resolution to suit web page publication and to make uploading quicker, but if anyone wants the full size versions I will email them with pleasure. In the fullness of time I will upload all the full size versions to my various PicasaWeb albums in any case.

Aunty's Enema Discipline

(A rough first draft taken from the upcoming new volume soon to join the INSTITUTIONALISED stable - probably)

The cold nozzle of the rubber tubing inching up inside her bottom, the teenage girl felt the muscles around her gently-rounded belly tightening.
This was a procedure that had once been preceded by a few swishing strokes of the cane thrumming through the air, the harsh crackling snap of a searing flame-tongued tawse or the ruthless crack of a supple leather belt - the latter would generally be doubled over and would brand the girls naked buttocks with its outline, the broad swollen stripes being punctuated longitudinally by a raised blister-like pattern where its holes fell.
Now she unconsciously raised her swelling peach-like bottom , as if offering it up willingly to the ingress of the wide-bore rubbery enema nozzle that was once more raping her backside; as it had the evening before… and the morning before that… and as it would continue to do, twice per day, for the foreseeable future.
She had been fiercely proud, this one; learning to curb and bridle herself had come slowly and painfully to her, but it had come nonetheless. An acceptable level of obedience had been achieved - now it would have to be perfected, honed and refined. This constant and repeated submission to the soapy urging of the enema was very much part of that refinement.
The girl had been quick tempered and prone to brusque outbursts; but the tight leash of discipline she now had the girl under was doing wonders in beating down and subduing that former volatility. She had taken her time with the girl; the luxuries and indulgences she had been used to had not been removed all at once but rather gradually and insidiously replaced by the privations she knew the girl detested. At each step it seemed as if deep down inside some part of the girl’s personality and character was being peeled away and discarded along with her increasingly limited freedom.
With a rising sense of satisfaction the uniformed woman had watched the girl struggling to squeeze her somewhat overly mature curves into the tight bottom-hugging white plastic enema knickers she always insisted the girl wear for these treatments. She had smiled to herself knowingly as the girl flinched, oh so prettily. Partly that faint grimace came about through the final snap of the elasticated waistband, once the girl had succeeded in kneading and moulding the excess flesh of her ample bottom into the intimately detailed glossy PVC covering. Partly the girl’s discomfort came from the leg elastic biting into the yielding flesh around those milky thighs of hers, but more importantly as far as Julia Soames was concerned, a major part came from the sense of humiliation that the garment seemed actually designed to engender.
The sanatorium-style examination table would have seemed hopelessly incongruous in a domestic setting had it not been for the Spartan furnishing and institutional-looking décor of this roped-off segment of Aunt Julia's home. This was a self-contained home-within-a-home; the plush carpeting of the rest of the house came to an end at the foot of the stair on the floor below, becoming hospital-style white cushioned linoleum once past a sturdy door habitually kept securely locked whereupon it climbed a short flight before spreading out across a skylight-lit landing and flowing into four small but sufficiently functional rooms, each nestling behind its own equally securely-locked door. The accommodation comprised a toilet, little more than a cubicle sufficient to house the pedestal and a bidet, a shower room that also contained what appeared to be a massage table but one that strangely had been furnished with a system of broad Velcro-fastening padded-nylon straps, and the girl's bedroom. This latter was a strangely frothy and flouncy concoction of girlish femininity seemingly completely at odds with the institutional flavour of the rest of this part of the house, other than for the bed which was a standard hospital bed - but one which hid under its soft pink flounce counterpane the padded leather cuffs and strong webbing straps of a humane restrained system as might have been found in any asylum. Then, of course, there was the room in which the attractively curvaceous girl now waited bottom-up on the white leather-topped examination couch.
The glossed plastic of the seemingly sprayed-on knickers trapped light in little puddles that served to emphasise the shadowed cleft whereat the back-seam dipped sharply down and inward, practically disappearing from view, and where the cleverly contrived construction while moulding the buttocks into an eye-pleasing heart shape simultaneously drew the swelling cheeks widely and quite lewdly apart. The eye was quite naturally drawn over the perfect mirror-sheen surface of white plastic coated globes, bringing the suggestion to mind of two over-inflated balloons sat side by side, and down on, along the tightly-lined plastic valley to where the slippery fabric again pressed outwards, puckering and pulling into a glossed and detailed outline of intimate lips already moistening in the unrelenting humidity of their covering. Somehow this thin yet tough PVC sheaving managed to reveal even more intimate detail than if the girl had actually been naked - something she was only too keenly aware of and that brought colour to her cheeks even before a procedure that humiliatingly took control from her of one of her most basic bodily functions.
At the centre of the back-seam of these purpose designed knickers the plastic thickened and turned inwards for a couple of centimetres, thus forming a semi-rigid sleeve that connected with the outside world by way of an elastic-circled sphincter of plastic fabric mirroring the puckered pink flesh beneath into which the sleeve was designed to worm its way. This feature was customarily aided in its purpose by having been liberally coated with a medical lubricant beforehand and once in place it was simplicity itself to introduce the big black ribbed rubber enema nozzle into the girl's backside, from between who’s swelling plastic coated buttocks the length of red rubber tubing now protruded so obscenely. Copyright Gath P Toyntanen 2009

A Writing Update, Asylum Nurse Slippering, a New Blog and a Right Old Cock-up

I wonder how many of you have ever produced a piece of work and then realised some days later that somehow you had closed down the document and forgotten to save it. Well, that is presumably exactly what has happened to me recently. I wrote a nice piece of dialogue for the new volume on Friday, I can remember practically every part word for word, well almost, (which is a lucky thing, considering - as it looks as if I shall have to rewrite it from scratch). Yesterday, while out and about with my portable machine, I settled down in a friendly coffee bar intending to continue where I had left off; only finding myself unable to find any trace whatsoever of what I'd previously written. I checked deleted files, files that I had e-mailed to myself as backup, files on both the memory sticks that I carry with me and even the main story file itself, in case I had already inserted the text - all to no avail. For while it almost seemed as if I was going out of my head - a possibility if it was not for the fact that I can remember so distinctly what I wrote. As is the last few days of the Grand Wetherspoon's beer Festival I promise myself a couple of days of partaking of a few ales and meeting up with one or two old chums but now it looks as if I shall have to park myself up in one of their fine establishments with my computer and rewrite the piece while it is still fresh in my memory and while I still have the enthusiasm to write the continuation piece that I had planned to work on yesterday.

The whole thing revolves around one of our young heroines arriving with her escort at a therapist’s office in the West End of London, having been persuaded, some time previously, of the necessity of seeking professional support and having had to date attended many such appointments. More specifically, the part that I had planned to work on yesterday - and that I hope to get my teeth into today - simply deals with the doctor's receptionist taking the girl’s outerwear from her at a coat stand in the waiting room and with the girls reluctance to be helped off with her outdoor things, despite the fiery summer's day outside and the waiting room being somewhat over-warm as a consequence. It doesn't sound much but it requires quite a lot of detailed descriptive work - and work that I relish to tell the truth, dealing as it does with the rationale behind an obviously sweltering and pink faced late teen girl and a heavy gabardine garment worn on one of the hottest days, driest, days of the year. But before I can allow myself that little imaginary excursion I have to deal with the more mundane workaday dialogue that leads up to that point - the stuff that I wrote on Friday and shall have to write again. So I'm off to the Southgate Wetherspoon's (because it's a lovely sunny, blue-sky sort of a day here in London and that pub catches the sun in the afternoons) to have a few pints and get a little writing done - that way it is not work!

The above artwork, someone sent me anonymously recently. It has nothing to do with the piece I have just been outlining to you but I love it because it nicely illustrates a situation I've had in mind whereby (albeit in a watered-down form) one of our heroines, now nicely ensconced in a secure institution, is visited by the woman responsible for having manipulated the situation and having the girl placed there in first place. One can imagine the bitter chagrin felt by the girl in having that woman witness her punishment first-hand.

Finally, thanks to a comment posted on my last article, I've become aware of a nice little blog for you to check out. A very personal affair, this one - but one also chockablock with nice vintage spanking and ‘spankable bottoms’ pictures. Called Doonstartwo (I'm not sure if there is a Doonstar one) you can click here or the blog title to visit it or see the blog list in the right-hand sidebar.

Of London Parrots and Nurse-Spanked Schoolgirls

As you know I Don't usually make an entry on a weekend - especially if away from home, as I am this weekend. Not that I am very far from home geographically, just a couple of miles or so north and staying in an area called 'Bounds Green' - an area largely filled with late-Edwardian housing and a million miles away culturally from the crime-ridden grimness of Woodgreen and Turnpike Lane, perhaps a brisk 20 - 25 minutes walk away. Anyway, the 'other half' does a bit of teaching (fashion marketing and journalism and that sort of thing) and is bogged down marking student assignments which will take a couple of hours or so. There is not long enough to do much - though I should just have time enough to integrate some of the stuff I have written in the past week into the main body of the new book and perhaps do a little initial proof-reading / rewriting of some of the early sections if I do not spend too long here.

But having booted up my old trusty laptop - that I keep stashed here for just such opportunities - I thought I'd have a quick look at the blog and a read through of my email. Having spotted the record of my past fortnight's correspondence with Lulu (through whom I publish) and irritated by their lack of response to my latest email to them as regards the option to purchase my work as an electronic download being so obscure on their redesigned site (click here to read my previous gripes), I decided to try to do something about it myself. Accordingly I have just reconfigured the sidebar links to INSTITUTIONALISED volumes 1 and 2 (click for vol 2) on Lulu so as to take the potential reader straight to the electronic download page whereupon the volume concerned may be purchased for £3.75 - rather than the £8.95 plus postage they charge for a print copy.

I also thought I'd take this opportunity to share with you a few of the latest pics sent me from the 'Regulation Knickers' site (currently my only affiliated account - I have to pay the rent somehow) - mostly because the set looks right up my street but also because it fits in so well with the storyline developing in the new volume - the majority of which takes place before the events outlined in INSTITUTIONALISED volume 1. It's also nice not only to see a woman in a nurse's uniform (or governess?) in an authoritative position but also to see a school uniform in brown, as an alternative to the hackneyed navy-blue. It's as if they could read my mind!

On a completely different tack: While walking in Trent Park (Cockfosters - North London) this morning I heard - and on one occasion saw - several ring-necked parakeets. Now, I know that South-West London is chock full of the things (as was Kensington Gardens / Hyde Park, in the vicinity of the Serpentine, the last time I visited in late summer) and there are increasing numbers on Hampstead Heath in the Kenwood House area. But this is the furthest north I have come across them in London. I just wondered just how wide-spread these birds have become in London...so if you live in London (or elsewhere in the UK - I know there are communities around Margate and also in the Midlands, but where else are they?) and have come across what is apparently the world's most widely-distributed parrot please let me know. Now for a bit of real work - see y,all later.

A Good Few Links to Visit This Weekend

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Sculpted into Sweet Sumbission? The Supplicant

Hi folks; I Have spent most of today working away on the new volume, the one that fits in between volume 2 in volume 3 (assuming volume 3 is ever written of course). With the nights drawing in and bringing with them the first cold dank hints of the winter to come, my computer has returned to its old habit of starting up only reluctantly first thing in the morning and to grinding along like an old tractor - it appears not to like the cold because throughout the rest of the year, and the recent bout of late summer we have had here, it has been running absolutely fine. Now I have to rush out to pick up the kids from school - and then it is on to the gym.

I spent big chunk of yesterday doing a little desk research and preparing pictures for a PowerPoint presentation on fashion trends but nevertheless did manage to put a little time aside to have a rummage round the Internet seeking inspiration. Consequently I have several interesting links to add to the blog sidebar and hopefully later this evening, or early tomorrow, I will do so and accordingly put together a more interesting update. Meanwhile, I thought I might share with you this little snap I took while on holiday recently showing that the scope for inspiration even on the Isle of Wight. Pictured close to a model village in a place called Godshill, a picturesque village full of thatch roofs and the like, this stone statue is identical to a bronze statuette I once saw in an antique-dealer’s window and very nearly purchased (and sometimes wish I had) - naming it in my mind ‘The supplicant’. A near-perfect example of sweet feminine submission, anyone out there know of its true title or subject matter?

The School Nurse and a Lulu Moan (Mostly the Latter)

I had intended to feature some links to a couple of stories I have been sent, some comments and some links to some varied and interesting sites today. I also intended to do some work on an article in which I plan to tell more about my true life experiences that I alluded to in my last posting. As it is I have spent most of this weekend (other than the time spent earning a crust - or trying to) attempting to contact and get some sense out of the people through whom I presently publish my stuff - Lulu.com. You see they have recently redesigned their virtual shopfront / website. All well and good, you might say - surely an improvement? Well, yes and no - mostly no from my, admittedly selfish point of view. The site / shopfront now has a slicker appearance, but now it is not at all obvious that the books are also available as electronic downloads in addition to print copies.

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Now for one reason or another, the folk who read our sort of material would often prefer not to receive hard copy through the post (and I am one) - it can go astray, or worse, fall into the wrong hands, perhaps coming under the disapproving scrutiny of one's spouse or significant other.

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Secondly there is the vexed question of price: Due to Lulu's print costs, my books have go at £8.95 for a print copy if I am to earn anything from it at all. To be honest with you, it's actually more to do with my still making a little something when sold through Amazon et al - who take their own cut on top! Lulu.com charges posting and packing on top of that and there can be a delay in receiving the book, as it has to be printed and worm its way through a postal system that, in the UK at least, is becoming increasingly uncertain! The electronic download price, on the other hand, is a mere £3.75 - and few seem to begrudge that. Add to that the fact that the purchase then becomes available practically instantly - and I for one appreciate a little instant gratification - and you can imagine the proportion of my readers that prefer this route. The trouble now is that, to any new would-be reader, the fact that an electronic download is available is all but hidden (a bit of very small text, hidden away to one side of the top of the page) and the download price is not mentioned at all unless one clicks on the appropriate (and minuscule) link. Consequently my sales figures have all but fallen to zero, but for an occasional print copy and one or two sold through online book stores. Volume 2 is not even available in that manner at present as I am holding back with appropriating for it an ISBN registration until such a time as I am sure and certain that it is in its final form - I have been messing about, inserting various keywords and combinations of keywords into section headings in an attempt to make it more visible to search engines.

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In addition to all this, other than two, the vast majority of the kind and positive reviews that had been posted on Lulu.com for INSTITUTIONALISED volume 1 (click to see what I mean)have disappeared - including some of the best and most erudite. Comments such as "...destined to become a classic of its genre" - which, as I am sure you can imagine, I treasured greatly -have just vanished forever!!!

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So what does all this imply? Well, I am presently searching around for other avenues through which to publish my scribblings, while trudging on with the shortly upcoming 'in-betweeny volume - prequel / sequel' thing (still needs a title) and also one or two parts for volume 3, as and when the ideas come - but as you might well imagine, my enthusiasm is becoming somewhat blunted. Meanwhile, in order to develop at least a little income between the extremely sparse desk research briefs I receive (I'm mostly unemployed) I am considering signing up to two more commercial affiliate schemes - bringing the total to three (and there it will stay - enough, already!). These I will want to be satisfied to be eminently suited to my readership and the subject matter presented on this site and - even more importantly - to offer good value and not be a rip-off. So... a little ad hoc survey:

If you have visited and purchased a subscription to the site I am presently affiliated to - Regulation School Knickers - from which the above images were taken (see sidebar banner or the banner at the foot of the page) - what did you think of their product? Any comments? Either post here as a comment or alternativly you are welcome to contact me direct at the following email adress (anonymously if you so require) toyntanen@googlemail.com .

Some Uniform Musings

Obviously I have carried out a fair amount of research for my books over the years (well I hope it's obvious!). Quite a lot I knew already, having studied a little psychology in my time but the descriptions of the uniforms you will have encountered if you have read my stuff - not the school uniforms, those ideas developed through the pages of Janus et al - came together through the serendipitous combination of some research I carried out in the mid 1990s for my present partner - a fashion journalist - who was putting together a book on women's workwear at the time (I kid you not! … it didn’t get finished though) and the ideas of my ex-wife as regards a young lady we had staying with us for a time, way back in the 1980s (of which more another time but suffice it to say that it involved at one point a friend of my wife's, who had worked for Marks & Spencer's years before, bringing round one of her old uniform dresses for the girl to work in around the house – see pic but imagine the addition of a plastic belt and it being worn over a corsellete and full slip by a generously-breasted slightly over-plump late-teen).

It has really been the advent of my blog, though, that has been the stimulus for my expanding my research - and what a goldmine there is out there these days. And it is a seam that I have added to myself in some small way, by, for example, scanning and making available through various sources - including some I have posted here in my PicasWeb albums (see sidebar) - the historic workwear and uniform catalogues, drawings and photographs that were generously sent me by various manufacturers, companies and shops, many of whom are now sadly defunct.

On a slightly different tack, like many of you (as I understand it, from the feedback I get) I find ideas about reluctant exposure somewhat exciting - and always have, harking back to the Janus days. And on the right girl, perhaps one coming from a sheltered and pampered background, the mini kilt, socks, perhaps form fitting white blouse worn over a quarter cup platform bra - that sort of thing - I could see working quite well. But where the problem lies, to my mind, is embodied in those comments one reads about the “young madams of today”. That is where that whole approach falls down, in my eyes at least.

Yes, there was a time when it was a thrill to read that a girl might have her hem shortened as a punishment, to read that she has “the shortest skirt in the school”, that sort of thing. But as time has worn on that approach to a lesser and lesser extent seems to hold water. And as my imagination has been expanding, straining to incorporate more and more disparate ideas that I have picked up over time, even that school girl aspect in itself has become somewhat stifling and something of a straitjacket, unless it should be some private little school vouchsafed and hidden from prying eyes behind high walls.

The everyday world of a contemporary girl, some busty late teenage six-former, attending a conventional school, travelling by public transport and surrounded by her peers, is far too limiting a stage. It is a world that I think one needs to start by removing her from in the first instance. Whether she be removed to some purpose-constructed institution or whether she be isolated in some manner within the home, perhaps restricted to a very limited circle of acquaintances, it is the isolation in itself - and the freedom from interference which that ensures - that gives full rein to the disciplinarian’s imagination.

As for the young lady’s uniform; as I think I said before, my inclination is to head in the opposite direction to most writers, to go back in time, dredging up the spirit-stifling styles of yesteryear - albeit with a little embellishment and imagination – and apply them to the young miss of today (or the fairly recent past). For example I can well imagine how certain types of restrictive foundation wear could be incorporated beneath a more conventional - for its period - school uniform. The idea of the carefully-tailored, form-fitting blouse enhanced by a severely reduced waist and unnaturally elevated bustline thrusting out into the front of the open-sided bib-like bodice of a pleated-skirted gymslip - that in all other respects is an embodiment of modesty and youthful innocence – is an exciting one indeed. In a nutshell I guess the idea could be distilled as: a ridiculously childish, modest (in its way) and highly restrictive mode of dress juxtaposed with an exaggerated maturity of figure.

Actually what led me to board this train of though today was coming across this delightful little gymslip, above right. Okay so bottle-green may not be that unusual in the greater scheme of things, but is so refreshing to see something outside of the usual navy blue and demonstrating that for the young lady undergoing scholarly discipline at home or detained in some small, discreet and secure private establishment, our pallet need not be so restricted – as I have said before. Click here to read. I couldn't resist seeing how it would look on the older teenager, perhaps worn over a bottle-green and white candy striped blouse and with a suitable school tie. Okay I'll agree that it's not that well executed (I'm still on a learning curve with this photo-shop thingy - and it's been done in a hurry, I'm a little short of time today) and the 'blouse' is actually the top half of a school summer dress, but you can get the idea - see on left. I would imagine the blouse to have long sleeves terminating in stiff buttoned cuffs - while retaining the puffed shoulders of that dress of course - and while the Peter Pan collar is suitably juvenile, I can equally well imagine that a stiff high-buttoning collar might be thought to have the greater disciplinary aspect.

This is an area that to my mind has always been sadly neglected in the literature. Dress discipline, to many writers of the spanking / discipline genre, usually comes down to blatant, exhibitionist exposure, featuring over-short skirts and the like, or of course the obligatory school uniform. But the exposure thing has become somewhat blunted in light of the permissive atmosphere of today's world. School uniforms, although making something of a comeback in recent years in schools are not particularly restrictive nor detailed or strict enough in their modern incarnation - and in any case unless the young Lady in question possesses a particularly overtly mature figure or in some other way is clearly not of an age commensurate with attending school or wearing a school uniform then I think that the element of humiliation has been largely lost.

It is not the concept of school uniform per se that is at fault here but rather the fault lies in its implementation. If the girl is now more suited for university or the workplace - i.e. she is no longer need be kept on at school for legal reasons - but it is nevertheless desired that her education should continue at home, or at least that standards of academic discipline should be maintained, then, although in theory a school-type uniform would be suitably apt, there is no need to bow to the liberal and permissive standards of the day. Freed of the restrictions of any particular institution, there is no longer need to visit the local school outfitters or local department store.

Not that I would condone a visit to any of the purveyors of so-called 'adult' school uniforms that one now comes across on the 'Web' either. This is where the writing of the contributor known as ‘Judith's aunt’ comes across as so interesting - there seems little of commercial origin in her Judith's wardrobe and the overall image she must present (one that sadly we can only imagine) owes much to the lifting of that limitation. For the latest comments as regards that particular young lady click here to read.

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There are plenty of dress and sewing patterns available from those bygone days, when standards were not so lackadaisical - see left - that may serve as a good template. Obviously styled for the young, with the services of a good dressmaker or seamstress (and everybody is looking for work these days) scaling up to adult sizing is a simple matter. The style on the right of the pair would make a particularly good starting point for a uniform for a young lady in her late teens or even early twenties and with a little imagination lavished on detail and embellishment a nice bespoke and well tailored little ensemble could soon be put together - one that would deter even the most rebellious teenager from wandering far outside of the confines of the home.

And that is something that I would recommend to Judith's aunt, the employment of a professional seamstress. That point about imagination, though, is crucial to the final outcome in my mind. For instance, once freed of the above-mentioned restrictions then why stick to the usual conventions at all. For example, does one have to restrict oneself to the usual pallet of navy-blue, bottle-green, slate-grey, maroon and the rest. An interesting result can be concocted by switching to soft pastels, powder pink and baby blues, but retaining the all-important school uniform styling in all other respects. Or perhaps, in place of a cardigan or blazer why not a cape - here I envisage something not unlike the district nurse’s cape of old - gabardine, fastening at the neck and open at the front and perhaps of waist length for indoor wear but always keeping ready a knee-length sibling for wear out of doors. Perhaps this latter variant, if buttoning down the front, might allow her to cover that hated uniform when outside - a privilege that must be earned and maintained by her total submission and obedience throughout the sojourn - but itself having features that make clear that it is indeed a part of a uniform of some sort. Perhaps it might sport a duplicate of the school badge that graces the gymslip she wears beneath and be edged with a ribbon trim that matches the striped ribbon bows she wears in her pigtailed hair. And on her head; at home the traditional straw boater or a bonnet in the school uniform colour, depending on taste, but outside and once dressed in her cape then perhaps a nice little pillbox hat of a colour to match the cape would be more suitable.

Then to go with that rigid discipline of dress we must have a similarly rigid discipline of behaviour. Perhaps marching drill as has been suggested by others, perhaps many hours spent nose pressed to the wall in the corner with hands-on head or sitting at a cramped desk writing lines and learning mindless childish nursery rhymes. Of course PE (physical education) sessions are a must; for which you cannot beat the traditional school leotard - it doesn't have to be black, it would be equally suitable in the overall school colour chosen for the rest of her uniform, perhaps bottle green or royal blue – or why not a pastel shade, if one has chosen to go in that direction, and why not augmented with a suitably embarrassing little tutu, come to that?

The cut and styling is another matter and here, using the traditional school leotard as a template, one can let one's imagination fly. For example, in one of his novels, Madame Vorge's Finishing School I think it was, Victor Bruno outlines an enticing sounding style; high-sided at the hips and narrowing down to little more than a fingers width or so at the rear seam, the latter pulled in tight so as to leave the buttocks free to bounce and be available for the urging of the instructor’s malacca cane or leather strap as required. Can you imagine the effect of a largish spherical wooden or plastic bead threaded on that cord-like back-seam so as to be position over her anus, as she bends and jumps in obedience to the instructor's whistle or barked command.

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But even if one opts for full coverage of the buttocks the fitting can be so arranged as to make that coverage embarrassingly close, both at the front and the rear, and of course the back of the thighs are still available for the attention of the cane crop or pony whip or whatever. Then we can begin to play with ideas as regards the fabric, and all sorts of possibilities take flight, such as the incorporation of a gusset panel formed from a soft, semi-transparent polythene in an otherwise unremarkable and traditional, if rather snugly fitting, black nylon or Lycra (by far the more preferable fabric) school leotard. From a personal choice I would prefer to retain a traditional look as far as the outside of the garment is concerned but that still leaves open the possibility of having the garment lined with some other material or fabric - the possibilities for the young lady’s torment are endless. Actually the cover of Janus 93 – featured elsewhere on this site - had a nice little ensemble pictured – click here to view.

Then to control her I would like to see employed someone of the stamp of the traditional Victorian governess but very much a woman of today, a domineering figure, perhaps possessing a knowledge of manipulative psychological skills and able to bring the young lady to tears with a few well chosen words and to heel with the kiss of leather across bared buttocks. Such a woman I definitely see as being always in uniform herself and of a design intended to bolster her authority in the eyes of her charge. Here I would suggest something based on the navy blue matron’s uniforms of the 1960s, tightly belted waist with an ornate silver clasp and a strap or tawse hanging from a belt clip at her side. “Discipline depends upon the authority to compel and to restrain. This authority may, at times, have to be enforced by corrective measures, but the surest way to command total compliance is to maintain a constant discipline that allows for no exceptions or excuses and that varies only to reward exceptionally good behaviour or to punish disobedience”. I'm not sure where that came from but it's apt nevertheless as is the observation that "even a plain-faced nurse in uniform has an advantage over a handsome unprofessional woman". How true!

As for all that attention to tailoring and styling and the retention of a professional seamstress - it's yet another move away from the conventional. The bib fronted gymslip I think is a must, even if it is realised in a soft powder blue or pastel pink but there is no need to stick with the traditional look of the box pleated or knife pleated skirt for example. There was a certain argument for the skirt being properly tailored in the way that a sophisticated adult's skirt might be, panelled and closely fitted around the hips and bottom and perhaps falling to an inch or so above the knees in the outdoor version. Similarly the bodice should be open-sided and well fitted, darted were necessary to accommodate the breasts. The idea is to present her feminine curves as evidence that she cannot flinch from; that she should be like her peers, that she sees in an out of the boutiques and fashion emporium, that she should be as free-spirited as they are, have boyfriends, go on to university, but instead she is controlled, docile, walking hand-in-hand with her mistress, head bowed and cheeks burning – the finished and perfected outcome of untold hours of repeated impositions, drills, the cane and the strap.