NOTE: SCROLL DOWN FOR NEW ROGER BENSON POLLS! VOTING
STILL POSSIBLE!
STILL POSSIBLE!
"Right! You have two minutes to finish-up that high-calorie weight-gain meal, young lady - then it's the cane!
Yes, private secure
domestic psychiatric care: enforced weight-gain – an interesting concept!
I
saw this picture - and this is what popped into my mind, partly because there
has been so much interest in the forced weight control thing I wrote a while
back (sorry I've not answered all your comments. I will, given time - that was
what I was going to do today, but then this popped up and I got
side-tracked.)
Actually in a way it's an extension of a concept that I have been toying
with for some time and have even broached to some extent in some of my books -
including a couple unfinished and yet to be published. The concept of the
governess whose control slowly extends and becomes more and more restrictive
until she comes to dominate her charge's life to such an extent that the régime
comes to resemble something more akin to psychiatric care than disciplinary
training.
I imagine the woman perhaps
coming to habitably wear a nurse’s dress and apron and insisting her charge
wear pyjamas for longer and longer periods of the day while restricting her
charge to smaller and smaller regions around the home and more and more
treating her like a mental defective, all the time working on getting her
charge to become ever more psychologically dependent on her by various means. Perhaps
at early stage she might allow the girl into the garden, a quilted housecoat worn over her pyjamas, as
long as she submits to holding her by the hand, before at a later stage demanding the girl submit to being pushed in
a wheelchair if she is to earn that particular privalige, then restricting her to the upper floors of the house – and so on
and so on...
Charlotte had returned home from her first semester in college to find a woman in a
nursing uniform dress waiting for her, bars on her old bedroom’s window and it, and
the small group of rooms around it, furnished like a small hospital
department. The disciplining had started
immediately, without her given pause for breath – off with her clothes, on with
hospital-style pyjamas; and three nights without sleep, until she submitted to
bending for the cane… It's three months on - and there's still a little fight left in the girl. Imagine the 'conversation'
"You have
two more minutes to finish your high calorie weight-gain intervention meal,
young lady, then it's the cane - one stroke for each two grams left! No, you can stop that right there – you KNOW
my rules; you are to speak only when spoken to; and even then, unless you’re
asked something specific, I only want to hear ‘yes, nurse’, ‘no, nurse’ and
‘thank you, nurse’. You’ve just earned yourself two strokes of the cane across
your bare bottom – AND your toilet privileges are revoked; you’re going straight
back to close-supervised restricted bedpan use and toileting discipline. I want no protestations, no arguments. Yes I know you were normal weight – slightly
above, actually – and there’s plenty of flesh around that big fat bottom and
those pendulous breasts DO look as if they are trying to escape from your
pyjama jacket, but your guardian wants to see you put on more weight. And she’s paying my wages… so…
Oh my! Look at
that! Time’s up! And there looks to be a fair bit in that bowl. Right! Out of
bed – and go stand on the scales facing the mirror, hands on head, while I
fetch my cane… and weigh the remnants! Then you can drop you pyjama bottoms and
touch your toes, right under the camera up there in the corner – your guardian
LOVES watching your bottom bounce – oh, and don’t forget those extra two
strokes for talking! You know… I think
there’s STILL too much ‘sparkle’ about you. I wonder if it isn’t time we
increased your sedation – yes, I think I will! And after your chastisement
we’ll pop you back in bed - and you can have a nice long nap under heavy
sedation until your next meal.
What was
that? A prisoner – in your own home?
Don’t be silly! For one thing, it’s not YOUR home any more – it’s your
legal guardian’s. For another, I know there are bars on the windows and I’ve
had them whitewashed so you can’t see out – but that’s all for your own
protection. I suppose your striped
pyjamas DO look a little like a prison uniform, but I’m not a guard, I’m here
to care for you. I am a psychiatric nurse – and I was hired to keep you under
private psychiatric care, until you come of age. And that’s YEARS off yet! Oh 18 has come and gone, I know, but we’ve
opted to accept 21. Don’t you remember
signing the papers? It wasn’t that long ago. Well you’ve got nearly another 3
years in my care to look forward to – and as far as I’m concerned you’re
mentally incompetent, just like it says embroidered on the breast pocket of
your pyjamas, and I’ll tailor my care accordingly…
AND you’ve just earned
yourself ANOTHER extra two strokes of the cane AND a thorough mouth-soaping for
talking again"