Institutional Enema Punishment and a Bit of New - Institutionalised Volume 1 goes Live on Amazon's Kindle

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

Enforced Weight-Gain / Enforced Price-Hike: Avarice in Publishing and Other Chubby Subjects

Dieting and exercise had been her life - but her stepmother never approved of a career in fashion cat-walk modeling in any case!

.....

A straight-jacket and a box of chocs! An intriguing little pic I stumbled upon recently that reminded me of a certain section of the new volume that I have part-written - albeit in a fragmented form – and that I have neglected of late. Note to self: Get it finished!!!

The point is; the whole thing - the above text and pic – makes for a nice, if a little diffuse, allegory for the behavior of Lulu (the self-publishing bunch through whom my books are currently distributed). For a long while Lulu charged a flat per download for electronic PDF versions of books. The difference between that fee and the price charged to readers – which the author gets to choose – is the amount the writer receives as a royalty or payment. Fine! It was fine as far as I was concerned even when they upped that fee by around ninety – odd percent a while back. All seemed to have been stable in terms of charges for quite some time; i was happy with my share and did not want to charge my readers any more than absolutely necessary to make it worth my while (which strictly speaking, from a purely economic standpoint it isn't) – which is why I always encourage folk to purchase electronic downloads. As you may or may not know, I have been tweaking volume 2 for some time in preparation for assigning it an ISBN so as to distribute it via Amazon, Waterstones and the like and also to make it available to the Google Book-Search engine. To these ends, to make it more visible to the various search engines (volume 1 is near-on invisible to Amazon's search engine, which by default searches book titles for entered key-words) I have gone in for a little bit of 'search engine optimization' by way of including a rich mix of key words in sentence form (so Google doesn't recognize it as what it is – a list of key words) at the top of each chapter heading page. Having completed that task I had then to replace the existing file on Lulu's site – and all went well on that front. But lo and behold! It now turns out the whole pricing structure has changed (if I had known beforehand I wouldn't have bothered). Not content with collecting their flat fee (which is still levied), the folk at Lulu now want to take a proportion of the 'profit' on top of that fee (a proportion, mind you i.e a percentage!). The long-shot of all this is; in order to receive the same amount per download as before (not a fortune - and neither is there the volume of sales through that channel to offset that fact) I have been forced to increase the price. Not merely by the shortfall though – because Lulu takes a percentage of the profit, their chunk goes up along with any increase one instigates. The long and short of this latter point is that the price-hike is substantial – I now have to price INSTITUTIONALISED volume 2 at £4.95 per download or £9.95 per print copy. This goes against all my principles and further more compromises the original intentions I had when I set out writing (largely for my own amusement but also to fill a hole in the genre). INSTITUTIONALISED volume 1 remains the same price (and hopefully always will) and in addition I hope to have some exciting news regarding volume 1 next time (I'd hoped to have space to tell you this time, but I got side-tracked).

Two New Blogs, a Couple of Changes and Some News and Views

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

Startled at an Antique Shop in Rye (East Sussex)...Or: A Sign of its Times?

Hi chums!

I had hoped to continue with my 'Thorn' / 'Hobbs' illustration-inspired ramblings this time but as I am still stuck with using my little 'NetBook' until I can get home long enough to make repairs to my desktop it is taking longer than usual to transfer my rough note pad work for the new volume into computer form. As I am presently making this a priority it means less time is left available to dedicate to the blog. However I thought some of you might be amused by this old sign board (perhaps recovered from an old pharmacy) that I saw in the window of an antique shop in Rye (East Sussex) during my Christmas break there. Very much a sign of its times, it instantly brought certain imagery to mind. One can imagine the dismay registering on the face of a petulant young lady of the Edwardian or Victorian era who, having already accompanied her new governess to the village saddle makers (saddler) and witnessed the purchase there of an intriguing and unusual harness contraption, not to mention a plaited leather switch – despite not owning a pony – is next led over to the village pharmacy and to the myriad unfamiliar items so categorised, discreetly tucked away in some dark corner.

Unfortunately, try as I might, I couldn't get both halves of the sign in the frame in close up at the same without some part of the window frame intervening and so I took a pair of close up shots meaning to piece them together later on th computer. Neither looked too wonderful and so I then intended to take a couple more, backed up by a long shot from the other side of the street. The trouble was that then the shop keeper, presumably having spotted me, began unbolting the door and things rapidly started getting complicated. This, then, is the best shot – at some point I may create the composite image as I had intended, if anyone is interested, but at the present time, limited to the tiny 'Netbook' screen, it would be difficult to do a good job on it. This thing is fine for text, but pretty crap for doing any image manipulation or art work – which is why, for the time being, I am holding back on doing any design work on the cover for the new volume, despite having come up with some really good (I think!) ideas for both it and the eventual INSTITUTIONALISED volume 3 (when I eventually get around to writing it). By the way: the second, hidden half of the sign reads 'Hot Water Bags'...See y'all next time.

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

More from my collection of scanned classic articles and letters

Early inspiration was often to be found lurking in the letters pages of magazines such Janus and Blushes. (Click on images to enlarge)

Throughout the early to mid-1980s there was a long-running correspondence in the letters pages of the former being the most enthusiastically with the subject of so-called 'admission procedures'. This example is not complete, admittedly, but it is enough to get a flavour of the writer's insight, particularly as to the psychological impact on the hapless subject (image left).

Similarly, correspondents writing to Blushes magazine, a little later in that decade and into the early 90s, were sparing very little effort in racking their imaginations in the cause of cruel and unusual suffering. A psychological thread ran through their writings with humiliation more and more often taking centre stage and over shadowing the traditional, and frankly tedious at times, corporal punishment discussions that had been the conventional fare for so long. Here ( image right) the writer is putting forth a series of ideas for scenarios:

Again, this is only part of the letter, the rest has been lost overtime But perhaps some one else has the rest or others from the period that I have not yet seen (hint, hint). If so feel free to post.