Amother Excuse and a Weird Piece of Kit

I was going to to tell you all about the exciting new links I have added today. Except I'm not, because I forgot to email myself the document I'd prepared and now I'm out down the pub. The aforementioned document also contained the links I have just mentioned so that is the end of that for the time being – perhaps tomorrow? But what it was to have been about was something that came to light while doing a little research for that commission piece I mentioned last time.

Did you know that there was a specific jodhpurs fetish? Not just for horse riding gear generally or that fairly well known 'pony-girl' thing but jodhpurs in particular – not even 'riding britches' (no I don't know the difference either!). Not that the subject is necessarily connected to my client's interests - discretion is everything - but it just happened to crop up in a search I did (if you pardon the pun... crop, get it? riding crop? Oh, please yourselves!)

Well, there is quite an extensive literature it turns out and next time I shall be posting up a plethora of links to prove it (well, perhaps not a plethora). I'll also be adding a few new blogs to the blog listing, including a young lady who has added her blog link already as a comment someplace – I'm too pissed to remember where – naughty, that, but she has a nice school uniform she wears so I'll have to put that up as a focal point for a link just for the irony of it (and the fact that it looks great! Though it is typically American and she hails from South Shields – somewhere in the north of the UK apparently; but I'm a Londoner, what do I know?)

Meanwhile, here are a few shots of another of my little distractions – hands up who knows what it is,,, Yes, you at the back, there?

Looks technical though, doesn't it?

Time to Sound the ‘All-clear’ and Punishment Clothing Sans Armholes

Yes at long last it is time to sound the ‘all-clear’! With the indispensable help of several volunteers I think we have finally dispensed with the last of those tenacious little typos that had somehow clung on to a few of the pages of INSTITUTIONALISED volume 3.

Partly I have been hard at that task (making the corrections that is – I am dyslexic, so there is little point of my checking through myself) and partly I have been doing some prelim research for a private commission I have received to write a bespoke piece. The latter is especially exciting as I was becoming more than a little jaded, not to mention disillusioned. Now, having been presented with someone else’s vision for a story framework, I find my self all ‘fired up’ again. Obviously I can’t say much as regards the brief, but surface it to say that even a preliminary scratching around has spawned all sorts of new ideas.

Going back to the proofreading for a moment; a very special ‘thank you’, I feel, must go out to ‘Orage’ who has proved especially diligent in this task. That is not to belittle all those others that have contributed of course, to whom my heartfelt gratitude goes out. Now, despite having now passed through several different individuals’ hands at various stages in the process, it is such an elephantine work – weighing in at well over a quarter of a million words – that some errors and stumbles may yet have fallen through the net, so if you have downloaded a copy since yesterday (Thursday 2nd June) - which was when I created the latest revision – please let me know if you spot anything glaring.

Now, in my defence as to my apparent neglect of this blog of late, I have not been quite the laggard I may appear. I have made several additions to the ‘Useful Resources’ section of the side bar and added a couple of blogs to the blog list. The trouble is that I have failed to make a note of each addition as I have been in a perpetual rush most of the time – it has been the half term school holidays and I have had to do my share of that ‘parenting’ thing – and so you will have to check through to see what has changed. I have also sourced a couple of affiliates that seem suitably appropriate for the direction this blog usually explores. Lupus Films, in particular, always seem imaginative in terms of the plotlines they develop and authentic in terms of their costumes and sets – where else can you see young girls put in button through overalls / work dresses as part of a disciplinary régime? The nurse delivering a spanking pic from SIT-Spanking could almost come out of a certain scene in the new book – at least as depicted in this shot. You can find the links in the right hand sidebar someplace. 'Spanking Shame' is another affiliate I will be adding soon (Bared buttocks at school desk, above)

As for the other half of this entry’s title; I have been playing around with the idea of dresses and blouses etc designed excluding the provision of armholes as an adjunct to certain bondage / discipline themes. I am not talking here of just sewing up the arm holes of pre-existing and commercially available garments but rather of tailor-made bespoke garments, carefully fitted and designed with the aim of making the wearer appear as if a double amputee. The question I find interesting is exactly how such designs would appear to the eye and how one might put that impression over in writing. Your thoughts, please.

Just Before I Off to Sunny Spain...

I will be off to Spain in a few hours; Carib Player, 12Km or so east of Marbella on the Costa Del Sol via Gatwick and Malaga, Back on the 27th or 28th - I am a little confused about it. Anyway, here are a couple of short extracts from the new book - not fully proofread / edited these, though. The title shall be: 'A Continuum of Discipline' but as has been kindly pointed out a spelling mistake had found its way onto the final cover design which I will deal with on my return (well, I am dyslexic). The book should be out one week after I return. Thanks to all those 'early worms' who pointed out the error! See you all in ten days, unless I find a WiFi point where I am staying.

.....

Uncomfortably perched on the narrow bench seat of a modern copy of a cramped Victorian-styled school desk, its plastic tackiness adding to her discomfiture, a furtive glance up and to her right and those dulled eyes would meet with the equally soulless gaze of the window, one of three identical lining the wall. But she daren't - and besides, there was no relief to be had from monotony there, only whitewashed frosted glass cowering behind a guard of similarly whitewashed steel bars. To the front, no more than a couple of meters or so away, hung the reason why she daren't.
A single glimpse of the supple rattan, its heavier bamboo cane sibling and its leather-strap cousin and her eyes fluttered quickly back to her schoolwork; already she was falling behind with the dictation. Tears welling in those pretty deep violet eyes the realisation was finally dawning that there no matter how hard she tried, there always seemed to be some obstruction to her terminating her tenure, some excuse, some reason they could cite to justify extending her residence.
Discipline prevailed in this establishment, rigid, repressive, personality stifling control that threaded its way through every aspect of an inmate’s existence and insinuated itself between every fibre of a girl’s consciousness. Here a small cohort of girls in their late teens - and some even older – sat erect and attentive in polyester and rayon school uniforms underpinned by longline open-bottomed girdles, full-bodied and long-legged interlock cotton knickers, thick woollen stockings and ungainly bottle-green plastic T-bar shoes, fastened with white nylon buckles.
Girls that under other circumstances one might suspect prone to petulant sarcasm at the drop of a hat, or a smile from the wrong man - one who may have had the temerity to have aged, be balding or become fat, say – now responded contritely when addressed and curtsied prettily with knife-pleated hems between finger and thumbs. Here girls that might once have been fractious, sulky and belligerent – almost certainly rebellious in some way – waited compliantly with hair firmly plaited, scraped back from pale carbolic-scrubbed faces with nary a single curl left untamed to relieve the severity and tucked away beneath Victorian-style bonnets tied with bottle-green ribbons to match their uniforms.
Here Lessons commenced with fingertips on shoulders, heads erect, six pairs of eyes facing forwards and backs straight – today was no exception. But this was not even a school, not a proper school. It was a sham, merely something set up as a ‘behavioural psychology investigation’ in the bowels of a privately run psychiatric hospital and sanatorium. Not that the place was ever referred to as such – it was a ‘retreat’ where one might undergo ‘rehab’; if one could afford it. Nor were any of these cowed ‘schoolgirls’ actually of school age – all would have ordinarily been starting at university or just entering the job market. These were volunteers, hoping to make more in a three months tenancy than in lord knows how long in any other way. Except that once in place, no one seemed to leave – three months became six, became a year… even longer. But then this small group had been hand-picked to become ‘long-term’ from the start, their backgrounds investigated, their circumstances probed and cover stories put in place should anyone ‘come knocking’. Most had been runaways, grateful for a bed for the night let alone a respite from a winter that seemed to go on for ever.
Yes most were runaways that would never be missed, even if they were never seen on the streets again – most, but not all! Certainly not Lavinia Vitesse, her of the once waist-length jet locks and stunningly bright deep-violet eyes – her residence had been bought and paid for from day one. Not that this was intended to be the be-all and end-all of her existence, quite the opposite. This was merely a stepping stone on a carefully laid out path that somebody out there had had put in place for her.
A sombre yet imposing figure walked the floor between the two rows of cramped Victorian desks, up and down, up and down, the creaking of a tight leather skirt, the swish of expensive nylons and the tap, tap of high heels the only sound to break the oppressive wall of silence.
The teacher was standing over her now, craning over her work – a formidable woman; tall and imposing with corseted wasp waist, thrusting bustline under her silk shirt, huge dark eyes and jet-black hair swept up in a neat no-nonsense bun. She would see now, she would see she hadn’t kept up, couldn’t keep up – her attention had only strayed for a moment, but that’s all it took. It was inhuman, she’d tried to catch up, really tried, but the recorded dictation just went on and on regardless, monotonously, relentlessly droning on and on and on. Her beautifully made-up face bereft of humour, this teacher – and there were three - was particularly intolerant, and of even the smallest lapse in concentration. She carried a wickedly pliant riding switch in her gloved hand and didn’t hesitate to use it, whether it be for a slip in dictation or an incorrect answer, or the tiniest infraction of uniform regulations come to that.
“Hands out please, palms uppermost, left on top of right – you know the way, girl.”
The silent air whistled and was split with her scream. Not once or twice but three times – and repeated on each palm! She was learning the hard way that freedom could be as tenuous as a spidery signature scrawled on a crumpled document - and the longer they kept her there the more likely it would be that she would docilely sign on the dotted line the next time they told her to, just as she had the last time...and the time before that...and the time before that. But then, they didn't need her to sign anything, not any more – at least not to keep her here. It had all been dealt with, once and for all. It was all official now, unimpeachably legitimised at the sweep of a pen and overseen by three of the keenest minds in psychiatric practice, at least in so far as her incarceration went.
But there were other things a person’s signature might be required for. There were certain parties out there that would be anxious to obtain to hers - and those, geographically closer, only too willing to apply the necessary pressure to overcome any reluctance on her part. ‘The Unit’ ‘The department of Experimental Behavioural Psychology’ Whatever they called the place, it was merely a euphemism for what was in reality: a prison, a privately-run gaol for which one need not have committed any crime – at least not one that would be recognised as such by society at large...

Of Wayward Girls and of Immoral Women
Elsewhere... The woman reached out, proffering a bunch of photographs, each its own plastic pocket as if recently retrieved from a portfolio or archive. “Perhaps an example: the 'finished article', so to speak – our Pauline. That one was something of a tearaway – once.”
In the first photograph she had been handed, this 'Pauline' of theirs – she felt sure it was not the girl's true name - appeared somewhat younger than the seventeen years that she had been assured that the girl in fact was. A dark-haired girl, her long chestnut mane had been tightly braided each side before being coiled and then pinned up so as to form a plaited whirl on either side of her head, each fastidiously tied off in the centre by a large bow formed from a length of gloriously shiny broad pink and blue candy-striped satin ribbon. The effect managed to be somehow both severe and childish at the same time and was obviously not a style the girl would likely have chosen by choice off her own back. No, somebody had lavished time and imagination in devising that style for the girl and undoubtedly an element of humiliation had been at the forefront of his or her mind.
It made for a very disciplined look, an impression that was underlined by the high Eton-style blouse collar that buttoned tightly beneath the girl's chin and that seemed as if designed to cause her to carry her head tilted ever so slightly to the rear. The latter collar was tightened still further around her neck by a neatly knotted school tie that was in a soft pastel blue, diagonally striped by bars of baby pink so as to match the ribbons in her hair. The potential masculine severity of the blouse itself was softened by its pink and white vertical candy striping and by the overwhelming femininity of the - perhaps somewhat overstated - puffball shoulders, which along with the outdated styling of the collar, tended to give the impression of the garment owing more to the Victorian era than the present.
The fabric itself tended to add further to that impression of strangely-restrained childish femininity; the blouse had a definite sheen of satin about it, catching the light with a gloss to rival that of her hair ribbons, and yet at the same time gave the impression of smart crisp stiffness, as if starched in the traditional manner. Some sort of horrid man-made fibre was Madison guess; functional but hardly likely to be comfortable if worn for any extended period. Then again it was also Madison's guess that some degree of physical discomfort was the intention, to counterbalance the psychological discomfort the uniform was undoubtedly intended to create in the young girl.
No, clearly comfort didn't come into this equation at all - it was only a head and shoulders shot but already she had seen enough to realise that every detail had been worked out with one aim in mind; the imposition of a regime of the strictest discipline. The result could be seen in the girl's pretty sea-green eyes, washed clear of defiance almost as if brainwashed, and by the embarrassment painted on her cheeks as vividly as applied blusher. The girl possessed the sort of pretty, yet childish, oval face which, as devoid of makeup and well-scrubbed with carbolic as it was, appeared ageless.
The next photograph was a full length shot. The girl’s uniform was well-fitting, neat and pressed, her collar starched and her tie tightly and correctly knotted and placed. Madison’s practiced eye was instantly drawn to the creases at the elbow of the girl's pink and white candy-striped cotton blouse. As sharp as if the blouse had been new-on that very day, the crisp delineation of those wrinkles was matched, as if in deliberate opposition, by the featureless smoothness of the fairy-pink perfection that constituted the juvenile-styled school pinafore the girl had on over it, with its panelled flared skirt and square-topped, yet narrow-waisted, yoke.
The fabric making up the latter – at least as identified by Madison Bartlett's fairly-expert eye – was almost guaranteed to crease at the drop of a hat, yet it was as perfect as if freshly ironed. Taken together with what she had been told regarding the chronology of this shot, those two features - the steam iron-fresh smoothness of the dress and the hardly-worn crispness of the blouse - spoke of a young spirit curbed and wayward behavior constrained. Together it all implied one thing: Here was a young lady well-bowed under the heavy yoke of the strictest of discipline – Madison found herself having to take care so as not to give away her shortness of breath, having been quite overcome merely at the thought.

Copyright © 2011 Garth. P. ToynTanen

The moral rights of the author have been asserted.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical or otherwise without the written permission of the Publisher.

All characters appearing in this work are fictitious as is the storyline – it is a work of complete fantasy and should be treated as such. Any resemblance to real events or real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. All characters can be assumed to be over the age of 18 or the local age of consent in the reader’s region or jurisdiction.

Institutional Punishment Illustrated

Hi there: Sorry you have not heard from me for a while out there but I have been a little indisposed. For one the foot / knee thing is still giving me a little trouble but in addition there has been a beer festival going on spread across the various branches of my favorite pub chain, Wetherspoons, and that has coincided with some unseasonably warm sunny weather here in London. Ordinarily I would have posted an update or two from one of the various pubs on my rounds but for whatever reason I seem to be encountering all sorts of difficulties with finding working WiFi hotspots of late and in addition, as I have said before; creating blog updates while out at large can be loaded with difficulties due to the propensity of the average pub-goer to peer over one's shoulder. This is not so problematic as regards text and text editing but any pictorial content has the potential to raise eyebrows - as can sight of the blog page itself of course. Fear not, though, chums because despite my periods of depression and overindulgence, I have been hard at it proof reading quite a lot of the time (aided in no little extent by my ever-vigilant chum over there in the US of A - you know who you are; thanks!). There are perhaps another five chapters to proofread and some reorganisation to work through but most of the writing is done (at least I can't think of much else to write) other than for a few words of explanation here and there to orientate the new reader and to link the various scenes. Saying that: It is with some heaviness of heart that I am going to have to edit out one or two incomplete scenes and perhaps consign almost an entire thread to a separate volume - should it ever get written. Part of the reason is simply the amount of time already invested verses the likely returns and the fact that I can no longer really afford to indulge my little hobby - in short I am going to have to get a job! The other part is due to the unwieldy file size / page number should I publish everything I have written in a single work (not to mention the complexity of the storyline). Now: I am due to fly to Spain on the 19th of this month (staying just outside Marbella - ca 12km) for an Easter break staying in the 'other half''s' father's time-share (nice-'n'-cheap!) and my plan is to get some sort of version out by then on Lulu - perhaps with a temporary cover, that sort of thing, just as did with volume 2. I am still not too sure of a title so that may be temporary also; but at least it will be out. Later I can deal with the niceties, perhaps an improved cover design and later still an illustrated version in collaboration with another chum in the 'States while I sort myself out and look for work. Talking of the latter, I thought you would like a few examples of what the aforementioned illustrator has been playing with of late, though not directly linked with the new book - thanks 'Snooze' I'll be in touch soon! Next time I'll definitely have a short snippet of the new book for you. See you in a couple of days. Best wishes, Garth.

Nurse Spanks While My Foot Throbs and the Economy Drops - Or Something Like That!

Once again I am stuck for the weekend at my girlfriends house and thus restricted in time and to using my netbook – or rather I will be a little later. Right now I am sitting in a pub situated in Turnpike Lane, North London nursing a pint and a suspected Lisfranc mid-foot fracture / dislocation of the right foot (for the more medically minded among you). We have a term for that in English... Fu*%ed-foot. Prognosis? Well, we have a word for that too: crap! Depressing, but nothing that a few pints can't make look better – and there is a real ale festival on, spread across the various Wetherspoons branches! Mind you, the chancellor has just put up the duty on a pint of beer by 4 pence (which seems to equate to a increase of 10 pence per pint somehow – I wish I understood economics). This is nothing to do with the United Kingdom's deficit, however (we aint got a king and what's 'united' about it) but rather is supposed to 'save' people like moi from ourselves. Talking of budgets and deficits (which we do a lot over here – when we're not spending our hard-earned cash on bombing the shit out of someone with those nice shiny expensive cruise missiles of ours – good to know they work though!) can any one tell me how practically the whole world can have huge deficits all at the same time? It seems to me that everyone owes everything to everyone else! Are we all in debt to each other or am I missing something? Unless someone, somewhere is trading with an alien planet how the *$%£ can we all be in debt unless someone is raking it in someplace – do the Chinese own the whole planet? I find it just as mystifying as the concept of this constant 'economic growth' we are all supposed to be striving for and that will save us all – apparently. How can every economy grow at the same time in a closed system which - in the absence of the aforementioned little green economy - the 'global economy' is (I presume – but perhaps I have had too much beer).

Talking of nursing (which I did – sort of – above) I found this intriguing little tableau on one of the French language blogs I featured last time. Any one know where they originated and what is going on. The blog author seemed convinced they originated from New Zealand TV – but that is based on a Google French-English translation. Now, I pride myself on always replying to emails sent by those who have read my 'stuff' or blundered across my blog. Well, fairly recently I replied to an emailed comment only to have the email bounce back with the error message; “Delivery to the following recipient failed permanently: message rejected by the recipient domain” or something similar (no I don't know what it means either – some sort of robot talk). Anyway, I hate the idea of someone out there becoming convinced that their opinion has been overlooked or worse, ignored, and left feeling slighted. So to ever it was (it was signed but I can't betray the confidence in case the writer wished anonymity) I thought it prudent to post my reply as a sort of open letter, along with the original email in the hope that the sender might recognize his or her missive and be reassured that his / her comments have indeed been read (see below).

Dear Sir. I have read INSTITUTIONALISED with considerable interests. I find both the premise and many aspect of the execution outstanding. I was especially impressed with the subtle psychological manipulations involved in the process to make a great read. My one [reservation] is that while many of the individual episodes worked really well the flow of the story seemed to be somewhat disjointed. Once you have completed your trilogy you might consider a revision making the tale more chronological and perhaps elimination a few repetitive passages. I can’t help feeling the material would have been even better used in several smaller stories. Of course the story doesn’t exactly hit the sweet spot of my personal kink – seems a shame to keep such attractive young women in deliberately ugly and unflattering uniforms to my way of thinking. I understand the psychological control and humiliation aspect (and like it too) but I still think a captured young woman looks best in (preferably locked) heels and corset. Be that is it may I have one suggestion that might make sense in the context of your story: Induced dyslexia. I’m talking about ensuring complete illiteracy by appropriate treatment. It seems to me illiteracy would be a great way to foster helplessness and dependency in a modern setting while restricting unwanted access to information. Not critical while the girl in question is properly institutionalized obviously but it would have a number of obvious advantages but when it comes guarding against excessive independence “in the wild” and. If discreetly introduced in the initial stages of the relationship to a young women targeted for recruitment may serve as a basis for establishing and tightening control. After all you describe quite an extensive operation requiring considerable resources and expertise to run. There must be a considerable [customer] base availing themselves of the services on offer in the field of women-control.

Thanks for a good read...

I Answer

Sorry it has taken so long to get back to you but I have been away from home for the weekend and although I managed a blog entry I had prepared it beforehand and managed to do very little beyond that.

I thank you for your kind comments regarding my book / books. It is particularly gladdening that you found the basic premise behind the story exciting and appreciated the psychological aspects I attempted to weave in. If you have read the earlier entries on my blog your know that from the outset my primary aim when I set out to write was to create a corporal punishment orientated story that stepped outside of the usual margins and limitations of the genre in terms of story and character development and the rest. I also set out to build some sort of at least semi-plausible premise under which to explore explain why the various characters should behave and develop in the way that they do , ie, to come up with circumstances under which a teenage girl in today's world might be expected to submit to the imposition of strict discipline, uniforms, corporal punishment and so on. And in this to some extent, hopefully, I have been successful.

To some extent in striving for this latter aspect of plausibility I made a rod for my own back in that it would have been relatively easy to have set the story in the late Victorian era or at the turn of that century and invoked all sorts of sinister figures such as strict governesses and corrupt church officials running homes for 'wayward girls' and just about anything would have seemed possible or even probable without much in the way of further exploration. Setting such a story in the modern world instantly creates all sorts of problems revolving around 'believability'. The other aim I had in mind, one that only really developed momentum once I started working, was to tie in as many different and yet related fetishes that might fit within such a storyline. Quite a few of these fetishes are not particularly of interest to myself or even to my taste and so in this aspect I'm not sure that I've been quite so successful.

I do understand what you say about the somewhat disjointed overall flow of the tale. Partly I set out to explore the modern trend for novels to chop and change between scenes and involve both flash-forward and flashback - a tendency seen in recent years in such TV series as 'Lost' if you have seen it over there. The real reason though, if I'm to be honest, is that I never actually set out to create a book at all to begin with but rather I started out to write for my own amusement the sort of thing that I couldn't find in other peoples writing or that was missing to some degree or other even in those books I had read that came close yet never quite 'got there'. My very earliest attempts were not even complete vignettes but rather more resembled a story framework or sometimes even consisted of little more than just a list of ideas that I would have liked to have come across incorporated in some story or novel somewhere; these were thrown together and put up on various suitable newsgroups in the hope of stimulating someone somewhere to write the sort of thing that I'd love to read. As time went by and so few of these ideas and bare bones story frameworks were taken up and expanded upon by others as I'd hoped, if any, I more and more became interested in writing pieces for my own amusement that was close as I could get to the sort of thing that side fantasised about stumbling upon on the net or in various bookshops that I've frequented over the years.

Before I knew it I had built up quite a body of work and the basic framework - as the principal of plausibility was and is as important in my imagination is on paper - developed quite naturally after having read various pieces on old psychology experiments such as the so-called 'Stanford experiment' aluded to in the subtitle of the first book. The latter though did demand some reworking of my original ideas as just like so many others I started off myself weaving ideas and fantasies around the Victorian era through to the 1930s and tying in all the usual stereotyped scenarios such as corrupt privately run reform schools, insane asylums and the rest.

It was only much later and having discovered self publishing by such print on demand companies as Lulu that I decided to try to develop what I had into some sort of book form - but even then as much as anything it was for my own entertainment but also in the hope that it might stimulate other far better writers to extend their imaginations beyond the usual envelope. If I had my time over again and assuming that from the start I'd set out to write a book, I'd not have published to this point in time right now and as you suggest I would have put together the story in a simpler more chronologicaly ordered manner. Indeed, in such a form - with the traditional beginning middle and end - the task of writing I am at present wrapped up in would be much simplified and my work made far easier. Once again, you see, I have created a rod for my own back.

The present book mostly focuses on events that happened before one of the characters comes to the institution but also picks up at the point in the second volume when two of the three main characters leave and the life of the third goes on behind bars (I have been a little sketchy there just in case you have not read the second volume) and we watch as she becomes helplessly more more entangled in the clutches of the institution. The trouble is that having set out along the path that I have with the first two volumes I am stuck with a similar approach to the new book with all the complexities of writing that produces - for example some of the writing I have integrated in the new volume dates back well before starting the first book, being based around short sections I originally wrote way back in 2005. Besides anything else my style has matured beyond all recognition since that date requiring extensive rewriting.

I have considered, once the new book (or books - I'm still considering splitting it in two) is published later on reworking the entire tale and shuffling the various chapters from all the books into some sort of chronological order telling the story in the simpler more conventional beginning middle and end form. This is complicated by the fact that many people will of by that point read the first couple of volumes if not the whole lot. A second complication is that the first two volumes are also published as e-books via a publisher with whom I have a relatively long-term contract. None of this precludes me later publishing a revision of the whole story in Lulu in print on demand from, though. There is also work going on behind the scenes on an illustrated version and this might well end up being rejigged to incorporate elements from the whole series in a sort of abridged form.

I love the idea you have about the induction of illiteracy, presumably through psychological mechanisms, and how it would induce dependency in a young lady even in a modern setting. Believe it or not this is an area I have been exploring in fantasy for some time and a certain aspect of it has been included in the new book and has been aluded to - fairly vaguely admittedly - here and there in the first two volumes. I don't want to give too much away but there was an interesting series of behavioral psychology experiments carried out in the 1930s into the genesis of stammering popularly known in the literature as 'The Monster Experiment' which has turned out to be a rich vein of ideas. Primarily they set out to understand the development of stammering by deliberately attempting to induce the condition in their hapless subjects. I'm sure you get the idea.

A Little Snipett Teaser

Howdy folks! Just sitting 'vegging out' in the Turnpike Lane Wetherspoon's (Pub). Been doing a little writing (and imbibing) to help get over what was probably my worst driving lesson to date! Anyway, I just thought you would appreciate a little teaser of what I have been working on at late. Don't be shy - let me know what you think and any ideas you have. The pics are just something I thought suitable. I know it's short but the next fragment I post will be longer... Now read on...

Watching the girl shuffling along - shoulders hunched, one hand employed hitching up her pyjama bottoms, the other hanging listlessly by her side and occasional tugging an overlong trouser leg out from under a foot – the thought occurred that the best way to proceed now might be to place the girl in total seclusion for a couple of days. Mind made up - and having arrived at the interview room – she gave the girl a hard slap on the bottom with her open palm, producing a yelp and propelling her patient towards the open doorway door.

“Come along now, back into the consulting-room you go, - that’s it, like a good little girl.”
Smiling pleasantly the doctor waited, one hand on her hip, the other holding back the heavy quilt-lined iron door, as the teenage girl shambled into the room ahead of her. The sense of triumph in her breast was almost palpable yet, sadly, she knew her elation could not be shared - indeed it was something she would have to take great care to conceal from her patient. Perhaps if she had never seen footage of the girl in a previous existence - as a self assured, self-confident young woman just coming up to her final exams, an Oxbridge place already predicted by most and a prestigious classical dance scholarship in the pipeline should she prefer - her pulse might not have been racing so, the flush less obvious around her cheeks and her breathing more measured. As it was, the stark contrast between the girl she had seen up on that screen - laughing and cavorting carelessly in her Donna Karan summer dress, her waist-length raven hair splaying out around her as she twirled - and the childishly-dependent cowed figure with boyishly-short side-parted hair shuffling unsteadily along in striped mental patient pyjamas and weeping gently, had a piquancy the effect of which she found difficult to disguise.
At one level it worried her - as a mental health professional it bothered her that she did not feel at least a modicum of compassion, let alone that she should view the scene through contemptuous eyes. She sometimes wondered if she were not, in some ways, as much a caged animal as were her charges - and equally as manipulated. But then there was that other side to her; the side that had led her to study psychology, to take up psychiatry, in a quest to rationalise her own undeniable predilections, to understand that part of her that she denied still and that was out-and-out dominant lesbian. The irony was that her denial itself was the key to understanding her personality, if only she could see it. That which roused her passion was the subjugation of her own sex and - being in denial - the guilt she laid squarely on the shoulders of the subject of that passion - especially if particularly fair of face and pleasing to the eye. The more attractive she found a young woman, the more she would seek to apportion blame and the more that attractive personality had to be curbed. This invariably resulted in still greater arousal and a burning guilt, which of course she would happily transfer to the object of her desire and which could only be assuaged by further spitefulness in retaliation. Luckily there were others who could see it, who had seen it, who had realised that here was something that might be utilised - a talent, one might say. Without the invisible guiding hand of these unknown individuals she might well have been destined herself to one day stumble around on a locked ward somewhere. Yet here she had been given free rein and thus stripped of the fear of consequence - even if not the guilt of a staunch, repressive Roman Catholic upbringing - and contrary to expectations the result had been stability and a flowering of her intellect.

Behind the reflective disguise of her black-rimmed glasses the doctor's eyes, though lacking none of their usual shrewdness, smoldered with dewy-eyed passion. The urge to upend the girl over her lap, to tug down those pyjama bottoms, to run her palms over the girl's drum-tight polythene knickers, was all but irresistible. But then again; what need was there to resist? After all, she had complete and utter carte blanc over this girl. She could draw a fingertip along the deep, sharply-defined declivity between those resilient globes, where the softly rounded elastic back seam dipped alarmingly if as if seeking to rend the girl's buttock cheeks, one from the other. She could trace around the circular outline of the cotton reel-sized rubber bung that distended and stretched the girl's sphincter - locked in place by an internal mushroom-shaped flange, its central cylindrical opening equally perfectly proportioned to facilitate the rapid insertion of all manner of suppositories or to accept the colonic irrigation nozzle. She could cup the swollen lips, clearly visible through the air-brush thin transparent polythene, feel around the coiled protrusion of the catheter and the little protruding thimble-like nubbin of the stiffened rubber clitoral hood that was there to prevent masturbation - except that it didn't, not fully.
What the latter prophylactic did do, though, was prevent culmination - it was a devilish little device, its platinum wire framework sutured into place with threaded fine wires of the same material, its internal surface lined with thousands upon thousands of fine threadlike latex strands that continually teased and tickled with the slightest movement but could do little else. She could keep the girl bent across her knee, spanking her with one hand and twiddling and rocking that little torture of Tantalus with the other, feeling the core heat of the girl's body, that young buoyant bottom, tight yet plump, desperately pressing back against her palm, the girl's hips pivoting in a psychologically damaging combination of frustration and pain. She could bring the girl close, so so close; she would keep her there, teetering on the precipice, her mind tied in a writhing, conflicted turmoil of yearning and abhorrence, confused and suggestible in equal measure and soaking up the ideas she would whisper like a sponge. She would bring the girl right to the edge, have her begging, without ever having to fear inadvertently providing the relief she craved. Then, when the girl was sobbing as much in frustration is in pain, she would push her, weeping to the floor, make her crawl to her room and have her kneel there with her hands on her head, or perhaps she might stand over her watching her frantically masturbate, soaking up her humiliation and berating her failure to satisfy herself. Alternatively she could bend the girl the across her desk, peel back the perspiration-tacky plastic of her knickers, tug them down around her knees and take the edge off her passion with half a dozen cuts or so of a nice pliant bamboo rod or, better still, a thin plaited leather riding crop. Yes, a riding crop, why not? She could almost feel it in her hands, hear it slashing through the air again and again and again, hear the girl's plaintive screams bouncing harmlessly off soundproofed walls. And she could repeat the procedure day after day, week after week, month after month; she could fixate the girl on her own bottom and on being dominated and spanked by her psychiatrist.
Indicating the girl’s usual place - the hard, straight-backed wooden chair set in front of the doctor’s desk – she gestured for the girl to take a seat. The girl sat and the woman was pleased to see her place her hands on her head without being instructed – the girl was coming along quite nicely now, she thought.

New Art Links Added & Some Inspirational Illustrations

Just got back from the gym to find that...Yes, the phone company has finally fixed my line (Bugger me sideways with a sharp stick) mind you, it has taken them long enough!

I have just added a whole series of links to various artists works that I consider particularly inspiring for one reason or another:

• Art by Asheley (Suspension / dungeon bondage)
• Art by Carlo (Vintage and inventive)
• Art by Kato Kahoru (Nice period uniform depiction)
• Art by Paul Alazar (Quite cruel bondage)
• Art by Roger Benson
• Art by Sarabander (Beautiful chain bondage)
• Art by Thorn (Captures well the element of humiliation in punishment)
• Art by Turk (Nice bondage with a 3D look)
• Art by Waldo (Caning / Bondage / Punishment)
• Art by Xavier Duvet (Bondage & FF dom)
• Art by Leone Frollo (Bondage & FF domination)

Of these, the trio below by Kato Kahoru particularly took my eye; it is almost as if they were drawn purposefully to illustrate INSTITUTIONALISED volume 3 ( if only I could afford such luxuries as employing an illustrator) so close are they in flavour to a series of events I have planned. I must admit to particularly favouring the girls' uniforms depicted by the artist.

Not that my scribbles deal with period pieces, nor have historical settings - I prefer to set my plots in the modern world. But part of the plot development I have in mind is likely to involve certain characters finding themselves apparently flung back into the past (No, I'm definitely not talking time travel here).

I have also added a link to a Yahoo Group catering for all you who have enjoyed, or would like to know more about, those fine magazines of the past - Blushes, Whispers and New Uniform Girls - that I for one have been much influenced by and have so often mentioned.

• Yahoo group for Blushes / Whispers / Uniform Girls fans