...for the immediate, there would be some respite - but for how long? How long would it be before that tormentress in nurse’s uniform, that inquisitor in rustling navy blue polyester, with that customary whiff of carbolic and disinfectant she always carried about her, would return, rattan or plastic switch in hand – or indeed, leather strap or tawse or perhaps even the fine-fronded martinet, this to be taken to the tender soles of her feet? By way of the lack of that certainty she would be forced to punish herself, psychologically – it was a deliciously subtle little mental torment and one expertly purpose-crafted to help her on her way down Matron’s chosen path for her. The one certainty was that at some point the woman would return and then she would be upended over her lap, skin-tight hospital-issue rubber knickers peeled back and the sweat-glistened drum-taut globes of her plump backside would be spanked with a latex-gloved hand or strapped with the heavy-leather tawse. Or perhaps, instead, she would be bent across the plastic mattress of her hospital bed, obliged to keep her
arms folded tightly across the small of her back and her heels from the ground, with the promise ringing in her ears of a punishment repeated in its entirety should her posture falter in any way or should she tense her buttocks as her caning progressed from the upper slopes of her nether-cheeks, down the rear of her thighs to the sensitive flesh at the backs of her knees and then back again. And she would be in tears of course, well before the end, whether she be spanked across the woman’s knees or strapped or caned across her bed or the little school desk and chair combination she was obliged to work at - Matron always broke a girl to tears, it was just her way, it was good for discipline.
Just a little snippet of something I have just been writing (not yet proof read) - yes I know it's just more of the same, by which I mean there will seem little progression from
INSTITUTIONALISED volume 2, but there is a good reason for that, which I will share with you later because I have to go out now.
For once here in London the sun is shining. I am wiriting to you from outside the Woodgreen Wetherspoon pub 'Spouter's Corner' where I am sitting bathing in the rays and imbibing a pint of 'Fortyniner' in what they laughingly refer to as their 'beer garden' - in reality a roped-off area of pavement just yards from roaring buses, screaming sirens and the mutterings of assorted passing druggies and other nutters. While we are on the subject of mental health issues; my mind has recently turned to the idea of the helplessness that is associated with incarceration in a straitjacket, especially if the young lady concerned should have her tender backside bared for the attention of the nurse's cane or tawse. I have to admit to being aided in fantasy by this wondrous series of pics recently sent me anonymously via email. I am led to believe that they originated on Flikr (hope I spelled that right) and so I hope I am not treading on anyone's toes by posting them up here. Apparently they are from a series of 
stills taken from a music video - but that is about all I know at present and I don't have time to search through Flikr to learn more. Not that i would want to - I have absolutely no idea of the story-line depicted here, and that is exactly the way I would prefer to keep it. I know what I would like to think about it, One's imagination fills in the gaps, which is as it should be and is also what makes the series such a powerful source of inspiration. Absolutely anything can be attributed to these images and what more could one ask? One thing that I know for sure is that it has certainly got me scribbling away like crazy!!
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