Thursday, December 2, 2010

Tombola Goes to Finishing School

My ward, young Tombola van Hoyden, recently attended Mrs Darling's Academy. She has provided us with the following account of her didactic adventures.

Tombola van Hoyden was and is an enthusiastic young person with more ideals than worldly wisdom. She has been chucked out of so many boarding schools that her guardian, exasperated, has despatched her to finishing school, Darling's Academy for Young Ladies, in the forlorn hope of turning Tombola into a lady. He hoped that the famous and very strict methods of that celebrated Scottish establishment would somehow transform her behaviour.

And it seemed as if he might be right...almost as soon as Tombola and her schoolfriends EJ, Jemima and Cate arrived at the airport, the lady who met them appeared a mistress of total grimness! Unsmiling, holding up the identifying placard, she greeted each pupil by name and swept them off to the waiting vehicle where a grave uniformed manservant efficiently stowed the luggage. The girls all sat nervously as near the back as they could, while the Deputy Head and the driver occupied front seats. The girls tried to keep their spirits up by singing comic songs and playing word games, but their play-acting grew strained as the long dark roads lengthened into blackness.

Finally they were there and after the fairly scary Induction they were offered a warm welcome and the company of friends beside a warm fire.

Next morning was Assembly and oh, dear! Tombola's antics in the minibus had not escaped the notice of the deputy head - spankings all around and what are these?
Er, only the Little Miss Trouble knickers that everyone had on!! Oh well then, everyone got smacked!!
hashtag, pantygate!

Favourite thing – really - baking in the kitchen with Zillah and Violet and Sara and Catherine and darling Mrs Darling. It was warm, and atmospheric with the snow outside, and making biscuits is my top favourite thing to do, and everyone was so friendly.

Biggest surprise: a sudden and complete melt-down on the Sunday morning. I found myself blubbering hopelessly, out of the blue! Missing MasterRetep, (i had never been at a play event without him) and i sat on someone's bed sobbing and got hugged and patted during some morning interval, then dried my eyes and back in role again. (thank you, kind and comforting schoolmates!)

Best fun: a naughty escapade when Tombola and Violet were sitting side by side on a sofa watching a gentleman, a visiting Laird, in Highland dress, as he leant to poke a fire. It occurred to us that this was our chance to solve one of the world's great sartorial mysteries: viz., what does a Scotsman wear under the kilt? So she sat on the floor, leaning comfortably back against the sofa and squinting: while i pretended to come over all faint, and actually lay down, head towards the fireplace, for a pefect worm's eye view. Mystery solved! This particular Laird was wearing ...only the family jewels that the Creator endowed him with. Commendable fortitude given the chilly climate and the snow outdoors!

Alas, we had been spotted – nothing escaped the eagle eye of Miss Amelia Hatchet-Grabbe: we were scooped to our feet and draped along the edge of a table and caned in less time than it takes to say, "Highland Fling!"

Not only that, but the offended gentleman himself decided to avenge the modesty of the Highlands...and so did one of the visiting gentlemen guests – so our bottoms were well and truly warmed up in consequence, snow or no snow!!

Funniest comment; a young lady who bore upon her throat the mark of an amorous encounter, attempting the hopeless claim that she had been attacked by a fruitbat. She is certainly sweet enough, but the false alibi did not save her from yet more spankings!!

Most informative lesson: makeup by Mrs Darling. What an education. And learning how to fit on a Fully Fashioned Stocking, goodness, i felt quite illiterate, not knowing all this stuff! Not sure how useful it will be in my chosen career as an explorer, but no knowledge is wasted.

Disappointment: having to leave early because of the snow blocking roads: still feel quite thwarted to have missed final Assembly, where Tombola did not come quite bottom of the class! - apparently spankings were awarded pro rata.

There was lots more – some of it has been described by others and some of it was just small stuff. But i loved the whole Finishing School weekend – the other girls were all lovely: some i'd met before and some i'd only heard of but we all got on really well, there was a great atmosphere of warmth and cheerful cooperation, ably led by our superlatively good Head Girl Catherine.

Tombola emerged a little better educated than she had set out – still eager to complete her studies so that she can go and be an explorer in the Amazon Delta – she had to research the Missionary Position with this aim in view! But she may also have to appear in Society to represent the noble and ancient house of Van Hoyden and so the social polishing of the Darling Staff will not be wasted. She looks forward eagerly to the next term!

indy said...

This is lovely, Tombola! I think Pandora tweeted your best line, but the one about the missionary position is a close second.

Sunday, November 21, 2010

Three Little Maids From School

Last Sunday evening, we finally ran them to earth. Myself as year master, the Head of our school, and the Government Schools Inspector had spent the whole of our Sunday looking for them. We were responding to a report that three of the girls entrusted to our care had been seen by the staff at a remote hotel where all sorts of "adult" activities were taking place.

Scantily clad women were seen to be running up and down corridors, uniformed men observed to be comparing the heights and convenient features of the various chaises longues and other furniture dotted about the corridors. Yelps and sqeals were heard from private rooms and our contact had felt it necessary to avert her gaze from a disgraceful display of underwear in mixed company at the adjournment of dinner on the Saturday night.

Our girls had failed to return from a hockey match on the Saturday afternoon but, due to a misunderstanding that they had been accommodated at the school hosting the game, it was Sunday morning before their truancy came to light.

Myself and the Department of Education Inspector located two of the girls, Bandree and NGinBoots, but our Headmaster, MG, had rather more trouble running the third miscreant, one "Fluffy", to ground so we started without them.

The hotel management were able to put an unoccupied room at our disposal which, conveniently had a very wide double bed. This allowed both the girls to be placed at the footboard with plenty of room to spare for their co-conspirator to be accommodated as and when she graced us with her presence.

After a brief telling off, the two girls were forced head down to the bedcovers, and warmed up. NGinBoots's denim jeans, NOT regulation school issue, proved uncomfortable for my hands so they were pulled down in short order, followed not long after by her knickers. Bandree had lost her's earlier, heaven knows how, so by the time our Headmaster arrived with the errant Fluffy in tow, there were two very flushed bottoms being observed by the Education Inspector.

After the new girl joined her friends, they were placed in opposite corners, hands on head, to contemplate the amount of trouble they had caused all concerned on our day of rest, whilst we took turns in dealing with Fluffy with hand, strap and cane.

This calm scene was, however, repeatedly interrupted by NG who, it seems, does not know the meaning of silence. She whinged, complained, interrupted and, despite our best efforts with cane and Sam Brown, cheekily answered every slap.

The Inspector, noting her behaviour, then dropped his bombshell and, I suppose, revealed his genuine purpose in being there. Our school would not be immune to the budgetary cuts impacting the country at large. From the start of December, only one of our two posts would be funded and money could not be wasted on the salary of any teacher who would tolerate such insolent backchat from a girl whilst she was being caned. In his view, any girl who could keep up that sort of thing was not being properly punished.

Suffice to say, such a challenge did not go unanswered, and it was three very sore little maids who returned to our establishment later that night.

When returning the room key to the hotel manager afterwards, we discovered a possible explanation for Bandree's lack of underthings, and her yelping and apparent sensitivity to our ministrations. It transpired that she had been punished, along with members of a "school debating team" with whom she had ingratiated herself. They had all been caught that morning, at this very same hotel, obtaining alcoholic beverages at the bar using forged identity cards. There had been stern punishment at the hands of the staff of the other school. I trust that the knickers were lost at that time, although there is always the possibility they were missing already. I must check with her morning chastisers when next we meet.

The one piece of good news, we did so well that the Inspector decided to make his cutbacks at a neighbouring establishment.

Saturday, September 25, 2010

Setting the Record Straight

(Posted in response to An Unreformed Reformatory Girl by Eliane)

Report to the Board of Trustees

It is my duty, kind sirs, to report to you my further endeavours in taking the wayward lasses placed in my care and restoring them to their place in society.

May I be permitted to relate a recent series of events involving a particularly headstrong girl. I fear that we may not have seen the last of her, by a long measure.

The young “lady” in question had been a mere two weeks in our care, and had already required some admonishment at the hands of my junior staff, when her behaviour necessitated my attentions. On arriving at my office, I was greeted by her insolence before I even had opportunity to enter. The girl was lounging against the locked door in a totally dissolute manner. Even before she had spoken, and despite her tender years, she conveyed all of the lewd and louche manner of a criminal woman of the night.

I have a certain sympathy for those respectable young girls who may find themselves indulging in carnal activities in return for a fair reward. Such girls, typically, are supporting an indigent parent, helping to clothe a myriad of younger siblings or provide fuel to preserve a grandparent from the rigours of a bad winter. Whilst our spiritual directors are correct to counsel us as to the improprietary of their actions, I cannot but feel a little symathy for their plight, uneducated as they often are, even in the simple tasks of domestic service. Such girls will, inevitably, be drawn to utilise their animal instincts to survive. To that extent, they deserve our compassion.

But this girl was not one such. By her manner, I could tell that any man consorting with her would be set upon by footpads and relieved of all his valuables this, probably, without even enjoying the proffered benefits.

As I approached, she confirmed my first impression by greeting me in a most disrespectul manner. Many ne're-do-wells have passed through our hands in the years I have had the honour to manage this institution on your behalf. In that time, I do not believe I have ever encountered one who, at such tender years, believed she could display such truculent insolence in the presence of the nominated representative of your good selves, the Trustees who have devoted their time and monies to the improvement of the lot of these fallen women.

I felt obliged to remind the lass how lucky she was to benefit from our current liberated and compassionate regimen. In the not too distant past, I told her, she would not have been permitted her first supper of dry bread, water and a little oaten pottage, before being introduced to the house diciplinary methods. This introduction would be afforded to all arrivals, even those showing the most timid compliance and contrite apologetic behaviour.

In those days, the new girl would be stripped of her vermin infested garments, including those most personal to her body, which often showed the greatest levels of infestation. She would be aggressively cleansed with cold water and coarse brushes. Whilst her skin was still flushed from both her embarassment and these rough ministrations, she would be introduced to the “house birch”. Repeatedly, the bundle of supple twigs would thrash against her stinging buttocks, her chastiser all the while, recounting the misdemeanours that would lead to its reapplication during her stay in our company. Such inductions were always popular with staff and inmates alike, an opportunity to meet the “new girl” and to witness any notions of superiority being beaten out of her. I explained that this satisfied the naturally assertive desires of both the staff and those more established girls who felt they could demand the respect of the junior girls.

I was none too pleased to note that this “lady” obviously paid little attention to my explanations and felt herself above all such warning words. She was going to require a considerable amount of my personal attention, and I decided to start with a suitably domestic implement. Telling her to remove her skirts, I fetched a leather soled slipper from its appointed resting place. Even before I started, I recognised that this chastisee was going to require containment. Standing her at the end of my heavy desk, the working surface of which was already clear in accordance with my discipled work methods, I firmly secured her ankles to the heavy piece.

I recognised that she was paying scant attention to my counselling words as I slapped the slipper down on her posterior. From her general demeanour, I ascertained that neither my verbal nor physical entreaties were being heeded. This girl was going to demand serious attention. Without further ado, I fetched the heavy reformatory strap, that reliable workhorse of our ministering care for our charges. Only the hardiest of our repeat offenders remain unsubdued by its application.

To indicate to my subject that I was not unaware of her first two weeks in our care, I asked her what punishment she had received at the hands of our guards when she was last corrected. I allowed the foolish waif to try to lead me a merry dance, believing that I did not already know the answer. Such information is always recorded, in timely fashion, in the large leather bound diary resting on the bureau shelf ready to my right hand, the hand now testing the heft and swing of the heavy belt, its leather supple with the frightened sweat of generations of victims.

As I expected, she told an untruth. I chose not to challenge her, since it was apparent that this charge was not yet ready for the exchange of values through verbal discourse. There was only one language of authority and wisdom she was ready to understand for the moment.

As I swung the heavy belt down repeatedly, she squirmed and twisted. In addition to earning her extra strokes, these gyratory motions caused the rear panels of her cotton drawers to further part with each swing of the belt. By the time I had concluded, her buttocks were bare and I could clearly see the blushing rewards of my exertions.

Knowing from the outset that this culprit would retain her arrogance, despite the attentions of the strap, I had decided that the subsequent application of our tawse would allow me to make up the deficit owing for her untruths. My choice, the XH tawse, would allow this debt to be collected with appropriate interest.

As the tawse licked in, I could see the arrogance start to depart her. At the commencement, I had considered the possibilty that her chest or wrists would also require restraining. However, after no more than six strokes, she was slumped across the desktop. Her defiant energy had left her. Six more strokes and her shoulders were heaving, accompanied by tearful sobbing.

Being familiar with the ways of these girls, I know that they use these punishments to enhance their standing amongst their peers. It is an unavoidable truth that lenient punishment only fosters the rapid dissemination of victorious gossip and lends credance to the belief that authority has weakened. This cannot be permitted and would be placing all of those in my care, guards, domestics and even the weakest girls, to serious danger of oppression by these “ring leaders”.

Tough punishment of the kind just administered, however, has the alternate disadvantage that the girl feels both triumphant in surviving and defiantly vindicated in her belief that the regime is both vindictive and oppressive. In this establishment, we create martyrs at our peril. What is required in such circumstances is a punishment “which keeps on giving”, and in this regard I cannot over recommend the use of the cane.

The cane combines a fearful preannouncement of its imminent application by its distinctive auditory signature with a series of long lasting visual and tactile trademarks. I always ensure that the seared lines will reveal their presence each time she sits down on a reformatory bench or caresses her buttocks whilst attending to her ablutions.

I concluded by providing her with the formal warning required by our statute of incorporation. As you are, of course, aware, we are, quite properly, not permitted to administer a formal public birching, in full view of the entire institution, unless the miscreant was warned of this consequece at the conclusion of her previous chastisement. This ensures that no girl can find herself publically exposed to this most psycholgically humiliating and physically trying of disciplinary experiences without having ignored a fair opportunity for reform. Without permitting such opportunity, how can we give witness to our title “Reformatory” with honest and sincere pride.

I dare say the little vixen will present a brave and heroic perspective when recounting her experiences to her little friends, but my last view of her was of a dishevelled half naked sobbing wench. Although the final cuts of the heavy rattan had sliced the last of the impudence out of her, I fear that this may only have been the first of many encounters to reform this wayward lass.

I remain you loyal servant.

Sunday, September 5, 2010

If You Had To "Come Out"

Recently, I have found myself looking around the variety of scene related activities we indulge in, or observe others indulge in. This has caused me to consider whether there is a hierarchy of "acceptability" and, if so, what it is.

The easiest way to articulate the question is to consider yourself in a situation where you had to reveal some personal knowledge of kink to a vanilla audience.

Fetish fashion is an easy reveal. Burlesque wear, corsetry, strappy shoes and dommy jackets are all pretty mainstream now, not just the domain of Agent Provocateur and the Sunday Times Style magazine.

So, really, kinky looking gear is no reveal at all.

Spanking, and particularly the schoolgirl roleplay aspect, is probably a little too close to personal bedroom play for many people. It risks a quick categorisation as "pervy" rather than kinky, and would probably stymie further discussion.

Waxplay. Everyone has played with candles in childhood, and many adults can't resist messing with candle wax when in a restaurant in boring company, or when summoning up the courage to pop some question (isn't that why those restaurants have elaborate candles?). So, for most people, a reveal about wax play would probably result in a "so what" reaction.

Explaining D/s power relationships will seem very non-PC to many. Most men are now expected to be "new age", so revealing an acceptance of power exchange dynamics could be interpreted as voting for reactionary stone age political ideals. This dismissive position overlooks the fact that virtually all relationships contain some element of power exchange. Saying so will move the whole debate away from kink and into the much more fraught domain of politics. Introducing any concept of "domestic service and discipline" will only, by definition, bring the argument closer to "home".

If we try to discuss issues of alternative sexuality or gender assignment, we will probably get the "yes, fine, so what ?" response about same-sex relationships. This is followed by a boring discussion about inheritance tax. At the other extreme, we must refute the assumption that our (shaky) knowledge of the more clinical specifics of gender reassignment must have come from a late night Discovery documentary.

Cosplay, and other dress related behaviour, is very closely mimicked in the vanilla world. From the long standing female impersonator of music hall and pantomime fame to any hen party out for a Saturday night pre-wedding bash, there's not much clothing novelty left that we can claim for ourselves Latex is an advanced form of dress kink, and probably can't be explained without going into the whole discussion of one person's fetish being a complex relationship with a specific sensory trigger. That reveal will precipitate a request as to which obscure Social Science subjects I'm studying.

Needle play, C&BT, Electroplay and chastity restraints are all a bit deep and complex to use as a launch pad for a reveal to vanilla friends, so what am I left with.

Oddly, it's rope.

Shibari and its cousins.

Probably the least mainstream, the least often replicated in "ordinary" life and, oddly, the least open to cries of indecency or violence or general immorality. Superficially its decorative, macrame with humans, and should have a special appeal for the 1960's generation. At a more advanced level it's a circus act. A suspension is a personalised trapeze, not that different from a mountaineer's belay.

When I first discovered my kinky side, I don't believe I was even aware of Shibari. Strange that now, if asked to come out to vanilla friends, rope might be my starting point.

What do you think?

Saturday, August 28, 2010

Sorry for the Silence

Due to house renovations, and the vagaries of the privatised telecomms industry, we found ourselves without broadband for a while. My brain used this as a convenient excuse to stop contemplating blog posts, not a good excuse I know, but there you are.

Now that we are reconnected, here is a nice placeholder, which a small few of you may not have seen yet, the Jane Austen's Fight Club trailer.

With broadband sweeping away the last of my excuses, I must now compose some offerings of my own.

Monday, June 28, 2010


Recently, myself and bandree found ourselves in a position to offer hospitality to several scene friends. It was a lovely weekend, everything clicked just right. The conversation was honest and easy, and a dog had accompanied the group, a big floppy friendly "bring me for a walk" kind of a dog.

The weekend was in a remote cottage in a fairly unknown part of the country. It has a small scale feel, which is very calming and quite captivating when you settle in. We bought the house several years ago and use it as a bolt hole for ourselves or other family members.

By the second afternoon, the party had reduced slightly such that we were myself, bandree, two other girls and the dog. This weekend had come together at short notice and there was no pre-arranged agenda of play or anything like that. It was quite genuinely just an opportunity for a few friends to eat, drink, chill out and chat.

And the chat was very good, exactly what I would expect from these participants. As well as chat, though, there was dog walking, swimming (the cottage is near water), canoeing, and general messing around.

Even when there was no conversation and the girls were just lounging around (and the dog), I felt an indescribable wellness. Of the group, bandree is the only one with whom I have a formal "relationship", so what happened inside my head was entirely a subconscious fantasy, I suppose.

I felt very at home. This was my place, in which I was able to provide the resources for their leisure. As they fooled around, I found myself remaining a little aloof. I let them take turns with the canoe, but did not indulge myself; watched them all swim, but didn't swim myself. Reflecting subsequently, I can only describe the sensation as that of a proud lion, watching over his pride (and I suppose the dog was a cub).

Thank you all for a very empowering afternoon.

Sunday, June 13, 2010

Kitchen Play

Subtitled - "Why It Can Be Dangerous to Squirm"

Finding bandree in need of the application of a little correction in our kitchen, I cast around our collection of wooden stirry/slappy thingies.
B had been out shopping recently and returned with these additions.

The third one is an interesting device, able to leave a variety of sizes of white blobs outlined in red.
Anyone got any ideas what its 'nilla use may be?

However, I was looking for something a little different.
My eye fell on the nearest kitchen equivalent to a steel rule:

This is an old French Steel carving knife, repeatedly honed over the years, such that it is now very flexible. Bandree had her back turned, her elbows on the kitchen bench and her skirts hoiked up, and had no idea what I had chosen. Told to stay very still, she took five or six strokes, of the flat side of it of course, stoically, with little yelps, but no movement. On the next stroke, she squirmed as the flat of the blade impacted. Her reward, a lovely, though almost painless, reminder of the experience (I did tell you we keep it very sharp, so its an almost surgical line).

Unlike the red glow which receded within a few minutes, the thin straight line is still visible one week later. That line would have been observed by someone else recently, someone who had reason to call bandree to account for repeated lack of preparedness.

But that, as they say, is another story.....