INSTITUTIONALISED:

Beyond the Stanford Experiment

A Tale of Debility, Dependency, Dread, Debauchery and Exploitation

By Garth. P. ToynTanen
This is an outstanding work and a recommended read for lovers of the genre. We are certain it will soon be seen as a classic work.
Before you ask, yes, we paid for our copy and we do not have any financial interest or make any other gain from sales of this book. To be honest we think this work is a bargain for all the quality work that has gone into it. Only £2.95 in the UK!
So what's the plot? The tale is of two young women unrelated other than by shared circumstances, each having an inheritance at stake and a grasping stepmother holding the purse-strings. Both girls have found an ally in a supportive ‘aunt’ but are in truth being psychologically manipulated, lovingly guided into an increasingly dependent relationship. An opportunity arises for each to temporarily distance herself from her situation; an advertisement calling for medical research volunteers. However, not all is as it seems; before long each finds herself incarcerated in a privately funded psychology experiment gone awry, undergoing strict discipline and punishment, both physical and psychological. Caned, tawsed, uniformed, depersonalised and conditioned; can they ever hope to rejoin society and reclaim their inheritances? This is the first volume of a planned trilogy, this is definitely an adults-only tale uniquely tying together such themes as corporal punishment, domination, humiliation, restraint, medical fetish, mind control and imprisonment.
 

Oh, if you can hear a nursery rhyme playing read Chapter 6, page 130 of the book to find out why or you could click HERE. Annoying isn't it?

The author has given permission for us to reproduce a few extracts which you will find lower down this page.

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Language: English

Illustrated: No

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Extracts from INSTITIONALISED  By Garth. P. ToynTanen 

Volume 1

Extract 1 - page27

The gates lying ahead were an ornate insurmountable range of black spike-topped iron, floodlit from either side from where they were noticeably under the observation of a pair of closed-circuit security cameras. They were already smoothly gliding open as they approached, the car slowing to cruise through and doing so well before the gates had reached the limit of the travel such was their breadth and that of the grand driveway beyond.

 
Ahead lay a gravel road, for the term, driveway, really did not do justice. There was a tight curving bend to the left and then one to the right, the route meandering through a forest of tall pine backlit by glistening shafts of frosty moonlight. Somewhere in the distance a fox barked, clearly audible over the quiet engine's hum and the soft hiss of tires on gravel so fine as to be perhaps better described as coarse sand.

In due course the wood land opened out revealing the night sky to be of the densest black velvet, stained silver by the half-moon's smile and studded with diamond-sharp stars massed in a density of constellations that she had never before seen, certainly not in the city, not even in the countryside, not really; clearly they were a very long way from the nearest town or even village. Ahead lay a final straight section cutting across an open field of shimmering silver waves that suggested, as far as could be perceived in the moonlight, wheat balanced on the very edge of harvest. Only in the far distance was the pristine sky disturbed; the source of this sacrilegious pollution, in due course, revealed as the floodlit glare of a second set of gates every bit as imposing as the first but of a more modernistic functional appearance.
 

The flanking walls of dark stone were surmounted by brick and then in turn by an array of radially arranged iron security spikes, the whole being of perhaps 4 m in height. As before so did these gates swing open upon their approach but did so with an unhurried relaxed attitude requiring that they momentarily halt, granting the travellers a little time to absorb their surroundings before moving on. In contrast with the first set through which they had passed and that had seemed strangely un-remarked of by either name or notice, here there stood to either side a pair of large illuminated signboards proudly displaying an heraldic shield device, like some early-age logo, surrounded by an ornate arcing script of black edged gold lettering proclaiming: St Mary's retreat and private sanatorium.
Beyond that shifting forest of black steel bars lay the discreetly lit facade of the main building , as imposing as it was bizarre. Standing a fair four stories of red brick, much of it ornamental, the facade was intersected vertically at regular intervals by fluted, semi-circular, white marble pillars standing proud from the surrounding brickwork with Norman-arched stained-glass windows nestling between, each framed in carved barley sugar twist sandstone surrounds.

Ivy clothed much of the facade, climbing pillars apparently willy-nilly and yet intentionally, having been carefully trained around each window and notable architectural feature. From beneath the gabled eaves gargoyles bled with menacing intent yet diligently kept guard, as at the upper corners of each window and above the main entrance. The latter, hidden in shadow and recessed back in a stepped stone-arched portico, symmetrically occupied the centre of the first floor and was reached by way of two flights of brick framed marble staircases that swept symmetrically up either side of the facade from the curving terminus of the driveway at ground-level. Their, still distant, impression was of some Victorian neo-Gothic folly, the whim of some long dead eccentric benefactor.; a hospital for the needy, perhaps, built as much as an egotistical memorial as to fulfil any truly altruistic leaning.
 

The final 200 metres or so passed between neat hedges and conifers. A grand avenue of topiary that could only hint at the formal gardens beyond, around which they now skirted. Those symmetrical forms, so beloved of the 17th and 18th centuries, presently lay unseen and secret yet nary a car’s length to either side; each radiating from an identically ornate fountain-centred fish pond and each nested, private and protected, safe from the eye of any new arrival or visitor.
 

Directly ahead and looming increasingly large, emerging slowly from within the shadows cast by the surmounting monumental stone staircase, double gates of dark oak began to dominate the ground-level façade. Lying central to the approaching building these lay beneath the curves of the twin marble staircases that arose from either side to meet at a pillar flanked terrace where upon opened out the grand doors of the main entrance.
 

The drive way took on a gentle decline, curving down to meet the gated archway at a point sufficiently lowered, the girl guessed, as to provide sufficient clearance for a coach and horses in days gone by. They came smoothly to a halt, the dark oak panels dew-glistening in the headlights and the whole taking on an unsettling impression of prison gates, a vision made all the more concrete by the opening of a door hidden inset within the left-hand gate revealing to the probing fan of light the figure of a woman dressed in the immaculate trim-belted and white piped navy blue dress of a hospital matron. Her appearance was particularly poignant to the girl, the woman’s status instantly recognisable by comparison with her aunt’s own uniform that she had seemed to have become so fond of wearing in recent times. Blonde hair was neatly pinned in an austere bun above a face perhaps best described as handsome rather than beautiful and possessed of an aspect at first worryingly stern but that quickly dissolved into a reassuringly welcoming smile, instantaneously shifting the scene far removed from the sinister overtones that had seemed so tangible only moments previously.

Extract 2 - page 30

Each wore the light blue dress typifying a British nurse's uniform, the details of which, though, spoke of an expensive exclusivity far removed from a typical hospital of the day. Both nurses had stood upon the party's approach, the careful detailed tailoring of their dresses being apparent even in that half light. Waists were neatly cinched by elasticated nurse's belts of the selfsame blue fastening by an elaborate silver buckle rather than by the usual simple clasp, long sleeves were terminated in neat white cuffs edged with blue piping, nurses caps of white were perched on neatly pinned hair and around the shoulders each wore a matching blue tippet against the chill of the night air, this being trimmed with white piping. 

cont/...

If not for the medical uniforms and a certain atmosphere of professional efficiency there was brought to mind the impression of a high-class hotel, a celebrity-ridden 'character' retreat of impeccable stately home or castle pedigree and suitably exclusive - mere wealth in itself would not suffice to give entry here.

Extract 3 - page 53
 

She was glad when the evening finally drew to a close and she could return to the familiar comfort of her bed. Yawning, she pulled back the covers; no, nothing had been said, and for that she was grateful, but if she had thought that her indiscretions had gone unnoticed she was clearly mistaken and the extent of that naiveté was staring back at her. At first glance all had looked normal then with a double take it had hit her; a rubber mattress cover had taken the place of the bottom sheet.

A full week went by, still without comment, still all seemingly routine. For the first few days her embarrassment had augmented her self-control but then, gradually, the habit returned.
 

The rubber cover added to the humidity, kept her sweat around her and became slippery with her juices. If anything it added to the piquancy – more and more often she would awake to find her nightdress was as stained as her sheets had been.
 

She had progressed to caressing herself through the fabric, the satin offering a subtle interface, prolonging still further the agony and ecstasy of it. Again she could do nothing to hide the fact, nothing that would assuage the mortification she felt, yet still nothing was said.
 

The nightdress would be whisked away to the laundry pile and returned, magically, to her pillow without comment, again, and again, and again. On the third or fourth such occasion though, still without discussion or recrimination, she found that her nightdress was now accompanied by a pair of short legged knickers, her mortification being completed by the discovery that the soft satin disguised beneath a latex inner lining. 
 

Extract 4 - page 59

The cane was of rattan, not that such a detail was known to the girl nor would it have meant much to her had it been, but suffice it to say that it was of a traditional crook-handled appearance and supple in the extreme, being of a thickness comparable to that of her aunt’s little finger, a remarkably dainty finger at that. Moments later and it had begun; her first caning, her first taste of corporal punishment of any form in fact. No ceremony was observed beyond a series of light preparatory taps on her right buttock cheek with the cane’s tip so as to confirm the aim and then:
 

Thrrack! The latex of her knickers amplified the sound out of all proportion to the actual force of the impact. Yes, it stung, but it was not so bad.
 

THrrack! Harder this time, painfully stinging despite her knickers’ intercedence.
 

THRRAACK! “Owww!” That one really stung, but it was bearable. It was the shame that was the hardest to bear, that and the humiliation of actually having begged to be caned.
 

Extract 5 - page 132
 

With the two girls standing, hands on heads dressed in their corselets stockings and rubber bloomers, and with both women now present there was hardly any floor space available for the nurse to put down her load, instead she divided her burden in two, passing half to the mistress. For the first time Lavinia could make out some detail amongst those shapeless folds of canvas. There were straps of some kind, and sleeves. And then it had hit her: straitjackets, they were straitjackets. Yes, indeed they were straitjackets and quickly indeed the two miscreants were enrobed in the same.
 

They were told to sit on the floor, as thickly padded as the walls, as their shoes were removed. Again the nurse had left the room, returning, with only the slightest delay, carrying what Lavinia was later to learn were medical restraints, each consisting of two padded leather cuffs linked by a short, strong, leather strap.

These were quickly affixed to each girl's ankles.
 

The dormitory mistress had looked down on the two of them with satisfaction, there were to be no words of explanation just a simple instruction: " No talking". With those words both nurse and mistress departed, the closing door sealing the room as completely as to appear to practically evaporate, becoming part of a seamless continuous padded wall. With the two girls seated against the back wall there was little spare space and Lavinia soon discovered it was not possible to fully stretch out, nor could she topple over, her right shoulder was touching the right wall and her left shoulder was only a very short distance, perhaps two hand-widths, from the other girl's.
 

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......and then the nursery rhyme had begun; 'Boys and girls come out to play' apparently performed on a child’s xylophone. The affect on her companion had been immediate; within the space of a few notes she had begun franticly struggling in her straitjacket, rocking back and forth until, totally distraught, she had broken down completely, becoming a spasm-racked wreck of uncontrollable weeping.

Had Lavinia recognised earlier the implications, the pertinence, of the events unfolding before her then surely she too would have been struggling, both physically and mentally; the concern and sympathy she had felt for the girl might well have been inwardly transferred.  For, in witnessing the girl’s reaction, had she not been gifted a view across time, a window into her own future? 

(Ed. Can anyone let us have a copy of this tune played one note at a time on a xylophone? Big thank you if you can.) 

Coming soon...VOLUME 2.

Confined in the Workhouse

Lativinia is returned to the 'Schoolroom'. We learn of her past life under her aunt's discipline and of her hypnotherapy sessions with her doctor. Meanwhile, Susan, having now been catheterised, finds herself confined in the mysterious 'Workhouse'.
Worse still, her dental exam hasn't gone too well and there are irksome repercussions!
Alison Springer takes up her post at the clinic and is soon supervising girls undergoing Matron's 'comparative self-criticism and reflection therapy'. It goes without saying that Matron's cane is frequently wielded, and chubby buttocks are bared.

Four excerpts from Volume 2 can be found on this page  HERE

Want to read the authors blog, read some ideas and maybe contribute your own? HERE