Such casual details caught one's attention. When Lord Stifton described the discipline, he said little of the punishment but added poignant allusions. The man who wished to treat the young slave-wife like an overgrown delinquent page-boy had finished caning her. The sullen self-possessed young woman looked so mournful now, tear-brimming and woebegone, as she waited, strapped ass-upwards over the cushions on the marble table, for the chastiser with the lash. Either the naked smart of the caning or the promise of worse to come made it impossible for her to keep still. Lord Stifton described the intense and interesting silence in the room as the guests waited. It was broken, he said, only by the frustrated gasps of her vain struggling, the creak of the straps as she pulled against them, and by the slippery kissing sound of smooth vaselined flesh as the bare cheeks of Lesley Hollings worth's bottom touched and parted in her squirming. Mr. Snook, whose enthusiasms in old age are frankly questionable, assured me that no photograph could interest him. Her conduct and its motives were all, he said. Lord Stifton remarked that the urges provoked in the young woman by the squirt were more than she could deny under the searching anguish of the woven lash. She twisted her fair gamine crop this way and that, shaking her parted fringe clear, the sullen young face a study in outrage and dismay. She demanded an end to her discipline, in order to attend to this matter. The demand ended in a wild shrillness as the black lash snaked down across her bare backside. There came a moment, far into the small hours, when the lash smacked her buttocks causing a scream and a surging of her ass. A sign of the greatest rudeness peeped out between Lesley Hollingsworth's bottom-cheeks. In a struggle between nature and dignity she contrived to withdraw it. But not for long. Another lewd peep and a desperate containment was followed by the inevitable consequence. There was a brief pause in the discipline, for one cheek of her behind now displayed an object of great curiosity for the spectators. There was a good deal of amusement, and in some cases excitement, at such enforced little-girl rudeness from a self-possessed young woman. Several of the men who looked most closely were not smiling and it was in their eyes that she must have read thoughts which filled her with panic. A certain pruning of her most prized femininity and a conditioning of her to morbid excitements was reflected in the looks they gave her. From "Tomboy: Revelations of a Girl's Reformatory"
I started writing stories in the late 90s, and got so tired of sending them out to (lady) fans one-by-one that around 1999 I created a website to showcase them, mrstrict.com, now long consigned to internet history.
Some time in the early 2000s I was asked by Greenery Press to write a book on enemas, which became “Intimate Invasions,” still available on amazon and other such sites. I haven’t read that writing in years, Greenery wanted coverage not just of m/f (my fetish) or f/f (which works for me too as an observer and participant) but also f/m and m/m, neither of which I was particularly competent to write on, a fact that, I’m sure, is quite clear from those chapters of the book. Ah well, pan-fetishism has its price.
As an accompaniment to the book, Greenery Press also paid for the hosting of a website, intimateinvasions.com, which I’ve maintained with varying vigor for the last 20-odd years. I have to laugh at the fact that it was (and still is I believe) hosted by earthlink; of course, any reader will have to laugh at the fact that my contact email is mrstrict1@aol.com, particularly hilarious since likely most of you now reading don’t know what aol even was, much less remember the 10-disks-a-week in the mail from aol and the frustration of listening to the acoustic modem trying to log in again and again, online porn delayed, deferred and denied.
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Flash forward to 2022, and I find myself suddenly possessing a renewed interest in this site, a renewed pride of ownership of what must be 40-odd stories I’ve written over the years, all of them out somewhere on the internet, none of them compiled into a single site as far as I know.
Why the renewed interest now? Well, life intervened for many years in a way that took my attention away from thrival and onto survival, I guess that’s the most poetic way I could put it. Or to put it in more conventional terms, the hot furnace of youthful hormones gave way over time to other matters, although actually I was roughly 40 when I started writing so the fires burned for a lot longer than I’d realistically have expected them to.
And now? Well, it’s … interesting. I find myself reengaging in a world that has altogether different rules of engagement. This isn’t particularly surprising to me — when I was in my early 20s going to school in Los Angeles I drove to a meeting of the Janus Society in the San Fernando valley, where I and the other fresh meat were lectured about how in the old days people entering the SM world were expected to apprentice first as bottoms before the were considered trained enough to top. I certainly didn’t do that — I’ve never bottomed and never will, although there are plenty of people who over the years have told me how good that would be for me (lol). But just as the rules were changing when I was discovering “the scene,” so too in the intervening years the rules have changed yet again. Credit the internet for that, as well as all the liberality and exposure to information that came with it.
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I’m not sure how I feel about all that; I know that the coming across of anything whatsoever related to “the scene” was, for me as a young person, beyond thrilling, tantalizing, the forbidden suddenly available, in the same way you might see a peep of a neighbor naked through a crack in the blinds and hold that image for months in your imagination.
It’s not very hard to find stuff now, though, in fact it’s trivially easy. Does that make it less exciting? I would think so, but I’m not the age I was and so can’t say with any certainty.
What I can say is that to me it’s the furtiveness that thrills; as is always said, the brain is the most important sex organ, and if you throw in all the evolution that makes our adrenaline surge when we come onto things new and unexpected, well, even if it takes two seconds to find the kind of fetish you like, I still think that it’s the hours of poking through it to find that which, while visual, isn’t too abysmal (Rocky Horror there), that’s where the magic of arousal comes in.
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Certainly for the three fetishes which probably make up my core — spankings (giving), enemas (giving) and anal (giving), it takes no effort to find video after video and writing after writing on the topics. But few of them thrill, and it’s those few gems that do that truly inspire. Inspire both in the adrenaline sense and in the sense of what occurs down in the nether regions upon reading or viewing.
Consider the excerpt above from “Tomboy,” which combined discipline in the form of corporal punishment of the bared buttocks with discipline via enema — or, rather, “squirt” in this case. This passage excites me, and it’s hardly the most exciting passage from the book. What’s so special about it? How does it pass the test of being a verbal gem and not just a verbal also-ran?
For me the Victorian-style writing thrills because it tends to satisfy Coleridge’s “willful suspension of disbelief” proposition, the past is a foreign country, so I can squint my eyes and just about believe that yes, such reformatories really did exist, and such practices really did occur there. And having opened the door to that reality, it’s then only one short step past the threshold into a full blown, multiple girls with their knickers down being strapped, paddled, enemaed, sodomized etc., and BOY wouldn’t I just have loved to be the headmaster of such a place!
Which is honestly hilarious, because in truth we know perfectly well that reformatories and religious schools actually have been the settings for scenes at least approximating that fantasy, and a horrible thing that is indeed that the fantasy actually isn’t just make-believe.
And I, self-proclaimed pervert that I am, am still an honorable pervert, and would never ever in a million years enjoy a situation of such power, although it’s fun to think about in the abstract.
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All of which philosophizing brings me back to this website and my own writing, and the experiences underlying it. I came of age in the LA spanking scene — we were young and many of us (NOT me) had red behinds — and then became quite an expert in phone domination/sex, specifically in the form of long-distance spankings and enemas, often (but certainly not always) with orgasms at the end.
The phone is an unforgiving instrument in terms of staging arousal and seducing someone, timing is everything. Honestly, I actually started with typed discipline, where timing is ever more crucial. How long after tying the instruction to drop the panties and get the plug do you wait to type “now I expect you to vaseline your behind, sweetheart, and put it in.”
The stories here reflect this background of in person/on the phone/purely typed discipline/seduction. Not all of them are works of art, although I hope at least a few rise mostly to some defendable level of craft if not perfection.
So enjoy, I have more to say in meanderings such as this as well as in more of those 40-odd stories I have to find and collate and post. Stay tuned.