Monday, 25 May 2015

A letter to Nanny Smackbottom from the annuls of Pyjama Punishment Monthly.


Dear Nanny Smackbottom

Even though I admire and enjoy your publication I must confess to having had doubts about the methods employed to discipline errant boys. Imagine my surprise when I discovered for myself that your recommendations could be deployed successfully.

My nephew is fifteen, and typically lacking in manners and respect for his elders. One evening after a heated debate about him going out and not returning until late, I decided to try a little experiment. While he was taking a bath I locked his bedroom door, then selected a pair of my pyjamas; yellow floral ones made of robust flannelette and returned to the sitting room to wait for him.
Soon he was standing in front of me holding a wet skimpy towel to cover his modesty. He demanded access to his bedroom and his clothes but I calmly told him that I had decided he was not going out tonight  but instead would enjoy a quiet night in with me. I pointed to the pyjamas warming on the radiator and informed him he could wear the pyjamas or he could stay naked - the choice was his. Of course he blustered about his 'rights' and such nonsense that he had picked up at school, until I told him that he was legally still a child and under my jurisdiction and that i had the right to discipline him how I chose.

Becoming less assured now he tried to reason with me. He reminded me that I was expecting visitors, as if that would sway me. I told him it was up to him, if he wanted my guests tosee him naked he could stay as he was, or he could be seen, modestly attired in pyjamas. Much calmer now he looked at the pyjamas on the radiator then down at the useless, sopping wet towel. I watched delighted as he took  the pyjama bottoms and  reluctantly stepped into them. As he slipped his arms into the the pyjama jacket I could barely suppress my excitement.

The pyjamas were far too big for him, especially the pyjama top, so I helped him by turning up the sleeves of the jacket and turning over the elastic waistband of the bottoms to shorten the length of the pyjama legs. He struggled with the unfamiliar button arrangement and I happily fastened them for him. The effect on him was staggering, almost immediately after putting on my pyjamas he was a different boy. He politely requested that he be allowed to go immediately to bed, but I informed him if he did so seven o'clock would become his permanent bedtime so it would be more sensible to wait to greet and say hello to my guests, after a short period of time I would allow him to depart for bed. When he asked me how we would explain his appearance he called me 'Aunty', something he had not done for several weeks.

We would say he was recovering from flu and that he had run out of clean pyjamas, I told him reassuringly. When my guests arrived he was politeness personified, sitting quietly and speaking when spoken to. Everyone accepted without question our explanation of his unusual attire, some even commenting on how sweet he looked wearing feminine pyjamas. Only when one of them produced her phone, saying she must have a picture of such a delightfully polite little boy in his jimmy-jams, did he murmur an objection. I felt sufficiently confident to give his bottom a little smack and he posed, admittedly somewhat shyly, sitting coquettishly on my lap - a picture that stands framed on my mantelpiece as I write.

At seven thirty I encouraged him to say goodnight to everyone and after night-night kisses and hugs, I led him upstairs and tucked him into bed in my daughter's old room. He did not look out of place amongst the girlish knick-knacks that defined it as a truly feminine bedroom.

The next day I kept him dressed in my pyjamas to reinforce my newfound discipline and after school on Monday I took him shopping and bought him two pairs of female pyjamas of his very own. His pyjamas are primrose and pink; soft winceyette ones with a frilly lace Peter Pan collar, and with teddy bear and - very appropriate for winter - snowmen, motifs.
Since then, if he has misbehaved I only have to say ‘pyjama time please’ and no sooner have I spoken the words he has put on his pyjamas and is cuddled up beside me dressed for beddy-byes in his pretty girls' night attire.

Thank you for promoting this truly effective style of petticoat discipline.

Yours truly,

Margaret

Dear Margaret
 
Pyjama and bedtime discipline is very effective, and I get quite a few letters from women such as yourself who have discovered this for themselves. A soft toy such as a teddy bear or bunny rabbit is often added, as well as a baby's dummy at the time of actually being taken to bed and this can greatly enhance your control over him especially with guests present. Please write again Margaret, and tell us all how he is progressing.

Nanny Snackbottom

Humilated in footie pyjamas. This couldn't happen to Stephen could it?


Saturday, 16 May 2015

Oliver is humiliated and put to bed as Stephen becomes frustrated. Another part of my story featuring moggs characters.(Parts one and two)




Mrs Wilding smiled indulgently at Oliver then looked at her son Stephen. "You see how a lovely short haircut can make you look extra smart?" Stephen remained silent, he always tried to be non-committal to his mum's questions, it was his way of trying to avoid trouble. It rarely worked. His mum continued to eulogise about Oliver. "And his amazing smooth legs, do you have to shave him, you know where Vera?"

Mrs Evans blouse expanded as she enjoyed the praise being heaped upon her. "On no, luckily Oliver has shown no signs of sprouting hairs anywhere thank goodness. His legs are as smooth as his face, the only thing I have to look out for is the odd hair at the base of his penis and on his scrotum. I soon whisk them out with my tweezers."

Both boys stared resolutely at the floor. Oliver because he was actually becoming quite annoyed at hearing his most intimate details being discussed and Stephen because he was wincing at the thought of hairs being extracted by a pair of tweezers. He was disappointed to learn that seventeen year old Oliver had such a hairless existence, he could not contribute anything to the hair growing competition, his own body being quite hairless but he was hopeful that by the age of seventeen he would be positively hirsute.

"Oh yes, and how delightfully smart Oliver looks from head to toe Vera, you must be very proud of your son. Now I must have a keepsake of such a smart boy, especially as he is wearing his lovely yellow play shorts." Mrs Wilding pointed her camera at Oliver.

"No! Oliver Evans stretched out his hand is if he could snatch the image from the air.

It was bad enough that his mother had sent him to school wearing a pair of his play shorts but now he had returned home and discovered Felicity Wilding and her son Stephen had come "visiting" and Mrs Wilding wanted a photo as a keepsake for goodness sake.

It had all started last evening when Oliver decided that at seventeen years of age, as he was the man of the house, it was his job to open the new jar of mayonnaise. Unfortunately he opened it all over himself, covering his regulation, grey flannel short trousers with a large dollop of mayonnaise.

His mother had not been best pleased and as his shorts were quite ruined, he was dispatched to school that morning wearing his yellow play shorts, along with a note for his form teacher.

It must be pointed out here that the school had no policy enforcing sixth formers to wear short trousers. That particular rule applied only up to fourth formers, such as Stephen. It was Mrs Evans herself who advocated that boys should continue to wear shorts, not only for the health benefits, (Oliver had never found out exactly what these were), but also because although Oliver was seventeen, she took the view that as long as he was living under her roof, she would decide what he wore. Without argument.

Oliver's day had been disastrous. His form tutor, Mrs Ledbetter, had read out his mother's note to the entire class.

Dear Hyacinth

Please excuse Oliver's appearance. I have had to send him to school today in a pair of his play shorts as he was a very naughty boy last night, he soiled his school short trousers rendering them unfit for purpose. 

Yours sincerely 

Vera Evans.

Miss Ledbetter had silenced the guffaws that came from her class as she read out the note but she then called Oliver out to the front.

"So Oliver, you were a naughty boy last night and soiled your shorts, that was careless of you. I shall have to check to see that you have not soiled yourself again."

Miss Ledbetter proceed to examine his yellow play shorts thoroughly. Her left hand felt the material of his shorts while her right hand rested on the inside of his smooth, hairless inner thigh. Hyacinth Ledbetter had always been intrigued by Oliver, she wondered why he meekly accepted his mother's decision to dress and apparently treat him as a little boy. She promised herself  she would find out more about Oliver and his mother.

Miss Ledbetter then deliberately placed her body in the way of the watching class, blocking their view, then let her hand linger on his thigh, visibly increasing his discomfort.

"P.p..p..please Miss, it wasn't like that. I..I..I didn't...really s..s...soil...." He attempted to explain himself whilst the class laughed at Miss Ledbetter's successful attempt to humiliate him.

Oliver desperately tried to divert his thoughts before he was thankfully sent him back to his desk with a light swat to his bottom and a remark about, "managing to survive the day without soiling yourself if you please Master Evans."

Everybody had laughed themselves silly and Oliver had experienced a quite awful day of teasing about being a pee-pee pants and worse. No wonder then, that he was annoyed at returning home and finding Mrs Wilding there attempting to capture his appearance on camera.

Almost immediately Oliver knew he had made a mistake.

"Oliver! How dare you talk to Auntie Felicity in such a manner. You know very well not to be rude to grown-ups."

Mrs Evans apologised to Mrs Wilding. "I am so sorry Felicity, I know exactly what lies behind Oliver's behaviour. Because of all the upset with his school short last night, by the time I got Oliver bathed into his pyjamas, it was nearly eight thirty before he was tucked into bed. Of course with his usual bedtime being eight o'clock it meant Oliver missing out on a full night's sleep, and as you have just witnessed, he becomes very irritable and bad tempered as a result."

Felicity Wilding said there was no need to apologise, confirming that Stephen was exactly the same and that was why it was important that boys had a regular pyjama time and bedtime. In fact, she added, she would be putting Stephen to bed early the next night to make up for the lost sleepy time.

Vera Evans nodded in agreement as Stephen winced inwardly, he knew where this was leading.

Sure enough Oliver's mother immediately turned to her son who was looking fearful and obviously full of remorse for his outburst, and announced. "Come along then Oliver, lets get you undressed and into your jimmy-jams, you obviously need an early night to catch up on the sleep you missed."  Oliver visibly began to well up. "But mummy..."

Mrs Evans held up her hand to silence her son in a manner he knew was not to be argued with and she immediately began removing his blazer and unbuttoning his shirt as she spoke. "Stephen, would you run upstairs to the airing cupboard and bring me down a clean pair of pyjamas for Oliver please."

Up to now, Stephen had been a reluctant observer. He knew only too well how easy it was to fall foul of all the rules and regulations his own mother imposed on him so he wasn't about to put himself in the firing line by refusing Mrs Evans request. He went upstairs and opened the airing cupboard door, there on the shelf were several pairs of pyjamas. He closed his eyes, grabbed a random pair from the middle of the pile and went back downstairs.

Oliver was already bare naked and his mother was carrying a bowl of water and some wash flannels. "This is a good idea of yours Felicity, a pre-pyjama time wash will be much quicker than a bath."

Stephen watched as his own mum took a flannel and, after rubbing in soap, began to wash Oliver's legs.

"Yes, it's a lot easier, I often give Stephen a quick pyjama time wash with a flannel rather than wasting all that hot water. Don't I Stephen?" Mrs Wilding continued to move the flannel up Oliver's naked seventeen year old body.

"Yes mum, he said, sheepishly handing Oliver's mother the pyjamas. It was only then that he realised he had not done Oliver any favour with his random pyjama selection.

Mrs Evans proffered the pyjamas to Stephens mum.

"Would you mind starting his pyjamaring Felicity? I'll just get rid of this." Mrs Evans scurried away with the bowl of water. Stephens mum held up the pyjama jacket. "How lovely, Toy Story jimmy-jams.

 

Now Stephen himself was subject to a strict pyjama and bedtime regime and his mum made him wear pyjamas that were far too childish for a boy of fifteen, but Oliver was seventeen.

Stephen made brief, apologetic eye contact with Oliver as his mother unbuttoned the pyjama jacket, held it by the shoulders and jiggled it. As any boy who is regularly dressed in his pyjamas knows, a female jiggling a pyjama jacket initiates a response where the pyjamaed one automatically inserts his arms into the sleeves and prepares to be "buttoned up".

From experience, Stephen knew his mother would start with the top button.
"Was Woody your favourite or Buzz?" His mum enquired of the hapless Oliver as she worked her way down the buttons.

"Actually it was Jessie the cowgirl. He had quite a crush on her. That's why I bought those jim-jams for his birthday this year, didn't I Oliver?" Mrs Evans had bustled back into the room just as Stephen's mum finished buttoning up Oliver's pyjama jacket. Luckily for him, his pyjama top was just long enough to reduce his embarrassment slightly by concealing his penis. He did still look ridiculous, as only the tips of his fingers were exposed due to the length of his pyjama jacket sleeves.

Oliver visibly blushed upon hearing his mother's words. To have it announced, that not only did he have a crush on a fictional, pixellated character, but also that he had received a pair of Toy Story character winceyette pyjamas for his seventeenth birthday was excruciatingly embarrassing. Stephen sympathised.

His mum smoothed the pyjama collar of Oliver's pyjamas and ran her hand down the front of the pyjama jacket. "Lovely and soft and cosy," she said. " I think Stephen would  look lovely in a pair..."

Felicity Wilding paused mid-sentence, her hand resting on Oliver's crotch. Stephen was grateful for the distraction whatever it was, he certainly did not want a pair of Toy Story pyjamas.

"Vera, I think you need to see these."

Stephen had sensibly taken out his school book and now sat half peeking, half cringing behind it as his mum lifted up seventeen year old Oliver's penis. "You see, three, no, four hairs sprouting. I expect you want to do something about them before you put him to bed?

Oliver had to suffer the indignity of the two woman peering at his testicles as though they were in the local butcher's shop examining the produce. "I was in such a hurry to get him to bed last night that I let him wash himself down there when I went to fetch his pyjamas. Why didn't you tell me you had sprouted hairs?" She scolded crossly.

"Sorry mummy." Oliver was attempting to be as contrite as possible but Stephen was not the only one to notice his use of the infantile, "mummy".

His mother grabbed one of the rogue curly hairs with her tweezers as Stephens mother held his penis out of the way. Peeking over his book, Stephen was close enough to see Oliver's skin extend outwards as the hair resisted Mrs Evans pulling action. "Ow it hurts." Oliver yelped as the hair refused to yield.

"Don't be such a baby Oliver." She pulled harder and the newly sprouted pubic hair was plucked untimely from it's rightful place. "That has it, now, only three to go."

Eventually the hair had submitted and was triumphantly scrutinised by Mrs Evans before she returned her attentions to the remaining hairs. Having realised resistance was futile, the three other hairs feebly conceded defeat and succumbed to Mrs Evans tweezers without much of a fight. Stephens mum ran her hand over the now hairless region and lowered his penis.

"All nice and smooth again Vera, we can finish getting him into his pyjamas now and tucked into bed good and early. Oh....."

There was about three inches of material after the last button on Oliver's pyjama jacket and into that space his penis began to rise. It formed a V in the material, as first of all it extended horizontally before slowly rising vertically to about forty five degrees before pausing, as if it were a dock yard crane in the middle of a funereal salute. From the tip of his penis began to ooze a gooey substance commonly known in the school playground as pre-cum. It dribbled over the edge of his penis as gravity sent it towards Mrs Evans front room carpet before it stopped and elastic like, retracted upwards slightly.

"Oliver! Stop that at once. How dare you show me up like this." His mother was annoyed and ashamed of her son when less than fifteen minutes ago she had been bursting with pride.

"I can't help it, I was trying to be good when Mrs Wilding had a hold of my thingy and then I started thinking about Miss Ledbetter.... and.."

His voice gave way as tears began to form. "I said stop that. Hands on head at once. "

Mrs Evans had armed herself with Oliver's school, ruler. Twelve inches of clear plastic that she slapped his still part raised penis with very firmly, once on the shaft and once on the tip from where the goo was still emanating.

"Onto your naughty stool immediately you disgusting boy." Oliver had doubled up as the slaps to his penis were received, but he straightened up again almost immediately with two slaps to the back of his legs that were delivered with more force than the first two. He stepped on the rickety looking wooden stool and placed his hands on his head as instructed. Even now the urge to please and obey his mother was forefront in his mind.

Stephen peered from behind his book at the seventeen year old perched on a wooden stool with his hands on his head. The act of which, raised his Toy Story motif pyjama jacket just enough to expose his sticky, now shrivelled penis. And then Stephen had an insight. His book was George Orwell's 1984 and there was no doubt in Stephen's mind that he now understood why Winston Smith was prepared for Julia to suffer his mortal fear. Stephen was pleased that it was Oliver up there, pleased that it was not him that had been punished and humiliated in such a fashion.

Stephen was eager to leave the Orwellian scene behind, unfortunately Mrs Evans insisted Oliver was to stay half naked perched on his naughty stool while the two women took tea. Eventually Felicity drained her cup.

"Well, I think it's time we got this naughty little boy of mine finally tucked into bed."

Oliver's penis was subjected to a rather rough flannel wash before his mother went to the sideboard cupboard and returned with a packet of Dry-Nites pyjama pants Oliver looked distressed but he had been punished and humiliated enough and now just wanted to be put to bed out of harms way.

"Pyjama pants are required because once Oliver has been on the naughty stool his bedtime is a confined one, that means no getting out of bed unless there is a flood or a fire, Oliver understands this don't you?"

 "Yes mummy," replied the subdued seventeen year old as his feet were threaded into the Dry-Nites.

Stephen was still intrigued enough to notice the pattern on the front of the pyjama pants was the dinosaur version.
 


He recognised them since those were the very same pattern as his own Dry-Nites pants.

As "compensation", for his behaviour, Stephens mum was given the task of finishing what she started and helped him into his Toy Story pyjama bottoms, pulling the elasticised waist up high and letting it ping under his rib cage.

"There, all ready for beddy-byes. Oliver, thank Auntie Felicity for putting you into your jimmy-jams and apologise for being such a naughty little boy," requested his mother. Stephen recognised the look of anguish on Oliver's face as he mumbled, "thank you Auntie Felicity." His mother looked exasperated. "That's not what I said, try again."

Oliver took a deep breath. "Thank you for putting me into my jimmy-jams Auntie Felicity and I am very sorry for being such a naughty boy."

Satisfied at making her son act like a six year old, Mrs Evans took hold of Oliver's wrist in readiness to escort him upstairs to bed.  "I wonder how much longer we will have to continue putting naughty boys into their pyjamas putting them to sleepy-byes for early bedtimes Felicity," she mused.

"Oh I am sure for a long time yet Vera, a very long time," ventured Mrs Wilding looking at Stephen, "goodness knows when we will be able to stop looking after them, probably never."

Vera Evans appeared very pleased with the response and tightened her grip on Oliver's wrist. "Up the wooden hill we go then."

"Come on mum, let's leave" urged Stephen. Mrs Wilding looked at her watch, "goodness you're right Stephen, if  we don't catch that bus, we'll be lucky to get home for your own pyjama time. Say night-night to Oliver and give Auntie Vera a night-night kiss."

"Actually I would like you to come upstairs, just until I get Oliver settled, it will only take five minutes."

Mrs Wilding checked her watch again, "just a few minutes, then we must be off."

If truth be told, Felicity Wilding was very interested in Vera's disciplinary techniques and was happy to continue witnessing Oliver's punishment. Stephen meanwhile was extremely worried as he too was ushered upstairs. His mum was too involved in this for his liking.

Stephen felt awkward being in Oliver's bedroom and stayed just inside the doorway.
It wasn't right, not under the circumstances, he fervently wished he could be somewhere else. However curiosity allowed him to look around. It was certainly not the bedroom of an ordinary seventeen year old.

There was certainly no computer or laptop, nor any sign that Oliver listened to music in his bedroom, Stephen mused that even he had an old CD player, and he owned six Cd's to play on it too. Without seeing or knowing the age of the occupant the bedroom could have been the sleeping space of a seven year old rather that of a seventeen year old. Buzz Lightyear posters adorned the walls that themselves were papered in a nursery style print of rather disturbing looking clowns. One large image of Jessie, Woody the cowboys girlfriend, was pinned to the wall directly facing Oliver's bed.

This was the bed that featured bedclothes portraying an ebullient Bob the Builder triumphantly waving a spanner and Stephen had no doubt that there was a Buzz Lightyear set too, lurking somewhere in the six draw dresser that stood against the far wall. All in all, thought Stephen, his own bedroom was far more of a big boys bedroom than this infantile horror. And those pyjamas? He shuddered at the thought of having to wear and be seen, in a pair of Buzz Lightyear pyjamas. 

Mrs Evans drew the heavily lined curtains and instantly the room was darkened. Only the bedside lamp offered enough light for Mrs Evans to see as she opened the third drawer down of the dresser.

Seventeen year old Oliver, standing by his bed clad only in his Toy Story, winceyette pyjamas, watched Mrs Evans  remove a pair of white mittens.

"Handy Pandie please Oliver,"

"But mum…"  His protest was ignored as his mother pushed his left hand into the mitten. Stephen could see that Oliver had to make a fist before his mother could fit the mitten properly. There was a cuff of about three inches that extended to his wrist. Mrs Evans threaded the long lace into eyelets and fastened on the mitten. Stephen now saw that it was more of a mini boxing glove, not leather though, instead it was a sort of shiny vinyl. The same process was repeated with his right hand.

"You understand why mummy must do this don't you Oliver?" He nodded miserably.
"Being unable to control yourself just because Auntie Felicity wiggled your tiny tiddler is unacceptable behaviour. I will not allow you to be a dirty little boy. Masturbation will not be tolerated in this house as long as I draw breath. Now, Handy Pandies by your sides" 

Stephen shuffled forward slightly to see what was going on. There were two loops of material on the waist band of Oliver's pyjama bottoms and his mother tied the loose ends of the mittens fasteners to them, the result being that Oliver's arm movement was  restricted to one or two inches, effectively pinning his arms and hands to the side of his body.

Stephens mum looked impressed as she turned back the Bob the Builder bed clothes and patted the bottom sheet, inviting Oliver into his cosy, infantile bed.

"In you pop Oliver, there's a god boy, there's no question of you playing with your little pee-pee now is there?"

Even if Oliver was supposed to answer he was not given a chance as his mother pushed him gently in the middle of his chest. Without the aid of his arms to balance himself he toppled backwards and gently bounced on his bed. Oliver was swiftly tucked tightly in by his mother on one side and Stephen's mum on the other.

"Who do you want to snuggle with tonight, Bibbity Bobtail or Mr Teddy?" Mrs Evans was waggling a bedraggled looking rag doll bunny rabbit with long floppy ears that appeared to be home made, and a small Teddy Bear that was dressed in a pair of tiny blue striped pyjamas.  As Oliver's face was the only part of him visible after being tucked into bed it was impossible not to notice his embarrassment as his mother waved the two toys impatiently.

 "Come along Oliver choose, naughty boys shouldn't really be allowed to snuggle with a favourite toy at bedtime at all." Finally Oliver answered in a barely audible voice," Mr Teddy please mummy."

"Night-night," she said tucking the bear in beside him and kissing his forehead.

"Stephen, say night-night to Oliver." Now it was Stephens turn to be embarrassed. He mumbled a goodnight and at last he could escape the whole dreadful scenario.

"Oh you've left the bedroom lamp on", Stephen's mum cried as the bedroom door was closing. Mrs Evans reached to a switch on the landing.

"I had this moved when I caught Oliver reading long after he should have gone to sleepy-byes one night, so now his bedroom lighting is controlled from here. Oliver now knows that bedtime means bedtime."

Stephen's mum looked very impressed with this innovation as they headed back downstairs into the living room.

"Before you go I must give you these for Stephen, Mrs Evans handed a bundle to Stephen's mum just as he was putting on his new gabardine mackintosh in readiness to leave. "They are too small now for Oliver but they would be perfect for Stephen."

Mrs Evans grinned at Stephen and patted his head condescendingly as he stood buttoning up his coat, she was looking directly at him but talking to his mum.

 "I don't know if Stephen wears shorty pyjamas, but you are welcome to them and the all in one winceyette set is the one I had Mrs Frederick make for Oliver, you know, used to have the shop on the high street? It was designed to curb his nocturnal habits but he soon outgrew it unfortunately and she retired I believe."

Stephen felt faint, if only they had left for the bus earlier.
"Oh, look Stephen a lovely pair of shorty pyjamas, actually if you don't mind Edith, I will use them as a play outfit for Stephen, how sweet, you like Bob the Builder too don't you Stephen?"

He was aghast, the thin cotton pyjamas consisted of a short sleeved buttoned top and a pair of skimpy shorts, they were light blue and emblazoned with the motif of a cartoon character he liked when he was five.

"I don't really like him that much these days mum, I can't see me wearing those to be honest…."

His mum gave him one of her looks. "Stephen! Don't be so ungrateful, you will wear them and be pleased to do so. Now, let's have a look at these other jim-jams….."

"Hello, hello." Two heads appeared peering into the living room. Pardon us, we did knock…."

Are people born unlucky? At that moment Stephen certainly thought he was as
the Vicar and Oliver's form teacher entered the room.






Sunday, 10 May 2015

Strict Mrs Jacobson makes me wear striped pyjamas for an early bedtime.

Aunty had to dash off to tend to her ailing sister Aunty Hilda, and as Aunty decreed before she left, I found myself under orders to obey Mrs Jacobson without question. At first everything seemed to be satisfactory. I had washed the dishes and vacuumed throughout, before she sent me upstairs to clean my bedroom.
It was when she came up to inspect my handiwork that I fell foul of her wrath. She asked me if I had finished and if I was certain I had thoroughly completed my task.

"Yes Mrs Jacobson," I replied, confident that I had done an excellent job.

She reached up to the wardrobe door frame and ran her finger along the edge. The dust smeared finger was thrust under my nose. "Call that clean do you?  You lazy boy, telling me lies about how well you have cleaned. Well, something will have to be done about this. I'll have to sort you out some pyjamas, you obviously need some discipline."

I could sense her anger as she ordered me to put my hands on my head and stand in the corner of my bedroom facing the mirror so that I could, "look Mr Liar in the face."

After twenty minutes of corner time she called me downstairs, my heart sank as I saw my freshly ironed, red striped pyjamas waiting ominously for one unlucky wearer. Mrs Jacobson beckoned me toward her
"Off with your clothes, I want you in pyjamas ready for bed before the girls arrive," she informed me.
It turned out that Mrs Jacobson had decided to hold her Women's Institute accounts meeting that very afternoon. Quickly I divested myself of my clothing and stood, not for the first time, naked in front of her. She grasped my penis and rolled back the foreskin, "disgusting, I see I shall have to bathe you before I can even think of putting you into clean pyjamas."
Now I had showered fastidiously that very morning so I knew this was merely an excuse to wash me. Mrs Jacobson enjoyed wielding a flannel as if she was on some mission to eradicate any trace of penile emissions from male bodies. I received several slaps to the back of my bare legs that left red finger-mark weal's for, in her words,  "crying like a baby," as she scoured my skin with her coarse cloth. Finally she was convinced of my cleanliness and it was time for my, "pyjamaring", as she insisted on calling the act of donning pyjamas. I was allowed to undertake this task myself while Mrs Jacobson emptied the wash bowl. Upon her return I immediately encountered her wrath. "How is it that a boy you age still doesn't learn that there wouldn't be a top button on your pyjama jacket if it wasn't meant to be fully buttoned up, now get it buttoned, fast." My protest about how uncomfortable it was and how silly I looked in a fully buttoned pyjama jacket fell on deaf ears, she lost patience with me and buttoned it up herself, smoothing down the pyjama collar as she did so. Of course there was more.
"How many times?" She asked, as she reached under my pyjama jacket and undid the pyjama cord, sliding my pyjama bottoms down to my ankles before raising them again, only this time encompassing the pyjama jacket hem within the waist of the pyjama bottoms. "There now, that's much neater, isn't it?" she asked to no one in particular, before abruptly ordering me to, "be a soldier." Upon her command I had to come to attention, the palms of my hands pressed firmly against my pyjama bottoms, my tartan slippers welded together and my eyes unwaveringly focussed forwards on her unforgiving features. "Attention! Quick march." Mrs Jacobson hailed from a military background and she enjoyed periodically putting me through my paces but this was the first time she had done so when I was wearing striped pyjamas and tartan slippers. After ten minutes of drill in the garden I was eventually allowed to stand at ease by the tool shed just as the accounts committee began to arrive. First was Miss Keighley. "In your jim-jams at three pm today I see, have you been a very naughty boy? I do hope we are going to see you draped over Mrs Jacobson lap before you are sent to bed?" I blushed but remained at my ease position as Mrs Jacobson had not yet given me permission to move. "Wincy, you will go indoors and prepare tea for six, not for you though, you will be going to bed early and I don't want you out of bed running to the bathroom once we have tucked you in."
Once again my heat sank, another early bedtime. Of course if I had known what was about to occur I would have happily went to bed there and then.




Monday, 4 May 2015

Eunice's comment about putting her husband into frilly pink winceyette pyjamas to complete his household chores, certainly seems to have struck a chord. Mrs Edith Bagnel has written to tell me she has been using this form of pyjama punishment for quite some time. I must admit I would have remained ignorant of what a, "ruffle neckline" actually was unless Edith had not included several pictures, although I have only shown a couple to demonstrate for those as clueless as I was. Mr Bagnel is subject to a rather strict Sissy regime but to each their own. Here is Edith's letter.

Dear Eunice




I would like to congratulate you on the way you maintain discipline over your husband. It is very impressive, although I do wonder why you bother to change him into oversized, male striped pyjamas when a large, floral winceyette pair would be equally effective?

I am thirteen years older that my husband and I was under no illusion that he only married me to take advantage of my financially comfortable lifestyle. What a shock he got on our honeymoon, he had assumed that he could wander off down to the hotel bar, when I took him across my lap and smacked his bottom for him until it was burning red and he was whimpering for me to stop he realised married life was not going to be as he thought it was. I opened my suitcase and selected a pair of robust winceyette pyjamas for him to wear. They were pale pink with tiny rosebuds on them, best of all was the high, ruffle neck collar that I delighted in fastening for him before I stepped him into the pyjama bottoms. I ordered room service and had no compunction in making him open the door to the girl who bought the food. he received another surprise when I put him to bed in the bathtub where he spent the night whilst I enjoyed the food.

We have been together now for seven years, and since that very first night he has not worn male outdoor clothes on more than four occasions. I have kept him permanently dressed in pink floral pyjamas for the remainder of that time. Only when he had to have an emergency appendectomy did I relent and allow him to change into a pair of men's pyjamas before the ambulance arrived.

His daily routine begins at 5.30. He showers and puts on the pair of pyjamas that are top of the pile I leave for him in his sleeping space. I should mention here that my husband has never shared a bed with me, he sleeps in what was once a walk in wardrobe where there is just enough room for a small single bed and a three drawer cabinet that I place his daily pyjamas in. All of his pyjamas are made form winceyette, are pink floral and have either a ruffled high neck collar or a Peter Pan style collar, The top button of his pyjamas must always be fastened unless he wants a visit across my knee.

Suitably slippered and pyjamaed, he works quietly in the kitchen until it is time to bring me my morning tea and toast at 8 am.

He has a set of daily chores to perform and I get him to recite them for me as he clears breakfast away so that I can monitor his performance throughout the day.

I make no attempt to conceal his pyjama discipline and my punishment methods of corner time, mouth soaping and spankings, indeed I enjoy nothing better than when, on sunny days, I am entertaining in the garden and he comes out to hang out washing, I call him over and get him to sing a nursery rhyme or two. My mother and sister love to hear him mumble his way through Twinkle-Twinkle Little Star and Mary Had a Little Lamb before chastising him and making him repeat the performance until we are satisfied. Likewise my niece, who is fourteen, has always had complete authority over  him. It is very amusing when she straps him into the garden swing and pushes him higher and higher which he absolutely hates and is quite terrified of. His screams became to alarming for the neighbours so now he is gagged with a dummy tied into his mouth before the fun can begin.
His muffled screams of terror are frightfully funny and have us all in hysterics.

We never tire of finding new ways for my husband to entertain us, one of which is that he now must curtsey to every female of whatever age, each time he is spoken to and thank us. So for example my niece will say, "Uncle bring me a lemonade quickly now," and he will take the hem of his pyjama jacket between his fingers and curtsey replying, " yes Miss Felicity, at once Miss Felicity.
When we are in a playful mood we have him fetching and taking away ridiculous things like a cooking apple and make him eat it.

Of course his bedtime comes around quickly and I send him of to shower at 5pm after he has prepared the evening meal. Sometimes I bath him myself, I enjoy filling the bath with cold water and scrubbing his small body with a nailbrush, once again he has to be dummy gagged to stifle his screams.

He puts on his betimes pyjamas and he goes back to bed no later than six pm. I can only recall three instances in the last seven years when he has not been in bed  by that time so he is used to early bedtimes.
I hope Eunice continues to control her errant husband with pyjamarings and early bedtimes and encourage other women to do the same.





Friday, 17 April 2015

Older boys punished by being made to wear short trousers was a popular theme in PPM in later editions. Matron always had strong opinions on discipline and this exchange showcases that. Interesting too, to see letters from Helen Good, an advocate of pyjama discipline who was once very prominent on sites such as ours.


Dear Matron

I feel I must join in the debate about the merits of short trousers for older boys.
Up until about twenty years ago it was not unusual for me to come across boys in their late teens who still wore short trousers. It is much more difficult today to encourage or indeed enforce such behaviour. Twenty or thirty years ago a community would see an older boy wearing grey flannel schoolboy shorts, or outside play shorts and think it was none of their business. Times have changed, possibly for the better possibly not but with the advent of social media and instant worldwide communications nothing remains "behind closed doors" anymore. Sometimes a boy would continue to wear short trousers merely because his youth was being extended beyond what was considered normal. Today we complain that children grow up too fast and mourn the loss of innocence in the very young, yet now we condemn as if it is some sort of child cruelty, a boy who wears short trousers past toddler age. When I was young, boys who were six foot tall would still be playing games outside wearing their short trousers. Indeed my own brother continued to wear shorts after he started work at the local Co-op for quite a few years. As long as they were presentable and still fitted, my mother saw no reason to purchase him longs. In my own experience I always expected any boy under my tutelage up to the age of at least twenty, to wear short, school boy style trousers during the day, especially when he was outdoors. Ironically, when he was safely ensconced indoors for the day, he would be wearing long trousers in the form of pyjamas. Pyjamas would be donned and worn around the house until the wearers prescribed bedtime. Shorts are a splendid item of boys clothing that are dismissed too quickly by society today I fear.

Helen Good

Helen,
It would be marvellous if we could return to the good old days, at least as far as older boys wearing short trousers is concerned. But as you say, times have changed and I do not think we shall see this again.
My own brother too, wore short trousers out of school from 15 to 19 at my mother's instruction and generally accepted her decision.  This was 20 years ago and even in those days you did not see many boys over the age of 13 still in short trousers for school (I think several Prep schools still had boys of 13 wearing compulsory shorts as part of their uniform at the time).
You write:-
"I always expected any boy under my tutelage up to the age of at least twenty, to wear short, school boy style trousers during the day,".
What exactly do you mean by "tutelage"? Were you a private tutor? A school mistress? Perhaps you could explain.
I completely agree that children nowadays grow up too fast and if boys were kept in short trousers as part of the school uniform to 15 or 16 that would slow this process down. I remember reading about a school in Scotland where boys wore short trousers until they left at 18. Unfortunately the school closed down in July 2000.

Dear Matron

Obviously I owe a duty of care to past employers and the young boys I have tutored, but I will endeavour to answer your queries as best I can. Over the course of more years than I care to think about I have been witness to more than one instance where a boy, having been home tutored, has worn short trousers beyond seventeen. The mention of the school in Scotland reminded me that one of those instances occurred there but I shall not reveal the exact location even though this was many years ago. This particular boy's mother found it difficult to come to terms with the changing, modern world of the 1970's and sought to protect her son from, as she perceived it, it's immoral ways. Simon was dressed in traditional school uniform when I first encountered him, which included grey flannel shorts. I admit my first impression was that of a younger boy. Simon was sixteen at the time but, wearing shorts, shirt and tie, cap and blazer and grey knee socks I assumed he was a younger brother. However I soon became accustomed to his mother's wishes and it was part of my duties to report to his mother or governess if Simon failed to present himself for lessons correctly attired, although I always felt guilty as he would invariably be punished after my chat with his mother. Simon attended Church, or the Kirk as it was known, on Sunday mornings, wearing his school uniform and not once did I hear adverse comment from any of the congregation or the minister, who was, I believe one of the earliest female ministers of the church, about Simon's appearance. When Simon was not wearing school uniform he continued to wear shorts but these were shorter than his school ones. Made from cotton and usually in beige or brown, they had elasticised waists and he seemed quite happy enough to wear them when outside at the weekends. Although to be fair he was never outside a great deal. After tuition was finished for the day at 5pm, Saturdays at noon, (we began at 7.30), his governess took him away. When I next saw him at supper at 6.30 Simon was already dressed in his pyjamas ready for bed. Indeed, his mother insisted on a 7.30 bedtime for Simon throughout my time with them and I cannot deny that Simon was subject to various punishments including receiving the strap or to be accurate the tawse, on his hands and on his buttocks too. he also was subjected to the childish punishments of  spending time in the corner with hands on head and early bedtimes. Undoubtedly his mother's ability to mostly isolate him from the outside world contributed to her success in delaying his, "entry to hell's inferno," as she so dramatically described the world outside. However I did learn that Simon went on to attend university but after graduating returned to the maternal home and once more became subject to his mother's discipline.

Helen Good

A very interesting story Helen. I am not surprised that you never heard adverse comment about Simon's appearance. Whether he is 8 or 18, a schoolboy is going to look smarter in short trousers and knee socks than in long trousers. I will also say that whenever I had charge of boys I insisted on an immaculate turn out for church - both cleanliness and smartness.
I also like the sound of the lad's play shorts, though it is a shame that he did not spend more time out of doors, as that is so important for healthy development. Short trousers in the sort of weather we are "enjoying" at the moment help to make a boy hardy and to remind him that the world is not designed around the comfort of schoolboys.
Whenever I have been asked to look at an institutional regime for boys I have, almost invariably, recommended that they be made to get up earlier and be sent to bed earlier. So lessons from 7.30. into pyjamas by 6.30 and bed by 7.30 sounds a very good rule to me.
You were quite right to report Simon if he did not come to your lessons properly dressed. It is up to the adults who have authority over a boy to decide what he shall wear and it is the boy's duty to obey them.
If Simon was not properly dressed he was disobedient and also insolent towards you. I hope that rudeness was properly dealt with.
As for feeling guilty about  Simon's punishments, I have been a school matron and visited many establishments for boys at home and abroad, and I can tell you that corporal punishment is the best way to instil in the boys correct behaviours.

Matron