Wednesday, 7 January 2015

Nanny Susan.. continued

Susan was already untying the cord that restricted his arm movement and it dangled from his blue mitten as she slid his pyjama bottoms down to his ankles.

Roberts need was so urgent that he had no choice other than to rapidly sit himself down onto the plastic monstrosity.

‘My mittens, what about my mittens?’ He cried, pathetically, holding his hands up for her to unfasten the bindings.

‘Oh, I think you can manage.’ She laughed as she disappeared into the kitchen.

Robert tried to direct his flow, but the mittens made this task somewhat difficult and, when he was finished, one mittened hand was sodden and a damp patch on the front of his pyjamas proved his aim had been poor.

‘I’m wet and it’s all your fault Nanny,’ he shouted petulantly, sounding more and more like a frustrated toddler. So annoyed was he, that his unbroken voice cracked into an even higher octave, and tears of pent up frustration trickled down and mingled with the still encrusted food on his reddened face. 'Aunty……..' he bawled.

Aunt Harriet was standing in the hallway.

‘What’s all this noise about?’ She demanded.

She was confronted with an image of her seventeen-year-old nephew squatting on a baby’s potty, with his yellow, nursery rhyme motif pyjama bottoms entangled at his feet, a baby’s bib tied around his neck and his woollen mittened hands, stretched outwards toward her.

Without a word, she removed his bib, used it to wipe his face, and removed his mittens, taking care to place the sodden one on top of the one remaining dry mitten as she laid them down. She stood him up and indicated for him to step out of his wet pyjama bottoms. Gingerly, she folded them to encompass the wetness and placed them alongside the mittens. Only then did she speak.

‘Well, it seems to me that Nanny is right; your behaviour becomes more infantile every day.

“But Aunty...’ he began to whine, ‘it’s not my fault Susan made me......’

‘Silence!’ Aunty held up her hand. ‘I will listen to no more of your pathetic excuses and downright lies. It's fairly obvious now that I need to begin to accommodate your needs. Nanny, take this naughty little baby upstairs and prepare a bath for him  please, I will sort this mess out and join you shortly.’

Susan had barely lifted him into the bath when Aunty joined them.

‘It’s  been a while since I have had to bathe you Robert, but obviously that is what your behaviour warrants.’

Robert was about to protest but the look on his Aunt's face made him hold his tongue.
For the next five minutes Robert howled his displeasure at being washed and scrubbed by Aunty and Nanny Susan. The rough wash flannel explored every nook and cranny his body contained and he moaned childishly throughout.

As Susan rinsed shampoo from his hair Aunty commanded, ‘open wide you deceitful little boy.’ Startled, Robert’s mouth was suddenly full of wet soapy cloth.

‘Let’s see if having your mouth washed out with soap teaches you to not to tell fibs about Nanny Susan.’

Robert fought to remove the invasive cloth , but Susan held him tightly while Aunty worked the flannel around his mouth.

Feeling nauseous and with his eyes stinging from shampoo he was exhausted and helpless as the bath water gurgled away. He was lifted out of the bath by Susan and enveloped in a soft embracing towel.

Roberts head bobbed back and forth as his hair was rubbed dry, blinded by the towel over his head he felt himself being lowered onto his bed.

‘Now then Baby Bobbykins, Nanny Susan is going to put your night-night nap-naps on making him all snuggly-wuggly for beddy-byes, yes we are.’

It was then that he realised he had been positioned onto a square of white towelling he recognised as a nappy. “Nooo……. Nanny no. Please stop… don't”

Robert tried struggling and resisting, but he was helpless as Susan’s hands gently prepared his body for his nappy. He felt her rubbing cream in between his legs and up around his bottom. He moaned at her touch.

 “Now for some lovely talc-um powder on those little dumplings and your tiny little pee-pee,” she said, as her fingers caressed him.

He moaned even louder and instinct took over and he was almost about to bring matters to a conclusion when……….

Aunty’s angry face loomed over Robert. He could see that over her arm were draped his blue, Teddy Bear pyjamas, the ones he had hidden at the back of his pyjama drawer and there was something else in her hand.....

Aunt Harriet looked down at Robert. He had never seen her look so angry with him before.
‘I see my Baby Bobbykins is  all excited about being put back into nappies, don’t worry, Nanny Susan will soon have everything tucked away inside your nappy out of harms way, and dressed in your jim-jams ready for bed, but first you need this.”

A click of a tiny padlock closing and Robert, diminutive, seventeen year old Robert, was completely and utterly chastised.

Susan Phillips faced the mirror. She was pleased with what she saw. She was little more than a girl, but she saw herself as an authoritative, dominant woman and this was the image she had created. Her hair was already pinned up as she slipped her arms into her prim white blouse with the brown stripes. The cuffs were long, double buttoned ones that embraced her wrists. She had fastened the top button of the blouse and the rounded collar was set off by a vintage cameo brooch that had been her grandmothers. She ran her hands down the front of her blouse to smooth a small, barely noticeable crease.

Sitting on the edge of the bed she pulled on her sixty denier black tights, before she stepped into her size eighteen black skirt, pulling it up over her faux silk slip and fastening the button at the side. She ran her hands inside the waistline of the skirt, adjusting the position and once again running her hands against the skirts slightly rough material.

She selected her size ten black brogues and bent to tie them. Standing upright she stared straight into the mirror. This was Nanny Susan.

It was only seven o'clock when she entered his room. Robert was fast asleep. It had taken the two of them to calm him but it had not been too difficult. The chastity device was a masterstroke, and once he had been pinned into his nappy the majority of the fight had gone out of him. He had been totally compliant as she had buttoned him into his blue, Teddy Bear motif pyjamas and he had sat quietly on her lap as she gave him the baby bottle. Of course, once he had drank all his “sleepy time” milk up, it was easy to put Baby Bobbykins to bed even though it was only six o’clock.

Susan wanted to introduce Robert to the quieter, another tool in her regression technique. She had spent most of the previous evening, once he had been put to bed, planning the day ahead and this was uppermost in her mind as she shook him awake.
When Aunt Harriet came down for breakfast Robert was perched in a high chair. He was naked apart from a pair of dry-nites pyjama pants and his now laundered woollen mittens. Robert was looking very sorry for himself as he struggled to avoid a spoonful of semolina pudding that Nanny Susan was insisting he eat.

"Now come along Baby Bobbykins, " coaxed Nanny Susan, "you must eat up your lovely milky pudding, how else will you grow up to be a big strong boy?"

Upon seeing Aunt Harriet she put the spoon in the bowl and left Robert to his own devices, with his ankles secured to the legs of the high chair and the feeding tray firmly locked into place, he wasn't going anywhere.

"Aunty please,…. I'm sorry if I have been naughty but please help me.."

The elongated, shiny plastic teat of the dummy penetrated and filled his mouth. The guard snapped against his lips and chin as Nanny Susan secured the strong rubber fasteners. Robert began to panic as, in trying to eject the dummy from his mouth he forgot to breathe.

"Hush now Baby Bobbykins, don't fight it, breathe through your nose and suck your dummy rhythmically. That's it, don't worry about the dribbles, that's what this is for." Susan flapped out the towelling bib and held it triumphantly in front of him. Snowy white in colour, across it was printed in red lettering, 'Nanny's New Babykins'. Once again he shook his head and tried to voice his protest. Susan laughed, and crooking her finger under his chin wiped away a sliver of dribble that oozed from the corner of his mouth.

Aunt Harriet poured herself a cup of tea. "The high chair and the quieter, so soon?"

Susan removed the plastic apron she had fastened on herself when she began to feed Robert. She glanced across at him as she answered. "Yes he's making fine progress, I thought we could take him to school dressed this morning?"

Aunt Harriet nodded, and drained her cup. Is the milk in the pudding the…" she hesitated. Susan interjected, "yes of course."

Robert's eyes followed Aunty Harriet's movement , imploring her to help him. He was confused as to what he had done for her to place him in the hands of this monstrous girl.

Aunt Harriet wiggled the dummy embedded in Roberts mouth. "Just be a good boy for Aunty and Nanny Susan and everything will be fine you will see." She patted his head condescendingly. "Very well, get him ready and we will set off."

Nanny Susan stared hard at Robert as she re-fastened the plastic apron and picked up the spoon. She slapped the inside of his thigh with the back of the metal spoon, Robert squealed as much as he could with a large plastic teat in his mouth as a bright red mark appeared on the inside of his leg along with a smear of semolina.
"Just a reminder to behave Baby Bobbykins. I am going to release you from the quieter and I want you to eat up all your pudding without a word, understand?"

Robert readily agreed, nodding his head in compliance. The relief he felt when the unerring pressure of the rubber restraints, forcing the plastic deep into his mouth was ended, was worth the disgusting mouthfuls of milky semolina he had to endure.

Half an hour later Robert was stood in front of the mirror as Nanny Susan crouched behind him, her hands firmly planted on his shoulders. He felt strange, he knew he was dressed strangely for a seventeen year old but somehow it didn't bother him one bit.

"See Baby Bobbykins, Aunty has bought you some lovely new clothes, now you can be a proper little boy can't you?"

Anthony was wearing a pair of primrose yellow shorts. They were shorts that barely covered three inches of leg. Tucked into the waistband of the shorts was a similar coloured, short sleeved shirt, a little patch pocket on the left breast had a picture of an old fashioned racing car  and underneath, in red lettering, the word, "vrooooom…".

He wore white ankle socks and on his feet were fastened a pair of red leather, Clarks sandals. In his mouth was a proper, rubber teated, blue plastic, babies dummy. He was sucking on this voluntarily. Nanny Susan had calmly informed him that if he refused to suck placidly on his dummy then the quieter would  again be utilised. She had shown him the knitted, yellow peaked cap with chin strap that would be used to conceal the rubber restraints of the quieter and he was advised that it could well be utilised at bedtime. Robert had only experienced the horrible device for a short time but had no wish to encounter it again so he readily acquiesced to voluntarily sucking on the dummy.

The seventeen year old stared at himself in the mirror and saw a toddler, all dressed up for a day out. Nanny Susan kissed him on the cheek, giggled and ushered him into the hallway where Aunty was waiting. 

Robert was apprehensive, he felt that he should have been not quite so co-operative yet at the same time he was worried about not upsetting Nanny Susan or Aunty. It was for that reason, when Aunty slipped his arms into the baby reins, that he stood and allowed Aunt Harriet to buckle the reins on him.

As Nanny Susan flicked the reins, Robert became aware of two things happening, first he heard the little bells, sewn to the leather straps jingling merrily, second he felt the sting of the leather strap against his calf.

"Off we go Baby Bobbykins, walk at a gentle pace and no pulling."  
Nanny Susan sang out as Aunty closed the door behind them.

Friday, 2 January 2015


As Peter has demonstrated recently, and Lance and Luc amongst others previously. I am completely amenable to posting other peoples contributions be they stories, pictures or whatever. As long as they comply with the spirit of the blog, and you should know what that is by now, I will post your offerings. Of course I reserve the right to edit or not post as I see fit.

This blog gets around 14,000 views a month, not huge, but a lot when you consider the specific nature of the blog. Mostly by people based in the UK and the US, most visitors then can write English, so why don't I get more comments? Today we have also had visitors from Poland and Columbia!

Happy New Year to all who visit and PLEASE leave comments, it makes such a difference.

Thursday, 1 January 2015

A Gentle Slip into Submission. This is the continuation of the story by Peter Amas that was posted here in September. I am sure you will agree with me that it is an excellent addition. Please leave a comment when you read this story as it encourages people to continue writing and contribute. Thanks. Oh,and you could leave comments on my stuff too you know!

 Slowly and in stages John awoke. As his senses returned he had a strange feeling that something was wrong. His eyes were open but the room was so dark it was hard to tell. He knew he wasn't in his own bed; he felt hot, groggy and out of place. ‘Where the hell am I?'
He recalled a bizarre dream in which a gentle old lady had dressed him in beautifully soft pyjamas before bringing him down to meet other similarly clad men. He was aroused just thinking of it.. ‘What was going on’? As his head began to clear he became aware of other sensations beside the heat. Lying on the flat of his back he felt constricted and struggled to move. His arms seemed pinned by his side and something felt tight around his neck, waist and legs.
Thinking again of the dream he realised it had happened. The constriction he was feelings was the buttoned up pyjama jacket and the pyjama cord tied high up around his waist. He began to recognise the sensation of soft, cosy flannel against his skin but still had no idea as to why he couldn't turn, move or sit up. ‘How the hell had he got to bed; who had put him there and where was he?'
He also had a strange sensation in his loins. Feeling the softness of the pyjamas and thinking of how subtlety he had been led into wearing them he was developing an erection but it became more uncomfortable as his manhood grew. His state of arousal combined with the thick flannel and bed clothes made him perspire profusely.
Hearing voices outside the room he called out ‘Hello, can you help me’; the door creaked then opened. A light went on and the room lit up temporarily blinding him. As his eyes adjusted he recognised the old lady that had so deftly dressed him in pyjamas. 'Are we awake John? I'm sure you've had the sleep of angels in those beautiful jim-jams. We have a visitor here to see you.' John was struggling to take it all in. He caught a glimpse of his pyjama clad arms fastened by his sides with thick black webbing straps that protruded through the candlewick bedspread. 'What was happening? Why was he here? What did this old lady want with him’? John's eyes  bore into Elizabeth. 'Please let me go! You can't do this to me! Who do you think you are?' He shouted.
As he writhed in the bed fighting the restraints a soft cooling hand caressed his brow. 'John please calm down this is best for us both’; his gaze shifted to the source of the voice. He was both relieved and shocked to see his wife Jenny sitting by his side. Mortified that his wife should see him like this tears welled up in his eyes, Had he taken ill? Had something happened? Was he in hospital? He had no idea what was going on.
'How are you today darling? I know Elizabeth is taking great care of you. It's in both our interest that you spend a little time here and learn how to behave. She assures me that when you are ready to leave you will be a new man, a new husband and our relationship will be back on track’.
John was confused and bewildered he couldn’t understand what Jenny was saying. He was just delighted to see her. ‘What are you saying, what's happening, why am I here?' Sitting on the end of the bed Elizabeth spoke. ‘Now John, Jenny and you both know that you were drifting apart, she was desperate to win you back and found out about our little establishment through the wife of a good friend of yours. You’ll be with us for a number of weeks; subject to you making good progress of course. Jenny has cleared your diary and made time. She will visit weekly to assess your progress and learn the finer arts of pyjama discipline.
Now Jenny it is time for you to leave and join the other ladies while we prepare John for the day’s activities. And John darling, just to reassure you all is above board and legal, we are a private psychiatric institution and when you signed the register last night you committed yourself to a course of behavioural therapy and subsequently relinquished all authority to Jenny. We can hold you indefinitely if needs be so the sooner you adopt the required behaviours the sooner you will be back in the bosom of Jenny.'
John could feel a sense of panic welling up inside; he was sweating due to fear and the layers of blankets, flannel sheets and thick pyjamas but more importantly he knew the truth behind what Elizabeth had said. They had been drifting apart and John didn’t know how to rescue their relationship which he so desperately wanted to do. ‘Please Jenny don’t do this; let me come home now’.
As Jenny turned to go John could see tears in her eyes. Elizabeth assured her that all would be well as she escorted her out of the room.
Some minutes later Elizabeth re-entered the room with a large woman dressed in nursing whites pushing the old fashioned wheelchair he had sat in at dinner last night.
They began to undo the straps holding his arms to the bed and slowly they pulled back the blankets. John could see why he couldn’t move. Similar straps across his chest and legs kept him securely anchored to the mattress. He thought about making a bolt for the door but as he tried to move he collapsed, as weak as a kitten.
Having loosened the straps Elizabeth struggled somewhat to untie the cord on his pyjama bottoms; his vulnerability made him feel aroused and his loins began to throb again. Slowly she pulled the pyjama bottoms down to reveal that he was wearing a nappy. John was totally mortified; the last vestige of his dignity gone. Elizabeth undid the nappy and removed it. ‘Now darling that was quite heavy, it looks like you have quickly regressed. You know there are some that say there is nothing like the freedom a night time nappy gives a man to help him properly relax.’. Elizabeth gently pulled his pyjama bottoms back up over John’s manhood but did not fasten the cord. John was grateful for this minor gesture; restoring some of his dignity. With the help of the nurse he was lifted into the wheelchair. ‘Now John, we have run a lovely bath for you and once you've had a good soak we will get you dressed and bring you down for your first session’.
John was lost for words. As he was pushed out of the room he felt broken and alone yet somehow soothed as his power was taken from him ‘would he find answers here’? He still loved Jenny so very much. In less than 24 hours he had been stripped of his dignity and was now dependent on this woman who seemed to have power over himself and his wife. His feelings were a mix of fear and a deep sensual arousal at the thoughts of being bathed by this elegant, motherly old lady.
Upon entering the bathroom Elizabeth and the nurse slowly and methodically removed his pyjamas. 'please don't remove my pyjamas' he pleaded, 'let me go and no one will hear of this, I promise’. "My Pyjamas", he thought. Up until yesterday he had not worn pyjamas since his childhood but now he felt an affinity to them and did not want them removed. They threw the pyjamas casually into the laundry basket. It looked like others had endured similar stripping humiliation, judging by the variety of pyjamas visible in the basket. Lifting him deftly into the bath, both Elizabeth and the nurse began to scrub his body vigorously with lavender scented sponges. He could feel his skin tingling and lifting with the cleaning.
Twenty minutes later they helped him out of the bath and into the chair into which a huge towel had been placed. They dried him thoroughly and started to comb his hair. ‘Now John,' Elizabeth said. 'I promised you last night we would have your clothes freshly aired and ironed. Nurse Hopkins will help you get dressed and prepared for this afternoon's activities. I will see you downstairs for afternoon tea shortly. I promise you a most interesting afternoon.'
Afternoon! John thought. Had he lost all track of time?  
As Elizabeth left the room Nurse Hopkins sprinkled talc on his bottom and began to dress him. He was delighted to be reunited with his own clothes and despite his weakness worked with her to get dressed. Finally, having donned his suit he collapsed further into the chair exhausted. As he was pushed out of the bathroom his knuckles grew white as he gripped the arms of the wheelchair in both fear and anticipation. God only knew what lay ahead.   
As they exited a small wrought iron lift, John could hear noise coming from somewhere ahead; it sounded like women giggling. Heavy with the scent of rose water, the air clung to his clothes as Nurse Hopkins pushed him toward the noise; they entered a large, brightly lit day room.
John noticed Jenny, Elizabeth, and five other women. They were  all dressed like Elizabeth in cashmere twin sets and skirts, they looked like a snapshot from a sixties clothing catalogue, dated and not Jenny's usual style at all. In the middle of the room were the five other men he had dined with the previous night, except now they were all fully clothed and sitting in a circle facing out toward the women. Like him they all sat in wheelchairs. As John was pushed into the circle, Elizabeth handed him a parcel wrapped with brown paper and string. 'Now John our first session will shortly begin'. 'Ladies and gentlemen today we are going to play pass the parcel. Whoever is left holding the parcel when the music stops will be the lucky winner of that round. Let us begin'.
Nurse Hopkins pressed play on an old cassette tape machine. The hissing sounds of Pop Goes the Weasel wafted the air. John found the whole situation surreal. Elizabeth gently prodded John and asked him to ‘pass the parcel’. Wishing to please her he passed it to the young man to his right. quickly the parcel was passed from man to man as it went around the circle. The men seemed to want to offload the parcel as quick as possible and in no time it was back in John's hands. He passed it on again and it got halfway around the circle when the music stopped. A small, balding rotund man was holding the parcel.
'Well done Derek’ Elizabeth said, ‘Mary, would you like to help Derek open his parcel’? Mary gave out a little squeal of excitement and Derek began to go red and didn’t appear at all happy to have won the prize. As Mary began to untie the parcel, John could see it contained a really old fashioned pair of blue, white and grey striped flannel pyjamas, a blue wool dressing gown and tartan patterned carpet slippers. John was surprised that Derek looked somewhat relieved at his 'prize'.
'Now ladies who would like to help Mary in getting Derek ready for bed?’ Elizabeth asked. 'Jenny, as a newcomer to our circle why don't you help?’
Jenny clapped her hands and giggled as Mary took her by the hand and together they pushed Derek out from the circle. Within seconds they had him standing up and began to remove his clothes. He looked pathetic as he begged and pleaded with them not to humiliate him in front of the other men and women. 'Don't be a silly boy' Mary said 'I'm sure all your little friends won't mind watching you being put into your lovely striped jimmy-jams so you will be the first ready for beddy-byes. After all, it won't be long before the rest of your chums will be cosily attired in their bedtime pyjamas.'
Moments later, Derek stood naked, his trousers around his ankles as he desperately tried to hide his manhood. Mary knocked his hands away and undid the top button on the pyjama jacket. Brusquely, she ordered him to raise his arms aloft. He did so obediently and she slipped the pyjama jacket over his upraised arms and head and pulled it down past his midriff until it descended low enough to conceal his modesty.  Having buttoned up the much hated top button, she flattened and smoothed down the pyjama collar. Now she helped him step forward out of his trousers, handing Jenny the pyjama bottoms. ‘Now Derek, be a good boy and step into your jimmy-jam bottoms for Jenny’ instructed Mary. As he obeyed, Jenny slowly and methodically pulled the pyjama bottoms up. Elizabeth’s voice interjected ‘Jenny, men are always likely to play with themselves, particularly when pyjama discipline is first being enforced so it is important that the pyjama jacket is always long enough to be tucked neatly into the bottoms. Be sure also, to always buy or sew over sized jim-jams. 
Our pyjamaed males should always look slightly foolish in their bedtime garb. Now, hoist the pyjama bottoms as high as possible and tie a number of granny knots well above the belly button’.

Elizabeth watched closely as Jenny followed her instructions. 'Well done Jenny. Did you notice how obedient Derek has been throughout his pyjamaring? In time you can expect the same results from John.’ Jenny then slipped the dressing gown over his shoulders and tied the corded belt. She placed the slippers on his feet before gently easing him back into the chair.
John was both aroused and mortified by the whole affair. How could a fully grown man allow himself to be humiliated in this way. He couldn't get his head around it.
Elizabeth then produced a second parcel and the game began again. This time John was as keen as the other men to offload the parcel. It went around twice before landing in the arms of the young man to his right. Just as the music stopped the young man slipped the parcel into John's lap. He tried to throw it back but Elizabeth was watching keenly. 'Now John, no cheating, I'm very disappointed with you. As a punishment, I think aunties Jane and Sarah will help you get ready for bed’.
The two aforementioned ladies jumped with joy and eagerly took the parcel from John  as they wheeled him out of the circle. Upon opening the package they giggled like school girls. John struggled to see what they were laughing at, imagining the worst. One of the women swung around holding up a pale blue winceyette pyjama top with a small red rose pattern and large floppy ,frilly Peter Pan collar. The other lady swung around modelling a pale blue quilted house coat.
It was evident that the other men were relieved to see they had not, 'won', those particular pyjamas. 'You can't make me wear those'. John whinged. 'Now John, in no time at all you will be dressed ready for bed and comforted by the softness of these beautifully made, female jim-jams. Ladies, show Jenny and John and indeed everyone, how it should be done’. The two ladies danced mockingly towards John, Sarah held the pyjama bottoms by the waistband as she moved toward him and Jane held the jacket by the shoulders. They teased him by caressing his face with the garments allowing him to feel the softness of the fabric.
Sarah and Jane quickly had him standing up and were deftly removing his clothes. Despite his vocal protests, he didn't have the energy to resist and couldn't prevent their probing hands from removing his day clothes. In no time he was as Derek had been before him, standing naked, pathetically attempting to cover his manhood. Sarah pulled his hands away and quickly slipped the pyjama jacket up over his arms. Only then did John realise the jacket was designed to be back buttoned. 'What are you doing'? Get this off.' He tried to remove the jacket but his hands had become enveloped in fabric. Sewn into the sleeves were soft winceyette padded mittens. To his mortification, Sarah buttoned up the back and he effectively became encased in a winceyette pyjama jacket. Jane fussed with the lace bodice and the floppy collar before she gently eased him back into the chair.
Sarah began to slip the soft pyjama bottoms up over his legs. The bottoms had padded winceyette feet, and as much as he was hating this humiliating experience, John was also highly aroused by both the softness of the fabric against his skin and strangely, his public humiliation. His enlarged member confirmed to the women that despite his protestations, he was enjoying being cast into the role of a subservient male .
Sarah began to sprinkle talc on his privates as she slowly pulled the jim-jams up, over his legs. She stopped as the pyjamas nestled against his knees. To his horror, both ladies then lifted his legs and gently placed a nappy under him. As Sarah closed the nappy she painfully folded his throbbing member forward and sealed it behind the nappy using the Velcro tabs. Sarah then continued gently pulling the pyjama bottoms up to his navel and tucked the top into the bottoms.
The pyjamas were obviously too large, but John was overwhelmed by how incredibly soft they felt. Both Sarah and Jane then began to attach the pyjama bottoms to the pyjama top by buttons. It seemed they were designed to fasten together. ‘What sort of outfit was he being forced to wear and where had they got it from’. He had been completely pyjamaed by the two women,  just as if he were a young child. Sarah began to slip the house coat around his shoulders. He was totally embarrassed. This seemed to please the ladies, including Jenny. ‘Please don't leave me dressed like this he pleaded'.
The watching men also seemed to enjoy his humiliation but of course, none of them knew what their particular pyjama ensemble would be.
'Now John don't you look sweet and helpless all ready for bye-byes? We'll have to take some photos of you for our web site. In no time we will have you tucked into beddy-byes. Those cleverly buttoned jim-jams and the nappy will ensure you can't play with yourself or remove your lovely nightclothes’.
'Jenny', Elizabeth said. 'Sarah has been kind enough to specially make these jim-jams for John, over the next few weeks we'll help you make some more suitable pyjamas for when he is ready to go home. You'll be amazed at how quickly he'll adapt to his new life and how comforted and content he will become by having a regular bedtime and pyjama time routine.  As long as you put him to bed at the same time every night, he will soon learn to enjoy his pyjama discipline.
John was wheeled alongside Derek and they watched in a mixture of shame and excitement, as one by one, they were joined by the other men who were also stripped and forced to wear old fashioned pyjamas. Some where made to don paisley patterned pyjamas, others striped one of various colours and one poor man, the youngest, who had hurriedly passed the parcel to John, had fared as badly by having to suffer the indignity of being buttoned into a pair of oversized, Bob the Builder winceyette pyjamas and matching slippers. He sat forlornly in his wheelchair looking like a little boy who has been made to get ready for bed even though his aunt and cousins were paying a visit. 
But when the game was finally over, John was the only man who had been totally humiliated by being forcibly dressed in the soft, feminine winceyette pyjamas. He began to believe it had been planned this way.
‘Now ladies, the only task remaining before bedtime is to put our newer guests into their night time nappies. May I suggest that you work in pairs until you are familiar with the method?’ John’s humiliation was somewhat eased in seeing that some of the other men were to endure the same treatment as himself. Soon they were all ready for bed and wheeled back to their rooms.
John was exhausted and as Jenny and Nurse Hopkins helped him up, helpless as he was confined in his pyjamas, and tucked him into bed, he was both annoyed and frustrated, yet also comforted and relieved to be in bed.
As she said good night, Jenny kissed his brow, and whispered to him.
‘John, I had a wonderful afternoon. You are becoming obedient and you look so sweet and vulnerable in those jim-jams. I  know I have made the right decision and I want this for you more than ever now. Elizabeth assures me that in no time you will be a docile, obedient and subservient little man and wonderful husband who enjoys his bedtime pyjama routine. Look at the progress we’ve made in one day. Now go to sleep darling, you have another big day ahead of you tomorrow

Wednesday, 31 December 2014

Christmas Day in Pyjamas

I was in trouble again on Christmas day. Aunty was insisting we visit Mrs Jacobson's for afternoon tea as she had accepted the invitation. I was reluctant to go, not least because I was already wearing my Christmas pyjamas that Aunty had given me that morning. She had made me put them on for Christmas dinner. They were footed pyjamas covered with snowmen. I knew I looked like an overgrown toddler but Aunty was adamant that I looked very smart and that they were just the thing to wear for visiting. However I was determined not to give in and put my foot down, declaring that I was not about to parade around in my winceyette footed pyjamas for anyone. Aunty smiled, "very well," she said, "no footed pj's for you it is."
I should have realised my mistake. With a twist of my earlobe I was across Aunty's lap and getting my bottom well and truly warmed. "In the corner and don't move," she threatened retuning quickly with a pair of pink floral pyjamas draped  over her arm. "Since you don't want to wear your lovely new footy jim-jams to go visiting you can wear these instead." Aunty forced me to put on the frilly pink pyjamas and five minutes later I was being ushered into Miss Jacobson's front room to be confronted by a room full of her friends.
"Well, well what have we hear," Mrs Jacobson said. " I thought we were going to see you model his new footed pyjamas?" Aunty explained my reluctance and told the assembled women that I was wearing the pink pyjamas as a punishment but that she had bought my footed ones along with her and she would make me wear them  later on. One of the ladies patted the seat beside her and beckoned me to sit down.
"Do come and sit beside me, I have heard so much about you, and here you are looking ever so sissy in your jimjams," she gushed. Hesitantly, I took my place beside her. It was going to be a long afternoon. 

Sunday, 21 December 2014

One young mans life takes a turn for the worse when Nanny Susan appears on the scene

Nanny Susan

He was late and he knew it. It was quarter past four and he should have been in from school at three thirty. Robert entered tentatively through the back door. He could hear voices. He peered into the living room and saw Aunt Harriet pouring tea for herself and Susan Henderson. What was she doing back here? Susan and her parents had moved away from the area two years ago. Robert almost blushed as he remembered how he had teased her about her glasses, her abnormal tallness and general ungainly manner. She, he recalled, never retaliated with jibes about his lack of height.
Quietly he removed his shoes. His feet hovered over the pale blue furry slippers that Aunty insisted he wear indoors. 
‘Robert, is that you? Come here at once!’
He jumped nervously at the sound of her voice then recovered his composure.
This time, he thought, I will show her I am an adult and can stand up for myself. Forgoing his slippers he straightened his shoulders drawing himself up to his full four foot ten; since the death of his parent’s, he had grown not one inch, and entered the room.
‘Well, where have you been until this time young man?’
‘I am almost eighteen Aunty. I think I am old enough to decide what time I arrive home from school thank you.’ He said in his still unbroken, shrill voice.
Pleased with his act of defiance he turned on his heels and made for the kitchen. He had nearly made it through the door when he felt her hand upon his shoulder. She spun him around to face her.
‘Don’t you dare talk to me that way. Showing off in front of a guest, well I know how to deal with naughty boy’s who think they are all grown up and don’t have to wear their slippers just because they are nearly eighteen.’
She sat down, grabbing his arm as she did so and pulled him over her lap. Pulling down his trousers and underwear in one movement she proceeded to give his bare bottom a sound nursery style spanking.
Quickly, his bottom turned crimson red and his indignant cries of embarrassment for her to stop became frantic pleadings for forgiveness.
‘Please Aunty I am sorry for being cheeky,’ he wailed.
As he flailed wildly on his aunt’s lap, Robert could see Susan, her teacup poised, grinning broadly as she witnessed his spanking.
Aunty stood him down. ‘Now go and apologise for being a show off naughty little boy to our guest, go on.’
Aunt Harriet ushered him toward the sofa until he faced Susan.
Between sobs he managed to gasp, ‘please, I am very sorry for being a show off in front off guests’
Aunty prompted him, ‘and a naughty little boy,’
‘And a naughty little boy,’ he repeated obediently.
Susan burst into laughter, ‘yes I can see you are a little boy!’ She said, staring in a myopic manner at him through her thick spectacles.
Horrified, Robert realised his trousers and underpants were still tangled around his ankles.
Aunty effortlessly picked him up and deposited him upon her lap.
 ‘This is just the kind of behaviour I was telling you about Susan.’ Aunty said to the myopic young woman sitting opposite.
‘Why are you such a disobedient little boy?’ She said exasperated, pulling up his clothes, ‘now go and put your slippers on and sit quietly with your milk while the grown ups talk.’
Robert slunk away, shuffled his feet into his slippers and sat self-consciously on the sofa as far away from Susan as he could and drank, the only thing apart from water Aunty would permit, his milk, "so good for growing boys".
Robert was still annoyed and indignant. Grown up’s indeed. Susan Henderson was younger than he was and Aunty was treating her as a grown up and him as a child.
‘So Susan,’ he heard his aunt say, ‘I think that is all settled. I trust you will find the room suitable.’
‘Oh I am sure I will,’ Susan said, then looking at Robert added, ‘I hope Robert doesn’t mind me inconveniencing him?’
‘Room. What room?’ Robert queried with a look of puzzlement on his face.
‘Robert, Susan will be lodging with us for a while. Her rent money will come in handy so in the meantime you will have to sleep in the attic room.’
‘But that’s not fair,’ he cried out petulantly, ‘it’s a stupid room and I don’t want to swap bedrooms. Let her use the stupid attic room instead.’
Aunty looked cross. ‘That’s quite enough, off you go up there now and do your schoolwork, it’s all neat and tidy. Supper will be at six as usual.’
Susan patted his head condescendingly ‘Never mind Robert the college is near your sixth form isn’t it? That means I will be able to walk you home from school, we don’t want you being late and getting another smacked botty do we?’
‘Walk me home! You shall do no such thing, tell her Aunty.’
‘Now Robert,’ she began, ‘Susan has kindly offered to help you get home on time instead of wandering the streets, so I think it would be churlish of me to refuse, you know how I worry for you being out all alone.’ 
Robert was about to give his opinion on this devastating news, but his Aunt held up her hand to indicate the conversation was finished and he marched huffily upstairs.
He was familiar with the attic room, for it had been his room when he first came to stay with Aunty. His old bed was pushed in the corner, under the sloping eaves to afford more space.
He worked diligently until ten to six. Hungry now, he snapped his books shut and was about to begin his usual suppertime routine when he remembered Susan was, for the time being, a member of the household.
He paused for a moment, made his decision, then made his way downstairs.
Robert could see no sign of Susan as he approached the dining room. Aunt Harriet was setting the table.
‘What on earth are you doing down here still dressed,’ said Aunty with astonishment.’
You know the rules; you must be dressed in your pyjamas ready for bed by six o'clock. Upstairs and put your pyjamas on at once!’
‘But Aunty I don’t want to wear my pyjamas this early anymore, not while she is staying here.’

Aunty looked cross as she lectures him. ‘Your bedtime routine will remain the same throughout Susan’s stay. If you're  not careful I will bring your bedtime forward to eight o'clock instead of nine, so I don’t want to hear another word, go and get your pyjamas on now!
‘No I won’t! Robert stamped his tiny slippered foot.
Aunt Harriet, moving surprisingly quickly, picked him up and he found himself perched on her frilly, white-bibbed, apron lap.
‘Smacked botty time I think for you young man.’
Robert squirmed in an attempt to escape her grasp but her superior strength made this impossible as she gripped his waist tightly. In a blind panic he tried placating her in a manner that had worked previously.
‘Pwease Aunty,’ he began in a syrupy tone.
‘Ickle Wobert doesn’t want to put his jimmy-jams on yet. It’s too early. He won’t be late or a cheeky boy again, pwomise.’ He spoke in a whisper, ashamed of having to resort to baby talk at nearly eighteen-years-old in an attempt to avoid an over the knee spanking from his Aunty.
 Aunt Harriet smiled and patted his head; she knew his little game, nevertheless she relented and forgot about the intended spanking.
‘Come along now no more of your silly, babyish arguments, its pyjama time for you immediately. I am sure Susan has no objection to a naughty little boy eating his supper dressed in his jimmy-jams ready for beddy-byes. Have you my dear?’
Robert turned his head, Susan stood at the doorway, smiling serenely at him perched on his Aunties lap.
‘Of course not, rules are rules after all.’
Robert looked crestfallen. Susan would have heard him using his baby talk voice to Aunty.
‘I shouldn’t worry too much Robert,’ said Susan blinked at him through her unflattering spectacles as he sat on his Aunt’s lap.
 ‘I expect I will see you dressed in your pyjamas quit a bit during my stay. Hurry back now, supper is almost ready.’

Fuming inwardly, Robert pulled on his pale blue, dinosaur patterned pyjamas bottoms. He quite liked these pyjamas, they weren’t as childish as the other pairs Aunty had made for him, although annoyingly she always made them from a pattern for girls pyjamas that were two sizes too large for him. He never fastened the top button that highlighted the sweet little Peter Pan collar and the lack of a fly opening in the pyjama bottoms could be troublesome when it came to the bathroom.
As always, he fumbled with the buttons on his pyjama jacket as his fingers refused to become familiar with the female fastening.
His pyjama jacket was still flapping unbuttoned as he took his place at the table beside Susan.
‘Tsk child, let me help.’ She brushed his hands away and before he could protest she swiftly buttoned up his pyjamas, finishing with the hated top button. There now little one, you look very sweet in your dinosaur pyjamas, I hope they don’t give you nightmares in bed.’ She ended the sentence with a loud roar that was supposed to imitate a dinosaur.
Robert exploded. ‘I am not your little one I am a big boy, err… I mean I am a seventeen year old man. I am not a child, you are the same age as me so stop treating me like a baby.
‘Actually,’ she replied calmly. ‘I am a few months younger than you but I have seen you behave like a baby already haven't I?"
Robert blushed, his boldness fast disappearing.
Susan, continued. And by the way,  I think I am due a little respect so in future kindly address me as Nanny Susan.’
‘Nanny Susan! There is no way I am going……..’ Robert attempted to undo the top button of his pyjamas as he raged. 
Unfortunately he never got the chance to finish that sentence. Susan grabbed him by the scruff of his pyjama collar and frogmarched him to the door.
‘I think this naughty little boy needs a spell on the naughty step to help calm him down,’ she said, turning her head toward Aunty as he was sped toward the door.
‘You will spend five minutes here sitting on the naughty step while you think about your  bad tempered behaviour,’ were the words he heard as the door clicked shut behind him.
As he sat on the doorstep, Robert was appalled to realise he was locked out of the house dressed only in his girls style, infantile, dinosaur pyjamas.
To his added dismay, he heard the unmistakable gabble of girls voices; the main exit for the local girls school was a hundred yards away and most of the pupils made their way home past Roberts house.
He could see them now, four schoolgirls carrying the bulky black objects that identified them as members of the school orchestra. He cursed the after school activity as they approached and pressed himself hard against the door as if that would make him less visible.
The daylight hours were getting shorter and thanks to the dusk they had almost passed by when one of the girls paused at the garden gate. He couldn’t help but stare, and as everyone knows, intuitively she looked up and made eye contact.
She called upon her friends to stop and she opened the gate. Robert found himself surrounded by four thirteen year-old schoolgirls who were all taller than him.
‘Hello little boy, why are you outside in your pyjamas and slippers?’ Asked the girl who had first seen him.
Robert was shaking with fear, quickly he came to the decision to act as if he was of an age young enough to be wearing blue dinosaur pyjamas, after all, it would be his catastrophic if the girls were to find out how old he really was. Without speaking he pointed toward the front door.
‘Why you’re shivering,’ said one of the girls putting a protective arm around his pyjama-clad shoulder and cuddling him into her, mistaking his fearfulness of discovery for a reaction to the chilly evening.
As she did so she looked closely at Robert.
‘You look very familiar, pet lamb, what’s your name? Do you have an older brother?’
Robert’s heartbeat accelerated. Did he know this girl? Worse still, did she recognise him?  Luckily for Robert, one of the other girls had knocked on the door.
‘Robert there you are. Whatever are you doing outside in your jimmy-jams?’
Susan blinked down innocently at the collection of bodies that gathered around the door. ‘What a naughty boy you are hiding from Nanny Susan and Aunty just because it’s your bedtime.’
The girls all began to talk in a babble explaining how they had found Robert outside.
‘Why thank you girls. In you come Robert, it’s off to beddy-byes for you right now. Say thank you to the girls for rescuing you.’
Robert muttered a ‘thank you,’ and hurried inside.
‘Well,’ said Susan as she returned to the supper table, ‘did the naughty step teach you a lesson?’ Robert blushed at the embarrassing incident and nodded sullenly.
Aunty looked down at him and shook her head. ‘Such a disobedient little boy, when will you learn to behave properly. Go on with you, upstairs to bed , an early night will do you no harm at all.’
Robert was about to protest again, but this time thought better of it and remained silent. He was still shaken and upset over the doorstep incident and instead, traipsed acquiescent, upstairs to bed.
Susan poured Aunty and herself another cup of tea. ‘Still a lot of work needed on that little boy, she ventured.
Aunty nodded, and patted Susan on the shoulder. ‘Never mind, I am sure now that you are here we can look forward to a great  success.’
‘Oh yes,’ she replied, ‘I think Robert will be quite surprised when he prepares for school tomorrow!’

"I can't, I won't!" Robert stamped his foot childishly as he was prone to do when he was annoyed.

Nanny Susan held the grey, regulation, flannel short trousers ready for him to step into. Aunty, who was watching his disobedience with growing frustration, moved toward him and gave the inside of his bare thigh a sharp smack.

"Do as you are told Robert, you always looked very smart wearing your short trousers to school, I can't imagine why I ever let you wear longs instead."

Tearfully, Robert stepped into the short trousers and Nanny Susan pulled them up.
He hadn't  realised quite how short they were as most of his upper leg was exposed and a red mark from Aunties smack was clearly visible.

"Everyone will laugh at me," he complained as Nanny Susan helped him into his school blazer.

"Nonsense," Aunty said,  "all the other boys will be quite envious of your lovely shorts, now, off to school with you."

Of course being the only boy in the sixth form to wear grey shorts and grey knee length socks did not make the other pupils envious. never a popular boy at school Robert expected the worst, anticipating a desperate day of teasing. In fact, somewhat to his surprise, hardly anyone could be bothered to tease him at all.

Robert had gave a weak explanation about accidentally ruining his only pair of long school trousers and, to abide by the school dress code had reverted back to an old pair of short trousers. Nevertheless, he was pleased when the bell went and the school day was finally over.

‘You’re late.’ Susan said, pulling up the cuff of her coat as she glanced at her watch.

‘It’s only quarter to four now,’ Robert said indignantly, ‘it wasn’t my fault Susan there was…’

She interrupted him. ‘You really are asking for a smacked botty young man. You know very well that you are to address me as Nanny Susan, reaching down she  and smacked the back of his bare legs. "Naughty little boy," she scolded.

 Robert yelped with surprise at this display of discipline in the open street.

‘What was that for?’

Susan grabbed his ear lobe. ‘To teach you to speak with respect to Nanny,’ she said twisting the lobe to emphasise her point.

‘Now shall we try that again? You’re late,’ she repeated.

Robert rubbed his ear but sulkily replied. ‘Sorry Nanny Susan. It won’t happen again.’

‘That’s better. Now, let me look at you? Yes you look very smart in your short trousers. I don’t see any reason why you should not wear shorts permanently for all outdoor activities. The only time you will wear longs is when you are ready for beddy-byes in your pyjamas.’

‘But Nanny Susan, I am almost eighteen, I can’t go back to wearing short pants, I'm too old.’ He pleaded.

‘Nonsense,’ she replied, Nanny Susan is always right, I don’t want to hear any more of your babyish whining. Now be quiet and give me your handie-pandies,’ she ordered.’

‘Give you my what?’ he said puzzled.

‘Your hands, give me your hands Robert.’ She said impatiently.

Susan grasped his left wrist and despite his attempt to pull away from her and his vocal protest, she proceeded to envelop his hand in a pale blue, knitted mitten and tied it securely with a neat bow of blue ribbon.

‘Other handy-pandie please,’ Robert looked nervously around as she tied on another pale blue mitten.

Susan smiled triumphantly at the sight of the diminutive seventeen-year-old wearing his childish school uniform and pale blue, lambs wool mittens.

She gripped his mittened left hand in a tight grasp and began the walk toward home at a brisk, strident pace that Roberts little legs struggled to keep pace with.

Robert was thankful when they reached the corner of their street. He had thrust his bemittened right hand into his blazer pocket on each occasion they had passed  by people. Fortunately, they had appeared not to notice the tall, buxom young woman with the thick spectacles leading the small, short trousered schoolboy by the hand.

They were about twenty yards from their garden gate when he spotted the same group of girls from the ‘naughty step’ incident the previous evening. They were about forty yards away and deep in conversation amongst themselves. Robert started to practically run toward the gate but Nanny Susan’s firm grip held him back.

‘Why the hurry all of a sudden,’ she said, then she looked up and smiled.

The girls had spotted the strange couple approaching them too.

‘It’s that the little boy from last night who we found outside wearing his cute dinosaur pyjamas? One of the girls asked.

"He looks the same doesn't he, but surely he is wearing the blazer of the sixth form college; it must be his brother or something. It does look like him though. And why is he wearing short trousers?"

They met a yard from the sanctuary of Roberts garden gate.

‘I knew it, it is him!’ Exclaimed the girl who had put his arm around him to keep him warm last night.

Nanny Susan was far more pleased to meet the girls than Robert.

"Say hello to the kind girls who helped you last night.’ She prompted an embarrassed looking Robert.

Robert, his face now crimson red stared mournfully at the ground, wishing for the entire world, that it would open up and swallow him.

‘My goodness how old are you? You must be at least seventeen. We thought you were about seven judging by those pyjamas and slippers you were wearing last night.’

It was then that they collectively noticed the pale blue mittens he was wearing. Susan still had him firmly grasped, partially hiding his mittened left hand but his shock at meeting the girls meant that he had forgotten to thrust his right hand into his pocket.

‘Mittens and shorts as well!’ They started to giggle, that quickly turned into uproarious laughter.

‘Now girls don’t laugh at Robert, his Mummy and Daddy passed away ten years ago when he was seven years of age. The trauma of the incident has returned recently causing him to regress back to childhood; his Aunty and I are doing all we can to help by letting him work through his neurosis. Robert wants to be treated like a little boy so you should respect his wishes. Isn’t Nanny right Robert?’

Robert still stared defiantly at the ground.

‘Answer Nanny,’ she said, squeezing his hand that little bit tighter.

‘Yes that’s right Nanny Susan,’ he mumbled.

As Susan led him toward the front door he heard the girls giggling and talking to one another.

‘Nanny! He actually called her Nanny.’

‘Imagine being seventeen and having a Nanny.’

‘Don’t forget those babyish pyjamas and slippers he wore,’ added another.

‘And what about those mittens and the short trousers, I think we will have to walk past the house very slowly when we have finished band practice later.’
The girl’s voices drifted away as they continued their walk home.

Only when they entered the hallway did Susan release her grip on his mittened hand.

‘Shoes off, slippers on,’ Susan commanded, removing his mittens and school blazer.

 ‘What did you tell them that for,’ he asked Susan as he petulantly slipped his feet into blue fluffy slippers adorned with pom-poms that danced joyously about as the wearer walked.

‘Because it’s true Robert, your Aunt Harriet agrees with me that the only long term cure for your constant childish misbehaviour is to start treating you like a child.’

Robert once again stamped his slippered foot and the pom-poms danced their merry dance.

‘I will not be treated like a child, absolutely not, I want to see Aunt Harriet!’

‘Aunty will be in later, I am in charge and just so you don’t forget....’

She upended Robert and carried him into the living room tucked under her arm with as if he were a small child.

Over her knee he went, down came his shorts, down came his underpants and down came her hand on his bottom.


‘You will accept your punishment baby boy, and you will do so without whining and insolence. Also, from now you will answer to your new name of Baby Bobbykins


‘Do you understand?’


‘Do you?’


‘Yes Nanny Susan’

She stopped smacking his bottom and Robert cried. Real tears, borne out of frustration and the pain of being humiliated by this ogress of a female who had entered his life, seemingly with the consent of Aunt Harriet and who could, as she had just proved,  easily overpower and chastise the seventeen- year-old at will.

"That's a good baby Bobbykins now let's dry those tears’." She praised, settling him upright on her lap.

‘Time for baby Bobbykins to bathe and then I will get you ready for beddy-byes."

 Sitting in the bathtub Robert could hardly comprehend how Susan had taken charge of his very existence. Of course Aunty had been a little overprotective, what with his still having a pyjama time and a very early bedtime for a seventeen year old. But he had rather enjoyed sitting on Aunty's lap for a bedtime cuddle and being kissed nigh-night as she tucked him in. But this girl had entered his secure little world  and spoiled everything.

He consoled himself with his usual bath time routine and began to caress his tiny boyishness into life.

"Right that's long enough out you get." Nanny Susan  barged into the bathroom without knocking and was standing looking down at Robert as he attempted to cover his somewhat tiny tumescence.

"What on earth…"

Nanny Susan began to laugh as she saw his attempt to conceal his activity.

 "Oh my, Baby Bobbykins. Looks like I turned up just in time to prevent you being a very naughty boy."
Following an excruciating embarrassing time being towelled dry by Susan, who paid particular attention to a certain part of his anatomy, Robert was now sitting naked and docile on her lap. She patted his head as if he was an obedient puppy. 

‘Good boy,’ she said, ‘all clean for Nanny Susan and no untoward spillages either, what?"

She giggled at her own joke, revelling in his shame and discomfort.

"Now, lets see. Where has Aunty left your pyjamas, she said she would leave them... ah, there we are.’

Robert turned his head to follow Susan’s gaze. There,  warming on the living room radiator was draped a pair of Robert’s pyjamas. Despite his earlier spanking at Susan’s hands he still had enough resilience to complain. ‘It's too early, my pyjama time is not until six o’clock.’

Susan cupped his chin in her hand and looked directly at him. In the reflection of her glasses he could see himself curving away in the contours of the lenses.

"That was yesterday Baby Bobbykins, from today you will put your pyjamas on as soon as you return from school and  your bath time and pyjamas time will be supervised exclusively by me, just like a little boy."

Robert stood naked as Nanny Susan knelt opposite him holding his pyjamas. I must say I think you will look very sweet wearing these particular….’ she paused.
 ‘What did you call them last night when I overheard you talking in your baby voice sitting on Aunty's lap?  Oh yes, your jimmy-jams.’
Delicately, she ran her hands across the nap of the material.
 ‘Such an interesting motif for a seventeen-year-old.’
Susan held up the pyjama bottoms by the waist so that she could examine them more closely. Aunty had made them from the same girls pyjama pattern as his dinosaur pyjamas except this time she had ran out of elastic and instead used white cotton tie cords for the waist fastening; the pyjama cords hung loosely from the opening at the front of the pyjamas.
‘Ah, I see now, nursery rhyme characters. A cow jumping over the moon and a dish running away with a spoon,’ she turned them around and peered at the reverse of the pyjama bottoms, ‘and here is the cat with his fiddle.’
She put the pyjama bottoms on her lap and examined the pyjama jacket equally as closely before exclaiming.
‘Flannel, yellow pyjamas… sorry, jimmy-jams’ she corrected herself, grinning broadly at Robert, ‘depicting a babyish nursery rhyme are quite unusual pyjamas for a boy of seventeen are they not?’
Robert blushed, and wished Aunty hadn’t sewn him those awful babyish pyjamas.
Susan manoeuvred each arm into the vivid yellow pyjama jacket and, starting from the bottom slowly fastened each button.
‘One pyjama button, two pyjama buttons....’ she chanted. ‘Count with me Baby Bobbykins she ordered. Robert shook his head.
‘If you don’t join in, Nanny will put Baby Bobbykins out onto the naughty step for half an hour dressed in his cute toddler pyjamas. Do you want that?’ She warned.
Robert stared into Susan’s eyes and he knew she would carry out her threat. Feeling utterly foolish he reluctantly began to count.
Susan finished their little sing-a-long by triumphantly fastened the pyjama collar button and tickled the underside of his chin with a crooked index finger before smoothing down the Peter Pan collar with her hand.
‘What a good little boy you are,’ she chirruped in a cloying voice.
‘Nanny Susan thinks Baby Bobbykins looks very sweet and babyish wearing his nursery rhyme jimmy-jam top. Lets see how cute he looks when we have his jimmy-jam bottoms on shall we?’
She brandished the pyjama bottoms. Robert made an attempt to take them from her grasp.
‘I can put them on myself,’ he said pleadingly.
‘Oh no. Nanny must get you ready for beddy-byes herself. Little baby's can't get themselves ready for beddy-byes can they, what a  silly Baby Bobbykins you are." 
Susan, who was enjoying humiliating the seventeen year old immensely, stepped Robert into the infantile pyjama bottoms and, until they were bunched around his ankles. Nanny Susan then grasped the two ends of the pyjama cord and used these to slide the pyjama bottoms up his legs. As she reached the hem of the pyjama jacket she slid both hands behind him and ran her hands outward in a circular motion encompassing the pyjama jacket as she continued pulling the pyjama bottoms upwards. She pulled the cords tightly together, Robert gasped as he felt his stomach contract as she tied the cord into a double bow then knotted it again.
‘Now that you are all cosy we don’t want Baby Bobbykins to lose his jimmy-jam bottoms do we?’
 She laughed, mainly to herself as she slipped his feet into his pom-pom slippers and led him by the hand into the kitchen.

Robert stared dumfounded at what he saw in front of him.

"Upsa-daisy," she said, hoisting him into the high chair. Before he had time to react Nanny Susan had clicked the white plastic feeding tray into place in front of him and he was trapped in a baby's high chair. Susan knelt and tied his ankles to the front struts of the high chair.

Robert was incandescent with rage.

"Let me out of this contraption at once do you hear? I am telling Aunty all about the horrid things you have been doing and she will be very annoyed with you."

Susan laughed, at his pointless indignation and delighted in annoying him even more by showing Robert the blue towelling bib with a picture of a baby duck printed on it before tying it around his neck.

"Ok Baby Bobbykins, supper time" She said, placing a feeding spoon and a matching blue plastic bowl of lukewarm tapioca pudding in front of Robert.

"Eat it all up like a good boy for Nanny Susan," she cooed.

Of course she was ready and waiting for his attempt to swipe away the bowl.
Deftly, she quickly removed the tapioca out of his reach.

With hindsight, Robert perhaps regretted his attempt to send the tapioca flying across the kitchen.

He was still tied into the high chair, but now his hands were encased in baby blue, lambs wool mittens, his hands forced into a fist rendering his fingers completely redundant.

The mittens were joined together by a nylon cord threaded through loops sewn on the waist band of his pyjama bottoms. Thus, he was unable to lift his hands up more than a few inches before the cord restrained further movement.

"Well it looks like Nanny Susan will have to feed you as if you were her little baby, doesn't it?"  She gloated, as she placed the by now very cold bowl of tapioca pudding in front of Robert once again.
"Here comes the choo-choo, open wide Baby Bobbykins."

The large plastic spoon, dripping with tapioca pudding, loomed toward his face. The hapless Robert tried to squirm away but Susan held his chin tightly and thrust the glutinous substance into his mouth.

Nanny Susan soon picked up her rhythm.




She commanded, as each spoonful rammed more of the odious tapioca into his protesting mouth.

"Stop, stop, I will eat it myself."  He blurted as Susan spoon-fed him. Ignoring his feeble protests, she continued until tapioca oozed from his mouth. Dribbling down his chin,  it settled in a rivulet of cold, congealed goo on his bib.

"Ah, does the ickle babykins want to be a big boy now?" She sneered. "Well it's too late now Baby Bobbykins, Nanny Susan is going to make sure you eat up all your lovely din-dins."

Roberts resistance vanished and he sat unresisting as Susan scraped the spillage from his bib into his mouth.

"Baby Bobbykins must eat all of his lovely din-dins up before he can have his pudding and a drinky-winky." She told him, as shovelled yet another sickly concoction that she insisted was, "yummy choccy pud-pud."

He began to feel nauseous as the last portion slipped down his throat and almost caused him to gag.

"And now," she said triumphantly, "time for your baby bottle." It was simple for her to manoeuvre the teat of the bottle between his lips. The angle that she held the bottle ensured he had to continually swallow the sweet milky substance until the baby bottle was empty.

"You are a clever boy Baby Bobbykins, eating  up all  of your din-dins. Did you enjoy your baba too?" She taunted.

Robert was aware that dried tapioca and chocolate pudding was encrusted around his mouth and smeared messily on his bib, but instead of cleaning him, Susan began to make circular motions with her hand on his pyjama clad back.

"Time to get your windy-woos up," she said, alternating the rubbing with pats of his back.

Her rhythmic motion on his back was strangely comforting to him and he offered no resistance as she lifted him out of the high chair.

"Let us go and look for Aunty shall we? Perhaps some fresh air will bring that nasty windy-woo up," she said, opening the front door and walking him down the front garden path.

The cool afternoon air made Robert more alert, he was suddenly very self conscious that he was a seventeen year old, wearing babyish pyjamas and fluffy slippers with pom-poms attached being led by the hand by a girl younger than him who insisted he address her as Nanny Susan. He was  also aware that food remained encrusted around his mouth and, as he peered down he could see the ducky towelling bib, still tied to the front of his pyjamas, also smeared with the aftermath of his meal.

Nanny Susan stopped at the bottom of the gate and smiled as she began once again to rub Baby Bobbykins back.

The girl's mothers had met them after their band practice and were sceptical about their daughter's stories about the strange boy who was seventeen but apparently wanted to behave and dress like a toddler. The girls could see Nanny at the gate and were eager to confront her and urged their mothers to hurry.

"Good boy, those nasty windy-woos are all up, does Baby Bobbykins feel better den?" Nanny Susan soothed as Robert suddenly complied with her encouragement and let forth a loud burp.

Susan held his hand firmly, as an open-mouthed audience of four girls and their mothers approached them.

"So it is true." One of the mothers gasped.

Robert's oversized pyjama bottoms had bunched at his ankles but the yellow flannel material that cascaded down, didn't quite disguise the fact he was wearing fluffy, blue slippers with pom-poms attached.

"See mummy I told you, look at his pyjamas." Exclaimed one of the girls. 

She appeared fascinated by the sight of this seventeen-year-old dressed in nursery rhyme motif pyjamas.

"And see, those are the slippers I told you about, but urggh! Look at his messy face, no wonder he is wearing a babies bib."

Robert's embarrassment grew as he listened to the girl describe every item of clothing he wore in detail, as if the rest of her group could not see his infantile garb for themselves.

Nanny Susan explained away his appearance with the same practised ease as the day before. He burnt bright red with indignation but it was too late now to say anything to convince people his choice of clothing was determined by anything other than his own free will.

"Yes he picks out the material for his pyjamas himself. Yes they are quite sweet aren't they? We don't know why but we have been told by the doctor's just to encourage his infantile behaviour for the time being."

Nanny Susan made a great show of wiping a small amount of food from around his face with her hand. "Someone needs his face washed before bedtime," she cooed, once again using her syrupy, baby talk voice.

"Well come along Baby Bobbykins, time you were tucked up in beddybyes. You must be very…."

One of the girls mothers interrupted. "Baby Bobbykins, surely not?

Susan looked wide eyed and innocent. "Oh yes, he insists on being called that,  don't you Baby Bobbykins?" Susan tightened her grip until his hand hurt and he nodded feebly.

But surely a seventeen year old is not going to bed at..." The women looked at her watch, "twenty to six?"

"Why of course, he likes to be tucked into beddybyes by six at the latest.  Come along, say night-night to everyone Baby Bobbykins."

"Night-night Baby Bobbykins," they all chorused, "sleep tight." As Nanny Susan ushered him back into the house.

Once inside, Robert again made an attempt to retrieve the situation he found himself in.

"This has got to stop. I've become a laughing stock. Everyone thinks I want to behave and dress like a toddler. Undo these mittens and the cord at once. I need to use the bathroom after all that milk you made me drink. Then I am going to get out of these silly babyish pyjamas, wait for Aunty to come home and tell her exactly what you have been up to and that will be the end of it!"

Foolishly, at the end of his speech, he stamped one of his tiny slipper shod feet, causing the pom-poms to flail wildly and somehow the impact of his words were immediately lost.

Susan laughed,  "Now-now, none of your tantrums or you will find yourself across Nanny Susan's lap. You must be getting tired. Does Baby Bobbykins want to go sleepy-byes den?"

She spoke in a completely babyish voice that totally confused him and he stammered.

"Of... of... of... course I don't want to go to sleepy-byes, I... I.... mean bed, it's far too early. Aunty allows me to stay up until nine o'clock."

"But Aunty isn't here is she? I am in charge of your bedtime."

Robert though had stopped listening.

"Oh... I must..." He started to hop from foot to foot, comically making the pom-poms on his slippers merrily dance.

"Does Baby Bobbykins need to go wee-wee," she said stating the obvious.

He nodded.

"Potty time then Babykins," she announced reaching into a bag and brandishing a blue plastic babies potty.