Saturday, 28 March 2015

Pyjama and Early Bedtime Punishment becomes permanent for this office worker

Philip had thought himself very lucky when Gertrude Hinkle began taking an interest in him. The thirty two year old virgin was flattered that an attractive twenty four year old female actually spoke to him about anything other than work. He was the office manager but the other women laughed at him, and not only behind his back. Gertrude was different, she would listen and listen until eventually she knew all his secrets. He just couldn't help telling her about his trips to a special lady who once a month would spank him and tell him he was a naughty boy. Of course it was never quite what he anticipated, quite what he imagined,  quite what he looked forward too, but it was the best he could ever hope for wasn't it? Then he told Gertrude how he paid for his excursions. He had been smart, Head Office had never suspected a thing. He wanted marriage, no, that had been Gertrude's idea, he didn't really have much choice did he? Not if she did what she said she would do. She had chosen his suit and arranged everything, even chose his Best Man, since he had no friends.
At first it had been heavenly for him, she ordered him about, told him exactly what to do and how to behave and took him across her knee and smacked his bottom. Then one day she smacked and smacked and smacked until he was wriggling and bucking and writhing on her lap but still she continued. He screamed and cried real tears of pain. She had hugged him, kissed him and tucked him into bed. She comforted him and told him she would look after him. And now she does.
Philip is now a thirty three year old virgin who is treated like a toddler. Gertrude is his mummy and he is never allowed to  act his age. You would think Philip would be grateful, ecstatic to have fulfilled his fantasy. But no, now he cannot choose when he will get his bottom smacked, he cannot choose when he will go to bed, he cannot choose which clothes he will wear. Ever.    

Wednesday, 25 March 2015

Nanny Susan concluded. To be honest I got confused about how to finish the story. This is the version I intended to post to Betty's story Board site to finish it off. It is a re-write of the end to Philips Treatment, but it seemed a bit harsh and not in keeping with the mood of the earlier parts. I cut short the ending on the story site to maintain the cosier feel. Anyway, it is finished with now.

Nanny Susan lowered the cot rail and gently ushered Robert toward the waiting bunny rabbit motif covered bedding. He was slightly reluctant at first but her firm hand placed strategically on his backside guided him as he climbed on the mattress.
The base of the cot was only a few inches from the floor, yet the rail extended to the level of the alcove.
 "Into beddy-byes, there's a good Baby Bobbykins, time to go sleepy byes, snuggle down now." She cooed. Instead, Robert stood defiantly on the cot mattress.
"It's vewy erwee fo beddy-byes Nanny Thusan, too erwee, me no thleepy." Nanny Susan didn't argue, instead she raised the cot rail, secured it in place, opened the skylight window and went to fetch another bottle of sleepy time milk.
Robert felt a bit silly, standing there in the cot in his babyish pyjamas, wearing nappies, so he grabbed hold of the metal bars of the cot and gave, what he imagined was a firm rattle. Instead of course he hardly disturbed them. Next he turned his attention to climbing out. Disturbingly though, he discovered, that due to the incline of the alcove the widest gap available was far too small to climb through. He was effectively imprisoned  in the cot. His thoughts clouded once again and he sat down with a plonk.
Nanny Susan returned with a large bottle of sleepy time milk, passing it to Baby Bobbykins through the bars of his cot he eagerly took it. He liked sleepy time milk.
"That's a good boy, all gone." Time for night-nights, Nanny will see you in the morning when we will be extra loving to Aunty won't we?"
Robert nodded, the chill from the open window encouraged him to snuggle under his blanket and he sleepily took his dummy from Nanny Susan and settled down to a very early bedtime for a seventeen year old.
The next morning Robert was taken downstairs and put into his high chair. Nanny Susan was feeding him detestable milky pudding and his bib was once again encrusted with the spillage. he was still wearing his yellow, footed bunny rabbit pyjamas  and underneath his thick fluffy nappies and rubber baby pants which, up until ten minutes ago had been quite dry. He had begged Nanny Susan to let him go to the bathroom but se had been insistent  that he had to wait until after breakfast, of course the inevitable had occurred and he now sat uncomfortably in flooded nappies and having to swallow semolina pudding for breakfast.
"Here comes the choo-choo train." Nanny Susan's spoon was poised to insert the yuckiest mouthful of semolina yet into Baby Bobbykins reluctant mouth, when Aunty walked in the kitchen.
It is difficult to convey Roberts reaction to seeing Aunty. Nanny Susan's spoon was swept aside as he bobbed up and down in his high chair, clapping his mittened hands together in a frenzy of delirium as semolina was sent cascading around the kitchen.
"Well, well what a welcome. It has been a long time since anyone has been that pleased to see me."
Aunty took Robert under the arms and lifted him out of the high chair and sat her seventeen year old nephew on her lap, just as she used to.
"Oh Baby Bobbykins, how sweet you look wearing your bunny rabbit jim-jams, you told me you didn’t want to wear them any more, you said they were far too babyish for a big boy of seventeen like you, remember?"
Robert blushed. He did recall the big argument  they had.
"Me sowwy Aunty. Baby Bobbykwins wuvs his bunny wunny jim-jams. Me weally sowwy for being a naughty boy and making you sad. Pwease fogive mi. Pweeeese?" 
Aunty stroked his hair.
"Do you promise to be a good boy and obey Aunty and Nanny Susan without question?
"Oh yeth Aunty, I do, I do."
Aunty directed a smile toward Nanny Susan.
"Well then, let's get you cleaned up and ready for a new start to a new day shall we."
Every time Aunty entered the room, Robert would gleefully run toward her and hug her tightly. He clapped excitedly when she spoke to him and he snuggled into her and chatted happily to her in baby talk as she sat him on her knee. Baby Bobbykins had indeed embraced Nanny Susan's recommendation.
What's more, he had come to accept his daily routine of trips out to the park in his pushchair, a walk around the duck pond holding Nanny's or Aunty's hand dressed in his little boy outfits for all the world to see. Indeed he was now so well known in town that hardly anyone took notice of them any more.
The young man who regressed almost to babyhood. A sad case but still, he was well looked after, and you never know, he may snap out of it one day.
Then home again, a bath, nappies pinned on, rubbers, jim-jams and an early bedtime in his snug little cot, of which there is no escape. And all really achieved with the help of daily doses of sleepy time milk.

One afternoon as Robert had been put to bed particularly early after happily consuming a second bottle of sleepy time milk, he was hazily aware of Aunty and Nanny Susan staring down at the seventeen-year-old youth as he lay in his cot.
He woke up to find he was lying naked on a blanket downstairs. Where was Nanny? Where was Aunty? Sitting himself up his hand brushed against on object. It was a traditional baby’s dummy. He placed it straight into his mouth and happily began to suck upon it.
Objects were strewn about the floor, he attempted to stand up but was unsteady and quickly sat down before he fell. Sucking on his dummy he crawled forward and was happy to discover his nappy, loosely pinned and a pair of his rubber pants. Knowing he should be in bed he attempted to pull on the nappy himself before he also came across his bunny rabbit pyjamas, at finding them he cuddled them to his body before pulling on the footed pyjama bottoms before buttoning on the top.
“Hmm. I see.” Said a strange female figure carrying a briefcase, alongside her stood another strange female.
Roberts lower lip began to quiver before the comforting arms of Nanny Susan sat him upon her lap. Apparently they both wanted to talk to Baby Bobbykins but he was much more interested in being entertained by her gently bouncing him up and down. He always seemed to enjoy those sessions and she had to shush him quiet as he started to giggle and laugh and wanted to talk to her.
“It’s very unusual regressive behaviour indeed.” Said the strange female as she copiously made notes.
“Yes it was a quite rapid regression over quite a short period." Aunty proclaimed.
"As you saw for yourself, his urge to act in an infantile manner is still well established.”
Robert began to take more notice of the conversation.
“This behaviour was witnessed at its onset you say?” Asked the briefcase lady who was taking notes.
“Oh yes.” It was Nanny Susan speaking now.
"He was seen outdoors by the girls from the local  school here in his babyish pyjamas acting as if he was a little boy. Then he insisted we buy him a pushchair and take him into town sucking on a baby’s dummy dressed as a child in short trousers."
Aunty continued. "It was soon after that I discovered the nappy and the bunny rabbit pyjamas in his bedclothes, soiled, I am afraid to say.”
She dabbed her eyes with her handkerchief as she spoke. 
Roberts head was losing its haziness and the meaning of the conversation was penetrating his rapidly clearing mind.
“Wait a minute, not baby.. baby…boy.."
 He murmured. Unfortunately for Robert, Nanny Susan quickly popped the baby’s dummy into his mouth and held it firmly in place.
“Is he trying to say something?” Asked the note taking female.
Robert's hand reached up onto Nanny Susan's but hers was the stronger she held the dummy firm.
“Oh dear, he was telling me he needs a drink, will you excuse us please?”
“Of course young lady, we have seen enough. Off you go and look after Robert. I do so admire you for standing by him. A lot of girls your age would have been reluctant to help. Goodbye and goodbye to you too Robert I hope you get better soon.”
The female tousled his hair; Robert widened his eyes in a desperate, plaintiff cry for help and started to flail his arms about wildly. Nanny Susan held the dummy tightly and rapidly exited the room.

Robert was in the nursery; lying on the changing table his hands and feet encased in mittens and bootees. He was tightly pinned into nappies and plastic pants and resplendently buttoned into a pair of Thomas the Tank Engine, flannel footed pyjamas. The quieter was firmly positioned in his mouth and a dribble of saliva was already wending its way down his chin toward his, “Baby Bobbykins” bib. His peek-a-boo bonnet was in place and tied neatly under his chin.  

His Aunty, Nanny Susan and Miss Bracegirdle stared at the helpless Baby Bobbykins .
Nanny Susan tweaked the brim of his bonnet “He took me by surprise at how quickly the medication wore off, I will have to increase the dosage.”
“Well,” Aunty said, looking down at Robert, “thanks to you Nanny, it worked to our advantage. In a short while, once the committee’s recommendation is confirmed I will legally have jurisdiction over Roberts affairs.
Robert looked up at his mother with puzzlement.
She tickled his chin, as she spoke.
“My dear when your parents died their assets were left in trust for you. I had to make do with a limited amount each year.

When you turn eighteen in a few months time you will have access to a substantial amount of wealth. Far too much for a boy like you to be entrusted with. I couldn’t possibly have allowed you to have control of all that money."

Aunt Harriet paused to fussily adjust the frills on his bonnet.
“Fortunately, I now have power of attorney over your financial affairs, thanks to your awful regressive illness. No one would let a little boy have access to all that money would they Baby Bobbykins?”

Robert tried to sit up, his head quite clear and his anger manifest, but surrounded by three women he was quickly pushed back down and his wrists and ankles were quickly secured in the restraint cuffs on the changing table.
“Now, now Robert,” his Aunt went on.
“Miss Bracegirdle has kindly agreed to join our little team. he so enjoyed meeting you she will be designing and making some delightfully infantile outfits for you to wear that will confirm your regressive natures to the good people of this little town of ours.
Susan will continue in the role of Nanny, she and her mother will be joining Miss Bracegirdle in living with us in our lovely new house in the country. There is a big garden where you will be able to sit in your pushchair and have lots of naps; I may even buy you a special baby’s pram so we can take you out for a stroll, won’t that be nice? No need to thank me I can easily afford it.
Your days will be short. Up at nine, plenty of exercise, walks in the garden and into town to show off your new little boy outfits then back for bath time and jim-jams at three and beddy byes by three thirty.
Robert struggled against his restraints as the teat of the bottle was forced into his mouth.
 “Of you go to sleepy-byes Baby Bobbykins,” his Aunts voice was saying from a long way off.
“Only three more years as a little boy until you are twenty-one, then we must persuade the authorities all over again to renew my jurisdiction. But don’t worry, by then you will be used to your nappies and jim-jams and you won’t ever remember being anything other than an obedient little Baby Bobbykins.”

Saturday, 7 March 2015

Letters from Pyjama Punishment Monthly. "Write to Matron", was a feature introduced to later editions of PPM. No doubt intended to widen its appeal, there were lots of letters such as these about short trousers.

Dear Matron

I live in the UK and a year ago when I was 17 my mother forced me to wear full schoolboy uniform including grey short trousers as a punishment for misbehaviour. Since then I have been educated at home using private tutors and have had to wear my school uniform and short trousers every day including weekends. I am also taken out in school uniform for shopping trips and doctor and dental appointments. Even though I appear a lot younger than 17, I look too old to be still wearing shorts and it can be terribly humiliating. Most schoolboys in the UK wear long trousers by the age of 11 so I look like an older boy dressed like a little boy. Mother has also re-instated  bedtimes and I now have to go to bed at 8.30 each night. I have protested that this is far too early for a boy of 17 but she is adamant. My mother says that short trousers have made me obedient and respectful and she plans to make me wear them for several more years! Are other boys of my age  kept in short trousers and school uniform as a punishment? Do you think my mother is right to treat me this way?


Dear Michael

Your mother is perfectly entitled to dress you this way. As she is no doubt supporting you financially you must wear what she buys for you. Is it so bad? I bet you look very smart in your uniform. Short trousers are ideal outdoor wear, it is very healthy for a young boy to feel the elements upon his skin. Similarly with bedtimes. 8.30 strikes me as a sensible bedtime during the week when you have lessons the next day. Remember an hour before midnight is worth two afterwards.


Older boys would be far better behaved if they were kept dressed as children in school short trousers as Michael was. My father remarried when I was 14 and I became the stepsister to an obnoxious 16 year old boy who had no respect for authority. Daddy was headmaster of a boys prep boarding school in Wales (this was the early 1970s) and promptly put my stepbrother into the school and into short trousers. He was kept in a class of 12 year olds for two years and wore shorts all the time, school holidays included.
When he was 18 he was sent to the senior school but kept in short trousers even though nearly all the other boys wore longs. He stayed at the school for three years and for the last two years was the only boy in his class still in shorts despite being five years older than the other pupils.

Short trousers made him respectful and obedient and he did as he was told without question. Although over two years older, he was always deferential towards me and accepted my authority in all matters. In his twenties he was still sometimes punished by my father by being made to wear short trousers for a weekend which caused him great humiliation particularly in front of my girlfriends who loved teasing him and treating him like a naughty little boy.
Ms Wendy Kirkbright

Dear Wendy
Thank you for your most interesting letter. Your father obviously understood the value of short trousers as a means of imposing discipline. Perhaps you could write again letting us know if you played any part in your step-brother's punishment and how old was your brother when he was finally allowed out of short trousers?


My stepbrother was punished by being made to wear short trousers up to the age of 27. He was made to wear them with his prep school uniform so he looked like an overgrown schoolboy. Typically he was kept like this for a weekend or two but he also had to spend two whole weeks of a family holiday in his punishment clothes when he was 24.
He hated being teased by my girlfriends and his face would go crimson with shame and embarrassment at their comments but he always managed to stave off the tears. He would often sneak off to his bedroom when my friends arrived at the house but I would go upstairs and drag him down to the sitting room by his ear so they could have a good laugh at his expense. They used to really torment him.
My father initiated most of his punishments and often took my step-brother out in his school uniform complete with short trousers several times during these periods.He often attracted strange looks as he undeniably looked too old to be dressed as he was. When we were on our family holiday we went to the cinema and for walks in the local park with him in his short trousers with his blazer and cap. He hated the humiliation but it certain made him well behaved. He looked very sweet and angelic.
Ms Wendy Kirkbright

Dear Wendy
Thank you for writing again and giving us a further insight into your fathers treatment of your step-brother. If the ultimate outcome was that of  a well disciplined, well behaved male then it was all worth while and you played your part in achieving this. A little bit of teasing is character building is it not?


Tuesday, 3 March 2015

A response to Lionel's letter. As I feared, Lionel's letter did not go down well with my Aunty. She instructed Mrs Jacobson to contact Lionel's wife to recommend several punishments one of which is documented below. I have little option other than to post it direct as my Aunt ordered me to do as I would not want to suffer any consequences due to another mans foolishness.

Lionel, you really are a silly man.

"Could you possibly have a word with your Aunt and ask her to E Mail my wife via your blog site and dissuade her from having such silly notions as I have no intention of being 'pyjamaed', treated as a servant or allow myself to be otherwise humiliated by a group of silly women."

You should know that I have written to Mrs Sykes -Patterson direct, to inform her of your pathetic, "appeal" to Wincy and no doubt by now you will have been punished in a suitable manner for your insolence accordingly. 

I though, take great exception to the tone you use. A group of silly women indeed. Let me tell you that we "silly women" are far superior to males and the sooner all men are subject to strict pyjamaring regimes and early bedtimes the better.

I sincerely hope your wife dresses you in your modified pyjamas and parades you in front of her sewing circle and Bridge club friends to emphasise how pathetic you really are. What is more, I want her friends to follow her example and impose a similar regime on their husbands too, letting it be known that it was your behaviour and actions that initiated their  pyjamarings.
I have proposed that your wife, Mrs Sykes-Patterson and Ms Clark arranges a garden party and that each female brings a specifically wrapped parcel that contains a pair of pyjamas especially made for their respective male partners. The men will  then come forward to select and unwrap their parcel.

They would hold up their pyjamas for everyone to see, then their partners will approach them to assist them in donning their new pyjamas. Once the male is duly pyjamaed, he will line up and watch as his compatriots unwrap their parcels and are attired in the nightwear their female partners have chosen for them until all the males have been subject to a pyjamaring.

Imagine your fearful anticipation Lionel as you nervously rip open the parcel to  unveil the nightwear your wife has decreed you must wear. You hear the gasps and at first, stifled laughter of the other ladies present as they feast their eyes on your voluminous pink striped pyjamas. Your head is bowed as you are publicly buttoned into the pyjama jacket. The top button secured with a safety pin to ensure closure.

Your hands disappear as they are enveloped by the length of the pyjama jackets sleeves and your miserable manhood is cocooned behind a mass of winceyette that cascades down and rests inches above your knees. And now Mrs Sykes -Patterson steps you into the pyjama bottoms, tent like, they are raised chest high and the extra long pyjama cord is passed around your waist before being tied off with several granny knots. The laughter from the ladies present is louder now as the full effect of your pyjamaring becomes apparent, the overlong pyjama bottom legs puddle at your feet  and you shuffle away to join the line of equally ludicrously attired males.
Who is the silly one now Lionel?

Mrs Jacobson

Thursday, 26 February 2015

I received this letter from Lionel asking me to refer his complaint to my Aunty. I have done so, however I suspect the response will not be favourable.

Dear Wincey, 

I hope you will not mind me writing to you in this unsolicited manner, for your help.  You may have come come across my wife's name, Mrs Sykes - Patterson who is obviously a keen follower of your blog which she follows  with an almost religious fervour with her friend, Marjorie Clark.

Now, they both belong to the same sewing circle  and of late I have noticed a lot of excited activity between them so I decided to take a chance and have a sneaky peep in my wife's sewing room whilst she was attending her Bridge club in order to ascertain the reason for this. At first it appeared that she was simply replacing a missing button on my pyjamas, but closer inspection showed something more complex was going on and I have attached one photograph from several that I secretly took with my phone camera.

It appears as if she has been restyling a pair of my old  striped pyjamas into a 'convict' style uniform with embroidered symbols and labels. Heaven knows what 'Punishment Trousers' or 'Pyjama Slave' means!  We do often attend 'themed' costume parties in our retirement but I'm not aware of any  coming up or she would have told me about this surely.

In order to solve this mystery I took the liberty of reading some of your older blogs and was horrified to find references to husbands being humiliated by a practice titled 'pyjamering' and by games such as 'pass the pyjamas'. I was shocked to see that both my wife and Mrs. S. P. have contributed to some of these articles.

It dawned on me that she may be considering applying these 'pyjama punishment' practices to myself and other male friends at a future sewing circle meet, but I can't believe that she would be expecting to dress me in those ridiculous garments and parade me in front of her friends could she?  
Could you possibly have a word with your Aunt and ask her to E Mail my wife via your blog site and dissuade her from having such silly notions as I have no intention of being 'pyjamered', treated as a servant or allow myself to be otherwise humiliated by a group of silly women.

Yours in anticipation
 Mr Lionel Sykes-Patterson.

Wednesday, 25 February 2015

The third installment of strict Nanny Susan

Robert squirmed uncomfortably as Nanny Susan settled him into the contraption. Miss Bracegirdle explained, "yes, originally two seated, for twins or close birth siblings, once the front seat is removed it is easily converted to suit, shall we say, a slightly older toddler." She smiled down at Robert as she bent toward him. " These shoulder straps can be used to keep him safe and secure if need be."

Nanny Susan wheeled Baby Bobbykins triumphantly out of the shop. "I'm sure Baby Bobbykins is going to attract a lot of attention dressed as he is and sitting in his magnificent new pushchair, somehow I don't think he needs strapping in," she laughed.

Robert sat anxiously in the pushchair as Nanny Susan manoeuvred him toward the centre of town. Turning into the high street she stopped outside the grocery store. "Won't be long Baby Bobbykins, you just sit there and wait for Nanny, but don't fall asleep, it will soon be your baby bedtime." She wiggled his dummy before disappearing into the shop.

Robert sat in his pushchair and without thinking intensified the use of his dummy. Nanny Susan had been correct, how could he just get up and walk away. People in the town now knew him as the disturbed teenager who had regressed to wearing little boy outfits and babyish pyjamas. The ensemble he was currently wearing would hardly change their mind. He was already attracting knowing smiles and people were nudging each other as they walked past.

Imagine the scene if he were to walk about on his own. As he was musing, Nanny Susan returned and tweaked his nose. "What a good Baby Bobbykins, using your dummy and waiting patiently for Nanny. Time we got you home and then it's off to beddy byes with you."

Aunty was waiting as they returned. "Ah Nanny, excellent, the pushchair will be useful for the long walks we will be taking him on eventually. Please give him his bottle feed and  then you can take him straight up and get him ready for bed. He may as well have an early bedtime to get him used to the new sleeping arrangements."

Aunty strode away and Robert was distraught at her coldness toward him. She appeared to have devolved all her responsibilities to Nanny Susan. Robert missed the cuddles and kisses he used to get from Aunty as she tucked him in at night, when it was just the two of them he had quite enjoyed being treated like a little boy, but now…

Nanny Susan hummed contentedly as she removed Roberts clothing and secured the seventeen year old into his high chair. It wasn't long before a bowl of suspiciously glutinous substance was put on the feeding tray, along with two bottles of his special, "sleepy-time" milk.

"Whose a lucky boy then," she cooed, as the first spoonful was raised to his firmly closed lips. "Does Baby Bobbykins not want his leftover veggies then? You must eat so you can become big and strong like Nanny," she laughed. Holding his head in a tight lock with her left hand she forced the mush into his mouth. It was a relief when she triumphantly declared, "All gone Baby Bobbykins, well done!"

But there was to be no respite, for almost immediately the teat of the first bottle of milk was eased between his lips. Nanny Susan tilted the bottle and Robert was forced to swallow in an ever quickening fashion. The inevitable happened when he was half way through the second bottle and milk spurted from his mouth as he choked.

"Oh dear, oh dear Baby Bobbykins, does he need his windy woos up again den?"
Two sharp thumps to his back cleared his airway and sadly for Robert the feeding resumed. "Clever boy, all gone. Her condescending, baby talk voice was beginning to upset Robert and he decided he had better give her some home truths. After all, he was seventeen and not a baby, it was ludicrous the way he was being treated, wait until he saw Aunty.

Then he yawned, suddenly he was tired. Perhaps he would wait until tomorrow to see Aunty, Nanny Susan could put him to bed perhaps. yes he would sort everything out in the morning, he was a big boy!

Robert was taken upstairs to his room. His bed was no longer there, instead, in the space under the eaves was an old fashioned, child's cot. Along the wall was a changing table, so those were the new arrangements Aunty had spoken about. Robert gazed at the cot. He wouldn't be sleeping there would he? He was seventeen for goodness sake. Although he was tired, he needed somewhere to sleep. Perhaps he would sort it all out in the morning.

Nanny Susan lifted him up on the changing table.
"It's nappy time, nappy time for ickle Baby Bobbykins," she sang as she unfurled the recently purchased nappies and rubber pants. "Who's a lucky boy then? Look what Aunty has given me?" Nanny Susan took the key and unlocked his little device.

Her words now seemed soothing and pleasant. Robert began to giggle as Nanny Susan poured baby oil on him and used her hands to caress and massage the oil around his groin, he moaned and began to respond to her touch.
"Lovely talcy powder now Baby Bobbykins, hmm, is that good?" She asked as she rubbed the talc into his smooth, hairless crotch. Robert squirmed with pleasure.
"You see what happens when you are a good boy Baby Bobbykins? Nanny Susan can make nappy time lots of fun if you behave."
Baby Bobbykins lay there, enjoying the sensation that the seventeen year old had seldom experienced. Nanny Susan was right, this was lovely, why shouldn't he be a good boy for Nanny Susan. If he was really good Aunty might love him again too.
"Now for your new fluffy nappies, Nanny Susan is going to make Baby Bobbykins all snugly-wuggly for beddy-byes, yes she is."
She tightly pinned his new fluffy nappies on and flapped out the latex pants. He was disappointed that it had all ended without culmination but his pee-pee was free of the device and he was enjoying the sensation of the soft nappies nestling against his skin.
"Hmm...smell the lovely rubber Baby Bobbykins, what a lucky boy you are indeed."
Nanny Susan rummaged in the dresser drawer, "Now, let me see, what jimmy-jams can we find for a cute baby like you, has to be these yellow pair with the blue bunnies, I bet you look very sweet and babyish wearing those Baby Bobbykins."

Baby Bobbykins wasn't too pleased. He hadn't worn those pyjamas for at least a year now, but as Nanny Susan eased his feet into the bottoms and buttoned him into the top he now appreciated the soft flannel material caressing his body, in his nappies and jimmy-jams he felt safe and secure.

She stood him in front of the mirror, her hands on his shoulders as she crouched to whisper in his ear.

"Look how sweet you are Baby Bobbykins, all ready for beddy-byes in your lovely bunny wabbit  jimmy-jams and soft fluffy nap-naps. Isn't it better being cosy wosy and safe rather than being bullied by those nasty boys at school?"

Robert stared at the reflection in the mirror. The bulge of his nappies were quite evident under his pyjama bottoms. He liked being Baby Bobbykins, he liked the sensation of wearing nappies and he liked his bunny rabbit jim-jams too, he couldn't think why he had stopped wearing them at all.

Nanny Susan continued. "You know, I think Aunty is jealous of how close you and I have become Baby Bobbykins. We need to show her you still love her, that you are still her little poppet, then she won't make me put the device back on you and we can have fun at nappy time." Nanny Susan's hands moved downward, stroking his pyjama clad arms.

"Remember when I caught you sitting on Aunty's lap wearing your dinosaur jim-jams? You were using baby talk to avoid getting your bottom smacked weren't you?"

Robert remembered. He nodded, it was an old trick of his to get Aunty to let him off spankings, even when he deserved them.

"Well then, why don't you talk like that all the time, she will know you love her. And why not clap excitedly when you see her coming and hold out your arms for a cuddle, how could she possibly resist  such a sweet little Baby Bobbykins?"

Robert looked at his pyjama clad, nappy wearing image in the mirror and decided.

"Baby Bobbykins wuvs Aunty lots and lots Nanny Thusan," he said.