Friday, 20 May 2016

Christopher's Birthday Party By Helen Good




I had known Miss Kelly for a while, and I was delighted to have been invited to Christopher’s party. The tall, strong Nanny figure and the cowering child in the pushchair had intrigued me for a while. Talking to Miss Kelly in the park I had perceived that the small child she pushed, hidden behind the plastic rain cover, was not all he seemed. He was usually well protected from the weather, sporting girlish woollen mittens and a woollen hat, and with a blanket with a bunny rabbit appliqué over him. The pink dummy that he permanently had in his mouth struck me as odd. Surely he was too old for such a thing? Miss Kelly always rebuffed any attempt on my behalf to talk to him and departed quickly.

I was confident I knew their secret and wanted to find out more about this unusual couple. I had a long-standing interest in such matters but was reluctant to broach the subject with her. Now I had the perfect opportunity to satisfy my curiosity.

‘It is Christopher’s birthday tomorrow,’ she told me, he was asleep as we walked back from the park. ‘There will be a small tea party to mark the occasion and I would like you to attend. I know you are the kind of woman who will appreciate my disciplinary methods. We shall expect you at three’.

At three on the dot I arrived at the front door. Miss Kelly greeted me warmly. Framed in the doorway I saw an attractive woman in her late forties who carried her height well. Her blouse and skirt were smart and functional without being frumpy, and she exuded a cool authoritarian demeanour that brooked no nonsense. To a younger person such as myself she personified the ideal of a traditional Englishwoman. Miss Kelly invited me to take a seat while she went to fetch Christopher. ‘He doesn’t know you are coming so I expect it will be a big surprise for him. Perhaps you would put the candles on the cake for me?’ She gave me a knowing smile as she spoke, and left the room.

Taking a seat, I looked around and noticed lots of baby toys scattered around a soft play area. The coffee table in front of me was set for two people; my suspicion that I was to be the only guest had been confirmed. The cake was decorated with pink icing and had ‘Baby’s Birthday‘ piped upon it. Amusingly I discovered his true age when putting his candles upon the cake, and it made me even more excited at meeting the reclusive Christopher.

‘Come along baby, time for your birthday surprise’. Miss Kelly entered the room leading Christopher by the straps of leather baby reins adorned with tiny bells that tinkled delightfully as he toddled unsteadily alongside her. It was at that moment Christopher saw me and made a comical attempt to turn around and flee the room. Miss Kelly pulled up high on the reins and swung him around in front of her. She stooped down and picked him up effortlessly, carrying him on her hip toward me. His eyes blazed with embarrassment, and I knew that this young fellow was humiliated and ashamed at my witnessing him in his baby plight.

He sucked his dummy frantically, trying to bury his face into Miss Kelly’s shoulders, as if not seeing me would somehow make me disappear. She however would have none of it; perching him on what at first I believed to be a breakfast chair, she clipped the straps of his baby reins to the back, before attaching a feeding tray which left him securely on display, unable to escape from the confines of what I now realised was an improvised high-chair, his little legs dangling helplessly.

His pink cotton dress caught my attention. It had been lovingly made, with lots of lace trimmings, buttoned at the back; it had a laced collar and a flared hem. The elastic in the short puffed sleeves enhanced the chubbiness of his arms, and the matching pink baby knickers, also trimmed generously with lace, could not disguise the presence of thick towelling cloth nappies. On his hands he wore the sweetest pair of knitted mittens, soft pink wool, with tiny yellow ducks embroidered upon them, on his feet were matching bootees tied with a pert, flourishing bow, there was absolutely no chance of anyone guessing his real age
Miss Kelly fastened a towelling bib around his neck that had ‘Babykins’ stitched across it, and announced it was time for some birthday cake. She lit the candles and we sang ‘Happy Birthday’. The poor boy was crimson with embarrassment as she removed his dummy and urged him to blow out the candles. ‘What a clever baby you are,’ she cooed as we watched him reluctantly blow them out.

Would you like to give Christopher his piece of cake?’ she enquired. ‘I'll just get you something to wear’.
She presented me with a frilled apron, explaining that Christopher could be a messy eater. I put on the crisp white linen garment and began to feed cake into his protesting mouth. I was slightly nervous and in my haste caused him to choke, making a mess on his bib.

‘Oh please...that's too fast.’ he spluttered, as the gooey and crumbly substance smeared around his mouth. Miss Kelly interceded. ‘That’s quite enough grown up talk from you Mister Babykins, she scolded, wiping his face with the bib, ‘You deserve a smacked botty!’

‘No Nanny! Cwissie sowwy.’ He spoke in a lisping, babyish voice, desperate to avoid being spanked in front of me, ‘I'll eat the cake all up’. Miss Kelly gave him a reproachful stare, ‘ make sure you do then or else’, she threatened before she sat down and began to pour us tea, leaving Christopher struggling hopelessly to feed himself as she had left on his woolen mittens.

We chatted into the afternoon, Miss Kelly occasionally turning to keep a watchful eye on her beleaguered charge. I had to admire Miss Kelly: her neat skirt and blouse were devoid of creases, and her every movement portrayed strict, traditional values that are sadly now a thing of the past. She spoke of how Christopher, despite his small stature, had become something of a tearaway, driving his poor mother to distraction. Miss Kelly, a family friend, had intervened and instigated a course of complete baby discipline for his own good.

She had decided now was the right time for Christopher’s training to progress, hence my invitation to the party. I began telling her of my own interest in petticoat and baby discipline, and how I had helped my mother babify my cousin Leonard one Christmas. It was an insightful conversation, one that was set to continue until Christopher became the architect of his own, new humiliation.

As we talked Christopher had given a stifled yawn. Miss Kelly turned quickly toward him. ‘Is Chrisicuddles tired den?’ she enquired in a sweet voice. ‘Is it time for babykins to get ready for beddy-byes?’

Desperately he quickly sat up straight in his high-chair ‘No Nana too thoon for beddy-byes.’ He lisped, trying to look very awake, ‘Cwissie not tired.’

The thought of going to bed so early on his birthday provoked panic in his voice. Unfortunately for Christopher, before he could protest further Miss Kelly had already lifted him out of his chair and started to unbutton his dress.

‘Now, now Chrisicuddles, Nana can tell when babykins is overtired, let’s get you undressed and ready for sleepy-byes shall we.’

I was dispatched to the kitchen to prepare a bottle of baby milk, and when I returned Miss Kelly had Christopher sitting naked upon an old fashioned potty. ‘Are we all done?’ she asked the squatting boy, ‘you know Nanny spanks naughty babies who wet their night time nappies’. Poor Christopher was the picture of abject misery sitting there. She lifted him off the potty and proceeded to use a damp flannel to wash every part of his body. ‘No Nanny stop!’ he wailed, trying to avoid her thorough attention to his cleanliness.

Miss Kelly spoke angrily. ‘That’s quite enough bach chat from you, I think you need to go straight to bed you naughty baby. Helen, would you please fetch me some clean nightwear for baby? His jimmy-jams are in the dresser in the nursery’.

She continued diligently with her task, and I eagerly did as she asked while Christopher howled his disapproval at being destined for bed. The nursery was decorated in shades of pink. Soft toys lined a shelf upon which also stood bedtime story books. I easily imagined Christopher all tucked up in his cosy pink cot while Miss Kelly read him a bedtime tale.

The cot dominated the room. Over the end rail was draped a floral pink nightdress with frilled cuffs and collar, I held it up and wondered how Christopher would look in such a girlish item. Remembering I had been told to bring clean nightwear I went to the dresser. It was full of neatly folded infantile nightwear; I chose a pair of pink winceyette pyjamas, with a Peter Pan collar that buttoned to the neck. The pattern consisted of two bears pillow fighting, they were so babyish and feminine, and Christopher would look so sweet wearing them. Pausing only to pick up a teddy bear that was lying lonely in the cot, I returned to find him being pinned into fresh nappies that were protected by a pair of plastic pants printed with nursery characters.  I handed Miss Kelly his pyjamas.

‘Oh, dear,’ she said smiling at me, ‘I’m afraid you have chosen baby’s least favourite pyjamas. He considers those pyjamas extremely babyish. Don’t you Chrisicuddles?’
Miss Kelly teased as began to unbutton the pink pyjama jacket ready to dress him in it.

Christopher shook his head furiously.
‘No not jimjams, pweeze, Chrisicuddles isn’t thleepy, don’t want to go beddy-byes,’ he begged tearfully.

Miss Kelly gave his legs a sharp smack. His eyes brimming with tears, fearful of being dressed in such infantile pyjamas. ‘Aunty Helen has chosen these pretty pyjamas for you to wear, so you will put them on and apologise for your behaviour’, ordered Miss Kelly firmly.

She put his arms into the sleeves of the jacket, buttoning it up to the neck. Placing his feet into the pyjama bottoms, she stood him up, pulled the bottoms up over his nappies and plastic pants and around his waist, fussily she tucked the jacket inside the pyjama waistband. Christopher’s hands and feet had disappeared, enveloped in pink oversized winceyette pyjamas.

‘Now say you are sorry to Aunty Helen for your naughty baby behaviour.’  I leaned forward and gave him a big hug; he looked so miserable standing there all ready for bed wearing his baby girl pyjamas.

Miss Kelly sat down, extended her arms wide, and said, ‘Come to Nanny’. He had no choice but to stagger toward her, toddling like an infant thanks to the bulky nappies and voluminous pyjamas. She scooped him up and cradled him maternally in her lap. Lifting the collar of his pyjamas she tied on a clean bib, smoothed the collar precisely down again and slipped the teat of the bottle between his lips. The warm milk flowed as she rocked him gently toward impending sleep.

Christopher was only vaguely aware of the empty baby bottle being replaced with his dummy, and was practically asleep as I gently tucked his teddy under his arm. She put him into his large cot and kissed him once on the forehead before raising the side rail. Miss Kelly and I quietly left the nursery to the sound of Christopher sucking contentedly on his dummy.

I looked at my watch; it was five o'clock, Christopher’s birthday party had come to an end.

Baby Leonard By Helen Good

Every evening, as my youngest sister Charlotte was preparing for bed he would taunt her, telling her only babies went to bed so early and laughing at her teddy bear, Mister Snuggles. Naturally this was upsetting for a seven year old and she became reluctant to conform to mother's rule that bedtime was determined by age, each birthday allowed you to stay up a little later. To make matters worse Leonard noisily disturbed the girls when Mother remonstrated with him; he refused to put on his pyjamas and go to bed when Katie did, who at ten was the same age as Leonard.


The final straw came a few days before Christmas; Charlotte, who had been outside playing, came in weeping profusely, Leonard had been teasing her again and some other children had joined in the taunts. Mother comforted Charlotte, 'We'll soon see who the real baby is', she said. 'Tabitha' go and bring that nephew of mine to me; I think it's time to teach him a lesson.' I had rarely seen her so angry and hurried off to find him.


He was in reality a puny boy, no match for a robust fifteen-year-old girl; consequently I had little difficulty dragging a reluctant Leonard in off the street. I handed him over to Mother; this was long before common sense was thrown away regarding punishing children. She immediately hauled him over her lap, pulled down his shorts and underwear and began spanking his bare bottom.


Leonard squealed and squirmed but could not prevent the punishment. 'Right young man, you are going to find out what it's like to be the baby of the house, you're filthy so we'll start with a bath.' Pulling off his t-shirt she marched him to the bathroom, his shorts disentangling from his ankles as he floundered upstairs. I followed, relishing his comeuppance.


Although I had no idea what Mother planned, I knew Leonard was in big trouble. She was already filling the bath and was removing the sobbing boy's shoes and socks, when I entered the bathroom. 'Tabitha, go and fetch that old flannelette sheet from the jumble box and cut it up into nappy size squares, we have a new baby to look after.' Eagerly I sought out the sheet and prepared the nappies. When I returned Leonard was sitting in a tub full of suds. How he yelled in protest as Mother set to work scrubbing his grubby body.


Mother soaped up the flannel and washed his mouth out. 'Baby will learn to speak nicely to Aunty or there will be another smacked botty coming baby's way,' she warned the spluttering boy.


Tucking one end of a towel under his arm and wrapping it around him several times, Leonard's arms were pinned to his side as he was effectively swaddled. Mother picked him up and carried him downstairs. Katie and Charlotte were waiting for us, curiously wondering what was happening.


'This is baby Leonard girls', she said showing them his pink face that peeped out of the towel, 'from now on we will have to take special care of him, see, he is crying just like a real baby.'


Charlotte hopped up and down chanting, 'Leonard is a baby' just as he had taunted her. Mother interrupted. 'Now let's all help getting our new baby dressed shall we?' A loud chorus of cheers from the girls echoed around the house as they were dispatched on errands.


I must admit to some embarrassment as Mother applied zinc and castor oil cream and talcum powder before using several squares of the flannelette sheet to fashion makeshift nappies. She continued to scold him as she worked. 'Perhaps now that you are a baby again Leonard, you will learn some respect for others.'


The girls returned just in time to provide Mother with pink nappy pins, which she deftly put to use. Leonard's upper body was still tightly wrapped but there was no hiding the fact that he now wore soft flannelette nappies. Mother rummaged in the jumble box that Charlotte had bought and picked out several items of clothing. Leonard was released from the confines of the towel and immediately tried to run away but I was too quick and held on to him as Mother slipped a cotton vest over his head that once belonged to me, lace trimmed at the edges it had a pretty pink floral design. 'Stop it please, I don't want to wear these things', he wailed in his annoying whine, but was suddenly silenced when Katie popped an old, but unused dummy into his protesting mouth.


'Be quiet baby' she reprimanded him, or my mummy will give you another smacked bottom.' Mother and I could only laugh as she tied the dummy in place with some ribbon she had found and stood back to admire her handiwork. 'Good girl Katie', Mother praised, 'I couldn't stand any more of his bleating'.


Leonard was thankfully only able to make babyish gurgling noises combined with frantic sucking of the dummy as he forgot to breathe through his nose. 'If Baby calms down he'll soon be all dwessed up', Mother cooed babyishly at him, as she fastened him into an old bed jacket that made an ideal baby dress. Made from lamb’s wool with layers of pink nylon, it had numerous flounces and ribbons that we tied enthusiastically. It really was more suited for an elderly person, but it was perfect for our purposes.


Charlotte had discovered an old sun bonnet in the box and pressed it into Mother's hands, 'He has to wear this Mummy, she urged, 'All babies wear bonnets.' The bonnet had an enormous frill and once tied under Leonard's chin he had to turn his head in an exaggerated babyish fashion to see anything, much to our amusement.


A pair of outdoor mittens, knitted from oddments of wool in a rainbow of colours sufficed to prevent him from undoing any of our handiwork followed, and perhaps some of your readers may remember knitted bootee slippers that had zippers up the side. Goodness knows why they were considered fashionable for children at the time, but I suppose you could say the same about balaclavas and sleeveless, slipover sweaters for men. In any case Katie's pink pair was requisitioned, and Leonard's feet were firmly encased in them.


Leonard was by now dressed as a thoroughly spoilt little baby, very much his mother's darling little lamb. It was a perfect way to make an example of a troublesome, disobedient boy.


'Can we take him out please Mummy', the girls begged in unison, eagerly anticipating being able to show off their new 'baby'. Much to their disappointment Mother demurred, instead sending them off to find Charlotte's old cot that was to be his bedtime destination.


Leonard began to suck loudly on his dummy when Mother mentioned the cot and looked very fearful. 'Don't think for one minute I've forgotten what started this upset young man', Mother told him. She took his hand and walked him to the kitchen doorway. 'Tabatha put that rug on the floor and pass me that box of baby toys please', she asked, settling Leonard into a sitting position on the rug.


'Now baby', she began, 'Tabatha and I are going to prepare dinner, I want to hear you making those baby noises with your dummy and playing with this rattle or I will think you are too tired to stay awake and put you straight to beddy-byes in your cot, do you understand?' Leonard pushed the rattle with his mitten and gurgled very babyishly for Mother, desperate not to be put to bed.


'That's a good boy', she encouraged, adjusting his bonnet and re-tying the neck ribbon on the bed jacket whilst telling him what a pretty baby he was.


Leonard sat resplendent in his baby outfit for almost an hour as the girls made up the cot in his room. Mother uttered the occasional 'I can't hear you', which provoked a satisfying increase in the volume of rattle shaking and babyish gurgling. Finally we sat down to eat. Charlotte was allowed to put a bib around his neck and untie his dummy while I had the honour of spoon-feeding a bowl of milky cereal and rice pudding into his reluctant mouth. So far I had felt no guilt in subjecting Leonard to his very apt punishment, and ignored his bleating that he had learned his lesson and how sorry he was. 'Hush now and eat up your din-dins like a good baby.' I cajoled him, enjoying immensely the experience of babying Leonard.


After dinner Mother announced it was time for baby to go to bed. The girls bounded around excitedly as Leonard started whining and kicking his zippered feet against the table. Mother sent Katie for my pink flannelette nightdress and I helped remove the bed jacket, bonnet and slippers from the increasingly frantic Leonard.


We slipped his head and arms into my warmest nightgown; before the advent of central heating these items of clothing were a necessity and I felt a certain sense of loss as I fastened up the three neck buttons that ensured a cosy night's sleep for the lucky wearer. The full-length nightdress extended well past his feet, so Mother pinned the excess material upwards, sealing the bottom of the nightie, cleverly ensuring Leonard was securely encased, like a baby in a snuggle nightdress.


'There now, six o'clock and all ready for night-night, don't you feel silly now for teasing Charlotte, Babykins?' asked Mother, Leonard nodded and looked contrite, 'Come along now, time for beddy-byes.' He attempted to walk, but kept tumbling over as the pinned up nightdress restricted his movement.


'Shall Aunty carry baby to bed?' Leonard was not given a chance to answer as Mother scooped him up and whisked him up-stairs, his legs kicking wildly within the confines of the thick flannelette nightie. As he was placed snugly into the cot Charlotte thoughtfully laid her teddy bear beside him. 'That was sweet of you', I told her later as we briefly peeked in on the slumbering Leonard before I helped her into bed, and asked her ‘won’t you miss Mister Snuggles?'  'No', she replied, 'Mummy said that the baby needs him more than I do.'


The following morning Leonard was driven back to my aunt's wearing my nightgown. On the way we stopped at a children's toyshop, and Charlotte and Katie had the honour of choosing for him his very own pink cuddly teddy bear, with a pink bow under its chin. He was told that he had to think of a name for his teddy, and it had to be sissy enough or he would risk another spanking. Blushing all the time he finally suggested Susie Pink Bows, and this was accepted. Mother clasped one of his hands and marched him up the path to his front door. Amusingly he had to hoist up the nightdress to avoid tripping over the hem.


It was a suitably chastened young man who was grateful to reach the sanctuary of his own home.


It was not long after this incident that our father returned from working abroad and we moved away from the area. Leonard eventually married, had children, and became a prosperous lawyer. I used to wonder if he ever thought about the time his aunt and cousins taught him to become a more tolerant, honest person - although he never returned my warm flannelette nightdress.

Sunday, 15 May 2016

This tale of Pyjama Punishment was sent to PPM by Helen Good

Dear Pyjama Punishment Monthly, I thought your readers would be interested in this account of a students pyjama and early bedtime discipline that was sent to me by Miss Hardacre heself. Baby Lamb was keeping a secret journal of some sort until he was discovered writing it under the bedclothes. It was confiscated and any repitition thwarted by the judicious employment of bedtime mittens and bed straps. I think you will agree that Miss Hardacre does a fine job and proves my point that sometimes a male just requires a small nudge in the direction of pyjama discipline for him to fall under its spell. I believe Baby Lamb is now married and lives in a houshold where he is kept permanently pyjama disciplined by his wife and mother along with Miss Hardacre

Due to my mother's financial constraints I had been forced to attend a university about twenty miles from my hometown. To further save on costs I was to lodge with my mother"s longstanding friend Miss Hardacre. This was not ideal to a young man looking to break away from his mother"s apron strings, but upon arrival Miss Hardacre sat me down and informed me that although she was happy to take me in and that that I would be living with her at no expense, she must insisted I would had to abide strictly to her house rules or find myself sent home and unable to further my education.

Just before tea time on my second day, Miss Hardacre announced that she was not happy with my sloppy appearance and that from now on she would prefer it if pyjamas were my mode of dress while taking tea. I was dumbfounded and protested vigorously that not only would I not wear pyjamas, but also that it was not possible as I did not even own any pyjamas to wear.

Miss Hardacre reminded me of her house rules and informed me that she would provide night attire for me and that I would be wise to do as I was told. Dismissing my protests she told me to start undressing while she went to fetch something suitable to wear.

Ignoring her I continued with my meal until I saw her return with a pair of pink floral winceyette pyjamas draped over her arm.

I watched as she placed them neatly over the back of a dining chair before approaching me. Quickly she had grabbed and twisted my right ear lobe, I squealed with pain as she sat herself down on the pyjama-laden chair while keeping a firm grip on my my ear and hauled me over her lap.

Being small and lightweight for my age I was easily overpowered by Miss Hardacre who had managed to lower my trousers by an act of dexterity I am  still yet unable to fathom and subjected my bared bottom to a severe and painful smacking.  

My resistance quickly crumbled under the duress of the spanking she delivered and I was sobbing gently as Miss Hardacre buttoned me into the pink winceyette pyjamas jacket and maneouvered the pyjama bottoms up and over my legs, tucking the hem of the pyjama jacket inside the elasticised waistband

"I think," she said, as she fastened the top button of the Peter Pan collar on my pyjama jacket, “that in future it will be best if we put you into pyjamas as soon as you arrive home each afternoon, don’t you? Then there will be less chance of tears before bedtime won’t there?"

A strict bedtime of six o’clock was immediately imposed upon me. As soon as I arrived home I had to go upstairs, pick up the pyjamas that Miss Hardacre had laid out on my bed for me and present myself to Miss Hardacre so she could get me ready for, as she described it, "beddy-byes".

Twice a week, when I only had to attend a morning lecture I found myself dressed in pyjamas and ready for bed as early as eleven o'clock in the morning, then she began to address me only as "Baby Lamb" and insist I refer to her as "Aunty Dearest"

If I ever attempted to rebel or even hesitate to conform to her wishes, I would be punished with over the knee spankings, if I ever spoke out of turn I would be given mouth soapings, followed by a spanking and put straight to bed. “Baby Lamb must be overtired, mustn't he,” she would say, cupping my face in her hands, “why else would he be such a naughty rascal. You shall be put into your pyjamas at once and tucked into beddybyes for a lovely early bedtime.

Sometimes I would demen myself even further by attempting to talk my way out of a situation by putting on a babyish lisping voice that she liked me to use in front of guests.

“ Aunty Dwearest, Baby Lamb is sowwy for being such a naughty wascal, pwease don’t put me into my jimmyjams and send me to beddybyes.”

Occasionally this ploy would work, but I felt no pleasure as I realised how much I was humiliating myself.

I was never left alone or unsupervised by Miss Hardacre. On Saturday mornings, Aunty Dearest would drive me to the local library where her friend Miss Lexicon is the head librarian. Once hidden away in her inner office I had to change into pyjamas and slippers and study while Aunty went shopping. If Miss Lexicon caught me not concentrating she would spank me and stand me in the corner with my pyjama bottoms around my ankles, there I would stay until Aunty Dearest returned who would repeat the spanking and take me home still dressed in my pyjamas and put me to bed for the rest of the day when we returned home often well before noon

Sometimes on the way back home we stopped at a tea- shop where aMiss Hardacre met a few of her friends. Invariably I would do something to annoy her, she would tell me off in front of  everyone. “ When I get you home I want you straight into your prettiest pink jimmy-jams as soon as we get in.”

She always raises laughter by brandishing my library pyjamas and informing all and sundry that, “Baby Lamb looks ever so sweet in his pretty pink pyjamas.”

I thought at least I would gain support from my mother, that if she knew what was occurring she would put a stop to this nonsense. Not a bit.

One Sunday morning Aunty the doorbell rang. I was wearing pink floral winceyette pyjamas and a pink nylon tabard that I was made to wear to keep my pyjamas, “neat and tidy”. I was also clutching a yellow duster, Sunday was my day for household chores. “Don’t dilly dally Baby Lamb, you know you’re on doorbell duty, hurry up.”

I was shocked to find my Mother standing smiling sweetly at me as she bent forward to kiss my cheek. "You look nice dear," she said patting my pyjama- clad bottom as she followed me in.

She would not listen to any of my objections as to my treatment and sided with Miss Hardacre on every point. In fact the two of them became so angry with me that I was dispatched off to bed there and then at ten thirty in the morning.

A few weeks later, I started to receive parcels from members of my mother's sewing circle containing pairs of pyjamas that she had asked them to make for me. These new pyjamas were of a style more suited to a young girl, very frilly with Peter Pan collars and decorated with childish patterns.

Aunties insisted I sat down and write a thank you letter to everyone who had sent me a new pair of childish girls pyjamas.

"Dear Aunty,
Thank you ever so much for the lovely pyjamas you made for me. I was delighted to receive such a thoughtful present, and look forward to wearing them for you when you next visit."  

Aunty Dearest and my mother now frequently force me to parade around in a succession of frilly, babyish girls" pyjamas while my mother and her sewing circle discuss the merits of babyish girls" pyjamas as an effective means of discipline. If I am lucky, I am allowed to kiss everyone night-night and scuttle off to bed without receiving a spanking for some imagined indiscretion.

If I am unlucky, I will be allowed to “stay up late” until seven o’clock and endure an hour of being sat upon various laps and fussed over in a most humiliating way before I would finding myself  going over someone's lap and receiving a painful hand spanking before being despatched to bed.

If I was allowed to stay up an extra hour I would pay for it the next day as I would be put to bed at five o'clock because I was “overtired”



Wednesday, 11 May 2016

The Continuation of Timmy's Pyjama Education by Miss Helen Good

Dear Pyjama Punishment Monthly

I thought you may be interested to learn how Timmy's pyjama education proceeded.
It had been arranged for Miss Healy to live in and tutor Timmy throughout the summer break. She was aware of Timmy's past, and, while she approved of my use of childish pyjamas to control his behaviour, she frowned upon him wearing male apparel however smart. Miss Healy advocated that Timmy would benefit by being dressed as a schoolgirl for tutoring purposes. She also suggested that he be confined to strictly girlish nightwear from the early evening. While not opposed to these ideas, I was at pains to point out my belief in an inexpensive approach to pyjama discipline. Miss Healy allayed my fears, accurately predicting that charity shops could provide our needs quite economically.
I must admit I enjoyed taking the reluctant Timmy shopping for his new wardrobe. Underwear was bought new; skirts, blouses, stockings and tights were all purchased second hand. I was particularly pleased when I spotted a delightful pair of brushed cotton pyjamas that were ideal for Timmy. They had been well laundered and were incredibly soft and feminine. Pale green winceyette with a small white floral motif and a Peter Pan collar that buttoned to the neck. Timmy would look incredibly sweet in them.
Timmy's typical day would start with an inspection by Miss Healy, ensuring his schoolgirl uniform met her high standards. She insisted blouses be buttoned up to the neck, and that hemlines be just below the knee. A full morning of revision and written work would follow for Timmy until lunchtime. Timmy eats his meals sitting on his special 'low chair'; simply a shortened kitchen chair that ensures extra care is taken over table manners. A slapped hand or wrist is appropriate if something is spilled or dropped.
Much to Timmy's distress, we took him for regular afternoon walks. Miss Healy believed petticoat discipline should be a humiliating experience, accordingly she would expose Timmy to possible ridicule by stopping inside a busy shop to fussily button up his cardigan, or noisily smack the back of his legs for failing to hold a grown-up hand near a busy road. Upon our return, Timmy would have further studies to concentrate on until it was time to put on his lovely soft girlish pyjamas.
Timmy's recent tantrums had been about his bed and pyjama time, Miss Healy was adamant that no concessions should be given, consequently, Timmy could find himself pyjama clad by five o'clock, or even earlier if inclement weather had prevented our afternoon walk. Miss Healy often liked to tease Timmy in front of the whist club ladies in order to humiliate him further. She would hold up his pyjama jacket like a matador's cape, swiftly pulling it away each time he tried to put his arms in the sleeves. Eventually she would slip it around his shoulders before slowly buttoning the jacket up to the neck. Then she would hold his pyjama bottoms out of reach above her head. Everyone found it extremely amusing to see him pleading to be allowed to put on his girlish pyjama bottoms, while making futile attempts to grab them, wearing just his pyjama top.
Miss Healy and I thought that Timmy would gain by learning how to sew.  His first challenge was to make and sew pom-poms onto his furry slippers. This he managed very well, and he seemed quite proud to show off his handiwork. Then I taught him how to work from a pattern and use a sewing machine. He produced a simple but very pretty cotton blouse that he wore with obvious pride. Rummaging around one day, I found a pattern for girl's pyjamas dating from the nineteen sixties, I decided these would be Timmy's next challenge. A remnant of pink, brushed nylon material was donated for the purpose and, with a little help from myself, an honourable result was eventually attained.
I decided that the finished garments deserved a special unveiling ceremony, so the next evening I took Timmy into his bedroom to dress him in his new pyjamas. The jacket, in true sixties fashion, had a lace ruffle collar, frilled cuffs and a lace bodice. As I pulled up the pyjama bottoms, I realised Timmy had never worn brushed nylon before. Only now, as he began to squirm uncomfortably where the high collar chafed his neck, would he begin to understand how girls suffered having to wear those wretched nighties and pyjamas that created their own aurora borealis when you took them off. I must admit to being quite pleased to see Timmy suffering in the same way.
Timmy's face was as pink as his pyjamas when I ushered him into the room and he discovered Miss Healy had invited over her friends from the sewing club. We had arranged the seating to imitate a catwalk and I marched him up and down the row of ladies, giving a commentary on the nightwear as I pointed out the finer points of his needlework. Then as the embarrassed Timmy stood awkwardly in front of us, he was presented with a crochet bed jacket to keep his pyjamas clean while he attends to his household chores by Amanda, at fourteen, the youngest member of the sewing group. Timmy blushed uncontrollably as I tied it in place with ribbons and he buried his face in my lap in embarrassment as we all enjoyed his discomfort.
Miss Healy is set to leave us shortly, but as I watch Timmy dusting, wearing his pom-pom slippers, pink brushed nylon pyjamas, and crocheted bed jacket, I know I have her to thank for expanding my application of petticoat discipline, and ensuring Timmy continues to reap the benefits.

Miss Helen Good

Sunday, 8 May 2016

Pyjama Time by Helen Good

PYJAMA TIME
From Miss Helen Good 


Dear Pyjama Punishment Monthly


I would like to express my admiration for your site; it certainly shows what can be achieved when determined women put their mind to it. One thing puzzles me however: where do people acquire these magnificent dresses and baby outfits, which they seem to own in abundance? I have developed a much less elaborate, and cheaper way of disciplining my young lodger, whilst still reducing him to a babyish state that humiliates him into total obedience.
When Timothy first came to stay with me he was untidy, rude and undisciplined. I warned him several times of the consequences if he did not mend his ways, but he continued to misbehave. Eventually my patience snapped when he refused to do his college work in order to watch football on television. I switched off the set, hauled him over my lap and soundly smacked his bottom. Timothy was a small, immature boy, and physically he was no match for me. He begged me to stop smacking him, but I was determined to end his slovenly behaviour.
I stripped off his clothes, explaining that naughty boys aren’t allowed to dress and undress themselves. Then I made him put on a pair of delightfully childish pyjamas, yellow winceyette, with a nursery print motif. How Timothy cried as I buttoned up the jacket, and tucked it into the waistband of the trousers! They were too large for him, but I told him he would have to grow into them like other little boys.
The change in Timmy, I decided Timothy was too grown up, was almost immediate, wearing his pyjamas he tidies his room, helps clear up after supper, and is generally a much better behaved young boy, concentrating more on his studies than football.
 I get Timmy ready for bed at 6.00 every evening without fail. He now has quite a selection of pyjamas, all made from soft winceyette and extremely infantile in appearance. My friends come around for whist on Saturdays, and they love to watch as I make him choose a pair of babyish pyjamas to wear, then dress him in, "Timmy's favourites". He gets lots of hugs and cuddles and sometimes forgets his manners, then I resort to the dummy, and have whoever is available to nurse him on her lap while he quietly sucks his dummy.
At 8 o'clock he must give everyone a goodnight kiss, and I take him to bed. I decided his bedtime should be at 8 o' clock because that is when he used to watch football on television. I tuck him in under his Thomas the Tank Engine duvet, and tell him what a good little boy he has become.
I would recommend the use of pyjamas to anyone who wishes to discipline males cheaply and effectively, as long as they follow these general guidelines.
* Always ensure baby's jim-jams are suitably childish or feminine, and slightly too large. Sometimes I put Timmy into a pink floral pair of pyjamas if he is especially naughty.
* Spankings should be rare, and performed in front of guests for maximum humiliation. A few slaps on a pyjama-clad bottom will suffice.
* Choose a time for the putting on of pyjamas and stay true to it, and the same rule for bedtime. I once wiped the smile from Timmy's face by pulling a pair of Peter Rabbit winceyette pyjamas from my bag for him to wear when I lingered too long at a neighbour's house.
* Finally, always make sure chores and duties around the house are completed by him whilst wearing pyjamas, to emphasise your superior female position.
Regards,

Helen Good.

An article published in a later issue of Pyjama Punishment Monthly by Helen Good

The Merits of Short Trousers for the Older Boy
By Miss H Good
Over the course of years I have been witness to more than one instance where a male, having been home tutored, has worn short trousers beyond seventeen. The mention of the school in Scotland reminded me that one of those instances occurred there but I shall not reveal the exact location even though this was many years ago. The boy's mother found it difficult to come to terms with the changing, modern world of the 1970's and sought to protect her son from, as she perceived it, it's immoral ways. When I first encountered Simon he was dressed in traditional school uniform, grey flannel shorts, shirt and tie, cap and blazer and grey knee socks. My first impression was that of a young boy but Simon was actually sixteen.
I soon became accustomed to his mother's wishes and it was part of my duties to report to his mother or governess if Simon failed to present himself for lessons correctly attired. Simon attended Church, or the Kirk as it was known, on Sunday mornings wearing his school uniform and not once did I hear adverse comment from any of the congregation or the minister, who was, I believe one of the earliest female ministers of the church, about Simon's appearance. When Simon was not wearing school uniform he continued to wear shorts but these were shorter than his school ones. Made from cotton and usually in beige or brown, they had elasticised waists and he seemed quite happy enough to wear them when outside at the weekends. Although to be fair he was never outside a great deal. After tuition was finished for the day at 5pm, Saturdays at noon, (we began at 7.30), his governess took him away. When I next saw him at supper at 6.30 Simon was always wearing his pyjamas ready for bed. Indeed, his mother insisted on a 7.30 bedtime for Simon throughout my time with them and I cannot deny that Simon was subject to punishments that were infantile for a sixteen year old, if he was perceived to have misbehaved he would be sent to bed early, he was spanked across his mother’s knee and would be given corner time.
Undoubtedly his mother's ability to mostly isolate him from the outside world contributed to her success in delaying his entry "to hell's inferno," as she so dramatically described the world outside. However I know Simon went on to attend university but I did hear he returned to his maternal home afterwards.
Up until about twenty years ago it was not unusual for me to come across boys in their late teens who still wore short trousers. It is much more difficult today to encourage or indeed enforce such behaviour. Twenty or thirty years ago a community would see an older boy wearing grey flannel schoolboy shorts or outside play shorts and think it was none of their business. Times have changed, possibly for the better possibly not but with the advent of social media and instant worldwide communications nothing remains "behind closed doors" anymore. Sometimes a boy would continue to wear short trousers merely because his youth was being extended beyond what was considered normal. Today we complain that children grow up too fast and mourn the loss of innocence in the very young, yet we now condemn as child cruelty a boy who wears short trousers past toddler age. When I was young, boys who were six foot tall would still be playing games outside wearing their short trousers. Indeed my own brother continued to wear shorts after he started work at the local co-op for quite a few years. As long as they were presentable and still fitted, my mother saw no reason to purchase him long trousers. In my own experience I always expected any boy under my tutelage up to the age of at least twenty, to wear short, school boy style trousers during the day, especially when he was outdoors. Ironically, when he was safely ensconced indoors for the day, he would be wearing only long trousers in the form of pyjamas. Pyjamas would be donned and worn around the house until the wearers prescribed bedtime. Shorts are a splendid item of boys clothing that are dismissed too quickly by society today I fear.

Saturday, 7 May 2016

A Pyjama Punishment Monthly article featuring the methods of Miss Helen Good who was a well known advocate of pyjama and early bedtime punishment and often used controversial methods

Dear Nanny Smackbottom


There appeared to be some confusion in issue 12 regarding my position on bedtimes for naughty little boys and smacked botties.


Please allow me to explain. It has always been part of my disciplinary philosophy to treat adolescent boys (and young adult males), as if they were at least five years younger than their physical age. Girls, in general, mature much quicker and as such it is correct that the male should go to bed sooner and their bedtimes supervised by their sister or sisters.


I would expect that a 16 year old boy under my supervision would have a bedtime of between 6 and 7 pm with a pyjama time of 4 or 5 p.m. Furthermore, I always put boys or men who are under my control, into their pyjamas a minimum of 2 hours before their bedtime, therefore a male who I have decided has a 6pm bedtime would be dressed in their pyjamas ready for bed by 4pm each day. If younger sisters or cousins, neighbours are around to witness the pyjamaring, then so much the better.


I make no allowances for weekends or holidays, I adhere rigidly to their pyjama and bedtime without exception, this reinforces the boy's immature status in the sibling hierarchy. In addition, this is why I ensure all my little boys wear infantile, childish nightwear whatever their ages.


Imagine a sixteen year old who has to parade around in front of his younger sisters for 2 hours before bedtime wearing his dinosaur or teddy-bear motif, little boy pyjamas and slippers. If specially sewn little boy pyjamas are beyond your means, then female pyjamas from any high street chain store are an acceptable alternative. I always prefer pyjamas to be slightly too large for the wearer, emphasising their infantile status.You can see how this technique will quickly make all males lose their aggressive attitudes and respond to female discipline more effectively.


The girl, or girls, should become part of the boys bedtime routine, helping with bath time, helping select his baby pyjamas and subsequently buttoning up his pyjama top for him and stepping him into pyjama bottoms.
At first, he will be shy and embarrassed about being naked in front of everyone but after a few smacked legs he will soon become accustomed to being seen naked.


It is also advisable to have the girls involved tucking in a recalcitrant naughty boy snugly into bed before kissing him goodnight with a warning that he is not to get out of bed without permission under any circumstances. In addition, having your 12 year old sister drawing the bedroom curtains on a sunny summer evening at 6pm as the 16 year-old is encased in pyjamas and bedclothes is especially humiliating for the boy who is being put to bed and a good way to educate young siblings early on in their lives on how to train a well disciplined male.


Over the years I have endeavoured to ensure that the males who have fallen under my patronage come to appreciate their subservient role in regard to the superior female. I have developed my doctrine of pyjama and early bedtime discipline as an excellent way to achieve this. During my career I have used maternal, over the knee spankings to reinforce my control. However this is a method I tend to use sparingly, not least because as we know, being placed over a matronly lap for a smacked bottom can be surprisingly stimulating for some adolescent males.


For maximum effectiveness, smacked bottom time should be delivered in front of several females. I prefer to smack bottoms in the presence of ladies from my own circle who understand and approve of my philosophy, boys being spanked are far less likely to become "excited" when a group of females are watching the discipline occur.


This reserves the humiliation of a boy going across a knee in front of younger females as an additional punishment. I always begin spanking with the recipient pyjama clad and continue by easing down their pyjama bottoms to expose the naughty boys bare bottom to further punishment if needed.


Sometimes a particular boy will require a more infantile approach to discipline. In such cases I use pyjama rompers, nappies, mittens and babies dummies to enforce compliance with my disciplinary measures. Those particular boys sleep in specially constructed baby cots and are more closely supervised by a strict matron or nanny.


I trust this clarifies my position on early bedtimes, pyjamas and spankings for naughty boys.


Yours


Miss Helen Good


Dear Miss Good


Your letter in issue 12 about your experiment involving your nephew certainly inflated my postbag last month! Reverting the eighteen year old back to that of a much younger boy and confining him to state of permanent infantile pyjama and early bedtime punishment was controversial indeed. I myself, as I made clear, think the experiment has merit and am actively looking for a suitable candidate myself to repeat your technique. Others however objected to your overuse of smacked bottoms and the excessively early bedtimes they also disagreed with your findings and conclusions. The confusion arose I think because the objectors failed to understand that your nephew is perfectly happy to accept his newfound status and does not wish to revert back to a traditional adult lifestyle.
I am happy that you have made your position clear in this month's edition of Pyjama Punishment Monthly and that others may appreciate how you have led the field for many years in your innovative approach to pyjama and early bedtime punishment.

Nanny Smackbottom