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

Nanny Susan continued

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, ah...it 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.

Monday, 23 February 2015

Oliver and Stephen both have trouble with their knickers in two scenes from previous adventures. Drawings by the excellent Alan Lawrence


Oliver had returned from a visit to the bathroom when Great Aunt Agnes noticed a problem with the knickers of his Sunday church outfit. "What on earth...?" Oliver had been found out. When his cousin Mavis, had adjusted his knickers for him he had experienced a boys natural reaction. Dashing off to the loo to conceal his protuberance, he discovered he had produced quite an amount of gooey pre-cum. The leakage was now perfectly visible soaking into the white cotton at the front of his knickers. What to do? Cleverly, or so he thought, he removed his knickers and turned them around. Of course he had not counted on eagle eyed Great Aunt Agnes. Caught by her loitering on the walk to church, she spotted the condemning stains on his rear end. Suffice to say that particular rear end was shortly to receive an uncommon amount of attention. 



It was a very windy morning when Stephen set off to return some library books and then on to the barbers for a, "short and smart haircut" as per his mums instructions. When Patricia, the young nursing student from two doors down called out to him.  "Stephen, are these your incontinence pants? Only they have just blown into our garden." He felt his face redden. "No..no......... of course not. What makes you think they are mine?" he stammered. Laughing she replied. "Oh I don't know, perhaps it's the three identical pairs that are still pegged to your mum's washing line." His face was now the same colour as the pants.
"Oh those pants. Yes well I was a bit unwell and I...." She laughed again. "No need to explain Stephen, I have seen plenty of boys wearing nappies and plastic pants, just not pink ones. Is that your nightshirt on the line too?" She asked with a twinkle in her eye. He looked at the garment wrapped around the line due to the wind. "Of course not, that is my mums nightgown," he protested.
Patricia stared at the ground. "Sorry my mistake. In that case those space rocket winceyette pyjamas twisted around that bush probably aren't yours either are they?" Already caught out in a lie, Stephen gave up. "well, yes actually they are my pyjamas," he whispered. "Thanks, I'll take them to mum to wash again." He picked up his embarrassing, little boy pyjamas. "Don't forget your wee-wee pants," she said, thrusting them into his hand as she strolled off, still laughing.


mogg has posted Part 3 of the Sleepover on his blog and I thoroughly recommend you read it. Link to mogg stories on the right.

Tuesday, 17 February 2015

Strict Mummy in control as it's pyjama time and early bedtime for this seventeen year old. And oh dear, an attack of the tweezers. This is a mogg inspired story using the characters he created. I very much hope this will inspire him to pick up his keyboard again. Not least to show me how it's done.



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

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

Both boys stared resolutely at the floor. Oliver because he was actually becoming quite annoyed at hearing his most intimate details being discussed and Stephen because he was wincing at the thought of hairs being extracted by way of a pair of tweezers. He was disappointed to learn that seventeen year old Oliver had such a hairless existence, he could contribute anything to the hair growing competition, his own body being quite hairless but he was hopeful that by the age of seventeen he would be positively hirsute.

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

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

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

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

His mother had not been best pleased and since there was no chance of his shorts being clean in time, he was despatched to school that morning wearing his yellow play shorts along with a note for his form teacher.

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

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

Dear Hyacinth

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

Yours sincerely 

Vera Evans.

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

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

Miss Ledbetter proceed to examine his yellow play shorts thoroughly. Hee left hand felt the material of his shorts while her right hand rested on the inside of his smooth, hairless inner thigh. Hyacinth Ledbetter had always been intrigued by Oliver, why he meekly accepted his mother's decision to dress him as a little boy. She deliberately placed her body in the way  of the watching class then let her hand linger on his thigh, visibly increasing his discomfort.

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

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

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

Almost immediately Oliver knew he had made a mistake.

"Oliver! How dare you talk to Aunty Felicity in such a manner. You know very well not to be rude to grownups."

Mrs Evans apologised to Mrs Wilding. "I am so sorry Felicity, I know exactly what lies behind Oliver's behaviour. Because of all the upset last night with his school shorts, by the time I got Oliver bathed and gave him his supper it was eight thirty before he was tucked into bed, half an hour after his usual school bedtime. When Oliver doesn't get a full night's sleep he becomes very irritable and bad tempered, as you have just witnessed."

Felicity Wilding nodded in agreement and confirmed that Stephen was exactly the same and that was why it was important that boys had a regular pyjama time and bedtime.

"Come along then Oliver, lets get you undressed and into your jimmy-jams, you obviously need an early night to catch up on the sleep you missed."  Oliver visibly began to well up. "But mummy..."

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

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

Oliver was already bare naked and his mother was carrying a bowl of water and some wash flannels. "This is a good idea of yours Felicity, a pre pyjama time wash will be much quicker than a bath." Stephen watched as his own mum took a flannel and, after rubbing in soap, began to wash Oliver's legs.

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

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

Mrs Evans proffered the pyjamas to Stephens mum.

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

 

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

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

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

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

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

His mum smoothed the pyjama collar of Olivers pyjamas and ran her hand down the front of the pyjama jacket. "Lovely and soft and cosy," she said. " I think Stephen could..."

Felicity Wilding paused. Her hand resting on Olivers crotch. "Vera, I think you need to see these."

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

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

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

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

"Don't be such a baby Oliver. I have it now, only three to go." Eventually the hair had submitted and was triumphantly scrutinised by Mrs Evans before she returned her attentions to the remaining hairs. Having realised resistance was futile, the three other hairs feebly conceded defeat and succumbed to Mrs Evans tweezers without much fight. Stephens mum ran her hand over the now hairless region and lowered his penis.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


He recognised them since those were the very same pattern as his own DryNites pants.

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

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

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

Satisfied at making her son act like a six year old, Mrs Evans took hold of Oliver's wrist,  "I wonder how much longer I will have to continue with Oliver's pyjama time and bedtime Felicity, she mused.

"Oh I am sure for a long time yet Vera, a very long time," ventured Mrs Wilding looking at Stephen, as Vera Evans appeared very pleased with the response.

 "Up the wooden hill we go then."

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

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

Mrs Wilding checked her watch again, "just five minutes then."
If truth be told, Felicity Wilding was very interested in Vera's disciplinary techniques and was happy to continue witnessing Olivers punishment. Stephen meanwhile was extremely worried as he too was ushered upstairs. His mum was too involved in this for his liking.














Monday, 16 February 2015

Error

I have fixed the problem with the presentation of the new Pyjama Punishment Monthly Letters

Sunday, 15 February 2015

Letters from Pyjama Punishment Monthly

Dear Nanny Smackbottom
When was naughty i was always sent to bed early. I had to get into my pyjamas immediately and then i was sent to bed at 6pm. It didn't matter if there were other people in the room with me, i still had to put my pyjamas on there and then and then sit with them. It was embarrassing being in my pyjamas, and usually my slippers when everyone else was in normal clothes. I was frequently told in public that my behaviour had warranted being taken home and put straight into pyjamas then it would be off to bed when I got home. Many people all around would hear this and often tease or laugh at me as I was frog marched home. I remember being led away to a cacophony of laughter and teasing. I lived in no shoes on the carpet household and i was often told to take off my shoes and socks in front of relatives and friends and told to put my pyjamas straight on. Everyone always seemed to enjoys seeing me punished, especially when I was being spanked.
From what your mummy told me, you thoroughly deserved your pyjama and early bedtime punishments.
NS 
Dear Nanny Smackbottom
Even though I am eighteen and attend college, my Aunt insists upon me changing into pyjamas and slippers as soon as I arrive home. Sometimes this can be as early as 3pm in the afternoon. 
If her sewing club meeting is being held, I am expected to help serve the teas dressed in this humiliating manner. I am only 5 foot tall and my Aunt thinks I need protecting from what she describes as, ne'er do wells. For this reason my usual bedtime is still 8pm, unchanged from when I was a ten. I have several pairs of slippers ready to step into at the entrance and my pyjamas are laid out on my bed for me to change into. Aunty always buys me boys slippers to wear, size 3.5, and since she sews most of my pyjamas from unsuitable juvenile material the lady who delivers our tea (Ringtons, 4.40 Friday) is convinced I am still ten years old. Since I open the door to her wearing pyjamas with spacemen or trains on them and wearing scooby-doo slippers,  I am not inclined to reveal my true age to her. If I complain, Aunty spanks me, with her slipper and brings my bedtime forward. Friday and Saturday I am allowed to stay up until 9pm but to earn that privilege I must be in pyjamas and slippers by 6pm. Nanny, please tell my Aunt that she is wrong in treating me like a little boy.

Annoyed of Halifax


I shall tell her no such thing. Your Aunt is only looking after you. You obviously require an early bedtime and should always be in your pyjamas long before your bedtime.

Pyjama discipline is good for males of any age but especially adolescent boys. Far better that you are safely indoors wearing slippers and pyjamas than outdoors getting into mischief. Early bedtimes and the occasional spanking will do you no harm either.
NS

Dear Nanny Smackbottom


With your permission, I would like to respond to the letter you published in last months PPM from Annoyed of Halifax.



It seems to me that your aunt is supporting you by providing a roof over your head, feeding you, washing and ironing too no doubt. The least you could do is live by her rules. She is correct, a boy of your stature would be prey to bullies if out and about late at night. I think 8pm is a perfectly fair bedtime during schooldays. How ungrateful are you? Your aunt takes the time and trouble to sew you lovely warm pyjamas and you complain. So what if they make you appear younger than you are?

Being ready for bed in slippers and pyjamas at 6pm on a Saturday is no hardship, lots of people would be grateful for that opportunity. If I were your aunt your weekend bedtime would be a lot sooner than 9pm so think yourself lucky.

Helen Good


Well said Helen, some little boys do not realise how lucky they are.

NS