Sunday, 25 October 2015

Another part of my story featuring Stephen, mogg's character.

Stephen sat uncomfortably in the back of the vicar's car as the middle one of three. His mum sat upfront while to his left sat Miss Ledbetter, to his right sat Oliver's sister, Pamela who had arrived home just as they were leaving.

Pamela had looked amusingly at Stephen as her mother, Mrs Evans, had given her a brief summation of what had transpired earlier and how Oliver had misbehaved so badly he been put to bed early in disgrace.

"I see Steviekins is wearing Oliver's old pyjama romper, it suits him," she had said using her pet name for him before she disdainfully pinched his cheek and spoke in such a babyish manner as to make him want to crawl away in embarrassment. Stephen's mum and the other ladies present readily nodded and confirmed their agreement that Stephen did indeed look," lovely and snuggly-wuggly all ready for night-night in his cosy-wosy jimmy-jams."

Pamela, whose older brother had been despatched so humiliatingly to an early bedtime, decided she would hitch a ride with the departing group as she had arranged to meet her friend Rachel, Stephens cousin.
Pamela was highly thought of by the local adult females as one of those girls who had been noted as, "sensible and mature for a girl of her age," so sensible in fact that she had long been one of the first girls to turn to when a babysitter was required, even when the "baby" in question was older than the babysitter.

Now, at the age of sixteen, she had for a long time enjoyed total authority over older brother Oliver. If need be she could dictate his pyjama time, his bedtime, when a haircut was due and how short it should be, what food he could eat, oh, and she could even choose a suitable song for him to sing to those assembled if she so desired. Pamela was privy to every aspect of her older brother's life, even down to taking him to the outfitters to be measured for such important things as his play shorts.

As she sat beside Stephen, she patted, then squeezed his pyjama clad thigh. "It's been a while since I have babysat you, is seven thirty still the time you're tucked up in beddy-byes Steviekins, or has mummy decided you get overtired and need an earlier night-night?" She teased, speaking in that syrupy, babyish manner that people usually use when speaking to toddlers.

Stephen was about to shout for his mum to complain that Aunty Pamela was teasing him but Miss Ledbetter began to talk to her about sewing so he held his tongue, and as the vicar fought to discover first gear, his thoughts turned to the last time he had had the misfortune to experience Aunty Pamela's authoritative nature.

His mum had volunteered to work on Saturday's at the charity shop on the high street to cover one of the usual ladies holiday period. Stephen had naively thought this would mean he would be left to his own devices for the hours she was away, instead his mum had agreed with Pamela that she would come to, "look after" him.

Even worse, was that his mum had made it plain to him that Pamela, who he was to address as Aunty Pamela, had full "grown ups" authority in her absence. His mum made it quite clear to him that Aunty Pamela's word was law and any disobedience on his part would not be looked on favourably. Stephen protested that it was ludicrous, that a girl who was a mere few months older than him should be in charge and designated a grown up when he was barely trusted to tie his own shoelaces. His mum had ignored him.
As usual, once her decision was made she was not going to change it.

Pamela had arrived early than expected that Saturday morning. This was upsetting for Stephen as he was still having breakfast wearing his blue, Winnie the Pooh pyjamas. Stephen was officially on one weeks, "naughty boy's pyjamas" punishment. His mum had found what she maintained, were suspicious stains on the inside of his pyjama bottoms. Even though he had vehemently denied her claims he had been punished by being made to wear pairs of his most babyish, little boy pyjamas for bed. This his mum proclaimed, was to make him realise he was not, "as much of a big boy", as he thought.

Pamela had allowed herself a large grin upon spying Stephen in his unbecoming night-attire before recovering her composure and solemnly offering to,"take Stephen to get ready".

Upstairs in his bedroom, she rummaged through the clothes in his dresser looking for a suitable play outfit for him to wear. "I can dress myself you know Pamela, I am sixteen." he said petulantly, adding, "I'm almost a man."

Stephen had tried to look tall and manly, a grave mistake when you are a good four inches smaller than your younger, female babysitter and wearing a pair of pyjamas a ten year old would have been embarrassed to be seen in.

Pamela laughed at his outburst, then scolded, "almost a man? You're fifteen, you're wearing Winnie the Pooh winceyette pyjamas and you have a seven thirty bedtime, and another thing, you are to call me Aunty Pamela if you please." Stephen was deflated at her admonishment. "Come along then," she urged, "let's get you out of those cute jimmy-jams and into some play clothes."

Pamela unbuttoned his pyjama jacket and slipped it off his shoulders, with a shake of his arms it fell to the floor then, she pulled down his bottoms until they lay bunched around his slippered feet.

 "Oh Stephen," she giggled, as she surveyed the smooth, hairless region of his genitals. "I am afraid you have no manly attributes here at all, none whatsoever, and what's this?" As she spoke she wiggled his penis between her thumb and forefinger. "My baby cousin has a pee-pee bigger than this, I shall have to start calling you Baby Steviekins from now on shan't I?" She laughed.

A few minutes later Stephen was being presented to his mum. Pamela had made him put on his red plastic sandals, worst of all, she had discovered his old yellow play shorts, he hadn't worn them for over a year and they were really, really short, they probably only an inch of actual leg length and were so tight that most of his bare bottom was on display. Pamela had ran the palms of her hands across the fleshy parts of his bottom before giving his buttocks a few robust slaps and proclaiming, "plenty of room in those yet, you can wear them for another year at least."

"Arms up," she ordered, as she pulled a pale blue singlet over his head, this was another item of his play clothes that he had considered well past their play by date, but Pamela had other ideas. The hem of his singlet, basically a sleeveless t-shirt, made no attempt to meet the waist of his shorts, in fact there was a good four inch gap that revealed his bare midriff to the outside world. Finally she had combed his hair forward, down into a boyish fringe and pausing only to pick up his discarded pyjamas, led him back downstairs to his mum.

Pamela had dressed him as she would a toddler and to most people, a fifteen year old wearing a red, yellow and blue ensemble would be a strange sight, but his mum had actually clapped her hands when she saw him.

"Oh lovely, the perfect outfit for a sunny day, what a lucky boy you are to have such lovely play clothes."

Stephen didn't feel lucky, in fact he felt downright humiliated as Pamela passed the Winnie the Pooh pyjamas to his mum who proceeded to examine them, as she did every morning, for tell tale-signs of Stephen having disobeyed her and played with his pee-pee during the time he was in bed.

This was something his mum had expressly forbidden and Stephen was always nervous as his mum closely inspected the crotch of his pyjamas, he knew he was under surveillance and took precautions, but he never knew if something had reared it's ugly head whilst he was sleeping, so to speak. Satisfied he had been a "good boy", his babyish pyjamas were despatched to the wash hamper.

His mum had kissed him goodbye and waved to him from the bottom of the garden path. "Don't forget to be a good boy for Aunty Pamela."

Soon Stephen was sent out to play, blushing as Aunty Pamela had ushered him out with the words, "off you go from under my feet Baby Steviekins,"  and with a warning not to forget to come home for lunch.

Stephen seldom played with his contemporaries, although he was almost a man, he still enjoyed playing games that needed youthful imagination and so he had been pleased to meet up with Cyril, Mavis and Granville. He enjoyed his games with this younger trio and they always accepted his somewhat strange apparel without comment and so, a game of Cowboy and Indians was quickly underway in the woods.

Stephen was the Ringo Kid, a mean ruthless varmint who had forcibly taken Running Deer, otherwise known as Mavis, from her tribe to be his squaw. Little Bear and Two Dogs had tracked them and had managed to capture the Ringo Kid and release Running Deer.

The Kid had been tied up and tortured to reveal the whereabouts of the cache of stolen winchester rifles, the torture had involved Running Deer lowering his play shorts as he was tied to a tree and tickling him with the feather from her headdress until he talked. He hadn't talked, instead becoming very excited and desperate to go home to cure this excitement.

Bizarrely, for some reason, Little Bear and Two Dogs decided that they too should be similarly tortured, unfortunately by the time Running Deer had tortured the three of them into submission he realised that he was late for lunch.

With one bound he was free. However the Ringo Kid wasn't much of an athlete, as he was making his escape he came to the rope swing across the stream, with the trio of injuns close to recapturing him, he slackened his pace just at the moment he should have quickened it.

Instead of sweeping Errol Flynn like across the stream and landing deftly on the other side, leaving his pursuers behind with a nonchalant wave, he found himself clinging to the rope, suspended over the murk.
Unable to hold his own weight, the rope slipped through his hands and he dropped into the water.

Stephen could see Aunty Pamela peering down the road from the bottom of the path as they approached.
Cyril and Granville had ran off, leaving Mavis to help Stephen home. He had stopped crying but the odd sob was still audible as he faced Aunty Pamela on the garden path.

Stephen's legs, arms and face were covered in grey slime and his hair was matted with the same slimy substance, what's more, his play clothes were now soaked and ruined.

"He fell in the stream," Mavis volunteered somewhat obviously.

Stephen had moved forward toward the door. "You can't come in like that you naughty boy, think of the mess you'll make indoors," Aunty Pamela had said, blocking his path.

"But...but.. I need a bath."

Aunty Pamela had smiled mischievously."Yes, yes you do, don't you." Stepping forward, she gingerly grasped the hem of his sopping singlet and pulled it up over his head.

"What... what are you doing? " he had asked, as she dragged his play shorts down to his ankles.
As Stephen bent down to pull his shorts back up, he was hit by a blast of icy water.

Pamela was using the garden hose to wash him. Manouvering the jet of water to back him up against the garden wall, she adjusted her aim to ensure the grey slime slid from his slender frame as she worked her way down his body.

"Stop...stop.. ," he struggled to get the words out as the cold water made him gasp for every breath, but she continued, using the power of the water to turn him around to clean the back of his body, paying particular attention to his bottom. "Have to make sure you are especially clean there," she said.

"There, that's much better," Pamela turned off the water as Stephen stood shivering. Pamela turned to the watching Mavis who was open-mouthed at what she had witnessed. "Thank you so much for bringing Stephen back," she took his hand and turned him toward toward the front door, "you may go home now."

Mavis however, stood transfixed, looking on as Pamela led Stephen to the front door. As his sopping wet shorts were still around his ankles, he had to shuffle slowly toward the door

"There's a good boy Steviekins," she encouraged. Stopping at the threshold Pamela bent down and removed his red plastic play sandals so he could finally step out of his shorts. "Wait there a moment," she ordered the completely naked, shivering boy and closed the door.

"Please.. I want to come in..." He wailed, but she was gone. By now, far from leaving, Mavis had been joined by some of the other kids who had been playing nearby and had heard Stephen's screams.

"Hoi, naked boy, I would sell you a pair of trousers but I can see you have no money on you." One wag shouted from amid the sniggering crowd.

Stephen, ignoring the jibe, knocked desperately on the door with his one free hand, the other was cupped over his genitalia. "Aunty Pamela, aunty Pamela, please let me in," he had begged.

Finally the door opened and Pamela began to lay a trail of newspaper pages on the porch floor.
"Step.. step... step, " she repeated as he made his way in.

Indoors she had berated him. "What on earth do you think you were up to. I was sick with worry. Wait until your mum hears about this. Your lunch is ruined."

Stephen's head was spinning as he listened to her scolding him, for some reason he became excited as she told him off and he could feel the stickiness of pre-cum against his palm.

Pamela stopped mid-sentence. "Hands on head this minute! Are you?... You naughty little boy, how dare you."

Stephen stood with his hands on his head, his pee-pee was protruding slightly and the gland glistened with pre-cum. Pamela took paper tissues from the box on the occasional table and used them as insulation as, to his surprise, she took hold of his erection. "You must be ill from swallowing dirty water, ill or just an extremely naughty little boy, and I mean little. Just what will your mum say when I tell her."

The thought of explaining himself to his mum diminished his excitement but Pamela still had hold of his penis as she led him toward the chair that faced the bay window. Pamela placed tissues on the seat and told him to bend over the chair and not to move under any circumstance.

The gathering of kids hanging around outside had lost interest but this new activity rekindled it as Stephen was clearly visible from the street lying prostrate across the chair.

He was anticipating a spanking, however, when Pamela returned she felt his forehead, "hmm, slightly warm, let's find out if you are poorly shall we?"

He was puzzled when he saw her dip her finger into the jar of petroleum jelly, he was startled when he felt the glob of jelly penetrate his rectum, he was surprised when his penis once again began to stiffen as she worked the jelly into his anus and he was frightened when he felt something penetrate him.

"Sssh..sssh..," she soothed as Stephen began to whimper,  "I'm just taking your temperature, doesn't your mum use the rectal thermometer when you are ill?" She inquired, adding. "Just stay still for two minutes, there's a good boy

Stephen had never heard of a rectal thermometer and outside, the audience of kids were equally puzzled, "up periscope," the wag quipped as the highly visible Stephen lay naked across the chair.

Tuesday, 6 October 2015

A PPM letter from Paul to Matron about the benefits of adult short trousers. I am not sure Matron has interpreted the women's reaction in the image correctly though!

Dear Matron

In response to Geoffrey's letter about his mother’s decision and how he bemoans the fact that he will be made to wear short trousers and have early bedtimes until he is eighteen.

I was in a similar situation in that I wore short grey trousers as part of my Prep School uniform until I left aged 14. I was a year older than the other boys in my class as I started at the school a year behind as I had been living abroad.

My parents wanted me to wear short trousers but longs were part of the upper school uniform and I would have been the only pupil wearing shorts, so consequently a compromise was agreed. I would wear longs for school but shorts at all other times during the rest of my teens For example, I wore my school uniform with short grey trousers and schoolboy turnover top knee socks to church on Sundays and also to Sunday School and Saturday afternoon Bible classes.

I was finally permitted to wear longs outside of school when I left two months before my twentieth birthday.
Because I am small of stature and not at all hirsute, I could easily be taken for a 13 or 14 year old when in my short trousers and rarely received any adverse comments, although if people discovered my real age they were often astonished that I was still kept in shorts by my parents. Some approved but others felt I was too old to be dressed like this.

Initially I hated having to wear short trousers and felt deeply humiliated and ashamed, but gradually by the age of 16 or 17, I developed a liking for short trousers which I found to be more comfortable, less restricting and smarter than longs. This enthusiasm for short trousers and school uniform continues to this day and I regularly wear shorts around the home and often in public depending on the circumstances. Even as an adult I have received the occasional compliment on how smart I look wearing traditional clothing.

Throughout my school days my parents also insisted that I was subject to a strict 9 pm bedtime and this is another part of my upbringing that I have maintained in my adult life. I find wearing my short trousers by day and going to bed early each evening benefits my lifestyle greatly and in no way has my parents early bedtime and short trouser discipline been detrimental to me.

I suggest Geoffrey changes his attitude and looks upon this as a great opportunity to be an individual and to stand out from the crowd. I accept that his 7 pm bedtime may be a trifle early for a 16 year old but I am sure if he knuckles down and behaves himself his mother will see fit to extend it.

For now, I say embrace your short trousers and enjoy the freedom they give.

Best wishes


Dear Paul

It is so refreshing to receive a letter from a boy like yourself who has adopted a positive approach to wearing short trousers. I urge Geoffrey to take note of you comments and accept that his mother is making these decisions for his own good. I have been told many times that there is nothing better than for a boy to feel the wind and the rain against his bare legs and that even in the most chilling, biting wind it is a most invigorating sensation. However I cannot agree with you that his proposed 7 pm bedtime is too early. For an immature 16 year old it seems to me to be eminently sensible, however I will agree to differ with you since you have written such a supportive letter in general.



A good example of how smart short trousers can look on an adut male and how impressed women are by such a look.

Saturday, 3 October 2015

It was just my attempt to meet new people but Aunty and Mrs Jacobson turned it into an advertisement advocating early bedtime and pyjama punishment!

Aunty and Mrs Jacobson had discovered my online "lonely hearts" advertisement. I was mortified and stood totally embarrassed as they hooted with laughter as they read out my ad.
"Girls, want to live life in the fast lane? Come and join me. I am a well-endowed, independent male who is seeking a female to share my exciting lifestyle. OHAC. Only genuine thrill seekers need apply!"
“You silly little boy, a pokey one bed flat and a fifteen year old Fiesta will hardly impress will it?” Aunty asked with mirth.
“You forgot to mention that you spend most of your time here with us wearing pyjamas and doing the washing up before we put you to bed!” Added Mrs Jacobson.
“And well-endowed? If you think that tiny todger of yours is anything to brag about you are sadly mistaken. I doubt you could satisfy any woman with that teeny tiny thing.” She laughed before aunty continued.
“Thrill seekers? Fast Lane? My goodness, yesterday we had you in your pyjamas ready for bed by 3pm and you spent an hour with your colouring book before we tucked you into bed for an early night! Thrill seeker indeed, remember the last time I caught you trying to, “thrill” yourself I put you across my knee for a bedtime spanking and that’s why you wear that chastity device when we allow you to go home you ridiculous boy. And as for the fast lane, well if you count pushing a shopping trolley around the supermarket then yes, I suppose it is the fast lane!”
Once Aunty and Mrs Jacobson had composed themselves they then decided to re-write my ad. At first I refused to let them access my account but after a trip across aunty’s lap I suddenly remembered my password.
“Girls, want to go out with a sissy boy wimp? I own a pee-pee that my aunty encases in a CB6000S chastity device, the S stand for small. My life is so exciting; I am usually in my sissy pyjamas by 6pm at the latest and I enjoy taking my Teddy bear to beddy-byes, In fact Teddy is the only thing I have ever taken to bed apart from a well smacked botty. Only dominant females who enjoy making naughty little boys sing for their supper need apply.” 

Mrs Jacobson then produced the pictures she has taken of me wearing my most sissyish, infantile pyjamas and attached them to my ad. Aunty and Mrs Jacobson have promised to invite anyone who replies to the ad to visit and witness for themselves how I live life in the "fast lane" with my early bedtime and pyjama punishment imposed regime.

Friday, 4 September 2015

A Pyjama Punishment Monthly letter from "Peterkins" who is complaining about his strict babysitter being two years younger than he is. I am sure he wrote more than once to PPM, I will have to search the archives.

Dear Nanny Smackbottom

My name is Peter and I am 16 but currently being babysat by our neighbour Mrs Scott’s youngest daughter Ellen, who is only 14 years old, yet my still mother allows her to give me a bath and spank me with her special spanking slipper. Ellen has turned out to be the strictest of all the Scott sisters and when she babysits she treats me as though I were a real baby. Ellen has introduced new things to her babysitting technique, all of which were never done by any of her older sisters when they babysat me. The first new thing is that she insists on calling me Peterkins, something my younger sister has started copying and even my own mother! Even worse is the attire she now makes me wear after Ellen has given me my bath. It is bad enough that Ellen, like all of her sisters, always baths me at 4 pm, but she also bought two new pairs of pyjamas I must put on straight after my bath. The pyjamas are the traditional brushed cotton kind with the top having buttons down the front and the pyjama bottoms have an elastic waist The worst thing however is the design. The pyjamas are light blue cotton but they are adorned with cartoon characters from toddlers television shows. Ellen dresses me in these pyjamas after my bath and I must wear them for the rest of the evening until she puts me to bed.

Ellen has also given me a much earlier bedtime than previously and I am now sent to bed at 7 pm, a whole hour earlier than my younger sister. Ellen has also introduced corner time for me. It comes after the spankings she gives me with her slipper. It is must humiliating as I must stand in the corner of the living room for 30 minutes after my spanking with my hands behind my head and my childish pyjama bottoms pulled down to my ankles leaving my naked bottom in full view to anyone in the room. My little sister thinks the pyjamas are so funny, and when my mother saw them, she laughed as well, saying they were "adorable" on her little Peterkins, and how mature and responsible Ellen was to have bought them for me. But I'm not a little boy! I am 16, almost a man now.

Last Tuesday, I had the most horrible experience with Ellen, which shows you just how much control my mother has given her over me. I had a doctor's appointment at 4 pm, but my mother had to be at my younger sister's school to attend a play. My mother never misses any of our school functions, including mine, and since this was just a check up she felt totally safe in sending me to the doctor with someone else, Ellen of course.

I was told to be home immediately after school, Ellen arrived 5 minutes later, letting herself into the house with the key my mother had given her. My mother had also given Ellen money for a taxi. As soon as Ellen walked in the door, she hurried me up the stairs, telling me that a taxi was on the way and we had to get me bathed and cleaned up before my appointment. Moments later, I was in the tub being bathed by Ellen and minutes later being dried by her. 

I couldn't believe what happened next as she produced a pair of my cartoon pyjamas and told me that I would be wearing them to the doctor as I would be going straight to bed when we got home. My pleading with her to let me wear ordinary clothes fell on deaf ears, instead she buttoned me into my pyjamas and dropped my blue fluffy batman slippers at my feet. “Get those on, the taxis here.” She ordered.

You can imagine how I looked when we left the house dressed in my cartoon pyjamas and slippers.
I was so embarrassed as we entered the doctor's office waiting room with Ellen still holding on to my hand as if I was a toddler. I felt all eyes were on me wearing my babyish slippers and pyjamas as we took our seat in the waiting area. Soon however we were called through where I was shocked to discover the nurse was Ellen's oldest sister Julie, she used to babysit me when I was eight.

“Hello Peter, or is that Peterkins nowadays? My, don’t you look cute wearing your new pyjamas, Ellen told me she had bought you new special jim-jams, although come to think of it, didn't you used to wear pyjamas like that when I babysat you?" She laughed, then in a serious voice said, but since I need to check your weight I think you had better take them off.”

I was made to remove my pyjamas and stand naked on the scales so she could weigh me before she led me into an examining room and closed the door.

I remained naked through the whole exam, which of course Ellen watched from about two feet away, including my internal check. Finally, they determined that I needed a tetanus booster, that I was to receive on my bottom. After the injection, I was finally allowed to put my pyjamas back on, and Ellen led me from the office and we took a taxi home where I was put straight to bed even though it wasn't even my bedtime.

Please advise how I might convince my mother that I am too old to be babysat by a 14 year old.


Dear Peterkins

I'm sorry to hear you felt the need to write to me here at Pyjama Punishment Monthly. 
Your new babysitter does sound strict but I suspect she probably feels the need to emphasise her authority since she has to babysit a boy who is older than herself. The best way for her to do that is to be quite firm with you and not to let you get away with anything so that you understand who is in charge.

Even though I know having such a strict babysitter is not easy for you, it's important that you know that being very strict is not the same as being mean. Probably when you grow up and become a big boy you'll understand that girls need to be strict with boys, it's well known boys such as yourself need firm discipline for their own good.

Now about your new pyjamas Ellen has bought for you, I understand your embarrassment as they do sound a bit infantile for a boy of your age. On the bright side at least people seem to think that you look cute in them, so they must not be completely awful. It's probably another way for Ellen to underline that she is the one who has responsibility for you, but when you think about it, isn't it kind of her to spend her money on something for you? She wouldn't do that if she didn't care would she? I suggest that every time you are dressed in your new pyjamas, you think more about your own, immature behaviour and how you can improve upon it. Until then you will just have to accept that your mother thinks you still very immature and that you still need Ellen to be your babysitter.

Nanny Smackbottom

Monday, 31 August 2015

His Pyjamaring Continues. Pete Amas has sent another brilliant episode about Stephen's pyjamaring at the hands of strict Miss Letherbridge and who else I wonder?

Stephen awoke. He lay in bed squirming against the softness of the winceyette while admiring his floral patterned, pyjama clad arms which rested obediently on top of the candlewick bedspread. However, despite his obvious physical pleasure, he had an uncomfortable sense of guilt; as if he had done something wrong or did something that could not be undone. He realised he was ashamed that he had allowed himself to be pyjamaed by Miss Letherbridge and felt he had betrayed his wife Jennifer.

He heard Miss Letherbridge turn the key in the lock. Immaculately dressed as usual, she came into the room carrying a quilted house coat and a pair of pink slippers.

“Now darling, let's get you out of beddy-byes and ready for breakfast shall we “ She pulled back the bedclothes to reveal his pink floral, pyjama clad body. “That’s a good boy Stephen, I can tell that you weren't naughty during the night.”

Following her orders like a subservient child, he swung out of the bed. She gently placed the slippers on his feet and draped the housecoat over his shoulders slipping his arms into the sleeves. “Do I have to wear this?” he protested.
Looking sternly into his eyes she proceeded to tightly close the top two buttons around his neck; he was beginning to feel trapped.

“Those kind of decisions are no longer yours to make little man,” she replied.

Taking him by the arm like a little child she led him down the landing. At the top of the stairs they paused as Miss Letherbridge placed her hands upon his shoulders. She turned him toward a full length mirror and for the first time he saw the transformation he had undergone. In front of him stood a meek, emasculated man dressed in women's pink floral winceyette pyjamas a floral housecoat and pink, feminine slippers. He realised for the first time how large the pyjamas were and how the bottoms gathered around his feet covering the slippers. In the cold light of day he felt that he looked ridiculous and was ashamed. The excitement and arousal of the previous evening was completely gone.

Sensing his mood Miss Letherbridge patted his manhood through the winceyette pyjama bottoms and nappy whispering; “we are not so virile now, are we darling?”
Feeling a sense of panic well up in his stomach he asked if he could have his clothes back and go home.

“Don’t be silly darling, male clothes will be a rarity for you, soft feminine winceyette pyjamas will be the order of the day for you from now on. She then led him down the stairs and into the kitchen.

There sitting at the table was his wife Jennifer. Stephen was ashen faced and he feebly attempted to blurt some pathetic excuse about ruining his clothes.

She stood and put her finger across his lips. “Now darling not a word, I just want to enjoy how helpless and exquisite you look in your jim jams. Miss Letherbridge rang last night to tell me of her success in completing your first pyjamaring. We have planned this moment so long and I'm just sorry I was not here for your very first time. But now that it has occurred  there is no going back. I will have the pleasure, with the advice and guidance of Miss Letherbridge of course, of conducting your daily pyjamaring.”

Jennifer unbuttoned his housecoat and removed it before placing her hands on his pink pyjama clad shoulders. She ran her hands down his arms, caressing the winceyette material as she did so before continuing to his thighs then across to his groin, where she paused, then pressed her palms against his pyjama bottoms and nappy through to his by now growing excitement.

“You were a good boy for Miss Letherbridge weren't you?” she asked, increasing the pressure. He gasped then she quickly took her hand away. “Now, now Stephen, the whole point of pyjamaring is to make you subservient, we will use pyjamas to control you and make you obey without dissent. Miss Letherbridge, how shall his pyjamaring education proceed?”

Miss Letherbridge smiled, Jennifer would make an excellent student and would soon be expert at pyjamaring her husband.

“Well the first thing,” she began, “is to set out Stephen's daily routine and chores. In my experience early to bed and early to rise are central to a strict disciplinary regime. He should rise every day at 6.30 am, bringing you your breakfast in bed by 7, followed by four hours of chores. All while wearing pyjamas you have chosen for him of course. I suggest a visit to Mrs Bagshott’s ladies wear shop on the high street, she will supply you with a variety of female winceyette pyjamas. Say I sent you, and Stephen will be ably supplied with his own female winceyette pyjamas. Of course he can keep the pair he's wearing as a reminder of his first pyjamaring. At 12.00 he should make you lunch followed by more chores such as washing, drying and ironing. 4.00 will be his bath time which you can either supervise or not. Regardless, you will then take charge of his afternoon pyjamaring when he will have his jim jams changed  and put into his nappy. His bedtime is your decision but I would recommend a bedtime no later than 6pm. You may also want to administer a smacked botty at this time. I have found sending them to bed with a pyjama spanking is an excellent reminder of their subservient, menial position. You will want him tucked up quickly and off to sleepy-byes after that. I recommend heavy blackout curtains as it can be difficult to get them off to sleep during the summer.”

She paused to slap Stephen’s hand away from fiddling with the buttons on his pyjama jacket.

“Stop that, hands on head!” Jennifer noted how quickly her husband had obeyed Miss Letherbridge as he stood blushing in his pink floral winceyette pyjamas and his hands on his head like a naughty child.

Miss Letherbridge shot him a disapproving look and continued.

“Eventually, you will want him to serve afternoon tea to your female friends and then they can have the pleasure of seeing him dressed in his pretty winceyette pyjamas and perhaps you may want one or two of them to dress him and put him to bed, thus introducing the idea of pyjamaring for other women to adopt our methods.”

As Stephen listened to the two women discuss his new life, all the pleasure he had experienced in willingly stepping into Miss Letherbridge winceyette pyjamas dissolved as he realised he had trapped himself into a life of winceyette servitude.
“Please Jennifer, let me go home and get dressed in my normal clothes,” he begged.

“Don’t be silly darling, “ she saidstroking his face, “you’re already wearing your normal clothes. Now, we shall walk hand in hand out into the street and home to begin your new life.”

Jennifer and Miss Letherbridge took him by the hand and moved him to the front door. Realising his situation was about to become public he tried to resist and dug his slipper clad feet into the carpet.

Miss Letherbridge twisted his ear, “you see Jennifer, never hesitate to impose discipline,” he yelled in pain as he was marched out the front door. Across the road Mrs Daniels watched the fiasco as a winceyette clad Stephen was paraded for all to see. Other neighbours watched as Stephen tried to hide behind the two women. However a smack to his pyjama clad bottom from Miss Letherbridge seemed to cure his reticence.

“Don't worry Stephen, she announced,“I've had the pleasure of pyjamaring all the gentlemen on this road and they now know how to behave in the presence of females, just as you will learn in the coming years.

Soon you will be so comfortable and content to remain dressed permanently in your pretty winceyette jim jams that you won't want to wear big boy clothes any more, and you will join the ranks of subservient males in our little neighbourhood. What heavenly fun we will have then shan't we?”