Monday, 27 March 2017

Sissy Babykins Humiliated




Once aunty has untied Babykins dummy  Melissa would be left alone with Sissy to babysit him. her first duty was to give him his bedtime bottles of milk. Melissa was determined to impress Miss Gotobed and Mrs Spankalot and prove she was capable of becoming his regular babysitter.

Melissa enjoyed seeing her ex-boyfriend being babified by his aunts and wanted to help humiliate him further.

"Now Babykins time for your milky wilky," she teased.

She tied his bib around his neck before she forced the teat of the first bottle between his resisting lips. She tilted the bottle to supply a steady stream of milk to Babykins. All he could do was drink and swallow as fast as he could, helpless to stop the flow of milk cascading into his mouth. As soon as the first bottle was empty she reached for the second.

"No more please…." Sissy Babykins pleaded as milk dribbled from his mouth down the front of his bib.

Melissa administered a sharp smack to the inside of his leg that caused him to yelp with pain.

"How dare you use grown-up talk, Babykins. You have just earned yourself a trip across my lap and an extra early bedtime. And don't dare forget that you are to address me as Aunty Melissa. I am not your girlfriend now. Naughty Babykins!"

She slapped his bare inner thigh one again and quickly pushed the second bottle into his mouth. This time she was more persistent and lifted the bottle higher and higher until Sissy Babykins was struggling to keep up.

Eventually, Babykins cascaded milk back up, through his nose and choking in the process. "Oh dear babykins, oh dear, "soothed Melissa as she dabbed at his mouth with his bib. He coughed and bought up some more milk.

"Ask nicely and we can forget about this last drop," she said holding up the bottle. There was about a third of the contents left.  if you don't ask nicely you will finish this and I will make you drink a third bottle too."

There was a pause before he answered in a hesitant, trembling voice.

"Pwease Aunty Melissa, Babykins doesn't want any more milky wilky me had enough."

Melissa beamed a lovely smile and pressed his face into her chest. "Well done Babykins, that was a lovely little speech." Then, quite suddenly she inserted the teat of the bottle back into his mouth and once more began the flow of milk into his mouth.

"Babykins must drink up all his milky wilky or how will he ever become a big strong boy, hmm?"

She laughed triumphantly, Melissa was thoroughly enjoying babysitting her ex-boyfriend.

Tuesday, 14 March 2017

One naughty boy who was put back into short trousers


Dear Matron

I was educated at a Grammar school for boys in the late sixties and early seventies and wore short trousers with my uniform to the end of first form when I was 12. In the second year all boys moved into longs. At 16 my parents had an acrimonious separation and I was unexpectedly sent to live with a maiden aunt whom I hardly knew although I was able to remain at the same school.

My new guardian was a striking lady, tall and well built, who wore conservative tweed skirts and sensible shoes and belonged to the Women's Institute. With her hair in a bun she looked like the archetypal schoolmistress from about 1950. Despite her daunting appearance she was a likeable and kind lady albeit somewhat strict.

Shortly after I arrived I was almost expelled from school after being discovered in possession of bottles of beer with several other sixth form boys. My aunt was furious and I was punished by being put back into short grey trousers for a weekend and receiving my first ever bare bottom spanking. It was a complete shock and a singularly awful experience imposed to remind me I was still a child and that children were not allowed to consume alcohol. Thankfully I was allowed to remain indoors and so avoided the shame of being seen in public.

My aunt must have realised the effectiveness of her treatment and repeated it when I arrived home very late one night without permission shortly before I left school at 18. I then started work and was put me back into short trousers at weekends whenever she felt my behaviour was sufficiently lacking which was once or twice a year.

At 22 I was still living at home when I started dating my first girlfriend, a 19 year old trainee teacher whom I will call Ellen. She and my aunt got on amazingly well and I found myself resenting the fact that she treated Ellen much more as an adult than she did me. They seemed to become close confidants and I resented being left out.

A few months after Ellen and I had met I found myself subject to another weekend in short trousers, the first for well over a year. My crime was to have stupidly borrowed some money from my aunt's purse which she soon discovered and I was forced to admit my transgression.

She said nothing, but immediately upon arriving home from work the following Friday I was taken to my bedroom and ordered to undress. This time I refused, protesting I was far too old for such a punishment.

I could see her anger and I was about to apologise when I found myself across her lap with my trousers and underpants unceremoniously lowered to expose my bare backside.

There was no escaping her firm grip and I received a very painful spanking.

Sobbing and begging forgiveness, she dressed me in my usual outfit consisting of a pair of very short grey trousers with long grey socks and black sandals together with a school pullover and grey shirt and school tie. I knew I would be wearing my schoolboy clothes on the Saturday and Sunday until I was put to bed at seven o'clock on Sunday evening (early bedtimes and being undressed and dressed ready for bed by her were all part of the treatment).

Following the same routine as my previous punishment, the next morning my aunt took down my shorts and underpants and gave my bare bottom a particularly painful spanking over her lap. She was a strong woman with strong arms and I knew better than to resist and end up being punished even more severely. But my sore red bottom paled into insignificance when that afternoon without warning my girlfriend arrived to view my predicament. It was not a chance visit. I later discovered she had been told in advance of my chastisement and had been invited to see the "naughty boy" for herself.

Ellen ridiculed me without pity and ordered me to call her Miss Ellen as now in her eyes I was just a little boy. My aunt had told her everything about how I was treated and Ellen seemed determined to humiliate me to the utmost. It was only with the greatest difficulty that I managed to avoid bursting into tears. That evening at seven, I suffered the indignity of being told in front of my amused girlfriend that it was time little boys were in bed, I remember my aunt taking my hand and leading me up the stairs to my bedroom. As I later lay tucked up in bed, I could hear my two tormentors laughing.

Not surprisingly, Ellen ended our relationship but continued to remain friends with my aunt, indeed she would visit often. My aunt would put me into my pyjamas before she arrived so Miss Ellen, as I still called her, could wave me night-night when my aunt put me to bed early so that she and my ex-girlfriend could have a grown-up conversation without the presence of a naughty little boy.

Miles O. G.Gideon

Dear Miles

Your aunt was perfectly correct to modify your behaviour by putting you back into short trousers. I hope she and Miss Ellen are still disciplining you this way.

Matron 

Wednesday, 1 February 2017

Pyjama Punishment Ironing



Aunty always insists I do my fair share of the ironing but it was Miss Jacobson who suggested it would be a good idea for me to perform this task wearing floral winceyette pyjamas or a nightie myself. Miss Jacobson always supervises my task and my creases must pass her strict inspection or down come my pyjama bottoms and over her knee I go.




Thursday, 19 January 2017

Pink Pyjama Punishment from Miss Jacobson


After my pyjama bottoms had failed her morning inspection Miss Jacobson was most unhappy, ”third time this month, you naughty boy.” She ordered me to report to her in the utility room at 4.30, showered and wearing my striped pyjamas. Nervously I informed her that my blue striped pyjamas were still in the laundry, for the same embarrassing reason.

"Then attend wearing a towel!" She countered angrily in that tone of voice I knew was not to be disobeyed. At 4.29, as requested I stood outside the utility room with my feet in slippers and wrapped in a towel to concealing my modesty.

 I could hear her moving on the other side of the door and I hesitated, uncertain whether I should just walk straight in or knock. I knocked softly on the door.

"Come! "I swallowed deeply, then entered. I was confronted with her imposing presence, she was attired in her blue matron's uniform and in her hands, she held a pair of floral pink winceyette pyjamas. 

“Since you have been so careless with your own pyjamas, I want you to put on these pink ones, they are from matron’s cupboard," she said, staying in character. "Come along now, step into these," I was ordered as she pulled off my flimsy towel.

She held the pink floral pyjama bottoms by the waist, stretching the elastic. “P..p..please may I be allowed to wear wear boy’s pyjamas?” I stuttered.

Ignoring my protests she dressed me in the humiliating pink pyjamas, she buttoned me into the frilly pyjama jacket then guided me towards the ironing board that stood in the far corner. 

“I want you to stand there and iron that laundry, be very careful with my blouses, at the bottom of the pile you will find your pyjamas.”

It took me nearly two hours to iron three of matrons blouses and my two pairs of pyjamas to her satisfaction. “Now then off to bed with, you will go to bed at 6.30 for the next three nights.”

I sighed, but accepting my punishment began to undo the buttons of the pink pyjamas.“Stop! What are you doing?” she queried. 

“I was going to put my pyjamas on,” I replied puzzled.

Miss Jacobson smiled, then informed me that as well as the three early bedtimes I was to wear the pink pyjamas to bed for three nights also. She took my hand and led me to my bedroom.

She tucked me into bed and kissed my forehead. “Night-night, I trust you now realise how important it is to keep those hands above the covers?” I squirmed embarrassingly under the sheets in my pink floral winceyette pyjamas before replying, “yes Miss Jacobson, I promise to be a good boy from now on.”


Tuesday, 17 January 2017

Nanny puts you to bed early

You stand, hands on head facing the wall. Tingly clean from the bath you have just been given you are acutely conscious of the thick, snowy white nappies that confine and embrace your cuckolded manhood. To your left, you can see her reflection in the mirror.

Nanny is always immaculately dressed. Her black hair is severely tied back enhancing her austere, strict demeanour. The white starched collar of her blouse peeks out over the neckline of her long black dress. The cuffs of her blouse are similarly starched and buttoned, extending exactly one inch from the sleeves of her dress. Her frilly white apron is rigid with starch and on the bibbed front is pinned a nurses watch. She irons methodically, concentration absolute as she defies creases to disobey her.

She is aware you are watching her through the mirror and crooks a finger at you.
You turn to face her taking two steps forward. She delicately slips her hands into the white, soft cotton flannelette nightdress and motions you to lift your arms. She swaps her arms for yours as she eases first your hands then your head into the nightdress.

Momentarily it rests on your shoulders and you can feel the transfer of warmth from the iron. Then, as she gently eases the nightdress past your shoulders it cascades lovingly down to encompass you. There is a sharp intake of breath from you as the nightdress envelops your body. The softness of the pure white flannelette caress's your chest, your arms, and your legs. It even extends down to your ankles until finally, the material rests gently upon your feet.

Nanny fastens the four buttons that encase your neck in the flannelette. She reaches around behind you and raises the deliberately starched frilly lace collar until it resides perfectly positioned to irritate and tickle your chin. She takes your left arm and draws the sleeve down toward her until the elastic threaded in the cuff firmly grips your wrist, then flounces out the exaggerated lace frill on the cuff until she is satisfied with its appearance.

Nanny repeats the process with your right arm, except this time your hand is slipped into a pink, lambs wool mitten. Carefully she draws the threaded ribbon together until you feel the pressure on your wrist. She wraps the ribbon around the mitten three times before she ties a double bow, gently easing each side of the bow until they are exactly each size. She repeats the procedure with your other hand and as she completes the procedure you realise that you cannot move a finger no matter how hard you try, the slightest wiggle is beyond you.

She turns your head. In her hand you see her holding one of your greatest dislikes about bedtime punishment. Your eyes are afraid and you give a small almost imperceptible shake of the head. Nanny ignores your insignificant protest and doesn't hesitate to place the earplugs firmly into each of your ears. No sooner has she done this than your night bonnet is fitted.

Made from the same white cotton flannelette as your nightdress, Nanny slips it onto the back of your head. It feels tight. Nanny has sewn an extra large frill around the bonnet and starched it to create a peek-a-boo style night bonnet. Teasing it forward, the ribbon lengths that tie the bonnet rest loosely on the frilled bodice of your nightdress. Nanny manoeuvres and tweaks the bonnet until it is positioned exactly where she requires it. Your peripheral vision is now nonexistent as the night bonnet is fixed into place; all you are aware of are white frills.

From Nanny's apron pocket comes your dummy. She pins it to the frilled bodice of your nightdress and you swallow hard, taking what you anticipate to be your last meaningful gulp of air for many a long hour. Instead, she lets it hang by its ribbon, you can feel it dangling threateningly against your chest but you cannot see it.

Nanny places a firm hand in the small of your back, pressing the flannelette against your skin as she directs you with a pointed finger toward the bed. All you can see is what appears to be the vast desert of a white, starched cotton sheet. Taking four steps forward, the flannelette material of your nightdress caress's against your calf's, then at your next step against your thighs and legs.

You tremor as you sit on the side of the bed as directed by Nanny. Her hands embrace your ankles and you are swivelled onto the bed. Your head is lowered into a sea of white cotton, the odour of fresh starch fills your nasal passages and you feel as if you are lying on an unyielding solid block of crisp starched cotton as your feet and toes explore the tactile sensation. Not for long, however, do your feet enjoy their sensory experience. As you stare past the frills of your night bonnet at the ceiling, Nanny's hands put a stop to the exploring tendency of your feet. You feel Nanny pull your nightdress down past your ankles and feet and the crepe bandage being wound around the nightdress encompassing your ankles in the flannelette. Five times she encircles them before the ends of the bandage are slipped skilfully under and over each other to ensure no slippage.

Experimentally you try and prise your ankles apart, all to no avail, but for the moment you can move them as one unit from side to side and you do so gleefully, enjoying the combination of nightdress flannelette rubbing against starched cotton sheet. From past experience, you know this freedom is only temporary. You can envisage the ends of the bandage being secured to the metal bed end.  Soon your feet are immobile, encased in flannelette and securely tied. Then you feel the tightness in your chest. Now there is no escape from your bedtime ordeal. Three times you count the bandage encircling you. You are aware of Nanny reaching underneath the bed until suddenly the bandage is tightened and it becomes more difficult to breathe. You attempt to sit up but all you can manage is to lift your head a few inches from the white cotton pillowcase.

Now comes the dummy. Nanny places the teat of the dummy against your lips but in a fruitless act of defiance you keep them tight together and shake your head inside your night bonnet. Impassively Nanny squeezes your cheeks and as you involuntarily open your mouth the teat of the dummy slips inside your mouth. Nanny holds it in place as she pumps the rubber valve. You feel the bulb inside your mouth expand, depressing your tongue and filling your mouth. Instinctively you try to expel the dummy but it is already too late. Nanny has inflated it perfectly. You breathe in, and even with the constraint of the chest bandage securing you to the bed you thankfully manage to take in air successfully.

The few seconds of panic are over as you realise you can breathe as long as you remain calm. Nanny's heels click to the end of the bed. Directly above you, your limited vision is confronted with the sight of a white cotton flannelette sheet floating down toward you. You have an image of Nanny standing at the bottom of the bed and launching the sheet into the air. It settles upon you like a shroud, covering your face and you breathe slightly more quickly as you are deprived of vital air. You can feel Nanny working her way up toward you, the mattress lifts slightly as she tucks in the sheet. She is very close now but still your face is encased in flannelette. You gasp for air again as you feel the weight of the eiderdown crashing upon you. It too is worked its way under the mattress by Nanny until you sense she is right beside you.

You are lifted up as the eiderdown is tucked securely in; you are now, without a doubt, pinioned to the bed. Without hope of release until Nanny has decided otherwise. You know this will not be anytime soon. The flannelette is removed from your face and cool air hits you. Nanny turns it back, neatly creating an edge to the eiderdown. The flannelette sheet is positioned under your chin and Nanny is suddenly staring down at you through the frills of your night bonnet, tweaking and adjusting the frills to her satisfaction. You can read her watch as she fusses with your bonnet, ten past three in the afternoon. You suck heavily on your dummy as you digest the time.

Nanny moves out of view as the room darkens. The curtains are drawn and hermetically sealed. A pinpoint of light from Nanny's torch blinds your eyes for a second then it is gone. Your vision is confused and you wait for a moment for it to adjust. Then you realise you are alone. The darkness is all pervading and you realise your eyes cannot adapt to complete darkness. Your ear-plugs confine your aural senses to the sound of your heartbeat and your attempt to breathe rhythmically through your dummy.

The imaginary clock in your head that begins to tick away the long hours of silence and darkness that engulfs you.

Thursday, 12 January 2017

A collection of Sissy Pyjamas


Pink Romper Pyjamas 


Pink Footed Pyjamas

Pink Frilly Pyjamas 1


Pink Frilly Pyjamas 2


Pink Frilly Pyjamas and Quilted Dressing Gown

Simon's Bedtime Story. This is the original unabridged letter as received by PPM. As all publications they edited content to save space.

 Beatrice requests advice.

Dear Nanny Smackbottom

I thought you might like to know about the infantile lifestyle I impose on my nephew Simon. He was in great danger of going off the rails and ruining his life before I became involved and introduced him to an early bedtime and pyjama punishment regime.

Now he goes to bed on school nights at 6.30. I collect him from school at 3.30 as if he was a preschooler always ensuring he holds my hand all the way home.

If it is chilly weather I make sure he wears the mittens I knitted for him and as soon as we arrive home I supervise his bath time. I insist upon bathing him as one would a small child. Using a washcloth and a sponge to ensure I clean every nook and cranny. Of course, he complains and wants to wash by himself as if he were a big boy, but a few sharp slaps on his bare bottom soon stops such nonsense.

After bath time I immediately dress Simon in his pyjamas ready for bed. My neighbours Miss Freda Fulbright and her sister Felicity, make his pyjamas especially for him. They choose ridiculously babyish patterned flannel material of brushed cotton to sew his pyjamas, these are also made a size too large for him so as to enhance his babyish appearance when wearing them. My particular favourites are his yellow Teddy bear pyjamas and his blue Thomas the Tank Engine ones and I can tell you that Simon absolutely hates wearing them. He especially dislikes his Teddy Bear jim-jams, he looks so crestfallen each afternoon as I button him into his cute little boy pyjamas, often begging to be allowed to put daytime clothes on but I quickly remind him that all little boys have to get ready for beddy-byes after their baths and he is no exception.

Once he is safely dressed in his pyjamas, Simon goes across my knee for his first bedtime spanking. I like to spank him as soon as he is in his pyjamas to remind him of his little boy status. He then settles down to complete his homework until I call him for his supper at 5.30. His supper is taken perched in his high chair, I tie a bib around his neck to keep his pj's clean and serve him nutritious meals in a plastic dish and spoon as metal cutlery is far too dangerous for little boys to use. I am afraid Simon makes rather a mess as he eats because I fasten on him his mealtime mittens, making his ability to use his plastic utensil somewhat limited. Consequently, I have to spoon cold food from his bib into his mouth which he detests, turning his face away from the spoon as I encourage him to open up the tunnel for the choo-choo train.

This often initiates one of Simon's tantrums, broccoli and carrots are often sprayed about the kitchen as he waves his mitten-clad hands about petulantly. I am afraid I have to chastise him with a spell of corner time.

After I have let him down from his high chair and removed his mealtime mittens, I position him in the corner making him stand with hands on head and his nose pressed against the wall while I clean the kitchen.

At six o’clock I send him up to wash and brush his teeth and he comes straight back to present himself to me with his hands by his side, it is then that I inspect my little soldier. I ensure he has cleaned his teeth correctly and that his face and hands are clean then I make sure his pyjamas are buttoned up correctly and that he has his slippers on properly. Unfortunately, I always find a problem with his appearance and am forced to take him across my knee for a second bedtime spanking.

For his second spanking, I always lower his pyjamas and redden his bottom for him with one of his own slippers, afterwards though I take him up onto my lap and he receives a cuddle from aunty. Then it is time for his bedtime protection. Simon requires a nappy at bedtime because of his early bedtimes, the poor little boy is always wet in the morning.

I spread his nappy out and cream and powder him, Simon seems to enjoy this part of his bedtime routine the most and I often have to calm him down before I can fasten the tabs on his nappy and pull up his pyjama bottoms.

He looks so sweet, waddling about nappied wearing his oversized Teddy Bear pyjamas and slippers. After I have dressed him for bed it is time for his sleepy time milk. He drinks this from a sippy cup sitting on my lap after which I take him by the hand and lead him upstairs to tuck him into bed.

His bedroom is strictly functional, no electronic distractions whatsoever, just a small babyish two foot six wide bed made up with bedding bearing similarly childish motifs as his pyjamas. His curtains are made from a thick blackout material to ensure no daylight can penetrate once they are fully drawn. This is particularly helpful during the lighter nights when Simon is petulant about being put to bed early when it is still light out.

There is also a chair that I sit upon to read him his nigh-night story, the story I read each bedtime is the same every time called Down On The Farm.

"Farmer Giles goes to feed his pigs, the pigs are very pleased to see him, how do the pigs greet Farmer Giles?" I begin each time.

Simon lies tucked up tightly in bed wearing his nappy and little boy pyjamas and very reluctantly replies, "Oink, oink!"

Farmer Giles then visits the ducks, the hens and also his sheep. Each time Simon knows I expect to hear him reply without hesitation.

"Quack, quack", "cluck, cluck" and "baa baa". I love how his cheeks redden as I praise him.

"What a clever boy you are, but now it's time to snuggle down and go straight to sleepy-byes."  As I bend over to kiss him night-night I pop his dummy into his mouth, it took a long while for Simon to come to terms with using it but now he always wants his dum-dum at bedtime.

On Friday night the routine is exactly the same, he is bathed and dressed in his pyjamas as usual. I did experiment with letting him stay up until seven o’clock but he became tired and irritable so I reverted back to his normal weekday bedtime.

Miss Fulbright and her sister visit for afternoon tea at four o'clock on the last Saturday of the month. They so look forward to seeing Simon dressed in the babyish pyjamas they kindly make for him and Freda and Felicity particular enjoy listening to Simon sing and recite night-night songs for them. To enhance his sense of embarrassment I have a special singing stool for him to stand on as he performs.

When the doorbell rings Simon is already dressed for bed wearing his nappy and babyish pyjamas. As I have taught him, he rushes excitedly to hug Aunty Felicity and Aunty Freda as soon as they enter the lounge and they enjoy fussing over him, taking it in turns setting him on their laps and telling him how cute and babyish he looks wearing his Teddy Bear pyjamas.

Even now, he does still become a little shy at all the attention he receives which is why I always pin his dummy to his pyjama jacket when they visit. Quite often he has popped in his dummy without realising he has done so which is quite sweet to witness.

Once I have served tea and Simon has sipped his sleepy time milk, I place his singing stool into the centre of the room, it is only small and he is no more than ten inches above the floor but he still is a little tentative and I have to hold his hand to help him up.

The sisters sit expectantly with their hands resting comfortably in the lap of their skirts and wearing their usual prim, delicate white blouses.

I always have to help Simon to begin.

“After three. One and two and three!”

His voice quivers a bit at first and he looks to me for encouragement.

He begins with a recital.

“Wee Willie Winkie runs through the town,
Upstairs and downstairs in his nightgown,
Tapping at the window, crying at the lock,
Are the children in their bed, for it’s past six o’clock?”

He recites two verses and the Fulbright sisters clap enthusiastically and then resume their neat postures in expectation of further entertainment.

Simon has by now gained a little confidence as once again I encourage him to begin, this time singing a well-known favourite.

“Twinkle, twinkle, little star,
How I wonder what you are.
Up above the world so high,
Like a diamond in the sky.

When the blazing sun is gone,
When he nothing shines upon,
Then you show your little light,
Twinkle, twinkle, all the night.”

As he performs, he looks up and raises his arms as he sings the words, “up above the world so high.”

Of course, the ladies simply adore this and applaud once again as Simon bows ever so slightly, still a little afraid he may fall from his stool.

Next up is another recital.

“Bye, baby Bunting,
Father’s gone a-hunting,
Mother’s gone a-milking,
Sister’s gone a-silking,
Brother’s gone to buy a skin
To wrap the baby Bunting in.”

He repeats this several times all the time using a very soft babyish voice that I have taught him to use and my, how Freda and Felicity enjoy listening to his rendition, especially as they know it is nearly time for their favourite song.

I play my part by helping Simon down from his singing stool and making him bow to the ladies.

“Encore, encore,” they cheer and I assist him back onto the stool for his finale.

He pauses before beginning, once more using his soft, whispering, infantile voice.

“Rock-a-bye baby, on the treetops,
When the wind blows, the cradle will rock,
When the bough breaks, the cradle will fall,
And down will come baby, cradle and all.”

Again Simon acts out the rhyme, holding his arms out, rocking the baby as he sings. He sings the verse several times before finally, he is allowed to finish and step down with a little help from aunty.

Once again the ladies fuss over him as they hug and kiss him affectionately, telling him again what a clever little boy he is.

Soon though it is time for bed, on these special occasions he has an earlier six o’clock bedtime as Simon becomes tired quickly. At my instigation, he gives Freda and Felicity night-night hugs and kisses before they leave and I take him up the wooden hill to Bedfordshire.

I have to admit, however, that on their last visit they were left somewhat disappointed. For some reason Simon resisted my attempts to get him ready for beddy-byes and into his pair of lemon coloured, bunny rabbit footed pyjamas. I had to spank him before I could get him into them and he ended up in tears across my knee and was still sobbing when the Misses Fulbright arrived, I am afraid I had no choice other than to put him straight to bed.

It was such a shame, as he looked so sweet in his new bunny jim-jams that the Fulbright's had just sewed for him. They were obviously disappointed at not being able to fuss over him, Instead, they could only wave him off to bed as he was far too fractious for night-night kisses.

I did, however, promise to visit them one afternoon with Simon wearing his bunny rabbit jammies to make it up to them which is another story.

Simon will shortly be eighteen and finished with his schooling. I had intended to loosen the apron strings so to speak but now, as the time approaches, I feel that it would be so much better to keep Simon in his current little boy regime and perhaps enhance it so that he becomes my permanent little boy.

Should I keep him confined to his present early bedtime routine or not?  I would appreciate any advice nanny Smackbottom.

 Perhaps you think I am being too harsh? Below is his bedtime routine.

Summation of Simons current pyjama and bedtime regime.

Monday-Saturday

Pyjamas on by 4 pm, first spanking 4.05 second spanking 6.05, bedtime by 6.30 pm

Saturday when the Fulbrights visit

Pyjamas on by 3 pm. Entertaining the ladies, bedtime at 6 pm.

Sunday

Pyjamas on by 3 pm first spanking 3.05 second spanking 4.30 bedtime by 5 pm as he has to be up for school.

Yours truly

Beatrice Halewood


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