A letter from Luc Holly

Dear cousin Agatha,

I hurry to reply to your nice letter, since I have to get into bed soon. 
My regular sleepy byes time is at 6 PM and it’s only 3:00, but dad is already in bed as a punishment. He answered back to Vanessa, who’s the 12 year old daughter of my stepmother Lady Juliane. I have to go to bed earlier too, because the rule is that I can’t have a later beddy-byes than dad. 

This afternoon, I’m exceptionally allowed to stay up until 4:00 for a last snack in bed before nighty-night. I’m ready for bed now and I’m writing to you in my bedroom, that I share with dad. I am wearing only a short baby-doll nightie. Dad is lying down in his cot wearing one of his long frilly nightdresses, a pink one. He also has his dummy in his mouth. He’s upset because he’s been punished. 

Before he was put into his cot, my 12 year-old. stepsister Vanessa, was allowed to spank his bottom and he had a half-hour corner time wearing only his nightgown. Now he isn’t sobbing more and is already half asleep. He’ll be confined to bed during the rest of today and more all day tomorrow Sunday. Since I didn’t misbehave, I’m quite lucky to have to go to bed only at 4:00 today and after lunch tomorrow. 

I know you’re astonished that a 19 year old boy like me has still a bedtime, and such an early one. That’s since dad married Lady Juliane. She’s now the owner and manager of dad’s former company. She’s also the boss at home. We have to strictly respect her domestic rules. Dad has the same bedtime as mine. 

You’re probably curious about knowing how I obey her rules. Of course, I was at first very frustrated and annoyed, but dad agreed with his new wife and approved of the change of life she imposes on both of us. Besides, before he remarried, I worried him very much. I was really a bad boy who accumulated stupid mistakes. 

Being put to bed early with all my clothes under lock and key, prevents me from disobeying and from doing stupid things. And since dad has to obey the same rules, I couldn’t say I was too old to have an early bedtime. At present, I’m used to my new discipline. I  have become a really obedient boy, I fall asleep easily as soon as I’m tucked into my cot. 

My girlfriend Alex, was at first annoyed because I could meet her only during the weekend and until 5:00 PM at the latest, bedtime for me and dad. Now she approves of my step-mothers regime and ensures I’m back home and in bed wearing my nightclothes on time. On my 19th birthday, she gave me the pretty baby-doll nightie I wear now and she put me and dad to bed straight after our afternoon snack. 

You’re maybe interested about our bedroom? It’s called, “the nursery” because both dad and I have to sleep in cots. Mine is white and his is pink. Each of us has his own doll, his own soft toy, and his own dummies. My doll is named “Heidi”. My soft toy is a little dog called “Foxy”. I sleep every night (or by day, when Lady Julianne or Miss Julia want that or when they have to punish one or both of us) with the two toys and a pacifier. The walls of our “nursery” are pink and white, with blue and yellow childish patterns. Our nanny Miss Julia brings us meals, usually in bed just before sleepy byes. We eat baby food in jars and we drink farmer milk in baby bottles. Of course, Nanny covers each of us by a bib. If one of us messes his bed clothes or his crib, he his punished… and the other too so we eat very, very carefully.  

Now, Miss Julia is coming in the nursery. It’s already 3:45 PM, so I have to stop my letter and get into bed at once. I kiss you tenderly, dear Agatha. Please kiss also Aunt Vicky from my part.  I see that dad sits now in his cot. He says he sends kisses also. For him, the weekend is already finished and mine is much shortened. 

See you soon, I hope. Of course I can’t visit you, because of the timetable I’ve to enforce. But I could maybe be allowed to invite you to come here. I would probably have to stay in my cot while you visit, but you can sit for a while at my bedside for a chat. I will look forward to it. 

Jordan (and Luc)

Part two of A Visit to St Cuthbert's by Pete Amas. (Part one was posted 02/07/19)

Three days had passed since Ian was forcibly admitted to St. Cuthbert’s. He had been kept in isolation throughout and was sedated regularly.

Each late afternoon, nurses Gotobed and Ratched would enter the room and gently remove Ian’s pyjamas and nappy and give him a bed bath with warm soapy water. The drugs relaxed  him and he welcomed the physical attention.

Ian frequently became aroused by their ministrations but the nurses would smile and ignore his manhood as they gently washed his body. Once cleaned, they would pin him back into a nappy and dress him in a clean pair of pyjamas then lift him into the chair by the bed where his slippers were placed on his feet. He would then be left for the remainder of the day contemplating his existence and the lost life that had been taken away from him.

Sitting by the window for hours on end, watching people come and go from the hospital caused him great anxiety. His one comfort was the softness of the pyjamas he wore. He caressed his legs and at times, when the nurses were not around, his manhood too, but the nappy, and the thick layer of winceyette prevented his ability to arouse himself.

Ian was losing his identity, becoming institutionalised; his behaviour was that of an inmate but there was nothing he could do about it. Twice a day a peep-hole in the door of his room slid open, and he knew he was being observed. One day, after being bathed and changed into a pair of red, grey and white striped winceyette pyjamas, nurse Gotobed and Ratched dressed him in his dressing gown and placed him in a wheelchair.

“Doctor Monroe thinks it is time to move you to a general ward, won't that be lovely?”
Asked Nurse Gotobed.

“We have a wonderful corner bed for you and there will be company too.” Ian was becoming used to the solitude and the thought of going into a general ward was quite alarming. He became increasingly agitated and expressed his wish that he did not want to leave his room. Unfortunately, he became a bit too forceful and as Nurse Ratched tried to calm him Nurse Gotobed filled a syringe with sedative.

“ No… I don't want... anymore of that.” He begged.

 “You have no right to keep me here”.

Nurse Gotobed pushed up his dressing gown and pyjama jacket sleeve jabbing the needle into a vein, as the drug coursed through his body Ian began to lose consciousness, his last moment of awareness was being lifted into bed.

Ian woke up. He was groggy but slowly realised he was on the general ward. It was now dark outside but a few lights dimly lit the ward.
He became aware of two female patients standing on either side of his bed. Both were dressed in pink floral winceyette pyjamas and pink candlewick house coats with
“Property of St. Cuthbert’s," embroidered on a chest pocket.

One, the oldest one with long dark hair, was slowly caressing Ian’s pyjama clad arms which lay on top of the blankets.

“What beautiful pyjamas, not really suitable for a new patient are they?”

Ian could not summon the words to respond. He detected a faint smell of carbolic soap and for a moment he was reminded of a time when he lived with his grandparents bringing comforting and warm memories.

Distracted by his thoughts, he did not notice that the two pyjama clad women had pulled back his blankets revealing his pyjama clad body. With gentle yet swift movements the ladies began to undress him. He did not have the strength to resist and soon he was lying naked on the bed with only his nappy to protect his modesty.

The youngest of his assailants a woman no more than thirty, removed her dressing gown and slipped off her pyjama bottoms.

She had beautifully slender legs and Ian was becoming helplessly aroused beneath his nappy. Taking his pyjama bottoms she began to step into them, pulling them up and tying the cord high above her slender waist. Slowly she unbuttoned her pyjama jacket and slipped it off her shoulders.

She swapped her floral pyjama jacket for his striped one and hid her beautiful bosom beneath the layer of the winceyette he had just been wearing.

Intriguingly she then took her discarded floral pyjama jacket and began to slip it over Ian"s right arm and shoulders. The top still radiated the warmth of her body and the smell of carbolic soap as she placed his other arm into the sleeve. Then, pulling the jacket down the sides of his torso he shivered as her warm hand and the winceyette caressed his skin. She buttoned the tiny pink pearl buttons all the way up to his neck. The tightness around his neck was somewhat restrictive yet arousing. Lifting the bottoms she slid them up his legs and over his now engorged member hidden beneath his nappy.

Ian looked down the length of his body. He was taken aback at how feminine he looked and how he liked what he saw. The pyjamas were beautifully soft and warm; much softer than those which had just been removed from his body. The winceyette had been washed so often there was soft cotton pilling forming on the surface of the fabric.

As Ian enjoyed the sensation the patients drew the blankets up over his body and placed his pink pyjama clad arms atop the blankets. He was totally relaxed and began to sleep.

Nurse Gotobed and a male doctor were standing over him when he woke.

“Hmm ...This is a definite deterioration I’m afraid. It would appear the patient has regressed back to his childhood and is expressing this outwardly in his preference for women’s night attire.”

Ian tried to speak but nurse Gotobed placed her index finger across his mouth to shush him. “Not while the doctor is speaking.”

The doctor continued. “I’m afraid the only safe course of action at this point is to pander to the patients preference and not disrupt the illusion. I suggest we continue with mild sedation and ensure he only wears women’s pyjamas for the time being.”

As the doctor snapped his pen and turned to leave, Nurse Gotobed pressed her hand upon Ian’s lips and leaning forward whispered in his ear.

“What fun we and the other ladies of the ward are going to have dressing you in women's pyjamas. We have always dreamed of having a male doll to dress and play with all day. You’ll be our floral pyjama clad little boy.”

Mr Eddington's bedtime

Peter Amas has sent another excellent story about being pyjamaed.

It was my last day in Bilbao. I had been on assignment with work for the last three weeks and living in a small pension in the heart of the city. By chance, a store on the ground floor of the building which housed the pension sold ladies and gentlemen's pyjamas. Such stores were pretty common across the city and I had spent some time window shopping in the evenings. I have a predilection for winceyette pyjamas, moreover, it was a fondness for women's winceyette pyjamas.

Perhaps it was the pink floral winceyette pair on the dummy in the shop window, but passing them every day I couldn't help but fantasise about how it would feel to have that soft winceyette against my skin.

Having successfully completed my assignment early, I had the afternoon free but, as I approached the shop I was surprised at how nervous I felt. I decided to watch from across the street for a few minutes and wait for a lull in activity to make an anonymous entrance. As I crossed the threshold a bell rang to alert the assistant that a customer had arrived. 

'Ola' she called, smiling from behind the glass and oak counter. I smiled back and in my English accent replied, “buenas tardes.”

At first, I pretended to peruse the men’s winceyette pyjamas hanging on a rail and I browsed through them for a few minutes before slipping along to the ladies section. I was afraid that my nervousness would show as I drew closer to the beautiful pair of pink winceyette pyjamas I wanted to buy and I smiled as I felt myself become excited at the thought of a lady customs officer opening my case and finding the pyjamas which I would take care to pack last.

They were exquisite. Made from the lightest and softest winceyette I had ever felt, they had a Peter Pan collar with fine white lace trim going up the front placket and around the collar. Thankfully, I was still the only customer in the shop. The shop assistant caught my eye as if detecting my nervousness and wishing to offer me discretion she first closed and locked the shop door before turning her attention to me.

“Ola” she said once more. She smiled and for the first time I noticed her appearance. She  was an attractive, middle-aged woman. Despite her modern, almost short black and grey hair style and red rimmed glasses, she was dressed like a housewife from the 1950s with a royal blue matching twin set and navy knee-length pencil skirt. 

“Would you perhaps have these in an extra large?” I asked shyly. 

“Son para ti?” she asked. I was not quite sure what she had said so merely responded, “Si”. 

She shrugged her shoulders and smiled as she turned slightly to reach out and select a box from a shelf above. Opening the box, she gently and almost reverentially placed the pyjama jacket and bottoms on the glass counter. They were beautifully folded and as she carefully unfolded the pyjama top she held it up to my chest to judge the size. I was mortified and immediately glanced at the window, terrified someone would see me. The assistant took the pyjamas and drew me toward the back of the shop. 

"You try", she said in a beautiful Spanish accent. Drawing back the curtains to a changing room she left the pyjamas on a chair and ushered me in. I was both shocked and excited, as I drew the curtain she remained in the room behind me. All of my fantasies were coming true.

“Venga, Venga” she said as she undid the buttons on the pyjama jacket. I was seriously aroused and began to slip off my polo shirt as I watched her reflection in the mirror. With my top off she slid the pyjama sleeve up my right arm and draped the jacket over my shoulders. Reaching back I slid my left arm into the sleeve and caught my breath as the softness of the winceyette caressed the hairs on my body which were erect with excitement. Slowly and with great ceremony she closed the tiny mother-of-pearl buttons up to my neck. 

Sensing I had succumbed to the sensation of the soft material she now undid my belt and indicated I should fully undress. No doubt I looked pretty ridiculous standing in the changing room of a shop wearing nothing but a floral pink ladies winceyette pyjama top but I felt wonderful as she handled the pink pyjama bottoms and caressed my face with the winceyette garment as if to remind me of what awaited. 

“Ahora, ponte los pantalones de pijama.” She said before leaving the changing room.

Looking at myself in the full length mirror I knew I was at a crossroads. If I continued, and put on the pyjamas bottoms there was no going back. I didn't know where this would end but I could not resist the lure of the pyjama bottoms. I decided to leave my underwear on to retain some dignity and just in case I had an accident. Then, I stepped into the bottoms and slowly pulled them on. I reached the height of my arousal as the soft winceyette pressed past my erection but thankfully I refrained from making a mess in my underpants. Like the top, the pyjama bottoms were quite long and the waist reached up past my stomach. Obviously they had been made for women much taller than me.

I was momentarily lost in my own world of sensual pleasure when the curtain was quickly drawn back. As the  assistant entered she tugged on the pyjama bottoms and saw that I was still wearing underwear. 

“No, no, no, quítatelas de inmediato”. I didn't understand what had been said but it was evident that she was none too pleased that I still had my underwear on. Quickly she lowered my  pyjama bottoms and underpants in one swift movement and had me step out of both. She slowly drew the pyjama bottoms back up my legs and past my knees. Her hand brushed my excitement as she drew the pyjama bottoms up then tucked the pyjama jacket into the bottoms and pulled them up hard against my testicles.

Offering me a soft pink bed jacket she indicated for me to put it on. Once on, she buttoned it at the front and placed a pair of pink sheepskin slippers on my feet. 

Placing her hands on my shoulders she turned me around to face the mirror.

 "No te ves dulce.” She said admiring my transformation. 

“Te quedan bien.”  Smiling she took out her phone and before I realised had taken a number of photos. I was upset and terrified that the pictures would somehow become public and begged her to delete the photos. 

She smiled and caressed me as if I was a child. “Oh pobre de ti.” She cooed as she left the changing room and pulled the curtain. 

As she did so I heard a door lock. In a panic I pulled back the curtain to find myself locked in the changing room. What was going on? Very quickly the pyjamas had lost their allure and all I wanted was to retrieve my clothes and leave. I turned to the chair where I had put them, but they were nowhere to be seen.

Suddenly the room was flooded with an intense light. My eyes hurt with the glare but I could see the curtains were pulled back. It took a moment for me to get my bearings but I quickly realised I was in a glass room and on full show to a group of middle-aged ladies. Mortified, I tried to hide myself. A few minutes ago wearing ladies winceyette pyjamas seemed to be a wonderful experience, now I was just acutely embarrassed and ashamed by the pyjamas. 

The ladies in the audience were laughing and applauding. The shop assistant now stood at a podium wielding an auctioneers hammer. Many of the ladies in the audience were holding up cards with numbers on as if at an auction. 

At that moment, I realised they were bidding for me.

Bienvenido al club de viudas.

Sissy Babykins in Trouble

Mrs Green always said that as long as Anthony lived under her roof he had to abide by her rules. Sadly for Anthony, at almost twenty two years old, he had never escaped his mother's malign influence. It was true, that on his twenty first birthday he had been granted a new bedtime of 9 pm, half an hour later than the 8.30 bedtime he had been given at age eighteen, but his pyjama time had remained at 7 pm since he was a thirteen. An hour ago, as she indicated it was time for his bath, Anthony had rebelled.

"Mother, I am twenty one. Far too old for a bedtime and a pyjama time. Also, I am quite capable of taking a bath unsupervised."

He had been sure this confident, adult approach would hold sway with his mother. Even though, at the time of his speech we had been wearing, red plastic sandals, white knee socks, and a pair of yellow, bibbed play shorts.

Sadly his mother had not been impressed with his outburst. Half an hour later, Anthony had been divested of his play clothes, and whilst being most intimately bathed, reminded by her with a mouth soaping, that he always had, and always would refer to her as mummy.

As she buttoned him into his pyjama jacket and stepped him into his pyjama bottoms, mummy mentioned that perhaps he was too immature for "big boy pyjamas," 

She would have a word with Aunty Angela and ask her to sew him some new jimmy-jams that were more suitable for little boys who have temper tantrums about pyjama times and bedtimes. Which, incidentally, now that he had mentioned it, would be changed immediately. From tomorrow, she told her twenty one year old son, his pyjama time would be put back to 5.30 and his bedtime would be 7.30. 

Then, she took him across her lap and re-introduced him to the services of Mr Paddle and regular bedtime spankings, just in case Anthony was tempted to question her authority again.

mogg stories. mogg has posted a brand new story on his site after a bit of an absence. Well worth a read.