Tuesday, 6 March 2018

This is a PPM letter that details a young mans short trouser discipline imposed by his mother. Sadly matron's reply was omitted from my source as it was a photo-copy. Perhaps some of you have some suitable answers to Timothy's letter?

Dear Matron

I wore short trousers at 17 because my mother demanded it. I went to a small private boys boarding school in East Anglia in the 1960's which I attended as a day boy as it was only a few miles from where we lived. Short trousers were compulsory for all boys up to and including Fifth Form (that is, 16+ years old). Nearly all Sixth Form boys wore long trousers but this was left to the discretion of mother who decided to keep me dressed in shorts, because, much to her disappointment, I had to repeat the Fourth Form. 

I wore shorts at all times, not just for school but on weekends and during the school holidays. Outside of school I usually wore school uniform which included a red blazer and a cap.

The wearing of school caps was compulsory wear for all boys in the Sixth Form except prefects. Since I was not a prefect, I wore a cap up until I left school at 19. We wore red caps with two yellow concentric rings. and the standard grey turnover top knee socks with two red bands on the turnover and looked the archetypal schoolboy. 

From the age of 16, my mother kept my legs (and my pubic region) hairless by waxing because she preferred me to be like that, I protested that I was being teased but mother ignored me, insisting upon me having smooth legs. I often felt embarrassed and humiliated having to wear short trousers but as a dutiful son meekly complied, but from about the age of 17, I not only resented wearing them but I was bullied for doing so. I would get false compliments about how smart I looked in my short trousers and school uniform and comments about what a good little boy I was. These remarks  always gave me a sense of shame, for which 17-year-old likes being told that he looked, “sweet and boyish.”

After I left school and up to the age of 25 I was regularly dressed in short trousers and school uniform by my mother. This could be anything from a few days to a whole month. My mothers logic was that if I insisted on behaving like a naughty little boy I should be dressed like one. It was of course, humiliating and I felt timid and childish but my mother insisted that it was perfectly acceptable for a boy in his teens or early twenties to be dressed in very short trousers, school knee length turnover top socks, and school blazer and cap.

I remained at home studying for a degree by means of a home study correspondence course. My mother did not want me to attend university as this would mean my gaining a measure of independence and a loosening of her control. By having me take a home study course I could remain in the house completely under her influence and discipline. Consequently, throughout this time it was easy for her to dress me in short trousers and school uniform as a punishment.

The frequency and duration of these punishments increased rather than diminished with age. It was as though my mother wanted to instil in me that despite my advancing years I was still only a little boy. 

At the end of the three and half years of home study, I started working in an office. I was never sent to work in short trousers but over the next two years, my mother continued to impose the punishment at home and for some trips outside of the house. The only difference was that now during a punishment period I would be dressed by my mother in my short trousers and school uniform as soon as I arrived home from work and would spend the early evenings, weekends, and some holidays like this.

Throughout my time in school uniform, my mother's little boy rules also included early bedtimes. From my teens up to the age of 21 my bedtime was 8 pm, then, after my 21st I was allowed to stay up an extra hour and not put to bed until 9 pm although bedtime would often be earlier if I was considered to have been naughty. if my mother were having visitors and wanted me out of the way I would often be put to bed as early as 6.30 pm. I was never allowed to stay up late - that was for grown-ups. On such occasions, I was bathed by my mother and put into my pyjamas ready to greet her guests before immediately being told to say goodnight and sent up to bed.

Up to the age of 25, I was regularly taken by my mother to a nearby school outfitters to get new items of school uniform including my standard grey school short trousers. I would be taken in school uniform and would have to try on several pairs of shorts in the changing room. With each new pair, I would then have to parade in front of my mother and the female shop assistants for their comments. This would also be seen by other customers, usually with small boys and their sisters, who would often smirk and smile at the sight of an obviously much older boy still in short trousers. 

My mother never hid my age from the shop assistants and would explain that I had to be dressed as a little boy because I persisted in behaving like one. The assistants were always very helpful to my mother and seemed to enjoy kitting me out in my school uniform and new pyjamas. The owner of the shop - a middle-aged woman - would supervise and would comment on what a smart schoolboy I was and how sweet I looked in short trousers. She, nor any of her assistants, ever queried with my mother as to why a man in his twenties was wearing such a juvenile outfit, rather, they appeared to be in full agreement with my mother choices.

My mother did not allow me to go out with girls and I was allowed no contact with the opposite sex. Little boys, after all, did not have girlfriends. We did, however, attend church each Sunday and I sometimes helped tidy the church after the service. It was on such occasion that I became friendly with Wendy who also helped tidy the church with her mother. Wendy was 17 but still a schoolgirl. In order to prevent any chance of a relationship developing my mother invited Wendy and her mother over for afternoon tea one Saturday afternoon and I had to serve the tea in my school uniform and short trousers before being changed into my blue and white striped pyjamas in front of Wendy and her mother.

My mother explained that I was being sent to bed early for being naughty. Wendy obviously found my appearance in short trousers then pyjamas highly amusing and to this day refuses to take me seriously and teases me dreadfully asking if I have been a good little boy and is it nearly my bedtime.

I found the whole experience of my youth and adolescence disturbing and now I am alone after mother passed away, I find it difficult to live a normal life and find myself wishing she was still here to help me even though I resented the authority she imposed upon me for so many years. 

Can you please advise Matron?


Timothy Watkins

Sunday, 4 February 2018

PJTradman has penned a great addition to the, Pyjamaed Public Schoolboys story.

It was 7.30 pm and almost lights out in Dorm 'A'
With the flies of his pyjama trousers and the ends of the jacket sleeves sewn up tightly after the ‘incident’, Tradman was unable to play with his ‘old man’ after lights out – instead he was forced to lay awake and listen to the sound of vigorously flapping winceyette emanating from beneath the crisply starched sheets of his dorm bedfellows: Speccy Sanderson, Fatty Forster and ‘Lofty’ Middleton.

Tradman was fully aware that Jeff was the cad who’d grassed him up to Matron.
He knew that it was Jeff who had made a last minute visit to the ‘Bogs’ and had discovered himself and Lofty together in their pyjamas engaged in an intimate moment and then gone to Matron’s office and informed her that he was sure that ‘Rotter Tradman’ was contravening her new ruling concerning the ban on the chaps ‘pleasuring themselves’ in their pyjamas.

Tradman remembered all too clearly the pain and humiliation as Matron had hauled him over her knee in the middle of his dorm and delivered a blistering spanking in his pyjamas as an example to the other chaps. He remembered his pyjama trousers flapping as his legs kicked wildly as he tried to escape Matron’s clutches but to no avail. 

He remembered the sound of his pyjama jacket ripping at the ferocity of her grip on his collar and the pain as she increased the tempo of her stinging slaps. Now that bounder Jeff was about to reap the reward for his unsporting, sneaky behaviour.

Matron, followed by the demure Miss Ashbourne crashed through the door of Dorm ‘B’ just as Jeff’s own after-hours noisy pyjama fumbling were concluding. He quickly pretended to be asleep and pondered on what on earth was happening.

‘Open Jeff’s bedside cabinet would you please, Miss Ashbourne. Ah, just as I expected –here are my two missing winceyette nighties and my ahem, underwear.’

Jeff looked perplexed as Matron questioned him.
‘How do you explain yourself, Jeff? - I must say that I expected better from you. Not only is this theft but also very strange behaviour, do you want to wear my nighties and underwear?'

'N..no.. Matron I...'

She held up her hand to silence him.

‘Well I think a lesson is to be learnt here, please get up immediately and stand at the end of your bed’. In fact, the rest of you can get up and stand smartly at the end of your beds.’

John, PP and ‘Tiny’ Blair shuffled sheepishly in their pyjamas and stood to attention.

With absolutely no idea as to what was going on, Jeff threw back the heavy bedclothes and shuffled to the end of his bed in his overlarge black and white striped pyjamas that he had borrowed from John and stood nervously at attention facing Matron, and for good reason.

‘What on earth is that you disgusting boy?’ as she pointed to the obvious wet stain spreading across the front of his regulation striped pyjama jacket –

‘I thought I had made myself very clear when I said No more bedtime shenanigans’
‘Bu–b-but ‘…..Jeff began to plead his innocence but his protestations were cut short by a sharp slap across his bottom.

‘Enough lies thank you Jeff – Miss Ashbourne, would you remove Jeff’s soiled pyjamas.’

Not wishing to spoil her feather-trimmed silk nightie with Jeff’s nighttime emissions, Miss Ashbourne stood behind him and reached round to unfasten the pyjama buttons. Her attempts to undo the trouser cord coupled with the sensation of her heavy bosom brushing against the back of his pyjamas caused him to catch his breath in excitement before his pyjamas finally lay in a crumpled pile around his ankles.

‘Now, as you clearly wish to dress as the fairer sex, I shan’t be the one to deny you this experience.’

Shaking out a pair of the oft-washed regulation knickers that had been secreted in Jeff’s draw, Matron held them out at arm’s length. ‘Please come here and we will begin your ‘Nightifying’

Jeff had experienced several ‘pyjamarings’ from Matron in the past but this was a new level of humiliation that was unfamiliar but one which he began to find arousing. 

He stepped into the huge flannelette navy knickers which were pulled up in a flash with the elastic gripping loosely above his navel and the crotch hanging at mid-thigh. His manhood straining at the heavy cotton produced a noticeable bulge that helped to keep them from falling down.

The chaps standing in their pyjamas began to snigger and wink knowingly to each other at the sight in front of them

‘Hold your arms up and I’ll pop this cosy winceyette nightgown on you in a jiffy.’ 

Matron’s voluminous starched nightie decorated with tiny rosebuds fell heavily down to the waxed wooden floorboards, its journey only briefly impeded by Jeff’s burgeoning excitement. Folds of material now nestled around his feet with the long sleeves hiding his hands.

Matron flattened out the large lace-frilled collar and buttoned up the pearl buttons to the neck. Next, the buttons at the cuffs were fastened, producing a pleasing blouson effect in the overlong sleeves.
Now, into the bed with you Jeff – or should we perhaps call you ‘Sissykins?’ 

This produced a chorus of guffawing from the other chaps still standing to attention in their pyjamas. 

As Jeff stumbled across the floorboards towards his bed with the folds of the overlong nightie trailing behind him, Matron removed the cord from the damp pyjama trousers. As he lay still on the creaking metal bed, swamped in folds of cool heavy cotton, Matron quickly gathered a handful of material and began to tie the end of the nightie as if it were a sack of potatoes.

‘There! That will ensure that you remain in bed until morning and I shall send in Miss Ashbourne first thing in order to check for any stains. I think a week of wearing my nighties will teach you the error of your ways.’ 

On the other side of the wall, Tradman smirked with satisfaction as he listened to the drama in Dorm B unfold – what a master plan it was to conceal Matron’s nighties and underwear in Jeff’s cupboard, he would definitely think twice before ‘dobbing him in it’ next time!

Tuesday, 30 January 2018

Pete Amas has sent another excellent contribution about Peterkins and Pyjama Servitude

As Winifred and Cecilia tucked Peterkins in they carefully placed his pyjama clad arms atop the blankets by his side. As they withdrew from the room Cecilia gathered up Peter’s clothes and shoes. ‘You won't be needing these again Peterkins so we shall safely put them away for you.”

Standing by the door Winifred looked sternly at Peter and also informed him that any misbehaviour would not be tolerated and would result in a painful spanking. As they turned off the light and pulled the door tightly behind them Peterkins could hear a heavy clunk as the door was locked.

Peter knew he was trapped but was unperturbed. He had always fantasised about such a scenario and despite his nervousness could not believe his luck. He enjoyed being under the spell of such powerful older women as he lay in a strange bed wearing an old pair of beautifully soft flannel pyjamas. He was ridden with a delightful anxiety that seemed to heighten his arousal.

Reaching under the blankets he could not resist caressing himself through the pyjama bottoms. Despite his highly aroused state of mind and continued fondling he couldn't rise to the occasion and was becoming increasingly frustrated with his lack of performance.

30 minutes later he was exasperated. What the hell is going on he thought? He turned over onto his face and pressed hard against the mattress with his arms down by his side caressing his legs through the pyjamas. Yet despite all his efforts, nothing was stirring.

Peterkins awoke sometime later with a desperate urge to pee. He crept out of bed and fumbled toward the door using the light under the doorway as his guide. He pulled desperately at the handle to get out of the room but forgot that the door had been locked as Winifred and Cecilia left the room. He softly called their names but to no avail. After 15 minutes of pleading and whimpering, he returned to bed and squirmed up in a foetal position to ease the pain. 30 minutes later he was in agony and pee began to dribble from his member. Suddenly there was a rush of warmth as a flood of urine-drenched his pyjamas. He was totally ashamed and began to cry at the predicament he found himself in.

Two minutes later Winifred and Cecilia entered the room dressed in flannel floral pyjamas and wearing quilted housecoats. Winifred carried a basin of hot water, a sponge and a bath towel. “Dear, dear, dear Peterkins. Why did you not call us,” asked Winifred?

“Cecilia darling can you fetch a clean pair of pyjamas and a change of bedclothes while I wash Peterkins down and put on more appropriate attire for our little bedwetter?”

Winifred began to undress Peterkins. She pulled the cord on his pyjama bottoms and the sodden mass of flannel dropped like a stone. Gently she undid the jacket buttons and having removed it from Peterkins now shivering body she began to wash him with warm soapy water. Again, and despite the sensuous nature of the act, Peterkins had no stirrings between his legs. He was alarmed that his previously virile member was now totally useless.

Gently drying him off with a beautifully soft towel Winifred picked up what appeared to be an adult disposable nappy. She opened it up and began to slip it between Peterkins legs. “Now Peterkins, this will help protect you from any further accidents tonight.” As she closed the tabs either side of his body Peterkins began to sob as the shame of his situation began to dawn on him.

Cecilia had been busy changing the bed and now approached Peterkins with a pair of white flannel pyjamas with a rich blue paisley motif. For the second time that evening Peterkins found himself being draped in exquisite flannel pyjamas by the two imposing spinsters. Yet this time he was absolutely helpless and wished to go home. He could not understand how he had become so subservient to these two older ladies. 

As he was led back to bed like a wayward little boy, Winifred tearfully confessed that his manhood would no longer perform as it had previously done and that any attempt to satiate his desires would end in tears and frustration.

“Now then little Peterkins,” began Winifred, “we don’t want you performing big boy activities, do we, Cecilia? Better you forget about any such behaviour and simply accept your new status as a little boy and refrain from any attempt to play with himself.”

Peterkins was taken aback by her words. “What have you done to me?” he cried. 

“Now, now Peterkins,” piped Cecilia, “a little potion in your milk helps to reduce any adult desires. It is early days yet but by the end of the week you will have absolutely no appetite for such behaviour and will be dutifully compliant with our wishes and desires.

As Peterkins sat on the bed Cecilia gently lifted his pyjama clad legs up onto the bed while Winifred pushed his torso down. They took time laying him out on the bed and ensured his pyjamas were correctly covering all of his body. To add weight to her statement Cecilia patted and caressed him through the flannel and the nappy. It was a highly sensuous act yet nothing was stirring down below. Cecilia continued to pat his manhood as Winifred began to pull the blankets up over his legs. 

“Now Peterkins, tomorrow you will be introduced to your new nursery where you will begin your life of permanent pyjama servitude, you will spend your days dressed in your lovely soft flannel pyjamas and learning about your nap-times and early bedtimes Now off to beddy-byes with you.”

Peterkins now felt anxious, surely they couldn’t mean to keep him in soft flannel pyjamas and nappies indefinitely could they? What about his job, his friends? Peterkins opened his mouth to protest, immediately it was filled with a dummy, a proper 
adult-sized babies dummy 

“Mmmppphhh!” Peterkin's protests were muffled as Winifred fastened the dummy and together the two women tucked him tightly into bed with his arms secured down by his side.

Peterkins would soon become accustomed to his new life of pyjama servitude.

Thursday, 11 January 2018

Pyjamaed Public Schoolboys Punished By Matron

Jeff, PP and John had pranked the boys in the adjacent dorm rather spiffingly earlier that week and PJ Tradman minor and the rest of his gang had vowed revenge. Jeff and his two pals had spent the previous two evenings on high alert relying on their ever trustworthy knotted scarfs as weapons of defence. With Matron Goodknight ever vigilant and liable to make a surprise inspection, the boys had sensibly always changed into their black and white striped pyjamas before climbing between the sheets. (This being the nineteen twenties, colour had yet to be developed)

After all, by Jove, they were English and destined one day to step into their father’s striped pyjamas and rule the Empire. Although it was a chill night and being an English public school no heating existed in the dormitories the boys always slept with the windows open as they were well insulated clad as they were in warmest winceyette.

It was very late, almost nine thirty, Jeff and John began to relax just as they had the previous two nights at this time, PJ would never lead an attack at this ungodly hour. PP was already snoring as Jeff loosened his grip on his scarf and looked forward to holding something else as he began to snuggle down. “Night PP,” he said in his masterful tone. 

“Night Jeff old thing,” answered John, the admiration he felt for the skipper evident in his voice. Suddenly, the window lifted and PJ’s pyjama clad mob clambered through led by Speccy Sanderson, the fight was on!

In a flash, PJ Tradman and his bunch of rotters fell upon the plucky trio. Jeff quickly pulled up his pyjama bottoms and leapt into action along with his trusted fellows. Quickly realising that their scarves were useless against their foes pillows, Jeff, showing his gift for command, that John and PP so much admired, ordered his troops to raise pillows and engage the enemy. 

Soon the air was thick with feathers and it became difficult to distinguish pyjamaed friend from pyjamaed foe as the battle raged.  Suddenly a large shaped figure loomed menacingly in front of John and he swung his pillow with all his force, certain that he was just about to remove Fatty Forster from the fray.

For a split second the air cleared and John, to his horror, realised that the portly figure in front of him was not the aforementioned Master Forster but was, in fact, Matron herself Mrs Knight.

"What is the meaning of this! Desist at once!" The sound of that familiar voice brought the fracas to an immediate halt, the airborne feathers drifted gently to the floor as the flannelled fools 

all turned toward the angry face of Matron who stood, definitely not amused, in her voluminous Victorian-like, winceyette nightgown.

Mrs Knight lined up the boys in her study, her stern demeanour did not bode well for them. She had been joined by her housemistress Miss Ashbourne who had become aware of the disorder.

All present were wearing their nightwear due to the lateness of the hour. The boys in their striped flannelette pyjamas, Mrs Knight in her pale pink, buttoned to the neck floral winceyette nightdress and fur collared slippers and Miss Ashbourne, whose white silk nightgown and fluffy mule slippers made a most incongruous contrast to the rest of the night attire on display. 

Pj Tradman and his motley crew were wearing their tartan slippers, but Jeff, PP and John were standing on the cold linoleum floor barefoot as Mrs Knight walked down the line of assembled boys.

“I don’t know what prompted this disgraceful behaviour, nor do I want to know. However, I must say how disappointed I am in your involvement in all this Jeff.”

Jeff felt his lower lip quiver, he hated letting Mrs Knight down. PJ smirked and whispered, “cry-baby.”

Miss Ashbourne demanded silence. She grabbed PJ by the ear and brought him forward.

“This one first I think Matron, give me your slipper Tradman,” she demanded. Perhaps now regretting his snide remark, PJ Tradman was bent over the arm of the couch and received six swats to his backside from Miss Ashbourne with his own slipper before being sent tearfully back to his dormitory.

John was next to receive his spanking. Miss Ashbourne used her own mule slipper to administer his punishment and although it hurt terribly and he had to fight back the tears, he felt somewhat excited by the experience and felt an urgent need to return to bed. As he made for the door he felt a tickle in his nose. “Atishoo!” He sneezed violently.

“Oh, dear John. I hope you’re not getting a cold by roaming barefoot in the middle of the night? I best come and tuck you in properly,” she took John by the hand and led him hurriedly away.

Finally, there was left just Jeff and Mrs Knight alone in her rooms. “Well Jeff, as I expected higher standards from you I am afraid your punishment will be double that of the others.”

Jeff had recovered his composure and was determined to accept his punishment like a man and prepared to take his position across the arm of the couch.

“One moment please Jeff.” Mrs Knight approached him and reached for the drawstring on his pyjama bottoms. “I intend to spank you on your bare bottom.”

Jeff was taken aback but stood as his pyjama bottoms puddled on the floor around his feet. He shuffled awkwardly to the couch and bent over.

“You may stand.” Twelve times Mrs Knight’s rubber-soled slipper had struck him, six on each buttock. Despite his best intentions, he felt a tear roll down his cheek as he bent to pull up his pyjama bottoms. Mrs Knight dabbed it away with her handkerchief.

“Goodnight Jeff, I do hope that will teach you not to be a naughty boy again.”

Jeff thought not, he had rather enjoyed being naughty.