A naughty boy tries to deceive his aunt and receives a pyjama spanking and an early bedtime regime for his trouble. A story by Lance

Peter meandered in the front door and was heading for his bedroom when he heard his auntie’s voice.

"Peter, can I have a word with you please". She had enquiring tone he thought as he shuffled his way into the living room. She pointed to the couch positioned directly opposite her favourite chair.

"I had lunch today with Jenny Callaghan your science and maths tutor. We had quite a discussion about you, Peter.

Peter cringed; this wasn’t good.

"She said your grades have been rapidly going downhill and if they don't start going back up, she's going to have to fail you. Now, what do you have to say about that, young man?"

Peter squirmed, "It's just...It’s really difficult for me, auntie ...it’s really hard... "

"She told me that your assignments have gotten sloppy and that you're even a few behind. Is that true?"

"I guess so auntie, but..." Peter stared at the floor as he always did when being scolded.

"No buts young man. There is absolutely no excuse for slacking in regards to your schoolwork. When your parents told me you had a conditional acceptance into college, I agreed to you coming and living with me on one condition.  All you had to do was concentrate on your studies, instead, this is how you repay us. I have to say Peter; both Jenny and I are very disappointed in you."

She paused, tilted his chin upwards and held it so that he was forced to look her in the eye.

"Do you remember what I said I would do if you misbehaved?”

 “No,” answered Peter timidly.

”Yes you do, I’ve mentioned it on more than one occasion.”

”But auntie, you can’t be serious, that was just a bit of fun.”

”Fun, oh I can assure you a sound hair brushing from me would not be amusing young man. I’m just as serious now as I was then  You can pack your bags and explain to your parents or accept the consequences of your behaviour.”

”Are you serious, are you really going to spank me with a hairbrush?”

"I think you’ve earned yourself a trip across my lap...however Jennifer tells me you have a math test tomorrow. Have you even started studying for it?"

Peter looked down at the floor and shook his head. His auntie sighed.

"Well then, as much as I'd like to wallop your bottom right now young man, I don't want anything to distract you from studying. You’re not going anywhere tonight so you might as well get cleaned up and ready for bed. You are going to spend the evening studying for that test tomorrow and I don’t expect there to be any nonsense."

Peter nodded. "Okay, Auntie...I'll study really hard."

"You'd better show some significant improvement, do I make myself clear?”

Peter looked down again. "Yes, ma’am". "Alright, get going then. I'll bring your dinner up a little later"

Peter trudged upstairs to his room and tossed his backpack on the bed. With mixed feelings buzzing around in his young head he finished showering and put on his infantile, spaceman pyjamas. Peter was extremely intelligent, a truly gifted eighteen- year old. Regrettably, though such intelligence often comes at a cost in one way or another. Some said he was verging on genius but emotionally he was immature. 

Being at university with the emotional development level of a ten-year-old was always going to produce some obstacles and his parents understood this only too well. However, Peter’s aunt's offer of a home off campus came with considerable relief and made his continued advancement in higher education more feasible.

Gazing in the mirror, he did up his buttons on his spaceman motif pyjama jacket, the bulge at the front of his pyjama bottoms was all too obvious.  How could he possibly study after hearing the threat of an over the knee hair spanking with a hairbrush?

Taking hold of himself and closing his eyes and once again envisaged himself squirming across his aunt's lap having his bottom spanked.

"Oh auntie, please don’t stop.  I’ve been a very naughty boy. Oh yes auntie, spank me harder…harder."

But his all too familiar fantasy soon came to its usual abrupt ending and once again he was left feeling sad and lonely.  No matter how he behaved, no matter how much he longed for this special attention, he knew his auntie wouldn’t spank him. In reality, the very idea of it was quite ridiculous.  However, the deep desire for maternal spankings was always in the back of his very confused young mind.

He eventually sat down sat down at his desk and thought about how he had purposely goofed off. His auntie being disappointed in him had actually hit a real nerve, he had never heard this before and it was slowly sinking in. Maybe, ...if he did that math test properly tomorrow, his auntie would forgive his little deception and everything would be OK again.

The next morning Peter noticed an odd sort of a smile from Ms Callaghan as she handed him the test paper. Peter worked his way through the paper in half the time as everyone else but this time he didn’t mess about and answered everything correctly. Before the day was over Peter received a request to visit Ms Callaghan office.

"Now this is much more like it, Peter,” she said handing him his math paper with an A+ on it.

"It seems my little chat with your auntie did you some good" she smiled with that same sort of smile he had noticed earlier in the day.

"I hope you’ll learn a lesson that will stay with you for a while!"

Peter blushed but didn’t fully comprehend what she was meaning. "Yes, Ms Callaghan"

"Good. The class is dismissed; I’ll see you tomorrow then”.

Even though his test result was effortless and virtually meaningless for him, he was for the first time rather please to show his auntie.

He handed her his maths paper as soon as he got home. "Look auntie! I got an A+

"Oh Peter," she said giving him a big hug. "That’s wonderful, I'm so proud of you. I knew you could do it, I'm going to put this on the refrigerator and you and I are going to celebrate!"

Peter grinned from ear to ear. "Thanks, Auntie. Can we have pizza?"

They went out for pizza and had a great time together. Peter’s slacking off appeared to have been all forgotten until they were in the car and about to head for back home.

As auntie did up her set belt she turned and looked at him.

"Alright now Peter, when we get home I want you to go straight to your room and get your pyjamas on ready for bed."

"But auntie." Peter cried in surprise, "it's only six-thirty."

"I know very well what time it is Peter, remember I warned you I would punish you if you misbehaved."

"But I got an A+ on my math test" He moaned.

"Yes you did Peter, and I'm very proud of you. But that just proved you’ve been purposely not trying and deceiving Jenny and me. We know what you’ve been up to Peter, trying to get Jenny to punish you it's surely the silliest thing you’ve ever done Peter. I can't think of a better reason for a spanking than that."

Peter couldn’t believe what he had just heard; she was actually going to spank him and as they drove home in silence he began to struggle emotionally with the reality of the situation.

They pulled into their driveway and auntie stopped the car. "Alright, young man I want you to go straight upstairs to your room and get ready for bed. I want you in your naughty boy pyjamas standing with your nose in the corner. While you're there, I want you to think very hard about why I'm going to punish you. 
Is that clear? "

Peter thought it was silly having to put his naughty boy pyjamas, the ones with the Teddy Bears on, so early but he felt even sillier when he stood with his face in the corner. It wasn't fair, he had achieved an A+ and he was still going to be punished. If only he hadn't played games with Ms Callaghan. What right did she have to gossip with his auntie anyway?

Ms Callaghan, all of a sudden he recalled that smirk he had seen on her face and that remark she made. Oh, my goodness, she knew I was in for a spanking, I wonder what else she knows about me?  

Glancing down at his tenting pyjama bottoms, Peter’s face blushed bright red, is it possible they know I’ve fantasised about them spanking me?   No, they can’t know how could they? I’m just being paranoid.

Eventually heard his Aunt's footsteps on the stairs and immediately attempted to conceal his obvious excitement. He pushed his nose into the corner and closing his eyes he wished he could turn back the clock a couple of months and start over.

She came into the room and he could hear her behind him moving the chair away from his desk and into the middle of the room.

"Alright Peter, come over here to me, please" She commanded. He looked so contrite dressed in his winceyette Teddy bear pyjamas that she wanted to mother him and tuck him into bed.

Peter walked over to the chair where his auntie was now sitting and couldn’t help but noticed the hairbrush she had sitting on her lap.

"Did you think about why you're being punished tonight, Peter?"

 "I didn't study?" Peter mumbled.

"Is that all you could come up with, young man? You obviously need to spend a lot more time in the corner thinking about it!"

"No, auntie" Peter mumbled.

"Well then??"

"'Cause…I guess...if I got A’s all the time Ms Callaghan wouldn't have said anything."

"That's right Peter. You had a job to do, and you didn't do it! Isn't that right?"

Peter nodded staring at the carpet.

If you had done your job correctly Jenny wouldn’t have had to waste time trying to figure out what was going on in that silly little head of yours.

"We both have a job to do Peter and now I’m going to have to do my job and you know what that means don’t you young man?

Peter silently nodded his head.

"I asked you a question young man and I expect to hear an answer. Now, what happens when you don't apply yourself?"

"I get spanked? Peter whispered.

"That's right. And that exactly what's going to happen right now."

Auntie took him across her lap.

“I’ll have those pyjama bottoms down thank you"

Without hesitation, she yanked his pyjamas down halfway to his knees and as she did there was no mistaking Jenny Callaghan’s suspicion; this is exactly what he had been hoping for.

Taking a firm clasp of his forearm and helped him shuffle over her lap. Now armed with her old wooden hairbrush she laid its cool flat back across the centre of his bare bottom.

"I'm sorry I have to do this Peter, but you've had this coming for a long time!"
With that, she raised the hairbrush and smacked it smartly against his right cheek. Peter squealed out at the first smack and continued to cry out as his auntie smacked away at his wriggling bottom. She spanked both rhythmically and methodically, covering every millimetre. She didn't say anything for a minute or two and all that could be heard throughout every room in the house was the loud unmistakable crack of that hairbrush and Peter’s crying out.

His bottom was in agony; he had begun crying and begging for her to stop after the first few smacks. But his auntie dutifully ignored him and continued on, delivering some real stingers.

"Yes Peter,  I'm sure you will be a good boy for a little while but I’ll be repeating this whenever you misbehave. Jennifer and I are going to make sure you remember to be more honest and diligent from now on."

After about thirty old fashioned wallops, she began to lecture him, punctuating each sentence with another smack of her hairbrush.

“There will be no more late nights out, 

You will come directly home after class and put your pyjamas on immediately, do you understand?"

"Yes, ma'am"

"Your bedtime will be seven pm every single night from now on
and I had better not have to remind you or you'll be right back here with your pyjama bottoms around your ankles and crying you naughty little eyes out. Is that clear?"

"Yes, ma’am."

"Since you are so attentive, the next time you need your bottom spanked, I want you to tell me so I can do something about it.  Do you understand me, young man?"

"Oww..yes...ma'am." Peter cried uncontrollably as tears now flowed down his cheeks.  

In less than one minute of sound spanking, Peter’s auntie knew her young charge had had about as much as he had ever dreamed of. His bottom was well and truly spanked and he was crying his heart out.

"Alright, Peter...it's alright" she soothed, as she rubbed his back gently.

She waited for his crying to subside a little before she spoke again.

"Okay, Peter let's see if you learned anything during this lesson".

Peter tried desperately to quiet his cries and pay attention.

 “Are you going to stop pretending you don’t know the answers and to start trying again in class?"

"Yes, auntie...I will...I promise"

"And what will you do your homework”?

 "I'll do it...every night auntie...I promise."

"And what are you going to do when you need a spanking Peter?"

"I'll come and talk to you, auntie...I tell you everything Peter murmured sheepishly."

"That's my good boy Peter, I need you to trust me and tell me everything sweetheart.  A pyjama spanking over my knee every night would be lovely. If you had only confided in me Peter we could have avoided this upset.”

“I’m so sorry auntie”

 She dropped the hairbrush on the floor and lifted him onto her lap. Even though he was a teenager, he wasn’t too big for her to hold and rock him as if he was still a little boy.  She whispered words of comfort, finally, when he had cried himself out, she told him she was going to put him to bed.

She smiled when she saw him wincing and rubbing his now very red bottom. Tucking him in, she sat back down beside him and he gently wiped away the tears that still clung to his cheeks.

“Peter, it’s not so unusual for a young man to need the occasional spanking from a female authority figure. It helps to take away all that horrid stress. I do understand why you couldn’t bring yourself to tell me; thank goodness Jenny was able to work out what was bothering you. Still, it was disappointing your first spanking had to be a punishment one."

Peter glanced up and even though auntie had just finished walloping his bottom rather hard she could see the questionable look come across his face.

“If I get good reports from Jenny, I’ll reward you with more spankings”.

“Will they be as hard as this one” Peter asked timidly?"

“Will they need to be”?

“Yes ma’am, I think so”?

“What else do you need from me, sweetheart”?

“Would you please cane me whenever I misbehave”?

“Are you sure you’ll need the cane Peter”?

“Yes ma’am, six of the best and sometimes a bedtime strapping with a belt and lots of corner time and early bedtimes every night too.”

“Yes Dear, I think we can manage that.”

Peters face suddenly relaxed and took on the angelic look of little boy who had just cried away all his secret naughtiness.

Bending down she kissed him goodnight before closing his bedroom door and leaving him alone with his thoughts and smarting bottom.

Within seconds of the door closing, Peter's hand became very busy.

The following morning Peter slipped a note onto Ms Callaghan’s desk and watched her read it. 


 I’m sorry Ms Callaghan. I guess it’s true after all; a high IQ can make you smart, very smart.

How a mother uses her maternal authority to enforce pyjama and early bedtime punishment to infantilise her son

As I began to turn from a child into a young man my mother began to make strenuous efforts to keep me as her “little boy” for as long as she possibly could.

This included continuing to having to wear short trousers at high school long after my contemporaries had moved into long trousers and enduring humiliating early bedtimes that were far to unsuitable for a boy of my age.

As a teenager, I was never sent to bed, but put to bed, usually after a supervised bath time and dressed in childish nightwear. Mum favoured  traditional two piece pyjamas made from brushed cotton material and decorated with the most infantile prints one could imagine.

One of my most enduring memories is of attending my cousin Emily’s birthday party when I was fourteen, she was the same age as me but attended the posh all girls academy. There were a few of her school friends present as well as my other cousins Millicent and Kevin,  the only other  male there was Peter her neigbours son who was a year older than the rest of us and he was in charge of playing the records and trying, like the rest of us to look cool.

This was in 1974 and I was busy trying my best to fit in with the ‘in crowd’ when at 7:30 pm Mum summoned me upstairs where she and my aunts had been “keeping an eye” on us and instructed me to change into the pyjamas and slippers that she had packed before we left home so that I could be “popped into bed” on our return home.

Of course I was absolutely horrified at this proposal and tried my best to protest and begged her not to make me wear my pyjamas at the party. I turned to my aunt for support but she only shrugged and said  it was up to my mother although I could tell she really disapproved of mums actions. My protests turned to tears when I saw which pair of pyjamas mum had bought with her.  Mum was brandishing my pale blue pyjamas with pictures of rocket ships blasting off, I hated wearing them as they made me look about six. Mum was not to be argued with and I was quickly made to put on the pyjamas from hell and my slippers. I was so humiliated  as I re-entered the front room where the party was being held and tried to hide away from everyone. My aunty actually made things worse by saying, “oh he looks so cute doesn’t he.”

Most of the  kids tried to stifle their laughter but Peter kept making comments like “bedtime for baby is it?” I could feel pitying gazes from some of the others and one of the other mothers who came to collect their daughter did try to intervene on my behalf but Mum was not for turning.

I was so ashamed as we were driven home by my aunt. I sat in the back between Millicent and Kevin with my head bowed hoping that no one else would get to see me wearing my  rocket ship pyjamas. Millicent and Kevin were respectfully silent throughout the journey,  no doubt thinking better him than us while my mother sat in the front chatting away seemingly oblivious to my distress. When we finally arrived home I went straight up to my room and slammed the door, putting myself to bed early.

I had  a definite bedtime until my mother considered that I had reached

maturity as an adult at twenty one after which I was left to make my own

decisions but until that time I would be subject to her rules which included

humiliatingly being put to bed at an excessively early hour and attired in

my childish nightwear even when I had left school and started my first job.

It didn’t matter who was in our house, or who may be visiting, the routine

was always pretty much same. At 6:30 pm, later when I started working,

Mother would say” time to get ready for bed now poppet” and I would know

better than to argue with her though I did try on several occasions and subsequently

ended up over her knee for a painful reminder that I was still, “her little boy” and whilst I was living under her roof I would obey her rules.

So the early evening routine would begin with me taking my nightly bath

before being dressed by Mum in my pyjamas and then having half an hour

”downstairs quiet time”, before taken upstairs and tucked into bed at 7:30, this

was bearable if there was only my mum or other relatives who were used

to my early bedtime treatment around, but occasionally there would be other

people that might drop by to visit my mother to talk about Church

activities- jumble sales etc, and they would be amazed to see a fifteen year

old boy dressed in babyish pyjamas being put to bed by his mother at 7:30 in the evening.

This on occasion turned even more humiliating. Mrs Lewis always brought her children with her when she visited mum. Caroline who was the same age as myself and her younger brother Clive who was only ten. They always came just as I was being bought downstairs in my pyjamas before I was put to bed. Caroline was in the same year as me at school but not in my class. I had a bit of a crush on her but even then I knew my chances with her were nil once she had witnessed me wearing my red paisley winceyette pyjamas that were a size too big for me and then having to wish her “night-night” as mum ushered me upstairs to bed at 7.30.

It was a constant feature of my childhood and teenage years that mum believed that children should be treated like children and not pandered to as small adults, and this attitude was reflected not just in early bedtimes but in the choice of clothes she thought it appropriate for me to wear. Mother abhorred the liberal fashions of the 60’s and 70’s and disliked the habit of dressing boys in jeans and tee shirts declaring it to be “far too American” and so attired me in much more traditional and what she thought ‘suitable’ children’s clothes.

This entailed all kinds of outfits for different situations, for example the bane of my life when I was around ten- twelve years old was the hated short trousered “sailor suit” worn on Sundays to attend church and to go visiting relatives for Sunday lunch.

This consisted of a light cotton Navy blue smock like top with yellow piping around the cuffs with a large satin droopy bow on the front and big shiny buttons. Matching short trousers with a broad waistband with mother of pearl buttons was worn to complete the sailor suit element but in addition I was made to wear white knee or ankle socks that were always paired with girlish white sandals.

When I was eleven and about to start secondary school I begged mother not to make me wear this ridiculous outfit in public anymore and  indeed I would do anything to avoid wearing it even once complaining to her that my legs were freezing cold. This backfired wildly when she then purchased two pairs of white tights (one pair kept in her handbag as spare) and made me wear them with my short trousers to church and to go visiting the very next Sunday.

As you can imagine this made me the object of some curiosity, even among those who were used to seeing me in my “Sunday best.” Some of Mothers friends cooed and billed over me after the service saying things like “doesn’t he look sweet” whilst the other children mostly sniggered and pointed, the men however shook their heads and looked sympathetically at me as if to say ‘poor kid’. one of the worst aspects of this was being laughed at by boys much younger than myself who were all wearing long trousers and dressed “normally” My father eventually intervened on my behalf and gently persuaded Mother that I was perhaps too old now for this particular style of outfit, but as he worked abroad for nine months of the year as a petro-chemical engineer his influence was fairly minimal.

My usual attire during school holidays and weekends was considerably different to that of most other teenagers of the time. Mother had me dress in what she

infuriatingly liked to call my “rompers” these were like a bib and brace

affair except they were short trousered, and made very wide in the leg,

elasticated at the back of the waist. They had no side pockets or fly and

embarrassingly the shorts were so wide that they looked almost like a skirt,

these would be worn over a shirt or blouse in summer with sandals and white

ankle socks, or over a jumper in winter with knee socks or on occasion

tights. Mother made these herself adapting the pattern from a from a pair of

similar “rompers” she bought on a trip to France when I was about seven,

these were made in various colours, brighter colours in summer and

then later during the year more muted autumnal colours. Mother was a

stickler for coordinated outfits so all rompers, shirts, socks,

tights and sandals, slippers or shoes had to match accordingly. Christmas and special occasion outfits were excruciating and I complained bitterly and

often about having to wear what I considered to be such babyish clothes but

Mother said, “on no account would she permit me to dress like a hooligan” and that

I was “still a little boy” and would wear what she thought suitable.

However, when I was almost sixteen mother went out to visit my father and I was left with my Aunt for most of the school holidays

I know that Mother had reservations about leaving me in the care of my

 Aunt, considering her to be far too permissive with their own

children but in reality she had no choice. After warning me about my behaviour,

and asking my Aunt not to let me stay up too late she bade her

farewells. Aunt Cheryl took me upstairs to the spare room. She tutted as she unpacked my childish rompers in various pastel shades and the pairs of white ankle socks, and knee socks. But when she saw my four pairs of infantile pyjamas especially the teddy bear pyjama she sighed and sat me down. Now Aunt Cheryl was familiar with the manner

in which Mother preferred me to dress but she asked if I had any long trousers or any normal boys pyjamas at all.

“I don’t think you’ll be needing any of this stuff while you’re staying

with us” and she called to my cousin and said “Steve, can you go through

your stuff and see if you can sort out some togs for Leigh?” Steve said

”sure” and I followed him to his room where he began picking out stuff he

thought I might like, twenty minutes later for the first time in my life I

was dressed like a normal teenager of the time, tee-shirt, blue jeans,

and baseball boots, Mother would have been horrified, but I loved it, and

the clothes that I had brought with me were consigned to the corner of the

room for the remainder of my stay.

The rest of the summer holiday’s were a complete departure from my from my

usual routine, I stayed up late with Steve and Cathy watching TV that I had only ever heard other kids talk about at school. I was savouring every moment of my new found freedom with Steve and Cathy and their friends. However Mothers imminent return was a

cloud on the horizon but  Aunt Cheryl said she was going to

talk to Mother and assure her that I had been perfectly well behaved, and

see if she might be persuaded to be a little more lenient in her treatment

of me.

The morning finally came when Mother arrived from the airport and I was a bundle of nerves not knowing what her reaction would be to my new attire, but on arrival she said not a word about my tee-shirt and jeans, happily relaying the story of her trip to everyone, showing

photographs, and distributing presents and souvenirs to my cousins, and

thanking them for looking after me, but now it was time to go home, so I

reluctantly bade my farewells to my Aunt and Cousins.

Mother said she was very tired from the flight and was a bit jet lagged and

asked me to go upstairs and run the bath which I did and returned downstairs

to watch TV. Mother busied herself in the kitchen making some tea and

sandwiches, after about fifteen minutes she said “your bath will be

overflowing if you are not careful dear”, I was confused... “my bath?, I

thought it was for you?” I replied, “no darling it’s been a very long day

and I want you in bed early tonight”, I looked at the living room clock..

”but Mum it’s only just gone half past five.” ...”please don’t argue with

me” she said, “I’m very tired and I need to go bed for a while, and I am

certainly not going to leave you down here getting up to heaven knows what

on your own, upstairs now please and have your bath, you can come back

downstairs in your pyjamas for a while and have something to eat before you go to bed.”

“Bbbb..but Mum” I stammered “I’m almost sixteen this is ridiculous!”

“I won’t ask you nicely again” she said in a sterner tone of voice... “I can

see that you have become quite the little rebel in my absence, now do as I

say or I will be forced to spank you,... Is that what you want?” ..I began

to protest once more but Mother advanced across the room and slapped the

back of my legs, I was so shocked that I did not protest any further and

hurried upstairs smarting with humiliation rather than pain, “And don’t even

think of locking the bathroom door!,” she shouted after me, adding that she

would be up shortly, and that she had not finished with me yet, I heard her

mount the stairs with growing trepidation as I sat in the bath waiting for

the consequences of my defiance, Mother put her head around the door, and

told me to get out of the bath and dry off then come to her room, I put a

towel around me and did as she asked, and there was Mother with  a

a pair of her pink floral winceyette pyjamas draped over her arm and a matching pair of pink fur lined slippers.

“Right get these on,” she said advancing toward me holding out the pyjama jacket. I backed away and the towel fell away leaving me naked before her. This gave her the chance she needed and I was being buttoned into the jacket before I knew what was happening. In a daze I stepped into the pyjama bottoms as she bent low, she pulled them up roughly and settled them around my waist.

She then threw the slippers at my feet. “Slippers on, then downstairs, no dawdling,” she commanded. This was indeed a bitter pill to swallow after my recent liberating experiences. Now here I was, almost sixteen wearing pink floral pyjamas with a ruffled around collar and cuffs and girlish pink slippers.

With my Mother giving me a lecture before an imminent bedtime, “I had

thought” she said “to allow you more adult privileges when you reached your

sixteenth birthday, but I can see that might be a mistake. I should never have left you with Aunt Cheryl I should have known her progressiveness   would bring out the worst in you and I can see that I’m going to have to take a very firm line with you, I will think about that, and tell you what I have decided tomorrow”.

I was ordered to bed with the clock showing six fifteen. I lay in bed trying to sleep in my pink pyjamas whilst still daylight outside, and the sound of much younger children with their bedtimes many hours away playing happily in back gardens and the nagging worry of what Mother might decide would be her ‘ very firm line’.

A strict Matron imposes pyjama and nightie discipline on her patients

Dear Nanny Smackbottom

I would like to congratulate you on your most informative and enlightening magazine. In particular I enjoy the correspondence about bedtime and pyjama discipline. Many years experience nursing on children’s wards helped me enormously when I was given the responsibility of providing a home for my nephew.
My ward Matron first advocated to me that children were much better behaved when given early bedtimes and properly attired in nighties and pyjamas. She insisted every child upon admission was dressed accordingly for the duration of its stay. In those days we often had older boys and girls in our care who were reluctant to abide by her rules but she allowed no exceptions. ‘If you do not wish to wear pyjamas,’ she would inform red-faced boys; ‘I can easily provide you with a suitable nightdress.’ Not surprisingly they quickly conformed. Occasionally a particularly irksome boy would wake up after an operation to find himself wearing a floral nightie, a situation explained by Matron to surprised parents as a, ‘necessary expedient to facilitate professional nursing care.’ Boys and girls in their teens, dismayed at being tucked into bed at eight o’clock when the lights were dimmed, were further upset when Matron insisted the side rails of their cot beds were raised just like the younger patients. She would be horrified at children’s wards today that resemble noisy crèche’s, devoid of any discipline.
My nephew came to me aged ten and it was immediately noticeable that he was unused to going to bed at a sensible time. Fortunately I quickly instilled in him the need for a good night's sleep. Jonathan enjoyed a happy normal childhood in my care, but I refused to be the kind of person who allowed children to wander the streets at night unsupervised. I would gladly let him attend organised events, collecting him at the end of the evening, but mostly I insisted he was ready for, and in bed, by seven o’clock. I addition he had to wear a full length, soft winceyette nightie with a pretty floral or babyish pattern. If he was any trouble he would go across my knee for a bedtime spanking and I would tuck him into bed with a baby's dummy pinned to the bodice of his nightie that I insisted he use to calm the boisterous nature that occurs in all boys. Since I also prefer to retire early, I felt it was not unreasonable to put him to bed early so that I still had personal time to myself. Jonathan is now happily married and still enjoys the security of soft flannel nighties and early bedtimes thanks to his enlightened wife.
The need to feel secure and wanted is in us all, ensuring our little loved ones are attired in cosy nightwear, and placed in a safe warm bed at night, provides a sense of well-being that anyone would appreciate, whether they are children or adults. There are many varied methods of achieving these values described in PPM. I can certainly understand the need for a more disciplined approach to problematic individuals whether by enforcing pyjama discipline and early bedtimes, but ultimately the objective is the same; to create a happy, loving environment for all concerned.
Please accept my congratulations once again on providing a platform to share their experiences on your pages.
Ms Penelope Elliott


Appropriate pyjamas and nightdresses are an important part of early bedtime punishment, so I am grateful to Penelope for this letter. One-piece bunny suits, especially popular in the United States, are very effective for older children who complain about having to go to bed at a sensible time. A nappy and soft plastic baby bloomers can be worn underneath.
I hope that we get more correspondence on this fascinating subject.

Nanny Smackbottom

                                        A sensible winceyette nightie as worn by Jonathan

Sissy babykins humiliated and spanked in pink floral footed pyjamas by mummy and her friend Miss Moorcroft

 
When my mummy's friend, Miss Moorcroft, missed her last train home, she had no alternative other than to stay overnight.  "Since you will need to be up early to make our breakfast I think it best that we put you into your jimjams and put you to bed as soon as we get home," mummy informed me as she sat in the car ready  to drive back from the station.
"But mummy it's only 2pm, I don't want to put pyjamas on and go to bed this early." I foolishly answered.
"Are you answering me back?" she asked. "If I say you will put your jimjams on and go to bed I don't expect any disobedience from you."
Miss Moorcroft , sitting in the front alongside mummy said." Oh good. I was hoping to see him punished in his jim-jams. I do so enjoy seeing naughty boys dressed in their pyjamas so that they may be popped into bed at the earliest hint of defiance." Mummy beamed with pleasure. "Rest assured Matilda, you will see him wearing his jim-jams very shortly. I also think a trip across my lap for a spanking is necessary too," she added.
"Mummy no. Please don't spank me in front of Matilda."
"I don't recall giving you permission to address Miss Moorcroft in such a familiar fashion," mummy said as she parked the car. "I do believe a special punishment spanking is in order for your insolence."
I was sulking as we entered the house, mummy was in a spanking mood I could tell but I just looked at mummy in disbelief when she said, "will you undress this naughty boy for me while I fetch his jim-jams Matilda?
"You can't seriously expect  me to let Mat... I mean Miss Moorcroft  to undress me? I won't allow it and that's final."
Miss Moorcroft moved toward me so quickly that I was caught completely unawares.
"Now now, don't be shy, let's get these nasty big boy's clothes off shall we?
My arms were thrust upwards and my t-shirt was rapidly removed. Her hands were already unfastening my trousers before I had a chance to react, "oh no, I won't let you do...." even as I uttered those words the pants were already around my ankles. I attempted to escape her clutches but encumbered by my trousers I tripped and fell at the feet of mummy who stared down at me as I lay prostrate on the living room carpet. She triumphantly had my floral footed pyjamas draped over her arm.
"No mummy, please. Don't make me wear those pyjamas, oh I will be so  ashamed and embarrassed. " She smiled at me, "I believe that is the idea, now Matilda, why don't we get this naughty little boy into his pretty punishment sissy baby jim-jams shall we?"
Working together mummy and Miss Moorcroft quickly removed my remaining clothing until I lay completely naked despite my futile attempt to resist their physical dominance.
Miss Moorcroft looked at my nakedness approvingly as my mummy made me stand up so that she could slip the sleeve of the girls pyjama jacket into my left arm then around my shoulders into the other arm. I stood shamefaced and helpless as mummy buttoned the  pink floral pyjama jacket all the way up, even fastening the top button that I hated so. My shame was compounded as mummy handed Miss Moorcroft my pyjama bottoms.
"Here Matilda, you can dress him in his jim-jam bottoms."
Miss Moorcroft enthusiastically stepped me into the pyjama bottoms, each foot becoming encased in floral winceyette. She eased the bottoms upwards past my crotch, as she did so she unkindly commented, "you really are a tiny little boy aren't you? No wonder you wear little girls pyjamas" Mummy laughing, nodded her head in agreement. "Now it's time for our sissy baby to go across our laps for a bedtime spanking, would you like to take him over your knee Matilda dear? "
 "Oh yes, I would love too," she replied quickly.
 "That's it," encouraged mummy, make each spank count, when we tuck him into bed he should be sobbing like a proper sissy babykins."
 The two women laughed as my bottom was assaulted by mummy and Miss Moorcroft.
At twenty two years old I was still mummy's little sissy boy.

My holiday spanking punishment pyjamas.

I am on holiday this week and aunty and Miss Jacobson made me model my new spanking pyjamas. Miss Jacobson bought me the yellow bunny rabbit ones and i was made to wear them last night, bedtime was
7 pm. She and aunty crept into my room this morning and surprised me by taking this picture of me wearing them. It's going to be a long painful, pyjama clad week.

Miss Jacobson humiliates me as she buys me pink floral pyjamas

What a weekend. Miss Jacobson wanted to go shopping in town and aunty volunteered me to be her driver. I had already spent three hours following her around when she announced she wanted to visit one more shop.

We moved away from the busy main streets to a quieter back street.

“Where are we going now?” I complained. I was already laden with parcels and wanted to return to the car. “Just one more shop,” she said as she ushered me into a doorway. A bell above the door tinkled, signalling our entrance. It was the kind of shop where time had stood still. A woman in her fifties wearing a black skirt and white blouse with spectacles hanging from a chain on her neck stood behind a glass counter. Behind her were numerous wooden drawers each labelled with their contents. She was entering figures into a ledger, putting down her pencil she asked, “May I help you Madam?”  

“Yes, I’d like to purchase some boys pyjamas for my little companion here, he has been such a hero putting up with my little expedition today, so I am going buy him a little something for himself.”

 “Nnnn…no, there is no need to do that Miss Jacobson, I have more than enough pairs of pyjamas.” I stammered, “Don’t be silly, a little boy like you can never have enough pyjamas, don’t forget that one day you are destined to be permanently attired in jim-jams so you will need plenty of pairs.

The shop assistant smiled and put on her spectacles. “Let me see, “ she said turning to face the drawers, you will be wanting our special, naughty boy pyjamas no doubt.”

“Indeed, replied Miss Jacobson.

“Now look here I really think…”, my words were stifled as the assistant laid a pair of pink floral pyjamas with a ruffle collar and cuffs that buttoned to the neck onto the glass counter.

“We are selling a lot of these pyjamas at the moment, aunties and nanny’s particularly are buying them for their little boys,” she said. “The boys do appear very humiliated and embarrassed when they are wearing them, that is the desired look you are after isn’t it madam,” she added. Turning to look at me with a malicious smile upon her face she asked, “would you be wanting your little boy to try them on perhaps?”

Miss Jacobson laughed, “that would be fun but sadly we don’t have time, it will be his bedtime shortly.”

 Instead she got the assistant to hold the pyjama bottoms and jacket against me for size.

“They will fit perfectly madam, he will look lovely if you make him wear them for bed tonight,” she smarmed.

Miss Jacobson paid for the pyjamas, and said, “this afternoon dear lady, he will be put into his new pyjamas as soon as we arrive home and he will be in bed early, won’t you sugar plum?”

I stood there and grim faced nodded my agreement, wishing the ground would open up.

“Oh well I wont detain you any longer, I hope you enjoy wearing your new pyjamas and tell me, what time is your night-night?”

I hurriedly made to leave the shop but had only taken a few steps when Miss Jacobson barked. “Answer the nice lady sugar plum or I will have to spank you.”

I swallowed hard and said, in a voice not much more than a whisper, “please miss, night-night is seven o’clock thank you.”

They both roared with laughter and I was ushered out with my face beetroot red in colour.  Of course when we arrived home aunty was only too pleased to put me in my new pyjamas straight away. Indeed, she insisted I wear a pinny when I served tea to keep them clean before I was sent to bed.