Strict Mrs Jacobson makes me wear striped pyjamas for an early bedtime.

Aunty had to dash off to tend to her ailing sister Aunty Hilda, and as Aunty decreed before she left, I found myself under orders to obey Mrs Jacobson without question. At first everything seemed to be satisfactory. I had washed the dishes and vacuumed throughout, before she sent me upstairs to clean my bedroom.
It was when she came up to inspect my handiwork that I fell foul of her wrath. She asked me if I had finished and if I was certain I had thoroughly completed my task.

"Yes Mrs Jacobson," I replied, confident that I had done an excellent job.

She reached up to the wardrobe door frame and ran her finger along the edge. The dust smeared finger was thrust under my nose. "Call that clean do you?  You lazy boy, telling me lies about how well you have cleaned. Well, something will have to be done about this. I'll have to sort you out some pyjamas, you obviously need some discipline."

I could sense her anger as she ordered me to put my hands on my head and stand in the corner of my bedroom facing the mirror so that I could, "look Mr Liar in the face."

After twenty minutes of corner time she called me downstairs, my heart sank as I saw my freshly ironed, red striped pyjamas waiting ominously for one unlucky wearer. Mrs Jacobson beckoned me toward her

"Off with your clothes, I want you in pyjamas ready for bed before the girls arrive," she informed me.
It turned out that Mrs Jacobson had decided to hold her Women's Institute accounts meeting that very afternoon. Quickly I divested myself of my clothing and stood, not for the first time, naked in front of her. She grasped my penis and rolled back the foreskin, "disgusting, I see I shall have to bathe you before I can even think of putting you into clean pyjamas."
Now I had showered fastidiously that very morning so I knew this was merely an excuse to wash me. Mrs Jacobson enjoyed wielding a flannel as if she was on some mission to eradicate any trace of penile emissions from male bodies. I received several slaps to the back of my bare legs that left red finger-mark weal's for, in her words,  "crying like a baby," as she scoured my skin with her coarse cloth. Finally she was convinced of my cleanliness and it was time for my, "pyjamaring", as she insisted on calling the act of donning pyjamas. I was allowed to undertake this task myself while Mrs Jacobson emptied the wash bowl. Upon her return I immediately encountered her wrath. "How is it that a boy you age still doesn't learn that there wouldn't be a top button on your pyjama jacket if it wasn't meant to be fully buttoned up, now get it buttoned, fast." My protest about how uncomfortable it was and how silly I looked in a fully buttoned pyjama jacket fell on deaf ears, she lost patience with me and buttoned it up herself, smoothing down the pyjama collar as she did so. Of course there was more.
"How many times?" She asked, as she reached under my pyjama jacket and undid the pyjama cord, sliding my pyjama bottoms down to my ankles before raising them again, only this time encompassing the pyjama jacket hem within the waist of the pyjama bottoms. "There now, that's much neater, isn't it?" she asked to no one in particular, before abruptly ordering me to, "be a soldier." Upon her command I had to come to attention, the palms of my hands pressed firmly against my pyjama bottoms, my tartan slippers welded together and my eyes unwaveringly focussed forwards on her unforgiving features. "Attention! Quick march." Mrs Jacobson hailed from a military background and she enjoyed periodically putting me through my paces but this was the first time she had done so when I was wearing striped pyjamas and tartan slippers. After ten minutes of drill in the garden I was eventually allowed to stand at ease by the tool shed just as the accounts committee began to arrive. First was Miss Keighley. "In your jim-jams at three pm today I see, have you been a very naughty boy? I do hope we are going to see you draped over Mrs Jacobson lap before you are sent to bed?" I blushed but remained at my ease position as Mrs Jacobson had not yet given me permission to move. "Wincy, you will go indoors and prepare tea for six, not for you though, you will be going to bed early and I don't want you out of bed running to the bathroom once we have tucked you in."
Once again my heat sank, another early bedtime. Of course if I had known what was about to occur I would have happily went to bed there and then.