Monday, 24 August 2015

Oliver is safely tucked up in bed and the ladies attentions turn toward Stephen who becomes hopping mad at his treatment at the hands of Mrs Evans and his mum, plus some interference from the vicar! Another instalment of the Oliver & Stephen story. As before, I have posted the story so far from the beginning.

Mrs Wilding smiled indulgently at Oliver then looked at her son Stephen. "You see how a lovely short haircut can make you look extra smart?" Stephen remained silent, he always tried to be non-committal to his mum's questions, it was his way of trying to avoid trouble. It rarely worked. His mum continued to eulogise about Oliver. "And his amazing smooth legs, do you have to shave him, you know where Vera?"

Mrs Evans blouse expanded as she enjoyed the praise being heaped upon her. "On no, luckily Oliver has shown no signs of sprouting hairs anywhere thank goodness. His legs are as smooth as his face, the only thing I have to look out for is the odd hair at the base of his penis and on his scrotum. I soon whisk them out with my tweezers."

Both boys stared resolutely at the floor. Oliver because he was actually becoming quite annoyed at hearing his most intimate details being discussed and Stephen because he was wincing at the thought of hairs being extracted by a pair of tweezers. He was disappointed to learn that seventeen-year-old Oliver had such a hairless existence, he could not contribute anything to the hair growing competition, his own body being quite hairless but he was hopeful that by the age of seventeen he would be positively hirsute.

"Oh yes, and how delightfully smart Oliver looks from head to toe Vera, you must be very proud of your son. Now I must have a keepsake of such a smart boy, especially as he is wearing his lovely yellow play shorts." Mrs Wilding pointed her camera at Oliver.

"No!" Oliver Evans stretched out his hand as if he could snatch the image from the air.

It was bad enough that his mother had sent him to school wearing a pair of his play shorts but now he had returned home and discovered Felicity Wilding and her son Stephen had come "visiting" and Mrs Wilding wanted a photo as a keepsake for goodness sake.

It had all started last evening when Oliver decided that at seventeen years of age, as he was the man of the house, it was his job to open the new jar of mayonnaise. Unfortunately, he opened it all over himself, covering his regulation, grey flannel short trousers with a large dollop of mayonnaise.

His mother had not been best pleased and as his shorts were quite ruined, he was dispatched to school that morning wearing his yellow play shorts, along with a note for his form teacher.

It must be pointed out here, that the school had no policy enforcing sixth formers to wear short trousers. That particular rule applied only up to fourth formers, such as Stephen. It was Mrs Evans herself who advocated that boys should continue to wear shorts, not only for the health benefits, (Oliver had never found out exactly what these were), but also because although Oliver was seventeen, she took the view that as long as he was living under her roof, she would decide what he wore. Without argument.

Oliver's day had been disastrous. His form tutor, Miss Ledbetter, had read out his mother's note to the entire class.

Dear Hyacinth

Please excuse Oliver's appearance. I have had to send him to school today in a pair of his play shorts as he was a very naughty boy last night, he soiled his school short trousers rendering them unfit for purpose. 

Yours sincerely 

Vera Evans.

Miss Ledbetter had silenced the guffaws that came from her class as she read out the note but she then called Oliver out to the front.

"So Oliver, you were a naughty boy last night and soiled your shorts, that was careless of you. I shall have to check to see that you have not soiled yourself again."

Miss Ledbetter proceed to examine his yellow play shorts thoroughly. Her left hand felt the material of his shorts while her right hand rested on the inside of his smooth, hairless inner thigh. Hyacinth Ledbetter had always been intrigued by Oliver, she wondered why he meekly accepted his mother's decision to dress and apparently treat him as a little boy. She promised herself she would find out more about Oliver and his mother.

Miss Ledbetter then deliberately placed her body in the way of the watching class, blocking their view, then let her hand linger on his thigh, visibly increasing his discomfort.

"P.p..p..please Miss, it wasn't like that. I..I..I didn't...really s..s...soil...." He attempted to explain himself whilst the class laughed at Miss Ledbetter's successful attempt to humiliate him.

Oliver desperately tried to divert his thoughts before he was thankfully sent him back to his desk with a light swat on his bottom and a remark about, "managing to survive the day without soiling yourself if you please Master Evans."

Everybody had laughed themselves silly and Oliver had experienced a quite awful day of teasing about being pee-pee pants and worse. No wonder then, that he was annoyed at returning home and finding Mrs Wilding there attempting to capture his appearance on camera.

Almost immediately Oliver knew he had made a mistake.

"Oliver! How dare you talk to Auntie Felicity in such a manner. You know very well not to be rude to grown-ups."

Mrs Evans apologised to Mrs Wilding. "I am so sorry Felicity, I know exactly what lies behind Oliver's behaviour. Because of all the upset with his school shorts last night, by the time I got Oliver bathed and into his jimmy-jams, it was nearly eight thirty before he was tucked into bed. Of course, with his usual bedtime being eight o'clock it meant Oliver missing out on a full night's sleep, and as you have just witnessed, he becomes very irritable and bad-tempered as a result."

Felicity Wilding said there was no need to apologise, confirming that Stephen was exactly the same and that was why it was important that boys had a regular pyjama time and bed time. In fact, she added, if Stephen had a restless night, she would make sure he went to bed earlier the following night to make up for his lost sleepy time.

Vera Evans nodded in agreement as Stephen winced, he didn't like where this was leading.

Sure enough, Oliver's mother immediately turned to her son who was looking fearful and obviously full of remorse for his outburst and announced. "Come along then Oliver, let's get you undressed and into your jimmy-jams, you obviously need an early night to catch up on the sleep you missed."  Oliver visibly began to well up. "But mummy..."

Mrs Evans held up her hand to silence her son in a manner he knew was not to be argued with and she immediately began removing his blazer and unbuttoning his shirt as she spoke. "Stephen, would you run upstairs to the airing cupboard and bring me down a clean pair of pyjamas for Oliver please."

Up to now, Stephen had been a reluctant observer. He knew only too well how easy it was to fall foul of all the rules and regulations his own mother imposed on him so he wasn't about to put himself in the firing line by refusing Mrs Evans request. He went upstairs and opened the airing cupboard door, there on the shelf were several pairs of pyjamas. He closed his eyes, grabbed a random pair from the middle of the pile and went back downstairs.

Oliver was already bare naked and his mother was carrying a bowl of water and some wash flannels. "This is a good idea of yours Felicity, a pre-pyjama time wash will be much quicker than a bath."

Stephen watched as his own mum took a flannel, after rubbing in soap, she began to wash Oliver's legs.

"Yes, it's a lot easier, I often give Stephen a quick pyjama time wash with a flannel rather than wasting all that hot water. Don't I Stephen?" Mrs Wilding continued to move the flannel up Oliver's naked seventeen-year-old body.

"Yes mum, he said, sheepishly handing Oliver's mother the pyjamas he had randomly chosen. It was only then that he realised he had not done Oliver any favour with his pyjama selection.

Mrs Evans proffered the pyjamas to Stephens mum.

"Would you mind starting his pyjamaring Felicity? I'll just get rid of this." Mrs Evans scurried away with the bowl of water. Stephens mum held up the pyjama jacket. "How lovely, Toy Story jimmy-jams.

Stephen himself was subject to a strict pyjama and bedtime regime and his mum made him wear pyjamas that were far too childish for a boy of fifteen, but Oliver was seventeen.

Stephen made brief, apologetic eye contact with Oliver as his mother unbuttoned the pyjama jacket, held it by the shoulders and jiggled it. As any boy who is regularly dressed in his pyjamas knows, a female jiggling a pyjama jacket initiates a response where the pyjamaed one automatically inserts his arms into the sleeves and prepares to be "buttoned up".

From experience, Stephen knew his mother would start with the top button.
"Was Woody your favourite or Buzz?" His mum enquired of the hapless Oliver as she worked her way down the buttons.

"Actually it was Jessie the cowgirl. He had quite a crush on her. That's why I bought those pyjamas for his birthday this year, didn't I Oliver?" Mrs Evans had bustled back into the room just as Stephen's mum finished buttoning up Oliver's pyjama jacket. Luckily for him, his pyjama top was just long enough to reduce his embarrassment slightly by concealing his penis. He did still look ridiculous, as only the tips of his fingers were exposed due to the length of his pyjama jacket sleeves.

Oliver visibly blushed upon hearing his mother's words. To have it announced, that not only did he have a crush on a fictional, pixelated character, but also that he had received a pair of Toy Story character winceyette pyjamas for his seventeenth birthday was excruciatingly embarrassing. Stephen sympathised.

His mum smoothed the pyjama collar of Oliver's pyjamas and ran her hand down the front of the pyjama jacket. "Lovely and soft and cosy," she said. " I think Stephen would  look lovely in a pair..."

Felicity Wilding paused mid-sentence, her hand resting on Oliver's crotch. Stephen was grateful for the distraction whatever it was, he certainly did not want a pair of Toy Story pyjamas.

"Vera, I think you need to see these."

Stephen had sensibly taken out his school book and now sat half peeking, half cringing behind it as his mum lifted up seventeen-year-old Oliver's penis. "You see, three, no, four hairs sprouting. I expect you want to do something about them before you put him to bed?

Oliver had to suffer the indignity of the two woman peering at his testicles as though they were in the local butcher's shop examining the produce. "I was in such a hurry to get him to bed last night that I let him wash himself down there when I went to fetch his pyjamas. Why didn't you tell me you had sprouted hairs?" She scolded crossly.

"Sorry mummy." Oliver was attempting to be as contrite as possible but Stephen was not the only one to notice his use of the infantile, "mummy".

His mother grabbed one of the rogue curly hairs with her tweezers as Stephens mother held his penis out of the way. Peeking over his book, Stephen was close enough to see Oliver's skin extend outwards as the hair resisted Mrs Evans pulling action. "Ow, it hurts," Oliver yelled as the hair refused to yield.

"Don't be such a baby Oliver." She pulled harder and the newly sprouted pubic hair was plucked untimely from its rightful place. "That has it, now, only three to go."

Eventually, the hair had submitted and was triumphantly scrutinised by Mrs Evans before she returned her attentions to the remaining hairs. Having realised resistance was futile, the three other hairs feebly conceded defeat and succumbed to Mrs Evans tweezers without much of a fight. Stephens mum ran her hand over the now hairless region and lowered his penis.

"All nice and smooth again Vera, we can finish getting him into his pyjamas now and tucked into bed well and early. Oh....."

There were three inches of material after the last button on Oliver's pyjama jacket and into that space his penis began to rise. It formed a V in the material, as first of all, it extended horizontally before slowly rising vertically to about forty-five degrees before pausing as if it were a dockyard crane in the middle of a funeral salute. From the tip of his penis began to ooze a gooey substance commonly known in the school playground as pre-cum. It dribbled over the edge of his penis as gravity sent it towards Mrs Evans front room carpet before it stopped and elastic like retracted slightly upwards.

"Oliver! Stop that at once. How dare you show me up like this." His mother was annoyed and ashamed of her son when less than fifteen minutes ago she had been bursting with pride.

"I can't help it, I was trying to be good when Mrs Wilding had a hold of my thingy and then I started thinking about Miss Ledbetter.... and.."

His voice gave way as tears began to form. "I said stop that. Hands on your head at once."

Mrs Evans had armed herself with Oliver's school, ruler. Twelve inches of clear plastic that she slapped his still part raised penis with very firmly, once on the shaft and once on the tip from where the goo was still emanating.

"Onto your naughty stool immediately you disgusting boy." Oliver had doubled up as the slaps to his penis were received, but he straightened up again almost immediately with two slaps to the back of his legs that were delivered with more force than the first two. He stepped on the rickety looking wooden stool and placed his hands on his head as instructed. Even now the urge to please and obey his mother was forefront in his mind.

Stephen peered from behind his book at the seventeen-year-old perched on a wooden stool with his hands on his head. The act of which, raised his Toy Story motif pyjama jacket just enough to expose his sticky, now shrivelled penis. And then Stephen had an insight. His book was George Orwell's 1984 and there was no doubt in Stephen's mind that he now understood why Winston Smith was prepared for Julia to suffer his mortal fear. Stephen was pleased that it was Oliver up there, pleased that it was not him that had been punished and humiliated in such a fashion.

Stephen was eager to leave the Orwellian scene behind, unfortunately, Mrs Evans insisted Oliver was to stay half naked perched on his naughty stool while the two women took tea. Eventually, Felicity drained her cup.

"Well, I think it's time we got this naughty little boy of mine finally tucked into bed."

Oliver's penis was subjected to a rather rough flannel wash before his mother went to the sideboard cupboard and returned with a packet of Dry-Nites pyjama pants Oliver looked distressed but he had been punished and humiliated enough and now just wanted to be put to bed out of harm's way.

"Pyjama pants are required because once Oliver has been on the naughty stool his bedtime is a confined one, that means no getting out of bed unless there is a flood or a fire, Oliver understands this don't you?"

 "Yes mummy," replied the subdued seventeen-year-old as his feet were threaded into the Dry-Nites.

Stephen was still intrigued enough to notice the pattern on the front of the pyjama pants was the dinosaur version.

He recognised them since those were the very same pattern as his own Dry-Nites pants.

As "compensation", for his behaviour, Stephens mum was given the task of finishing what she started and helped him into his Toy Story pyjama bottoms, pulling the elasticised waist up high and letting it ping under his rib cage.

"There, all ready for beddy-byes. Oliver, thank Auntie Felicity for putting you into your jimmy-jams and apologise for being such a naughty little boy," requested his mother. Stephen recognised the look of anguish on Oliver's face as he mumbled, "thank you, Auntie Felicity." His mother looked exasperated. "That's not what I said, try again."

Oliver took a deep breath. "Thank you for putting me into my jimmy-jams Auntie Felicity and I am very sorry for being such a naughty little boy."

Satisfied at making her son act like a six-year-old, Mrs Evans took hold of Oliver's wrist in readiness to escort him upstairs to bed.  "I wonder how much longer we will have to continue putting naughty boys into their pyjamas then putting them to sleepy-byes for early bedtimes Felicity," she mused.

"Oh, I am sure for a long time yet Vera, a very long time," ventured Mrs Wilding looking at Stephen, "goodness knows when we will be able to stop looking after them, probably never."

Vera Evans appeared very pleased with the response and tightened her grip on Oliver's wrist. "Up the wooden hill, we go then."

"Come on mum, let's leave" urged Stephen. Mrs Wilding looked at her watch, "goodness you're right Stephen, if we don't catch that bus, we'll be lucky to get home for your own pyjama time. Say night-night to Oliver and give Auntie Vera a night-night kiss."

"Actually I would like you to come upstairs, just until I get Oliver settled, it will only take five minutes."

Mrs Wilding checked her watch again, "just a few minutes, then we must be off."

If truth be told, Felicity Wilding was very interested in Vera's disciplinary techniques and was happy to continue witnessing Oliver's punishment. Stephen meanwhile was extremely worried as he too was ushered upstairs. His mum was too involved in this for his liking.

Stephen felt awkward being in Oliver's bedroom and stayed just inside the doorway.
It wasn't right, not under the circumstances, he fervently wished he could be somewhere else. However, curiosity allowed him to look around. It was certainly not the bedroom of an ordinary seventeen-year-old.

There was certainly no computer or laptop, nor any sign that Oliver listened to music in his bedroom, Stephen mused that even he had an old CD player, and he owned six CD's to play on it too. Without seeing or knowing the age of the occupant the bedroom could have been the sleeping space of a seven-year-old rather that of a seventeen-year-old. Buzz Lightyear posters adorned the walls that themselves were papered in a nursery style print of rather disturbing looking clowns. One large image of Jessie, Woody the cowboy's girlfriend, was pinned to the wall directly facing Oliver's bed.

This was the bed that featured bedclothes portraying an ebullient Bob the Builder triumphantly waving a spanner and Stephen had no doubt that there was a Buzz Lightyear set of bedclothes too, lurking somewhere in the six drawer dresser that stood against the far wall. All in all thought Stephen, his own was far more of a big boys bedroom than this infantile horror. And those pyjamas? He shuddered at the thought of having to wear and be seen, in a pair of Buzz Lightyear pyjamas.

Mrs Evans drew the heavily lined curtains and instantly the room was darkened. Only the bedside lamp offered enough light for Mrs Evans to see as she opened the third drawer down of the dresser.

Seventeen-year-old Oliver, standing by his bed clad only in his Toy Story, winceyette pyjamas, watched Mrs Evans remove a pair of white mittens.

"Handy Pandie please Oliver,"

"But mum…"  His protest was ignored as his mother pushed his left hand into the mitten. Stephen could see that Oliver had to make a fist before his mother could fit the mitten properly. There was a cuff of about three inches that extended to his wrist. Mrs Evans threaded the long lace into eyelets and fastened on the mitten. Stephen now saw that it was more of a mini boxing glove, not leather though, instead it was a sort of shiny vinyl. The same process was repeated with his right hand.

"You understand why mummy must do this don't you Oliver?" He nodded miserably.
"Being unable to control yourself just because Auntie Felicity wiggled your little peepee is unacceptable behaviour. I will not allow you to be a dirty little boy. Masturbation will not be tolerated in this house as long as I draw breath. Now, Handy Pandies by your sides"

Stephen shuffled forward slightly to see what was going on. There were two loops of material on the waistband of Oliver's pyjama bottoms and his mother tied the loose ends of the mittens fasteners to them, the result being that Oliver's arm movement was restricted to one or two inches, effectively pinning his arms and hands to the side of his body.

Stephens mum looked impressed as she turned back the Bob the Builder bed clothes and patted the bottom sheet, inviting Oliver into his cosy, infantile bed.

"In you pop Oliver, there's a good boy, there's no question of you playing with your little pee-pee now is there?"

Even if Oliver was supposed to answer he was not given a chance as his mother pushed him gently in the middle of his chest. Without the aid of his arms to balance himself he toppled backwards and gently bounced on his bed. Oliver was swiftly tucked tightly in by his mother on one side and Stephen's mum on the other.

"Who do you want to snuggle with tonight, Bibbity Bobtail or Mr Teddy?" Mrs Evans was waggling a bedraggled looking rag doll bunny rabbit with long floppy ears that appeared to be homemade, and a small Teddy Bear that was dressed in a pair of tiny blue striped pyjamas.  As Oliver's face was the only part of him visible after being tucked into bed it was impossible not to notice his embarrassment as his mother waved the two toys impatiently.

 "Come along Oliver choose, naughty boys shouldn't really be allowed to snuggle with a favourite toy at bedtime at all." Finally, Oliver answered in a barely audible voice," Mr Teddy please mummy."

"Night-night," she said tucking the bear in beside him and kissing his forehead.

"Stephen, say night-night to Oliver." Now it was Stephens turn to be embarrassed. He mumbled a good night and at last, he could escape the whole dreadful scenario.

"Oh you've left the bedroom lamp on", Stephen's mum cried as the bedroom door was closing. Mrs Evans reached to a switch on the landing.

"I had this moved when I caught Oliver reading long after he should have gone to sleepy-byes one night, so now his bedroom lighting is controlled from here. Oliver now knows that bedtime means bedtime."

Stephen's mum looked very impressed with this innovation as they headed back downstairs into the living room.

"Before you go I must give you these for Stephen, Mrs Evans handed a bundle to Stephen's mum just as he was putting on his new gabardine Mackintosh in readiness to leave. "They are too small now for Oliver but they would be perfect for Stephen probably a bit big for him in fact."

Mrs Evans grinned at Stephen and patted his head condescendingly as he stood uncomfortably, he hated his name being mentioned.

 "I don't know if Stephen wears shorty pyjamas, but he is welcome to them and then there's these." She paused for a second, "the footie winceyette pyjama romper suit is the one I had Mrs Frederick make for Oliver, you know, she used to have the shop on the high street? It was specially created by her to help curtail his naughty nocturnal habits, sadly though, he soon outgrew it and when I went back for a replacement the shop was closed, she retired I believe."

Stephen felt faint, as his mum had her back to him he couldn't see properly, what on earth was a pyjama romper suit he wondered? If only they had left for that bus on time they would be almost home now.

Of course, his mum was enthusing. "Oh, look Stephen, a lovely pair of shorty pyjamas, actually if you don't mind Edith, I will use them as a play outfit for Stephen, how sweet, you like Bob the Builder too, don't you Stephen?"

He was aghast, the thin cotton pyjamas consisted of a short sleeved buttoned top and a pair of skimpy shorts, they were light blue and emblazoned with the motif of a cartoon character he liked when he was approximately five.

"I don't like him that much these days mum, I can't see me wearing those to be honest…."

His mum gave him one of her looks. "Stephen! Don't be so ungrateful, you will wear them and be pleased to do so. Now, let's have a look at the other jim-jams….."

Before Mrs Wilding could continue..."Hello, hello." Two heads appeared peering into the living room. "Pardon us, we did knock…."

Are people born unlucky? At that moment Stephen certainly thought he was as the Vicar and Oliver's form teacher entered the room.

Part Three

"Come in, come in, don't be shy." Mrs Evans ushered her two additional guests in and urged them to sit down.

Hyacinth Ledbetter immediately recognised Stephen as a pupil from her school, of course, his short, grey flannel trousers were unmissable, not least because of how incredibly short they actually were. There was perhaps a mere two inches of actual flannel material that comprised the legs of the trousers, Stephen's smooth, milky white skin was visible almost to the very top of his legs.

Gladys Emmanuel had been a nurse who had received a calling and joined the church as middle-aged, recently appointed as vicar of the parish she was building bridges and making contacts within the local community.
She was a large woman of ample proportions and Stephen, who had been inveigled to join the choir, had suffered twice at her propensity to put out of tune hymn singers across her lap for what his mum had said when he had complained, was a "playful spanking".

It turned out that the vicar was liaising with Hyacinth about attending a school assembly later that month and mentioned she was visiting Oliver's mum next, about her role on the parish council. Hyacinth had jumped at the opportunity to accompany the vicar, ostensibly to inquire about Oliver's well-being following the yellow play shorts incident and she was annoyed to learn that Oliver had already been pyjamaed and put to bed.

She was even more upset when she discovered the details that lay behind his early bedtime, to think she had missed witnessing the whole affair. She, therefore, was quite happy to turn her attention to the nervous looking Stephen.

"Mum... the bus," he urged. Felicity Wilding picked up her coat. "Yes, I am afraid we must be off, I need to get Stephen home for his pyjama time." As she spoke she pushed the items donated by Oliver's mum into her bag.

"What times are Stephen's pyjama and bedtime Felicity?"  Enquired the vicar.

"I usually put Stephen into his pyjamas by six o'clock and like him to be tucked up in beddy-byes by seven thirty, so you see we really must catch that bus vicar," Mrs Wilding replied as she began to button up Stephen's gaberdine mackintosh who was, by the way, mortified that his mum was divulging what he considered to be personal information to all those present.

"Well it's twenty to six now," the vicar said looking at her watch, "I can't see you getting Stephen into his jimmy-jams before six thirty at the earliest if you use the bus."

"Don't you have some pyjamas for Stephen right there?" Asked the vicar, pointing at the linen bag his mum had momentarily put aside.

Stephen now began to sense real trouble for himself. He tugged at her sleeve." Mum....., come on, the bus."

But Gladys Emmanuel had an agenda that she was not to be deviated from.

"If you wish," her words came out slowly, "you could put Stephen into pyjamas here, then I can drive you home in plenty of time for little Stephens beddy-bye time."

Apart from the fact that he didn't want to be put into pyjamas at Oliver's house, he had not even seen the damn pyjamas yet. Stephen was also annoyed at being described as "little Stephen", but sensibly he held his counsel as he knew this situation, as far as he was concerned was out of his control.

His mum hesitated, then finally gave in. "well, if you really don't mind, that's very good of you vicar, I wouldn't want to be that late with his pyjama time and it would save such a rush. Isn't it kind Stephen? Say thank you to the vicar," she prompted.

Stephen muttered subdued thanks as his gabardine coat was removed. Why oh why had they been delayed. Stupid Oliver, he thought. All his sympathy for the boy lying trussed up in his bed upstairs had evaporated.

"That's settled then," the vicar confirmed before staring purposefully at Stephen and saying, "Miss Ledbetter and I have no objection to seeing Stephen put into his jimmy jams, do we Hyacinth,  It will be much more convenient for you that he will be jimmy-jammed, all ready to be tucked into bed when you arrive home."

Stephen was outraged at the fact the vicar and Miss Ledbetter had no objection to him wearing pyjamas. What about him? He had no wish to be paraded around in pyjamas in front of Oliver's mum, the vicar and Miss Ledbetter, a teacher from school!

"Mum no, please can't we get the bus home I don't want to put pyjamas on here in front of everyone."

Stephen's mum delivered two quick slaps to the back of his legs, "you're putting pyjamas on and that's that. His mum gave him another slap on his left leg to emphasise her irritation with him. "I've always said that little boys like you overhear too much grown up talk. When will you learn that you don't argue with grown ups?"

Hyacinth Ledbetter almost felt sorry for Stephen as she watched his obvious distress. What amazed her though, was the other women's total acceptance that a fifteen-year-old could be treated as if he were instead, a five year old. Still, she thought, it would be wonderful to see how the situation developed.

Vera Evans poured tea and looked on as her friend Felicity Wilding began to undress Stephen. It had been decided that Stephen, as Oliver before him, would also be subject to a pre-pyjama time wash. His shoes and socks were taken off and his flannel shorts lowered to his ankles, there were red marks on the backs of his legs, courtesy of his mums slaps. He dutifully stepped out of the shorts and his mum removed his shirt and tie before she raised his arms in readiness for his vest to follow suit.

"You know Oliver said the funniest thing the other day as I was getting him ready for bed," Vera Evans began as she handed the vicar a cup of tea. He told me some fanciful story that some boys at school didn't wear pyjamas at all and that their mothers let them stay up late, sometimes until after midnight, would you believe." She laughed.

Mrs Wilding had paused from her task to listen to Oliver's mum. Stephen, his arms still raised in anticipation of his vest being removed couldn't help blurting out. "It is the truth mum, honest it is, I have heard about it too."

Now you must remember that Stephen, at fifteen years of age, had only once in his entire life, not been tucked up in his bed by seven thirty, and that had only been because the taxi taking them home from the wedding had turned up late; and he had already been put into his pyjamas at the reception, and they were his little boy, Thomas the Tank engine winceyette pyjamas too. He still cringed at the memory of that particular humiliating day.

Indeed his bedtime had only been changed twice in his entire life, from six-thirty to seven when he was ten and just recently, to his current seven thirty when he turned fifteen.

In addition, he had certainly never gone to bed without first being dressed in his pyjamas. And I mean dressed. His mum had always taken it upon herself to actually button him up into his pyjama jacket and step him into his pyjama bottoms, now that he was in his sixteenth year she showed no inclination to stop this nightly ritual. No wonder then, he was so eager to believe the stories he had listened to from boys that were often younger than him, that in their world, pyjama times and bedtimes did not exist. Of course, he never admitted that he was subject to just such a strict bedtime regime, instead, he made extravagant claims of late nights and sleeping naked.

"Oh Stephen," his mother said looking amused at Mrs Evans. "They are just teasing you and Oliver, believe you me, every boy at your school has a pyjama time and a bedtime. Isn't that right vicar?"

Gladys Emmanuel smiled benevolently at the almost naked fifteen-year-old, "Of course mummy is right Stephen," she confirmed. "No little boy of your age, or even Oliver's age, would be allowed to stay up so late, only naughty boys would even suggest such a thing, and the very idea of  going to bed without jimmy-jams is... well it just doesn't happen."

"But mum it is true...." Another two sharp slaps to the back of Stephen's legs brought his protests to an abrupt end.

"Now that's enough of this nonsense, " his mum answered sharply, "are you contradicting the vicar? The very thing. Well, I know one little boy who is definitely wearing pyjamas for beddy-byes and that's you. It's pyjama time for you right now."

Seconds later he was divested of his vest and underpants and there he stood, fifteen years old and bare naked in front of four women.

Hyacinth Ledbetter was astonished at the three females complicity in infantilising the boys in their care. she realised the boys at the village school appeared less aggressive than boys she had taught previously and generally they were a lot less mature than the pupils from the girl's school, but one or two of the older boys were tall, with deep voices and the first signs of facial hair. Although now she came to think of it, those boys all came from outside the village and tended to stick together, not mixing with the local pupils. Hyacinth had no doubt that it was those boys who had taunted Stephen and Oliver with their tales of pyjama-less late nights.

Hyacinth had queried with other staff members as to why none of the boys had mobile phones or iPod's and had been told that poor internet connection in the area made them pointless and for that reason, there were few laptops either.

Stephen was standing in four inches of lukewarm water and a sense of despair overwhelmed him. It wasn't too long ago that he had hidden behind his book as Oliver was being stripped and bathed, thankful that it was not him being subjected to the humiliation of a pre-pyjama time wash and now, thanks to bus timetables and the vicar, here he was suffering the same fate.

"I'll just pop his new jimmy jams on the radiator to warm," His mum said, then I just need to pay a visit, could you deal with Stephen please Vera?"

"Mum no!" It was bad enough that here he was, a fifteen-year-old stripped naked and about to be washed and pyjamaed in Oliver's house and now his mum had asked Mrs Evans to actually bathe him.

His mum disappeared, ignoring his protestation. "Stop fussing Stephen," Mrs Evans berated him as she lathered up the flannel. Stephen spluttered and closed his eyes tightly as she gripped his chin.

Stephen, although distraught at the turn of events that had put him in this position, was nevertheless, still programmed to obey and please "grown-ups", it was what his mum had instilled in him over the years, so he stood obediently in the bowl of water as the flannel enveloped his face,  probing behind his ears and the back of his neck. Stephen let out a whimper at the roughness of the cloth flannel.

"What babies you boys are when it comes to being washed," scolded Mrs Evans as her flannel continued its descent down his body.

She worked her way down, lifting his arms up, in turn, to wash under them, then soaping and rinsing his back and chest. "Bend!" She ordered, pushing his neck forward to so that his white skinned bottom presented itself like a new full moon to the vicar and Miss Ledbetter who were watching his ablutions intently.

"Typical boy, why don't you ever wipe properly," tutted Mrs Evans as she inserted the corner of the flannel into his rectum, twisted it a few times and shoved the result under his nose to reveal a tell-tale stain.

"Looks like we will have to tell mummy she will need to start wiping a certain little boy's botty again doesn't it?" She suggested, looking knowingly at the vicar and Miss Ledbetter.

"Goodness me, not another job for mummy to do." Felicity Wilding had returned just in time to overhear the discovery that Stephen was not as diligent as he could be in the bottom wiping department.

"Dirtiness and boys are forever soul mates," said the vicar and ex-nurse Gladys Emmanuel ruefully, as if quoting from the bible.

Stephen now desperately wanted Mrs Evans to finish washing him and his mum to take over, but to his dismay, his mum told Vera Evans to carry on.

"I'll fetch his pyjamas and Dry-Nites." his mum suggested and Stephens embarrassment simply increased as Oliver's mother turned her attention to his crotch. Hyacinth Ledbetter looked on, once more adjusting her position, mesmerised by the tiny, smooth, hairless set of genitals Mrs Evans now had cupped in her hand.

The flannel rapidly went in between his legs several times before she roughly wiped his scrotum as if they were plums in a fruit bowl before she took a hold of his penis.

"Hold still Stephen whilst I wash behind your foreskin, let's hope there is not a cheese factory down there." Mrs Evans pulled his foreskin back to reveal his unsheathed penis.

Vera Evans was obviously very experienced at intimately washing naughty little boys as she wrapped the flannel around his pee-pee. "Goodness what a little tiddler," she laughed somewhat unnecessarily as far as Stephen was concerned.

Stephen was now acutely aware of being on his best behaviour, sometimes, sitting in the bath as his mum washed him down in his special place, he experienced a frisson of pleasure and excitement, he had learnt not to let his mum realise any of this but now he was desperately turning his thoughts to anything other than the reality he was experiencing as Mrs Evans caressed him in his most intimate spot. Having the vicar and Miss Ledbetter watching him closely didn't help.

Finally, Mrs Evans proclaimed, " there, all done, one sparkly clean little boy ready for his jimmy-jams."

His mum moved toward the radiator, "you might as well see if he'll go while I fetch them."

Oliver's mum grabbed hold of his penis again, "come along Stephen, time to make tinkle, there's a good boy."

To his absolute horror, Mrs Evans had grasped his penis and was aiming it for him toward the water in the bowl.

" Why can't I use the toilet?" Stephen cried out. He was mortified as she wiggled his penis around as if she were trying to put out a fire, meanwhile, he was conscious that the vicar and Miss Ledbetter were looking on too because actually, he did need to go, quite badly as it happened.

"Come along Stephen, at this rate it will soon be past your bedtime, never mind your pyjama time." Stephen's mum cajoled.

Despite the bizarre circumstances, Stephen's bladder overruled any qualms he had about peeing in front of four women. "Clever boy," Mrs Evans praised, as she aimed his stream into the water he had just been standing in as if peeing was an accomplishment a fifteen-year-old needed praise for.

It was still disconcerting for Stephen to have her direct his aim for him and even more so as retracted his foreskin to give it a final wash with her trusty flannel.

Hyacinth was astounded to witness the infantilising of Stephen by the three other women, and even more puzzled as to why he was so compliant.

His mum held out the pair of dry-nites pyjamas, taken from Oliver's packet, for him to step into.

"Oh look, Stephen, they're the same ones as yours at home, isn't that sweet." She then made a dinosaur roar sound as if bringing the image on the nappy, for that is what they actually are, to life.

Stephen had noticed this phenomenon before, when his mum was in the company of other women, her behaviour toward him became even more infantile than when they were alone together.

"I don't really need pyjama pants mum, I have just been and...." His mum cut him short as she settled the pyjamas pants on his waist.

"Now Stephen your new pyjamas are special footed one piece pyjamas, once you are wearing them there is no way you can take them off to go to the bathroom so you will always need to wear your dry-nites with them."

It was then, for the first time, as Stephen caught his first glimpse of the monstrosities that his mum held in her hands, that he realised how Oliver had inadvertently paid him back for picking those Toy Story pyjamas from the airing cupboard.

"Let's get those tootsies-wootsies in first in shall we?" His mum asked rhetorically as she placed his pyjamas in front of him. Mrs Evans stood behind Stephen as his mum lifted first one foot, then the other and placed them into the pyjama feet. As she pulled them up, Stephen gasped as the softness of the winceyette material enveloped him. The footed pyjamas were primrose yellow and were emblazoned with faded blue bunnies hopping gaily around a field.

"Oh, how sweet he looks," the vicar volunteered, " he's a darling little boy in his footy jim-jams isn't he Hyacinth?" Miss Ledbetter smiled but she was far too excited by the events unfolding in front of her to do anything other than nod in agreement.

Mrs Wilding beamed with pleasure as she continued dressing her fifteen-year-old son in the most infantile nightwear imaginable.

Vera Evans held Stephens shoulders firmly as she said. "You can see they have been washed many times, I insisted Oliver wore them all the time as they not only stopped him masturbating he also looked so adorable in them too, I was most disappointed he grew out of them last year. I wish I could track Mrs Frederick down so I could get him another pair."

Stephen too was disappointed Oliver had outgrown the ridiculously babyish pyjamas he was currently being dressed in. Unfortunately, Stephen realised he would have to do a lot of growing before he himself could pass them on to some unsuspecting soul, but if Oliver's mum was dressing him in these pyjamas when he was sixteen, Stephen would probably still be wearing them when he was twenty-one he thought ruefully.

If Stephen could have read his mum's mind, he would have learnt she was thinking something similar.
She had loosened the reins too quickly she thought, as she lovingly handled the soft winceyette fabric and looked adoringly at the little bunnies hopping hither and thither. Stephen was becoming a little bit too independent for her liking, it was time, she thought, to tighten those reins again and these pyjamas were the ideal beginning to that end.

With his feet and legs safely surrounded by bunnies, the pyjamas were raised to his midriff. Stephen was told to extend his arms by his mum.

What she actually said was, "hold your handy-pandies out so the little bunnies can climb aboard."
He cringed at her words as his hands wriggled down the soft winceyette sleeves of the bunny pyjamas. His hands pushed past some fairly tight elastic at the cuffs of the sleeves and he was forced to ball them into a fist as they came to a stop. He continued to push, somehow expecting his hands to appear before he realised this was not going to happen, his balled up hands were encased in what looked like a plastic orb of shiny white plastic, to Stephens dismay his hands were now rendered useless, he decided he had had enough.

"Mum, take these off me, these are pyjamas for a baby and I won't wear them......."

At last, the boy is showing some fight thought Hyacinth Ledbetter, not knowing if she was pleased or not.

Felicity Wilding, however, was in no mood to compromise.

"Nonsense Stephen," began his mum, "my little bunnikins looks adorable in his footie jimmy-jams, you will be wearing them all the time from now on, you look so ready for bed!"

She was so excited by the sight of her fifteen-year-old son wearing his bunny rabbit, winceyette footed pyjamas, she could barely find her words.

Mrs Evans meanwhile, was busily buttoning the pyjamas up from behind him as he made his protest.

"Oliver was just the same, complaining about the lovely bunny rabbits, boys are such silly-billies aren't they? Now, just let me just set that collar correctly, then there's this last button to go."

Stephen didn't think he was a silly-billy at all although, while making his futile protest, he had forgotten that Mrs Evans was still buttoning up the pyjamas from behind him. Somehow he had failed to notice the large Peter Pan collar trimmed with lace that now sat smugly below his chin. It had been sewed onto the neckline of the pyjamas and the last button at the back of the pyjamas closed the collar around the wearer's neck, below the collar was there was also a small ruffled bodice of lace, presumably to enhance the collar, or perhaps Mrs Frederick just has some lace left over. Either way, Stephen was not a happy bunny, and who could blame him?

"It's lacy.... mum the collar has lace on it!" Stephen almost shouted his distaste at the effeminate conclusion to the infantile pyjamas.

His mum smoothed down the bunny emblazoned collar. "Oh Stephen, you look adorable, hop over here and come and see," she urged leading him toward a cheval mirror that stood in Mrs Evans front room.

Stephen was appalled at the sight of himself. The lacy trim to the pyjamas was the final humiliation. He was fifteen years, he had been stripped then intimately bathed in four inches of water by his friends mum, then dressed in a pair of the most ridiculously infantile, babyish, footed pyjamas possibly ever sewn, primrose yellow winceyette material, sporting frolicking, stupid blue bunnies, while his hands were confined in vinyl mittens.

"I hate them," he said, as he stared disbelievingly at himself in the mirror.

"Well you had better get used to them, as I said, I expect you will be wearing your lovely pyjamas more often than not, besides, your page boy outfit has a lace collar and you love wearing that to church, don't you? Now, go and say thank you to Aunty Vera for giving you your lovely new pyjamas."

Stephen knew not to argue and compliantly recited his mum's words to Mrs Evans in front of Miss Ledbetter and the vicar. "Thank you, Aunty Vera, for giving me my lovely new pyjamas."

Hyacinth knew that Stephen was merely doing as he was told, but she was aware the three other women thought that a fifteen-year-old boy, saying thank you for being dressed in a baby bunny romper pyjama suit was perfectly acceptable.

"You're quite welcome Stephen, I am so glad they fit and suit you so well." She beamed a glorious smile at him and patted his head. She was genuinely delighted that he was wearing her sons cast off pyjamas.

"I shall get Stephen to write a thank you note to you and Oliver tomorrow too," his mum proclaimed.

Stephen took a deep breath, forcing himself to remain calm, after all, what else could possibly happen to make matters worse?

Saturday, 22 August 2015

You decide! Choosing punishment pyjamas.

It is rather hot today but aunty and Mrs Jacobson disagreed on which pair of pyjamas I should wear to do the ironing They decided to hold a sort of catwalk that involved me walking up and down, then posing in the three pairs of pyjamas they has narrowed it down to. To make matters worse Mrs Jacobson  invited Melanie, her fourteen year old niece to be the judge. Which pair do you think were
finally chosen?

Tuesday, 18 August 2015

This letter from the PPM archive about short trouser and pyjama discipline did not elicit the required response from Matron I assume.

Dear Matron
My name is David, I am fourteen and I live with my mother and my brother Christopher. Last year I won a scholarship to a boys only private school across town .  I was very pleased with myself and was totally unaware that they had a strict traditional school uniform policy.  I had graduated to long trousers from the age of eleven and would wear longs even on the hottest summer's day. By the time of my final year, I had owned no pairs of school or play shorts, having passed them down to my brother, along with the accompanying long socks. 

On a damp August day towards the beginning of the new term, I went along with my mother to the school outfitters to be kitted out for my new school, my mother made me wear my old school uniform at the time.

I did not really like going shopping, especially for clothes, and I was not really paying attention in the school outfitters when the salesman was going through the uniform list with my mother, explaining what was needed, and measuring a me up. Having tried on blazers until one was found "with room to grow into" the salesman produced a pair of short trousers for me to try on. I told him that I had been wearing a longs for the last couple of years, and that I had at least two pairs that fitted me well and which I could continue wearing.

He told me that the uniform rules of the grammar school were quite clear, and that shorts had to be worn until the end of the boy's sixth form tenure. I was shocked with disbelief; he pulled out the school's uniform rules to show me.  Face with the prospect of wearing short trousers for the next two years I suddenly no longer wanted to go to the new posh school, but I realised that I could not possibly suggest this to my mother, at least part of me realised that this was an absurd reaction to a school uniform rule. 

I was in something of a daze as I tried on the grey, white-lined short trousers, and the long socks in the grammar school's colours. I was made to walk around the shop, with the salesman and my mother admiring me in my new uniform, commenting on how much smarter I looked compared to the long trousers that I had worn on arrival. I tried to make it clear that I did not share their opinion but to my horror the salesman suggested to my mother  that it would be a good idea if I started wearing my new short trousers immediately so as to get used to them before September. He then produced the regulation long socks in the school's colours and persuaded my mother to insist I put one of the four pairs she bought on.  At this point the outfitters shop was on the point of closing and my mother decided we would return home with me dressed as I was. My protests about being seen wearing such a ridiculous ensemble  were ignored, as my mother pointed out, that is what I would be wearing permanently from the next day. 

I was in a complete state of shock, I had left the outfitters wearing a pair of short trousers and long socks, knowing that I was destined to wear these items for at least the next couple of years. 

When I got home I was teased mercilessly by my young brother who was looking forward to moving on to long trousers next term. My mother took all my long trousers and put them in his cupboard.

I hated going to school,  I was teased by pupils from my old school, a major problem as I commuted to my new one on the same transport. Mother was adamant that I looked so smart in short trousers, and regretted that I had been allowed to move on to longs at all, indeed, when I was out with her she encouraged her friends to admire how neat and tidy I looked, which just added to my humiliation.
Of course, throughout this time, my young brother was able to wear long trousers to school. He had persuaded my mother that, as I had been allowed to wear long trousers from the age of eleven so should he. And that just like I had been, he was allowed to wear longs at weekends, during holidays and such like. In contrast, my mother continued to insist that as long as I wore shorts as my school uniform there was no question of my wearing long trousers outside school. I do not even own a pair of jeans.

I feel humiliated on a daily basis having to wear shorts while my younger brother wears longs. He had a growth spurt recently and was soon considerably taller than me. I had always enjoyed the role of older brother, especially when I wore long trousers and he was still in shorts. But now the situation has reversed, he in longs with me back in shorts. With being taller than me now our relationship has changed. He behaves towards me as if he was older, swanking around in his longs and and teasing me. This also affects the way my mother treats us. This is why I am writing to you. He used to go to bed an hour and a half before me before my mother changed that to allow him to go to bed at the same time as me, which meant that I have lost that privilege I had as the oldest child. Eventually with my exams looming large, my mother insists that I go to bed at seven thirty every night. Indeed she insists I put my pyjamas on as soon as I return home from school so I am ready to go to bed immediately after I have finished studying. My brother has just started bringing a girl home after school and I find it embarrassing to be seen in pyjamas by a twelve year old girl, especially as my mother insists I now wear the pyjamas that he has grown out of. Please advise me on how to persuade my mother to allow me back into longs at the weekend and recommend that my early bedtime be rescinded long with having to wear my brothers pyjama hand me downs.

Yours respectfully 

Dear David
What an ungrateful boy you are. Your mother has no doubt scrimped and saved to pay for your uniform yet you moan and bleat about how unfair everything is. There is no reason for her to waste money buying you long trousers just for the weekend is there? 
As for your early bedtime, your mother is ensuring you get plenty of sleep to help you pass your exams, and why complain about wearing your younger brothers hand me down pyjamas, you are wearing long trouser then are you not?
Knuckle down and stop complaining is my advice young man.

Tuesday, 4 August 2015

Naughty boy in striped pyjamas humiliated before an early bedtime.

Philip Treadwell stood with his hands on his head alongside the clothes airer, thereon draped with his striped, winceyette pyjamas. His bottom bore the bright red glow of his over the knee slippering administered not five minutes earlier by Mrs Alexander. "Keep those hands on your head unless you want to go back across my knee." Mrs Alexander threatened as he went to soothe his sore bottom. Philip stood uncomfortably for another ten minutes as the three women chatted and drank their tea. "Right, come here and let's get you into your pyjamas and off to beddy-byes, it's already after six o'clock and past your bedtime," Mrs Treadwell urged. Philip stood facing the three women, shamefully parading his nakedness as Mrs Treadwell slipped his arms into the red striped pyjama top and, starting from the bottom, slowly buttoned him into the jacket.
Miss Alexander stared at him, "you really are a naughty little boy," she giggled, emphasising the "little, no wonder you are being put to bed early." Mrs Treadwell knelt on the floor and held the bottoms open for him to step into. He put his left foot in first and rested his hand on her shoulder to steady himself as he put his right foot into the pyjama bottoms. Mrs Treadwell pulled the bottoms up and tightly tied the pyjama cord trapping the hem of his pyjama jacket inside the bottoms. "There, all ready for beddy-byes, slippers on." She placed his bunny slippers beside him and watched as he shuffled his feet into the fuzzy, pale blue slippers. "Say night-night," she urged taking his hand. Philip blushed but did as he was told. "Night -night Nana, night- night Aunty," he whispered pathetically, standing in front of them in his striped winceyette pyjamas and blue fuzzy slippers. "Off we go, up the wooden hill to Bedfordshire." She led him to the foot of the stairs and paused. "Wave night-night Philip." She lifted his arm and waved it for him. The two women sitting on the sofa waved back, mimicking his arm movements, then laughed out loud. His mother-in-law and sister-in-law always enjoyed watching Philip's wife put him to bed.

Sunday, 2 August 2015

Maaike needs some advice on how to continue her boyfriends journey to permanent early bedtime and pyjama discipline

I am trying to enforce some rules on my boyfriend Maarten, slowly but surely. He is 35 years old and I have been slowly training him into going to bed early. Currently, his bedtime is 8 PM during the week and 9 PM on Fridays and Saturdays. He sleeps in the spare room which is only equipped with a bed, a drawer and nothing else. 

He always sleeps in a nappy and winceyette footed pyjamas. After dinner he has to go up to shower, brush his teeth, and wait in the corner of the guest room. Then after some time I come up, pin him into his nappy, dress him in his footed pyjamas and put him in his bed.

Now recently he has been complaining since it is summer time that his pyjamas are too warm for him and that he wants to enjoy the evenings together with me. I however think a strict regime is the way to keep him in line. After all, the reason I started this was that he was wasting way too much time late in the evening browsing on the internet, ignoring his hygiene and being really tired as the week progresses. 

I am wondering, could you pass this letter forward to Nanny Smackbottom? I would like to get her advice on this matter, if possible. Am I right in staying strict or is it better to give in a bit too make sure he continues on this path?

With regards,


A great story from Pete Amas as a naughty husband experiences a pyjamaring at the hands of his strict, nanny like neighbour.

Stephen’s wife had gone to visit her sister in Kingsley; he would be alone for two possibly three days. She had left strict instructions that no parties or any other such frivolities should be held in her absence and she had also asked Miss Letherbridge, the elderly spinster next door, to keep an eye on him. After three years of marriage he was getting weary of being henpecked but he had made a vow and he felt morally bound to live by it. Asking Miss. Letherbridge to keep an eye on him was further proof of the increasingly subservient path his life was taking.
Miss Letherbridge  was a tall and elegant lady, in her early sixties, who seemed to have cast a spell over his wife shortly after they moved in. In his wife’s eyes Miss Letherbridge was a pillar of the community and her advice was always taken.
Stephen found her strangely attractive for a woman of her vintage. She was always immaculately dressed although her style was somewhat dated, crisp white blouses fully buttoned to the neck, cuffs neatly buttoned too and knee length black pleated skirts. She wore nylon stockings that did not completely conceal her still excellently shaped legs and on her feet she wore her trademark sensible black brogue shoes. With her greying, but still mainly auburn hair, tied up and pulled back in a bun that exposed her surprisingly unwrinkled face to scrutiny, for Stephen she epitomised his fantasy of a strict disciplinarian nanny figure.
Conversely, he had witnessed her private, beyond public view appearance. From their bedroom window he could see her hanging washing out on the line in her nightclothes and was surprised at how aroused this made him feel too. Her pyjama clad legs that were exposed below her dressing gown made him feel strangely attracted to her old fashioned nightwear and he secretly fantasised about wearing her pyjamas. He often looked longingly from their bedroom window at the back of the house over the privet hedge at Miss Lethbridge’s numerous winceyette pyjamas and nightgowns billowing seductively in the wind. He would amuse himself while enjoying the view and frequently fantasised about what it would feel like to put on a pair of her pyjamas.
The thought occurred to him that with his wife away an opportunity might just arise for him to borrow a pair from her line. As it transpired Miss Letherbridge was hanging out washing in her back garden including a pair of winceyette pyjamas with pink and blue flowers and a lace trimmed Peter Pan collar and what looked like a quilted floral house coat. As she pegged out the nightwear she frequently glanced up at the bedroom window as if she could sense he was there. Thankfully he was hidden behind the net curtains and could not be seen, however he felt strangely uncomfortable, it was almost as if she was watching him.
Boldly, he decided that after dark he would sneak through the hedge and take a pair of her pyjamas, sleep in them and have them returned before dawn. His decision excited him and he was highly aroused.
The evening wore on and the time of Stephen’s escapade drew near. In preparation he placed fresh sheets on the bed and cleaned the bedroom. He also sprinkled rose water on his sheets; a smell he always associated with Miss Letherbridge.
Just after dark Stephen took a stroll out the back garden to check on Miss Lethbridge’s house. it looked like all the curtains were pulled and the lights were out. Moving back toward the house he found a gap in the privet hedge, it was not easy, but with some effort he squeezed through. With great stealth and some trepidation he crept toward the line. He reached for the floral winceyette pyjamas and gasped at their softness as he took them from the line. With his prize in hand and great excitement he crept back toward the house and the gap in the hedge.
Just as he was about to make his escape the entire garden lit up. Standing there, three feet in front of him, and blocking his escape route was Miss Letherbridge, dressed in her trademark blouse and skirt.
“Hello Stephen, may I ask what you are up to?” Startled and feeling completely exposed Stephen sputtered something about thinking it was going to rain and how he had come down to take in her washing.
Smiling at his discomfort Miss Letherbridge thanked him for his concern and asked him to leave the washing in the kitchen while she fetched the rest from the line. Hesitantly he entered the kitchen and left his prize on the table; his hand lingering a little too long as he surrendered the prized winceyette pyjamas.
As he turned to leave, Miss Letherbridge entered the kitchen and locked the door behind her.
“Now Stephen, let’s get to the truth of this matter shall we?” She picked up the winceyette pyjama jacket from the table and moved toward him.
“I..I don’t know what you mean,” he stammered.
“Come, come now darling, I've seen you watching my clothes line from your bedroom window for quite some time. I know you fantasise about wearing my winceyette pyjamas, isn't that correct?”
By now she had backed him up against the kitchen wall and stood inches away from him. She stared down at him and he felt intoxicated by her rosewater fragrance.  
Staggered at her directness and the fact that his secret was out his voice quivered as he blurted out,
“please don’t tell my wife I..I never meant any harm. “
As the words came out Stephen realised he had confirmed her suspicions; he was shaking with nerves and anxiety.
Miss Letherbridge stroked his face with the pyjama jacket, "there, there little one. Don't be afraid, Nanny is going to take care of her sissy babykins and make everything right."
He struggled for breath, knowing she had him under her control but deeply and visibly, excited too. She took him by the arm and led him toward the stairs.
“Let’s get you undressed and into a warm scented bath shall we? Then we can talk this through when you have, err, calmed down.”
Despite his anxious state he was aroused by her suggestion and the dominant manner In which she took control of the situation. He acquiesced and meekly let himself be led upstairs.
Filling the bath Miss Letherbridge poured copious amounts of rose scented bath salts as the room began to fill with steam.
“Let’s get those nasty big boy clothes off shall we?”
She began to strip him, starting with his jeans and underpants. As he stood there semi-naked, he cupped his hands over his manhood to protect his modesty. Miss Letherbridge gently pulled his tee shirt off over his head forcing his hands apart.
“Don’t be embarrassed my darling, “I've seen many a naked male in my time,” she whispered. Sitting him on the edge of the bath she slid him into the piping hot water. The water felt luxurious, like silk, against his skin.
As he sank lower into the bath Miss Letherbridge grabbed a soapy sponge and plunged it deep into the water. Gently she began to wash his body.
“Now darling, let’s talk about your secret desires shall we? Let’s talk about your love of my winceyette pyjamas and your need to be mothered and treated like the helpless child you are.”
Stephen was already relaxed with the heat of the water and her words made him become deeply aroused. His manhood grew as she spoke and softly cleansed his body; bringing him to a state of excitement and arousal he had never experienced before. He was just about to reach orgasm when she withdrew the sponge.
“Please Miss Letherbridge……”He moaned in frustration”
“Now darling relax while I go and get something soft and exciting for you to wear; but don’t touch yourself or I shall be very annoyed and you won’t like me when I'm annoyed.”
Stephen was frustrated, he desperately wanted to relieve himself but was fearful of Miss Lethbridge’s reaction should he do so. He sat there with his enlarged member teasing him as it poked its head above the bath foam. Two minutes later Miss Letherbridge returned carrying a beautiful pair of white winceyette pyjamas with a large red rose pattern and a pink cotton velour bathrobe. Holding up the robe she invited him to step out of the bath. She wrapped the bathrobe around him and vigorously began to dry him. Stephen could not take his eyes off the pyjamas he so desperately wanted to touch them.
She followed his gaze. “Don’t worry darling it won’t be long now before you feel their soft embrace,” she promised.
Having completely dried him she began to sprinkle talc on his private parts and bottom. Finally removing the bathrobe she took the pyjama top and offered it up to his left arm.
“Now let’s see how these fit shall we?” As she slid the winceyette pyjama sleeve up over his arm his body tingled with excitement and his member became further engorged. Slipping his arm into the other sleeve she began to close the tiny satin covered buttons working from the bottom up. Fastening the top button she told him how sweet he looked and how she had kept these extra large pyjamas especially for his first pyjamaring. She finished by flattening down the lacy Peter Pan collar and adjusting the pyjama jacket’s sleeves.
Then she reached for the bottoms. Creating a little puddle of winceyette on the floor she took his right foot and placed it into the bottoms. Slowly she slid the bottoms up his leg holding them open at his knee. Resting his weight on her shoulder, he willingly put his left leg into the pyjamas. As she pulled the pyjama bottoms up past his groin, Stephen could not believe the height of his arousal as the winceyette caressed his penis before she finally rested the waistband high above his belly button. She looked deep into his eyes as she tucked his pyjama top into the bottoms; he was now completely encased in the soft, feminine pyjamas. Grasping his now enlarged member through the winceyette, Stephen finally ejaculated with a cry of ecstasy. He was spent and elated and wanted no more than to spend the rest of his days embraced by soft, cosy winceyette, snuggled in the bosom of Miss Letherbridge.
She however looked with disdain at the growing wet patch on his pyjama bottoms.
“Stephen darling what are we going to do with you? I had just washed and ironed those pyjamas especially for your pyjamaring and you have already ruined them. There is nothing to be done but to get you a clean pair; come with me.”
Taking him by the hand she led him into a box room, now lie on the bed while I select you another pair of pyjamas. Opening a chest of drawers she took out two pairs of pyjamas, one pink floral pair with a ruffle neck and one lemon yellow with little brown teddies.
“Now my angel, which pair of pyjamas would you like to wear?” She asked?
Stephen’s hand reached out to touch the pink floral pair.
“Delightful choice darling. Now let’s get those soiled pyjamas off and get you ready for beddy-byes. However this time I think we should put you into a pair of night time pyjama pants to capture any nocturnal secretions; don’t you agree?”
Stephen was beyond caring at this stage, he was totally under her spell as his deepest desires were being met. He lay on the bed and accepted his fate as she once again stripped him and put him into the oversized winceyette pyjamas, this time safely ensconced in an adult nappy. Could his world get any better he thought.
“Now my little pyjama clad hero, let me tuck you into bed, in the morning we can discuss how our relationship will proceed, but first you need a good night’s sleep.” She said, lifting his legs up and positioning him on the bed.
“After all, now that your little secret is out we shall have to ensure pyjamaring becomes an integral part of your daily routine shan't we?”
As he lay back in the bed she straightened out his pyjamas ensuring his legs and torso were fully covered. She then pulled the blankets high up to his chin and placed his arms on top of the bed spread.
“We don’t want you playing with yourself at night now do we?”
As she left the room she turned off the light and locked the door behind her. Stephen lay in total darkness knowing he was completely under her control but dressed in the softest winceyette and in exquisite comfort.
He would be hers forever and he felt warm and complete inside.