Babified Husband. A strict wife ensures her husband is subjected to humiliating babykins discipilne

When we married, my husband was aware that I was a dominant person who believed in discipline for males, however, I do not think he realised what I had in mind for him as regards his status in our marriage. I didn't want children, I wanted him as my docile, well disciplined, obedient little boy. He was flattered that I had “fallen” for him as he was, and is, a diminutive, young man, several years my junior, whereas I am tall and easily his physical superior and naturally authoritative. Put simply I enjoy ordering him around and humiliating him.

I ensure that he is made to wear infantile clothes on a daily basis and insist on him behaving in a manner that befits his status in my house as the baby of the family. Dressed in his absurd outfits he is required to speak in a soft, "ickle boy", babyish voice and to use a vocabulary appropriate for a very young, shy little boy. I only ever address him as Bunnykins and he must always call me Mummy Dearest or Mummykins. I have trained him to ask permission before entering or leaving a room occupied by “gwown ups”. He must also do this for things such as leaving the dinner table or for example when he needs to go tinkle. “Pwease may I use my potty Mummy Dwearest?”

He has become used to being dressed in his ridiculous babyish outfits that are deliberately designed to degrade and humiliate, but he still blushes with shame at having to act like a young child, particularly in front of others. Of course, I make sure “Bunnykins,” is displayed to a few regular ladies who enjoy the opportunity to tease and humiliate him further, much to his chagrin but to my delight and enjoyment.

Recently, Bunnykins was ironing in the utility room. He was wearing a little boy style white shirt with a Peter Pan collar.  A baby blue ribbon tied into a flounced bow adorned the neckline and he wore burgundy velvet shorts buttoned sweetly onto the shirt that showed a hint of the thick towelling nappies he wore underneath. 

His hairless legs are adorned with knee-length white socks and on his feet are a pair of yellow fur lined little boy bunny rabbit slippers that complete his simple but ludicrously emasculating outfit.

As I came to check on him I noticed the temperature of the iron had far too hot a setting. I bent down and slapped the back of his bare legs. He yelped nervously as I admonished him, “be very careful with that iron Bunnykins,” I threatened, “if you burn my blouse I will put you across my knee do you understand?”

“Y..y...y..ess, mummy dwearest,” he answered nervously, “ Bunnykins is vewy sowwy mummy dwearest,” I smiled indulgently, “That's a good Bunnykins,” and patted him condescendingly on the head, his hair, at my insistence, is cut into a fringe to help emphasise his childish appearance

The dummy pinned to his various outfits is really just to help emphasise his infantile lifestyle.  I find it more amusing and humiliating to make Bunnykins suck his thumb. This I have taught him to do whenever he encounters stressful situations, which is many and often.

The sudden ringing of the doorbell made him very anxious indeed, Bunnykins stress levels soared and his thumb was immediately put straight into his mouth. His thumb sucking became more vigorous and he looked at me fearfully, hoping against hope that I would not make him answer the door.

If Bunnykins is wearing say, his pale yellow romper suit with the little lambs on and I want to display him to a stranger at the door, then I will do so, regardless of any amount of pleading and begging by him. Of course on this occasion, I was having no such nonsense, as I knew full well who was ringing.

“Bunnykins, answer the door at once!” I ordered, making him jump as he removed his thumb reluctantly from his mouth and whispered in his little boy voice, “Yeth mummykins.”
He reached the door just as the doorbell rang a second time.  He opened it a few inches and peered timidly out before my sister Susan pushed open the door and confronted my hapless hubby.

“Bunnykins, what were you thinking taking so long to answer the door? She teased my pathetic hubby. Susan has often seen Bunnykins in his baby clothes, but she can be relied upon to find new ways to tease and humiliate him, which is why I look forward to her visits.  She has the power to make him incredibly nervous and this is the reason he is wearing his towelling nappies, for Susan can, quite literally, frighten poor Bunnykins into wetting himself; humiliating for him, quite delightful for Susan and me.

“Come and give your Aunty Susan a kiss and say hello to me properly,” she said, proffering her cheek to be kissed. He slowly approached her and, removing his thumb from his mouth, Bunnykins managed to give her a timorous peck on the cheek for Susan as she proffered her face to be kissed.

"How vewy nice to thee you Auntie Thusan", he said softly, his eyes lowered to the floor.

She smiled broadly, enjoying the sight of my husband dressed so babyishly and so obviously intimidated by her.

Susana took him by the hand as she sat down, “let me take a look at you Bunnykins she teased, “you look so very smart today, with your sweet baby boy shirt and cute little shorts not to mention your gorgeous slippers.  They are very sweet indeed, but I'm afraid they're not clothes for grown-ups, are they Bunnykins?”

“No Aunty Thusan,” he replied, his face growing red with embarrassment. Her arm entwined his waist and toyed with the big buttons holding his shorts and shirt together."That's correct, only naughty little baby boys wear clothes like these, don't they Bunnykins?”

Poor Bunnykins, could not answer or look her in the face and instead fixed his gaze on his yellow slippers.
"Are you being shy Bunnykins or do you need to go across Aunty Susan's lap for a smacked botty?" She asked, this time more firmly.

"Bunnykins is vewy sowwy. He doesn't want a smacked botty Aunty Thusan." I laughed out loud at his reply as I find it highly amusing to hear Bunnykins refer to himself in the third person.

Susan stroked his hair, and said quite softly, "there-there Bunnykins don't you fret, Aunty Susan didn't mean to frighten you." Then, quite out of the blue she startled both myself and more amusingly Bunnykins by clapping her hands sharply and announcing.

"Teapot, song please Bunnykins.  Bunnykins knew only too well what that meant. I have trained him to perform several babyish songs as I believe they are another excellent way to instil in him a proper infantile attitude and demeanour. He sings Rock-a-bye-Baby and Twinkle-Twinkle Little Star very sweetly indeed but Susan's favourite is his rendition of "I'm a Little Teapot", complete with the appropriate hand gestures. She enjoys seeing Bunnykins humiliating himself so much that she insists on him performing it whenever she visits. He doesn't like doing it but of course, that makes his efforts even more entertaining.  He knows he must perform with a pretty smile and proper infant like enthusiasm, this particularly embarrasses him.

He is several years younger than us and there was a time when she was my rival for his affection, she too, recognising early on what a prime candidate he was to be totally subservient to our requirements. Now she can look at him only with amusement tinged with disdain, particularly when he becomes our charmingly reluctant "teapot". I love watching him perform, his lowered eyes shyly unable to meet Susan's commanding gaze.

Susan was not quite satisfied with his "Teapot" rendition this time, so she tapped his little velvet-clad bottom with the palm of her hand and stood him face to the wall in a corner and instructed him to keep practising. She and I sat down to tea in the living room as his gentle childish prattle serenaded us from the hall, “short and stout” we heard repeatedly being practised. 

Occasionally, she called out from the couch to correct him, a reminder that she was still keeping an eye on him. He made an amusing sight, chirping away in the corner and adding the obligatory curtsey after each rendition.  His plump bottom, perfectly moulded by the sweet little velvet shorts, bobbed enticingly up and down with each curtsey.

The doorbell rang again. Of course Bunnykins was once more reduced to a state of fear and anxiousness. Not knowing what else to do, in his panic he put his thumb back in his mouth and Susan and I couldn't help laughing at the ridiculousness of his demeanour before I smacked his bottom and told him to continue with his practise. 

Susan answered the door herself. It was Grace, the seventeen-year-old young woman who I intended to introduce as a "babysitter" for Bunnykins. Grace had not yet met Bunnykins, but Susan had told her all about him and so we had invited her around to introduce him.

Grace saw Bunnykins in the corner bending sideways impersonating a tea-pot, paused in disbelief, and started to laugh. She tried to restrain herself, covering her mouth with her hand, but that only made her laugh harder.  She could only continue laughing helplessly that Susan and I could not help but join in.

Poor Bunnykins didn't know what to do. He remained in the corner but stopped his tea-pot practice and once again began furiously sucking his thumb. He couldn't bear to look at her yet at the same time couldn't help casting furtive sideways glances at Grace. He might have stood there paralysed with fear all day if Susan hadn't taken him by the hand and introduced him.

"Grace", said Susan, "I'd like you to meet Master Bunnykins Winceyette, isn't he a sweet example of a babified male?"

The absurd name prompted another titter from Grace, as did a shy curtsey from Bunnykins.
"How do you do Master Bunnykins Winceyette", Grace smiled and chucked him under the chin. "What a perfectly lovely name."

It was all dreadfully and delightfully unfair. He was trying so hard to be a good Bunnykins but was finding only more embarrassment for his trouble.  

As Grace looked at him delightedly, Bunnykins hung his head in despair and a tear trickled down his face.

Now it was my turn to comfort him. Catching his tear with my finger, I sat him upon my knee and cradled his head against my chest. Peter is small in stature and lightweight for a male so I find it quite easy to accommodate him this way. I put his thumb into his mouth and made him nurse quietly as I soothed him with baby talk.

"Oh, my poor ickle Bunnykins.  Mummy knows "ow tewwibly frightening it is when big stwange ladies see just how ickle and pwecious oo are . . .."

Grace quickly picked up on my baby talk and began to tease him.

"Ickle Bunnykins is like a fwightened bunny wabbit, isn't he? Vewy scared of the gwown ups".

Upon hearing her words I immediately remembered his new pyjamas and told the ladies about his new yellow winceyette pyjamas with the bunny rabbit motif. Of course, as soon as I mentioned the existence of his pyjamas Grace and Susan were insistent that he should be dressed in them at once so that they could tease and further humiliate the pathetic creature. 

Grace volunteered to undress Bunnykins. She gently removed his bonnet, shorts and blouse making Bunnykins fold each item neatly until he stood quite naked before us. Grace giggled as Susan slapped his hands away as he tried to preserve his modesty.

“Now den Bunnykins, ickle boys like you have nothing to hide from gwown ups,” she teased.”  

We watched as Grace manoeuvred his arms into his quite delightfully babyish pyjamas which were adorned with a pattern of fluffy baby bunnies. Jane and I looked on with amusement as his head popped out the pyjama top and he emerged surrounded by the froth of a large floppy frilly collar. Three Mother of Pearl buttons secured the neck and a long pink ribbon fastened into a pretty bow at the neckline. Grace commentated as she dressed him. “What lovely jim-jams you have Bunnykins, what a lucky boy you are.” 

The cuffs of the sleeves were lightly elasticised and also fringed with outrageous frilliness and as Grace fussily adjusted the bow again she praised Bunnykins for being such “a pwecious Bunnykins" She manoeuvred his legs into the footed pyjama bottoms before declaring that he was, "all weddy for beddy-byes,”

When Grace had put my babified husband into his ridiculously childish pyjamas, I sat him on my lap and bounced him up and down. Bunnykins does enjoy being babied but only when we are alone. He becomes ashamed when others witness his infantile behaviour as he is exposed as a pathetic male who is nothing but an adut infantile baby who requires strong confident women to control every aspect of his babykins life. 

He began to whimper pitifully as the tears began to flow. Slowly his sobs subsided. He opened his eyes to discover Grace bending forward and looking directly at him only inches away from his face.

"Boo!" she said playfully and pressed her index finger against the tip of his nose. Grace could not have been gentler, but her overtures made the baby dissolve into tears again. We roared with laughter. 

"He does seem to be the perfect crybaby" observed Susan.

"Ickle Bunnykins has lost his cuwwidge, hasn't he?" she teased, "I wonder where it could be? Have the bunny wabbits on Bunnykins jim-jams got his cuwwidge I wonder?"

She waited for him to answer; "come along answer Aunty Susan," she ordered.

Poor Bunnykins was forced to shake his head no in reply and then Susan proceeded to make my poor hubby hippity-hop around the room like a bunny rabbit, looking high and low for his lost "cuwwidge".

Unfortunately, his pyjama bottoms were a tad too large and Bunnykins had to hang on to the waistband as he hopped like a real bunny to avoid losing his jammy bottoms. Susan however, seemed oblivious to his plight as she set about making him look for his lost "cuwwidge" all over the house.

It didn't seem to be on the mantelpiece, or under the couch, or in the magazine rack.  Bunnykins was required to inspect each area and to tell "Auntie Susan" that no, his "cuwwidge" wasn't there and he didn't know where it might be. Susan pretended to be stumped, but a mischievous sparkle in her eye told a different story.  

Eventually it was decided that Bunnykins must have accidentally thrown his "cuwwidge" away and he would have to be a frightened bunny rabbit who would have be a babified permanently. He looked nervously at me, uncertain what do and we all collapsed in fits of laughter and my pathetic husband once again burst into tears.

"Oh dear, I think Bunnykins is quite tired out and since he is already wearing his pyjamas you may as well have an early night," I told him.

"Come on Baby Bunnykins, time to prepare for beddy-byes, go and fetch Teddy and your potty." Bunnykins once again looked slightly fearful but I ushered him through to the cloakroom. He returned momentarily clutching his potty and his dry-nite. 
We ladies watched delightedly as Bunnykins lowered his pyjama bottoms and squatted on his potty.

"Who's a good boy den?" I praised as I sent him scurrying off to discard the contents and clean up. When he returned it was time to put on his dry-nite pyjama pants. At first, Bunnykins was going to be petulant but a sharp smack on the legs from Aunty Susan soon had him stepping into them and she pulled them up before putting him back into his bunny pyjama bottoms.

"There now, Bunnykins needs the nappy-wappy cos he does wee-wee's in beddy-byes thanks to his babyish early bedtime doesn't he?"

Bunnykins could only nod his head and suck his thumb miserably as he clutched his teddy bear and I decided to give the girls a final display of my complete control of my husband.

“Come along now Bunnykins, not only is it your bedtime, it's Teddy's bedtime too isn't it?”

My pathetic hubby, sitting cross-legged on the floor wearing his yellow bunny rabbit pyjamas and surrounded by his tormentors could only nod miserably.

"Has teddy been good or  naughty today?" I asked, then quickly I said. "Actually, I saw teddy sneaking a biscuit from the tin today so he has been a very naughty teddy and needs a spanking, doesn't he?"

Bunnykins hesitated and it was Susan who prompted, "answer mummy pet lamb."

"Yes mummy dwearest, Teddy needs a thpanking." he lisped in his pathetic whispered voice. We all worked hard to suppress giggles as my hubby placed the bear over his knee. "Give teddy his spanking Bunnykins," I instructed.

His embarrassment was tangible as he turned the stuffed toy over his lap and smacked its bottom six times. “Oh dear, teddy's crying Bunnykins, give him a huggy kiss-kiss to make him all better.”

Three pairs of female eyes gleefully watches as my husband hugged and then kissed his teddy bear. "Put teddy to beddy-byes now Bunnykins." 

It was really not possible to stifle our laughter any longer as we watched Bunnykins walk to a shoe box in the corner of the room with a piece of old blanket inside. This was teddy's bed.

"Tuck him in nice and tight like a good Bunny," I said with great difficulty, "now, sing Rock-a-Bye Baby to Teddy so he goes to sleep quickly just like mummy sings to you Bunnykins.

I am afraid there was mirth aplenty as my feeble, emasculated hubby sang a very sweet version of the lullaby to his Teddy.

“Is Teddy's fast asleep yet?" I asked in a stage whisper, my husband nodded nervously, hoping it was the right answer. “Leave quietly then.” 

As I had taught him, Bunnykins then tiptoed backwards in a highly exaggerated manner.
Susan and I convulse with laughter at my husband's performance but Grace extends her arms out wide and exclaims, "clever Bunnykins," and he collapsed sobbing into her outstretched arms.

By now I knew it was time for the entertainment to come to an end and I quickly took his hand. "Now be a good boy and kiss Aunty Susan and Aunty Grace night-night and we'll get you tucked into beddy-byes just like teddy shall we?"

It took another five minutes to get him upstairs into his Sesame Street themed bedroom as they made such a fuss of petting him and telling him how sweet he looked all ready for beddy-byes and then kissing him goodnight lots of times with lots of huggy kiss-kisses that Bunnykins became a little too excited, so much so that when I eventually got him upstairs I had to smack his botty to calm him down.

I tucked him into his narrow bed and kissed his forehead leaving him in his darkened room to reflect on his eventful day as Bunnykins Winceyette.

His Pyjamaring Complete. Pete Amas has sent another part of his excellent story. I have put the three parts together, enjoy the read!

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 clothesline 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 visibly 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, you 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 through 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 thighs, 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 tentatively to touch the pink floral pair.


“Oh what a wonderful choice darling, you will look so pretty wearing the jim-jams. Now, let’s get those soiled pyjamas off and get you ready for beddy-byes. However this time I think we should put you in a pair of nighttime 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 and get you to sleepy-byes. 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 tucked him tightly in.


“Night night little one,” she whispered turning off the light as she left the room. Stephen lay in total darkness knowing he was completely under her control but dressed in the pinkest, softest winceyette pyjamas and in exquisite comfort.


Stephen awoke. He lay in bed squirming against the softness of the winceyette while admiring his floral patterned, pyjama clad arms as he lay beneath the candlewick bedspread. However, despite his obvious physical pleasure, he had an uncomfortable sense of guilt; as if he had done something wrong or did something that could not be undone. He realised he was ashamed that he had allowed himself to be pyjamaed by Miss Letherbridge and felt he had betrayed his wife Jennifer.

He heard Miss Letherbridge turn the door handle, she entered, Immaculately dressed, as usual, carrying a quilted housecoat and a pair of pink slippers. 

“Good morning darling, did you have a lovely winceyette pyjama clad night’s sleep? I bet you did but now it’s time to get you out of beddy-byes and ready for breakfast.“ She pulled back the bedclothes to reveal his pink floral, pyjama clad body. “That’s a good boy Stephen, I can
tell that you weren't naughty during the night.”

Following her instructions like a subservient child, he stepped out of the bed and she gently placed the slippers on his feet and draped the housecoat over his shoulders slipping his arms into the sleeves. “Do I have to wear this?” he protested.


Looking sternly into his eyes she proceeded to tightly close the top two buttons around his neck. “Those kind of decisions are no longer yours to make, little man,” she replied.

Taking him by the arm like a little child, she led him down the landing. At the top of the stairs, they paused as Miss Letherbridge placed her hands upon his shoulders. She turned him toward a full-length mirror and for the first time, he saw the transformation he had
undergone. In front of him stood a meek, emasculated man dressed in women's
pink floral winceyette pyjamas a floral housecoat and pink, feminine slippers.
He realised for the first time how large the pyjamas were and how the bottoms
gathered around his feet covering the slippers. In the cold light of day, he
felt that he looked ridiculous and was ashamed. The excitement and arousals of the previous evening were evaporating.

Sensing his mood Miss Letherbridge patted his manhood through the winceyette pyjama bottoms and nappy whispering, “we are not so virile now, are we darling?”
Feeling a sense of panic well up in his stomach he asked if he could have his clothes back.He wanted to go home. 

“Don’t be silly darling, male clothes will be a rarity for you from now on, soft feminine winceyette pyjamas will be the only clothing you are permitted to wear.”

She led him down the stairs and into the kitchen. There sitting at the table was his wife Jennifer. Stephen was ashen faced and he feebly attempted to blurt some
the pathetic excuse about ruining his clothes.

She stood and put her finger to his lips. “Now darling not a word, I just want to enjoy how helpless and exquisite you look in your jim-jams. Miss Letherbridge rang last night to tell
me of her success in completing your first pyjamaring. We have planned this moment so long and I'm just sorry I was not here for your very first time. But now that it has occurred there is no going back. I will have the pleasure, with the advice and guidance of Miss Letherbridge of course, of conducting your pyjamaring education.”

Jennifer unbuttoned his housecoat and removed it before placing her hands on his pink pyjama clad shoulders. She ran her hands down his arms, caressing the winceyette material as she did so, before continuing to his thighs then to his groin, where she paused, pressing her palms against his pyjama bottoms and nappy through to his by now, growing excitement.

“You were a good boy for Miss Letherbridge weren't you?” she asked, increasing the pressure. He gasped then
she quickly took her hand away. “Now, now Stephen, the whole point of
pyjamaring is to make you subservient, we will use pyjamas to control you and
make you obey without dissent. Miss Letherbridge, how shall his pyjamaring
education proceed?”

Miss Letherbridge smiled, Jennifer would make an excellent student and would soon be an expert at pyjamaring her husband.

“Well the first thing,” she began, “is to set out Stephen's daily routine and chores. In my experience early to bed and early to rise are central to a strict disciplinary regime. He should
rise every day at 6.30 am, bringing you your breakfast in bed by 7, followed by
four hours of chores. All while wearing the winceyette pyjamas you have chosen for him of
course. I suggest a visit to Mrs Bagshott’s ladies wear shop on the high street, she will be able to show you a variety of pyjamas and Stephen will be ably supplied with his own female winceyette pyjamas. Of course, he can keep the pair he's wearing as a
reminder of his first pyjamaring.”

Miss Letherbridge delivered a sharp slap to Stephen’s face.”Stand up straight, I have no time for slovenliness.”

Stephen cried out but received no sympathy as Miss Letherbridge continued.

“At 12.00 he should make you lunch followed by more chores such as washing, drying and ironing. 4.00 will be his bath time which you can either supervise or not. Regardless, you will then take charge of his afternoon pyjamaring when he will have his jim-jams changed and put
into his nappy. His bedtime is your decision but I would recommend a bedtime no later than 6 pm. You may also want to administer a smacked botty at this time. I have found sending pyjamaed males to bed with a pyjama spanking is an excellent reminder of their subservient, menial position. You will  then want him tucked up  and off to sleepy-byes as  quickly as you can, I recommend heavy blackout curtains as it can be difficult to get them off to sleep during the summer.”

She paused to slap Stephen’s hand away from fiddling with the buttons on his pyjama jacket.

“Stop that, hands on head!” Jennifer noted how quickly her husband had obeyed Miss Letherbridge as he stood blushing in his pink floral winceyette pyjamas and with his hands on his head like a naughty child. Miss Letherbridge shot him a disapproving look and continued.

“Eventually, you will want him to serve afternoon tea to your female friends and then they can have the pleasure of seeing him dressed in his pretty feminine winceyette pyjamas and perhaps you may want one or two of them to dress him and put him to bed, thus introducing the idea of pyjamaring for other women to adopt our methods.”

As Stephen listened to the two women discuss his new life, all the pleasure he had experienced in willingly stepping into Miss Letherbridge winceyette pyjamas dissolved as he realised he had trapped himself into a life of winceyette servitude.
“Please Jennifer, let me go home and get dressed in my normal clothes,” he begged.

“Don’t be silly darling, “ she said stroking his reddened face, “you’re already wearing your normal clothes. Now, we shall walk hand in hand out into the street and home to begin your new life.”

Jennifer and Miss Letherbridge took him by the hand and moved him to the front door.
Realising his situation was about to become public he tried to resist and dug
his slipper-clad feet into the carpet.

Miss Letherbridge twisted his ear, “you see Jennifer, never hesitate to impose discipline,” he yelled in pain as he was marched out of the front door.  Across the road, Mrs Daniels watched the scene as a winceyette pyjama clad Stephen was paraded for all to see. Other neighbours watched as Stephen tried to hide behind the two women. However a smack to his pyjama clad bottom from Miss Letherbridge seemed to cure his reticence.

“Don't worry Stephen, she announced,“I've had the pleasure of pyjamaring all the gentlemen on this road and they now know how to behave in the presence of females, just as you will learn in the coming years. 

Soon you will be so conditioned and comfortable with your pyjamaring that you will be content to be permanently dressed in your pretty winceyette jim-jams, you won't want to wear big boy clothes anymore, and you will join the ranks of subservient males in our little neighbourhood. What heavenly fun we will have then shan't we?”

Weeks passed since Stephen's first pyjamaring at the hands of Miss Letherbridge. In all that time not once had he been allowed to wear day clothes. Indeed one of the first things his wife Jennifer did after his embarrassing parade through the street was to donate all his clothes to the local charity shop. 


Everything was gone, he also had to endure the daily embarrassment of being stripped and bathed, treated as if he was a little boy constantly dressed and re-dressed in his ridiculously feminine jimjams, indeed he could not recall the last time he had been allowed to make a decision; his life had changed radically.

What was perhaps more worrying, was that all forms of intimacy with Jennifer had ceased, it was apparent that she no longer saw him as an equal partner but as a helpless man-child that needed protecting from the world.  Initially following his first pyjamaring, Miss Letherbridge had provided a steady supply of soft, feminine winceyette pyjamas. However one morning, Jennifer announced he would be accompanying them into town to visit Miss Bagshot's drapery shop to purchase a new supply of feminine winceyette pyjamas. 

The shame he felt travelling on public transport wearing oversized white winceyette pyjamas with little pink flowers, pink slippers and a cerise quilted dressing gown, was the most humiliating experience of his life, particularly as his two chaperones kept fussing with his attire and commenting on how sweet he looked.

The shop itself was an anachronism; like something from the 1950’s. He was marched up to the counter that was festooned with glass and oak, rows of drawers displayed their intimate contents. Behind the counter stood Miss Bagshot, a woman who could well have been Ms Letherbridge's sister such was the resemblance. 

“What a delightful sight ladies. It gladdens my heart to see yet another male introduced to strict pyjama discipline, I do hope you brought him here by public transport?”

Jennifer confirmed that indeed Stephen had endured the bus journey dressed in his ‘going out’ pyjamas and Stephen realised this large, intimidating female was fully supportive of his their pyjama discipline regime.

“I assume ladies that you are seeking suitable jimjams for this ridiculous little man, am I correct?”
Miss Letherbridge answered. “Of course Gwyneth, please show us your prettiest, most feminine winceyette male subjugating jimjams.”

Gwyneth Bagshot perched her spectacles on the edge of her nose before looking Stephen up and down. 

“Hmm,” she began, “Looking at his modest build, I'd say size an eighteen long would be most appropriate wouldn't you agree?”

Without waiting for a reply she busily began opening drawers in the units behind the counter and began to place a range of women's winceyette pyjamas on the counter top.

Stephen was aghast at what he was witnessing. He had been forced to wear 
Miss Letherbridge's nightwear since his pyjamaring began but the thought of Jennifer having access to a plentiful supply of frilly, feminine winceyette pyjamas to continue his enforced emasculation made him feel utterly despondent and he realised his independence would be gone forever.

After just three weeks of being subjected to pyjama discipline, he was aware that his confidence and ability to make simple decisions was rapidly disappearing, what, he wondered, would he be like in a year's time?

Looking at the sea of winceyette being unfolded in front of him he realised his yearning for the soft caress of feminine pyjamas was now greatly diminished, what lay spread out in front of him was a future of domestic institutionalisation.

Gwyneth's voice pulled him back to his present bizarre situation.

“May I suggest we remove his lovely going out pyjamas so we can proceed?”

Stephen stood there helplessly as the ladies removed his quilted dressing gown and begin to unbutton his pyjama top. He immediately began to shiver, he realised the shop was cold and he desperately tried to cling onto his pyjama jacket, but as he did so Gwyneth pulled down his bottoms revealing his manhood. He could not resist three pairs of female hands and within seconds he was standing naked, a pool of winceyette gathered at his feet. 

“Stop this,” he pleaded. “You have no right to treat me this way.”

Jennifer laughed. “Darling what do you mean? We have every right to treat you this way, you wanted this remember? You longed to be swathed in soft feminine winceyette, this is your dream, so stop making such a fuss or do you want to go over my knee for a smacked bottom?” 

Miss Bagshot had completely ignored his outburst and held up a pale blue and white floral pyjama top with a high ruffled collar and elasticated frilly cuffs.

“Let’s try these on for size shall we?” She began to undo the buttons while commenting on the softness of the pyjamas and how sweet they would look on Stephen.

As Gwyneth slipped the pyjama top up his arms and around his shoulders, Jennifer and Miss Letherbridge noted that despite the obvious sensual nature of the act and circumstances it was having no effect on his manhood. They smiled at each other.

Gwyneth also noticed and commentated that Stephen was, “such a well behaved little boy. You ladies have done a wonderful job on Stephen, you should be very proud. Few of the wayward males who experience a pyjamaring here are so passively accepting of their new, pyjama clad life.” 

Then, looking directly at Stephen as she began to button up the pyjama jacket. “There now, doesn’t that feel nice and cosy?” 

Stephen welcomed the warmth of the winceyette and as Gwyneth finished closing the top button she ran her hands along the sleeves pulling them down Stephen's arms. The top flared outward and the bottom of the hem nestled on his manhood, softly caressing it but Stephen felt nothing but anxiety.

He held out his arms and looked aghast at the outfit he found himself wearing. The sleeves were obviously too long and extended way past the tips of his fingers and the lace on the collar scratched at his neck. 

However, Miss Bagshot enthused. “Oh ladies, that looks perfect, doesn’t he look sweet? Now, shall we try the jimjam bottoms?”

Gwyneth began to unfold the bottoms which seemed inordinately long. Kneeling before him she held them open at his feet. Meekly he stepped from one puddle of winceyette to the other. Slowly Gwyneth pulled the bottoms up past his calves, his thighs, his manhood and his navel. Eventually resting the elastic just below his chest as the bottoms tightened under his crotch. She then proceeded to tuck the top into the bottoms. He looked down the length of his body and despite the elastic of the bottoms almost touching his nipples there were inches of excess winceyette pooling around his ankles.

Smoothing down the winceyette, Gwyneth ran her hands down the outside of his legs and up the inside of his leg. His anxiety faded as he felt the warmth of her hands through the soft winceyette. 

“Well, I do believe there are some stirrings down below ladies. He's not fully gelded yet I perceive. But doesn't he look divine? I would say they are a perfect fit don't you think? We have worked very closely with the manufacturers and local women to ensure we have the best range of jimjams suitable for our pyjamaed men. There is no other town in the country that has such success in this department.”

Jennifer was delighted with the result. There stood her husband, publicly stripped of his masculinity. She would ensure he was permanently pyjamaed and dependent on her for the rest of his days. 

“How many pairs of pyjamas would you suggest we purchase?” she asked 

“Well, we usually recommend two sets of jimjams per day so 14 in total but can I suggest you also take some of our pre-loved range? We frequently take donations from other ladies whose husbands have outgrown their jim-jams and require larger sizes. Unfortunately, this can be a downside of pyjama discipline, particularly if you don't enforce a strict diet and ensure plenty of domestic chores. Some poor unfortunate chaps pile on the weight after pyjamaring and years of domestic servitude.”

 She had led them through to the back of the shop. “Here we have our preloved range, you will find they are the softest winceyette jimjams we can offer and after numerous cycles of washing, tumble drying and ironing they are quite exquisite. Shall we say seven new and seven preloved? I will order you a taxi to take you and your purchases home, I have an account with a young woman who just loves driving pink winceyette pyjama clad males home.”


“Thank you, Miss Bagshot that would be wonderful.” Jennifer turned to her husband.


“Well Stephen you look positively ridiculous wearing your oversized female winceyette pyjamas but that is how you will be permanently dressed from now on. You will spend your days doing household chores for Miss Letherbridge and myself until 5 pm when you will be bathed, dressed in clean pyjamas and put to bed. Yes, you will be tucked up in bed by 6 pm every night. No more nights out with the boys, no more football matches just lots of housework and early bedtimes. Welcome to your world of pyjama and early bedtime discipline!”

Cynthia now has complete control in choosing the pyjamas I must wear when she drives me down to Aunty's. She has already chosen four pairs of pyjamas for the weekend from which two pairs will become my Travelling Pyjamas and the other two pair will be my Saturday and Sunday, Afternoon Pyjamas

If anyone has anything they wish to contribute then you can send direct to me at wincypj@googlemail.com Some pyjama pictures would be welcome

My Travelling Pyjamas and my Weekend Pyjamarings

Cynthia selected these pyjamas for me to wear on the car journey back from Aunties.

Aunty insisted I wore my red striped pyjamas for lunch and then gave me outside cornertime for not eating up all my broccolli. One smacked bottom later and I was put to bed early

Cynthia and Aunty went out for the evening so I was left in the care of Mrs Jacobson. She soon had me bathed and my hair washed and made ready for bed in a pair of floral footed pyjamas

A well deserved pyjama spanking

Spanked, Pyjamaed and Mittened

On Friday Miss Bracegirdle let herself into my flat with the keys my aunt had provided for her.  I was dressing for work and had on only my shirt and tie as she swept in and barged past me into my bedroom. Moments later she emerged holding my pyjama bottoms.

“Just as your aunt and Mrs Jacobson suspected,” she said accusingly as she examined the pyjamas.

“Masturbating!” she exclaimed. You were playing with yourself last night you disgusting little boy, here is the proof. What do you have to say for yourself?”

The pyjama bottoms were thrust under my nose and the dried, stiffened material was sufficient evidence that was difficult to deny.

I was immediately taken across her knee and given a well-smacked bottom. Goodness knows what the old lady who lives below me thought upon listening to my howls of pain as Cynthia Bracegirdle reddened my behind.

I was made to phone work and advise then I felt unwell and Cynthia proceeded to remove my shirt and tie.

I was quite naked as she informed me. “Your aunt wants you to visit her and has asked me to accompany you down immediately, I have your travelling nightwear with me here and I want to see you in your pyjamas in two minutes.”

She sat and watched as I stood in front of her and fumbled with the buttons on the red striped pyjama jacket Cynthia handed me. Sheer nervousness caused me to struggle putting my feet into the pyjamas bottoms as she looked on with impatience.

Finally she could stand it no longer and pulled the pyjama bottoms up herself and tied the pyjama cord tightly around my waist.

“Now then, handie-pandies please.” I looked at her stupidly but once she began to put my hands into the pink mittens I understood perfectly well.

“There now, that should ensure we have no shenanigans on the drive down.” 

Once I had put on my tartan slippers I was taken by the hand and marched down to her car as if I was a naughty little boy. Luckily no-one saw us as my pyjama and mitten clad self was thrust into the car for the long drive to my aunts.