Winifred and Cecilia tucked Peterkins into bed. They carefully placed his pyjama clad arms on top of the blankets by his side, before they withdrew from the room, Cecilia gathered up Peter’s clothes and shoes. ‘You won't be needing these again Peterkins so we shall put them away for you.”
Standing by the door, Winifred looked sternly at Peter informing him that any misbehaviour would not be tolerated and would result in a painful spanking. As they turned off the light and pulled the door tightly behind them Peterkins could hear a heavy clunk as the door was locked.
He was trapped but unperturbed. He had always fantasised about such a scenario and despite his nervousness could not believe his luck. He enjoyed being under the spell of such powerful older women as he lay in a strange bed wearing an old pair of beautifully soft flannel pyjamas. He was ridden with a delightful anxiety that seemed to heighten his arousal.
Reaching under the blankets he could not resist caressing himself through the pyjama bottoms. Despite his highly aroused state of mind and continued fondling he couldn't rise to the occasion and was becoming increasingly frustrated with his lack of performance.
30 minutes later he was exasperated. What the hell is going on he thought? He turned over onto his face and pressed hard against the mattress with his arms down by his side caressing his legs through the pyjamas. Yet despite all his efforts, nothing was stirring.
Peterkins awoke sometime later with a desperate urge to pee. He crept out of bed and fumbled toward the door using the light under the doorway as his guide. He pulled desperately at the handle to get out of the room but forgot that the door had been locked as Winifred and Cecilia left the room. He softly called their names but to no avail. After 15 minutes of pleading and whimpering, he returned to bed and squirmed up in a foetal position to ease the pain. 30 minutes later he was in agony and pee began to dribble from his member. Suddenly there was a rush of warmth as a flood of urine-drenched his pyjamas. He was totally ashamed and began to cry at the predicament he found himself in.
Two minutes later Winifred and Cecilia entered the room dressed in flannel floral pyjamas and wearing quilted housecoats. Winifred carried a basin of hot water, a sponge and a bath towel. “Dear, dear, dear Peterkins. Why did you not call us,” asked Winifred?
“Cecilia darling can you fetch a clean pair of pyjamas and a change of bedclothes while I wash Peterkins down and put on more appropriate attire for our little bedwetter?”
Winifred began to undress Peterkins. She pulled the cord on his pyjama bottoms and the sodden mass of flannel dropped like a stone. Gently she undid the jacket buttons and having removed it from Peterkins now shivering body she began to wash him with warm soapy water. Again, and despite the sensuous nature of the act, Peterkins had no stirrings between his legs. He was alarmed that his previously virile member was now totally useless.
Gently drying him off with a beautifully soft towel Winifred picked up what appeared to be an adult disposable nappy. She opened it up and began to slip it between Peterkins legs. “Now Peterkins, this will help protect you from any further accidents tonight.” As she closed the tabs either side of his body Peterkins began to sob as the shame of his situation began to dawn on him.
Cecilia had been busy changing the bed and now approached Peterkins with a pair of white flannel pyjamas with a rich blue paisley motif. For the second time that evening Peterkins found himself being draped in exquisite flannel pyjamas by the two imposing spinsters. Yet this time he was absolutely helpless and wished to go home. He could not understand how he had become so subservient to these two older ladies.
As he was led back to bed like a wayward little boy, Winifred tearfully confessed that his manhood would no longer perform as it had previously done and that any attempt to satiate his desires would end in tears and frustration.
“Now then little Peterkins,” began Winifred, “we don’t want you performing big boy activities, do we, Cecilia? Better you forget about any such behaviour and simply accept your new status as a little boy and refrain from any attempt to play with himself.”
Peterkins was taken aback by her words. “What have you done to me?” he cried.
“Now, now Peterkins,” piped Cecilia, “a little potion in your milk helps to reduce any adult desires. It is early days yet but by the end of the week you will have absolutely no appetite for such behaviour and will be dutifully compliant with our wishes and desires.
As Peterkins sat on the bed Cecilia gently lifted his pyjama clad legs up onto the bed while Winifred pushed his torso down. They took time laying him out on the bed and ensured his pyjamas were correctly covering all of his body. To add weight to her statement Cecilia patted and caressed him through the flannel and the nappy. It was a highly sensuous act yet nothing was stirring down below. Cecilia continued to pat his manhood as Winifred began to pull the blankets up over his legs.
“Now Peterkins, tomorrow you will be introduced to your new nursery where you will begin your life of permanent pyjama servitude, you will spend your days dressed in your lovely soft flannel pyjamas and learning about your nap-times and early bedtimes Now off to beddy-byes with you.”
Peterkins now felt anxious, surely they couldn’t mean to keep him in soft flannel pyjamas and nappies indefinitely could they? What about his job, his friends? Peterkins opened his mouth to protest, immediately it was filled with a dummy, a proper
adult-sized babies dummy
“Mmmppphhh!” Peterkins protests were muffled as Winifred fastened the dummy and together the two women tucked him tightly into bed with his arms secured down by his side.
Peterkins would soon become accustomed to his new life of pyjama servitude.
Jeff, PP and John had pranked the boys in the adjacent dorm rather spiffingly earlier that week and PJ Tradman minor and the rest of his gang had vowed revenge. Jeff and his two pals had spent the previous two evenings on high alert relying on their ever trustworthy knotted scarfs as weapons of defence. With Matron Goodknight ever vigilant and liable to make a surprise inspection, the boys had sensibly always changed into their black and white striped pyjamas before climbing between the sheets. (This being the nineteen twenties, colour had yet to be developed)
After all, by Jove, they were English and destined one day to step into their father’s striped pyjamas and rule the Empire. Although it was a chill night and being an English public school no heating existed in the dormitories the boys always slept with the windows open as they were well insulated clad as they were in warmest winceyette.
It was very late, almost nine thirty, Jeff and John began to relax just as they had the previous two nights at this time, PJ would never lead an attack at this ungodly hour. PP was already snoring as Jeff loosened his grip on his scarf and looked forward to holding something else as he began to snuggle down. “Night PP,” he said in his masterful tone.
“Night Jeff old thing,” answered John, the admiration he felt for the skipper evident in his voice. Suddenly, the window lifted and PJ’s pyjama clad mob clambered through led by Speccy Sanderson, the fight was on!
In a flash, PJ Tradman and his bunch of rotters fell upon the plucky trio. Jeff quickly pulled up his pyjama bottoms and leapt into action along with his trusted fellows. Quickly realising that their scarves were useless against their foes pillows, Jeff, showing his gift for command, that John and PP so much admired, ordered his troops to raise pillows and engage the enemy.
Soon the air was thick with feathers and it became difficult to distinguish pyjamaed friend from pyjamaed foe as the battle raged. Suddenly a large shaped figure loomed menacingly in front of John and he swung his pillow with all his force, certain that he was just about to remove Fatty Forster from the fray.
For a split second the air cleared and John, to his horror, realised that the portly figure in front of him was not the aforementioned Master Forster but was, in fact, Matron herself Mrs Knight.
"What is the meaning of this! Desist at once!" The sound of that familiar voice brought the fracas to an immediate halt, the airborne feathers drifted gently to the floor as the flannelled fools
all turned toward the angry face of Matron who stood, definitely not amused, in her voluminous Victorian-like, winceyette nightgown.
Mrs Knight lined up the boys in her study, her stern demeanour did not bode well for them. She had been joined by her housemistress Miss Ashbourne who had become aware of the disorder.
All present were wearing their nightwear due to the lateness of the hour. The boys in their striped flannelette pyjamas, Mrs Knight in her pale pink, buttoned to the neck floral winceyette nightdress and fur collared slippers and Miss Ashbourne, whose white silk nightgown and fluffy mule slippers made a most incongruous contrast to the rest of the night attire on display.
Pj Tradman and his motley crew were wearing their tartan slippers, but Jeff, PP and John were standing on the cold linoleum floor barefoot as Mrs Knight walked down the line of assembled boys.
“I don’t know what prompted this disgraceful behaviour, nor do I want to know. However, I must say how disappointed I am in your involvement in all this Jeff.”
Jeff felt his lower lip quiver, he hated letting Mrs Knight down. PJ smirked and whispered, “cry-baby.”
Miss Ashbourne demanded silence. She grabbed PJ by the ear and brought him forward.
“This one first I think Matron, give me your slipper Tradman,” she demanded. Perhaps now regretting his snide remark, PJ Tradman was bent over the arm of the couch and received six swats to his backside from Miss Ashbourne with his own slipper before being sent tearfully back to his dormitory.
John was next to receive his spanking. Miss Ashbourne used her own mule slipper to administer his punishment and although it hurt terribly and he had to fight back the tears, he felt somewhat excited by the experience and felt an urgent need to return to bed. As he made for the door he felt a tickle in his nose. “Atishoo!” He sneezed violently.
“Oh, dear John. I hope you’re not getting a cold by roaming barefoot in the middle of the night? I best come and tuck you in properly,” she took John by the hand and led him hurriedly away.
Finally, there was left just Jeff and Mrs Knight alone in her rooms. “Well Jeff, as I expected higher standards from you I am afraid your punishment will be double that of the others.”
Jeff had recovered his composure and was determined to accept his punishment like a man and prepared to take his position across the arm of the couch.
“One moment please Jeff.” Mrs Knight approached him and reached for the drawstring on his pyjama bottoms. “I intend to spank you on your bare bottom.”
Jeff was taken aback but stood as his pyjama bottoms puddled on the floor around his feet. He shuffled awkwardly to the couch and bent over.
“You may stand.” Twelve times Mrs Knight’s rubber-soled slipper had struck him, six on each buttock. Despite his best intentions, he felt a tear roll down his cheek as he bent to pull up his pyjama bottoms. Mrs Knight dabbed it away with her handkerchief.
“Goodnight Jeff, I do hope that will teach you not to be a naughty boy again.”
Jeff thought not, he had rather enjoyed being naughty.
Having recently moved into the area Peter did not yet know any of his neighbours. He had been attracted to the locality by the well-kept lawns, trimmed privet hedges and age profile of the retirees that mainly populated the area.
He decided to take a walk, It was a quiet balmy evening and the air smelled of freshly cut grass. He could also detect the smell of night scented stock as the evening drew to a close.
Peter enjoyed a pleasant stroll and on his return, he passed the house next to his, an old-style 1930's house with a wooden veranda and beautifully planted garden. He saw two mature ladies dressed in a curiously dated fashion. One of the ladies was standing shakily on a ladder attempting to water some hanging baskets. Peter, concerned that she would fall ran to assist.
“Ladies, please let me help you with that,” he called as he ran up the flower-lined pathway then up the steps to the veranda.
“Oh thank you, dear, how kind”. The lady offered him the watering can as he reached out to take the weight from her. To his surprise, the can was quite heavy and he struggled to handle the weight of water and managed to spill quite a bit on his Harris Tweed jacket.
He lowered the watering can to the veranda and offered his hand to help her down from the step ladder.
“What a gentleman you are to take the trouble to help. Let me introduce myself, I am Winifred Goodnight and this is my sister Cecilia”.
Peter shook Winifred's hand and turned to greet Cecilia. “Good evening Winifred, Cecilia, my name is Peter, I've recently rented the house next door and you are the first neighbours I have had the fortune to meet. May I continue watering your plants for you? You have a most beautiful display, like an old cottage garden”.
“Well, Peter it is a pleasure to meet you. Cecilia, why don't you go and put the kettle on? I’m sure Peter will stay for tea and cake after he has finished watering the plants”, commanded Winifred.
While Cecilia went into the house Winifred began interrogating Peter as he watered the remainder of the planters. “Aren't you the handsome young chap. No doubt you have a girlfriend somewhere?” She questioned.
Peter blushed being a shy young man. “Well no Winifred, I live alone, I’ve just moved here from the city seeking a slower, quieter pace of life as I’ve not been too well recently.
“How interesting,” Winifred remarked, then added, “I thought you looked a bit pale and underweight, perhaps we can help you to recover your strength?”
Miss Goodnight ushered Peter into the house as she commented. “I note from your clothes that you dress a little eccentric, your garb is more suited for an older person, I am not criticising your mode of dress you understand, you look very dapper, all the same, it’s strange to see such taste in one so young”.
“Yes”, Peter replied “I buy a lot of my clothes in vintage clothing stores. I love the quality of the fabrics and the cut of older clothes”.
“Well, you must come in and see our dear nephew’s clothes collection He passed away some time ago at the age of thirty-two and we have been reticent to give away the clothes he loved so. They are probably just the sort of vintage clothes look you like to wear. Harris tweed jackets, corduroy trousers, argyle knitted sweaters and cardigans.”
“That would be great,” Peter answered.
A short while later, Cecilia arrived with a tray wonderfully set with bone china cups, scones, clotted cream and tea. She began to pour as Peter finished watering the last of the planters.
They sat and talked for a good half hour with the two ladies interrogating Peter in some detail as to his background and family status.
Having finished her tea Winifred stood up and took Peter by the hand. “Come along now Peter, let's go and look at our dear nephew’s clothes. I am sure there are things of interest to you young man.”
Winifred was quite forceful as she led Peter by the arm into the house and down a long dark hallway.
They entered a room at the back of the house, Winifred pulled the curtains flooding the room with light. The room looked out over a beautifully planted rear garden with tall trees defining the boundary. It was quite secluded and had great privacy.
As Peter turned back toward the room it looked like it had been left the way it was the day the sister's nephew died. On the back of the door hung a beautifully tailored heavy grey trench coat. Beside it hung a vintage brown, woollen dressing gown with a gold braided belt and braid trimming around the sleeves and collar. The bed was made and turned down and resting on a pillow was an exquisite pair of winceyette pyjamas with a wine coloured medallion motif. A pair of brown tartan carpet slippers lay on the floor by the bed.
Peter was taken aback at how spotless the room was and he was drawn to the bed and pyjamas. As Winifred opened a large mahogany wardrobe Peter sat on the edge of the bed and gently caressed the pyjamas. He was nervous about making his gesture but he couldn't resist. For some reason, he had always had an attraction to soft, brushed cotton pyjamas as worn in the nineteen sixties and seventies.
Peter couldn't take his eyes away from the pyjamas; in the wardrobe mirror, Winifred caught his gaze. Putting a Tweed Norfolk jacket back on its hanger, she turned to face him.“Do you like those pyjamas Peter?” she asked.
Caught off guard by the directness of her question and the fact that she had seen him fondle the pyjamas, he cleared his throat and managed a feeble reply about how he liked the old style pattern and remembered when he was a boy how his mother insisted he wore soft winceyette pyjamas for bed.
Winifred picked up the pyjama jacket. Unbuttoning it, she began to caress Peters face with the sleeve. The material was soft against his cheek and he could detect a faint smell of rose water as she continued to stroke his face with the soft winceyette material; he began to feel his penis respond in excitement.
“Would you like to put on our dear nephew’s pyjamas, Peter?” Winifred almost whispered as Cecilia entered and stood beside her sister.
“I’m sure Cecilia and I would be very happy to see you wearing and enjoying them.”
Peter could hardly answer, he was excited at the thought of the lovely pyjamas embracing his body but he felt himself slightly shaking his head, feeling overawed by what was happening.
“Now, now Peter, don't be shy,” Cecilia cooed. “What if you tried on the jacket? What harm could that do?”
Winifred glided toward him and removed Peter’s Tweed jacket, she undid his tie and began to unbutton his shirt. She handed the shirt and tie to Cecilia who in return handed Winifred the pyjamas jacket.
Winifred took the pyjama jacket and held it almost reverentially by the shoulders and invited Peter to extend his arm. Slowly and with great ceremony, she slipped the right sleeve up his arm and across his shoulders. Wordlessly he proffered his left arm to the same effect.
For a moment the soft winceyette jacket brushed his stomach before Winifred drew the jacket together, closing the top button and working her way downward.
The buttons had yellowed with age and almost blended into the colour of the pyjamas. Small goosebumps made the hair on Peter's body stand erect as the winceyette embraced his body.
Winifred placed her hands upon his shoulders and turned him to face the mirror on the wardrobe door. He saw that the hem of the pyjama jacket fell a long way down his torso and as the long sleeves extended to obscure his hands he was confronted with the contradiction that no matter how beautiful the pyjamas felt he felt weak and disempowered in the company of these imposing ladies.
By now, Peter’s penis was fully erect beneath his corduroy trousers. He was desperate for the sisters to complete his pyjamaring but mortified at the thought of them seeing his obvious excitement.
“Oh Peter, don't you look exquisite in your lovely jim-jams Are you prepared to go all the way now?” He was by now beyond resisting and feebly nodded his approval.
Winifred started to undo his belt and trousers as Cecilia knelt to remove his shoes and socks. As his bare feet touched the deep pile carpet he squelched his toes gripping the carpet to anchor himself in his new reality as Winifred stepped him out of his white cotton underpants to expose his excitement.
“Well, now Cecilia, it looks like Peter is aroused by this whole affair. I’m sure that will change in time after he has experienced numerous pyjamarings.” She commented intriguingly.
Cecilia had made a small puddle of flannel on the floor with the pyjama bottoms. She took Peter’s left leg and placed it in the middle of the puddle and began to draw the bottoms up. When they were halfway up to his knee she took his right leg and placed it into the bottoms. Peter gasped as the winceyette swept past his thighs and up toward his groin and caressed his penis.
Cecilia now focused her gaze on Peter’s face as she slowly encircled his waist and ensured that she tucked the hem of the pyjama jacket deep inside the pyjama trousers. Six inches of pure white pyjama cord dangled from each side of the bottoms, she tied the ends together above his belly button so tightly that he gasped.
Peter could see his pyjamaed self in the full-length mirror, the sleeves of his arms flapped with excessive winceyette and likewise, the pyjama legs had a surfeit of material cascading over his obscured feet. He was both elated and scared and a little ashamed having been dressed so provocatively in an old-fashioned pair of pyjamas by two strangely dominant older women. He just wanted to become as one with the winceyette and let all his worries disappear.
Cecilia approached Peter from behind and draped the brown woollen dressing gown over his shoulders. Lifting his arms into the dressing gown she closed the gown and tied the belt around his waist. Winifred then placed the matching tartan carpet slippers upon his feet.
How could this have happened? Within five minutes he had been stripped of his clothing and now stood in the bedroom of two complete strangers wearing cosy pyjamas, dressing gown and carpet slippers. Yet hadn’t he loved every exciting moment of it?
Winifred looked at Cecilia and smiled. “Cecilia darling I think we have just found a replacement for our dear nephew. It looks like our pyjamaring skills will be needed again.”
Cecilia pulled open the other wardrobe door to reveal shelf after shelf of vintage pyjamas all in soft winceyette and in a myriad of patterns from traditional stripes to medallion prints and paisley swirls.
“Yes, Winifred, I was beginning to fear that dear nephew’s jimmy-jams would never be worn again but happily, we now have Peterkins to administer pyjamarings to. It appears we will extract many years of life out of the pyjamas yet.”
Peter was in a daze as he was led downstairs, as Cecilia told him he needed his warm milk to aid a good night’s sleep.
Winifred squeezed his shoulders as he sipped his milk. “Happy Peterkins?” she asked.
He nodded dreamily, feeling he should be perturbed at being addressed by such an infantile name yet somehow he decided he rather liked it.
“That’s good,” she smiled. “It’s fortunate for you that we are your landladies, the property you rented is ours so you can stay here indefinitely. You will call us Aunt Cecilia and Aunt Winifred and receive at least five pyjamarings a day. You will spend your days enveloped in the softest winceyette pyjamas with your last pyjamaring being at six o’clock after which you will be put straight to bed. When the weather is clement we will wheel you out into the garden in your vintage bath chair where you can enjoy the benefits of the sun in the company of your Aunts and some of our friends. Now then, let’s get you snugly into beddy-byes shall we?”
Upstairs, Winifred and Cecilia pulled back the bedclothes and removed Peter’s dressing gown and slippers, guiding him into the bed they tucked him in and each kissed him goodnight.
Peterkins snuggled down to revel in the comforting embrace of his pyjamas.
