Bunnykins Winceyette is humiliated by the "gwown ups".

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 he is made to wear infantile clothes on a daily basis and I also 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 Dearwest?”  


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 irons setting was far too hot. 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....yes, mummy dearwest,” he answered nervously, "Bunnykins is vewy sowwy mummy dearwest.” 

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 s_ck 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 past him, nearly knocking him over in the process.


“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 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 patter serenaded us from the hall, “short and stout”, we heard repeatedly. 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. Bunnykins was once more reduced to a state of fear and anxiousness. Not knowing what else to do, he put his thumb back in his mouth and Susan and I couldn't help laughing at the ridiculousness of his demeanour. 


Susan left him in the corner and answered the door herself.  This time it was Grace, the 22-year-old young woman who I intended to introduce as a "babysitter for Bunnykins. Grace had not met Bunnykins, but Susan had told her about him and so we invited her around to meet him.

  

Grace took one look at 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 point at him and 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 instead began furiously sucking his thumb and casting furtive sideways glances at Grace.  He couldn't bear to look at her, yet he couldn't look away.  He might have stood there 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 sweet?" 



The absurd name prompted another titter from Grace, as did a shy curtsey from Bunnykins.

"How do you do,  Master Bunnykins Winceyette", Grace smiled.  "What a perfectly lovely name!" 

It was all dreadfully and delightfully unfair. He was trying so hard to be good but was finding only more embarrassment for his trouble.  As Grace looked at him delightedly, Bunnykins hung his head in defeat 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 an adult male I find it 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 brand new yellow winceyette pyjamas with a bunny rabbit motif. Immediately I mentioned the existence of his pyjamas, Grace and Susan became very excited and insisted that his new jim-jams should be fetched and Bunnykins dressed in them at once so that they could enjoy humiliating the poor creature further.

Grace was eager to undress Bunnykins and 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 him into his quite delightfully babyish pyjamas, which were adorned with a pattern of fluffy baby bunnies. Jane and I looked on with amusement as Grace popped his head into his 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 fringed with outrageous frills and Grace fussily adjusted the bow again praising Bunnykins for being such “a pwetty Bunnykins all dwessed up weddy for beddy-byes,”


When Grace had buttoned him up into his 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 complete baby and begins to whimper pitifully as 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 our 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 whilst hopping to avoid them falling down. Susan's seemed oblivious to his plight as she set about making him look for his "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, she decided that Bunnykins must have accidentally thrown his "cuwwidge" away and he would have to be a frightened bunny rabbit permanently. He glanced nervously at me, uncertain what do and we all collapsed in fits of laughter and my pathetic husband once again burst into tears.


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

"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 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 his nappy-wappy on cos he does wee-wee's in beddy-byes because he has an 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 dose of “entertainment”. 


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


My pathetic hubby, sitting cross-legged on the floor surrounded by his tormentors could only nod miserably.

 "Has he been a good teddy or a naughty teddy today?" I asked, then quickly I added, "I saw him taking a biscuit from the tin so he has been a very naughty teddy and needs a smacked botty, doesn't he?" 


Bunnykins hesitated  and it was Susan who said, "answer mummykins pet lamb."


"Yes mummy dearwest, Teddy needs a thpanking." he lisped in his pathetic whispered voice. We all worked hard to suppress our giggle as my hubby placed the bear over his knee. "Give teddy six smacks on teddy's naughty bot-bot Bunnykins," I instructed.


His embarrassment could not have been greater as he turned the stuffed toy over his lap and smacked the teddy bear six times. “Oh dear, teddy's crying now Bunnykins so give him a huggy kiss- kiss to make him all better.”


Three sets of female eyes bored into my husband as he hugged and then kissed the teddy bear. "Put teddy to beddy-byes now Bunnykins." It was really not possible to stifle the laughter any longer as we watched Bunnykins walk to the corner of the room where there was a shoebox 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 Teddy's fast asleep,  be ever so quiet now." As I had taught him, Bunnykins then tiptoed backwards in a highly exaggerated manner.



Susan and I are convulsed with laughter at my husband's performance but Grace extends her arms out wide and exclaims, "clever Bunnykins," and he collapses tearfully 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 into his 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 two-foot six wide bed with the Bob the Builder bed cover and sat on the edge of the bed.  A quick kiss on the forehead and I left him in his darkened room to reflect on another eventful day as Bunnykins Winceyette.