More, Kept in Pyjamas

Due to my mother's financial constraints, I have been forced to attend a university about twenty miles from my hometown. To further save on costs I have to lodge with my mother’s longstanding friend Miss Hardacre. This was all bad enough, but upon my arrival, I was informed by Miss Hardacre that because I would be living rent free I must abide strictly to her house rules or find myself homeless and unable to further my education. 

All went well at first until just before teatime on my second day. Miss Hardacre announced that she would prefer that from now on pyjamas were to be my mode of dress while taking tea. I was dumbfounded and protested vigorously that not only would I not wear pyjamas, but also I did not even own any pyjamas to wear.

Miss Hardacre reminded me of the house rules and insisted that she would provide night attire for me and that I would be wise to do as I was told. She told me to start removing my clothes while she went to fetch something suitable. Of course, I ignored her and continued with my tea. Upon her return, she had a pair of pink floral winceyette pyjamas draped over her arm.

Calmly, she laid them neatly over the back of a dining chair, grabbed and twisted my right earlobe until I squealed with pain, sat herself down on the pyjama-laden chair while remaining firmly attached to my earlobe and hauled me over her lap. Being small and very lightweight for my age I was easily overpowered by my aunty who in no time managed to lower my trousers by an act of dexterity I am yet unable to define and my bottom was subjected to a severe and painful spanking.  

Two minutes later I was sobbing gently as Miss Hardacre finished buttoning me into the pink winceyette pyjamas.

‘I think,’ she said, ‘in future, it will be best if you put your pyjamas on as soon as you come in each afternoon, don’t you? Then there will be less chance of tears before bedtime.’

Now I have a strict bedtime of six o’clock. Upon my arrival home from studying, I must dash upstairs, pick up the pyjamas that have been laid out on my bed and present myself to Miss Hardacre so she can get me ready for ‘beddy-byes.’ If I only have to attend a morning lecture I find myself dressed in pyjamas and ready for bed sometimes as early as eleven o’clock. She has taken to calling me ‘Baby Lamb’ and insists I refer to her as ‘Aunty’

On Saturdays, she escorts me to the local library where her friend Miss Lexicon is the head librarian. Once hidden away in her inner office I have to change into pyjamas and slippers and study while my aunt goes shopping, taking my clothes with her. If Miss Lexicon catches me not studying she will spank me and inform my aunt who repeats the dose when we return home.

Sometimes on the way back, we stop at a tea- shop where aunty meets a few of her friends. Invariably she will tell me in front of them all that, “I want you straight into your jim-jams as soon as we get home.” She always raises laughter by brandishing my library pyjamas and informing all and sundry that, “Baby Lamb looks ever so sweet in his pretty pyjamas.” 

I thought at least I would gain support from my mother, that if she knew what was occurring she would put a stop to this nonsense. Not a bit.

One Sunday Aunty insisted I answer the door even though I was wearing pink winceyette pyjamas and a pink nylon tabard that I was forced to wear to keep my pyjamas, “neat and tidy.” In my hand was a yellow duster as Sunday was designated my day for helping aunty with household chores.

Mother smiled sweetly at me as she bent forward to kiss my cheek. ‘You look, nice dear,’ she said patting my pyjama- clad bottom as she followed me in.

She would not listen to my objections as to my treatment and sides with Miss Hardacre on every point. In fact, the two of them became so angry with me that I was spanked and given an hours corner time.

A few weeks later, I started to receive parcels from members of my mother’s sewing circle containing pairs of pyjamas that she had asked them to make for me. These new pyjamas were of a style more suited to a young girl, very frilly with Peter Pan collars and decorated with childish patterns.

Aunties insisted I sat down and write a thank you letter to everyone.

Dear Aunty, 

Thank you ever so much for the lovely pyjamas you made for me. I was delighted to receive such a thoughtful present, and look forward to wearing them for you when you next visit.

My aunt and my mother now frequently force me to parade around in a succession of frilly, babyish girls’ pyjamas while my mother and her sewing circle discuss the merits of babyish girls’ pyjamas as an effective means of discipline. If I am lucky, I am allowed to kiss everyone night-night and scuttle off to bed without receiving a spanking for some imagined indiscretion. 


If I am unlucky, I will be allowed to “stay up late” and endure an hour of being sat upon various laps and fussed over in a most humiliating way before I would find myself over someone’s lap receiving a spanking before being dispatched to bed. The next day, however, I would put to bed at five o’clock because I was overtired because of lack of sleep the previous night.