Lionel's Pyjama Punishment. A personal account by Mrs Sykes-Patterson

Dear Wincy,

I thought I would share the recent and not entirely unexpected punishment of my husband, Lionel at the hands of Mrs Clark's sewing circle members. This of course came about as a result of his silly comments regarding those same fine upstanding women.

The monthly meeting had to be held at Mrs Clark's house as the village hall had been double booked with the Scottish dancing society.

Lionel was occupied polishing the bottoms of my saucepans in the kitchen but was summoned curtly following a discussion of the sewing article in the current "People's Friend" magazine.

“"Lionel, come in here for a moment. Miss Jones, our junior member, has been working on a project entitled, "Effective Pyjamering for the Disobedient Male". I am advising you as the only disobedient male present,  that you are about to receive a thorough pyjamering and will model Miss Jones" creative efforts without complaint. The other ladies will naturally be taking pictures or videos with their mobile phones to study the finer points of your pyjamaring at their leisure.”

Lionel was then informed that Miss Jones had been shown the e-mails and comments that had passed between Wincy"s Aunt, Eunice and Mrs Clark. She had used these as inspiration to design a pair of pyjamas with which he was to be "pyjamaed".

Lionel"s face was a picture of embarrassment as Miss Jones took a large, brown paper parcel out of her sewing holdall and opened it to reveal a pair of neatly folded, red striped winceyette pyjamas.

Miss Jones cleared her throat nervously before beginning.

”"Ladies, thank you for giving me this opportunity to present my findings. To be clear, my ultimate focus is simply to achieve the ultimate humiliation of the surly male and I have chosen to design a pair of traditional striped pyjamas as a way of achieving this. Now that men who are not supervised by responsible females, choose to wear such monstrosities as, "lounge pants" and T-Shirts as night attire, the requirement for right thinking females such as ourselves, is to emancipate and humiliate the so called modern man by ensuring he is attired for bed fully buttoned into an oversized pair of unfashionable, striped pyjamas whilst being paraded around in front of respectable ladies”

She paused, then politely asked if Lionel would possibly mind in assisting her by trying the aforementioned pyjamas on for her and wearing them in front of the sewing group so her pyjama project could be properly appreciated.

Mrs Sykes-Paterson as usual was quick to interject.

“My dear,girl,  you do not need to request Lionel"s participation, instead, you firmly order him to comply with your wishes. Observe.”

Mrs SP fixed her intimidating stare on the quivering Lionel.

“Lionel, remove your clothes and prepare to be fully pyjamaed by Miss Jones. Come along, quickly now,

unless you want a visit across my knee?”  

An embarrassed Lionel shook his head, swiftly removed his clothes and stood pathetically hiding his modesty behind cupped hands.

“Lionel, please shuffle over to her so she can ascertain if any adjustments to your lovely new pyjamas are necessary"  "Now, kneel down so that she does not need to stand and remember that as a silly, worthless male who is about to receive a thoroughly deserved pyjamering, you will not speak unless spoken to.”  

How delightfully awful it was to see the red-faced miscreant kneeling in front of the youthful and very attractive Miss Jones. Her crisp, white cotton blouse, complete with cameo brooch at the collar, strained around her ample bosom as she shook out the striped pyjama jacket and proceeded to hold it up against Mr SP.

"Oh dear, I am afraid this pyjama jacket going to be far too large for you Mr Sykes-Paterson, but lets try shall we?”  

After fastening the top button of the jacket and adjusting the collar to sit smartly, it was clear that,

"too large" was an understatement. In the kneeling position, both the wide sleeves and jacket hem almost reached the carpet. To Miss Jones surprise, the ladies murmured their approval at his appearance, happy that this silly man was beginning to appreciate the humiliation of being pyjamaed.

Unfortunately for him. it was to become much worse.

"Stand up now Lionel, so that I can assess the fit of the trousers? Without a pattern to work from, I based the sizing on gentlemen's trousers from the 1940"s, so the openings at the bottom have a 24" hem which I hope are not too wide".

Miss Jones proceeded to prepare the pyjama bottoms for the next stage of the pyjamering by pushing her arm down inside a trouser leg and gripping the bottom, she rolled it into a short tube.

“Why don't you place one leg and then the other on my lap so that I can roll the trousers up your leg easily?"

As he stood there, balancing on one leg with the lovely Miss Jones adjusting the flapping material, it was apparent that the voluminous trousers with their low cut crotch were hiding certain "stirrings".

Mrs Harbury was quick to note the tell-tale protuberance through the folds of Lionel’s pyjama trousers and in a swift movement that belied her age, picked up the silver cake slice and delivered several sharp blows to the offending bulge. Lionel howled in pain, hopping from one foot to the other with pyjama sleeves flapping wildly. The ladies nodded in joint approval as he was reprimanded severely by Mrs H.

"You ungrateful naughty man. Miss Jones is now quite embarrassed at your display of male impropriety, get back down on your knees, put your hands on your head and apologise.”

Lionel was contrite and spoke in a barely audible whisper.  "Please Miss Jones, I am very sorry, my new pyjamas are lovely and I look forward to being dressed in them and wearing them for Beddy-Byes. I am a very naughty male and deserve to be punished"

Mrs Harbury towered above the cowering Lionel as she informed him.

“You will present yourself across the laps of each of the ladies present and receive six smacks on you bottom from all of us.”

Slowly and regretfully, Lionel made his way around the room and soon his pyjama clad bottom was smarting from his spankings.

"Now Lionel,” continued Mrs Harbury. “Stand up straight for me so that the other ladies can see you weeping like a little boy and standing there in your oversized pyjamas.”

She proceeded to undo the trouser cord, pull the waist of the bottoms up to his armpits before firmly tightening it again and letting the jacket cascade down to knee level.

"Oh my goodness,” exclaimed Miss Jones in disappointment. “The pyjamas are sadly far too large and appear huge on Lionel, I'm so sorry ladies, I feel that I've let you down, my sizing estimates are all wrong.”

Mrs.SP felt the need to interject.

"Nonsense, Miss Jones, I consider them to be a triumph in the art of pyjamering!  I don't feel that any adjustments are needed at all.  Look how ridiculous Lionel obviously feels encased in folds of striped winceyette. Lionel, would you please be so kind as to parade yourself through the living room in order that we ladies can admire Miss Jones" handiwork in greater detail?"

What fun the ladies then had as the poor man flapped and tripped his way through to the lounge, unsuccessfully attempting to hold up his billowing pyjama trousers with his hands hidden inside flapping sleeves. Various ladies tugged and pulled at his pyjamas in appraisal as he passed  along them before finally it was time for Lionel to pose for pictures.

"Lionel, please stand in the corner of the lounge while the ladies take photographs of you for their records.

"Lionel was made to adopt various positions for ten minutes whilst the ladies captured him posing in his ridiculous oversized, red striped winceyette pyjamas as every humiliating comment caused him evermore embarrassing.

"Doesn't he look ridiculous in those enormous wide-bottomed trousers?"

And, "Won’t he struggle to eat breakfast with those long sleeves in the way? He'll need to be fed with a spoon like a baby."

Then, “Imagine him opening the front door to the postwoman wearing those?"

Finally the ladies finished the photo session and Lionel thought his afternoon ordeal was finally over.

Lionel turned to his wife and asked. "Please Dearest, may I be allowed to take off my new pyjamas and put on my jeans and t-shirt?"

His wife looked at him with disdain.

“Don't look so relieved Lionel, your pyjamaring isn't over yet you ridiculous man. Mrs Watts and Mrs Harbury will escort you to the naughty boy bedroom for an early bedtime. Mr Watts has already been pyjamaed by Miss Jones and been tucked into bed wearing his new pyjamas with a very sore bottom and crying pitifully with good reason I might add. Both of you are to have your pyjama punishment extended for the entire weekend for the entertainment of the sewing circle. Believe me, from now on you will be subject to a strict pyjama time and early bedtime regime which will ensure your obedience. ”

Mrs Watts and Mrs Harbury each took hold of Lionel’s hand and led upstairs to bed to begin his pyjama clad servitude.

With Regards - Mrs SP

From little boy to baby boy. An eventful day for one nineteen year old.

Philip was standing in the corner of his room sobbing quietly. His hands were on the back of his head, around his ankles were a puddled pair of pyjama bottoms; Philips pale blue, striped winceyette pyjamas. His bottom stung and was red from the spanking he had just received from aunt Agnes.  Philip had been a very naughty boy and auntie had soundly smacked his little bottom until Philip was a very sorry boy indeed.

Auntie Agnes had marched into his bedroom. Philip had to be up early as Auntie was going to take him shopping for new clothes. In her opinion, Philips shorts were not short enough. Philip was outraged, he hadn't worn any shorts with an inside leg of more than two inches since he became his aunt's little boy and here she was saying his shorts were too long.

Philip had disagreed, rather too vehemently, hence the over the knee nursery style spanking he had just received. Auntie had pulled Philip out of bed, lifting him up by the scruff of his pyjama jacket and marched him over to the chair behind Philip's school desk. She sat herself down and draped the by now sobbing Philip over her upraised knee. She spanked Philip's bottom repeatedly for almost three minutes as Philip had howled and begged auntie to stop, promising, of course, to be his aunt's little angel.

Agnes Ashburnum placed him in the corner, hands on head, and busily began choosing the clothes her little boy was to wear on the way to the school outfitters. She was rather upset with her boy. How dare he complain or think he had the right to dictate what he was to wear, or how he was to be punished for that matter. Well, by the end of the afternoon, she knew a naughty little boy that would wear what he was given, and thank her auntie for it, or he would again be a very sorry little boy indeed.

Mrs Ashburnum began gathering the rather fine school uniform her boy would wear. She picked out a smart, little, white, short-sleeved school shirt, a grey sleeveless jumper with red trim around the v-neck and the waist of the jumper, a pair of ankle length grey school socks with two thin red lines at the top. Mrs Ashburnum looked at the bottom of the wardrobe at the footwear section of her collection and picked out a pair of brown, t-bar sandals. She hadn't made her nineteen-year-old little boy wear sandals as infantile as this before, she was sure that Philip would make a fuss, well, let the little scamp; he'll wear them with several handprints to the backs of his legs if need be. 

She next searched through her vast school shorts section but couldn't find what she was looking for. Hmm … Just as well we are going to the outfitters. Can't have a little boy without pull-up school shorts. She found the next best thing, a pair of very brief, fully lined school shorts but which had an inside leg of only one inch. They were made of a flannel material, but not thick flannel. As they were second hand, and obviously, many a boy had been smacked in them, the material was quite thin. She chose a grey school blazer with red ribbon trim around the edge of the blazer and the lapels and a grey school cap with very short peak and also with red trim.

Mrs Ashburnum called Laura and the maid promptly took the boy's clothes for the day and went to Philip's room and began running his bath. Philip, still sore from his bottom smacking, didn't want to be punished again, so meekly took hold of Laura's hand and was led meekly to the bathroom, undressed and sat in the bath as if he really were a little boy. Philip just laid there soaking in the wonderful warmth of the water and bubbles.

"Come along master Philip." said Laura "It's time for you to get dressed. Your aunt is going to buy you some nice new clothes today. Aren't you a lucky little boy? Laura grinned.
Philip didn't feel very lucky at all. How many other nineteen-year-old boys were seen out in a short trouser sailor suit? He might be nineteen but when dressed up, he looked no more than ten or eleven.

He was only five foot tall, had flawless smooth hairless skin, and was kept hairless from the neck down. He also had gorgeous straight blond hair with natural highlights that hung straight down in a little page boy hairstyle and had the most amazing blue-green eyes, which could melt the heart of the strictest auntie.

Philip got out of the bath and was enveloped in a big white fluffy towel by Laura who promptly dried the boy's flawless skin. As Laura was drying off the boy's legs he noticed for the first time that Philip's legs now had a beautiful light tan while his bottom was a snowy white; or would have been if he hadn't been spanked by auntie that morning. Having dried Philip, Laura took the boy by the hand and took him to her bedroom where they both found the clothes for today laid out. Philip frowned and rolled his eyes as he saw the little prep school uniform.

Philip stood while Laura began dressing the boy. She started with the short-sleeved white shirt, then the little school ankle socks. Philip really frowned when he saw those, he much preferred to wear long socks with school uniform, he thought that little ankle socks, with or without the red trim made him look silly and even more childish than he usually did. Laura noted the boy begin to pout but said nothing, she next picked up the grey school shorts. Holding them up she noticed that these were shorter than the lad normally wore, the inside leg was only one inch. The thin flannel material was beautifully soft and had a white cotton lining. She held them open and Philip reluctantly stepped into them. Philip had to admit that they did feel very good, indeed, as Laura slowly pulled them up and tucked the white shirt in before fastening the shorts and pulling up the zip he felt himself shiver with excitement.

"Turn around Master Philip, let me see how you look."

Philip did as he was told, gently feeling his bottom through the thin flannel. Laura sat back on the bed and noted how well they marked the boy's bottom. As Philip was not allowed to wear underpants, the seam of the tiny school shorts disappeared up his bottom and the flannel clung to his bottom cheeks beautifully. Laura could just about notice a patch of now dark pink skin just showing below the hem of the shorts where Philip had been soundly smacked by auntie.

Laura picked up the school tie and tied it in a Windsor knot, then came the v-neck sleeveless jumper and the blazer. Again, Laura noted how, with the blazer on, you couldn't see Philip's little shorts; Philip carried on pouting. Laura reached into the left-hand pocket of Philip's blazer and pulled out the school cap and put it on the boy, making sure that part of the beautiful blond fringe showed below the peak of the cap, she thought it made Philip look like a mischievous little scamp.

"Ah. We almost forgot your footwear, didn't we little boy, we can't have you going out in stocking-ed feet now can we?"

Laura looked under the bed and almost giggled when she saw the childish, brown T-bar school sandals, she just knew that Philip wasn't going to like them; she was absolutely right. Philip took one look at the sissy little sandals and all he could do was flap his mouth open and closed like a goldfish deprived of water.

" I can't, I won't wear those. " Philip almost screamed.

"You will put these lovely sandals on right now you naughty boy. How dare you be so naughty when I'm trying to dress you? Your aunt will be told about your disobedient behaviour."

Laura managed to force Philip's little right foot into the sandal and fasten it when she tried to put the left sandal on Philip wailed and stamped on her hand.
"That's it, young man." Without another word, she held the left sandal by the heel, took hold of Philip's left arm and began smacking the back of Philip's legs with the sandal.

"You will wear, SMACK, SMACK, whatever you are told, SMACK, SMACK.
Six smacks landed from the sandal to his left leg, from the hem of his shorts to the back of his knees. Six perfectly marked, dark pink outlines on his leg.

"Your aunt, SMACK, SMACK, has spent a lot of time and effort turning you from a tearaway teenager into a well behaved, polite little boy. You're not going to disappoint her or me with behaviour like that."

Six more smacks landed on his right leg.

"Now little boy." asked Laura, holding onto Philip's arm, "do I need to give you a proper spanking over my knee before you do as you are told?"

Philip didn't answer, he just wailed as he was again smacked, this time on his left leg. 

"Well, do you want a spanking?" She inquired.

"No Miss Laura."

"That's better." 

Finally, Philip was dressed in his very traditional, prep school uniform with little ankle socks and sandals and a blazer that covered his shorts, and what was worse, a stupid school cap. The slipper marks, showing clearly on the backs of his hairless legs, stung painfully. He went to rub and soothe them.
"No, leave those marks alone, let them be a reminder of what happens to naughty little boys.

"I'm so sorry Miss Laura." Philip sniffled, rubbing his eyes with his little balled up hands
Laura sat the nineteen-year-old boy on her lap and stroked the inside of his thigh.

 "There, there little one, it's all over now." She said, gently kissing his smooth hairless cheek.  "Just remember to be a good little boy and you won't have to be punished again."

Laura took hold of Philip's hand and led him downstairs to Mrs Ashburnham's study. She knocked on the door and entered. Laura, instead of taking little Philip to stand in front of his aunt took him to the corner of the study and made him face the wall, hands on head.

Mrs Ashburnum noted the back of the boy's legs.
"Well, well Laura, I see you have had to impart a lesson to the little scamp."

Philip was standing with his hands firmly clamped on his head, causing the bottom of his blazer to lift a few inches. Mrs Ashburnum could now see the hem of the tiny little shorts, but more importantly, see the bright pink thighs of her chastised little boy.

"I'm dreadfully sorry Mistress, but your naughty little boy decided to throw a tantrum when he saw the sandals he was supposed to wear and well …"

"Hmm … don't worry Laura. From now on you will obviously have to take a more, shall we say, hands-on approach in young Philips upbringing. You have my permission to administer smacked bottoms and legs at your own discretion."

"As Mistress wishes." She turned and looked at the back of the boy's legs, bright and pink under the hem of his little shorts.

They left Philip in the corner for half an hour; "Philip, come over here little boy." 

Philip turned around and saw his aunt sitting behind her huge, leather-topped desk and Laura standing to her right. Philip walked slowly over and stood in front of the desk, eyes cast down, staring at his infantile school sandals; Goodness how he hated them.

"I hope you've learnt your lesson little boy, I really don't want to have to punish you again today.

"Sniff .., you won't auntie" replied Philip in a low voice.
"We'll see," she said, then patted her lap.
Philip smiled and ran over to auntie like an obedient puppy dog, who picked him up and sat him on her knee. Philip liked it when she cuddled him.

"Well young man, today we are going shopping for some new shorts and a few another thing for you. Now, I warn you, Philip, if you misbehave while we are shopping, I will have no hesitation in giving you a good smacking in public wherever we are."

Auntie had put on her stern face as she warned.
"Then, upon our return home, you will get a sound spanking and be dressed in your jimmy-jams and put straight to bed without supper. Do you understand?" Mrs Ashburnum scolded firmly.

"I'll be good auntie honest … cross my heart."

"Well don't say I didn't warn you. Now please go to the car with Laura while I finish this letter."

She stood Philip up and sent him off with a firm smack to the back of his shorts as he scurried away.
Mrs Ashburnum smiled as she watched them leave with Laura tightly holding Philip's hand. It had hardly taken any time at all she mused. Oh, of course, she and Laura had easily overpowered such a small, weak-willed man-child. She remembered that first night how they had stripped him and lowered him into the bathtub. Yes, he had fought them but a few slaps to his legs had subdued him and he sat placidly but trembling as they washed him. His smooth, hairless body, with no sign of facial hair whatsoever on the nineteen-year-old, and the strange timid voice should have been clue enough, but the tiny stump that was his penis explained why this nineteen-year-old was her perfect candidate.

She put down her pen and began to think of the clothes she was going to buy her boy. He had plenty of school uniforms but she realised that he didn't have a little Cub Scout uniform. Yes, we'll go to the school outfitters and kit him out as a little Cub Scout, she thought to herself.

Placing a call to the outfitters, she let them know they were on the way and also asked if the shorts had arrived that she had spoken about a week earlier. 

Philip was very comfortable in his uniform, he no longer felt embarrassed at being seen in public wearing his school uniform, even with the tiny school shorts, he noticed that people didn't really stare at him so he happily skipped alongside his aunt as he held her hand. Looking in at a mirrored shop front window he noticed how much he looked just like a little boy. He was learning that it was much better to behave and be the perfect little boy rather than be punished for disobedience. If he acted and behaved like a little boy no one gave him a second glance, save for people admiring his smart appearance.

As they neared the outfitters, Mrs Ashburnum bent down slightly and wagging her finger in Philip's face reminded him to behave; in they walked.

Philip had never been to a shop like this before, it smelled of wood polish and cloth, it was a very traditional shop with all manner of traditional boy's clothes, from play clothes to school uniforms and other uniforms beside. Philip held onto his aunt's hand as they walked up to a distinguished looking lady in a white blouse and grey pleated skirt, half-moon reading glasses were perched at the end of her nose.

"Ah. Mrs Ashburnum, how wonderful to see you again Madam." She looked down at the boy who was trying to hide unsuccessfully behind Mrs Ashburnum. 

"This must be the delightful little boy of yours you were telling me about." She looked down at Philip and smiled, struck by the boy's incredible boyish bashfulness and noticing the long expanse of bare thigh below his cute little school blazer.

"Patricia, yes. This is my little scamp. He is actually a good little boy most of the time, though he can be quite mischievous and naughty at times and requires a smacked bottom."

Philip wanted the ground to swallow him up and blushed mightily.

"Philip, don't forget your manners, introduce yourself to the lady, address her as Miss Fortescue-Smythe."

Philip, all the while looking at the floor, held out his hand.

"Pleased to meet you Miss Fortescue-Smythe," he said in a whispered and remarkably childish voice. 

"What a sweet, well mannered little boy you have there Madam. It's hard to believe that he could ever be naughty or…..nineteen," she added.

Mrs Ashburnum laughed, "I can guarantee you that he can be quite a mischievous nineteen-year-old. Still, we will soon turn him into the perfectly behaved little boy he longs to be, with the help of Mr Paddle of course."

Miss Fortescue-Smythe, her hands clasped together and her head tilted to one side, nodded attentively as Mrs Ashburnum continued.

"Only today I have had to give his bottom a good spanking and Laura my maid, had to smack his legs for his misbehaviour."

Mrs Ashburnum looked down at him."Turn around Philip."She ordered.

Mortified at having his marks of shame displayed, Philip reluctantly did as he was told and presented his back view to Miss Fortescue-Smythe.

"Well. I see he has been very naughty indeed," she said as she saw the faint pink outline of the slipper still visible on the back of the boy's legs.

"Well I must say, it's good to see that there are guardians such as yourself that ensure naughty boys of any age receive the just punishments they deserve for their naughtiness and misbehaviour. A good leg smacking never harmed a boy and lets him know who the grown-up is and who the little boy is."

Mrs Ashburnum nodded in agreement. "If he misbehaves on this outing he knows he will be popped straight into his pyjamas and put straight to bed on our return. Isn't that so Philip?"
He blushed again.

Miss Fortescue-Smythe agreed that early bedtimes were an excellent punishment for naughty boys then decided to get on with her business of selling expensive little boy outfits.

"Now Madam, I have all the clothes you requested for little Master Philip. I will need to take a note of his measurements for future attire. I hope you will behave, Master Philip, we wouldn't want you to end up in your jimmy-jams and tucked up in bed too early now do we?" She grinned.

It was then that Philip started to grimace. "Ooh, auntie please may I…."

"Philip, don't interrupt, grown-ups are talking."

"But auntie, I need a wee-wee" He started dancing from foot to foot.

"I told you to go before we left, you will just have to wait until we are finished."

Philip was panic-stricken, he didn't think he could hold on for very long. As his mind attempted to dismiss thoughts of toilets and waterfalls, Miss Fortescue-Smythe began showing Mrs Ashburnum clothes.

"Here are the items for Master Philip"

Mrs Ashburnum held a green, crew neck jersey with a little yellow scout's logo on the front. Like many a mother had done in the past to their children, Mrs Ashburnum held the jersey up against the boy to make sure it would fit.

"Perfect, absolutely perfect. You will look so sweet in your cub outfit I will have to put you in it right now."
Mrs Ashburnum picked up the pair of plain grey, woollen knee socks. She bent down and took off Philip's school sandals and little boy ankle socks, then put the long socks onto the boy. The tops of the socks went about two inches above the knee. She left them there and next took a pair of garters for the socks. The garters comprised of white elastic with a green tassel. She pulled them up to just under the boy's knee and folded down the sock top. On the outside of each sock were now hanging a cute green tassel. She continued to dress him in the cub's outfit until Philip was now standing in the middle of the shop in grey long socks with garters and green jersey; of course, he had no underwear and was again blushing while looking at his grey sock covered feet.

Miss Fortescue-Smythe could not help but stare at Philips tiny nineteen-year-old penis as she handed Mrs Ashburnum a red and yellow neckerchief that went round Philip's neck and fastened with a tube of leather called a woggle. Next, came a green cap with a yellow trim. Mrs Ashburnum took great care placing it on Philips' head, ensuring his fringe was visible in the process.

That left only left the shorts. They almost took her breath away as a beaming and triumphant  Miss Fortescue-Smythe held by their waist, the most adorable little boy school shorts she had ever seen.

They were infants shorts. In fact worsted school shorts but shorter still than Philip's current flannel ones. The difference was that these shorts had a false fly, they were elasticated all the way around the waist and had no white lining or pockets. If her little boy needed to go wee-wee he would have to lower the shorts. Philip trembled slightly as auntie made him step into the shorts and pulled them up. They felt incredibly brief and thin to Philip, he knew they wouldn't offer much protection when auntie spanked him. 

Auntie took his shoulders and pointed him toward the mirror and there he saw reflected, a very small, timorous and cute looking nineteen-year-old Cub Scout.

"Auntie please, I need a wee-wee."He begged.

"Philip, I told you to act like a big boy and wait, now stand still while I speak to Miss Fortescue-Smythe. Do I have to warn you again about being naughty? Your little boy's pyjamas and your bed are waiting for you at home if that's what you want?"

"No auntie." Philip pouted and commenced to hold tightly onto his willy through he shorts while auntie talked. Philip was desperate; he really did need to use the bathroom.

When it happened he almost began to cry. Philip stood miserably to the spot as he began to feel a slow trickle run down his leg. He looked down and began sobbing as he stood there soiling his new, infantile cub shorts.

Mrs Ashburnum looked down at the boy, as did Miss Fortescue-Smythe who commented. "Well I never, I never imagined a boy like you having a wee-wee accident like this, and in your new shorts too. Dear me."

"James Richard Ashburnum!" Auntie exclaimed.

"Here I was thinking you were a good little boy and it turns out you behave as a four-year-old."
  
Without further ado, Mrs Ashburnum took hold of Philip's arm and soundly smacked the backs of Philip's legs until they were bright red.

"Naughty-naughty-naughty boy.You bad, bad boy."

Over and over again Mrs Ashburnum smacked the back of the boy's legs until Philip was dancing from foot to foot and crying hard as the back of his legs turned redder and redder with purple finger marks appearing on his legs.

Philip was crying hard from the leg smacking and the public embarrassment, ignoring his sobs Mrs Ashburnum placed him facing a corner and swiftly pulled the infant shorts down to Philip's feet and gave him twelve very hard smacks to his bottom and told him not to move. She walked back over to Miss Fortescue-Smythe and began apologising while Philip cried like an infant.

"You see, what am I going to do with him? Honestly, wetting himself like a toddler."

Miss Fortescue-Smythe gave a small cough. "Ahem, I wonder if I could make a suggestion Madam?"

"Please do so."

"Well, there is a small shop just down the road that specialises in …shall we say……little boy clothes for the older boy if you take my meaning. I could give them a call to expect you if you would like?"

Philip didn't hear what they had to say to each other, he was busy in the corner dying to be able to rub the back of his burning legs. He was so embarrassed, he didn't know why it had happened, he had never wet himself before and just the thought that he had made him cry all the more. 

He had finally regressed to being a very small, contrite little boy and he would do anything to make auntie love him again.

The two women ended their conversation. "Thank you so much Miss Fortescue-Smythe, you have been most helpful.

"You are most welcome Madam. Goodbye Master Philip, it appears you have an urgent appointment with your pyjamas and an early bedtime." She laughed.

Mrs Ashburnum strode purposefully over to Philip who was more of a little boy than she thought and quickly gave Philip a further six hard smacks to his bare bottom

"Auntie please, no. I don't want to go out with wet shorts."

"If you disgrace yourself in public then you will have to take the consequences. Naughty boys are punished. I don't care if people see you with wet shorts. I knew you were a little boy, but I never expected you to wet yourself like a toddler."

Philip felt very uncomfortable and humiliated in his soiled clothes. The dark grey wet patch at the front of his shorts, together with his wet stinging legs, made him feel like the toddler auntie talked about.

Mrs Ashburnum took hold of his hand, there were quite a few people on the street who pointed and laughed at the little boy in his boy cub scout uniform with the tiny wet infant shorts and bright red legs being dragged along by a stern looking women. Aunty strode so fast, his little legs almost had to run to keep up with her.

They stopped outside an old-fashioned looking shop with a bay window that had child mannequins dressed in clothes that harked back to a previous time. The bell above the doorbell tinkled as Mrs Ashburnum strode up to the counter still holding onto Philip's hand. Philip stood there mortified, with his wet shorts sticking to his bottom and his red legs stinging so hard.

"Ah, you must be Mrs Ashburnum, Miss Fortescue-Smythe did call."

"I am indeed; I hope that she explained the problem."

The lady standing behind the glass counter looked over her pince-nez at the very sorry looking little boy with the wet shorts and frowned.

"Yes indeed, and I must say that I fully and wholeheartedly agree with your solution."

Philip was standing in front of auntie looking down at the floor and still snivelling away.

"Hmm … Yes … I have the perfect outfit for your boy Mrs Ashburnum. As you can imagine we have ample accessories for little boys who insist on wetting like toddlers, I have taken the initiative to have selected some items that you will need. But considering the situation, I think you may first wish to remove the little boy's clothing?"

Auntie stood Philip between her knees and began taking off the new cub scout uniform, tutting and scolding him all the time on his behaviour until he was completely naked.

"Madam may have use of these." The assistant handed Mrs Ashburnum a small bowl of water, a wash flannel and a towel. Briskly auntie cleaned the wee-wee off Philip, quite purposely paying particular attention to his tiny pee-pee.

The assistant looked on amused as Philip stared down at the floor blushing profusely.

"We will start with these Madam," The lady said, once Philip had been, none too gently, towelled dry by auntie.
She presented a pair of long, white socks, but not any normal long white socks, they looked like girls socks with patterns all the way to the top and no turnover. She handed them over to Mrs Ashburnum and she put them on, Philip.

"Oh Madam, they suit the child very well. Now here is a nice little shirt for the darling." She pulled out a silk type white shirt with short puffed and bunched sleeves.

As auntie began putting the shirt on him, Philip became more uncomfortable than ever.

"Oh doesn't he look just divine? Come to me, little boy." Philip looked at auntie who nodded and Philip walked over to the lady, very embarrassed. She had in her hand a bow tie in pale baby blue. Philip cringed as the lady fastened the bow tie around the shirt collar.

"Perfect, we're almost done, little boy"

As he spied what was to follow, Philip wanted the ground to open up and make him disappear, but it wouldn't. "Auntie please, no, they're for toddlers and babies!"

He was staring in horror at the pale blue shorts. Not ordinary shorts, however. No. They were very short indeed, even shorter than the infant school shorts.

"Coming from a naughty little boy who has just done wee-wees in his new shorts, I find it amazing that you dare criticise your new infantile clothes."Mrs Ashburnum lectured.

At the rear of the shorts were two strips of material, braces that were sewn into the back of the shorts. She made Philip step into the shorts and pulled them up tight making sure the seam dug deep into the naughty boys bottom. She pulled the braces over her shoulder; two big white pearl buttons were sewn onto the front of the shorts. The braces were buttoned to the front. 

The braces were sufficiently tight enough that the shorts were hoisted very high, so much so that the crescent where the bottom meets thigh from the back was clearly visible.

Philip cried like the infant he now was dressed as.
"There, there, little boy," said the lady. "We're almost done and I must say you are looking absolutely adorable. You should thank your lucky stars that you have an aunt that buys you such lovely things. Now lets put some shoes on you shall we?"

Philip stood desperately trying to hold back tears dresses as he was in his ridiculous looking baby blue infantile clothing as he was confronted with a pair of pale blue, baby Mary Jane shoes to coordinate his braced shorts, shirt and bow tie. The lady put his feet into the new shoes, buckled them on then stepped back, looking admiringly at the little boy blue.

"Oh, Master Philip I think you now are the cutest little boy in town?" She gushed.

Mrs Ashburnum had to agree; he looked like a big four-year-old in the matching baby blue shorts, shirt, bow tie and shoes. The two big buttons at the front that held the braces emphasised the infantile nature of the outfit.

"Now, I think you will also require these tonight, Madam." Another lady appeared caring an armful of items that she placed on the glass counter and once again Philip began to howl his disapproval.

Mrs Ashburnum gave Phillip a hard stare. "If you don't stop that snivelling, I will really give you something to cry about." She threatened.

On the counter, were half a dozen neatly folded terry towelling nappies, several pairs of pull-up padded trainer pants, several pairs of plastic pants.

Philip closed his eyes and tried to back away from the counter as though he could wish the baby things clean away.

"What did I just tell you, young man?"

"But auntie."

"Do you want me to smack your bottom soundly here and now?"

Philip shook his head.

"These clothes are your punishment outfit, young man. If you are going to behave like a toddler and a baby, then that is the way you will have to be treated."

The last two words were punctuated with two hard smacks to the front of Philip's thighs.

"I know someone who will be going to bed very early as a sorry little boy."

"Oh … just as well you mentioned that Madam, I almost forgot."

She opened a drawer beneath the counter and pulled out a pair of soft pyjamas, not ordinary pyjamas mind you. They were a pair of, once again, pale baby blue, footed sleepers, the type with foot pads and at the back a drop seat that was held into place with buttons. Worse still, they were emblazoned with a Teddy-bear motif.

"Oh my dear lady, they are absolutely adorable, exactly what is needed, I can't thank you enough. Just what every naughty little boy needs for beddy-byes … hmm … lovely and roomy too, just right for a good thick nappy underneath?"

"Oh yes Madam, absolutely," Smirked the assistant.
She looked at her little boy in the toddler clothes. 

"Say thank you to the nice lady for all your lovely new baby clothes Mr Pee-pee pants."

Philip managed to sob a thank you and minutes later he and Aunty were out on the street as many amused people on the high street would stare at him as they walked, Aunty firmly holding onto his hand as they gazed at the boy in baby blue suspender shorts with matching shoes, shirt and bow tie.

As people passed they would have clearly been able to notice the several clear and present dark red handprints up and down the backs of his little legs visible from the hem of his tugged up shorts, to the tops of his little boy socks.

Laura was amazed at his new little boy's appearance as they approached her waiting in the car.

"Straight home please Laura. I have to have a very long talk with a very naughty little boy."

Not long after Philip had indeed had a long talk with auntie. His Aunt's hand and a large hairbrush did all the talking and now he lay tucked up in bed, secured in his nappies and plastic pants and wearing his new footed Teddy-Bear pyjamas.

A letter to Nanny Smackbottom from the annuls of Pyjama Punishment Monthly.

Dear Nanny Smackbottom

Even though I admire and enjoy your publication I must confess to having had doubts about the methods employed to discipline errant boys. Imagine my surprise when I discovered for myself that your recommendations could be deployed successfully.

My nephew is fifteen, and typically lacking in manners and respect for his elders. One evening after a heated debate about him going out and not returning until late, I decided to try a little experiment. While he was taking a bath I locked his bedroom door, then selected a pair of my pyjamas; yellow floral ones made of robust flannelette and returned to the sitting room to wait for him.
Soon he was standing in front of me holding a wet skimpy towel to cover his modesty. He demanded access to his bedroom and his clothes but I calmly told him that I had decided he was not going out tonight  but instead would enjoy a quiet night in with me. I pointed to the pyjamas warming on the radiator and informed him he could wear the pyjamas or he could stay naked - the choice was his. Of course he blustered about his 'rights' and such nonsense that he had picked up at school, until I told him that he was legally still a child and under my jurisdiction and that i had the right to discipline him how I chose.

Becoming less assured now he tried to reason with me. He reminded me that I was expecting visitors, as if that would sway me. I told him it was up to him, if he wanted my guests tosee him naked he could stay as he was, or he could be seen, modestly attired in pyjamas. Much calmer now he looked at the pyjamas on the radiator then down at the useless, sopping wet towel. I watched delighted as he took  the pyjama bottoms and  reluctantly stepped into them. As he slipped his arms into the the pyjama jacket I could barely suppress my excitement.

The pyjamas were far too big for him, especially the pyjama top, so I helped him by turning up the sleeves of the jacket and turning over the elastic waistband of the bottoms to shorten the length of the pyjama legs. He struggled with the unfamiliar button arrangement and I happily fastened them for him. The effect on him was staggering, almost immediately after putting on my pyjamas he was a different boy. He politely requested that he be allowed to go immediately to bed, but I informed him if he did so seven o'clock would become his permanent bedtime so it would be more sensible to wait to greet and say hello to my guests, after a short period of time I would allow him to depart for bed. When he asked me how we would explain his appearance he called me 'Aunty', something he had not done for several weeks.

We would say he was recovering from flu and that he had run out of clean pyjamas, I told him reassuringly. When my guests arrived he was politeness personified, sitting quietly and speaking when spoken to. Everyone accepted without question our explanation of his unusual attire, some even commenting on how sweet he looked wearing feminine pyjamas. Only when one of them produced her phone, saying she must have a picture of such a delightfully polite little boy in his jimmy-jams, did he murmur an objection. I felt sufficiently confident to give his bottom a little smack and he posed, admittedly somewhat shyly, sitting coquettishly on my lap - a picture that stands framed on my mantelpiece as I write.

At seven thirty I encouraged him to say goodnight to everyone and after night-night kisses and hugs, I led him upstairs and tucked him into bed in my daughter's old room. He did not look out of place amongst the girlish knick-knacks that defined it as a truly feminine bedroom.

The next day I kept him dressed in my pyjamas to reinforce my newfound discipline and after school on Monday I took him shopping and bought him two pairs of female pyjamas of his very own. His pyjamas are primrose and pink; soft winceyette ones with a frilly lace Peter Pan collar, and with teddy bear and - very appropriate for winter - snowmen, motifs.
Since then, if he has misbehaved I only have to say ‘pyjama time please’ and no sooner have I spoken the words he has put on his pyjamas and is cuddled up beside me dressed for beddy-byes in his pretty girls' night attire.

Thank you for promoting this truly effective style of petticoat discipline.

Yours truly,

Margaret

Dear Margaret
 
Pyjama and bedtime discipline is very effective, and I get quite a few letters from women such as yourself who have discovered this for themselves. A soft toy such as a teddy bear or bunny rabbit is often added, as well as a baby's dummy at the time of actually being taken to bed and this can greatly enhance your control over him especially with guests present. Please write again Margaret, and tell us all how he is progressing.

Nanny Snackbottom

Humilated in footie pyjamas. This couldn't happen to Stephen could it?

Oliver is humiliated and put to bed as Stephen becomes frustrated. Another part of my story featuring moggs characters.(Parts one and two)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dear Hyacinth

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

Yours sincerely 

Vera Evans.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Almost immediately Oliver knew he had made a mistake.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mrs Evans proffered the pyjamas to Stephens mum.

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

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Handy Pandie please Oliver,"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mrs Evans grinned at Stephen and patted his head condescendingly as he stood buttoning up his coat, she was looking directly at him but talking to his mum.

 "I don't know if Stephen wears shorty pyjamas, but you are welcome to them and the all in one winceyette set is the one I had Mrs Frederick make for Oliver, you know, used to have the shop on the high street? It was designed to curb his nocturnal habits but he soon outgrew it unfortunately and she retired I believe."

Stephen felt faint, if only they had left for the bus earlier.
"Oh, look Stephen a lovely pair of shorty pyjamas, actually if you don't mind Edith, I will use them as a play outfit for Stephen, how sweet, you like Bob the Builder too don't you Stephen?"

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

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

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

"Hello, hello." Two heads appeared peering into the living room. Pardon us, we did knock…."

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

Strict Mrs Jacobson makes me wear striped pyjamas for an early bedtime.

Aunty had to dash off to tend to her ailing sister Aunty Hilda, and as Aunty decreed before she left, I found myself under orders to obey Mrs Jacobson without question. At first everything seemed to be satisfactory. I had washed the dishes and vacuumed throughout, before she sent me upstairs to clean my bedroom.
It was when she came up to inspect my handiwork that I fell foul of her wrath. She asked me if I had finished and if I was certain I had thoroughly completed my task.

"Yes Mrs Jacobson," I replied, confident that I had done an excellent job.

She reached up to the wardrobe door frame and ran her finger along the edge. The dust smeared finger was thrust under my nose. "Call that clean do you?  You lazy boy, telling me lies about how well you have cleaned. Well, something will have to be done about this. I'll have to sort you out some pyjamas, you obviously need some discipline."

I could sense her anger as she ordered me to put my hands on my head and stand in the corner of my bedroom facing the mirror so that I could, "look Mr Liar in the face."

After twenty minutes of corner time she called me downstairs, my heart sank as I saw my freshly ironed, red striped pyjamas waiting ominously for one unlucky wearer. Mrs Jacobson beckoned me toward her

"Off with your clothes, I want you in pyjamas ready for bed before the girls arrive," she informed me.
It turned out that Mrs Jacobson had decided to hold her Women's Institute accounts meeting that very afternoon. Quickly I divested myself of my clothing and stood, not for the first time, naked in front of her. She grasped my penis and rolled back the foreskin, "disgusting, I see I shall have to bathe you before I can even think of putting you into clean pyjamas."
Now I had showered fastidiously that very morning so I knew this was merely an excuse to wash me. Mrs Jacobson enjoyed wielding a flannel as if she was on some mission to eradicate any trace of penile emissions from male bodies. I received several slaps to the back of my bare legs that left red finger-mark weal's for, in her words,  "crying like a baby," as she scoured my skin with her coarse cloth. Finally she was convinced of my cleanliness and it was time for my, "pyjamaring", as she insisted on calling the act of donning pyjamas. I was allowed to undertake this task myself while Mrs Jacobson emptied the wash bowl. Upon her return I immediately encountered her wrath. "How is it that a boy you age still doesn't learn that there wouldn't be a top button on your pyjama jacket if it wasn't meant to be fully buttoned up, now get it buttoned, fast." My protest about how uncomfortable it was and how silly I looked in a fully buttoned pyjama jacket fell on deaf ears, she lost patience with me and buttoned it up herself, smoothing down the pyjama collar as she did so. Of course there was more.
"How many times?" She asked, as she reached under my pyjama jacket and undid the pyjama cord, sliding my pyjama bottoms down to my ankles before raising them again, only this time encompassing the pyjama jacket hem within the waist of the pyjama bottoms. "There now, that's much neater, isn't it?" she asked to no one in particular, before abruptly ordering me to, "be a soldier." Upon her command I had to come to attention, the palms of my hands pressed firmly against my pyjama bottoms, my tartan slippers welded together and my eyes unwaveringly focussed forwards on her unforgiving features. "Attention! Quick march." Mrs Jacobson hailed from a military background and she enjoyed periodically putting me through my paces but this was the first time she had done so when I was wearing striped pyjamas and tartan slippers. After ten minutes of drill in the garden I was eventually allowed to stand at ease by the tool shed just as the accounts committee began to arrive. First was Miss Keighley. "In your jim-jams at three pm today I see, have you been a very naughty boy? I do hope we are going to see you draped over Mrs Jacobson lap before you are sent to bed?" I blushed but remained at my ease position as Mrs Jacobson had not yet given me permission to move. "Wincy, you will go indoors and prepare tea for six, not for you though, you will be going to bed early and I don't want you out of bed running to the bathroom once we have tucked you in."
Once again my heat sank, another early bedtime. Of course if I had known what was about to occur I would have happily went to bed there and then.

I have been stuck at Aunty's for a bit, under the gentle care of Mrs Jacobson, I will tell all later. Meanwhile, over at moggs blog, he has written an excellent 3 part story Luke's Appointment that is well worth a read.

Eunice's comment about putting her husband into frilly pink winceyette pyjamas to complete his household chores, certainly seems to have struck a chord. Mrs Edith Bagnel has written to tell me she has been using this form of pyjama punishment for quite some time. I must admit I would have remained ignorant of what a, "ruffle neckline" actually was unless Edith had not included several pictures, although I have only shown a couple to demonstrate for those as clueless as I was. Mr Bagnel is subject to a rather strict Sissy regime but to each their own. Here is Edith's letter.

Dear Eunice




I would like to congratulate you on the way you maintain discipline over your husband. It is very impressive, although I do wonder why you bother to change him into oversized, male striped pyjamas when a large, floral winceyette pair would be equally effective?

I am thirteen years older that my husband and I was under no illusion that he only married me to take advantage of my financially comfortable lifestyle. What a shock he got on our honeymoon, he had assumed that he could wander off down to the hotel bar, when I took him across my lap and smacked his bottom for him until it was burning red and he was whimpering for me to stop he realised married life was not going to be as he thought it was. I opened my suitcase and selected a pair of robust winceyette pyjamas for him to wear. They were pale pink with tiny rosebuds on them, best of all was the high, ruffle neck collar that I delighted in fastening for him before I stepped him into the pyjama bottoms. I ordered room service and had no compunction in making him open the door to the girl who bought the food. he received another surprise when I put him to bed in the bathtub where he spent the night whilst I enjoyed the food.

We have been together now for seven years, and since that very first night he has not worn male outdoor clothes on more than four occasions. I have kept him permanently dressed in pink floral pyjamas for the remainder of that time. Only when he had to have an emergency appendectomy did I relent and allow him to change into a pair of men's pyjamas before the ambulance arrived.

His daily routine begins at 5.30. He showers and puts on the pair of pyjamas that are top of the pile I leave for him in his sleeping space. I should mention here that my husband has never shared a bed with me, he sleeps in what was once a walk in wardrobe where there is just enough room for a small single bed and a three drawer cabinet that I place his daily pyjamas in. All of his pyjamas are made form winceyette, are pink floral and have either a ruffled high neck collar or a Peter Pan style collar, The top button of his pyjamas must always be fastened unless he wants a visit across my knee.

Suitably slippered and pyjamaed, he works quietly in the kitchen until it is time to bring me my morning tea and toast at 8 am.

He has a set of daily chores to perform and I get him to recite them for me as he clears breakfast away so that I can monitor his performance throughout the day.

I make no attempt to conceal his pyjama discipline and my punishment methods of corner time, mouth soaping and spankings, indeed I enjoy nothing better than when, on sunny days, I am entertaining in the garden and he comes out to hang out washing, I call him over and get him to sing a nursery rhyme or two. My mother and sister love to hear him mumble his way through Twinkle-Twinkle Little Star and Mary Had a Little Lamb before chastising him and making him repeat the performance until we are satisfied. Likewise my niece, who is fourteen, has always had complete authority over  him. It is very amusing when she straps him into the garden swing and pushes him higher and higher which he absolutely hates and is quite terrified of. His screams became to alarming for the neighbours so now he is gagged with a dummy tied into his mouth before the fun can begin.
His muffled screams of terror are frightfully funny and have us all in hysterics.

We never tire of finding new ways for my husband to entertain us, one of which is that he now must curtsey to every female of whatever age, each time he is spoken to and thank us. So for example my niece will say, "Uncle bring me a lemonade quickly now," and he will take the hem of his pyjama jacket between his fingers and curtsey replying, " yes Miss Felicity, at once Miss Felicity.
When we are in a playful mood we have him fetching and taking away ridiculous things like a cooking apple and make him eat it.

Of course his bedtime comes around quickly and I send him of to shower at 5pm after he has prepared the evening meal. Sometimes I bath him myself, I enjoy filling the bath with cold water and scrubbing his small body with a nailbrush, once again he has to be dummy gagged to stifle his screams.

He puts on his betimes pyjamas and he goes back to bed no later than six pm. I can only recall three instances in the last seven years when he has not been in bed  by that time so he is used to early bedtimes.
I hope Eunice continues to control her errant husband with pyjamarings and early bedtimes and encourage other women to do the same.