PJTradman has penned a great addition to the, Pyjamaed Public Schoolboys story.

It was 7.30 pm and almost lights out in Dorm 'A'
With the flies of his pyjama trousers and the ends of the jacket sleeves sewn up tightly after the ‘incident’, Tradman was unable to play with his ‘old man’ after lights out – instead he was forced to lay awake and listen to the sound of vigorously flapping winceyette emanating from beneath the crisply starched sheets of his dorm bedfellows: Speccy Sanderson, Fatty Forster and ‘Lofty’ Middleton.

Tradman was fully aware that Jeff was the cad who’d grassed him up to Matron.
He knew that it was Jeff who had made a last minute visit to the ‘Bogs’ and had discovered himself and Lofty together in their pyjamas engaged in an intimate moment and then gone to Matron’s office and informed her that he was sure that ‘Rotter Tradman’ was contravening her new ruling concerning the ban on the chaps ‘pleasuring themselves’ in their pyjamas.

Tradman remembered all too clearly the pain and humiliation as Matron had hauled him over her knee in the middle of his dorm and delivered a blistering spanking in his pyjamas as an example to the other chaps. He remembered his pyjama trousers flapping as his legs kicked wildly as he tried to escape Matron’s clutches but to no avail. 

He remembered the sound of his pyjama jacket ripping at the ferocity of her grip on his collar and the pain as she increased the tempo of her stinging slaps. Now that bounder Jeff was about to reap the reward for his unsporting, sneaky behaviour.

Matron, followed by the demure Miss Ashbourne crashed through the door of Dorm ‘B’ just as Jeff’s own after-hours noisy pyjama fumbling were concluding. He quickly pretended to be asleep and pondered on what on earth was happening.

‘Open Jeff’s bedside cabinet would you please, Miss Ashbourne. Ah, just as I expected –here are my two missing winceyette nighties and my ahem, underwear.’

Jeff looked perplexed as Matron questioned him.
‘How do you explain yourself, Jeff? - I must say that I expected better from you. Not only is this theft but also very strange behaviour, do you want to wear my nighties and underwear?'

'N..no.. Matron I...'

She held up her hand to silence him.

‘Well I think a lesson is to be learnt here, please get up immediately and stand at the end of your bed’. In fact, the rest of you can get up and stand smartly at the end of your beds.’

John, PP and ‘Tiny’ Blair shuffled sheepishly in their pyjamas and stood to attention.

With absolutely no idea as to what was going on, Jeff threw back the heavy bedclothes and shuffled to the end of his bed in his overlarge black and white striped pyjamas that he had borrowed from John and stood nervously at attention facing Matron, and for good reason.

‘What on earth is that you disgusting boy?’ as she pointed to the obvious wet stain spreading across the front of his regulation striped pyjama jacket –

‘I thought I had made myself very clear when I said No more bedtime shenanigans’
‘Bu–b-but ‘…..Jeff began to plead his innocence but his protestations were cut short by a sharp slap across his bottom.

‘Enough lies thank you Jeff – Miss Ashbourne, would you remove Jeff’s soiled pyjamas.’

Not wishing to spoil her feather-trimmed silk nightie with Jeff’s nighttime emissions, Miss Ashbourne stood behind him and reached round to unfasten the pyjama buttons. Her attempts to undo the trouser cord coupled with the sensation of her heavy bosom brushing against the back of his pyjamas caused him to catch his breath in excitement before his pyjamas finally lay in a crumpled pile around his ankles.

‘Now, as you clearly wish to dress as the fairer sex, I shan’t be the one to deny you this experience.’

Shaking out a pair of the oft-washed regulation knickers that had been secreted in Jeff’s draw, Matron held them out at arm’s length. ‘Please come here and we will begin your ‘Nightifying’

Jeff had experienced several ‘pyjamarings’ from Matron in the past but this was a new level of humiliation that was unfamiliar but one which he began to find arousing. 

He stepped into the huge flannelette navy knickers which were pulled up in a flash with the elastic gripping loosely above his navel and the crotch hanging at mid-thigh. His manhood straining at the heavy cotton produced a noticeable bulge that helped to keep them from falling down.

The chaps standing in their pyjamas began to snigger and wink knowingly to each other at the sight in front of them

‘Hold your arms up and I’ll pop this cosy winceyette nightgown on you in a jiffy.’ 

Matron’s voluminous starched nightie decorated with tiny rosebuds fell heavily down to the waxed wooden floorboards, its journey only briefly impeded by Jeff’s burgeoning excitement. Folds of material now nestled around his feet with the long sleeves hiding his hands.

Matron flattened out the large lace-frilled collar and buttoned up the pearl buttons to the neck. Next, the buttons at the cuffs were fastened, producing a pleasing blouson effect in the overlong sleeves.
Now, into the bed with you Jeff – or should we perhaps call you ‘Sissykins?’ 

This produced a chorus of guffawing from the other chaps still standing to attention in their pyjamas. 

As Jeff stumbled across the floorboards towards his bed with the folds of the overlong nightie trailing behind him, Matron removed the cord from the damp pyjama trousers. As he lay still on the creaking metal bed, swamped in folds of cool heavy cotton, Matron quickly gathered a handful of material and began to tie the end of the nightie as if it were a sack of potatoes.

‘There! That will ensure that you remain in bed until morning and I shall send in Miss Ashbourne first thing in order to check for any stains. I think a week of wearing my nighties will teach you the error of your ways.’ 

On the other side of the wall, Tradman smirked with satisfaction as he listened to the drama in Dorm B unfold – what a master plan it was to conceal Matron’s nighties and underwear in Jeff’s cupboard, he would definitely think twice before ‘dobbing him in it’ next time!

Pete Amas has sent another excellent contribution about Peterkins and Pyjama Servitude

Winifred and Cecilia tucked Peterkins into bed. They carefully placed his pyjama clad arms on top of the blankets by his side, before they withdrew from the room, Cecilia gathered up Peter’s clothes and shoes. ‘You won't be needing these again Peterkins so we shall put them away for you.”

Standing by the door, Winifred looked sternly at Peter informing him that any misbehaviour would not be tolerated and would result in a painful spanking. As they turned off the light and pulled the door tightly behind them Peterkins could hear a heavy clunk as the door was locked.

He was trapped but unperturbed. He had always fantasised about such a scenario and despite his nervousness could not believe his luck. He enjoyed being under the spell of such powerful older women as he lay in a strange bed wearing an old pair of beautifully soft flannel pyjamas. He was ridden with a delightful anxiety that seemed to heighten his arousal.

Reaching under the blankets he could not resist caressing himself through the pyjama bottoms. Despite his highly aroused state of mind and continued fondling he couldn't rise to the occasion and was becoming increasingly frustrated with his lack of performance.

30 minutes later he was exasperated. What the hell is going on he thought? He turned over onto his face and pressed hard against the mattress with his arms down by his side caressing his legs through the pyjamas. Yet despite all his efforts, nothing was stirring.

Peterkins awoke sometime later with a desperate urge to pee. He crept out of bed and fumbled toward the door using the light under the doorway as his guide. He pulled desperately at the handle to get out of the room but forgot that the door had been locked as Winifred and Cecilia left the room. He softly called their names but to no avail. After 15 minutes of pleading and whimpering, he returned to bed and squirmed up in a foetal position to ease the pain. 30 minutes later he was in agony and pee began to dribble from his member. Suddenly there was a rush of warmth as a flood of urine-drenched his pyjamas. He was totally ashamed and began to cry at the predicament he found himself in.

Two minutes later Winifred and Cecilia entered the room dressed in flannel floral pyjamas and wearing quilted housecoats. Winifred carried a basin of hot water, a sponge and a bath towel. “Dear, dear, dear Peterkins. Why did you not call us,” asked Winifred?

“Cecilia darling can you fetch a clean pair of pyjamas and a change of bedclothes while I wash Peterkins down and put on more appropriate attire for our little bedwetter?”

Winifred began to undress Peterkins. She pulled the cord on his pyjama bottoms and the sodden mass of flannel dropped like a stone. Gently she undid the jacket buttons and having removed it from Peterkins now shivering body she began to wash him with warm soapy water. Again, and despite the sensuous nature of the act, Peterkins had no stirrings between his legs. He was alarmed that his previously virile member was now totally useless.


Gently drying him off with a beautifully soft towel Winifred picked up what appeared to be an adult disposable nappy. She opened it up and began to slip it between Peterkins legs. “Now Peterkins, this will help protect you from any further accidents tonight.” As she closed the tabs either side of his body Peterkins began to sob as the shame of his situation began to dawn on him.

Cecilia had been busy changing the bed and now approached Peterkins with a pair of white flannel pyjamas with a rich blue paisley motif. For the second time that evening Peterkins found himself being draped in exquisite flannel pyjamas by the two imposing spinsters. Yet this time he was absolutely helpless and wished to go home. He could not understand how he had become so subservient to these two older ladies. 

As he was led back to bed like a wayward little boy, Winifred tearfully confessed that his manhood would no longer perform as it had previously done and that any attempt to satiate his desires would end in tears and frustration.

“Now then little Peterkins,” began Winifred, “we don’t want you performing big boy activities, do we, Cecilia? Better you forget about any such behaviour and simply accept your new status as a little boy and refrain from any attempt to play with himself.”

Peterkins was taken aback by her words. “What have you done to me?” he cried. 

“Now, now Peterkins,” piped Cecilia, “a little potion in your milk helps to reduce any adult desires. It is early days yet but by the end of the week you will have absolutely no appetite for such behaviour and will be dutifully compliant with our wishes and desires.

As Peterkins sat on the bed Cecilia gently lifted his pyjama clad legs up onto the bed while Winifred pushed his torso down. They took time laying him out on the bed and ensured his pyjamas were correctly covering all of his body. To add weight to her statement Cecilia patted and caressed him through the flannel and the nappy. It was a highly sensuous act yet nothing was stirring down below. Cecilia continued to pat his manhood as Winifred began to pull the blankets up over his legs. 

“Now Peterkins, tomorrow you will be introduced to your new nursery where you will begin your life of permanent pyjama servitude, you will spend your days dressed in your lovely soft flannel pyjamas and learning about your nap-times and early bedtimes Now off to beddy-byes with you.”

Peterkins now felt anxious, surely they couldn’t mean to keep him in soft flannel pyjamas and nappies indefinitely could they? What about his job, his friends? Peterkins opened his mouth to protest, immediately it was filled with a dummy, a proper 
adult-sized babies dummy 

“Mmmppphhh!” Peterkins protests were muffled as Winifred fastened the dummy and together the two women tucked him tightly into bed with his arms secured down by his side.

Peterkins would soon become accustomed to his new life of pyjama servitude.

Pyjamaed Public Schoolboys Punished By Matron

Jeff, PP and John had pranked the boys in the adjacent dorm rather spiffingly earlier that week and PJ Tradman minor and the rest of his gang had vowed revenge. Jeff and his two pals had spent the previous two evenings on high alert relying on their ever trustworthy knotted scarfs as weapons of defence. With Matron Goodknight ever vigilant and liable to make a surprise inspection, the boys had sensibly always changed into their black and white striped pyjamas before climbing between the sheets. (This being the nineteen twenties, colour had yet to be developed)

After all, by Jove, they were English and destined one day to step into their father’s striped pyjamas and rule the Empire. Although it was a chill night and being an English public school no heating existed in the dormitories the boys always slept with the windows open as they were well insulated clad as they were in warmest winceyette.

It was very late, almost nine thirty, Jeff and John began to relax just as they had the previous two nights at this time, PJ would never lead an attack at this ungodly hour. PP was already snoring as Jeff loosened his grip on his scarf and looked forward to holding something else as he began to snuggle down. “Night PP,” he said in his masterful tone. 

“Night Jeff old thing,” answered John, the admiration he felt for the skipper evident in his voice. Suddenly, the window lifted and PJ’s pyjama clad mob clambered through led by Speccy Sanderson, the fight was on!

In a flash, PJ Tradman and his bunch of rotters fell upon the plucky trio. Jeff quickly pulled up his pyjama bottoms and leapt into action along with his trusted fellows. Quickly realising that their scarves were useless against their foes pillows, Jeff, showing his gift for command, that John and PP so much admired, ordered his troops to raise pillows and engage the enemy. 

Soon the air was thick with feathers and it became difficult to distinguish pyjamaed friend from pyjamaed foe as the battle raged.  Suddenly a large shaped figure loomed menacingly in front of John and he swung his pillow with all his force, certain that he was just about to remove Fatty Forster from the fray.

For a split second the air cleared and John, to his horror, realised that the portly figure in front of him was not the aforementioned Master Forster but was, in fact, Matron herself Mrs Knight.

"What is the meaning of this! Desist at once!" The sound of that familiar voice brought the fracas to an immediate halt, the airborne feathers drifted gently to the floor as the flannelled fools 

all turned toward the angry face of Matron who stood, definitely not amused, in her voluminous Victorian-like, winceyette nightgown.

Mrs Knight lined up the boys in her study, her stern demeanour did not bode well for them. She had been joined by her housemistress Miss Ashbourne who had become aware of the disorder.

All present were wearing their nightwear due to the lateness of the hour. The boys in their striped flannelette pyjamas, Mrs Knight in her pale pink, buttoned to the neck floral winceyette nightdress and fur collared slippers and Miss Ashbourne, whose white silk nightgown and fluffy mule slippers made a most incongruous contrast to the rest of the night attire on display. 

Pj Tradman and his motley crew were wearing their tartan slippers, but Jeff, PP and John were standing on the cold linoleum floor barefoot as Mrs Knight walked down the line of assembled boys.

“I don’t know what prompted this disgraceful behaviour, nor do I want to know. However, I must say how disappointed I am in your involvement in all this Jeff.”

Jeff felt his lower lip quiver, he hated letting Mrs Knight down. PJ smirked and whispered, “cry-baby.”

Miss Ashbourne demanded silence. She grabbed PJ by the ear and brought him forward.

“This one first I think Matron, give me your slipper Tradman,” she demanded. Perhaps now regretting his snide remark, PJ Tradman was bent over the arm of the couch and received six swats to his backside from Miss Ashbourne with his own slipper before being sent tearfully back to his dormitory.

John was next to receive his spanking. Miss Ashbourne used her own mule slipper to administer his punishment and although it hurt terribly and he had to fight back the tears, he felt somewhat excited by the experience and felt an urgent need to return to bed. As he made for the door he felt a tickle in his nose. “Atishoo!” He sneezed violently.

“Oh, dear John. I hope you’re not getting a cold by roaming barefoot in the middle of the night? I best come and tuck you in properly,” she took John by the hand and led him hurriedly away.

Finally, there was left just Jeff and Mrs Knight alone in her rooms. “Well Jeff, as I expected higher standards from you I am afraid your punishment will be double that of the others.”

Jeff had recovered his composure and was determined to accept his punishment like a man and prepared to take his position across the arm of the couch.

“One moment please Jeff.” Mrs Knight approached him and reached for the drawstring on his pyjama bottoms. “I intend to spank you on your bare bottom.”

Jeff was taken aback but stood as his pyjama bottoms puddled on the floor around his feet. He shuffled awkwardly to the couch and bent over.

“You may stand.” Twelve times Mrs Knight’s rubber-soled slipper had struck him, six on each buttock. Despite his best intentions, he felt a tear roll down his cheek as he bent to pull up his pyjama bottoms. Mrs Knight dabbed it away with her handkerchief.

“Goodnight Jeff, I do hope that will teach you not to be a naughty boy again.”

Jeff thought not, he had rather enjoyed being naughty.

Cosy jim-jams for those who prefer a more infantile look

Silk Pink Pyjamas and Slippers. I know that a lot of pyjama lovers enjoy the sensation of the silky feel so these pictures are for them.

This is the best example of a pair of M&S psychedelic pyjamas I could find

Caring Ways By Pete Amas. Pete has kindly sent me another of his great stories.

Having recently moved into the area Peter did not yet know any of his neighbours. He had been attracted to the locality by the well-kept lawns, trimmed privet hedges and age profile of the retirees that mainly populated the area. 

He decided to take a walk, It was a quiet balmy evening and the air smelled of freshly cut grass. He could also detect the smell of night scented stock as the evening drew to a close. 

Peter enjoyed a pleasant stroll and on his return, he passed the house next to his, an old-style 1930's house with a wooden veranda and beautifully planted garden. He saw two mature ladies dressed in a curiously dated fashion. One of the ladies was standing shakily on a ladder attempting to water some hanging baskets. Peter, concerned that she would fall ran to assist. 

“Ladies, please let me help you with that,” he called as he ran up the flower-lined pathway then up the steps to the veranda. 

“Oh thank you, dear, how kind”. The lady offered him the watering can as he reached out to take the weight from her. To his surprise, the can was quite heavy and he struggled to handle the weight of water and managed to spill quite a bit on his Harris Tweed jacket. 

He lowered the watering can to the veranda and offered his hand to help her down from the step ladder. 

“What a gentleman you are to take the trouble to help. Let me introduce myself, I am Winifred Goodnight and this is my sister Cecilia”. 

Peter shook Winifred's hand and turned to greet Cecilia. “Good evening Winifred, Cecilia, my name is Peter, I've recently rented the house next door and you are the first neighbours I have had the fortune to meet. May I continue watering your plants for you? You have a most beautiful display, like an old cottage garden”.

“Well, Peter it is a pleasure to meet you. Cecilia, why don't you go and put the kettle on? I’m sure Peter will stay for tea and cake after he has finished watering the plants”, commanded Winifred.  

While Cecilia went into the house Winifred began interrogating Peter as he watered the remainder of the planters. “Aren't you the handsome young chap. No doubt you have a girlfriend somewhere?” She questioned.

Peter blushed being a shy young man. “Well no Winifred, I live alone, I’ve just moved here from the city seeking a slower, quieter pace of life as I’ve not been too well recently.

“How interesting,” Winifred remarked, then added, “I thought you looked a bit pale and underweight, perhaps we can help you to recover your strength?”
Miss Goodnight ushered Peter into the house as she commented. “I note from your clothes that you dress a little eccentric, your garb is more suited for an older person, I am not criticising your mode of dress you understand, you look very dapper, all the same, it’s strange to see such taste in one so young”. 

“Yes”, Peter replied “I buy a lot of my clothes in vintage clothing stores. I love the quality of the fabrics and the cut of older clothes”.

“Well, you must come in and see our dear nephew’s clothes collection He passed away some time ago at the age of thirty-two and we have been reticent to give away the clothes he loved so. They are probably just the sort of vintage clothes look you like to wear. Harris tweed jackets, corduroy trousers, argyle knitted sweaters and cardigans.”

 “That would be great,” Peter answered.

A short while later, Cecilia arrived with a tray wonderfully set with bone china cups, scones, clotted cream and tea. She began to pour as Peter finished watering the last of the planters.

They sat and talked for a good half hour with the two ladies interrogating Peter in some detail as to his background and family status.

Having finished her tea Winifred stood up and took Peter by the hand. “Come along now Peter, let's go and look at our dear nephew’s clothes. I am sure there are things of interest to you young man.”

Winifred was quite forceful as she led Peter by the arm into the house and down a long dark hallway. 

They entered a room at the back of the house, Winifred pulled the curtains flooding the room with light. The room looked out over a beautifully planted rear garden with tall trees defining the boundary. It was quite secluded and had great privacy. 

As Peter turned back toward the room it looked like it had been left the way it was the day the sister's nephew died. On the back of the door hung a beautifully tailored heavy grey trench coat. Beside it hung a vintage brown, woollen dressing gown with a gold braided belt and braid trimming around the sleeves and collar. The bed was made and turned down and resting on a pillow was an exquisite pair of winceyette pyjamas with a wine coloured medallion motif. A pair of brown tartan carpet slippers lay on the floor by the bed.

Peter was taken aback at how spotless the room was and he was drawn to the bed and pyjamas. As Winifred opened a large mahogany wardrobe Peter sat on the edge of the bed and gently caressed the pyjamas. He was nervous about making his gesture but he couldn't resist. For some reason, he had always had an attraction to soft, brushed cotton pyjamas as worn in the nineteen sixties and seventies.

Peter couldn't take his eyes away from the pyjamas; in the wardrobe mirror, Winifred caught his gaze. Putting a Tweed Norfolk jacket back on its hanger, she turned to face him.“Do you like those pyjamas Peter?” she asked. 

Caught off guard by the directness of her question and the fact that she had seen him fondle the pyjamas, he cleared his throat and managed a feeble reply about how he liked the old style pattern and remembered when he was a boy how his mother insisted he wore soft winceyette pyjamas for bed. 

Winifred picked up the pyjama jacket. Unbuttoning it, she began to caress Peters face with the sleeve. The material was soft against his cheek and he could detect a faint smell of rose water as she continued to stroke his face with the soft winceyette material; he began to feel his penis respond in excitement.

“Would you like to put on our dear nephew’s pyjamas, Peter?” Winifred almost whispered as Cecilia entered and stood beside her sister. 

“I’m sure Cecilia and I would be very happy to see you wearing and enjoying them.”

Peter could hardly answer, he was excited at the thought of the lovely pyjamas embracing his body but he felt himself slightly shaking his head, feeling overawed by what was happening. 

“Now, now Peter, don't be shy,” Cecilia cooed. “What if you tried on the jacket? What harm could that do?”

Winifred glided toward him and removed Peter’s Tweed jacket, she undid his tie and began to unbutton his shirt. She handed the shirt and tie to Cecilia who in return handed Winifred the pyjamas jacket.

Winifred took the pyjama jacket and held it almost reverentially by the shoulders and invited Peter to extend his arm. Slowly and with great ceremony, she slipped the right sleeve up his arm and across his shoulders. Wordlessly he proffered his left arm to the same effect.

For a moment the soft winceyette jacket brushed his stomach before Winifred drew the jacket together, closing the top button and working her way downward.

The buttons had yellowed with age and almost blended into the colour of the pyjamas. Small goosebumps made the hair on Peter's body stand erect as the winceyette embraced his body. 

Winifred placed her hands upon his shoulders and turned him to face the mirror on the wardrobe door. He saw that the hem of the pyjama jacket fell a long way down his torso and as the long sleeves extended to obscure his hands he was confronted with the contradiction that no matter how beautiful the pyjamas felt he felt weak and disempowered in the company of these imposing ladies.

By now, Peter’s penis was fully erect beneath his corduroy trousers. He was desperate for the sisters to complete his pyjamaring but mortified at the thought of them seeing his obvious excitement.

“Oh Peter, don't you look exquisite in your lovely jim-jams Are you prepared to go all the way now?” He was by now beyond resisting and feebly nodded his approval. 

Winifred started to undo his belt and trousers as Cecilia knelt to remove his shoes and socks. As his bare feet touched the deep pile carpet he squelched his toes gripping the carpet to anchor himself in his new reality as Winifred stepped him out of his white cotton underpants to expose his excitement.

“Well, now Cecilia, it looks like Peter is aroused by this whole affair. I’m sure that will change in time after he has experienced numerous pyjamarings.” She commented intriguingly. 

Cecilia had made a small puddle of flannel on the floor with the pyjama bottoms. She took Peter’s left leg and placed it in the middle of the puddle and began to draw the bottoms up. When they were halfway up to his knee she took his right leg and placed it into the bottoms. Peter gasped as the winceyette swept past his thighs and up toward his groin and caressed his penis. 

Cecilia now focused her gaze on Peter’s face as she slowly encircled his waist and ensured that she tucked the hem of the pyjama jacket deep inside the pyjama trousers. Six inches of pure white pyjama cord dangled from each side of the bottoms, she tied the ends together above his belly button so tightly that he gasped.

Peter could see his pyjamaed self in the full-length mirror, the sleeves of his arms flapped with excessive winceyette and likewise, the pyjama legs had a surfeit of material cascading over his obscured feet. He was both elated and scared and a little ashamed having been dressed so provocatively in an old-fashioned pair of pyjamas by two strangely dominant older women. He just wanted to become as one with the winceyette and let all his worries disappear.

Cecilia approached Peter from behind and draped the brown woollen dressing gown over his shoulders. Lifting his arms into the dressing gown she closed the gown and tied the belt around his waist. Winifred then placed the matching tartan carpet slippers upon his feet. 

How could this have happened? Within five minutes he had been stripped of his clothing and now stood in the bedroom of two complete strangers wearing cosy pyjamas, dressing gown and carpet slippers. Yet hadn’t he loved every exciting moment of it?

Winifred looked at Cecilia and smiled. “Cecilia darling I think we have just found a replacement for our dear nephew. It looks like our pyjamaring skills will be needed again.”

Cecilia pulled open the other wardrobe door to reveal shelf after shelf of vintage pyjamas all in soft winceyette and in a myriad of patterns from traditional stripes to medallion prints and paisley swirls.

“Yes, Winifred, I was beginning to fear that dear nephew’s jimmy-jams would never be worn again but happily, we now have Peterkins to administer pyjamarings to. It appears we will extract many years of life out of the pyjamas yet.” 

Peter was in a daze as he was led downstairs, as Cecilia told him he needed his warm milk to aid a good night’s sleep.

Winifred squeezed his shoulders as he sipped his milk. “Happy Peterkins?” she asked.

He nodded dreamily, feeling he should be perturbed at being addressed by such an infantile name yet somehow he decided he rather liked it.

“That’s good,” she smiled. “It’s fortunate for you that we are your landladies, the property you rented is ours so you can stay here indefinitely. You will call us Aunt Cecilia and Aunt Winifred and receive at least five pyjamarings a day. You will spend your days enveloped in the softest winceyette pyjamas with your last pyjamaring being at six o’clock after which you will be put straight to bed. When the weather is clement we will wheel you out into the garden in your vintage bath chair where you can enjoy the benefits of the sun in the company of your Aunts and some of our friends. Now then, let’s get you snugly into beddy-byes shall we?”

Upstairs, Winifred and Cecilia pulled back the bedclothes and removed Peter’s dressing gown and slippers, guiding him into the bed they tucked him in and each kissed him goodnight.

Peterkins snuggled down to revel in the comforting embrace of his pyjamas.

Miss Jacobson Returns

Miss Jacobson has returned after yet another shopping trip. She descended on me just as I had finished showering and I actually opened the door wrapped only in a towel. She swept in and greeted me with instructions that I was to be ready for bed in twenty minutes.  I calmly explained the fact it was my office Christmas party night and that I would not be home until very late, possibly not before 10 pm. Miss Jacobson said nothing as she removed her jacket and made to sit down. As she did so she grabbed the corner of the towel and spun me around as if I were a spinning top. I whirled and landed naked across her lap, neatly in place for a smacked bottom. Minutes later, I was standing painfully in the corner nursing my burning backside and listening to Miss Jacobson explaining over the phone to my manager Miss Gregory that I was unable to attend that evening because I had been a naughty boy and was being put to bed early with a sore bottom. I was mortified, but Miss Jacobson ignored my protests and soon had me dressed in my floral winceyette pyjamas, pink slippers and quilted dressing gown. Later, when I was tucked up in bed, I wondered how I would explain myself to Miss Gregory in the morning.

An Unexpected Nightie Punishment

On Friday, Miss Jacobson had been shopping in town. She turned up completely unannounced at my flat claiming it was too late to travel back home and that she had decided to spend the night. It was just after seven o'clock when she arrived and I was immediately upbraided for not being ready for bed at such a late hour. It was lucky she said, that she had bought me a new nightie that was intended for Christmas Eve, however, it would be ideal for me to wear as a punishment nightie for being up so late. I was aghast to find myself being dressed in a full-length red floral, winceyette nightdress that buttoned up to neck with a Peter Pan collar. For her amusement she made me wear my Santa hat as I stood in the naughty corner after being spanked I was put to bed before eight o'clock with a warning that she would inform aunty of my misbehaviour and that I could expect an eventful time when I am visiting over Christmas.

The Case of the Pyjamaring Landladies. Holmes faces his most terrible adversary since Moriarty

"For Gods sake Watson, help me barricade this door. Mrs Hudson is on her way up with pyjamas for you too. I have been pyjamaed for the last three weeks, her and her fellow landladies are determined to administer pyjamarings to all of their male tenants You are the only one left, help me or you will soon be dressed in striped pyjamas permanently!"

Holmes and Watson will now be confined to their rooms permanently attired in striped winceyette pyjamas and tartan slippers. Gas light out at by 8 o'clock each night.

Sissy Babykins Pyjamaed and Spanked

When Phillip's mother educated his young wife into the efficacy of pyjama and early bedtime punishment she could never dream that her daughter-in-law would embrace her philosophy so enthusiastically. Soon Phillip was inducted into a strict regime that entailed him wearing sissy pyjamas in the marital home at all times and quickly became her pyjamaed Sissy Babykins. He soon learned to become courteous and respectful to all females and his wife often invited her aunt and her friend Miss Golightly, to assist in his training. All the ladies have the right to spank Babykins when they see fit and once his daily chores are fulfilled to the satisfaction of everyone Sissy Babykins is dispatched to bed very early with a well spanked bottom.

Mrs Sykes-Patterson has kindly contributed photos of her husband Lionel in his ridiculous looking, over-sized punishment pyjamas. Here also, is her account of one of Lionel's pyjamarings at the hands of the youthful Miss Jones.

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 Pyjamaring for the Disobedient Male". I am advising you as the only disobedient male present,  that you are about to receive a thorough pyjamaring 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 traditionally 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 old-fashioned ridiculous looking, 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 Miss Jones you do not need to request Lionel"s participation, instead, you firmly order him to comply with your wishes. Observe.”

Mrs Sykes-Patterson 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, unsure of what was transpiring and a trifle frightened of his wife and the other intimidating females. Without warning, Mrs Sykes Patterson suddenly grabbed his wrist and positioned him across her lap. Swiftly, she lowered his trousers and undergarments to reveal his very pale, flabby backside. Six rapid spanks later he stood trembling, partly through shock at what had just occurred and partly because it was quite chilly without any clothes as he stood pathetically hiding his modesty behind cupped hands.

 “Lionel, Miss Jones will now begin your pyjamaring so she needs to 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 pyjamaring, 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 let us 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 gentleman's trousers from the 1940’s, so the openings at the bottom have a 24" hem which I hope is not too wide".

Miss Jones proceeded to prepare the pyjama bottoms for the next stage of the pyjamaring 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 over 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 your 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 Sykes-Patterson felt the need to interject.

"Nonsense, Miss Jones, I consider them to be a triumph in the art of pyjamaring!  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 post woman 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 him away to begin his pyjama clad servitude.

Regards

Mrs Sykes-Patterson

Pyjama time again?

Ollie finds himself returned to the days of his childhood by his two Aunts.

“I...I..don’t know what h..h..happened, I’m so sorry, I can’t believe I have done this.” Oliver felt tears begin to well up just like they used to when he had similar “accidents” when he was a boy. Except, of course, he wasn’t a boy anymore, he was thirty-two. 

The two women exchanged wry smiles. Aunt Agatha took his arm and Aunt Ingrid the other.

“There, there Ollie, don’t you worry about anything, we will look after you won’t we Agatha? It will be like old times.”

It had been many years since he had been called Ollie, not since he had disappointed his two Aunts and left behind the childhood comforts they had provided for him.

His Aunts led him upstairs to the familiarity of his childhood bedroom.

You are obviously sickening for something so we need to get you cleaned up and tucked into bed as quickly as possible.

Ingrid opened the chest of drawers that stood in the corner, he noticed they were still situated in the same place as she withdrew and held a pair of blue striped winceyette pyjamas to her face; they were cold and creased.

“These will do nicely for the doctor's visit once they have been ironed and warmed,” Ingrid said brightly as she hurried off to her task.

Meanwhile, Oliver stood barefoot on cold linoleum as Aunt Agnes removed his t-shirt and soaking underpants. He was embarrassed by his distinct lack of any pubic hair and his small appendage that undermined his protestations of being “a big boy now” as Aunty washed him none too gently with a damp flannel. 

He watched over Aunt Agnes’ shoulder as Aunt Ingrid returned carrying a pink rubber hot-water bottle in her hand and his now freshly ironed pyjamas folded over her arm.

The hot water bottle emitted a childhood odour of warm rubber that filtered into his nostrils as he watched Aunt Ingrid place it into his bed and turn to confront his nakedness with an unbuttoned pyjama jacket.

Aunt Ingrid draped the pyjama jacket around his shoulders. Oliver had forgotten how comforting a warmed, freshly ironed pair of pyjamas felt and as she began to button up the jacket he gave an involuntary shudder. Aunt Ingrid smiled. 

“Does that feel nice and cosy Ollie?” She cooed as she buttoned him up to the neck.

The pyjama jacket hung loosely on his slender frame; the length of the sleeves had hidden his hands as Aunt Ingrid held the pyjama bottoms open at his feet and shook them impatiently. Oliver stepped into them and shuddered once again as he felt the warm winceyette slowly encompass his legs and then his groin. Aunty Ingrid drew the pyjama bottoms up over the pyjama jacket and tied the pyjama cord into a neat bow. 

“There now Ollie,” she said, “how smart you look in your freshly ironed jim-jams, don't you just love being all cosy and warm?'

He nodded agreement in a half-hearted manner, reluctant to confirm how safe and secure he felt once again enveloped in blue striped winceyette pyjamas.

Aunt Ingrid hugged him tightly in her arms. “What a good boy Ollie has been, hasn’t he Aunty Agnes?”

She laughed as she took his hand and led him across to the bed where Aunt Agnes stood beside the iron-framed bed holding back the bedclothes.

“Into bed with you Ollie,” Aunt Agnes said as she guided him into bed, 'back where you belong in cosy jim-jams and beddy-byes. She pulled the heavy bedclothes over him, tucking him tightly in. 

“We have missed you so much Ollie, it was a mistake to ever let you leave but now you've returned we expect you to remain with us now for a very long time to come.”

A bedtime spanking administered by a younger sister

Pyjama Time?