Kept in Pyjamas by my Aunt

I have been quite poorly recently and was invited to spend time convalescing at my aunts, by invited of course I mean ordered. Promising to be there at four, it was only just after twenty past when I drove into her drive. Upon my arrival, it was obvious aunty was in a distressed state. I was upbraided for being late and worrying her by not calling. (She always thinks I will have been in an accident) 

Aunty proclaimed I was looking 'tired and peaky' and used her no-nonsense voice to order me straight upstairs to take a bath, she ignored my protests that I had showered before I departed and as usual, I was overruled and quickly found myself turning on the taps.

After only ten minutes soaking, aunty barged in and insisted on taking charge of my ablutions. She always maintains I don't wash my boy areas well enough and taking the sponge from my hands, proceeded to clean between my legs and then pulled my foreskin back to clean,"where little boys forget". I immediately protested and shouted out what aunty calls 'naughty words'.

For my outburst, the flannel was re-soaped and thrust into my mouth. "Naughty boys who say naughty words get their mouths washed out and earn a smacked bottom." She scolded, as I attempted not to swallow the soapy water that was swishing around my mouth.

"Come along, upsy-daisy," she sang as she removed the bath plug. The water gurgled away as she hoisted me out of the bath. Grabbing a towel from the radiator she gently massaged my skin dry. Aunty was very gentle and the warm towel soon had me almost dry but as she dabbed between my legs I gave out a small cry.

"Ouch." Aunty slapped away my hand and examined me more closely. "Are you drying yourself properly?" she queried. Your skin is chaffed, aunty will have  to put some cream on for you."

A pair of my 'visiting pyjamas' was warming on the bedroom radiator as aunty led me in by the hand. Quickly she guided my arms into the sleeves and buttoned me into the paisley winceyette pyjama jacket before indicating for me to lie on the towel she had lain on the bedspread.

"Legs up." Before I knew it my legs were thrust vertically upwards. "Hold that position." She ordered as she prised open the lid of a tub of Sudocrem.

"Aunty no!" Taking no notice she held my legs aloft with one hand and smeared cream all over my scrotum, penis and between my legs until she was satisfied.

"It's a good job I noticed, I shall have that skin problem completely cured before you leave."

She lowered my legs slightly and manoeuvred my feet into the pyjama bottoms and raising them. "Up," she said and I obediently lifted my bottom so that she could pull the pyjamas up over my bottom.

Standing beside the bed she tucked my pyjama jacket into the waist of the bottoms and pulled back the bedclothes. "In you get. It's bedtime for you."

"But aunty it's only five o'clock," I protested glancing at the bedside clock.

"Late enough for little boys who are not well and don't know how to look after their pee-pee area."She replied tucking me in and telling me to take a nap and that she would bring me up some soup a little later.

I had been at my aunt's for less than an hour and I had been bathed and put into pyjamas then tucked into bed. Could it possibly get worse?

More on short trousers and early bedtimes. Phillip Jones sent this as a reply to Wendy and I thought the content very worthwhile posting.

Good evening Wendy I hope you do not mind me replying to your post.

You remind me of my own sister who had my parents permission to babysit me and had permission to put me across her knee when required.

I too was kept in short trousers until I left home at 21. I had to wear shorts to school until I was 14 but every time I came home from was told to go and put my short trousers on to do my homework.

My bedtime was 6.30 pm but my sister, who is younger than me by two years, was allowed to stay up much later. When I complained to my mum that it was not fair, she told me my sister was a lot more mature then me and that I should consider her to be my babysitter.

From then on, my sister was the one left in charge when my mum went out and my sister always insisted on putting me into my pyjamas as soon as she left, even it it was only 4 pm!

Soon after I was married, my wife had a discussion with my mother who told her how I had been dealt with by her and my sister. My wife was entirely in favour of this style of discipline and one afternoon, when we where having an argument, my wife ordered me to go straight to bed. She led me upstairs to get my pyjamas on and get into bed.

That meant the spare bedroom and as she tucked me in she told me that my mother was right and that I was an immature child and from now on she would be treating me as one.

My wife did used to put me over her knee
and get me ready for bed dressing me either in little boy type childish pyjamas or a little girl type night dress.

My bedtime was 7 pm and I had to be in pyjamas ready for bed at 6 pm or even earlier if I had misbehaved. 


If she had friends coming over or if she was going out, my mother-in-law would babysit me which was humiliating and embarrassing as sometimes my wife would not have time to get me ready for bed so my mother-in-law would bath me and dress me in my little boy pyjamas or nightdress.

I wonder if my experiences are similar to you and your brothers situation?

Phillip

Short Trousers For Her Younger Brother. Thank you to Wendy from whom I received this letter.

I grew up in South Africa in the 1970's and 1980's, where schoolboys in short trousers were a common sight. Most boys wore shorts until they were sixteen or older - usually the standard grey flannel short trousers in the winter months and khaki shorts in the summer, always with the standard schoolboy knee socks with the turnover top. Some schools made shorts compulsory for even the seniors so boys would wear them until they were eighteen, nineteen or older if they had to repeat years.

My brother, who was two years older than me, was a typical example. Short trousers were compulsory for all boys at his school where he remained until he was eighteen. He cried when my parents then told him he was to remain wearing shorts until his twenty-first birthday. They were firm believers in keeping boys in short trousers for as long as possible as a means of control and to stop them getting big ideas. Up to the age of twenty-one, he wore shorts at all times and was never once allowed long trousers. His first pair of longs was a present for his twenty-first birthday and he wore them that day with great pride.

My parents felt that boys were immature and grew up far more slowly than girls and as a result should be treated and dressed like children for longer. I was allowed stockings and tights at fifteen and to wear makeup at sixteen and was regarded by my parents and others as a sensible young lady. My brother was still being put to bed at 8 pm when he was eighteen while 

From my fifteenth birthday, I was his designated babysitter, having been given authority over my brother and I was always left in charge when our parents went out. He had to do as I told him or else it was not uncommon for him to go across my knees for a spanking and be put straight to bed, sometimes well before 8 pm. People who did not know us automatically assumed that I was the eldest and because he was treated him like a little boy.

During his twenties he was occasionally punished by my parents by being made to wear short trousers, together with his old school uniform of blazer and cap, for a whole weekend. It was not surprising that he did not venture far from the family home while dressed like this but he was seen by a few visitors and subject to ridicule.

I think my parents were totally correct to keep my brother in short trousers to twenty-one and beyond. He was well behaved, obedient, demure and polite. He also looked extremely sweet in his shorts and my girlfriends would teasingly tell him what a smart little boy he was which always made him blush with embarrassment.

I do not have children yet but if I have boys, I hope I will keep them in short trousers until their mid or late teens or even older. I agree with my parents that boys are far less mature than girls and should be kept as children for much longer. Keeping them dressed in short trousers is an excellent way of reminding them of this fact. 

Wendy

Pink Pyjamas for a Naughty Nephew? Perhaps not!

It was four o’clock on Saturday afternoon and I had just been given a bath by my aunt. This had entailed an intrusive interrogation with a soapy flannel of the most intimate parts of my body ending with a mouth soaping so intense that I gagged several times as aunty worked the flannel around my mouth.   

"Come along, you naughty little boy, I will teach you to tell lies to aunty." My crime had been to "forget" to tell aunty I had crept out of the house for five minutes to have a crafty cigarette when I was supposed to be busy polishing the cutlery. Unluckily for me, I had forgotten about Miss Masterton, the spinster who lived opposite. She had used her binoculars to spy on me and had telephoned aunty to inform her that there was a miscreant outside wearing pale blue little boy pyjamas and smoking a cigarette. Of course, I was even more naive when I foolishly denied my crime after aunty had confronted me. Sadly, Miss Masterton appeared in person to confirm my guilt I had no choice but to confess and so found myself being stripped out of my rocket ship pyjamas and unceremoniously deposited into a soapy bathtub.

Aunty dried me roughly and marched me naked downstairs. To my horror, Miss Masterton was still there, she smirked as I attempted to cover myself. Aunty slapped my hands aside. "Not only did you lie to me about smoking but you lied about sneaking out of the house too. Well my lad, perhaps you won't be so keen to be seen in public wearing these." It was only then that I noticed that in Miss Masterton's lap was a pair of pink floral winceyette pyjamas. 

Grinning like a Cheshire cat she held up the pyjama jacket. With aunty behind me ensuring my compliance Miss Masterton guided my arms into the soft, brushed cotton, frilly pyjama jacket and I was turned to face her as she buttoned me into it. The pyjama jacket had a ruffle neck that was fastened with two buttons at the very top. "No please," I begged pathetically. Miss Masterton and Aunty ignored my protests and merely continued adjusting the sleeves of the pyjama jacket that had elasticised cuffs.

"Step." Miss Masterton commanded as she held the pyjama bottoms at my feet. I put first one leg then the other into the pyjama bottoms. Miss Masterton slid the pyjamas up over my thighs and positioned them precisely on my waist. Using her hand she smoothed the brushed cotton material against my groin. I moaned slightly and she felt my excitement at her touch. Miss Masterton laughed and placed two fingers under my chin, raising my head and forcing me to stare into her face.

“Your nephew looks so sweet wearing his frilly pink floral pyjamas, I think I shall have to bring more pairs for him to wear." Her hand, masked from my aunt's view, continued to casually caress the brushed cotton of my pyjama bottoms in a manner that almost caused me to disgrace myself further.

"Please do," replied Aunty who inadvertently rescued me with the promise of a spanking. "He will be wearing frilly pink winceyette pyjamas for the foreseeable future so I will need plenty of pairs for him. Now, get over my lap, I’m going to deliver a smacked botty to you.”

I tried to protest but aunty only became angrier. She put me across her lap and moved me into her preferred position before removing her slipper and using it to administer an extremely painful spanking, so painful that I was reduced to tears and stood sobbing, ruefully rubbing my pyjamaed bottom as aunty informed me that my bedtime would immediately be changed from 7.30 and that my new regular bedtime would be 6.30. She then turned to Miss Masterton and asked her if she could think of additional punishments.

Miss Masterton paused for a moment before saying. "What if you were to bring him across to my house tomorrow at say 10 o'clock? He will be wearing his new pretty pink pyjamas, of course, we could get him to try on more of my pyjamas and I could pick a suitable pair for him to wear whilst he performed some household chores for me. You needn't stay. I would be  certain to bring him back in time for his new bedtime."

She smiled serenely as she spoke. "I may need to put him across my lap myself if his behaviour warrants, I trust that would be permissible?  Like you, I do so believe in maternal spanking's to persuade naughty boys to do as they are told"

Aunty enthusiastically agreed, adding that it was every females duty to regularly spank the males under their control. It was then decided to take tea outside and I was instructed to put on my quilted dressing gown and pink slippers.

The two ladies sat chatting in the pergola as I arrived with the tea tray and poured tea into the china tea-cups. One each for aunty and Miss Masterton. My plastic sippy cup containing warm milk stood incongruously alongside the silver teapot.

“Come here.” ordered my aunt as she unfolded the white towelling bib that also resided on the tray. My aunt positioned me with my back toward her and tied the humiliating baby bib around my neck. She took a sip of her own tea before pulling me onto her lap and presenting the sippy cup to my lips.

“There now, isn’t it better to be a good little boy and do as aunty says instead of getting smacked bottoms all the time?” I nodded compliantly as I swallowed my warm sleepy time milk, opposite I could see Miss Masterton smiling, obviously enjoying my embarrassing predicament.

Aunty snuggled me closer, tightening her grasp, she was almost nibbling my ear as she told me. “I think I will keep you dressed in Miss Masterton's, lovely soft winceyette pyjamas for a while yet until you learn to appreciate what a lucky boy you are to have such a loving aunt. What do you think Miss Masterton?”

“Oh yes, I think pink floral winceyette pyjamas are perfect garments for your nephew to wear, may I also suggest that along with his bib and sippy cup, you think about introducing him to night-time nappies and perhaps a baby’s bottle and also a dummy?” 

“What wonderful suggestions,” aunty replied.  Miss Masterton’s eyes had been fixed upon my face as she had made her suggestions and I realised to my horror that my aunt was going to let Miss Masterton have a big influence on my future.

My sippy cup emptied and aunty cradled me in her lap. As always happened after I finished my sleepy-time milk my eyes become heavy and I struggle to stay alert. 

“Never mind 6.30, 6 o’clock appears to be a more appropriate bedtime,” laughed aunty. “Let’s get you tucked into beddy-byes.” I drowsily kissed Miss Masterton night-night as aunty took my hand. Put straight to bed wearing my frilly, pink floral pyjamas with the looming prospect of nappies and baby dummies to look forward to, I wondered why I had ever married aunty.

Luc Holly sent me this short story. He is still looking for someone to translate his stories into English for him. If anyone can help let me know and I will put you in touch.

Men are like tea – the real strength and goodness are not properly drawn until they have been in hot water / Lillie Hitchcock Colt (1843-1929)

“What's going on in here, Bethany?”, Margaret said, raising her voice with concern. She saw John snickering, while Bethany explained angrily,” John tried to get a peek up my dress by grabbing me and when I protested he swore at me. He’s a pig! ...”

“Oh really?”, exclaimed Margaret. “John, I’ve told you time and time again about profanity and raising your voice! Now apologise to Bethany immediately and get yourself upstairs and get ready for bed. NOW!!”

John knew she meant business. He looked embarrassed at her direct order and hung his head in shame. It was obvious that he didn’t want to be punished. The thought of being sent to bed early like a small child was especially humiliating. He bowed his head and stuttered as he stuttered "s..s..sorry," in a low, meek voice.

“Call that an apology? Upstairs now!” Margaret demanded. John shuffled slowly toward the stairs dragging his feet on every step, clearly delaying as much as possible. When Margaret heard his footsteps on the top landing she excused herself and followed him up. She wanted to personally select his sleepwear.

Downstairs, Bethany smiled as she heard the sound of flesh slapping flesh closely by John’s moans of pain and weeping. She was pleased he was receiving a proper punishment as well as being sent to bed early. No doubt he had tried to refuse to wear what Margaret had selected for him to wear for bed.

A few minutes later John appeared on the stairs with Margaret right behind him. Bethany burst out laughing when she saw what Margaret had forced him to wear. His slender frame was adorned in white cotton baby doll pyjamas and fluffy slippers. 

Margaret marched a shamefaced John toward Bethany. “I don’t think Bethany heard your pathetic apology earlier so I want you to apologise the way I told you to. Now, speak clearly so everyone can hear.”

John's sister Ann walked into the room just in time to see John standing in front of Bethany in his Baby doll pyjamas. John’s face flushed in embarrassment as he began his apology.

“I’m really very sorry for my naughtiness when I behaved like a naughty little boy. I thoroughly deserved to have my bottom smacked and put into my sissy pyjamas and be sent to bed early.”

Margaret smiled, took hold of his hand and led her naughty boy upstairs to bed.

I received this from Walter. I hope he won't mind me saying that I had to tidy up the spelling and punctuation but I tried not to change his words as it is his story. I think he is to be congratulated for having the courage to write. (Picture is by me)

Dear Mr Wincy

I am ashamed of my own feebleness in being unable to change my own circumstances and I feel as though I am not much of a man but I have been reading your blog for a long time and have plucked up the courage to tell you that your blog comforts me by knowing I am not the only man who is dominated by his mother.

When I was a young, if I had earned a spanking, it was always
administered whilst I was dressed in pyjamas. My mother would require me to put on my pyjamas regardless of the time of day and she would put me over her knee and spank me with her spanking slipper.

Sadly, this state of affairs still exists even though I am now in my mid thirties.

Only recently I was undressed and put into my pyjamas for a spanking because I brought home the wrong kind of eggs. Mother never listens to my explanations.

Since I was a boy my pyjama bottoms were never lowered, in those days my pyjama bottoms were kept up with a cord and were usually tied trapping the pyjama jacket hem inside the bottoms, so lowering then was quite difficult and I still have to wear the same type of pyjamas.

As a boy, when my spanking was over I would be crying but my mother would still expect me to thank her and apologise for whatever naughty thing I had done to warrant my spanking in the first place, I would then be put to bed.

As I have mentioned, this could be at any time of the day and I was once in bed before tea.

As you can imagine, it was very difficult to ‘cut the apron strings’ and I remain living with my mother even though I am well into my thirties and I continue to be put into my pyjamas for spankings and put to bed early.

Respectfully yours

Walter

Bunnykins Winceyette is humiliated by the "gwown ups".

When we married, my husband was aware that I was a dominant person who believed in discipline for males, however, I do not think he realised what I had in mind for him as regards his status in our marriage. I didn't want children, I wanted him as my docile, well disciplined, obedient little boy. He was flattered that I had “fallen” for him as he was, and is, a diminutive, young man, several years my junior, whereas I am tall and easily his physical superior and naturally authoritative. Put simply I enjoy ordering him around and humiliating him.


I ensure he is made to wear infantile clothes on a daily basis and I also insist on him behaving in a manner that befits his status in my house as the baby of the family. Dressed in his absurd outfits he is required to speak in a soft, "ickle boy", babyish voice and to use a vocabulary appropriate for a very young, shy little boy. I only ever address him as Bunnykins and he must always call me Mummy Dearest or Mummykins. I have trained him to ask permission before entering or leaving a room occupied by “gwown ups”. He must also do this for things such as leaving the dinner table or for example when he needs to go tinkle. “Pwease may I use my potty Mummy Dearwest?”  


He has become used to being dressed in his ridiculous babyish outfits that are deliberately designed to degrade and humiliate, but he still blushes with shame at having to act like a young child, particularly in front of others. Of course, I make sure “Bunnykins,” is displayed to a few regular ladies who enjoy the opportunity to tease and humiliate him further, much to his chagrin but to my delight and enjoyment. 

  

Recently Bunnykins was ironing in the utility room. He was wearing a little boy style white shirt with a Peter Pan collar.  A baby blue ribbon tied into a flounced bow adorned the neckline and he wore burgundy velvet shorts buttoned sweetly onto the shirt that showed a hint of the thick towelling nappies he wore underneath.    


His hairless legs are adorned with knee-length white socks and on his feet are a pair of yellow fur lined little boy bunny rabbit slippers that complete his simple but ludicrously emasculating outfit. 

  

As I came to check on him, I noticed the irons setting was far too hot. I bent down and slapped the back of his bare legs. He yelped nervously as I admonished him, “be very careful with that iron Bunnykins,” I threatened, “if you burn my blouse I will put you across my knee do you understand?”

“Y....y....yes, mummy dearwest,” he answered nervously, "Bunnykins is vewy sowwy mummy dearwest.” 

I smiled indulgently, “That's a good Bunnykins,” and patted him condescendingly on the head, his hair, at my insistence, is cut into a fringe to help emphasise his childish appearance  


The dummy pinned to his various outfits is really just to help emphasise his infantile lifestyle.  I find it more amusing and humiliating to make Bunnykins s_ck his thumb. This I have taught him to do whenever he encounters stressful situations, which is many and often.  


The sudden ringing of the doorbell made him very anxious indeed, Bunnykins stress levels soared and his thumb was immediately put straight into his mouth. His thumb sucking became more vigorous and he looked at me fearfully, hoping against hope that I would not make him answer the door.

If Bunnykins is wearing say, his pale yellow romper suit with the little lambs on and I want to display him to a stranger at the door, then I will do so, regardless of any amount of pleading and begging by him.


Of course on this occasion, I was having no such nonsense, as I knew full well who was ringing.


“Bunnykins, answer the door at once!” I ordered, making him jump as he removed his thumb reluctantly from his mouth and whispered in his little boy voice, “Yeth mummykins.”


He reached the door just as the doorbell rang a second time.  He opened it a few inches and peered timidly out before my sister Susan pushed past him, nearly knocking him over in the process.


“Bunnykins, what were you thinking taking so long to answer the door? She teased my pathetic hubby. Susan has often seen Bunnykins in his baby clothes, but she can be relied upon to find new ways to tease and humiliate him, which is why I look forward to her visits.  She has the power to make him incredibly nervous and this is the reason he is wearing his towelling nappies, for Susan can, quite literally, frighten poor Bunnykins into wetting himself; humiliating for him, quite delightful for Susan and me.


“Come and give your Aunty Susan a kiss and say hello to me properly,” she said, proffering her cheek to be kissed.  


He slowly approached her and, removing his thumb from his mouth, Bunnykins managed to give her a timorous peck on the cheek for Susan as she proffered her face to be kissed.


"How vewy nice to thee you Auntie Thusan", he said softly, his eyes lowered to the floor.


She smiled broadly, enjoying the sight of my husband dressed so babyishly and so obviously intimidated by her. 


Susana took him by the hand as she sat down, “let me take a look at you Bunnykins she teased, “you look so very smart today, with your sweet baby boy shirt and cute little shorts not to mention your gorgeous slippers.  They are very sweet indeed, but I'm afraid they're not clothes for grown ups, are they Bunnykins?” 


“No Aunty Thusan,” he replied, his face growing red with embarrassment.


Her arm entwined his waist and toyed with the big buttons holding his shorts and shirt together. 


That's correct, only naughty little baby boys wear clothes like these, don't they Bunnykins?”


Poor Bunnykins, could not answer or look her in the face and instead fixed his gaze on his yellow slippers.


"Are you being shy Bunnykins or do you need to go across Aunty Susan's lap for a smacked botty?" She asked, this time more firmly.


"Bunnykins is vewy sowwy. He doesn't want a smacked botty Aunty Thusan."


I laughed out loud as I find it highly amusing to hear Bunnykins refer to himself in the third person.


Susan stroked his hair, and said quite softly, "there-there Bunnykins don't you fret, Aunty Susan didn't mean to frighten you." Then, quite out of the blue she startled both myself and more amusingly Bunnykins by clapping her hands sharply and announcing.


"Teapot, song please Bunnykins.  Bunnykins knew only too well what that meant. I have trained him to perform several babyish songs as I believe they are another excellent way to instil in him a proper infantile attitude and demeanour. He sings Rock-a-bye-Baby and Twinkle-Twinkle Little Star very sweetly indeed but Susan's favourite is his rendition of "I'm a Little Teapot", complete with the appropriate hand gestures. She enjoys seeing Bunnykins humiliating himself so much that she insists on him performing it whenever she visits. He doesn't like doing it but of course, that makes his efforts even more entertaining.  He knows he must perform with a pretty smile and proper infant like enthusiasm, this particularly embarrasses him. He is several years younger than us and there was a time when she was my rival for his affection, she too, recognising early on what a  prime candidate he was to be totally subservient to our requirements. Now she can look at him only with amusement tinged with disdain, particularly when he becomes our charmingly reluctant "teapot". I love watching him perform, his lowered eyes shyly unable to meet Susan's commanding gaze. 

  

Susan was not quite satisfied with his "Teapot" rendition this time, so she tapped his little velvet-clad bottom with the palm of her hand and stood him face to the wall in a corner and instructed him to keep practising.  She and I sat down to tea in the living room as his gentle childish patter serenaded us from the hall, “short and stout”, we heard repeatedly. Occasionally she called out from the couch to correct him, a reminder that she was still keeping an eye on him. He made an amusing sight, chirping away in the corner and adding the obligatory curtsey after each rendition.  His plump bottom, perfectly moulded by the sweet little velvet shorts, bobbed enticingly up and down with each curtsey. 

  

The doorbell rang again. Bunnykins was once more reduced to a state of fear and anxiousness. Not knowing what else to do, he put his thumb back in his mouth and Susan and I couldn't help laughing at the ridiculousness of his demeanour. 


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

  

Grace took one look at Bunnykins in the corner, bending sideways impersonating a tea-pot, paused in disbelief, and started to laugh. She tried to restrain herself, covering her mouth with her hand, but that only made her laugh harder.  She could only point at him and continue laughing helplessly that Susan and I could not help but join in.



Poor Bunnykins didn't know what to do.  He remained in the corner but stopped his tea-pot practice and instead began furiously sucking his thumb and casting furtive sideways glances at Grace.  He couldn't bear to look at her, yet he couldn't look away.  He might have stood there all day if Susan hadn't taken him by the hand and introduced him. 

  

"Grace", said Susan, "I'd like you to meet Master Bunnykins Winceyette, isn't he sweet?" 



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

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

It was all dreadfully and delightfully unfair. He was trying so hard to be good but was finding only more embarrassment for his trouble.  As Grace looked at him delightedly, Bunnykins hung his head in defeat and a tear trickled down his face. 

  

Now it was my turn to comfort him. Catching his tear with my finger, I sat him upon my knee and cradled his head against my chest. Peter is small in stature and lightweight for an adult male I find it easy to accommodate him this way. I put his thumb into his mouth and made him nurse quietly as I soothed him with baby talk. 

"Oh, my poor ickle Bunnykins.  Mummy knows "ow tewwibly frightening it is when big stwange ladies see just how ickle and pwecious oo are . . .." 

Grace quickly picked up on my baby talk and began to tease him.

"Ickle Bunnykins is like a fwightened bunny wabbit, isn't he? Vewy scared of the gwown ups


Upon hearing her words I immediately remembered his new pyjamas and told the ladies about his brand new yellow winceyette pyjamas with a bunny rabbit motif. Immediately I mentioned the existence of his pyjamas, Grace and Susan became very excited and insisted that his new jim-jams should be fetched and Bunnykins dressed in them at once so that they could enjoy humiliating the poor creature further.

Grace was eager to undress Bunnykins and she gently removed his bonnet, shorts and blouse making Bunnykins fold each item neatly until he stood quite naked before us. Grace giggled as Susan slapped his hands away as he tried to preserve his modesty.


“Now den Bunnykins, ickle boys like you have nothing to hide from gwown ups,” she teased.”  We watched as Grace manoeuvred him into his quite delightfully babyish pyjamas, which were adorned with a pattern of fluffy baby bunnies. Jane and I looked on with amusement as Grace popped his head into his pyjama top and he emerged surrounded by the froth of a large floppy frilly collar. Three Mother of Pearl buttons secured the neck and a long pink ribbon fastened into a pretty bow at the neckline. Grace commentated as she dressed him. “What lovely jim-jams you have Bunnykins, what a lucky boy you are.” The cuffs of the sleeves were lightly elasticised and fringed with outrageous frills and Grace fussily adjusted the bow again praising Bunnykins for being such “a pwetty Bunnykins all dwessed up weddy for beddy-byes,”


When Grace had buttoned him up into his pyjamas, I sat him on my lap and bounced him up and down. Bunnykins does enjoy being babied but only when we are alone. He becomes ashamed when others witness his infantile behaviour as he is exposed as a complete baby and begins to whimper pitifully as tears began to flow. Slowly his sobs subsided. He opened his eyes to discover Grace bending forward and looking directly at him only inches away from his face. 

"Boo!" she said playfully and pressed her index finger against the tip of his nose. Grace could not have been gentler, but her overtures made our baby dissolve into tears again. We roared with laughter.   


"He does seem to be the perfect crybaby" observed Susan. 

"Ickle Bunnykins has lost his cuwwidge, hasn't he?" she teased, "I wonder where it could be? Have the bunny wabbits on Bunnykins jim-jams got his cuwwidge I wonder?" 

She waited for him to answer; "come along answer Aunty Susan," she ordered.

Poor Bunnykins was forced to shake his head no in reply and then Susan proceeded to make my poor hubby hippity hop around the room like a bunny rabbit, looking high and low for his lost "cuwwidge".

Unfortunately, his pyjama bottoms were a tad too large and Bunnykins had to hang on to the waistband whilst hopping to avoid them falling down. Susan's seemed oblivious to his plight as she set about making him look for his "cuwwidge" all over the house.

It didn't seem to be on the mantelpiece, or under the couch, or in the magazine rack.  Bunnykins was required to inspect each area and to tell "Auntie Susan" that no, his "cuwwidge" wasn't there and he didn't know where it might be. Susan pretended to be stumped, but a mischievous sparkle in her eye told a different story.  Eventually, she decided that Bunnykins must have accidentally thrown his "cuwwidge" away and he would have to be a frightened bunny rabbit permanently. He glanced nervously at me, uncertain what do and we all collapsed in fits of laughter and my pathetic husband once again burst into tears.


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

"Come on Baby Bunnykins, time to prepare for beddy-byes, go and fetch Teddy and your potty." Bunnykins once again looked slightly fearful but I ushered him through to the cloakroom. He returned momentarily clutching his potty and his dry-nite. We watched delightedly as Bunnykins lowered his pyjama bottoms and squatted on his potty. 

"Who's a good boy den?" I praised as I sent him scurrying off to discard the contents and clean up. When he returned it was time to put on his dry-nite pyjama pants. At first, Bunnykins was going to be petulant but a sharp smack on the legs from Aunty Susan soon had him stepping into them and she pulled them up before putting him back into his bunny pyjama bottoms. 

"There now, Bunnykins needs his nappy-wappy on cos he does wee-wee's in beddy-byes because he has an early bedtime doesn't he?" 


Bunnykins could only nod his head and suck his thumb miserably as he clutched his teddy bear and I decided to give the girls a final dose of “entertainment”. 


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


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

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


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


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


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


Three sets of female eyes bored into my husband as he hugged and then kissed the teddy bear. "Put teddy to beddy-byes now Bunnykins." It was really not possible to stifle the laughter any longer as we watched Bunnykins walk to the corner of the room where there was a shoebox with a piece of old blanket inside. This was teddy's bed.


"Tuck him in nice and tight like a good Bunny," I said with great difficulty, "now Teddy's fast asleep,  be ever so quiet now." As I had taught him, Bunnykins then tiptoed backwards in a highly exaggerated manner.



Susan and I are convulsed with laughter at my husband's performance but Grace extends her arms out wide and exclaims, "clever Bunnykins," and he collapses tearfully into her outstretched arms.


By now I knew it was time for the entertainment to come to an end and I quickly took his hand. "Now be a good boy and kiss Aunty Susan and Aunty Grace night-night and we'll get you tucked into beddy-byes just like teddy shall we?"


It took another five minutes to get him into his bedroom as they made such a fuss of petting him and telling him how sweet he looked all ready for beddy-byes and then kissing him goodnight lots of times with lots of huggy kiss-kisses that Bunnykins became a little too excited, so much so that when I eventually got him upstairs I had to smack his botty to calm him down. 


I tucked him into his two-foot six wide bed with the Bob the Builder bed cover and sat on the edge of the bed.  A quick kiss on the forehead and I left him in his darkened room to reflect on another eventful day as Bunnykins Winceyette.

Phillip has sent an introductory letter detailing his upbringing

Hello everybody

I was kept in short school trousers up until I left home which was most embarrassing as my friends and relatives regularly saw me dressed in such a manner.

My bedtime was supervised by my sister who even though was much taller, was in fact, two years younger then I was. Consequently, she was allowed to punish me with over the knee spankings and most humiliating, she was permitted to get me ready for bed.

She dressed me in the nightdresses she wore when she was a little girl. They were very long and frilly, especially at the neckline and the cuffs and I looked ridiculously babyish wearing them.

No matter who was there, I was still undressed and made ready for bed and told to go and say night-night to my mother and my sisters friends who mother allowed to witness my bedtime humiliation.

When I misbehaved I would be stood in the corner with my hands on my head until my mother put me over her lap. After taking down my short trousers and underpants she would spank my bare bottom scolding me about my infantile behaviour. I would then be put into a nappy and plastic pants, a babyish nightdress and marched straight upstairs to bed  all the while being told that since I had acted like a three year old I would be treated like one.

Once upstairs I was put into bed with a dummy tied into my mouth, a blankie and teddy bear would be given to me before the curtains were closed.

My girlfriend at the time use to make fun of me being treated in that way, eventually she broke up with me for being an immature little boy.

I can explain more about my upbringing and routines and how my wife became involved in my babification.

My e-mail address is jonesphillip295@gmail.com
if anyone would like to discuss

This is a PPM letter that details a young mans short trouser discipline imposed by his mother. Sadly matron's reply was omitted from my source as it was a photo-copy. Perhaps some of you have some suitable answers to Timothy's letter?

Dear Matron

I wore short trousers at 17 because my mother demanded it. I went to a small private boys boarding school in East Anglia in the 1960's which I attended as a day boy as it was only a few miles from where we lived. Short trousers were compulsory for all boys up to and including Fifth Form (that is, 16+ years old). Nearly all Sixth Form boys wore long trousers but this was left to the discretion of mother who decided to keep me dressed in shorts, because, much to her disappointment, I had to repeat the Fourth Form. 

I wore shorts at all times, not just for school but on weekends and during the school holidays. Outside of school I usually wore school uniform which included a red blazer and a cap.

The wearing of school caps was compulsory wear for all boys in the Sixth Form except prefects. Since I was not a prefect, I wore a cap up until I left school at 19. We wore red caps with two yellow concentric rings. and the standard grey turnover top knee socks with two red bands on the turnover and looked the archetypal schoolboy. 

From the age of 16, my mother kept my legs (and my pubic region) hairless by waxing because she preferred me to be like that, I protested that I was being teased but mother ignored me, insisting upon me having smooth legs. I often felt embarrassed and humiliated having to wear short trousers but as a dutiful son meekly complied, but from about the age of 17, I not only resented wearing them but I was bullied for doing so. I would get false compliments about how smart I looked in my short trousers and school uniform and comments about what a good little boy I was. These remarks  always gave me a sense of shame, for which 17-year-old likes being told that he looked, “sweet and boyish.”

After I left school and up to the age of 25 I was regularly dressed in short trousers and school uniform by my mother. This could be anything from a few days to a whole month. My mothers logic was that if I insisted on behaving like a naughty little boy I should be dressed like one. It was of course, humiliating and I felt timid and childish but my mother insisted that it was perfectly acceptable for a boy in his teens or early twenties to be dressed in very short trousers, school knee length turnover top socks, and school blazer and cap.

I remained at home studying for a degree by means of a home study correspondence course. My mother did not want me to attend university as this would mean my gaining a measure of independence and a loosening of her control. By having me take a home study course I could remain in the house completely under her influence and discipline. Consequently, throughout this time it was easy for her to dress me in short trousers and school uniform as a punishment.

The frequency and duration of these punishments increased rather than diminished with age. It was as though my mother wanted to instil in me that despite my advancing years I was still only a little boy. 

At the end of the three and half years of home study, I started working in an office. I was never sent to work in short trousers but over the next two years, my mother continued to impose the punishment at home and for some trips outside of the house. The only difference was that now during a punishment period I would be dressed by my mother in my short trousers and school uniform as soon as I arrived home from work and would spend the early evenings, weekends, and some holidays like this.

Throughout my time in school uniform, my mother's little boy rules also included early bedtimes. From my teens up to the age of 21 my bedtime was 8 pm, then, after my 21st I was allowed to stay up an extra hour and not put to bed until 9 pm although bedtime would often be earlier if I was considered to have been naughty. if my mother were having visitors and wanted me out of the way I would often be put to bed as early as 6.30 pm. I was never allowed to stay up late - that was for grown-ups. On such occasions, I was bathed by my mother and put into my pyjamas ready to greet her guests before immediately being told to say goodnight and sent up to bed.


Up to the age of 25, I was regularly taken by my mother to a nearby school outfitters to get new items of school uniform including my standard grey school short trousers. I would be taken in school uniform and would have to try on several pairs of shorts in the changing room. With each new pair, I would then have to parade in front of my mother and the female shop assistants for their comments. This would also be seen by other customers, usually with small boys and their sisters, who would often smirk and smile at the sight of an obviously much older boy still in short trousers. 

My mother never hid my age from the shop assistants and would explain that I had to be dressed as a little boy because I persisted in behaving like one. The assistants were always very helpful to my mother and seemed to enjoy kitting me out in my school uniform and new pyjamas. The owner of the shop - a middle-aged woman - would supervise and would comment on what a smart schoolboy I was and how sweet I looked in short trousers. She, nor any of her assistants, ever queried with my mother as to why a man in his twenties was wearing such a juvenile outfit, rather, they appeared to be in full agreement with my mother choices.

My mother did not allow me to go out with girls and I was allowed no contact with the opposite sex. Little boys, after all, did not have girlfriends. We did, however, attend church each Sunday and I sometimes helped tidy the church after the service. It was on such occasion that I became friendly with Wendy who also helped tidy the church with her mother. Wendy was 17 but still a schoolgirl. In order to prevent any chance of a relationship developing my mother invited Wendy and her mother over for afternoon tea one Saturday afternoon and I had to serve the tea in my school uniform and short trousers before being changed into my blue and white striped pyjamas in front of Wendy and her mother.

My mother explained that I was being sent to bed early for being naughty. Wendy obviously found my appearance in short trousers then pyjamas highly amusing and to this day refuses to take me seriously and teases me dreadfully asking if I have been a good little boy and is it nearly my bedtime.

I found the whole experience of my youth and adolescence disturbing and now I am alone after mother passed away, I find it difficult to live a normal life and find myself wishing she was still here to help me even though I resented the authority she imposed upon me for so many years. 

Can you please advise Matron?

Yours

Timothy Watkins

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