Monday, 24 August 2015

Oliver is safely tucked up in bed and the ladies attentions turn toward Stephen who becomes hopping mad at his treatment at the hands of Mrs Evans and his mum, plus some interference from the vicar! Another instalment of the Oliver & Stephen story. As before, I have posted the story so far from the beginning.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dear Hyacinth

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

Yours sincerely 

Vera Evans.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Almost immediately Oliver knew he had made a mistake.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mrs Evans proffered the pyjamas to Stephens mum.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Handy Pandie please Oliver,"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mrs Evans grinned at Stephen and patted his head condescendingly as he stood uncomfortably, he hated his name being mentioned.

 "I don't know if Stephen wears shorty pyjamas, but he is welcome to them and then there's these." She paused for a second, "the footie winceyette pyjama romper suit is the one I had Mrs Frederick make for Oliver, you know, she used to have the shop on the high street? It was specially created by her to help curtail his naughty nocturnal habits, sadly though, he soon outgrew it and when I went back for a replacement the shop was closed, she retired I believe."

Stephen felt faint, as his mum had her back to him he couldn't see properly, what on earth was a pyjama romper suit he wondered? If only they had left for that bus on time they would be almost home now.

Of course, his mum was enthusing. "Oh, look Stephen, a lovely pair of shorty pyjamas, actually if you don't mind Edith, I will use them as a play outfit for Stephen, how sweet, you like Bob the Builder too, don't you Stephen?"

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

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

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

Before Mrs Wilding could continue..."Hello, hello." Two heads appeared peering into the living room. "Pardon us, we did knock…."

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

Part Three

"Come in, come in, don't be shy." Mrs Evans ushered her two additional guests in and urged them to sit down.

Hyacinth Ledbetter immediately recognised Stephen as a pupil from her school, of course, his short, grey flannel trousers were unmissable, not least because of how incredibly short they actually were. There was perhaps a mere two inches of actual flannel material that comprised the legs of the trousers, Stephen's smooth, milky white skin was visible almost to the very top of his legs.

Gladys Emmanuel had been a nurse who had received a calling and joined the church as middle-aged, recently appointed as vicar of the parish she was building bridges and making contacts within the local community.
She was a large woman of ample proportions and Stephen, who had been inveigled to join the choir, had suffered twice at her propensity to put out of tune hymn singers across her lap for what his mum had said when he had complained, was a "playful spanking".

It turned out that the vicar was liaising with Hyacinth about attending a school assembly later that month and mentioned she was visiting Oliver's mum next, about her role on the parish council. Hyacinth had jumped at the opportunity to accompany the vicar, ostensibly to inquire about Oliver's well-being following the yellow play shorts incident and she was annoyed to learn that Oliver had already been pyjamaed and put to bed.

She was even more upset when she discovered the details that lay behind his early bedtime, to think she had missed witnessing the whole affair. She, therefore, was quite happy to turn her attention to the nervous looking Stephen.

"Mum... the bus," he urged. Felicity Wilding picked up her coat. "Yes, I am afraid we must be off, I need to get Stephen home for his pyjama time." As she spoke she pushed the items donated by Oliver's mum into her bag.

"What times are Stephen's pyjama and bedtime Felicity?"  Enquired the vicar.

"I usually put Stephen into his pyjamas by six o'clock and like him to be tucked up in beddy-byes by seven thirty, so you see we really must catch that bus vicar," Mrs Wilding replied as she began to button up Stephen's gaberdine mackintosh who was, by the way, mortified that his mum was divulging what he considered to be personal information to all those present.

"Well it's twenty to six now," the vicar said looking at her watch, "I can't see you getting Stephen into his jimmy-jams before six thirty at the earliest if you use the bus."

"Don't you have some pyjamas for Stephen right there?" Asked the vicar, pointing at the linen bag his mum had momentarily put aside.

Stephen now began to sense real trouble for himself. He tugged at her sleeve." Mum....., come on, the bus."

But Gladys Emmanuel had an agenda that she was not to be deviated from.

"If you wish," her words came out slowly, "you could put Stephen into pyjamas here, then I can drive you home in plenty of time for little Stephens beddy-bye time."

Apart from the fact that he didn't want to be put into pyjamas at Oliver's house, he had not even seen the damn pyjamas yet. Stephen was also annoyed at being described as "little Stephen", but sensibly he held his counsel as he knew this situation, as far as he was concerned was out of his control.

His mum hesitated, then finally gave in. "well, if you really don't mind, that's very good of you vicar, I wouldn't want to be that late with his pyjama time and it would save such a rush. Isn't it kind Stephen? Say thank you to the vicar," she prompted.

Stephen muttered subdued thanks as his gabardine coat was removed. Why oh why had they been delayed. Stupid Oliver, he thought. All his sympathy for the boy lying trussed up in his bed upstairs had evaporated.

"That's settled then," the vicar confirmed before staring purposefully at Stephen and saying, "Miss Ledbetter and I have no objection to seeing Stephen put into his jimmy jams, do we Hyacinth,  It will be much more convenient for you that he will be jimmy-jammed, all ready to be tucked into bed when you arrive home."

Stephen was outraged at the fact the vicar and Miss Ledbetter had no objection to him wearing pyjamas. What about him? He had no wish to be paraded around in pyjamas in front of Oliver's mum, the vicar and Miss Ledbetter, a teacher from school!

"Mum no, please can't we get the bus home I don't want to put pyjamas on here in front of everyone."

Stephen's mum delivered two quick slaps to the back of his legs, "you're putting pyjamas on and that's that. His mum gave him another slap on his left leg to emphasise her irritation with him. "I've always said that little boys like you overhear too much grown up talk. When will you learn that you don't argue with grown ups?"

Hyacinth Ledbetter almost felt sorry for Stephen as she watched his obvious distress. What amazed her though, was the other women's total acceptance that a fifteen-year-old could be treated as if he were instead, a five year old. Still, she thought, it would be wonderful to see how the situation developed.

Vera Evans poured tea and looked on as her friend Felicity Wilding began to undress Stephen. It had been decided that Stephen, as Oliver before him, would also be subject to a pre-pyjama time wash. His shoes and socks were taken off and his flannel shorts lowered to his ankles, there were red marks on the backs of his legs, courtesy of his mums slaps. He dutifully stepped out of the shorts and his mum removed his shirt and tie before she raised his arms in readiness for his vest to follow suit.

"You know Oliver said the funniest thing the other day as I was getting him ready for bed," Vera Evans began as she handed the vicar a cup of tea. He told me some fanciful story that some boys at school didn't wear pyjamas at all and that their mothers let them stay up late, sometimes until after midnight, would you believe." She laughed.

Mrs Wilding had paused from her task to listen to Oliver's mum. Stephen, his arms still raised in anticipation of his vest being removed couldn't help blurting out. "It is the truth mum, honest it is, I have heard about it too."

Now you must remember that Stephen, at fifteen years of age, had only once in his entire life, not been tucked up in his bed by seven thirty, and that had only been because the taxi taking them home from the wedding had turned up late; and he had already been put into his pyjamas at the reception, and they were his little boy, Thomas the Tank engine winceyette pyjamas too. He still cringed at the memory of that particular humiliating day.

Indeed his bedtime had only been changed twice in his entire life, from six-thirty to seven when he was ten and just recently, to his current seven thirty when he turned fifteen.

In addition, he had certainly never gone to bed without first being dressed in his pyjamas. And I mean dressed. His mum had always taken it upon herself to actually button him up into his pyjama jacket and step him into his pyjama bottoms, now that he was in his sixteenth year she showed no inclination to stop this nightly ritual. No wonder then, he was so eager to believe the stories he had listened to from boys that were often younger than him, that in their world, pyjama times and bedtimes did not exist. Of course, he never admitted that he was subject to just such a strict bedtime regime, instead, he made extravagant claims of late nights and sleeping naked.

"Oh Stephen," his mother said looking amused at Mrs Evans. "They are just teasing you and Oliver, believe you me, every boy at your school has a pyjama time and a bedtime. Isn't that right vicar?"

Gladys Emmanuel smiled benevolently at the almost naked fifteen-year-old, "Of course mummy is right Stephen," she confirmed. "No little boy of your age, or even Oliver's age, would be allowed to stay up so late, only naughty boys would even suggest such a thing, and the very idea of  going to bed without jimmy-jams is... well it just doesn't happen."

"But mum it is true...." Another two sharp slaps to the back of Stephen's legs brought his protests to an abrupt end.

"Now that's enough of this nonsense, " his mum answered sharply, "are you contradicting the vicar? The very thing. Well, I know one little boy who is definitely wearing pyjamas for beddy-byes and that's you. It's pyjama time for you right now."

Seconds later he was divested of his vest and underpants and there he stood, fifteen years old and bare naked in front of four women.

Hyacinth Ledbetter was astonished at the three females complicity in infantilising the boys in their care. she realised the boys at the village school appeared less aggressive than boys she had taught previously and generally they were a lot less mature than the pupils from the girl's school, but one or two of the older boys were tall, with deep voices and the first signs of facial hair. Although now she came to think of it, those boys all came from outside the village and tended to stick together, not mixing with the local pupils. Hyacinth had no doubt that it was those boys who had taunted Stephen and Oliver with their tales of pyjama-less late nights.

Hyacinth had queried with other staff members as to why none of the boys had mobile phones or iPod's and had been told that poor internet connection in the area made them pointless and for that reason, there were few laptops either.

Stephen was standing in four inches of lukewarm water and a sense of despair overwhelmed him. It wasn't too long ago that he had hidden behind his book as Oliver was being stripped and bathed, thankful that it was not him being subjected to the humiliation of a pre-pyjama time wash and now, thanks to bus timetables and the vicar, here he was suffering the same fate.

"I'll just pop his new jimmy jams on the radiator to warm," His mum said, then I just need to pay a visit, could you deal with Stephen please Vera?"

"Mum no!" It was bad enough that here he was, a fifteen-year-old stripped naked and about to be washed and pyjamaed in Oliver's house and now his mum had asked Mrs Evans to actually bathe him.

His mum disappeared, ignoring his protestation. "Stop fussing Stephen," Mrs Evans berated him as she lathered up the flannel. Stephen spluttered and closed his eyes tightly as she gripped his chin.

Stephen, although distraught at the turn of events that had put him in this position, was nevertheless, still programmed to obey and please "grown-ups", it was what his mum had instilled in him over the years, so he stood obediently in the bowl of water as the flannel enveloped his face,  probing behind his ears and the back of his neck. Stephen let out a whimper at the roughness of the cloth flannel.

"What babies you boys are when it comes to being washed," scolded Mrs Evans as her flannel continued its descent down his body.

She worked her way down, lifting his arms up, in turn, to wash under them, then soaping and rinsing his back and chest. "Bend!" She ordered, pushing his neck forward to so that his white skinned bottom presented itself like a new full moon to the vicar and Miss Ledbetter who were watching his ablutions intently.

"Typical boy, why don't you ever wipe properly," tutted Mrs Evans as she inserted the corner of the flannel into his rectum, twisted it a few times and shoved the result under his nose to reveal a tell-tale stain.

"Looks like we will have to tell mummy she will need to start wiping a certain little boy's botty again doesn't it?" She suggested, looking knowingly at the vicar and Miss Ledbetter.

"Goodness me, not another job for mummy to do." Felicity Wilding had returned just in time to overhear the discovery that Stephen was not as diligent as he could be in the bottom wiping department.

"Dirtiness and boys are forever soul mates," said the vicar and ex-nurse Gladys Emmanuel ruefully, as if quoting from the bible.

Stephen now desperately wanted Mrs Evans to finish washing him and his mum to take over, but to his dismay, his mum told Vera Evans to carry on.

"I'll fetch his pyjamas and Dry-Nites." his mum suggested and Stephens embarrassment simply increased as Oliver's mother turned her attention to his crotch. Hyacinth Ledbetter looked on, once more adjusting her position, mesmerised by the tiny, smooth, hairless set of genitals Mrs Evans now had cupped in her hand.

The flannel rapidly went in between his legs several times before she roughly wiped his scrotum as if they were plums in a fruit bowl before she took a hold of his penis.

"Hold still Stephen whilst I wash behind your foreskin, let's hope there is not a cheese factory down there." Mrs Evans pulled his foreskin back to reveal his unsheathed penis.

Vera Evans was obviously very experienced at intimately washing naughty little boys as she wrapped the flannel around his pee-pee. "Goodness what a little tiddler," she laughed somewhat unnecessarily as far as Stephen was concerned.

Stephen was now acutely aware of being on his best behaviour, sometimes, sitting in the bath as his mum washed him down in his special place, he experienced a frisson of pleasure and excitement, he had learnt not to let his mum realise any of this but now he was desperately turning his thoughts to anything other than the reality he was experiencing as Mrs Evans caressed him in his most intimate spot. Having the vicar and Miss Ledbetter watching him closely didn't help.

Finally, Mrs Evans proclaimed, " there, all done, one sparkly clean little boy ready for his jimmy-jams."

His mum moved toward the radiator, "you might as well see if he'll go while I fetch them."

Oliver's mum grabbed hold of his penis again, "come along Stephen, time to make tinkle, there's a good boy."

To his absolute horror, Mrs Evans had grasped his penis and was aiming it for him toward the water in the bowl.

" Why can't I use the toilet?" Stephen cried out. He was mortified as she wiggled his penis around as if she were trying to put out a fire, meanwhile, he was conscious that the vicar and Miss Ledbetter were looking on too because actually, he did need to go, quite badly as it happened.

"Come along Stephen, at this rate it will soon be past your bedtime, never mind your pyjama time." Stephen's mum cajoled.

Despite the bizarre circumstances, Stephen's bladder overruled any qualms he had about peeing in front of four women. "Clever boy," Mrs Evans praised, as she aimed his stream into the water he had just been standing in as if peeing was an accomplishment a fifteen-year-old needed praise for.

It was still disconcerting for Stephen to have her direct his aim for him and even more so as retracted his foreskin to give it a final wash with her trusty flannel.

Hyacinth was astounded to witness the infantilising of Stephen by the three other women, and even more puzzled as to why he was so compliant.

His mum held out the pair of dry-nites pyjamas, taken from Oliver's packet, for him to step into.

"Oh look, Stephen, they're the same ones as yours at home, isn't that sweet." She then made a dinosaur roar sound as if bringing the image on the nappy, for that is what they actually are, to life.

Stephen had noticed this phenomenon before, when his mum was in the company of other women, her behaviour toward him became even more infantile than when they were alone together.

"I don't really need pyjama pants mum, I have just been and...." His mum cut him short as she settled the pyjamas pants on his waist.

"Now Stephen your new pyjamas are special footed one piece pyjamas, once you are wearing them there is no way you can take them off to go to the bathroom so you will always need to wear your dry-nites with them."

It was then, for the first time, as Stephen caught his first glimpse of the monstrosities that his mum held in her hands, that he realised how Oliver had inadvertently paid him back for picking those Toy Story pyjamas from the airing cupboard.

"Let's get those tootsies-wootsies in first in shall we?" His mum asked rhetorically as she placed his pyjamas in front of him. Mrs Evans stood behind Stephen as his mum lifted first one foot, then the other and placed them into the pyjama feet. As she pulled them up, Stephen gasped as the softness of the winceyette material enveloped him. The footed pyjamas were primrose yellow and were emblazoned with faded blue bunnies hopping gaily around a field.

"Oh, how sweet he looks," the vicar volunteered, " he's a darling little boy in his footy jim-jams isn't he Hyacinth?" Miss Ledbetter smiled but she was far too excited by the events unfolding in front of her to do anything other than nod in agreement.

Mrs Wilding beamed with pleasure as she continued dressing her fifteen-year-old son in the most infantile nightwear imaginable.

Vera Evans held Stephens shoulders firmly as she said. "You can see they have been washed many times, I insisted Oliver wore them all the time as they not only stopped him masturbating he also looked so adorable in them too, I was most disappointed he grew out of them last year. I wish I could track Mrs Frederick down so I could get him another pair."

Stephen too was disappointed Oliver had outgrown the ridiculously babyish pyjamas he was currently being dressed in. Unfortunately, Stephen realised he would have to do a lot of growing before he himself could pass them on to some unsuspecting soul, but if Oliver's mum was dressing him in these pyjamas when he was sixteen, Stephen would probably still be wearing them when he was twenty-one he thought ruefully.

If Stephen could have read his mum's mind, he would have learnt she was thinking something similar.
She had loosened the reins too quickly she thought, as she lovingly handled the soft winceyette fabric and looked adoringly at the little bunnies hopping hither and thither. Stephen was becoming a little bit too independent for her liking, it was time, she thought, to tighten those reins again and these pyjamas were the ideal beginning to that end.

With his feet and legs safely surrounded by bunnies, the pyjamas were raised to his midriff. Stephen was told to extend his arms by his mum.

What she actually said was, "hold your handy-pandies out so the little bunnies can climb aboard."
He cringed at her words as his hands wriggled down the soft winceyette sleeves of the bunny pyjamas. His hands pushed past some fairly tight elastic at the cuffs of the sleeves and he was forced to ball them into a fist as they came to a stop. He continued to push, somehow expecting his hands to appear before he realised this was not going to happen, his balled up hands were encased in what looked like a plastic orb of shiny white plastic, to Stephens dismay his hands were now rendered useless, he decided he had had enough.

"Mum, take these off me, these are pyjamas for a baby and I won't wear them......."

At last, the boy is showing some fight thought Hyacinth Ledbetter, not knowing if she was pleased or not.

Felicity Wilding, however, was in no mood to compromise.

"Nonsense Stephen," began his mum, "my little bunnikins looks adorable in his footie jimmy-jams, you will be wearing them all the time from now on, you look so ready for bed!"

She was so excited by the sight of her fifteen-year-old son wearing his bunny rabbit, winceyette footed pyjamas, she could barely find her words.

Mrs Evans meanwhile, was busily buttoning the pyjamas up from behind him as he made his protest.

"Oliver was just the same, complaining about the lovely bunny rabbits, boys are such silly-billies aren't they? Now, just let me just set that collar correctly, then there's this last button to go."

Stephen didn't think he was a silly-billy at all although, while making his futile protest, he had forgotten that Mrs Evans was still buttoning up the pyjamas from behind him. Somehow he had failed to notice the large Peter Pan collar trimmed with lace that now sat smugly below his chin. It had been sewed onto the neckline of the pyjamas and the last button at the back of the pyjamas closed the collar around the wearer's neck, below the collar was there was also a small ruffled bodice of lace, presumably to enhance the collar, or perhaps Mrs Frederick just has some lace left over. Either way, Stephen was not a happy bunny, and who could blame him?

"It's lacy.... mum the collar has lace on it!" Stephen almost shouted his distaste at the effeminate conclusion to the infantile pyjamas.

His mum smoothed down the bunny emblazoned collar. "Oh Stephen, you look adorable, hop over here and come and see," she urged leading him toward a cheval mirror that stood in Mrs Evans front room.

Stephen was appalled at the sight of himself. The lacy trim to the pyjamas was the final humiliation. He was fifteen years, he had been stripped then intimately bathed in four inches of water by his friends mum, then dressed in a pair of the most ridiculously infantile, babyish, footed pyjamas possibly ever sewn, primrose yellow winceyette material, sporting frolicking, stupid blue bunnies, while his hands were confined in vinyl mittens.

"I hate them," he said, as he stared disbelievingly at himself in the mirror.

"Well you had better get used to them, as I said, I expect you will be wearing your lovely pyjamas more often than not, besides, your page boy outfit has a lace collar and you love wearing that to church, don't you? Now, go and say thank you to Aunty Vera for giving you your lovely new pyjamas."

Stephen knew not to argue and compliantly recited his mum's words to Mrs Evans in front of Miss Ledbetter and the vicar. "Thank you, Aunty Vera, for giving me my lovely new pyjamas."

Hyacinth knew that Stephen was merely doing as he was told, but she was aware the three other women thought that a fifteen-year-old boy, saying thank you for being dressed in a baby bunny romper pyjama suit was perfectly acceptable.

"You're quite welcome Stephen, I am so glad they fit and suit you so well." She beamed a glorious smile at him and patted his head. She was genuinely delighted that he was wearing her sons cast off pyjamas.

"I shall get Stephen to write a thank you note to you and Oliver tomorrow too," his mum proclaimed.

Stephen took a deep breath, forcing himself to remain calm, after all, what else could possibly happen to make matters worse?


  1. Excellent addition to the story Wincy. Thank you for the wonderful work. I wonder what's in store for Oliver and Stephen next.

    Best regards Sharon

  2. Those new pajamas are fantastic, I hope we see lots of Stephen wearing them. Also I hope Mrs Fredericks or a substitute resurfaces, I so want Oliver Bach in special Jim jams as well

  3. Very enjoyable indeed, Wincy. An excellent continuation and I can't wait for the next episode. Many thanks.