Date: Fri, 10 Feb 2012 23:07:05 -0800 From: Randall Austin <randallaustin2011@hotmail.com> Subject: Helping My Brother - Part 3 Helping My Brother Part Three By Randall Austin This story is erotic fiction meant for mature readers and should only be read by adults over the age of eighteen years old. Please do not use my stories without my permission and please forward all comments to randallaustin2011@hotmail.com Randall Austin's Archive Group: http://groups.yahoo.com/group/Randall_Austin_Stories (Notes from the journal of Craig Soffel) Putting my brother in leg braces really helped him grasp the fact that he was a slave, and nothing but a slave. Dad doesn't want me using that word, `slave', and of course modern day social servants are subject to nothing like what slaves in olden times had to bear. But when you see your older brother walking around the house naked except for his work shoes, with his head mohawked, his pussy pubes shaved baby smooth, his boy balls banded and hanging low like slaves' balls everywhere, giant tethering rings through his nose and his dick head, and wearing a pair of hobbling braces that force him to take small steps with his legs spread out, it's hard not to think `slave'. But dad is right. Marty is in the indenturement program not so dad can get free labor, but so that Marty can be helped. We are trying to guide Marty away from some of his bad and self-destructive habits. Of course, he does have to be put to work, since that is part of the indenture-rehab program, so dad is having him do a major remodeling of our house under the guidance of a contractor who comes to our house at the start of each day to show Marty what to do and how to do it. So dad is saving a ton of money on the remodel by having Marty do it, but Marty still requires constant oversight by either dad, me, or one of our friends. Marty is indentured in the rehab program as a `personal servant'. A `personal servant' is someone who serves in a fully personal way. And once one is a servant, his servant status overrides any other status, including family standing. That means that certain things that would never be permitted or considered unacceptable between `free' family members, are no longer considered taboo. Data from the Federal Social Services Agency shows that boys with problems of the sort Marty had (wild living, hanging out with wild friends, too much partying, petty crime) do best when they are put into personal service indenturement. And personal service indenturement with one's own family has the highest success rate of all. Social services explained to dad and me all of the benefits of such mode of service for both the servant and the free family members; and also counseled dad and me on the proper method of introducing an indentured family member into various modes of personal service. It is to be a step-by-step introduction. The first step was to get Marty to assist in our personal care, and to help him get comfortable doing so. So one day when I was on the pot taking a crap, dad knocked and asked if he and Marty could come in. I said 'sure', and dad brought Marty in, and instructed Marty to take some toilet tissue and wipe my ass. Marty reached to get some toilet paper, but the look on his face let us know he was not too happy with the request. But he was doing as he was told because by now he had learned, for the most part, that neither dad nor I will take any crap from him. If he fails to do as he is told, we use any of various `trainer' devices on him; such as the service whip, reform strap, paddle, and punishment gloves or else we will tether him for a `timeout' session by his dick or nose ring. When Marty reached under me and started wiping my ass, he scrunched up his nose. I didn't care; it felt surprisingly good. After he got me cleaned, dad instructed him to wet a cloth with warm water and wash my hole area. Again, Marty did as instructed. He then dried me off, and dad told him to put some talcum powder on his hand and rub it into my crack area. It felt really good. And I felt a special bonding with my brother. As Marty was bending over me cleaning my ass, his ringed dick and banded balls were right in my face, and suddenly it hit me that, in a sense, his cock and balls belonged to me in a very real way. Dad and I had already instructed Marty that he was not to masturbate without our permission. Whether he follows that order or not, dad and I don't know or care too much. The important thing is that we had let him know that we had full authority over him to enforce any of our requests to whatever extent we wanted. So in that sense, I had already taken some control over his personal pleasure unit. But having Marty's most personal parts right in front of my face, reminded me that I have control over my brother to the very depth of his being. After a couple of days, once Marty got used to cleaning my ass, I had him go through the whole shower ritual with me. He got into the shower with me and washed me; toweled me dry; shaved me; dressed me; and combed my hair. Dad doesn't use him for that kind of stuff, and I only use Marty for such services when I have extra time. But social services does want Marty to be employed fully as a personal servant on all levels, so I do try to have Marty bathe me at least two or three times a week. On those days that I do have extra time, it really is a treat to have my older brother pamper me in such a way. All of my friends at school are jealous of me having my own personal care servant. About two weeks after Marty was introduced to providing grooming service for us, dad felt it was time to introduce Marty to the next level of personal service, and asked me to do it. But when I told Marty that it was time for a training session, I could tell he was in a somewhat contrary mood and said, "This is sick!" I told him that I didn't make the rules, and that we had to do what we had to do. Marty then started complaining about the whole indenturement thing, how he felt like he was fucked over, how he never deserved four years of indenturement, and so on. I asked him, "Oh, so you think you know better than the Oregon State Social Services Authority?" He yelled back his answer, "Fuck the Oregon State Social Services Authority!" I warned him, "You better watch it, bro. What you just said ranks as servitor insubordination. I could report you, you know. And if I did, they would probably slap on another year on your term of service." Marty knew I had him, and he kept quiet. He also looked a little worried. So I tried to calm him, "I'm not going to report you this time, bro. But it sounds to me like you're having a bad day. I think we need to forego the training session for now and instead get you fitted with a comfort stop. I think that's what you need. So scoot your ass into the bedroom so I can get you plugged!" A `comfort stop' is a small to medium sized butt plug that is inserted up the rectum and secured and locked in place by means of a waist strap. It is most commonly used on the criminally indentured to elicit compliant behavior. It has been proven useful in calming fretful slaves because its presence is constantly felt by the wearer, and thus usually preoccupies a slave enough to take his mind off of what was causing unacceptable behavior. Thus, for its calming effect, it is called a `comfort stop.' Well, Marty not only refused to scoot his ass into the bedroom for his plugging, but he then did something he knew he was never to do, and that was to scream at me, an overseer. "Fuck you, man! It's yours and dad's thing to humiliate me and it isn't legal. So just fuck off, Craig!" I knew it was my duty to respond forcefully to such an outburst, and not risk losing any credibility as an overseer. Up until this point dad had done most of the heavy-duty punishments, but I now had no choice. I had to resort to the training whip. Although so far I never had to whip my brother, I did in fact get to practice using the training whip in my handler's classes. Social Services use slaves which people bring in for punishment for classroom training purposes. But using a whip on your own family member is a very different kind of experience. Imagine trying to whip a beloved family member across his naked body. It was not an easy thing to do. But I steeled myself. I grabbed the whip that was on the table and sliced him with it as fast and hard as I could. I hit him across the upper right shoulder and chest area. He screamed louder than I had ever heard him scream, and he immediately jumped to attention as slave's are supposed to do if they wish to submit, offered an apology, and promised to do whatever I told him to do. I stood as tall as I could, "You don't like feeling pain, bro, and I don't like giving pain. So it seems like we should be on the same page, old pal!" With that, I sliced him again. I don't know what made me do it, since he had apologized and promised to behave. But I did it anyway and he fell to the floor howling. Something came over me. I hated to have to slice my own brother like that, but it somehow felt so good to me; probably because I knew I was doing the right thing; helping my brother whom I love so much become a better person. Marty cried, "Craig, why are you doing this?" I was honest, "Because I fucking care about you man! I love you. I want you to be all that you can be!" He cried out, "Please Craig, don't hit me anymore!" I don't know why such control over another felt so good, but I knew that I was getting through to him in a truly helpful way. My body, my loins, told me that what I was doing was an act of love, so I sliced him one last time. I know this is going to sound weird, but I knew immediately after slicing Marty for the third time that I had done not only the right thing, but a holy thing; I was helping Marty get to that place where he could be his truest and best self. And it felt wonderful. I was flushed with excitement at the help I was offering my dear brother. I asked him as he writhed on the floor, "Now are you ready to get your ass over on that bed so I can get you plugged?" It was amazing. He jumped up and almost ran into the bedroom and plopped his naked slave body on the bed. When I approached him on the bed, he cowered, but I reassured him, "Punishment is over, bro. You took it well and I think it's helping you. Hopefully you are learning some lessons from all of this." As I gathered the plug and lube, I asked him, "You ready to get plugged up, bro?" He didn't answer, so I reassured him. "They taught me in handler's class that this would do you a world of good when you're showing the kind of attitude you just did. This will make you feel good, and calm you down." As I lubed up the comfort stop I looked lovingly at Marty, smiled, and asked, "You ready to get plugged, bro?" He was like a totally submissive, helpless, little baby as I started working the comfort stop up his ass. He just laid there and let me do it. He pulled his legs up to his shoulders and completely let me get to work on his behind. As I slowly worked the butt plug in, I spoke reassuringly to him, "Does it feel good, bro? You can take it. You're a big boy now. Show me what a big and strong boy you are and take this plug all the way up! Just a little bit more to go. Attaboy!" He whimpered a bit as I worked the plug in, but he was compliant and even worked his butt muscles to help me get the plug in and all the way up. When I put on the securing strap that goes around his waist and through his ass crack to hold the butt plug in, he helpfully lifted his bottom so I could pull the straps through his legs. I told him how proud I was of him, and that he should be proud of being such a good servant. His dick had hardened from the plugging, but I didn't say anything about it because I would never needlessly distress or embarrass my brother. I helped him stand up. He seemed to be getting over his free boy pride, for even though he was beet red from embarrassment, he made no attempt to cover up his slave boner. I complimented him, "That's okay, Marty. I'm a free person and you never have to be ashamed of being seen in such a state by a free person. It's a sign to me that you are learning to respect free people by not trying to cover yourself up." I watched him waddle out of the room. What with the butt plug up his ass, he was quite a sight. The plug forced him to keep his legs further apart than his leg braces did alone. So as he walked, his low hanging balls were swinging to and fro like a mule's. Being all naked, mohawked, banded, ringed, braced, and plugged, with his purple-knobbed erect dick sticking out, he looked like a pack animal that should be laboring away in some quarry. He was quite a ridiculous looking sight actually, and I was embarrassed that my brother had ended up in such a way. I didn't say anything to him about it, of course. But it struck me that my brother was now just an ordinary worthless slave. Nothing more than a naked pack animal really. But, of course, I mean that in a good way. Pack animals are beautiful. And so is my brother.