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.