Helping My Brother

Part One

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)

I’ll never forget the day my brother Marty, age 20,

was brought home after he was sentenced to a four-year

term of in-family indenturement.  It was pretty freaky

for me, to say the least.  I can’t imagine what it

must have been like for Marty.

On Tuesday, August 21, 2011, my brother was delivered

to our house by two officers from the Clackamas County

Social Services training and processing facility.  He

had been sentenced to four years of in-family

indenturement two weeks earlier, and then immediately

remanded to the training facility for two weeks of

intensive training and processing.  While he was

getting trained to be a behaving servant, dad and I

each attended classes in servant handling.

The officers were just there to deliver Marty to us,

but they did want to demonstrate, for dad and me, some

important information about the proper method of

tethering a servant by either his nose and/or penis

rings.  So one of the first things the officers did

when they brought Marty in was to make him strip.  I

was surprised by the request, and even more surprised

at the way Marty hopped to it and instantly stripped

out of the dorky looking servant jumpsuit he was

wearing right in front of dad and me.

It wasn’t the Marty I knew; not only because of the

weird things they had done to him, but also because he

was, for the first time doing exactly what he was told

to do. 

When he finally had his jumpsuit off, Marty was quite

a sight!  I could hardly recognize him.

All freshly processed slaves in Oregon are ‘hawked’,

banded, ringed, collared, and chipped, and Marty was

no exception.  He was quite a sight standing there.

They had him mohawked, and social services told us we

should keep his hair that way.  They had an inch and a

half wide band above his balls; separating his balls

from his cock and making them hang low.  They had him

fixed up with a large gauge ring through both the

septum of his nose and the head of his cock.  Man,

they looked painful!  His pubic and armpit hair was

shaved.  And there was a bandage on his upper left

buttock where they had injected his tracking chip.

So there was my older brother standing there in our

living room in front of dad and me: naked,

bald-pussied, mohawked, collared, and ringed in the

nose and dick just like some draft animal, and he

started crying like a baby. 

One of the guards pulled a small training whip out of

his service belt, and Marty immediately shut up with

his embarrassing crying.  He was sniffling like a

three-year old, and when the other guard told him not

to embarrass himself in front of his father and his

younger brother, he immediately stood tall and tried

to look brave.

Once he was standing naked, tall, and proud, the

officers explained to us that tethering was an

important part of slave control, but that a slave was

never to be tethered into an uncomfortable position by

a body piercing.  In other words, it’s okay to tie a

slave up by his hands and make him stand on the tips

of his toes as a punishment tethering; but never do

that by a body piercing, or you risk the slave

exhausting himself and severely injuring himself.

Dad and I both already knew that, of course, from our

handling classes, but Oregon is just so enlightened

regarding the treatment of servants that they go to

extra lengths to ensure their safe treatment.

It was really awkward; Marty couldn’t look at either Dad

or me in the face, standing there all ‘hawked, shaved,

banded, and ringed.

The officers stayed and chatted with us for about 15

minutes, but before they left they both went up to

Marty, whom they had made stand at attention with his

hands behind his head, and told him to be ‘good boy’

(I couldn’t believe it) and to make his father and me

proud of him.