Helping My Brother
By: Randall Austin
(© 2012 by the author)

The author retains all rights. No reproductions are allowed without the author's consent. Comments are appreciated at...

Chapter 4

(Notes from the journal of Craig Soffel)

Ever since that day I had to whip my brother Marty and butt plug him, I haven't had any more problems with him of the sort that led to his whipping and plugging. At least the outright back-talking and cynicism he had been displaying in front of me when dad wasn't around has since disappeared. I told our contact and advisor person from Social Services about how I whipped and plugged Marty, and he congratulated me. He told me on the phone, "I can promise you; you are going to see positive results." He was right.

Although Marty is 20 years old, and I am just 18 and finishing my senior year in high school, I was instructed in my servant handling classes to never let age difference affect how you treat a slave. So I have no problem addressing Marty in an appropriate fashion. I told him one morning as I was feeding him as he was seated in his high chair, "Marty, I'm really pleased with the progress you've been making.

Dad and I have been toying with the idea of extending your workday on the house remodeling project from 8 hours to 10 hours. But I think you're showing yourself to be a properly behaving servant, and I am going to be advising dad this afternoon that we keep you on an 8 hour per day labor schedule because of your good behavior."

A look of disgust came over Marty's face, but he kept quiet. I think he remembered the whipping and plugging. He collected himself and spoke in a calm manner. "Craig. I used to like you. But listen to yourself. You're turning into someone else. You're
18 years old and you're talking like one of those old fart servant trainers at Social Services. Please don't embarrass yourself."

I was, I'll confess, somewhat miffed at Marty's putdown. But I held myself in check, though I did ask, "Did you want to be put on a ten-hour workday after all?"

I was getting a little tired of such comments from Marty. They were not really so horrible in themselves, but his non-stop critical attitude was still coming through. The way I saw it was he was the same old defiant Marty, but he had learned not to let his complaints come out in a heated outburst, since he knew both dad and I were swift to respond with strong doses of pain for such actions.

So I spoke my mind. "Marty, you've been a servant now for almost eight weeks. Dad had to put those leg braces on you your first day here because you couldn't seem to grasp the fact that you were a social servant. The braces were only supposed to stay on for one week and help remind you of your status. But after that first week dad felt he had to keep you in the leg brace hobbles because you weren't progressing as a servant in the way we had hoped to see."

Marty was sarcastic, "Oh, the way 'WE had hoped to see!' You don't make the decisions!"

Marty was walking on thin ice, as far as I was concerned, "No, not by myself, but I am your overseer and dad takes my input seriously and acts on everything I say."

"Hey Craig. You're my brother. Have you forgotten that?"

Marty was trying to get me to lose my focus as his overseer, but I stayed on course. "What I have not forgotten Marty is that I am your overseer, and that means there's a big difference between us. You are a social servant; I am your overseer. That means when I tell you to do something, you obey or face the consequences. So that makes us pretty different from each other as far as I can tell."

Marty hissed, "You'd like to believe that you're some hot shot slave driver. But you're just a little kid!"

He was making me mad, "Hey Marty. Dude. I may be a kid and I know that. But you are a slave and you haven't seemed to have caught on to that fact!"

I shook my head, curled my lip in disgust, and asked, "Do I have to remind you that you happen to be sitting in a slave high chair, I've got you locked down in your seat by your penis ring, and you only get to eat what I give you to eat?"

That made an impression, so I continued. "Or have you bothered to look into a mirror lately? In case you haven't, you're quite a sight! It's not just those snazzy leg braces that force you to walk like a dork that make you so special. Your head happens to be 'hawked', just like convict slaves' heads everywhere.

And surely you must be aware that there is a big ring going through the head of your slave cock, by which I happen to have you tethered to your high chair this very moment.

You're sitting there tethered by your dick just like an animal. And how can you not notice that ring through your nose, Mr. Pig Snout? And to top it all off, you happen to be bald ass naked, Mr. Cool. And to highlight your nakedness we keep your pussy shaved nice and smooth just like a girl's, Ms. Bald Cunt!"

I must have gotten through to Marty, because a frown came over his face, and he looked like he would break down crying. But I continued, "And that's just for starters. Because you know what I'm going to do to you now bro? I'm going to teach you how to drink piss! How does that sound, Martyboy? You are going to become dad's and my nighttime piss drinker. Now I don't drink piss. But you soon will be. So surely you can see some difference between us in that?"

Marty broke down crying. Just like a baby crying in a high chair. It was pathetic, but it really kind of turned me on seeing Marty so totally put in his place.

Dad and I had intended to put Marty on nighttime piss drinking duty right from the start. Piss drinking is pretty much standard service these days for personal care servants, and dad and I were looking forward to when we could take advantage of this service. We couldn't do it right from the start, of course, because one is supposed to introduce an indentured family member into the various modes of personal service on a gradual, step-by-step, basis.

A couple of weeks after Marty was home as an indentured servant, dad wanted all of us to sleep together in the same bed for several reasons; in order to help with family bonding; so dad and I both could keep an eye on Marty; and so we could both take advantage of having a piss drinker in bed with us to save us from those annoying nighttime bathroom trips.

I had Marty in a somewhat vulnerable and defeated position, which is where I wanted him. My servant handling training taught me that it was very good to subject slaves to such abject reminders of their status, so I wanted to continue with the business at hand. I fetched my training whip from the hallway and returned to the kitchen and stood next to Marty in the slave chair.

"Now Marty, the first thing I want you to do is open your mouth into a nice big 'O' shape. Come on boy, let's see you form a nice big 'O' with your mouth.

He didn't move at first, so I brushed my arm holding the whip so he wouldn't miss the fact that I was ready to use it if I had to. He slowly formed his lips into an 'O' shape. It was both comical and a big turn on for me seeing Marty so humiliated.

I coached him further, "Come on Marty, you have to make a bigger 'O' than that. It has to be big enough so dad's big thick dick can fit into your mouth."

Marty could not take it anymore. He broke down and started sobbing in humiliation and defeat. I guess it was a turn on for me seeing Marty in such abject condition because I knew it was helping him with his formation into becoming a really good slave.

I was gentle with him. I reached down and undid the high chair's lock from his penis ring. I spoke in a comforting tone, "That's okay, big fella. This will be new for you, I know that. Come along with me, and let's get more comfortable."

I took him by the arm and led him into the living room. He was like a little kid. Meekly submitting as he sobbed. Taking such control of my brother was one of the most exciting moments in my entire life.

To be continued...

Posted: 05/18/12