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 11

(Notes from the journal of Craig Soffel)

Slave owners, like all other special interest groups, get all kinds of junk mail about slaves; business's trying to sell various accouterments; vets providing services for slaves at cheaper rates than regular physicians; punishment houses offering discounts on weekend training sessions; clothing houses offering wide varieties of servant uniforms.

One day at dinner I was flipping through a flier from a local Portland business, 'Chucky's', which sells mainly servant control devices, and noticed a 'male genital guard'. I showed dad the picture, and read to him what the flier said about it, "Male genital guards, commonly referred to as 'chastity control' devices, are very useful tools for improving a servant's level of production, both in terms of task focus and work output."

Dad nodded and I asked, "What do you say Dad, should we get Marty fitted with one?"

Marty, who was tethered to his servant high chair by his penis ring, was sitting next to me, and let out a whine, "Dad!"

Dad would normally probably have been against a genital guard, but Marty's attitude irked him, and he said, "Whatever you say, son. If you think it could help your brother to put a lid on his complaining, then we can give it a try."

I smiled perhaps a bit too broadly at my victory over Marty, but I looked at Marty and explained, "All I want to do is help you, Marty. Help you to be the best that you can be. That's all."

Marty hissed a "Fuck you!" I wrote up a behavior infraction report online later that day with Social Services.

And I made an afternoon appointment for a 'genital guard' fitting for Marty at 'Chucky's'.

I like the fact that we keep Marty naked and leg braced, and I felt that the addition of a genital guard to the mix of control options we use on him would overall enhance his subservability (a big word slavers use a lot).

As my personal servant, I also like to see Marty's genitals exposed as he works around the house and sexually services me. But I thought it might be fun if I were to control his sexual release, and let him cum only once every two or three weeks. It might improve his behavior; and who knows, maybe it really will speed up his work on the house remodeling project.

Chucky's is a place where the two guys who own it are really into the culture of social servitude. When I brought Marty in they gathered around, genuinely interested in Marty's comportment and how I handled him.

Chuck Manson, after whom the business is named, was quite personable. He commented on Marty's jumpsuit, "I take it you only put this jumper on him when you go out. Am I correct?"

I liked Chuck immediately, "Yes. He is in a servitor rehab program, so household nudity was recommended to us as a means of helping with his formation."

Chuck nodded, "I see. So that's probably the reason you also have him leg braced?"

When I replied that it was the reason, Rod, one of the other owners suggested we try out some other model leg braces. I replied that we didn't have money to buy anything fancier than what the state provided for us, but that we were interested in purchasing the genital guard that was advertised as 'on sale' in their flier.

Servant supply houses usually do not provide special hidden areas or fitting rooms for slaves, and Chucky's was no exception. They just had Marty unbutton his jumpsuit and roll it down to his knees right there on the salesroom floor.

Rod came over with the measuring tapes as Chuck admired Marty's body, "May I ask, is he your brother?"

When I replied that he was, Chuck smiled, "That is so cool. I thought so. You look a little bit alike. You two make a handsome couple."

Rod gave me a knowing smile as he measured Marty's thighs, "He looks like a juicy fuck!"

I smiled, nodded and winked, and gave him the "A- OK" sign.

Chuck laughed and joined in the silliness, did a finger-fucking sign with his hands, and then asked, "Is he behaving?"

"Not as well as we would like. That's why we are going to try the genital guard. My dad agreed with me in thinking that a guard might give us the edge we need in getting him to be just where we want him."

Rod asked, "So, you want a real quick-stepper?"

I responded, "That would be nice. But what we really want is to just get rid of his damn annoying attitude problem."

Chuck added, "Well a genital guard is certainly a step in the right direction. The model on sale prevents all contact of a servant with his genitals, but we have another model that not only prevents access, but also prevents erections."

I replied, "That sounds good to me", and asked how much it was. Unfortunately it was too expensive. The erection inhibitor model was not only not on sale, but it was far more expensive than anything we could afford. I went with the model that was on sale.

Rod fitted Marty with the genital guard, and as he did so showed me how to do it as well.

Once Marty was fitted with the guard, Rod pulled up his jumpsuit and I told Marty to button up. As we left the store Chuck called out, "Make sure you keep the keys to the genital guard well hidden from him!"

I laughed, "Thanks Chuck. You can be sure that I will!"

On the way home in the car Marty wasn't exactly complaining; he struggled to hold it in, but he was talking a lot about how things used to be between us and how I had changed for the worse.

It sounded like complaining enough to me that when I got home I filed another behavior infraction with Social Services.

***

In the three months since I've been preventing Marty from having non-stop access to his genitals via the genital guard, Marty's behavior has improved a bit. I, unfortunately, usually let him have access to his genitals at least once a week while he services me because I so love watching his dick squirt cum as he services me. If I weren't so sexually attracted to Marty, I probably could get much better behavior out of him by drastically cutting down on the number of times he has access to his genitals over the course of a year. Some writers on servitor control suggest allowing a slave no more than ten ejaculations a year.

But on the days just before I take his genital guard off, Marty is like putty in my hand. He's like a little boy trying super hard to please his parents.

Controlling Marty's access to his cock is such a high for me; it's like controlling his very soul.

But I have to admit, when I do remove his genital guard, I'm usually as excited as Marty is, so much do I love seeing his uncontrollable erection spring out of its cage.

Almost three weeks ago when Marty's genitals had been locked away for 7 days, and when I normally would have removed the genital guard so he could relieve himself as he relieved me, I decided not to, because I was leaving the following day on a 10 day combined intensive field trip involving all my science classes. I figured that depriving him access to his cock for about 20 days total would help him realize just how good he has it with me as his chief overseer.

Unfortunately, the day I arrived home from my field trip turned out to be the bleakest day in my entire life. Marty was not at home. When I went to dad to let him know I had returned, and to find out where Marty was, he solemnly invited me into his study.

Dad was not happy with me, to put it mildly. He had received notice from Social Services that it was their recommendation, based on the reports filed by Marty's legally authorized overseers, that Marty be assigned to a lifelong term of servitude. Since dad, it turns out, had only written Marty up once, he knew that the other 50 write-ups were sent by me.

When dad told me that write-ups were only to be done for very serious matters. I told him that I thought all the write-ups I did were warranted. He explained that write-ups were not for such things as a servant talking back or refusing to work as fast as I would like, but for such things as theft and threats or acts of violence.

Dad told me that Marty was right now with a Social Services attorney who was advising him on how to appeal the decision. Social servants may always appeal decisions that negatively affect them. But if the appeal is proven to be frivolous, it usually results in their term of service being extended. But because someone in Marty's situation has nothing to lose if he doesn't gain a decision in his favor, it is always wise for servants to appeal a judgment calling for a full- life term of indenturement.

I was shocked, and very embarrassed, at the news. I asked dad why we couldn't just go and explain that I had misunderstood the use of write-ups, and dad explained that when I signed the paper making me one of Marty's legal overseers, it stated in fine print that any reports I filed against my charge were irrevocable.

But that wasn't the worst news. Dad told me that since false accusations and infraction write-ups against servants were a very serious matter because they risked extending a servant's term of indenturement, the punishment for those who do so is severe; usually resulting in a sentence of criminal indenturement.

I lost it. I started crying like a fool, told dad I couldn't bear the thought of being indentured, and that I was a college student. They couldn't just take me out of college and make me a slave.

Dad told me they could do that, but that I shouldn't worry about it. Social Services told him that the judges who review the cases take the whole picture into consideration before passing judgment. They also told him that if I were indentured, even though I would then be a ward of the state and be put to work on some public works project, I could probably still live at home, since the state saves a lot of money on housing by having the criminally indentured live with relatives.

It was all pretty bleak; dad told me that if Marty lost his appeal he would be taken into surgery for processing as a lifer servant. What they would do to him in surgery I didn't even want to think about. But even worse; dad told me that if Marty won his appeal, he would probably be freed from his term of indenturement.

The thought of me being enslaved and Marty being free was something I was not prepared to handle, and I let dad know how I felt. "Dad, this is so crazy. What have I ever done to deserve this? Marty is the one who was always getting into trouble with the law. Not me! What have I ever done but try to help you and Marty out by overseeing him? Why all of a sudden am I some awful person because I was just reporting that Marty wasn't obeying? That's what I thought I was supposed to be doing. It doesn't seem fair. Dad, the thought of being a slave scares me. Real bad!"

Dad came and hugged me and told me he agreed with me, and that I was probably getting worked up over nothing.

While that hug made me feel better, what I don't like about this whole thing is the fact that I am somehow being made out to be the bad guy just because I sent a few emails. To me, a slave is someone who is supposed to do what he's told. I think a misbehaving slave is a serious matter; me simply reporting bad behavior is not a serious wrong; in fact it is right and good. The system is fucked. I think it's totally unfair that I'm being made out to be some kind of shit just because I have high standards. What's the sense of having a slave if you can't get it to do what you want it do?

If Marty wins the appeal, I swear there is no way in hell I'm going to accept servitude. I'm checking with my old friend Dave Thorson on the ins/outs of using Canada to escape the US Social Services Authority. Or maybe I can make up some kind of story that having sex with my brother, as is the norm these days if your brother is a slave, got my head confused.

I don't know what I'm going to do. But I promise you; I will never be a slave to dad and Marty!

To be continued...

Posted: 07/06/12