Traditional Values
By: Randall Austin
(© 2011 by the author)

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

Chapter 1

Martin Forestman, a devoted husband to his wife, Barbara, of 23 years, and a loving father of his three sons, Alban (16), Quince (18), and Bradley (22), and his daughter, Flora (14), looked at his watch, closed the book he was reading, and rubbed his forehead. It was almost time. Not such a big deal really, he thought.

Bradley entered his father's office ahead of the appointed time, punctual and considerate as usual. "How do you like my haircut Dad?" He beamed as he turned his head so his father could see the careful work his girlfriend, Ginger, had done to his head. Sides neatly trimmed and shaved clean, and the hairs on top of his head luxuriously gelled and shining.

"You sure are looking good, son." Martin briefly pondered how to proceed, and then asked, "How long has Ginger been your girlfriend, Brad?"

"I met her my sophomore year in college. So that's three years, Dad."

"Well, she has been a lucky girl to have you for a boyfriend. Not only are you smart and caring, but you are a damn handsome young man, son."

Bradley blushed, his rose-colored cheeks betraying his shyness. "And son, it's your good looks which are the chief reason we have to have the conversation we are about to have."

Martin pointed to a chair for Brad to sit in, and Martin took a seat on the couch immediately across from him. "Bradley, as you know I was quite embarrassed having to tell you at the start of summer that because of the financial situation I found myself in I wouldn't be able to pay for your graduate school tuition, and that if you wanted to continue on you would have to find some means of financing it yourself."

"Dad, don't worry about it. You know I was happy to arrange for a student loan, and I was able to arrange to start the job I got in the school library for my first year in graduate school immediately. That's why I was happy to pay you and mom room and board this summer.

"Son, it is your attitude towards life that makes you so precious to me." Martin shifted and cleared his throat. "As you may not know, my financial advisor suggested to me some time ago that the best option for us, in our current financial crisis, would be to have Quince set up for a short term of indenturement with Social Services. This would then have kept me not only able to provide for my family in the way in which you have all been accustomed, but when Quince was released after the 5 years suggested time, the portion of the transaction which would have been invested in his name would have provided him with much more money than he could ever have been able to save had he been working in a full time job during those five years and paying for the cost of living. So I saw it as a perfectly reasonable and healthy solution, especially since Quince will not be going on to college, and the job market is rather slender right now."

Bradley shook his head quietly. "But Dad! A social servant? Vermont is the most liberal of the slave states, and the term slavery is never used in polite society. 'Social servant' is the word for slave, and folks who used to be referred to as service industry personnel, such as restaurant and janitorial employees, are now referred to as the 'hospitality industry'."

Martin continued, "Bradley, you know that such an arrangement is not uncommon in these times." Martin was right. Not only were such indentured arrangements not uncommon, but also the government of Vermont did all it could do to put a positive spin on the institution of 'Social Servitude'. Television ad campaigns conveyed the arrangement as dignified and respectable for both social servants and their owners. The entire idea of social servitude was creeping into the social consciousness as being both a traditional and a cherished institution.

"So I discussed this with your uncle, my brother Steven, and he asked me why, of all my sons I would select Quince. So I told him because he was the most athletic of my sons, was not a scholar, didn't do too well in school, and doesn't have quite the grace of his siblings. But Steven then explained to me that if I were going to go ahead with such a process, Quince would be the worst choice for social servitude of all of my sons for the very reasons that I have named."

"Steven has quite a bit of experience as an occasional broker in the social service industry, and as you may know, his oldest son, your cousin Jason, is now a trainer for neighboring Addison County Social Services. Steven has a lot of connections in the industry and is up to date on most issues regarding social servants, and he told me that what is sought after in the modern social servant is intelligence, grace, charm, and good looks. And you, Bradley, excel in all of these. Simply put, if I am going to set up one of my sons as indentured, then you would bring in, by far, the most money." Bradley swallowed. Dad was about to continue, but reached out his arm and put it on his son's leg. He spoke quietly. "Bradley, let's do this for your mother, your brothers, and little Flora."

Bradley sighed slightly, and with a worried look asked, "Dad, what about Ginger, school, you, mom..."

"Son, the beauty of this arrangement is that not much will change. This is a traditional arrangement in these times; children helping families. I have arranged it so that you will remain in the area, near all of us. You have always been so generous and understanding. I know you'll do this for all of us." He rubbed his son's leg. "Listen, here's what's up. We're going to have you, right now, put on a pair of service fatigues, I'm going to drive you out to the County Social Services Administration Center, they'll have you sign a few papers, they'll put a lightweight collar on you, fit you with a small ring, take a few pictures of you, and then you and I are going to get back in the car, come home, and you can get back in your own clothes and go and see Ginger or go and do whatever you want to do."

Bradley, good son that he was, sat and listened. Martin kept rubbing his leg, "Folks who are in the market for a social servant check out the Social Services website, and the county sets up appointments with prospective buyers. When we are notified of an appointment, we will both attend the interview, and I have set it up so that I have the final word on who takes your services. I will insist that it be local, so you can maintain contact with all of your family and friends, and that your service duty be primarily of a domestic or clerical nature, as suits your breeding and intelligence." After a short pause, "And remember. It's just for five years and eight months! And after that time the investment I will have made for you in your name from a portion of the proceeds from your sale will probably cover all of your future graduate school expenses. It takes most folks fifteen years or more to pay off their student loans, and yours will be out of the way before you even begin school!"

Martin stopped rubbing and rested his hand on his son's firm leg. Bradley breathed slightly heavier than usual, but knowing the way things were, tried to quickly resign himself to the matter, though his mind rushed about with questions.

"Dad, what kind of ring are they going to put on me?"

"Son, I actually don't know. The official I spoke with simply said that the collaring and ringing go very quickly, and that we would be out of there in no time." Seeing that knowing the matter wouldn't take too long relaxed Bradley somewhat, Martin thought it best to proceed without undue delay. He reached for a shopping bag behind the couch and set it on the floor. "Let's get you into these duds!" He stood up and indicated for his son to stand up also. "You can just leave all of your clothes in my office, and then when we get back here you can quickly change back into them."

Dad took out the slave fatigues and opened them up as Bradley started unbuttoning his shirt. Martin's handsome son was undressing in front of him for the first time since he was a boy. He took his shirt off, folded it, as good boys do, laid it over the couch, and sat down to take off his shoes and socks. Martin looked down at his son's glistening hair and thought how confident and mature his son was and wondered if he would remain a confident and mature man for long. Would this ordeal change him? Was he still a normal boy now, or was he a social servant. Would he be less of a man from this day forward?

Brad stood, unbuckled his belt, unzipped, and let his trousers fall. He stepped out of them and folded them and placed them next to his shirt. As he removed his tee shirt and his chest came into view, Martin realized his boy was indeed now a man. Brad placed the tee on the couch, and looked to his dad to hand him the green fatigues. "Son, County Services wants all service persons in for processing to be wearing only these regulation fatigues, so the undies have to come off."

Brad turned and dropped his shorts. He bent over to pick them up, placed them on the couch, and turned to face his dad. His dad handed him the fatigues, a one-piece green jumpsuit with the distinguishing buttons along the sides. Service fatigues could be put on the traditional way, or the buttons along the entire left side of the garment could be opened, the two halves put in front and behind the person, and then buttoned up along the entire side and inner legs. The buttons were to accommodate some of the most common forms of restraints used on social servants in Vermont. The green jumpsuit with the buttons along the side, and pant legs that stopped eight inches above the ankle to allow for ankle cuffs was the traditional garb of the Vermont social servant.

Martin watched his son get into the jumpsuit, and noticed that Bradley's foreskin was especially long and tapered in a pleasing manner, hanging gracefully over his still not too hairy scrotum.

As a father he occasionally worried if his sons were using their endowments responsibly. One comfort for Martin in entering his son Bradley into a term of indenturement was in knowing that Bradley would no longer, at least for five years, be able to give into the temptation of all those girls who were constantly batting their eyes at him. Social servants could only enter into sexual unions approved by their owners.

When Bradley had buttoned up his jumpsuit, and stood up, his father said, "It's a good thing you just had a haircut. You'll look stunning in your Social Services website photos!" Martin handed the brand new social servant his brown social servant sandals. As Bradley sat to put them on, his father rested his hand on his son's shoulder. The cotton jumpsuit was rather coarse. "Let's hurry and get this over with so we can get back here and go to the beach one last time before the summer ends!"

The County Social Services Administration Building was not busy when Martin Forestman and his son Bradley entered the front doors. There was just two people ahead of them in the receiving line. When Martin and Bradley stepped up to the young female receptionist, she took the legal documents from Martin, checked them, called a fellow coworker over as a witness, and had Bradley and Mr. Forestman sign their names on three different pages. Bradley, eager to get out of there, and trusting of his dad, didn't bother to read them. When the signing was finished the receptionist pushed a button, and in no time a trim, dark-haired, man of about 30 wearing hospital-like scrubs came from in back of her desk area. The receptionist handed the agent in scrubs the documents, told Bradley to follow the gentleman, and told Mr. Forestman to have a seat in the waiting area. The agent told Mr. Forestman that his son would be brought back out within 30 minutes.

The entire ordeal did go quickly, but because Bradley was treated more like a commodity than a human being, and because a few things were done to him that he neither expected or understood, he was teary-eyed and quite dazed by the time the processing agent brought him back out to the reception area to his father.

When Martin saw his son he was even more embarrassed for his son than Bradley was for himself. The receptionist did tell Martin what was being done to Bradley, and gave Martin materials to help the Forestman family ease into Bradley's change of status. As dad threw out his arms to hug his son, walking towards him having to take slow steps with legs spread wide apart because of the humiliating ankle hobble-cuffs he had been fitted with, Bradley stopped short when he saw the large glossy soft cover publication his dad held, which Vermont Social Services had given him, 'Guidelines: Dealing Effectively with Social servants'. Bradley's father had no idea at first how the booklet was embarrassing Bradley. When he realized, he shook his head with 'what a silly book' gesture, and his son and he then embraced.

As they embraced Bradley started doing a heaving cry, but said nothing. As his dad patted him silently on the back to offer comfort, a large manila envelope he was holding filled with placards and posters given to him by the receptionist, meant to be posted around the house to inspire social servants, spilled their contents. Martin paid no heed and continued to hug his son. When his son had collected himself, Martin knelt down to pick up the scattered contents of the manila envelope. Bradley knelt down to assist, and together they gathered and read the placards with their large lettered messages: 'Have you checked in with your overseer at least once in the last hour to see if there is any extra assistance they need?', 'Are you groomed to your owner's specifications?', 'Masturbation is selfish!', 'Obedience breeds happiness!'. Bradley blushed red through his tears as he helped his dad pick up all the posters.

His Dad had set the large glossy covered book, 'Guidelines: Dealing Effectively with Social servants', on the floor as he stooped to pick up the posters. Noticing the cover was glaringly in front of them he grabbed it and hastily flipped it over. It was only after he had picked up two more posters that he saw his son frozen, reading what was on the back cover in large bold lettering; '10 Principles of Effective Discipline'. It was followed by ten bulleted points which Bradley was reading, his mouth open, and his eyes squinting with tears.

As they made their way back to the car Martin walked slowly to help his son accommodate himself to walking with his new ankle hobbles. Around each of Bradley's ankles was a four-inch wide cuff woven from state of the art plasti-filaments. Extending outward from the inside ankle of each cuff was an eight by four inch rectangular paddle of firm molded plastic. If one's legs were not stretched wide apart as one walked, the paddles would hit each other and cause the wearer to lose balance. They were called 'training paddles', and were a humiliating thing to be seen wearing. Dad tried to comfort his hobbled and awkward walking son by telling him what the receptionist had told him. "The hobbles are just until you get sold. She told me it discourages and prevents a lot of newly indentured folks from considering running away. She did say that while they were really intended for the criminally indentured, it has become standard to put them on all new social servants, just as a matter of accepted protocol. My broker with the Social Services Administration Center told me you should sell quickly, so you probably won't be wearing those things for more than two or three weeks, if even that long."

As Bradley was about to get into the front seat of the car he noticed on the backseat a large cardboard box with carrying handles decorated with the County Social Services Administration Building logo. He asked his father what was in the box, and his father answered that it just contained a few items the agency gave to him while he was getting processed, "Just some standard social servant accoutrements that are given out to all new owners."

When Martin and Bradley were finally seated in the car and just as Martin was about to start the engine, Bradley broke down and started crying uncontrollably: "These hobbles and this collar aren't the only thing they did to me, Dad." Dad leaned over and hugged his son again, "I know, son. I know."

"Dad, why didn't you tell me they were going to put a bar and a ring through my foreskin so I couldn't be a man?"

"Son, your uncle Steven told me not to tell you beforehand because it's a temporary thing, and it is most likely going to be removed by your owner once you are sold. Steve felt that by telling you ahead of time it would have panicked you, clouded your judgment. Also, the receptionist told me newly processed servants are infibulated because it has become a standard marketing gimmick. It is nothing more than that. For some reason a lot of folks like the idea of knowing that their new purchase is 'clean', so to speak. A lot of persons just feel good removing it from their servants, just as a way of letting them know that they are benign owners, and that they control all such things. It's just until you're sold son. Then I'm quite sure it will be removed."

Seeing that Bradley was still crying and in shock, Mr. Forestman continued, "Bradley, I am going to make sure that whoever buys you intends to remove it. I promise you!"

That stopped Bradley's crying. Martin patted his son on the shoulder one more time, started the engine, and they drove off for home. Bradley, humiliated to the core of his being, wasn't sure any more if he could face going home, and having his mother and siblings see him hobbled and collared. "Dad, would you please not tell anyone about what they did to me down there?"

"Son, you got my word on that. It's our secret!"

To be continued...

Posted: 12/30/11