Date: Wed, 8 Feb 2012 23:03:46 -0800 From: Randall Austin Subject: Helping My Brother - Part 2 Helping My Brother Part Two 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 Authors Comments: Please help us support Nifty and keep it a free site for all to enjoy. Please make a donation today... Thank you... (Notes from the journal of Craig Soffel) Once the officers left, dad and I were left with my brother Marty standing slave-naked in our living room. It was quite incredible, actually. There was my big hotshot brother, standing bald-pussy naked, mohawked, thick tethering rings going through his nose and dick, banded balls hanging low like some mule's, and tears rolling down his eyes. He looked like some naked, lifer, hard-labor, quarry slave in full getup. His appearance actually frightened me. In one way I hated him that he ended up like this, embarrassing our family. But in another way, the whole thing kind of excited me in ways I couldn't understand. Marty had gotten himself into this situation because he had one too many run-ins with the law. It was the judge who gave my father the option of deciding whether it would be prison or home indenturement for Marty. Our advisor from Social Services explained to dad that home indenturement was the more beneficial option for Marty and guys like him, because it allowed family members to use methods of control that would never be allowed on free persons. Social Services outlined all of the modes of service available to my father with an indentured family member, and dad made the decision, with the Judge's guidance, to have Marty indentured for a period of four years as a full personal family servant, with the option of extending the term of service if Marty's behavior didn't improve. One of the biggest factors in my dad's decision to have Marty home-indentured was the fact that my mother doesn't live with us. My parents separated two years ago. Dad felt that without mom around he could take a firm hand in controlling Marty in ways he would never have been comfortable doing if my mom were around. Under the home indenturement program Marty is kept at home, but is legally bound by strict standards of behavior, and kept under constant supervision by dad, me, or a `babysitter' (as we like to call our friends who come and watch Marty for us when we are away). Under this program Marty is no longer free to do as he pleases. I know it was especially hard on Marty not only because I'm two years younger than he is, but because he and I were good friends. We spent a lot of time together, and frankly, I was a party to a lot of the trouble he got into that landed him in indentured servitude. I felt really sorry for Marty standing there, without a shred of dignity, but dad had prepared me in the days before Marty's arrival. He told me it would be hard not only on Marty, but also on me. He reminded me that all the controls we would be putting on Marty were meant to help him. The whole purpose of indenturement was to help Marty become a better person. The first thing dad did was order Marty to bring into the living room the supplies from the garage that Social Services had delivered. When Marty asked if he could get dressed, dad surprised me by telling Marty he would have to earn the right to wear clothes through good behavior. For now the only clothes he would be allowed to wear in the house were his work shoes. Marty stood defiant for a moment, and then muttered something that sounded like "fuck this shit", but eventually went into the garage and brought in the boxes of supplies from Social Services. The last thing he brought in; and it was kind of comical seeing my naked, ball-banded, brother struggling with it; was a large steel `slave chair'. A `slave chair' is very much like the high chairs babies sit in for feeding, with a removable table tray just like a baby's chair. Only the slave chair is large, made of steel, and has D-rings all about it for securing straps. At the front middle of the seat, where a slave's cock and balls would normally fall when in a seated position, is a large D-ring with an attached six-inch chain and clip lock. When Marty had positioned the chair in the kitchen where dad had told him, dad ordered Marty to sit in the chair. Marty had a pissed, 'fuck this shit', look on his face, but sat in the chair anyway. Dad then took the six-inch chain at the front of the seat and snapped the clip lock onto Mary's penis ring. It was a surprise gesture that really impressed me, for it showed that Dad was ready to take full control of the situation when needed. He held the key up for Marty to see, "Okay, Martin, take a look! Craig and I each have a copy of this key. It can unlock your penis ring from the slave chair. You are going to sit there, young man, for a good long while. You are going to sit there until you get rid of that defiant attitude, are ready to apologize for mumbling under your breath, promise to stop using foul language, and make a firm commitment to change your attitude and get with the program." Marty used language he had never really used before against dad, "Fuck you, Dad!" Dad simply said, "Too bad for you, Marty. You can stew in your own juices." Dad then invited me to have lunch with him, turned off the lights, and closed all doors to the kitchen. Social Services had delivered Marty to us at 10 AM. Dad ended up locking him in the chair about one-half of an hour later. Later that day, at 8 PM, almost ten hours later, dad and I reentered the kitchen and turned on the lights. When Marty saw us he started pleading in a voice that sounded like it would soon turn into crying. "Please Dad. Let me up. I'll do whatever you say. I'm not going to swear anymore. I'm sorry for all the bad I've done." Dad rubbed him on the head, "That's what we want to hear, Marty. Good boy!" Marty had pissed on the kitchen floor. As dad unlocked his penis ring from the tether chain he told Marty to clean his mess up, and then after that he was to go with me so I could give him a bath. One of the things Social Services had prepared dad and me for was the importance of our taking full control of Marty's life, much as if he were a child. He was now our personal servant and it was important that we have no secrets from one another. So Marty followed me into the bathroom and got into a tub full of warm water. I sat on the edge of the tub with a washcloth, soaped it, and started washing him. At first he was quiet, but after a while he started complaining and told me the "whole thing was really fucked", and that I was "acting like an asshole, lording it over him". I told him I wasn't lording it over him, I was only doing what dad and Social Services had instructed me to do. I told him not to complain, because I really cared about him, and wanted to sincerely help him. Fortunately dad had overheard some of Marty's bitching to me, and instructed me to bring Marty into his bedroom when I had finished bathing Marty. In dad's bedroom, dad instructed Marty to sit on the bed. Dad had brought up a pair of leg braces, which were included with the boxes of supplies from Social Services. When he started putting them on Marty's legs, Marty looked scared, "What are you doing Dad?" "I'm trying to help you, son. These leg braces are hobbling devices that are meant to help remind you that you are now a servant in this household, and that you need to respect all free people. You need to realize that you are different now, from Craig and me. You have to do whatever you are told. And you need to learn that there is nothing wrong with respecting free people." The leg braces forced Marty to walk with his legs spread slightly apart and limited the size of his step to almost half a normal stride. You should have seen my big brother as he tried to take his first steps in the hobbling braces fitted to each of his legs. There he was naked as the day he was born, with his balls banded and his big boy balls hanging low and swinging freely with each step, and oblivious to the spectacle he was creating as he tried to walk with the braces. While it was funny to me, and caused me to let out a laugh, it wasn't funny to Marty. He simply stopped dead in his tracks and broke down bawling like a baby. "Dad, please take these off. Don't do this to me Dad. Please." Dad was firm, "I'm sorry son, they are staying on for at least a week. You obviously need to be made to feel like a servant. They are to help you son, to remind you of what you are. They are not meant to punish you. We are trying to help you son." I chimed in, "That's right, bro. We're trying to help you be a good servant, and stay out of trouble. I love you bro, and I'm gonna do whatever it takes to help you." I went up to him and patted him on his naked slave shoulder, "I love you bro. I really wanna help you. More than anything. I just wanna help you."