A gay story: Easy Changes 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.
When Dad called my brothers and me into his den at 10 AM on a Saturday morning last September, I was nervous. I knew what it was all about, of course, because dad filled Lionel and me in the day before. When I got to the den, there was Lionel, my oldest brother, 22, lounging on the couch next to dad in his easy chair, and Nick, 20, wearing his ever backwards baseball cap, standing with his hands in his pockets chatting with Lionel. Nick, seeing me, said, “There’s our little Simon. Baby brother is always the last!” How horrible it suddenly seemed what dad was about to announce to Nick. I suddenly felt like I was some evil conspirator, and really wanted to be away from here.
Dad motioned for me to come in, so I went and sat on the couch next to Lionel. As Nick asked me what my plans were for the day, dad got up and went and closed the blinds on the two windows in the room, causing Nick to give Lionel and me a questioning look. As dad closed the blinds I noticed a large box on the table from Hoffmeyer’s Uniform Emporium. Dad sat back down, picked up a folder of papers from the arm of his chair, placed them in his lap, cleared his throat, and began, “Nick, I think your brothers and I have decided on a workable course of action for you.” I didn’t like that ‘brothers and I’ stuff. Dad simply told Lionel and me what he was going to do, and we just listened. We didn’t make any decisions on this matter.
“Nick, as you are about to turn twenty-one, your brothers and I have had to decide what to do with you. As you know your probation officer suggested that I contact a psychiatrist for help in dealing with you, and in making a decision regarding your future. You know, Nick, I love you dearly. And because of that love your steady string of arrests since you turned 18 not only caused me and your brothers, intense grief, but it has started to affect my health. I was worrying night and day about you, couldn’t eat and couldn’t sleep. So that spurred me to take your probation officer’s suggestion and seek counseling for myself, as well as obtain the advice of one of the most highly regarded criminal psychiatrists in the state, Dr. Emmanuel Raggers, as to what would be the best course of action for me to follow regarding you.”
Nick shifted on his feet, as he so often did while enduring one of dad’s lectures.
“Having reviewed all the information that I was given and having consulted with the county corrections’ officials, the time came for me to decide where we go from here.” Dad then nodded to Lionel and me to go stand next to Nick.
“Nick, dear, we have considered three options. The first, to simply leave you on your own, is from my standpoint, immoral. Dr. Raggers asserted that your likelihood of reoffending is 96%. In short, you are well on the road to a life in prison. I could not, as your father, tolerate that.” Dad paused, looked Nick in the eye, and impressed his sincerity.
Nick shook his head, “Dad, my so called crimes are joyriding, speeding, getting kicked out of a bar! I can’t believe this, Dad!”
“Son, son, calm down. Are you forgetting vandalizing Mrs. Ferber’s garden, and sexual assault???”
“Dad that was Grace pissed at me because I went out with Helen, so she filed a complaint!”
“Nick, you know the list goes on and on. But what is important is what Dr. Raggers said about it all. The pattern, the consistency of your anti-social behavior, is set. Things will only get worse and worse. This is science, son. Dr. Raggers assured me it was ‘hard science’. You are not going to change!”
By this time Lionel was standing on Nick’s left and I was standing next to him on the right.
Dad continued, “The second option was simply to have you registered as a slave and get you handled through one of the local auction houses.” Nick let out a loud, “Dad!” and a wild frown. Lionel grabbed Nick by his upper arm as if offering support.
“Don’t worry; we’re not going to do that. We simply couldn’t do that! You’re my son and Lionel and Simon’s beloved brother.”
“The final option and it is the one we have decided on, is to keep you in the family, but in a new role. Son, the papers I hold here in this folder are your enslavement orders, officially in effect as of 10 AM this morning. Nick, you have been a slave for almost 15 minutes already. You are not going to auction because you will remain with us. You are now our family slave!”
I grabbed Nick’s upper arm at this moment, as dad instructed I should do when he announced Nick’s new status. Lionel was already holding on to Nick’s upper arm with one arm, and with his other arm he was rubbing his back. I offered similar encouragement to Nick by putting one of my arms on his shoulder, and lightly patted him. Nick looked like he was gulping for breath and Lionel whispered, “Take it easy, Nick. We’re with you man!”
I felt very awkward, so I tried to offer some support, “Nick, relax. You’re going to be staying with us. That’s all that counts. Nothing really is changing man.”
Dad followed up on my comment, “Simon is right, Nick. Once you get accustomed to the new arrangement here, you will forget that you’re a slave. Of course, there are a few state guidelines, items of protocol, that you, as a slave; your brothers, as your chief overseers; and I, as your owner, must comply with. First, of course, you have to get collared, so Lionel and Simon will be taking you to the registration center in a few minutes to get you fitted. And then, also, you will have to be uniformed and monitored at all times. And the only other major change, which I can think of at this moment, is that you have to submit to weekly performance reviews by your regular chief overseers. I have designated your brothers, Lionel and Simon, as your chief overseers for the reason that one of them will almost always be around the house, whereas I am so frequently away from the house on matters of business.”
Nick couldn’t believe any of it, “Dad, this is fucking crazy! Why do you want to do this?”
“Because, and only because, I love you too much to see you end up in prison. And I was assured that this is the only course of action to insure that.”
Nick stammered, “Why….how can you say such a crazy thing is going to help me, Dad?”
“Son, do you remember the last time I spanked you, when you were 17?”
“Of course I remember it Dad, it was totally humiliating. You stopped spanking Lionel and Simon when they were six years old, but me you never stopped spanking until I turned 18.”
“And son, what happened then? That was when your trouble with the law and string of arrests began. As long as I was spanking you, you at least kept your wild behavior toned down somewhat. When you finally turned 18 I decided that you were an adult, and to just let you act like one on your own. But of course, your behavior became ever more self-destructive. One of the reasons I decided on enslaving you is that it gives your brothers and me full legal right to resume the use of physical discipline on you. As a slave we can do that to you now for the rest of your life to help keep you under control.”
Lionel tried to ease the blow of dad’s words, “He’s right Nick, and you know it. Dad really wants you out of trouble. He’s doing this to you to protect you.”
Dad stood up and came over to Nick and patted him on the shoulder. “You’ll be okay, Nick! All that is being proposed here, really, are few changes in your life style. Just a few easy changes.” He rubbed Nick on the head, tousling his hair, “When you boys take Nick to get collared he’s also going to need a code haircut and shave.” Dad stood back, took a look at Nick, “Okay, let’s move you over there to the table so we can get you into some proper clothes.” Dad walked to the table and opened the box from Hoffmeyer’s Uniform Emporium, as Lionel, leading Nick to the table, said, “Let’s get your clothes off, Nick.”
Nick was kind of dazed, and didn’t react so Lionel started unbuttoning his shirt. Dad nodded to me, and I then started loosening Nick’s belt and opening the fly of his jeans. Lionel pulled Nick’s shirt off and set it on the table. He then took off his baseball cap. “I guess you have to say goodbye to your baseball cap.” Nick shuddered a bit, and then started crying. Lionel pulled his tee shirt up, raised Nick’s arms, and pulled it off.
Dad comforted him as I pulled his jeans down, “Now son, everything is going to be okay. You’ll see. You’re with us, and that’s the important thing.” We took off Nick’s clothes without hurrying, trying to be gentle with him because he was sobbing like a baby. I knelt down and untied his running shoes, pulled them off, then stood up and told him to step out his jeans. He did so unthinking, preoccupied in his thoughts.
Lionel took the waistband of his white briefs and slid them down; bending over to remove them while telling Nick to lift his legs so he could pull them off. We all looked Nick over, now standing totally bare in front of us. Dad said, “It’s been a while since I’ve seen you son, and I’m glad to see you’ve been keeping yourself in shape. It’ll make your job at the quarry seem like a piece of cake.”
Nick suddenly recovered from his reverie, “What job, Dad?”
“This Monday you start a full time job at the Kettleman Quarry. You’ll be working 8 to 4:30 each weekday. It will be a nice environment for you because you’ll be working with other slaves there. It’s a government run operation so you will be given the most up to date guidance and treatment.”
“But Dad, we had agreed that if I buckle down I could start college next semester.”
“Nick, that plan is no longer going to work. I suggested that as an option back when I still had some hope for you making it as a free man. Your school days are over, son.”
Nick started crying again. He just looked down, sobbing. He raised the back of his hands to wipe away his tears. I tried to get Nick to look at the bright side of things, “You always moaned about having to go to school. So no more worries. You never have to go back to school again.”
Dad took over, “That’s right Simon. On Monday Nick starts work bright and early at the quarry.” I touched Nick on his chest to comfort him. He felt warm and strangely soft and subservient. Dad continued, “Nick, you can be proud of yourself now, because all of your earnings from your quarry job are going towards Lionel’s and Simon’s education. Next week Lionel begins graduate school, and Simon enters college as a freshman, and the state counselor told me that one of the biggest sources of pride and contentment for the enslaved is to know that their labor is going towards positive causes.”
Still sobbing, Nick questioned, “But what about me Dad? What will I do for money?”
“Son, that’s one of the beauties of this solution, you no longer need money. Everything will be provided for you for the rest of your life.”
“But I don’t want to have to ask you every time I need some cash, Dad!”
“Nick, you’re never going to be buying anything for yourself, so you have no reason to ask. I will buy everything you need.”
“But what about CD’s and videos and magazines?”
“Son, please listen. You can’t own things anymore. When Lionel and Simon get you back from your shopping trip today, the first thing they are going to do is go to your room and divide all of your things among themselves. They will be happy; I am sure, to let you use their things from time to time. But you as slave cannot own things, Nick. That will seem strange at first, but once we get settled in here you will see that the system works very well.”
“Daddy, no. No!” Nick sank down to the floor on his rump, sobbing. He covered his face in his hands. Dad knelt down, and put his arms around Nick. “Son, you will see you won’t be needing the same things you used to need. When you’re not working at the quarry, you will be in charge of the full upkeep and care of the house. Lionel and Simon will be directly in charge of you most of the time, and they will be sure you have everything you need to do your job, as well as anything you may need for recreation. Son, from now on you’re going to be too busy to watch TV, listen to CD’s, or play video games with anywhere near the frequency you used to.”
“What do you mean Lionel and Simon are going to be in charge of me, Dad?”
“Well, things like making sure you do your duties, are polite, mind your manners, and aren’t lazing around. Remember, as your chief overseers now they are legally obliged to make sure you perform all of your duties. On the weekends one of the boys will wake you at 4:30 AM, and then they will go back to bed while you clean the house, and prepare an 8 o’clock breakfast for us. There will be so much for you to do that you won’t even have time to think about the way things used to be.” Nick let out a loud sob. “Son, you will see that keeping busy will provide you with just the kind of structure you need in your life, and that means that you, at last, are going to be truly happy with yourself; something you have never been before.”
After Nick’s sobbing subsided, Dad stood up, and gently pulled Nick up along with him into a standing position. “We bought you some very nice new clothes. They’ll make you feel better. So let’s get you kitted out in your new outfit, so you can stand proud and tall when your brothers take you in to get collared.” When dad opened the clothes box from Hoffmeyer’s Uniform Emporium Nick panicked, “Dad, if I’m going to be living here, why do I have to wear those?”
As dad took out the slave pants and unfolded them, he explained, “This is on the recommendation of the state Slave Authority guidelines for domestics. For someone like you, with identity problems, which have caused antisocial behavior, a uniform helps provide a stabilizing environment.
The uniform truly was the most embarrassing version of the most common slave outfits. They are brown shorts that go to three inches above the knee, but the crotch and butt of the basic shorts are totally open, and the coverings for these two openings are two heavier fabric pieces, darker in colors, which are fastened on with buttons. They call attention to the groin and butt in a mildly comic way.
The matching shirt was of similar material, and like the shorts, the nipples are exposed with four-inch circular holes. The coverings for the nipples are of a similar heavier and darker colored fabric as the butt and crotch covers, and are also affixed with buttons.
The slave sandals were actually rather handsome, with straps that went up to above the ankles.
Nick cried the whole time he was getting dressed. As a finishing touch, Lionel tied a yellow slave scarf around Nick’s neck, gave it pat, then put the matching yellow slave cap on Nick’s head. “There brother, you look good! I think we’re all ready to go and get you collared, barbered, shaved and then we’ll be off to do a little shopping for essentials!”
Nick was frantic, “Dad, please don’t make me go out in public like this!”
The cell phone rang and dad answered it; “Seth, hi… I’m afraid Nick can’t come to the phone right now… Listen Seth; a lot has been going on here. Rather than try and explain what’s going on, why don’t you arrange to have as many of your and Nick’s friends as you can round up, and come over here for a barbeque tonight. Nick has to run some errands right now with his brothers, but I think it would be a real morale booster if you and his friends could come for dinner tonight. Nick will fix you and your friends up something special, and serve you around 7 PM. How does that sound? Great… We’ll see you all then.”
Nick turned red. Dad stood in front of Nick and patted the sides of his shoulders, “You look good. I am proud to have you not only as my son, but also as my slave. Nick, this really makes me happy. I feel so certain that we finally did the right thing for you.” Dad glanced at the wall clock, “We’d better hurry! It’s time for your brothers to get you registered with the Slave Control Authorities. After that you boys are going on a little shopping trip. You and your brothers have always enjoyed your shared shopping trips in the past. This will be just like old times. You will have a good time, just as always.”
Dad spoke to Lionel and me, “Make sure you get everything that’s on my list, and remember to buy some manacles and paddles for your own use. If you don’t get those things today, you’re just going to have to go back and get them in the near future. You’ll see.” As we turned to leave dad realized he had to impress the importance of good behavior on Nick. “Nick, I want you to obey your brothers, do as they tell you, and no back talk. Will you promise me that?”
Nick, still dazed, nodded ‘yes’. Dad took Lionel off to the side, gave him some papers and a list of supplies, and whispered something in his ear.
When we walked out to the car Nick rushed ahead and got in the back seat as fast as he could so none of the neighbors could see him. He slouched way down in the seat. Once on the road Nick realized that his yellow cap was causing passerby’s to look at him in the back seat, so he took it off. Lionel, in the driver’s seat, saw Nick in the rear view mirror, “Put the cap back on, Nick!” Nick said, “Come on, Lionel”, but Lionel shouted back, “You heard what dad said about obeying us. Put the cap back on, now!”
Nick put the cap back on, frowning, seething, embarrassed, and reclined on the back seat to keep out of view. I tried to comfort Nick, “Come on Nick, don’t be a slouch. If we’re not ashamed of you, you shouldn’t be ashamed of yourself.”
Nick stayed slouching, hiding below the window line in the car. Lionel was firm, “You heard your younger brother, sit up straight! Dad wants you looking proud! That’s one of the reasons dad had to do this; you don’t have enough self pride.”
By the time we got to the Community Special Services Center there were clear feelings of animosity hanging in the air between Nick and us. Nick seemed intent on taking a negative view of things or at least, of refusing to see dad’s side of various issues.
‘Special Service’ was our state’s euphemism for ‘slave’. The Community Special Services Center was a place where all matters and business pertaining to slaves took place; containing everything from the State Slave Control Headquarters to a shopping mall for all slave related items. It was a government run operation, but with private market franchises. It was always a bustling place, but, with my family never having owned a slave before, my visits to it were infrequent, but memorable. It looked almost like a typical suburban shopping mall, with the exception of the Center’s chief tenant, the State Slave Control Headquarters. The Headquarters was large, taking almost a third of the Center’s space, and its building was not dressed like the other shops, designed to entice shoppers. It was a brick utilitarian typical looking very large two story government office building. It housed both the County Slave Processing Center, and some offices of the US Army and Marines Slave Divisions.
The Slave Registration Center was on the first floor of the Headquarters building, and as we walked towards it we passed many shoppers, single folks and large families, most with slaves in tote loaded down with shopping bags.
As we got nearer to the entrance we heard some grunts getting gradually louder and louder, and suddenly, turning a corner and coming into view were a group of about 50 Army soldiers dressed in nothing but shoulder pads and army boots, accompanied by a female drill sergeant shouting march commands and wielding a training whip. The sight of the 50 naked, tough and ferocious looking slaves marching, swinging and raising their arms and legs in synchronization was frightening and sent chills down my spine. I am sure Nick and Lionel were thinking the same thing as I was at that moment; if fortunes changed, if something happened to dad, Nick could end up as just such an army slave.
Many of the families shopping stopped to watch the army slaves do their training drill, just as we did, as if it were a holiday parade. The children squealed with laughter whenever the drill sergeant would snap her whip across some misstepping slave’s back. As they got closer we could see that all of the slaves had large rings through their foreskins. Lionel pointed it out to us, “I had heard that Army slaves were infibulated to keep them energized.” I said, “Tough shit. Too bad!” Lionel didn’t see it my way, “Why? They’re just army slaves, and it helps to keep them focused on doing their job to protect this county.”
When they passed us the sight of them was even more frightening, for almost all of them had red whip marks clearly visible across their backs, rumps, and thighs, which obviously had been laid on recently. And several had permanent scarring on their backsides from punishment strokes. Lionel pointed out the scars with a smile, “Nick, let that be a reminder to you of how lucky you are to be staying at home with us!”
Lionel threw his arm around me, “Come on, let’s hurry and get Nick collared before he gets any ideas.” We continued on our way to the registration office. Nick was depressed and I didn’t like the sort of comments Lionel was making. I felt sorry for Nick and walked along side of him and took his hand in mine.
The collaring went quickly. Lionel handed the attendant the court papers, and noted the collar requirement (it had to contain both GPS and electro-shock features). The agents signaled for us to move to a display case of the various models with our requirements. So we asked our slave if he had any preference. Nick actually perked up at the chance to select his own collar. When he selected a collar of silver and blue braided metal strands, Lionel and I both Okayed it, and the collaring specialist led Nick to a collaring stand. He removed Nick’s scarf, Nick stood in position, a portable work bench swung around his neck, the collar was fitted, the specialist placed both ends of the collar in a large, automated, device, squeezed the handles, pushed some buttons, rotors sounded, metal crunched and squinched, and once the device was removed, it was done. “Collared for life!” Smiled Lionel.
Lionel took the scarf and looped it through the collar, and it hung off the back of the collar like yellow braids. Lionel led us on, “It’s haircut time!”
The rest of the Special Services Center was a lot cheerier than the Slave Control Headquarters. It was loud and full of bustling shoppers, much like a regular shopping mall. Slave Cuts featured photos in the front window of the current most popular slave hairstyles. Nick and I stopped to look at the pictures, but Lionel had already decided, and told Nick to get in the haircut line. Lionel and I stayed off to the side chatting while Nick got in the slave line. For the first time during the day it hit me hard; god was I ever glad that I’m not a slave.
Six barbers were cutting hair, and the wait was not long. When Nick was called up Lionel went to the barber and told him he wanted Nick to have the ‘war orphan cross’ in standard blue. The barber removed Nick’s slave cap and shirt, and started buzzing Nick’s head. Nick and I soon found out that the war orphan cross cut consisted of a strip of hair an inch thick running across the crown of the head from the middle brow to the back of the head, and a strip crossing that one running from ear to ear. After the cross was buzzed on his head, the barber shaved it all clean and trim. Then he painted the hair in a thick, glue-like, blue dye. Ten minutes later he was rinsing Nick’s, head in a sink. As he was drying Nick off he asked Lionel and me if we wanted our ‘boy’ to have a pubic shave. Lionel told him he was just about to ask for one.
Apparently there was only so much indignity that Nick could take. He said angrily to Lionel, “Fuck man! You ain’t gonna do this to me, you bastard!” The barber informed Nick, “Sorry dude. That outburst is going to cost you. This is government property, so it’s going to be a mandatory paddling.” Lionel and I looked at each other, and we both stifled an urge to smile. The barber punched a button, and a barber wearing a water-protection covering entered from a side door. Our barber indicated Nick, “This one needs a full pud scrubbing. I’m calling the squad on this one, so they should be arriving just about the time you’re finishing his shave.”
The barber in the scrub coat took Nick by the arm and said to him, “So you, you’re off to a scrubbing, a shave, and a paddling. It’s a proven winning combination.” He led Nick out and we followed him into the next room. It was simply a small barber room with four workstations. Two other slaves were naked and mounted on backward leaning work frames, which positioned their bodies over large basins equipped with hoses. One was getting a crotch shave, and another was getting a full body shave. The barber in the white coat told Nick to strip and he did, without resistance. He looked funny in his new haircut having to do what he was told. The barber pulled him onto the frame and cranked it into position. He positioned his feet in some hanging stirrups, spread his legs, hosed down his groin, sprayed him all over with shave foam, and quickly denuded Nick’s private parts.
As he hosed him off two young officers of the National Slave Patrol Academy entered. They were impressive in their black and blue uniforms and academy hats. One of the officers carried a large case. As Nick was getting his crotch hosed off he glanced at them and a fearful yet pitiful look came over his face. One of the officers, indicating Nick, asked if he was the newly registered slave Nick, number 0708096. The barber indicated that he was and both officers went right up to Nick, reclining and wet-crotched on the frame.
The younger of the two, Officer Collins, looked down at Nick and said, “Well, well, what have we here? It looks like a new slave in his first fancy new slave haircut. Your first day on your new job as a lifer slave and already you’re causing trouble for us free folk. The good thing is you’re already naked and scrubbed for your paddling.” Officer Collins sneered at Nick, it was clear he didn’t like slaves. Addressing his partner, Officer Paterno, he continued, “Look at this loser, he looks like a little bald mole rat. I say we take advantage of his fresh shave.” He asked the barber if he had any pure rubbing alcohol. The barber said, “Not quite, but how’s 99%?” Both officers smiled, pleased, as the barber handed the alcohol to Officer Collins.
Officer Collins instructed Officer Paterno to hold Nick’s arms down, as Collins stood in front of Nick’s shaved groin. “Hey slave kid, how about a nice after shave lotion to impress your date?” Collins poured a huge amount into his hands and started rubbing Nick’s freshly shaved groin, pubes, cock, nuts, and ass. From the heat and burn of the alcohol Nick shot an instant boner into Collins face, as Collins poured some more alcohol into his hands and rubbed it in. Nick was yelling and twisting as the officers smiled, his baldhead with the blue cross bobbing up and down. Collins took hold of Nick’s erection, pulled it up, squeezed the bulb head of his dick to open his piss slit, and poured alcohol into his piss slit. Most of it ran down Nicks shaft, over his bare pubes and down into his asshole. Nick was screaming like hell as the officers and the barbers all laughed. “Feel nice and invigorating, does it? Your date is going to be impressed with your sporty grooming habits; new haircut, clean-shaven cunt, all lotioned up! You should score big tonight!”
For the 10 minutes or so that it took the alcohol about Nick’s groin and in his piss slit to dry up, Officers Collins and Patrona continued in their joking about and taunting of Nick as he writhed in pain on the shaving table. Lionel and I felt helpless seeing our brother treated this way, and neither one of us was knowledgeable about what was the proper treatment of errant slaves. We didn’t interfere because we knew that government agents must know what was proper treatment to best get a slave to obey. Collins told Nick to get off the table, “Let’s march this kid out to the paddling ramp.” Patrona snapped a leash on Nick’s collar and give him a sharp tug to lead him outdoors. I asked if Nick could put his clothes on. Patrona seemed surprised at my ignorance, “Your first slave, huh?” I nodded ‘yes’ and he told me to bring Nick’s uniform along with me, because slave punishments were always administered in the nude on government grounds.
As Patrona led Nick, totally naked and bald crotched, by the leash outdoors, Nick was scurrying along like a little monkey, as he tried to cover his groin from the view of passerby’s. He bent slightly too fully cup his private parts, making him look quite silly as he hobbled along naked with his blue-crossed head bobbing up and down. It turned out the ‘paddling ramp’ was located just two shops down from the slave barbershop. It was nothing but a raised dais in the mall’s pedestrian traffic walkway. It was shocking to watch my older brother being led to and then strapped down naked in public to a punishment horse. Just like the military drill parade, everyone stopped to watch as if it was some scheduled entertainment break. Officer Collins opened his case and pulled out a paddle and held it up for the crowd. The crowd hooted and applauded. But Officer Collins, surveying the pedestrians, held off the start of the punishment a bit until many more folks had gathered around to watch.
Nick was bent over the horse with his rump up high, his legs strapped to the back legs of the horse, and his arms to the front legs. While the officers waited for the crowd to build, Patrona ran his hand over Nick’s buttocks and joked with Collins.
When a good-sized crowd had finally gathered and Officer Collins laid on the first blow of the paddle to Nick’s rump, I was shocked at the ferocity of the blow and jumped. Nick screamed, the crowd cheered. After three more blows Nick was howling and bucking fiercely and I was frightened and had an urge to cry. I asked Officer Patrona how many blows Nick was going to get, and he told me fifteen. After another blow Patrona saw my concern and a tear in my eye and came up to me and put his arm around me. “I take it he’s your brother, since you two resemble each other.” I told him he was, and he comforted me, “This is nothing, believe me. Humiliation and a little pain are the best things for new slaves. By laying it on now in the early days of his enslavement it will help insure that not many more such punishment sessions will have to take place in the future. Trust me. Guys like Nick, at that age, are pretty damn resilient. Believe me; this is doing him a world of good. And if you think this is anything, wait until you see him get his first bullwhipping!”
I felt better after that, and was actually able to relax and enjoy the spectacle somewhat by the time the last blows were delivered. The officers unstrapped Nick from the frame. He was bawling like a baby, and his genitals, which had been hidden from view during the strapping, came into view. Nick was hard as a rock, and it looked especially huge since he was totally bald down there. In fact, I felt a momentary flash of envy at the size of his pecker. A lot of the audience members were straining to get a view of Nick’s penis, but he turned to me to conceal himself and I gave him his shorts and tunic to put back on.
When Nick was dressed the officers came up to us, and Collins started unbuttoning Nick’s rump covering, “While on government property, freshly chastened butts have to be on display for six hours. I’d recommend you follow the same procedure at home for your brother.” When Nick’s totally red and sore butt was finally exposed, Collins waved his finger in Nick’s face, “Now you obey your brothers! They care about you!” Nick was crying the whole time, not looking anyone in the face.
Lionel and I thanked the officers as they left, and Lionel said to Nick, “Well bro, it looks like you’re going to be serving your friends tonight with your butt on display.”
I was in hurry to get down from the paddling ramp, because people were still standing around watching and talking about Nick. When we got off the ramp it was amazing to me how some people wanted to get a close up view of a freshly paddled slave. Nick kept his red, tear-stained face, looking to the ground as we walked on, and just a few stores down was the bookstore dad wanted us to hit. I quickly gathered up the items dad wanted me get. The four pamphlets for Nick were: ‘Slaves and Masturbation’, ‘Punishment and Dignity’, ‘The Benefits of Infibulation’, and from the Enslaved Family Members Series, ‘On Receiving Encouragement, Correction, and Chastisement from Siblings’.
And a book for dad, ‘Options for Owners – Chastity Belts, Infibulation, Castration, Penectomy – A Comprehensive Manual on the Pros and Cons of the Most Common Sexual Modifications and Procedures for Slaves’. When Nick saw the title at the checkout counter I thought for a moment there was going to be another scene, but Lionel calmed Nick down, “Don’t you worry, dad’s not planning on having anything done to you yet. He said he just wants to read up on the topic. I know Uncle Phil has suggested to dad that he get you castrated, but dad doesn’t agree with him.”
Our next stop was ‘Implements’, advertising in the display window ‘Slave control implements to fit every need’. When we got in, I must say Lionel and I got kind of excited. We felt like kids in a candy store because it finally hit us that now Lionel and I had a slave to control, a slave who could do stuff for us. We were now just like those showoff rich kids who parade their slaves along side of them wherever they go.
Lionel went immediately to a display shelf of short hand held instruments of correction, such as flip whips, tawses, short canes, and straps. A sales clerk immediately came to answer any of his questions. I was fascinated with leashes, manacles, and cuffs, and quickly found the display shelf for such items. Lionel selected a handmade tawse, and a barber’s whip, and I had my hands full of some hand and ankle cuffs. We laughed as we passed each other, since I was making my way to the short whip display cabinet just as he was making his way to the leash and manacle case.
We soon realized we needed a shopping basket to carry all of our purchases, and Lionel handed it to Nick to carry, “Here bro, carry this! Remember, you’re on duty now!”
Lionel and I joined up again at one of the most fascinating display cases; one which displayed various state of the art devices for delivering pain to almost every part of a slave’s body. We both played with one that was designed to cause severe pain to a slave’s palm. We laughed and asked Nick if he wanted to try it. Lionel got a device that was a flesh grabber, which could be applied to areas of the slave where there were folds of skin, such as the thighs, lower belly, and tits. It hurt like hell. Lionel threw one in our basket.
A poster above a display showed a slave being led by a “Penis Puller”, a leash which attaches to the cock shaft itself, rather than to the base, and Lionel pointed it out and laughed, “Hey Nick, how would you like us to take you shopping with your front flap open and us leading you around like that?” Lionel intended the remark to lighten the mood, but Nick didn’t smile.
As we made our way to the checkout counter I noticed a display of various blinkers, some with muzzle attachments. I examined a rather fancy model made of dark molded plastic, told Nick to remove his cap and bow his head, and I fitted it on him. Lionel look pleased, so I said, “Let’s get it.” Lionel agreed that it looked good, but he was worried what dad would say, “It’s kind of expensive, and I think we would not really be using it very much.” I had to agree, so we passed on the blinkers.
There was a mirror nearby, and when I removed the blinkers from Nick, he saw himself in the mirror, and started to cry. I must admit, he looked like a slave, and nothing but a slave, but I felt that was no reason to cry. I put his yellow cap back on and patted him on the shoulder.
At the checkout stand we saw a book on special display, ‘Slave Mantras’. The ad said, ‘Slaves who learn mantras are both more pliant and docile. Start your slave on the (mantra a day) program now!’ Lionel put it in our checkout basket. Our bill ended up being quite high, but we figured dad wouldn’t mind, since all of our purchases were sensible ones. As we walked to the parking lot, Lionel reached into the shopping bag Nick was carrying and took out the mantra book, “Here bro, I want you to study the first mantra, read the chapter on its meaning in the car on the way home, and make sure you have it memorized by the time we get home, or else I’m going to have me an opportunity to practice using my new tawse on you!”
Lionel and I laughed as we got in the front seat of the car. In the car Lionel told Nick he could take his cap off, but Nick said he wanted to leave it on, probably because his haircut was more humiliating than the cap was. Lionel would have none of it, “I said get the goddamn cap off, and get it off now!” Nick started crying out loud as he took his cap off, bawling like a little bald headed, blue-crossed, baby. Lionel and I exchanged glances and had to stifle our smiles.
As we drove home Lionel cranked up the tunes really loud. We wanted to be like those rich kids who like to call attention to themselves, their fancy cars, and their slave in the back seat. It was wild. As we drove home, bobbing to the music, getting stares of admiration from both guys and the chicks, and as Nick tried to hide his face in his mantra book, I saw Lionel give his cock a few brisk tugs and a shaking through his trousers. We smiled at each other when he caught me looking, and I reached down and gave my own pecker a little jingling.
We were in heaven. Rather than go directly home Lionel drove down to the city center where everyone hangs out. We turned the music up even louder, the bass booming, and drove around the center about six times. Lionel and I were intoxicated with our freedom, and we both were doing some serious moves to the beat of the tunes. A lot of kids shouted and waved at us as we passed. It seemed to be true; just owning a slave ups your popularity.
Lionel and I looked back at Nick, his face still in the book. Whether or not he was memorizing his mantra or trying to hide his face, we couldn’t tell, but it did remind Lionel that we didn’t have much more time for cruising around, “We better get Nick back home, he’s on barbeque duty tonight!”
It felt so good having a slave who had to do whatever we told him to do sitting in the back seat, knowing that we were now rich kids; with no college tuition worries; with no need for either a college or summer job; with a slave to do all of our housework, run our errands, and give us massages whenever and for as long as we wanted; and, best of all, the envy of all the poor kids without slaves, who only dream of what it’s like to own a slave.
The End