The Suitcase

Becky Narrates Again

Becky Narrates Again

So the key. Well used, appearing ancient I know, but most importantly it works.

Prospective stepbrother Jack... Jackie... came through customs. We greeted him at the airport. Fortunately those were before the days of metal detectors and tight anti-terrorist security. Mother had the key mailed to her before his arrival. She knew he was locked in chastity, the unwavering dictates of the institute never to permit unsupervised penile freedom.

He spoke English... polite English... and Mother and I postulated as to from where the gypsies had procured him. It was probably from some English speaking family on vacation in Europe, the lad straying away at some busy tourist spot known to be targeted by thieves, con artists and pickpockets.

But whatever, such was a distant memory in the mind of an adolescent enduring years of indoctrination... which included forced chastity.

Yes, the manual... Boravene a Voinstveniya Muzh... emphasized feminine control of the male organ... at all times. Such imbued servility and humbleness. Whenever released from the entrapment of high quality East German steel, the boys’ hands were restrained. To this day, I do not believe Jackie has ever touched his penis... at least such a forbidden deed is not within his memory.

And Mom and I continued the protocol. After all we wanted a servant... an obedient servant. How could we begin a relationship... master and slave... employer and employee... owner and chattel... by showing mercy... weakness... unearned kindness?

Another protocol... perhaps due to lack of funding... but more likely to better instill feminine governance... was clothing. Jackie has rarely been covered. And indeed, he appeared cutely uncomfortable at the airport, seeming to expect a thrashing or some other punishment for presenting himself clothed.

We soon ameliorated his concern.

So we brought him home... adopted son, stepbrother, servant. Our expectations were limited... housekeeping, eventual kitchen duties, to do for us whatever Mom and I found to involve drudgery. And of course, in accordance with the Boravene a Voinstveniya Muzh, we stripped him naked. At least Mom did. At my youthful age, naked males were... anathema.

What was it under that steel mesh cage?

I was to find out.