The Family Seat

The Family Seat (Male World Order, part 4)

A blue bus carrying a single remaining passenger puttered along a winding country road next to a white stone wall for what seemed like an eternity. Eventually the bus came to a stop at a break in that wall: an ornate cast-iron gate with a bronze "P" emblazoned on it.

The passenger had arrived at Peterbrooke, his ancestral home outside Lexington, Kentucky. There was a working replica of a white 1987 Lincoln Town Car waiting on the other side of the gate to take him the remaining quarter-mile to his destination.

He was home, and he was about to be sick.

The family chauffeur, Seventh Beta Duncan Huntley, pressed a button on the dash and the gates swung wide. He jumped out and opened the door for Seventh Beta Casey Wilkins.

"Good evening, s... sir," Huntley, said in a rare loss of composure upon seeing the young man's shiny brass insignia.

"Good evening, Huntley," Casey muttered.

"Honorable Air Force Third Beta and Goody Wilkins have been entertaining this evening, but their guests have departed. They are waiting for you along with First Beta Wilkins."

Bad just got a bit worse.

The car pulled up and the three of them were waiting on the veranda. His father, Noah, was in his dinner dress uniform, miniature medals glinting in the moonlight. His 22-year-old brother, Marcus, lingered back in the doorway in white tie, his brandy and cigar still in hand. His mother Anne was fanning herself daintily in a pale blue corseted and bustled gown that was an exact replica of one owned by a young Queen Mary of Teck.

Atop her head sat a tiara that actually DID belong to Queen Mary. Don't fuck with the USA.

Casey's parents lived on the estate and called it theirs, but in actuality Peterbrooke was owned by Anne's beloved baby brother, Navy Alpha Jack Blankenship, and before him, their father Alpha Cyrus Blankenship. Jack was unmarried (except to the sea), and his career kept him away from home too much to spend his days endlessly cosplaying Victorian England, as the American upper class had taken to doing. So he let his sister and the Honorable Third Beta play house.

Old Cyrus had to pull a lot of strings to get that "Honorable" attached to Noah. It was usually a distinction reserved for Beta sons of Alpha fathers. Not fathers-in-law. He never wanted to permit the marriage in the first place, except that beautiful Anne had him wrapped around her little finger, and always got what she wanted in the end.

Huntley opened the door for Casey. He hesitated to get out. His stomach was churning. His face was flushed. He prayed to the Alphas for a comet to strike the Earth at that very moment.

"Come on, sweetheart. We already know. They called me first thing," Anne said, gracefully snapping her fan shut and descending the stairs.

Casey got out and his mother wrapped him in a 24-Faubourg-scented hug.

...

Liquor flowed from decanters to glasses and the four of them tried to get comfortable in the drawing room. Eons passed, each waiting for someone else to speak. A feather landing on a velvet cushion would have been audible.

Finally it was Noah who broke the silence. "We've been expecting this."

"What do you mean, "expecting" it?," Casey asked.

"Male Assessment has been hounding us about you for years. YEARS! THAT'S WHAT I MEAN. YOU NEVER TOOK IT SERIOUSLY SO THEY DIDN'T TAKE YOU SERIOUSLY."

Casey felt a submission knot and his genitals hightailed it inside. His father was usually pretty mild-mannered, but he could lay on the authority when he needed.

"Noah, darling, please!" Certified 'Esteemed Among the Obedient' Anne snapped. She turned to her youngest son, "What we mean is we blame ourselves for this. We had chances to turn it around and we failed. But what's done is done and we need to think about your future now."

Marcus snorted and poured another.

"Your brother has set up house in one of the cottages on the estate, and we think it best if you go stay with him," Anne continued.

"Just to help out," Noah added.

"Help out?"

"Just... he's setting up house and he's going to need help and you are going to be THE help," Noah answered.

"Sweetheart, baby, you are a SEVENTH BETA. I know that's the middle, but it's the bottom of the middle. And you just barely graduated high school, and even that was with me pulling strings," Anne explained. "This is the best possible opportunity for you."

"Besides, we've got the Ambassador of Alba-Cymru and three high-ups from the State Department coming to dinner next week, so we can't have a Seventh Beta son hanging around the house eating Cheetos and jerking off to the internet archives until his COCK TURNS ORANGE," Noah added.

Noah let the shame for his son slip out and suddenly felt ashamed of himself.

"I'm sorry sweetheart, I really am, but your mother is right. This is the best opportunity for you right now. Just until we figure something out. Maybe it'll give you a chance to work on yourself for a reassess when you're 21. I don't mean this to sound harsh, but I just don't see you making your way in the world as a Seventh Beta with no experience outside of this." Noah gestured about their lavish surroundings.

"Fine. I'll do it." Casey paused for a moment, before adding "Sir." He started to stand. "I'll go pack"

"No need," Marcus finally spoke. "I've already got your clothes at home. Nothing you need from here. Let's head out."

Casey wanted to argue, but he just felt too defeated.

Anne hugged her youngest once more. "This is the best thing for you. I promise you'll see."

As Casey approached the car to get in next to his brother, Marcus turned to him and said, "You ride in the front with Huntley. You're the help now, Seventh Beta."

Casey opened his mouth to object, but the words that came out were "Yes, Sir."

...

The car pulled up to Marcus' five-bedroom "cottage" situated in a somewhat wooded area of the property on a pond. The lights of the main house were visible in the distance. Huntley got out to open the door for Marcus. Casey waited for the same, but Huntley got back in and just stared at him. He let himself out.

He followed his big brother up the steps to the front door.

"Nuh uh. You go to the kitchen entrance. Your prints'll open it," he slurred.

"Yes, Sir."

Casey walked all the way around to the back of the house and opened the kitchen door with his fingerprint, only to walk all the way through the house to meet his brother again at the front door.

"First things first. You are always to be here to greet me when I come home. No exceptions. Day or night. I've set it so the lights in your room come on whenever the gate opens."

"What if it's not you?"

"Then you're just gonna hafta wait and see. Second: you are always to be in one of three uniforms. Follow me to the showroom"

Marcus led him into the front sitting room. There were three identical crisp black suits hanging on the drapery rod, and next to them a 1930s-era footman's livery, on the sofa below a stack of white shirts and fine wool socks, shoes, neckties. There was no underwear.

"This one's your valet uniform and this one's your footman uniform - only for when I have company and I don't entertain much. Thought about getting that Victorian shit mom likes on her servies, but it's too fussy. Interwar is so much classier, don't you think? Duh duh DUH duh duh duh DUH DUH. Computer, play 'Puttin on the Ritz!'"

The song played deep and rich on the cottage's state-of-the-art audio system.

Marcus jumped up and grabbed the black suit, and handed it to Casey.

"Try it on."

Casey remembered he was wearing nothing under his sweatsuit. The Assessment Center sent you home with a sweatsuit and boots and socks and an insignia badge. No underwear. He briefly wondered what they did with all the briefs left there.

'Oh well,' He thought. They were brothers. Marcus had seen him naked plenty of times before, and he was obviously drunk off his ass right now.

Casey ditched the sweatsuit. Marcus picked it up and put it in a drawer in the side table. He held his thumb over the seemingly-antique keyhole until it momentarily glowed red and there was the unmistakable sound of a lock clicking into place.

Marcus tossed Casey his Seventh Beta Insignia. "We'll get you a nicer one. You can wear a gold one if you're on duty and it belongs to your employer."

Casey got dressed in the suit. It fit perfectly over his 5'10, broad-shouldered, somewhat chubby frame.

"You gotta work on that Windsor, but good, good. Handsome man. Now lets see you in the second uniform."

Casey disrobed completely, except for his socks. He went to reach for the footman's livery.

"No, remember I said there were three uniforms. That's the third," Marcus stopped him.

"Then where's the second? The rest are all the same suit."

"You're already wearing it, little bro!" A grin spread across his face.

"Naked is a uniform?"

"I don't allow civvies on my servies, and you can't get those suits dirty. This is your dirty work uniform." Marcus took a deep sip from a glass of bourbon he seemingly procured from thin air, a family talent. "Lookie there, you're all turtled up."

Casey looked down and his penis was indeed "all turtled up," and his scrotum was shrunk tight against his abdomen.

"Don't be embarrassed bro. It's a sign of respect around your superiors. Didn't you have male etiquette in school? Way to show that respect! Good boy! Very good boy"

When Casey thought about the very short nudity portion of the very long male etiquette class, he was sure it referred to gyms, beaches, pools, campsites, hostels, rec centers and the many other communally nude male spaces that existed now that the sexes were largely segregated.

He didn't think of his brother's sitting room.

But he showed his respect.

It felt nice to be called a good boy.

...

SIX MONTHS LATER

...

The alarm chimed. Casey arose in a pleasant and chipper mood on his small bed in the butler's pantry. The sun was just starting to peek through the trees and a mourning dove was cooing outside his window. It looked like it was shaping up to be a gorgeous day.

Usually he would start the morning with a jog and some pullups before showering, but the Honorable Third Beta would be stopping by for breakfast, and he wanted the time to make something special. He popped a piece of DentaScrub in his mouth and got in the shower, washing himself thoroughly and making sure there were no stray hairs anywhere on his "uniform."

His now trim and lithe figure was indeed clean and baby smooth, just how his First Beta preferred. He then took a pair of laser clippers and shaved 1/16" of an inch off his crew cut. Same every day means perfect every day! Nobody took greater pride in perfection than Seventh Beta Casey Wilkins. He spritzed himself with a tiny bit of the Bleu de Chanel his First Beta's mother had given him for his birthday, and without dressing entered the kitchen to prepare breakfast.

Something really special today for his First Beta and the First Beta's father, Casey decided upon mushroom & Gruyère omelets and blackberry Danish. The Honorable Third loved blackberries.

Casey heard the car pull up just as he was brewing the coffee and plating the omelets up. He decided some home fries would be appropriate too, and a pitcher of sweet tea in case they preferred. It was getting rather warm these days.

Breakfast would be served in the gazebo by the pond today. Casey put the coffee and tea on a tray and before he went outside he gave himself a good look in the full length mirror in his pantry to make sure he was fully showing his respects.

"Good morning First Beta, Honorable Third Beta. I have coffee and sweet tea for you here and breakfast will be right up! Is there anything I can get you?"

Noah took a look at his transformed youngest son and could not believe his eyes. "No. This tea looks delicious. Just looking forward to breakfast."

"I'm fine," the First Beta added.

Casey returned inside to fetch the omelets.

"Remarkable, absolutely remarkable," Noah said, shocked. "Marcus, I have to be honest. When I first found out you made first beta, I had doubts. And I'm deeply sorry for those doubts. Seeing what you've done with Casey, this is just amazing."

"He's a wonderful servant, Dad. Obedient, cheerful, dutiful, you name it."

"He seems so well-adjusted now. Fit, healthy, happy. The surliness is gone, the sarcasm is gone. Even the chubbiness and the acne is gone!"

Casey returned with the omelets and home fries, and a bottle of the Honorable Third Beta's favorite hot sauce.

"If that will be all Sirs, I've got fresh blackberry Danish about to come out of the oven and I'll bring it out when you're finished with this." He stood straight-backed with his hands folded behind him. Proud and confident and capable, but also totally and utterly submissive. His life had been transformed by submission.

Noah reached and ran the back of his hand down Casey's chest and stomach, and then over his perfectly smooth pubis and tight, compact genitals. Gently going down and then again more firmly going up. There was no physical reaction. There was no loss of decorum. Noah then coaxed the turtle out of its shell and gently rolled Casey's glans around in his fingertips. Nothing. Casey displayed perfect professionalism.

He let go, and the turtle went right back in its shell. Casey stood straight-backed and unmoved the entire time. No loss of composure at all.

"That's all for now," Noah said.

"Looking forward to the Danish," the smiling First Beta dismissed his servant.

Casey bowed his head reverently, then gracefully and confidently exited the scene.

"You know, your mother has always complained that I can't get servants trained the way her father did, and I never knew what she meant until now."

"It's not that hard."

"Not when you're a first."

"You know, Dad. Casey was never meant to be sitting here with us. He was meant to be doing what he is now. That's why he was so maladjusted in high school. He was out of his element. Now he's in it. He was always meant to be submissive and you tried to raise him to be dominant. But the thing is, that stuff is innate. You can't teach it. People are what they are. I didn't bring anything out of Casey except his true nature."

"I suppose you're right. Your mother and I should have let you be more dominant with him when you were growing up. You always tried to exercise those instincts and we always intervened. It would have been better for him to just let nature run its course. But you have to understand we thought we were raising three high betas, maybe even Alphas. We never imagined our youngest would be a Seventh."

"The POMA is never wrong. He's a Seventh Beta, through and through, and always has been."

"And you're a First. I can remember you with your little groups of friends on the playground and at camp. You were always the leader wherever you went. You really are a First. I'm so damn proud of you, boy. I love you"

"I love you too, Dad!"