The Helmet Ch. 01

Paulie belonged to her, a fully owned slave to Madame Dorothy. Although this is and was illegal, he had consented to be her slave in a ceremony early on in their relationship, witnessed by others in the community, the FLR commune in the depths of the mountain wilderness of Oregon. It was off the interstate, on a twisty paved road, up a valley, off the twisty paved road onto a twisty gravel road, and off that twisty gravel road, up another valley on two wheel tracks separated by low grass between them that snaked along a mountain creek when it could. Yes, it was isolated, and intended to be so. Occasionally the tracks had to leave the creek to portage a rugged fissure in the valley through which the creek thundered, but it always wound its way back to the water and continued to the end, in a widening, idyllic basin surrounded by peaks and forest.

In the old days, picnics had taken them up the east side of the valley, up near the top of Copper Peak where they had glimpses of the Pacific, seemingly calm and foggy in the distant west. Nowadays, Paulie didn't know where he was any more. Things had changed, and he was considered by the group to be an unfortunate result of a successful experiment that had gone so terribly wrong.

They were off the grid here, growing crops, receiving their necessary energy from solar panels, and water by gravity-feed from the valley slopes. They required the outside world only as a place to sell their goods, the leather and metal fetish items and the stainless steel male chastity belts which they had developed themselves to control their male slaves. There were 10 madams served by 10 male (almost female) subs/slaves, and 2 female slaves, all consensual originally, at least when they still had free will and gave their consent to be slaves. Once consent was given of course, it could not be retracted, and the madams made sure that the subs were served early with whatever their addictive vices were, poking and prodding, pushing and pulling, giving and withholding, strengthening their addictions to the point of no return. Then they could not leave, could not even conceive of leaving.

Paulie had been a sub totally addicted to his fetish and Madame Dorothy had of course used that to her advantage, twisting him and turning him, hammering him like malleable gold into her desired shape, a very pretty sissy. Once he said yes to being her slave, he, as an individual, ceased to exist. He was one for her service only. Paulie loved women's clothes, mostly tight clothing like girdles, pantyhose, corselets, and corsets. The overlying dresses, skirts, and blouses were only accessories to his need for lingerie. In addition to these base fetishes, he had developed a desire to be restrained, disciplined, and even punished for behavior deemed inappropriate by Madame Dorothy.

Over the years, Paulie had started to live full time as a woman, his body was hairless below his eyebrows, he had received sub-pectoral saline breast implants, and his shoulder length hair was styled by Madame once a month, or when she felt the urge to change him to something else. He was her puppet, programmed to serve her and be what she demanded.

Paulie was assigned to be in charge of the manufacture of the chastity belts, and he was good at it. The devices were known the world over for their security, strength, and comfort. Once locked in one there was no escape, and an orgasm was only a dream dispensed if or when a Madame desired or permitted it. He himself was locked in one, a devilish device that he had designed himself at Madame's request, engineered to be exactly his flaccid size, so that when he became aroused, which was often, his penis could only get harder, it could not get larger. Pull-out was also impossible because Madame Dorothy had insisted that he have a Prince Albert piercing and the ring through his penis was locked to the end of the device.

Paulie was having his morning coffee today. The sun was not yet over the eastern mountain range, and would not be for another two hours even though it had been daylight for two hours. It was July and it promised to be hot. There were few chastity belt orders to work on these days, as it was a cyclical business, a business surprisingly steady and predictable in the sense of the rise and fall of orders. He was dreaming of taking the afternoon off and lying in the sun in his bikini, adding to his tan, hoping Madame would not get him to do the housework today. It was slave Toni's turn for that, all he was scheduled to do today was the laundry and he should be able to get that done by noon.

Paulie didn't know it, but he had been on a slippery slope lately, wanting things for himself, instead of for his Madame. She walked into the kitchen now, but Paulie didn't even acknowledge her entry, a punishable offence.

Madame Dorothy shook her head and scowled at him. "Stand up Paulie. Now!"

Paulie jumped and stood up. "Yes ma'am," he said, staring at the floor. He was never allowed to look her in the eye unless she asked him to do so.

Madame had been watching him for days, perhaps even weeks now. He was slipping and she now decided that enough was enough. "Paulie, you have been a disappointment to all of us lately. Look what just happened. I just walked in here and you did what? Absolutely nothing, that's what! Your make-up is a mess, you don't even have your maid's dress on and you're supposed to do housework today. I bet you don't even have your corset on, do you? Come here."

Paulie walked demurely and humbly over to her, fear in his heart, for he indeed did not have his corset on because he was not supposed to do housework today, he thought. "Ma'am? Slave Toni is supposed to do the housework today. I do the laundry."

"Did I say you could speak?" Madame said sharply as she felt for his corset.

"No ma'am."

"Well then, don't speak! Jesus, all the clothes and food we supply to you over the years and you start acting disrespectful like this! All your fetishes we have catered to and look what you do. You act like you're not a slave or something. Well, must I remind you that you are a slave? I have the papers to prove it. Who owns you? Answer me! Speak!"

"Ma'am...Madame Dorothy owns me, ma'am."

"Smartest thing you've said for about two weeks. I'm putting in a "change of slave" notice, effective immediately Paulie. You are now going into the experimental device division and you're going to be the test model. Now go to your room."

Paulie looked at her with exasperation. He knew beyond a doubt that he was right, but he also knew that he didn't dare try to correct her. It wasn't like he could file a union grievance here. He was a slave, and he had to admit, maybe he was acting a bit strange. He had to obey her. He said, "Yes ma'am," as he turned to leave. So much for his afternoon in the sun.

"When you get there, I want you to don your discipline corset. Put on your external catheter with sufficient tubing first. I'll be there in about twenty minutes to lace you in and lock you up. Move it!"

"Oh shit," he thought, almost out loud, but not quite. That was torture, an armpit to below the knee boned corset that, when laced up and locked, did not allow the wearer to walk properly as he was hobbled below the knee. Not only that, he could not sit down. The mention of the catheter meant that he would be locked into it for a lengthy period of time, probably until the next morning, as he had already had his morning shit, and she would find that out because the recent dry spell had forced all the slaves to log their bowel movements and flushings to prevent water shortage. Oh God, oh God, he thought.

He had twenty minutes so he knew he had to hurry or be punished in some additional way. He pulled off his skirt and blouse and quickly went to his medical drawer where the catheters were kept. He rolled one over his penis now, the gum sticking to him with unrelenting force, and to the end he attached about six feet of flexible rubber tubing. With dread, he went to the closet and took the evil corset off its hanger. Every slave had one, but few were ever used now. He was the only idiot to provoke such an act of humiliation in almost two years.

Fifteen minutes left. He smelled the leather and almost fainted from the erotic nature of this punishment, as bad as it was. It was bright red and severely boned, so that if one desired it could stand up on its own in a corner of the room. Thus, when laced into this, and the laces folded into the pouches and covered with the zippered and locking flap, there was barely any room to breathe, let alone move. The wearer could not bend and could barely walk. If he lost his balance he would fall like a tree, unable to break the fall other than with his arms. Once down on the floor, there was no way to get back up. This was a truly devilish device which gave nothing but pain and humiliation to its wearer.

He wrapped the massive article around his body with the laces at his back and started at his shins fastening it up the front busk. Once he arrived at his stomach, he started to have to pull things in to complete the task. By the time Madame Dorothy was in the doorway, it was done.

She looked him up and down, his breasts compressed beneath the bodice, the catheter tube trailing behind him like a tail, and she smiled, an evil, excited smile, a smile Paulie had not seen in a long time, not since his early slave training. He only glanced at her smile, as he was not permitted to look her in the face, but the glance was enough to know he was in deep shit. He waited, head bowed, with his hands folded in front of him.

She moved toward him and said, "I'm sorry I have to do this, but I have to set an example for the rest. Your obedience has really fallen off lately. Unless I can turn you around again, I'll either have to release you or sell you. Do you understand slave?"

"Yes ma'am," he said. Inside he was terrified. Had he strayed that far? It was unthinkable that she would sell him, but that would at least be better than being released. Release scared him the most. What would he do, a thirty year old she-male with no money or source of income? Surely he would end up a prostitute in LA or San Francisco, or worse, maybe Thailand where there was an active sex vacation industry.

"Okay, let's do you up," she said, "Turn around."

He turned to face his window which looked out to the west side of the valley where the mountain shadow was inching its way to the bottom. He put his hands on the wall to maintain balance as she pulled him in, tug after tug. First his knees became frozen together in the corset's embrace. Then she worked her way up, threading the catheter tube through a small break in the laces below the crotch so he could control at least where he was urinating by directing the tube with his hand. Finally after about thirty minutes he was cinched in breathlessly from his knees to his breasts. She wound the laces into rolls and put them in the pouches in the flaps and then did up the zipper, thus removing the laces from tampering, and locked the zipper in place.

Paulie could hardly breathe, let alone move. But that was not the end. She pushed him so he lost his balance and fell on the bed like a log, arms flailing and a look of astonishment and fear on his face.

He had been used to wearing high heels now for many years but these were evil. She slipped his feet into a pair of red stilettos with heels five inches high at least. Not only that, but they had heavy straps which wrapped around his ankles for support...and for the locks. They could not be removed. That was a moot point anyway because he couldn't bend to reach his feet.

With difficulty she pulled him back to his feet and said, "There. Until tomorrow morning. You are assigned to the kitchen until lights out tonight. Slave Sherry will share the meal tasks with you. You will be her assistant but you will serve us at the table. Do you understand slave?"

"Yes ma'am". He was feeling absolutely miserable already, struggling for balance and starting to sweat in the corset's heat.

"Now, go to the kitchen and get to work. Move it!"

Paulie shuffled out in his bright red corset and heels and made his way painfully to the kitchen, stopping periodically to put his hand on the wall to regain strength and energy, as well as his breath. Twenty-four hours! Oh God, he thought, oh God.

Sherry greeted him with surprise as he entered the kitchen. "Holy shit Paulie! What did you do?"

He didn't want to discuss it. "Nothing. I'm to assist you today and serve all the meals."

Sherry said nothing else, because Madame Dorothy entered and sat down, waiting for her coffee and scrambled eggs.

By lights out at 10:00 PM, Paulie was in tears, unable to sit, tortured by the heels and the rigidity of the corset, the slightest movement of his feet caused excruciating agony to his toes and calves, but he dared not complain. The other slaves looked on in silent respect through the day. The owners watched and noted any disobedience or slightest revolt, and there were a few.

He lay in bed now, still in his shoes and corset, unable to get up, hoping he had emptied his bladder sufficiently to make it till morning; otherwise there would be further hell to pay. He dreamed through the night that he had been sold and the new owner was kind and beautiful. She released him from the corset and they made love like lesbians do. He awoke dangerously defiant.

As Madame Dorothy released him from the corset in the morning, he tried to respectfully tell her that she had been mistaken about his assigned duties yesterday, but she just silently unlaced him while sighing and shaking her head. "You've learned nothing have you my dear? I want you to shower and meet me in the testing room immediately. Keep your catheter attached. I might require that you have one today. I've been working on a prototype device which should be excellent for slave obedience training. You might have heard about it. It's an extreme head bondage device with a polished aluminum outer shell and a soft interior."

He had heard about it, and he had seen early prototypes, very crude and uncomfortable looking helmets that would be akin to medieval torture devices. He said nothing and hoped it had advanced some since he had seen it, because he knew he was going to be a test pilot. He thought about asking Madame to sell him right then and there, but that sort of insubordination might get him released outright.

The experimental room was not at all like the James Bond lab. It was far more bizarre. There were cells, masks, chastity tubes with spikes so the wearer did not dare get aroused, splint devices to eliminate arm or leg movement, an adjustable pole which connected to a dildo and when locked to the victim's ankles, the dildo was extended into the anus and locked in place rendering the wearer to stay standing while skewered. There were many, many things, indescribable things, some of which were failures in terms of transition from fantasy to reality, the stuff of anime only.

There it was, an anatomically correct very large helmet of polished aluminum with hinges at the back and several lockable hasps at the neck, through the "nostrils" and at the top. It was huge, perhaps two feet in diameter. Madame Dorothy handed it to him. "This is what I think is the final version of this. I want you to wear it and evaluate it for me. When you're done in it I want you to write a critique. Look it over. Light isn't it? That's because most of the space inside is made of Styrofoam, but it's been hollowed out in the middle into a human head shape, still oversized. Then we lined that with a thick layer of memory foam so that when the helmet is closed up, the memory foam compresses around the wearer's head and facial features, removing all sight, smell, and sound. See this tube? It has a mouth piece as you can see, something like a snorkel, so as you are being shut inside you have to make sure you get your mouth over it. Speaking of a snorkel, the edges where the two side of the helmet come together form a waterproof seal as well. You can shower in it. This is the only connection the wearer has with the outside. It's a breathing tube and it's also a feeding tube. We're going to feed you only water and protein drinks, so you're going to have to learn how to grip this little device here with your teeth and pull liquids in to your mouth, okay? Try it."

Paulie nervously put the mouth piece in his mouth and she presented him with a glass of water to test the nozzle. He drained half the glass and swallowed.

"Okay, that's great! It works, at least when you're not in panic mode. Later, we're going to wire this helmet for ear phones so subliminal messages can be force fed to the victim, but we have to see how this basic one works first. Ready?'

"Now? Right now? Not really, ma'am."

"Too bad. Sit down here please. Put your hands behind your back."

To his surprise she cuffed his hands together behind the chair. Why did she need to do that?

"Ma'am?" he asked with trepidation.

She kept silent as she began to hinge the helmet around his head. Just before the memory foam started to squeeze his face and head she yelled at him while closing it and locking the first lock, "Only for forty-eight hours the first time through."

He heard it and immediately started to struggle, his face squeezed to a tightness never felt in a corset. He gripped the mouth piece with panic and breathed rapidly. The tube was narrow and it didn't allow much air. He continued to struggle to free himself. The compression of the memory foam forced his chin to his upper jaw and he tried to scream, but he felt only a vibration in his throat and chest, a guttural facsimile of the terror he felt. There was no sight, no sound, and not even any smell as the foam squished his nostrils together. He was removed from the world. Remotely, he felt his head being moved as all the locks were put in place and clicked shut. He tried to calm down, but his breathing was uneven and seemed shallow, but at least he could hear it, that and his heartbeat.

He sat there, an alien-like head, and felt his cuffs being removed. He moved his hands to his head then and tapped it and rubbed it, even pulling on it to try to remove it...no sound got to him whatsoever. It was like it was not part of him, but it sealed him away perfectly, like it was made for him, the neck a perfect fit, so his fingers could not go underneath, the head perfectly entombed in sensory deprivation...for two days.

Madame Dorothy watched him for over an hour, making sure he could breathe. She held a mirror to the breathing tube and watched it fog up. She fed him some protein drink and he drank it. She watched as he pivoted his head frantically trying to do something, she wasn't sure what. He even pounded on the metal covering. Finally he just dropped his hands beside the chair in absolute defeat and resignation. Once this happened she grasped his hands and got him to stand up, leading him to the kitchen for the day so Sherry could watch him while she did other supervisory things. Far off in the distant recesses of her brain she wondered what it would be like to be removed from senses like that for so long. She was sure it would change him, especially if she sealed his psychological imprinting with a few orgasms tonight. She left him, smiling at what lay ahead for her this evening. She hadn't trained a slave for a long time, and never by this method.

Paulie sat in a chair and continuously ran his hands over the helmet. Every once in awhile he twitched and jerked his head up or sideways as if he thought he heard something. His head tilted like a puppy dog's as he strained to hear. As the hours passed he continuously felt the vibrations from his throat and chest. He wasn't sure if he was making the noise, but he figured he was. It soothed him.