The Helmet Ch. 01

Sherry sat with him most of the day, only leaving him when kitchen work absolutely had to be done. She was worried. He was rocking in his chair now and making constant grunting sounds. Eventually the grunting sounds seemed to be in patterns, like he was talking to someone. Although he could not form words, the sounds were like questions at times, long grunts higher pitched at the end, or a sound like a confirmation, like uh-huh. His head would often nod in an affirmative way or shake negatively. Occasionally Sherry would hold his hand when he appeared to be overly agitated. This seemed to help, as he would calm down and become less animated in his grunting and movements. She could not understand what he had done to provoke such punishment as he had endured today and what he was to endure tomorrow as well, but she figured he must have been extremely disobedient or disrespectful to warrant such action. He must have deserved it. She resolved to be a better slave in her own way so this would not happen to her.

Paulie met someone. It was like he was travelling through a wormhole in outer space. Images blurred. Time shifted. Space warped.

Someone was with him. "Who's there?" he grunted.

A kaleidoscope of colors whirled in front of his eyes, a departure from the darkness. He fought dizziness and nausea.

Suddenly it cleared and there was darkness again, but it was a different kind. It had sharp edges and deep depths, like a deep rock-bound pool in a black river. His nausea disappeared and he felt a euphoria of recognition, of stability and calm.

"So, you are here," came a sound, not really a sound, but more like a thought, "Many come, but not many can stay. Can you, will you stay?"

Paulie shook his head in disbelief. "What? Who are you?"

"We don't talk any more. We used to, but we stopped. Where have you been Paul?" The voice had no sex, nor did it necessarily have life. It, he, she, called him by his original name. It had been years since he heard that name, not since he had consented to be a slave, years ago.

"I, I've been a slave. I've given my life to Madame Dorothy. I needed to be controlled. I'm sorry; I just needed to be controlled." The darkness pulsed and throbbed with shades and lack of light. There was no certainty to it, but it had boundaries of a sort, like a crystal of darkness.

"Then why are you here? We talked about this before. Don't you remember? You cannot exist alone. You are a male human striving to be a female human. An impossible situation. You are correct. You need control. You desire control. You must be controlled."

"What? Why?" he thought, said.

The darkness buzzed, flirting with light. "Because, because, if you are not controlled, if you are not a perfect slave, you will be here, here with me. Is that what you want Paul?"

"Please. Stop. I can't, please, I need. No, please. Oh God, no, please, oh God, oh God."

His orgasm brought the kaleidoscope back with a cacophony of white noise and he heaved from lack of oxygen through his breathing tube.

Madame Dorothy looked on in satisfaction as Paulie held his metal-enclosed head, rocking this way and that. She had touched and teased him until he had exploded in her hand, and the gyrations of his body had exposed his ecstasy. He would be okay for another 36 hours.

She took him by the hand and led him back to his room, removing his blouse and skirt, lying down beside him on the bed, making sure he could touch her, feel her, want her. She was sure he was crying an hour later when she mounted him, rising and falling on him, her hands pushing his metal head down on the bed. He touched her waist as he heaved upward to meet her. He touched his own breasts as the voices spoke to him.

"You are a slave," they said, "She owns you. You know it. She knows it. There is no other way to survive. Where will you go? What will you do? This is how you must be. Succumb, succumb, succumb, you must succumb."

The feel of her on him, the darkness in his head, the voices telling him things, all conspired and converged, and he emptied into her with a savage thrust of need.

The darkness crystallized once again, and there was calm. A single voice dropped out like a pin on a tile floor, "Yes, that's it, Paulie, that's it. You belong to her."

Remotely, he felt the covers being pulled over him and he realized he was in a bed, whose bed he did not know, but it was assumed he was to sleep. The question was, how would he know? With his senses removed from him, how would he know? He simply waited for the next human contact, the next marker in time.