Helen - Space Slave
Chapter 1: Disaster

Copyright© 2010 by Charm Brights

BDSM Sex Story: Chapter 1: Disaster - Helen's forced transformation between her eighteenth and nineteenth birthdays from a prim and proper virgin office worker in a crowded Earth of AD2123 to an eager submissive whore in a miners' brothel on a distant planet is chronicled with loving detail. This is the first of the "Space" trilogy about the interconnected lives of five women, each of which will be complete on its own; if you have never read any of them try this one first.

Caution: This BDSM Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa   Fa/Fa   Reluctant   Rape   Heterosexual   Robot   Post Apocalypse   Space   BDSM   DomSub   MaleDom   Spanking   Rough   Humiliation   Sadistic   Gang Bang   First   Oral Sex   Anal Sex   Caution   Violence  

Eventually the aircar stopped and she was hauled out of the cell and pulled at a run through some corridors to a bare small room with one door and a light high up in the ceiling. The policebot left, closing the door behind it and she suddenly realised that it had not said another word to her. Oh well, robots aren't very chatty anyway. She looked around and saw that the room was completely empty except for a small open box in the corner. In the ceiling was a utilitarian light fitting with an odd surround of what looked like small tubes. A spotlight illuminated the box in the corner

A mechanical voice from a loudspeaker somewhere said, "Helen Carstairs, remove all your clothes for delousing! Place them in the box in the corner of the room."

"Certainly not!" Helen said sharply, "I should not be here and I want to see someone to explain this."

But it was evident that the machine was not programmed for argument; it merely repeated, "Helen Carstairs, remove all your clothes for delousing! Place them in the box in the corner of the room."

Helen didn't move but cried out frantically, "If someone can hear me, please sort this out. I haven't stolen anything."

A short while later the mechanical voice said, "Delousing commencing in fifteen seconds." Then the lid of the box slid shut.

Now this did not worry Helen much, as she did not have any vermin and so should not be in anyway affected by the process. So when the sprays started up, she made no attempt to avoid them, but merely held her breath to avoid inhaling the odd-smelling cleaning gas. Then she noticed something odd, her clothes were being eaten away by the gas! She screamed at the machine to stop, but it was no use and in less than half-a-minute she was as naked as the day she was born.

The loudspeaker said, "Helen Carstairs, you may replace your clothes."

The box which would have protected them slid smoothly open.

Helen was frantic and shouted, "I haven't got any clothes now. Your gas ate them," but there was no reply!

Just then the door opened and Helen didn't know whether to hide her nudity behind the door, or to demand clothes from whoever was coming in. However, it was only a policebot which said "Come on," and dragged her at break-neck speed down the corridor and pushed her through a small door which led to a large room, or rather into a glass box set in a large room. This, she realised, must be the court room.

She looked fearfully about her, ashamed of her nakedness, but there didn't seem to be any people in the room. This seemed odd, since she had never seen a room that large without people in it in her life before; it felt a little frightening. Suddenly a mechanical voice said, "State versus Helen Carstairs. The charge is theft of 250,000 credits from your employers. How do you plead, Guilty or Not Guilty?"

"Please may I have some clothes?" Helen asked timidly.

"You were wearing clothes when you came here. The policebot's report specifically lists green tunic wide open, white brassière unfastened, white knickers and red shoestockings as the clothes you were wearing in the senso-cubicle when you were arrested. It also records that they were with you when you entered the building," was the mechanical reply, "Where are they now?"

Helen blushed again at the phrase 'brassière unfastened', how embarrassing that that would be on the official record.

"The delousing gas destroyed them," she replied, a little more firmly now that some sort of conversation was going on.

"That is not the responsibility of the state. You should take care of your own clothes. State versus Helen Carstairs. The charge is theft of 250,000 credits from your employers. How do you plead, Guilty or Not Guilty?"

"Could I speak to a human representative or employee of the court, please?" asked Helen, politely.

"There are no human representatives or employees of the court as was decided in the Prevention of Corruption legislation more than twenty years ago. State versus Helen Carstairs. The charge is theft of 250,000 credits from your employers. How do you plead, Guilty or Not Guilty?"

She was astounded. This was the court hearing and there were no people to sort the mix-up out. She whispered, "Not guilty," in a quiet frightened voice. A panel saying NOT GUILTY lit up on the wall and she thought that maybe the machine had accepted that.

Then the voice said "Evidence," and the room went quiet. After a pause it said "What evidence do you have that you are not guilty?"

"I d-don't know," she stammered, "What evidence is there that I am guilty?"

"250,000 credits were withdrawn from the Company's bank this morning using your card. If you can produce your card and there is no record of the transaction, that would be evidence."

Helen remembered then, and said quickly, "But I lent it to my boss, Mr. Harris, yesterday. He can produce it."

"He was the person who reported the theft," came the awful reply. Then there was a pause.

"Since you can offer no defence, and since a machine paid out the money against your bank identity card, which had not been reported stolen and any use of which is entirely your responsibility, the court finds you guilty as charged. As the crime was committed on or after your eighteenth birthday, the sentence is ten years imprisonment."

Helen almost fainted, because she was innocent, but nobody had been there to listen to her and the machines didn't care. It was all very well to say that they couldn't be corrupted, but they wouldn't listen to common sense, or realise when someone was an honest person. Ten years, that would mean a prison colony on another planet! The policebot fetched her away again and gave her a rough Hessian smock.

"Put this on and come with me," it said.

"But, I haven't any underclothes or shoes," she exclaimed.

"Put it on over your clothes," was the reply; evidently the policebots were not very intelligent!

Wearing only the rough smock, which barely reached her mid-thigh and felt very scratchy, Helen was bundled into a cage just large enough for her to stand up in, with a solid floor and bars all round. It bore the number 27 in removable figures on a rack above the door and a datacube was slipped into a holder also on the door. It was then loaded, with some others, on to a transporter and darkness again fell when the doors were closed. There was some muttering from the other cages, but Helen said nothing and did not really listen to the conversations; after all the other people in these cages were criminals and she would never associate with such low-life people. She realised that she was on her way to jail, but that was an error which would be sorted out as soon as she could find a human official.

The journey went on for some time; when the doors opened, all the cages were moved out together into a loading bay. There were a number of uniformed men there and Helen screamed at them to help her. One of them came over and looked at her. She did not like the way he was looking at her; obviously interested in her scantily clad body and not listening to her stammered explanations.

However, she was relieved when he said, "I guess the Chief might want to take a look at your case!" and didn't really take in the tone of his voice.

Her cage was moved away from the others and through a door into an office where a fat man sat behind a small desk. Even from several feet away Helen could see and smell the sweat on his swarthy body. Judging from his uniform this was the Chief. He took the datacube from its holder and slipped it into his computer. He looked up from the computer screen and grinned oilily at her, showing his uneven and ill kept teeth.

"So, whadda we got here. Helen Carstairs, 18 years old, convicted thief, ten years on Csadia digging up uranium," he laughed in a nasty way, "Not that a girl like you'll hafta do much digging! Ha, ha!"

"Please, I didn't steal that money; I only lent my card to the boss because he had lost his."

"They all says that," he retorted indifferently, "but there might be a way out for you, if you're very nice to me. Now let's you start by takin' off that shift, so I can see what I'm gettin'!"

"No!" Helen screamed, "No, I'm not like that and I demand to see someone who can correct the verdict."

"Ain't nobody can change the verdict. Our incorruptible policebots and judgebots ain't never wrong. I don't care if you done it or not but what I can offer, the best I can do for you, is swap you for someone with a shorter sentence, say six months, here on Earth. When the space ship has gone they won't bother to swap you back, if you're lucky. But you gotta be real nice to me, so strip."

"No! No! I won't do that," Helen screamed hysterically.

 
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