Chrystal Dark
Boobie Girl
- Joined
- Nov 21, 2021
- Location
- United Kingdom
@kinkyponygirl
The planet Earth at the end of the 22nd century of the Common Era (Or Anno Domini as some people still insisted on calling it) was a great place to live if you had money, but probably not so great if you didn't. This was a thought that crossed the mind of Annabelle Greyson-Seymore, briefly, as she sat behind the attack-proof window in the School-Leaver Reassignment Office. But it was only very brief. Annabelle was the daughter of Penelope Greyson-Seymore, the sole owner and CEO of TerraFrom, the largest supplier of terraforming equipment in all of Human Colonised Space, and as such was heir to a vast fortune that could probably buy several entire star systems should she wish. In fact Annabelle's mother held mortgages on a number of planets, where the original colonists had failed to make payments against their terraforming machinery.
Belle, as she preferred to be called, was not so much born with a silver spoon in her mouth as cloned with a diamond-encrusted, platinum-plated 24 karat gold spoon in it. But she still had to go through the legal education system, even if she had attended the most expensive private school on Earth, and then her mother had paid good money to get her this demeaning and humiliating job where she had to listen to the children of the unwashed masses (as her mother called them) complain about how the system was so unfair and why did she have a job when they didn't, and then she got to decide where to send them to work off their debt to society for their free education, and to earn their bread and board for the rest of their useful lives, saving up against that day when they could no longer be useful and were put out to pasture, to live of what they may have accumulated.
Those she liked, and that didn't whine too much: "Well, Miss Leech, I'm sorry that you didn't make the grades required for your chosen university, I do however have a number of options for you. There's the military, they are always after young healthy women like you, or I could get you a berth on a star-liner. Admittedly you'd be at the lowest level, probably cleaning the toilets in the public areas, to start, but with hard work and the right attitude, who knows? Or I could get you a slot on the next colony ship as a breeder, or I believe Maccas are looking for people as usual. Or I suppose there's the voluntary slave programme."
For those she didn't like or whined too much: "Oh well, Mister Sponger, I'm sorry to hear that, but I'm afraid there's nothing I can do about it. All I can offer you is mining work on Titan, the army, or the Voluntary slave programme."
Those she didn't like and whined too much. "Voluntary slave programme. NEXT!"
The voluntary slave programme was a clever way that the One World Government had come up with to solve the unemployment problem and the underemployment problem at the same time. It's not that there weren't jobs that needed doing, it's just that no-one in their right mind wants to do them. People would rather be on welfare than clean public toilets or collect refuse and sort it for disposal, recycling or reclamation. And so the unemployed were literally forced to take a job at zero pay, in exchange for which they received three meals a day, clothing appropriate to the job and a place to sleep. Of course it wasn't long before the wealthy saw the obvious exploitation and soon personal body slaves began appearing. Public nudity was still frowned on but it became a thing for the body slaves, or where the weather was too cold, suits of Smart Latex were often used to provide warmth while still revealing everything about the slave.
Belle didn't pity those she consigned to that life, and besides, most still went to fill the jobs that no-one else wanted. The tiny spark of her that did feel something for them was obscured behind a slightly larger spark of envy. Those people sent to the VSP would never make another decision in their lives. All their decisions from now on would be made for them; what branch of the program they were assigned to (handled by computer), where they slept, what they ate, what they wore. Even what they did with their one hour of free time a day would be dictated by their owner. Belle, on the other hand, spent all day at work making these life-changing decisions on where to assign these people who came to her hoping for a way to avoid the VSP. Some she could help and tried to. Some she genuinely couldn't help, and some she just plain didn't want to help.
But then she went home, to her small if reasonably luxurious apartment, and had to make more decisions: What to have for dinner? Whether to go out or stay in? What to watch on the vid if she stayed in, where to go if she went out, whether to go shopping in the local foodmart and get fresh produce or to order off the net and risk not getting what she wanted. What to buy in the market. She had a fairly large social circle, mostly young women, and a few young men, about her own age of 18, and most of them had similar boring government clerical jobs, bought and paid for by wealthy parents. In fact most of them thought her job was incredibly exciting.
But while she was shopping, one Friday Evening, she happened to be debating whether to buy a packet of Mac-N-Cheese mix and a packet of macaroni or a pre-prepared tray of microwave Mac-N-Cheese when an older woman she'd seen briefly a few times before suggested she get both.
Belle turned on the woman. It had been a particularly rough day with far too many kids sent to the VSP, including someone she had been to school with - apparently his parents had died and it turned out there was no money left. She'd liked him. But he simply didn't have the grades to go anywhere except slavery. She almost backed down at the woman's appearance. Looking like that, she was probably ex-military, or a spacer, but Belle didn't know when to keep her mouth shut.
"Mind your own business. I spend all day deciding whether to send kids to the VSP or to go fight the lizards on the other side of the galaxy, and I get home and have to decide what to have for dinner, and sometimes I think it would be nice not to have to decide! If I buy both I'm just procrastinating the decision, cos I'll still have to decide which one to have when I get home. So just ... go away and mind your own ... something business." She grabbed the plastic tray of pre-made Mac-N-Cheese and dropped it in her smart bag, turned and stormed out of the shop, the price of the goods in her bag automatically deducted from her accunt as she passed the door. Sometimes she really wished she wasn't brought up not to swear.
The following morning the door alerted her to a visitor, but oddly, refused to tell her who it was. Scowling, she went to the door to open it.
The planet Earth at the end of the 22nd century of the Common Era (Or Anno Domini as some people still insisted on calling it) was a great place to live if you had money, but probably not so great if you didn't. This was a thought that crossed the mind of Annabelle Greyson-Seymore, briefly, as she sat behind the attack-proof window in the School-Leaver Reassignment Office. But it was only very brief. Annabelle was the daughter of Penelope Greyson-Seymore, the sole owner and CEO of TerraFrom, the largest supplier of terraforming equipment in all of Human Colonised Space, and as such was heir to a vast fortune that could probably buy several entire star systems should she wish. In fact Annabelle's mother held mortgages on a number of planets, where the original colonists had failed to make payments against their terraforming machinery.
Belle, as she preferred to be called, was not so much born with a silver spoon in her mouth as cloned with a diamond-encrusted, platinum-plated 24 karat gold spoon in it. But she still had to go through the legal education system, even if she had attended the most expensive private school on Earth, and then her mother had paid good money to get her this demeaning and humiliating job where she had to listen to the children of the unwashed masses (as her mother called them) complain about how the system was so unfair and why did she have a job when they didn't, and then she got to decide where to send them to work off their debt to society for their free education, and to earn their bread and board for the rest of their useful lives, saving up against that day when they could no longer be useful and were put out to pasture, to live of what they may have accumulated.
Those she liked, and that didn't whine too much: "Well, Miss Leech, I'm sorry that you didn't make the grades required for your chosen university, I do however have a number of options for you. There's the military, they are always after young healthy women like you, or I could get you a berth on a star-liner. Admittedly you'd be at the lowest level, probably cleaning the toilets in the public areas, to start, but with hard work and the right attitude, who knows? Or I could get you a slot on the next colony ship as a breeder, or I believe Maccas are looking for people as usual. Or I suppose there's the voluntary slave programme."
For those she didn't like or whined too much: "Oh well, Mister Sponger, I'm sorry to hear that, but I'm afraid there's nothing I can do about it. All I can offer you is mining work on Titan, the army, or the Voluntary slave programme."
Those she didn't like and whined too much. "Voluntary slave programme. NEXT!"
The voluntary slave programme was a clever way that the One World Government had come up with to solve the unemployment problem and the underemployment problem at the same time. It's not that there weren't jobs that needed doing, it's just that no-one in their right mind wants to do them. People would rather be on welfare than clean public toilets or collect refuse and sort it for disposal, recycling or reclamation. And so the unemployed were literally forced to take a job at zero pay, in exchange for which they received three meals a day, clothing appropriate to the job and a place to sleep. Of course it wasn't long before the wealthy saw the obvious exploitation and soon personal body slaves began appearing. Public nudity was still frowned on but it became a thing for the body slaves, or where the weather was too cold, suits of Smart Latex were often used to provide warmth while still revealing everything about the slave.
Belle didn't pity those she consigned to that life, and besides, most still went to fill the jobs that no-one else wanted. The tiny spark of her that did feel something for them was obscured behind a slightly larger spark of envy. Those people sent to the VSP would never make another decision in their lives. All their decisions from now on would be made for them; what branch of the program they were assigned to (handled by computer), where they slept, what they ate, what they wore. Even what they did with their one hour of free time a day would be dictated by their owner. Belle, on the other hand, spent all day at work making these life-changing decisions on where to assign these people who came to her hoping for a way to avoid the VSP. Some she could help and tried to. Some she genuinely couldn't help, and some she just plain didn't want to help.
But then she went home, to her small if reasonably luxurious apartment, and had to make more decisions: What to have for dinner? Whether to go out or stay in? What to watch on the vid if she stayed in, where to go if she went out, whether to go shopping in the local foodmart and get fresh produce or to order off the net and risk not getting what she wanted. What to buy in the market. She had a fairly large social circle, mostly young women, and a few young men, about her own age of 18, and most of them had similar boring government clerical jobs, bought and paid for by wealthy parents. In fact most of them thought her job was incredibly exciting.
But while she was shopping, one Friday Evening, she happened to be debating whether to buy a packet of Mac-N-Cheese mix and a packet of macaroni or a pre-prepared tray of microwave Mac-N-Cheese when an older woman she'd seen briefly a few times before suggested she get both.
Belle turned on the woman. It had been a particularly rough day with far too many kids sent to the VSP, including someone she had been to school with - apparently his parents had died and it turned out there was no money left. She'd liked him. But he simply didn't have the grades to go anywhere except slavery. She almost backed down at the woman's appearance. Looking like that, she was probably ex-military, or a spacer, but Belle didn't know when to keep her mouth shut.
"Mind your own business. I spend all day deciding whether to send kids to the VSP or to go fight the lizards on the other side of the galaxy, and I get home and have to decide what to have for dinner, and sometimes I think it would be nice not to have to decide! If I buy both I'm just procrastinating the decision, cos I'll still have to decide which one to have when I get home. So just ... go away and mind your own ... something business." She grabbed the plastic tray of pre-made Mac-N-Cheese and dropped it in her smart bag, turned and stormed out of the shop, the price of the goods in her bag automatically deducted from her accunt as she passed the door. Sometimes she really wished she wasn't brought up not to swear.
The following morning the door alerted her to a visitor, but oddly, refused to tell her who it was. Scowling, she went to the door to open it.
