Lara Swift is Colonized Ch. 06

Chapter 6: Memories in a Trunk

Lara knelt with her hands folded neatly in her lap, expecting her Uncle Errol's second visit with great trepidation. Her outfit was a ludicrous parody of an Edwardian dress, with far too many anachronistic elements. The most striking was her 'handcuffs': Cartier LOVE bracelets connected with a length of thin platinum chain.

The jewelry was deceptively fragile. She could have easily broken free of it, even after all this time of her body softening from a significant lack of exercise. But Lara knew if she broke them even by accident, it would result in a severe punishment. So instead she kept her hands very near to each other, terrified of accidentally breaking that fragile chain and provoking yet another ten strokes from her mistress's cane.

Lara was amazed and terrified at how quickly she began changing once she had accepted that she wasn't getting out of here as the Lady of Abington. It was like Miss Galkowska had pulled away the keystone of her identity, once Lara had come around to the notion of surrendering her title. It had a cascading effect on Lara – her confidence was nearly devastated from that point. When Miss Galkowska ordered her to do something humiliating such as kiss her toes, Lara barely argued anymore. She would frown, sure – the woman didn't seem to mind that – but she would always do as she was told.

It was never easy.

Lara's waist had been cinched in considerably, part of some vague 'waist training' regimen that Miss Galkowska insisted that she undergo. It had started as a simple caloric reduction – which was difficult enough when the girl was so hungry all the time. Miss Galkowska had insisted that she take over Lara's feedings entirely. She didn't spoon-feed the girl, as Nurse Cerys had always done. Instead, Lara ate her meals out of a pink plastic bowl that was invariably located by the foot of Miss Galkowska's chair. The bowl even had her name on it: Lara Rabynya, not Lara Swift. Nobody ever called her by her old name anymore.

When it was time for her to eat, Miss Galkowska would call the Tomb Liberator over – who was always to remain on hands and knees. Lara had been taught to move in a lithe, playful way whenever she came to her bowl. The girl would start by putting her face to her mistress's feet and kissing them gently, before looking up to the woman and asking permission to eat her food. Often, the Polish bitch wanted many more than a few kisses. She carried in her hands, usually, a riding crop by which she could correct Lara as the girl had her pathetic meal.

Lara wasn't allowed to use her hands for this. Instead, she would fold them neatly behind her back and bend low until her face hovered right above her food. Then, she would lick up as much of the pink mush as she could fit on her tongue, then bring it into her mouth. It was similar to the way a cat drinks water – totally unnatural for a woman – and it turned every meal into a grueling test of endurance.

Lara wasn't permitted to rest her glutes on her calves while she ate, so her muscles strained to hold the pose. The food was bland, as always, and gave no pleasure for its consumption. If Lara took too large of a mouthful or showed too little (or confusingly, too much) enjoyment, Miss Galkowska would bring the riding crop down one of her bare buttocks before shouting something abusive at the poor girl. Lara wasn't always fed in this way, but it made for a very effective threat to get her to comply to something else.

If Lara screwed up this interview with her Uncle, Miss Galkowska promised her a week of that exact treatment, and worse. The pinpricks of fear were there – they hardly ever left her now – as she wondered what things he would demand from her. Would he want her late father's last will and testament? Would she have the courage to say 'no' if he asked?

Her Uncle Errol came into the room, and Lara was hotly aware of how silly her outfit was when he drank every humiliating detail.

"Lara! Wow, you have changed. I love what you've done with your hair!"

"Thank you, Lord Errol," was Lara's measured response. Calling him "lord" was astoundingly bad, and even worse because of the way his eyes lit up at her show of deference.

She hadn't 'done' anything with her hair, by the way: it was one of the physical changes the Black Hole had forced upon her.

Lara had always kept her hair a sensible length – usually in a ponytail or a simple but elegant style. Now she had an incredible, almost mythical amount of hair. It cascaded down her body all the way to her lower back, and it was very thick and healthy. It had grown out so quickly it seemed like every time she looked in a mirror it was noticeably longer. It was highly sensitive to a lover's caress, but when Miss Galkowska would take handfuls of it while she spanked Lara over her lap the pain was breathtaking. When Lara was in the nude, it would brush against her back tattoo and drive her to distraction almost constantly.

He pulled out an e-cigarette almost instantly, taking a moment to enjoy her saucer eyes at the thing.

"I'll take a seat, and we can talk business."

He sat down, toying absentmindedly with the device that had captured all of Lara's attention. It was truly insulting, reminding her of the way a person would dangle food in front of a hungry dog.

"Now, how has your education been going?"

Lara answered without hesitation.

"Excellent, my lord! Miss Galkowska has taught me so many skills that can be useful once I get out of here. I have learned several styles of massage, and the art of makeup, and other domestic talents to keep a home running smoothly."

Errol grinned, and shook his head like he couldn't believe the once proud Lara Swift was bragging about what a good housewife she would make.

"Do you still have those odd sexual hangups you were struggling with, that got you here in the first place?"

It was a slap in the face, and both Errol and Nurse Cerys were watching her with rapt attention to see how she handled this jab.

"N-no, Lord Errol. I am beginning to accept my diagnosis of incurable nymphomania, and I have come to accept the fact that I need a strict hand to keep me in line. C-constantly. Or else I might relapse and do something... stupid..."

Errol actually laughed at this – the nerve!

This bit of lies was a result of her time with Miss Galkowska and Dr. Wu. Part of her 'education' was memorizing an elaborate (and completely false) story of why she had volunteered to come to this place. The two women had pricked and prodded Lara, day by day, until she finally admitted that her crime against Mrs. Liao was the byproduct of an untreated nymphomania disorder. Specifically, one that compelled her to do dangerous things in order to satisfy it.

The stories that Corrine and Danielle had told Lara followed the same pattern. She had seen how the other girls had parroted demonstrably false narratives about their own lives, thus creating a perfect situation to profit whomever had put them here in the first place. Now Lara had her story too.

Like everything else she had encountered in this place, it was crafted in such a way as to scour any semblance of her pride away while simultaneously positioning her to remain trapped in a diminished position even after she left. If she ever did leave. That brought her to the next part.

"I- I was hoping you could help treat my nymphomania?" Lara asked sheepishly. His smile answered her question immediately.

"Ah, I don't know, Lara," Errol responded, pretending to have doubts even though he clearly loved the idea of having a beautiful young woman practically begging him for sex all the time.

"I have a pretty busy schedule, romance-wise. I mean, I want to help you, but it sounds like a lot of work. They tell me you practically require corporal punishment nowadays."

Lara went beet red. She didn't know that he would continue her outrageous regimen of spankings, canings, and worse!

"Please, Lord Errol?" Lara wheedled, making her most adorable face. "I am sure I can make it good for you. Perhaps you could..."

The words died in her throat. It was beyond the pale, what she was about to do.

"I mean you could... finish on my face? Would that help?"

She could barely speak above a whisper, it was so awful. Here she was, begging him to do something to her, regularly, that she found abhorrent in the extreme! Errol was delighted, like he had won the lottery a hundred times over.

"It would be a start," he said, leering down at her. By his gaze, Lara thought he was visualizing it, picturing where to spill his seed on her pretty young face.

Her bodice was so low-cut he could see most of her breasts, nestled in with the feathers that coated the inside of her longline bra. It was very obvious he wanted to take her at this very moment, but she had pieced it together that touching wasn't permitted on their visitation schedule. This was the last card she had to play: that his lust for her would be so great, he would spring her from the Black Hole in order to consummate their twisted new relationship. Once she was free, she could work on getting it all back and undoing all the neuroses that they had stuck her with.

He gathered himself.

"I want to help you, Lara," he said. She could hardly keep herself from scoffing. 'Help'?!

"But in order to do that, we need to broker a meeting with Mrs. Liao. And she won't meet with you unless you are ready to sign a plea bargain on that same day. It would be impossible to get that arranged in your current state, so I have a solution."

"You need to sign over your power of attorney to me. That way, I can arrange a contract that works for everyone, and on our next meeting, we can get you out of here!"

It was such an obvious ploy – why did he even bother pretending it was otherwise?

Lara knew that if she signed over her power of attorney she was finished. She had known it all along that Errol would go out and come up with the most air-tight, blatantly exploitative contract possible, and force her into it. She felt her heart sink as she realized this was her only hope now – or else face an indefinite stay in this horrid place. If she refused now, he would probably go away on some lovely vacation on her dime, then return to find a shadow of Lara who would sign whatever was placed in front of her.

And if she said 'no', the next offer would be even worse. That much had been illustrated to her so many times. Lara wondered what would have happened if she had just signed away her title to begin with. It was something she ruminated on often – a way of kicking herself when she was down. She never used to be so self-defeating before.

"Very well," Lara said.

He produced the documents rather quickly. With a hand gloved in black lace, Lara signed away her lasting power of attorney to her Uncle Errol. She signed as Lara Swift, even though no one had used that name for her in a very long time. Now, she was Lara Rabynya, Rabynya, or simply Pet when they were giving her commands. The knowledge ate away at her: these were only the first documents they had brought for her. They were arguably the most consequential, but they were merely the first volley in a deluge of documents that would gradually strip her of everything she owned.

Soon her fortune, her title, and even her name would be stolen away and replaced with a humiliating parody of her old life. Lara's new life, as it had been made so apparent, would be spent at the beck and call of Errol, Mrs. Liao, and Robin Woodward. She could only think of one thing that was worse: being stuck in this asylum forever. So Lara signed, and signed again, beneath the triumphant gaze of her loathsome "Uncle" Errol.

To reward Lara for her outstanding progress, he permitted her to smoke her e-cigarette freely. While it satisfied her cravings and even gave her a delightful high, it tasted absolutely harsh and repulsive. Lara knew that she would associate the vape with her complete and utter defeat from this moment on – just one more calculated blow to her pride. It was made even worse by the fact that Errol kept the vape in his hand, and she had to bring her mouth to its tip to use the thing. He kept it resting in his lap and insisted that she make eye contact while she use the device, in an obvious reference to oral sex. When he pressed the button, it lit up in the same reddish pink color from that awful steam chamber – she had learned to dread that color, associating it with her most ludicrous punishments.

The forms she signed were, at least: a lasting power of attorney, an affidavit of mental illness that implied she was unfit to manage her money, and an admission form to this Institution. It put her for an indefinite stay, until she had shown satisfactory progress in dealing with her issues.

When she had signed everything, Errol walked away with an obvious bulge in his pants.

"You just sit tight, pet. Keep going to your classes, and I'll take care of everything for you."

She had to thank him before he left.

On his way out, he said something to a person in the hallway that probably wasn't meant for Lara's ears. It sounded like, 'send me that Asian one again tonight."

Afterwards, Lara had quite some time to stew.

She looked down at her outfit, in disbelief that she had ever agreed to wear such a thing. It was clearly to Errol's taste, probably some fetish of his made all the better by the fact that it was Lara doing it, and without complaint!

She was dressed like she had been pulled over for prostitution on the way a sexy Edwardian-themed party. She wore a ruffled purple silk miniskirt, and totally impractical black stockings that were held up by an old-fashioned garter belt. Her top was just an ivory white Victorian steel corset, punishing to her waist, that ended scant millimeters above her aereola. And gloves too – lacy black things with frilly white ribbons around their cuffs. Those ribbons dangled down, making her look all the more girlish.

Was this her fate now? That round of documents had cemented it in Lara's mind that the only way she was getting out of here was complying with their stringent demands. It must have been Stockholm Syndrome: no matter how much they abused her, she could only hope to please them in return. Even though they were holding her prisoner, she had come to view them as her only hope of escape! Nor did knowing all of this make it any better for her. Just like her nicotine addiction: an intellectual understanding failed to protect her from the deeper emotional and subconscious impacts.

Nurse Cerys came to collect Lara, returning the girl to her cell where she masturbated fruitlessly until giving up in frustration.

Lara began her education in earnest after she had been officially admitted to the Institution. While all Lara's sessions with Miss Galkowska previously had been about humiliating and punishing her, now Lara had come to accept the woman's rules. The lessons weren't to Lara's taste. In fact, she found them entirely offensive and demeaning.

The least objectionable thing was probably her vocational training, but even that had issues.

Lara watched in horror as Miss Galkowska wrote several professions on the board that Lara might be assigned. They were: Pedicurist, Maid, Exotic Dancer, Masseuse, and Errand Girl.

"Now, I know these are very different from what you imagined for yourself as a career," Miss Galkowska said, adding:

"If you ever planned on working! Or if you thought you could lounge about in your silk stockings masturbating forever."

It made Lara blush. The teacher continued.

"You need to be realistic about your options. Now that you've signed a mental affidavit, that is a matter of public record. Any employer will be notified of it automatically when you apply for work. And that's assuming you can miraculously keep your citizenship!"

Lara drank from the coffee cup that was on her desk, straining to swallow the disgusting liquid it contained. Miss Galkowska had kept on making Lara drink her urine – it was a regular part of her 'therapy' now. The Polish woman now took diuretics and drank copious amounts of water, tea, and coffee so she could produce a regular supply of piss for Lara's consumption. She even kept a gallon jug of water on her desk that she would rapidly drain throughout her lectures.

Her bathroom ritual looked like this: whenever Miss Galkowska needed to pee, she would call Lara to the front of the classroom (she wasn't always seated on the woman's desk now), bringing her special insulated cup. Lara would kneel before her instructor, and hold her cup beneath Miss Galkowska's sex. Generally, the woman would put one hand on Lara's head to stabilize herself, then let loose a healthy stream of piss into a special funnel that fit around the mouth of the cup to gather every drop of it. Lara was mortified at the hot liquid filling the cup she held in both hands, and the sound alone was enough to make her gag. It had special insulation, so the urine never got cold even after sitting for hours – although Lara drained it long before that much time could pass.

When Miss Galkowska finished, she expected Lara to lick her clean. The Tomb Liberator needed to be thorough, too: any hesitation, any lack of enthusiasm, any missed droplet would result in a serious caning. One time, the woman even dumped the contents of the cup onto Lara's face for failing to suck every drop up from her thick pubic hair. Then, without cleaning herself beforehand, Lara had to stand up and do line-writing for an hour. She wrote a phrase about how Miss Galkowska's piss was delicious and she was a lucky girl to have such an opportunity as this.

The woman grinned as she saw the look of revulsion on Lara's face as her urine went down the girl's throat. She had long ago learned to swallow any pubic hair, too. Always with a smile.

"We can train you to do any and all of these jobs. Is there one that appeals to you more than the others?"

Lara considered all the jobs – each one was terrible. She still hated feet, even though she had begun developing a sexual fascination with them. Maybe from how Miss Galkowska always had hers nearby on the rare instances Lara was permitted to cum. Being a maid was utterly humiliating – a far cry from her previous status as the Lady of Abington. An exotic dancer? Absolutely unthinkable. There would be hordes of men paying to see the once noble girl strip down to nothing and perform a sexy dance for small tips. A masseuse seemed the least bad – that or errand girl.

"Perhaps, masseuse, ma'am?" Lara answered. The scent of Miss Galkowska's urine was on her breath.

"Well, it's not up for you to decide, but that is an interesting choice. Your clients might expect a happy ending. Would you be open to that?"

Lara shook her head. She was no whore! But she immediately she remembered the fact that she had offered to let Errol finish on her face in order to get out of here.

"We will begin training you to do pedicures. Then, it will depend on Mrs. Liao's input to see where you land."

The pedicure training was clearly designed to create an unrealistic standard of performance, then to punish Lara for failing to live up to it.

They went to the washroom, where Lara partnered up with Danielle and began doing the girl's pedicure. Danielle sat in a plastic chair and soaked her large, tan feet in a basin of hot water while Lara pulled up an uncomfortable little stool. Looking at the basin, Lara flashed back to her time in that little steam room, where she had to drink from the girls' foot baths. Danielle brought one dripping wet foot out from the basin, and rested it on Lara's lap. This was the signal for Lara to begin cutting her nails and filing them down to a pretty shape. She had a hard time bringing herself to actually touch another person's feet, and it showed.