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Old 01-05-2013, 10:15 AM   #21
Red33
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As a newcomer her i admire your L Croft story. A great story i allmost can't wait how it continues. Maybe a long energizing striptease for ugly people as your wright it further. Keep up the goodwork .
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Old 01-05-2013, 02:08 PM   #22
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Default Part VIII

<WARNING: This episode gets quite violent. Yeah, it's been all puppies and rainbows so far... Fair warning. No snuff or maiming, but still, pretty intense.>

“I'm not going to fuck you.” He growled, moving towards where she hung in her chains. His hand moved over her bruised and battered flesh, pausing to squeeze and pinch whenever she winced. “Oh, you made sure of that, you puta chingando. It fucking hurts just to get an erection right now, never mind bouncing my nut-sack around. But I'm going to make you wish my cock was in you.”

The object was cylindrical, about eighteen inches long and three in diameter, a hard black metal thing with ridges along the shaft and copper bumps at the rounded end. He rubbed the sinister looking device across her face as she tried to follow it with her eyes, suddenly and unenviably wide awake.

“Had some time to do some thinking in the infirmary, Lady Croft,” He sneered. “And mis amigos, they came to visit, and we got to throwing some ideas around. Some of them, they're pretty good at this mechanical shit. Some scrap metal, some spare parts, a little welding and soldering... it's amazing what we came up with.”

He pulled the device away from her face and held it a few inches away from her eyes.

“For instance, you tap this button here-”

There was a snapping sound, and short, vicious looking spikes sprang out of the ridges along the top half of the cylinder.

Lara gasped, shuddering.

“There's three of those buttons, by the way. Each one makes more of those motherfuckers spring out. The third one, well... let's say those bad boys are a little bigger.”

Another tap on the button, and the spikes instantly receded. Ramos pushed it twice more, demonstrating how the points sprang in and out.

“Now, by contrast, this one-”

A blue arc jumped between the copper studs on the head of the cylinder.

“You ever raise any cattle, Lara? No, of course not. Sometimes, you've gotta give a cow a little spark to the udders to get her moving.”

A harsh odor stung the bound tomb raider's nose.

“And that? Well, that's the simplest one. In the middle of this thing, there's a big old syringe filled with Listerene to clean up any mess the other features leave behind. It's not the kindest stuff; frankly, it stings enough just to clean your mouth with it. And I understand that when the alcohol dries up, it leaves the surfaces it's touched kind of parched. But I'll leave whoever gets the next shift to report on that.”

Lara swallowed hard.

“Ramos... Whatever you're thinking...” she whispered, eyes downcast.

He barked out a harsh, humorless laugh. “Whatever I'm thinking? Oh, Lara, I'm sure you have enough imagination to know what I'm thinking, at least in part. Though I doubt you've got a full sense of just how much it's going to hurt.”

She bit her lower lip, her voice choking in her throat. A tear slid down her face. “You could kill me with that... thing!”

He rolled the evil device back and forth in his hand as he looked at her.

“I'd half like to tell you that of course I got the go-ahead from Defunestro, and we understand the importance of keeping you alive, and like a good little soldier I recognize that it's my solemn duty not to get carried away. But the truth is, I didn't, and I don't. What I understand is that you bit my balls, you fucking bitch, and against that, I don't give a shit about the rest.”

One hand seized her thigh, lifting it, as the other pushed the head of the cylinder between her labia.

“I may not be able to fuck you, Lara. But I fully intend to fuck you up.”

He forced the metal rod up inside her with a grunt.

The tomb raider's body jerked as the cold metal rasped into her vagina, her head jerking back and her eyes clenching tight as she choked off a moan.

“Don't you wish you had just eaten my ass, bitch?” Ramos hissed, pulling back on the rod and forcing more of it inside of her.

It was never easy; the rod was simply too big, and the orifice fought every inch of the intruder. But the Argentinian's fury was not to be denied, his biceps bulging as he shoved the rigid black tube further and further up between the whimpering woman's thighs.

He grinned savagely when the bulbous tip came to a halt inside of her, watching her retch as the instrument slammed against her cervix, watching her bruised abdomen clench from the sickening impact. He repeated the thrust again, and again, savoring the wretched woman's involuntary reaction as the device bottomed out in her pussy.

Then he drove it home, and pushed a button. Click.

Her back arched, and she screamed. Lara's body shook with pain, lashed breasts heaving, the ring in her nipple swinging in the nub as she jerked. He pressed the button again.

“That was the first button, Lara. And that was just a taste.”

And “just a taste” was enough, for the next half-dozen thrusts, each ending with the spikes piercing her inside for a moment before retracting. He watched her jaw tighten as each thrust reached its apex, knowing the button-push would come, unable to stop it; the agony when it did, her head dropping forward when they retracted, when the rod was pulled back, trying to find the resources within to withstand the next thrust and failing.

“You like that, you little bitch? Huh? You like that? 'Cuz now, I'm going to start ripping you up inside.”

This time, when he pushed the button, he didn't push it a second time to retract the spikes before pulling the weapon back. The spikes inside her tore slashes in her tender membranes as he yanked the device back.

“Ramos, pleaaaase!” Lara screamed, sobbing. “Pleeeease!”

“PLEASE, WHAT, BITCH? YOU WANT MORE?” Ramos roared.

“No-!” She cried, even knowing in the instant it passed her cracked lips that the protest was useless.

Click. The pain inside redoubled, just as Ramos slammed the hellish weapon back into the summit of her birth canal.

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAGHHHH!”

“That's it. That's it-!” Ramos snarled, twisting the vile device inside her as her pulled it back for another lunge. “Bleed for me, you fucking whore

The arm around her thigh reached back to cup her buttock as the Argentinian furiously attacked the bound woman's femininity with the device. He was getting hard, despite his injuries- and just as he'd admitted, the very act was intensely painful to him. But the pain itself intensified his desire to make the woman's suffering greater.

That her suffering could be greater was barely conceivable to Croft herself. Her blood dripped onto the half-berserk warrior's hand with each pull of the hateful instrument from her body, each thrust sending new heights of neural pleading spiking through her torso, crescendoing with the gut-wrenching cramp as the metal struck her uterus.

“GHU-HUH- AGHHH...! Oh please! Oh pl- GHUH! AIIIIHHH...!”

“Take it-! Take it, bitch-

His hand slid back on the tool.

“Going to cook your fucking mommy-box, you slut-”

Ramming the metal in as far as it would go, Ramos hit the electrical button.

“Hhhhhhuhuhuh---aiiii.....”

Lara began to convulse in her chains as the electrical surge stabbed through her cervix, her entire body flopping like a fish. Her bladder gave way, a stream of urine spilling over her thighs as Ramos continued to hold the button down, grinning like a madman. When he jerked the wand back, the double-layer of spikes cut viciously into her spasming birth canal, bringing a new splash of blood with its withdrawal.

Croft's head flopped forward, and her body went limp.

Ramos looked at the pitiful form, half-held by his arm, and his eyes began to widen.

“Aw, no. No, no, no, dammit, no-

He jerked the device completely out of her, scarlet lines descending from her inner thighs as he pulled away from her. Teeth bared, his fist slammed into her chest.

“C'mon, you piece of shit, you're not half through with paying for what you did-”

He struck her across the face, forehand and backhand. For a moment, he stared, then pressed the side of his face against her chest. The space of a breath there reassured him of the presence of a heartbeat, and he slapped her across the face again. And again.

Then, enraged, he punched her in the jaw.

Her head flew sideways, braid lopping over her shoulder to tumble down her body, but the woman remained impassive as the new bruise began to form on her cheek, head drooping forward once more.

Ramos's shoulders shook as he glared at her mannequin-like passivity. Retracting the spikes and tucking the device back into his belt, he stormed away, returning minutes later with a pail of ice water.

Lara gave out a wounded screech as the shockingly cold flood doused her, babbling and whimpering as she began to shiver, each tiny motion sending new reminders of hurt through her flesh.

“There. Don't you fucking blink out on me, you cunt.”

Ramos tossed the bucket down, taking the metal rod back in hand as he closed in on her. His arm snaked around her thigh, lifting it, opening her, rendering her vulnerable, and she couldn't find even the strength to resist.

“Now. Where were we?”

He plunged the device back into her to the hilt.

“Uhhn- h-h-hhh...” She sobbed.

“One?”

Click.

“Ahhh!- huh-h-h...”

His arm trembled eagerly as he slowly pulled the rod back before slamming it back into her vagina.

“Two?”

Click.

“NGHAAA!- Ha- huh- huh- h- p- please-”

“Yeah, that's right... We had gotten as far as 'please', hadn't we?”

He pumped the vicious device in and out of her bleeding birth canal, face contorted in a vicious sneer as he took in the torment that played on her face and body.

“How about- three?”

Click.

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!”

Ramos grunted as he pulled back on the rod and it failed to move.

“Oh... That is wedged in there, isn't it? Don't worry, chica, it's coming back out. However much of you has to come with it...”

He ended up having to support her thigh with his elbow, bending his arm to use both hands to haul back on the brutal instrument. She screeched loud enough to wake the dead as he pulled it back.

When it rammed back inside of her, she dry-heaved.

“Oh, yeah. Oh, yeah. That's it.”

“M-m-m-Uhhhhuhhh-!-ah- uh- aaaah!- aw- uh!”

“Tell me, bitch! Tell me, what's this thing doing to you?”

“M-m-huhhh! Muh-! Ahhh! Ahhh!”

“WHAT'S THE BAD BOY DOING TO YOU?!”

“R-r-ripping.... Ripping m-Ah! my- my...”

“CUNT.”

“My- c-c-cunt... To p-pieces...!”

Ramos rewarded her statement with a vicious twist of the wand. Her hands clenched into fists and her feet curved into hooks as she screamed.

“AND WHY?”

The spiked invader plunged in and out between her thighs as her body bucked with the sadism being inflicted inside of her.

“WHY?”

She whimpered as the rod's spikes cut into her flesh, over and over. There was nothing, nothing but the pain-

“WHY?!”

“I d-don't kn-kn-knoooooow.......?!!!”

He plunged it in deep, pounding it into the depths of her body with a furious thrust powered by both arms, spittle flying from his mouth as his teeth-bared face came within an inch of her own.

“BECAUSE YOU DESERVE IT, YOU FUCKING PUTA!”

He tripped the electricity, giving her three brief jolts that made her scream, jerking back each time and letting the terrible spikes do their damage as her innards clutched at the weapon.

He was breathing hard. He released the rod, which remained implanted inside her, as he brushed sweat from his brow.

Lara hung in her chains, trembling, heaving, bleeding, the terrible phallus hanging between her thighs. Her lower torso was wracked in pain, and each breath brought new spasms of hurt through her. What kind of monster could do such a thing-?

“Now to clean you out.”

He shoved on the lever for the plunger, and the caustic mouthwash flooded her pussy.

Her vision went white as the burning exploded through her body, then black.



Then, the shock of cold. Ramos tossed the pail behind him a second time as he approached her from behind.

“I don't want you to miss this thing boring out your ass, Lara.”

The wet metal shoved between her buttocks.

“No!- Ramos! It won't fit-! It won't fit-! it won't AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHH-”

His arm shook as he pushed. His other hand moved around her waist, shoving a brutal counter-pressure against her bruised belly.

“'Fit' or not, it's going in there

When main force started to slow in its progress, he would shove, pause, and then shove again. Inch by inch the metal pierced her cramping guts.

“Bluuhhhh!- Oh God, Oh God-! Bluhhhhh!”

She was being pulled inside-out. The rigid metal was deeper inside her than anything could possibly be, her body strained to control its passage and was rebuffed, again and again, by the force inflicted upon her by the crazed Argentinian's arms. It was breaking her. It would surely kill her.

“UP YOUR ASS- TAKE IT, TAKE IT ALL-!”

He released her stomach to slap her tightly clenched buttocks, taking a savage pleasure at spanking her tension-hardened glutes as he wrenched the rod between them into her bowels. At half-way up the cylinder, he stopped making headway, and gave up on the spanking to apply the hideous pressure again to her heaving midriff.

“Muhhhh!- Mhhuuhhh-! Mercy-! Mhuhhhhh!”

His knuckles pushed against her belly. “Let me think. What did you do when I asked you to stop...?”

The hand on the device heaved, and another couple of inches sank into her spasming guts. Her flesh trembled under his hand as she wailed in sickening pain.

“That's right. You sank your teeth into me!”

Click.

“AIIGHH!”

Click.

“AAAAAAGHHHH! N-nooo!- Nooooooo!”

Click.

“AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH-!”

With its spikes extended, the infernal cylinder refused to move deeper into the screaming woman's body, even as Ramos shoved, twisted, and struck at its base. He settled for twisting and shaking the thing as it extended obscenely from her asshole, gritting his teeth savagely as Lara strained her vocal chords.

“Here's your MERCY! How's that MERCY treating your little ASSHOLE, you BITCH?”

Torquing the foul weapon back and forth, he managed to get it loose enough to start pumping it up and down in the woman's brutally strained butt. Her legs kicked frantically as scarlet trickled down the metal.

“Muuuuuuuuuuuuuuhhhhh! Muhhhhhhhhh----!”

Her torso shook and heaved when he tripped the electricity- never for longer than a second, but enough to send hell through her torso, making it hard to breathe, hard to swallow, to think, sending her back arching and her chest straining.

“You're nothing. Nothing but a set of holes, tomb raider! A good puta would be tamed by the cock, but no, you had to have something special, didn't you?!”

He tapped the buttons as he pumped the device in and out of her bowels. Spikes slid in and out. The jolts of electricity came randomly, unpredictably, unendurably. Her screams degenerated into a babbling, sobbing indistinguishability.

“Time for the pump, puta

The liquid flooded her, ripping into ever wound within her guts.



Cold. Shock.

The rod dripped before her face as light slowly returned to her eyes.

“Clean it off with your tongue, bitch.”

She sobbed. He slapped her raw, bleeding crotch, directly on the membrane between the two torn orifices. She screamed.

“Clean it off. Or it's going down your fucking throat.”

Gagging, whimpering, she did. She licked the ridged, sticky black metal from studs to grip. If Ramos had wanted to get the idea across that she would have been better off licking him, he succeeded.

When it was done- her mouth filled with a dry, clinging awfulness that would never go away- he tapped her bruised breasts with the rod.

“Some day, puta, I'm gonna be completely healed. When that day comes, I'm coming for the rest of what you owe me.”

The copper studs touched the ring on her nipple. Blue light snapped.

He walked off with the rod over his shoulder, leaving her twitching and bleeding in her chains.

-TO BE CONTINUED-
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Old 01-12-2013, 06:19 PM   #23
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Default Great work

Wow! I'm really enjoying this story and can't wait to read more!
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Old 01-13-2013, 01:25 AM   #24
DtchCltch4Eva
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This story is intense, I'll give you that. While I find a raping of Lara Croft extremely hot, I'm not sure I could watch this if it was a movie.

But if it was just a straight-forward gangrape, I wouldn't mind, lol
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Old 01-16-2013, 12:37 PM   #25
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Default Part IX

07:23

What Ramos had done to her made it very easy to hurt her, as the next shift was pleased to discover. A finger in her pussy or a hard cock up her backside, even a gentle push was enough to make her whimper.

Gentleness was not in excessive supply.

Binici held her hands behind her head while Janzen- or was it DeVries?- whipped her breasts while she ground her body on top of Kaar. Kalivas made her bring him to orgasm in her cleavage. Gamble and Abassi sandwiched her on the floor, and then Tam and Rojas took their place. No, not Rojas- given the beating he inflicted on her torso while he lay into her, it had to be DeVries, or maybe Park?

Zuyev choked her out while he bent her over the table and sodomized her. Binici and D'Amberline challenged her to bring them off with her hands while Brauer smacked her rump with the ping-pong paddle. Jennings wrapped her legs around him and fucked her up against a wall.

Jennings, or maybe Oslo. Or perhaps both.

Favreau put a ring through her other nipple while Collins fucked her, missing his mark with the needle several times from the rocking motion but not seeming to mind. Kaar gagged her with the baton while he used her pussy on the floor.

Phillips told her how pretty she was every time he slapped her face while he fucked her...



18:39

She was on a bed.

She had no idea how she had gotten there.

Lara didn't know it, but the last time she had woken up from a bed after a sound sleep had been more than two days ago. The last time she had eaten solid food was almost as long. She had startled into wakefulness a hundred times, usually to be greeted with beating and rape. She was sure she had had similar jolts into waking on the bed, but didn't know how many times.

It was hardly more relevant to her in that moment, or possible to tally, than the number of times men had used her pussy and ass.

She looked vaguely around. Her neck hurt, too, but perhaps less, having been only the target of bites and fingernails rather than fists and whipping. The bed was an iron thing, all of a piece, with a stained mattress and a thin cotton blanket that stretched over her body. The room it occupied was another concrete box, perhaps three meters on a side. Aside from the bed, the only furnishings were a plastic basin of water and a chamber pot. There was a steel door on one side of the room with a hinged slot at the bottom. The room was illuminated by a fluorescent tube recessed in the ceiling, its harshness all but pleasant compared to the sodium lights under which she had spent the previous unending hours of torture.

She was alone.

It was not to be believed.

It took another dozen tries before she fell asleep for more than an instant, only then sinking into nightmares.


She woke with a cry.

A paper plate had been slid under the door. It had a hunk of bread and a styrofoam cup of water. She crawled out of bed, drank the water, wolfed down the bread.

It wasn't a minute later when her stomach began to cramp. She barely made it to the chamber pot in time to vomit. Miserable and shaking, she pulled herself painfully back onto the mattress.

Her feet were spilling out from under her. And awake.

Defunestro and the funnel. And awake.

Rojas and the rod. And awake.

And the needles.

And the whip.

And cock, and cock, and cock, no more, you're hurting me, and cock, and cock, and cock. And awake.

And finally, back to sleep for more detailed nightmares.


Some sort of thin grain porridge. That stayed down.


Eggs and toast.


Bananas and rice and a cup of fruit juice.


Baked beans.


She sat up and stretched. It hurt, but she had to know. She took an inventory of her injuries. The bruises, the scrapes, the welts, the cuts, the burns.

She had been so proud of her body. Every time she caught a glimpse of the rings in her nipples, she wanted to scream. But there was no time for self-pity. She had to know what she was capable of. Her respite would surely not last.

Stiff. Sore. Her shoulders hurt from her time in the chains, and her breasts were swollen from the constant mistreatment. Her range of motion was pathetic, even pushed to the point of pain. Her groin and abdomen screamed at her every time she turned.

With no way of measuring time, she resolved that she would do something towards her recovery with each plate that passed through the door.

The resolution helped. She only startled awake four times this time.


Sliced apples, toast, and cheese.

She washed herself with the corner of the blanket and the water in the basin. Doing so, she discovered a dozen new spots on her body that hated the attention.

She tried some stretches from yoga, quickly pulling back her expectations of herself as the muscles in her arms and thighs threatened to spasm. The “beginner forms” still hurt, but they were at least on the side of possibility.


Someone changed out the water basin and the chamber pot while she slept. That was unnerving; a week ago, it would have been impossible for someone to enter a room where she was sleeping without rousing her, never mind to rummage through the things in the same room.

They hadn't touched her, but she wondered how much time she had left before the torture resumed.

She ate the meatloaf that had been left, the purest spike of protein her body had enjoyed for what seemed like years. It occurred to her that a lot of things could be hidden in meatloaf, from the grotesque to the diabolical, without it being evident. But she was too hungry to care all that much, and retained enough mental discipline not to dwell on the unavoidable.

She tried some ballet stretches and martial arts katas, breathing out sharply with the strikes rather than letting out an actual shout. She didn't know what kind of surveillance she might be under, but there was no sense in taking unnecessary risks.


She was doing a series of lunges (bologna sandwich, orange slices) when it suddenly occurred to her how provocative the men would find her pose- knee flung forward, arms back, back arched, chest out, nipple rings prominently thrust forward. With the thought, she began to cry, sinking down to sit at the edge of the mattress as the hitching sobs overtook her.

She allowed her fear and pain and misery to wash over her for a count of a hundred, blew her nose on the corner of her blanket, wiped her face, and started doing crunches.


She would swear that they were feeding her at varying intervals just to mess with her already diminished sense of time. But the meals, combined with the slow fade of her bruises, were all she had to go by; the unending, buzzing fluorescent gave no hint of the reality of days' passing.

So she stretched, exercised, ate, and slept, and when she could do none of those things, she tried to envision a scenario where something happened that didn't involve a return to pain, humiliation, and the destruction by inches of everything she had been before.


Day Nine, 5:19

She was doing a handstand on the bed when the door opened. Defunestro, flanked by Park and Rojas, stood in the hall, looking at her.

She collapsed in an instant, sprawling awkwardly onto the mattress for a moment in disorientation before grabbing the blanket and trying to cover herself.

Defunestro looked at her, smiling, his eyes moving across her face, down her body, and back up again. Looking at her fading marks, and the slight dark hollows under her eyes.

“Good enough. Fix her up.”

She didn't struggle as Park and Rojas took her arms, the blanket falling from her onto the concrete. There might be a time for that, but it wasn't now; even if everything went according to plan, she had no idea where she was, or how large the complex was, or how many locked doors might stand between her and freedom. Right now there were no ways this could end well.

In another room she was showered and shampooed. She felt her heart hammering when she remembered the last shower, her bottom starting to ache and clench from the very memory. But aside from some coarse comments from her escorts, nothing but cleansing occurred.

Her braid was dismantled and her hair roughly brushed and combed; that was uncomfortable, but “uncomfortable” was a long-forgotten tropical vacation in comparison to her earlier treatment.

Then another room, and Brauer and D'Amberline brought out the dress.

It scared her, and she wasn't sure why.

The ruffled crimson-and-black gown was not pornographic, but it was far from discrete. The neckline of the bodice was low and wide, and while the skirts fell nearly to the floor, a slit in the side that ran all the way up to the hip would be various levels of revealing however she moved. The shoulder straps of the sleeveless garment were wide, triangular ribbon-like things, and the back covered more than the front.

That, in part, was because of the corset.

The corset was stiff black leather, a hateful thing that laced in the front and curved into a cruel black triangle at the top, where it went between her breasts. It supported her bosom but did not cover it, and she quickly discovered that it cut painfully into the flesh of the undersides her breasts with every twist or bounce.

Especially when it was laced tight, as D'Amberline ascertained that it was. The sheer black stockings and their garters completed the outfit.

She sat meekly in a chair as Favreau applied powder and blush to her face, shadowed her eyelids, and painted her lips an intense red. Barely flinched when he brushed powder over the tops of her breasts above the bodice of her dress, disguising the last vestiges of the whip-marks there.

Brauer brought Defunestro back into the room as her feet were squeezed into dark heels with lacing that twisted up her calves. He gave her handlers a slow, soft round of applause.

“Very nice, gentlemen. Our Lady Croft almost looks almost ladylike. I appreciate your restraint in not tearing her to pieces right here on the floor.”

The men laughed. Lara looked at the floor, her face burning. Defunestro turned his gaze on her.

“As for you, Lara, I rather imagine you're wondering at your vacation from my men's attention, not to mention the recent whirlwind of getting you into this ensemble. So I will answer your unspoken question, Lady Croft: I need to know whether you're fit to be brought out in public before I can use you the way that I intend. As opposed to all the other ways you've been used, as enjoyable as it has been to watch you suffer.”

“So tonight, you're going to be taken to a little soirιe- and I'm going to see if you can behave like a good little girl.”



She kept her ears open; the hood extinguished her sight.

There was little disguising the fact that they passed more than one border. Apparently whatever palms needed to be greased had received the required lubricant long before; each pause took only a few minutes, and no one asked to look in the back of armored car.

The men in the rear chamber of the vehicle talked, as those on a prolonged journey are prone to, but never about their destination, or what they expected there. Money was a popular topic; they expected to see a big windfall in the near future, and with it came the attendant discussions of luxury vehicles, exotic resorts, high-end electronics, and women.

The latter brought on an extended and boisterous back-and-forth about the pleasures of forcing themselves on the car's hooded occupant. The self-lubricating qualities of her pussy and the vicious pleasure in pounding against her cervix versus the tightness of her asshole. Whether the threat of pain and making her try to satisfy you once you were inside her was more pleasurable than actually inflicting pain, and whether whipping her tits, slapping her face, or punching her stomach inspired better reactions, and whether it made a difference which hole you were sheathed in at the time. Whether those who had gotten to maul her breasts early had gotten a better deal than those who had enjoyed them when they were swollen and more sensitive. Who had made her yell more. If anyone had made her orgasm. Which she hated more, semen on her face or inside her.

She stayed quiet through the exchange, even when some tried to bait or question her, trying to keep her heart from racing and her breathing from shuddering. Eventually, the talk moved on to soccer, gun manufacturers, whether the U.N. talks about piracy were likely to yield any provisions with actual teeth (the general consensus was no), and movies.

Concrete turned to gravel; not long after, the vehicle rumbled to a stop.



23:00

They were on the grounds of a castle.

The architectural treasures of eastern Europe had never been one of Croft's strongest areas of study. In the few minutes of examination she was granted as she was bundled out of the car and up the path to the main gate, she was only able to narrow it down to a strong guess that she must be somewhere east of Germany; but Hungary, Serbia, Poland, Romania, or even the Ukraine would all have been reasonable suppositions.

She heard musicians playing as they marched her inside; a string quartet, by the sounds of things. Men in uniforms and berets, each carrying a sidearm, nodded them through as they passed through a cobbled courtyard. The men of Defunestro's band peeled off, one by one, as they got closer to the sounds of music and conversation; soon only Defunestro himself stood beside her as two men opened a heavy wooden door and ushered them into a ballroom.

The room was sumptuous, a double-leveled chamber with a balconied gallery on the upper floor that stretched all the way around the room, all crimson carpets and dark, exotic woods. Most of the central lower floor was taken up by the low-lit dancing space, with generously stocked tables of food and drink sheltered in one corner. A secluded hallway full of nooks and alcoves surrounded each floor, suggesting places where discrete rendezvous could be carried out and servants could hustle out of the path of the gentry.

The quartet, perched on one portion of the upper gallery, brought a waltz to its conclusion as the dancers turned and applauded politely. There had to be three hundred men and women in the room, all dressed in evening attire. Some of the gowns on display were quite intricately tailored and undoubtedly expensive, Lara noted- but none was quite as revealing as her own gown.

One man visibly made note of them as they entered, and crossed the room as the applause gave way to a tango. Somewhere between his mid forties and a well-preserved early fifties, his leonine visage was only made stronger by the lines of iron in his impeccably coiffed hair. Coming to a stop beside Defunestro and Croft, he bowed slightly and took Lara's hand, kissing it lightly. He spoke some words which seemed to be aimed at Defunestro, despite his eyes remaining on Lara.

“Yes, Alexan.” Defunestro smiled. He replied in the same language as Lara's stomach churned. It sounded like Romanian, though there was a Slavic accent. She was out of her depth.

More words were exchanged, with some laughter and slapping-of-backs. Alexan never released Lara's hand, and she hesitated to pull away. Finally, Defunestro gave a nod.

“Alexan is the host for the evening's festivities, Lara. I trust you'll behave yourself. The caviar is excellent, by the way.” Without another word he turned and walked across the room, introducing himself to a woman sitting near the wall and moments later leading her out onto the dance floor.

Her host murmured something. She frowned, responding tentatively in Russian, then French. He let out a booming laugh as though she had said something droll, and pulled her out among the dancers.


She was passed from one elegantly dressed man to another as the evening wore on, and tried every language she possessed; if anyone understood her, there was little sign of it. She tangoed, and merengued, and waltzed, and foxtrotted, and tried not to cry out as her corset dug into her flesh with each swivel.

An older man took her pantomimed excuses with a note of apparent exhausted gratitude as she retreated to the refreshment table, resisting the urge to fill a plate to the spilling point after days of starvation combined with more days of uncertainty and lack of choice in her diet.

She ignored the caviar. And the wine.

None of the beret-wearing men, the ones who appeared to be security, were visible in the room. There was a staircase on each side, hidden by the partial walls that sequestered the hallways from the dancing area, making it easy to get from the gallery to the dance floor.

There was no sign of Defunestro, or any of the others.

A shrill laugh made her turn with a jerk. A woman clutched at a man in one of the alcoves off the hall as he pressed his mouth against her breast, exposed by the half-opened bodice of her gown. Observing that they were noticed, the woman looked at Lara and barked something in that maybe-Romanian. Her companion snorted into her cleavage, and the woman's shrill laugh again assaulted Lara's ears.

Turning away, Lara strode off quickly to continue her observations, trying to appear more interested in the pastry on her plate than in her surroundings.

The staff came in and out of one door on the upper floor when they refreshed the table, making it a good bet that if the kitchen wasn't immediately off that door, it was nearby. A kitchen was a promising possibility: the need to receive groceries meant that it was likely to be connected to some kind of auxiliary entrance or loading dock from which it might be possible to make an escape.

A dark-haired, fox-faced man emerged from around a corner, approaching her with a purposeful stride. He waved a finger at her in a chiding manner as he set her plate down on a chair, pulling her back out to the dance floor as the strings upstairs launched into another tango.

Her new partner didn't need a common language to make his intentions clear; his hands were all over her within moments of them reaching the dance floor. Near the climax of the tango the hand that pulled her knee up slid up her thigh and started insinuating itself inside the slit of her skirt; she pulled away from him and tried to walk away. Keeping hold of her hand, he moved into the momentum, leading her off towards the secluded hall.

The instant a visual barrier was between them and the dancers, he pushed Lara against a wall, hands against her hips, breathing heavily, his mouth nipping at her neck and chest. With muffled words of protest, she edged away along the wall, but he remained on her, insistent, demanding.

A decorative side table against the wall impeded her further escape. As the would-be paramour's hands moved up her bodice, she gave rein to old reflexes. A ridge-handed strike slammed into the fox-faced man's solar plexus; as he doubled up, she grabbed the back of his head and slammed his forehead into the side table. The man crumpled onto the floor.

Her heart began to race as she looked down at him, then glanced each direction to see if the altercation had been witnessed. For the moment, luck was with her, but her tentative plans for escape had just become a great deal more urgent. Grabbing the man beneath the arms, she dragged him into a cul-de-sac off the hallway, arranging him in a cushioned chair beneath a ornately framed oil landscape and hoping beyond hope that his unconsciousness might be taken by any passing revelers as mere overindulgence.

The momentary exertion had left her nearly winded. She was horrified to discover how much her time in captivity had taken out of her, despite her attempts at recovery. The gown was certainly doing her no favors, either, restraining her breathing and hampering her movements. She took a moment to glance at a mirror on the stairway's landing, adjusted the dress slightly, and hurried up to the balcony floor, heels snapping on the hardwood.

Were the musicians watching as she made her way towards the servants' entrance? She forced herself to dismiss the idea as paranoia; there was no time for hesitation or second thoughts any longer. With another quick glance to see if anyone was moving to impede her progress, she threw open the heavy door and entered the dimly-lit hallway behind it.

A man in formal livery carrying a tray buzzed at her as she rounded the corner of the hall.

“Uh... Looking for the water closet?” she replied, momentarily forgetting the language barrier. When he continued to buzz she shrugged, made a dismissive gesture, and hurried on.

She followed outgoing servants like breadcrumbs, ignoring their queries or shaking her head in reply as the sound of chopping knives and clattering pots led her on towards flashes of fire and bursts of steam, the odor of sautιing vegetables and browning meats. A saloon-style swinging double door led her into the white vastness of the kitchen, and the startled exclamations from the servants became outraged and insistent as she pushed through the men and women in starched aprons.

One door leading off from the kitchen was sturdy, uncomplicated and unpainted; that much-used utility door would likely lead towards the outside-

As she burst through the door, the change from the brightness of the kitchen to the dimness of the pantry left her momentarily dazzled.

Something smashed into the back of her knee. She let out a cry as she fell forward, tucked her hands, tried to roll. Her balance was all off: the skirts of the gown tangled her legs, the press-off from the high-heeled pumps was wrong. She had no control over where she was going.

And there were strong hands on her. She twisted in their grip, trying to get her bearings. All she saw were men in berets. There had to be a dozen...



The strings were playing a dirge as they dragged her back into the ballroom. All dancing had stopped, the revelers crowded in a semi-circle to watch as she was pulled into the middle of the room. Looking up to the gallery, she saw that the quartet had become a quintet; Defunestro led the mocking screech of strings on a violin as his eyes followed her into the room.

The crowd applauded as they brought the piece to its end, with a terrifying amount of snickering and tittering mixed into the applause.

As Defunestro set down the violin, Alexan spoke loudly, the crowd respectfully quieting almost instantly. Defunestro replied more calmly, though is voice still carried from the upper floor.

“Hmm. Lara, I fear I may have failed to make the importance of your being on good behavior quite sufficiently transparent. You see, Alexan, here, is a prominent figure in organized crime in the region, and our presence here is, well, something of a favor to me. A favor you've repaid rather poorly.”

The party's host spoke again. Defunestro laughed gently, his tone mollifying. He addressed Lara again.

“Fortunately, I was certain to make our host aware of your tendency to... misbehave. And I've just assured him that I'm more than willing to accept a certain latitude in his response.”

The security men pulled away to give up the grip on her arms to other men, men from among the guests, still in their evening attire. Alexan pulled off his jacket, handing it to one of the women as he approached the struggling figure of Lady Croft.

His voice was a low growl as his hand clasped her thigh through the slit, moving up over her bodice, the flatness of her bodice-enclosed abdomen and ribcage, up to the softness of her breast as her heart hammered harder and harder.

The hand squeezed, thumb finding the rigid metal of the ring in her nipple, nail tapping on it as his fingers dug into her flesh.

He snapped something. The hands on her arms moved their grip up, pulling back her shoulders. Alexan grabbed the neckline of her gown, and tore it open, baring her breasts.

Lara cried out as the garment tore, as the guests applauded the display and hooted out comments and suggestions. She'd hated the garment she wore, but it was the first time in days she had had some protection from lascivious eyes and sadistic intentions towards her flesh; now bereft, she felt her nudity before the crowd all the more.

Another exquisitely gowned woman, a blonde, kissed Alexan on the cheek as she offered him a riding crop.

The castle's lord cut through the air with the thing several times as he glowered at the trembling tomb raider, a wolfish smile starting to cross his lips as the crowd behind him thrummed. One of the men holding her yelled something, and the crowd laughed.

He pulled his arm back slowly, watching her face.

The crop cracked down on her smooth, soft, carefully powdered breast.

She bit her lip and struggled not to cry as the crowd roared its approval, knowing it would do little good; Alexan would have his way until he was satisfied, and his satisfaction would probably not come without tears.

But she was Lara Croft, tomb raider, Countess of Abbington, and being that meant that she had to try to endure.

The corset's cruelty felt like it had been designed for just such treatment, and perhaps it had. With each blow of the crop, her mammary swells' boucning was arrested by the sharp edge of the leather, cutting into her skin and flesh; in turn, though each blow was that much more agony, the lack of a prolonged bounce encouraged Alexan to hit her that much harder.

As the skin of her breasts began to turn pink, the woman who had handed Alexan the riding crop approached and whispered in his ear, her fingers trailing along her neck. Alexan nodded and laughed, allowing the crop to descend by his side.

The woman gestured, and a second woman who could have been her twin approached Lara where the men held her. With a motion, they undid the intricate golden chains they wore around their neck. Each one's hands drifted over the tomb raider's sensitive flesh as they hooked the chains into the rings through her nipples before moving away to stand so as not to hinder access to her chest, each still holding one end of her respective chain.

At a word from Alexan, they each pulled hard on the chain. Lara screamed as her breasts were pulled taut by their sensitive, erect nubs.

The crop cracked down on the swells with a room-filling crack.

Worse, they released the tension between each blow, waiting for Alexan's word before pulling again to tense her bosom to absorb the next blow.

The crowd called out in a manner that could only be a count. Lara screamed with each blow, wondering if the rings might tear through her nipples before Alexan was satisfied; wondering if such pain would be, could be, worse.

That count was around thirty when he paused, breathing hard, face red. He slowly approached her, and the women released the chains, falling away back into the crowd.

He slashed the crop across her breasts again, snarling words she couldn't understand. And again, spitting venom.

Tossing the crop aside, he grabbed her hips. The men on her arms released her as he half-pulled, half-flung her across the room.

Her thighs slammed into the refreshment table, and plates of hors d' oeuvres spilled. His hand on her back shoved her body down over the table. His other hand grabbed her skirts, throwing them up over her waist.

She was crying. Not again. Oh, not again-!

He penetrated her violently from behind. She let out a gasp as the thick cock was forced into her pussy. Her feminine channel would have suffered from such treatment, even without the days of torture and rape that had preceded it, but the sheer physical pain had been worse before. So she told herself. But the humiliation that burned her cheeks and made the tears flow told her that the hurt being done was more than just sheer pain, and every thrust attested it.

And was it worse that she couldn't understand the cat-calls and jeers that accompanied her host's frenzied pumping against her buttocks? That she could only imagine what they were saying, encouraging the lust and the desire to degrade and hurt that pounded inside her? That women as well as men were cheering on the man slamming into her body?

The high, dark stockings and the crimson gown highlighted the fair flesh of her buttocks as the man behind her slammed his hips against them. Alexan's hand moved up to dig into the breast he'd beaten. He found a spot inside of her that made her cry out and thrust against it hard, slow and deliberate withdrawal followed by murderous stabbing thrusts that shook her whole body.

“Curvă...! Curvă...! Curvă...!” He spat.

The deliberately punitive thrusts continued, even as she felt his semen lancing inside of her.

Another voice spoke up as Alexan pulled out of her, shoving her disdainfully onto the floor as he did so. Looking up with tear-blurred eyes, she saw Alexan exchanging words with the fox-faced man she had knocked unconscious earlier.

“Ah, Croft,” Defunestro's sneering words punctured through the crowd's clamour, “I believe you met Alexan's nephew?”

She struggled to gain her feet, only to be seized once more by some of the male guests. She pulled vainly at the arms that held her as she watched Alexan and his nephew exchange words.

The older man scooped up the riding crop from the floor, offering the handle to the younger, who turned his face away and snarled. For a moment there was silence, then Alexan asked a question. The nephew turned to look at Lara, lip curling, and replied with clipped words.

Alexan nodded, clapping his hands and addressing the crowd. More of the men surged forward at his words.

She felt the remnant of the dress ripped away from her body and began to hyperventilate, pulse bursting in her ears as she fought. In seconds, she was dressed only in the corset, stockings, and the heels.

Then her vision lurched as they shoved her down to the floor. Her face was crushed against the hardwood and held there as her body was contorted into a painful “C” shape, legs bent back towards her head.

She heard crooning words in that unknown tongue as the man holding her legs began to knead the head of his cock between her buttocks. She moaned into the floor, hands beating uselessly against it as his crooning gave way to a snarl of glee, his cock tearing through her anal sphincter.

Her moans gave way to howling as a second man penetrated her pussy from the front.

She began to cough as the two men used her in that painful position, dropping their weight against her pelvis, smacking against her body. Breathing in that position was hard, even without the crushing thrusts hammering against her from above. And still, someone held her head down against the floor, unable to see, unable to fight-!

The man assaulting her asshole yelled what sounded like curses as he thrust harder and harder, his cock spearing deep into her rectum. He pulled out and she felt his come drip down her corset and onto her bare upper back.

Then something cold and hard replaced the cock, and with it came cramps and burning.

The man in her pussy continued to fuck as the wine bottle was worked in and out of her asshole, its dark contents slowly pouring out as she was sodomized with it, leaking into her bowels.

When the bottle emptied, another man plunged into her back way, chortling as his cock dipped into the wine inside her, the burning fluid gradually seeping down from her rectum and further into her guts.

The man using her pussy spilled his seed down her front, and another man took his place.

He was big, and heavy, and liked to make her squeal. The friction he induced on her body brought the man sawing at her ass off that much faster.

Another bottle was thrust between her buttocks. She began to make high-pitched whimpering sounds as the wine inside her pressed against the unforgiving rigidness of her corset. The relative shortness of the neck of the bottle made the sensation of its penetrating her bottom no less hideous, and when its inserter smacked it on the base to urge the last dregs out into her body, she wailed in torment.

Another man breached her anus, and the heavy man abusing her cunt spilled his jizzum on the bottoms of her breasts. The man who took his place squeezed her thighs, hammering away at her vagina hard and fast.

She began to long for unconsciousness, but the recovery time Defunestro had allowed her had made her strong enough to endure.

The man thrusting into her pussy found an angle that slammed him against her cervix; the cramping spasms this induced after dozens of paced, deliberate and excruciating drives against the base of her uterus brought him to his orgasm, which he ejaculated onto her thigh.

And still another took his place. Hands slapped down hard on her inner thighs as the man sodomizing her wrenched his cock out from between her buttocks, and she felt more warm stickiness dribble down off the leather to coat her upper back.

And another hard, cold glass neck took its place, flooding her cramping belly with wine. Fingernails scratched the inside of her knees as the man inside her pumped away at her body, slow-slow-fast, slow-slow-fast. He took his time, not rushing to orgasm, reveling in the feel of her clenching cunt as the wine bottle slowly emptied.

The last drops fled, and another fat cock punched into her ass, and Lara moaned in agonized, degraded misery.

When they sped up in pursuit of their climaxes, there was cheering. When one managed to make her cry out, yells of approval. Each new rapist got a cry from the audience that sounded like a toast as he plunged inside of her. When the wine poured into her guts, she swore she heard singing.

Her sodomizer spilled his come on the back of her neck, and a fourth bottle plunged into her asshole. Either her corset would burst, or her guts...!

The man in her pussy came just as the last wine trickled out, and she heard the fox-faced man snap something.

Hands grabbed tightly on her legs and thighs. She felt the men who held her push the heads of their cocks against the entrances to her pussy and ass.

As one, they drove into her to the hilt.

She let out a sound that was half-scream, half-moan as they buried themselves in her flesh, crying out again as they pulled back and rammed into her again.

And again. Always in syncopation, always pushing into her as far as they could.

There was no playfulness in they way they assaulted her, hardly even a sense of desire; just an utterly brutal, mechanical double-rape that felt as though the intention was to destroy her. Their wide stances made every thrust devastating, planted with all the power of hips, thighs, and calves. They pounded into her, and she called out in attestation to the violence of every thrust, the sounds of her torment crushed, muffled into the floor.

Alexan's nephew smiled as he pulled the knife from his jacket, kneeling behind the man driving home in the tomb-raider's pussy. Seizing the corset, he severed the lacings with a single motion and jerked the leather garment away. Her jerking, rounded, bloated belly was laid bare, and he stood watching for a moment as her wine-filled stomach bounced in time with the rape.

Then he took a step back, and drove the toe of his boot into her belly.

Lara screamed loud and long into the floor. Wine sprayed from her ass, the assaulted sphincter clenching and spasming as her rapists began fucking her even harder.

A cold laugh, and a phrase that sounded like it ended with a bitter curse. The fox faced-man slammed his boot into the yielding, bloated flesh of her midriff again.

Her feet kicked uselessly and her hands flailed as she screamed. A chant was rising in the crowd. Hands on her back pressed her further into the arch, offering her trembling guts to be kicked.

He lashed out like he was trying to score a field goal, his boot impacting on her stretched torso with a thud.

Acid welled up in her throat. It felt like she would burst. She wondered if she might vomit, aspirate, and die.

Her belly absorbed another hideous kick, and the men tore at her cunt and asshole, and she began to wish for such a quick end.

Wine poured down her body to puddle around her head the floor. Faster and faster the men thrust, burning into the membrane that separated them, into her body.

Distantly she heard Defunestro clicking his tongue.

“...So many soft places.”

Thud.

The wine inside of her was bursting her guts.

Thud.

The men were going to use her until she broke.

Thud.

She remembered some distant lover resting his head on her stomach after they had made love, wondering aloud if one day he might feel their child stirring-

Thud.

Lady Croft, Countess of Abbington had lovers who wanted to fill her belly with children.

Thud.

The woman on the floor was a rape-toy, a wine-fountain, and her belly was one more soft place to plant pain.

She felt them come, nearly as synchronized in their orgasm as in their rape.

“Make it count,” she heard Defunestro yell.

Her slack stomach caved deeply with the kick, and she felt her body lock up as she started choking. The hands on her thighs and hips abruptly released her, and she toppled to the ground.

He smiled down at her as his foot pressed down on her stomach, pushing until her innards gurgled because the last fluid had been crushed from her body.

Lara stared distantly at the ceiling, a vessel broken and utterly empty.

-TO BE CONTINUED-

Last edited by Corvid; 01-16-2013 at 01:08 PM.
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Old 01-16-2013, 11:33 PM   #26
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Wow this story takes the cake for all time best rapeboard story ever! I remember feminists complaining a while back about the attempted rape scene in the new Lara Croft game and how the losers who got turned on by that, fear strong powerful women like Lara, and can only imagine sex with her being violent and humiliating..... if only they could see this story!

I've always found action-girl stories more fun than boring girl next door. And whos more actiony than Lara? I love that you keep her fiery spirit, even after the hell shes been through. With the dick biting or naked gymnastics. And you really captured the psychological breakdown of an action heroine. Its so realistic. The great Lady Croft, a totally broken rape toy. I love it. And the pictures just make it more perfect!
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Old 01-20-2013, 11:35 PM   #27
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well, as promised another pic to another chapter! and you're going awesome on this. keep it up!
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Old 01-22-2013, 03:40 PM   #28
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A superb story! And darkstalker's drawings really adds to the experience. Great job!
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Old 01-26-2013, 12:57 AM   #29
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Default Part X(a)- concluded!

Day Ten, 02:53

“She stinks of wine,” Brauer complained.

“Given our host's sentiments towards Ms. Croft, it wouldn't have been well received to keep her around long enough to clean her up.” Defunestro snapped. “Now scoot the fuck over and get her inside.”

Lara couldn't stop shaking. She tensed when they pulled on her arms, not in any active attempt to resist their motions but only in a reflexive need to prepare to ward off the next blow. She clutched her knees to her chest as they shoved her onto the seat in the back of the armored car, trembling and rocking as the men filed into place around her.

When they pulled the hood back over her head, it was almost a relief.


03:35

“...And he keeps doing it. Boom, boom, boom, just kicking her in the gut like he wanted to make her pop.”

“Wow. I guess he really 'kicked the shit out of her', huh?”

“And Lady Croft's shit smells like claret. Who knew?”

“Wish I could have seen that.”

“Hell, wish I could have fucked that. Bet she was doing all kinds of interesting stuff inside.”

“Wait until we get her home.”

Fingers cupped her breast. “We'll see.”

Inside the hood, Lara opened her mouth as if to scream, but no sound emerged from her throat.


08:19

The road was full of ruts and potholes, jolting and jittering the car's suspension. And bouncing the hooded prisoner's anatomy in time. At some point, the distraction got to be too much for one of the men.

Hands settled on her hips, lifting and turning her. Her legs were straddled around someone's lap. She felt his erect cock press between her thighs and penetrate her, the hands pulling her down until her body was flush with his.

As the rattling vibrated her body, she could feel the penis inside her bucking and swelling. For a while, that was enough for the man inside her.

The other men who remained awake kept talking as if nothing out of the ordinary was occurring.

They hit another pothole. As she bounced up, the hands on her hips clenched tight and brought her down hard. She cried out softly in pain; a hand moved up her back to her neck and shoved her head down on his shoulder.

As the road continued to jostle her against him, the hand on her neck moved down to play with her chest. She mewled and cried as fingers pressed into her sore breasts, flicked at her pierced nipples, tugged at the rings. The crop had left her bosom fragile to the slightest touch- and the man between her thighs was clearly enjoying the sounds she made he began to knead the swollen flesh.

They hit another pothole, and another, each bounce resulting in another harsh motion jamming her down on him, pushing the cock deep inside her.

Fingernails bit into her buttocks as the hands settled on her hips, urging her into a rolling motion. As the tires lunged into another series of ruts, the hands began to slap at her buttocks with each inward motion, the man's hips rocking upward as the blows made her flinch.

His breathing grew harsh as he plunged into her faster and faster. As her body lifted, his hands moved up and squeezed her breasts violently, holding her in place for several long seconds before finally jerking her down hard, fingers clenched in the aching swells, as he ejaculated deep into her body.

She felt his breathing grow slow and steady; all at once he shoved her off of him to sprawl back onto the seat beside him.

She never knew who had taken her on the trip back. But they hadn't yet reached the bunker, and she began to quietly weep as she realized she had probably received the most gentle treatment at the hands of her anonymous rapist that she was likely to get.


Day Eleven, 03:26

She barely remembered them bringing her in- when the car stopped, how far they brought her, how many sets of stairs she might have been dragged up or down. All she remembered was that when the door had been slammed behind her and she had finally been able to take off the hood, it was back in the concrete box that had been her reprieve two days and a lifetime ago. It had taken no effort to fall onto the mattress and sink, hoping never to wake up....

She was woken out of that fitful sleep when they jerked the mattress out from underneath her. Suddenly her tender breasts fell against the rigid grid that laced across the bottom of her cell bed's iron frame. Groggy and not yet fully within her own reality, she tried to get her hands underneath her to push away from the cold metal, feeling the elastic of her garters stretch as she tensed her legs.

“Hold her arms and legs,” she heard Defunestro snap. Her eyes opened and her pulse began to gallop. Her arms were pulled out from under her, and her body crashed back down against the metal.

Her head thrashed as she tried to look around. She saw Oslo and Zuyev on her arms, thought she heard Rojas- couldn't see who held her ankles-

Something rough slithered across her back as Defunestro hummed thoughtfully.

“We tried the 'rest and recovery' route, Croft, but apparently that didn't take. It would appear that my men have been far more patient with you than was warranted. So enjoy your final lessons in subjugation, Lara; you barely need to be able to walk for what I need.”

The rough, serpentine thing moved down her back.

“Much as I admire D'Amberline's imagination with the fan belt, rubber lacks a certain friction, and there's something to be said for a real whip. Alexan gave me this one as a gift, though he made me promise it would be used on you. That's braided crocodile leather you're feeling.”

The line moved down her back, skirting over the swell of her buttocks before suddenly lifting.

CRACK!

Her head lifted from the bed as she cried out at the sudden pain.

“...And when you don't care so much about whether you break skin...”

CRACK!

“...crocodile leather has its charms.”

CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!

The whip cut into her backside, again and again. Her back arched as she screamed, the hands on her arms and legs preventing any kind of defense as her back arched in agony. Binci smiled as he looked at her out-thrust chest, nodding to himself as he backed out of the room.

“You know Lara, the paparazzi like to go on about your bustline, but I think they're missing the boat on this ass.”

CRACK!

“This tight-”

CRACK!

“-pert-”

CRACK!

“-sweetly curved-”

CRACK!

-ass!

CRACK!

“Wouldn't you say so, gentlemen?”

There was a round of appreciative chuckles.

“Well, don't worry. This location will be opening for business shortly.”

CRACK!

“Just a few moments to prepare the facilities for your arrival.”

CRACK!

Binici came back through the door holding a length of rebar. “Can you wait a moment, boss?”

Defunestro raised an eyebrow as he ran the braided leather length through his fist. “What do you have in mind?”

In response, Binici shoved down on the panting woman's back, shifting her upper body back and forth until he found a position in which her nipples slipped through the grid on the underside of the bed. With a cold smile, he threaded the steel bar through the rings in her piercings beneath the frame.

“Now,” he explained, “if her upper body cranes up-”

He demonstrated by grabbing her hair and jerking her upper body upward. The steel rod caught in the frame under the bed, arresting the rings' movement- and as he continued to wrench her body upward, her nipples stretched away from her chest until she started to scream.

“Hmm. That raises some intriguing possibilities. I admire your initiative. Gentlemen, when I'm done here, please yield the floor to Binici, as it were.”

There was some grumbling. Lara whimpered as Binici released her hair, allowing her upper body to fall heavily back against the cold metal.

Her “respite”, if such it could be called, was short-lived.

CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!

Her haunches ground against the bedframe as she cried, her helpless motions serving only to inflame the lust of the men who watched her hips twist.

CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!

Defunestro paused for a moment when one of the slashes across her shapely posterior welled into a thin red line that spilled down her buttock and into the slope down her thigh.

CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!

And then struck until her other buttock was similarly marked. Only then did he calmly coil the whip and return it to his belt.

“After Binici, you may settle matters amongst yourselves, but here are your “marching orders”: Rape the bitch in the ass. No lube; come on her back- or in her hair, or in her face, I don't care, just not inside her. I doubt it needs saying, but use her hard. No breaks. If one of you wants to do her twice, he can get back in line.”

“I'll be outside. Get me when you're done. Treat her like a lady, gentlemen.”

Binci opened his pants and climbed on top of the crying woman as the others held tightly to her limbs. After a moment's adjustment, he lifted his hips, then slammed down against her body.

“AIGHHH!”

Defunestro closed the door behind him, smiling as he leaned back against the wall.

“ANH-huh-hng- UNGH-uh-huh- AHH-huh-huh- AII...!”

The rhythmic shriek of the bedframe, combined with the pain-wracked grunts from his enemy as Binici crushed her between his weight and the metal, was musical.

There was a change in the sound as he moved down to pump her less from on top and more from behind, a new tenor from the bedframe and a louder slapping as his hips slammed against her buttocks. The new position allowed him greater speed.

“HUH-huh-huh-HUH!-huh-ah!-ah!-HUH!-no-HUH!-please-HUH! Uh-huh-HUH...”

And allowed him to punctuate his thrusts with ringing slaps of his hand on her flesh.

That one was her rump. So was that. That was more like her hip- the lighter sound of a thinner sheathe of flesh over bone.

And that, given the squeal, was probably her breast. Defunestro laughed softly.

After long minutes of the staccato clap of flesh on flesh, the tenor of the creaking bedframe shifted again as he moved back above her to focus on the deep, punishing, violent thrusts into her guts. He slowed down to delay his orgasm and prolong the distress of the woman he was sodomizing.

“AIHHH!”

Sobbing, whimpering, awaiting the next-

“AIHHH!”

-thrust, not long in coming, just long enough to-

“AGHHH!”

-make hurtful the anticipation, to torture her as his cock's exit brought a cruel suction-

“AGGGH!”

-stretching her bowels as he tore into her.

“AHH!- No! No...!”

And then, Zuyev- “Do it, man! Do it!”

The almost humorously high “ting” of the rebar hitting the bedframe as he pulled back on her hair, stretching her nipples while he pounded into her-

“AHH-HA! NO! NO! AHH! AHH! AHHHHHH...!”

ting “FUCK-” ting “-YOU-” ting “BITCHHHH--!”

The buckling of metal settling as she slumped back down. Crying, as he ejaculated onto her shivering body.

The bed squeaked as he climbed off of her, and then again as the next man climbed on.

“Oh... Oh, please, please, no, no- NOO...! AHHHHH!-”


04:11

“No! N-n-no more! Please, not there, it hurts, it hurts so much-!”

“Not there?” Oslo sneered. “Where should I fuck you?”

“...I-i-in...”

“Say it.”

“...In my c-c-cunt...?”

“Say it.”

“F-fuck my cunt...”

“SAY IT!”

“FUCK... MY... CUNT... PLEASE...!”

The bedframe squeaked.

“No.”

“P-please...! AHHHH! Uh-huh-huh...!”

The metal continued to squeal as Oslo hammered away at the woman's rump.

Two men to go.

Assuming no one wanted seconds.


04:58

“Ohhhh!-”

“Oh, I wish you could see this, man- what her face is doing when you hit that- fucking beautiful- do it again, just like that-”

“Ohh!- Ohhh! P-please, please, please... OHHHH!”

“She can't take it! She can't take it! Oh, what you're doing to her, I fucking love it, pound the whore's ass- pound it-!”

Rojas's voice was thick with exertion. “Slap her face while I butt-fuck her- hit her-!”

“OHH!- OHH!-”

“Lady Croft.”

slap

Lady Croft.” slap.Lady Lara fucking CROFT!

SLAP.


05:17

They filed out of the room with rowdy good cheer. Defunestro pulled open the door as they passed him in the hallway.

She was limp on the bed. The blood the whip had drawn had become a russet smear from her thighs to her lower back. The white scum of semen coated her thighs, buttocks, and back.

He pulled the steel rod out from the rings and flipped her over. She whimpered softly as he fell onto her back, as her beaten and used haunches smacked against the metal frame. The piercings around her nipples were bleeding.

He tied her wrists above her head to the frame, and she didn't resist, her eyes staring into the distance, her lips quivering.


06:03

DeVries grinned as he approached the door.

“She's just been fed,” Defunestro commented idly, looking down at his fingernails.

The big South African pulled something from his pocket. A quick glance confirmed they were “sap gloves”- gloves with powdered metal in pouches along the outsides of the fingers to protect the knuckles and increase the kinetic force of punches. His grin grew broader as he pulled them onto his hands.

“Keep it below the neck, and try not to break anything. Last thing we need is a punctured lung right now.”

Defunestro leaned back against the wall as DeVries entered her cell.

There was a murmur. He couldn't quite make out what was said.

“Nghh... Oh!... Ow...!”

“That's your cervix, Croft?”

“Ow!- Yes...! Oh!”

“Make you cramp up when my cock hits that?”

“Yes-! Ah! Ow! Ow!... Ngh! Ah!... NGHhhh!”

“Yeah, I heard what they did with all that wine... Your tummy still sore, bitch?”

Her sobbing was broken by the gasps as he bored against her womb. Defunestro could almost hear her desperate nodding.

“Please... Please, don't...!”

“Well, guess what. It's going to stay that way.”

Defunestro shifted against the wall as the sound of DeVries pummeling the bound woman's torso echoed out into the corridor. The smacks and thuds continued to ring out throughout the rape, the grunts and cries and moans as she took what he had to give.

… And took it, and took it. DeVries's sexual and upper-body endurance both proved to be exceptional.


07:09

He was grinning still when he left the room.

“She is still breathing, yes?” Defunestro inquired dryly.

“Hmm. Not as easily, but yes. Someone should clean her up and feed her again, though. It looks like her last meal didn't take.”

Defunestro sighed loudly, musing on whether anyone was on his shit-list at the moment.


07:20

Kalivas came in the room with warm water and a washcloth.

Her fair skin was a mass of pink and purple blotches, near-solid from the line of her rib cage to the top of her pelvis, intermittent on her thighs, ribs, breasts, arms, and shoulders. Semi-solids clung to her shoulder, cheek, and hair. Her breathing hitched with every inhale as she stared at the ceiling.

Slowly and gently, Kalivas cleaned the vomit and spit from her body. Then he untied her, brought her arms down to rest against her body, set her head in his lap, and began stroking her hair.

After a few minutes of this treatment, Lara started to tremble. A high, keening moan passed through her lips.

“...Just... do whatever you're going to do to me and have done with it.” She whispered. She tried to sound strong, but her voice cracked at the end.

Kalivas laughed, continuing to stroke her hair. “It's far worse than that, Lara. I'm not going to do anything to you just yet.”

She stayed quiet, waiting for the hammer to fall. Kalivas breathed in slowly through his nose.

“Can you smell that, Lara? I just set some more coffee to brew. It's waiting on a table upstairs next to a big bowl of fresh fruit and some pastries from the bakery down the road. They're still warm.”

She stayed quiet.

“You're a murderous bitch, Lady Croft. A ball-busting- hell, ball-biting-, treasure-stealing, too-good-for-everyone snotty high-born cunt. But no matter what anyone may say while they're inside of you, you're not a whore.”

Silence.

“Not technically. A whore is someone who exchanges sex for something of value.”

Her breathing shook in her battered torso.

“I think you see where this is going. You're going to have sex with me. You're going to try to make it pleasant. I think a little tongue might be in order. And when I'm satisfied, I'm going to bring you breakfast.”

His hand brushed down her scalp, slowly, tenderly.

“Or, I could leave. The choice is entirely yours.”

Her eyes closed. The corners of her mouth turned down, her chin trembling softly.

“I've been in your asshole and your pussy and between your tits. I've taken you by violence and under duress. I want to have you in a way none of the others will.”

She fought to steady her breathing.

“But I'm not doing anything until you make that choice.”

Her breath caught for a moment.

She thought about just staying silent and still, seeing how long he would keep his word not to act until she did.

Like a small child sulking in silence, pushing her limits, awaiting punishment.

She sat up, slowly and painfully. Leaned over.

Kissed him.

He carried the mattress back over onto the bed.



He didn't slap her, spank her, or punch her. He didn't try to hurt her, or even push particularly hard in pursuit of orgasm. He touched her body, and sometimes she winced, but he never moved repeatedly over the same area seeking such a reaction.

He was slow, and patient, and almost considerate.

If this was a romance novel, she thought, I would have climaxed.

If this was a romance novel, he would bravely rescue me from my imprisonment.

It wasn't a romance novel.

He didn't bring violence to bear against her body, but she felt something tear inside when he came.



He dressed and left the room.

Five minutes later, he returned with a heavily laden plate of food and a mug of coffee.

She felt a surge of gratitude. “I thought... maybe you would just leave me.”

He leaned down and kissed her, pulling back to look into her eyes.

“Of course not, Lara. If you didn't get paid, you wouldn't have made yourself a whore.”

He turned and departed, and the door clicked shut behind him..

She lifted the plate, for a moment intending to hurl it against the wall.

Then she set it down on her lap and started eating, tears streaming down her cheeks.


08:40

Favreau called it a “costume party.”

In addition to the gown and corset she had worn to the castle, the bunker had a surprising variety of women's clothing. Apparently a successful piracy operation undertaken against a cruise ship had left them with a great deal of excess after the luggage had been sorted through for valuables, from costume pieces intended for the cruise's stage performers to lingerie from couples whose honeymoons had come to an abrupt halt.

“Say eet.”

The whip cracked against the ground behind her.

She cleared her throat. “Now I will be doing ze dusting, Monsieur.”

Lara had known a few genuine French maids; none had worn a skirt that ended at mid thigh, fingerless lace gloves, and a thong while performing her job.

The audience hooted and whistled as she bent, suppressing a groan at the pain lancing through her torso, to dust at the legs of a chair, giving them a long look at her exposed derriθre as her legs stretched out in her hose and high heels.

“Give 'zem a little shake of 'zose heeps, Croft,” Favreau growled, the on-loan whip twisting between his hands.

She ground her hips as she dusted with the over-sized feather duster. More shouts and whistles.

Favreau frowned. “Hmm. No take-airs? Surprising. Try ze next.” He pulled her behind the screen set up at one end of the stage to “assist” the donning of the next outfit.

White button-down shirt, with a knot in the hem tied up too high. Short plaid skirt that clung too low on her hips. White, knee-high socks. Black patent leather shoes.

Pigtails.

He pushed her out in front of the men, and there was a low “ooh.”

Favreau smirked. “Go on...?”

She slowly released the breath she hadn't realized she was holding. Tam, off to the side, grinned as he pointed at the cue card on the easel.

Lara raised her husky voice half an octave. “I didn't mean to make you wait. Am I in trouble...?”

At Favreau's direction, she put her hands behind her hips, tucked her head down, and twisted back and forth on her toes.

Jennings stood from his chair, holding up his ticket as the men around him let out yells and groans and cheers. Favreau waved towards the woman as he accepted the slip of paper.

The mercenary smiled as he paced a slow circle around Lara.

“Yeah, you're in trouble. You've been a very bad girl, and you need to be punished.”

Grabbing her by the collar of her shirt, he sat down on the chair, pulling her over his knee. The men whistled as he yanked up the back of her skirt and started to spank her, his hand ringing out loudly on her flesh.

The slaps on her buttocks hurt. But she knew Favreau could do worse with the whip.

And that he would if she didn't play her part.

“Oh! Ow! Oh! Oh, mister- Ow! Ow! Oh, please! Stop! Stop! I'm sorry!”

He pulled his erection from his pants, rubbing it back and forth against the hot, bare stomach pushed against his lap as he resumed spanking her.

“Ow! Ow! Ah! Please! I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I'll do anything, please-”

The slaps stopped. “Anything?”

She whimpered softly. It has come to this, she thought. This is how far I've fallen.

“Anything, mister...”

He made her straddle him in the chair. She wondered if he was the one who had taken advantage of her in the back of the car.

“Oh! Oh! Oh god! Oh, mister, it's too big...! It's too big...!”



Schoolgirls got spanked. Cheerleaders got gang-banged. Policewomen got handcuffed and sodomized.

They wanted to see the harem girl dance. She felt a moment of thankfulness that DeVries wasn't there, watching her beaten midriff undulate. It seemed certain that another round of punches to her abdomen in her current state would bring on internal hemorrhaging.

Superheroines were expected to protest and fight when they were being raped, though fortunately not hard enough to be beaten in response.

Businesswoman. Schoolteacher. Stewardess.

Archaeologist? Old news. They knew all about what you did with one of those.

Princess. Nun.

Dominatrix. That was a bad one.

“SAY YOU NEED THE COCK!” Collins screamed into her ear as he drove into her ass, craning her arm up behind her back.

“I need the cock!”

“SAY IT!”

“I need it! I need the cock...!”

Cowgirl. Nurse. Secretary. Bride.

Favreau collected their tickets. They tore off the costumes he had made her wear, tore at her body as she tried desperately to be what they wanted her to be, to avoid or at least minimize the pain they would inflict upon her as they used her.

To please them.

Because that was the only kind of success available to her in her captivity.

To be a successful...

...Whore.

“Whore” won Gamble's ticket.

However much you slapped a whore around, she still needed your money.


18:09

She walked slowly back to the cell, naked, Tam and Favreau behind her, talking about their favorite moments.

Cum dripped from her body as she staggered down the hall. Every lurching step was a dare, inviting her aching orifices and overstretched limbs and beaten body to announce her woes.

Defunestro followed her into the cell. At his request, Tam came with him. Lara staggered and collapsed onto the mattress.

“I have it on good authority that you're up for barter, now, Croft.” Defunestro purred.

Lara didn't say anything.

“What would you give for eight hours' sleep? Hmm?”

Her eyes moved up; the rest of her remained still on the bed.

Defunestro snapped his fingers. “Sit on the floor with your back against the bed.”

Her arms trembled as she pushed off of the mattress, sliding herself off of the bed.

The cement was hard. The bedframe was cold against her back. Nails went through her hindquarters when she sat.

“I'm going to come in your throat.”

She looked at him, eyes dull, and said nothing.

“Not your mouth, mind you. Your throat. I'm going to ram my cock into your face and tear your gullet up. I'm going to use your head as a cock-sheathe. And you're going to keep your hands in your lap while you let me do just that.”

He pulled something out of his breast pocket. A small metal thing hung from the end of a chain.

“A little contribution to BDSM from our Japanese friends. The nose-hook. If you even think about doing unto me as you did unto Ramos, Tam is going to pull on this thing so hard you're going to have to dig metal from your sinuses.”

She could have told him it wasn't necessary. But she didn't.

Tam sat on the mattress as he handed him the end of the chain, sliding the hooks into her nose. Tam gave the chain a couple of experimental tugs. Lara let out a soft cry of pain as the hooks yanked at her nostrils. Defunestro unzipped his pants.

“Yes, that should do nicely. Now. You understand what I'm going to do to you, Croft?”

She said nothing. He slapped her across the face.

“I require an answer. A simple 'yes' or 'no' will do, you fuck-blitzed cow.”

“Yes.” she whispered.

“Open your fucking mouth.”

He fisted his cock to a full erection as her lips parted, still streaked with the deep red from her make-up session.

His hands clenched on the back of her head as he penetrated her mouth.

“Khh-”

“Keep those hands down.”

In and out, his cock slid over her tongue, back and forth over the surface as he explored the wet purse of her mouth with his erection.

He pulled back slightly, waiting several seconds to make sure she knew what was coming.

Then he punched his cock into the back of her throat.

“GHHKKK-!”

“Keep those fucking hands down, bitch!”

His pubic hair lashed at her hook-opened nostrils. She was terrified what the hooks might do if she sneezed. His scrotum struck her chin as his hips pumped against her face.

“GLAKK- KIK- GUKK- KHH...”

Saliva and phlegm trickled from the corners of her mouth as he fucked her throat. Her aching stomach lurched in revolt with every thrust as she gagged.

“GHKRITT- KHHT- HHHEEE!- GLKH- GLOK- GUK-!”

“That's it. That's it. Suffer, you bitch. Let the cock hurt you. You know you fucking deserve it.”

The hands on her hair jerked her head back, and the head of his cock started moving further down her throat, utterly obstructing her breathing. One hand left her head to close on her breast, clenching viciously on the swollen softness with each stab into her larynx as she struggled to draw breath.

“KHHHHHHH... EEEHHH! KHHHH.... EEEH! KHHHHHHH...”

He held her tight against him, looking down into her eyes as her face turned pink.

“Lady Lara Croft. My cock is in your throat. I could suffocate you right now. You could die with a man's cock buried inside your neck.”

Her hands trembled in her lap. Her throat spasmed around the hard obstruction. Tears spilled down her cheeks as her face flushed darker and darker.

“...But then you'd stop feeling pain.”

Pulling back, he began to pound his cock into her gullet, deep and hard.

“GLKHHHHH! KHAHHH! CUHuHHHH! CUHuHHH!...”

“The membranes- in your throat- really aren't meant- for this- I can feel- GRHHH-! Feel- Your throat- HAHH!- Seizing- burning- tearing...!”

His thumbnail cut into her nipple, crushing the pierced nub between it and his finger.

“Swallow it-! GHAH! Swallow it, whore! Swallow it all-!”

The cock in her throat contracted, again and again. She felt the greasy fluid spill down her throat, imagined she could feel it land in her stomach like a handful of buckshot.

When he pulled out of her mouth, she immediately started coughing. She spat, and saw flecks of blood in her saliva. Her breathing came in hoarse, high-pitched gasps.

Defunestro smiled savagely. “That's right... That's right.”

He jerked the hooks down from her nose and collected the chain from Tam, turning to open the door.

“Sleep well, Croft,” he sneered. “You earned it.”

Still gasping as the door shut behind them, Lara crawled over to the chamber pot and made gurgling sounds, hawking and spitting over and over, desperately trying to clear the clinging awfulness from her pain-wracked throat. Strands of yellow and white and pink dripped from her mouth as she spat, and spat, and spat, clawing at her lips, trying to be free of it.

Minutes later, it was as good as it was going to get. Her throat still felt like she had gargled acid, but she could breathe without coughing, though her deeper inhalations still wheezed.

She took a deep breath, and then another.

And found herself on her hands and knees, pounding on the floor with her fists, screaming and sobbing.

It was doing her no good at all, and a tiny voice in the back of her mind acknowledged this. Snot was flooding up her nose and throat, threatening to choke off the breathing she had barely cleared. Her breasts and ribs and stomach and throat hurt with every sob, and the aching inside her rectum and vagina echoed every damning thrust that had been inflicted upon them in the last twenty-four hours.

But she just... couldn't... stop. Not until exhaustion caught her unawares.

So it was that they found her curled up in the fetal position on the concrete the next morning, with the bed not even an arm's length away.


Day Twelve, 05:00

Brauer and Kaar looked down at the huddled figure lying nude on the floor.

Kaar kicked her in the lower back.

She jolted awake, thrashing, panting, hands flailing out at her side to ward away something that wasn't there. Kaar snickered as her jerking body slowly settled down, her eyes darting around the room, breathing sharp and desperate.

“Wake up, princess.” He sneered.



“They don't say 'coffee, tea, or milk' anymore.”

“They don't let me smack their tits around like that either. What's your point?”

“Heh. Now that would be an airline I'd like to fly.”

“What, you're not paying enough for a plane ticket now?”

They watched her scrub her body in the shower room. They had threatened to do it for her if she didn't do a good job. She worked soap into cuts and bruises, moaning quietly as they watched.

“You can keep your stewardesses. I'm a man of earthier tastes. Give me a Bavarian barmaid with big boobs and I'm a happy man.”

“It's always about the beer with you, isn't it, Brauer?”

“Naturally! It's in the name. My great-grandfather was a brewmeister, my grandfather was a brewer, my father was a brewer...”

“...And so naturally, his son became a gun-runner.”

“But a beer-drinker.”

“Feh.”

“Hey, someone has to pay for all that beer.”

He hummed softly, licking his lips.

“And speaking of suds, someone had better speed it up if they don't want to become the refreshment of the day...”



Favreau, sitting in a chair along the wall, was unsuccessfully restraining a yawn as they brought her into the wardrobe room. Seated next to him, Defunestro was sipping coffee.

“Thank you for joining us, Lara. Sorry I couldn't be at the costume party, but I have a role I'd like you to play for me none the less.”

“Lara Croft.”



Her breath caught when they hooked the bra behind her back. It wasn't any kind of fetish-ware- in fact, it was pretty much the standard white cotton-poly bra one could buy at any of a thousand department stores in a hundred countries- but her swollen bosom complained at the pressure all the same.

The khaki turtleneck covered most of the marks; the olive slacks hid the rest. Another round in the make-up chair disguised the hollowness and puffiness from days of sleep deprivation, starvation, slapping and crying, though Favreau struggled to attain a natural look versus the glamour he had worked towards the night of the ball.

Her hair was brushed out again, and redone in the braid she had worn when she had first been brought to the bunker. A pair of stylish leather flats were slipped on her feet, and a pair of fashionable sunglasses helped further disguise the hollowness of her eyes and the diminishing of the light that had shone there.

“Stand up.”

She did.

“Turn around.”

She turned in a half circle, raised her arms, turned back the other way.

Brauer snickered. “Say 'I'm practically perfect in every way.'”

Her voice was flat. “I'm practically-”

Thank you, Brauer...” Defunestro interrupted. “That will serve.” He smiled, walking towards Lara as she stood in the middle of the room. “She will serve. If she knows what's good for her.”



All passengers were visible from the outside of the limousine, however faintly through the smoked glass. And they were traveling on highly public routes. So for the first time, she traveled without any kind of hood or blindfold.

The sight of the sun staggered her. Something else she hadn't sampled in nearly two weeks.

It was not an overly long drive to Geneva; they had been just within the borders of Switzerland all that time. She would have been surprised, had her bleak emotional state and the early hour not left her so deadened.

D'Amberline, Park, Zuyev and Oslo flanked her as they emerged from the car onto the street in front of the glass-and-steel office building. They were posing as her security detail, dressed in matching black fatigues, with batons and sidearms, and looked not unlike the guards who had patrolled the castle.

Perhaps it was intentional. Perhaps a point was being made about the inescapability of her situation.

She looked around at the people passing on the street as they crossed the sidewalk towards the double-door in front. These were not the malevolent guests of that ballroom, quietly waiting in anticipation of a spectacle of rape and torture. She spoke German and French; someone would understand her if she were to cry out.

But she didn't.

Defunestro and his men surrendered their weapons at a security checkpoint just inside the lobby. Beyond that, an elderly man in an impeccable suit glared at their approach from behind an imposing, raised semi-circular desk.

Defunestro spoke up in clipped, official-sounding tones. “Countess Lara Croft, here to collect the contents of box Two-Twenty-Eight-Nine-Seven-Six-Five.”

“Hmm.” The man tapped a screen hidden behind the desk. “You're half an hour early, Lady Croft.” He extended a clip board and a pen across the desk.

Her mouth opened, and closed again. She licked her dry, swollen lips, and opened her mouth again. “Change in schedule. I apologize for any inconvenience.” She scratched a signature onto the clipboard.

The man's expression softened. Serving the whims of people wealthy enough to afford his employer's services was, after all, part of his job. “Quite all right. If you will come this way, please?”

From the lobby they took a brief elevator ride, walked down a short corridor, and entered a windowless room of steel and concrete. The secondary security checkpoint was overseen by a dozen uniformed guards, armed with sub-machine guns within easy reach on shoulder straps.

Her heart pounded, and her breathing quickened. Rescue was a word away.

...And Defunestro turned, and looked at her. Her guts turned to ice.

He could read her mind. He was five steps ahead of her. Perhaps she knew it wasn't true, but the cornered animal in her breast felt otherwise.

Behind a long table, a senior guard pushed an electronic pad across to her.

“Place your right hand here for fingerprint recognition, please, ma'am.”

She did. A line ran across the screen; moments later, the glass flashed green.

Plugging a boxy device with a goggle-like pair of lenses on one side into the pad, he raised the machine, then paused.

“If you would remove your spectacles for retinal scan, ma'am?”

She closed and folded the sunglasses. The guard started to bring the device towards her face, but halted in mid-motion. His eyes widened.

There was only so much a quick coat of makeup could cover, and the senior guard wasn't employed by one of the foremost security companies in Switzerland for having poor instincts, or failing to heed them.

Please, she thought. See me.

“Is something the matter?” She snapped.

His eyes moved over the men who flanked her.

Yes, yes, look! It's all right in front of you!

“Excuse me, but my time is valuable.” Her clipped aristocratic voice came to Defunestro's service. “If you need me to return another time-”

In the end, the quiet fear lying beneath all servility betrayed her and the guard alike.

“No, no, of course not. I just- never mind. I'm sorry, ma'am. Please look here.”

She stared into the lenses for a few seconds. Light flickered across her bloodshot eyes, and the screen of the pad flashed green again.



The room they brought them to was small but comfortable, with deep leather office chairs surrounding a mahogany desk. A younger man in a charcoal suit hovered about them as they were seated.

“Can I bring you anything? Perrier, coffee, cognac?”

Please...

“No, thank you.”

“Very good. It will just be a moment.”

He returned minutes later with the safety deposit box. Turning a key that hung around his neck on a chain in the lock, he placed the box before her on the desk.

She opened the long steel rectangle. Inside lay a palm-sized circle of soft white stone with a spiraling design on it, pierced irregularly with seven square holes.

“Does everything appear to be in order, Lady Croft?”

“It does.”

“Very good. Please ring the buzzer when you're ready to depart; I'll have an escort lead you out.”

He half-bowed at the waist and left the room.

Defunestro snatched the relic out of her hands, tucking it into a satchel at his hip.

That?” She whispered. “That was what this was all about...?”

“Oh, don't be daft, Lara,” he snapped. “It's never that simple.”

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Old 01-26-2013, 01:20 AM   #30
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Default Part X(b)- Concluded!

(AUTHOR'S NOTE:Part X comes in two sub-parts only because I ran into the upper limit on the number of words allowed in a single Rape Board post. Apparently, if brevity is the soul of wit- I'm fucked.)

The flight crew fed her on the chartered jet to Bolivia, largely because she seemed to have temporarily fallen beneath Defunestro's notice. The cornered animal in her kept glancing around as she tore bites from the roasted chicken breast, expecting anything bringing comfort or sustenance to be snatched away or made conditional at any moment.

Perhaps some tiny part of her had imagined they might release her once the Sigil of Seven was in their possession. But it had never risen high enough in her mind to aspire to the level of “hope”.



A brief interlude at the airport involving some paperwork and a transfer of cash established the group as a “biological research team". From there, a helicopter carried them into the rainforest of the lower Amazon.

And never was such a well-armed biological research team seen, Lara thought.

As the helicopter faded in the distance with a promise from the pilot to return for them in twelve hours, Park pulled a leather collar out of his pack, attached with a padlock to a long chain.

“Didn't think we'd forgotten about you, did you, Croft?” He growled.

From the clearing where they landed, machetes were brought to bear on the local flora (and in one case involving an unusually aggressive snake, fauna.) Defunestro looked down at a GPS device and scowled periodically before directing his team in a slightly revised direction.

The sunset was painting the sky scarlet when they came upon the structure, all but buried within the foliage.

The faded gray stones pierced the ground beneath them at angles that seemed all wrong, creating solid walls that looked as though they shouldn't possibly have endured the elements long enough to earn their apparent antiquity. The group fanned out to continue to attack the vegetation as they cleared a perimeter around the ancient monument, while Defunestro looked back and forth between the sky, the wall before him, and the stone circle he now held in his hand.

“So,” he murmured, not looking at her, “How far did your own inquiries into the Sandura legends take you, Croft?”

It was the first words he had spoken to her in nearly a day; she was caught somewhat off-guard, and struggled to piece words together.

“Ah... The 'great ones'...”

“Yes...”

“...Self-styled, it's believed. While many of the other great indigenous cultures of South America were renowned for their architecture and engineering, the Sandura disdained building pyramids or stadiums or other such sky-reaching structures. Instead, they were miners and stone-cutters, and used their innovations to sink deeper into the Earth.”

Defunestro snorted. “You sound like a fucking textbook. Not that most textbooks even mention Sandura. Ah...!”

At his whistle, the spread-out men converged. Shorn of the hanging foliage that clung to it, a segment of the wall was revealed to be inlaid with a high, intricately carved panel displaying a spiraling motif not dissimilar from the Sigil. The panel did not appear especially remarkable, at first; similar decorations were evenly spaced on each of the tomb-like structure's walls.

But hidden within the design of this panel were breaks in the lines- breaks where seven raised squares could be seen. Defunestro raised the relic, lined the holes in its surface up with the squares, and pushed it in.

A grinding sound echoed through the forest, and the panel collapsed inward, creating a rectangular portal into the structure.

Flashlights and lanterns emerged from the men's packs. Defunestro yielded the entry to allow Binici, Rojas, and Gamble, and Park to pass through, accepting the chain to Lara's collar from the last before following them within.

“Your account makes one major mistake, though- unsurprising, given that most of the published research that was done on these people came to the same mistaken conclusion. Although the word 'Sandura' features frequently in the fragmented written record these people left behind, the term 'great ones' was never a name they applied to themselves.”

The claustrophobic corridor the team passed through abruptly descended into a steep stone stair at the same time the walls on either side abruptly ended, dropping off into a seemingly infinite darkness on either side of that stair. There was nervous muttering among the men; Lara thought she heard a distant grinding sound echoing in the dark.

Defunestro continued lecturing.

“As you said, Croft, the people associated with the word were miners. Their ability to drive into the earth was unsurpassed, and yielded to them a nearly unfathomable wealth of gold, silver, and gemstones. That wealth would lead to their destruction, as envious, less advanced but more numerous peoples declared war upon them, driving their population to extinction, carting off their treasures, and burying structures like this one.”

After at least fifty meters of drop, the stair led down to a narrow walkway. Lara looked around, trying to understand how the thing was supported within the endless darkness, without success. The grinding sound was growing louder, as was the nervous behavior displayed by the men.

“Specifically, they buried six other structures like this one, structures to which the 'Sigil of Seven' and pieces like it were the keys. Those keys were kept by men known as the Akaton. Some of the research defines the word as 'high priests'. Did yours?”

“Yes- I-I mean, no. Yes, some of it said that, but I found it uncompelling... it seemed a more accurate reading might be 'guardians'...”

“Or 'appeasers'.”

“Yes.”

The walkway made an abrupt ninety-degree turn, and another. There had to be some sort of walls somewhere in the darkness, visible or not, for when they turned the second corner a pale green light was visible ahead and above them.

“These people delved deeper into the Earth even than most oil drills or geothermic bores reach in the modern day. In the process, they uncovered great wealth, yes, but they also uncovered things far less pleasant.”

“...The 'great ones'?”

“Ah. Sharp girl.”

As the light grew clearer, they saw it spilled down at the top of another, shorter flight of stairs that led up to a dais. The echoing-grinding grew steadily more ominous as they began to scale the steps, now a low bass thrumming that made everyone's back teeth hurt.

“The Akaton eventually discovered that the treasures their people had been digging out of the ground were the key to keeping the 'great ones' submerged within the Earth. That in fact, with the proper cutting, polishing, refinement, and the proper placement, individual large gemstones would be sufficient to keep the true Sandura at bay forever.”

The men leading the line spread out around the platform's top as they reached the stairway's summit. A cylindrical pedestal rising from the dais became visible as they mounted the last few stairs. Set in its very center, a fist-sized emerald glowed with an unearthly green light, surrounded by smaller, lesser stones, some nearly as polished and cut as the prize in their midst, others little more than shards of green rock, almost mistakable for cloudy broken glass.

Defunestro scooped up a handful of the latter, smiling down at them. “Any of these, alone, properly handled by a jeweler, would be enough for a month of good living. Yet in the end, for all their owners' care...”

He flicked one of the shards at Lara with a snort. “Here, tomb raider. A souvenir. You're supposed to give a woman jewelry when you've fucked her up the ass, right?”

She caught the spike of stone to keep it from hitting her in the face, looking down at her feet so they wouldn't see the humiliation his words inflicted upon her.

“In any case, we're not here for a month of good living; we're here for the big prize...”

His hand closed on the Eye of Sandura, and lifted it out of its place.

At once, the lanterns and flashlights were once more the only light in the darkness.

And the grinding sound increased tenfold, accompanied by the rise of an unearthly sound somewhere between a roar and a screech.

The dais trembled and rocked beneath their feet. Defunestro quickly steadied himself against the pedestal; Gamble, who had been too close to the dais's edge to begin with, was not so lucky. His cry as he tumbled backward was quickly swallowed by the darkness.

The men around her called out as they sank down where they stood, trying to hold onto stone. Only Defunestro remained on his feet, smiling as he shoved the Eye into his pack.

“One final thing, Croft!” He bellowed to be heard over the rising noise. “Before the Akaton discovered how to use gems to contain the Sandura, they discovered temporary measures that would keep them docile...!”

He hauled on the chain, bringing him to her, then grabbed onto her shoulders as she stumbled.

“Goodbye, Lady Croft...!”

She screamed as he flung her from the dais.

She fell only a split moment before she was caught around the waist.

The light was a distant thing overhead; she could not see what had caught her, what held her, only feel it. Feel tendrils, smooth and wet, some thick as tree trunks, others thin as cables, sinuous and terribly strong. Feel them twine around her ankles and wrists; feel them sliding up her arms and calves, pulling her limbs apart, stretching her as if to tear her to pieces like a roasted chicken.

As the tension increased, she felt the thing's limbs move up her thighs, press against her crotch; as it explored her body, the deafening screeching suddenly faded and sank into a hiss.

She panted in terror, trying to raise enough breath for another scream as the probing tendrils suddenly surged forward, tunneling into the legs and waist of her pants, the sleeves and collar of her shirt. The unearthly power that moments before had threatened to tear her limb from limb now attacked her clothing, stretching the fabric apart and tearing wool and denim as though they were nothing more than tissue paper.

The elastic of her bra and panties hardly gave a moment's resistance. She felt the slick tentacles encircle her breasts, crushing the mounds with terrible force. Worse, hard, spiny protrusions slid from the ends of the smaller limbs and slid across the jutting tips of her swollen nipples.

No!” she screamed. There was no reasoning with the thing- the Sandura, she supposed- even if it understood her, it was alien and unknowable, a thing of force and need, a thing that had been trapped in its darkness for untold centuries and now knew only want-

More of the thing's limbs lashed at her pussy and ass, like a hundred rubbery cocks all competing for entrance. Others were spiraling along her hair like a rope, and what they would do when they got to her face-?!

She felt a tentacle push inside her vagina, first tentative, then surging inside her, pushing deep, slamming into her cervix with terrible force- another breached her anus, tunneling up into her as though gravity was nonexistent, plunging into her guts...

Her body arched, uselessly, helplessly caught in the things limbs as it sought to penetrate her, to use her, to satiate itself on its precious toy.

As it twisted her in its grip, its movements seemed to become more decisive, more coordinated; another one of the slick limbs found its way inside her cunt, and then a third- after applying an agonizing force to stretch apart her labia. The spines scratching at her areolae moved around the hard tips of her nipples, tapped, poked- and then, stabbed.

She screamed again as she felt the diabolical thing insert herself inside her breasts, an unnatural invasion that brought hideous pain spiking through her flesh as it moved back and forth inside of her delicate mammary tissue-

It's fucking my nipples, She thought, Oh God, it's raping my breasts-

The thought was ripped away as another tentacle shoved into her asshole, and the two limbs began to stretch her rectum, thrusting into her one, then the other, then both in unison, then stretching away from each other inside her as though it would rip her body open-

She squeezed her eyes desperately shut as tendrils slid across her face, bit into her lips, pushed against her teeth. Then she felt one of the hellish spines rise out of one of the squirming limbs battering at her birth canal, felt the spine driven into her cervix, and had to scream again- and with that, the things were flooding inside her open mouth.

Another spine bit into her cervix, and another as the sinuous limbs attacked her tongue, slid over her teeth. She tried to bite at them, only to have a taste like rotting meat and spoiled cabbage fill her mouth- to no apparent deterrant of the encroaching tendrils.

Her guts heaved as the spikes in her cervix began to pull in different directions, sending an agonzing cramp through her belly. Again. Again. It was laying siege to her uterus, it was-

It was pulling her womb open.

The sickening cramps continued as the Sandura heaved inside her. As the tentacles began to push in and out inside her throat. As her body was tilted and twisted in the thing's grip, and up was down, and there was no escape, no light, no way to resist-

The thing wrenched open her cervix to its satisfaction; a fourth tentacle drove into the middle of the other three, wrenched into her vagina, and, breaching her cervix, slammed into the inner chamber of her womb. Her bruised stomach clenched violently, and she vomited.

The acidic contents of her stomach were partly blocked by the tentacles. Liquid began to trickle back down her throat and choke her.

The tentacle imbedded in her uterus whipped around inside of her and slammed against the elastic walls of the chamber again. And again.

It's torturing me-! She thought, struggling to draw breath. There can be no other reason- no other reason--

The tentacles in her ass began to force their way upward, crawling up inside of her, slithering up her intestine, weighing down her guts. The limbs in her mouth moved as if to meet them.

Her breasts shook as the creature plunged the vicious knife-like spines deeper into her nipples, the tentacles encircling them squeezing as if to draw milk- or to jerk at the tentacles embedded in her flesh, to use her soft breasts as some kind of cock-sheathe...

A rush- she was dropping, her body falling, the pounding inside her womb grew ever more violent- she could feel her bosom shaking, her throat contracting, her belly swell and bounce as the limbs inside her pussy and ass surged-

Every wet, horrific cable inside of her pushed into her as she fell as though every tentacle sought to simultaneously pierce her to the core. And then there was fluid- a mucus-like slime with the consistency of shaving foam, filling her mouth, pumping into her guts, swelling her cramping womb, forcing down her throat and into her heavy stomach, even stretching the skin of her breasts.

The falling slowed, stopped, and she felt sudden a grotesque tightness around her feet as some wet, elastic thing enveloped them like a wet rubber sock. Her bloated body twisted as the limbs pulled out of her, but still she continued down, now being sucked into the tight wet embrace, thousands of tiny prickles tickling at her feet and ankles.

It's swallowing me, was her first thought. It's raped me, now it's going to eat me.

Then, worse- No... it's raped me, now it wants to keep me until that foulness it pumped into me can do its job- until I can give birth to its young-

Visions of infant wasps eating their way out of tarantulas came into her mind, and then there was no thought any longer, there was no room, just desperation and instinct.

Her body a sea of pain, she screamed as she drove the shard of emerald still clutched in her hand into whatever flesh surrounded the mouth that was sucking her in.

There was an explosion of hot wind, a screech so loud that she caught only the first instant of it before her hearing gave way to silence and a ringing, high-pitched tone. Her feet spilled out of the orifice containing them as they were ejected. Falling to her knees, she struck out at the thing again, and again.

Something struck her, knocking her sideways, and for a moment she thought it was over. But the creature's move had been as desperate as her own; it was in full retreat, and she could feel the heat of its presence moving away, leaving her aching, slime-bloated body lying on the chamber floor, unknown leagues beneath the surface of the Earth.


Once, a people had mined in that bizarre chamber that was half temple, half cage. So it was that eventually, even in the dark, Lara found a ramp that workers had used to cart out slag and gemstones as they dug their way unknowingly towards the ancient monstrosities.

Slowly, painfully, she climbed the ramp, pausing every few hours as convulsive cramps overtook her. Her body rejected the slime the creature had pumped into her; yellow-white goo sprayed from her vagina, anus, mouth, and nipples at these intermittent spasms, sending her sprawling to her hands and knees. Sometimes she would faint, waking up an unknown time later to force herself to her feet, force herself to keep walking up the ramp.

So it was that Lara emerged from the last burial chamber of the Sandura, two and a half days later.



An eco-tour group found her, emaciated, dehydrated and bloodied, raving, half-deaf and three-quarters dead.

Lara Croft? The Lara Croft? The adventurer, aristocrat, and fashion icon?

Really?

Calls were made, identities confirmed. She was air-lifted to a hospital at Riberalta. Some of her injuries were obvious in their mechanism; others bizarre in their infliction, unless one believed the stories the raving woman told when she lapsed out of her fevered dreams.

After four long months, her recovery was considerable. Her hearing completely returned. She would bear some of the scars for the rest of her life, her digestion and excretion would frequently trouble her, and pregnancy was likely to bring on complications. But she could walk, and eventually there was no reason she should not run, tumble, fight- fire pistols at beasts in ancient ruins or point them at readers from the cover of fashion magazines.

If her emotional recovery took a similar pace, which it did not.



If you trained for combat. If you lived your life in the public eye, and thus under constant scrutiny. If you possessed fantastic wealth, and were heir to a noble title. If you were the kind of beauty who, in self-knowledge, gained the ability to twist men around your little finger.

Surely, then, you were safe?

Maybe mobbed by paparazzi. Maybe followed by stalkers. Maybe targeted by scam artists who thought wealth and beauty added up to one more vacuous socialite.

But repeatedly gang-raped? Beaten? Tortured? Transported across multiple borders, all eventually to be offered in sacrifice to... to...

She ran to the medicine cabinet for her anxiety medications.



“They” showed up, now and again. Park on the cover of a magazine, showing off his custom-tuned off-road vehicle collection. Kaar advertising an adventure tour that promised to show the real world of Somali pirates to the fearless.

She thought about hunting them down, but every time her thoughts got anywhere beyond the most speculative contemplations she found herself assaulted with nightmares of nineteen men appearing in her bedroom in the dark of the night.

It was mysterious, though, when a castle- in Romania, of all places- was the target of a terrorist bomb.

One East European crime lord held no terror for her; she had been in the presence of real evil.



He couldn't help staring at the way her dress clung to his hostess's hips, though his eyes raced back up to her eyes when she turned back from the balcony.

“I am prepared to fully fund this expedition, Halsey,” she murmured, “if I can have your word of honor as a gentleman that if it proves fruitful, you will carry it through.”

“So... Let me get this straight. I'm to find out if the gem that's shown up on the black market in Hong Kong is this 'Eye of Sandura'. If it is, I'm to acquire it by any means necessary-”

“I can have papers drawn up that prove the artifact is a cultural treasure stolen from Bolivia if it will help acquire the stone legally. But if less above-board tactics are required, yes, I expect you to employ them.”

“Check. And once this gemstone is acquired, I'm to travel to these coordinates in Bolivia and... just leave this immensely valuable rock on a table, somewhere?”

“To paraphrase something I was told once: 'Don't be daft, Halsey, it's never that simple.'”

“All right, all right... What am I missing?”

She sighed. “I've attempted to explain it, but in the past my explanations have been suspected to be the result of high fevers or the interactions of psychiatric medications. Suffice it to say that when you get there, I believe the necessity of replacing the jewel where it belongs may become more apparent.”

“And this expedition. You think it's important.”

“Utterly.”

“Somehow, world-shatteringly important.”

“Possibly so, yes.”

Halsey shrugged, then laughed. “Well, I could never resist a pretty face with far too much money. My team will be assembled by tonight. But I have to say- Bolivian rainforests, black market relics, ancient treasures- once upon a time, I think someone would have said this sounded like a job for Lara Croft.”

She pushed the stone circle across the table to him, eyes downcast.

“Once upon a time... perhaps it would have been.”

She returned to the balcony as he left. Her fingers slid absently along the silk of her dress, moving over her belly, curving up her breast, feeling the ring in her nipple.

“Once, it would have been a job for her.”

-FIN

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Old 01-27-2013, 10:44 PM   #31
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final installment piece for this story. it's too bad the story has ended but all good things must thus end. glad you did this for me. look forward to working with you again.
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Old 01-27-2013, 11:06 PM   #32
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Thank you, Darkstalker, for initiating this project and giving me this chance to see my writing brought to life through your wonderful artwork. It's been a new and very enjoyable experience.

I also appreciate the words of everyone who's bothered to leave a comment. Hope you've enjoyed reading. See you next time.
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Old 03-23-2013, 11:28 AM   #33
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I absolutely loved that story. Seeing a tough action-girl like Lara Croft reduced to such utter humiliation. Awesome realism!



I thought this picture really goes well with your story. The blue bra is the same color as Lara's shirt. She is already rope-collared, and she has that tough look of determination, mixed with a hint of fear right before her stripping.

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Old 03-23-2013, 12:06 PM   #34
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Your image host requires you to click on links to view the pictures. Your picture links have to go directly to the photo spread themselves.
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