[Corvid]

“So, it would seem our Ms. Croft just tried to castrate one of our own,” Defunestro commented. “How are all of you feeling about that?”

Angry muttering. Lara's head lowered as she shrank in on herself, certain that any moment she would be torn to pieces.

“Perhaps some of you would like to express your sentiments between her thighs?”

The muttering rose to growls, curses, then yells of anger, hatred and contempt. Defunestro let the seething brew of lust and fury rise from a simmer to a boil, feeling the pressure rise. Gauging their heat, his gaze surveyed the men, looking for the ones who seemed the most ready to spring past him to get at the woman on her knees on the floor.

“Binici. Abassi. Zuyev. Rojas. Kaar. Would you care to 'escort' Lara back to the table?”

Lara started to rise from her knees as the men moved forward, but her battered and fatigued body slowed any retreat or self-defense she might have intended. Zuyev stormed past Defunestro and kicked her in the chest, slamming her over onto her back with a cry and a grunt, and the other four men quickly grabbed her arms and legs.

“Fucking bitch!” “Goddamned castrating British cunt!” “Now you're going to get it!” “Break you in two-” “Gonna wish you'd never lived to sprout teeth-”

She moaned as they carried her, twisting against the hands that jerked at her sweat-slick limbs, knowing it was useless. They shoved her down on the table. Defunestro was smiling, a one-eyed reptile sizing up a certain kill.

She tried to sit up; Binici slapped her across the face and jerked back on the arm he held, and her head fell back on the table. She breathed hard, heart galloping as Zuyev and Defunestro walked towards the table.

“Spread her legs wide,” Defunestro commanded, his cold voice somehow penetrating the snarling, cursing throng that held her body down on the table.

Rojas and Kaar moved their grip up her gracefully toned legs to her knees, pulling her legs open. She cursed and whimpered as the muscles in her legs trembled, stretched far wider than was comfortable, holding her in a near-perfect split at the edge of the table.

“Lara doesn't seem to understand that men want women to be soft for them,” Defunestro commented in that horrible, dead-cold voice. “So it would seem she still requires some... softening.”

The discarded fan belt swung at the end of one fist. He handed it to the red-faced Russian, his eyes never leaving the woman held down and terribly exposed on the table.

“Whip. Her. Cunt.” he snapped.

Zuyev didn't need a second invitation. Lara had time only for a strangled “no” before the rubber belt was cleaving through the air.

Her shriek filled the bunker as her body arched on the table with the blow, cut off only when Binici again struck her across the face. Fingers dug deep against skin and muscle as her body was forced down against the table.

Already, un-instructed, Zuyev's arm drew back for a second blow to her vulnerable sex.

Zuyev had no restraint. The full force of the hardened mercenary's strength coursed through the makeshift whip as he brought it down on the tender pink folds of her sex, an ongoing series of whacks that turned into a splats as the tomb raider's body tried to lessen the trauma of the beating by releasing fluids- to little avail.

No matter how viciously Binici- and in turn, Abassi- slapped her, each subsequent blow could not help but draw another frantic scream from the woman on the table. The hurt was too deep, too sharp, too sickeningly intimate.

“AAAAH!” slap
“NYUHH!” slap
“PLEEA-” slap

“Cunt!” Roared Zuyev, swinging the terrible whip down to bite between her thighs again and again. “Cunt! Cunt! Cunt! CUNT!”

He paused in the whipping, his formidable frame shaking with exertion and adrenalin. Defunestro stepped between him and the table, looking down at the quivering, sobbing woman still held in place to accept whatever it was their pleasure to inflict.

He placed a hand over her sex as she cried out, feeling the heat rising from her inflamed, reddened vulva.

“Hmmm...” He murmured, the appreciative sound of a connoisseur in admiration. “So hot. So swollen... Zuyev, I think you're going to have to force Lara's pussy open.” He smiled, turning back to the Russian. “But I believe you're up to the task. Don't you?”

Zuyev dropped the fan belt and opened his pants. His massive, turgid cock was all the response necessary. With a half-bow, Defunestro walked away.

“Break her, Zuyev!” “Hit that shit!” “Bust her to pieces!” “Make the whore sing!”

With a roar, Zuyev rammed into Croft to the hilt, grinding against her tender, beaten groin.

Her head dropped backwards. Her jaw strained with how far her mouth opened. The crease in her brow became a chasm.

Her wail was so beautiful to the men that Binici and Abassi didn't even feel a need to interrupt.

Zuyev snarled and spit as he forced himself inside her, hard and deep and deliberate with each punitive thrust. The sound of his body smashing into hers was a loud, bass thump that shuddered each restrained limb, extracting another cry of loss and pain from the beautiful creature pinned to the table, trying to withstand the demeaning agony of the rape.

“Who wants her next?” Defunestro's cold voice intoned.

His serpentine gaze met Binici's. He moved forward, taking the thrashing arm the Turk held with one hand as he handed him the fan belt with the other.

“Beat the bitch. Beat her while he fucks her. Breasts and belly... hit her where she's soft.”

Binici smiled cruelly and nodded, taking the belt and walking around to the side of the table. With her arms held high above her, the woman's shimmying torso was an easy, vulnerable target.

The pert, bouncing orbs, high and taut from her lifted shoulders, were an irresistible mark.

He brought the whip down hard.

Crack. Her back arched as she screeched. Zuyev barked with approval as he thrust into her.

Her right breast. Isolating one of the soft swells increased the amount of force with which the belt cut into the tender flesh.

Crack.

Her breasts.

Her tits.

Her soft, vulnerable, perspiration-sheened, welted, oh-so-sensitive tits.

So easy to hurt.

So pleasurable to hurt.

And her stomach-

Tight, straining to draw air, the shock of the unexpected blow making her gasp, depriving her of the breath she needed to resist the pain of Zuyev's intrusion-

And her belly-

And her tits-

“Hit her across the nipples,” growled Abassi. “Make the whore scream!”

And her tits.

And her tits.

And her belly.

“Aim for her bruises,” instructed Defunestro. “Spike the pain through her body.”

And her belly.

And her tits.

And her tits.

And her tits- and her belly-

“Do you see the pain he's inflicting on her with the whip, Zuyev?” Defunestro purred. “And he's not even inside her. Surely...”

Shouting in Russian, Zuyev redoubled the already withering assault on the defenseless woman. Spearing through her swollen vaginal walls, hammering his body against her agonized clitoris, stabbing against her bruised cervix. Not the first to rape her, not to be the last, but determined to make her remember that he had been inside her, used her, violated her, conquered her.

His hands dug into her splayed thighs, pressing against savagely tensed tendons, and he forced his cock inside the pussy he had beaten, made her take it as deep as he could drive it, as hard as he could give it. Letting her know with each hateful thrust that neither will nor strength was anything before his desire to rape her, to tear her sex until lust and violence had their fill of her.

The belt slashed across the soft places on her torso, and Zuyev watched the woman with the pistols cry. Not false tears seeking mercy, but tears of a woman who knew no respite was coming; a woman who was approaching her limits, and saw no end in sight.

“Show her your contempt,” whispered Defunestro. “Come on her face.”

He jerked out, blood pounding in his ears along with the continued crack of the belt cutting into her breasts. He circled the table, cock in one hand, and brought the other down on the smooth hollow of her throat.

“Whore,” He whispered to the crying woman. “Fucking whore.”

His hand clamped on her throat. The belt cracked on her abdomen, and she fought to draw breath, breath that the Russian's grip would not allow to pass. His other hand pumped his cock.

“Fucking whore.”

The skin on her hitching belly took another blow from the belt. A line of crimson sprang up across the bruise. Her ribs stood out sharply against her skin as her back arched, thrusting up her breasts, trying to find, somehow, the leverage to pull air into her lungs.

“Fucking... whore...”

The makeshift whip could hardly fail to find such a prominently offered target. Across her jutting nipples. Twice. Three times. The world was rushing at her. An icepick was stabbing into her brain.

“...Whore...!”

The sticky white stream flooded across her eyelids, kinking her eyelashes, coating her eyebrows. More spurted across her nose, her cheeks, into her hair.

And Zuyev released his hold on her throat, and she was grateful, and it made her want to be sick.

Distantly, she could hear the jeering and clapping of the others. Lara had deprived them of this spectacle when she had passed out; now they were getting a show again, and they were getting into it.

Zuyev took back the position holding down her arm that Binici had abandoned. Catching the Turk's eye, Defunestro gestured at the weeping woman's pelvis.

“I think you know how to prepare her for you,” He prompted.

“Oh no...” She whimpered. “No, no, no, God, please, no...!”

Binici raised the whip.



The fan belt passed to Rojas while Binici ripped into her beaten pussy.

The Turk called out targets for the Columbian as he fucked her, and Rojas seemed to appreciate the challenge. Binici had a gift for calling out for her right breast to take a blow just as her pained gyrations lifted the voluptuous swell, or to lash her stomach to turn the cramp of a cervix-punishing thrust into an agony that lanced through her entire torso.

Worse, for Lara, Binici had endurance. The machine-like pumping tore at her vaginal walls, but at least it was bringing him to climax...? No. The vicious, stabbing assault on her womb made her want to vomit, but surely it was the final stretch before his orgasm? No. The rolling motion that hammered against her bladder, that sought every angle for new violations? No. When he spread her labia so he could slam that much harder against the swollen nub of her clitoris? No.

“Right breast.” CRACK. “Belly.” CRACK. “Tits.” CRACK. “Across the bottoms.” CRACK. “Nipples.” CRACK. “Again.” CRACK. “Again!” CRACK.

When the beating and the fucking allowed her, she drew breath into her lungs, only to express it in mewling, shaking sobs.

“That's it!” “She felt that!” “Fuck her!” “Make her pay!” “Screw the bitch!” “Not so tough now, are you?” “Pound it!” “HARDER!”

Binici paused, taking a deep breath, gazing at the heaving, quivering, lash-striped body of the woman beneath him.

“Start at the top of her chest,” He growled, “and work your way down.”

Now he drove fast and hard, fingers reaching around her hips and digging into her buttocks as he slammed into her like a jackhammer.

Her breasts rocked with the first blow, and the second. She bit her lip hard enough to draw blood when he hit her nipples again. Then below. Her rib cage had been all but neglected, but now the fragile skin across the bones drew bruises. With each stroke of the belt, the Turk slammed his body against hers, into hers. Down and down the lashes went. Her diaphragm. Her belly. The swell above her pelvis.

He was coming inside her. He bottomed out in her pussy, and she could feel the hot flood within her. Pink-tinged pearlescence pooled beneath her on the table and dripped onto the floor.

“It is good to degrade and hurt you,” He hissed at the crying woman. “Your body and spirit were crafted to be broken so.”

Her body hitched as he pulled out of her. He took up position holding her leg from Defunestro.

“Start on her ass,” commanded Defunestro. “I'm going fishing.”

With that cryptic comment, Defunestro headed back to the supply shelves.

She moaned as they turned her over, still keeping her cruelly stretched legs splayed for access.. The elegant curves of her posterior drew whistles from the audience, and Binici and Kaar could hardly resist giving the shapely rump a couple of good slaps to watch it ripple, nor did they. But they soon surrendered access as Rojas held up the fan belt.

“Chica,” murmurred the Columbian, appraising Lara's beautiful ass, “you've been a very bad girl.”

WHAP.

There was no question in Rojas's mind that he would soon be sodomizing the beauty on the table. But he delighted to think that with enough 'appreciation' from the fan belt, he could make every thrust burn her tender flesh even as it pierced her guts.

“WHIP-THAT-ASS! WHIP-THAT-ASS!”

Spurred by the chant, Rojas struck her buckling backside harder and harder, kindling flames on her creamy flesh. Taking the belt to her backside didn't have the savage, taboo violence of the blows to her front, yet the almost school-hall nature of the punishment added to the humiliation.

Then Defunestro returned with the spool of high-test fishing line, and explained.

Two loops of the filament were strung through the cleft of her scarlet-striped ass, and pulled in opposite directions, cutting cruelly into her beaten flesh. Her buttocks separated by a belt's-width, the tomb raider's anus was exposed.

And vulnerable.

WHACK.

She screamed. She cried. She swore.

And he brought the belt down on her tender asshole, over and over again.

His cock was straining his pants, bucking as he lay lash after lash on the puckered sphincter. The delicate opening had never been intended for such abuse, and clenched with each stroke, darkening angrily at the blows.

Finally he dropped the fan belt, opened his pants, stomped towards her.

“Please,” Lara whispered, “I'm sorry-!”

He jerked the lines from her buttocks, cupped the burning flesh with both hands, and ruthlessly rammed against her bottom.

The swollen ring did not give way with his first thrust, though the woman's wail might have suggested otherwise.

Rojas was fine with that. The more force he had to apply, the more it would tear her when he finally broke her.

He battered the tensed ring of muscle with his cock. Battered it, and beat it, and finally, penetrated her.

He pushed all the way into her burning guts as she shrieked, and stopped, fully sheathed in her bowels, cock twitching in her guts, feeling her breathing heave, listening to her cry.

Then, crueler still... He pulled out. She moaned in pain as the head of his cock popped out of her straining butt. He admired the quivering hump of her posterior for a moment, giving the ruddy flesh a hard slap, then, gripping tightly, thrust into her again.

“Tear, chiquita. A man is in your ass. Can you feel how your insides churn for me? Can you feel how your very core splits to make way for the cock that masters you?”

He pulled out of her again, paused, slammed into her hindquarters again.

“Know your subjugation to your betters, “tomb raider”. You spurn your femininity in fighting. You will learn submission. Learn it through a cock up your ass.”

He didn't withdraw completely, but came back with a fury that made her scream into the table, and sent a loud clap of hips hitting swollen flesh resounding off the concrete.

“It is not enough that you surrender. It is not enough that you be raped. It is not enough that your pride and your dignity and your hope are torn from you. With your limits violated, pleasure me with your suffering. Your ability to resist taken from you, you are sacrificed. Your body is mine, to devalue and discard... So... bleed!”

Her center of gravity shook as he sodomized her. Thrust after thrust crashed against her restrained body. Reaching down the table, he grabbed her hair, pulling her pain-constricted face up.

“Can you feel it, Croft? Can you feel how your tight little culo is ripping for the big man's cock? Sing for me, little bird!”

“EUNGHHH!- UNGHHH-!”

“A stubborn bitch like you needs to have it forced up your ass to learn her place. Needs to have a hurt inflicted deep in her guts that she can keep as a reminder that she's there to be taken!”

“Pound her ass, Rojas! Nail it into her guts!” snarled Abassi.

“Butt-fuck the whore!” Roared Zuyev.

He rode her hard, using her braid as his rein. His open hand came down on her full bottom, again and again, as he reamed her. Her bruised asshole gripped his cock, shoved in and pulled out as he pounded into her, and exploded with agony with both thrust and withdrawal.

He leaned forward, twisting the braid in his fist as he rose to shove down into her lurching guts.

“Want me to come, chica? Say 'rip my ass'.”

“F-f-fuck... y-you...!” She whimpered.

He slapped her ass hard and drove down into her. She cried out.

“Say it. SAY IT!”

Tears streamed down her cheeks.

“Rip my ass.” She whispered.

He withdrew from her, and jammed himself back in to the hilt as she screamed.

“Again.”

“R-rip my ass...”

Blood trickled into her pubic hair as he lifted himself, dropped against her.

“AHHH!”

“Again!”

“Don't...!”

“AGAIN!”

She sobbed. “Rip... my ass...!”

He screamed a furious battle-cry as he drove into her. Five deep, bone-shaking penetrations of the open wound he'd made of her asshole, and then he pulled out and painted her lower back with his semen.

“How could a gentleman refuse such a lady's request?” He cackled.

A kiss on her inflamed buttock, followed by a slap, and he left her, crying on the table.

And Abassi took up the fan belt, and Defunestro unwound line from the spool.



Her violently violated anus remained dilated from Rojas' sodomy. So the first several blows of the whip landed, in part, inside of her torn anal passage.

The shock of it sent the air flooding out of Lara's lungs with grunts that hardly expressed her anguish.

It took time for the torn sphincter to swell closed again, but time was something Defunestro's band had in spades.

It was a mercy, of a sort, that the Congolese soldier fucked her quickly, anxious to get off after the long wait, watching the others get their piece of the lush treasure-hunter. But the friction his rapid assault inflicted on her torn rectum was little to be grateful for.

And as Abassi sprayed her heated bottom with his come, Kaar said that he, too, would sodomize her, but he wanted to look into her eyes as he did so.

So they turned her back over, and Abassi again took the fan belt.

Her midriff tensed as the Somali speared her rectum, and the muscles in her belly rippled as the belt slapped down on her stomach. Kaar drove upward like he would stab through her abdominal wall. Her breasts were the same furious color as her rump from the earlier beating, and further ministrations brought out stripes of lavender and maroon on the peaks.

He spilled his seed into her navel, watching her tear-filled eyes regard him with a mixture of agony, hatred, and despair.

Defunestro looked at the battered, cum-covered woman on the table and smirked.

“I think it's time I had a turn, don't you?”

-TO BE CONTINUED-