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#1 |
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This story was written at the request of Darkstalker. It contains a character currently under license by Square-Enix, characters which are used in parody. No intent to infringe upon privately owned characters or works should be inferred by this story.
*** Defunesto cracked his knuckles. It had all led up to this. The men preparing their weapons had gradually grown from a grab bag of soldiers-of-fortune, pirates, smugglers, ex-militia, and out-and-out hoodlums into something resembling a fighting force. They had fought side by side in a series of small but profitable engagements, and come to feel a sense of trust and camaraderie unusual in men of such disparate nationalities and backgrounds. More, they had come to believe that the high life the profits of their work had funded was no less than they deserved, and Defunesto the man who led them to it. A third of them were going to die. Maybe as many as half. His contingency plans allowed for half. And the remainder would be more than ready to avenge their fallen comrades. Defunesto rubbed one finger over the eye patch. He would give no hint that the operation was anything other than a strictly professional matter, not until the others had a reason to make it personal. But he was not going to lie to himself. The emerald was the pragmatic goal that made his payback possible. “Gentlemen.” The very word elicited a snicker, but he had their attention. He gestured, and the screen behind him lit up. “Our target on this mission: Lara Croft, countess of Abbington.” There was a chorus of whistles and lewd declarations. “Hey, Cap, I love a fox hunt as much as the next bloke, but can I stay home for this one? This is a three-man bang, not some kind of SWAT takedown.” Defunesto's eye settled coldly on Rainey. Yes, he was going to be part of that one-third. Probably within the first thirty seconds. “We need the target alive,” he continued, his voice rising over the banter. “That's going to be very difficult to accomplish. Mr. Rainey, the woman you see on screen there has spent more time in the middle of firefights than you have jerking off.” There was a round of guffaws. “Not possible, she's not that old!” Phillips piped up from the back. Rainey hurled his cigarette pack at him. “Croft is regarded as a sharpshooter on a par with the best of the SAS. A skilled tumbler, gymnast, and acrobat, she can evade and return fire from directions you can't even spell.” He slammed his hand down on the table next to him. “Some of you aren't paying attention. If you hear nothing else I'm saying, hear this: do not underestimate Lara Croft.” He gestured again, and the lithe treasure hunter was replaced by a painting of a fist-sized emerald. “This is the Eye of Sandura. Until very recently, it was believed to be a myth. A private collector has agreed to loan Ms. Croft a relic which she believes to hold the key to locating the eye. This relic, known as the Sigil of Seven, is located at a secure vault in Geneva. A vault that is keyed to open for only two people: the owner, and Lara Croft.” “Why don't we-” “The Sigil's owner lives on a private island under a twenty-four hour guard by a personal military that includes both air and naval surveillance. The management presiding over the vault will require Lara to come in in person, sign documentation, and submit to a retinal and fingerprint scan. The equipment used is sufficiently sensitive that it will absolutely not accept copies or photos of the eye and finger, and even removing an acceptable eye would cause the lens to distort in ways that would make it unacceptable identification. And if you're about to suggest we break into a Swiss vault, I'd ask that you shoot yourself right now.” “We need Lara Croft. Alive. And able to walk into that vault in twelve days.” “...grab her after she picks it up?” “...And when would we do that? The public thoroughfare outside the row of high-security buildings? The armored limo, driven by her personal chauffeur, scheduled to pick her up ten minutes later? The airport, from where she'll go god knows where?” “So she's just going to walk in and grab this 'Sigil' for us?” Defunesto took a long, deep breath, and tried not to smile. “Eventually, even the hard cases will do anything to make the hurting stop.” The painting changed into a floorplan. “Croft is currently unwinding incognito in this chateau near the Upper Jura Nature Reserve. The gate to the driveway is east...” * The chateau was “quaint”. “Quaint” was good. “Quaint” had substandard wiring, meaning no one had even tried to put in security cameras or lights. The telephone had been such a novel addition that no one bothered making the line anything other than blatantly obvious, which made cutting it that much easier. Hedges to shadows. Over the wall, one and two at a time. Shadows to hedges to statuary, low and quiet. Gestures and waves moved the black-fatigued men into their positions. Fists were raised as charges were planted. Three, two, one. Breach. Old plaster coughed as it burst inward, and the men spilled in like ants through the chateau's two new entrances. Defunesto gave another solid five count before he raised his shotgun and followed them. The kitchen was dark, lit only by the light spilling over from the hallway. He edged around the blackness, listening to the tramp of boots on carpet. Ten seconds later he heard a male voice shout, followed by six sharp, successive cracks from a pair of nine millimeter semi-automatics. His missing eye twinged at a memory. He waited another five before making his own way into the hall as yelling and footfalls moved away, upstairs. The body was sprawled halfway down the hall. Two in the chest, finding armor; two in the helmet, enough to stun and knock the head back. The last two were in the neck. After this, he knew, no more rounds from those damned pistols were going to hit armor again. And sure enough, Rainey had found a way to bite it in less than thirty seconds. He prowled slowly forward to the gallery, a marble-endowed expanse from which the majestic staircase rose into the private chambers of the chateau. He swept over the room's entry points. There weren't supposed to be any servants on call, but even expensive intel could have its faults. Upstairs, the bark of pistols. The hiss of a gas-propelled taser. More gunshots. The explosion of a shotgun. A loud *crack*, and a yell, and a lot of cursing, all from male voices. And more gunshots, and less cursing. Six men spilled out of one of the upstairs doors like the room was on fire; another gunshot, and one went down, screaming and clutching his kneecap. The one in the lead made it down to duck behind the pillar at the bottom of the banister; the other four vaulted the bannister, taking their chances on a short fall, which proved to be the better bet. One more bark, and the man screaming at the top of the stairs took a round under the arm, and went still. The man at the bannister turned to Defunesto. “Holy shit, wh-” Defunesto made a slashing gesture across his neck, and held out a hand. Shut up. Wait. The railing-vaulters recovered to cluster under the cover of the pillars. Moments later, the second breach group made their entrance to the gallery. He held up his hand again as the first started through the door. To his credit, the man pulled back, a moment before a round from upstairs made wood chips explode from the door he had just taken shelter behind. “Raincoats!” barked Defunestro. There was a scramble in gear bags. He lifted his helment as he pulled his own gas mask from his satchel, buckling the unwieldy thing into place. Let's see how you like this, bitch. Even aristocrats can't shoot well blind. “Stefan?” A female voiced piped out of the upper floor. “It's you, isn't it, you blackguard. I'm coming for you.” He hated that voice. That cocksure, clipped, aristocratic voice that came off like the advantage was hers, even outnumbered better than twenty to one. He tapped his fist into his palm, and pointed at either end of the upper gallery. The man huddling in the doorway nodded, and conveyed the message backward. Moments later, a pair of grenades arced into the upstairs, trailing gas. As the choking, pale blue clouds began to envelop the upper floor, Defunestro breathed a sigh of relief and slowly started up the stairs on quiet feet. The others hesitantly began to follow on either side of the stair. There was the sound of shattering glass from one of the upper rooms. It made sense that she might try to ventilate the upper chambers if- Except- Fuck. Defunestro took a deep breath and pulled the bottom of the mask up. “Park, take five and get to the outside of the chateau's eastern side. NOW, NOW, NOW!” Park tapped five men as he hustled back down the stairs, who quickly took off in file behind him. Goddamn parkour, there was no telling how high a jump she might attempt. And then again, she might be waiting behind that door with full magazines. Three gestures to the men behind him. Wait. I'm flashing the door. Be ready. The door exploded open to a blast from his shotgun. He snapped the concussion grenade from his belt, and lobbed it through the opening, slamming his back against the wall and turning away. The muffled -whump- and the shattering of more glass didn't betray any presence in the room. He rushed through the door. It was a small bedroom, all delicate lace and satin, with a four-post bed and a bureau. The three still bodies, indelicately sprawled in their fatigues, seemed singularly out of place. The curtains shuddered in the breeze, abandoned by their windowpanes. He made a quick check of each corner, the closet, kicked the bed to see if there was a reaction. Surrendering to the obvious, he approached the window. For a moment, he saw her, illuminated by the lights that highlighted a fountain in the courtyard below. Clad in crop-top and shorts, ponytail swinging behind her as she scanned the area from her crouch, every inch of her looked just as it had on the day two years prior when she had taken his eye. And then hornets buzzed past his ear, and he banished the memory, spinning away from the window. Soft boots on cobblestone. She was running, and no way in hell were any of his flunkies going to catch her. He returned to the window, brought up the shotgun, held his breath, and squeezed the trigger. The beanbag round caught her between the shoulder blades. Even from over sixty feet away, he could hear her muffled cry as she staggered and fell to her hands and knees. He smiled for the first time in years. Park and his five hit the courtyard a moment later. Prone, she turned on her side and opened fire. Park dived behind the fountain; two men yelled, clutching injured legs as they fell. And then Lara's nine-milimeters fell on empty chambers. The beanbag rounds, tasers, pepper spray, and batons were forgotten. Park and his men rushed her, and the sound of gloved fists and steel-toed boots striking flesh and cries of feminine pain filled the air. Defunestro jerked up his mask again. “PARK!” He roared from the window. With a tight, defiant snap, Park turned to face their leader, raising a hand in an unwilling wait gesture to the other three. “There will be time later. Get her hooded and bound! We need to get her and the casualties out, now!” Park gave a curt nod, pulling the black hood from his pouch and yanking it down over the struggling woman's head as Defunestro turned back inside the chateau. As the men hoisted the moaning and the lifeless from the chateau, he could feel their fury beginning to boil as the shock of adrenalin diminished. Every other mission they had been a part of since joining him had been a cakewalk, with little more than the occasional interesting scar to show for it. But this bitch- Oh, yes. That bitch. He was going to make her pay. And with nineteen men still whole, he would have plenty of help settling the score. Day One 00:37 The hood lifted. Her dark brown eyes squinted, trying to adjust to the sudden, dazzling glare. She was sitting in a chair. Her arms were held together behind her with a plastic handcuff-tie, and her legs were spread in an unladylike splay with climbing rope securing her to the chair at her calves and ankles. The bunker-like room was bare concrete, made uglier by the humming of bare sodium lights hanging from the ceiling. They were all looking at her. She smiled. “Stefan Defunestro, it is you.” Her crisp English accent purred the words as though they had chanced to encounter on holiday. “How unfortunate. It would seem a gunshot wound to the head isn't all they sell it as, these days.” He smiled, rolling up the hood and tucking it into his satchel. “This is the part where you explain what it is you want.” Lara continued in the calm and patronizing tones of a teacher with a slow student. “Ransom? Information? Some kind of trade?” Defunestro just stood, watching her from half a step away. “Oh, don't be tedious, man. The less time I spend in your loathsome company, the happier I'm sure we both-” His fist smashed into the side of her face, rocking her head back with a gasp of astonishment. He faced her head-on, hands on his hips. “That was unprofessional,” He said, his voice chillingly blank and clearly directed to the man behind him, not the woman in the chair. “When you hit her, be sure to hit her below the neck.” He drove his fist between her spread thighs. Her eyes went wide, and a cry of equal parts pain, shock, and outrage exploded past her full, parted lips. “Of course, if you only want to slap her-” He struck her across the face again, first forehand, then backhand. “-I'm hardly one to cry foul.” “You disgusting maggot,” She murmured, words slipping past a split lip, “I knew you were a detestable piece of human excrement, but I never realized you got your jollies from beating up women.” “There are all matter of things you don't know about me, Lara,” he returned, addressing her for the first time. “But you'll have days and days to find out.” He looked back. “Park? You and your three had a large part in the takedown; I think it's only fair I yield the stage.” Park stood, crossing the floor like a cat with its hackles raised. Excepting a couple of bruises, Croft still looked like a porn star, an effect not lessened by pulling her shoulders back and spreading her legs. Generous breasts swelled the fabric of her crop top, the garment leaving her ribs and taut abdomen bare. The shorts she wore clung to the sinuous contours of her hips, leaving the elegantly toned flesh of her legs likewise bare. Her lips begged to be kissed and bitten, her body to be thrown down on a bed. Only her eyes- still glaring out in fury and defiance- spoke against the overall image. The Australian towered over the woman in the chair, and still her glare looked as though it would cut throats. “You ended the lives of a lot of good men back there, lady.” “I take issue only with the words 'good' and 'men'.” His eyes flashed. Grabbing the chair with his left hand, he rose up and slammed his right fist into the muscle of her thigh. She went rigid in the chair. “You ever been shot in the leg, bitch?” He snapped. His fist hammered into the same spot again. “I wish I could show you how what you did to my friends felt like.” His knuckles smacked against muscle. Behind him, someone shouted out approval. “But I can only try.” Four, five, six times he punched the restrained woman's thigh as she shook in the chair, finally letting out a gasp of agony. The three uninjured men who had followed Park into the courtyard clustered around him. “That's a start.” one remarked. “Yeah,” snarled Park, “but only a start.” “Well, I can think of some ways this girl could ease some tension.” said one. “And let out some frustration,” said another, a hand reaching out to cup one of her breasts. She glared at the man touching her, looking as though she wished she could bite him. “Get her up.” Park ordered. The moment her leg was untied, it kicked out. Park caught her foot and pushed, spilling her over backwards; the chair hit the floor with a thwack. Moving around to the side, he put a heavy boot down on her neck. “Finish getting her untied,” He uttered, as though nothing had happened. They hauled her to her feet, hissing and spitting. “YOU WANNA SEE THE WHORE'S TITS?” Park roared. The men watching the spectacle roared back. Park grabbed a double handful of the fabric and tore, tore it apart, tore the flimsy garment off of her shoulders in his rage. Lara Croft's breasts tumbled with the violence, her rose nipples thrusting arrogantly out from the 34-Ds bouncing on her chest. “GO ON! GIVE 'EM A FEEL!” The men holding her shoved her out amidst the surging mob. Hands reached out to grab and grope; and soon, pinch, clutch, squeeze, twist, and slap as she was dragged through the audience. Indignant snarls turned to yells, and soon to sharp cries of distress as every man watching got his hands on the gunslinging archaeologist's chest. When someone tried to get his hand down her shorts, Park had them pull her back, her creamy flesh turning a flushed pink from the men's attention. “You'll get your shot,” he admonished. “Stefan said- us first!” Moans of disappointment gave way to cheering and chanting. They lifted her into the air to slam her body down on a table as she cursed at them. She tried to kick Park again as he hauled down the waistband of her shorts, bringing a pair of v-cut silk panties into view; he responded with another brutal punch to her thigh, eliciting a shriek. The panties gave no more resistance to Park's violence than her top, the strings splitting at a pull, leaving her neatly trimmed pubic hair and her rose-petal labia bare. “Animals,” she screamed, “Don't you dare-!” Two men held her shoulders down, bound hands still behind her back, and Park grabbed her hips and pulled them to the edge of the table. As he opened his pants, Lara clasped her legs shut, lifting and twisting her body on the table. Park's hands twisted her lower body straight and began to pry her thighs apart, thumbnails pressing into the marks from his punches until she began to moan in pain. Her body shuddered and strained, but finally her strength gave way and her legs fell open, and in that moment, Park was on her. “Do her, Park!” Someone in the audience bellowed. “Fuck her 'til she breaks!” “Bust that gash to tatters!” She continued to fight every moment as Park moved the head of his cock to her pussy, twisting and bucking and cursing. His hands pushed down on her pelvis, and his hips jerked forward. “NOOO!” The room exploded with cheers as the big Australian pulled back and began to surge into the restrained tomb raider's body. “PARK! PARK! PARK! PARK!” The men holding her shoulders reached out to grab Lara's galloping tits, squeezing hard as Park thrust mercilessly into her cunt. The third man of the impromptu unit raked his nails over her ribs and belly as they hitched with her breathing, her lurching breaths desperately trying to bring control the pain of the rape. “PARK! PARK! PARK! PARK!” “Is this English Lady Cunt?” Park snarled, spitting in her face. “Because it feels just like any other whore to me!” “Yeah! Make the whore pay!” one of the men at her shoulders growled, twisting her nipple until she bared her teeth, the cords in her neck sharp against her soft alabaster skin. The table rattled as Park drove into her shaking body, driven on with a lust raised to a bonfire by the furious desire to punish this creature who had killed and injured his friends, this woman who fought like a man and had abandoned any deserving of mercy on the battlefield. He came quickly, driven by the furious and violent pace, but not easily; the men at her shoulders had to push back to keep her from sliding backwards on the table, and the last thrusts that brought on his climax delivered a full measure of his violence on her helpless frame. He pulled out all at once, and she shuddered as if he had withdrawn a weapon from a wound. Her body bucked as he shoved two fingers into her violated cunt, dredging out the sticky wad of his semen and spilling it onto the floor. “You aren't good enough to have my baby, whore,” he spat, “and I don't want my jizm making your way any easier for anyone else.” The man standing next to her hip held up a hand as Park stepped back, demanding the men holding her shoulders keep their place. “Listen, Tam- Oslo- you've gotten to feel up her tits all this time. It's my turn for action.” There were protests, but the odd man out ignored them, walking around the table to Lara's lower body. She tried to hold her legs together, but her strength was waning, and Park, impatient to have another man inside her, grabbed her knee and lent assistance. The “third man's” name was Jennings. It made an excellent chant. He was a talker. “You like that? Huh? You like that, you little bitch?” “Yeah, bounce those tits for me, baby! Bounce them high, give daddy a show! Yeah! Yeah!” “Oh, am I going bad places when I roll my hips like that? Sorry, baby- oh, I did it a-ginnn...!” “Aw, Call me a bastard again, bitch! I love how you talk! I feel like I'm reaming Mary fucking Poppins!” Lara turned her head away, staring off into the distance. It only made him fuck her harder, savoring every wince and stifled moan all the more. He was bouncing against her like a rabbit, a friction-raising crescendo, when he finally came. “You like to shoot things, cunt? You like to shoot? BAM! BAM! BAM! There's three shots, right there!” He followed Park's example in jamming his fingers into her when he came and spilling his seed on the floor. “Oslo” was quiet, but mean. He wanted to drive agonizing cramps through her, and had the cock to accomplish that task. He pulled out slow and came back hard, driving into her to the hilt and grinding his hips against her pelvis, pummeling her cervix. His dark eyes watched her belly hitch inward as she held her breath with each thrust, struggling not to let the nauseating pain overcome her. Then his eyes moved up to meet hers, and he smiled. ...please... She mouthed. His fingers dug into her hips, and he began to fuck her harder and faster. To her shame, she started to let out soft cries, unable to get past the hurt he was inflicting inside of her without some kind of release. He pulled out, and jerked his semen over her stomach and thighs. “Turn her over,” growled Tam. The watching men laughed raucously. Lara bucked on the table, catching Jennings in the chin with a knee. All joking manner gone, he came back to the table and slammed an elbow into her stomach, grabbing her cuffed wrist when she doubled up and helping the others get her onto the table on her front, her feet on the floor. “Up the ass!” Someone in the onlookers yelled. “UP THE ASS! UP THE ASS! UP THE ASS!” “C'mon, Lara,” sneered Tam, pulling her shapely buttocks apart, “It's just like back in school, right?” He pushed the head of his cock into the cleft of her heart-shaped ass, and pushed. Then pulled back, and pushed again. And pushed. “C'mon... C'mon, you fucking slut, give it up--!” Her fists clenched behind her back, her jaw rigid as she tensed. Tam's hand smacked down on her ass with a ringing slap. And another. And he pushed. “UP THE ASS! UP THE ASS!” Then it was Jennings' hand smacking her ass. And Oslo, slapping her on the small of her back. And Tam pushed. “Take it in, take it in, whore, I can wait all night-!” “UP THE ASS!” And Park slammed his fist against her hip, and Tam pushed... “UP THE ASS!” ...And as Lara let out a scream to wake the dead, Tam penetrated her ass in a slow, burning, vengeful violation. “Yes...!” And the crowd roared their approval. Tam glared at Oslo and Jennings. “Hold the goddamn table, I'm going to make this bitch a part of it.” Shallow, shallow, deep- shallow, shallow, deep- He forced his way into her agonized rear entry, deeper with every third stroke, just enough time to dread each burning, churning thrust further into her guts. Shallow, shallow, deep, shallow, shallow, deep, while her hands clenched and opened, convulsively, marking time as he sodomized her. And finally, his hips smacked against her aching bottom, and then there was only deep. And hard. They held the table, and he bruised the front of her thighs against it, slamming into her like she was a machine that had stolen his money. Bouncing that ass, that magnificent, pert, tight ass, as he bored his way into her asshole. His fist twisted in her ponytail, dragging her upper body upright as he continued to smash into her agonized bottom. “Oy say, guvna!” He spat, “Oy seem to 'av found moiself roight bugga'd, oy dew!” A tear slipped down her cheek as the crowd behind her laughed. He slapped her ass again, and again, and more tears slipped from her eyes, to her shame. Then he slammed her down against the table, and with three more thrusts that lifted her to her toes, pumped his burning semen into her butt. He pulled out with a jerk, and her legs gave out under her, dropping her to the floor in front of the table as the men started to applaud Tam's performance. “So,” murmurred Defunestro, “Who's next...” -TO BE CONTINUED- Last edited by Corvid; 11-15-2012 at 01:20 AM. |
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#2 |
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excellent! nice start on this one. perfectly brutal and not only were you severe to laura but you managed to keep her character in check too, which most people don't seem to do when they write her. exquisite work here and it such a short time period too.
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#3 |
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as promised, art for this. i couldn't decide on one scene so i did two, since i have a fascination with anal and clothes being shredded. oh, i like pussy fucking just fine but have more an interest in the look of the other two, though i may make a third pic for this. really loved this chapter so far. so here are the promised pieces.
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#4 |
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Very nice work, Darkstalker... And good encouragement to get to work on the next installment.
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#5 |
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nice. and may still do the other piece. we'll see.
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#6 |
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Corvid, this is the 3rd story I've found here from you, and I've loved 'em all. Keep it up!! For all of us.
Darkstalker, your illustrations are some of the best pencil/pen works I've ever seen... If you have a site where your works are available in higher resolution I'd love to know the URL... if not-you should!! |
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#7 | |
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Perfectly set out, i can feel myself fighting before finally being forced to scream out that NOOO! of defiance and frustration. To be taken roughly in front of that baying mob of men, totally devastating. Where do i apply to be Laura's understudy? great story thank You for penning it. Gina |
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#8 |
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02:11
“Are the spare parts from that jeep still on the shelf?” Phillips and D'Amberline explained the plan to Defunestro, and he agreed they'd have the next turn. D'Amberline found the fan belt, and set to severing the wide rubber loop with the knife from his belt. Phillips lay back on the table while Oslo, Jennings, and Tam hauled the shivering dead weight of the Countess of Abbington to her feet. As the men lifted her onto the table, Lara tried to halt her progress, first by hooking her toes on the edge of the table, then by dropping a knee onto its surface, but to little avail. Phillips smirked up at her as he pulled his cock free from his fatigues, stroking it in his fist as she was carried towards straddling him. “Come to daddy, Croft.” Her feet kicked girlishly at the table as they set her atop him, twisting back and forth as he took hold of her hips and forced himself up inside of her pussy. “Unghhh-” For a moment, he just took in the view. Lara Croft, perched on top of him, her body tight and exposed, chest out, hips forward, face turned up in a grimace of debasement and hurt. His hands roamed up her body, the hollows of her pelvis, the fluttering of her toned stomach, her ribs, her breasts. Squeezing the soft, firm peaks, lifting them as she gritted her teeth, releasing them to bounce magnificently on her chest. And back down, gripping her hips, sinking his fingers into that ass, lifting her up. Pulling her back down, sinking into her body, feeling the tightness and heat of her, feeling her unwilling feminine channel take him deep inside. His hands moved back up to her tits. “Move your lazy ass, whore.” Her tightly closed eyes opened. She looked down at him. “Bounce. Fuck. Do some work for once in your life, you fucking bitch.” Her eyes were venomous, and she started to inhale to retort. And then D'Amberline brought the fan belt down across her back with a crack, and whatever she had been preparing to say turned into a squeal. He grinned viciously at her. “Hop to it, slut. I don't think you want to keep me waiting to come.” D'Amberline's next swing put emphasis on Phillips' words. “Ah-!” Her lips tight, Lara slowly lifted herself up from the table. She hesitated, brow furrowed, before coming back down onto Phillips, her breath hissing through her teeth as his cock moved inside of her. He played with her tits, lifting and rolling the supple flesh as she moved on him for a time, then clucked his tongue with annoyance. “You know, I've seen the way you jump and tumble. I know those thighs are capable of better action than that.” D'Amberline smiled, and raised the improvised whip. -CRACK!- -CRACK!- -CRACK!- Her back arched, pushing her breasts into Phillips' hands. He laughed in pleasure. Her hips lifted and fell more quickly, face twisted in disgust at the need to please her rapist to escape the imminent violence of her torturer- -CRACK!- “Harder, slut. Those guys want to see your ass and your tits bounce. DON'T YOU, GUYS?!” The onlookers cheered. D'Amberline pulled back his arm. The thick rubber exploded across her shoulder blades. “AH!-” Across her spine. “NUHH-!” Her lower back, just above her tailbone. “GRHHH-!” Her tempo increased, pumping against the man on the table with increasing desperation as she bowed her head, teeth clenched, eyes straining to hold back the tears. Phillips allowed his arms to drop behind him, a languorous smile spreading across his face. “Harder, Croft. Make it hurt.” “You... pig...” She hissed. “Hey, D'Amberline! She says she's starting to like it!” The fan belt cut through the air. -CRACK!- Her body bucked on top of his. Her breasts tumbled as she rocked on top of him, sobbing. Their audience started to clap in time with the penetrations. “That's it,” Phillips growled. “Give 'em a show... Give 'em a show... Don't they just love to see you get fucked--” His hands moved back down to cup her ass as he started to thrust up against her falls. She cried out as he pulled her down, pushing as deep into her body as he could. “Give it to me. Give me your body, you glorious bitch. You're going to make me come. Hate me. Hate what I'm doing to you. You're going to make me come-” He smacked her rump, half sitting up as he furiously pulled her against him. Sweat dripped from her hair as their bodies crashed together. She screamed as his hand moved around her buttock, one finger pushing into her ass as he jerked her down, and down, and down- His body quivered as he erupted inside of her. With a shout that was half-bark, half laugh, he fell back against the table. Lara fell forward. For just a moment, her body rested against his- and then she sprang up, shrieking, twisting, straining at the cuffs that held her arms pinned as if she could somehow scrub her body clean. “Aw.” He chuckled. “And here I was just beginning to think we were getting somewhere.” He lifted her from him, careful only not to spill her from the table as he climbed off of it. Readjusting his pants, he walked around to D'Amberline with a cheerful smile, giving him a high-five as he took the offered fan belt from his other hand. “Your turn.” Turned on her side on the table, Lara's body shook with sobs. As D'Amberline pulled Croft down on top of him, Phillips draped the length of rubber over one shoulder, giving the men watching a cocked smile. “I think Lara knows what's required of her, now,” He drawled, looking innocently at nothing in particular. “You think maybe I should ease up with this thing?” There was a round of “boos” and some snickering. “Hmm... You think we should see how fast the cunt can make him come?” Roars and applause. Her head was down. Her body was rigid. Muscles stood out in her thighs as she desperately drove the man beneath her into her aching body. Phillips wound up like a pitcher on the mound. -CRACK!- -CRACK!- -CRACK!- -CRACK!- -CRACK!- -CRACK!- -CRACK!- -CRACK!- The alabaster flesh on her back burned with stripes of pink, turning angry magenta and purple where the marks crossed. And her ass bounced. And her boobs shook. And she pounded herself against her rapist, her lovely face afire with pain and hatred- hatred that was slowly turning inward as well as to those who assaulted her. -CRACK!- -CRACK!- -CRACK!- -CRACK!- -CRACK!- -CRACK!- -CRACK!- -CRACK!- She twisted on top of him, half-aware that she was shaking her boobs in his face and not caring because maybe, just maybe, it would get him off that much faster. Unfortunately for her, it drew his attention. His hands moved off her hips to grab her ponytail, and he pulled her back, back, arching her back painfully away from him, lifting up her breasts- An 'ooh' ran through the audience. Phillips and D'Amberline exchanged a nod. Phillips smashed the vicious whip down across both her tits. She screamed, a full-throated, lung-emptying wail of unbearable agony. “NO...! PLEASE...!” The belt ripped across her up-thrust bosom again, and her scream was overwhelmed by the watchers letting out a bellow like they had just witnessed a football player taking a hit. D'Amberling arched his own back as he thrust into her from beneath, fast and hard. “Yes, yes, YES-” The third lash across her breasts brought his orgasm with it. As he pumped his semen inside her he sat up, grabbed her shoulders, and put his mouth to her beaten breast, biting into her flesh and worrying the tender swell like a dog. “STOP!... STOP IT! PLEASE, SOMEONE, MAKE HIM STOP!-” He jerked his head back with a laugh, leaving an angry purple mark to compliment the stripes across her breast. He shoved her from him with less caution than Phillips, and she tumbled from the table, only her own reflexes allowing her to land in a squat on her feet. The show of prowess was completely spoiled when her bound, unbalanced arms caused her to fall backwards a moment later, drawing laughter from those who watched. “Lara Croft, ladies and gentlemen,” Defunestro barked. The laughter grew louder, punctuated by catcalls and insults as DeVries whispered in Defunestro's ear. The blond South African was nearly six and a half feet tall, and his musculature bunched the arms and chest of his fatigues. His cousin, Janzen, was his shadow- which was as much as saying that, in DeVries' absence, he would have been the focus of the treasure hunter's mounting terror. She struggled to sit up as they approached, to maintain some dignity, a facade that proved fruitless as DeVries hoisted her by one elbow into the air like a doll and dropped her back onto the table. “Warm-up is over, bitch,” he sneered, opening his pants and fisting his massive erection. “Now you get used.” DeVries quickly mounted the table. Janzen grabbed her under her arms, dragging her up and close to the table's edge as DeVries took her legs, sliding beneath her kneeling form. “Plant the whore's hips down good,” the larger of the two cousins growled. “I don't want there to be any chance of her slipping loose.” DeVries' hands clamped down on her thighs as his cousin shoved down against her tailbone, impaling the tomb raider's sore, cum-laden pussy on him with a sickening squish. Her head drooped as she whimpered. And then Janzen opened his pants behind her, and she began to tremble, shaking her head. “You can't-” Lara whispered. “You can't-!” Janzen dug his nails into her rump, peeling her open. “There is no can't, slut,” he snarled. “Not from you.” There was a heady pause when he shoved the head of his cock against her anal sphincter and began to drive his hips forward. For a moment, both Lara and Janzen shuddered- and then his strength won out, with a full-throated scream from the woman as she was double-penetrated and an exhale that was half-shout from Janzen. DeVries seemed content to allow Janzen to provide the motion for the time being. His cousin's attack on the English noblewoman's rump was savage, pulling back slowly and rocking her forward when he plunged into her balls-deep, pulling her back by the hips- and re-seating her fully on DeVries- as he drew back for the next thrust. He smiled as her cunt bucked against him, his hands gliding up her sides and over the marks on her breasts as he drank in her debasement, the torment as both men's cocks plundered deep inside of her and built friction on the delicate membrane between them. He cuffed her across the breast with an almost casual sadism. Her head ducked as she cringed, a muffled cry strangled on her voluptuous lips. “Hold her shoulders,” he growled to his cousin. Janzen laughed coldly as he reached under her arms, hauling her upper body upright. “My cousin was a ranked heavyweight contender in Johannesburg, cunt,” he whispered in her ear. “Curious why?” The muscular South African smiled as he rammed his right fist into her belly. “Cah!-” The effect was electric. With her knees against the table and her shoulders pinned, her body shuddered, unable to double up- and the wave of shock that went through her core clamped down her ass and cunt on her rapists. The watchers let out a collective breath. Someone whistled. “Kut! So tight!” Exclaimed Janzen, slamming into her straining ass. DeVries needed little encouragement to follow up by pounding her stomach with his left fist. “Unghh-!” “Yes...” DeVries chortled. “The little bitch was born to milk men's cocks. She just needs the proper spurring.” He traced one finger over her taut, hitching abdomen, into her navel and over her pubic swell, savoring her pain and fear. Reveling in the spasming against his cock as his cousin intensified his assault on her tortured rectum. He pounded his right fist against her navel. “Huuut!” And again, sinking his knuckles into her flesh. “Ngghhh!” Raping her belly with his fist; seeking, it seemed, to go through her. “Ohhh!” Janzen called out in pleasure with each punch as he tore into her spasming asshole. He could feel from the heat and the dampness that the fearsome sodomy was starting to make her bleed. The thought only made his cock harder. “Oh, beat the whore, DeVries! Beat her! Between us, we shall reduce her guts to tatters!” DeVries looked up at the panting, tear-streaked woman's face. As a boxer, the inclination was to aim for the nerve centers in the solar plexus, just below her rib cage; but such a punch could lock up her breathing, cause her to lose consciousness. So he focused on her lower abdomen. The taut sheath of fat and muscle that protected her guts had the most delightful give to his fists. And just above her pelvic girdle, the shock from his punches could even send cramps through her womb. So, low, he threw body-shaking jabs at her stomach. The -thump- of impact, the groans of the battered woman, the smacking of Janzen against the bruised fullness of her ass echoed against the concrete. Under other circumstances, DeVries might have admired the woman's endurance. At present, he was just pleased she remained fully aware of the pain they were inflicting upon her. “Ohhh- she's on the ropes, 'cuz...” Janzen snarled in furious ecstasy. “Don't let up- break the bitch! Break her belly!” DeVries' left hand grasped her hip, pulling her up and down to deepen his pleasure as both cousins' climax approached. The muscles in his right arm bulged as he drew back his fist. “Unnh--- AAAAAAGHHH!” In some kind of wordless, vicious synchronization, DeVries punch slammed deep into her weakening stomach- and a moment later, with the contraction inside her at its apex, both cousins slammed into her clenched orifices at once, deep and hard. The violence they wrought inside her was written on her, as her face went ashen. But alas, for Lara, that violence was not- quite- enough to bring the cruel South Africans to orgasm. Not the first time. “Take it, you murderous English bitch-!” His fist pierced her, pushing spasmodically into her flesh as DeVries arched his hips, as Janzen made her ass ripple with his thrust. “Rupture her guts, Janzen- Split her open-!” His punch drove deep into the swell above her pelvis. He could feel the shudder inside her as he bottomed out in her pussy, the inescapable double cramp of the punch coupled with the inner thrust ramming against the bottom of her womb. The uniquely feminine pain he had so lavished on the deserving whore- that was enough to make him ejaculate. But he kept up the assault on her heaving midriff- four more devastating punches into her bruised, yielding abdomen- until Janzen's seed burst into her bleeding bowels. After all, it was only polite. As Janzen pulled out of her rump with a soft “pop”, Lara's eyes rolled back in her head, and she went limp, dropping forward as he released her shoulders. DeVries snorted, pushing her off of him to tumble to the floor like a rag doll, so much dead weight. Defunestro cleared his throat, shouting to be heard over the cheers of approval. “Well, I believe that calls for a beer break...” -TO BE CONTINUED- |
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#9 |
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very nice. love the brutality you show here. couldn't have asked for better to do a lara croft rape piece. and love how they pulled her braid and then beat her breasts for it. just exquisite.
![]() and her ass bleeding as he pounded her abdomen. really nice. ![]() |
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#10 |
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heh, so this was the pic requested for the second part. positioning it was a bit difficult but this type of sexual art was a unique experience art wise. hope you all enjoy!
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#11 |
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05:44
“Defunestro, I want you to know that I have huge respect for you. All kidding aside, I really do. But for the love of fuck, why did you let the Greek guy buy the beer?” “Fuck you, Brauer.” Kalivas deadpanned. “Seriously. You want grapes? Sure. Olives? Right. That nasty 'ouzo' crap? Absolutely. But beer? I mean, does Greece even grow barley?” “Fuck you, Brauer.” “Have you ever heard someone say, 'you know what would go with this? A really good Greek beer'?” “Fuck you, Brauer.” “It's cold, it's wet, and it's taking the edge off,” DeVries said with a laugh. “I don't ask much more than that.” “And the South Africans left all their brewmeisters back in the Nether... regions.” retorted Brauer. “So what do you know.” DeVries tapped his bottle against Kalivas's. “All together, now...” “Fuck you, Brauer.” The men chorused. “Yeah, yeah.” The German took a tug from his own bottle with a grimace. “What I want to know is, how long are we going to give the bitch to wake up? For all I know, she's faking it.” “You and me both, brother,” growled Ramos. “You could go check,” Defunestro said with a smile. “Yeah, I think I will.” Brauer strolled over towards the foot of the table where the once-fearsome woman was still sprawled. He admired the marks on her back, and her breasts; the cut on her lip, the darkening mottled cloud across her abdomen, the angry purple-grey bar on her upper thigh. The sticky, drying tracks of white and rusting-red that had oozed from her asshole and cunt to puddle on the floor. Her mouth was half-open, and her breathing was going in a quick inhale-exhale pattern between long pauses, like a hidden creature terrified of discovery by a predator. Brauer watched her chest rise and fall for a few seconds; it was a pleasing sight. Then he reached down, scooped her up under her knees and shoulders, and lifted her onto the table. She remained passive as he set her down. So he climbed up onto the table and straddled her torso as the others looked on, drinking beer. He sat down on her bruised stomach (and did she wince, for a moment?) and looked down at her upper body. Throwing back his head, he spat into her lovely face. The disgusting drops spattered across her lips and cheek; still, she hardly stirred. So he spat into the cleft between those gorgeous breasts. Pulling his cock out from his fatigues, he gave each of the peaks a couple of taps with his erection, enjoying the feeling of her soft, warm flesh against his cock. When that failed to rouse a reaction, he raised a hand and gave her left breast a loud, ringing smack. Lara's breathing caught, for a moment, but her face remained impassive. “All right, then,” He muttered. Leaning forward, he jammed his cock between her sweat and saliva-dampened tits, crushed the unconscious woman's massive mammaries together, and rammed himself forward into her cleavage. Did she moan, when Brauer's hips smacked against the underside of those swells? If she did, he was ceasing to care. Having the tomb raider's tits clutched around his cock was amazing. Raping the haughty English noblewoman's chest- using her body, making those impudent tits she so flagrantly used to captivate men into a play-thing for his cock... He wished she was awake to see it, but part of him found her utter helplessness to her degradation almost as intoxicating. The give of the soft flesh in his fingers, the way the thrusts of his hips threatened to spill them from his hands, spurring him to clench his hands tighter on the yielding, tender mounds- Delicious. His thumbnails scraped over her swollen nipples. He'd thrust forward hard, then drop his weight as he came back, enjoying the little pained grunts that interrupted her breathing each time he bounced on her bruised diaphragm. Watching her tits shake as he fucked them. Feeling the involuntary goose-bumping around her areolae at the attention. Looking at those soft, parted lips as she lay submissively on the table, taking what he had to give. And her warm, wet skin slid across his cock, her tits bounced with his thrusts, his fingers dug in... Warm, surrendering silk... his to batter, fuck, use... To make... yield... “Make me come with your tits, bitch, make me come...!” His semen lanced from his cock as he jerked, falling in ribbons across her lips, her chin, her neck, her chest. For several long seconds he sat atop her, regaining control his breathing. “I guess she isn't faking,” he announced. There was a round of laughter at that as he climbed down from the table. “All right, fuck this,” Ramos snarled, grabbing three beers from the cooler and storming towards the table. “Sleeping Beauty's had long enough.” He popped the cap off the first beer on the edge of the table, dumping it over her head as the foam burst off the bottle's neck. “Wake up, puta. Wake the fuck up, you've got men to service!” She sputtered and gasped, thrashing on the table as she tried to move the arms cuffed behind her, shrieking as she was shocked from unconsciousness into nightmare. As she flopped over on her side, Ramos shook the second bottle. “Dirty little whore. Where's your fucking pride, making men fuck your filthy used cunt. Someone's got to clean you up!” He snapped the cap off the second bottle, and rammed the neck into her pussy from behind just as the foam started to geyser. Lara screamed. The cold, bubbling, alcoholic brew was like acid as it sprayed into her vaginal canal, burning as it filled her roughly-used pussy. Beer sprayed out of her as her hips arched painfully forward, her body involuntarily jerking with a reflexive attempt to expel the invader. Grabbing her above the hip, Ramos slammed her body face-down as he jerked the third bottle up and down in his other hand. “Your ass is open for business, too, slut.” “No-!” Croft shrieked, recognizing his intention. The third cap flew as he struck it on the edge. Ramos raised one knee up onto the table as he tilted the spurting bottle down, and shoved the neck between her buttocks. “NOOOO! OH GOD OH GOD OH GOD- TAKE IT OUT...!” Grinning savagely, the Argentinian planted his palm against the base of the bottle and pushed, driving the glass deeper inside the shrieking woman as she writhed and bucked. “You want it out? You want me to take the bad bottles out, bitch?” “OH GOD---!” “Does it hurt very much, seňorita?” “PLEASE!” “You going to suck my cock if I take them out...?” Defunestro leaned forward, an eyebrow raised. None of the others noticed, caught up in the drama at the table. “Say it, English bitch. Say 'I want to suck your cock'.” “I- I- nnnghhh---!” “SAY IT!” “I- want to s-suck- your cock...!” Beer foamed out of her as Ramos jerked the bottles from her pussy and ass, tossing them away to explode in a corner of the room. She shuddered and whimpered, her luscious, damp body plastered face-down to the table. “Get down. Get down here on the floor on your knees, like a good little perra.” She inched painfully off the table, shoulders and knees taking her where her arms could not. Men licked their lips, watching her hips move, her breasts heave, as she descended to the floor and slowly made her way towards Ramos. Ramos smiled down at her, pulling open his pants and pointing his jutting cock at her like a weapon. “Put it in your mouth, whore.” Lara shuddered in disgust, her eyes anywhere but on the crotch of the man before her. Slowly she sat up, kneeling. Her lush lips moved to the tip of the Argentinian's penis. “PUT it in your MOUTH.” Her eyes screwed shut as her head slowly moved forward, taking the head of the cock into her mouth and abruptly pulling back, trying to minimize her contact with the thing. Ramos's fists tangled in the hair on the back of her head. “I'm not fucking with you, bitch. Get my cock inside your head, now!” Her mouth went wide with surprise, and Ramos seized the opportunity to thrust his hips against her face. Lara squeaked, gagged, throat and stomach clenching as she struggled not to retch. “That's the way, perra. Take it in your mouth- take it in your throat!” He eased up the pressure on the back of her head. Her mouth slid forward and back on her own, now, trying not to give him a reason to gag her again. “Use your tongue. Wrap your lips around it, puta. Show me how you give a blowjob.” Her head bobbed on his cock, eyes closed, mind anywhere else. And Ramos knew it. His hands tightened on the back of her head again, pulling her against him, and holding her there. “Fine. You want it rough? We can do it rough!” Lara's shoulders shook as she fought against the hold on her head, choking. Bubbles of beer, semen, and snot came from her nose as she struggled to draw air. Ramos pulled her back just long enough to take a pained, wheezing gasp of air before he pulled her head against him again. When she retched, he pulled her back, only to jam his hips forward the next time he forced her head against his crotch. “This how all your holes got to be taken? You got to be shown who's boss, bitch? I can show you who's boss. I can fucking make you take it, that's what you want. You get off when it hurts? I'll make you get off like a fucking firecracker, you snotty English cunt.” He spat into her face as he pulled her back, then ground his pelvis into her face again. Her cheeks were turning purple when he abruptly jerked out of her mouth, leaving a sticky string of saliva dangling between his cock and her lips. “Good for nothing whore! Suck my fucking balls. Work your way down. I'm going to make you eat my fucking ass before you're done!” He pulled her head forward; her head turned sideways as her lips wrapped around his scrotum. Suddenly, Ramos went rigid, and screamed. “AAAAAGHH!” His hands were pounding at her shoulders, but her mouth held tight to his nutsack. “LET GO! STOP IT! AAAAAIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII-” Defunestro was there in a heartbeat, a rubber baton in one hand. Moving behind the kneeling woman, he planted one hand on her lower back and shoved the truncheon between her buttocks in one harsh thrust. Then he pushed down towards the ground on the handle, levering the rigid length inside her up within her bowels. Lara's eyes went wide. She let out a high-pitched screech that buzzed around the flesh in her mouth. Defunestro leaned forward. “Listen to me very closely, Lara. When your jaw unclamps from Mr. Ramos's testicles, the club inside you will go down to level. When you let him out of your mouth, the club will be pulled out of your ass. Nice and slow. Flex your toes if you understand me.” There was a pregnant pause. Ramos's eyes threatened to bulge out of his head. Lara's toes flexed. “Good.” Her jaw slowly eased. She let out a groan as the truncheon inside her leveled out, gasped aloud as her head pulled back, and the horrible instrument was withdrawn from her guts. Ramos fell backwards, clutching his groin and moaning. He screamed as DeVries took him by the shoulders, but with Janzen at his legs, they managed to carry him away to the infirmary. And Defunestro and the other sixteen men looked at her as she turned her head down, face flushed, breathing hard. Was Defunestro smiling? As if, perhaps, he had anticipated such a thing? “Oh, Lara,” He said, his voice soft and harsh. “You really shouldn't have done that.” -TO BE CONTINUED- Last edited by Corvid; 11-23-2012 at 11:49 AM. |
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#12 |
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well this one is a slightly different piece as i wasn't sure what image to do so i did one of the ones where lara got back. heh. enjoy.
and nice work, shoving the bottles in her ass and vagina and loved the baton hurting her like that. really nice. |
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#13 |
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“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- |
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#14 |
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love the brutality in this chapter in particular. very nice how you even found a way to whip her anus. and your breaking of her feels very realistic as given she didn't break right away but only wiht continued brutality. looking forward to the next chapter.
given there were quite a few scenes here and i actually changed my mind on what to do. (partially cuz i had trouble with the pose. lol. ) so here's the image for this chapter. ![]() |
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#15 |
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09:22
“Kaar? Bring me the funnel. And a couple of gallon jugs of water.” Defunestro pressed up against the shuddering woman on the table. He ran his hands over her torso, smiling when he cringed from his hands touching a bruise, welt, or scrape, a event that happened nearly constantly as his fingers moved from her thighs up to her breasts. “I'm not a selfish man, Lara. I get plenty of vicarious pleasure from watching my men rape you and hurt you. And I hope you realize that not a single thing that has been done to you hasn't been met with my approval. Every thrust, pinch, and blow is like an extension of my will to grind you down.” “You sick... fuck...” Croft whispered. His fingertips closed on her nipple. She hissed, and he continued as though she hadn't spoken. “But as we both know, I'm a man of some refinement. And while watching your cunt and your asshole be fucked, and whipped, and fucked, and whipped was quite delicious, I don't imagine there's a lot of tension left in your fuck-holes. It doesn't seem right that I should stick my cock inside you without the expectation of encountering a decent amount of resistance.” Kaar returned, the jugs of water swinging from one hand, the metal funnel with the flexible plastic extension from the other. “So I'm thinking that sixteen pounds or so of water pushing down on your innards ought to give me something to fuck against.” She started to twist against the hands that held her. Defunestro smiled his vicious reptilian smile as he forced the funnel into her mouth, “Nghhhh!” Shoved the tip down the back of her throat, “Glunnghh!” and bound it with rubber straps around the back of her head. “Water.” The jug tipped, and water began to rush into the funnel, down the pipe, and through Lara's throat. Her eyes went wide as she struggled. It felt like she was drowning. Defunestro watched her futile efforts, reaching out to stroke her throat with two fingers as the water poured into her body. He raised a hand when the funnel emptied, the jug still mostly full. “Give her a moment to breathe.” Her chest hitched, throat bobbing as it gagged on the funnel pipe. She snorted as she desperately pulled air in through her nose. The fluid burbled as it coursed through her body. “Continue.” “Glkkk-!” Her eyes shut as her body succumb to inevitability, going limp in the hands of those who held her, trying to maintain some tiny stock of energy to endure what was to come. With half the jug done, her abdomen had started to swell noticeably. After a gallon, her belly protruded out below from her rib cage. “Hmm. I had thought we might get you pregnant, Croft, but I hadn't considered it would happen quite so quickly.” A round of laughter from the onlookers. Still more. The next jug. After a gallon and a half, her chest was heaving even when the funnel was allowed to empty, the pressure of the water pushing against her lungs. “That should do. Sit her up a bit. I want the water to be able to move downward.” Defunestro tore the funnel away from her face, a dribble of water spilling past her lips as he did so. Binici and Zuyev grabbed her shoulders and hauled her upper body up to a forty five degree angle with a despairing moan from the tomb raider, the weight inside her torso making it the most painful sit-up she had ever performed. “Now then.” His hand cupped her whip-marked breast as he opened his pants, drawing out his considerable erection. “Is your cunt ready for me, Lara? Is it?” Beaten and violated, the lips of her vulva were fever-hot against the tip of his cock. He began to grin wolfishly as he pushed inside of her. “Oh, yes.” A devastated moan passed her lips as he penetrated her. “Oh, yes!” There was a softness inside her, pushing down against his cock as he thrust upward into her body. He pushed back against it with delight. “YES!” “Gnuuhhh!” Defunestro leered, face to face with his arch-enemy, taking in the pain-wracked grimace that contorted the aristocratic beauty of her visage. “I'm boring in against something that really hurts you, aren't I? Is the pressure crushing your bladder, perhaps? Or your ovaries?” He pulled back his hips and slammed into her body. “UNNHHH!” The water in her abdomen sloshed as his body collided with hers, bouncing her agonized breasts. “Is every thrust into you going to hurt you that much? Pounding your cunt feels fantastic, by the way. I should have done this to you sooner.” It was some effort to push back into her against the crushing weight inside of her, but the unmistakable anguish each thrust wrought on her face spurred Defunestro onward, the sensation of forcing something inside of her give way with each punitive stroke of his cock. “What, nothing clever to say now, tomb raider?” “UNGHHH!” His fingernails sank into the pain-wracked breast under his hand. Such a prize, Lara Croft. Such plunder to revel inside. “I don't think there's room in there for your cock, drook,” chortled Zuyev. “Oh, you can always make room, Zuyev,” growled Defunestro. “ANGH-!” “It's just a matter of shoving something out of the way.” “NUUHHHHH!” Defunestro's smile was feral as he basked in her suffering. “Aw. You're crying. And I just keep on raping you. Such a tragedy.” “GHHHHH-” Lifting his hand, he slapped down on the pliant swell below. Her tortured breast shook with the blow, swollen heat rising from the delicate, much-abused orb. Rubbing his fingertips across the hard point of her nipple, he struck her breast again as he drove himself into her. “UNH!-huh-huh...” “Soft places. You would think an educated woman would stay clear of men with guns, being covered in so many delicate places to hurt...” He spanked the breast under his hand with a ruthless sadism as he continued to inflict thrust after lunging thrust upon her swollen pussy. “Take it. Take it, you worthless bitch.” The hands that held her tensed as their leader began to quicken his pace, hammering against the softness of her body, jostling the unforgiving water inside her as he took her. “Make me come inside you, cunt. Suffer for me. Suffer!” His hand moved down to slap her swollen belly as he came, a drum-like sound against the cruel fluid inside her. "UHHH! UHHH! UNGHHH...!" He pulled out of her all at once, his departure accompanied by a stream of semen from her abandoned pussy. Her head dropped backwards, body shaking with sobs against the men who continued to restrain her without pity. Defunestro retreated half a step, breathing long, deep breaths. He had taken her, and much enjoyed the feeling of delivering his cum inside of her suffering frame, yet remained unsatisfied. Returning to her splayed form, he spat into her face. “Thanks for the fuck, Lady Croft. Now for some payback.” He jammed two fingers into her fouled, beaten pussy. Then three. “After so much good, hard fucking, I think you need something a little more... significant inside you.” He forced four fingers inside of her, jacking against her pelvis, in and out, in and out as her breathing became a high-pitched, reedy whine. Then his thumb, joining in pushing against the resistance inside her. He was breathing hard as he forced his hand into her pussy, the motion accompanied by sickening wet squish sounds with each push inside of her trembling body. “Lara...? This is for my eye.” His hand clenched into a fist inside of her, and he rammed it forward. Lara screamed. Her eyelids began to flicker as her eyes rolled. “Oh, no. Kaar? The water.” Defunestro snapped. Kaar grabbed the open jug and splashed it over her face. She spluttered, head jerking forward, and screamed again. Defunestro responded by pulling his arm back and punching it further into her body. “EAAAAA....!” The scream was cut short only by the limitations the water put on her lungs, ending in a piteous fit of coughing. “Take this as my greeting to future generations of Crofts, tomb raider. I'm punching your fucking womb.” The bulge inside her pelvis was clear as he drove his fist into her pussy, coming to a clear and sickening stop inside her as her body shook. Sweat dripped from his brow as he violently bore into her cunt. “What do you think, Lara? Could I beat your uterus into jelly this way?” Squish. Slam. Squish. Slam. Squish. Slam. “Beg me, whore. Beg me not to beat your womb. Plead for mercy.” Her face was asheen with sweat, spit, water and cum, her eyes tilted in anguish and sadness, knowing that no mercy was forthcoming. But what else could she do? “Please do- AIIIGH!” “Yeah, that's right,” He sneered, arm pumping. “Please don't beat my UNGGHHH-! Please, don't beat my womb! ANGHHH! P...” The viciousness of the blows to her insides deprived her of breath. Her head dropped backwards as she struggled to regain the air she needed- not to resist, not to survive, but to please the monster who was assaulting her. Her head rose again, and she looked into his face, and became the victim he wanted her to be. “Please! UGHH! Please, sir-! NGGHHH! Please, master, don't beat my womb...! AGHHHH!” Defunestro was getting hard again. He yanked his arm from her birth canal with a nauseating sound. Her cruelly widened feminine channel gaped open for a long moment, quivering and pink. “Get her up. Turn her around.” Her feet gave out under her the first couple of times they set her down; they ended up holding her under her arms. Her swollen stomach rested on the corner of the table. His hands tightened on her ass, flesh squeezing in his fingers. So many soft places. It took token force to inflict the initial penetration of her violently used anus, but the pressure from the water bulging her guts was even greater once he was inside of her. He was sodomizing Lara Croft, and she was crying. Every smack of his body against the curves of her rear sent the pleasure of that realization like lightning through his mind. He was glad this was his second time- the ecstasy of demeaning her in this way would surely have made for an early orgasm, otherwise. He drove deep and hard into her ass. And they held her. And she took it, because it was all she could do. He leaned forward. “Did you know, Lara, that medical studies have proven that nausea can be even harder to endure than pain?” His hands went flat against her lower back, and he pushed down, crushing her swollen belly against the corner of the table. “No! No, no, n- Bluuuuuh-” Water spurted from her mouth across the table. Defunestro rammed viciously against her ass, letting up on the pressure to focus on lending power to the thrusts into her bottom. “Well, how about that? It seems you still have some ability to clench that sphincter, after all. Involuntarily, at least.” “Oh god. Oh god. Oh please. No more. No more...!” “You can't be serious.” His weight dropped against her back again. “Oh god oh god oh uuuuurffff-!” Fluid spilled across the table. Again he let up- to focus on hate-fucking her ass. Break. Your ass. You dirty. Little. Bitch. “You should thank me for helping you purge, Lara. Keeping all that water inside of you isn't good for you.” The pound, pound, pound from behind stretched her mouth into an agonized grimace as she stammered her thanks. “I mean, consider the strain on your kidneys-” He slammed his fist into the side of her back. She wailed in agony. Defunestro barked a harsh, cruel laugh. “Yeah. I think one more good push ought to do it. Well, one more is going to do it, one way or another. Give me all you've got, Croft, because I'm going to be returning the favor on you back here. Gentlemen?” Hands pushed down on her body, crushing her against the table. There was no end to the water. No end. Defunestro forced himself into her ass, again and again, sharp, steady, machine like. Her vomiting kept her savaged sphincter clenched around his cock. He slapped her ass, and punched her kidneys, blows exploding like a cascade of fireworks on her flesh as he buggered her. She was a rag doll being pounded by a violent sea. She couldn't breathe, couldn't resist. She was only present in the pain. “I'm coming. My cum is in your ass, Croft. You're taking my cum in your fucking asshole.” Somewhere, far away, she could feel it. Pumping, hot stickiness inside her rectum. It would make her sick, but she had just been more sick than it was ever possible to be again. Defunestro collapsed against her, exhausted, shaking with malicious laughter. “Oh, such a good rape-puppet, Lara. So good. I could almost get to like you, this way.” The onlookers whistled and clapped as he dragged himself off of her limp frame and set his clothing to rights. “So, around this time, I imagine some of you are thinking that a little sleep would be good for your recovery. The thing is, though, Lara doesn't get to sleep. Ever.” “So we're going to set up some shifts...” -TO BE CONTINUED- Last edited by Corvid; 12-06-2012 at 01:14 PM. |
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#16 |
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I"m liking how you're getting creative with the ways they punish croft. it's nice to see that bitch get her place for all her snobbery and theft. looking forward to the next chapter.
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#17 |
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11:02
She didn't resist as they dragged her off the table. Her shoulders and arms screamed in protest when they cut the tie that had held her hands cuffed behind her for hours. A heavy chain was attached to a hook in the ceiling, and her arms were manacled above her head, and that protest became all the louder. For Lara's part, all she could manage was a moan. Her ankles were chained to the floor with just enough slack to move about half a step in any direction; enough slack to spread her legs, or lean her forward or back, but not enough to kick effectively. Enough to make access to her body easy, but not enough for any kind of comfort. She stood, chained, on display in the middle of the concrete bunker, bruises and welts, cum and sweat and spit decorating her lithe form. And if her pert breasts had been beaten harshly, they still thrust out in a most desirable way from her chest with her arms above her head. And if her cunt had been used cruelly, the pelvic shadow that traced down to that swollen cleft was still an invitation to any man. And if that shapely ass had been sodomized with such violence that she had bled- indeed, with the intention of making that delicate and forbidden passage bleed- it still promised pleasure to the man who would drive against it. Four men had not yet used her. Kalivas made coffee. Collins and Gamble circled the chained woman. Collins paused to lift and squeeze her breasts, sinking his fingers into the supple flesh. Gamble did the same with her ass, running fingers down her cleft, feeling her anus and pussy flinch at his touch. Hands ran over her sides, scratched down her ribs, the sensitive skin under her arms, the quivering tendons at the back of her knees. Fingers pushed against her sore abdomen, feeling the stretched and beaten flesh give. Collins lifted her chin, gazed into the thousand-yard-stare in her brown eyes. He turned her face in his hand, admiring her high cheekbones and the aristocratic architecture of her beauty. He spat in her face and slapped her. A muffled whimper passed her lips, and her head drooped forward again. “D'you think I can get her crying if I fuck her up the ass again?” murmured Gamble. “I don't know,” Collins replied, lifting her head again to stare into her face. “But I think it would be worth giving it a good, hard try. Hang on a sec.” “No hurry.” Collins moved off to the shelves in the back of the room, leaving Gamble, contemplative, behind her. Gamble set his chin on her shoulder as he squeezed her lash-reddened derrière, tensing and releasing his mitts on her soft, toned flanks. “What do you, think, Croft?” He whispered. “Janzen got you to clench up with his cuz' hammering your stomach. Kaar and Rojas and Abassi all got the benefit of your little asshole being whipped shut. Defunestro got to slosh that water in your guts. All I get is gravity. It's been open season on that tight butt of yours, and I've had the pleasure of watching you take some legendary butt-fuckings. Is there enough 'squeeze' left in your asshole to make it burn?” A finger tickled against her anus. Lara gasped, mewling softly. “Mmm. Sore, isn't it? Anyone get up the high-and-mighty Countess of Abbington's shit-chute before today? Some poncey earl slip a finger inside your butt while he was tonguing your clit, after getting a 'by your leave'? Some millionare jet-setter get to ass-fuck you slow and tender because it was his birthday and he fed you on roast pheasant and caviar, and plied you with diamonds?” Fingers pinched open the swollen pucker. She hissed, her body going rigid. “You're a fucking bitch, Croft. An un-lubed cock wrenching though your guts is what you need and deserve. A burning, aching hole in your core that reminds you that there's a place inside you just to fuck and hurt and punish. That for all your training and exercise, all your gymnastics and all your gunplay, your body is just a cum receptacle.” Collins returned with a heavy burlap sandbag over one shoulder and his arms full of weapons. He tossed the bag aside, shoved the rubber truncheon into his belt, and whirled the handguns in front of the bound tomb-raider. “Look familiar, sweets?” He laughed, dangling the guns next to her chest, frustratingly out of reach. “A pair of big guns for a pair of big guns, that right?” She turned her head away, lips going tight. Collins' expression hardened. He holstered the guns in his belt, grabbing her under the jaw and turning her to face him as he again drew the club. “Open your mouth.” Her sullen eyes looked back at him under heavy lids. “The boss said not to hit you in the face, but I don't think he'd notice if you were missing some dental work, cunt. Open your goddamn mouth.” Her lip furrowed for a moment, and then her jaw dropped open. He slid the hard black rubber lengthwise between her teeth. “Keep it there.” Her teeth clenched resignedly on the truncheon. “Yeah, that's a good look for you. And hey, if that baton got your mouth open for Ramos, it can do the same for me.” Recognition of the club's former use hit her. Her stomach clenched and her cheeks went hollow with revulsion. “Don't you fucking drop it, Croft. Keep the ass-club in your teeth.” He looked over her shoulder at Gamble. “You ready?” “Just been waiting on you, sluggard.” Gamble's erection rubbed against the heat of her rump. “Lay into the bitch.” Gamble set the head of his cock inside of her cleft, bent his knees, and thrust up into Lara's ass. “GRRRRRRRRRRNNNNNGHHHH!” She screamed into the club. “Oh, yeah,” snarled Gamble, hands tightening on her hips. “That's it!” “NGHH!- UNGHH!- NGHHH!- GGNGH!-” BANG. Lara's tightly shut eyes went wide as Collins fired the semi-automatic into the sandbag, the gunshot deafening as it exploded around the concrete room. Her next three cries into the club were turned into gasps of surprise as Gamble pounded her. BANG. BANG. A wisp of vapor issued from the barrel of the gun as Collins held it up, filling the room with the smell of burning powder. “Big guns for big guns, right, Croft?” His fingers grabbed the nipple of her right breast as the swell bounced with the impact of Gamble's buggering. Twisting the nub, he yanked up on the globe, and jammed the barrel of the pistol into the underside of her breast, pushing the hot metal deep into the meat of her tit. “NGHHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!” The truncheon bounced as it hit the floor. Collins smiled, holstering the gun as he squatted and picked up the club where it had fallen. “Aw. Do you not want to hold this in your mouth any more, Croft?” His voice was syrup-sweet and mocking. She nodded painfully as Gamble drove deep and hard into her rump. The smile on Collins' face ripped away into savage fury in an instant. “Wrong answer, whore. You don't get an 'I want' any more.” His face contorted into a snarl as he slammed the club into the side of her breast with a loud THWACK. “AHHHEEEE!” THWACK. THWACK. THWACK. Each breast took two vicious blows, and then he rammed the end of the club into her belly. “HNGHHH-” Gamble let out a satisfied laugh as the blow sent her lower body pressing against him. Then Collins squatted, and moved the head of the rigid black rubbed down between her thighs. His fist went white on the handle as he drove it inside of her vagina with a squish. “AHHHH!” “Fuck you, Croft! Fuck you!” The club slammed against her bruised and battered cervix as Collins raped her with the brutal weapon. She felt Gamble's hands tighten on her hips as he assaulted her guts with his cock, scouring the membrane between his member and the rubber hammering her birth canal. She struggled not to be sick. If she threw up on the man savaging her vagina with the club, there was no telling what he would do to her. She lost count of how many times the club stabbed inside of her before he withdrew it with another grotesque sound. The slick black rubber was in her face again. “Bite it, bitch!” Crying, she did. “Look at me, you fucking whore.” He held her gaze as he pointed her gun back at the sandbag. His other hand pushed into her battered left breast and squeezed. BANG. BANG. BANG. Again, his fingers crushed her nipple as he lifted her breast, slowly bringing the gun towards the underside of the heavy swell. Sweat vaporized with a puff as he jammed the gun against her flesh. “NGHEEEEEEE! NGH! NGH!” Her lips pulled back from her teeth as she screamed into the slick rubber, spittle running over her chin as she struggled not to release it. Gamble took the opportunity to jerk her pelvis back to meet him, slamming his hips into her ass brutally as her body twisted with the torture, churning inside her clenching guts. “Aw, sweet,” Gamble growled. “That's it- take it- that cock- in your ass- burn her-! Burn her! Hurt those tits!” Collins gave the gun a twirl as he holstered it, pulling the second gun and pointing it. BANG. BANG. BANG. Puffs of sand erupted from the bag where the bullets hit. His hand wandered over her bosom, the flesh bouncing with each hurtful thrust into her backside. A soft patch of skin on the side of her right breast had managed to escape the multitude of beatings without mark or blemish. “NGHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” No longer. “You must have one resilient ass, Croft,” Collins sneered. “Gamble looks like he's found a little piece of heaven.” “Don't stop!” roared Gamble. “Don't fucking stop!” BANG. BANG. BANG. The previous time, Collins had sought out unmarked skin to mark with the barrel of the haughty Lady Croft's own gun. Now, as he yanked her right breast upward by her tender nipple, he sought the angry mark of the previous burn. The metal mashed into her flesh with a hiss. “NNNNNAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!... -No!” The club tumbled once more from her mouth. Gamble slowed his pace as he watched the scene unfold before him. Croft trembling on his cock, Collins squatting down to pick up the baton again. The tip of the club went under her chin, lifting her head to look into his murderous eyes. Her body shook as she looked back at him. “Do it, you miserable bastard!” She sobbed. His arm went back, and the baton connected with her right breast with a resounding WHACK. Her scream had only trailed off as he came back with a second blow to her left breast. Gamble pulled back to better slam his full length into her anal channel as the man before her began to savagely beat her delicate bosom. The force each man exacted on her bound frame only spurred the other on. “Yes! Oh yes! Don't let up! Pound the bitch!” “Force it up her ass! Fuck it open! Make her take every inch!” Each THWACK of the club sent her tits swinging and bouncing, eliciting another screech as Gamble continued to lance his cock viciously upwards into her bowels. And then Collins had the baton in both hands, and drove it like a battering ram into her belly. “HNNNK-” The taut muscles of the tomb raider's midriff had been pummeled, whipped, and stretched, enduring hour after hour of abuse. There was little resistance left in the muscular sheath of her abdomen to protect its delicate cargo, and the hard rubber penetrated deep. Gamble was suddenly aware of her fragility; knew the creature impaled on his shaft could be permanently damaged by the assault. But as her butt spasmed around him, he ceased to care. “Ahhhhh!... Again!” THUD. “Huuuk-” THUD. “Nnnhhh!” THUD. Yellow bile spilled over her lips. Blood spattered the ground between Gamble's legs. Gamble seized the delirious woman's shoulders, yanking her upper torso backward as she reeled in her bonds. “Take her, Collins. Take her!” The hurt he had inflicted on her was his foreplay. Collins was hard as a rock. Peeling open his pants, he advanced on her, parted her thighs, and penetrated her to the hilt. A terrible rhythm rose as both men drove into her unresisting body, deep and hard. Battering her womb and her bowels, tearing at the fragile perineal membrane that separated them. Her toned legs quivered, thighs splayed wide as the men brutally sought climax in her body. Gamble's fingers clenched in her hair as he mounted his final assault. Her flesh rippled as he pounded into her, sodomizing her violently. With his final thrust, he yanked back, drawing her head back towards him, making her gasp. “My seed mixes with your blood, Croft,” he whispered. “I am forever a part of you...!” He remained inside her, cock bucking as he ejaculated in her bowels, as Collins found his own peak, hands cupping her breasts, nails biting into her burns. Flesh squeezed between his fingers as he painted her insides with his hot spunk. “Ah...! Ha... Whoa. Huh. Hell, yes...” She tumbled, limp, as they pulled out of her, drawn to a sudden and vicious halt as the chain holding her her arms went taut, sending a wave of agony through her shoulders. Her body shivered and shook with her sobs as blood-smeared semen dripped down her thighs. “Hey, cheer up, Croft,” said Collins with a smirk. “I'm not half so mad at you anymore...” Gamble laughed. “Which is not to say he won't get his temper back after a good night's sleep.” “Don't worry, she's still a bitch. With all a bitch's needs.” The men bumped fists. Kalivas walked in towards the tableau, a steaming mug in his hand. “Hey, Kalivas. Why don'cha pour the whole pot over the bitch?” urged Collins. Kalivas rolled his eyes. “Don't be ridiculous. This is good coffee.” He brought the mug up to the woman's swollen lips, slowly tilting the black liquid into her mouth. “Awww. Isn't that sweet. You got a crush?” “No... but I'd like her to be awake when I fuck her, asshole.” “I already fucked her asshole,” chimed in Gamble. “With such height of wit, you could be a jockey.” Kalivas shot back. Lara swallowed gratefully, trying to tune out the conversation and what it foretold. It was the first thing that had passed her lips in eighteen hours that hadn't come back the same way. “It might be all one to you whether you're having sex with a woman or a side of meat, but I prefer the women I'm penetrating to be aware of the act.” The cup was still half-full when he pulled it away from her mouth. She moaned softly. It was the only bit of comfort she had gotten; what followed would be all the worse for it. Kalivas took a long sip. “Ah, yes. That's good stuff.” Setting the cup aside, he drew a small bottle from his satchel. Lara stared at it with rising dread. He laughed. “Oh, this isn't going to hurt you, Croft. Not directly. Hey, Favreau, you caffeinated yet? You're going to want to see this.” The Belgian grunted assent and loped over to where the miserable woman hung. Kalivas opened the stopper from the bottle and poured it over her torso, The gleaming, viscous fluid made her flushed skin shine. The Greek moved closer, hands resting on her trembling flesh as he began to rub it into her body. “Just vegetable oil. Gives that slutty body of yours a certain sheen.” His hands were neither harsh nor gentle, clearly putting enough pressure on her to show that he could hurt her more, and would in a heartbeat if he chose. Her breathing grew shallow and pained as he worked the oil into the myriad of bruises and welts on her skin, with special attention to the angry purple marks on her breasts. When her body gleamed in the sodium lights, he pulled back a couple of paces to admire his work. “Here's the deal, Croft. You're going to dance for us. You're going to shake those tits, and grind those hips, and turn us on like a stripper. You get five minutes to do so. If we're good and hard when you're done, Fav and I are going to double-team you. If not...” Favreau smiled, opening his hand. An array of silver-white metal shafts lay in his palm on a piece of red velvet. “Fav here is going to push pins into your tits. And possibly your clit. And then we're going to double-team you.” Her vision blurred as her eyes widened with disbelief. Kalivas turned up his wrist and smiled. “Four minutes, fifty-five.” She struggled to get her feet underneath herself. Her left calf trembled, her knee threatening to buckle. She hopped for a second on her right, realizing it was ridiculous, the very opposite of sexy. “Four and forty-five.” Her feet shuffled, vaguely remembering childhood lessons in waltz, foxtrot, and tango that might have been a century ago. Dances for partners, and for polite illusions that courtship was far removed from carnality. Useless. “Four and ten.” The requisite ballet lessons. Lifts and pliés that were unachievable in her chains. Everything hurt, she was exhausted, how...?! Favreau lifted one of the long metal pins. It shined in the light. India. Egypt. Temple dances, fertility dances, the dances of prostitutes. Her belly screamed at her as she shifted it, swiveling her hips in a slow circle. The pain reflected in delight on the faces of the men watching the chained beauty. “Three-thirty.” She twisted her shoulders, rolling her shining, swollen, beaten breasts, arching her back. Inviting them to take what they had already taken. “Two...” Her legs parted as far as they could in her chains, and she twisted and bucked her pelvis at them. Here. Here is my sex. I will be whatever you want me to be. “One and thirty.” Her breasts shook, smacking together as she cried out, desperate and hurting. Her hips moved, jerked, as though she were already under assault by some invisible lover. You want my pain? It's yours. I am yours to do with as you wish, please, hurting me further when I am willing to hurt and debase myself for you is madness...! “Ten seconds.” “Fuck me!” She wailed, her body shimmying in her chains in desperate pain. “Please, fuck me!” “...And, time. Hmm.” Kalivas rubbed his hand over the bulge in his pants. “What do you think, Favreau?” The Belgian looked at the pins and sighed, setting the bundle down on a chair. “I theenk ze leetle bitch can dance.” “There's always next time.” They closed in on her. “Well, Croft. You win. We're going to fuck you. Does that make you happy?” A tiny part of her was grateful. And she hated it. “I want her cunt,” Favreau purred, hand pressing between her thighs. “Oh, sure,” Kalivas growled. “Make the Greek guy take her ass.” “Heh. You said eet, my friend, not me.” “It's just a cliché, is all...” The Belgian's arms slid under her thighs, lifting her to the extent the chains would allow, spreading her wide. “Well, get to eet. Just because we are last, does not mean we should have to wait any longer.” Kalivas moved behind her. His arms went around her ribs, beneath her breasts, helping to support her weight. “On 'three'. One. Two...” “UNGH--!” Both men lunged forward, crushing her between them, spearing deep in her pussy and asshole. “Heh. 'Zis must be ze benefit of fucking oon athlete. You would hardly know ze boss's arm had been in zere...” “Fav? Shut up and rape the bitch.” Exhausted, Lara did little more than moan as the two men savagely pumped away at her holes. She felt like her insides were being sanded away, the stickiness of dried blood and semen torn with each new thrust as her rapists used her. As the last of her violators, the two men felt no need to hurry. She half-wished she might faint, gain even the briefest of respite from her torture. Favreau smiled at the sweet mixture of pain and exhaustion on her face, thrusting hard to make her breasts bounce above Kalivas's hold on her chest. “Kalivas?” “What?” snapped the Greek, grunting as he pounded away at her bottom. “Could you take her legs, for a moment?” Eyes rolling in exasperation, he moved his grip down her body to support her from beneath. Favreau smiled, his own grasp moving up to her jutting, tumbling breasts. “Lady Croft? I have a confession to make,” the Belgian purred, his hips crashing against her pelvis. He held up one hand before her face, turning it. A single, long, surgical steel pin emerged from under his thumb. “I am a terrible lie-air.” Her eyes went wide as he seized her hitching right nipple. “No...!” She screamed in agony as the sharp metal slowly pierced the blood-charged nub. Moments later, thrusting hard, Favreau's seed erupted against her cervix. When the Belgian twisted the pin, Kalivas gained his own climax in her bowels. Only then did she pass out. -TO BE CONTINUED- |
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#18 |
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very nice brutality. looking forward to the next installment.
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#19 |
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13:21
The acrid scent of the ammonia capsule under her nose startled her awake. The pin in her right nipple had been replaced by a metal ring. Satisfied that she was conscious, Janzen moved between her thighs, pushing himself inside of her pussy and lifting her to her feet as he did so. When he had established his rhythm (and gotten her swollen rump bouncing nicely, to his perspective), Oslo started whipping her back with the fan belt. This would largely be the pattern for the next eighteen hours; two men, usually one raping her while another focused on inflicting pain; sometimes, both raping her, other times, both hurting her, usually as a prelude to raping her. Janzen pulled on the ring in her nipple as he came. “Scream for me, bitch. Let me hear you.” She did, dutifully; the piercing was still raw, her nipple sensitive and easy to hurt. Janzen and Oslo switched places, and the skin on her back became an angry swath of pink as the rape and the flogging continued. They were the gentlest ones. 14:54 Tam and Jennings took her to the toilet to clean her out and make sure there weren't any accidents while the men used her. The vinegar douche made her scream; the vinegar enema nearly saw her faint. Then Tam lay on the floor, and made her straddle him, holding her body tight against him while Jennings sodomized her from behind. When she wasn't crying hard enough for him, more vinegar splashed onto the raw skin of her back was enough to renew her agony. “Good and hard, man,” snarled Tam, spitting into her face as Jennings made her buttocks bounce. “Use that ass. Tear it up. Make the whore squeal.” Jennings came on her back, and Tam in her face. There was no sense in sullying her freshly-scrubbed holes, not when so many others would be using them. 16:45 THUD. “Hfff-!” Park and DeVries had a game. THUD. “Nghh-!” Lara swung back and forth, upside down, suspended by her ankles. The rubber truncheon was back in her mouth. THUD. “Hufff- Unhhh...” Clack. They took turns punching her in the stomach as she swung toward them. Whenever she dropped the club, the game was paused while the point-scorer punched her five times between her legs. “Please, no-!” WHAM. WHAM. WHAM. WHAM. WHAM. Given her suspension, the most force was to be applied by punching downward against her crotch, but sometimes her swollen clitoris proved too tempting a target and a more diagonal blow was called for. “Awwhhh-! Awhhh! Oh...!” Whoever won the game got to take her first. Park took the club and put it between her teeth again, giving her a push to resume her swinging. The score was 3-5, advantage DeVries. They were playing to ten. THUD. “Hhh-hhh-hhh...” 20:17 “Ahh-ha-ha-haaaa!” No, Brauer decided, zapping Lara with a taser while Gamble was inside her was not a good idea; skin was just too conductive. But, in fairness, it had been Gamble's idea. 20:59 The possibilities for torture inherent in a toothpick were obvious. The fringed plastic coating that went on ends of the kinds of toothpicks frequently used on sandwiches didn't appear to make them any more threatening. Unless you inserted them into a woman's urethra and spun them. “AIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII I-!” Yes, she told Rojas, she would wrap her legs around him as he fucked her. Yes, she would beg to be fucked harder, no matter how much it hurt. D'Amberline had brought a ping-pong paddle from the rec room, and he wanted to put his knees on her hands and take it to her breasts while Rojas fucked her? Oh, God... “AIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII-!” Yes, he should do that. Yes, her big, slutty tits deserved further punishment. Whatever he wanted. Whatever they wanted. Hurt her. Fuck her. Just, please, take out the toothpick-! Rojas smiled as D'Amberline pulled her arms above her head, as she winced as the weight of his knees came down on her palms. Smiled wider as he penetrated her, and her strong calves crossed across his back. “Pull back your shoulders, puta. Ask Seňor D'Amberline to please beat your tits.” Lara swallowed hard as Rojas pushed deep inside of her. “...Please... beat... my... t-t-tits...” WHACK. He beamed at her as she sobbed. “Good puta.” 22:18 The trip to the showers was supposed to be to “clean her up”, but once Phillips, Abassi, and Zuyev got to looking at her skin, wet and shining with soap, things got a little out of hand. Phillips and Zuyev held her, standing, tight against the wall while Abassi fucked her up the ass. Her breasts scraped against the tiles while he pounded her, the new ring in her nipple making a scratching sound as he wrenched his cock up into her bowels. The hot water stung as it washed away the blood. And then Zuyev took her the same way, but pushed against the wet floor, straddling her, riding her up-thrust haunches, driving into her deep and making her flesh bounce to the men's delight. Every time he seemed close to orgasm he would slow down and concentrate on penetrating her rump hard, fucking her ass deep, making her scream. Gradually he would increase his tempo again, only to have the process repeat itself. He finally came in her hair. She pleaded with Phillips to use her feminine passage instead, but to no avail. He pushed her face down into the drain, half-drowning her as his thrusts tore her asshole. He rewarded her for his eventual orgasm with a slap to the back of her head. Ten minutes more under the shower, and the blood, sweat, spit, and sperm were washed away. But the woman they brought out of the heat of the shower couldn't stop shaking. Day Two 00:46 “Do you want to stop?” “No...!” She pushed herself down on Kalivas, filling her aching vagina with his hard cock. He smiled up at her, stretching his arms above his head as she worked to pump her aching body against him. “Well, any time you want to, let me know. Your cunt feels wonderful, but I'm in absolutely no hurry to climax. I think you could keep doing this for hours.” How long had they been raping her? How long had it been since she had had any sleep, beyond the moments of unconsciousness granted by shock and pain? She was so tired...! Whenever her breasts stopped bouncing, Favreau was there with his pins. Her hitching breasts already sparkled with five partially-embedded steel shafts. “Oh, please...! Please, come...! Please... Please... no...” She only realized her eyes had closed when the sharp point jabbed through her aureole and into the meat of her breast. She screamed in agony, crying out all the louder as she resumed bouncing atop Kalivas, the new pin turning within her breast as she moved. 02:25 “Twenty-three...!” Lara whimpered. “Congratulations, Binici, new record.” Abassi smiled from his position with his knee on her back. The heavy metal chain was coiled in the Turk's hands; at least, part of it was. Part of it was sticking out of Lady Croft's anus, proffered for the treatment with a slightly-depleted sandbag stuffed underneath her hips. How much of it would remain in his hands was another question. He forced another link between her quivering buttocks. “Ungh-! Twenty-four... Ah! Twenty-five...!” The burly Turk tapped the end of a link against the swollen orifice, then smiled. “I think that will do.” “All right. Rip-cord the bitch.” “Please- not again!” Binici's fists tightened on the length of chain extending from her rump, and all at once, he pulled savagely back on it. “AAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” The sphincter seemed to ripple as the chain emerged, the last several links dripping crimson. Binici dropped the chain as he contemplated the angry, spasming hole, pulling his erect cock from his pants. “You going to want another go after me?” He inquired, face contorting slightly as he forced his cock inside the screaming woman's ass. “Oh, certainly,” Abassi smiled. “I think we can get at least thirty links in there.” 03:50 “Ahhh! Oh God! Oh Gaw-ha-haaaa....!” No, Brauer reflected, a latex condom was not sufficient protection to make penetrating a vulva you had just sprayed with pepper spray a good idea. But in fairness, it had been Collins's idea. 05:10 It had been maybe five minutes since anyone had touched her. She had fallen asleep, arms suspended in her chains, twice in that time, jerking awake both times, terrified of what might be coming next. For the moment, the room was empty. She wondered who was supposed to be on shift. An inventory of pain made each possibility seem worse than the last. Each hurt inside her said, I couldn't take any more of that even knowing that what she could take was irrelevant in the face of what she would bear. She was about to nod for the third time when the door at the back slid open, and the man with the bandaged crotch crept into the room. Oh, no. “Buenos dias, you fucking cunt.” Ramos. -TO BE CONTINUED- Last edited by Corvid; 12-21-2012 at 09:28 PM. |
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#20 |
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really loving this story so far. can't wait to see where it goes!
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Tags |
anal, bondage, illustrated, punching, whipping |
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