The Misadventures of Professor Croft

BY : PornEater
Category: +S through Z > Tomb Raider (all) > Tomb Raider (all)
Dragon prints: 29524
Disclaimer: I do not own Tomb Raider. I do not make any money from writing this story.

The Misadventures of Professor Croft

Part One: Professor Croft and the Eye of Metate

Chapter One: Private Tutoring
 

 

(Re-written and re-released, May 2017)

 


The lecture theatre was cool and dark, the students' murmuring voices barely audible above a soft mechanical whirr of slowly revolving air-conditioner fans overhead, all eyes trained on the large screen glowing bright red and tarnished sepia at the front of the room. Dust particles drifted lazily through the beams of projected light. A click, the slide changed, and a smooth female voice continued:

"And so, we are brought back to that aspect of Aztec culture that seems most primitive to our present sensibilities, most primal, indeed, to modern-day academics, barbaric even: human sacrifice. Although such ceremonies of ritual bloodletting were practiced widely in Mesoamerica during the fourteenth, fifteenth, and even as late as the sixteenth centuries, the Aztecs, in characteristic fashion, brought the practice of mass slaughter to whole new levels of lurid macabre".

The picture being projected onto the screen at the front of the room was now a sepia photostat of a cartoon-like Aztec painting. It showed a tiered sacrificial altar surrounded by a dozen or so onlookers. Several men wearing armour and helmets, with swords and spears at their sides were gathered at the base of the pyramid. They appeared to be standing guard over a long line of women, all of whom were bare-breasted and manacled to each other like a chain gang. A dead body, sliced open from chest to navel, its entrails mangled and dripping blood, was being dragged out of the left side of the picture by a disembodied arm. At the top of the pyramid another woman lay naked on her back, bound to the altar, her long legs and slim arms stretched back over the sides of the stone diaz, her bare breasts thrust up by the curve of the red-drenched rock. She was screaming, her eyes wide with primal terror, as a priest in decorative robes pierced her chest with a wide, curving, scimitar-like blade. Red dye streaked the canvas where the man held his arm aloft, a severed heart grasped like a trophy in his hand.

Heels clicked over the lecture theatre's polished wooden floorboards, stockings swished; the voice continued:

"The reconstruction of the Great Pyramid of Tenochtitlan.  Fourteen-eighty-seven to fourteen-eighty-nine, by our Gregorian calendars.  Roughly the period to which this illustration has been carbon-dated.  Ahuitzotl, the Great Speaker himself, the High Priest of Huitzilopochtli, ordered the ritual sacrifice of some eighty-four thousand prisoners, to cleanse, in his words, 'the foundations of his new everlasting kingdom'. Reputedly, this gruesome ceremony continued for seven days and seven nights non-stop, and when it was finally over the staircase to the pyramid's summit was awash with a waterfall of cascading blood".

A hushed murmur of incredulity circulated the lecture theatre; the woman's voice softened slightly.

"Of course, some archaeologists have questioned the validity of these so-called firsthand accounts. In today's parlance one might be tempted to think of them as... propaganda. The ancient Aztec equivalent of media hype, perhaps". A quiet buzz of chuckles stirred the room.

"The boasts of an overzealous leader", the voice continued, "trying to instil obedience in his people, and to warn any potential enemies of the fate that awaited their invading armies... perhaps. However, even by our most modest present-day estimations, estimations based, I might add, on archaeological evidence uncovered by myself and some of my colleagues last summer, there were at least four-thousand slaves put to their deaths around this time, all of them female, and all of their bodies buried beneath the Great Temple's stone foundations".

Near the back of the room a hand rose up, cutting through the projector’s beam and casting a large shadow on the white board at the front. The lecturer shielded her eyes and peered up towards the back row.  When she saw who it was, she sighed.

"Mr. Davis.  A question?"

"Uh, yeah", a male voice replied uncertainly. "Well, two, actually". Papers rustled in the darkness. "Yeah, so what I was wondering was, for one thing, you know these high priests, right?  Well, how did they manage to get like four-thousand people - I mean four thousand people - to just line up beside a great big stone pyramid, and then just stand there, and wait, and watch, while they all got led up the steps to the sacrificial altar, and killed, one-after-the-other? Doesn't seem too likely to me. And the other thing I was wondering about was, and I don't want to offend anyone here or anything, but how come they were all female? I mean, was it just a logistics thing? because all women are like naturally weaker than men and therefore easier to control? Or was it a sex thing? Like, did the priests want to maybe have a bit of fun with the women before they... well, you know, before they..." Silhouetted in the glare of the overhead projector, the speaker held one finger to the side of his throat, and then mimed a knife slicing across his neck, making a constricted gurgling noise at the back of his throat as he did so.

A drone of sighs and head-shaking rippled over the audience. The lecturer exhaled with exasperation.

"Perhaps", her tone made it clear her suggestion was more of an order, "it would be better, Mr. Davis, if, in future, you were to exercise a modicum of restraint before interrupting my lectures with your... questions".

"Wait.  Just listen a minute", the male voice continued. "You see, I've got a theory. Now, you do want to hear my theory, don't you, Professor Croft?"

A brief moment of silence followed, and then, "Fine", she replied, "please, enlighten us".

Davie said: "Mind control".

Stifled laughter, all around the room.

"Mind control?", the Professor enquired, vaguely amused.

"Yeah, I read all about it in this book by this guy here", Davie tapped a paperback on the desktop in front of him. "Doctor Carlos Cortez".

For a moment, the teenager thought he saw his Professor flinch. But it was a very dark room, and he was standing quite far back from the lectern, so he couldn't be sure.

"You see", he continued, "according to Dr. Cortez there's an ancient ceremonial artefact called the, er... the Eye of Metate?  Which allegedly the Aztecs buried beneath the ruins of the city of Teotihuacan.  Now, legend has it that any man in possession of this shiny little trinket, on tying it around his neck, will instantly become irresistible to all women".

An audible groan echoed through the lecture theatre, followed by an under-swell of annoyed mutterings.

Professor Croft cleared her throat to silence the audience.

"A commendable piece of extracurricular research, Mr. Davis", she regarded the teen cooly over the frames of her slim, wire-rimmed spectacles. "However, there are at least two problems that I find with your conclusions. Namely: one, the majority of Dr. Cortez's so called discoveries have been widely discredited by the international archaeology community. Moreover, I have personally had the misfortune of meeting the good doctor on more than one occasion, and must say that as a man he is untrustworthy, as an academic he is vainglorious, and as a doctor he is a notorious quack".

Davie's face started to tense up as chuckles circulated the room.

"Yeah, but...", he started indignantly.

The Professor ignored him. "And, two: the entire notion of female mind control is little more than a ludicrous fallacy, a pitiful pseudoscientific delusion dreamt up by hackneyed sex-fantasy writers and pathetic male chauvinists - two groups of people, I might add, who are, indeed, often not mutually exclusive".

The snickers erupted into peals of laughter, and Davie felt his face begin to burn as four dozen heads turned his way to take in his humiliation. Professor Croft chose that moment to switch on all of the lights in the lecture theatre, forcing the teen to quickly sit back down in his seat and fumble disconsolately with a pen, while she tidied up her notes with a smug smile of satisfaction on her face.

Red-faced, simmering, Davie whispered beneath his breath: "Yeah, well, we'll just see about that, beyotch".

He slipped a hand into his trouser pocket as the other students filed out, finding the small, smooth, intricately carved stone medallion that had arrived in the post the previous day. Despite the hot summer weather and the teen's own body heat the surface of the medallion was strangely cool and dry.  He fingered the designs on its front, feeling a pleasurable jolt of electricity tingle through his fingertips. Taking it out he tied the medallion around his neck and made his way down to the front of the auditorium, where Professor Lara Croft was tucking a sheaf of lecture notes into her black leather briefcase.


***


At a youthful thirty-three years of age, the object of Davie's considerable desires, Lady Lara Croft, sole heir and daughter to the untimely deceased Lord Henshingley Croft, inheritor of his fortune and the title of the Countess of Abingdon, was if anything even more attractive now than she had been in her mid-twenties, when she had carved out a name for herself as the world famous Tomb Raider. She still worked out on a daily basis, alternating aerobics classes with gymnastics, rock-climbing, swimming, and martial arts. So even at a casual glance, Davie could see that his teacher still had the kind of body that a twenty-five-year-old stripper would die for.

She had put on maybe ten pounds since her tomb raiding days, but most of that had gone on around her ass, which was now not only tight, toned and biteably peach-like, but full, well-rounded and deliciously heart-shaped to boot. Her already ample breasts had also filled out quite impressively; she was now a triple D-cup.  But from his side-on view of Lara's profile Davie could detect not a hint of sag or overhang to mar the mouth-watering perfection of his teacher's voluptuous tits. She was wearing patent-leather pumps, black with three inch heels, and her figure-hugging black cotton skirt was cut a couple of inches higher than knee length, showing off her long, toned, athletic legs to perfection.  Black stocking encased her slender calves and thick supple thighs.

The lapels of her suit jacket were cut a little lower than usual, and the stiflingly hot summer weather had forced Lara to loosen the first three buttons of her white cotton undershirt, affording Davie an eye-widening glimpse of lightly tanned, lusciously pressed cleavage, with just a hint of lacy black bra-cup barely visible above her plunging neckline. Her glossy chestnut-brown hair was tied back behind her head in a rather severe bun, but the style only served to accentuate the beautiful lines of Lara's neck, the elegantly curving underside of her jaw, and her smooth pale swanlike throat. Davie decided right then and there that if everything went according to plan, then that would be the first thing he would fuck.

She reached over the desk to retrieve a book from the other side and Davie's groin pounded with hot blood as his teacher's tight black skirt pulled taut over her buttocks, emphasising the tapering V of Lara's skimpy thong panties.  Her hemline rose up over the backs of her thighs as she stretched further forward for the book, until the tops of her stockings, intricately laced, peaked out, and then just barely a sliver of smooth lightly tanned skin became visible above them.

Time to test his luck, Davie decided.

"Ahem", he cleared his throat.

Lara straightened up and turned around.  When she saw who it was her expression darkened.

"Mr. Davis", she arched an eyebrow and stared at the teen over the tops of her spectacles. "How many times have I told you, if you want to discuss academic work, you should speak with one of my aides, and not detain me after lectures. Now, if you'll excuse me".

Picking up her briefcase she turned primly, and was about to walk out of the room, when Davie said:

"Wait".

Lara stopped dead in her tracks.

She paused for a moment, willing her legs to move, but remained rooted to the spot.

Promising start, Davie thought.

"This isn't about academic work", he said. "It's more of a... personal matter. I was hoping you might be able to help me out with something, Professor Croft".

Another brief pause ensued, during which Davie could almost sense Lara's confusion.  Then finally she sighed and turned to face him.

"Very well. I suppose I can't neglect my pastoral duties entirely". She stood with a hand on her hip and regarded him coolly. "Just make it snappy please, I have a meeting with the Dean scheduled for this afternoon"

Despite her best efforts to gloss over her confusion, Davie could sense a subtle change in Lara’s demeanor.  A new softness and vulnerability had entered her customarily cool and indifferent body language, almost as though she was no longer a revered member of the university’s academic faculty talking down to a bothersome student, so much as simply a beautiful woman slightly taken aback by this young boy’s brashness in addressing her as an equal.  It was intoxicating for Davie to imagine that his carefully laid plans might finally be about to bear fruit, that his countless months of masturbatory fantasies were finally about to come true, but he still couldn’t be certain yet.  He still had to play things safe for the time being.

"Well, it's about my... gee, this is kind of embarrassing, Professor Croft... but it’s about my girlfriend actually”, he started, doing his best to sell his rehearsed speech.  “It's kind of a personal matter, really.  I-I'm not so sure if I feel comfortable talking about it here". He glanced around the empty lecture theatre. "I wouldn't mention it but, you see, I haven't been able to focus lately, you know, on my academic work, because of this problem, and there's been a lot of pressure.  So I was thinking, Professor Croft, if you really do want to help me, then maybe you'd be willing to, you know, help… relieve some of that pressure”.

His heart pounded in his chest as he approached the all-important question.  Lara's face was still unreadable.

"So... would it be possible to talk about this in private, maybe in your office?".

Lara's lips tightened.  This was the crunch moment, and Davie knew it.  Countless male undergrads had approached Professor Croft during her time at the university – all of them hunkier and more experienced with women than Davie – and Lara had shot them down indiscriminately without a second thought. Her office was like sacred ground, off limits to anyone and everyone who wasn't currently an ex-adventuress aristocrat with the tits and ass of a supermodel in her sultry prime.

Davie held his breath.

Lara narrowed her eyes.  She appeared undecided for a moment, as though she were weighing up the pros and cons of the situation in her head, trying to come up with a feasible excuse, but to her exasperation, finding herself unable to do so, until finally: "Oh... very well", she capitulated, and Davie's hard-on swelled in his shorts – promising indeed.  "I suppose I can spare five minutes, if it really is such an important matter.  Follow me".

She gathered up her papers and then turned on her heel, brushing past Davie as she strode purposefully out of the lecture theatre.  The teenager followed a couple of paces behind her, his eyes drifting down to drink in Lara's toned calves flexing with poised musculature, her long supple thighs swishing sexily with every step that she took, the contours of her shapely hips, and her thick, well-rounded backside, swaying seductively from side to side beneath her skin-tight black business skirt.

"I'm right behind you", the teenager grinned, "Professor Croft".

END OF PART ONE

 



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