Adult-FanFiction.org : Games

Lara Croft and the Philosopher's Stone	By : MorbidFantasy Category: +S through Z > Tomb Raider (all) > Tomb Raider (all) Views: 18082 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 2
Disclaimer: I neither own nor profit from any part of the Tomb Raider universe in the writing of this fic.

Chapter List
- 1-Lara Croft and the Philosopher's Stone
- 1
Forward:

All of the chapters featured in this fic take place at some point in the canon of my other Tomb Raider fanfic, Fat Man Chronicles. The chapters here are not chronologically ordered, and could be read as stand alone pieces. Any shared information between chapters will be reiterated for clarity.

Some plot elements will deliberately be vague and obfuscated, to be built upon in subsequent chapters.

As a whole, this piece will allow the Fat Man Chronicles fanfic to move forward plot wise without having to take time to explain certain back stories or universe elements.

Be warned, this fic contains lactation, which may at times seem gratuitous, but has to be included because of this fic’s continuity with my FMC fic. I know it's not for everyone, but do try to bear with me on this.

I hope you guys enjoy this! Oh, and feedback is welcome,and begged for.

Side Stories Chapter 1: Legends of Sainthood

********************************************************

Some point in the past…

Lara Croft was tasked with the mission of stealing a powerful artifact known as the Philosopher’s Stone, from a very evil man, Mr. Everest. In the process of fighting her way into his mansion, she ends up captured by Gordo, one of Everest’s cronies. Gordo offers Lara freedom in return for having sex with him, but ends up recording the entire event and blackmailing her with it for even more sex. The situation further worsens when more people catch on to Lara’s lewd secret life, ultimately resulting in her sexual indenturement to a large shady underworld organization, being forced to travel to various places in the world to complete missions for her blackmailers while getting sexually violated over and over again.

Unknown to Lara, the supernatural elements of the Philosopher’s Stone was partially responsible for her current predicament, and remains an agent of fate even to this moment in time.

Present Day...

Five minutes until noon.

The cathedral had been cleared of pilgrims, worshippers and tourists. All regular service personnel had also been vacated.

Outside, a sign now hung on from the ashen bars of the now locked front gate.

We apologize for the inconvenience, but the cathedral has been closed for a private ceremony.

The notice was repeated four times, in several common languages.

As if a public notice wasn’t enough, suited men had been placed all around the cathedral, spaced twenty paces apart with their backs against the wall. They stood, motionless, at their posts, the occasional flash of a curious tourist’s camera reflecting off of their sunglasses.

Inside the church, the rays of the sun, filtered through a masterfully engineered piece of glass, now illuminated a small area in front of the altar, bleaching everything within a small radus white, while casting the outside of the circle in multicolored hues.

In the center of the light, a heavy oak table had been placed, upon which knelt a female form, her hands clasped in front of her, almost as if in prayer.

Except she was neither in prayer, nor was she kneeling in the conventional sense.

True, she knelt, but her knees and ankles were spread wide apart, such that they rested on the edge of the table to both sides of her, held their by leather straps.

True, her hands were clasped in front of her, but they were also bound together at the wrist by a leather belt. Extending from the belt were two chains. The first ended in a heavy bolted ring on the end of the table, the second linked her wrists to a matching leather collar snuggly fitted around her neck.

Naked, not a shred of apparel to give her modesty from the neck down to juxapose with the white coif headdress of a nun that the subject wore. Her skin shimmered under the light, slick with perspiration.

The leather collar was abnormally tall, and pressed against the underside of her throat in a way that forced her to crane her head, looking up from where she knelt.

The silhouette of a robed figure appeared at the altar in front of her, the outline of a tall headdress accentuating his looming figure.

“Lady Croft, have you come before the house of the lord to confess your sins?” The figure said, his voice completely humorless and reverent, as if there was nothing obscenely wrong with the sight of a stripped woman in a holy place.

“I...have...Father.” Lara said, her voice similarly humorless but lacking in reverence. Instead it seemed... tired, yet still imbued with a thinly concealed shred of sarcasm.

“Lady Croft, it has been brought to light that you have engaged in wilful and repeated acts of sinning against your fellow man. Not only have you sinned, but in the process, you have led others to sin with you. Is this true?”

“Father, surely I cannot be the only one to blame...”.

“There is no room for bartering in the eyes of the lord when it comes to sinning. We must look at the genesis, the catalyst that begun all of that which has been brought to light.”

“Father, does the lord freely condone the raping of his children?”

“Of course not, Lady Croft, nor does the lord condone the selling of one’s body in return for the preservation of one’s pride and vanity.”

“Father, that is unfa…”

“The genesis! Lady Croft. Would you agree that the cause of all of your sins, and even your claims of supposed rape, were born of a sinful pact you made after being caught committing yet more sins within the home of another, which you entered without invitation?”

“...Yes, but what has happened since then....”

“Was also of your own doing! Was it not?”

“You...you...Nnnnnngh! NNNNNNNNGH!” Lara started to say something, then squealed twice, her womanhood twitching as if it had just been shocked.

“Y...Father!” She forced out the words, and the tremors in her loins abated. Her cries reverberated throughout the chamber, echoing back long after she had uttered them.

“Lady Croft, did you, of your own accord, barter away your own chastity in exchange for leniency towards your transgressions against your fellow man?”

“I...Everest! I signed the god damned agreement, what the hell is thisAAAAAAAAGH! NNNNNNNNNNGH” once again, the tremors cut Lara off mid sentence, continuing until she shouted “Father!” again.

“Answer. Did you not trade your chastity away as a commodity?”

“Yes.”

“If so, how is it rape if your chastity was given away of your own accord?”

“Okay, maybe I agreed to fuck one ugly basAHHHHHHH FATHER! but I was forced to say yes to the others!”

“But you did say yes.”

“What ever, do whatever the fuck you want. I’m done playing this gameeEAHHHHH, AHHHHHHH” This time, Lara obstinately refused to acknowledge her interrogator, choosing instead to endure the agony pulsing through her body.

Unfortunately, the shadow at the altar was more than patient, letting Lara shudder and cry out as she bucked against her restraints, her body quivering as it was assailed by the invisible force.

Finally,it was decided that she had had enough, and the waves of pain abruptly halted. By then, Lara’s head had slumped down onto the table, her eyes fighting to focus through the tears. She sputtered and panted against the puddle of drool on the table around her mouth.

“Lady Croft, this house of the lord finds you guilty of an innumerable counts of sexual perversity, where you took from your fellow man their seed, letting it spill forth without the intent of creating life. The evidence overwhelmingly shows that your body did in fact lust after your fellow man, even if your words say otherwise.”

“Jesus, I really thought I’d get it harder from God for the counts of murder AAANNNNNGH...”

“Do not take the lord's name in vain, nor shall you make a mockery of your judgment.”

“Fine, so what am I in for? Two years of altar boy duties? Maybe crouch behind that altar and take your holy blessing?” Someone sniggered off to the side, apparently amused by Lara’s cheekiness.

“Given the weight of your numerous transgressions, this purification ritual will be the first of many that you will undergo. One day, it is hoped that you will come forth with more reverence, and perhaps less sinful attitude, than you have displayed today.”

“...you’re not really a man of the cloth are you.”

“I am indeed a man of the cloth. In fact, the Brotherhood of Beaufort has more claim to true divinity than any sect that the world knows of.” the figure said, and from under his hood, his eyes flashed a brilliant electric blue.

The room became illuminated in fiercely azure light, emanating from torches surrounding the ceremony. The flames of each torch became an unearthly blue, literally blotting out the sun, supplanting the rays coming through the stained glass windows, such that everything outside of the torches darkened to a pitch black.

“Unnnnnngh.” the warmth in Lara’s pelvis pulsed, tendrils of pleasure spidering from it into her body through her veins.

The bells started to toll.

It was noon.

Suddenly, Lara wasn’t there anymore. She was unbound, a ghost in a completely different church, floating in mid air, looking down at the circle of ceremonial figures encircling a table much like the one she had just been situated on. She could see a young girl, gaunt from mistreatment but still pretty, with hair cropped short, surrounded by a group of clergy. The girl was naked, bound in much the same way that Lara herself was mere moments before.

Seemingly only visible to Lara, an unearthly but warm blue glow emanated from within the girl’s heart, shining brightly.

The first of the robed figures, clad in the black attire of friars, was in the process of “purifying” Joan, as he called her. His hood was drawn, obscuring his face, even as came up behind the bound prisoner, draping the front of his robes over her naked posterior.

This was Joan of Arc.

“To hide from view that which is immodest and sullied.” the man behind Joan said of his covering her in an old tongue, foreign to Lara’s ear yet perfectly understandable.

Then, he penetrated her, Joan of Arc, the peasant girl who rallied the pride of a nation to fight against an invasion force. Joan, invincible and seemingly imbued with divine purpose. Joan, betrayed by her own, doubt cast upon her divinity by slander.

Joan, whom earlier had already been sentenced to be burned at the stake.

Here, however, the English clergymen, led by a Henry Beaufort, Cardinal of Winchester, have secreted a captive Joan for their own undeclared purpose, one the rest of the world knows nothing about.

Pure of soul and body, Joan was in no way prepared to resist nor endure her first ever sexual experience. She screamed as her virginity was taken by Beaufort, then continued to cry in pain with each subsequent thrust.

That is, until the wine they had given her forced her body to respond to the coitus. Joan’s cries became softer, confused, as she responded to signals she had never felt her body give off.

“To expose the impure thoughts and falsehoods of a woman not of God.” Beaufort said when it was clear Joan had become aroused. His compatriots repeated his statement verbatim, as if in a collective trance.

Lara could feel the moment Beaufort planted his seed in Joan, and see the blue light within her dim ever so slightly, a smoky tendril flowing from the bottom of her heart down to her womb, connecting with Beaufort’s pulsating member, and entering Beaufort himself.

Beaufort staggered back, drawing out of Joan. His compatriots watched him apprehensively.

He took a deep breath, his chest swelling to the fullest. A brief burst of electric blue light flashed from his eyes, retreating back into his body and permeating it with a bluish glow that was fainter than the remaining light within Joan.

“It is done,” He exclaimed, “I have retrieved a portion of the Lord’s powers, stolen by this heretical woman.” The other men in the room exhaled audibly in excitement, and one immediately moved to take Beaufort’s place behind a sobbing Joan.

One by one, they raped her. One by one, they chipped away at her pride, her soul, and the light within her. She could not, did not, know how to resist.

The power they took from Joan, she herself did not know she had. It had been a coincidence of fate that the blue light had fused with Joan’s heart, clinging to her chastity and her pride born of nationalism. It gave her the eloquence and confidence to seek out the weak French Dauphin, to approach him and pledge herself to his cause. It aided her in rallying a broken France to her banner, filling her followers with righteous fervor as they saw her words as divinely inspired

Now, as both Joan’s pride and her chastity were repeatedly vandalised, the light within her ebbed, leeched from her by these men who clearly knew what it was they were taking from her.

Starting with her first orgasm and increasing with every subsequent climax, the exodus of blue energy from within her accelerated, until, at the end, only a scant flicker of light remained within Joan, the bit tied to her willingness to sacrifice all for her country.

As sudden as the vision had appeared to her, Lara blinked, and found herself back in the middle of her own ceremony, bound by her knees, her wrists, and her neck, to the round table.

“We will now commenced with the purification.” said the voice behind her, and Lara felt the fabric of a robe covering her back.

Like in the vision with Joan, to “purify” meant little more than raping her while she knelt on the table, bound in that submissive position. The man draping his robe across Lara’s back was the same priest that she had been conversing with. As he eased himself into her, the heavy fabric shielded their privates from view.

“To hide from view that which is immodest and sullied.” the priest said, in plain English, mirroring the same phrase spoken by Beaufort in Lara’s vision.

One of the ‘friars’ brought a bowl filled with a sacramental red wine, which Lara instinctively knew to be the same wine that had been fed to Joan in her vision. His compatriots held her by the shoulders and the neck while he made her down the wine, which quickly brought a blush to her cheeks. The wine was sweet, strong, and made Lara’s head woozy, while amplifying the sensations she felt from underneath the robes draped over her waist.

All of this happened as the head priest continued to thrust into Lara, who could now feel the presence of a ball of energy within her pelvis. Lara had never knew herself to possess this energy, but now knew what it was that had been sending spikes of stimulation through her earlier on.

And she now knew that it was this energy, just like the one in Joan’s heart, that the priests surrounding her were intent on gathering.

Joan had lost her powers upon being aroused and ejaculated into, a process sped up by her own climaxes.

Lara was already cumming not two minutes into being penetrated by the head priest.

At the same time, her breasts had become painfully swollen, engorged with milk.

“As a woman, your milk must not spill wastefully onto the ground, and must nourish the children of God.” The priest raping her said, upon which two of his hooded compatriots brought forth two chalices and held them up against Lara’s breasts. Her nipples, of their own accord, began dribbling milk into them, a process that was hastened as the two chalice holders used their free hand to grab the breast filling their chalice and squeeze firmly.

Lara moaned as she felt her breasts convulse with orgasmic energy.

She felt, but did not see, the chalices filled with her milk being passed around the circle, consumed by each man.

She came two more times, her third orgasm occurring in unison with the head priest’s own. Lara screamed as she felt the penis inside her pulse several times, flooding her with warmth bordering on scalding.

Somehow, for a brief moment, Lara could see out of the back of her own head, into the electric blue eyes of the priest raping her.

The electric blue flickered, then died, in its place a hazier, more unfocused blue.

The priest staggered back, panting just as Beaufort had done hundreds of years prior.

Something was different this time.

Lara slumped against the table, her body fatigued beyond mortal comprehension, but somehow feeling neither in pain nor drained. Instead, the pleasure emanating from the ball of energy within her seemed if anything stronger, firmer.

“...It… is done…” the priest said, his voice dull and catatonic, with none of the jubilance that Beaufort’s voice had contained upon pillaging Joan’s body.

Very quickly, another man was behind Lara, repeating the same process.

This time, she came a little harder, moaned even louder as she unwillingly reacted to the heavy thrusting into her pussy. More milk spilt from her breasts into chalices, again shared amongst the men.

No! I can’t let them take from me the same way they took from Joan! Lara screamed in her mind, herself confused as to why she was so certain she even possessed the same blue light within her that Joan of Arc had. Nor did she think to question why the blue light seemed so concentrated within her womb, rather than her heart, as Joan’s had been.

She fought and fought against the ever increasing arousal brought on by each new rapist, but by the very end, she had screamed herself hoarse, each climax a veritable tsunami of pleasure swallowing her body up whole, each load of ejaculate in her pussy hotter than the one before it, until her womb felt as if it contained what could only be described as a blue, miniature sun.

……

The last priest finished pumping his load into Lara, who could literally feel the light in his eyes dull, even through the intense heat burning her from within.

A great silence befell the inside of the church.

Lara blinked away the tears in her eyes, and looked up and around herself.

They were all… dead?

No, the members of the twisted enclave of priests were all still standing, seemingly chanting something in unison, an alien language that was loud yet inaudible, vigorous yet empty. A deafening silence.

They were there, but not there. Alive, but not aware.

Lara felt the intensely pleasurable heat within her pelvis dissipate into her body via her veins, and started to convulse, a climax that seemed to be stretched out in slow motion, filling every pore of her being with a powerful, yet welcomed, pleasure.

It was too much to process. Her eyes felt heavy. She fought to keep them open, instinctively knowing that somehow, the moment they closed, she would remember nothing, her memory wiped of all that had transpired today.

Yet, it was far too pleasurable to let the lashed curtains fall, to embrace a dreamless dream.

Lara welcomed the darkness.

End

*****************************************************

Author’s Note: I hope anyone who hasn’t read Fat Man Chronicles still found this a fun read. I certainly had fun writing it. There are obviously a few plot elements here that would be confusing for the unintiated, but I'll try to make things more clear with future updates.

Please, please please offer me some feedback either in the review section or in the discussion thread for my Fat Man Chronicles fic, found here: http://www2.adult-fanfiction.org/forum/index.php/topic/41005-tomb-raider-fat-man-chronicles-review-and-discussion-thread/

Or at my email morbidfantasy12@gmail.com

Much appreciated, folks!
- 1
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

Lara Croft and the Philosopher's Stone