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Reins of the Tomb Raider	By : HunterOpera Category: +S through Z > Tomb Raider (all) > Tomb Raider (all) Views: 38203 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own Tomb Raider and make no money from this. Also, this is not a happy story. It will not have a happy ending. You have been warned.

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It happened while she was being cleaned.

Our dear friend James had warned us that the Croft woman was dangerous and resourceful, and Drasha had noted her cleverness, but after a month of dull compliance we all thought her broken, and our dear Earl of Faringdon perhaps paranoid. Drasha herself was paying her monthly tithe to the goddess Poena at the western tip of Sirgeof, and so was not present when it happened.

Would things have turned out differently, had she been there? Ivo and Drasha both like to think that such mistakes would not have been made, but I had seen the woman fight on the mountains and break into the Village of the Damned and James had known the Duchess of Arlingdon back in her old life. Neither of us was so sure.

The stablehands had taken Lara out of her stable and past her morning voiding and then over to the cleaning posts. She did not fight them as they locked her harness in place, neck and shoulders connected to sturdy wood, ankles fastened to the ground. It was a lovely sunrise heading in towards midsummer, with dew becoming mist, all of glorious Parmistan painted in light, and the mostly naked woman shivered in the slight chill of dawning.

Her limbs were tied and spread carefully, pulled taut before the harness was taken off her, the bit worked loose from her tongue. Her body, tanned darkly by the summer sun, shook as the stablehands used long handled brushes to soak every part of her with suds, her jaw slack and open, her lovely body helpless as they cleaned out every crack and crevice.

This is where it happened, we found in later review.

Using the suds, Lara was able to free her ankles and wrists, using her splayed fingers to give the lines that were supposed to be holding her the illusion of doing so. After the stablehands rinsed her, leaving her sputtering but sparkling in the early sun, they came closer to rebind her harness and prepare her for her daily lessons.

This is when she struck, pulling her limbs free. Her neck was still bound, but she lashed out quickly, her leg kicking out and fracturing one man's knee, her knee connecting with that man's face as he fell. She grabbed another, swung out and slammed his face into a wooden post, then worked her neck free as the others came for her.

Once unbound, she offered them a cruel smile and then made short work of them. None of them thought or had time to sound the alarm, so she had minutes where she was left alone to flee, and her long months of being dragged through the trails of Sirgeof had given her a good understanding of the city in which she was a lawful prisoner.

Looking back, Ivo discovered that she had been testing her bonds for weeks, under the guise of the normal writhing that came about with each cleansing.

Ivo, of course, alerted me right away, sending soldiers out to catch her and bring her back. I alerted James, who came into the Temple of Justita wringing his hands with worry.

“I knew this would happen,” he said, voice hoarse. “Do we know where she is?”

Ivo looked at me, grinning and shaking his head as he clasped our friend on the shoulder.

Of course we knew.

We had expected her to make her way back to Routard and from there to Candover, but the Tomb Raider had opted instead to head through the lesser roads, ones she did not know by person but might remember from her old and now confiscated maps. A small farming community, Karouse, lay there, and we believed that was where she would try to find refuge. The locals had been contacted and all were willing to help catch the escaped criminal, so when Lara Croft was spotted by one of the farmers, he was ready.

“Hello?” Slobodan said. He was a bulky man, slow of foot but strong of arm, a man who cultivated apples, wheat, barley, and corn. She turned in his direction, nigh-feral and easily spooked, the trauma of her experiences casting a fell shine in her eyes. “Are you lost?” His English was passable.

“Help,” Lara croaked. After weeks of disuse, her smoky voice was ragged. Once so cultured, she now struggled with that single syllable. Slobodan lifted his hands and kept distant, his movements slow as he tossed her clothing. She accepted it gratefully, a pair of used pants and a shirt that did little to cover her, and her expression was conflicted as she put them on.

“It can be strange to wear human clothes after a long absence,” Ivo noted, James looking mystified at her reluctance. “We see it often in criminals, once they have served their full terms.”

She devoured apples off the tree, refusing Slobodan's offers of more sophisticated foods. James told us she would expect poison, but we knew Slobodan would never stoop to ruining food – no farmer would ever so denigrate his or her labor. No, it was when Lara found a stream and dipped her hand in that Slobodan acted, shoving the cattle prod into the water and activating it.

With his hands safely hidden in rubbered gloves, he was fine. Lara, however... her eyes went wide as her scream was trapped in her throat. She was flung back, where she hit a tree and twitched, her body struggling to move as Slobodan closed the distance between them, zapping her with the cattle prod – twice in each armpit, then her hips and knees, and finally the back of her neck. Her writhing became less controlled, her whimperings softer but more desperate as the electricity robbed her of control.

A good half hour passed, Slobodan making certain she was unable to move under her own power. Then, using stiff rope, he bound her arms behind her back and pulled them against her throat, then bound calf to thigh. More rope was thrown over a mighty juniper tree, the lines attached to the rope around her wrists, ankles, and neck, then hoisted up.

She was just regaining the use of her limbs when Slobodan pulled her up, fastening the ropes so that she was left suspended. He looked up, then, spotting a camera and asked for permission in our language. His accent was strong, and it was clear that James was struggling to understand. Ivo and I looked at our dear friend.

“You are her lawful owner,” I explained. “Do you mind if Slobodan takes a reward?”

“Fuck her,” James snarled, and I clasped his shoulder, squeezing. This was the right choice.

The clothing was cut from her shapely bottom, and she struggled as Slobodan mounted her, cried out as he thrust into her, her head sagging and sweat mixing with her tears. She did not notice when Drasha and the soldiers approached the Croft woman, but Slobodan did, waving at his countrymen and then slapping the criminal's ass as he pushed his manhood into it.

“You have done a great service for glorious Parmistan this day,” Drasha said, smiling as she rested one hand on her hip, and used the other to grasp the mewling Tomb Raider's hair, yanking her head up. Lara cried out as she recognized her trainer, her ragged voice turning to a terrified whining that all present ignored. “Will you require a reward?”

“I would like permission to aid in this criminal's training, if it would please her owner,” Slobodan gasped, pulling himself out of her and spilling his seed on her roundness. “She is tight, and pleasurable, and pleasing to the eye. I would like to do my duty to the glories of our great country”

“Granted,” James spat. Ivo relayed the information.

Once Slobodan was finished, Drasha spent a few hours shocking the bound woman with the cattle prod before letting her down. Lara Croft twitched without control or conscious thought, her eyes empty as they let her fall, but she continued to whimper as she was stripped and then redressed properly.

“As for you,” Drasha hissed, pulling on the criminal's cunt lips, “let's see if you remember what you are before you are punished for forgetting.” Lara wailed as the cart was attached to her hips and hands, cried out as Drasha took her place on the cart and took hold of Lara's reins and lashed out with her whip, striking the Tomb Raider's ass. It quivered and bounced as the Tomb Raider moved.

“Legs up!” Drasha roared, forcing the Duchess of Arlingdon to cantor properly. "Ninety degrees with each step, four-seven-six!" It took Lara the better part of a day to cantor back to Sirgeof, where she was unattached from the cart and pulled to the punishment grounds at the west end of the stables. The stablehands she had assaulted were waiting for her, cruel smiles on their faces.

They were rough with her, pulling her by her breasts over to a simple wooden bracket. She was fastened to it, a standard stocks that forced her arms beside her head and her to bend over at the waist. Another wooden bracket was fitted under her hips, lifting her legs so that she rested on the tips of her toes, her ankles then bound to the earth. Her harness was removed, everything except her bit and the new bindings.

Displaying herself like this revealed the Earl of Faringdon's brand on her ass, and we all smiled to see it.

Once she was secured, each of the stablehands grabbed a whip and spent the next half-hour striking her. By the time they were done, the fine muscles of the naked woman were crossed in angry red lines, her cheeks stained with tears, her every limb quivering. It was at that moment that Drasha brought a chair and planted it in front of the sobbing woman, yanking her head up by the hair and holding her there.

“You will be punished and you will be taught,” Drasha said, spitting in Lara's face. “Every morning, I will offer you the harness of your just sentence. When I believe that you want it, you will spend another week being punished before being placed back in your harness. Do you want your harness?”

Lara nodded emphatically. Drasha smiled, shaking her head.

“I do not believe you.”

She walked away. Over the next two weeks, the stablehands would spend time whipping her, fucking her, coating her in their seed. They did not wash her and barely fed her, leaving her bound and naked and out in the sun. The other stablehands also took turns, and, after church on Sundays, Slobodan would bring his family and they would take turns thrusting into the bottom holes of the woman, savaging her.

When the youngest of Slobodan's daughters wanted to use the cum-soaked criminal, Drasha removed the bit from Lara's tongue. The whips were needed to convince Lara to lick, but lick she did. Dazed, her eyes glossy and red under all the goo that coated her, she started to take cocks into her mouth, and Drasha began to use her tongue every morning after asking a single question: Do you want your harness?

After four weeks of such treatment, Lara's pleading was accepted by Drasha as sincere. Another week passed as promised, Lara penetrated and whipped and covered. She offered no resistance when she was unbound and brought to the cleaning station, her head bowed low in defeat as she was tied and then cleaned, every inch of her flesh save her face and hands covered in angry red lines. The writhing that accompanied her washing was now just that; all thought of escape had been driven from her by the punishment she had suffered.

In this, as in so many things, Drasha was wise.

The numbers eight-one-five were written on her forehead, and she nodded when she was told that was her name for the day. After that Drasha led her out to the track on shaking legs. She offered no resistance, seemed eager to get to where she was being taken, for the exercises to begin.

We could all see that the look in her eyes as she was taken to her lessons was one of gratitude.

*

Alright. Ten chapters in the bag, five to go. Liking the story? Let me know. All replies, criticisms, and comments will be answered here: http://www2.adult-fanfiction.org/forum/index.php/topic/36931-metroid-the-bergman-affair-feedback-comments-and-workshopping/page-9 - just copy/pasta the link and join in on the conversation. Thanks for reading, hope you're enjoying, and the next chapter should be up later this week.
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Reins of the Tomb Raider