3 comments/ 15270 views/ 8 favorites Lara Croft: Into the Lair By: justtheone >> Inspired as always by the art of DeTomasso ... >> Many thanks to the reviewers of my preceding stories. Fuels the motor. 1. They saw her coming, just like they were supposed to. Three men in dark suits and dark glasses, waiting for her on the beach. But they didn't see her as a threat, as she waded toward them, closer and closer. None of them had their guns out. None of them had recognized her, when she rose up out of the water ... or perhaps they had. But they weren't worried, like they should have been. They thought she was harmless. Just a girl showing off in a striking swimsuit. A brainless beach bunny, not realizing where she was. A bit of fun. Brightening their day. Yes, this outfit worked, exactly as she hoped. The proverbial fucking charm. A bikini really is a spectacular piece of engineering, isn't it? Like all the best ideas, there's actually not much to it. It's so absurdly simple—and it does exactly what it's designed to do. And it does it better than anything else. You're not naked, but you're as close as you can get. You're so close, in fact, you might as well be. But legally, you're not. Because a few surface details are obscured. Barely. What a wonderful, whimsical, paradoxical way to be. You're not really nude, but you're not really dressed. You're both those things at once. You can go anywhere in public you want like that, if you want. You can even, if you feel the need, go into a fancy restaurant or a bank or a church. And yes, it wouldn't be socially appropriate—you'll raise some eyebrows, and some people might get fussy and hassle you in those places. But tell them to fuck right off, and watch what happens. They can't do anything to you, not really. If they make too much of a stink, you can sue the shit out of them. But anyhow ... She had just ninety minutes to get this job done, no more. And then the whole massive house on top the cliff in front of her was going to be destroyed. Unlikely as this sounds, it was going to get totally obliterated from orbit, by an ultra-secret death-ray satellite called Toaster 2. (Yes, there was also a Toaster 1, up there somewhere, as well as a 3, a 4, and a 5, if her special sources knew what they were talking about. And she believed they did.) A friend of hers was imprisoned somewhere in that house—a real live secret agent named Gina Brasin. She wasn't a government operative. Instead she worked for a big scary company called MacGuffin. Lara and her had been enemies, at first. But that changed, during the business with the so-called Moon Angel. They ended up working together, to save the poor creature from appalling exploitation. Now, the way things had played out back and forth between them, Lara owed the woman a favor or two. Gina had serious issues, in Lara's opinion. She was by no means a nice or stable individual. But she was Lara's friend, even so. And so today she would save the wicked bitch, if she could. Her employers had abandoned her. Despite all she'd done for them over the years, they were going to kill her with their space toy, to protect their precious secrets. Of course they intended to kill Gina's captors at the same time, when they blasted the house. In their minds, no doubt they thought they were avenging her. Skimming over the inconvenient fact she would be still be alive, when they made their move. In their defense, one must admit, a rescue operation was unlikely to succeed. If they raided this house, Gina would likely be executed before they could reach her. And her captivity had at least provided them a specific location to target. (Well, it was Lara who actually tracked down where she was taken and passed the location to them.) Gina herself would probably agree with their decision, icy as it was. Taking out her enemies was always more important to her than walking away afterward. Lara didn't see things like that. A win wasn't a win if you weren't still alive to enjoy it. And while there are certain things worth sacrificing everything for, Lara wouldn't put the secrets of a shady weapons manufacturer in that category. Well, if these MacGuffin cunts didn't have the either the balls or the decency to look after one of their own, Lara would step in and handle the matter herself. It was a question of honor. And there was only one right answer. She hadn't much time to prepare, after being tipped off on MacGuffin's planned response by Gina's so-called Fairy Godmother (her tech support), who was as pissed about this as Lara was. In fact she'd had almost no time at all. So her strategy was a bit reckless, and that was putting it mildly. Strategy was probably too dignified a term for this. But fuck it. Detailed plans always go to shit anyway. The best way to do a thing, nine times out of ten, is just walk right up and do it, and don't bother trying to be clever about it. 2. She had decided from right off to go in by sea. No gates and so forth on that side of the property. Not to say it was undefended, though. You couldn't just stroll up on the beach. Actually you could—but then immediately a bunch of goons would pop out at you with guns. She was on her yacht, going through her things, making a pile of weapons and useful gadgets to take. Real soon that pile got too big. Rather than pare it down, it suddenly occurred to her not to take any of it at all. Instead she would go in as bare-bones as possible. Not so much bare-bones, in fact, as bare skinned. Instead of suiting herself up fancy like a Navy SEAL—which she could have done, for she had all the right kinds of toys—and then staging a one woman D-Day, roaring out of the water on a jet-ski or something, with machine guns blazing in both hands ... what if she just swam up to that beach in an ordinary swimsuit, pretending to be a dumb tourist who didn't realize where she was? That kind of thing would only buy her a few moments. But that would be all the time she needed, to get cooking. If she charged in hot, that would get them shooting back right off the bat. They'd see her coming, no matter how fast she sped in—they'd still have enough time to get ready for her, on the shore. She still might be able to blast through, but it would be tricky. Rough going. But if she popped up out of the water in just a bikini, blinking in the sun and looking stupid and innocent, as she strolled up out of the surf—and also, as a bonus, thanks to her natural gifts, looking more than a little fetching—that would be a whole other story. Sure, the security men would still intercept her. They'd pop up right away. But they'd be smiling when they did, not waving their weapons around. They'd just want to escort her off the property, and they wouldn't be mean about it—they would wanna be polite. Trying to charm her. "Sorry, sweetie. I'm afraid we can't permit you to be here." Not that she'd actually give them time to talk like that. She'd make her move as they were still approaching. And they'd never see it coming. Wouldn't even have their guns drawn, when she drew hers. They would be taped to the back of her shoulders—a couple lightweight dart guns that submerging wouldn't harm. She'd reach back behind her head as if to straighten her braid, and then snatch them up, swing 'em around ... And Pop! Pop! Pop! G'night, boys. Just like that. And it worked pretty much exactly how she pictured it. The dart guns were almost completely silent. They used compressed air to shoot. Instead of pops, it was more like swish-swish-swish, and thunk-thunk-thunk, when they hit their targets. And the three men dropped to the sand without any exclamations. Dead before they finished falling. The poison on the dart tips was strong stuff. A nerve toxin. Lara wasn't messing around today. Besides, with Toaster lining up overhead, these chaps and all their buddies in the house were already as good as toast. They didn't know it, but they'd find out soon. Except a lot of them wouldn't, now that she'd arrived. She dropped the dart guns, though they still had some shots in them. Cute as they were, she preferred to switch to larger stuff, at this point. So she took a couple medium-size machine guns off the corpses. And then ran to the house. There was music in her head. A bassy dance number from the club she visited last night. Hadn't stayed long, but that one tune had stuck with her. Well, she didn't mind. Felt like good theme music, for this sort of business. Wooden stairs led up the sheer cliff face to terraces on the back of the house ... But she saw there was also a door cut into the rock right here at beach level. It was metal and it was sealed, so she thought she'd have to take the stairs. But then it slid open—some more security fuckheads charging out to help their buddies. Not very bright of them. She sprayed some bullets that direction, and the men obliging ran right into them. And now the doorway was clear and standing open for her. Very good. Sped things along nicely. She went in. Corridors, stairs, store rooms. Stacks of crates and oil drums. Then a bunch more men around a table playing cards in their underwear—strip poker? Or maybe it was just 'cause the air conditioning didn't seem to be working in the place. Well, they wouldn't have to put up with the problem anymore. No alarms yet? Oh, wait—one just started. Somebody finally got around to hitting the right button. "INTRUDER!" announced a robo-voice, "INTRUDER!" That's what she thought it was saying, anyway. Damn silly thing was pretty poorly synthesized. Made it sound like three words: "IN! TRUE! DER!" "IN! TRUE! DER!" Now she'd reached a kind of garage space, with a few forklifts zooming around. Two of the drivers panicked when she appeared, and crashed into each other. No real explosion from that, but still a hell of a lot of noise and smoke. Then a bunch more baddies showed up—they were sliding down poles, like firemen. Made it ridiculously easy for her to pick them off, as they descended. She got a little too carried away with how fun that was. Ran out of bullets. Plenty more guns to pick up off the floor, though. That concrete floor had got real nasty. Not fun to scamper across, in your bare feet. It was either super-slippery, or super-sticky. Either way, it was gross and smelly and really red, and none of that was pizza sauce or ketchup, even if it looked like it was. Then one of the bodies jumped up at her as she was jumping over it, grabbing her knees. She would have gone down, except there was a big metal rack next to her to catch herself against. She looked down at the guy clinging to her and saw lots of spurting holes in his chest, but despite all the gushing he hadn't got serious about dying quite yet. She swung her gun at his face to further encourage him along, but he grabbed hold of the barrel and somehow managed to twist the gun out of her hands. Impressive strength—last adrenaline surge, no doubt. His body using everything it had left. She almost wished for half a second she could let the guy kill her. Sort of seemed like he deserved it, putting out so much effort. Problem was, she still had to finish rescuing Gina. "Sorry, chap." He'd pulled a knife and slashed at her—but she caught his wrist and busted it, which allowed her to take the knife from his grip. Then she gave it back to him, jamming the full length of the blade under his chin. That switched his lights out. But the knife had snagged on something inside his skull. She had real trouble prying it out again. And then there was another guy that totally could have nailed her, right then, while she was occupied like that. Popped out from around a stack of crates while she was still trying to wiggle the knife free. This new guy had a gun and he had her cold—all he had to do was fire. That would have been it. Fair and square. But instead he told her to put her hands up. Bet he wouldn't have done that if she wasn't a girl, and she wasn't in a bikini. If she'd been a guy, he would have opened up without a second thought. She let go of the knife and straightened up, but she didn't raise her hands. If the guy had possessed any brains at all, he would have shot her, the moment she didn't comply with his order. But he didn't. He just shouted at her some more. "Do it! Do it! Hands up! Against the wall! Against the wall!" Instead she flipped up her bikini top. Flashed him for a second. That shut him up. His eyes bugged out. She jumped him—clobbered him with two kicks. Which was a bit indulgent of her—it only would have taken one to get the job done. The first kick knocked his gun out of his hands—it flew straight up in the air, spinning. The second kick struck him on the throat and laid him out. His body hit the floor, full length, the same exact moment her feet did, when she landed right where he'd been standing before. Half a second later she caught his gun, when it dropped back down. Yeah, with a move like that, she was just showing off. The guy was still conscious, but choking. Looked like she'd busted his windpipe. The flashy double-kick had been a nice move, and it would have looked real cool if anybody else had been on hand to watch her do it. But she knew she really shouldn't have been able to pull that shit off. If this fucking guy had known his job, he should have blown her to hell, the instant she started anything like that. "Douche," she called him, as she tugged her top back where it was supposed to be. Well, all right, it was unkind, but that's what he was. Then she shot the poor schmuck between the eyes. Yes, with his own weapon. But it saved him the drawn-out hassle of suffocating. Onward and upward ... 3. Now she had reached some kind of lab. Brightly lit. Geeks in white coats. You could tell they were preparing to evacuate. Scrambling around, switching off their fancy machines and folding them up to pack inside clunky cases. A few were already being wheeled away toward an open lift, their little castors squealing. One unhappy-looking chap had to keep the lift doors open, standing in front of the slot—they kept pinging, and nudging his back over and over. Even though his back was turned, she recognized the man right in the middle of it all, directing things. Which meant, he appeared to believe, bellowing orders and invective like a drill sergeant or a football coach. "Faster, you pansies! Didn't we practice this? We fucking practiced this a million fucking times!" He was the tallest of the gang, with crooked Woody Allen glasses and dreadlocks. Definitely one of these nerds, wearing a lab coat like the rest, not a dark suit or clunky soldier gear like everyone else she'd encountered—and slaughtered—on her way to this chamber. His name was Sloane. Or that was the name he was using, or used to use. Just like Gina, he'd been involved in the messy affair with the Moon Angel. He'd been working for MacGuffin back then. They must have sacked his arse, after the way that finished. Behind him, through a glass door on the far end of the lab, Lara thought she could see Gina. A slumped pink figure, in a chair. Couldn't make out her face, at this distance, but the hair looked right. Blonde, boyishly short. Bangs drooping over the eyes. He realized most of his men had froze up. "What are you all gaping at?" He spun 'round and got an eyeful of her for himself. "Christ!" "You don't seem entirely pleased to see me again, Sloane." "Lara fucking Croft. I heard you were on this island. And I knew it was no coincidence. They promised me it had nothing to do with us. Just vacationing, they said." "Your present employers, you mean?" "Idiots. I tried to tell them. You've come looking for Miss Brasin, haven't you?" Lara nodded. "Well, there she is, if you want her." She nodded again, and then shot him down. The rest of the lab geeks fled screeching in all directions, as she proceeded to the glass door. It wasn't locked. It had a latch on it like a fridge, as well as a rubber seal. There was no handle on the inside. She moved a stool over to prop it open behind her. Gina had looked up, when she opened the door. "Hello, Lara." "Thought I'd drop in. See how you were feeling. Fancy a night out on the town, just us girls?" "I'm a bit under the weather, but I might still be persuaded. Are we going swimming, Lara?" "Yes, for a bit. To start things off." "I'm afraid I don't have a swimsuit." In fact she didn't have on anything at all. The bastards had stripped her to her skin. "Oh, don't let that trouble you. More enjoyable that way, in my experience." Gina was strapped to the chair. Her wrists and ankles. But there were no locks on the straps, just ordinary buckles. Which Lara had of course been unfastening, as she rattled off the cheerful nonsense related above ... She didn't look as bad as she might have. There were no marks on the girl. Lara had expected to find her in much worse shape. But it didn't look like the fuckers had subjected her to any violence. Except for the dark circles under her eyes, she looked fine. "Feel fit enough to stand, old bean?" "As the fucking proverbial fiddle. And I hate when you call me 'old bean.'" "Why else would I call you that? Oh look." She'd spotted another of the white labcoats hanging from a hook on the wall. "Put this on, for now. 'Til we reach the shore." Gina jammed her arms into the sleeves and wrapped it around herself, very tight. A sigh escaped her as she did that, expressing at least a dozen different emotions at once—Lara pretended not to hear, but Gina blushed all the same. As if it was a shameful weakness to have feelings, or at least to let anyone know about them. She wished she could have told the bitch how stupid that was. But Gina wouldn't listen. No fucking chance. And Lara knew she would act the same exact way in her position. "Right then. You ready? My shoulder's here beside you, whether you need it or not. "I know, Lara. Is Sloane out there?" "Well, he is but he isn't. I left him on the floor, you see. Sorry if you still wanted a word. I imagine I'd feel the same, in your place. But time is a little pressing." "It's not that, Lara. You might not have killed him." "Oh, you needn't worry about that." "I do, though. He's changed, Lara. I watched him do it to himself." "Changed how?" But by then they were out of the cell, and she could see for herself. He was still sprawled on the floor, with half a dozen holes in his torso, but now he was moving again. Writhing around. She was positive he'd been stone dead before, with his eyes bugging out blank at the ceiling. But now he was looking right at her again, and he seemed to be grinning. What did he have to grin about, though? All right, he wasn't dead—but he was flopping about on the floor like he was being electrocuted. Some kind of fit. What had Gina been so scared of? And then he fucking transformed. Only word for it. Sloane transformed into something else, right there in front of her on the floor. It wasn't a really drawn-out, detailed process like you get in good monster movies, where they spend enough money to do it cool. This was very quick. No-nonsense. He got hard to see for a moment—like he turned foggy or blurry. And then when he snapped back into focus, he was a monster. Same height, same dreadlocks, and he still had the Woody Allen glasses on (for another few moments). But the rest of his clothes, except for the lab coat and his underpants—red jockey shorts—had mostly shredded away from his body, because his musculature had bulked up three or four times what it originally was. The silly jockey shorts had stretched severely but not torn apart like his pants and shirt. All the front buttons of his labcoat had burst open, and the seams of its sleeves, but the body of it clung to his shoulders, hanging loose behind him like a cape. Lara Croft: Into the Lair He hadn't sprouted fur all over, but his skin had turned black—not African black, which isn't black at all, but really black. Black as crude oil. His teeth had turned into fangs, his fingernails had turned into claws. Toenails too. He hadn't developed a dog snout—what had happened actually looked worse. His entire nose had dropped off, and took most of his upper lip with it, exposing his nose hole and all his upper teeth. Giving him a skull face. About as much of a skull face as you could have, without in fact being completely fleshless. And his eyes were glowing. A very sickly graveyard shade of green. Jesus Christ. Lara Croft was not a religious person. But Jesus fucking Christ. Sloane had turned into a werewolf. Not exactly—not quite like you'd see in a movie. But close enough. If he wasn't a werewolf, he was something like a werewolf, or something even worse. A demon or something. He still had six bleeding bullet holes in his bare black chest and belly—but only for a few more seconds. As Sloane got up on his feet, chuckling, the bullets all dropped out of his wounds, like they'd been squeezed out—and then the holes sealed. They didn't vanish completely—they left puckered scars. Still, they'd fucking healed. In three or four seconds. He wasn't hurt no more. This fucking guy was all fucking better. His glasses also dropped off his face, when he got up, since he didn't have a nose any longer to support them. He kicked them away, with contempt. Probably gonna regret that shit, once he changed back to normal. And then he threw his back and howled. Well, sure. She would do that herself, if it had been her. Some things just had to be done. It was a pretty good howl, as howls go. Rattled the ceiling tiles. And some more guys ran in, summoned by the call. Six or seven guys. Not lab geeks like Sloane; these men were fit and sleek, with shaved heads. They must have all been in a dormitory together, up one of the hallways. They were all wearing matching flannel pajamas. As soon as each ran in and saw the situation, they transformed the same way Sloane had. Except first they shed their pajamas. A couple of them were better at the change than Sloane, just giving themselves a quick shake to switch forms, but most of the gang were worse—they took much longer, falling down into seizures. And it seemed much more agonizing for them. No laughter, just screams and swearing as they worked through the process on the floor. Lara didn't wait for them to get done. She hosed them all with her machine gun. At this point she knew it probably wouldn't kill them. But it would hurt the fuckers. And it knocked the standing ones on their arses with the rest, for a spell. She kept firing, even after they were all down. Peppered those black bodies with red holes, and kept them pressed flat under the barrage. Now her and Gina could jump over them and get out of the room. "Come on! Follow me!" But Gina stopped her, grabbing her arm. "No, Lara. Wait. This won't work. They'll just chase us down. The fuckers are much too fast." They were already recovering, starting to rise. Lara blasted them down again. But the big gun would almost be empty, now. She had one spare clip tucked in the waistband of her bikini shorts. Reloading was easy and quick. But she knew the beasts would still take the chance to pounce, when they saw her start to do it ... She'd probably be too fast for them. She'd fend them off again. But so what? 'Cause what next? Maybe if she had some grenades ... but she didn't. "Shit," she said. Since she couldn't think of anything else, she just said that again. "Shit." Beside her, Gina sighed again and then shrugged off the lab coat she'd just put on. "Quit shooting, Lara. Better just put the gun on the floor." "Hell with that. I'm not just surrendering." "Wasn't what I meant. I know another way out of this." She started walking toward the monsters, holding her arms out. "Hey, boys." They all started roaring. They'd been roaring before, but this was different. A whole new level. Lara thought Gina had chosen suicide. She thought she was about to see her friend get ripped to pieces. She lunged after her, grabbed her 'round the waist and dragged her back. "Fuck are you thinking? God!" Gina struggled loose. "No, Lara. It's not like that. Look, let me show you." The monsters were charging them. Lara was about to shoot again, but Gina knocked her gun aside and in the same instant, with her other hand, she grabbed Lara's bikini top, right between her tits. And she tore it down. All the monsters stopped dead—except a few of them skidded a little, their feet squeaking on the floor tiles. They all stopped roaring, too. Like their plugs had been pulled. Except they didn't topple over or anything. Lara and Gina weren't that lucky. They were no longer attacking, but they stood and stared, with their tongues lolling out of their mouths. They were panting like dogs, and drooling too—it was dribbling down their chests and spattering the floor. The expressions on their skull faces were almost comical. Some of them looked lost—deeply confused, and frightened by it. Some of them looked wistful. And the rest seemed to be thinking very hard. As if they'd just been struck by some profound life-changing realization. As if they were suddenly inspired. All of this, evidently, on account of Lara's tits. Gina's were dangling free, as well. And she had some pretty nice ones on her. But they were little ones. They couldn't have the same impact. Especially since she'd been a prisoner for a while—the monsters were already familiar with them. Not like Lara's legendary bombshells. The sudden silence was broken by a tearing sound. Ripping fabric. It was the front of Sloane's red jockeys. It was Sloane's erection, bursting out of them. And every other monster was sporting wood to match. Lara hadn't registered that happening—because she hadn't taken her eyes off their faces. All those funny expressions on them. Not until the tearing of Sloane's shorts called attention down there. "What the fuck, Gina. What the fuck is this?" "It's exactly what it looks like, Lara. This is how we beat these guys. It's the only way we can." Lara tried to process this idea. But it wasn't the kind of idea you could process. She looked around for another exit. There was the lift to the side, the cell behind them. Another door in the other corner. Round, with a wheel in the middle, like a hatch inside a submarine. "This way! Come on!" "No! That's a dead end!" And she was right. It was. Just another empty room with metal walls, no bigger than Gina's cell had been. But Lara dragged her in there anyway and locked them in. The overhead lights were tinted red, God knows why. Fit her mood, anyhow. The monsters bashed and scraped on the other side of the hatch. Roaring again. Pissed again. "Are they strong enough to get through that?" Gina nodded wearily. "Great. Fucking great." "Lara, please. I know this sucks. But you have to trust me. We won't be able to hold them off. We can't get around them, either, or stay hidden." "I know that. I fucking know." "But I know how to handle them. There's only this one way. You'll have to follow my lead. When they get that door open, just do what I do." "You mean shake my tits at them some more?" "Exactly. For starters." "Christ, Gina." "It'll work. And if we don't do this, we're going to die. They will tear us to pieces, and then they'll eat us. Believe me, I've fucking seen it happen. But we can take control of them." "With our goddamn tits?" "With sex, Lara." "Jesus. What the hell have they been doing to you in here? Did they inject you with something? You're completely out of your mind." Gina slapped her, and Lara almost shot her in the face for it—but that would rather defeat the entire purpose of this exercise, wouldn't it? "I'm not crazy," Gina said, "I'm not drugged. Just fucking listen to me! Because I know what I'm talking about. You just saw it for yourself—you saw how they reacted, when I exposed your breasts. And before that, what happened when you shot them with your gun? How much good did it do? Fuck-all, is how much! We can't kill them by normal means. It won't fucking work, believe me." "What the fuck are they?" "Prototypes. It's just genetic engineering." "Oh, is it? Just that, huh?" "I meant, it's not supernatural. This is science—advanced military science, but it's not hocus pocus. They're trying to make super-soldiers down here." "Werewolf super-soldiers?" "Exactly. MacGuffin already tried this shit—they stole our data to build from." "So your bosses sent you to nab it back and shut them down." "Well, no. They're doing much better than we ever did. I'm just supposed to bring back a blood sample, so we can determine how they made the breakthrough and replicate it." "You know, I've got to know you well enough by now, that actually doesn't surprise me at all. But you miffed the job, eh? They got you." "I miffed it, yes. But I've found out a great deal since. The subjects all have this same fatal flaw." "Their sex drive." "Exactly. Their sex drive, Lara. It's been enhanced like everything else about them, but it got out of proportion. Now it's so powerful they can't control it. It melts their brains, when they get too excited—and I mean that literally. I've seen it happen to them." "Jesus. But what does this mean for us?" She already knew, of course. "It means they won't kill us—even if they want to, or know they should. Not so long as they're turned on. And it means we can kill them." "By fu—" But there was no more time for discussion. The door gave way, and the monsters were storming in upon them. Oh God. She didn't realize at first—it took a few seconds for her mind to properly process what she was hearing—but the lead monster, who she still recognized as Sloane on account of his dreadlocks and the remnants of his labcoat, was roaring her name, again and again. It was coming out so loud and stretched and distorted, that it was hard to tell—sounding almost no different than an ordinary, plain roar. But once you realized it was there, you could distinguish the name ... "CRRAAWWWFFFT! CRAAAWWWWFFT!" In another context, that would have seemed damn silly. But in the present circumstances, it might have been the creepiest thing she'd ever heard in her life. 4. "Kneel down, Lara!" Gina screamed, "Get on all fours right now and stay that way!" Gina had taken that pose herself—like a cringing kitty cat. Lara did it too. She didn't want to, but she did. "Oh fuck," she cursed, with the monsters looming over them. And their cocks. "Fuck this. This is so fucked." "Not yet it isn't," Gina muttered. "Give it another minute." "God. I don't want to do this. I don't think I can do this." "You have to, Lara. And I'm right here with you. We'll deal with them together, all right? It's just a bunch of cocks. You and I don't have to be scared of a bunch of silly cocks, do we?" "I s'pose not. When you put it like that." "Muh-hughn," she answered—the only response she could make, because now Gina's mouth was full. She had tried to keep an encouraging tone. As much as it was possible for a sound like that to have one. Lara didn't need to see it, of course, to know what was happening. But she glanced that direction anyway, before she could stop herself ... Gina looked so tiny, compared to them. On her knees in the middle. Lara didn't normally think of her as a small woman. Yet that was how they made her look. Tiny. Overwhelmed. Pathetic. Helpless. Lara would probably look the same to her. Except Gina kept her eyes shut. Concentrating on her work. God. Three of them at once. She was blowing one monster, and cranking two more on either side with her hands. Their monster cocks were as long and as thick as her forearms. Seriously. She could barely fit her fingers around the shafts. And the one in her mouth—it was stretching her lips so wide, it looked like they were about to tear. And how was she taking it so deep down her throat without choking? Or maybe she was choking, but she just kept taking it anyway. Because she had to. And because she'd done it before, probably. Lara got to wait a little longer. Another half minute or so. Because Sloane wanted her all to himself and that started a little tussle with the rest of the guys. He had to bash some heads together. But this was a bad play. He shouldn't have been selfish about this. Fucker was outnumbered. Turned out she wasn't gonna have to blow Sloane after all. Bullets couldn't put him down, but the other werewolves could. They ripped his arms off, and then used them to beat his skull in. He changed back into himself, after he was dead. She was really, really glad she didn't have to blow that piece of shit. His ordinary face was uglier than the monster version—even though his nose and upper lip had grown back. There were still these other dudes, of course. Still plenty of big obnoxious cocks in her face. But at least Sloane's wasn't one of them anymore. Made her feel a whole lot better about this mess, as they crowded close around her. Intellectually, she knew these other fuckers were every bit as bad as Sloane. And if Sloane had succeeded, blowing him alone would have been an easier chore. But at least she didn't know these other fuckers from a previous adventure. There wasn't that extra element of historical baggage to contend with, on top of the rest. They weren't getting revenge on her, like Sloane would have been. Plus, she'd seen these guys before they transformed—she'd seen that they were all conditioned soldier types. They were probably evil soulless bastards, to a man, but at least they were men. Manly men. Not freakish pencilneck berks like Sloane was. She got down to business. Went at it with the same approach as Gina ... One in her mouth, and one in each hand. Put all her strength into the work, to get them taken care of as fast as she could. But that left a final guy left over. He hunkered down behind her, and ripped off her last remaining scrap of clothing. Well, that was bound to happen at some point. She widened her knees and bent forward as much as the other chaps would let her—accommodating the man back there as much as possible, so he wouldn't hurt her, when he went in. Or at least not as bad as he would have, if she resisted. Was he gonna go for her arse, or for her cunt? She hoped he'd pick her cunt. She could handle that better than the other way. Maybe. These were such big boys. Still. Better in her cunt than up her bum. Because she was lubricated. Quite well, in fact. It wasn't on account of the monsters. She'd got like this before they appeared—in fact, she'd been jazzed up and juiced up, since the start of the mission. It was the mission itself that had done it to her. The action, the peril. That happened to her, sometimes—most times—during big fights and chases like this. She would get herself really lathered up, by the end. Usually it was a subtle and largely subconscious thing, and fairly easily suppressed, if she needed to. Today the affect had been stronger. More distracting. And the buzz she'd been feeling was much more overtly erotic. No doubt from the fact she had been doing all of this in a skimpy bikini. This was why when the werewolf behind her stuffed his enormous coal-black cock inside her cunt, it was wet enough to receive him without struggle or agony. Monster sex wasn't a proper turn on for Lara, but perilous rescue missions were. So she was aroused. Highly aroused, in fact. He howled when he rammed in there. Lara couldn't stop herself howling too. Her body was in a receptive state. Thus it responded favorably to the werewolf's stimulation. Lara wasn't happy about it, when she realized what was happening. And what was going to happen next. But that physical response was beyond her control. Oh God. Oh shit. The fucking was pleasurable. It was unwanted, and it was violent, but still intensely pleasurable, regardless. So her body intended to react to that exactly like it was supposed to, with an orgasm. Don't you dare, she told herself. Don't you let him do it. But it was feeling so good. He was doing it good. Really awfully damn good. Fucking hell. This was gonna be one hell of a fucking. He's a monster! You're giving it up to a werewolf! But he was pounding right on her G-spot, every time. Every time! On a pure animal level, werewolf cock was irrefutably superior to a normal man, as a stimulus tool. That had become painfully clear. Or rather, pleasurably clear. This could not be argued with. You slut! You filthy slut! Oh God! Don't give in! You're giving in! The werewolf made Lara Croft come, against her will. The Victorians used to call it spending. Well, her cunt spent. Yes indeed. Paying the ultimate tribute to the monster's cock. She felt herself clutch and surge on him, and then it kept doing that, spending itself until it could spend no more, it had paid out all it had ... Oh shit. Oh shit. Emptied the account. Ohhhh. The picture that popped up in her head was a dishrag ... Wringing it out over the sink ... That was her cunt inside, wringing itself out like a rag, to squeeze out every last drop and drizzle of juice, and not just juice, but every last electric surge of blazing brilliant pleasure. As if that dishrag suddenly exploded into lightning bolts as it was twisted, shooting out all directions ... Ahhrruuhh! That was humiliating, obviously. Shattering her spirit, beyond her control. But she was comforted a little by the thought that the monsters might not have known it happened, because of the way they were holding her pinned in one place, from every side. They'd left her no space to thrash around. And she didn't scream, or if she did it was muffled by the cock in her mouth. The rhythm of her hands never faltered on the other two cocks she was pumping, on her left and right ... None of them would have been able to tell what she'd just experienced. Would they have cared, anyway? Would it have meant anything to them? Now it was their turn, all four monsters together ... And as they climaxed, their heads all imploded. Collapsing inward like deflating balloons. Lara didn't see it happen—her eyes were shut at the time, with two thick streams of semen gushing over her cheeks, while another flooded and overflowed her mouth, and the last flooded and overflowed her cunt. The monsters died, and toppled backward to the floor. Except for the one behind her, because his cock was too firmly planted inside her. It only pulled out halfway, when he slumped. It hadn't gone limp, not even a little. She had to shake her arse and shove backwards against the guy with both her hands, to push him the rest of the way out of her, so she could stand. The many conflicting sensations as his cock eased out ... God. They made her wail. Not in pain—not exactly. No cock in her mouth that time to stifle the cry. "Guhhuuhhaahhrr!" And when it was over, finally, the rush of relief both physical and emotional was almost as dizzying and as draining and delicious as another orgasm. Not quite but almost. She turned to Gina, struggling to her feet the same as she. Showing Lara how she herself must look. Tottering, wild-eyed. The werewolves she'd taken care of sprawled in a ring around her. Three, to Lara's four. None of Gina's had actually fucked her. No, that was wrong. Looked like one of them had, after all. Not content with a handy. Got down behind her just like the one that took Lara. Except he'd put it in Gina's arse. Lara could tell from the way Gina was clutching herself back there. "Ow," she said, "Bastard nailed me good." Lara Croft: Into the Lair Lara wondered if she'd come too. Probably not but she might have. She knew Gina liked it in the bum, sometimes. Once long ago she let Lara do that to her, with a toy. Of course a toy like that was a very different thing than a werewolf cock, especially when you hadn't asked for it. She was drenched in semen. It was plastered all over her. You'd think it had been twelve or fifteen guys that did that to her, not just three. And Lara had got the same treatment, of course. Every bit as bad. Only difference between them was below the waist. The streaks running down Lara's legs were leaking from her cunt, instead of her bum. It was all incredibly embarrassing. For both of them. Gina's face was very red under the white crisscross splotches. Lara knew she was blushing just as furiously—she could feel the flame of it in her cheeks. You didn't know whether to look straight at the other girl, or keep your gaze averted. Either way felt equally unkind. But they had no reason to feel ashamed in front of each other, did they? Or did they? "This is disgusting. I can't believe how much they sprayed on us." Lara tried to wipe it from her face, but without much success. She only seemed to be smearing the ghastly stuff around. Was it her imagination, or was it making a fizzing sound, like a soft drink? It didn't smell right, either. It had a different, stronger, fouler stink than normal semen. "They soaked us, Gina. I didn't know they were gonna soak us!" "Well, tough. 'Cause they did. Sorry, Lara." She didn't sound sorry, of course. She snorted and spat. "Got some up my nose. Fuckers." There were times Lara Croft enjoyed the feel of a man's come on her skin, and the sight of it as well. Yes, even the dirtiness of it. The sense of debasement. She could admit that to herself. There were times she had enjoyed letting men do this kind of thing to her, and then she'd also enjoyed letting them look at the mess they made after they made it. Sharing the thrill they got out of it. Sometimes she didn't mind lowering herself, a little, for a worthy partner—only temporarily. But sometimes it was good to get dirty. A basic foundation of eroticism. Sometimes it's really good to get really dirty. But this was much, much too much. Way too fucking low. "I'm never having sex with any man ever again. I swear." "Oh shut up. You're fine." Never one for shades of sympathy, this girl. Neither asked nor offered. But Lara knew she shouldn't be surprised. It was to be expected. The honing of the so-called Instrument. "It's just jizz. It's not gonna kill you." Hell of a coping mechanism, wasn't it? Flippant flat out denial of the trauma. Very oldschool. Then the ice cold bitch took it even further ... "You look good with jizz all over you." Christ, what a laugh. "Gee, thanks. You too, I suppose. If we were a couple of porn stars, perhaps. Not my cup of tea." "Anyway, we beat them, didn't we? Just like I told you. They didn't get to enjoy their handiwork. Look at the fuckers." Lara looked. Their crumbled, flattened faces looked like empty rubber masks. Their glowing eyeballs were gone, leaving gaping sockets. But the holes were dry—no blood. No nothing. Her wristwatch beeped. "Shit." Was that the five minute warning? No. Even worse—it was the two minute alarm. She must have missed the other one. She'd been too occupied to hear it go off. "We gotta dash, Gina. No time to clean up or cover up. We gotta get out of here right fucking now." Gina's face was unsurprised. "Toaster?" Lara nodded. "Fuck yeah." "How long left?" "Not long enough." 5. She was afraid they'd step out of the room and find a hundred guys in the main lab waiting with guns. But there were only a couple of the geeks, still trying to pack up stuff. They gaped at the women with their mouths hanging open—well, of course they did, almost drooling as bad as the werewolves—until Lara hissed at them, and then they scurried away like mice. "Hope you remember where you gotta go," Gina said, as they ran through the corridors, Lara leading her by the hand. "This is the shit I do for a living, remember. I could do this with my eyes closed." And she almost had to, the way more stinging jizz kept dripping into them from her forehead. "But where's everybody gone? Don't tell me they've evacuated." "They must have, Lara." "But it was just me by myself in a bikini. I'm not too shy to say I kicked a lot of arse, but then the werewolves had us trapped. They were fucking us, for God's sake. Didn't anybody notice?" "That's what they call the fog of war, Lara. I've been giving them a lot of shit about MacGuffin bringing down the wrath of God to save me. They knew I was lying—" "Only about saving you." "True. But then you pop up out of nowhere and start shooting people. The bosses panicked. They tend to do that. Must have thought a whole army had got in. By the time the werewolves had us cornered, nobody in charge was still on site to notice and call off the evac. That's my guess, for what it's worth." They'd made it out to the beach. They sprinted straight into the surf. Didn't stop running and shoving against the waves until it was no longer possible, when the water got deep enough to make them swim. "How far off we need to get to survive?" "Oh, we should be fine already, right here, now that we're off the shore. Toaster is surprisingly surgical." It wasn't like she expected, when the strike hit behind them. There was no energy beam from the sky, and no huge Hollywood explosion. The mansion on the cliffs just suddenly collapsed in on itself, with a long low rumble. Like it had succumbed to termites, or a sinkhole had opened up beneath it. "Molecular resonance," Gina said, as if that explained anything. She had rolled over, to do a steady backstroke. "How far is your yacht?" "Ten minutes out. Maybe twenty if we take it easy." "Let's take it easy then. Real easy, please. Water feels nice. But I'm sore as fuck, all over, you know." Lara knew, indeed. She felt the exact same. The ocean didn't seem to be washing away the werewolf jizz as much as she hoped it would. Wonderful. They were going to need scouring brushes, looked like, when they got to her yacht. Perhaps paint thinner.