2 comments/ 5722 views/ 13 favorites Lara Croft: Wrath of Freeman By: justtheone EDIT 10/15 1. Three hours back she'd hitched a ride with a relief convoy heading her way, which was toward the mountains along the eastern border of this peninsula. She was informed a series of colossal mudslides had just devastated several villages, as the damn things tend to do. Lara was all done with the private business that had brought her into this benighted little country. After a moment's mild consideration, she decided she would stick with these aid people for a period, see what she could contribute to their efforts. There are far worse ways to squander one's free time. She was napping in the backseat of the Humvee at the tail end of the line when the convoy got attacked. From the noise when she was awoke, she first thought they'd been clobbered by another mudslide. That didn't turn out to be it. When she saw what was really going down, it was difficult to credit. This was entirely the wrong part of the world for an elephant to appear. How on earth had such a creature showed up in the middle of this road, and what could have driven it into so much murderous fury? They didn't have zoos or circuses in this tiny country, far as she knew. Then she saw a man was riding on top of it, straddling the neck. He had some sort of helmet on, or no—it was actually a mask. Crazy bugger didn't seem to be wearing much else. The mask was made of wood, oversized, crudely carved, and garishly painted. It depicted some manner of roaring monstrosity. Yet it was too goofy looking to be scary, at least in Lara's opinion. The elephant made a mess of three of the convoy's vehicles, concentrating particular ire on a Volkswagon minibus. Stamped the thing flat as paper. Thankfully all the terrified people were able to scramble clear of the beast. Except for one—Lara herself. She was seized by the elephant's trunk and hoisted off her feet high over its huge head. Her arms were caught under the trunk, pinned to her sides, so she was unable to draw her weapons. She expected the elephant to smack her into the ground or else hurl her as far as it could. Either way, she was bound to end up crippled if not killed outright. She found she was not afraid. This fate was simply too bizarre, and it had come upon her too fast. Actually she felt a twinge of gratitude for that. Whole mad business would be over and done with before she had a chance to start boohooing. Only then it didn't squish her, nor did it toss her away. Instead it ran off into the shadowy forest with her like she was its prize. She heard the masked rider yelling out instructions in a strange language. It seemed this was to be a kidnapping. Had that been the intention all along? She was carried at considerable speed through the trees for at least half an hour. It was impressive how deftly the huge animal could negotiate the dense foliage. You'd think it would have to smash its way through to make any progress. Somehow it glided along like a ghost, like by magic. It hardly made any noise. They eventually reached a broad clearing with tall yellow grass, and the elephant stopped and waited, still and silent as a statue. Like a switch had been thrown. Again, it was eerie. The masked rider dismounted, chuckling to himself. Moment the chap pulled the mask off she felt pretty foolish. If she wasn't such a dunderhead it should have occurred to her right from the bat who it would turn out to be, considering his ridiculous costume. 2. Called himself Freeman. Or was it Free-Man? She couldn't recall if he used a hyphen. Bollocks, it didn't make any difference. He was, or had used to be, a disgustingly wealthy wanker (inherited, but the same was true of Lara, so she'd no business casting aspersions on the fact) who had decided on a goofy whim to reject the constraints of civilization and set himself up in the wilderness as a real life analogue of Tarzan. Difficulties had arisen because the particular jungle he chose to inhabit was really a government protected nature reserve, chock full of endangered species. True unspoiled wildernesses are hard to come by in the modern day and age. Eventually Lara had got drawn into the efforts to chase the daft idiot down, as a guide and advisor (and soon the unofficial leader) to an over-equipped but poorly organized military expedition. There were several embarrassing hangups. She wouldn't dodge responsibility for the mistakes that got made. By the end, however, it all got sorted out more or less all right, at least for the so-called good guys. Freeman, having obligingly accepted the bad guy role and performing it with gusto, was thought to have been justly killed. He'd taken a nasty fall from the top of a very tall tree. His body had not reached the ground—she'd seen him snagged on thick spiny branches about halfway down, his body pierced in several places, blood gushing profusely from the holes. Shortly afterward, when a team was dispatched to recover the corpse, it was no longer there. They'd believed it must have been carried away by a predator. Which in fairness was by far the most likely explanation. Looked like he'd survived after all. God alone could explain how he managed it. He was left with a number of grisly scars across his body and his face. The best—by which she meant the ugliest—was on his right cheek. Looked like a puckered asshole, literally. When he spoke, he couldn't move his lips properly on that side. He was also missing one of his eyes. Poor sod. His expression at present was surprisingly warm and humorous, not the grimace of vengeful fury one would bank on. Typical of the nutter. Lara never quite managed to hate or fear this fool as much as she told herself she ought to. Compared to the rest of the villains and monsters she'd tangled with in her storied career, he didn't push those buttons. He pushed other ones, instead. Right from the very beginning. Absurd and deluded as he was, she always, privately, got a bit of a kick out of him and his entire "jungle man" routine. He was too fit and too cute; that was the main issue. Even his scarring, though ghastly, didn't quite ruin his original appeal. Perhaps they added poignancy to it, instead. And she never felt threatened by the idiot—no matter how rough and vicious things had got between them. Because everything he did or tried to do, it was always just intended as a game. Playful, kinky fooling around. He pushed those games too far, yet she could always tell he wasn't genuinely serious, just from the look on his face when he looked at her—and it was the exact same look he was giving her now. He never meant to do her any real wickedness. Not like all the other umpteen psychotic cunts she'd thrown down with, from time to time, when the need had arose. You see, there's crazy and then there's crazy. Freeman's brand of crazy was essentially boyish. A variant of the Peter Pan syndrome. Filthy-minded as he could be, somehow paradoxically he carried an aura of innocence. At least to Lara's perspective. She was giving him too much the benefit of the doubt. The guy was still very dangerous. To others and no doubt to himself if not necessarily to her. He got utterly carried away with his jungle fantasies and he'd done some seriously bad things. She knew she shouldn't sympathize with him as much as she tended to. She knew she shouldn't let his bullshit slide. But this is problem we all tend to have, when we're attracted to somebody. The Bad Boy thing. While of course men have the same fundamental weakness for Bad Girls. We let these people get away with all kinds of awful behavior, just 'cause we like them. 'Cause they excite us. If or when other less attractive people treat us the same way they do, we flip right out. But the ones we fancy always get a pass, fairness be damned. It's just one of those things. Way of the fucked up world. The elephant kept her suspended sideways off the ground, about even with Freeman's torso when he stood in front of her. "You are utterly helpless, Lara Croft," he pronounced, with his hands on his hips, "There shall be no escape for you this time. Now I shall have my revenge. I can do anything I like with you. I can do everything I desire." To demonstrate, he reached for the shoulder straps of her tank top, and the sports bra she wore beneath, peeling them both together down her pinioned arms. She felt her nipples stiffen at the threat of exposure, but then she prevented it from happening. With brutal kicks, Lara was able to fend him away from her with her heavy boots, if only for a few seconds. "Not entirely helpless, am I?" she said, through clenched teeth. He snorted, rubbing the side of his chest and one bicep where her armored toes had pummeled him. "Ow. Think you nearly cracked my ribs. Should have occurred to me to deal with your footwear first. Got ahead of myself in my giddy excitement." Freeman lunged at her legs, embracing them in a crushing bearhug in spite of their savage frenzied thrashes. She bloodied his nose with a blow from her knee, though that one caused her as much agony almost as it must have given him. After a minute of fumbling and cursing, Freeman succeeded in prying her boots off, and her sweaty socks after that. Then he pulled off his own belt and used it bind her ankles together (shaking his sheathed knife off the strap first, letting the weapon slip to the grass and then sweeping it some considerable distance aside with his own dusty bare foot). Once he was finished tying her legs together, he didn't let go of them. His fingers slowly spidered downward to the exposed undersides of her feet. "This is a better way to punish you, isn't it?" he said, "At least to start off." And he began to tickle her. It was diabolical. In moments he was forcing piteous screams from her. She spat at him, but missed. It might be her last act of defiance. She knew the tickling would break her. She could have held out against a more violent, painful torment much longer and with much more dignity. Whereas tickling would have her begging him for mercy in mere seconds ... Some things cannot be withstood with even the smallest degree of stoicism. Tickling—at least if one is ticklish, and most of us are—instantly overwhelms all mental and emotional defenses. The most intensive military or intelligence conditioning is useless against it. Lara's only chance remaining was to strike at his vanity. "Coward! Aren't you man enough to fight me fair and square? You'd never have captured me on your own! You had to use a humungous trained elephant! Aren't you ashamed of yourself?" Freeman shrugged. "We fought face to face twice before, if you remember. I bested you both those times, didn't I?" "You had assistance on the second one, actually." "True, you're right about that. Before the little bitch changed her mind and turned against me when my back was turned. She'll get what's coming to her one of these days, when I get around to it ... Anyway, you can't deny me the first win. That was all me. Do you admit it?" "Maybe," Lara said, very low. "Or maybe I just let you win for a lark. I'm prone to mad whims, sometimes." "Come on! That's bullshit, Tomb Raider! And you know it!" "Let's have a rematch then and settle the question once and for all. Unless you're too chicken." "Admit that I really beat you the other time, and I'll accept your challenge. If you're too stubborn to confess the truth, then to hell with you and I'll just keep ticking you like a childish lying brat deserves!" "Fine then! Fine! You won the first match! I confess. You defeated me fair and square! But you think you're tough enough and manly enough to do it again? Prove it, stud. If you prove it, then I'll do whatever you want, long as you want, no more resistance. You won't need to depend on your pet elephant to keep you safe any longer. Anything you command from me, no matter how filthy ... I'll go far as you like, far as you can take it. I give you my word." "That's too enticing an offer to pass up, Lara Croft. You have yourself a deal." Then he let go of her legs and backed away, ordering the elephant to set her down. "Give me a minute to catch my breath and let the blood drain out of my head," Lara said. "Fine, fine," Freeman agreed, spreading his hands wide like a magnanimous emperor. "Take as long as you require." First Lara crouched to unfasten the leather belt from 'round her ankles. It might serve as a useful weapon. Not a very sportsmanlike move, of course ... Was she going to let that stop her? She also took the opportunity to adjust and tighten her braid and straighten the shoulder straps of her top and her bra. "Will you let me put my boots back on before we start?" she asked. "I don't think so," he said. "No big deal. I don't need my boots to kick the fuck out of you." "Will you need that big belt of mine, do you think? To wallop me over the head, perchance?" "Nahhh." She tossed it over her shoulder with as much casualness as she could summon up. "You might regret doing that." She waved this off. "I doubt it." "We shall see, Lara. Very soon, we both shall know. Tell me one more thing, though. Are you ... aroused? Like me? I bet you are." He dropped his loincloth and waggled his ginormous erection at her. Far bigger and scarier than she remembered it. Damn atrocious thing jutted toward her face like the bowsprit of an old timey sailing ship on a huge 3D movie screen. Say, a massive Spanish galleon in the height of the Age of Piracy. "See how aroused you've made me? I bet you feel the same." "Gosh. I dunno. Guess you'll have to beat me to find out." "Not brave enough to admit what you're feeling yet? That's a little disappointing. But your clothes won't hide the truth from me for long. Already I can see it in your eyes. I'm going to win this, Lara. And I'm going to win because deep inside yourself, you want me to." With an outright roar like a lioness, she launched herself upon him. He allowed himself to collapse backward as she landed atop him, but somehow maintained graceful control as he dropped, so he could roll beneath her in a somersault and then catapult her away from him with his legs. Three more times she flung herself upon him with all the viciousness she could muster, never giving him enough time to regain his footing. Yet all three times, he was able to easily deflect her pounces and launch her backward, again and again. She would just practically bounce off his body like he was a trampoline. But the final time he did this, he held on to the collar of her shirt as his feet were propelling her into the air. The shirt, with the front of her bra along with it, snagged by his curled fingertips, was torn down from her shoulders to her elbows, instantly trapping her arms against her sides almost as good as the elephant's mighty trunk had done. She was able to wiggle her arms free from the constriction in only a few seconds. Except by the time she'd managed that, he'd got his hands on her shorts and dragged them down her legs as far as her ankles, and her panties too. On reflex, she kicked her feet loose. That was ill-considered, not that any proper conscious consideration had taken place. All she did in kicking the shorts away was remove the last obstacle preventing her opponent from spreading her legs as wide as they could stretch, as he slipped his hips between them and nestled as high and as close as any man could fit between the Tomb Raider's muscular sweat-slick thighs. Lara went "No! Dammit!" Her hands shoved against his chest as he rolled atop her, her fingernails digging into the bulging meat of his pecs. And even as she shoved upward with all her strength, the tip of his cock was driving downward upon the gaping slot of her vagina. Her cunt was molten, of course. As it had been from the very beginning of the duel, and before ... perhaps almost from the first moment of her capture by this awful and atrocious and yet oh-so-fascinating, beguiling opponent. Now, because she was naked, her arousal was no longer shielded, no longer hidden. Unprotected and unresisting, her cunt engulfed the head of his cock in an instant, with little strain from either of them. He didn't have to use his hand to steer it into place. Lara heard herself go "Ahhuuuhhhuuuhh!" She could not believe—did not want to believe—such a sound was coming from her own mouth. The penetration was electrifying. Just the head of his cock stretching her entrance alone gave her so much immediate and furious stimulation it was almost humbling. Freeman held himself back from driving deeper. He gazed into her eyes with a smug smile. His hands took hold of her wrists, to pry her hands from his chest. She found she could not prevent him, hard as she strained. All her strength had deserted her. In seconds he had pinned her arms flat to the grass on either side of her head. "Gotcha," he said. "Ohhh. Oh no," Lara whimpered, as she writhed and trembled, an electric warmth suffusing her body with helpless desperation. "Oh God. Oh shit. Oh please. Ohh. Huuh nooh. No fair! No fair!" "It's perfectly fair!" he replied, "You are defeated! Admit it! Surrender now! Submit! You promised you would! You gave your word!" "You ... you bollock-eating bastard! You son of a motherfucking bitch! You buggering bloody arsehole!" She stretched her knees toward her armpits as far as she could, and pointed her toes, straining to hold the position. It was the only way she would prevent herself from wrapping her legs around him and squeezing him against herself as hard as she could. Elevating her legs as she was doing also slightly eased the pressure of him within her passage. And tightening the muscles and tendons in her calves and her feet provided additional distraction from the sensations in her cunt. He pressed deeper. Only another inch, but quite enough to reassert his domination. Which was absolute. She screeched, almost coming. She was brought so close to it, and then left adangle in shivering, cringing longing, that now the fulfillment of orgasm was all she could think of. The need for its release became the only thing that mattered in the world—though sadly she still retained conscious of the humiliation it brought upon her. "Oh my God. God. Oh mercy. Please." "Do you give in? Do you? You have to!" She closed her eyes and nodded. "Say it!" he insisted, rather petulantly, "Look at me and say it right!" "I yield. You win! I yield to you! Take what you want!" "You gonna come for me? You wanna come? Tell me then. Tell me." She bit her bottom lip and shook her head with all the defiance she could muster. "I won't. Take your pleasure but I won't give you my own." "Yes you will," he said, "I won't let you come until you plead for it." "Fine, I won't come then. I don't care. Bastard!" "Let's just see about that. Shall we?" He pulled his cock most of the way from her cunt, then drove it in again, but he did both those things very, very slowly, with a long wait between the motions, and he applied only the minimum possible pressure ... It was torture. Excruciating torture. Three times he put her through this, out and in, out and in, drawn-out across minutes that became centuries inside her soul. Centuries of teetering blistering agony. Lara gasped. Lara whimpered. Lara panted. Lara groaned. She could never achieve a climax while he kept to this pace. Yet it was still giving her body just enough stimulation to prevent her desire from subsiding. The urge to come—the hunger, the need to come—would not ease off. He only made it grow worse and worse, the longer he denied her fulfillment. He taunted her. "Good, isn't it? Isn't it delightful? I could fuck you this way all day long, I promise you. I'm in no rush to finish. Fucking you is an experience to be savored. But you don't look happy, Lara. Aren't you enjoying this as much as me?" Lara Croft: Wrath of Freeman She grunted and growled at him, otherwise incapable of speech. "Oh, that's right. You said you were indifferent. Or have you changed your mind about that? Be sure to tell me if you do." She shivered. She sweated. She wept. She curled her toes until they started to cramp, and tried crossing her legs behind him, tried to crush him downward against her as tight as she could. He allowed her to do it. Didn't force him to speed up. She tried widening her legs instead, far as she could stretch, then planting her heels and thrusting up her pelvis at him. To apply the force he wouldn't give her himself. That tactic didn't work either. He pressed too close, matching her every motion in perfect sync; she couldn't get enough leverage or maneuvering space between them to increase the friction she craved. "Give in," he said, "You know you must. Give me what I want. Then you'll get what you want. Isn't that fair? Isn't that justice?" "Don't make me beg. Please don't make me beg for it. Please." This made him laugh, and he was right to find it funny. It occurred to her since she was begging not to beg, there was no point in holding out further. "Please just ... just fuck me. Fuck me, you bastard!" "You wanna come for me? No, don't just nod. You have to say the words. Confess it! Tell me you wanna come!" "I don't want to! I don't! But ... I can't help it. I can't fight this teasing anymore. Jesus, you're so cruel. Please stop this torture! Please! You won and I'm yours! Just like you wanted! I'm wet for you! You can feel how wet I am—I was wet the whole time, just like you thought. You've got me pinned and conquered. You've stuffed me full of you. Oh dear God. Your cock is so huge ... so huge and so hard and it feels ... it feels incredible inside me. I can't deny it. You will make me come but you have to move it! Move it harder! You have to fuck me! Make me come now. I wanna come. Please I beg you for it. I beg you." "Speak my name!" "Freeman! Freeman! Please fuck me! Please oh please! Ahhuuhh! Ahhuuhh! Ahhuuuhhhnn!" "Lara Croft is MINE! Lara Croft is MINE!" "Yes! Yes! Goddammit! I'm coming! I'm coming! Freeman! I'm yours! All yours! I'm coming! God damn you! Ohhuuhh! Uhhuuhhh ... hhaah ..." "My turn now," he said. "Fine. Go on then. Go on." "Not so fast, Tomb Raider." Then he removed himself from her and stood up. "You know the way I want it to be." She sighed and sniffled. "I suppose I do." "Don't just lie there," he said, folding her arms across his chest. "Take the position. You're my slave now. You gave your word you'd obey." "I know I did," she grumbled, and clambered to her knees before his feet. It was no easy thing. Her cheeks burned. "Make yourself naked for me," he said. "I'm already naked." But actually, as he pointed out, she still had her shirt and bra bunched around her waist. She vented another aggrieved sigh, then pulled the things off over her head. She heard him make an awestruck exclamation, as the clothing was crossing over her face, on account of how her lifted arms were also lifting her breasts. He prodded her nipples with his cock, making sticky circles around the aureoles with the tip. Her system was still keyed up to such a pitch that those touches were as stimulating for her as for him. Both of them moaned aloud in unison. "Huuhhhnnn." She tried to squeeze his cock between her tits. "No, not that," he said, "Wait! Not like that! Not yet!" Her infamous tits would be too much for him. They would make him lose control too fast, she suspected—no, she knew. He lifted the cock to her lips. "Suck me off, Tomb Raider. First you'll finish me this way. Show me what a good worshipful fuck slave you can be." She took a firm hold of the shaft with both hands and stuck out her tongue but then hesitated, holding him over her tongue but not allowing him any contact yet, except from her breath. She looked up into his eyes, not with humble submission but fiercely, mockingly. "Oh God!" he bellowed, "Oh do it! Please!" It thrilled her to hear him cry out like that, with so much abandon in his voice ... She stroked him gently, and pretended to snap at the head with her teeth, but she didn't actually bite down. Lara still didn't take him into her mouth. Yet all the same he made a noise of strangled shock like she'd bit his cock off at the root. The moment she chose to engulf him, he was bound to explode. Lara was certain of it. She'd be able to gulp it all down. This would prevent him from drenching her face with his spooge, as she knew he intended. "I never got to come the other times," Freeman said, "You never let me." "I remember," Lara answered. Once it was only because they'd been interrupted. The other time, which was actually the first occasion she'd knelt utterly naked before this awful wretched man and his awful wretched penis, she'd just done a runner. Backflipped away and made a dash into the trees before he realized what was happening. He thought she'd given in completely to him, but she hadn't ... She decided she was gonna do the same trick again. Idiot should have been prepared for it. He should have tied her up. He'd made her come already, good and strong, a thorough flushing of her system—there was no reason at all for her to stick around. She was no longer pinned, no longer penetrated, no longer subjected to the irresistible stimulation he was capable of inflicting with this monstrous appendage of his. She was back in control of her body; her head was clear again. Well, mostly. Enough to get on with. "You're never gonna forget this moment, big man," said Lara, and then she somersaulted backwards, vaulted upright and ran like the devil. Leaving the bugger blueballed again. Ha! "Lara!" he wailed, "You gave your word!" Now she gave him the bird, over her shoulder. The British version, of course, the proper two fingered v. She'd forgot all about his fucking elephant, though. It was right in her path. When it trumpeted at her, she wet herself a tiny bit. "Shit!" she screamed, "Oh shit!" It seized her with its trunk around the waist again, and jerked her off her feet into the air. Same as before. Well, not quite. Her arms weren't trapped at her sides, and of course there was also the fact she was utterly naked, with the insides of her flailing legs drenched all the way to the ankles with urine and cunnyhoney. "Oh no! No! Please! Dammit! Fuck!" "That was a regretful move, Lara Croft," said Freeman behind her, "You owe me an apology. I am ashamed of you. You have dishonored yourself." "Go to hell! Pillock!" "That's not the tone to take at all, Lara. No, indeed." Using his belt again, and hers as well, he tied her ankles and her wrists, before having the elephant set her down once more. Then he had the creature knock down a tree for him, providing him with a log to sit on. After which, he pulled Lara face down over his lap, and proceeded to spank the bejesus out of her bare bottom. "Freeman, don't! Not this ... Not like this! FreemAAHHUUH!" Lara had never been spanked like that in her life. Bent over like a child. Not that she could remember, in any case. She'd had her bare bottom slapped by men and women in an erotic manner during numerous dalliances. But never for such a prolonged period, and never without a cock pumping inside her while the blows were being administered. She found this was the most agonizing facet of the punishment—the involuntary and irresistible yearning it stirred for further aggressive internal stimulation which her sexual history had conditioned her to expect in accompaniment to the recognized sensation of fiery stinging slaps upon her bare buttocks. Freeman spanking her this way was like having to eat a hotdog without ketchup and mustard. Or perhaps closer to the ketchup and mustard on the bun without the hotdog to complete it. "Chrissakes, just fuck me! Fuck me please! I'm sorry, all right? I'm sorry I tried to run! It was a dirty trick, I admit it! Please just stop spanking me! Just ... just GOD OWEE! Fuck! Fuck me again! All right? Or let me suck you! That's what you really want! Please I'll suck you for real now I swear it! I swear!" And finally after what seemed like a century, that was what he had her do. She was still bound with the belts hand-and-foot. No chance of a second escape attempt. It also, sadly, prevented her from fingering herself and easing her revived hunger while she blew him. He would not let her come again until he got his share of the proverbial cookies. To make it worse, he was no longer on the teetering edge of completion like before. It took another hundred years of slobbery, breathless labor to get him off. Not being able to bring her hands into play was another factor in prolonging the task. "Perfect," he kept saying, "Perfect." "How close are you?" she asked, "If you're gonna hold out a while yet, will you let me hop up and ride it for a minute? Please? Just a minute or two? That's all I'll need." He chuckled and shook his head, pressing her face down to make her take him as deep down her throat as she could, until she made a gagging noise. He only did that to her the one time, thankfully. Otherwise he wasn't bossy or savage about how exactly she pleasured him, just so long as she kept her nose to the grindstone. Then at long last he decided he was ready. When she felt him starting, she tried to keep him engulfed, but he lifted her away, rising off the log fully upright again at the final second. "Here it is! Here it is! Ahhhooohh Lara! Laraahhhuuhh!" And he took his place in the appalling and increasingly lengthy list of mean spirited sons of bitches that had hosed her face and her tits all over with their steaming reeking jizz, against her will. "Ohhuuh! Fwahh!" she sputtered, "Urrgghhuuh! Bugger!" She'd never managed to get used to it; she never would. It was only semen, it didn't leave stains ... it felt like it did. Like it marked her flesh forever. It always made her feel perfectly beastly. Soul-crushing subjugation, as if all her aspirations and adventures were meaningless. She was weak and pathetic and deluded, a mere plaything of lust and conceit. A piece of ass for evil men to prey upon for pleasure and power and pride. The disgrace didn't kill her desire to come again, though. It should have. The disgrace should have shut her lust down. It didn't. It did the opposite. It just made her keener for it. If she let a man like this turn her into a fucktoy, then it was time for lots more fucking. Time to embrace the shame and the darkness and wallow in it. "Me now! Me again! Please! Please! I beg you! I'm so hot for it! Freeman! Let me! Please!" "I'm gonna need a few minutes, you know." "Use your fingers! Use your tongue! Anything! Please!" 3. Before much longer—a few days, that is—Lara Croft figured out a way to turn the tables again on her adversary. She fooled him into walking into a bog. She did not allow him to sink. She fished him out of the muck right away, but after that he was bound and subservient to her. Until she tired of the game and released him again. She ended up walking away from him while he was fast asleep, in the cave they'd been sharing, with the ropes loosened from around his limbs—not completely undone but quite enough that he'd be able to wriggle out of them fairly quick when he woke up and discovered himself alone. After that, he could go where he liked, start up some new madness elsewhere, if he felt so inclined. Him and his crazy pet elephant. She would spare no further thought for him, unless he dared to cross her path again. If he did, she wouldn't mind. She'd deal with him if it was necessary in whatever manner was most expedient to the situation. If on the other hand she never encountered him ever again, that was fine too. No hard feelings on her part, yet she'd got all she needed out of the guy. Would he feel the same? In fact with a fair degree of confidence she thought he would. He would want to find a new fantasy for himself now, with a different player. They'd just about exhausted the possibilities of the Freeman vs Lara scenario. Flogging it further would soon grow tiresome. She'd taken her revenge on him, for all the things he'd done to her and made her do for him. It had been sweet while it lasted. She'd whipped him a few times. He'd grown to like it, as she herself had once learned to. Not immediately but pretty fast. Soon she could make him come while she was whipping him, yet never touching his cock or his balls the whole time. She'd fashioned a strap-on phallus for herself out of her gunbelt and an amusingly shaped gourd she found, and put it to thorough use on him. This was a tougher transitionary process for him, yet she was patient and careful and he gradually learned to enjoy that just as much, taking it with merciless brutality up his butt or sucking it on his knees. Though that alone couldn't bring her to an orgasm, she still took a great deal of satisfaction out of making him give her lengthy blowjobs, in answer to all the ones she was made to give him. The power trip was enough in itself. The sense of balancing the scales. Afterward she would have him lay flat and she'd ride on him. They did it often enough in that position they established near perfect pacing together and would almost always climax in sync. Rather glorious. Her revenge for his revenge did not erase or undo his own triumph, nor the humiliations he'd subjected her to. He had his time as the boss, then she got hers, and he got to experience the flipside. New for him. In truth, there is a buried Sub in every Dom, waiting for a special someone to dig it out, while a matching Dom lurks inside every Sub, the same way. Don't kid yourself that you're an exception. None of us understand ourselves or our boundaries half as well as we believe. When she allows herself to reflect back on these experiences, for some unknowable reason the part she thinks of first is always a game they played together while Lara was still in the submissive role of the defeated, helpless captive. It was right after Freeman had spanked her and succeeded in compelling a heartfelt verbal apology from her, or at least a well-performed contrivance of one. Then she had sucked him off and he had ejaculated all over her face. All over the majority of her nude body, to be more accurate. In order to earn the reciprocation she feverishly craved, Freeman had assigned her a new task. She had to get him off again using only her feet. And she was only allowed three minutes to accomplish this "feat" (tee hee)—he had dug her phone from the back pocket of her discarded shorts, in order to time her. He removed the belt that had trapped her ankles together, but her wrists were left bound behind her back. His cock was flaccid when she began, since he'd just had an incredible orgasm only moments previously. So she was essentially starting from scratch. If she couldn't get him done again in the time she was allowed, she would get another spanking. If she was successful, he said he would go down on her. Just imagining what his tongue would feel like on her box was almost enough by itself to push her over the line to transcendence—but not quite. He got hard again within ten seconds after her long, strong toes clenched upon him and commenced steady strumming motions. An encouraging beginning. Rapidly she increased her speed, using her arches in place of her toes for a solider grip and grunting as she pumped him. All the muscles in her legs started to blaze, and rivulets of sweat were streaming down her face. She perspired so much it nearly swept her cheeks and chin clear of the semen Freeman had deposited upon them in such copious layers. White dribbles jostled loose and dropped to join the glistening splashmarks already adorning her bouncing breasts and tensed belly ... "Do it, bastard!" she had growled, "Shoot for me! Shoot it out! Shoot! You love these sexy perfect feet of mine, I know you do ... All you wretched bastards seem to, it's the curse of having pretty feet—just gives you villains another part of me to obsess over, huh? You wanna watch me slurp your jizz off my own toes. I won't enjoy doing that. I'll weep with disgust and humiliation while I finish the job. You have to cover my toes all over first, if you wanna see that gross demeaning shit. You made me come, and you made me beg for it like a wanton slut, but you haven't made me cry for you yet. God damn you, fucking shoot! My legs are getting too tired! This is really hard work!" In reality she didn't win the game. He did come all over the tops of feet, but not 'til five seconds after she ran out of time. So she had to take another spanking again across his knees (after she got done cleaning her feet with her mouth, obviously). Despite her pleas and tears and curses and squirming, he did not permit her to come until the next morning, when he fucked her again after hours and hours of suffering anticipation, listening to him snore beside her on the slightly damp and chilly grass while she was entirely unable to sleep. And she, still bound, had to lie on her belly the whole night because her abused purpled buttocks throbbed so dreadfully ... A terrible ordeal. When at long last he woke with the sunrise, he immediately took her doggy-style (well, immediately after an obligatory piss) and every time he squeezed against her bottom on a downstroke it was excruciating, like he was spanking her again only with his pelvis instead of his hand. But as much as it hurt, it was delightful too, since his cock was hammering inside her exactly where she needed to feel it. She had three screaming orgasms in succession, before he got off again. "Ahhuuhh God you filthy bastard brute! It's so unfair! You feel so ... Ahhuuhh you fuck so ... PERFECT! GUUHHUUHHNN!!" When he got done, he soaked the full length of her back with his come, screaming as shrill as she had as he blasted out jet after jet, creating a Jackson Pollack on the smooth expanse of her spine. But when she thinks back to the game, she prefers not to remember it how it really happened. She imagines how it would have been if she had won. She pictures him coming like he had, but with a look of defeat rather than triumph as his cock bursts like a geyser between her curled toes. And then she pictures him eating her out. This blend of the real and the imaginary, shameful images mingled with triumphant ones, has become, for whatever reason, one of her go-to fantasies when she masturbates. Which isn't a thing she needs to do a great deal, yet it does happen from time to time. And more often than most people might guess. And when the need arises, that altered Freeman memory is guaranteed to get the job done for her fast and easy, especially if nothing else happens to be working.