2 comments/ 33281 views/ 11 favorites The Sacred Serpent Forest By: justtheone The following was inspired by the art of DeTomasso ... Tinkered with 10/4/14 1. Her guides wouldn't take her into their stupid sacred forest, unless she took all her clothes off and walked in nude, like both of them. They considered the place to be the original womb of all life in the world. Thus, they said, it was appropriate for anyone that went in there to be as they had been when they were born. Meaning without any clothes. To do otherwise would supposedly disrespect all the great-and-wise-and-powerful spirits this forest was supposed to house. Lara wasn't sure the men actually believed this horseshit. She thought they might be conning her, just to get an eyeful of her TaTa's. Part of her was actually amused. You had to grant, their approach had a certain cleverness to it. They'd done a decent job, making their story sound plausible. They'd put a little thought into it. And one also had to admire their sheer brazen impudence. She was inclined to reward them. She'd give them what they wanted, up to a certain point ... So long as they continued to behave themselves like gentlemen, along the way. She didn't mind showing herself off for them, for a little while, and giving them a bit of a kick. These were simple-minded boys, living a small, sheltered, primitive and rather shabby existence in the middle of a howling jungle wilderness. They'd both been very kind and very helpful to her, since she came to this island, even though doing so along the way had put their lives at some peril, in light of the villains she was competing with to reach the so-called Fanged Crown ... In fairness, the pair probably deserved a decent red-blooded thrill or two, for their trouble. And after all, nobody else would ever know she indulged them this way. It was a small favor to grant, really. Wasn't it? She figured, in the end, what the fuck? Why the Hell not? And hey, the weather was conducive, and the bugs weren't as bad as they might have been, in this part of the world. She never wore a great deal, anyway, on most of her adventures. If one were perfectly honest, she wouldn't be showing off much more skin than she usually did. True, the bits she kept covered were considered the essentials ... But they were only essential in that way—as in, essential they keep covered—according to one particular value system, the western contemporary standards in which she'd been brought up. If she'd been brought up elsewhere, under different standards—like on this island—she wouldn't feel the same way about them. Hiding those parts wouldn't be important, at least not to the same degree. There were places the women left their breasts exposed all the time, but would die of shame if they let anyone get the slightest glimpse of their ankles. When you tried to take the broadest objective view, it was all pretty arbitrary and silly. In a more logical reality, the only real sensible tangible consideration people should apply to how much clothing they put on was how cold their climate happened to get. Also, it was possible the two native boys weren't kidding about the rule. Maybe it really was a religious thing for them. They seemed serious about it. Not only would they not accompany her into the forest as guides, if she didn't agree to undress first—they said they couldn't let her go in on her own, either. They said it would cause an earthquake or some other terrible calamity, if the forest spirits were offended. She tried suggesting the taboo might not apply to her, since she wasn't a member of their tribe and therefore wasn't obligated to serve their gods. They talked this idea over carefully for several minutes, but finally shot it down. The guides carried spears as tall as themselves, and each also had a machete in a scabbard, hung on a thick leather belt. They didn't consider these belts to count as clothing, nor did their colorful headbands and arm bracelets. They also each were bringing along a large waterskin with a shoulder strap. The shape of the waterskins, hanging at their hips, looked hilariously like fashionable handbags for ladies. But she didn't tell them that. Lara herself would keep her little backpack on, and of course her gunbelt, the twin holsters strapped securely 'round her bare thighs. As long as she had that belt with her, she wouldn't really feel undressed, even though she had nothing else on—besides her sunglasses, and the fingerless gloves she liked that strengthened her hands for climbing and so forth. The guides wouldn't let her keep her boots. She would have to go barefoot, like them. Lara tried arguing for a good while about that, but they wouldn't relent. That was the toughest part. The only bit that bothered her. In fact it was more difficult and aggravating for her to give up her footwear than her so-called essentials—her top, her shorts, her underthings. The boots served a much greater and more tangible purpose than modesty. They physically protected her feet. She didn't care for the idea of traipsing through the forest without them. Too easy to step on something you shouldn't and injure yourself. A jagged bit of stone or a sharp stick ... On top of that, there would be snakes to worry about. It was called the Sacred Serpent Forest, right? Once they got going, in among the trees and shadows, it was funny how easy it was to forget she was naked ... or how easy it would have been, except for being barefoot. If she still had her damn boots, she wouldn't have felt any different at all. Only maybe slightly cooler than she would have been otherwise, if she had her top and shorts. (Those items would only have made her sweat more and soon start to itch, in inconvenient places.) Without anybody else around but the two guides, she could just about put the fact out of her mind. Since both the boys were naked too, and acting completely casual about it, like this was an entirely normal thing to walk around outdoors in front of each other with their tackle dangling free, and no reason at all for awkwardness—well, then that was how it was. Nudity isn't an issue if nobody makes an issue of it. She felt no more uncomfortable and embarrassed than she would walking around this way in her bathroom at home. And that was nice. Except it wasn't quite that easy, not really. Almost but not quite. It would have been, if they just let her keep her fucking boots, but they hadn't—and so just as she feared, that made things more difficult. Because it was a constant nagging niggling physical reminder. Each time she took a step, feeling the rough texture of the forest floor against her unshielded soles. She was always careful and methodical where she put her feet down, because she knew she had to be. Watching out for stones and bugs and serpents. And it was irritating, to have to do that. To be vulnerable in this way. A constant buzz of minor anxiety, making a big production out of every stupid footstep. And there was resentment, on top of that, for having to put herself through this nonsensical inconvenience for the sake of savage superstitions. If she just had her boots, she could slog on ahead without worrying about anything, regardless of her tits swaying loose and her ass hanging out in the open air behind her. But she didn't—so she couldn't. Instead she had to creep and mince along like a goddamn skittish fraidy cat, just so she wouldn't stub her toe on a stupid root or cut herself or get a splinter or get bitten by some wretched venomous critter. Fuck! Lara frequently had intense dreams in which she relived various adventures ... only without her clothes on. Tombs and temples, labyrinths and lost cities ... always in the dreams it was familiar places she'd already been to, already beaten. She'd have to find her way through them all over again. Traps she'd overcome had reset; monsters she'd slain were restored to life ... She'd now have face all these things again, but for some reason that time she'd have to do it stark naked—except for her guns and, usually, in most of the dreams, her boots. Her having dreams of that nature wasn't particularly weird, when you thought it through. Everyone from time to time has dreams where they go naked to work or to school. Her dreams were equivalent to those—it was just her ordinary regular working environment was never ordinary or regular. The oddest aspect of those dreams, in relation to the similar ones other people have, wasn't their exotic settings, but that hers weren't nightmares. She tended to enjoy hers, in general, though that wasn't something she would have felt comfortable admitting to anybody. There was never any sense of strangeness or unfairness in the dreams, while she was dreaming them—she never questioned the fact she was naked. Her dream self was never shocked by it. She never asked herself how it happened or tried to get her clothes back. She never got self-conscious or scared. In the context of those dreams, her being naked like that all the time was just her natural and ideal state—the way she was supposed to be. It would be nice to feel like that now, in this forest. You might imagine all those vaguely kinky dreams would have better prepared her for this experience. But that wasn't the case. All she kept thinking about was how different this was, from the damn dreams. How easy and fun this would have been for her dream self, while for her real self, it was not. Her dream self never bothered with questions or with worries. Her real self never fucking stopped tormenting herself with all that bullshit. She just couldn't figure out how. She thought about pulling her guns out and firing a few rounds off into the air, just to relieve a little tension ... but her guides probably wouldn't understand. They might think she'd gone mad or got possessed by some evil spirit. They'd freak out on her and it would turn into another giant pain in the butt to have to sort out. Her theory about the boys' conning her with a shaggy dog story just to get her naked for their own entertainment was looking more and more wrong, at this point. They didn't seem to be enjoying themselves, at her expense. Not like she'd expected. They didn't get stiffies, like she thought they would. She got no grins or giggles or blushes from them. In fact since they started the journey, both of them had hardly looked at her. And it didn't seem like they were doing that out of shyness or pretending indifference, trying not to give themselves away so she wouldn't catch on to the game and get angry. Instead it seemed like they either genuinely weren't interested in her, which she was ashamed to admit she found rather mortifying, or else they had too much else weighing on their minds. Like they were genuinely and spiritually fearful of what they might find in this forest, or what might find them. Or maybe they were just really strong, dedicated bullshit artists with real good poker faces. She was quite disappointed their cocks stayed down. Almost miffed. Of course if it had been the other way, she would have mocked them about it, without mercy. Or maybe she would have pretended to get offended, or flustered. To make them feel guilty. Hard to tell which would have been more amusing—she would have had to play it by ear. But the matter never, um, came up. 2. When they were ambushed, the men did it like cops. They sprung out from all directions, leaping from behind trees and bushes. And they were all shouting, as loud as they could—like cops do. The same shit you see all the time on TV. "Freeze! FREEZE! Hands in the air! Hands in the air!" It's a pretty good tactic, provided they've got the jump on you. It's why cops rely on it. Freaks you out. You can't help it. Makes you feel immediately overwhelmed. Like they've already got you, before they've really got you. And so they get you. "Doit!Doit!Now!Now!" She obeyed. Did it on pure reflex, taken completely by surprise. Stunned into unthinking submission, exactly as was intended. It was a textbook capture. You had to hand it to them. She almost wet herself, too. It was a lucky she'd just emptied her bladder, a few minutes earlier. A split second later, she was already regretting not trying to fight. She should have gone right for her guns, regardless of the odds. They probably would have blown her away on the spot. But better that than letting herself get taken prisoner. Especially considering the fact she was stark naked. But now it was too late to try anything. While one man in front of her was bellowing his cop bullshit into her face, another guy behind her snatched both her guns from their holsters, before she even realized the other guy was there. They were well coordinated, these cunts. They had made a neat, tidy job of it. Now she was disarmed—and that meant she was essentially helpless. Smooth, Lara Croft. Not exactly your finest hour. Who were these people? They weren't really cops. What the fuck were they doing here? But of course she knew already. There was no question. She had thought she'd still have more time. She thought she had established a better lead on them. Shit. And now here was their leader, stepping to the front. Melony Schrader. Another treasure-hunter, new to the game. The latest in the long line of Lara's rivals. She was no soldier, but today she had dressed herself up like one. Blue and gray camouflage fatigues, big shitkicker boots, and to top the outfit off, one of those silly little sideways berets. She was extremely tall and broad shouldered, with an enormous bust. They were bigger than Lara's, but stood too high and stiff on her chest, so she was sure they were artificial. Lara suspected she got them in direct imitation of her—or rather, in an attempt to outdo hers. Her face always reminded Lara of the actress Cate Blanchet. Only much younger, and psychotic. Perhaps that wasn't fair, thinking of her as crazy. She never acted irrationally, per se. Also, thinking of her as crazy felt wrong because if that was true, it would be an excuse, wouldn't it? More likely the bitch did the shit she did just because she was wicked. She had cut her hair boyishly short, since the last time they'd met. Part of this tough soldier look she'd chosen to put on. And she seemed to have bleached it, as well. Or maybe sun had done that, naturally. She had six thugs with her, all in the same matching blue and gray combat gear, though they didn't wear those cute little hats like Melony. Since she was supposed to be the general or whatever, no doubt. They were all armed with machine guns. Lara didn't recognize the type. Those guns were all fairly enormous and futuristic looking, like they'd been ripped off from the set of a space movie. Some snazzy new prototypes, probably. Lara's guides flung down their spears and put their hands up. But Melony scoffed at that. "You can go ahead and hang on to your sticks, fellahs, if you want. They don't worry us." Foolish bravado. Lara had seen what they could do with those "sticks." But neither man picked up their weapon or lowered their hands. They couldn't understand what she was saying, of course. Wahu was visibly shaking. Lara felt bad, and there was no way for her to reassure him. She glanced to Daru-Dan. He appeared too pissed off to feel afraid, at least so far. That was both good and bad. The danger was, it might make him try something stupid. "Well, well, Lara Croft, what have we here?" Melony said, "Caught without your skivvies, with these two fine young men. Tell me, just what in God's name have you been getting up to, today? More than a nature hike, I'm guessing. Must make you feel pretty rotten, crossing paths with us and spoiling your fun. If I were in your shoes right now ... but wait, you're not wearing any shoes, silly me. You're not wearing anything at all! How embarrassing, huh. I bet this is very embarrassing for you. Aren't you ashamed of yourself?" "You've far more reason to be ashamed of yourself than I," Lara answered. But still, Melony's taunts were making her blush. She couldn't prevent it. She could feel the heat in her cheeks. It was an unusual feeling for her. Not to toot her own trumpet, but Lara Croft wasn't much prone to blushing. Never had been. Now she was like a school kid caught shoplifting—or caught in class with no clothes on, the most mortifying nightmare everybody has, growing up. It had come true—she wasn't a kid and she wasn't in a classroom, but this was that same nightmare scenario, essentially, and she realized she had never before felt quite so completely naked in her whole life. At least she wasn't alone—but her gender made it worse for her, and her European ancestry. Couldn't be denied, her native comrades looked, well, perfectly native in this place, just as they were. Nothing abnormal about them. That couldn't be said for Lara Croft, with Melony and the troops leering at her exposure. Lara found her own embarrassment and humiliation were the most embarrassing and humiliating part of this experience—a kind of ridiculous self-perpetuating feedback loop. Furthermore, she realized she was covering herself with her hands. That was pointless and wimpy of her, making her feel like a coward, but she must have done it on sheer reflex, when the soldiers surrounded them. She told herself to recover some poise. To put her hands down and stand tall and defy them. But she couldn't make herself do it. "How do you figure that? What have I got to be ashamed of, Lara?" Idiotic to feel this need to justify herself, yet she kept right on trying to do it, in a lecturing tone: "This forest is sacred, to these people. Nobody is allowed to wear clothing in here. It's their culture, if you have any understanding of that term." "So you've gone native, so to speak." Lara shrugged, trying to affect the nonchalance she wished she felt. "When in Rome ..." "... You debauch the local youngbloods?" "Very droll, Melony." "I think another cliché applies better. A girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do. Why don't you just 'fess up? You're whoring yourself out to these boys, so they'll lead you to the temple. How far did you have to go? How much did you have to give them? But then, maybe you haven't paid up your end yet. I'll bet you made them wait until afterward. I'll bet so far you've only been teasing them." "It's not like that. It's not, dammit!" Melony's thugs were all laughing at her. Laughing their fucking heads off. Why did it matter? They were just a bunch of no-good brute mercenaries. She shouldn't give a fuck what any men like that thought of her, or Melony either. They'd believe whatever twisted nonsense they wanted to believe; it didn't make any difference what really happened. She knew all this—but it wasn't helping, not even a fucking little, not at ALL! And Melony kept right on ragging on her ... "You've got your guns. Well, you had them, I mean. Before we took them away. Wouldn't that have been so much simpler? Look I'll show you." She turned to Wahu, leaning close, getting in his face. "See this gun, boys? You know what a gun is, right? Sure you do. Couple men of the world, the pair of you. Sophisticated gentlemen, I can tell. Well then. Here's how things stand. You and your brother or your buddy or whoever he is, you both are gonna take me to the Fanged Crown right now, just like you were doing for Miss Croft, and you're gonna make sure I have the thing in my hands by sundown, or I will cheerfully blow both your fucking heads off. Do we understand each other? Excellent. See how easy that was, Lara? And I don't even speak their chirpy little lingo, but they seemed to follow me just fine, didn't they?" "You're really something, Melony. A proper explorer. Maintaining the highest standard." "And you're one to talk? Well, I suppose there's something to be said for the approach you took instead. Your strategy is certainly ... friendlier. But too touchy-feely, for my taste. Personally I'd find it altogether too demeaning. But that's just me, personally. I know a tramp like you isn't bothered by such considerations." The Sacred Serpent Forest "I wasn't—" "Sure, sure. If you say so. Let's get moving, shall we? No more farting around. I suppose, Lara, it would be best if I just go ahead and shoot you in the face right here." She lifted her weapon. She wouldn't, would she? The bitch was just messing with her some more. It wasn't really going to all end like this, was it? She wasn't ready. Melony lowered the gun. "My boys would mutiny, though, wouldn't they? You'll need to tag along, for later. When we get back to our camp." She beckoned over her shoulder. "One of you men, come over here and tie Lara's hands behind her back. Not too tight, now. I don't want her hands turning black from lack of circulation. I don't think we need to bother with anything like that for our new guides. They won't give us any problems. I can feel it." Her whole awful crew, inevitably, tried to volunteer for the tying task at once. Laughing at them, Melony made her own selection, at random. "But you be quick now or I'll let somebody else take over." 3. But Lara never got tied. Before the guy could finish, they were all attacked again. It was animals, this time. Lara never got a good look at the things—they all moved much too fast. They were some big variety of ape. No species she recognized. Their fur was red. Their faces, their snouts, reminded her of baboons. But baboons are actually monkeys, aren't they? Baboons have tails, if she remembered right, and these beasts didn't. And they were much bigger than baboons. Lara didn't try to fight. She just bolted into the trees. She didn't get far. Her foot snagged a tree root and she tripped over flat on her face. Almost knocked herself out. Then by the time she'd struggled back upright, just a few seconds later, all had gone quiet and there was no need to run anymore. The fight was already over. The apes had carried off all six of Melony's men. God knows where, and to what purpose ... There were no corpses left behind, neither human nor ape. None of the apes appeared to have been killed, despite all the wild machinegunfire that had gone on. None of Melony's damn thugs had managed to hit anything, before they were taken. It was almost funny. Wahu and Daru-Dan had been left alone, untouched. The apes had ignored them, it seemed, same as Lara. As for Melony... At first Lara thought she was gone, with the rest of her team. But no. She'd been knocked over on the ground, but left behind. Later Lara learned that it was Daru-Dan who had clobbered Melony over the head, from behind, right when the apes attacked. That probably explained what had happened. The apes let her be, since she was down and hadn't been fighting. Not a threat, trying to shoot them like all her men. Same for Lara and the natives. Still, it was weird. Didn't explain why the apes had attacked like that in the first place. And why had they been so selective? It was like they were deliberately trying to protect Lara and the native boys. But how could that be possible? They were just wild, savage animals. Had it been their nakedness that protected them, just as the boys believed it would? Perhaps there was some natural explanation—something that formed the basis of the superstition. It could be something as simple as the apes not liking the way most clothing smelled. Or hey, maybe they weren't really apes. Maybe they'd really been the spirits of the forest after all, manifesting as monsters when they got angry. But if the forest's spirits manifested as killer apes, or even if, more plausibly, the apes were perfectly natural creatures which the local native population had come to believe were supernatural spirits, then why was this forest called the Sacred Serpent Forest? Shouldn't it be the Sacred Ape Forest? Perhaps her translation was mistaken. Lara was pulled out of these musings by an outburst of screeching from Melony, accompanied by the sounds of ripping cloth ... "Take your hands off me! What are you doing? Stop that! Stop! You bastard savages!" When she turned, Lara saw that Wahu and Daru-Dan had begun to strip the camouflage fatigues off their former captor—now reduced to a captive, herself. They didn't bother with the costume's buttons and zippers. They just tore the cloth away, between them. And everything else she had on, underneath. Lara knew they wouldn't stop until they'd shredded all of it. "Lara, get them off me! Make them stop!" "I told you," Lara replied, "This is their sacred forest, and no one is allowed to wear clothing in this place. You and I are only visitors, after all. We have to show respect." "But you can't let them do this to me. You don't understand!" "Oh, hush, Melony. Don't be such a crybaby about it. Take your lumps like the rest of us." "No, you don't understand. You mustn't ... mustn't see! I don't want you to see!" "See what? We're all adults here. What are you so scared of?" But by then they'd got her undershorts off, and now Lara understood. "My word," she said, "I'd never have guessed." Wahu and Daru-Dan were equally astonished. They gaped like cartoon characters, their eyes bugged out and their mouths hanging open. But Lara's expression at that moment was probably no different. "Oh Christ. Don't look at it. Stop looking at it. Please don't." The bitch really was weeping, like a child, with her face all scrunched up and bright red. Melony Schrader had a cock. And it was a whopper. Was she a hermaphrodite? No, she didn't seem to be. There was no vaginal crease, under that dangling schlong. Just balls. She was entirely male, down there. She must be a transvestite. Yes, those boobs were definitely artificial. More so than Lara already thought. But it was funny—her facial structure still seemed entirely female. Usually the jawline remained a giveaway, and the neck. Surgery and hormone treatments could only do so much. Especially considering the male equipment was still there. "She" hadn't committed to a complete changeover. But even now, peering close, Lara could detect no traces of an Adam's apple. And then, looking over other little details—the slim shape of the wrists, and the width of the pelvis, the hip bones jutting. The muscle definition, such as it was, in the arms and the legs. All these things read as unmistakably, unambiguously female. What the fuck? Transgender people don't look like this. Naked, Melony Schrader had been revealed to be a woman, with a cock—but that doesn't happen. It just doesn't work that way. Androgyny is much more complex than that. "Is it a fake?" Lara asked. She couldn't imagine any other reasonable explanation. "Is it just a toy?" "Leave me alone! It's none of your business!" It was cruel of her, no doubt. But Lara kept pressing. "Did you pay somebody to stitch that on to you down there? Was it the same time you had those fat plastic balloon-boobs planted on your chest?" "No, it's not like that," Melony whined, "It wasn't me. You don't understand. I'm afflicted. It's a curse. I was cursed." She thought the bitch was speaking metaphorically. But then from Melony's tone and expression, Lara realized she wasn't. "What? Are you kidding me?" "No. It was magic. Black fucking magic. That's why I have to get the Fanged Crown. You don't even know what it really does, what it was originally made for. You think it's just another silly old artifact. Only valuable because it's ancient and quaint and exotic, hidden away inside some dirty ruins in the middle of this stupid little island. Finding it is only a game for you. Just another fucking thrill-seeking game, because you're a crazed greedy self-indulgent risk addict. But now you've uncovered my secret. I'm not like you. You think you know what I am but you don't. I'm not just another arrogant adrenaline junky. I need the damn thing! I really truly need it! It's the only way I can break this fucking curse and make my body normal again." 4. Didn't take them much longer to reach the ruined temple. The place didn't look like much from outside. Not even a building—just a lopsided and rather dinky heap of rubble with a hole in the side. But it was supposed to spread out a great deal underground. The guides didn't want to take Melony down in there with them. They insisted on leaving her next to the entrance, tied with her arms behind her to the trunk of the closest tree. Lara wasn't too fond of this notion. But again, she couldn't get them to change their minds. "What if the apes come back, while you're gone?" Melony protested. "We shan't be long," Lara answered, "And the apes won't bother you now. I think Wahu and Daru-Dan have, er, made sure of that." "But what if some other fucking animal pops up? This is a jungle—jungles are full of hungry predators and scavengers. There's no telling what might come along. God, you can't leave me by myself like a piece of bait with no way at all to protect myself. It's inhuman!" "Hush, now. We'll be able to hear you, down in the tunnels, if anything actually happens. But don't fucking holler anymore unless you've got a legitimate reason. Otherwise, I promise I shall give you a jolly good smacking." Wahu and Daru-Dan had fashioned a pair of torches, and lit them. She was a little amused to see them pull Zippo's out of the pouches on their belts to do this, rather than using flints and so forth like "proper" primitives. Now Lara followed her guides down the temple's narrow stone steps. She glanced back once over her shoulder, just before she'd gone low enough for their fussing prisoner to slip out of view. She'd noticed that Melony had got a boner. It had begun to stiffen when the natives bound her to the tree. And when she checked, Lara saw the thing hadn't dwindled at all. In fact now it stood out fully erect, and it was twitching up and down a little bit. And there was a thick glistening splotch of ... moisture beaded on the tip. Melony had noticed her looking at it, and she flushed scarlet. She squeezed her eyes shut and turned her face away. "I can't help it," she shouted, not pleading like before but in fury, "I can't control the damn thing!" Lara didn't know what to say. Her guides had already reached the bottom of the stairway. She hurried to catch up with them. Whether or not she had reason to, she suddenly felt almost as embarrassed by that massive ridiculous boner as Melony must be herself. Why had she got hard like that, when the men tied her? What exactly about the situation was making the crazy bitch respond that way? And she'd been so scared, when they told her they were leaving her. How could she get turned on that much, when she was so scared and helpless? It didn't make sense. And it was giving Lara an eerie, creepy feeling, the more she thought about it. Especially because she found she couldn't get herself to stop thinking about it—that was the eeriest, creepiest part. Made her stomach squirm. And she felt like she had to pee. But when she took a second to try (ducking for a moment down a side passage for a rapid squat-down) she found she couldn't, no matter how hard she strained. Nothing squeezed out. But the feeling wouldn't go away, either. Imagining herself in Melony's position ... It haunted her. Imagining what she must be feeling, right that moment, up there by herself, bound and desperate, humiliated, and yet inappropriately aroused by the circumstances ... God. Except Lara couldn't. Her imagination came up blank. Because it was unimaginable. At least for her. Too bizarre, too twisted. Too completely beyond her experience and perspective. The corridor opened up into a much larger, grander chamber. Had they reached the crown? No, not quite. Still a little further to go. The floor dropped away, in front of them. It was no vast abyss—you could see the bottom—but it was still deep enough you wouldn't want to fall down there, and much, much too wide to leap across. There was no complete bridge across the drop, but several tall stone columns stuck up from the bottom individually ... arranged close enough together that it was possible to use their flat tops, on this level, as step-stones, if you leaped from one to another, though you had to make the crossing in a zigzag pattern, the way they were aligned. And the jumps would not be easy. Her guides started on the jumps straight away, without hesitation. Lara followed. She noticed the arrangement of columns could allow more than one possible crossing pattern. She assumed the boys knew the best one to use, if it mattered. Since they hadn't stopped to talk it over. This turned out to be a bad assumption. The fourth column Daru-Dan landed on, it shifted downward a few inches under his weight. There was a great heavy rumble and grinding of ancient mechanisms ... Great, she thought. A good old-fashioned booby trap, and my boobies are caught in it. And then the ceiling opened and a great green tidal wave of ice-cold water was dumped on their heads. They were all instantly swept from the column tops and borne away, down the drop ... No chance at all of stopping themselves. There was too much water, too much force. She thought she would be smashed against the stone floor, at the base of the columns. But instead the current carried her sideways. The wave wasn't dumped straight down, but blasted them at an angle. And there were some large, jagged cracks in one wall of the chasm, along the bottom edge, that served as drains. The purpose of the wave was to flush trespassers down those dark holes. It was still only blind luck she didn't smack into any rock surfaces, along the way. Even a glancing blow could have killed or crippled her, at that momentum. But she was simply swept straight into one of the big drains, like a helpless bug in a kitchen sink, when the faucet comes on ... swirling away down the plughole, with a whoosh. She could easily have ended up drowned. That might have been the end of Lara Croft. But it wasn't. Her luck held. To a point. 5. The drain led into a large, downward-curving pipe, not of metal but stone or clay. God knows how far and it how deep it was meant to carry her. But the pipe was damaged. Corroded. It had holes in its sides, some quite large, and out of one such hole, Lara escaped. Not that she had anything to do with it. Blind luck, again. Not all the water that gushed down the pipe leaked out those holes—most did not, with the water racing through at such speed and pressure—but Lara happened to be carried along in a particular portion that did. She was squirted out sideways, and dumped into another of the temple's chambers, at a lower level, tumbling a long distance across the floor. It was painful, but if her body had landed square, she probably would have splattered into jelly on the spot. Her native guides were not so fortunate. The wave must have took them down a different pipeline, one in better condition. The room she'd landed in was pitch black. But she still had her backpack, which was waterproof, and there was a flashlight inside. She had lost both her guns, however. The wave had snatched them from their holsters, despite the straps that were supposed to hold the guns in place. The stupid things had snapped. And neither of the guns had washed out of the pipe with her. They were gone. She wasn't entirely weaponless. She had a knife in her backpack, and it was a good knife. But of course she'd rather have her fucking guns. Even just one. Looking around ... the pipe had dropped her into a storeroom. Stacks and stacks of big clay jars. They all seemed to be empty. There were stairs, leading up another passage. Seemed to be the only way out. She headed up them, her wet feet slapping on the chill, gritty stone. It would be better if she made less noise. She made an effort to walk softer. There was probably nothing alive in these caves to hear her, but better safe than sorry. But now her teeth were chattering. That dunking she'd taken hadn't been half cold, had it? And nothing to dry herself off with. Just had to let herself drip and dribble. The water would take forever to evaporate, down here in the blackness. Her hands had turned wrinkly—she could feel it. She felt like she was turning into that froggy guy in the Hobbit movies. Also found she was limping, a little. She'd hurt one of her knees. It made the stairs a bitch. But no complaints, now—it could have been so much worse. She must buck up. The boys were almost certainly dead. She'd never see them again. Nobody would. It was Daru-Dan's fault, the brash little idiot—but it was also hers, for getting them into this entire business. The stairway turned a corner—but now the passage was blocked! There'd been a cave-in. It was a dead end. Hold on, don't panic. She spotted a gap at the top of the blockage. She would have to shift a few rocks a bit to widen it some, but then she'd be able to crawl through. It took her a while, and quite a bit of swearing. The rocks she had to move weren't big, but they were still damn heavy, and she didn't have enough space up there on the top of the heap to get good leverage. And of course without any coverings, she scraped her skin all to hell, all over the place, from clambering back and forth across the sloped heap of jagged stones. Every move she made, she nicked another bite out of herself, somewhere. It was awful. She also broke her fucking knife, early on. Trying to use it for some chiseling. Snapped the blade right off the hilt. So much for that. Now she was as weaponless, as well as naked. Wonderful. Warmed her up thoroughly, though. No more shivers. She was still soaking—but now it was all her own sweat. Of course the grease made dirt adhere to her skin. Stained her almost black, from head to toe. So now she wasn't that frog guy anymore—she was a dirt monster instead. But finally she got the hole big enough. Shimmied her backpack off, to stuff it through ahead of her. And then she dived in herself, with her little flashlight in her mouth. It would be hilarious if all she found when she got through the gap was another blockage. That didn't happen. What happened instead was actually much shittier. The gap partially collapsed while she was still dragging herself through. She screamed—expecting to be squished or even worse, buried alive. She wasn't squished or buried—but she was pinned in the middle of the hole! A heavy rock jabbing down on the small of her back, trapping her. Could she wriggle her bottom under the damn thing? It didn't seem like she could. "Oh Christ! Oh fuck! Oh no!" She was stuck like a cork in a bottle. Like Winnie the Pooh in Rabbit's front door. It would take a long time to die like this. Better to have got flattened right away. If anybody asked, she would have picked an instantaneous flattening, over this bullshit. But then someone on the far end of the hole reached in and grabbed her wrists in front of her and yanked her forward. "Wait! Wait!" she screamed. That wouldn't work! She felt she'd be ripped in half! But then that one evil rock pressing her back gave in and tilted, just slightly—but enough to let her slide clear. She was pulled from the hole. She was out! Was it one of the boys? Had they somehow survived after all? And found their way back to her? No. It was Melony Schrader who had showed up to rescue her. What the fuck? How did she get down here? How did she get loose from that tree trunk? Melony grinned down upon her, fiercely. Like a rabid wolf. She had a torch, but she wasn't holding it. She'd jammed it into a crack in the tunnel wall, behind her. It was very smoky and dim. Not as good as the ones the natives had made. Melony was still nude. And her cock was still hard, same as when Lara last looked at the wretched thing. This was the closest she'd ever looked at it. Because after being dragged though that hole the way she was, Lara had ended up flat on her stomach on the tunnel floor at Melony's filthy bare feet. When she tilted up her head, that giant boner was looming right over her, like a cannon. It was very difficult to take her eyes off it. It was just so absurd and disgusting and yet, frankly, fearsome. And absolutely the last thing she would have imagined to be waiting for her, on the other side of the cave-in. Circus clowns on unicycles, or a buffalo with a top hat, wouldn't have been more astonishing. And certainly less unwelcome. The Sacred Serpent Forest "H-how d-did you—" she started to say, stammering ... "Your native buddies don't tie very good knots," Melony announced. "I'm much better at them. Let me show you." And then, in a flash of admirably fluid dexterity, and with the same cord the native boys had earlier used to tie her, Melony made a loop around Lara's wrists and jerked it tight, dragging her hands together, inexorably. And thus rendering them, and herself, virtually powerless, in an instant. Lara, like a dumbass, just watched her do it, as if fascinated, or like it didn't matter. She didn't struggle at all, or even protest. She was aware, as it was happening, that this lack of fight on her part was not at all in character, and also of course not very smart. "Why aren't I doing anything?" she was saying to herself, in her head, "Why am I just letting this happen, like a weak little schoolgirl? I'm Lara fucking Croft!" But that didn't help—her mind had disconnected from her body, or her body had disconnected from her mind. She was like a sleepwalker. Couldn't kick her own stupid arse into gear. It was clear the recent turns of events had piled up too much for her, too fast. She had become overwhelmed. This was a little dose of good old fashioned shellshock. Lara never thought herself the type that would ever succumb to that sort of nonsense. But she had. To her credit—in her own eyes, anyway—she didn't freeze up for long. She was able to shake the fog off, after a minute, and get to her feet. "Shit," she said. "This is shit." By then, the damage was done, and she couldn't undo it. She was bound. She had let Melony take her prisoner—again!!—without even fighting. "I found where the crown's kept," Melony said. "Just before I heard you, scratching around down here. I'll show you. It's right up here this way around the corner. Come on." 6. There was a huge stone table in the middle—an altar? Seemed a little large, for that. And behind it there was an elevated throne, with a skeleton sitting up there, slumped slightly to one side. The skeleton was very yellow, brighter than bones usually were. She thought at first that was because of the torchlight. But then Lara realized the bones were painted with gold. It was a clean skeleton—save for a drapery of cobwebs—and it was complete. No bits had dropped off, nor did have any withered flesh or scraps of clothing left over on it. She thought the whole skeleton must be wired together, or it wouldn't hold its form like that. It wore what they'd all come into this filthy place to find. The Fanged Crown. The thing was larger and a bit more stylishly made than she'd expected. Not just a ring of teeth, or sharp bits shaped to look like teeth. It was sculpted to look like a coiled snake, very lifelike, with its head rearing up over the wearer's brow. Unlike the snake heads on Egyptian pharaoh crowns that do the same thing, this snake wasn't a cobra—it had no hood. And despite the crown's name, the snake was not showing off its fangs. It mouth was closed. It stared straight ahead with that rather smug, diffident expression all snakes seem to have. Melony steered Lara to the side of the table and made her sit down on the edge of it. Then she lifted up Lara's feet and tied her ankles. She used a shoulder strap torn from Lara's backpack, to do this. Lara resisted her this time, kicking. But Melony dodged the kicks and paid Lara back with a stunning backhand slap across her face. Made her see stars. And then Melony finished binding her feet before she recovered her senses. "Why is this necessary?" Lara asked. "So you stay put," was the reply, "I don't want you trying to run off, soon as my back's turned." Then she went over to the skeleton and removed the crown from its skull. She had to give it a good wrench, to pry it free. The coil had been fitted surprisingly tight to the bone. Melony carried the thing with some reverence back to where she'd put Lara, and held it out to her. "Take it, here. Put on the crown, Lara." Lara didn't. "Why?" "Because it's time to undo my curse." "How is that supposed to work?" "I'm going to show you. You're going to help me." "What is it you expect me to do?" "Like I told you, it starts with you putting on that crown." "And then what?" "Can't you guess?" She smiled, and then waggled her hips, to make her boner bob in circles. It flapped up against her belly. "I'm going to fuck you, Lara. I'm gonna fuck the shit out of you, right here on top this stone table, this altar or whatever it is. That's how I break the curse." "That ... that just sounds crazy, to me. That doesn't make any sense at all." "It will sound better once I explain. You see, when you put the crown on, that immediately makes you the new High Priestess of this temple. You take over the part from that dead bitch in the chair. You will become the embodiment of the Serpent Goddess's power." "Do I? Just like that, huh?" "Pretty much, yeah. Just like that. She's not really a goddess, not exactly—but she is a real being. I think of her more as a demon, instead of a deity. But those are just labels. If you would prefer modern terms, think of her as an alien intelligence, from another universe. Is that easier for you to accept? She's very ancient, and on the whole, not very nice. This bitch is powerful, but thankfully her influence on this world has always been limited. Not limited enough, though. She put her curse on me, when I accidentally made contact with her, just over two years ago. That's too long a story to get into now. It was an elaborate cosmological experiment that went wrong. But all you really need to know right now is that by fucking her High Priestess, that will break the spell. Because I'll be using the demon's own power against her. To shame her, through shaming you. She won't be able to put up with it—creatures like her are too full of themselves. And the only way she'll be able to make the shaming stop is to erase my curse." "I think you made all this up. I think you're delusional." "I had to go all over the world, researching this shit. Piecing bits of legends together, until I achieved true understanding. But it doesn't make a difference what you think, Lara. Put on the crown." "What if I refuse? I get the feeling this won't work unless I stick it on myself, will it?" "Well, you're right. Very perceptive. You have to put it on of your own accord to become the High Priestess. If I just plop it on your head myself, it won't summon the Serpent Goddess here to us. But think, Lara. Consider your situation. You're all tied up, hands and feet. You know you're not getting away from me. You know nobody's coming to save you. Real soon now, any minute, I'm going to take this big ugly cock of mine and start fucking you, whether you put on the crown or not. It'll still be worth it and I'll enjoy myself, even if I don't get to cure my curse. Let me tell you something. I don't consider myself gay, but even so I've wanted to fuck you good and proper since the first time I saw you, Lara Croft. Not that it's very unusual to feel that way, is it? Most of the world wants to fuck you, Lara. You know that, don't you?" "The thought has crossed my mind, now and again." "Fact is, my curse isn't just having this stupid oversized cock. It's the oversized lust that comes with it. Takes up all my attention. All my energy. My sex drive is insane. The curse turned me into a nymphomaniac. You wouldn't believe how bad it gets, unless you experienced it for yourself. Fucking is just about all I think about, all the time." "Sounds like every man I've ever known. Sounds like every man in the world." "Maybe so, I don't know. All I can say for sure, I didn't used to be like this, before. When I was normal. Used to think I had a pretty strong, aggressive sex drive, compared to most other girls. But even at my worst, back then—my absolute horniest, it never got as bad as I get now. These balls of mine—they ache constantly, every second of the day. Getting off only helps for a minute or two. Then the urge comes back. It's torture. It really is." "I'm sorry to put it like this, Melony, but I'm still having a very hard time feeling sorry for you." "If you don't take this stupid crown from me and put the damn thing on right now, Lara, I'm gonna flip you over on your belly and fuck you up your ass. And I'm not gonna go easy on you, when I get started. And there won't be a thing you can do about it, besides beg. But if you cooperate with me, it won't be like that. We'll do it regular. We'll work it nice, if you cooperate and lay still. I won't hurt you. Sound fair? You'll have a much easier time, I promise. What do you say? What's it gonna be?" She thought it over. Or rather, she tried desperately to come up with some other option. Some chance to save herself from this bullshit. "How about we compromise? What if, say, I just ... well, blow you? If I were simply to suck you off, would that be enough? I'll put on the crown for you and we'll get your ritual done, if all I have to do is that. Good enough? Will that work? No fight, no fuss. If you agree, then I promise I'll be sure to make it a ... um, well, shall we say, a satisfactory experience for you, I give you my word." Hardly an ideal solution, it's true. But better than any alternatives she could see. "All right," Melony said. She hadn't needed to think over the proposition for long. The notion powerfully appealed to her; it was obvious from her face. "Fine. We'll do that then. Put the damn crown on and get on your knees. No, not on the floor, go back where you were—I need you to stay up there on the altar platform. Yes, like that. Now then, let's find out how satisfactory you can be, when you put your mind to it. That saucy aristocratic mouth of yours ... Show me, Lara Croft." So they began ... Lara took the crown and fitted it carefully to the top of her head. There was no dramatic explosion or anything like that. She felt no special zing of magic rush into her body ... The crown was lighter than she thought it would be. But then there was something odd, just for a moment—she thought she felt it move, a little. She thought she felt the coil tighten, on top her head. But probably—hopefully—she only imagined that. "Looks sexy on you," Melony said, and then she jumped up on the tabletop, next to her. Standing, she moved to the center of it, and then whipped around with her hands on her hips, to pose like a proud superhero—except no respectable superhero would thrust his dingus forward like she was doing, and buck his hips to make it jiggle. "Come on, now, Lara Croft. Crawl over here and blow me, on your knees, like the fucking dirty tramp I know you are. Show me how talented you are at sucking cock." "I'm not a tramp," Lara said. But she still did exactly what Melony had told her, because she had to. This was going to be pretty awful. This was going to be horrid. But if she didn't go through with it, she would have to endure much worse indignities. It was only a blowjob. It wouldn't take long. It wouldn't be difficult. Blowjobs aren't such a big deal. "The crown is glowing!" Melony exclaimed, "It's starting to glow! The Serpent Goddess is within you now! Can you feel it?" Lara felt no different. Was the crown really glowing? She couldn't tell, since she was the one wearing the thing—there were no mirrors, in this place. If it really was, it wasn't doing so very bright—or else she should be able to see the light it threw around them. The glow would be beaming upward on Melony and illuminating the front of her. But Lara didn't see anything like that. The bitch must just be seeing things. She was kidding herself. She was nuts. God, though—this cock was huge. She'd never had one this big in her mouth—and never one this hard. It didn't seem like it was made out of flesh. The flavor was normal, and the smell—both the surface of it, and all the goo it was spewing ... but the damn thing had no give to it at all. Even a plastic goddamn dildo would have had more give. And it was generating so much heat, inside it. Felt like the nozzle of a blowdryer, crammed in her mouth. Inevitably, as the ghastly task went on (and on ... and on ...), Lara couldn't help but wonder what it might feel like to take an appendage of this kind inside herself, if she had to ... in other places, that is, than her mouth and throat. Well, gosh. It would be awful, of course, in the present context. Unendurable abuse. Yet in different circumstances ... if, say, this "endowment" was attached to somebody else, a friend in place of a foe ... She could think of a good two or three suitable individuals, offhand ... Maybe even four or five ... That might be interesting, mightn't it? No less terrifying, in many respects, but still an interesting, intriguing prospect, to say the very least. What the whole issue rendered down to obviously and essentially was just this: Could a cock of these mammoth, monstrous and unyielding proportions make her come? Applied with care and caution, in the right sort of way, by the right sort of person ... Maybe it could. Maybe not in a million years. Too much of a chore. Too much of a strain. But if it could? Golly. 'Cause then, what would that feel like? How would coming on a cock like this compare to the various other, more ordinary cocks she'd happened to have responded favorably to, from time to time, to one degree or another? Kind of nagging question it's tough to get away from, once it occurs to you. Hard to turn your train of thought away to other matters. Especially while the appendage itself is doing its best, it seems, to choke you to death. Melony made it clear she was very much enjoying things, on her side of this exchange. "Oh my ... Oh my word. Dear sweet God in heaven. You do that very well, Lara Croft. Very well, indeed. Just as I imagined. Just as I expected. You are one talented cocksucker. All your practice has paid off, handsomely. Oh yes!" The bitch! Hearing this shit was worse than the act itself. And yes, she was good at this—but to be insulted for it! To be mocked for her skill, as if it was a shameful sin—even as Melony took delight in it. The brazen brutal hypocrisy of that attitude! The appalling injustice! She had sucked a fair amount of cocks, in her time. Fine. But so what? What right did that give this crazy evil bitch to sneer at her? It didn't make her a tramp, if she was good at cocksucking. It didn't make you a tramp even if you sucked a million cocks! You were only a tramp if you did it for money—if you sold yourself. And yes, it was true—she was selling herself a little, right now. But only because she was forced to, under threat. Not the same thing at all. Not even close. Lara Croft had no reason to feel ashamed of herself, for what was happening. She was being victimized. It was Melony who should be ashamed! It was Melony's behavior that was wicked and disgraceful, not Lara's. But telling herself this over and over wasn't much help. She felt so dirty and low, all the same ... Her cunt had moistened, too. Itching and squirming and tickling inside. Only a little bit, and she knew it was an unconscious panic reaction to her nudity, and her bondage, and her exploitation. Self-destructive self-punishment was what was fueling those absurd paradoxical feelings. Lashings of shame and guilt, not actual arousal ... Still, she felt horrid, like complete filth. Couldn't shake it off. She felt like an absolute tramp, exactly like Melony kept calling her. She couldn't fight free of the sensations, any better than she could free her hands or her feet. This was all too shameful. Too dirty and low. Too much humiliation. It made her toes curl, the embarrassment was burning so intense. She was sucking off her enemy's cock, on her knees! Because she had to—because she was bound and completely helpless, completely naked. God! And this was the only way to save her bare defenseless butt from getting reamed out by this giant demon cock—mercilessly sodomized. Pathetic. How could the legendary unstoppable Tomb Raider come back from this? It didn't feel possible. Especially not after she let the bitch come on her face. "Ah yeah! Yeah! Take it!" Melony screamed, "Take it on your face! Take it all!" And she did. No choice. No way to escape it. "How's that feel?" Melony demanded—and God, she was still spurting! More and more kept spurting out! It was impossible but she was! It wouldn't stop! "How's it feel? Dirty bitch! Tramp! Ahh! Gahahhhh!" That was exactly how it felt, of course. Exactly like she said. Lara felt like a tramp. She felt like a dirty bitch. She couldn't deny it. She couldn't refute it. Not like this. Not with all this semen splattered all over her. She was completely covered, and it was thick! Like an entire bucket of white paint had been emptied over her. God. Oh God. So much. So horrible. God. And she felt her cunt spasm. Couldn't control it. Felt her juices escaping, scalding dribbles leaking from its lips, when it clenched and trembled. At least Melony couldn't tell. Couldn't see it, if she kept her thighs squeezed together, tight as she could. The shame. The shame. She was going to throw up. Or start blubbing, like a baby. She mustn't! She mustn't start crying, in front of her tormentor. She mustn't give the dreadful merciless bitch that extra triumph, on top of everything else. "You look ... great," Melony said. "You look gorgeous, like that." And then she leaned down low and grabbed Lara's shoulders. She started twisting her, and she wasn't gentle about it. She put all her weight into it—hard enough pressure to hurt. Forcing Lara to start swiveling completely around, on her knees. "What are you doing? What are you doing now?" "You'll see." But she already knew. It was obvious. "No! You promised! You said you wouldn't!" "I lied to you, Lara. You stupid tramp. Besides, to break the curse I need to properly shame you. I need you to feel humiliated and defiled, for this to work." "I do! I already do! You just came all over me! I've got your vile stinking jizz all over my face!" "It's not enough. I can tell. I can feel it. We need to go further. We need to do more." She was shoving on Lara's back, to make her bend over. To make her lift her arse. "Damn you! Damn you! I'll kill you for this! I'm gonna fucking kill you!" But she couldn't stop herself from taking the position. She didn't have the strength. And she felt the cock pressing to her passage. God oh God—right against her bumhole! "Don't! Don't do it! Don't you dare! Melony!" "Beg me. Beg, Lara." It was pointless—the bitch was only toying with her. But still, Lara begged. She hated herself for it—she almost hated herself worse than Melony now. "Please! Please don't do it! Fuck me any other way you want but not my butt! You said you wouldn't! Please!" Melony laughed, and started pushing forward—shoving in. But she did it slow. She didn't just ram herself home. She took her time. She worked it in, gradually, further and further ... an inch at a time. And she had so many inches, God ... God! How was she still so hard, after she'd just come a minute ago? After all that semen just shot out of her? She should be drained dry. How could she still have any vigor left at all? But she did, somehow. Like they were only just starting. Like magic. The damn cock really was black magic, wasn't it? "Your thing's too big, Melony. It's just too damn big. You can't get it in there. You'll rip me open. Just quit it and put it in my cunt instead. Come on! It'll fit fine in my cunt! Just fuck my cunt—it's what it's for. Please, Melony. Jesus, will you listen? Why won't you listen?" "Oh, I'm listening. I hear you." "Then—Hey! Hey! Shit! I told you it's too—Gahh! Oh! Oh shit! Shit!" "You all right there? You gonna be all right?"