In Ruins 5

“Okay, it looks clear, c’mon through,” Sam said, having made it through the rent in the wall.

Lara looked through the tiny passage that Sam had only gotten through on all fours. “Don’t wander off. Bad enough you went ahead alone.”

Sam smirked. “It’s not like I had much of a choice, roomie. That was a pretty tight squeeze even for me.”

“And what’s that supposed to mean?” Lara asked, getting down on all fours.

“I am a bit thinner than you.” Sam mimicked Lara’s accent. “You hafe rather a lot of curves…”

“I am in tremendous shape,” Lara said, starting through the little crack.

“I’ll say you are,” Sam teased.

Lara successfully squeezed through with her chest; her tits got pretty compressed, but her tanktop didn’t rip. Next, she started to work her hips through the cleft.

They didn’t want to go. Lara’s eyes widened with the realization that, despite how famous her chest was, it evidently wasn’t as abundant as her hips and ass. Or the angle wasn’t right. She tried to circle around, find a way to wiggle her way through, but all she accomplished was managing to sheer the waistband of her shorts down a few inches. She tried to back out, but there was a lot less give than there had been a moment ago. She was well and truly stuck.

“You look like you could use a hand,” a Southern voice came from behind her.

“Oh, bloody buggerin’ hell.” Lara shared a panicked look with Sam. It was Larson.

The next thing she heard was the snick of a switchblade being deployed.

Larson took a moment to examine the blade and his handsome reflection, fixing his hair by running a spit-slick hand through it. “Now, Lara, I’d sure as hell like to talk you around to some loving once more, but that ass of yours is just too damn eloquent for me. It’s telling me you need fucking right now.”

He licked his lips, staring at the firm round swell that filled out Lara’s shorts. She was shaking, which only made her asscheeks all the more beguiling.

Lara heard him lower himself to her knees. She wanted to sink into the earth, wanted to disappear—anything but feel the shame of once more being vulnerable to this man. What was wrong with her? Why did this keep happening? She had faced down mad dogs, wild animals, armies of mercenaries… how did this awful American keep managing to have his way with her?

She was good at controlling fear, cajoling the thrill of adventure from her body under circumstances where anyone else would be paralyzed with fright. Yet now she was feeling things she’d never thought possible, things she couldn’t handle.

Had she turned herself into the sort of creature that could actually enjoy this treatment? Was it anymore perverse than enjoying the danger she immersed herself in every day? She closed her eyes in humiliation, unable to convince herself it was very different from the terror she deliberately sought out in her life.

“Unnnhh…”

The tip of the knife slid across her left buttock, cutting through her khaki pants on its way to the other. It went up to her waist, slashing through her belt, then slid back down. The pressure increased as the point neared her cunt; it slit through her panties  as well as her shorts.

Lara wanted to cry out, but the slightest move might disrupt Larson’s surgical precision. As mortifying as it was to be stripped, at least it was better than being cut open.

“Please, Larson, please…”

“Patience, now, Lady Croft. Can’t rush a thing like this. I don’t want any harm coming to that gorgeous posterior you’ve got. No, there’s only going to be one reason you won’t be walking right an hour from now… and I promise this knife won’t have nothing to do with it.”

Her sex quivered, unable to control itself any more than Lara could as the blade freed the outer line of her labia. It wasn’t the knife that terrified her exactly; it was her own raging excitement, growing over and incorporating her fear. She was turned on.

Opening her eyes and staring blankly at Sam’s worried face, Lara bit her lip hard. She could only hope Sam couldn’t tell how debauched she really was. Her thighs quivered at the feathery touch of the switchblade… touching her actual flesh as lightly as anything could, but reducing her pants to shreds.

Larson took the knife away. Lara sucked in a breath of relief. She suddenly realized that a moment’s rest was worth a king’s ransom. Her nerves had been left absolutely frayed by the ordeal.

She’d been on the verge of something—either turning into a screaming wreck or an outright orgasm—and it wouldn’t have taken much longer before she went over the precipice of one or the other.

“Ohhhhh!”

A chill, cold as ice, shocked Lara in the middle of her pussy. She stiffened, hands turning into fists, fists becoming hammering blows at the floor. The flat of the blade was pressed against her womanhood, touching her clit and her slot, making her pussy roil like it was greeting a lover instead of a malignant threat.

The blade rotated, its razor-sharp tip coming up to rest against Lara’s opening, then tracing the narrow path of her labia lips. Larson laughed, watching her pussy convulse. He carefully moved the knife to her clit, pressing the tip against it but not hard enough to penetrate. Lara mewled, her mouth fallen open, saliva falling from her lips. Slowly, like a flower blooming, her back arched and her open pussy was offered to Larson’s stare.

“Yeah, you’re not so uptight, are you girlie? Deep down inside, you want to play. All that caterwauling was just for show, wasn’t it?” Larson asked in a thick, hoarse voice.

“Slag, bloody tart, absolute trollop,” Lara said, going on and on, more to herself than him.

“You just enjoy it, Lady Croft, and don’t you worry about ol’ Larson. I’ll have a little fun of my own while I take care of you…”

One-handed, he fumbled with his zipper until he’d tugged down the tab and could fish out his stiffened erection. Still holding the blade against Lara’s slit, letting her own pulsing arousal take care of pleasuring her on the cold steel he offered, he worked his hand up and down his endowment, lubricating himself with the abundant precum trickling out of him.

The endless touch of warming metal sent pangs of desire rolling through Lara like an echo of her heartbeat. With each racing thump, her pussy rioted against the stationary metal and flushed with sensation in turn. The sensation soon became impossible to ignore. The river of honey adding itself to the feel of her despoilment made her clit swell, a perfect target for Larson’s next depravity… the thought of which was its own tiny, masturbatory sex act.

Lara moaned, shaking her ass. She felt a madly intense flash of passion. It reached her nipples; they pulsed like her clit was, all of her body eager to be given the same debasing treatment as her stripped loins.

“HHHHRRRR!”

She sounded like a dog, grunting and yelping, letting out pathetic exhortations that she couldn’t get away from, couldn’t silence. They were only the expressions of how her cunt was exploding, her pulse racing with sinful excess.

She dug her fingers into the floor, finding handholds in the cracked limestone and squeezing them tight. Her eyes clenched shut, but as with some sixth sense, she pictured Larson behind her, stroking the long, fat prick that stood out from his opened Levi’s.

“Ahh!”

Lara felt the sharpness of the knife grace her clitoris again. The searing, titillating delight was almost like that of being fingered, but it carried with it the fear of being cut—and the knowledge that this fear didn’t diminish her arousal at all.

Larson ghosted the knife’s tip over her trembling clit. He wasn’t cutting her; no, he was setting her on fire.

“LARSON!”

Lara whimpered, she wailed, all for failure to know what she should do. It wasn’t just that she couldn’t get away. She didn’t know if she wanted to beg him for mercy or plea for his girthy erection inside her.

Her pulse pounded even harder. The knife continued its slow tour of her labia. Lara knew that if only he touched her with his dick instead of that knife, she would come in unabashed pleasure.

Her juices flowed out of her, soaking into the tattered remains of her shorts to further remind her of her nakedness. Mortified lust swarmed in Lara’s belly and filled her heaving breasts.

“Just get it over with, please get it over with…”

Lara gasped, silent and stricken, now trying to hold herself still against the ecstatic tremors that had subsumed all other personality. The knife was pressed against her sphincter, a little pinprick of sharpness on the rubbery pink skin.

For a moment she imagined the pain if it were Larson’s cock instead, forcing itself in, hurting her as a knife never could… but it was just that edge, trailing over the wrinkled contours of her anus, making her shudder under the weight of a burgeoning imagination. A speeding anticipation.