Tomb Raper

Tomb Raper

by Leo9

Angelina Jolie woke slowly and hazily, trying to understand where she was. Her head was thick as if with drugs, she hurt in many places, she tried to stir and felt terrifyingly weak...

"Take it easy," a man's voice above her said. "You've been kept asleep for a long time so you could heal, you'll need to get your strength back gradually."

Heal? Was she in hospital? She forced her mind back... could remember nothing but going to bed one ordinary night, and now this. She opened her eyes with difficulty.

The room and the bed looked as functional and blank as a hospital's, but the people standing round the bed didn't look like doctors. Most of them were young, and they had a wild-eyed, intense look that scared her. "Who..." she croaked with a dry mouth. "Who are you?"

"We're fans," said a tough-looking girl. "Lara Croft fans." Oh SHIT, thought Jolie. "We didn't like the way you played her. You weren't Lara. So we've put that right... and now you are."

Jolie began to get a grip on her hurts. There were sore places all over her face, and something in her back, and... "What?" She forced weak arms up under the covers to confirm what she felt. Her aching breasts were enormous, sitting on her chest as round and hard as two baseballs... Lara Croft tits. "God damn you, what have you done?" Fury gave her the strength to sit up and start to throw her legs out of the bed, not caring that she was naked under the sheet. "I'm going to..."

One of the men pointed what looked like a plastic toy space pistol at her and squeezed the trigger. It made a zapping noise, and suddenly she flopped back on the matress, limp as a rag doll. "You'll do as you're told," he said, "and nothing else. You have an implant at the top of your spine that gives a taser jolt when it receives a radio signal: we can turn your muscles off any time we have to." Carefully, but firmly, many hands laid her naked body out straight on the bed and rolled her onto her front. "And resistance will be punished." He held the heavy wooden paddle before her horrified eyes, then went around the bed and started to use it. Jolie's angry protests turned to howls as her ass caught fire.

The next day they set to work to get her back into shape. Some of them were obviously professional trainers; they knew exactly how much someone recovering from her treatment could do at every stage. Sometimes they worked her hard, but she had no choice. There was always at least one guard standing back with one of the radio tagging guns that could drop her where she stood, and any lack of co-operation meant another paddling. At first she thought the punishment was a joke, but after the third spanking of the day on her already tender buns she started to take notice: it HURT!

With strong motivation, and skillful feeding and tending, she mended fast. From tottering round the bed, to bends and stretches, to hours of vigorous aerobics, she built up her strength. She was very glad that her captors were realistic enough to have provided her with a solidly engineered sports bra: it would have been impossible to do such workouts with her ridiculously enlarged boobs swinging free.

Once she was fit enough to run, they dressed her in a dreadfully familiar grey suit and harness, and opened the door to what they called "the Tomb". She reckoned it must have been built in something the size of a warehouse, but she never got a clear idea of its shape because the space was divided into hundreds of rooms, passages, tunnels, stairs and shafts on a dozen levels, a three-dimensional maze which she had to admit was a pretty good replica of a game locus. She exercised around, up and down it from dawn till dusk, running, jumping, crawling, climbing, learning where the "secret" entrances and tunnels were, which walls could be climbed, which gaps could be swung across. She had never been so fit in her life, and it galled her that she couldn't use her new strength to break free, but she never had a chance. She learnt that every space in the Tomb was wired for video, sound, and, crucially, for the radio pulse that turned off her spine: they could see and stop anything she might try.

When she was good enough, they started racing her against the clock. She had a set time to get from one part of the Tomb to another, and every second over that meant a stroke of the paddle. She learnt to bend over and hold still for her punishments, cursing and screaming but not resisting: it was better than being dropped helplessly to the floor.

Then they changed to "hunts". They would give her a chance to head out into the Tomb, then one or more of them would follow with tagging guns. She was armed with a laser-tag pistol: every time she tagged one of her pursuers, that was one swat deducted from the paddling she would get when they finally ran her down. She discovered that the tagging guns were made to give her a sporting chance: they shot their signal in a narrow, tight beam, which meant that the shooters had to get an acurate bead on her to drop her. Sometimes she evaded them for hours, but when she fell exhausted into bed at the end of the day she still had a sore butt.

Then came the day when, coming out of her room after breakfast, she was greeted by the whole gang, smiling and excited. "This is it," one of them said, "the real thing. We've got paying customers, so give them a good run, Lara!"

"Customers?" she said blankly.

"You bet! People who've paid good money to hunt Lara Croft for real." His face hardened as he saw the thought in her eyes. "And yes, they know who you are, so don't try asking them for help. It'll upset them, and we don't want the paying customers upset." Her buttocks clenched in reflex fear, and she cursed her helplessness. "Now, go, Lara, go!" And she ran.

She had grown skillful at hearing where people were in the Tomb, and she soon found that the organisers were helping her: now and then a quiet voice in an empty room would prompt her to go up instead of down, along the passage rather than through the tunnel, and she would dodge the hunters who were closing in. She guessed that it was a way to manage the game, to make sure the clients got a good long hunt, but she didn't mind: she was getting plenty of tags on them, and this was easy. She could stay out of their way all day. She dodged some wild shots from a high platform, dived through a door, ran along a level and reached for a rope...

Which wasn't there. She teetered desperately on the edge, wondering if she could jump, hearing the hunters yelling behind. Then her muscles turned to wet string, and she buckled and lay limp as they ran up.

"Okay," she gasped, "You got Lara - NO!" One of the men was tugging at the waisband of her grey slacks, and she focussed on their grinning, panting faces and realised that her penalty for getting caught was going to be more than a spanking this time. "Nooo!" They dragged her pants down to her ankles and rolled her onto her back. "NOOOO!"

She'd always felt, when she bothered to think about it, that rape couldn't be all that bad: it was only sex, and OK, it would be bad to have to do it when you didn't want to, but how bad? She discovered that having a hard cock driven into her dry, desperately clenched cunt was nothing like sex. It was shocking, intimate agony, repeated again and again and again. She told herself desperately that it was only a cock, it couldn't be that big, but it was like trying to judge the size of a hole in a tooth: she felt as if she were being reamed out with a fence stake. By the time the man bellowed in triumph and ground himself against her in orgasm, she had run out of screams and was weeping hopelessly.

Then the next one got onto her. And the next. And the next.

By the time they left she was beginning to recover from the taser, but she lay where they had spread her, shaking with sobs while a pool of spunk dried under her crotch. Two of her captors lifted her between them and pulled her arms over their shoulders, and half stumbling, half dragged, she was helped back to her room to collapse on the bed and weep again. They chivvied her to shower and eat, and then left her to lie and sob.

The next morning when the organiser came into her room, she sat up in bed and said "No!" She clutched the sheet to her massive breasts and shook. "I won't! I'm not going out there again, and you can't make me - you can beat my ass to pulp, but I won't be hunted again!"

"We had an idea you might say that." His eyes despised her. "So we arranged something more than the paddle." He jerked the sheet out of her hands and thrust out with a cattle prod.

She howled at the explosion of pain in her breast, and rolled off the side of the bed to cringe in the corner, panting. They watched her and waited.

"Get dressed," he said. Sobbing, she pulled on the hated grey suit and walked out into the Tomb.

She ran as she had never run before. The organisers hardly had to prompt her: she was inspired by terror. She climbed walls that were supposed to be unclimbable, squeezed through tiny pipes, leapt yawning gaps. She suspected that the organisers were having to tell the hunters where she was, and she cursed them with what little breath she could spare as she ran. She dropped down a rope, dived though a trapdoor, dodged shots and raced down a corridor and crouched to push a secret panel...

Which didn't open. With a wail of despair she leapt up and ran on, but she had lost too much time. Shots cracked again and again behind her, and at last one connected; she hit the floor and slid to a stop, skinning her cheekbone.

While two of them were skinning down her pants, she saw a pair of feet stride up to her face: then she yelled in pain as her head was dragged up by the long braid which had been woven into her real hair. An open fly passed her eyes, then a stiff cock waved in front of her, the stink of stale piss and smegma filling her nostrils. "Open wide, Lara!" he gloated.

Her jaw was about the only muscle she could still control: she clenched it desperately. Then someone grabbed her left breast and crushed and twisted as if he were juicing an orange, and with a howl she gaped obediently. The slimy glans smeared over her cheek, then forced down her unwilling tongue and hit the back of her throat so that she gagged and fought for breath. It thrust and beat her throat while she struggled to suck air between chokes, shedding foul tasting crumbs on her tongue, till at last as her vision was fading to black it jerked and flooded her mouth with acrid goo that spilled over her chin to mix with the tears streaming down her face. Through a haze of pain she heard him yelling "Yaaah...! Take it, Lara...! I got LARA CROFT!"

As he dropped her onto her back, and the other men began to spread her legs, Jolie wondered how much more of this it would take before she went completely mad.