meepmeep
Ryonani Teamster
- Joined
- Feb 26, 2011
Okay, I want to apologize for the length of this piece. I also want to apologize if anyone is offended. I just deeply love the heroic, strong, insular character of the woman adventuress Lara Croft, and got carried away constructing a ryona scenario detailing her precipitous downfall..
---
World famous socialite and adventuress Lara Croft heaved a sigh of exaltation, incredulous of her good fortune. After following her father's map to southern Mexico in search of Megingjord, the legendary artifact better-known to English-speaking mythology students as "Thor's Belt," the tomb raider had managed to find the entrance to the relic's resting place after hours of fruitless searching. Lara stood positioned before the cave leading into Xibalba (roughly translated as "place of fear"), the Mayan underworld believed to be ruled by death gods and their servants, with her legs spread and her hands on her hips. Her exposed skin glistened with layers of sweat and grime, green spandex clinging to her massive breasts and framing the heaving artillery high on her chest. A pair of brown canvas booty shorts completed her ensemble, hugging her immaculately sculpted ass and facilitating ease of movement as well as ease of lechery.
Lighting a flare in her left hand, the courageous and independent archeologist descended the stone staircase leading into the underworld, holding her backpack of provisions close to her. She carried in her right hand one of her trademark semi-automatic pistols, a firearm that mysteriously never required additional ammunition and always seemed to instantly reload itself whenever discharged. After walking along the entrance corridor for what she estimated was a several kilometers, Lara stepped out into a miniature coliseum-shaped area. Dwindling daylight poured down into the arena, with a raised pedestal sitting in the center of the room near a horizontal stone slab. Lowering her firearm while dropping the flare and her backpack, Lara's erotically-charged doe eyes immediately widened with avarice, fixated on what she assumed to be her prize. Her eyes were held wide open and transfixed as she began to approach the room's focal point, grinning to herself with immense pleasure at her seemingly unending good fortune.
Her gorgeous countenance immediately clenched shut in a rictus of pain as the back of her head was smacked with what felt like the force of a fucking Mack truck. The brunette was left seeing stars as the world seemed to momentarily tumble out from underneath her, her stomach doing loops. She clenched her jaw attempting to stifle a wave of vomit and turned to ascertain her assailant's identity, but her eyes were instead immediately drawn to his belt. The motherfucker was wearing Megingjord! Mouth agape, Lara's gaze traveled along the man's imposing body until stoping at his wrists, her heart dropping with horror at the recognition of Járngreipr, "Thor's gauntlets." These three artifacts in tandem were an incredible source of power, and Lara knew she was royally fucked unless she acted fast. It was with her own mortality at the forefront of her mind that the sexy warrior turned her gun on the figure behind her, looking to discharge infinity slugs point blank from the mouth of her .45. She held her right arm out erect, fully-extended, anticipating a wave of blood splashback.
But the figure lunged forward, easily clearing the mere inches that separated them, and twisted Lara's arm at an obscene angle. He crushed her hand with a newfound strength imparted by a deity, slipping the firearm out of the woman's instantly useless appendage. Lara shrieked as she entered a world of pain beyond anything she had ever before experienced, and began flailing her legs out of basic instinct, attempting to crab-walk away into the center of the room and break into a run. In her frenzy, Lara recognized her attacker's visage as belonging to Pierre DuPont, a French mercenary frequently employed by her arch-nemesis Jacqueline Natla. She silently cursed herself for her lapse in caution and for having assumed that these antagonists would be preoccupied in Europe and nowhere near central America. The wounded adventuress quickly attempted to get to her feet and gain the necessary balance to flee the scene, but instead moved slowly and ineffectively on her back. She soon found her delectable abdomen pinned under DuPont's boots.
With his prey lying supine on the cold floor, Pierre knelt down and took the gauntlets to work on her shapely legs. The artifacts' power permitted him to snap each leg in twain like mere a twig, leaving the brave woman's lower body at his utter mercy. Lara's mind reeled with pain as she struggled to fathom what the legendary gauntlets had wrought, but before she could form coherent thought, she felt herself being dragged across the floor towards the stone slab in the center, DuPont having coopted her famous French braid hairstyle as a makeshift towrope. Lara clenched her teeth and shut her eyes, hoping to scheme a way out of this fatal ambush but arriving at nothing but dead ends. She was deep underground in Guatemala without working legs and utterly at the mercy of a man whose hands bore the strength of a god. The woman warrior who had defined herself in opposition to her male contemporaries and continually fended off their advances was now completely helpless, her incomparable physique cruelly destroyed at the hands of a man. She, who had improbably built a reputation for impetuousness and cockiness that was regularly backed up with results, was being utterly destroyed by a member of the superior sex. There was nothing she could do now. The world of man had conquered her, its formidable grip now literally dragging her down into a position of weakness and inferiority.
Cradling Lara's mangled body in his superpowered arms, DuPont lay her down on the horizontal slab aside the pulpit upon which Megingjord once rested. Lara's eyes stared up at the large circular opening in the ceiling directly above the center of the room, the little remaining daylight revealing a tempestuous sky that would surely give way to a torrential downpour.
The woman's mind shifted from the shame of her defeat to the remaining physical abuses surely awaiting her ravaged body and fractured soul, and for the first time since the death of her parents, Lara Croft began to weep openly. Two unthinkable atrocities, bookending each end of her life, and both visited upon her by Jacqueline Natla. She wept for her aborted mission of archeological glory and the besmirched legacy of the Croft family. She wept for her obliterated pride and confidence, and her failure to avenge her father's death. Most miserably, she wept in contemplation of the physical humiliations that lay ahead. A grown woman, allegedly a world-renowned adventuress and warrior of fabled cunning and strength, reduced to tears.
Her soiled green spandex tanktop framed a pair of heaving breasts that tugged against their confines, eager to breathe the acrid underworld air. The pair of torn and moist booty shorts struggling to contain the disgraced warrior's protruding buttocks completed the lamentable tableau. A look of salacious glee spread across the face of her foe as he admired his prize. Looking down at the sniveling wreck that was once an unstoppable force of nature, he knelt and savored the tart aroma emitting from her quivering form. The woman's provocative clothing was saturated with multiple bodily fluids and stained with the evidence of her present defeat. Her ample bust, once used to entice and arouse on her own terms, was now exposed as a source of weakness. The twin mounds of flesh lay alluringly vulnerable and hugged impossibly tight to her chest by the tank top, the spandex fabric having ripped slightly after her captor had dragged her ungainly across the floor. DuPont grabbed at a prominent tear on the lycra fabric, and lifted it toward him, tearing the material until Lara Croft's legendary breasts lay wholly denuded before him, brown nipples erect and at attention.
Sneering at the vulnerable warrior, her conqueror spit on her face. The wad landed squarely on the woman's cheekbone, inducing a wince that caused the man to chuckle. He callously flipped Lara onto her back and plucked the woman's flimsy canvas shorts down the lower meridian of her body. All that remained to protect the modesty of the once-proud and callous Lara Croft was a sexy black thong that left the fleshy globes of her ass vulnerable and on full display. DuPont flipped her supine again, and spread her mangled legs and arm. He'd let her have use of her left arm and hand, expecting her to contribute in some ways to what was to come.
Disheveled hair now framed her lamentable face and spread across the stone slab like a scattered halo of brown ashes. A feral mess of a crown whose unruliness threatened to consume her sobbing countenance. "Why was it so satisfying to destroy beautiful things?" he queried internally. For a moment, he gripped the woman's face, staring directly at its uncharacteristic fear. "We meet agayn Mizz Crofte. Shame for yoo zat eet is not under more… felicitous circumstances, n'est-ce pas ?" he asked her mockingly, slapping Lara's face and producing a startled gasp. "I've dreamt of zees momente since our first encountere, and will relish ze time we spend togehtere zees evening… eye hope ze feeling es mutual," he chuckled to himself, still not fully convinced himself that he had managed to quell such a fiery spirit.
With a temerity that refused to acknowledge the event's emotional resonance for the failed tomb raider, her assailant pried aside the fabric of the black thong obscuring Lara's carnal treasure. She lay perfectly still and breathless as his palm slithered beneath the thong, its intended facilitation of ease of movement cruelly subverted to facilitate ease of access. The criminal fiercely cupped Lara's cunt with an abrupt closure of his palm and slipped several digits through the delicate labial petals of her soul flower. This unprecedented violation rent the long-beleaguered heroine's mind asunder, producing a prolonged, piercing shriek that emanated from the depths of her very being. More than any other reaction precipitated by the man's assault, the scream underlined the event's transformative character and solidified the destruction of the very foundations of this woman's identity. Gone was the Lara Croft who had never lost a fight when it mattered, had never acquiesced to the whims of a man, and who had complete control over her sexuality. In her place was left a sniveling wreck who had failed to protect herself physically with everything on the line. A woman who lacked even the bravery and self-respect to prevent her own physical exploitation. How could she be expected to inspire courage in others after allowing herself to fall so far? Following her tragic final, primal scream, Lara gazed upward directly into the grinning face responsible for her complete breakdown, and closed her limpid brown eyes to a world she could no longer engage with on her own terms. In the midst of his crude palpitations, the mercenary felt the woman's entire body shudder, a satisfying coda to the throes of her final resignation. And yet it wasn't over. This was merely foreplay.
Scarcely able to comprehend what his physical dominance and invasive libido had wrought, he nevertheless knew the woman would never be the same. It struck him the sweet liquid covering his hand may as well have been the fighting spirit being drained out of this haughty cunt.
The next forty five minutes were a bacchanal haze for both parties, and ended with Dupont laying on Lara's back, perspiring and exhaling rapidly following this most satisfying of sexual conquests. Lara lay terrifyingly cognizant of the whole ordeal on her stomach, and felt a newfound nakedness as DuPont's form retracted and left her bare backside without an occupant.
Producing a machete from his backpack after donning his clothes, DuPont approached Lara's prone form. In one swift motion, he sliced the machete across the base of the woman's braid, severing the length of tied tresses from the woman's head like Delilah to her Samson. This acquisition was the day's true treasure. Fuck Greek gods. He had just repeatedly had his way with the most exclusive vaginal and anal canals in the world while utterly debasing the stuck-up limey bitch attached to them, and he felt like dying of post-coital bliss. He lovingly sniffed the thick, three-foot-long length of braided hair severed from the noblewoman's head before placing it among the rest of his supplies, quipping
"Il faut qu'on ramène des souvenirs de temps en temps, non?"
With that final indignity, DuPont scooped up Lara's backpack along with his own, wholly content with his day inside Xibalba and heading for its exit. He left the denuded woman paralyzed face down in the center of the coliseum, sobbing helplessly on the stone slab, her plump ass facing the sky's wrath. A crack of thunder signaled the beginning of a Guatemalan deluge.
Evidently her good fortune had run out.
Next:
Chun-Li (Street Fighter)
OR
Catwoman (Dark Knight Rises/Arkham City)
---
World famous socialite and adventuress Lara Croft heaved a sigh of exaltation, incredulous of her good fortune. After following her father's map to southern Mexico in search of Megingjord, the legendary artifact better-known to English-speaking mythology students as "Thor's Belt," the tomb raider had managed to find the entrance to the relic's resting place after hours of fruitless searching. Lara stood positioned before the cave leading into Xibalba (roughly translated as "place of fear"), the Mayan underworld believed to be ruled by death gods and their servants, with her legs spread and her hands on her hips. Her exposed skin glistened with layers of sweat and grime, green spandex clinging to her massive breasts and framing the heaving artillery high on her chest. A pair of brown canvas booty shorts completed her ensemble, hugging her immaculately sculpted ass and facilitating ease of movement as well as ease of lechery.
Lighting a flare in her left hand, the courageous and independent archeologist descended the stone staircase leading into the underworld, holding her backpack of provisions close to her. She carried in her right hand one of her trademark semi-automatic pistols, a firearm that mysteriously never required additional ammunition and always seemed to instantly reload itself whenever discharged. After walking along the entrance corridor for what she estimated was a several kilometers, Lara stepped out into a miniature coliseum-shaped area. Dwindling daylight poured down into the arena, with a raised pedestal sitting in the center of the room near a horizontal stone slab. Lowering her firearm while dropping the flare and her backpack, Lara's erotically-charged doe eyes immediately widened with avarice, fixated on what she assumed to be her prize. Her eyes were held wide open and transfixed as she began to approach the room's focal point, grinning to herself with immense pleasure at her seemingly unending good fortune.
Her gorgeous countenance immediately clenched shut in a rictus of pain as the back of her head was smacked with what felt like the force of a fucking Mack truck. The brunette was left seeing stars as the world seemed to momentarily tumble out from underneath her, her stomach doing loops. She clenched her jaw attempting to stifle a wave of vomit and turned to ascertain her assailant's identity, but her eyes were instead immediately drawn to his belt. The motherfucker was wearing Megingjord! Mouth agape, Lara's gaze traveled along the man's imposing body until stoping at his wrists, her heart dropping with horror at the recognition of Járngreipr, "Thor's gauntlets." These three artifacts in tandem were an incredible source of power, and Lara knew she was royally fucked unless she acted fast. It was with her own mortality at the forefront of her mind that the sexy warrior turned her gun on the figure behind her, looking to discharge infinity slugs point blank from the mouth of her .45. She held her right arm out erect, fully-extended, anticipating a wave of blood splashback.
But the figure lunged forward, easily clearing the mere inches that separated them, and twisted Lara's arm at an obscene angle. He crushed her hand with a newfound strength imparted by a deity, slipping the firearm out of the woman's instantly useless appendage. Lara shrieked as she entered a world of pain beyond anything she had ever before experienced, and began flailing her legs out of basic instinct, attempting to crab-walk away into the center of the room and break into a run. In her frenzy, Lara recognized her attacker's visage as belonging to Pierre DuPont, a French mercenary frequently employed by her arch-nemesis Jacqueline Natla. She silently cursed herself for her lapse in caution and for having assumed that these antagonists would be preoccupied in Europe and nowhere near central America. The wounded adventuress quickly attempted to get to her feet and gain the necessary balance to flee the scene, but instead moved slowly and ineffectively on her back. She soon found her delectable abdomen pinned under DuPont's boots.
With his prey lying supine on the cold floor, Pierre knelt down and took the gauntlets to work on her shapely legs. The artifacts' power permitted him to snap each leg in twain like mere a twig, leaving the brave woman's lower body at his utter mercy. Lara's mind reeled with pain as she struggled to fathom what the legendary gauntlets had wrought, but before she could form coherent thought, she felt herself being dragged across the floor towards the stone slab in the center, DuPont having coopted her famous French braid hairstyle as a makeshift towrope. Lara clenched her teeth and shut her eyes, hoping to scheme a way out of this fatal ambush but arriving at nothing but dead ends. She was deep underground in Guatemala without working legs and utterly at the mercy of a man whose hands bore the strength of a god. The woman warrior who had defined herself in opposition to her male contemporaries and continually fended off their advances was now completely helpless, her incomparable physique cruelly destroyed at the hands of a man. She, who had improbably built a reputation for impetuousness and cockiness that was regularly backed up with results, was being utterly destroyed by a member of the superior sex. There was nothing she could do now. The world of man had conquered her, its formidable grip now literally dragging her down into a position of weakness and inferiority.
Cradling Lara's mangled body in his superpowered arms, DuPont lay her down on the horizontal slab aside the pulpit upon which Megingjord once rested. Lara's eyes stared up at the large circular opening in the ceiling directly above the center of the room, the little remaining daylight revealing a tempestuous sky that would surely give way to a torrential downpour.
The woman's mind shifted from the shame of her defeat to the remaining physical abuses surely awaiting her ravaged body and fractured soul, and for the first time since the death of her parents, Lara Croft began to weep openly. Two unthinkable atrocities, bookending each end of her life, and both visited upon her by Jacqueline Natla. She wept for her aborted mission of archeological glory and the besmirched legacy of the Croft family. She wept for her obliterated pride and confidence, and her failure to avenge her father's death. Most miserably, she wept in contemplation of the physical humiliations that lay ahead. A grown woman, allegedly a world-renowned adventuress and warrior of fabled cunning and strength, reduced to tears.
Her soiled green spandex tanktop framed a pair of heaving breasts that tugged against their confines, eager to breathe the acrid underworld air. The pair of torn and moist booty shorts struggling to contain the disgraced warrior's protruding buttocks completed the lamentable tableau. A look of salacious glee spread across the face of her foe as he admired his prize. Looking down at the sniveling wreck that was once an unstoppable force of nature, he knelt and savored the tart aroma emitting from her quivering form. The woman's provocative clothing was saturated with multiple bodily fluids and stained with the evidence of her present defeat. Her ample bust, once used to entice and arouse on her own terms, was now exposed as a source of weakness. The twin mounds of flesh lay alluringly vulnerable and hugged impossibly tight to her chest by the tank top, the spandex fabric having ripped slightly after her captor had dragged her ungainly across the floor. DuPont grabbed at a prominent tear on the lycra fabric, and lifted it toward him, tearing the material until Lara Croft's legendary breasts lay wholly denuded before him, brown nipples erect and at attention.
Sneering at the vulnerable warrior, her conqueror spit on her face. The wad landed squarely on the woman's cheekbone, inducing a wince that caused the man to chuckle. He callously flipped Lara onto her back and plucked the woman's flimsy canvas shorts down the lower meridian of her body. All that remained to protect the modesty of the once-proud and callous Lara Croft was a sexy black thong that left the fleshy globes of her ass vulnerable and on full display. DuPont flipped her supine again, and spread her mangled legs and arm. He'd let her have use of her left arm and hand, expecting her to contribute in some ways to what was to come.
Disheveled hair now framed her lamentable face and spread across the stone slab like a scattered halo of brown ashes. A feral mess of a crown whose unruliness threatened to consume her sobbing countenance. "Why was it so satisfying to destroy beautiful things?" he queried internally. For a moment, he gripped the woman's face, staring directly at its uncharacteristic fear. "We meet agayn Mizz Crofte. Shame for yoo zat eet is not under more… felicitous circumstances, n'est-ce pas ?" he asked her mockingly, slapping Lara's face and producing a startled gasp. "I've dreamt of zees momente since our first encountere, and will relish ze time we spend togehtere zees evening… eye hope ze feeling es mutual," he chuckled to himself, still not fully convinced himself that he had managed to quell such a fiery spirit.
With a temerity that refused to acknowledge the event's emotional resonance for the failed tomb raider, her assailant pried aside the fabric of the black thong obscuring Lara's carnal treasure. She lay perfectly still and breathless as his palm slithered beneath the thong, its intended facilitation of ease of movement cruelly subverted to facilitate ease of access. The criminal fiercely cupped Lara's cunt with an abrupt closure of his palm and slipped several digits through the delicate labial petals of her soul flower. This unprecedented violation rent the long-beleaguered heroine's mind asunder, producing a prolonged, piercing shriek that emanated from the depths of her very being. More than any other reaction precipitated by the man's assault, the scream underlined the event's transformative character and solidified the destruction of the very foundations of this woman's identity. Gone was the Lara Croft who had never lost a fight when it mattered, had never acquiesced to the whims of a man, and who had complete control over her sexuality. In her place was left a sniveling wreck who had failed to protect herself physically with everything on the line. A woman who lacked even the bravery and self-respect to prevent her own physical exploitation. How could she be expected to inspire courage in others after allowing herself to fall so far? Following her tragic final, primal scream, Lara gazed upward directly into the grinning face responsible for her complete breakdown, and closed her limpid brown eyes to a world she could no longer engage with on her own terms. In the midst of his crude palpitations, the mercenary felt the woman's entire body shudder, a satisfying coda to the throes of her final resignation. And yet it wasn't over. This was merely foreplay.
Scarcely able to comprehend what his physical dominance and invasive libido had wrought, he nevertheless knew the woman would never be the same. It struck him the sweet liquid covering his hand may as well have been the fighting spirit being drained out of this haughty cunt.
The next forty five minutes were a bacchanal haze for both parties, and ended with Dupont laying on Lara's back, perspiring and exhaling rapidly following this most satisfying of sexual conquests. Lara lay terrifyingly cognizant of the whole ordeal on her stomach, and felt a newfound nakedness as DuPont's form retracted and left her bare backside without an occupant.
Producing a machete from his backpack after donning his clothes, DuPont approached Lara's prone form. In one swift motion, he sliced the machete across the base of the woman's braid, severing the length of tied tresses from the woman's head like Delilah to her Samson. This acquisition was the day's true treasure. Fuck Greek gods. He had just repeatedly had his way with the most exclusive vaginal and anal canals in the world while utterly debasing the stuck-up limey bitch attached to them, and he felt like dying of post-coital bliss. He lovingly sniffed the thick, three-foot-long length of braided hair severed from the noblewoman's head before placing it among the rest of his supplies, quipping
"Il faut qu'on ramène des souvenirs de temps en temps, non?"
With that final indignity, DuPont scooped up Lara's backpack along with his own, wholly content with his day inside Xibalba and heading for its exit. He left the denuded woman paralyzed face down in the center of the coliseum, sobbing helplessly on the stone slab, her plump ass facing the sky's wrath. A crack of thunder signaled the beginning of a Guatemalan deluge.
Evidently her good fortune had run out.
Next:
Chun-Li (Street Fighter)
OR
Catwoman (Dark Knight Rises/Arkham City)
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