tagCelebrities & Fan FictionTomb Raider: A Taste Of France

Tomb Raider: A Taste Of France


Pierre Dupont had a reputation for being duplicitous--amongst other traits--yet there was no denying his obvious talent. At a time when adventuring had fallen into disfavor and was ridiculed as a rich man's hobby, he had climbed his way to the top to capture the hearts and minds of fans all over the world, his fame so great that it was eclipsed by only one other, a certain woman of English persuasion. So it came as little surprise when Ms. Jacqueline Natla presented him with an opportunity any man would have killed for.

He had hesitated, but only briefly. He was a Dupont, a man of action, not a thief and coward. But he was also a Frenchman, a proud one at that, and while there was still breath in his lungs he would never admit he was second to any woman, especially one who was proudly and defiantly British.

And so here he sat, on a crumbling stone walkway at the top of a dank chamber full of fountains and statues and sharp pointed edges somewhere deep beneath the earth. Poseidon, the entrance had read. Disgusting was more like it.

Pierre finished his candy bar and tossed the wrapper over the edge of the walkway. Moments later came a splash much too large to have been caused by anything but another person, a fact confirmed when he heard heavy boots scuff against ancient stone. He waited several seconds, then crawled out from behind his cover to take a look.

It was definitely her, as if anyone else could have made it this far, but she looked different from what he remembered. Her dark-brown hair was braided into a long ponytail that reached her slender waist, and her voluptuous figure was poured into tight brown shorts and a light-blue sleeveless top that left her looking sleek and sexy. She licked her pouty lips and looked around, obviously enjoying herself despite the bone-chilling swim it took to reach this room. Satisfied, she stepped back and threw a glance at Pierre.

He stifled a surprised gasp and slid away from the edge. She couldn't see him from such a distance, but he wasn't about to chance it. Not today. Certainly not with her.

A flash of steel caught his attention, and he looked up in time to see a three-pronged grapple wrap itself around a twisted metal beam. The attached nylon cord was tugged to secure it in place, then he heard a grunt as she began the long climb up. Pierre hurried back to his hiding place and quickly set up his camera. It would record for an hour, more than enough time to provide the evidence he would need to secure his next payment.

It took several minutes for the exotic beauty to negotiate her way to the top--swinging, climbing, running across walls--but she finally made it, and pulled herself onto the beam with the grace of a lifelong gymnast. She gathered up her grapple, adjusted her belt, then jumped and somersaulted through the air. Pierre watched, his eyes bulging, as she hit the walkway in a roll.

She came to her feet with unequaled elegance, her piercing bluish green eyes locked on the glowing key that rested atop a crumbling marble pedestal. There was only one problem: a large gate stood between it and her. She stepped up and gave the ancient bars a tug, but they refused to budge.

"Bugger," she said, the charming posh accent sending a chill up Pierre's spine. She slid her backpack off and crouched down to rifle through it, her shorts rising to give him a nice tease. She had a very impressive tan.

Pierre drew his gun and stepped into the open. She heard his footsteps and tensed, then dropped her pack and slowly stood up.

"Lara Croft," Pierre said. "What a pleasant surprise." Her hand began to drift. "No, chere, do not try it. Unpleasant though it may be, I will not hesitate to shoot."

She exhaled theatrically and raised her hands into the air. "You've gotten better, Pierre. You should be proud."

"Flattery will get you nowhere, Lara. I am a man of action, not of words."

She turned to face him and glanced briefly at his gun. "Yes, I can see that."

Pierre sighed. "Lara, Lara, Lara. What am I to do with you? I have warned you so many times already, yet you refuse to heed my advice."

"I'm just awful that way. Blame daddy."

"This no joking matter, Lara. I spared you before; I will not spare you again."

Her eyes smoldered. "You're took kind."

"Yes. Perhaps I am too kind." Pierre glanced at her chest, at the wet shirt clinging to her heaving breasts. "I see now that a woman like you will respond to only one thing: force."

"Don't make me laugh, Pierre."

Pebbles crunched beneath her boots as she shifted her feet. Pierre looked down at her long legs, glistening in the light, and said: "Mon chere, you are about to regret those words."

He motioned to her backpack. "Kick it over."

Lara narrowed her eyes--no doubt she had several precious treasures tucked away inside--but took one look at his face, and his gun, and decided it was safer to do as she was told.

"Not to me," he said. "Over the side."

She hesitated, then turned and nudged it over. If seemed to fall forever, and she flinched when it finally splashed at the bottom of the chamber.

"Now the pistols, Lara. Two fingers only."

She stared at him while she unlatched her pistols and slowly lifted them from their holsters. If looks could kill, Pierre thought. He waited until she held them over the abyss, then gave her a sharp nod. She grimaced and let them drop.

"Very good," he said. "Now your clothes. Begin with the shirt."

"Fuck you," Lara said. "I'm not taking off a thing--"

Pierre aimed at her belly. She stared at the gun, chest heaving, eyes locked on the barrel.

"All right, Pierre. No need to go off half-cocked."

She lifted her shirt, glaring hard enough to melt glass, and pulled it over her head. Pierre smacked his lips. She had the flattest belly he had ever seen.

"And the bra," he said.

Lara threw her shirt down and quickly pulled off the matching sports bra. Pierre could only stare. Without the extra support her breasts seemed even larger, the nipples brown and hard.

"Color me impressed, mademoiselle, most impressed. Now you may remove the rest of your outfit. But leave the boots. I like the boots."

Lara shook her head in disbelief. She unbuckled her belt and unfastened the leather straps around her thighs. The entire rig fell to the ground with a clatter. Then she undid her shorts and pushed them down her legs. As Pierre suspected, she was not wearing panties.

He smiled. Unlike other British celebrities, she had yet to adopt the barbaric American custom of shaving her pussy bald. "I see that despite your reputation you still groom yourself like a Lady."

Lara turned red and covered her crotch with her hands.

Pierre produced a set of matte-black handcuffs and tossed them over. "Put those on," he ordered.

Lara glanced down at them. "Why don't you come and do it yourself, Pierre? One must be certain when it comes--"

"And get near those legs?" Pierre laughed. He motioned to the gate. "Lock your arms through the bars."

Lara turned and reluctantly attached herself to the gate. Pierre groaned and put a knuckle between his teeth.

"Mon Dieu, Lara, your ass is divine!"

She scowled. "All right, Pierre, you've had your fun. Take the key and go." She tugged on the bars, a useless gesture. "Move quickly, though, because when I catch up--"

Pierre holstered his gun. "You are in no position to make threats, Lara." He walked over and kicked her clothes off the walkway, his eyes locked on her supple ass. "In fact, you aren't in a position to do much of anything."

He stepped behind her and traced his fingers down her back. Lara gasped, but didn't pull away. Pierre rubbed the tattoo on her wrist, and though it ruined her skin's perfection he couldn't help but admire the artistry.

"How I've dreamt of this," he breathed.

He took her by the hips and ground his crotch against her body. He gave her ass a rough smack, the loud pop echoing off the chamber walls. Lara grunted and wrapped her fingers around the bars. Pierre gave her another slap, then another, and didn't stop until her creamy flesh was red and tender.

He took her breasts in hand and squeezed. They were big and firm and overflowed between his fingers. He tweaked and tugged her nipples. Lara moaned, unable to stop herself from enjoying the attention. Pierre laughed. He ran his hands down her body, his cock as hard as concrete. Lara shook her head from side to side, as if to tell him no, though her dripping pussy said otherwise.

Pierre reached between her thighs and stroked her hot pussy. He slid two fingers inside. She was loose and hot and made him delirious with lust. He pulled his fingers free and hurriedly undid his pants, then he took her by the hips and impaled her with his cock.

They shouted together.

Lara pushed back and rolled her hips as Pierre hammered away on her soaked pussy, such a slut that she couldn't help taking pleasure from her own rape. Pierre smiled enthusiastically, then quickened his pace and looked down to watch as he drove himself into her body. Lara, her ass rippling, moaned loudly.

"I've never made love to a Countess," Pierre grunted.

Lara squeezed her eyes shut. "You, huhh, call this, huhh, making love?"

"In my family, yes." Pierre tried to laugh, only to gasp involuntarily. "Oh, mon Dieu--!"

He pulled out of her body, his balls churning, and screamed as he pumped several thick shots of semen all over her sweaty ass. Lara groaned and tried to wriggle away. She had always been an ungrateful bitch.

Pierre stepped back to catch his breath, but her charms proved too tempting to ignore. He crouched behind her, pulled her cheeks apart, and flicked her asshole with his tongue. He moved down to her dripping pussy lips and lapped up her delicious British cream with furious licks and jabs.

"Fuck you," Lara groaned. "Bastard."

Pierre laughed. He took her labia between his teeth and gave her a yelp-inducing tug, then he reached up and worked her clit with his fingers. Lara stamped her foot, moaning louder than ever, and pushed back to grind her pussy on his face. Pierre indulged her for a bit, then left her dripping cunt behind and went back to work on her asshole. His cock was ready for action, and he needed to pave the way.

"Oh, you bastard," Lara cried.

Pierre burrowed his tongue inside and ran his hands up and down her shapely legs while he rimmed her. The taste was beyond belief. Lara mumbled, but refused to acknowledge just how much she was enjoying the dirty act.

Pierre took a few last licks before standing. He spit on his fingers and pushed a thumb into her ass, wiggling it around to loosen her ring. He pulled out, wrapped his fist around the base of his dick for support, and pressed the swollen head to her asshole. The first push got him inside; the second buried him deep in her burning-hot tunnel.

Lara screamed bloody murder. She panted and grunted and squeezed the bars until the veins in her forearms began to swell, anything to master the pain she felt.

Pierre took his time. He humped slowly and ground his hips against her ass. She was tight--much tighter that a woman with her reputation should have been--and it took considerable effort to keep himself from coming each time he sank deep inside. Luckily for him it didn't take long for his body to adapt to such tightness, and in no time he was back to hammering her juicy ass until it quivered.

Now he slammed away, determined to give the teasing Brit what she so richly deserved, and pounded her until his lungs were empty and his legs turned to rubber. He gave her another hard smack on the ass, then took her by the hair and yanked her head back. She closed her mouth, eyes filled with lust and shame, and refused to moan any longer.

As if Pierre cared. He let out a triumphant shout and gave her one more great thrust, then wrapped his arms around her waist and held her tight while he drenched her sore rectum with his thick seed. He held on to her longer than necessary, humping gently, reluctant to let go because he knew he would never have her again. But he was spent, his erection going soft. He gave her a kiss on the back of the neck, once more tasting her sweaty skin, and slowly withdrew from her incredible heat.

Lara fell to her knees and buried her face in her arms. She didn't make a sound.

Pierre used a handkerchief to wipe his dick clean, then tucked both back into his pants. He looked down with contempt at the legendary Tomb Raider and said: "You should thank me, Lara. Natla wanted you dead."

She didn't respond. She wouldn't even look at him.

Pierre shrugged and went to gather up his equipment. He returned a moment later, and still she hadn't moved. Oh, well. He took a final look at her beautiful body, then stepped off the walkway and vanished from sight. There was no splash.

Lara didn't move for some time. She couldn't be sure this wasn't a trap, couldn't be sure he wasn't waiting to snipe her the moment she poked her head up. The seconds ticked by on her watch. Finally she looked back and listened, and when she was convinced he was truly gone she pulled a multi-tool from her boot and stood up.

But Pierre wasn't quite finished, and his voice echoed off the dank walls. "Don't throw away your life, Lara. Go home. Leave the Scion to me."

Lara ignored him, and freed herself before he had even finished speaking. She ran for the edge of the walkway, intent on catching the French son of a bitch before he got too far ahead, only to notice something remarkable out of the corner of her eye. She skidded to a stop, turned, and found a niche beside the gate just large enough to squeeze through.

She looked down at the bottom of the chamber and sighed. She could see her pistols, but her clothes and backpack were gone. She shook her head and looked away.

"Okay, Pierre. You've got your head start. Pray to God it's enough."

She took a running leap and caught the wall with her fingertips. She pulled herself up, careful not to scrape her bare body against the rough stone, and resumed her quest for Natla's mystical Scion.

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