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The dim glow of a laptop screen illuminated the rugged face of Captain Viktor Radek as he adjusted the satellite connection. The call crackled to life, and the cold, sharp features of Trinity’s CEO, Evelyn Shaw, filled the screen. Her perfectly tailored suit and icy demeanor clashed with the grime and sweat of the bandit camp. “She’s ours,” Viktor announced with a self-satisfied smirk, rubbing the stubble on his jaw. His voice was rough, the kind that carried years of barking orders and battlefield chatter. “No more running, no more messing with your operations. Lara Croft is done.”
Evelyn’s lips thinned into something that wasn’t quite a smile. “Proof.”
Viktor chuckled and leaned back, reaching for the tablet beside him. With a few taps, the picture sent, showing an unflinching image of Lara Croft, bound with coarse rope, stripped bare, her dark hair tangled as she knelt before him. The camera angle left little to the imagination: her lips wrapped around his cock, her defiant glare the only hint of unbroken spirit.
Evelyn studied the photo, her expression unreadable. Then, with a faint nod, she said, “See that she becomes thoroughly acquainted with her new role. I want her broken before we move her.”
Viktor grinned and pocketed the tablet. “Already in progress. She fights like a wildcat, but that just makes it more fun.”
The call ended, leaving him to the humid air of the jungle hideout. Outside, Lara’s muffled protests could barely be heard over the jeers of his men, but Viktor didn’t rush. He had all the time in the world.
The raucous laughter of Viktor’s men filled the stifling air of the tent, mingling with Lara’s ragged breaths. She was sprawled on the rough canvas cot, her body glistening with sweat, crude phrases like "Trinity’s Whore" and "Radek’s Bitch" scrawled across her skin in black marker. Her muscles trembled from exhaustion, her wrists raw from futile struggles against the ropes binding them behind her back.
Dimitri, a hulking brute with a scarred lip, knelt behind her, driving his cock into her ass with slow, brutal strokes. His thick fingers dug into her hips, fingers bruising as he grunted, "Fight all you want, girlie. Doesn’t change a fucking thing." Lara jerked as he bottomed out inside her, her muffled curse lost against the cock stuffing her mouth, courtesy of one of Dimitri’s laughing comrades. When Dimitri came, he made sure she felt it—his hips snapping forward with a final, punishing thrust as he emptied himself deep inside her. He slapped her ass hard enough to leave a red palm print, chuckling as she flinched. "There we go. All nice and filled up."
Viktor watched from the entrance, arms crossed, a cigarette dangling from his lips. The others were catching their breath, wiping sweat from their brows, but he wasn’t done yet. Striding forward, he unbuckled his belt, his eyes locked on Lara’s defiant glare. "My turn," he said, voice laced with dark amusement. He didn’t bother with foreplay. Grabbing a fistful of her hair, he yanked her head back, forcing the other man’s cock from her lips. She coughed, her throat raw, but Viktor was already moving, flipping her onto her back and spreading her legs. The bandit at her mouth wasted no time shoving himself back between her lips, gripping her hair to keep her still.
Viktor thrust into her wet, abused pussy with a satisfied groan. "There it is," he muttered, watching her jaw clench around the other man’s length. "Still tight, even after all that." Lara’s body jerked as he set a punishing rhythm, her protests reduced to choked gags and stifled whimpers. Around them, the others hooted and jeered, one even taking bets on how long she’d last before breaking.
Viktor’s calloused hands groped Lara’s chest, his fingers roughly pinching her nipples before twisting them between his knuckles. She arched against the pain, a muffled snarl escaping her throat, though it was drowned out by the cock thrusting past her lips. The bandit above her chuckled, pistoning his hips harder as her tongue fought uselessly against him.
“Still got fire in you, huh?” Viktor mused, lowering his mouth to one stiffened peak. He sucked hard, teeth grazing the sensitive bud, drawing a shudder from Lara even as she tried to twist away. His free hand squeezed the other breast, kneading the soft flesh greedily. “Bet you could stay like this all night, taking cock and still glaring like you’ll slit my throat.”
The bandit in her mouth groaned first, his fingers tightening in her hair as he hunched forward. “Fuck! I’m gonna cum! You better swallow it all,” he managed, before his hips jerked, spilling hot and thick down her throat. Lara gagged, her eyes watering, but he held her still, grinding against her lips until he was spent.
Viktor didn’t let up. With a grunt, he slammed his hips forward, burying himself to the hilt inside her, his cock twitching as he came. His grip on her breast turned vicious, nails leaving angry crescents as he shuddered through his release. When he pulled back, still half-hard, he swiped a thumb over Lara’s swollen lower lip, smearing the mess left behind. “Good girl,” he murmured, though his voice held no kindness—only possessive satisfaction. “Get used to that mouth being full. You’re not going anywhere, printsessa. From now on, you’re my personal cocksleeve now.”
Around them, the men muttered approval, one tossing an empty bottle aside. “Think she’ll still be this feisty after a week?” another chuckled, lighting a cigarette.
Viktor smirked, tracing the crude words scrawled on Lara’s stomach—Radek’s Bitch—before slapping his palm over the fresh bruises blooming on her thigh. “Oh, she’ll break,” he promised. “They always do.”
Dimitri cracked his knuckles, already hardening again. “Guess we’ve got all night to find out.”
One of the other bandits, a wiry, tattooed man named Boris, grabbed Lara’s ankle, yanking her legs apart as he shoved two fingers inside her pussy, crooking them sharply. She gasped, her back arching involuntarily, her body betraying her despite the fury in her eyes. “Still dripping,” Boris sneered, pulling his fingers out to smear her slick across her stomach. “Looks like she likes it.”
Viktor chuckled, motioning for two others to move in. “Then let’s give her what she wants.”
One man straddled her chest, thick cock smacking against her lips until she opened them with a snarl, just then only to be silenced as he shoved himself down her throat. Another forced his way between her thighs, rutting into her with slow, deep thrusts while Dimitri loomed behind her, his rough hands guiding his shaft between the sweat-slicked valley of her breasts.
Boris didn’t wait. He dragged Lara’s hands up, binding her wrists together with rope before forcing them around his own cock, making her stroke him roughly. “Work for it, suka,” he growled, hips jerking into her grip.
Lara’s breath came in ragged hitches, her body trembling as they used her—mouth stuffed full, pussy throbbing around the relentless thrusts, hands forced to service Boris’s length while Dimitri’s cock slid mercilessly between her tits. She tried to twist away, but another man fisted a handful of her dark hair, dragging her head back as he ground himself against her face, his balls slapping her chin.
Tears spilled from her eyes, clogging her lashes as pleasure and shame coiled tight in her stomach. Her hips jerked—once, twice—before she came with a muffled cry, her cunt clenching around the cock inside her. The bandits laughed, their voices a chorus of taunts as they redoubled their efforts.
“That’s it,” Viktor goaded, watching her pupils dilate, her body arching against her will. “Again.”
And she did.
Over and over, they pushed her, forcing climax after climax from her until her thighs quivered, until her voice was nothing but broken whimpers. Dimitri groaned as he came, hot streaks painting Lara’s collarbone, while the man at her lips spilled down her throat. Boris and the others weren’t far behind; her hands sticky with their releases, her thighs streaked white, her hair tangled and damp with sweat and seed.
Viktor was the last. Gripping her jaw, he forced his cock back between her lips, watching her throat work as he emptied himself with a satisfied grunt. “Good girl,” he murmured, thumbing away a tear. “Now you know your place.” Around them, the men slumped back, lighting cigarettes or swigging from bottles, their laughter lazy now. Lara lay motionless, her breath shallow, her skin a canvas of bruises and cum.
Dimitri wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, grinning. “Still think she’ll last a week?”
Viktor exhaled smoke, his eyes never leaving Lara’s dazed, broken stare. “She’ll last exactly as long as we want her to.”