The Cult of the Dragon God

High above the jungles, among the timeless, snow-dusted stone of the Andes Mountains, Lara Croft is about to die. She hangs by one hand over a deadly abyss, pebbles spilling past her and tickling down her bare abdomen and long, scratched legs. The cold wind and pulls at her auburn hair and makes the sweat trickling between her breasts feel like ice.
Somewhere, far below, is the wreckage of the truck that almost ran her over. Vargas saw that truck run her off the cliff from his helicopter. He probably thinks she is dead.

“Not yet,” she grunts through clenched teeth.

She reaches her free hand down to the climbing ax on her belt, gasping with effort as she grabs the handle and swings it upward with all her strength. The sharp ax sparks as it collides with the mountain stone. It holds just as Lara’s fingers slip free of the ledge. She drops a few inches, crying out softly with her weight hanging from the handle of the axe. She gets both hands on the handle and pulls herself even with the axe. She can feel her strength fading into exhaustion. She knows she may only have one try to heave her body up over the ledge.
But Vargas has Samantha Nishimura. Her friend is in grave danger and Lara refuses to die here while Sam faces Vargas alone.

“Bastard!” She cries, pulling with all her strength and rising above the edge of the cliff. She releases the axe and catches the stone ledge. She pulls with all her might, powering through the exhaustion, clawing her way up, scraping her body against the sharp stone until she is able to flop flat onto the precipice.

She lies there gasping with exertion, her legs still dangling over the edge, waiting for one of Vargas’s cultists to grab her or shoot her. When neither happens, Lara slowly lifts her head and looks up. They are gone. All of them. She can’t even hear Vargas’s helicopter over the howling winds.

Lara gathers her strength and pulls herself off the cliff and onto her feet. She staggers past the tire-tracks where the mad cultist drove the cargo truck straight at her. She cannot find her bow, no jacket to warm her against the cold, but she cannot turn back. She has to get to the temple, where Vargas is planning some sick ritual for his insane followers. A ritual involving Sam.

Despite her determination, it is an arduous journey to the mountaintop temple that nearly breaks the young tomb raider. Steep, narrow paths up the mountainsides eat up every remaining bit of her strength. The cold wind leaves her bare arms and legs numb. Her breath steams from her mouth and she shivers against the cold, her hair lashing her face with each new gust.

Lara powers through her weariness by sheer force of will and reaches the upper plateau of Mount Itzacl, where the pyramid temple to Yotzl, the dragon god, still stands against time. The snow-dusted temple is surrounded by ancient ruins, now filled with yurts erected by Vargas’s cult followers. The men, mostly descended from the Izkan tribes of the mountains, wear face paint and jaguar headdresses. Lara knows they are half-crazed with the psychedelic fermented leaf gum called “gol” they constantly chew. They carry wicked knives and old guns and Lara has seen them use both. The women stay in the tents, little more than pleasure slaves and cooks in this twisted patriarchal cult Vargas has created.

She creeps into the camp, moving among the fur-draped yurts, unable to avoid the splashes of frozen blood and the gnawed bones that look suspiciously human. She knows some of the Izkan tribes in the jungle were cannibals long ago. It wouldn’t surprise her if Vargas had renewed the practice among his cultists. She hopes that Sam isn’t on the menu.

As if on cue, a woman’s scream sounds through the camp. It is definitely coming from the temple. The stoned cultists barely even look up from their conversations. They are mostly grouped around two large bonfires at the base of the temple, with a few moving in patrols among the yurts. Lara eyes those patrols, timing her movements from cover to cover with the seemingly random searches of the gun-toting cultists. One patrol approaches so closely that Lara is forced to duck into one of the yurts.

Inside the yurt, a beautiful young woman with a blank expression lies naked among the furs. Green gol-juice drips from the corners of her mouth and her large, bare breasts slowly rise and fall. She seems to be a white woman, her hair pale gold and her body marked with bruises. It takes Lara a moment to realize it is Megan, one of the crew of the transport airplane that had crashed into the jungle days earlier. Vargas must have found her alive at the crash site and given her to one of his warriors as a gift.

The patrol moves past the yurt, the muttering voices of the cultists receding. Lara crawls onto the furs and kneels beside Megan. The woman is awake, but completely out of it on the psychedelic gol. Lara strokes the woman’s cheeks and Megan stirs, her eyes slowly coming into focus as she moans softly, “Fuck me.”

“Megan, no,” says Lara.

Megan grabs at Lara’s arms and tries to sit up. She moans, her lips quivering, her bare breasts heaving with desire. Lara breaks free of Megan and scrambles away. She hears the poor girl still moaning, “Fuck me” as Lara crawls out of the warmth of the yurt and back into the howling cold. The tomb raider tries to shake off the sight of the drugged woman begging for sex. Lara knows that she has to get inside the temple. She has to save Sam.

Another patrol moves past and Lara makes a run for it, dashing across the open ground towards the temple. She is relieved to see that there is a lower entrance and she will not have to find some way up the outside of the temple without being noticed.

The temple’s passages are claustrophobically narrow, but it is nothing compared to some of the tight situations Lara has been in before. She moves deeper into the temple, following the sound of murmuring voices echoing through the ancient stone. LED light strips have been haphazardly glued to the walls to provide some illumination. Ever few paces, the corridor branches off or loops back around, adding to the confusing, maze-like feeling.

She reaches an area where the temple widens into an actual chamber and spots a collapsible ladder leading up to a higher level inside the temple. It is being guarded by a single cultist, potbellied and slovenly, his scraggly beard stained with the green gol juice. He has a gun, but it hangs on his back. His knife is in a sheath on his belt. His eyelids are so heavy the bronze-skinned man looks as if he might fall asleep on his feet.

“Just enough cover,” whispers Lara to herself as she plots her movements through the chamber to approach the man from behind.

She steps out of her hiding spot and begins to move behind cover. She glances warily at the other tunnels feeding into the chamber, but she doesn’t have time to worry about them too much as she crouches behind crates. She steals out from this bit of cover and moves behind a pile of used welding tanks, the strong tang of acetylene in the air. She crouches low, drawing her folding knife from her pocket. She snaps it open and prepares to make the next dash from cover to her final position. The pot-bellied cultist standing guard over the ladder remains completely oblivious.

“He’ll pay with his life,” she whispers.

The barrel of the gun presses against the back of Lara’s head. She freezes, knowing that one wrong move could leave her brains splattered over the welding tanks. A brown-skinned hand reaches past her and takes the folding knife from her hand.

“Stand up. Turn around.” The voice is tinged with amusement. “Caught you good, bitch.”

She slowly stands, finally alerting the guard by the ladder, who lifts his gun and hurries over with a smile spreading across his fat face.

“What you got here, Migl?” Asks the pot-bellied cultist. “She a pretty one.”

Migl steps around beside his companion and she sees a gaunt Izkan cultist with deep-set eyes and stringy black hair. His face is covered in ritual scars that accentuate the shape of his skull beneath his features.

“You sleep on guard again, Palo,” says Migl. “I not come, you get stabbed by pretty white woman.”

“Should we take her to Vargas?” Palo asks, lecherously looking Lara over from her boots, her scratched, bare legs, up to her shorts, torn shirt, and ample breasts. His gaze seems to remain on her heavy breasts and nipples straining beneath her tight-fitting top.

“Give her gol,” says Migl. “We have fun with her.”

“Fuck you,” cries Lara.

“Feisty,” laughs Migl, thumbing off the safety of his gun and grabbing Lara by the throat. “We tame you, bitch.”

His eyes are black and insane. His lips are stained green at the corners with the gol juice. She can smell it on him, a minty, herbal, alcoholic stink. Palo, drowsy-eyed and laughing, opens a leather sack tied to his belt and pinches out a measure of the gol gum. It looks dusty and almost black in color. Lara tries to turn away. She knows once that gol is in her mouth she will begin to lose her inhibitions.

She kicks at Migl and he slams her back against the stone wall of the temple. His smile reveals rotten teeth. He keeps her pinned to the wall with his hand around her throat as he presses the cold barrel of his pistol under her shirt, poking at her breasts with the metal.

“Open pretty mouth,” he growls.

“I’m not making this easier for you,” Lara chokes out.

“Good, we like fighter,” says Palo and he tries to shove the pinch of gol into her mouth. She purses her lips and twists her head. Migl’s grip tightens, cutting off her ability to breathe. Her face turns red and she gasps, opening her mouth to cry out. Palo’s filthy fingers push into her mouth, mashing the bittersweet leaf gum against her tongue. She tries to spit it out, even as she is choking, but Palo’s fat hand clamps over her mouth.

Migl loosens his grip and says, “Chew it. Make it faster.”

She looks at them both with fury in her eyes as the herbal drug sits on her tongue and begins to react with her saliva. She tries not to swallow, but the gol leaf begins to make her whole body feel hot. Her eyelids droop, although she does not feel the urge to sleep. Worse, is the throbbing in her pussy. Her nipples stiffen and her heart beats faster as she feels a hot ache of desire building inside her.

“Sam,” she croaks, the name muffled by Palo’s hand.

“What she say?” Migl asks his companion.

“Dunno,” says Palo, finally pulling his hand away from Lara’s face. “What you say?”

“I came for Sam,” says Lara, her words thickened by the gol juice beginning to ooze down her throat and warm her belly. She chews the gum, more of the oily juice spilling into her mouth and making her feverish with lust. “Sam. Take me to Sam.”

“You want Sam? I have Sam.” Palo takes a step back. He unzips his stained, patchwork trousers and takes out a dark brown cock. It’s fat and hard in his grasp. Lara is not surprised. The gol-chewers walk around in a constant state of arousal. It is why they have earned their reputation as insatiable rapists. Even remember this does not dilute the sudden wave of desire that sweeps over the tomb raider. She imagines a hundred things she could do with Palo and his fat cock.

“I think she wants Sam,” says Palo. “Let her go. Let her get some.”

“No,” snaps Migl. He squeezes Lara’s cheeks in his bony fingers and turns her to look at him. “You take off clothes, right? You feel all hot. I know. Big gol juice for first time. You want it bad. All hot.”

He releases her and steps back. He shoves his pistol into his pocket and motions for her to take her clothes off. Palo stands beside Migl, a dull smirk on his pudgy face as he languidly strokes his fat cock.

Lara trembles at the strange realization that these men are handsome and they can give her so much pleasure. Migl is right, she is so warm. So overdressed in this stifling heat. The only way she can escape would be to undress.
She runs her hands over her body, moaning at the feel of her fingers slipping under her shirt. She curls her grasp beneath it, pulling upwards and over the smooth fabric of her athletic bra. The two men grin their gol-rotted grins as she shucks her shirt off and tosses it aside. She squeezes her breasts through her athletic bra, feeling her mounds rise to the narrow cleavage of the tight garment.

“Yes, yes,” says Migl, rubbing at his crotch. “Show us the tits. Show us, pretty.”

“Yessss,” she hisses, curling her fingers under the bra and pulling the cups upwards. Her breasts are stretched painfully, holding the cups until she has lifted the bra almost to her chin. Her soft mounds marked with tan nipples finally drop free, bouncing back into their natural place, her nipples thick and erect. She tosses aside the bra.

Palo cannot keep away. Breathing heavily, he grabs her tits in his pudgy hands and begins to squeeze and caress them. He drops to his knees, kissing Lara’s toned belly, burying his face in her ample titflesh and moaning lustily. His hot tongue roams between her tits, flicking at her fat nipples before he chooses one to suck and the other to pinch and pull.

“Turn around,” he moans, rough hands guiding Lara to face the wall. Palo hooks his fingers into her shorts, not even bothering to unbuckle her belt as he yanks them down over Lara’s shapely, firm bum. The first two tugs reveal the tops of her cheeks and the crescent of her crack. He pulls lower, squeezing her creamy bum out of the shorts and peeling the wedge of her panties out of her crack. Her shorts drop down Lara’s long, muscular legs as she feels the drooling cultist smack kisses against her bottom.

Migl closes in beside her, grabbing a handful of Lara’s hair and turning her face to him.

“We going to fuck you good,” says Migl. “You forget all about Sam. We fuck you until you can’t walk.”

“Nooo,” moans Lara, but her body betrays her true desire. Still holding her auburn hair tightly in one hand, Migly reaches his other around her hip and begins to rub between her legs. His callused fingers strum at the trimmed patch of her cunt, brushing her clit and sliding down to her soaking pussy. He pushes two fingers inside her and as she moans, he leans in and kisses her. His tongue slides into Lara’s mouth and shares the sickly taste of the gol between their swirling tongues.

Behind Lara, Palo massages and spreads Lara’s arse. He kisses her cheeks and runs his tongue down her crack. She moans against Migl’s kiss, her tits pressed against the cold stone of the wall as one cultist fingers her pussy and the other sloppily eats her firm bum. Defiled, abused, and afraid, she nevertheless responds with lust, moving her hips, bouncing her bum in Palo’s face as she feels his drool spilling down her crack. His tongue presses into her hot clenched hole and instantly more of the gol juice is absorbed into her body. She craves them both, moaning with lust and fucking against Migl’s fingers.

“Yeah, you get it,” laughs Migl, yanking her head back by her hair and sucking nastily at her neck and shoulder. “Cum for us, you pretty slut. Cum and then we fuck you. Maybe make you suck cock.”

Lara tries to fight the pleasure building to a crescendo inside her. Each stab of Palo’s tongue screwing into her arsehole and each thrust of Migl’s fingers plundering her pussy are driving pure pleasure towards its peak. Her face is hot with shame, or maybe just the flush of the gol, and she cannot resist them. She bucks her hips, fucking against both men as her juices drip down her inner thighs. She fills her climax coming and she begins to cry loudly with her pleasure.

“Yes! Ooohhhh, god, yes! You dirty bastards! I can’t… can’t hold back!” Her back arches and she thrusts her bottom back hard into Palo’s face. His tongue is deep and she can feel it wriggling against the orgasmic clench of her pucker. At the same time as he is screwing her arse with his tongue, her pussy burst with pleasure. Her inner channel clutches tight against Migl’s grimy fingers as he pumps them in and out of her cunt. She wails, “I’m cummming!”

Migl clamps a kiss against her mouth and she instantly yields to it, moaning against his lips and tangling her tongue with his. The waves of pleasure are heightened by the gol to a dreamy warmth that pulses so powerfully she can see flashes of indigo, pink, and chartreuse spots at the edges of her vision. She gulps the gol that flows into her mouth. She embraces the filth of the two cultists, writhing against them as she cums so hard her legs begin to shake.

Migl withdraws his fingers from Lara’s pussy and raises his glistening digits to between them. He pushes them into her mouth and she looks into his black, gol-addicted eyes as she sucks her own nectar from his fingers. Palo stands on her other side and she turns to him to kiss him, tasting her arse on his tongue as it invades her mouth. Migl gives her firm bum a smack.

“Now we have some real fun,” he says. “Now we give you what you deserve, Lara Croft.”

Her eyes widen for a moment at being recognized by the men, but as they both begin to fondle her and kiss her naked body, she gives in to her desires and only moans with pleasure. Whatever the two degenerate cultists have in mind, Lara is entirely at their mercy.