SidaivaRevaso
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- Jun 3, 2024
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Deep in the Bolivian jungle, where nobody could hear her scream, Lara Croft had fallen head-first into the trumpet-shaped corolla of an enormous flower.
She was still clutching the Golden Skull of Intil’Nadi, but while fleeing the Sacred Temple she had slipped off a ledge and into a strange patch of mutant flora—including the flower that enveloped her now. When she fell in, the petals had clenched around her and immobilized the top half of her body. Meanwhile, her lower half—from her tight khaki shorts to her black combat boots—remained exposed to the elements. Her legs flailed in the air as she struggled to escape the flower’s tightening clutches.
It was pitch-black inside the flower, which made Lara feel as if she’d been blindfolded. And lacking vision, her other senses had become more acute—especially her sense of touch. So when she felt something slip lightly along her bare thighs, she jerked, spasmed, and shrieked.
She couldn’t tell what it was at first, but as it began to wrap around her thighs, and as she felt the brushing sensation of leaves against her skin, she knew it must be a creeping vine. It continued to wind around her legs, drawing them together until they couldn’t bend at all.
Lara could do nothing but wiggle and grunt, struggling fruitlessly against the vine’s tight bondage and the absurdity of her situation. The muscles of her toned legs stretched and strained against the vine’s constriction, but she could do nothing to free herself.
Lara Croft had become the jungle’s captive.
The idea was bizarre, unfathomable, but when she felt the sensation of another vine sliding down her right thigh and across her knee, she knew it to be true. The vine continued its passage, and before long was gliding along Lara’s white sock and onto her sturdy black boot. Then, with remarkable dexterity, it slipped underneath the boot’s laces and with a single, vicious jerk, it ripped right through them.
Lara felt her boot loosen appreciably, and when she noticed it being pulled away by the eager vine, her heart skipped a beat.
She suspected now that this was no ordinary jungle. This jungle was conscious. It had intentions. Desires. Perhaps even… fetishes.
Her suspicions were confirmed when she felt the tip of the vine drag along the length of her socked foot, which jerked and twitched at the sudden, ticklish sensation. The sensation lingered even after contact, as if the vine were leaving the specter of its touch behind. But Lara forgot this when the vine applied a second delicate touch to her socked sole.
Like one long, nimble finger, the vine teased and stroked, skittered and danced, drawing impossibly elegant designs of torture on Lara’s ticklish soles. Inside the flower she writhed and cackled helplessly as her socked foot jerked and twitched in a futile effort to escape the torment.
The vine’s movements were impossibly precise, calculated to discover Lara’s most sensitive areas, and even through the fabric of the sock she could feel its every incisive touch. So when she noticed the vine slipping away from her sole and back up to the top of her long white sock, she screamed and thrashed as much as she could—which was, given her bondage, not much. The vine slipped deftly beneath the elastic band of Lara’s sock, and with a smooth, sensual glide, it ran down the surface of her calf, then past her ankle and down to her heel.
Finally, with an abrupt flourish, it yanked the sock from Lara’s foot.
With her slender bare foot now exposed, her sexy toes wiggling in the air, Lara felt achingly vulnerable. Dread overwhelmed her, and she groaned into the darkness of the flower. Resourcefulness had always been her calling card, but now she recognized the hopelessness of her situation, and her inability to influence events had become a humiliating rebuke to her reputation as a plucky woman-of-action. Moreover, since her sense of self-worth had always been attached to that reputation, the experience of having her foot unwillingly revealed would now be forever associated with feelings of weakness and embarrassment.
She was so steeped in shame that she momentarily forgot about the vine. But then, like a victim of trauma, she was flooded by sensory memories of its ticklish assault on her socked sole. Now barefoot, she shuddered to imagine how much more intense the sensations were about to be.
Then she froze, immobilized by fear, having experienced an uncanny intuition: for she knew, without needing to see it, that the vine now hovered inches from her bare sole, giving off a palpable, predatory electricity. Her heart raced in anticipation of the vine’s inevitable touch, and a bead of sweat trickled across her temple. She tried to slow her breathing, knowing the importance of regulating it during moments of heightened—
But without warning the vine brushed against her sole, jolting her body into rigid attention and throwing her eyes wide in terror. Her foot flexed back and her toes splayed wide, and her initial yelp vanished in a cacophony of startled guffaws as the vine began to whirl along the tender surface of its target. Relentless waves of ticklish sensation surged against her sensitive skin, and with a series of ineffective judders, her foot sought to escape the vine’s ticklish onslaught.
On her heel, along her arch, in between her toes…
At no point could Lara anticipate which spots the vine might tickle next, or how long it might focus attention on the spots it chose. She lived in a state of constant anxiety, unable to detect any pattern to the vine’s attacks—and down in the darkness of the flower, anxiety had become for Lara a physical thing, pressing down on her and shortening her breath. She sucked in desperate lungfuls of air and prayed for release as her chest heaved in distress. Yet at all times, her distress was tempered by feelings of tingly pleasure—unbearable pleasure, but pleasure nonetheless. Bewildered by this mixture of emotion, she laughed and laughed as the vine continued to dance along her sole.
Every now and then the sun burst through holes in the canopy above, dappling Lara’s pale bare foot with radiant light and accentuating its beauty. Her foot was long and lithesome, fetching and flexuous, and to see it in motion was a delicious, seductive sight. Despite being hidden away in combat boots most of the time, it was clearly pampered in between missions. Now, the vine was expressing its own appreciation for this beautiful foot, caressing it with loving, ticklish sweeps. Each brush and stroke sent Lara into hysterics of laughter and full body spasms, but with her legs frozen in a vise-grip, she could do nothing to evade her fate.
As the minutes dragged on like the vine against her soles, Lara felt her muscles slackening and her body dripping with sweat, running out of stamina. She was a fit woman, but there was only so much a person could take.
With hopeless desperation—as a last-ditch effort to stop the onslaught—Lara tried clenching her toes around the vine as it explored the crevices between them. She managed only to brush and stroke the rigid stalk with the tips of her pretty toes, but oddly enough, the vine seemed to feel her toes against it, and to Lara’s horror, she realized that the vine was thickening, engorging.
It was girthy now, far girthier than before, and Lara could even feel it throbbing and pulsing against the sensitive flesh of her feet. And at this point, rather than drag its tip ticklishly along her sole, it started to run its girthy length horizontally against the soft middle of her sole, generating a warm friction. Involuntarily, Lara bent her foot and felt a rush of vague, embarrassing pleasure coursing through her body. Soon—to her surprise—she was helplessly horny and wet.
Then, as if responding to an unspoken signal, the vine rushed away from her foot. The next time Lara felt its touch, it was against the inside of her bare thigh, and as she moaned softly with unexpected pleasure, the vine rushed inexorably under the hem of her shorts and toward the center of her pleasure. It nestled against Lara’s pubic mound and began to vibrate with impossible speed, and almost immediately, her soft mewling transformed into a ragged gasp of shocked euphoria as the thrum of the vine sent waves of arousal through her soaking ****. She tried not to acknowledge how much the vine was turning her on, but it was impossible to ignore the messy slickness of her pussy, its throbbing ecstasy. Her eyes closed shut and her mouth opened wide—and then, with absolute abandon, she let loose a feral cry of pleasure that even the most accomplished of her past lovers would have been jealous to hear.
And then Lara came. The orgasm hit her stunningly fast, causing her hips to arch and her toes to curl. It resonated through her body, and in the darkness of the flower she felt the margins of her body evaporate as she became one with the jungle’s primal intensities. As she came, she also be-came.
And being so caught up in the euphoria of this transformation, she was slow to realize that the vine no longer encircled her legs and the flower’s petals no longer cinched her tight. The flower was slowly slumping to the ground, and in moments Lara had been gently deposited on the soft jungle soil. She sprawled there smiling, gazing dreamily upwards.
Above her the flower drooped pendulously, its energy spent.
Lara too was exhausted, and she lay there a while, trembling and whimpering in a blissful afterglow. Eventually she stood and reclaimed her discarded sock and boot, and as she walked away, as a gesture of tender farewell, she reached back and let her fingers softly trail against the stem of the plant that had shown her the jungle’s mysterious ways.
She was still clutching the Golden Skull of Intil’Nadi, but while fleeing the Sacred Temple she had slipped off a ledge and into a strange patch of mutant flora—including the flower that enveloped her now. When she fell in, the petals had clenched around her and immobilized the top half of her body. Meanwhile, her lower half—from her tight khaki shorts to her black combat boots—remained exposed to the elements. Her legs flailed in the air as she struggled to escape the flower’s tightening clutches.
It was pitch-black inside the flower, which made Lara feel as if she’d been blindfolded. And lacking vision, her other senses had become more acute—especially her sense of touch. So when she felt something slip lightly along her bare thighs, she jerked, spasmed, and shrieked.
She couldn’t tell what it was at first, but as it began to wrap around her thighs, and as she felt the brushing sensation of leaves against her skin, she knew it must be a creeping vine. It continued to wind around her legs, drawing them together until they couldn’t bend at all.
Lara could do nothing but wiggle and grunt, struggling fruitlessly against the vine’s tight bondage and the absurdity of her situation. The muscles of her toned legs stretched and strained against the vine’s constriction, but she could do nothing to free herself.
Lara Croft had become the jungle’s captive.
The idea was bizarre, unfathomable, but when she felt the sensation of another vine sliding down her right thigh and across her knee, she knew it to be true. The vine continued its passage, and before long was gliding along Lara’s white sock and onto her sturdy black boot. Then, with remarkable dexterity, it slipped underneath the boot’s laces and with a single, vicious jerk, it ripped right through them.
Lara felt her boot loosen appreciably, and when she noticed it being pulled away by the eager vine, her heart skipped a beat.
She suspected now that this was no ordinary jungle. This jungle was conscious. It had intentions. Desires. Perhaps even… fetishes.
Her suspicions were confirmed when she felt the tip of the vine drag along the length of her socked foot, which jerked and twitched at the sudden, ticklish sensation. The sensation lingered even after contact, as if the vine were leaving the specter of its touch behind. But Lara forgot this when the vine applied a second delicate touch to her socked sole.
Like one long, nimble finger, the vine teased and stroked, skittered and danced, drawing impossibly elegant designs of torture on Lara’s ticklish soles. Inside the flower she writhed and cackled helplessly as her socked foot jerked and twitched in a futile effort to escape the torment.
The vine’s movements were impossibly precise, calculated to discover Lara’s most sensitive areas, and even through the fabric of the sock she could feel its every incisive touch. So when she noticed the vine slipping away from her sole and back up to the top of her long white sock, she screamed and thrashed as much as she could—which was, given her bondage, not much. The vine slipped deftly beneath the elastic band of Lara’s sock, and with a smooth, sensual glide, it ran down the surface of her calf, then past her ankle and down to her heel.
Finally, with an abrupt flourish, it yanked the sock from Lara’s foot.
With her slender bare foot now exposed, her sexy toes wiggling in the air, Lara felt achingly vulnerable. Dread overwhelmed her, and she groaned into the darkness of the flower. Resourcefulness had always been her calling card, but now she recognized the hopelessness of her situation, and her inability to influence events had become a humiliating rebuke to her reputation as a plucky woman-of-action. Moreover, since her sense of self-worth had always been attached to that reputation, the experience of having her foot unwillingly revealed would now be forever associated with feelings of weakness and embarrassment.
She was so steeped in shame that she momentarily forgot about the vine. But then, like a victim of trauma, she was flooded by sensory memories of its ticklish assault on her socked sole. Now barefoot, she shuddered to imagine how much more intense the sensations were about to be.
Then she froze, immobilized by fear, having experienced an uncanny intuition: for she knew, without needing to see it, that the vine now hovered inches from her bare sole, giving off a palpable, predatory electricity. Her heart raced in anticipation of the vine’s inevitable touch, and a bead of sweat trickled across her temple. She tried to slow her breathing, knowing the importance of regulating it during moments of heightened—
But without warning the vine brushed against her sole, jolting her body into rigid attention and throwing her eyes wide in terror. Her foot flexed back and her toes splayed wide, and her initial yelp vanished in a cacophony of startled guffaws as the vine began to whirl along the tender surface of its target. Relentless waves of ticklish sensation surged against her sensitive skin, and with a series of ineffective judders, her foot sought to escape the vine’s ticklish onslaught.
On her heel, along her arch, in between her toes…
At no point could Lara anticipate which spots the vine might tickle next, or how long it might focus attention on the spots it chose. She lived in a state of constant anxiety, unable to detect any pattern to the vine’s attacks—and down in the darkness of the flower, anxiety had become for Lara a physical thing, pressing down on her and shortening her breath. She sucked in desperate lungfuls of air and prayed for release as her chest heaved in distress. Yet at all times, her distress was tempered by feelings of tingly pleasure—unbearable pleasure, but pleasure nonetheless. Bewildered by this mixture of emotion, she laughed and laughed as the vine continued to dance along her sole.
Every now and then the sun burst through holes in the canopy above, dappling Lara’s pale bare foot with radiant light and accentuating its beauty. Her foot was long and lithesome, fetching and flexuous, and to see it in motion was a delicious, seductive sight. Despite being hidden away in combat boots most of the time, it was clearly pampered in between missions. Now, the vine was expressing its own appreciation for this beautiful foot, caressing it with loving, ticklish sweeps. Each brush and stroke sent Lara into hysterics of laughter and full body spasms, but with her legs frozen in a vise-grip, she could do nothing to evade her fate.
As the minutes dragged on like the vine against her soles, Lara felt her muscles slackening and her body dripping with sweat, running out of stamina. She was a fit woman, but there was only so much a person could take.
With hopeless desperation—as a last-ditch effort to stop the onslaught—Lara tried clenching her toes around the vine as it explored the crevices between them. She managed only to brush and stroke the rigid stalk with the tips of her pretty toes, but oddly enough, the vine seemed to feel her toes against it, and to Lara’s horror, she realized that the vine was thickening, engorging.
It was girthy now, far girthier than before, and Lara could even feel it throbbing and pulsing against the sensitive flesh of her feet. And at this point, rather than drag its tip ticklishly along her sole, it started to run its girthy length horizontally against the soft middle of her sole, generating a warm friction. Involuntarily, Lara bent her foot and felt a rush of vague, embarrassing pleasure coursing through her body. Soon—to her surprise—she was helplessly horny and wet.
Then, as if responding to an unspoken signal, the vine rushed away from her foot. The next time Lara felt its touch, it was against the inside of her bare thigh, and as she moaned softly with unexpected pleasure, the vine rushed inexorably under the hem of her shorts and toward the center of her pleasure. It nestled against Lara’s pubic mound and began to vibrate with impossible speed, and almost immediately, her soft mewling transformed into a ragged gasp of shocked euphoria as the thrum of the vine sent waves of arousal through her soaking ****. She tried not to acknowledge how much the vine was turning her on, but it was impossible to ignore the messy slickness of her pussy, its throbbing ecstasy. Her eyes closed shut and her mouth opened wide—and then, with absolute abandon, she let loose a feral cry of pleasure that even the most accomplished of her past lovers would have been jealous to hear.
And then Lara came. The orgasm hit her stunningly fast, causing her hips to arch and her toes to curl. It resonated through her body, and in the darkness of the flower she felt the margins of her body evaporate as she became one with the jungle’s primal intensities. As she came, she also be-came.
And being so caught up in the euphoria of this transformation, she was slow to realize that the vine no longer encircled her legs and the flower’s petals no longer cinched her tight. The flower was slowly slumping to the ground, and in moments Lara had been gently deposited on the soft jungle soil. She sprawled there smiling, gazing dreamily upwards.
Above her the flower drooped pendulously, its energy spent.
Lara too was exhausted, and she lay there a while, trembling and whimpering in a blissful afterglow. Eventually she stood and reclaimed her discarded sock and boot, and as she walked away, as a gesture of tender farewell, she reached back and let her fingers softly trail against the stem of the plant that had shown her the jungle’s mysterious ways.
