The process starts

The bamboo frame creaked softly as Kratt (The Butler) adjusted the tension, compressing her chest just a little more. The pressure was beginning to dull into a persistent ache—sharp enough to distract, subtle enough to wear her down over time.

Lara’s jaw tightened, but her smirk never faded.

Kratt retrieved a scroll this time—parchment so aged it looked like it might crumble under breath alone. He held it delicately, reverently, as if he were unveiling scripture. “This,” he said, unrolling it carefully, “was taken from the Temple of Esh-Atar, buried beneath the sands for nearly a thousand years. Only a handful of people in the world can translate this dialect.”

He tilted his head toward her.

“You’re one of them.”

Lara let her gaze fall lazily on the script. A flicker of recognition passed through her eyes—but only for a moment.

“Huh,” she said. “I always assumed ancient **** cults had better penmanship.”

Kratt’s fingers flexed.

The bamboo tightened again.

This time she winced—just a flicker of discomfort—but not enough for him to be satisfied.

“You know what it says,” he said.

“I know what it wants you to think it says,” she replied coolly. “But unless you want to summon a sand-dwelling demon with a thirst for human bone marrow, I’d advise against trying to read it aloud.”

Kratt raised a brow. “Still clinging to humor.”

“I find it helps when I’m bored.”

He gave a nod to the guards. One of them stepped behind her, a cold hand on her jaw, tilting her head back slightly. Kratt stepped closer, holding the scroll just above her face.

“Translate the first line.”

Lara looked at the markings, then at him.

“I will,” she said sweetly. “Right after you loosen this glorified corset. My tits haven’t breathed in five minutes.”

Kratt narrowed his eyes, then—click—the frame ratcheted tighter again.

This time a sound escaped her lips, low and guttural—pain, not surrender.

Kratt leaned in. “There it is.”

Lara blinked through the pain, lips curling. “You’re getting so close. Maybe next time I’ll actually whimper.”

He leaves

The door clicked shut behind him with a heavy finality. No guards. No witnesses. Just him and her.

Kratt stepped into the dim light of the chamber like a man entering a temple. Lara Croft was still bound in the modified chair—arms above her, legs spread and strapped down at the thighs and ankles. Sweat glistened across her flushed skin, her muscles taut from strain and stubborn resistance. But her head was held high. Her jaw was still locked in defiance.

He placed the black case on the table beside her with deliberate slowness. The sound of each latch opening echoed like gunshots in the silence.

Inside: a gleaming chrome vibrator, long and ominous. A coiled rubber plug with a pump attached. And finally, the electric wand—industrial, corded, humming with latent power even before it was turned on.

Kratt picked up the plug and held it before her face. "You know what this does?"

Lara glanced at it lazily. “Party favor?”

He gave a small, humorless smile. “Inflates once inside. The deeper it goes, the more you feel. And it doesn’t stop feeling. Not for hours.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Sounds like your ex-girlfriend’s review of you.”

Next, he lifted the vibrator, holding it in both hands like a weapon. “This,” he said, “is precision-engineered. Variable speeds, curved tip, unrelenting. Designed for long-term, involuntary use.”

“I’ll be sure to leave a five-star review on your Etsy store,” Lara muttered.

He finally picked up the wand, clicking it once so the motor purred to life. The low hum was somehow more threatening than any scream. He moved it just close enough for the sound to vibrate through her senses.

Her body twitched.

But her voice?

“I’ve seen louder toys in toddlers’ hands.”

Kratt stepped forward. “You mock, Lady Croft. But you will not last.”

He set the wand down for now.

The plug came first.

Even with her restraints, she clenched against him as he worked it inside—slow, methodical, watching every muscle in her face.

A small gasp escaped her lips, but she turned it into a scoff.

“Romantic, really. Should’ve brought me flowers too.”

Pump.

Pump.

Her stomach tightened with each swell of the device inside her.

Then came the vibrator—inserted beside the plug, snug, humming already. She shivered as it settled in place, her legs twitching despite herself.

And then… the wand.

Kratt flicked the switch and pressed it directly against her most sensitive spot.

The response was immediate—her spine arched against the chair, her fingers curling tight in their restraints, mouth parting just slightly. But her eyes stayed locked on his, blue fire refusing to flicker.

“You’re trembling,” Kratt observed, almost conversationally.

“I’ve had worse,” Lara bit out, breathless.

“Liar.”

He turned the wand up a notch.

She gasped again, her thighs straining against the cuffs, sweat dripping now down her temples.

But still…

That damn smirk.

“Still not as disappointing as your little monologue earlier,” she breathed, voice shaky but sharp.

Kratt’s jaw flexed. “You are insufferable.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

He worked in silence now—dialing the vibrator higher, pumping the plug once more, adjusting the wand to stay right where it made her twitch the most. Her body betrayed her relentlessly: every muscle trembling, hips bucking despite the restraints, her breath ragged and filled with involuntary whimpers.

But not once—not once—did she beg.

Not once did she plead.

Her sarcasm didn’t fade. If anything, it sharpened with every wave of sensation that wrecked her.

“Careful,” she gasped at one point, voice cracking slightly, “you’ll make me think you’re actually trying.”

Kratt slammed the wand harder against her.

Still—no submission. Only that maddening wit.

Hours seemed to pass in that room. By the end, her body was a wreck—glistening with sweat, trembling violently, soaked with overstimulation. Her voice was hoarse. Her limbs hung limp from exhaustion.

But her eyes…

Still bright.

Still unbroken.

Still smirking.

Kratt finally stepped back, breathing heavier than before. He stared at her, a cocktail of irritation and awe flooding his features.

“You are…” he muttered, almost to himself, “...the most stubborn woman I have ever encountered.”

Lara’s head lolled slightly to one side. Her voice was a rasp now.

“Get used to disappointment.”

He closed the case with a sharp snap, storming out without another word, leaving her strapped, sweaty, and victorious in her defiance.

Alone.

But undefeated.