When the raiding days are over

It had been a long time since Lara Croft could seriously consider herself a Tomb Raider. Even in her early thirties she had noticed that successful plunders were becoming hard to come by, and even riskier to sell. By her late thirties the tombs had all but dried up, and the bills on croft manor had begun to pile up. She had managed to steady the ship for a while by flaunting her body in men’s magazines, but they will only pay so much for a pair of less than perky middle aged tits, even if they were attached to a minor celebrity. Her fall into the underworld came quite naturally. Her last few tomb raids were quite brazen, borderline theft even, and the black market was the only place willing to buy her wares. It quickly became apparent that there was a significant demand for her skills, after all, stealing from a tomb isn’t too different from stealing from anywhere else. At first, Lara would keep to a strict moral code, but the big money isn’t looking to pay for a good Samaritan, so all of that quickly began to slide…

Lara checked out herself out in the mirror before heading out. Her figure hugging black dress left little to the imagination. It only came half way down her ass, so her thong was clearly visible, and it was cut as low as it could get without her breasts actually spilling out. A 45 year old body isn’t supposed to be that tight, but her surgeon had worked a lot of magic. Despite the 2500cc in each balloon-like tit she pondered how they would look even bigger. She continued to justify her addiction to plastic surgery as workplace investments. Certainly, a big cleavage could get her a nice tip after a job, but the seemingly endless operations had cost more money than any of that could pay for. She applied some makeup to the inside of her arm, covering up the needle marks that came from her other addiction. Not a flicker of regret passed through her mind as she dabbed away, after all, everyone else was doing it. She thought ahead to her date for the night, she was meeting Nobu, an African warlord. They had done a lot of business before, and tonight she was bringing him a jade statue she had recently acquired for him in China. She slipped the small statue into her bag, along with a tube of lube. She knew that she could convince him to buy one or two “extra” services.

Just as she is about to leave she hears the doorbell ring. The CCTV shows two teenage boys with what looked like one of her sexy calendars from years gone by, most likely looking for an autograph. She could most likely spare two minutes to give them a scribble before she leaves.