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Description
Link to Part 1: www.deviantart.com/vistavista5…

Some people light up a room simply by walking in. Lara Croft usually taking the term literally through a hail of gunfire and smoke. Stepping onto the scene of Surrey’s newest sports bar, it was obvious the brunette beauty had other means of turning heads without ever firing off a round.

In record scratching style, the stocking of silverware and overturning of stools ceased. Lara striding across the dining room floor, hardly hindered by her rugged calf-high boots. Snug stretchy leather moved with the motions of her long lithe legs that tightened further along the rounds of her backend. The highest button of her half open shirt hung on by a thread, revealing ample cleavage of the woman’s prodigious bust. A purple pushup bra, that bolstered her chest further, showed through the sheer linen fabric in peekaboo fashion. She had her biker jacket slung over her shoulder and a large brown leather backpack over her other. A bag that was equipped with straps, buckles and weathered by heavy usage of her vast travels. Her hair was in its trademark braid, messy from her brake-neck commute. Chestnut strands, tinged in auburn, caressed her cheeks and framed up her face. Her eyes hidden under red circular lensed glasses. Her lips the color plum. She bared no emotion, not a hint of a smile.

(WHAP!)

Lara slammed the brochure onto the bar in front of a fat older mustached man she assumed was a person of authority.

“I’d like to request an interview for the position of server.”

The man who had been gaping at Lara ever since she burst through the doors, picked his jaw up from the bar and gathered his wits.

“Okaaay, why don’t we set up over here for a little chit chat?” He said still taken aback.

He sat down with a younger dopier looking guy and Lara as they reviewed the Tomb Raider’s application.

“Let’s see here.. discovering the Atlantian Pyramid, fluent in Ancient Greek.. and you wrote down that you fly helicopters too.”

“Single and tandem rotors.”

“I see. Well this is all very impressive Miss Croft.”

“Lady Croft, but you can call me Lara.”

“This is all very very impressive Lara, but we have to ask, do you have any serving experience?” The younger dopey man asked.

Lara’s eyes narrowed. They were testing her to see if she’d crack. She’s been tortured within inches of her life. If they thought trying to flub her up was going to work, they were gravely mistaken.

“No. But I have been cared for tooth and nail by my butler. I very much know how matters of these sorts are handled.” She said very direct not having the slightest idea what Winston did.

“Well maybe we should hire your butler!” The dopey man said, prompting the two guys to chuckle.

Any warmth residing in Lara’s eyes vanished. The Glock 19 concealed in her bag was just a reach away. Usually reserved for mindless mercenaries trying their best to gun her down, these two morons possessing that same type of energy, real NPC vibes. Not that she would dare do something so psychotic as take out a couple civilians in cold blood, but she could imagine it at the very least.

“I’m kidding of course.” The dopey guy said as the two men regained their composure.

Lara eased up on her impure intentions, but hypothetically speaking, she was going to shoot the dopey one first, playfully pointing and firing a hand gestured gun aimed at his face.

“And you even wrote down your vital statistics.” The fat guy said raising a brow. “We didn’t ask for that but I must say these figures are very impressive.”

“The only question is Lara, when can you start?”

Lara looked down at her phone. She received a text from her associate Zip. He had been tracking leads on an artifact of great interest.

‘Back channels are chattering. You’re not going to believe where that Aztec relic ended up!?’

Lara texted back, ‘Don’t care. Bugger off!’ Then looked up at the two men, “I don’t know gents, how about right now?”

Clueless to Hooters just hours ago, it was simple enough to figure out by the name alone that the restaurant was pushing more than just beer and wings. The signature orange and white uniform that she now dawned affirmed those thoughts to the fullest. The famed adventurer was very familiar with marketing herself with the same kind of nudge and wink. While raiding tombs and waiting tables couldn’t be more different, playing the part of provocateur was very much Lara’s game.

Making final adjustments, she checked herself out in the bathroom’s full-length mirror from head to toe. White Reebok high-tops and cotton gym socks, stylish and sensible footwear for the day’s demands. Sneakers that rose to suntan colored pantyhose, a second skin enveloping the length of her legs.

From the rear, the hem of her shorts ascended beyond flattery. Crossing a line of modesty to someplace more cheeky. The swell of her bum being that literal and figurative waypoint. A border that Lara has flirted with as a lady in the field, barely, but always able to keep her curves covered in her high cut khaki tan shorts while on an expedition or big dig.

But now the lines had been redrawn, as her bubble shaped butt popped out of the new boundaries of her super cute albeit very scant orange poly-cotton bottoms.

Easy to see that she was a woman in peak physical condition. Prominent glutes gained through a lifetime of disciplined training. The well-to-do heiress afforded the very best resources in conditioning a body fit to her exacting standards. An Olympic grade physique with the talent to match. A woman who certainly could rake in plenty of gold if she wasn’t preoccupied plundering it from the depths of long forgotten tombs.

But now in her tiny Hooter’s trunks, her pedigree backside was looking less first-class as it was coach. Resembling a big and trashy dump-truck dunka-dunk booty commonly seen shamelessly twerking in the red light side of town. Tawdry orange hot pants had that yassified effect, even for the most prestigious of derrières. Her purple thong straps arching from each side of her waistline and down her hips was the icing on her cake. A 90’s era fashion trend that aligned nicely with Lara’s overall ascetic.

Beyond that, her midriff laid plenty exposed to showcase a diamond adorning her navel. A gem handed down generations from Lara’s great great grandmother Lady Victoria Dubois that she repurposed into the more modern arrangement. A family heirloom now dangling about like some cheap knockoff haggled off the street.

Lara’s body was tight, but her uniform proved to be tighter. Snapping, pushing, and pulling everything into place became a real task. Her shorts rode up her rear while her dangerously low plunging top threatened to bare all. A fully filled out shirt with its stretched Hooters logo compliments of Lara’s two biggest assets in her pursuit of gratuity. A certain feature that made her the prototypical employee. Lady Croft’s outward projecting moneymakers, ready for service, propped up and pushed together by her custom tungsten alloy underwire super-boost bra. Her lips curling into the slyest of smirks, very well aware that she was a maestro at orchestrating her top tier talent. One of her tried-and-true methods of elevating her bust-line was to drop a band size or two. Giving herself a confining fit that redirected the mass of her rack nearly out of the top of her low cut tee. Creating an crescendoing form of uplift akin to a corset. Boob flesh that ascended to her clavicles, side-spilling out of her bra/tank combo. Rising and not so much falling with each of her constricted breaths. An ensemble of seam-straining tightness that made Lara go from busty to certifiably stacked, honestly looking like she was one inhale away from popping open like a can of croissants.

“Croft!” The manager barked through the door. “We’re filling up fast. Need you out here taking some orders.”

Lara chose the best, or perhaps worst day to start her new job. The biggest football game of the season was on all the screens. The International Accounting Convention, for whatever reason, was held in Surrey that weekend. And Hooters was offering a 2-for-1 special. The perfect storm.

Not daunted in the least, Lara was accustomed to hitting the ground running. Never waiting a table in her life was no matter, she thrived when it came to thinking on her feet. Picking up very quick that this particular game was all about customer service, meaning grabbing some fast cash meant dialing up the charm.

Table 7-

Customer- “Did it hurt when you fell from heaven?”

LC- “Did it hurt when your mum dropped you on your head?”

Table 12-

Customer- “I think someone must have stolen the stars and put them in your eyes.”

LC- “The same person that nabbed your balls and put them in your mouth?”

Table 9-

Customer- “I’ll have a dozen wings and a beer.”

LC- “A balloon full of piss makes a bigger splash than your entire meaningless existence will on this planet.”

While Lara’s social skills needed some fine tuning, there was not a complaint in the house. Patrons were eating up the rude waitress ‘routine’, and their saucy server was giving them plenty to chew on while they mulled over the all-important decision of what to order.

Meanwhile, Lara remained more determined than ever to make that almighty dollar. Morally grey at heart and a chronic kleptomaniac to boot, the former treasure hunter seemed to have no bones about lining her pockets by any means possible. Since her uniform didn’t actually have any pockets, customer cash began to build up down her shorts and in her bra. The only time Lara made trips to the register was to knick some of the bigger bills stowed at the bottom of the tray. Making routine drop-offs to her locker, her brown leather bag began to steadily fill up. Consequences were simply not part of the Tomb Raider’s lexicon. In terms of being egregiously short at the end her shift, Lara was a ‘cross that bridge when she got to it’ type of gal.

Loot was not the only thing Lara was amassing, but attention too. With ogling eyes coming from every direction, she could see that these simps were thirsty in more ways than one. Knowing that the large lot of wankers were making mental deposits into their spank bank every time she strutted by. Feeling generous, she decided to fully fund their thoughts, bending over to pick up a napkin that ‘accidentally’ fell to the ground. At full tilt, Lara lingered for a short while, wagging her tail feather, demonstrating the outline of her femininity gift wrapped in a little orange package. An undeniable sight, but also a heads-up to the other servers that may try to infringe on her territory. Either way, Lara Croft was making her presence felt.

“Some of the other girls are concerned about your.. appearance.” The manager confronted Lara as she was just about to make another withdraw from the register.

“Oh? Go on..” She said prepared to crush his windpipe and preemptively defend herself against the slightest hint of sexual harassment.

“It’s the push-up bra Lara… They think it’s an unfair advantage since.. ermm.. you’re already working with a stacked deck.”

While many people have had the twisted fantasy of killing their boss, Lara found the justification to do just that. But in a rare show of restraint, the femme fatale opted for a less lethal approach.

“How unthoughtful of me.” Lara said as cool as a cucumber. “I would never intentionally attempt to raise such a ruckus.. certainly not on my first day.” She reached behind her back and under her shirt with a snap of her finger she unclasped her bra. Then with a quick tug, she pulled it free as if it were a magic trick. Like a cherry on top, Lara draped the E-cup brassiere over her dumbstruck manager’s head.

Lara knew the one thing that jealous twats hated more than anything was a healthy dose of passive aggression. If those little tramps didn’t want her to wear her bra, then that’s what those skinny-fat skanks were going to get, as she sauntered off side-eying the queen cunt she suspected was leading the outcry.

Truth being, Lara was quite friendly when she wanted to be. But when crossed, she found herself a woman of a different character. One that went to a very dark place. As it stood, Lara had a zero tolerance policy for mean-girl cliques. To imagine, the controversy stemming from a sorry display of boob envy.. at all places, a bloody Hooters!

Sizing up some of her workmate’s busts for herself, she spotted a few suspected boob jobs amongst the bunch. Some good, others not so much, as she looked down affirming her own aftermarket’s were head and shoulders better than the rest. Not at all vanity, it was just plain true. Shelling out 100 grand a piece for the upgrades (another story for another time), expecting the very best product in return was certainly within warrant.

Lacking support from her fellow servers, and also in the form of a bra, Lara moved about the dining room freer than ever. Her gravity defying ta-ta’s buoyantly bobbed with each bouncy step. Getting creative, she propped a serving tray under her jugs. Their outward shape and sheer size ensured her rack bopped onto the platter as if she was playing a very provocative percussion instrument.

Freshly emboldened she really tested the waters adorning herself with a pair of barbell nipple studs that were easily visible through the tight white top. But perhaps Lara went overboard in a real ‘oppsies’ moment when she spilled beer down her shirt.

“It was no accident!” A particularly nasty server complained to the manager. “She was leaned up against the bar with a pitcher of beer in each hand. Then she slowly poured it down her shirt like some kind of stripper act!”

“Rubbish!” Lara balked at the allegation citing an occupational hazard and subsequent wardrobe malfunction as she squeezed firmly onto her shirt, wringing out the translucent beer-soaked fabric that was enveloped around her big wet tits. Regardless, Lara was issued a warning for wasting beer, told to put her bra back on, and was given a clean top.

Bra or not, Lara continued to make money hand over fist. Never satisfied with what she was given, she looked outward for spoils much more substantial than her typical tip.

“Nice curves!” Lara remarked, peering out the window at a rare Jaguar roadster parked in the lot.

Her keen vision swept the bustling dining room finally focusing on a set of keys that matched the vintage vehicle. With a predatory snarl, she pounced onto the four-top of interest.

Going into minx mode, she showed her range from battle hardened huntress to unapologetic flirt – pouting her lacquered lips, giving her bum a little scoop, and of course bringing in the big guns. With an angled arch in her back she locked onto her targets. Though the only bloke that really mattered gave no notice, dismissively handing the misfiring vamp a credit card to buy his mates another round.

Not exactly the reaction the she was expecting flipping over the heavy Amex Black card in her hand.

‘Chad?’ Lara thought it a curious name, ‘Chad MacGuffin?’, certainly not that of a highborn. Either way, a good looking fella with great taste in rides that wouldn’t give her the time of day? She’d be damned!

In a bit of a bluster she thought it best to try something more pressing. Moving around the table, she stepped behind this Chad guy to take some nonsense orders making sure her front brushed up against the back of his head. She then moved onto the side of him, resting part of her right boob into his shoulder. Scribbling scratch on her writing pad as one of his dorky friend’s spewed out words, Lara caught Chad’s eyes drift off to the side to catch a peripheral glance of her smooshed breast.

‘Gotcha!’ Lara thought, taking a bold step by reaching over to grab a plate and knocking over a nearby glass of water onto the man’s lap. She not-so-subtly took some napkins and wiped his pants in a very handsy manner, feeling up what kind of equipment she was working with.

“Ah-ha” Lara remarked as if she just unlocked a secret. Handsome with money and now this? It appeared that she was holding onto the total package.

She wasted no time dragging her guy away from the table. He snagged his keys thinking the pretty waitress wanted to split. But Lara B-lined her catch straight to the restaurant’s storage room. All horned up and ready for a big score, Chad MacGuffin had no idea that he was about to get taken for the ultimate ride.

Description
Link to Part 1: www.deviantart.com/vistavista5…

Some people light up a room simply by walking in. Lara Croft usually taking the term literally through a hail of gunfire and smoke. Stepping onto the scene of Surrey’s newest sports bar, it was obvious the brunette beauty had other means of turning heads without ever firing off a round.

In record scratching style, the stocking of silverware and overturning of stools ceased. Lara striding across the dining room floor, hardly hindered by her rugged calf-high boots. Snug stretchy leather moved with the motions of her long lithe legs that tightened further along the rounds of her backend. The highest button of her half open shirt hung on by a thread, revealing ample cleavage of the woman’s prodigious bust. A purple pushup bra, that bolstered her chest further, showed through the sheer linen fabric in peekaboo fashion. She had her biker jacket slung over her shoulder and a large brown leather backpack over her other. A bag that was equipped with straps, buckles and weathered by heavy usage of her vast travels. Her hair was in its trademark braid, messy from her brake-neck commute. Chestnut strands, tinged in auburn, caressed her cheeks and framed up her face. Her eyes hidden under red circular lensed glasses. Her lips the color plum. She bared no emotion, not a hint of a smile.

(WHAP!)

Lara slammed the brochure onto the bar in front of a fat older mustached man she assumed was a person of authority.

“I’d like to request an interview for the position of server.”

The man who had been gaping at Lara ever since she burst through the doors, picked his jaw up from the bar and gathered his wits.

“Okaaay, why don’t we set up over here for a little chit chat?” He said still taken aback.

He sat down with a younger dopier looking guy and Lara as they reviewed the Tomb Raider’s application.

“Let’s see here.. discovering the Atlantian Pyramid, fluent in Ancient Greek.. and you wrote down that you fly helicopters too.”

“Single and tandem rotors.”

“I see. Well this is all very impressive Miss Croft.”

“Lady Croft, but you can call me Lara.”

“This is all very very impressive Lara, but we have to ask, do you have any serving experience?” The younger dopey man asked.

Lara’s eyes narrowed. They were testing her to see if she’d crack. She’s been tortured within inches of her life. If they thought trying to flub her up was going to work, they were gravely mistaken.

“No. But I have been cared for tooth and nail by my butler. I very much know how matters of these sorts are handled.” She said very direct not having the slightest idea what Winston did.

“Well maybe we should hire your butler!” The dopey man said, prompting the two guys to chuckle.

Any warmth residing in Lara’s eyes vanished. The Glock 19 concealed in her bag was just a reach away. Usually reserved for mindless mercenaries trying their best to gun her down, these two morons possessing that same type of energy, real NPC vibes. Not that she would dare do something so psychotic as take out a couple civilians in cold blood, but she could imagine it at the very least.

“I’m kidding of course.” The dopey guy said as the two men regained their composure.

Lara eased up on her impure intentions, but hypothetically speaking, she was going to shoot the dopey one first, playfully pointing and firing a hand gestured gun aimed at his face.

“And you even wrote down your vital statistics.” The fat guy said raising a brow. “We didn’t ask for that but I must say these figures are very impressive.”

“The only question is Lara, when can you start?”

Lara looked down at her phone. She received a text from her associate Zip. He had been tracking leads on an artifact of great interest.

‘Back channels are chattering. You’re not going to believe where that Aztec relic ended up!?’

Lara texted back, ‘Don’t care. Bugger off!’ Then looked up at the two men, “I don’t know gents, how about right now?”

Clueless to Hooters just hours ago, it was simple enough to figure out by the name alone that the restaurant was pushing more than just beer and wings. The signature orange and white uniform that she now dawned affirmed those thoughts to the fullest. The famed adventurer was very familiar with marketing herself with the same kind of nudge and wink. While raiding tombs and waiting tables couldn’t be more different, playing the part of provocateur was very much Lara’s game.

Making final adjustments, she checked herself out in the bathroom’s full-length mirror from head to toe. White Reebok high-tops and cotton gym socks, stylish and sensible footwear for the day’s demands. Sneakers that rose to suntan colored pantyhose, a second skin enveloping the length of her legs.

From the rear, the hem of her shorts ascended beyond flattery. Crossing a line of modesty to someplace more cheeky. The swell of her bum being that literal and figurative waypoint. A border that Lara has flirted with as a lady in the field, barely, but always able to keep her curves covered in her high cut khaki tan shorts while on an expedition or big dig.

But now the lines had been redrawn, as her bubble shaped butt popped out of the new boundaries of her super cute albeit very scant orange poly-cotton bottoms.

Easy to see that she was a woman in peak physical condition. Prominent glutes gained through a lifetime of disciplined training. The well-to-do heiress afforded the very best resources in conditioning a body fit to her exacting standards. An Olympic grade physique with the talent to match. A woman who certainly could rake in plenty of gold if she wasn’t preoccupied plundering it from the depths of long forgotten tombs.

But now in her tiny Hooter’s trunks, her pedigree backside was looking less first-class as it was coach. Resembling a big and trashy dump-truck dunka-dunk booty commonly seen shamelessly twerking in the red light side of town. Tawdry orange hot pants had that yassified effect, even for the most prestigious of derrières. Her purple thong straps arching from each side of her waistline and down her hips was the icing on her cake. A 90’s era fashion trend that aligned nicely with Lara’s overall ascetic.

Beyond that, her midriff laid plenty exposed to showcase a diamond adorning her navel. A gem handed down generations from Lara’s great great grandmother Lady Victoria Dubois that she repurposed into the more modern arrangement. A family heirloom now dangling about like some cheap knockoff haggled off the street.

Lara’s body was tight, but her uniform proved to be tighter. Snapping, pushing, and pulling everything into place became a real task. Her shorts rode up her rear while her dangerously low plunging top threatened to bare all. A fully filled out shirt with its stretched Hooters logo compliments of Lara’s two biggest assets in her pursuit of gratuity. A certain feature that made her the prototypical employee. Lady Croft’s outward projecting moneymakers, ready for service, propped up and pushed together by her custom tungsten alloy underwire super-boost bra. Her lips curling into the slyest of smirks, very well aware that she was a maestro at orchestrating her top tier talent. One of her tried-and-true methods of elevating her bust-line was to drop a band size or two. Giving herself a confining fit that redirected the mass of her rack nearly out of the top of her low cut tee. Creating an crescendoing form of uplift akin to a corset. Boob flesh that ascended to her clavicles, side-spilling out of her bra/tank combo. Rising and not so much falling with each of her constricted breaths. An ensemble of seam-straining tightness that made Lara go from busty to certifiably stacked, honestly looking like she was one inhale away from popping open like a can of croissants.

“Croft!” The manager barked through the door. “We’re filling up fast. Need you out here taking some orders.”

Lara chose the best, or perhaps worst day to start her new job. The biggest football game of the season was on all the screens. The International Accounting Convention, for whatever reason, was held in Surrey that weekend. And Hooters was offering a 2-for-1 special. The perfect storm.

Not daunted in the least, Lara was accustomed to hitting the ground running. Never waiting a table in her life was no matter, she thrived when it came to thinking on her feet. Picking up very quick that this particular game was all about customer service, meaning grabbing some fast cash meant dialing up the charm.

Table 7-

Customer- “Did it hurt when you fell from heaven?”

LC- “Did it hurt when your mum dropped you on your head?”

Table 12-

Customer- “I think someone must have stolen the stars and put them in your eyes.”

LC- “The same person that nabbed your balls and put them in your mouth?”

Table 9-

Customer- “I’ll have a dozen wings and a beer.”

LC- “A balloon full of piss makes a bigger splash than your entire meaningless existence will on this planet.”

While Lara’s social skills needed some fine tuning, there was not a complaint in the house. Patrons were eating up the rude waitress ‘routine’, and their saucy server was giving them plenty to chew on while they mulled over the all-important decision of what to order.

Meanwhile, Lara remained more determined than ever to make that almighty dollar. Morally grey at heart and a chronic kleptomaniac to boot, the former treasure hunter seemed to have no bones about lining her pockets by any means possible. Since her uniform didn’t actually have any pockets, customer cash began to build up down her shorts and in her bra. The only time Lara made trips to the register was to knick some of the bigger bills stowed at the bottom of the tray. Making routine drop-offs to her locker, her brown leather bag began to steadily fill up. Consequences were simply not part of the Tomb Raider’s lexicon. In terms of being egregiously short at the end her shift, Lara was a ‘cross that bridge when she got to it’ type of gal.

Loot was not the only thing Lara was amassing, but attention too. With ogling eyes coming from every direction, she could see that these simps were thirsty in more ways than one. Knowing that the large lot of wankers were making mental deposits into their spank bank every time she strutted by. Feeling generous, she decided to fully fund their thoughts, bending over to pick up a napkin that ‘accidentally’ fell to the ground. At full tilt, Lara lingered for a short while, wagging her tail feather, demonstrating the outline of her femininity gift wrapped in a little orange package. An undeniable sight, but also a heads-up to the other servers that may try to infringe on her territory. Either way, Lara Croft was making her presence felt.

“Some of the other girls are concerned about your.. appearance.” The manager confronted Lara as she was just about to make another withdraw from the register.

“Oh? Go on..” She said prepared to crush his windpipe and preemptively defend herself against the slightest hint of sexual harassment.

“It’s the push-up bra Lara… They think it’s an unfair advantage since.. ermm.. you’re already working with a stacked deck.”

While many people have had the twisted fantasy of killing their boss, Lara found the justification to do just that. But in a rare show of restraint, the femme fatale opted for a less lethal approach.

“How unthoughtful of me.” Lara said as cool as a cucumber. “I would never intentionally attempt to raise such a ruckus.. certainly not on my first day.” She reached behind her back and under her shirt with a snap of her finger she unclasped her bra. Then with a quick tug, she pulled it free as if it were a magic trick. Like a cherry on top, Lara draped the E-cup brassiere over her dumbstruck manager’s head.

Lara knew the one thing that jealous twats hated more than anything was a healthy dose of passive aggression. If those little tramps didn’t want her to wear her bra, then that’s what those skinny-fat skanks were going to get, as she sauntered off side-eying the queen cunt she suspected was leading the outcry.

Truth being, Lara was quite friendly when she wanted to be. But when crossed, she found herself a woman of a different character. One that went to a very dark place. As it stood, Lara had a zero tolerance policy for mean-girl cliques. To imagine, the controversy stemming from a sorry display of boob envy.. at all places, a bloody Hooters!

Sizing up some of her workmate’s busts for herself, she spotted a few suspected boob jobs amongst the bunch. Some good, others not so much, as she looked down affirming her own aftermarket’s were head and shoulders better than the rest. Not at all vanity, it was just plain true. Shelling out 100 grand a piece for the upgrades (another story for another time), expecting the very best product in return was certainly within warrant.

Lacking support from her fellow servers, and also in the form of a bra, Lara moved about the dining room freer than ever. Her gravity defying ta-ta’s buoyantly bobbed with each bouncy step. Getting creative, she propped a serving tray under her jugs. Their outward shape and sheer size ensured her rack bopped onto the platter as if she was playing a very provocative percussion instrument.

Freshly emboldened she really tested the waters adorning herself with a pair of barbell nipple studs that were easily visible through the tight white top. But perhaps Lara went overboard in a real ‘oppsies’ moment when she spilled beer down her shirt.

“It was no accident!” A particularly nasty server complained to the manager. “She was leaned up against the bar with a pitcher of beer in each hand. Then she slowly poured it down her shirt like some kind of stripper act!”

“Rubbish!” Lara balked at the allegation citing an occupational hazard and subsequent wardrobe malfunction as she squeezed firmly onto her shirt, wringing out the translucent beer-soaked fabric that was enveloped around her big wet tits. Regardless, Lara was issued a warning for wasting beer, told to put her bra back on, and was given a clean top.

Bra or not, Lara continued to make money hand over fist. Never satisfied with what she was given, she looked outward for spoils much more substantial than her typical tip.

“Nice curves!” Lara remarked, peering out the window at a rare Jaguar roadster parked in the lot.

Her keen vision swept the bustling dining room finally focusing on a set of keys that matched the vintage vehicle. With a predatory snarl, she pounced onto the four-top of interest.

Going into minx mode, she showed her range from battle hardened huntress to unapologetic flirt – pouting her lacquered lips, giving her bum a little scoop, and of course bringing in the big guns. With an angled arch in her back she locked onto her targets. Though the only bloke that really mattered gave no notice, dismissively handing the misfiring vamp a credit card to buy his mates another round.

Not exactly the reaction the she was expecting flipping over the heavy Amex Black card in her hand.

‘Chad?’ Lara thought it a curious name, ‘Chad MacGuffin?’, certainly not that of a highborn. Either way, a good looking fella with great taste in rides that wouldn’t give her the time of day? She’d be damned!

In a bit of a bluster she thought it best to try something more pressing. Moving around the table, she stepped behind this Chad guy to take some nonsense orders making sure her front brushed up against the back of his head. She then moved onto the side of him, resting part of her right boob into his shoulder. Scribbling scratch on her writing pad as one of his dorky friend’s spewed out words, Lara caught Chad’s eyes drift off to the side to catch a peripheral glance of her smooshed breast.

‘Gotcha!’ Lara thought, taking a bold step by reaching over to grab a plate and knocking over a nearby glass of water onto the man’s lap. She not-so-subtly took some napkins and wiped his pants in a very handsy manner, feeling up what kind of equipment she was working with.

“Ah-ha” Lara remarked as if she just unlocked a secret. Handsome with money and now this? It appeared that she was holding onto the total package.

She wasted no time dragging her guy away from the table. He snagged his keys thinking the pretty waitress wanted to split. But Lara B-lined her catch straight to the restaurant’s storage room. All horned up and ready for a big score, Chad MacGuffin had no idea that he was about to get taken for the ultimate ride.