The Swimsuit Contest
by Andrew Mason aka Dr. Amazing

This is a work of fiction.  Tombraider and Lara Croft are both trademark and copyright of EIDOS Interactive and Core design.  All other characters are copyright of the author.

            This story contains violent and sexual content and is suggested for mature readers (18 and over).
            Comments, complimentary or critical, can be addressed to: dramazin@alphalink.com.au

            “I’m telling you, Miss Croft, this is the chance of a lifetime!”

            Lara’s visitor was a young man who carried all the trappings of an executive.  He wore a well-tailored suit, with a mobile phone protruding from the top pocket where a handkerchief should be.  He spoke well, with an aristocratic accent, but this was the only evidence of good manners he had demonstrated to date.

            “How did you get in?” she asked sternly.  She was more than a little peeved by his unexpected appearance, especially since she was wearing only her bathrobe.

            He smiled mischievously.  “I’m afraid I told Jeeves a little fib there.  I told him we were classmates at Gordonstoun and that I had to speak with you on an urgent matter.”

            “A little fib?  That’s an outright lie!”

            “The urgent part isn’t.  We have only two days to get your entry formalised.”

            “What entry?”

            “The Sports Incorporated Bikini Edition.  It...”

            “What?”  Lara was astonished and offended, her irritation flaring to anger.  “What do you take me for?”

            “The winner, if you enter, that’s what I take you for.  Please, hear me out.”

            Lara put her hands on her hips and fixed her glare on him.  “You have one minute, then you leave, or I throw you out.”

            “Agreed.”  Her visitor took a deep breath, then when he spoke again his words came in a mad rush.  “OK  I know you’ve never sought a modelling career, but this event is perfect for you.  None of the other entrants have any sporting background, and it’s a sports magazine!  And you’re famous already as an adventurer, a sportswoman.  The sales will be enormous!  Even if you don’t win I can guarantee a six figure fee just for entering!  And you will win!  With your face, your figure, those breasts....!”

            “I’ve heard quite enough!” she exclaimed, wondering how long it would take to get her magnums.  “You’re leaving!”

            “No!   Wait!  I haven’t told you the best part!  The location we’re shooting at is Madunai Island!”

            Lara fell silent, her eyes studying him, trying to judge the truth of his words.

            “Yes, Madunai Island,” repeated her visitor, sensing he had scored a minor victory.  “Right in the heart of the excavation!  They’ve had the place sealed up tighter than Balmoral, but they’re allowing a film crew in for the covergirl contest.”

            “Into the excavation site, the actual caverns?” she asked, intrigued.

            “Yes, that’s been confirmed.  The editors want to have shots of the ladies right next to the ancient architecture, right in the depths of it, and they’ve agreed.  I know you’ve been trying to get permission to get in...”

            “I’ve been turned down every time.  I can’t even charter a flight to the island.”

            Madunai Island, off the coast of Peru.  Information about the dig was scarce, but with so significant a find there were bound to be leaks.  It appeared to have been built by the pre-Incas, the Cadachacs, a civilisation more famous for their mysticism than their architecture.  If only half of what she had heard was true then it was by far the greatest Cadachac construction ever made.  She was intrigued by it and had been for over a year.  Why had they built their masterpiece on an offshore island?  Why had their conquerors, the Incas, never taken control of the island?  And now, why was the current project so shrouded in secrecy?

            She had kept busy with other adventures in the past twelve months but Madunai Island was never far from her thoughts.  Forbidden fruit it had remained, all the more seductive for its inaccessibility.

            “They are willing to allow photographers, models, hangers-on by the dozen, onto their site?  Why are they now so unconcerned about security?”

            He shrugged and a huge grin spread across his face.  “Maybe the director of the dig is a Sports Incorporated fan.  Whatever the reason, this is perfect!  Perfect for both of us!  You get into the site, to see whatever you’ve been so keen to see.  And I... well I’ve been wanting to do a pictorial of you for years, I must confess.  And to do one at an archaeological site, in a bikini no less...”

            “You hope to see what you’ve been so keen to see.  Shelve that thought,” commanded Lara, pulling her gown tightly closed.  “All right.  I admit you have my interest.  What’s involved in this?”

            He smiled again and she had to admit that, despite her instinctive dislike of him, he had a good smile.

            “I’ve got you hooked, but I haven’t yet reeled you in, eh?  Well there’s nothing for you to be concerned about.  The magazine is respectable, there are no nude shots.  You’ll be well looked after, treated like a princess.”

            “I’m not entirely reassured by that.  Cameras and English princesses don’t mix too well.”

            “No, really, you have nothing to worry about.  I guarantee you’ll come out looking gorgeous.”

            “And how can you guarantee that?”

            “I’ll be the photographer,” he replied, smiling smugly.  “Peter Chifley, at your service.”

            He extended his hand which she warily took.  “The only photographer?” she asked.

            “Yes.  They are only allowing one onto the island, under the agreement that all my shots are subject to their approval before we leave the island.”

            ‘So they haven’t completely abandoned their precautions’ thought Lara.  ‘All photos are subject to censorship.  What are they trying to hide?’

            “I’ve got the job provided I convince you to participate.  And I have convinced you, haven’t I?”

            Lara frowned.  “I’m keen to get there Chifley, but not comfortable about the means.”

            “You don’t need worry, Lara.  You have nothing to be embarrassed about.  The camera will love you.”

            Her reluctance did not come from embarrassment, nor from a fear of not being attractive enough.  She was proud of her body:  Lord knows she worked hard enough to keep it in shape.  Nor did being in a bikini hold any fears for her.  She had always been comfortable in tight, revealing outfits; she usually enjoyed the attention her figure gave her.  But she had always been in control of that attention.  At times, it had been that attention that had distracted her enemies long enough to enable her to get the better of them.

            Her anxiety stemmed from the loss of that control.  Until now she wore a bikini only when she wanted to, not because someone had told her to.  And in this case, she imagined, someone would even tell her which bikini to wear.  They would also tell her how to stand, how to lie, when to smile.  She would be their puppet, and she was no-one’s puppet.

            Chifley could see the doubts on her lovely face.  “Look, how about this?  We can’t delay your decision much longer, but what we can do is prepare your portfolio now and I’ll let you examine it before you decide.  You can choose what shots we use.”

            “A portfolio?”

            “Yes.  We need to start straight away.  I have my cameras in the car.”

            “Wait a moment.  Let me understand this.  You have come here to my home, without even an introduction, let alone an invitation, and expect me to parade around in a bikini for you?”

            “Well...er... yes.”

            He smiled again and he was a handsome bastard when he smiled.  She was sure most women would agree to anything when beguiled by him.

            But this smile had a generous serving of embarrassment in it, and that, for her, was his saving grace.

“I couldn’t get the nod on a verbal agreement,” he continued.  “They want to see shots of you, to prove you’re as gorgeous as I have described, and to prove you’re willing to do it too, I would imagine.”

            “And I have final say over what you use--both now and on the island?”

            He hadn’t expected the second concession but he agreed promptly.

            She made her decision, having taken more time to make up her mind than was usual for her.  She could veto the use of any photos she considered salacious, overly revealing or, damn it, any she plain did not like.  She could, and would, veto the lot if she chose to.  She would remain in control.

            “Get your cameras.”

            Chifley moved like a racehound.

             Lara studied herself in the mirror.  She was certainly not the pale English rose her father had raised her to be.  Her skin was tanned, her legs were slim but strong, her stomach was flat and her breasts bulged against the confines of her black bikini.  Her long brown hair framed the aristocratic beauty of her face.  She knew she was attractive, so why did she feel so unsure of herself?

            She could hear Chifley outside, getting his gear organised.  Soon she would be submitting herself to the scrutiny of his camera lens.  She turned side-on, making sure her bikini bottom covered her behind.  She frowned at herself, asking if this was how she wished to be judged, to be remembered--for her ability to fill a brief costume.  She considered abandoning the agreement she had made then frowned all the more.

            What was she so nervous about?  She had nothing to be ashamed of and this agreement was hardly worth the worry she was putting herself through.  She had faced down wolves, bears, a dragon for God’s sake; why did she care how she looked for a photo session?

            She opened the door and walked out to the pool room, walking up to Chifley with a determined look on her face.  “Where do you want me?” she asked.

            He was putting a new film in a camera and nearly dropped them when he saw her.  His eyes roamed over her figure, but his expression was one of nervous awe, not lechery.

            Chifley succeeded in getting the film loaded.  “Let’s start over by the pillar,” he replied.

            “Right,” said Lara crisply, moving to one of the Roman columns that surrounded her pool.

            Chifley moved some lamps into position, focusing their light on where she stood.  He fumbled with the last one, almost tilting it into the pool.

            “Are you sure you’re a professional photographer?” she asked.

            “A consummate professional,” he replied.  His smile did not hide his nervousness but it was still a killer smile.

            “There will be no consummation here,” quipped Lara, arching an eyebrow.  “How do you want me?”

            “Want you?”  Chifley’s face reddened.

            “How do you want me to stand, to pose?”

            “Of course, of course.  Now, let me see.  Lean back against the pillar.  That’s it.”

            He raised his camera to his eye.  “Good.  Now bend your leg, your left leg, and turn to your right.”

            She obeyed his directions.

            “Not so far.  Good, good.”  The camera started to click.

            “Plant your left foot on the column and lean back a little more.  That’s it, good.  Now arch your back.  Oh yeah!  That’s great!  That smile--terrific!”

            Lara was surprised to realise she was smiling.  She was starting to enjoy herself.

            “OK.  Now raise your arms above your head.  Great!  Now pout.”

            “Pout?”

            “You know--a sultry look.”

            “Like this?”

            “Oh yeah.  Exactly like that!”  The camera clicked and whirred furiously.

            “Let’s get the pool in shot more,” suggested Chifley.  “Step over to the poolside and lift your right leg onto the rim.  Good, good!  Tense your legs a little.  Oh yeah!”

            He circled around her, changing the angle of his view.  “Now bend forward.”

            She complied.  “No, you look stilted.”

            “Stilted?”

            “Pretend you’re trying to see something in the pool.  Yeah, that’s better.  A searching gaze.  OK.  Let’s have you sitting on the pool edge.  Yes, dip your legs in.  Lovely!  More smiles like that, please!  Playful, now.  Flirty!  Terrific.  Now time for some wet shots.”

            “Wet shots?”

            “Just what I said.  Jump into the pool then we’ll take more shots in a wet bikini.”

            She shrugged then dived into the pool.  When she pulled herself out again Chifley was more animated than ever.

            “That was great!  Great!”

            “What was great?”

            “That dive.  So graceful, so... powerful.  Let me get some shots this time.”

            On his cue she dived into the pool several times, his camera clicking rapidly as she did so.

            “Now the wet shots.  The tough girl now.  Hands on hips, legs apart, glare at the camera.  Ooh, scary!  A bit more side on.  Nice!  Shoulders back.  That’s it!  Flaunt it, flaunt it!”

            She knew her bikini was clinging to her curves, knew that her breasts were straining against her top, but she no longer cared.

            Chifley directed her onto a towel he had laid beside the pool and he photographed her lying on it.

            “Very nice.  Bend the knee.  More!  Arch your back!  Oh baby!  Give it to me!”

            The camera began to whirr in automatic rewind.  Chifley lowered it from his eyes and wiped his brow with the back of his hand.

            “Dear boy, you’re sweating!” teased Lara.

            “These lights!  I’m closer to them than you.  Um...  Do you have any other swimsuits?”

            One week later Lara was at the Lima Airport, waiting to board a private jet.  She stepped out of an airport taxi onto the tarmac and approached the group of people the driver had indicated.  It was a warm tropical day and she wore tight shorts and a scooped halter top.

            Peter Chifley smiled at her as she arrived and she returned his smile.  Her estimation of him had risen when he had shown her the results of their photo session.  Her portfolio had been well presented and he had, as promised, made her look gorgeous.  She did not veto any of the shots he had selected.  In fact, one of the shots, showing her diving into the pool, had amazed her.  She looked so graceful, and so fluent despite the stillness of the image.  She realised that Chifley was not a cheesecake photographer, but a real artist.

            Which meant he was better at his role than she was at the role assigned to her--Lara Croft, bikini model.

            Her smile faded.  She was still unhappy about the means used to get here and the group of people she was introduced to seemed a vain, vacuous lot.  There were three other models and a small entourage.  The first model, a rapier thin American in an elegant summer dress, was introduced to her as ‘the famous Christina Shaw’.  Her face was beautiful, its perfection marred only by her haughty expression and the venom in her green eyes.

            Before Lara had a chance to say a word the American had focused her attention on Lara’s chest, asking, “Who did those breasts dear?  Hardly subtle was he?”

            She was staggered by the woman’s rudeness, almost lost for words.  “They’re real,” she declared, and hated herself for saying it.

            “Really?  Well you’ll need to be careful they don’t fall out during the shoots.  Wouldn’t our boy Chifley love that?”

            She moved off without another word.  Lara hoped she never heard another word from her.

            “Don’t you mind Christina honey,” came a rich Texan drawl.

            Lara turned to meet another of the models, a curvaceous blonde whose figure was highlighted by tight jeans and T-shirt.  “Cassie Ridge, that’s me,” she introduced herself.

Back to Sitemap