Funniest idea I've had about RE5 Wesker is after he gets ouroborus, every time he has sex, his dick kills the woman he's selected and manipulated to bear his offspring. Thus, he REALLY has to find the right vessel (that his dick can't kill).
I was thinking about this all morning.
— Non-con, Abduction, Mentions of Forced Pregnancy
So, thinking about Wesker ordering his employees to abduct women from off the street and prepare them for intercourse. Homeless, employed, walking home, didn’t necessarily matter who. But, they would have to undergo analysis on their family history, be questioned regarding their health and living conditions before being stripped and chained down to a mating bed.
Loud, noisy, and aggressive subjects are sedated so they’re pliant and malleable. Though, only if Wesker demands it. Occasionally, he’ll find amusement in a misbehaved bitch. Might beat them just enough to keep them silent, but not enough to wipe them out if they’re capable of taking his release. Silent, reserved subjects are simply restrained, have to endure researchers angling and positioning their body to Wesker’s preferences, ignoring all demanding questions.
Until you, there had been no successful matches. He didn’t expect much. He used these sessions as an opportunity to ramble about his hatred for Chris and fuck the tension and irritability from his body onto the poor, unsuspecting victims. Only, when you took to his semen and didn’t fade away afterwards—despite all the wailing and thrashing you displayed, your inability to behave, to comply and accept your fate—he was certainly taken aback.
Having someone match to his DNA. He’s certainly devoted to you, completely and utterly obsessed with what makes you so unusual.
Has scientists analyse every part of you and perform gynaecology examinations to ensure normality, only cervical bruising caused by his deep, hard thrusts. When things appear as they once were, he knows he’s found the one. The Eve to his new world.
He’ll keep you chained in a cell, prepared to be bred and taken whenever your Lord asks.
umbrella wesker in the spencer training facility with some young little subject…
grooming thoughts, something about convincing them that what umbrella is doing is moral and that complying is the correct thing for them to do, because they don’t truly understand much.
such a scared little thing looking for a figure to protect them, someone to guide them. it happens to be wesker, and they’ll listen to anything he says, so long as he remains gentle with them.
telling them that they’re so much different than the other subjects. that other researchers misunderstand or underestimate them for their age, that he truly sees them for who they are, comprehends how intelligent and wonderful they are.
You know Priest Wesker has a massive corruption kink.
— Dub-con/Non-con (manipulation), Religious Themes
Something about watching as you descend into hysterics, confessing that you’d sinned. You’re inconsolable, sobbing pathetically in front of him. Such pretty vulnerability displayed, tears soaking and leaving marks down your quivering face. Your lips begin to tremble when he asks you to admit what you’d done, to elaborate.
You’re flushing immediately. Hesitant, beginning to chew on your nails nervously while you ponder at what you’d done prior. You’d sinned. You’d given into lust. Your biology craved him, yearned to be touched and held like a woman. To be bred like they’d described in the raunchy books you’d found hidden in the very back of the communal library. How could you admit to such an act? That you’d shamefully masturbated at the simple thought of your Priest? In front of your heavenly Father who observed from above, likely with such disdain and disappointment for his fallen angel.
Oh, hearing you explain everything in such precise detail. He had little choice. You’d understand, he’d make sure of it.
He’s bend you over and force himself inside of you. Your modest dress discarded beneath the alter, bare and exposed in front of the precious statue of the Lord. You bowed your head in shame and averted your gaze, knowing how much of a disappointment you were to Him. You felt your Priest caress you all over with wandering hands, heard him reprimand you, claiming that only males feel such wrong urges. That you’ve to be cleansed and to embrace the fucking you were to receive, that he would fuck the evil out from within you.
Forcing your head to meet the Lord’s eyes and chant a prayer you’d rehearsed, the one where you’re plead for forgiveness and mercy.
Pounding you, claiming he must go deep and hard to truly ‘fix’ you and free you from such baser needs.
Wesker offering an ultimatum, be locked in the Tyrant enclosure during their heat cycle and be violated by the imposingly large creatures, or plead to be fucked by him.
Forcing you to thank him for assaulting you, for being gracious enough to offer himself to you. Tears tracking down your flushed face, thanking him profusely for taking you in place of the Tyrants.
I think Spencer would assign a subject to each researcher and have them groom the victim.
I think Spencer would have the researcher, Wesker in this case, molest the unsuspecting test subject in front of a one way mirror. He’d find amusement in hearing the patient’s squeals and wails.
Documenting every phrase they let out, how desperately they plead. Whether they fight, flight, freeze, or fawn. Observing whether they bleed, orgasm, or pass out.
Writing down exact quotes.
“Oh god, oh god. Please don’t—I’m not ready.”
“Wesker, please, I’m scared—I don’t understand, I can’t— I don’t—”
Months of Wesker inching his way further into your life after being abducted, becoming a notable figure who you sought out. Forcing a connection between you two and for you to trust him, seek protection through him.
Only for him to violate you in such a depraved manner at Spencer’s orders.
umbrella wesker in the spencer training facility with some young little subject…
grooming thoughts, something about convincing them that what umbrella is doing is moral and that complying is the correct thing for them to do, because they don’t truly understand much.
such a scared little thing looking for a figure to protect them, someone to guide them. it happens to be wesker, and they’ll listen to anything he says, so long as he remains gentle with them.
telling them that they’re so much different than the other subjects. that other researchers misunderstand or underestimate them for their age, that he truly sees them for who they are, comprehends how intelligent and wonderful they are.
umbrella wesker in the spencer training facility with some young little subject…
grooming thoughts, something about convincing them that what umbrella is doing is moral and that complying is the correct thing for them to do, because they don’t truly understand much.
such a scared little thing looking for a figure to protect them, someone to guide them. it happens to be wesker, and they’ll listen to anything he says, so long as he remains gentle with them.
telling them that they’re so much different than the other subjects. that other researchers misunderstand or underestimate them for their age, that he truly sees them for who they are, comprehends how intelligent and wonderful they are.
Do you think Spencer got off watching Wesker force himself on the pretty test subjects? Given the fact that he was probably too old to preform anymore
1000%. Probably found such perverse satisfaction in watching Wesker—who he raised to become the important man he is today—assault in such a violent and humiliating manner.
Synopsis - Is it love or a desperate bid for survival? 6 months after Wesker picks up your shattered remains from the facility you have begun to intimately learn his habits. What happens when he tells you he’s taken notice?
🔥 Pairing - Albert Wesker × Reader
Word Count - 8.6K
CW - MDNI - Dubcon, Stockholm Syndrome, violence, psychological abuse/torture, love bombing, power imbalance, body worship, boot worship, boot riding, humiliation, oral sex (M receiving), choking, rough sex, degradation, mentioned necrophilia, mentioned murder, praise, orgasm denial, biting, marking, slapping, blood, vaginal sex, creampie.
🔥 Authors Note - I may have over-freaked this one… Dead dove do not eat. 🕊️☠️
Over the course of six months you had learned to read Albert Wesker. The slight tilt of his head when he is amused. The quiet rhythm of his fingers drumming against his thigh while calculations ran behind those cold eyes. The soft exhale through his nose when you have done something that pleases him. That had become your purpose, ensuring he was pleased with your actions and demeanor.
The first month was pure survival. Mapping his rhythms, expectations, the exact perimeter you were allowed to occupy around him. You ate when allowed, slept when ordered, spoke only when spoken to. He provided the essentials: food, hygiene, plain clothes. As he dragged you from safe house to safe house on his opaque errands, you never really felt like a prisoner but more like an accessory to his agenda, a shadow trailing after his footsteps. It was more of a purgatory that you did not incline to leave; you had nowhere to go. You filled the long hours alone with the books that were always available to you. He would vanish for days, returning either satisfied or simmering with irritation, depending on how thoroughly the BSAA had complicated his designs.
By the second month, the air had shifted. You caught yourself watching his hands as they turned pages or tapped against data pads. Studying the way his lips moved with each word. The impossible span of his shoulders beneath that black coat. Coming to esteem his intellect and even the sheer arrogance that radiated from him like heat.
By the third month, you had stopped lying to yourself. Admiration had taken root, tangled with something you refused to name as you attempted to bury it deep.
Now, six months in, you knelt at his feet as you did every evening he was available. Head resting against his knee, eyes falling shut as you breathed in the familiar scent of ozone and amber notes of cologne. His fingers traced slow, absent patterns through your hair as you drank in the tender sensation of his touch. This ritual had become as natural as inhaling and as necessary to your sanity as blood moving through your veins.
Wesker sits in his leather armchair, reading, one leg crossed over the other, his glasses perched low on his nose. The subtle cord of muscle flexing as he turns a page, accentuated by his sleeves rolled to his elbows. This had been your ritual for the times he was here. He continues reading for a long moment then closes the book, setting it in his lap.
"Tell me what you're thinking."
The command takes you by surprise. You open your eyes, gazing up at him. His face was half-shadowed in the dim lamplight, glasses catching the glow and obscuring those cold eyes lurking behind them.
The question is a trap; they all are, designed to expose the cracks in your devotion coinciding with the parts of yourself you had not yet surrendered. You learned to navigate them well enough. Tonight is different, the air between you feels thicker. You should give him the usual answer; a careful sentence that reassures him of your loyalty, contentment, the complete absorption into his world; instead, your mouth opens before your mind can stop it.
"I was thinking about the way your hands look when you read."
Caressing the spine of the closed book, his fingers go still. The corner of his mouth curves slightly.
"Go on."
There’s a twinge in your throat, swallowed away as your pulse hammered. You take in his countenance, suspended somewhere between curiosity and a calculating darkness.
"Your hands," you repeated. "How precise they move. Deliberate, like every motion has already been calculated three steps ahead." His finger tapped once against the leather cover of the book with a single, measured beat. You pressed onward. "I watch them when you type or when you adjust your glasses." You paused. "I have memorized the way they look without gloves. The look of your palms, the veins at your wrist, the length of your fingers.”
His glasses had slipped lower on his nose; you could see the edge of his inhumanly amber eyes. It was a rarity to see, as they fixated on you with an intensity that made your skin prickle.
"What do you conclude from this observation?" His tone was soft, it signaled danger to you. Hesitating at the junction of truth and safety, you took the plunge and chose truth.
"That you are beautiful. In a way that has nothing to do with warmth or kindness. The way a blade is beautiful or how a storm or a glacier is beautiful."
Slowly, he reached down and brushed a strand of hair from your face. The touch lingered as his knuckles grazed your cheekbone.
"You have been paying very close attention," he murmured. "I have noticed."
The admission sent a jolt through you. Of course he had known. In a moment, his hand had settled against the back of your head, fingers threading through your hair. He held you cradled in his palm, as though he were testing the weight of your devotion.
"Tell me the rest," he murmured.
"I cannot," you breathed.
"Cannot," he repeated. "Or will not?"
You closed your eyes, leaning into his touch despite every instinct screaming at you to pull away. "If I name it, you will use it against me."
"Of course I will." Agreeing as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. "That is what I do, but I also reward honesty when it suits me. Tell me.”
The word sat heavy on your tongue like a stone. Your lips parted then closed. He had always been patient with you, and you were so tired of lying to yourself. You looked up at him, letting yourself see him the way you had been avoiding for months. The sharp lines of his jaw, intriguing color of his eyes, the way the lamplight caught the faintest touch of silver in his hair: a detail only someone who studied him endlessly would notice.
"Admiration," you confessed.
The word fell into the space between you, small and damning. You expected him to dismiss you with that typical surgical detachment. Instead, his hand slid from your scalp to your chin, tilting your face up. The light caught his eyes fully now that his glasses had slipped down his nose; you saw a flicker that might have been acknowledgment. The pad of thumb traced the line of your jaw languidly.
"Six months… You spent six months mapping my habits and moods." Thumb moving up to trace your lower lip. "Did you never consider that I was learning you as well? Every stolen glance when you looked away too quickly, afraid I would catch you wanting." His voice dropped lower, a sound that vibrated through your chest. "I have catalogued everything."
He released your chin and pushed up his glasses with two fingers, a gesture so casual it made your heart ache.
"This changes nothing. My plans remain; you are still a means to an end, a variable I have accounted for." You nodded, throat tight. "I am not capable of returning the feelings you have,” he continued; "Not in the way you mean. I do not feel the pull you describe." He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, face inches from yours. His glasses had slipped again; you could see his eyes fully now. Arresting. "But I feel ownership and… a satisfaction of something that belongs to me without reservation. The pleasure of knowing that when I leave, you will remain here, thinking of me.” Reaching out, he took your hand, turning it over to study your palm. "It is close enough. It is more than I have given anyone else."
He pressed your palm against his cheek, holding it there, for one suspended moment, you felt the warmth of his skin, the faint rasp of stubble, the steady rhythm of his pulse beneath your fingertips. "Do you understand what I am telling you?" You shook your head, barely able to breathe. "I am telling you that you are mine and I do not abandon what is mine without reason.”He released your hand and sat back, the moment broken.
"Now, sit up. I am going to pour myself a drink, and you are going to tell me more observations, and I will decide which earn reward and which earn correction." He rose from the chair, stepping past you toward the decanter on the sideboard; you remained kneeling, heart pounding, the ghost of his cheek still warm against your palm. He glanced back over his shoulder. "Well? You have been waiting for permission all evening. I am giving it to you now."
You rose and followed him as Wesker poured two glasses. This surprised you as he had never offered you a drink before. Strangely, it felt almost like being regarded as an equal. The amber liquid caught the lamplight as he handed you the glass, his fingers brushing yours for a second longer than necessary.
Taking it, you didn’t lift the drink to your lips, opting to hold it. Grounding yourself in the weight of the glass pressing into your palm. He settled, cradling his own glass, studying you over the rim with those unreadable eyes.
"You are trembling," he observed.
Looking down, a fine tremor ran through your fingers. "I’m terrified," you admitted.
"Good. Fear keeps you sharp. I have no use for a devoted fool who does not understand what she has pledged herself to." He took a sip of his drink, letting it rest on his tongue before swallowing. You watched his throat. "Drink. It will help." The liquor burned a path down your throat as you drank, loosening the anxiety that settled tight in your stomach. Taking another sip, the bite mellowed into a smoothness that settled into your veins.
"Your observations," he prompted as you took another sip. "You mentioned my hands. What else have you catalogued?"
Your mind went blank for a moment, overwhelmed by the weight of his attention. Eventually, details began to surface, months of accumulated data. The warmth in your chest bloomed as you thought, softening the edges of your fear.
"The way you breathe changes when you are frustrated," you admit. "Your nostrils flare slightly. Most people would not notice."
His eyebrow arched. "Go on." As he filled your glass again. "Keep drinking."
You obeyed; it went down easy. "Um..." You took a breath. "You favor your left side when you’re tired. Like leaning into the doorframe or shifting your weight onto your left leg. You never do it when you are fully alert, though.”
Recognition flickered briefly across his face. He took a sip of his own drink before setting it down and circling behind you. You could feel the warmth radiating from him.
"Go on," he said, his voice close to your ear. "Do not stop now."
Obliging, the warmth had spread to your cheeks now, a pleasant flush creeping across your skin. Your thoughts felt syrupy, but the words kept coming.
"You do not sleep well... At least when you’re here. You wake up in the middle of the night, sitting in the dark, staring at nothing. I have watched you."
"You have been watching me." An acknowledgment, not an accusation. You nodded, the motion making the room tilt slightly.
"Yes," you whispered. You lifted the glass again, but your hand still trembled, the liquid threatening to spill. Before you could steady yourself, Wesker’s hand appeared over yours, guiding the glass back to your lips. His finger pressed beneath the bottom of the glass, tilting it upward to force more liquor past your lips.
"All of it," his voice soft.
Only when the last drop passed your lips did he release the glass, setting it aside with a soft clink. You felt dizzy, untethered from the careful walls you had built around yourself.
"I am afraid," you admitted, the words slurring slightly. "But I don’t want to leave…I love you."
A beat passed.
“You love me," Wesker repeated, “not just admiration?” You shook your head. His hands found your shoulders, turning you gently to face him. The room spun and you gripped his arms to steady yourself. "Look at me.” His face swam in front of you, sharp then blurry. "You are drunk," he observed.
"Yes," the words thick on your tongue. "You made me drunk-“
"Yes, I did. There is something else I have observed: You do not fear me the way you should," he continued. "Moreso, you fear disappointing me. The absence of my attention is more a motivator for you to remain in my good graces than my anger or what I’m capable of." His hand came to rest on your shoulder, fingers curling against the curve of your neck. "Am I wrong?"
“…No.”
"I thought not." His thumb continued the motion to trace a slow line along the side of your throat, pulse jumping beneath his touch. "That is why I have not disposed of you as I have disposed of others who outlived their usefulness." You searched his eyes for a clue that might tell you what came next. "If you are to be mine," he said, "then you will be mine entirely. That means there will be no part of yourself hidden from me.” He cupped your face with both hands, tilting your head back. The gesture was so unexpectedly tender that your eyes burned with sudden, unwanted tears.
"I want to see all of you," he said. "Every corner of that mind you have been so careful to guard." His thumb brushed away a tear that escaped down your cheek. "Can you let me in?"
You had never heard him ask for anything before, he always commanded. The realization overcame you that he may need the answer unforced from your lips.
"Yes," you whispered. "I can give you that."
Still cradling your face, his thumbs traced the hollows beneath your cheekbones. Eyes tracking across your features, cataloging every flicker of emotion you could not hide.
“You may be afraid, but you are also relieved that you no longer have to pretend. You have been wearing that mask it so long, I wonder if you remember what lies beneath."
"I remember the BSAA. The idea that we were saving the world." A soft laugh escaped your nose as you looked away. “It all seems so ridiculous now. I was so naive having no idea what the world really was, believing I was apart of a force for good." You had come to terms with it long ago. Even if Chris and the BSAA were looking for you, they would not save you. They would interrogate you, pick you apart for every piece of information you had gathered during your time with him and then eliminate you for being in league with the enemy. There had never been a rescue coming. The booze helped that thought slide away easily.
"And what is the world?"
"Chaos. Useless, unless someone imposes order on it. To be strong enough to shape it into something better."
A small smile accompanied his soft tone. "Who do you think that someone should be?"
"You. You are the only one who sees the truth. The only one who is strong enough to do what needs to be done."
"Where do you fit into this vision?"
"Wherever you want me to be," you breathed. "I am yours. That is who I am now and all I want to be."
Those perilous eyes darkened as something predatory flickered inside them. He studied you for a long moment with that analytical precision that had once terrified you. His grip on your face tightened, enough to remind you of the strength coiled beneath that calm exterior.
"Say it again."
"I am yours."
"Again."
"I am yours, and there is nothing left of me that does not belong to you."
“There’s no coming back from this, you realize that, yes?”
“I completely understand.”
An exquisite relief took over as his lips pressed against yours. The kiss was demanding as his hands tangled in your hair, pulling your head back, angling your mouth against his, pulling you deeper. You let him take whatever he wanted as you melted into him. When he finally pulled away, you were breathless, lips swollen, flush rising on your cheeks. Those amber eyes took you in with a brief satisfaction as he took his glasses at the temples, taking them off and setting them on the nearby table.
"I wonder how far you have truly come with how deep your devotion truly runs."
You stiffened slightly, a flicker of anxiety running through you despite the alcohol. "My devotion is absolute."
"Is it? Speaking words and performing devotion is easy in a basic sense, little lamb." The nickname had stuck after all these months. It used to make you bristle but now it made your heart flutter. “You performed similar with the BSAA, yet you are here with me now. I would like to see something more... visceral."
"What would you like from me?"
Standing, he looked down at you. "I want to see how far you are willing to go. I want you to worship me with your body to prove that your devotion is absolute. That there is nothing you would not do or give."
Your heart pounded against your ribs, a wild, erratic rhythm as your breath caught in your throat.
"You want me to..." You trailed off, unable to finish the sentence.
"I want you to show me," he insisted with his voice dropping to a near-whisper. "I want you to worship every inch of me. To prove that your body, soul, your very existence belongs completely to me." Descending, his fingers brushed against your cheek to tilt your face up.
"Are you sure?" The question escaped before you could stop it as you released a shaky breath.
"I am giving you the opportunity to prove yourself. Do not waste it."
"I want to," voice fragile and raw. "I want to give you everything."
"Strip." He commanded with a cold purr that slithered down your spine.
Fingers trembling, they eventually found the hem of your shirt. He observed you with that calculating, predatory stillness. You had changed in front of him before but always turned away, preserving a semblance of privacy. But this was different as it was not out of necessity. This was explicitly for him, gaze carrying a weight as physical as a caress. The fabric was soft, worn from months of wear, as you pulled it over your head with a fluid movement. Your hands moved to the waistband of your pants, hesitating for just a moment. A lifetime of self-preservation and learned shame fought against the command.
"All of it," he ordered.
Pushing them down, you stood before him in nothing but the thin fabric of your underwear. The lamplight painted your skin in shades of gold and shadow, you felt exposed in a way that went far beyond the physical. You reached behind your back, fingers unhooking your bra dropping it to join the rest of your clothes. Then your underwear, pushed down your hips until you stood before him completely bare as an offering. The air was cool against your skin, igniting goosebumps along your arms. With that measured stride he walked towards you, stopping close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating from his body and his familiar scent that had come to mean safety.
"Beautiful," he murmured, more an assessment than a compliment. His hand flattened above your heart. The heat of his skin and the steady pressure of his palm lulling you. "Your heart is racing," he observed. "Fear or anticipation?"
"Both," you admitted. "I do not know where one ends and the other begins anymore."
"Good. That is exactly how it should be." He pulled away, steepling his fingers.
"Kneel.”
You sank to your knees, the carpet soft against your bare skin. You looked up at him, heart pounding,
"Good girl.” A note of satisfaction lingered in his voice. "Now. Shine my boots." Your head tilted downward, your eyes fixed on the polished leather of his boots ready to perform the familiar act of reverence. "Not with your tongue," his voice cut through the silence like a blade. Freezing, your eyes snapped up to meet his, confusion flickering across your face.
"I want to feel your devotion,” his voice soft while his smile was cruel, a predator savoring the moment. “Shine my boot with your cunt.”
The words hit you like a physical blow that stole the breath from your lungs. You should have balked. Instead, you began by moving on the base instinct that had seized control of your limbs. Shifting forward, your legs spread as you positioned yourself over the toe of his boot, the hard curve of it pressing into the soft flesh of your inner thighs. A violent tremor that wracked you from spine to scalp as molten shame and arousal flooded into your veins. This was the edge, the complete surrender with the dissolution of your pride, ground to dust beneath his sole.
"Now.” The command hung heavy in the air.
The leather was cool and impossibly smooth against the burning heat of your thighs, the metal eyelets glinting like tiny teeth in the dim light. Your breath caught in a strangled whimper as your slick heat made contact with the polished surface. It was profoundly humiliating how your body betrayed you, hips twitching involuntary with need. Beginning to move, your hips rocked in a slow rhythm, the sound obscenely wet as your arousal painted the leather in glistening streaks. Each drag of your flesh left a translucent trail across the expensive surface, claiming it in the most debased way possible. The cold leather was a stark contrast to the heat that dripped from your body. Wesker stood over you, those calculating eyes making your heart jackrabbit against your ribs. The tension coiled in his shoulders dissipated as he took in your form, savoring your degradation and pathetic devotion.
"Faster," he commanded, "show me how badly you want to please me."
You obeyed without thought, your pace quickening into a frantic grind, breath erupting in short gasps that bordered on sobs. The leather was slick with arousal coating the surface in a glossy sheen, making each obscene slide unbearably pleasurable. Those coarse strands of the laces dug into your tender flesh, grating against your pussy, creating a ribbed friction that caught your clit with every pass. It was a delicious feeling that ripped an unbidden mewl from your throat while your fingers clawed into his calf, nails dimpling the fabric of his trousers, body bucking against the unyielding leather.
You looked up at him, lips wet and parted. There was a fire burning behind those amber irises that made you feel like the most precious thing in the world and the most worthless. His gaze raked over your blushing face, your eyes filled with want, the tears that glittered deliciously on your lash line. His jaw tightened at the sight as he let out a controlled exhale.
Out of the corner of your eye, you caught the unmistakable strain of his cock against the fabric of his pants. The sight made your heart swell. Beneath all that ice and control, he was not immune to you. The realization was intoxicating, more than any alcohol could ever achieve. You could credit yourself to disrupting his composure and that realization added fuel to the pressure coiling low in your belly. Aching, your inner muscles clenched around nothing as your hips stuttered and chased a climax that was just out of reach.
“Stop.”
The willpower it took to force yourself to yield was more than you’d care to admit. Biting back a wail, your movements ceased as you teetered in the razors edge.
"Now you may clean your mess," he instructed, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through the space between you.
Your breath caught as your body trembled against him the pressure in your core dissipated. Hands finding his boots, you steadied yourself as your tongue darted out, flat and warm against the polished leather. The taste of yourself flooded your mouth, salt and musk and the undeniable proof of surrender as you dragged your tongue along the curve of the toe, arch, and laces. Each stroke removed another trace of your shame from his shoes. The ritual of it sent a twisted peace to settle deep in your bones. You cleaned until the leather gleamed with the faint sheen of your saliva.
Above you, his breathing was no longer the measured rhythm of a man in control but more shallow; each exhale a little more unsteady than the last. Sitting back on your heels, you waited, heart pounding, throat dry. There was a beat of silence before his hands shot forward, fingers curling around your shoulders hauling you upward, dragging your body against the solid wall of his chest. The kiss started firm and demanding, a claiming more than anything gentle. But as the seconds stretched the pressure softened, lips moving slower against yours, almost tender. Then he pulled back, forehead pressing to yours, breath warm and uneven against your lips. His eyes closed, lashes dark against his pale skin. For a long moment he stood there in the quiet, thumb tracing the line of your jaw, back and forth. Without a word his lips trailed a slow path down the curve of your neck. There was a subtle tremor in his exhale, the faint unsteadiness of a man who had not planned on this affecting him so.
"Undress me.”
Nodding, your hands delicately worked the buttons of his shirt open. Once the fabric was pushed aside you stared for a moment at the sculpted planes of his chest. Like an echo of a marble statue, the musculature was perfectly defined, less like biology and more akin to architecture. Less like a human and more to something divine. Leaning forward, you pressed your lips tentatively to the hollow of his throat. Your tongue darted out to trace the sharp ridge of his collarbone, tasting the faint sheen of sweat and leather that clung to his skin. At the junction where his neck met shoulder you sucked gently. A low sound rumbled in his throat, approval. His palm reaching to cradle the back of your head.
"Good girl," he murmured, fingers threading gently through your hair. "Keep going."
Invigorated, your courage swelled as you kissed down his chest, hands exploring as they splayed against his skin. The steady, powerful beat of his heart beneath your palms lulled you while your lips traced the contours of his chest. You kissed the dip of his sternum, tongue following the ridges and valleys of his muscles, admiring the topography of his body. As you came up to the swell of his pectoral you softly licked at his nipple, tongue circling the sensitive bud. His chest rose with a surprised gasp, fingers tightening in your hair. Humming against his skin at the sensation against your scalp, soft palms splaying over his chest as you repeated the action on the other side.
Working your way down, your lips pressed kisses to his stomach, tongue tracing the chiseled lines of his abdomen. Your thumbs pet the well-maintained blond happy trail that guided you lower to tease the waistband of his pants. Your tongue felt the subtle tension of muscle beneath as you press your lips to the bare skin of his hip. Your fingers worked the laces of his boots, each loop loosening with careful precision. The leather gave way beneath your touch, and you guided each boot off his foot, setting them aside as your hands found the button of his pants, working it free with steady fingers. The zipper descended with a rasp and you pulled the fabric down his thighs. As he stepped out of them you were left kneeling with his briefs the only barrier remaining. Slowly you leaned in, cheek nuzzling the warmth of him through the thin cotton. His clean scent of him filled your senses. You pressed your lips against the straining fabric with a soft and reverent kiss before looking up through your lashes.
Wesker gave a permissive nod. Hooking your fingers into the waistband of his briefs, you pulled them down. The head of his cock flushed a deep crimson that faded down the shaft. Pressing a kiss to the head, the pearl of precum glossed your lips as you swirled your tongue around him, tasting salt and musk.
"That’s it. Worship every inch of me."
Obeying, your lips stretched around the shaft as you bobbed, tongue tracing the thick vein that snaked underneath his shaft. Tears sprang to your eyes as he snapped his hips forward, fingers weaving through your hair as he forced you to deep-throat him. After a few thrusts, he eased his hold. A low moan slipped from your throat as he allowed you to pull off, his attention snapping to the sound. He tapped his tip against your tongue with a slap before guiding himself back into your mouth, pushing your head down until you choked.
"This is the extent of your veneration? You can surely do better." Your lips kissed the trimmed base of his cock. One hand gripped on his thigh while the other reached to caress his balls as your lips worked, tongue spreading flat against the sensitive underside of the head. Groaning, his hips jerked, fingers tightening against your scalp.
"That is it. Take all of me. I know you can."
His hand loosened, letting you set the pace. You pulled back just enough to breathe, then sank down again, slower, finding your rhythm. His fingers stroked through your hair, a gentle counterpoint to the tight pull before.
"Look at me," he murmured. You obeyed, eyes meeting his gaze through the blur of tears. "There she is. Very good.”
The approval bloomed in your chest, warm and twisted. You moved faster, took him deeper, worshipped every inch of of him. When he finally pulled back, you looked up at him, lips swollen, eyes shining with devotion. A strand of saliva connected your lips to his cock, glistening in the low light.
"Good girl.”
As the words settled into your chest a surge of pride bloomed hot and bright beneath your ribs. The ache in your knees a sweet reminder as the tender skin was already beginning to darken into purple bruises like a map of devotion written across your body. He scooped you up without warning, one arm hooking beneath your knees, the other supporting your back. You let out a small yelp, hands flying to his shoulders for balance. He carried you across the room with an ease that made you feel completely at his mercy. As he laid you down the sheets were cool against your heated skin, his fingers traced the curve of your hip to the dip of your waist ending at the soft swell of your breast. You arched into his touch, breaths quaking as his lips soon followed, exploring every curve that made you moan softly.
"Look at you," he spoke against your skin,"You'd let me do anything to you, wouldn't you?
You nodded, eyes half-lidded with desire. "Anything.”
"I know you would." His teeth grazed your nipple hard enough to make you gasp while his cock pressed between your thighs. The blunt head caught on your clit with each slow pass sending a pleasurable rain of sparks up your spine. "Pathetic. You were a soldier once, a trained killer. Now look at you, spread out beneath me like a whore, begging for my touch." His words should have stung but instead they only made you want him more.
"Wesker, please," you whimper.
"Please what?" A dark amusement rippling in his voice. "You have to use your words, little lamb."
"Please," you repeat, desperation bleeding into the plea. "I need..."
"What is it?" He pulled back, eyes cold and mocking, the lamplight catching the sharp planes of his face. "Tell me what you need. Beg for it."
"Please," you moaned, the word torn from deep in your chest. "Please, God, please, I need you inside me now!" Your voice cracked into a sob as his fingers dug sharp and bruising into the soft flesh of your hips. The indentations his fingertips left behind, crescent-shaped marks, would darken to purple by morning.
"God?" He chuckled lowly as he tilted his head. "I suppose I am your God, am I not? You are permitted to exist because I will it so." With featherlight care he traced a finger down your sternum. "You know,” he mused, voice thoughtful, “I could kill you so easily like this.”
It was so offhandedly spoken. The words should have horrified you, they did, but beneath the fear something dark and twisted stirred. A soft moan escaped before you could stop it, thighs pressing together with a heat that creeped up your neck as you felt yourself grow wetter.
His gaze sharpened, catching the reaction.
"Oh?" A dark smile curved his lips. "Is that what you like? The danger?" Leaning down, his lips brushed your ear, breath hot against your skin. "I could snap your neck right now. Quick and clean; you would not even feel it." His teeth grazed your earlobe. "Or I could take my time. I could wrap my hands around that pretty throat and squeeze, watching your face turn red, then purple, seeing your eyes go wide with the understanding that I am the last thing you will ever see." His lips pressed a soft kiss to your neck, hand sliding from your throat to your jaw. Fear and arousal tangled in your gut.
"Or perhaps," he continued, voice dropping lower, "we can go a more exciting route: I could inject you with something new," his finger tracing a slow path down your stomach. "A virus I have been developing. Watch the way your veins darken beneath your skin. Listening to the sounds you would make as your body fights against what I had given it." His hand settled on your hip, thumb stroking the tender skin there.
"I could keep you in a glass tank. A beautiful little specimen I would watch you every day. You would be my finest experiment." Leaning down, his lips brushed your ear. "Would you like that? To be my pretty little test subject? To be the vessel for something new?"
As your mouth opened no words came out, your body trembled beneath his touch. Pulling back, his eyes never left yours.
"You are not afraid," he observed. "You should be, but that is what makes you so perfect."
Your eyes fluttered shut as he settled above you, the weight of him pressing you into the mattress. Looking down past the rise and fall of your own chest to see the way his body joins with yours. The pale skin of his abdomen, the dusting of blond hair that trails down from his navel, disappearing flush against your thighs.
"Perhaps I would start with something simple," he mused, rolling his hips against yours. The remnants of your saliva and drool helping his cock slide against your slick petals. "A small dose of something that would make you flush and require me to cool you down. Begging for my touch on your burning skin." Wesker dragged his cock against you, the head parting your slick heat with each agonizing pass. Your hips rose to meet him, chasing the contact. He pressed you back down with a firm hand on your pelvis.
"So impatient, you will take what I give you. Nothing more." He teased you until you were nothing but a trembling mess beneath him, thighs shaking, breath coming in ragged gasps. Every nerve in your body was alight and aching for fullness only he could provide. His hand wrapped around your throat, resting there to feel your pulse flutter like a moth beneath his palm.
"Sometimes I think about how your eyes would look in that final moment. How beautiful you would be as the light left them." His thumb stroked the column of your throat. "But then I think about how much I would miss you and l decide to keep you a little longer."
Then the head caught your entrance just right, there was a momentary blunt pressure of him stretching you. The anticipation felt like a live wire crackling in the air, the weight of his gaze burning into your countenance. He sank in, inch by agonizing inch. The stretch of him and the burn of being filled so completely stole the air from your lungs. Your walls clenched around him, trying to accommodate his girth, and a broken sound escaped your throat. A mutant cross between moan and prayer as they had become interchangeable. A deep, satisfying pressure settled into your bones as he buried himself balls deep inside you. He stilled above you, letting you savor the fullness, the absolute surrender and stretch of your body to accommodate his. Beneath the pain was a pleasure so aching it made your vision blur.
"Look at me," he commanded. Through the haze of tears and desire your gaze met his face suspended above yours, expression unreadable, eyes burning with a raw desire."There you are," he murmured, voice almost tender. "My perfect, desperate little lamb."
With a slow and deep movement his hips rolled against yours, each thrust was a deliberate, measured stroke that pressed him harder against that soft spot inside you that made stars burst behind your eyelids. The wet sound of your bodies meeting filled the room, pleasure crested over you ending with a the soft grunt that escaped his lips with each plunge.
"I have watched the light extinguish from a multitude of people I have killed but I have never had the pleasure of someone begging me to stay inside them while I did it." murmured against your ear punctuating the statement with a deep stroke. Your pussy clenched around him at the words. "If I wrapped my hands around your throat right now, would you beg me to keep going? To finish inside you while you choked on your last breath?"
"Anything!” A sob escaped your lips as your fingers clasped at the muscles of his back. "Anything you want. Use me. Let me be your experiment. I only care that you want me and that you’ll keep me.“
"Of course." He exhaled as he shifted his hips, the rhythm changing as the slow, deep strokes became longer and harder. The head of his cock dragged along your walls, hitting that perfect angle with each brutal plunge. A sharp cry escaped your lips as he drove into you. You could feel him in the very marrow of your bones. "Is this what you needed?" his voice betraying a hint of strain.
"Yes," you plea. "Yes, yes, yes.."
"Fucking take it then.” The curse is so unexpected that it sends a jolt through you while the rhythm broke free of its careful restraint, giving away to something more primal. "Look at me.” Forcing your eyes open, you meet his gaze: pupils blown wide, ringed in a predatory red that nearly glowed. "I want to see you fall apart on my cock. I want to see the moment you break."
A distant part of yourself marvels at the contrast: the iron grip of his fingers, the crash of his hips paired with the tenderness of his lips as they press against your temple. You shatter. His name tears from your throat as the pleasure crests into a white-hot wave that swallows you up in its tides. Your body arches beneath him, pulling him deeper as waves of ecstasy roll through you. His fingers weave into your hair, holding you in place.
"Wesker," you gasp, the name a broken hymn on your lips. "Wesker- please, I can't..."
He does not stop, seeing you through the completion of your orgasm with a relentless pace. "I want more from you."
You shake your head weakly, "I can't. I can't..."
"You will." His hand snakes its way between your bodies to caress your clit, circling and pressing with merciless precision. It was too much. You tried to create a little space to find some respite from the overwhelming assault of sensation. He had you pinned with a relentless grip on your hips, controlling every movement to the desperate mewls that escaped your lips.
"You think this is about you? This is about what I want." He chuckled lowly to himself, "Do you think the esteemed Chris Redfield knew that he had a boot-licking slut under his command?" Wesker sneered as his cock twitched inside you. The wet sound of his skin slapping against yours filled the small room, obscene and relentless.
He paused with a calculated stillness as he buried himself to the hilt deep inside you. Your eyes fluttered open at the sudden stop, his amber eyes bored into yours with a suspicion that made your blood run cold. "Why did you tighten when I mentioned him?" His hand snapped to your throat, fingers curling around your windpipe and squeezing hard enough to make stars burst in your vision. The lack of air compounded every sensation, the thick stretch and ache of him inside you to the frantic thrum of your heartbeat in your ears. "Harboring feelings for him?"
"No-" you moaned, the word a strangled whisper through your compressed airway. "No, no-!”
"Liar." He hissed, released your throat letting your head fall back onto the bed. Chest heaving and desperate for air, you sputtered into a moan as he gave you no time to recover while his fingers found your clit again without mercy. "Stupid little thing," he murmured almost fondly. “Thinking with your cunt, aren't you?"
"Yes-" you gasped, the word rattling out of you. "Yes, I'm-"
"How would your dear Captain Redfield feel seeing you like this?" Wesker interrupted, voice dripping with cold amusement. His cock twitched against your walls as his thrusts resumed, harder with each one driving the air from your lungs in broken gasps. "Spread open and taking my cock so well like the slut you are? Would he be proud or disgusted? Would he even attempt to save you, or would he put a bullet in your head and call it mercy?"
"He would- fuck-" you whimpered, hands grasping at the sheets, his shoulders, anything to anchor yourself as his hips slammed into yours with a force that pushed you up the mattress.
He slapped you. The sharp crack of his palm against your cheek echoed in the room, the sting blooming across your skin in a hot flush. Your head snapped to the side, the metallic tang of blood welling where your lip had split against your teeth.
"You will speak with respect, even when you're being fucked like the whore you are." The taste of copper and salt spread across your tongue as the tears that had beaded on your lash line finally spilled down your cheeks. The warmth of his body, the weight of him inside you, the sting of the slap, all of it blurred together into an overwhelmingly sick and intoxicating
In that moment your orgasm tore through your body without warning, violent and crashing, your walls clenching around him in rhythmic, pulsing waves. A sob ripped from your throat, half-pleasure, half-pain, as you gushed around his cock, the evidence of your depravity soaking his thighs. You could feel your slick hot arousal dripping down, body betraying you in the most intimate way possible, proving exactly what kind of creature you had become. For a moment his thrusts paused, eyes flickered taking in the situation. A crack in the ice of his composure before it slammed back into place. He watched you fall apart beneath him, your body still trembling with aftershocks. Stilling, curiosity and surprise flickered across his face as he watched your body fall apart beneath him, your body still trembling through the aftershocks of your climax around him. Your face wet with tears, your split lip bleeding, the mess of your release pooling beneath you.
A heavy beat of silence stretched between you.
"Well, that was not what I expected." His thumb traced the line of your jaw, catching a tear before it could fall. "I knew you had your... depravities, we all do. But I did not realize they ran quite this deep."
Those amber eyes traced down your body, zeroing in on the slick evidence of your shameful pleasure glistening in the low light.
"You came at the thought of Redfield putting a bullet in your head." He observed softly. The warmth of his hand found your chin, gently this time, tilting your face up to meet his gaze. The amusement in his eyes was unmistakable. "Fascinating," he breathed his thumb tracing your bloody lower lip. "I knew you were devoted. But this…I think you are the most exquisite creature | have ever had the pleasure of breaking." He leaned down, his forehead pressing to yours, and you felt his breath warm against your lips.
You hiccuped, "H-He would loathe it. He would kill you ten times over." Your hands clutched at the coiled muscles of his shoulders. "If he could."
"If he could," Albert agreed in a low purr. As his canines pierced the skin of your shoulder. You cried out as he broke the skin. He savored your cries and the tang of blood blossoming in his mouth. Soothing the wound with his tongue, his voice dripped with contempt. "He left you to die, a beautiful thing like you, to rot in that hellhole while he chased his precious revenge. I saw your value. I saw more in you than he ever did." His hand found your throat, grip lighter than before as he resumed his thrusts. The lack of oxygen lifted the intensity, your senses swimming in a sea of bliss. "Do you understand? Mine to break. Mine to put back together.” He leaned down, lips brushing against the column of your throat.
"I'm not his anymore," you repeated like a mantra, the words tumbling out with every collision of his hips.
"Then whose?" he demanded.
“Yours. Only yours." You gasped into a sob. The words falling from your lips like a prayer. "I'm yours. I'm yours. I'm yours!"
"Say it fully.” he commanded with a growl. Breath hot against your neck, his scent was intoxicating. The amber notes from his cologne, the salt from his sweat, the faint musk of his skin.
It was near overwhelming as you managed to grate out:
“I'm yours, Albert."
"Perfect girl," his voice softening to tender. "So sweet for me." He kissed the wound on your shoulder, tongue tracing the bloody imprint of his teeth. Hips slowing, his thrusts becoming deeper, more intimate. ”You're mine," he breathed against your skin. "All mine. I will never let anyone take you from me." Interlaced with yours, his fingers pinned your hand to the mattress beside your head. Albert’s lips pressed gentle kisses to the bruises forming on your neck. "Everything I didn't know I needed."
The intamacy, the switch from cruel to posesive in the span of a heartbeat made you shudder, tears continuously flowed down your cheeks. A mixture of pain, pleasure and overwhelming devotion. "I don't want you to let me go," you whispered. "I want to be yours forever."
"Forever," he repeated, a smile in his voice. "Yes. That's exactly what I have in mind."
The words hit you like a wave, washing away any shame and fear. You clung to him, arms wrapping around his neck, legs hooking around his waist to bring him impossibly close.
"I'm going to cum inside of you," his voice a low rasp against your ear. "Do you think you're worthy of that?"
Those dexterous fingers circled your slick clit with a punishing expertise that sent white-hot sparks through your nerves. His cock throbbed inside you, stretching you obscenely, splitting you open with every punishing thrust. Every one of your thoughts reduced to ash except for the concept of him and proving yourself worthy of this moment.
"Yes," you gasped, the word torn from your throat. "Yes, please! I want all of you. Claim me." Your hands clawed at his shoulders, nails digging into his skin, anchoring yourself to him as the world splintered around you.
"Shh, I know you want it, little lamb. I can feel you clenching around me, trying to pull me deeper. You are so desperate for it. Beautiful." Tears spilled down your cheeks and you weren’t sure if they were from pleasure or the overwhelming weight of his attention. "Say you are worthy."
"I am worthy," you sobbed. "I am worthy. I am yours.”
His thrusts grew erratic, composure finally cracking as his fingers tightened around you. "Look at me," he commanded. "I want to see your eyes when I claim you."
You forced your eyes open, meeting his gaze. His lips parted, the usual cold mask shattered into a raw and almost human visage.
"Please, Albert,” the name escaped your lips again as your high washed over you. That triggered his orgasm. A deep groan rumbled in his chest as he buried himself to the hilt, flooding your walls with hot, rich spurts to the point where you felt it drip down your thighs. He let out a sensitive breath as he fucked his cum deep inside of you. You wrapped your arms and legs around him even tighter, milking his release as a white ring bubbled around his shaft. He held himself there for a long moment, buried inside you, his forehead pressed to yours, breathing ragged. Then he pulled out. You felt the warmth trickle down your thigh. It was obscene in the way you had begged for.
Collapsing beside you, he pulled you against his chest, the steady rhythm of his heart beating beneath your cheek. It was always slower than yours.
"You obeyed so well," he murmured against your skin, pressing a kiss to your temple. "You took everything I gave you so perfectly. How beautiful is that?”
You nodded, body trembling and totally spent. "I never want to break," you whispered. "I want to be strong enough for you. I want to be worthy."
He pulled you closer, arms wrapping around you, chin resting on the top of your head. Gently, his hand stroked your hair. This was what you had decided to live for, the moments of softness and warmth where he let his guard down. His fingers drifted down to trace absent patterns on your bare shoulder. It may have been affection if he were capable of such a thing. "You are. That is why I keep you."
The words settled in your chest like a brand as you closed your eyes, feeling the evidence of still warm between your thighs, and you smiled softly against his chest.
"I love you," you whispered against his chest.
For a long moment he said nothing, hand stilling in your hair, and you could swear you felt a subtle tension run through his body.
Then his arms tightened around you, "I know you do," the words barely audible. For a lingering moment he pressed his lips to the top of your head. You felt the faint exhale of a breath that may have been a sigh. "Rest now. You have given me enough for one night."
But his arms did not loosen. His hand resumed its stroking through your hair. In the quiet of that moment you knew that he was not ready to let you go either.
Unsure if I’ll add more to this series or that it really needs to go on. I did what I came here to do: boot/body worship. Probably the most messed up thing I’ve written. That being said… I’m open to all suggestions except pregnancy because I would never fantasize about that kind of body horror.
PS. Also. Erm… why did his cock twitch every time he said Chris’ name? He’s projecting for real😜
— Monster-fucking, Non-con/Rape, Non-Human Genitalia, Anal sex, Oral sex. Not Beta Read. Full tags on Ao3
Licker/Albert Wesker
Ao3
Young Wesker, still fairly new to Umbrella, devoting time to experimenting on the Lickers. They’re fascinating—46 chromosomes, intriguingly similar to humans. Their lethal, muscle-bound tongue that replaces their throat structure. Their hyper acute hearing that makes up for their lack of sight.
To say Wesker was fascinated would be an understatement. He wanted to see these creatures up close. Feel their wet, skinless against his own. Flayed, exposed, coated in a thin and grotesque layer of cellular fluid, blood, and their own biological slime. Veins twitching across the surface of muscle and tendons, pulsating unnaturally and in such a morbid fashion. To put it simply, a horrific mass of exposed muscle, rippling with every slight movement.
They were noticeably and unbelievably powerful, structurally devastating. The strength built up in its upper body, enough to cling to walls and ceiling. Imposing talons latching onto anything in sight. Concrete, wood, perhaps skin if someone crossed its path. mistakenly. Elongated claws having the ability to anchor itself onto anything.
It was hard not to admire these creatures, that’s what Wesker told himself. That these threatening, unnatural beasts could easily annihilate anyone uneducated enough to find itself cornered. Who didn’t understand the important and unusual biology behind the mammoths. Wesker thought himself too brilliant to get himself into a troubling situation. Thought that it was for amateurs, only.
That’s precisely how he ended up in this situation.
He had been meaning to observe them closer. That was the reason for him entering their enclosure. He walked in, holding a clipboard and a pen with a firm hold. Wesker knew enough, that causing too much ruckus or overwhelming the creature with high volume would have it launching at him within milliseconds. These Lickers were no joke. All the higher ups made sure both Birkin and Wesker were aware of the strength and power held by these monsters. Wesker knew. He should’ve listened.
He’d attempted to grab a sample of the mucus covering its muscle-like skin. Slow, steady footsteps. Gently approaching the beast which curled in on itself and turned its head cautiously, as if sniffing out its next prey. One footstep followed by another, his Oxfords lightly tapping against the sterile, cool tile of its enclosure. Though, despite how wary and circumspect Wesker typically was, he hadn’t accounted for the slickness left behind from the creature itself.
Polished Oxfords met the slimy, mucilaginous texture. He felt it, felt gravity disobey him and have him stumble to the ground. He let out a grunt through gritted pearly teeth, wiped the wetness from his leather gloved hands onto the tile. Frustration evident on his face, replaced with horror as the Licker’s attention zeroed in on him. It reacted solely on sound. Though, it too was interested by taste and smell. It began to sniff curiously. From Wesker’s perspective, impossibly long nails began to curl and reach towards him. Before he could act, reach his pager and call for assistance, a large claw pulled him in.
He scrambled immediately upon instinct. Its nails were untamed and sharp enough to slice through the fabric of his tailored trousers, began to burrow its face into any crevice it could find. Its nose settled curiously between Wesker’s, began to huff through anticipation of what its next meal would possibly be. Though, something else the researchers had been preparing for. A natural phase of all creatures on Earth—the urge to mate. It appeared to have begun relatively early. It wasn’t due for another month or so, though that didn’t matter too much. What mattered, was Wesker climbing his way out of the now locked enclosure. If he managed to free himself from the confines of the Licker, he’d still have to unlock the terminal and ensure no word gets out to authority of his slip up.
Wesker stilled as the creature began to search his body, huffing at the aroma of his spiced cologne, tongue darting out to run itself along his body. He knew that one wrong and poorly thought out move would have its hooked claws and tongue through his body. Even then, he’d have a merciless death after being thoroughly enjoyed and used as entertainment by the insatiable beast.
“Easy…” He hushed. A quiet mutter. One intended to ease the creature away, have it relax and calm down, know that it’s in safe hands. It went from hissing and grumbling, to soft purring. It began to approach Wesker, pushing itself further into his space until it practically straddled him. Wesker lay horrified beneath the beast, in such a compromising position, that he had to only hope it would crawl off of him soon, because any sudden and abrupt movements would swiftly end his existence.
Wesker knew what was happening before the Licker likely did. He could feel it against the inside of his clothed thigh. Through the layer of his trousers, the imprint of the Licker’s erect, engorged, and unnaturally long and wide penis rubbing against his body. It was already hard and beginning to swell with the primal, baser urge to mate and breed. Unfortunately, Wesker’s position meant that he would be the one to be bred if he didn’t act quickly.
Thinking on the spot was never an inconvenience for Wesker. Yet, stunned by the creature’s ability to end his being in one second rendered him useless. Its claws had already begun to tear at his clothing, and he froze on the instinct to save his life. He swallowed cautiously, felt as the Licker began to wander over his form. It swiftly disposed of his trousers, began to reach for his boxers with the same intent.
For the first time in Wesker’s life, he had felt like prey. After years of research and testing on victims who didn’t consent to being part of whatever sick experiment he decided to conduct, he was now in such a state.
It began to slide down his body. It sniffed him cautiously before flipping him onto his stomach. Whatever oxygen he was holding in, was thrusted from his lungs as he felt the stickiness and pressure of its frighting tongue push against his asshole. He sucked in a sharp breath, realisation dawning on him.
He was about to be taken by a Licker.
He knew the capability of these Licker’s tongues. Knew that if it’s hunger and depraved needs took over, it could easily penetrate right through his body onto the other side. He prepared for his life to meet an untimely end, then felt it.
Gentle. Tender. Careful. As if to not disrupt the moment too much. Wesker had been praying for anything other than this. To be alive, conscious, and awake for the assault. The strength Wesker acquired was visible through years of thoughtful training. His body was structured, built up and toned from being taken care of. His body was a vessel, and he treated as such. Though, in comparison to the imposing Licker that began to ease its tongue into him, he knew he stood little chance surviving if he attempted to wriggle away. Even if he did, the Licker may just be more cruel. No preparation, forceful entry and preparation.
So, he took it.
He let himself go slack as it burrowed itself into him. He could feel the tongue pulse and twitch as it continued its journey into Wesker’s asshole. Drool pooled and smeared along Wesker’s bare thighs, feel the pressure building up inside of him with each drive of its tongue, every little painful thrust that had him wincing. It was beyond awful. It was beyond invasive, felt as if he was being ripped apart and had every vulnerable organ on display. The predator purred at the submission Wesker displayed, how he remained still despite every instinct begging for fight, or flight.
A pained gasp left Wesker as it thrusted its tongue into him. Once, twice, thrice. Its depth was agony, felt as though it was claiming him from the inside out. If he were to survived being brutalised by the predator, he’s certainly never forget the sensation. Its grotesque paws wandered his body, began to drag him by the hips closer against his mouth. Until he rested flat against the surface of its visage. The structure was uncanny, so similar to a human yet missing the remarkable features that make it look correct. It was audibly enjoying the process. It fucked its tongue out of Wesker once, before curling around to his own cock. It forced Wesker back onto his back, began to curl its tongue around his length like a python. It flicked the front of the muscle it against Wesker’s tip, stimulating it with ease.
Wesker watched on in trepidation at the hardening of his own size. Watched as it spread his gooey, mucus-like spit over him. Until he began to produce pre. Beading on the head of his cock, quickly swiped away by the Licker’s tongue which appeared intrigued by the salty, unusual taste. It’s curiously continued as it furthered the stimuli to Wesker’s penis, until he was taking in his gasps and trying to stay composed in the situation.
It seemed ready, now. It rested on its hind legs and began to pull Wesker’s thighs apart. Prying them apart and leaving them suspended as it pushed and prodded the head of its own dick against his body. It missed countless times, slid over Wesker’s cock and thigh before it found the tight little ring. Unused, virgin, ready for mating.
With one agonising thrust, it shoved itself inside. Wesker cried out, stuttering on his own breaths as it began to thrust happily. It was overly enthusiastic with its pace, growled happily and left dribble on Wesker’s body. Its claws dug deep enough that it left dashes on the expanse of his skin. The sound of wet skin slapping against his own rung in his ears. He tightened his eyes shut, tried to pretend this wasn’t happening as his cheeks began to grow damp with tears that slid down them. He could barely catch a breath as it pounded him relentlessly.
It didn’t care whether this was nothing short of absolute agony for Wesker. Didn’t care for the tears, nor the wails that left his lips. It knew it had its prey within its hands and hearing the cries for mercy fed straight to its cock. Its balls slapped against Wesker with each deep thrust, it felt as though it pierced right through him. Each rock of its hips left Wesker’s head hitting against the hard ground, disorientating him more—if possible.
Its pace showed little sign of slowing down. It erratically fucked him as though its only interest was to breed whatever set of holes lay beneath it. It didn’t even understand that it was fruitless, that Wesker couldn’t take the children it wanted to fill him with. Didn’t understand what kind of misery and torture Wesker was in. Not that it mattered, it found entertainment and satisfaction in the bloodshed of those wrongfully crossing it.
Wesker felt it begin to slow down, hips faltering and stuttering periodically. It heaved and grumbled deep within it, arched its back to such an unnatural curve and fed Wesker’s its release through heavy spurts of its load. Thick, leaving him feeling impossibly full and thoroughly fucked out.
Only, when it began to quicken its pace once more, Wesker realised he was in for more than he thought.
—
Oswell E. Spencer watched on through the other side of the enclosure, gazing through the observation window. He began to scribble down some notes onto the file containing the Licker’s information. He updated it with,
“Licker appeared to be devoted to mating, intercourse exceeds an hour. Mating season begun earlier than estimated.”
He smiled watching Wesker fall into the trap he’d set up
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