Author's Note: So I've written Umbra as a Post-RE5 story a year ago, and yes it was just one chapter and it's gone now. The idea for that is Wesker returns, torments them, and wins eventually. But it's been sitting for so long (forever) in my drafts, that the scenes have jumbled with other 'Post RE-5, Wesker wins' ideas. Hence, I'm just going to float a bit with this strange one where in it's Post-RE5 but Wesker doesn't win: the idea is opposing sides just cooperating towards one goal.
Yes, I was on hiatus (I think I still am so bear with me) scribbling ideas from time to time. This is one of them. I'm getting over my anxiety and posting it online now. I only kind of want to have Wesker to be the submitting party for once. It's always his rules before. He's always the dominant (I'm lying, he still is domineering, you know how my stories work!) And I saw a B.S.A.A. Wesker fanart not so long ago, and it was real cute haha! (Not that it's so relevant to the story, okay it is relevant, because it's cute and I want a cooperating Wesker - all geared up with big guns and ammo pouches)
Let's uncover the hiatus box and dive in one smutty story (or three)~ :D
July 2013
B.S.A.A. North American Headquarters
Jill rolled the cotton panties down her thighs. It gathered around her knees, a wrinkled blue cloth serving as the barrier for her dignity. She kicked it all the way off. It wouldn't be needed for the next ten minutes or so of her life.
He better be ready and erect the moment she stepped in there.
Then she would straddle, ride, and be done with this ridiculous "experiment".
It was possible for the act to be over in five minutes or less.
She wouldn't even have to see his face.
He could be a pulsing dildo for all its worth.
She took a deep breath and turned to the sink with a conflicted expression. Her knuckles went white gripping the faucet. With a flick of her wrist, ice cold water streamed out to soak her hand. A splash of it on her face successfully numbed her mind.
What she had to do was just sexual intercourse. Sex had been done for far less noble reasons before. Far. Lesser. Reasons.
The fruit of this could possibly be their salvation.
It was just sex she had to endure.
Sex with her former captor.
"They won't turn it off." Wesker gestured to the recording camera sitting at the right corner of the room. The little red light mocked her with every blink. "Not even for your modesty. I do hope Christopher is not watching."
Jill sighed and ignored the jab.
"Let's just finish this, Wesker.", she said, tone straight like it had been ironed, her eyes locked on his, unafraid. The image of him weakened and beaten, on his knees and in undeniable pain brought her enough confidence.
They had started feeding him when "Neo-Umbrella" unleashed never before seen bioweapons. They had started accommodating him when cities began to disintegrate because of a new virus. He was a part of them now, somehow, a traitorous but useful part they had to tolerate.
"Get on the bed then.", he ordered, turning away from her to flick the main fluorescent off, leaving them in the lull light of a lone lamp shade. She noticed the muscle mass he had regained. The standard white shirt stretched over his back and shoulders. She remembered the time when he lost that arrogant stance, that posture exuding with deadly elegance. It had been satisfying while it lasted, starving him and letting him rot.
"No." She crossed her arms over her chest, opted for avoiding his gaze for the next miserable minutes. The snake-like eyes were gone, gone for good or just went into hiding after the B.S.A.A. scientists had messed with him for days on end. "You won't be touching me." The sentence came out too softly, as if she was murmuring to herself.
"That will certainly result to this staying unfinished."
Impatience was laced in his tone. He leaned on the wall and folded his arms over himself. Utter distaste written on his face.
"You know your way out." He threw a pointed look over the heavily locked metal door. "I'll raise artificial insemination as an alternative again, give it another try, perhaps your body will bend in time—time you definitely do not have."
"Get on the bed.", she commanded, hands behind her back, imagining a trainee before her. It was liberating being the one issuing the order for once. The floor was cool beneath her bare feet, cool to the point of calming. Her hands dropped to her sides, before reaching for the hem of her shirt. She pulled it up, high enough to bare her abdomen, the cold air immediately licked at her skin - creating goosebumps, before she decided it was not worth it— getting undressed for this, for him.
Wesker silently walked to his single bed and sat on the edge without further retort. The mattress noticeably dipped with his weight.
"Lie down.", she added to her previous command, staring at nothing but a point on his shoulder.
He did what he was bid, arranged his long frame in the cramped space the bed provided.
She only began to approach the moment she deemed his position prone enough.
Her eyes assessed the crease on his crotch once she was close, trying to determine if it was possible to proceed immediately. There was a telling line there, alive and pulsating. But she had to be sure.
"Are you hard? Or do you require time?"
"Get on, Valentine." She resisted a flinch at the instruction.
She regained composure and tugged her jean skirt over her thighs. Her leg was thrown over his waist, careful not to bump with the adjacent wall, and she settled on top of him. Relief flowed in her veins the moment his face was out of sight, all she could view of him was his waist down to his steady toes. She wouldn't have to see his face or touch him more than what was necessary.
She could handle this.
The second step would have her take his cock out of his pants, to be eventually placed inside of her.
How could a couple of minutes stretch on like it was eternity?
She shifted herself up on his body, ensured there was space between her and him as her fingers set to work on freeing his cock. His shirt had ridden up his torso, exposing the dips of his abs and the jut of his hips. Her thumbs skimmed over the strip of exposed skin above the waistband of his pants, sliding under the elastic after some time. He was indeed hard beneath the fabric, engorged to the point that it appeared painful. The outline of his length was so vulgar, fat and straining within its confines.
Get it over with.
It was just a cock. Just sex.
Jill peeled the pants out of the way, pushed them down his thighs. She spared the throbbing erection one more glance before she was taking it in her hand. A tremble sneaked into her bones, which she fought down with desperation. She would not allow him feel her tremble because of his proximity alone. That time had come to pass. That time had died. He was the prisoner now, not her.
Her fingers involuntarily tightened around him, around that pulsating shaft she could barely contain in her grip. His breath hitched. And she nearly sighed.
It would be over soon.
She looked ahead, at the steel wall a few feet away from her, as she brought the tip of his length between her folds. The bulbous head split her pussy lips, then nudged her clit. His heat was electrifying and she thought rubbing against his arousal would help her ease through the act.
"You're dry." He casually drawled behind her. Of course she was as dry as a desert. He was not the most arousing thought to begin with.
An embarrassed gasp escaped her lips all the same. And her eyes flicked to the camera fixed on them. It was not capable of recording sound, she remembered, much to her relief.
She remained frozen on top of him, her right hand wrapped around his cock. The other balanced her body, pressed against the hard plane of his abdomen.
"Perhaps the medical ward can spare you some lubricant.", he soundly continued.
She bristled at the suggestion. She wouldn't be postponing this to further eat at her during her daily activities.
"I can take it.", she stressed through the gnashing of her teeth. There was a heat originating in her core, creeping up to her chest and neck. Her skin sweated underneath the long-sleeved shirt she was wearing. He couldn't see her face and the humiliation reflected on it. That was comforting enough.
He remained rigid in her hand, already wet to the touch, content with being nestled in that calloused warmth. His voice and the rest of his body hid well the eagerness his cock showed. It seemed apart from him, had a mind of its own, unable to pretend or lie. It just wanted, simple as that.
She adjusted her knees at his sides, relieved the cramp trying to settle on the muscles of her thighs. She ran the tip of her nail under the reddened head of his shaft. He stilled beneath her, his muscles pulled taut. A swipe to the head and a clear fluid pearled on his slit. Her mouth parted as the liquid continued to gather and with a light pressure from her fingers, the liquid finally dripped along his heated erection, running over the seemingly angry ridges. She spread his slick all over him, manipulated his length until her hand was lathered enough and tired.
That would do for lubricant.
She allowed his length to fall against his belly, as her body folded and bent over him a little. Left hand on his knee, pressing without consideration to the weight she was putting on it. The skirt was further hiked up her thighs, until it was nothing but a bunched clothing around her waist. She was unaware of the view she was giving him, of the truly delectable display. Fully clothed still but with her pussy bare and ripe for the taking.
She slipped the hand smeared with his precum between her legs. The heel of her palm pressed and rubbed over her clit, as her fingers parted her folds and warmed up her cunt. Her middle finger teased her entrance, a tinge of wet heat trickled from it and coated her skin. She felt herself unfurl, little by little, under her own ministrations.
A few more seconds were allocated on the poor preparation alone.
It would have to do, for it to be all over soon.
She reached for his cock again, positioned the wide head at her entrance.
Perspiration beaded at her temple. The room seemed to be stripped off of its air conditioning unit. There was nothing but dry and heavy air surrounding them. Sweat streaked down the side of her face to pool at the point of her chin. She already felt exhausted and she hadn't even started.
A slight movement beneath her caught her attention, an adjustment of his hips, it placed pressure at her entrance and the head of his cock breached her. Not even the entire tip, just a part of it. A familiar pressure that threatened to invade her.
She grabbed the chance and lowered herself, gritted her teeth at the torturous sting that followed. He was wide and riddled with pronounced veins. He didn't merely penetrate her. His cock scraped along her insides, ripped into her depths no matter how slow or how gentle she went. The lack of lubrication and desire bored down on her.
But it was alright. It was meant to be a task. A mission to accomplish. A difficult challenge to overcome. The pain was welcome.
Her fingers were frantic over her clit, beating and scratching, forcing herself to feel.
She didn't make it all the way down his length, she intended to rest there - midway, to catch her breath and adjust on his fucking girth.
But his touch startled her. There was a light grip on her hip all of a sudden.
Didn't she tell him not to touch her?
"Cease this.", he whispered, his voice seemingly so close, like he was right against her ear, when in reality he was as far as he could be, flat on his back, the only things connecting them were his length lying snug within her and that hand holding her steady. She couldn't even see his face. The sharp cuts of his features. The arrogance in his eyes. She'd rather not see.
"Just sit.", he instructed, his fingers on her waist pressing with insistence. "Release the tension on your legs, on your hips."
It happened to her own surprise. Like a shrouded road clearing.
Her body obeyed. Unable to unlearn.
And the soft curve of her settled on him, fully, finally, and the rest of him took residence inside of her.
Like a shrouded road clearing.
"Don't thrust."
Jill fell on her hands between his legs, short of breath.
"Roll your hips."
His hand was still on her hip, pressing in the most imperceptible of ways, maneuvering her body in accordance with his sinister directives.
"Shut your mouth.", she spat out, her fingers wringing on the sheets. "I know what I'm doing."
"Then move, Jill.", he rasped her name out, as if he was under torture, hips bucking up to remind her of the task at hand, as if she had forgotten, as if he was not desecrating her deep inside as he spoke, as if he was not pushed so far up within her that he was violating the mouth of her womb.
The pressure there was immense, so immense, she contracted around him, trying to find space for herself but there was nothing left.
He had filled every inch of her with his scorching warmth. She was brimming with him.
"We've been at here a lot longer than we should."
Fucking talking dildo wouldn't shut it. Talked as if he was the one most burdened by the act they had to do.
She braced herself against the onslaught of sensations and rolled her hips.
Jill rippled around him, tightened and performed her job.
She unraveled with each grind, her silken cunt undulating around his length. Admittedly, the lazy, reluctant rolls of her hips seemed to be detrimental to what she was trying to achieve— a quick end to this disgusting rut. The position stimulated her clit, enough to ease her walls around him, enough to make the friction hurt less, enough to even make her feel.
But it was not the same for him.
A man needed to be ridden. The harder. The better. And Wesker was not even a man. A monster like him would require more, demand more of the female body to satiate itself.
It was an excruciating task.
But she gathered her strength and straightened her back. With the tips of her fingers secured against her sensitized clit, she rose on her knees, slowly, careful of the drag and the weight of his cock inside of her. The bulges along his length teased her, tested her. He tapped on places within she never knew existed.
His hand tightened on her hip when she continued to rise. It was a tug, a wordless instruction for her to drop herself on his length again.
And she did just that.
Impaled herself, completely, once more.
A groan rewarded her efforts.
So she set to repeat the action that could bring the act to its climax.
Rise and fall. Rise and collapse. Build to end.
His grip on her tautened with each thrust. His long fingers dug on her skirt. His groans went unfiltered.
He was shameless in his pleasure.
Her teeth worried her lip, bit until the already chapped skin broke and the taste of iron was potent on her tongue. Her left hand slid under her shirt, sought for one neglected breast.
But she realized what she was doing, and stopped herself.
Focused instead on bouncing on that thick cock between her legs.
She went faster, harder, the slapping of skin against skin an obscene sound filling the room.
His toes curled. His legs tensed. The entirety of him was straining.
She had half the mind to jump off of him, to get away as fast as possible because he felt like a bomb, a bomb ticking away, pulsing inside of her with every breath they took.
But instinct took over. Her wet aided her pace.
She couldn't see him, didn't notice when he abruptly sat up. She was too lost in the sensation to pay mind to the body so closely curving along her back.
A strong grip wrenched her leg to bend at the knee. She fell forward, catching herself on his clothed legs, her fingers shook around the fabric as the rhythm continued, escalated to the point of breaking.
He was suddenly too deep, too deep and stimulating a spot that made her mewl.
She tried to regain control and began scrambling on his lap.
But she was too far gone. He was too far gone to relinquish anything.
One of his hands grabbed her left breast, squeezing hard and pulling her close. She became aware of the domineering body behind her, its overwhelming heat and want. Her nipples pebbled within the cups of her bra, aching to be touched. His other hand slithered down her front to finger her clit. She threw her head back, felt his breath so near to her melting skin.
Jill felt swollen and dripping around him.
And her mouth inevitably parted for a cry, for a series of cries— when the actions just halted.
The rutting stilled and he flooded her with his seed. Hot spurts that bathed her insides, intruded her very core. Ropes after ropes of warm semen that should have no business being inside of her.
But there he was anyway, ejaculating along her slicked walls, fulfilling his task, and groaning in pleasure against her shoulder.
Tremors ran amok over her body, she remained pulled taut like a bow, shuddering in the aftermath.
With patience, they waited, waited for the last drop of his essence to soak into her flesh.
"You won't be touching me."
Her own voice echoed in her head, sounding so far away, like the sentence was uttered years ago, when it had only been minutes since that warning.
He was touching her, insistently, unconsciously, in the afterglow. Her bra was pushed up her chest, out of his way, so his hand could cradle her heaving breast. Long fingers pulled at her peak, gentle pulls that sent her back arching.
His length softened and naturally slipped out of her body. He cupped her mound, catching the spill of his spend. His hand started petting her.
The settling heat within her produced sparks with each unwanted touch.
His mouth was on her neck, on her jaw, on her ear, leaving a hot trail, indicating his want to take her again.
A haze descended on her. She closed her eyes, body going slack, taking a rest in a nest she shouldn't bask in.
His arms gathered and tightened around her, taking the presented opportunity.
It was a long walk to her quarters.
His semen seeped out with every step, staining her thighs. She hoped it didn't drip on the floor. The horror.
Jill thought of seeing Rebecca, to share the progress, but thought it too soon, there was nothing to report.
They couldn't have conceived in a matter of minutes.
She would clean herself up and count the hours down until they would have to try again.
Thrice a week was enough, they said.
Every other day.
And it took an hour long. Nearly an hour to be precise. Nearly an hour of grinding on Albert Wesker's lap. Her stomach lurched. It would be a routine now.
She got on the elevator, wrapped her arms around herself. Cold sweat clung on her skin, her clothing was sticking on every part of her body. She smelt dirty, felt dirty.
Her legs were trembling. It was a miracle she was walking straight and that most of the corridors were deserted.
The lighted numbers couldn't go up fast enough.
She sprinted out of the elevator once it stopped, blitzed her way to the comfort of her room.
There was no comfort waiting when she got in her quarters.
Only Chris.
"It's getting worse out there." Jill pressed her thighs close together. The discomfort grew by the second. "They had to 'cleanse' another city."
Chris pulled on the straps of his uniform, frustrated and tired, his usual state these days when outbreaks replaced breakfast and they were on an all out war with Neo-Umbrella.
"I'll be more useful out on the field than here." She found her voice. It was small and shameful, trying to hide, trying to escape scrutiny and judgement.
Chris turned to her. The bulk of him cast shadows that boxed her in. She stayed put by the door, coiled in herself, as he approached.
His arms soon wound around her, heavy and solid. He smelled of the outside world, of decay, fire, and certain death.
"Chris." Her hands clawed against his back, nails catching on the fabric of his shirt. His heart was loud against his rib cage, against her ear pressed tight to his chest.
His breath was hot on the sweaty strands of her hair.
Could he smell her? Smell him? Smell them together?
She shivered. A trail of Wesker's seed streaked along her inner thigh, lukewarm and debasing her.
"I know, Jill." Chris's voice rumbled, like thunder before the storm.
It washed over her currently fragile frame - his controlled anger. "I know."
"It wouldn't make for sanity would it, living with the devil."
- Daphne du Maurier