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“Don’t you want to hurt me?” The question felt electric on your tongue, but you were sick of dancing around him, sick of trying to anticipate what he needed and failing. You had told him you felt ignored, unimportant – you understood that what happened at the mansion had changed him, and not just physically, but you needed him still. You had done everything you could to be helpful, to assist with blood work and whatever he needed, but when you reached to him, or tried to engage him in anything other than work, he pulled away. He brushed you off again and again until tonight, when he had flung his hands up in exasperation and said that he wasn’t trying to hurt you.
Wesker raised his eyebrows now at your question, and a dark look flashed in his eyes. Don’t you want to hurt me? It was an expression you had glimpsed in the past, when the two of you were still black oceans crashing into one another in the night.
“Do you want to be hurt?” He asked.
A hot tremble passed across the small of your back, then the resounding tightness shivered in your belly. He was taller than you were by quite a margin, and as he walked forward – stalked forward – you felt smaller still. Your rabbit heart suddenly began to leap, to twist, and good god, did it feel nice.
“Maybe.” It was just a whisper, and he moved closer. His hand purred through the air in a flash of movement you were too slow to register, and suddenly his fingers were gripping your cheeks, pinching your mouth into a surprised ‘o’. His fingertips dug into the soft flesh of your face as he turned your head up, cruel, but not overly rough – not yet. He was staring at you – his eyes flickering back and forth across your face, trying to read something, to decide something. You hadn’t been together in any physical way since the accident. You had wondered if something was wrong, if something didn’t work the way it had before – if he had lost his sex drive, or if he was afraid he’d go too far, his enhanced physicality not quite under his control… but now, here he was. Masterful in so many areas of his life, you weak-kneed in his grip was right on brand.
“Answer me.” Cold, sharp.
Intoxicating.
“Yes. I want you to hurt me.” You nodded as you forced the words past your puckered lips, and when he released your face you let go of the breath you’d been holding. He was still standing close enough to you that you could smell the material of his shirt, the slight tang of his skin.
He turned you roughly around, and you found yourself being pushed flat across his desk. It was too high to lean against with both feet on the floor, so you strained on your tiptoes, your calves stretching as you shifted your weight. His hands ran down the curves of your body, down along your waist before travelling down your hips, strong fingers pressing into the swell of your raised ass.
“You have been so needy recently. It’s quite the distraction. I can’t afford to be distracted from my work…” As he spoke, he began to ride your skirt up around your waist, bunching the fabric without any regard, interested only in exposing the quivering roundness of your cheeks to him. He hummed in appreciation, his left hand reaching to knead the flesh of your cheek, fingers pushing into the crease between your ass and your leg, his thumb brushing the wetness soaking through your knickers. He continued. “You should be punished for proving so distracting.”
You had anticipated where this would lead, but you didn’t anticipate the sharpness of the smack that rippled the flesh of your ass. You gasped, pushing up on your toes. The hand that had spanked you caressed the soft material of your knickers, reassuringly. He was in control. You trusted him.
“Take down your pants.” He instructed, and you obeyed, hurrying to push them over your hips and shimmying them down your legs to pool on the floor beneath your feet. The cold air felt exciting against your bare heat.
He ran his fingers lightly between your legs, fingertips teasing open the sensitive lips and dipping into the wetness pooling there. He tsked, though you could hear the smile in the words that followed.
“Already so wet for me.”
The fingers slid from the opening of your pussy up almost as high as your clit, then spread your labia, making an almost obscene sucking noise. “So needy.” You whined as he withdrew his hand, but it broke into a gasp as he spanked you again.
“Keep your ass raised nice and high…. That’s my girl.” He didn’t sound out of breath as he spanked you, raining stinging slaps on one aching ass cheek then the other. The sound was lewd, and the pain mixed with the subtle stimulation to your pussy as your flesh reacted to his punishments made you press your breasts hard against the table top, pressing your legs tight together for some kind of relief. The words “that’s my girl’ rang round in your head like a prayer. Over and over, the words broken with the rhythmic thud of hand on flesh.
You heard rather than felt him spit on the smarting skin of your ass, smearing his saliva on your burning skin before leaving a pattern of stinging, light slaps. Somewhere in your mind you remembered him telling you that if the skin was wet a little, the sensation was sharper. He was right. You screamed out. You were nearly at the limit of what you could deal with.
You tensed for the next slap, but none came. There was a silence in the room, and you didn’t want to turn around. You worried that you had disappointed him somehow, and just as you were ready to break the quiet spell, you felt his lips, gentle as a breath against the abused and tender skin of your arse. He kissed the area he had slapped – you knew it would be crimson by now, probably bruised by the morning – little delicate kisses, murmurs of praise.
“That was good, you were good for me.”
Your face burned with pleasure.
He spread you open from behind, his fingers sliding between your legs, exposing your needy hole. You jumped at the sensation, but he shushed you. Calming you, like you were a skittish animal to be reassured. You felt odd being looked at like this, vulnerable in a way you couldn’t place.
“Rest this leg on the table.” He patted the outside of your right thigh, and obediently you lifted it, bending your knee to lean on the table. You felt more of the cold air dance along the wet heat of your cunt as you heard a chair being scraped along the floor behind you, the groan of him settling his weight in it.
“How perfect you look like this.” You realised his face must be close to your raised and exposed sex because you felt the rush of air following his words. Having his attention like this was intoxicating on its own.
Gently, he spread you again, coating his fingers in your slick. This time he allowed them to flicker across the tight little nub that was already swollen with arousal. You moaned, a million nerve endings flickering into life. “You like that, don’t you?” He asked, moving his fingers in slow, lazy circles around your clit, pressing a little harder before circling again. You felt dizzy as he let his fingers dip to the entrance of your pussy – you wondered what you looked like, spread open for his pleasure like this. You wondered if he would fuck you.
He penetrated you first with one finger, then the other, easing you, stretching you. It felt so strange to have something move inside you like this again – when he added a third finger, the stretch felt almost painful.
“Good girl.” His pace quickened as he worked you, fingers slipping out before pushing back deeper, your walls clenching around them greedily. You raised your hips in time, pushing back a little, impatient to feel him deeper inside you, so when he stopped you moaned a little in protest. This earned you a sharp smack to the rear, and you bit your lip. Your ass was really beginning to smart.
Your ears pricked up at the sound of his belt being unclasped, and the brush of fabric as he presumably pushed his trousers down his legs. The moments seemed to stretch interminably before a soft touch between your swollen and aching lips jerked you back. He rubbed the head of his cock lazily up and down your slit, coating it in your slick. You’d need it. He was thick, with a reasonable length to boot.
“Are you ready for me?” He asked, his voice only slightly louder than a whisper.
“Yes, sir.”
He rammed his hard cock into your tight hole with one violent thrust, but when you cried out it was with pain and pleasure. You didn’t know where the two blurred, but your head spun with the feeling as he fucked you, the smooth ridges of his cock stroking across the sensitive walls of your cunt as he drew in and out. You were mewling like a whore, your nipples tight and aching for his touch, your clit swollen, dancing with delight each time his heavy balls thudded against it. You could feel your own arousal spread on your inner thighs, the sound of it as he drove in and out, the vice grip of his fingers on your hips as he held you in place. You belonged to him. You both knew this. You would be whatever he needed you to be, you would do whatever he asked…
“I’m going to fill you with my cum. Deep inside you…” He panted, and you felt his strokes stutter. He was close.
“Come inside me. Please. I want to feel you.” You felt shameless, but you wanted to feel him bury his seed deep inside you, feel the warmth of his orgasm coat you.
He didn’t disappoint.
With a restrained groan, he came, gripped inside you by your muscles as you milked the ropes of spunk from his pulsing member. You could feel his cum dripping from you, your tender pussy leaking pearls of his spend. He pushed in once more, the long muscles in his thighs shivering against the back of you.
Turning your head, face flushed, to look at him, you smiled. You felt high, invincible. You watched as he slicked his blonde hair back into place, and the sight of high colour on his pale cheeks made your heart leap. You thought perhaps he wouldn’t mind being distracted again soon.