Chapter Text
“Another glass of champagne, Doctor?”
Albert Wesker held up his leather-gloved hand and shook his head. “I’ve had quite enough Arias.”
Glenn Arias gave the doctor a strained smile and took a glass for himself from the waiter, before turning and looking down the grand staircase of the huge auction hall. At the very front was a stage where they were setting up for that evening’s biddings.
“I must thank you for joining me, Doctor,” Arias said, leading them both (dressed in black suits) down the stairs, “it has been quite the event to put on quarterly, but it lines my pockets well. I trust even you might find something worth your while tonight. Besides your being here is a wonderful advertisement,” he gave a small laugh, “I think you’ll find many of my clients are fairly big fans of yours.”
“Hmm.” Wesker did not look around at the heads turning as they descended the stairs. He wasn’t used to so much public attention after lurking in shadows his entire career. But when The Glenn Arias had offered for him to witness his infamous quarterly bioweapon auction, it had been too good an opportunity to refuse. It was somewhere to see something new, something truly evil, and see the people foaming at the mouths to get their filthy hands on it. It might even be enough to lull Wesker out of his current lapse in interest after the continued difficulties in developing Ouroboros.
“Have you had much bother from the BSAA concerning these events?” He mused aloud as Arias led them to his private seats in a booth on the first mezzanine, “I can’t imagine it’s easy allowing such a space to be fully uncompromised by those meddling fools. Particularly with so many on your guestlist.” He gestured to the near hundreds of heads milling about on the ground floor, chattering and clinking glasses as the excitement for the auction began to build.
Arias shrugged, settling himself in his seat and taking a hearty sip of his champagne. “A terrible pain, but nothing I cannot handle.” He chuckled to himself and tilted his glass towards Wesker with an awful, knowing smile. “Like I said, even you might find yourself something worth your while tonight. I have devised a new method of dealing with the BSAA. Something you’d likely find rather interesting."
"Oh?” Wesker asked, sitting also and crossing his legs as a small frown came over his face. “I haven’t the faintest what you’re implying, Arias.”
“Please, call me Glenn.”
“Apologies, Arias, but I am not one for first names.” Wesker ignored the dismal glare Arias gave him, and leaned forward to lean on the balcony rail as the lights began to dim. “I am however quite curious to see just what you’ve been developing.”
Arias huffed in a brief laugh, and continued in a whisper as the general buzz of the clients dulled to almost a silence as the presenter came out on stage. “I am not a man to disappoint. I tailor my work very carefully to what I believe a client may need.” He leaned back in his seat, smirk hidden in the gloom as he raised his glass to his lips again. “Something even a cold-hearted bastard like you might need.”
Wesker didn’t respond. Partially to listen to the presenter on stage as the first of the items on sale was wheeled out (a brand new parasite squirming in a glass tank), and partially not to even humour Arias’ attempts to anger him.
Working briefly with the man was more than enough for Wesker to see through his gentlemanly attitude to the slimy creep the man really was deep within. Not that he could judge all too harshly given his own history in letting people down. But it was by no means any excuse to respect the man beyond the (admittedly) excellent work he could produce en-mass. Still, networking was networking. It was why he’d had to fuck that flimsy filly Excella for the research funds. She hadn’t been a bad lay, but certainly not the kind he could work any of his real fury out on.
The auction played out much as he had expected. Various equipment, new strains and parasites, new bioweapons sedated or held in stasis in huge tanks wheeled on stage. The clients bid, cheering their wins or booing their losses as the evening dragged on. Wesker was beginning to feel as though he should not have refused Arias’ offer of another glass of champagne. There was nothing more dull than watching a tangle of sickeningly rich people who had never had to work an honest day in their lives able to blow millions on another man’s work for its advertisable value. It made him think too much on his days working under Umbrella, and the following pain that had caused him in his career.
He was sitting back in his seat by the time the final item was called, half between dozing off and thinking about Ouroboros.
“And for our final item of the night, we have something very rare. You won’t want to miss out on this one, folks.” The presenter smiled, microphone in hand. He gestured to the doorway on the side of the stage, and the audience gasped and clapped as the next item was dragged out by two armed guards.
It was a man, stripped down to all but his own skin and strapped up tight in a leather harness that cut into a well formed chest, arms pinned behind his back. He was being pulled hard by a leash chained to the tight collar around his throat. There was a wild look in his eyes, a fierce angry look and it was apparent why the unyielding steel muzzle had been tightened to his lower face as he bared his teeth at the audience. He was trying his best to fight for freedom, but the two guards manhandling him to the centre of the stage were built like brick walls and the poor man had no choice but to be presented under the burning hot white lights like all the other items.
Wesker leaned forward, a deep frown forming. “A man? I had no idea you dabbled in human trafficking, Arias.”
“Shh,” Arias grinned, “look closer.”
“As you can see,” the presenter continued down on the stage, approaching the man and gesturing to the pointed canine ears protruding from his head between the soft brown of his hair, “the subject has been experimented on with a new lycanthropic strain, in order to test the effectiveness of a dog’s loyalty in a soldier,” he retracted his hand as the man attempted to snap at him through the muzzle, only to be yanked back like a toy by one of the guards. The presenter grinned, “I present to you the mutt of the BSAA, Chris Redfield.”
Wesker was almost up off of his seat, fingers clasping the balcony rail so tight the stone seemed to crack under his intense strength. That was Chris? His Chris from oh-so long ago? He looked well filled out, less the boy Wesker had known him in STARS, or when he had seen him last that night he had almost slaughtered the fool on Rockfort Island. He watched Chris be tugged about on stage like a common dog as the audience whooped and cheered, some throwing flowers on stage to the apparently violently humiliated man fighting for some right to decency.
“Some of my men caught him sniffing about here last month,” Arias explained, his voice thick with satisfaction at Wesker’s reaction, “I have little use for him now the testing period is complete. But why kill such an interesting specimen, when I can see these idiots rip him to shreds themselves?”
“You’re a fool, Arias,” Wesker said sternly, icily, trying to hide the anger in his voice from witnessing his once ‘best man’ being ridiculed in front of an audience of despicable nepotists. “Do you have any idea who Redfield is? Once the BSAA finds out-“
“Once the BSAA finds out I can’t imagine they’ll be too pleased,” Arias interrupted pleasantly, “but don’t you like him, doctor? I can’t imagine a more fitting fate for the BSAA’s prize mutt.”
Wesker could’ve smashed the man’s face to a pulp then and there in the safety of his private box. This man had no concept of the real Chris Redfield – what he had fought against, fought for. Wesker might despise the man with every single inch of his being, but he hated more the fact Chris – the only one to have ever foiled his plans quite so effectively – was being treated as nothing more than a commodity. This man was a soldier beyond all others. Trained by Wesker’s hand no less. Over-competent, a defender of the human race. Nothing short of hell opening up would put a stop to Chris Redfield’s determination to save every single last one of these criminal bastards from death if he had to. And there they were in their expensive suits, drunk on champagne and cocaine, laughing at his misfortune with eyes lit up in sadistic pleasure.
“Now I’m sure he’s caused many of you trouble during his thankless career,” the presenter continued, apparently gleeful at the reaction from the audience. “But I can promise you Redfield has far more talent in places other than the battlefield.” He twirled his finger, and the guards spun the kicking, foaming Chris now slicked in anxious sweat around so that the audience might see the angrily waving tail planted above his bare ass. The presenter grabbed the tail, yanking it up until Chris’ asshole was exposed before the audience. “But how much money is the experience of putting the BSAA’s most loyal hound back in his place? You tell me folks. Starting at 1.5 million dollars.”
The stone under Wesker’s hands cracked, crumbling slightly in his grip as his lips stretched into an unpleasant grimace. He could see Chris thrashing about, eyes peering around wildly as the audience laughed and put up hands to bid on his body. The poor man was soaked in sweat now, his tan skin gleaming under the white light, no doubt terrified and so devastatingly humiliated it’d break his fiery spirit for good.
‘1.6… 1.7… 2 million dollars! Do I hear any more..?’
Wesker spun around to Arias, grabbing him by the front of his suit and dragging him up out of his chair. “How dare you,” he spat into the man’s gloating, drunk face, “how dare you do such a thing to him. You are truly clueless to the true value of Redfield. Nobody, not even yourself, deserves to possess him. You need to stop this ridiculous bidding at once.”
Arias lifted his empty champagne glass as if in toast.
‘2.5…3… 4.5… do I hear a 5 million?’ The auctioneer continued shouting from the stage below.
“Why are you so angry? I would’ve thought you’d enjoy seeing the man who foiled you so many times finally being shown his place?” Arias answered innocently, still smirking as Wesker’s grip tightened on his shirt. “But if you don’t want to see Redfield being shown his place by anybody other than yourself, doctor, you had better go ahead and bid before it’s too late. I can’t promise my clients will be as kind to him as I have been.”
Wesker threw him back down into the chair in disgust. He could hardly argue ethics with a man in the same business as himself. But he could not explain to Arias the intrinsic value of Redfield, not when their history was so cloaked in darkness even Wesker could not clearly remember each detail. They had been colleagues once. His protegee in the field, even if he was always planning on having Redfield die in that mansion. Chris had been as good to him as a friend could ever be. Back when he was that cheerful, happy-go-lucky fool ready to throw himself in the path of danger to save even the most miserable lifeform. And now here he was, a plaything being bid upon for the satisfaction of these imbeciles.
It felt filthy, vile knowing that these people were all fucking his man with their unworthy eyes. His Chris unable to even cover himself as he was held up like a toy poodle for their viewing pleasure.
‘6.7…8… my goodness, a 9.5 million dollar bid. Do I hear anything more?’
The bids began to lull as the 10 million dollar bid-mark was reached. Wesker could feel himself starting to sweat. Could he really allow Chris to be bought into the shadowy realm of some unknown stranger? Have what little of his pride stripped away and body abused by somebody who had never known how hard it had been to train into its perfection? He couldn’t very well storm the stage if he wanted to keep a positive business relationship with Arias.
“9.5 million dollars, going once, going twice…” the presenter’s eyes flickered up as Albert Wesker raised his bidding panel, “10 million dollars. Sold.”
Wesker was staring down at the stage as they turned Chris back around, and he realised the man had glanced up and noticed him. Chris’s face knitted with fury, and then shock as he allowed himself to be dragged back into the side room. Wesker fell back into his seat, breathing hard and trying not to feel the anger consume him. It was going to be a pain trying to explain to his financier Excella Gionne why he had spent ten million dollars on a doggy BSAA operative.
“See,” Arias said snidely, “I told you there would be something here worth your while.”
=
Wesker had picked up his ten million investment after the auction from the side room.
“Doctor Wesker, it’s an honour to have you here with us tonight,” Chris’ handler said cheerfully as he led Wesker through the room to the dog-cage where Chris had been unceremoniously shoved into after the show. The man glowered, saying nothing, still dripping in anxious sweat as he waited for his fate to be sealed. Although he focused in on Wesker now, brown eyes nervous and thankless.
He’d forgotten what a beast Chris Redfield had become in the past decade. Of course, he’d had his intel return updates on all of his ex-STARS colleagues out of sheer interest, but Chris had always been his favourite. There had been no secret about that. Not after he had sworn to destroy the man a long time ago. And yet seeing him here now, naked and afraid bound up in leather, it was difficult to deny that the man had grown rather handsomely. Rippled with muscle, and up close it was possible to see the nipple piercings decorating his gorgeously developed pecs. Whether or not the hair was a side-effect of the lycanthropic virus, Wesker had to say he rather liked the more wolfish look, even if the means of reaching it had sickened him to his core.
“How would you like to transport it?” The handler asked pleasantly, “we have a team able to box it and have it delivered to your residence within twenty-four hours.”
Wesker stared at the man hard through his shades. “Get him out. I will not be transporting the man in a cage, he is not an animal.”
The handler shrugged. “I wouldn’t advise it. It was damn near impossible to train the mutt, I can’t promise it’s the best method-“
“Get him out. He is mine, now, I will handle it.”
“Very well, doctor.” The handler opened the cage, and yanked Chris out by the leash. The young man stumbled, red with humiliation as he was forced to walk on all fours out of the cage, grunting with indignity as the collar was tugged for good measure. He glared up at Wesker, teeth bared behind the muzzle. “I’d keep the muzzle on though, doctor,” the handler advised, “he’s a real biter.”
Wesker ignored him, hands behind his back as he inspected the man. “Get up, Chris,” he said, almost irritated that Redfield was acting in such a way, “you are not a dog.”
The handler said nothing, but showed sincere displeasure at this comment.
Chris frowned, before carefully standing and glancing around the room with his nervous eyes as if seeking an escape route. Unfortunately the armed guards were still placed at each exit. His eyes returned to Wesker, and he looked down at his feet immediately in shame. Still entirely naked.
“Can he speak?” Wesker asked the handler.
“He did, too much. But don’t worry, that I was able to beat out of him.”
Wesker shrugged off his leather overcoat, and draped it over Chris’ shoulders, pulling it tight around the man’s naked body. It was most unpleasant knowing everyone could see every square inch of Redfield, and whilst he hated the man, he did not enjoy having his Chris be the laughing stock of people he hated quite as much for less forgivable reasons.
Chris looked up again as the coat covered him, perhaps a little grateful. His ears twitched. Wesker took hold of his jaw in a firm hand, and inspected Chris’ face. He looked exhausted, painfully so. The look of a kicked dog in his lovely eyes.
“Christopher,” he said, low and almost bitterly, “what have they done to you?”
The man wrenched his face from Wesker’s hand to look away again, eyes closed in shame. Wesker’s fist clenched, and he had to swallow back again the anger that came over him. How dare they. Next time he saw Glenn Arias, he would make sure that bastard was dead before he left him.
“Come, Chris,” he said, taking the leash from the handler with a frown of displeasure. “Let us depart before I kill your little friend here.”
The handler stuttered, and Wesker could’ve sworn he saw a little smile momentarily twitch onto Chris’ face as he took an unsteady step forward, clearly more than ready to get out of there.
=
Chris had only attempted to escape a handful of times on the journey back to Wesker’s temporary residence, a penthouse suite a car ride from the auction hall courtesy of Arias. He had planned on taking something of a brief holiday here regardless in the next week, so Chris’ shock arrival wouldn’t put quite the same spanner in the works it might’ve if he’d shown up anywhere else.
The younger man had been silent and reserved for the car ride, peering out of the window with his forlorn eyes as Wesker looked him over, checking for injuries and scars (of which there were a few – some he himself had given him). It seems he did not wish to talk, even if he could, and ignored Wesker up until he’d been dragged up to the suite.
“Lie down,” Wesker commanded as he threw Chris into the bedroom, “I want to see exactly what Arias did to you whilst you were in his ‘care’.”
Chris glared at him, distrusting.
“I won’t violate you,” Wesker said distastefully as he removed his tie and suit jacket, undoing a few buttons on his shirt and cuffs, “I imagine you’ve had quite enough of that already.”
The brunette stood uncomfortably by the bed, apparently deeply unwilling to lie down in his current state before the blond partially undressing himself. He was still bound in the harness which Wesker had decided to leave on for the time being, until he knew Chris was wise enough not to try and escape again.
Wesker pointed to the bed. “Lie. Or do I need to make you, Redfield? You know I reward obedience.”
With a deep, reluctant sigh, the soldier crawled onto the bed on all fours and lay down on his front, face buried into the pillows. In the soft light from the bedside lamp his skin glowed gloriously, littered in little bruises and marks from Chris’ attempts to fight his captors, scars from the great battles of his life.
“Good man,” Wesker said softly, stepping over to the bed to inspect the man. Chris was clearly exhausted, the fight half beaten out of him. It was disappointing to see his soldier so quiet and obedient after only ever knowing his fire. He put a hand on Chris’ head, feeling the man’s hair and stroking his ears as he tensed visibly under his touch. Then he relaxed again, apparently enjoying the feeling of a hand caressing his ears. “It seems they’ve made you docile,” Wesker commented almost curiously as he rubbed the velvety soft fur, “or perhaps…” he continued, gentler, “is it that you’re relieved it was me, Chris?”
Chris turned his head to the side to glare up at Wesker, a small snarl forming on his lips. Although he did not move away.
Wesker smiled vaguely, and dragged his fingers through the man’s hair, down his neck, and down his spine. He reached the tail, and stroked it, forcing Chris to shudder and twitch his ass up into the air slightly.
"Sensitive?” Wesker asked, curious and calm. “You needn’t’ve been ashamed up on stage, Christopher, you’re such a hairy boy they probably couldn’t see a thing.” It was true the younger man had a good amount of dark body hair all over, and as Wesker tugged up his tail to inspect his ass, he clicked his tongue. “It’s a wonder Arias could even find it.” He put a light finger to the tiny pucker, and pressed it; “did you enjoy it, Christopher? How shameful, STARS’ extraordinary marksman becoming keen for an anal ravaging.”
Chris growled, trying now to twist around and fight Wesker off – but the older man was too quick and he shoved Chris back down onto the bed, planting a foot between Chris’ shoulderblades to keep him pinned as he stroked his tail and let his fingertip trace the rim of the younger’s hole.
“How many times did he have you?” He said in disgust, ashamed that his Chris would allow for anybody to violate his body. It was bad enough that he himself was doing so. “How many times until you begged for it, Chris? I daresay the lycanthropic desire to breed has already begun to rot any sense of pride away that you may once have had.”
Chris was struggling violently underneath him now, growling deep in his throat as he scrabbled at the headboard, trying desperately to close his legs as Wesker touched him intimately. He was panting too, tail twitching in Wesker’s hand.
“You are lucky, Christopher, that I have no desire to have you,” Wesker said coldly, letting his tail go and lifting his foot to let Chris roll onto his back, grabbing the young man’s leash and tugging his head up off the pillows. “And yet, I see your body has been trained for quite the opposite.” His eyes dropped. Chris was flush, dewy-eyed and panting quickly. His hands moved quickly to cover himself, the cock that had hardened with the mere touch of Wesker’s gloved fingertip to his asshole.
Wesker was sorely embarrassed for him. Repulsed by Chris’ changes. He had remembered a young man who would rather have died that been humiliated by those beneath his means, and yet here he was now all bent out of shape. Trying his best not to cum from being briefly observed. And yet another deeper part of himself felt a new kind of vile concept rising. Had he not always wanted to drive Chris to the brink? To destroy him, entirely and completely? By any means necessary?
This was not exactly how he had considered it to be done. But somewhere within this horny body remained the fight of Chris Redfield. Perhaps he could use this against him, put the man to real shame as a slave to his desire – a slave to Wesker’s whims. Perhaps he should’ve thanked Arias for this opportunity. It was tempting, even if Wesker did not feel any particular urge to fuck the man. For now, anyhow.
Chris shut his eyes, and turned his head to the side, abysmally upset at his body’s reaction. Wesker felt a cold smile creep onto his lips, other hand caressing those soft ears again just to see Chris relax without resistance. Chris was unable to control himself, but his mind was still there. The poor hound had no idea how to handle it. A mind telling him one thing, his body desperate to be touched and used. Unconventional, but no doubt effective. And he wouldn’t even need to kill him.
“Chris,” Wesker called softly, just to see those lovely, desperate brown eyes blink open again to glare, “just what have they done to you? Stay there, I’ll help you with your little problem, but I would like you to bear with me.”
From a box under the bed, he retrieved a pair of handcuffs and a bullet vibrator. Something Excella had asked him to use next time she came to see him. He had little interest in the stuff himself, being almost entirely sex repulsed. A horribly human affair, something with too much vanity and vulnerability to truly enjoy beyond the vague pleasure of ejaculating inside of a woman. But he rather felt inclined to the idea of sexually torturing a man to tears. It was the kind of shame Chris might plead for, killing himself inside with the hatred. Oh it was quite exciting indeed.
Chris was sitting up on the bed, looking nervous, hands still covering his privates. He hadn’t moved. Perhaps knowing all too well that even if he tried to run he would only be brought back and no doubt hurt worse than what was coming next. That, or he was so desperate for ‘help’, apparently unwilling to masturbate himself, he would play obedience for now.
“I had never realised you had grown into a man, it seems only yesterday you were that arrogant youth bragging about the women you could pull,” Wesker mused as he knelt on the bed, watching Chris shrink back until he hit the headboard, watching him with round, fierce eyes. “And now look at you, Christopher,” he said appreciatively, thumbing the man’s pecs bulging slightly from the harness strapped to him, “you’re practically a woman yourself. Begging to be touched..” he yanked one of Chris’ hands from his cock, forcing the man to whine in protest, “just look at how wet that cock of yours is, it’s so small it’s a wonder any woman could even feel it.”
Indeed, Chris was far smaller than Wesker might’ve guessed, even fully erect. Not too much of an issue however, he had no interest in using it now. But he might just cage it, control the man’s lust, ensure that only he could be the one to bring the mutt to an undeserved orgasm.
Chris blushed from his face to his chest, a rather cute expression that Wesker had never known before. He grabbed the mutt’s other wrist, and wrestled him down to handcuff him to the bedframe. Chris struggled, trying to kick and roll over as Wesker knelt over him, looking down at his charge with moderate pleasure. It was tempting seeing that wild look in Chris’ eyes.
“Are you afraid, Chris?” He asked, voice low and almost soothing as he stroked his gloved hands down the dog-man’s chest, making him lean into the touch without meaning to. “Or is that a look of absolute need in those eyes of yours? I can give it to you, you know. Better than Arias, or those strangers might’ve. They had little interest in your pleasure, but I…” his hands cupped Chris’ pecs, thumbs pressing into the sensitive and pierced nipples, making Chris wince and whimper, “I can make you feel like a woman. Orgasm like a woman. Would you like that, Chris?”
The mutt shook his head violently, blotched blush on his face, a blend of shame and arousal as Wesker stroked over his nipples, pinching at the metal bars and pulling them lightly.
Wesker snorted softly, bemused. “You are and always were a terrible liar, Christopher.” He could see the poor man’s ears were twitching again, a deep betrayer of his true excitement. That and the stiff little cock leaking a pool of clear precum onto his trembling stomach. But he wasn’t going to touch him there yet, not whilst he had these wonderful breasts to play with first. “You’re far better endowed than Excella,” he commented, rolling smooth circles around the buds as Chris squirmed and whined guiltily behind his muzzle, lovely strong arms flexing and tugging at his restraints, “she’s my…” he frowned, “well, let’s say she pays me for more than my bioweapon development. In any case, her body is far inferior to this.”
He leaned down and let his tongue toy with Chris’ left nipple, sucking it and gently pulling the piercing with his teeth as Chris arched beneath him. Chris even smelled better than Excella’s expensive perfumes and soap. He smelled of sweat and fear, a deep manliness, a spicy musk that was almost delicious bordering repulsive. Wesker performed the same oral treatment to the other nipple, still toying with the left with casual fingers as Chris gasped and groaned and struggled. It was unfortunate he wouldn’t speak, even if it was to curse him to high hell, but Wesker had no doubts he’d get the dog barking again in no time.
Leaning back to admire his work, he pinched the nipples tightly with his fingertips until Chris howled out in pain, tears springing to his eyes as he arched his back up.
“Did Arias do these for you?” Wesker mused, “no… they look far too healed for a one month job.” He raised an eyebrow, “you did these of your own volition, didn’t you. Who could’ve known the BSAA’s top mutt enjoyed something so naughty.” He let the word hang, enjoying the look in Chris’ eyes as he strained and bared his teeth, ears lying a little flatter. Did Chris work each day knowing fully well he got off on having his tits played with? Did his colleagues speak to him not knowing how sensitive Chris was? Had any of them glanced at him in a locker room, and thought about running their tongue over the silver bars through his lovely deep pink nipples?
Wesker leaned down again, returning to sucking and teasing the buds with his mouth. He had no idea why he felt so inclined to do so, worshipping something so menial with little real pleasure for the both of them. But there was something about seeing them swell and harden, feel Chris tremble as he swept a tongue over the little tips. Such a big man who could withstand so much pain, and the weight of the fate of the world on his broad shoulders. Could he truly be ruined by just a little affection to his delicate points?
It was hard to want to kill a man when you were enjoying their body quite so much. He had bought Chris on a whim – cruelly determined nobody else could do such a thing to such a proud man. And yet here he was doing every bit the same level of depravity out of sheer instinct.
When he sat back again to admire Chris in the low, golden light, he could see the man’s nipples were clearly swollen from the sucking and the biting and the pulling. Wet with saliva. He chuckled, grazing a thumb pad over the right one oh-so lightly but to just graze it, just for Chris to whimper soft and deep and jut his hips up abruptly, bumping them against Wesker’s ass.
“Don’t you dare think about it,” Wesker said coldly, sitting further back and smacking Chris’ thigh hard. “Your shameful act is enough of a punishment for you, you don’t want to see what’ll happen if you acquire dreams of the entirely unreasonable. Do I make myself clear, Chris?”
Chris nodded mechanically, shaking in his efforts to keep his hips from grinding up into the air. His little cock was so swollen and red now it looked painful. Whatever was in that virus must’ve done irreparable damage to his self control. So horny Wesker could practically see the veins throbbing, the precum keeping the tip almost glued to his stomach. He dipped his fingers into the precum, a sly grimace on his lips. "Foul. Christopher. I've never known a man to leak from a little petting.” He scooped up a little and drizzled it over Chris’ muzzle, watching it as it slowly dripped down inside the muzzle cage and onto Chris’ lips, forcing him to lick it away as he panted.
“Still… I have always wondered if it’s possible to make a man cum from his breasts alone…” That was a lie, he’d never thought of the damn thing before seeing Chris Redfield ever so weakened by them. Right now he wanted to push. Push and see what kind of face his sweet adversary would make cumming untouched. What pathetic sound his mouth would allow. Would he ejaculate? Or leak onto his belly as he wept?
Wesker picked up the little purple bullet vibrator, and inspected it in the light for Chris to see, and understand. It was high intensity despite its size.
“When applied to the clitoris, this little device promises intense orgasms,” Wesker said slowly, rotating the item and watching with a smirk the panic that came to Chris’ already wild eyes. “I’ve never seen a man squirt, but I suppose there is always a first time, hm Christopher?”
Chris shook his head, desperately shrinking back into the mattress as Wesker leaned over him again and switched on the vibrator. The buzz filled the air and Chris groaned in the back of his throat, an admittance of glorious, lusty fear. He bit his lip hard as Wesker brought the vibrator close to a nipple, buzzing the cool air around the saliva-wetted hard, sensitive bud. In small, circular motions, Wesker gently moved the vibrator around the nipple, barely touching it, eeking out those lovely groans of need from his doggish man. His hips were quivering, his stomach too, precum oozing from his cock almost non-stop.
Wesker was stern, serious, concentrated. Rolling the vibrator lightly over and over until finally letting it touch the sensitive flesh. It buzzed against the metal bar and he felt Chris tense and gasp, saliva dripping from the corner of his lips and down onto the pillow. He’d stopped fighting his restraints now, entirely focused on the vibrations electrifying his body and sending panicked signals of pleasure to his partially melted brain. Wesker leaned down, cheek resting on Chris’ chest as he licked the other nipple, toying with it in his mouth lazily as he applied the vibrator to the other, listening to the thundering of his hound’s heart as his body turned against his mind.
A strangled groan from the man told him he was getting closer to a psychologically stimulated orgasm. Chris’ hips were jerking a little again, precum dripping down onto the sheets as it ran out of space on the flat of his abdomen. It was glorious witnessing the proud man lose himself to it all. Wesker suckled on the nipple between his lips, digging the powerful tip of the vibrator into the tip of the other and listening delightedly to Chris’ whimpers growing more and more upset. The younger man’s legs were clamped together in some pathetic attempt to prevent himself from cumming.
“How could a man with a body like this ever think of overthrowing the international bioweapon market?” He mused aloud, voice buzzing over the nipple close to his lips, “you’re more suited to be a dog after all. Well… a bitch, perhaps.”
Wesker shifted again, now lying beside Chris to look down at his face all twisted in unwanted pleasure. He was sweating again, eyes a little wet from the intensity of the sensation. He let his free hand stroke the man’s doggy ears, watching those damp eyes half-close in glory at the touch as his other hand began to drag the vibrator slowly over the flat of Chris’ stomach. Down towards his straining cock.
A whimper rolled out of Chris’ open lips, and Wesker smiled. “You’re cuter than I remembered, Christopher. I think you and I will find it quite rewarding rekindling our old partnership.” The vibrator was dragging lower, through the grooves of Chris’ deliciously maintained abs, to the sternum, dragging through the sticky pool of precum. “As a little celebration for our reunion, I think I’ll allow you the pleasure of your orgasm,” Wesker murmured, holding the vibrator so fucking close to the tip of Chris’ cock the poor man couldn’t even move or whimper. “But don’t get too used to it, as I’m sure you remember, I am not a generous man.”
Chris’ head rolled back in ecstasy as the vibrator was brought to his cock. Eyes shut, lips parted in desperate, breathy whines. He looked every part the whore, none of the steadfast hero Wesker had dreamt every night about slaughtering. This was something else – a need to possess and command. Make Chris Redfield the right-hand-man he always could’ve been. Or perhaps ‘mutt’ was the correct term for it.
Dragging the vibrator from the base, slowly up to the slit, pressing it in slightly just to make Chris gasp and jerk and sob for it. Then down again, rubbing the underside over and over and allowing the vibrations to send Chris wild. He was so wet, so swollen, Wesker was certain it must ache just to be touched. He switched the vibration level up a little higher just to hear his handsome dog cry out, springing his hips up to seek out any kind of stimulation other than the intense buzzing. He pressed it harder into the tip, the precum leaking down like piss. Was it normal for a man to get so wet?
Wesker had fucked men, been fucked by men, but nothing came vaguely close to this.
This whimpering, sobbing, drooling mess of a grown man. Half-dog, driven on a breeding instinct and a weakness for pleasure. He couldn’t wait to see how his lovely mess would be tomorrow morning when his new reality set in, and he had to come to terms with the fact there was no escape from Wesker now. Not this time.
Wesker rolled the vibrator hard against the swollen glans, watching Chris’ face closely as his eyes rolled and he strained, crying out as he came hard at long last. Thick ropes of cum spurted from his cock, seemingly endlessly as Wesker kept the vibrator in place. Chris was panting, choking on his desperate sobs as he tried to move his hips away from the oversensitivity turning pleasure quickly into pain.
“Hips still, Christopher,” Wesker coaxed, almost kindly, as he looked down into those wet, pleading brown eyes with an almost proud smile on his face. “We aren’t finished until I see what I want to see.”
“No…” Chris groaned, his voice soft and weak, dragging out the ‘o’ desperately. He looked to be on the verge of tears, although his hips had stopped moving quite so much.
Cum dripping down his trembling frame, half-stiff cock enduring more of the vibrating torture, enough to make his eyes roll back again. Chris tensed and bucked his hips suddenly as he gasped, a clear liquid squirting from his cock and splashing onto his stomach. It wasn’t piss, Wesker observed, buzzing Chris through his secondary orgasm until his cock had fully softened and his moans of pain were evident he was finished.
"Good boy." Wesker switched the toy off and tossed it aside to admire his handiwork.
Chris was lying entirely still and breathless, eyes half-shut in a stupefied daze. Clearly having never orgasmed so hard before in his life. All from just a little nipple play. It was going to be fun seeing the heights of pleasure he could give to this man via other means, seeing just what it took to make Chris Redfield regret ever starting the BSAA.
Wesker dragged his gloved fingers through the mess on Chris’ stomach, and again scooped up a little to drizzle through the bars of Chris’ muzzle, watching in silent pleasure as the man drunk on his own orgasm lapped at it, not even realising he was licking up his own semen.
“Hmph.” Wesker smirked, leaning down and licking over the other side of the muzzle, tasting Chris, allowing the younger man’s tongue to seek his through the bars. “You’re sweeter than I expected, Christopher. I think you and I are going to have lots of fun after all.”
The poor mutt was so exhausted and overwhelmed that bathing him had been an easy task, although Wesker had decided to keep his muzzle and harness on for now, refitting the harness after washing down the man’s body in the tub. He’d taken care of people like this before – William back when the fool got drunk and vomited on himself back in college, and Excella once when she had requested it.
He dried Chris, allowed him the mercy of underwear and a t-shirt, and put him to bed where he curled up into a small ball and passed out almost immediately. For a while Wesker had sat beside him, stroking his lovely new ears and tail, feeling the soft fur under his fingers and enjoying the little twitches touching them made Chris’ face do even in his sleep.
Wesker had no plans for Chris. He hadn’t accounted on this at all. He supposed the next week he had all to himself to relax would be ample time to consider a real outcome of his ownership, or whether it would be a mercy to just kill the man and send his corpse back to the BSAA. For so long he had wanted to obliterate the obstinate soldier. And yet this young man curled up beside him now seemed so far removed from the Chris he once knew, it was hard to imagine it even truly was him. For now he would let things progress, allow Chris to relax into his new surroundings.
Had Glenn Arias accounted for this outcome? Had he done this to Chris for him in some strange attempt to accumulate good will between them? Or had he really had no idea the depth of Wesker’s complex emotional attachment to one of the few men he had ever respected. Wesker realised he was feeling angry again just imagining Arias having his Chris bent over a workbench in some lab somewhere, making the most of his new toy before fobbing it off to Wesker. He was probably sitting at home laughing right this second, knowing he’d gotten to use Chris before Wesker could even bring himself to consider it.
“You always did love getting yourself into trouble, Christopher,” he murmured quietly so as not to wake his sleeping pup. “Some things never will change, hm?”
=
Chris was still asleep when he woke up the following morning. He showered, dressed, read the news over a cup of coffee. Whilst he was supposedly on holiday, he’d agreed to meet a client for lunch to discuss new directions for bioweapon mechanics.
Concerned about leaving his mutt all alone however, he stopped in the doorway to check in. Chris was still curled up, a small shape under the covers, snoozing peacefully in the bedroom with the curtains still drawn. The poor man probably hadn’t slept properly in weeks, maybe even years. It was alright to allow him to sleep for a little longer, he was a grown man he wouldn’t get into too much trouble.
Wesker closed the bedroom door and went to put his coat on, and to alert his driver he was going out for the day. The door was firmly locked before he left.
The day dragged on slowly. The usual pleasantries and dull small talk with somebody with far too much money and far too little realism. It was tiring but necessary given that Wesker had drifted from his original tactic of working for specific companies. Whilst he was in an effective partnership with TRICELL, his own ‘freelance bioterrorism’ brought him in a little extra money and kept his name relevant in the right spheres. He ate very little, never being one to have a huge appetite, and allowed himself to be dragged to play a long, dull game of golf with the man as he yapped on about private armies and other nonsense.
Wesker could think of nothing else but his new charge lying in his bed, and how much he was looking forward to seeing the results of last night’s humiliation on his old friend’s face.
It was five o’clock by the time his driver pulled up outside of the hotel, and he stepped out with a nondescript bag from a few shops he’d stopped by at on his way back. Unlocking the private suite’s door, he stepped inside and flicked on the light. It was all silent. He set down his bag and removed his shoes and overcoat before heading to the bedroom door and peering into the dark room. There was no shape in the bed, Chris must’ve gotten up and squirreled himself away somewhere else.
“Chris?” He called, keeping his voice calm and sturdy, “don’t hide, I’m in no mood to play games.”
He walked down the hall and into the main living space, a light was on in the tiny kitchenette and Wesker could see that the man must’ve gotten himself a glass of water from the tap. It was half-drunk, left to sit. He always had been a messy boy.
The lock on the bathroom clicked, and Wesker turned to see Chris emerging looking as though he’d just taken another shower, hair spiky and fur damp, a lovely pink flush to his skin as the scented steam from the room flooded out.
Chris caught sight of Wesker and his ears straightened up, tail wagging before he could help himself. He quickly backed into the bathroom and slammed the door shut again. The lock clicked.
Wesker sighed. He should’ve known better than to expect a friendliness given all he had done to the man over the years. But Chris couldn’t very well hide forever in that bathroom.
“Chris,” he said firmly, standing outside the bathroom door, “don’t be a brat and come out, I have no intention of hurting you.”
There was the sound of shuffling feet in the bathroom, and Wesker could just imagine the man moving around uncomfortably, fretting about what to do. If he left, he’d no doubt be manhandled and toyed with like last night – but if he stayed, he’d only incur the wrath of Albert Wesker. And if the bathroom door was broken in, there would be nowhere else to hide.
Wesker put a palm on the doorhandle, trying it gently. “You must be hungry after such a long day. When was the last time you ate, Chris? I’ll order whatever you desire, as much as you desire.” Chris had always been food motivated as a younger man, with any luck that wouldn’t have changed. Wesker smiled faintly to himself. “I won’t lay a finger on you until you’re well fed. I promise, Chris. So come on out. You have nothing to fear from me.”
For a good long minute, Chris seemed to deliberate. Before the lock clicked, and the door opened very slowly. The nervous face of Chris Redfield peered out and up at Wesker. Something like bitter resignation glinted in his eyes, but it was apparent he was too hungry to resist for very much longer.
Wesker knew Chris wouldn’t trust him yet. That was fine. They had all the time in the world to play that game.
Knowing Chris far too well, and because the younger man was still finding it hard to use his voice, Wesker ordered him several items from the hotel’s food menu. Soon Chris was sitting on the floor in the main room chowing down on a burger in quick, nervous bites as he glanced between it and Wesker – who was reclining on the couch reading through some emails on his phone. The muzzle sat on the table, having been removed for the brief intermission of food.
“You don’t need to look quite so frightened of me, Chris,” Wesker said smoothly as the dog-man stared at him hard between mouthfuls of fries. “I’m rather kind to animals.”
Chris frowned deeply, a hand going up to touch his ears. It seemed he’d hardly gotten used to it either, still in a little shock whenever Wesker brought it up, or asked him about his time with Glenn Arias. Wesker couldn’t help but feel a little jealous, he had never thought anybody would attempt to have Chris. Kill him, a little more forgivable. But have? It pissed him off. Like another man had made a mark on territory he had claimed eons ago.
Not that he could blame Arias. Chris was a looker, always had been. Even more so now with his fully adult body made to bless a magazine front.
“You haven’t tried to escape,” Wesker noted, “given up so soon, Chris?”
The man looked away, in a kind of bleak shame. Wesker did not think Chris was staying because he enjoyed being sexually tormented – it was probably more the fact he had been turned into an embarrassing dog-man and couldn’t stand the thought of being caught and put through more public humiliation. The auction had probably been more than enough of that for a lifetime. It wasn’t as if he’d be able to serve in the BSAA anymore, nobody could respect a captain with fluffy ears and a tail, even if he was exceptionally sweet.
After allowing Chris to finish his food, Wesker reapplied the muzzle. Chris barely resisted, as if he knew it was not an option. But keened into the touch as the older man patted his head in a mock appreciation for his cooperation.
“Chris,” he called gently, fondling the man’s soft silky ears, “it’s very difficult to be cruel to you when you’re like this. Where has the Redfield I trained gone?”
Chris’s jaw clenched, and he looked bitterly down again. Clearly he’d been trained by Arias and his team to resist the violent urges, to submit to whatever he was given. Angry, ashamed, sat in his t-shirt with his lovely thighs spilling out to those well toned legs, the kind that looked gorgeous held up in the air. It was funny to think there was anything inherently feminine about such a masculine, muscular man. And yet Wesker couldn’t help but feel even Excella might feel jealousy at the sight of Chris in that moment.
It would definitely be interesting attempting to introduce those two at some point.
“I think I’ll retire for the night. I have no desire to play with a docile pet,” he said, trying to sound deeply disappointed so as to trigger Chris’ guilty subordinate feeling. The poor man really had always hated the possibility of letting down a superior. But it was true also. There was no fun in trying to break what was already broken – perhaps it would be best to find somewhere to put Chris. To keep him out of the way. Or put him down. Wesker had little need for keeping people around who could not contribute to his cause in some way.
He left Chris sitting in the main room, and went to ready himself for bed. It had been a long day, a dull day, and he was almost glad to be lying in the dark a little earlier than usual.
Wesker was almost asleep by the time the bedroom door opened, and Chris padded into the room. The man climbed up quietly onto the bed, trying his best not to wake the sleeping blond (or so he thought), and moved to kneel over the older man. His body pressed down slightly, breathing a little heavy, and a hand stroking up Wesker’s chest toward his throat. He was grinding his hips down too, frotting himself against Wesker’s crotch.
In a split second Wesker had the younger man trapped underneath him, ass up in the air, head shoved down unceremoniously into the pillows. Chris struggled, growling as he fought to free himself, but Wesker had one arm trapped under the man’s own knee. Keeping him quiet firmly in place.
“Well, I hadn’t expected that,” Wesker mused, gripping the younger’s hair tightly in his fist just to make his growl turn into a yelp of pain, “I hadn’t thought you to be the kind of coward to kill a man in his sleep, Christopher.”
But Chris was shaking his head, making sounds of absolute refusal at Wesker’s words.
Wesker frowned, and realised the young man’s hips were jerking similarly to before. He slipped a hand between Chris’ thighs, and felt the shape of the younger’s stiff cock in his underwear, the fabric a little damp. Could the man not masturbate on his own? Was that one of the few liberties that had also been taken along with his speech? Or had he sought Wesker out, unable to satiate his own needs with his own hand.
“Dear me, I thought we’d forced every drop of semen out of you last night,” Wesker chuckled, giving Chris’ balls a light squeeze in the palm of his hand just to make the man squirm and whimper, “there can’t be much left in here, Chris. Had you planned on using me? Fucking me? With this little thing?” He groped Chris’ cock, making the man groan and shudder, “I’ve never heard of anyone being fucked by a clitoris, Chris. I think you had better retire this sorry clit of yours, I doubt it ever brought anything more than a good laugh.”
The light was off so he couldn’t see the blush creeping down Chris’ neck and back, but he knew it was there. He knew Chris was no doubt furious but unable to retaliate to Wesker’s bullying. Wesker smirked to himself, still massaging Chris through his underwear. “Men like you weren’t made for women. Chris. Men like you were made to have their asses spread and fucked, brought to the very brink of sanity, until the last thing left imprinted in your ruined brain is how badly you need to be used." He could feel the mutt throb against his palm, and he knew he’d hit the spot.
“How long have you known you were gay for, Chris?” He whispered into the darkness, “since you knew me? Did you ever dream about me? Taking you over my desk in that horrible little office? Having you in front of your sister on Rockfort Island?” Chris was squirming, groaning in his horrified dismissal of Wesker’s words, although his cock remained hard and wet. “If I had known then… well… perhaps it’s for the best you could keep a secret once in a while. Was it because of your little problem? Knowing no woman could ever be satisfied?”
Chris was shaking, angry and yet unable to resist the touch of his new master. He growled into the pillow, a weak attempt at a threat, and Wesker couldn’t help but mirthlessly laugh.
“Well… luckily for you, Christopher, I’m rather good at pleasuring a clitoris, but first…” he dragged his hand back, pressing two fingers up against where Chris’ hole was under the fabric of his underwear, the man’s tail waving excitedly as his arousal betrayed him once again. “Perhaps I’ll take a proper look at this cunt. Spread it nice and wide, get it nice and wet,” he pushed harder with his fingers, and Chris weakly moaned into the pillows, toes curling unhappily. “And after I’ve played with you a little, and gotten my fill, I have a gift for you Chris. Something quite lovely. Something that’ll stop incidents like this happening again.”
Wesker smacked the younger man’s ass hard, making him yelp, before spitting onto the fabric covering his hole and rubbing it in and through. He could feel the tight ring of muscle, a little give and a little fluttering as he grew excited under Wesker’s touch.
“Behave yourself and be a good boy, and I’ll suck that little clit of yours until you’re the same whimpering embarrassment you became at the end of last night,” Wesker murmured, peeling the underwear down the plush curve of Chris’ ass, and looking with grim pleasure at the man’s intimate zone. He stroked his fingertips through the soft pubic fur surrounding his hole, and leaned in to lick the young man’s hole – still tasting like a man even with the soap from his recent shower doing its best to block it. Chris had gone oddly quiet, as if surprised and eager for more. Wesker blew cool air onto the little hole, and let his mouth fill with saliva, before letting it drool out onto the brainwashed slut’s asshole.
“I’ll make you a bitch before the end of the week,” Wesker promised slyly, “now relax, Christopher, and I’ll show you the kind of ‘stars’ I would never betray.”