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Captured, again. It seemed to Chris Redfield that he’d become some kind of pet project for the elusive bioterrorist. Every few months now he’d be snatched up and taken to some new lab or gilded prison for the notorious Wesker’s personal perverse pleasures.
This time he was strapped to a black medical tilt table, arms cuffed above his head, feet spread and cuffed separate. His light grey muscle shirt he’d been wearing before he blacked out remained in place, perfectly tight to the firm muscular pecs he’d been developing with his harsh training regime. His combat pants and boots remained on too.
“I see you’ve woken at last,” Wesker greeted him almost casually as he entered the white lab room in a long doctor’s coat, snapping black nitrile gloves on as he approached. “I hope I haven’t kept you waiting long, my dear Chris.”
Chris just sighed heavily and regarded the man with withering distaste. He was too over it to be angry. “Aren’t you bored of this game yet, Wesker?” He asked grimly, trying to ignore the older man’s presence so close now to his own, the doctor’s body standing practically against his. “I thought you’d already had your fun with me last month?”
“Bored?” Wesker smiled coolly, his elegant fingertips lightly grazing the v-line visible through the light fabric of Chris’ shirt. His touch so ghostly, tenderly caressing the younger man’s waist, thumbs gently pressing into the belt-line of his pants. “Bored of you, Chris? Hardly… I’ve done well resisting so far. But when I caught a glimpse of you post work-out this morning, dripping with sweat and pheromones in this criminally small top, I couldn’t help myself.”
Flushing slightly, Chris glared at his own reflection in Wesker’s sunglasses.
The blond was methodical and slow as he touched him. Admiringly. Tracing each defined muscle, the ridges of his abdomen. Then lightly smoothing up to cup the plush pecs of the chiseled soldier. He squeezed the tense muscle, a little flicker of excitement in the twitch of his mouth, and a soft exhale as his thumbs rounded on Chris’ nipples and slowly, sensually, teased them in circles.
“Good luck,” Chris challenged, “I won’t be losing to you this time, Wesker.”
“Oh?” The bioterrorist purred softly, his thumbs still teasing, round and round. “You know your honest body isn’t quite so sure. Just look how erect you already are, Chris.”
Chris glanced down and sucked his teeth in dismay to see his nipples pointing through the tight fabric. Perfectly caressed around by Wesker’s elegant fingers, gently pinching them now, rolling them and milking them in light tugs to urge them stiffer and more sensitive. Through the fabric, his touch was erotically wonderful. Enough for shivers of the usual betraying excitement to quiver through Chris’ entire body.
“Amazing,” Wesker murmured, groping the whole of Chris’ pecs again as he admired the stubborn flush of his old protegee’s face. “Such an erotic response at so little stimulation. How does it feel, Chris?”
“I can’t feel anything,” Chris lied through his teeth.
“Well then, perhaps I have some topical solutions for that.”
Wesker brought out a scalpel from the pocket of his coat, and carefully slashed open the front of Chris’ shirt, ripping it open with his hands until just the firm muscular pecs were free, his stiff peaked nipples plumping in the cool air of the lab.
“Poor thing,” Wesker teased as he resumed the same pinching, milking motion as before on Chris’ nipples, “these must chaff horribly in your clothes. Tell me, Chris, do you ever have to tape them before a work out? Before a mission? Do you get home and tenderly moisturise them, all swollen and sore like a breastfeeding mother’s?”
“Shut it,” Chris growled, only giving a half hearted struggle against his restraints as he watched Wesker pull over the metal tray of today’s torture implements and select a small white bottle. Wesker applied some of the solution to a cotton swab, and using a pair of metal tweezers, brought the wet cream-coated cotton to brush liberally over Chris’ left, then right nipples. The cold made Chris gasp softly, staring down in disgust as his nipples began to sting and ache. “Mmnh…”
“Diluted Licker venom,” Wesker explained smoothly, applying a second coat as Chris squirmed and grunted in his restraints, torturously slowly slathering thick cream venom onto Chris’ nipples. Brushing round and round the areola, licking at the buds like a cold cotton tongue. “Of course, it works quite beautifully on a penis too - the swelling and rawness of the skin creates exceptional levels of sensitivity. But today i’d like to give you a little something you’ll have to remember me by every time you wear that slutty little shirt, Chris.”
“Pervert,” Chris groaned softly, twisting and sweating slightly now as he watched and felt his nipples swell beyond their usual size, stinging and itching even to the slight movement of the air as Wesker moved.
Wesker chuckled. “The solution’s results are best seen after an hour of application. In the meanwhile i’ll have to get back to work.”
“You can’t just leave me like this-!” Chris hissed, angry now as his nipples continued to plump and burn, his whole pecs feeling as if they were swelling from the venom.
“You’re quite right – for more thorough results, i’ll need to apply some more force.”
“Ugh… no…” Chris groaned in dismay as Wesker wheeled over a pumping machine. Two plastic suction cups vacuumed sealed onto his plump nipples and began to pump in slow, milking rhythms. Sucking hard on his puffy sore nipples to the extreme, filling up the cups, then out, a painful release. The stimulation was enough for Chris to squirm and groan in unhappy dissatisfaction. It was too slow to be enjoyed, but such a sensual experience he was hornier than he could possibly admit.
“I’ll be back in one hour, Chris. Do try and work hard until then.”
Wesker left him. And Chris let out a sobbing moan as he watched his nipples being rhythmically pumped. His hips lightly gyrating off the table as his cock stiffened and hurt in his tight combat pants. With angry tears in his eyes from the pain and pleasure, Chris determinedly stared head ahead, deciding he’d not let Wesker win yet again.
It was three hours before Wesker returned. And by then Chris was a groaning, sweat-soaked mess. The machine had begun to pump him harder and quicker as the hours dragged by, his shirt was damp and dark, his hair floppy. He glared flush and furious at the bioterrorist as he re-entered the room.
“Apologies for the wait, Chris.” He was almost pleasant as he stood over the squirming, sweaty mess of a man strapped down to the table. The bioterrorists hands cupped and squeezed the swollen muscle of Chris’ pecs – now more like breasts – massaging them with a faint smile as he held Chris’ angry gaze. “What a messy boy you always were.”
Chris – hardly a boy at thirty-four - could only miserably groan and avert his eyes.
Wesker’s hands stroked down Chris’ tense stomach, touching the sweat-soaked cotton with relish, down to tease the belt line again. “How is it?” He asked softly, “feeling good, Chris?”
“Like hell I am,” Chris spat.
Wesker only gave a soft, mocking laugh, and he undid Chris’ belt with casual ease. Drawing down the zip and letting his pants drop. “I’m sure,” he teased in his cool, unkind tone, caressing the stiff bulge aching in Chris’ boxers, stroking him through the fabric until the stickiness of spent precum was lewdly audible.
Chris could only gasp shakily, thrusting into the bioterrorist’s cool grip with his burning hot rock hard swollen cock, almost whimpering in need as Wesker unpeeled his boxers from his sticky cock, and revealed the webbing of silver cum between his cock and stomach.
“My my,” Wesker mocked, finger rubbing the tip of Chris’ cock and drawing it away with a web of pre. “A satisfactory side effect. But now let’s see the main event.”
The pumps released the vacuum, and once drawn away Chris could finally see the final result of his punishment. His areola were puffy, his nipples swollen and huge. They stood erect on his breasts, so sensitive that Wesker’s gentle fingertips caressing them in circles had him shudder a groan and thrust his hips desperately.
Wesker only admired coolly, pinching and teasing the swollen buds until Chris was gasping and whining angrily.
“Fine fine—” Chris grimaced, sweat-sheened and horrified. “J-just let me cum already, you bastard. F-fuck…”
“No,” Wesker said curtly, “there will only be one route to orgasm here today, Christopher.”
Chris stifled a frustrated sob, wincing as Wesker tenderly washed the venom remnants away with antiseptic, his raw nipples aching and begging to be touched again.
“My poor soldier,” Wesker pinched them hard, just to make Chris thrash, “does it hurt?” And with that, he bent down and tongued over Chris’ left nipple as he continued to pinch the right.
The tongue was hot and soft, feeling so good after the venom that Chris moaned and pushed his left pec into Wesker’s face.
Wesker took the swollen bud into his mouth, sucking on it, tongue circling the plump nipple. The wetness and softness was sublime. Chris hung limply, centred on the sensation as Wesker lavished his nipples in turn with his mouth. Suckling and nibbling lightly with his teeth, until he drew away again to rub Chris’ saliva-wet nipples.
Chris shuddered, quivering with arousal and fury, his cock hard and dripping. “‘S no good–” he groaned, “I c-can’t– like this…”
“You will, Chris.”
A ring-clamp was applied over Chris’ left nipple first, and Wesker watched his face closely as he turned the screw. The metal biting deeper and deeper into Chris’ swollen, sore, raw nipple until the younger man was gasping and trying to thrash again. Squeezed so tight, the tip of his nipple plumped over the top of the ring, bright red and still wet. The same was done to the right, and Chris whined as Wesker flicked both his clamped nipples, just to make him squirm.
“It’s your own fault, Christopher,” Wesker chastised softly as he selected two bullet vibrators from the metal tray. “Such a supple, sensual, indecent body deserves some discipline. You’re so very shameless to show off what is mine to so many others.” The vibrators purred viciously as he switched them on, and he feather-light began to drag them around and around the outside of the ring, so only the vibrations travelled through the clamps.
“Please… please j-just get on with it–” Chris whined.
“Such sluts deserve to be punished,” Wesker whispered, tenderly pressing the tips of the violently buzzing vibrators finally against Chris’ plump nipples. “I’m starting to think you’re doing it on purpose. Then again, you always did enjoy my punishments, didn’t you, Chris?”
Chris moaned lewdly in relief, quivering and breathing shakily as Wesker rubbed the vibrators into his nipples as if they were pumped up clits. Sensitivity and pleasurable sensation pumped through his groin, making his cock ache and strain as he tried desperately to buck his hips, but only aware of the stimulation at his tender breasts.
“Focus, Christopher,” Wesker chastised as Chris began to struggle again, “focus… doesn’t it feel nice?”
“Y-yeah–” Chris grunted needily, “oh god… mmnhg…” he moaned raggedly, staring up once more at his own sweaty, aroused reflection in Wesker’s glasses. The older man was smiling faintly, watching with intense delight as his nemesis was brought closer and closer to sweet release by the vibrators fucking his tortured nipples in their clamps. “I h-hate you—” Chris cursed at him, drooling and tripping on his words, trembling all over now, balls tightening, sternum clenched.
“I know you do,” Wesker whispered in satisfaction. And he moved down to meet Chris’ hungry lips. Kissing him deep and messy and violent with their tongues rolling against one another. Both breathing heavy, groaning, panting, Chris sucking on Wesker’s tongue and giving a jolt and gasp of orgasmic bliss as he released without warning.
“Keep going,” Wesker ordered into his mouth, extending his tongue for Chris to suck like he was giving head as the younger man’s hips bucked, cumming thick ropes of cum onto Wesker’s clean white lab coat and dripping stickily down to the tiles below.
-
“Captain, where were you the other night?” Piers asked from the other side of Chris’ locker in the BSAA gym. “I thought you were coming to watch the game?”
Chris closed his locker and gave Piers an exhausted forced smile. “I ended up seeing an old friend.”
Piers’ eyes immediately dropped, and his face grew red. Perhaps he’d never noticed before, but today his Captain’s shirt fit even tighter than usual. His pecs were swollen, his nipples practically entirely visible peaking through the fabric of his shirt. It was so erotic a sight, the young man quickly turned away and pretended to rifle through his locker again.
He did his best not to stare for the whole of their training hour. But it was difficult to ignore the fact his Captain was moaning with every movement, breasts jiggling slightly, and his workout sweatpants doing little to hide his Captain’s rigid cock.
Whoever his friend was, Piers thought jealously, as he watched Chris gingerly groan and massage his chest after a deadlift, must've made quite a sincere 'impression'.