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uhhhhyandere · 11 months ago

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jailbird 2

summary: ada generally makes things worse for you, for fun. For once, she makes things better. plus, a newcomer enters alcatraz. he's fine as fuck. tw: heavy mommy kink (holy shit); head (reader receiving); dirty talk

author's note: i think i have a mommy kink.

word count: 3.7k cross posted on Ao3

"That hurt so much fucking more than I thought it would,” you bemoan, legs stretched and icepack rubbing smooth circles around your poor, abused, and stretched-out cunt. Because, you know, the prison has the same healthcare system as a middle school. Fucking Officer Chambers. You knew she hated you. Head thrown back against the pillow, your eyes meet the bottom of Ada’s mattress, your face contorted in dramatized pain, and that’s saying a lot. You just had a police baton shoved up your vagina. Still, with the ice numbing your labia, it’s reduced to a dull throb now that the sun’s set and the worst has passed. You whine. “Ouchie.” Ada’s leg comes down to kick you with the rough pad of skin beneath her toes. It was imprecise since she just leaned her body down to do it, but it managed to hit you in the temple anyway. “Ouchie!” You whine again, holding your head as her foot returns to dangle off the upper bunk.

“What did you really think was going to happen?”

“I know, I know.” You pout, cheek against the pillow, and smushing against it. “But like… come on. I’d be a fucking idiot if I turned down Chris’s deal. You know that. Fucked with a baton in front of everybody in exchange for the fucking key to our cell?! How could I say no?” You hiss before you can say more, and finally take your pussy off the ice, tossing the pack to the ground to let it cool off, and so your labia don’t freeze off. That would make for terrible sex, and you can't have that.

“Say it louder,” she drawls. “And easily, if you want to know. You know they can just change the locks, right? Probably will.”

“You think I haven’t thought of that already?” You spread your legs wider. Since the prison jumpsuit is just that, you’re naked in your bunk. There’s the slight, wafting smell of sex in the air. You think it smells good, actually. Maybe panty sniffing isn’t as weird as you thought it was. Or maybe you’re a narcissist. “Master key baby.”

"He’s lying to you,” Ada says too easily. “No way he’d be able to get a copy of it to you.” You trill your lips and roll your eyes. “You honestly think Chris will be able to not only steal Wesker’s key but make a copy of it, all under his nose?”

“He’s a stand-up guy.”

“...He stuck a baton up your vagina.”

“I let him!” You could hear her roll her eyes.

“You’re unbelievable.”

“For the master key—.”

“That he’s not going to give you!” You huff.

“You are being so mean to me right now.”

“And you’re being too much of a childish brat to be in federal prison.”

“You can you blame me? My pussy feels as though I just popped out all the Duggar’s then some.” There‘s silence and shuffling, and then Ada drops to the floor, hand grabbing the support bar as she leans into your bunk. Her head cocks. How can she look so good in fluorescent orange? She belongs in Prada or Armani, not smirking down at poor self-inflicted masochist you in a jail cell, left to rot off the coast of San Fran in some recycled, tax-funded jumpsuit.

“Ah, I’m so sorry. Your pussy hurts? I had no idea.” Her tone mocks you, talks down to you. She lets go of the bed to sit on the mattress near your leg, long fingers caressing your thigh. “Tell me how bad it hurts, baby.” Oh. Your mouth opens and closes like a trout on land, like you’ve got gills. Yeah, you do have gills, and Ada’s pussy juice is your water.

“...No. I take it back. It doesn’t hurt.” The words are as tense as you are, tight. Gotta ask her what inmate waxes her brows, because when she knits them, skin folding between her brows, they’re shaped perfectly. She takes her manicured hand off your thigh. Well, mostly manicured hands. You take particular note of her middle finger, index finger, and thumb being cut short. Sly dog, her.

"Oh? I’m glad then.” She moves to get up.

“N-no, wait!” You call out, too desperate. Way too desperate. Your eyes flare wide, head shooting up and pulling your neck and spine with it. “I-I lied. It hurts.” It hurts, mommy. But you don’t speak the word, yet it bounces around your head like the most perverse pinball of all the pinballs on every 2005 desktop computer. You swallow. “It really, really hurts.”

“Tell me where it hurts, baby.” She kneels back down on the bed. Strange plus side of prison beds. They make the upper bunk very high. Ada has no problem kneeling over you, looking down with the same contained, untelling look. She may want to throw up looking at you, or she may want to ride you ‘til you’re in a Clint Eastwood film. You'd probably thank her either way.

Your elbows support you now, and you keep your head and chest propped up to keep looking at her. God, you never want to stop looking at her. Lord if you went blind right now, you’d pray you never lost his image. No, no, scratch that. Get that jumpsuit off, and maybe you can say that. You exhale a stuttering, fragile breath.

“Will you… will you make it better?” The best sex is shameless, where you set your pride aside, you learned early. You give her your best doe eyes. She may be immune to them. She may not. You’re aching to find out. Aching, and your cunt was already aching from being abused just hours earlier. Now? You can imagine the wetness, feel it against the draft of your cell. You rub your thighs together, inner thigh fat rubbing together with it. “You have to tell me what hurts first. Come on, you can tell me. You know you can.” Her lip gloss shines with her smile. Never with teeth. Showing teeth means showing weakness. Ada Wong was not weak. Her hands grab one of the many supporting beams holding her mattress up, and she leans forward, black, silky locks hanging on either side of her face. She hovers over you. “Go on, so I can make it all better.” It sounds patronizing, but so, so hot. Your cunt throbs, and you rub your thighs together more.

“It hurts here,” mommy, is the natural end of that sentence. You spread your legs as far as you could with Ada’s thighs on either side of your own. Your finger drags down your tummy through your pubes and rests on the drop-off above your clit, resting between the hairy flesh. It’s still chilly from the ice. “Right here,” mommy. Her eyes follow your finger, leaning farther and farther away from your face so she can keep track of it. “It’s killing me. Please help.”

"Awh, you’re so polite, baby.” Ada scootches back so she can rest her breasts on the mattress between your legs. Her back is arched, and her ass is lifted behind her, so far away. She examines your cunt for a moment before glancing up at you. “But you need to be more specific. Use your words, baby. What hurts?”

"My pussy hurts,” mommy. Your willpower will only last for so long on that. You crane your neck to get a better view of her, can see the way her slender shoulders taper down to her waist, then curve out with her ass. Long legs keep her backside up. “Please help me.” Each plea from you is breathy, nothing more than soft exhales.

“Your pussy?” Ada hums. “Okay, baby. I got you. I got you.” Her hot breath electrifies your cold labia. Her finger glides between your lips, and there’s a sharp intake of breath. “Oh, baby. Your pussy is so cold. Can you even feel that?” Ada hinges her finger, bringing the tip up, up, just below your clit, then back down to collect the juices pooling in your hole. You whimper.”Words, baby.”

“I feel it. I feel it,” mommy. Mommy, I feel it. Please, I want to feel more. Please let me. Please make me feel good, mommy. My pussy hurts so much. Your eyes flutter shut, head tilting back towards the ceiling. “Feel it.” Her finger circles in your hole before sliding back up to push against your clit. Muscles tight, you gasp at the contact.

“Mhm, I know. Want me to kiss it better?” She doesn’t wait for an answer. She blows a delicate, hot breath over your cold labia, and you moan. Ada then leans forward so her lips can press a soft, soft kiss to your clit. A pathetic cry sounds from the back of your throat at the gentle smooch, and you fall back onto the pillow with a soft thud. It’s fire compared to the chill of the ice. Her hum echoes through your bruised pussy. You wonder if her lip gloss is stained on your pussy lips now. “Yeah, you like that, right?” You nod, shallow and fast.

“Y-yeah, I like it.” I like it, mommy. I like it sooo much. Please kiss my clit, mommy. Tell me how good I’m doing, how pretty my pussy is. How proud of me you are for taking that baton today. You open your eyes once more. “Thank you for kissing me today.” Ada hums again, a sweet sound. She meets your eyes over your pubes and stomach and kisses your clit again, full lips pursed and lingering. You exhale once more. Oh, mommy.

“I like to kiss you, baby. I know what it does to you.” Of course, she does. Her smirk is dangerous, charming, It doesn’t reach her eyes. “Want me to give your clit some more kisses? Your poor pussy was bullied today, wasn’t she?” Ada presses a kiss against your labia. “Yeah, poor girl. Chris was so mean to you, wasn’t he?” She coos, eyes locked on your cunt. “So reckless. So careless.” Ada presses another kiss to your cunt, but her tongue slips between her lips, scooping up your taste in a quick swoop of the tongue. “Mm, baby. You taste so good, and you’re warming up for me.”

Your hands reach back for the pillow beneath your head, grabbing the underside of it, elbows bent over your head as you spread your legs wider, one hanging off the bed while the other is shoved against the wall. Your eyes are clenched shut again, hanging onto her every move, every word.

“P-please,” you whisper. Please, mommy. Please.

“Shh,” she slaps your stomach. “Not talking to you right now.” She glares up at you. “You put my favorite girl through hell today. All for that brute. If you’re not going to love her the right way, I will. She deserves love and care. Yes, you do.” Her gaze softens on your pussy. “Yeah, don’t worry. Mommy’s here.” What. What.

You gasp, but before you could even open your eyes and defend yourself, Ada licks a long path from your perineum to your clit, dragging the tip so it’s against your pelvic bone until it flicks up against your little nub.

“Hng, mommy.” You whine, face contorted like you’re about to sob. Like you’re some little baby. Yeah, her little baby. Weak and pathetic and whining for mommy, crying to her when you did something stupid and hurt yourself. Shocked at the harmful obvious consequences of your own actions, and running to mommy, expecting her help anyway. “Mommy, please—.”

“Sh, sh, sh, it’s okay, baby. Let it out.” Her breath is swallowed up by your cunt, hot against the glistening muscle. “You did so good today, baby. You were so sexy, crying and writhing on the floor.” Ada laves at your cunt, tongue flat and wide, lax as it drags upwards. “Mmmm, I wish I was the one who was doing that to you. Maybe Chris will let me borrow it, hm?” A long haaah comes with her neck lick, echoing through the emptiness of your cell. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” You nod, teeth biting into your lip so hard it may burst open. “Words.”

“I-I’d love that, mommy.” You expel in a breath. “I’d love anything you do to me.” Your fingers clutch onto the pillow so hard they touch through the material.

“Yeah? You’d let mommy stuff this cunt with that baton?” Ada purses her lips, smooching your clit and sucking on it. Your shoulders down to your feet contract again. “I’d do it right, baby. I’d lube you up, make sure you enjoyed every second, instead of just forcing it in there like he did.” Ada shakes her head. “Make sure my girl’s pussy was ready for it.” Her arms wrap around your thighs, spreading and holding you open.

“P-please eat my pussy, mommy.”

“I wish I could fuck it,” she replies. “Next time.” You know she means it. “Next time, I’m going to be the one making you cry.” Her tongue makes messy and uncoordinated swipes up and down your clit, slipping into the hood before she lifts her head with one, strong suck to it. “Yeah, mommy wants to see her little girl cry for her, but not now. Let me take care of my good girl now.”

No more talking. Throwing your thighs over her shoulders, her back archs to press her face into your cunt. She works at your clit, tongue broad in one stroke then narrow in the next. Your fist covers your mouth, and your hips rise to grind against her. Ada takes it in stride, pushing back to drag her tongue down to your hole and fuck the muscle into you. Her moan comes out oscillating as your own catches in your throat.

"Oh, mommy. Mommy.” A mantra, and you hope Mother Mary isn’t listening. Not you mommy. You’re far from a virgin, and so is your mommy. Your back arched, stomach flexing out towards the ceiling, it takes all your willpower not to shove her face into you more, but that’s a no-no. Ada has limits on how much you can force her hand or mouth. Hence your grip on the pillow. “Mommy, please. It feels so good. So good.” Your toes curl into the sheet.

The sounds are so nasty. The kissing and slurping through your wet pussy, her full lips making out with your hole before her tongue slips its way back inside to writhe against your puffy and tight walls. It’s all so loving, the way she’ll run her tongue back up to your little clit to keep you as wet with your wetness as you are with her saliva, sucking on it with a mmh, mmh, mmh. Yeah, okay, Colonel Sanders. Pussy licking good, baby.

“Faster, mommy. Please Please.” Your voice is so weak, desperate. Whining out like you have been since you returned to your cell since Chris stretched your pussy to its PR circumference. To your surprise, Ada listens. She comes up for air, and in that second, she winks at you. It must mean good luck, sailor, because the next second Ada fucks your hole with her tongue with the speed of lightning. Oh, the fucking sounds. The squelching and the sloshing and the breaths you’re hardly able to keep up with as tears build in your eyes and you reach to the ceiling, the hand of Adam reaching out to the cum gods for release. But no one answers.

Mommy answers, though.

Her fingers, pressed together rub your drenched clit, already oversensitive. You throw your head back in a blissful sob. With “mommy, mommy, mommy,” under your breath, you pray your real mom doesn’t visit you during visitation tomorrow because you’re going to call her mom and all you’re going to think about is the way your mommy is tongue-fucking your hole and licking up your juices. She rubs your clit with a vengeance and slips her tongue from your folds. She brings her face to yours, nose just inches above your own as she pinches your slit. You cry out and nearly headbutt her from the jolt, sweat beading down your forehead and gasps flying out of your mouth like you’re the front runner for the Boston Marathon, but you’re having way more fun than they ever would. “Mommy, ple-e-ease.”

“You owe me,” Ada says, free hand soothing back your matted down hair. “Next time, I’m fucking your pretty little face and then your pussy, so we’re even.” You nod, frantically.

"Yes! Yes, mommy. Please let me cum. Please.” You feel it building in the pits of your stomach, the distinct tightening of who knows what. “I promise I’ll be your good girl. I promise!”

“Are you going to let Chris do something like that to you again?”

“No! Never! Please, please, mommy. I can’t. I-I can’t hold it in!” You do sob, desperate for release. “I’ll be so good for you. So good. Please.” She leans forward, and her lips don’t taste like cherry anymore. No, they taste like you, like that scent in the air. You kiss her back with unmatched fervor, hips rising to find more than the friction from her fingers.

“Cum, baby.”

Oh. Heaven Art Thou, mommy. Ada circles your clit through your orgasms as it rocks through your body, spasms from your toes to your hands. “Such a good girl.” She kisses you again, and with one last flick to your clit, her hand leaves your cunt. “Feel better?” You nod.

“Yes, mommy.” Your brows furrow in your post-orgasmic bliss, and your mouth opens. “How—”

“Come on,” Ada smiles, rising until she’s knelt over you once more. “Did you really think I didn’t know? Ouchie. Oh, my tummy hurts! You’re so mean to me.” She shakes her head. “So obvious, baby. Just the way you look at me…” She rolls her eyes and stands from the bed, stretching her fingers, and, you’re pretty sure, rubbing your wetness on her lips like lip gloss.

Then, she approaches the whiteboard over the desk and uncaps the marker.

DECEMBER

ADA | Y/N

15 17

“Did somebody really steal your laundry? Or was that another part of you and Chris’s stupid plan?

“Yes! I think it was that fuck Luis. Hear me out—.”

Your cunt is still sore the next day, not that it’s too surprising. You consider telling Ada again in the morning before they let your cell block roam free in the area, but you don’t want to owe her three orgasms. You don’t want to give her that much power over you. Well, you do, but she'll stretch those three orgasms over the rest of the month, leaving you with nothing but your fingers when you’re back in your cell.

You sit on the table on the lowest floor of the prison, feet on the bench connected to it. All the cells are wrapped around the perimeter, from this floor to the third. On the second is the door to the rest of the prison and its offices. It’s where Chris is now with Jill and several other guards. You nudge Ada with your hand and nod up to them. “There. See ‘im?” Amongst the guards is a man in a dark blue suit. “Chris said he’s some fed. Works right under the president. Here on some classified mission.” You can’t get a good look at him from down here, just at the shine of the light against his blonde locks and the strong body underneath that suit. You glance over to Ada, whose eyes linger on him. There's a strange gleam to them, but there's always something in Ada's eyes anyway. No point in ever trying to discern what without going insane. “He’s the one Chris wanted to impress so badly.”

“And he couldn’t think of any other way besides… that?” Your pussy throbs. “He was never the thinking type.”

“Clearly.”

“And I think he’s just wanted to do that but needed the excuse.”The fed’s steps are smooth down the stairs, hands soothing down his suit as he goes. You and Ada watch him closely. “Alright, maggots!” Chris. Of course. “Line up! We’ve got some PSAs. So unclog your ears and use your brains, for those who have them. Sorry to those who don’t. Looking at you, Luis.” The Spaniard chuckles, and it’s not the chuckle of your laundry thief. He puts his hand up in feigned surrender, meeting your eyes and winking. Slut. Takes one to know one.

You line up, and being in this spot again is… interesting. The guards all come down, and in the middle of them… in… in the… in the middle of… the… in the…

Oh. My. God.

Your mouth goes agape. Even Chris’s deafening voice doesn’t break your trance. It’s like everything around you fades to the background, and the planets all align over the fed’s head. You have never seen a more… ethereal being. Built not as big as Chris, you see strength under that suit. Thick thighs, bulging biceps, man tits under that button down. His blue eyes scan down the line, not yet noticing you, thank god. If he had, he’d notice the hearts in your eyes and the damp spot between your legs. He’s got a small stubble and some blonde fringe over the sides of his chiseled face.

“...Be on your best fucking behavior. None of you want to end up like inmate 3825-63. Do you?” Oh, that’s your number. Yippie! “That’s what I thought. Cooperate with the agent here with whatever he needs for his investigation, and we’ll have no problems. Don’t, and he can kick your ass just as well as I could. Understood?!” Everyone yells their understanding, but you’ve got too much drool in your mouth to do the same. Not really, but you might as well the way you ogle him. “Floor’s yours.”

The agent steps forward. “Name’s Leon Kennedy, and I’m—.” Oh. Daddy’s here.

#ada wong #ada wong x reader #resident evil #resident evil fanfiction

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uhhhhyandere · 11 months ago

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jailbird pt. 1

a resident evil cast x reader shitshow

summary: alcatraz is a little... untraditional. what else would you expect from a prison on an island, away from judicial accountability? chris redfield, prison guard, wants to make an example out of someone. might as well be the prison slut.

tw: so many here & to come: consensual non-con; object insertion; painful sex; mommy kink; face-sitting; strap on; choking; pussy eating; ass eating; daddy kink; degradation; public sex

always stay safe with the content you consume; minors dni consistent interaction with adult content can and will fuck you up in adulthood; lmk if there are any tags i miss

Ao3 Link

The orange jumpsuit is rough against your pussy. It always is when you sit down, the crest of the fabric, where the seam runs from the zipper, down the front of the suit, and to the crack of your ass, rubbing into your cunt lips. It’s an easy problem to fix. Just push up in the seat to sit like a normal human being, but if you do that, you can’t shift your hips in just that right way so the seam brushes over your clit. The little jolt, and the major shame erased as you look around the rec area to see if anyone’s catching on, pussy dripping at the thought of being caught. Being bent over this fucking table, jumpsuit ripped in half and fucked.

Who do you want it to be, you wonder.

Your eyes land on your cellmate. You don’t know what she’s in for. Honestly, maybe it’s for just looking the way she does, because what a fucking crime. Ada’s got that air of superiority to her, always looking down on whoever she’s talking to. Literally, sometimes, since she sleeps on the upper bunk. You’ve also seen her naked body too many times. You think it’s purposeful, the way she saunters through the bathroom when your cell block showers, when she always happens to get gone the same time you do. The way her ass moves with the sway of her hips.

She’s got a cute fucking pussy too. Clean-shaven, thin lips, pink and pretty. Not that that’s relevant to anything besides the fact you want her to sit on your face, drive her hips down so you could feel her fucking pelvic bones on your cheeks, suffocating in her cunt. Nose and mouth completely swallowed up. You picture the way she’d grind back and forth, up and down your fucking face as her head falls back, black locks falling down her slender shoulders. Does she curse? Moan? Stifle them both with her teeth sunk into her bottom lip, red lipstick staining her teeth? Her stomach would flex and curl, thighs on either side of your face, smelling and tasting nothing but her.

Her pussy would muffle your calls and moans for mommy. Yeah, she’d like that, you think. Not that she’d be into it, but she'd degrade your ass to hell and back. Oh, you need mommy? Your own never love you? Your own never smother your face with her mommy pussy? So sad. It’s okay, mommy’s here now, you pathetic fucking girl, but if you want a mommy that loves you? Look somewhere else. There’s a reason I cover your face, after all. Hold your breath a little longer, though, and maybe mommy will give you something nice.

You’d rest your hands on her ass, palming the flesh and pulling her onto you more, slurping like a fucking animal . Your own hips would rise, your own pussy clenching onto nothing, seeking a friction that only the cold, prison air would meet. Humping the air.

Unless…

Your eyes move across the rec area, to where a group of prison guards gather. One in particular sticks out, his hands on his belt as boisterous laughter erupts and carries across the room. Chris was always loud. You’d imagine it’d be the same with his thick cock sunk into you, balls slapping against your ass as his dick drags down your walls, head kissing your womb, a white and sticky promise to come. Of come.

He definitely wouldn’t stifle shit, but you doubt he’d be able to get out words besides expletives while he slobbers like a fucking animal, frothing at the mouth. Uncontrolled, unhampered, fucking you like a dog in heat, and when he’d hunch over, folding your legs in half, feet towards your head even though a bitch like you doesn’t bend that way to reach deeper with that third fucking leg of his. The spittle would splay onto your face, wet and hot.

Those big, monster hands of his would grab your throat like a lifeline, cutting off yours. Thumbs pressing into the column of your throat, fingers wrapped around the back of your neck, maybe pulling at your hair if he’s got the dexterity. But Officer Chris Redfield is not dextrous. He is a man of raw strength. Each thrust into your poor, poor, pussy would feel as though it touches your esophagus, building in your stomach, which is saying a lot, since you’ve got a fucking tummy. A fucked tummy, blossoming with little Redfields.

But if you wanted dexterity…

The other guard you know in the group stands a little away, arms crossed over her chest, them and the padding covering her tits. Crooked nose over a small smile at whatever elicited Chris’s booming laughter. You catch sight of long, lithe fingers over her bicep. They’d fuck you hard and fast, her hand bending to rub your clit while stretching you out, readying you for the silicone cock resting on her hips, long, curved. Purple. No, blue, definitely. She’d talk raw to you, you bet. Absolute filth, almost akin to your fucked up fantasies. She wouldn’t even need to look at her hands, so fast and purposeful. She’d whisper in your ear what a fucking slut you were, a desperate, writhing cockwhore, a good-for-nothing inmate, forsaken by society to be used for sex, how you’re lucky she’s even wasting her time on you.

Then she’d take you from the back, long fingers grabbing your fat tits and squeezing, maybe asking in a huff of laughter whether milk will leak from your tits, that maybe she’ll take a drink when she’s done. She’d fuck you in public: a cell, the bathroom, the library no one uses, maybe, so one hand would eventually need to press over your mouth. Better yet, those fingers of hers would slip in your mouth, and you’d wretch, choke on them as the tip of her fingernail touched your uvula. Maybe you’d puke. Maybe she’d kiss you anyway, licking away the chunks of prison meal from your chin and neck after she’s done fucking you.

She’d fuck you endlessly, through and after your orgasm, coaching you through more. Oh, how she’d wish she could cum in you, fill you with her seed, make you fat with a fucking kid, unable to move so she could fuck you again. Then, she’d promise she would eat the cum right back, swish it around her mouth and spit it down your throat.

But she wouldn’t. She promises and promises, but she doesn’t. God, who would eat your pussy out? You scan the rec area, looking through droves of prisoners and guards alike. Sure, a few stick out: Helena, Sheva, that smelly Heisenberg fellow, Carlos, Claire, Shen May, Ethan if your daddy issues get worse (because you’ve got both, baby!) But none, maybe Carlos, would go down on you with the wrath of the gods.

They’d suck and make out with your clit, tongue laving, and flicking and circling it, hot breath blowing against your fat mound and labia. Their lips would drag down your slit, a hum from their throat resonating through your cunt and to your very soul until their pink tongue slips out again, limp in your hole, at first, settling between the soft muscle… until it starts to worm around in there, ever so slow, spit sticking to your inside. Their nose would, you fucking hope, be big enough for the tip to be against your clit, so they can look like they’re blowing raspberries on your pussy, because you’re a fucking baby.

Yeah, you’re a fucking baby with a mommy, but you need a complete family, don’t you? Need a father figure to blow raspberries on your fucking pussy and spread your asscheeks to lick into your cunt harder, kissing your pussy with the same intensity as your mouth, with the same spit dripping from his mouth. Your pussy juices will line his lips like a misplaced chapstick, and he’d peck your cunt one second and jam his tongue in there the next.

He'd go lower, then, leaving a hot, wet trail down, down, down, until he presses his lips to your ass. Tight and dry, daddy’s tongue would circle the wrinkled skin before kissing it again with a mwah. Hands keeping your cheeks spread, he’d take his time before even trying to wriggle his tongue into your asshole entirely. The puckered skin will be glistening in a vile mix of your pussy juice and his own saliva, perhaps not so puckered anymore, and easy to stretch once daddy decides to eat his meal. His tongue would circle in, not strike through. He knows better. Knows you’ve gotta take it slow down here. Maybe he’d rub your clit with the rough pad of his finger to relax you so the base of his tongue would rest at your hole, the tip deep. Daddy would like it dirty, uncaring how unwashed and unprepared you were for him.

If only someone like that existed, huh? Woe is you. Woe is literally—,

“Jailbird.” Oh. The glaze over your eyes dissipates in an instant, and you look up at the broad form of Chris blocking the skylight. Beefy muscles and thick neck and busting fucking man tits that maybe you should call him mommy instead. “You deaf? Get your head out of your ass and in line.” You hadn’t even noticed the line of orange jumpsuits along the wall, with one discrete space next to Ada, whose smirk got you dripping through your suit. As if you weren’t already.

There are plenty of things in the past ten minutes to flush over, so woe is you on what’s got your face burning in your scurry to join the line. You catch Jill’s eyes in your hurry and press your back against the brick wall. Why protocol exists every time you all are corralled back into your cell, whether it be from rec time, lunch, or otherwise, you never know. There’s no Shawshank Redemption at Alcatraz. What are we gonna do? Swim? Sure, little bright orange Nemo makes a great shot with a rifle.

Whatever. It’s Chris feeling you up this time. Hands up, those hands of his start at your neck, pressing into your trachea with a small, small moan from you. It goes unheard. Ignored. They drag to your armpits, pressing in, then down your sides to your hips, back to your love handles, and up your spine. Then, he starts from below, around your calves, up your thighs, and over your ass, and…

And…

Is he gonna move? Your brows furrow and you look down at him, but Chris’s already standing over you, looming. There’s a look in his eyes. Ready? It asks. You give the slightest nod. “I’m going to need you to take your suit off.”

“You’re going to need what now?” is your response, and you’d take a step back, were there not a cement wall behind you. Eyes are on you now, from the prisoners and guards alike. Like an idiot, you seek them out, but no one is here to help you. Ada looks like she’s about to have the time of her life. Useless son of a bitch.

“Did I stutter, inmate?” That booming voice commands more attention. You grit your teeth, and your skin is definitely on fire now. Today is not the fucking day for this. You avert your eyes to the ground, his black boots toed against your shower shoes, bright orange rubber around your exposed toes.

“I can’t, sir.”

“What do you mean you can’t ?” Chris gets in your face, hot breath on you. No spit. Maybe your fantasy wasn’t totally accurate. You wince, both at his proximity and the echo of his voice in your ears. “Explain yourself.”

“My laundry was stolen, sir.” A pin could drop and it’d be equal to Chris’s volume. Someone snickers somewhere. Your laundry thief, presumably, jacking it to your panties. Chris isn’t moved by your demure explanation. His eye twitches, but you swear you caught the faintest smirk pulling at the corner of his lip before it returns to a scowl.

“I don’t give a shit if your laundry caught on fire, inmate. Suit off. Or you’re finding yourself in the hole for the night.” The hole. Alcatraz slang for solitary confinement. Hell. There’s heat, from his gaze, from the eyes of every inmate and guard in your cellblock. Goddamn it . You unzip the jumpsuit, cold air stark against your skin. You do your best to keep your tits under the fabric, and the end of the zipper rests a few inches above your crotch. Covered still. You look up, for confirmation. “All of it, inmate. Entirely.”

Your panty raider snickers again, and Ada’s still happy as a fucking clam. Her smile is approximately 0.02 inches higher than usual.

Your tits fall first when your jumpsuit slips from your shoulders, bouncing down, nipples hard, skin wrinkled around the bud. One arm, two arms out, and you keep your eyes down. Everyone’s ogling them. You would be if you were in anyone else’s shoes. Through your deeply resounding shame and embarrassment, you hope they like them. Or, at the very least, don’t pay attention to your side boob, spilling under your arm. Or do, if they like that. You never know.

“To your feet,” Chris instructs, and you let the jumpsuit fall in a pile. Pussy out. Ass out. Stomach out. It’s all just… out. You shut your eyes, pretend you’re in a porn shoot or something, or maybe an auction as the top prize. Very empowering scenarios, for sure. Still beats this one. “Turn around.” Your eyes shoot open.

Maybe in your fantasy, you’d fight back, give him unmatched snark, just for your pride, but your mind is filled with liquid right now, frontal lobe melted down to nothing, cerebral cortex nothing but a red puddle in your midbrain. Monkey do. Monkey turns around, and puts “hands on the wall,” Chris says.

Chris’s boots spread your legs, so your thighs unstick and the cellulite jiggles in the air, cunt exposed towards the floor. Your chin touches your shoulder, and you look back at him.

“This is so not protocol!” Two years in the clink, you know protocol and have seen enough shivs be confiscated to know. “I have rights!” Constitution says I do, and so does Saul Goodman.

“You lost your rights when your ass got dragged in here,” he replies. “Face forward, jailbird.” Your teeth grit and your vein pops in your jaw and neck.

“Not my eighth amendment, sir. ”

“Oh-ho, got an attorney here, do we? Remind me what the eighth amendment says, Vinny.” Calloused fingers glide down your spine to your tailbone, resting on the crack of your ass. Chris speaks loud enough for all to hear, like Elf, but instead of Christmas cheer being spread, it’s your ass cheeks. You keep your eyes down, but Ada’s in your periphery. Her temple rests on the wall, watching.

“No cruel and unusual punishments inflicted .” You know a rhetorical question as well as the next socially ept person, but you also know he’d pull it from you anyway, or just know the answer himself. Might as well just prove you still know something. Pride.

“This is cruel?” His thumb tracks down, down, down, over the rim of your ass and to your cunt. “This is unusual?” His thumb breaches your cunt, and that kind of penetration is, number one, three crimes you’d file suit for, minimally, and second, nothing, feeling-wise. Well, you feel wronged. Physical feeling wise? Just a thumb inside your pussy. “I felt something back here. You carryin’ something, jailbird? Got some contraband up that pussy of yours? I’ve got the right to investigate.” His thumb strokes your slick wall.

His thumb moves, pressing against the soft muscles, stretching them out so his circles can be longer, larger. Your head falls, chin to your chest. Okay, now you feel something, physically. The next exhale you give is ragged, breathy. His fingers cup your cunt, tips buried in your pubes, pressing down on the flesh until it's pushed against your bone. A light pain you wince from.

Pushed to the knuckle, Chris gives your cunt a last once around before yanking it out. “Little more, I bet,” is mumbled under his breath, and two fingers fill the clenching, wet space. You whimper, whimper, hands balling into fists while you bite your bottom lip. Chris is slow, clearly not trying to get you off on his fingers. He pumps his fingers, in and out, in and out, of your cunt, nails dragging against your walls with a slight sting. The hinges of his fingers spread, kneading your cunt open, coaxing it to stretch when all your cunt does is compress back down. “Come on, baby, cooperate with me,” he coos to your cunt, and it tightens at his praise. “There we go.” Don’t fucking reply to him! You chastise your vagina.

Chris slides his fingers out and wraps around your head to push them into your mouth. “Slurp up, birdy. Only chance of lube you’ll get.” Fuck or die, you guess, of dry penetration. The noises are vile, tongue lathering his rough fingers, wiping in the crevice, and slithering around his digits. They’re sweaty and rough. Cheeks hollowing, you suck, craning your neck forward so your teeth rest on his knuckles. Back and forth, like a cock. Like cock work. Drool bubbles at the corner of your lips and drips down your chin. You want Ada to lick it up.

She watches. Everyone watches. Silently, of course. Your panty thief doesn’t have a lot to add now, do they? The slurps and gurgles and sucks are the only noise you can hear. Not even Chris. If he’s groaning, or moaning or any of the -oanings , you have no idea. Not until Chris nearly takes your teeth out with how fast his fingers rip out of your mouth and push the saliva through your folds, then into you. Coating you. “Let’s hope it’s enough, birdy.”

“You’re dead in court,” You seethe out, head tossing over your shoulder to spit at him about the number of witnesses, the cameras all over this place, the evidence on evidence even the most incompetent attorney could in with. Oh, your confidence is at a high that very moment as you prepare to end him with the fear of reality. “Oh, no fucking way.”

“Way.” Chris ends you with the fear of reality. You see it before you feel it: the cold press of his police baton against your pussy lips. Your heart drops, ice in your veins, and pussy wet. Pussy wet? Pussy wet. Thick, dense, heavy, the rounded tip pressed impossibly against your cunt, pressed into your pelvic bone. You cry out and thrash your head around for help - from anyone: an officer, a rogue inmate, but no one moves. Everyone watches. Your eyes land on Ada, wide and teary.

She kisses you on the mouth, tasting of cherry. Chris has nothing to say. There’s red smeared on your panting lips, before a whine follows it up as your cunt opens up to the end of the baton. No stretch compares. No toy. No cock.

“Please, sir. This is… stop. ” Your voice cracks, head dipped low as the baton rests, cunt wrapped over the tip like a condom just on the tip of a penis, except the condom is a crying mess. “Please don’t. I’ll fucking die. ”

“You won’t die.” Chris dismisses you with a click of his tongue. “You’ll just hurt. Fuckin’ relax.” He presses the baton further, and you think your labia tears. It feels like an inch further, but you know it’s likely just be a centimeter. You wail, fist pounding against the wall as your shoulders shake and your body wracks with sobs.

“Help me, please! Everyone gonna stand there with their thumbs up their asses!? So much for officers of the peace!” “Shadd-up,” Chris’s free hand smacks you in the back of the head. “Or I’ll put something up your ass. ” He threatens you with a nudge of the bottom. Every single move of it is agony. God, it’s like you’re giving birth, but the baby’s crawling in. “No one’s coming to help you. This is just… protocol. Gotta see what you're carrying. You don’t mind, right?”

“I perhaps mind—fuck!” You scream and nearly stumble to the ground were it not for Chris’s arm wrapping around your stomach. The baton is pressed further in from him catching your fall. “You, you, hold them up.” Ada on your left. Someone on your right. Their arms loop around yours and pull you up. You’re curled over in their grip, feet nearly off the ground and body completely curled. Your forehead is against the wall, your head bobbing back and forth with your ragged pants. Ada wipes the red from your lips.

“You ready? Gonna see if we can make some real progress down here now.” You scream before your mind can create a comeback. Your calves curl upwards, body entirely in the air for a moment before you crash to the floor, pulling the one on your right down with you. Ada lets you go before she can be dragged down too. The baton comes down with you, lodged in so it sticks out of your pussy like a tail. “No, no, leave them. This is better.” Chris stands over your sniveling form, pain pulsating through the stretched skin of your cunt, muscled to an unnatural degree. Forehead against the ground, you heave out sobs, body in shock from the penetration.

Nothing has ever escaped Alcatraz, but your scream of pain when the baton gets pushed into your pussy inches more breaks through even the thickest of walls. Chris used the bottom of his foot and lowered it, entire body pushing the weapon into you. He hums. “Not feeling anything yet. Maybe it’s deeper in there, hm?” Your muscles are taunt, nerves shot. You’re sobbing, wailing on the floor. The baton is impossibly deep, your cunt is impossibly stretched, your very pelvis is moving to accommodate it.

“Chris.” It’s Jill. She says no more. “Alright, alright, you’re right.” Chris grabs the handle. “Just need to loosen them still.” He coaxes the baton back, then gently pushes it forward, like a lover. His free hand massages your tailbone. Each pull takes your vaginal walls with it, and each push your cunt fights against, tightening against it. “I think they’re liking it.”

Your weeping is indicative of that, for sure. “Whaddya say, birdy? I’ll strike you a deal. A plea bargain. You confess what you’ve got hidden up your cunt, and I won’t break it.” There’s nothing up your cunt besides an IUD set to get taken out in seven years, but you nod. Your cheek is squished against the cold floor, looking at Ada’s feet. “Speak up, birdy, or else I may just—.”

“Yes! Please, don’t fucking tear out my insides!”

“‘Course. Why didn’t you say so before?” Chris squats down, thick thighs supporting his weight. “Know what? Change my mind. I don’t need your deal. I think I know what will flush the contraband out. Your cum, birdy.” His strokes with the baton are as gentle as they could be, so your walls… don’t adjust, no. No adjusting to that this quick, but they tolerate it. Your pussy soaks the baton, the weapon glistening. “That’s all. Just cum on the baton, birdy. This’ll be all over. Hear me?” You nod. Chris takes it as the signal to go. He’s watching with perverse joy, the way your pussy takes it. God, it’s making him hard. He’s got to hurry this up. His free hand rests on your clit. Your body twitches from the contact. “Gonna rub your little clit, birdy. Help ya out. Call me an officer of the peace.” His fingers press down, circling your nub with ease. You whine out, pathetic. It echoes through the prison. Using his arm, he pushes harder down on your clit, some fingers driving into your clitoral hood.

You moan out. It’s too much, too much. Is this your punishment? You swear to whoever’s listening, you’ll never objectify or sexualize anyone again. You’ll go abstinent, for fuck’s sake. But please let this end.

The baton is set at a steady pace, not dipping deeper than what your pussy’s stretched to take. You hiccup when it touches that necking portion, whining, writhing on the floor while Chris’s hand picks up on your clit. “Come on, birdy. Come on, just cum. I’ve got people to impress here, you know. Cum. ” You reply with a whimper, face contorted in pain. Pleasure? It’s all vague and intertwining in your fucked up brain. “Fucking come on .” Chris spits on your clit, then slaps it. “Come the fuck on!” “I’m trying !” You wail back, head thrown back. Your glare is dulled by the tears on your face, mouth open in horror. There’s not much you can see from this angle, just the shadow of the baton and Chris’s form over yours.

A soft hand lifts your cheek from the ground and full lips slot against yours. Cherry-flavored. You moan into Ada’s mouth, and the kiss turns salty. Lips gliding against yours again and again, your sniveling is swallowed by her. Your whimpers, when Chris twists the baton, are met with her tongue, slipping against yours, under yours. Touching the top of your mouth. Your teeth. Chris slaps your clit again, and your yelp parts you for a second, but Ada doesn’t let it deter her. Your neck is pulled painfully to reach her. God, she’s such a good kisser.

You’re panting into her mouth, pathetically, not even kissing her back at this point as Chris speeds his jacking of the baton. Ada kisses you anyway, lips switching between kissing your top and bottom lip. Her tongue traces your lips, or your teeth, or simply licks your tongue. Your eyes close, breath building and quickening.

“God, you’re tightening, birdy. Finally. Fucking cum.” Chris leans over you, mouth next to your ear. His fingers slap your clit once, twice, before doubling down, clit engorged and taking it. “Fucking cum right now, birdy. You dumb fucking slut. You fucking worthless fleshlight for my fucking baton. Cum. Cum right fucking now or I swear to fucking god I will rearrange your guts with this.”

You scream once again, forced to part from Ada when your forehead lands on the floor, muscles twitching as you cum. Chris rubs you through your orgasm until each touch is overstimulating. He yanks the baton from you. Your fucked out cunt clenches onto nothing, chest rising up and down, frantic. Your body is strung tight still, spasming. Chest heaving.

“Get ‘em up. We’ve got things to do”

#chris redfield x reader #ada wong x reader #jill valentine x reader #resident evil fic #chris redfield #ada wong #jill valentine #resident evil

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