#woofs

But you had needs, desires that sometimes grew louder than his rules. And tonight felt especially cruel. He was home, tucked away in his office locked in his endless work. The sound of his voice, low and gravelly, filtered through the heavy door. It was a welcome intrusion, a reminder that he was home, but it also served as a harsh reminder of just how unreachable he was. Doctor Albert Wesker. Your boss, your lover, was locked away in his work, buried under a mountain of papers and calls, and you were left to fend for yourself once more.

You sighed, the sound barely audible, and turned your gaze to the robe draped over your bed. It was soft, luxurious, the kind of thing you’d never have bought for yourself, but Wesker had insisted on it.

“To keep you warm,” he’d said, though the gesture had been more about control than comfort. Still, it had its uses.

With a determined set of your jaw, you slipped the robe on, feeling the fabric brush against your skin. Beneath it, you wore the costume you’d ordered on a whim—a playful nod to the “naughty nurse” stereotype, complete with a little cap and the faintest hint of lace. It had been a gamble, but one you were willing to take. Tonight, you needed him to notice you, even if it meant forfeiting your pride.

Gathering your courage, you padded toward his office, the heels of your shoes tapping softly against the polished wood floor. The closer you got, the louder his voice became, a low rumble that sent shivers down your spine. You paused outside the door, taking a deep breath to steady yourself.

This was it. There was no turning back now.

Taking a few quiet steps forward, your heart pounds in your chest. Wesker's head snapped up at the sound, his eyes narrowing as he focused on you. For a brief moment, there was confusion in his gaze, as if he couldn't quite place why you were here interrupting his work.

But it'd been so long, the look on your face hinted at your frustrations. He was a smart man, the recognition dawned, and his lips curled into a faint, imperceptible smile.

“Can I help you?” he asked, his tone cool and detached, as if you were nothing more than an interruption.

“I think so,” you replied, your voice low and sultry. “I couldn’t help but notice you’ve been working so hard lately. I wanted to check in.”

Wesker’s eyes flicked to the sash of your robe, which you’d begun to toy with absentmindedly. The material had already started to slip open, revealing a glimpse of the risqué outfit beneath. His gaze lingered there for a moment before returning to your face, a calculating gleam in his eye.

“Is that so?”

You nodded, letting the robe fall open just a bit more, enough for him to see the high hemline of the skirt, the curve of your leg. With each step closer, you felt more confident, more in control. This was what you wanted—no, it's what you needed. To be seen, to be noticed, to be desired.

“Poor thing,” you murmured, your voice dripping with sympathy as you placed one hand on the back of his chair. “You look so tense, Doctor. I think you need someone to take care of you.”

Wesker’s hand paused mid-note, the pen hovering above the paper. He studied you for a long moment, his expression inscrutable. Then, with a slow, deliberate motion, he laid the pen down and leaned back in his chair, folding his arms across his chest. “Alright,” he said, his voice smooth and sardonic.

“Show me what you can do.”

A thrill shot through you at his words, at the way he’d accepted your game so easily. Without another word, you slipped fully into character, fingers grazing his shoulders as you began your “treatment.”

“First, let’s get you relaxed,” you whispered, your breath hot against his ear. You began to knead his shoulders, pressing into the muscles with just the right amount of pressure. Wesker sighed, the sound almost content, and closed his eyes, surrendering himself to your ministrations.

You worked your way down his back, your hands moving with purpose, squeezing and releasing the tension in his muscles. What a difficult man he was, keeping his composure. But the way his brows furrowed, his breath hitched. It fueled your determination, making you want to push him further. To see how far you could go before he cried out a moan.

“How does that feel, Doctor?” you asked, your voice sweet and innocent, a stark contrast to the heat building between you.

“Fine,” he rumbled, his voice thick. “I think you can do better.”

You grinned, a spark lighting up your eyes. “Oh, I intend to,” you replied, leaning in closer until your lips brushed against his ear. “But first, I need you to do something for me.”

Wesker’s eyes snapped open, his gaze locking onto yours. “What’s that?”

“Unbutton your shirt,” you commanded, your voice firm but gentle.

“I need to get to the source of the problem.”

For a moment, he hesitated, his eyes searching yours as if trying to gauge your intentions. But then, with a slow, deliberate motion, he reached for the buttons of his shirt and began to undo the first three of them.

You watched in rapt fascination as the fabric parted, revealing the broad expanse of his chest, the ridges of muscle flexing with each movement.

When he was done he leaned back in his chair, his eyes never leaving yours. “Happy?” he asked, his tone mocking.

“Very,” you purred, your hands moving underneath the fabric to rest on his bare shoulders. “Now, let’s see what we can do about those knots.”

You began to massage his chest, your fingers digging into the hard planes of muscle, seeking out the tension that lurked beneath the surface. Wesker groaned, the sound deep and guttural, and pressed himself into your touch, offering himself up to your service.

He muttered your name, voice strained. “You know just how to…”

His words trailed off as you leaned in closer, your lips brushing against the side of his neck. “How to what, Doctor?” you whispered, your breath fanning out against his skin.

Wesker shuddered, his hands gripping the arms of the chair as if trying to ground himself. “Distract me,” he growled, his voice rough.

“Good,” you murmured, nipping at his earlobe before pulling back to meet his gaze. “I think that's just what you need.”

Finally, you removed your robe revealing the naughty nurse costume in all its glory.

Wesker’s gaze lingered on your outfit, the faintest smirk tugging at his lips as his eyes flicked over the lace details and playful cap. Though he didn’t break his cool exterior, you caught a glint of amusement in his eyes—a hint that he found your little act amusing, though he’d never admit it outright.

“Quite the unique uniform,” he drawled, his tone laced with that familiar edge of sarcasm. “Did you really think a costume like this would work on me?”

His eyebrow arched, and though his words were teasing, his eyes betrayed a flicker of interest, lingering just a bit too long on the curves revealed by the costume. He was giving you just enough of his attention to keep you guessing, that subtle taunt characteristic of the ever-cool Albert Wesker.

You met his gaze, undeterred. "Considering you’re still sitting there letting me 'work,' Doctor, I’d say it’s working," you shot back with a sly smile.

His smirk widened, the faintest hint of warmth entering his steely demeanor. “Is that so?” His hand moved from the chair to rest lightly at your hip, pulling you slightly closer as he leaned back, maintaining his air of authority even as he allowed himself to indulge.

“I suppose I’ll let you finish… but be warned,” he murmured, his voice a low, dangerous purr. “I don’t often tolerate interruptions.”

A subtle thrill coursed through you, a mix of anticipation and defiance at being so close to him after all this time. You held your ground, leaning closer still.

“Then I’ll make it worth the risk.”

Wesker’s eyes gleamed with a mixture of challenge and fascination. He didn’t speak further, simply allowing his gaze to travel over you in silent approval, that slight smirk never leaving his lips as he let you continue, fully aware of the effect he had on you, and savoring it.

With a confident stride, you led Wesker to the plush leather couch that sat against one wall of his large office. It was a stark contrast to the rigid orderliness of the rest of the room, a place where he could unwind if he ever allowed himself to. Tonight, however, it would serve a far more pleasurable purpose.

Wesker followed you with measured steps, his eyes refusing to leave your form as you walked ahead of him. The playful sway of your hips in the tight nurse outfit seemed to draw his gaze like a magnet. When you reached the couch, you turned to face him, a impish glint in your eyes.

"Sit," you commanded softly, pointing at the couch with your index finger.

He complied without hesitation, sinking into the cushions with an almost regal grace. His shirt, though slightly unbuttoned, clung to his broad shoulders. The fabric taut over muscles that spoke of relentless physical discipline. Kneeling before him, your hands gently brush against the sides of his thighs as you positioned yourself comfortable on your knees.

Your fingers traced lazy circles around the hem of his shirt, teasing him with anticipation. Wesker stared at you, completely transfixed. His hand resting casually on the armrests, you could see the tension coiling beneath his calm exterior.

"You seem wound up, Doctor," you purred, a hint of amusement coloring your voice. "Let's see if I can help you relax."

With deliberate slowness, you began to unbutton his shirt, peeling back the layers of fabric to reveal the chiseled expanse of his chest. Each button undone excited you, the sight of his bare skin sending a jolt of desire through you. His chest rose and fell steadily under your scrutiny, a testament to his self-control.

Once his shirt was open, you let your hands roam freely over his torso. Your fingertips danced across his pecs, tracing the ridges of muscle with reverent precision. The warmth of his skin was a stark contrast to the cool air of the room, and you reveled in the sensation of touching him so intimately.

A low growl rumbled in Wesker’s throat as your hands continued their exploration. His eyes were half-lidded, locked onto yours with a mixture of anticipation and challenge.

"Is this all you've got?" he murmured, his voice husky with restrained need.

You chuckled softly, leaning forward to press a kiss to his sternum. "There's plenty more where that came from," you assured him, punctuating your words with another kiss just below his collarbone.

His breathing grew heavier as you shifted your attention lower, your hands slipping beneath his belt to find the growing bulge in his pants. Wesker’s eyes fluttered closed for a moment, his head tilting back slightly as he surrendered to the sensations you were provoking.

You undid his belt with practiced ease, popping the button on his pants and pulling down the zipper. The sound echoed in the quiet room, a sharp contrast to the slow, deliberate pace of your movements. With gentle pressure, you coaxed his erection free from the confines of his boxers, releasing it into the cool air.

The sight of his hardened length made your pulse quicken, a flush of heat spreading through your body. You wrapped one hand around his shaft, feeling the smooth skin and the subtle veins pulsing beneath your touch. Wesker inhaled sharply, his eyes snapping open to meet yours once more.

"Naughty nurse, huh?" he teased, his tone dripping with dark amusement. "I didn't realize they provided this kind of treatment."

You grinned up at him, feeling a surge of confidence. "Only the best for my favorite patient," you replied, giving his cock a slow, deliberate stroke.

His breath hitched at your touch, the tension in his body ratcheting up even further. You took your time, exploring every inch of him with your hands, your mouth hovering just inches away from the tip as you breathed hot air over his sensitive skin. The contrast between the warmth of your breath and the coolness of the room heightened the sensations, driving him wild with anticipation.

Wesker narrowed his eyes, he tilts his head slightly, as if challenging you. "Is this really what you think I need?" he queries, his voice low and laced with playful authority.

"Trust me," you reply, meeting his gaze with confidence. "This is exactly what you need."

When you judged him sufficiently aroused, you leaned in and enveloped the head of his cock with your lips. The taste of him—salty, masculine—filled your mouth, igniting a fire in your core. You swirled your tongue around the crown, relishing the way his muscles tensed beneath you as you took him deeper.

Wesker groaned, his hands gripping the edge of the couch tightly. His cock pulsed in your mouth, the rhythmic throb matching the beat of your own heart. You teased him mercilessly, sucking and licking with a teasing rhythm that kept him perpetually on the edge.

As you pleasured him, you couldn't help but marvel at how utterly captivating this man was. Even in this vulnerable position, he radiated an undeniable aura of command, as if he were simply indulging in a momentary lapse of control. It only fueled your desire to push him further, to watch him unravel completely under your ministrations.

Your lips leave his cock with a loud pop, and you greedily stick your tongue out to slap against the thick girth before you. “Good boy,” you praise, watching as Wesker's eyes darken with need. You can almost hear him whimper as you unbutton your costume just enough to reveal your heaving breasts.

With a devilish grin, you guide his throbbing length between the soft mounds of flesh, feeling his pre-cum leave a slick trail in its wake. As he thrusts into the warm embrace of your breasts, you squeeze them tightly around him, a thin strand of saliva escaping your pursed lips to lubricate his pulsing shaft. Unable to resist any longer, Wesker drives his hips forward, plunging deeper into your cleavage. “That's it,” you encourage, reveling in his submission. “Such a good boy for me.”

Tongue flicking against the sensitive tip of his throbbing cock, you can feel him losing control. His body tenses with every thrust into your cleavage and his breathing becomes ragged. You can sense the desire burning inside him, even as he tries to maintain his cool facade.

But you know better. You know that Wesker needs this just as much as you do. As you release your grip on your breasts, his thrusts come to a sudden end. A desperate groan escapes his lips as he realizes that his release has been denied.

"Do you want to fuck me, Doctor?" Your voice is dripping with seduction, taunting him until he can't take it anymore.

He looks at you with defeated hunger in his eyes before swallowing hard and answering, "Yes." The hunger in his voice matches the fire in his eyes as he moves closer, ready to claim what he desires most.

With that one word, the air thickened with an intoxicating mixture of dominance and longing. Wesker’s hand gripped your chin, his thumb wipes the salvia staining it, before he tilts your gaze up. You meet his smoldering gaze as he pulls you closer, the tension crackling between your bodies like electricity. You invite him into your space with an enticing arch, “Then take what you want,” you coax softly, your voice a sultry whisper.

Wesker's composure breaks like glass under pressure; he surges forward, his hands gripping your waist as he pulls you closer. The heat radiates off him, intensifying the unusual power dynamic in the air. His lips crash against yours—demanding, possessive—as if attempting to stake his claim not just on your body but your very essence.

"Let me show you how it's done," he rasped, the command laced with urgency.

You felt a thrill shoot through you at his words—his danger, his power, amplifying every pulse of desire within you. With a swift motion, he guided you onto the couch, his body hovering over yours like a storm cloud ready to unleash its fury. The gleam in his eyes promised something far more than indulgence; it was a challenge. Wesker’s composure breaks like glass under pressure; he surges forward, his hands gripping your waist to pin you in place. The heat radiates off him, his lips crash against yours—demanding, possessive—as if attempting to stake his claim not just on your body but your very essence.

As the kiss deepens, you can taste the faintest hint of desperation mingling with his usual resolve. Your fingers dig into his hair, urging him on as his hands explore your form with fervent determination. Wesker’s grip is unyielding as he holds you close, an unsatiated hunger driving him to devour every inch of your mouth, the taste of passion strong enough to drown in.

Wesker's hands slid down your sides, rough yet gentle, as he pushed your costume up and out of the way. Your skin tingled where he touched you, the heat radiating from him almost overwhelming. He leaned closer, letting his lips brush against your ear as he whispered darkly,

“You’re going to scream my name tonight.”

This is what you wanted—his surrender wrapped in a shroud of lust—and there’s a wild thrill at having brought a man of such power to this moment of bare vulnerability. Breaking the kiss, you look into his eyes—intense pools swirling with desire and something deeper.

“I thought you were too busy,” you taunted, low and teasing. You could feel him hard against your thigh—imposing yet utterly captivating—and it fueled your own mounting arousal.

“I never said I was above a little distraction,” he replied, the corner of his mouth quirking up into a smirk.

Wesker’s fingers deftly pulled your costume further up your thighs, exposing your bare skin to the cool air in the stark contrast to the fire burning within you. The slight chill felt rousing against your heated flesh. Wesker’s eyes darkened as they traveled over every inch of you, and suddenly you were no longer just teasing him; he was drinking in the sight like a man starved.

“Dearheart, you've made quite the mess, haven’t you?" He asked, his voice low and sultry as his hands gently parted your legs further apart. You could feel your pulse quicken as his breath tickled against your skin, anticipation winding tighter within you like a coiling spring.

“Only for you,” you breathed back, taunting him further. It was exhilarating to see him so unraveled—yet still so dangerously in control. The power shift ignited something primal deep inside both of you.

With that, he dove forward, catching you off guard as his mouth latched onto your most sensitive spot. You gasped, back arching as he dove deeper into your cunt, his tongue swirling expertly around you, igniting sparks that raced through your entire being. Each flick and thrust of his tongue sent waves of pleasure cascading over you, pushing you toward the edge in an spellbinding spiral of pining.

You dug your nails into the leather of the couch, desperate to ground yourself as Wesker's mouth worked with remorseless precision. The heat pooled low in your belly, a dark fire igniting with every moment he lavished on you. He consumed you entirely, his slow torture blissfully relentless—an exquisite torment that made your breath hitch and your body writhe beneath his skilled service.

“Is this what you wanted?” he murmured between kisses along your inner thigh, his voice dripping with wickedness. You could only nod fervently, unable to form coherent words, the mere act of breathing becoming a challenge in the wake of such pleasure.

“Speak pet,” he commanded softly yet firmly, his eyes locking onto yours as he paused to hover just above you—a predacious gleam dancing within those depths.

“Y-Yes,” you stammered, struggling to maintain control even as desire threatened to engulf you whole. “I want more… I need more.”

With a wicked grin spreading across his face, Wesker surged back into action, fingers working in tandem with his mouth, thrusting deep into you as he continued. The sensation punctuated the air with an urgent tempo, a rhythm that echoed every thundering heartbeat in your chest. Each movement felt like an electric jolt, sparking fire through your veins.

"You have no idea how long I've waited for this," he growled, the determination in his voice vibrating through you like a deep bass note. His fingers curled inside you, drawing gasps from your lips as he found the perfect spot. With each thrust, he pushed you closer to that precipice where you could finally let go of everything else.

“Doctor…” His title was a prayer and a plea, spilling from your lips like raindrops in a summer storm. You gripped his hair tighter, urging him on as pleasure surged hotter and brighter. It was dizzying—both intoxicating and grounding at the same time.

But Wesker wasn’t done yet; instead of succumbing to your mounting desire, he withdrew just slightly, teasing you as he stared deeply into your eyes. “You wanted me to claim you,” he murmured darkly, “then I will do it right.”

Wesker roughly wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, a feral hunger in his eyes as he gazes down at you. Your head hangs over the armrest of the couch, your body manipulated into position by Wesker's strong hands. Your legs are bent and spread, one foot planted on the polished floor while the other is lifted high over his shoulder.

He positions himself between your thighs, slowly sliding his glistening shaft up your slick entrance, coating it in your sweet essence. The mere sensation of him inside you makes you whimper and squirm, but Wesker relishes in your arousal and helplessness. With agonizing slowness, he eases himself deeper, watching with dark satisfaction as his length disappears completely into your trembling form.

“Sing my name, dearheart.” He growls, his voice a low rumble that vibrates through your core. “I want to hear it on your lips as you come undone.”

His hips begin to move in a slow, steady rhythm- deep, lingering thrusts that push you higher and higher. With each stroke, Wesker seems to burrow deeper into your depths, possessing and claiming you on a primal level. His grip on your hips tightens as he picks up the pace, driving you both closer to the edge of sanity.

“Al-Albert!” The name escapes your lips in a ragged moan, a plea for more and release. His only response is a low growl of approval as he ramps up his relentless thrusts, pounding into you with single-minded focus. The room is now filled with a symphony of wet flesh slapping against flesh, punctuated by your moans and his growled commands.

"Good nurse," he pants, glistening sweat forming on his brow as he leans over you, pressing his hot breath against your ear. “Let the world know who owns this delectable pussy.”

"Oh, God, yes," you moaned, arching your back. "Dr. Wesker! It's yours! I'm yours!"

Wesker's eyes glimmered with a feral intensity as he absorbed your words, each syllable wrapping around him like silken chains, binding you more thoroughly to him than any promise ever could. He leaned into you, the heat of his body suffusing the air between you; it was almost overwhelming, and you felt your senses heighten. The scent of sweat mingled with the rich, earthy smell of leather that clung to him like an aura, enveloping you in a cocoon of passion.

“Yours,” he repeated, letting the word roll off his tongue slowly, savoring it like a fine vintage wine. With every thrust, he established his claim anew—each powerful stroke resonating through your core and melding with your very essence. You felt as though he were drawing out something innate within you, awakening instincts you hadn't known you possessed. Your body responded eagerly to his demands; every gasp and moan that escaped your lips was a testament to his power over you.

Wesker’s fingers dug into your flesh, leaving heated trails behind as he relentlessly thrust deeper and deeper. Each time he pressed against that delectable spot within you, stars burst behind your eyelids like fireworks. You felt dizzy from the overwhelming pleasure that washed over you in waves, each more fierce than the last.

Your voice is trapped in your constricted throat, unable to escape as guttural moans turn into high-pitched whines and desperate shrieks. He's forcefully extracting something that lay dormant within you for far too long, igniting a need that almost feels violent.

Your body writhes under his rough touch, craving the release that only he can provide. In a frenzy, you beg for him to paint his seed inside you, your back arching so far that you feel weightless on the couch, your chest pressed against his in a heated embrace.

The sensation of your hardened nipples rubbing against his tender flesh causes Wesker to surrender a boyish moan, lost in the intense pleasure of your bodies colliding. Your roles in this game fade away as both of you reach the edge of sanity, desperate to break free and unleash the carnal desires that have been building between you.

Wesker grabs your face, locking eyes with you as he punctuates each thrust with a deep grunt. He slips his thumb into your mouth, and you eagerly welcome the intrusion, sucking on it with reckless abandon. A dark chuckle escapes him as he revels in your unbridled passion. "You're clenching," he taunts, causing furrows to form on your brows as you try to grasp onto any sense of control amidst the overwhelming pleasure coursing through you.

“Just come already!” You demand, nails digging into his flesh as you pull him closer. “I can feel it, Doctor. Your cock is twitching inside me.” Between breathless pants, you beg for more.

His cool facade crumbles as he gives in to his instincts. His once immaculate appearance is now disheveled, his hair tousled and sweat glistening on his skin. As your bodies move together in a frenzy, his moans fill the room.

“Don’t stop,” you plead, your voice desperate and raw.

He obeys, pushing deeper inside you as his release washes over both of you. Your walls clench around him, never wanting to let go.

“Please don't pull out,” you plead with him, desperate to keep him connected to you for just a little longer.

He obeys your command, his warmth mingling with yours as the two of you reach an explosive climax together. Sweat drips down both of your bodies as you revel in the intense pleasure that courses through you both.

In unison, you tumble onto the leather couch, your bodies entwined. Lying atop Wesker’s steady, rhythmic breaths, you press soft, lingering kisses against his chest and collarbone, savoring each touch. His hand, once so firm and rough, now rests gently against your hair, stroking softly, a quiet acknowledgment of your hard work.