Resident Evil: The Dead Must Breed (Zombie/Monster Evolutions Fanfic)

Chapter 59: Chapter 60: Scaroused

My scaly green toes curled so hard into the metal grating they almost snapped the iron bars clean off.

There is a very specific, deeply primal category of terror reserved for the exact moment you realize your dick is resting between the teeth of an eighteen-year-old girl whose eyes have turned completely blood-red.

Mommy, please pick me up. The nice medic lady has lost her goddamn mind and I am genuinely concerned for my dick.

Rebecca’s grip tightened at the base of my shaft, her blood-soaked fingers squeezing with a firmness that registered somewhere between "firm massage" and "industrial vise grip." Her thumb traced a slow, deliberate circle along the textured ridges of my reptilian hemipenis, smearing a mixture of her own saliva and Tyrant gore across the surface.

I swallowed hard. Or tried to. My Hunter throat made a wet clicking sound instead.

"So," Rebecca purred, her voice dropping into a register I had never heard her use before. It was low, syrupy, and had the distinct cadence of someone who had bypassed several stages of grief and crash-landed directly into batshit obsession. "Where were we, Ghosty?"

Nowhere good. We were nowhere fucking good, and we are currently heading somewhere significantly worse.

Her tongue dragged a long, wet stripe up the underside of my shaft, her crimson eyes never breaking contact with my own milky-pupiled stare.

I twitched involuntarily. Traitor. Absolute fucking traitor of an organ.

"You know," she continued conversationally, as if she were discussing the weather rather than holding a conversation with a seven-foot reptilian monster’s junk inches from her face, "I did a lot of thinking while you were napping."

Napping. She called getting impaled and thrown into a wall "napping." This girl has redefined the word "nap" and I need it to stop immediately.

Her fingers gave a gentle squeeze. My hind leg kicked against the grating.

"I thought about a lot of things." Her free hand came up, patting my armored chest in a slow, condescending rhythm. "Like how rude it was of you to die right after—right after everything."

She said the last word with so much loaded weight that it practically had its own gravitational field.

I’m sorry? Is she referring to the part where I came inside her enough times to fill a swimming pool, or the part where I died getting stabbed through the torso by a prototype bioweapon? Because I feel like both of those were equally valid reasons for—

Her teeth grazed the side of my shaft.

Not a bite. A graze. Just enough pressure for the sharp edges of her canines to drag across the sensitive ribbed texture, leaving a thin white scratch line against the dark green flesh.

My entire body went rigid.

"Let me ask you something, Ghosty," Rebecca said, tilting her head with the unsettling calm of a serial killer selecting their next utensil. "Did you think that was funny?"

Did I think WHAT was funny? You’re going to have to be more specific because I have done a LOT of questionable shit in the past twelve hours!

I made a questioning growl in the back of my throat, which was the closest I could get to a verbal response without a functional human larynx.

Rebecca’s eye narrowed.

Wrong answer.

Her teeth clamped down on the midsection of my shaft with a firm, deliberate pressure. Not enough to break skin—thank every ancient god and their cousins—but enough to send a very clear message about who was currently in charge of this particular negotiation.

"GWARK—"

I spasmed, my claws scraping uselessly against the iron floor. My tail stump—the one the Tyrant had so kindly removed—throbbed in phantom sympathy.

PLEASE. PLEASE DON’T. THAT IS A LOAD-BEARING STRUCTURAL COMPONENT. I AM USING THAT.

Rebecca held the bite for exactly three seconds, her red eyes staring directly into mine, then slowly released. A thin string of saliva connected her lower lip to my shaft as she pulled back, her expression utterly serene.

"Let’s try again." She wiped her mouth with the back of her wrist, smearing more gore across her already-soaked vest. "Did you enjoy what we did in the testing chamber?"

Is this a trap question? This feels like a trap question. Every possible answer feels like a trap question. If I say yes, she might bite my dick off for using her. If I say no, she might bite my dick off for implying she wasn’t good. There is no correct answer here. This is the trolley problem except both tracks lead directly to genital mutilation.

I made a low, submissive whine in my throat.

Rebecca’s grip tightened again. Her nails—when did her nails get that long?—dug slightly into the base.

"I asked you a question, Ghosty."

I bobbed my snout up and down frantically.

Yes! Yes, I enjoyed it! It was the best sex I’ve had in both my lives! Please do not remove my penis with your teeth! I am very attached to it, both emotionally and physically!

"Good boy." Her face softened into something that was almost affectionate, her thumb stroking the underside of my shaft with a slow, rhythmic motion. "I enjoyed it too. I enjoyed it a lot."

Oh no.

"I enjoyed it so much," she continued, her voice dropping even lower, "that I started thinking about doing it again."

Oh no no no no—

"And again."

She gave my shaft a slow, deliberate lick from base to tip, her tongue lingering on the ridged texture with the focus of a sommelier examining a fine wine.

"And again. And again. And—"

Her grip suddenly squeezed.

"—then you decided to go play hero with that big stupid Tyrant and almost fucking died on me, Ghosty."

Her voice cracked on the last word. Just barely. Just enough for me to catch the raw, broken edge beneath the saccharine psycho-sweetness.

Her red eyes flickered, and for a split second, I saw the real Rebecca under the infection-blackened veins. The terrified eighteen-year-old girl who had just watched the only thing protecting her get skewered and thrown into a wall like a broken toy.

Then the moment passed, and her grip on my shaft tightened to a degree that made my vision blur.

"So I’m going to ask you a question," she whispered, leaning her gore-splattered face inches from my snout. "And you’re going to answer correctly, or I’m going to bite this thing off and feed it to the next zombie we find. Understand?"

I nodded frantically, my entire scaly body vibrating with the desperate energy of a man who fully understood he was in a hostage negotiation with his own genitalia.

"Are you ever going to do that again?"

Do what? Die? Get impaled? Fight a Tyrant? Refuse to fuck you? All of the above? Please specify because I genuinely cannot tell which answer keeps my dick attached to my body!

I let out a pathetic, high-pitched whimper.

Her teeth grazed the tip.

FUCK NO. WHATEVER IT IS, THE ANSWER IS NO. I WILL NEVER DO ANYTHING EVER AGAIN. I WILL BE THE MOST BEHAVED MONSTER IN THE ENTIRE ARKLAY MOUNTAINS. I WILL WEAR A BOWTIE AND SIT PRETTY. PLEASE SPARE MY DICK.

I shook my snout violently side to side.

Rebecca’s crimson eyes narrowed. The serene smile curdled into something decidedly less therapeutic.

"Wrong answer."

Wrong answer to WHAT?! You didn’t even ask me a full question! What was I supposed to do, nod?! I’m literally gagging on context here, Rebecca!

She squeezed. Not her hand around the shaft—no, that would’ve been almost manageable. Her fingers had migrated south during his little post-resurrection confusion and now clamped firmly around his scaly green ballsack like a vice grip testing industrial walnuts.

"Let’s try again, Ghosty."

Her voice dropped into that sweet, melodic register again. The one that made his hindbrain want to file a missing persons report on whoever the real Rebecca Chambers was.

"You’re going to give me babies. Aren’t you?"

YES! Absolutely! I will give you so many babies, Rebecca! A whole litter! A baseball team! Whatever you want, just please release the death grip on the family jewels before they pop like overripe cherry tomatoes!

Alex nodded frantically, his elongated reptilian head bobbing up and down like one of those dashboard dogs in a Formula 1 crash.

Rebecca’s smile returned. Warm. Gentle. The smile of a woman who had just successfully negotiated a hostage situation.

"Good boy."

Oh thank god. She’s satisfied. We’re done. We can move on. I can stand up, we can process our feelings, maybe find a therapist who specializes in—

"Why did you say no first?"

...What?

The warmth evaporated. The crimson eyes blazed.

"You shook your head. Just now. Before you nodded." Her fingers tightened incrementally around his testicles. The sharp sting of her nails began registering through the Hunter-grade scales. "Do you not want to give me babies, Ghosty? After everything I did for you?"

NO WAIT I MEAN YES I—

She didn’t wait for the clarification.

"Bad boy."

The words came out like a mother scolding a puppy who soiled the carpet. Simultaneously, her free hand came up and delivered a sharp, open-palm slap directly across the tender, exposed head of his hemipenis.

YEOWCH!

The ribbed shaft bounced off her palm with a wet smack, red friction marks blooming across the sensitive tip. Alex’s entire seven-foot frame spasmed against the gore-slicked grating, his claws scraping uselessly against the iron bars.

"You made me so worried, Ghosty. So worried." Another slap. This one caught the underside, sending his cock bouncing against his own scaled belly with a wet thwap. "Do you have any idea what it was like? Watching that thing hurt you? Watching it break you?"

I mean, I was there, Rebecca. I experienced it firsthand. I don’t need the recap—

"And now you’re trying to say no to me?"

THAT WASN’T WHAT I WAS—

Her mouth descended.

Not in the fun way.

Teeth—human teeth, but apparently T-Virus-enhanced enough to leave actual dents in his reptilian hide—clamped down on the midsection of his shaft with a firm, corrective pressure. Not hard enough to break skin. Just hard enough to communicate a very clear message about who was in charge of this negotiation.

AAAAHHHHH!

Alex’s claws dug into the metal floor, his back arching as pain and confusion shot through his nervous system in equal measure.

SCARED! AROUSED! CONFUSED! SOMEONE PLEASE TAG IN A RESPONSIBLE ADULT!

She released with a wet pop, leaving a perfect crescent of tooth impressions embedded in his flesh. Her blood-red eyes stared up at him through the mess of gore plastered across her face, that serene smile returning like nothing had happened.

"Now. Let’s try one more time."

I swear to god, Rebecca, if you ask me another open-ended question with no clear correct answer, I am going to—

"Are you going to be a good boy for Mommy and give me what I want?"

YES! YES! ABSOLUTELY! I WILL BE SO GOOD, REBECCA! I’LL BE THE BEST BOY! I’LL GIVE YOU WHATEVER YOU WANT! I’LL GIVE YOU BABIES, I’LL GIVE YOU A PICKET FENCE, I’LL GIVE YOU A CABIN IN THE WOODS! JUST PLEASE STOP BITING MY DICK!

Alex nodded so hard his reptilian snout cracked against the floor.

Rebecca’s smile widened, genuine satisfaction radiating from her crimson gaze. She leaned forward, her bloody fingers gently stroking the bite marks she’d left along his shaft, and pressed a soft, tender kiss directly to the bruised tip.

"Good. That’s—"

She froze.Before I could even begin to process the horror movie logic playing out in front of me, the sinister atmosphere abruptly deflated.

The thick black veins spider-webbing across Rebecca’s jawline suddenly pulsed once, turning translucent before melting away beneath her pale skin. The dark crimson film coating her eye dissolved in a blink, returning to her normal, exhausted hazel.

She blinked rapidly, her head wobbling as if someone had just yanked her out of a sensory deprivation tank and spun her in a desk chair.

Her gaze drifted up, landing directly on my towering, fully restored reptilian snout.

"G-Ghosty...?" she murmured, her voice squeaking with pure, fragile bewilderment. "You... you’re okay? But I—I thought you had a giant hole... the spike went right through your..."

I stayed dead silent, sitting back against the blood-soaked floor grates with my scaly knees splayed wide. I had no idea what to say, mostly because my vocal cords were currently tuned for guttural monster shrieks, but also because I didn’t want to break whatever delicate psychological spell was keeping my crotch intact.

Her thoughts were clearly running at about two miles per hour on a rusty bicycle.

An involuntary muscular spasm rippled through my lower half, making the heavy, ten-inch ribbed shaft twitch right in front of her nose. It hovered barely two inches from her lips, glistening with a delightful cocktail of spit, sweat, and Tyrant juices.

Rebecca’s hazel eyes slowly crossed as she stared at the thick, throbbing column right between her cheeks.

"Eh? W-what’s...?"

Her right hand, still curled firmly around the base, gave a slow, instinctive pump. It was completely absentminded, like a person idly squeezing a stress ball while trying to remember where they parked their car.

My scaly toes curled against the metal grating. Please stop doing that. My nervous system cannot handle this kind of mixed signaling.

She tilted her head forward, leaning in with genuine medical curiosity. She gave the glistening purple-green meat a tiny, puzzled sniff.

"Huh... smells like musk and bleach and... oh, it’s a dick."

A full three seconds of dead, hollow silence hung over the gore-drenched hallway.

Then, every single circuit in her eighteen-year-old prodigy brain catastrophically detonated.

"Wait—WHAT?!"

Rebecca scrambled backward mentally, but physically she didn’t budge an inch from her spot between my thighs. Her eyes bugged out so hard they looked ready to pop right out of their sockets.

"Why—why is this in my hand?! Why is my mouth wet?!" Her voice hitched into a frantic, hyperventilating squeak as she looked from the massive erection to her gore-coated palms. "Where—where is the big gray guy?! What happened to the wall?! Why are you so—how did—"

She looked at her sticky fingers, then looked up at my face, then looked down at the puddle of shredded meat soaking into her denim shorts.

"Did I—did you—what did I DO?!"

Her hazel eyes rolled straight up into her skull.

With a soft, pathetic wheeze, the rookie medic completely short-circuited. Her upper body folded sideways, and she slumped forward against the blood-slicked grating like a marionette with its strings cut.

There was just one tiny, glaring logistical problem.

When she passed out, her fingers didn’t relax.

In fact, her hand locked up in a state of absolute, stress-induced rigor mortis. Her bloody fingers formed an unbreakable, industrial-strength grip right around the middle of my shaft, anchoring her limp weight directly to my groin.

I let out a low, gravelly rasp and tried to gently shift my hips backward.

YOW.

The scaly skin stretched taut, dragging against her clenched knuckles. She didn’t budge. If anything, the mechanical tension only made her unconscious reflex clamp down tighter, turning her hand into a flesh-and-bone padlock.

I was physically handcuffed to an unconscious teenage prodigy by my own dick. Great milestones I must say.

I rested my heavy reptilian skull back against the steel bulkhead, letting out a long, shuddering hiss that sent small ripples through the warm crimson fluid pooling beneath us.

The maintenance corridor was an absolute abattoir.

My mind was still spinning from phantom nine-foot vampire mommies, dragon-ribbed obsidian strap-ons, and whatever psychotic miracle my medic had pulled off in the dark.

I looked down at Rebecca’s peaceful, gore-smeared face resting against my scaly thigh, her hand still stubbornly clutching the family heirloom.

Yeah. We are definitely going to need a lot of therapy after this.

My split tongue flicked out, idly tasting the metallic tang in the air as the high-pitched system chime finally settled down in the back of my skull.

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