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1.8

“Another beer?”

Jill only gave a nod, sparing the bartender a quick look. Sal didn’t take it personally, offering an understanding look when he returned with a fresh, ice-cold bottle. He popped the cap off and set it on the bar. Jill tossed a folded dollar bill in turn and took a swig.

The STARS vet was a regular here, the nearest dive bar to BSAA HQ. She had never made smalltalk, but Sal was observant enough to guess that Jill was some manner of armed forces. Most likely it was her posture, the way she moved that gave her away. But Sal never pressed her for her life story and for that she was thankful.

He was an older gentleman, rather rotund in the midsection, with thinning hair and a penchant for cheap Hawaiian shirts despite being just ten miles north of Buffalo.

Jill liked Sal. She couldn’t say the same in regards to his patrons. Swiveling around on the barstool, she scanned the establishment once more, hoping to spot someone that showed even a hint of promise. No dice.

There were a couple of biker fellows at the far end of the bar, wearing beaten and worn leather covered in patches denoting gang loyalty and other dull things. Both were larger men, just not in the way Jill preferred. Paunchy and bloated, even more than Sal the friendly bartender, and with graying hair. Not at all her type.

Then Jill’s eyes fell upon the man sitting alone in one of the booths. Short and slender, almost scrawny, with a gaunt face and a long nose. He wore a cap to hide away his baldness and sunglasses - at night - to hide his creepy leering. This one was even less of a prospect than the bikers. Jill couldn’t even muster up the energy to shoot him a glare. 

Moving on, Jill turned her gaze towards the last of the male patrons. A man in a suit - perhaps a local salesman - occupied one of the small tables, nursing his third beer and a bowl of peanuts. His focus notably wasn’t on Jill in her jeans and black tank-top, but instead on the television mounted in the corner of the room. A rerun of a college football game was being shown, captivating the man who was halfway drunk.

Jill pressed her lips into a line to keep from frowning. She took another swig of beer. Pickings for male company weren’t slim, they were downright rotten.

A spike of tension flashed through Jill’s body, her muscles going tight with frustration. She never had problems like this before the Spencer Mansion and Raccoon City, going home alone to a cold bed. Weren’t hard times supposed to create strong men? Maybe it was all in Jill’s head, but it just seemed to her that prospects for male company had become… substandard.

Hell, at this point I’d even take a lady…

Jill’s eyes landed on the only other female patron in the bar - a stout, weathered-looking woman in a faded, oversized shirt that looked even older than Jill herself. Their eyes met then and the other woman gave Jill a sour look. The STARS vet turned away and took another swig of beer.

…If I can even find one.

Disappointment was the only thing keeping Jill company in the bar tonight. The frustration she felt was potent and sharp, creeping up her back as if with spiked legs. It had been many long months since her last casual roll in the hay - and years since she’d last had a steady boyfriend. It had once been unthinkable to Jill that a woman like herself would suffer from a dry spell. But there she was, staking out  a dive bar for halfway decent company and still coming up empty handed.

Then there were flashes in her head. Images of the perfect man. Tall - taller than her, by a head or more - and solidly built. He had to have a good body. No, a great body. Firm and defined, proof that he had discipline, proof that he had the strength to keep up with her. Nice, wide shoulders. Big arms. Abs, nice and tight, that she could spend a minute or so just touching. Powerful legs, showing that he didn’t neglect any part of his body. Large hands, he had to have those. Strong enough to hold her by the wrists, by her ankles, take her by the neck…

And between them… it would be just as big as the rest of him. It had to be long, but also thick. Nice and fat so that it would spread her apart and mold her body to accommodate him. He needed to be hung, to make Jill weak in the knees just by looking at him. Her perfect man needed a fat fucking cock. With big, swollen balls churning with cum. God, it had been so long since she’d tasted it. Jill could feel it then, phantom ropes of seed tingling on her tongue.

Jill gave a silent hum at the thought, her lips brushing against the mouth of the beer bottle.

Lips. Yes, he had to have nice lips. Full, but not too big. Good for kissing. Soft, but not as soft as hers. Enough to impart affection, but also a little firm so it could hurt in the sweetest way. And above the lips… his eyes. He needed intense eyes, colorful eyes. Eyes that burned with his passion and lust. 

Green eyes. And… blond hair.

Jill blinked. The man in her head… she recognized him. And a split-second after that realization came a wave of disgust.

Dalton. Fucking Dalton.

It was the beers, the alcohol. It had to be. Jill shot a glare down at her bottle, ripping her hand away from it like it was white-hot. 

Suddenly, the STARS vet had no fancy for beer. Her senses weren’t just becoming impaired, they were vanishing entirely.

My perfect man? Not a fucking chance.

Anger boiled within her then. At herself. At him. Jill slid off her stool, feeling an uncomfortable coiling in her gut as she stood up. Gathering her leather jacket from the stool just next to her, she slid it on in a hurry. She swallowed and composed herself, not letting the unease show on her face.

“I’m turning in for the night. Thanks for the beers, Sal.” She announced towards the approaching bartender.

“You gonna call a cab?” He asked, collecting her half-finished beer and wiping down her former spot at the bar.

“Nah. I can walk.”

Sal looked up then, his brow furrowing slightly.

“Are you sure? It’s pretty late. What if you run into some trouble?”

Despite herself, Jill still felt a small appreciation at his concern. Just another reason she liked the man. She forced a faint grin as she retreated towards the door.

“You don’t need to worry about me. I’m a big girl, Sal. And I’ve handled way worse than drunk creeps.”

For a short moment, Sal said nothing. He looked like he wanted to insist on a cab, but he gave a small shrug and relented.

“Alright then. See you around, Valentine.” He said, waving her off. Then he turned away, moving to provide the biker guys another round of shots.

Jill crossed her arms then, the leather of her jacket feeling odd against the bare skin of her arms and shoulders. It was warm… but it didn’t feel right. Like it was a falsehood. A forgery of something better.

Agent Valentine frowned and took one last look at the sparse gathering within Sal’s bar. All she could see before her was disappointment. She had to wonder: were her standards too high? Or had the quality of men dropped that much?

Jill’s mind flashed to Dalton once more, and his ice queen leash-holder Excella Gionne. Their faces, so perfect and stunning, taunted her in silence, their dazzling eyes alight with mockery.

That’s the true nightmare… where the hot and beautiful people are all shady, corrupt jackasses.

Jill huffed in frustration as she stepped out into the night. The streets were nearly bare with only the odd passing car to keep her company. Under the sterile, buzzing streetlights, Jill began to walk home.

Home, where the only thing waiting for her was cold pizza, an empty bed, and a fat dildo that hadn’t been able to really scratch that itch of hers in a long time.

Jill knew what she liked. Warm flesh and blood, a nice body with a big, fat cock. Her ankles held beside her head while a stud showed her a good time. Her tight pussy getting stuffed with meat and filled with hot cum. Jill Valentine deserved the real deal.

But in the absence of the real thing, rubber would have to do.

What’s the world come to when the heroine can’t even get laid?

---

Once the shock - and the ecstasy - faded, Rebecca was still left with a pleasant warmth permeating her body. It was more than just the humidity of the shower, it was in her skin, her veins, her very bones. She felt good. Better than she’d felt in a long time.

Rebecca Chambers felt satisfied.

So rather than feel the unease or anxiety that she should have felt when John Dalton offered her a towel, Rebecca instead felt a girlish giddiness. A delightful fluttering in her heart and in her belly. It was strange. More than that, it was wrong. Rebecca knew it was wrong, what she had just done with the taller man. Getting fucked like a cheap whore right there in the base’s gym showers.

But Dalton grinned at her, all friendly-like with his naughty eyes. So Rebecca took the towel with a smile of her own, wrapping the fuzzy, warm fabric around her glistening body. She made for the locker room on shaky legs, feeling a pleasing ache between her thighs. Every step conjured echoes of the sensations Dalton had delivered to her poor little pussy. And with every step, Rebecca gave a tiny sigh.

Behind her, she could hear the squeaks of turning faucets, followed by the dying down of rushing water. Dalton was making sure not to run up the water bill for BSAA HQ, she noted. But then he was upon her again, his warm bulk pressing into her back. 

Rebecca hummed as his arms wrapped around her belly, feeling his lips at the back of her neck… and his hard-on poking her in the ass.

“God…” She breathed, now moving simply to not get bowled over by the larger man. Even through the fabric of the towel, his touch upon her body was electric. She shivered, feeling his immaculate strength envelope her petite form. “How are you still hard? Do you ever rest?”

Rebecca winced, silently chiding herself. It was a dumb question after she had personally witnessed Dalton’s amazing feats. But the man simply chuckled, his chest rumbling against her back.

“I could ask the same about you.” His deep voice poured into her ear. He kissed her neck again, more affectionate than lustful. Rebecca didn’t know how to feel about that. His words - and hot breath - came again. “Not too many women out there who can tango with me and come out still standing.”

“Dancing. Cute.” Rebecca huffed.

They scooped up their discarded clothes from the tile floor and moved into the locker room, Dalton remaining at Rebecca’s back. She pulled away only to dry herself off, wiping away the dampness of her hair and body. All the while, she fought the urge to peak in Dalton’s direction. He was just as nude as she was, but on some level the medic found the prospect intimidating. It was completely ridiculous, she knew. She was a doctor for God’s sake. Rebecca was no stranger to anatomy and the naked human body. At the end of the day, Dalton was just a man. 

A superman.

When she finally dared to look, Rebecca found the man watching her. Admiring her. And on his handsome face, a maddening smirk. She felt a heat rising in her cheeks and told herself it was because of the hot shower.

Rebecca swallowed and turned away. She started to get dressed.

“Leaving so soon?” She heard Dalton ask, his words colored with humor and infuriating tease. “I thought we were having a good time. So… party’s over?”

Rebecca tugged on her shoes, lacing them up quickly. She dared to take another look… only to see Dalton’s magnificent cock disappear under the waistline of his sweatpants as he pulled them up his legs.

That fucking thing was inside me.

And it felt good. For an instant, beyond the shock and the warm buzz, Rebecca felt a surge of pride. Little Becca Chambers had taken that monster like a champion. And deep in the darker parts of her mind, Rebecca knew she wanted to do it all over again.

This is a bad idea.

Just as when she had kissed Dalton, Rebecca ignored the voice of reason screaming in her head. She ran a hand through her short hair, an attempt to make herself look halfway presentable, and shot the Tricell mercenary a tiny smirk. She cocked a hip to the side, adopting a flirty pose. She didn’t know why. But she did know that the hungry look in Dalton’s eyes stirred up her guts in the best way.

“I don’t know about that.” She pursed her lips, stepping a little closer to the man she knew was nothing but bad news. She felt a sliver of disappointment as he slid a shirt down his torso, hiding away his chest and abs from her admiring eyes. Instead, her gaze dropped lower… to the faint outline straining against his sweatpants. If Rebecca didn’t know any better, she’d have thought Dalton was carrying a baton in his pants. She drew her eyes back up to meet his, smirking. “If you’ve got enough juice left in you… we can hold an encore back at my place.”

Dalton lifted his chin, his jaw becoming tight as if he was considering her offer. But she could see that his eyes were alight with zeal and willingness. He had already made his decision.

The mercenary gave a pleased grunt, reaching out to wrap an arm around Rebecca’s narrow waist. Again, his touch was warm and welcome, his strength boundless as he drew her closer without effort. He reached down, palming her ass through her gym shorts. Rebecca allowed it, squirming in his powerful arms, pressing herself into the warmth and perfect firmness of his chest.

“So the pretty doctor lady is taking a house call of her own. I’m happy to offer my services.” Dalton murmured into her hair, pressing a small kiss to the top of her head. He continued to grope, his thick fingers working at her pliant flesh. Rebecca couldn’t help but wiggle her bottom into his demanding touch. 

“Yeah, I’ll bet.” Rebecca shot back. She gave his chest a light slap, and he let her draw away from his arms. Her arms swung around to land a spank on his firm rear-end. “Get a move on, handsome. This doctor doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”

They looked at each other. And Rebecca realized then that this was really happening. She was going to bring this man into her home.

It really was a bad idea. And Rebecca Chambers didn’t care.