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Women in Red 2	By : Clocktower Category: +M through R > Resident Evil Views: 4708 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Resident Evil or any of its characters. I make no money from this story.

Chapter List
- 1-One
- 2-Two
- 3-Three
- 4-Four
- 5-Five
- 6-Six
- 7-Seven
- 8-Eight
- 9-Nine
- 10-10
- 11-11
- 12-12
- 13-13
- 3
- 4
- 5
The barracks was still standing, but the power had been knocked out in the bombing. Ada handed her flashlight over to Claire. The entrance was clear, but down the hall were two pale-skinned guards whose glassy eyes starred unblinking into the beam of light right before Ada splattered their brains across the wall.
"Won't the gunshots attract monsters?" Claire said.
"The walls should muffle the noise. Besides, they've probably caught up to our man down by the seaplane hangar by now."
Claire nearly dropped the flashlight. She'd forgotten about Steve. He wouldn't stand a chance against the hunters.
"I'm kidding," said Ada, her hand on Claire's shoulder to steady the light. "He had a head start, he'll be fine."
Claire followed her numbly into a part of the barracks that not only had power, but looked more like part of a stately Victorian mansion, where the foyer doubled as an office reception area. There was even a balcony above the computer desk, the upper walls lined with paintings, two of which caught Claire's eye. Both were full-body portraits, one of a regal young man clad in some kind of vaguely European military dress, the other that of a beautiful woman, her long, golden hair spilling over her shoulder, shining against the deep violet of her gown. Whoever had painted the woman had taken extra care with her eyes. Thought they were lovely, they held a deep, malevolent intelligence that made Claire's skin feel loose.
"Alexia Ashford," said Ada, coming up behind Claire, who'd been gazing up at the painting. "And her brother, Alfred. The Ashfords help found Umbrella."
Claire had to tear her eyes away from the painting of Alexia. She'd been ogling it like a teenage boy with a swimsuit poster. "What's their connection to this place?" she said, trying to keep her mind of poor Steve.
"Let's find out," said Ada, going over to the reception desk computer. She leaned over the chair to tap the keys, drawing Claire's eyes. If she thought Ada's lovely hips and round buttocks would distract her from Steve's peril, she was wrong. She felt the handles of the pistols in their holsters. She could have let him keep one.
She had no idea what Ada was doing on the computer, but she knew it wasn't researching the Ashfords. It certainly wasn't looking up information about Chris. What Ada hoped to gain from playing dumb, Claire couldn't rightly say, but it was probably crazy. She cleared her throat. "Okay... you can stay here and spy or whatever. I'm going to go find Steve before those things do."
Ada arched her shapely back, but didn't move from the computer. "I came here to do a job. Running into you was a lucky break. I don't know if you'll get lucky again," said Ada, coldly.
"I'll make my own luck," said Claire. "I'll meet you at the seaplane."
XXX
Following the lighted emergency exit signs had been a dumb mistake. Claire realized too late that they didn't lead back the way she and Ada had come in, and she soon found herself inside what she took to be some sort of observation laboratory. Fortunately she saw her way out. The lab overlooked a large warehouse filled with rows of animal pens, all empty with their doors thrown open or torn off. A hollow formed in the bottom of her stomach. Had this been where the hunters were kept? Would they come back? It didn't matter. Her way out was on the far side of the warehouse through a roll down door.
She went down to the warehouse floor, walked nervously between the pens. They certainly could have held the hunters, but Claire was becoming suspicious of that assumption, though she could not have said why.
The roll down door was locked, probably operated by a button or a lever somewhere. She thought she saw the control box by the animal pens, only up close she saw it was a shotgun behind a glass case. Leave it to Umbrella to keep a gun where any normal company would have kept a fire extinguisher or a defibrillator. She couldn't suppress and incredulous grin as she holstered her pistols and took the shotgun from the case. It was fully loaded with a sleeve of extra shells strapped to the butt. She checked the shells in the gun. Twelve gauge magnum, double buckshot. She doubted there were many mutants who could eat one of these and ask for seconds. Now she could give Steve both pistols, if she could find him.
Thinking the door control might be in the observation lab, she went back. Halfway across the warehouse floor she heard it, a wet thwump from behind. She whirled around, finger on the shotgun's trigger. There was nothing there. The place was big, maybe there was an echo or... no, there was something there, she could hear it.
The air off to her right shimmered. Before she could point the shotgun something heavy and wet knocked her to the ground. The gun went off, flying from her hands. It felt like she'd been hit with a slime-covered beanbag chair, one that stuck to her with the aid of hundreds of masticating sucker-mouths and pulled her across the floor like she was a bug on the tip of a frog's tongue. Screaming, she tried to draw her pistols but her arms were trapped. She was drawn towards an enormous mouth, swallowed headfirst as she kicked and screamed.
She slid helplessly into the thing's stomach, plunging straight into its digestive acids and enzymes while its sucker-covered tongue neatly stripped her from the waist down. She kicked, clawed, and bit at whatever flesh she could to no avail. Her body gave up before her mind did, her lungs treacherously pulling in a deep gulp of stomach acid. Dying would hurt, but it would be quick. Or maybe not, as instead of searing agony, what filled her chest was a pleasant sense of warmth and relaxation. So this was drowning, she thought.
She soon realized she wasn't drowning. Somehow she was breathing the monster's stomach acid as if it were humid air. It was a mystery that would have to wait. The thing's tongue was pressing between her legs, every sucker-covered inch of it moving independently into her tight space, expanding, nibbling, sucking. The ooze it was covered in set her tender skin ablaze as it seeped into her pussy and between her buttocks. The formless, muscular tongue opened her anus like a starfish eating a clam, it pushed itself into her womanhood like a snail finding a burrow. Her gurgling cries of disgust blended with bubbling whimpers and moans from the horrid orgasm rapidly coming up from deep within her. It nearly knocked her out when it hit. The tongue responded to her throes by pushing deeper, its suckers in a frenzy.
She heard a gun shot. Then another. She was flying down a water slide, onto a hard concrete floor. Another gun shot, muffled by the goop in her ears. Someone was shouting, "Get outta here! Get away!"
She was on all fours, her lungs ejecting the breathable fluid, when she heard the thing let out a deep grunt. She looked up to see what had eaten her; an eyeless, bipedal frog-like abomination, with dark, mottled skin. It was bleeding from its leg, but it seemed to have no trouble leaping straight atop one of the animal pens before vanishing into thin air.
Claire blinked, unable to believe what she'd seen.
"Optic camouflage, no way," said Steve, in awe. He looked down at Claire for a second longer than was polite before turning away. "Claire! Are you alright?"
She looked around for her pants, found them lying in a puddle of slime. "I'm fine," she said. The machine pistols were still in their holsters, though they'd been coated in goo as well. She got dressed, feeling more and more disgusting as the slime cooled. She couldn't believe she'd cum. Could Steve tell? Had he seen?
"I didn't know what else to do," he said, once it was safe to look in her direction. "I tried pulling you out, but it wouldn't let you go. You, uh, probably want to wash that gunk off."
She most certainly did.
"Come on, the showers are down this way. I found the seaplane, just like Ada said."
"I was looking for you," she said, following him through the observation lab, through some of the halls she'd been through, veering off not far from the reception area.
"Yeah? Did Ada get what she was after?"
"I don't know," said Claire. "I was going to give you one of these pistols, but now you have that."
"Really? Uh, thanks," he said, leading them into the common room of a dormitory where Claire was hit by a wave of nostalgia for her brief time in school. Whoever had lived her wasn't much cleaner than your average freshmen, but at least the showers were clean.
"I'll keep watch out here while you, uh... you know."
She went into the shower room, set her pistols on a chair where she could snatch them up if needed, then slipped out of her slimy clothes. She'd rinse them when she was done, but first she wanted the stuff off of her. She thanked her Guardian Angel for the water being hot as the scalding jets from the showerhead hit her in the chest, blasting away the drying slime. She let the water soak into her scalp before running her fingers through her hair. There were no sponges or wash cloths, so she had to run her bare hands all over her body.
"Everything okay in there?" said Steve.
She blew out a puff of air into the shower stream. "Hey, Steve. I'll let you come in and watch if you give me back that shotgun and let me keep the pistols. And get me something from the snack machine, too."
"R-really?" he said.
"No! Ugh."
The slime was more stubborn than it had let on at first. She suspected it was having some kind of lingering aphrodisiac effect, her fingers kept slipping into her pussy, snatching little pieces of the intense pleasure she'd felt in the monster's stomach... or womb, more likely. That she could be horny now, after all that, it was insane but there it was. There was a stool in the next stall over. She grabbed it, sat down and braced herself against the wall. This would only take a minute or two, she reasoned, given how hot she still felt.
"Disgusting!"
The voice was high, reedy. Claire screamed and looked around to see a man in the shower room doorway. She couldn't believe it. It was the man from the painting, Alfred Ashford. He was even dressed as he had been in his portrait, except in the painting he hadn't been holding a hunting rifle. He raised the weapon at Claire. She'd never reach her pistols in time, but was about to try anyway when the rifle went off. She'd have never guessed that a bullet tearing through her throat would feel like a pinprick.
By the time she realized she'd been shot with a dart her limbs were too heavy to move. She slumped to the shower floor, was grateful the water was still warm.
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- 5
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Women in Red 2