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Becoming Omega, Part 2
The bedroom door closed, and she ceased to be Elena.
Silence, but for her breath, heavy now. Darkness. Nothing else.
Her skin teased her with sensitivity. The skin on her back, where Jack had written in Sharpie, was still chilled by moist ink, drying in the cool air.
Her thighs tickled themselves and she knew, somewhere within her remaining tethers to reality, that the cocktail of ecstasy and hallucinogens Jack fed her earlier were building to their full force. How long had it been? She couldn’t place it.
Somehow, she knew she would end up here. She knew she would find herself blindfolded, mouth duct taped, arms and legs tied spread eagle on a strange bed in a strange place. She knew, too, Jack would open the door. To anyone who wanted her. To her own rebirth.
She had walked into this Hilton still barely the Elena she always knew. Jack asked her here. He designed her outfit. He requested she take fifteen minutes at the hotel bar before joining him upstairs.
And so, not long before this very moment, she had walked into the hotel bar, eight floors below, swaying with false confidence. Her tits were mushed in the tiny micro-tee he had asked her to buy. Her ass was barely contained in a ten inch velvet skirt. No bra. No panties. Four inch heels. Long, wavy auburn hair framing piercing green eyes.
Shit, the bar is crowded.
She expected only a handful of wayward travelers; it was a hotel bar, after all! But, somehow, the Hilton bar seemed a frenzy, packed. And not just packed, but packed with young men. Her age, maybe a touch older. Handsome.
Elena: The bar is packed, Sir. I’ll just come straight up. I’m early.
Him: One drink. Let them see you.
She had felt her face flush. The bar hushed.
The bartender glanced up. Registering for a moment, and then a knowing smirk. Her cunt tingled and she’d shivered ever-so-slightly at their gaze.
Every set of eyes had followed her footsteps to the bar, followed her ass as she sat on the stool. Followed her hand fumbling to find another inch of modesty in her tiny skirt.
The men seemed to expect her.
And now, in the deafening anticipation of her bondage on the eighth floor of a downtown Hilton, she realized they had been expecting her. They knew exactly who she was. They knew what she was for. They knew she was a plaything, a slut to be used. They knew she had come for them, even if she hadn’t yet known it herself.
But she knew it now. She existed for them.
The creak of a hotel room door. The shuffle of footsteps. The murmur of men. Jack, offering drinks. And, in the quiet spaces, the delicate undertow of classical cello.
Time passed quickly or slowly. She didn’t know. It had been weeks or seconds. Delicate cello seemed to rub into oblivion, dancing around her captivity, suspended in time.
Click of the door. The murmurs grew louder. She could feel casino oyna a huddle of men behind her. She could almost see them in the door frame. Laughter. Her heart raced.
She realized all at once her hips were thrusting, her throat was moaning.
Approaching footsteps. But just one set, she thought. She couldn’t quite tell.
A whisper in her ear. “It’s Aaron,” he said, “I’ll be here at the beginning. Jack and Scott will be here later. We’re here for you.”
Her heart filled. She swooned with love, she swooned with service.
“I exist for you, Sir,” she said, muffled.
“Good girl. They’re ready for you.”
She moaned through her duct tape. Loudly, now. She did not care to restrain her humility any longer. She was a toy. She was flesh and holes. Her shame mattered nil. All that mattered was the satisfaction of others. Her heart pounded. Her sex moistened. She could feel her cunt throbbing. She could feel a puddle forming on the bed.
And then, a touch. A tender, soft touch on her thigh. Her skin jumped. She yelped.
The room filled with laughter. In her mind, she had thought there was only one in here with her. But there were many – it was a chorus. Five, at least, in the bedroom alone. And still, the faint murmur of voices in the living space carried on.
How many will fuck me tonight?
The hand on her thigh moved toward her cunt. It was no longer a gentle caress, but a forceful squeeze. Then gone. Then, whack! on her ass. She screamed. Laughter once more.
“Hit her harder,” Aaron said. “She can take anything you give.”
She braced. Whack!
“Let me hit her,” said a new voice.”
Her arms and legs stiffened against the restraints; her joints dug into metal cuffs. The pain in her wrists relieved the swelling soreness in her ass.
A muffled voice screamed. “Somebody fuck me!”
It seemed to descend from above, from everywhere and nowhere all at once, and she realized somehow it was her. Her face flushed. The room roared with laughter.
“Alright then, slut,” said one. More laughter. Belt buckles and zippers and shoes.
A finger forced deep in her cunt. Then two. Then three.
“Stretch her fucking holes.”
Four. Her cunt was contorting. She writhed against the restraints. It felt an entire fist in her cunt – her stupid, slutty cunt. That dumb fucking hole that was all she was worth.
The hand retreated. Then, a voice above her. Intimate, but loud enough for an audience.
“You’ll never know my name. You’ll never see my face.”
Her hips thrust. Her pussy twitched. He noticed.
“Her cunt spasmed! This fucking slut liked that! She loves strange cock”
Hollers. Screams. But then:
“Would it turn you on to know that I know your name?
She froze. “Oh that’s right, slut. We all know yours,” he said. canlı casino “Elena Griffin, CPA. Junior Associate at BBA.”
Her heart stopped.
And then, a familiar whisper in her ear. Jack.
“It’s ok, my beautiful holes. Elena is dead.”
“Elena is dead.” She whispered, inaudibly. “I am for you. Fuck me.”
Behind her, a cock thrust into her cunt. She squirmed, pulling against the restraints.
The voice again. “Scream it louder.”
“Elena is dead! I am for you!”
The cock in her pussy took her all at once. Fast, hard. She felt it bottom out against her cervix.
“ELENA IS DEAD! I AM FOR YOU SIR!”
She sensed bodies moving closer. Her cunt spasming with each thrust. “Look at this clean little cumrag. We’ll fucking ruin her.”
She felt someone straddle her back. Jacking off to the view of a facedown, spread eagle cumdumpster with no vision and no voice. The cock in her pussy rushed to climax. His hands squeezed her thighs and he was gone. Another entered.
The MDMA crescendoed. Her skin crawled with love. That was just it: she loved these men. She loved them for finding her true self. She loved them for killing Elena, like the modest cunt she was. She loved them for ruining her old life and for starting her new.
The darkness of her vision filled with the face of Jack. Piercing blue eyes, jet black hair. Refined jaw. He was looking through her – through her soul. She could feel him transforming her with these cocks – with these men who came for the pleasure she offered.
“Thank you, Jack.”
“Thank you, what?” said the vision.
“Thank you, Sir. I’m so sorry Sir.”
“Say it louder,” he said.
“Thank you Sir!” she screamed, with the voice of her mind and her mouth.
The room roared with laughter. She felt an orgasm building.
“THANK YOU SIR!” she yelled. The cock bottomed out again.
It hit like an earthquake. It started in her cunt and shimmered beyond. She felt her body thundering, trembling, twitching in ecstasy. A cock came in her cunt. Jizz rained from above her into her hair. She stretched her tongue to find it on her cheek. Her body shook once more.
Another cock. And another. In her cunt. In her ass. On her face, her back.
Jack stayed with her in her mind through it all. Silent, piercing blue eyes searching her soul.
She orgasmed over again. And again. And again.
Her body twitched and spasmed and morphed into a new thing altogether. She lost count of the cocks. She lost count of her orgasms. She lost pieces of memories as they were forming. The world fogged into a shimmering haze.
Her body was of service. Her body was satisfying others, and it satisfied her.
She was at peace. She was happy. She was a hole.
The pace slowed. She’d find herself alone for stretches at a time, resigned to listening to a thinning crowd kaçak casino in the adjacent room laughing about the whore they had created. She liked hearing this talk: she liked to hear that she had been built out of the minds of men – constructed by them and for them.
And then, finally, the moans of one last orgasm. A final load deep in her ass. A pat on her cheek.
Relative quiet. The crowd was gone. Classical music, once more. The apparition of Jack faded into oblivion. And she herself faded, exhausted, into a deep, contented sleep.
A tickle on her thigh. Her eyelids fluttered open. Blurry vision crystalized, and she could see once more. Her blindfold and duct tape were gone, and bright morning light poured into her mind.
The outline of a man. Jack. Sir. Him.
“Good morning, beautiful.” He kissed her softly on the cheek.
“Good morning, Sir.” She smiled and tried to turn to her side. The straps prevented her; she was still restrained, spread eagle, face down.
So it was real.
He released the handcuffs, wrists first. Then ankles. She sat up, massaged her wrists. She made eye contact with Jack, as she had, in her mind, all night long. And then she felt a knot in her throat and tears in her eyes. She sunk into Jack’s arms.
A long moment passed. And then, finally, she said it.
“If Elena is dead,” she said. “Who am I, Sir?”
Jack held her tight, fingers tracing her shoulder from freckle to freckle. A long moment passed in a beautiful and painful silence. There was no music. There was only Him.
“Come with me,” he said, and stood. He looked through her once more and reached out a hand. She took it. She stood, and her vision blurred. Her feet wobbled beneath her; her knees buckled. But before she could hit the floor, He caught her. He cradled her in his arms. She was a fragile possession. A delicate toy.
He carried her from the bedroom, down the hall, into the bathroom. She let her feet fall to the floor, and He held her steady, facing Him.
“Look, my love. Look at how beautiful you are.” He turned her by the shoulders to the mirror.
Her red hair was tangled, her cheeks were black with trickling mascara. Her shoulders were bruised, her neck was flush and red, her cunt and ass were sore. But she saw her eyes and knew she was whole again. She knew she was beautiful again.
“A wolfpack can’t function without an alpha and beta,” said Jack. “But more importantly, it cannot function without a submissive. A nothing. It cannot function without a perfect slave, at the whimsy and humiliation of everyone around it.”
“Turn around,” he said.
She turned to glimpse her back as best she could. She could barely make it out between smudges and cumstains and the mirror’s reverse.
“Elena is dead, my darling,” he said. “But you are very much alive. Today, Omega, is the first day of your life.”
He wrapped a thick leather collar around her neck, her new name inscribed in matted steel.
And she smiled.
[i]Part Three coming soon. You can contact the author at
Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
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