Becoming Omega

Becoming Omega, Chapter 2: Rebirth

Silence, but for my breath, heavy now. Darkness. Nothing else.

My skin teased with sensitivity. The skin on my back, where Jack had written in Sharpie, was still chilled by moist ink, drying in the cool air.

My thighs tickled and I knew, somewhere in my remaining tethers to reality, that the pill Jack fed me earlier was building to its full force.

How long had it been? I couldn't place it.

Somehow, I always knew I would end up here. I knew I would find myself naked and blindfolded, a crown of thorns on my head and arms and legs tied spread eagle on a strange bed in a strange place. I knew, too, that Jack would open the door. To anyone who wanted me. To my own rebirth.

I had walked into this hotel still barely the Elena I always knew. Jack asked me here. He designed my outfit. He requested I take fifteen minutes at the hotel bar before joining him upstairs. And so, not long before this moment, I had walked into the hotel bar, eight floors below, swaying with false confidence.

My arrival must have been an interesting sight for patrons of a five-star hotel bar. My tits were mushed in that tiny micro-tee he made me wear. My ass was barely contained in a ten inch velvet skirt. No bra. No panties. Four inch heels. My long, wavy auburn hair framed my green eyes. That's where any sense of class ended. From the neck down, I looked like a whore.

"Hey there, what can I get you to drink?"

"Uh, vodka tonic, I guess. Is... is it always this crowded?"

"No but tonight there's a... special event."

The bartender's eyes never left my chest. Come to think of it, all eyes were on me. This was a hotel bar; I was expecting only a handful of wayward travelers. But it was frenzied, packed. And not just packed, but packed with handsome men. Some young, some older, but everyone casted glances in my direction.

I texted Jack and asked if I could come upstairs early. But he declined. He insisted I get a drink to "calm my nerves." I'm not sure it helped. I was blushing, with a hand over my chest. I sat my bare legs on the stool and toyed with the hem of my skirt.

Knowing grins and subtle smiles.

In hindsight, the men seemed to expect me there.

And now, in the deafening silence of my bondage on the eighth floor of the Emerald Regent Hotel, I understood they had been expecting me. They knew exactly who I was. They knew what I was for. They knew I had come for them, even if I hadn't yet known it myself.

But I knew it now. I existed for them.

A whisper in my ear. "It's Jack," he said, "I'll be here at the beginning. Aaron and Scott will keep an eye on you later. We're here for you."

My heart filled. I swooned with love, I swooned with service.

"I exist for you, Sir," I said, muffled.

"Good girl. They're ready for you."

Jack kissed my forehead, and I listened as his soft footfalls faded from the bedside to the center of the room.

"Alright gentlemen, we have a new girl for you tonight."

A new girl? What does that mean?

"This is the one I've had my eye on for a while, and I'm excited to show her off for you. I'd love your feedback afterward, as there's some internal debate on how we place her. Otherwise, you know the rules. Her safeword tonight is 'lobster.' You hear 'lobster,' you stop everything. Understood?"

Jack seemed satisfied by the response, because his words were the next I heard.

"Good. Have fun."

I was talked about like I wasn't even there. I was prey to some grand plot, though I didn't understand it. But somehow, that was all just fine with me. All I knew was that I felt exactly right. I felt like I was where I should be. I was what I should be.

I was a toy. I was flesh and holes. My shame mattered nil. All that mattered was the satisfaction of others. My heart pounded. My sex moistened. I could feel my pussy throbbing. I was more sensitive than I had ever been.

A long moment passed. I could hear the shuffling of footsteps on the carpet; I could sense a cluster of strangers descending on me slowly, like coyotes cornering a dear.

And then, as though from nowhere at all, a thwack on my ass. I yelped. A smattering of invisible strangers chuckled aloud.

"She's sensitive, huh?"

"Let me hit her," said a new voice.

Whack!

And then, a touch. A tender, soft touch on my thigh. My skin jumped. I yelped.

The hand on my thigh moved toward my pussy. It was no longer a gentle caress, but a forceful squeeze. Then gone. Then, whack! I moaned. The room erupted in laughter.

Whack!

Another.

Whack!

Harder now.

Whack!

My arms and legs stiffened against the restraints; my joints dug into leather cuffs. I was grateful for it, actually. The pain in my wrists relieved the swelling soreness in my ass.

More laughter. Then, a voice above me. Intimate, but loud enough for an audience.

"You'll never know my name. You'll never see my face."

My hips thrust. My pussy twitched. He noticed.

"Dude, I think she liked that," said another voice.

Hollers. Chuckles. But then, fear.

"Would it turn you on to know that I know your name?

I froze. "Oh that's right, slut. We all know yours," he said. "Elena Griffin, CPA. Junior Associate at New Emerald Trust and Savings."

My heart stopped.

And then, a familiar whisper in my ear. Jack.

"None of these men will tell a soul if you don't want them to. But Elena is dead, remember?"

I hesitated, my heart wrenching deep in my gut.

"Remember?"

"Uh, yeah."

It wasn't enough. "I need you to say it," he insisted.

"Yes Sir."

Still not enough. "Or say 'lobster' right now and it all goes away. You go back to the bank, no problem. But I don't think that's what you want."

"No Sir."

"Then say it."

I exhaled. Now was the time.

"Elena is dead, Sir."

Jack caressed my hair, and I sensed bodies moving closer. Hands on my thighs, between my legs, on my back. I was scared, sure. But more than that, I was full of love; sensitivity. My visual field, which should have been nothing but darkness, was slowly morphing into an expansive space of twinkling particles, dancing here and there like fireflies.

My skin crawled with love. That was just it: I loved these men. I loved them for finding my true self. I loved them for killing Elena, like the modest bitch she was. I loved them for ruining my old life and for beginning me anew.

"She's ready," said Jack. Belt buckles and zippers and shoes.

I felt them swarming. Circling. And then a new warmth between my legs. A tongue, I realized, but my body reacted first, purring of its own volition, like it didn't need me to be present at all.

On the inside of my eyelids, those dancing particles of nothing began to coalesce into a figure. My fingers wrapped around the straps binding me to the bed, bracing for the first man among what was sure to be an infinite line of men to use me.

Then, a thrust. Fullness.

As the first man entered me, the figure coalescing in my vision firmed into the face of Jack. Piercing eyes, sharp jawline. He was a statue, somehow: grand and towering, colossal and regal. He was looking through me, staring through my soul.

That God in my mind boomed a thundering voice, echoing and reverberating from everywhere and nowhere in particular.

"Doesn't this feel right," it pondered, "more like you than anything?"

"What do you mean, Sir?"

"Look back on your life. Were you ever supposed to be anyone else?"

My mind's eye flickered with memories. Wholesome vignettes, little moments from my past: my first boyfriend and I snuggled on the couch in the room above his garage; getting my nails done with my aunt for prom. Butterflies in my stomach and stars in my eyes.

But still, these memories are tinged with a darkness; a recognition that in those moments, I knew I was wearing a mask. My true self was buried somewhere deep, out of sight and unwilling to see the light of reality.

I felt someone straddle my back, jacking off to the view of a facedown, blindfolded, restrained cumdumpster. The cock in my pussy rushed to climax. His hands squeezed my thighs and he was gone.

Another entered. I yelped. The voice boomed.

"You never have to feel that tinge of darkness ever again. You have no need for fear. Your purpose has been discovered. This is all you need to achieve. This is all you are.

That first orgasm hit like an earthquake. The image of Jack shattered into a million tiny fragments; exploding like fireworks into fractal patterns, neon and fleeting. My body thundered, roared, twitching in ecstacy. A second man finished in my pussy. Cum dribbled down my thighs.

But there was another cock. And another. In my pussy. In my ass.

I lost all sense of time.

Orgasm after orgasm ripped through me.

Jack stayed with me in my mind through it all. Silent, piercing eyes searching my soul.

More dick!

More dick!

My body twitched and spasmed and morphed into a new thing altogether. I lost count of the cocks. I lost count of the orgasms. I lost pieces of memories as they were forming. The world fogged into a shimmering haze.

I was at peace. I was happy. I was a hole.

The pace slowed. I'd find myself alone for stretches at a time, resigned to listening to a thinning crowd in the adjacent room seriously discussing the set of holes they just tested. I liked hearing this talk; it was like eavesdropping on a performance review or something.

It was humiliating. And for the first time in my life, I could be honest about it: I love humiliation.

And then, finally, the moans of one last orgasm, in the early morning hours. A final load deep in my pussy.

A pat on my asscheek.

An exhausted breath.

Fading footfalls and the closing of the bedroom door.

Relative quiet. The crowd was gone. The apparition of Jack faded into oblivion. And I faded into a deep, contented sleep.

"Good morning, beautiful."

A tickle on my thigh. My eyelids fluttered open. Blurry vision crystalized and, for the first time in twelve hours, I could see again. My blindfold was gone, and my eyes strained under bright morning light.

"Good morning, Sir."

I smiled and tried to turn on my side. The straps prevented me; I was still restrained, spread eagle, face down.

So it was real.

Jack released the restraints, wrists first. Then ankles. I sat up, massaging my wrists. I made eye contact with Jack, as I had, in my mind, all night long.

And then I felt it: a knot in my throat. I sunk into Jack's arms.

A long moment passed. And then, finally, I said what I was thinking.

"If Elena is dead, who am I, Sir?"

Jack held me tight, his fingers tracing my 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 reached out a hand. I took it. I stood, but my vision blurred. My feet wobbled beneath me; my knees buckled. But Jack caught me. He cradled me in his arms.

I was a fragile possession; a delicate toy.

He carried me from the bedroom, down the hall, into the bathroom. I let my feet fall to the floor, and he held me steady, facing the mirror.

"Look, my love. Look at how beautiful you are."

My auburn hair was tangled, my cheeks were black with trickling mascara. My shoulders were bruised, my neck was flushed and red, my pussy and ass were sore.

But I saw my own eyes staring back at me, and I knew I was whole again.

"A wolfpack can't function without an alpha and a 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."

"Look at your back," he said.

I turned to glimpse my back in the mirror as best I could. I could barely make out the Sharpie writing between smudges and dried cum.

"Elena is dead, yes," he said. "But you are very much alive. Today, Omega, is the first day of your life."

He wrapped a thick leather collar around my neck, my new name inscribed in matted steel.

And I smiled.