Page 2 of Dark Company
That, and no one but the High Echelon Guardian Alphas know of this secret shame. If I were to get caught in here, everyone would know. It would be an unbearable humiliation. I know Leon would not say a word, and with the others dead, the only thing that can reveal this humiliation is my stupidity.
Opening it once more, I step out of the makeshift prison but bring the cylinder with me. I despise the bits of metal and silicone, but I have no choice. If I don’t relieve myself soon, I might end up harming someone. And that I cannot allow. Though I have no idea what an actual pussy feels like, something tells me it has to feel better than this. With just one stroke, I might never come back from the edge.
I’ve heard the Alphas talk about their betas and omegas. They describe the ways they derive pleasure from their women. It’s nothing like the mechanical operation that happens with this machine. There’s no rippling of flesh, no soft sighs or moans. As always, the only sound is my pained groans and the rhythmic clacking of the metal joints as they move back and forth.
My cock strains at the fabric of my uniform as precum flows through my slit to rub across the coarse fibers. If I don’t make myself come soon, I’ll need a new outfit. Reaching for the front with shaky fingers, I grip the tab of the zipper and yank it down as I stride over to my door and shut it.
No one needs to walk in and see just how far I’ve fallen. Anger and tears burn at the back of my throat as I grip the edges of the uniform and yank it down, freeing my insistent erection. It must be from the adrenaline dump that comes from battle. That’s the only reason I can think of for needing this. I’ve never once needed to get off in between scheduled milkings.
Another thought worms into my head as I step out of the bottom half and let the cool air kiss my fevered skin. Perhaps it’s the freedom of knowing I can that makes me ache and throb.
The uniform I wore under their regime acted as a sort of chastity belt. The inner pouch forced my cock to stay bent and in place. Even if I wanted to get hard, I couldn’t. But now, with the uniforms of the resistance, there’s nothing holding me back, nothing keeping me from getting and staying hard.
At night when I went to sleep, I was usually too exhausted to think of anything else but the relief of slumber. If I became hard in the middle of the night, I didn’t know it. Though it was never spoken out loud, I always wondered if they tainted our air, forcing us to stay under.
I never spoke about my concern with Leon, knowing that at any moment, someone could listen in. Hell, it was dangerous enough speaking in code to each other about the resistance. Every day I woke up with the fear that it would be my last. Thank Elex that we survived. It was through his grace and mercy alone. Making a mental note to place some meat at his altar later, I lie down on my cot and take my cock into my hands.
Just the insistent grip of my fingers around my shaft drags a groan from my lips and more precum from my tip. Lying back, I rest my head against the thin pillow and pump into my hand, luxuriating in the feel of skin on skin. For the first time since I was a younger man, I’m actually taking the time to touch myself. Once I was dragged away from my family and forced into the program, I didn’t have the time or privacy to enjoy self-satisfaction.
Even after I was awarded a room of my own, I still didn’t have the time or the will. But now, when there’s no one telling me what I can and can’t do, I touch myself. I reach in between my thighs and grip my balls, groaning at the feel of my fingers as I explore the tight ridges of my sac. My hand is so unlike the unyielding steel that would apply pressure to my body, but no nuance.
I luxuriate in the sheets, the gentle rasp of the fabric against my back and ass, so different from standing in a 5-by-5 cage with just enough room to turn around but not much else. And forget lying down. The best I could do was grip the bars as a pissant of the High Echelon cupped my cock and slid the cylinder over me, a lecherous smile stretching his lips wide as he placed a mask over his face and watched as the tainted scent poured into the room.
Their faces were the last I would remember before the rut took over. I didn’t even have the dignity of seeing a fake omega to go with the sickly-sweet perfume. Just one of a dozen men that would rotate out and jack off as the machine did its work.
Shaking my head, I force those thoughts out. I no longer have to see them again. Not in my mind, nor in person. I dragged each of their quivering, piss-stained bodies to the square myself, not even allowing them to beg for clemency or swear a false allegiance just to save their skins.
The scent of their blood peppered the air, spicing it with their terror and gore. I wallowed in their misery, bathed in their crimson atonement, but still, it wasn’t enough. It would never be enough. Unless the gods allowed for a way to go back in time and make it so that I never was brought into the program in the first place, I would never get that time back.
I could never cease being the monster that I am.
The image of their brains splattering as their heads hit the stones sends another jolt of arousal through me. It wasn’t enough to tear them limb from limb. I wanted more. I wanted some sort of recompense, something from them that would give me back my life. But like with all other dreams, it disappeared. It drifted up with the acrid stench of their burning bodies.
A sacrifice to both Elex and Jarosh. Burnt flesh on the altar of my own making, in a building where I am still held prisoner. Try as I might, I will never be free of what has happened to me here. Even if the whole of Stanlion were to come crumbling down, I’d still be a prisoner in my own mind, with no way of escape.
I am not built for pleasure.
I am not built for love.
I am a sacrifice. A soldier in service to Elex, and I must carry on until he bids me to stop. Tears gather at the corner of my eyes as I stare up at the ceiling. Perhaps this is my punishment. To live as a shadow, half a man, unable to taste the sweet nectar of an omega. Perhaps that’s the reward that’s waiting for me when I die?
An omega of my own. A haven, a warm body, and a soothing spirit. In the heavens, I could rut to my heart’s desire and never harm her. I could never wound the one that is given to me by the gods. Even if I tried, my blade would not be able to mark her. Her blood would never stain my hands or soul.
Peace. That is what’s waiting for me, but only if I die in service. I cannot give in to the insidious whispers that beckon me to Eronoiac’s vessel, the one that shuttles the living to Abenomed’s court. I cannot heed the siren call that lulls me ever closer to that precipice between life and death.
To die by my own hand would be easy. It would be as simple as driving a blade in between my ribs and into my heart. It could be even easier—a prick of a needle. Done. Over. My life snuffed out as if I were merely a mirage shimmering in the distance. No one would miss me. No one would mourn for me.
Those that would scatter flowers in my name have all passed on. They’ve sat in judgment, and no doubt have been found worthy of their own haven. But what of me? What have I done to deserve rest? Nothing. I had been a puppet for a corrupt throne. A pawn. A plaything. It doesn’t matter that they held the keys to my mind and will; I should have found some way to break free.
I could have been like Leon. Somehow, he carved out a life for himself. Women didn’t wither away in fear when he came through. Quite the opposite. If my readouts were accurate, their arousal perfumed the air. Their cunts were slick and open, ripe, willing.
If only they would spread their thighs for me, allowing me access to a woman’s touch, arousal glinting on their skin like precious diamonds, their fingers curling up to me, drawing me in instead of pushing me away. Grunting, I grab the cylinder and slide the opening over my cock. I need to come; the desperation forces me to go for what I know will do the job.
I hate it.
I detest it.
I have no fucking choice.
