by Susan Stoker
She was an item on display in a shop window, males stopping by to stare, to mark the tally with potential bids, and to handle an array of her used clothing. Even the dress she was found in was lain out before her cage, lifted to the nose of many strangers, each eyeing her as if she were to be devoured.
They wanted her to stand and be seen, to look at them, to answer their questions. Morgaine had not lasted ten minutes before she was crouched upon the floor, hiding her head in her knees.
She was discussed as if she wasn’t there. “Why does it look unhappy?”
“According to her record, this Omega has yet to be knotted. It needs release.” Someone banged his knuckles on the glass. “Omega, lift your head so we might see you.”
She’d jumped at the taps, lifting red-rimmed eyes and setting them upon yet another stranger in black armor. He looked like all the others, overly large and intimidating. “My name is Morgaine. I have been ordered to tell you that I am feral. As of this morning I learned a feral designation necessitates I be separated from the regular female population for at least two years, and that I will require specific training.” Her voice caught in her throat, Morgaine on the verge of tears. “It is suggested my future mate mount me multiple times a day, otherwise I might regress.”
There were many males gathered, more stepping closer as she began to speak, only one of them asked, “Are you okay, Omega? I have never seen one of your kind cry.”
She had been warned by Uriel that tears in front of potential mates were unacceptable, but she could not stop them from falling. The only thing she could do was lie in an effort to appease. “I am lonely. A mate will rectify this flaw in my character.”
Forehead back to kneecaps, Morgaine breathed slow and deep, closed out the world around her, and tried her damnedest not to hear the males discussing her physical traits, her scent, the shade of her golden hair or the things they thought might cheer her—things that were all highly sexual in nature.
Where tears should have warned them off, it seemed it only made them desire her more.
A debate began on whether her first mating should be from behind, so she would know the strength of her Alpha. Or, if she should be laid down in her nest and fucked from the front, where she might see and taste the male who would own her.
All agreed she should not be allowed to straddle an engorged Alpha cock—that was an honor she would have to earn.
More than one argued vehemently that her first time should be under the care of at least three males. That way they could keep her sticky with seed, stuff her full of cock, and break her in until exhaustion forced her to sleep. Three days of constant fucking would set her right… maybe more if she resisted.
The idea was atrocious.
Slumping down to the cold ground, Morgaine gave the group her back, curled in tight upon herself, and squeezed her eyes shut until she saw spots.
She could not find it in her heart to care that the panel of her skirt would not cover her, that the men were shifting around her enclosure to glimpse whatever might be seen of her sex. It started a game, a series of growls from the Alpha males to see who might get her pussy to twitch and leak a drop of slick.
Not all calls were successful, but some did inspire the desired outcome, and there was nothing Morgaine could do to stop it.
She’d hated her body’s painful betrayal back in the settlement, hated how little control she had when the Alphas arrived. That was nothing to how much she loathed it now.
It was a creature outside of her. It did as it pleased, tempted males she feared, and left her with nothing of value but a hole they all wanted to fuck.
“I have great skill in dying cloth. I can make rare reds and purples from ingredients local to our forest in shades so vibrant they were highly sought after by my neighbors.” She didn’t know who she was whispering to, the males too caught up in their game to listen, but Morgaine muttered on all the same. “I know the traditional dances to flute music and sew well. At harvest, I am useful in the fields. I had friends…”
Silence slowly broke up the noise, a sense of quiet amidst the sound of shuffling feet eerie. Whatever had ended the raucous tableau, she didn’t know. She didn’t care.
Eyes shut, heart hollow, Morgaine breathed in and out as slowly as she could manage. Others could control parts of her body, but she could control when and if she breathed. She could control her memories, and she could control her thoughts.
“Stand up, Omega. Stand now and keep your eyes downcast.” It was Sergeant Uriel, his low bark harsher than she’d yet heard. “I will not have you be seen this way.”
Pressing her palm to the floor, she shifted to sitting, looking over her shoulder to see an older male had come to view. His rank had to be high if the glittering marks on his armor were any indication. He did not at all look pleased.
Climbing to her feet, she did exactly as she was told, kept her eyes downcast, and shoulders straight.
“Commandant, this is Morgaine of the Ivex Colony on the fourth continent of Nauu. She was harvested from one of our more resourceful settlements.” Sergeant Uriel was at stiff attention, listing her attributes as if selling a horse. “Her eyes are blue, hair golden, long in the fashion of their females. She speaks only the common language and has been educated by farmers. A simple girl, with simple skills, but great beauty.”
Mortified to be spoken of as if lacking, Morgaine’s cheeks went red, but she kept her lips sealed.
“Why was it lying on the floor?”
Sergeant Uriel did not soften his assessment in the slightest. “This one is feral, Commandant. She is indolent and argumentative. As such, her handling has been strict and her education requirements adjusted to diminish her flaws. She will require more training than most.”
The commandant shook his head, lips thinned. “I have heard enough of this case, and frankly, I’m tired of the petitions. Her presence on my ship has been a distraction to the ranks, and to come here and find her exposed, enticing my soldiers to quicken her pleasure, it cannot be tolerated. Look at her thighs… they are dripping with slick. This sort of lewd behavior is only tolerable in the pleasure quarters for those who’ve earned the right to be entertained by an Omega, not in the main gallery by any passing male.”
“She is a virgin, sir. Her body is in preparation for penetration. We also suspect she is on the verge of her first estrous.”
It was intolerable, and Morgaine could not bite her tongue. “I did not ask them to growl at me, nor did I like it.”
“Silence!” The commandant’s roar shook her, causing Morgaine to back away.
Sergeant Uriel was equally incensed. “Do not speak again, Morgaine.”
Measuring the shrinking Omega, bushy brows drawn low over unforgiving eyes, the commandant decided her fate. “If you don’t want it to sit, then make sitting painful. Two strikes with a cane across her buttocks. Three across the shoulders. Tomorrow we shall see how straight she stands and how seriously she takes this honor. If I find her lying down again, the punishment will be doubled. Omegas must know their place.”
***
It was done in her room, Morgaine told to brace her hands against the side of her nest. On her knees, stripped of her clothing, she faced the pillows, terrified. The first strike hurt far more than she’d anticipated, as did the second right below it.
By the third she was screaming and had to be held down. The fourth and the fifth she was begging, saying anything she thought they might want to hear to get the pain to stop.
Esin had been the one gripping her by the arms, fighting her resistance, all the while explaining that if she remained still the bite of the cane would cause less damage. As much as she hated him, even Morgaine could see his discontent. He didn’t want her hurt, even offered to take her punishment himself… as many strikes as the commandant might see fit.
It was Sergeant Uriel who declined his offer.
It was Sergeant Uriel who beat submission into her.
And, it was Sergean
t Uriel who broke the cane over his knee when it was done, threw it across the room, shattering a pitcher on the table, before he stormed out, leaving her in Esin’s care.
Slumped over the pillows, the flesh of her back and buttocks on fire, Morgaine put up no fight when Esin circled to her back. She was sure he was going to do as the males had described, enter her now while she could not resist, and do what had been hanging over her head since her arrival.
Instead, he blew cool breath over the marks. “There is no blood. He was surprisingly delicate. The sergeant could have struck you hard enough to split skin and leave scars.”
Hating the world, Morgaine sobbed. “My only value here is in my beauty…”
Esin did not answer her. “As this was a punishment, I am forbidden to heal you. All I can offer is ice for the pain.”
And he did, cautious in how he cooled the fire of each mark. That was how their night progressed. He was with her while she slept, iced her wounds when she whimpered. Offered water, food, anything he thought she might require.
Not once did he initiate mating. It would have been impossible to do without hurting her more.
For that, Morgaine was almost grateful.
Chapter Five
The commandant’s punishment produced the desired effects. Morgaine could not sit, nor could she comfortably lean against the glass. On display for the second time, she stood still as stone in the center of the enclosure exactly as they wanted her to.
When she was asked a question, she answered it. When foreign males picked up the clothing outside her cage to sniff, she pretended she didn’t see their reaction or the way many would reach down and adjust their growing erections.
“What is your name?”
“Morgaine.”
“Show me your breasts, Morgaine.”
The panels were pulled apart, taut nipples catching the fabric until fleshy orbs bounced free.
Unlike the day before, she didn’t wallow. In fact, she did not allow herself to feel anything. Almost robotic, she went through the motions, stared straight ahead, and even smiled when told to—though her face always returned to neutral once she’d performed to their liking.
“Have you been trained in pleasuring an Alpha?”
“No. I am feral and have never been mounted. I have only seen three matings via the screen in my room. The details were obscured.”
Alpha males were cycling through the log at the base of her enclosure, one of them commenting aloud. “Corporal Esin holds the greatest claim. Do you see that, Regis? He won’t be of rank to take a mate for at least two years. Should his suit win, she will be available for use in the pleasure quarters in the meantime.”
Sergeant Uriel had never once mentioned such a thing to her. Apathy dropped away, as did Morgaine’s stomach. “What?”
The males did not answer her, their conversation continuing between them. “The corporal will grow rich with her rental, and we can apply to share her company together. Look here, she has been cleared to service up to five males at a time… ten while in estrous. By the time she is under his pair-bond, he’ll have rank, status, money, and a well-trained Omega eager to please him.”
His friend chuckled. “No wonder his case is so strongly petitioned. He must have financial backers impatient to make a cut of the profit.”
Any softness Morgaine might have felt after Esin’s tender care the night before evaporated. She took a step toward the glass, and tapped her finger to get the males’ attention. “Great Alpha soldiers, can you please explain that again?”
They ignored her, scrolling down the file and whistling at what they found.
Desperate for an explanation, she looked around, trying to make eye contact with any male. It was not her eyes they were staring at: breast, thigh, the width of her hips and taper of her waist. Her eyes were inconsequential.
She, Morgaine, was invisible. Only her body mattered.
Looking down at her hands, at her manicured nails, the temptation to set them to her flesh and tear grew overwhelming. If she could just make herself ugly, they might leave her alone.
…or they would heal her and chain her hands.
Frantically working the simple tie of her dress, she pulled the cloth away so all gathered might see her bared. “I want a mate, any mate. I do not wish to work in the pleasure quarters. Who can pay more than Esin? What do I have to do to please you?”
Finally, she had their attention. The male reading her file shook his head. “He was clever in structuring his bid. The sum here is great, more than I can afford. But, when it is my turn to visit you, I will pay the fee and treat you well.”
Her pitch grew, Morgaine’s palms flush against the glass. “Is there anyone else who can pay more?”
Not one of them offered for her, even if several looked as if they wanted her more than anything in the world.
No wonder so many had been collecting outside her containment. No wonder they were interested in reading the file and scenting her clothing. Each of them would have a chance to know her intimately… for a fee.
For two whole years…
She had one chance to change her fate. “I am feral, but I would be a good mate. I am industrious and hardworking.”
Someone behind her cracked a joke. “The marks across your ass would say differently.”
Breathless, flustered, Morgaine continued. “Never once was I punished in the colony. I am loyal and loving. Do not Alphas want to be loved by an Omega? I… I know how to collect and store rare herbs. I can weave baskets, sew clothing. Three of my neighbors’ houses I helped build. I bred goats that made fine milk and cheese.”
They were starting to laugh at her ridiculous list of attributes, not one skill listed useful in their society.
Altering tactics, she said, “I can be the perfect servant. Is that what you want?”
“And you will be, in the pleasure quarters.”
Speechless, completely lost, Morgaine backed away. Glassy eyes went to the floor, to where her dress lay in a heap. Bending down to take it set the wounds on her back to aching, as did dressing herself.
Every day the nightmare grew worse. She’d rather bear the pain of the cane over and over than submit to so many for so little. “Any who come to me in the pleasure quarters I will bite.”
That was the wrong thing to say, for immediately several pushed closer.
“I will scratch you, make you bleed.”
The bright-eyed male nearest the front licked his lips.
Locking eyes with him, she hissed, “I will hate you and cry the whole time. You and all Alphas disgust me.”
“Silence, feral, before you earn yourself more punishment than you can handle.”
One thing Morgaine was good at in this place was digging her own grave. It seemed the perfect time to pick up the shovel. “I would rather be burned at the stake in front of everyone I loved, than feel the touch of a single one of you.”
She became stone, ignoring their growled responses to her rudeness, refusing to answer questions. They grew bored of her, and over the hours, began to scatter. Morgaine had done her reputation harm, but she did not care.
There was nothing in the world to care about.
The main gallery grew quiet as it had the day before. On some unseen signal, Alphas ceased strolling and moved aside in automatic formation, leaving her cage abandoned for the first time since she’d been locked inside that morning.
Assuming she had earned the attention and subsequent condemnation of the one they called commandant, Morgaine stiffened her shoulders, prepared to look him in the eye as he decided her next punishment. From the glitter of armor on the opposite end of the room, he had arrived, as had several high ranked Alphas at his back.
Squinting to see, Morgaine could hardly make out what they were doing across the vast space. Columns supporting the room’s high ceiling made spying difficult, as did the bright backlight of stained glass at their backs, but something of great consequence was being carried out.
&n
bsp; Something involving another group of Alphas approaching from the right—a group who were not in the customary black armor.
Not a word could be made out, but the commandant bowed, as did all those at his back. The new males did not return the gesture, Morgaine imagining the older Alpha insulted by the lack of respect.
She should have been amused, but deep down something felt wrong. Why had the room backed away? Why were more and more of the unarmored males entering to fill up the space?
None of them were looking at her. She had been forgotten.
The nearest Alphas were riveted on the scene, and not one of them looked gratified. In fact, had she been able to smell the air outside the glass, based on those expressions around her, she had a sense the room was full of the scent of bitterness.
Formalities aside, these guests… if they were guests… were not welcome. Nor did they seem fully expected.
As the two groups converged, they turned, walking down the center path that would lead past where she stood. Upon their approach, Morgaine could see they were strange looking men who wore their hair almost as long as she wore hers. They were also practically as naked as she, bare chests on display, a quantity of leg uncovered. Many were scarred, some so badly she was surprised they had survived a wound that could have left such a mark.
They looked rough, these men, rougher than their shined, black armored counterparts. In comparison, they looked barbaric.
It was not until a sharp pain jarred her that Morgaine realized she’d backed away until flush with the furthest wall. Her hiss went ignored, for the men were still too far down the gallery to hear her.
The commandant was in conversation with a scowling, square-jawed male at the front of the cavalcade. Like the others, this one was dressed mostly in leather, his hair loose, a weapon at his hip. It did not look like the blasters or knives of the Alphas Morgaine knew. In fact, she would not have thought it a weapon at all except that the commandant looked to it multiple times. When he did so, it was with the same disgust he had projected upon her the day before.