Becoming Omega, Part 1

Becoming Omega, Part 1

Becoming Omega, Part 1

She stood before a mirror in a hotel lobby, her heart fluttering, her breath short. Soon, everything would be different. She would be different. She had no idea. But even then, there, she knew she was changing.

Sure, she’d always been a slut. She’d even always been a touch submissive. She loved fucking, of course. But that was just it: she loved fucking, and so she got fucked. She didn’t yet love that people loved fucking her. The fact that she was making others happy didn’t quite register.

Not until that day. She’d been invited here by a long-time partner, one who always seemed to know her better than she knew herself. That’s how she liked her partners, usually: smarter than her, controlling, completely dominant, and a touch sadistic. She liked feeling small. Tiny. Incompetent. But he was something else, too: he was sweet. Kind. Dominant and strict, sure, but gentle when it mattered. Had she been the type to commit to one man, she would have committed to him. She trusted him more than she trusted most.

He told her if she liked being a slut, she would certainly love what he had planned. She liked being a slut. She asked no questions.

On Thursday, her phone buzzed. Her heart leapt.

Him: 5pm on Saturday, the Downtown Hilton, Room 804.

Elena: Ok, I’ll be there!

Him: Missing something?

Elena: I’ll be there, Sir. Sorry Sir :-/

Him: Good girl.

And then, not ten minutes later, his name was on her screen once more.

Him: After you leave work on Friday, buy a white tee, two sizes too small. Try it on. When you get home, get scissors and cut it all the way around, three centimeters below your areolas. Wear the velvet microskirt you know I love, and four inch black heels. No bra, no underwear. Hair straight with a gentle wave - you know what I mean. Arrive at 4:45pm and get a drink at the hotel bar to calm your nerves. Confirm you understand.

Elena: I understand Sir.

Him: Good girl.

Elena: Wait! Can I wear a jacket Sir? That’s going to be really inappropriate at a hotel bar Sir.

Him: No, Elena.

Elena: ...okay Sir.

So that’s how it came to be that at 4:57 on Saturday, Elena stood before a mirror in the elevator lobby on the eighth floor of the Hilton Hotel, heart fluttering and breath short.

But yes, she did like the way she looked. Her hair, deep auburn and wavy, disappeared behind her shoulders before curling gently before her blades. Her eyes, green and piercing. Eyebrows black, fierce. She was only 23 and she looked stunning, but somewhere in her eyes appeared the wisdom of a much older woman.

She smiled when she worked downward toward her chest. Gently nibbled her lip. Felt her thighs flush, her clit spasm. She truly did look like a slut. Here, in this beautiful, luxurious hotel, her nipples poked through tight cotton linen. Elena was curvy. Her breasts weighed heavily against the fabric; her nipples were exposed and obvious. The base of her tits fell beneath the horizon of her ripped tee.

Nearly ten inches of her midriff were visible. Her tits were large but her stomach was flat, her belly button tight and pierced. A golden loop with an emerald. She’d pierced it when she was sixteen and never changed it.

Her skirt, it felt to her, may have been shorter than her exposed midriff. It was auburn, like her hair, and had been advertised as ten inches. But here, taught against her skin, it covered nothing. It hugged her hips and did not relent. Where many microskirts fray into a playful schoolgirl plaid, hers held tightly down her thigh and just barely folded into the crease below her ass.

Her tits were big, her ass was bigger. It bubbled perfectly, ballooning and folding up into itself, and then jettisoning into two two perfect legs, tight and beautiful.

She nibbled her lip one more time, broke eye contact with her reflection, and paced to room 804. She knocked with false confidence, and heard a call from within, “It’s open!”

The door creaked. She crept inside. Her tension drifted away.

Gentle classical music filled the room. Chopin, maybe. Candles in paper bags lined the hall to the central living space.

“Hello,” she said, more as a question than a greeting.

“We’re in here,” said a familiar voice. We?

She passed the threshold to the living space to a round of applause. Two strangers sat on the couch. But standing before her, holding out a glass of white, was Him.

She always forgot how gorgeous he was. He was older than she was - mid thirties. As always, a waffled long sleeve barely contained his washboard abs. Piercing blue eyes penetrated her soul. She knew she was pretty, but she always felt he was far more beautiful than she was.

“Wine, Elena?”

“Yeah, Jack. Thank you.”

“Excuse me, Jack?”

She hesitated. Eyed the two strangers on the couch.

“Um, with them?”

“Yes, Elena. They know what you are.”

Her face flushed.

“Yes, Sir. I would like wine Sir.”

The men on the couch chuckled.

“She’s a good girl, Jack. Just like you said.”

Elena felt her breathing intensify. Jack grinned, held out his hand.

“Elena, take this.”

In his palm sat a transparent little pill, no larger than an over-the-counter aspirin.

“What is it, Sir?”

“Take it and I’ll tell you.”

“Yes Sir,” she said, and downed the pill with a sip of wine before she had a moment to think.

“That little pill, Elena, will help you see the truth. The truth of who you are. Of what you’re for. Do you understand?”

“Sure, Sir. But what is it, actually?”

“Chemically, it’s a normal dose of MDMA, half tab of acid, and a gentle blend of other, eh, herbs and spices,” said Jack. The men on the couch chuckled. “Don’t worry,” said one. “We took it too.”

Weeks earlier, Elena told Jack she had never explored drugs more than weed and wine. She mentioned she was curious, and Jack said he’d maybe think about creating an experience for her. She had forgotten the interaction altogether.

“But it’s so much more than that, Elena. This will help you find your true self. This will help you discover your purpose. Sit down, relax. Have a glass of wine. We’re all here to love and learn. We’re here for you, Elena.”

She had truly never felt her heart rate do quite what it was doing. It seemed to beat so fast it was an impossibility. She had experimented with threesomes on occasion. But three men? This was something else. She remembered what He had told her, many weeks ago: Fear is just excitement in another jacket.

Breathe. Slow down. This is okay. You trust him.

“How long do I have before it kicks in?” she asked. “Sir.”

“You’ll start to feel it soon, and it’ll get real in maybe thirty minutes. Just relax, be here. We’re all here for love. For you.”

She took a seat on the couch. She knew her place. She sat between the two unfamiliar men. They were handsome, kind. Younger than He was - maybe late twenties, maybe thirty.

“This is Aaron,” said Jack, pointing to Elena’s right. He was a handsome dark skinned man. Fit, built. Nearly breaking through his shirt. He was bald and dashing, with thin Warby Parkers and a charming smile. She smiled and took his hand.

“And this is Scott,” he said now, pointing to her left. Scott was a thinner man but well defined. Curly brown and blond locks. A tight jawline. He might have been a lifeguard in his youth. She smiled to him.

“You look beautiful tonight, slut,” said Jack. Elena winced. Blushed. Glanced at the men beside her. Jack waved it off with a sip of his wine.

“We stigmatize the word ‘slut,’ don’t we,” said Jack. All three on the couch nodded.

He took his seat in a chair across from Elena and the men on the couch. Crossed his legs. “We stigmatize the submissive mentality altogether - women who want to please. We stigmatize the idea of service, of serving selflessly, of being in less than someone else.”

He shook his head as though the idea was preposterous. Elena was sure he had come with this little speech prepared, but she didn’t care. She was mesmerized. She always was when he spoke.

“And so people like you, Elena, sluts and bimbos who deeply sense their bodies are for service, feel this dark pang of angst. It feels dirty, doesn’t it? Why do those words need to be negative at all? Why does showing up like this - sexualized and willing to give - mean something is wrong with you. Doesn’t it mean quite the opposite? Doesn’t it mean you’re selfless?”

Elena nodded.

“And people like us? We’re made to feel that somehow we’re manipulating you, Elena. We believe we’re tricking you, somehow. So we feel the angst, too. It limits our potential. It limits yours.”

The men nodded now, too. Elena felt a tenderness in her arms, a sensitivity to the gentlest breeze, a coolness in her she couldn’t explain. Jack pointed his finger at Elena and flicked it up. Elena understood and took to her feet, still between the two men on the couch. She could feel their eyes on her ass. She could feel their gaze tracing the juices of her pussy down her thighs. Her clit twitched. She felt her pelvis thrusting where she stood, her ass clenching.

“Tonight, my slut, we’re going to be our true selves. We’re going to do exactly what comes naturally. We’re going to find your true purpose.”

Her eyes shuttered. Her vision blurred and returned.

“And tomorrow, when you wake, you’ll wake happy, with a sense of freedom, a sense of relief. You’d like that, wouldn’t you, my slut?”

Elena smiled. Nodded.

“Say it, slut.”

“I want to find my true purpose tonight, Sir. I want to know what I’m for, Sir.”

The men applauded, all three of them. A wave of deep love and appreciation washed over her. All at once, peace. Nothing but freedom. Hope. Desire.

“Thank you, Sir. Thank you, all of you.”

Her hands were on her tits now. Absently caressing, tracing.

“You’re welcome, slut,” said Aaron, with one hand moving up her thigh. Elena absently spread her legs wider, purred in appreciation of the insult, at the assumption she could be touched by a perfect stranger without thought. She blushed. Too enthusiastic? “I’m sorry Sir I just… I’m just feeling the love right now.”

“We know, slut, and we’re feeling it from you too, our darling.”

Jack checked his glass. “Slut, go get more wine.”

It was a gentle order, but Elena felt her pussy clench. Jack had established power, she had lost it. She was of service; they were to be served.

“That’s what I’m for, Sir.” She giggled, and another wave of love overcame her. She turned and started for the kitchen.

“No, slut,” said Jack. Elena glanced back.

“Crawl to the kitchen. Like a dog.”

Three men stared back. For a long moment, there was nothing but Chopin’s Nocturne No. 2 in E Minor dancing about the room. Anticipation.

And then, almost of their own volition, her knees buckled and she fell to the carpeting. Her eyes stayed locked on His. Her breathing intensified.

“Yes Sir. Like a dog, Sir.”

She turned, facing away from the men, and put her palms to the carpet. She knew her pussy was exposed for all, and she knew it was dripping. Her fingers tickled the carpet, and she shuttered once more.

She crawled slowly, delicately.

“Actually,” said Aaron. “I think I’m set on wine.” His voice was closer than she expected.

“Can I get you anything else, Sir?” she said without looking back.

“Yes. Put your face in the carpet, ass up,” he commanded. This was it. She’d truly known this moment was coming - this beautiful moment of complete service to a complete stranger - from the moment she’d met Jack, months ago.

“Yes, Sir,” she said.

And she obliged. She stuck her ass up, pressed her face into the carpet. She was ever so positive she could feel every single fiber prodding her cheek. Her eyes fluttered again. She fell in love with the sensation of being present. Being on the floor. Being ogled.

“Gents, come look how good this slut is,” said Aaron. She heard footsteps.

“I told you she’s an obedient little girl - just needs a little kick to the other side,” said Jack. “Isn’t that right, my darling slut?”

“Yes Sir. How can I make you all so happy right now - as happy as I feel?”

“Offer yourself,” he said.

She did not move. Face in the carpet, ass to three men, she offered everything she was worth.

“Please Sirs. Can I please give you myself, all night? My body is yours to discover.”

Aaron stepped behind her. A hand touched her pussy. Elena jumped. Squealed. Men laughed.

“Ass first, please,” she begged. “Please, please only take my ass first.” She didn’t want to feel pleasure. She wanted to feel servitude. To feel selflessness.

Jack dropped to his knees before her. Pulled her from the floor by her hair.“Are you ready?” he asked, grabbing her throat. “This is the moment. This is the beginning of the rest of your life.”

“I want it,” she said, struggling to breathe. Hungry. “Please, I want it Sir.” The metallic clang of Aaron’s buckle behind her. He was lining up. Lubing his cock.

“Then tell me your purpose.”

Aaron thrusted, all the way. Elena screamed. “I am a cocksleeve, Sir! I am for others. I don’t matter!”

“You are holes to be used,” Jack said.

“I am holes to be used, Sir,” she screamed.

“Open your mouth,” said Jack. She complied like the nothing she was becoming. He spit deep in the back of her throat. She panted, swallowed.

“More, Sir!” He spit again. “More!” He backhanded her across the face. Aaron’s balls slapped against her pussy. Scott's pants dropped to the floor.

“Harder Sir!”

Jack slapped again. “Do you feel that? That’s you being built for service. Slap! That’s you know your place. Slap! That is you. Slap! Becoming. Slap! A. Slap! Slave. Slap!

She screamed. Moaned. Aaron fucked harder, faster. Scott replaced Jack before her and shoved his cock down her throat. She took him to the base.

Ravenous. Hungry. Panting. Screaming.

The men switched. Scott plugged her open asshole. Aaron fucked her skull.

She had never felt like this before; consumed somehow by complete submission, freedom and love in equal measures in the same moment.

Aaron took her head in his hands. “Move your hands, whore. Your face is mine.” She pulled her hands from his hips and put them behind her back. Scott locked them together from behind.

Aaron fucked her throat. Harder. Harder. She couldn’t breathe but she didn’t care. She felt her own tears trickle down her face. She was built for this. She loved this. She was this.

“I’m cumming, you stupid fucking cumdumpster!” yelled Aaron. She barely felt the jet of cum hit the back of her throat. Scott pounded harder and harder and moaned from behind, his own climax mounting.

It was all too much for her. She screamed, shuttered. “Ouhrhghf” around Aaron’s cock. Her body spasmed uncontrollably. It wasn’t just her ass, but in her skin, in her mind. In her very being. It consumed her. “Fuckkkkkk” she screamed. The orgasm ripped through her like a freight train.

She crumpled to the floor.


Quiet, but for the gentle whisper of classical piano. Aaron and Scott, slumped beside her. Jack, back in the chair before her, sipping wine. The image of him was sharper, somehow. More real. More crystalized. She was seeing the world in high definition for the very first time.

“Stand,” he said, and she did.

“Bow your head,” he said, and she did.

“What are you for?” he said.

“I am for others,” she said. And she was.

Jack stood. He stepped toward her, put his finger under her chin. In the softest whisper, only barely audible, he spoke once more. “Are you ready to show it?” he asked.

“Yes Sir,” she said. And she kissed his neck. He smiled.

“Come with me,” he said, taking her hand. She followed him back down the hallway, the little candles in paper bags dancing and twinkling and making her smile. Jack opened the bedroom door, and Elena’s eyes went wide.

On the bed, written in roses: “Welcome to your rebirth.” Candles flickered on the shelves. In the middle, a crown of thorns and roses. She squealed, “Thank you Sir! It’s beautiful!”

He kissed her. Deeply. Passionately. Her heart flooded with the love of servitude.

“On the bed, spread eagle.” She obeyed. He laid the crown on her head. Wrapped a scarf around her eyes, and the world went black.

Behind her, she heard the pop of a Sharpie cap. Then, the cool felt of the marker on her back. She couldn’t make out what he wrote, but she loved the sensation.

The sound of straps emerging from under the bed. Metal handcuffs locked on her wrists, on her ankles. And then he whispered in her ear, ever so quietly, “you are for others.” He kissed her cheek.

“I am for others,” she mumbled to herself.

Footsteps. His footsteps, fading toward the door. His voice. A whisper.

“Open the door. Let them all in. One of you in the room at all times.”

She knew her purpose. She knew what she was for. She was ready to begin again.


Part Two coming soon. You can contact the author at verballicentia [at] g mail .com

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