It was so much.
A pool of Alpha sperm. And for some reason, it seemed as if each time she braced for his pleasure, he produced more.
He’d want her to lay in that cooling sticky mess, touching and rumbling, saying things she ignored. He’d hold her there despite all her aches and the sting between her legs, despite the scratches and the weeping bites that seemed to bleed every time he put his hands on her with a sexual intent.
One day. All she wanted was one day without some part of his body inside some part of hers.
Heaven help her if she winced at any of his handling, because that meant a session with the pliarator.
As if any machine might stretch her enough that his member would ever fit without pain.
“You will struggle to deliver children, petite as you are,” Jacques had murmured, manipulating the pliarator as she writhed. “It is a pity we will have to scar your beautiful skin to get them out.”
The idea of baring a child in the Centrist fashion—one that would be exposed to this man—led to a reaction that ignored logic and ended in disaster. Instead of struggling against the pliarator, she lifted a leg and kicked him right in the chest. The machine slipped from her channel, the man was displaced long enough for her to escape that gross puddle and run out of the bed.
Right into the bathroom.
Where she locked the door as if that might actually keep him out.
He ripped it off the hinges, wood splintering as if it took little effort.
Naked, slimy, cornered, thin arms around her middle, and trying to hide behind her hair, Brenya shrank.
“You won’t even be awake for the procedure, Brenya. There is no reason to react in such a way. Your penchant for violence and threats is….” He took her arm, dragging her from the room. It was hard to keep up with his stride, her legs still shaking from the pliarator effect on her nerves.
He never finished his statement, spinning her about until the mattress hit her belly and her legs dangled to the floor.
She heard the clicks and knew what it meant. He was resetting the machine, altering the program, before that horrible thing might find a new home.
Crying through it all, she bore the burning anal stretch, hiccupping when the Alpha allowed the machine to simulate a knot that must have stretched her until her burning ring was bloodless and white.
The hands stroking her back and the unwelcome platitudes did nothing to ease even a moment of it. Brenya couldn’t even reach out to that dangerous void of the other person who was somehow there and somehow not.
When the cycle was finished and her throat was raw from sobbing, he removed the things, showing her that it bore no trace of blood. Chastising her for her lack of trust and overreaction.
That was to be her punishment when she needed correction, and also a boon. She would soon be able to take him up her ass in the way men sometimes preferred. And soon, it would give her only pleasure. Just as obedience would.
If she would only behave, he would say, she would learn that all he did was for her pleasure.
And she had wiped her nose, slinking off the bed. Staring at the floor, she nodded.
That was why there was a soft pillow atop her chair at their shared dinner.
He tried to chat with her as if another punishment had never happened. Already, he assured her she was utterly forgiven.
After she had calmed and accepted the endless throbbing soreness of being a female Omega, Brenya was able to slip back into the emotionless space of a Beta who had a Rebecca.
The Alpha across from her increased the volume of his purr as if pleased at her perusal, and stated for the second time, “I said, you seem unusually hungry.”
“Yes. I am very hungry.”
The demeanor of the man before her went from preening to assessing. “Yet you have eaten enough for a grown Alpha.”
That was true, and her belly did ache for it. But what did that matter? She hurt everywhere.
“Are you in pain?”
It’s not like he couldn’t see the bruises, the bite marks. It's not like he had not been the person to place the pillow she was sitting upon because her labia and anus were stinging and swollen. So she didn’t answer. The question had to be a rhetorical one.
Heavy male fingers trilled over the tabletop, Jacques’ voice terse. “Specifically in regards to your digestion. Are you in pain?”
Fork stabbed noodles and carried them to the waiting spoon so she might spin another bite.
Bringing his fist under his chin, the Alpha narrowed his eyes and leaned his weight forward. “You are ordered to tell me when you are uncomfortable.”
That was simple enough. “I am uncomfortable.”