Page 3 of Dark Company

It’s what I’m conditioned for. Just one more cog in the machine that does its job and goes on to the next. I never wanted to just be a robot, acting and reacting based on training. So desperately, I wanted to be a real person — whole, healthy, and capable of making my own choices. By joining the resistance, I managed, but still, in these small ways, these insidious ways, it feels as if I’ll never be free.

Bile inches up my throat, and the familiar sensation of silicone and wet heat engulfs my shaft. There’s no fake arousal here to cloud my vision. I feel everything without the haze of the rut easing me into it. Once the edge of the tube rests against my lower abs, everything begins to contract.

Inch by inch, it starts at my tip and moves its way up, creating a suction that I know won’t let up until after my cum is completely drained and filling the tank. Luckily, I have enough in each load that I should be able to trip the sensor after this one orgasm.

Gritting my teeth, I lay back and force myself to conjure a woman, any woman. At first, Annora flashes into my mind, but I don’t allow it to take hold. She’s my queen and mate to Jaxxon. She’s not a fit choice for my angry masturbation. Women flit in and out of my consciousness, amalgamations of all the omegas I’ve had to care for in the High Sanctum, but none of them stand out. None of them ease the discomfort of the harsh sucking.

Again, my mind drifts back to the ribald way the other Alphas used to talk about their mates and playthings—the soft sensation of skin on skin, the whispered, breathy moans as they cascaded across the skin, the wet, silken heat that welcomed them when they sank deep inside. Those memories that I’ve stolen from others comfort and relax me enough for what comes next.

Once the machine is firmly clamped onto my shaft, a small slit opens on the side. Closing my eyes, I force my breathing to come in slow, even aspirations, as the blunt bulb slides over my balls, seeking my back entrance. Usually, by this point, I’m too high in the rut to really care, but now, without that, I’m painfully aware of just what those men were watching.

The tip nudges at the opening, and I have no choice but to release the muscles. It’s going to go inside me one way or another. According to the doctors, there’s a gland deep inside both Alphas and omegas that allows an orgasm to be milked from the body with no additional sexual stimulation.

It forces an orgasm without requiring the pleasure needed. However, deep down, I find at least a hit of satisfaction. Perhaps it was the forcible release that pressing that gland causes. Perhaps it’s just the foreign sensation of being invaded. Either way, the moment the metal forces itself past my tight ring, I groan and rock back and forth on the bed, reaching down in between my thighs to grip the cylinder.

I hold it as if it’s my own hand I’m fucking, but it’s not the same. I know it’s not. But at least I have the will to do this. I’m not forced into being a fucking statue, as my essence is sucked from my body. I can be a part of the experience and have at least a modicum of control. Once the metal is in place against the gland, everything seizes up.

It’s a painful sort of pleasure, one that rides that very thin line, where just anything can make it tip over to the wrong side. Harsh gasps rattle through my teeth as my ass grinds against the cot. I was stupid to do this, stupid to let myself lose control. There’s a reason they only allow us one rut a month. I should be doing so many other things than letting a fake cunt get me off.

Fuck. Under the pretenses of a pseudo rut, things felt at least pleasant, even if they weren’t completely enjoyable. But now, in the harsh reality of a rational mind, I feel it for what it is. Incomplete. Hollow. Torturous. It doesn’t do anything to diminish the rage-filled arousal that churns in my gut; it leaves me craving more.

I fucking want more. I fucking deserve more. I dedicated my life to the High Echelon, and when their masks were torn off, I turned my allegiance to the resistance. I never once asked for anything for myself. I took nothing for myself. But now, with my orgasm looming, all I want is an omega of my own. I’m owed at least that much.

Closing my eyes, I picture my perfect mate. It wouldn’t be any of the insipid omegas that twittered about the High Sanctum. I want someone demure, submissive, the perfect, willing wife. But not because they were bred that way, because of the High Echelon’s demands, but because it’s a core, fundamental part of who they are. She will obey me because she wishes to serve, not because I have to force her to.

Groaning, I picture my imaginary mate on her hands and knees, her pussy puffy and swollen, dripping with slick as she presents her ass up for me to take, gasping as I fill her tight core, begging for me to take her even harder. Perhaps I’ll slip a finger or two into her ass and stroke that gland that throbs deep inside of me.

Her cries of pleasure will ring out as I force every drop from her, making her tight pussy clench around my knot, milking me dry as I fuck her into the nest, defiling it with our scent of raw, animalistic sex.

My balls tighten until I’m sure there’s nowhere left for them to go. Every muscle in my body is taut, rigid, primed for release. It’s so close. Just a few more pulses of the metal inside me, and I’ll come. Grunting, I grip the cylinder in my hands and jut my hips up into the air, my mind focused on fucking the omega of my dreams.

Soon, the telltale beginnings of my orgasm begin to overtake me. The machine sucks even harder, sending shards of pain up my shaft. But that doesn’t deter the orgasm. It barrels through me, robbing me of my breath. All I can do is grip the fake cunt as my cum explodes out of me.

Breathless, I watch as the thick, creamy fluid leaves the tip of the machine and flows through the tubes until it gets to the receptacle on the wall. Without the High Echelon taking it for whatever nefarious purposes they had, it’s useless, sitting there until I decide what to do with it.

There’s no omega for me to smear it over. No mate to drink it during estrus. Hell, there’s not even a nest to pour it on top of, to mark it with my scent. There’s nothing. Just like me. Empty. Hollow. Once the receptacle is pleased with my offering, the slit opens once more as the metal in my ass is ripped out and dragged back inside.

The suction lets off in gradual increments, easing away from the base down to the tip. The last bit holds on for a few more moments, forcing every single drop of cum from my body. At least I know I’ll be clean and ready for work afterward. That’s the one great thing about using the machine; it’s never messy.

Once the tube lets go, I tear it away from my body and fling it towards the cage. The obnoxious clang of metal on metal rankles my nerves, amping me up instead of actually soothing me. Never again will I allow any High Echelon creation to touch me. Without the machine, I’ll have to relearn my body and teach myself how to accept a human touch instead of cold, unfeeling metal.

It sparks the need for violence, but there’s no one left to fight, no one else to take my aggression out on. Sadness overtakes me as I yank my uniform back onto my body. Perhaps I can convince Jaxxon to bring back the fighting pits. Granted, the Alphas that would want to fight for sport are probably already dead.

I could possibly enlist Leon in helping me with these unnamable feelings scrabbling about my brain, looking for a foothold, but then he’d probably want to talk it out, forcing me to confront things that are much better hidden. Shaking my head, I walk out the door, opting for driving my fist into the soft metal instead of someone’s ribs.

For half a moment, I actually latched onto the idea of having a mate, someone I could learn with, grow with. The idea of having an omega to help me with this, with learning how to have pleasure, is laughable. There’s no way I can ever let an omega into my life, or beta for that matter. I’m built for destruction. I’m created to break instead of nurture. Whoever had the misfortune of becoming my mate would sooner find themselves dead.

Deep down, I know this. I was trained this way. My brain works in a calculating manner, determining what areas to strike, where to hurt the most. There’s no switch in there to accommodate pleasurable touches. Maybe years from now, when I’ve fought out all the remaining aggression, I might hope for a mate, but it won’t be an omega from Stanlion.

Perhaps Gundhar would have someone accustomed to a more savage way of loving, someone that can speak to my warrior's heart. The omegas here are soft in a kicked animal sort of way, and even if I waited for another to be born outside of the High Sanctum, there’s still no guarantee they could take my savagery.

I just have to keep my head down until an uprising comes about. With the High Echelon taken out, there’s only a matter of time before either the other city-states or the Ferals want to take over. Though, until this moment, I never really thought of going back to the Dead Lands. With Gemhardt gone and the resistance back inside Stanlion, there’s no reason to go out there.

But if I made the Dead Lands my home, then I would have no shortage of animals and Ferals to kill. They would let me work off this anger that coils through my body like a living thing without having to sacrifice innocents to the cause. The plan is perfect. All I have to do is convince Jaxxon to let me live out there instead of protecting him.

It’s a long shot, but still worth a try. A whisper of happiness rushes through my body, leeching the last vestiges of pain as I make my way back towards their makeshift throne room. If he can allow me this, then I think I can live out my days in peace. It will be a lonely existence, but it would also keep everyone else safe.

Without the High Echelon keeping me in line, I have no clue what I will do. For me, freedom isn’t free. Without the constant yoke around my neck or the schedules, I have nothing. I was never trained to be free. As much as I longed for it, even though now I have it, I still have nothing. I’m still a prisoner of my own mind.