Page 4 of Bound to the EMT

Pushing the plug back in, I bring my hands away, unwilling to go any further. I roll onto my stomach and set a timer for one hour. Not that the girls will know if I actually keep in that long or not. But then, they also know I’m not the type to lie.

If only I could. Unfortunately, my face gives it away. I’m not poised enough, not cool and calm enough. Let’s face it. Try as I might, I’m just not enough. Not until I match with a man worthy of marrying me. Maybe then I’ll be enough.

A sigh drifts past my lips as I slip off the bed, pull up my pants and underwear, and go wash my hands. The plug feels heavy deep inside me, violating me with every step I take. Thank goodness I talked them out of a vibrating one. I’m sure it would have felt even more horrible.

Each jostle reminds me it’s there. I can’t escape it. It also keeps my body humming with unmet arousal. I just need to distract myself. Grabbing my phone, I make my way into the kitchen, my heart pounding as I look down the various hallways.

Still empty.

My footsteps echo with each timid stride. Even my breath sounds thunderous to my ears. Alone. Just as I should be right now.

With no chef to make me food, I scrounge the refrigerator, looking for something I might be able to piece together. Various cubed cheeses and sliced meats call to me as my stomach growls so loud in the empty kitchen that it echoes off of the Peruvian marble.

Grabbing a small tray, I scoop some cranberry preserves into a small bowl and set some prosciutto and aged reserve cheddar next to it. Next is a handful of strawberries—another little sweet to add into the mix. As I go to close the refrigerator door, I spy some Époisses De Bourgogne, a soft, meaty cheese, and decide to add that in too.

Why not? No one is here to stop me or judge my pairings. I’m free to go wild!

With my little hoard all nicely laid out, I take a bit from each offering and mix and match, smiling as my stomach fills up with all the salty, savory, and sweet goodness. Perhaps I should convince the staff to leave more often while my parents are away. A soft laugh rumbles in my chest as I contemplate the situation.

A butt plug deep in my bottom and all sorts of specialty meats, cheeses, and fruits in my stomach is not something I’d ever picture in my life. But then, it’s the freest I’ve felt since I can remember. I definitely need to make this happen more often.

The alarm goes off, shattering the silence. I jump and stare at the flashing numbers, my gut twisting with dread. An hour. It’s been an hour. Now, I have to take the thing out.

Ramifications pour into my mind as I turn off the alarm, put all the dishes into the massive sink, and make my way to my room. Where am I going to hide the darn thing? The maids clean my room daily—today notwithstanding. They get every inch. If they see this, they’ll certainly tell my mother.

Bending over, I scrounge around in my closet and pull out my book bag. Maybe they won’t look in here. I drag it over to the bed and slap it down onto the mess I still haven’t cleaned up yet. Ugh. Where am I going to put all the rest of that stuff? If anyone looks into the garbage, they’ll know what I did.

Why didn’t I think about this before? I flit about the room, looking for a small sack. Scooping the bits of cardboard and plastic inside, I cinch it tightly and toss it into my backpack. This is ridiculous. I’m a grown omega. I shouldn’t be having to hide my activities.

Unfortunately, while I’m still at home, I don’t have much of a choice. If only I could get matched sooner rather than later. But that could be just as disastrous.

If I marry the type of man my mother wants me to, he’ll probably make me quit school. Even though an art degree isn’t something that will afford me many working opportunities, it feeds my soul. I’m happiest when I’m off in my own world and painting. Will a rich man even care?

He’ll probably make me stay at home and be the perfect little hostess in his perfect little life. But it would still be more freedom than I have now. My communication device screams at me again, startling me out of my thoughts. Instead of turning it off, I only snoozed it.

I need to get this plug out of me. Somehow, it’s as if I’m growing used to having it in me, and that’s dangerous. Then again, if it’s in me, they can’t find it, can they?

My laugh catches in my throat as I pull my pants down and sit on the edge of the bed. That’s certainly not the right answer. I’ll just find a way to dispose of it at school.

Everything is a sticky, slippery mess as I do my best to grab onto the anchor and pull. It doesn’t move. I try harder, tugging as best as I can, but it only slides out until the bulbous part of the plug breaches my opening.

Something’s wrong. It has to be wrong. Wiping my fingers over my pants, I clean off the mess before searching for some answers on my communicator, but still nothing they suggest works. Though I’m usually the calm one in a crisis, I can’t seem to get my heart to slow down as I squat, strain, push, breath, and tug some more.

I don’t want to go to the hospital. There’s no way my parents won’t find out. Even worse, it will be a public scandal. Why, oh why, did I choose to do this?

My fingers tremble as I punch in the number for my local emergency services. However, the instant it rings, I hang up. What I am even doing. I can’t call them out here. Think. I have to think.

A number flashes on my screen as the ring shatters my calm. I’m not answering. I can’t tell them what happened. Maybe if I ignore it, it will go away. Maybe...