Stolen, page 5
It had always been considered uncouth to speak of other Domes outside of lecture, the idea discouraged from a very young age. The fact that Jacques spoke so pointedly of it now, considering context, snagged Brenya’s attention… as well as her distaste. “We should not speak of these things.”
He ignored her trained response, squeezed her hand, and spoke on. “Approximately two-hundred years have passed since those still fighting in the wars died of plague. Civilization has somewhat stabilized… to a point. But, it is not common knowledge that of the original Domes, only twelve stand now.”
Shaking her head, she clarified, “There are twenty-two Domes.”
“There are twelve left standing today, Brenya.”
He was wrong. She’d been taught about the other Domes in school. “I can list off their names for you, their locations, their cultures and languages.”
“Usually our leadership learns of the reasons a Dome failed: technical difficulties, over-population, disease… war. Sometimes we are left with only questions. But seventeen domes over the last two-hundred years were lost—more than half. The people inside them are dead. So, you must understand that it is imperative order be maintained inside Bernard Dome. Order is what keeps us all alive.”
Brenya asked, “Why would we be taught that things are different than they are?”
“Because confidence in the world, a firm knowledge that our species has found its place, lessens fear. Very few people know the truth. For, if I was to tell you that less than a year ago one of the most successful Domes, the Dome most protected from plague, from outside influence, from even my satellites’ reach, fell in a bloody civil war, how would you feel?”
The human race had moved past petty squabbles. The human race had advanced itself. War no longer had a place in the world. All these thing Brenya told herself, but fear slipped into her reply. “I would not believe you.”
“Thólos Dome was ripped apart from the inside. It is fact.”
A cold wash of uncertainty set her skin to gooseflesh, made her breath shallow, and turned down the corners of her mouth. “I don’t understand.”
“Civil war, Brenya. It could happen anywhere, at any time under the right sort of pressure. In Bernard Dome, our founder, my forefather, set into motion a society structure that made it improbable but not impossible. It is my duty, the duty of every Dome leader, to assure their people do not fall into the same trap. Over the generations, we have fine-tuned this plan, amplified it, adjusted as we could. There was some sacrifice… such as the decrease and eventual cessation of Omega births.”
He was talking about her, all of it, his entire point was her. “Our founder, Henry Bernard, was a brilliant scientist, exceedingly wealthy, and pragmatic. The initial population did not know what he’d added to the water and the food supply. They did not know they had been emotionally suppressed, that their children and their children’s children would be farmed into placement and training to benefit the whole. Like all Betas outside of central, you too were subjected to these restraints—from birth, in fact. Pharmacological control has been added to your food, your water. You have been monitored and conditioned from birth to be complacent, obedient, hardworking, and dedicated. Those Betas who fail parameter tests are removed permanently from society. There is no reassignment. Had you not been Omega, you would have been terminated at your next review.”
Brenya knew of at least five citizens who had been reassigned. Three of them had been engineering grunts like her. “Berthe, Amie, Walter…”
“It was done quickly. There was no pain.” No remorse waited in Jacques’ eyes, and he held tight to her fingers when Brenya tried to pull her hand from his touch. “Termination is done in such a way that they never had a moment of fear. They never knew.”
Heart racing, trying to back away but unable to break his hold, she whispered, “You are going to have me killed if I don’t let you put that machine inside me again?”
“I am not telling you these secrets to frighten you. I am telling you so you might understand the changes in your body. You are unaccustomed to strong emotion or desire. Last night overwhelmed you. But all these feelings, they are yours, they have just been dampened until now.”
There had been times in her life the Brenya had felt adrenaline and fear, her fall from the Dome, for example. But she was more scared in this moment than she knew how to process. “You make it sound as if Betas are slaves.”
He dared to reach out with his free hand to toy with the choppy ends of her hair. “Some would argue that they are. Others would say they are honed, happy, and useful. Alphas are also controlled to keep aggression minimal. Only key Centrist families and government officials are excluded.”
“Those who were reassigned, all they did was look at the skyline.” Panic stole her breath, made her shake. “I’ve seen it too, you know. You can’t go out there and not see it.”
“My darling, sweet girl, I would never hurt you. I say these things to help you understand.”
She did not want to be this new person.
Cold and collected, methodical, organized, that was her home. Passion and endless emotion were a nightmare. “I don’t want to know these things! I don’t want to feel these things!”
“I am making you whole, and I will continue to do so, mon chou.” Abruptly rising to his feet, he stood over her. “I can’t have you weeping. I hate to see you afraid. If you don’t find a way to calm yourself, I’m going to do to you this morning what I did to you last night. I will make you feel better.”
She could not take it again. She could not handle more. “NOOOO!”
Where it came from, the urge to fight him, to bite and scratch, Brenya didn’t know. She went mad. The table with their yet uneaten breakfast was knocked over in her struggles, but she never stood a chance against a male so much stronger and faster than she. He had her over his shoulder, dragged her screaming through his rooms, until the mattress met her back and the muscular, great weight of pure Alpha held her down.
He reached to the bedside table, and the buzz of the unspeakable thing thrummed before he’d even thrust it inside her.
Voice caught on a gasp, heart in her throat, she felt the pinch of her labia parting, and it began all over.
Inside her skin she was dying, and something else, something alien, was taking over, moving her hips against that intrusion. Sounds came from parted lips that should never have been uttered.
All the while, he held her down, forced her thighs apart, and spoke to her of why this was necessary. “Your body must be assisted to adapt. That way I won’t hurt you when you need correction.” He fiddled with the edge of the device penetrating her body, altering its programing until it began to expand in her slit. “Right now you need to be reminded that you are safe. You will find relief in submission. Don’t fight it.”
Was the absolute loss of control worse the second time?
Brenya tried to exist beyond her body, to hold on to anything besides the expansion of sensation and her inability to escape.
The afternoon before in attempting to defend Annette, Brenya had not won their game. She had not won anything.
Nor had she been punished… According to the Alpha thrusting his machine into her body, this thing he was doing to her was her prize.
Less than twenty-four hours ago, Jacques, Commodore of Bernard Dome from whom all orders are issued, had ordered her, his Omega, to take off her clothes right there in the parlor. The door was still closing, Annette and Ancil making their retreat, and Brenya knew they had heard their leader’s edict.
She knew Ancil had seen Jacques pull her to her feet, had seen his leader tugging impatiently at the sleeves of her Centrist clothing. Their eyes had met where the door cracked, Ancil standing there for a moment to watch.
Just as he’d watched Jacques rape her in the ventilation duct.
He would have kept watching if Jacques had not growled a warning that another male stood too close.
And then Jacques has kissed her. He had kissed her in such a way she was distracted from all else. It was more than his lips or the starved sounds he’d made. It was his endless touch.
Fingertips smoothed over skin as it was revealed, toying with the feel of it, drawing out tingles that ran from toes to scalp. He sang praises into her flesh, wrote his name upon her. Brenya breathless, her top down and skirt caught about her hips, stood stalk-still while he turned her body against her.
There was no rush in his scheme. Unlike the hours of her half-formed estrous, the Alpha’s actions were not directed to alleviate her pain or draw her into immediate pleasure.
They were exploratory. They were gentle—his attempt to perform the perfect distraction to achieve an unseen goal.
In the days Brenya had known the Alpha’s hospitality, feeling his hands and mouth on her body had become customary. But there was something different that day.
She was trapped in her mind while her flesh did as it pleased. Only a spectator.
Bit by bit, her body conformed to the Alpha’s unspoken will. Her lips would sigh while her brain would scream.
He’d take a nipple to be suckled, her spine would arch… the small Beta voice inside her powerless to make her listen.
Someone else inhabited her body when Jacques played his games.
She was possessed.
And that was why she’d cried over breakfast. That was why she’d flown into violence when he thought to take her away from herself again.
Because he had a new weapon. A thing he’d slipped inside her and called her prize.
What did he call it? The name had sounded scientific, important, nothing like what it should have been called. He’d called it a pliarator. She knew better. It was a mind obliterator.
It slipped in easily enough the day before, so smoothly she wasn’t sure what had replaced his fingers, and then it had latched on. Discomfort grew in the form of a muscular ache, distracting, embarrassing, and enticing, Jacques manipulating how the thing sat in her pelvis while she tried to sit up and see what he’d done.
There had been no warning before the buzzing clicked and a soft nodule landed on her clitoris. The vibration had set her to yelp, urged her to press her legs closed against it, and encouraged a pool of slick to gather under her body.
He’d allowed her rebellion because it had made no difference. Even with her legs together, even rolled over on her belly as if she might squirm away, it could not be unseated. Deep inside her body it changed shape again. It stretched her, Brenya keening in pain.
Except, she wasn’t sure if it had been pain at all.
A warm hand on her back, the other still fixed to the device inside the squirming Omega, Jacques smiled. “When an Alpha male chooses to mount an untried Beta female there is a certain protocol that must take place before he can possess her. Had you been optioned for the breeding banks, you would have undergone this practice years ago—just as Annette delighted in these moments with Ancil. Sharing this with you was her idea, and seeing you this way, I can see it was an excellent one. Relax and enjoy.”
Mouth agape, sucking in deep pants of air, Brenya stared forward at the distant wall and saw nothing. She could do nothing. Was reduced to nothing.
All by a single pulsating machine.
A machine designed for one purpose: to prepare a Beta female's sex organs to accept the far larger, far more powerful Alpha cock.
The way it squirmed and milked the slick from her tunnel curled her toes. The horrid thing had a life of its own, though she might claw the sheets and fight against its intrusion.
Jacques may have pumped it in and out of her, he may have forced it deeper into her cunt when she tried to push it out, but the robot sensed her struggles and redoubled its attack.
The first orgasm had hurt; the machine had torn the pleasure right out of each nerve.
Immediately it altered its shape, sprang into action when her passage clenched as if to grasp an Alpha knot. Shape bloating, manipulating nerves with shocks, with rotary aggression, it had expanded near the base… and made her groan until drool hung from her lips.
An ocean of slick poured like a river, Jacques no longer pinning her down, but petting and watching where her ass had raised up from the bed and her stuffed cunt was on display as if begging for more.
He adjusted the settings. She convulsed, insides wrenching around the mechanical intrusion as it started its expansion process over again.
Rolling her to her back, he drew her knees to her ears, put his weight on her, and moved his body as if it was his member inside her doing the damage and not some cold machine.
He’d dared to kiss her, to comment on her lust-drugged, blown pupils.
The male had called her beautiful as she lay stupefied and twitching.
When she tried to say his name, tried to beg him to stop, he’d smiled, his head slowly descending between her grotesquely spread thighs. Jacques had lapped at the slick seeping out around the machine as if her sex was the sweetest cream.
“I’ve never seen a Beta respond to a pliarator as you do. What exceptional creatures Omegas are.” Husky, he’d growled, still savoring her juices. “Imagine it’s my cock inside you. When the next knot comes, I want you to feel my seed pulsating in your belly.”
As if on cue, the machine began to expand at its base, to fill her up and stretch her even more than the first time. He watched it work her, Jacques seeing to his own satisfaction with rapid jerks of his hand up and down the veined protuberance jutting forth between his legs.
His cock.
She could smell it in her haze, grunted at it like an animal.
The way he abused his organ, how swollen and purple it grew in his fist, the way he practically gnawed her erect clitoris, they both had to be in euphoric pain.
Ready to spurt, he’d reared back on his knees, drew his lips back from his teeth, the muscles standing up in his neck.
The worst had yet to come.
He spoke a command. The machine responded. It opened up, the false knot inside her growing until a hole was made inside her body just the right size to be exploited.
Falling forward to land on his hand, his musculature tight and twitching, Jacques lined up his fat cockhead with her machine spread opening, smeared her tortured cunt with a dribble of his come, and jerked himself in two more rough tugs until pearlescent spray shot forcefully into the space the machine had made inside her.
His usherings were too much for that little pocket, and his seed surged outside her sex, down her crack, in waves of wet heat, over and over until he pulled from her slit to aim instead for her trembling belly.
He overshot, coating her heaving tits, globs landing as far as her parted lips.
When he had crawled over her body, bobbing his pulsating knot in her face, he’d told her to lick him clean… and she had obeyed.
Without question.
Laving him from bulbous base to mushroom tip, collecting the salty taste, slurping, swallowing. With even more vigor than he’d displayed between her legs, Brenya submitted.
In that moment, she did not possess the mental faculty to understand that the Alpha had manipulated his promise.
Jacques had not fucked her. His machine had.
She’d been vanquished like a prisoner, subjugated like a slave, and used like a whore—sore, tired, mindless, and still under the control of his whirring device.
That had been last night, all night.
Even upon waking, her senses had not fully returned, and here he was, forcing her back on the bed to do it to her all over again.
Betas were never reassigned.
He pushed his toy deeper, speaking warmly. “In a week or two, you’ll be ready for me, mon chou.”
5
Greth Dome
* * *
Everything had been prepared, extraction flawless.
Huddled on his lap, her body enveloped by his coat, slept an Omega who was his. The risk of the leap into his arms she’d handled well; the way she’d slept once he had her, a sign she felt safe. Not once had his purr faltered, it projected powerfully, so Claire might continue her rest and Shepherd might take the time to examine his mate.
Her head cradled against his shoulder, he moved a light touch over her face. The bridge of her nose, last he’d seen had been badly broken. While she’d convalesced, doctors had set it, but a sharp eye could see the slight bump and hairline scar. Shepherd traced over the flaw, going next to circle the socket of her eye. That too had healed well, no permanent mark remaining from the orbital fracture, no impairment of vision.
She was in perfect physical health.
A small whimper in sleep, and Claire turned her face toward his chest. It was so like her to be fussy whenever he’d inspected her beauty in the past. Shepherd smirked at her unconscious protest, hugging her to him so he might deeply inhale his Omega’s scent.
Across from where Shepherd fawned over his female, a woman read through pages of a chart, quick fingers flipping quietly. “Severe PTSD—improvement nominal. Her list of medications has altered since our last update. Claire O’Donnell is on a great deal of sedatives, some of which are highly addictive.”
“She will be given whatever she needs,” Shepherd, cautious to keep his voice low, answered the unwelcome interruption.
Dr. Osin looked up from the pages. “There is a list of twice daily opiate injections here, doses larger than what I would deem safe. Considering the cocktail of medications, I cannot foresee the side effects of abruptly ending this treatment. Inevitable withdrawal may make her very ill. She will have to be carefully monitored.”
He didn’t care what she may or may not be addicted to. His Claire probably didn’t even know what poison they’d been pumping inside her. None of this was her fault.
