Page 2 of Bubblegum Pop

“Maybe he’s a rich prince from Dubai!” Frankie grinned, setting off another round of laughter.

We played this game whenever someone new came in. It helped keep us going and made the idea of spreading our legs for them more bearable.

There was still the little girl inside me that thought maybe I could find a real pack. We always joked about it, but deep down, hidden where even I couldn’t see it most days, I had hope that maybe there was a mate out there for me. Maybe there was someone I could call my own, who would love me unconditionally, and not just because I had pussy for sale.

Though shit like that didn’t fly when the only way I could afford food was by taking a knot. And if I could earn enough to eat properly, I didn’t need an alpha. There were times I’d do anything for the penne pollo they served at the Italian on the main street.

“Do you think it’ll be enough for…?” Velma trailed off as she flicked the make-up table with her finger, her nail tapping the plastic top, and I nodded back straight away.

“Definitely,” I said. “I can’t be sure, but if one of us gets him, it might be enough, y’know?”

“If Stevie doesn’t fuck him over first.” Sandie snorted, shaking her head.

We never spoke about it out loud, just in case one of Stevie’s guys was listening, but we were saving up for something special. It was one of the reasons we all stayed.

Every year there was a Selection ceremony, a fancy ball where omegas and alphas mingled, giving them the opportunity to meet potential mates and form packs. There were at least three parties, all different levels of society, and if we saved up enough, we’d just be able to afford the lowest level.

It was every omega’s dream to attend the ceremony and meet the perfect pack. The rumour was that no one ever left a ceremony unmated. They taught us all about it in high school, and we even had dance lessons to prepare. But the entry fee was five hundred quid for the lowest level, and that didn’t include the dresses and everything else. There was another rumour that the highest level had a ten-thousand-pound entry fee.

We all put our extra tips in a jar hidden under the make-up table. When the applications were available, we’d draw straws to see who would go.

It kept us together, all working towards something that could give one of us a better life.

The girls erupted into excited chattering again, and I rubbed the soles of my feet, aching from the stupidly high heels Stevie made us wear.

I hadn’t had my first heat, which was a requirement for the ceremony, though apparently, omegas lied about it all the time. Most omegas presented around eighteen, and their first heat came two years after. I presented late, almost at nineteen, so mine might not be for another year. That was when I’d finally become a real omega. Not just perfuming and slicking and taking knots left, right, and centre, but I'd be able to have children, too. But I’d also risk getting pregnant outside of a heat, and contraceptives would cut into my nightly pay.

I’d heard everything was way more frenzied during a heat. The other girls said they get so horny they literally can’t think of anything else except cocks, knots, and cum. Heats were always a huge payout, too. Three nonstop days of fucking was a huge difference to a desperate hour after a show.

Five minutes later, I was pressing my ass against the make-up counter, draining the last of my beer and gossiping noisily with the girls when the door burst open.

Johnny, one of Stevie’s runners practically fell into the room, his face shining. Some of the topless girls screamed playfully and spun around, covering themselves. He was only fourteen, but he knew how to time it.

His gaze landed straight on me, his broken front teeth showing through his wide grin.

“Already?” I asked, hitching a brow. I usually got at least ten minutes to rest my feet whenever a customer bought me for the night.

“Yeah!” He straightened as he took another peek at the girls. “It’s the posh one, too.”

“Oh my god!” Sandy squealed, jumping up from her chair. “It’s happening!”

“We’ve got to get you ready!” Velma cried out.I laughed as she grabbed me, clearing a space in front of the mirror as they plonked me down.

“Red? Or white?” Frankie called from the end of the room, holding up two of our cleanest dresses we kept for the ‘rich’ customers.

“White, of course!” Velma shouted back and I beamed as Sandy leaned down to clean off the shitty make-up we wore on stage.

We needed the good stuff if I was going to score big tonight.

I smiled at myself in the mirror, excitement fluttering around the room.

Hopefully, he wouldn’t be too put off by the bags under my eyes, or my off-white skin, cracked lips, and thin hair. Though we all looked like shit, anyway. It was why the blinding stage light was so helpful. None of us were healthy, but I was still hot as fuck. And a quick round of make-up would help bring that to life. Plus, I had my big tits and wide ass, which was all the paying customers cared about, anyway.

Either way, I was good enough to work my hips, and that’s what mattered.

It was my time to shine.

Johnny had taken me to the best room in the building. If I was right about this guy, he deserved everything we could offer him. Though, the best for Stevie’s was clean sheets and an actual lampshade. At least there was enough space to walk around the bed, with a rug over the rough wooden floor, proper pillows and a bunch of washed toys thrown into a box in the corner.

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