Page 186 of Rage

An Omega’s Revenge

By: Jenn Bullard

Prologue

“Get up, slave,” a woman snarls, yanking me up to stand next to her.

Her name is Madam Ophelia. That’s how she insists on being called, and frankly I think that’s obnoxious for an omega trafficking her own designation. She knows well what she’s doing is wrong as she grooms omegas to be the perfect, mindless slaves.

She’s very proficient at her job of keeping us in line, forcing us all to be who the alphas that attend the auctions want us to be.

Madam Ophelia is also known for breaking the omegas who aren’t fit for auction because they have too much spirit. There are alphas who are in charge of her inventory in the warehouse, responsible for training those who continue to fight.

I’m one of those omegas.

“I see you,” she rasps in my ear as she drags me across the warehouse. As much as there are employees here to help her, I see her more than I’d like. “You’re not special, little slave.”

Ophelia hates me. I’ve been here the longest of this cycle of omegas at two years, and she wants to sell me. I was brought in by a beta who found me on the streets, whose job is to bring the madam omegas.

I can’t believe kidnapping omegas is an actual occupation, but here we are.

It’s been so long since I’ve heard my own name, sometimes I wonder if I even remember it at all. Ophelia calls me slave or various other insults, while the alphas “training” me don’t care enough to use a name at all. Their job is to make me feel pain, or worse, force my body to perform in ways that make me ashamed of myself.

One day, I’ll get out of here, force them all to kneel down at my feet or die. She’s right, I shouldn’t feel anything but defeat, content to be obedient to my handlers. There must be something wrong with me to keep fighting my fate.

As she pushes me toward an alpha I know well, I swallow thickly as he grins at me.

“Let’s see if we can fuck the spark I see out of you this time,” he murmurs, his hand tight around my neck as he guides me to a contraption that reminds me of old fashioned stocks. The difference is that it locks my arms at my back, while another block of wood traps my ankles as far apart as possible while I kneel for him.

The wood trapping my arms is heavy, forcing me to hunch forward, as if I’m begging to be fucked. A gag spreads my lips wide, an invitation to shove a cock through them. I hate this so much, but it isn’t even some of the worst conditioning they do.

No, the drugs make me believe that I want their cocks and knots, forcing my body to slick and perfume as if they were the alphas I need.

“Why can’t you just be my good girl?”

Those words still have an effect on me, even as he watches as another alpha stands in front of me, wrenching my auburn hair back so he can watch my eyes as he fucks my face. Everything here is about a power exchange, and I’m never on the winning side of it.

I want to be an alpha’s good girl, but not theirs. The truth is, I’ll probably never be able to experience a true alpha-omega relationship where I feel something other than revulsion. After two years of being used and abused, I don’t think I have it in me.

I know what’s going to happen as the needle pierces my skin, and I whimper. Fire rips through me, need cramping my belly. It doesn’t matter how often this happens, it always hurts. My body craves an alpha, any one, it doesn’t matter. I’m a mindless thing, keening and whining for more.

I want to tell my body to fight the urge as slick slides out of my pussy, creating a pool of it on the padded floor. It’s easier to clean this way, and easier on the knees I overheard the handlers say once while I was half conscious. For some reason, it stuck with me.

I can feel my mind trying to disassociate from what I know is going to happen, and I try to let myself drift, but the alphas know perfectly well that pain will force me to stay with them.

“Let’s see how many times we can make her scream around your cock,” the alpha behind me sneers as the one in front of me forces his crown past my lips.

“This is such a fun game,” he says, spitting on me as he thrusts his cock further in the hole he’s using. I’m not a person to them, just a series of holes they’re filling.

It’s almost a blessing as the hot glob of spit obstructs my eyesight. If I’m going to be forced to be present and feel everything, I don’t want to watch this well-built alpha’s knot inflate before he chokes me with it. I can pretend it’s not coming for me until it’s in my mouth and obstructing my airway.

Lying to myself is sometimes the only way to survive from moment to moment.

A scream builds deep in my chest as my body demands knots, a false heat flooding my system. Ophelia runs the Jefferson CityAuction because she’s the best at bringing omegas to heel, and she has her laboratory partly to thank for it.

“Take your medicine, little cum slut,” the alpha behind me growls, his cock filling me suddenly. “One day, we’ll be rid of you because you’ll either be dead or sold. Until then, you’re our favorite omega to fuck.”

Being the favorite here is dangerous. Maybe fighting so openly isn’t the best way to keep my shattering soul’s pieces until I can put myself back together. It’s possible I miscalculated and they’ll all blow out into the wind, leaving me soulless.

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