Omega and the Twins Alphas pt2

The Beta's words hung in the air like a noose, tightening around my throat. Lucky night? In this world, luck was just another word for surrender. I rose from the cot without a sound, my body moving on autopilot—knees apart just enough to show readiness, spine rammed straight, wrists locked behind my back. The door clanged shut behind us as we walked the dim corridors, my bare feet silent on the cold stone. No one spoke. No one needed to. The hierarchy pulsed in every shadow, every echo.

We stopped at a heavy oak door, carved with snarling wolves that seemed to leer at me. The Beta knocked twice, sharp and obedient, then pushed it open. 'Your new toy,' he grunted to the room beyond, shoving me inside before vanishing like smoke.

The chamber was vast, lit by flickering torches that cast long, dancing shadows. A massive bed dominated one wall, draped in dark furs and silk that screamed excess. Two figures lounged there, identical in their ruthlessness—tall, broad-shouldered Alphas with sharp jawlines and eyes like polished obsidian. The ruthless twins. Their golden hair was cropped short, a stark contrast to my own tangled waves, and they wore loose shirts unbuttoned to reveal muscled chests marked with old scars. Bottles of amber liquor sat between them on a low table, half-empty.

They turned as one, scents hitting me like a wall—musk and dominance, thick enough to choke on. I dropped my gaze instantly, Rule One searing into my mind. Never meet their eyes unless commanded. My heart hammered, but I held the posture, knees parting wider on the plush rug.

'Look at this pretty thing,' the one on the left drawled, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through me. Thorne, I thought—though names meant nothing unless they chose to give them. 'Beta said you trained hard. Show us.'

'Perform,' the other added, swirling his drink. Ryk, maybe. Their lips curled in unison, cruel and hungry. 'Entertain your Alphas while we watch.'

I swallowed, throat dry. Perform. The Beta had drilled it into me—slow movements, graceful submission, a dance of obedience. Hesitation was disrespect. Rule Four. So I began, wrists still clasped behind me, lowering into a deep bow that curved my spine just so, the exact arc they'd demand. Then up, slow, letting my long golden hair cascade over my shoulders as I turned, hips swaying in a rhythm I'd practiced until my muscles screamed. It wasn't a dance; it was a promise of yielding, every step screaming availability.

They sipped their liquor, eyes raking over me like predators sizing up prey. Laughter bubbled from them, dark and shared, as I dropped to my knees again, arching my back to present myself—ass up, head down. The books on my back during training felt like child's play now. My cock twitched involuntarily under the thin fabric of my shift, a betrayal I couldn't hide.

'Enough teasing,' Thorne said finally, setting his glass down with a clink. 'Crawl to us, Omega. Show how eager you are.'

Crawl. The word twisted in my gut, but I obeyed, palms and knees sinking into the fur. Inch by inch, I made my way to the bed, hair dragging behind me like a golden trail of defeat. They watched, amused, one reaching out to snag a fistful of my locks when I got close, yanking my head up just enough to force my gaze to their crotches. Bulges strained against their trousers, thick and insistent.

'Suck,' Ryk commanded, unzipping himself with lazy confidence. His cock sprang free—long, veined, already leaking at the tip. 'Prove you're worth the bed tonight.'

First time. The thought flashed, hot and terrifying. I'd touched myself in secret, stolen moments in the cell, but this? No preparation, no mercy. My mouth watered despite the fear, or maybe because of it. I leaned in, lips parting, tongue flicking tentatively at the head. Salty, musky—overwhelming. He groaned, shoving forward, and I gagged as he filled my mouth, stretching my jaw.

'Deeper, boy,' Thorne urged, freeing his own cock—twin to his brother's, thick and demanding. He slapped it against my cheek, the wet smack echoing. 'Use that pretty mouth like we own it.'

They did own it. I bobbed my head, inexperienced slurps and chokes filling the air as I tried to take more, saliva dripping down my chin. Hands tangled in my hair, guiding—rough, unrelenting. Ryk thrust shallow at first, then deeper, hitting the back of my throat until tears pricked my eyes. 'Beg for it,' he snarled, pulling out just enough to let me gasp.

'Please, Alpha,' I whispered, voice breaking on the trained softness, the exact pitch. 'Let me suck you. I need it.'

He laughed, slamming back in. Thorne joined, forcing my hand to wrap around his shaft, making me stroke while I worked my mouth on the other. The room spun—humiliation burning hot as they spat on me, globs landing on my hair, my back, marking me. A slap cracked across my face when I faltered, cheek stinging red. 'Faster,' Thorne growled, choking me with his grip on my throat, fingers digging in until black spots danced in my vision.

I cried then, tears streaming as they used me—begging between thrusts, 'More, Alphas, please hurt me, own me.' Ryk pulled out to rub his cock over my face, smearing pre-cum like war paint, while Thorne made me lick his balls, tongue lapping at the heavy sac until he shuddered. They took turns, swapping places, my jaw aching, throat raw. Crawl again—fetch their dropped glasses on all fours, ass high, while they pelted me with more spit, laughing at my whimpers.

But beneath the pain, something cracked open. Pleasure—sharp, unwanted—coiled in my gut. My own cock hardened fully, leaking against my thigh as they degraded me. First time feeling this, this twisted rush from submission, from being nothing but their hole, their toy. I swallowed around Ryk's length, moaning involuntarily, and they noticed.

'Look at him,' Thorne said, voice laced with excitement. 'Virgin mouth, and he's already dripping for it. So fucking innocent.'

Ryk's eyes lit with that same amazement, thrusts turning erratic. 'Our pretty Omega boy's discovering his place. Beg to swallow, slut.'

'Please,' I sobbed, pulling off just enough. 'Let me swallow your cum, Alphas. Fill me.'

They did—Ryk first, flooding my mouth with hot spurts that I gulped down, choking on the volume. Thorne followed, yanking my hair to aim at my face, ropes painting my lips, my cheeks. I licked what I could, body trembling as the pleasure hit me like a wave, untouched cock pulsing, spilling onto the floor without a hand.

They hauled me onto the bed then, spent but not done, positioning me between them—body slick with spit and seed. Slaps rained on my ass, chokes tightening around my neck as they whispered promises of more. This was it. The life of an Omega pretty boy: broken, remade, craving the chains.