Outcast Black Jumpsuit Novels & Stories

Victor Kane: Today's outfit. Nothing but the jockstrap I sent you and a pair of sweatpants. No shirt. No underwear. No shoes. A package had arrived at my door that morning. I opened it. It was a plain black jockstrap, made of a soft, stretchy material. I stripped off my clothes and put it on. The pouch barely contained my hard cock. The straps framed my ass, leaving the plug's base fully exposed. I pulled on the sweatpants as commanded and left for his apartment.

“Arrgh!” I rolled onto my side, clutching my ankle, and tears bubbled out of my throat. The pain was blinding, it felt like someone was poking a hundred pins into my ankle and when I looked at the purple bruise forming, another sob ripped out from me. A rustle in the bushes nearby stole my attention and I looked up through my tears, my whole body going cold with dread. "No," I whispered. Alastair Black emerged from the tree line, he was dressed in a casual black shirt and pants but it did nothing to the dominance rolling off him.

Without saying anything, I just heard him. I was still in the hospital gown because there was a dress code for omegas in the pack, and Elijah was going to provide me with the cloth. So he took me to the locker room first. "Personal Omegas wear black trousers, a white shirt, and a black waistcoat. A dress like a waiter," He said, unlocking the biggest locker loaded with new clothes for omegas. "Pick your size," He immediately hissed when he realized that there wasn’t a white shirt in my size. "Damn it! I told you that your body doesn’t look like an omega. Are you sure you’re an omega?" He asked me, looking at me suspiciously.

Carlos jumps over a bench and blindly bashes through two dark suits, knocking one of them off of their butts. "Ouch!!" "Hey, what the fu*k is wrong with you!?! Wait, is that Carlos? Why was he coming from the gym?" Asked Jackson, another popular black suit known for his gangster vibes and bold appearance, most notably his brown-dyed, low mohawk. He grabbed the side of the wooden bench he was sitting on with his thick hands and arranged himself properly.

I chose darkness. I jumped. The landing nearly broke my knees. Pain shot through my legs but adrenaline pushed me forward. I stumbled across the pavement and started running. People were shouting around the accident. Someone pointed at me. Another person yelled. I did not stop. I sprinted between cars and disappeared into the nearest alley. The night air burned my lungs. My heartbeat thundered inside my chest. Every shadow looked dangerous. Every sound made me turn my head. I ripped off the orange jumpsuit top and tossed it behind a dumpster. A dirty hoodie hanging from a pile of trash became my new disguise. It smelled terrible, but it covered the bright prison uniform.

His breath stinks of stale booze and ash, and my stomach lurches as I fight the urge to gag. “This is an illegal protest, and I asked nicely. Now it’s not MY problem.” I turn back to him and nod to the army of black-suited coming towards me. I smile salaciously as if to say I’m done here, and you’ll regret it, as they begin to start shoving those on the ends and pushing, pulling, them out of line. A sweeping sea of suits against lumberjack shirts. The bear-man turns to me with an angry growl and snarls right into my face once more.

He got up, stretched and picked up a box I hadn’t noticed. “I like your tattoos, they make you look like a bad boy,” I told him. “You like bad boys, hm?” He asked. He tossed the box at me, I caught it and opened it. There was an outfit inside, it was a dark turquoise V-neck jumpsuit. “Oh my God, it’s so pretty,” I exclaimed. “I was worried you wouldn’t like it and now, I’m glad you do.” “You bought it yourself?” “Yep. Went from store to store looking like a lost puppy.”

My dad deserved a day of absolute, unblemished joy, and I was going to give it to him even if it killed me. Taking a massive, shaky breath, I threw off the duvet, forced my trembling legs to stand up, and dragged myself toward the bathroom to strip off my pajamas. Forget the fancy, frilly princess dresses of Disney lore. Forget looking like some delicate, fragile little victim in a pastel skirt. I was way too mature for that bullshit now. I yanked open my closet, bypassed every single dress and blouse, and grabbed my absolute favorite outfit: a loose-fitting, sleeveless Burna Boy graphic t-shirt paired with heavy-duty black athletic joggers and combat boots.

- Elder Council* Dammit. I groan, tossing my phone aside. The funeral was yesterday. What more do they want now? However, defying the elders means risking further banishment. Or something even worse. After climbing out of the bed, I brush my teeth, have a quick bath, and then fish out an outfit of defiance. I put on the outfit: A black leather jacket over a tight tank top that hugs my breasts, with dark jeans that accentuate my thick body curves. If I am going to face the elders today, I might as well do it while looking like the survivor I have become and not as the broken omega they exiled.

Panni muttered, already shucking off the tailored blazer that cost more than the truck they intended to steal. “Fashion is the least of our worries. Here.” Jinyan tossed a navy blue jumpsuit stained with oil toward Panni. As they changed, the air in the small shed grew heavy, not with romance this time, but with the raw intimacy of survival. Stripping away the layers of their corporate armor—the silk, the cufflinks, the polished veneer—left them exposed. Panni struggled with the zipper of the jumpsuit, hands shaking slightly. Jinyan, already clad in a jumpsuit that strained at the shoulders, stepped forward. Without a word, Jinyan brushed Panni’s hands aside and pulled the zipper up to Panni