Thankfully the lecturer is a beta, so he remains blissfully unaware of what’s happening, while my nerves are stretched tight as strings, because all the alphas keep turning their heads toward me. They have located me flawlessly even though there are nearly seventy other students in the room, damn those alpha noses.
The omegas can smell me too, but they’re giving me annoyed and irritated looks, because no one likes a distraction during class.
I leave the lecture hall five minutes before the end of class to avoid contact with those alphas, but an unpleasant surprise waits for me outside. Oswald is sitting on the windowsill and waiting for me. The bastard.
"For Fate’s sake leave me alone," I spit with frustration, feeling waves of heat roll through me, coming not only from anger.
I practically break into a run down the hallway and then down the stairs, and thankfully this college building is almost right next to the parking lot so I don’t have to cut through the park to get home. Running as fast as I can, I cross the lot diagonally and race toward my street, watching carefully not to end up in the sight of any alpha.
Finally I reach my house, breathless and shaking. I quickly type the code into the gate and then into the door and lock myself inside.
Shortly after moving in, I planted a row of arborvitae that now grows thickly along the fence, so I feel relatively safe from the neighbors’ eyes.
Still, I pull the shutters down, open the package of dildos that arrived in the morning, and hurry to the bathroom.
I pick a medium-sized dildo to warm myself up gradually, press it to the floor with the suction cup, pull my pants down and lower myself onto the toy, feeling a wave of blissful relief.
A moment later I am already bouncing on it, moving up and down and driving it deep inside me, riding it with fast, greedy motions while my painfully hard cock releases small bursts of cum at steady intervals.
After about half an hour of chasing orgasm after orgasm, the surge finally starts to ease, yet I know it is only a preview of the heat, a pale early warning, and that much more is waiting for me once the heat fully unfolds.
The awareness that I will have to go through this without a partner weighs on me, but at the same time I feel something close to joy, because I absolutely do not want anyone here with me except Bay. He is the one who should be with me for this first experience, something so important for every omega.
I spend the next half hour on my laptop, writing emails to my professors to explain my absence over the next few days. Every omega is legally entitled to two weeks of paid leave each year that he can take whenever he needs it, and no one is allowed to deny it. Any employer who tried would have to face a lawsuit he would never win and an army of lawyers from the Omega Red Line Agency, owned by my, probably, uncle, Sebastien Lowen, and they would destroy everybody in court.
Then I read articles about how to handle heat alone, pushing through a long list of suggestions, all of which emphasize that some will work and some simply will not. Many people recommend long, warm baths, others calming teas, others cold compresses, and still others suggest watching depressing movies, yes, even advice that absurd.
The basic recommendation, of course, is to buy a set of different dildos. The most sensible advice they give is to invest in models that can expand at the knot, since apparently those have the highest success rate when it comes to calming the waves.
So when the second wave hits a few hours later, I take out the medium dildo, the one that can expand its knot to adjustable sizes. I attach it to the wall in the bathroom, spread a towel on the floor, get on my knees and start pushing myself onto it on all fours.
The orgasms come one after another, my hole tightening and pulsing around the toy, yet this is exactly the moment when I start to understand why omegas hate going through heat alone.
Everything about it feels mechanical, task-oriented, emptied of what actually matters. When I finally expand theknot on the dildo, an uncomfortable feeling expands inside me as well.
There is something crucial missing in all of this, because I am kneeling on the bathroom floor with my cheek pressed to a towel and my ass in the air, and the silence around me feels endless, there are no hands stroking my skin, no warmth of a solid, powerful, virile body pressed close, no quiet words meant to soothe, no sense that I matter to anyone at all.
I end up staring at the bathroom tiles while the dildo inside me remains nothing more than that, a soulless toy, and the truth is that I am utterly miserable. The release is physical, yes, but not emotional, and that part, as it seems, is just as important during heat.
Eventually I get tired of the position and my knees start to ache, so I detach the dildo but leave it inside me. Moving in a wide, awkward gait like a crab, I make my way to the kitchen to get something to drink.
Outside, the wind is howling with real force, they’ve predicted a tropical storm passing close to the city, and at one point I hear one of the flowerpots lined along the wall crash over. I lift the blinds and look out into the garden. It is dark, and I do not have any proper outdoor lighting installed, only a few cheap solar lamps that offer barely any glow. I can still see the wind bending the arborvitae hard. I hear another pot fall. The storm is shaking the entire city.
I wrap myself in a robe, open the side door that leads into the garden, although calling it a garden might be generous, since there are only a few dozen feet of grass around the house. Still, I arranged a row of flowerpots along the house with different plants, and I would rather not have them destroyed by the bad weather.
When I step onto the grass, the wind is so strong that I can barely hold my balance. I quickly start moving the pots,grouping them tightly around the largest one so it can shield the rest, leaving the two that already fell for later. I will clean up when the storm calms down.
I also notice something else, a long cable swinging above the fence. It looks like the one that connects the cameras. Did the wind pull it loose? Very possible, especially since I can see fallen branches leaning against the fence, blown over from the trees growing behind my property on a strip of land belonging to the neighboring housing complex, a series of, elegant apartment buildings.
I turn around and head back toward the side door when I realize something is wrong.
I step inside, and I smell it immediately.
Someone is here.
Oswald!
He is standing in the middle of the kitchen, staring at me. He must have slipped inside through the open door while I was outside moving the pots, and the roaring wind drowned out every sound.
