I stepped onto the scale, the cold metal biting into the soles of my feet. The measurement bar pressed against my back a moment later, sending a chill straight through my skin. The overhead light flickered as it hit my eyes, leaving little bursts of color floating in my vision.
I stood still through all of it, the way I’d been taught. The way I had to.
I tuned out the handler’s comments. None of them mattered to me anymore. He talked about needing to build muscle, but didn’t he realize how impossible that was here?
Three meals a day sounded generous until you saw the portions. I was always hungry, always waiting for the next bite of fruit that never did anything to quiet the ache in my stomach.
Those first weeks were the worst. I’d never felt so empty, so I was constantly aware of how little I was given. I still didn’t understand how anyone thought those tiny servings were enough for anyone — let alone an Omega expected to keep up with everything demanded of us.
The handler didn’t waste time.
“To the middle of the room, on your hands and knees.”
Kneeling on the cement floor, close to a drain of all things, I let my body relax as much as possible into the pose that was requested.
I felt exposed, my back towards the handler, as he fiddled around behind me. Plastic opening, the tablet being set down, his shoes moving as he got out what he needed.
I knew what was coming before anything happened. It wasn’t the first time, nor would it be the last.
That didn’t mean I was going to enjoy the torture that was about to enslave my body. But I would endure it. Because there were no other options but to.
“I’ve had many boys in this position,” the handler mused. “Some cry, some don’t. You’ve only ever cried once, I believe.”
Probably that very first time,I thought. I kept my voice to myself.
“I wonder if I can get you to cry one last time for me.”
A cold pit opened my stomach.
If someone here decided they wanted that, it would happen. That was how this place worked.
I didn’t want to cry. Crying always made me feel like I was coming apart, like I was eight years old again and wishing I could run into Mama’s arms for a hug that fixed everything. Or curl up beside my best friend and pretend the monsters weren’t real.
But here… none of that existed.
Here, crying only left me alone in a room for hours, trying to pull myself back together while wondering how life had turned so unfair.
My throat tightened, but I forced the feeling down, pressing it into the same place I hid everything else.
I breathed slowly. I kept my eyes fixed on a spot on the floor, letting my eyes blur the gray into nothingness.
If I didn’t react, maybe the pressure in my chest would ease. Maybe the sting behind my eyes would fade.
But it didn’t.
It sat there, heavy and hot, threatening to spill over if I even blinked too hard.
I curled my fingers against the floor, grounding myself in the tiny bite of pressure. All I could do was wait. Wait and know that the tears would fall, with or without my consent.
“Spread your knees, Omega.” A pat to my bare butt got my legs to move an inch further apart, just enough for the handler to have access to what he wanted.
I clinched my eyes tight, breathing in even gasps of air, as something cold and slim pressed into me. The plastic gave wayas the handler pushed it further in, letting the tube settle in my anal cavity.
There was no warning as cold water began to flow into me, filling me up slowly.
Experience taught me that the colder the water, the worse the cramps that would come with it. Hot water was worse, though, burning me from the inside.
“Be a good little boy and stay right there.”
