Sub Steve September

“I know, I know,” he sighed. “I want to be chivalrous about this, of course I do. It’s just… when I proposed I was deluded enough to believe I was in love with her. And she and Jonathan simply will not or cannot hide their feelings for each other. She’s already gifted him a locket with a cameo and her hair! Miss Perkins is tittering that I’m a cuckolded husband and I’m not yet wed. The rest of society will follow suit.”

“I could be your lavender mistress?” offered Robin, helpfully. “Feel free to use Nancy’s fortune to whisk me to Paris or off on the Grand Tour whenever you wish. Some folks believe you and I are up to something wonderfully scandalous anyhow. They’ll never guess we’re not, so what does it signify? Ow!”

“Sorry!” Steve cringed, realizing it was he who’d committed the first faux pas with his feet. He slid his hand from Robin’s waist and led her from the floor. “Let’s drink ourselves silly on that port-wine punch and get the hell out of here.”

He’d scarce raised the liquor to his lips when a strange hum swept through the company. Silence reared up save the jaunty scratchings of the string quartet. Several illustrious matrons rose from their card tables and sashayed away, crowing for their carriages.

A gentleman had entered the ballroom.

Or, mayhap, not a gentleman.

The newcomer’s outfit was onyx-black, his gleaming hessians and skintight pantaloons topped with a battered and decidedly ungentlemanly tricorn hat. Even from a distance, Steve drank in this man’s blithe amusement at the befuddlement of polite society.

A wicked smirk spread across incongruously handsome features and did strange things to Steve’s knees.

“Who’s that?” he asked Robin.

“That,” she replied, gleefully, “is the new Lord Munson, recently taken up residence at his country seat.”

“Oh. Oh!”

Steve didn’t need to be reminded of the many and sordid rumours. Gossipers claimed that the young Lord Edward had arranged the slaughter of no less than fifteen members of his close family—all to get his grubby paws on the title, Munson-de-la-Poer Castle, and ten thousand pounds a year.

“How anybody could arrange for them all to expire of consumption is quite beyond me,” scoffed Robin. “Honestly, Lord M is outrageously fun.”

A strange shiver passed down Steve’s spine, and he fortified himself with another swig of the wine. “You are acquainted with him?”

“Young Squire Henderson introduced me. Lord M—he’s delighted to be called Eddie—hosts some wonderfully exciting card games, and you know how I adore my tarot. Would you like me to introduce you?”

“Uh… erm… yes?”

Across the crowded ballroom, Steve’s eyes met Lord M’s. An obsidian darkness seemed to pierce to Steve’s very soul. Indeed, Lord M made Steve feel like he knew what he looked like without his breeches on.

Munson winked, pivoted on his shockingly high heels, and strolled back out into the night.

Steve cut across the ballroom, ruffling many a well-trimmed bonnet. All he knew was that Munson was the most fascinating creature he had ever laid eyes on. He could not even wait for Robin to politely introduce them.

He must know him better.

He dashed out of the Assembly Rooms and fairly tripped down the steps and onto the cobbled street.

“Lord Munson?” he ventured, voice reedy and small and swallowed instantly by the inky blackness of the night. On thinking he heard a footfall, he dashed after. He became almost instantly lost in a crumbling medieval part of Hawkins where few oil lamps burned to penetrate the gloom.

“Lord M… mmmmph!”

Someone seized Steve from behind. A fleeting heartbeat later—terror-struck and convinced he was about to be robbed then garrotted for his pains—he was thrown against a wall. A blade glinted at his throat. Steve gasped, tipped his chin up like a lamb readying himself for slaughter.

“You following me, Harrington?” asked Munson, his face washed golden in the lambent light.

Steve squeaked, “No?”

“Poor little rich boys are terrible liars.” Oh, if only he knew the truth of Steve’s poverty. Although, at this instant, the roof of Hawkins Hall was the least of his woes. Lord Munson rammed a knee between Steve’s legs, parting them, and Steve swore that blade poised over his quivering lifeblood had slitted the top layer of skin. “You gonna answer me truthfully?”

“Um… yes.”

“That’s more like it.”

Eddie jammed that knee higher, and Steve squeaked again. He was as thrilled as he was terrified, intoxicated by the furnace-like heat of the body crushing into his. Worse, Munson surely now felt how the contents of Steve’s breeches were… if not immodestly hard, not exactly flaccid.

Eddie grinded himself against Steve’s pelvis. Christ have mercy, was that a great wooden truncheon in the place of his loins? An iron rod?

The most delicious grin yet split Eddie’s handsome features. “You like this, don’t ya, big boy?”

Steve betrayed himself, betrayed everything, with the merest teeny nod.

...

That first night in that reeking sewer of an alley, Lord M forced Steve to his knees and crammed his imperious manhood in Steve’s mouth.

Steve hadn’t a notion what he was doing, save an irresistible urge to obey, to please. He’d kneaded and pawed Munson’s balls, savoured that great rod with his tongue within the limited bounds afforded to it, gobbling up salt, sweat, something uniquely potently him. Soon, all he could do was take. Lord M rutted his mouth, good and hard, balls slamming his lips and cheeks, shaking him so ferociously his brains seemed to rattle with it. He gasped the putrid air through his nose, saw stars spin overhead. Too soon, he was choking on the scorching gush of seed.

Munson dragged his rod free, then smoothed Steve’s sticky hair till he stopped gagging and breathed deeper again—deep enough to whimper with shame and sheer confusion.

“Ah, dirt becomes you, my sweet one.” Lord M stooped to take Steve’s face in his hands, with a tenderness that unhinged Steve, the hot press of tears nigh choking him anew. Munson chafed his be-gloved thumbs along the curve of Steve’s cheekbones: “I would just as soon see this pretty face framed with ringlets, and dress you in the finest Parisien silks and crinolines, as if you were my wife.”

It was all too confusing, too much.

“I’d rather rot in a dungeon,” Steve murmured, flinching from Eddie’s touch.

“That can be arranged, pretty one.”

Steve blinked hard, lest the swirl of his emotions pitch him into a swoon. Thereafter, he craved Lord M’s rough treatment like the opium-eater craved their pipe, yearning through every waking hour and every lust-drenched dream.

Next, they’d trysted at a ruined shack in the forest, and Steve was putty in Munson’s hands. Lord M hog-tied him, gagged him, and then slavered his vulnerable rear with pig-fat.

“Need to prepare you for your special night, my little piggy,” Munson had mocked, and then he’d stuffed Steve with his fingers, knuckle-deep then deeper, till clunky silver rings grazed Steve’s virgin opening. Steve whined into the coarse cloth gag, sucking and chewing, because he needed so much more.

“What a greedy little hole you have.” Eddie twisted inside him, sharp and brutal, before dashing free. “Not big enough for me. I want to hurt you, but not like that, not today.”

I want to hurt you.

Shivers rushed up and down Steve’s spine. They were, tho’ he loathed himself for it, delicious.

Eddie worked Steve wide with something hard, cold and unyielding—the hilt of an old dagger, which he oft kept hooked at his waist with his dualling pistol. Indeed, many whispered he robbed fine folk for sport with such weapons, slit their throats for thrills.  

Steve didn’t care what Munson was anymore, other than that which he already knew.

Munson was the devil.

Steve worshipped this devil.

And here Steve languished, letting the devil violate him with this base tool, tweaking and stirring at Steve’s helplessly clenching insides. To pile on the indignities, Munson left the dagger protruding from its obscene sheath, while he stroked himself to crisis and spattered his seed across his quivering prey.

The next day, Steve walked with a highly modish cane, lest he betray his limp. Despite aches that set him wincing, he, like Miss Wheeler at the ball that fateful night, danced in a palace in the clouds.  The pressure of providing for his family, of keeping up the sagging roof, had somehow vanished into the ether.

In that temper, he received Miss Wheeler’s note. She and Byers had decided to elope.

Steve dispatched a missive of his own to Lord M, who duly abducted him with violence on the morning of his nuptials.

Now, in the cellars of Munson-de-la-Poer Castle, Lord M loomed over him, candlelight glinting off well-buffed boots and that wicked, wicked smile. Steve straightened his sagging spine, which proved an effort.

“You are weak,” said Munson, and it was true. Steve could not recollect the last time he’d eaten; his jangling nerves had destroyed his appetite for food. Eddie crouched down, pinched Steve’s drooping chin and held a silver flask to his lips. “Drink, my darling.”

Steve sipped—the finest Bordeaux claret, tho’ watered down for better digestion, he’d wager. When Munson gripped his hair, tipping his face up, Steve did his best to sup more.

“Are you enjoying your dungeon?”

Steve knew not what to say. Yes, he had hankered for this—Robin would blame it on his feasting upon too many gothic romance novels. Unfortunately, he was wracked with such aches and shivering so badly, he was no longer excited by it.  On the contrary, he feared he may catch a chill, sicken and die.

“Would you like me to tether your chains to that rusty meat hook on the ceiling, and whip you soundly so you may dance for me on your wedding night?”

A befuddled whine escaped Steve’s now thoroughly clogged throat. He wanted to be in this man’s power, more than anything. His body’s reactions to being used and abused by Munson were ungodly in the most thrilling sense, and yet… and yet…

Oh, sweet Jesus, Harrington, what have you got yourself into?

Before his addled mind could regroup and articulate, he found himself enfolded in strong arms, huddled tight against a solid chest.

“I jest with you, my pretty pet,” said Eddie. “Now, I have treated you to your dungeon. It is your turn to treat me.”

Time now passed in a sumptuous blur. Eddie helped him up that winding stair and into the castle. He bathed him in a copper tub filled with warm soapy water and scented with rose petals. The servants hovered discreetly in the shadows to tend to their every whim.

“How do you stop them gossiping?” Steve said, betwixt sucking his Lord’s fingers clean of the candied fruit he was being hand fed.

“I pay them extremely well. I gift them and their families a fat hog and a barrel of the finest malmsey wine each quarter. Most pertinently, I tell them they can speak freely of everything they see. The truth cannot rival the lies that are told about me.”

The next few minutes proved Steve’s favourite yet. Eddie helped him out of the tub, bare and dripping, steadying him with a firm hand clasped on the shallow swell of Steve’s hip. Eddie dabbed him dry with the softest linen, then slavered him with arnica lotion, lavishing gentle attention to his every bruise and welt.

“I see you are half-mast for me already,” murmured Eddie. He kneeled before Steve, his breaths scorching Steve’s loins far hotter than the fire they stood before. “Be patient, pet.”

Eddie jumped up and departed, without as much as a ‘by your leave.’

“Wha..?”

Steve had barely hooked his arms around his heaving ribs, before a servant arrived to help him into velvet breeches and a coral-pink coat, and to groom his hair back to sculpted and perfumed perfection. To be honest, Steve had not wanted to be dressed. He’d have rather remained all wriggling, naked and blushing pink for his master to have his wicked way with him.

Nevertheless, he remained biddable, thankful even. He was shown to a great hall, with a lofty hammerbeam roof.

Tentatively, he stepped into the cavernous space, which glowed with the lights of many dozen candles. The most beautiful woman he’d ever seen glided from the shadows at the far end, their face framed with jet-black curls and crowned with a peacock plume.

“Lord M?” gasped Steve, as minstrels in the gallery struck up a blood-stirring Bohemian dance.

“Before you get ideas above your station, you must be sure of one thing.” Eddie strode near and offered Steve their hand, which dripped with enormous rubies and black diamonds. “Whether I choose to be master or mistress, I always lead.”

“I thought you wished me to wear the ringlets.” Steve pouted, teasing, attention drifting down Eddie’s billowing emerald-green gown.

“You will be whatever I wish you to be, at whatever time I choose.” Plump rouged lips sealed over Steve’s, a ravishing, claiming kiss, that left only one truth in Steve’s mind:

You are not the devil. You are an angel. My terrible, wonderful, immaculate angel.

Eddie twirled Steve across the creaking floorboards, till Steve was swooning with happiness and exhaustion, his feet growing sore. His mistress pointed out that the time had now come for him to yield up his maidenhead, and they led him up the tallest turret of the castle. Eddie folded him over the battlements, beneath a vast and starry night.

It was like a dream, while a touch on the chilly side.

After a rustling of crinolines, and not a little blaspheming, Eddie ripped Steve’s breeches down and worked him open, swiftly and a little roughly. Soon, Steve braced himself beneath the heat and weight of Lord M’s body. He gaped out across the silent, sleeping downlands, and knew he’d never been so hungry, so aroused in all his days. He felt the lick of night air, then the drag of that heavy dick as they lined themselves up.

That great bulbous cockhead popped through Steve’s well-greased ring and slowly split him apart. Steve wailed and gasped then wailed his head off.

Eddie did not take him gently. They fucked and fucked and ruthlessly fucked, and Steve bitched and cursed to the high heavens, provoking Lord M into riding him harder. He cursed for real, when Munson seized the hand with which he was trying to frisk himself. Eddie twisted it cruelly into the small of Steve’s back and used it as leverage to swive him rougher still.

Such was Munson’s power, Steve half-feared he’d be launched straight over the battlements and tumble to his death. Eddie pistoned away like some new-fangled industrial machine, and it was all too much, too overwhelming. The fear, the thoroughness of the claiming, this soldering of their bodies and their souls utterly undid Steve. He needed to be consumed, to be subsumed into this Goddess-like beast, and he was leaking shamefully, his free fist beating and his toes curling. Eddie finished inside him at long last, with several brutal, bowel-plundering thrusts, and a scream of, “My pet, my only darling!”

Somehow, the scant friction of the ancient wall had Steve juddering to crisis in nigh perfect harmony. Before his keening wail had died, however, Eddie collapsed, boneless, on top of him, blanketing Steve’s quivering form with their own.

“Was it worth it?” whispered Eddie, while Steve battled to catch his breath.  “Worth it, knowing that everything you once stood for must crumble to dust? That you’re mine forever, my darling, my slave? That you may do nothing without my permission, ever again? That I may punish you if you disobey? And, if it pleases me, cause you the most exquisite pain even when you do?”

Only one misgiving scampered across Steve’s addled mind. “May I still see Miss Buckley, my Lord?”

Eddie snorted amusedly. “If this dump still had a full moat and a working drawbridge, I doubt I could keep that indomitable wench out.”

“Thank you,” whispered Steve, stupidly grateful.

“I am glad you have learned to beg so nicely. For that, you may sleep in my bed with me.”

Eddie rose to reattach those voluminous petticoats. Steve crumpled to his knees, brow to the crenelated wall, heart swelling with gratitude and affection.

He did not mind his dungeon, if that’s what his lord chose, but he prayed he may escape a while. He groaned yearningly at the prospect of Lord M scooping him into those strong arms, carrying him over the threshold of a cosy bedchamber with a soft feather bed, satin pillows and…

“I will take you to my bedchamber tomorrow, me thinks,” said Eddie. “After I have had time to install the prerequisite chains and ropes. My blacksmith is working on them, and you will need a collar, of course.”

A short while later, Eddie deposited Steve back in a dungeon—albeit a relatively cosy one with a straw cot and a hearth that radiated a fierce heat given its meagre scale. He threw a coarse wool blanket over Steve, smacked his cool and clammy brow with a brief kiss and retreated toward the spiral staircase. “I will feed you before dawn, pet. Not that you’ll know if it’s night or day in here. Later, I might garnish you with those pretty ringlets.”

He snuffed out his candle and left Steve huddled in the darkness, with a small smile twisting on his fraying lips.

That was not exactly how he’d expected his wedding night to be.

No, indeed, Harrington, you dared not expect it. What has come to pass, unworthy though you are, is the wedding night of your most wild and wondrous dreams.

Revived by the daftness of the question, Steve snorted into the curve of Eddie’s intoxicatingly yummy throat. “Uh, yeeeeeah… reckon it was you, Munson.”

“You will call me Alpha!” Eddie’s bark set Steve’s blood jumping deliciously, before his tone softened again. “I cuffed your hands and set you off for a lil’ game of hide-and-seek in your own backyard, Princess. You’re the one who charged off like a scorched whippet, making me chase you for miles and freakin’ miles, and got yourself in this mess.” Then, harsher again and with a soft slap against Steve’s thigh that made him yelp. “If you lie and disobey me, I’m gonna have to punish you for real. You know I hate it when you’re in real danger, and you could’ve been, if I’d lost your trail. So… let’s cut the crap, Sweetpea. Who did this to you, Omega?”

“All right. It was me.” The tears grew real. He’d not wanted to piss Eddie off. Or had he? Dammit, this game was so fucking confusing. “I’m sorry, Alpha. I-I’m sorry.”

“Ssssssh, it’s okay. It’s okay. I know you’re still learning, Baby. Don’t you dare do this again.”

Steve curled one arm loosely around Eddie’s neck, letting the Alpha’s solid heartbeat thud through him till his own fell into beat.

He was still learning, it was the goddamn truth. Christ, what a learning curve it’d been.

Eddie had been courting him in this crazy-ass fashion for a month now, since he’d caught Steve spying on him and his friends. When Eddie had been swimming naked, Alpha tackle swinging freely. So yeah, full points for being a creepy little Omega voyeur went to Steve ‘the former King’ Harrington. Right outta the gate, though, Eddie got ‘it’ better than Steve ever had—something in Steve’s Omega nature made him want to get caught, punished even.

Okay, punished especially.

Hide-and-seek had been Eddie’s idea, and Steve loved it and wanted to play every day.

Having Eddie track him and hunt him down was basically the foreplay of Steve’s dreams, and it made the Alpha’s blood run hot too, but this… this moment, he realized, faintly, was everything. He was shivering and weak, proper hurt tho’ not too badly, and with his poorly elbow and knees throbbing like bitches. He was being rocked and snuggled, gently kissed and comforted. Oh, and scolded for being a ditzy O-head, which he kinda deserved.

Tears welled in Steve’s tightly scrunched eyes. “Eddie, I—"

“Hush!” The Alpha seized a handful of Steve’s wrecked hair and growled ravenously.  Real fear slice through Steve like cheese-wire.

The Alpha twisted Steve’s head and raised his chin to bare his neck, and Steve turned utterly limp. Eddie’s fangs closed down, pinched without piercing. He sucked at the flesh till the suction burned, before grazing Steve’s pounding jugular with a rough tongue. Windpipe frozen-up, Steve couldn’t even squeal.

Then it was over.

Cold air licked Steve’s sore, spit-smeared throat and he shuddered to his chilly core. He’d be marked tomorrow, have one helluva of a hickey at the very least. The Alpha rose slowly to his feet—with Steve clinging around his neck like one of those goofy monkey clip toys—and started the slow trudge back to somewhere safe and warm.

“That’ll remind you to obey me,” said Eddie, placid enough. “Gonna chain you to my bed in the trailer for today’s little dumpster fire.”

“Mmmmm,” sighed Steve, growing desperate for friction between his legs. He adored the jolting, lurching rhythms of being carried. “Yes, Alpha… Please, Alpha… Sorry, Alpha.”

“You will be sorry, Omega,” growled Eddie. Steve rubbed his cheek against Eddie’s collarbone and unleashed a long shuddering sigh.

“I’m sorry I’m such a weirdo,” he mumbled.

“No being sorry for that, Sweetheart. From one proud freak to another—wouldn't have my little weirdo any other way. Just need you to be safe.”

Steve sighed again, happily.

He couldn’t help wondering—would the Alpha spreadeagle him naked with a vibrator wedged inside him, humming low enough to torture him without ever letting him come?

Or perhaps, Eddie would dream up some new devilish torment that he’d not inflicted on Steve before? Or perhaps, knowing Steve was safe and in his power, Eddie would finally rut him.

You've agreed to start Steve's sub journey slowly with some simple language to ease you both in gently, so once you've eaten your fill and are left with nothing to do but stare across the table at each other, now hungry for something else entirely, you ask,

“Are you ready?”

Steve’s apparently more than ready, as he nods fervently, chewing the inside of his lip as he replies,

“Mhm, yeah, yep. Please.”

You lean back in your chair, contemplatively tapping your lip with your forefinger as you consider your options, finally speaking again. 

“I want you to clean up the kitchen. But I want you to do it in silence. You only speak when I say you can, okay?”

You plan to give Steve a moment to consider this and refuse, but he immediately stands, his hands primly clasped and his lips rolling inwards. As he nods again, you decide to add more.

“And, I want you to do it… naked.”

You were about to check in again, but by the way his cheeks are flushing, he's pulling his lips between his teeth and is already unbuttoning the neck of his polo, you figure you probably don't need to. Still, remembering information you read about safe words, you make something abundantly clear.

“Steve, if I do something that you don't like, you say I'm not okay with this, or I want to stop. Alright?”

You raise your eyebrows at him, indicating that he can speak.

“Yes, I understand. I don't think I will, but thank you. I trust you, honey.”

Your heart swells with love for your man and the level of openness and trust that's developed between you, and smile warmly at him as you murmur,

“Okay, baby. You can carry on now…”

His eyes are blown darker than you think you've ever seen them, and he makes a display of pulling his shirt off over his head, flexing his pecs as he does so. He begins to undo his jeans, tensing his abs, and he turns around before he drops his pants, deliberately giving you a show of his pert and perfect ass, his jersey boxers stretched taut over the muscular globes. When he turns back, you see a bulge is already appearing in his well-fitting underwear, and your eyes roam his torso and pelvis unabashedly. You do nothing to hide your lascivious stare, in fact, you play into it, leaning back in your chair and cocking your head to one side, checking him out and evaluating him. You fake a look of consideration, running a fingertip down your cheek to your chin before murmuring,

“Yeah, you'll do.”

His suppressed whimper and the visible twitch beneath the fabric bolster your confidence tenfold, and you say, with a little more confidence now, nodding towards his underwear,

“Take those off too, and put on that apron. Now, tidy up the table, and clean the dishes, ‘kay?”

Steve does as he's told, slipping out of his underwear and pulling on the frilly yellow number you use when you bake. You watch the muscles working beneath his golden skin and the occasional twitch of his ass as he changes position, admiring his toned physique. Pleased with how this is going, you sprinkle words of appreciation and praise:

“You're doing so well, baby.” 

“I like watching your ass. It's pretty. You're pretty.”

“You're being so good for me.”

He's all pink cheeks and shy smiles, and is clearly enjoying himself. Until you remark,

“You're doing such a good job for me, Stevie,”

Surprising both of you, he lets out the sweetest little whine, his hands stilling in the sudsy water and his eyes closing briefly. Your voice lilts as you become a little playfully condescending.

“Oh. You like that one? You like when I call you that? You want Stevie to be your special play name?”

He bobs his head, quickly swallowing and huffing out a little moan, moving to press his crotch against the kitchen unit until you stop him with,

“Oh no, Stevie. There'll be none of that. Nothing touches that dick without my say-so. That's mine, I decide what happens to it, you got that?”

He chokes on a moan, and you surreptitiously rub your thighs together, not expecting to get as heavily into this quite so quickly, but relishing it. 

As he finishes his chores you continue to ogle him, admiring that perfectly round, perfectly biteable, perfectly peachy ass tensing and jiggling as he bustles around the kitchen. As he's putting everything away you grab the chance to blatantly stare at his waist and triceps as he reaches up to the cupboards, and after committing that whole scene to memory you check in with him again,

“How’re you doing, baby? Is this good? Do you like being told what to do?”

His eyes are lidded as he fiddles with a pleat on the front of the apron. 

“M-hm. Feels… nice.”

By the obvious tent in the yellow cotton, which is lifting the lower half of the garment almost entirely away from his toned thighs, he's clearly into this. And by the heat and wetness continuing to build between your thighs, you are too…

As one final job, you have him give your new silicone treasures a reverent and sensible wash, at which he can't hold in his excited whimpers, running his hands over the spiralling matt black dildo and the pads of his thumbs over the ridges in the pink grinder before delicately patting them dry with a clean towel. It's as much as you can both tolerate, and you grab the bags and usher him out of the kitchen towards your shared bedroom. 

Standing in the middle of the floor, you raise your arms out to you sides, and try to remain impassive with your next command, though your voice does betray you and cracks a little in the middle as you demand,

“Undress me.”

You feel Steve's fingers trembling slightly as he fiddles with fastenings and fabric, and he happily kneels to remove your shoes and the garments on your lower half. You hear his breath stuttering as you lift your new harness on one finger and say,

“Help me get this on, would you, Stevie?”

He swallows hard as he helps you into it, pausing to run his hands over the toy you chose together and practically drooling as he aids you to situate it and the grinder.

Instructing him to lie on the bed, you straddle his thick thighs, the dildo swaying in both of your eyelines and the anticipation continuing to build. You run your palms over his exquisite form, admiring each ridge and furrow of muscle, every soft hair, every mole that seems painted on him like he’s a beautiful work of art. You trace your fingertips down his chest, over his abs and towards his cock, teasing him by running them over his hips and those muscular v-lines you like so much and deliberately not touching him where he wants you the most.

Leaning over him, you place warm, reverent kisses along his jawline and down his neck, and lick over those pretty moles under his jaw, all the places you know drive him crazy. He tries to chase your mouth with his, turning his head and dipping it, but each time he does you break away, smirking and grinning as you gaze into his eyes and shake your head, mumbling,

“Oh no, Stevie. You get what you're given when I say you can have it. Now, keep those hands on the sheets. It's up to me what gets touched when, remember?”

Something between a whimper and a moan leaves his chest and his eyes screw shut, and at the same time you feel the sheets move as he balls them in his fists. You kiss down his neck again, down his sternum, pausing to lick lightly at his nipples, before you sit up and teasingly run your hands up and down the dildo. His eyes widen and hips push up into nothing as he excitedly whispers, 

“Please baby, let me have it. Want you to f-fuck me.”

You giggle lightly at his unbridled enthusiasm, but you don’t make him wait any longer, after all you're almost as worked up as he is. You climb off of him and sit to one side, and, grabbing a pillow and motioning for him to lift his hips, you slide it beneath him to raise him up a little. Locating your new lube, you overdramatically click the top open, licking your lips as you squirt what is probably far too much onto your fingers. You let it warm slightly before sliding them gently between his cheeks, and drag them teasingly over his little hole. Steve moans and hums, wriggling and seemingly unable to decide whether it tickles or is actually pleasurable, before quickly settling on the latter.

You press harder, just a little, with your slippery middle finger, and push the tip inside of him, enjoying the heat of him and the feeling of him tightening around you, and he whimpers beneath you as you check in again, asking,

“Does that feel nice, baby boy?”

Steve hums and nods his head. 

“Yeah. Feels good. Go deeper, please.”

You push in gently until your palm brushes against his balls, stilling there for a moment. You experiment by curling your fingers like you've read about, searching gently for that soft spot deep within him that you first found only this morning, and the groan he emits lets you know exactly when you find it. You pull back a little and add a second finger, Steve's chest heaving and his grip tightening on the bedsheets as he moans and adjusts. You spend a few moments gently moving them in and out, and the feel of it is almost soothing. Steve's breath has regulated, and you think he deserves another treat. Your voice is low and thick like honey as you ask,

“You want another?”

His response is immediate.

“Yes! Yes, I can take it.”

You slowly and gently add a third finger, taking things even more carefully now. You didn't go this far this morning, and you're mindful of not pushing things, despite Steve's obvious enthusiasm. But from the rumble that comes from his chest, it seems you don't need to worry.

You stay like this for a while, pushing and dragging, slowly building him up to the main event, enjoying watching him writhe and feeling him push down against your hand. It's filthy and messy, and one of the most erotic things you've ever done. His hands keep twitching, fingers clenching and relaxing, and you know it's taking every ounce of self control he has to obey your commands and not touch himself. You've never been in charge like this with anyone, and you're finding you like it. When you're satisfied that he's sufficiently prepped, to the best of your newly found knowledge at least, you decide to ask him if he's ready.

“Stevie? Are you feeling good, my pretty boy? Do you think you're ready for me?”

“Mmph. Yes! Yes baby, I'm ready!”

You want to experiment with more language, and even though you feel a little foolish as you formulate the words, you figure you're already this far into it so what the hell, you might as well go for it. 

“Have you really been good enough though? Do you think you… deserve it?”

You feel him clench around your fingers as another, almost pitiful, whimper leaves his chest. There's no way you'll deny him, but even playing with the idea that you might is clearly riling you both up. You'd never considered that hearing Steve beg would turn you on, but here you are, discovering yet more about yourself.

You gently remove your fingers from him and move to stand at the end of your bed, deliberately slicking far too much lube over your silicone member and marvelling at the sight of your boyfriend watching in front of you, laid out on display and waiting. It's quite possibly the hottest thing you've ever seen. 

Your mind oscillates between lusting after the spectacle before you and imagining it's you on the bed with Steve slicking himself up, turgid cock in hand. In an instant you understand why he loves it so much, that quiet moment before he slides into you where he just stares, and you wonder whether you're currently sporting the same hunger-filled gaze. Then words that you never imagined you'd hear from lips other than Steve's spill into the room as you ask, slightly breathless and with a surprising amount of want,

“You gonna spread for me, baby?”

All Steve can manage is a quiet, low groan of,

“Oh, fuuuck…”

But straightaway he's compliant, bending his knees and dropping them out to the sides. He's an absolute vision before you, naked, vulnerable and absolutely beautiful. You slowly climb further onto the bed and kneel between his legs, running your hands over the insides of his thighs, unsure whether you're grounding him or yourself, before you take this next step. You lean forwards and steady the dildo, gently nudging at his hole with the smooth, slick tip, watching every microexpression and twitch of his face as you check in one final time, masking it with an air of faux superciliousness and secretly hoping to make him beg just a little more,

“You really want me to push it in?”

“Yes! Please, god, yes. Fuck me, baby, I want you to.”

You hum, low, long and desirous, before slowly, carefully, and ever so reverently pushing your hips forward, breaching his hole and sliding in. It's a slow and delicious glide, and you're glad for the amount of lube you used as you watch the expression on Steve's face change from anticipation, to mild shock, to utter bliss.

It feels entirely natural when you start to push in and out, hearing the lewd sounds between you and watching Steve's eyebrows rise up towards his hairline as his mouth drops open in a soft o. He looks fucking gorgeous. You gave him a moment to adjust, keeping your direction and pace constant until, when the moment seems right, you start to roll your hips. A garbled noise leaves Steve's throat and his head rolls back, exposing his beautiful neck, and you feel his hips start to move with yours ever so slightly as he begins to push himself down on the strap. It gives you the confidence to roll a little harder, a little deeper, and the moment you apply just the right amount of pressure to that spot he lets you know with a long, drawn out groan. You must've been making noises of your own because you immediately join him, moaning along with him and revelling in how you're making him feel. It's quite obvious that he's enjoying this, but you really want to hear it from his own lips, so you ask, voice a little breathy,

“Are you okay, baby? D’you want me to keep going?”

Steve groans into the heavy air of your bedroom, mumbling, 

“I’m so good baby. You’re making me feel so go-od. Please, please keep going.”

Satisfied he’s doing okay, you brace your weight on your palms placed either side of his shoulders. You kiss the moles on his chest and lick away a little of the dewy sweat blooming between his tits before pushing into him with renewed vigour, desperate to see if you're able to make him fall apart with your new toys.

At one point you angle your hips slightly differently, and Steve’s hands ball into fists, grasping your bedsheet, and his moans become louder and more broken. You guess this angle and pace are even better for him, and he confirms it with a rapid,

“Ohmygod, that’s it, that’sitbaby, fuck! Fucking hell!”

He seems surprised at how good this feels, and you can see the smile of delight on his face. He's flushed and grinning, and you’ve never seen him quite like this. It’s glorious. He seems to have forgotten that he's not supposed to speak, but you forgive him because he sounds so good as he babbles,

“Oh baby, I love you so much. You’re so good to me– uuunnhh!!”

From nowhere, you’re suddenly blessed with what a good idea double-ended dildos are, and how incredible it would feel to be filled at the same time as you're filling someone else. You know you shouldn't be thinking of another person whilst you're fucking into your boyfriend for the first time, but the image of Eddie, spread out and squirming, filling him as your cunt is stuffed full with the other end of something he's recommended from the shop suffuses your mind and won't let go. You let the image drift across your mind for a few moments, imagining he's using a vibrator on your clit, or that part of the grinder is Eddie's talented thumb. He implied he was in a band, right? That must mean he's good with his hands…

You’ve not been concentrating on your new treat, the grinder nestled securely inside your harness, wanting to ensure everything you’re doing with Steve is safe, comfortable and enjoyable, but the angle you’re at has pressed it between your sopping folds and it's starting to slide directly against your clit, the sensations utterly delicious. You can’t help but start to chase your own release, curling your hips and increasing the pressure as you roll against Steve and rut against the silicone ridges.

But even through your lust-filled haze your main focus is still Steve, and you can tell he’s close to coming undone. You love that it’s all because of you that his whimpering is becoming higher pitched and his grip on the sheets is so strong he's close to tearing them. You slide your hand over his twitching abs as you breathily ask him, 

“You wanna cum for me, pretty boy?”

All he can manage as a response is a garbled moan and something that sounds a bit like like, 

“Fuckyes, s’close.”

His cock is a pretty pinky-red and leaking, making a glistening mess over his abdomen and happy trail and looking like it could be painful. You wonder whether, if you got your technique right and practiced a little more, he could cum like this, untouched. Could you watch his long, generously proportioned member twitch and spurt, its movements unfettered and unobscured, without either of you touching it at all? You feel another strong pulse at your core at the thought. But Steve's whining brings your attention back to the present, and you watch as his hands leave the sheets, lifting and slamming back down as he tries to keep them under control. 

“Please! Please let me, baby. I need it so bad, oh god!”

Your voice takes on an edge you've never heard before, and you find you like it as it drops low and you murmur, authoritatively,

“Oh, no. I told you, Stevie. No. Touching. Pretty boys only get to cum when I say.”

He makes a choked gurgle and his head tips back, his face screwing up into a grimace, eyes slammed shut and lips curling back from gritted teeth, and for a moment you wonder whether he is actually in pain. But when his cock twitches hard and his thighs tremble around yours, and he lets out the most beautiful stuttering moan, you realise it's not pain, it's pleasure. 

You indulge in the feeling of control and make him wait, watching his hands curl into fists and deep red blotches spread across his chest and throat. It's exquisite, and addictive, but you eventually take pity on him.

“As you've been such a good boy, maybe I'll touch it for you. Do you want me to? Would that be good, to feel my hand around you, Stevie? Would you like that, my pretty, special boy?”

His answer is instantaneous, overlapping with the end of your sentence as he blurts out,

“Ohgodplease! Pleasepleaseplease. I'm so close. You're -uhhh- so good!”

He shudders and his hips try to chase your touch as you run your fingertips teasingly over his cock, tracing the pulsing veins and brushing the ridge of his flared tip before you finally take his distended, rock hard length in your hand. You start to stroke the length of him, running your fingers over his balls and base before moving up and squeezing his reddened, throbbing head, running your thumb over his slit and the sensitive ridges at the front. Steve’s moans become almost animalistic as he begins repeatedly rutting up into your hand and grinding down onto your strap, working himself into a frenzy.

He wasn’t lying about being close. After only a few moments you feel him spasm and a guttural groan comes from deep within him as his hips stutter and his member starts to pulse in your palm. You watch, entranced, as seemingly endless ropes of his warm, white spend coat your hand and his happy trail, stomach and chest. He’s breathless and practically screeching, but he can’t seem to stop, continuing to rut into your hand and cumming harder, and for longer, than you think you’ve ever seen before.

The spectacle winds you up even more, the grinder rubs against your clit again and then it's impossible not chase your own high, only able to let Steve know it's overtaking you with a garbled, 

“Fuck, shit, Steve! I'm–” 

You continue to rut against him, and your grip on his sensitive dick becomes almost painfully strong, but he can’t speak, let alone deny you this. He moans along with you as you take what you need, as your vision whites out and your high crashes over you, moving over your whole body in pulsing waves of incandescent heat.

Breathless and gasping, and still shaking from your intense climax, you eventually collapse on top of him, palm still around his cock and uncaring about the mess between you. You're sweaty and sighing as you both come down, and you don't know how long you lie there, but Steve eventually manages to speak, checking in with a whispered, 

“You okay, baby?”

You let out a wheezy giggle, replying, 

“Uh, I think so. You?”

He cackles, a wild and high-pitched thing, one hand now dragging down his face as if he can't quite believe what you both just did, as he confirms,

“Oh, fuck me, yes. Jeezus.”

You both hum contentedly, one of his hands drawing patterns on your shoulder blades as you idly fiddle with the hair on his chest. You're as exhausted and pleasantly fogged as he is, but as your combined cum and sweat starts to cool and your muscles come back to life you realise that, this time, it's him that needs taking care of. Unsure exactly what to do next, you ask,

“Are you, umm… Are you okay for me to… pull out?”

He exhales, relaxing, before assuring you,

“Mhmm, yep.”

You start to move your hips away from his, not too quickly in case it might be painful or uncomfortable. To your relief, the dildo slides easily from him, and he sighs quietly as you disengage. Moving the pillow from underneath him as you slip off the end of the bed, you hold his thigh and kiss the inside of his knee, assuring him you'll be right back. 

After depositing the toys in the bathroom and starting to fill the tub, you return with a warm washcloth and run it over his abdomen and chest before gently nudging at his cheeks to clean up some of the lube. He's lying with one arm resting over his eyes and he reaches the other out towards you as you work, encouraging you closer to him. He pulls playfully at your hand, and you flop down over him, both off his strong arms wrapped around you now as he nuzzles into your hairline before you lean up and peck kisses all over his chin and cheek. After an indulgent moment of closeness, you encourage him to move.

“Come on, baby. Let's get you cleaned up.”

He lets you lead him carefully to the bathroom, his gait subtly different to usual but nothing that especially worries you, and you help him to step into the bath before joining behind him. You bathe leisurely and gratifyingly in the warm suds, choosing your favourite bubbles that you save for special occasions. You use a soft sponge to clean you both before indulging yourself a little more and rubbing your palms through his damp chest hair, over his nipples and moles and down over his belly and navel. He hums softly, tangling his fingers with yours and resting his head against your chest, both of you relishing in the cosy and intimate experience.

Whilst you know you had a good time, and you're pretty sure Steve did too, you can't help but need certainty, and whisper quietly,

“Was that… okay?”

He turns his head to look over his shoulder at you, reassuring you and letting you know that,

“Honey, it was perfect. You're perfect. I love you so much.”

You hum softly and move a strand of damp hair from his forehead as you continue,

“Would you want to do anything… differently?”

You see a peachy blush bloom across the apples of his cheeks, as he bats his eyelashes and replies, with barely feigned indifference,

“No, I don't think so. Although… I wouldn't necessarily mind if you wanted to get a little… meaner?”

“Oh! You think you deserve some punishment next time, huh?”

His cheeks flush darker and he wiggles in your hold as you playfully tickle your fingertips down his sides, but in all honesty, the prospect excites you more than you’d imagined. You end up leaning around his shoulder, joining your mouths and kissing him deeply as you cup the side of his neck, cementing your bond and your commitment to finding out even more about each other.

Once the water’s cooled you dry both of you off and settle Steve in bed. Heading to the kitchen, you bring a simple snack of cold food back to your bedroom, cuddling into Steve as you eat, nibbling on the morsels you feed each other and smiling with lovesick grins. When you're done, Steve snuggles down the bed and into your lap, settling himself on his side between your thighs and resting his head against your tummy, one of his favourite places to be. He looks up at you with eyes half lidded and his gaze soft and attentive as you run your fingers through his damp hair, lightly dragging your nails across his scalp. He hums, shifting in place and getting comfortable like a cat. But after a moment it becomes apparent that this is still a day for questions, and his honeyed eyes flash in the late evening sun as he asks you,

“Alright, let me ask you something else now.”

“Okaay…”

“I saw the way you were lookin’ at Eddie.”

You dip your eyes, but smirk a little as you feel a subtle heat spread across your cheeks, as well as a telltale tingle elsewhere.

“What did you think of him? Would you want to, maybe, see him again?”

You continue to play with his hair, pushing it this way and that as you reply diplomatically, trying not to reveal too much,

“Yeah, he seems… nice. And after the afternoon we just had, I think the least we can do is invite him for dinner. Maybe ask him if he’s got any more… suggestions?”

Steve continues humming at your ministrations, content and almost purring. He often drifts off to sleep when you do this, but you don't think either of you will be succumbing to slumber any time soon, as he presses you a little more and mumbles,

“Is that really all you'd want to do with him, honey..?”

Wanna see whether Eddie responds to that dinner invitation? Ask to be on my taglist to get a notif for Part 4 coming soon…

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

Series masterlist

A/N: In case the chapter title doesn't make sense, Peg and Peggy are nicknames for Margaret 😉 Also, I am in no way claiming to be talented in any way, but the hair thing at the end is for @kassy-djomunson and @slutforpumpkins because of this post

Steve wasn’t a pretty crier.

That had surprised Eddie at first; Steve was usually pretty. Pretty in class, with his puzzled frowns of incomprehension. Pretty in the hallway, slouched against some poor kid’s locker pretending to listen to his teammates' stupid jock talk while he watched Eddie walk by. Pretty in his bed, stripped naked, wrists tied to the headboard, waiting for Eddie’s orders; Eddie’s permission.

Eddie untied Steve’s wrists and rubbed each one gently. He’d been a little worried the tie - the one Steve had worn for graduation that afternoon - would stretch too thin and cut into skin. But the red rings were already fading and probably would be gone by morning. Only the tie was ruined.

Kind of a waste; it had looked good with the suit Steve had been wearing when Eddie came over. Probably expensive, too. But when Steve had casually suggested Eddie use it, well, how could he say no?

Eddie had a knack for ruining pretty things.

The water glass on the end table was for drinking, but Eddie dipped his discarded tee shirt into it and dabbed it against Steve’s eyes. It wasn’t cold enough to completely clear up the redness and swelling, but it would do until Eddie could run downstairs for something better. Maybe while Steve showered.

“You back with me, Baby?” Eddie asked, softly. Steve’s response was a pleased hum Eddie interpreted as sort of. Present enough to sit up and drink the water; not enough for Eddie to get up and get more.

As nice as Steve’s bed was, with its extra space and convenient headboard, it was obnoxiously far away from the bathroom and kitchen. When they did this at Eddie’s place, he could refill a water glass without leaving Steve’s sight. Unlike here with long hallways and closed doors.

“Ready to shower?” Eddie wanted to give Steve more time - would give it, in other circumstances. There was something special about the interval between the end of a scene and the resumption of real life. A liminal period where he could be gentle and affectionate without it feeling out of place or presumptuous. Where he didn’t have to hide care under jokes.

But Eddie wasn’t confident of how long they’d have the house to themselves. Wayne catching them would be humiliating; Steve’s parents finding them post-coital might be genuinely dangerous.

“Yeah,” Steve sighed. He lay down across Eddie’s chest instead of getting up. With a warm laugh, Eddie carded his fingers through Steve’s hair.

“We do have to get up,” he reminded Steve, after a minute. “Get you cleaned up, and get some more water into you.”

Steve groaned, but sat up. His left hand slid down Eddie’s chest and onto his thigh. It didn’t feel sexual, despite the circumstances. Just a gentle connection. Like Steve wasn’t quite ready to let go.

Eddie didn’t particularly want to let go yet, either. Aftercare grounded him as much as it grounded Steve. And zeroing in on the worthlessness of Steve’s diploma had been a bit of a double-edged sword.

“Eddie?” Steve’s voice was tentative and a little raspy. “Are you - was it good?”

“Shouldn’t I be asking you that?” he teased. “Yes, Stevie, you were good.”

“That’s not what I meant.” Steve’s expression was odd, caught between annoyed and pleased with Eddie’s response. “Shower with me? My parent’s bathroom has a huge shower.”

Eddie kissed the side of Steve’s neck, just under the back of his jaw.

When the crowds of potential buyers started pouring in, he was scared out of his wits, of course, but he was fine with being a bunny.

For a start, he preferred it to puppy play—all that following orders, and some of the clients expected submissive wetting. Ugh. So not his thing. As a kitty-boy, he was never sure if he was expected to curl in a lap and purr, or go all slinky, bitey and scratchy.

Bunny was relatively easy. All he had to do was munch on the odd carrot, preen his hair and ears, and look cute and slightly wide-eyed and scared.

And pray to whatever deity would listen to dumb little bunnies that his favorite customer dropped by.

Eddie Munson.

Lead singer of alpha-metal Gods, ‘Corroded Coffin’ and a huge fan of Steve’s cage-dancing. He’d performed several lap-dances for Eddie, too. One night he’d gotten slick all over Eddie’s pants, a real floodtide gush. Eddie whooped and stuffed a hundred-dollar bill in the front of Steve’s shorts, groping shamelessly at Steve’s pussy.

Which weeped for Eddie in Steve’s dreams every night. Fuck, if Steve wasn’t pumped with so many hormone suppressants, he was pretty sure Eddie would’ve sent him into heat.

He doubted the feelings were mutual. Eddie probably had a whole harem of Omegas, deflowered a fresh one every night. But maybe, just maybe, Eddie coveted him just enough to be interested in taking a new pet back to his rockstar condo?

Today at the sale, most of the potential buyers passed Steve by. He wasn’t the most petite Omega, though he was still a helluva lot smaller than any of the Alphas. Also, he’d gotten a reputation as a bit of a brat, which many customers liked, but it didn’t really match the bunny image. None of the buyers who wandered his way were particularly appealing anyhow. He was relieved that only one of them got him out of his hutch to examine him properly—giving his ass and thighs a cursory squeeze before saying Steve was cute, but he wanted a female filly.

I’m a bunny, dipshit! Does that look like a pony-tale? Pony ears? Or did you think I was a goddamn burro?

MORON!

He curled his lip, relieved the guy left him alone. He’d smelled of burnt pork and made Steve’s skin crawl. The day wore on. Steve’s nerves hummed like livewires. He’d been curled in his hutch for hours, and his arms and legs were crampy, and his feet were turning numb. Worse, the hay scratched everywhere and had already given him several sneezing fits. Snotty bunnies weren’t exactly appealing, right?

He whimpered as his Omega friends were snapped up in the sale and left with Alphas, one by one. He hoped they’d be treated okay and wondered if he’d ever see them again. What would become of him if Eddie didn’t come? If nobody wanted him? Omegas weren’t allowed to live alone or have a job or a bank account without consent from an Alpha. Would he be sold to be bred for science research? Or end up in a state-run brothel, shoved to work endless nights in a glory hole?

A big fat tear rolled down his cheek, which he swiped away fast.

Then he wiped his nose, which twitched madly.

He knew that scent, tho’ he barely trusted his senses right now.

Could it be? Had Eddie Munson come for him?

He sat bolt upright, and finally, ‘the wolf’ strolled in. Munson looked every inch the rock-star front man he was, with his muscle-hugging black vest, terrifying tats, and a pair of jeans that were more rip than denim and that left little of that epic Alpha bulge to the imagination.

“I’m over here,” whispered Steve, grasping the bars of his cage. He squirmed at the sudden spike of heat in his belly, the slight dampness between his legs. He’d whine and beg and scream for Eddie if he could. “Me, me, me, me! C’mon, please! You gotta buy me?”

Eddie’s gaze roved across the room and landed on Steve. A dazzling grin split his devilishly gorgeous features. He stalked over, Alpha fangs glinting, nostrils flaring, while Steve inhaled more of that sumptuous scent.

Bourbon. Rich dark tea.  A twist of something metallic like blood. As it filled Steve’s lungs, he grew wetter and almost swooned.

“Hello, little Bunny. You still looking for your forever home?” Eddie thrust his face so close to the bars Steve squeaked on reflex. Eddie clicked his fingers, and Tommy scuttled over. “Open it. Now. I wanna pet the bun and see if it likes me.”

“On it, sir,” said Tommy, turning a clunky key in the lock and shooting Steve a stern look. “Be a good little rabbit.”

Steve rolled his eyes, bit back a snarky retort. He didn’t much like being bossed around by the shit-for-brains Beta, especially since Tommy fucked up so catastrophically. He also figured this wasn’t the best time to misbehave.

The barred door swung open.

On another reflex, Steve pressed himself to the back of the hutch, heart pounding out of his chest like the cornered prey he was. Tommy grabbed his arm, went to drag him out of the cage.

With a growl, Eddie shoved Tommy out of the way. Next thing Steve knew, Eddie had reached in, taken both his hands, and carefully guided him out, and then off the counter, and then down onto his feet.

The world spun 360 degrees around Steve, whose legs were dead, and his knees buckled.

Eddie clasped him to his solid Alpha chest, catching him before he fell. Steve swore he heard a low raspy whisper, “You’re safe little Omega, you’re safe.”

A firm hand swept a comforting circle on his back, as his legs found their strength. Then Eddie stepped away, paws rested about Steve’s slender waist to steady him. “Let’s take a look at you, Bunny-pie.”

Steve inhaled sharply. He couldn’t help it. Yeah, he didn’t mind attention usually, and he loved Eddie’s attention especially. He’d rarely felt quite so much like a raw piece of meat. His teeny shorts cut high across his butt cheeks. His crop top bared his butterfly filled tummy.  It was empty too—he’d chiefly sucked rather than nibbled his carrot.

He wasn’t hungry.

How could he be?

He could feel a dozen ravenous gazes searing into him. Alphas other than Eddie, who were doing the rounds, buying up Omegas. Would they pounce? Steal him from Eddie?

He hooked his arms around his ribs and shuddered, ears flopping against his hair.

“Uh, uh,” scolded Eddie softly, with the merest tap of Steve’s elbow. Steve’s arms fell to his side. He stood stock still, save the finest bone-deep tremor.

A strange sense of relief washed through him.

He was being eaten here, eaten up by Eddie’s eyes, as the Alpha circled him, growling in what Steve hoped was appreciation.

He simply had to do as he was bid and accept his fate.

“Delicious,” said ‘the wolf’, voice slamming Steve from behind, one Alpha paw now landing on his butt, squeezing briefly but brutally enough to make the flesh sing. When Steve dared to peep, Eddie’s thumb fiddled with his cottontail.

“You like this, bun-bun?” murmured Eddie, “you like it when I toy with your lil’ fluffy tail, your plump lil’ ass?”

“Yes, Alpha,” squeaked Steve, eyes back to the front, and really, it wasn’t a lie. Eddie fondled his ass and stroked his thigh, and the rest of the world vanished beyond Eddie, Eddie, Eddie, and... Oh God! He was so intensely aware of the huge, scary Alpha looming behind him, and not only his touch. Steve drowned in Eddie’s scent, so thick he almost wheezed with it, and… Oh God!

Steve clenched, squirmed. A thin trickle of slick bled down his inner thigh. “Sorry, Alpha, I’m sorry.”

“What you sorry for, baby-bun?” Eddie’s breath scorched against his nape and every hair on Steve’s body stood to attention. “Who wants a bunny who doesn’t like being petted, who cowers in their straw, huh?” His hand slid between Steve sticky thighs, stroking far too tenderly, as Steve squealed, distress mingled with need, turning the fabric that cut into his slit totally sodden. The Alpha slid forward and squeezed at Steve’s mound—hard enough for Steve to startle, stagger slightly, head lolling as he readied to fall into submission.

Eddie’s palm began to gently rub then roughly scrub. Back and forth. Back and forth. The increased friction was killing Steve, who flopped backward into Eddie, and the vibration of the Alpha’s dark chuckle shook through him.

He was gone. He was lost. His pussy throbbed with need, his clit sparking desperately for more.

Scariest of all, a huge Alpha dick slabbed against the small of his back.

He needed that dick to impale him to the hilt, right now, to ease that torturously gaping ache inside him, to make those sparks catch and burn—burn him to cinders like a moth for all he cared. He fidgeted and bounced his springy ass off Eddie’s hardening bulge, though it was no good. Eddie had one arm braced in front of Steve’s chest and crushed him tighter when he wriggled too much.

Steve only realized he was sobbing when he tasted the tears on his lips.

His eyes fluttered open.

Most of the other customers had stopped to stare. The remaining unwanted ‘pets’ peeped curiously from their cages. Eddie was making an exhibition of this, and Steve didn’t care.

“Alpha, please?” he whined, curling his icy bare toes, though he wasn’t supposed to beg unless given permission.

“Sssssh, it’s okay little bunny.”

Eddie’s stopped playing with him.

Noooooo!

Eddie instead plunged his hand down the back of Steve’s shorts.

Aaaaaah!

“You know where i’m gonna put your bunny tail if I take you home?” husked Eddie, zoning in on Steve’s ring, smearing it with Steve’s own copious slick. “I’m gonna put your little fluffy bun tail on a big fat butt-plug and work you open with it, screw into you slow. The next day, I’m gonna find an even fatter one, and after a few days... You know, little bunny, I think you’re gonna be ready to take my big dick in both your little holes, one right after another. Would you enjoy that? Will you cry and beg and squirm for me?”

Steve couldn’t answer. His mind was mush. Eddie mercilessly fingered him till... Oh God, oh God, oh God! Eddie worked a slippery finger inside. Steve sure as heck sniffled and squirmed and bucked back against Eddie’s cloying touch, as if he could inhale that fat digit up his ass.

Even with his freaky Omega biology, he didn’t come that easily when his asshole was fingered, but now, with this Alpha, already so turned on..? Eddie nailed him deeper, proper finger fucking, ramming deep as a broad knuckle. Then deeper till Steve felt the icy cool graze of a metal ring, and the stretch inside him scorched. All Steve could think about was how much better it would be when Eddie kept that promise to stretch open both his holes with that massive dick, one after another, stretch them beyond the point of pain...

An epic gush of slick escaped him, puddling around his bare feet. Bad as submissive wetting. He was past caring. He whimpered like he was dying, and his breaths between were staccato hiccups. It was gonna happen, he was gonna come, right here, right now, in the middle of the club, when all the other Omegas had gone away quietly, none of them making a scene.

Eddie’s finger popped free, leaving his hole cold and gaping. Steve’s high-pitched wail grabbed the attention of anybody who might not have already been staring at the floor show.

Eddie spun him around, and bundled him back into his cage, before Steve’s dizzied senses caught up with what was going on. He flopped back onto the straw, boneless on his side, curling into a ball as the slick oozed between his legs.

The revelation jackknifed through him.

Eddie had put him back in his cage. Did Eddie not want him? Oh God, was he gonna work him into a frenzy like this and leave him? Steve shuddered violently then kept shuddering. He felt sick.

Eddie sniffed his finger, reached into the cage, and next thing Steve knew, a thumb was pressed bruisingly against his lips. “Open for me,” barked Eddie. Steve obeyed. Eddie ran his salty, tobacco-stained thumb along Steve’s teeth and then, “Suck.”

Steve obeyed again, sucked and lapped. He rolled his tongue around Eddie’s thumb then sucked like he was giving the blowjob of his life, being dead careful with his teeth, and his eyes crossing with the effort. Please want me! I’ll suck that great dick all day, take it deep and won’t care if it chokes me. I was born for this! For you!  

Questions about his future tore through his mind. Would Eddie let him build a nest? Keep him in a cage? Be kind? Cruel? Would he take Steve off suppressants and breed him? Punish him a lot? Thinking about being completely in Eddie’s power, at his whim to dispose of as he chose…

OH GOD, ALPHA, PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE, I DON’T EVEN CARE IF YOU’VE GOTTEN A DOZEN OTHER OMEGA PETS, TAKE ME HOME!

He sucked as if his life depended on it, which it kinda did. He let Eddie’s thumbnail graze his tender flesh, raising his gaze in hope, then swiftly dropping it again. Eye-contact with Alphas was usually a no-no.

Eddie didn’t seem to mind.

He peeped up again to see Eddie beaming more wolfishly than ever.

And then, as Eddie slowly began to drag out, Steve did it.

He nipped the tip of Eddie’s thumb with his teeth.

Eddie hooted, whipping his thumb out with a string of Steve’s saliva attached.

“A bitey bunny, eh? That seals the deal.”

Steve froze, blood congealing to ice. What did that mean? Was Eddie his forever home? Or was Steve gonna be sent to suffer unloved at a horrible state brothel?

Eddie turned a cold shoulder, and panic set in.

What had he done?

He’d always been a bit of a brat, he couldn’t help it, many customers loved it, and if nipping wasn’t often part of bunny-play, bunnies nipped, right?

Not today, Harrington! You’re such a moron. You’ve blown your one chance with the Alpha you’re crazy for!

Tommy approached, rubbing his hands together. Eddie blocked his path, eclipsing any access to Steve.

“I’m giving this bunny a home,” announced Eddie. “Do you take American Express?”

Now, you're browsing the bewildering array of dildos. You’ve both been eyeing a pretty purple one, thick and veiny with a subtle shimmer, but you agree that you should probably start with something a little less… intimidating.

The guy running the store has been watching you since you came in. Not in a creepy way, in a ‘just in case you needed any help’ kind of a way. Now, he’s standing at the end of the aisle, and when he speaks it’s in a deep, rumbling baritone that says,

“Can I… help you two with anything..?”

You turn to look at him properly for the first time, and you can't help but notice how striking he is. He's tall, with wavy dark hair pulled back into a messy ponytail, and skintight black jeans and a heavy belt buckle doing all kinds of good things for his physique. A ripped black muscle shirt exposes too many tattoos for you to even begin to explore without staring, and the whole look is finished off with heavy, unlaced black combat boots, well-worn but polished to a lustrous shine. But by far the most startling element is the pair of eyes staring at you, so big and dark you feel like they’re boring into your very soul. The question tumbles from plump, pink lips, and it flusters you, given the setting. Steve, however, is completely unfazed, and replies with a cheery,

“Eddie, hey! How’s it going, man?”

“Steve? I thought that was you. I’m good, dude, really good. How the devil are you?”

The boys give each other a bro handshake and loud backslaps, and Steve explains that he and Eddie went to high school at around the same time, though they mostly ran in different circles. He introduces you, and you take Eddie’s proffered hand, feeling his warm palm slide pleasantly against yours as his large fingers wrap easily around your hand, and finding yourself entirely believing him when he responds,

“It's an absolute and genuine pleasure to meet you, darlin’.”

Steve fills Eddie in on what he's doing work-wise, Eddie nodding knowledgeably as he mentions a few of his dad’s business ventures, before Steve concludes, gesturing at the shop,

“So, looks like you really landed on your feet here, huh?”

Eddie chuckles quietly, and it's a delightful sound. He nods slowly and looks around before admitting,

“Yep, sure did! This place suits me down to the ground. I plan campaigns when the place is quiet, I have enough time off to still be able to practice with the guys, and I'm even Assistant Manager now. People come in for all kinds of things, products obviously, but also advice, signposting to other resources, sometimes just for a chat. I just wish there'd been somewhere like this around when we were coming up, y'know?”

For the first time you notice the posters and fliers decorating the shop counter in various colour combinations, leaflets for different clinics and club nights, and a little sign pointing towards the back of the store. There’s comfortable chairs set out in a secluded corner, with posters advertising social events and various informative workshops. It turns out this isn't just a shop, it's an entire sexual wellness centre. You're impressed.

Eddie’s eyes drift down to your basket and he spots the strap and bottle of fruit-scented lube already in there. He asks, again using that deep, velvety voice,

“Are you guys here for anything specific? Or just browsing?”

Your voice surprises you by sticking in your throat, and you have to cough slightly before you reply,

“Kinda both, actually.”

There’s a subtle glint in Eddie’s eyes, something you can't quite place, as he murmurs,

“Well, I’ve tried out most of the things in the store. For, y’know, product knowledge and customer service purposes.”

He smirks slightly before continuing, and you can't help notice an extremely cute dimple threatening to appear in one of his cheeks.

“Actually, if you're shopping for what I think you might be, you may also wanna check out the end of this aisle, it's our new range of grinders.”

He points to a display further down of what look a bit like silicone tortoise shells. You’ve heard about these - they fit over the flared end of a dildo inside a strap, and Eddie confirms your suspicions by adding,

“Ribbed, for her pleasure, if you know what I mean… Anyway, if you guys need me for anything you just lemme know, ‘kay?”

The potential implications of that statement clatter through your mind, but Steve brings you back to the present by gripping your hand and responding,

“Sure thing dude. You'll be the first person we come to.”

Your brain manages to formulate some kind of reply and you bumble out,

“Thanks, Eddie. I-it was nice to meet you.”

Eddie grins at your responses, wide and unabashed, that gorgeous dimple appearing fully at the same time as a flutter appears in your stomach, which only gains momentum as he replies,

“You too, sweetheart. Good to see you, Harrington.”

You don’t miss either the effect of the pet name or how Eddie’s eyes rove over the both of you as he backs up before turning out of the aisle. But you can’t really talk, you’ve been checking him out since he started speaking. Steve spots the direction of your gaze, which is flitting between the slope of his neck, his broad shoulders and his ass, and observes you as you watch Eddie walk away. With a wry smile, he asks,

“See something you like, baby?”

Cheeks heating, you turn your attention back to what you came here for, working your hand into Steve’s tight back pocket and squeezing as he continues,

“It’s okay, Eddie’s a good looking dude. Honestly? If I ever was gonna experiment, he'd be my first choice. He’s totally bi, by the way. Has been since school, was one of the first people to come out. Brave guy.”

Steve’s brazen honesty surprises but also delights you. It's most definitely a day for all sorts of discovery.

You and Steve browse some more before settling on a modestly-sized black silicone model with a lightly spiralled surface texture and a secure, flared base. Thanks to Eddie’s suggestion, and Steve’s insistence that this should be as enjoyable as possible for you too, you pick out a pretty marbled pink grinder with a pleasant texture and add it to your stash.

Eddie rings up your purchases with a smile on his face, giving you a knowing look as he gets to the bumper. He's doing that thing again, roving his gaze over the pair of you, quite obviously checking out his old friend, your boyfriend, in his light wash jeans and that damned polo that's at least a size too small. He drops his contact card and a couple of shop fliers into one of your bags, and his eyes lock with yours as he comments,

“Customer feedback is always welcome, you know. I'd just love to know how you guys get on with all of these.”

You can feel your cheeks heating, but for some reason it's not in a bashful or self-conscious way. In fact, you find you're relishing it, and notice that subtle flutter from earlier is beginning to merge with a warmth elsewhere.

You and Steve grab each other's hands and share excited smiles as you pick up your bags, and Eddie sends you off with a smile, a wave and a cheeky,

“Have a good afternoon, you two!”

Wanna see what's in store for the rest of their day? Ask to be on my taglist to get a notif for Part 3 coming soon…

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

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