You Don’t Own Me, You Don’t Even Know Me

The tender member of your lady love?

Then be assured its texture is unmatched

Now softened as it is by womanhood

KING: Thou dares impugn the honor of thy queen?!

Were we not so close I would have thy head!

FELLATIO: Tis futile. You may have my head but once,

The tender member of your lady love?

Then be assured its texture is unmatched

Now softened as it is by womanhood

KING: Thou dares impugn the honor of thy queen?!

Were we not so close I would have thy head!

FELLATIO: Tis futile. You may have my head but once,

Every time he so much as see a boy who looks cute, he thinks about the predator that's locked inside of him and what might happen if he didn't keep himself under control, and he's overcome by guilt and shame.

Guilt and shame and something else, a thread he doesn't dare pull at, because he's more than this, he has to be more than his base urges; more than the part of him that thinks about pinning down and breeding every man he comes across. More than someone who instantly perks up whenever he so much as hears the word omega, who snaps his head immediately when he catches a certain scent in the air. More than the stupid cock that hardens and instantly announces itself to the world, demanding his attention, which he staves off by hiding away somewhere to jerk off, even though his body aches to have a body beneath him.

The worst worst part is how few alphas around him seem to feel the same way about it; they're proud of being brutes, bragging about their exploits, about all the stupid whores they've left waddling around carrying their babies - some even forced - as if they aren't just the same.

Cheap sluts that give in to their breeding urges all the time, and what's worse, they leave their partners burdened with the consequences. It's the part that frightens him the most: that one little slip-up from him, one moment of chasing his pleasure above all else, could be 9 months of pain for whoever he stuck his cock inside of.

He won't do that. He won't be that. No matter how many times he visualizes and jerks off to it; no matter how much every cell in his body screams at him to lose all sense and become a beast. No matter how disappointing orgasms can feel when he's not emptying himself in a warm body.

He can't.

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Made of

Ethical romantasy