Auctioned: An Omegaverse Anthology

by Merel Pierce

  To those new to me—beware.

  This story is not for the faint of heart, as it includes pitch black themes of a sexual nature. There is light at the end of the tunnel, I promise. If you can push through the torture, then you will find hope.

  If dark stories are not for you, then please reconsider your choice.

  You have been warned.

  Introduction

  Omega

  This isn’t my first time. The atmosphere isn’t shocking. The lights aren’t invasive. The leering eyes and demented smirks aren’t new.

  Yes, I’m Omega. Yes, these are Alphas. Yes, I’m chained and kneeling. Yes, I look cowed and frightened.

  But I’m not.

  I have a secret.

  My training began when I was four. Nothing nefarious, but simple things—acting, observation skills, knowledge retention, and self-discipline. Along the years, I specified and honed my skills. I studied the Alpha/Omega dynamic. I learned to dance. They taught me to tease and entice. I explored the physical aspect of life, learning how to separate my mind and body so instincts don’t rule me. My body reacts as it should, but my mind remains functional and calculating.

  I also devoured innumerous weapons courses, bypassing any codes or measures my trainers put in place to limit my access. I knew that once my handler specified a location, my life would be in my own hands. Every decision I made afterward could ruin me.

  The cages of the slave facility are some of the easiest times in my life—seclusion, ample sustenance, clean water, and no need for scheming or subterfuge. And silence. The absence of voices or external input is something I rarely get to enjoy. It’s comfortable. A time to recharge. A few days set apart from the chaos of life.

  It isn’t devoid of purpose. I must play the part when being observed. But overall, I find more joy in the cages than in any other place. When the activity picks up on the other side of the barrier, I shut down whatever ruminations aren’t prevalent to the mission. Within the next day, they’ll extract me from this haven.

  I’ve been mentally preparing for what I am required to do, replaying the sequence of events that must occur. This is the highest case I’ve ever deployed on. I started with little tasks, such as stealing specified items from local stores. As I was ‘promoted’, I turned to larger projects such as perfecting my subterfuge abilities in a neighboring faction or instating one of our lackeys as their second-in-command.

  Then I had my first mission in the slave market. I was too young to be sold as a breeder, so my handler ordered an ‘altering’—scientists chemically altered me to be unappealing for sex. They sold me as a worker slave to the Rontabes, a city with less Ikavuian influence. They live deep in the ocean, rarely venturing out to the surface. Because of me, access to the resources of the ocean floor are available.

  My first off-world mission was almost a failure. All the physical training and difficult testing couldn’t prepare my body for the decrepit spaceship’s flight. I was so violently sick that I almost missed my mark, but through sheer force of will, I pushed through the sickness and incapacitated both Alpha crewmembers. As they lay unconscious, I deployed their missile, the target one of our outposts. Then I slid into an extremely rickety escape pod and jettisoned out into space. Less than three minutes later, my handler retrieved me. A war began between two races, and mine came out stronger for it.

  So, I’ve grown and learned and experienced many different things.

  I’ve been sold as a sex slave before.

  Yet here I am again, on the auction block.

  I am a spy. An Omega spy, unassuming yet lethal, and my target will be in attendance tonight.

  I’ve been altered yet again to fit my mark’s preferences. I’ve undergone surgical and chemical processes, all temporary, but to change again would require the specialized tools in the top-secret lab.

  My hair is an orange red so shocking and bright that it’s almost unnatural for humans. It grows from my scalp and curls down to my shoulder blades. My eyes are such a light blue that they seem luminescent, and my pert, upturned nose is the most ridiculous stereotypical feature of femininity. My high cheekbones and baby-doll face are oddly appealing, even to myself. My lips are full, and my teeth are straight. With a stunning hourglass figure, including full breasts, a narrow waist, wide hips and trim legs, my curves hold a little more padding than the average Omega.

  My cover persona is a mistress, cast aside because her lover got his mate pregnant.

  I feel as though I’ve lived a thousand lifetimes. As if I’ve worn a million disguises, unable to remember my true features. I don’t know my natural hair color, nor do I recall which color my eyes were. Hell, I could be any race, but I’ve been altered so many times that I don’t know my true lineage.

  This disguise shocked me with how right it feels. When I saw myself in the mirror after the procedure, a sense of rightness settled over me. I saw myself reflected back at me.

  Most other slaves in this area are free to move throughout their cells, but a chain restrains my left wrist to the wall. Why?

  Because when they deposited me in here, I ripped up my thin mattress. Now I’m forced to sit on a little pillow, the overseer worried about my ass bruising on the hard floor.

  Why would I do such a ridiculous thing?

  Because in my cover story, my sugar daddy just dumped me in the worst way. I had to pout and throw a temper tantrum, and the only thing in the room I was willing to do without was the sorry excuse of a sleeping pallet. My outburst also fits into what my target looks for in a female—he likes his ladies with a bit of a temper.

  He’s never bought an Omega before, but my research leads me to believe that it’s just because he’s never found the perfect one. He enjoys visiting brothels and sampling Omegas, and each one has been properly cowed when he’s finished. He thinks of himself as an Omega Tamer.

  Just thinking the term makes me want to gag.

  Only idiots think Omegas need taming. Our biology forces us to submit. There’s no special “skill” required, and any male that thinks there is needs to get his head checked. A simple growl from an Alpha chest and the typical Omega slicks.

  But just because he’s egotistical doesn’t mean I should underestimate him. He’s earned an inordinate amount of war medals and is smooth enough with his government that he works in their command station.

  Which is where I need to be. I have important documents to retrieve.

  Unknown to the population, this planet is bound for extinction. Its physical resources were limited before any war was declared and rapidly declined after alien contact. Once the treaty was drawn up, manufacturing increased, and the supply stores depleted quicker than expected. When production rates skyrocketed, our natural resources were consumed too quickly. It is now estimated that less than fifty rotations around the sun remain before the atmosphere dissipates.

  In accordance to the treaty, the Alliance have shared their weapons technology with us, but they haven’t shared their scientific research.

  That’s what I’m going to retrieve—an encrypted file, hidden inside of their command station computer, containing their scientific knowledge of resource renewal.

  And this Alpha is my way into their Command Station.

  Chapter One

  Omega

  They’ve chained my hands behind my back and locked a collar around my neck, a sign that I was belligerent in the slave facility. My curls rest on the upper swell of my breasts, which overflow the top of a shimmery, silver corset, obscenely displayed even though they’re covered. For some ungodly reason, the stylists decided I needed an even smaller waist, so the corset is painfully tight, enough to restrict my breathing.

  A skirt loosely drapes over my legs, the hem falling just below mid-thigh. The material almost matches my light blue eyes and gives the impression of transparency. They denied me any other coverings.

  I walk beside the hulk of a beast, shaking and shivering. Three of his claws perch between my nape and the co
llar. He’s steering me with those wickedly sharp talons with blatant distaste. This guard witnessed my tantrum, and he hates that a slave destroyed property under his watch.

  I wonder—if they activated the collar, would he experience the shock as well? I’m tempted to try it, but it’s almost my time to go on stage. I must prepare for such a pivotal moment.

  That one incident has earned me special treatment. Not enough that they’d mar my skin; as a sex slave my beauty is important, but enough to warrant special attention—hence the angry guard.

  My shivering is only partly an act. The slave market is protected by some of the tightest security available. It’s where I am most vulnerable. My adrenaline is running high, making me hypervigilant—I use this to make it look like I am as lost, scared, and overwhelmed as these other poor creatures.

  I’ve been stationed in the upper echelon of sex slaves because of my good health and experience in pleasuring men, but they’ve also classified me as ‘high-spirited’ and tagged me with a ‘requires proper handling’ warning.

  And I suppose the guard is merely ‘properly handling’ me when he turns the corner too sharply, yanking the collar against my neck. My momentum continues in the wrong direction, one of my feet sliding out from under me. I teeter, almost losing my balance on the smooth floor. After I hop awkwardly for a few moments, I regain my footing and gasp in some much-needed oxygen. He smirks down at me, continuing his long strides down the massive corridor, and I see his pleasure at causing me discomfort.

  What an asshole. I wait until he turns his eyes back to our destination before I send a glare in his direction. His elongated face, big eyes, sharp fangs, and scales make me think reptile, but he doesn’t quite fit into any of the other reptilian-like alien races I’ve seen.

  He stops so abruptly that the collar chokes me, again, and my feet threaten to slide out from under me, again. I raise onto the balls of my feet, relieving the pressure on my throat, and realize why we’ve stopped.

  We stand in front of the stage door. I can sense the huge crowd beyond it. Standing next to an angry guard, my arms bound behind me, and my pulse beating rapidly against the collar, I wait.

  Show time.

  Chapter Two

  Alpha

  The creatures on stage are fascinating, but not anything I'd spend credits on. I am enjoying watching the crowd, though.

  The room is packed, but I have a seat at one of the tables near the front with a clear view of the whole room. The table farthest from the stage is surrounded by two groups of males standing opposite each other. One group is human, the other Ikavu. I can’t see the individuals they hover around, but I have a direct view of a purple-haired Omega sitting among them.

  As I watch, her expression shifts from timid and nervous to angry and dark. Is she going to throw a tantrum here, in the middle of the auction house? If I were the male in charge of her, I’d have already bent her over my knee for daring to dart those heated eyes in my direction.

  I can’t help the huff of disbelief that shoots from my chest as she actually knocks her chair back and surges to her feet. If she were mine, that offense would mean a good thrashing and my cock up her ass, right here in front of everyone—with my special equipment fully engaged.

  A few tables closer, several rowdy females sit together. I wonder which would be the easiest to woo and which would be the most satisfying to conquer. Most of them are Betas, which don’t live up to the thrill of an Omega, but I’d bet a few credits I could have any of them screaming in release in seconds. The Alpha female would be more of a challenge, but given a few hours and some of my favorite tools, I’m sure I could tame her to my liking.

  I'm so focused on my immediate surroundings that I don't see her until she's already been forced to kneel in the center of the stage.

  It’s lust at first sight. Her flaming red hair curls down to the upper slopes of her breasts. The strands look like the softest fire in existence, and her breasts themselves threaten to spill out of the white and silver corset she’s bound in.

  Her arms are behind her back, thrusting those scrumptious globes forward. I wish she'd jiggle just a little more to free them from their confines.

  The collar around her neck signifies belligerence in the slave quarters. Her waist is cinched so tightly that I could wrap my fingers all the way around it. Her hips flare enticingly, creating an hourglass figure that makes my cock instantly hard. She's plump, spoiled, and gorgeous.

  But the most alluring aspect of her is her expression—her heated resolve; her deep-seated anger and fiery eyes; her reluctant subservience; her knowledge of the danger she's in, yet her bravery to stay true to her emotions.

  This one. I'm bidding on her.

  I need my hands in her blazing hair. I need to command her to do all manner of wicked things. I need her mouth on my cock. I need her orgasm to squeeze me so tightly that my knot links us for days. I need her to stand up to me, to keep me on my toes for a while, to balk and struggle and fight.

  Eventually I need her eyes to soften in acceptance. I need her to need me. I need her lust and love.

  I will enjoy breaking her in.

  The guard instructs her to spread her knees further. Her luminescent blue eyes flash an ice-cold burn while never rising from the floor.

  She's too slow to respond, so he uses his massive foot and roughly widens her stance.

  She wobbles, her balance lost, and her full breasts shimmy in a mouthwatering way. The upper edge of her left areola peeks out of the corset. I want to lick it, then sink my fangs into that delicate flesh. I'd refuse her the pleasure of my mating venom, of course, but it would leave her with a permanent scar.

  The screens display her information, explaining that she owes dues for destruction of government property. Her punishment is forced arousal via serum and five lashings, placed below her neck, wherever her guard sees fit.

  I understand the need for proper correction—I’ve administered it publicly to many females.

  But for some reason, I don't want to share this female with anyone. I want all of her to be mine and mine alone.

  Her jailer exposes his jagged teeth, obviously enjoying what he's going to do to her. A beautiful flash of worry crosses the Omega’s features, but she doesn't move or refuse his treatment of her. He injects the arousal stimulant into her arm, and she actually bares her teeth in fury at him. His scaly hand snaps out and grabs a handful of her hair, a menacing, demeaning act.

  She clamps her delectable lips closed and her face scrunches up in terror. A moment of weakness grips her, but then she shores up her determination, setting her jaw in defiance.

  Beautiful. I must have her.

  The serum begins working and her eyes grow large. Panic shines through her features and she trembles in misery. His hand still holds her hair, forcing her to stay in place.

  Her breathing becomes ragged and uneven, sweat breaks out on her brow, and the scent of slick fills the air. My tongue demands a taste. All sense of patience leaves me, and I urgently put in a request on my bidding tablet.

  A notification immediately follows. I respond.

  The guard raises the crop as another notification confirms my purchase.

  I've bought this beautiful Omega for nearly triple the beginning bid. The funds have already transferred. Her punishment is due but is mine to enforce.

  I surge out of my chair and stalk to the designated side of the stage. A patch of the forcefield flicks off, giving me enough time to launch onto the raised stage before it turns on again.

  The guard is still holding the Omega by her hair, but he’s lowered the lash to his side. Her intoxicating scent engulfs me, and I desperately want to pounce on her.

  But desperate or not, I am a warrior. I will show decorum.

  I stalk toward them, eager to watch her flesh writhe under my authority.

  Chapter Three

  Omega

  The guard releases my hair, and even that small movement against my scalp causes slick to se
ep from my pussy.

  The arousal serum was an unexpected addition. I’ve experienced it before, have trained to stay cognizant through the chemical changes, but having it forced upon me under such circumstances has my heart thumping with adrenaline.

  Suddenly I’m looking up into vivid purple eyes. This Alpha’s features seem too symmetrical, too perfect. His skin seems the same as a human’s, except its iridescent sheen gives him a violet aura.

  I’ve studied this individual for weeks during my research. His visage shouldn’t be shocking, but my mind reels. His bright orange hair is a few shades more neon than mine, and the color catches fire in my soul. His pupils are white, giving him an intensity that reaches past my defenses. His lips are firmly set, and the gleam of fangs extending onto his lower lip causes my womb to contract in mock orgasm.