by Amy Bellows
“I was only trying to help—”
“Damien. I’m serious. Go find a tall, blonde omega who isn’t your student and have some fun.”
So she knows Tatum’s the omega I feel drawn to.
“I know he’s too young—”
She holds up both her hands. “That’s not what I meant. I just don’t want you to get fired, okay? Tatum’s obviously smitten with you, so this is a dangerous situation. You need to find a mate as soon as possible. You can’t do that if you’re here.”
Tatum’s smitten with me? That can’t be accurate.
“I’m sure Tatum isn’t—”
She interrupts me again. “It doesn’t matter how Tatum feels about you. He’s your student. If you were in your right mind, you wouldn’t even consider it. You know as well as I do that the power imbalance in a teacher/student relationship is incredibly unfair to the student.”
She’s right. How could I let my infatuation for Tatum get this out of hand? What kind of man have I become?
“I’m officially ordering you out of this office. I’ll be texting you in two hours, and if you don’t have a dating app on your phone, I’m not letting you come in tomorrow night either.” She walks around the desk and leans her hip against the edge. “You’ve spent the last decade taking care of other people. How about you take care of yourself for a change?”
She doesn’t understand. I like taking care of other people.
“I’ll find a mate as quickly as possible, so I can get back.”
She gives me a sad smile. “Don’t hurry back here. You deserve to be happy, Damien. And something tells me you’re going to be one hell of an alpha for some lucky omega.”
I hold her gaze for a long beat. I hate the idea of leaving her here. Working long hours with a friend is one thing, but spending so much time alone is quite another. Maybe we should both get out of the office more.
“You could download a dating app too,” I say.
She stands there with her salad, speechless for a moment, then snaps out of it, looking away from me. I suddenly realize how insensitive that suggestion was. Abbie might not even want a mate. It isn’t something we’ve ever discussed.
“If you download an app, I will too. How about that?” Her voice is steady, upbeat. She sounds open to it. Maybe I didn’t misspeak after all.
I walk toward the door. “In two hours?” I ask, holding up my phone.
She nods.
As I leave the office, I remind myself this is necessary. Once I find a mate and get settled, I’ll be in a position to help Abbie again. If I find the right omega, maybe I won’t have to make any drastic changes to my life.
But I’m pretty sure bonding to someone isn’t that simple.
7
Damien
I make a list of qualities I’m looking for in a mate, download a dating app, and begin my search. The problem is it’s already five o’clock when I get started, and Tatum’s show looms ahead at seven.
Now that I know I’m never going to see him again, I’m tempted to watch it. I’ve wondered more than once what he’d look like naked. I could find out and put him out of my head.
Part of me recognizes how illogical that is, but the heat latch is becoming more and more powerful.
I need to focus on the men I could actually have a relationship with.
There are a fair number of educated omegas in Grayson in my age bracket. One omega in particular, has a doctorate in fine art and a nice smile. When I click on his profile, he checks off everything on my list. I send him a message that is admittedly too formal, but I figure I’m still getting my sea legs with this whole online dating thing. There are a few other omegas who have the qualities I’m looking for: a dentist and an engineer. I don’t feel excited about any of them the way I feel excited about Tatum, but I haven’t met them yet. That’s probably why.
At 6:45, I put down my phone. I think of how his cold fingers felt against mine—the way he looked back at me with wide eyes. Abbie said he was smitten with me. If Tatum found my profile on the heat companion site where I used to connect with my clients, I would have no problem with him checking it out. In fact, I’d want him to.
Would he mind if I checked out his show?
After sending Abbie a few screenshots of my profile on the dating app, I create one last profile for the evening. Tatum’s camboy show is on a site that charges subscribers monthly. I input my payment information. Then I’m taken to a page where I’m asked to choose a username. To my surprise, “Professor” isn’t already taken.
Part of me wants Tatum to know I’m watching.
Before his show starts, I find a page of recorded videos I’m allowed to view with my subscription. One of them is labeled “Naughty Professor,” recorded only a few days ago. Before I can think better of it, I click on it.
Tatum smiles at the camera in the suit he wore to SLASW yesterday.
He’s chipper and flirty—thanking his viewers for their presents, and asking them if they want to him to play professor. He shows them his desk and some graded papers. I recognize one as a paper he wrote for my class.
He leans forward and, with a conspiratorial whisper, says, “I have a confession. You guys know I go to school. This semester I’m taking history, and fuck. The professor… He could take this ass for a ride any time he wants.”
He fans his face as he talks about me. Beautiful Tatum. He wants me.
My alpha wants to go to the SLASW and steal his application to get his physical address. I could go to his place and tell him my feelings. We could keep things under wraps until the semester is over. Abbie would be furious at first, but eventually she’d forgive me. I could claim Tatum as mine. Make love to him on that desk of his, exactly the way he wants.
If he’d only give me a chance, I’d do everything I could to be a good mate to him.
In the corner of the screen, I notice the time. Almost seven o’clock. I hold my breath and navigate back to the live cam. As the clock flips to seven, Tatum’s face fills the screen.
“Hey, guys. It’s Sundaaay!” He flashes that beautiful smile. “You know what Sunday means, right? We’re getting out the dildos once we hit 300 dollars.”
I’m aware of the basic idea of how camboy shows work. Tatum pays the website a certain amount of money per month to be hosted, and during his shows, he earns his income from tips. I don’t want to be too conspicuous, so I wait to see how the other clients tip. Greg28 leaves the first one. Only a dollar. That seems a little low.
“Today we also have a special toy.” Tatum shows the camera two metal clamps connected by a chain. “I’ll be playing with this once we hit 200 dollars.” He has this mischievous glint in his eyes. Either he has a genuine interest in those nipple clamps, or he’s a very good actor.
Tatum starts chatting up his regulars, asking them about random things in their lives. He understands how personal this work can be, which makes me want him even more. Someday, I hope my mate will understand how meaningful my heat companion work was for me. I helped dozens of omegas through something that can be unpleasant and scary and, in the process, made them feel safe and satisfied.
The tips start coming in—first from the regulars he chats up, then from others as he pulls off his T-shirt to reveal a lean, muscled torso so perfect, my mouth goes dry.
Before I can think better of it, I send him a ten dollar tip.
He bites his bottom lip. “Professor, huh? I like that username. This is for you, Professor.” He slides his hands along his pale chest, taking his time until he reaches his stomach. He hooks his fingers under the waistband of his jeans and gives them a playful tug. “Do you guys want these off? I might be persuaded for another twenty.”
He keeps the mentions of money sparse as he chats and flirts. I wish the conversation could be just the two of us—that he was here in person. I’m sure every other man watching his show feels the same.
I send him another ten dollar tip.
“Professor, thank you. I’ll take
these pants off just for you.” Staring into the camera, he unbuttons his jeans. I’ve seen a lot omegas naked, and many of them were attractive. But I’ve never waited so anxiously for a man to take off his clothes. He unzips his fly and slides his jeans down to reveal he’s not wearing any underwear.
The tips come rolling in.
He grins. “You like that, huh?”
It’s too easy to imagine him saying that to me after I come home from work, and he’s waiting in our bedroom for me. I’d slip my fingers underneath his pants and cup that ass I’ve spent far too much time thinking about. I can almost hear his whimper. Smell his slick.
I’d take my time. Edge him with my mouth. First his cock, then his ass. I’d wait until he was moaning with want before finally pushing inside.
The real Tatum only lets his pants lower halfway, then pulls them tight and turns around to show the way his ass cheeks bubble over the denim. The indentations just above his ass are lovely, and his bare back is lightly defined like his chest, the muscles more distinct around his shoulders. If only I could kiss those indentations, grasp those shoulders as I slid home. I’d tell him how gorgeous he is; how lucky I am to be touching him.
Only I’m not touching him. I never will. My chest feels empty as I realize how hopeless this situation is. Why am I doing this to myself?
As his jeans drop to the floor, I’m powerless to look away. He stands, completely naked, his body delicate and perfect. He looks over his shoulder. “What do you think, Professor?”
It takes me a few seconds to realize he probably wants me to respond. Which makes sense. I’m sure he wants to get to know all of his big tippers. I don’t know what to say, so I only type out one word:
Beautiful.
Greg28 gives him a big tip and asks him to smack his ass. My response is overrun by the barrage of other comments, but an almost-secret smile comes to Tatum’s lips. It feels like that smile is only for me.
The next part of the show is very much what I’d expect. He humors Greg28 and smacks his ass. While his other clients clearly enjoy it and tip him accordingly, I can tell Tatum isn’t into it. However, it gets him to the 200 dollar mark, which means he picks up the nipple clamps again. These particular clamps are all metal, except for black nubs at the ends. Tatum sits down on a twin bed behind him and experiments with opening and shutting them a few times before looking back at us and laughing. “Here goes, huh?” His glee is almost innocent. I would bet anything he’s never done this before.
He opens one of the clamps and presses it to his right nipple, then slowly releases it. As the clamp squeezes his nipple, he closes one eye and winces. “Oooo. That’s… wow.” His long, uncut cock perks up. He takes in a deep breath before opening the second clamp and securing it on his other nipple. His nose scrunches, and his cock plumps until it’s half hard. Dragging his hand through his blonde curls, he lets out a high “whooo.”
There are quite a few clients who ask him to tug the chain. They know nothing about pleasing a man. Tatum’s clearly overstimulated. What he needs is someone to massage and kiss him to ease the intense sensation. So I leave a twenty dollar tip.
Stroke yourself. Anywhere that feels good.
He exhales in a gust. “Are you gonna take care of me, Professor?”
That lovely cock of his is almost at full mast. I shouldn’t answer, but I’m far past caring what I should or shouldn’t do.
I would love to take care of you.
For a moment, he almost seems vulnerable as he slides his hand down his stomach to his cock. “If you were here, what would you do to me, Professor?” He pulls on his cock slowly as he waits for my answer.
I’d cover your body with mine to ground you.
His lips turn up into that secret smile. “I think I’d like that.”
I give him another twenty dollars.
“Oh, Professor. You’re being very generous this evening. Tell me what you want.”
Lie on your back and touch yourself.
He raises both of his eyebrows. “That’s it?”
I send thirty dollars this time.
Whisper the name “Damien.”
His eyes widen. He doesn’t know my first name, does he? Then I remember it’s on the cover of his history textbook—the one I know he’s read thoroughly. What have I done?
Tatum lies down and wraps his fingers around his cock. “Oh, Professor. You feel so good on top of me.” He rolls his hips with the stroke of his hand up and down his shaft. “Damien.” His voice is breathy, exactly the way you’d say the name of a lover. “Please, I need you.”
I’ve lost all control. I tip him fifty dollars.
Finger yourself. Nice and slow.
He looks directly into the camera. “Damien, you don’t have to… I’d do it without…” Without the money, he means. Even though he doesn’t finish his sentence.
I tip him 100 dollars. I have the money, and I want to give it to him.
Let me spoil you.
His smile fades. and his eyes become glassy. “Yeah?” He looks into the camera for too long. He’s losing himself as surely as I am.
Finger yourself, baby. C’mon.
He shifts in the bed, opening his legs until we can see his small, pink pucker. It’s wet and ready. If only I could touch him myself. I’d give anything…
No, not anything. Tatum doesn’t deserve that. I’ve already crossed a line, and I can never, ever do it again. This is my one and only time, even if I have to confess to Abbie so she’ll keep me offline during his shows.
If this is the only time, I better make it count.
Lifting his knees up by his elbows, he reaches in between his legs, past his balls to his entrance. He eases his forefinger inside. He’s so wet, it slides in with almost no resistance.
“Oh, Damien. Can I have more?”
I send 200. I promised him I’d spoil him, didn’t I? If he was mine, I’d buy him whatever he wanted. Anything to make him smile.
Add a second.
He looks down at the camera, his pupils blown, his cheeks flushed. If only I could make him look like that while he was underneath me.
After slipping the first finger out, he pushes two inside himself. He lets out a low moan. Slick collects on the sheet underneath him. “Professor Ring—” He stops himself just in time. “I mean, Professor.”
God, he really knows it’s me.
He finger fucks himself—slowly at first, then faster and faster, the sound of his slick as loud as an omega in heat. He whimpers and gyrates his hips. Maybe it’s a production, but it seems so real, in this moment, it doesn’t matter.
“Damien, will you please yourself?” His words are raw, like he isn’t sure if I’ll do it.
Of course. How could I not? You’re breathtaking.
Since he promised his clients a dildo, I send him 300 dollars.
Don’t forget about the dildo. Will you pretend it’s me?
I unzip my pants and take out my cock. It’s rock-hard with plenty of pre-cum at the tip. Am I really doing this? Masturbating with Tatum?
At this point, I’m too far gone to stop.
Tatum reaches for a box at the end of the bed and gets out three dildos. One is long and slim. One is thicker, but shorter. And the third is still long, but has a girth somewhere in between.
“Tell me which one is like yours, Damien.”
I squeeze my eyes shut. This is wrong. Like Abbie said, the power imbalance is unfair. He deserves an alpha who can give him the world, and I can’t even be there with him.
The third.
He lifts the medium-sized dildo up, and I nod, before I realize he can’t see me.
Yes. That’s the right one.
The other clients stopped commenting long ago, but the number of viewers hasn’t gone down. Perhaps they all want to see how this plays out.
Tatum positions the dildo just outside his opening. “Are you touching yourself, Damien?”
Yes.
I’m already really keyed up, so I
pump myself at a snail’s pace. If this is our only time together, I want to come at the same time he does.
He guides the dildo inside. I watch closely as his body opens for it. He moans, then lets out a strangled, “Damien.”
Do I feel good, baby?
“Oh, yes. Oh, Professor, I want you so much.”
I’m not going to last. At this rate, between the heat latch and Tatum, I’m dancing along the edge.
If I was there, I’d slam into you. Make you come so hard.
He keeps looking down at the camera. When he sees my words, he pulls the dildo out and thrusts it back in. “Ugh, yes.”
I’m close. You’re so sexy, I don’t know if I can hold back.
His smile is big and happy. “Yeah? It’s good for you?”
Oh, yes. Very good. Touch your cock, baby.
As he grabs his hard cock, I allow my hand to speed up, for my body to barrel past the point of no return. After over a decade of keeping control over my body so I could satisfy the omegas in my care, I let Tatum please me. My orgasm is blinding—my breath coming in gasps and every single muscle in my body tensing up from the pleasure singing through me. He can’t hear, but I call out Tatum’s name anyway. My sweet omega.
Tatum’s gasping too, his release spilling onto his stomach, his ass squeezing on the dildo. His body writhes as he comes and comes. His orgasm goes on for nearly a minute, until he finally relaxes into the mattress.
“Would you like to stay inside of me for a bit?” He sounds so relaxed, as if I’m lying right next to him, ready to cuddle him close.
The horror of what I’ve done washes over me. I had cyber sex with a student. And I did it in front of hundreds of Tatum’s followers.
“Damien? Are you still there?”
Yes. I shouldn’t have done this. I’m so sorry.
The fear in his eyes haunts me. “What do you mean? I thought it was good.” He’s falling apart in front of his clients. I can’t believe I’ve put him in this situation.
Turn off your camera, okay? I’m sorry.
His lip trembles before the screen goes black.
