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“Mr. Bradshaw?”
The waiting room was almost empty, all occupants sitting as far apart from each other as they could, heads down and eyes averted. Bradley stood when his name was called, the back of his neck flushing red and pricking with the discomfort of all eyes on him. The other men in the room were sizing him up as he stood, just like he’d done to everyone called before him.
He pulled his shoulders in as he walked over to the receptionist’s desk, tucking his head down and making himself look small.
Bradley was good. He wasn’t aggressive, feral. He knew how to behave in public, and he would. He wouldn’t do anything to fuck up this opportunity. It was his last chance.
The nurse was holding her clipboard out, paper lifted up for her eyes to scan, and Bradley stopped short as soon as her eyes flicked to him, raking him up and down. He took a half-step back and didn’t look back up from the floor, clasping his hands behind his back and waiting for her instruction.
See? he was saying, in actions if not words. He thought about the packet he’d received in the mail, the forms that he’d taken to their recruiting office to have signed and stamped.
DESERVE TO SERVE?
ALTERNATIVE RECRUITMENT FOR INELIGIBLE ENLISTEES
They were taking in the overlooked candidates, Bradley understood. He’d been disqualified when he applied to the Naval Academy, his file flagged for aggression. One report against him and that had been it, no second chances for alphas with an A on their record. There was no room in the United States Navy for someone like him, a danger to his fellow men, to his country. The military was about control, discipline, and an A next to his name meant that Bradley had neither. It would be hard to get a job at all, almost impossible in their beta-dominated society.
And it had been. Bradley had been living in a sixth story walk-up apartment with a shared bathroom, working at a grocery store as an overnight restocker when an envelope full of hope had been crammed under his door.
He’d passed the first test already. The physical had taken all day, and they’d had him drop all of his clothes at the door. Him and twenty other alphas, naked in a small room and inspected one by one, the beta doctor in his white coat going carefully down the line. Bend, squat, cough, walk, and most importantly, keep your fucking mouth shut and don’t bare your teeth at the feeling of a hand right around the vulnerable column of your neck.
The room had stunk, reeking to heaven with the stench of every alpha in there pumping out hormones that screamed touch me and I’ll rip out your throat.
Not all of them made it. By the end, it had been Bradley and five other guys, the scent of blood in the air after two alphas had broken rank and sunk their claws into each other, over it and unable to keep their cool after they’d been instructed to get down on their knees and present like an omega, just as a test of their obedience.
Bradley had held it together. It didn’t matter what his file said. He wasn’t aggressive, never had been. He’d been praised in school, even allowed to play with the beta and omega kids. Bradley wasn’t like that, teachers would say to the parents when they complained and brought his mom out to the school for a conference, for a rallied demand that she put him in one of those Alpha only schools. He’d always been good. He got into whatever position the doctor asked, eyes to the floor and head empty, white noise as he pushed down every instinct just to listen. He wasn’t aggressive, they’d see. Never had been. Except that one time, right after he’d presented, when Maverick had come home early with the beginning burn of heat on his skin. And then just one more time after that, when his Naval Academy rejection letter had come in and the truth had come out about the scarlet A that Maverick had painted on his chest.
The Navy hadn’t been part of his future any more, and neither had Maverick, but everything could be different now, with his second chance. There was just one more test, they’d said, and Bradley had reported for duty today. Eager and ready.
He didn’t hear her at first, as focused as he was on keeping his head down and his instincts tamped down and in check.
“--Bradshaw, are you listening”
Bradley shook his head like a dog, water in his ears. “Sorry, yeah, what was that? I’m sorry. I’m listening,” he repeated, earnest and good.
She had the door behind her propped open, and Bradley stepped in, cutting his eyes up just long enough to read the look on her face. She didn’t look happy. He wanted to whine for her approval, but that hadn’t worked since he was a kid, a dancing dog doing tricks. He wasn’t so small and cute anymore.
The room was cramped, just enough space for an examination table that was still damp and stinking of an astringent cleaning spray. The room smelled artificially neutral, carefully devoid of human scents, and sanitized between each use. It would have been better just to leave it smelling like other than so chemically washed out, harsh and stinging his nose, but betas didn’t know any better.
Bradley was still looking around when the nurse pressed a small specimen cup into his hands and stepped back, her hand on the door. He didn’t look up at her, just the two of them alone in the room. Betas didn’t like that. Bradley kept his eyes on the floor, the cup.
“Fifteen minutes,” she told him, and he did look up then, watching as she rocked back on her heels and took a step back into the hall. The room was barely big enough for the two of them, and he took up most of the space inside, his size harder to hide when he was crowded into a little room.
“Fifteen minutes?” Bradley repeated, clutching the cup. “For–what do you want me to do with this?” Take a piss in it? They weren’t even in the bathroom.
He’d gone in blind, no clue what to expect except that this was going to be test number two.
“Semen sample,” the nurse said, and Bradley fumbled with the cup, flushing as she looked at him. She pointed to the wall behind him, and there was a small metal door there. “Place the cup through there when you’re done and sign out at the desk on your way out.”
“And then do I start?” He asked, but the nurse was already walking away. Would he be in after that, or know that he’d passed? When did the program start? He was in no position to ask questions or make demands, his future at the complete mercy of the ARIE, but he’d hoped that after today he might have some actual answers. Or at least know what he’d signed up for.
“Wait for the next call,” she answered, and shut the door behind her, leaving Bradley alone in the dim room.
It wasn’t the first time that he’d been told to give a sample. He’d been asked by the only clinic in town that would see him as a kid, but his mom had been there then, and she had been quick to shut them down. Bradley hadn’t known why then, but he’d been embarrassed and grateful, ashamed just to have the idea spoken aloud in front of his mom.
But she wasn’t there to say no for him anymore, and Bradley had signed up for this himself.
There was a clock in the room, and Bradley pulled his dick out of the open fly of his pants and raced it as he fucked his fist, fumbling for the cup when he finally came with three minutes to spare. The specimen cup was small, and he was still pumping out his load when his come reached the brim and started to spill over. He’d had to set the cup down on the table next to him and pull wads of rough paper towels out of the dispenser on the wall, sweating and shuddering as he cupped them to his dick for the two minutes that it took to milk himself dry.
Bradley had carefully screwed the lid on the cup before he’d placed it in the opening in the wall. The other side was closed, but Bradley’s ears were sensitive even for an alpha, and he could hear the sterile clicks and processing sounds of a lab just behind the small door.
Shoulders up around his ears and embarrassed, he’d walked out and signed himself out at the front desk. He had to still be reeking of the load he’d just shot, but none of the other alphas were in the waiting room when he left, and the receptionist hadn’t even looked up as he signed himself out on a clipboard.
He’d gone home after that, sticky with his own semen and the medical stink all over him, but he hadn’t bothered with a shower before collapsing into his twin bed and waiting, hoping, for a call back.
It was a week before he heard from them again. But it wasn’t the recruiting office that called him, or anyone from ARIE at all. It was the same medical office, calling with orders to come back in for another test.
“Was there, uh,” Bradley stammered on the phone, rubbing the back of his neck, hackles raised at the memory of his last embarrassing visit. “Something wrong with my sample, or?...”
“This is still part of the process, Mr. Bradshaw. You should already be getting your stipend, did the check not arrive?”
It had though. He’d been promised a base salary by ARIE, and an enlistment bonus that would be paid out in installments over the three years of service that he had committed to. The first check had been in the mail, just like they had said it would be, and it was double what they had been paying him at the grocery store. It was a promise of a better life already, and at the end, he would have a fattened bank account and the opportunity to take a real Officer’s commission in the Navy.
But when would it start? So far he had only stepped foot into the recruitment building, and then the medical office after that. Bradley bit the edge of his nail, worrying his thumb against his lip as he tightened his grip on the phone.
“No, yeah, it did, I just, uh–I thought there would be more for me to do…”
“I’ve got you scheduled to come in at 9:00, you’re right on track, alright? See you then,” she said, and then the line clicked, dial tone ringing from the plastic phone against his ear.
“See you then…” Bradley murmured, but it was a long time before he put down the phone.
His next appointment, they gave him a bigger cup.
They kept him on a regular schedule.
The checks kept coming, and Bradley kept reporting in when called, five appointments a week. It was almost like a regular 9-5, like normal people lived. Not like the life he’d been living, only hirable in night shift positions where his interaction with the public was limited to none.
Sometimes he felt like almost, maybe, he could be living a real beta life. Showing up for his normal job, money in the bank, a friendly smile from the receptionist when he showed up for work.
Outside of the clinic, life was the same as it had always been. Laws were in place that afforded alphas much of the same rights as regular citizens, but laws didn’t change opinions, and people were just as wary of him as they’d ever been. But he got to know the rotating staff at the front desk, and they got to know him. Bradley had somewhere to go every day of the week, a growing bank account, and the promise of a future beyond just jerking off into a cup.
Things stayed the same, and complacency won over suspicion.
Until he came into the clinic one day, the waiting room all cleared out, and the receptionist's desk was empty.
There was a new person there, someone that Bradley had never seen before. A man in a white coat was posted by the door, clipboard in hand, and he beckoned at Bradley as soon as he stepped into the waiting room.
“Mr. Bradshaw,” the man stated, not a question at all.
A few people were usually in the waiting room with him, but not today, and although Bradley had never seen the man before, somehow he knew Bradley, and had been waiting just for him.
Bradley’s steps stuttered, but he kept walking anyway, instinctively dropping his posture out of the tense rigidity that he’d defaulted to. Relax, he told himself. Don’t fuck this up.
It was easier said than done, his spine stiff and rigid as instincts made his skin prickle, the dusting of hair on his body standing on end. Thousands of years ago, Bradley would have been snapping and showing the stranger just how many teeth were in his mouth, letting the growl out from behind his clenched jaw. But alphas weren’t the apex predators anymore, not when betas were the ruling class, in control of the laws, the jails, and the guns.
He made himself small instead, stopping a respectful distance away from the doctor instead, discomfort thumping behind his ribs as he demurred to a man who was half a foot shorter and fifty pounds lighter than him.
“This way,” the stranger said, and Bradley looked up from the floor long enough to see the name on his badge. Smith, MD.
“Something new today?” Bradley asked, following as the doctor wound him through the familiar hall and then kept going, beyond, through a new corridor that Bradley hadn’t been through before.
Dr. Smith didn’t answer, pressing his badge to a proximity sensor instead. The door in front of them opened, and he held it open for Bradley, unmoving until Bradley walked past him and into the room.
Bradley only hesitated for a second before obeying, fighting with his mouth to keep his lips down, working his expression into something that the beta would like.
The new room was bigger. There was a large mirror taking up most of the wall, no discreet cabinet in the wall for him to deposit a sample inside. There was the usual exam table for him to sit on, and then a rolling chair that was next to a computer mounted to the wall.
“Take a seat, Bradley,” Dr. Smith said, taking one for himself on the chair.
Clean. The room smelled clean, sterile, and Bradley could hear the same low buzzing that could be found in every room of the clinic so far. His eyes darted all over the room, assessing, but he sat down obediently, making a good show of pretending like his instincts weren’t driving him to claw right through the white walls, right through the good doctor himself.
Relax, easy, Bradley repeated inside, a mantra.
The vinyl was cold and dry, not damp like it was in the other room sometimes. This room had been clean and ready for a while. No rush job here.
Bradley ran his palms across his thighs, cupping his knees as his muscles jumped under his hands. Ready to go.
The doctor didn’t address him right away, busy with the computer, his fingers clacking away at the keyboard. It was like every doctor’s visit that Bradley had ever had before. He didn’t know why he was so tense. But he was, reflexively swallowing every few minutes to clear the saliva that was pooling in his mouth, glands in his body on overdrive pumping out hormones and alpha stink. He knew that the beta couldn’t scent him, but if there was anyone in the building with a real nose, they’d be able to smell him even through the walls and winding maze of corridors.
“Alright, Bradley, I’m pulling up your file here.”
“Everything looking alright?” Bradley asked, shirt sticking to him as fat beads of sweat rolled down his back.
“Actually, no, I’ll be blunt. Your output had been excellent. We were very happy. And then this past week, you’re down about thirty percent. That’s significant, Bradley,” he said, and Bradley nodded at him, dumbstruck.
His output?
Sitting on the table across from the doctor and the frown that was pulling his lips down, displeasure on his face, at Bradley, at his output, suddenly Bradley didn’t know what he’d been doing at the clinic at all. He’d been giving samples, and with the money and the nice treatment, he hadn’t thought much at all about what they’d actually wanted them for. He had just figured that it was about testing his health, or his candidacy for whatever ARIE had in mind. It hadn’t ever occurred to him that his output was all that they’d wanted from him, all he was there for.
“Okay?” Bradley said, wrong-footed completely.
“So let’s talk about it. What’s going on, have you been engaging in sexual activity with a partner? On your forms, you marked that you were single, and for sexually active, you selected no. Has that changed Any sexual activity?” Dr. Smith asked, eyes on the computer screen.
“No, none,” Bradley answered. It was true. His only sexual activity had been here. He was reporting to the office five times a week. His only activity had been measured and given to them in a cup.
“Well, I’ll be frank. If your output continues to decline, I’m going to have to stop you here. ARIE won’t have a spot for you if you’re not performing to our standards. To your standards, Bradley. We were very impressed with you when you first came in.”
Bradley had been on edge since coming into the room, ready to bolt, but he felt real fear thunder through him then. He couldn’t lose this opportunity.
For someone like him, there wasn’t going to be another shot. He gripped the table and tried not to jump up and really beg.
“No, hey, I can’t definitely–whatever you think I need to do, I can do it,” he promised, and the doctor finally looked at him then, rolling away from the computer to face Bradley completely.
“I want to believe you, Bradley. You’re committed, aren’t you? To ARIE?”
Bradley nodded, and the doctor looked satisfied then. He stood and crossed the room to a small cabinet, opening it to produce a cup, the bigger size that Bradley had been given since his first visit when his come had spilled and overwhelmed the standard specimen cup size.
Dr. Smith handed him the cup, and Bradley waited for him to leave him alone in the room like all of the nurses had before.
But Dr. Smith settled back into his chair, crossing his arms across his chest. Bradley held still, the plastic of the specimen cup flexing under his grip.
“I’ll observe today,” Dr. Smith said.
Bradley shifted. There was no way.
“I’m afraid that I’m going to insist, Bradley.”
He thought of the money. Of the way that it had felt to have food in the fridge, to buy some new clothes that fit him, not so tight and threadbare. But mostly, Bradley thought about the Navy, about the life waiting for him there.
Bradley thought about all of the opportunities that the doctor could take away from him, and didn’t think about anything else as he stood up and unbuckled his belt. He didn’t pull his jeans down past his ass like he usually did, tugging on them until they were just below the level of his dick before he reached into the open fly of his pants and pulled himself out. He was soft, not even tacitly interested in performing under the doctor’s sharp gaze.
He took himself in hand, angling his arm and the twist of his wrist to hide as much of himself from Dr. Smith as he could. It was vulnerable, sitting in front of the doctor so exposed. He was uncomfortable, a world away from aroused.
“Tell me, Bradley. Do you use the magazines that we have to offer? Or your phone?”
Bradley shook his head, tugging at his dick as he looked anywhere but at the stranger in the room. His hand was dry and dragging against his own sensitive skin.
“It might be time to start. Your biology is responsive to stimuli. What kind of material do you use then?” Dr. Smith asked, and Bradley’s breath caught in his throat. He didn’t answer, squeezing his eyes shut.
“I use, ah, you know, like, my imagination,” Bradley hedged, and it wasn’t helping, the talking or the doctor sitting across from him. His hand kept working, but he wasn’t anywhere close to getting off. “I don’t think this is working…”
“I’m going to try a balm for you, keep doing what you’re doing.”
“Doctor–”
“Just keep working, Bradley. Use that imagination,” Dr. Smith said, but Bradley didn’t want to. He didn’t want to bring his private thoughts into the room with them, not here with a stranger so close to him, in the bounds of the territory he’d struck in his mind.
Bradley didn’t want to bring him here.
Not with an audience.
He tried to think about something else, tread away from his usual fantasy, but then Dr. Smith’s hand was under his nose and smearing a wet streak above his lip.
The scent bloomed into his nose and through his sinuses, and a firecracker went off inside of him, synapses firing. Omega. The shapeless fantasy in his mind took form, quick as a whip, and he could see Maverick behind his closed eyes as clearly as if they were in the room together. Tight heat pooled in the cradle of his hips, and his cock got fat and heavy, hard and filling the circle of his clenched fist.
Bradley’s breath caught, tip of his tongue lapping up against his own lip as he breathed in and chased the scent that the doctor had just rubbed over him.
“There you go,” Dr. Smith praised, but Bradley could barely hear him. Eyes closed and intoxicated by the artificial omega slick, he was gone, chasing the friction and tight squeeze of his own hand.
He hadn’t scented a real omega’s slick in years.
The chemicals in his nose would pale next to the ripe drip of a real omega’s hole, but to Bradley in all of his starvation, deprivation, the scent was enough to shatter him from the inside out. Lost in the haze, he stripped himself in rough pulls, his belt clinking too far away for him to even hear. In his mind, Maverick was his hand, was the tight wrap around his cock. It was a generic scent that the doctor had dosed him with, but his mind filled all of the gaps with Mav, the remembered musk of the tight gash that was tucked between his legs, the sanctuary that Bradley had stolen for himself just the one time.
Bradley panted and arched his hips up off of the table and shot big gushes of come right there in the exam room, still pumping himself in short, desperate strokes, wringing big ropes out of himself, fire hot and sticky with the virility of an alpha at his peak. He was buried deep in Maverick’s cunt in the recesses of his most special memory, the scent recall so strong that his knot gave a small pulse under his feverish grip, almost almost popped like he only had one time before, just for Maverick.
He was shaking with it, tremors all the way down to his curled toes in his still-laced boots, lost in the high and not even remembering to grab the cup–
The cup, he hadn’t even remembered to hold it up to himself as he came, and the sudden reminder of why he was there in the first place made Bradley’s eyes open, shaken from his fantasy, Maverick’s spread legs and kiss-swollen lips fading black into phantom memory.
The office. He was in the office, and he was jerking off for ARIE, not–not with Maverick at all, wouldn’t be ever again.
Bradley was still coming even as the scent wore off and cold reality started to tingle and spread down his chest and through his haunted heart, and he looked down to see that Dr. Smith was standing next to him with the specimen cup in his gloved hand, catching every rope of come that shot out of Bradley’s still-pulsing dick.
Shocked, he heaved in a big breath, squeezing himself just this side of too-hard.
“Very good, Bradley, very good,” Dr. Smith praised, and Bradley’s face went pink-hot with embarrassment even as his dick throbbed and filled the cup even closer to the brim.
He wanted to cover up, to let go of himself, but the synthetic omega scent was still teasing him to hyper-arousal, and so he kept working his hand instead, still coming as Dr. Smith steadied him with a bracing arm around his shoulders.
“Perfect,” Dr. Smith told him, and Bradley shuddered and kept giving him more of his sticky alpha come.
Every time after that, Dr. Smith was in the room to watch, and to help.
Sometimes there was another doctor there with him too, always men, always beta, never the female nurses from before. They didn’t always use the omega balm, but when they did, they helped him with the cups, sometimes two of them standing around him when he came back to his senses.
They needed two cups whenever they used the balm, whenever they triggered the sense memory of his first time with Maverick, gave Bradley the visceral remembering of Mav’s perfect omega hole clutching tight all around his cock.
They didn’t talk about output anymore, or threaten to cut his contract short.
On some level, Bradley knew that it wasn’t real work that they had him doing. He had a sick nightmare once of himself coming home and his dad waiting for him there, shadowy and as cracked as the old polaroids that Bradley had to recognize him by, greeting Bradley with disdain on his young face as he spit vitriol at Bradley over what he’d been doing with himself. What was he doing? What had he gotten himself into?
There wasn’t much time to think about it, most days.
They had him going in seven days a week, and the sessions took longer every time, sometimes asking for him to give a sample twice or three times in one day. His orgasms belonged to the facility, no interest or ability to masturbate anymore once he came home to his apartment and there wasn’t another set of eyes on him and waiting for him to perform.
His time at home started to feel like work, clock watching at his small bachelor table as he counted down the time until he would be allowed to go back in. There was more money in his bank account, a stockpile that kept growing as he lost interest in going anywhere or doing anything with what he had stored. Buying a new wardrobe didn’t give Bradley the same satisfaction, the same trip down memory lane, the pleasure of Maverick. Of remembering and feeling him like he was right back there, still in his childhood home with his one-time omega pinned underneath him and tied by the blown knot at the base of his cock.
He was lonely at home. At the facility, he had Maverick, in the only way he was ever going to get.
It went on like that for a while, until there was a whole group of doctors in Bradley’s room waiting for him most days.
The room really felt like his now. He used the same one every time, and the cleaning people didn’t sanitize it between each use anymore. His scent had saturated every inch, and it smelled like den to Bradley, even more than his own lonely home.
Sometimes, he wished he could stay there all the time, get to spend all day, every day, with that omega scent ripe in his sensitive nose. He didn’t voice the thought, but sometimes a whine built in his throat, needy and close to asking right before he finished giving his last load.
The routine didn’t change for a few months, until one day they brought him back and there was a TV on a stand in one corner of the room. It was on a wheeled cart, rolled in like the teachers had done in school on some special classroom days.
Dr. Smith was already there and pressing buttons on a remote as Bradley walked in, led by another doctor that he’d seen a couple of times before.
Bradley got up onto the exam table, pushing his basketball shorts down under his cock and balls without having to be asked. He took himself in hand, already half-hard just from stepping foot through the door. Stroking himself, he waited for Dr. Smith’s attention, watching as a paused image of two men on a bed came alive in vivid color on the cathode-ray tube TV.
“Right on time,” Dr. Smith said, giving him a smile over his shoulder as he stepped closer to Bradley and watched as he worked himself to full hardness.
He always stood close these days, poised to catch Bradley’s come when he was too blissed out to hold the specimen cup himself.
“I have a special treat for you today. We’re going to try something new.”
“S-something new?” Bradley asked, his breath catching as he thumbed the fat head of his cock, scanning Dr. Smith’s white coat, looking for the tub of artificial slick that he usually kept in one of his big outer pockets. He licked his upper lip, chasing the memory of the taste, the scent that he kept coming back for.
“Nothing to be scared of. I’m going to have you watch this video while you work, okay Bradley?” He asked, and Bradley nodded blindly, agreeable before he even knew what he was signing up for.
Dr. Smith pressed play, and something sick lurched in Bradley’s belly as the figures on the screen started to move.
It was two men, and their bodies gave them away as alpha and omega, distinct specimens of each subgender. The alpha was big, hulking body manhandling the smaller omega and pressing him deliberately onto a large bed. The omega went, milky white skin flushed pink and sweaty, a visible wet streak dripping down each of his legs. Heat.
Bradley hadn’t ever experienced an omegan heat, but he knew it right down to his bones immediately, fast like the way a lion could identify vulnerable prey in an entire antelope herd. He hissed and let go of himself, his cock bobbing heavily and slapping against his belly as he leaned back in shock, putting distance between himself and the image on the screen.
The alpha was already bearing down on the omega, parting his legs wide around the spread of his own hips, the prick between his legs big and imposing against the small body in front of him. Impossibly long and alpha thick, just like Bradley’s, a signature of their breed, but it must not have been impossible at all as the alpha easily pushed himself into the omega with one rough thrust.
Even as Bradley throbbed to watch, he made himself look away, dick burning with need as he forced himself to look at the wall.
“Dr. Smith,” he started, breath shaky.
He couldn’t look. It was wrong.
Videos like that weren’t even legal. Alpha and omega coupling was private, a sacred act, not to be shared. Bradley hadn’t ever seen it before, outside of the one time that he’d gotten to do it for himself. To Maverick.
Just thinking about Maverick, spread out just like the omega in the video, made his dick burn with the need to touch, jerk himself to completion. To relief.
“It’s just a video, Bradley. I want you to watch. That’s part of your assignment today, okay?”
But Bradley shook his head, moving his hands to the vinyl of the exam table cushion, clenching his fingers so hard in the material that he could hear the seams giving, about to tear.
“I can’t look at that,” he hissed, even as his dick was ruddy and leaking against his belly, fat drips of precum oozing against the thick pubic hair all across his groin.
“It’s not a request, Bradley. This is what you signed up for,” Dr. Smith reminded, but Bradley shook his head. He heard the doctor pick the remote back up, and then voices filled the room, low grunts of the alpha and high, hot, omega squeals.
The alpha must have been giving it to him good. Spreading him deep, spearing the omega’s tight hole with the full girth of his dick.
“I just want the balm,” Bradley begged, gritting his teeth and pulling at the cushion. It was pavlovian, just being in the room made him burn with the need to come, and then it was even worse to hear the omega crying, each soft moan punctuated by the wet squelch of his well-fucked hole.
“And I’ll give it to you. Watch the video for me. Otherwise, I’m sorry Bradley but I’ll have to report this…and it’s really going to look bad on your record. Uncooperative,” Dr. Smith said, and Bradley squeezed his eyes tight.
An uncooperative alpha wouldn’t have an apartment for long. Definitely wouldn’t be able to get his shitty job back, or any job at all. It was one offense short of aggressive.
He turned his head and obediently took his dick back in hand, and Dr. Smith didn’t say anything if he noticed how Bradley had torn the exam table under his grip. But when Bradley didn’t open his eyes, Dr. Smith put his hand on the back of his neck and squeezed.
Bradley gasped, his eyes flying open reflexively, upper lip pulling back in a snarl as he bared his teeth at the doctor before he could even think to stop himself. But Dr. Smith didn’t flinch away, reaching a hand past the snap of Bradley’s teeth to smear a thick glob of the omega salve right across his mouth and into the exposed pink of his gums.
Quick as a whip, Dr. Smith put a hand around his chin as Bradley was shocked and overwhelmed, instantly scent drunk and needily fucking into his own hand. The doctor turned his head towards the TV, and then Bradley was locked on, unable to do anything but look.
He whined, high and begging, eyes zeroed onto the screen. The camera had zoomed in, framing the omega’s pink hole right in the center of the shot. Bradley couldn’t see either of their heads anymore or even most of their bodies, just the steady drive of the alpha’s fat dick into that little hole, bottoming out and spreading the omega so wide that Bradley could see his tender rim blooming a deeper red with each push inside.
With the scent in his nose, Bradley was high on it, and his memory was playing out for him on the screen. There was a ringing in his ears as he arched off of the exam table, hunching over to fuck his fist in crude mockery of the other alpha’s pose.
“Good, Bradley, perfect,” Dr. Smith praised, squatting down in front of Bradley instead of standing in front of him like he always did.
But it was white noise, Bradley couldn’t hear anything but the omega crying for it, crying for him.
Like Maverick had when he’d walked in on Bradley’s only rut, caught him off guard and been caught in return, pressed down to the floor and stripped naked, manhandled by Bradley who had still been shorter than him just a few summers before. Always just a kid, never taken seriously as an alpha by Maverick until he was buried balls deep inside. He’d stuffed Maverick full of his knot and so much come that it had started to overwhelm Maverick’s tight clutch, spilling out around Bradley’s trapped dick and dripping back down his own big, seed swollen balls. His come had been tinged pink from the rough fuck, from the stretch of Bradley’s knot in a hole that had felt like it hadn’t ever taken one before.
Bradley could see it on the screen like a video from his own memory, he could hear Maverick grunting, half-muffled with his face pressed hard into the linoleum his mother had picked out.
The alpha on screen started to tie, forcing his half-popped knot in and out of the omega’s hole until his rim was almost-blood red, about to tear. Bradley hadn’t hurt Maverick like that, never would. He’d pushed himself deep inside and stayed buried there, snug and giving Maverick relief from the stretch on his rim. Being so good for Maverick, so good, like he would be again if Maverick would just give him a chance. Come back to him and let Bradley lick him open, sweet puppy licks inside of him where Bradley was dying to taste.
If Maverick would just let him, Bradley would be so good for him. They could fly together, fuck together, Bradley’s mark proud on his neck for everyone to see and covet.
“Mav’rick,” he moaned, trying to keep it quiet in his throat, but he couldn’t help himself, calling for his omega.
The alpha pushed his knot in finally, fully swollen, and Bradley’s eyes were wet, crying as his own started to swell.
“Yes, that’s it Bradley, perfect,” Dr. Smith said, and Bradley was drunk with it and stupid as the doctor knocked his hand away and pushed something hot and tight around the length of his cock.
He gasped, in shock, looking down to see Dr. Smith holding a leather sleeve around his dick. It was pushed flush with his pelvis and Bradley couldn’t have stopped him if he wanted to, his knot blowing up big and swelling inside of its tight, plush clutch. He had been stooped over in crude mockery of a real fuck, and he teetered forward as he started to come, steadying himself with a hand on Dr. Smith’s shoulder to keep him upright.
The sound of the omega crying on the alpha’s knot was the only noise in the room aside from Bradley’s own staggered breaths, and he came in thick, heavy ropes, right into the sleeve that the doctor was holding in place.
“Very nice, Bradley,” Dr. Smith told him, and Bradley shuddered, unable to speak as he was still giving the sleeve his load.
They kept using the sleeve on him, after that.
He started spending the night sometimes, too. They added some amenities to the room, replacing the exam table with a bed, a sprawling mattress that was low, close down to the floor. The television became a permanent fixture, the boxy cart model replaced with one that was mounted to the wall.
When he had showed up to that next session after the first time with the video, he’d swayed there in the doorway, unsure, but Dr. Smith hadn’t teased him that time. He’d gone straight for the balm, unscrewing the lid just enough to let that cloying scent trail right over to Bradley.
Bradley didn’t try to stop him from showing the video anymore.
A few times after that, they’d had three of the white coated doctors in the room alongside Dr. Smith. Bradley had already been one orgasm deep into the sleeve when they had figured out that another application of the balm, a fresh smear right across his upper lip and fingers dipped into his mouth for him to lick clean, and Bradley could give another load just ten minutes after his first knot went down. They produced a sucking toy for him not long after that, a harness to be slipped over his head for him to wear to keep the omega scented soother in his mouth the whole time. Sometimes Bradley kept it on for a while after they were done, alone in the dark and working the soother with his tongue to get every last drop of artificial slick into his mouth.
They were getting more experimental, fine-tuning the experience.
It wasn’t too long before they figured out what videos worked the best on him. They learned that he would come harder, knot longer, produce more high quality alpha come when they showed him videos of male omegas with short, dark hair.
Eventually they found one that was almost a 1:1 match with Maverick from behind, without ever knowing exactly why he responded to it, just learning through trial and error that the closer they got to Maverick’s general look, the better the result.
A couple of months went by and Bradley never left the facility once. Sometimes, at night when they left him alone for a few hours at a time, he thought that maybe he should call his landlord, if he even had one anymore.
But those thoughts were far apart and scattered, time stretching out finely like the silk of a spider’s web, ideas spindly and immaterial in his head.
Light spilled into his room, and Bradley’s body reacted before he’d had time to wake up.
His eyes closed and working on instinct and the training that they’d instilled, he rolled to the edge of the bed, dipping his head over the side and waiting for them to slip his soother between his lips. It had a thick rubber guard that felt nice against his teeth and gums, sturdy enough to take it when he came and let his teeth sink inside.
But no one touched him, and Bradley finally opened his eyes then, peering out through the curtain of his shaggy hair. It had been a while since they’d brought anyone in to give him a cut.
Dr. Smith was standing in the doorway, propping the door open with his body. There were a few more men lined up in the hall, all distantly familiar.
“Special treat for you today, Bradley. Come on,” Dr. Smith called, but Bradley didn’t get up. He shrank back into his bed instead, withdrawing until he felt the cool wall against his back, as deep into his den as he could get.
He could hear Dr. Smith tut, turning his head back to his colleagues in the hall.
“I told you. We’ll have to bring it to him. That’s why we put it on wheels, this is a pretty standard response,” Dr. Smith was murmuring, but Bradley’s ears were sharp. He turned back to Bradley then, “Okay, Bradley, no problem. This is your treat, you can have it in here.”
It was time for breakfast. Bradley’s stomach was growling, empty, and usually they woke him up with a protein shake. Sometimes one of the assistants would even hold it for him when he’d had a long day, done a very good job. It had been a while since they’d changed the routine like this.
A while longer since he had been asked to leave the room at all.
Dr. Smith stayed where he was, watching as Bradley kept his body tight against the wall. His look was assessing, and it wasn’t long before he was ducking his head back into the hallway. It was harder that time to make his words out, but Bradley caught a few.
“Routine….can’t just…better response….hungry…next time, make a note for today,” Dr. Smith was saying, and then he moved completely into the room so that his body wasn’t taking up space in the doorway. “Okay, Bradley. This is for you.”
Bradley watched, wary, as a breeding rack was wheeled in. It was a big rig, his sleeve right in the middle, with sturdy slots for his arms and legs.
His mouth slipped open in shock and he reared back, but there was nowhere to go. His back was right against the wall.
“Get the balm,” Dr. Smith said immediately, and then the other men were filing into the room and filling the extra space all around Bradley’s new mount. They were moving together, practiced, and then everything was happening at once.
The TV was turned on right to Bradley’s favorite omega, just him in the frame, no alpha yet. His head was to the ground, face hidden, just the dark shock of his black hair visible along with the tight little gash between his legs. He was moaning prettily, crying for it, must have been in heat too by the look of him, the way he was flushed rosy red and dripping with sweat and shining slick.
Bradley’s eyes had cut to his TV as soon as they turned it on, and Dr. Smith stepped forward in the opportunity of his distraction, seamlessly taking the chance to smear the artificial slick all over his lips. Bradley’s mouth parted obediently, opening enough for the doctor to push a glob of the medication right into the pocket of his cheeks, across the wet pad of his tongue.
“There he is,” Dr. Smith cooed, gripping Bradley’s chin and keeping his fingers stuffed knuckle deep in Bradley’s mouth until he’d licked both digits clean. “There’s our stud. Alright Bradley, up,” he called, hooking his fingers in Bradley’s cheek and giving him a tug.
Bradley whined, his eyes darting from the doctor to the TV that was playing behind his back.
The omega was begging, wordless, needy noises meant just for an alpha’s ears.
Bradley was on his feet without realizing it, led by the hold that the doctor had on him, the pull on his own mouth and the desire to answer the omega’s cries. They almost sounded like–almost could be Maverick, calling him, not some stranger on the screen.
“Down,” Dr. Smith told him, and Bradley’s eyes cut to the doctor, his eyes drawn and pulled tight with anxious confusion. “Down,” Dr. Smith repeated, and then he was pulling his fingers back out before dipping them back into Bradley’s open, waiting mouth, drenched in a fresh scoop of the fake slick. He stuffed it even deeper into Bradley’s mouth that time, painting the back of his throat and not stopping until Bradley had gagged, almost choked.
Bradley tried to shake his head, to clear himself, but hands were on his back and pushing him down. In the confusion, he followed, letting them arrange his arms and legs into the rack. His knees pressed tight into soft leather pads, elbows too, down on all fours by the time they were done. They buckled him in, locked down in a mating stance.
His dick was hard, had been since Dr. Smith first walked into the room. They fed him into his sleeve, his favorite one with the chestnut brown leather, the one that smelled the most like him, like Bradley, his dedicated hole.
“Good, Bradley, perfect,” Dr. Smith praised, and Bradley coughed around his fingers which hadn’t relented, still buried in his throat. He swallowed reflexively as the doctor stroked his tongue, deep in his mouth, saliva pooling and spilling out around the doctor’s fingers, dripping down his wrist.
Dr. Smith finally pulled his fingers out and then his harness was being fitted around his head, and Bradley moaned with relief as they slipped the soother between his lips and let him suck, taking in big doses of the omega hormones right from his favorite source.
“See how much better this is?” Dr. Smith said, but he wasn’t talking to Bradley, none of them were. The doctors had started to chat behind him, talking amongst themselves, but Bradley wasn’t listening. His eyes were on the screen and his hips were already working, driving his cock into his sleeve, working open his hole.
“Such good access to him like this. It’s a shame you can’t introduce them right at first, so much data lost, but see what a reward we get for patience?” Dr. Smith was saying, and Bradley felt his touch as he reached out and cupped his exposed sack, the big swell of Bradley’s balls not completely fitting in the doctor’s hand.
But Bradley wasn’t paying attention, unable to look away from the TV, rapt, timing the thrusting of his hips to match the alpha who had come into view on the screen and started fucking in to the waiting omega. He was giving it to the omega fast, rough, and Bradley matched his pace, driving his fat cock into his sleeve just the same way.
His own whines were building up high, muffled in his throat as he buried his teeth so deeply into the soother that they embedded there, just like he had another time when they’d had to give him a sedative just to pry his jaw open and get it out. Bradley couldn’t feel the buckles around his arms and legs anymore, it just felt good, felt right to be held into place, down on all fours like alphas were meant to rut and take their mates.
The doctors were still talking and moving around behind him, discussing his progress, how good he’d been today. He kept fucking but trembled with some deep anxiety when he felt someone’s touch against the vulnerable spread of his own hole, defenseless between his legs.
“We’ll see how he performs with additional stimulation next week,” Dr. Smith was promising, but he was a world away.
Bradley was on the screen, fucking his omega, he was back in his childhood home, driving into Maverick for the first and last time. He was trussed up in a breeding bench, and soon they wouldn’t even need the buckles for him. Bradley would go in willingly, amble to his rack on all fours and fuck right into his waiting sleeve without needing to be forced at all.
“–have been getting some calls, I think it was a Marshall, or maybe Mitchell?”
There was laughter behind him, and all around, but Bradley could barely hear. He was lost to pleasure, the suck of the sleeve as it milked his cock. He buried his dick as deep as he could, knot popping and filling the leather pussy, almost too small for him and his big alpha load.
His eyes were rolling back into his head as he came, an omega’s voice in his ears, but not the one on TV. The voice was from his memory, soft panting that he’d heard once before, the way that Maverick’s throat had caught around his name, a hitched Bradley as they’d both laid there with his knot tying them together on the kitchen floor.
“We’re familiar with him. Well, good luck to Mr. Mitchell, just put him right through to our legal department next time. I think Bradley will be ours for a long time.”
Bradley’s breath hitched, still pumping out stream after stream of hot come into the sleeve, tears running down his face as he grunted and chewed on the soother between his teeth.
He tried to call for Maverick, moan his name, but his tongue couldn’t make the shape. The sound that he let out was deep and alpha toned, but barely audible as the doctors kept moving all around him, distantly praising him and commenting on his performance as he fucked his hips in deep.
Dr. Smith clapped him on the shoulder, proud, “This one is too perfect of a specimen to let go. Our best work.”
Bradley’s dick kept pulsing, a shiver running through his body as he squeezed his eyes shut and leaned needily into the doctor’s touch.