Editor's note: this fictional work contains scenes of completely fictional mind control, rough, reluctant, dubiously consensual, consensually non-consensual (CNC), or non-consensual sex or scenarios.
*****
Content Warning: This is a steamy read intended for a mature audience only. It includes laws within the omegaverse that they follow that are different from ours. This isn't viewed as cohesion or an unwilling act. It's simply their law.
Chapter One | Wilder
"Hey, boss man wants to see you in his office," Tracey says as she comes back from her afternoon break, wrapping her apron around her waist.
My gut clenches uncomfortably, and my hand begins to shake as I set the last patron's drink down on the counter. I give them a weak smile as they head back to their table.
I dread moments like these.
It's been exactly a month to the day since the last time my boss asked me to come to his office, and it's always for the same reason.
"Did he say what he wanted?" I ask, hoping he may have given her a reason--a different reason than what my mind is conjuring. Not that it would make much of a difference, but at least I could be prepared somewhat. Or more prepared.
I hesitantly glance down the dark hallway at the edge of the bar, which has a lowly lit stairwell leading to the break room and our boss's office. It's secluded from the rest of the tavern, almost like a dungeon. I gulp and wipe my sweaty palms on my apron.
"No, just said to send you back." She shrugs and pops a piece of gum in her mouth without a care. None the wiser to my internal crisis.
Things may be more relaxed here at Elixir than I'm used to, but that's what I asked for--freedom to do as I please. It has a vintage appeal, attracting all the local clientele, but we still get the odd professionals from the surrounding office buildings coming in for happy hour. It had been exactly what I'd wanted at the time: something new and exciting. To be in the thick of it. What normal young people my age would do.
Yet, I'd never felt the confidence to go against the rule book. It's there for a reason: to follow the rules so you don't get in trouble. Rules are a must in my world--or they had been--drilled into me with a firm hand, and no amount of my coworker's blatant disregard for them is enough for me to want to slip up. Rules meant there were consequences, and getting in trouble made me feel sick to my stomach.
Though, when it comes to Tracey and her rainbow-coloured hair, tattoos, and multiple piercings, she doesn't give a rat's ass if she gets in trouble. From what I can tell, after knowing her for three months, the only reason she doesn't break her uniform is because it's already a slinky outfit. Black short-shorts, matching tank top paired with a navy blue apron. Though she has swapped out her shirt for a crop top on occasion.
I'd been scandalized by the uniform at first, but being out in the open wasn't as scary as I originally thought. Though I am compelled to tug on the hem of my shorts for the hundredth time today, which are uncomfortably snug, in hopes of pulling them down, but the waistband is too tight. And it just looks like I'm picking a wedgie.
"You better hurry," Tracey steps up to the bar, ready to flirt with the handsome man waiting at the other end for her attention. "He's in one of his moods," she says over her shoulder.
Great. I don't dare say it aloud, but I harness that little flame in hopes of keeping my wits.
Stepping out from behind the counter, I take off my apron with trembling fingers since Gareth doesn't like us wearing them on our break. He's a stickler for rules. I bite my lip, feeling more exposed in my uniform, as I stare down the dark hallway lit by old-fashioned gas lamps. At the bottom of the stairs, which are painted black, are two doors, one for the break room and the other for my boss's office.
No exit.
With my legs shaking, I slowly make my way down the dim stairwell toward my boss's doorway. I know what's coming. I can picture his snide face as I offered him up my wrist that first time. I won't be making that mistake again. Having his usually disinterested eyes on me had made my insides squirm uncomfortably. His pale blue eyes were sharp, piercing beneath my skin, making it itch like he could see into my soul. I didn't like it. I'd always thought my father to be an intimidating alpha, sitting in his office behind his imported oak desk and his green antique high-back chair, shuffling around important documents, but my boss is an entirely different breed of alpha. The type my omega friends back at boarding school would whisper about in exciting yet hushed voices in case of being overheard by a teacher. They were taboo. An alpha to be feared yet regaled.
But now, having come face to face with one, I'm not so sure they'd be as roused after encountering my alpha boss. I'm sure they'd tuck tail and hide back inside their parent's mansions like a good omega should until their parents introduce them to the right alpha. A respectable alpha.
I'm tempted to do the same right now. The way my belly quivers and my palms continue to sweat, but I have to. I didn't earn this hard-won freedom by working a year for my father to throw it all away because I'm scared of my boss. All those paper cuts and long nights to prove I'm capable of working out in the real world.
This is just one of the obstacles that comes with being an omega. It's a mandatory procedure to keep other employees and, most importantly, customers safe, and a breach of that could result in me losing my job. And I'm not about to break the rules now.
Stuffing down my anxiousness, I rap lightly on my boss's door.
"Come in," His deep raspy voice booms.
I do as he says, keeping my eyes lowered, a subservient behaviour I'd learned over the years when in the presence of an alpha.
"Close the door." He commands, and my limbs move on instinct, closing the door. "Lock it."
My fingers twitch on the cold steel handle, not wanting to lock myself into the same room as this alpha, but I do as I'm told, even if my stomach rebels.
"Come here." He says, somewhat distracted.
I raise my eyes from below my lashes just enough to glance at my boss, Gareth. He's behind his desk in the small room he calls an office, but it's more of a cupboard or a closet. There's only enough room for a small couch, the side of his desk is butted up against the wall, and there's only a small rectangular window with a busted pane that looks out into the alley.
