Chapter 4: The Second Time

329 goes to get condoms, but Yasha grabs his hand.

“I don’t want to use one,” she pouts. “I want to go directly inside you.”

329 hesitates, and in the interim, she pulls up her certificate of health. The timestamp on the examination is earlier today (physical examination, for the upper classes, requires only a scan, very quick and convenient.) Like before, there’s only a headshot on it.

“I might not be in good health,” says 329.

Yasha flicks a finger, projecting 329’s physical examination report from last month onto the wall. Good physical condition. Satisfactory. Meets requirements.

“I got fucked after that,” 329 says. “Once or twice they didn’t wear condoms.”

“But I gave you a scan last time, after you fell asleep.” Yasha sticks out her tongue, as if apologizing for not telling him, and only apologizing for not telling him. “You’re fine. And I gave you shots. You won’t catch anything.”

“I didn’t know there’s vaccines for STDs,” says 329.

“There are.” The girl giggles. “They’re just too expensive for widespread promulgation.”

Treatment for mild radiation poisoning hasn’t advanced one bit all these years, and meanwhile STDs have been cured, with vaccines available, even. It’s probably because only lower-class scavengers get radiation poisoning, while the upper classes care more about whether they can fuck everything they want to fuck.

It’s like taking care of a stray animal, 329 thinks. Providing food when the mood strikes, gaining companionship. No intention of taking him in, but he needs his shots anyway—otherwise he’d be too dangerous and dirty for even amusement. Should he be happy that he’d lost his reproductive abilities long ago? If he hadn’t, she’d probably have to go to the effort of neutering him.

Yasha’s watching him, face full of anticipation. There’s no uncertainty to her anticipation; she’s just waiting for him to hurry up and agree.

329 nods. Nothing he can do besides nod.

He lifts up Yasha’s skirts and tugs her underwear down to her knees. He doesn’t dare pull her underthings to the ground or throw them on the bed; it’s Yasha who hurriedly kicks off her shoes, pulls off her underwear, and tosses it aside. She wears white silk stockings. 329 kneels between her legs and takes her into his mouth; the silk-stockinged legs rest on his shoulders.

Her legs are as dainty and graceful as the rest of her, a well-proportioned sort of delicacy, not the malnourished spindliness 329 sees so often. Her feet keep bouncing on his shoulders, from pleasure, but also as if playing with him. Sometimes, 329 wants to put his hands under her armpits and lift her up, swing her around, check how much she weighs. The thought is foolish and pointless. The girl is perfectly healthy, like a bonsai, or maybe she just hasn’t spread her branches yet.

She doesn’t taste unpleasant—if anything, she’s fragrant with body wash, so that 329 suspects she showers right before each time they’ve met. Maybe it’s because of her youth; maybe newly-matured alphas from powerful families are just like that. Who knows. For an alpha she seems too soft and delicate, standing on the border between child and alpha. He doesn’t know how she’ll become with age.

That’s not to say he thinks she’ll lose her manners…a cruel alpha doesn’t need to be brutish, just careless.

The young alpha tips her head up, panting, her neck and throat making a beautiful arch. Abruptly, she bites her lip and lowers her head to watch 329 once more. Her gaze is intent and fervent. It makes you wonder just what she sees.

Yasha sees what she wanted to see.

Her first sexual experience had brought her ecstasy; so, too, her second. The tall, broad-shouldered man is on his knees, letting her look down on him from above. That handsome face remains so proper-looking, even when he’s performing oral sex. 329’s cheek bulges from her organ, as if gulping something down.

Yasha thinks he’s absolutely adorable, sexy and adorable, entrancing like you can’t believe. Her fingers card into his short hair. If her mother were here, she’d certainly think him an improper omega, not because he’s kneeling and giving her head, but because he cuts his hair so short. This man seems to have always kept his hair short, never reaching his eyebrows even at its longest. It’s not too convenient to grab onto, but it’s quite nice to look at.

He’s always quite nice to look at, whether he’s high-spirited or dead-eyed. He has an air of drained exhaustion. Yasha never thought drained exhaustion could be called an air, let alone that this sort of dull weariness could strike such a chord within her, as if a feather were tickling back and forth in her heart. 329’s so obedient, obediently kneeling, obediently swallowing her down, keeping his teeth out of the way perfectly. Nothing deserving of criticism, nothing requiring punishment. It makes Yasha very happy, but she can’t help but feel a little wistful as well.

The melting pleasure makes her legs wobbly. Her knees unconsciously tighten on either side of 329’s head. His tongue is wet and hot and soft, assiduously servicing Yasha, until she finally can’t resist yanking on his hair, thrusting, at last coming into his mouth. The omega gags at these rough movements; it must not be comfortable getting prodded in the throat. But he doesn’t struggle, allowing Yasha to hold his head there, for several seconds. She lets go, panting. He backs off a little, coughs a few times, and swallows under her gaze, swallows all the semen in his mouth.

He really understands what an alpha wants in bed, doesn’t he.

Yasha caresses 329’s face. That strong, handsome face is surprisingly soft to the touch. The omega looks up at her, only to look back down as soon as he realizes their gazes have crossed. This man kneels, ducks his head, avoids her gaze, meek and dull—he wants to make himself meek and dull. Like curling up and playing dead in front of a wild beast, hoping the predator just takes a few bites and leaves.

As if. A prankster’s excitement rises in Yasha’s heart.

She pats the bed, inviting 329 to lie down and take off his clothes. 329 obeys. Yasha sits at the edge of the bed, caressing the prone, completely bared body like a connoisseur.

He has a fantastic body. When not in motion, the muscles are supple and firm to the touch. His shoulders are broad, his pectorals solid. Yasha pinches the nipples on either side, twisting them, making them harden into two fleshy points. She squeezes the two beads of flesh; 329’s chest rises and falls lightly.

After Yasha’s played a while with his chest and abdomen, her hand slides down, to the omega’s genitals. 329’s penis remains drooping, no response at all, a soft mass of flesh to the touch. His testicles and flaccid penis are very soft, the hairs thin and not prickly. It’s like touching a hamster’s tummy. Yasha kneads them for quite a while, attracted by the novelty. If it causes 329 pain, he doesn’t show it.

The game continues for a while. 329 doesn’t grow hard, but Yasha does. She climbs up onto the bed and sticks her finger into him, thrusting it in and out to stretch him out. She plays around in there, and soon enough, it grows wet.

Yasha pulls out her finger. It’s wet with clear fluid, pulled into a long strand, like melted cheese. A man’s entrance is tight and sticky to thrust into. He lacks the lube from the condom, and unlike last time, he hasn’t just been fucked. It’s probably not going to be smooth going. Yasha thinks that she might want to bring some lube next time.

With that thought, she fucks into him.

329 is silent, but Yasha moans. It feels incredible. Cheap condoms really are awful. There’s nothing between them; flesh presses against flesh. Not slick enough, but the heat and sensation more than make up for it. She plunges straight in, like penetrating a mass of meat.

Every little sensation rushes straight from her organ to her brain. Damp heat and softness, and tiny undulations. This time, Yasha can easily feel the omega’s reproductive cavity, to one side of the rectum wall, leading to the uterus, not really that deep. She adjusts her angle, bumping against its tightly furled entrance. 329 doesn’t say anything, only grips tight to the edge of the bed.

Fuck into the uterus and pound those omegas, they’ll love it, claim the erotic novels. But from 329’s stiffness, as if facing down a deadly enemy, he seems to expect pain instead of pleasure. Will it hurt? Yasha feels a light curiosity. She wants to try.

She aims there and slams in.

She doesn’t get through the first time. That aperture really is tight; it seems as if it only relaxes during heat and childbirth. Yasha tries a second time, a third, finally succeeding in forcing the tip in. 329’s thighs are shaking, his toes curled. Teeth gritted, he shivers. His body suddenly clenches, like a clam trying to close its shell.

The clam can’t close; Yasha’s still in there. The sensation is desperately intense, like there’s a mouth inside sucking at her. She nearly comes right then and there. Dazed and dazzled, her hips keeps thrusting like they’ve taken on a life of its own.

It takes a while before she can pay mind to the outside world again. She first sees a hand, a hand gripping the headboard, the nails digging into the wood, the knuckles whitening with force.

329 is clearly desperately trying to endure.

He’s still not making any sound, his teeth gritted, his eyes blinking, his gaze wandering; who knows what he’s thinking to distract himself. Yasha thrusts again, pulling out before shoving back into his reproductive cavity with a pop. His chest heaves violently. He squeezes his eyes shut, sweat trickling along his face. He’s so good at enduring. It provokes Yasha’s sadistic urges.

She slams in and out, hard, wanting to know what it takes to make 329 cry or fight. She’s at once curious and impatient. She stuffs her fingers into his mouth; he doesn’t dare bite her, and can only open his mouth, no longer able to keep his cries bottled up.

He sounds so good when he’s loud.

329 makes pained, choked-back cries, clawing at the bedframe, slick with cold sweat. He feels fantastic to fuck. He sounds fantastic when he cries out. He must sound really good begging her to stop. Sadly, he won’t beg. Is he not in enough pain? Yasha didn’t think that he'd be too dignified to beg at this point.

When she’s done, 329 lets out a long breath, his Adam’s apple bobbing, looking exhausted. Yasha suddenly understands. He doesn’t beg only because he doesn’t think begging would serve any use. He might as well save himself the effort.

Her cock finally softens and slides out, cloudy fluid slowly trickling out in its wake. Yasha gazes at the mess, full of the joy of marking her territory. There’s still an itch in her heart. She really wants to see blood; after all, with meditech, healing him would take mere minutes. But when she looks up, she finds that 329 is back to his usual state.

Yasha’s breathing hasn’t settled, but 329’s has. His expression is once again neutral, his open eyes like empty caverns. He stares at some point in the void, as if today were the same as yesterday, tomorrow the same as today, whoever on top of him the same. As if making love to him was no different than giving him a beating. His spirit drifted elsewhere, in another plane, wearily celebrating one more calamity survived. It was a sort of…rejection, a rejection that you don’t know how to put to rights.

He wasn’t like that earlier, when they were talking. He looked at Yasha’s eyes then.

This isn’t any fun.

Yasha kisses his shoulder, thinking that perhaps next time she shouldn’t make it too painful for him.