Page 4 of Game On

Not much of a surprise, I wasn’t only a camgirl because the money was good. I also had a wicked love for being watched. Not just watched, watched by strangers.

An audience I didn’t actually know.

One I couldn’t see.

Something about it had always intrigued me, and maybe being with a partner who I couldn’t see, who couldn’t see me, would be even hotter.

“There’s a full bathroom and shower over there, along with a few robes. If you ever need anything, press this button,” he points it out on the side of the bedside table. “Someone will come around straight away. Also, there are no cameras, but there isaudio. If you say your safe word, the system will alert us and someone will check on you soon after.”

I crawled up onto the bed now, feeling the soft blankets under my hands and legs before pressing my face right into a pillow for a deep inhale. My stomach panged, nothing. No scent, not even laundry soap.

Fuck, I needed an alpha.

A needy, desperate omega whine slipped between my clenched teeth as I tore into my bag, pulling out my own pillows and blankets, anything that I could hastily grab that smelled like me.

“Sounds good. A reminder that we use the stoplight system here. If there’s any issues or questions, let us know. Someone should be with you soon.”

“Great, thank you,” I barely managed to choke out as Phil finally left me alone in the toy filled room.

My clothes found the inside of my bag before I kicked it under the bed, diving back into the bed to slowly rub my needy clit, trying to relieve the ache.

It wasn’t enough. I needed to be stretched. Filled.

I rolled to the drawer next to the bed and opened it to a plethora of dildos. All long, girthy, with a simulated knot at the bottom. This collection almost rivaled mine, and I was shocked, no one ever had a larger collection than me.

It was a point of professional pride.

I reached for a large pink one—probably second largest in the dresser—and ran my hand over it, stroking it like it was real, like this was one of my streams, before guiding it towards my entrance and teasing myself the way I thought an alpha would before pushing the tip in. It was just like always, it felt good but wasn’t enough.

I shoved it in further, all the way down to the knot, letting it stretch me. I quickly reached into the second drawer andgrabbed one of the bullet vibrators, pressing it to my clit hard. Though I moaned loudly and fucked back against it, it didn’t feel the same. Didn’t feel right.

I needed an alpha.

“I can’t believethis is the last time we get to do this. It was the best part of living here,” my business partner, Cameo—who, except for his unusually dainty little pianist hands, fit the bill of a stereotypical alpha to a T—said as we made our way into the Heat Hotel.

He wasn’t wrong, and even though it would be a long time before we’d be back, if ever, it was hard to be too sad. The move was exciting, something we’d spent more than our fair share of sleepless nights on.

But, fuck… I’d miss it.

I wasn’t exactly the most popular guy with girls, and for an alpha I was unusually lanky—like one of those inflatable wobbly dancing men that they put in the front of car dealerships with a knot. So, being able to come round and fuck a needy omega in heat was honestly a real treat. Any alpha would think so.

That’s how we were wired, right? Rutting. Knotting. And stopping omegas from whining.

…Bonds.

Even so, I wasn’t sure what, but something about tonight felt different. Maybe it was because I was excited to make the most out of my last time. Or maybe it was just the anticipation of being on the precipice of my life changing forever.

It wasn’t like I couldn’t find a similar spot when we got to Seattle, but I was fond of this place. The typical heat clinics were a little heavy handed with the practicality side of things. It was part of what gave Cameo and I the idea for ScentCX in the first place, the overly clinical environment was distressing to the omegas and often allowed alphas who would otherwise not be a match through the cracks. It led to a whole lot of entirely avoidable exploitation, even through places live this. Scent matching with cards pulled from slick and sweat that faded and warped over time, or worse, were impacted by the cardstock they were made of in the first place, just weren’t accurate enough to stop a mismatch.

ScentCX worked to eradicate that room for error down to the fourth percentile. Essentially, it was a scent matching database for clinics or ‘hotels’ like this to match clients in a flash, coming up with a list of compatible scent matches based off of DNA instead of effectively a swipe-based dating app run by an Omega’s nose.

Oh, and there was the questionnaire. Part of what made the software so revolutionary wasn’t just that we relied on biological markers in order to create matches—there was a psychological element too. Ensuring that our matches shared similar preferences, values, and even met wishlist criteria like education level and a love of dogs.

It took us eight months of crunching for us to build a prototype and then about twelve of pitching to find a company willing to pay for it. A hard task when the co-founders of the project were the only employees and still needed to make rent.

But all that was over now, the acquisition of the product had netted us a nice, tidy sum, and as long as we could deliver on the promise of the software—something I was absolutely positive we could do—Cameo and I would be set for a long, long time.

And, you know, improving the lives of three percent of the population, about the amount of us who fell into the coveted omega designation.

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