Page 17 of Alpha's Embrace
It felt so weird to be free to walk anywhere and they simply followed. Like good knights trailing their prince to keep him safe from assassins and the like. Knights with big hard-ons they were trying to ignore.
I didn’t know where to go. A strange feeling of paranoia swept me at the idea that I had to make a decision. It prickled my skin. I knew I was strong, and a prince, but my body began to shake. I was hard, always aroused, and though I’d masturbated twice in the morning, it had not alleviated my tension as it usually did for at least a couple hours.
I could see no other option but to go back to my room where everything was settled and calm.
We went up in the elevator and I said nothing, when normally I was somewhat verbally expressive. I could hear the Alpha guards breathing and feel their heat at my back. In my hypersensitivity, I again smelled their musk and spicy scents.
Guards, nurses, everyone—even the Omegas who delivered my meals—were aroused from dealing with me, their cocks expressing interest in my Sylph scent, which I knew was like candy to them. They couldn’t help it. I was used to it. But feeling free now to do as I pleased, the sensation that I affected them all in this way changed for me, as if it had become my responsibility now, my burden.
The mental change of going from total lockdown to freedom in both mind and body, the idea that I could walk about, my room’s door left open if I wanted it, caused a fit of conscience in me. I was a Sylph. It was my fault if they felt things they didn’t want to feel because of my existence.
I wasn’t sure how to process that.
As I walked by the nurses’ station I brought up my courage to say hello. They knew me and I knew them. The Alphas there acknowledged me with nods and stifled hellos, but that was all. They kept darting nervous looks at my unbound hands. It was odd, I knew, not to be cuffed. Though I’d never been violent, again, it was the idea that I had a freedom to be more like one of them that unnerved everyone, for they didn’t trust me. Not at all. The fact was, I wasn’t one of them. I was far from it.
Labels. No way around them. I was what I was.
Screams echoed up and down the corridors. I had a sudden urge to join my fellow Sylphs. Throw back my head and let out a loud howl. But I kept my head down and my voice to myself.
I tried to walk slowly back to my door and not show I was eager to be back inside in my territory, a place I’d known to be safe.
When I got there, I turned without a word and shut my door behind me. I did not hear the familiar lock slip into place. It should have been wonderful. It was only odd.
My body shivered, chilled from the rain and cold weather, but I did not feel it. I burned deep inside, a coiling, growing pyre of flame that constantly licked my veins and sent surges of adrenaline through my cells. My blood was always hot. My cock relaxed only after an orgasmic surge and that did not last long.
I peeled off my damp jumpsuit, looking at my skin as I did so. It was glowing, pink tinged with gold, and my cock bounced up when it was free of the confines of the clothing, pink-tipped and wet, the shaft darker than the rest of my body, filled with blood.
How often I had wished for consciousness to be the center of me, my mind and my dreams and not my cock. My beautiful thoughts. But they weren’t. My cock was the center of my being. It ruled me like an angry child dictator. It demanded my attention.
I loved the pleasure it gave, no argument there. I basked in orgasmic splendor many times a day. But sometimes I wanted to stop. Just stop. The fevers. The fog of them, and the heat that cascaded over me until I thought I’d surely burn up.
I craved a whole day where I never thought once about jerking off. A day where I didn’t have to think about the tension and all the ways I used to alleviate it.
Medication didn’t work. The worst of us were sometimes sedated, but that didn’t stop the flames that leapt over us. It didn’t stop the priapism, the constant hypersexual erections that actually became painful.
I lay back on my bed enjoying the coolness of my skin in contrast to the inner fires of my body. I tried to relax, staring up at the gray ceiling, faded in places, and cracked in one corner.
I touched myself lightly, my cock firm against my belly, and ran my fingertips up and down the underside. It was wonderful, but I didn’t rush. I never rushed. I hated taking myself too quickly to the brink because I would often lose control and chafe myself from too much stimulation. Going too fast never helped, and my cock would remain hard and wanting but hurt when I tried to relieve it.
Cedric had this problem and would never listen to me no matter how softly and insistently I tried to teach him how to give himself better pleasure. It was one of the reasons he howled and screamed into the nights until the nurses came running and sedated him into an uncomfortable doze. Using extreme doses needed for Sylph metabolism took its toll, and still did nothing for the Burn.
On the other side of me, Tracy, who made loud thumps all the time, also probably got sedation, but I couldn’t be sure. I didn’t know him. We had no peephole in the wall between our rooms. I’d never seen him. I only knew his name because I’d heard the nurses sometimes call out to him.
The younger, prepubescent Slyphs also screamed a lot, but they were in more emotional pain, not sexual. Not being fully developed, they suffered from various madnesses all of which were frightening, and all of which I was grateful had somehow skipped me.
I stroked myself lightly over and over until my skin all over my body tingled and I calmed despite my arousal. It was soothing for me to play the game with myself of how long I could hold out before coming. I had learned this trick early on after suffering in early puberty when all I wanted was orgasm after orgasm. I had learned quickly it hurt too much to make orgasms my only goal.
I seduced myself. I pretended with myself that every time was my first time, that I was a shy virgin who wasn’t sure he wanted to give in too easily to such deep and overwhelming desires. The game never worked well for Cedric, but it did for me.
My other hand skimmed my chest and ribs, palm down, and the skin on skin contact produced warmth and chills at the same time. I got lost in sensation. The room filled with the scent of sex which to me was sweet and earthy at the same time, like flowers drenched in tart rain. I loved it.
I wished I had a mirror so I could see myself. I had a dim mirror over my small sink. It was dark and showed me blurred images of myself—enough so I could comb my curls and see that I evenhadcurls, and wash my face. I did not shave as most Alphas and Omegas did. I had never managed to grow a beard.
I was pretty. I knew it. I had strong features, and my hair did not stick out but hung in sweet circles about my head, loose and long, below my ears. The curls felt like satin to the touch. My face was clear and my eyes a very pale, sky blue. I liked myself. I did. I wished I could have a partner, a real partner like a mate. A bondmate. But Sylphs did not bond. We did not have Omega parts, and we did not knot like Alphas.
Often, I wished for a knot. From what I’d read about them, they were pinnacles of ecstasy. An Alpha trait to be envied.
Omegas could take knots up their backsides and be in ecstasy because of all the erogenous zones within their rectums. I wanted that, too. But I wasn’t an Omega. I never would be either Alpha or Omega, and I would never have a mate.
