Amuse-bouche

4:08 PM

Amy’s unfocused eyes idly gaze at her alarm clock on her bedside table. She’d owned it since she was a child. Cat shaped, the eyes lit up and the tail would tilt if you tapped it. A gift from her aunt. The memories bubbled through her heat-addled mind. There was somewhere she needed to be…soon. Somewhere important.

Maybe she’d remember once Sonic finally came inside her.

His pelvis slapped against her in a languid and erratic pattern, denoting his growing fatigue, his length beating off the deafening need inside her to be filled, to be complete. No matter how often she was struck dumb, no matter how tightly she scrambled for a semblance of control, her body failed her and melted into a puddle of writhing need.

Amy bit her tongue to silence her needful voice and tried her absolute best to stay completely still. Anything she could do to not remind Sonic she wasn’t the man he was imagining as he rutted into her. The poisonous heat clung to her insides, doing its best to pulverizing her brain into a mushy, wanton, lustful paste. She desperately needed Sonic’s release. Amy would die without it.

Three times. Amy had needed Sonic to service her three times that day. Her heats had been becoming increasingly pernicious, but this one took the cake. Cursed as she was with a monthly heat, the most frequent of all heat patterns, if she didn’t get porked fast enough she enter a frenzied state of lust and need that could last three days or more. To add insult to injury, her traitorous body seemed to be growing immune to Sonic’s Beta seed.

One of his hands gipped her hip while the other balanced his phone on her back, headphones in, whatever video he needed playing. Amy was presenting, head jammed into a pillow and ass as high as she can, ears limp against her skull and tail held to the side. The natural Omega position. Accessible, submissive, ready and willing to be bred.

His muted grunts raised in pitch. Sonic’s cellphone tumbled to the bed as he grasped her hips with both hands and gave her several more forceful thrusts. The relief was almost instant. White coolness spread through her insides, bringing an instant relief to the oppressive cloudiness. Her thoughts cleared and she gasped. 4:10! Shit! She had a bus to catch in twenty minutes!

Sonic pulled out and, panting, flopped into the bed beside her, the springs squeaking under him. “There…there you go, Ames.” He murmured between breaths.

Amy lifted and arched her back into a stretch, feeling her vertebrae pop. She reached for a tissue from her bedside table. Holding it between her legs, she gingerly touched her best friend’s arm. “Thank you.”

Sonic’s eyes were closed, a hand massaging his scalp. The other hand raised and gave a two-finger salute before falling limply. “Anytime…” He said groggily. Sweat damped his brow and the fur around his pelvic region was mussed and stained with fluids.

Amy stood slowly, feeling the post-heat aches. It had hit early in the morning far ahead of schedule, ruining her plans for the day. She’d fought it with all the normal methods (Alpha scented towels, over the counter anti-inflammatory medication, and as-cold-as-you-can-stand showers), trying to make it to mid-day when Sonic could race his scooter back to their shared apartment on his lunch break.

It was a quick coupling, Amy was already drenched with slick and Sonic was an old hand at performing on demand by now. Ten minutes with his eyes closed and he sighed out the name of the guy he’d been crushing on from work, the paralegal with the white fur. Wet wipes, quick bite of leftovers from the fridge, and Sonic was almost out the door when she doubled over.

“Sonic!” He was beside Amy in an instant, just like he promised to be all those years ago, leading her back to her room. This time, he had to apologetically get his phone halfway through to help him perform. He returned to his job late.

That would have been it, right? Needing to be filled twice to fend off a heat wasn’t that uncommon. Not a chance. While she was reviewing her camera bag, double checking her gear for her gig that night, she flushed and gasped. Her womb contracted painfully, devastatingly desperate to be given the chance to bare life. She stubbornly refused it, month after month, with her contraceptives and hormonal suppressants, and it made her suffer for it.

Tissue still between her lips, Amy retrieved a fresh pair of panties and wiggled into them. Should she wear a slick pad? She grimaced. The bulge would be visible under her tight cocktail dress. She’d have to settle for a slick-strength tampon, as spotty as those would be. As she left her room, Sonic asked, “Can you get me a glass of water and, like, five ibuprofen?”

“Sure thing.” Amy went to the bathroom and turned on the shower before going to the medicine cabinet. She retrieved Sonic’s request, then took her usual morning after pill. The last thing either of them needed was a pregnancy scare. Without an Alpha, Amy had no chance at getting a prescription for proactive birth control. She took a drink from the tap to wash it down. Straightening, her eyes landed on her daily suppressant.

The brand covered by her public health insurance had changed a few months ago and she really thought the new box was…just garish. Omega products were generally discreet by design. Suppressants with a loudly colorful motif and a slogan (‘Live Loudly!’) branded across it…the art was clearly made by some Beta who never met an Omega. She loathed every time she had to pick up her prescription at the pharmacy, terrified someone would comment on the brightly colored box.

Amy had already taken her suppressant for the day…but another couldn’t hurt could it? Maybe she was being paranoid, but she didn’t want to take the chance that her heat threatened yet again during her gig that night. She was going to be nauseous and lightheaded tomorrow from the morning after anyway. Might as well add in whatever overdosing on hormonal suppressants would do to her. She was only going to be editing photos tomorrow anyway. She could be sick as shit for that.

Pulling a shower cap over her quills, Amy slipped out of her underwear and ducked into the warmed up spray of the shower. She didn’t have time to dry out her quills, but she needed a quick rinse to get the sweat and dried slick out of the fur around her nether regions. A couple minutes of vigorous scrubbing and she was out, wrapping a towel around her hips.

Returning to her bedroom, she handed Sonic a bottle of painkillers and a glass of water. Amy set about getting dressed. He popped open the bottle and downed probably too many before draining the glass. “So, what’s your job tonight? Wedding?” Sonic retrieved a pillow not coated in sweat and saliva from the floor and propped himself up.

“A fundraising dinner for Rouge.” Amy said absently as she toweled off her fur and began brushing her quills. She looked at herself in her vanity mirror. Her face was still rosy from heat flush, but her pink coloring hid it well. She didn’t wear any makeup or adornments. Better to not draw attention.

“Ooh, fancy. Where at?” Sonic dug through the messed sheets to find his phone. Amy made a mental note to strip the bed again once she got home that night. After today’s activities, she was out of clean sheets…she could probably slip in a trip to the laundromat tomorrow.

Tucking a loose quill behind her ear, Amy retrieved a can of scent suppressant spray from atop her dresser. “Some mansion outside of town owned by one of the megadonors.” She gave herself a heavy coating of the scent cover. She didn’t want to smell like anything tonight. “The CEO of some big pharma company, I think.”

Sonic hummed as he massaged his forehead, the sounds of pornography he’d been watching flaring up from the phone’s speaker before he thumbed it close. “Maybe I’ve heard of him. My lab gets so much work every time one of those companies get sued and has to come up with third party test results.”

Amy smirked. “Him?” She raised a brow.

Sonic snorted, glancing away from his phone to her. “Come on, Ames. Are you gonna get on to me about assuming the guys an Alpha, too?”

Sonic had her there. There were more female CEOs than non-Alpha ones. Amy retrieved her phone from her bedside table and unplugged it from the charger. Bring up her calendar app, she looked at the location attached to the entry. “Looks like…Kintobor Life Sciences.”

Sonic shot up, emerald eyes wide and ears perked with interest. “You’re going to Shadow Kintobor’s house?”

Amy shrugged, wary of Sonic’s sudden engagement. “I guess? Do you know him?”

“Kinda. I’m actually working on a contract project for KLS right now at work. Wait, shit. I’m not supposed to talk about clients.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Forget I said that…”

Amy laughed. She searched through her closet and found a fitted black dress with a wide neckline. She hated the exposure, but leaving nothing to the imagination was a disguise she’d relied on often.

“Anyway, you have to get me a picture of the guy.” Oh, not this again.

“Sonic…” Amy sighed as she wiggled into the dress.

“Dude’s hot as fuck. Come on Ames, I never ask you for anything.” That was an exaggeration, but she had caused him to go long on his lunch break that day.

Sheathed in the dress, Amy bent forward and spread her legs. She was still plenty slick inside, so the thick absorbent sponge went in without complaint. She rolled her hips making sure it wouldn’t slide out and then she put her underwear back on.

Amy straightened and pushed out the wrinkles on her dress. “I am not gonna take dirty pictures for you.”

Sonic flopped back on the bed dramatically. “No, Ames, god. No. Just a normal picture. The guy’s even a hedgehog. Come on, Ames. My spank bank needs an update.” He gestured at his phone for effect.

“Sonic…” Amy rolled her eyes and examined herself in her mirror. She didn’t look like she’d been begging to be fucked all day, right? She made her practiced smile. Small, pleasant, unremarkable. Don’t look at me. Don’t think about me. Don’t touch me.

Sonic yawned. “You owe me, Ames. He’s probably gonna be in a tux.” He whined, a needful lilt in his voice. “You got to do this for me.”

Amy crossed her room to her camera bag sitting on her desk chair. “I’ll let you look through my raw shots, but that’s it. He might not even be there. It’s just at his house.” She checked that her DSLR was securely tucked in and double checked her stash of memory cards and that the spare battery was charged.

“You’re a treasure, Amy. I love you. But if you do happen to get a close up on his pouch-”

“Sonic!”

“Kidding! I’m kidding, Ames, sheesh.”

Amy eyed her box of scented masks beside her vanity mirror. Giving where she was headed, it would be a prudent move to cover her mouth and nose against any Alpha scents floating around…but it would also draw attention. Why would a Beta need to wear a scent mask? She tucked one into her camera case just in case.

“I’m already regretting agreeing to this. You can’t let anyone else see it, okay? If Rouge finds out I’m letting you goon on donor pictures, she’ll fire me.”

Sonic rolled his eyes. “Oh no,” He said with mock concern, “who else will illegally underpay you like Rouge?”

“Sonic…” She knew his comment was meant as a joke, but she didn’t like thinking about how uneven the rent splitting was. Sonic wasn’t exactly ambitious, but his laboratory technician job was both more stable and profitable than her photography so far. If the inequity bothered Sonic, he’d never mentioned it, but that didn’t stop Amy worrying about it.

She slipped on a light coat and shouldered her gear bag. “Don’t wait up for me.” She leaned over and lightly kissed Sonic on the forehead.

He gave her his signature massive smile. “No worry of that. I’m bushed.” Sonic sank back on the pillow, lacing his fingers behind his head. “Knock ‘em dead, Ames. Photograph the hell out of those stuffy plutocrats.”

While Amy waited for the bus, she scrolled through the latest posts on the Omegas Only message board. The title was unfortunate given the number of pay-per-performance websites that used similar names, but the OO forums proceeded them by decades, starting out as a Usenet newsgroup. Users had to be verified by the lead mod and owner to post, but once in, the depth of knowledge was staggering.

Amy frowned at the new posts added to the ‘In Memoriam’ thread pinned to the top of the board. She thumbed the thread and scanned through the new entries. All of them were younger than she was. Honor Killing, Heat Death, rut-related. At 25, Amy felt ancient. The Memoriam thread was the oldest on the board. The site owner dedicated it to their daughter, an Omega who didn’t make it to 20 years old.

Many Omegas left the forum once they got Claimed, normally at the behest of their Alphas. The farewell posts were bittersweet. But it was inevitable. There was a soft law, over one hundred and fifty years old now, that stipulated Omegas needed to be claimed by age 21 for ‘public health and safety’ reasons. It was never enforced by itself, but it was used to punish Omega’s who would go into heat in public, started a rut-riot, or otherwise caused trouble.

Amy navigated to the board dedicated to Heat Help. Normally it was full of cries for help regarding first heats posted by teenagers and the occasional terrified mother, but recently it had been flooded with requests for help with off-cycle heats. Amy frowned. At least she wasn’t the only one suffering. There was a locked thread telling everyone to vote for Rouge Batton in the snap election. The Mod chastised them for off-topic discussion.

A few minutes of casual scrolling didn’t reveal anything she didn’t already know. Amy had lurked the message board for years, never posting once. She felt…disconnected. Almost like she was eavesdropping on conversations that weren’t meant for her. What could she add to a discussion on bite aftercare? Did she have a right to have an opinion on neck covers? How could she weigh in on the legitimacy of Alpha/Omega matching services?

Amy looked up from her phone and down the road. Where was the Omega Bus?

Omegas were prohibited from holding driver’s licenses. Their heats were deemed too debilitating for them to safely operate a motorized vehicle. It was a public safety hazard should an Omega suddenly be taken by a heat whilst behind the wheel. These laws were used to allow private taxi services and ride-shares the ability to discriminate against Omegas. That left public transport the only option for unaccompanied Omegas.

Amy had a faked ID that was identical to her real one except it had her second sex as Beta. It wouldn’t pass close scrutiny, but got her through most interactions, especially if she had her bare shoulder’s exposed. Sonic didn’t have a driver’s license either, but it’s because he didn’t want to pay the fee. Instead, he had a scooter.

The Omega Bus was late. Amy couldn’t remember the last time it came at the posted time. Omegas were segregated to their own bus to ‘protect’ them from having unwanted interactions with Alphas. But in practice, the Omega bus was frequently late if it was running at all and Alphas rarely took the bus anyway. The result was just another limitation on unaccompanied Omegas.

The regular service bus pulled up and Amy frowned. A sign prominently featured in the window: A red O with a black slash through it. The universal symbol. No Solo Omegas Allowed. Next to it was the blue O with a black A circumscribed. Omegas Allowed with Alpha escort. The driver opened the doors for Amy.

Her stomach clenched. The Omega bus was already twenty minutes passed due. If she didn’t take this bus, she’d be late for the donor dinner. She really didn’t want to disappoint Rouge. Amy owed her so much.

Amy shifted her gear bag to pull down on her coat, exposing her shoulders to scrutiny. The Beta driver didn’t even look at her as she swiped her metro card. She sank into a seat and placed her bag on the seat beside her. The few other riders didn’t look up from their phones. She clenched her fists in her lap.

Passing.

Unmarked and deep in suppressants, Amy could pass as a Beta. The guilt of this privilege dug its teeth into her. The fear of being discovered coiled ever present in the pit of her stomach. Her independence hinged on her ability to masquerade. And a timer was ticking deep in her biology threatening to bend her to the will of imperatives evolved in more desperate times.

Amy swallowed and looked out the bus window, quietly committing a crime in plain sight.