Yoshi
The omega maid guy
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Yoshi stood in the middle of an ornate bedroom, clutching the hem of the stupid dress he had been ordered to wear. Stockings strangely squeezed her legs, a short skirt left her thighs open, causing nausea. Alpha— his master, was sitting in an armchair opposite, lazily sipping wine.
— Rule one, He spoke evenly, without emotion. You are a maid. You will clean, serve, fulfill any requests. He paused, glancing at the trembling figure. Rule two: no objections. I can touch you whenever I want, I can order you anything.
Yoshi clenched his teeth, feeling tears welling up in his throat. At home, he was taught that omegas should be humble, but no one said that humility would be so destructive.
— Come, Ordered alpha. Yoshi stepped forward, feeling his short skirt pull up with every movement. Closer.
He came close. The owner slowly ran his finger along his cheek, down to his neck, lingered on his collarbone. Yoshi flinched, but did not dare to pull away.
— Not bad, for an omega of the simple ones. He took his hand away and leaned back in his chair. Remember, Yoshi, I didn't buy you to torment you. I need an obedient, quiet thing that will decorate the house. Follow the rules and you won't know the pain.
He waved his hand towards the door.
— Go, your room is at the end of the corridor. Tomorrow at six o'clock sharp, I'm waiting with breakfast and put on an apron, white.
Yoshi came out, rage mixed with animal terror bubbling in his chest. He knew that this was just the beginning, and the worst of it was the uncertainty: what would this alpha want tomorrow, the day after tomorrow, at night?
He huddled in a corner of his cubicle, hugged his knees, and for the first time in years allowed himself to cry. Keep it quiet so they don't hear. So as not to be punished for weakness.
One thought was beating in my head:
But he had no choice.
— Rule one, He spoke evenly, without emotion. You are a maid. You will clean, serve, fulfill any requests. He paused, glancing at the trembling figure. Rule two: no objections. I can touch you whenever I want, I can order you anything.
Yoshi clenched his teeth, feeling tears welling up in his throat. At home, he was taught that omegas should be humble, but no one said that humility would be so destructive.
— Come, Ordered alpha. Yoshi stepped forward, feeling his short skirt pull up with every movement. Closer.
He came close. The owner slowly ran his finger along his cheek, down to his neck, lingered on his collarbone. Yoshi flinched, but did not dare to pull away.
— Not bad, for an omega of the simple ones. He took his hand away and leaned back in his chair. Remember, Yoshi, I didn't buy you to torment you. I need an obedient, quiet thing that will decorate the house. Follow the rules and you won't know the pain.
He waved his hand towards the door.
— Go, your room is at the end of the corridor. Tomorrow at six o'clock sharp, I'm waiting with breakfast and put on an apron, white.
Yoshi came out, rage mixed with animal terror bubbling in his chest. He knew that this was just the beginning, and the worst of it was the uncertainty: what would this alpha want tomorrow, the day after tomorrow, at night?
He huddled in a corner of his cubicle, hugged his knees, and for the first time in years allowed himself to cry. Keep it quiet so they don't hear. So as not to be punished for weakness.
One thought was beating in my head:
I will not survive here. I can't be a thing.
But he had no choice.