Epsilon Mate: An Omegaverse Sci-Fi Tale (Epsilon Omegaverse Book 1), page 1
Epsilon Mate
An omegaverse sci-fi tale
Katie Douglas
Epsilon Mate: An Omegaverse Sci-Fi Tale Copyright 2021 Katie Douglas
Cover design by Katie Douglas
The Omegaverse is an open source world. Any author can use it and modify it to tell stories. That does not affect the copyright belonging to this book. No part of this book may be reproduced without the express permission of the author.
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to persons living or dead are co-incidental.
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Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Epilogue
Prologue
Jessie
He ran his hands down my bare body, feeling every curve. His callused palms scraped deliciously, awakening my nerve endings. When he reached my bottom, he parted my cheeks. I was on my hands and knees, blindfolded and bound, unable to see him. But I knew he was a male. His scent told me so.
“You’re so tight down there, little omega. And drenched with slick.” He slid one of his huge fingers into my aching hole and I moaned. I felt every inch of him as he filled me.
If that was just one of his fingers, what would his cock feel like?
“Mmmm...” I mewled, not being able to speak coherent words right now.
“You’re mine,” he growled.
For some reason, his tone made me want to resist. “Prove it,” I snarled, baring my teeth at him like some sort of wild animal.
“I intend to. By claiming you.” His finger slid out and he swatted my ass with one of those huge palms.
Crack. The sound echoed around the room we were in. If it was a room. It could have been a cave. Or an aircraft hangar. I had no idea.
The heat of the swat radiated across the surface of my skin. I moaned. My clit throbbed. Womb tingled with hunger. I needed him. He chuckled.
“Mine,” he reiterated, and a moment later, his huge cock forced its way deep into my core. I gasped as he stretched me so much, there wasn’t room inside my body for him. When he was in all the way, he stroked his big hand down the length of my spine.
“Good omega. Accept me as your mate.”
“Like I have a choice,” I retorted.
He paused. I’d said the wrong thing.
“Of course, you have a choice. Would you prefer another alpha?” He sounded hurt, but willing to stop if I called it all off at this moment.
God, what had I done? I didn’t want this to stop. I’d just been testing him. Pushing the boundaries. My entire body desperately craved his mastery.
“No, I’m fine,” I squeaked. “Sorry.”
He purred, and the sound slowed my heartrate down until I sank back into that dreamy state where I could just give in to him.
“Your place is on my spaceship, on the end of my cock,” he assured me. With that, he slid out a bit, then thrust back in again, hard, and began fucking me at a frenzied pace.
His scent was intoxicating. Masculine, in a way I’d never experienced before, and powerful. He was used to being in control. Being obeyed. I yielded to him, letting the sense of submission overwhelm my senses. He rutted me hard, his powerful strokes proving he felt as hungry for me as I did for him.
My pussy clamped around his big cock. Every time he hit my cervix, it elicited bittersweet tingles that made me cry out. Another part of his cock massaged my G-spot, tempering the sharp pleasure of my cervix with a sensual bass note of heat, which spread deep into my core.
All I could think about was him. He kept saying I belonged to him, but I was sure he had that the wrong way around. He was mine, and I wasn’t going to let him go.
“Come for me, omega,” he murmured. How did he know I was about to explode?
His deep voice sent me over the edge and I came apart, writhing, clenching around him and screaming in a pitch I didn’t know I was capable of. The deep glow spread out into my entire body, and powerful sparks consumed me.
I heard him growl, the sound was primal and animal. It got louder, then I felt him shoot jets of hot liquid deep into my womb. When the liquid stopped coming, his growl turned into a purr of contentment.
Before I could find out what he looked like, everything faded to black.
Chapter 1
Jessie
It was that dream again. The one with the spaceship. Now, my skin felt wrong, somehow. Too tight and constricting. Underneath, my entire body burned. Something about the man in that dream always made me react... oddly.
Weird.
Bleep! Bleep! Bleep!
Alarm clock. Bedroom. Daylight trickling through the curtains. The sinking feeling of disappointment that it was no longer sleeping time. Work time was imminent, and a countdown had begun, which only fit a certain routine.
Out of bed. Bear the cold. Scrunch toes against the bare wooden floorboards and imagine I’m on a beach. Stand up. Slippers on. Better, until I entered the bathroom. The thin fabric soles of my flimsy footwear were no match for the freezing tiles. Toes scrunched again, and cold flared in a cramping sensation up the back of my calves. I stood on my tiptoes and tried to see into the high mirror while I brushed my teeth. I’d always liked my teeth. They were white and straight, despite the amount of coffee and wine I’d thrown at them over the years. I hurried about my routine, showering, dressing, brushing my curly red hair until it would fit into an elastic, then I grabbed my bag and coat.
Out of the house thirty seconds before the bus was due. Perfect.
Not perfect.
Turned around, stamped up the stairs to my room. Unlocked the door. Grabbed name badge. Arrived back on the pavement outside in time to watch the bus drive past with its smug “go green! Beat the traffic! Ride in the bus lane” advert pasted above the smoky tailpipe.
Fuck.
My manager Julie’s voice from last week replayed in my head in a loop. If you’re late one more time, Jessie, you’re fired. Like every other slave to the minimum wage, I needed this job to survive.
At the bus stop, I seethed through about four cigarettes waiting for the next number twenty-seven to Cardigan Square. An old lady sitting in the bus shelter kept glaring at me and clearing her throat.
“I haven’t got any cough sweets, love.” I chucked my last cigarette butt down the drain. It wasn’t like I’d been smoking in the bus shelter. I only did that if it was a rainy day and no one was around.
People said the habit was going to kill me. I imagined they had happy lives filled with friends and relatives. They got Christmas cards and people to say “congratulations” or “I’m sorry for your loss” during life’s big moments.
Honestly, I never shared this with anyone, but every cigarette I smoked was another few minutes when I didn’t have to be alone in my own head. I wasn’t one of those people to share things like that with others. Not even in the haze of too many triple vodkas at three in the morning. If I had anyone to talk to, perhaps I wouldn’t feel utterly out of place and superfluous.
Getting on the eight-twenty bus was humiliating, like wearing the dunce’s cap from my granddad’s school days. I was sure everyone on the bus must be looking at me, knowing I was late and judging me for it. The only people on this bus were on their way to claim their unemployment money or to sit somewhere near a railway bridge drinking White Lightning.
Even the eight o’clock bus got me into work with minutes to spare. Oh Godddd, I was so fucked. When Julie saw my clocking-in time, she was going to go apeshit.
To make everything more annoying, the traffic was so much worse now than twenty minutes earlier. The bus didn’t even crawl. It jerked through stop-start traffic. It gave me far too much time to think while I stared through the window at the Horton Roundabout from every possible angle. We moved forward about five inches every thirty seconds. Some bozo in a Volvo had blocked the flow of traffic in his fear of letting anyone else get ahead of him. Probably had no idea his inferiority complex had caused hundreds of people’s lives to grind to a halt. Twat.
Bored of looking at the daffodils in the middle of the roundabout, I turned my thoughts to the situation. I had set my alarm for the same time as always. Why did I keep being late? The clock was loud enough to wake ancient Roman ghosts.
It was all the fault of that stupid spaceship dream. That’s why I’d slept in. Well, where was the spaceship when I needed it? It could make me late for work but it couldn’t teleport me to the lockers. Useless dream. For a useless girl with no purpose or direction. Stuck in a dead-end job I was too afraid to quit because I couldn’t bear being homeless. Again.
Bleurgh. Not the pity party. It was banne
The bus was three stops away when I stood up, to be sure I didn’t miss my moment. I was determined to keep this job, no matter how many times my subconscious tried to make me stay asleep.
We reached a metal barrier and the bus turned left, up Ring-A-Bells street. Fuck. That march was today. Some twats who were protesting about Denmark again. Bus diversion. No! I pressed the bell. If I got off here and ran down Carnation Street I might still make it before I was a full thirty minutes late. Maybe.
The bus had other ideas. It went so far down Ring-A-Bells street that by the time I got off at the temporary bus stop, it was nine twenty-seven. It was impossible for me to cover quarter of a mile in three minutes. I was four foot eleven. I didn’t have the legs for fast running. Didn’t have the power.
I tried anyway. There was one thing worse than being over half an hour late for work when I was on my final warning. I was over half an hour late for work and on the verge of passing out. I had forced my legs to run much harder than they were capable of. Oh, and sweaty. I was now also sweaty.
That meant I’d be on kitchen duty, today. I hated kitchen duty. It was burny and smelly and far more stressful than it needed to be.
And yes, I was fully aware of the irony of smoking while being broke. I couldn’t afford to eat every night, but I somehow had the money for £40 of cigs every week.
“Late! Clock in, then get an apron on!” Weronika clapped her hands and I scurried to the clocking machine at the back of the store. Once I’d punched in my employee number, I dumped my bag and coat in the crew room and tried to breathe. I’d finally caught a break. Julie wasn’t at work today. Maybe when she returned, she wouldn’t notice I’d started at the wrong time. We didn’t have the same timetable from one week to the next, so I had a chance of getting away with this. Politics meant Weronika and Julie almost never spoke. Weronika was the deputy manager and in theory worked closely with Julie. In reality, HR scheduled their shifts so they avoided each other. I was saved.
The small victory over life was quickly drowned out by the demands of kitchen work.
Eight buns split in half and placed in two sections of a toaster. Glove on. Reach deep into the freezer. Scoop up eight patties. Hit them against the metal grill edge to separate. Drop them down in military formation. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Glove off. Press the killswitch with both index fingers. Grill plates lowered. Thirty-six seconds. Pull buns out of toaster. Sauce. Onions. Pickle. Cheese slices. How many?
“Cheese on eight?” I called out.
“Cheese on seven,” came the reply from beside the food bin. I’d already done six of them by the time I heard the answer. We almost never needed more than two hamburgers at a time.
No time to think. Picked up the bun tray, turned around. Grill made its warning beep to say it was about to lift. The tone implied those buns had better be ready or bad things would happen. I had nightmares about that noise. Reminded me of the sound when Jaws was about to eat someone.
Not this time, shark. I wielded the spatula and scooped up the cooked burgers. I placed them onto the dressed buns before getting the other halves from another area in the toaster. Eight burgers ready in under a minute, and eight more needed straight away.
Four hundred and eighty buns an hour. Nine hours in a shift. The restaurant police ought to issue me with a speeding ticket.
The thought police would have nothing to investigate, however. There was no room in my brain for thinking anything at all. I was too busy doing this inane but delicate dance to keep up with the demands of fast food customers.
It quieted the questions. I liked that. Perhaps that was the main reason why I’d stayed here for the past two years. The pay was shit and I often had to choose between eating or paying rent when my hours got cut without notice. But I’d never yet walked out.
This fast food place was the closest thing I’d ever had to a home.
Thorun
Newspaper archives were how Earthlings kept their memories. Journalists wrote down important events when they happened. An archivist stored the writing on microfiche for future reference. Efficient. Unfortunately, Earth’s technology was primitive, and the news wasn’t entirely searchable on any network. There were gaps in the online records. I had no choice but to travel to public libraries to research. Less efficient.
“Excuse me, ma’am,” I began, hoping I’d found a friendly local.
“Wotcher want?” The hostile voice seemed out of place.
“I’m looking for the library, please.” Being polite in the face of confrontation was new. So were the sneakers on my feet. We didn’t have footwear such as this on Epsilon. Comfortable.
“Library?” The old lady looked me up and down. “You sure you know how to read?”
“If I didn’t, wouldn’t the library be a great place to begin?”
She huffed at the fact I’d bested her. “You look like you belong in a wrestling ring, not at a library. If you’re gonna cause trouble for Mrs. Zeke I’ll send you flowers.”
“Where?” My patience with this cantankerous human was thinning.
“Down there, about a mile away, on the right, next to the foreign supermarket.”
I nodded. “Got it.”
Before she said anything else, I’d set off at a comfortable sprint, legs pummeling the ground at top speed. Invigorating. I arrived at the library three minutes later and took a moment to stretch. An organized running routine was never a waste of time.
“Mrs. Zeke?” I greeted the woman on the front desk, remembering the name I’d learned from the old lady.
“May I help you?” She peered at me over a pair of half-moon glasses.
“The newspaper archives, if you wouldn’t mind.”
“This way, young man.”
I didn’t tell her I had celebrated over a hundred birthdays. Young by Epsilon’s standards. Old by Earth’s. Another reason we had to get the omegas off the planet before their differences were noted.
Aside from our pressing need to breed them. My cock twitched as I envisioned those cute, tiny omegas all waiting to be claimed.
In a dusty old back room, the almost-obsolete microfiche held the key to a thousand stories.
I only wanted one. A national newspaper had published a map of all the abandoned babies found in the country twenty-four years ago. This town hid an omega, and it was my duty to reunite her with her people. And maybe breed her, if we were compatible. I was as hungry as any other alpha to taste omega slick.
I settled down to read.
“Basket baby epidemic hits Aberford.” The headline made my skin prickle. This was it. The article I’d been looking for. “A baby has been put into foster care by social workers after being found on the steps of the local church. The so-called ‘basket baby epidemic’ has prompted officials to take action. A stark national warning was issued to mothers by the Prime Minister this morning. “Abandonment of an infant is a criminal offence,” says PM Hannah Lye. “We will prosecute those responsible.” To date, eight hundred reported baskets have been found worldwide...”
The Aberford baby had been taken into the foster care system. It was an invention unique to Earthlings. Earth adults seemed to give babies to new parents on loan. Some countries did it more than others. From my research, I didn’t understand why so many English children did not live with their parents, but the volume of adults who had been raised in the care system had made it very hard to find our lost omegas.
It was a fact that had concerned me ever since I had first learned about it. It was none of my business. My job was to observe, learn enough about Earth ways to blend in, and to extract as many omegas as I could find. But they were making my job harder than it needed to be.
