4 The Doll To Be Broken

The alterants were more reliable than they used to be.

Leda had listened to horror stories of Omegas whose chemical castration had ceased to function at inopportune times, finding themselves contended and mated against their will, or worse. Not all Alphas could curb their baser urges during a rut. An Omega caught unawares might not withstand. It was expected that Omegas reveal their orientation after entering puberty, when the dynamic generally became obvious, enduring Alpha attention in exchange for a better life. The only way up for a hovel-born Omega was trading cunt for satisfaction.

Except Omegas had no rights. In the eyes of the law, laid down by Main central Command, Omegas were property. Alphas in politics spun this to be to the Omegas benefit, retaining the line that an Omega only remained safe through mating. Alphas could not be expected to maintain constant restraint of their urges and a free Omega faced the endless risk of being ravaged. They needed to be "protected".

It was total bullshit, of course.

Alphas seized what they wanted from the Betas and Omegas of the lower

levels. Just because they'd written their autonomy into law, able to violate without the fear of ever being held accountable, didn't make it right.

Leda had depleted much of her childhood dreading the onset of puberty and the disclosure of her dynamic. Although one could never be sure until a child came of age, some signs had been there from the onset.

Her small stature and the nature of her conduct had established the possibility early on. Her Omega mother had already given birth to a Beta female, her sister, which heightened the likelihood that a subsequent child would be of the rarest dynamic.

Their parents had always prepared her for the chance, the waiting had hung like a mirage over the entirety of her childhood.

Fortunately, the family had made preparations. She did not discover until she was a teenager that

her mother had been stashing the medication needed to suppress her biological reaction, making her appear to be Beta on even the closest examination.

She'd always understood herself to be cursed. Her parents had died shortly after she reached the age of puberty and endured her first, and only, heat cycle. Her mother had educated her as best she could. She had supplied clean pillows and bedding so that Leda could build a nest, creating one became a compulsive need in the haze of estrous. And she had also sat vigil on the other side of the locked door, whispering consolations, as Leda had scratched at the walls and begged for the discharge that only a rutting Alpha could give.

An Omega in heat was practically irrational, desperate to be fucked and claimed by the most prominent Alpha in range of her scent. The thought of enduring another cycle of estrous made Leda feel sick to her stomach.

In her darkest moments, Leda became certain that she caused her parents' deaths. They had been removing the remains of her nest which was drenched in the fluid of an estrous-high Omega. Even though the bedding had been double-bagged and strongly secured, Leda wondered if that had been enough to hide the odor of her slick.

Her mom had been claimed by her father, which should have been enough to make her unattractive enough to the average Alpha that they could stay in control of their rut. What else could have attracted the guardian Alpha who had been policing the streets that day? The report provided to the family had underlined that the Alpha who killed her parents had maintained a clean service record before the attack. So what would have motivated him to mount her mother, then kill them both when her father had tried to fight him off?

It was not as if she could ask him. The Alpha had been put to death after a perfunctory executive hearing. Contributing to the demise of a fertile Omega was an instant death sentence, regardless of the conditions.

So Leda had always wondered if it had been the smell of her slick that had attracted the Alpha and made him lose control like that. And she had become even more certain it was true as the years passed.

And that was why she continued to swallow the alterants despite horrible side effects, like stomach cramping and constant headaches. It was why she would never willingly reveal her orientation even if death were the only option. Being an Omega only brought injury and degradation.

She quit the College out of guilt to care for her brother and sister. Even though Cythia was older, finding work would be impossible with her Look. They had pushed to the lowest levels to save money. But that

had only increased their problems. The air in the hovels, heavy with pollution had given her brother breathing problems. The weekly medications needed to keep his lungs functioning were another expense that they could not afford even if she worked day and night at the Diner. And spending for the treatments made it difficult to save the money needed to move back to the middle levels where he could find relief.

Just another reason that she felt she had no choice but to take the offer from Ceres House.

She had to remind herself that any trauma she suffered served a purpose. Even her fears, because it kept her focused on what was at stake.

This was the greatest risk of her short life.

"Are you wearing a nightgown?"

The mocking amusement in the Whoremonger's voice as he surveyed her at the door made Leda feel equal parts self-conscious and irritated. She had already entered the practical limits of her ability to cope just by arriving at Ceres House. She wasn't in the climate to be insulted. Her nerves were perturbed after enduring the silent, hour-long ride in a dimmed skycar. Two large men had sat in the driver's and front passenger position, neither had so much as turned their head to speak to her. They had arrived at this Ceres house, an apartment big enough to fit practically her entire neighbourhood, just so that an old Alpha could mock her apparel.

"Should I run back home for my matching fuzzy slippers?"

"Careful, my dear." The tiny smile disappeared from his lips, leaving a glower. "At least a few of our clients will want to beat that attitude right out of you."

Criticized, Leda looked down at the floor to hide her frown. She had spent a lifetime combatting an urge to submit and now this is what they had reduced her to. She was here and doing this. Her breath became shallower and more rapid as the implication of what was about to occur finally seemed to sink into her.

The Whoremonger noticed the stricken look that crossed her face and slid up to her side.

"May I?"

Leda nodded, unable to speak. He put a supporting arm around her shoulder and accompanied her to a small sofa. The tastefully decorated hallway spun around her. She had to concentrate all of her attention on the sparkling tile floor to keep from throwing up.

"It's only nerves, you know." He gently gripped the back of her neck in a gesture that was more delicate than it should have been.

A beautiful Beta female dressed head-to-toe in black walked by holding a full tray of champagne flutes perfectly aloft. This woman was no Diner worker from the hovels. Leda felt impossibly ineffective as her fingers caught in the simple cotton of her dress. And then she wondered why she minded at all. It would be nice if none of them wanted her and she could walk out of this place with her dignity intact.

The Whoremonger whisked one glass off the tray and held it to her lips in a smooth movement.

"Drink."

She did. Tiny bubbles of carbonation tickled down her throat and she had to fight the desire to sneeze. He continued to tilt the stem until the flute was empty. A ball of warmth spreads in the pit of her belly and circulates outward until her head felt slightly vague and too heavy for her shoulders.

Leda rarely drank liquor, and the few times she imbibed had not felt like this.

"What is in that?"

"A bit of relaxation." He rose and pulled her up with him.

"Let us get you out of that odd dress and into something more pleasing to the eye. Then you can join the others."

Others?

Fifteen minutes later, she stood in the two-story living room of the Ceres house along with a dozen others, mostly young women. Pictures windows from floor to ceiling looked out on the starry sky. They were high enough to be on top of the clouds. Under any other circumstances, the beauty of it would have subdued her.

But the only excitement she felt at that moment was fear.

She fingered the skirt of the violet lingerie dress that the Whoremonger had chosen for her. He had not insisted on watching her change, which had been a relief and more formal than she expected. The lacy brim moved gently around her thighs. It was shorter than anything she had ever worn publicly before. A cutaway waist disclosed strips of bare skin at her sides, which had gone pink with embarrassment.