BODY AND SOUL: HIS TO RUIN

"It's simple, he sleeps with you whenever he wants, to replenish, to get strong. In return, you get paid, when he's drain you, if you're still alive, you leave and get your balance," the Dowager stated. My mind reeled. Simple? That's simple? "I don't understand," I stammered. "Who? I thought you had a job for me." I had come for work, for a means to an end, not this twisted proposition. My stomach clenched. "It's a transaction and you don't have to understand. My son, the alpha of the Furiosa wants to be Lycan King, but he's fighting a curse. He needs a portal through which he would draw from, you happen to be the portal of this decade. You're blessed by the Moon Goddess to have that essence." A cold dread spread through me. A portal? My breath hitched. That wasn't a blessing. It was a curse for me too. "I…” I stammered again. “He'll draw life from me, and what if I die?" The question tore from my throat. "Hold it! No more questions, just listen,” she said and waved her fat palm right before my face. “You may, and may not die, depending on how much he draws from you through s*x. If you die, your family will be compensated. If you don't, you'll age from within and can live on the money you'll be paid. What is your use anyway, you're an omega from an omega family. You're meant to serve. Understand that we can take you, use you, drain you, but I chose to be helpful. You need the money, don't you? Your dying mother needs it." The words hit me, each one a hammer blow to my chest. Inner sobs tore through me, silent, choking. She was right. Every cruel, biting word was true. My mother needed surgery, desperately. The doctor had been clear: without it, she would die. This contract, this horrifying bargain, offered a sliver of hope, a chance for my mother to live. The Dowager spoke of the best hospital, a secret infirmary, a whispered legend where even alphas of ancient bloodlines sought healing. But the price… my body, my soul, my very womanhood. Taken. And the chilling possibility of death. A silent scream ripped through me. Was I truly getting paid to die? "Decide," the Dowager barked, her voice cutting through my despair. I cringed where I knelt, my body recoiling from her harsh tone. My vision blurred, and for a terrifying second, I saw only death, my inevitable end, looming. But then, my mother’s face flashed in my mind, pale and frail. My love for her burned through the fear. "I'll sign," I said. The words were heavy on my tongue, committing myself to an unimaginable fate. The Dowager's maid offered a crisp, thick paper. My hands shook as I took it, but I forced myself to read. The terms were stark and unambiguous. My mother’s surgery was the initial part payment, non-negotiable. A billion dollars would be mine if I survived. If I died, it would go to my family. My eyes scanned further, finding the insidious details: "No kiss, no touch, no hum, no moan during the sex." Ending with an order… “You're not meant to enjoy it.” My humiliation was meticulously documented, enshrined in legal jargon. A sigh escaped my lips. My hand trembled, but I signed. The ink flowed, sealing my doom, my sacrifice. "Drew, bring them in," the Dowager commanded. A man, broad-shouldered and expressionless, entered, carrying a polished mahogany box. He walked to the vast, ornate bed in the center of the room. I turned to watch. He unboxed its contents, laying them precisely onto the deep crimson duvet. My eyes widened in horror. There were thick leather cuffs, lined with soft, inviting velvet, their buckles gleaming under the low lights like predatory eyes. Long, heavy chains and dark metal links snaked out, whispering promises of bondage. A wide, padded collar lay beside a series of intricate straps and hooks. Gags of various sizes, some with wide openings, others solid, were neatly arranged. A strong, leather harness sat coiled. "What are these for?" I whispered. A slap came swift and sharp. It was a burning sting across my cheek. My head snapped sideways. I lost balance and supported myself with my hand. I lifted my eyes at her, holding my cheek in my hand. Only to receive another. Tears pricked my eyes immediately. I didn't want them to fall. But they did. "I told you, no more questions," the Dowager said, her voice like grinding stone. "You'll be chained during the intercourse. These are to prevent you from touching him." All I could do was look. At the instruments and then back at her. All I saw before was death, now, slavery before death. The Dowager merely waved a dismissive hand, her gaze already elsewhere as she told Drew to prep my mother for the surgery. A small comfort clung to me amidst the terror: at least, my mother would be fine. She would live. I sniffed, trying to compose myself. I wanted to ask again, a desperate, fundamental plea for basic human dignity – if condoms would be used. But the memory of the slap, the sting on my cheek, silenced me. I didn't want another. "Maids," the Dowager called. Two women dressed in dark uniforms entered. They held my hands and dragged me to the bed. My small petite frame offered no resistance. My limbs were heavy with dread. They undressed me. Till I was bare. They used the equipment Drew had laid out. The leather cuffs snapped around my wrists and ankles, secured to the massive bedposts with the heavy chains. My legs were separated, spread wide, each ankle tethered far from the other, forcing me into a humiliatingly open posture. My hands, too, were pulled above my head, stretched taut, immobilized. The padded collar was fastened around my neck, making even a slight turn impossible, trapping my head, my gaze. My body was splayed, exposed, utterly helpless. As they did, my breath hitched, and I felt as though I was strapped into an electric chair, awaiting death. "He can come," the Dowager said. I took a deep breath. Was being an omega a crime? It was more than a crime. In days of Lycan dominance, being an omega was death. I raised my head. Then I saw him. He was held by the man she called Drew. My heart pounded. I had always heard about Alpha Drake Fur, son of the great Alpha King Matheus, heir before, now the Alpha of the Furiosa pack, a legend whispered in hushed tones. Young and bright. Agile and handsome. A warrior of renown. That was what I heard. But the man who was ushered into the room, the man who was placed on me looked nothing like the rumors. He looked old. Deep wrinkles etched his face. Cutting lines into his brow. His eyes were sunken. A gaunt face that was so tired beyond measure. He looked young, yes, but in aging skin, a haunting paradox of youth and decay. His body seemed to hold a weary power, not the vibrant strength I’d imagined. A chilling understanding settled over me. This decay, the aged skin, the hollow eyes—this would be my fate when the ritual was complete. I would become a husk, drained, like him. He smelled of earth, of deep forest and damp floor. His breath was a heat. His body was soft and full of flesh. Like a pumpkin. He raised his hip. I felt the coldness of the tip of his c**k at the mouth of my p***y. All flesh. "Are. You. Ready?" he asked in a crooked voice. One that was akin to my father in his dying days. I didn't answer. He sent his hand between us and forced himself in. He slipped in. Death began in me; life began to surge in him.