амега (peterick)

huit.

Patrick stumbles through the hallway, droplets of sweat clinging to his forehead like hot rain trickling down a window. His breathing is uneven, rapidly alternating between heavy and shallow, as though he's treading ocean deep water, struggling to keep himself afloat.

The heavily made-up girls and young jocks leaning against the pale green lockers snigger to each other as the disturbed Omega trips past on lumpy legs. Logically speaking, the quieter hours during his classes are the best times of the day to avoid his tormentors - why they even bother coming into school is beyond his level of understanding - but today, his skin tight trousers and growling gut have given him no choice but to vacate the safety of the classroom.

His teachers often allow him time off of school to get through his heats, providing his parents call him in sick, but Patrick is so petrified of what the other students might think of him, that on the rare occasions they hit him unexpectedly, he just can't bring himself to raise a hand. Most Omegas don't start having heats until their mid teens, comfortably settled into high school, but for early bloomers like Patrick, many middle school's are equipped with one or two private rooms which they can go to for some breathing space whenever they may need.

Patrick does not go to one of these rooms.

Upon reaching the very end of the corridor, he smashes through the swinging door to the restrooms, the boy's directly to his right, and the girl's to his left. Unhesitantly, he bolts straight ahead into the disabled cubicle, fearing the unwanted company he could have received in choosing either of the other two options.

Patrick swears the fly of his pants is about to blow open as he fumbles the lock closed, desperate to unleash the incredible, throbbing bulk at his crotch, but his stomach has other plans. A rumbling sensation twirls within the pit of his belly, a sickening stab of pain, like a sucker punch to his stomach. His voice quivers as he holds his head above the toilet seat, tasteless saliva dripping from the corners of his mouth. "God, fuck this..."

He wishes he were at home with his parents. Anywhere but here, under the stage lights for all to see.

On his knees, clutching the rim of the toilet seat so tight his knuckles are sheet white, he slides the middle and forefinger of his right hand haphazardly into his mouth, as far back as they can reach, and pushes his tongue downward. His throat clogs, making him gag, and almost immediately his stomach lurches, and the contents of his bowels erupt.

As soon as the choking ceases, he collapses onto the floor, his trembling hands darting involuntarily to the zipper of his jeans. He spends almost twenty minutes pleasuring himself, gasping through the discomfort, and he comes a total of seven times.

Afterwards, he sits with his back against the wall, knees to his chest, and cries.