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Unruly Omega

Chapter Text

"I just can't seem to control him any more," the haggard sheriff explained.


Peter held up a calming hand. "No need to say any more, Alpha Stilinski. This is what our facility is here for. We'll get your omega son under control for you. Have no worries about that."


Stiles let out an impertinent squawk, his face alight with indignity, even as the ball gag stretched his mouth wide. His hands were hastily tied before him and he stomped his foot petulantly.


Peter eyed him under his brows with a slight smirk. "Just sign here and here," he directed the sheriff, and then the man was hurrying away, already late for work.


"Come on, darling," Peter directed the omega. He guided Stiles with a firm hand on the back of his neck. "Let's get you processed, and then we'll spend some time working on your attitude, shall we?"


The processing room consisted of a quick shower and a small enema, which Stiles fought tooth and nail. No matter. Peter let Derek take care of the processing as usual, completely stoic and indifferent to Stiles' thrashing. Then Peter led Stiles on to the breeding room.


Stiles recognized a breeding bench immediately and balked, trying to bolt, but it took minimal effort for Peter to overpower him and strap him to the bench on the floor. "Now, now, no need to panic," he said simply. "You're simply going to service a few studs. Sometimes unruly omegas just need the simplest reminder of their place, both physical and mental." He pet Stiles' short hair and ignored the glare.


Then he got up and opened the doggy door for the first stud. Stiles' eyes widened and he thrashed in his bonds as he saw a rather large dog rush in and straight toward him. The studs were all primed to breed omegas and this one wasted no time in thrusting its doggy dick into Stiles' slick hole. A shout of pain morphed quickly into silent sobbing as Stiles was forced to submit to the dog dicking. His little cock squirted wetly on the ground when the dog knotted him, and he trembled as he cried, his stomach pumped full of seed.


Peter pet the dog first. "Good boy, Brody," he cooed. "Breeding up that bitch, aren't you?"


He heard Stiles let out another broken little sob, so he pet him as well. "There now, that's a good bitch," he told Stiles. "You just enjoy that nice knot inside you, sweetheart. Once Brody is finished we'll get you another."


Stiles seemed to deflate a bit at the inevitability of the situation and hung his head. Of course, the angle of the breeding bench ensured that was the most comfortable position for him – ass high and head low.


Eventually Brody softened enough to pull out, and while a bit of cum escaped most of it was still held in Stiles with his ass tilted up. As soon as Brody retreated through the door, one of the handlers behind the wall sent out the next pup.


Spencer was next. Just as large and far more aggressive than Brody. Peter smiled and pulled up a chair to watch but not interfere as the next dog fucked into the boy. They had ten dogs at the facility and Stiles had time to take all ten before lunch. Peter merely supervised the event, and continued his steady litany of praise to the dogs with the occasional kind word for the bitch.




When the last dog left, Stiles was limp in his bonds. Peter crouched down before the boy to pet him and saw that his eyes were glazed over but he had a slight, dopey smile on his face and tear tracks dried on his cheeks. Drool oozed from the holes of his ball gag and a small puddle of cum dripped from his limp cock.


Behind, his hole was puffy and red and his thighs were splashed with cum. Peter grabbed a sizeable plug and pressed it in. Stiles would retain the large amount cum, slightly paunching his stomach. Then he grabbed a bucket of water that had been set aside just for this purpose, and slopped it over Stiles to get him cursorily clean while he was still strapped to the bench. He chafed him dry with an old towel, then finally released him and helped him stand on unsteady legs.


He released Stiles' ball gag and helped him take slow sips of water.


"Th-thank you, Alpha," Stiles croaked with a hoarse voice, still clearly out of it.


"There's a good bitch." Peter walked Stiles slowly through the corridors. "Tell me, darling, have you ever lactated?"


Stiles furrowed his brow. "What? I thought only pregnant omegas lactated."


"That's a misnomer," Peter dismissed. "With enough long term stimulation, any omega can be coaxed to lactate. I think it would be good for you to spend the next hour before lunch on the milking bench. It's alright if you don't produce any today," he assured him.


"But--" Stiles started, looking nervous and already relapsing into his difficult attitude.


Peter slapped his ass once sharply and the boy stumbled at the force of it, hissing a breath. It was best to always snap omegas out of it as soon as the attitude started. "No arguments," Peter said sternly, and Stiles wisely held his tongue.


Peter led Stiles to yet another bench, though this one would hold him on hands and knees with a level back, rather than the head-down position from earlier. He strapped the boy in securely. Then he grabbed two specialized suction cups and placed them over the omega's pert nipples and turned the machine on to the sound of a soft whir. Stiles groaned and seemed to melt at the strong sensation. If Stiles came back to the facility every day for the next week, Peter was certain they could coax a good amount of milk from the boy, not to mention distending those pert nipples to nice long nubs.


He grabbed a third sucking device and encased the omega's soft little cocklette in it, then turned it on as well. Stiles groaned more loudly. No doubt it was oversensitive from his ejaculations over the last few hours.


If there were any cum left in the boy, this machine would pull it from him. Otherwise, Stiles was in for a good hour of stimulation and perhaps a few dry orgasms.




Peter watched Stiles' progress from behind a mirrored glass. Stiles leapt from moaning to sobbing to cursing someone out, then back again to repeat the cycle. They certainly had a lot of work to do with the boy.


When Peter finally entered the room again at lunch time, Stiles was covered in sweat and was back to painful whimpers. Peter shut off the milking machines and Stiles panted gratefully at the reprieve.


Peter pet him for a moment in his bonds and Stiles all but melted into the touch.


"That's a good bitch," Peter told him gently. He didn't move to unstrap Stiles just yet or remove any of the suction devices. "Are you ready for some lunch, darling?"


Stiles nodded his head exhaustedly, clearly not feeling up to words right that moment.


Peter pulled down a bag filled with a nutritive solution. At the end was a long, flexible teat that Stiles would have to deep throat and suck in order to get solution from. He explained it to the boy while coaxing his mouth open. Stiles clearly was incredulous, but desperate. He sucked a bit on the first few inches but nothing came out and he looked to Peter frantically.


"I told you, sweetheart, you've got to take it the whole way," he repeated. "When your lips reach the base here the sensor will know the teat is fully seated in your throat and you'll be able to suck your lunch directly into your belly. Try again," he urged and pet Stiles' back while the boy reached for the easy to reach teat and pushed forward on it again. Stiles eased the rubber into his throat with the ease of all omegas, a natural in-born talent, and then his throat convulsed as he swallowed the drink. Stiles' body sagged with relief and he continued to drink a bit before pulling back for some air. He would fuck his throat this way for his meal until the entire large bag of solution had been emptied.


"That's good," Peter told him. "You keep going until you've eaten all your lunch. I'm going to turn the machine back on to make you feel nice while I'm gone," Peter told him.


Stiles looked at him with panicked eyes at that and tried to pull back fully from the teat to argue but Peter held him in place by the back of the neck. "Suck," he told Stiles in a hard voice, and Stiles tentatively began to suck the teat again. Only when it was fully seated in Stiles' throat once again did Peter release his neck and turn on both milking machines to a strong whir. Stiles' whole body convulsed at the over-stimulation, but he was forced to keep swallowing. After all, Peter wouldn't return until he'd finished. With that done, Peter saw himself back out.




When Stiles had finished every last drop of his lunch, Peter turned off the machines. The boy sobbed quietly and was docile as a kitten as Peter unstrapped him from the bench and the milking machines. His belly was still distended from the doggy cum, and Peter had to help him walk to Processing once again.


Derek was there as before to help him empty out, first on the toilet and then with another enema. All the while Derek made idle comments about how dirty Stiles' hole was. Peter led Stiles next to Doctor Deaton for a thorough physical to see whether the boy's attitude could have any underlying physical causes.




Stiles was strapped to the exam chair, legs spread wide by the stirrups. Deaton probed right away at Stiles' stretched hole with two fingers. "Good production of slick," he said idly to Peter who sat nearby. "That's good. We shouldn't need any lube."


He added a third finger, then a fourth, stretching Stiles out without much difficulty. Soon, he was able to work his whole fist into the gasping boy. Stiles let out the strangest moan after a moment, both aroused and uncomfortable. "And there's the cervix," Deaton said, stroking it from deep within Stiles' hole as Stiles continued to tremble and grunt. "Nice and responsive," he proclaimed as he rubbed his fingers against the sensitive area. Then he made a fist and pressed his knuckles insistently against Stiles' prostate.


Stiles went rigid with another dry orgasm, his little cock twitching and half hard. "Nicely responsive prostate," Deaton declared, still grinding his knuckles against it to prolong Stiles' dry orgasm. He pulled his fist back and gently started punch fucking the stretched hole. It squelched wetly and stretched to accommodate him as Stiles' eyes took on a glazed look again, his breaths coming faster and body lax. Deaton let the boy enjoy it for a little while, working up to a stronger speed and intensity as he punched his forearm into the hole, deeper into Stiles' guts and against his cervix.


Eventually though he stopped and pulled free to wash his hands and arms. Then he began a clinical inspection of Stiles' little cocklette.


"About an inch and a half in length flaccid," he said, stretching out the little nub. He pulled and stretched at the abused cock until finally it reluctantly erected. "Three inches erect. Not too big, shouldn't cause any problems." Deaton reached out for a sound and lubed it up, then began pressing it into the erect little cock. Clearly this was new to Stiles as well as he wailed at the intrusion, unable to see what was happening as he stared at the ceiling. Deaton worked it in and out of the cock, pressing it internally into Stiles' prostate. Stiles trembled at the sensation. "Patient responds well to internal penile stimulation, though might benefit from more regular urethral penetration."


He set the sound aside and began to palpate Stiles' balls. "Now these," he said as he pulled and squeezed them, "are just a little too big for my liking." He crushed them in his first and Stiles groaned with arousal instead of pain. "You're taking him to Deuc next?" Deaton asked Peter.


"That was the plan."


"He'll want to work over these babies for a while," Deaton told him. He squeezed again and Stiles all but drooled. "See how nicely he responds to the pain? Still, I'll have to talk to his father about them. Stiles is a perfect candidate for a castration. It would probably help his attitude and comfort immensely to just have rid of them." He continued to palpate the sack as he talked.


"Just the balls?" Peter asked curiously.


"We could remove the penis as well if the father preferred," Deaton said indifferently. "I'm not too worried about its size, but then again he might feel more mentally comfortable to have rid of both so that he can focus more fully on his hole."


"You're just a sweet little cunt to be bred, aren't you?" Deaton asked in a sweet voice as he manipulated Stiles' balls. Stiles only moaned in response.


Deaton relinquished the balls and moved to Stiles' nipples next. They were still a bit flushed and plumped from the milking machine. Stiles hissed with discomfort as Deaton pinched and pulled and twisted at them. "Now these," he said, "should be much longer. I'd like to see him lactating by the end of the week. Regular milking simulates the feeling of nursing young and puts the omega in a more subservient headspace."


Deaton reached for an eleven inch dildo next, and coaxed Stiles to open his mouth. "Big breath," he warned, then began to work the dildo into Stiles' throat, seeing how much the boy could take. As he eased it in he asked Peter, "You fed him with the eight inch today?"


"Mm," he confirmed. "He did fairly well with it."


Deaton eased the eleven inch all the way in until the rubber balls sat at Stiles' lips, then he eased it back out. "He has an impressive natural capacity for deep throating. I want him feeding off the eleven inch tomorrow. And if you ring gag him, the dogs can have his throat in the bench as well in the future."


"I'd hoped to get him willingly licking and sucking at Brody's dick later today first," Peter divulged.


"That would be good for him too," Deaton nodded, "But I still think he needs to be force-fucked regularly. Don't let him get too much control of a situation."


Peter nodded his understanding. Deaton finished putting his things away, and then they let Stiles up and Peter walked him to the next station of the day. Deucalion.




Stiles followed Peter's direction meekly, as if in a bit of a daze. That was good. It meant that perhaps some of the treatment was beginning to sink into him. Ultimately, he wanted a submissive but energetic boy who could take care of house and home and generally be functional in society, but there were stages of correction and this was a major improvement to the boy who had petulantly stomped his foot that morning.


Deucalion met them at the door, expecting them.


"Peter," Deuc greeted him with a friendly nod. "And good afternoon, omega," he acknowledged Stiles.


Stiles' eyes were on all the torture implements hung on the walls and the various benches stationed across the floor, though his eyes did dart to Deucalion in response.


Deuc grabbed hold of Stiles' jaw in a tight grip warningly. "Say, 'Good afternoon, Alpha.'," he prompted.


Stiles swallowed nervously. "Good afternoon, Alpha," he repeated quietly.


Deuc released him. "Good."


"Anything in particular you recommend?" Deuc asked Peter. After all, as Stiles' handler for the day, Peter would have developed a sense of what the omega needed.


"He likes to have his balls hurt," Peter told him, and Deuc raised his brows with interest.


"Does he now?"


"Mm," Peter hummed affirmatively. "Though Deaton's recommending a castration."


"Well then, we'll simply have to enjoy ourselves with them while we can," Deuc said with a smile. "What's his temperament? Does he need attention? Humiliation? Discipline?"


"From what I can tell, he most craves being reminded of his place."


"Is that so? I think I can accommodate." Deuc surveyed the tools of his trade and Stiles trembled. He reached out to clutch at Peter's hand, surprising him.


"Peter," he whispered. "Please don't make me."


It was a good sign that Stiles had sought out the protection of an Alpha, and Peter didn't want to diminish the accomplishment, but he had to address a few things. He gave Stiles' hand a squeeze. "Alpha Peter," he reminded him.


"Alpha Peter," Stiles was quick to correct, his eyes a bit desperate.


"You'll be fine," Peter reassured him. "Most of our omegas love their time with Alpha Deucalion. Now, I'm not mad that you were scared, but you mustn't question the program, sweetheart."


"I think this should help him control his speech," Deuc offered. He'd moved to the side during their little exchange, and returned with a cock gag.


Stiles looked a bit desperate but he opened his mouth when prompted, and Deuc fit the toy in place, pumping it until an artificial knot locked behind Stiles' teeth and filled his mouth well, pressing on his tongue. The toy was long enough, Peter knew, that it would just nudge the back of Stiles' throat, filling him but leaving him room to breathe. In addition to the knot, buckles latched around Stiles' head, further locking the gag in place.


When Deuc gave the toy one last pump, giving Stiles' jaw the slightest stretch, Stiles let out a little moan and his eyes fluttered shut for a moment. Deuc smiled knowingly, and guided Stiles over to a pommel horse while Peter took a seat in the corner to simply observe.


Stiles was strapped into place on hands and knees, and like most of the day he had supports to aid him, taking his weight and keeping him immobile. Deuc arranged Stiles' meagre package so that it hung between his legs within easy reach, Stiles' legs splayed wide. The first order of business was to paddle Stiles' balls.


As Peter had suspected, Stiles' fear was completely unnecessary. He watched Deuc work over the boy's small balls with a little rubber paddle and the grunts and groans Stiles made were far from pained. They were the epitome of lust, even behind his gag. It would be a shame if the sheriff got rid of them, Peter thought idly, but then again the castration scar was often quite sensitive to a good spanking as well.


Stiles' little cocklette erected under the attention to his sack but Deucalion ignored it. "Is this why you're acting out so much, omega?" Deucalion asked. "No one to hit your useless little balls?" Stiles twitched and came dry, not having had time to recover from all his ordeals of the day. "Look at that," Deuc remarked, "They can't even produce any cum, can they? Useless little balls." He thwacked them a few more times and Stiles' breath hitched. Though he was facing away from Peter, Peter recognized it to mean the boy was crying again.


"Look at this useless little cocklette," Deuc said, setting the paddle aside to pinch the head of Stiles' cock. It was sensitive from the dry orgasm and Stiles whined high in his throat and trembled in his bonds. Deuc held the fading member between two fingers and stroked it vigorously as Stiles whined. "It doesn't even want to stay firm, does it, omega?" Deuc asked almost sympathetically as he continued his assault. "It's certainly not for breeding. What is an omega cock good for?"


Stiles whined and cried silently behind his gag.


"I know what you need," Deuc said and took up his paddle again. This time when he paddled Stiles it was cock and balls alike that took the swats. Stiles' little cock looked so sweet, a limp one and a half inches dangling between his legs as Deuc worked it over, making it rosy and plump from the swelling.


"There now," Deuc said with satisfaction as he inspected his work. He manipulated the bruised little cock between two pinching fingers. "Do you think you can stay limp for me while I work over your hole?" Stiles made some sort of whine or moan, though what he meant by it was anyone's guess. "Just try your best," Deuc told him. "You don't need an erection right now."


For now, Deuc worked three of his fingers easily into Stiles' well stretched hole, still leaking slick. It hadn’t been long since Deaton had had his whole arm up there, and it took very little time for Deuc to work up to his own fist. Unlike Deaton, Deuc took his time, slow-fucking Stiles with his arm, while never fully exiting his hole. Stiles seemed completely dazed, his breathing soft and even.


"There you go. That's it," Deuc encouraged in a hypnotic voice. Any time Stiles' little cock threatened to erect, Deuc pinched it sharply or flicked the cockhead. He'd hold his arm still until he was certain there was no threat of an erection, and then he worked back to slow-fucking Stiles' hole as Stiles hummed in appreciation.


Deuc was patient with Stiles, and eventually Peter could tell he was focusing entirely on Stiles' prostate until the smallest dribble of cum trickled out of Stiles' limp member. It was a beautiful sight to behold, and Stiles seemed completely relaxed as he moaned his pleasure.


Deuc’s arm pushed deep, and he began to rub intently over Stiles' cervix. Stiles whined and bucked in response, clearly oversensitive there, but Deuc continued on with his lazy, insistent rubs while Stiles trembled violently in his bonds. Stiles had begun crying again, though Peter watched knowingly as suddenly his whole body stiffened in a powerful cervical orgasm and his sobs turned to lusty grunts. Peter was so taken by it he almost didn't notice what Deuc did, as Deuc carefully pinched Stiles' cockhead again as it threatened to erect in response. All the while his internal hand continued to stroke Stiles through a prolonged anal contraction.


When Deuc removed his arm and wiped it off with a towel, Stiles was once again completely slack in his bonds. Deucalion took up his little paddle again and began working over Stiles' cock and balls once more as the boy floated on the endorphin high.


Deuc cleaned Stiles up and undid his restraints, pulling the gag free of his stretched mouth. Stiles was limp as a noodle and his eyes glazed with pleasure.


"Say 'thank you, Alpha Deucalion'," Peter prompted.


"Thank you, Alpha Deucalion," Stiles repeated, still resting on the pommel horse.


"My pleasure, omega," Deuc answered.


"Come on, darling," Peter urged. He helped Stiles stand long enough only to ease him to his hands and knees on the floor. "Crawl along behind. We have some training to do yet today."


Stiles didn't ask what training, simply crawled along behind Peter obediently as Peter led the way to the kennel. Stiles seemed a bit wary and confused about why they were there, as none of the dogs were raring to go and there was no breeding bench.


Peter led him into Brody's cage and shut the door again. The Tibetan Mastiff was curled in a dog bed and his tail thumped in a friendly way. The dog stood up and came over to sniff at Stiles, moving quickly to the familiar hole to sniff and lick. Stiles seemed uncertain of the animal’s attention and stiffened, but sighed at the tongue on his loose rim. The boy looked to Peter helplessly.


Brody came round to lick at Stiles' face in a friendly way, recognizing Stiles as his earlier bitch.


"Don't be shy. Lick Brody back, Stiles."


Stiles shuddered in obvious revulsion but opened his mouth very slightly, coughing as dog tongue touched his own.


"You’re Brody's bitch now," Peter reminded him simply. "You need to show him you appreciate him."


Reluctantly, Stiles licked back at the slobbery dog mouth until Brody was satisfied and curled up on his bed once more.


"Crawl forward now, sweetheart," Peter encouraged him. "That's right. Now lick at Brody's cock."


Stiles looked to Peter with tears threatening to fall from his shining eyes. He looked desperate, as if struggling to comply.


"You want Brody's nice cock filling your hole, don't you?" Peter reasoned. "Didn't it feel nice when he fucked you this morning?"


"Yes, Alpha," Stiles whispered, hanging his head in shame.


"There's a good bitch. Go get Brody ready, then. Show him how much you like his doggy cock, how much you want it."


Stiles crawled over to the large dog and nudged his head at Brody's crotch. Broody was good natured and used to this behaviour from omegas. He allowed Stiles to find and lick at his sheathed cock, as it slowly unsheathed itself, hard and red and slick while Stiles gagged a bit at his own actions.


"Go on and suck it, baby," Peter urged him. "You want to suck the doggy's dick?"


Stiles hesitantly wrapped his lips around it and sucked more of it into his mouth, then all at once moaned and swallowed a good bit of Brody's doggy cock into his throat. He would have done more if Brody hadn't pulled away and gotten to his feet.


Stiles didn't have to be told to present, and Peter thought it was lovely when the omega instinctively took up the breeding stance, knees wide and ass raised, head lowered to the floor. Brody wasted no time in fucking into his newest bitch and Stiles seemed perfectly content as he took Brody the second time that day. The knot pressed against his prostate, but Stiles' cock remained limp, exhausted from the day.


When Brody finally pulled out, Peter encouraged Stiles to clean him off and it took little suggestion to get Stiles to crawl over to the dog and lick the doggy cock clean. Brody then returned the favour by licking out Stiles' cummy hole as the boy curled up contentedly next to him.


"Can you stand?" Peter asked when all was said and done. Stiles struggled to his feet.


"Yes, Alpha."


"Let's get you back to Processing so Derek can clean you up. Your father should be here to collect you."




Peter led Stiles to the reception area where the sheriff and Doctor Deaton were in the office having a serious conversation. It seemed that Deaton had already explained Stiles' physical condition and his recommendation to him. Stiles dropped gracefully to his knees at his dad's boots and knelt in a perfect Wait posture. The sheriff's eyes lit with surprise and delight as he looked at his son, then flicked to Peter who smiled.


The sheriff pet Stiles' head and Stiles leaned into the affection. He docilely opened his mouth to suck on his dad's first two fingers when the sheriff fucked into his lips with them and pet his tongue. He pulled his hand away with awe.


"I'll be damned," he said mostly to himself.


"Stiles was a delight to work with, Alpha Stilinski," Peter told him. "Though I would recommend he continue to come to the facility for the next month at least for conditioning. His behaviours are likely to revert --"


"Particularly if you don't have him castrated," Deaton reiterated.


The sheriff looked torn. It was a big decision. Not all omegas were castrated, though a significant portion benefited from the procedure. "What do you think, Stiles?" the sheriff asked his son. Stiles looked up at him in return. "Do you want the doctor to take away your balls? Are they confusing for you?"


"Please, Daddy," Stiles said quietly. "I don't want them. I'm so tired."


The sheriff looked immensely relieved, and Peter and Deaton shared surprised but pleased looks. Stiles clearly was desperate for help in being a healthy, happy omega. Peter was afraid they'd have to fight for the procedure on his behalf, but the boy was smart, and he was in a good place mentally right now.


"I can do the procedure tomorrow morning, if you like," Deaton told him.


"Wouldn't his recovery get in the way of the rest of his treatment?"


Peter shook his head. "There are plenty of other things we can do while he physically recovers. It would be no problem at all. Stiles wouldn't be the first omega to have to watch his stitches for a few days."


The sheriff nodded. "Let's go ahead then. First thing tomorrow."


"The only other decision you'll need to make is whether or not too keep his cock. It's entirely up to you," Deaton explained. "It's small enough that there's no reason for me to actively recommend for its removal, but given Stiles' mental blocks it might be less confusing for him if you remove distractions from his hole."


The sheriff looked torn. "You said in your report though he responded well to various stimuli on it?"


"He did," Peter confirmed. The paddle. The sound. The milking device. Deucalion's pinch.


"At the risk of needing a second procedure, I say we leave it and see how he does without his balls," the sheriff decided.


Deaton nodded approvingly. He handed the sheriff papers to sign for the procedure and went over care and recovery with him while Stiles knelt, head resting in the sheriff's lap as his father pet him. No supper was to be given Stiles, nor breakfast, due to the procedure in the morning, and it was agreed he'd spend the two weeks following the procedure in their overnight ward to monitor his recovery, though the sheriff would be welcome to visit him. He'd take Stiles home that night to help him pack a few things in preparation.


Chapter Text

The sheriff and Stiles arrived bright and early the next morning and Peter could see already that the sheriff looked haggard, and Stiles was gagged and trussed as he had been the day before.


"We're off to kind of a rough start today," the sheriff confessed to Peter. "I put him straight to bed when we got home yesterday as you guys suggested and he went right to sleep. But this morning he'd reverted some. Shouting, crying, carrying on. Now he's not sure if he wants the procedure or not." He ran a hand through his hair.


"Take a breath, Alpha Stilinski," Peter told him steadily. "It's going to be okay. This is why you signed off on this procedure, remember? Stiles' mood swings aren't his fault, and they're likely to continue if the physical issue isn't addressed. If you really want to hold off, we will. We'll go through training with Stiles like we did yesterday. But I think we both know that he'd feel better, want help, and then revert by morning all over again."


The sheriff took a shuddering breath. "You're right. God. I know you're right. It's just ---"


"He's your boy. I perfectly understand. We'll get Stiles settled before his surgery. You don't have to worry about that. He won't be angry or anxious."


The sheriff nodded and bolstered himself. "Take good care of him."


"Of course."


With that, Stiles was handed off to Peter as his father left him to his fate. Peter stared down at Stiles' glaring until Stiles cast his glance away. When Stiles looked back at him, he looked helpless and conflicted.


"I know, darling. We'll make those feelings go away. Are you ready to be my good boy now?"


Hesitantly, Stiles gave a nod.


"Hands and knees," Peter directed, and Stiles sunk down to the floor, then awkwardly crawled after him with his wrists still bound until they arrived at Deaton's office.




"Ah, there's my patient," the doctor said brightly.


"Stiles is having a bad morning," Peter informed him.


"Understandable. We'll help you feel better in just a bit," Deaton assured Stiles. "Peter, if you could get him set up in the chair, I'll start his IV going. And we'll need to remove the gag. I don't want his airway obstructed."


Peter undid Stiles gag and helped him into the medical chair, untying his hands to strap them to the armrests of the seat.


"Peter --"


Peter cut him a stern look.


"Alpha Peter," Stiles amended. "I'm n-not sure I want..."


"You're sure," Peter told him gently. "When you were clear-headed and feeling good yesterday you begged for our help. We're going to help you, sweetheart."


Stiles nodded his head and then let Peter strap his head in place, then his torso, his hips, his legs into the stirrups spread wide. Deaton affixed the IV to his arm.


"You'll feel a little sleepy, Stiles," Deaton told him. "And when you wake up, you'll feel a little sore between your legs. But nothing will be truly painful, I promise you. And you'll feel so much better."


"I'm scared," he admitted in a whisper.


"I'll be here the whole time," Peter assured him, giving his hand a squeeze. "And if you're worried about your penis, we can always have it cut off later, alright?" Stiles nodded to him the little he could within the confines of his bonds. "If it's confusing for you we'll cut off your useless little cocklette too," Peter reiterated as Stiles seemed to relax at the words. "But let's just see if the castration is enough."


Stiles was fading fast, and he didn't respond, just drifted off to sleep.




When Stiles blinked awake he was groggy and confused, but Peter sat with him until he was fully himself again, not loopy on drugs. He was still immobilized in the medical chair to keep from hurting himself, his legs spread wide and his bandaged privates calling his attention as he came back to consciousness.


Stiles cast his glance to Peter and swallowed.


"They're gone," Peter assured him. "No complications."


His little cock peeked above the bandage, a catheter still inserted into his urethra and into his bladder, a bag of piss hanging from one of the legs of the chair.


"How does it feel?" Peter asked.


"Aches," Stiles said. "Not bad though, just a sort of throb. And I feel lighter there. Makes sense." He went silent a moment. "And I feel... quieter somehow."


"It'll take a few days for the aggressive hormones to clear out of your system, but you should only feel better as time goes on."


Peter unstrapped his head, and helped him take careful sips of water.


"Thank you, Alpha."


"Of course."


"I'm plugged?" Stiles noticed, his ass flexing around the intrusion.


"The procedure is confusing for your body. You're over-producing slick. You'll need to stay plugged for a few days and have a thorough enema before bed."


Stiles nodded indifferently.


"Will I still get erections?" Stiles wondered.


"Some omegas do, some don’t,” Peter explained. “You might not get them as often," Peter told him. "And your orgasms will be more internally focused."


Stiles took the information in but didn't respond. "What time is it?"


"Nine o'clock. Ready for some breakfast?"


At the suggestion, Stiles' stomach rumbled. He hadn't had breakfast or even supper the night before. Peter wheeled over something like an IV stand that had been previously prepared. Stiles saw the now familiar bag of nutritive solution hanging from an adjustable bar. Affixed to the bag was a flexible nipple, this one eleven inches in length as per the doctor's orders the previous day.


Peter adjusted it so that Stiles could reach to deep throat it at his will, still able to swallow the whole length while strapped to the chair while also having enough space to pull back for air when he needed it. Stiles didn't complain as indeed he hadn't really the day before. He simply worked the length down his throat mostly by instinct, swallowing around the intrusion with no gag reflex to speak of, and felt the solution squirt into his belly each time he'd taken it the whole way.


Stiles hummed and moaned contentedly as he fed, and his eyes glazed slightly as he fell into a comfortable headspace.


Once he had finally emptied the large bag, his stomach was slightly bloated with two meals worth of liquid food, and his eyes were slipping shut from the exertion. Peter wheeled the food bag away and let Stiles drift off to sleep. Deaton came in and checked on him while he napped, and it was nearing eleven o'clock when Stiles awoke again feeling more like himself, though he was still catheterized, plugged, and bound as before.


"Welcome back," Peter said as he noticed Stiles' new lucidity. He helped Stiles sip some water once again.


"Can I get up soon?" Stiles asked.


"Oh no, sweet boy. You'll be in the chair all of today, certainly. We don't want to disturb your stitches." Stiles face began to crumple with sad disappointment. "Don't worry," Peter assured him, petting his head. "You'll get to see the doggies again, once you’re healed enough. And you're awake just in time for your milking. Doctor Deaton is in the next room setting up the mobile milking machine."


"Okay," Stiles answered docilely, seeming a bit placated that he'd not be trapped doing nothing all day, but perhaps a bit nervous about the return of so overwhelming a machine. Peter knew though that the doctor wouldn't want Stiles to miss a single day of milking. He was determined that Stiles would feel more himself if he were lactating, and he said that with Stiles' castration they would likely see results all the more quickly.


"Alpha Deucalion came by while you were sleeping," Peter divulged, and Stiles' eyes lit up with some small excitement at the revelation. "He brought you this," Peter said, and held up the knotting pump gag that Stiles had worn for Deuc the day before. "Would you feel better if I put it in for you?"


"Please," Stiles said quietly and nodded.


Peter slipped the rubber cock into Stiles' mouth and nudged it to the back of his throat, pumping until it inflated the knot and locked behind his teeth. Stiles hummed and relaxed as his jaw was stretched to capacity, his tongue flattened and immobile under the relentless pressure. Peter buckled the gag in place as well onto Stiles' head, then carefully strapped Stiles' head to the seat, fully immobilizing him.


"All nice and snug," Peter said softly as Stiles relaxed, eyes half lidded.


Just then Deaton wheeled in the apparatus. "Ah, I see our patient is awake. The milking machine certainly would be a rude awakening," he said with a smile. Not that he would have necessarily woken Stiles before setting up, but just as well.


Deaton attached the suction cups to Stiles' nipples, which had already recovered from the previous day's abuse. Given a bit of time, however, he knew that they would distend more permanently. He flicked the machine on to a whirr and Stiles moaned around his gag, his stomach clenching.


Peter shushed him and pet his taut abs. "Shh. Try to relax, sweetheart," he urged and he saw Stiles trembling as he struggled with the intense sensations.


Deaton carefully removed Stiles' catheter for the time being and Stiles winced at the sensation of it. Then he attached the special little cup to the whole of Stiles' cocklette, now small and limp, and turned that one on as well and Stiles whimpered as his thighs trembled. Deaton tugged on the restraints to make sure there was no wiggle room for Stiles to disturb his stitches, then he saw himself out with Peter there to supervise.


Peter gave Stiles one more pat and retreated to the corner, out of sight, so as to not overly coddle Stiles through the sensations. He had to learn to submit to the sensations in his body and Peter would only distract from that right now. After twenty minutes, Stiles was sweating and mewling around his gag as he trembled, and tears had begun to leak down his cheeks from over stimulation. Peter saw a weak little stream of thin ejaculate suck out of his limp little cock. There would be much less of that without his balls, though his prostate would still produce a paltry stream now and then. Stiles didn't really even seem aware that the ejaculation had happened. Peter smiled. Stiles' little cock truly was useless now.


After the ejaculation, Stiles settled down into a sort of haze, eyes glassed over. Peter knew with such a gentle orgasm and no aggressive chemicals flooding his body, Stiles would be feeling soft and docile. The suction to his nipples would be a comfort as well, as the nurturing areas of his brain were stimulated.


By forty minutes into the treatment, Stiles was crying softly, tears falling down his cheeks from the sensitivity on his poor cocklette and tender nipples, but he wasn't fighting it even as he cried, body lax in his bonds. Finally, the hour was up, and Peter switched off the machine. Lunch had arrived while Stiles was being treated, and Peter wheeled the bag of food over as he unsecured Stiles' head restraint, then removed his gag. He offered the boy a sip of water.


"Is it lunch already?" Stiles asked a bit hoarsely.


"You know the drill," Peter told him, helping Stiles to get the eleven inch nipple at the right angle to swallow. Once Stiles was working the teat down his throat, Peter turned the milking machines back on and Stiles jerked in his bonds, clearly struggling to keep swallowing his lunch while assaulted with such sensations. Peter ruffled his hair. "Finish eating and we'll take a break," he promised.


Stiles struggled through lunch, but Peter was patient. Derek showed up partway through the ordeal as well and simply ignored the struggle to eat and the whirring milking device as he unplugged Stiles to drain out a copious amount of slick before administering a quick enema. It couldn't have made it easy for the poor boy to finish his lunch, but it was minimally disruptive.


Finally, the food bag registered as empty and Peter shut the milking devices off once again and began to remove them. He buzzed for Doctor Deaton to return and have a look at the results, as well as to re-catheterize Stiles.


Deaton looked at the machines’ output. "Very low production of seminal fluid," he said. "That's very good, Stiles." He turned to Peter. "Did he experience any erection during his milking?"


"Not at all," Peter told him. "Totally flaccid throughout, even when he ejaculated."


"That’s an excellent response," Deaton said, fondling the little cock. "How does your cocklette feel, Stiles?"


Stiles hissed a bit. "Sensitive, after the milking," he said first. "But... I dunno. It's weird. My cock doesn't feel any different but --"


Peter interrupted. "Say, 'my cocklette', Stiles." He didn't want Stiles referring to what was between his legs in the same way he would an alpha's or even a doggy's cock. It would only confuse him.


Stiles blushed. "My cocklette doesn't feel any different really, but there's a sort of emptiness down there now that makes it feel like it doesn't matter. Did I really ejaculate?" he asked Peter uncertainly.


"Just once I think, but yes."




Deaton pulled out the plug again and pressed three fingers in Stiles' hole easily, feeling for his prostate.


"Mhm. His prostate feels deflated."


Stiles groaned loudly at the attention, head thrown back and eyes distant.


"Feel good in there?" Deaton asked with a knowing smile.


Stiles panted as Deaton continued to pet him inside. "Yes, yes, please. So good. Alpha, alpha," he begged somewhat incoherently.


"With your little balls out of the way, you should feel much more sensitive in here, and you already responded beautifully before," Deaton told him. All the while, Stiles’ hole squelched wetly from his over production of slick. His whole body shook violently in his restraints as Deaton forced an orgasm out of him. Stiles shouted himself hoarse, eyes clenched tight at the overwhelming feeling as he continued to tremble, the doctor prolonging the orgasm by the continued press against his prostate.


His cocklette remained limp and unresponsive between his legs. But his hole spasmed wildly.


Deaton pulled his hand out and plugged Stiles up again, then went about cleaning up all the slick. Stiles whimpered pathetically.


"Please more?" he begged, looking to Peter.


"I know you have a greedy bitch hole that wants to be bred," Peter told him, "but you need to take it easy for a bit."


Stiles shuddered at the casual humiliation.


"That's right exactly," Doctor Deaton agreed. "I think that's plenty of stimulation for now. You should have a rest for the next few hours."


"But --" Stiles began to argue. Peter knew he'd say that he wasn't tired, but it wasn't up to him. He slapped Stiles sharply on his inner thigh, causing Stiles to cut off with a yelp and a flinch.


"We don't argue with Alphas at this facility," he reminded Stiles gently. Stiles bit his lip and wisely kept silent as Deaton wheeled his milking machine and the remains from lunch away, leaving them alone in the room. "Good bitch," Peter said softly as Stiles docilely allowed him to strap his head to the headrest, completely immobilized again. Even if Stiles intended to stay awake, he'd have to stare at the ceiling unmovingly and do nothing.


There was no window in the room, and Peter went to the door of the adjoining room. "I'll be right next door watching and listening," Peter assured him. "Call me if you need anything, but I want you to try and rest."


"Yes, Alpha," Stiles answered quietly.


Peter doused the lights, leaving the room in pitch blackness, Stiles still spread and naked in his chair. The only sounds were distant hums – not even people passing in the halls could be heard through the thick walls. Peter moved into the other room and shut the door, leaving Stiles in quiet and darkness to rest.


From the night vision monitors he could see Stiles look around at nothing for just a moment, before he closed his eyes and his breathing evened into sleep.




Peter had left Stiles at one. He let him sleep two hours, until three, then turned on the lights. Stiles blinked in confusion against the brightness.


"Wake up, darling," Peter told him. He released the head restraint and offered him some water. "It's time for your therapy session."


Once Stiles had had a drink, Peter allowed Stiles to acclimate to his surroundings again as he reattached the head restraint. When Stiles was immobile once more, a woman settled into a nearby chair. He knew Stiles couldn't see her with his head immobilized, but he didn't unstrap him. This would be easier if he felt secure.


"This is Doctor Marin Monroe," Peter said. "You may call her Doctor Monroe or Alpha Monroe. She'll be your therapist while you're with us." He knew that Stiles had had omega therapy before to little effect. He'd read his file. But he suspected that with Stiles' new attitude they'd get further this time around.


"Hello, Stiles," the doctor said.


"Hello, Alpha," Stiles answered. Peter warmed with pride as he got himself a seat to listen.


"I wanted to talk a bit about your stay at this facility so far. How are you liking it?" she asked.


"It's... it's good." Stiles answered nervously.


"Have you been enjoying yourself?" she prompted.


"Yeah," Stiles answered, clearly hesitant to admit to it.


"Say 'I've been enjoying myself', Stiles," Dr. Monroe prompted.


"I've been enjoying myself," Stiles said, his voice quavering.


"Good. That's very good, Stiles. Thank you for telling me how you feel," Monroe told him. "What have you enjoyed most since coming to the facility?" she asked.


Stiles licked his lips and couldn't seem to answer.


"Answer Doctor Monroe, Stiles," Peter reminded him gently. It was important for Stiles to begin admitting his truth, so that he could heal mentally.


"Th-the dogs," he answered quaveringly.


"What about the dogs?" Monroe prompted patiently.


"When they f-fucked me," he admitted. Well, that was interesting, Peter thought, though not surprising.


"Who facilitated that event?" Monroe asked him.




"Alpha Peter," she reminded gently.


"Alpha Peter," Stiles repeated.


"What did Alpha Peter do?"


"He --"


"Say his name please."


"Alpha Peter had the dogs f-fuck me."


"Did he make them do it? Or did they want to?"


"They w-wanted to."


"So did he have them do it?"


"He l-l-let them," Stiles admitted with a quavering voice.


"What did they fuck, Stiles?"


"M-my ass."


Monroe reached out and gave one of his cheeks a squeeze. "This is your ass, Stiles," she said. "Is this what they fucked?"




"Where did they fuck you?"


"M-my asshole," Stiles answered.


"Is that how you think of your hole?" she asked curiously.


Stiles was silent.


"Stiles?" she prompted.


"No," he whispered.


"What would you call your asshole, Stiles?"


"M-my bitch hole."


"That's very good, Stiles. Thank you for telling me. Why do you think of it as a bitch hole?"


"B-because I'm a... a bitch," Stiles admitted quietly. "To be bred."


"So let's say our sentence from the beginning. 'I enjoy --'," she prompted.


Stiles knew what was expected of him. He swallowed. "I enjoy it w-when Alpha P-peter l-lets the doggies f-fuck my bitch hole." His whole body was blushing scarlet, but Peter had never felt so proud.


"That's very good, Stiles," Doctor Monroe effused, and Stiles blushed more deeply but seemed to appreciate the praise.


"Would you like that to happen again, Stiles? Would you like for Alpha Peter to let the doggies fuck your bitch hole again?"




"Yes, Alpha," Peter interjected gently.


"Yes, Alpha," Stiles amended.


"Why don't you ask him if he'll allow it?" the doctor prompted. "He's here now. You could ask him."


"A-alpha Peter?" Stiles asked quaveringly.


"What is it, darling?"


"Will you let the doggies f-fuck my bitch hole again?"


"Of course I will," he answered, feeling himself swell with pride and warmth for Stiles' progress. "Once you're healed enough."


"Th-thank you, Alpha."


"You're very welcome."


"Did you come when the doggies fucked your bitch hole, Stiles?" the doctor asked.


"I... I don't know," he answered, seeming confused as he tried to remember. "I think so."


In fact, Peter knew that Stiles had come several times. He'd watched it happen. But the whole ordeal had been overwhelming to the newly arrived omega, and a bit of a shock to the system. It wasn't surprising he couldn't remember precisely what had happened.


"Is it important that you come when the doggies fuck you?"


"I don't know," Stiles answered confusedly.


"Let me ask a different question," the doctor offered. "Would you say it's important that you ejaculate when the doggies fuck you?"


"No, Alpha."


"Why is that, Stiles?"


"Because my cocklette is useless for breeding."


"What do you like about the doggies fucking your bitch hole?"


"I like it when they knot me," Stiles answered readily. "When they breed me."


Doctor Monroe smiled. "What part of them has a knot, Stiles?"


"Th-their dick."


"Their doggy dicks."


"Yes. Their doggy dicks. I like it when their doggy dicks knot my bitch hole."


"After Alpha Peter, who else have you enjoyed spending some time with?" the doctor prompted.


"Alpha Deucalion," Stiles said after thinking it over a bit.


"What did Alpha Deucalion do that you particularly enjoyed?"


"He hit my c-cock and b-balls," Stiles admitted, flushing with humiliation at the admission.


"Your cock, Stiles?"


"My cocklette," he amended.


"And you don't have balls any longer do you?"


"No, Alpha."


"Would you like for Alpha Deucalion to hit your cocklette again?"


"Yes, Alpha."


The doctor paused and waited, and Stiles seemed to realize what he was meant to do. He had to say it aloud. "I'd like for Alpha Deucalion to hit m-my cocklette again."


"Does he hit it Stiles?" the doctor asked. "With a hand?"


"No, with a paddle, Alpha."


"Would you say he beats you then? Does he give you a beating?"


"A spanking," Stiles decided. "He spanks me."


"Spanks your cocklette."


"Yes, Alpha."


"You told me earlier that your cocklette was useless, Stiles."


"Yes, Alpha," he agreed.


"Would you call it your useless cocklette aloud for me, Stiles?"


"My useless cocklette," he said with a blush.


"How does it make you feel to say that?"


"Good," he said quietly.


The doctor prompted him to relay the sentence once more. "I would like Alpha Deucalion...."


"I would like Alpha Deucalion to spank my useless cocklette again," Stiles admitted without a stutter.


"Does it feel good when he spanks your useless cocklette?"






"It hurts," Stiles admitted.


"Do you like it when he hurts you?"


"Yes," he whispered in a small voice.


"Yes, Alpha," Peter prompted.


"Yes, Alpha," Stiles said. "I like it when Alpha Deucalion hurts my useless cocklette."


"What does it make you feel emotionally when Alpha Deucalion hurts your useless cocklette?" Doctor Monroe asked.


Stiles mused over that a good long while, but the doctor waited patiently for a response. Finally, Stiles said, "It makes me feel cared for. It makes me feel cared for when Alpha Deucalion hurts my useless cocklette."


"That's wonderful, Stiles. I'm so glad you told me what makes you feel cared for. I'm hearing you say that it makes you feel cared for when Alpha Deucalion hurts your useless cocklette, and that you enjoy it when Alpha Peter lets the doggies fuck your bitch hole. I hear you saying you like it when the doggy dicks knot your bitch hole. Am I getting it right, Stiles?"


"Yes, Alpha," Stiles admitted, sounding relieved. Peter knew this was more than a therapist had ever gotten Stiles to admit to before. According to his files, in prior sessions he'd been combative and denied even having wants and needs.


"Very good, Stiles. I think we'll end our session here for today, but I look forward to talking with you again in the future."


"Thank you, Alpha," Stiles remembered to say as the doctor let herself out.


The entire session had taken about an hour. Peter released the head restraint and helped Stiles to sip some more water. "How do you feel now?"


"Aches down there," Stiles said after a moment of assessment.


"Be more specific please," Peter prompted. He knew evading the words was a defence mechanism in Stiles.


"It aches where..." Stiles fumbled for what to say, "where I was c-castrated."


"But not too painful?" Peter checked.


"No, Alpha. About the same." Stiles told him. "And er... I kind of have to... use the bathroom."


Peter glanced down at the catheter and knew Stiles couldn't mean to piss. "Do you have to pee?" he prompted.


"Er.. no." Stiles blushed. "It feels... it feels like I have to shit," he said bluntly.


"That might just be the build-up of slick," Peter reminded him. "You're overproducing." He laid a hand over Stiles' abdomen and pressed and Stiles let out a soft grunt. "But regardless, remember I told you Derek would empty you out with an enema tonight. You can hold it until then."


"Yes, Alpha."


"In the future, let's try to remember to say you need 'emptied out' when you need Derek to do it for you," Peter suggested.


"I feel like I need emptied out."




"I feel like I need Derek to... empty me out." Stiles said with a blush.


"Alpha Derek." Peter reminded.


"Alpha Derek," Stiles said.


"Empty all of you?" Peter snarked with a small smile.


Stiles huffed and took a deep breath. "I feel like I need Alpha Derek to empty out my bitch hole," he said without a stutter, but with a fierce blush.


"Very good. When he comes by later tonight you can ask him to help you, alright darling?"


"Yes, Alpha."


"Other than that, any problems?"


Stiles hesitated. "You really can't unstrap me?" he asked a bit sadly, still bound to the chair and spread wide.


"Afraid not, sweetheart. You're healing today. In fact, I think it's time for another little rest before your father comes to visit you," Peter said.


Stiles wisely didn't complain as Peter strapped his head in place on the headrest again, and shut the room into complete darkness.




When Stiles blinked awake again to the bright lights, he heard Alpha Peter, Doctor Deaton, and his dad.


"Stiles!" the sheriff said, getting a look at his boy as Peter and the doctor trailed in after. Both of them had already given him a complete update on his son's health. His eyes went right to the flat bandage where his son's balls used to be, and he softened.


"You look perfect, baby. How do you feel?" he asked.


"Good," Stiles admitted as Peter released his head restraint so he could look around more easily. "Thank you, Daddy," he said, his eyes glistening with unshed tears.


"You're so welcome, baby. I just want you to feel better," he said.




The sheriff stayed for an hour, all told. They didn't really talk about what went on at the facility, or even much about the castration after the initial greeting. But father and son found all manner of things to laugh and talk about while Peter lingered in the adjoining room. It was nice to see the bond between father and son healing now that Stiles was finally receiving the help he needed.


But after some time, the doctor interjected and finally shooed the sheriff home. The sheriff would need his own rest after a day of work, and Stiles would need to be fed and tended to yet that night.


When Stiles was alone again, Peter wheeled in the familiar feeding bag. Though he must have been tired of the liquid diet by now as well as the exertion required to get it, Stiles simply opened his mouth docilely and worked with Peter to get started on it. Peter had his own plate of food that'd been delivered at the same time by the orderlies. Round the clock care of one of the overnight omegas could be exhausting, but was rewarding. Peter finished his own meal well before Stiles had finished drinking, and he watched the struggle from his chair.


While he waited, Deuc came by to check on Stiles and chatted with Peter while they waited for the boy to finish his meal.


When Stiles was finally done, Peter pulled the empty bag away. "Say hello to your visitor," he prompted.


Slightly out of breath and hoarse, Stiles responded. "Hello, Alpha Deucalion."


"Hello, omega. How are you feeling?"


"I feel good. Thank you, Alpha." Stiles suddenly remembered something and added, "And thank you for sending me the gag earlier today." He blushed.


"I take it you got some use out of it?"


"Yes, Alpha."




"Stiles mentioned you in his therapy today," Peter divulged and Stiles blushed furiously.


"Did he?" Deuc asked with a pleased smile.


"I think you had something you wanted to ask of Alpha Deucalion, didn't you Stiles?"


"I--" Stiles stuttered. "Will.. w-will you please hurt m-my useless cocklette, Alpha?"


Deucalion smiled warmly and stroked one of Stiles' spread thighs. "Of course, omega. We'll play lots more once you're healed fully." Stiles' eyes dimmed slightly with disappointment. "Would you like me to hurt it just a little right now?"


"Please, Alpha," Stiles said eagerly.


Deucalion picked up the limp member, careful not to disturb the nearby stitches. "What a tiny, useless little cocklette," he remarked, as if simply observing it aloud. "Does it even erect any more?" he asked Peter.


"It may, but it hasn't yet."


Deucalion carefully removed the catheter and set it aside. Stiles hissed at the feeling of it leaving his body, but otherwise waited with bated breath to know what Deucalion would do.


Deuc rummaged around in some drawers until he found what he was looking for. A little bottle of hand soap, and a toothbrush. "Would you like me to clean your little cock head, omega?" he asked.


Stiles could see what was in his hands and his breath hitched as he considered it. "Yes, Alpha," he admitted in a near whisper, closing his eyes in dread. He swallowed.


"What do you say?" Deuc asked as he settled in the wheeled chair between Stiles' legs.


"P-please clean my cockhead, Alpha."


Deuc squirted a bit of soap on the head of the cock and rubbed it around the whole little shaft, but focused his thumb in small circles over the head until it was nicely coated. It remained limp and soft in his grip. Then he settled the bristles of the toothbrush on the sensitive head and began to slowly and gently polish it.


Stiles' breath hitched, but at first it simply felt good, and then after some time worked up to detachedly uncomfortable, overly sensitive. As the flesh reddened under Deuc's patient care, the pain increased slowly and Stiles whimpered. Deuc added a little pressure and the bristles scratched the raw, reddened skin. Stiles let out a choked sob and his thighs trembled with the inability to pull away. His hips twitched against their strap.


Stiles mewled pathetically.


"You wanted me to clean it," Deuc pointed out.


"Yes Alpha," Stiles choked through tears. "H-hurts."


Deuc started to brush the skin of the whole shaft as he pinched the soapy cockhead painfully tightly between two fingers. Stiles cried in earnest.


"Please, please," Stiles begged incoherently.


"How do you feel, Stiles?" Peter asked quietly.


"H-hurts," he sobbed out.


"And emotionally?" he checked in, and reminded Stiles of his earlier admission.


"C-cared for," Stiles choked out even as he sobbed.


"I feel..." Peter prompted gently.


"I f-feel c-cared for when Alpha Deucalion h-hurts me."


"Hurts my ," Peter corrected.


"Hurts my u-useless cocklette," Stiles sobbed out. Then he dissolved into tears, unable to speak further.


Deuc continued to brush the little cocklette in his grasp until the whole of it was sudsy and bright red from chafing, though the rawness of it would fade by morning. He took a damp cloth and wiped the soap clear dispassionately while Stiles continued to cry it out. "There now, I'd call that clean," he said once finished.


"Th-thank you, Alpha," Stiles managed.


"You're welcome, omega," Deuc said warmly and pet Stiles' head on the way out.


Peter, meanwhile, eased a new catheter into Stiles’ urethra and let him settle down again. When Stiles had finished crying it out, he helped him blow his nose and gave him a drink of water. He let one of Stiles’ arms free long enough to allow him to brush his teeth for the evening at a little wheeled cart. Then Deaton came in to check the stitches and everything before he was gone for the night. Peter was left to idly chat with Stiles until Derek could clean him out before bed.




It was around seven-thirty that Derek finally showed up.


"What do we say to Alpha Derek?" Peter reminded Stiles.


"Alpha Derek?" Stiles asked meekly.


Derek raised a brow. "Yes?"


"Will you please empty out my bitch hole?" he asked in a small voice, seemingly mortified.


Derek smiled a bit, clearly endeared to the omega. "Since you asked so nicely," he said, and settled in to pull Stiles' plug and let the slick immediately slosh into a basin. Stiles let out a relieved grunt. Then he was given a rather thorough – and cramping – enema. By the end of the ordeal Stiles was sweating and breathing heavily, even though he'd not moved an inch during the process.


Derek grabbed his muck bucket and went to dispose of it for the night.


"Thank Alpha Derek, Stiles," Peter reminded him.


"Thank you, Alpha," Stiles said exhaustedly. He clearly hadn't enjoyed the process, as much as he'd needed it.


Peter cleared his throat pointedly.


"Thank you, Alpha Derek, for emptying out my bitch hole," Stiles amended.


"You're welcome, bitch," Derek said, making bitch sound like an endearment.


"Time for sleep, I think," Peter said once Derek had gone.


Stiles pouted. "What time is it?"


"Eight o'clock," Peter answered the question neutrally as he tidied up a bit and began securing Stiles' head for the evening, as well as checking all of the other bindings. He could tell the omega desperately wanted to argue that he wasn't tired, that it was too early for bed, that he'd already napped several times. But Stiles was learning to keep such thoughts to himself. With practice, he'd stop having such belligerent thoughts to begin with, for the most part.


Peter, for his part, was exhausted and wanted to get back to his suite at the far end of the grounds to relax and detach from work for a bit. He'd have his hands full tomorrow.


And so he alerted the night watch that he was on his way out, and left Stiles in the darkness.


Chapter Text

Deaton turned the lights on bright and early and Stiles blinked awake blearily at him. Deaton hummed to himself as he changed Stiles' catheter bag and checked on his stitches, replacing the bandage with a clean one and some more ointment.


"Good morning, Stiles."


"Good morning Alpha," Stiles said groggily.


"How is your pain level today?" Deaton checked.


"About the same as yesterday."


"Good. I'm going to unstrap your arms and head now, Stiles, and allow you to brush your teeth."


"Yes, Alpha," Stiles answered and Deaton unfastened some of the straps, wheeling over the little tray that he adjusted to head level for Stiles with a basin to spit in, a cup of water, a toothbrush and toothpaste. Stiles blushed when he saw the brush and remembered Deucalion. He quietly brushed his teeth as required and took a moment to roll and flex his arms as much as he could while they were free.


"Good boy," Deaton told him once he'd finished, then rebound Stiles' arms, leaving only his head free to move.


"Will my dad visit this morning?" Stiles wanted to know as Deaton busied himself around the room, with what Stiles had no idea.


"No, but he'll be by tonight," Deaton told him.


"Will I be allowed to get up today?"


"Probably not. It'll depend on your healing. But I'm sure Alpha Peter will find fun things for you to do."


"Where is Alpha Peter?"


"He's right here," Peter said with a fond roll of his eyes as he wheeled in Stiles' breakfast bag.


Stiles smiled at him, clearly glad for the company.


"Good morning, Alpha," Stiles greeted.


"Good morning, darling. Have you brushed yet?"


"Yes, Alpha."


Peter nodded. Deaton had already left the room to check on other things. "Open up, darling," Peter coaxed and helped start Stiles on deep-throating for his meal.


Peter marvelled at the remarkable change in Stiles' morning behaviour now that his balls were gone. He was subservient and eager and in a good mood.


Once Stiles was finished and gasping for breath, Peter wheeled the bag to the side.


"What are we going to do today?" Stiles wanted to know.


"First," Peter told him, "We're going to watch a little movie. Then we're going to spend some time on the milking machine. Then you'll have a nap until lunch. After you eat, you'll spend some time with Doctor Monroe, and depending on what Doctor Deaton says, you may go for a short walk this afternoon. If your body isn't ready for that, you'll have a nap instead to rest," he said sternly, noticing that Stiles seemed put out when he mentioned the naps.


"Yes, Alpha," Stiles said softly.


"Your father should visit before supper, and the rest of the day should be much like yesterday."


Peter strapped Stiles' head in place so he wouldn't be tempted to look away, though he could still close his eyes. He moved a screen arm so that the screen hovered at an angle above, where Stiles could see, and then punched in a series of codes to bring up the video in question.


"All I want you to do is watch, darling. Can you do that for me?"


"Yes, Alpha," Stiles answered.


"Good boy," Peter told him, then pressed play. What unfolded before Stiles was a video of himself at the facility from a CCTV of the entire experience of being strapped to a breeding bench and all ten of the dogs fucking him. It had taken a few hours and was in real time, but Peter only had Stiles watch the first thirty minutes, then fast-forwarded to another ten minute section further on when Stiles had been well bred.


As he watched, Stiles flushed red from head to toe. His facial expressions ran the gamut from aroused to mortified, disgusted to longing. His nipples pebbled with arousal, but with his plug keeping in any slick and his cocklette limp and useless, that was the only tangible sign of his desire.


"That's all for now," Peter declared after about forty minutes had passed. "You don't have to talk about what you're feeling, darling. You can think on it."


"Yes, Alpha," Stiles whispered, subdued.


"Let's get you set up on the milking machine for an hour, shall we?"


Stiles made no comment but didn't argue as Peter set him up. He did whimper pathetically at the insistent stretch to his sensitive nubs. Peter held up the gag in silent offering and Stiles immediately opened his mouth with a pleading look in his eyes.


"Ask," Peter prompted gently.


"Please, Alpha Peter, will you gag me?"


"Of course."


Peter gagged him snugly and let the machines run. There was no significant change to Stiles’ nipples yet that Peter could discern, but that would come with time. He paid more attention to the soft cocklette between Stiles' legs, another day removed from balls. It didn't even ejaculate properly this session, but did drip pre-seminal fluid now and then. No more than a few drops of precum here and there. Deaton would be pleased with that, as well as with its continued flaccidity. It was less likely to confuse Stiles.


By the time the session was up, Stiles was sore and there were tears on his cheeks. He whined as Peter pulled on the distended little nubs. "Look at that," Peter remarked. "Soon they'll be long and perfect for suckling. Don't you want to have them really milked, darling?" he asked rhetorically as Stiles was still gagged. "Or an Alpha could suckle on them, or maybe one of the pups." He pulled on them steadily as Stiles’ breath hitched.


Peter let him go for now to muse on that. He detached the suction to Stiles' cock as well and reinserted his catheter.


By the time he removed the gag, it was going on ten o'clock. Time for Stiles to spend more time healing. Peter doused the lights.




Peter flooded the room with light once more and Stiles let out a petulant little moan as he blinked awake.


"Wakey, wakey," Peter said, wheeling in the lunch bag.


He freed Stiles' head and helped him sip some water before helping to ease in the teat, before Stiles could say anything.


Stiles was breathless as usual by the end of his meal, and by then Doctor Monroe had arrived.


"Good afternoon, Stiles."


"Good afternoon, Alpha Monroe," Stiles said, getting a good look at the woman now that his head was mobile this time.


Doctor Monroe settled herself comfortably in her seat. "Peter tells me you watched a movie this morning," she said brightly.


Stiles cast his gaze away in embarrassment. "Yeah."


Peter gave Stiles a little, light swat to his inner thigh.


"Yes, Alpha," he amended.


"Can you tell me a bit about what you saw?"


Stiles swallowed and stared at the ceiling, though nothing was holding him in place this time. "I saw myself, when I first arrived here. Being bred."


"Who was breeding you, Stiles?"


"The dogs."


"Is that how you think of the dogs?"


"The doggies," he said. "The studs."


"What did the studs breed?"


"My... my bitch hole."


"You saw the studs breeding your bitch hole?" she prompted.


"Yes Alpha. I saw the studs breeding my bitch hole."


"How did it make you feel to see that?"


Stiles swallowed thickly, his cheeks rosy. "Good," he all but whispered. "Good, Alpha," he corrected himself. "I felt good watching the studs breed my bitch hole."


"Could you see their cocks go into your bitch hole?"


"Yes, Alpha. I watched their doggy cocks pound into my b-bitch hole," he said quaveringly, staring off as if he could still see it.


"Could you see your own cocklette in the video, Stiles?"


"N-no, Alpha."


"Why is that?"


"It was too small," he said in a whisper.


"Please name it, Stiles," Monroe reminded him.


"My useless cocklette was too small to see in the video."


"Very good, Stiles," the doctor said warmly. "I hear that Alpha Deucalion came by to visit you after our session yesterday," she changed topics.


"Yes, Alpha," he said.


"What happened there?"


"I asked A-alpha Deucalion to h-hurt my u-useless cocklette," he quavered.


"Did he oblige?"


"Yes, Alpha. Alpha Deucalion b-brushed my useless cocklette clean with a toothbrush."


"That sounds very painful."


"Yes, Alpha. It h-hurt."


"How did you feel emotionally while that was happening?"


"It made me feel cared for," Stiles affirmed, as he had the day before.


"On your first day here, you met one of the doggies a second time didn't you, Stiles?"


"Yes, Alpha. Brody," Stiles recalled.


"What happened then?"


"Alpha Peter m-made me take Brody's cock in my mouth," he said.


"Did he make you do it?" she asked curiously.


"N-no, Alpha," Stiles amended reluctantly, going quiet again.


"Did you want to suck Brody's cock?"


"Yes, Alpha. Alpha Peter let me suck Brody's doggy cock," he amended. "B-before Brody bred my bitch hole. A-and after."


"You sucked on Brody's doggy cock after he bred your bitch hole?"


"Yes, Alpha."


"What did it taste like?"


"Doggy cum. And m-my slick. F-from my bitch hole."


"What was it like to lick up the doggy cum?"


"It felt..." Stiles searched for an accurate description. "Like I was caring for Brody. To clean him up."


Doctor Monroe smiled. "That's very sweet of you, Stiles. You're a very sweet omega."


"Thank you, Alpha," Stiles blushed at the praise.


"Did you leave Brody after that?"


"No, Alpha. Brody licked clean my bitch hole."


"Did you like that?"


"Yes Alpha."


"What is it that you like about it, Stiles?"


"I like feeling a doggy tongue on my bitch hole."


"Did it make you want to be bred again?" she asked curiously.


"No, Alpha. I wanted to lick Brody clean too," he divulged.


"But you had already cleaned Brody, hadn't you Stiles?"


"Yes, Alpha," he mumbled.


"Where did you want to lick Brody, Stiles?"


"I wanted to lick his doggy cock, and his big stud balls, and his doggy asshole. To clean him like he cleaned me," he answered embarrassedly.


"You called it his doggy asshole, I noticed. So you have a bitch hole, but Brody has an asshole?"


"Yes Alpha.”


"Why is that?"


"Because I'm a bitch, but Brody is a stud, Alpha."


"What about Alpha Peter?" she prompted. "Would you like to clean his asshole?"


"Yes, Alpha," he said, his voice husky with arousal at the suggestion. Peter smirked. That was something they could explore eventually.


"Yes what?"


"I'd like to lick Alpha Peter's asshole."


"You said you'd like to clean it," the doctor pointed out. "Not just lick it when it's already clean. Would you like to lick it, or to clean it?"


"Uhm..." Stiles said, clearly confused now about his desires.


"Do you think Brody's asshole is spotlessly clean Stiles?"


"No Alpha."


"And what made you want to lick Brody's dirty doggy asshole?"


"To clean it, Alpha," Stiles answered in a quavering voice.


"You wanted to clean what?"


"I want to clean Brody's dirty doggy asshole."


"To make him feel cared for, you said."


"Yes, Alpha."


"Do you want to make Alpha Peter feel cared for?"


"Yes, Alpha."


"Would you like to clean Peter's asshole?"


"Yes, Alpha. I'd like to c-clean Alpha P-peter's asshole."


"His dirty asshole."


"His dirty asshole," Stiles confirmed quaveringly.


"What part of you will you clean him with?"


"M-my tongue. I'd like to clean Alpha Peter's dirty asshole with m-my tongue."


"Would you like to ask him, Stiles?"


Stiles swallowed. "Alpha Peter?"


"Yes, darling?"


"May I clean your dirty asshole with my tongue?"


"Not right now, sweetheart. But sometime, when I have a dirty asshole, you may clean it with your tongue."


"Th-thank you, Alpha."


"You're welcome, darling."


"That's very good, Stiles," the doctor told him warmly. "It's good to talk about what you enjoy. I recall you saying you enjoyed seeing the studs breed your bitch hole."


"Yes, Alpha," Stiles agreed.


"I think you used the word pounding," she recalled.


"Yes, Alpha. I liked watching the studs pound into my bitch hole."


"How big were the doggy cocks, Stiles? Would you say they were big or small? Or medium?"


"Big, Alpha."


"You like watching the big doggy cocks."


"Yes," he agreed, his voice slightly husked as he recalled it. "I liked watching the big doggy cocks pound into my bitch hole."


"Could you see your cocklette?"


"No, Alpha. I couldn't see my useless cocklette."


"Did you like that? Or did it make you feel bad?"


"It felt good," Stiles told her firmly. "I liked watching the big stud cocks pound into my bitch hole, and I liked that I couldn't see my small, useless cocklette."


"How did it make you feel?"


"It made me feel... like a bitch."


"And that's a good feeling?"


"Yes, Alpha."


"Why is it good to be made to feel like a bitch, Stiles?"


"Because I am a bitch."


"So it made you feel like the bitch you are."


"Yes," Stiles said with relief, a small smile playing on his face. "It made me feel like the bitch I am. When I saw the big stud cocks pounding into my bitch hole, and I couldn't see my small useless cocklette."


"Did you always feel like a bitch, Stiles?"


"No, Alpha," he said, some of his happiness fading.


"Why is that, Stiles?"


"I didn't want to be a bitch. I thought it was... bad."


"That what was bad, Stiles?"


"To want to be bred."


"Did you want to be bred before, Stiles?"


"I don't think I knew what I wanted," he mused almost to himself. "But I was angry all the time. And I wanted to feel like myself."


"Are you angry now, Stiles?"


"No, Alpha."


"Do you feel like yourself?"


"Yes, Alpha."


"And what are you, Stiles?"


"A bitch," he affirmed. "I feel like the bitch that I am."


"That's wonderful, Stiles. I'm glad. I think we'll end our session here, but I look forward to talking with you more in the future."


"Yes, Alpha. Thank you, Alpha."


"You're very welcome, Stiles."


The doctor saw herself out and Peter stroked his hand through Stiles' hair. The boy melted at the touch and nuzzled into it. "You're a good bitch, Stiles."


"Thank you, Alpha," he said sincerely.




Shortly after, Doctor Deaton came in to inspect Stiles' stitches again.


"You may take him for a short, gentle walk", he stressed to Peter. "No exertion. But the exercise will be good for his muscles, and I think the stitches can handle it."


"We'll be very careful, won't we pup?"


"Yes, Alpha," Stiles agreed, clearly ready to be let out of his restraints.


Doctor Deaton pulled free the catheter, and Peter systematically worked all of the straps free, though Stiles didn't move much at first. His whole body was stiff and weak. Next, Peter got out some knee pads and began strapping them onto Stiles' knees.


"Alpha?" Stiles questioned.


"I think today my good bitch can crawl on the floor for a walk," Peter explained, and Stiles blushed in humiliation. Peter hooked a simple dog collar around Stiles' neck, and attached a dog leash. Then he carefully helped Stiles move his stiff muscles and eased him onto all fours on the ground. Stiles took a moment to breathe through the pain of jostling his stitches, and to feel his weak and stiff muscles re-engage.


With painstaking slowness, he crawled forward and followed after Peter into the hall. It was all he could do to keep the snail's pace and focus on where they were going. He didn't bother to look up or notice anything around him. His bandage highlighted starkly his lack of balls, and his limp cock dangled uselessly between his legs.


Stiles sweat and huffed a bit at the exertion of doing practically nothing. They paused in an unfamiliar hallway, and then Stiles noticed the bowl of water just ahead, the kind that one would set out for a dog.


"Take a drink, pup," Peter told him.


Stiles was thirsty clearly, but he hesitated. No doubt he was wondering whether there was doggy spit in that bowl. Peter waited him out, let Stiles work through the possible implications. Then Stiles eased himself forward and lowered his head to lap at the water. Some got on his chin and down his neck, but Peter paid it no mind.


When he finished with his drink, Peter led him on. "Good bitch," he praised as they continued their walk.


By the time they finished a little circuit, Stiles was wiped out. Peter helped him back onto the medical chair and strapped him into place as he trembled from exertion, limp to Peter's ministrations. Peter removed the collar and the knee pads, and replaced Stiles' catheter. Then he doused the lights to let Stiles rest until his father would come.




"Hey buddy," Stiles’ dad said as the lights flew on.


"Daddy," he said quietly with a smile.


"How you feeling?"


"Good. Tired. Sore," he said.


"All understandable. I just talked to that therapist of yours. She says you're doing great already." Peter watched from the sidelines as he saw the sheriff glowing with pride. After so many failed therapy sessions in Stiles' past, it was no wonder.


"I'm glad," Stiles said.


"Me too," the sheriff smiled, his eyes watering with gratitude. "You really like this lady, huh?"


"She makes me feel like the bitch I am," Stiles admitted shyly.


The sheriff's breath stopped, and quite possibly his heart, and then he practically gushed all over the boy. It was rather touching as Peter watched from the adjoining room. No doubt the sheriff had written off ever hearing something like that out of his boy. The next hour was spent almost entirely with the boy's father telling him how proud he was, how pleased, how happy, and Stiles reiterating that he was indeed happy and healthy here.


Deaton had to shoo him away after the visiting hour was over, and though the sheriff was reluctant to go it was hard to argue with miraculous results.


Peter wheeled in the food bag after the sheriff had gone. He'd already eaten his own plate in the adjoining room while waiting, after one of the orderlies had brought it for him.


Stiles frowned a bit worriedly at the bag.


"Alpha Peter?"


"What is it, darling?"


"I would like Alpha Derek to empty out my bitch hole, please."


"He'll come before bed," Peter dismissed. "It's time to eat your supper."


"I'm very full, Alpha," Stiles argued hesitantly.


Peter slapped him sharply on his inner thigh. Then he pressed his hand to palpate Stiles' abdomen. Though Stiles groaned, he wasn't at all too full by Peter's estimation. "You will eat," he decided. It wasn't up for negotiation. "And you will wait for Alpha Derek to come at his regular time."


"Yes, Alpha," Stiles whispered.


Peter set him up to drink, and Stiles went about it agonizingly slowly, but continued on until he was done.


"Do you want to know what I did while you were asleep, Stiles?" Peter asked while he tidied up.


"What, Alpha?" Stiles asked curiously.


"I went to the gym."


Stiles wrinkled his brow curiously but clearly didn't know what he was meant to make of that.


"I sweated a lot at the gym, and though I changed my clothes and washed under my arms, I didn't take a shower. I had my last shower last night, in fact. Do you know where sweat tends to collect on a body, Stiles?"


"Where, Alpha?" he asked, though he looked slightly breathless.


"Their asshole. I imagine mine is fairly dirty by now. If you think you're up to crawling to a room across the hall, I'm willing to set you up on a supportive bench and let you clean my dirty asshole."


"Yes, Alpha. Please," Stiles said eagerly.


Peter smiled.


"Please what, darling?"


"Please Alpha, let me clean your dirty asshole with my tongue," Stiles pleaded sweetly, even as he blushed.


"Very well. I've already got Doctor Deaton's permission." Peter painstakingly unbound Stiles once again, removed his catheter and set him up with the knee pads and collar and leash, then helped him to the floor. Though Stiles was clearly tired, he went more easily than before now that he'd used his muscles once already that day.


Stiles crawled obediently behind him across the hall to a room Peter had set up during Stiles' nap. He fixed Stiles into a supportive bench as usual on his hands and knees, though all the weight of his torso was supported underneath. Then Peter himself took off his clothes and made himself comfortable on a special humped foam bolster, with his asshole right in Stiles' face. Peter relaxed and closed his eyes, laying his head on his arms. This would be a treat for Stiles and a nice relaxation for himself. He could enjoy a good tongue fucking.


"Go ahead, darling," he encouraged, and Stiles didn't need to be told twice. He pressed his face into Peter's musky crack and inhaled. Tentatively, his tongue came out to touch the crack, then he pressed it more firmly between the cheeks and gave it a bit of a lick, a first taste. Stiles moaned softly and began then to really bathe Peter's crack with long, satisfying strokes of the tongue and Peter sighed contentedly.


After some time, Stiles became bolder and really dove in, licking as deeply as he could, right against Peter's hole. The feeling was delicious, and even more so when Stiles poked his tongue in the sweaty whorl of flesh. Peter moaned and thrust himself back onto the tongue, and Stiles took the encouragement for what it was, licking and sucking like his life depended on it. His face was as covered with saliva as Peter's crack.


Stiles licked down Peter's perineum, and over what he could reach of the full, sweaty balls, before going right back to that dirty hole, licking away any remaining traces of male musk.


Eventually, Stiles was out of breath and Peter was fully satisfied. He pulled away and wiped up himself with some tissues before dressing again.


"That was lovely, Stiles."


"Thank you, Alpha."


"Tell me what for," Peter prompted as he continued to dress himself.


"Thank you for letting me clean your dirty asshole with my tongue."


"Good bitch."


Peter didn't wipe any of the drool or musk away from Stiles' face and neck. He did help him off the bench and walked him back to the room on his leash, then secured him back into his chair as before, restraints and catheter in place, knee pads and collar removed for now.


Peter was just getting Stiles finished up when Derek came in for Stiles' nightly cleaning.


"Is there something you need to ask me?" Derek prompted with an amused smile.


"Alpha Derek," Stiles said. "Will you please empty out my bitch hole?"


"Should I clean it as well?" Derek prompted as he set up his supplies.


"Yes, Alpha. Please clean out my bitch hole."


"Is it dirty, omega?"


"Yes, Alpha," Stiles blushed. "Please clean out my dirty bitch hole."


Derek smiled and got down to the dirty business of it, giving Stiles a thorough enema and helping him void his slick and waste, finally relieving the pressure that had been building in his gut.


"So much slick in your dirty hole," Derek commented. "Now why would you have so much slick in there that you're dripping?" he mused.


"I need to be bred, Alpha."


"Is that so?" Derek smiled with amusement.


"Yes, Alpha. Like the bitch I am."


"Well, you'll have to take that up with the doctor," Derek proclaimed. "But at any rate, you're clean now." He pressed Stiles' plug back in.


"Thank you, Alpha." Stiles said as Derek saw himself out.


Peter was already hovering near the door. He doused the lights. "Goodnight, Stiles."


"Goodnight, Alpha," Stiles said, as he was left alone, spread and naked in the dark.


Chapter Text

Deaton woke Stiles up with the bright overhead lights, and he moved to change out Stiles' catheter bag, then checked and redressed the stitches. "Your castration scar is looking better today," Deaton commented.


"That's good," Stiles said groggily.


"How much pain are you in?" Deaton asked


"It feels better than yesterday."


Peter walked in with Stiles' breakfast as they were speaking.


"He hasn't brushed yet," Deaton told him and Peter rolled his eyes, then released Stiles enough to do it and wheeled a tray of supplies over to him. Stiles obediently brushed his teeth and had a sip of water before settling back to have his arms restrained again. Then he opened his mouth agreeably to begin working for his breakfast.


Deaton and Peter chatted idly about Stiles' healing and what Peter could expect out of the day. When Stiles had finished his breakfast, Deaton had gone on with his duties in other places and Peter was waiting patiently.


"I thought we could watch another video this morning," Peter said nonchalantly.


"Yes, Alpha," Stiles said and let Peter strap down his head again and arrange the screen. Soon, Stiles was greeted with the sight of himself again, this time on a pommel horse with Deucalion. It was the middle of their session, and Stiles watched as Deucalion fisted most of his forearm into Stiles' sloppy hole. He saw it drip, his puffy rim stretched wide. He saw himself wailing and shuddering while Deucalion stroked his cervix and shivered at the remembered sensation. Overwhelming. Almost unpleasant, but he'd come spectacularly.


It was a short clip, maybe twenty minutes in total, and while Stiles had been absorbed in the video Peter had set up the milking machines.


"Would you like me to put on something for you to watch while you're milked?" Peter asked.


"Please," Stiles said quietly, grateful for a distraction from the coming sensations. Peter took pity on him and set him up with his favourite gag again as well.


Once he was fully strapped in and the machines were whirring away, Stiles whimpered helplessly as Peter put on the several hour film of him being bred by the studs. By the time the milking was over, Stiles was grunting lustily around his gag as he gazed unblinkingly at the images n the screen. He was aroused more than in pain, and his little cock had leaked a bit of pre-seminal fluid in response. He gave a surprised shout around his gag as right near the end of his session, he felt the strangest something in his tits.


Peter was on his feet in a second, inspecting the tubing. There were a few tiny drops of milk.


"That's wonderful, sweetheart," he said enthusiastically. "You're lactating, darling. Does that feel good?" he asked. "Sucking the milk out of your titties?"


Of course now the machine was sucking on nothing, as there had only been those first few drops to give.


Stiles' eyes filled with overwhelmed tears and he moaned in response. Not a sound of pain.


Nonetheless, Peter shut down the machine as it was time, and pulled away Stiles' gag, turned off the film. He pulled away the machine and re-catheterized Stiles' cock.


"Am I coming at a bad time?" Doctor Monroe asked, noting the tears on Stiles' cheeks.


"Not at all. We're just finishing with our milking for the day," Peter told her. "Stiles just lactated for the first time."


"Is that so, Stiles?" she asked as she got comfortable.


"Yes, Alpha," Stiles said in a quavering voice, still processing.


"How does that make you feel?"


"I'm not sure," he said honestly, trying to sort through his feelings.


"That's fine, Stiles. How does it feel when Peter has the machine sucking on your nipples?"


"It sort of hurts," he said.


"What does it hurt?"


"My... my nipples," he said awkwardly.


"It hurts your nipples when Alpha Peter milks them?" the doctor asked.


"Yes, Alpha. It hurts my nipples when Alpha Peter milks them."


"Is that how you think about them? Your nipples? Do you call them nipples to yourself?" she asked curiously.


"N-no, Alpha." he admitted.


"What do you call your nipples, Stiles?"


"Tits," he said quietly.


"Tits," she said simply. "Like a girl has tits?"


"No," he denied strongly.


"What kind of tits are they?" she asked curiously.


"Like a bitch has tits," Stiles said to her. "Not a girl. An omega bitch."


"So they'd be --"


"My bitch tits," Stiles said quietly, flushing from head to toe. Well, Peter found that interesting. Certainly no one around Stiles had called them that at the facility. He was always fascinated to get into his omega's headspace, and Stiles' was lovely.


"So it hurts when --"


"It hurts when Alpha Peter milks my bitch tits," he said.


"Do you know why Alpha Peter milks your bitch tits?"


"So that I can lactate."


"Why would Alpha Peter want you to lactate?"


"Doctor Deaton says if I lactate I'll feel more like myself."


"And what is it like to feel like yourself?"


"To feel like the bitch I am," Stiles affirmed a bit more comfortably.


"Doctor Deaton milks your bitch tits --" the doctor prompted.


"Doctor Deaton milks my bitch tits to help me feel like the bitch I am," Stiles said.


"That's very good, Stiles. Why do you think Doctor Deaton thinks lactating will help you feel like the bitch you are?"


"Bitch tits are for feeding young, or pleasing an Alpha."


"Have you thought much about lactating before coming to the facility?"


"No, Alpha."


"Do you feel more like the bitch you are now that you're lactating?"


Stiles mulled that over for a while. Still he answered, "I'm not sure, Alpha."


"That's fine, Stiles," Doctor Monroe assured him. "There are no right answers." Stiles relaxed at that. "Before, you told me you like it when Alpha Deucalion hurts your useless cocklette."


"Yes, Alpha," he confirmed.


"Do you like it when the milking machine hurts your bitch tits?"


Stiles hesitated. "I didn't before, but I think I liked it today."


"What was different today? Was it the lactation?"


"No, Alpha. Alpha Peter had played me the video from yesterday. Where the studs were breeding my bitch hole."


"You like it when Peter hurts your bitch tits when you're aroused?" she guessed.


"Yes, Alpha," Stiles said, seeming relieved to have figured it out. "I like having my bitch tits hurt when I'm aroused."


"That's wonderful, Stiles. I'm glad you know that about yourself," the doctor told him. "You mentioned watching a video today. You watched a different video before that, didn't you? I asked Alpha Peter to play a specific one."


"Yes, Alpha."


"Can you tell me what was happening in that video?"


"Alpha Deucalion was... was fisting my bitch hole."


"That sounds messy," she said with a smile.


"It was messy. I was dripping," Stiles admitted.


"Alpha Deucalion fisted your dripping bitch hole?"


"My sloppy bitch hole," Stiles corrected quietly.


"Did you enjoy that? When Alpha Deucalion fisted your sloppy bitch hole?"


"Mostly..." he said hesitantly.


"What was difficult for you?"


"When Alpha Deucalion rubbed my cervix."


"What happened then?"


"I came from it," Stiles admitted.


"But it was a difficult orgasm?"


"It feels... intense," he struggled to describe.


"What does? The orgasm?"


"It feels intense when Alpha Deucalion strokes my cervix. It's difficult."


"Alright, Stiles. Let's take a break from that one," the doctor moved on. They were beginning to tackle topics that were more difficult to untangle. "Alpha Peter tells me you had quite the treat last night."


"Yes, Alpha," Stiles said with a smile.


"What happened?"


"Alpha Peter let me clean his dirty asshole with my tongue," Stiles recited.


"That's wonderful, Stiles. You had asked him for that, and he allowed you to. That must be satisfying."


"Yes, Alpha."


"And did you enjoy it?"


"Yes Alpha. I enjoyed it when Alpha Peter let me clean his dirty asshole with my tongue."


"And you enjoyed having your bitch tits hurt today too," she reminded him.


"Yes, Alpha," he agreed. "Today I enjoyed it when Alpha Peter hurt my bitch tits."


"Are you aroused now, Stiles?"


"A little bit, Alpha," he confessed.


"Would you enjoy it if Alpha Peter hurt your bitch tits now?"


Stiles thought about it a moment. "I think so, Alpha. I think I'd enjoy it if Alpha Peter hurt my bitch tits now."


"Why don't you ask him if he'll do that for you?"


"Alpha Peter?" Stiles asked hesitantly.


"Yes, Stiles?" Peter answered with a fond smile, though Stiles couldn't see it.


"Would you please hurt my bitch tits now? I think I'd enjoy it."


"I would love to," he said, and reached out to pinch the swollen nubs. Stiles hissed in a breath and groaned with pain as Peter pulled, pinched, twisted, and manipulated the puffy, reddened flesh that hadn't yet recovered from the milking machine.


Monroe nodded to Peter to keep going so he kept it up as Stiles groaned and whimpered through the powerful sensations.


"Do you like that, Stiles?" the doctor asked as Peter continued.


"Mm," Stiles tried to speak and failed. "Y-yes, Alpha," he managed to gasp out, voice quavering.


"Do you think you'd like it harder?" the doctor asked.


Stiles shut his eyes and nodded once, jerkily, to Peter's surprise.


"You need to ask," the doctor reminded him.


"P-please h-hurt my b-bitch tits m-more, Alpha. P-please pinch th-them h-harder."


Tears shone in his eyes as he gazed up at Peter.


"Of course, sweetheart," Peter said softly, then pinched and twisted them cruelly as Stiles keened and shook within his restraints. Peter kept one eye on the doctor, and only stopped when she gave him a nod.


Stiles panted and trembled for a long moment afterwards.


"What do you say, Stiles?" the doctor prompted him.


"Thank you for hurting my bitch tits, Alpha."


"You're welcome, sweetheart," Peter said.


"How did that feel?" the doctor asked.


"It h-hurt."


"Did you enjoy it? Or did you not really like it?"


"I enjoyed it when Alpha Peter hurt my bitch tits."


"That's wonderful, Stiles. I'm so glad you got to have that positive experience." Then she asked, "If you could have one more positive experience today, what would you choose?"


Stiles thought it over a bit. "I'd like it if a stud could breed my bitch hole," he said.


The doctor patted his thigh. "I suppose it'll be a few more days before that," she said understandingly.


"Yes, Alpha."


"I think we're going to break here for today, Stiles. But I'd like you to do something for me before our next session. I'd like you to think a little more about how you feel about when Alpha Deucalion rubbed your cervix. Can you do that for me?"


"Yes, Alpha."


"Good," Doctor Monroe said. "I've really enjoyed talking to you today, Stiles, and I look forward to our next session.


"Thank you, Alpha," Stiles said as the doctor saw her way out.




Once Doctor Monroe had gone, Stiles had a few minutes to simply recover physically and mentally from his experiences so far that day. Soon enough, Doctor Deaton came in to discuss Stiles' lactation with Peter.


"Just a few drops," Peter was explaining to him, as Deaton inspected the tubing for evidence and saw what Peter was talking about.


He hummed, and examined Stiles' nipples more closely. "It looks like they are beginning to maintain their distension," he commented. "They should get a little bigger with regular use." He reached out to pull at one of the sensitive nubs and Stiles sucked in a breath.


"Do you like that, Stiles?" Deaton asked curiously as he milked Stiles more insistently.


"Y-yes, Alpha. Today I enjoyed it when Alpha Peter h-hurt my bitch tits."


"That's good to know," Deaton remarked as he released the nub and moved to sit on his rolling chair between Stiles' splayed legs. He pulled the plug out of Stiles' ass and caught a bit of stray slick in a basin, then pressed three of his fingers into the stretched hole.


"We're still getting some overproduction of slick," he commented to Peter, "though it's slowing down as Stiles' hormones get back in sync."


Stiles whined with overwhelming sensitivity as Deaton's fingers probed him, but before he could get properly worked up, Deaton had finished and plugged him again. Then Deaton grabbed his ruler from a tray and pulled Stiles' cocklette as long as it would go in its flaccid state.


"Looks like we're down from an inch and a half to an inch and a quarter in length," he decided. "No way to tell what it would be if it erected. No signs of erection so far." He set the ruler aside. "That's good. Things are progressing well."


"I'd like to take Stiles for a walk next, if you're finished with him," Peter said.


"Of course. It'll be good for him to stretch out now that he's healing so well."


Already Peter was busy unstrapping Stiles and helping him into his gear for crawling. He helped Stiles carefully to stand, then lower himself to hands and knees on the floor. Then Peter tugged on the leash gently. "Come, bitch," he said and began their walk into the hall, Stiles trailing dutifully behind as he worked his stiff limbs.


They moved through the halls at a snail's pace, and seeing Deuc's door open, Peter stopped by to say hello.


"Good morning, omega," Deuc greeted.


"Good morning, Alpha," Stiles returned.


Deuc reached down to pet Stiles' head and Stiles leaned into it. Then Deuc pressed two fingers into Stiles' mouth and pet his tongue, gently fucking them in and out as Stiles hummed and suckled.


"He's sweet," Deuc commented to Peter.


"Would you like to play with him at all?" Peter asked. It wasn't on the schedule but Deuc seemed free.


"I have a few minutes. I'd like to sound him a bit," he said, all the while still fucking his fingers gently into Stiles' mouth.


"What do you say, bitch?" Peter asked Stiles. "Would you like Alpha Deucalion to fuck your useless cocklette on the inside?"


Stiles pulled away from the fingers. "Yes, Alpha," he said with a curious look to him.


"Let's use the chair so we don't disturb his stitches," Deuc suggested, and they worked together to settle Stiles into a chair very much like the one in Deaton's office.


Stiles couldn't see what Deucalion was doing as he pulled out a sounding kit and some oil, but he could certainly feel it. Deuc carefully oiled the smallest sound and pressed it gently into the soft cocklette. It didn't have far to go until it was fully inserted and pressing down into Stiles' prostate. Stiles breathed heavily at the sensation. Though he'd had the catheter in for days, he'd had very little experience in feeling stretched that way and by hard metal.


Deuc twisted the sound gently in one direction and then the other, and Stiles whimpered. He stirred the cauldron a bit against the boy's prostate inside. "Does that feel nice?" Deuc asked as he violated Stiles' tiny hole.


Stiles half whimpered, half moaned in response.


"Answer Alpha Deucalion," Peter reminded Stiles from somewhere nearby but out of his line of sight.


"I don't... I don't know," he choked out as Deuc began fucking the rod up and down the flaccid member in short strokes. "It f-feels... a lot," he gasped.


"That's okay, omega. You just relax," Deuc told him as he continued his patient work, slowly taking Stiles apart with every little twitch and twist of the rod. He smiled as he did so. It truly was rewarding work as he heard every little whimper, saw Stiles' bound thighs tremble.


He pulled the sound free after a little while and set it aside, moving up to the next gauge. When he oiled and inserted it, he got more of a reaction as Stiles groaned and hissed at the new stretch.


"I'm going to fuck your little cocklette wide open," Deuc told him and Stiles keened as Deuc worked the thicker metal into him. Deuc spent a little while on each gauge until Stiles’ little nub was stretched obscenely around the metal rod poking from it and Stiles' face was awash with tears, even as he continued to moan and tremble, completely overwrought.


The large gauge that Deuc was currently on had a slight bend at the end which he eased into Stiles' prostate and the boy shouted and shook violently at the penetration, possibly having a dry orgasm, or possibly just feeling very good. Deuc worked him over until he was a sobbing puddle of omega, then finally he pulled his sound free and cleaned up.


Peter was there to help unstrap Stiles and ease him to the floor once again. It was all the better that Stiles was crawling today; Peter wasn't sure whether he would have walked after that, as unsteady as he was, still trembling from the experience.


"What do you say?" Peter prompted.


"Thank you, Alpha Deucalion," Stiles said breathlessly.


"You're welcome, omega," Deuc said, and Peter walked Stiles back to his room where he set him back up in his chair, totally exhausted.


"You're too fucked open for the small catheter now, baby," Peter told him as he began to hook him back into place. Peter pulled out a much wider catheter and began carefully working it in as Stiles whimpered. "There's a good bitch," Peter soothed as he got the wide catheter into place. Stiles would certainly be aware of the stretch, but it wouldn't damage him.


As if Stiles' ordeal with Deucalion hadn’t been enough, lunch had arrived as well, and he faced the arduous task of deep throating the eleven inch nipple to retrieve his food. By the time he finished, he was exhausted, and fading quickly. Peter doused the lights and left him to nap for the next two hours.




When Stiles woke up to the bright lights, it was three.


"Hey, sleepy head," Peter said. "Nap time's over."


Stiles groaned a bit as he blinked awake.


"How does your cocklette feel?" Peter asked him, and Stiles took a moment to assess.


"A little sore..."


"Full sentences, please."


"M-my cocklette,"


"How would you describe your cocklette?" Peter reminded him.


Stiles blushed. "My useless cocklette feels a little sore, Alpha."


"On the outside?" Peter prompted.


"On the inside," Stiles amended. "My useless cocklette feels a little sore on the inside, Alpha."


"Would you like to see it, Stiles?"


Stiles hesitated, then, "Yes, Alpha."


Peter unstrapped Stiles' head from the headrest and he tilted his head to look down at his tiny cock, stretched wide open on the catheter. It looked even more helpless and pathetic around the wide intrusion.


"What do you think, darling? Do you like seeing your cocklette stretched wide open?"


Stiles stared in fascination, and his voice shook when he answered. "Y-yes Alpha. I like seeing my useless cocklette stretched wide open."


"What do you like about it, sweetheart?"


"It makes me feel like the bitch I am."


"I'm glad, Stiles," Peter said warmly. He grasped the little cocklette and gave it a gentle squeeze so that Stiles would feel all the more aware of the internal intrusion. Stiles hissed in a breath.


"I want you to watch your video from this morning for the next hour," Peter told him, letting go. He immobilized Stiles' head once more and set up the screen. "Doctor Monroe wanted to be sure you spent some time thinking about your feelings. It's about a twenty minute video, so you'll watch it three times."


"Y-yes, Alpha," Stiles answered nervously.


"You don't have to decide anything now," Peter reminded him. "Just watch it."


"Yes, Alpha," Stiles answered again, a bit more calmly.


Peter pressed play and busied himself while Stiles watched himself being fisted over the next hour. When Stiles was finished, he got him some water, and then they chatted idly for the next hour about the dogs in the facility. What breed they were, what temperament, their names. Peter pulled up their images on his tablet to show to Stiles. Time passed quickly, and soon the sheriff showed up once again.


He would have been briefed on Stiles' lactation, but also his ambivalence about it. With that in mind, the sheriff wisely didn't bring it up. Peter let the family alone to reconnect while he ate his supper in the adjoining room.




When Stiles finished with his supper, Peter wheeled the bag away.


"I have a special dessert for you today, Stiles," he divulged.


Stiles looked over at him curiously, a spark of interest in his eyes. "A dessert?"


Peter held up a small clear plastic cup with a watery, cloudy fluid in it. "Do you know what this is?" he asked. Stiles shook his head, biting his lip. "This is doggy cum, Stiles. One of the handlers milked one of our studs’ knots today and saved this just for you. It's still warm. Would you like to have some doggy cum?" he asked.


Stiles was scarlet from head to toe in humiliation. "I... I don't..." he stuttered.


Peter knew it was quite a leap for Stiles to move from wanting to lick doggy cum off a doggy cock, to wanting to have it just from Peter's fingers. He dipped his two fingers into the viscous fluid and pressed them to Stiles' lips.


Stiles' lips parted and he let Peter pet the cum onto his tongue as he gave a hesitant suck, his eyes filling with tears. He choked a bit at the bitter taste. Stiles swallowed, and Peter pulled his fingers out to dip into the cup again, then pressed them once more to rub on Stiles' tongue as he suckled. Stiles let out a choked sob and tears began to fall.


"Shh," Peter soothed him. "You can do it, baby. That's a good bitch."


Stiles continued to cry and suckle and swallow until he'd finished the cup. Peter went to wash his hands, leaving the boy with the taste of dog dick on his palate.


"What do you say?" he prompted gently when he'd finished cleaning himself up.


"Th-thank you A-alpha," Stiles said as he tried to calm himself.




"For the doggy cum."


"What about it?"


"For p-putting..."


"For letting you have ," Peter prompted him.


Stiles steadied his breathing and tried again. "Th-thank you Alpha. For letting me have d-doggy cum for d-dessert."


"You're welcome, darling," Peter told him and let him settle himself down until Derek came some time later.


Peter let Stiles up enough to brush his teeth, finally rinsing away the taste of the cum, while Derek emptied Stiles' bowels for the day.


"Thank Alpha Derek," Peter reminded him.


"Thank you, Alpha Derek," Stiles said dutifully, though he was still a bit subdued from dessert. "For emptying out my dirty bitch hole."


"You're very welcome," Derek said as he saw himself out.


Peter tugged the last restraint into place. "Lights out, darling," he said, and left the room in darkness.


Chapter Text

"Good morning, Stiles," Deaton said as he turned on the lights.


"Good morning, Alpha," Stiles said groggily as he blinked.


Deaton was pleased. Stiles had responded with a good attitude upon first waking. He sat down to take a look at Stiles' stitches and change the dressing. "You're healing well. And I see you have a larger gauge of catheter now. Any pain or discomfort?"


"My... my castration scar only aches a little," Stiles said. "The catheter hurt more yesterday. It made me feel a little sore inside my useless cocklette," he recalled. "But it doesn't hurt today."


"That's good. That means you've adjusted to the larger size. Do you like having a large catheter?" Deaton asked curiously as he assembled the dental tray.


"I like it when my useless cocklette is stretched wide," Stiles recited from yesterday the truth he had learned.


Deaton unrestrained Stiles enough to brush his teeth, then he rebound Stiles' arms when he had finished. He palpated his chest a bit. The nipples were hard and red and the chest felt a bit firm.


"How does your chest feel today?" Deaton asked.


"My..." Stiles hesitated. "My bitch tits feel a bit tight."


"We'll fix that after breakfast."


"Yes, Alpha."


Just then Peter came in, wheeling in said breakfast and helped Stiles get started.


After breakfast, Peter began to hook up the familiar milking machines, starting at Stiles' cock. He pulled the thick catheter out as Stiles hissed in discomfort, then started the machine sucking on his little cock. Then he hooked up Stiles’ nipples and the machine began to whirr. Stiles wasn't given the comfort of his gag that day, though his head was strapped back down.


Almost immediately, thin streams of milk were sucked from Stiles' reddened nipples, and Stiles moaned lustily.


"Very good, bitch," Peter praised him. "How does that feel?"


"G-good, Alpha," Stiles managed through his moans. Soon the milk had petered off, but apparently the good feeling of being truly milked stayed with Stiles through the duration of the treatment, given his reactions. By the time his hour was up he was gasping and sweating, thoroughly exhausted from the experience. Peter pulled the machinery away.


"Did you enjoy that, Stiles?" he prompted. Getting Stiles to admit to what he liked and wanted was always the work in progress.


"Yes, Alpha," he said breathlessly.


"I enjoy..." Peter prompted him.


"I enjoy it when you milk me," Stiles said.


"Milk you ?" Peter asked. Stiles was avoiding words that embarrassed him today, even though those words were the ones Stiles himself had supplied as his truth.


"My bitch tits," Stiles said quietly with a blush.


"Are you embarrassed to have bitch tits, Stiles?" Peter questioned as he cleaned up.


Stiles hesitated.


Peter tweaked a nipple and Stiles sucked in a sharp breath. "What would you call this, Stiles?" Peter asked. "A nipple? Or a tit?"


"I'd call it my tit," Stiles said, still blushing furiously.


"What kind of tit is it?"


"A bitch's tit." Stiles admitted.


"Are you a bitch, Stiles?"


"Yes, Alpha," he said quietly. "I'm an omega bitch."


"And bitches lactate, don't they, baby?"


"Yes, Alpha."


"So they really are bitch tits," Peter reminded him in a casual tone.


"Yes, Alpha," Stiles agreed.


"So you enjoy it when..."


"I enjoy it when you milk my bitch tits, Alpha," Stiles said a bit more easily. It would do for now.


"I'm going to reinsert your catheter now," Peter told him. "Are you looking forward to the wide catheter again?"


"I... I'm not sure," Stiles said hesitantly.


"I have to use the wide one," Peter explained. "Your urethra is still stretched wide."


"Yes, Alpha," Stiles said.


"What worries you about it?"


"Sometimes it hurts inside my useless cocklette when it's stretched wide," Stiles told him.


"Do you like it when your cocklette is stretched wide? Or do you dislike it?"


"I like it," Stiles admitted softly.


"Even if it hurts inside?" Peter asked, and began feeding the catheter back into Stiles. Stiles hissed a bit at the intrusion but the tube went in easily.


"Yes, Alpha. I like it when Alphas hurt my useless cocklette. And I enjoy it when my useless cocklette is stretched wide."


"You're sure you enjoy it?" Peter checked, sounding skeptical.


"Yes, Alpha," Stiles admitted. "It feels good when my useless cocklette is stretched wide."


"How does it feel good, Stiles?"


"I feel more like myself. Like the bitch I am."


"Let's talk more about what makes you feel like a bitch, Stiles," Doctor Monroe said as she strode in.


"Good morning, Alpha," Stiles said shyly.


"Good morning, Stiles," Doctor Monroe said as she took Peter's seat between Stiles' legs as Peter moved off to the side as usual. "I see you have a nice, thick catheter in today."


"Yes, Alpha," Stiles confirmed.


"Can you tell me about it?"


"I need a thicker catheter now," Stiles explained. "Yesterday Alpha Deucalion stretched out my... my urethra."


"Your cocklette."


"Yes, my cocklette. He stretched inside of my cocklette with a sound. He fucked inside of my cocklette."


"When you look at your cocklette stretched like this, what does it look like?" the doctor asked.


"Small," Stiles said. "Useless," he said in a smaller voice.


"Do you wish you had a more useful cock?"


"No, Alpha."


"Why is that?"


"Because I'm a bitch," Stiles admitted. "Bitches have useless cocklettes."


"Can you say for me that Alpha Deucalion fucked open your useless cocklette?"


"Alpha Deucalion fucked open my useless cocklette," Stiles repeated quietly.


"Did you enjoy it? Or did you dislike it?"


"I enjoyed it. I enjoy it when my useless cocklette is stretched wide," Stiles told her.


"You must be feeling very good right now then," she remarked. "Your useless cocklette is stretched wide right now around the catheter.”


"Yes, Alpha," Stiles confirmed, relaxing a bit. "My cocklette feels good right now, stretched wide around the catheter. I enjoy it."


"I'm glad you're feeling good," the doctor said with a smile. "I see you already had your milking this morning."


"Yes, Alpha. I enjoyed it when Alpha Peter milked my bitch tits."


"Were you aroused, like you were yesterday?"


"Not beforehand," Stiles admitted thoughtfully. "It just felt good, all on its own. It feels good when Alpha Peter milks my bitch tits."


"Did you lactate more than yesterday?"


"Yes, Alpha."


"Did you enjoy lactating?"


Stiles thought for a moment in silence, and the doctor waited patiently to hear his response. "It felt good to lactate, Alpha."


"Your useless cocklette and your bitch tits are feeling good today," she remarked.


"Yes, Alpha."


"Do you like your bitch tits, Stiles?"


"I'm not sure..."


"Are they feeling good?"


"Yes, Alpha. My bitch tits feel good today."


"So would you say you're enjoying them today?"


"I'm enjoying my bitch tits today," he conceded.


"How would you say they differ from before?"


"I'm lactating," he said.


"Would you call them your lactating bitch tits?"


Stiles mulled it over.


"How about your full bitch tits?" the doctor suggested, prompting Stiles to attempt to further describe his new tits.


"Milky," he decided.


Doctor Monroe smiled. "That's perfect Stiles. Would you like to try out that word?"


"My milky bitch tits," he said with a blush.


"You're enjoying them today, aren't you?" she encouraged him.


"Yes, Alpha. I'm enjoying my milky bitch tits today."


"And --"


"And my useless cocklette. I enjoy having it stretched wide."


"I'm so happy for you," she said. "It sounds like you're feeling very good."


"Yes, Alpha."


"I'd like to revisit our discussion yesterday about your cervix." She shifted gears.


"Yes, Alpha," Stiles said, a bit more hesitantly.


"How did it feel watching Alpha Deucalion fist you?"


"I enjoyed watching Alpha Deucalion fist my sloppy bitch hole," Stiles recalled.


"Does it feel good when he fists your sloppy bitch hole?"


"Yes, Alpha. I like it when Alpha Deucalion fists my sloppy bitch hole."


"How did it feel to watch Alpha Deucalion rub your cervix?"


"I felt... aroused," he admitted tentatively.


"What aroused you about the image?"


"It was hot to see myself coming when Alpha Deucalion rubbed my cervix."


"What was hot about it, Stiles?"


"I looked like a bitch," he admitted, staring off as if he'd memorized the sight of it.


"You looked like a bitch when --"


"I looked like a bitch when Alpha Deucalion rubbed my cervix."


"Did you feel like a bitch when Alpha Deucalion rubbed your cervix?" she questioned. "Or did you just look like one?"


Stiles shuddered at the remembered sensation. "I felt like a bitch," he decided. "It was... intense," he told her. "But I felt like a bitch when Alpha Deucalion rubbed my cervix."


"Do you like to feel like a bitch?" she asked him.


"Yes, Alpha," he admitted very quietly.


"How does it feel?"


"Good. It feels good to feel like a bitch," Stiles said. "To feel like the bitch I am."


"Did it feel good when Alpha Deucalion rubbed your cervix?"


Stiles mulled over that line of thinking. "I guess so," he said. "I liked that it made me feel like a bitch." he compromised.


"So you like it when Alpha Deucalion rubs your cervix, because it makes you feel like a bitch," Doctor Monroe clarified.


"Yes, Alpha," Stiles agreed to that wording. "I like it when Alpha Deucalion rubs my cervix because it makes me feel like the bitch I am."


"What is making you feel like the bitch you are today, Stiles?"


"My milky bitch tits," he reiterated. "I'm enjoying my milky bitch tits today. And my useless cocklette being stretched wide." He relaxed again as he affirmed how good he was actually feeling in spite of the difficult conversation.


"That's wonderful, Stiles," the doctor told him. "I hear you had a special treat last night," she said.


Stiles blushed. "Yes, Alpha," he mumbled.


"Can you tell me about it?"


"A-alpha Peter..." Stiles tried. "He.. l-let me...." Stiles swallowed and tried to get out the sentence he'd come to with Peter the night before. "Alpha Peter let me have doggy cum for dessert."


"Did you suck off one of the doggies?"


"N-no, Alpha."


"Did you lick one of them clean?" she asked, though she certainly already knew.


"It was in a cup," Stiles told her quietly, mortified.


"Did you drink it from the cup?"


"Alpha Peter... f-fed it to me. With his fingers."


"He fed you the doggy cum."


"Yes. Yes, Alpha. He f-fed me the doggy cum."


"Did you like it?"


"It... I don't..."


"How does the doggy cum taste?" she asked curiously.


"It's bitter."


"Does it taste good?"


"Not really. It doesn't really taste good, Alpha."


"How did you feel emotionally when Peter fed you the doggy cum?"


Stiles squirmed as much as he could in his restraints and blushed furiously.


"Did you feel bad?"


"No," he said softly. "I f-felt... good. It felt like... Alpha Peter was... putting me in place. Somehow," he struggled to describe.


"Was Alpha Peter reminding you of your place?"


"I think so, Alpha," he said uncertainly.


"What do you think is your place?"


"A bitch," Stiles told her. "I'm a bitch. Alpha Peter made me feel like a bitch."


"Do you want to feel like a bitch, Stiles?"


"Yes, Alpha." Stiles admitted quietly.


"So Alpha Peter didn't force those feelings on you. You wanted them."


"Yes, Alpha. I wanted to feel like a bitch."


"So would you still say that Alpha Peter made you feel like one?"


"He helped me feel like a bitch," Stiles amended.


"Did you appreciate that help?"


Stiles blushed and closed his eyes, but he admitted, "Yes, Alpha. I liked it when Alpha Peter fed me the doggy cum because it helped me feel like the bitch I am."


"Is it difficult for you to feel like the bitch you are?"


"Sometimes, Alpha," he said, almost sadly. Peter's heart panged. Stiles had such a lot of baggage to sort through, but then that was what the facility was for.


"So you need help sometimes to feel it?"


"Yes, Alpha. I need help," he admitted with shining eyes, "to feel like the bitch I am."


"We're all here to help you feel good, Stiles," Doctor Monroe assured him.


"Thank you, Alpha," Stiles said, a bit thickly.


"And what makes you feel good?"


"To feel like a bitch," he said, a bit emotionally. "It makes me feel good to feel like the bitch I am."


"We'll help you feel like the bitch you are, Stiles," the doctor assured him.


"Thank you, Alpha," Stiles said.


"You're very welcome, Stiles. Is it hard for you to ask for help?"


"Yes, Alpha," Stiles admitted.


"Why don't we practice now? Can you ask Alpha Peter to help you have those feelings?"


"Alpha Peter?" Stiles asked.


"Yes, darling?" Peter answered tenderly.


"Will you please help me to feel like the bitch I am?"


"I will certainly continue to help you feel like the bitch you are," he vowed.


Stiles let out a choked little sob but kept himself together. "Th-thank you, Alpha."


"What would help you to feel like a bitch right now, right here in this moment?" the doctor prompted him.


Stiles took a moment to think of something that might prompt those feelings, that they could do just then. "If Alpha Peter h-hurt my bitch tits."


"Your milky bitch tits?"


"Y-yes, Alpha. My milky bitch tits."


"Would you like to ask Alpha Peter to help you now?"


"Alpha Peter," Stiles said, "Will you please h-hurt my milky bitch tits?"


"Certainly," Peter said, as he moved to play with Stiles’ nipples just as he had the day before. He pinched the sensitive nubs gently at first, milking them as Stiles moaned at the treatment. He didn't hurt them right away, but just let Stiles feel the softer sensations too. Then he obliged the request, and pinched and pulled and twisted Stiles' tits roughly as Stiles' moans of pleasure morphed into mewls of pleasure-pain. The boy leaked a few tears before Peter had finished.


"Th-thank you, A-alpha," Stiles said shakily.


"Why don't you tell Alpha Peter how it feels when he hurts your milky bitch tits?"


"I like it when you h-hurt my m-milky bitch tits," Stiles told him. "It feels good, and it makes me feel like the bitch I am."


"What else makes you feel like the bitch you are?" the doctor prompted.


Stiles calmed as he recited his good feelings. "M-my useless cocklette, stretched wide. I'm enjoying my useless cocklette and my milky bitch tits today."


"Are you feeling good?"


"I feel very good, Alpha," Stiles affirmed, settling down.


"You mentioned earlier to me, Stiles, that it hurt a little on the inside when your useless cocklette was stretched."


"Yes, Alpha."


"Does it hurt now?"


"No, Alpha."


"When did it hurt?"


"When Alpha Deucalion was stretching my cocklette, and afterwards."


"Remember when Alpha Deucalion spanked your useless cocklette, Stiles?"


"Yes, Alpha."


"What did you tell me then?"


Stiles blushed. "I... I enjoy it when Alpha Deucalion hurts my useless cocklette."


"How does it make you feel?"


"Cared for."


"And when Alpha Deucalion used the toothbrush?"


"I liked it, Alpha."


"Did that also make you feel cared for?"


"Yes, Alpha," Stiles admitted quietly.


"What about when he hurt you on the inside? Did you like it when Alpha Deucalion hurt the inside of your cocklette?"


"Yes, Alpha," Stiles admitted very quietly. "I liked it when Alpha Deucalion hurt the inside of my useless cocklette. It made me feel cared for, and helped me feel like the bitch I am."


"I'm so glad you know that about yourself, Stiles," Doctor Monroe said warmly. "And you like it when Alpha Peter hurts your bitch tits?"


"Yes, Alpha."


"I hear you saying that you feel good emotionally, when an Alpha hurts your useless cocklette, or your bitch tits."


"Yes, Alpha."


"What about physically?"


"Alpha?" Stiles asked in confusion.


"Does it feel good physically when Alpha Peter hurts your bitch tits?"


"It hurts, Alpha."


"Does it arouse you?"


"Yes, Alpha," Stiles admitted.


"Does it feel good or bad?"


"It feels good. It hurts and it feels good," Stiles confirmed.


"Do you know what we call that, Stiles?"


"Masochism," Stiles said quietly.


"That's right, Stiles. When someone feels good when they hurt, sexually, we call that masochism. What is that person, then?"


"A masochist."


"Are you a masochist, Stiles?"


"Y-yes, Alpha," Stiles admitted for the first time ever with a quavering voice. "I'm... I'm a masochist."


"How does it make you feel to say so?"


"Embarrassed," Stiles admitted.


"Is it bad to enjoy feeling good?"


"... no, Alpha."


"You told me earlier that it's hard for you to ask for help."


"Yes, Alpha."


"Is it hard for you to ask for what you want?"


"Yes, Alpha," Stiles let out a breath. "I know I need to. It's good for me. But it's hard."


That was possibly the most real Stiles had gotten that Peter could recall. But the boy wasn't stupid. He knew the point of the program, of everything done in the facility, the point of the call and response, the affirmations.


"Today I want you to think of one thing you want. It can be from any Alpha, at any point in the day," the doctor told him. "And I want to see if you can ask them for it. Okay, Stiles?"


"Yes, Alpha," Stiles said and took a shuddering breath.


"If you don't manage to ask, that's okay," the doctor assured him. "We'll talk about how it went during your next session."


"Yes, Alpha. Thank you, Alpha," Stiles said as the doctor got up and made her way to leave.


"You're welcome, Stiles. Have a good day."


Once the doctor had seen herself out, Peter turned to his boy. "Are you ready for some fresh air?" he asked.


"Are we going outside, Alpha?" Stiles asked.


"Yes we are," Peter told him, and began unfastening his restraints. "We're going to have a little walk, standing upright," he clarified, "and we'll visit the courtyard for a while. It's time you got a little more exercise, and a some fresh air and sun."


Stiles hissed as Peter removed his thick catheter once again. Then Peter helped Stiles stand on weak legs, and with an arm around his waist, led him through the halls.


The courtyard was small and bright, full of trees and plants and a little walkway made of cool stones so as to not be too hot on omega or dog feet. The foliage ensured that Stiles was unlikely to sunburn while he was out. Peter led Stiles toward a bench and took a seat himself.


"Have a little walk," Peter encouraged, "but if you need a break, I want you to kneel in a quiet waiting posture," he directed. "I don't want you to put any pressure on your stitches. If you get thirsty, there's a bowl of water over there by the hose," he pointed.


Stiles flushed at mention of the dog bowl. "Yes, Alpha," he said, and made his way slowly around the courtyard for a while, not really going anywhere or looking at anything, but having some freedom of movement nonetheless. Peter knew it would slowly build his strength back up, and stretch the scar tissue in a safe, controlled manner.


After a while, Stiles came to rest at Peter's feet, knees spread wide and ass resting on his heels, so that his stitches were suspended over the air with no pressure on them. In the past, Stiles' balls would have dangled between his legs. Now his limp cock rested over his bandage.


Peter beckoned to him to inch forward and rest his head in his lap, and Stiles sighed and slumped comfortably, soaking in the affection as Peter pet his head.


"How have you been sleeping, sweetheart?" Peter asked.


"I slept well, Alpha."


"Even in the restraints?" Peter checked.


"Yes, Alpha."


"How does it make you feel to be restrained?"


"Safe. I feel safe when I'm restrained."


"Does your father ever restrain you when you sleep? Your wrists perhaps?"


"No, Alpha. He... he tried once, but I told him I didn't like it."


"Were you lying?"


"I didn't think I liked it," Stiles answered somewhat vaguely.


"Do you like sleeping naked and exposed at the facility?" Peter asked.


"Yes, Alpha. I feel more like myself when I'm exposed."


"Did you sleep exposed at home?"


"No, Alpha," Stiles murmured into Peter's lap as he continued to pet him. "I usually slept in pyjamas. I didn't want to feel exposed.”


"Did you have blankets in your bed? And sheets?"


"Yes, Alpha. Blankets, sheets, pyjamas."


"Did your father tuck you in?"


"No, Alpha. I put myself to bed most nights. I kept my door closed. Locked. I didn't want to feel exposed."


Peter clenched his jaw. They'd have to do something about that when they did the in-home visit before Stiles was released.


"When you recover from your castration, you'll go back home to sleep," Peter said.


"Yes, Alpha," Stiles said. He knew that.


"I think you might feel more comfortable sleeping at home without blankets and sheets and pyjamas," Peter suggested gently. "With your door open, so your father can look in on you."


Stiles hesitated. He had many years of ingrained attitude to overcome. "Maybe," he said. It would do for now.


"You've been out for a little while now," Peter said. "Go get yourself a drink."


"Yes, Alpha," Stiles said. He rose to his feet and walked over to where the doggy bowl was in the courtyard, then sunk down on his hands and knees to have a drink, slopping water over his chin. He tried to scrub it off with an arm afterwards to little effect, then came back to kneel by Peter once again.


Peter took up his petting as Stiles took up his position with his head in Peter's lap for a long, quiet while. It was peaceful, Peter thought.


"A lot of omegas have trouble feeling settled, Stiles," Peter told Stiles quietly after a time.


"Mm," Stiles hummed to indicate he was listening.


"Not all omegas have the same needs, of course. But it's normal to want to feel small. Grounded. Kneeling helps some omegas achieve that feeling. Do you like kneeling for me?"


"Yes, Alpha," Stiles answered drowsily.


"Do you ever kneel for your father?" he asked curiously. It was an easy way for adolescent omegas to feel grounded with their parental alphas. A common practice.


"Used to," Stiles murmured. "Sometimes. Not in a while."


Peter hummed. He'd expected that was the case.


"Have you ever licked your father's boots, Stiles?" Peter asked.


Stiles shivered. "No, Alpha."


"Next time you kneel for your father, I'd like you to ask whether you can lick clean his boots. See whether you enjoy it. Will you remember to do that for me?" Peter asked.


"Yes, Alpha," Stiles answered.


"Would you like to suck my cock now, Stiles?" Peter offered. It was the first he'd allowed it from the omega.


Stiles lifted his head, eyes wide with surprise. "Yes, Alpha," he answered huskily.


"Get me out then," Peter directed, spreading his knees for Stiles to move in. "Go ahead."


Stiles unzipped Peter's pants and pulled his cock from the fly of his boxers, stroking it a bit first to firm it completely. At eight inches in length, Peter wasn't a monster for an alpha but was rather typical. It certainly dwarfed any omega and Stiles seemed to enjoy the length of it, the girth, the weight.


He sucked it easily into his mouth and hummed in appreciation, then swallowed it into his throat, fucking his head up and down the length of it smoothly. Peter rested his hand on Stiles' head but let him control the pace as he was doing such a beautiful job. When Peter's knot started to form, Stiles pulled back so that he wouldn't choke, and worked his fist on the knot, squeezing and pulling on it to help aid Peter's long ejaculation. Peter was fairly certain the boy hadn't had any experience in doing this before, but the boy was a natural.


"Good bitch," Peter murmured as he pet Stiles and rode out his orgasm.


When he softened, Stiles kept up little kitten licks until the last beads of cum were swallowed away. Peter pulled back and righted his clothes.


"Thank you, Alpha," Stiles said, voice a bit raw. Peter saw he had that glassy-eyed daze again.


"You're welcome, darling. Let's go back inside now and get you some lunch."


Peter led the way with a loose grip on the back of Stiles' neck to guide him as they made their way through the halls and back to the medical exam room. Stiles got back into his chair without needing to be prompted, and Peter began restraining him back in place. It was a good time to be immobile for awhile so that Stiles could rest and work on healing his stitches.


Stiles whimpered as Peter worked the thick catheter back into place.


"You like that, sweetheart?" Peter asked him.


"Yes, Alpha. I like it when you stretch my useless cocklette wide."


"Does it hurt a bit, after your break?"


"Yes, Alpha. It makes my useless cocklette feel a bit sore inside. It feels good when you hurt my cocklette, Alpha."


"I'm glad, baby," Peter said, finished reattaching the catheter.


He pulled the food bag over and helped Stiles work the eleven inch teat into his throat to suckle his lunch.


When he was finished, Peter bound Stiles' head to the headrest and told Stiles to have a nap, then doused the lights.




Stiles blinked awake when the lights came on two hours later. Doctor Deaton preceded Peter into the room, and checked on Stiles' stitches after his foray into the courtyard earlier in the day.


"Problems?" Peter asked, arms crossed.


"No, Peter, he looks fine," Deaton said in a long-suffering way. "You kept your boy safe. I just had to check."


Peter grunted.


"A-alpha Deaton?" Stiles asked hesitantly.


Deaton raised a brow at Stiles actually wanting something from him, rather than his handler. "Yes, Stiles?"


"W-will you please touch my bitch hole? I like how it feels when you touch me there."


"You're very sensitive there, especially now that you're castrated," Deaton explained to him.


"Yes, Alpha."


"But you must be patient, Stiles," Deaton told him, rubbing his inner thigh. "I don't want to penetrate you very often until your stitches are more fully healed. Stretching you or jostling you could damage them."


"Yes, Alpha," Stiles said in a quavering voice, clearly disappointed in being denied but trying to hide it.


"As soon as you're well enough, I promise to make you feel very good, Stiles," Deaton promised.


"Thank you, Alpha," Stiles said, and Deaton saw himself out.


"Disappointed, sweetheart?" Peter asked gently.


Stiles shrugged, and seemed reluctant to answer.


Peter thought for a moment about a way to cheer Stiles up. He'd considered watching some of the footage of Stiles' time at the facility again, but Stiles wasn't in a very receptive mood after a rejection. He knew how brave his boy had been to ask, and he couldn't blame the doctor for the denial. It was unfortunate.


"I have an idea," Peter said with a twinkle in his eye. "Let's go see Alpha Derek in Processing."


Stiles blinked a bit in confusion, understandably. He got his daily enema after supper time, and though it was hard for him to judge the time in a room without windows, he knew it couldn't be that late.


"Yes, Alpha," he answered as Peter began undoing his restraints. Stiles hardly reacted when the catheter was pulled free, and he followed Peter curiously down the hall.


Derek looked up in surprise when they arrived.


"What do you need?" he asked Peter, glancing curiously at the omega.


"Stiles asked Doctor Deaton to play with his bitch hole a little bit ago," Peter divulged. "But understandably the doctor is reluctant to disturb the area."


Derek raised his brows and his eyes lit with mirth.


"Isn't that right, Stiles?"


"Yes, Alpha," he mumbled, eyes to the floor.


"Derek has some lovely additives he can add to an enema, Stiles," Peter explained. "Ones that would cause quite the sensation to your hole."


Stiles looked up. "Really?"


"Really," Peter affirmed, though he didn't explain that most of the additives that would be noticeable caused some sort of distress. Then again, he had a feeling after the therapy session earlier that day that Stiles would enjoy some of those. "Why don't you ask Derek if he'll play with your hole?"


Stiles looked hesitant. "Alpha Derek? Would you please play with my bitch hole?"


"Let's get you up in a chair," Derek said with a small smile.


Stiles took a moment to process that that meant yes, and his face lit up happily. One of the ubiquitous medical chairs was stationed in one area of the processing room, and Stiles hopped into it as Derek and Peter worked together to immobilize him with quick efficiency. Then Stiles waited with a patient curiosity as Derek moved away to prepare the enema. Peter saw Derek reach for the ginger extract. Stiles would certainly be in for a new experience.


At first, Stiles sat placidly through the enema. It was a common experience for him at this point, and he didn't fuss as the water flowed into his bowel. Then he started to get twitchy.


"Alpha," Stiles said worriedly, looking for Peter at first, as far as his restraints would allow, then glanced toward Derek between his spread legs. "Something.. something's wrong."


"Nothing's wrong," Derek said as he sat on his stool, watching the gravity-fed bag empty into Stiles. "That's the ginger extract you're feeling," he explained placidly. "It can create a rather... intense sensation."


That was putting it mildly. Peter knew that it would set Stiles’ hole on fire. "Alpha Peter," Stiles said, seeking out his handler as Peter waited at the side of the room. Stiles couldn't see him as he'd been immobilized fully.


"I'm here," Peter said, not moving from his perch on a spare stool.


Stiles' breaths came quick and shallow as he started to sweat. "Alpha it hurts. It burns," he said with a quavering voice.


"I know, darling, but you'll be alright."


"Please," Stiles gasped, tears starting to trickle down his cheeks. "Please, Alpha, I can't. Please, please," he pleaded as he started to cry in earnest.


"Just a bit more," Derek told him evenly. "Then we'll let it sit for a few minutes before we empty out."


Stiles whimpered.


"Is your hole very sensitive, darling?" Peter asked.


"Y-yes, Alpha. M-my hole is s-sensitive."


"What kind of hole?"


"M-my bitch hole is v-very sensitive," Stiles stuttered out. "H-hurts. Burns." His thighs trembled in their bonds.


"Do you like it when Alpha Derek hurts your bitch hole,?" Peter asked.


Stiles hiccoughed a little sob.


"Do you dislike it, darling?" Peter asked.


"I," Stiles hitched a breath. "I l-like it wh-when Alpha Derek h-hurts m-my bitch hole," he sobbed out.


"How does it make you feel?"


"It f-feels good when he h-hurts me there," he said between tears.


Derek pulled away the enema kit for Stiles to retain for a few minutes while the ginger really did its work.


"Do you know where else we can put ginger extract, Stiles?" Peter asked.


"N-no, Alpha," Stiles answered.


"If you'd like, I think Alpha Derek would be willing to put a bit inside your useless cocklette for you. Would you like Alpha Derek to hurt your cocklette too?"


Through his sobs Stiles pleaded. "Please, Alpha Derek. Please hurt my useless cocklette."


"Would you enjoy that?" Derek asked.


"Y-yes, Alpha," Stiles confirmed. "I w-would enjoy it if you h-hurt my useless c-cocklette."


"Alright, Stiles," Derek agreed. He moved to a shelf to get a special bottle of oil with the ginger extract mixed into it in a ratio that would hurt Stiles but not harm him. "Peter, would you show me which size sound Stiles has worked up to?" he asked. Peter came over and pointed out the appropriate gauge and Derek made his way back over to Stiles. He lubed the sound and was very careful not to get it anywhere near the healing stitches. He held Stiles still and worked the thick sound into his flaccid cock, stretching the hole and setting it afire with the ginger.


Stiles keened high in his throat at the pain radiating from his crotch. Once Derek had coated him thoroughly inside he removed the sound.


"Alright Stiles," he said when he'd set up the waste receptacle. "You can evacuate now."


The receptacle efficiently caught all of Stiles' waste without allowing mess to get anywhere, though it was a long and laborious process for Stiles to push the burning liquid out as he whimpered.


Derek cleaned his cheeks and pressed his plug back into his slick, stretched hole.


Stiles' entire bowel was burning dully inside, lighting him up with a pleasure-pain he'd never known. It made him sort of itch inside, and he groaned at the same burn inching down his little cock hole.


Peter saw his eyes glaze over as he floated into his omega space.


"What do you say, Stiles?" Peter prompted him as he started undoing his bonds.


"Thank you, Alpha Derek," Stiles said a bit dazedly, his voice still pained. "For hurting my bitch hole, and my useless cocklette."


"You're welcome," Derek said with a small, fond smile.


Peter helped guide Stiles out of the room and back to his own, where he settled him into his chair once more. Stiles followed his lead dazedly, moaning softly now and again at the soft waves of pain. Peter expected them to burn out within an hour, with a good bit of time before Stiles' father came to visit. It was a nice little interlude.


He pressed the wide catheter into the gingered cock and Stiles groaned painfully as the stretch and motion aggravated the burning sensation further.


"Do you feel nice and snug?" Peter asked, testing the last of the bonds.


"Yes, Alpha," Stiles answered.


Peter brought the screen around and clicked through the menus until he found the video he wanted Stiles to watch. It was the several hour footage of Stiles taking stud cocks again. Peter started it at the beginning, to give Stiles something to watch and pass the time while waiting for his father's visit.


"You just relax for a bit," Peter told him, and settled down himself with his tablet to read.




"Stiles," the sheriff said warmly.


Peter clicked off the screen above but left Stiles immobilized for the moment.


"Hey, buddy," the sheriff said.


"Daddy," Stiles said warmly. He was relaxed and in a soft mental space and smiled slightly.


"How are you feeling today?"


"I feel good today, Daddy," Stiles confessed softly with a blush.


"That's great to hear," the sheriff said, still seeming overwhelmed with emotion every time he got such a positive report from Stiles, such a total change in attitude. "What has you feeling so good today?"


"Today I'm enjoying my milky bitch tits," Stiles said with a fierce blush as he stared at the ceiling.


The sheriff gaped and flicked a surprised, disbelieving glance at Peter. Peter smiled.


"What else are you enjoying today?" Peter prompted him.


"My useless cocklette being stretched wide."


"That's..." the sheriff was at a loss for words. To see his omega boy so comfortable in himself and so changed entirely, no longer in denial about his needs or his self perception was incredible. "That's wonderful, Stiles," he said warmly.


Stiles glowed under the praise.


"Would you like Stiles to kneel for you today, Sheriff?" Peter asked. "I think it would be alright to let him out of his restraints for the next hour and have him kneel quietly."


"Would you like that?" the sheriff asked Stiles hopefully.


"Yes, Daddy. Could I kneel for you?" he asked shyly.


"Of course, buddy," the sheriff answered, overcome. Peter made quick work of the restraints and the catheter, and helped Stiles to kneel next to where the sheriff had taken a seat along the wall. He took perfect form as he had with Peter earlier, and laid his head in his father's lap to be pet. Peter took himself to the adjoining room to give them the semblance of privacy.


After a quiet, solemn moment Stiles spoke again.


"Daddy?" he asked tentatively.


"What is it, buddy?" the sheriff asked, still petting.


"May I clean your boots with my tongue?" Stiles asked very quietly. Peter felt the warm glow of pride that Stiles had remembered his directive and had been brave enough to ask.


The sheriff blinked in surprise. It wasn't something Stiles had ever done before, but it wasn't an unusual point of connection between an omega and an alpha, even a parental alpha. "Sure, Stiles. You can lick my boots for me," he said quietly.


Stiles fell to his hands and knees and leaned forward to place the first little kitten lick on the dusty leather. He soon became more bold and bathed the dirty boots with long, smooth strokes of his tongue. The atmosphere in the room was heavy but comfortable as Stiles continued in his task for the duration of the hour long visit.


Peter knocked on the open door as he let himself back in.


"Time's up already?" the sheriff asked, seeming reluctant to leave, but understanding.


"Afraid so," Peter said. "You can stop now, sweetheart," he said to Stiles, who knelt up in his waiting stance again.


"That was wonderful, Stiles," his dad told him.


"Did you like licking your father's boots?" Peter asked.


"Yes, Alpha," Stiles said.


"What did you like about it?" Peter prompted.


"It made me feel cared for," Stiles answered quietly, and Peter saw the raw emotion on the sheriff's face at his response. "And it helped me feel more like myself."


"What is it like to feel like yourself?" Peter prompted him.


"It helped me to feel like the bitch I am."


The sheriff obviously had no idea how to react to that, his mouth gaping open.


"Thank your daddy, Stiles," Peter told him.


"Thank you, Daddy," Stiles said sincerely. "For helping me feel like the bitch I am."


"Isn't Stiles a good bitch, Sheriff?" Peter prompted, and Stiles looked up at his father hopefully.


The sheriff's awkwardness melted away. "You were a good bitch," he said warmly as he pet his son's head. Stiles grinned and glowed under the praise.


"Come on," Peter prompted. "Back in your chair."


"Yes, Alpha." Stiles dutifully settled himself in place and let Peter restrain him once more as the sheriff saw himself out. Stiles let out a soft moan as Peter worked the catheter into his flaccid little cock.


"That feel good?" Peter asked, catching the sound.


"Yes, Alpha," Stiles answered. "I enjoy it when you stretch my useless cocklette wide."


Peter wheeled in the supper bag and positioned it above Stiles. "Do you enjoy having a cock in your throat?" Peter asked curiously.


"I enjoyed having your cock in my throat, Alpha."


"What about your feeding bags?" Peter asked. "Do you enjoy deep throating them? Or do you dislike it?"


Stiles shrugged indifferently. "I don't mind," he answered neutrally.


"That's fine, darling," Peter said, and fed the teat into Stiles' mouth.




It had been a few days since Stiles had last been able to shower, so Derek came early that evening, right after supper, and gave Stiles a quick sponge bath in his restraints before giving him his regular enema.


"Do you take showers or baths more often at home?" Peter asked Stiles while Derek worked.


"Usually showers, Alpha."


"Do you shut the bathroom door when you take your showers?"


"Yes, Alpha," Stiles answered, unsurprisingly.


At the facility, omegas had no privacy at any time. "Do you think an omega should have privacy from their Alpha?"


"... I'm not sure," he answered hesitantly.


"Do you have any privacy here at the facility?" Peter prompted.


"No, Alpha."


"Do you like having your privacy taken away?"


"Yes, Alpha. I like that I don't have any privacy here," Stiles answered thoughtfully. "It makes me feel cared for."


"I think maybe you'd feel more comfortable if you showered with the bathroom door open," Peter suggested. "Maybe it would make you feel more cared for, if your father could look in on you at any time."


"Maybe," Stiles answered non-committally.


"Does your shower have a curtain or a door, Stiles?" Peter asked.


"A curtain."


"Is it a clear plastic curtain?"


"The liner's clear, but there's a blue fabric curtain on the outside," Stiles said.


"Maybe you'd feel more comfortable if the blue curtain were removed and the bathroom door were open," Peter suggested. He made a note to discuss it in his email with the sheriff that evening.


"Maybe," Stiles said again. Derek moved on to his enema, and Peter unbound Stiles arms and wheeled over the toothbrushing kit. Stiles brushed his teeth and settled back in to be bound for the night.


"I want you to do a mental exercise for me," Peter said. "Imagine you're lying in bed at home,"


"Yes, Alpha," Stiles said, eyes falling shut.


"You're not wearing any pyjamas," Peter said. "There are no blankets or sheets on the bed. And your door is open. You're ready to go to sleep. Can you picture it?"


"Yes, Alpha," Stiles confirmed.


"Good," Peter continued. "You're ready for bed, but you need to be restrained first. Would you feel more comfortable with your wrists bound together in front of you? Or would you rather have your wrists and ankles strapped out spread-eagle, on your back? Take a moment to imagine both of them."


Derek finished up and was about to leave when Stiles remembered. "Thank you Alpha Derek," he said, "for cleaning out my dirty bitch hole."


"You're welcome, Stiles," Derek answered. "Have a good night," he said as he saw himself out.


"Have you come up with an answer to my question?" Peter reminded Stiles.


"I like the idea of being spread-eagle," Stiles confessed. "It sounds secure. And like I wouldn't be hiding."


"Are you tired of hiding, sweetheart?"


"Yes, Alpha," Stiles answered quietly.


"Well," Peter said as he rubbed his hands up and down Stiles' spread inner thighs. "There's no hiding here is there?"


"No, Alpha," Stiles answered, blushing.


Peter brushed his thumbs along the crease between thigh and pelvis, then stroked a thumb over the catheterized little cock as Stiles sucked in a breath.


"Any alpha can come in here and see your useless little cocklette," Peter told him as he stroked over the limp member. "Stretched out all wide. Any alpha can come in and see that you're castrated right away."


"L-like a bitch," Stiles told him.


"Castrated like a bitch," Peter confirmed. "Anyone could see your plugged up bitch hole, and your milky bitch tits, stiff and waiting to be milked."


"Y-yes, Alpha," Stiles said, breath catching with obvious arousal.


"Any alpha in the facility could come in here and hurt your little cocklette, or your tits," Peter told him. "Do you feel vulnerable, spread wide and restrained like this?"


"Yes, Alpha."


"Do you like that feeling?"


"Yes, Alpha. It feels good to feel vulnerable," Stiles confessed.


"Why is that, darling?" Peter asked, stroking Stiles' thighs again, close to his groin.


"I'm tired of making decisions," Stiles said quietly. "It feels good to let you decide what's good for me, Alpha."


Peter felt warmth bloom in his chest. "I'm glad you trust me with that, Stiles. Now," he said, "bed time." He stepped away from Stiles and out of the room, dousing the lights.


Chapter Text

"Good morning, omega," Deaton said as he turned the lights on.


Stiles blinked in bleary confusion but answered automatically, "Good morning, Alpha."


Deaton wheeled his seat between Stiles' spread legs and checked on the stitches. "How is your castration scar feeling?" he asked.


"A little achy, but not bad," Stiles said as he came awake.


"Full sentences, please," Deaton reminded him.


"My castration scar feels a little achy, but not bad," Stiles amended.


"Much better," Deaton said, covering the stitches again. "Are you glad to be castrated?" Deaton asked.


"Yes, Alpha," Stiles answered. "Thank you for castrating me, Alpha."


"You don't have to thank me, Stiles, but you're welcome," Deaton answered.


"Yes, Alpha."


"How does your penis feel, Stiles?" Deaton asked him as he briefly checked the catheter.


"My useless cocklette feels good, Alpha. It feels good when my cocklette is stretched wide."


"That's good, Stiles," Deaton said. He moved to wheel over the dental kit, and unstrapped Stiles' arms and head. "How is your chest feeling today?"


"My bitch tits feel like they need to be milked, Alpha."


"Thank you for telling me. Would you like me to milk them now?"


"Yes, please, Alpha," Stiles said. "Will you please milk my bitch tits?"


Stiles finished brushing his teeth while Deaton moved the machine in close. He then strapped down Stiles arms once more and hooked his tits up to the milking machine. Right away when he turned it on, a decent stream was pulled out as Stiles moaned blissfully. The stream was a bit thicker, and lasted longer than the day before. Stiles' cocklette drooled into its own tube as it was milked in turn.


Peter came in while Stiles' milking was still going strong.


"Good morning, Stiles."


"Guh," Stiles tried between breathless moans. "Good morning, Alpha."


Peter helped Stiles begin sucking down his breakfast while he was milked and took over supervision from Deaton so that the doctor could perform duties elsewhere.


Even once Stiles' tits had been emptied and the suction felt over-sensitive and painful, he moaned, glassy-eyed in a haze of endorphins.


Stiles finished his breakfast before he finished his milking, and eventually Peter shut the machines off and began to detach them as Stiles basked in his afterglow, clearly feeling good.


"Did you like that, darling?" Peter asked as he worked.


"Yes, Alpha," Stiles said breathily. "I enjoyed having my bitch tits milked."


"Are you enjoying your bitch tits today?" he asked with a grin.


"Yes, Alpha," Stiles agreed. "I'm enjoying my milky bitch tits today."


"Do you like having your cocklette milked?" Peter asked.


"I don't mind having my useless cocklette milked," Stiles said somewhat indifferently.


"Let's try something," Peter suggested. He'd put away the suction cups that had been on Stiles' tits, and had been about to take the suction device off of his little cocklette when he had an idea. He turned the milking machine back on and Stiles sighed comfortably at the return of the sensation. It was a strong suction, and when Peter had first used it on Stiles' cock when he'd arrived at the facility, his little cock had become over-sensitive and a bit painful. Now, however, something about the castration had dulled Stiles' reaction to the sucking on his flaccid cock.


While the milking machines were attuned to an optimal strength, they were programmable. Peter kicked the strength up a few degrees to what would be mildly painful. Stiles groaned, his face creased with pleasure-pain as his little nub was pulled and stretched to its painful limit. It would leave his little cocklette sore if run on that strength for the full duration, but Peter just tried a few minutes of it to gauge how Stiles would react.


Stiles' face remained creased in that familiar rictus that told Peter he was on that fine line between pleasure and pain.


"How does that feel, darling?" Peter asked gently.


"Ohhh," Stiles moaned. "Alpha. It feels..." he took a breath, "so good. My useless cocklette feels so good when you milk it, Alpha."


"Does it hurt?" Peter asked.


"Yes, Alpha," Stiles answered breathlessly. "It hurts my useless cocklette so good."


By now, Peter knew, Stiles would have a steady thrum of pain between his legs.


Peter shut off the machine and Stiles looked disappointedly at him.


"That's enough for today, Stiles. But from now on, I think that's the strength we'll use for your morning milking. How does that sound?"


"Thank you, Alpha," Stiles said genuinely.


"You're welcome, Stiles. Now, let's go spend some time in the courtyard this morning, shall we? But first, I brought you a present."


Stiles' eyes lit with curiosity. "What is it, Alpha?" he asked.


Peter pulled the little bit of jewellery out of his pocket. "This is a penis plug," he told Stiles. "This thick stem will press all the way into the base of your useless little cocklette, and keep you spread nice and wide while you're out walking. And this round bit here will secure the plug around the head of your cocklette so that the plug won't fall out. Do you think you'd enjoy wearing your plug, Stiles?"


"Yes, please, Alpha," Stiles said quietly. He watched as Peter oiled it and pressed the thick stem into his urethra. Stiles hissed a bit as his little cocklette was now sore, and Peter eased the plug all the way to the base of Stiles' short cock, filling it completely. He made sure the little ring was snug around the miniscule cockhead.


"How does that feel?" Peter checked.


"Good," Stiles said breathlessly. "It feels good when you stretch my useless cocklette wide."


"Do you like the feeling of being fucked inside your cocklette?"


"Yes, Alpha. I like it when you fuck me inside my useless cocklette. It makes my cocklette feel so full and secure."


"That's a good bitch," Peter praised him, and began unstrapping him to go on their walk.


They walked through the halls with Peter's guiding hand on the back of Stiles' neck, and passed Deucalion along the way to the courtyard.


"Good morning, Peter, omega," Deuc greeted.


"Deuc," Peter nodded.


"Good morning, Alpha Deucalion," Stiles said respectfully.


"You're looking well today," Deucalion told Stiles.


"Thank you, Alpha. I'm enjoying my milky bitch tits today, and having my useless cocklette spread wide."


"I can see that," Deuc commented, glancing at the penile plug. "Did Alpha Peter give you that plug?" he asked with a knowing smile.


"Yes, Alpha," Stiles said with a delighted smile. "It helps me feel like the bitch I am."


"Very good, omega," Deuc answered.


"Come along, Stiles," Peter said, directing him to move again. "Let's not keep Alpha Deucalion from his duties."


"Yes, Alpha," Stiles answered easily, going where he was led.


Outside it was a beautiful, sunny day and Peter gave Stiles free reign to wander the garden for a while, before kneeling in a perfect waiting posture by Peter's knees.


"Please rest in the Present posture," Peter directed Stiles, and Stiles bent forward on his knees and forearms, head resting on his hands with his knees wide and ass presented in the air for breeding. "Good bitch," Peter said approvingly, and enjoyed the calming atmosphere as Stiles rested quietly.


"Did you used to masturbate, Stiles?" Peter asked after a time.


"Yes, Alpha," Stiles answered from his present posture. "Not often."


"In the shower or in your room?" Peter asked.


"In my room," Stiles answered.


"How did you touch yourself when you did?" Peter asked him.


Stiles hesitated before answering. "For a while, I tried to play with my useless cocklette. I could get it hard, and sometimes I could come from it. But it took a lot of work, and wasn't very satisfying. Sometimes... sometimes I would put fingers in my bitch hole, but I always felt ashamed of it."


"What made you feel ashamed, Stiles?"


"It made me feel like the bitch I am."


"Did you not want to be a bitch?"


"I didn't want to then."


"But now?"


"I want to be the bitch I am," Stiles confided. "I want to feel like myself."


"Did you ever play with your balls, back then?"


"No, Alpha."


"What about your bitch tits?"


"No, Alpha," Stiles answered.


"Did you ever make yourself hurt, Stiles? To feel good?"


"When I played with my useless cocklette, when I was able to come from it I had to grip it very hard," Stiles confided. "But I didn't think about it hurting at the time."


"When you go home, you'll be feeling more like yourself," Peter told Stiles. "You'll be feeling more like the bitch you are."


"Yes, Alpha."


"I want you to know it's okay to make yourself feel good when you're at home. If you want to touch yourself, you should. You can put as many fingers as you want inside of your bitch hole. You can play with your useless cocklette, or your milky bitch tits, or your castration scar. You can even hurt yourself a little, to feel good," Peter told him.


"Yes, Alpha," Stiles answered, listening, considering.


"When you used to touch yourself in your room, did you have the door shut?"


"Yes, Alpha. And locked."


"If you play with yourself when you go home, I think you'll feel more comfortable if you leave the door open," Peter suggested.


"My daddy might see," Stiles said in a quiet, small voice.


"I don't think he'll watch you, if that's what worries you," Peter assured him. "But yes, he might see. It's good for omegas not to have secrets from their alphas. You don't have to feel ashamed, Stiles, or hide what you're doing from your alpha. What if your father looked in and saw you pinching your bitch tits?" he asked.


"I don't know."


"What might he think of you?" Peter prompted.


"Alphas don't play with their nipples," Stiles hedged.


"Some do," Peter divulged, and Stiles seemed to mull that over. "But you don't have nipples do you, Stiles?"


"No, Alpha. I have bitch tits."


"So if your father sees you pinching them, he'll only think you like to pinch your bitch tits. Are you a bitch, Stiles?"


"Yes, Alpha."


"Do you like it when your bitch tits hurt?"


"Yes, Alpha. I like it when my bitch tits hurt."


"Do you think it's okay if your father knows that about you? That you're a bitch who likes it when his bitch tits hurt?"


"I guess so," he said, slowly coming around to the idea.


"So what if your door was open, and your father walked by and caught a glimpse of you pinching your bitch tits?"


"He would probably just keep walking," Stiles admitted quietly. "I don't think he'd mind if I played with my bitch tits. I would just feel embarrassed."


"Would you feel embarrassed, or vulnerable?" Peter asked.


"Vulnerable," Stiles amended.


"Do you like to feel vulnerable?" Peter asked him.


"Yes, Alpha. It makes me feel secure. Like I can trust my alpha," Stiles recalled their conversation from the night before.


"Is it okay if the next time you touch yourself at home, the door is open?" Peter asked.


"Maybe..." Stiles said.


"Think about it," Peter told him.


"Yes, Alpha," Stiles said, and they lapsed into a comfortable silence once again.


Peter checked his watch and saw that it was nearly ten o'clock. "Go have a drink, Stiles," he said, and stood up to follow Stiles there. Stiles rose from his Present position and walked over to the bowl of water near the hose, and knelt down to lap from it, then rose again and tried to wipe his dripping mouth on his bare shoulder.


"When you drink from a bowl," Peter told him, "or when you're covered in drool or cum from sucking cock, or when you've been crying, and your face is all wet, I like it when you leave the mess to dry on its own."


"Why, Alpha?" Stiles asked in confusion.


"Do the doggies care if there's water or drool on their face?" Peter asked him.


"No, Alpha," Stiles said, blushing.


"When I see the mess on your face, it helps me to see you as the bitch you are," Peter explained. "Have another drink, Stiles."


"Yes, Alpha," Stiles said. He knelt and lapped a bit more water up, then stood again to face Peter as stray water dripped down his chin. He didn't try to remove it.


"Good bitch," Peter said with a fond smile, and saw Stiles light up at the praise. Peter gripped the back of his neck and steered him toward the building again. "Let's get you back to the room. It's about time for your appointment with Doctor Monroe."


"Yes, Alpha," Stiles said.




Doctor Monroe was waiting for them when they returned.


"Sorry to keep you waiting, Doctor," Peter said.


"Not at all," she said cheerily. "Take your time."


Stiles sat in his chair and Peter began buckling him in place. Then he removed the cock plug and re-inserted the catheter.


"That's a lovely penis plug," Doctor Monroe told Stiles.


"Thank you, Alpha. Alpha Peter got it for me."


"That's very generous of him."


"Yes, Alpha."


"Do you like it?"


"Yes, Alpha. I like it when my useless cocklette is stretched wide. It feels good when Alpha Peter fucks me inside of my cocklette. And the plug makes my cocklette feel full and secure."


"That's wonderful, Stiles. And you're doing so well today with your language."


"Thank you, Alpha," Stiles said with a pleased blush.


"I hear you had quite the adventure yesterday with Alpha Derek," she prompted as she settled into the chair between Stiles' legs.


"Yes, Alpha."


"Can you tell me about it?"


"Alpha Derek hurt me inside of my bitch hole, and inside of my useless cocklette. It felt so good to be hurt there, Alpha. I enjoyed it when Alpha Derek hurt my bitch hole and useless cocklette."


"What did he do to hurt you there?"


"He used ginger in an enema, and in some oil when he sounded my cocklette."


"How did the ginger feel?"


"It burned, Alpha. When it was put in, and also afterwards."


"Was it Alpha Derek's idea to put ginger in the enema?" Doctor Monroe asked.


Stiles hesitated. "He decided to use the ginger, but I asked him to play with my hole. Alpha Peter suggested I ask him, because Alpha Deaton wouldn't play with my bitch hole," he said the last part softly.


"Did you ask Doctor Deaton to play with your bitch hole?" she asked.


"Yes, Alpha. To fulfil my homework assignment."


"Did you want Doctor Deaton to play with your bitch hole, or did you just choose him at random?" she asked.


"I wanted him to play with my bitch hole," Stiles said. "I liked it when he touched inside of my bitch hole while checking on it after my castration. And I liked when he played with my bitch hole when I first arrived."


"What did he do to your bitch hole when you arrived?"


"He played with my prostate, and rubbed my cervix, and punch-fucked my bitch hole," Stiles told her.


"Which of those activities did you like the best?"


"I liked it when Alpha Deaton punch-fucked my sloppy bitch hole," Stiles said with a blush.


"Did that make you feel good?"


"Yes, Alpha. It felt good when Alpha Deaton punch-fucked my sloppy bitch hole. It made me feel like the bitch I am."


"So you had hoped yesterday that Alpha Deaton would make your bitch hole feel good in some way."


"Yes, Alpha."


"Did he explain why he denied you?"


"Yes, Alpha. He said that I needed to be patient and wait until I was healed fully, so that we don't disturb my castration scar."


"That sounds reasonable," Doctor Monroe remarked.


"I understood," Stiles explained. "But I was still disappointed."


"And so Alpha Peter helped you find a way to have someone else play with your bitch hole."


"Yes, Alpha."


"You said you liked it when Alpha Derek hurt you inside your bitch hole?" Doctor Monroe reiterated.


"Yes, Alpha," Stiles agreed. "I liked it when Alpha Derek hurt me in my bitch hole. I like the burning feeling of a ginger enema in my bitch hole. It feels good when my bitch hole hurts."


"And your cocklette as well, you said?"


"Yes, Alpha. It feels good when my useless cocklette hurts."


"Why does it feel good for you to hurt, Stiles?"


"It feels good when I hurt because I'm a masochist," Stiles said with a blush. "I'm an omega bitch and a masochist."


"I'm glad you know that about yourself, Stiles," Doctor Monroe told him. "I talked to your father last night," she said, switching topics.


Stiles tensed slightly in his bonds. "Oh?" he asked tentatively.


"He was a bit worried about some of your language," she explained. "He isn't used to hearing you call yourself a bitch, or talk about your bitch hole, and your bitch tits. He was worried you might be putting yourself down when you said those words. Do you feel like you're putting yourself down when you call yourself a bitch, Stiles?"


"No, Alpha!" Stiles was quick to deny, seeming alarmed.


"How do you feel when you call yourself a bitch?"


"I feel... it feels... right," Stiles struggled to explain. "I feel good when I call myself a bitch. I feel more like myself."


Peter watched the growing distress of his boy and winced. He could see all of Stiles' hang-ups rearing their ugly head. Worries that there was something fundamentally wrong with his urges.


"Do you feel like yourself when you describe your cocklette as useless?" she queried.


"Yes, Alpha. Before... before it was almost like I was pretending. That it wasn't a useless cocklette. But now... I can call it what it is. I feel... relieved."


"It's a relief to call your cocklette what it is?"


"Yes, Alpha. It's a relief to finally call my useless cocklette what it is."


"I'd like for Alpha Peter to release your head and one of your arms now, Stiles," Doctor Monroe said, and Peter moved to release some of the restraints on Stiles' head and an arm as directed. "And Alpha Peter, if you would, let's remove the catheter for now as well."


Stiles waited patiently as Peter did as directed.


"Will you look down at your penis now for me, Stiles?" Doctor Monroe asked.


Stiles looked down at the limp cocklette lying between his legs against the castration bandage.


"Will you hold it now?" the doctor prompted him, and Stiles reached down to tentatively touch his cocklette. He held it delicately in his hand, cupping his fingers under the limp inch and a quarter of flesh. Peter knew it was the first time Stiles had touched his cocklette since the castration.


"What do you notice?" the doctor prompted him.


"It's small," Stiles said as he gently cradled his cocklette. "I also notice... my balls aren't here, brushing my knuckles any more," he remarked.


"What's that like for you?"


"It's good," Stiles said. "I feel more like a bitch without my balls. I'm so grateful that Alpha Deaton castrated me. That Daddy let him castrate me."


"Let's go back to your penis," the doctor directed. "Will you stroke it for me?"


Stiles tightened his grip on the squidgy flesh and tugged at it, stretching it this way and that away from his body. It showed no signs of erecting.


"Does that feel good, Stiles?"


"Not really."


"Try to give your penis good feelings," she suggested.


Stiles tightened his grip and squeezed down on himself and breathed deeply, then released. He pinched at the head, and pulled the cock away from his body, abusing the little nub.


"How would you describe your penis right now, Stiles?"


"It's a useless cocklette," Stiles reiterated. "It's small and soft. It only really feels good when I hurt it a little."


"Do you wish you had a better cock? One that wasn't useless."


"No," Stiles told her. "I like my cocklette, because it helps me feel like the bitch I am."


"You can put your arm back, Stiles. Alpha Peter?" she asked, and Peter put the catheter back, restrained Stiles arm and head once again.


"Let's talk a bit more about your castration, Stiles," Doctor Monroe said.


"Yes, Alpha."


"When you got here, Alpha Deucalion spent some time spanking your balls, didn't he?"


"Yes, Alpha. I liked it when Alpha Deucalion spanked my balls. It felt good when he hurt them."


"Are you going to miss them?" she asked. "Now that Alpha Deucalion can no longer spank your balls?"


"No, Alpha," Stiles said assuredly. "I feel better now that I'm castrated. Calmer. More like my bitch self. And Alpha Deucalion can still spank my castration scar."


"Do you think you'd like that?"


"I think so. I've heard that some omegas have very sensitive castration scars. I imagine it would hurt, but also feel good, if Alpha Deucalion spanked mine."


"What else are you looking forward to now that you don't have balls?" the doctor asked curiously.


"I can't wait for the studs to breed my bitch hole. I want their doggy dicks to pound into my bitch hole, and their big doggy balls to slap against my castration scar," Stiles said as he stared dreamily at the ceiling.


"You think you'll like that?"


"Yes, Alpha," Stiles said adamantly. "I very much want to feel their doggy balls slapping against my castration scar as they pound my bitch hole. And Alpha? Sometimes when the studs mounted me, it would take them a few tries to get into my bitch hole. Sometimes they would stab me with their doggy dicks, and it would hit my balls. It hurt when they did that," he confessed, "but I also liked it. I wonder if when the studs miss my bitch hole now they'll stab their doggy cocks into my castration scar. I wonder if it will hurt when they do that."


"You seem to have thought a lot about your castration scar."


"Yes, Alpha."


"Have you seen it yet?"


"No, Alpha. I haven't been able to see under the bandage, although I can tell my balls aren't there."


"Do you look forward to seeing it?"


"Yes, Alpha. I want to see what I look like with nothing there. I want to touch where my balls used to be."


"Had you thought about castration before, Stiles?"


"Yes, Alpha," Stiles said. That was a surprise to Peter. There'd been nothing to indicate such a thing in the boy's files, and the sheriff hadn't said anything.


"Had you been wanting that for some time?"


"I think so," Stiles admitted. "I'd heard that it helped some omegas who were difficult to handle. I knew that I was angry all the time. That I was fighting with my daddy. That I was... out of control. But I couldn't seem to stop. Everything just sort of... piled on," Stiles struggled to explain. "But I'd heard that castration could help, you know. I wondered what it would be like. I kind of thought... if things got bad enough, maybe Daddy would have me castrated. To fix me."


"Is that what you wanted?" Doctor Monroe asked sympathetically.


"Yes, Alpha," Stiles admitted. "When... when I heard Alpha Deaton talking to Alpha Peter during my exam, I heard him mention castration. That he recommended it. And I knew... I knew I wanted it. Especially after that morning."


"What happened that morning?"


"When Alpha Peter let the studs breed my bitch hole," Stiles explained, "it was the best I've ever felt. The most I've ever felt like my bitch self. It felt so good, Alpha. It was... it was such a relief. And then Alpha Deaton said that I might feel better all the time, if only I was castrated...."


"So you asked your Daddy to let him," the doctor finished.


"Yes, Alpha."


Peter was touched listening to Stiles explain. He'd had no idea how the boy had struggled so long, how much he'd wanted, needed this for his well-being. And he had had no way to know at the time how effective the breeding bench would prove, no way of knowing that it would be a breakthrough for Stiles. That it would make him feel so good and so secure.


They were all silent for a moment, letting the moment hold space. Then Doctor Monroe breached another topic.


"When you go home, Stiles, some rules will have to change at home. So that you don't clash with your father like you used to."


"Yes, Alpha. Alpha Peter's been talking to me about it."


"What are some of the changes you've discussed with Alpha Peter?" she prompted.


"Maybe I'd feel more comfortable sleeping without blankets and sheets, and pyjamas. With my door open," Stiles said. "And restrained," he added as he recalled it. "Spread eagle. So that I'm safe and secure, and not hiding."


"Did you talk a lot about not hiding any more?"


"Yes, Alpha. I'm tired of hiding. I just want to be myself. I want to be the bitch I am."


"Is there anything other than your sleeping arrangements you might want to change?"


"I might like to shower with only a clear curtain, and with the door open," he said hesitantly. "And Alpha Peter says it would be okay if I touched myself in the future while my door is open."


"I think that's probably safe to say," the doctor agreed. "Are the sleeping arrangements something you're still thinking about? Or have you decided what would make you feel good?"


"I think I'd feel best if I were exposed instead of hiding, and secure, and vulnerable. So that my alpha can make decisions for me."


"It's good you know that about yourself, Stiles," the doctor told him. "We'll talk more in the future about what changes we can make in your home to make you feel more comfortable, and feel more like yourself. Like the bitch you are."


"Yes, Alpha."


"You have about an hour until lunch, Stiles," Doctor Monroe told him. "I want you to watch the footage of your first milking. See how reluctant you were, how much you fought the machines, and think about how much better you like having your bitch tits milked now. Do you like having them milked now, Stiles?"


"Yes, Alpha. I like it when Alpha Peter milks my bitch tits. And I liked it when Alpha Peter milked my useless cocklette today. He made it hurt so good."


"Did it hurt when Peter milked you on the first day?"


"It hurt," Stiles said hesitantly. "But I wasn't ready for it to hurt in a good way. I didn't think I wanted it then."


"Do you want it now? To hurt when you're milked?"


"Yes, Alpha. I like it when Alpha Peter hurts my bitch tits and my useless cocklette. It feels good when he hurts them."


"Very good, Stiles. Just lie back and watch the footage, and then have your lunch."


"Yes, Alpha," Stiles said obediently as Peter set up the footage and let it play. "Thank you, Alpha," Stiles said as the doctor saw her way out.


Stiles watched the footage with a look of wonder on his face. Peter could only imagine what might be going through the omega’s head. It almost seemed like a different person on screen, though it had hardly been a week. The changes Peter already saw in Stiles were tremendous. He was so much more in touch with himself now, with his needs and wants.


When the footage ended, Stiles’ energy was subdued. But by then, it was time for lunch. That, Peter thought, should prove a welcome distraction. He removed the screen and freed Stiles’ head, then helped him begin his deep throating task, as usual.


Stiles worked himself on the long teat and swallowed down his food without prompting.




After lunch, Peter surprised Stiles by unstrapping him again, and changing out his catheter for his plug.


"Where are we going, Alpha?"


"We're going to see Rocko today," Peter told him, and Stiles' eyes lit up, recognizing the name as one of the dogs. Peter had named them all to him and shown him pictures on his tablet.


"Do you remember which one was Rocko, Stiles?"


"No, Alpha."


"Rocko's a German shepherd," Peter told him, and saw Stiles mull that over.


The German shepherd, like all their dogs, was big. Rocko was well trained, but a bit aggressive.


"What are we doing with Rocko?" Stiles asked eagerly.


"I'm going to set you up in a special breeding bench where Rocko can only access your mouth. You'll have a ring gag in so that you can't accidentally hurt Rocko, and so that he can't knot your mouth and cut off your air. Then I'll let the stud fuck your throat with his doggy dick," Peter explained to him. "How does that sound?"


"Good. It sounds good, Alpha," Stiles said excitedly. "Thank you, Alpha."


"Now, I'm going to leave one of your arms unbound," Peter explained to him. "Rocko can't come unless someone massages his knot. You did such a lovely job massaging my knot, Stiles. Do you think you could work Rocko's doggy knot to help him come in your mouth?"


"Yes, Alpha. I want Rocko to breed my bitch mouth. I want to feel his stud cock in my throat and on my tongue."


"Do you want to taste his doggy cum?"


"Yes, Alpha," Stiles admitted. He was blushing but eager. "I want to taste his doggy cum."


Peter led Stiles into the kennel part of the facility, and into a special room. He shut Stiles’ waist into a cage that Rocko couldn't get at so as to protect Stiles' stitches from fucking, or jostling, or even just a curious nose. Stiles' upper half was supported, and one wrist was secured, as was the rest of his torso and his legs, while his dominant hand was left free for milking.


Peter secured a ring gag into Stiles' mouth, leaving his jaw stretched wide and aching slightly, his mouth gaping open and tongue lolling as he drooled a bit. Stiles moaned softly.


Next, Peter went to retrieve Rocko. He'd had one of the handlers prepping him, and Rocko knew he was about to get to breed a bitch. He was eager and ready to go. Peter let the dog into the room and Rocko made a beeline to his bitch as Peter stood back to watch. Rocko had done this many times.


He mounted his front paws on a shelf above Stiles' shoulders for leverage, and thrust his doggy dick forward a bit inelegantly. Stiles caught it in his fist and guided it directly into his mouth, choking a bit at the force with which Rocko thrust forward into his throat. Unlike with sucking Peter or his food bags, Stiles didn't get to control any part of the pace. He had to drop his hand from Rocko's dick immediately, just to brace himself as he was roughly throat fucked.


Peter heard the wet slap of skin, saw the drool and precum running down Stiles' chin, tears falling from his eyes and even snot dripping a bit from his nose. There was the squelch of fucking and the soft sound of gagging as Stiles' throat was forcefully penetrated at a jackrabbit pace. Rocko panted and whined a bit as he fucked, and Stiles' throat was blocked off enough to leave him almost entirely silent, heaving for breath when he had the chance.


Stiles' nose would be full of the scent of dog, his wet chin slapped with a heavy doggy sack with each thrust.


As Rocko's thrusts finally stuttered, Stiles reached up like a good bitch and grasped the forming knot, working his fist over it with squeezes and pulls as he massaged the doggy cum into his mouth and throat, swallowing around the large, watery load. He worked Rocko over patiently for the long minutes it took for Rocko to soften in his fist and finally finish.


Rocko pulled away, dropping his forepaws back on the ground and Stiles dropped his hand away, bracing his weight more evenly as he heaved for breath, his spread mouth dripping with doggy cum and spit.


Rocko sniffed around Stiles' face, and licked some of the spit and cum from his wet chin, before licking directly into Stiles' open mouth. Stiles gagged loudly and twitched away instinctively, but Peter warmed with pride when Stiles remembered himself and turned his open mouth to Rocko's probing licks and did his best to lick back at the doggy tongue in his mouth. Peter could see from his place against the wall that Stiles shuddered, and fresh tears tracked down his cheeks as Rocko just kept going, licking into his mouth and all over his face, bathing him in doggy spit.


Finally, Rocko lost interest and trotted back to his door, which Peter opened to send him back to the handler. Only then did Peter walk up to Stiles and begin to let him out of his apparatus. Stiles took shuddering, open-mouthed breaths as his crying tapered off, and finally Peter removed the ring gag very last.


Stiles worked his jaw a bit, then said roughly, "Thank you, Alpha."


Peter knew it had been intense, and that Stiles would have a lot to process with just that one experience. But he also firmly believed that it was good for him, to finally be bred again after being so patient, to finally be force fucked the way he seemed to crave so desperately.


His mouth must still taste of doggy cum, and his face was an absolute mess. Peter glowed with pride and pleasure when Stiles left it all in place, remembering Peter's word before about it making him look more like a bitch.


Peter led his dazed omega back to his exam room, and helped him back into his chair. Stiles was trembling as Peter buckled the restraints, and didn't react when he unplugged his cocklette and reinserted the catheter.


"How do you feel, darling?" Peter asked quietly.


"I feel good, Alpha. Thank you for letting me suck the doggy dick, for letting Rocko breed my bitch mouth."


"Do you still taste Rocko?"


Stiles licked his lips. "I taste his doggy tongue, and his doggy cum, Alpha."


"Do you like that? Tasting Rocko on your tongue?"


"It doesn't taste good," Stiles admitted, "but it reminds me of my place. That I was Rocko's bitch."


"You look like a bitch," Peter told him in a warm tone. "There's doggy spit and doggy cum on your face, even dripping down your neck," Peter commented, and Stiles blushed beautifully. "Should we let it dry there, you think?"


"Can we, Alpha?"


"If you'd like."


"How long?"


"Oh, the rest of the day at least, though we'll have to clean you eventually I suppose." Peter smirked.


"And when my daddy visits?" Stiles asked quietly.


"He might ask you what's on your face, if he can't guess and wants to know. He might know the look of dried cum in general and make his own guess." Peter shrugged. "Maybe he'll think it's mine."


"He might ask me," Stiles considered in a small voice.


"He might. You'd have to tell him it was doggy cum from when Rocko fucked your bitch mouth. Would it bother you if your father knew you sucked off a stud today, like a bitch?"


Stiles flushed darkly. "I don't know what he'd think of me," he admitted worriedly.


"He might think you're a bitch," Peter suggested.


Stiles relaxed fractionally. "Yes, Alpha," he said more assuredly. "He'd see me as the bitch I am."


"That's right, darling. Would you like to let the doggy cum and doggy spit dry on your face?"


"Yes, Alpha," Stiles affirmed. "Please let the doggy cum and doggy spit dry on my face, so that I look like the bitch I am."


"Alright, sweetheart," Peter answered. "I think you should have a rest now, before your father comes to visit," he said.


"Okay, Alpha," Stiles agreed, his eyes already drifting shut with the exhaustion of his ordeal.




When Peter turned on the lights, Stiles blinked awake, staring immobile at the ceiling. "Alpha?" he ventured.


"It's just me, sweetheart," Peter told him and saw Stiles relax in recognition. "You have about an hour yet until your father arrives. Would you like to kneel for him again?"


"Yes, Alpha. I think I'd like that."


"Let's take a walk first; I'd like to show you something," Peter said, and worked too free Stiles of his bonds. He pulled out Stiles’ catheter, and asked him, "Would you like me to plug your useless cocklette, Stiles?"


"Yes, Alpha," Stiles told him. "Please plug my useless cocklette. It feels good when you stretch my cocklette so wide, and fuck it full inside."


"Would you like to try plugging it yourself this time?" he offered. Stiles looked hesitant, but Peter dipped the stem of the plug in oil and handed it to Stiles by the end. "Go ahead. Fuck your useless cocklette open for me."


Stiles grasped his little cocklette carefully with one hand and worked the stem inexpertly into the squidgy flesh with a hiss of discomfort. He managed to straighten everything out, and felt the stem filling the length of his cocklette as he wrapped the band around the head of it. The end of the plug protruded from him obscenely, displaying just how widely stretched his cock hole was.


"How did that feel?"


"I liked it, Alpha. It felt good when I fucked into my useless cocklette and filled it up."


"Good bitch. Let's go then."


Peter led the way with a guiding hand on the back of Stiles' neck once again. There weren't many mirrors in the facility, but there were some. Peter led Stiles into an empty room with strangely shaped furniture, but he passed it and guided him to a full length mirror propped along the wall. Stiles blinked at the image of himself. It was the first time he'd had a look at his reflection since his castration.


"Tell me what you see," Peter prompted him, stepping out of the way as Stiles looked his fill. "What do you see first, Stiles?"


"The doggy cum and spit, dried on my face and neck," Stiles said. "And my lips," he said, touching his lips. "They're swollen." He licked his lips. "I didn't know. I couldn't tell."


"They don't hurt at all?" Peter guessed.


Stiles shook his head as he touched his lips gently. They were plump and red.


"What else?"


"My useless cocklette," Stiles said, brushing it between his legs with the back of his knuckles. "It's so small, dangling there." He fingered the plug. "Spread wide. I like seeing it opened so wide," he said. "And there are no balls hanging behind it," he said. "It's alone."


Hesitantly, Stiles ghosted his fingers over his bandage, his first touch of his incision site. He hissed in a breath, perhaps from sensitivity, perhaps just from the shock of taking it in. He pet himself gently between his legs. "They're really gone," he said wonderingly as his eyes filled with tears.


"What's making you cry, darling?" Peter asked softly.


"I don't know," he said, shaking his head as he continued to gently pet his scar. "I almost miss them, but I'm also so glad they're gone. It doesn't make sense."


"It doesn't have to make sense," Peter told him. "You can mourn them, and be glad they're gone. What else do you see?" he prompted.


Reluctantly, Stiles tore his eyes from between his legs and took in his whole reflection again. His nipples, which had been fairly small and innocuous when he'd first come to the facility, were now rosy and pert, slightly distended from all of the milking he'd undergone, and from beginning to lactate.


He brushed his fingers over one nipple and sucked in a breath at its sensitivity, just from that light of a touch. He gently brushed each of his nipples under his fingers, one under each hand. "They're so big now," he said.


"What are, darling?"


"My bitch tits," he said. He pressed his hands flat against his chest. "They're feeling tight again, like they'll need to be milked in the morning," he observed. "My milky bitch tits."


"Turn around and look behind your shoulder. Can you see your plug?" Peter asked.


Stiles turned around and bent forward slightly as he gazed behind. He pressed his fingers against the pink plug. "It's bigger than I thought," he confessed.


"What is?"


"The plug in my bitch hole. I guess I have a slutty bitch hole."


Stiles knelt on the ground then and spread his knees, looking over his shoulder at the plug in his bitch hole and the bandage where his balls used to be. He reached behind again to ghost his fingers over the empty space.


"What do you see when you look in the mirror?"


"A bitch," Stiles said without hesitation. "I see the bitch I really am," he said as his hand dropped away from his scar. He turned around to face the mirror again and knelt with knees spread in a waiting position, and took himself in.


"I'm afraid to be a bitch," Stiles whispered his confession to Peter.


"What are you afraid of, darling?" Peer asked.


"I don't know," Stiles said helplessly.


"Do you regret your castration?" Peter asked seriously, though it was too late to go back. In rare cases though, some omegas regretted taking such drastic action. Still, Peter doubted Stiles regretted it after how enthusiastically he'd spoken of the operation earlier that same day in therapy. He was just feeling insecure.


"I don't know," Stiles said, a few tears falling down his face.


"Come here, darling," Peter said as he came into the reflection with Stiles. He sat down behind him and pulled the kneeling boy into his lap as they looked at themselves in the reflection. Stiles curled into Peter's strong embrace, leaning his head against Peter's shoulder. Peter rubbed his arms and held him.


"Do you know what I see?"


Stiles shook his head.


"A beautiful, strong omega. With pert nipples, and a sweet cocklette. Plump lips. A plugged hole, nestled between two perfect cheeks. And a lovely castration scar, where there used to be balls that made him feel very angry and confused. We can love those balls and regret that they had to go, but still feel better now. I see a special bitch who deserves all the love and affection and protection in the world," he said, pressing a kiss to Stiles' temple.


Stiles buried his face against Peter's neck and Peter felt the damp of tears, though Stiles was utterly silent. He held him for a long while on the floor. "You're not used to seeing yourself in this way, are you?" Peter asked him.


"No, Alpha," Stiles answered.


"It can be difficult to see ourselves as we are," Peter told him. "Come on, I think we've spent enough time looking. Let's go see if your father's arrived."


Stiles knelt for Peter when they got back to the room, head resting in Peter’s lap, and it was another fifteen minutes until the sheriff arrived. Peter quietly vacated the seat and let the sheriff take over. He seemed to sense that his son was in a subdued mood, and didn't question it. As Peter watched and listened from the adjoining room, he saw that the sheriff simply pet his son's head quietly for the duration of the hour, and didn't ask about the doggy cum dried on his face, or the thick plug in his cock at all, though he could clearly see both of them.


It was such wonderful support that it warmed Peter to see it. It was exactly what Stiles needed in that moment.


"Sheriff," Peter said when the visiting hour was up.


"Hey buddy," the sheriff said to Stiles. "I've gotta get going."


"Daddy, don't go," Stiles begged sadly, wrapping his arms around his father's legs.


The sheriff looked like his heart was breaking at the plea. "You'll see me tomorrow, buddy," he tried to reassure, but Stiles didn't want to be pried away.


The sheriff looked at Peter helplessly, and Peter could see the man was on the brink of insisting on staying, or trying to bring his boy with him. Peter mouthed to him behind Stiles' back: 'Be Firm.'


The sheriff shut his eyes for a moment and took a breath. When he opened his eyes again, he'd steeled his resolve. He wasn't at all cold, but he was clearly an alpha in charge of his omega in that moment. "It's time to let go now, Stiles," he said in a voice that would take no argument.


Reluctantly, Stiles pulled away.


"Get back in your chair," the sheriff directed.


Stiles hesitated, but both sheriff and Peter were waiting for his compliance. Stiffly, he rose and with his gaze cast to the ground, he climbed into his chair.


"Good boy," his father said. "Listen to Alpha Peter and be good. I'll see you tomorrow night, alright?"


"Yes, Daddy," Stiles said in a small voice.


The sheriff saw himself out, and Peter knew he'd have a long conversation with the man later that evening on the phone about Stiles' emotional state during his visit. He wasn't looking forward to it as he still wasn't sure what had set Stiles off exactly, and why he'd had such a complete turn around about the castration. Anxiety probably. He needed to talk to Doctor Monroe.


For now though, it was time to feed Stiles. The boy took his supper silently, and didn't want to talk afterwards as they waited for Derek. Stiles didn't ask for Derek to clean him, and Peter gave Derek a look and a nod to not expect too much tonight, and just get on with it. The deed was done, and Stiles brushed his teeth. Then it was lights out, and Peter made his way back to his quarters to debrief with the sheriff over the phone.




Peter was awoken in the middle of the night to an emergency call on his work phone. He blinked in the dark and groped for it on his night stand, squinting at the time on the screen. It was 2:32 a.m. "Peter here," he said as he accepted the call.


"Peter, get your ass down here. Your boy's having a fit," Braeden's voice greeted him. The night guard.


"What do you mean? What happened?" he asked. He was already out of bed, shoving his used jeans over his boxers, and leaving on his nightshirt. He jammed his feet into his sneakers at the door and grabbed his keys, locking the door to his suite as he speed walked across the silent grounds, the dew soaking into the bottoms of his pants from the wet grass.


"He woke up sobbing, and he's been inconsolable for the last fifteen minutes. Rambling all kinds of shit. I mean real mental breakdown sobbing, Peter. He's put his whole body into crying."


"On my way," he said and cut the call. He speed dialled the sheriff.


"What's wrong?" the voice asked on the end of the line after one ring.


"Stiles is having some sort of episode. I'm on my way to him now. You should come."


"I'll be there in twenty," the sheriff said and cut the call.


Peter opened the soundproofed door and the wailing hit him like a wall. The lights were on glaringly bright and Stiles was a wreck, with Braeden watching worriedly from the adjoining door. Peter nodded for her to go back in the other room and she took her chance at escape.


Stiles sobbed incoherently and Peter went to him, leaning into his line of vision where he was strapped down. He placed his palm over Stiles' racing heart. Jesus, the boy was hyperventilating and his heart was going a mile a minute.


"Stiles," Peter said gently. "Hey, I'm here, darling. Shhh," he soothed. Stiles looked up at him desperately but didn't seem to calm.


"If I undo your restraints, are you going to be a danger to yourself or others?" Peter asked seriously, holding Stiles' gaze and waiting for a sense that he'd been understood. Slowly, deliberately, Stiles shook his head what little he could in his restraints.


"Okay, shh, it's okay. I'm going to help you up now," Peter decided, hoping that Stiles wouldn't fight or flail, or need the emotional security of the restraints. He deftly loosed Stiles from his confines, catheter and all, in record time.


Then he bundled Stiles into his arms and curled over and around him on the floor as Stiles clung.


"Th-they're g-gone and I m-miss th-them," Stiles hiccoughed into Peter's neck. "And I don't w-want to b-be a b-bitch. I can't. I can't, I can't, I can't," he whined. "And n-now I'm s-scarred f-forever and they'll n-never c-come b-back."


The litany continued, covering all manner of topics they'd gone over in the last several days, and even some they hadn't. Stiles rambled about people Peter had never heard of, events that had taken place in the past. He didn't try to argue with the boy, simply held him as he cried it out. Waiting for the sheriff was the longest twenty minutes of his life.


The sheriff was escorted in by one of the night guards. Thank god Braeden had thought to call ahead. Peter couldn't think. The sheriff sat down on the floor next to Peter, and they seamlessly worked to transfer Stiles into his father's arms.


For a while, the sheriff just listened to Stiles' ramblings as well.


"What's gone, buddy? Your balls?"


"Uh-huh," Stiles sobbed.


The sheriff let out a huffed little laugh. "Yeah, they're gone buddy. Along with a few other of your body parts."


Stiles peeked up from his father's neck.


"You're missing four wisdom teeth and an appendix, buddy."


"N-not the s-same."


"No, it's not. But I think they were upsetting you. The doctor thought so too," the sheriff reminded Stiles.


"I d-don't want you t-to think I'm l-less of a m-man," Stiles confessed pathetically.


"I don't think that," the sheriff said firmly, without a moment's hesitation. "Not in a million years would I think that. You're my boy. You'll always be my boy, and I know you're a fine young man. Balls or no balls."


Stiles seemed to have calmed slightly, though his crying hadn't let up.


"Even if I'm also a b-bitch?"


"Even then," the sheriff said effortlessly. "You can be a strong man, and an omega bitch," he said like he meant it. Like he'd already given it plenty of thought. Peter figured the man probably had.


"I w-was R-rocko's b-bitch," Stiles sobbed.


"Who's Rocko?"


"One of our dogs," Peter told him as Stiles continued to sob. "Stiles fellated one of the dogs today."


"Is that where the cum's from?" the sheriff asked Stiles. He scratched a flake off of Stiles' cheek. "Is it doggy cum?"


Stiles sobbed out a vague affirmation.


"Shh, hey, it's okay. You think I don't know what goes on at a place like this?" the sheriff asked. Stiles stared up at him with wide, disbelieving eyes. "It's a common fetish, Stiles," he said simply. "Lots of omegas even get support pets for it."




"Really. I don't mind that you sucked a dog's dick. Christ. That breeding bench of theirs is on the front page of the website." The sheriff rolled his eyes a bit.


Stiles blinked in surprise, as if all of this were news to him.


"Having an out of control omega bred is a common intervention," his dad told him. "I had a pretty good idea that it would happen to you sooner or later here," he admitted.


"I m-miss m-my b-balls."


"I know, buddy. But you wanted them gone for a long time. Peter and Marin both talked to me about it on the phone. We do discuss you, you know," he divulged. "It's okay for you to freak out. Hell, I'd freak out too. But you don't miss your appendix when it stops working right, so let's not spend too much of our energy on some balls," he reasoned.


"Hey," the sheriff said. "Let's look at the scar," he suggested. "Right now."


Stiles looked up at his father, then to Peter, seeming worried.


"Go ahead," Peter nodded.


The sheriff arranged Stiles in his arms so that he could spread Stiles' legs, and gently peeled away the bandage as Stiles watched, bent over to see.


"That's not so bad," the sheriff said.


There was a very small incision with a few stitches, already halfway healed. No blood, no signs of infection.


"No," Stiles said detachedly. "I guess not." He blinked as if he'd been expecting something more. He ghosted his fingers over the skin there and didn't respond as if it hurt. The sheriff rubbed his own fingers gently over the place where Stiles' balls used to be.


"Alright, buddy?"


"You don't mind? You don't miss them?" Stiles checked.


"I don't mind. I don't miss them," he confirmed. "You can miss them, if that's how you feel." The sheriff continued to pet the bare patch of skin. "But you're fine. You look fine. You're perfectly healthy now, and they had to go."


"I could have had an internal operation," Stiles said in a small voice.


"You could have," his dad nodded. "But a meta-analysis of a whole load of different studies showed that omegas who had the full removal of their sack recovered quicker and more fully emotionally than omegas who only had an internal snip," his dad told him. Stiles' jaw dropped. "What, you think I didn't research the hell out of it before taking such a drastic option? I'm surprised you didn't, considering your research skills."


"And," his dad added, "something like 70% of the omegas who only have the internal snip later return for the full surgery. Stiles, I'd been seriously considering the chop for you for a long time. This wasn't a new idea."


"R-really? H-how long?" Stiles asked.


"For the last three years," his dad told him.


Stiles' eyes widened. "B-but that would be --"


"Basically since you hit puberty. You've been struggling a long time, buddy," his dad said. "The last three doctors you've seen before coming here recommended castration to me. I have years of blood tests for you showing your testosterone levels were through the roof for an omega. And while we could have gone the hormonal route or done a smaller surgery, the statistics are out there showing it's usually less traumatic for the omega to have the full chop."


"Your balls were the source of the excess T, and while they were small for an Alpha, they were large for an omega, and only growing by the year. It'll take a little getting used to, but I really do think we made the right decision," the sheriff said, still gently stroking the bare skin to either side of the incision.


Stiles quietly contemplated all the new information. He idly pinched the head of his cocklette.


The sheriff's lips twitched into a small smile. "You still do that," he commented.


"What?" Stiles asked distractedly.


"Pinch your little cocklette like that," the sheriff said.


Stiles blushed and let his fingers fall away.


"It's okay that you're a masochist, Stiles," his dad assured him gently.


"Y-you knew?" Stiles asked.


"Stiles, forty-something percent of omegas identify as masochists of some sort," the sheriff said. "'It's normal."


"Forty-six percent," Peter recited the statistic by heart.


"Forty-six percent," the sheriff reiterated. "That's almost half. I know that you're in a minority being an omega, but you're a pretty typical omega. And besides, you've been pinching yourself like that since you were three of four years old."


"What? I don't remember."


"As soon as you were old enough to realize you had a cocklette you were pinching at it. We couldn't keep your hand out of your pants. Your mom and I had to have a conversation with you about appropriate touching and private versus public settings." His dad gave small laugh and shrugged. "Lots of kids touch themselves. It eventually petered off."


"What made you pinch yourself just then, Stiles?" Peter asked gently.


Stiles shrugged, and curled his face more toward his father's chest as if to hide.


"I think maybe you were self-soothing," Peter suggested. "You weren't thinking about it when you did it."


"It's okay if it helps you feel better," his dad told him. "I don't mind. Really."


Hesitantly, and very slowly, Stiles' hand gravitated back down between his legs as he gently grasped his little cocklette. For while, he just held his hand there as his dad pet beside his scar, and Stiles' let his tired eyes fall shut as he relaxed and was held. As he began to drift off, his fingers pinched at his cockhead again, as if it was soothing him to feel that slight pain between his legs, his his breathing deepened and evened until his hand, and the rest of him, fell limp. He had fallen asleep.


For a while, the two men sat quietly exhausted as well. Peter checked his phone. It was almost five in the morning.


"You were incredible with him," Peter told the sheriff. He shook his head. "I'll be honest with you. I've never had an omega revert like that about their castration. I know it happens... Jesus. I've never been so terrified that I'd fucked up a client.” He shook his head again. "I didn't see this coming. Not after having such a good day. His word choice was on-point this morning. I thought he'd had a breakthrough."


"He still might have," the sheriff said.


Peter gave him a surprised look.


"Since this boy hit puberty, I've never seen him as healthy and happy as he has been these last six days at your facility, and five of those six have been after the castration," the sheriff said. "I've had countless therapists work with him and not find so much as a crack in whatever walls he'd built up. No, something's working right here."


"Don't get me wrong," the sheriff added, "I never felt so terrified myself that I traumatized my boy. But this surgery was a long time coming, and I don't blame him for having a bit of a hard time trying to adjust."


Peter was relieved but a bit stunned at how calm the man was, and touched at his continuing trust in the facility.


"What happens now?" the sheriff asked him.


"We have a few options," Peter told him. He nodded to the chair. "We can restrain him in his chair again, start off tomorrow morning as usual, try to get him back on track. You could take him home tonight, if you'd prefer. As you know, you're welcome to pull him out of here at any time."


The sheriff shook his head at that. "I haven't had time to redo the house yet," he said. "Wouldn't that mess with his recovery?"


"It's... not advised," Peter admitted. "The doors, the sheets..." They'd gone over an extensive list by phone and email. "It wouldn't be perfect for him. But you're still welcome to take him."


"Or," Peter said, "There's my suite across the grounds. We're not usually supposed to get too close to a client, but Stiles isn't a typical client. I wouldn't mind him spending the rest of the night there. The rest of the day if he needs a break."


"Your boss won't be on you for that?"


"I have the leeway to make these decisions," Peter assured him.


"Deaton won't like him jostling these stitches," the sheriff said.


Peter snorted. "Deaton doesn't like anything that's out of his control. He's your stereotypical control-freak alpha with a stick up his ass."


The sheriff cracked a grin. "Damn good doctor though."


"I never said he's not good at what he does," Peter said. "That just makes him all the more insufferable."


The sheriff barked a short laugh. "Let's take him to your suite," he said, and stood with his child still cradled in his arms.


Peter led the way through the facility and across the damp grass. The first grey wash of pre-dawn had lightened the sky. He flicked on his light and led the sheriff into his small living room, pulling the remote and a blanket off the couch.


"You can put him on the couch, Sheriff," he said.


"Call me John," the sheriff offered.




John settled Stiles onto the sofa, and Peter disappeared for a moment, only to return with a Velcro strap. He gently strapped Stiles' wrists together in front of him.


"He sleeps better when restrained," Peter said quietly. "He told me."


"That's fine," John said. "You're good with him," he commented as Peter worked. "When I came in that room, with my baby crying like that, and I saw the way you were holding him... that's how I know I don't need to drag him out of this place."


"Thank you," Peter said, feeling the immensity of John's trust in him.


"I'm going to call in today," John said. "Try to get some of the housework done. You call me if you need me, Hale."




"Peter," he amended.


"I'll call you if we need you," Peter assured him. "Get some rest. Can we expect you during your normal visiting hour?"


"You can count on it."


John shook Peter's hand at the door, and headed out in the direction of the public parking lot.


Peter locked up the door to his suite and shut off the lights again. He checked on Stiles one last time before heading back to bed, exhausted. Braeden would fill out the necessary reports, and let everyone relevant know what had happened.


Chapter Text

Peter was in the kitchen nursing his morning coffee when he saw Stiles starting to rouse on his sofa in the living room.


Stiles blinked awake in the strange quarters. He was naked and his wrists were tied together, and his eyes felt puffy from crying. He wiped at them with his bound hands and looked around at the living room, then spotted Peter coming toward him from across the room. He carefully sat up.


"Good morning, Stiles," Peter said.


"Good morning, Alpha," Stiles recited out of habit more than conscious thought.


"How are you feeling?" Peter asked.


Stiles looked dejected, and Peter could see the gears turning in his mind as the memories from the previous night returned to him, though he couldn't guess what Stiles might be thinking about specifically.


"What time is it?" Stiles asked, deflecting.


Peter gripped Stiles jaw firmly and turned his head to meet Peter's gaze. "I asked you a question, omega," Peter said softly but firmly. “I want to know how you're feeling."


Stiles looked at him a bit helplessly and swallowed. "Awful," he said quietly.


Peter released him. "Good boy," he praised. That answer would do for now. "It's almost ten. We'll need to get you back to the facility for your milking," he commented. "And let Doctor Deaton have a look at how you're healing."


Stiles seemed to cringe a bit. No doubt he wanted nothing more than to hide, his default response to any situation he didn't like, but certain necessities had to be seen to.


"I have to pee," Stiles said, rather than argue.


Peter squinted at him but Stiles wasn't meeting his gaze any more, just listlessly staring at the floor. He wasn't sure whether Stiles was deflecting again or not, but he supposed it didn't matter. Peter jutted his chin toward his bathroom. "Go ahead," he said.


Stiles knew the no privacy drill by now, and didn't react when Peter followed him in to watch him stand and piss for the first time since his castration, unaided by a catheter. Deaton had wanted to keep Stiles sitting still for a time longer, hence the catheter, but there was nothing to be done for it now. Peter watched with concern as Stiles aimed his little cocklette, wondering whether the absence of his balls brushing his fingers as he did so would trigger him again. But Stiles seemed able to hold it together for now.


When he finished, Peter guided him with a hand on the back of his neck, pulling him in close as they walked back to the facility, almost holding him as he guided him, providing a solid, grounding presence.


Stiles hesitated when he saw the chair, though what he was thinking of or remembering Peter didn't know. But at Peter's push, he moved forward and settled into his usual spot, and let out a deep breath, his body relaxing. Peter felt some of his own tension drain away at the sight. He set about the ritual of strapping Stiles down, but left an arm and his head free long enough for Stiles to brush his teeth. Then Stiles’ free arm was secured as well.


Next, Peter pulled up the milking machine. He'd already texted ahead for someone to send up Stiles' breakfast and it would arrive shortly. As Peter attached the suction cups to Stiles' nipples, he was certain this milking was long overdue. The skin of Stiles' chest was tight, and the nipples themselves were hard and cherry. As soon as the machine was turned on, Stiles let out a relieved and aroused moan as the milk was sucked out of him.


Peter moved to attach the special suction to Stiles' cocklette next, and kicked the machine up to the new pressure they'd tried the day before. Stiles' little cock was stretched painfully when the suction started and Stiles groaned more loudly. His face was creased with intense pleasure when Peter looked, eyes shut and head thrown back as his fingers clenched in place and his thighs trembled with the intense sensations.


After just a few minutes, breakfast arrived as well, and Peter guided a nearly incoherent omega to begin working for his food.


While he drank, Doctor Deaton stopped in only briefly to check the stitches and pronounce them healed enough that Stiles could leave them unbandaged, so long as he was careful of them. He rubbed on a bit more ointment and left it at that. He also checked Stiles' hole while Stiles was distracted with his milking and his breakfast, and found that Stiles was now producing a normal amount of slick, his body having adjusted to the new level of hormones. As a result, Stiles was able to go without his plug for the first time in days.




Once breakfast was finished, Stiles stared glassy eyed at the ceiling, panting breathlessly and whimpering as he endured the long minutes of continued suction, long after he'd been sucked dry and milked sore.


When the hour was up, Peter stopped the machines and detached them. Peter manipulated his sore little cocklette, plumped slightly from the blood that had been pulled into it and reddened. Stiles whimpered.


"Painful?" Peter asked.


"F-feels good, Alpha," Stiles said shakily.


"I'm going to put in your catheter now, Stiles," Peter told him. "Since you've been unstretched for several hours now, we can go back to the regular size of catheter. Or I can use the thicker gauge, but it might hurt a bit going in. Which would you prefer?"


Stiles looked torn, and his gaze darted around.


"It's entirely up to you, sweetheart," Peter reassured him.


"C-can... will you use the larger gauge, Alpha?" he asked in a small voice.


"Of course, darling," Peter told him and pulled out a new thick catheter which he oiled up.


Stiles whimpered painfully as Peter slowly and carefully worked the thick intrusion into his tiny cock hole, no longer as stretched as it had been.


"Almost there," Peter said as he fed it further into Stiles' body, breaching the bladder. He attached the bag in place and released the clamp. "There. All done. How's that?"


"G-good," Stiles said softly. "Thank you, Alpha."


"You're quite welcome, darling. Does that feel good?"


"It feels good," Stiles confirmed quietly. "I like it when you stretch my useless cocklette wide."


A knock at the open door called their attention to Doctor Monroe.


"Good morning, Stiles," she said.


"Good morning, Alpha," Stiles returned, still quiet and subdued.


"I hear you had a bad night," she said, settling into her chair between Stiles' legs.


"Yes, Alpha."


Doctor Monroe placed a hand on Stiles' inner thigh and squeezed. "I want you to know that it's okay to feel how you're feeling. Whatever you feel is valid, even if it feels very mixed up. Okay, Stiles?"


"Yes, Alpha."


"How are you feeling this morning?"


"Tired, Alpha."


"That's understandable. I heard you saying to Alpha Peter as I came in that you were enjoying the feelings in your cocklette today. Is that right?"


"Yes, Alpha," Stiles said, ever so slowly pulling out of his shell. "I liked it when Alpha Peter milked my useless cocklette. I like it when he hurts me there, and I like that he stretched it wide open again."


"Do you think you'd like it to be stretched open regularly in the future? Say, wearing your penile plug in the evenings when you're at home from school?"


Stiles quietly thought about it. It was summer break now. He likely hadn't given much thought yet to how his life would change with school. It would be inconvenient to have to remove the plug and reinsert it in a public restroom, without proper lubricant, but at home it wouldn't be a problem. The question was, would he want something like that regularly.


"I think so, Alpha," he said. "I like how it looks and feels when it's stretched open like that. I like it when my plug fills my useless cocklette."


"How does your plug feel?"


"Heavy and full, and secure."


"How is your chest feeling today?" the doctor asked, changing directions.


"Good," Stiles confirmed to her. "My bitch tits feel so good right now. They're sore and empty from Alpha Peter milking them."


"Your nipples are looking much longer than when you arrived," she observed. "More pronounced. How do you feel about their change in appearance?"


"I like them, Alpha," Stiles said. "It feels good to see them like this," he admitted softly. "I feel more like a bitch when I look at them."


"Do you want to feel like a bitch, Stiles?"


"Yes, Alpha."


"Why is that, Stiles?"


"Because I am a bitch, Alpha," Stiles said. "I want to feel like myself."


"You were worried last night about how your father would react to you presenting that way."


"Yes, Alpha," Stiles said very quietly.


"How did he react?"


Stiles was quiet for a long minute as he formulated his response. "He didn't mind," Stiles finally said. "He said I was still just as much of a man, even as a bitch. That he didn't mind that I like to suck doggy dicks, or that I'm castrated."


"You were pretty upset about your castration last night," the doctor said.


"Yes, Alpha."


Doctor Monroe gently placed her fingers over the castration scar, where there were no longer balls. "Do you feel better at all today?"


"A little, Alpha. I feel... a lot of things," he admitted.


Doctor Monroe gently pet Stiles delicate skin on either side of the incision, and he sighed at the sensation, eyes falling shut.


"Does that feel good?"


"It's a little tender," Stiles said, "but yeah," he said with slight surprise. "It feels nice, Alpha."


"It feels nice when --"


"It feels nice when you touch me... on my castration scar."


"Does it feel awkward to call it that?"


"I don't know what else to call it."


"You can call it whatever you like," the doctor assured him as she kept up her gentle strokes. "Your scar. Your castration. Your castration scar. You could say 'where my balls used to be', if that feels good. Some omegas don't like to refer to their scar, though. Do you know why?"


"Why, Alpha?"


"For some omegas, a scar is associated with trauma. Calling it their castration scar can remind them that they were castrated, that something is missing. Do you feel like something is missing?"


"Yes, Alpha," Stiles said sadly.


"What can we call this sensitive patch of skin, Stiles?" she asked as she pet. "This part of you that feels good?"


"I don't know."


"I'd like to suggest a name for it," she said. "Some omegas call this patch of skin their neuter. They would say, 'I like to touch my neuter', or 'I like to look at my neuter'. Does that sound any more appealing to you?"


"My neuter," Stiles said experimentally. "I think I want to call it that, Alpha," he decided.


"Let's try your sentence again," the doctor suggested.


"It feels good when you touch my neuter," Stiles said.


"Does your neuter feel good?"


"Yes, Alpha. My neuter feels good," he admitted.


"Right now, in this moment Stiles, would you say you're enjoying your neuter?"


"Yes, Alpha," Stiles said. "Today I'm enjoying my neuter. My neuter feels good."


"Would you like to touch your neuter, Stiles?" she offered.


Stiles hesitated.


"Will you try for me?" she asked.


"Okay, Alpha," Stiles said.


Peter unfastened Stiles' arms, as well as his chest so that he could lean forward a bit in his chair if he needed to. Doctor Monroe pulled back, and with a shaking hand, Stiles pressed his fingertips along the healing flesh as he had the previous night. For a long time, the doctor let him carefully explore.


"How do you feel?"




"Describe your neuter to me."


"Soft. Flat."


"Is it sensitive?"


"Yes, Alpha."


"How does your neuter feel when you touch it?"


"My neuter feels good when I touch it," Stiles admitted. "It feels good when I touch my neuter."


"Are you still enjoying your neuter today?" the doctor checked.


"Yes, Alpha," Stiles answered, as if it were a reluctant admission. "I'm enjoying my neuter," he said softly. "My neuter feels good."


"That's really wonderful, Stiles," Doctor Monroe said. She let him continue to explore as she spoke to him. "You experienced a lot of anxiety about your neuter last night."


"Yes, Alpha."


"I believe you also had a panic attack."


"Did I?" Stiles asked with a look of confusion.


"It can be hard to remember," the doctor told him. Peter agreed that Stiles had had a panic attack, and no doubt the doctor would have reviewed the full footage of the event by now. "I saw in your files that you used to suffer quite often from panic attacks, after your mother died."


"Yes, Alpha," Stiles said sadly.


"I've been in contact with some of your old therapists today, Stiles," the doctor told him, and Stiles scowled worriedly, seeming off balance. "It is my professional opinion that for some time now, you've been suffering from an anxiety disorder. I saw that you even took some medication for it years ago, but stopped when you were diagnosed with your ADD and took medication for that, then later you stopped those medications as well when your aggression asserted itself at puberty."


"I don't believe that your anxiety disorder ever went away," she told him. "It was just masked by the spike in your hormones, but the symptoms have been there all along. The hiding, the anxiety over your self identity. I'd like to put you back on medication for your anxiety and see if we can't get you feeling a little better."


"Oh," Stiles said. He’d stopped touching himself as he listened, and now he just blinked. "Okay," he agreed. "That's... that makes sense."


"I'm glad you see it that way," the doctor said. "Your first dosage was mixed with your breakfast solution," she divulged. "I already have your father's permission, and he agrees that this is the best course of action for now. You'll take it in your food while you're with us, and switch to a regular capsule delivery once you leave us."


"Yes, Alpha."


"As for your ADD treatment, I'd like to see how far we get between the hormonal regulation and anxiety medication. Let's not change too many things at once. But if I think we're seeing signs of ADD in a month or so, we'll get you squared away there as well."


"Yes, Alpha. Thank you, Alpha," Stiles said, seeming relieved.


"It's my pleasure, Stiles. Now, I believe we have another major event yesterday to talk about," she said.


Stiles looked confused for a second, then blushed.


"I heard you spent some quality time with Rocko yesterday."


"Yes, Alpha."


"Can you tell me what happened?"


"I... I sucked Rocko's doggy dick," Stiles said with a blush.


"Who took you to see Rocko?"


"Alpha Peter," Stiles said. "Alpha Peter let me suck Rocko's doggy dick."


"That sounds nice. Did you enjoy it?"


"Yes, Alpha," Stiles admitted with a deep blush. He couldn't seem to decide where to put his hands. Peter placed them back on the armrests and began to restrain Stiles fully as the conversation continued.


"When you say that you sucked his doggy dick, I imagine that Rocko must have been lying comfortably, that you took his doggy dick into your mouth at your own pace. Is that how it happened?"


"No, Alpha," Stiles said. "Rocko fucked into my mouth."


"Is there a difference between sucking cock, and getting throat-fucked?" she prompted.


"Yes, Alpha," Stiles admitted. "Rocko throat-fucked my bitch mouth."


"Did Rocko seem to like that? Did he want to?"


"Yes, Alpha."


"And Peter let him."


"Yes, Alpha. Alpha Peter let Rocko throat-fuck my bitch mouth."


"Did you enjoy that experience, Stiles?"


"Yes, Alpha. I enjoyed it when Rocko throat-fucked my bitch mouth."


"What did you enjoy about it?"


"I enjoyed it when he choked me with his doggy cock, and when he came in my bitch mouth. I enjoyed swallowing his doggy cum. I also... I also liked it when he licked into my mouth, and I couldn't stop him because of the ring gag."


"Did you like not having the choice?"


"Yes, Alpha. I liked feeling helpless when Rocko fucked into my bitch mouth, and when he forced his doggy tongue into me. It made me feel like Rocko's bitch."


"How do you feel emotionally when you don't have a choice?"


"I feel safe and secure when I don't have a choice, Alpha. I felt cared for when Alpha Peter made me wait until Rocko was finished with me."


"That's so nice, Stiles. I'm glad that Alpha Peter could make you feel secure in that way. Can you tell me another time Alpha Peter made you feel secure by making a decision for you?"


Stiles wrinkled his brow. "Alpha Peter makes most decisions for me. He tells me where we need to go, when to eat, when to sleep."


"Does your father make those sorts of decisions for you?"


"No, Alpha," Stiles said quietly.


"Who chooses when you sleep at home?"


"I do, Alpha," Stiles answered.


"How does that make you feel?"


"It makes me feel insecure, Alpha."


"I think when you go home from us, that's another one of the things we might want to change," she suggested.


"Yes, Alpha."


"I've had a long talk with your father about it. He'd like to start making a lot more of your decisions for you, Stiles. How does that sound?"


"Good, Alpha. I'd like that."


"I'm glad," she said. "I want to go back to your time with Rocko just a little more though, Stiles. I notice that you still have some doggy cum on your chin and neck, even today."


Stiles blushed furiously.


"Did Alpha Peter make you keep it there?"


"No, Alpha. I didn't want to wipe it away."


"Why is that, Stiles?"


"Alpha Peter told me that when I leave a mess on my face like this, it helps him see me as the bitch I am. I like it when Alpha Peter can see me as a bitch."


"Your father noticed the cum too, didn't he?"


"Yes, Alpha," Stiles recalled.


"Did you want him to see it?"


"Yes, Alpha. I wanted him to see me as the bitch I am."


"Do you feel like he sees you as you are, after last night?"


Stiles was quiet for a long time, as the doctor and Peter waited patiently to hear his answer. "Maybe," Stiles said finally. "I think it's possible that he does."


"We'll keep working on that as we go forward, okay Stiles?"


"Okay, Alpha."


"I think we'll stop here for today," the doctor said. She reached out and pet Stiles' neuter again and Stiles sighed at the sensation. "Try to enjoy your neuter today, okay Stiles?"


"Yes, Alpha. Thank you, Alpha," he said, and she saw herself out.


Just as the doctor left, one of the orderlies had arrived with lunch. It had only been two hours since Stiles' breakfast, and he deflated a bit to see it.


"I'm not hungry, Alpha," he said softly.


Peter slapped Stiles sharply on his inner thigh and Stiles winced at the sting. "Do we argue at the facility, Stiles?


"No, Alpha. I'm sorry, Alpha."


"You had a late breakfast, but you still need to eat three meals a day. It's lunch time now, so you'll just have to be full for a while."


"Yes, Alpha."


Peter got Stiles started, and sat down to his own solid lunch while he waited for Stiles to finish. It was a slow, painstaking process as Stiles struggled to drink when he wasn't really hungry, and Peter knew that Stiles would only feel fuller when they went to Processing afterwards. Peter had something planned to help ground Stiles in himself for the rest of the day.


When Stiles was finally done, Peter wheeled the bag away without comment on how long it had taken.


"I'd like to take you to Processing for a little while, and then we can go back to my room if you like to relax for the afternoon. How does that sound?"


"Really?" Stiles asked in surprise. "I mean, it sounds good, Alpha. I think I'd like that,"


Peter released Stiles' restraints, and then pulled free his catheter. Stiles hissed in discomfort, still getting used to having his cocklette re-stretched. "Would you like me to plug your cocklette, Stiles?"


"Yes, Alpha. Please plug my useless cocklette," Stiles asked so sweetly. "I really like it when you fill up my cocklette so full and wide."


Stiles made a very soft noise of discomfort but otherwise tolerated Peter working the thick metal down the length of his tiny cock as he secured the plug in place. Although it was short, its material and thickness gave it some heft and Stiles' abused little cocklette would pull down with its weight, making him always somewhat aware of its presence.


Peter guided Stiles through the halls until they came to Processing.


"Peter," Derek acknowledged. "And Stiles. You seem to be in better spirits than when I saw you last night."


"Yes, Alpha Derek."


"I thought that Stiles could use another one of your ginger enemas today," Peter told Derek, and he heard Stiles suck in a startled breath at the news.


"I think I can manage that," Derek said as Peter was already leading Stiles over to the familiar medical chair. Stiles trembled in anticipation as Peter began to restrain him and Derek got his supplies.


"Do you like your surprise?" Peter asked him.


"Yes, Alpha," Stiles said breathlessly. "Thank you, Alpha."


"Are you nervous? You're trembling."


"Yes, Alpha," he admitted. "I remember how much it will hurt. But it also feels good when Alpha Derek hurts my bitch hole. I want him to hurt me there."


"That's good, baby. You just relax," Peter said as he tightened the final restraint on Stiles' forehead.


Derek pulled up a seat and inserted the enema nozzle. Soon enough the flow was going and Stiles groaned at the added stretch to his full stomach, then the slow burn that ripped through his bowels.


"I see your anal plug is gone." Derek said conversationally.


"Y-yes, Alpha," Stiles answered quaveringly as he tried to process the pain.


"And your bandage too. It looks like you're healing well."


"Y-yes, Alpha."


"Would you like Alpha Derek to touch your neuter, Stiles?" Peter prompted.


"Yes, Alpha. Alpha Derek, will you please pet my neuter? Today I'm enjoying my neuter. It feels good when someone touches me there."


Derek gently rubbed his fingers over the smooth skin to either side of the incision, careful not to disturb the healing process. "Like this?" he asked.


Stiles groaned from the dual sensation of Derek petting that sensitive patch of skin and the burning and stretching inside of his hole.


"Yes, Alpha," he confirmed as he struggled. "Thank you, Alpha. I enjoy it when you touch my neuter."


"Does your neuter feel good, Stiles?" Peter asked.


"My neuter feels good, Alpha," Stiles confirmed.


Derek moved two of his fingers back away from the neuter mark and over Stiles' taint, where his prostate was under the skin. He pressed his fingers in and massaged the nub externally and Stiles moaned, his spine seeming to liquefy as he relaxed in his bonds.


"Does that feel good, Stiles?" Derek asked.


"Yes, Alpha," he moaned as Derek kept up the steady massage in little circular motions. Stiles' toes curled and he started to tremble. Just then Derek stopped and Stiles whimpered at the loss. The flow of water had stopped, and Derek removed the enema nozzle from Stiles' twitching hole.


"Don't spill," Derek cautioned. "Ten minutes."


Stiles wasn't overly full but the burn of it made his control feel tenuous. Derek picked up where he left off with the external prostate massage, and Stiles mewled with the feelings of struggle and delight.


While Derek continued the massage, his other hand came up to ghost over Stiles' neuter once again, and Stiles' toe curling trembling started once more. "How's that, Stiles?" Derek asked.


"G-good, Alpha," Stiles answered.


"Are you going to come from this, Stiles?" Derek asked curiously.


"I... I don't... I don't know, Alpha," Stiles said, clearly not comprehending how it was possible that he could, but seeming on the verge of it nonetheless.


"If you come, you might spill," Derek reminded him. "Don't spill, Stiles. Hold it back," he said, still keeping up his massage and petting.


Stiles kept up his litany of sounds as Derek teased him, and finally the agonizing ten minutes was up.


"Time's up," Derek told him, the receptacle set up to catch his waste without mess. Derek sat to the side and reached his hands around to keep petting and prodding at Stiles. "Release," he instructed and Stiles keened as he finally released his burning bowels.


Derek's massaging fingers pressed hard into Stiles' prostate as he released, and jiggled roughly back and forth over the gland. Stiles went rigid as an orgasm clearly washed through him as he purged. He groaned as Derek continued to work his prostate and gently pet his neuter with his other hand. His need to bear down and empty himself prolonged the orgasmic wave and Stiles was overwhelmed with competing sensations of pain and pleasure.


When at last it all ended, Stiles was depleted and breathless in the chair. Derek finished wiping him down and did away with the waste as Stiles floated on endorphins and residual burn.


"Thank you, Alpha," he remembered to say.


"You're welcome, omega," Derek told him. Derek looked to Peter. "Would you like me to re-oil his plug?" he asked, lifting the bottle of ginger lube as before.


"What do you say, Stiles?" Peter asked this time. "Would you like Derek to hurt your little cocklette?"


"Please, Alpha Derek," Stiles begged through his already considerable pain. "Please hurt my useless cocklette. It feels so good when you hurt me there, Alpha."


"Well, since you asked so nicely," Derek said. He eased out the thick metal plug and lubed it with the ginger oil, then eased it back into the well stretched cock hole, causing fire to race down the entire length of Stiles' cock inside.


He let out a broken little sob as tears filled his eyes.


"Th-thank you for h-hurting me, Alpha," he managed.




Peter unlatched Stiles' restraints and guided him through the halls in a daze as tears fell quietly down his cheeks. They made their way across the grounds and to Peter's suite again, where Peter led Stiles to the living room.


He tossed a pillow to the floor. "Kneel up," he said. "Waiting posture. I don't want any pressure on your stitches."


Stiles sniffled and bore out the pain as he knelt up on the pillow and Peter pulled up Netflix. "Your file says you like superheroes," Peter said. "Do you want to marathon the Batman cartoon, or Superman?" He gave Stiles the choice.


"Batman, please," Stiles requested quietly.


Peter made the selection and settled in on the couch with his tablet to start filling out reports and responding to emails. There was certainly a lot of paperwork after the disaster of the previous night. Stiles, he noted, had settled down some, between the pain grounding him and the comfort of familiar cartoons.


After a few episodes had passed, Stiles spoke.


"I have to pee, Alpha."


Peter checked the time. It hadn't' been that long since Stiles had been catheterized, though of course his liquid meals would be getting to him about now. "Do you have to go now?" Peter checked. "Or can you wait?"


Stiles bit his lip and self assessed. "I can wait, Alpha," he said, and settled back into watching his cartoons. Peter kept an eye on his level of fidgeting, wondering how Stiles would take to the sensation of a full bladder. Bladder control was just another way some omegas found enjoyment in their bodies and the limits provided by their alphas.


Peter kept half an eye on his tablet, but his true attention was on Stiles. The boy shifted minutely, then stilled. Shifted again. Ten minutes ticked by.


"Alpha," Stiles said.


"Yes, Stiles?"


"May I please use the bathroom?"


"Do you really have to go now?" Peter asked.


Stiles hesitated. "I have to go," he said, unwilling or unable to qualify how much.


"Does anything hurt?"


"No, Alpha."


"Are you in danger of wetting yourself?"


"No, Alpha."


"Let's see what it feels like to have a full bladder for a little while," Peter suggested. "But if you really have to go, please let me know."


"Yes, Alpha."


To his credit, Stiles held out for almost another twenty minutes. Peter knew, as he kept a very close eye on the time, and on Stiles.


"Alpha," Stiles said shakily.


"Do you have to go now, Stiles?"


"Yes, Alpha, please."


"Let's go," Peter said, and walked Stiles to his bathroom.


With trembling fingers, Stiles managed to pull out his penile plug with a slight hiss of discomfort.


"Wait just a moment," Peter told him as he stepped up close behind. He wrapped his arms around Stiles and held him while Stiles trembled, and brought one of his hands to rest gently against Stiles' full bladder.


"Do you feel full, darling?"


"Yes, Alpha," Stiles said a bit desperately.


Peter gently rubbed his hand over Stiles' bladder. "Is it a nice feeling? Or uncomfortable?"


"I d-don't know," Stiles answered unsteadily. "Please?"


"Alright, sweetheart," Peter relented. "Go ahead," he said, and watched Stiles aim his little cocklette and release a strong stream. Peter pressed his hand in against Stiles' full bladder as he went, and Stiles groaned at the increased pressure combined with his release.


The stream as well was wider than usual, due to Stiles' stretched cock. Stiles peed and peed, while Peter rubbed and pressed, holding him up as he almost swayed in Peter's arms from the force of his relief.


When Stiles had finally finished, Peter pulled away. He indicated a pump bottle of lubricant on one of the bathroom shelves. Peter took a moment to reflect on his life that that was a normal thing to have on hand in his line of work, even if he didn't typically bring clients to his personal quarters.


"Use that to re-lube your plug before you put it back," he said, and supervised as Stiles reinserted the thick metal.


"Feel better?"


"Yes, Alpha."


"I think it's time for a nap," Peter told him, and Stiles nodded obediently and followed him out to the living room.


"I'd feel better if you were able to sleep in your chair restraints," Peter told him, "so that you don't disturb your stitches. However, I want an assessment on how you’re feeling emotionally. If you need to, you can sleep here for the afternoon. If you find your old room triggering, we can have you moved to a similar chair in a different room, or set you up in a swing. But by tonight, one way or another, we'll have to settle you in the facility again."


Stiles chewed his bottom lip as he thought about it. "I think it's okay if we go back to the room," he decided.


"You're sure?"


Stiles nodded.


"If you change your mind," Peter told him, "you let someone know. If you're feeling anxious or uncomfortable, call for someone."


"Yes, Alpha."


Peter nodded, and guided Stiles back to the facility. The omega seemed reluctant to leave the comfort of the living room and the cartoons, but Peter knew that it couldn't last anyway. Stiles wasn't here to be made comfortable. Not exactly. He was here to become well, and sometimes that was an uncomfortable process. At any rate, it would take work, dedication, and patience on everyone's part.


Stiles' room was empty when they arrived, and Stiles went readily into his restraints and catheter. His eyes were already drooping by the time Peter turned out the light. After the emotional ordeal of the previous night, it was no wonder Stiles needed to rest.




Stiles blinked awake around four o'clock when Peter turned the lights on again.


"Wake up, sleepy head," he said, and began releasing Stiles' restraints.


"Is my dad here?" Stiles asked groggily, disoriented without a clock or a window.


"We have about an hour before then. I wanted to try something new with you, at the risk of sending you into another attack," Peter said self deprecatingly as he continued to free the omega.


Stiles waited patiently until straps and catheter alike were removed.


"Will you please plug my useless cocklette, Alpha?" Stiles asked when he didn't see Peter reach for the plug.


"Not right now, darling. It would only interfere, I think. Come on, up you get."


Stiles wrinkled his brow in confusion as he no doubt tried to work out what they might be doing, but Peter just led him down the halls to a comfortable little room.


Stiles looked around as soon as they entered it as Peter shut the door behind him. The room was small, and there were a few sofas and pillows scattered on the floor in little nooks. The lighting was dim and in places coloured, giving it a cosy feel. The room was even a few degrees warmer than the rest of the facility which was already kept fairly warm due to the nudity of the omegas.


"Come on," Peter said, guiding Stiles toward a sex swing in a corner near the back. He helped Stiles to hop up into it, and got him comfortably and securely situated, legs spread and restrained, hips restrained and arms left free.


Peter next reached for a pair of noise cancelling headphones. "Do you want wind chimes or ocean sounds?" he asked.


Stiles looked at him with the most disbelieving stare he'd yet shown, and Peter barked out a laugh. "Pick one," he told Stiles. "Humour me."


"Ocean sounds," Stiles said.


Peter programmed the selection in. "I want you for the next hour to lie back and touch yourself. However you want, wherever you want," he instructed. "I just want you to explore what feels good. Does that sound okay?"


"Yes, Alpha," Stiles said, though he had a contemplative look on his face. No doubt it would truly be an exploration for him, after what he'd told Peter about his past masturbatory habits. Not to mention his radically altered body.


Peter slipped the headphones over Stiles’ ears, engulfing him in the sounds of the ocean. Then he pulled out a night mask and fitted it over Stiles' eyes. That done, he encouraged Stiles with gentle pressure to lay his head back against the supportive swing and relax. When Stiles seemed situated, Peter retreated to the side of the room to watch.


At first Stiles didn't move. Then slowly, tentatively he ran his palms over his hips, his thighs. Peter watched as one hand came to his little cocklette and simply played idly there for a while. Stiles held his cock, closed his fist over it. He squeezed and pulled at it gently, this direction and that. Pressed it close to his body, such that it almost disappeared into a tiny nub. Then Peter saw the pinch that the sheriff had said was familiar the previous night. Stiles pinched his cockhead quickly enough that he would have missed it if he hadn't been watching closely.


Then his fingers trailed below his cock to trace the line of his still healing scar, very cautiously. He ghosted his fingers over the general area of his castration for some time, and Peter heard him let out a soft sigh as he stroked his neuter.


He changed his right hand for his left to continue the soft strokes while his right hand gravitated back to his cocklette. He cradled it in his fingers, and his thumb and forefinger gave the head a firm pinch. Stiles let out the softest little grunt, almost a sigh, it was so quiet. Peter watched with interest as the pattern continued. Stiles' strokes were gentle over his healing neuter, and his pinches were increasingly bold on his cock as his hips involuntarily thrust softly up at the sensation, gently swaying the swing he was strapped to.


Stiles' left hand drifted down to his perineum, where Derek had rubbed him earlier, and he pressed himself there, breathing deeply. He didn't linger though, as he brought both left hand and right to the rim of his hole.


Stiles' pointer fingers from each hand skirted his rim. Then he pressed the first finger of his right hand inside. He sighed softly, and Peter could just hear the wet squelch of slick. Stiles fingered himself with the lone finger for a moment, but soon he pressed his second finger inside, then a third. His left hand came into play as well as he forced the first finger of his left hand to join as well, and Peter could see that his left finger had hooked slightly, tugging his rim to feel the stretch as his other three fingers fucked into himself.


Stiles let out a small moan, more of a hum than anything, and he continued to play around his hole in that manner without any seeming goal in sight. Then he hooked his fingers toward his prostate and gave a loud shout of pleasure as his whole body jerked.


Stiles grunted lustily as he stretched his arms and wrists, jabbing his fingers roughly into his sensitive gland. The sound of the slick squelching around them in the silent room was obscene. Stiles clearly was on a mission, and he chased an orgasm down in short order, stiffening in his restraints as he rode out the wave of pleasure.


A single pearly drop of fluid leaked out of his cocklette.


Stiles continued to fuck his fingers into his sloppy hole for a while without purpose, but eventually he pulled them out and wiped them on his thighs.


To Peter's surprise, Stiles brought his still damp fingers up to his mouth and sucked on them next. That opened up a world of ideas for Peter, for their future play.


Stiles sucked on two of his fingers while his left hand trailed down to his left nipple. He gave it a tweak and sucked in a quick breath at the sensitivity. He brought both hands into play, and pinched his nipples, giving them a firm pull, and groaned softly. When he repeated the motion, Peter saw Stiles freeze, and then put his fingers tentatively to his tongue.


He could see now that it had been long enough since Stiles' milking that he had produced. Now pearly drops dripped down both his tits, and some had landed on his fingers. Stiles tentatively licked the milk off his fingers, tasting his own milk for the first time.


Slowly, Stiles took up his nipples again, and Peter watched with interest as Stiles proceed to inelegantly but effectively milk himself with soft sighs and husky groans as he covered his chest and torso with the white streams, twisting, pulling, and pinching at his rosy nubs.


He was rougher with himself than Peter had imagined he would be for his first time, but not nearly as rough as Peter imagined Stiles would enjoy after some further explorations.


Stiles rubbed his palm through the milk coating his skin, rubbed it into his torso, and trailed his wet hand down to pull at his cocklette once again for a while, pinching and pulling at it to steady deep breathing that indicated he was enjoying himself, but not trying to get anywhere with it, which was fine. Peter was very pleased with how well Stiles was doing already.


After a while, he abandoned the cocklette again, and brought his milky hand over his neuter, and just pressed the flat of his fingers over it, feeling it perhaps, or feeling the absence. Perhaps he was feeling with his neuter, and not his hand at all, Peter considered. Feeling the pressure, the warmth, the damp.


It made Peter nervous. He didn't want to spark another break down, but he also wanted to offer Stiles the chance to explore himself, and his neuter was a permanent part of himself now. And so Peter waited and watched, ready at any moment to stop the exercise and offer comfort at the first sign of distress in Stiles.


But at least there were no tears this time. Stiles simply laid there like that for a while, and breathed. He brought his left hand down as well, overlapping his hands over the blank space and simply pressing them there gently.


Stiles pressed his left hand over his neuter next, and carefully crushed his cocklette close to his body with the heel of his right hand, causing it to almost flatten into him and disappear. He overlapped the fingers of his right hand with his left and felt the flatness of his body there.


Then Stiles let out a deep sigh, and seemed to sag in the swing with a new level of ease. Peter wondered what he might be thinking or feeling.


Stiles stayed like that a surprisingly long time, content in his cocoon of ocean waves and darkness, holding himself and thinking or feeling whatever it was he felt or thought. Peter almost thought that might be it for his explorations, until Stiles' left hand began to move.


His right hand still pressed his cocklette flat and laid over his castration scar, but his left hand gravitated to his hole, his fingers dipping into the slick, stretched orifice once again. Stiles moaned softly as he fingered himself with three of his slender fingers easily. Then he pressed in a fourth, hips rocking and sending the swing into a gentle sway.


He couldn't stretch or get the leverage he wanted, or Peter thought he'd have shoved his entire fist into himself. As it was, Stiles had buried his hand up to the joint of his thumb in his hole as he moaned quietly but continually, simply fucking his hole without even bothering to aim a this prostate and wring another orgasm from himself. He just fingered away, while his other hand remained unmoving and flat.


Eventually, Stiles laid still, fingers still buried deeply in his hole as he panted and caught his breath. Peter checked the time. It was time to go.


He rose and crossed the room, and gently laid his hand on Stiles' shoulder. Stiles jumped a bit but stilled, and Peter pulled off his sleeping mask first, then his headphones as Stiles blinked and took in the sights and sounds of the real world.


"Come back slowly," Peter said in a quiet voice. "You can move your hands when you feel ready," he said.


Only then did Stiles seem to realize he was still holding himself, fingers buried in his ass and palm flattening his little cock.


He pulled his left hand away first with a wet squelch and wiped the slick on his thigh. Then gently pulled away his right hand as well. Only then did Peter help Stiles out of his restraints and off the swing.


"How do you feel?" Peter asked him as he got Stiles standing again, arm around Stiles' waist until he caught his balance.


"Good, Alpha," Stiles said, quiet and a bit out of it.


"Good. I'm glad you enjoyed yourself. Let's get back to the room. Your father should soon be here," Peter told him.


Stiles followed Peter into the hall. The bright lights of the hall were somewhat an assault to the senses after the sensory deprivation room, but they served to bring Stiles back to himself.


"Stiles!" John said brightly as soon as they entered Stiles' usual exam room.


"Daddy!" Stiles returned with a grin.


John spread his arms wide and Stiles hardly seemed to have time to have thought about returning the gesture before he was enveloped in his father's embrace. Peter hung back, but stayed nearby, just in case he was needed. He smiled to himself to see the reunion. In one short week, the pair of Stilinskis had seemed to come a long way toward healing their strained parent-child relationship.


Of course, Stiles' breakdown had coincidentally expedited the process. Peter hoped that there wasn't a repeat of the event, because it had been horrible for all involved, but he could appreciate that some good had come of it.


John paid no mind to the fact that Stiles was covered in various bodily fluids, though it was impossible not to notice. He just seemed content to hold his son after the ordeal the night before, cherishing him all the more.


"Did you have a good day?" he asked.


“Yes, Daddy,” Stiles answered shyly, blushing a bit.


"You want to tell me about it?" John asked.


Stiles fell silent and pulled back to look at his father. "Do... do you want to hear about those sorts of things?" he asked nervously.


"I just want to hear whatever you want to tell me," he said easily, leading Stiles over to a comfortable chair. John sat down and Stiles knelt at his feet. "If you feel like it's too embarrassing or just don't want to talk about it with your old man, I understand that, Stiles. But you're welcome to tell me about it if you want to share. I'm not going to judge you for any of it."


Stiles seemed to think about that, then smiled slightly. "Alpha Peter let me watch Batman for a while today."


John snorted. "You've got that man wrapped around your little finger don't you?" he said, shaking his head.


Peter smirked. That assessment was a little too accurate.


"Hardly!" Stiles said indignantly. "He made me--" he started before he realized what he was saying, then stopped himself and swallowed, going quiet and flushing.


"What?" John asked with a gentle smile and a nudge.


"He made me go to Processing and had Alpha Derek clean me out with ginger," he said with a blush.


John rolled his eyes. "Oh, and I'll bet you just hated that," he said sarcastically without missing a beat.


"I didn't say that," Stiles back-pedalled carefully. "I just said he made me."


"You better be careful or Alpha Peter will make you eat ice cream."


Stiles gave his father's legs a playful shove.


"Are you feeling any better about your castration?" John asked him seriously.


"A little," Stiles told him hesitantly. "Alpha Monroe said I should try calling this space my neuter now," he said, touching himself gently between the legs.


"Does it help to call it that?"


"A little," Stiles admitted. "And sometimes it helps to touch myself here," he said, fingers gently ghosting over the flat flesh. "Or when someone else touches me. But sometimes it still makes me feel anxious. Like I might have a panic attack."


"Give it time, buddy," John said, clasping his hand to Stiles' shoulder and giving it a squeeze. "This is new, but we'll adjust to a new normal."


"I guess so," Stiles said with a failed attempt at a smile. A sad twist of his lips.


"I know so," John answered. "You're still healing. It's more difficult now. You're wounded. But in another week, you won't be. You'll soon find out how nice your neuter can feel," John told him.


"You think so?"


"I've seen porn of it," John said. "Those omegas certainly seemed to be having a good time."


"Daddy!" Stiles said, clearly scandalized by the idea of his father watching porn. Porn that apparently featured male omegas.


"What? You think I don't know what's on the internet?"


"I like to think you only use it for pure reasons like looking up how to fix a leaky faucet," Stiles told him.


"I already know how to fix a leaky faucet. And now I know what neuter porn looks like."


Stiles laughed in spite of himself and laid his head on John's lap. "I wish I could come home," he said tiredly.


"Me too," John said, stroking Stiles' hair. "Just think of it as a two week stay at a really weird summer camp," his dad said.


If Stiles smiled, neither John nor Peter could see it, and the energy of the room was falling as it approached the time for John to leave, as Stiles approached his bedtime, and as Stiles' energy stores from the day depleted. In spite of the anti-anxiety medication he'd taken with breakfast, Peter felt the shift in energy, though he was powerless to stop it, and so too it seemed was John with his attempts at a pep talk.


"Alpha?" Stiles said quietly, head still buried in his father's lap as John pet him.


"What's up?" Peter asked from his perch by the door of the adjoining room.


"I'm feeling anxious again," he admitted in a small voice.


"Thank you for telling me," Peter told him, though he couldn't help but still feel like they were failing Stiles in some way.


He moved to the cabinet and pulled out a medication that Doctor Monroe had had set aside for Stiles, and re-read the instructions she'd sent to his tablet. He pulled out a pill and got a cup of water for Stiles.


"I want you to take one of these," he said. "It should help you calm down before bedtime, though it might make you sleepy."


Stiles took the medication without comment and went back to his snuggling. He went so far as to practically wrap himself around his father's legs, no longer kneeling so much as becoming a barnacle.


Stiles’ murmured responses and John's small talk faded out of Peter's perception as he emailed Marin about Stiles taking some of the medication that evening. He clicked through a roster of activities he'd meant to try with Stiles, his tentative schedule of events, and agonized over it. He'd been meaning to take Stiles to Deucalion for a session the next day. Now he wondered whether Deuc would be too intense for Stiles right now if he was still feeling fragile.


Had the stop at Derek's been a mistake? What about the sensory dep. room? In the last decade of doing his job Peter had rarely felt so off balance with a patient. Stiles' mood swings were throwing him off, and his emotional baggage was a tangled web. He'd thought it was a straightforward case at first. Aggressive omega. Put them in their place, have them castrated, and the rest usually sorted itself out.


Chris's kid, Isaac, was on the other end of the spectrum. Traumatized omega. Peter didn’t know all the details but he knew that it had taken over a week to get Isaac asking for cuddles. He liked hugs and kisses and casual affection. He startled easily and didn't like dirty talk. No surgical measures necessary. He liked to be called pretty.


But the point was, each omega had a type. A way for the alphas to categorize them and begin to tailor their personal recovery.


Stiles had been aggressive, but he was anxious and insecure. He had denial issues a mile wide about his self perception, and Peter was never sure whether his self perception bordered on low self esteem or empowered degradation. He'd thought that the chop would be easy with Stiles too. He'd asked for it, and the first days following the procedure he'd seemed happy and even-keeled. Now it was looking like a difficult post-op. Possible emotional scarring. They never, ever wanted to perform a surgery on a reluctant omega, but Peter knew that sometimes a drastic measure was called for. Or an omega would wait and wait and struggle for years unnecessarily.


They kept going off track with Stiles. Letting him know the statistics had been off track, but absolutely necessary. In general, they tended not to let omegas know whether or not they were typical, because if they weren’t, that knowledge could cause a further setback.


Marin suggesting a term for Stiles, neuter, was off track as well. The omegas came up with their own sets of terms for their anatomy and self identities which the alphas then reiterated to them. But in the case of introducing to Stiles the term neuter, Stiles had truly needed the direction.


And finally, letting Stiles stay a night in Peter's quarters was exceedingly off track, but again unavoidable in his professional judgement. What an absolute clusterfuck.


Peter was usually a stickler for protocols. They were there for a reason. But the truth was, sometimes the protocols didn't work. Even now, when he'd determined to get Stiles back on track by sleeping in the exam room once again, a sliver of doubt niggled at Peter. The only thing to do going forward was to adhere to the program, however, and adjust only if and when the program failed.


Peter pulled out of his thoughts and plans when it was time for the sheriff's visit to come to an end. Stiles had quieted down thanks to chemical intervention, and while it wasn't a long term solution to drug the omega every time he felt anxious, Peter knew it was a temporary measure, and would help break him out of his anxious cycle.


Once goodbyes had been said, Peter began to snug Stiles back into his restraints in the chair.


"Snug as a bug?" Peter asked.


Stiles' lips twitched into a small smile in spite of his subdued mood. "Yes, Alpha," he confirmed.


When the supper was delivered and Stiles began his deep throating regimen, Peter pulled up the monitor above Stiles' chair and selected the clip the tech team had had prepared for him, and started it playing. As Stiles' swallowed the teat deeply into his throat he was treated to a vision of himself just the day before, being vigorously throat-fucked by Rocko.


Peter was pleased to see the haze of arousal cloud Stiles' eyes, and he swore he heard a soft moan through the slurping swallows and panting breaths. As hoped for, Stiles seemed to relax into himself a little bit more as he focused his mind on the self he was trying to inhabit, not a construct his anxiety refused to let go of.


Peter texted Derek, determined to ride out this wave of good feeling and not give Stiles too much down time. By the time Stiles had just finished his meal and brushing his teeth, Derek had arrived to remove the layer of grime from Stiles with a sponge bath, and give him his usual bowel purge. The combination of the liquid diet and regular enemas ensured there would be no straining on Stiles' part, so close to his stitches.


By the time Derek had finished, the video clip had replayed and was featuring Stiles milking Rocko's knot into his mouth. He watched, entranced, with glassy eyes.


"What do you say to Alpha Derek?" Peter reminded Stiles gently.


"Thank you for cleaning out my dirty bitch hole, Alpha," Stiles said breathily.


"You're welcome, omega," Derek said, giving Stiles a pat on his inner thigh, then he saw his way out.


Peter watched the screen with Stiles until the clip had completed its run again, Rocko having finally left a thoroughly debauched omega in his wake. Then Peter shut off the monitor and checked Stiles' bindings one last time.


"Time for bed, darling," he told Stiles.


"Goodnight, Alpha," Stiles told him as Peter turned out the lights.


"Good night, Stiles."


Chapter Text

Stiles blinked awake to the overhead lights as usual. "Good morning, omega," Doctor Deaton greeted him.


"Good morning, Alpha," he answered groggily as he adjusted to the lights above.


Deaton pulled his rolling chair up between Stiles' legs and gave a cursory inspection of the stitches and rubbed a small amount of ointment on the healing incision. Then he helped Stiles free enough of his bonds to brush his teeth, as usual, and wheeled over the milking machines.


Only when Stiles had finished his teeth did the doctor rebind Stiles' arms and begin hooking Stiles' up for his morning milking.


"Would you like me to milk you, Stiles?" the doctor asked.


"Yes, Alpha," Stiles answered.


"Can you tell me why, please?"


"It feels good when you milk me," Stiles answered.


"Is that the only reason?" he asked.


"No, Alpha. Now that I'm lactating, I need to be milked, or it feels uncomfortable."


"If you stopped your milkings, you would stop lactating again," the doctor told him. "Would you prefer that?"


"No, Alpha. I enjoy lactating," Stiles said with a blush.


"Do you? That's good to hear."


"Yes, Alpha."


"If you'd like me to milk your tits, I'd like you to ask me for it from now on, please," the doctor said evenly.


"Alpha, will you please milk my bitch tits?" he asked with a blush.


"I will," Deaton confirmed. "Thank you for asking, Stiles," he said, flicking the machine on once the suction cups had been attached. There wasn't much milk to be had after Stiles' masturbatory session the evening before, but there was still some milk to be expressed. Stiles moaned lustily as the machine began its work.


"Would you like me to milk your cocklette as well, Stiles?"


"Yes, Alpha," he answered huskily.


"Do you enjoy it?" Deaton asked curiously.


"Yes, Alpha. I like how sore it makes my useless cocklette. Please milk my cocklette, Alpha."


"Of course," Deaton said easily as he finished removing the catheter and attaching the suction cup, and flicked that machine on as well, stretching Stiles' little cock out painfully. Stiles groaned.


The doctor then pulled out a special vibrating plug, designed to curve up against Stiles' prostate. It would certainly help milk Stiles more effectively, and now that Stiles' stitches were far enough healed, Deaton had no concerns that Stiles' orgasmic contractions would disturb them. He pressed the plug home and set it to an insistent buzz.


Stiles howled at the new sensation. As an omega, his hole had always been very sensitive, and after his castration the sensations were amplified. Now his poor abused cocklette dripped with pre-seminal fluid as his prostate was massaged from within.


"Well this is a lovely surprise," Peter said as he meandered into the room, rolling breakfast along with him.


"Alpha," Stiles moaned as he looked to Peter.


"I see how it is," Deaton said with a smile. "Suddenly his handler comes along and I'm chopped liver, even though I'm the one who set all of this up."


Peter grinned. "What can I say? It's my natural charm."


Deaton snorted, but wandered out of the room now that Peter was there.


It took a bit of coaxing to work through the haze of lust, but Peter got Stiles started on breakfast as well, and with the teat filling his throat, he had nearly all his sexual centres stimulated.


Even with the distraction, Stiles managed to finish his breakfast before his milking was over, and he lay panting and trembling in his bonds as the overwhelming sensations continued.


"Is your poor little prostate feeling empty, baby?" Peter asked, nudging the base of the plug with his fingers and rubbing it against the gland firmly.


Stiles let out a plaintive whine. "Alpha," he begged, though not for anything specific.


"That's what milking your little cocklette is for," Peter told him as he continued to nudge at the plug in Stiles' hole. "We've got to empty you out, darling," he said. Stiles shuddered, and what must have been a dry orgasm gripped him.


"Alpha," Stiles pleaded incoherently. "Alpha, please."


Peter checked the timer. "Seven more minutes, baby. You can make it."


When at last the time was up, Peter stopped and removed the machines. The reservoir for the cock milking actually showed a decent amount of fluid for once, as poor Stiles' prostate had been milked dry. Now Stiles laid limp and sweaty, sated and vision hazy.


"Are you ready to go for a little walk, pup?" Peter asked as he pulled the vibrator out of Stiles' hole. He got out Stiles' penile plug next, and began to work it into Stiles' over-stimulated, limp cocklette.


Stiles whimpered at the intrusion of his sore prick.


Peter gave a little slap to Stiles' inner thigh and Stiles sucked in a startled breath. "Answer when I speak to you," Peter reminded him.


"Yes, Alpha," Stiles answered.


"Is your hole feeling nice and empty now, darling?"


"Yes, Alpha. My bitch hole feels so empty now."


"We'll have to do something about that," Peter commented cryptically.


Peter took out a pair of nipple clamps with bells on the end of them, and attached them to Stiles' sore, distended nipples. Stiles winced and made a soft sound of discomfort.


"Just look at those pretty bitch tits," Peter said, causing Stiles to blush. He began unstrapping Stiles to get up. When Stiles was free, he next produced Stiles' favourite inflatable gag. "Open," he said simply, and Stiles eagerly opened his mouth to receive the gag. Peter pumped it to fill his mouth completely and strapped it in place. Lastly, Peter put the dog collar on Stiles and hooked the leash. "Up," he said, and helped Stiles off the chair. Then, "hands and knees, pup," he instructed, and led Stiles down the hall, his tits jingling all the way.




"Well hello," Deuc said when Peter led Stiles into his playspace. Deuc's eyes lit up as Stiles crawled in on hands and knees, tits jingly with clamped on bells, little plugged cocklette dangling between Stiles' legs. "He creates quite the picture. What can I do for you this fine morning?" Deuc asked Peter.


"I don't know if you know this," Peter began conversationally, "But Stiles' hole seems to have only increased in sensitivity since his castration."


"You don't say? And he was already so wonderfully sensitive.”


"Today is actually very special day for Stiles," Peter divulged.


"Is it?"


"Today his stitches are healed enough that if you're very careful, I think it would be safe for you to play with Stiles' cervix and give him a real treat."


"I think with the right toy we could do that without over-stretching anything," Deuc agreed.


Stiles' eyes shone bright with desire.


"Would you like Alpha Deucalion to play with your hole?" Peter prompted.


Stiles moaned and looked from Peter to Deucalion beseechingly.


"Well, since he's so pretty," Deuc conceded. "Up on the bench, omega," he said, patting a padded leather bench in the middle of the room. "Hands and knees. I'm going to trust you not to need restraints. They are so inconvenient when I want you like this and your tits are rather occupied."


Stiles climbed on the bench and braced himself on his hands and knees. He trembled slightly as Deuc stroked down his back and over his ass, simply touching him as he surveyed the omega before him. Then he stepped aside and went to a cabinet out of Stiles' line of sight and pulled out a long, slender vibrator with a fairly blunt end.


Deuc walked back to Stiles, and pressed the end of the toy to Stiles' rosy hole. Already it was glossy with slick, after the vibrating plug used just minutes before. He rubbed it around Stiles' pucker which twitched and winked in greedy anticipation. Stiles rocked his hips slightly in unconscious movement, and Deuc stilled him with a hand braced on his hip.


"Steady, omega," he told Stiles. "Be patient."


Stiles took a breath through his nose and consciously tried to still his motions as Deuc continued to tease his entrance, pressing in just half an inch and backing out, just to watch the hole wink open and shut. When he finally pressed inside, Stiles let out a soft moan and some of the tension melted out of him.


Deuc could feel Stiles clench on the toy, the gentle pull of suction as he gripped it inside. "I'll bet that feels nice," Deuc said as he gently fucked the smooth toy in and out of Stiles, still not penetrating him fully but fucking him enough to satisfy. Stiles seemed to agree, judging by his moans.


Deuc kept a close eye on Stiles' healing incision as he worked with the toy, careful not to disturb anything and making absolutely certain that this type of play was safe and comfortable. Deuc loved to cause pain and discomfort in an omega at the right time, but he was unremittingly serious when it came to matters of health.


Deuc thrust the toy more deeply into Stiles, working it into him the full depth and aiming unerringly for where he knew Stiles' cervix lay. Stiles grunted at the first touch to that sensitive place so deep inside of him. The second touch brought forth an uncomfortable whimper, and Stiles unconsciously pulled his hips forward to escape the oversensitivity. His tits jingled with the movement.


"Ah, ah," Deuc chastized, and Stiles brought himself back to his original position, trying desperately to hold still.


Deuc eased the toy in a bit more and rubbed the blunt end of it against Stiles' cervix, and Stiles shook with the effort to endure it. He groaned loudly around his gag, and his eyes started to water. He flexed his fingers on the padded leather, and Peter heard the slightest tinkling of one of his bells.


"Is this what you need?" Deuc asked, rubbing the smooth toy back and forth over the sensitive area as Stiles wailed and fought to maintain his position. Then Deuc flicked the switch on the vibrator and Stiles went rigid. Eyes clenched tight, Stiles let out a high pitched whine and shook as a cervical orgasm immediately swept through him.


He continued to whimper as the toy buzzed and thrust and rubbed against him, one of Deuc's strong hands bracing his hip to hold him as still as possible, though his back bowed and there was no controlling his seismic trembling.


When Deuc fucked the toy into him, bump, bump, bumping against his cervix instead of a rub or hold, Stiles let loose a series of deep, husky grunts that were pure sex. Peter could see that Stiles was flying high on endorphins. He had left orbit.


Deuc alternated in his techniques for some time, wringing the most delightful sounds and responses from Stiles. Sometimes he would hold the toy tight against the omega's cervix, and other times he'd thrust it steadily, bumping against the cervix with a series of impacts. Sometimes he would rub away with the toy thrust in deep. And all the while, Stiles continued to wail and slowly fall apart under his attentions.


After Stiles gave one last violent shudder, Deuc had mercy and turned the toy off, pulled it out. Stiles was heaving for breath between sobs, and tears rolled down his cheeks. His whole body trembled with aftershocks, fingers and toes curled against the leather of the bench. A thin sheen of sweat coated his overworked body.


Slick had trickled out of Stiles' hole and down his thighs, over his healing incision. Deuc wiped his neuter with an antiseptic wipe and applied more ointment, then covered the incision with a small gauze bandage for good measure.


"We can't have him leaking all over his incision," Deuc explained to Peter as he watched the clean-up.


Deuc prodded a bit at Stiles’ shiny hole, winking open from all its use. "We could always plug him if you like, but I think he should keep now that he's settled down."


"Hmm," Peter seemed to consider. He came around Stiles to prod at his hole as well, with one finger, then two that he fucked gently in and out as Stiles hummed with pleasure. "I suppose he'll be alright for now," he conceded.


"What do you say, darling?" Peter prompted. "Are you grateful to Alpha Deucalion?"


Stiles moaned and turned himself awkwardly around on the bench to face Deucalion, and butted his head against Deuc's side like a cat. Deuc smiled and gently scratched his head affectionately.


"You're welcome, omega," he said.


"Come on," Peter directed, hooking the leash onto Stiles' collar. "You may walk upright this time," he instructed, and tugged Stiles after him out of the room, and down the halls.


Stiles followed on unsteady legs as Peter led the way to the courtyard, bells tinkling with each step. Outside, it was sunny and warm, and a welcome relief from the fluorescent lights inside. Peter walked Stiles over to their usual bench and he sat down. "Kneel, please," he instructed.


Stiles dropped easily into a patient waiting position, and Peter first unclipped his leash. Next, he unstrapped and deflated the gag, pulling it out of Stiles’ mouth and rubbing his thumbs at the hinge of Stiles' sore jaw as he worked it.


"Alright?" he checked.


"Yes, Alpha," Stiles said a bit hoarsely.


Next, Peter reached out and removed the nipple clamps and little bells. Stiles sucked in a pained hiss as the blood returned to his abused nubs. They stood red and perky from his chest, though Peter ignored them as he tucked clamps and deflated gag into a pocket.


"Go get yourself a drink," he said. "Then you're free to walk around for a while, or come kneel with me when you're tired."


"Yes, Alpha. Thank you, Alpha," Stiles said, and rose again to head to the bowl over by the hose. There he dropped to all fours to lap at the water, letting the beads of it drip down his chin and throat and dry in the sun.


Stiles meandered the garden for a while as Peter watched and messed with his tablet, as usual. It wasn't long, however, until Stiles knelt beside him in Wait. It wasn't surprising, considering the morning he'd had so far. At Peter's gentle coaxing, Stiles laid his head in Peter's lap and relaxed as Peter pet him.


Peter left Stiles alone for a long time as he knelt, giving his body time for physical recovery. It was important though not to give his mind mind too much time for existential angst.


"Your father tells me that you've been having trouble in school the last few years," Peter said after a time. Stiles was apparently a straight A student, but his fights with his father weren't the only fights that he had. He had frequent arguments with fellow students and even teachers, and had trouble both with accepting rule of authority on the part of his teachers, and with ignoring any sort of bullying that might have come from students. Although from reading Stiles' file, Peter had the feeling that Stiles reacted to even minor perceived slights as well.


"Yes, Alpha," Stiles admitted, still drifting as Peter pet him.


"Who are you fighting, Stiles?" Peter asked gently. "The others? Or yourself?"


Stiles was silent for a while, but he answered. "Both."


"Your file says you had conflict with one of the other boys in particular most often. Can you tell me about that?"


Stiles’ mood seemed to sour slightly, tension coming into his shoulders in spite of Peter's caresses. "Jackson," Stiles said simply.


"What does Jackson do that gets you so upset?"


"Nothing that he can get in trouble for," Stiles said sourly. "He calls me an omega. Constantly. He's always careful not to even use slurs."


"You are an omega," Peter pointed out gently.


"That's what Scott says," Stiles sighed. "But it's how he says it."


"He's provoking you," Peter deduced. He knew the type of insecure alpha assholes who seemed to find ways to needle into insecurities.


"Yes, Alpha," Stiles sighed again.


"You know you don't have to rise to his baiting," Peter pointed out.


"I know."


"What does it make you feel like when he puts you on the defensive?" he asked.


"Like it's bad to be an omega," Stiles admitted. "Like I can't be myself."


"What is it like to be yourself?" Peter prompted, asking for that response which they always came back to. The self that Stiles wanted to embody.


"I'm an omega," Stiles said. "An omega bitch."


"Do you often feel like you're hiding who you are while you're at school?" Peter asked.


"Always," Stiles confirmed. "Everyone knows, but..." he shrugged.


"Your father says you like to buy your underwear from the Alpha section," Peter said. "Do you just like the look of them? Are they more comfortable?"


Stiles seemed to shrug uncomfortably where he knelt. "Not really," he said. "I used to wear omega briefs," he said, “when I was little. They were fine. But the other boys notice it more in gym class, or lacrosse."


"Do you know why most alphas wear boxers?" Peter asked him.


"They need the room," Stiles admitted almost sadly. "For their alpha cocks and heavy balls."


"Do you have heavy balls, Stiles?" Peter asked.


"No Alpha. My balls before were much smaller than an alpha’s. Now I have a neuter."


"Do you have a big alpha cock that needs the space?"


"No, Alpha," Stiles admitted. "I have a useless cocklette."


"The snug omega briefs might fit you better," Peter suggested. "They would snug right up against your neuter, hold your little cocklette nice and close. I'll bet they'd feel more comfortable."


"Maybe," Stiles hedged.


"What might you feel like in omega briefs?" Peter asked.


"Like a bitch," Stiles admitted.


"Are you a bitch, Stiles?"


"Yes, Alpha. I am a bitch. I'd feel more like myself in the omega briefs," he agreed, if reluctantly.


"What might the other boys see in gym class, or in lacrosse?"


"They’d see the briefs,” Stiles said as he imagined the scenario. “It would call attention to the fact that I’m an omega. Not just because of the style, but because they clearly can’t hide anything being so tight.”


“And so?” Peter prompted gently.


“They’d see me as a bitch," Stiles said quietly. "They'd see me as myself."


"You told me you wanted for others to see you as yourself," Peter pointed out. Stiles' hiding from himself was a major component in his acting out.


"Yes, Alpha,"Stiles conceded. "I want others to see me as myself. I want them to see that I'm a bitch."


"Your file says you clash most often with a particular teacher as well," Peter said.


"Yes, Alpha."


"Which teacher is that?"


"Mr. Harris," Stiles said.


"Does he try to provoke you like Jackson?" Peter asked with some concern.


"No, Alpha," Stiles assured.


"Can you tell me a bit about this Mr. Harris?" Peter asked.


Stiles sighed, almost dreamily. "He's a strong alpha," Stiles said. "He makes me feel…" he trailed off. "Like I want to please him. Like I want him to approve of me."


"He can't be very pleased with the amount of conflicts between the two of you," Peter pointed out.


"No, Alpha," Stiles said a bit sadly.


"Can you tell me what provokes these fights?" Peter asked him. "If you're so eager to please Mr. Harris?"


"It scares me," Stiles admitted quietly.


"What does, darling?"


"Wanting to please him. How he makes me feel."


"How does he make you feel?" Peter prompted gently.


"Like an omega bitch," Stiles admitted. "Like myself."


"And it scares you that Mr. Harris sees you as yourself?" Peter asked. "I'd have thought you'd like to be seen."


"I don’t think Mr. Harris really sees me,” Stiles said. “Not when I’m so difficult in his class. But I didn't want the others to see what I’m like," Stiles said quietly.


"Why is that, darling?"


"I don't know," Stiles admitted. "It makes me so tired."


"You were afraid that if you complied with Mr. Harris, that the others would see that you were really an omega bitch?"


"Yes, Alpha."


"And you didn't want them to see, because you thought there was something wrong with being a bitch?"


"Yes, Alpha."


"Do you still think that now?" Peter asked. "That there's something wrong with who you are?"


Stiles took a moment to consider the question. "I'm not sure," he said finally. "Usually I don't think so," he said hesitantly, "but sometimes I still feel uncomfortable."


"That's alright, darling," Peter said. "We're going to keep working to get you comfortable."


"Thank you, Alpha."


"You know, Stiles," Peter said conversationally. "There are certain things some omegas do to feel more comfortable, more like themselves when they're out in the world." Getting Stiles more comfortable in his skin was essential for reducing his aggressive episodes in school the following school year.


"Sometimes clothing can help," Peter continued. "The underwear we already talked about, for example. But there are other things too."


"Like a collar," Stiles provided.


"Like a collar," Peter agreed. "It helps some omegas remember their place in the world, the place where they feel most comfortable, most secure. Have you ever considered wearing a collar to school?"


"I had one in elementary school," Stiles said. "One of the elastic kid ones with a Green Lantern charm," he said with a slight smile. "But I didn't want to wear it any more by middle school."


"What prompted the change?"


"It was too kiddish," Stiles said.


"Did your father offer to buy you a new one?" Peter asked, knowing already from Stiles' file that the answer was yes.


"Yes, Alpha. But I didn't really want one."


"Would you like one now?"


"I'm not sure."


Peter decided to set the issue aside for now, though he knew that in addition to the household changes, the sheriff had already purchased Stiles some new clothes. Including a collar, with Peter’s input as to the design. Stiles wouldn't be forced to wear it, but it would be there for him if he should choose to. They would cross that bridge soon, but not now.


"Some other omegas find comfort in wearing an anal plug," Peter told him. "Usually small, and glass or metal. Comfortable for day to day. Is that something you'd be interested in?"


"I couldn't, Alpha," Stiles answered with a fierce blush.


"Why not?" Peter asked curiously.


"The boys in lacrosse would see. In the showers. I couldn't..." he choked off.


"Let's set lacrosse aside for the moment," Peter suggested. "What might you feel like wearing a plug in Mr. Harris's class?"


Stiles went quiet, and took a moment to imagine the scenario. "I think I'd like that," he said slowly. “I think I'd feel like a good bitch."


"What about it would make you feel like a good bitch?" Peter asked.


"Good bitches have their bitch holes filled up," Stiles said. "And remember their place."


Peter made no comment on Stiles' assessment of what being a good bitch entailed. The point was that it was Stiles' truth, and that it would make him feel better about himself to live that truth. And honestly, it wasn't a terribly uncommon tendency in omegas.


"What is an omega bitch's place?" Peter asked.


"It's in the name itself," Stiles said with calm confidence. "Omega. Last. At the bottom of the social hierarchy."


"Is that where you'd like to see yourself, Stiles? At the very bottom of the hierarchy?"


"Yes, Alpha," Stiles said confidently, with a slight smile.


They sat in silence a while longer, and eventually it was time to head back inside. Rather than head to the exam room, Peter led Stiles off in a different direction, to the room he'd first been milked in, though Peter had had it prepared in a different configuration. He helped Stiles down to his hands and knees, and locked his wrists and ankles in place. Behind Stiles was a long, slender dildo, the same eleven inch length as the teat he was usually forced to suck to retrieve his meals. Peter eased Stiles back onto it incrementally until he was fully impaled on the toy, the blunt end of it nudging Stiles against his already over-sensitized cervix.


Stiles let out a soft moan, and already looked a little dazed at the return of so much sexual pleasure.


In front of him, rather than above him as it would be in his chair, was the long flexible dildo that he would have to deep throat in order to feed, mounted horizontally just as it had been that first day during Stiles' milking. Peter brought the apparatus forward until just the head of the teat sat inside of Stiles' mouth. From there, Stiles would have to rock himself forward to swallow around the phallus to retrieve his lunch. On every backward stroke for breath, he would thereby re-impale his ass on the cock behind. It was a devious configuration that made Stiles' sucking all the more lewd in context. It was no longer an abstract exercise, but one heavily laden with full sexual connotation as Stiles fucked his holes at both ends.


By the time Stiles actually managed to finish his lunch, he was panting for breath not only from a lack of air, but from pure sexual overstimulation. He rested his head slightly against the dildo in front of him as he sucked in air, while his thighs trembled and his hole clenched around the dildo that half impaled his ass.


"Alpha," he called sweetly, unable to see Peter from where he'd been stationed, and unable to remove himself at all from his position.


"What is it, darling?" Peter asked.


"Please?" Stiles begged.


"Please what, darling?" Peter asked as he came closer and ran his fingertips down Stiles' sweaty back.


"H-help me out," he asked shakily. "Please? I'm ready to get out."


"Are you sure you don't want me to help you fuck your pretty hole?" Peter asked, and pushed the rear apparatus further into Stiles.


Stiles whimpered. "N-no, Alpha. I'm... I'm so tired. Please? N-need a break."


"Hmm," Peter seemed to consider. "I thought you said that good bitches always had their holes filled," he teased.


"Want to be your good bitch, Alpha," Stiles said. "J-just... too much."


"Don't worry,” Peter said as he began to work the dildo out of Stiles. "You're my good bitch. And you can rest now."


Peter helped Stiles free from the toys and restraints. Stiles was trembling and exhausted, and as Peter helped him to his feet, he noticeably stumbled. His legs would barely hold him as he clung to Peter for support. Without missing a beat, Peter scooped his arm under Stiles' knees as the other braced behind his back, and he carried him bridal style through the door and into the hall.


Stiles let out a startled squawk, then clung to Peter's neck as he was carried. It took him not even a second to curl in, seeking comfort and warmth, and Peter wondered whether in addition to all his other problems, Stiles might be touched starved. It would certainly be something to investigate and address in the coming days.


He carried Stiles easily back to his exam room, and settled him into his chair. Before he moved to the restraints, however, he spent some time cleaning around Stiles' hole thoroughly. His hole and thighs dripped with slick, and he wanted to remove the gauze from Stiles' incision again as well, cleaning it of any stray slick and airing it out. He took the moment to inspect the incision for any disruption and was pleased to find Stiles uninjured.


Next, though Stiles had just had a liquid lunch, he offered Stiles a few sips of water on account of his overworked throat, and all of the thirsty work of the morning. Stiles drank gratefully and soaked in all of his attention.


Peter gently bound Stiles into his restraints and removed his penile plug, inserting the catheter. "Take a nap, darling," he told Stiles.


Stiles murmured a response, but it was unintelligible and his eyes were already drooping. Peter left the room and shut off the light.




Stiles blinked awake as the lights came back to life. Peter unfastened his head first, then his arms as he went about systematically removing the restraints. "Tired?" he asked, as Stiles stared around groggily.


"Yeah," he agreed, clearing his throat of sleep. "I don’t know why I'm so exhausted."


"I can think of a few reasons," Peter said with a smirk, and Stiles blushed.


"Are we going somewhere, Alpha?" Stiles asked as Peter removed Stiles' catheter as well, and made no moves toward a penile plug, or even Stiles' collar.


"We are," Peter confirmed. "We're going to work on Compliance today."


Stiles made a bit of a sour face. With his aggressive episodes, Peter knew that Stiles had been through many different therapists' and disciplinarians' ideas of Willing Compliance training. Such exercises usually meant asking the omega to perform some task he hated, and in Stiles' case had either resulted in him begrudgingly going through with the exercise or throwing some sort of fit.


Stiles was silent as Peter led him along through the halls. He perked up curiously when he recognized they were in the kennel wing, but didn't ask any questions. Then Peter keyed in the access code to the room where he'd led Stiles on his very first day, the breeding room.


Stiles froze in the entryway as he surveyed the familiar scene. The bench was stationed in the middle of the concrete floor just as it had been when he'd arrived. The doors that the dogs would enter through were all currently closed, and the room was silent. The musk of dog and sex hung thick in the air. And then there was the mess.


The bench and the area around it had the worst of it. Buckets of cum and slick coated bench and floor. The breeding room had obviously been used for someone else, and though Stiles never got to see who the other omegas at the facility were, he knew they were around, and he could see the evidence of it right in front of him.


A small puddle of cum pooled on the floor where the omega's cock must have hung, almost indistinguishable from the growing pools of the dogs' ejaculate around it. And intermixed, a bit of what might have been the omega's piss. Moisture made a dark patch on the ground where the omega's head must have hung. Perhaps tears or spit. Perhaps intermixed with snot. It was impossible to say.


Next to the mess was a bucket and mop. Rags and cleaner. A scrub brush. Everything that would be needed to thoroughly clean and disinfect the bench and floor.


Peter guided Stiles in the rest of the way with a hand to his lower back. "Clean it up," he said simply, as if there were any other question of Stiles' purpose there.


"Was someone else here?" Stiles asked. "One of the other omegas?"


"I think you know the answer to that question," Peter said simply.


"And this is his? It's from... him," Stiles said, still staring blankly at the mess.


"Stiles," Peter said to get his attention. "If what I'm asking of you is unclear, please feel free to ask for clarification. Otherwise, clean it up."


Stiles swallowed thickly, and moved toward the mess with stiff motions. He couldn't step in completely clear places on the floor, and he winced when his feet veered too close. But he picked up the mop and began, face flushing hotly.


There was of course, no sink in the room. There was nothing to rinse out the cum and grime but the lone bucket of water. And there was no way to mop the breeding stand. That meant Stiles had to get down on his hands and knees, to touch the unclean water himself as he wrung out rags and rinsed the brush. The disinfectant was a small consolation.


Stiles grimaced as he worked.


"Something wrong?" Peter asked him.


Stiles clenched his jaw and shook his head mutely, but Peter had seen the mounting tension and disgust as Stiles worked.


The point of the exercise was willing compliance, not simply compliance alone. The way Stiles was behaving now, he was a ticking time bomb. Stiles might not be asked to clean filth off a floor out in the real world, but he'd be asked to do all manner of things he'd dislike, that he might balk at. And he might be asked to do things that he had every reason to have to do -- commands given him by teachers, his father, and authority figures of all sorts throughout his life. The last three years, according to Stiles' file, had been an escalating battle against every such request. And though the preliminary cause of his aggression had been biological, there was underlying baggage at play as well.


"If there's nothing wrong," Peter gently provoked, "why do you look like you swallowed a sour grape?"


Stiles glared at the bench while he tried to scrub dried cum out of the grooves of intersecting parts. "Because it's disgusting," he said quietly. Any attempts to hide his attitude with a soft voice failed.


"So you're too good for this kind of work?" Peter asked him.


Stiles closed his eyes and took a breath, then continued his work.


“I believe we already discussed you answering me when I speak to you, omega,” Peter reminded him with a sharp edge to his voice.


“No, Alpha,” Stiles clipped tightly. “I’m not too good for this type of work,” he answered, though every line in his body said otherwise.


"I seem to recall you couldn't be more eager to get yourself filled and coated in doggy cum," Peter reminded him.


"It's not the same," Stiles said quietly.


"It can't be the fact that it's not fresh from the stud," Peter mused aloud. "I think we disproved that when you willingly sucked it from my fingers."


Stiles' face heated, but he didn't respond.


"Is it the omega cum that has you upset?" he speculated.


Stiles made no response to that, but his cleaning stuttered for a moment.


Rather than demand a response, Peter continued with his questions. "Is it the fact that you somehow see yourself as above cleaning up after another omega?" Peter asked. "Or some sort of jealousy that you're not the only bitch that the studs get to breed?"


"I'm doing the task," Stiles said quietly, stubbornly, but Peter could hear the irritation lacing through his voice.


"The exercise," Peter reminded him, "is called Willing Compliance. I'm very glad you're doing as I asked. Your files indicate that I might consider myself lucky to have your compliance at all. But you're certainly not here willingly."


"What do you want me to say? That I want to clean this up?"


"Do you?"


"No," Stiles admitted shortly.


"You still haven't said why," Peter egged him on. Not outright provoking him, but needling him for the answers he refused to give. "Are you jealous?" he asked again.


Stiles hesitated in his cleaning, then started again more vigorously. "Maybe," he admitted.


"And you're angry," Peter noted. "At the idea of having to clean up someone else's mess."


Stiles made no response.


"You do realize, of course, that someone had to clean up yours."


"Yes, Alpha," Stiles answered with a blush.


"Do you think you're above the Alpha handler or the hapless omega who had to clean your mess up?"


"No, Alpha," Stiles answered dutifully.


"Don't you?" Peter speculated. "Then you must think that you’re more deserving of breeding than the omega who was bred up today."


"No, Alpha."


"Then why are you so angry right now?"


"I'm not --" Stiles cut himself off from whatever it was he'd been about to say.


"You're not what?"


"I'm not a maid," he said, though Peter suspected that wasn’t what he had been about to say.


"No, you're not. You're an omega under my care and I'm asking you to clean a mess," Peter said simply. "Certainly you're not the only person ever to have to clean."


"No, Alpha."


"Is it the following of instructions in general that has your hackles up?"


"No, Alpha. I'm happy to follow instructions."


"I'm not so sure about that," Peter said skeptically. "Do you want to be given instructions or don't you?"


Stiles paused in his cleaning and closed his eyes tightly against the argument, against the situation he was in. He seemed to struggle within himself. "I want to follow instructions, Alpha," he said, and went back to his work, with a bit less of an attitude than before. After all, he had been insisting just that to Peter during their down time. That he wanted someone to make the decisions for him.


"What does it make you feel like, cleaning up doggy cum and some other omega's mess?" Peter asked while Stiles cleaned.


"Like a bitch," Stiles finally admitted quietly.


"Is that a good feeling or a bad feeling?" Peter asked him.


"It's... confusing," Stiles told him.


"How do you want to see yourself, Stiles?" Peter asked in a compassionate tone.


"Like a bitch," Stiles admitted softly. "But... it's hard. And confusing."


"We'll keep working on that," Peter assured him. "But right now, it doesn't have to be hard. You just have to clean, and be who are you are."


"Yes, Alpha," Stiles said softly as he worked.


It didn't take Stiles long to finish up, but for the remainder of his time he wasn't filled with poorly concealed anger. Awkwardness, perhaps, but it was a start.




By four o'clock Stiles had finished his cleaning, and Peter led him briefly to Processing to wash off himself. He could see Stiles' curiosity, and then slight disappointment when there was no play time there today. Then Stiles followed as Peter led them to the little courtyard for a second time that day, simply to relax in the shade and afternoon sun.


"Alpha?" Stiles asked curiously when he was kneeling at Peter's feet.


"Hm?" Peter answered absently.


"Don't I have therapy today?"


"No," he said shortly. "You won't have it every day here. For now, Doctor Monroe thinks that doing will do you more good than talking.


"Oh," Stiles answered quietly, seeming to mull that over.


"Tomorrow in fact, will be a big day for you."


"What's tomorrow?" Stiles asked.


"Home walk-through day," Peter told him. Stiles bit his lip. "Aren't you looking forward to it?" he prompted.


"I am…." Stiles said somewhat reluctantly.




Stiles shrugged. "Just nervous, I guess."


"What's making you most nervous, darling?"


"Change I guess. It's one thing to talk about it here. Now... everything'll be different."


"You wanted change," Peter reminded him gently. "So that things aren't quite so difficult for you all the time."


"Yeah," Stiles said vaguely.


"How would you like to feel at home?" he prompted.


"Secure," Stiles said first. "Like myself."


"Can you name something that would make you feel more secure?" Peter asked. "And more like yourself?"


"No more hiding," Stiles admitted.


"Be specific," Peter reminded him.


"I'd feel more secure without my blankets and sheets to hide behind. Without so many doors."


"Good," he encouraged. "That's good, Stiles. What else?"


"Maybe a collar," Stiles admitted.


"I think we can accommodate that," Peter told him. "Do you think you can make space for feeling a bit excited about the changes, in addition to nervous?"


"Maybe," Stiles agreed with a slight smile, some of the tension leaving his shoulders.




Stiles' father came to visit at the usual time. Stiles was free of his restraints, kneeling at John's feet as he talked animatedly about things that didn't matter. Peter smiled as he kept out of the way. John was a master at keeping his boy distracted, and it was clear to Peter that if there was a crack for anxiety to slip into Stiles' mind, it would find a way. Now, he heard talk of superheroes and recipes he'd like to try, and gossip about police Stiles knew from the department.


Before the Stilinskis knew it, the visiting hour was up.


"I hate this," Stiles complained.


"I know, kiddo. But you'll be home soon. And I'll see you tomorrow for the walk through."


Stiles' lips twisted into a failed smile.


"Nervous?" John guessed.


Stiles shrugged. "Sort of. It'll be good though," he said, trying to convince himself.


"Last time we tried to do a walk through with a therapist, you weren't in nearly so good a place," John told him. "This won't be like that."


"Okay," Stiles agreed. Perhaps he wasn't entirely convinced, but Peter had to agree with John. Stiles was in a pretty good place in such a short amount of time. No one could completely predict how a patient might react to the reorganization of their home, but Stiles showed all good signs that they should proceed.


"Hang in there, kiddo," John said as he rose to leave. "I'll see you in the morning."




Stiles sat in his chair, unbound, legs swinging like a kid. He perked up curiously as one of the staff dropped off a tray and Peter wheeled it closer to him. "What's this?" he asked.


"Your supper," Peter told him. On the tray was a bowl of broth and a roll, as well as a glass of water and a little paper cup with Stiles' evening meds.


"No deep throat therapy?" he asked snarkily.


Peter gave him a warning look, and let the sass slide. "Doctor Deaton wants you to start getting on solids again for at least two of your meals a day. We'll do breakfasts and suppers, easy fare to start. And you're off enemas starting tonight."


Stiles wrinkled his nose, no doubt knowing the transition could prove to be uncomfortable.


"One of those pills is a fibre supplement," Peter divulged, and he snorted in amusement when that knowledge failed to wipe the surly look off Stiles' face. Still, Stiles took the medication without complaint and started in on his food. Though it was a simple beef broth, after days without actually being able to taste , Stiles seemed to relish it. His eyes fell shut for a moment a s he savoured the soup, and he ate slowly.


Once Stiles finished, he was escorted into the bathroom where Peter supervised him brushing his teeth, and then to his mortification supervised his use of the toilet, as usual. Only this time, in addition to Stiles having to urinate, he was told to at least make an attempt at having a bowel movement as well.


"Never in my life would I have thought that having an enema would be the less embarrassing option," he complained once he'd given up.


"Somehow I'm sure you'll survive it," Peter said with a roll of his eyes.


"Where are we going now?" Stiles asked in confusion as Peter led Stiles away from the direction of his exam room and down the hall.


"You've been moved," Peter told him. Just a few doors down he keyed in the code to a private room. It was small and utilitarian. There was a single cot with a fitted sheet and a pillow, a tiny sink and empty counter space, and two chairs off too one side where a doctor, visitor, or handler might sit. That was all. It was very small, and built for really one purpose: sleep.


"Lie on your back, please," Peter directed, and Stiles nervously approached the bed, but complied. He laid on his back and allowed Peter to gently arrange him spread-eagle as he attached wrist and ankle restraints. This would be a first taste of how Stiles would spend future nights at his own house. No catheter, no extraordinary use of restraints, or plugs of any sort. It would be a good test run for him to get used to it, and clearly Stiles was a bit off kilter at the change. But he was already growing sleepy as his anti-anxiety medication kicked in once more.


The restraints were soft and loose enough that Stiles could move his arms, so that there wouldn't be any shoulder strain as a result. The room was quiet and warm, and the bed was softer than the exam chair.


"Comfortable?" Peter asked.


"I guess," Stiles said, stretching out a bit and testing the bonds.


"You'll be monitored as usual," Peter assured him. "If you have a problem, you need only call out."


"Okay, Alpha," Stiles answered sleepily.


With that, Peter doused the lights, and took his leave for the night.


Chapter Text

Stiles blinked awake in a new position than he'd grown used to. The bed. He flexed against his restraints.


"Good morning, sunshine," Peter said cheerily as he came in.


"Good morning, Alpha," Stiles answered docily, still fuzzy from sleep.


Peter removed the restraints easily, and helped Stiles to sit up. "Come on," he urged, holding open the door. "Bathroom first. Then breakfast. We have a lot to do before we get out of here. I'll bet you're eager to get out of this place about now, hm?"


"Yes, Alpha," Stiles answered with a small smile.


After the bathroom trip, they went back to Stiles' previous exam room where Doctor Deaton was waiting to have a most cursory look at Stiles' stitches. A meal had already been delivered, and Stiles pouted at the unseasoned bowl of oatmeal.


"Problem, omega?" Peter asked when he caught the attitude.


Stiles hesitated. "No, Alpha," he said obediently, and began to choke the gruel down, failing to hide his grimace.


"Good," Peter said shortly. "Oatmeal is healthy, and in your case is likely to be a part of your breakfast routine for the foreseeable future. That includes when you leave our fine facility's full time care and have breakfast at home."


Stiles looked up at him, stricken. "You had him get rid of the poptarts?" he asked in a wounded voice.


"I am certain that your father required no input on our part as to what foods he has or has not deigned to keep in his household," Peter told him sternly. "Although he was receptive to the recommendation that your diet fall under his control, and that for the time being oatmeal should feature heavily in your breakfasts."


Stiles took a deep breath and sagged, and Peter was pleased to see that some of the growing agitation leached out of him genuinely. Then he continued with his food, drink, and morning medications.


When Stiles had finished, Peter bound him in the customary chair restraints and brought out the milking equipment as per usual.


Peter tweaked a pert nipple and Stiles sucked in a sharp breath. "Ask for what you want, darling," Peter reminded him.


" Please , Alpha," Stiles asked, voice thick with lust. "Will you milk my bitch tits and my useless little cocklette?"


"Would you like that?" Peter asked as he began to attach the suction cups.


"Yes, Alpha. It feels so good when you milk me."


Stiles let out a moan and closed his eyes when the first machine whirred to life. By the time Stiles' little cocklette was captured as well and the plug was buzzing away in Stiles' hole, he was in blissed out heaven. Like most omegas, Stiles had a high libido, and sexual control was a tried and true way to adjust an attitude.


When the milking had finished, Stiles had a few tear tracks on his cheeks and he was a bit overwrought. He whimpered as Peter removed the machinery from his person, but otherwise seemed calm and still slightly lost in a submissive haze. He was in the perfect mental space for the home walk through.




Stiles was ushered from the car and into his house without a stitch of clothing on. The law around public nudity of omegas was muddy and complex, but they were seen frequently enough in the buff in transit. So long as there were no particularly private acts being performed, there was no scandal, though Stiles scurried into his house quickly nonetheless. Peter smirked and followed after him.


"Peter," John said, holding out his hand to shake.


Peter shook John’s hand as he entered. “John," he answered.


Stiles gave them a curious glance at their new level of informality but otherwise was already scanning the house for changes. Doctor Monroe came to the door from the kitchen, having already arrived.


"Alpha Peter," she said with a nod. "Stiles. Shall we begin?" she asked.


John held out his arm for the doctor to precede him, and she led the way up the stairs toward Stiles' room first.


Stiles followed the doctor, with John behind and Peter trailing at the end of the procession. When Stiles got within line of sight of his room, he froze.


"You took my door off," he said numbly. "Entirely."


"Stiles, we did talk about this," the doctor reminded him gently. "Do you remember what you told me about your sleeping preferences?" she prompted.


"Th-that I wanted the door open," he said haltingly. "But now it's gone, " he reiterated worriedly.


Peter pushed through to clasp Stiles on the back of his neck. "Take a breath," he reminded him, and Stiles took one long, slow breath. "It's just a door," Peter reminded him. "It's easier to have it removed than to constantly face the temptation of closing it," he pointed out, then steered Stiles through the open doorway of his room.


Right away, Peter saw Stiles' eyes alight on the bed. It had been stripped of blankets and the top sheet, but the fitted sheet was brand new and covered with images of the Death Star. Stiles grinned excitedly, some of his tension melting away. He looked back at his father to smile.


"Did I pick the right ones?" John asked with a sheepish smile of his own.


"They're awesome," Stiles confirmed.


"The restraints are the ones the facility recommended," John told him, and Stiles moved closer to reach out and touch the same set of restraints he'd used the night before, soft ankle and wrist restraints affixed to the corners of the bed.


"I like them," Stiles said simply.


"Let's take a moment to go over your wardrobe," Doctor Monroe suggested. She pulled aside a box that had already been filled with several items. She pulled out a stack of boxers first and set them on the bed. "We've already talked about the Alpha-style boxers you've been wearing," she reminded him.


Stiles nodded and swallowed nervously.


John moved over to the dresser and pulled open a drawer, then held up a bunched pile of briefs. "Already filled with some of the omega-style briefs," he said.


"Are you getting rid of those?" he asked nervously, nodding at the boxers.


"Do you think we should get rid of them?" the doctor prompted him.


"What if... what if I don't like the briefs?" Stiles hedged, not directly answering the question.


"Answer the doctor's question, darling," Peter reminded him softly, giving him a gentle squeeze to the back of his neck. "Do you think we should set aside the boxers for now?"


It took a moment for Stiles to find his voice, but finally he gave a jerky nod. "Y-yes, Alpha. W-we should get r-rid of them," he agreed nervously, but with resolve.


"Good boy," Peter said very quietly and rubbed Stiles' back.


Next, Doctor Monroe pulled out a stack of three sweatshirts.


Stiles immediately whipped his head to give Peter a distressed and somewhat demanding look. Peter quirked a challenging brow in response, and saw Stiles try to swallow his frustration.


"Your father tells me that you wear these quite often," Monroe said.


"What's wrong with wearing a sweatshirt?" Stiles asked defensively, and Peter gave him a warning squeeze.


"A sweatshirt is a perfectly suitable item of clothing for when it's cold out," Doctor Monroe said. "However, I'm worried about the appropriateness of your use. Do you wear them when it's warm out, Stiles?" she prompted.


Stiles twitched, seeming trapped.


"Darling," Peter said softly. "Do you wear the sweatshirts just to keep warm?"


"No, Alpha," he whispered, closing his eyes and turning away.


"Why do you wear them?" Peter prompted.


"To hide," Stiles admitted softly.


"To hide your body?" Peter asked for clarification. "Or to just feel like you're hiding from the world?"


"Both," Stiles admitted.


"We're still going to keep them," John told Stiles. "And if it's chilly out and you want to wear one, you just ask and I'll let you have one. But they're going to stay in my room for now."


Stiles nodded, seemingly at a loss for words and just holding himself together.


Doctor Monroe pulled one final stack from the clothes box. An assortment of flannel pants and sweatpants, and various specific t-shirts that Stiles could recognize as clothes he only wore as pyjamas. Peter knew that John had pulled them out of Stiles' wardrobe specifically.


"The pyjamas," Monroe announced. "We've talked about this a few times, along with our discussion on the blankets and the door."


Stiles nodded, finding his footing again. Perhaps the sweatshirts had been a surprise, but now that they were back on familiar ground the omega seemed to pull himself back together. "That's fine," he agreed.


"Let's try for a full sentence," Monroe coaxed.


"It's..." Stiles struggled a moment, flustered. "It's fine if we take the pyjamas away," he said.


"Is it just fine?"


"I want us to take the pyjamas away," he amended, cheeks flushing hotly.


"Good boy," Peter murmured, giving Stiles' shoulder a squeeze.


Doctor Monroe boxed the clothes back up and set the box aside once more, and Stiles' eyes tracked it.


"I got you something," John said a bit awkwardly, but moved to reach for something atop the dresser. He pulled out a brand new collar, the first Stiles would have willingly worn in years if he accepted it.


It was nylon and bright neon green, with a plastic clasp. A dog collar, and unmistakeable as anything else. It had been Peter's suggestion to go with such an obvious symbol. Stiles' words were all about his bitch identity, and time and again he circled back to his time with the studs.


Stiles' hands flew to his face and he sucked in an emotional breath. Peter heard him sniffle, and could see the start of tears in his eyes.


"Would you like me to put it on?" John asked, and Peter could see his eyes were a bit shiny as well.


Stiles nodded. "Yes, please," he said hoarsely. John moved to his son, and gently clasped the cheap nylon around his neck. There was no ceremony to it, and the material was nothing fancy, but Peter thought that the moment couldn't have been more poignant, or more perfect between them.


The moment passed, and John blushed as fiercely as Stiles often did as he grabbed a small but weighty box and handed it over. "There's probably something weird about your old man buying this for you," he said, "but Doctor Monroe said you might want one."


Stiles took the box and opened it up to peek inside. There was a medium sized, good quality glass plug nestled within. He blushed as well and shut the box again.


"You don't have to wear it right away," Peter told him, "but you'll remember we talked about the possibility."


Stiles nodded, and set the box on the table beside his bed for now.


"The computer," Doctor Monroe said next.


"What about it?" Stiles asked with some concern.


"I'd like to have your password, for starters," John said awkwardly. "Some sort of way to see what you've been up to."


"I'm not up to anything!" Stiles defended, and Peter could sense the rising panic in him.


"Stiles," John said, "You're a teenager. A minor. And you're my responsibility. I know that you're the one who's more skilled at this computer stuff, and honestly if you told me some bogus password I probably wouldn't even try it. I have no doubts you could set things up so that if I did check, I'd see whatever it was you wanted me to see. This isn't about invading your privacy," he explained in frustration.


Peter wanted to head that line of thought off immediately. He squeezed the back of Stiles' neck warningly. "With all due respect, this is exactly about privacy," he interjected. "And the fact that Stiles is not to have it."


Stiles was on the brink of a break down, and he glared a look of betrayal at all in the room.


"Alpha Stilinski," Doctor Monroe said, "Let's step out and take a little break." John looked like he wanted to say or do more, but he gave a curt nod and followed her out and back down the stairs, so that whatever she had to say to him or vice versa would be in relative privacy. Stiles was left standing alone in his doorless room with Peter.


"Kneel," Peter ordered. He let go of Stiles and sat himself on the nearby edge of Stiles' bed, and Stiles sunk down to kneel in Wait at Peter's feet, obviously still struggling to get his turbulent emotions under control. Admitting to what he wanted in the safe, distant space of the facility was one thing, Peter knew. Omegas almost always struggled on a home walk through day, where their problematic behaviours had become entrenched.


"What is it that you want to do on that computer that you think you need privacy?" Peter asked curiously.


"Nothing!" Stiles defended again. "I'm not... it's not... I'm not doing anything. It's just..." he struggled.


"What are you feeling right now?"


Peter could see Stiles struggle with his answer. He half expected Stiles to answer immediately, hotly, with anger, but Stiles surprised him by thinking over what he felt. And without the aggressive hormones flooding his system, it was more difficult to hide from the true root of his response.


"Scared," Stiles admitted quietly as he glared at the floor, clearly unhappy to be admitting to his weakness.


"What has you feeling scared?" Peter asked.


"I don't know," Stiles answered.


"Don't you?"


Stiles shrugged awkwardly, but Peter waited him out. "I just feel so... powerless," he said.


"Tell me something that makes you feel empowered," Peter prompted him. He could tell by Stiles' startled blink that that wasn't where he'd thought the conversation would head.


He was silent for a long while, and Peter wondered if Stiles could even remember with clarity a time when he'd last felt truly empowered. "My collar," Stiles said tentatively as he reached up to touch the new accessory. "My new collar might make me feel empowered. It's too early to say."


"What about your collar gives you that feeling?"


"It's letting everybody know who I am," Stiles said softly. "It makes me nervous, but I want it."


"Does having a password protected computer make you feel empowered?" Peter asked him.


Stiles shrugged again. "Not really," he admitted.


"I know that there are a lot of changes happening," Peter told him, "and it's a lot to take in. But let's try to break it down into smaller common themes. Can you name one of the general rules we're trying to establish?"


"No privacy," Stiles said, easily guessing where Peter was going.


"And do you understand the reason behind it?"


"So I stop hiding," Stiles said, though he still looked frustrated. Resistant.


"What are you hiding from?" Peter asked him gently.


Stiles closed his eyes and shook his head. So Peter urged him closer, pet his hair gently for a few moments in silence as Stiles gave in and laid his head in Peter's lap.


"I hate change," Stiles admitted quietly.


"All change?" Peter asked. Stiles nodded silently against his leg.


"I'll ask you again, darling," Peter said to him. "What is it you're hiding from?"


"Myself," Stiles answered.


"Let it go," Peter urged him gently. "You don't have to fight any more."


Stiles sighed deeply, and the tension left his shoulders as he was pet. They stayed like that a few more minutes, before Peter roused him.


"Come on," he said. "Let's go down and see what happened to Doctor Monroe and your father."


Stiles was calm when he rose. He preceded Peter down the stairs as Peter steered him with a gentle touch. When they entered the kitchen, John and Doctor Monroe were seated at the table, coffees in hand.


"How are you feeling, Stiles?" Doctor Monroe asked.


"Better," Stiles admitted. "Sorry," he said a bit sheepishly, eyes darting away.


"It's perfectly normal to feel a bit off balance when we make a big change," the doctor assured him. "Even if it's a good change."


Stiles nodded.


"We still have to talk about the computer," John said seriously. "But first I wanted to apologize to you."


Stiles' head whipped up, his mouth open to protest, but John forestalled him with a raised hand.


"I've never raised an omega," John said. "Hell you know that until you, I never lived with an omega. There's a lot that I've had to learn, and I know that some of the friction in this household is my fault. For not knowing what to do with you, what's best for you. So for my part in it, I want you to know I'm sorry."


"I've spent a lot of time talking to Doctor Monroe and other specialists through the years. I know you need boundaries, more boundaries than I would have imagined, and this thing with the computer is one of them. It's not because you did anything wrong, or even that I think you would. But we're going to set up some way for me to monitor your computer usage, if I ever want to have a look in."


"Okay," Stiles agreed readily, and Peter saw some tension ease from John's shoulders.


"Okay," John repeated, and the remaining tension left the room.


"Let's head back upstairs," Doctor Monroe suggested. "I believe we had just finished with the bedroom, and were on to the bathroom."


The company headed back up the stairs, and Stiles blinked in surprise at the missing bathroom door.


"The half-bath downstairs has a door if we have company," he explained. "But I don't think either of us need the privacy up here."


Stiles gave his father a speculative look. "You don't mind? You won't have the door either," he said.


"Stiles, when you were three I couldn't use the toilet in this house without you barging in on me," he said. "I'm pretty sure I'll survive it if you get the occasional glimpse of me in the shower, and if I need some private time on the can I'll go downstairs."


Before Stiles could comment on any of that, Doctor Monroe interrupted. "The question is do you mind, Stiles?" she asked. "The door is gone, and the shower curtain is clear now. Are you bothered by it?"


"Not really," Stiles answered, then blinked as if surprised by his own response. "I guess I've sort of gotten used to it at the facility already."


Peter smiled wryly and ruffled his hair. "I think you showed up on day one, practically begging to be put in your place," he said, and Stiles blushed but didn't deny it.


Doctor Monroe smiled slightly and opened one of the cabinet doors to reveal several items which provoked Stiles' embarrassment. "We've advised your father on the purchase of several personal care items," she said. "Firstly, the pump," she said, and lifted out a breast pump designed specifically for the flatter chest of male omegas. It was an old fashioned hand pump variety, but would do the job. Stiles looked ready to sink into the floor in mortification.


"As long as you're making daily trips to our facility, we'll be happy to assist," she told Stiles. "But of course, we'd like to set you up for school come fall, and you'll need some way of taking care of yourself. Next," she said, and lifted out a small enema kit, "We have an enema kit. I don't think I have to remind you that regular long term use of an enema can be dangerous to your internal health. That being said, it's perfectly normal for a young omega with a healthy libido to engage in regular rectal play, and as such you should be prepared with any personal hygiene items you might need."


"Oh god," Stiles muttered to himself.


"And of course," Doctor Monroe set on the counter an industrial sized pump bottle of lube. "You may make your own slick, but Alpha Peter tells me you're quite fond of your penile plug. We want to be sure that you're playing safe."


Stiles covered his face with both hands. "Oh god," he repeated again.


"It's perfectly normal for a boy your age to want to masturbate," John said matter-of-factly.


Peter snorted in amusement as Stiles turned a darker shade of red from what he could see behind the boy's hands.


"Any problems with the new bathroom setup?" Peter checked.


"No, Alpha," Stiles answered, muffled behind his hands.


"Let's get him back to the kitchen before he has a coronary," Peter suggested with an eye roll, and the party retreated back down the stairs.


Back in the kitchen, Stiles was made aware that the poptarts, Doritos, and a few other snacks would be staying, but that they were now in a locked cabinet and he would need special permission to have them. After so many other changes that morning, the food apparently seemed a minor thing now. Stiles remained calm and nodded through agreement and understanding of the new rules.


"It's time we get back and have your lunch," Peter said.


Stiles looked reluctant to leave his home, now that he was in it. Even with all his new discomforts, there was the appeal of a familiar space. He looked up at Peter with puppy dog eyes. "Can't we eat here?" he asked.


Peter landed a sharp swat on Stiles' ass where he stood. "Do we disagree with staff at the facility?" he asked warningly.


"No, Alpha," Stiles answered, lowering his eyes.


"Good. Go wait in the car," Peter directed, and finished up speaking with the doctor and the sheriff.




When Peter returned to the car, Stiles was subdued and silent in the passenger seat. He stared around outside the window, his hands folded neatly in his lap to cover his cocklette.


"Hands to your sides, please," Peter said as he started the car and pulled out of the drive. Stiles flushed but moved his hands to his thighs, exposing himself to Peter's gaze, but realistically not within view of anyone outside of the car. It was no doubt only the idea of it that made the omega flush.


"How are you feeling about the home walk through?" Peter asked.


"Good," Stiles answered, coming out of his mope. "I feel... calmer than I had expected."


"Tell me more about that," Peter prompted.


"It wasn't as bad as I expected," Stiles said. "I had a therapist maybe a year ago that tried to do a home walk through. She got as far as suggesting we take the lock off my bedroom door and I had a screaming fit," he admitted with an uncomfortable shrug. "Daddy didn't want to upset me. He caved. The therapist was pissed at him.…" he trailed off. "It wasn't like that this time."


"You were ready this time," Peter said.


"I guess so," Stiles said contemplatively. "And it wasn't a negotiation this time," he added. "That made it easier."


"You told me before you feel more secure when Alphas who care about you make the decisions for you."


"Yeah," Stiles confirmed.


They lapsed back into silence as Stiles contemplated the changes that were coming in his life. Peter kept half an eye on him as they drove. He saw Stiles' hand drift back into his lap after a moment, but this time Stiles only idly played with himself rather than hid, so Peter decided to let it go. Hopefully Stiles' good mood would continue through the rest of the day.




Stiles fucked himself between two dildos for the duration of lunch with lust filled grunts and obvious enthusiasm, much as he had the day before. By the time he was finished he was panting for breath, and covered in a light sheen of sweat. His thighs were shiny with slick and his eyes hazy with lust.


Peter ran his hand down Stiles’ trembling flank.


"Alpha," Stiles moaned plaintively.


"What is it, darling?" Peter asked silkily.


"P-please," Stiles begged.


"Please what?"


"Please play with my bitch hole, Alpha," Stiles begged prettily.


"I think you've had enough of that for now," Peter told him. Stiles whined pathetically as Peter began helping him out of the apparatus, leaving him empty and wanting. "We'll see if we can't fill you up later," Peter promised. "But for now, we're going to work for a bit on Willing Compliance."


"Yes, Alpha," Stiles agreed docily.


Peter led Stiles toward the kennel side of the building, but away from the breeding room and the kennels, and out into the sunlight. There was no way for anyone to actually see the naked omegas in the yard. The building on one side and the high fence all around ensured that, not to mention the high security that protected the perimeter. Nevertheless, the yard was wide and open grass, and had a very different feel to the enclosed courtyard they usually came to visit. Any omega would certainly feel exposed in all their naked glory in the wide open yard.


Peter handed Stiles a roll of plastic baggies that served only one purpose. "This is the dog yard," he explained. "And you are going to pick up any dog droppings you can find."


The yard was littered with dog faeces. Normally, the dogs were allowed to run the yard at will, and went wherever they saw fit. A clean-up was done only once every week or so, when the staff made time for it, and usually only with the long plastic tools more often used to clean zoos rather than the unpleasant experience of picking up each stool by hand in an inverted plastic bag. Though, Peter knew that the practice wasn't really unsanitary, being the most common method of clean-up, and the experience certainly wouldn't kill Stiles. It was a common chore the facility used to ensure willing compliance.


Stiles wrinkled his nose a bit, but sighed and tried to let his distaste go. "Yes, Alpha," he said obediently, and with much more willingness than the day before he began to work on his task.


Peter kept an eye on the time as Stiles worked his way across the yard, gingerly stepping around dog faeces and collecting it in his baggies. It wouldn't do to have the boy out in the sun too long with his pale skin. But there was time for now, and Peter could see that it was doing Stiles a world of good. The longer the omega worked, the more tension dropped from his shoulders as he focused on his task, letting go of whatever baggage or resistance he might have had about doing such unpleasant work. Stiles' compliance became only more willing as time ticked on.


When Stiles had a good collection and was dripping with sweat from the heat of the day, Peter called him back to the door. "Come," he said, and Stiles made his way over to dump the faeces in the garbage and put the roll of baggies back in the cabinet on the outside wall.


"Take a drink," Peter directed him, pointing to the dog bowl of water by the door. "Then we're going to Processing for a quick shower."


The bowl Stiles used in the courtyard may have been exclusive to omegas or shared by dogs. It was ambiguous. But the bowl right at the dogs' yard was quite obviously used primarily for the animals. Whether the water was entirely clean or not was unknown. Stiles dropped to his knees and swallowed nervously, casting one last glance at Peter, then dipped his head to drink from the bowl as directed.


Peter warmed when he saw Stiles drink enough to slake his thirst, not simply a minimal amount to comply. "Good bitch," Peter praised him as he pat Stiles on his raised ass.


Stiles rose when he was finished, and followed Peter's guiding hand as usual as they made their way to Processing. There, Peter and Derek talked while Stiles gave himself a quick wash in one of the open showers, observed at all times.


Stiles was careful as he dried himself between his legs. "Any pain?" Peter checked.


"No, Alpha. The stitches are a bit tender if I touch there, but it almost never even aches any more."


"Good," Peter told him. "We want you feeling comfortable in your body and pain free. How is it to wash your neuter?"


True to his nature, Stiles blushed at the overly blunt language. "Strange," he answered.


"Complete sentences, please," Peter prompted him.


"It feels strange when I wash my neuter."


"Does it feel physically strange?" Peter asked him. "Or more emotionally strange?"


"Both," Stiles said, then paused. "More emotionally, I think. I'm not used to it."


"How does your neuter feel when you wash it?" Peter turned the question around.


Stiles took a moment to answer. "Good, Alpha," he admitted. "My neuter feels good when I wash it."


"Good boy," Peter praised him. By then, they'd arrived at Stiles' new room. Peter turned on the lights and opened the door, holding out his arm to indicate Stiles should seat himself on the bed.


Peter handed Stiles a pad of paper and a pen that he'd gathered in Processing and taken along. Then he took a seat in one of the chairs along the wall and pulled out his tablet to occupy himself for the next exercise. "We're going to do a new exercise today," Peter explained. "Have you ever worked on affirmations?" Peter asked.


"Like what we do with Doctor Monroe?" Stiles asked him.


"Similar," Peter said. "We're going to work on more formalized lists of sentences."


"I think I did that once," Stiles said hesitantly. "Like two years ago. The therapist spent almost an hour trying to get me to admit I liked having my hole filled," he recalled with both a smile and a wince.


"Did they succeed?" Peter asked. He was fairly certain he knew of the incident from Stiles' file.


Stiles shook his head in the negative. "I tried to deck him and we took a break for the day."


"Let's see if we can't have a more productive experience, shall we?" Peter suggested.


"Yes, Alpha," Stiles agreed readily, sobering to focus on his task.


"I want you first to write me ten sentences that begin with the words ' I enjoy' , and list for me ten things that you enjoy sexually. Take as long as you need."


"Yes, Alpha," Stiles said obediently as he took the pad and pen and curled up against the wall, back propped on his pillow. He was silent for a while as he thought, but Peter soon heard and saw the scratching of pen on paper as Stiles worked.


It took a long time, with longer pauses as Stiles worked and the easiest sentences had already been written. But eventually, Stiles set his pen aside. "I'm finished, Alpha," he said.


"Good boy," Peter praised, and set his tablet aside to give Stiles his undivided attention. Stiles squirmed slightly in place. "Please read your list aloud."


Stiles looked down at his paper and swallowed, eyes flicking between the list and Peter anxiously.


"I enjoy," he began with a shaky voice, "having my bitch hole filled."


Stiles paused and looked up at Peter with a blush.


"Continue," Peter said, folding his hands in his lap and listening attentively.


"I enjoy having my useless cocklette hurt," he said quaveringly. "I enjoy having my bitch tits milked. I enjoy it when the studs breed my bitch hole. I enjoy having my useless cocklette filled. I enjoy touching my neuter. I enjoy being throat fucked. I enjoy having my cervix touched. I enjoy sexual pain. I enjoy being restrained during sexual acts."


"Good boy," Peter praised, and saw Stiles' eyes light up slightly at the praise . " Now, p lease rewrite your ten sentences, but replace the phrase ' I enjoy ' with the phrase ' I want' ," Peter instructed. Then he picked up his tablet and turned his attention to it to let Stiles get back to his task.


It took only a short time for Stiles to copy and rephrase his list.


"I'm finished, Alpha."


"Please read them aloud," Peter instructed again, giving Stiles his full attention.


"I want to have my bitch hole filled," Stiles began a bit more easily than before, now that he was familiar with the exercise expected of him. "I want to have my useless cocklette hurt. I want to have my bitch tits milked. I want the studs to breed my bitch hole. I want to have my useless cocklette filled. I want to touch my neuter. I want to have my throat fucked. I want to have my cervix touched. I want pain during sexual acts. I want to be restrained during sexual acts," he recited.


"That's perfect, thank you," Peter said. "Let's try one more round of sentences . This time in the form of ' Alpha, will you please'," Peter instructed.


"Yes, Alpha," Stiles said, and quietly began to rewrite his list once more.


When Stiles had finished his writing and looked up, Peter asked, "Finished?"


Stiles nodded. "Yes, Alpha."


"Go ahead," Peter said, listening once again for the recitation.


Stiles flushed and curled into himself slightly with embarrassment as he read out the final modification of his sentences.


"Alpha, will you please fill my bitch hole?" Stiles asked quietly, and then peeked up at Peter to see whether he would immediately respond.


"Continue," Peter directed.


"Alpha, will you please hurt my useless cocklette?" he asked next. "Alpha, will you please milk my bitch tits? Alpha, will you please let the studs breed my bitch hole? Alpha, will you please fill my useless cocklette? Alpha, will you please touch my neuter? Alpha, will you please fuck my throat? Alpha, will you please touch my cervix? Alpha, will you please hurt me during sexual acts? Alpha, will you please restrain me during sexual acts?"


By the end of his recitation, Stiles was bright red.


"Good boy," Peter praised him, and watched Stiles squirm. "And to answer your questions, I would certainly to be happy to accommodate many, if not all of those things. Although I think that it might be Rocko who fucks your throat," Peter added with a smirk.


"Yes, Alpha," Stiles answered, voice husky with the promise of fulfilment of his desires. "Thank you, Alpha."


"Bring your list," Peter said, standing. "Leave the pad and pen." Stiles tore out his list and followed after Peter as he led the way down the hall toward the courtyard. There, he met one of the staff he'd texted ahead to, who handed him a small plastic container. Peter led Stiles out to their usual bench in the late afternoon sun.


"Kneel in Wait," Peter instructed, and Stiles sunk down to his knees at Peter's feet.


Peter pulled the top off the little plastic cup t reveal a small cup of vanilla ice cream. "Because you've been such a good bitch," Peter said, "you get to have a treat."


Stiles' eyes lit up. Not once during his stay in the facility had he had a sweet treat of any sort.


"We're going to go over your affirmations," Peter said, "Using your ' I enjoy ' list. After each affirmation, you may have some ice cream."


"Yes, Alpha. Thank you, Alpha," Stiles agreed eagerly.


"First sentence, please," Peter prompted.


"I enjoy having my bitch hole filled," Stiles read off, then looked up to Peter expectantly.


Peter scooped some of the ice cream out with his first two fingers, and held them out for Stiles. Stiles leaned forward and sucked the dessert and fingers into his mouth, moaning softly as the sweet treat hit his tongue. Peter gently fucked his fingers into Stiles' mouth as Stiles sucked and swallowed. He pet Stiles' tongue suggestively as Stiles licked his digits clean. Stiles' eyes were bright with arousal when Peter pulled away.


"Next sentence," Peter prompted.


Stiles blinked dumbly for a second, then looked back down to his paper. "I enjoy having my useless cocklette hurt," he recited, and was awarded with another scoop of ice cream on Peter's fingers.


By the time he had finished with his ten sentences, Stiles had finished the small cup of ice cream, and was smiling and relaxed, more interested in fellating Peter's hand and tasting his treat than he was fixated on what he'd been asked to say.


"Good boy," Peter said as Stiles finished licking him clean. "Give me your list," he said, and took it to fold into his pocket. Then he went to rinse his sticky hand off at the hose and threw the plastic cup away. "Your father should be here to visit soon," Peter told Stiles as Stiles drank from the newly filled bowl on the ground. "Let's get you back to your room."


"Alpha, I need to use the bathroom," Stiles said as he rose to follow.


Peter paused at the door. "One or two?" he asked.


"One," Stiles said with a faint blush.


"You can go in the yard," Peter told him, and nodded out to the grassy section of the courtyard.


Stiles looked at him a moment, then hesitantly, uncertainly took a step in that direction.


"Hands and knees," Peter told him. "I think you know how a good bitch pees."


Stiles stumbled at the directive and seemed to flush more deeply, but he slowly, deliberately lowered himself down to all fours and crawled the rest of the distance onto the grass. He seemed to debate the best way to do it. First he spread his knees, to keep from peeing on himself. Then he lowered his hips into more of a wide squat. Just like a bitch. Peter watched as Stiles closed his eyes and concentrated, then pissed right there on the grass.


Stiles shifted his knees to an even wider stance partway through, to keep himself from the spreading puddle. Then he started his stream again, face awash in mortification but body sagging with physical relief. He let himself drip for just a moment rather than shaking his little cocklette off with a hand, then crawled back to Peter.


"Good bitch," Peter praised and gave Stiles' head a pet. Stiles eyes glazed with the arousal still singing in his blood, and he butted his hand into the affectionate touch.


"Stand to follow," Peter instructed him, then guided Stiles back to his room for his visit.




Stiles sat cross-legged on his bed, exposed and uncaring, while his father sat in one of the chairs against the wall. Stiles was at ease and in good spirits after a good day. The room was small, and with no adjoining room Peter couldn't help but intrude, but he kept to himself in the other empty chair and worked as usual on filing various reports and reading his tablet.


Peter was pleased when he heard Stiles broach the subject of his home computer all on his own, and saw that Stiles even went so far as to write down a list of his passwords on his notepad that hadn't been put away yet, and gave it to his father. He promised that when he was home again he'd research some of the various monitoring software that they could install to allow John to easily keep an eye on his online activities.


Perhaps because of their morning visit, Stiles didn't even seem too upset when it was time for John to leave.


Shortly thereafter, supper was delivered as per the night before. A simple broth with a roll, water and meds. Then it was time for a bathroom trip to brush teeth. Stiles managed his first ever defecation with Peter watching and no enema assistance, and seemed only to be mildly mortified.


Then back to the room, into the restraints, and to bed. Peter doused the lights.


Chapter Text

"Good morning, omega," Peter said brightly as he turned on the lights. Stiles blinked up at him against the light and stretched in his restraints.


"Good morning, Alpha," Stiles answered.


Peter sat on the edge of the bed and pet Stiles between his splayed legs, stroking his soft cock and neuter. Stiles let out a breathy sigh at the touch. "Feeling sleepy?" Peter asked.


"Yes, Alpha," Stiles answered a bit breathlessly.


Peter smirked and stroked just a little longer, before pulling away to release Stiles from his restraints. Then he led Stiles to the bathroom as usual for using the toilet and brushing his teeth. They had a morning routine down. Next stop, the exam room, where Stiles was milked and reduced to an exhausted, panting mess. Then breakfast. Plain oatmeal with water and his meds.


"Come along, darling," Peter urged him after he'd finished eating. "Rocko's not going to milk himself."


"Really?" Stiles asked, eyes lighting up.


Peter nodded. "He needs to let off some steam. Your bitch mouth will do. You remember how to milk his knot, don't you?"


"Yes, Alpha," Stiles agreed excitedly, trailing after Peter down the hall.


As before, Stiles was restrained into the special cage with the mounting shelf over his shoulders, and his rear inaccessible to the dog. The ring gag went into Stiles' eager mouth easily as he waited for his time with the stud.


Peter watched Rocko dart out of the door as soon as it was opened and make a beeline for Stiles. He knew what the breeding bench meant: a bitch to mount, and he wasted no time. Stiles choked a bit at the force with which Rock took his throat, but of course there was no way to pull back, and in any case Stiles wouldn't want to. In spite of the tears, snot, and drool running down Stiles' face, he looked blissful, and at peace. As soon as the knot started to swell, Peter saw Stiles' hand come up to work it dutifully, milking the dog into his mouth with firm squeezes and pulls.


Without the knot to tie him, Rocko never stuck around to long to breed. Once he'd decided he'd come enough, he jumped back down, still dripping, and gave Stiles' cummy face a lick. Then Rocko as before fixated on licking the cum directly out of Stiles' open mouth. Stiles choked a bit at the taste and invasion of it, but there was nothing he could do as Peter waited for the dog to leave satisfied.


Only when Rocko was shut back away, still dripping across the floor, did Peter come to unrestrain Stiles. Very lastly he removed the gag and helped Stiles to work his sore jaw. "Feel good, darling?" he asked.


"Yes, Alpha," Stiles answered hoarsely.


"Let's go get you cleaned up a bit," Peter said, and Stiles followed a bit dazedly after. But instead of heading to Processing, Peter led the way out to the courtyard and to the hose.


"All fours, pup," he told Stiles, and Stiles sunk down to his hands and knees with a blush. Then Peter proceeded to rinse down Stiles' messy mouth and throat, as well as his slick coated hole that had wet with his arousal. The hose left Stiles dripping inelegantly in the sun.


"Have a drink," Peter told him as he put the hose back near the dog bowl. "Then go potty in the grass, and then you can walk upright to enjoy the garden, or come kneel until you dry."


"Yes, Alpha," Stiles said, then bent to lap water out of the bowl, before crawling off to the patch of grass he'd been made to pee in the previous day. He was more skilled at it the second time around, and didn't hesitate. Only afterwards did Stiles rise up on two legs again and wandered the garden for a while as he dried in the sun.


After a few minutes, Stiles came to kneel in Wait.


"You've had three heats so far," Peter commented as he browsed his tablet. As an omega, Stiles would have a good week long sexual frenzy once a year when his body urged him to breed. He'd started at thirteen, and had had three so far.


"Yes, Alpha," Stiles answered.


"Your next, according to your file, shouldn't come until December."


"Yes, Alpha," Stiles agreed, looking at him curiously. Perhaps wondering why they were discussing it in the middle of the summer.


"Are you worried about it?"


Stiles shrugged. "It's not pleasant, but I'll live."


"It's not supposed to be a chore, darling," Peter told him. "It says in your file that you were taken to a Heat Centre, and on all three occasions you fought the use of restraints and the fucking machine."


"I don't remember," Stiles said quietly. "It's all kind of a blur."


"Understandable. Many omegas don't retain clear memories of their heats, especially in their earlier years. You're doused in a hormonal cocktail at the time. But regardless of whether you remember the details, you told me just now that you remember them being unpleasant."


"Yes, Alpha," Stiles agreed, nodding. He had a far-away look in his eyes, perhaps as he tried to remember.


"We think that your heat should go a lot more easily now that you're castrated," Peter reassured him. "You'll be much less likely to fight the process. But just to be extra sure, in the future we'll be doing a few test runs with the fucking machine for most of a day. My understanding is that other than the heats you hadn't been properly bred until coming to our facility. Is that right?"


"Yes, Alpha."


"And you've declined toys when offered. That's something we'll have to address in the future as well. A young, healthy omega should have a variety of penetrative toys."


Stiles blushed. "Yes, Alpha."


"Do you remember number one on your list yesterday?" Peter prompted him.


"I like having my bitch hole filled," Stiles recalled, looking slightly embarrassed, but sincere.


"We'll go out to the store together to pick something out," Peter told him. "But we'll do that later, when you're healed enough to try out your new toy right away. The same with the fucking machine. That will come when you're well healed and well rested, for a trial that long outside of a heat."


"Can't I spend my heat here?" Stiles asked hesitantly.


Peter gave him a smile and combed his fingers through Stiles' hair. "I'm pleased to know you feel comfortable enough here to want to," he said, "But we simply don't have the sort of accommodations a Heat Centre does."


"But you said you have the fucking machine," Stiles argued, eyes pleading. "And there are the studs."


Peter snorted. "I've no doubt you'd spread your legs for our studs for the duration," he said, "but there's no way our few dogs could keep up with an omega in a week long heat cycle. But the main difference between here and a heat centre is the staff. Have you noticed anything about our staff here?" Peter prompted.


Stiles thought quietly but shook his head uncertainty.


"We only hire Alphas on our staff," he explained. "The pheromone signature becomes imperative in difficult cases. A Heat Centre, on the other hand, only hires omegas."


"I didn't realize," Stiles said contemplatively.


"None of us can take suppressants," Peter told him. "It would interfere with the pheromonal signature. And we can't risk our patients triggering a rut in the staff. We'll take a break with you a few weeks before your heat, and start up again once it's over."


"Will I be coming here that long?" Stiles asked.


"As things are arranged now, yes. Once school starts up again, your father has arranged to have you here every Saturday that won't interfere with your lacrosse or other engagements, and the occasional Sunday to make up for missed days."


Stiles seemed contemplative as he took the new information in.


"How do you feel about coming here regularly for the next year or so?" Peter asked him.


"Good," Stiles admitted. Some of the tension seemed to leave him. "It's reassuring somehow. That I don't have to fix everything before school starts. That I'll still have this place to come and just... be myself."


"We'll be here for you," Peter agreed. "At least for the foreseeable future. You've shown tremendous personal growth in just a few short days, but the baggage you've developed over the last three years at least will take a while to fully unpack and surmount. At the very least though, we want to get you in a good mental space this summer and prepare you for the coming school year."


They sat there in comfortable silence for a while longer, and then it was time to get going to Stiles' next activity for the day.


"Have one more drink" Peter told him. "Then we're going inside to practice some more Willing Compliance before lunch."


"Yes, Alpha," Stiles agreed, and went over to the water bowl to crouch on all fours one last time, drinking his fill. Then he followed Peter back into the building and down the halls.


They came to an empty, dirty kitchen. The staff had been notified to leave all of the cleaning for one of the omegas later in the morning, and now Stiles stared down a variety of dirty items. Dishes from breakfasts eaten by Alphas and omegas alike. Dirty dog bowls. Tubing and receptacles from two different milking machines. Stiles flushed when he looked at it , perhaps wondering whether some of that milking apparatus had been used on him just that morning.


"You're going to clean all of the dishes," Peter informed him. "By hand. Leave the dishwasher alone. You'll find all the supplies you need at the sink. Your records show you've had difficulty in completing various domestic chores through the years, cleaning dishes and dirty laundry being two of the most common listed. So we're going to work on that, until it's something you love."


"Yes, Alpha," Stiles answered, clearly not enthusiastic about the pile of dirty work before him, but not glaring either at least.


Stiles moved to the sink and began filling it with soapy water, and organized some of the mess as the water ran. Peter made himself comfortable in a far corner of the room, superficially occupied with his tablet as usual.


Stiles worked his way silently through the dishes, and eventually came to some of the milking materials. "What do you guys do with the omega milk anyway?" Stiles asked curiously.


"I ought to have gagged you," Peter commented idly, not looking up from his tablet. "Your task is to clean, not talk."


"Yes, Alpha," Stiles answered and went back to cleaning silently.


"But to answer your question, some of it goes to the dogs. There are a few of them that like it and get it as a treat. Some of it goes into the nutritive solutions we feed the omegas."


Stiles seemed to freeze at that, going still for a moment before he resumed his work. From behind, Peter couldn't see what reaction might have shown on his face.


"It's perfectly healthy," Peter told him. "Had you never tasted omega milk before you tasted yourself in the sensory dep. room?"


"No, Alpha," Stiles answered.


"I suppose it is rather a luxury item," Peter mused aloud. "Although once you begin milking yourself, your home will have some to hand regularly. Your father might enjoy the availability of it."


Again Stiles flinched as he worked.


"After all, your bitch tits are meant to feed," Peter told him. "Surely you weren't planning on wasting it."


"I hadn't thought about it," Stiles answered quietly.


"Of course, you could always drink it yourself," Peter continued. "You seemed to like it well enough when you tasted it before. And perhaps one of these days we'll let you feed Pepper. He's our Malamute, you'll remember from when I showed you the pictures? Not our biggest dog, but a forever puppy. He's three years old and he'll still latch to a teat, if he's allowed to. Mothers will start weaning their puppies at three weeks, but Pepper never had to truly wean as he was exposed to lactating omegas at a young age. He never really lost the taste for it or the habit of it as a result. Of course Pepper really works over a bitch teat until it's sore, what with how big he is, but I somehow don't think you'd mind."


Stiles faltered and kept washing.


"Tell me, Stiles, since we've already forgone a gag, what is it that gets you so wound up about domestic work?"


Stiles shrugged uncomfortably. "It's fine," he hedged.


"But it hasn't always been fine."


"No, Alpha."


"I find it curious that it isn't all domestic work, either," Peter speculated. "Refusal to clean but not to cook? I find that very interesting. Only you have refused to cook in your Omega Studies class. Care to explain that?"


"No thank you, Alpha," Stiles said as he hunched his shoulders slightly focusing on his work and clearly hoping to escape the conversation.


"You seemed to have a lot of conflicts in your Omega Studies class," Peter said casually. "Do you have a problem with Omega Studies?"


Stiles' tension was palpable, but he seemed to struggle with what to say. "It's just... not all omegas want to stay at home and keep house," he said frustratedly.


"No, not all omegas do want that, though hormones and instincts have been shown to go a long way toward encouraging it," Peter said evenly. "The question is do you want to stay at home and keep house?"


"No, Alpha," Stiles said tensely.


"Are you sure about that?"


Stiles defensively hunched over the sink even further, if it were possible.


"How does it make you feel to stay home and do all the dirty dishes yourself?" Peter asked him.


"Like... like someone's bitch," Stiles answered reluctantly.


"Is that what's going to happen once you leave here?" Peter asked. "You'll be naked, collared and plugged, home alone, doing the dishes like a house bitch."


"Stop," Stiles pleaded with him. All progress on the dishes had halted.


"Stop because it angers you to think about it?" Peter asked. "Or because you want it?"


"Because I want it," Stiles answered in a tense whisper. "But it's not all I want," he said quietly.


"It doesn't have to be all you have, darling," Peter said gently. "You can be someone's bitch sometimes, and it doesn't have to take anything away from other goals you might have."


Stiles didn't respond, but Peter was sure he heard a soft sniffle as the omega resumed his work. He let Stiles alone for a little while to compose himself.


"There aren't that many omegas out there," Peter commented. "There can't have been many students in your Omega Studies classes."


"There weren't," Stiles confirmed. "The Alpha classes are divided normally, but there are so few omegas they had to pool multiple grades together. There's a boy a grade ahead of me I think. Two girls younger than me. And a distance learning class we hook up with another school over video camera. I think they had like five kids?"


"Did you never learn anyone's name? Try to talk to the other omegas?" Peter asked him.


Stiles shrugged. "Didn't want to," he said.


"You might feel better if you got to know some of them," Peter suggested. "See what some other actual omegas are like. You might have more in common with them than you think. Or is that what you're afraid of?"


Stiles shrugged again. "I don't know," he said tiredly.


"From your little speech just now about all an omega might want, or is capable of, I'm surprised to hear you're so prejudiced toward other omegas," Peter said casually.


Stiles looked sharply across the room at Peter. He glared and clenched his jaw, then carefully went back to his work, not saying a word.


"And as much as you've resisted your lessons," Peter went on, "you've clearly gained something from the class. Your postures are faultless," he told Stiles. After all, Stiles most likely had first learned his Wait and Present in Omega Studies.


Stiles silently fumed for a moment, then he shifted the tension from his shoulders as best he could. "Thank you, Alpha," he said softly.


"Did you perfect those postures only during class time?" Peter asked curiously.


"They’re not very difficult postures," Stiles hedged.


"No, not particularly," Peter conceded. "Though you fall into them with a natural grace born of practice. This is my job. I've seen a lot of omegas kneel." Peter very much doubted the in-class exercises accounted for Stiles' comfort in his postures, though he recalled that it had been ages since Stiles had knelt for his father so he had to wonder when Stiles was getting his practice.


Stiles didn't respond for a moment. When he did, he spoke softly. "I used to practice them alone. In my room."


"Not for any sort of grade, certainly," Peter pointed out. Just knowing the postures in the most basic way would pass Stiles in any Omega Studies course, if they even bothered to quiz the students on it.


"It made me feel better," Stiles admitted. "Not much, but a little. I didn't do it often. But I guess it added up," he shrugged uncomfortably.


"That's why we teach the postures to young omegas," Peter pointed out.


"I know," Stiles agreed a bit defensively.


"They aren't special in and of themselves. There are other submissive or vulnerable postures in different places, cultures, times of history," Peter went on.


"I know."


"You don't need to feel embarrassed for kneeling, Stiles," Peter said compassionately. "The postures are there for a reason, to fulfil a need. You shouldn't feel any more embarrassed about kneeling than you do about eating or using the bathroom."


"Yes, Alpha," Stiles answered a bit stiltedly.


Peter let it go for now. "If you’re a good boy, I'll have you kneel for me later," he said. "But as for now, I have to say that your compliance isn't particularly willing."


Stiles winced. "I'm trying, Alpha."


"Trying what, exactly?"


"To wash dishes?" Stiles asked with a bit of confusion. "To not show attitude," he tried.


"You have to want it, darling," Peter told him. "You might never enjoy washing dishes. I don't really know, or care, though I would suggest that you reassess your feelings toward a variety of domestic chores. But when we practice our Willing Compliance, you have to want it because I asked it of you. You’re learning to want to comply."


Stiles took a deep breath and released it. "I want to comply, Alpha."


"Do you?" Peter asked skeptically.


"Yes, Alpha."




Stiles stuttered in his motions. "Wh... what do you mean?" he asked uncertainly.


"Why do you want to comply? Is it so that I'll like you? I'll admit that I like you well enough either way. It can't be to avoid punishment, at least not at the facility. You won't ever be punished here. There are lessons, sometimes difficult lessons, but no punishments. Why try to comply?"


"Because," Stiles protested. "I just... I want to."


"But why?" Peter pressed. "You didn't want to before. Your history shows a young man who would prefer to fight."


"I don't want to fight any more," Stiles said. "Not about this. Not when there's no reason for it. I'm just... I'm tired. I'm tired of fighting. I want to comply, Alpha."


It would do. Peter let the silence hang for a moment as Stiles finished washing the last few items. "Finish up, darling," Peter said gently. "It's about time for your lunch."


Stiles set the last item aside and dried his hands. Really there hadn't been that much to do. As much of an ordeal their argument may have made it seem, the dishes hadn't taken that much time out of Stiles' day.


Stiles seemed almost relieved to have the Willing Compliance task over with as he sank down to his hands and knees to work himself on two dildos for his lunch. It was a simpler space when the task was explicitly sexual, Peter knew, and Stiles didn't have to think.




"Alpha," Stiles moaned desperately once he'd finished his lunch. He fucked himself back onto the dildo in his ass again, arching his back as much as he could to try and hit that perfect angle. The toy wasn't positioned for that though, nor was it overly thick. It was long and slender, and unlikely to give Stiles the relief he craved.


"Yes, darling?" Peter asked with a smile.


"Please," Stiles begged ambiguously.


"Please what?" Peter asked as he began to release Stiles from his bonds and the intruding toys.


"Please fuck me, Alpha," Stiles begged lustily.


Peter paused. That was certainly a first time for that particular request.


"You want someone to fuck you?" Peter asked him as he pulled the toy away.


Stiles whined at the loss. "Yes, Alpha," he confirmed. "Breed my bitch hole. Please?"


Peter fucked three of his fingers in and out of the slick hole as Stiles rocked back to meet him with a breathy sigh. "I think that we might want to let the studs breed you rather than me," he said with some amusement. "Or perhaps see Deucalion for a particularly satisfying toy. But we don't want to do anything too strenuous just yet, sweetheart. You're still healing."


Stiles let out a plaintive whine. "Please, Alpha. I'm so empty," he said pathetically.


"Not today, darling," Peter told him and removed his hands. "But how about this. Let's go get you cleaned up a bit in the bathroom, have a toilet break. Then we'll get you dressed and take a little field trip to pick out that toy we talked about earlier."


Stiles took a deep breath and released it as he fought through the haze of arousal. "Yes, Alpha," he agreed. “Please.”


"Good boy," Peter praised him. Then he led the way as Stiles followed him on unsteady feet.




Stiles eyed the clothes that had been laid out for him.


"Your father had them sent," Peter explained. "Put in your plug and get dressed."


Stiles picked up the glass plug first. He clearly hadn't been totally on board with it yet, but Peter hadn't asked, he had ordered. Peter watched as Stiles leant over slightly, braced against the wall, and inserted one finger, then two into his hole, stretching himself in preparation. It didn't take long. He pressed the glass plug in and it easily sunk into the slick omega hole. Gingerly, he straightened.


"Comfortable?" Peter checked.


"Yes, Alpha," Stiles confirmed, rinsing his hands at the mini sink against the wall.


Next, Stiles eyed up the pair of the omega style briefs on the top of his clothes pile. Peter knew that he hadn't worn said style since before puberty had hit, and certainly hadn't worn them since his surgery. The bright neon colours were on trend lately. This particular pair were blue with yellow edging. Stiles slipped them on, and they pressed flush to his small cock and against his flat neuter. Then he let out the breath he'd been holding.


"How are they?" Peter asked.


"Good," Stiles confirmed. "More comfortable than I remembered." He flattened his fingers over his neuter and rubbed gently through the fabric. "Maybe they're more comfortable after castration," he mused.


"What matters is that you're comfortable now. Now get dressed," Peter reminded him. "Unless you're not actually eager to buy a new toy for your greedy hole?" He quirked a brow.


Stiles blushed but hurried through the rest of his clothing. Jeans. Band t-shirt. Socks. Shoes. Stiles flattened his shirt against his chest and looked down at himself, not having a mirror to check. He frowned worriedly.


"Problem?" Peter prompted.


"Can you see my nipples through this?" Stiles asked, biting his lip.


Peter rolled his eyes. "Stiles, I can see prominent nipples through the shirts of 95% of all women and male omegas. They're a part of your body. No one else is going to care, certainly, and you've only ever made yourself anxious trying to hide that you're an omega."


"Yeah I know, I just..." Stiles let out a frustrated huff and closed his eyes briefly to take a long breath. His hands twitched at his sides, no doubt craving long sleeves to hide behind and clutch in his palms. He nodded. "You're right, Alpha. It's fine. I'm fine."


"You're fine," Peter agreed, and gave Stiles' shoulder a little squeeze. Then he guided him out the door and to his car.




Stiles kept fidgeting as they pulled into the parking lot of the local sex toy shop.


"Have you ever been here before? Or to another shop?" Peter asked him.


"I was here once when I was thirteen, I think. It was a while after I presented, but not too long. My dad brought me." He blushed. "He said something about young omegas and alphas alike having needs and tried to get me to pick something out but..." Stiles lifted one shoulder in an uncomfortable shrug. "I wasn't really interested, so he said he'd wait until I was ready. He brought it up a few times since then but I didn't want anything."


"There's no need to be nervous," Peter assured him. "You have only four more days at most until any remaining stitches are pulled and you'll be released with a full bill of health. Today we'll pick out something for you to enjoy and celebrate with. Something to look forward to."


"Yes, Alpha."


"Let me hear your words, darling," Peter coaxed him. "Do you want to be here?"


"Yes, Alpha," Stiles confirmed. "I want to be here."


"And what is it you'd like to do?"


"Pick out a toy, Alpha," he said with a blush. "To celebrate my healed neuter."


"How do you want your new toy to make you feel?"


"I want to enjoy my new toy. In my..." Stiles stumbled and blushed furiously. "In my bitch hole. I want to play with my bitch hole."


"Good boy," Peter praised him with a smile and a ruffle of his hair. Then he proceeded out of the car, and directed Stiles into the store.




Peter watched Stiles' wide-eyed stare. There was a lot to look at in a place like this. They were a biologically driven species, and when young alphas and omegas came into their presentations at puberty, a well stocked sex shop was a necessity. Of course, most people would continue to frequent the shops all their lives, using and enjoying a variety of toys over time. But for the adolescents, a toy shop was almost medically necessary in order to manage their hormones and the new demands their bodies made of them. The fact that Stiles had held out until now was tragic. Young alphas and omegas were driven to ruts and heats and a compulsion to thoroughly explore their budding bodies.


While the store wasn't strictly designated into alpha and omega sections, it fell into roughly two halves anyway. The alphas would need masturbators that fit their massive cocks and knots. They were less inclined toward anal play or masochism. The omegas tended to often ignore their tiny cocks entirely in their solo play. They had a higher percentage of masochists and most importantly, wanted large insertables, often with a faux knot.


Peter gently placed a hand on Stiles' lower back and directed the wide-eyed youth toward the wall of dildos. They were arrayed in every length and girth, with a variety of materials and colours. Some were rigid and others pliable, some inflated, with knots and without, vibrating or minimalistic.


"What catches your eye? Do you see something you think you'd like?" Peter asked gently.


Stiles looked a bit shell shocked, but he scanned over the wall of toys when prompted. Hesitantly, he pointed out one of the toys around eye level, near him. Not vibrating, no knot, a rubberized material in purple. It was no bigger around than the plug he currently wore, and only about six inches in length.


"Hmm," Peter hummed as he pulled it off the wall and read the materials and specs for it. "It's not a bad first toy," Peter assured him. "We'll certainly take it with us to try. But I think based on your tastes so far, you might also like something a bit more substantial."


"Uhm..." Stiles said, eyes flicking to the larger toys nervously. Peter guided him further down the wall toward where the heavier duty insertables lay.


"Which one of these do you think would fill you right up?" Peter asked him.


"Uh... I don't... I've never..." Stiles answered stutteringly. He cast a mortified look around them but didn't see anyone to overhear. In fact, they seemed to be the only ones in the store on a weekday afternoon, and the clerk was behind the cashier table engrossed in their own world.


"You might have never properly played with yourself," Peter told him, "but you've certainly had a number of things in that bitch hole of yours over the last few days. You've got your options here from the smallest stud cock you've taken," he pointed out one size, "all the way up to a fist," he pointed again. Stiles shrunk away, but his eyes were glued to the larger models and that certainly wasn't fear in his eyes.


"Let's pick out one of the larger models," Peter told him. "Whichever you like, darling."


Stiles took much longer to look at the larger toys, clearly intimidated and indecisive. Finally, he reached out and to Peter's surprise, chose something in the mid-range of his new options. Only eight inches long, but girthy, and with a solid false knot at the base. Not canine, as Peter had considered Stiles might gravitate towards, but one hundred percent alpha cock in design. And unlike the cheerful purple of Stiles' first toy, this one was jet black, though of the same rubberised material.


"That's lovely, sweetheart," Peter told him, taking the toy in hand with his other selection. "Good job. I'm sure you'll enjoy yourself thoroughly between these two purchases, and if you ever grow tired of them don't hesitate to ask your father or myself and we'll get you more."


"Yes, Alpha," Stiles answered shyly, though his eyes now glowed with excitement as he eyed the toys in Peter's hands. Peter led the way up to the counter to pay, and in spite of Stiles' pre-emptive mortification, the clerk blandly rang them up and made no attempts at small talk whatsoever.


Peter handed the bag to Stiles when they were finished, and they made their way back to the car. Nothing was showing through the bag and no one was in the parking lot, but that didn't stop Stiles from blushing brightly and casting around furtive glances.


"You do realize," Peter said, "that you're hardly the first person to purchase themselves a toy. Or in this case to have one purchased for you."


"I know," Stiles said as he slid into his seat and shut the door. "I know," he repeated, almost to himself. "It's just... new."


"I have a number of toys myself," Peter went on. "There isn't any shame in wanting to enjoy yourself, darling."


"I'm not ashamed," Stiles defended, though he didn't seem fully convinced himself.




"It's just... private."


"And therefore you're not sharing your toys with the town," Peter said reasonably. "You have no privacy with me, and I am certain that not only did the clerk not care, darling, but she no doubt knows the sexual habits of most of the surrounding area by virtue of her work."


"It's not the same," Stiles said quietly, shifting in his seat.


"What's not the same as what?" Peter asked him. "Be clear and use your words, please."


"The store clerk knowing what I bought for myself isn't the same as her knowing what the overwhelmingly alpha population buys. It's... it's more personal. More intimate."


"Insertables are hardly unique to omegas," Peter pointed out.


Stiles wrinkled his nose. "Alphas almost never use them on themselves and they're not as big."


"First of all, you might be surprised," Peter said in a scolding voice. "With any sexual activity, there are exceptions. Second of all, that's terribly presumptuous of you to decide buying an insertable is more embarrassing than a young alpha buying his first knot milking toy."


"Everyone respects an alpha," Stiles said with a touch of bitterness. "No one respects an omega who only wants to fill his bitch hole."


"Are you implying that I don't respect my clients?" Peter asked with a hard edge to his voice.


Stiles didn't answer immediately. "Like? Maybe. Respect?" He trailed off uncertainly and shrugged.


Peter scanned the road in silence, then pulled over. Stiles looked at him a bit anxiously. Peter turned his full attention on the omega in the passenger seat.


"I most certainly respect you, Stiles," Peter told him seriously. "And any Alpha worth his salt would respect you as well. I know your father certainly does. Just as you wouldn't judge the worth of your father for his sexual habits, I am certain he doesn't judge you based on your tastes either. And I recall he told you as much."


Stiles bit his lips anxiously and glanced away, but nodded his understanding.


Peter pulled out onto the road once more. "What I'd like to know," he said, "is whether you respect omegas."


Stiles startled in his seat. "What? Of course I do."


"Do you?" Peter asked skeptically. "You certainly tried to hide all evidence of your own orientation. You're consistently marked as having social problems in your Omega Studies classes. Our own fears are often projections of our personal feelings."


"I... I do respect omegas," Stiles insisted, though he sounded uncomfortable and uncertain of himself.


"Is there a reason you failed to interact with any of your fellow omegas in your Omega Studies?" Peter questioned him.


Stiles shrugged uncomfortably in his seat. "I had other problems with the class," he said, which was true but didn't directly answer Peter's question. Peter waited. "And I just don't have much in common with the others."


"Oh? I would think that being an omega is in and of itself unusual enough that you'd share something quite fundamental with the others."


"Trevor doesn't even talk," Stiles bit out irritably. "He's a goody two shoes and he's already with some alpha girl in his year. Beverly is always talking about how she wants to get married and pregnant as soon as she graduates and play house, and Lisa's not much better."


"I thought you said you didn't know their names," Peter said with a smirk.


"I may as well not," Stiles told him.


"I'll bet you know the names of the five other students in your distance learning class as well," Peter said as he pulled into the parking lot of the facility. He shut off the ignition.


"I don't!" Stiles protested.


Peter pinched his arm sharply. "You know we don't tolerate lying here, Stiles," he said seriously. "You're already in hot water for saying you didn't recall names earlier today."


Stiles looked worriedly at him.


"Out of the car," Peter nodded at the door, then got out himself. Stiles followed a bit clumsily, holding the bag of toys still. "With me," Peter directed, leading the way ahead of Stiles this time as the omega quickened his pace to keep up.


"What's going to happen now?" Stiles asked hesitantly.


"We're going to take your toys back to your room, and then spend some time with Doctor Monroe."


"But what about the lying?"


"What about it?"


"You said I was in trouble."


"Oh, you are," Peter confirmed lightly. "But let's not worry about that right now. I’ve already told you there are no punishments at this establishment." They reached the door of Stiles' room and Peter opened it, ushering Stiles inside. He pulled out his phone to text Monroe. "You can just set those aside," he told Stiles. "Undress, please. Leave the plug."


"Yes, Alpha," Stiles answered, seeming a bit on edge now that he knew he was in trouble.


It didn’t take Stiles long to undress, but then it didn’t take long for Doctor Monroe to reach his room. She took the spare chair to face Stiles who sat naked on his bed. Peter was engrossed in his tablet, but Stiles couldn’t keep his attention off him no matter how inconspicuous he made himself.


Stiles blushed when Monroe faced him. “Hello, Stiles.”


“Hello, Alpha,” he responded, seeming more on edge without the restraints of the chair holding him, with no reason not to look at the doctor head on. But then, Peter knew that that too was part of Stiles’ treatment. Security blankets would need to be slowly stripped away.


I hear you went on a little excursion today,” the doctor said.


Stiles scowled at Peter. “How did you even have time to text her that?”


“Eyes on me, omega,” the doctor warned him and Stiles reluctantly turned his attention back to the doctor. He took a frustrated breath and let it out.


“Yes, Alpha.”


“Are those your new purchases?” she nodded to the little bag beside him, conspicuous in the small, mostly empty room.


“Yes, Alpha,” Stiles answered, blushing.


“Will you show them to me?” she asked. “Tell me a little bit about them.”


Stiles blushed deeply as he pulled the items out of the bag. Monroe’s question wasn’t really optional. Stiles indicated the smaller, purple dildo first. “I picked this one out first,” he said shyly.


“That’s a very sweet toy,” Monroe said with a smile. “What did you like about it?”


“It isn’t…“ Stiles huffed out a breath. “I’ve never… played with myself that way,” he said.


“In what way?” she prompted. “Let’s use our words, Stiles.”


“I’ve never… fucked my bitch hole,” he said with a blush.


“You’ve fucked your bitch hole with fingers though, haven’t you?”


“Yes, Alpha,” Stiles admitted. “I’ve never fucked my bitch hole with a toy before,” he amended.


“And so what drew you to that particular toy?”


“It was smaller,” Stiles said. “Less intimidating.”


“Are you nervous to fuck your bitch hole with a toy?”


“Yes, Alpha. A little.”


What worries you about it?”


“Nothing specific,” Stiles shrugged. “It’s just new.”


“Would you like to try now?” Monroe asked him.


Stiles darted a look to Peter. “Alpha Peter said that I shouldn’t fuck my bitch hole until my stitches were more fully healed.”


Peter looked up from his tablet. “I think it will be fine if you use the smaller toy,” he told Stiles. “Just remember to move gently.”


Stiles looked back to the doctor for further instruction.


“Go ahead,” Monroe nodded with an encouraging smile.


With shaking fingers, Stiles reached out to grasp his toy and pulled it closer. Then he propped his pillows up against the wall and scooted his butt down to where he could reach himself. His plug faced the doctor as he reached behind to remove it.


“I see you’re wearing the plug your father bought you,” she commented.


“Yes, Alpha,” Stiles answered shakily as he pulled it out. He set it aside and reached for his purple toy. His hole already was pliant and glistening with his slick, winking greedily now that he’d removed his plug.


“Are you enjoying your plug?”


“Yes, Alpha,” Stiles answered, voice trembling slightly. “I’m enjoying having my bitch hole filled.”


“Go ahead and fill yourself up again,” Monroe encouraged him and Stiles reached behind himself to nudge the toy into his already stretched hole.


Stiles let out a soft breath as the toy easily breached him. It took no effort at all to sink it fully inside.


How does that feel for you?” Monroe asked.


“Nice,” Stiles answered. “Full. Not too much different from the plug.” He moved the toy slowly in and out of his hole a few times, and let out a breathy sigh as his eyes fluttered closed.


Do you think you could bring yourself to orgasm with it?” Monroe asked.


“I don’t know,” Stiles mused. He angled the toy to try and meet his prostate more directly and sucked in a sharp breath when he found it. “Maybe,” he answered a bit breathlessly.


“Let’s take a break from play,” Monroe suggested with an amused smile. “You may leave the toy in for now if you like, but hands to the side, please.”


Stiles blushed and placed his hands to his side. Lying back as he was, he was able to look toward the ceiling rather than the doctor now.


“Tell me a little about your other toy,” she prompted.


“Alpha Peter wanted me to choose a second toy,” Stiles told her. “A bigger one.”


“Can you tell me why that is?” the doctor asked him.


“Because I like it when my bitch hole is filled up,” Stiles answered her. “Stretched out on stud knots or an alpha’s fist,” Stiles said.


“What made you choose this particular model?”


“I liked that it was shaped like an alpha,” Stiles told her. “And it was large, but not the largest toy.”


“Do you want to know what it feels like to be knotted by an alpha?” the doctor asked him.


“Yes, Alpha,” Stiles answered. “I want to know what it feels like to have my bitch hole bred by an alpha.”


Any particular alpha?”


“No, Alpha,” Stiles answered, a bit sadly. “None ever took particular interest in me in that way, beyond every alpha’s general interest in an omega.”


Go ahead and play with your toy again, Stiles,” Monroe told him.


Thank you, Alpha,” Stiles said, and began to move the toy with him again, the sadness and tension of the conversation easing away again as Stiles slipped into a world of sensation over conscious thought.


Alpha Peter sent me a copy of the affirmations you worked on with him,” Monroe said as Stiles gently worked the dildo in and out of his hole. She pulled it up on her tablet. “Would you mind handing Stiles his affirmations, Peter?” she asked.


“Not at all,” Peter answered. He pulled the folded sheet from his pocket and handed it over to Stiles who had paused in his masturbation.


“Hold the sheet with one hand, please,” Monroe instructed. “And keep playing with your toy.”


Stiles gripped the paper tightly with his left hand as his right hand slowly worked the toy in his hole once again. His breathing deepened.


“Could you read to me your first affirmation?” she prompted.


“I enjoy having my bitch hole filled,” Stiles said huskily.


“Are you enjoying filling your bitch hole right now?” she asked.


“Yes, Alpha.”


“That’s good, Stiles. I’m glad. What is your second affirmation?”


“I enjoy having my useless cocklette hurt,” he read aloud.


“Let go of your toy now, Stiles,” Monroe instructed him. “Will you hurt your cocklette for me now?”


Stiles let go of his toy with a shaking hand and grasped his cocklette. He gave it a gentle squeeze, and then gave the head of it a firm pinch and moaned. Stiles glanced up at the doctor for approval, but she only nodded encouragingly so he looked to the ceiling again and continued to pinch and pull at himself for a few moments.


“That’s wonderful, Stiles. Keep going,” she told him, “And read to me your third affirmation.”


I enjoy having my bitch tits milked,” Stiles said breathlessly.


Did Alpha Peter milk your bitch tits earlier today?” she asked.


“Yes, Alpha.”


“Did you enjoy it then?”


“Yes, Alpha. I enjoyed it when Alpha Peter milked my bitch tits,” he confirmed as he continued to pull at his limp little cock.


What’s your next affirmation, Stiles?” Monroe asked.


“I enjoy it when the studs breed my bitch hole,” Stiles answered.


“You may let go of your cocklette now,” Monroe told him, “And go back to playing with your bitch hole.”


Stiles sighed with the relief of releasing his cock and moaned very softly when he resumed the gentle fucking of his hole.


“Does that feel as good as when the studs breed you?” Monroe asked.


“No, Alpha.”


“What is it like when they breed you? Can you describe it to me?”


“Th-their doggy cocks...” Stiles began with a blush. “They’re so much bigger. And they pound into me.”


“And you enjoy that?”


“Yes, Alpha,” Stiles confirmed. By now he knew what was expected of him in the call and response. “I enjoy it when the studs pound into me with their big doggy cocks.”


“Did one of the studs pound into you today?”


“Yes, Alpha. Rocko fucked my bitch mouth,” Stiles answered.


“Do you like that as much as when Rocko breeds your hole?”


“Not as much,” Stiles said. “But I like it.” He blushed at the admission.


That’s your number seven on this list, I see,” Monroe said. “Let’s skip down. Can you read me number seven?”


“I enjoy being throat fucked,” Stiles read aloud.


“It looks like we’ve hit all of your affirmations so far today,” Monroe commented.


“Yes, Alpha.”


“You must be having a very good day.”


“Yes, Alpha.”


“What’s next on your list?”


“I enjoy having my cervix touched,” Stiles answered as he looked to his list.


“Have you had your cervix touched today?”


Stiles hesitated. “I think so, Alpha.”


“When was that?”


“When Alpha Peter fed me lunch, there was a very long toy in… in my bitch hole. I think sometimes it touches my cervix.”


“That must be very nice for you.”


“Yes, Alpha,” Stiles answered huskily as he clenched around his toy. “I really wanted Alpha Peter to fuck me then.”


Do you still want Alpha Peter to fuck you?”


“Yes, Alpha,” Stiles answered immediately. He fucked his hole a little bit harder with his toy. “Please, Alpha Peter?” he begged sweetly.


“Go easy with your toy, darling,” Peter reminded him. “I know you need to be fucked. We’ll take a nice hot bath tonight and see how many of your stitches fall out on your own. And once you’re fully healed, as absolutely soon as possible, I’ll take you back to the breeding bench to spend some time with the studs.”


Stiles’ breath hitched, and he stilled his hand entirely as he shuddered with need. “Thank you, Alpha.”


“You’re welcome, darling.”


We’ve skipped over a few items on your list,” Monroe said, “But that’s fine. I think we’ve covered a lot of ground today.”


“Yes, Alpha,” Stiles agreed.


“I think that’s enough of your toy for now,” the doctor told him. “Please take it to the sink and clean it up and set it aside for now.”


“Yes, Alpha,” Stiles agreed. He struggled to get a handle on his arousal as he pulled the little toy out of himself.”


“I’ll take your list,” Peter told him, reaching over to receive it. Stiles handed it over. “You can put your plug back in for now,” Peter said indulgently.


“Thank you, Alpha,” Stiles answered, and pressed his glass plug back inside his slick hole. Then he moved to the little sink to wash and dry his toy, flushed with arousal and some embarrassment.


“You can just set both your toys on the table there,” Peter said, and took away the carry bag they’d come in. There was nowhere for the toys to hide. They, along with Stiles’ penile plug, sat proudly on the small counter space with nothing else to distract from them. Stiles single set of clothes was tucked underneath the counter on the floor. That was it for his tiny room at the facility.


Doctor Monroe took her leave, and Peter and Stiles were left alone in the small room. “We still have some time today before your father visits,” Peter told him. “And I believe I promised you I’d let you kneel for me. Let’s take a little walk out to the courtyard.”


“Yes, Alpha,” Stiles agreed, his eyes shining eagerly.


They walked through the facility and out to their usual courtyard, where Stiles knelt at Peter’s feet as was now his habit. There he was given the time for his arousal to fade, for the various tensions and frustrations of the day to bleed away. After a time, Peter had Stiles lay his head in his lap and pet him. But eventually it was time to get up and go back inside. Peter had Stiles pee in the yard as before, and drink water from the doggy bowl. Then they went back to Stiles’ room to visit with John.


Stiles had his supper on his little bed. His broth had a few vegetables and some grain floating around in it this time as they worked him back up to regular foods. Then Peter led Stiles to Processing for his promised bath.




The bathtub in Processing wasn’t romantic. It wasn’t a claw-foot tub, there were no softly lit candles, or a view from a window. Processing was the same windowless, utilitarian room it always was, with a concrete floor. The bathtub in the corner of the room was stainless steel, and resembled the sort of thing found in a veterinary office more than anything, but it was clean and in perfect working order.


When they entered, Derek was for once nowhere in sight, but Peter led the way to the tub and drew the bathwater himself for Stiles.


“Go ahead and put your plug on the ledge there,” Peter nodded. “Step in.”


Stiles set his plug aside as indicated and got in the filling bath as Peter pulled a bottle of the facility’s all purpose body wash from a shelf and brought it over. “Just lie back and relax,” he told Stiles. “Soak a little. Enjoy the hot water. It’ll give your stitches a bit of time to dissolve, if they’re ready.”


I’m not going to suddenly open up like a medical emergency, am I?” Stiles asked a bit worriedly.


Peter rolled his eyes. “Your skin has already knit together,” Peter said. “You’re not going to open up. The stitches just have to fall out in their own time, and your skin is newly healed and tender still. But the incision is gone, darling.”


With that reassurance, Stiles relaxed back into the tub to soak for a while, eyes closed and knees peeking out of the water as he sank low. He glanced at Peter after a while, and found him mostly engrossed in his tablet though he did glance up. Stiles’ gaze darted to the bottle of body wash.


“Go ahead,” Peter told him, and Stiles pumped a squirt of it into his hand, then began methodically washing himself with his hands. Washcloths were most often seen as unnecessary in Processing, and Stiles was used to cleaning himself by now with hands alone.


Peter watched Stiles’ progress, and saw he saved his neuter for last. Then very carefully, tentatively, he dipped his fingers between his spread legs and began to wash there as well.


“Any pain or discomfort?” Peter asked.


“No. Not really,” Stiles answered. “Maybe a little sensitive?” he said as he continued to explore himself.


Don’t force anything,” Peter told him, “but don’t be surprised if some of the stitches simply come out from the hot water and a little bit of rubbing. You were looking pretty healed down there.”


Stiles smiled a little. “It’s hard to restrain myself when you promise me so many nice things,” he divulged.


Peter smirked. “Oh? And which nice things are those?”


“The dogs,” Stiles answered a little breathlessly, still with his blush of embarrassment, even after he’d done so much. “Alpha Deaton. Alpha Deucalion,” he listed. “My new toys.”


Peter smiled fondly. “Finish up. Then we’ll get you dry, teeth brushed, ready for bed.”


“Yes, Alpha,” Stiles said a bit reluctantly as he pulled his hand away from its gentle rubbing.


The rest of Stiles’ night-time routine was finished in short order, and then he laid back on his mattress as Peter began to carefully affix the soft restraints to Stiles’ wrists and ankles. When Stiles was spread-eagle and blinking sleepily, Peter peered between his legs with careful attention and touched him gently. “Only one or two stitches left,” he said. “Deaton may leave them, but he may just pull them tomorrow.”


“And I’d get to do something fun?” Stiles asked with a smile playing on his lips even as he fought his night time medication that made him sleepy.


“As soon as you’re cleared,” Peter assured him. “Go to sleep, darling.”


Stiles muttered a response, but he was nearly asleep by the time Peter doused the lights.


Chapter Text

Stiles sat in his chair moaning as the milking machines ran. He’d already done his bathroom trip and had his breakfast, and was well into the milking now. Deaton came into the office and rolled his stool between Stiles’ spread legs and brushed his fingers over the incision space. Stiles shivered and his breath hitched, though that could have been from the milking machines as well.


“He lost most of them in the bath last night,” Peter said.


“I can see that.” Deaton reached for a little wheeled tray with instruments and disinfectant. He swabbed Stiles for good measure, and picked up a tool. Within seconds the last of the stitches had been pulled free, so gently that Stiles hadn’t even reacted.


Good news, omega Stilinski,” Deaton said. “You’re fully healed and stitch-free.”


Stiles smiled, but another soft moan escaped him. “Th-,” he tried, then took a hitched breath. “Th-thank you, Alpha,” he managed.


“You’re welcome, omega,” Deaton said with a small smile. “Now, I believe I promised you something very nice, when you were fully healed.” His fingers toyed with the prostate massager, buzzing away in Stiles’ hole as he was milked. Stiles whined high in his throat at the added stimulation and twitched in his restraints.


“Let’s wait until your milking is finished,” Deaton said teasingly, and pulled away. “We wouldn’t want you distracted when I test your post-op anal response.”


I suppose you’ll take up some of Stiles’ morning with that?” Peter asked as he clicked around Stiles’ schedule on his tablet.


“I expect so,” Deaton agreed.


“I think we’ll visit the breeding room in the afternoon then, assuming you clear him for it.”


That shouldn’t be a problem,” Deaton told him. “It sounds like you have a very busy day ahead of you,” he said to Stiles, patting him on his thigh.


Soon, the milking was finished and Stiles was released from the machines. He was breathless, and his nipples and cocklette were both bright red from over-stimulation. But Deaton’s focus was Stiles’ hole. He worked a finger into the slick opening without difficulty, as he was already stretched from the vibrator before. Then he easily pressed in a second finger beside the first. Stiles hummed appreciatively at three and was panting for breath by four. The wet squelch as Deaton finger-fucked him was obscene in the quiet exam room.


“Does that feel good, darling?” Peter asked Stiles.


“Uh-huh,” Stiles confirmed dazedly. He whimpered as he felt Deaton tuck his thumb and push.


“There we go,” Deaton said with satisfaction. “He’s always been so pliant,” he commented to Peter as he pulled his fingers into a fist inside of Stiles. He began to press his fist deeper inside as Stiles trembled in his bonds. Stiles mewled and moaned desperately as his anal walls fluttered around Deaton’s hand.


Deaton rocked his knuckles against Stiles’ spent prostate. “Seems like the milking went well,” he said. “Nice and emptied out. The way he’s clenching, I wouldn’t be surprised if he comes dry. They’re always so much more sensitive after the cut,” he said.


Deaton pressed in deep and stroked his fingers against Stiles’ cervix and Stiles went wild, thrashing against his restraints as he let out a strangled grunt. Deaton smirked. “Nice cervical sensitivity.” He pulled his fingers into a fist again then and began to pull back against Stiles’ fluttering rim. Out, then in again. Out, then in. He worked up a slow, steady rhythm as he punch-fucked Stiles’ now loose and sloppy hole.


Stiles’ eyes had glazed over with lust and his bones seemed to have liquefied, his entire body going pliant with instinctive submission as his hole was used. After a few moments more of the inelegant treatment, Stiles’ hole spasmed and his stomach clenched as he let out a choked sob of pleasure.


“And there it is,” Deaton said, almost to himself as he worked Stiles through a dry orgasm, rocking inside of him. “He’s locked tight,” he told Peter. “If my fist were an Alpha’s knot, it would be a perfect breeding response.”


“Can you tell whether he’s more responsive now versus before his procedure?” Peter asked.


“It’s a little difficult to tell with him,” Deaton admitted. “He was so wonderfully responsive before. But I didn’t get a lock out of him the last time. Then again, he’s young,” he shrugged. “After a few more heats the response will be more consistent.”


Once Stiles had finished clenching quite so tightly, Deaton was able to pull his hand free again, and cleaned himself up before giving Stiles a cursory wipe down as well. Stiles was still dazed and limp in his restraints, floating in the stratosphere.


“He’s all yours,” Deaton told Peter. “I don’t see why I shouldn’t sign off on him fully.”


“Wonderful,” Peter said with a smile. He combed his fingers through Stiles’ hair affectionately and Stiles’ eyes fluttered shut at the touch. “It’s finally your day,” he said fondly.


Deaton left Peter alone with Stiles, and after another moment of recovery Peter helped Stiles free of his restraints. Then he led the dazed omega out to their customary courtyard so that Stiles could kneel in recovery for a while. By degrees he came back to himself. A small smile played on his lips as Peter pet him, Stiles’ head resting in Peter’s lap.


Can I suck you, Alpha?” Stiles asked after a time.


“Not today, darling,” Peter answered, still stroking Stiles’ hair.


Stiles hummed vaguely. It could have been disappointment or acceptance, or perhaps just enjoyment of the petting.


“Since you’ve been cleared,” Peter told him, “you’ll be going home today.”


“Oh,” Stiles said with a hint of surprise.


“Are you excited? Nervous?”


“I hadn’t really thought about it,” Stiles admitted. “I’ve just been waiting to be cleared for fun things.”


“You’ll still be back bright and early tomorrow morning,” Peter assured him.


“Yes, Alpha.”


I don’t want to hear about you being difficult for your father on day one,” Peter warned.


“I won’t!” Stiles assured hastily.


I believe you want to be good,” Peter told him. “You know how to be a good boy. And we’re going to make sure you’re full of all sorts of good omega endorphins before you go home today.”


“Thank you, Alpha.”


“You’re welcome, darling. But let’s talk for a moment about what it’ll look like for you when you go home at the end of the day. When your father takes you home, what will likely be the first thing to happen?”


Stiles was quiet for a moment as he thought about it. “Daddy would probably want to go and change,” he said. “He always wants to change out of his uniform.”


“Alright. You’ll probably be naked yourself,” Peter told him. “You’ll be wearing your collar and anal plug. You should take the opportunity to go and put in your penile plug when you get home. You’ve said you’d like to wear it while at home.”


“Yes, Alpha,” Stiles answered, swallowing thickly.


What happens next?” Peter prompted him.


“Supper,” Stiles said a bit more confidently. “We’d eat supper.”


“Your father knows what he’s to feed you,” Peter reminded him. “Who normally cooks?”


“We alternate, sort of at random.”


“Offer to cook,” Peter instructed him. “And if your father is cooking, offer to help, or perhaps set the table.”


“Yes, Alpha.”


“It will work on your willing compliance, it will give you time to think about how you really feel about domestic work, and it will keep you from being idle,” Peter explained to him. “Now, what happens after supper?”


Stiles shrugged where he knelt. “Daddy usually watches TV. I play video games or go on my computer until bed.”


“Do you shower at night or in the morning?”




Peter nodded. “Lights out will be at nine o’clock,” he told Stiles. “Your father will come up and secure you for bed. Before then, you’ll have some homework. After supper, I’d like you to go play with one of your new toys for a while. Be sure to remove your cock plug when you do, just in case you need to ejaculate.”


Stiles flushed across his skin. “Yes, Alpha.”


I’m not going to tell you how long to play, which toy to use, how to use it,” Peter explained. “I just want you to enjoy yourself for as long as you like, get used to exploring those good feelings, get some good endorphins flowing. After that, you can play with your games or computer or whatever else you need to do.”


“Yes, Alpha,” Stiles answered obediently.


“No plugs of any sort for lights out,” Peter told him. “It’s not healthy long term. Can you remember that?”


“Yes, Alpha.”


Good boy. Now, go get a drink, have a little walk. Come kneel when you’re finished. If you need to pee, use the yard.”


Peter gave one last gentle tug to Stiles’ hair before Stiles rose on unsteady feet, getting the blood flowing in his legs again. He went to his bowl as usual for a drink of water, wandered the courtyard for a while looking at this and that. Stretching. Being. With a blush and averted gaze, Stiles did urinate in the grass. At length he came back to kneel once more at Peter’s feet.


“Present,” Peter directed, and Stiles folded himself down to the ground in a head-down position. “Tell me what you’re most worried about in going home,” Peter prompted him, once Stiles had had a moment to settle.


Just arguing,” Stiles said tiredly. “Not about anything specific, just in general.” Stiles tried to shrug from where he knelt on the ground. “I’m used to fighting everything. All the time.”


You haven’t been fighting the process here,” Peter reminded him. “But I can understand why you’re anxious. Physiologically speaking, your aggressive tendencies should have abated significantly, but you have several years of habit to push through as well. That’s why we have our rules and routines.”


“Yes, Alpha.”


“Can you go over your routine with me again?”


“When I get home, I’ll plug my cocklette,” Stiles said as he shifted slightly with embarrassment. He pushed through. “Then I’ll help Daddy cook supper. After supper I’ll play with one of my toys, without wearing the penile plug. And I won’t wear any plugs to bed. Lights out at nine o’clock.”


“Good boy. And what happens at lights out?”


“Daddy will put me in my restraints.”


“Just like the ones you have here.”


“Yes, Alpha.”


Do you think you’ll be alright with that routine?”


Stiles took a little while to answer. “I think so, Alpha,” he said.


Alright, darling. Let’s go get you lunch,” Peter told him. Between the milking, Deaton’s fisting session, and their time in the courtyard, the morning had flown past. Already it was time to set Stiles up in his chair with the deep throating exercise and have him take his lunch.




Peter led Stiles down the hall with a firm hand guiding the back of his neck, and he felt the boy tremble with anticipation. Things were so different now from when Stiles had first walked down this same hall to the breeding room. Now he could feel Stiles’ excitement, even through the nerves.


Stiles had worn a hastily strapped ball gag when he’d first arrived, to keep him silent and compliant. Now he was gagged again, this time with his favourite phallic gag, and willingly. The pressure sat heavily against his tongue, and already Peter could see the slight haze in the omega’s eyes as he fell into a submissive state.


Stiles was docile as he draped himself over the breeding bench. His heart was racing a bit when Peter felt his pulse, but his limbs were loose as Peter strapped him in place.


When Peter gave the signal to release the first stud, Stiles’ countenance was so changed from when he’d first come to the facility. There was no panic, no fight, and he let his head hang low, resting on the bench. His eyes fluttered closed as the dog draped itself over his small frame.


The dog’s dick poked and prodded for a moment as it struggled for purchase. It slipped through Stiles’ slick which glistened between his cheeks, but Stiles hadn’t yet been opened up. It would take some fumbling for the dog to penetrate him. The animal stabbed at Stiles’ taint and the boy gave a little yelp of pain, muffled by his gag. When the dog hit his neuter, Stiles went tense and whined high in his throat.


“That’s it, breed him up,” Peter encouraged the dog as it thrust clumsily.


Stiles eyes shone with the first signs of tears as he tried to look up toward Peter.


“Be a good bitch,” Peter told him gently. “Take that stud cock.”


The dog finally slammed home and Stiles grunted at the impact and the sudden stretch to his hole. He melted into the bench instinctively, and any tension that had built in him from those first fumbling attempts drained away.


Though the breeding room would always be intense and animalistic, there was a tranquillity to it as well. There were still tears in Stiles’ eyes, but no real distress. There was very little evidence of ejaculate on the floor below Stiles this time around. And the knottings took longer, now that Stiles had begun to truly lock, his hole instinctively clenching around the knot, milking it in attempt to breed.


B y the time all the studs had had him, Stiles’ hole was a gaping wreck. His thighs were thick with slick and cum, and his cheeks pink with faint bruising from the driving force of the dogs. Stiles hissed with sensitivity as Peter pressed his glass plug home. Then he helped the tear-stained boy off the breeding bench to kneel on swaying knees in Wait.


Peter pulled off Stiles’ gag and helped him work his jaw, then carefully fed him sips of water.


“You with me?” Peter asked.


Stiles nodded a bit spacily but didn’t answer verbally.


How are you feeling?” Peter prompted him.


Stiles licked his lips a moment and gathered the energy, or perhaps the mental capacity to answer. “Good,” he said, his voice hoarse from hours of moaning.


Peter snapped a leash onto Stiles’ nylon collar. “Can you crawl for me?” Peter checked.


Stiles fell to his hands and knees and nodded, crawling a bit toward Peter. Peter slowly led Stiles down the hall toward Processing.




Derek cleaned Stiles efficiently, inside and out, and re-plugged his hole when he was finished. Stiles’ eyes remained glazed slightly, his body languid as he tolerated the attention without complaint. Then Peter led Stiles to the front office to await his father for the last few minutes.


“Present,” Peter said quietly, and Stiles gratefully folded his tired body down toward the floor, head resting on his hands. Peter reached down to stroke him for just a little while. “You were such a good boy today,” Peter assured him, letting Stiles drift on his endorphin high and rest.


“Do you remember what to do when you get home, darling?” Peter prompted him.


Stiles was slow to answer, but Peter let him take his time.


“Put in my other plug,” Stiles recalled.


“That’s right,” Peter agreed. “Then?”


“Help make supper.”


“Good boy,” he praised. “And what’s after supper?”


“Play with my toy.”


“That’s right. No plugs for toy time.”


“Yes, Alpha.”


“And no plugs at bedtime.”


“Yes, Alpha.”


“When is lights out?” Peter checked to see if Stiles remembered.


“Nine o’clock.”






The sheriff arrived a few minutes later, as well as Doctor Deaton, and the three alphas sat themselves around the little desk while Stiles continued to kneel in Present.


“As you’ve already been made aware, Alpha Stilinski,” Deaton said, “your boy is fully healed from his procedure. The stitches are out, and he’s been cleared for all activities. Therefore I’m releasing him back into your care as of this evening.”


“That’s great,” John said with a smile. “No complications?”


“None,” Deaton assured him. “The incision site has healed beautifully. I’ve tested the responsiveness of his hole, and as expected it is even more sensitive than before, most likely as a result of the castration. Today Stiles displayed a locking response for the first time.”


“From what I could tell,” Peter interjected, “he locked throughout his afternoon breeding.”


“And that’s good,” John checked.


Deaton nodded. “It’s a good sign. Hopefully it is indicative of an easier heat for him in December as well. Now, other physical changes,” Deaton continued with his report, “include a lower tendency toward aggression, which was our main aim. And the expected slight shrinkage of his cocklette. Pre-surgery length was one and a half inches while flaccid, a few days post-op he was down to an inch and a quarter. It’s possible he’ll shrink down to an inch over time, but he seems mostly stable.”


“Post-op, you’ll also recall that erections are infrequent. In Stiles’ case we haven’t seen evidence of ability to erect. He’ll most likely remain flaccid the rest of his life. In his case, I’d say that’s a blessing. It means he’s less likely to require removal of his cocklette. Omegas who remain flaccid tend to have more even mental states.”


“Does he need any special looking after once I take him home?”


Peter answered. “He shouldn’t need anything, other than to follow the new routines we’ve already set up for him. We’ll take care of any milking or other treatments for now when he comes in each morning.”


“Perfect,” John said. He turned to speak down to his kneeling son. “What do you say, Stiles? Ready to go home?”


“Yes, Daddy,” Stiles answered softly.


With a few final parting words, the sheriff took his son home.


Chapter Text

When Stiles arrived the next day, he was dressed for a change, and wearing neither gag nor restraints. He moved off to the bench at the side of the vestibule and began to strip, placing his clothes in one of the cubbies while the sheriff spoke to Peter.


“How was he?” Peter asked.


“Perfectly fine,” John answered with a relieved smile. He shook his head as if still trying to process that fact. “He was still a bit loopy when he got home from whatever you guys had him doing, but by nine o’clock he was definitely his usual self again. Just… not defiant.” He shook his head wonderingly again. “Same with this morning. Docile as a lamb. I haven’t seen him that way since he was a child. Before puberty hit, Stiles was always such a quiet, agreeable boy. I feel like I have my son back.”


Peter smiled warmly. “That’s good to hear. I’m sure Stiles will only continue to improve.” Peter looked over John’s shoulder as Stiles approached, naked but for his collar and glass plug. “Ready?” he asked.


“Yes, Alpha,” Stiles answered. He was calm and bright eyed that morning.


“We have a lot of fun things planned for today,” Peter told him enigmatically. He turned to John. “Has he showered today?”


John nodded. “Showered and had breakfast, just like we discussed.”


Peter nodded. “With me,” he said to Stiles. “Milking first.” Peter started to lead Stiles down the hall.


“Yes, Alpha,” Stiles answered eagerly as he kept up.


“Have a good day, sheriff!” Peter called out to John as he led Stiles to the exam room.




When they arrived at Deucalion’s, Stiles’ cocklette and nipples were reddened and sore from his morning milking, and his eyes were a bit damp from the start of tears.


“Good morning, Deuc,” Peter said as they entered the room.


Deuc’s eyes roamed over Stiles, taking in his general state. “Good morning, Peter,” he said. “Omega,” he acknowledged.


“Good morning, Alpha,” Stiles answered obediently.


“What can I do for you this fine morning?” Deuc asked Peter.


“You might have heard,” Peter said to him, “that Stiles was cleared yesterday for all forms of play. I think it’s time to discover just how sensitive his neuter is.”


I’d love to,” Deuc said silkily, eyeing Stiles up with a dangerous sort of hunger. Stiles shivered and cast his gaze away. “Beating his balls was already a delight,” Deuc said. “I can’t wait to see how he responds when I slap that smooth skin between his legs.”


“What do you say, darling?” Peter asked Stiles. “Would you like that?”


Stiles blushed and fidgeted with nervous energy. “Y-yes, Alpha,” he admitted.


“Ask,” Peter prompted him.


“Alpha Deucalion,” Stiles said. “Would you… would you hurt my… my neuter?” he asked haltingly.


I would love to,” Deuc answered eagerly. He moved forward to clasp Stiles’ shoulder in a strong hand, and steered him toward a special bench. “Hop up,” Deuc said, and he fastened Stiles to the leather supports. Stiles’ torso rested easily on the leather bench, held in position on his hands and knees. Forearms and legs were strapped into place, and his legs were spread wide, his pelvis exposed freely to air. His tiny cocklette dangled limply between his legs, and his perineum and neuter were on full display to Deucalion.


D euc reached a hand forward and proprietously rubbed between Stiles’ spread legs, over his taint and neuter. Stiles shuddered at the intense sensation and let out a soft sound. “My, he’s responsive,” Deuc said to Peter. Deuc rubbed more firmly where Stiles’ balls used to be. This wasn’t the soft, feather-light touch Stiles had felt while healing, but was a full, sensuous rub over the sensitized skin. Stiles moaned and twitched in his restraints.


“They say sometimes the neuter is even more sensitive than the balls were,” Deuc said to Peter.


“He certainly seems to like it,” Peter answered as Stiles’ eyes glazed even more and he started to pant. He’d already been a bit floaty after his milking and now he drifted in a haze of endorphins.


Deuc stepped away and perused his tools, then selected a wide tongued riding crop. He stroked over Stiles’ smooth skin for a while, letting him feel the soft tag of leather rubbing his skin. Then, with a quick flick of his wrist, he snapped the crop down between Stiles’ spread legs.


Stiles yelped in pain and tensed against his bonds, but couldn’t move an inch from the sensation. He certainly could do nothing but yell and twitch as the next few blows rained down. Deuc paused and rubbed at the inflamed skin as Stiles whimpered painfully.


Look how pretty,” Deuc said as he pet the reddened flesh. “But we wouldn’t want to leave out your little cocklette.” Stiles’ cock was still pink from the vicious milking machine he’d had just before his arrival, and the first slap of the crop against it had him yelping and jerking in his restraints.


Deuc worked Stiles over for a few minutes, giving his cocklette and neuter equal attention with the crop, until Stiles was red and teary-eyed. Then he began with Stiles’ ass, reddening his pert cheeks and working down over the tender crease between ass and thigh. Stiles’ glass plug peeked out enticingly.


“Can we remove the plug?” Deuc asked Peter.


Peter hesitated. “He will need use of his hole later,” Peter warned.


“But think of how pretty it would look all red and pouty,” Deuc argued. Stiles’ breath hitched and he shivered.


Peter rolled his eyes as if put upon. “Oh, very well,” he conceded.


Deuc pulled the plug free and Stiles’ hole winked at him, grasping for something to fill it up again. He set the plug aside, and instead or satisfying Stiles’ need to be filled, he brought the crop down directly on Stiles’ spread hole with a crisp thwack .


Stiles yelped and began crying fresh tears as Deuc set back to his task, taking the boy apart piece by piece as he introduced such unique and specific pain. And Stiles’ hole did indeed redden and pout, the rim growing irritated and slightly swollen from its treatment.


Deuc paused in his work and trailed a finger over the reddened pucker. Stiles whimpered, even as his hole glistened with the slick of his arousal. Gently, Deuc pressed one finger inside of the painful hole and Stiles mewled, the tension leaving his body once again as Deuc worked the single finger in and out of him.


“Look at that,” Deuc said with satisfaction. “Lovely. He was practically gagging for it.”


Did you enjoy that, darling?” Peter asked Stiles as Deuc carefully stretched Stiles’ reddened rim with a second finger, gently easing them in and out.


Stiles’ breath hitched as he struggled to get his breathing and tears under control. “H-hurts,” he answered.


“It’s been a little while since you’ve had some proper pain play,” Peter conceded. “But I asked you whether you enjoyed yourself.”


“Y-yes, Alpha,” Stiles admitted, as if the slick dripping from his hole wasn’t indication enough.


“What do you say to Alpha Deucalion?” Peter prompted.


“Th-thank you, A-alpha,” Stiles managed.


“You’re quite welcome,” Deuc answered, and slid Stiles’ glass plug back home. It stretched and chafed at the irritated flesh and Stiles whimpered. Then Deuc began the process of relieving Stiles of his restraints, and helped him to balance unsteadily until he could support himself on his own two feet.


“We’ll take a little break in the courtyard for you to recover,” Peter told him, and Stiles nodded his understanding as he continued to breathe and get himself back under control. He walked gingerly as Peter led him down the hall.




Peter led a somewhat dazed omega out to the courtyard, and paused by the water bowl. “Take a drink,” he said, and Stiles hesitated half a second before he sunk down to comply. It wasn’t the sort of hesitance born of attitude, but rather the sort of hesitance that comes as a natural consequence of a slowed mental capacity. The combination of endorphins and physical sensations running through the boy had him moving on auto-pilot.


Once he’d had his drink, Peter led Stiles over to their usual bench and had him kneel for a little while in Wait as he calmed.


How are you feeling?” Peter checked after a while, once Stiles had been sitting calmly and quietly for some time.


“Good,” he answered. “A bit sore.”


“What is sore?”


“My hole,” Stiles started.


“Use your words,” Peter reminded him, and Stiles blushed.


“My bitch hole,” he amended.


“Good. What else?”


“My cocklette. My neuter.”


“Did you like what Alpha Deucalion did to you?”


“Yes, Alpha. It feels good when Alpha Deucalion hurts me in that way.”


“In what way?” Peter prompted.


“I like it when Alpha Deucalion spanks me,” Stiles said, the heat climbing down his neck. “On my useless cocklette, and my bitch hole, and my neuter.”


“Have you played with your neuter since having the last of your stitches removed?” Peter asked.


“No, Alpha.”


“Why don’t you touch there now?” Peter suggested.


Yes, Alpha.” Stiles brought his hand down to his still pink neuter and rubbed against the flat expanse of skin. He hissed in a sharp breath at first, due to the residual sensitivity from his spanking, but then relaxed into the touch. Peter let him explore a moment, and didn’t even have to prompt him to touch a bit more firmly. Stiles pressed and rubbed all on his own, and let out a soft sound of pleasure as his eyes fluttered shut.


“How is that?” Peter asked him.


“Good. It’s good, Alpha,” Stiles answered. “It’s so sensitive.”


Have you ever considered spanking yourself there?” Peter asked him.


Stiles paused in his rubbing for just a second. “No, Alpha.”


“You like to hurt your cocklette,” Peter pointed out.


“Yes, Alpha.”


“Do you think you’d like to slap your neuter?”


“I don’t know,” Stiles said hesitantly, biting his lip.


“How do we find out what we like?” Peter asked.


“Try things,” Stiles answered obediently.


“Why don’t you try giving it a little tap?”


Stiles stilled, and seemed to gather himself mentally, before giving himself the gentlest love tap between his spread legs.


Did that hurt?” Peter asked.


“No, Alpha,” Stiles answered.


“Do you want it to hurt?”


“I’m not sure….” Stiles answered, biting his lip nervously.


“What are we trying to do here?” Peter reminded him.


“Find out what I like,” Stiles answered.


“You’ve told me that you like sexual pain,” Peter said to him. “In a wide variety of applications. If you’re worried you’ll really hurt yourself, I wouldn’t be concerned. Alpha Deucalion just gave you quite the spanking, and you’re unlikely to accomplish anything so severe with only your hand. If you’re worried you just won’t like doing it to yourself, you don’t have to do it again.”


“I know,” Stiles said, then took a deep breath and pushed his shoulders back. Thus braced, he slapped himself a little harder, and clenched his eyes shut at the sting. It still wasn’t nearly at the level Peter suspected Stiles would enjoy, based on his session with Deucalion, but it would do.


Stiles had hissed in a pained breath at the contact. Then he opened his eyes to look to Peter for approval.


“Good boy,” Peter praised. “How was it?”


“Stings,” Stiles answered with a small wince.


“Do you like that when you do it to yourself? Or only when an alpha hurts you there?”


“I’m not sure,” Stiles answered honestly.


“That’s fine, darling. You can try again later.” Peter shrugged. “We’ll stop for now.”


Stiles settled more comfortably into Wait, and they sat in peaceful silence once again. Peter pulled Stiles’ head into his lap and Stiles practically melted as Peter pet him.


“Tell me about your night,” Peter encouraged.


“Hm?” Stiles hummed in question as he roused himself from his happy place. “What about it?”


“You went home,” Peter began. “Then what?”


“Daddy wanted to change out of his uniform, like I thought,” Stiles recalled. “I went upstairs with him and put in my cock plug.”


“Was it difficult to get in? You weren’t stretched beforehand.”


“A little. Not really.” Stiles shrugged.


“And then supper?”


Stiles nodded. “Daddy made us both some canned soup.” He snorted with amusement. “I told him it wasn’t very healthy and offered to make something from scratch, but he just said he was the alpha and he’d make canned if he wanted to. He said maybe I could make it from scratch another day when we had more time. Am I going to be here so long every day?” Stiles asked.


“For a little while,” Peter told him. “Let’s not worry about how long just yet. It will depend on a lot of factors. Tell me more about supper.”


Stiles went back to his story, leaving his question alone for now. “We had the soup, and some fancy whole grain bread Daddy picked up at the store.” He grinned. “I could tell he hated it but he tried.”


“Did you help with supper at all?”


“There wasn’t really anything for me to do, and he seemed to want to do it. I set the table though.”


“Good boy. How did it feel helping with the domestic work?”


“I didn’t do much,” Stiles said. “It was fine.”


“Hmm. Perhaps we’ll send you home for a day sometime to do a bit of housework and see how you react,” Peter mused. “What happened after supper?”


“There wasn’t really any cleaning up to do. We just put the dishes in the dishwasher. Then Daddy put on the TV, and I went up to my room.” Stiles blushed. “I knew I had to play with my toys. Daddy brought them home with us, and I set them on my bedside table earlier when I put in my cock plug. So they were waiting for me.”


“Were you looking forward to playing with your new toys?”


“A little. I was a little nervous, too.”


“Set the stage for me.”


“I laid down on my bed, propped up a little with pillows. I kept looking at the open door and listening to Daddy downstairs. He didn’t come up though. I also didn’t have any blankets to hide under. It made me a little nervous at first, but I mostly forgot about it once I was into it.”


“I took out my cock plug first and set it aside,” Stiles described. “Then I had to pick one of the toys.”


“Which one did you pick?”


“The bigger one,” Stiles admitted shyly.


“Any particular reason? Or just felt inspired?”


“I was thinking of the afternoon still,” Stiles divulged.


“Now, I know you can describe it better than that,” Peter gently chastised. “Use your words.”


“I was thinking… about the breeding room. About the studs breeding my bitch hole. And I was still a bit loose. Even with the plug, I felt empty. I wanted to… to fuck my sloppy hole with something big.”


“So you laid back, propped up on your pillows,” Peter began, urging him to continue where he’d left off.


Stiles nodded against Peter’s lap. “Yes. I laid back, and planted my feet on the bed, sort of tilted my hips up a bit. And I reached for the bigger toy. I pulled my plug out and set it aside.”


“On the table with your cock plug?”


Stiles shook his head. “Just on the mattress. Then I pressed the dildo into my hole.”


“You didn’t need any fingers first?” Peter asked.


“No. I was still loose. From the doggies. From my plug. I pushed about half the length of the dildo in at once, and it didn’t take long to work the rest of it in.”


“Then what?”


Stiles shrugged. “I fucked myself with it.”


“Fast or slow?” Peter asked him. “Hard, or gently? For how long? And did you touch anywhere else while you fucked yourself? Did you play with your bitch tits? Your little cocklette? Your neuter?”


“No, Alpha,” Stiles answered. “Just my hole. I didn’t really think to touch anywhere else. I guess I was a little rough? I was sweaty, and out of breath by the end. I’m not sure how long I went.”


“Did you lock?”


“I didn’t want to lock on the knot and get stuck there for however long,” Stiles confessed, his voice laced with embarrassment. “So I kept the knot out most of the time. I’m not sure if I locked.”


“Did you come?”


Stiles hesitated. “I’m not really sure. Is that weird? I was just sort of going with it. It wasn’t important to me to come.”


“It’s not weird,” Peter assured him. “So you went until you were tired?”


“Yeah. At some point, I just felt done. So I cleaned everything up in the bathroom and set my toy back on my bedside table. Then I plugged up my cocklette and my bitch hole again and got out my computer to play around until bed.”


“Tell me about bedtime.”


“There’s not much to say. Around 8:45 I went to the bathroom. Cleaned both my plugs and put them back by my bed. I brushed my teeth. Daddy came upstairs then to put on my restraints.” Stiles’ neck grew hot as he blushed.


“How was that for you?”


“A little weird,” Stiles admitted. “I’m not used to feeling so vulnerable around him. But it was nice. Kind of like being tucked in again, like I was a little kid. I felt cared for. Then Daddy turned out the lights, and it didn’t take long for me to fall asleep.”


“And he woke you in the morning?”


“Yeah. Took off the restraints. Though honestly, I could slip out of them myself if there was an emergency.”


“I am aware. They’re a common set used by omegas for sleeping, and they’ve got plenty of safety features built in for just that purpose. It’s about the feeling more than a practical restraint.”


“I like them,” Stiles confessed. “They’re soft. Secure.”


“I’m glad you get to have that experience every night,” Peter said warmly. “How was getting ready this morning?”


“Fine. Quick shower, brushed my teeth, used the toilet, put in my plug. Then I got dressed. Daddy had breakfast set out by the time I got downstairs, and we left as soon as I’d eaten it.”


“It sounds like a much less stressful morning than what you’re used to.”


“It was. It’s strange. I used to feel frustrated like all the time. Like I just wanted to pick a fight with someone, about anything. Now….” He shrugged. “I just feel calm, mostly.”


“That was the goal,” Peter reminded him.


“Yeah,” Stiles agreed.


“We’ve got about an hour left until lunch,” Peter told him. “I think we’ll go to Processing, and you can do a bit of cleaning for Derek until then.”


“Yes, Alpha,” Stiles agreed, and rose to follow Peter to their next location.




Stiles was compliant, if not quite willing as Derek directed him in various cleaning tasks. But then, there was a reason why the omegas at the facility were given distasteful tasks for their Willing Compliance exercises. It wouldn’t really be progress if the task were enjoyable, or even neutral. Processing was a necessarily disgusting area of the facility, as it dealt with various bodily fluids. And as such, it was crucial that it be kept in impeccably clean condition. Now it was Stiles’ task to aid in that process, and he understandably wasn’t enthusiastic about it.


Still, he showed a certain determination to comply, so Peter let any resistance alone for now. There would be more opportunities to push Stiles’ comfort zone.


Soon enough, the hour had passed, and it was time for lunch. The tried and true restraints chair made its reappearance and Stiles settled in to his task.


After lunch, Peter had plans. More Willing Compliance, that was certain. Perhaps some time with one of the studs. And if there was time, he wanted to schedule some time with Stiles in the sensory deprivation room once more. A stream of exercises and experiences spread out before them, and Peter was eager to lead his omega through them. But for now, it looked like Stiles was already much improved from when he’d arrived. The boy who had been an unruly, emotional wreck, was now calm and compliant. A healthy, happy omega.