Page 21 of Stalked By the Alphas

20

HAZEL

Lost in a haze of heat and delirium, I drift in and out of consciousness. My body burns, aching for relief that never fully comes. Fragmented images and sensations flicker through my mind. Cool hands on my fevered skin, the stretch of a knot filling me, masked figures looming over me. But it all blurs together from fevered dreams and hallucinations.

“Shh, omega. Let your dreams take care of you.”

The words echo in my mind as hands caress me, as a thick cock pushes into me. I cry out, overwhelmed by the sensation. It feels so real, so intense. But it can’t be real. It’s just another vivid heat dream.

I lose track of time completely. My world narrows to the ebb and flow of need, momentary relief followed by renewed desperation. Knots swell inside me, stretching me wide, only to disappear when I surface briefly from the haze. I dream of cool cloths wiping my skin, of water being pressed to my lips .

Another orgasm crashes through my body and I sob with relief, with frustration, with confusion.

Nothing makes sense anymore. My mind feels fractured, unable to distinguish reality from fevered imagination. The masked figures blur and shift, sometimes there, sometimes gone. Their touches alternate between soothing and demanding.

I whimper, overwhelmed by sensation, as another cock pushes into me. The stretch burns deliciously, my body eagerly accepting what it craves.

“Just a dream,” I mumble, my words slurred. “Not real.”

I sob as another orgasm washes over me, my body clenching around the knot buried deep inside. Relief, but never enough. Never lasting. The cycle of need and momentary satisfaction blurs together until I lose all sense of time passing.

A cool cloth runs between my legs, and then I don’t feel anything. I open my eyes, trying to focus, but it’s too difficult, too exhausting. The cramps have lessened now. I turn over, and my hand hits the vibrator. It’s still buzzing away, wet with my slick. With a groan, I turn it off, and the room falls into silence. Sitting up, clutching my head, I force myself to look around, but I’m alone. Nothing appears to be out of place.

“Fuck,” I mutter. These hallucinations are getting worse. Tears prick my eyes as I feel completely hopeless. I am lost in a sea of not knowing what is real and what isn’t.

I curl up tightly in my nest, wrapping the blankets around myself. My body aches all over, but the worst of the heat seems to have passed. For now, at least. I know from experience that it will surge again later.

Closing my eyes, I try to make sense of the fragments of memory floating through my mind. Masked figures. Multiple knots stretching me wide. Cool hands soothing my fevered skin. But it all feels hazy and dreamlike.

“It wasn’t real,” I whisper to myself. “Just hallucinations. Fever dreams.”

It felt so vivid, so intense. It makes me weep.

I force myself to sit up, wincing at the soreness between my legs from the vibrator.

Shakily, I stand and make my way to the bathroom on unsteady legs. In the mirror, my reflection looks pale and drawn, dark circles under my eyes. But there are no marks on my skin, no evidence of rough handling.

It was all in my head.

But as I turn away from the mirror, movement catches my eye. For just a split second, I could swear I see a white mask reflected behind me. I whirl around, heart pounding, but there’s nothing there. Sobbing, I shove my hands into my hair and clutch my head. What is happening to me?

I rock back and forth, trying to grasp onto something tangible, but I don’t even know what is and what isn’t. Where am I? Who am I? These questions slam through me, and I choke back the panic attack. I can’t do this right now. Not when I have my heat to deal with .

Stumbling back into my room, the scent in the air is sickly sweet and I can’t place where it’s coming from.

I stumble back to my nest, my legs shaking. The bathroom feels too exposed, too vulnerable. I need the safety and comfort of my blankets.

Pulling the worst of the wet blankets off that are soaked with my slick, I curl up in the nest, I try to make sense of what is happening. I squeeze my eyes shut, willing the images of the masked men away. But they linger, haunting me, taunting me.

“It’s not real,” I whisper to myself. “None of it was real.”

My stomach clenches, and I feel the heat fever dropping over me again rapidly. I groan and pull my legs up higher against the pain from the cramps. I should eat, should have something to drink, but I can’t force myself out of my nest.

I whimper as another wave of heat crashes over me. The cramping intensifies, my body demanding relief that I’m too exhausted to provide. I fumble for the vibrator, but my hands are shaking too badly to turn it on.

Through the haze of fever, I hear movement in the room. Footsteps approaching my nest.

“Shh, sweet omega. We’re here to take care of you.”

The voice is a whisper of words, nothing more. A cool hand strokes my forehead. I force my eyes open, trying to focus. A white mask hovers above me, featureless and eerie. I want to scream, to fight, but my body betrays me. A fresh gush of slick coats my thighs .

“Please,” I whimper, not sure if I’m begging for help or for them to leave my mind.

Hands gently reposition me, spreading my legs. I feel the blunt pressure of a cock at my entrance. The omega in me keens with need.

As the rock-hard length pushes inside me, stretching me deliciously, I surrender to the sensation. Real or not, my body craves this. Needs it.

I drift in and out of consciousness as the masked figure takes me, my body responding eagerly even as my mind struggles to process what’s happening. The stretch and fullness as he thrusts into me feels so real, so intense. But it can’t be real. It’s just another vivid hallucination.

The pleasure builds, spiralling higher until I shatter with a cry. As the aftershocks roll through me, I feel the cock inside me swell, stretching me impossibly wide. The knot locks us together as warmth floods my pussy.

I purr, overwhelmed by sensation. It feels so good, bringing blessed relief from the burning need. But confusion and fear war with the pleasure. This can’t be real. I’m alone. I have to be alone. I can’t have sex. I can’t have a cock inside me. It’s just the vibrator. I can hear it. I can feel it against my pussy. It’s just the vibrator.

Exhaustion pulls me under, and I let it.