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lb_leeGod did I need something to feel good about after Red and Blue. Here we go! Rutless is up for sale as an ebook, under my new erotica pen name! Kinks and content warnings (which may contain SPOILERS) are in the comments below. Y'all also get a (perfectly non-erotic) sample of the first bit of it.
Rutless
Word Count: ~11,000
Blurb: a heatless omega guy. A rutless alpha girl. Mating season isn't their problem, is it?
Wellstown has beaches, but nothing famous—no big waves for the surfers, no turquoise waters or snow-white sands. It has about 300,000 people (not including summer tourists), a marine bio institute for college students, and most importantly, a job opening for a peacekeeper assist in Xeno Affairs and Policing, Seasonal division. Lab work, paper work, and a lot of time spent with the local beef. Low chance of promotion or excitement. Omegas strongly preferred.
Sterling gets his physical, passes the blood test, and moves to the boonies.
It’s a culture shock. He’s never seen so many rodeo belt buckles and cowboy boots in his life. But nobody cares how loud his shirts are, as long as they think he’s omega, so he does his best to adapt to the alpha boys’ club with its mandatory post-shift drinking sessions, Musk body spray, and giant codpieces.
That’s when he discovers that a bunch of these alpha peacekeeper boys expect Sterling to assist in not just a professional capacity. Which Sterling wouldn’t mind, if they weren’t such pricks about it.
The first peacekeeper takes one look at him and sends him back: “I don’t care how good you are; no fat omegas over forty.”
The second guy is cloyingly charitable until Sterling discovers the embezzling and reports it.
Placement number three is with Bronska: one of the oldest, most decorated officers in the department, the only trans woman, and (according to office scuttlebutt) an absolute girder.
She’s also gorgeous. Total Joan of Arc in argyle. Steel-gray hair, eyes like a war goddess, and a beaky nose that gives her the mien of a bird of prey. A big girl even by alpha standards (though not by XAP’s), she moves like poetry and looks like she could put Sterling through a wall.
He wants in her pants yesterday.
Randall catches him looking and snickers.
“Don’t waste your time, Sterling,” he sneers. “She’s rutless.”
Sterling is so taken aback that he doesn’t have a witty retort. Finally, he grabs his Cosmo, gets off his bar stool, and says, “I’m heatless, Randall. Get a life.”
Bronska’s sitting alone with her cranberry juice, as usual. When Sterling approaches, her shoulders tense. She heard, he realizes—what Randall said, anyway.
Well then, no need to pretend otherwise. He sits down across from her. “What’s his problem?”
She eyes Sterling warily. “Reported him for harassment.”
Sterling whistles. “Not even worth the dominance display.”
“No.” Bronska apparently doesn’t wait for a punchline. “I don’t display.”
“Ever?”
“No.” She holds his eyes, daring him to make something of it.
Nobody’s paying attention to them. “Neither do I.” He extends his hand. “I’m pseudo-omega.”
That takes her off-guard. She doesn’t take his hand, but her body language opens up. She leans in, inhales (not ostentatiously), but she won’t get anything; he’s wearing scent-reducer, same as her, and overcoming it would require her get a lot closer to him. (Not that he’d mind.)
He sees the light bulb go off. “The new assist. Subramanian.”
“Your new assist, yes, that’s me, and please, Subramanian’s my father.” He wiggles his hand expectantly, and this time, she takes it. “I’m Sterling, professional pervert.”
She has a good handshake and an impressive deadpan. “Athena. Same.”
“Oh, good! I’d hate to have an amateur!” She doesn’t smile, but she toasts him with the cranberry juice. “Speaking of, does this place have the usual mating season caseload contest? Because if you’re rutless and I’m heatless, then we stand to make a killing…”
A pleased, competitive glint comes into her eye. “You can stay,” she says, and like that, they’re in business.
And not a moment too soon, as he discovers the following morning. They don’t even make it into the office before…
“I’m gonna pound your manly face in with my buff hands, bro!”
“No, my gorgeous face will wreck your virile fists, bro. Don’t you know skulls are stronger than phalanges?”
The two alpha boys don’t look at all alike in features, but they still have a rubber stamp look to them—same gelled hairstyle, same skintight WMI shirts and stuffed jeans and shit-kicker boots, same muscles getting flexed under the pretense of preparing for a dominance fight.
Cars honk furiously, but the two bros stay square in the middle of the street, posturing and peacocking for their very unappreciative rush hour audience.
“Stop holding up traffic with your beautiful face, Chad,” says Bro #1 with a shove.
“Screw you, Chaz, you stop holding up traffic with your god bod,” replies Bro #2 with a shove back.
Bronska clears her throat.
The two bros round on her. They take in her uniform, the coffee in her hand, and the very unimpressed look on her face. They hesitate. (They also ignore Sterling completely, which suits him just fine. He is not nearly caffeinated enough for this.)
Bronska sips her coffee and jerks her free thumb over her shoulder: out.
That decides the bros. They flex at her.
Bronska shakes her head.
They flex harder. Thews ripple. Sweat gleams. Seams pop.
Bronska hands her coffee to Sterling. Then she strides over, grabs the bros by the ears, and marches them off the street like disobedient puppies—which is much how they respond, as though she’s somehow broken the script they’re following and they don’t know what to do.
“Ow! Why you gotta do me dirty, galpha?”
“Noooo, miss! Come on, miss! Owwww!”
Sterling drinks his coffee, makes a face when he swigs Bronska’s black swill by mistake, and checks his watch. 8:55. Mating season’s come early.
“And so it begins,” he remarks, and follows Bronska into the office.
Rutless
Word Count: ~11,000
Blurb: a heatless omega guy. A rutless alpha girl. Mating season isn't their problem, is it?
Wellstown has beaches, but nothing famous—no big waves for the surfers, no turquoise waters or snow-white sands. It has about 300,000 people (not including summer tourists), a marine bio institute for college students, and most importantly, a job opening for a peacekeeper assist in Xeno Affairs and Policing, Seasonal division. Lab work, paper work, and a lot of time spent with the local beef. Low chance of promotion or excitement. Omegas strongly preferred.
Sterling gets his physical, passes the blood test, and moves to the boonies.
It’s a culture shock. He’s never seen so many rodeo belt buckles and cowboy boots in his life. But nobody cares how loud his shirts are, as long as they think he’s omega, so he does his best to adapt to the alpha boys’ club with its mandatory post-shift drinking sessions, Musk body spray, and giant codpieces.
That’s when he discovers that a bunch of these alpha peacekeeper boys expect Sterling to assist in not just a professional capacity. Which Sterling wouldn’t mind, if they weren’t such pricks about it.
The first peacekeeper takes one look at him and sends him back: “I don’t care how good you are; no fat omegas over forty.”
The second guy is cloyingly charitable until Sterling discovers the embezzling and reports it.
Placement number three is with Bronska: one of the oldest, most decorated officers in the department, the only trans woman, and (according to office scuttlebutt) an absolute girder.
She’s also gorgeous. Total Joan of Arc in argyle. Steel-gray hair, eyes like a war goddess, and a beaky nose that gives her the mien of a bird of prey. A big girl even by alpha standards (though not by XAP’s), she moves like poetry and looks like she could put Sterling through a wall.
He wants in her pants yesterday.
Randall catches him looking and snickers.
“Don’t waste your time, Sterling,” he sneers. “She’s rutless.”
Sterling is so taken aback that he doesn’t have a witty retort. Finally, he grabs his Cosmo, gets off his bar stool, and says, “I’m heatless, Randall. Get a life.”
Bronska’s sitting alone with her cranberry juice, as usual. When Sterling approaches, her shoulders tense. She heard, he realizes—what Randall said, anyway.
Well then, no need to pretend otherwise. He sits down across from her. “What’s his problem?”
She eyes Sterling warily. “Reported him for harassment.”
Sterling whistles. “Not even worth the dominance display.”
“No.” Bronska apparently doesn’t wait for a punchline. “I don’t display.”
“Ever?”
“No.” She holds his eyes, daring him to make something of it.
Nobody’s paying attention to them. “Neither do I.” He extends his hand. “I’m pseudo-omega.”
That takes her off-guard. She doesn’t take his hand, but her body language opens up. She leans in, inhales (not ostentatiously), but she won’t get anything; he’s wearing scent-reducer, same as her, and overcoming it would require her get a lot closer to him. (Not that he’d mind.)
He sees the light bulb go off. “The new assist. Subramanian.”
“Your new assist, yes, that’s me, and please, Subramanian’s my father.” He wiggles his hand expectantly, and this time, she takes it. “I’m Sterling, professional pervert.”
She has a good handshake and an impressive deadpan. “Athena. Same.”
“Oh, good! I’d hate to have an amateur!” She doesn’t smile, but she toasts him with the cranberry juice. “Speaking of, does this place have the usual mating season caseload contest? Because if you’re rutless and I’m heatless, then we stand to make a killing…”
A pleased, competitive glint comes into her eye. “You can stay,” she says, and like that, they’re in business.
And not a moment too soon, as he discovers the following morning. They don’t even make it into the office before…
“I’m gonna pound your manly face in with my buff hands, bro!”
“No, my gorgeous face will wreck your virile fists, bro. Don’t you know skulls are stronger than phalanges?”
The two alpha boys don’t look at all alike in features, but they still have a rubber stamp look to them—same gelled hairstyle, same skintight WMI shirts and stuffed jeans and shit-kicker boots, same muscles getting flexed under the pretense of preparing for a dominance fight.
Cars honk furiously, but the two bros stay square in the middle of the street, posturing and peacocking for their very unappreciative rush hour audience.
“Stop holding up traffic with your beautiful face, Chad,” says Bro #1 with a shove.
“Screw you, Chaz, you stop holding up traffic with your god bod,” replies Bro #2 with a shove back.
Bronska clears her throat.
The two bros round on her. They take in her uniform, the coffee in her hand, and the very unimpressed look on her face. They hesitate. (They also ignore Sterling completely, which suits him just fine. He is not nearly caffeinated enough for this.)
Bronska sips her coffee and jerks her free thumb over her shoulder: out.
That decides the bros. They flex at her.
Bronska shakes her head.
They flex harder. Thews ripple. Sweat gleams. Seams pop.
Bronska hands her coffee to Sterling. Then she strides over, grabs the bros by the ears, and marches them off the street like disobedient puppies—which is much how they respond, as though she’s somehow broken the script they’re following and they don’t know what to do.
“Ow! Why you gotta do me dirty, galpha?”
“Noooo, miss! Come on, miss! Owwww!”
Sterling drinks his coffee, makes a face when he swigs Bronska’s black swill by mistake, and checks his watch. 8:55. Mating season’s come early.
“And so it begins,” he remarks, and follows Bronska into the office.
Kinks (highlight to read)
Date: 2022-06-28 10:41 pm (UTC)Ruined orgasm, multiple orgasms, sensory overload, post-orgasm stimulation, biting, locking, scent, dirty talk, non-traditional alpha/beta/omega dynamics, mild D/S. Oh, and unusual ambiguous fantasy anatomy.