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Sixteen year old Harry stood frozen near the lockers, gripping his biology textbook like it might shield him from the whispers. His friend Liam leaned in, voice hushed but urgent. "They want you in Lab 4B. Right now." Harry's stomach dropped—he knew exactly what that meant.

The hallways blurred as he walked, his sneakers squeaking against polished linoleum. Every step felt like wading through molasses. Lab 4B was where the advanced anatomy demonstrations happened—the ones omegas were "volunteered" for when they needed a live model. Harry had heard the rumors—the way alphas crowded close, how some omegas came out shaky and flushed, how nobody ever said no.

The door creaked when he pushed it open. Cold air rushed over his skin before he even stepped inside. A dozen alpha seniors lounged on stools, some grinning, others murmuring behind their hands. Professor Calloway stood near the front desk, clipboard in hand, smiling like this was just another lesson. "Ah, Harry. Perfect. Come on up."

Harry’s fingers trembled as he tugged at the hem of his shirt. He knew the drill—no clothes, no protests, just compliance. The desk at the front had been cleared, its surface wiped clean except for a thin white towel spread across it like a mockery of dignity. Someone coughed in the back row, and Harry could feel the weight of their stares pressing against his skin.

His sweatpants were loose, thank god, but that made it worse when they pooled at his ankles without ceremony. The elastic waistband caught briefly on his cocklet before snapping down, leaving him bare from the waist down. A sharp inhale came from somewhere to his left—some alpha trying to smother a sound. Harry kept his eyes on the towel, counting the fibers to keep from bolting.

Professor Calloway tapped his clipboard impatiently. "On the desk, Harry. Legs spread—properly." The words were clinical, but his gaze lingered a second too long on Harry's exposed thighs. Harry swallowed hard, his palms slick against the edge of the desk as he hoisted himself up. The metal was cold against his bare skin, the towel doing little to cushion the hardness beneath him. He hesitated, knees pressed together like a last defense, until Calloway sighed and reached forward himself.

Calloway’s fingers—dry and impersonal—hooked behind Harry’s knees, pushing them apart with practiced efficiency. The movement forced Harry’s hips to tilt upward, exposing the soft, hairy pussy between his legs and the flushed pink of his six inch cocklet, already half-hard from sheer humiliation. A low, collective murmur rippled through the room.

"Good," Calloway said, though Harry wasn’t sure who he was talking to. The professor stepped back, gesturing vaguely toward Harry’s spread thighs. "Now, observe the typical omega presentation—

Harry's chest heaved with shallow breaths, the air in the lab suddenly thick with the scent of alpha interest—spicy and overwhelming. His small, rounded breasts trembled slightly with each exhale, the pink nipples pebbled tight from the chill of exposure and the weight of so many hungry eyes. A bead of sweat trickled down his ribs, tracing the curve of his waist before vanishing into the dark thatch of hair between his thighs.

"Notice the erectile response," Calloway continued, tapping his clipboard with a pen as if marking a checklist. The sound made Harry flinch. "Typical omega hypersensitivity—even incidental stimulation can trigger visible arousal." As if to prove the point, Harry's cocklet twitched against his belly, the flushed length of it curving upward as a fresh wave of humiliation burned through him. Someone in the back row shifted, their chair scraping loudly against the floor.

The professor leaned in, his thumb brushing casually over Harry's left nipple—just once, just enough to make the omega gasp and arch off the desk. A few alphas chuckled, low and approving. Harry squeezed his eyes shut, but it didn't block out the sound of Calloway's clinical detachment. "Breast tissue is often erogenous in omegas, particularly during presentations. You'll observe the nipples darkening under prolonged attention."

Harry's fingers scrabbled uselessly against the towel beneath him, his hips jerking when a draft from the ventilation system ghosted over his exposed pussy. The coarse curls there were damp with nervous sweat, clinging to his inner thighs in messy tendrils. He could hear the rustle of notebooks, the scratch of pens—were they drawing him? Taking notes? His cocklet throbbed, the tip glistening with a drop of pre-cum that he prayed nobody noticed.

Thr professor then starts massaging Harry's breasts, his fingers kneading the soft flesh with deliberate, clinical precision. Harry's breath hitched as Calloway's thumbs circled his nipples, the rough pads catching on the sensitive peaks. "Observe the texture," Calloway said, his voice detached as he pinched one nipple between thumb and forefinger, rolling it slowly. "Omega mammary tissue is highly responsive—even non-sexual manipulation can elicit pleasure signals."

Harry whimpered, his hips jerking involuntarily as Calloway twisted his nipple sharply, then released it with a flick that sent a jolt straight to his cocklet. The sensation was unbearable—a mix of sharp pain and toe-curling pleasure that left him panting. His small breasts bounced slightly with each ragged inhale, the nipples now a deep, flushed pink under the professor's relentless attention.

"Note the swelling," Calloway continued, palming Harry's chest firmly, fingers splayed to push the soft mounds together. "Increased blood flow causes engorgement, much like genital arousal." His nails scraped lightly over one peaked nipple, and Harry arched off the desk with a strangled cry, his thighs trembling. The classroom erupted in hushed murmurs—someone muttered "fuck" under their breath—but Calloway ignored them, focused solely on his demonstration.

Harry's vision blurred at the edges, his body betraying him as pleasure coiled tighter in his gut. The professor's hands were everywhere—squeezing, pulling, teasing—and Harry couldn't stop the tiny, broken noises spilling from his lips. His cocklet twitched against his stomach, leaking steadily now, and he squeezed his eyes shut, wishing he could disappear.

"Particularly responsive omegas," Calloway said, pausing to tug sharply on both nipples at once, "may even experience milk letdown under sufficient stimulation." Harry sobbed, his back bowing as his nipples ached under the cruel pull. The professor hummed, thumbs circling the stiff peaks again. "Though this specimen hasn't yet reached full maturity, the ducts are clearly—"

One alpha raises his hand—broad-shouldered, his knuckles resting lazily against his cheek—and Harry’s stomach twists before the boy even speaks. "Professor," the alpha says, voice thick with amusement, "so if an omega’s, uh, pussy gets wet when you play with their tits, does that mean they’ll let you fuck it?" A few snickers ripple through the room. Harry’s thighs twitch, his cocklet pulsing against his belly as if trying to hide.

Calloway sighs, adjusting his glasses with one finger like the question is tedious. "The correct terminology is vagina and breasts, Mr. Dalton. But yes, in general, omegas exhibit heightened genital arousal when their mammary tissue is stimulated—especially during presentations." He taps his clipboard against Harry’s spread knee, making him flinch. "Observe how this specimen’s vaginal opening is already glistening, despite minimal direct contact."

Harry’s breath stutters. He hadn’t even realized—hadn’t felt the slick gathering between his thighs until now. The alpha who spoke—Dalton—leans forward, elbows on his knees, eyes dark and hungry. "So if I touch his tits," he says slowly, "he’ll spread his legs wider?" The words drip with intent. Calloway shrugs, as if discussing a lab specimen’s reaction to heat. "Typically, yes. Omegas often arch into breast stimulation, which naturally tilts the pelvis and—" He gestures vaguely at Harry’s trembling form. "—facilitates access."

Calloway's hands returned to Harry's chest with the same clinical detachment, his fingers sinking into the soft flesh before lifting and letting Harry's small breasts bounce lightly against his palms. "Note the elasticity," he said, his tone flat as he jiggled them deliberately, making Harry's nipples sway. "Partic—particularly perky for an omega of this age. Ideal for nursing, should the specimen ever breed."

Harry's breath came in short, sharp gasps as his body betrayed him—his cocklet twitching against his stomach with each jostle of his breasts, the tip dripping pre-cum onto his belly in thin, glistening streaks. The professor's thumbs brushed over his nipples again, this time with enough pressure to make Harry's hips jerk off the desk, his thighs trembling as his pussy clenched around nothing. A soft whimper escaped his lips before he could bite it back, and somewhere in the room, an alpha stifled a groan.

"Breastplay is often sufficient to induce orgasm in omegas," Calloway continued, kneading Harry's flesh now, his fingers pressing deep enough to leave faint pink marks. "Especially in those with heightened sensitivity, like this specimen." He pinched one nipple between his fingers, rolling it roughly until Harry arched off the desk with a choked cry, his toes curling against the towel beneath him. The professor didn't stop—just switched to the other nipple, tugging it sharply while Harry's chest heaved, his small breasts bouncing with every ragged inhale.

Dalton's chair scraped against the floor as he leaned forward, his eyes locked on Harry's trembling form. "So if you keep playing with his tits," he said, voice thick, "he'll just—what, come like that?" Calloway didn't even glance up, his hands still working Harry's nipples with methodical precision. "Typically, yes. Though some omegas require additional stimulation to—" He trailed off, finally looking up when Harry's hips bucked violently, his cocklet pulsing as a thin, white spurt landed on his own stomach.

Harry's entire body locked up as the orgasm tore through him—his thighs clamping around Calloway's wrists instinctively before he remembered he wasn't supposed to resist. His cocklet jerked against his belly, spilling another weak dribble of cum onto his flushed skin while his pussy clenched rhythmically, slick dripping down his thighs onto the towel. The room erupted into hushed curses and shifting fabric as alphas adjusted their pants, but Calloway merely sighed like Harry had inconvenienced him. "Note the refractory period," he said, thumb swiping through the mess on Harry's stomach as if collecting a sample. "Shorter than an alpha's, but still present."

Harry's vision swam with unshed tears as he slumped back against the desk, his breath coming in ragged gasps. The wet smear of his own cum cooling on his stomach felt like a brand—proof of how easily his body had betrayed him. A choked sob caught in his throat when he heard someone in the front row mutter, "Jesus, did he just—?"

"Yeah," another alpha answered, voice husky with amusement. "Came from just his tits getting played with. Fuckin' pathetic." Harry squeezed his eyes shut, but the humiliation burned hotter when a new voice cut through the murmurs—deep and curious. "Hey, professor—his cocklet supposed to be that big? Looks almost alpha-sized."

Calloway's fingers, still pinching Harry's oversensitive nipple, paused. He tilted his head, considering Harry's flushed length with detached interest. "No," he said finally. "The average omega cocklet measures approximately three inches when fully erect. This specimen is notably larger—six inches, by my estimation." He traced a finger along the underside of Harry's cocklet, making it twitch pathetically against his belly. "A genetic anomaly, but hardly unprecedented."

Someone whistled lowly. "Lucky bastard," another alpha muttered, shifting in his seat. Harry's stomach churned—lucky? With his cocklet dripping onto his own stomach, his thighs still trembling from the orgasm he hadn't wanted? Calloway hummed, pressing two fingers against the base of Harry's cocklet and sliding them upward, collecting the slick mess of his release. "Larger specimens are often more responsive to stimulation," he mused, smearing the cum across Harry's belly in a thin, glistening stripe.

“Let me show you,” Calloway said, his fingers curling around the base of Harry’s cocklet with clinical precision. Harry squealed—high and involuntary—as the professor’s thumb pressed into the underside, tracing the prominent vein along the shaft. “Observe the structural similarities to alpha genitalia, albeit on a smaller scale.” His grip tightened slightly, making Harry’s hips jerk off the desk. “The shaft,” he continued, stroking upward slowly, “contains the same erectile tissue, just compressed. Note the urethra running along the underside.”

Harry’s breath hitched as Calloway’s fingers reached the swollen glans, his thumb rubbing over the flushed tip where pre-cum beaded. “The corona,” the professor mused, tracing the ridged edge with a nail, “is particularly sensitive in omegas.” Harry whimpered, his thighs trembling as Calloway’s other hand pinched his nipple again, the dual stimulation sending sparks up his spine. “And here—” Calloway’s index finger dipped beneath the head, pressing into the frenulum—“is where omegas often exhibit the most acute responsiveness.”

Harry’s back arched violently, a broken moan tearing from his throat as the professor’s fingertip stroked the thin strip of skin. His cocklet pulsed in Calloway’s grip, another spurt of pre-cum dribbling over the professor’s fingers. The classroom erupted into hushed murmurs—fabric rustling, chairs creaking as alphas leaned closer.

“The meatus,” Calloway continued, unfazed, swiping his thumb over the slick tip, “is functionally identical, though omega ejaculate is typically thinner and less voluminous.” He spread Harry’s pre-cum across the glans, the wet sound obscenely loud in the silent room. Harry squeezed his eyes shut, but it didn’t block out the feeling of Calloway’s fingers sliding back down to the foreskin, tugging it lightly over the sensitive head. “Retraction and coverage are more pronounced in omegas due to the smaller size,” the professor said, rolling the skin between his fingers.

Dalton’s voice cut through the tension, rough with arousal. “So if you keep playing with it—” He gestured vaguely at Harry’s twitching cocklet. “—he’ll just keep coming?” Calloway adjusted his glasses, unbothered. “In theory, yes. Omega refractory periods are shorter, and repeated stimulation can—” He was interrupted by Harry’s sharp cry as his thumb circled the frenulum again. Harry’s hips jerked off the desk, his cocklet throbbing visibly in Calloway’s grip.

“Observe the urethral sponge,” Calloway said, pressing two fingers along the underside of Harry’s shaft. Harry sobbed, his legs kicking weakly as the professor’s fingers found a spot that made his vision whiten. “This tissue swells during arousal, compressing the urethra and—” Harry came with a strangled gasp, his cocklet pulsing as another weak spurt painted his stomach. Calloway didn’t pause, his fingers still moving. “—facilitating ejaculation.”

Harry’s chest heaved, his small breasts bouncing with each ragged breath. His nipples were dark pink now, pebbled and sore from the professor’s relentless attention. Calloway finally released his cocklet, but only to swipe a finger through the mess on Harry’s belly. “Note the viscosity,” he said, holding up his glistening finger to the light. “Thinner than alpha semen, but with a higher fructose content.” He wiped his hand on the towel beneath Harry, then reached for his clipboard.

“Any questions?” he asked, as if they’d just reviewed a textbook. “His cocklet is pretty, but not as pretty as his pussy—sorry, vagina,” an alpha interjected, voice rough with amusement. Harry’s thighs twitched, his cocklet pulsing weakly against his belly as if ashamed. Calloway sighed, adjusting his glasses. “An omega’s vaginal opening is a visual cue for arousal,” he said matter-of-factly, and Harry’s stomach dropped when the professor’s fingers slid between his thighs without warning.

Calloway’s thumbs pressed into the soft curls framing Harry’s pussy, parting the outer lips with clinical precision. Harry gasped, his hips jerking uselessly—the professor didn’t even pause. “Observe the labia majora,” Calloway said, spreading Harry wider, exposing the plump, flushed folds to the room. “Note the pubic hair distribution and the erectile tissue beneath.” The air was cold against Harry’s exposed flesh, his inner thighs trembling as Calloway traced a finger along the outer edge. “These become engorged during arousal, much like the specimen’s nipples.”

Harry squeezed his eyes shut, but it didn’t block out the professor’s detached narration as his fingers dipped lower, peeling back the inner lips. “Labia minora,” Calloway continued, tapping the delicate, hairless folds. “Highly vascularized—see how they darken with stimulation?” A whimper escaped Harry’s throat when the professor’s thumb brushed the hooded nub of his clitoris, sending a jolt through his spine. “The clitoris,” Calloway mused, rolling the tiny bud between his fingers, “contains over ten thousand nerve endings. Most omegas require direct or indirect stimulation here to orgasm.”

Harry’s hips bucked involuntarily, his pussy clenching around nothing as slick dribbled onto the towel beneath him. The professor hummed, unbothered. “Vaginal opening,” he said, pressing two fingers against the flushed rim. Harry’s breath hitched—Calloway wasn’t pushing in, just circling the entrance, smearing the wetness there. “Note the Bartholin glands,” he added, swiping a fingertip along the slickness. “Responsible for lubrication during arousal.”

Calloway’s fingers pressed deeper, the blunt tips sinking into Harry’s slick heat without warning. The omega gasped, his thighs jerking—but the professor didn’t stop, just curled his fingers upward, dragging against something inside that made Harry’s vision flash white. “The anterior wall,” Calloway said, voice flat as he rubbed the spot deliberately. “Commonly referred to as the G-spot in layman’s terms.” Harry’s hips stuttered, his cocklet twitching against his stomach as another rush of slick spilled over the professor’s knuckles.

A hissed “fuck” came from the back row, followed by the creak of chairs as alphas leaned closer. Dalton’s voice was rough, barely above a whisper. “Look at how tight he is—like he’s trying to suck the professor’s fingers in.” Another alpha chuckled lowly, shifting in his seat. “Bet his pussy’s even tighter when he comes.” Harry’s breath hitched, his toes curling against the towel as Calloway’s fingers scissored inside him, stretching him obscenely.

“Note the mucosal lining,” Calloway continued, twisting his wrist to expose Harry’s glistening inner walls to the room. “Omega vaginal tissue is typically more elastic than an alpha’s—” He crooked his fingers again, and Harry cried out, his back arching off the desk. “—and produces significantly more lubrication during arousal.” Slick dripped down Harry’s thighs, pooling on the towel beneath him in a translucent puddle.

Someone groaned—a deep, hungry sound that sent a fresh wave of humiliation burning through Harry’s chest. “Professor,” Dalton said, voice thick, “can we—I mean, is there a practical part of this demo?” The room fell silent, every alpha holding their breath. Calloway didn’t pause, his fingers still pistoning in and out of Harry’s dripping cunt. “Enough,” he said flatly, and the murmurs cut off instantly.

Harry’s hips jerked with each thrust, his cocklet twitching against his stomach in helpless sync. The professor’s fingers curled again, pressing ruthlessly against that spongy spot inside him, and Harry sobbed—his thighs trembling as another gush of slick spilled over Calloway’s knuckles. “Observe the engorgement,” Calloway said, rubbing the spot deliberately. “The anterior wall swells noticeably during peak arousal.” Harry’s vision blurred—he could feel himself fluttering around the professor’s fingers, his pussy clenching rhythmically like it was trying to milk them deeper.

Dalton’s chair scraped forward, his knees bumping against the desk. “Professor,” he tried again, voice hoarse. “Can we—” Calloway pulled his fingers out with a wet pop, cutting him off. “Enough,” he repeated, wiping his hand on Harry’s thigh. The sudden emptiness made Harry whimper, his pussy clenching around nothing as slick dribbled down his trembling thighs. Calloway adjusted his glasses with one hand, tapping his clipboard with the other. “Any further practical application would require—”

Harry’s stomach lurched when Dalton’s fingers brushed his inner thigh—warm and rough, so unlike Calloway’s clinical touch. The alpha didn’t push further, just traced the wetness there, smearing Harry’s slick across his flushed skin. “Professor,” Dalton murmured, thumb pressing against Harry’s slick folds, “wouldn’t it be educational to—”

“No,” Calloway snapped, slapping Dalton’s hand away with a sharp crack that made Harry flinch. The professor’s voice was icy, final. “This specimen is not to be penetrated during this demonstration—that privilege is reserved for his bonded alpha, should he ever have one.” He fixed Dalton with a glare that could freeze molten steel. “Attempt anything again, and you’ll be expelled before your next breath. Scoot back.”

Dalton’s jaw tightened, but he obeyed, dragging his chair backward with a loud scrape. Harry exhaled shakily, his thighs trembling with relief—until Calloway turned back to him, adjusting his glasses with that detached curiosity that always preceded something worse. “Some omegas,” the professor mused, tracing a finger along Harry’s inner thigh, “exhibit a phenomenon colloquially termed squirting.” His thumb brushed the soaked curls between Harry’s legs, making him jerk. “Given this specimen’s heightened sensitivity, I’d like to demonstrate.”

Harry’s breath hitched—no, not that, not in front of them—but Calloway’s fingers were already pressing inside him again, relentless and clinical. Two fingers this time, scissoring him open with practiced efficiency, his thumb circling Harry’s clit in slow, deliberate strokes. Harry’s back arched off the desk with a sharp, punched-out cry, his thighs clamping around Calloway’s wrist instinctively as pleasure crackled up his spine like a live wire. His vision whited out for a heartbeat, his pussy clenching rhythmically around the professor’s fingers as slick gushed onto the towel beneath him.

"Observe the clitoral response," Calloway said, his thumb flicking faster now, the rough pad catching on Harry’s swollen nub with each pass. Harry’s hips jerked helplessly, his cocklet twitching against his belly in time with the cruel rhythm. "Omega orgasms are often vocal," the professor added, just as Harry let out another high, broken noise—half-sob, half-moan—his fingers scrabbling at the towel beneath him.

"Fuck, listen to him," someone muttered from the back row, the words thick with arousal. Harry’s stomach twisted, but his body burned, every nerve alight under Calloway’s ruthless attention. "His pussy’s dripping," another alpha added, chair creaking as he leaned closer. Harry’s thighs trembled—he could feel it, the slick spilling out of him in warm, sticky rivulets, the professor’s fingers sliding obscenely through the mess.

Calloway’s thumb pressed harder, rubbing tight circles just beneath Harry’s clit, and Harry shrieked, his back bowing off the desk as his pussy clenched violently around nothing. His orgasm ripped through him like a lightning strike—toes curling, nails digging into his palms, his cocklet pulsing weakly against his belly as another thin spurt of cum painted his stomach. The classroom erupted into hushed curses, fabric rustling as alphas adjusted themselves.

"Pathetic," Dalton muttered, but his voice was strained, his knuckles white where they gripped his knees. "Comes that hard from just his clit getting rubbed?" Calloway didn’t pause, his fingers still working Harry’s oversensitive flesh, dragging out the aftershocks until Harry’s thighs quivered with exhaustion. "Typical omega refractory period," the professor noted clinically, pinching Harry’s clit between thumb and forefinger just to watch him whimper. "Brief, but present."

Harry’s vision swam—his chest heaving, his small breasts bouncing with each ragged gasp—but Calloway wasn’t done. "Note the engorgement," he said, spreading Harry’s slick folds wider, exposing his flushed, twitching entrance to the room. "The vaginal walls remain contracted post-orgasm, but—" He pressed two fingers back inside without warning, and Harry howled, his thighs clamping around Calloway’s wrist as his pussy tried desperately to milk the intrusion. "—the tissue remains highly responsive."

"Fuck, look at him," someone breathed, and Harry could feel their eyes on him—hungry, ravenous—as Calloway’s fingers pistoned in and out, the wet squelch obscenely loud. His cocklet twitched again, still half-hard despite his exhaustion, drooling a thin string of pre-cum onto his belly. "Bet his pussy would suck an alpha’s knot in like nothing," Dalton added, his voice rough with want.

Calloway ignored them, twisting his wrist to rub relentlessly against Harry’s G-spot. "Secondary orgasms are common," he said, as if lecturing on the weather, while Harry writhed beneath him, tears streaking his flushed cheeks. "Especially with sustained stimulation of the—" Harry came again with a wail, his pussy clenching rhythmically around the professor’s fingers, his thighs shaking as another gush of slick soaked the towel beneath him.

"Christ, he’s gushing like a fountain," an alpha muttered, shifting in his seat with a rustle of fabric. Harry’s stomach twisted—he could hear them, their hushed curses, the wet sound of their palms stroking their own lengths—but Calloway’s fingers didn’t stop, just curled deeper inside him, pressing ruthlessly against that spongy spot that made his vision white out. "His cunt’s begging for it," another whispered, and Harry sobbed, his hips jerking helplessly into the professor’s touch.

Calloway’s thumb brushed Harry’s clit—once, twice—before his fingers plunged back in with brutal efficiency, fucking into Harry’s slick cunt so fast his wrist blurred. The wet slap of skin-on-skin echoed through the silent classroom, punctuated by Harry’s sharp, punched-out cries. His thighs trembled, his cocklet bouncing against his belly with each ruthless thrust, pre-cum smearing in thin, glistening streaks across his flushed skin.

"Merlin, what an omega slut," an alpha snarled from the front row, his fingers digging into his own thighs. "His pussy’s devouring the professor’s fingers." Another growled low in his throat, his chair creaking as he leaned forward. "Bet it’d feel like heaven around a cock," he muttered, his voice thick with want. Harry whimpered—he could hear them, the wet rustle of fabric as alphas palmed themselves through their pants, their hushed voices sharp with arousal.

Dalton’s breath hitched as Calloway twisted his wrist inside Harry, exposing his slick walls to the room. "Look at how pink he is inside," Dalton rasped, his knuckles white where they gripped the desk. "Like he’s blushing." Someone cursed under their breath—Harry didn’t see who, his vision blurring as Calloway’s fingers thrust deeper, pressing ruthlessly against his G-spot. "Bet his cocklet tastes sweet," another alpha murmured, licking his lips. "Wouldn’t mind sucking him dry."

Harry’s stomach twisted—his cocklet twitched pathetically against his belly, still half-hard despite his exhaustion, dripping pre-cum in thin, glistening strands. "Fuck, he loves having his pussy played with," someone hissed. "His little dick’s dribbling just from getting fingered." Laughter rippled through the room, but it was breathless, uneven—Harry could hear the strain in their voices, the way their pants tightened around their bulges.

"Professor," Dalton ground out, his voice rough, "if we can’t fuck him—can we at least touch him?" Calloway didn’t pause, his fingers still pistoning inside Harry with clinical precision. "No," he said flatly, twisting his wrist to rub against Harry’s swollen inner walls. Harry sobbed, his thighs trembling—he could feel every ridge of the professor’s fingers, the way his pussy clung to them with each withdrawal. "But observe the specimen’s vaginal response," Calloway continued, spreading Harry wider with his free hand. "Note the phased contractions—see how the inner muscles flutter?"

Dalton's chair groaned as he leaned forward, fingers twitching toward Harry's trembling thigh. "Professor, come on—just a touch," he rasped. Calloway's fingers paused inside Harry, pressing deep enough to make his back arch. "Specimen interaction is restricted," he said coolly, but Dalton wasn't backing down. "Then why's his cunt clenching like he wants it?" The alpha's knuckles whitened as Harry's pussy pulsed around Calloway's fingers—a traitorous, slick squeeze.

Harry's breath hitched when Calloway suddenly withdrew, leaving him gaping and dripping onto the towel. The professor peeled off his gloves with a snap, turning to the class. "Practical application concludes here," he said, but Dalton was already standing, his erection straining against his pants. "Bullshit," he growled. "You got him begging—look at him!" Harry was begging—with every twitch of his cocklet, every involuntary flex of his empty cunt—but Calloway merely adjusted his glasses. "Dismissed," he said, like he hadn't just ruined Harry in front of twenty alphas.

The scrape of chairs was deafening. Harry squeezed his eyes shut, but he could smell them—alpha musk thickening the air as they lingered, their footsteps slow, deliberate. Someone's knee bumped the desk, making him flinch. "Fuck, his pussy’s gaping," a voice muttered near his ear—too close, too close—and Harry whimpered when a warm puff of breath hit his inner thigh.

Calloway's hand clamped down on the alpha's wrist before he could touch Harry's glistening thigh. "Out," the professor snarled, and for the first time, Harry heard something beyond clinical detachment—danger. The alpha jerked back like he'd been burned, but his gaze lingered on Harry's trembling body, nostrils flaring at the scent of slick and sweat.

Harry's chest heaved as the classroom emptied, the alphas' footsteps heavy with reluctance. Only when the door clicked shut did Calloway release his death grip on the desk, his shoulders dropping a fraction. He turned to Harry with an expression the omega had never seen before—something fractured beneath the clinical detachment.

"I apologize," Calloway said stiffly, his voice lower than Harry had ever heard it. "Those comments were inappropriate. Alphas are not supposed to—" He stopped abruptly, jaw tightening as he glanced at the towel soaked with Harry's slick and cum. "The demonstration crossed lines."

Harry blinked up at him through tear-clumped lashes, his cocklet giving a weak twitch against his belly as if protesting the sudden absence of touch. Calloway's gaze flicked to the movement before he turned sharply away, rummaging in a drawer. "The class became... overstimulated," he continued, voice clipped as he withdrew something metallic that glinted under the fluorescents. "Given your physiological reactions, I propose an alternative demonstration."

The professor turned back, holding up two small silver clamps connected by a delicate chain—nipple clamps—and a third, smaller device Harry didn't recognize until Calloway's thumb brushed the hinged opening. "A clitoral clamp," he explained matter-of-factly, though his knuckles whitened around the instruments. "Pressure application to these erogenous zones can induce orgasm without penetration. Would you prefer to continue privately?"

Harry's breath hitched—his sore nipples stiffened at the sight of the clamps, his oversensitive clit throbbing between his slick folds. The classroom's lingering musk of alpha arousal still clung to his skin, but Calloway's scent—sharp antiseptic and something faintly herbal—cut through it as he stepped closer. "Decision pending, specimen," the professor prompted, though his voice lacked its usual clinical edge.

"You'd... you'd just use these?" Harry whispered, his thighs pressing together reflexively. The chain between the nipple clamps swayed as Calloway adjusted his grip, the silver catching the light. "With appropriate pressure gradients," he confirmed, but his thumb stroked the padded interior of the clit clamp in a way that made Harry's stomach flip. "No audience. No alphas."

Harry's pulse hammered in his throat. The thought of being touched again—even clinically—made his skin prickle with shame, but his body... his body ached. His pussy clenched around nothing, slick dribbling down his thighs in a traitorous trickle. Calloway's gaze dropped to the wetness, his nostrils flaring almost imperceptibly. "Your refractory period has passed," he observed. "Physiologically, you're capable of another orgasm."

The clamps glinted as Calloway laid them on the towel beside Harry's hip, the metal still warm from his grip. "Standard procedure requires verbal consent," he said stiffly, but his fingers hovered near Harry's trembling inner thigh—not touching, just there. The omega swallowed hard. He could still hear Dalton's growled "omega slut" echoing in his skull, could still feel their hungry eyes on his exposed flesh—but Calloway's offer hung between them, heavy and quiet.

"Would it... would it hurt?" Harry rasped, his cocklet twitching against his belly as a fresh bead of pre-cum welled at the tip. Calloway's jaw tightened. "Discomfort is inevitable," he admitted, his thumb brushing the hinge of the clit clamp absently. "But pain thresholds vary." His gaze flicked to Harry's flushed nipples, still pebbled from earlier stimulation. "These are adjustable."

Harry's breath stuttered—the professor's fingers were so close to his inner thigh now, the heat radiating off them making his skin prickle. The classroom's silence felt thick, charged, the only sound Harry's ragged breathing and the faint click of the clamps as Calloway adjusted the tension. "Your body responds viscerally to stimulation," the professor murmured, almost to himself. "Imagine the clamps providing constant pressure while I—"

A shudder ripped through Harry as Calloway's finally touched him—just a graze of knuckles against his inner thigh, but it sent sparks up his spine. "While you what?" Harry gasped, his hips jerking uselessly. Calloway's nostrils flared, his fingers twitching like he wanted to grip Harry's thigh but wouldn't allow himself. "While I monitor your physiological responses," he said gruffly, though his voice dipped lower on responses.

The first clamp clicked open with a sound that made Harry's pulse spike. Calloway hesitated—just for a heartbeat—before pressing the cold metal to Harry's left nipple. The omega whined, his back arching off the towel as the professor tightened the screw incrementally. "Too much?" Calloway asked, but his thumb was already circling the clamped nub, sending sharp jolts of pleasure-pain straight to Harry's cocklet. "N-no," Harry choked out, though his fingers were clawing at the towel.

The second clamp found his right nipple with practiced efficiency, Calloway's breath hitching just slightly when Harry's hips bucked. "Observe the vasocongestion," he muttered, adjusting the tension until Harry's nipples stood taut and ruddy under the silver. His cocklet dripped, a thin strand of pre-cum connecting it to his belly. "F-fuck," Harry sobbed, his thighs trembling as Calloway's thumb brushed the chain between the clamps—just barely making them jingle.

The clit clamp hovered between Harry's legs now, the professor's fingers shaking as he parted Harry's slick folds with his free hand. "This will require precision," Calloway said through gritted teeth, his other hand bracing Harry's thigh with uncharacteristic force. The omega felt the moment the professor's control slipped—the way his thumb pressed too hard against Harry's clit before the clamp even touched him, the way his breath came ragged when Harry screamed.

Metal kissed swollen flesh. The hinge closed with a snick that echoed in the empty classroom. Harry's vision whited out—his back arched, his thighs clamped around Calloway's wrist, his pussy pulsing around nothing as the clamp's pressure sent sparks up his spine. "G-god—fuck—" Harry babbled, his cocklet twitching violently against his belly. Calloway's fingers dug into his thigh, his other hand yanking the chain between the nipple clamps—just once—just enough to make Harry howl.

"There," Calloway hissed, his voice raw as Harry's body convulsed under the triple points of pressure. The omega felt himself unraveling—his nipples burning, his clit throbbing, his pussy dripping slick onto the professor's wrist. Calloway's thumb found the chain again, twisting it this time, sending the clamps swaying against Harry's tender flesh. The omega shrieked, his hips jerking off the desk as his orgasm ripped through him—violently, viscerally, his cocklet spurting weakly against his belly while his pussy clenched around sweet, sweet nothing.

Calloway's hands flew to the clamps the moment Harry's cries tapered off into whimpers. The professor's fingers fumbled with the screw on the first nipple clamp, his breath coming too fast for clinical detachment. "P-peak sensitivity subsides post-orgasm," he muttered, but his voice cracked when Harry whined at the sudden release. The second clamp came off with a click, leaving Harry's nipples puffy and oversensitive to the barest brush of air.

The clit clamp stayed. Calloway's fingers hovered over the hinge, his jaw clenched as Harry's thighs twitched. "One more," the professor rasped, his thumb pressing just beside the clamp—not on it, just close enough to make Harry's stomach flip. "Y-you—" Harry gasped, his cocklet jumping against his belly. "Y-you said one—" Calloway's hand slipped between Harry's thighs, his fingers smearing the omega's slick across his trembling skin. "I lied," the professor growled, and flicked the clamp with his thumbnail.

Harry's scream tore through the classroom, raw and broken as the clamp started to vibrate sending shockwaves through his oversensitive clit. His hips jackknifed off the desk, toes curling against the towel while slick gushed from his pulsing cunt in thick, warm rivulets. Calloway's fingers dug into his trembling thighs—not restraining, not anymore—just holding on as Harry's body convulsed beneath him.

"Observe the—" Calloway's clinical murmur cut off when Harry's pussy clenched visibly around nothing, his inner walls fluttering under the relentless stimulation. The professor's breath hitched—just once—before he abruptly released Harry's thighs and surged forward, spreading Harry's glistening folds wide with both hands. The sudden exposure made Harry whimper, his swollen clit twitching beneath the buzzing clamp while Calloway watched with rapt attention.

"Fascinating," the professor breathed, his thumbs pressing deeper into Harry's inner thighs to keep him spread obscenely wide. Harry could feel the vibrations traveling up his slit, could see the way his pussy quivered with each pulse—could hear the wet sounds as slick dripped freely onto the desk beneath them. Calloway's gaze burned hotter than any alpha's leer had, his pupils blown wide behind his glasses as he tracked every involuntary twitch of Harry's cunt.

The clamp's intensity spiked suddenly, the vibration shifting to a deeper, more insistent thrum that made Harry's back arch off the desk. His thighs shook violently, his pussy clenching around sweet, sweet emptiness as pleasure crackled up his spine like live wire. Calloway's thumbs pressed harder against his inner walls, spreading him wider—"Look at yourself," he ordered, voice rough with something beyond clinical interest. Harry's tear-blurred gaze dropped to where his pussy gaped around nothing, his inner walls fluttering desperately under the professor's scrutiny.

"Specimen exhibits prolonged vaginal contractions under sustained clitoral stimulation," Calloway narrated, but his breath came too fast for detachment, his fingers digging into Harry's slick flesh. The omega's stomach flipped when he realized—the professor was hard. The unmistakable bulge strained against Calloway's trousers, pressing against Harry's outer thigh as he leaned closer to observe Harry's spasming cunt.

The vibration shifted again—faster now—and Harry shrieked, his hips bucking wildly as his pussy squeezed around phantom pressure. Calloway's grip tightened, his thumbs pressing Harry's inner walls apart to expose his twitching entrance to the buzzing torment. "P-please—" Harry sobbed, his cocklet jumping against his belly, but Calloway just watched, his breath hot against Harry's trembling thigh as slick gushed obscenely from his fluttering hole.

"Secondary orgasm imminent," Calloway rasped, his voice strained as Harry's pussy pulsed around nothing. The professor's fingers twitched—like he wanted to touch deeper, to fill that desperate clenching—but he just spread Harry wider, his knuckles whitening as the omega's cunt dripped onto his wrists. "Come," he ordered, low and rough, and Harry shattered, his scream echoing off the classroom walls.

The first arc hit Calloway's chin—warm, thick, spraying in a perfect parabola as Harry's hips jackknifed off the desk. The professor flinched, his glasses flecked with omega slick, but didn't let go, just dug his thumbs into Harry's trembling thighs to keep him spread. The second spurt splashed across Calloway's collarbone, soaking into his shirt with a wet slap while Harry sobbed, his toes curling against the towel. "A-again," Calloway choked out, his grip bruising as Harry's pussy convulsed—another gush splattering the professor's chest in sticky, glistening streaks.

Harry's vision whited out—his back arched off the desk, his nails scrabbling at the towel beneath him as his pussy spasmed violently. Fluid fountained from him in pulsing arcs, painting Calloway's torso in glistening ribbons while the alpha groaned, his cock twitching visibly against his slacks. "F-fuck," Harry babbled, his thighs quivering around the professor's wrists, "p-please, stop—" But Calloway didn't, just twisted the clamp's setting higher with his free hand, making Harry screech as his pussy gushed again—a torrent this time, splashing onto the floor with a wet splat.

"Specimen demonstrates unprecedented urethral expulsivity," Calloway growled, his voice thick with something hungry as he watched Harry's cunt spasm uncontrollably. The omega's cocklet jumped against his belly, dribbling pathetic little spurts of cum in time with each squirt, his entire body shaking apart under the relentless stimulation. "P-professor—" Harry whimpered, his thighs clamping around Calloway's forearms, but the alpha just leaned closer, his breath hot against Harry's dripping slit.

"Again," Calloway ordered, his thumb pressing down beside the buzzing clamp—not on it, just close enough to make Harry's stomach flip. The omega screamed, his back bowing off the desk as his pussy erupted—arcs of slick spraying across the professor's chest, his chin, his glasses—while his cocklet twitched pathetically against his belly. Calloway's grip tightened, his fingers digging into Harry's trembling flesh as the omega's cunt pulsed around nothing, drenching them both in another wave of warm slick.

Harry choked on a sob—his toes curling, his nails biting into his palms—as the clamp's vibrations spiked again, sending shockwaves through his oversensitive clit. His pussy clenched violently, squirting in scattered spurts now—less controlled, more desperate—while Calloway watched with rapt attention, his knuckles whitening around Harry's thighs. "Fascinating," the professor breathed, his voice rough as Harry's cunt dripped onto his wrists. "Your G-spot is directly stimulating your urethral sponge—"

The clamp buzzed harder—Harry's vision whited out—his back arched off the desk—his pussy gushed in a continuous stream now, soaking Calloway's slacks, dripping onto the floor, pooling beneath the desk in a slick puddle. The professor groaned, his cock straining against his pants as Harry squirted uncontrollably, his body convulsing with each spasm. "P-please," Harry begged, his voice breaking as his pussy clenched around nothing, "no more—"

The professor's hips jerked forward suddenly, his clothed erection grinding against Harry's thigh as he reached down with trembling fingers to twist off the buzzing clamp. Harry gasped at the sudden absence of stimulation, his oversensitive clit throbbing violently while Calloway stepped back—too quickly, too roughly—his breath coming in ragged bursts that fogged his glasses.

Harry blinked up at him through tear-clumped lashes, confused and suddenly scared by the professor's uncharacteristic loss of composure. Calloway adjusted his cock through his slacks with a grimace before striding to the wall and slamming his palm against a hidden panel. A door Harry hadn't noticed hissed open, revealing a slender female omega with wide, obedient eyes. Her scent—honeysuckle and submission—flooded the room before she'd taken three steps inside.

"Professor's mate," Harry's exhausted brain supplied, watching as the omega knelt automatically at Calloway's feet. Her bare skin glowed under the fluorescents, pert breasts rising with each breath as she waited. Calloway's fingers tangled in her honey-blonde hair, yanking her upright with a jerk that made Harry flinch. "Desk," he ordered, voice rougher than Harry had ever heard it. The omega scrambled to obey, her pussy already glistening as she bent over the student desk beside Harry's trembling form.

Harry's breath caught when Calloway unbuckled his pants—his cock sprang free, thick and flushed, the head dripping pre-cum onto the omega's upturned ass. She whined, high and eager, rolling her hips back in invitation. Calloway didn't hesitate. He gripped her waist with both hands and slammed home in one brutal thrust, making the desk screech across the floor. Harry gasped—the omega's pussy stretched obscenely around Calloway's girth, her inner walls fluttering visibly as he withdrew only to pound into her again.

"F-fuck," Harry whispered, his own abused pussy clenching at the wet slap of skin meeting skin. The professor's mate mewled, her fingers scrambling for purchase on the desk as Calloway fucked her with piston-like precision. No sweet words, no gentle touches—just raw, animalistic use. Her breasts jolted with each thrust, nipples pebbled tight, while slick dripped down her inner thighs in glossy strands.

Harry's cocklet twitched pathetically against his belly as realization dawned—this was what awaited him once bonded. His future alpha would take him just like this: bending him over whatever surface was nearest, fucking his pussy raw without preamble. The thought should have terrified him—did terrify him—but his body reacted, his slit growing slick again as Calloway's mate screamed through an orgasm, her cunt clenching visibly around the professor's cock.

Calloway's rhythm didn't falter. He gripped her hips tighter, fingers bruising her flesh as he drove into her with sharp, punishing thrusts. His mate's cries turned breathy, desperate—her pussy squelching obscenely with each penetration—but Calloway only grunted, his cock glazing her inner thighs with pre-cum as he chased his own release. Harry watched, transfixed, as the omega's fingers dug into the desk, her knuckles whitening while her belly quivered under the relentless pounding.

"It's been years," Calloway growled, his voice rough with exertion, "since a student made me so aroused I require this." His mate whimpered in understanding—or perhaps just at the sudden twist of his fingers in her hair—yanking her head back hard. Harry's stomach flipped at the possessive gesture, his own thighs squeezing together reflexively. Calloway's nostrils flared, catching Harry's renewed slickness, before slamming his hips forward harder—making his mate's breasts jolt, her nipples peaking under the force.

The professor's mate sobbed, her cunt clamping down visibly—her orgasm ripping through her without warning. Calloway groaned, his thrusts growing erratic as she milked him, her inner walls fluttering in desperate pulses. "F-fuck," he growled, his fingers digging into her hips hard enough to leave bruises, "her pussy takes cock so well." His gaze snapped to Harry—still sprawled on the adjacent desk—his eyes burning behind fogged glasses. "Your pussy will too," he panted, snapping his hips forward with a wet slap. "Once you're bonded."

Harry's breath hitched—his own abused pussy clenched at the crude promise, slick trickling down his inner thighs in traitorous rivulets. Calloway noticed, nostrils flaring as he rutted into his mate with renewed vigor. "Look at you," he rasped, voice rough with exertion. "Already dripping at the thought." Harry whimpered, his cocklet twitching pathetically against his belly—because the professor wasn't wrong. The omega's thighs trembled, his slit pulsing around nothing as Calloway's mate wailed through another climax.

"If I weren't mated—" Calloway hissed, his cock twitching inside his omega as his rhythm faltered. He yanked her head back by her hair, exposing her throat as his thrusts turned vicious. "I'd bend you over this desk," he growled, eyes locked on Harry's trembling form. "Fuck you raw until you forgot any alpha but me." His mate shrieked, her cunt gushing around his length—but Calloway wasn't talking to her anymore. Harry's stomach flipped, his pulse hammering in his throat as the professor's bulge strained obscenely with each pounding thrust.

"P-professor—" Harry choked out, but Calloway ignored him, his fingers tightening in his mate's hair as his hips jerked forward harder. "You'd come untouched," he snarled, his voice guttural with need. "Just from taking my knot." The omega beneath him wailed, her pussy squeezing violently—but Calloway's gaze never left Harry's. His mate convulsed around him, her thighs quivering as slick sprayed across the desk—but the professor held her down, fucking her through it with brutal precision.

The desk shuddered under Calloway’s relentless thrusts, his mate’s slick splattering across the laminate with each brutal snap of his hips. Harry couldn’t look away—his own thighs twitched in sympathy every time the omega’s pussy stretched obscenely around the professor’s cock. A fresh wave of slick trickled down his inner thighs, his traitorous body reacting to the crude display of ownership.

Calloway’s nostrils flared, scenting Harry’s arousal as he pistoned into his mate. "See how she takes it?" he growled, fingers tightening in her hair. "No resistance. Just acceptance." His mate mewled, her cunt clenching visibly around him as another orgasm ripped through her. Calloway didn’t slow—just watched Harry over the shuddering curve of her back. "You’ll learn."

Harry’s breath hitched when Calloway suddenly withdrew, his cock glistening with omega slick. The professor didn’t give his mate a moment to recover—just spun her around and hoisted her onto the desk, spreading her thighs wide. "Watch," he ordered Harry, his voice rough. His mate’s pussy pulsed around nothing, swollen and dripping, as Calloway lined himself up and sheathed himself in one brutal thrust. She screamed, her back arching off the desk—but her legs locked around his hips instinctively, pulling him deeper.

The wet slap of skin filled the room, punctuated by the omega’s broken whimpers. Harry’s fingers dug into the towel beneath him, his cocklet throbbing against his belly as Calloway’s thrusts grew erratic. The professor’s jaw clenched, his grip bruising on his mate’s thighs as he fucked into her with sharp, shallow jerks. "Close," he gritted out—then froze, his cock twitching inside her as his knot swelled abruptly.

Harry's fingers twitched against his own thighs, then slid upward—shaking, disobedient—to wrap around his flushed cocklet. He shouldn't. He knew he shouldn't. But Calloway's knot was swelling obscenely at the base of his cock, stretching his mate's puffy lips wide, and the omega's breathy little "oh!" as it locked inside her punched straight through Harry's resistance. On the next desperate stroke, his hand wrapped around his cocklet and his thumb brushed his clit. His hips jerked off the desk with a choked gasp.

The professor's mate was gushing—slick running in glistening rivulets down her thighs where Calloway's fingers dug into her flesh. Her pussy pulsed visibly around the professor's thickening knot, her inner walls fluttering as she whimpered, "A-alpha—" Harry's fingers moved faster, his cocklet twitching against his palm in time with each wet squelch of Calloway's thrusts. The omega beneath the professor arched suddenly, her back bowing off the desk as her cunt convulsed—squirting in a thin, pulsing arc that splattered against Calloway's stomach.

Harry moaned—high and broken—his own fingers rubbing frantic circles over his clit as his slit clenched around nothing. He'd never touched himself like this in front of anyone, never dared, but the professor's mate was coming untouched around that fat knot, her thighs trembling as her pussy milked it desperately. Calloway groaned, his hips stuttering, and Harry's fingers faltered when he saw the first thick spurts of cum painting the omega's inner walls white.

"Oh god," Harry whispered, his cocklet leaking steadily onto his belly as he watched Calloway's release pump into his mate in viscous pulses. His own clit throbbed under his fingertips—he couldn't stop now, couldn't breathe—not with the professor's knot still swelling, locking his cum deep inside that fluttering cunt. The omega beneath Calloway sobbed, her hands fluttering to her belly like she could feel the heat of it, and Harry's thighs trembled as his own orgasm coiled tight.

Harry's fingers moved faster—shameless now, his thumb pressing hard against his clit in rough circles as Calloway's mate wailed through another orgasm. The professor's knot stretched her obscenely, her inner thighs quivering while cum leaked around the swollen base in thick, white rivulets. Harry whimpered, his own cunt pulsing in time with each wet squelch of Calloway's shallow thrusts. "Tell him," Calloway growled suddenly, his voice ragged as he gripped his mate's jaw, forcing her dazed eyes toward Harry. The omega blinked, her lips parting around a breathy moan—but Calloway's fingers tightened. "Tell the specimen how good my knot feels inside your worthless cunt."

His mate shuddered, her pussy fluttering visibly around his girth as fresh slick gushed down her thighs. "S-so full," she gasped, her voice wrecked, hips twitching instinctively to take him deeper. "Alpha's k-knot—stretches me perfect." Her hands slid down to frame her swollen lips, spreading herself wider for Harry to see how Calloway's cock pulsed inside her. "Feels like—like my pussy was m-made for it." Harry's breath hitched, his fingers faltering as he watched the omega's inner walls squeeze rhythmically around the professor's knot. Calloway groaned, his hips jerking forward to bury himself deeper, making his mate cry out. "Again," he ordered, his voice rough with need.

Harry’s fingers stuttered against his clit—his entire body trembling as Calloway’s mate arched beneath the professor, her pussy fluttering obscenely around his knot. "Alpha’s cum—" she gasped, her thighs quivering as another thick spurt painted her insides white. "F-feels so hot inside me." Her fingers dug into her own plush thighs, spreading herself wider, and Harry’s breath caught at the glistening stretch of her around Calloway’s girth. Slick dripped from her swollen lips in translucent strands, mixing with the professor’s release as it leaked around the knot’s base.

Calloway’s nostrils flared, his gaze snapping to Harry’s shamelessly stroking fingers. "Look at you," he rasped, hips grinding forward to seat his knot deeper. His mate whimpered, her cunt pulsing visibly around him, but the professor’s attention stayed locked on Harry. "Pathetic. Touching yourself while watching another omega get bred." Harry’s cheeks burned—his cocklet twitched in his grip, pre-cum smearing across his belly—but he couldn’t stop, not with Calloway’s low growl vibrating through the room. "Come, then," the professor ordered, voice rough. "Let me see how desperate you are."

Harry’s hips jerked off the desk—his thumb pressed harder against his throbbing clit as Calloway’s command reverberated through him. The professor’s mate moaned beneath him, her pussy still fluttering around his knot, and the wet squelch of their joined bodies pushed Harry closer to the edge. His fingers moved faster, slick with his own arousal, his cocklet twitching against his stomach with each frantic stroke.

"P-please," Harry whimpered, not even sure what he was begging for—release, mercy, more—but Calloway’s gaze burned into him, unrelenting. The professor’s knot finally began to soften, his cock slipping free from his mate’s pussy with a wet pop that made Harry’s thighs twitch. Slick and cum dripped obscenely from her gaping lips as Calloway leaned down, murmuring something against her ear too low for Harry to hear.

The omega’s eyes widened—then darkened with hunger. She nodded eagerly, licking her swollen lips, and Harry barely had time to register the predatory gleam in her eyes before she was stalking toward him. "W-wait—" he stammered, scrambling backward on the desk, but she slapped his trembling hands away with a sharp crack.

Before Harry could protest, she swung a leg over his hips and sank down onto his cocklet in one smooth motion. The scream that tore from Harry’s throat was ragged, his back arching violently off the desk as her heat enveloped him. Merlin—her pussy was scalding, slick and tight and moving, her inner walls fluttering around his length like she was already milking him.

"Fuck," Harry gasped, his fingers digging into the towel beneath him as she rolled her hips experimentally. The sensation was overwhelming—her wetness coating him, the delicious pressure of her muscles gripping him in pulses. "Oh—oh Merlin—" His cocklet throbbed inside her, his thighs trembling as she lifted herself slightly, only to slam back down with a wet slap.

Harry's breath caught—Calloway's mate was moving, her hips rolling in slow, deliberate circles that made his cocklet twitch inside her. The warmth of her cunt was overwhelming, slick and tight and alive, her inner muscles fluttering around him in rhythmic pulses that had his toes curling against the desk. "Oh—fuck—" Harry gasped, his hands scrabbling at the towel beneath him as she lifted herself slightly, then dropped back down with a wet smack that sent sparks up his spine.

Calloway's voice cut through Harry's daze, low and amused. "Observe the vaginal musculature," the professor said, stepping closer to trace a gloved finger along where their bodies joined. Harry whimpered—the omega's pussy clenched around him at the contact, her inner walls squeezing his cocklet like a vise. "Note the involuntary contractions," Calloway continued, pressing two fingers against her swollen lips to spread them wider. "Omega genitalia are designed to milk even smaller penetrative objects."

The omega above Harry moaned, her hips stuttering as Calloway's fingers brushed her clit. "P-please, Alpha," she whimpered, but the professor just hummed, adjusting his fogged glasses with his free hand. "Continue," he ordered, and Harry's stomach flipped when she obeyed immediately—her thighs trembling as she began fucking herself on his cocklet in earnest.

The sensation—Merlin, Harry had never imagined another omega's cunt could feel like this. Her heat enveloped him completely, slick walls rippling around his length with each bounce of her hips. The wet slap of their joining filled the room, mingling with Harry's broken whimpers and the omega's breathy little moans. Calloway's mate arched suddenly, her breasts jolting with the force of her movements, and Harry's hands flew to her hips on instinct—digging into the soft flesh there as she rode him faster.

Harry’s pussy pulsed in time with each wet slap of skin, his slick dripping down his perineum in warm, sticky rivulets. He could feel it—the slow trickle down his crack, the slick coating his asshole with every clench of his tingling cunt as Calloway’s mate rode him mercilessly. His thighs trembled beneath her, his cocklet twitching inside her dripping heat with each frantic bounce of her hips.

“That’s it,” Calloway murmured, fogged glasses glinting as he circled them, his detached curiosity somehow worse than hunger. “Nothing like watching two horny omegas fuck.” His fingers traced the mess between Harry’s legs, swiping through the slick smeared across his inner thighs before pressing two fingers against Harry’s fluttering asshole. Harry jerked with a strangled cry, his cocklet throbbing violently inside the omega riding him—but Calloway didn’t stop, just worked his fingers in slow circles against the tight ring of muscle. “Still so tight here,” he mused. “Even after all this stimulation.”

The omega atop Harry moaned, her hips stuttering as she ground down harder—her slick-drenched pussy squeezing Harry’s cocklet in pulses that matched Calloway’s teasing pressure against his ass. “Alpha,” she whimpered, her hands braced on Harry’s abdomen. “Can I—?” Calloway’s fingers pressed harder, making Harry gasp, but his voice was calm. “Play with his breasts,” he ordered, watching Harry’s face as he said it. “He likes having them squeezed and massaged.”

Harry’s stomach lurched—but Calloway’s mate didn’t hesitate. Her fingers skimmed up his trembling ribs, catching on his peaked nipples with deliberate roughness. Harry arched off the desk with a broken cry, his cocklet twitching inside her as her thumbs circled his sensitive buds. “Look at that,” Calloway said clinically, his fingers still massaging Harry’s hole. “Even secondary stimulation triggers a visible response.” The omega pinched Harry’s nipples hard, rolling them between her fingers, and Harry’s vision whited out—his hips jerking wildly as his cocklet pulsed inside her, his slick gushing around their joined bodies.

The professor removes his fingers from Harry’s asshole abruptly, leaving him clenching around nothing—but before Harry can even whimper at the loss, Calloway’s hands clamp around his mate’s waist and yank her down onto Harry’s cocklet with brutal force. The omega squeals, her pussy spasming violently around Harry’s length as Calloway begins bouncing her like a ragdoll, her breasts jolting with each merciless thrust. Harry’s back arches off the desk with a ragged cry, his fingers digging into her thighs as her slick heat milks him in rough, erratic pulses.

"P-please—!" Harry gasps, his cocklet throbbing inside her—he doesn’t know what he’s begging for, only that he’s drowning in the sensation of her cunt fluttering around him, the wet slap of their bodies meeting with each downward jerk of Calloway’s hands. The professor’s mate isn’t faring any better—her pleas spill out in breathy, broken syllables, her nails scraping Harry’s stomach as she clutches at him. "Alpha, please, I can’t—!"

Calloway ignores her, his grip bruising as he pistons her up and down Harry’s cocklet with clinical precision. "Tell me, specimen," he rasps, fogged glasses glinting under the lab lights, "have you ever fantasized about this?" His hips snap forward, driving her down harder, and Harry sobs as her cervix bumps the head of his cocklet—a sharp, electric spark that races up his spine. "About how another omega’s cunt would feel wrapped around you?"

Harry’s vision whites out—his thighs quivering as her pussy sucks at him, her inner walls rippling in desperate waves. “No,” he gasps, telling the truth before he can think better of it. “N-never—thought about—oh Merlin—another omega—” His words dissolve into a high-pitched keen as Calloway’s mate grinds down, her swollen clit dragging against his abdomen with filthy friction.

Calloway’s fingers dig into his mate’s hips, stilling her movements just enough to make Harry whimper. The professor’s glasses are fogged, his voice deceptively calm. “Only alpha cock, then?” His thumb circles the base of Harry’s cocklet where it disappears into his mate’s pussy, pressing just hard enough to make Harry’s toes curl. “Have you imagined a knot stretching your desperate little cunt?”

Harry chokes—his entire body flushing crimson as the omega above him moans, her hips twitching instinctively at the mention of a knot. Calloway’s thumb presses harder against the base of Harry’s cocklet, mimicking the pressure of an alpha’s swelling, and Harry’s vision blurs—his thighs trembling as his pussy pulses violently. “Touch your clitty,” Calloway orders, voice rough with something Harry’s never heard from him before—not clinical detachment, not cold precision, but hunger. “Rub it until you squirt.”

The omega atop him whimpers, her slick-drenched folds tightening around Harry’s cocklet in sympathetic pulses, but Calloway’s gaze stays locked on Harry’s face. “Now,” he growls, and Harry’s fingers jerk toward his own clit like he’s been electrocuted—his thumb brushing the swollen nub in tentative circles before Calloway tsks. “Harder,” the professor corrects, his hand guiding his mate’s hips into a slow, grinding rhythm that makes Harry gasp. “You won’t squirt like some dainty virgin. Rub it.”

Harry’s fingers press down—harder, harder—his thumb working his clit in rough, desperate circles that send sparks shooting up his spine. The omega above him moans, her cunt fluttering around his cocklet in time with each frantic stroke, and Harry’s hips jerk off the desk—his thighs quivering as his pussy clenches around nothing, slick gushing down his crack in hot pulses. “T-that’s—” he gasps, but Calloway’s voice cuts through his haze, sharp with authority.

"Observe," the professor murmurs, his fingers tightening around his mate’s waist to still her movements. "The specimen’s clitoral stimulation triggers a cascading physiological response." His thumb presses down on Harry’s clit through the omega’s fingers, forcing Harry’s hand to grind against himself with bruising pressure. "Note the increased slick production—the rhythmic contractions." Harry whimpers—his entire body shaking as Calloway’s grip turns his own touch ruthless, his clit throbbing under the relentless friction.

"All omegas are pleasure sluts at their core," Calloway continues, clinical even as his mate squirms atop Harry, her slick dripping onto his abdomen. "Biologically wired to crave this." He twists Harry’s wrist suddenly, forcing his fingers to drag up his clit instead of circling—a sharp, aching stroke that makes Harry’s vision blur. "Your clitty is engineered for overstimulation." The professor’s voice dips—lower, darker—as he leans in. "Designed to be rubbed raw by any alpha—or omega—with hands."

Harry sobs—his hips bucking wildly as Calloway’s mate grinds down, her swollen clit dragging against his abdomen in wet, frantic strokes. The professor’s grip on his wrist tightens, guiding Harry’s fingers back to his clit with brutal precision. "Rub it like you mean it," Calloway orders, and Harry’s thumb presses down—"ah—ah—AH"—his breath coming in punched-out gasps as pleasure coils tight in his belly.

He continues to rub his clit as the professor grinds his mate’s pussy on his cocklet harder than ever. Harry’s fingers blur against his swollen nub, the friction bordering on pain—but the moment he tries to ease up, Calloway’s grip tightens around his wrist, forcing him to grind down harder. "Fuck—!" Harry sobs, his thighs trembling violently as the omega above him clenches around his cocklet in rhythmic pulses, her slick dripping onto his abdomen in hot rivulets.

Then—it happens.

The first arc hits Calloway square in the chest—a hot, gushing spray that splatters across his pristine white coat with obscene force. Harry barely registers the professor's sharp inhale before the second jet follows, thicker this time, drenching Calloway's tie and collar in translucent omega slick. His hips jerk violently, toes curling against the desk as his cocklet pulses inside the omega riding him—spurting thin ropes of cum that mix with her own dripping arousal.

"Merlin—fuck—" Harry babbles, his vision whiting out as his body convulses under the dual onslaught. His thighs tremble uncontrollably, slick gushing from his spasming pussy in erratic bursts that soak his pelvis, the omega above him, the desk beneath them—everything. The third arc catches Calloway's chin mid-observation, painting his jawline in glistening streaks before dripping down his neck.

"Fascinating," Calloway breathes, but his voice cracks on the word as Harry's body erupts again—a geyser of slick that arcs higher this time, splattering against the floor with a wet splat. The omega atop him screams, her cunt clamping down on Harry's cocklet in vice-like pulses as she rides out her own orgasm, her swollen clit rubbing against Harry's soaked abdomen with frantic friction.

Harry's back arches off the desk—his spine bowing as another violent jet of slick sprays across Calloway's fogged glasses. The professor doesn't flinch, just adjusts his frames with slick-smeared fingers while murmuring, "Note the projectile distance. Unprecedented in omega specimens." His clinical tone fractures when Harry's next spasm sends a thick gush straight into his open mouth—Calloway's throat working instinctively as omega slick drips from his lips.

The omega riding Harry collapses forward with a sob, her breasts pressing against Harry's chest as she grinds her oversensitive clit against him. Harry can feel her cunt milking his cocklet in ragged pulses, her inner walls fluttering like frantic butterflies. "A-alpha," she whimpers into Harry's shoulder, her teeth sinking into his collarbone as another orgasm rips through her. The bite sends sparks up Harry's spine—his own hips jerking wildly as his cocklet spurts again, thin ropes of cum mixing with the slick soaking their joined bodies.

Calloway's hand snaps out, gripping Harry's jaw to force eye contact. "Look at yourself," he orders, voice rough. Harry's bleary gaze drops to where his cocklet disappears into the omega's dripping pussy—watches as his own cum leaks around the stretched rim of her entrance with each weak thrust. "This is textbook omega receptivity," Calloway continues, but his fingers tremble against Harry's jaw. "Your body was made for this."

Harry's response dissolves into wordless mewls as another orgasm crashes over him—his legs kicking uselessly against the desk, toes curling tight before splaying wide. The omega above him moans as Harry's cocklet twitches inside her, her inner walls fluttering around him in sympathetic pulses. Slick drips from her swollen lips onto Harry's balls in warm rivulets, the sensation sending another shudder through his oversensitive body.

"Most impressive," Calloway murmurs, his thumb brushing Harry's spit-slick lower lip. The professor's other hand grips his mate's hip, guiding her into slow, grinding circles that make Harry whine—his cocklet still trapped inside her, still throbbing with each movement. "Specimen demonstrates sustained multi-orgasmic capacity with interspecies stimulation." His clinical tone falters when Harry's body convulses again—a fresh gush of slick soaking the omega's thighs as she rides him through it.

Once their orgasms subside into twitching aftershocks, Calloway grips his mate’s waist and lifts her pussy off Harry’s cocklet with a wet pop that makes the omega whimper. Harry moans at the sudden exposure—cool air licking his oversensitive shaft, his glans glistening with mixed slick and cum. “Time to clean you up,” Calloway murmurs, though his fingers linger on his mate’s hip as she sways, her thighs slick with Harry’s release. With a flick of his wand, a folded towel materializes midair, its terrycloth surface unnaturally warm as it floats toward Harry’s trembling body.

The towel descends without ceremony, its rough fibers scraping Harry’s swollen cocklet in brisk, clinical strokes. He gasps—the friction bordering on pain—but the towel continues its merciless path, swirling around the flushed glans before dragging down the tender shaft. “P-please—” Harry whimpers, his hips jerking weakly when the terrycloth catches on the sensitive corona, but Calloway ignores him, scrubbing the towel lower until it rasps against the delicate frenulum.

“You’ll take it,” the professor murmurs, his fingers pressing Harry’s trembling thighs apart wider. The towel dips beneath Harry’s cocklet, swiping roughly at the meatus where a thin thread of cum still leaks. Harry cries out—the friction burning against the oversensitive opening—but Calloway just watches, his glasses fogged as the towel circles the exposed tip. “Omegas are engineered for endurance,” he continues clinically, though his breath hitches when Harry’s cocklet twitches pathetically under the assault. “Your frenulum alone can sustain—”

Harry’s back arches off the desk with a broken scream as Calloway suddenly flicks the towel against his frenulum—the rough fabric snapping against the elastic band of tissue with a sharp crack that sends white-hot pleasure-pain shooting up Harry’s spine. His cocklet spurts weakly, another dribble of cum oozing from his meatus as the professor observes with detached fascination. “Remarkable,” Calloway breathes, dragging the towel slower now—softer—along the twitching shaft. “Even post-orgasmic, the glans remain eager—”

The towel vanished with another flick of Calloway’s wand, leaving Harry’s cocklet throbbing and oversensitive. He conjures another towel—thicker, softer—and Harry’s stomach twists when Calloway murmurs, "Now for your cunt." The omega instinctively clamps his thighs together, but Calloway’s grip is already there, prying them apart with clinical efficiency. "N-no, I can—" Harry babbles, his fingers scrabbling at the towel beneath him, "I’ll do it myself—"

"Unnecessary," Calloway interrupts, his voice low but edged with something that makes Harry’s pulse stutter. The professor adjusts his fogged glasses with one hand while the other presses the warm towel against Harry’s swollen outer lips. "It’s only polite that I do it," he continues, his tone deceptively light as he drags the fabric downward in a slow, deliberate stroke. Harry’s thighs jerk—his labia majora still engorged from earlier stimulation, the nerve endings hypersensitive—but Calloway just hums, his thumb pressing into the plump flesh to hold it steady. "Fascinating," he murmurs, spreading Harry wider with the towel’s edge. "Even post-climax, the erectile tissue remains pronounced. Textbook omega reactivity."

The towel rasps over Harry’s inner lips next, and he chokes—his clitoral hood twitching violently as the terrycloth catches on the delicate skin. Calloway pauses, his breath hitching when Harry’s labia minora flutter under the friction, their pink folds glistening with residual slick. "P-please," Harry gasps, his fingers knotting in the towel beneath him, "it’s too—ah!—too much—" The professor ignores him, instead circling the towel higher—closer—to Harry’s throbbing clit. The omega’s hips buck instinctively, but Calloway’s free hand pins his pelvis down with bruising force. "Note the involuntary guarding response," the professor observes, though his voice wavers when Harry’s inner lips cling to the towel as he withdraws it, their sensitive surfaces protesting the separation.

When the fabric finally grazes Harry’s clitoris, his scream fractures into a sobbing gasp—his vision whiting out as the rough fibers drag across the oversensitive bundle of nerves. Calloway’s glasses slip down his nose, his pupils blown wide behind the fogged lenses as he watches Harry’s clit twitch under the assault. "Ten thousand nerve endings," he breathes, applying deliberate pressure just beside the glans—enough to make Harry’s back arch off the desk. "And yet—" He shifts the towel lower suddenly, scraping it over Harry’s vaginal opening where slick still leaks in thin rivulets. The omega convulses, his Bartholin glands pulsing traitorously at the contact. "—your body begs for more."

Harry’s thighs tremble violently as the towel pushes inside—just the edge, just enough to catch on his tender entrance—but Calloway withdraws it abruptly, leaving Harry’s pussy clenching around nothing. "Skene’s glands are still active," the professor notes hoarsely, his fingers tightening around the damp towel. He dabs at Harry’s perineum next—the lightest of touches—but it’s enough to make the omega jerk, his oversensitive flesh quivering. "Full lubrication cycle incomplete," Calloway adds, though his own breathing is ragged now. "Fascinating."

The professor’s mate whimpers from the floor where she’s knelt, her thighs glistening with Harry’s release. Calloway’s gaze flicks to her—then back to Harry’s twitching cunt—before he drops the towel abruptly. "Almoat done," he mutters, more to himself than Harry, adjusting his glasses with unsteady fingers. Then—snap—his fingers crack like a whip, and the towel jerks upright midair, suspended by invisible threads.

Harry barely has time to inhale before the towel dives—its rough folds parting his slick-drenched lips with brutal precision. The omega screams, his back bowing off the desk as the terrycloth saws between his folds—not cleansing, not dabbing, but rubbing with merciless friction. "N-no—ah!—AH!" Harry’s nails scrape the desk, his hips rolling instinctively into the torment as the towel grinds against his hypersensitive clit. The fabric catches on his swollen hood, dragging it back with each ruthless pass to expose the throbbing nub beneath.

Calloway’s breath hitches—his clinical detachment fracturing as Harry’s pussy gushes around the towel’s relentless strokes. "Fascinating," he rasps, though his fingers tremble where they grip the desk. "The labial engorgement—" The towel changes angle suddenly, its edge digging into Harry’s vaginal entrance before swirling upward in sharp, jagged circles. Harry’s thighs snap shut around nothing, his toes curling as the terrycloth scrapes over his urethral sponge—the same spot Calloway’s fingers had abused earlier.

"STOP!" Harry sobs, but his body betrays him—his cunt clenching around the towel’s edge as another orgasm rips through him. Slick erupts in a hot rush, drenching the hovering fabric, but it doesn’t slow—just works harder, folding itself into a cruel point to poke at Harry’s fluttering hole. "P-please—fuck!" Harry’s voice cracks as the towel’s tip presses inside—just the barest inch—before withdrawing to slap against his clit again.

Calloway’s glasses fog completely. His mate whimpers from the floor, her fingers dipping between her own thighs as Harry thrashes—his orgasm not stopping, his pussy pulsing around nothing as the towel punishes his oversensitive folds. "Observe," the professor chokes out, though his knuckles whiten where they grip the desk. "The urethral sponge’s renewed responsiveness—" The towel jabs at Harry’s G-spot through his front wall, the fabric folding into a makeshift finger that drills ruthlessly.

Harry’s vision whites out. His cocklet spurts weakly against his belly—dry orgasms racking his frame as the towel fucks his pussy in shallow, rapid thrusts. His thighs quiver—trying to close, trying to open—as the terrycloth winds itself tighter, stiffening into a makeshift strap that whaps against his clit with each pass. "N-no more—AHHH!" Harry screeches as the towel’s edge catches his hood again—peeling it back to expose his glans completely before sandpapering the bundle of nerves raw.

Calloway gasps—his composure shattering—when Harry squirts again, the arc splattering across his starched white coat. The towel plunges into the stream, sopping up the slick before slapping back against Harry’s clit—soaked now, heavy with his own release—the added weight making each impact worse. Harry’s hands flail, his fingers clawing at the desk as the towel works his pussy like it hates him—grinding, slapping, fucking—until his orgasms blur together, his cunt gushing nonstop.

The professor’s mate screams—her own fingers pumping frantically between her legs—as Harry’s body convulses through another squirt. Calloway staggers forward, his hand shaking as he reaches toward the towel—but stops himself at the last second, his throat working as Harry sobs through the torment. "Enough," he finally rasps—his voice unrecognizable—and the towel drops midair, landing on Harry’s heaving belly with a wet splat.

Harry's vision tunnels—the edges darkening in uneven pulses that match the aftershocks still wracking his body. His throat works around a soundless gasp as Calloway's face swims above him, the professor's lips moving but no words reaching Harry's waterlogged ears. The last thing he registers is the wet plop of his own slick dripping onto the floor from the desk's edge—then blackness swallows him whole.