"Keep up the good work, kid," says your boss. He is a distinguished man with salt and pepper hair. He is the silver fox of the firm and the subject of lust for all the interns and junior associates. You’re one of them, and the praise makes you glow. Not in a submissive way, of course. But in the way that you would respond if your hero praised you. "Let me tell you, you’ve got a good chance of making partner once you’re done your training," he adds.

That statement floors you. You’d never even considered it. But now that it was on the table, rather than excite you, it terrified you. It was a reminder that you don’t really have the chance to become what you’ve always fantasized of becoming. Your boss seems to notice your hesitation. He raises an eyebrow and says, "What? Making partner not sound good enough for you?" You shake your head. He seems concerned. He reaches over the desk and places a hand on your shoulder. "Then what’s bothering you?" he says.

"Tell me." The command is laced with such authority that you can’t resist. And you tell him. Everything. Every dirty detail of your fantasy. Your doubts. Your uncertainties. Your fears. He pats you on the head and laughs. "You’ve got the rest of your life ahead of you," says your boss. "You shouldn’t be worrying this much about your future. But you know what, if you’re sure that this is what you want to do, go here. They’ll see what they can do for you," he adds, slapping a business card into your hand.

It appears to be for a company known as Hierarch Industries, with a toll-free line and an address that’s nearby. You thank your boss, stuttering as you do so, and head home. You do some research and figure out that the address on the card is that of an intake clinic. You’re not sure what this country is all about, but they talk about the ability to change lives. You figure you have nothing to lose, and you know that you have a job to fall back on if this doesn’t work out, so you make an appointment.

The clinician is very helpful, answering all of your questions with ease. He is also quite genuine, not using corporate language at all and explaining aspects of the company to you in familiar language. You ask how your life stands to be changed, and he tells you, frankly, that they can’t know until you participate in the program because of the high variance of results. Despite your concerns, you sign up anyway, and take the drink that you’re given.

You put in your two weeks as soon as you get back to work the weekend after. Hardly anyone recognizes you when you walk into the office. Someone even calls security. But your boss knows who you are. Even if you don’t look anything like your old self. He sits you down on a chair opposite him and for once you feel like the two of you are equals. "Looks like you’ve gone and done it," he says. "Glad to see that you’re happy with yourself. Got anything lined up now?"

You shake your head. No. You don’t have anything lined up, yet. But you fully intend on starting up your own subcontractor under the umbrella of Hierarch Industries. There had been enough Alphas in the corporate HQ who didn’t know what they wanted to do that you had your team lined up already. It was all just a matter of getting the proper permits, licenses, and paperwork done at this point.

You reach over the desk and shake your boss’ hand. Your own hand is rough and calloused, like you’ve been a laborer all your life. Those came in during your transformation, and you love them. You love the feeling of those rough callouses on the skin of your dick. And the few omegas you’d fucked over the weekend had loved the feeling of them on their smooth delectable asses.

You thank your boss for all of his help as you hand him your notice. But as you look at him, realizing that for once the two of you stand as equals, your new confidence and self-assuredness leads you to ask him out for dinner. He agrees. During your meal he tells you that he is an Alpha, too. Unmated. But that he prefers other Alphas like himself, if he is being honest.

Needless to say, you head home with him that night. Despite being an Alpha, despite being dominant yourself, despite having had an incredible amount of fun over the weekend, exerting your control over the desperately horny unmated omegas at HQ, there is something intoxicating about submission, as well.

You find yourself pinned against the wall, short of breath as your old boss pinches your nipples and twists them, rubbing his nose in the thick pelt on your solid chest. He rubs his hands all over your firm abs, and grabs the globes of your ass. He flips you around and pins your wrists to the wall above your head. He works your pants down and taps his cock on your muscular cheeks. "Want it, boy?" he growls, in your ear, making you shiver.

Yes, you tell him. And he does just that. He gives it to you. Hard. Fast. Rough. Like a true dominant. You can sense when he is about to cum, and you flip the script. You push him up against the wall and with one hand, grab both of your cocks. You’re not about to let him have all the fun. You still have your dominant needs. And you’ve decided that he doesn’t get to cum without your permission.

Needless to say, when you finally give him permission, after begging so sweetly, the two of you blow your loads and splatter each other with enough cum to fill a pint glass. It’s messy. It’s sticky. It’s hot. You can only imagine how much more intense sex is going to get once the two of you finally have an omega, just like you’d discussed on the way to his place.