Presentation Pt. 01

Chapter One

Indi:

I looked at the tasteful archway of the tattoo parlor with a mixture of excitement and trepidation. I’d spent the better part of the past few months scouring social media, trying to find an artist that could tie together the styles I wanted for this tattoo–my first. I’d decided that it was time to reclaim my body, customizing it the way I wanted.

Maybe if I had enough beautiful art to look at instead, I would be able to look at my body without feeling waves of shame and disgust.

Eventually, I’d landed on Inkspire, owned and operated by Tomás Navarro. His greyscale hyperrealism was what had originally drawn my eye, but as I looked deeper into his portfolio, I’d become enraptured with the way he captured the depths of color in his tattooed gems.

After that, it was a matter of explaining my concept and getting a quoted price range.

Everything was set–all I had to do was cross the threshold, and I could begin.

I took a deep breath, steeling myself, before I do just that, silver bells jingling as I open the door.

“Welcome to Inkspired,” the gorgeous Latine man behind the counter greeted me. “Indigo?”

I gave a little half wave, overwhelmed by his brilliant smile. “That’s me!”

Internally, I cringed. Could I be any more awkward?

“Tomás,” he said, stepping around the counter and striding to me with an outstretched hand.

I grabbed it, surprised by how rough the callouses on his palm felt against my academic’s hands. A jolt of heat shot through me as I shook it, and I pulled my own back as quickly as I could.

“C’mon, let me show you the final design,” he said, gesturing me towards the desk. He handed me a tablet and I couldn’t help but gasp in surprise.

It was beautiful, and everything I had wanted. The raven’s outstretched wings had feathers beautifully defined with deep blues and purples. Held in its feet was a black Lightning Ridge opal cabochon, brighter shades of blue, green, and purple–my favorite colors–flaring across the dark gem. Between the wings and the centerpiece, strings of smaller pear-shaped jewels of the same color draped in many levels.

It would sit so that the raven’s wings went from shoulder to shoulder on me, the full tattoo taking up the majority of my sizeable chest, when all of the chandelier necklace’s precious stones finished dripping down my cleavage.

I’d always been defined by the size of my breasts, them being the first thing to develop when I started puberty at nine. As a result, I had been constantly restricted with what clothes I’d been allowed to wear, and my chest size had been used as evidence that I was inherently sinful, a lure designed to lead otherwise upstanding men and boys into temptation.

It’d also been one of the few things I got compliments on, by those I’d attempted to date since reaching adulthood, so needless to say, I had a complicated relationship with my boobs. Who wouldn’t?

But I’d realized when I’d turned twenty a few months ago that, left in a vacuum, I actually loved the way they looked on me. So where better to start reclaiming my body and finding beauty in myself than where I already had seeds for it planted?

“I absolutely fucking love it, Mr. Navarro,” I breathed, barely tearing my gaze away from the tablet.

He chuckled, deep in his chest. “I’m glad you love it. But please–call me Tomás. Mr. Navarro is my father.”

“I’m excited for you to put it on me, Tomás,” I said warmly, fully meeting his deep brown eyes with my own for the first time. For a second, his eyes darkened with what I would call desire if he’d been looking at anyone else.

Foolish, I thought, glancing away quickly as I blushed. As if someone who looks like that would be interested in someone as fat as me.

Tomás was undeniably an alpha, towering above me and his tawny arms corded with thick muscles. He had an aquiline nose, wide, generous lips, and a square jaw with the barest dusting of dense stubble across his face. His hair was a few shades black than even my own dark chocolate brown, and hung in beautiful waves around his face. His scent had sweet cocoa top notes, a teakwood middle, and depths of a deep, earthy spice.

I paused, considering. I’m not normally able to scent alphas in that type of way.

I shrugged, dismissing the idea and grinding the stab of hope in my chest to dust. I was at the normal age when presentation happened, and I’d long-since wanted to be one of those betas who is near-magically transformed into the ever-valued omegas. Hell, I’d even have several beta men be interested in me because I was the closest they’d ever come to someone with ‘omega sized tits and ass.’

It wasn’t pleasant.

Besides. I was a masters student, and I’d seen more than my fair share of how omegas were treated by others–especially male alphas–when they were candidates for post-grad certifications. Dismissed as an airhead bimbo at best and anomalies failing to produce kids for their packs at worst–raging feminist somewhere in the middle, but those could be ‘cured’ by the right pack.

I already had a hard time getting others to take me seriously due to my age. I was going into a male-dominated field with my aims at becoming a tenured college professor. I put in enough work and had made enough advancements on my research that had I been male, I’m sure I’d have gained so much more praise than I currently did. I knew I could do it.

But why want to give myself an additional hurdle? I didn’t even want a pack–or kids. Not after that day.

So I was happy I was a size 18 5’6 beta, endowed with nearly as big a stomach as the rest of my curves. I had a baby face and a scent that was, at best, sweet green apples. It was safer.

Tomás cleared his throat, and I realized that I’d been lost in my own thoughts for longer than was socially acceptable.

Fucking autism.

“So uh. We can start whenever you want, if you’ll just take your shirt off…” he trailed off, his gaze raking over me in my tube top.

I’d made sure to wear a strapless corset I’d made to give myself the more back support needed by big boobs, maximizing my cleavage as best I could, and covered up with a fishnet hoodie. It was a huge fuck-you to the ways I’d been raised, and I’d worn it out a few times before to test out if I was okay with having that much skin exposed. There was no way I wasn’t going to show off this tat, and I needed to test the waters.

For my bottom half, I wore a long skirt with two slits up the middle front so that there was a long strip of fabric in between my legs. Underneath, I wore a pair faux-thigh high fishnet tights (and wore a pair of cheeky panties, the thin, smooth black silk pinstriped with mesh).

For some reason, I’d been craving silkier fabrics lately, and looser clothes. Wearing the corset wasn’t hard, per se–but it had been more comfortable when I first made it.

I

I probably gained weight, I thought gloomily.

“Yeah, no problem–where should I put my clothes?” I asked, looking around.

“You can hand it to me,” he said, holding out his hand. “And I’ll hang it up for you.”

“Sure, thanks,” I said, shrugging off my hoodie and handing it to him. “Do you need this corset off too?” I ran my hands up and down it slowly, soothing myself by stroking the seams in the black silk where the turquoise silk striping I’d put over the boning was. I looked up at him, feeling his eyes on me. “I wasn’t sure how you’d want my, um. Bosom?”

He watched me, mouth parted slowly. He swallowed, shook his head slightly, and coughed before speaking. “No, you can um. You can leave that on–I’ll have you adjust them as necessary. At least while I’m placing the stencil.”

“Okay, perfect,” I said. “Since I do want some of the gems to kinda go lower on the cleavage.”

“Oh?” he said, his voice strained as he printed out the stencils. The tattoo was broken into several core pieces, so they could be adjusted as necessary without having to do the whole thing all over again.

I’d been very curious and cautious about the tattoo, okay? I needed to learn as much about it as possible to make sure I could customize it enough to want it on my body forever. He’d been super patient and understanding with me, and I appreciated it a lot.

I’d felt really safe with him before meeting, and that impression was only confirmed now.

“Yeah,” I replied, holding absolutely still by keeping my eyes fixed on the painting visible on the wall where he had directed my head. “I can show you if you want.”

“Yeah, we can do that,” he said. “I’ll stand either in front of you or behind you as I put it on then, and you can look in the mirror and tell me where to put the dots.”

“Sure,” I said, walking over to the mirror and trying to ignore the way the thought of him behind me or kneeling in front of me had sent a throb to my core.

I’d been excessively horny lately, no matter how many times I made myself cum. It hadn’t quite gotten to the point where I was daydreaming about my favorite alpha professor I’d had a crush on since undergrad–who was now a colleague, and who’d chatted with me during office hours after bringing me a chocolate-raspberry scone. I’d also been craving sweet things, and I didn’t know why.

But it had definitely made it so I went out to a club later that night, using my fake ID to sneak in and hook up with men around my age. I didn’t get very far–no more than a hot and heavy makeout session that ended with him fingering me ineptly. But still, I’d been getting increasingly desperate for something in my holes, and my fingers were quickly becoming not enough.

It wasn’t surprising, exactly, that I got turned on at the thought of this alpha marking me from behind–oh fuck.

I realized with a desperate spasm in my core that I might be about to present as an omega.