Omega Alpha was not the easiest client to have. For one, she was some sort of godlike being that had powers far beyond anything humanity could accomplish. And for two, she had absolutely no idea how to take care of herself.
You're not sure how you got roped into being the physical therapist of a living god, but she needed somebody to help her deal with her missing arm, she told you, and you came highly recommended. By who, you really didn't want to know.
Your awe had quickly transmuted into worry when you realized exactly how the girl lived. Eighteen hours of work a day—sometimes twenty, you learned—paying no regard to her body's need for sleep. And she only ate when she had a break—which meant about once a day, at best, and then she had the gall to complain to you that she didn't have much energy.
Honestly, you'd already given up on telling her to avoid spending so much time staring at screens. You were still fighting her on walking like a nromal person instead of just floating everywhere—her legs were going to wither away, at this rate.
Even so, you were able to help her dealing with her prosthetic—while it was apparently built by the gods as a gift to her, or something, you knew how to deal with this kind of thing.
Though she'd been dealing with a lot of stress recently—something about an anniversary, or a debut, or whatever. You weren't a mental therapist, you dealt with body problems, not brain ones—and conveniently, you'd gotten your license for massage therapy last week.
As such, you ahd decided to help the 'manipulator' relax with a good massage. It wasn't just because you wanted to—it was a good step for her therapy! Yeah, that.

"Is this really necessary?" she asks, looking back at you as you light some candles. You'd already dimmed the overhead lights, but the scented candels were essential for maintaining the vibe you wanted. Her hair was all wrapped around the triangular halo on her head, making her look slightly odd as she adjusted her position on the massage table.
"It's about ambiance," you instruct her, switching on the stereo. It was a classic, a boxy thing with a CD port and even a tape player—no bluetooth or internet access in sight—but then again, you were the type of guy who really enjoyed the classics. "The point of a massage isn't just to relax your body, but your mind as well."
"…very well," she sighed, returning to a more neutral posture. Her skin was nearly as pale as her white bodysuit, you note, looking her over while you browse your recently-bought colelction of massage oils. Seeing her on the table like this reminded you of your first attempt to get her to relax by taking her to a massage parlor—dealing with the masseuse afterwards had not been easy, but it was better than dealing with an angry Omega. Incidentally, that was when you'd decided to exclusively refer to Omega as female, based on the was she dressed when preparing for the massage—though, then again, that could just be because you were pretty sure she didn't bother wearing underwear.
"Alright, I'm going to detach your arm now. Is that okay?" you ask her, approaching her left side. While it was only basic courtesy to ask before doing something like that, Omega was more protective of her prosthetic than most.
"As you wish." She turned her face away from you—even so, you could imagine the troubled look on her face as you gently pull the arm away, revealing a slightly reddened stump. You click your tongue—she'd been ignoring your advice again, it seemed—and place the arm on a counter, only a few feet away, and importantly in Omega's line of sight—you wanted to reassure her that nothing had happened to it while you massaged her.
Speaking of… you pull a bottle from the row of lotions on the small table—something for a deep tissue massage. You had a rough idea of how much she'd need something like this, after a few guided exercises, and you pop open the cap, spreading the oil over your hands.
"Ah!" She gasps as you allow the lotion to fall onto her back, surprised at how cold it felt. You pause, but after she doesn't say anyhting else, decide to get to work, working it into her muscles slowly.
You'd be surprised at how much force is required to give a proper massage. With how fragile Omega's body looked—rail-thin, barely over five feet tall, and pale as the driven snow—you were even a little worried about hurting her, but as you felt the first steel-hard knots of muscles, you realized that you may have bitten off a bit more than you could chew.
But you weren't giving up that easily! You press harder, putting your back into the process, and you feel the oil begin to tingle on your fingers as it heated, transitioning from chilling cold to soothing warmth as it was worked into her skin. A long, shuddering breath issues forth from her mouth, beginning to feel the effects of the massage.

"Nn!" You ignore your reddening ears as Omega keeps letting out tiny noises of pleasure, working your way down her back. She was a lot cuter than she seemed at first—while she was initially very cold, she'd begun to warm up to you over these two years of physical therapy—it was quite adorable the way she hummed when deeply considering something, and the way she twirled a lock of hair between her fingers was—okay, those were inappropriate thoughts. Focus.
You'd made it most of the way down her back at this point—brushing up against the towel that covered her groin as your thumbs pressed into the small of her back. Her skin was as sensitive as ever—red marks still shone from where you'd have to press harder than usual, the oil shining by the flickering candelight. You really hoped none of this bruised—while you were aware it could happen, with how hard you were pressing down on her, you didn't want to hurt the small girl.
"Fffuh!" She took in another deep breath as you worked her sides, as if supressing a laugh. Was she ticklish? Not important, you decided. "You're… not awful at this," she tells you, and you can imagine the glint in her eyes—you'd seen it a few times before, shen she had to 'reasses your capabilities', in her words.
"Hope so, given how much I spent on this," you chuckle. "Moving on to your legs now." She lets out a small grunt of assent, and you take a step to your right, grasping her thigh carefully. It was as thin as the rest of her, but you can't help but notice how soft her skin is as you adjust her leg's position, porcelain white and, thankfully, a lot less difficult to work over, given how little she used her legs.
That didn't mean it was easy, of course—but it did mean it was abit quicker. You have to resist the urge to wipe your brow as you feel yourself begin to sweat, not wanting to get massage oil in your eyes. Then you work on her feet—soft, uncalloused soles and all. If you didn't know better, you might've figure that she just came from a pedicure.
"Fuhu!" Again, Omega has to hold back laughter as your fingers brush across a ticklish area—while you're sure her feet don't need as much massaging as the rest of her, so help you you were going to use every part of your lessons. "My apologies," she tells you as you pause. "It is most unseemly to lose contorl of myself liek this."
"'S fine," you tell her. "Natural response. Don't worry about it." Your foot taps to the slow rhythm of the stereo's trance-inducing beat, getting into the zone. "Arms, now." This is a delicate area—you'd focused a lot on making sure it was comfortable for her when you brought your fingers onto her amputated arm, practically caressing the reddened skin of the stump sticking from her shoulder. Omega freezes up a bit as you push your thumbs into her shoulder, nearly warning you to be careful, but eventually deciding against it.
She shudders as you work the oil into her arm, a pleasantly warm feeling suffusing half of her body. While you're certainly much more delicate with the stump, you're not ignoring it by any means, and the release of the tension that had been building up from having it attached for so long makes her let out another small moan, an expression of pure bliss on her face as she relaxes. Honestly, you're tempted to lecture her again on taking her arm off before she goes to sleep—the only time you know she removes it is when bathing—and that's only because she told you so when you asked, driven by extreme worry, if she bathed regularly. She seemed far too smug when she told you that yes, she did know how to bathe herself—like it was some kind of achievement.
"Alright. Turn over," you tell her. You clear your throat, averting your eyes as she does, adjusting her towel to make sure she remains covered. This was going to be awkward, no two ways about it—what?
When she turned over, she'd adjusted her towel, to be sure, but only to cover her genitals. Her chest was completely exposed—not that there was much of anything to see, given how flat she was—and she didn't seem to see anything wrong with that, wit hthe look she was giving you. Fuck. Were you supposed to tell her? God damn it.
"Is something wrong?" she asks, seeming genuinely curious.
"No, it's fine." Ah, shit. Why did you say that? Now if you went back on it things would get even worse. Okay, fine, guess you're doing this. You pop open the cap of the oil with a thumb, spreading more on your fingers.
You start with the safest area—her stomach—and begin to work upwards. Still, you can't keep yourself from looking up at her chest—two barely-there breasts peaked with soft pink nipples. You were aware that it was quite comon for peopel to be aroused by a massage, but seeing it for yourself was a whole different story—the blush on her noramlly frozen face just made it harder to ignore the strange situation you were in.

Your cheeks are burning at this point. Thankfully, the low light makes it difficult to make out—or, well, it would, if you weren't dealing with a fledgeling god. You just had to hope that she didn't realize what that meant, and keep a half-step further away from the table so as to not brush against anything.
And, inevitably, your massage works its way up her stomach, trailing up her sides, leaving red impressions of your hands where you had to press a bit harder to deal with a stubborn clenched muscle. At this point, you weren't sure if Omega even knew how much tenseness was in her muscles before this, but you were sure she was feeling much better now.
And that wasn't just conjecture. You'd already noted the way her small nipples stood erect in the cool air of the massage room, and you'd have to be an idiot not to notice the tiny trail of wetness on her thigh when you were massaging her leg earlier—you'd just pretended not to notice it, for your sanity. Of course, she wasn't the only one—you were painfully aware of that, but you ignored it as well, for your sanity.
You curse internally as you work your way up her ribcage, practically able to feel the bones under your fingers as you move northwards. She was still far too thin, but at least whatever power animated her kept her alive, no matter how little she ate—even though it didn't give her the vitamins she required.
And then you're there. Much too early for your mind to be prepared—but then again, you doubted iyou would ever be ready—you reach her chest. Her eyes, thankfully, weren't on you, but on a single point on the ceiling, staring so intensely you wonder if she's planning on boring a hole into it.
"Mmph!" Almost as soon as you touch her breasts, she lets out a moan ,her thighs suddenly clenching under the towel. You bite the inside of your cheek, praying that she doesn't notice your arousal, and refocus on the massage. It felt wrong, in some way, to be as rough with her breasts as with the rest of her, but still, you had to keep up the pace.
And then a finger brushes up against one of her nipples, and the world itself shudders. You stumble, grabbing the edge of the massage table, and Omega gasps.
"My apologies," she says, lifting her head up. "I lost control for a moment." Fuck. What was that? Your head ached sharply. God damn it. Alright, don't surprise her, dumbass. You know better.
"It's fine," you lie through gritted teeth. "We could take a break, if you like."
"No!" That answer comes out too quickly, and you raise an eyebrow. "It would be more efficient to do this all at once." Almost instantly, her tone returns to the carefully neutral voice that she always uses. "Right?"
"I suppose." You know better than to argue with her at this point. "I'll get back to it." She nods, relaxing again as you spread more oil on your hands. You're a bit more measured now, aware of what might happen if you're not, but it's no less arousing—or intimidating—as you softly caress her chest, working out what little knots there are there.
"Ahn!" Both of you freeze as she lets out what's obviously an aroused moan—her cheeks flush as her eyes meet yours.
You bite your cheek harder, drawing blood, and dig your nails into your palm, trying to keep focus. It would be breaching a sacred client privilege if you said anything, right? Or was it just that you wanted to feel her mosquito bite tits some more?
"I am… notably aroused," she whispers, clearly embarrassed. "My body suffers from this affliction from time to time," she remarks matter of factly, as if commenting on the weather. "Mainly when I think of you, strangely. I have no idea why an ape like you inspires such feelings." You'd gotten used to the casual insults thrown into her speech—it's not like she means them, and they only slipped into her speech when she was nervous nowadays.
"That's normal," you tell her. "It's why I wanted to take a break, to let that dissipate." She tilts her head, her halo angling.
"Strange. From what I've observed, if a female expresses arousal to a male, mating is supposed to follow." You jump, coughing roughly.
“Normally that only happens in particular circumstances—where both parties' goal is, uh… ‘mating’,” you tell her after a moment to calm down.
“Is that not accurate to our current situation?” she asks, and dear god you can’t take much more of this. “Ah, right. Clarity.” She nods, clearing her throat as she sits up. “I would like to mate with you. Since it was your massage that inspired these lusts in me, it is only logical that you address them,” she tells you. “Is this agreeable to you?”

Your heart pounds in your chest. Your thraot is painfully dry, and you swallow, trying to soothe even a portion of the panic you're feeling. Christ. The craziest part is that you're considering it. Despite her… than than curvaceous figure, Omega isn't unattractive by any means. Her strange confidence alone makes up a lot—and she has an ethereal beauty that's hard to match.
Plus, she's sitting on a massage table in front of you half-naked, and you spent the last three minutes groping her tiny breasts. So you're not entirely thinking straight.
"This can't change anything," you tell her. And as you say that, you realize you're already comitting to saying yes. "A lot of people lose their certifactions for things like this." Ohega tilts her head again, an odd effect with her hair still wrapped around her halo. "One time only."
"Very well. I concede it is incredibly unlikely another scenario like this will occur again," she shrugs. Somehow, she seems almost disappointed about that. Still, there's a small smile on her face. "I have not yet had the opprotunity to observe human mating in action. How does it normally go?" she asks.
"First of all," you sigh, "Generally both parties are nude." That's not something you'd normally say, but then again this is Omega you're talking to.
"I see. Let me assist." She waves her good hand, and reality shudders again, the fabric of existence shivering under the weight of the manipulator's strength. You blink, and when you glance down, you realize you're nude—your clothes are neatly folded on the counter, next to Omega's arm. "Hm." She considers your body, taking you in. "By my understanding of human mating standards, you are more than acceptable."
"Thanks?" You're not sure if that's a compliment or a statement of fact—it's hard to tell the difference with her sometimes. She gives you a strange look, and you realize it's the latter. You cough, clearing your throat, and move on. "Secondly—there's generally some 'foreplay' before any sex happens—to prepare the woman for penetration."
"Foreplay consisting of manual or oral stimulation," she nods. Now it's your turn to be confused. Who taught her about that? "I believe this step can be foregone, given the… extensive period of arousal I have suffered during the course of this massage." You swallow again, feeling a bit bad about that now. She eyes you again, her gaze trailing towards your groin. "And you certainly seem ready for intercourse."
"Alright then." You still feel very weird about this. "How do you want to do this?" It's her first time, so you want it to be comfortable for her.
"I believe the traditional human mating position is the 'missionary'?" she asks, seeming confused at how a priest factors into this. You nod, and she gives you a small smile. "Perhaps we should start there."
You climb onto the massage bed—it's not the most comfortable place to fuck, but you've done better on worse—and pull the towel away.
Omega's pussy is gleaming with wetness—a venusian cleft forming her slit into a pleasing shape—her engorged clitoris peeking out from the top. She looks up at you as you position yourself atop her, aligning the tip of your dick against her lower lips.
"I believe humans also kiss frequently during mating," she tells you, her gaze seeming a bit more harsh. It takes you a few seconds until you realize what she means, and you reach down, a hand brushing against her jaw—traces of massage oil leaving a tingling trail across her cheek—to hold her face while your lips find hers.
She's not very responsive at first—studying you as your tongue pokes her lips apart, gently pressing against both sets of lips as you explore her mouth, tangling her tongue with yours. You pull away, and she blinks, lost for a moment, before returning to herself.
"Satisfactory," she tells you. "You may penetrate me now." Dutifully, you obey, parting her folds with your cock. At least, as much as you can—her pussy is insanely tight, and you barely manage to work the tip in. "I am aware that a human woman often bleeds during her first mating—feel no need to hold back," she whispers in your ear. The strange eroticism of her words makes you push harder, and something tears, allowing you to press forward.
Her unexplored depths part easily before your assault, her walls clenching tightly around your member. Her arm wraps around your shoulders as well, pulling you down against her—you can feel her rock-hard nipples pressing agianst your chest, and some of the oil rubs off on you as well, leaving your chest tingling.
Eventually, you bottom out inside her, feeling… something at the end of her passage. She licks her lips, leaning up to pull you into another kiss.
"Keep going," she whispers into your ear. "Fuck me." Her emotionless voice doesn't make the words any less erotic to hear.

Very quickly, the music coming from the stereo is drowned out by the sound of your hips smacking against hers, rough, wild sex—you feel driven by primal urges, compelled to sate yourself with the manipulator's body.
One of your hands stretches downwards, cupping a breast in your hand—or rather, pressing against a tiny mound of flesh, holding one of her nipples between two fingers, tweaking it softly, causing Omega to let out a moan.
"Rrgh!" You grunt, slamming your hips down to bottom out inside her. You can feel your cock pressing against her womb—to a normal woman, that would undoubtedly be extremely painful, but Omega is not a normal woman. "Hahh!"
"Ah! Ff-fuck!" she cries, the vulgar word tasting odd on her tongue. "Harder!" You oblige, jackhammering into her depths. Her legs wrap around your hips, keeping you from withdrawing completely. Not that you ahve any intention of going anywhere.
There's a strange intimacy to the moment—even during the savage, bestial sex—as Omega presses her forehead against yours, her stump rubbing against your shoulder, as if she tried to wrap her arms around your neck. You realize, on some level, that she's showing a great deal of vulnerability to you right now—but you're far too concerned with other things to recognize the precious rarity of this moment.
You'd like to say that you fucked her so hard she lost her mind. Or that you gave her twelve orgasms without even trying. But you don't—you're just a man, and you're nowhere near prepared for her ability to reciprocate your passions.
She squeezes down on you, practically locking your cock inside her as her insides spasm. She practically slams your head down so that she can kiss you, moaning into your mouth as she cums, wetness squirting against your thighs. The almost painful tightness of her insides ensures that you're not far behind—this is the first time you'd had sex in months, you'd rationalize later, you wouldn't normally cum this quickly—bottoming out inside her as your cock pokes her cervix, ensuring that your sperm reaches her deepest parts easily.
You growl into her mouth, your tongues dancing around each other as you swap spit, feeling your balls clench as sperm travels up your length. Then, release finally comes—ropes of cum spew from your dick, directly against the back of her womb, quickly filling her tiny babymaker to the brim.
You nearly collapse on top of her, exhausted from your orgasm as cum begins to leak form the place you're connected. That wasn't normal—you didn't usually feel so exhausted after cumming. You break from the kiss, managing to sit up, pulling out of Omega's pussy—only barely, as her internal muscles clench to keep you—and as much of your sperm as possible—inside instinctively. She lets out a tiny noise as you pull out, suddenly feeling empty without you inside her.
"We can't… we can't do this again," you pant, though you're not sure if you're addressing Omega or yourself.
"Incorrect." She taps your arm. "We are perfectly capable of doing this again as many times as we wish." And from the way she looks up at you, you get the feeling that this massage session might run a bit long…