Page 20 of Marked
I never found my clothes from the night Alaric and I’d had together. Perhaps he’d taken them himself. I would never know. Only memories from that night, along with the fading marks from his hard use of my body, stayed with me.
Several more days passed, and I found myself growing restless, almost as though there was a strange energy brewing just underneath my skin. I started working out more in order to try to quell that bizarre feeling, but nothing seemed to help. It was late one night about a week later that I tried to bring myself to orgasm for the first time since Alaric had fucked me.
It was maybe three in the morning. I’d woken up edgy, agitated, and very wet. I needed to come. Bringing myself to orgasm, as I had countless times before using my little trusty bullet vibrator that I kept hidden in the bottom of the top drawer in my nightstand, had never been a problem before. I considered myself pretty good at getting myself off, but this time felt different. None of my usual fantasies were working to even bring me close to the edge, so I started thinking about Alaric, about how he’d taken me, spanked me, and fucked me like no man ever had before.
For some reason though, that wasn’t enough.
It was as though there was a block of some kind that wouldn’t let me orgasm, and my desperation grew by the minute. I started pinching my nipples, just like he had, and even smacked my own pussy a few times, but that didn’t work. Nothing worked!
I couldn’t come, and it was torture. I just kept getting wetter. Needier.
The batteries in my vibrator died, and I practically threw the thing across the room in my frustration. Rolling over onto mybelly, I rocked my hips back and forth, grinding my clit against my sheets. That didn’t seem to help either. It had been over an hour already, and I wanted to cry; I needed to come so badly.
The arousal was so intense. My nipples were so hard and my pussy so wet, but it didn’t matter. I clearly wasn’t going to orgasm tonight. Maybe Alaric had broken my clit. Maybe I wouldn’t be able to come again unless his massive cock was punishing my tight little bottom hole.
I pressed my face into the pillow and screamed with my irritation. Another hour passed, and my need only grew worse. I found myself watching the clock and fighting back tears before I pushed myself out of bed, fished a couple of Xanax out of my medicine cabinet, and passed the fuck out.
Every day only got worse from there. My need grew greater. My desperation more frantic. I’d touch myself for hours at night trying to bring myself to orgasm, but nothing worked. I used warming lubricants and bought stronger toys, some meant to stimulate my pussy and others meant to tease my bottom hole. I would work myself up into a frenzy. I watched porn. I read dirty books. I did anything and everything I could in my quest to fulfill my pleasure.
Absolutely nothing worked.
One week passed, and then another until my life became a constant blur of need, sleep, and heavy drinking in an effort to numb myself.
I hadn’t found work, but didn’t needed to. To be honest, I didn’t know if I could work in my current state even if I tried. The bank had never taken the money away, and I never asked anyquestions. I used it to live off of as I tried to survive whatever nonsense my traitorous body was going through.
Each time I failed to come, tears flowed down my face. I felt like there was so much pent-up need inside me that it hurt. My core was twisted tight into a tangled ball. My breasts were so sensitive that I had given up wearing a bra since they felt so full and heavy all of the time. Even just the feeling of fabric against my tender nipples was too much for me to bear, so if I wasn’t forced to wear clothes at all, I just didn’t.
I became a recluse. All I did was try to make myself come or binge watch Game of Thrones as a means of distraction. Another several days of this passed, and I started thinking more about Alaric. He became the subject of my every thought. Waking up each morning, I swore that I could feel his seed still drying on my skin, the mark of his belt on my backside, the feel of his palm against my pussy. None of that was real, though. My flesh was unmarked, not even a single welt left behind from that fateful night. They all had long since faded away.
There was nothing of him left.
I hated that fact. I wanted him back.
I stopped returning my friends’ phone calls because the only thing they said was for me to try fucking other people. I didn’t want that. I only wanted one man, and the thought of any other made me nauseous. I wouldn’t even consider it because of how revolting it felt anytime I tried to even think about it.
Fucking anyone else wasn’t a remote possibility.
My body ached. My pussy throbbed ceaselessly, my need unending. I felt like I was drowning in a pit of despair. My skin hurt if anything touched me. I ached just lying in bed, and Icried often in the depths of my own misery. Even just pulling the covers over me was painful. It soon became difficult to sleep without medication. I gave up drinking altogether because it just seemed to heighten everything instead of numbing me as it had done before. A visit to the hospital for several different kinds of scans couldn’t find anything wrong, so they just sent me to a therapist instead. I never went. I didn’t know what was wrong with me, but I knew it wasn’t in my head. Something was very wrong with me physically, and there was no explanation for it.
Another week passed and I started noticing that my senses were heightened. I could see farther, hear better, and everything tasted far more intense than I remembered it. My deep love for chocolate faded because it was too sweet. I could eat nothing but the darkest, most bitter chocolate and even that became a very rare event.
More time passed though, and I was convinced that even my pupils had begun to change shape. Just like his.
I was clearly losing my mind.
Another week passed and more strange things started to happen.
My heart rate monitor detected a drastic increase and there were no signs of it going back to normal. When I took my temperature, it constantly beeped that I had a fever. I was running at a temperature of one hundred and five degrees and it had been like that for several days now.
Alaric.
I needed him and wondered if he thought of me. I hoped that he did. Maybe he might know what was wrong with me. Maybe he might be able to help me through this. Most of all though, I justwanted him to fuck me. I needed him to make me come. Only him. I didn’t want anyone else. It was only him. Everyone else paled in comparison to that one man.
I had to do something.
I was going to die if things kept going like this.
Late one Friday, there was no choice but to get dressed. I cried as I pulled on a bra and panties and sobbed as I tugged on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt. The fabric hurt, but I had run out of options. I had to find him. I had to find Alaric. I had to go out.
