Page 15 of Marked

The batteries in my vibrator died, and I practically threw the thing across the room in my frustration.

Rolling over onto my belly, 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 any questions.

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 I cried 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 just wanted 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.

He would take care of me. He had to, because I couldn’t bear it if he didn’t.

Fixing my makeup to the bare minimum just to make myself presentable in order to be seen in public, I shrugged on my jacket and pushed my phone into my back pocket. The new, much sturdier knife I had purchased went into my boot. With a deep breath, I finally convinced myself to walk out the door.

I made my way back to The Salty Dog. The flickering neon lights outside usually put me off, but tonight they seemed to beckon me.

I prayed that Alaric would be waiting inside for me even though I knew that the chances were likely pretty slim.

It was a shred of hope, though, and I held onto it like a lifeline in a storm.

When I walked inside, the redheaded owner Richie was working the bar.

He lifted his eyes to meet mine and smirked.

I looked around for Alaric, but I didn’t see him anywhere.

My heart fell, and I took a seat at the bar, hoping Richie might come over so that I could ask him where the only man I wanted to fuck was.

I’d never even asked for Alaric’ last name.

All I knew was that he had an apartment above the bar that he’d likely rented from Richie.

He owned the place, so that was the only clue I had to go on, and if Richie knew Alaric well enough to rent him an apartment, he had to know more about him, right? At least, that’s what I was hoping for.

So, I waited. I shrugged off anyone who tried to talk to me and ignored men as they tried to buy me drinks, using my best resting bitch face to scare them off.

With enough effort, it worked, and they eventually left me alone.

Finally, Richie made his way over to me and leaned over the bar, lifting his eyebrows expectantly.

“What brings you back here?” he asked nonchalantly, as if he didn’t know. It was written all over the rat-faced bastard’s face.

“Is Alaric around? I’m looking for him,” I answered. I would have decked him if I hadn’t needed whatever knowledge was hidden inside his head.

“He’s been gone for a few weeks. Picked up the bounty he was looking for and then got the fuck out of here,” he replied, cocking his head toward me as he stared me down. It was like he was studying me. Like he was looking at me as though he knew something I didn’t.

“Do you know where he went? Maybe somehow I can contact him?” I pressed. I really needed just a little clue from Richie right now, and anything was better than nothing.

“No. He never leaves any information behind. He’ll show up here again eventually though. He always does,” Richie said.

I sighed.

“Do you know his last name?” I tried next, my last desperate hope slowly dying inside.

“No. Pays in cash every time. Large bills,” he said.

I drew back and sighed, feeling myself fall back into that same pit of despair I’d been wallowing in that morning.

“Have you ever heard of the Lupenii Fund?” I asked, my voice trembling as I forced myself to not cry in public.

I gritted my teeth and sat back in the chair, staring at the ginger-haired bartender.

His lips tensed in a firm line as he stilled, and he tried to cover it up by grabbing a rag and wiping off the top of the bar.

Fucker definitely knew something, and he wasn’t telling.

“Come on, Richie. Give me something, or I’ll spread a rumor about how The Salty Dog encourages drugging and raping chicks to make a quick buck. I’ll bring the cops here myself,” I threatened. Richie didn’t even flinch.

“Unlikely. You wouldn’t know it, but I have a great many friends that keep them out of my bar. Rich friends that pay a great deal for a safe place to conduct their business,” he warned, and I wilted.

I did the only other thing I could think of. I begged him for help.

“Do you think you can get Alaric a message somehow? Let him know that I’m looking for him?” I pleaded. “Please. I don’t think there’s anyone else that can help me. I’ll do anything.”

He stared at me closely.

“Anything?” he asked, cocking his eyebrow once again.