Chapter 3 - Marking

The sun had barely crested the horizon when I found myself lurking in the Arts building, my eyes vigilantly scanning for Olivia. I got there at 8:30 and skipped my morning class. I needed to see her, my mind churned with disbelief—how could nothing have changed? That I had marked her and she hadn’t so much as even looked for me. Granted, I wasn't anticipating her submissiveness, but, when you mark a person, There's an unspoken rule that they should feel a magnetic pull towards you.

My jaw tensed, my nails digging into the flesh of my palms. Why wasn't this working? Marking wasn't a game. It wasn't for shits and giggles; it was a succubus's bread and butter. It’s what seemed to keep me from getting sick and losing my powers.

Marking someone isn't just for kicks; it's how I keep the gnawing hunger at bay. It's like when you find that perfect smoothie blend, rich and indulgent, and each sip feels like it's filling some void you didn't even know you had. That's what a mark does for me—it feeds something deep inside, something always ravenous for more.

I don't understand all the mumbo jumbo behind it; no one sat me down with a "Being a Succubus for Dummies" book. What I do know is that once someone's marked, I feel less...scattered. It's like having a tap into their very essence, this concentrated mix of all their raw emotions and desires.

And let's not downplay the advantages here. No need for the tedious dance of flirtation or guessing games. They become an open book, and their emotions, their energy—it's all on tap. I can't quite put my finger on why this is so crucial for me, but it's like a life-sustaining nectar. All I know is, without it, something inside me starts to fray at the edges. It's not just a 'nice-to-have'; it's my non-negotiable.

The mystery behind the whole marking thing does bug me, though. Why does it even work? How? Hell, what does it mean to 'mark' someone, really? I've read my share of urban fantasy novels, and trust me, the real world is a lot less clear-cut. You won't find runes lighting up on someone's wrist or some cosmic connection that tugs at your heartstrings. Instead, I feel them—those I've marked—like a subtle echo in my mind, a low hum that gets louder the closer they are.

Sometimes, when I close my eyes, I can almost sift through their emotions like sorting through a pile of multicolored beads. Each one a different shade of want, lust, longing. But it's not about control. No, it's more like a resonance, a tuning fork struck in a crowded room, only audible to me.

So why Olivia? She's got this thrum of complex energy, like a cocktail I've never tasted but am dying to try. If marking her works, it won't just be a sip from a tap; it'll be like downing a vintage bottle of whisky. I just know it.

But every glance she avoided, every step she took away from me, made me feel like I was losing more than just her attention—I was losing crucial time. The clock was ticking, and my Searing wasn't going to wait for anyone.

I wished that it was like Hollywood or TV, all those movies about vampires that can like hypnotize you. I did nothing but imagine Olivia not as my ****, but a woman obsessed with me and what I had done to her. Marking her should have been our shared genesis, our new beginning. But so far, nothing.

So, I waited. And I waited. It wasn’t until 10:15 that students started to make their way to class. The halls were bustling with people coming and going. The entire soccer team cut through the arts building for some reason, and I saw number five in my rotation, Carlos. He was at the bottom of my rotation but that didn’t mean I didn’t appreciate his tall and toned body, his baby face, or the seven inches of cock that curved up slightly.

Carlos sauntered over, his eyes questioning our next rendezvous; I brushed him off, told him to catch up with his team, and that I would text him later.

Too busy for me?" He enfolded me, his lips leaving a warm impression on my forehead.

The hard contour of his protective cup pressed discernibly against my abdomen and I won’t say I didn’t think about the way his cock curved up inside me, especially when we were doing anal and I was on top. But I didn’t have time for a quickie in the bathroom, (Something Carlos and I had done on more than one occasion.) I wanted to see Olivia. “Go!” I shooed him away when I saw Olivia coming down the hall. When he was gone, sulking and walking away like a kicked puppy, I stepped into Olivia’s line of sight.

Her gaze skated aimlessly over the sea of faces, not settling on anyone in particular.

So, I stood there, you know, like a rock in a river and the students and teachers flowed around me while I stared at Olivia. And she completely ignored me. I looked down at myself, sure that I was provocative enough to get her attention. After all, she was supposed to be marked and mine. I mean, what the fuck, right?

I propelled myself toward her, catching what seemed like a fleeting, inconclusive glance, but she didn’t really make eye contact. My patience frayed, snapping like a taut wire.

Two more students walked through the door after her and I followed them in. I couldn’t take it anymore. She was going to see me. If I had to jump up and down in the middle of her class, she was going to see me. I needed her to acknowledge me. It was the only thing I could think of, maybe if we were closer together I could really see if the marking was working or not.

Of course, when I walked into the classroom, she saw me and kind of held up her hand to get my attention. “Miss?”

Elation swelled within me, teetering at a precipice. You know when you are on a rollercoaster and it’s at the top of the hill and it starts to move, like right at the top, and your chest is full of anticipation? That’s how I felt. “Yeah?” I stopped and met her eye. I could feel the ear to ear smile on my face. I was sure something good was going to happen. This was it.

Her eyes wandered over me and for some reason I looked down at myself like I wasn’t sure if maybe I hadn’t accidentally spilled something. Now, I can tell you. Seriously, I looked pretty hot. I had on my favorite pair of jean shorts, the ones that fit like underwear, a white tank top made of crazy thin cotton and with a neckline that was nothing but cleavage. And to set everything off? Little red flats.

“You’re in the wrong class.” Olivia’s didn’t sound stern, she wasn’t being a bitch. She was polite, like you would expect a professor to be.

I looked her over. Seriously? There was nothing. She was looking right at me, but there was no spark of recognition or attachment. Maybe my mark hadn’t worked?

“I am?” I looked around and met the eyes of four or five other students staring at me. One was a boy I recognized, one of Thomas’ friends. He grinned and licked his lips. “Sorry about that.” I turned to go. I didn’t know what else to do. I mean, what was I supposed to do, try to mark her again?

I retreated into the hall, a feeling of bewilderment sinking in. I didn’t know what to think. I was sure I had done it right. I had never missed before. It was something you almost couldn’t get wrong, it was like it was a part of us, the ability to mark. I had been able to do it my whole life.

“Mika!” Stephanie, one of my best friends was coming down the hall. “Going to history?”

I glanced at my cell phone, I had five minutes to get to class and a text message from Tyler that read: Afternoon delight?

“Maybe,” I grinned.

“Girl, go be you. I need to dash to my economics class.” Stephanie pulled her top up a bit, reexamined how her tits were hanging in her tank top and then wandered off.

I watched her go. Like most of the girls on the volleyball team, she had a great pair of legs and the tank top and spandex shorts she wore showed off plenty of thigh. She was a curvy girl in all the right places.

Fuck, concentration seemed an unattainable luxury until I found relief.. I instantly regretted sending Carlos off to practice.

I started toward the parking lot. I wasn’t going to class, it would have been a waste of time. I needed a fuck or at least to masturbate, but what I needed even more than an orgasm was some answers to some questions. I dialed Keera's number; she was the only other person who understood my unique situation.

She answered on the second ring and I realized it was just after eight where she was. “What’s up, Chiquita?” But it didn’t matter what time it was in California, Keera always sounded so goddamn happy.

“What happened when you marked Jillian?” I looked around the hall hoping to see a boy I recognized. I mean, I just needed a quickie, something to hold me over until I could get to my regular rotation. “Oh, wow, that was ages ago. What do you mean, what happened?”

“Like what happened? When you first marked her, what happened next?”

“Um, I marked her. You know, at that club we always liked to go to. We were all dancing.” I could hear the nostalgia in Keera’s voice.

Jillian and Keera had been friends for a few weeks before she was marked. I mean, Keera didn’t tell me that she had marked Jillian until almost a month later when I walked into the living room and Keera was bent over the couch with Jillian ramming her from behind.

“Did you mark someone?” Kerra sounded excited. “You bitch! Who was it? Did you try a boy or a girl?”

“A girl,” I interrupted the rapid-fire interrogation, “but I don’t think it worked.”

“You don’t think it worked?”

“Nothing happened.” I stepped out into the sunshine and started toward my car.

“How long has it been?”

“A day,” I said.

Keera laughed. “You’ve got to be a little more patient, sis.”

“What?”

“It took almost a week before Jillian became, you know, mine.”

“A week?” I watched a guy and a girl get out of a car along the back row of the parking lot. She straightened her top and he pulled up his zipper. I smiled and wished I was doing the same thing.

“There’s a whole transformation that happens,” Keera sounded disappointed, like she wasn’t sure I completely understood marking. And she wasn’t wrong.

To be completely honest, I had a loose grasp of the concept. I understood, at least partially, that marking someone entangled them in our strange, ethereal realm. But I didn’t know all the details. It’s not like there was a book lying around somewhere with instructions. Again, life isn’t a Hollywood movie. “Want to walk me through it?” I asked.

“There’s nothing to walk you through, Mika. You marked her. She’s bound to you. You’re just going to have to wait it out. I don’t even know if it happens the same way every time. But don’t worry, it’s been a fucking day.” She laughed.

“What made you do it?” The question came out of my mouth before I realized it.

“What made me do what? Mark Jillian?” Keera sounded confused.

“Yeah, I mean, I know you’re a little ho bag,” I laughed, “but what made you choose her?” It had been one of the questions I kept asking myself since it happened. Why did I do it? Why her? I saw her once, walking across a parking lot. Why did marking her become what I wanted?

“I think it’s a combination of things,” I could tell Keera was trying to figure out how to explain it. “I mean, I think part of us recognizes the person’s strength. I think some it has to do with our sexual desires, you know, what we find hot.” And then she paused. “And the rest is like magic. I don’t fucking know what it is, but you can’t ignore it. Fuck, before I marked Jillian, she was all I could think about. I was like a junky that needed a fix.”

“That’s it. That’s how I feel.” Even though I wasn’t thrilled with the idea that I was going to have to wait, it felt good to talk to someone who understood what I was going through. “So... just wait for something to happen?” I kept hoping she would tell me something else, give me some other option.

“Yup. God, I miss Jillian.” Keera said wistfully.

“Still in Australia?”

“Yeah, said she might never come back,” Keera laughed.

Keera and I had always considered each other sisters. We were fairly sure we had been created by the same parents but there was no way to know for sure. I mean, unless we bumped into our parents and could somehow feel that we were a part of them, there was no way we could know for sure. We weren’t related by blood, that much we knew, but we had both found on the orphanage steps the same morning. She had been left in a box while I had been found in a laundry basket. Neither one of us had any other information, no note, no name, no numbers.

We were teens when we found out we were both little monsters. I think we always knew, there were too many playtimes when we were really little. But when our latest foster father wanted us to play and we broke his brain, that’s when we both realized what we were. We promised to keep our true nature a secret.

And, somehow, through all of the stuff that happens to two orphans, foster homes, ****, and adoption, we had somehow managed to stay in contact. “She’ll be back,” I tried to console my friend.

“Maybe, right?”

“Of course,” I thought back to the first house Keera and I shared. It’s always so strange to look back over time when you yourself are timeless. Memories are strange because there are so many over so many years. But oddly, like a Hollywood movie about vampires, being ageless was our special burden, one of the facts of our existence.

It had been our first year of college. We had chosen to go to the same school. God, those years were a blur. Two of us in the same house, with the same cravings? It’s a wonder we didn’t destroy the world.

“Hey, I’m late for work.” Keera interrupted my reverie, “Can I call you tonight.” Keera said.

“Yeah, give me a call tonight, whore.” I laughed.

“Fuck off, bitch.” Keera laughed and hung up.

I got in my car and rolled down the windows. I didn’t have anywhere to go. It was a beautiful day, blue skies and wispy clouds. The temperature was in the seventies and a light breeze blew through the car. I just sat there and stared out the windshield.

My little pussy was on fire. I thought back to the little house Keera and I had together. All the parties and threesomes and foursomes and orgies. The place always smelled like sweat and sex. It was marvelous.

My fingers wandered up my thigh and into my shorts. I slipped my panties to the side and ran my thumb over my clit. I was already wet. I thought about Olivia and what she would be like once the mark had done its job. I wondered what her transformation would bring.

Jillian’s transformation had given her a cock, a large one, which Keera had always seemed to enjoy. Would the same thing happen to Olivia?

I slipped a finger into my steaming sex and closed my eyes. The waiting was the worst part. Keera’s news wasn’t what I had expected, but I took some comfort in knowing that Olivia was marked, that she was bound to me.

I unbuttoned my shorts and pulled down the zipper to give my other hand some room. I imagined it was Olivia’s hands exploring me. I slipped another finger into my pussy while I rubbed my clit and slowly rocked my hips.

It took a few minutes and another finger, before I was huffing and puffing, my eyes clamped shut, while I moaned and shifted to get there, but I managed it. When I finished and opened my eyes, I saw a young guy, probably a freshman standing next to his car. There was a tent in his khaki’s. I met his eyes and he turned and almost ran for the school. I laughed.

That evening, I finished my homework, cleaned my house, reorganized my closet, and then called James, number one in my rotation. He came over and I gave him a long, slow fuck, sensual, because all I could think of was her.

I pretended his body was hers. And I kept wondering if anything was happening and, if so, what? It was like we had been friends or lovers and I missed her, or like we were together and had had a fight and I didn’t know how to fix it. That’s how I felt, lost, alone, and longing.

James was a brief but sweaty distraction.