Waking Mark

I was on the floor when I came to. The cold wood sent bumps across my back.

As my eyes shuttered open, an unfamiliar ceiling looked back at me, causing my stomach to flip. "Aw, crap..."

Frantically getting up, I felt my body. Then I whirled around.

Where am I? I thought. Then, like a flood, it crashed into me.

Yesterday, at the highway. Then the fling by that swingers' club. Then being drunk out of my mind and wandering into the night doing... some thing. Some things.

I shook my head.

No... I remembered now. There was a restaurant. That restaurant -- and... that table..!

Remembering the two women, (and everything in between), I grumbled. I released my eyes, and moved them to my wrist. The bandages covered its entire circumference, up to my elbow. But below, the pulsing glow of the mark had no disguise.

I sighed, took one final look around, and turned. Before leaving, I decided to grab a slice or two of bread from the woman's kitchen and make myself a sandwich. Then, without so much as a calling card, I unlocked the door and headed outside. Her car was parked outside, like usual. The home still seemed ordinary. As far as I can tell, everything was as normal as it could've been -- relatively speaking, anyway.

You see, the Arbiter's Mark was a more... volatile gift than I had initially assumed when I first received it.

At first, I had harnessed it with hedonism aplenty. Back when I still worked at my old distribution company, I first learned about my powers when I had gotten one of the secretaries to pull her neckline out, displaying her breasts to me. The look on my face; if I had learned how to cloud perceptions back then, you wouldn't have even noticed it. Unfortunately, I didn't, and several other people including me watched agape as she jutted her chest out in front of the whole lobby. After someone called out her slutty behavior, she wrinkled a brow, looked down, and was utterly mortified at what she saw. It was already too late; by the time her blouse was buttoned up properly, her deeds were already surfing on the tongues of gossipers in every department. Poor girl.

I know, rich coming from me, the same guy that's been reveling in manipulating people left and right ever since. But you must understand -- back then, it was pure accident. I wasn't motivated by the same information I have now. Of course, now she'd probably undergo even more horrifying things, and I wouldn't feel an inkling of guilt -- I learned to rationalize my actions early on. But now I tend to make everyone okay with it, too, so I'd say it balances out. Who needs free will, right?

In any case, it wasn't until I was strolling down the hall that I noticed the strange symbol below my hand.

And the slight burn that sparked along its marking.

From then on, my new life began -- as I developed and strengthened my abilities, I grew bolder, more and more unrestrained. By the end of the year, I fucked my boss, made my female co-workers eat each other's pussies, and indulged in my horrid kinks as a voyeur more than content with the high being provided in regular intervals. I was on the top of the world.

A horn in the present day interrupted my thoughts. Jumping up slightly, I looked behind me to see a minivan, and a mother through the front windshield giving me a stern glare.

How I could tell she was a mother?

Well, let's just say these kind of things came naturally after a couple years in the field.

"Excuse me," she popped her head out of the window she'd just rolled down, "there's a sidewalk for a reason, you know!"

"Just go around him, Mom," urged another voice inside the car.

"It wouldn't hurt to let this man know where and where not to walk, Darren." After turning her attention away from her son, she looked back to the street. It was empty.

Indeed, I had decided to slip away. I didn't feel like having another episode at the moment. Continuing down the sidewalk, I managed to glean some information regarding where they were going. Her son was apparently a high school student. Even though it was the weekend, he was scheduled to attend a basketball game. He played point guard position, and was serious about it, one of those bright young adults wishing to serve as an example to their colleagues.

"Noble." I scratched my neck and stretched as I proceeded out of the neighborhood, and into a main street. A grocery store conveniently sat just at the turn of the road. "Until I drop by, anyway."

Despite saying that, I wasn't sure if I was going to. There were many things I wasn't exactly sure about, in fact.

But, as I had been saying before the honky-tonk interruption, being on top of the world could do that to you -- it made everything uncertain as fun as a harmless, but mysterious game; after all, risk became increasingly minimal. To have a say over any situation, ever, was an ultimate cheat. An ultimate override.

Something I could also swear I remember saying before.

Shaking my head, I felt the quiet purr inside of it.

The voice.

The other.

The me out of me.

'Mark.'

I enjoyed the new course my life had taken, assuredly. But over time, I noticed that I was having hazier memory recalls, slices in time that didn't fit. At first it was mild; I would mess around with a flight attendant, and then the next night I would have her panties in my pocket. But it became more enveloping. So much so, I felt like Edward Norton from that one movie he made.

Little did I know, that was exactly what had happened.

Somehow, some way, this Arbiter's Mark overrode me. Through uninhibited usage, eventually, the mark forged a different version of me. Some bastardized rendition of my personality, all inhibitions stripped away, all sex on the mind. Your archetypal 'alpha male' with a dick no one could say no to -- literally.

It was scary at first. I regretted not heeding the effects that had been taken on me, sprinkled throughout my tenure as a fledgling arbiter through the emissions emanating from the mark. I know better now. But back then, when I saw it flashing yellow, white, red, and so on, I had no clue what they signified.

But like the boy who cried wolf, as long as you live, you live and learn. Every now and again, if I over-use my ability, or become too unrestrained, my internal lurker will arise. But with some moderation, I've learned to keep him caged away. And with these bandages, as well. I brought them upward again, looking them over. The mark remained 'dormant' as I stepped through the entrance of the store, and felt the cool air bathe me.

It might not have seemed necessary, but it was. The mark, when exposed, was actually harder to control than when kept hidden. I wasn't sure why, myself. All I knew was that, after an incident in which I tried to cut through it with a blade, (it had been a rough day and I was at a relatively low point -- such a moment reached peak frequency after the birth of my "alternate self"), the wrappings I placed over it seemed to suppress any flashes of the other Mark bypassing me. It was like a silencer.

And I also knew that, whenever I took off whatever covering from my wrist, it took only a couple seconds before he came to the surface again. And after that point, I never knew how long it would be until I came back to my senses.

Sometimes hours. Sometimes days.

I shook my head again.

In this case, it thankfully only took a one-night stand and a murky hangover. That woman I woke up next to would probably be bent over the dresser right now if I hadn't, er, woken.

But... that wasn't to say I was a walking, Amish prude by day either. Far from it. In some ways, I was even more of a scoundrel than 'him'. He loved the nitty-gritty. To get in, and push in, and pull out, with a phallic rod he made twice the size it had originally been when I was but a mediocre packer. To assert his undeniable dominance. And I... well, I liked that too, sometimes.

But other times, I liked to watch as the world acted sideways before me -- messing with people, in ways both big and small.

And in this very hour, I was feeling... to be fairly honest, I was actually craving fresh bread. That sandwich barely did anything for me.

Looking around, I scanned the store. There were a couple early morning patrons delving through this aisle and that. Three clerks tended the check-out counters. Two of them seemed fairly young, and of those two, one looked quite pretty. She had black hair in a bun, and a collected, self-assured face.

I glanced to the bread aisle, and noticed a cart being pushed down its length. A woman that looked to be in her late 30s was steering it, dark brown hair curling over her back shoulders elegantly. Her bottom boasted a nice shape, confined behind her blue denim jeans.

"Yeah, and the wheat bread." I blinked, puzzled. Then realized she was speaking into a phone. "Which I'm getting right now... hey, do you happen to have any of those exotic spices from your last Europe trip? Oh, nothing in particular, only..."

That was all I was able to catch before her figure was obscured by the adjacent aisle. And before a slender shoulder bumped into me.

I stumbled a step forward. That was what I got for standing in front of the entrance. When I looked back, a pair of sunglasses were removed just in time for our eyes to connect.

"Hey there, pal," snapped the pretty perpetrator, and I automatically performed a once-over. She was a blonde woman clad in a spaghetti strap top and breezy shorts. She was a leggy girl, with sunny skin, who obviously worked to achieve those looks. It was as if she walked out of a surfing commercial from the 60s. Her skin looked as smooth as a glossed up dinner table, even as she flitted her eyelashes to look down at me. "Watch where you're standing."

Continuing past me with her chin faced deliberately forward, I stepped to the side. It was then I noticed the two other people behind her as they walked past. One somewhat petite brunette girl that looked just a tad younger, and another bleached poster face, this one a young man with a slumping walk that he looked like he learned from one cartoon character too many. They slid one brief glance in my direction, then returned to their previous conversation, which they were probably in the middle of before bumping into me.

As they headed for the refrigerated section, I let them pass.

For the blonde girl's 'tude, though, I didn't quite let it slide. I decided to have some mild fun, and have her lead the first play of the day.

The trio were walking down the aisle, talking about an upcoming beach party to be hosted at the blonde's beach home (her dad apparently worked for a major media group and made a fortune), when the slumping young man to her left reached for the waistband of her shorts and pulled them down. As she walked, he tugged them down until they fell over her creamy thighs and knees. When they reached her sandals, she stepped out of them comfortably, exposing the full length of her legs and glutes. Meanwhile, she continued to go over the shopping list amiably with the brunette, who was nodding along happily, another average day in grocery-town.

Moving down the aisle, the sharp black-haired man looked around and stuffed them in the shelf, between a pair of Campbell's soup cans.

It was as she, the blonde woman, (whose name I gleaned was Kelsey) and her brunette friend were talking about the pros and cons of homemade frozen meat that the brown-haired girl stretched out her hand until she clutched the rear of her shopping partner's panties, her fingers wrapped firmly around the thin fabric. Then she pulled, still walking at Kelsey's side, but making note of how far she was pulling her friend's panties back as she did, eyes glancing to the side every other breath to ensure her grip. Then, when I thought it reached a decent arch, she let it go to a tight slap.

A hiccup interrupted Kelsey mid-sentence, the sound of fabric against her cheek echoing through the passage.

"You okay, Kelsey?" asked her friend, whose name I learned was Francine. As she worried for her friend, she pulled on Kelsey's panties again behind her, to the same aforementioned radius.

"It's... it's nothing." The blonde reassured her entourage and collected herself, re-assuming her previous, affected disposition. "I was only thinking... I read in a magazine that there's some nutritional benefits in having a turkey-based recipe. I'll have to slide it by Garner but maybe we could make it turkey instead of -- ooh!"

Another slap ricocheted through the aisle. Francine had released Kelsey's panties for another butt-smacking squeal.

Meanwhile, their third wheel cocked a brow.

"You sure you're okay, Kelsey?" asked the man at her hip. As soon as the last syllable rolled off his tongue, a fly swatter hanging from a shelf caught his eye. He pulled it out of its slit as they passed then turned back to remark, "You seem a bit jumpy today." Then, situating the swatter just behind the blonde's left butt cheek, he pulled it back, and brought it forward with a hard, sporty swing. When it made contact with Kelsey's supple, round flesh, it was so loud you could've mistaken it for a fallen slab of meat.

"Ow!" winced Kelsey.

"Yeah," echoed Francine as she found a pair of mittens and took them up. "You have an upset stomach or something?" She bent her elbow, the gloves dangling over her back. Then in one swift motion, she whipped them against the blonde's right cheek. "I hear there's a virus spreading along the coast these days..." From the opposite direction, she slung it across Kelsey's butt once again with a gentle grunt, treating the firm bottom to a hardy slap.

Kelsey's words became a slight stammer. "Er, no, it's...it's... "

slap!

"...it's nothing," Kelsey's fingers curled into a fist as Jude, the 'dude', lashed at her butt with the fly swatter again.

"It's okay if you're feeling out of sorts, Kel," comforted Francine. Slap! "You could leave the rest of the shopping to us." Slap, slap!

"Yeah," Jude affirmed, banging her butt with the swatter as he spoke. "We got the shopping lists on our cells."

The two of them were now slapping at their friend's glutes like rock 'n rollers at a drum kit, in basic 4:4 rhythm. One slap after the other, one reverberating ripple of skin after the next. Kelsey stood there and took it, her nails digging into the palms of her hands with each butt smack.

"Oh, that's..." Slap! Wince. "...really nice of you guys, but..." Slap! "...But I'm fine, honest. It's just..." Slap! "Oof...there's... there's this burning sensation..."

Deciding I had enough, I relinquished her from the little game, and Jude and Francine's ministrations retreated.

Kelsey's friends set aside the swatter and the mittens, returning to inquiring about her well-being. She assured them she was alright, but as Kelsey walked, she rubbed her butt-cheeks furtively, feeling strangely sore. In the meantime, she was still estranged from the bottoms she had on when she entered, and wouldn't bother going back for them. I had made it so she would go the whole day pantsless without realizing it, and neither would anybody else, until the moment she put on another pair. Then, everyone who'd seen her in between the instance she'd adopted a new pair and the moment she slipped out of her currently MIA shorts would remember her little exhibitionist display, her included. I made sure nothing malicious would befall her; but she would certainly be quite flustered for a good portion of the week.

Social aloofness actually didn't bother me much; neither before nor after I had received the power. But when all else failed, it did provide a decent excuse.

Wiping my hands together, I shifted my thoughts away from any further distractions and aimed for the bread aisle. It was time for some fresh loaves.