Trying to understand his powers

Confusion and a slight sense of panic began to gnaw at me. I started to doubt whether the pen even worked. It seemed inconceivable, given everything that had happened, but the lack of any noticeable change in Lily was throwing me off.

"Okay, hold on, Marcus," I muttered to myself, trying to rein in the doubt. The pen had to work. The events of the day couldn't just be a series of bizarre coincidences. I thought back to the principal's parking spot—how he had laughed it off and accepted that it was mine. Then there was the ride in Veronica's car, where she had handed over the keys without question, thinking it was actually my car. And most telling of all was Karen's reaction to my claim over the house, how she had immediately accepted that I owned it. These weren't flukes; they were proof.

Calming myself down, I tried to approach the situation rationally. I had conducted an experiment, and it appeared to have failed. I had written on Lily's sweatpants, and there had been no discernible effect. But what could have gone wrong? I needed to consider the possibilities.

I steadied myself, my eyes on my book, but the words might as well have been invisible. Lost in thought, I began to brainstorm.

First, there was the possibility that the mark had rubbed off. It seemed unlikely, but I couldn't entirely dismiss it. The pen's ink had seemed pretty permanent on other surfaces, but fabric was a different beast.

Second, and perhaps more likely, was the idea that the mark was still there but hadn't activated yet. The more I thought about it, the more it made sense. In every other instance, the mark had taken effect when it was read and acknowledged. Maybe Lily hadn't read the label on her sweatpants. Who really checks the tag before putting their clothes on?

This line of reasoning was more comforting. It suggested that the pen still held power, that its magic was tied to acknowledgment and recognition. It was a theory that needed testing, but it was a start, a ray of hope in the confusing aftermath of my failed experiment.

Third, there was the possibility that the pen's power had limitations. Maybe it had a finite number of uses per day, or it could only affect a certain number of people. Or perhaps it worked based on the scale of the object or the complexity of the ownership. These were frustrating thoughts. It would be difficult to test these theories without potentially wasting more uses of the pen, if that was indeed how it worked.

The idea of having this incredible tool, only to find out it had limitations like a 'three wishes' scenario, was kind of lame. Imagine getting a magic device, using it three times on relatively mundane things, and then discovering it's all used up. If I had known it had limited uses, I would've gone for something big—like writing my name on the Constitution or the world's most expensive car. Something that could really change my life. The more I thought about it, the more I desperately hoped this wasn't the case with the pen.

Fourth, and this was a bit out there, maybe the pen's power was influenced by the intention or desire behind the writing. Could it be that it only worked when my desire or need for the object or person was strong enough? When I wrote on Karen's house, I had a clear, strong desire for ownership, a solid intention to get back at her for taking my dad's inheritance and alienating me from my extended family. With Lily's sweatpants, though, my motives were mixed—part experiment, part whimsy, and maybe not as charged with intent. This theory suggested that the pen was more than just a tool; it was a conduit for my will, and my will needed to be focused and strong for it to work.

Each hypothesis had its merits and pitfalls, and the only way to really know was through more testing, more experimenting. The key was to be strategic about it, to not waste potential uses if the pen indeed had limitations. I needed to plan my next steps carefully, considering both the immediate and long-term implications of using this mysterious, powerful tool.

I guess it was time for some detective work. These last two possibilities were tricky to test, but I had to start somewhere. The first step would be to check if the mark was still there on Lily's sweatpants. And then, I'd have to figure out a way to make sure she'd seen it. What could go wrong with a little snooping?

It sounded simple enough. Wait for her to toss her laundry in the basket, then sneak a peek at the tag. If the mark was still there, great. If not, back to the drawing board.

As for making sure she'd seen it, that was a bit more complicated. I couldn't just ask her, "Hey, did you happen to read the tag on your sweatpants today?" without sounding like a total weirdo. I needed a plan, something subtle but effective.

Maybe I could concoct some story about a recall I heard about her brand of sweatpants. Say something about a defect in the fabric or a mix-up at the factory. Yeah, that might work. It'd be odd, but not too odd, hopefully.

I'd have to be careful, though. The last thing I needed was to raise any suspicions. Just play it cool, casual, like it's no big deal. Just a passing comment, nothing more.

As I began to process all of this, a pang of frustration flashed through my mind. Call me impatient, but I wasn't happy to have to wait till the next day to make progress on my plan. I wanted my god-like powers now.

Just as I had gotten somewhat comfortable with my plan to scour Lily's laundry tomorrow, the perfect opportunity practically to speed things up fell into my lap. It was so ideal that it felt like some cosmic **** was playing in my favor, maybe the same one that had handed me that all-powerful ownership pen.

While I had been deep in thought, Karen had been buzzing around in her sexy yoga outfit doing my chores. It goes without saying that she looked fantastic while doing it. She was vacuuming the living room, dusting the shelves, and even went as far as to straighten out the mess I'd left on the coffee table - something I probably wouldn't have done if the work was still left up to me.

It's not like my chores were particularly time-consuming. The truth was, I was just being lazy and had procrastinated on them. And then, when I got the chance to, let's say, encourage Karen to do them for me as part of our new living arrangement, I jumped at it. Whatever the reason, I had managed to get her to do my work for me. And she had finished them at the perfect time because she then did something unexpectedly nice and motherly. She walked over to me, offering a glass of water.

Specifically, she approached me from the kitchen with two cups of water in her hands.

"Here, you must be thirsty," she said, extending one of the cups towards me.

I accepted it with a smile, an idea already forming in my mind. "Thanks," I replied, taking the cup from her hand.

Before she could turn away, I held her attention. "Wait a second," I demanded, before raising my glass and taking a long, slow sip of the water, deliberately making her wait, watching her reaction.

As I took that slow sip, my eyes casually wandered over Karen's figure. I realized that I used to never take the time to appreciate her body before. Something about her demeanor and her association with my father would make me too angry to really look at her for more than a few seconds. But with the pen giving me the agency to _take_ whatever I wanted, and perhaps get ****, I found myself appreciating her curves more and more. The sweat from her earlier yoga session had dried, diminishing the earlier pronounced outline of her nipples through the fabric, but she was still an incredible sight. Definitely a MILF. The sports bra, a vibrant orange, wrapped around her torso, outlining the shape of her well-toned midsection. The shorts were equally form-fitting, holding tight against her hips. The outfit exposed her midriff, highlighting the sculpted lines of her abs and the strength in her soft thighs.

I watched the subtle interplay of muscles as she shifted her weight from one foot to the other, waiting for me to finish.

Finally, I let out a sigh of contentment as I finished my sip, breaking the moment. I was surprised to find that I had actually finished the water. How long had I been ogling her? Had she noticed? Had she cared?

"Thanks, Karen," I said, handing her the empty glass.

"I just realized that I was supposed to take the garbage out too," I added, trying to sound as innocent as possible, "I'd appreciate it if you could help with that."

Then, seizing the moment, I nodded towards the glass she still held. "Were you about to take that up to Lily? If you want, I can do that for you while you take out the trash."