Power can be a little overwhelming

My name is Mika and I was in the parking lot, in Tyler’s Mercedes, when I first laid eyes on her. Tyler parked in the back row; I was between classes, and he was blowing off his to spend some time with me. He was in the driver’s seat, and I was straddling his lap.

I’m short, just 5’5”, so I can straddle a boy in the front seat of a car and still have some fun, even when he’s driving. But like I was saying, I was occupied with Tyler while peering out the back window when I noticed her walking toward the arts building.

She exuded an air of refined elegance, her cuteness reminding me of a sophisticated teacher. She appeared to be older than me, maybe ten years; she looked like she took pretty good care of herself. There was something about her that caught my attention, though I couldn't quite put my finger on why. Her confident walk stood out, as if she was still proud of her physique and had every right to be. Perhaps that was what intrigued me - her confidence, much like my own.

Of course, at that moment, I had no idea who she was. I assumed she might be a teacher based on her attire, but in a school as large as mine, that didn't necessarily mean much. She could have been an older student who dressed in a more professional manner, or perhaps she worked in administration or as a teacher's aide. Regardless, she piqued my curiosity, a thought that was abruptly interrupted by Tyler's urgent cry, "Oh, I'm gonna cum!" His fingers dug into my flesh, reminding me of the situation at hand.

I had momentarily forgotten about Tyler's mediocre performance, his average-sized member thrusting in and out of me. As I sat back and ground my hips into him, I squeezed him tight, urging him on. "Do it, baby," I whispered, leaning in to kiss his lips. "Give it to me."

Tyler was one of the five men I was involved with, each providing something unique to my ever-adventurous love life. Tyler, with his wealth and longer-than-average cock, added a certain thrill to my world. He was a junior studying economics and came from a wealthy background, which compensated for his lackluster performance in bed. Like many guys with too much money, he believed he knew exactly what a girl like me wanted, but in reality, he had no clue. Fortunately, he enjoyed impressing me with his father's money, and his generous endowment of eight inches kept me satisfied, each thrust a symphony of pleasure.

So, yes, that was the first time I saw her, a moment etched in my memory. She walked into the administrative building, and I was entangled in one of my passionate affairs. But I already knew what was going to happen. It was as certain as the rising of the sun the next day. My world and Olivia Jacobson's world were destined to collide, and I was determined to make it so.

So, I devised a simple plan. It was my first time orchestrating something like this, but it turned out to be easier than I expected. A few days after that initial encounter, I decided to cut through the Arts building on my way to volleyball practice. And there she was, standing outside a classroom, engrossed in a phone call. Our eyes met, and she graced me with a smile.

Surprisingly, nerves overtook me, an unfamiliar sensation for someone as confident as myself. Marking someone as your own was a significant step, a sacred connection that surpassed mere attraction. But there was something about her that consumed my thoughts for the past three days. No matter what I did, I couldn't shake her from my mind. It was as if every time I closed my eyes, there she was, lingering in my thoughts, igniting a desire within me that I couldn't ignore. I longed for her to be mine.

Throughout volleyball practice, my mind wandered to thoughts of her. Even as I pleasured my partner, exploring his thighs with my lips and tongue, all I could imagine was Olivia between my legs. Sitting in class, I found myself wondering how she would smell, how she would taste. It was insane, this infatuation that consumed me day by day.

In normal circumstances, it would have been easy to move on from a crush. I had been through breakups and unrequited crushes before, but this... this was different. I was consumed by an obsession, a slow-burning desire that refused to be extinguished.

I even tried to talk myself out of it, trying to rationalize this unexplainable urge. After all, none of it seemed feasible. The odds were against us, and yet, I couldn't deny the pull I felt toward her. This marked the beginning of a collision between our worlds, one that I was determined to ensure would happen.

As the days passed, my life would never be the same without her. I mean, I was a student, and she was a teacher, not to mention the significant age gap between us. It wasn't like me to go after older women, and there was a good chance she was straight, while I was whatever I was. But logic and reason seemed to fade away when it came to this unexplainable driving me. I had a primal need to mark her, to make her mine, a desire that resonated at the very core of my being. It was undoubtedly the strangest thing that had ever happened to me, this overwhelming urge to claim someone else as my own. It didn't make sense, but then again, there were many aspects of my existence that didn't quite fit into the norm. But we'll unravel the mysteries of my identity later.

So, I devised a plan—or more accurately, an outline. I had a rough idea of how to approach it. The tricky part was that I didn't want her to have any knowledge of my intentions. I mean, she might have been one of those rare individuals who willingly volunteered to be marked, but I had no idea how to broach the subject with a total stranger. So, I decided to take the top-secret route.

She had no clue when it happened

I was a student, she a teacher, worlds apart in age and life experience. I'd never been one to chase after older women, and her orientation was as much a mystery as my own evolving identity. Yet, an unexplainable, instinctual surged within me, compelling me to claim her. This wasn't just a crush or a fleeting attraction; it was a primal urge that bypassed all reason and logic.

You see, I've been a succubus for 18 years, but I was raised an orphan, unaware of my lineage or the depths of my abilities. My powers have always been innate, as natural to me as breathing. I call it "marking," this irresistible urge to claim someone, to bind them to me in some inexplicable way. I don't fully understand it myself; it's as if some primal part of me recognizes a need, a hunger, that I can't consciously comprehend. And when I saw her, that part roared to life, insisting that she was essential to me in a way I couldn't yet grasp.

So, I sketched a plan—more of a rough blueprint, really. The challenge lay in its secrecy. While some willingly consent to be marked, how could I approach this with a stranger? I opted for stealth.

The moment came unexpectedly. She stood in the hallway, engrossed in a phone call. A student, juggling a folder, lost his grip, scattering papers at her feet. Seizing the opportunity, I stopped to assist.

As Olivia stayed glued to her phone, her eyes bouncing between us, our hands brushed for just a second. In that blink of time, it felt like I'd sent a secret code through our fingertips, a pulse of invisible fireworks that only I could feel. No smoke, no mirrors, just this crazy, unseeable thing that felt like flipping a switch on our futures.

I walked away, my pulse racing, consumed by a mix of dread and euphoria. I'd marked her—a teacher, a woman, a near-stranger. All I knew was her name, displayed on her classroom nameplate.

I ran to my room. I was a bundle of nerves. Questions about the mechanics of marking swirled in my mind. What signs should I look for? What came next? I was restless, skipping meals and avoiding homework. Friends called; I deflected them.

Morning arrived after a sleepless night. Reality set in—I had to release my grip on the situation. The uncertainty of the marking's outcome, a ritual I hadn't engaged in for years, gnawed at me. The fear was palpable.

The first week was a rollercoaster of second-guessing and anxiety. Every idle moment was consumed by worry. Yet, when I saw her again, she seemed unchanged, save for a hint of fatigue. Then, my eyes fell on her wedding ring—a detail I'd foolishly ignored. A fresh wave of doubt washed over me. She was married, a fact that intensified my regret.

Impulsivity is my hallmark, often propelling me into the unknown. And this time, it had led me to a complex maze of emotions and consequences.

That night, the second day after I had marked Olivia, I decided that it must not have worked. That I must have botched the marking, that maybe our touch had been too brief, the words mispronounced, the connection not strong enough. I was worried and angry and frustrated.

So, I did what I do best: I reached out to Thomas, number 2 on my list, craving the distraction only he could provide.

I needed the raw, unfiltered pleasure that only a man like Thomas could provide.

He got back to me pretty quickly. He had just finished up football practice, and then he was supposed to go meet with his tutor, but I talked him out of it. No, let's be honest, I didn't just talk him out of it. Instead, because I am a little slut, I reclined on my bed, my body bare and inviting, teasingly pulling my left breast toward my lips, and captured the provocative moment in a selfie.

That did it; his response was immediate, a dark picture of his arousal, a promise of what awaited me. It looked delicious, and he was standing at my door knocking less than ten minutes later.

Now, Thomas was usually the perfect choice when I was frustrated. Thomas liked to play rough. He had a Mandingo-sized dick, a monster, and he was a master in the art of pleasure. As wild as it may seem, Thomas' arms were a sanctuary for me, a place where I could lose myself and feel safe. He was big, six foot four and built of chiseled, black muscle.

He walked into the room, kissed me for a couple of seconds while I stroked him to a full erection, and then we went at it like animals. I mean, we fucked for over an hour, steady. I sucked his cock until he shot his first load all over my chest (his favorite way to cum). Then he finger-fucked me until I came, and he was back at attention. Then he took me standing up, my back pressed against the door. Then I was on my back on the bed. He took me from behind over my desk, his rhythm relentless and skilled.

But even as Thomas lost himself in me, all I could think about was Olivia, her image haunting my mind, a longing I couldn't shake. How much I wanted her, how much I wanted her to be mine. How I wanted to watch her cum.

Now, what I didn't realize at the time was how immediate the mark's effects were, how it had begun to weave its magic right away. I know everything that happened the first week from Lucas, Olivia's husband. We've talked about it a lot actually. He's pretty good in bed, likes to cuddle, but I'll get to that part in a minute.

Apparently, the day that I marked Olivia she went home early, said she wasn't feeling well. When she got home, Lucas tried to help. He took her temperature but there wasn't one. He ran her a bath and made her a cup of hot tea.