Sometimes Dee liked to fuck men she didn’t find attractive. If she was at a party and there was that one guy who talked a little too loud or made jokes that were a little too rude or perhaps just wore an ugly suit, she couldn’t think of anything but sucking their cocks.
She couldn’t always make it happen though. She didn’t always know how to let them know they could have her. She didn’t know how to word it and men got too flummoxed by her pretty face to get the point. That was one of the reasons the Mark was so appealing. It did all the talking for her.
Not that people in the Order were unattractive, quite the opposite usually, but it gave her many opportunities to be taken advantage of by all kinds of people, whether she found them attractive or not.
She had gotten the Mark when she was thirty-five, which from what she understood was a little late. She was glad she waited though. During her initiation into the Order she had heard tales of the Mark and how only a select few were able to receive it. There was a rigorous vetting process because of the permanence of the tattoo and its implications.
Still, that was the point, wasn’t it? To live a life that wasn’t your own. To be property of the Order. To know that day or night, at work, with family, anywhere, you could be called on to be of use to a member. That was the Mark. If a member of the Order saw the Mark on you, they could simply show you their pin and then have you. You would be theirs to fuck or beat or use however they wanted.
Sometimes simply remembering that was enough to get her wet. Though there had been so many encounters and so many episodes, more than those individual experiences was the overall knowledge that she had made a choice to give her body over to the Order. It was holistic objectification.
She had gotten the Mark four years ago on Valentine’s Day. Her love letter to world.
The Order had a tattoo artist on retainer, of course. Dee recognized him from a few of the parties. He was tall and brawny, dashing but silent. He looked dangerous with L-O-V-E and H-A-T-E tattooed on his knuckles.
The work was fast, a simple bunch of grapes on a vine on her upper chest, near her throat. Visible to all unless she wore a very high collared shirt or a scarf.
The buzzing sound of the machine reminded her of her vibrator. She came right there in the padded chair, trying desperately not to move as he completed the Mark.
Dee stayed home through most of the healing process, feeling unsure of how to navigate things with the Mark covered with bandages.
That whole week was like a fever dream, wondering what it would be like. Wondering who would be first. Wondering if she could do all the things she would be asked to do.
Dee walked up Avenue A on a warm day soon after, wearing a light jacket and a thin scarf. As a group of people walked towards her she shifted the scarf, making sure the Mark was visible. They didn’t seem to notice. She felt like a fool. What were the chances she would even run into a member of the Order? It was a big city after all.
She walked on, all the way up to 14th Street, to Union Square. She had noodles and iced tea and tried to calm her heart. She had to live her life with the Mark, she couldn’t be on edge every minute of every day.
In the Strand she was shocked when one of the clerks followed her down an aisle and then pointed towards the elevator expectantly.
The clerk was young, perhaps twenty-five, a pretty soft butch woman in a baby blue polo shirt with large round glasses and a round face to match. She had a short pixie cut and the lightest sparkle in her lip gloss.
Dee followed her into the elevator, because she did what people told her to do.
The clerk, whose name tag read “Jane” lifted her collar to show the small ornamental pin of an acolyte of the Order. Someone who was not yet fully accepted, but due many of the benefits.
“By my right, I’ll have you. By your Mark and this pin” she said with confidence, reciting the words as if she was reading them directly from the Order’s manual.
“Oh, yes, okay,” Dee mumbled, forgetting the proper response.
“My shift ends in twenty minute, meet me in the alley across the street,” the woman said confidently, leaving Dee alone in the elevator to squirm with need.
In an alleyway she was used by the handsome bookseller. Fingered roughly as she watched if anyone was coming. On her knees on the hard cement, sucking off a pretty purple cock.
It felt very strange to walk home alone after, still wet, still wanting more.
Two weeks later Dee was followed home by a beefy pair of men in tight t-shirts and shorts. Chelsea Boys with cruel eyes.
“By my right I’ll take your fucking holes,” one of them said, showing a pin he kept on the waistband of his shorts.
She looked at the other and he rolled his eyes and showed a pin he kept on his baseball cap.
She let them follow her into her little apartment. She was more embarrassed of the dirty clothes on the floor than stripping for them.
They were on her like a pair of wolves, biting her, slapping her ass, their nails digging into the tender flesh of her tits.
In seconds they were all naked on her mattress, their fingers pushing into her cunt and her ass, their hard cocks in her hands.
It was much more than she ever imagined. It wasn’t like the first time, a dirty romp in an alley, this was an invasion of her body, her home, she was coming in seconds. They used every part of her. She marveled at how they fucked her and fucked each other and used her as a sex toy between them.
When they were done they drank all of her orange juice and left, laughing to each other and high fiving.
That was her life after she got the Mark. Days of nothing, weeks, months, then the flash of a pin and she was someone’s toy, someone’s date, someone’s plaything, someone’s hole.
A memorable scene was in the ER after she sprained her arm when she fell off her bike. Waiting to get an x-ray she spotted another patient watching her carefully as they both sat in the waiting room.
He had a large bandage on one hand, she was in a sling, so when he pulled open his blazer and showed a pin on his shirt she was confused. What did he expect them to do?
In a large handicap bathroom he pushed her over the sink and fucked her awkwardly, neither of them able to fully steady themselves.
He came on her tits and left her to clean them off with a rough paper towel. Sitting back down in the silence of the waiting room with her heart racing and the smell of his come on her body was bizarre and confusingly hot.
Still the strangest encounter was one a dark rainy Wednesday morning. She remember how she had debated whether she should wear a scarf to cover her neck as she put on her black dress. She even laid out the pretty red and gold one, Hermes from Paris, a gift for her college graduation.
In the end she left the scarf at home and went out into the dark day with a naked neck and a red eyes.
At the flower shop she made the last of the preparations. The wreaths had been ordered, plus she looked over some things people from out of town who couldn’t make it wanted her to get. She wanted one more little bouquet, something personal. Something special she could leave at the grave.
The young shopgirl put the bouquet together as Dee waited. She was lovely, no older than twenty, sweet and innocently doe eyed. She had jet black hair pulled back in a ponytail and huge inky black eyes. As she wrapped everything up she gazed at Dee shyly over her thick lashes. Dee smiled at the girl and the girl smiled back. Was she trying to communicate something or was Dee’s grief playing tricks on her mind?
The girl held up a finger, for Dee to wait, and she went into the back. She brought a much older man, surely the girl’s father. He was a stout and mustacheod with the same dark Middle Eastern complexion. He wore a somewhat oldfashioned, but very handsome double breasted chalk striped suit.
“Do you have everything you need?” The man asked with a gregarious smile.
Dee nodded appreciatively.
“You’ve both been very helpful, thank you.”
“Uh, before you go-” he said, looking a bit embarrassed.
“My girl, she noticed your tattoo, and it is so rarely we have someone with one come in,” he said with a little chuckle.
He moved his rather floppy pocket square, which was a bright bolt of yellow silk, to expose the familiar pin of the Order.
“By my right! Isn’t that how it goes? It’s been a bit of time since I’ve done this,” he said with a chuckle.
He looked to the shopgirl and pointed at the front door of the shop. She went and locked it, putting up a sign with a little clock on it. “Back in 15.”
The girl took off her gloves and went into a back room. The man raised his eyebrows expectantly.
“Am I really going to do this? On a day like today?” She thought.
She was considering her options but she was also following him into the backroom. There really wasn’t anything to decide. She left her neck naked. It was their right.
“By my right, I will have you. By your Mark and this pin,” was the whole of the little incantation.
“By your right, I am yours,” was the reply, though she always seemed to forget it.
It didn’t matter. They weren’t interested in the words, they just wanted her body. As she followed them, the man took her arm and pulled her to hurry. It was that little act of annoyance that turned her. The hypnotic draw of being a hole for greedy strangers to use.
The fact that it was her, that pretty shopgirl she had thought was so innocent, made it all the more delicious. The fact that the old man might be her father, her uncle, something, made her dizzy with lust. The wrongness. A secret taboo affair in a quaint little corner flower shop. Incest among the orchids.
The pretty shopgirl had taken off her apron and was unzipping the back of her dress. Her clothes came off quickly revealing a slender frame and small delicate breasts.
Dee was surprised at how quickly it was all happening, as well as how the girl seemed so unsurprised by it all. The man hadn’t even told her what was going on.
Dee shyly slipped out of her dress as well. She met the eyes of the shopgirl whose smile had gone from innocent to wolfish and predatory.
“My girl liked you, she has the same taste as me,” the man laughed.
He moved in and pawed at Dee’s breasts before she could even get off her bra.
“We don’t have much time, hurry now you little slut,” he said to Dee.
The casual humiliation made her weak in the knees. She pulled off her panties and bra and let the lecherous old man lead her to a long low wooden table.
“Yes, yes, now you’ll let her lap at your cunt before I fuck you. Let her get her fill. She doesn’t get a treat like this very often and neither do I,” he said with lust and impatience.
The girl was all smiles. She said nothing as she stood in front of the table, between Dee’s parted legs and moved in to kiss her.
Then the rush, the strangeness, the dirtiness, all faded a little and there was only the softness of the girl’s lips, the sweetness of her tongue, the wetness of her pretty mouth.
The man made pleased little moans and grunts. He stood near, watching, naked, a mass of dark skin and white hair. He pulled at his nipples and tugged on his hardening cock.
He said something in a language Dee didn’t understand and the girl laughed, a sweet little bell of a laugh, then the girl gingerly knelt on the ground and pushed Dee’s legs apart.
Sometimes people were careful when they ate pussy, sometimes they were aggressive, sometime they were skilled, but what Dee liked most was when they were wanton. When they were desperate for the taste. With the Mark she got to have that a lot. She got to have people who didn’t go down on her for her own pleasure, but for theirs. She liked that a lot.
Dee knew she wouldn’t come that way, but she loved it all the same. She loved the wetness of it, the girl’s tongue twisting and circling and diving down into her. Dee moaned and was surprised at how it echoed in the little room.
Then, rather suddenly, the man moved forward and pushed the girl away. The shopgirl fell to the floor beside them and he jabbed his cock right into Dee’s pussy. Dee looked down and saw the girl still smiling. She laid back on the floor and spread her own legs, showing Dee her dark pink and red pussy. She fingered herself as the old man fucked Dee.
His cock was short and thick. She had seen, just before she was penetrated, that he did wear a condom. For a moment Dee was worried about that, but if he had a pin he knew the rules.
Still, as he fucked her she imagined he didn’t have one on. She imagined this strange old man fucking her raw. She imagined going to the funeral with come dripping down her thighs. The thought shocked her and she covered her own mouth as he rammed into her again and again.
His sweaty body against her, the girl on the floor mewing and rubbing herself obscenely, and the thought of the man’s come shooting into her all pushed Dee over the edge. She came hard, harder than she had in ages.
Her moans and writhing got him off too and she heard him grunt loudly four times as he came.
Then he was off her and staggering back.
The shopgirl was immediately back between Dee’s legs, licking as she continued to finger herself. The girl came just like that, trying hard to keep licking Dee as her birdlike whimpers echoed in the room.
Dee laid back on the table and looked to her right. She saw for the first time that the wall was glass and behind it were hundreds of roses. The smell of the roses hit her for the first time as well, her senses heightened by her orgasm.
She could fall asleep there or maybe die. She took a deep breath. Then she sat up as the old man slapped her on the thigh hard.
“Okay, very good, this was very good, but you must go now!” he said, laughing nervously.
“We have to open the store back up, so you must go. This bouquet is free! But you have to go,” he said again, gathering Dee’s clothes and dropping them on top of her naked body.
So she did. Only catching the beautiful eyes of the shopgirl on more time, though she wanted to swim in their inky blackness forever.
The memory of that morning and the hundreds of other moments like it kept her on edge, kept her living a life full of mystery, full of surprises. She cherished that and cherished her Mark.
She loved that the Mark was forever hers and she was forever an object for the city to use.