Princes of Mannsborough, Part 1

by Vulgar Argot

(MF, blackmail, oral)

Marigold didn't know how he did it, but Thule Roemer somehow always managed to make his presence in a room known before she'd even seen or consciously heard him. She scowled without looking up from the antiquated Macintosh computer the school had provided her with, waiting for him to speak. He didn't, instead sitting down at the print server and beginning to type.

"What are you doing here this late?" Marigold asked, the scowl on her face and in her voice.

Thule 's response was non-committal, "The same thing I always do here--fixing one of these machines after you break it."

Marigold didn't respond, turning back instead to her own system. As editor of the newspaper, she had her own computer and the big desk at the center of the back wall. Everyone else shared desks and computers as they could.

"Of course," he went on, "if people didn't load these systems up with all of their personal stuff, there wouldn't be nearly so many problems." As he said it, he pretended not to be looking at her, but was still clearly able to see the ironic smile on her lips.

"I'm been meaning to talk to you about that, Bartholemew," Marigold said. She was relishing the moment far more than the minor barb of using his given name could account for, "I couldn't help but notice that an awful lot of the network's space is taken up by a folder called 'support' and, inside of that, a folder called 'images.' But, when I try to look in the folder to see what it is, it's encrypted. You wouldn't know anything about that, would you?"

Thule shrugged, "It's disc images. Unless you're technical support, you shouldn't mess with those."

"Disc images?" Marigold asked, nodding. "That's interesting. Because you accidentally left a few dozen of these 'disc images' inside the support folder."

Thule stopped what he was doing and turned to face her, "Oh? I'll have to move those to a safe place."

"Don't bother," Marigold said, going for the jugular, "I've already seen them."

Thule looked worried, "And?"

"I'm sure the administration would like to know that one of its best students is storing porn on the newspaper's computers." Her smile was vicious now.

"What?" Thule asked, sounding outraged, "you wouldn't tell them. That could ruin my whole record...everything I've worked for over the last four years."

Marigold actually laughed, "Yeah, it could. Couldn't it?" She was already reaching for the phone, "I believe I have Vice Principal Pearce's phone number at home, for emergencies."

Thule 's face was blank, "You'd actually do that? Ruin my academic career over something so petty?"

She pressed the first key, "And relish it. It's an embarassment to the school that a dreg like you could ever be salutatorian."

"You bitch," Thule said quietly, "you wouldn't."

Marigold kept dialing.

"Please," Thule pleaded. His voice was almost a whisper.

"Rules are rules," Marigold mocked.

"Don't do this."

Marigold finished dialing. In one swift motion, Thule was up, holding down the hook on her phone. Marigold glared up at him, "Do you really think that's going to stop me? I have a phone at home, you know."

"Marigold," Thule said, "be reasonable. It's a small infraction. It's not like I plagiarized my entrance essay for Harvard or something."

Marigold looked up, alarmed, "No," she said, trying to cover her surprise, "of course you didn't. But..."

Now, Thule smiled wickedly, "It's not like I took someone else's essay, containing life details I don't have and charity work that I didn't do and submitted it as my own."

She put the receiver down, "Okay. You win. I won't say anything about the porn."

"Oh, no," Thule sat on the edge of her desk, "I don't think these two are comparable. I might get a few days suspension for the porn, but...Harvard."

She looked up at him, hoping to see some sign of bluff in his eyes. There was none. She started to tremble, "Bartholomew," she whispered, "what are you going to do?"

"Call me Thule ."

"What?"

"Call me Thule ."

"Why?"

"It's what my friends call me. And, I have a feeling that we're about to be much better friends than we have in the past. You want to be my friend, don't you, Marigold?"

After a few seconds, Marigold nodded mutely. It was all she could do not to start crying.

"Good," said Thule , "now, what did you want to ask me?"

"What are you going to do?"

"Nothing," Thule shrugged. "Friends don't turn on friends, do they, Marigold?"

She shook her head no, tears of relief welling up in her eyes.

"Of course," Thule said, leaning in, "You haven't done much to demonstrate our friendship in the past, have you, Marigold?"

She didn't answer, didn't even move.

His fist slammed down on her desk, ringing out loudly. She jumped at the sound. His voice was still calm and cool, though, "Answer the question, Marigold."

"Please," she whispered, "I have money."

His smile was not kind, "You're a Telena. That you have money is a truism. A friend wouldn't feel the need to rub in such an obvious point. Of course, you haven't been much of a friend to me, have you, Marigold?"

Marigold shook her head mutely, a fat tear rolling down her cheek.

Thule turned nimbly, sitting Indian-style on her desk, "Do something for me, Marigold."

Her eyes questioned him, pleading. He seemed content to hold the tableau, so finally she whispered, "What?"

"Show me your tits."

She laughed, but it rang hollow, "You're crazy. I'm not just going to undress here because of some stupid essay!"

Thule didn't move, "With most girls, that would be true. But...Harvard," he shrugged.

Again, she looked for some mercy in his eyes, but he looked only predatory. She made a mental calculation.

"Please," she whispered, "not that."

"What other gesture of friendship do you propose?"

"I can give you money..."

"I don't..." Thule started to shout, but then got control of himself, "I don't want your money, Marigold. Money is easy for you. You can't buy my friendship. If you don't want to show me your tits, you don't have to. I'm sure you'd do very well at Brown or..." He paused, making eye contact and said viciously, "...Vassar."

"You bastard," she snarled. He didn't respond.

"Come on," she wheedled, "there must be something else I can do."

"Can you suck a golf ball through a garden hose?"

"What?" Marigold looked shocked.

"Never mind," said Thule quickly, "What do you suggest you could do instead?"

"I...." she steeled herself, "I could give you a hand job."

"You could not," said Thule , laughing.

Marigold looked indignant, "I could too. I've done it before."

"To whom?" asked Thule precisely, "that Ken Doll you're supposedly going out with?"

"Elliot's not a Ken Doll," said Marigold defensively. "Why would you call him that?"

"Because he refuses to get undressed in the locker room. And, he stares at the rest of us like he's never seen a penis before. We call him Magic Earring Ken."

"You're disgusting."

Thule shrugged, "Did he come?"

"That's none of your business," said Marigold angrily.

Thule reached out and pet her hair. She flinched away a little, but realized that wasn't going to help and relaxed as best she could.

"Little flower," Thule said, chuckling, "If he didn't come, it's not a hand job."

Marigold looked up at him, tears in her eyes, "Why did you call me that?"

Thule looked surprised, "Your name's Marigold. It's a kind of..."

"I know it's a kind of flower," Marigold interrupted him irritably. "My father used to call me that."

"Do you like it?"

Marigold pulled away from his hand, the tears flowing freely now, "Not from the man who's threatening to rape me."

"Rape you?" Thule laughed, "I'm not going to rape you."

"You're not?"

The shrug again, "You can leave any time you want...and live with the consequences. I'm not forcing you to do anything. But, if you're going to stay, you're going to do what I say."

Marigold started crying unabashedly now.

"Hey," Thule said softly, "relax. I'm not going to fuck the Virgin Marigold on a cold metal desk in a little office that smells like mildew and printer's wax."

Marigold looked him in the eyes, "You're not?"

"You have my word. You'll still be a virgin when you leave this office. You're a really awful human being. You've helped make so many people miserable over the last four years and probably don't even know half of their names. You made my girlfriend so miserable, she moved away. But, you still don't deserve for your first time to be a rape in a high school basement. Remember. We're going to be friends now. What kind of friend would do that to you?"

In spite of herself, Marigold whispered, "Thank you."

Thule handed her a Kleenex, petting her hair again, "Now, clean yourself up. Go in the bathroom, splash some cold water on your face, then come out and show me your tits or I'm going to drag you across that desk and rip your clothes off."

Marigold looked shocked, "I thought you wanted to be my friend."

Thule chuckled, "Think of it as tough love. Go, now. If you can't find it in your heart to come back here, I understand. I hear that William and Mary has a wonderful pre-med program."

===

Marigold was relieved that there was no one else in the building at this hour. Even the janitors had gone home. As humiliating as this experience had been, it would have been worse if someone had seen her come out crying and looking wretched. Sometimes, image was everything.

She stared at the mirror. Her long straight hair, a rich blonde even under the harsh fluorescent lights, was a mess. So were her eyes, red-rimmed and streaked with what little makeup she wore. It wasn't until after she combed and cleaned herself up that she realized it might not be in her best interest to look too good for whatever came next.

She never even considered not going back. She'd sacrificed too much in the pursuit of Harvard to let it slip away. This would be just one more sacrifice. Even if Thule hadn't promised not to rape her, she'd probably have to go back. Holding the delicate, golden cross she always wore in one hand, she said a wordless prayer that everything would turn out all right in the end. Then, steeling her shoulders, she went back to give Thule whatever he asked for.

===

Marigold closed the office door, standing as far away from Thule as she could while still being in the room. He was sitting behind her desk now, watching her.

"All right," she said, "I'll show them to you, but no touching."

"Come here," he said. Having already agreed to so much, she felt too foolish not to comply.

"We're not negotiating," Thule said, "If I want to touch them, I'll touch them."

Marigold nodded. She hadn't expected him to comply with her request.

Thule sat watching Marigold, letting her make the next move. Taking a deep breath, she pulled the varsity sweatshirt over her head. The blouse she wore underneath was russet and showed a little bit of cleavage. She started to unbutton it quickly, focusing on what she was doing.

"Stop," Thule said. Marigold looked up querulously, her hands on the fourth button.

"Look me in the eyes while you do it."

Marigold complied, keeping eye contact, looking for some sign of remorse in Thule 's eyes. There was none. There was only something very dangerous there. He may not mean to rape her, but she was clearly his prey. By necessity, she slowed down and he smiled a little. With the last button undone, Marigold slid the blouse from her shoulders, folded it neatly, and lay it on her desk.

"Why are you wearing a sports bra?" Thule asked.

Marigold flushed all the way back to her ears. Even her chest was blushing, "Please," she whispered.

Now, there was a flicker of pity in Thule 's eyes, but it passed so quickly it could almost have been imagined, "Okay," he said, "don't tell me. Just take it off."

Marigold nodded, breaking eye contact. With both hands, she pulled off her sports bra, her breasts springing free of their confinement. Without volition, she took a deep breath at the released constriction. For what seemed like an eternity, neither of them spoke.

"Well," said Thule , "This is a surprise. It can't be very comfortable for you to dress like that."

Marigold kept her head lowered and bit her lip, "I know. I'm sorry."

Thule 's laughter was clear and unforced, "You're sorry? For what?"

Marigold's eyes blazed angrily, "Don't mock me," she almost shouted, "I know they're hideous. But, they're what you asked for. I can't..."

"No, no," he reached for her, but she skittered away.

"Come here. Sit on my lap," There was iron under the compassion and she complied, turning around and sitting uneasily on him, "Marigold, they're...you're very beautiful..." He seemed to have spoken involuntarily, because he cut himself off and added, "...physically. Who told you they were hideous?"

"No one," Marigold cried out, "but they're so big and....bovine. I hate them."

Thule chuckled against her back, "Even if they were bovine, there are plenty of men who find that attractive. But, they're not. They're firm and round and beautiful." He reached around her ribs and grasped one in each hand. She was too startled to try to stop him, "Did Elliot tell you they were..."

"Elliot's never seen them," she whispered. His hands were stroking her breasts in wide circles now, the way she did each night after a full day of keeping them squashed inside of a sports bra. It wasn't arousing, but it felt good, nonetheless, like an intense massage, "No one's ever seen them."

Thule chuckled, "I'm honored."

Marigold realized she was leaning back against him and scowled, but didn't pull away, "You're a pig."

Thule nodded, "Probably. But, I'm still honored."

"Please stop touching them."

"Not yet," Thule said matter-of-factly, "Don't you like that? They couldn't have been very comfortable all bound up like that. Would you rather I do something else?"

Before she could answer, a contented sigh escaped her lips. She tensed and tried to pull away, but realized that the arms that confined her were surprisingly well-muscled. Besides, it still felt so good. She'd once let Elliot touch her breasts through her shirt, but he'd gone straight for the nipples, treating them like they were light switches and he was trying to create a strobe effect. Thule 's hands were strong, but gentle, fondling her without becoming too intense. It wasn't nearly as awful as she'd been steeled for. She found herself relaxing in spite of everything.

After a minute or two, Thule said, "I asked if you would rather that I do something else?"

"No," said Marigold absent-mindedly, "this is nice."

She stiffened her spine a little, shocked at herself. She shouldn't be enjoying this, even a little. And she certainly shouldn't be admitting it. She leaned her head back on Thule 's shoulder and closed her eyes, trying to pretend that the hands belonged to Elliot, her future husband. But, for some reason, the image wouldn't gel, so she just cleared her mind and thought of nothing at all.

When Thule 's fingertips finally did brush across her nipples, they were so gentle and tenative that Marigold barely realized he was doing it at all. With each pass, he increased the contact a little until her whole body was shuddering with the intensity of it. Somewhere, far away, someone was moaning embarrassingly loudly. It seemed to go on forever. With horror, Marigold realized the sounds were coming from her own throat. She gave a cry of shock and jumped off of Thule 's lap. He let her go. She whirled around on him in a rage. He sat there, facing her, his own face flushed, his breathing shallow, an unreadable expression on his face.

"Are we done here?" Marigold asked, trying to calm her shaking voice.

Thule stood up, "No. Not quite." Reaching down, he unzipped his fly. Freed, his cock sprang free and erect, "This is your responsibility. You're going to have to do something about it."

Marigold's eyes widened and she crossed her arms across her chest, "What do you expect me to do with that?"

"Have you ever given a blow job?"

"No," she said emphatically.

"Well," Thule chuckled, "it won't take much skill at this point. Get down on your knees and I'll explain."

"But..."

"Or," he said, "you could just walk out that door. It's your choice."

"But..." Marigold didn't need to be told that there would be consequences.

"Choose quickly," he said.

Again, she looked at his face for mercy. After what had just passed between them, he must have some fondness for her. But, if he did, it wasn't showing. Reluctantly, she approached him and went down on her knees.

"Kiss it," he said. Marigold looked up at him questioningly. He commanded, "Do it."

She kissed his cock, gently at first. His hand rested on the back of her head, "Kiss it like you like it," he groaned. She kissed it more vigorously, "Now, lick it a little bit. Oh, that's nice." His hand pushed a little, "Now, take it into your mouth and keep licking it."

Marigold complied. She'd come this far and wasn't about to give up. As she tried to find a comfortable angle, she choked a couple of times. Each time, the pressure on the back of her head let up.

"Now," Thule growled, "Suck it, gently. And, lick it. Move your head back and forth." She did as she was told and soon found a rhythm. It didn't last very long before he let out a strangled, atavistic sound, filling her mouth and throat with hot, bitter seed.

Marigold choked and gagged, pulling back. Thule 's cock came out of her mouth, still spurting hot gobs of seed. It hit her face, her hair, her chin, dribbled down her face. Then, as suddenly as it had started, he was done. He fell backwards in the chair with a groan. She looked up at him, wondering what would happen next.

"Come here," Thule said gently, pulling Kleenex from the box on her desk. He wiped away as much of the rapidly cooling liquid as he could, "Go clean yourself up," he said gently, "if it dries in your hair, you'll never get it out."

Marigold did as she was told, throwing her sweatshirt back on with nothing underneath it. In the bathroom, she washed away the traces of what had just happened with hot water, then reapplied her makeup before coming back to the office. Thule was still there, his pants back up, sitting at the print server, finishing whatever he had come in to start. He turned to face her when she came in.

"I'm almost done here," he said, "Could you use a ride home?"

If someone had walked into the room at that moment, there would have been no clue what had just happened. There was nothing in Thule 's bearing or tone that suggested he was anything other than a fellow member of the newspaper staff making a friendly offer.

Marigold's stepfather had instructed her to call a cab to come and get her if she stayed at the school after dark. But, it could take as much as a half an hour for a taxi to get there. Compared to being alone in the office with her thoughts for that long, even Thule Roemer's company was preferable, particularly since it was much too late for anyone to see her getting in his car. Marigold nodded and heard herself say, "Thank you."

"Get dressed," Thule said, "I'm just going to shut things down."

Marigold picked up her clothes. Thule watched her.

"Turn around," she said.

"What?" asked Thule , sounding surprised.

"I have to change," Marigold said "Turn around."

Thule looked like he would refuse. Instead, he turned back to the computer with a chuckle. Marigold dressed quickly. Fully dressed, she realized that Thule was staring at a blank computer screen, waiting.

"Okay," Marigold said, straightening her clothes one last time, "I'm ready."