Princes of Mannsborough, Part 3

by Vulgar Argot

(MF, blackmail, oral, solo)

Marigold half hoped that Jonas would have forgotten about Bible study and gone to bed. It was a forlorn hope at best. He'd never forgotten--not once.

By the time Thule dropped her off in front of her house, Marigold felt both weary and jittery. She would have been happy to head straight for the shower and get some sleep. But, Jonas was still in his study, the door half open, the staccato sound of typing clear in the otherwise-silent house.

Marigold knocked hesitantly on the door, "Sir."

Jonas looked up, "Marigold. Come in." He waved her to an easy chair in the corner. As she sat down, Jonas kept typing, referring to papers on his desk periodically.

"If you're too busy," Marigold offered, "we can do this tomorrow..."

"No," said Jonas, smacking a key emphatically. "It can wait. I don't understand half of this stuff anyway. Do you know anyone who's got a really firm grasp of computers?"

"I..."

"Never mind," said Jonas absent-mindedly. "I need to do some more discovery on this before I'm ready to talk to anyone outside of the office anyway." He rose from the desk, coming over to take an easy chair opposite hers, "Have you had time to think about the current reading yet?"

"Some," said Marigold. "Not as much as I would have liked."

"So," Jonas asked. "What do you think?"

Marigold took a deep breath and tried to compose her thoughts. What did she think? The last few weeks, the readings had taken an odd turn. Generally, he assigned readings that were reflections on God's grace or exhortations to lead a good life, but lately, he seemed to have an agenda.

Lately, he'd been assigning Marigold the writings of Paul, particularly those on family, marriage, and the roles of women. It seemed clear to Marigold what his agenda was. In the four years since he'd married Marigold's mother, they'd failed to produce an heir. Now, it was going to fall on her to be a good, Christian wife to the father of the man who would inherit Jonas's estate.

About the time Marigold had gotten her acceptance letter from Harvard, Jonas had started with the writings of Paul, starting with the more reasonable ones and becoming increasingly tradition. Some of the most recent ones even verged on misogyny. It seemed particularly odd to Marigold. As far as she knew, Jonas's own Christianity, while occasionally fervent, had never caused him to treat his wife anything other than an equal.

Marigold realized that Jonas was still waiting for an answer. Not wanting him to think that she hadn't thought over the reading, she said, "It seems kind of confusing. Paul seems to be saying that people should put aside all family ties and follow only Jesus--like the apostles and, later, St. Francis of Assisi did."

"So," asked Jonas. "Why is that confusing?"

"Well," said Marigold. "Nobody does it. If Christians all did it, after one generation, there would be no more Christians."

"Why not?" asked Jonas. "You don't need to get married to make more little Christians."

Marigold knew that Jonas liked to try to shock her in order to get her to think, but she was shocked anyway. She decided to try turning the question around, "You don't mean to suggest that Saint Peter was recommending adultery, do you?"

Jonas laughed, "No. Certainly not Paul. But, let's get back to one of your points. Do you think that the fact that there would be no more Christians is enough reason to break God's law?"

Marigold shook her head slowly, "No. But, doesn't that mean that you're all sinners?"

Jonas raised an eyebrow. Marigold stammered, "I mean people who are married and have sex. Paul says that married men and women should lead celibate lives."

Jonas looked like he was waiting for her to reach some conclusion, but Marigold had no idea what it was. She wished she'd spent more time reflecting.

The phone rang. Jonas grumbled something unintelligible, strode over to the desk, and answered it. After listening for a few seconds, he said, "All right. Hold on a minute."

Putting his hand over the receiver, he asked, "Marigold, how much of the Bible is true?"

Marigold was surprised by the question, but said without thinking, "All of it."

Jonas looked at the phone, then back at Marigold, as if torn at which one to deal with first, "Is it?" he asked her, letting the question hang in the air for a few seconds. Marigold found herself nodding.

Jonas smiled at her, "I'm afraid that I really do have to take this call. This is a very important conversation, though. I'd like to finish it the next time we have a chance. In the mean time, think about that question."

Dismissed, Marigold rose and went upstairs. While it had been going on, she'd thought the Bible study had been enough to calm her nerves and get her mind off of Thule . But, as soon as she was alone in the shower, her eyes closed against the warm water needling into her flesh, his form was there, looming over her in her imagination.

Marigold tried to banish his image by focusing on the question that Jonas had asked her. But, it kept slipping out of her mind. Marigold's whole body seemed to be buzzing with Thule 's touch. The places where she had been touched and kissed seemed to be quivering.

Giving up the fight with temptation, Marigold took the shower head down from its bracket. Sitting down on the floor of the tub, she spread her legs and turned the water on herself. The pleasure was intense but, try as she might, she couldn't get the shower head positioned right without touching herself.

After approaching orgasm for the third time and feeling the pleasure dissolve away, Marigold discovered that she didn't care whether what she was doing was self abuse. She reached down and spread herself open to the water. She shuddered at the intensity of it, then pulled her hand away as if burned. But, after a few seconds of frustratingly muted pleasure, she reached down again and felt the water running over her sensitive clit.

Once she had committed her hand to the job, Marigold found the old rhythms coming back to her quickly. It had been a few years since she'd allowed herself to masturbate with abandon, but she didn't think she'd forgotten a thing. Now, in addition to the old tricks, she tried to emulate what Thule had done with his tongue.

She came quickly, shuddering. It was all that Marigold could do not to cry out. She'd never brought herself off so intensely before. Panting, she reluctantly slid her hand out from between her legs. She meant to get up and go to bed, but instead found herself sitting langorously in the tub, holding the shower head in one hand, making a few desultory attempts at washing herself.

A sharp rapping at the door brought her fully awake even before she realized she was half asleep. Marigold gave a little cry of surprise.

"Marigold, honey," came Jonas's voice, laced with concern. Are you all right in there? Did you fall asleep?"

Marigold's voice quavered despite her best attempt to keep it steady, "What? Yeah. I'm all right. Thank you, sir."

"Get some sleep," Jonas said firmly. "You promised to be at the bake sale tomorrow."

"Yes, sir," she called more clearly. Standing on shaky legs, she wrapped herself in a big, thick towel, stumbled into her bedroom, and fell into bed, wanting just a minute to rest before she changed into her pajamas.

Marigold woke in the absolute stillness of pre-dawn. Her hair was still wet and the towel had unwrapped itself, leaving her naked in the moonlight. Her hand still lay between her thighs, feeling her own warmth. Before she even awoke, she had begun langorously touching herself again. Now fully awake, she recoiled. The pleasure receded quickly into panic. For the first time, she understood the insidious evil of what she'd been enjoying. Her cheeks burned with the shame of it. When fully aroused, she was downright wanton. Once they'd gotten started the night before, she had wanted Thule to do what he was doing to her, wanted him to do more. Under the force of the shower nozzle, she hadn't cared whether what she was doing was right or wrong, only that it felt good. Reverend Lofton had always warned her that sin could worm its way into an incautious heart, but she'd never fully understood what he meant before.

Dragging herself out of bed, Marigold dressed quickly, picking her biggest, baggiest sweatshirt to throw over her regular outfit. Taking a comb, she attacked the knots in her hair until tears came to her eyes.

Sometimes, she wished Jonas had never married her mother. Her father had died while she was in the seventh grade. Jonas had married her mother the following summer with what some said was unseemly haste. For a while, it had been great. But then he'd found religion. Soon, her mother was attending services every week with him.

Marigold had rebelled at first. Her father had been proud of his atheism and tried to instill it in his little girl. She'd loudly proclaimed that she didn't believe in God and damned well wasn't going to church every Sunday. Her mother had started to react, but Jonas had restrained her, saying, "It's the girl's choice, Holly. We may not like it, but we have to support it."

Through the remainder of eigth grade, Marigold had stuck to her guns. Jonas, in his own way, supported her throughout it. He never yelled or got angry, just got a pained, faraway look on his face when watching her sometimes.

That summer, she'd started smoking and drinking. She'd given in to Elliot's insistence that they "do stuff." She had apparently not been very good at it. Everything they tried, they tried only once. When she tried to show him her breasts, he'd shielded his eyes and told her they made her look like a cow. Worse, no matter what she'd done to Elliot's penis, it never became more than semi-erect.

Finally, he'd shouted at her that everything she was doing was wrong, that she had no idea how to turn a man on. Angrily, he'd masturbated in front of her, eyes tightly closed, bringing himself off in under a minute.

Marigold had screamed back at Elliot, said some horrible things to him. They broke up after that. She went with another boy for a while, one who had no trouble getting aroused for her. She'd lied to Thule about being the first one who'd seen her breasts. She'd spent so much time pretending that he didn't exist that she'd managed to briefly forget that he did.

After the other boy had broken her heart, Marigold had cried in her room for days. In the end, she'd told Jonas that she wanted to go back to church. There, she'd seen Elliot again. By the first week of sophomore year, Elliot had declared that they were boyfriend and girlfriend again and that he intended to marry her. It was like nothing had ever passed between them. And, Elliot had been a perfect, Christian gentleman ever since.

Comparably, Thule was a savage. Just because he'd forced Marigold to give her consent, it didn't make her feel any less violated than if she'd been raped, she decided. Lying on her bed, now fully dressed, she entertained fantasies of turning him in to the police or turning the tables on him and forcing him to do what she told him. She found herself unable to come up with anything suitably humiliating to tell him to do.

Seeing that the sun was now tinging the eastern sky pink, Marigold headed downstairs. Jonas was already down at the kitchen table, looking over some sort of reports. For a man in his position, he seemed to do an awful lot of the sort of work that he should have subordinates for.

"You're up early, pumpkin," he said. "Couldn't sleep?"

Marigold shook her head in the negative.

"Anything troubling you?"

Marigold considered the question for a moment. She'd been able to talk to Jonas about a lot of things. But, this one, he would never understand. He didn't understand her obsession with Harvard and medical school. He'd tried on several occasions to convince her to go to a college where she could become more "well-rounded." He would insist that Thule be turned over to the police.

"No," she lied. "I just couldn't sleep."

-=-

Marigold found herself having trouble staying awake during the bake sale. Despite the cold metal of the folding chair against the backs of her legs, she cought herself sliding downward several times. When Jonas half-jokingly offered her a cup of coffee, she accepted and loaded it with sugar and milk.

Marigold looked up when the sun seemed to go behind a cloud. It turned out not to be a cloud, but Vladi Aptakarev. As often seemed the case, he was standing two steps behind Randy Vandevoort.

"Good morning, Mr. Tarr," Randy said. "Raising money for the church?"

Jonas nodded pleasantly enough, "Can I interest you in something?"

Randy turned back and up to his companion, "You want anything, Vladi? A donut maybe?"

Marigold winced at the implied joke. Vladi had been the star quarterback at Mannsborough during her freshman year. He was a local police officer now and dressed in his blue uniform.

Vladi didn't seem phased by the question, though. Instead, he leaned down as if the table were too far away to be seen. At over six and a half feet and almost as broad at the shoulders, Marigold realized, it might be. The man was huge.

"Coffee," said Vladi, "and a piece of coffee cake."

Randy took a stick stack of bills out of his pocket, "Take the whole cake. You can bring it back to the station house...with my compliments."

Vladi nodded. Randy turned his attention elsewhere, "Good morning, Marigold. You're looking lovely today."

Marigold glanced at the big floppy sweatshirt and said, "Thank you, Randy. Ready for the game today?"

Randy smiled, revealing two rows of perfect, white teeth, "Always ready. Will you be in the stands, cheering me on?"

"I can't," said Marigold, feigning disappointment. "I've got a ton of work to do this weekend. Good luck, though."

Randy nodded. He seemed to be about to say something else to Jonas, but paused. Thule was there, suddenly, standing next to him. Despite the fact that he was as tall as Vladi and, if nowhere near as bulky, still a big guy, Marigold hadn't noticed his approach. By the look on Randy's face, he hadn't noticed either.

"Good morning, Mr. Tarr," Thule said. "What's good today?"

Jonas smiled, "Mrs. Carmichael's made some of her famous chocolate chip cookies."

Thule winced, "She still making them unleavened?"

Jonas laughed, "She only did that once. I think she burnt them this time, though."

Thule smiled, "Do you have any of those brownies your wife makes?"

"With and without nuts," offered Jonas.

Thule opened his wallet and pulled out a five, "A half-tray of the ones without nuts, please."

As Jonas began cutting the brownies loose from the tray, he said, "So, I noticed we still haven't seen you at church. Still weighing your options?"

"No answers yet," said Thule . "If I find them, what day are services again? Is that Thursdays?"

"No," said Jonas seriously, "Sundays. Sunday morning." Then, realizing that he was being put on, he laughed.

Thule turned to Marigold, "Mari, do you know if we're expected to read up on pointer math for the test on Tuesday? I know it was covered in class, but it wasn't really clear if we were going to go into more depth. It's not really covered on the AP test."

Marigold had no idea what she answered. But, after she stammered it out, Thule nodded as if she had said something profound. Then, he turned to Jonas, "If you ever have another Wednesday-night class, let me know. I learned a lot."

"Will do," said Jonas.

Thule nodded and smiled, then slapped Randy on the shoulder, "Good luck out there today, chief." Then, he walked off.

Totally upstaged, Randy kept a half-smile on his face, turned, and tapped Vladi in the center of his chest so that they both walked off.

When they were out of earshot, Jonas turned to Marigold, "I didn't know that you knew Bartholemew Roemer."

Marigold's laugh came out a little bit wan, "I've told you about him before. He's going to be salutorian."

It took Jonas a moment before a look of realization came over his face, "That's Thule ? From the way you described him, I expected him to have bright red skin and horns."

"But..." Marigold started to defend herself.

"Marigold," Jonas said, using his patient voice. "What have I told you about judging people? Bartholemew's family may not be well-to-do, but he's an outstanding young man. He's got a lot of ambition and he's a seeker after knowledge. He may not be a believer, but I suspect that he'll find his faith eventually. It wouldn't hurt you to spend some time getting to know him. He could learn from your example."

Marigold was stunned at how completely Thule had taken Jonas in, "I...uh, yes sir."

Jonas nodded, then said absentmindedly, "I do wish he'd cut that hair, though."

-=-

Marigold fretted some over what Randy might say about having seen her talk to Thule . The words had certainly been innocent enough, but she impregnated them with deeper meaning, imagining that Randy could figure out everything that was going on from those few words and was already passing word down the grapevine that she was sleeping with a dreg.

By Monday morning, Marigold had formulated a plan. She would do what Thule asked of her. She had no more of a choice than she had from the very start. But, she would do no more. And, the next time he forced himself on her, she would fight the pleasure, remember that she was being violated, and not play along.

Walking up the front steps, she stopped on the highest full-sized landing where the cheerleaders and associated girls gathered in a loose circle around Brianne. Thule stood up next to the front door, surrounded by geeks, stoners, dregs, and theatre nerds. From time to time, Marigold glanced up, but if he paid her any mind at all, she never caught him.

Steeled with her resolve, Marigold grimly ground through Monday morning, daring Thule with her mind to try anything, aching for the chance to prove that she wasn't so easily corrupted. They had all four classes together, but he never spoke to her. By fourth period, she was starting to wonder if he'd forgotten their arrangement or lost interest in it. But, her resolve remained strong. On the lunch line, he stood four people ahead of her, but didn't look for her, seemingly engrossed in conversation with two others, a short pimply sophomore whose name she didn't know and a tall junior girl with oily red hair who was equally anonymous to Marigold. He walked off with them to have lunch at his usual table. Marigold wondered if he just expected her to trot after him like a little dog. Well, if he did, he had another thing coming. After waiting to make sure that he was paying her absolutely no attention, she resumed her normal lunch company.

The topic of conversation was Brianne's prom dress. The inanity of the conversation soon lulled her into a near-hypnotic state in which she watched Thule and his friends across the cafeteria. Whatever they were talking about, it was much more animated and involved than the vagaries of taffetta. On top of that, the oily-haired girl seemed to be touching Thule an awful lot, not intimately, but very frequently.

Maybe that was it. Thule was ignoring her because he'd found someone else to torment. Marigold tried to imagine what Thule could have on her or what could threaten to take away from her to get what he wanted?

Marigold shook her head to clear the thought. What would Thule want with a greasy-haired, gangly, geek girl, anyway? Besides, he didn't seem to be touching her much. She seemed to the one doing all of the touching.

It wasn't until she was leaving the cafeteria that Thule caught up with her, "Did you have a good lunch?" he asked from behind her. She felt a little frisson of fear when he said it, as if there were a warning in his voice that only she could hear.

"Yes, thank you," Marigold managed to blurt out before fleeing his presence.

The afternoon was a repeat of the morning. They had all but one class together. Even when Marigold asked a question in AP programming that she knew he knew the answer to, Thule didn't speak up. That evening, Marigold did her homework in the newspaper office, which she sometimes found more peaceful than home. No one came in and she ended up taking a cab home.

Tuesday morning was more of the same. Marigold started to feel like she was waiting for the other shoe to drop. She wracked her brain for anything that he might have said that could possibly be construed as an order that she had failed to carry out. By lunchtime, she was actively jittery, watching him across the room for any sign that there was something brewing. She was so engaged that she was unable to even nod and say, "uh-huh" at the appropriate times.

"Marigold," Brianne said sharply, drawing her out of her reverie, "Jesus Fucking Christ. What's gotten to you? Are you in love with one of the geeks or something?"

Marigold knew she had hesitated a second too long, even as she answered, "No. I'm just wondering what they're doing over there."

Brianne wrinkled her nose, "Doesn't look like much. Just a bunch of nerds talking about nerd stuff. They're probably playing Dungeons and Daggers or something."

"Dungeons and Dragons," offered Dawn, recently allowed back at the table. Marigold winced for the younger girl.

Brianne scowled her disapproval, "I guess you would know." Dawn's smile faded slowly as the table quieted, waiting for her response. Marigold could feel the vultures circling.

Before Dawn could respond, Marigold spoke. "Brianne," she said evenly. "You should really shut the hell up."

"I knew it," said Brianne, almost leaping to her feet in excitement. "You are in love with one of them. Which one is it? It's that dreg, Thule , isn't it?"

Marigold ignored the red flush rising in her face, "I'm not in love with anyone." She tried to say it calmly, but she was almost shouting, "but I'm tired of sitting with you...you...hen." Flipping her hair as if she were dismissing Brianne, she said, "I'm going to see what they're talking about."

So saying, she lifted her tray and marched over to the table where Thule was holding court. It seemed like half the cafeteria was watchin her. Almost there, Marigold's legs started to tremble. She realized with horror that she was about to give the undesireables, people she had probably made miserable at one time or another, a chance to embarass her as badly as she'd ever been. She couldn't imagine was would be lower than being rejected by the geeks.

"Excuse me," she said in her clearest voice. "May I join you?"

All conversation stopped. Every eye watched her.

"Of course," said Thule . He indicated the space next to him, currently occupied by one of the gear heads that seemed to live in the autoshop classroom. "Have a seat." The gearhead slid down to make room so that she could sit at Thule 's right hand.

The red-haired girl gave Marigold one of those thousand-mile stares that Russian girls have, completely blank as if she were looking through Marigold and into the next state.

"I didn't mean to interrupt your conversation," she said, smiling shyly, "Please, continue."

"So, Marigold," asked the pimply-faced young man who's name she didn't know, "who's your favorite Doctor?"

Marigold sensed she was being tested, but could only look puzzled at the question, "General practitioner or specialist?"

The silence that followed the question was even deeper than before. She knew that, somehow, she had missed the point of the question. The oily-haired girl answered after a long pause, "They're referring to a TV show called Dr. Who. The main character was played by several different actors."

"Oh," said Marigold, her eyes suddenly lighting up, "I only saw that show once. It was a guy with a scarf."

"One more than I ever saw," offered Thule . The table seemed to relax, as if some rite of passage had been satisfied. Marigold wondered if she would do so well on the next one.

"Excuse me," said a voice behind her. Marigold turned to see Dawn standing there, looking scared and nervous, "Could I sit here, please?"

"Of course," said Thule again, "pull up a space."

Before she did, Dawn looked beseechingly at Marigold, as if asking permission. Marigold gestured, indicating an empty chair across the table. Looking grateful, Dawn took it.

The rest of the period went quickly. Despite the fact that she only understood about one conversation in three, Marigold began to feel genuinely welcomed by most of the participants. The only thing that Marigold found worrisome about the interaction was that Thule didn't seem to treat her differently from anyone else at the table and still seemed to be favoring Oksana, the oily haired girl over everyone. Worse, despite the fact that she was sitting right next to him, there was no chance for a private word.

Marigold decided, before the bell rang, that Thule was playing games with her, waiting for her guard to be down before he struck. If her resolve was to remain strong, she needed to demonstrate to him soon that she wasn't afraid. It took all of her courage, but as they filed out, following the dictates of the period-ending bell, she said to him, "I need to stay late tonight to finish the physical layout of this week's paper."

Thule nodded, "Right. It comes out on Wednesday."

"I was just thinking that, if you were staying late, too, I might be able to get a ride."

Thule shrugged, "I wasn't planning on it. But, I could, if you had any problems with the computers I needed to look at."

Marigold almost said no before she realized that Thule was giving her an out. But, she would actually have to ask him to stay, encourage him to take advantage of her if she wanted him there. Before she could think too hard about it, she heard herself saying, "Yeah. The print server is really slow. I don't want to be there all night." It was true. The print server was always slow.

"Okay," he said. Then, he added, "See you after school, then." She said, "See you next period," at the same time.

"Right," Thule said, "next period." Marigold thought there was something sardonic in the smile he gave her, but she didn't know why.

-=-

The last three classes seemed to drag on forever. Marigold knew there was a confrontation coming. Thule , for his part, seemed unconcerned. By the time eighth-period calculus rolled around, Marigold found herself squirming in her seat. As the rest of the students filed out, Thule stayed behind to ask a detailed question. After a minute of standing by the doorway, books clutched to her chest, Marigold realized she was staring and headed down to the office.

Marigold had hoped to find the newspaper office empty. To most students on the staff, physical layout was too much like work to stick around for, especially after college acceptance letters had gone out.

Heading down the stairs, Marigold passed June Kane, Brianne's hand-picked successor as head of the cheerleading squad and alpha bitch of Mannsborough High. Marigold wondered what June was doing there. She'd signed up for the newspaper at the beginning of the year, but not done anything for it since the first quarter. She would have asked, but June gave her such an icy smile as they passed that she decided not to bother.

Marigold was surprised to find the office door unlocked and Elliot waiting for her. The surprise only lasted a second. Neither Elliot nor June had a key to the newspaper offices. But, Brianne did. And, June Kane was ultimately her creature.

Elliot rose to greet her and placed a kiss on her cheek. Marigold noticed, however, that he was not smiling.

"Hi, Elliot," she said. "I thought you had football practice today."

"I do," he answered. "I just had a few minutes and wanted to stop by to say hi."

Marigold frowned at the obvious lie, "I haven't seen you much in the last couple of weeks."

"I've been real busy," he said absent-mindedly. Then, more pointedly, he added, "I was just talking to June Kane. She says you've been hanging around with Bart Roemer an awful lot lately. I don't have anything to be jealous about, do I?"

Marigold knew that she was going to have to break it off with Elliot eventually, but couldn't bring herself to do anything to damage the relationship yet. Instead, she said, "Of course not. Jonas thinks I can be a good influence on him--help bring him back to church."

Elliot snorted, "If you ask me, the church doesn't need his sort."

Before Marigold could respond, the office door opened, admitting Thule . Elliot glared at him. Thule ignored both of them completely and went straight for the print server.

"Well," Elliot said, projecting his voice a little, "I've got to get to practice. See you on Saturday, Marigold."

As Elliot leaned in to kiss her, Marigold said, "Wait. I can't."

Elliot paused, "Why not?"

"I promised..." Marigold's mind raced. She doubted Elliot would even notice if she wasn't at the game. But, just in case, she needed a cover story, "My friend Dawn that we would study together Saturday. And...if I have time, I still have twenty-two hours left at the hospital for my practicum."

Elliot's face twisted momentarily into what looked like anger, but he said evenly, "Ah, well. I know how important your studies are to you."

Marigold nodded. As she was nodding, Elliot swooped in to kiss her again. They bumped noses. Marigold tried to pull her nose out of the way. Elliot chased her face with his own, laying a hand on the back of her neck to keep her from pulling away further. The resulting kiss was awkward with Marigold accepting it lifelessly and Elliot using too much tongue. Still, his smile was smugly satified when he pulled away. Thule did not turn away from the computer at all during the whole display.

Marigold closed the door and turned, expecting to face Thule 's anger or, at least, something. Instead, he was still sitting there, typing away as if nothing had happened. Marigold opened her mouth to say something to him, could think of nothing to say, and shut it again.

She stood and watched him for a minute, but finally gave up and got to work on the physical layout of the newspaper.

It was more than a half hour later when Thule came up behind Marigold, so silently that she didn't hear him until he spoke.

"Take off your panties," he growled.

The tone in his voice made Marigold almost weak with relief. He didn't sound angry, only predatory. Reaching down with both hands, she lifted her skirt so that she could slide the panties over her hips, letting them fall to the floor. She bent down to pick them up, but Thule put his foot on them. Reluctantly, she stood up again.

"So," asked Thule , crouching down to pick up the discarded undergarment, "what's wrong with the print server?"

Marigold tried to make sense of the question. Thule was looming over her, hands resting on her hips. Even though they weren't moving, the warmth of them through her shirt was making it hard to think.

"It's....um....It's running really slow. It takes like five minutes to print a page."

Thule chuckled, "There's not much I can do about that. The printer and the print server are both like ten years old. It's amazing they work at all. For about two grand, you could replace them both and make this job go a lot faster."

"Well," said Marigold, trying to regain control of the situation. "Maybe the network would be faster if you took the porn off of the file server."

Thule shrugged behind her, "I can delete it if you like, but it's less than two dozen files."

"What about the images directory? It's like eighty gigabytes."

Thule laughed, "Yeah, but it's full of disc images for backup and recovery, not porn."

"So, those files I found were the only ones?"

Thule nodded against the top of her head.

" Thule ," Marigold asked quietly, "I've been meaning to ask you. You've been so meticulous about making sure that no one kept personal files on the network all year. How, then, did you wind up leaving porn on the server where I could find it?"

His hands left her waist. When Marigold turned around, he was sitting on one of the old, overstuffed sofas that dotted the office.

"Are you sure you want to know?"

Marigold nodded.

"Would you like to come sit on my lap while I answer?"

Marigold's shoulders stiffened, "Is that an order?"

"When I give you an order, you won't have to ask that question."

"I'd rather stay right here, then."

Thule nodded, "I've been fantasizing about getting revenge on you...for a lot of things...a long time. When I found a copy of your essay on the network, I decided to use it to blackmail or discredit you. Then, I started to think that you might not be such a bad person as I thought. I might be a royal bastard for even considering what I was considering. When I realized that you'd been nosing around the support directories, I decided to test you--to see if you would have mercy in my position."

All the blood drained from Marigold's face, "You set me up?"

Thule nodded, "And you demonstrated brilliantly how gleefully you would ruin my future given the same opportunity I had. You made it so easy to punish you for all of the misery you've heaped on me and mine over the past four years. You demonstrated how clearly you deserved it."

Marigold fell back on cliches, "No one deserves to be raped."

"You keep talking about rape. I haven't raped you. I haven't held you captive. I haven't even taken that precious virginity you were ready to offer up. You've always been free to go."

Marigold's voice rose angrily, "It's the same thing and you know it."

Far faster than Marigold would have believed that he could move, Thule was up off of the couch, hands on her wrists, dragging her across the floor and throwing her down on the conference table. His belt buckle was cold against her belly as he slammed against her. Marigold tried to scream, but he slammed a hand over her mouth. His other hand went up, under her shirt, squeezing her breast painfully through her sports bra. He thrust against her, hard, four times. Through the cloth, Marigold could feel that he was rock hard. Tears rolled down her cheeks.

Then, as suddenly as the assault had started, it was over. Thule stepped back a few feet, watching her, his body shaking with barely-contained rage. Marigold sat up, her own shaking part terror and part relief.

"Why did you do that?" she whispered.

Thule 's voice was unsteady, "I'm not raping you, Marigold. I could if I wanted to. And, when you got such a look of unmitigated glee on your face over the idea of ruining me, I probably could have enjoyed it. This is different. And, I want you to see the difference clearly."

Marigold launched herself off of the table, throwing herself at Thule . Her fists beat ineffectually at his chest, "You bastard! You scared the hell out of me."

Thule caught her wrists easily. Marigold squirmed to be free of his grip, but found the effort fruitless. Defeated, she collapsed against him.

Thule wrapped his arms around her, comforting her. He planted kisses on top of her head, stroking her hair, and whispering her name. Absurdly, Marigold found herself comforted and clung to him, letting her sobs come full force now.

Thule picked Marigold up as easily as if she were a child. He carried her back to the couch and sat her on his lap, letting her cry herself out. Even after no more tears came, she sat there a long time, enjoying the warmth and strength of his arms and wondering if she was not officially the most screwed up person on the planet for doing so.

"You're a real bastard, you know that?" she whispered.

"That's the last time you're going to call me that."

Marigold levered off his chest and looked him in the face, surprised, "What?"

"You've called me enough names. From now on, you will address me with the proper respect."

Marigold studied his face. There was no mercy to be found there. She nodded solemnly.

"Now," he said, standing her on her feet. "Strip. I want to see you completely naked."

Marigold bowed her head in a gesture of submission, " Thule , could I finish with that I was doing for the newspaper first? It really does need to be done tonight."

"How much longer will it take?"

"Another half hour," she promised. "It's all printed out. I just need to paste it down."

"All right. But I'm not feeling particularly patient."

Marigold nodded and had taken a step towards the lighted table when Thule said, "But, first."

Marigold froze, awaiting instruction.

"Call Jonas. We don't want him to worry."

Marigold did as she was told. Somehow, she managed to get the job done, only affixing two articles in a noticeably crooked manner. As soon as she could, she turned off the light on the table and turned to face Thule .

" Thule ," she said, "I'm ready."

Thule smiled, "Good. Strip."

"May I keep on my stockings?" Marigod asked, "The carpets in here are not very clean."

By Thule 's scowl, Marigold thought that he might refuse. But, he nodded. Marigold stripped quickly, standing in only her stocking feet before him.

"Come here," Thule said, holding out his arms, but not rising. Marigold came into his arms. Pulling her into his lap, Thule took her head in both hands, kissing her deeply and passionately on the mouth. A low moan escaped Marigold's throat before she could stop it. Remebering her resolve, she clamped down on the pleasure. Despite the fact that he was only touching her head and her lips, the fight against the pleasure quickly threatened to become a losing battle.

"Stop fighting it," Thule growled. Marigold looked at him, surprised.

"I'm doing what you told me to do," she protested, "you can't order me to enjoy it."

"Of course I can," Thule snarled, his voice raspy, "Enjoy it, dammit."

He kissed her again, not at all tenderly, his hands roaming freely over her body. It was an assault on her senses. Taken by surprise, Marigold moaned again. Thule pressed the advantage, stroking her seemingly everywhere at once. Marigold cried out, outraged by her loss of control. Thule lifted her off of him, laying her back on the conference table. His lips moved down from hers, covering her throat, her collarbone, her breasts. Marigold was moaning uncontrollably now, her hips rising and falling of their own accord. A small part of her mind told her to stop being a whore, but it was a tiny part and she gave it no heed. God, she decided, must be a big fan of fucking. She even reveled in the blasphemy of it.

And then his lips were trailing down her stomach. Marigold knew where they were headed. Wrapping her hands around the back of his head, she pushed Thule to his destination. He chuckled against her before driving his tongue deeply inside of her, finding her not-so-secret spot. Pleasure hit her not in waves, but in firebursts, exploding in white lights behind her eyelids. Thule 's assault was now matched by one from within her own, traitorous body. Marigold cried out, again and again, no longer caring what sound she made. When he pulled his head away, she tried to hold him there, raw need driving her hands.

Thule chuckled, "Easy, Little Flower. You're going to break my nose if you keep pushing like that."

Marigold blushed crimson, releasing him, and was rewarded with a passionate kiss that tasted of what she knew must be her own juices. Thule 's hand slid down between her legs, stroking and teasing her, now. Marigold wrapped her legs around his torso, impaling herself on his fingers, humping up against them, instinctively. Her arms were wrapped around his neck, her lips raining little kisses all over his face and head.

When Thule slid one finger out of her and into her ass, Marigold stiffened, her whole body trying to push him out. It was so humiliating. She tried to protest, but he put a finger to her lips, "No speaking," he said emphatically.

Marigold remained silent, but still struggled against his fingers as they slid back and forth, one in each hole.

"Relax," he ordered. Marigold did so without thinking. His fingers slid in and out of her quickly. And, before she could tense up again, she was lost. The pleasure came more intensely now, wave after crashing wave of it. The world was reduced to those fingers and what they were doing to her.

She wrapped herself around him, only the very edge of her bottom on the table now. She whimpered, moaned, and gasped as he drove his fingers in and out of her again and again, "Please," she begged over and over again, "Please, Thule, Please,"

"Please what, my tethered goddess?" he asked.

"I don't know."

"Please stop?"

"No." Marigold shook he head emphatically.

"Please do it harder?" Thule demostrated.

"Ungh," Marigold offered, but shook her head again.

"Please what, then?"

"Please...make love to me."

"Here and now?"

"Yes..." Marigold begged.

Thule didn't answer for almost a minute, keeping up his assault on her senses. Finally, his voice came back in a rasp, "No. Not tonight."

"Please," Marigold begged, "please, make love to me."

Thule 's hands were off of her then, "No," he rasped, his voice shaking. He sat back down, shaking, "Not tonight. Don't ask again."

Marigold sat up and looked at him. She knew, instinctively, that if she asked again, he would do what she wanted. Thule 's breathing was heavy, his pupils dilated. He was trembling with the effort of not making love to her. Marigold felt incredibly powerful at that moment.

She stepped down from the table, walking over to him. She put an arm around his waist, laid her head on his solar plexus and looked up at him. Thule smiled uneasily down at her. Slowly, Marigold dropped to her knees, undoing his belt. As she undid his zipper, his cock practically lunged out at her, pushing through his briefs. She pulled those down, too, taking his cock fully into her mouth, licking and sucking it. His back arched and his body spasmed. Marigold reveled in having driven him to such a state, teasing and licking the cock.

Whatever internal battle Thule was having was quickly lost. Thick, bitter seed shot into her mouth and throat. Marigold licked his cock clean and swallowed it all. Then, she lay her face against his now semi-soft cock, looking up at him and smiling.

He lifted her to her feet, crushing her against him. She reveled in his arms, nuzzling deeper against him. When she felt his body start to shudder, she thought he was crying, but it was only deep, silent laughter. They stood that way for a long time, neither of them moving.

The silence of the ride home this time was one of empathy, not unease. Marigold was loathe to break it, even for practical matters.

"So," she asked, "What should I pack for this weekend?"

He laughed, "What makes you think I'm going to let you put any clothes on this weekend?"

"It would certainly make packing easier." As soon as she said it, she lowered her head in embarassment, "I'm shameless."

Thule took her chin and held her head up, "You have nothing to be ashamed of."

"I begged you to make love to me and you turned me down," Marigold said. "If you knew how badly I wanted it, you'd know why I should be ashamed."

"If you knew how close I came to giving you exactly what you wanted, you'd know you have nothing to be ashamed of," he answered her, deliberately missing her meaning.

"So," she asked, "no clothes, then?"

"Actually," he said, "We have dinner reservations for Saturday night, but I've already picked out a dress for you. And, you'll probably want a swimsuit. I've got a couple of things I have to do while we're...during the weekend...and you'll have some time to yourself."

"Where are you taking me?" Marigold asked.

"Too many questions, Marigold."

They drove the rest of the way in silence. It wasn't until they were right outside of her house that Marigold asked, " Thule , can I ask you to do something for me?"

"You can ask."

"Call me your little flower again?"

"Good night, my little flower," Thule said, kissing the top of her head. "I'll see you tomorrow in school."