Princes of Mannsborough, Part 6a

by Vulgar Argot

(MF, nosex, oral, light D/s)

When Marigold woke, the world seemed to have gone fuzzy around the edges. She was alone in the bed. Her head ached. She'd slept so soundly that she had cricks in her neck and back. She was still sticky from the night before.

Groaning, she hoisted herself up onto her elbows, opening her eyes only reluctantly. Early morning light slanted in from the window. On the bedside table, an airline-sized bottle of vodka stood open, a third of the way full. Marigold chuckled darkly. She'd never had much of a taste for alcohol, but this was ridiculous.

Sitting up on the edge of the bed, Marigold rubbed her neck and tried to arch her back, balanced on one hand. Standing, she placed a fist in the small of her back and leaned backwards over it.

The door opened, admitting Thule . He was dressed in a charcoal gray business suit, adjusting a red, silk tie. His long, black mane was tied into a neat ponytail. Instinctively, Marigold straightened up, covering herself as well as she could with her own arms. Thule cocked an eyebrow at her. Reluctantly, she let her arms drop to her sides.

"I didn't wake you, did I?" he asked. Marigold shook her head in the negative.

"So," Thule asked, buttoning his jacket, "how do I look?"

Marigold stroked her jaw, considering the question, "Pretty professional."

Thule smirked, "Only pretty professional?"

Marigold nodded, but said nothing. Instead, she turned her back and walked to the closet, extracting her robe and wrapping it around herself.

"That reminds me," said Thule . "I have a gift for you. I was going to give it to you last night, after dinner, but..." He spread his hands as if in explanation, letting his words trail off. He left the room momentarily, then came back with a long box wrapped in silver paper.

As he held the box out, Marigold stared at it warily. Thule smiled, "Take it."

Marigold reached out and took the box. Considering all the things she'd been ordered to do, this was easy. In fact, being ordered to do it actually seemed to take away some of the guilt she normally associated with accepting gifts. Sitting on the bed Indian-style, she slit the tape holding the paper together nearly with one fingernail. For some reason, she felt that it was very important to behave like a grown up right now.

She opened the box and drew out a red, silken kimono. A lotus blossum was painted across the back of it in loving detail.

"I suspect you won't be able to wear that at home," said Thule , sounding almost bashful. "But, I was thinking you could wear it at Harvard. Maybe you'll remember..." Again, he trailed off.

Marigold stood up, her hands going to the belt at her waist. Thule said, "You'll probably want to wash up before you try it on. It's not very practical to clean."

Marigold looked down longingly at the robe, wanting to put it on, to have Thule see her in it. Reluctantly, she let her hands drop, "Thank you, Thule ," she said. "I'm sure that I'll be glad to have it at Harvard."

Wrapping her arms around Thule , she hugged him. After a moment, Thule hugged her back. As he leaned down to kiss her, Marigold felt a moment of panic. But, the kiss was gentle, not passionate.

"How do you feel this morning?" he asked.

"Violated," Marigold said as if it didn't matter, "and sore."

"Do you mind as much as you thought you would?"

Marigold lowered her head, pressing it against Thule 's shoulder to try to hide her tears, but her shoulders shook with them. Thule 's arms tightened around her.

"No," she whispered. "Not that much."

Thule stroked her hair, his touch feather-light, "You are a very peculiar girl, Marigold."

Marigold leaned into his hand like a cat would, closing her eyes. She allowed herself to sink back into the fantasy that Thule was her boyfriend and she was here of her own free will.

"You probably need to get going," Marigold said, detaching herself from his arms.

Thule nodded, "Shortly. Is there something unprofessional about the way I look?"

Marigold reached up and smoothed his collar, "Much better. Only..."

Thule raised an eyebrow, waiting patiently. After a few seconds, Marigold said, "I only wish we could do something about your hair. I suppose tying it back will have to do."

Thule didn't answer. Leaning in to kiss her on the top of the head, he said, "I'll be back no later than two. Until then, your time is your own. If you get anything to eat, just sign it to the room."

"Thank you, Thule ," she said, surprised to find that her words reflected genuine gratitude. Thule gave her an ironic half-smile, picked up his briefcase, and was gone.

Marigold found herself standing alone in the bedroom in front of the open closet. Somehow, when she'd thought ahead to this weekend, no matter how she felt about it, she'd assumed that Thule would be there with her the whole time, not leaving her to her own devices.

As long as he'd been there, Marigold had felt...not right about what she was doing, but not exactly wrong, either. She'd felt...absolved. She was only following orders. Whether she enjoyed it or not didn't matter because it was coerced.

Looking in the mirror on the back of the closet door, Marigold wondered what was wrong with the light in this room that it made her eyes look so glassy, like she was about to cry. The thought had barely crossed her mind when she found herself sagging to her knees, laying her head against the mirror's cool surface, and weeping.

What was wrong with her? Not ten minutes before, she'd been on an even keel, accepting of what had happened. Now, she found herself fighting an urge to curl up in a ball on the floor. She wanted nothing so desperately as to pull her old, comfortable terrycloth robe out of her luggage, climb back into bed, and sleep.

She couldn't, though. Thule would be back by two. She may not know what she wanted right now, but she did know that she didn't want to make him angry. Last night had brought out in stark relief just how much the quality of her life depended on keeping Thule...well, not happy. There was something dark and troubled about Thule today...but, at least, not mad at her.

Taking a moment to brace herself, she looked in the mirror again and heard her own involuntary snort of laughter at just how ridiculous she looked. Spurred to action, she rose, walked into the large main bathroom, and turned on the faucet for the big whirlpool tub.

For a long time, she stared at the running water, thinking nothing, letting the steam open her pores. She needed cleansing. If she could just get clean, she would feel worlds better. Of course she was miserable. With tears drying on her cheeks and something that didn't bear investigating drying on the insides of her thighs, how could she be anything but miserable?

Turning on the jets, she stepped over the edge, relieved to see that the steam had already fogged up the mirrors around the tub. Did this hotel have some kind of a weird mirror fetish? Didn't they know that girl might want to have a place where she didn't have to look at herself once in a while.

Not a girl, she corrected herself, a woman. Wasn't that what they said after a girl had sex for the first time--that she'd become a woman? Fine. She had no idea what else she was now. At least she had one element of identity to hold onto.

With the jets swirling around her, pounding aches out of her muscles, Marigold tried to decide what else she was. The first words that came to mind, unbidden, were "a whore," but they didn't last. As much as she'd done last night, even things she'd sworn to herself not so long ago that she would never do, she had to acknowledge that, from a practical standpoint, it probably took more than could be done in a single night with a single man to make a girl into a proper whore.

She certainly wasn't "the Virgin Marigold," anymore as Brianne had been so fond of taunting her with. Idly, she fantasized about laughing in Brianne's face the next time she brought out that old saw. Of course, that would leave her in the position of explaining that it hadn't been with her boyfriend, Elliot, but with Thule , the king of the dregs.

What was she going to do about Elliot? She'd accepted that she was going to lose him and, with him, her plans for what to do once school was over. With acceptance came the realization that the thought of losing him didn't effect her much either way. With one brief exception, he'd been her boyfriend for as long as she'd had a boyfriend, but their relationship had never progressed much beyond what it was when they were eleven years old. Earlier this year, she'd been surprised to find that he had applied to schools outside of Boston "just to be safe" and, at least as of the last time she talked to him, still not declared which school he was going to.

What was left of her, then? How would she describe herself?

She was a Christian still, certainly. No matter how many of God's laws you broke, you didn't get expelled from that. But, the more she saw of people who felt the need to describe themselves as Christian, the less she felt comfortable attaching the adjective to herself.

She was still going to be Valedictorian. Thule could have forced her to let her grades slip so that he graduated first in their class, but he really didn't seem to care. Imagine that. All this time, she'd imagined him breathing down her neck, agonizing over every assignment, every test, every grade the way she did and he didn't even care.

She was still studious, then. She was still going to Harvard, then John's Hopkins.

She tried that description on for size, "Dr. Marigold Tarr, studious woman." The words echoed back at her. The ridiculousness of it made her giggle.

What about the rest of her plans? The wedding between college and medical school? The three children, two girls and a boy, little Jonas II, Jessica, and Maya? She shrugged. She would just have to find someone else to marry. Maybe that's what she would do to Thule if she ever found anything to blackmail him with--make him marry her, cut his hair, and get a good job. That would show him.

Most of the soreness had melted away by now. Only her thighs still ached from the abuse they had taken. Hanging over the edge of the tub, she straddled one of the jets. Letting the water pound against one, then the other thigh, she was careful not to hold herself so low that she would be masturbating, as much as she might like to. The path of the righteous was often narrow and hard. Whatever Thule did to her, however he made her feel, she knew the difference between being coerced and going willingly into sin.

Still, it was with no small measure of regret that she finally drained the tub. While she'd bathed, the maid had come in, made the beds, and left more towels. She'd even taken away the little vodka bottle. The room looked almost sterile in its cleanliness. With all signs of the evening's debauch gone, Marigold felt her spirits rise. She dried herself off and wrapped the kimono around her body. It turned out to be surprisingly modest in cut even if the feeling of silk against her skin seemed vaguely illicit.

Later, sitting on the veranda, wrapped in the kimono, she drank too-bitter coffee made palatable with cream and sugar, and nibbled on a croissant. The late spring sunlight played on her skin, cooled by a gentle breeze. From far below, she heard traffic noise. But, up here, she felt isolated, protected from the world.

"Dr. Marigold Tarr, studious woman," she said again. This time, she didn't giggle, only smiled. It didn't sound so bad.

                         -=-

After breakfast, Marigold lounged on the couch in the suite's living room trying on her identity as a sophisticated, sexual young woman. She could still feel Thule inside of her. When she got tired of lounging, she tried to read her biology textbook. After reading the same paragraph six times without getting any meaning out of it, she gave up on homework as a lost cause.

In the bedroom, she frowned at her bathing suit. She'd bought it last year more with the idea of flattening her figure than flattering it. The truth was that it didn't do much of either. She would have to do something about that.

Downstairs, there were two pools, one marked "family," the other "no children." She took two steps towards the former before steeling herself and heading to the "no children" side. She'd paid the dues of adulthood. She might as well enjoy it.

Still half expecting to hear someone yell at her to get back to the kiddie pool, Marigold dove into the deep end, slicing neatly into the water. There was only one other swimmer in the pool, cutting across the lanes, back and forth. Rather than risk collision, Marigold swam in parallel with him, pushing herself hard. The exertion felt good. She lost track of how many times she crossed before noticing that the other swimmer had stopped and was trying to speak to her.

Latching onto the wall, she turned to face him, "Excuse me?"

"I said, 'You're a very strong swimmer.'" the man said, his voice thick with an Australian accent, "You were leaving me in the dust out there."

"Oh," said Marigold. "Thank you. I was just working out some tension."

The man nodded, "Me too. I just spent most of the day on an airplane."

"From Australia ?"

" Moscow ," said the man. "I haven't been home in three months. By the way, I'm Adam." He extended a hand to shake.

Marigold took the hand and introduced herself, "Nice to meet you."

Shaking her hand, Adam said, "Well, Marigold. I know it's a bit early by the clock on the wall, but I feel like it's about midnight. Can I offer you a drink?"

Marigold almost demurred without thinking. She'd never really drunk alcohol. But, she paused and appraised Adam. He was older, maybe by as much as ten years. She wondered if Thule would even care if he saw her having a drink with another guy. He certainly hadn't forbidden it.

"All right," she said. "Something with vodka in it, I think."

Adam leveraged himself out of the pool, "A screwdriver?"

Marigold nodded, "Sure."

By the time Adam came back, Marigold had wrapped herself in one of the hotel's robes and sat down at one of the unoccupied tables at poolside. The drink was sweet and barely tasted like alcohol.

"So," asked Adam, sipping his beer. "Are you here with your husband?"

Marigold smiled. She must be pulling off the adult act better than she thought. Not wanting to be caught out for the game she was playing, she said, "Yes. He's meeting some investors today."

"Oh," Adam's face fell. "Only..."

"Only?"

"Well," said Adam. "You're not wearing a ring."

"Oh," said Marigold, her hands fluttering to her face at being caught in a lie. "He's not really my husband yet. He's my fiancee."

Marigold was still congratulating herself for the quick save when Adam said, "Still, no ring?"

"Err..." said Marigold. "We...that is...we'll have one soon....once we graduate. Bartholomew’s going to be an electrical engineer. Then, we'll have a ring and a big wedding."

"Oh," said Adam. "Where do you go to school?"

"Harvard," said Marigold. "My husband goes to MIT."

"Your fiancee," prompted Adam. "Bartholomew."

" Thule ," said Marigold. "His friends call him Thule ."

"So," asked Adam. "Are you and Thule in New York for long?"

Marigold shook her head, "Just for the weekend. Then we have to get back to Boston for class."

"That's a pity," said Adam. "I'm here for two weeks. It would be nice to have the company of a couple of bright people my own age. It's been a long time since I've had any real non-business-related contact. And, I'm not going to see my family for another three months." He took a long slug from his beer.

"Family?"

Adam smiled, "My wife and my two year old son, Devon. I hate leaving them alone like this. But, it's a couple of years before I'll be able to work out of the home office."

"Your wife?" Marigold glanced meaningfully at his hand.

Adam held up the appendage in question displaying his bare ring finger, "I'm on the road six months at a time. My wife is a very...understanding woman."

He made eye contact on the last two words. Marigold looked away, "So, what do you do that keeps you away from home so much?"

"I travel in espionage."

"Excuse me?"

"I sell surveillance equipment--tiny cameras, microphones, little recorders."

Marigold leaned her head on her hand, "Really? How interesting."

Adam looked surprised, "Really? Most people just think it's creepy. Personally, I'm a bit bored with it. I sell mostly to big corporations and police departments."

The rest of the conversation went much more smoothly. Marigold barely had to embellish on the original lie. At some point, Adam went to get himself another beer and brought her another screwdriver.

Marigold became so engrossed in the conversation that she lost all track of time. Glancing at the clock, she saw that it was nearly ten after two. Leaping to her feet, she said, "Oh, God."

Adam's face showed concern, "Is something wrong."

"No," said Marigold hurriedly. "I just realized that I'm late. I have to go. It was nice meeting you, Adam."

"You, too," said Adam. "If you want to talk again or anything, I'm in room 822."

                                  -=-

Marigold bolted back to the suite, fearing what punishment might be waiting for her. Letting herself in, she called out, " Thule ?"

Hearing no answer, Marigold collapsed on the couch, feeling like she'd dodged a bullet. When Thule arrived ten minutes later, she'd had just enough time to worry that something might have happened to him. She rose and wrapped her arms as far as they would go around his barrel chest, laying her head below his heart. After a momentary pause, Thule hugged her back.

"You're in a much better mood," he commented.

Marigold, who had completely forgotten about her foul mood earlier in the day, realized that she was just glad to see Thule . She tilted her head back for a kiss. He accommodated her, his tongue teasing hers out of her mouth.

"You've been drinking," he said, sounding surprised.

"You got me drunk last night," Marigold pointed out, smiling. "I thought I should at least see what alcohol tasted like. How was your meeting?"

Thule stepped out of the circle of her arms, "Non-productive. The guys loved my product, but don't want to buy it. They want me to join their little company and bring the software with me. And, there's no way I can realistically do that while I'm a freshman at MIT without working myself into an early grave." As he spoke, he threw his jacket over a chair and undid his tie, "Have you had lunch yet?"

"No," said Marigold. "I didn't know if you would want to eat lunch together."

Thule smiled, "Sounds good. Do you want to go downstairs or eat here?"

Marigold's heart sank at the idea of running into Adam downstairs at the restaurant and having to explain her story to Thule when she wasn't even sure why she had told it in the first place. Quickly, she said, "Let's eat here."

"All right," said Thule . "Would you call down the order and stay dressed enough to answer the door, please? I'm going to change into something more comfortable."

They took lunch on the patio. For once, the conversation lacked its usual brooding intensity. When Marigold asked Thule what the product was he was trying to sell, he rattled off an explanation involving phrases like, "Bayesian analysis," "topography," and "heuristic processes."

"Now I feel stupid," said Marigold. "Not only could I not build something like that, I still don't know what it is."

Thule smiled, "You're not stupid, Little Flower. It's a tool for representing complex data, creating generalizations from it, and using those generalizations for decision making."

"I don't remember learning any of that in school," said Marigold. "I must have been out that day."

"We didn't," said Thule . "I've been a math geek since like the fourth grade."

Before she could stop herself, Marigold blurted out, " Thule , you're not a geek."

Thule raised an eyebrow at her, "Sure I am. I worked hard to earn that title."

"But..." said Marigold, stunned.

"Yes?" asked Thule , a note of menace creeping into his voice.

"Nothing," said Marigold quietly. Thule just looked at her until she realized she would not be able to leave it at that.

"It's just that...you're in such good shape," said Marigold. Still, Thule didn't speak. She knew that wasn't a good answer. "And you know how to talk to people...And...." Now, she blushed furiously.

"And..."

Marigold's voice was a whisper, "and you clearly know what you're doing in bed."

"And that makes me not a geek?" Thule asked.

Marigold nodded, not knowing where he was going with this conversation.

"So," he asked, his voice casual. "Who did you fuck to get to get such good grades?"

Marigold sat bolt upright, "No one. Thule , I earned my grades."

"Couldn't be," said Thule . "Everyone knows popular girls are too stupid to get more than a C+ without fucking somebody. In between the teachers and the football team, it's a wonder you don't have bedsores on your back."

It took Marigold a second to realize what Thule was getting at. When she did, she released a burst of relieved laughter. Still, his face was angry.

" Thule , I'm so sorry," she said. "I know most of those things are clichés. It's just force of habit. I'm sorry."

"Marigold," he said patiently. "I would think that, after the time we've spent together, particularly at lunch, that you would have learned something."

"I have," said Marigold, getting upset. " Thule , I really like most of the guys that we eat lunch with. I said I was sorry. Do you want me to beg for forgiveness?"

"Yes," said Thule . His voice was almost even, but held an undercurrent of menace. He rose to stand in front of her.

"All right," said Marigold, looking up at him. "I'm begging. Please forgive me."

"I don't think that seated is really the appropriate position from which to beg."

Marigold looked around in stunned surprise. Looking straight at Thule , her eyes were at crotch level. She could see his arousal. Giving a little nod, she went down to her knees, her bottom resting on her feet.

After a moment, Thule asked, "Well?"

"I'm sorry," said Marigold, close enough to feel warmth radiating off his body. "I forgot what I was supposed to be begging for."

"You were begging me not to be mad at you for being a shallow, superficial bitch."

Marigold smiled to herself, "Please, Thule ," she said, leaning forward, "Don't be angry with me." She reached out her hands and began to undo his fly, "Please," she said.

"Marigold," Thule said evenly. "A genuine apology does not require physical contact."

Marigold was stunned. If she wasn't down here to suck his cock, what was she there for? He couldn't actually just want her down there, begging forgiveness for telling the truth about geeks, could he? But, the longer she thought about it, the more she realized that there were no obvious conclusions other than that one.

"Please, Thule ," she said, "Don't be angry at me for what I said."

He looked down at her, but didn't say anything.

"Please, Thule ," she said again, "Don't be angry at me."

"For what?" Thule asked.

"For what I said," Marigold answered.

"Is that what I told you to beg for?"

Marigold was stunned again, but her response time for getting over being stunned was improving by leaps and bounds, "Please, Thule ," she recited, "Don't be angry at me for being a shallow, superficial bitch."

"Are you contrite, Little Flower?"

"Yes, Thule ," she answered, "I think so."

"Well," asked Thule , "are you or aren't you?"

"I don't know," admitted Marigold, "I'm not sure what's wrong with what I said. I am sorry for making you angry, though."

"I'm not angry, Little Flower," said Thule , stroking her hair. "I'm just disappointed to see that you still think those labels mean anything. If Brianne decided to call you a geek tomorrow, who would agree with her?"

"June Kane," said Marigold. "And the other cheerleaders." She thought about it, "And the guys on the teams would probably repeat it." She lowered her head, "Pretty much everyone, I guess--except the geeks themselves."

"And, how would you be different?" Thule asked.

"What?" Marigold's head shot up.

"How would you be different?"

"I wouldn't."

"But, you would be a geek," said Thule . "By extension, you would be out of shape, socially inept, and lousy in bed."

"I wouldn't actually be a geek," said Marigold. "just because they called me a geek."

"Would you be popular?"

Marigold lowered her head again, "I suppose not. Are you saying that some of the geeks aren't really geeks even though everyone calls them geeks?"

"I'm saying," Thule sighed heavily, "that broad generalizations rarely actually mean anything. Some of those 'geeks' spend every weekend making or swinging swords and are a good deal stronger than the jocks. Most of them know how to talk to people, but rarely find anything that people outside of their own circle say interesting. Some..." he let the word hang in the air, "even know how to fuck with reasonable proficiency. You can't apply generalities to specific cases as if it were gospel. You know, if you would watch TV once in a while, I wouldn't have to explain this."

"I watch TV," said Marigold defensively.

"Regardless," said Thule . "The problem is that you are making group generalizations based on what you've observed and applying them to the individuals in the group. You presuppose you know everything about a person because you can label them."

"Oh," said Marigold. She thought for a moment, "Isn't that what the software you wrote does?"

Thule blinked down at her. By the stunned look on his face, Marigold knew that she'd scored a point. Afraid she was about to be punished, she stared back up at him, not speaking.

"I appreciate the irony," said Thule finally. "But, it's not the same thing."

"All right," said Marigold, not willing to press the point.

"Stand up," said Thule . "Go inside. Take off what you're wearing and put on the kimono I gave you. Then, come back out here."

Marigold hurried to obey. When she came back, Thule said, "Hold onto the railing with both hands. Don't let go until I tell you that you may."

Marigold nodded, gripping the railing and closing her eyes. She trembled as Thule pressed himself up against her back, pinning her to the railing.

" Thule ..."

Thule placed a finger over her lips and growled in her ear, "No speaking except to answer questions."

Marigold nodded. Thule took his finger away from her mouth. With both hands, he gripped the sides of her kimono at the waist, pulling until the material was resting on her hips, leaving her naked from the waist down. Marigold moaned in anticipation. She couldn't believe that Thule was going to take her right there.

His hand snaked down between her legs, pushing them apart, a finger sliding just inside of her. Marigold moaned again.

"God," said Thule . "You're soaking wet. Does begging really turn you on that much?"

Marigold nodded, surprising herself. When she spoke, it was a rasp, "Yes."

Thule chuckled. Marigold felt herself flush.

"Now that I have your attention, I will explain," said Thule .

Marigold let out a groan of protest. Thule wanted her to listen to an explanation now?

"The application I've written applies generalizations for the purpose of creating a best guess of group activities before specialization. For instance, if it were set up to evaluate the actions of ten thousand cheerleaders, it could probably be right seventy to seventy-five percent of the time on many questions. But, that demographic would include you, Brianne, Dawn, Ioke, Maya, and June Kane. In terms of individual analysis, it could be wildly off. Does that make sense?"

As he spoke, Thule had been letting his fingers have free reign inside of her, letting the tips graze time and again over her clit. Now, she shook her head, "Oh, God, Thule ...no."

Thule chuckled, "Are you answering my question or protesting my actions?"

"Answering," Marigold said, then moaned. "I...please don't stop what you're doing."

Thule started to withdraw his fingers, "I may have to. You don't seem to be listening."

"It's not that," protested Marigold pressing herself against Thule 's fingers, trying to get him back inside of her. "I...I haven't been a cheerleader in years. I never hang out with the cheerleaders except at lunch and on the front steps before school. I don't go to their parties or..."

"All right," said Thule , absentmindedly stroking her clit again. Marigold's whole body shuddered in relief and pleasure. "But, when you were a cheerleader, were you just like Brianne?"

Marigold wanted to deny it, but wondered what answer Thule expected. In the last few years, she'd been pretty cruel at times, but never really enjoyed it like Brianne did. She'd only done what it took to stay popular. If she'd been nice to everyone, she would only have shared in their torment.

Freshman year, when she'd been a cheerleader, had been another story. Depending on how much Thule knew, he could very well think she'd been just like Brianne. And, she had to admit, she wasn't so sure anymore herself.

"I...I don't know," she finally blurted out.

"Too hard to think?" Thule asked, letting up on her again.

"No," said Marigold quietly, laying her head on the railing. "I just don't know anymore. I was pretty awful. I did a lot of things I'm not proud of. I don't know if I was as bad as Brianne, but...I'm so sorry, Thule ."

Thule stood up, taking his hands off of her, letting her kimono drop back to her ankles, "Do you have something to confess, Little Flower?"

Marigold wanted to. But, she couldn't open her mouth to say the words. She wanted abosultion, but desperately didn't want Thule to hate her. Finally, she shook her head and said quietly, "No."

Thule ran a finger down her spine, "You can let go of the railing now."

Marigold stood up, turning to be taken into Thule 's arms, but he had his back to her.

" Thule ," she asked. "Aren't you going to...?"

He turned around, smirking, "Going to what?"

"Make love to me?" Marigold asked, voice barely above a whisper.

Thule 's laugh chilled her, "I haven't yet. And I don't have time to fuck you again. We have to get ready for dinner. Go start a bath. I'll join you shortly."

                                -=-

When Thule joined Marigold in the tub, he sat in the opposite corner. She splashed over to him, backing into his arms. After a moment spent just sitting there, Thule soaped up a washcloth and began to gently wash her skin, finishing his explanation of how his software worked, moving from the general to the specific. As soon as she thought she could get away with it, Marigold wriggled her bottom against him. Already halfway hard, Thule stiffened immediately, but went on with the cleaning and the explanation as if he hadn't noticed.

Emboldened, Marigold raised her hips, trying to impale herself on Thule 's cock. Her body was vibrating with tension and desire. Thule shifted himself ever so slightly. Marigold tried to position herself again. Thule shifted again. The third time, Marigold realized that he was doing it on purpose.

" Thule , please..." she begged.

"Do you want me to fuck you?" he growled in her ear.

Marigold nodded emphatically, "God, yes. You've got me so worked up. I can't stand it. I just want you inside me again."

"Spread your legs," he ordered. When Marigold did, he locked his ankles in front of hers, keeping them open. Then, he twisted, turning in the tub until he was in the middle of it and Marigold was pressed against the edge.

Rising a little, Thule bent her over the edge. Marigold moaned, spreading her legs even further. As he positioned himself, she found herself stretched over one of the jets. It hit her straight between the legs. Before Thule could enter her, she came hard. Blushing, she hoped Thule hadn't noticed.

Not only had he noticed, Thule locked her into position, forcing her to stay over the jet. Marigold tried to squirm away, but Thule held her firm.

"Please..." she whimpered. " Thule , please...fuck me. Please fuck me. God, Thule . I need you." She knew she was begging, but didn't care.

Thule didn't answer, just held her there. Marigold sobbed with pleasure and frustration. It seemed like he held her there for hours, but Marigold knew intellectually that it was probably only a few minutes. She didn't come again. The pleasure was too intense on her tender parts to drive her to climax.

Finally, he released her, pushing backwards to the far wall. Marigold turned to look at him, her eyes shining with lust.

"Fuck me, Thule ," she whimpered.

"No," said Thule , rising out of the tub, turning off the jets, and opening the drain. "If we're going to make it to dinner on time, we need to get ready." He strode past her. "Get dried off. I have another gift for you."

Marigold caught his hand as he went by, thinking to pull him back into the tub. When she looked up, she let go. There was no mercy in his eyes.

"You're a bastard," she said quietly.

Thule didn't bother to argue, "Get dried off," he repeated.

Left alone in the tub, Marigold had little choice but to follow. Her legs were wobbly and shaky. She gasped a little even as she drew the towel gently across her breasts.

She was tempted to close the door and finish herself off. Truth be told, closing the door was not an absolute requirement. But, she'd seen something in Thule 's eyes that suggested he wanted her in this excited state. If she ruined it, he might take actions to get her back into it while they were out in public.

The idea made her knees so weak that she stumbled on her way out of the bathroom. Thule looked up. She smiled apologetically.

Thule held up a dress by its spaghetti straps. It was gray and nearly sheer. Marigold stood, stunned.

" Thule , it's..."

"Beautiful?" he offered.

"Obscene," Marigold said, not exactly contradicting him. " Thule , I could be arrested for wearing that."

Thule chuckled and held up the dress, indicating Marigold should approach. She hesitated for a moment, not even sure she wanted Thule to see her in it. Then, she realized she was naked and that putting something on should only be an improvement to her modesty.

She was wrong. The dress dipped down in the back so far it almost showed cleavage. Held up with spaghetti straps, there was absolutely no place to wear a bra underneath it. However, support had been artfully sewn into the body of the dress itself. Once she had shimmied into the dress, Thule drew two long straps, no wider than the ones on her shoulders, crossed them under her breasts, and tied them in the back.

Marigold looked in the mirror and frowned a little. The first thing she noticed was that the material had stiffened her nipples. The support material made this less obvious than she thought it would be, though. Turning this way and that, she wriggled a little.

"Hmmmm..." she said thoughtfully. "I guess it only looks like I could fall out of it at any moment. Actually, it's lovely."

"Are you sure?" Thule asked. "If you would rather wear something else..." The look in his eyes made it clear that he didn't believe for a second that Marigold would refuse the dress now.

The look was the only thing tempting Marigold to surprise him and refuse. She looked at herself in the mirror. Thule had obviously spent a lot of time figuring out what would look good on her. Marigold had never felt so beautiful.

Instead of refusing, she said the first thing that popped into her head, "You really like dressing me up. Don't you?"

Thule chuckled and nodded, already dressing himself.

"Why?"

The question hung in the air for a long moment. If Thule hadn't stopped what he was doing, Marigold would have worried that he hadn't heard the question or was ignoring it. Finally, he said, "Whether we like it or not, we partly become who we are dressed as. Playing dress up is like lying to yourself in the hope that, if you repeat something often enough, it becomes true."

Marigold gave him a meaningful look, "Who am I in this dress? Who is it that you want me to be?"

Thule leaned into her, the hand on the back of her head and kiss on her forehead taking any sting out of his words, "Anybody other than who you've really been--a new woman."

Marigold clutched at Thule as her legs suddenly threatened not to hold her up. He looked at her, concern writ large in his eyes.

She gave him a reassuring smile, "I think I like that."

Thule didn't answer. To fill the silence, Marigold said, "But, if this dress drives some poor man so mad with lust that he attacks me, you'll have to defend my honor."

By way of answer, Thule gave her a sardonic smile that made Marigold blush down to her toes even though she wasn't sure what it meant.

                         -=-

For dinner, Thule took her to a little bistro in Chelsea , a French restaurant that was dark as a pit inside. The hostess led them through the gloom to a hidden garden area with additional seating, surrounded by buildings on all four sides. They took the only empty table. As they crossed the garden, Marigold felt like every eye in the place followed her. Men leered openly while women shot hateful daggers at her. Invigorated by both reactions, she hugged Thule 's arm tighter.

Thule explained the menu to her, making suggestions and warnings. Marigold agreed to all of them until she realized that was what she was doing and deliberately chose something Thule had suggested was "too challenging." Thule ordered it for her without comment. Nor did he comment when she left most of it on her plate at the end of dinner.

Still squirming a little in her seat with the aftereffects of what Thule had done to her that afternoon, Marigold drank white wine until it took some of the edge off of her desire.

The only other disappointment with the meal was the coffee.

"Why," she asked Thule, "does everybody in New York have to burn their coffee?"

"It's not burnt," said Thule . "It's French roast."

"Well," Marigold answered, putting her cup down, "I'm drinking tea for the rest of the weekend. To me, it just tastes burnt."

After dinner, Marigold had thought they were walking back to the hotel. It took several blocks for her to realize that they were walking the wrong way.

"We're not going back to the hotel?" she pouted. Even dulled with alcohol, her desire was like a dull ache inside her.

"Not yet," said Thule . "There's some place I'd like to take you."

Marigold giggled, "Take me anywhere you want."

Thule guided her to another part of Chelsea . A man standing outside a club was calling out, "Live music," in a voice that sounded to have been ruined by whisky and cigarettes, but still seemed to hold some melody.

When Thule came to the door, the hawker smiled, "Glad you could make it, young sir."

Thule smiled back and shook the man's hand, "Is the band in good form tonight?"

The hawker grinned wider, white teeth now dominating his black face, "They sure are. Is this the young lady you mentioned?"

Thule nodded. The man's smile got impossibly broader, "Nice to meet you, Marigold. I'm Lucius Collins. I used to play with your father right before and right after you were born."

"Here?" Marigold looked at the nondescript club. The music that emerged had seemed vaguely familiar, but she hadn't immediately recognized why.

Lucius nodded, "Yeah. I played with him at his last show. We all were really sorry to hear when he died. He talked about you all the time. It's nice to see what a beautiful young woman you've grown up to be."

"Thank you," said Marigold graciously. She glanced at Thule . He didn't look at all surprised by this turn of events.

As they entered the club, she asked, "How in the hell did you find this place?"

"Your father was something of a local celebrity in his time," said Thule . "He wasn't hard to look up on the Internet."

"How long have you been planning this?"

"Tonight specifically?" asked Thule . "Since that first night in the newspaper office."

"And the rest?" asked Marigold.

Thule laughed, "About three years."

Marigold laughed with him until she realized he was serious. Three years ago, Thule had still been on the track team, still tolerated by the jocks and the popular cliques. Most of freshman year, he'd dated her best friend, Maya, who was a cheerleader and fairly popular in her own right.

She froze so suddenly that Thule 's next two steps dragged her forward before he stopped and looked back.

"I need the lady's room," she said. Thule nodded and indicated the booth at which they would be sitting. Marigold fled in as dignified a manner as she could.

Staring in the mirror, she knew what Thule was really punishing her for. All he'd said about this being revenge for years of torture was a facade. There was one specific event three years ago that could have made him so angry that he would have nursed a grudge this long.

Worse, Marigold couldn't blame him.

In a panic, she looked around the room, thinking for a moment that she could make an escape like in the movies, letting herself out a window. She could take a bus back to Mannsborough, get Jonas to protect her. Thule would tell Harvard about her. At the moment, it didn't matter so much as getting away. With the realization of what he knew, Marigold felt certain that Thule had no intention of letting her go to Harvard. He must want to kill her.

When she saw that there was only one window in the room, high up and too small to get through, Marigold was forced to think rationally. Thule hadn't shown any indication of wanting to hurt her. He'd had opportunities. Instead, he'd spent a huge amount of money and time making this the most memorable weekend of her life.

He must not know the whole story, Marigold decided. She just needed to keep her cool. She looked in the mirror and put on a smile. Still, she couldn't get the thought out of her head that she deserved every bad thing Thule had done to her. She deserved worse. Resolutely, she pushed the thought aside. Thule was waiting for her.

                                        -=-

When Marigold approached the table, Thule smiled to see her. Marigold examined the smile carefully for any hidden malice. Instead, she found genuine warmth. He was happy to see her. When she slid into the booth, he put his arm around her, pulling her against him, facing the stage, eager for her to watch with him.

Marigold didn't understand what was going on. If Thule knew what she'd done, he gave no sign. But, what else could he have held a grudge about for this long?

Still, he held her, stroked the flesh of her arms, whispered to her, smiled at her. If he wasn't enjoying her company, he was a far better actor than any she'd seen. Taking a deep breath, she let herself relax and enjoy the evening.

She was still nervous enough to accept a screwdriver when Thule asked if she wanted a drink. Soon, she was feeling pleasantly buzzed, swaying back and forth to the music, eyes closed. She hadn't listened to jazz much after her father's death. She still had some vinyl records her father had bought her, but had never bothered to upgrade from the toy record player she'd had at the time. Besides, no one she knew listened to it. And, she'd gotten in the habit of not doing things her friends didn't do.

But, the sound brought back memories she'd long suppressed. Her earliest clear memory had been lying in her bedroom at night when she'd still lived at her grandparents' house, hearing the clear sound of her father's saxophone coming from the shack outside. He practiced there so as to not wake the house.

The memory, still clear after almost fifteen years, was of a specific song. Marigold could only remember one song her father had ever played. It was an original composition he'd written just for her called, "Little Flower." She could almost hear it in what the musicians were playing now.

Her eyes flew open. There was no "almost" about it. The band was playing her father's song, the one her father had written for her. She turned to Thule to tell him about her discovery, only to see that Thule was watching her intently, smiling trepidatiously. He already knew.

Behind his smile, there was a look of uncertainty on his face. Marigold realized this he was afraid that his grand gesture would fall flat or make her mad. Marigold felt a surge of power at knowing she had this power over him. But, for the first time, she felt no temptation to exercise that power.

" Thule , I love it," she said. Drawing his head down in her hands, she kissed him on the mouth, opening her own lips for his exploration. Thule kissed her back, his hands raising goosebumps on the bare flesh of her back. The saxophone player improvised a little flourish in response to the kiss.

When she broke the kiss, Marigold realized that a lot of people were staring at them. She didn't care. If Thule had wanted to take her then and there, she wouldn't have protested.

Reaching up, Thule wiped away a tear that Marigold hadn't remembered shedding. She sniffled a little, " Thule , this is really wonderful. Why are you doing this for me? I thought you were going to punish me."

Thule gave a sad smile, "This is our last night in New York . I wanted you to have something to remember fondly, no matter what else happened."

Even the implied threat, spoken so casually, did nothing to dampen Marigold's mood. It didn't matter. However he punished her, it would be less than she deserved. Incredibly, impossibly, Thule had even developed a certain fondness for her. He may be punishing her, but he was forgiving her at the same time.

She turned to Thule , opening her mouth to speak. But, the set ended. The audience applauded enthusiastically. Sensing many eyes on her, Marigold brought her lips together, not to speak, but for another kiss.

When the kiss broke this time, the band was gathered around the table at a respectful distance. It turned out that all of them had played with her father and had memories of him to offer her like gifts laid at her feet. As they spoke, others lined up behind them. More than two dozen greeted her. She'd never realized how many people her father had touched with his music. She'd thought of playing the saxophone as his job, not realizing how good he'd been at it.

Finally, they'd all told their stories. Marigold was overwhelmed. Not only had Thule arranged this incredible gift for her, many of her father's old friends had thanked her for listening to their stories. To her knowledge, her mother had never had any contact with these people. They'd had nothing of her father since his death.

She left the club feeling like she was walking on a cloud. Moonlight turned the street silver. Marigold cuddled under Thule 's arm. When the hotel came into sight, she walked more slowly. She didn't want the walk to end. Thule had no such compunctions. He kept her moving forward.

"Anxious to get back to the room and punish me some more?" Marigold asked. Her grin was wicked. With their trip to the jazz club, he'd done something she hadn't thought possible. He'd made her forget the ache of desire. Now, though, it was back with a vengeance.

Thule didn't answer immediately. He led her into the hotel, past the front desk, into the elevator. Once inside, Marigold reached up and threw her arms around his neck. She kissed him. Thule 's kiss was surprisingly chaste. Marigold was glad for it. Any more and she might have started tearing off his clothes here, not waiting to get back to the room.

" Thule ," she said. "I've fallen in love with you."

Thule 's face was carefully neutral, "I know. I'm sorry, Marigold. I never meant for that to happen."

"No," said Marigold. "Don't apologize. It's wonderful. Tell me you're not falling in love with me, too."

Thule pulled away from her, turning his back. Marigold wouldn't let him go, though. She laid her hands on his back, kissing a spot between them.

"I love you, Thule . And, I know you're falling in love with me, too."

Thule turned to face her again, "You still have a lot to answer for, Marigold."

Marigold nodded, "I know. I will, Thule . I don't expect you to forgive me. Punish me. I accept it. I deserve it. Do whatever you want to me."

The elevator door opened. Thule took her by the hand and led her into the hallway. Turning around to face her, he kept pulling Marigold down the hall. She followed willingly. When they were in front of the door to their room, Thule wrapped his arms around her, "I have forgiven you, Marigold. What you've done to me is a small thing, not uncommon. It happens in every high school in America . You've suffered enough for that."

Marigold shook her head, "I don't understand. If you've forgiven me, why are you still going to punish me? I thought forgiveness meant absolution."

Thule 's face was pained as he withdrew his key card from his jacket pocket. Turning to Marigold, he kissed her one more time on the forehead.

"I didn't say I was going to keep punishing you. I said you still had a lot to answer for, but not to me."

Marigold's skin went cold. She pulled away from Thule . Even before the door opened, she knew who would be behind it. If she hadn't, she might not have recognized her one-time best friend. She'd changed so much in the intervening three years.

As the door opened, Maya strode forward from the living room. When she took Marigold by the wrist and drew her inside, Marigold went without a struggle. Even when Maya wrapped her arms around Marigold, resting her hands on bare flesh, Marigold just stood there.

"Hello, Florita," Maya said, her voice a cold monotone. "Did you miss me?"