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Princes of Mannsborough, Part 2
by
Vulgar Argot
He pulled up a couple of
blocks away from her house. She looked at him questioningly.
"Fix your hair,"
he said.
She pulled down the sun
visor, "It's a little messy, but..."
"It's
JBF hair," he said more emphatically, "If you go inside looking
like that, your parents will know."
"JBF hair?"
"Yeah, like you've
just been...Listen, I'm sure that your parents have
had sex at least once. They know what hair looks like after you've been up to
that sort of thing. It's how Maya's parents found out about us. Fix your
hair."
She did as she was told,
smoothing her hair until it met with his satisfaction.
"If I pull up to your
front door and let you out, will there be questions?" he asked.
"I doubt it," she
said, "I get rides from other people at the newspaper sometimes. My
parents don't stay up looking out the window when I stay late."
"Okay," he said
and restarted the car.
"
"No," she said,
"nothing. I'm sorry. Thank you for the ride home."
He seemed to be considering
several possible responses before he said, "Any time. I'm surprised you
don't have your own car."
She shrugged, "My
parent's don't think that it's safe for a girl to be alone in a car."
"But, they let you
stay at the school until
She laughed mirthlessly,
"That's different. That's for Harvard. We fought about it a lot, but I
wouldn't budge. I really want to go to Harvard."
She expected him to say
something crude, but he just stopped the car, "Here you are. I'll see
you in school tomorrow."
"Yeah," she said,
"Okay." She made no move to get out. He raised an eyebrow.
With a start, she realized
that she was waiting for him to get out and open the door for her, like
Elliot would. Feeling foolish, she undid her seatbelt and let herself out.
===
Her parents were not
waiting at the window when she came in. Her mother sat, watching some inane
reality program on TV. Her stepfather was in his home office, reading his
Bible. As she walked past the open door, he said, "Marigold, come in
here please."
She went in, dutifully,
standing with her eyes down as he finished what he was reading.
"This is very
late," he said, "We were expecting a call."
"I'm sorry," she
said, "I got so wrapped up in getting the newspaper ready, I lost track
of time."
"Sorry is between you
and God," he said sternly, "I expect a phone call next time. And, I
don't expect there to be a next time for a long time. It's not proper for a
young Christian woman to work so hard all the time. When will you have time
for prayer and reflection?"
"I read the Bible
verses you assigned me today, sir."
"Yes," he said,
"but I'm sure you don't yet understand them." He looked up, his
face showing how merciful he thought he was being, "You look exhausted.
Go get ready for bed. Your Bible study can wait until tomorrow night."
Gratefully, she went
upstairs, slipped out of her clothes and into the shower. Naked and alone,
she closed her eyes, thinking it might be nice to cry, but no tears came.
And, while she may not have much time for prayer, she did take time for
reflection.
She had always refused to
see their race for grades as a competition. He was socially invisible,
hanging out with misfits from all the undesireable
cliques. His girlfriend, Maya, had been a theatre nerd. He was always hanging
around with the computer and math geeks. A few of the barely popular had made
the mistake of associating too closely with him over the years, tipping
themselves over the edge to unpopular.
By all rights, she should
be an enormous social pariah for having let him touch her, worse having put
his cock in her mouth. The bitter taste still lingered there. But, strangely,
she didn't feel different, socially, at all. It was as if tonight had
happened in an entirely different world, where there were no consequences for
who you let touch you or how.
Surreptitiously, she turned
the shower head to its most forceful setting and positioned herself under it.
She knew it was a sin to touch herself down there,
but she considered this to be a loophole. As the water pounded away at her,
she tried to duplicate the feeling she'd gotten from
In her room, dressing for
bed, she decided to put the experience aside for further study later.
Standing in the middle of the room in nothing but a long t-shirt, she
impulsively decided to lock her door and wear nothing else.
She fell asleep with one
hand pressed between her thighs, not there for self-abuse but just there, her
other on her chest, still trying to figure out what Thule had done to make
her feel so good.
===
Marigold and
"I can help her with
that, Mr. Shaw," he offered.
The teacher, who was in way
over his head, nodded his grateful assent, "Thank you, Bart."
He pulled up a chair next
to her. Several of the more socially aware types in the class turned to
watch, but when he started actually explaining what she'd just asked, they
turned away.
He interrupted himself
mid-thought, "Come and sit with me today at lunch?"
She turned abruptly to face
him, "What?"
"You heard me,"
he said.
"I will not," she
hissed indignantly.
He shrugged, "Your
choice. What you need to remember is that arrays are stored in contiguous
memory, so you can..."
"What do you mean my
choice?" she asked, "I can just say no."
He looked her in the face,
"You can always say no, and live with the consequences."
She looked around rapidly
to make sure no one was eavesdropping, "You're a monster," she
sputtered.
His shrug was more
expansive this time, "Probably. I'm not proud of myself, treating you
like something subhuman, the way you and your friends have done to me and
mine for the last four years."
She was getting angry now,
"I never treated anyone as badly as you did me," she growled.
"Sit with me at
lunch," he said, "Or don't. As I said, it's your choice."
===
She almost didn't do it. It
had been easier to strip for him, even easier to take his cock in her mouth
than it was to walk across that cafeteria to where he sat, eating alone,
reading a computer magazine. When she sat down, he didn't even look up
immediately, but went right on reading. She felt like he was the only one in
the whole cafeteria ignoring her. She started to flush crimson and almost
fled before he looked at her.
"That's a very pretty
skirt you're wearing," he said, "You should wear them more
often."
If the skirt had been
anything other than ankle-length and loose fitting, it would have come out as
lewd. As it was, it just left her puzzled.
"All right," she
said, "I'm here. What do you want?"
"What do I want?"
his eyes flashed dangerously, "I want to have lunch with my
friend." He raised his voice on the last word, just enough for the
nearest eavesdroppers to hear it. But, that was enough.
Stubbornly, she ignored the
statement and started eating. He went back to his magazine.
"You can't just sit
there and ignore me," she said desperately, "Otherwise, why am I
sitting here? Talk to me."
He looked up at her,
holding her gaze for a long moment, like he would refuse. Then, he closed the
magazine and put it aside, "OK, dear. What would you like to talk
about?"
She searched desperately
for something to say, "You sure seem to know a lot about computers.
Where did you learn it all?"
To her surprise, he smiled,
"I've had computers at home since I was in grade school."
"How did you..."
she stopped herself.
"How did I afford
it?" he asked, enjoying her discomfort, "The first one was barely
more than a toy. I got it from one of those Christmas charities. I used it
for years after no one else was. At fourteen, I started mowing lawns and shovelling snow and saving every penny I could get until
I could afford a second-hand corporate machine, then a second one. After
that, I knew enough about them that the hobby paid for itself. Why are you
taking AP programming?"
She put down her sandwich,
"The same reason I'm taking all of my AP classes. An A in an AP class
counts as 4.3 towards your GPA as opposed to a 4.1 in a Regent's class."
"It does?" he
looked incredulous, "Is that why my GPA is over 4.0?"
She looked horrified,
"You didn't know?" But, the grin on his face told her that she'd
been had, "Oh, you're awful."
"You really hate that
I'm Salutatorian, don't you?"
"No," she said
quickly, "of course not."
"Mari," he said,
stretching out the syllables, "do you really think it's a secret?"
She shrugged, "I don't
think I even notice who's number two in the class.
I'm not in competition with anyone but myself."
"You are so full of
shit," he said. She grinned broadly at him, letting him know, he'd been
had.
"Oh, my God," he
said, "You have a sense of humor."
She leaned in to speak
lower, "Why are you making me do this?"
"You're not enjoying
our conversation?" he asked, one eyebrow raised.
"I would enjoy it more
if it were more private," she said, running a hand through her hair.
His face clouded,
"Well," he said, "if you're ashamed of your new friend, I
guess we can meet again in the newspaper office after school." Before
she could interrupt him, he picked up his magazine and waved her away,
"Go sit with your other friends. I have reading to do."
===
Several times, she tried to
approach him during the day, maybe to apologize, maybe to try to make an
excuse not to be there that night. But, he managed to avoid being anywhere
that she could talk to him privately. Resignedly, she headed down to the
newspaper office to await their next meeting.
When she got there, he was
nowhere to be seen, but a few staffers were. The newspaper wasn't really more
than announcements of upcoming events and announcement of awards won, so most
of the time in the office was spent in socializing.
As soon as she sat at her
desk, Brianne cornered her, slinking over to her desk with malice in her
eyes.
"So," she said
casually, "I missed you at lunch today. What did you and the dreg have
to talk about?"
This much she had rehearsed
for at least, "I needed to ask him about some stuff we'd covered in AP
programming. He helped me in class today." The lie did not roll easily
off of her tongue, even if it was mostly true.
"Really?" asked
Brianne, "You seemed awfully chummy. I hear Elliot was really pissed
when he found out."
Marigold shrugged,
"He's really got nothing to be pissed about unless people have been
gossiping and taking things way out of context." She gave the two
gerunds heavy emphasis, "Hey, is your piece on the prom done yet?"
"I handed it to you
yesterday," Brianne said.
"I know," said
Marigold, more harshly than necessary, "If you need help using the spell
checker, there are plenty of people here who know how. I also marked up a few
places where it needed to be reworked. Try to have it done before you leave."
Brianne would have
answered, but Marigold turned back to her computer dismissively. The other
girl flounced away. Marigold felt an unfamiliar surge of power. It was not in
her nature to force people to back down. But, Brianne had really gotten on
her nerves. It had been her damned prom article, clearly written with no
thought in about ten minutes that had kept Marigold in the office so late,
trying to make sense of it. Worse, the girl couldn't spell worth a damn and
seemed to barely know how to construct an article after four years on the
newspaper. Brianne's father ran the local Pennysaver and Brianne was under
the impression that what he and she did passed as journalism. Somehow, she'd
managed to worm her way into Columbia School of Journalism. Marigold was sure
she hadn't written her admissions essay either. By all rights, she should
have been the one washing semen out of her hair last night.
She chuckled bitterly to
herself.
She quickly clamped down on
that line of thought and got back to work. People began filtering out. There
were only a few left when
Eventually, Brianne shut
off her computer, walked up to Marigold, and said loudly, "My prom
article is done. I hope you two have fun," before skipping out of the
room.
Even after she left,
"Boy," said
Marigold nodded in
agreement, "She is, although I'd never be so crude as to say so."
He put down his book,
"Why are you friends with her, then?"
"I'm not," she
answered quickly, "We run in the same circles. That's all."
He swiveled his chair
towards her, "Did you sign her yearbook?"
She shrugged, "I sign
a lot of yearbooks."
"What did you write?"
She looked annoyed, "I
don't know. The usual. Best of luck over the summer. Can't wait to see you
next year. Why?"
He shrugged, "Sounds
pretty friendly."
She looked down at him like
she would a particularly dense child, "It doesn't mean anything. It's
just...being nice."
"Do you think you're a
nice person, Marigold?"
"I...I try to
be," she looked uncertain, "not always.
"Sorry," he asked
too casually, "in what why? Like repentant, sorry?"
"Yes," she said earnestly,
"Like that."
"So, you want to be my
friend now? Want everyone to know that we're friends?" he looked
hopeful.
"Sure," she said
weakly, "maybe not everything about what we do, but friends is
okay."
He looked her squarely in
the eye, "How fucking stupid do you think I am?"
"I..."
"Come here," he
ordered, "Sit in my lap."
"What do you
want?" she asked desperately, "Do you want another blow job? You
want to see my breasts again? Will that make you happy?" She started
pulling off her sweatshirt.
"I want," he said
evenly, "for you to come here and sit on my lap."
"I can't do this
anymore," she said angrily, "Go ahead. Tell them about my Harvard
essay. I'll apply to Yale. It's not the end of the world."
He looked at her evenly, as
if waiting for her to take the statement back, "It's always your
choice," he said finally, "but we're beyond the Harvard essay
now."
"What do you
mean?" she asked.
"Do you think Yale
wants people who give blow jobs on school grounds?"
"You have no
proof," she exclaimed, wishing it to be true.
But, he reached over to the
computer behind him and, with a few mouse clicks and a few key presses, a
small window came up. The low-quality image and jerky motions said it was a
web-cam feed. Unfortunately, the feed was not so bad as to hide the fact that
the two people were him and her, they were in the office, and they were
replaying the events of the previous night.
"You recorded
me?" she shouted angrily, "You monster." She threw herself at
him, intent on doing him real physical harm. But, at barely five foot three,
she was able to do little against
"How could you?"
she cried, "How could you do this to me?"
He growled in her ear,
"I did it because I intend to keep you for a while. You're going to do
what I tell you. But, I'll make you a promise. If you're a good girl and do
what you're told between now and when you leave for Harvard, you're free. I
won't bother you anymore."
In spite of herself, she
felt hope well up, "Really? Do you promise?"
He nodded against the back
of her hair, "I promise. I'm good for my promises. I told you yesterday
I wouldn't rape you and I didn't, did I?"
"No," she said,
"I guess you didn't....What do you want me to do?"
He loosened his hold on
her, "From now until September, you're my girlfriend. Get rid of Magic
Earring Ken. You're going to be my kind of girlfriend. I am not going to be
your kind of boyfriend. Do I need to be clearer?"
"But..." she
twisted to face him.
"What?" he asked
harshly.
"My parents will never
allow that. They expect me to marry Elliot once I graduate from Harvard. He's
a nice, Christian boy. He'll be a good husband. Even if I had a good reason
to leave him, they'd never let me out of the house if I were seeing you."
He shrugged, "You'll
have to figure something out."
"I can't," she
pleaded, "It's just not possible. I promise. I'll meet you whenever you
want, in front of whoever you want, do whatever you
want, but I can't live in my parents' house and do what you ask. And, I can't
leave or they won't pay for Harvard. Please. It's not possible."
"Hmmmm," he said,
"Really not possible?"
"Really," she
said, "Please."
"Well," he said
thoughtfully, "I don't want to ruin Harvard for you..."
"Oh, thank you,"
she exclaimed loudly, wrapping her arms around his neck. The relief was
genuine.
"Hold up," he
said, "Here are my conditions...."
She nodded, listening
carefully.
"One, you will find
some way to spend next weekend with me. I'll pick you up Friday after school
and drop you off Sunday night. Two, you will make it clear to any and all of
our classmates that we are friends. Three, you can go to the prom with
Elliot, but you're leaving with me. Four, I expect you to arrange a suitable
replacement as my prom date. Don't make it someone you like because I'm going
to blow her off to leave with you. And, five, I want you to wear a prom dress
that doesn't hide your chest. At least once, I want you to see how beautiful
you are."
She thought about it. Finally, she said, "One will be
tricky, but I'll manage. I have no idea how I'll manage four. If I need your
help getting someone popular to agree to go to the prom with you, will you
help?"
He nodded, "If I
can."
She sighed and relaxed
against him, "
He nodded,
his face up against the top of her head.
"Do you really think
I'm beautiful?"
He laughed, "Do you
think I'd blackmail just any girl into being my girlfriend?"
"No," she said,
"It would have to be someone you hated very much. But, you did not
answer my question."
"I think you're one of
the most beautiful girls I've ever seen. Even when you dress to hide your
figure, you're beautiful. When you're naked, I feel like I've leashed a
goddess."
She hadn't known before
that moment that it was physically possible to blush over your entire body.
But, it felt like she was radiating enough heat to burn him through both
their clothes.
"Are you wearing
panties?" he asked.
"Of course," she
answered, "What kind of question is that?"
"Take them off,"
he ordered.
"What? No," she
said, "You promised my first time wouldn't be in this dingy little
office."
He took her chin in one
hand and turned her to face him, "You may be a beautiful goddess, but
you'd still damned well better do what you're told without question."
Standing up off of his lap,
she complied, hiking up the seeming acres of material that made up her skirt
until she could reach underneath and pull off her red, lacy panties. She
tried to hide them, but he pulled them out of her hand, "These are quite
sexy. What does the good, Christian boy think of these?"
"No one was supposed
to see them," she exclaimed, flushing crimson again, "They normally
stay under my skirt."
He laughed, sliding one
hand up under her skirt, stroking the back of her leg, just below her bottom,
"Come on. It didn't occur to you that I might see them?"
"I..." she
remembered that she had changed her underwear at the last minute today from
the unflattering white panties to these rarely worn red ones, an
inappropriate gift from a befuddled older relative, "I guess I thought
you might. Would you have preferred my huge, white ones?"
He chuckled and drew her
closer to him, his hand moving up to cup her buttock, "I prefer you like
this best of all."
She slapped him lightly on
the shoulder, "Do you ever stop being a pervert."
He nodded, "Sure, but
you bring it out in me." His other hand slid underneath her skirt until
both gripped her buttocks, kneading them gently. She let out a little gasp.
"
He smiled, "You're
cute when you beg, but in this case, it's totally unnecessary. I keep my
word. You'll keep your much-valued virginity until next weekend, at least.
Today, I'm just going to make you look forward to losing it."
His words made her feel
like such a whore that she almost wept. She'd always viewed losing her
virginity as something she would do for her husband on their wedding night,
to be looked for only for what it signified, not for itself. She was
horrified to realize that she was not entirely dreading the event. What kind
of girl was she, really?
He pulled his hands out
from under her skirt and wrapped them around her, drawing her to him as he
rose to meet her. He was so much taller than her that she had to look up to
see his face. When she did, he leaned down, one hand sliding behind her head.
She opened her mouth in surprise just as their lips met. Unlike Elliot, when
he'd been given the opportunity for such things, he barely used his tongue at
all, preferring to dart it in and out, teasing her tongue and lips. She
determined to bear up under it, but her mood quickly changed from tolerance
to reluctant enjoyment. His hands barely touched her, but where they did,
they seemed to leave hot fingerprints on her flesh. She fought the pleasure
as hard as she
could. At some point, he had lifted her up onto the conference table, where
she was now sitting, but she couldn't remember when. He lifted her sweatshirt
over her head, fumbled with the buttons on her blouse. She found her
traitorous hands helping him, peeling off the uncomfortable bra as quickly as
she could. She wanted him to rub circulation back into her breasts again like
he had last night. She wrapped her legs around his waist and leaned back,
arching her back. His lips travelled down her
throat and chest, his hands wrapped firmly around her waist.
His mouth covered one
nipple. She gasped at it. His tongue teased the very tip of it. The sensation
was so intense for a moment that she thought she would swoon. He didn't let
up, teasing it with his lips, teeth, and tongue. She moaned, unable to fight
it anymore. When had he laid his shirt across the table for her to lie back
on? The warm flannel tickled her back. She wrapped both arms around his head
now, pressing him against her breast, urging him on. One hand slid from
around her waist, catching and undoing the zipper on her skirt, laying it out
like a blanket beneath her. She realized abstractly that she was totally
naked, but for her knee-high stocking now. It should have bothered her. But,
before it could, he traced a line of kisses down her belly. His hands gripped
her bottom, massaging it powerfully. Suddenly, he was lifting her up, his
chin forcing her legs apart. She cried out in surprise, doubly so when his warm,
wet tongue slipped inside of her. She started to panic at the pleasure of it.
Even as her ankles locked between his shoulder blades, she tried
ineffectually to push his head away.
Tear rolled freely down her
cheeks now, "No, please," she begged, "It's dirty. It's
too...dirty. Don't..."
He either didn't hear or
didn't listen, driving his tongue deeper inside of her, homing in on her
clitoris. She writhed then, squirming and gasping while trying desperately
not to lose contact. With his tongue working her most sensitive spot in the
front and his hands kneading her bottom in the back, she soon lost all
awareness of anything but his hands, his tongue, and what they were doing to
her. She squirmed. She moaned. Soon, she felt a trembling overtake her entire
body, starting where his tongue touched her and working its way outward. At
that moment, she couldn't feel like more of a whore and she couldn't care
less.
"Oh, God!" she
cried out, "Oh,
Still, he did not relent.
And the pleasure went on and on, wave after wave washing over her. Even after
he stopped, pulling her into his lap, naked thighs straddling his legs,
breasts mashed against his bare chest, she shuddered as wave after wave of
aftershocks shook her. She sat in his arms, crying and letting him stroke her
hair for a long time after that. She was supremely aware of his cock
straining against his pants beneath her, embarassingly
aware of how much she wanted to slide it free of his pants and mount it right
now. Fingers trembling, she reached
down, undoing his belt. He stood, letting his pants fall free. But, before
she could make her intentions known, his hand was on her shoulder, pushing
her to her knees. She wanted to protest, but the moment of insanity passed
and she was grateful to have another way out. She wrapped her mouth around
his cock, sucking it as he'd taught her the previous night. It was easier
this time. She licked and sucked it, making up in enthusiasm what she lacked
in technique. After a few minutes, he grabbed a fistful of her hair, trying
to pull her away, "I'm coming," he gasped.
Not wanting a repeat of the
uncontrolled explosion last night, she refused to be dislodged. Again the
hot, bitter liquid burned her mouth and throat, but she managed to keep most
of it inside this time, dribbling only a little bit down her chin.
He collapsed into the
chair, pulling her into his lap. Their naked groins were less than a foot
apart, but his didn't seem particularly threatening at the moment. She lay her head on his chest and listened to his heart until
it slowed to a normal speed.
Noticing the time, she
leapt up from his lap, ran to her desk, and frantically dialed the phone.
After three rings, her stepfather picked up, "Yes?"
"Sir, it's me,"
she said, "Marigold. I lost track of time again. I'm still at the
newspaper. We had to do physical layout tonight. I'll be done real
soon."
There was a long paused and
then a sigh at the other end of the line, "Marigold, I thought I made it
clear last night that you were not to stay there so late night after
night."
"Yes, Sir. I'm sorry,
Sir. Things just ran late and..."
"I still expect you to
do your Bible lesson tonight. One day, we can let it slide, but a good,
Christian instruction is essential to the raising of children."
"Yes, Sir. I'll be
there soon, Sir." she said. The other end of the line went dead.
"He's concerned about
my upbringing," she said defensively. He's afraid I'll stop being a good
Christian when I leave in September. If he only knew..." Her voice
trailed off as she started crying.
He was up, his arms around
her, before she knew he had moved, "What's the matter?" he asked.
"I'm such a
slut," she whispered, "I don't have to go away to be a bad
Christian."
"Hey," said
She laughed miserably,
"I wish it were that easy. But, I liked it. And, I wanted....no, never
mind."
"You wanted what?"
he asked, "Tell me, my tethered goddess."
She smiled at the nickname,
"I wanted more. I wanted it all. I didn't want you in my mouth. I wanted
you between my legs. Even here, even now. God knows what I am."
She chuckled, wiping her
eyes, "I don't remember that verse in the Bible."
"Read Song of Solomon
again some time,"
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