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Message-ID: <41434asstr$1048453807@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: Vulgar Argot <gekagekREMOVEALL@CAPShotmail.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} Marigold, Act 1 Part 1
Date: Sun, 23 Mar 2003 16:10:07 -0500
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Marigold, Part 1
by Vulgar Argot
(NC, MF, Oral)

(Author's Note: This is the sort of erotica I've always wanted to
read, but so rarely see. It is the DS half of BDSM without the bondage
or masochism. It is non-consensual without involving physically
forceful rape. As a warning to the reader, this installment includes
sexual activities, but no actual sex. Those who only want to read
about sex in its rawest form should skip parts one and two.)

Thule didn't know how she did it, but Marigold somehow always managed
to scowl at him when he entered a room, even without raising her head.
When he came into the newspaper office today, she was turned directly
away from him, typing on one of the Antiquated Macintoshes the school
had provided them with. He ignored her at first, knowing that she
would have to speak if the silence stretched on too long. He sat down
at the print server and began typing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Thule looked worried, "And?"

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

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

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

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

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

"You bitch," he shouted, "you wouldn't."

She kept dialing.

"Come on," he pleaded.

"Rules are rules," she mocked.

"Don't do this."

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

"Marigold," he said, "be reasonable. It's a small infraction. It's not
like I plagiarized my entrance exam to Harvard or something."

She looked up, alarmed, "No," she said, trying to cover it, "of course
you didn't. But..."

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

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

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

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

"Call me Thule."

"What?"

"Call me Thule."

"Why?"

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

She nodded mutely. It was all she could do not to start crying.

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

"What are you going to do?"

"Nothing," he said, shrugging, "Friends don't turn on friends, do
they, Marigold?"

She shook her head no, tears of relief rolling down her cheeks.

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

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

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

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

His smile was not kind, "That is a fact that you have made abundantly
clear. You're not being much of a friend by rubbing it in. Of course,
you haven't been much of a friend to me, have you, Marigold?"

She shook her head, mutely.

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

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

"Show me your tits."

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

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

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

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

"What other gesture of friendship do you propose?"

"I can give you money..."

"I don't..." Thule started to shout, but then got control of himself,
"I don't want your money, Marigold. You can't buy your way out of
this. You can't buy my friendship. If you don't want to show me your
tits, you don't have to. I'm sure you'd do very well at Brown or
Vassar."

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

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

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

"What?"

"Never mind. What do you suggest you could do instead?"

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

"You could not," said Thule.

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

"To who? That Ken Doll you're supposedly going out with?"

"Yes! And, Elliot's not a Ken Doll. Why would you call him that?"

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

"You're disgusting."

Thule shrugged, "Did he come?"

"What? No!"

He reached out and pet her hair. She flinched away a little, but
realized it probably wouldn't help her position any and decided to
bear it instead.

"Little flower," he said, chuckling, "it's not a hand job then."

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

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

"I know it's a kind of flower. My father used to call me that."

"Do you like it?"

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

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

"You're not?"

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

She started crying unabashedly now.

"Hey," he said softly, "relax. I'm not going to try to fuck you on a
cold metal desk in a little office that smells like mildew and
printer's wax. You're a virgin, right?"

She nodded.

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

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

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

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

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

                                               ===

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

She stared at the mirror. Her long straight hair, jet black in spite
of her name, was a mess. So were her eyes, red-rimmed and streaked
with what little make up she wore. It wasn't until after she combed
and cleaned herself up that she realized it might not be in her best
interest to look too good for whatever came next.

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

                                               ===

She closed the office door and stood as far away from him as she could
while still being in the office. He was sitting behind her desk now,
watching her.

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

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

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

She nodded. She hadn't expected him to comply anyway.

He sat, watching her, waiting for her next move. Taking a deep breath,
she pulled the varsity sweatshirt over her head. The blouse underneath
was purple silk. She started to unbutton it quickly, focusing on what
she was doing.

"Stop," Thule said. She looked up, her hands still on the fourth
button.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Well," he said, "they're certainly bigger than I expected them to
be."

She kept her head lowered, "I know. I'm sorry."

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

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

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

He sat back, "Come here. Sit on my lap," There was iron under the
compassion and she complied, "Marigold, they're magnificient. Who told
you they were hideous."

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

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

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

He chuckled, "I'm honored."

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

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

"Please stop touching them."

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

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

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

"No," she said mellowly, "this is nice."

A part of her mind was horrified at her. She shouldn't be enjoying
this, even a little. And she certainly shouldn't be admitting it. She
leaned her head back on his shoulder and closed her eyes, trying to
pretend that he was Elliot, her future husband. But, for some reason,
she couldn't imagine it, so she just cleared her mind and thought of
nothing at all.

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

"Are we done here?" she asked, as calmly as she could.

He stood up, "No. Not quite."  Reaching down, he unzipped his fly. His
cock popped out with great force, "This is your responsibility. You're
going to have to do something about it."

Her eyes widened. She didn't know how big a penis was supposed to be,
but this one was certainly bigger than Elliot's had felt. She crossed
her arms across her chest, "What do you expect me to do with that?"

"Have you ever given a blow job?"

"No," she said, pleased to see that she could still be shocked by such
a suggestion.

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

"But,"

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

"But,"

"Choose quickly," he said.

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

"Kiss it," he said. She looked up at him questioningly, "Do it."

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

Marigold complied. She'd come this far and wasn't about to give up.
The cock was enormous in her mouth and she choked on it a couple of
times. Each time, the pressure on the back of her head let up.

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

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

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

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

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

Her parents had instructed her to call a cab to come and get her if
she stayed at the school after dark. But, it could take as much as a
half an hour for a taxi to get there. She nodded, "Thank you."

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

She picked up her clothes. He watched her.

"Turn around," she said.

"What?"

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

He looked like he would refuse, but then, with a chuckle, he turned
back to the computer. She dressed quickly. When she finished, she
realized that he was staring at a blank computer screen, waiting.

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

(Legal note: This is mine, not yours. Read it. Enjoy it. Print out a
copy if you want to read it in bed. Don't steal it. If I find it
anywhere else than here or in the Alt.Sex.Stories Text Repository, it
will not go well for you.)

--Vulgar Argot
  http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/VulgarArgot/index.html
--
"I've been accused of vulgarity. I say that's bullshit."
  --Mel Brooks

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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