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Message-ID: <41439asstr$1048461004@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: Vulgar Argot <gekagekREMOVEALL@CAPShotmail.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} Marigold, Part 5
Date: Sun, 23 Mar 2003 18:10:04 -0500
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Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d

Marigold, Part 5
by Vulgar Argot
(NC, MF, Oral, Anal, Catfight, Drunk)

After Jonas left Marigold's room, he must have told her mother what
they'd talked about. A few minutes later, she came tenatively knocking
on her daughter's bedroom door.

"Marigold, honey," she asked tenatively, "did you still want to go get
your prom dress today or should I reschedule our appointment."

In truth, Marigold wanted to go and get her dress today more than
every now. She didn't know how it was going to work out, but once she
got to the prom, it would now be much easier to leave with Thule than
if she had gone with Elliot.

She sat up, nodding, "Yes," she told her mother, "I definitely still
want to go and get my dress made. But, I think we're going in a
completely different direction with it than I expected."

"Oh?" her mother asked as Marigold sauntered past her, out of the
room.

Marigold smiled, "I want Elliot to see what he's missing."

                                 ===

Once out on the road, Marigold told her mother, "I think I'm going to
need a new bra to go with the dress I have in mind."

"Oh?" her mother asked. Marigold had definitely inherited her chest
from her mother. Fortunately, she had inherited her height from her
father. On her five and a half foot frame, her round, firm breasts
looked proportional. On her mother, six inches shorter, they seemed a
little too big to be real, "What kind of bra?"

"Do you remember that dress you're wearing in the picture of you, me,
and Dad in Van Saun Park, the one I have in my room? I want a bra that
will do that."

Her mother's eyes widened a little, "Are you sure?"

Marigold nodded.

"I don't know if Jonas would like that," her mother said uncertainly,
"It's kind of....risque."

"Mom," insisted Marigold, "I remember the day we took that picture. We
went to feed the ducks in the park on a Sunday afternoon. I spent the
whole time in church that day worrying that the ducks would be all
full by the time we got there. You wore that dress to church."

"I didn't," her mother said, scandalized, "did I? I guess I did. But,
Marigold, I was a very different woman back then. And your father was
a very different man from Jonas. That day we went to church because it
was one of the few weekends your father wasn't up all night playing
saxophone on Saturday. At the time, I liked feeling the old women
staring at me and being scandalized."

"So," asked Marigold, "shouldn't I get to scandalize the old ladies at
least once before the idea doesn't appeal to me anymore? I may not get
too many opportunities after prom night." Or, she added to herself, I
may get so many opportunities, I give all the old ladies heart
attacks.

Her mother looked at her, at the road, back at her again, then clicked
her tongue, "I don't know if Jonas is going to like it."

"I think Jonas will be fine with it," said Marigold, "But, if he's
not, I'd much rather try to get forgiveness than permission."

                                 ===

In the end, they wound up picking up more than a half dozen new bras
for Marigold, ones that supported or accentuated her chest rather than
trying to suppress and hide it. When she tried on the first one her
mother suggested, she began to feel embarassed again. It felt like she
was putting her breasts on a table and shouting, "Hey, look at these."
But, she closed her eyes and recalled how Thule had looked at them the
first time he had seen them and on subsequent occasions and the blush
went away, replaced by a slow suffusion of warmth.

After that, it had been a bit of a cascade. Her mother had started
running back and forth from the sales floor to the dressing room with
more undergarments. She wasn't accustomed to Marigold showing an
interest in clothing beyond functionality and basic attractiveness.
She'd always done the minimum required to stay in the good graces of
the clothes-happy cheerleaders who lorded over social life at school.
Had Marigold not reminded her mother that they were expected at the
dressmakers, the older woman might have replaced Marigold's entire
wardrobe.

Mrs. Knight, the dressmaker, was a middle-aged black woman who worked
out of her house a few blocks from where Thule lived. Marigold hadn't
spent much time in the neighborhood. Most of the people who lived here
were on welfare or made marginal livings working at one of the retail
stores in town. She also saw numerous handmade signs for lawn mowing,
firewood cutting, and a number of similar unskilled, physical
pursuits. She resisted the urge to lock her door, but only just
barely.

"Oh, look," her mother said, "That's the house where your father lived
when we were in high school."

Marigold looked at the house. It was a small, two-floor building with
a porch. The grounds were neat, the lawn mowed. She'd been ready to be
horrified at the revelation, but she found herself rather nonplused.

"And look," said her mother excitedly, "The shack is still there."

"The shack?" Marigold asked.

"Oh, yeah," her mother said, "Your great grandparents, God rest their
souls, lived in the house. But, your father didn't get along with them
so well, so he built a freestanding building to live in on the
property. He ran wires out for electricity and everything."

"Where?" Marigold asked, craning her neck, "Behind the shed?"

"No, no," said her mother, "That is the shack."

Now Marigold could be properly horrified. The building looked like a
large garden shed, "Dad lived there?" she asked wanly.

"Yeah," said her mother, her voice getting a faraway sound to it, "I
loved that shack. He could come and go when he pleased. I could go
over when I pleased. There'd be like four or five of us over there at
a time or, if he threw parties, they'd spread out over the lawn."

Marigold tried to imagine her mother in high school, hanging out with
her boyfriend in his shed doing...what? Listening to him play
saxophone? Surely, it must have gone farther than that. As if sensing
her thoughts and feeling the intensity of her stare, her mother began
to blush furiously.

"So," she asked rapidly, "Did you want to talk about what happened
today?"

Marigold shrugged. She knew that her mother was just trying to do the
good mom thing, but they'd never really had much of a rapport about
this sort of thing, "Not really," she said, "I was starting to get the
sense that Elliot wasn't really the right guy for me anyway. The whole
trying to kill me thing just sort of underscored that."

Her mother snorted, "It's probably for the best. I never thought he
was the right boy for you anyway."

Marigold turned in her seat, "You didn't? Mom, why didn't you say
anything?"

It was her mother's turn to shrug, "You seemed happy with him. And,
there are not a lot of nice, Christian boys in this town who aren't
fixated on marrying a nice Korean girl. I always thought you'd be
better off waiting to pick a husband until you met somebody at
college."

Marigold laughed, "I'm not going to have time to date while I'm at
Harvard. I'll be too busy studying."

Her mother chuckled, "Marigold, dear, I want you to go to Harvard and
do well and graduate, of course. But, well...I'm just afraid that, if
you insist on seeing the world as either dating or study, you may
eventually decide that you can't study and..."

"Date?" Marigold asked.

"Marigold," her mother blurted out, "Don't you ever think about sex?"

Marigold wanted to die of embarassment. She was too stunned and
mortified to even speak for a very long time. Finally, she managed to
squeak out, "Mother!"

To her credit, her mother was blushing furiously as well. But, she
pressed on, "I just mean that you've been dating Elliot for--well,
since before high school and he, well, I...I have to say that I'm a
little surprised to hear that he would be unfaithful to you with a
woman." Finally, she sputtered into embarassed silence.

Marigold discovered at that moment that it's possible for a person to
get as embarassed as they're going to. To her surprise, when she
reached that point, she didn't die. But, she felt like something
inside of her had snapped. The embarassment faded away, not
disappearing entirely, but becoming mere background noise. Even the
flush began to recede from her cheeks.

She looked at her mother, "Did everybody but me know Elliot was gay?"

"Know?" her mother asked, "No. I didn't know until you just said it.
But, I suspected. I mean, what sort of boy dates a pretty, popular
girl all through high school, then doesn't try anything?"

"A good, Christian one," Marigold suggested,"That's what I thought he
was. What did Jonas act like in high school?"

"Err..." her mother said, "Well, Jonas was a very different person
back then. He didn't find Christianity until he got in a lot of
trouble."

Marigold stored the information for later use. Jonas was notoriously
tight-lipped about his past, at least to her. But, now was not the
time to pursue it. They were pulling into the dressmaker's driveway.

An hour later, she had exactly the dress she wanted. She hoped Thule
would like it, too. Her mother, she had to swear to reluctant secrecy
about it until prom night.

                                 ===

As they pulled into her street, Marigold saw Thule's car going the
other way. He seemed engrossed in thought and didn't seem to register
them as the went by. In fact, he seemed to be either talking or
singing to himself.

When they got home, Jonas met them at the door, "So," he asked, "Did
everything turn out all right. How does the dress look?"

"It's not ready yet," answered Marigold, "And, besides, I want to
leave it as a surprise for prom night."

Jonas chuckled indulgently, "Okay, sweetheart. If you've got a minute,
I'd like to see you in my study."

It wasn't really a request and Marigold did not treat it as such. She
followed Jonas to his study where he closed the door behind her.

"Have a seat," he said pre-emptorily, taking his own favorite chair.
She sat across from him.

"Sweetheart," he asked, "What do you think of Bartholemew Roemer?"

Marigold froze at the question. Besides not knowing the answer, she
didn't even know the right lie to tell. Finally, she settled on, "He
helped me out a lot yesterday. And, we've been talking a lot lately."

He nodded thoughtfully. Marigold wondered if she'd said too much.
Finally, Jonas said, "I know he wouldn't be your first choice. But,
what would you say about the idea of his taking you to the prom?"

As first, Marigold was relieved on many levels. But, she was also
vaguely annoyed, "Did you ask Thule to take me to the prom?"

"No, no, no," Jonas assured her, "It was his idea to ask you. He just
came here to make sure I was okay with him asking you--because he's
not a Christian."

"And?" Marigold asked.

"And," said Jonas, "He seems like a serious young man. His grades are
good. He's determined to go to a good college, just like you are.  He
may not share our beliefs, but he's not closed-minded about them. I
like him. I told him that, if you said yes, I would have no
objections."

"I don't know," said Marigold as if mulling it over, "I mean, he's not
a Christian..."

"I know, dear," said Jonas soothingly, "I don't expect you to marry
him. But, he's a nice enough young man. And, it's just one night.  I
feel like I can trust him with you. And, it just so happens that I'm
an excellent judge of character."

How Marigold kept a straight face, she would never know, "I'll
definitely think about it, sir."

"You do that," said Jonas, picking up a book by way of dismissal.
Then, he added again, "I like him."

Marigold barely made it back to her room before her body was wracked
with paroxysms of laughter. Before she wore herself out, it took a
slightly hysterical edge. The whole situation was almost too absurd to
take seriously.

                                 ===

The next morning went by in a bit of a daze. Marigold had planned out
her lie well in advance, dropped hints about it, considered
contingencies for a million questions, but found both the telling and
the convincing took very little effort.

"This is a slow weekend," she told her parents over breakfast, "So,
I'm going to keep my promise to Aunt Vera and go out there."

Her mother and Jonas exchanged looks. Vera was Marigold's father's
sister.  She and Marigold's mother had hated each other since before
the wedding. By extension, Jonas hated her too. There was a pregnant
pause. Then, Jonas grunted, "You'll find a way to go to church on
Sunday?"

Marigold nodded. If Thule let her, she'd find a way to go to church on
Sunday. Somehow, lying about this, even a little, seemed worse than
the rest. She gave a little prayer she wasn't lying.

And that was all there was to it. She took her suitcases with her to
school, dropped it in Thule's car after homeroom, and was ready to
spend the rest of the day worry-free, at least until Thule got a hold
of her.

Right after lunch, on her way to her next class, Brianne barred her
way in the hallway. A couple of the other girls Marigold had eaten
lunch with over the last few years stood off to one side, watching and
waiting for a confrontation.

"So," said Brianne by way of introduction, "I hear Elliot tried to
kiss you and you kicked him in the balls."

Marigold smiled her best smile, "Where do you get such ideas, Brianne.
Elliot would never try to kiss me."

Brianne seemed to miss the insinuation, "I didn't think it could be
true. Aren't those your suitcases in Bart Roemer's car? I noticed it
in the parking lot. I'm sure that, if you'd spread..."

Whatever Brianne was going to say was cut off by a sudden outrush of
air as she barreled forward, barely missing Marigold as she collided
loudly with a row of lockers. She turned around, stunned. Standing
over her, like an avenging angel, stood Dawn, fists balled up, panting
heavily. The younger girl's straight, black hair was tousled.

"What have you been telling people about me, bitch?" Dawn shouted.
They were starting to draw a crowd.

Brianne had the nerve to smile smugly from where she sat on the floor,
"Only the truth," she snarled, "That you fucked the whole basketball
team at Ryan Vetterling's party this summer."

Dawn gave another shout of rage and delivered a swift kick at
Brianne's head. But Brianne, expecting it this time, raised her arms
in time, partially deflecting the blow. She caught Dawn's ankle and,
soon, the two of them were down on the floor, rolling around, biting
and scratching. Actually, Marigold noticed, Brianne was biting and
scratching. Dawn was protecting her face in between well-timed and
-aimed body blows. Soon, Brianne had the wind knocked out of her. But,
Dawn didn't seem to be letting up. Marigold was afraid that she was
going to kill the other girl.

Of course, the moment the two had started rolling around on the
ground, the crowd had started shouting their encouragement,
recommending how the two could alternately maim, debilitate, or
undress each other. Marigold looked around at the crowd, panicking,
"Somebody stop them," she shouted.

And then, Thule was there. She realized that he'd been there all
along. But, he'd just been standing, watching, and observing. Now, he
reached down and, with seemingly great precision, caught Brianne by
the back of her hair and forced her to stand up, off of Dawn.

Dawn lunged for Brianne again. Marigold, realizing that she would get
no more support from the crowd, wrapped her arms around Dawn, falling
to her knees, and hoping that her weight would slow the other girl
down enough that Thule could keep them separated.

"Shit," shouted someone from the back of the crowd, "Hall monitor
coming." The crowd started to scatter. Thule took Brianne, who was
still struggling, and shoved her into Randy Vanderbilt's arms, "Get
her out of here," he said.

Marigold tried to struggled to her feet. Dawn said, "You can let go of
me, love." Looking down, Marigold realized a couple of things. The
first thing was that Brianne had deliberately torn Dawn's Oxford shirt
down the front, taking most of the buttons in the process and
revealing a silky, green bra underneath. The second thing she realized
was that she was looking at said silky, green bra between her own,
splayed fingers. Dawn smiled up at her mischeivously. Marigold pulled
her hands away as if scalded.

"Come on," said Thule, taking each girl by one wrist, "Let's get out
of here." He opened a door to the cafeteria kitchen, led them to a
service corridor, out into the teachers' parking lot, and onto a side
road before anybody looked up. The whole flight had taken under two
minutes, but to anyone who thought in terms of paths students would
have taken from the fight, they were ten minutes away.

He released their wrists, "OK," he said, "act casually."

Dawn cleared her throat. She was holding the torn halves of her shirt
together with her free hand. With the one Thule had released, she
smoothed her hair back. Thule looked down, "Oh, yeah. All right.
Marigold, you go to class--tell them I was sick. I'm going to give
Dawn a ride home."

"No," said Marigold, partly alarmed and partly annoyed. Thule raised
an eyebrow at her sudden disobedience, but Marigold went on, "Give me
your keys. I'll be in class in fifteen minutes. Tell Mr. Talbot I took
Donna to the nurse because she scratched herself on the pavement
falling down the steps by the playground."

"Okay," agreed Thule. He dug into his pants pocket and extacted his
keychain, "I'm going to class then."

"All right," said Marigold, "Now, hurry. And, take good notes. I'll
need to copy them."

                                 ===

Marigold led Dawn down to the senior parking lot and had her sit
across from her in the back seat of Thule's car while she rifled
through her suitcase, "We're close enough to the same size that one of
my tops will fit you, I'm sure."

"But, my chest isn't as big as yours," Dawn protested. Marigold
glanced at the body part in question. Dawn had her hands over her
chest, still holding the shredded Oxford together. Seeing Marigold
looking, she pulled the shreds apart to let her see. Marigold abruptly
turned her head away.

"Well," she said, "They don't look that much smaller. I'm sure we can
find something you can wear for a day."

"How about one of your sweatshirts?" Dawn asked.

"Actually," said Marigold, "I didn't bring any sweatshirts." Dawn
glanced over the edge of the suitcase, her eyes widening at the sight
of the neatly folded clothes.

"Wow," she asked, "Looks like you're expecting a romantic weekend."

Marigold looked around, but the parking lot seemed genuinely empty,
"Can you keep a secret?"  Dawn nodded enthusiastically.

"Actually," said Marigold, "I'm going somewhere with Thule this
weekend, but I don't know where--except that we have dinner
reservations for tomorrow night, somewhere fancy."

Dawn's eyes widened further, "You and Thule? When did this start?"

"Last week," said Marigold, "It's been somewhat sudden."

"I'll say," said Dawn, "How did this start? Last I heard, you hated
him."

"It's a long story," Marigold averred. Pulling a cream-colored blouse
with a demure neckline, she offered it to Dawn, "Will this do? I was
going to wear it to church this weekend, but I'm sure I can find
something else to wear."

Dawn took it from her. Stripping off the rag her Oxford had become,
she slid it over her shoulders and began to button it up.

"Thank you," she said, "This will do just fine."

"Dawn," asked Marigold quietly, "Can I ask you a question? You don't
have to answer if you don't want to."

"Sure," said Dawn. Drawing a mirror out of her purse and angling it to
get a better view, she unbuttoned one, then two of the top buttons so
that just a hint of cleavage showed when she sat upright.

"Is any of what Brianne said true? Did you do something with the
basketball team."

Dawn wrinkled her nose, "Naw," she said, "I got a little drunk at one
of the parties last weekend and I think one of em slipped me
something. Next thing I know, I'm half naked in one of the bedrooms
and there's like three or four guys in there. I fought my way out and
took off like a bat out of hell, didn't stop for my clothes or
anything.  The next day, my bra is mysteriously hanging from the
basketball hoop and people are snickering behind my back. Today, I
found out Brianne the wonderbitch is telling everybody how I spread
for the whole team and couldn't wait to get more. That explains why
every skeezeball in the school has suddenly taken an interest in
asking me out this week."

Marigold zipped up her suitcase, "You didn't say yes to any of them, I
hope?"

Dawn shrugged and shook her head, "Can you keep a secret, Marigold?"

"I think so," said Marigold in surprise, "It's been a long time since
anyone told me one."

"I don't really like boys," said Dawn.

Marigold sat in stunned silence. She stared at Dawn. The girl had a
nice figure, short, strawberry, blond hair in a pixie cut, a spray of
light freckling across her nose.

"But," said Marigold, "you're too pretty to be a lesbian."

Dawn blinked at her a couple of times, then reached into her purse,
pulling out her cell phone, which hadn't rung, and offering it to
Marigold, "It's for you."

"What?" Marigold asked, puzzled.

"It's the 1950s calling. They'd like their attitude back."

"Oh, Dawn, I'm sorry," said Marigold, "I've just never known many
lesbians--or any lesbians, I guess. You're not what I expected."

"Wait," said Dawn, "Don't you know Laurie McCaffrey, from choir?"

"Of course," said Marigold, "the mezzosoprano. We used to be in Sunday
school together. Why?"

Dawn looked at her, stupified.

"Laurie?" Marigold asked, "She's a...no. Are you sure?"

"How could you not know?" Dawn asked, "She talks about her girlfriend
all the time. They danced together at the spring fling."

"I just thought they didn't have dates," Marigold exclaimed.

Dawn laughed, "You really are incredibly naive, aren't you?"

Marigold wanted to protest, but said instead, "I guess I am. This week
has been quite an education. I always thought this was a nice, quiet
school. I can't believe the sort of things that go on right under the
surface. Can I ask you another question?"

"Ask me anything you want," said Donna.

"Do you have a girlfriend?" asked Marigold, "Have you ever...I mean."
She started to blush again.

"Wow," said Dawn, "that is a hell of a question, isn't it? No. I'm a
lesbian in theory only. I've never had a girlfriend. It's my destiny
to keep falling for straight girls. Do you know why I followed you to
the geek table the other day?"

"Um," asked Marigold, "Why?"

"Mostly because I couldn't take Brianne and those stuck up,
sychophantic bitches who revolve around her. But, I'd also been trying
to find a way to talk to Oxana for weeks. I thought for sure we'd had
a moment."

"Oh," said Marigold, mostly relieved, but vaguely disappointed. Of
course she didn't have any interest in being a lesbian, but it would
have been flattering to know she had an admirer, "Wait. The redhead
with the greasy hair?"

"She doesn't have greasy hair," said Dawn, defensively, "Well, not
most of the time. Sometimes, she gets overzealous in her work and
doesn't have time to shower before school. She has so much of it, it
takes hours. Plus, she's got two sisters and only two bathrooms in the
whole house. It's really not her fault."

"I guess you got your chance to talk to her, then," said Marigold,
smiling.

"Yeah," said Dawn, "We're actually getting along really well, so well,
she's told me in great detail all of the guys she has crushes on."

"Oh, Dawn," said Marigold, "She doesn't have a clue?"

"About as much as you had," said Dawn, shrugging, "Not that I can
blame her. I haven't actually said anything to her. I'm kind of shy."

Marigold got out of the car and shut the door, "Tell me something, did
she say anything about having a crush on Thule?"

"She dated Thule last year, after Maya left. Now, they're just
friends. By the way, I wouldn't tell you that if it weren't common
knowledge. As I said, I can keep a secret." Dawn closed the other
door, "You've got nothing to worry about from her."

Marigold laughed, a little too abruptly and loudly, it seemed, since
Dawn looked at her with concern. Part of her still wished Thule would
lose interest in her and go bother someone else. But, most of her
wanted to cry at the thought of Thule ordering some other girl around.

They made it back to class with less than fifteen minutes left before
the bell. Mr. Talbot gave them a worried look when they entered,
pregnant with meaning. As Marigold sat to listen to the end of class,
she realized that the look had meant a lot more than she would have
assumed it to mean even a couple of weeks ago.  It said that Mr.
Talbot knew what had happened.

Lowering her head to draw a diagram, she got a sudden chill. Suddenly,
she realized that everybody seemed to know what was going on around
here except her--the teachers, the administration, her parents. Nobody
seemed to have a complete picture, but everyone seemed to have glommed
on to the fact that there was something big and rotten going on in
this town. And, it probably had something to do with Randy Vanderbilt.
But, nobody had all the pieces and nobody would want to tangle with
the Vanderbilts.

She paused in her writing, trying to figure out how it all came
together. As piece piled onto piece, she started to feel ridiculous.
In her own head, it seemed like she was turning into one of those
conspiracy nuts who blames everything on Microsoft or the president or
little, green men. She shrugged and shook her head a little to clear
it. As she'd learned from lunchtime banter, the whole idea might make
a good episode of the X-Files, but nothing else.

At the end of the day, she stowed her books, closed her locker, and
saw Brianne standing there. The other girl stared at her angrily and
it was all Marigold could do not to laugh in her face. The other girl
had an ill-concealed black eye, made up as best she could, and a
visible bruise rising up from her cleavage.

"Don't think this is over, you rich, Christian bitch," she said, her
voice low, but not so low that it didn't carry to at least a dozen
onlookers. Marigold wondered at the epithet, since she knew Brianne's
family was one of the wealthiest in town, far outstripping her own.

Instead of being cowed, Marigold stepped forward, getting into
Brianne's personal space, close enough that she could feel the warmth
of the other girl's body, close enough (Marigold noted with great
amusement at the image) to kiss her. Their eyes stayed locked the
whole time, until Marigold broke it to put her lips right next to
Brianne's ear. Brianne flinched, which made Marigold smile.

"If you ever," Marigold whispered, "ever try to lay a finger on
Elliot, I will skin you," Brianne's eyes widened, "in tiny,
bacon-sized strips, fry them up, and feed them to you." Marigold had
stolen the line, word-for-word, from another lunchtime conversation,
but it had remained vivid in her mind as a palpable threat.

To Marigold's extreme satisfact, Brianne backed away about four steps
before doing a violent one hundred and eighty degree turn and
flouncing off. The flouncing effect was somewhat ruined by the fact
that she was also visibly trembling in fear.

Satisfied, Marigold practically skipped to Thule's car.

                                 ===

When Marigold told Thule what she'd done to Brianne, he looked
puzzled.

"I don't understand why you told her to leave Elliot alone," he
frowned.  They were driving south, out of town.

"I figured the threat would make her think I was crazy," said
Marigold, "so that she won't come after me so directly again any time
soon. But, if I know Brianne, she values pecking order even over
personal, physical safety. By Monday, she'll be all over Elliot in
order to establish her dominance."

Thule chuckled, "Serves her right. Let her spend the rest of the year
frustrated. Smart thinking."

"Actually," admitted Marigold, "I thought he might share her with
Randy Vanderbilt. It would serve her right."

Thule rolled down his window, "So," he said, after enjoying the breeze
for a minute or two, "You haven't asked me where we're going. Aren't
you curious?"

"Of course I'm curious," said Marigold, "but I'm never going to get an
answer until you're ready to tell me."

Thule chuckled, "I'm ready to tell you now, if you ask."

She clasped her hands as if in prayer. Raising her voice to a
falsetto, "Oh, please Thule, tell me where we're going? I would like
so much to know."

Thule laughed loudly, "My God, Marigold, are you getting a sense of
humor about this?"

"I don't know," Marigold said ernestly, "I know it should be awful
and, if I think too hard about it, I get terribly conflicted, but I
really like being with you."

He gave her a piercing gaze, so long and intense, she was afraid they
would have an accident. Finally, he said, "You are not at all what I
expected when I decided to do this."

She thought of a number of possible responses, but ultimately opted
for, "So, where are we going, Thule?"

"We're spending the weekend in New York," Thule answered, "Tomorrow
and Sunday, I need to spend about four hours each day demoing
something I built to two potential clients. But, the rest of the time,
I plan to spend...enhancing our friendship."

The whole sentence had come out fairly breezy, but the last three
words had some dark mischeif behind them. Thule wasn't smiling now.
Instead, he seemed very intent on his driving.

After that, the conversation was light enough that it was easy for
Marigold to pretend that she was there entirely of her own free will,
that Thule was her boyfriend, that they were in love, and that things
were simple.

When they got to the hotel, it was surprisingly nice. It wasn't five
star, only nice enough that the parking attendant glared suspiciously
at Thule's car as if it were going to head straight to the lobby,
dripping mud and rust everywhere.

Upstairs, Thule checked in under his real name with Marigold listed as
"plus one." She decided that was for the best, but with a pang of
regret. She imagined the register reading "Bartholemew and Marigold
Roemer," and decided she liked the sound of it. A bellhop helped get
all of their bags out of the car and took the dress Marigold had been
forced to fold into her suitcase for steaming. Marigold realized that
she was anxious for him to leave, then trepidatious when he did.

Thule flopped down on the couch. Marigold looked around her. The room
was another pleasant surprise in that it wasn't a room, it was a
suite. She had chosen a simple, white, button-down blouse, calf-length
denim skirt, and knee-high black boots. Under the blouse, she wore one
of her new, more flattering bras.  It was not even one of the more
daring ones she'd bought, but it gave her a sense of furtive
sophistication.

The outfit was far from typical for her, but very comfortable for
traveling.  Even so, she was glad to slide out of her boots and
stretch her legs. Thule took each of her feet in his hands in turn and
worked his thumbs into them vigorously until they gave up their
tension. Marigold started out by gasping at the pleasure, then lying
still, her eyes closed, just reveling in it.

When she woke, Thule was talking on the hotel phone in animated tones
in the other room. She couldn't hear his words, but he sounded like he
was making a pitch of some sort. Once she heard him hang up, Marigold
padded across the plush carpet into the bedroom where he stood over a
desk, making notes.

Surprised by her own forwardness, she wrapped her arms around him from
behind, one hand sliding under the edge of his shirt onto his hard,
flat belly. He turned, smiling at her, letting her hand wander up his
chest.

"Do you want a shower before dinner?" he asked.

"I thought we were going out to dinner tomorrow," she teased, "Are you
sure you don't want to put dinner off for a while?"

He chuckled, "Marigold, my little flower, I've been waiting years to
fuck you. I intend to savor tonight. If we don't eat now, you'll be
passing out from hunger by the time we're done."

She shuddered with pleasure at the threat, "All right, then. I guess I
could use a shower, too."

"Get in the shower," Thule said, his voice taking on the easy cadence
of giving orders again, "I'll follow you in a minute or two. I just
want to write a couple of things down before I forget them."

Obediently, Marigold went into one of the suite's two bathrooms,
stepped out of her traveling clothes, folding them neatly in the
antechamber, and under the welcome hot spray. The shower, she was
disappointed to realize, only seemed designed to get her clean, the
water pressure being too low for anything else.

True to his word, Thule slid in behind her a few minutes later. She
turned as if to face him, but he caught her shoulder, instructing her
wordlessly to stay facing away from him. He lathered up his hands and
began to run them over her body, rubbing hard enough for his touch to
be therapeutic, erotic, and oddly comforting.

Every time he leaned close to her, she felt his manhood brush against
her, stiff and ready. Once, she heard him gasp at the touch. He was,
she realized, on the edge of self-control. Feeling powerful and sexy,
she considered driving him made with lust until he had his way with
her, right then and there, dinner and careful preparation be damned.
She resisted the urge, however, deeply curious as to what he had in
mind for her later.

When she stepped out of the shower, he wrapped her in a heavy, white
towel, rubbing her slowly with it, letting his hands take small
liberties with her as he worked.

"Well," he asked finally, "Are you ready for dinner?"

She laughed, "My breasts certainly are. This is the cleanest and
driest they've ever been. But, my legs are still damp and I should
probably put some clo...." The rest of her sentence was cut off as he
reached down, caught her by an ankle, and toppled her backwards onto
the bed. Kneeling between her legs, he towelled them off slowly,
engrossed in the moment. His whole body moved with the action. When
his face was right over hers, she snaked out an arm, wrapped it around
his  head, and pulled him down into a kiss.

The kiss went on and on. His hands roamed up her ribs, down the soft
part of her arms, his fingertips grazing her breasts and nipples
before one hand slid behind her head. The other gently massaged her
breast. She began to shudder at the pleasure and anticipation of it,
deeply aware of how the towel that had been wrapped around his waist
was now the only protection between them and was now just draped
across her hips. She let her feet slide up the backs of his legs, then
lock in the small of his back. Before she could really get a grip,
though, he pulled away, standing up.

"Get dressed," he rasped, "We're going to dinner." Before she could
answer, he had practically sprinted out of the room.

Once she was dressed, she followed him onto the patio. He was leaning
on the railing, looking out over one of the city's smaller parks, but
she didn't know which one. Even though the drive had taken them less
than ninety minutes from the school to the Holland Tunnel, she'd been
to the city three times before, none of them after the age of twelve.

"Thule," she asked his back, "Are you mad at me?"

"Mad?" he chuckled without turning around, "bewildered and amazed,
yes. Mad, no. I expected to drag you out here, fighting me the whole
way, then to have to seduce you again, like I've had to before. I
didn't expect you to be quite so....eager."

"I surprised myself," she admitted, "If I'm right about the way the
world works, I'm already damned. You only get absolution for
contrition. I might as well enjoy it."

Thule turned, faced her, and drew her into his arms, "You don't feel
like a whore?"

"Of course I feel like a whore," she said, her face and voice serious,
"but, I don't mind it as much as I thought I would."

At dinner, Marigold wondered if Thule wasn't having the same fantasy
she was. He was at turns witty, engaging, entertaining, ernest, and
flirtatious. They sat on the outer patio of the hotel's restaurant, a
clear view of the park and, beyond it, the river. Couples strolled by
in the gathering dusk, sussurating to one another and oblivious to
being observed or, at least, not caring.

"Well," he said as he signed for the bill, "I'd say this has been a
reasonably successful first date."
If she'd been drinking anything at the time, she would have choked on
it.

In the elevator up, she leaned back against into his arms. He said,
"After tonight, I'm not going to make love to you for a while, at
least not in the same way. I may be punishing you, but I don't want
you getting pregnant on your way to Harvard. You'll go on the pill..."

"I'm already on it," Marigold answered.

"Since when?" Thule asked.

"Since I was thirteen. It's for medical reasons. Let's not talk about
it now."

Thule nodded against the top of her head.

Back in the room, he was true to his word. Leading her into a bedroom,
he stood behind her, hands undoing the buttons of her blouse. He
worked slowly, but trembled with the effort of restraint. When the
blouse was unbuttoned, he slid it from her shoulders. His lips came
down into the crook of her neck. She moved to turn around and face
him, but he purred, "Hold still. You're not to speak or touch me until
I say so. Just do as you're told. Do you understand me?"  She nodded.

One hand rubbed her shoulders while the other reached down and
unhooked her bra. Marigold noted with wry amusement that he had it off
of her with less effort than she herself had managed it.

"Sit," he ordered. Off came one boot, then the other. He knelt before
her, "Take off my shirt." She fumbled to comply. Wrapping one hand in
her hair, he pulled her head back and traced a slow, thorough trail of
kisses down her throat, between her breasts, to her belly. She was on
her back now. One hand reached up to entangle itself in its hair, but
a growl of "hands at your sides," ended their exploration.

The skirt she wore was knee-length and zipped up the side. Thule found
the zipper quickly enough, opening it and sliding it off of her. The
panties, he pulled free, her hips rising to make it easier. His lips
pressed into her soft thatch, his tongue teasing her clitoris, the tip
darting in and out before running along the length of it. She fought
to keep from making noise, but couldn't hold it. The first moan came
out of her like a sob. Her shoulders started to hurt from the effort
of clawing the bed covers so as not to wrap her arms around his head,
pushing him deeper. Meanwhile, his hands roamed freely up her stomach
and breasts, kneading, stroking and teasing the whole way. With her
first orgasm came tears, silver in the moonlight, leaked out of her by
the intensity of the moment and the effort of not speaking or wrapping
her arms around Thule. She let them flow freely.

His head came up, then down again to her face, kissing then licking
her tears as if craving their salt. Almost without her volition, she
raised her hips to rub against his stomach. But, he pulled away,
rocking back on his knees.

"Put your head on the pillows and roll over," he said. The tone of
command seemed natural to him. She moved where he told her to go,
feeling incredibly exposed and vulnerable.

As she felt him hovering close enough for his breath to be in her ear,
her body quaked in anticipation. Forgetting what she'd been told, she
said, "Be gentle."

"No speaking, my little flower," he said gently. A few seconds later,
his hands were on her shoulders, smooth and oily. As he sat on her
bottom, she realized with some embarassment that he was still wearing
his pants, the rough denim seams scratching against her flesh. As he
rubbed circles down her shoulderblades and spine, Marigold released
tension she didn't know she'd been holding. One by one, her muscles
relaxed. Her body began moving in rhythm with his hands as he rubbed
oil into her back, then moved to her legs, and finally her bottom.
Again, his touch was more arousing than therapeutic and she began to
moan in response, her hips rising and falling under him.

When he stopped, she whimpered.

"Roll over," he ordered. She rolled onto her back. Then, he was on top
of her, naked now, his cock almost throbbing as he manuvered the head
between her legs, opening her just a little.

"All right," he said, chuckling, "Now, you can touch me." Marigold's
hands slid up his thighs, found his ass and pushed forward as hard as
she could manage. At the same time, she raised her hips, impaling
herself on him. The pain was duller than she expected, the tearing
only on the edge of her awareness. She cried out, her hands flying to
his shoulders. He moved hesitantly inside of her.

"Marigold," he rasped, "are you all right?" She nodded.

"All right," he said more evenly, "you can speak. Are you all right?"
She nodded again.

He leaned down, kissing the top of her head, her forehead, her
eyelids, her mouth. His tongue teased hers until it chased his out of
her mouth. Catching the tip of it between his lips, he sucked gently
while licking the underside of it. Her hips began to rise again to
meet his. Soon, his rhythm was more steady, bolder. Marigold started
to make small, animal noises. The pain hadn't gone away, only receded
into a background noise, slowly being overwhelmed by the rising
pleasure.

He shifted until he was up on his knees, his hands holding onto her
hips. Marigold lay back, her hips and his still fused togeter, her
bodies sloping away. His motion went from gentle thrusting to a more
insistent pistoning. Marigold came hard, the pleasure crashing over
her like rough surf.

"Oh, Thule," she moaned, "Oh, God, Thule."

Catching one of her legs in each arm, he pushed them so that her
ankles were over his shoulders. Marigold was too far gone to do more
than dimly realize how obscene the pose was. He was slamming into her
now, any hint of tenderness gone. What he was doing to her was nothing
but pure, animal lust. She was just an object now. The idea made her
weak with pleasure, adding to the jangling cacophany of sensation that
threatened to completely obliterate her sense of self.

It seemed to go on forever and it ended too soon. She felt him grow
even thicker inside of her. His arms flew around her, gripping her to
him, crushing the wind out of her for a few seconds before she felt
Thule's hot seed explode inside of her. She bit down on his shoulder
when it did, her nails raking across his back. She cried out in
empathy as it pumped into her.

Afterwards, she held him inside of her as long as she could. She bagan
to worry that Thule had broken some sort of regulator inside of her
and that the aftershocks of pleasure would never stop. He lay back,
not talking, just breathing heavily. She lay on top of him, stradding
his hips, her head on his chest. She fell asleep there with him inside
of her.

                                 ===

Marigold didn't know how much later she awoke or whether Thule was
awake when she did. But, he was stiffening inside of her again.
Without opening her eyes, she began to gently slide up and down
against him, taking him deeper inside of her as he returned to full
arousal.

Whether he'd been awake or not, he was awake now. His hands settled on
her hips, guiding her as they rocked together. It took almost no time
at all for her to feel the beginning of the ramp up to orgasm. She
began to ride him faster, her breathing matching the rocking of her
body. She cried out in pleasure, then surprise when he pulled out of
her a few seconds later. He moved nimbly, winding up behind and then
over her before she was cognizant that he was moving.

Taking a pair of pillows, he piled them under her hips, "Bend over
these," he whispered.

His kisses were more predatory this time, his hands more insistent,
kneading her breasts harder. As he positioned himself over her, the
head of his cock slid against her from behind. He moved his hips to
try to push in a little deeper. Marigold wanted to let him, but
couldn't. She tensed up.

"Relax," he ordered. And, for a moment, she did. But, then he pushed
again, burying himself a little deeper into her. She tensed again,
gripping and trying to push him out at the same time. With a grunt of
frustration, he pulled out.

"Do what you're told," Thule snarled.

"I can't," Marigold cried, rising, "I would if I could."

"Lie down," Thule ordered. Marigold lay back down, her hips still over
the pillows. She heard Thule open the refrigerator in the room and
come back.

Taking the back of her head in one hand, Thule half-guided,
half-dragged her across the bed to the edge. He guided her head to his
cock, which she accepted gratefully, kissing, licking, and sucking.
But, seemingly less than a minute later, he ordered her back over the
pillows.

Kneeling behind her, he growled a warning, "Be very still."

"What are you doing?" Marigold begged, "please."

"No speaking," said Thule. Then, she felt his finger entering her from
behind. It was coated with something cool and warm at the same time.
He slid the finger all the way in, up to the knuckle, then took it
out. He did it again and again. Soon, Marigold was moaning in
pleasure. Her muscles relaxed.

Then, he was on top of her, his cock taking her from behind. Marigold
cried out and started to clench, but it was a second too late. He was
already inside of her. The pain was intense for a moment, worse than
losing her virginity had been, then replaced with an intense pressure
she could feel in her throat and behind her eardrums.

She realized now that she was feeling incredibly lightheaded. Having
only experienced the feeling once before and much more mildly, it took
her a while to realize what it was. She was drunk. What had Thule done
to her? Soon, the question faded, replaced by the question of what he
was doing to her now. His hands were on her shoulders, his hips
pounding against her with such savagery that she was afraid he was
going to break his pelvis with the force. It was an assault, scarier
than when he had thrown her on the table in the newspaper office a
thousand years ago and she had been sure he was finally going rape
her.

Marigold cried out, squirmed, and tried to claw. It was all futile.
She was already forgetting the pain and the pressure in the intense
pleasure, more incredible than anything she'd felt so far. Soon, the
pleasure was all that mattered. There was no world outside the room,
no room outside the bed. There was nothing in the world but Thule and
her and she was starting to wonder about them.

It ended suddenly, explosively. When Thule came this time, he cried
out as if he had acheived a victory in battle, then pulled out,
spurting the last gobs across her back. He rolled over onto his back,
his breath coming in moans. She lay there feeling violated as the
pleasure continued to wrack her body. Before Marigold fell asleep
again, she curled herself into the hollow under Thule's arm. The
effort wore her out and, even as her head found just the right spot,
she was asleep.

--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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