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Message-ID: <41441asstr$1048464602@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: Vulgar Argot <gekagekREMOVEALL@CAPShotmail.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} Marigold, Part 7 (end of Act I)
Date: Sun, 23 Mar 2003 19:10:02 -0500
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Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
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Marigold, Part 7
by Vulgar Argot
(NC, MMF)

Marigold managed to maintain her composure all the way back to the
eighth floor. Once she got to the floor, she felt the tears welling
up. By the time that she managed to fumble her way into the room, she
was sobbing uncontrollably.

What in the hell was wrong with her? She'd hated Thule this morning
for betraying her with Maya and wanted to be away from him. Now, she
hated him for abandoning her and wanted him to come back. What she
really wanted was for Thule to stay with her forever, but the old
Thule who didn't periodically decide to fuck his psycho ex-girlfriend.
Now that she'd been betrayed, she didn't know what she wanted.

Since she didn't have time to sit around feeling sorry for herself,
Marigold instead got busy with collecting up all of her things for
packing. Coming across her books, still practically unopened all
weekend, set her off into a fresh bout of tears. Going into the
bedroom and seeing the bed where she'd lost her viriginity set off a
another bout.  Catching sight of the bowl of complimentary fresh fruit
she'd never get around to eating did as well. By the time she got to
the bathroom to pack up her toiletries, even she began to realize how
pathetic she was being. Staring at her red-rimmed eyes in the bathroom
mirror, she started shoving her items into their carrying case with
far more force than was strictly necessary.

She glared at herself in the mirror, "God, you're pathetic," she said,
scowling. "Look at you--crying over every little thing like some sort
of baby. What is wrong with you?"

As she stood there, glaring, Marigold began to feel like something had
changed. She imagined to herself that she hadn't spoken to the mirror,
but that the mirror had spoken to her. Mirror Marigold was like the
real Marigold, but with all of her worst qualities reversed. The girl
in the mirror was strong, experienced, and not afraid of doing what
needed to be done to get what she wanted. Most of the time, she was
inside, fighting to get out, but Marigold the Mouse wouldn't let her
speak or act.

It was Mirror Marigold who had threatened to fry Brianne into little
strips of bacon. Marigold the Mouse would rather betray her own best
friend than make Brianne angry.

"Why would Thule want you for anything but a fuck, little girl?" the
reflection asked her, "What do you do for him other than spread your
legs? If you're going to keep him away from that psycho bitch, he
needs a partner, not a pet."

She knew she was hysterical, but didn't care. She slammed her fist
against the mirror which gave a very satifying thud.

"Let me out," she said to herself, glaring menacing out from the
mirror.  And, despite the fact that she knew she was hysterical and a
little bit insane, she did. As soon as she made the decision to let
Mirror Marigold out, she felt stronger and calmer. More importantly,
she knew what to do about keeping Thule forever.

Running cold water from the tap, she reached down to cup it with both
hands and splash it in her face. The shock brought her back to her
senses a bit. The image in the mirror was just that--an image. There
was no Mirror Marigold. She was all one person.

Still, she knew what she had to do.

Once her complexion was back to normal, she reapplied her makeup.
Only, in her mind, it was warpaint. In her mind, she was going to war.

                                                -=-

Paul didn't even recognize the mousy, quiet college girl when she
sidled up to his table in the restaurant, "Having lunch alone?" she
asked.

"Yes, um," was the best he could come up with. He decided she must
want to borrow one of the chairs from his table, "Please....Marigold?"

"You seem surprised to see me," she said.

"No, I...," he stopped and tried again, "You look different. Did you
get a haircut?"

"No," she smiled, sitting down, "I'm just doing it a little
differently."

"So," he asked, "Have you checked out, then?"

Marigold stretched, "No. We're all packed up, though. Thule will
handle that. He told me to meet him here."

Paul squeaked a little when he answered, "Here?" He recovered his
voice enough to try to be suave, "I hope he won't mind if he finds you
keeping an old man company."

Marigold laughed, "You're not old, Paul. Besides, Thule can be
very...understanding about some things."

Paul took a deep breath. He knew it was a long shot, but he wouldn't
be able to sleep tonight if he didn't at least try, "I don't suppose
you'd like to wait for him up in my room?"

Marigold's mouth made a little moue, "Paul, I don't think he's that
understanding. Besides, he should be back by one. There's really no
time."

Paul glanced at his watch. It read 12:15. He shuddered a little at
what this young woman would consider enough time. Across the table,
Marigold smiled mysteriously.

Marigold was overjoyed at how easily it was to get Paul eating out of
her hand. She'd always envied the girls she saw who knew how to flirt
and made it look so effortless. Now, she knew. It was effortless. It
was all about attitude.

She felt a familiar emotion now: contempt. She really hadn't felt it
since she'd fallen into Thule's hands. But, as she watched Paul, a
married man, probably over thirty, groveling for her attention, she
felt it again. It made flirting much easier.

Somewhere, she felt a small pang of pity for him.  She was using him
for a little demonstration.  So far, Thule had seen her as being
attractive to exactly two people. One was a psycho. The other she'd
turned gay. Slipping in a puddle of Paul's drool might open Thule's
eyes a little, get him to stop thinking of her as some mousy, little
pet. This would show him.

Even though she was watching the door from the hotel, Marigold
suddenly realized that Thule was standing behind her when Paul stopped
speaking, mid-sentence and seemed to pale a little.

"Thule," she said without turning around, "This is Paul. He's been
keeping me company while I waited for you."

"Yes," said Paul, rising quickly to offer Thule a hand to shake, "Your
fiancee's told me so much about you."

Now, Marigold remembered the fatal flaw in her plan. She whirled
around to see what Thule's reaction would be. The pause was miniscule,
the questioning glance to her almost unnoticeable. Then, he took
Paul's proferred hand and shook it vigorously, "You've been talking to
my fiancee? Better not tell Marigold about it. She gets so jealous."
Then, he laughed, too loudly, like he was some sort of buffoon.

"Hi, honey," he came down and hugged her, whispering in her ear,
"What's the matter? It too soon to be telling people we're married?"

She wrapped an arm around the back of his head to extend the hug,
whispering, "I tried. But, the lack of a ring gave it away."

"So, honey," said Thule, adopting his buffoon voice again, "Did you
want to get lunch here or hit the road. Maybe Paul would like to join
us."

"Well," said Marigold, not liking the glint in Thule's eye, "we both
have a lot of studying to do and Boston is quite a drive."

"Nonsense," said Paul, "I was really enjoying the company. Stay for
lunch. It's my treat--or my expense account's, anyway."

"What do you think, honey?" Thule asked her.

"I...um, I guess it would be okay," Marigold answered, confused.

As Thule began to speak, Marigold wondered if he weren't suffering
from hypoglycemia or something. He spoke a little bit too loudly and
seemed not at all on the ball. It wasn't until, about ten minutes into
the conversation, when he had managed to draw Paul out more than she
had in over an hour and ask her enough questions to ascertain what
lies she'd told that she appreciated what he was doing. Had he behaved
as if he were on the ball, it would have been damned near impossible
for them to get their stories straight without arousing suspicion.
Instead, he was able to defer many questions to her and even ask her a
couple of details outright that he should have known the answer to.
In addition, Paul had gone from noticeably alarmed at Thule's arrival
to relaxed and ordering drinks.

Lunch became an amiable affair, then. Thule averred the next round of
drinks when Paul offered, noting that he would have to drive, "But,
you two go ahead."

Marigold, who had so far only had most of a glass of white wine and
was already feeling lightheaded, said, "I'd better not, either. If you
get sleepy, I'll have to drive part of the way."

"Nonsense," said Thule, "I'm not going to get sleepy. Drink up."
Thule had gradually reverted from buffoon mode to his normal manner of
acting and speaking and Marigold could not help but hear the tone of
command in the last two words.

"All right," she said, "I guess I could enjoy another glass."

"So," asked Paul, "How did you two meet?"

Marigold started to answer, expecting Thule to defer to her anyway,
but Thule stepped in.  He began to craft an elaborate story in which
he had been at a friend's bachelor party that became slowly more and
more debauched and eventually wound up at a little, run down strip
club.

"So," said Thule, who now had Paul, Marigold, and several
not-so-discreet eavesdroppers hanging on his every world, "at the
time, I was a pretty straight-laced guy and I'd resisted the urge all
night to get a lapdance. But, I've drunk enough to make an Irishman
stagger, so I figure what the hell. I'm single. I'm straight. The
women are really beautiful. So, I ask this one really cute blonde girl
I saw for a lapdance. So, she's there and she's naked and she's
bumping and grinding. And, all of a sudden, I realize that I know this
girl. It's my cousin, who I haven't seen in like three years."

Someone three tables away gasped. Other than that, the restaurant was
completely silent.

"So," said Thule, "I ask if it's her. It is. She shrieks....and I mean
shrieks. The bouncer comes over and grabs me, puts me in a hammer
lock, and is about to throw me out in the street when my cousin says,
'No, no, no. That's my cousin.'  Well, the management couldn't be more
apologetic. They got us all free drinks, let us into the champagne
room, and I say to the manager, 'I just really wanted a lapdance, but
not from my cousin.' So, he calls over this other girl and she's like
really hot. I mean, my cousin is hot, but if you look close, you know
why she's stripping in this little no-name club on the interstate. Oh,
interstates are these big highways that stretch between town and
cities here..."

"Yes, yes," said Paul, "I've seen them. Go on."

"Oh, right," Thule continued, "So, anyway, this other girl is like
really hot. And, in the champagne room, it's okay for you to touch the
girl a little, but I don't know this. So, like an idiot, I've never
had a lapdance. I'm talking to her, asking her questions, that sort of
thing. And, it also turns out that she's really smart. So, she's like
hot, smart, and naked. She's like the girl of my dreams. So, it turns
out that she's at Harvard, but she needs to strip to pay the tuition.
I think she's putting me on, but she mentions things that you'd either
have to be a student in the area or an incredibly well-prepared liar
to know. So, at that moment, I am already head over heels in love with
her. Then, she says the words every man longs to hear." He paused
dramatically. People in the restaurant were actively craning their
necks to see and hear. Marigold was trying to melt into her chair.

"What words," asked Paul, sweating a little.

Thule looked around conspiratorially, causing a number of people to
look away, having been caught in his gaze. He leaned in and in a stage
whisper, said, "She says, 'You know, back here, it's okay if you want
to touch me.'"

Marigold swore she could feel the metal of her chair melting as her
whole body radiated heat and embarassment.

"So, I do, but I'm like all nervous and respectful, and she's like
laughing at me because she thinks it's cute. Then, the groom, my
friend whose bachelor party it was, keels over and throws up.
Everybody runs over to help him up, except me and Marigold. We've got
like this super-intense eye contact thing going. And, when nobody's
looking, not my friends, not the bouncers, not the other girls, I
reach up and I kiss her full on the mouth."

"And what happened," asked Paul, sounding a little frantic.

"She, like, kisses me back, really hot and heavy. And nobody sees it.
None of my friends are going to believe it happened. And now, they all
want to go because they have jobs and wives and stuff to get home to.
And, I'm like, 'That's okay. I'm going to stick around for a bit.'
They leave. I hang around. After the place closes, I ask my cousin to
introduce me to this girl, who is of course Marigold. Two weeks later,
she's quit that job and living in my apartment. And, we've been
together ever since."

Slowly, the conversation around them began again. Marigold had gone to
a place beyond embarassment, but still couldn't find her voice.
Finally, Paul asked, "So, you saved her from stripping and got
engaged? That's so...um, sweet."

"Oh, no," said Thule, "She still strips--but at a much better place
now. I mean, look at her. She's top notch."

Paul did, clearly mentally undressing her before he could stop
himself. Then, he looked away embarassed and, to cover it, said, "I
could use another drink."

"Me too," agreed Marigold.

After that, Thule grilled Paul about his business. Marigold found
herself staring off into space several times. With three glasses of
wine, she had more than doubled her lifetime alcohol intake. She felt
like it was important that she figure out what Thule was getting at in
his conversation with Paul, but she just couldn't focus.

Finally, the lunch ended. Paul, true to his word, picked up the check,
said, "I'm going to go take care of this, then hit the gent's. Thanks
so much for a lovely lunch, you two." His own speech was a little bit
slurred and he moved with the exaggerated caution of the experienced
drunk.

As soon as he was gone, Thule leaned in close enough to Marigold so as
not to be overheard. He smiled, but his voice held no mirth, "So," he
said, "you thought you would make me jealous by having another guy
drooling over you?"

"What?" asked Marigold, fear chilling her spine and cutting
momentarily through the fog of alcohol, "No, I..."

"Little Flower," said Thule, sounding a little sad, "Once again, your
lack of a thorough education in television kept you from realizing
that this sort of thing happens there so often as to be a complete
cliche."

Marigold didn't answer, but her eyes filled with fear.

"But," said Thule, "I'm going to give you your chance. So far, all
you've shown me is that you can get this guy enamored of your company.
Show me how desireable you are."

"What?"

Thule smiled in a way that made her heart sink, "Seduce him. Get him
so worked up that he'll try to fuck you even though I'm in the room."

"Thule," Marigold said, becoming really alarmed, "it's not like that.
I don't want to have sex with him. I just...."

Thule leaned in even closer, "You just wanted to drive a man crazy so
I'd see you for the beautiful, desirable creature you are. Well, I'm
giving you your chance. Seduce him."

"Thule, please," she said desperately.

"Marigold," he said, stroking her chin, "It becomes increasingly clear
to me that you have forgotten your place. You have become willful,
stubborn, and argumentative. It stops here. Since this seems to be
such a difficult lesson for you to learn, we're going to make sure you
don't forget it. If this man hasn't fucked you by 3:30 this afternoon,
I am going to make your life the kind of hell you haven't even
imagined yet."

"Why?" she asked, before she could help herself.

She hadn't really expected Thule to answer, but he said, "First of
all, it's because I hate cockteasers. So, consider yourself an
offering of solidarity to men everywhere who have been led on for
women's amusement. Second, consider it part of your training to be the
best whore you can be for me. What sort of whore has never
demonstrated her ability to seduce a man?"

Marigold wanted to argue, to protest, but she knew that would just
make it worse. So, she bowed her head, "All right," she said meekly,
"I'll do it."

Thule leaned in and kissed her on top of the head, "That's my little
flower," he said.

When Paul came back, Thule made a clear impression of having drunk
more than he had, "Whoa," he said, "I'm not going to be able to drive
for a bit. I'd better find a place to relax. It's just too bad we
already checked out."

"Oh," said Paul, steadying him a little, "Why don't you two come up to
my suite? It'll give us more time to get to know each other."

                                                -=-

Back at Paul's suite, Marigold excused herself to use the bathroom.
Safely behind the locked and closed door of the antechamber, she
stared at herself in the mirror. She had repeatedly amazed herself
with what she'd been able to endure over the last two weeks, but to be
proactive about that sort of thing, she didn't know if she could do
it.

"I need you," she told her reflection, "You can do this." She thought
the reflection might have smirked back at her. Still, she felt
immediately better, more capable, more seductive. She looked herself
over critically and frowned. She was dressed for comfortable
travel--faded blue jeans, cream colored silk blouse over a white tank
top. Of course, it had been enough to get Paul's attention, but she
needed to close the deal now.

It's all about attitude, she told herself, unbuttoning two more
buttons on her blouse. Well, she added, attitude and cleavage maybe.
She wished she'd worn a more flattering bra or had somewhere to hide
the one she was wearing if she took it off. While no support at all
was not the most flattering look for her, she could get away with it,
although not as well as when she was sixteen or so.

She closed her eyes and began to rock her hips back and forth. She
imagined the sort of driving, pounding music that would be de rigeur
in a strip club, imagined what it would feel like to have dozens of
men a few feel away staring at her like a pack of hungry wolves that
could look, but not touch and found that she liked the feeling. She
began to sway more vigorously to the music in her head. Now, she
thought about giving a lap dance to some anonymous man who she could
touch all that she wanted, but he couldn't touch her. She liked that
too, but liked it much more when she imagined it was Thule that she
could torment and he couldn't retaliate. Getting deeper into the
feeling of it, she began to run her hands up and down her body as she
undulated. She fought down the urge to giggle at the absurdity of it,
almost losing the mood. She closed her eyes again. In her head, the
music wasn't even music anymore, just primitive jungle drums. And she
wasn't entirely a woman, she was one of those big, sleek jungle
cats--elegant and deadly, sleek and predatory, a relentless huntress.

She opened her eyes and gasped. The woman that looked out at her from
the mirror was so different from what she expected she felt sure that
Mirror Marigold and Marigold the Mouse really had split. But, she
looked down and knew that was her body that was almost vibrating
beneath her and seemed to be undulating, even at rest. She was ready.
She would seduce Paul and Thule and any other man who caught her
fancy.

When she stepped back into the living room, Thule and Paul both looked
up. His back to Paul, Thule raised an eyebrow ironically and pursed
his mouth as if whistling. Paul just looked thunderstruck. Halfway
across the room, she realized that she was showing up as a
low-resolution black and white image on the tv screen.

"Oh," she said, looking around, "Where's the camera?"

Paul smiled, "See? She could look for an hour and not find it."

Marigold glided across the room, using the way her image on the screen
moved to triangulate the location of the camera. She ended up staring
at the bottom of an innocuous-looking Sharpie majic marker. There was
a tiny lense in the bottom.

"Wow," she said, "I didn't know they made them that small."

"Ah," said Thule, walking past her and running a hand over her back,
"you're finally out. Remind me when we get a house to have a minimum
of two bathrooms."

She stood up again, taking the camera-pen in hand, and undulating over
to Paul. She crouched down so that she was less than a foot in front
of the chair where he sat, her head more or less level with his knees.
Once he made eye contact, she pouted, "I can't say that the picture is
very flattering. Do any of them give a better picture?"

"Yes," said Paul, feeling more in his element, "but there's a big
trade off between size and picture quality. He took the pen camera
from her, reached into his case, and came out with a radio alarm
clock. He plugged in the alarm clock and did something to the pen. The
picture on the tv screen flickered. Marigold stood up in front of the
clock. She showed up on the screen again, still in black and white,
but the picture quality was clear enough that she thought she could
see Mirror Marigold staring back at her from behind her eyes.  She
began to dance, moving her hips slowly and deliberately to the jungle
drums. Paul sat, transfixed.

"Are you recording this, Paul?" she asked.

"Um, no," Paul looked up at her guiltily.

"Don't you think you should be?" she asked, smiling seductively, "I
don't give many private performances and it'll give you something to
remember me by."

"I can't imagine I'd forget you," Paul protested. But already, he was
fumbling a blank tape into the hotel's VCR. Once he was recording, she
began to dance more like she imagined a stripper would, like she had
in private a moment before.  She did it playfully, smiling like it was
all a game.  Still, Paul stood like a bird entranced by a cobra. Even
when the bathroom door clicked open audibly, he couldn't tear his eyes
away.

"Ah," said Thule amiably, coming up behind Marigold and putting his
hands on her hips, "now, that brings back fond memories." He began to
dance behind her, mimicking her movements as he rocked behind her. She
felt him swell, hard against her and smiled. Thule might like to
pretend that he was in control all of the time, but she knew how to
get him flustered. Of course, she felt her own excitement building off
of his, too, her own cool beginning to drop.

"So," Paul asked, "I do business in Boston sometimes. What club do you
dance at?"

Marigold almost panicked, but Thule kept her moving with his hands on
her hips, so that she had time to recover. She detached herself from
Thule and danced over to where Paul sat. She reached over and turned
the camera so that they were both in frame.

"Why would you want to come see me in a club when you're getting a
special, private show right now?" she asked. Her tongue ran over her
top lip, wetting it.

Thule sat down in a chair almost across the room from them, "You are
such a tease," he said, "He wants to come to the club so he can see
what you look like under your clothes."

Paul looked at him alarmed, but Thule just looked amused.

Marigold danced closer to Paul's chair. Some part of her was screaming
to get away from this situation, that Harvard wasn't worth going where
she was going with it. But, that part was drowned out by the drums.
The rest of her didn't care about Harvard right now. She wanted to do
this.

"Who says I'm teasing?" asked Marigold. She danced closer now, so that
she was almost on top of Paul. Then, she leaned forward, letting her
blouse fall loose right in front of his face. She knew he was getting
an eyeful, "Is that right, Paul?" she asked, "Would you like to see
what I look like without all these clothes?"

"I...." Paul looked desperately at Thule, who now looked relaxed and
vaguely bored, "I saw you in your swimsuit. You were lovely."

"That thing?" Marigold asked, pouting again, "I hate that swimsuit. It
makes me look like some scared, little virgin girl, clutching her
rosary." In one swift motion, she straddled his lap. She couldn't
believe she was going through with it and, at the same time, she was
enjoying the feeling of power immensely.

"If you came to my club," Marigold asked, putting one arm on either
side of the chair, "would you buy a lapdance? There are guys who won't
take a lapdance from anyone but me. I hear I'm real good at them."

"I highly recommend them," said Thule from across the room. He was
watching them on the tv screen now.

"If you want a lapdance, Paul," she said, sliding her knees off of the
arms of his chair and wrapping them around his legs, "All you have to
do is ask."

"I...I really shouldn't," said Paul weakly. Marigold saw a look of
fear in his eyes, like he knew there was some subtext to the whole
scene to which he was not privy, but it was quickly replaced by lust
and alcohol-fueled bravery.

"Go ahead," said Thule, dismissing Paul's concerns. Paul looked at him
over Marigold's shoulder. Thule shrugged at him, "You're a man of the
world, a seasoned traveler. This can't be entirely new to you."

"Not entirely, no..." said Paul. He laughed uneasily.

"You've had other women while on the road, haven't you?" Thule asked.

"Well, yes," said Paul.

"I'd be willing to bet," said Thule, "that none of them looked half as
good as my wife?"

"Not even close," said Paul emphatically, ignoring Thule's
misremembering of their supposed marital status.

"So, go ahead," said Thule.

"You don't mind?" Paul asked.

"I like to come to the club when she's dancing and watch her drive
other guys into a frenzy," said Thule, "It makes me feel like a
million bucks, knowing that, at the end of the night, she's all mine."

Marigold began unbuttoning her blouse. She rocked back and forth,
grinding her hips against Paul's legs. Paul let out a small,
involuntary grunt.

"So," she asked, "Can I interest you in a lapdance?"

"I would like that very much," said Paul.

Marigold stripped off her blouse and began rocking back and forth on
Paul's lap. He kept his hands firmly on the arms of the chair, but
Marigold could see them twitching. She could feel how hard he was
against the inside of his khakis and smiled at the power she had over
him.

Rising, Marigold experienced a moment's panic as she realized that
there was absolutely no way to smoothly get off a pair of button-fly
jeans. She was afraid that the awkwardness would completely ruin the
mood. But, she unbuttoned them slowly, stepping on one cuff, then the
other to slide out of them. Her lemon yellow cotton panties would not
have looked out of place on a twelve year-old girl, but Paul was too
far gone to care. She did a langorous one hundred eighty degree turn,
then led with her bottom into Paul's lap. She didn't actually know
what lapdancers did, but she imagined that, if she moved like Paul was
actually inside of her, it probably couldn't be far wrong. Based on
his reaction, she was right. As she ground against him, she slid her
tank top up and off and quickly removed her bra before he could see
how unflattering it was.  She laid her head back on his shoulder so
that her chest was practically on top of his face.

Still, while he was enjoying the sensation, Paul was still watching
Thule warily. Marigold did not have his undivided attention. Thinking
quickly, she said, "Paul, you're paying more attention to Thule than
you are to me. You do like girls, don't you?"

"Yes," said Paul, immediately and emphatically.

"Okay, then," said Marigold. Running her hands down Paul's arms, she
put his hands on her ribs. As she continued to rock and grind against
him, she experienced an entirely new sensation. She was aroused, true,
but she was also in complete control. This wasn't the desperate,
panicked, clawing arousal she felt when Thule had her cornered and
submissive. It was a cold, controlled arousal. She could look at Paul,
whose eyes were half shut with the effort of keeping from throwing her
down on the floor and fucking her. His hands barely moved from her
ribs, occasionally adventuring to her stomach and back. She enjoyed
keeping him not entirely knowing what was going on. She pressed her
chest against his, even rubbed it against his face.

Finally, when she'd tired of playing with him, Marigold dropped her
head down next to his and said, loud enough for Thule to hear clearly,
"You know, Paul, it's okay if you want to touch me."

That was all it took. He was on her like a hungry beast. His hands and
lips seemed to be everywhere at once. Whatever technique he might have
was subsumed in his urgency. Marigold unbuttoned his shirt, placing
kisses down his chest and belly. At the first opportunity, she caught
one of his hands in both of hers, stood up, and pulled him out of the
chair. He gave her a pleading look. She ran one hand from the flat of
his belly to his shoulder, then gently, but firmly pushed him down
onto his knees. Writhing out of her panties, Marigold pushed Paul's
face forward into her mons pubis. He required no prompting. He gripped
her buttocks firmly, driving his tongue into her already-soaked pussy.
The licking pushed her over the edge quickly and soon Marigold was
wrapped around Paul's head, one leg thrown over his shoulder.

Eventually, Paul disentangled himself enought to rise to his feet.
Marigold's hands flew to his belt, eager now to feel him inside of
her. As she got his fly down, Thule spoke.

"Do you have protection, mate?" he asked. Embarassed, Marigold
realized that she'd completely forgotten he was there. By the look on
Paul's face, he had too.

"What?" asked Paul, "Yes, of course--in the desk drawer there."

Marigold, aching for it now, leaned across the desk to get to the
drawer. She didn't realize her miscalculation until Paul had dropped
to his knees behind her and his tongue enterred her again, this time
anally. She came, immediately and intensely. She couldn't think,
couldn't move, couldn't do anything but give in to the intensity of
it.

Then, Thule was in front of her, taking her shoulders, rolling her
over on her back. She was dimly aware of Paul sliding a condom on.
There seemed to be hands everywhere and she wondered dimly if more
people hadn't come into the room when she wasn't looking.

Paul entered her smoothly, his hands gripping her hips. At almost the
same moment, Thule pushed his member against her lips. She opened them
without thinking. Soon, she was being whipsawed back and forth between
them, trying to maintain enough concentration to be an active
participant. When she failed, neither man seemed to notice much.

After a time, Thule pulled out of her mouth and guided her back to her
feet. Paul was still inside of her. She felt Thule press up against
her back and, for a moment, stiffened in fear. Every time she thought
he'd pushed her as far as there was to go, he came up with some new
perversion to inflict on her. Now, he entered her from behind, the
head of his cock driving deep into her without pause. Marigold cried
out in shock, surprise, and some small amount of pain at the sudden
invasion. Now, both men pounded at her relentlessly. She realized that
she had become the proving ground for some sort of amiable
competition. She felt both men grow large and pull back their efforts
numerous times. Neither wanted to finish first. While the realization
managed to embarass her even more than what they were doing to her.
Still, she couldn't argue with the results.

She bided her time, revelling in the sensation and in the idea of two
men so intent on giving her as much pleasure as they could. She felt
herself fading in and out of consciousness from the intensity of it.
Finally, feeling like she couldn't bear anymore, she waited until Paul
tried to hold back and drove herself down on him. He let out a cry,
mostly pleasure, but tinged with regret and outrage.

As Paul shrank out of her, Thule took her by the shoulder, bending her
back over the desk. Having proven his point, he finished roughly a
minute later. He came hard inside of her, his seed pumping into her in
a hot gush. Marigold had understood and appreciated Thule's insistance
that Paul wear a condom from the perspective of safety. But, she
understood it on another level now, too. Being allowed to fuck her was
a priviledge that Thule had decided to extend to Paul. Being able to
come inside of her was another priviledge, which he reserved for
himself. It was a reminder to Paul of who was in charge, regardless of
what happened.

Sitting trembling on Thule's lap, Marigold was aware of the two men
speaking in low voices to each other, but she didn't have the will to
listen to what was actually said. She sank into Thule's lap, purring
and vibrating with pleasure and an inexplicable sense of well-being
whose origin she could not guess.

At some point, she felt so warm, safe, and relaxed that she fell
asleep. She woke up to find her body still humming with pleasure. She
was aware that Thule had spoken to her, but not of what he said. When
she made a grunt of inquiry, he said, "Get yourself cleaned up. I have
a couple of things to discuss with Paul."

She nodded wordlessly. Paul had collected her clothes and handed them
to her in a neat pile. In the shower, she stretched out, letting her
muscles unkink and the water pound against the spots that had been
creased by the edges of the desk.  The water felt so good, stinging
little needles giving a tiny sexual charge as it hit her
hypersensitive skin.

If Thule, her parents, and an entire weekend worth of neglected
schoolwork weren't waiting for her, she might have stayed in the
shower a lot longer. As it was, she knew she was taking too long. But,
she enjoyed making them wait a little. Maybe Thule was right and she
was "willful," but she found that she didn't care.

Still, once out of the shower, she dressed quickly, coming out braless
and without makeup. It felt oddly liberating. It seemed obvious that
the men had finished their business and were just chatting in a
relaxed fashion when she emerged.

"Ah, good," said Thule, "We've really got to get going. It's a long
drive and we still have things to do when we get home."

They said their goodbyes. As they left, Marigold rose up on tiptoe,
kissing Paul on the mouth. The kiss was sweet, but passionless. It was
like whatever had passed between them had happened a long time ago and
this was a fond farewell, which she supposed it was.

And then, they were gone. The room, the hotel, and finally New York
City behind them. Neither of them spoke much until they were over the
bridge. When Thule turned to her, he chuckled, "All right. New ground
rules: No flirting with other men unless I approve in advance. No
letting them touch you, either. For the duration, you belong to me."

Marigold realized she was pleased with the idea, but couldn't resist
teasing, "Just men?"

Thule shot her a glance, "Do I have to worry about women?"

Marigold shrugged, "I can't ever see myself giving up men for them, if
that's what you mean."

"Do whatever you want with women, then," said Thule, "I'm feeling
magnanimous." He smiled like he was kidding, "That specifically does
not extend to Maya. Whatever you think you feel for her, she's broken
and will break you if you give her half the chance.

"I don't feel anything for Maya anymore," said Marigold, "Whatever I
felt like I owed her ended when I saw you fucking her."

Thule's chuckle was a rumble, "Is that why you got all weird this
morning?"

Marigold nodded, "I know what the deal is, though. You fuck who you
want. I fuck who you want, too. But, it's hard sometimes."

"Believe me," said Thule, "I did not want to fuck her. I got a suite
with two bedrooms specifically so she would have somewhere to sleep
after she was done with you. I didn't expect her to end up in that
bed. I didn't expect you to leave the two of us alone. And, I didn't
really know how bad her damage was until this weekend. I didn't expect
her to take advantage of me while I slept. If I'd been awake, it
wouldn't have happened."

"Did you enjoy it?"

Thule sighed, "Physically? Yes. I'm a man. But, I'd rather stick my
cock in a meat grinder than get involved with Maya again. It'd be over
quicker and, ultimately, cause less pain. You have nothing to worry
about from Maya."

They drove on in silence for a while longer.  Then, Thule asked, "How
do you feel?"

Marigold sighed contentedly, "Really good, although in similar
circumstances, you might want to pad the desk in the future."

Thule chuckled, "I meant a little more in general. This was a big
weekend."

Marigold smiled gently, "I'll say. I was still a virgin when we got
here. I feel like an entirely different person than I was Friday." She
thought back to the mirror in Paul's room where she had willed herself
to change personalities, imagined Marigold the Mouse still staring
out, forgotten in the rush to leave. The image was real enough to make
her gasp audibly.

Thule looked at her, "Did you forget something back at the hotel?"

Marigold thought about it for a bit. Finally, she said, "No," she
stretched out, feeling the wind blow over her skin, her hair streaming
back behind her, "not anything I need."

--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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