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Message-ID: <43540asstr$1059037807@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: "Vulgar Argot" <VulgarArgotREMOVEALL@CAPSinsidejoke.tv>
Subject: {ASSM} Princes of Mannsborough (tags at bottom)
Date: Thu, 24 Jul 2003 05:10:07 -0400
Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail
Approved: <assm@asstr-mirror.org>
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d

Princes of Mannsborough, Part 2 of Approximately 22
by Vulgar Argot
(Tags at bottom to avoid spoilerage)

(Author's Note: This is not a new story. It is the second draft of a story
originally posted here entitled "Marigold." However, the edits are so
extensive that I am posting it as a new story.

This section has been extensively revised. Marigold and Jonas have been
altered to make later developments more credible. I've also taken the
opportunity to introduce some members of the supporting cast earlier as well
as some of the underlying themes that will become important later in the
story.)

Once they were in the car and headed to her house, Marigold found it easy to
become hypnotized by the dashed white lane dividers going past. Street
lights were few and far between and traffic sparse. As focused as she was,
Marigold could let the rest of the world recede into darkness. Despite the
warmth of late spring, she shivered. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw
Thule reach for the heat control, his eyebrow raised in an obvious question.
Marigold shook her head once in the negative.

Thule let his hand drop to the radio. With a click, raucous rock and roll
filled the car. Another click changed it to something baroque and soothing.
Thule turned the volume down low enough to make conversation easy, but
neither of them spoke.

Instead, Thule concentrated on the road and Marigold concentrated on Thule.
He seemed completely at ease, either unaware or supremely unconcerned by the
revenge fantasies she was formulating. Marigold wanted to say something
cutting or unsettling or maybe just scratch his eyes out, anything to break
his maddening calm. Thule's composure seemed to mock her powerlessness.

Unable to do more, Marigold studied Thule with a critical eye. He was tall
enough that his hair was crushed against the roof of the car. From there, it
ran in a black cascade down his neck and shoulders and disappeared between
his back and the seat. That much hair marked him as one of the dregs. He was
social poison.

Worse, Marigold knew that he didn't have to be. Freshman year, he'd been on
Mannsborough High's track team. Now that she was really looking at him,
Marigold noticed that he had kept in shape since then, even bulked up some.
He could easily fit in with Randy Vandevoort and the football team if he
would just make a few changes.

The hair would have to go--and the clothes, of course. He was wearing some
generic blue jeans that he'd probably owned for years and a flannel shirt
worn open to show a t-shirt advertising some computer company Marigold had
never heard of. She knew that Thule's family was not exactly well-off, but
he should be able to afford to dress better than that.

Marigold imagined Thule with his hair cut and styled, appropriately dressed.
The image made her smile, though she couldn't say why.

Thule pulled up in front of the wooded area next to Marigold's front yard.
She looked at him questioningly.

"Fix your hair," he said.

Marigold pulled down the sun visor and frowned in the small mirror, "It's a
little bit messy, but I'm just going to head upstairs and wash it."

Thule sighed, then said slowly, "If you go in looking like that, your
parents are going to know you've been up to something. Fix it."

Marigold started to pout, but Thule did not look like he was going to budge.
Searching through her purse for the appropriate implements, she made a few
subtle changes until Thule nodded, apparently satified.

"If I pull up to your front door and let you out, will there be questions?"
he asked.

"I doubt it," Marigold answered. "I get rides from other people at the
newspaper sometimes. My parents don't stay up looking out the window when I
stay late."

"Okay," he said and restarted the car, driving it the last hundred feet to
the front of her walk.

"Thule?" Marigold asked. Thule looked up, expectantly.

"No," Marigold said, "nothing. I'm sorry." Then, because Thule didn't seem
inclined to break the silence, she added quietly, "Thank you for the ride
home."

Thule seemed to be considering several possible responses before he said,
"Any time. I'm surprised you don't have your own car."

Marigold shrugged, "My stepfather doesn't think that it's safe for me to be
driving around alone."

Thule raised an eyebrow, "But he lets you stay at the school until nine
o'clock at night?"

Marigold laughed without much humor, "Not really. But the newspaper is an
important extracurricular. It looks good on my transcript. We argue about it
a lot."

She expected him to say something crude, but Thule just started the car,
"I'll see you in school tomorrow."

"Yeah, okay." Marigold said, but made no move to get out. Thule watched her
querulously.

With a start, Marigold realized that she was waiting for Thule to get out
and open the door for her, like Elliot would have. Feeling foolish, she
undid her seatbelt and let herself out.

                          ===

Inside, Marigold's mother was watch TV in the living room. It was turned
down low enough that all Marigold could hear was the laugh track. She looked
up when Marigold passed in the hallway, "You're home. Good. Jonas has been
waiting for you."

Marigold nodded, dropped her textbooks on the hall table, and walked down
the hall to her stepfather's office. Jonas was peering hard at his computer
screen and muttering to himself. After a few seconds of this, he seemed to
become aware of Marigold's presence and looked up.

"Did you just get in?" he asked. Marigold nodded.

"This is very late," said Jonas. "We expected a call."

"I'm sorry, sir." said Marigold. "I got so wrapped up in getting the
newspaper ready, I lost track of the time."

Jonas sighed and rubbed his face with both hands, "Call next time. Marigold,
you're staying late at school far too often. You've got to stop pushing
yourself so hard. You've got your acceptance letter. It's important to take
time for prayer and reflection, too."

Marigold frowned, "It's not unheard of for Harvard to withdraw invitations
to enroll for students who don't keep up a high standard of academic
excellence." She'd gotten her acceptance letter two weeks before, but this
already felt like an old argument between them. Marigold didn't think she'd
be able to take another round of it tonight and tried to think of some way
to beg off.

Fortunately, Jonas didn't seem to be up for it either because he changed the
subject. "Did you get a chance to read the verses I recommended?"

Marigold nodded, "Yes, sir. But, I haven't really had time to think about
them."

Jonas nodded, smiled wearily, and tapped the Bible on his desk
absentmindedly with a fingertip. "It requires some context to explain. I've
got an early morning meeting tomorrow and I'm still trying to puzzle out
these numbers. Why don't you go get ready for bed? You look tired."

Marigold nodded and went upstairs. She was grateful for the respite, but
also regretted giving up the opportunity to spend time with her stepfather.
Between work and church, he was always so busy that the half hour or more
that they set aside for Bible study was often the only time Marigold got to
see him.

Alone, Marigold stripped out of her clothes. Absentmindedly, she sat and
rubbed her breasts to bring circulation back into them. Looking down at the
sports bra lying crumpled and inside-out on the floor, she had to admit that
it really had grown too small for her and left angry red marks all around
her ribcage wherever it dug into her. She'd picked the bra because it made
her look much more flat-chested than she really was. Three years and a cup
size ago, Elliot had told her that her breasts made her look "cheap" and
called them "udders."

She still couldn't bring herself to look at them in the mirror, but Thule
had given her something to think about. Considering the position he had her
in, Marigold couldn't imagine why he would go out of his way to compliment
her. In fact, he could have been as cruel and mean-spirited as he wanted and
Marigold still would have forced herself to comply.

Whenever she'd caught men staring at her chest, Marigold had always secretly
feared that it was because they found her grotesque and were going to mock
her later. Putting the fear into words made her chuckle, but she still
couldn't entirely shake it.

In the shower, Marigold considered crying over the situation she'd been
forced into, but no tears came. Instead, she took the time to reflect.
Before today, she'd worked hard to believe that Thule was beneath her
notice. If he weren't trailing her GPA by the tiniest amount, she really
wouldn't have known he existed. She was taking one more advanced placement
class than him now. Along with Thule's single A- sophomore year, this was
the only difference in their grades. No matter how well Marigold had done,
Thule had dogged her steps. More infuriatingly, he seemed to do it
effortlessly. He didn't do any extra work, never volunteered for anything,
showed little respect for the teachers, and with few exceptions, left school
as soon as it was over. Marigold could count his extracurriculars on one
hand. On several occasions, she had complained to teachers who cut him slack
because he handed in an assignment late, citing "work" or some equally
ludicrous excuse as the reason. Too many of them considered him some kind of
wunderkind that would one day reflect well on the school.

Marigold had always refused to see their race for grades as a competition.
Thule was not an adversary. He was an obstacle--socially invisible, always
hanging out with misfits from the undesirable cliques. It hadn't always been
that way. Freshman year, he'd been much more of a jock and a friend of both
Randy Vandevoort's and Elliot's. He'd been dating Marigold's best friend,
Maya. Even though Maya was a bit of a theater nerd, she'd also been on the
JV cheerleading squad with Marigold and Brianne. Three quarters of the way
into freshman year, the three of them had been the only ones with perfect
GPAs. But Maya had moved away before the year was over. The first day of
Sophomore year, Thule had come back with hair already below his collar,
distanced himself from many of his old friends, and not even tried out for
the track team.

As he'd sunk further and further off of the social radar, Thule's old
friends had either disassociated themselves from him or fallen into less
desirable cliques themselves. Marigold knew that, by all rights, she should
now be a social pariah for having let him touch her, worse having put his
cock in her mouth. She could still taste the bitterness. But, it had been
late. No one had been there to see what happened. No one had seen her leave
with him. It was as if tonight had happened in an entirely different world,
where there were no consequences for who you let touch you or how.

Surreptitiously, Marigold turned the shower head to its most forceful
setting and detached it from the wall. She'd been told often enough in
religious training that touching herself was a sin. She considered this a
loophole, since she never actually touched herself.

Thule might be revolting and unacceptable, but he'd made her body feel so
good. Marigold tried to duplicate that feeling, but even with one hand on
her breast and the other directing the pulse of water between her legs, she
couldn't. Frustrated, she slammed the shower head back into place, adjusted
it back to its lowest setting, and turned it off.

In her room, dressing for bed, Marigold decided that there was nothing to be
done about her situation tonight. Standing in the middle of the room dressed
in a long t-shirt, she decided to lock her door and wear nothing else.
Curled up under her comforter, she fell asleep--one hand pressed between her
thighs, not there for self-abuse but just there, the other on her chest,
still trying to figure out what Thule had done to make her feel so good.

                          ===

Marigold and Thule had the same classes all morning. He seemed to take no
notice of her, focusing on the work and talking with his usual circle of
unacceptable friends. It wasn't until Marigold asked a question in fourth
period AP computer programming that he acknowledged her existence. The
question was a particularly tricky one and the teacher stared blankly at her
when she asked it.

"I can help her with that, Mr. Shaw," Thule offered.

The teacher, who was in way over his head, nodded his grateful assent,
"Thank you, Bart."

Thule pulled up a chair next to Marigold. The few socially aware types in
the class turned to watch, but when he started actually explaining what
she'd just asked, they turned away.

Thule interrupted himself mid-thought, "Come and sit with me today at
lunch."

Marigold turned abruptly to face him, "What?"

"You heard me," Thule said.

"I will not," Marigold hissed indignantly.

Thule shrugged, "It's your choice. What you need to remember is that arrays
are stored in contiguous memory, so you can..."

"What do you mean my choice?" Marigold asked. "I can just say no."

Thule looked Marigold in the face so that she could see the seriousness in
his eyes, "You can always say no and live with the consequences."

Marigold looked around rapidly to make sure no one was eavesdropping,
"You're trying to ruin me." she sputtered. "Haven't you done enough
already?"

Thule's shrug was more expansive this time, but there was iron in his voice.
"Sit with me at lunch," he said, "Or don't. As I said, it's your choice."

                          ===

Marigold almost didn't do it. In many ways, it had been easier to strip for
him, even easier to take his cock in her mouth than it was to walk across
that cafeteria to where he sat, eating alone, reading a computer magazine.
At least he hadn't sat at the table with all of the computer geeks. When
Marigold sat down, he didn't even look up immediately, but went right on
reading. Marigold felt like he was the only one in the whole cafeteria
ignoring her. She started to flush crimson and almost fled before he looked
up.

"That's a very pretty skirt you're wearing," he said. "You should wear them
more often."

If the skirt had been anything other than calf-length and loose fitting, it
would have come out as lewd. As it was, it just left her puzzled.

"All right," she said, "I'm here. What do you want?"

"What do I want?" Thule's eyes flashed dangerously. "I want to have lunch
with my friend." He raised his voice on the last word, just enough for the
nearest eavesdroppers to hear it and start whispering at this new
development.

Stubbornly, Marigold ignored the statement and started eating. Thule went
back to his magazine.

"You can't just sit there and ignore me," she said desperately. "Otherwise,
why am I sitting here? Talk to me."

Thule looked up at her, holding her gaze for a long moment, like he would
refuse. Then, he closed the magazine and put it aside, "OK, dear. What would
you like to talk about?"

Marigold searched desperately for something to say, "You sure seem to know a
lot about computers. Where did you learn it all?"

To her surprise, Thule smiled, "I've had computers at home since I was in
grade school."

"How did you afford that?" Marigold asked. The words were out of her mouth
before she could stop them.

Thule just stared at her, apparently enjoying her obvious discomfort.
Finally, he said, "The first one came out of a dumpster behind the IBM
building in Tuxedo. For the second one, my father sold enough blood until we
could buy it second-hand from the government. I financed my most recent one
by letting dirty old men take pictures of me in my underwear."

Marigold's face fell as a wave of sympathy washed over her, "Thule, that's
terrible. I..." The grin on Thule's face made her realize he'd been joking.
Marigold scowled at him, "You're awful."

Thule's grin widened. "The first machine was a Christmas present from my
father. It was more of a toy than a real computer. I spent years making it
do what it shouldn't have been able to do. The second, I paid for by mowing
lawns and shoveling sidewalks. The third, my father wanted to give me money
to get a better car. I spent it on a new computer instead. Since then,
they've paid for themselves. Why are you taking AP programming?"

Marigold put down her sandwich, "The same reason I'm taking all of my AP
classes. An A in an AP class counts as 4.3 towards your GPA as opposed to a
4.1 in a Regent's class. If I'd known you weren't taking AP Spanish this
year, I could have skipped it."

"It really chaps your ass that I'm Salutatorian, doesn't it?" Thule asked.

"Of course not," Marigold snapped.

"Marigold," he said, stretching out the syllables of her name like he was
talking to a small child, "do you really think it's a secret?"

Marigold shrugged, "Are you going to be Salutatorian? I know there are a few
people close to my GPA, but I don't really pay attention to class rankings."

"You are so full of shit," Thule said. Marigold grinned broadly at him,
letting him know, he'd been had.

"Oh, my God," he said, "You have a sense of humor."

Sensing a lightening of the mood, Marigold leaned in to speak lower, "Why
are you making me do this?"

"You're not enjoying our conversation?" Thule asked, one eyebrow raised.

"I would enjoy it more if it were more private," Marigold said, running a
hand through her hair.

Thule's face clouded, "If you're ashamed of your new friend, I guess we can
meet again in the newspaper office after school." Before Marigold could
interrupt him, he picked up his magazine and waved her away, "Go sit with
your other friends. I have reading to do."

Dismissed, Marigold almost fled the table. Standing in the middle of the
cafeteria floor with her tray in her hands, she began to feel panic rising
in her chest. She didn't want to deal with Brianne, who would invariably
take the opportunity to needle her for sitting with Thule, however briefly.
She could sit with the "Christian clique," but she'd stopped sitting there
more than a year ago and never looked back. They would forgive her of
course, but they would enjoy forgiving her the same way Brianne enjoyed
needling her. Marigold was about ready to throw the rest of her lunch away
and go hide in the library when she spotted her way out.

Sitting at the table with the JV cheerleaders was Dawn, the closest thing
Marigold had on the squad to a personal friend. Marigold had dropped out of
cheerleading sophomore year to focus on her studies, the same year Dawn had
joined.

What had enamored Marigold to Dawn was her complete lack of interest in any
kind of social climbing. She seemed blissfully unaware of the fact that she
hovered on the outer fringe of popularity and never went out of her way to
knock others down in order to raise her own status.

Of course, that meant that Dawn would never be head cheerleader, even though
she was much more capable than either Brianne or her hand-picked successor,
June Kane. It also meant that Brianne often used Dawn as her whipping girl
whenever it amused her to do so. Apparently, Dawn had been exiled from the
varsity table today, but didn't seem phased by it in the slightest. Instead,
she was chatting away happily with the freshman and sophomore girls at the
jayvee table. When Marigold tenatively approached the table, Dawn waved her
over enthusiastically.

With a sigh of relief, Marigold sat down. No sooner had her tray hit the
table than Dawn said, "I saw you sitting with Thule. I had no idea you two
were friends."

Marigold almost shot back an angry retort before she realized that Dawn
hadn't meant anything by the statement and was just gossiping. Instead, she
stammered out, "We're not. Well, not exactly." She winced as her imagination
presented several possible scenarios that might play out if Thule caught her
actively denying their friendship and finished weakly, "I guess we are, but
it's a recent development."

Dawn wrinkled her nose, a move that highlighted the spray of freckles that
dotted her face, "That's cool."

Marigold was stunned. Being friends with Thule Roemer was the antithesis of
cool. Looking at the way many of the jayvees seemed to eat up Dawn's every
word, Marigold had a sickening feeling in the pit of her stomach that many
of them would realize the truth only when they found themselves spurned by
association.

                          ===

Several times during the day, Marigold tried to approach Thule, maybe to
apologize, maybe to try to make an excuse not to be there that night. But,
he managed to avoid being anywhere that she could talk to him privately.
With a sigh of resignation, she headed down to the newspaper office to await
their next meeting.

When she got there, Thule was nowhere to be seen, but a few staffers were.
The newspaper wasn't really more than announcements of upcoming events and
awards won, so most of the time in the office was spent socializing.

As soon as Marigold sat at her desk, Brianne detached herself from the
conversation she was having and marched over, malice clear in her eyes.

"So," Brianne said too casually, "I missed you at lunch today. What did you
and the nerd king have to talk about?"

This much Marigold had rehearsed for at least, "I needed to ask him about
some stuff we'd covered in programming class." The lie did not roll easily
off of her tongue, even if it was mostly true.

"Really?" asked Brianne, "I hear he's your new best friend and that Elliot's
ready to beat him to a bloody pulp."

Marigold shrugged, wondering who had ratted her out, "Elliot has got nothing
to be pissed about unless people have been gossiping and taking things way
out of context." She gave the two gerunds heavy emphasis before changing the
subject, "Is your piece on the prom done yet?"

"I handed it to you yesterday," Brianne said.

"I know," snapped Marigold. "If you need help using the spell checker, there
are plenty of people here who know how. I also marked up a few places where
it needed to be reworked. Try to have it done before you leave."

Brianne would have answered, but Marigold turned back to her computer
dismissively. The head cheerleader flounced away. Marigold felt an
unfamiliar surge of power. It was not in her nature to force people to back
down. But, Brianne had really gotten on her nerves. It had been her damned
prom article, clearly written with no thought in about ten minutes that had
kept Marigold in the office so late, trying to make sense of it. Worse, the
girl couldn't spell worth a damn and seemed to barely know how to construct
an article after four years on the newspaper. Brianne's father ran the local
Pennysaver and let her write a column about local shopping. Brianne seemed
to be under the impression that what she did passed as journalism. Somehow,
she'd managed to weasel her way into an admission into Columbia School of
Journalism for next year. Marigold was sure Brianne hadn't written her own
admissions essay either. By all rights, she should have been the one washing
semen out of her hair last night.

She chuckled bitterly to herself. Thule wouldn't be interested in a bimbo
like Brianne. They would have nothing in common. The very idea....

Marigold quickly clamped down on that line of thought and got back to work.
People began filtering out. There were only a few left when Thule showed up.
He went over to one of the workstations at the wall and began running a
diagnostic. A couple of minutes later, two of the remaining people left, so
that only Marigold, Brianne, and Thule were left. Marigold became terrified
that he would say something before they were alone. But, he sat in front of
the computer and read a paperback as if oblivious to the presence of anyone
else in the room

Eventually, Brianne shut off her computer, walked up to Marigold, and said
loudly, "My prom article is done. I hope you two have fun." The way she said
it made it clear what sort of fun she was insinuating.

Even after she left, Thule just sat reading for what seemed like a long
time. Marigold got up from her desk, closed and locked the office door.

Thule gave a low whistle, "What a bitch."

Marigold nodded in agreement, "She's certainly not my favorite person."

Thule put down his book, "Why are you friends with her, then?"

"I'm not," Marigold answered quickly. "We run in the same circles. That's
all."

Thule swiveled his chair towards her, "You eat lunch with her. Before the
homeroom bell, you stand in with the phalanx of cheerleaders she keeps
around her, even though you haven't been on the squad in more than two
years. It seems like every time I see you outside of class, you're in her
wake. That seems awfully friendly."

Marigold looked down at him and said, "It doesn't mean anything. It's
just...being nice."

Thule didn't look up, "Do you think you're a nice person, Marigold?"

"I...I try to be." Marigold looked uncertain. "I haven't always been. Thule,
I'm sorry about today in the cafeteria."

"Sorry," he asked too casually, "in what way? Are you repentant?"

"Yes," Marigold said earnestly. "Like that."

"So, you want to be my friend now? Want everyone to know that we're
friends?" Thule looked hopeful.

"Sure," Marigold said weakly. "maybe not everything about what we do, but
friends is okay. I already told my friend Dawn that we're friends."

Thule looked her squarely in the eye, "How fucking stupid do you think I
am?"

"I..."

"Come here," he ordered. "Sit in my lap."

"What do you want?" Marigold asked desperately. "Do you want another blow
job? You want to see my tits again? Will that make you happy?" She started
pulling off her sweatshirt.

"I want," Thule said evenly, "for you to come here and sit on my lap."

Marigold felt something inside of her snap and she began crying. "I can't do
this anymore," she said angrily. "Go ahead. Tell Harvard about essay. I'll
apply to...another good school. It's not the end of the world."

Thule looked at her evenly, as if waiting for her to take the statement
back. "It's always your choice," he said finally, "but we're beyond the
Harvard essay now."

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"What kind of college will admit a girl who give blow jobs on school
grounds?"

"You have no proof," Marigold exclaimed, wishing it to be true.

Thule reached over to the computer behind him and, with a few mouse clicks,
brought up a small window. By the low-quality image and jerky motions, the
short movie was a web cam recording of the previous night.

"You recorded me?" Marigold shouted angrily, "You monster." She threw
herself at Thule, intent on doing him real physical harm. But, at barely
five foot tall, she was able to do little against Thule's massive frame. He
caught her wrists, spinning her around and pulling her into his lap.

"How could you?" Marigold cried. "How could you do this to me?"

Thule growled in her ear, "I did it because I intend to keep you for a
while. You're going to do what I tell you. But, I'll make you a promise. If
you're a good girl and do what you're told between now and when you leave
for Harvard, you're free. I won't bother you anymore."

In spite of herself, Marigold felt hope well up in her chest, "Really? Do
you promise?"

Thule nodded against the back of her hair, "I promise. I'm good for my
promises. I told you yesterday I wouldn't rape you and I didn't, did I?"

"No," Marigold admitted grudgingly, "I guess you didn't....What do you want
me to do?"

Thule loosened his hold on her, "From now until September, you're my
girlfriend. Get rid of Magic Earring Ken. You're going to be my kind of
girlfriend. I am not going to be your kind of boyfriend. Do I need to be
clearer?"

"But..." Marigold twisted to face him.

"What?" he asked harshly.

"My parents will never allow that. They expect me to marry Elliot once I
graduate from Harvard. He's a nice, Christian boy. He'll be a good husband.
Even if I had a good reason to leave him, they'd never let me out of the
house if I were seeing you."

Thule shrugged, "I have no intention of making this easy for you, Marigold.
You've taken something very valuable from me and I intend to take away some
things that you value at least as much. You'll have to make it work."

"I can't," Marigold pleaded. "Thule, please. Jonas would never allow it. You
don't know him. He expects me to marry Elliot after Harvard. If he thought I
was dating you, he would never let me out of the house. If I defy him, I
don't know what he'll do. But, he can be impossible when he gets an idea in
his head. He might even refuse to pay for Harvard. Please, Thule."

Thule frowned thoughtfully, "Well, I don't have much power over you if
you're not going to Harvard anyway. I guess we'll have to do things a little
differently."

"Oh, thank you," Marigold exclaimed loudly, wrapping her arms around Thule's
neck. The relief was genuine.

"Hold up," Thule said. "There are conditions."

Marigold nodded, listening attentively.

Thule counted off on his fingers, "One, you will find a way to spend next
weekend with me. I'll pick you up Friday after school and drop you off
Sunday night. Two, you will make it clear to any and all of our classmates
that we are friends. Three, you can go to the prom with Elliot, but you're
leaving with me. I expect you to arrange a suitable prom date."

Marigold thought about it. If she agreed, she'd be an outcast, but there
were less than two months left in the school year. After what she'd already
done to get there, it was a tolerable price to pay for Harvard. "I don't
know how I'll manage number one," she began. Thule scowled, but before he
could speak, she added, "but I'll find a way. You're going to ruin me
socially with numbers two and three, but I expect that's part of why you're
demanding them."

Thule nodded, "Also..."

"There's more?" asked Marigold, a note of panic creeping into her voice. "I
thought that was it."

Thule grinned wickedly at her, "You've forced me to revise my demands. Now,
I'm making them up as I go along."

Marigold's shoulders slumped, "All right. What?"

"I want you to stop hiding your body," he said. Marigold stiffened up. "At
least for the prom. I want everyone to see how beautiful you are at least
once."

Marigold nodded. The idea made her feel a little bit queasy, but it was
minor compared to what she'd already agreed to.

Thule looked thoughtful, "You're sure you can't acknowledge that we're
dating?"

Marigold shook her head, "Jonas would never allow it."

"So," said Thule, "if I could acquire Jonas's consent, you would admit that
we were dating?"

Marigold relaxed against him. That was one contingency she would never have
to fulfill. She tried not to sound too relieved, "Sure."

Thule stroked her hair, gentle tilting her head back enough that he could
kiss away the tears Marigold had already forgotten shedding.

It was such a gentle touch that Marigold found herself leaning back until
her head lay on his shoulder. "Thule," she whispered, "can I ask a
question?"

Thule nodded, his hair tickling her neck.

Marigold asked, "Do you really think I'm beautiful?"

Thule laughed, "Do you think I'd blackmail just any girl into being my
girlfriend?"

"No," Marigold answered, "It would have to be someone you hated very much.
But, you didn't answer my question."

"You're very beautiful, Marigold." said Thule. "I don't need to flatter you.
You're going to do what I tell you because I can ruin you. That means I can
tell you the absolute truth. And, the truth is that you're beautiful even
when you try not to be. If you wanted to, you'd easily be the most beautiful
girl at Mannsborough. I feel like I've tethered a goddess."

Marigold hadn't known before that moment that it was physically possible to
blush over your entire body. Now, it felt like she was radiating enough heat
to burn him through the thin layer of their clothes.

"Are you wearing panties?" Thule asked abruptly.

"Of course," Marigold answered. "What kind of question is that?"

"Take them off," Thule ordered.

Marigold balked, "Thule, you promised my first time wouldn't be in this
dingy little office."

Thule gripped her chin hard in one hand and turned her to face him,
"Marigold, you may be a beautiful goddess, but you'd still damned well
better do what you're told without question."

Standing up off of his lap, Marigold complied, hiking up the material of her
skirt until she could reach underneath and pull off her lacy, black panties.
She tried to hide them, but he pulled them out of her hand, "And what does
Elliot think of these?"

"Elliot's never seen them" Marigold exclaimed, flushing crimson again. "No
one's supposed to see them. They're supposed to stay under my skirt."

Thule laughed, sliding one hand up her leg until it rested just below her
bottom, "Come on. It didn't occur to you that I might see them?"

"I..." Marigold remembered that she had changed her underwear at the last
minute today from the unflattering white panties to these rarely worn black
ones, an inappropriate gift from a befuddled older relative, "I guess I
thought you might. Would you have preferred my huge, white ones?"

Thule chuckled and drew her closer to him, his hand moving up to cup her
buttock, "I prefer you like this best of all."

Marigold slapped him lightly on the shoulder, "Do you ever stop being a
pervert?"

Thule nodded, "Sure, but you bring it out in me." His other hand slid
underneath her skirt until both gripped her buttocks, kneading them gently.
Marigold let out a little gasp.

"Thule," Marigold whispered, "please don't fuck me tonight, not here. I will
if you want, but I'm begging you."

Thule smiled, "You're cute when you beg, but in this case, it's totally
unnecessary. I keep my word. Your much-valued virginity is yours until next
weekend. Tonight, I'm just going to make you look forward to losing it."

Thule's words made Marigold feel like such a whore that she almost wept.
She'd make a decision years ago to save herself for her wedding night.
Besides the moral question, she knew that Harvard was going to be hard
enough without sex distracting her. Once she'd made the decision, Elliot had
agreed to be patient and not pressed the issue at all.

Now, Marigold found herself trembling in anticipation of Thule's touch.
There was nothing in his voice that suggested he was making an idle boast.

Thule slid his hands out from under Marigold's skirt and wrapped them around
her waist, drawing her to him as he rose to meet her. He was so much taller
than Marigold that she had to look up to see his face. When she did, he
leaned down, one hand sliding behind her head. She opened her mouth in
surprise just as their lips met. Unlike Elliot, he barely used his tongue at
all, preferring to dart it in and out, teasing her tongue and lips. She
determined to bear up under it, but her mood quickly changed from tolerance
to reluctant enjoyment. Thule's hands barely touched her, but where they
did, they seemed to leave hot fingerprints on her flesh. Marigold struggled
against the pleasure, not willing to just submit to what was being done to
her. Still, the kisses and stroking were enough to make her forget
everything but his touch. At some point, Marigold realized that she was
sitting on the conference table without any memory of being lifted there.
Even as she became aware of the fact, Thule was lifting her sweatshirt over
her head, fumbling with the buttons on her blouse. Marigold found her
traitorous hands helping him, peeling off the uncomfortable bra as quickly
as she could. She wanted Thule to rub circulation back into her breasts
again. Wrapping her legs around his waist Marigold leaned back, arching her
back. Thule's lips traveled down her throat and chest, his hands staying
wrapped firmly around her waist.

Thule's mouth came down covered one nipple, teasing the very tip of it with
his tongue. Marigold gasped. The sensation was so intense for a moment that
she thought she would swoon. Thule didn't let up, teasing it with his lips,
teeth, and tongue. Marigold moaned, unable to fight the pleasure any longer.
When had Thule laid his shirt across the table for her to lie back on? The
warm flannel tickled her back. Marigold wrapped both arms around his head
now, pressing him against her breast, urging him on. One hand slid from
around her waist, catching and undoing the zipper on her skirt, laying it
out like a blanket beneath her. Marigold realized abstractly that she was
totally naked, but for her knee-high stocking now. It should have bothered
her. Before it could, Thule traced a line of kisses down her belly. His
hands gripped her bottom, massaging it powerfully. Suddenly, he was lifting
her up, his chin forcing her legs apart. Marigold cried out in surprise,
doubly so when his warm, wet tongue slipped inside of her. She started to
panic at the pleasure of it. Even as her ankles locked between his shoulder
blades, she tried ineffectually to push his head away.

Tear rolled freely down her cheeks now, "No, please," she begged, "It's
too...much. Don't..."

Thule either didn't hear or didn't listen, driving his tongue deeper inside
of her, homing in on her clitoris. Marigold writhed against him, squirming
and gasping while trying desperately not to lose contact. With Thule's
tongue working her most sensitive spot in the front and his hands kneading
her bottom in the back, Marigold soon lost all awareness of anything but his
hands, his tongue, and what they were doing to her. She squirmed. She
moaned. Soon, she felt a trembling overtake her entire body, starting where
his tongue touched her and working its way outward. At that moment, Marigold
couldn't feel like more of a whore and she couldn't care less.

"Oh, God!" she cried out, "Oh, Thule. Oh, God."

Still, he did not relent. The pleasure went on and on, wave after wave
washing over her. Even after he stopped, pulling Marigold into his lap,
naked thighs straddling his legs, breasts mashed against the musculature of
his bare chest, she shuddered as the aftershocks shook her. She sat in his
arms, crying and letting him stroke her hair for a long time after that. She
was supremely aware of his cock straining against the thin layer of fabric
beneath her, embarrassingly aware of how much she wanted to slide it free of
his pants and mount it right now.  Fingers trembling, she reached down,
undoing his belt. Thule stood, letting his pants fall free. But, before
Marigold could make her intentions known, Thule's hand was on her shoulder,
pushing her to her knees. Marigold wanted to protest, but the moment of
insanity passed and she was grateful to have another way out. She wrapped
her mouth around Thule's cock, sucking it as he'd taught her the previous
night. It was easier this time. She licked and sucked it, making up in
enthusiasm what she lacked in technique. After a few minutes, Thule grabbed
a fistful of her hair, trying to pull her away, "I'm coming," he gasped.

Not wanting a repeat of the uncontrolled explosion last night, Marigold
refused to be dislodged, wrapping her arms around Thule and digging her
fingers into his buttocks. Again the hot, bitter liquid burned her mouth and
throat, but she managed to keep most of it inside this time, dribbling only
a thin stream down her chin.

Thule collapsed into the chair, pulling Marigold into his lap. Their naked
groins were less than a foot apart, but his didn't seem particularly
threatening at the moment. She lay her head on his chest and listened to his
heart until it slowed to a normal speed.

Noticing the time, Marigold leapt up abruptly from his lap, ran to her desk,
and frantically dialed the phone. After three rings, Jonas picked up, "Yes?"

"It's me, sir." she said, "I lost track of time again. I'm still at the
newspaper. We had to do physical layout tonight. I'll be done real soon."

There was a long paused and then a sigh at the other end of the line,
"Marigold, I thought I made it clear last night that you were not to stay at
that office so late night after night."

"Yes, Sir. I'm sorry, Sir. Things just ran late and..."

"If you hurry home, we should still have time to talk about those verses.
Should I stay up?"

"Yes, Sir," said Marigold. "I'd like that. I'll be home soon."

Thule chuckled, "Boy. He must be a real hard-ass."

"He's concerned about my upbringing," Marigold said defensively. "He's
afraid I'll forget everything I was taught when I leave in September. If he
only knew..." Her voice trailed off as she started crying.

Thule was up, his arms around her, before Marigold even knew he had moved,
"What's the matter?" he asked.

"I'm such a slut," Marigold whispered, "I don't have to go away to
disappoint him."

"Hey," said Thule, comfortingly, "come on. You're not a slut. I'm
blackmailing you. Remember?"

Marigold laughed miserably, "I wish it were that easy. But, I liked it. And,
I wanted....no, never mind."

"You wanted what?" he asked, "Tell me, my tethered goddess."

She smiled at the nickname, "I wanted more. I wanted it all. I didn't want
you in my mouth. I wanted you between my legs. Even here, even now. God
knows what I am."

Thule nodded, "God knows that you're a screwed up chick if you think you're
bad for enjoying this. God made sex feel good. He didn't do it because he
wanted us to avoid it. He wants us to fuck. God is a big fan of fucking."

Marigold chuckled, wiping her eyes, "I don't remember that verse in the
Bible."

Thule leaned down to kiss her, "You need to read between the lines."

Princes of Mannsborough, Part 2 of Approximately 22
by Vulgar Argot
(NC, blackmail,
 MF, Oral)

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