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Message-ID: <44808asstr$1066360207@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: "Vulgar Argot" <VulgarArgotREMOVEALL@CAPSinsidejoke.tv>
Subject: {ASSM} Princes of Mannsborough, Part 3 (tags at bottom to avoid spoilerage.)
Date: Thu, 16 Oct 2003 23:10:07 -0400
Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail
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Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d

Princes of Mannsborough, Part 3 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 rewritten more or less word-by-word to bring the
characters of Marigold and Jonas more in line with their finaly form. I've
also introduced June Kane and Vladi much earlier. And, for those keeping
score, I've rewritten the last conversation between Marigold and Thule to
create more foreshadowing of what Thule is really up to.)

Marigold half hoped that Jonas would have forgotten about Bible study and
gone to bed. It was a forlorn hope at best. He'd never forgotten--not once.

By the time Thule dropped her off in front of her house, Marigold felt both
weary and jittery. She would have been happy to head straight for the shower
and get some sleep. But, Jonas was still in his study, the door half open,
the staccato sound of typing clear in the otherwise-silent house.

Marigold knocked hesitantly on the door, "Sir."

Jonas looked up, "Marigold. Come in." He waved her to an easy chair in the
corner. As she sat down, Jonas kept typing, referring to papers on his desk
periodically.

"If you're too busy," Marigold offered, "we can do this tomorrow..."

"No," said Jonas, smacking a key emphatically. "It can wait. I don't
understand half of this stuff anyway. Do you know anyone who's got a really
firm grasp of computers?"

"I..."

"Never mind," said Jonas absent-mindedly. "I need to do some more discovery
on this before I'm ready to talk to anyone outside of the office anyway." He
rose from the desk, coming over to take an easy chair opposite hers, "Have
you had time to think about the current reading yet?"

"Some," said Marigold. "Not as much as I would have liked."

"So," Jonas asked. "What do you think?"

Marigold took a deep breath and tried to compose her thoughts. What did she
think? The last few weeks, the readings had taken an odd turn. Generally, he
assigned readings that were reflections on God's grace or exhortations to
lead a good life, but lately, he seemed to have an agenda.

Lately, he'd been assigning Marigold the writings of Paul, particularly
those on family, marriage, and the roles of women. It seemed clear to
Marigold what his agenda was. In the four years since he'd married
Marigold's mother, they'd failed to produce an heir. Now, it was going to
fall on her to be a good, Christian wife to the father of the man who would
inherit Jonas's estate.

About the time Marigold had gotten her acceptance letter from Harvard, Jonas
had started with the writings of Paul, starting with the more reasonable
ones and becoming increasingly tradition. Some of the most recent ones even
verged on misogyny. It seemed particularly odd to Marigold. As far as she
knew, Jonas's own Christianity, while occasionally fervent, had never caused
him to treat his wife anything other than an equal.

Marigold realized that Jonas was still waiting for an answer. Not wanting
him to think that she hadn't thought over the reading, she said, "It seems
kind of confusing. Paul seems to be saying that people should put aside all
family ties and follow only Jesus--like the apostles and, later, St. Francis
of Assisi did."

"So," asked Jonas. "Why is that confusing?"

"Well," said Marigold. "Nobody does it. If Christians all did it, after one
generation, there would be no more Christians."

"Why not?" asked Jonas. "You don't need to get married to make more little
Christians."

Marigold knew that Jonas liked to try to shock her in order to get her to
think, but she was shocked anyway. She decided to try turning the question
around, "You don't mean to suggest that Saint Peter was recommending
adultery, do you?"

Jonas laughed, "No. Certainly not Paul. But, let's get back to one of your
points. Do you think that the fact that there would be no more Christians is
enough reason to break God's law?"

Marigold shook her head slowly, "No. But, doesn't that mean that you're all
sinners?"

Jonas raised an eyebrow. Marigold stammered, "I mean people who are married
and have sex. Paul says that married men and women should lead celibate
lives."

Jonas looked like he was waiting for her to reach some conclusion, but
Marigold had no idea what it was. She wished she'd spent more time
reflecting.

The phone rang. Jonas grumbled something unintelligible, strode over to the
desk, and answered it. After listening for a few seconds, he said, "All
right. Hold on a minute."

Putting his hand over the receiver, he asked, "Marigold, how much of the
Bible is true?"

Marigold was surprised by the question, but said without thinking, "All of
it."

Jonas looked at the phone, then back at Marigold, as if torn at which one to
deal with first, "Is it?" he asked her, letting the question hang in the air
for a few seconds. Marigold found herself nodding.

Jonas smiled at her, "I'm afraid that I really do have to take this call.
This is a very important conversation, though. I'd like to finish it the
next time we have a chance. In the mean time, think about that question."

Dismissed, Marigold rose and went upstairs. While it had been going on,
she'd thought the Bible study had been enough to calm her nerves and get her
mind off of Thule. But, as soon as she was alone in the shower, her eyes
closed against the warm water needling into her flesh, his form was there,
looming over her in her imagination.

Marigold tried to banish his image by focusing on the question that Jonas
had asked her. But, it kept slipping out of her mind. Marigold's whole body
seemed to be buzzing with Thule's touch. The places where she had been
touched and kissed seemed to be quivering.

Giving up the fight with temptation, Marigold took the shower head down from
its bracket. Sitting down on the floor of the tub, she spread her legs and
turned the water on herself. The pleasure was intense but, try as she might,
she couldn't get the shower head positioned right without touching herself.

After approaching orgasm for the third time and feeling the pleasure
dissolve away, Marigold discovered that she didn't care whether what she was
doing was self abuse. She reached down and spread herself open to the water.
She shuddered at the intensity of it, then pulled her hand away as if
burned. But, after a few seconds of frustratingly muted pleasure, she
reached down again and felt the water running over her sensitive clit.

Once she had committed her hand to the job, Marigold found the old rhythms
coming back to her quickly. It had been a few years since she'd allowed
herself to masturbate with abandon, but she didn't think she'd forgotten a
thing. Now, in addition to the old tricks, she tried to emulate what Thule
had done with his tongue.

She came quickly, shuddering. It was all that Marigold could do not to cry
out. She'd never brought herself off so intensely before. Panting, she
reluctantly slid her hand out from between her legs. She meant to get up and
go to bed, but instead found herself sitting langorously in the tub, holding
the shower head in one hand, making a few desultory attempts at washing
herself.

A sharp rapping at the door brought her fully awake even before she realized
she was half asleep. Marigold gave a little cry of surprise.

"Marigold, honey," came Jonas's voice, laced with concern. Are you all right
in there? Did you fall asleep?"

Marigold's voice quavered despite her best attempt to keep it steady, "What?
Yeah. I'm all right. Thank you, sir."

"Get some sleep," Jonas said firmly. "You promised to be at the bake sale
tomorrow."

"Yes, sir," she called more clearly. Standing on shaky legs, she wrapped
herself in a big, thick towel, stumbled into her bedroom, and fell into bed,
wanting just a minute to rest before she changed into her pajamas.

Marigold woke in the absolute stillness of pre-dawn. Her hair was still wet
and the towel had unwrapped itself, leaving her naked in the moonlight. Her
hand still lay between her thighs, feeling her own warmth. Before she even
awoke, she had begun langorously touching herself again. Now fully awake,
she recoiled. The pleasure receded quickly into panic. For the first time,
she understood the insidious evil of what she'd been enjoying. Her cheeks
burned with the shame of it. When fully aroused, she was downright wanton.
Once they'd gotten started the night before, she had wanted Thule to do what
he was doing to her, wanted him to do more. Under the force of the shower
nozzle, she hadn't cared whether what she was doing was right or wrong, only
that it felt good. Reverend Lofton had always warned her that sin could worm
its way into an incautious heart, but she'd never fully understood what he
meant before.

Dragging herself out of bed, Marigold dressed quickly, picking her biggest,
baggiest sweatshirt to throw over her regular outfit. Taking a comb, she
attacked the knots in her hair until tears came to her eyes.

Sometimes, she wished Jonas had never married her mother. Her father had
died while she was in the seventh grade. Jonas had married her mother the
following summer with what some said was unseemly haste. For a while, it had
been great. But then he'd found religion. Soon, her mother was attending
services every week with him.

Marigold had rebelled at first. Her father had been proud of his atheism and
tried to instill it in his little girl. She'd loudly proclaimed that she
didn't believe in God and damned well wasn't going to church every Sunday.
Her mother had started to react, but Jonas had restrained her, saying, "It's
the girl's choice, Holly. We may not like it, but we have to support it."

Through the remainder of eigth grade, Marigold had stuck to her guns. Jonas,
in his own way, supported her throughout it. He never yelled or got angry,
just got a pained, faraway look on his face when watching her sometimes.

That summer, she'd started smoking and drinking. She'd given in to Elliot's
insistence that they "do stuff." She had apparently not been very good at
it. Everything they tried, they tried only once. When she tried to show him
her breasts, he'd shielded his eyes and told her they made her look like a
cow. Worse, no matter what she'd done to Elliot's penis, it never became
more than semi-erect.

Finally, he'd shouted at her that everything she was doing was wrong, that
she had no idea how to turn a man on. Angrily, he'd masturbated in front of
her, eyes tightly closed, bringing himself off in under a minute.

Marigold had screamed back at Elliot, said some horrible things to him. They
broke up after that. She went with another boy for a while, one who had no
trouble getting aroused for her. She'd lied to Thule about being the first
one who'd seen her breasts. She'd spent so much time pretending that he
didn't exist that she'd managed to briefly forget that he did.

After the other boy had broken her heart, Marigold had cried in her room for
days. In the end, she'd told Jonas that she wanted to go back to church.
There, she'd seen Elliot again. By the first week of sophomore year, Elliot
had declared that they were boyfriend and girlfriend again and that he
intended to marry her. It was like nothing had ever passed between them.
And, Elliot had been a perfect, Christian gentleman ever since.

Comparably, Thule was a savage. Just because he'd forced Marigold to give
her consent, it didn't make her feel any less violated than if she'd been
raped, she decided. Lying on her bed, now fully dressed, she entertained
fantasies of turning him in to the police or turning the tables on him and
forcing him to do what she told him. She found herself unable to come up
with anything suitably humiliating to tell him to do.

Seeing that the sun was now tinging the eastern sky pink, Marigold headed
downstairs. Jonas was already down at the kitchen table, looking over some
sort of reports. For a man in his position, he seemed to do an awful lot of
the sort of work that he should have subordinates for.

"You're up early, pumpkin," he said. "Couldn't sleep?"

Marigold shook her head in the negative.

"Anything troubling you?"

Marigold considered the question for a moment. She'd been able to talk to
Jonas about a lot of things. But, this one, he would never understand. He
didn't understand her obsession with Harvard and medical school. He'd tried
on several occasions to convince her to go to a college where she could
become more "well-rounded." He would insist that Thule be turned over to the
police.

"No," she lied. "I just couldn't sleep."

                                  -=-

Marigold found herself having trouble staying awake during the bake sale.
Despite the cold metal of the folding chair against the backs of her legs,
she cought herself sliding downward several times. When Jonas half-jokingly
offered her a cup of coffee, she accepted and loaded it with sugar and milk.

Marigold looked up when the sun seemed to go behind a cloud. It turned out
not to be a cloud, but Vladi Aptakarev. As often seemed the case, he was
standing two steps behind Randy Vandevoort.

"Good morning, Mr. Tarr," Randy said. "Raising money for the church?"

Jonas nodded pleasantly enough, "Can I interest you in something?"

Randy turned back and up to his companion, "You want anything, Vladi? A
donut maybe?"

Marigold winced at the implied joke. Vladi had been the star quarterback at
Mannsborough during her freshman year. He was a local police officer now and
dressed in his blue uniform.

Vladi didn't seem phased by the question, though. Instead, he leaned down as
if the table were too far away to be seen. At over six and a half feet and
almost as broad at the shoulders, Marigold realized, it might be. The man
was huge.

"Coffee," said Vladi, "and a piece of coffee cake."

Randy took a stick stack of bills out of his pocket, "Take the whole cake.
You can bring it back to the station house...with my compliments."

Vladi nodded. Randy turned his attention elsewhere, "Good morning, Marigold.
You're looking lovely today."

Marigold glanced at the big floppy sweatshirt and said, "Thank you, Randy.
Ready for the game today?"

Randy smiled, revealing two rows of perfect, white teeth, "Always ready.
Will you be in the stands, cheering me on?"

"I can't," said Marigold, feigning disappointment. "I've got a ton of work
to do this weekend. Good luck, though."

Randy nodded. He seemed to be about to say something else to Jonas, but
paused. Thule was there, suddenly, standing next to him. Despite the fact
that he was as tall as Vladi and, if nowhere near as bulky, still a big guy,
Marigold hadn't noticed his approach. By the look on Randy's face, he hadn't
noticed either.

"Good morning, Mr. Tarr," Thule said. "What's good today?"

Jonas smiled, "Mrs. Carmichael's made some of her famous chocolate chip
cookies."

Thule winced, "She still making them unleavened?"

Jonas laughed, "She only did that once. I think she burnt them this time,
though."

Thule smiled, "Do you have any of those brownies your wife makes?"

"With and without nuts," offered Jonas.

Thule opened his wallet and pulled out a five, "A half-tray of the ones
without nuts, please."

As Jonas began cutting the brownies loose from the tray, he said, "So, I
noticed we still haven't seen you at church. Still weighing your options?"

"No answers yet," said Thule. "If I find them, what day are services again?
Is that Thursdays?"

"No," said Jonas seriously, "Sundays. Sunday morning." Then, realizing that
he was being put on, he laughed.

Thule turned to Marigold, "Mari, do you know if we're expected to read up on
pointer math for the test on Tuesday? I know it was covered in class, but it
wasn't really clear if we were going to go into more depth. It's not really
covered on the AP test."

Marigold had no idea what she answered. But, after she stammered it out,
Thule nodded as if she had said something profound. Then, he turned to
Jonas, "If you ever have another Wednesday-night class, let me know. I
learned a lot."

"Will do," said Jonas.

Thule nodded and smiled, then slapped Randy on the shoulder, "Good luck out
there today, chief." Then, he walked off.

Totally upstaged, Randy kept a half-smile on his face, turned, and tapped
Vladi in the center of his chest so that they both walked off.

When they were out of earshot, Jonas turned to Marigold, "I didn't know that
you knew Bartholemew Roemer."

Marigold's laugh came out a little bit wan, "I've told you about him before.
He's going to be salutorian."

It took Jonas a moment before a look of realization came over his face,
"That's Thule? From the way you described him, I expected him to have bright
red skin and horns."

"But..." Marigold started to defend herself.

"Marigold," Jonas said, using his patient voice. "What have I told you about
judging people? Bartholemew's family may not be well-to-do, but he's an
outstanding young man. He's got a lot of ambition and he's a seeker after
knowledge. He may not be a believer, but I suspect that he'll find his faith
eventually. It wouldn't hurt you to spend some time getting to know him. He
could learn from your example."

Marigold was stunned at how completely Thule had taken Jonas in, "I...uh,
yes sir."

Jonas nodded, then said absentmindedly, "I do wish he'd cut that hair,
though."

                                       -=-

Marigold fretted some over what Randy might say about having seen her talk
to Thule. The words had certainly been innocent enough, but she impregnated
them with deeper meaning, imagining that Randy could figure out everything
that was going on from those few words and was already passing word down the
grapevine that she was sleeping with a dreg.

By Monday morning, Marigold had formulated a plan. She would do what Thule
asked of her. She had no more of a choice than she had from the very start.
But, she would do no more. And, the next time he forced himself on her, she
would fight the pleasure, remember that she was being violated, and not play
along.

Walking up the front steps, she stopped on the highest full-sized landing
where the cheerleaders and associated girls gathered in a loose circle
around Brianne. Thule stood up next to the front door, surrounded by geeks,
stoners, dregs, and theatre nerds. From time to time, Marigold glanced up,
but if he paid her any mind at all, she never caught him.

Steeled with her resolve, Marigold grimly ground through Monday morning,
daring Thule with her mind to try anything, aching for the chance to prove
that she wasn't so easily corrupted. They had all four classes together, but
he never spoke to her. By fourth period, she was starting to wonder if he'd
forgotten their arrangement or lost interest in it. But, her resolve
remained strong. On the lunch line, he stood four people ahead of her, but
didn't look for her, seemingly engrossed in conversation with two others, a
short pimply sophomore whose name she didn't know and a tall junior girl
with oily red hair who was equally anonymous to Marigold. He walked off with
them to have lunch at his usual table. Marigold wondered if he just expected
her to trot after him like a little dog. Well, if he did, he had another
thing coming. After waiting to make sure that he was paying her absolutely
no attention, she resumed her normal lunch company.

The topic of conversation was Brianne's prom dress. The inanity of the
conversation soon lulled her into a near-hypnotic state in which she watched
Thule and his friends across the cafeteria. Whatever they were talking
about, it was much more animated and involved than the vagaries of taffetta.
On top of that, the oily-haired girl seemed to be touching Thule an awful
lot, not intimately, but very frequently.

Maybe that was it. Thule was ignoring her because he'd found someone else to
torment. Marigold tried to imagine what Thule could have on her or what
could threaten to take away from her to get what he wanted?

Marigold shook her head to clear the thought. What would Thule want with a
greasy-haired, gangly, geek girl, anyway? Besides, he didn't seem to be
touching her much. She seemed to the one doing all of the touching.

It wasn't until she was leaving the cafeteria that Thule caught up with her,
"Did you have a good lunch?" he asked from behind her. She felt a little
frisson of fear when he said it, as if there were a warning in his voice
that only she could hear.

"Yes, thank you," Marigold managed to blurt out before fleeing his presence.

The afternoon was a repeat of the morning. They had all but one class
together. Even when Marigold asked a question in AP programming that she
knew he knew the answer to, Thule didn't speak up. That evening, Marigold
did her homework in the newspaper office, which she sometimes found more
peaceful than home. No one came in and she ended up taking a cab home.

Tuesday morning was more of the same. Marigold started to feel like she was
waiting for the other shoe to drop. She wracked her brain for anything that
he might have said that could possibly be construed as an order that she had
failed to carry out. By lunchtime, she was actively jittery, watching him
across the room for any sign that there was something brewing. She was so
engaged that she was unable to even nod and say, "uh-huh" at the appropriate
times.

"Marigold," Brianne said sharply, drawing her out of her reverie, "Jesus
Fucking Christ. What's gotten to you? Are you in love with one of the geeks
or something?"

Marigold knew she had hesitated a second too long, even as she answered,
"No. I'm just wondering what they're doing over there."

Brianne wrinkled her nose, "Doesn't look like much. Just a bunch of nerds
talking about nerd stuff. They're probably playing Dungeons and Daggers or
something."

"Dungeons and Dragons," offered Dawn, recently allowed back at the table.
Marigold winced for the younger girl.

Brianne scowled her disapproval, "I guess you would know." Dawn's smile
faded slowly as the table quieted, waiting for her response. Marigold could
feel the vultures circling.

Before Dawn could respond, Marigold spoke. "Brianne," she said evenly. "You
should really shut the hell up."

"I knew it," said Brianne, almost leaping to her feet in excitement. "You
are in love with one of them. Which one is it? It's that dreg, Thule, isn't
it?"

Marigold ignored the red flush rising in her face, "I'm not in love with
anyone." She tried to say it calmly, but she was almost shouting, "but I'm
tired of sitting with you...you...hen." Flipping her hair as if she were
dismissing Brianne, she said, "I'm going to see what they're talking about."

So saying, she lifted her tray and marched over to the table where Thule was
holding court. It seemed like half the cafeteria was watchin her. Almost
there, Marigold's legs started to tremble. She realized with horror that she
was about to give the undesireables, people she had probably made miserable
at one time or another, a chance to embarass her as badly as she'd ever
been. She couldn't imagine was would be lower than being rejected by the
geeks.

"Excuse me," she said in her clearest voice. "May I join you?"

All conversation stopped. Every eye watched her.

"Of course," said Thule. He indicated the space next to him, currently
occupied by one of the gear heads that seemed to live in the autoshop
classroom. "Have a seat." The gearhead slid down to make room so that she
could sit at Thule's right hand.

The red-haired girl gave Marigold one of those thousand-mile stares that
Russian girls have, completely blank as if she were looking through Marigold
and into the next state.

"I didn't mean to interrupt your conversation," she said, smiling shyly,
"Please, continue."

"So, Marigold," asked the pimply-faced young man who's name she didn't know,
"who's your favorite Doctor?"

Marigold sensed she was being tested, but could only look puzzled at the
question, "General practitioner or specialist?"

The silence that followed the question was even deeper than before. She knew
that, somehow, she had missed the point of the question. The oily-haired
girl answered after a long pause, "They're referring to a TV show called Dr.
Who. The main character was played by several different actors."

"Oh," said Marigold, her eyes suddenly lighting up, "I only saw that show
once. It was a guy with a scarf."

"One more than I ever saw," offered Thule. The table seemed to relax, as if
some rite of passage had been satisfied. Marigold wondered if she would do
so well on the next one.

"Excuse me," said a voice behind her. Marigold turned to see Dawn standing
there, looking scared and nervous, "Could I sit here, please?"

"Of course," said Thule again, "pull up a space."

Before she did, Dawn looked beseechingly at Marigold, as if asking
permission. Marigold gestured, indicating an empty chair across the table.
Looking grateful, Dawn took it.

The rest of the period went quickly. Despite the fact that she only
understood about one conversation in three, Marigold began to feel genuinely
welcomed by most of the participants. The only thing that Marigold found
worrisome about the interaction was that Thule didn't seem to treat her
differently from anyone else at the table and still seemed to be favoring
Oksana, the oily haired girl over everyone. Worse, despite the fact that she
was sitting right next to him, there was no chance for a private word.

Marigold decided, before the bell rang, that Thule was playing games with
her, waiting for her guard to be down before he struck. If her resolve was
to remain strong, she needed to demonstrate to him soon that she wasn't
afraid. It took all of her courage, but as they filed out, following the
dictates of the period-ending bell, she said to him, "I need to stay late
tonight to finish the physical layout of this week's paper."

Thule nodded, "Right. It comes out on Wednesday."

"I was just thinking that, if you were staying late, too, I might be able to
get a ride."

Thule shrugged, "I wasn't planning on it. But, I could, if you had any
problems with the computers I needed to look at."

Marigold almost said no before she realized that Thule was giving her an
out. But, she would actually have to ask him to stay, encourage him to take
advantage of her if she wanted him there. Before she could think too hard
about it, she heard herself saying, "Yeah. The print server is really slow.
I don't want to be there all night." It was true. The print server was
always slow.

"Okay," he said. Then, he added, "See you after school, then." She said,
"See you next period," at the same time.

"Right," Thule said, "next period." Marigold thought there was something
sardonic in the smile he gave her, but she didn't know why.

                           -=-

The last three classes seemed to drag on forever. Marigold knew there was a
confrontation coming. Thule, for his part, seemed unconcerned. By the time
eighth-period calculus rolled around, Marigold found herself squirming in
her seat. As the rest of the students filed out, Thule stayed behind to ask
a detailed question. After a minute of standing by the doorway, books
clutched to her chest, Marigold realized she was staring and headed down to
the office.

Marigold had hoped to find the newspaper office empty. To most students on
the staff, physical layout was too much like work to stick around for,
especially after college acceptance letters had gone out.

Heading down the stairs, Marigold passed June Kane, Brianne's hand-picked
successor as head of the cheerleading squad and alpha bitch of Mannsborough
High. Marigold wondered what June was doing there. She'd signed up for the
newspaper at the beginning of the year, but not done anything for it since
the first quarter. She would have asked, but June gave her such an icy smile
as they passed that she decided not to bother.

Marigold was surprised to find the office door unlocked and Elliot waiting
for her. The surprise only lasted a second. Neither Elliot nor June had a
key to the newspaper offices. But, Brianne did. And, June Kane was
ultimately her creature.

Elliot rose to greet her and placed a kiss on her cheek. Marigold noticed,
however, that he was not smiling.

"Hi, Elliot," she said. "I thought you had football practice today."

"I do," he answered. "I just had a few minutes and wanted to stop by to say
hi."

Marigold frowned at the obvious lie, "I haven't seen you much in the last
couple of weeks."

"I've been real busy," he said absent-mindedly. Then, more pointedly, he
added, "I was just talking to June Kane. She says you've been hanging around
with Bart Roemer an awful lot lately. I don't have anything to be jealous
about, do I?"

Marigold knew that she was going to have to break it off with Elliot
eventually, but couldn't bring herself to do anything to damage the
relationship yet. Instead, she said, "Of course not. Jonas thinks I can be a
good influence on him--help bring him back to church."

Elliot snorted, "If you ask me, the church doesn't need his sort."

Before Marigold could respond, the office door opened, admitting Thule.
Elliot glared at him. Thule ignored both of them completely and went
straight for the print server.

"Well," Elliot said, projecting his voice a little, "I've got to get to
practice. See you on Saturday, Marigold."

As Elliot leaned in to kiss her, Marigold said, "Wait. I can't."

Elliot paused, "Why not?"

"I promised..." Marigold's mind raced. She doubted Elliot would even notice
if she wasn't at the game. But, just in case, she needed a cover story, "My
friend Dawn that we would study together Saturday. And...if I have time, I
still have twenty-two hours left at the hospital for my practicum."

Elliot's face twisted momentarily into what looked like anger, but he said
evenly, "Ah, well. I know how important your studies are to you."

Marigold nodded. As she was nodding, Elliot swooped in to kiss her again.
They bumped noses. Marigold tried to pull her nose out of the way. Elliot
chased her face with his own, laying a hand on the back of her neck to keep
her from pulling away further. The resulting kiss was awkward with Marigold
accepting it lifelessly and Elliot using too much tongue. Still, his smile
was smugly satified when he pulled away. Thule did not turn away from the
computer at all during the whole display.

Marigold closed the door and turned, expecting to face Thule's anger or, at
least, something. Instead, he was still sitting there, typing away as if
nothing had happened. Marigold opened her mouth to say something to him,
could think of nothing to say, and shut it again.

She stood and watched him for a minute, but finally gave up and got to work
on the physical layout of the newspaper.

It was more than a half hour later when Thule came up behind Marigold, so
silently that she didn't hear him until he spoke.

"Take off your panties," he growled.

The tone in his voice made Marigold almost weak with relief. He didn't sound
angry, only predatory. Reaching down with both hands, she lifted her skirt
so that she could slide the panties over her hips, letting them fall to the
floor. She bent down to pick them up, but Thule put his foot on them.
Reluctantly, she stood up again.

"So," asked Thule, crouching down to pick up the discarded undergarment,
"what's wrong with the print server?"

Marigold tried to make sense of the question. Thule was looming over her,
hands resting on her hips. Even though they weren't moving, the warmth of
them through her shirt was making it hard to think.

"It's....um....It's running really slow. It takes like five minutes to print
a page."

Thule chuckled, "There's not much I can do about that. The printer and the
print server are both like ten years old. It's amazing they work at all. For
about two grand, you could replace them both and make this job go a lot
faster."

"Well," said Marigold, trying to regain control of the situation. "Maybe the
network would be faster if you took the porn off of the file server."

Thule shrugged behind her, "I can delete it if you like, but it's less than
two dozen files."

"What about the images directory? It's like eighty gigabytes."

Thule laughed, "Yeah, but it's full of disc images for backup and recovery,
not porn."

"So, those files I found were the only ones?"

Thule nodded against the top of her head.

"Thule," Marigold asked quietly, "I've been meaning to ask you. You've been
so meticulous about making sure that no one kept personal files on the
network all year. How, then, did you wind up leaving porn on the server
where I could find it?"

His hands left her waist. When Marigold turned around, he was sitting on one
of the old, overstuffed sofas that dotted the office.

"Are you sure you want to know?"

Marigold nodded.

"Would you like to come sit on my lap while I answer?"

Marigold's shoulders stiffened, "Is that an order?"

"When I give you an order, you won't have to ask that question."

"I'd rather stay right here, then."

Thule nodded, "I've been fantasizing about getting revenge on you...for a
lot of things...a long time. When I found a copy of your essay on the
network, I decided to use it to blackmail or discredit you. Then, I started
to think that you might not be such a bad person as I thought. I might be a
royal bastard for even considering what I was considering. When I realized
that you'd been nosing around the support directories, I decided to test
you--to see if you would have mercy in my position."

All the blood drained from Marigold's face, "You set me up?"

Thule nodded, "And you demonstrated brilliantly how gleefully you would ruin
my future given the same opportunity I had. You made it so easy to punish
you for all of the misery you've heaped on me and mine over the past four
years. You demonstrated how clearly you deserved it."

Marigold fell back on cliches, "No one deserves to be raped."

"You keep talking about rape. I haven't raped you. I haven't held you
captive. I haven't even taken that precious virginity you were ready to
offer up. You've always been free to go."

Marigold's voice rose angrily, "It's the same thing and you know it."

Far faster than Marigold would have believed that he could move, Thule was
up off of the couch, hands on her wrists, dragging her across the floor and
throwing her down on the conference table. His belt buckle was cold against
her belly as he slammed against her. Marigold tried to scream, but he
slammed a hand over her mouth. His other hand went up, under her shirt,
squeezing her breast painfully through her sports bra. He thrust against
her, hard, four times. Through the cloth, Marigold could feel that he was
rock hard. Tears rolled down her cheeks.

Then, as suddenly as the assault had started, it was over. Thule stepped
back a few feet, watching her, his body shaking with barely-contained rage.
Marigold sat up, her own shaking part terror and part relief.

"Why did you do that?" she whispered.

Thule's voice was unsteady, "I'm not raping you, Marigold. I could if I
wanted to. And, when you got such a look of unmitigated glee on your face
over the idea of ruining me, I probably could have enjoyed it. This is
different. And, I want you to see the difference clearly."

Marigold launched herself off of the table, throwing herself at Thule. Her
fists beat ineffectually at his chest, "You bastard! You scared the hell out
of me."

Thule caught her wrists easily. Marigold squirmed to be free of his grip,
but found the effort fruitless. Defeated, she collapsed against him.

Thule wrapped his arms around her, comforting her. He planted kisses on top
of her head, stroking her hair, and whispering her name. Absurdly, Marigold
found herself comforted and clung to him, letting her sobs come full force
now.

Thule picked Marigold up as easily as if she were a child. He carried her
back to the couch and sat her on his lap, letting her cry herself out. Even
after no more tears came, she sat there a long time, enjoying the warmth and
strength of his arms and wondering if she was not officially the most
screwed up person on the planet for doing so.

"You're a real bastard, you know that?" she whispered.

"That's the last time you're going to call me that."

Marigold levered off his chest and looked him in the face, surprised,
"What?"

"You've called me enough names. From now on, you will address me with the
proper respect."

Marigold studied his face. There was no mercy to be found there. She nodded
solemnly.

"Now," he said, standing her on her feet. "Strip. I want to see you
completely naked."

Marigold bowed her head in a gesture of submission, "Thule, could I finish
with that I was doing for the newspaper first? It really does need to be
done tonight."

"How much longer will it take?"

"Another half hour," she promised. "It's all printed out. I just need to
paste it down."

"All right. But I'm not feeling particularly patient."

Marigold nodded and had taken a step towards the lighted table when Thule
said, "But, first."

Marigold froze, awaiting instruction.

"Call Jonas. We don't want him to worry."

Marigold did as she was told. Somehow, she managed to get the job done, only
affixing two articles in a noticeably crooked manner. As soon as she could,
she turned off the light on the table and turned to face Thule.

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

Thule smiled, "Good. Strip."

"May I keep on my stockings?" Marigod asked, "The carpets in here are not
very clean."

By Thule's scowl, Marigold thought that he might refuse. But, he nodded.
Marigold stripped quickly, standing in only her stocking feet before him.

"Come here," Thule said, holding out his arms, but not rising. Marigold came
into his arms. Pulling her into his lap, Thule took her head in both hands,
kissing her deeply and passionately on the mouth. A low moan escaped
Marigold's throat before she could stop it. Remebering her resolve, she
clamped down on the pleasure. Despite the fact that he was only touching her
head and her lips, the fight against the pleasure quickly threatened to
become a losing battle.

"Stop fighting it," Thule growled. Marigold looked at him, surprised.

"I'm doing what you told me to do," she protested, "you can't order me to
enjoy it."

"Of course I can," Thule snarled, his voice raspy, "Enjoy it, dammit."

He kissed her again, not at all tenderly, his hands roaming freely over her
body. It was an assault on her senses. Taken by surprise, Marigold moaned
again. Thule pressed the advantage, stroking her seemingly everywhere at
once. Marigold cried out, outraged by her loss of control. Thule lifted her
off of him, laying her back on the conference table. His lips moved down
from hers, covering her throat, her collarbone, her breasts. Marigold was
moaning uncontrollably now, her hips rising and falling of their own accord.
A small part of her mind told her to stop being a whore, but it was a tiny
part and she gave it no heed. God, she decided, must be a big fan of
fucking. She even reveled in the blasphemy of it.

And then his lips were trailing down her stomach. Marigold knew where they
were headed. Wrapping her hands around the back of his head, she pushed
Thule to his destination. He chuckled against her before driving his tongue
deeply inside of her, finding her not-so-secret spot. Pleasure hit her not
in waves, but in firebursts, exploding in white lights behind her eyelids.
Thule's assault was now matched by one from within her own, traitorous body.
Marigold cried out, again and again, no longer caring what sound she made.
When he pulled his head away, she tried to hold him there, raw need driving
her hands.

Thule chuckled, "Easy, Little Flower. You're going to break my nose if you
keep pushing like that."

Marigold blushed crimson, releasing him, and was rewarded with a passionate
kiss that tasted of what she knew must be her own juices. Thule's hand slid
down between her legs, stroking and teasing her, now. Marigold wrapped her
legs around his torso, impaling herself on his fingers, humping up against
them, instinctively. Her arms were wrapped around his neck, her lips raining
little kisses all over his face and head.

When Thule slid one finger out of her and into her ass, Marigold stiffened,
her whole body trying to push him out. It was so humiliating. She tried to
protest, but he put a finger to her lips, "No speaking," he said
emphatically.

Marigold remained silent, but still struggled against his fingers as they
slid back and forth, one in each hole.

"Relax," he ordered. Marigold did so without thinking. His fingers slid in
and out of her quickly. And, before she could tense up again, she was lost.
The pleasure came more intensely now, wave after crashing wave of it. The
world was reduced to those fingers and what they were doing to her.

She wrapped herself around him, only the very edge of her bottom on the
table now. She whimpered, moaned, and gasped as he drove his fingers in and
out of her again and again, "Please," she begged over and over again,
"Please, Thule, Please,"

"Please what, my tethered goddess?" he asked.

"I don't know."

"Please stop?"

"No." Marigold shook he head emphatically.

"Please do it harder?" Thule demostrated.

"Ungh," Marigold offered, but shook her head again.

"Please what, then?"

"Please...make love to me."

"Here and now?"

"Yes..." Marigold begged.

Thule didn't answer for almost a minute, keeping up his assault on her
senses. Finally, his voice came back in a rasp, "No. Not tonight."

"Please," Marigold begged, "please, make love to me."

Thule's hands were off of her then, "No," he rasped, his voice shaking. He
sat back down, shaking, "Not tonight. Don't ask again."

Marigold sat up and looked at him. She knew, instinctively, that if she
asked again, he would do what she wanted. Thule's breathing was heavy, his
pupils dilated. He was trembling with the effort of not making love to her.
Marigold felt incredibly powerful at that moment.

She stepped down from the table, walking over to him. She put an arm around
his waist, laid her head on his solar plexus and looked up at him. Thule
smiled uneasily down at her. Slowly, Marigold dropped to her knees, undoing
his belt. As she undid his zipper, his cock practically lunged out at her,
pushing through his briefs. She pulled those down, too, taking his cock
fully into her mouth, licking and sucking it. His back arched and his body
spasmed. Marigold reveled in having driven him to such a state, teasing and
licking the cock.

Whatever internal battle Thule was having was quickly lost. Thick, bitter
seed shot into her mouth and throat. Marigold licked his cock clean and
swallowed it all. Then, she lay her face against his now semi-soft cock,
looking up at him and smiling.

He lifted her to her feet, crushing her against him. She reveled in his
arms, nuzzling deeper against him. When she felt his body start to shudder,
she thought he was crying, but it was only deep, silent laughter. They stood
that way for a long time, neither of them moving.

The silence of the ride home this time was one of empathy, not unease.
Marigold was loathe to break it, even for practical matters.

"So," she asked, "What should I pack for this weekend?"

He laughed, "What makes you think I'm going to let you put any clothes on
this weekend?"

"It would certainly make packing easier." As soon as she said it, she
lowered her head in embarassment, "I'm shameless."

Thule took her chin and held her head up, "You have nothing to be ashamed
of."

"I begged you to make love to me and you turned me down," Marigold said. "If
you knew how badly I wanted it, you'd know why I should be ashamed."

"If you knew how close I came to giving you exactly what you wanted, you'd
know you have nothing to be ashamed of," he answered her, deliberately
missing her meaning.

"So," she asked, "no clothes, then?"

"Actually," he said, "We have dinner reservations for Saturday night, but
I've already picked out a dress for you. And, you'll probably want a
swimsuit. I've got a couple of things I have to do while we're...during the
weekend...and you'll have some time to yourself."

"Where are you taking me?" Marigold asked.

"Too many questions, Marigold."

They drove the rest of the way in silence. It wasn't until they were right
outside of her house that Marigold asked, "Thule, can I ask you to do
something for me?"

"You can ask."

"Call me your little flower again?"

"Good night, my little flower," Thule said, kissing the top of her head.
"I'll see you tomorrow in school."

Princes of Mannsborough, Part 3 of approximately 22
by Vulgar Argot
(NC/blackmail, MF, oral, solo)

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