Message-ID: <43435asstr$1058577003@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: "Vulgar Argot" <VulgarArgotREMOVEALL@CAPSinsidejoke.tv>
Subject: {ASSM} Princes of Mannsborough, Part 1 of approx. 22 (tags at bottom)
Date: Fri, 18 Jul 2003 21:10:03 -0400
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Princes of Mannsborough, Part 1 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. For those of you keeping
score, this draft fixes typos and continuity issues and changes from the
shared/omniscient perspective to one centered inside of Marigold's head.)

Marigold didn't know how he did it, But Thule Roemer somehow always managed
to make his presence in a room known before she'd even seen or consciously
heard him. She scowled without looking up from the antiquated Macintosh
computer the school had provided her with, waiting for him to speak. He
didn't, instead sitting down at the print server and beginning to type.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Thule looked worried, "And?"

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

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

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

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

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

"You bitch," Thule said quietly, "you wouldn't."

Marigold kept dialing.

"Please," Thule pleaded. His voice was almost a whisper.

"Rules are rules," Marigold mocked.

"Don't do this."

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

"Marigold," Thule said, "be reasonable. It's a small infraction. It's not
like I plagiarized my entrance essay for Harvard or something."

Marigold looked up, alarmed, "No," she said, trying to cover her surprise,
"of course you didn't. But..."

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

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

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

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

"Call me Thule."

"What?"

"Call me Thule."

"Why?"

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

After a few seconds, Marigold nodded mutely. It was all she could do not to
start crying.

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

"What are you going to do?"

"Nothing," Thule shrugged. "Friends don't turn on friends, do they,
Marigold?"

She shook her head no, tears of relief welling up in her eyes.

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

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

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

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

His smile was not kind, "You're a Telena. That you have money is a truism. A
friend wouldn't feel the need to rub in such an obvious point. Of course,
you haven't been much of a friend to me, have you, Marigold?"

Marigold shook her head mutely, a fat tear rolling down her cheek.

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

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

"Show me your tits."

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

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

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

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

"What other gesture of friendship do you propose?"

"I can give you money..."

"I don't..." Thule started to shout, but then got control of himself, "I
don't want your money, Marigold. Money is easy for you. You can't buy my
friendship. If you don't want to show me your tits, you don't have to. I'm
sure you'd do very well at Brown or..." He paused, making eye contact and
said viciously, "...Vassar."

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

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

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

"What?" Marigold looked shocked.

"Never mind," said Thule quickly, "What do you suggest you could do
instead?"

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

"You could not," said Thule, laughing.

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

"To whom?" asked Thule precisely, "that Ken Doll you're supposedly going out
with?"

"Elliot's not a Ken Doll," said Marigold defensively. "Why would you call
him that?"

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

"You're disgusting."

Thule shrugged, "Did he come?"

"That's none of your business," said Marigold angrily.

Thule reached out and pet her hair. She flinched away a little, but realized
that wasn't going to help and relaxed as best she could.

"Little flower," Thule said, chuckling, "If he didn't come, it's not a hand
job."

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

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

"I know it's a kind of flower," Marigold interrupted him irritably. "My
father used to call me that."

"Do you like it?"

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

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

"You're not?"

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

Marigold started crying unabashedly now.

"Hey," Thule said softly, "relax. I'm not going to fuck the Virgin Marigold
on a cold metal desk in a little office that smells like mildew and
printer's wax."

Marigold looked him in the eyes, "You're not?"

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

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

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

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

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

                                               ===

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

She stared at the mirror. Her long straight hair, a rich blonde even under
the harsh fluorescent lights, was a mess. So were her eyes, red-rimmed and
streaked with what little makeup she wore. It wasn't until after she combed
and cleaned herself up that she realized it might not be in her best
interest to look too good for whatever came next.

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

                                               ===

Marigold closed the office door, standing as far away from Thule as she
could while still being in the room. He was sitting behind her desk now,
watching her.

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

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

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

Marigold nodded. She hadn't expected him to comply with her request.

Thule sat watching Marigold, letting her make the next move. Taking a deep
breath, she pulled the varsity sweatshirt over her head. The blouse she wore
underneath was russet and showed a little bit of cleavage. She started to
unbutton it quickly, focusing on what she was doing.

"Stop," Thule said. Marigold looked up querulously, her hands on the fourth
button.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Well," said Thule, "This is a surprise. It can't be very comfortable for
you to dress like that."

Marigold kept her head lowered and bit her lip, "I know. I'm sorry."

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

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

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

"Come here. Sit on my lap," There was iron under the compassion and she
complied, turning around and sitting uneasily on him, "Marigold,
they're...you're very beautiful..." He seemed to have spoken involuntarily,
because he cut himself off and added, "...physically. Who told you they were
hideous?"

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

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

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

Thule chuckled, "I'm honored."

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

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

"Please stop touching them."

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

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

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

"No," said Marigold absent-mindedly, "this is nice."

She stiffened her spine a little, shocked at herself. She shouldn't be
enjoying this, even a little. And she certainly shouldn't be admitting it.
She leaned her head back on Thule's shoulder and closed her eyes, trying to
pretend that the hands belonged to Elliot, her future husband. But, for some
reason, the image wouldn't gel, so she just cleared her mind and thought of
nothing at all.

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

"Are we done here?" Marigold asked, trying to calm her shaking voice.

Thule stood up, "No. Not quite."  Reaching down, he unzipped his fly. Freed,
his cock sprang free and erect, "This is your responsibility. You're going
to have to do something about it."

Marigold's eyes widened and she crossed her arms across her chest, "What do
you expect me to do with that?"

"Have you ever given a blow job?"

"No," she said emphatically.

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

"But..."

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

"But..." Marigold didn't need to be told that there would be consequences.

"Choose quickly," he said.

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

"Kiss it," he said. Marigold looked up at him questioningly. He commanded,
"Do it."

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

Marigold complied. She'd come this far and wasn't about to give up. As she
tried to find a comfortable angle, she choked a couple of times. Each time,
the pressure on the back of her head let up.

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

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

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

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

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

If someone had walked into the room at that moment, there would have been no
clue what had just happened. There was nothing in Thule's bearing or tone
that suggested he was anything other than a fellow member of the newspaper
staff making a friendly offer.

Marigold's stepfather had instructed her to call a cab to come and get her
if she stayed at the school after dark. But, it could take as much as a half
an hour for a taxi to get there. Compared to being alone in the office with
her thoughts for that long, even Thule Roemer's company was preferable,
particularly since it was much too late for anyone to see her getting in his
car. Marigold nodded and heard herself say, "Thank you."

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

Marigold picked up her clothes. Thule watched her.

"Turn around," she said.

"What?" asked Thule, sounding surprised.

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

Thule looked like he would refuse. Instead, he turned back to the computer
with a chuckle. Marigold dressed quickly. Fully dressed, she realized that
Thule was staring at a blank computer screen, waiting.

"Okay," Marigold said, straightening her clothes one last time, "I'm ready."

(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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