Message-ID: <45299asstr$1068628207@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: "Vulgar Argot" <VulgarArgotREMOVEALL@CAPSinsidejoke.tv>
Subject: {ASSM} Princes of Mannsborough, Part 5 of 22 (caution. Additional tags at bottom to avoid spoilerage.)
Date: Wed, 12 Nov 2003 04:10:07 -0500
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Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
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Princes of Mannsborough, Part 5 of approximately 22
by Vulgar Argot
(caution. Additional tags at bottom to avoid spoilerage.)

<authors-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.

At some point, this should get easier. The characters will eventually have
to get closer to their final form, won't they? I mean, I haven't changed
them so much in this draft that they're unrecognizable from their selves in
the first draft, have I?

*sigh*

Ah, well.

This portion of the story was reworked to shape the personality of Dawn to
more closely match how she turns out by the end of the book. I also took the
opportunity to tone down Marigold's Christianity and naivete to more
believable levels.

Oh, yeah. I also took the opportunity to give Holly (Marigold's mother) at
least the rough outline of a personality.

Enjoy.
</authors-note>

Jonas must have talked to Holly after he left Marigold's room. A few minutes
later, she knocked tentatively on her daughter's door.

"Marigold, do you still want to shop for your dress today? I can call Mrs.
Copcek and reschedule."

Marigold laughed weakly, "No. I think I want to go all the more now."

Holly smiled gently, "That's the spirit."

Marigold stood up and smoothed out her clothes, "I want Elliot to see what
he gave up."

Holly's laugh was genuine, "You still thinking about the Nordstrom's dress?"

"As a starting point," said Marigold.

"Jonas might not be crazy about the idea..."

Marigold started to argue. Her mother waved away the objection unstated, "I
was going to say that Jonas might not be crazy about the idea, but to let me
deal with that. He just needs it presented in the right way."

                       -=-

"You know," said Holly, even before she'd completely pulled out of the
driveway, "I don't think you have a bra that will work with that dress."

Marigold thought about the statement. Her mother was always subtly pushing
her to buy more flattering clothes. Now that they were of a like mind, she
hated to be contradictory. But, she said, "I was thinking we could bring the
back down a little further..."

Holly stopped in the middle of her K-turn, "How much further?"

"As far as I can go and not get arrested."

Holly just stared at her daughter as if she'd never seen her before.

"But, if you wanted to help me pick out a few new outfits to spice up my
wardrobe, I think we have time."

"Marigold, sweetie," her mother said dryly, "if you've got any more
surprises, you'd better tell me before we get on the highway or I'm liable
to get into an accident."

Marigold took a deep breath, "Do you remember the picture you gave me, the
one I keep on my dresser. It's you, Dad, and me. We were feeding the ducks
in Van Saun Park."

Holly nodded and smiled, "I do. That was a great day."

"Do you remember the dress you were wearing?"

"Marigold," said Holly, shocked. "That's awfully risque. I don't think you
should go crazy just because things aren't going well with Elliot. Maybe..."

"Mother," said Marigold quietly. "You wore that dress to church."

"I did not," said Holly indignantly.

"Yes," said Marigold. "I remember because you promised we would go feed the
ducks in Van Saun Park. Then, at the last minute, you decided we were going
to church first. I was sure the ducks were going to be full by the time we
got there."

"I did, didn't I?" said Holly. "I remember now. Your father had a gig on
Saturday night that was canceled at the last minute. So, for once, he was
home and awake on Sunday morning. But, Marigold, that wasn't really a church
dress. I wore it deliberately to scandalize the old ladies. They were such a
bunch of bluenoses."

"Well," said Marigold. "Shouldn't I get to scandalize the bluenoses at least
once?"

Holly laughed, then covered her mouth, glancing guiltily at Marigold.

"What?" asked Marigold indignantly.

Holly shook her head, "Nothing. Never mind."

"Mother," said Marigold, a tone of warning in her voice.

Holly sighed. Taking one hand off the wheel, she pet her daughter's hair,
"It's just that I was starting to think that you were one of the bluenoses."

Marigold straightened her hair, "I'm not that bad, am I?"

Holly kept her eyes locked on the road, "Truthfully?"

"Please."

"I was starting to wonder if you had any interest in boys at all," her
mother admitted. "I mean, it would be okay if you weren't. But, you just
seem so...focused and subdued. I remember what it was like to be a teenaged
girl and, sometimes, you just act like you're a million years old and..."

"Mother," Marigold sputtered, a flush rising in her cheeks.

For about a minute, they drove without speaking. Then, Holly asked, "You
are. Aren't you?"

"I am what?"

"Interested in boys?"

Marigold laughed, "I don't think you have anything to worry about on that
front."

Suddenly, a light seemed to go on over Holly's head, "Is there a specific
boy?"

Marigold paled at being caught out so easily, "I..."

Holly laughed, "I see. This sudden interest in your wardrobe isn't about
Elliot. Is it? This is about the new boy. Who is it?"

Marigold shook her head, "It doesn't matter. He's not acceptable anyway."

"To who?" Holly asked. "To Jonas?"

Marigold nodded, "Reverend Lofton says..."

Holly cut her off, "You do know that Jonas and Reverend Lofton don't always
see eye-to-eye, don't you?"

Marigold turned to face her mother, "How do you mean?"

"Well," said Holly, drawing out the word. "When we first started going to
that church, Reverend Simpson was in charge. Jonas really liked him and
agreed with him on a philosophical level. But, Reverend Lofton is a lot more
old fashioned. He and Jonas clash on theological issues frequently."

Marigold was still mulling that over when they arrived at Mrs. Copcek's
house. Approaching her eighties, Mrs. Copcek was still a deft touch with a
needle and surprisingly current in her understanding of prom fashions. More
importantly, she didn't even blink when Marigold described the dress she
wanted and even suggested a few ways to improve on the design. Several times
during the discussion, Holly looked like she might make more than a token
protest, but Mrs. Copcek waved her objections away, reminding her that,
after all, this was for The Prom. Marigold could actually hear the capital
letters when she said it.

Because Mrs. Copcek's house was on the very fringes of Mannsborough, Holly
drove out on a road unfamiliar to Marigold. At one point, she pointed at an
upcoming house, "That's where your father lived when we were dating."

Marigold looked at the house. It was a smallish, two-story structure with a
screened-in porch. Other than the fact that it was at least a mile to the
nearest neighbor, there seemed nothing remarkable about it.

"Oh, good," beamed Holly. "They left the shack up."

"The shack?" Marigold asked.

"Your father didn't get on too well with his grandparents, I'm afraid. In
order to get out of the house, he built a freestanding building to live in.
It was wired for electricity and everything."

Marigold followed her mother's line of sight, "Where? Behind the tool shed?"

Holly shook her head, "That's not a tool shed. That's the shack."

Marigold found herself horrified and intrigued at the same time, "He lived
in that?"

"Yeah," said Holly, her voice taking on a tone of fond reminiscence. "I
loved the shack. Tom could come and go as he pleased. I could come over
whenever I wanted. A lot of nights, there were four or five of us in there
at night, jamming or hanging out or talking about how we were going to
change the world."

Marigold tried to imagine her mother as a teenaged girl, hanging out with
her friends at the shack. It sounded more like Thule and his crowd than
anything Marigold had experienced directly.

"This was when you were in high school?" Marigold asked.

Holly nodded, "And afterwards. Once I got pregnant, we moved in to my
parents house for a while. But, there were still a lot of nights that we
came here. This was where the fun happened."

Now, Marigold knew where her horror at seeing the shack had come from.
Before she could stop herself, she blurted out the question that had popped
into her mind, "Is that where I was..."

Holly flushed a shade of red so deep, it was tinged with purple. Marigold
had inherited her fair skin from her mother, but never realized that her
heritage allowed for such deep displays of embarrassment.

When Holly found her voice, she squeaked out, "Probably."

That effectively killed all conversation in the car until they pulled back
out on the highway. Holly asked quietly, "So, did you want to talk about
what happened with Elliot today?"

Marigold considered it. She wanted to confide in someone, but there was too
much she couldn't say. And, her mother had already sussed out more than
Marigold had meant to reveal today. So, she said, "Not really. I think I've
known for a while that Elliot wasn't really right for me. The whole trying
to kill me thing just sort of underscored that."

Holly snorted, "I think it's for the best."

Marigold raised an eyebrow, "How so?"

Her mother gave a single head shake, "I never really like Elliot."

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

"I did," said Holly. "I mean, I didn't come right out and say, 'I don't like
Elliot.' After all, you seemed happy. And, Jonas liked him at first." She
took a deep breath, "And I've noticed that there aren't a hell of a lot of
nice, Christian boys in Mannsborough who aren't Korean. Not..." she let the
word hang for a second, "that I would have any problems with you dating a
Korean boy, but they all seem fixated on marrying nice Korean girls."

"Jeez, Mom. You make it sound like I should get back together with Elliot."

"Not at all," said Holly emphatically. "I just thought you would be better
off waiting until you went away to college to start looking for a husband."

"Well," said Marigold. "I'm going to Harvard. I'm not going to have time to
date. I'll be too busy studying."

Holly chuckled, but there was an uneasy undertone to it, "Marigold, I want
you to go to Harvard and do well and graduate. But, I worry."

"About what?"

Holly seemed to be weighing her words carefully, "I worry that, if you see
the world as a balance between studying and...dating, you're going to decide
at some point that the trade-off isn't worth it and...stop studying."

"In favor of dating?" Marigold couldn't believe her mother thought she was
so shallow.

"In favor of sex," Holly said quietly.

Marigold, who had inherited her fair hair and pale skin from her mother,
found herself demonstrating the same capacity for blushing. Holly rushed
forward, "I realize that it's probably my own fault. Your father dropped out
after a year at Harvard at least partly because it was too hard for him to
be a father and a student at the same time. Considering what a bad job we
did at the start, I'm constantly amazed by how well you turned out. But, I
worry."

"About what?"

"Well," said Holly. "I never meant to teach you that sex was bad. That's why
I was worried that you were dating Elliot for so long. Even when you
started, before high school, I just always thought that...Well, I was
surprised to hear that he cheated on you...with another girl." Finally, she
gave up trying to explain.

Marigold sighed and lowered her head, "Did everyone know Elliot was gay
except for me?"

"Know?" Holly asked. "No. I didn't know until you just told me. But, I
suspected. I mean, you two have been 'dating' for almost six years. But, you
never go out alone. He never keeps you out past curfew. When I see the two
of you together, he seems loathe to touch you. What sort of teenaged boy
behaves like that?"

"A good, Christian one, I thought," Marigold suggested. "Isn't that what
Jonas was like in high school."

Holly started laughing so hard that tears came to her eyes. Marigold watched
her mother like she'd gone insane.

"I'm sorry," said Holly, wiping her eyes. "Your stepfather was a...very
different person in high school. He had to get in a lot of trouble before he
found the church."

Marigold frowned. Jonas never talked about his past to her. Her curiosity
piqued, she desperately wanted to pursue her line of questioning, but Holly
was already out of the car and the mall was really not the place for that
sort of thing.

                            -=-

Clothes shopping with Holly at the helm turned out to be a revelation to
Marigold. Feeling closer to her mother than she had in a long time and
having admitted her own desire to be pretty, she was reluctant to veto
anything Holly picked out.

Finally, though, she had to plead exhaustion. Her feet ached and, by her
estimation, she was going to have to give away half of her current wardrobe
to make room in her closet.

"Mom," she said as they piled boxes into the car. "I think you bought me
more clothes today than you've bought for yourself in about five years."

"It can be your college wardrobe," Holly said for the fifth or sixth time.

"Will Jonas be mad that you spent so much?"

Holly laughed, "I don't think so. He's always after me to buy you nicer
clothes. And, it's not like we can't afford it."

Marigold nodded. She'd only inquired into her parents' finances once, to
make sure that they could afford to send her to Harvard. The conversational
pause had become almost impossibly awkward before Jonas had said, "I'm sure
we'll manage."

As Holly pulled off of the main road to the one they lived on, Marigold saw
Thule's car going the other way. He didn't notice them and seemed to be
either talking or singing to himself.

When they got home, Jonas was sitting on the porch, "So, how does the dress
look."

"We made some design changes," Holly said. "Besides, we want to leave it as
a surprise for prom night."

Jonas chuckled indulgently, "Fair enough. Marigold, I can help you with the
rest of those boxes in a minute. Come have a seat. I want to talk to you for
a minute."

Marigold carried her boxes inside, then came back out and took a seat in the
rocking chair opposite the swing Jonas was sitting on. For a minute, he
seemed to be studying her in the half-light of sunset.

Finally, somewhat formally, he asked, "Marigold, what do you think of
Bartholemew Roemer?"

Marigold stopped rocking. She froze stock still. Not only did she not know
the answer to the question. She didn't know which lie she should tell.
Finally, she settled on, "He really helped me out today with Elliot. And,
we've been talking a lot lately--like you suggested."

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

Marigold felt relieved on so many levels that it took a few seconds for her
to be annoyed, "Sir, did you ask Thule to take me to the prom?"

"No, no, no." Jonas assured her. "It would never have occurred to me. This
was all his idea. He just came up here to clear it with me before he asked
you. He was concerned because he thought I might disapprove."

"And?" Marigold asked, her heart in her throat.

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

"Well," said Marigold, as if considering the idea for the first time. "I
don't know..."

Jonas smiled, "I know, dear. You're hoping to find a nice, Christian boy.
Just remember. It's only the prom. You don't have to marry him. But, he's a
nice enough young man. I feel like I can trust him with you. And, it just so
happens that I am an excellent judge of character."

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

"You do that," said Jonas, rising and striding towards the car. Then, almost
to himself, he added, "I like him."

Marigold barely made it up to her room before her body was wracked with
paroxysms of laughter. Before she wore herself out, the laughter had taken
on a slightly hysterical edge. The whole situation was getting more absurd
by the moment.

                       -=-

Marigold woke the next morning with a vague feeling of dread. She'd planned
her lie well in advance, dropped hints about it, and considered
contingencies for a million questions.

"This is going to be a slow weekend," she said at breakfast. "So, I thought
I would finally take Aunt Vera up on her offer to come and visit."

Holly and Jonas exchanged a look. Vera was Marigold's father's sister. She
and Marigold's mother had barely gotten along when they were officially
sisters-in-law. To Marigold's knowledge, they hadn't spoken more than twice
since her father had died.

Marigold tried to read whatever wordless communication was passing between
her parents, but couldn't. Finally, Jonas grunted, "You'll find a way to get
to church on Sunday?"

Marigold nodded, not knowing if she would actually be able to keep the
promise. But, if Thule let her, she would find a way to go to church on
Sunday. Somehow, she found lying about this to be much harder than the rest
of it.

And that was all there was to it. When Jonas dropped her off at school, she
brought her suitcase with her, then waited nervously for Thule's car to pull
into the parking lot so she could stow it in his trunk for the day.

At lunch, Thule seemed somewhat subdued. In spite of the fact that he was
relatively quiet, Marigold still sensed that he was the nucleus of
conversation. In marked difference to what she had seen in Brianne or Randy
Vandevoort, he seemed not only uninterested in exploiting that fact, but
blissfully unaware of it.

He also seemed to be paying a lot more attention to Marigold. Unlike his
usual brash and somewhat domineering nature, he was almost solicitous.
Marigold wondered if he, sensing that she had surrendered to him far more
completely than either of them could have expected, was now being
magnanimous in his victory.

On her way to her next class, Marigold suddenly found her way barred by
Brianne. For a change, the head cheerleader was without her phalanx of
underlings, accompanied only by her three lieutenants.

"So," Brianne said by way of introduction, "I hear that Elliot tried to pry
your ankles apart and you kicked him in the balls."

Marigold smiled as sweetly as she could manage, "Brianne, you get the
strangest ideas sometimes. Why would Elliot want to pry my ankles apart?"

Brianne ignored the question and the insinuation, "I hear you didn't waste
any time making a total fool of yourself. June saw you putting your
suitcases into Bart Roemer's car. You know, maybe if you went back on your
knees with your legs spread..."

Marigold raised her hands in alarm as Brianne came barreling towards her as
if to attack her. But, she went past Marigold and collided hard with a row
of lockers. Turning around with blood trickling out of her nose, she
stumbled and fell. Standing over her like an avenging angel, panting
heavily, was Dawn.

"You stop telling lies about me, bitch." Dawn shouted. She was panting
heavily, sweat or tears rolling down her cheeks.

In spite of her position, Brianne gave a feral grin, "Who's telling lies?
Everybody knows you did the whole football team at Randy's last party."

Dawn gave an unintelligible shout of rage and aimed a swift kick at
Brianne's head. For a sickening moment, Marigold thought that it would
connect, but Brianne got her arms up in time, partially deflecting the blow.
She caught Dawn's ankle, bringing her down in a pile. Soon, the two of them
were on the floor, biting and scratching. Dawn was protecting her face in
between well-timed and well-placed body blows. Brianne was clearly getting
the worst of it, but neither girl seemed willing to stop the fight. Marigold
was afraid they were going to kill each other.

By that point, they'd gathered quite a crowd, most of whom were shouting for
blood.

"Somebody stop them," she yelled over the tumult.

Thule materialized out of the crowd. Marigold realized that he'd been there
all along, observing but not interfering. With a seemingly practiced move,
he caught Brianne by the hair and pulled her away from Dawn, forcing her to
stand.

Dawn lunged for Brianne again. Marigold, realizing she was unlikely to get
any more help from the crowd, wrapped her arms around the taller girl's
waist, falling to her knees in the hope that she could slow her down enough
that Thule could keep them separated.

"Hall monitor," someone called from the back of the crowd. Immediately,
people began scattering.

Thule shoved Brianne into Randy Vandevoort's arms, "Get her out of here."

Marigold started to struggle to her feet. Dawn twisted to look down at her,
"You can let go now."

Marigold looked up. She realized two things. The first was that Brianne had
deliberately torn Dawn's blouse down the front, taking most of the buttons
and revealing the green silk bra underneath. The second was that she was
looking at said bra through her own splayed fingers. She drew her hands away
as if scalded. Dawn smiled down mischieviously.

"Come on," said Thule, taking each girl by a wrist. "Let's get out of here."
He kicked open the door to the cafeteria kitchen, led them through a service
corridor, out into the teachers' parking lot, and onto a side road. It
seemed to Marigold that, any second, someone would yell at them to stop.
But, they moved so quickly and surely that no one had time to.

Within about two minutes, they were in the student parking lot. If they'd
had to go the regular way, it would have taken ten.

"Okay," said Thule. "Act casually."

Dawn cleared her throat. She was holding the torn halves of her blouse
together with one hand. With her other hand, she smoothed her hair back.
Thule looked down, "Oh, yeah. All right. Marigold, go back to class. Tell
them I'm sick. I'll give Dawn a ride home."

"No," said Marigold without thinking. Thule raised an eyebrow at her
disobedience.

"Give me your keys," she said. "I have extra clothes in the car. If he asks,
tell Mr. Talbot I took Dawn to the nurse."

Thule's smile was sardonic. Digging into his pants pocket, he brought out
his keychain, "I'll see you there, then."

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

                       -=-

Marigold led Dawn to Thule's car and sat her down in the back seat. She
considered the other girl with a critical eye.

"We don't have the same coloring...and you're a few inches taller than me,
but I'm sure I can find a top in my luggage that will fit you well enough to
get you through the day."

"I've also got a smaller chest than you," Dawn pointed out.

Marigold scrutinized Dawn's chest, "Not that much smaller. Let's see what I
can do."

Dawn followed her to the trunk, clutching her shirt closed again, "One of
your famous sweatshirts would be fine."

Marigold flinched a little. She hadn't realized that her sweatshirts were
famous or even than people had noticed them. She opened her suitcase, "It's
getting too warm for sweatshirts."

Dawn's eyes widened at the sight of the folded clothes, "You two going away
somewhere?"

Marigold nodded as non-commitally as she could.

"Looks like you're expecting a romantic weekend."

Marigold sighed inwardly, "Maybe. It's complicated."

Dawn raised her hands, realized she'd let go of her shirt, and dropped one
hand to catch it, "Sorry. I don't mean to intrude."

Marigold held up a cream-colored blouse, "I think this will do. I was going
to wear it to church, but I'm sure I can find something else."

Dawn nodded, "It looks good."

Sitting in the back seat, Marigold watched Dawn contort herself out of the
shreds of her own blouse, unbutton her jeans, put on the new blouse, and
reassemble her clothes. It was, she had to admit, a fascinating athletic
display.

Not looking Dawn in the eye, she asked, "Can you keep a secret?"

Dawn did make eye contact, "Have you ever heard me gossip?"

Marigold thought about it, "No. You've always seemed sort of oblivious to
that sort of thing."

By the look on Dawn's face, Marigold realized that she'd actually insulted
the other girl. Before she could apologize, Dawn said, "It's not
obliviousness. I just keep hoping that, if I mind my own business, people
will mind theirs. I guess it doesn't always work that way."

"I wouldn't worry," said Marigold. "Nobody believes what Brianne says."

"They don't believe," said Dawn. "But, they behave like they do. To a lot of
people, what Brianne says is more important than the truth."

"If you don't mind my asking, what is the truth?"

Dawn eyed Marigold carefully, "You don't gossip either, do you?"

"I don't," said Marigold. "But, in my case, it really is obliviousness. The
last couple of weeks have been a crash course in all the things going on
around Marigold that she didn't have a clue about."

Dawn sighed, "June invited me to Randy Vandevoort's last big party. I went.
I got a lot drunk. I let June talk me into making out with her and Arkady
Antolevich. The next thing I know, June's not there, Randy is, and I'm all
unbuttoned. I managed to beat feet before anything happened though."

"Wait," said Marigold. "You were making out with June and Arkady?"

Dawn looked at her, "You said you could keep a secret. Right?"

Marigold nodded.

Dawn sighed, "Normally, I wouldn't have anything to do with Arkady. He's
kind of skeevy. But, I wanted to be with June and she gets real
uncomfortable if we get too one-on-one."

Marigold's mouth dropped open, "You're a lesbian?"

Dawn looked her in the eyes, "I don't like labels."

"But, you're so pretty," Marigold blurted out.

Dawn stared at her in disbelief. Then, she pantomimed a telephone receiver,
"Bring bring. Hello." She held out her hand to Marigold, "It's for you. It's
the 1950s. They'd like their attitude back."

"I'm sorry," said Marigold. "That came out all wrong. I just meant that you
didn't look like a lesbian."

"We look like everybody else, sweetie."

"I'm kind of sheltered," admitted Marigold. "I've never met a lesbian
before."

Dawn started laughing.

"What?"

Dawn shook her head, "I'm sorry. Like I said, I don't gossip. But, trust me
when I say that bisexuality has become very fashionable in the nineties."

"Like I said," Marigold sighed. "It's clue-in the clueless week for me."

Dawn was chuckling and shaking her head. Finally, she said, "Okay. This one
isn't even gossip. Don't you know Laurie McCaffrey?"

"The mezzo-soprano in choir?" asked Marigold. "I used to sing with her at
church. Why?"

Dawn looked at her as if she were particularly dense.

"She's...? No. Really?"

Dawn laughed, "How could you not know. She talks about her girlfriend all
the time. They've been together forever. They danced together at the spring
fling. It was really hot."

"I just thought they didn't have dates."

"Wow," said Dawn. "You really are naive, aren't you."

Marigold sighed, "I guess I am."

"So," said Dawn. "You've got my not-so-secret secret. Now, what gives with
you and Thule? Are you two an item."

"Like I said, it's..."

"I know," interrupted Dawn. "It's complicated. So, how is it complicated?"

Marigold started to explain, avoiding the delicate areas. The more she
explained, the less she avoided. Dawn asked a few questions, but was for the
most part non-judgemental. And Marigold desperately needed someone to talk
to.

After Marigold had poured out her heart, Dawn said, "I know that should be
awful, but you make it sound so...romantic."

Marigold sighed, "I think it's both. I can't describe how good it feels to
be with him, but he's warned me that he's not done punishing me. I'm afraid
of what comes next."

Dawn nodded sagely. Seemingly out of the blue, Marigold said, "Open your
blouse for a minute please."

Dawn's eyes widened. Jokingly, she said, "That was a quick turnaround."

Marigold blushed at the implication and held up her first aid kit, "I just
meant that I wanted to get something on those scratches on your chest and
stomach. I wasn't..."

Dawn smiled and started unbuttoning the blouse, "It's okay. You packed a
first-aid kit for a romantic weekend?"

Marigold nodded, "Like I said, I don't know what this weekend will bring. It
may be romantic. Or, it may be really awful. Besides, I don't like to be
more than a minute or two away from a first aid kit ever. It's the doctor in
me."

"Doctor?" Dawn asked.

Marigold smiled as she gingerly dabbed witch hazel on the other girl's chest
with a cotton ball, "It's sort of a family thing. My mother's father and
Jonas's mother were both doctors. I've wanted to be one ever since I was a
little girl."

Dawn nodded and fell silent. Finding the silence and situation impossibly
awkward, she asked, "Can I ask you a personal question?"

Dawn nodded, "Anything you want."

"Are you dating June Kane?"

Dawn laughed ruefully, "It's...complicated."

"So, how is it complicated?"

Dawn frowned, "Well. I follow her around like a heartsick puppy-dog and she,
for the most part, pretends that I don't exist. Then, every time I start to
lose interest, she throws me just enough of a bone to keep me around."

"That sounds pretty awful," said Marigold.

"Well," said Dawn. "I think that I really am over her since that party.
Besides, I've got a new crush now."

Marigold stopped applying the witch hazel, "Oh?" She managed to say it
casually, even though she'd stopped breathing. "Who?"

"Oksana," said Dawn.

"The greasy-haired redhead?" Marigold asked, vaguely disappointed.

"She's not greasy-haired...usually," said Dawn. "Sometimes, she gets so
wrapped up in her work that she forgets to sleep. And, she's got two sisters
with only two bathrooms for the whole family."

"I take it you two hit it off," said Marigold.

Dawn's laugh didn't convey a lot of humor, "Oh, yeah. We're good friends
now. So good, in fact, that she can't stop telling me about all the boys
she's interested in."

"She doesn't have a clue?"

"Until today, I would have said she was the most clueless person at
Mannsborough."

"Okay," said Marigold. "You can button up."

Dawn buttoned up while Marigold applied witch hazel to her forehead.

"So, when she talked about the boys she's interested in, did Thule's name
come up?"

Dawn laughed, "She already dated Thule, sophomore year. That's not gossip.
It's common knowledge. They're just good friends now. You have nothing to
worry about from Oksana."

Marigold's laugh was loud and abrupt enough that Dawn looked concerned. In
explanation, she said, "I'm sorry. I just think it's ridiculous that I'm
worrying that Thule might get bored with blackmailing me and go chase after
some other girl. But, I don't want to lose him."

"Well, like I said, you won't get any competition from Oksana. After they
dated, she lived at his house for like three months and nothing happened. If
she wanted another chance, I'm sure that would have afforded her one."

"Would it be really screwed up of me to say that was a load off of my mind?"
Marigold asked.

"Probably," said Dawn. "But, I won't tell if you don't."

                              -=-

When Marigold got back to class, there was less than fifteen minutes left in
class. Mr. Talbot gave her a look when she came in and there was a wave of
hushed conversation, but class continued more or less as normal.

Lowering her head to copy the diagram on the chalkboard, Marigold got a
chill. There had been meaning in the look the teacher had given her. And,
the meaning was suddenly clear to her. He knew about the fight. But, he had
no intention of saying anything. Glancing up from her notes, she caught
several people who abruptly stopped looking at her and started looking
anywhere else. Suddenly, she realized that everyone knew what was going on
around here except her. The teachers, the administrators, her parents, the
coach--everyone knew that something big and rotten was going on in
Mannsborough, big enough that they didn't want to tangle with it. She
wondered if anyone had the whole picture.

She paused in her writing, trying to figure out how everything she knew came
together. It seemed like everything led back in one way or another to Randy
Vandevoort and his family. But, as she began to put the pieces together, she
began to feel ridiculous. A few simple assumptions could make it seem like
the Vandevoorts were responsible for almost anything. The family was huge,
wide-spread, and secretive like the Carnegies or the Vanderbilts. They'd
been mixed up in the slave trade to the New World. Those she'd met all
seemed a bit sinister in hindsight.

She wanted to laugh. At least in her own head, she was starting to sound
like one of those conspiracy nuts who blames everything on Microsoft or the
president or little, green men. It might make for a good episode of the
X-Files. But, that was about it.

When the end of the school day finally rolled around, Marigold stowed her
books, closed her locker, and jumped back a step to see Brianne standing
there. The head cheerleader was glaring at her angrily. But, instead of
quailing, it was all Marigold could do not to laugh in her face.

Not entirely believing her own moxie, Marigold stepped closer to Brianne,
invading her personal space to the point that she could have kissed the
cheerleader before she could react. Getting the visual in her head, she had
to fight the urge to laugh again. She was close enough to see just how
poorly the concealer Brianne had used was doing its job and the bruise in
her cleavage that she hadn't bothered to hide.

"Don't even begin to think this is over, you holier-than-thou cunt," Brianne
growled, her voice low, but not so low that it couldn't be heard by at least
a dozen onlookers.

Instead of being cowed, Marigold went up on tip-toes so that her lips were
almost touching Brianne's ear. In an equally dramatic stage whisper, she
said, "If you ever try to lay a finger on my boyfriend, Elliot, I will skin
you, cut your well-marbled flesh into bacon-sized strips, fry them up, and
feed them to you."

Even though Marigold had borrowed the threat word-for-word from a
conversation she'd been laterally aware of on the steps among the dregs, it
had the desired effect. Brianne backed off, leaving Marigold with a look of
supreme satisfaction.

"Psycho," Brianne said. It was probably meant to be an insult, but it came
out tinged with respect. Before Marigold could respond, Brianne turned one
hundred eighty degrees and flounced off.

Satisfied, Marigold practically skipped to Thule's car and whatever awaited
her in the coming weekend.

                              -=-

When Marigold recounted her encounter with Brianne to Thule, he clapped his
hands, "Absolutely brilliant."

Marigold found herself grinning broadly at his approval, but said, "Of
course, it won't last long. Brianne doesn't strike me as the sort of girl
who leaves a man's sexuality in doubt for very long."

Thule laughed, "What a delightfully convoluted way of calling her a slut."

"Of course," said Marigold, "maybe he'll end up sharing her with Randy
Vandevoort. It would serve her right."

They were on the road leading out to the Vandevoort estate. Thule turned off
onto a road leading over the aptly-named Big Green Mountain.

"So," Thule said, rolling down his window to let a cool breeze in, "aren't
you the least bit curious as to where we're going?"

Marigold smiled, "Of course I'm curious. But I know I'll never get an answer
until you're ready to tell me."

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

Marigold clasped her hands in front of her, as if in prayer. Raising her
voice to a falsetto she said, "Oh, please, Thule. I would like e'er so much
to know where we're going if it pleases."

Thule laughed out loud, "Little Flower, are you getting a sense of humor
about this?"

Marigold shrugged, "It makes no difference to crack jokes on the gallows
stair. The dour and the irreverent both swing the same. A heavy spirit will
do nothing to split the noose."

Thule chuckled, "Is that from something?"

Marigold shook her head, "That's me being all poetic and goth. I thought I
would try it on for size."

"An excellent effort," said Thule. Then, more seriously, "Does it really
feel like going to the gallows?"

Marigold was earnest now, "I know it should. I expect that, if I were a
better Christian, it would."

"So, how does it feel?"

Marigold sighed, "I'm terribly conflicted, particularly if I think about it
too hard. I know it should be awful, but I'm really looking forward to
spending the weekend with you."

Thule pulled off the one-lane road onto an unpaved one. After about a minute
on it, he pulled over to the side, turned and gave her a piercing stare.
Finally, he said, "You are not at all what I expected when I got into this."

Marigold considered her possible responses, then decided to change the
subject, "So, where are we going this weekend?"

"New York," said Thule. Marigold looked around meaningfully at the dirt road
and the trees. Thule added, "As soon as I take care of something, we'll be
headed out. Tomorrow and Sunday, I need to spend about four hours each day
demoing my product to potential clients. But, the rest of the time, I plan
to spend...enhancing our friendship."

The sentence had come out breezily, but the last three words were heavy with
dark mischief. Thule gave Marigold a grin to match, then got out of the car.

"Wait here," he said. "This shouldn't take more than twenty minutes. If
anyone comes by, you stopped here for a nap or something. There's pepper
spray in the glove compartment."

Marigold nodded, then watched Thule go around the car, take a green duffel
bag out of the trunk, then trot into the forest and disappear out of sight.
She stared after him for a while, wondering where he had gone. Realizing
that she was unlikely to get an answer, she dug out her calculus textbook
and started to review the chapter she would be tested on Monday.

In roughly the time he'd said, Thule was back, lugging the bag behind him.
He was also whistling a jaunty tune.

"So," asked Marigold, "what was that all about?"

"Just something I had to take care of," Thule said cryptically.

Marigold looked at him critically, trying to will him to be more
forthcoming. But, Thule just restarted the car and became very intent on his
driving.

Marigold shrugged to herself. She wasn't going to find out anything Thule
didn't want her to know. So, she dropped the subject.

For the rest of the drive, the conversation remained light. It was easy for
Marigold to pretend that she was there entirely of her own free will, that
Thule was her boyfriend, and they were on their way to spend a
straightforward, uncomplicated romantic weekend in the city together.

The hotel turned out to be surprisingly nice. It wasn't five star, but fancy
enough that the valet sneered at Thule's car as if it were about to leap
onto the lobby carpet, shedding mud and rust all over the guests.

In the lobby, Thule registered under his own name with Marigold listed as
"plus one." Marigold chuckled at her own foolishness. She'd been secretly
hoping that he would sign it, "Bartholemew and Marigold Roemer." It fit the
script she was writing in her head better.

Upstairs, Thule flopped down on the couch, arching his back and stretching.
Marigold took the opportunity to examine her surroundings. The room was
another pleasant surprise. It was actually a suite with living room, two
bedroom and a small kitchenette. She opened the door leading out to a broad
balcony. Placing her hands on the wrought-iron railing, she looked out into
the twilight. From her vantage-point, eight floors up, she had a remarkable
view of Bryant Park.

She had dressed for the day in a calf-length denim skirt, simple, white
button-down blouse, knee-high black boots, and one of her new, more
flattering bras. There was nothing particularly risque about the outfit,
chosen for comfortable travel, but it somehow added to her growing sense of
furtive sophistication.

Behind her, Thule was chuckling over something the bellhop had said. Then,
she heard the door click shut and they were alone.

Thule came up behind her and put his hands on her shoulders. Towering over
her by almost a foot and a half, he had to lean down to kiss the top of her
head. Marigold leaned back against his stomach and closed her eyes. Then,
surprised by her own forwardness, she turned in his arms, wrapping herself
around his waist.

"Would you like to get out of those boots, Little Flower?"

Marigold realized that she would, very much, like to get out of her boots.
She nodded and let Thule lead her into the bedroom. She sat on the bed and
extended a foot. With strong hands, he gripped one boot after the other and
dislodged them from her feet.

Then, he sat down next to her on the bed. Marigold felt her breath catch in
her throat. Somehow, she had thought there would be more preamble than this.

"Lie down," Thule ordered. "Put your head on the far pillows and your feet
to my right."

When Marigold had done so, Thule took an ankle in his hand, lifted her foot
onto his lap, stripped off the sock, and began to knead the bottom of her
foot with just his thumbs. Marigold let out an involuntary groan of pleasure
and release. After he'd worked every possible bit of tension out of one, he
switched to the other.

While he was rubbing the second foot, the tension and pressure of the day
finally started to take her toll. Her eyes closed and, before she knew it,
she was asleep.

She woke alone in the room, the only light spilling in from the living room.
Thule's voice came clearly from that room, the words unclear, but the tone
one of a sales pitch. When she heard him replace the phone on the hook, she
padded out into the living room.

Thule was sitting at a desk making notes. Marigold walked quietly over to
him, stood behind his chair, and wrapped an arm around his chest. When Thule
didn't respond, Marigold started unbuttoning his shirt, running her
fingertips over the muscles of his chest. She'd advanced down to his belly
when he finally looked up.

"Do you want a shower before dinner?"

Marigold kissed the back of his neck, "I thought we were going to dinner
tomorrow. Are you sure you don't want to stay in tonight?"

Thule chuckled, "Little Flower, we will stay in tonight. But, I stink and I
have no intention of fainting on you. That means I need to eat and bathe."

Marigold had to admit that Thule was a bit fragrant. She suspected that she
must be as well, "All right. I guess I could use a shower too."

"Go ahead and get started," Thule said. "I just want to make a few more
notes."

Marigold stepped away from the desk and began to undress for the shower,
trying to catch Thule's eye. Thule remained intent on his work. When she was
naked for all but her bra, Marigold cleared her throat.

Thule looked up, "Now, that is a sight to warm the cockles of my heart."

Marigold smiled, reached back behind herself, and undid the bra, folding it
in half and placing it on top of the pile of her other clothes. Thule was
shaking his head and chuckling to himself.

"What's so funny?" Marigold asked.

Thule crooked a finger, "Come here. I want to try something."

Marigold walked over to where he sat. Thule placed a hand on her shoulder,
drew her head down so that her ear was in front of his lips, and growled, "I
am going to fuck you until you beg me to stop."

Marigold closed her eyes and felt her knees go weak. Thule gripped her waist
with his other arm and continued, "I'm going to fuck your sweet mouth. Then,
I'm going to fuck your tight, little pussy. Then, I'm going to have my way
with that gorgeous ass."

Marigold swooned. Thule caught her.

She opened her eyes, "Oh, Thule." She looked around the room, "Are you
really going to do all of those things to me?"

Thule nodded, "I may do more. It depends on how imaginative I get. Now, get
in the shower."

"Thule," said Marigold, detaching herself from his arm, "I'm not sure I want
you to do all that."

"Well, then," said Thule, writing something down, "isn't it fortunate that
what you want has no relevance?"

"I..."

Thule looked up, his piercing blue eyes boring into her, "It's too late to
turn back now, Marigold. You snuck out, came to New York with me, hugged me
in front of the desk clerk. I can do what I want to you and no one will
believe you didn't want it."

Marigold felt a chill. She hadn't realized how calculating Thule could be.

"Now," he said, his voice still intense, "get in the shower."

Marigold retreated to the bathroom, turned on the water, and got in the
shower. She wanted to cry. She didn't know why Thule had to be so mean. Why
couldn't he just relax and let her enjoy her ravishment?

The revelation that hit her was so intense that her eyes flew open even
though she had the shower pointed at her face. That was exactly why he'd
done it. Thule wanted this weekend to be punishment. Marigold was ruining
his fun.

Quickly, she considered her options. She could go along with his plan,
pretending to be miserable. It wouldn't be too hard. All she had to do was
recapture the feeling she'd had a minute before. Or, she could refuse to be
miserable, no matter what he did to her. That would be the riskier path,
since it might force him to escalate her punishment.

But, Marigold had to believe that Thule had become fond of her. And, while
he was capable of some truly awful behavior, he seemed to have his own
internal code of ethics that was as strong as any she'd ever seen. He would
punish her as much as he thought she deserved and no more. And, once he was
done punishing her, she would still be there.

It was an audacious plan, one worthy of Thule himself. That thought cemented
Marigold's resolve to go through with it. When he stepped into the shower
behind her, Marigold leaned back against him, wriggling her bottom as
seductively as she could.

Thule's already semi-erect cock stiffened immediately. Catching her by the
shoulders, he growled, "Marigold, behave."

Marigold gave an experimental wriggle, "That could mean a lot of things."

Thule gasped, but said, "Well, I suggest you find the correct meaning or
you'll be sleeping alone tonight."

Marigold whimpered her protest, but pulled about an inch away. She was
willing to get into a battle of wills with Thule, but not one she would
regret winning more than losing.

When Thule's hands, lathered with sweet-smelling soap, reached around and
stroked the fronts of her shoulders, there was a noticeable tremble to them.
He pulled Marigold backwards so that his cock was pressed into the small of
her back.

Slowly, methodically, Thule began to stroke Marigold's body, starting at her
neck and working his way down to her ankles and feet. He rubbed hard enough
that his touch was theraputic, erotic, and even comforting.

Every time he rubbed against her, Marigold could feel how hard he was. She
realized that Thule was barely holding on to the edge of self-control. If
she pressed the issue, he would break and take her right there, dinner and
careful planning be damned. Reluctantly, she resisted the urge to push him
to do just that.

Out of the shower, Thule wrapped her in a towel and dried her thoroughly,
his hands taking small liberties as they worked.

As he stood in front of her, toweling off her bottom, Marigold reached up,
drew down his head, and kissed him. Thule made a warning noise in his throat
and dropped the towel. His hands gripped her bottom, lifting her so that he
could stand upright without breaking the kiss.

Marigold's legs went around him, ankles locking together. She was
exhilarated by the sensation of his cock pressed against the back of her
thigh. All either one of them needed to do was shift a couple of inches and
he would be inside of her. Marigold resolved not to be the one to make the
move.

For a moment, she thought Thule had given in. He shifted her in his arms.
She braced herself to be taken. But, a moment later, she was lying flat on
her back and Thule was standing over her.

"Get dressed," he rasped. "We're going to dinner."

Marigold tried to answer, but he'd turned her back to her, opening his own
suitcase, and rifling through his own clothing. His motions were short and
jerky.

"Thule," she asked timidly, "are you mad?"

Thule shook his head as he pulled on his boxers, "Mad? No."

Marigold unzipped her suitcase, "Well, what then?"

Thule pulled on a pair of jeans, then turned to face her, "Bewildered would
be a good word. I expected at least some reluctance. I was ready to seduce
you, threaten you, whatever it took. I wasn't ready for you to be
so...eager."

Marigold pulled on some panties, then threw on a sundress over them, "Does
it help to say that I surprised myself?"

Thule chuckled, "A little. What's gotten in to you?"

Marigold avoided the obvious double-entendre, "If I'm right about the way
the world works, and I'm starting to think that I may not, then I'm already
damned. You only get absolution for contrition. I'm not contrite. I can't
pretend to be. So, I might as well enjoy it."

Thule frowned, then said, "I'm sorry, Marigold."

Marigold raised an eyebrow, "For what?"

Thule got a faraway look. Then, he said, "For making stupid promises."

Marigold was puzzled by the statement, but could see the firm line of his
jaw and knew that she would get no more information from him.

"Come on," she said. "Let's get to dinner."

Thule looked suddenly despondent. He sat down on the bed, staring up at her.
Finally, he asked, "Don't you feel like a whore?"

Marigold would have said almost anything to get that look of anguish off of
Thule's face. But, this was easy. She nodded solemnly, "I do. But, I find
that I don't mind as much as I thought I would."

                                      -=-

Thule's air of melancholy didn't last more than a few minutes into dinner.
By the time their entrees had arrived, he was talking with great animation.
He was at turns witty, engaging, entertaining, and flirtatious. Marigold
found herself warming to him even more.

The hotel restaurant was on the second floor, giving their patio-area table
a clear view of the park. Couples strolled by in the darkness, their
susurrations rising to Marigold's ears.

"Well," Thule said as he signed for the meal, "this seems to have been a
reasonably successful first date."

Marigold laughed, narrowly avoiding choking on her water.

In the elevator, Marigold leaned back against Thule. He wrapped his arms
around her and said, "Once we get back to Mannsborough, I want you to go on
the pill. I know it won't be easy to get, but that..."

"I'm already on the pill," said Marigold.

Thule looked down at her, "You are?"

Marigold nodded, "It was for...medical reasons. I've been taking it since I
was thirteen."

Thule just hugged her tighter. Marigold realized that she might have been
able to get a month's reprieve if she'd just kept her mouth shut. She also
realized that she didn't want it.

Leading Marigold into a bedroom, Thule stood behind her, hands undoing the
buttons of her dress. Despite the fact that he could have easily pulled it
over her head, he worked slowly, but trembled with the effort of restraint.
When the blouse was unbuttoned, he slid it from her shoulders. His lips came
down into the crook of her neck. Marigold moved to turn around and face him,
but he purred, "Hold still. You're not to speak or touch me until I say so.
Just do as you're told. Do you understand me?"  Marigold nodded.

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

He lifted her hips easily, sliding the dress over her hips. The panties, he
pulled free in a single motion. His lips pressed into her soft thatch of
hair, his tongue teasing its way around her clitoris, the tip darting in and
out to either side, licking a broad oval around it before running along the
length of it. Marigold fought to keep from making noise, but couldn't hold
it. The first moan came out of her like a sob. Her shoulders started to hurt
from the effort of clawing the bed covers so as not to wrap her arms around
his head, pushing him deeper. Meanwhile, his hands roamed freely up her
stomach and breasts, kneading, stroking and teasing the whole way. With her
first orgasm came tears, silver in the moonlight, leaked out of her by the
intensity of the moment and the effort of not speaking or wrapping her arms
around Thule. She let them flow freely.

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

"Put your head on the pillows and roll over," Thule said. The tone of
command seemed more natural to him than his own speaking voice now. Marigold
moved where he told her to go, feeling incredibly exposed and vulnerable.

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

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

When he stopped, she whimpered.

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

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

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

He sighed, "You can speak. Are you all right?" She nodded again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

                                 ===

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

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

Taking a pair of pillows, he piled them under her hips, "Lie on top of
these, face down." he whispered.

Thule's obscene promise came back to her, then. Involuntarily, her body
tensed even as she moved to comply.

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

"Relax," Thule ordered. The tone of command was so strong that, for a
moment, Marigold did. But, then he pushed again, burying himself a little
deeper into her. She tensed again, gripping and trying to push him out at
the same time. With a grunt of frustration, he pulled out.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It ended suddenly, explosively. When Thule came this time, he cried out as
if he had achieved a victory in battle, then pulled out, spurting the last
gobs across her back. He rolled over onto his back, his breath coming in
moans. Marigold lay where he had left her, feeling violated even as the
pleasure continued to wrack her body.

Before Marigold fell asleep again, she curled herself into the hollow under
Thule's arm. The effort wore her out and, even as her head found just the
right spot, she was asleep.

Princes of Mannsborough, Part 5 of approximately 22
by Vulgar Argot
(caution, edge, reluc, rom, MF, Oral, Anal, Catfight, Drunk)

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