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From: Vulgar Argot <vulgarargotREMOVEALL@CAPSinsidejoke.tv>
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Subject: {ASSM} Princes of Mannsborough, Part 6a (tags at bottom to avoid spoilerage.)
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Date: Tue,  3 Feb 2004 05:10:06 -0500
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Princes of Mannsborough, Part 6a of approximately 23 (last chapter is
22.)
by Vulgar Argot
(caution. Additional tags at bottom to avoid spoilerage.)

(Section 6 of "Marigold" was already monstrously long. After the
additions I made to "Princes of Mannsborough," it would have been even
longer [approximately 40 pages.] So, I split it into two pieces, 6a
and 6b.)

When Marigold woke, the world seemed to have gone fuzzy around the
edges. She was alone in the bed. Her head ached. She'd slept so
soundly that she had cricks in her neck and back. She was still sticky
from the night before.

Groaning, she hoisted herself up onto her elbows, opening her eyes
only reluctantly. Early morning light slanted in from the window. On
the bedside table, an airline-sized bottle of vodka stood open, a
third of the way full. Marigold chuckled darkly. She'd never had much
of a taste for alcohol, but this was ridiculous.

Sitting up on the edge of the bed, Marigold rubbed her neck and tried
to arch her back, balanced on one hand. Standing, she placed a fist in
the small of her back and leaned backwards over it.

The door opened, admitting Thule. He was dressed in a charcoal gray
business suit, adjusting a red, silk tie. His long, black mane was
tied into a neat ponytail. Instinctively, Marigold straightened up,
covering herself as well as she could with her own arms. Thule cocked
an eyebrow at her. Reluctantly, she let her arms drop to her sides.

"I didn't wake you, did I?" he asked. Marigold shook her head in the
negative.

"So," Thule asked, buttoning his jacket, "how do I look?"

Marigold stroked her jaw, considering the question, "Pretty
professional."

Thule smirked, "Only pretty professional?"

Marigold nodded, but said nothing. Instead, she turned her back and
walked to the closet, extracting her robe and wrapping it around
herself.

"That reminds me," said Thule. "I have a gift for you. I was going to
give it to you last night, after dinner, but..." He spread his hands
as if in explanation, letting his words trail off. He left the room
momentarily, then came back with a long box wrapped in silver paper.

As he held the box out, Marigold stared at it warily. Thule smiled,
"Take it."

Marigold reached out and took the box. Considering all the things
she'd been ordered to do, this was easy. In fact, being ordered to do
it actually seemed to take away some of the guilt she normally
associated with accepting gifts. Sitting on the bed Indian-style, she
slit the tape holding the paper together nearly with one fingernail.
For some reason, she felt that it was very important to behave like a
grown up right now.

She opened the box and drew out a red, silken kimono. A lotus blossum
was painted across the back of it in loving detail.

"I suspect you won't be able to wear that at home," said Thule,
sounding almost bashful. "But, I was thinking you could wear it at
Harvard. Maybe you'll remember..." Again, he trailed off.

Marigold stood up, her hands going to the belt at her waist. Thule
said, "You'll probably want to wash up before you try it on. It's not
very practical to clean."

Marigold looked down longingly at the robe, wanting to put it on, to
have Thule see her in it. Reluctantly, she let her hands drop, "Thank
you, Thule," she said. "I'm sure that I'll be glad to have it at
Harvard."

Wrapping her arms around Thule, she hugged him. After a moment, Thule
hugged her back. As he leaned down to kiss her, Marigold felt a moment
of panic. But, the kiss was gentle, not passionate.

"How do you feel this morning?" he asked.

"Violated," Marigold said as if it didn't matter, "and sore."

"Do you mind as much as you thought you would?"

Marigold lowered her head, pressing it against Thule's shoulder to try
to hide her tears, but her shoulders shook with them. Thule's arms
tightened around her.

"No," she whispered. "Not that much."

Thule stroked her hair, his touch feather-light, "You are a very
peculiar girl, Marigold."

Marigold leaned into his hand like a cat would, closing her eyes. She
allowed herself to sink back into the fantasy that Thule was her
boyfriend and she was here of her own free will.

"You probably need to get going," Marigold said, detaching herself
from his arms.

Thule nodded, "Shortly. Is there something unprofessional about the
way I look?"

Marigold reached up and smoothed his collar, "Much better. Only..."

Thule raised an eyebrow, waiting patiently. After a few seconds,
Marigold said, "I only wish we could do something about your hair. I
suppose tying it back will have to do."

Thule didn't answer. Leaning in to kiss her on the top of the head, he
said, "I'll be back no later than two. Until then, your time is your
own. If you get anything to eat, just sign it to the room."

"Thank you, Thule," she said, surprised to find that her words
reflected genuine gratitude. Thule gave her an ironic half-smile,
picked up his briefcase, and was gone.

Marigold found herself standing alone in the bedroom in front of the
open closet. Somehow, when she'd thought ahead to this weekend, no
matter how she felt about it, she'd assumed that Thule would be there
with her the whole time, not leaving her to her own devices.

As long as he'd been there, Marigold had felt...not right about what
she was doing, but not exactly wrong, either. She'd felt...absolved.
She was only following orders. Whether she enjoyed it or not didn't
matter because it was coerced.

Looking in the mirror on the back of the closet door, Marigold
wondered what was wrong with the light in this room that it made her
eyes look so glassy, like she was about to cry. The thought had barely
crossed her mind when she found herself sagging to her knees, laying
her head against the mirror's cool surface, and weeping.

What was wrong with her? Not ten minutes before, she'd been on an even
keel, accepting of what had happened. Now, she found herself fighting
an urge to curl up in a ball on the floor. She wanted nothing so
desperately as to pull her old, comfortable terrycloth robe out of her
luggage, climb back into bed, and sleep.

She couldn't, though. Thule would be back by two. She may not know
what she wanted right now, but she did know that she didn't want to
make him angry. Last night had brought out in stark relief just how
much the quality of her life depended on keeping Thule...well, not
happy. There was something dark and troubled about Thule today...but,
at least, not mad at her.

Taking a moment to brace herself, she looked in the mirror again and
heard her own involuntary snort of laughter at just how ridiculous she
looked. Spurred to action, she rose, walked into the large main
bathroom, and turned on the faucet for the big whirlpool tub.

For a long time, she stared at the running water, thinking nothing,
letting the steam open her pores. She needed cleansing. If she could
just get clean, she would feel worlds better. Of course she was
miserable. With tears drying on her cheeks and something that didn't
bear investigating drying on the insides of her thighs, how could she
be anything but miserable?

Turning on the jets, she stepped over the edge, relieved to see that
the steam had already fogged up the mirrors around the tub. Did this
hotel have some kind of a weird mirror fetish? Didn't they know that
girl might want to have a place where she didn't have to look at
herself once in a while.

Not a girl, she corrected herself, a woman. Wasn't that what they said
after a girl had sex for the first time--that she'd become a woman?
Fine. She had no idea what else she was now. At least she had one
element of identity to hold onto.

With the jets swirling around her, pounding aches out of her muscles,
Marigold tried to decide what else she was. The first words that came
to mind, unbidden, were "a whore," but they didn't last. As much as
she'd done last night, even things she'd sworn to herself not so long
ago that she would never do, she had to acknowledge that, from a
practical standpoint, it probably took more than could be done in a
single night with a single man to make a girl into a proper whore.

She certainly wasn't "the Virgin Marigold," anymore as Brianne had
been so fond of taunting her with. Idly, she fantasized about laughing
in Brianne's face the next time she brought out that old saw. Of
course, that would leave her in the position of explaining that it
hadn't been with her boyfriend, Elliot, but with Thule, the king of
the dregs.

What was she going to do about Elliot? She'd accepted that she was
going to lose him and, with him, her plans for what to do once school
was over. With acceptance came the realization that the thought of
losing him didn't effect her much either way. With one brief
exception, he'd been her boyfriend for as long as she'd had a
boyfriend, but their relationship had never progressed much beyond
what it was when they were eleven years old. Earlier this year, she'd
been surprised to find that he had applied to schools outside of
Boston "just to be safe" and, at least as of the last time she talked
to him, still not declared which school he was going to.

What was left of her, then? How would she describe herself?

She was a Christian still, certainly. No matter how many of God's laws
you broke, you didn't get expelled from that. But, the more she saw of
people who felt the need to describe themselves as Christian, the less
she felt comfortable attaching the adjective to herself.

She was still going to be Valedictorian. Thule could have forced her
to let her grades slip so that he graduated first in their class, but
he really didn't seem to care. Imagine that. All this time, she'd
imagined him breathing down her neck, agonizing over every assignment,
every test, every grade the way she did and he didn't even care.

She was still studious, then. She was still going to Harvard, then
John's Hopkins.

She tried that description on for size, "Dr. Marigold Tarr, studious
woman." The words echoed back at her. The ridiculousness of it made
her giggle.

What about the rest of her plans? The wedding between college and
medical school? The three children, two girls and a boy, little Jonas
II, Jessica, and Maya? She shrugged. She would just have to find
someone else to marry. Maybe that's what she would do to Thule if she
ever found anything to blackmail him with--make him marry her, cut his
hair, and get a good job. That would show him.

Most of the soreness had melted away by now. Only her thighs still
ached from the abuse they had taken. Hanging over the edge of the tub,
she straddled one of the jets. Letting the water pound against one,
then the other thigh, she was careful not to hold herself so low that
she would be masturbating, as much as she might like to. The path of
the righteous was often narrow and hard. Whatever Thule did to her,
however he made her feel, she knew the difference between being
coerced and going willingly into sin.

Still, it was with no small measure of regret that she finally drained
the tub. While she'd bathed, the maid had come in, made the beds, and
left more towels. She'd even taken away the little vodka bottle. The
room looked almost sterile in its cleanliness. With all signs of the
evening's debauch gone, Marigold felt her spirits rise. She dried
herself off and wrapped the kimono around her body. It turned out to
be surprisingly modest in cut even if the feeling of silk against her
skin seemed vaguely illicit.

Later, sitting on the veranda, wrapped in the kimono, she drank
too-bitter coffee made palatable with cream and sugar, and nibbled on
a croissant. The late spring sunlight played on her skin, cooled by a
gentle breeze. From far below, she heard traffic noise. But, up here,
she felt isolated, protected from the world.

"Dr. Marigold Tarr, studious woman," she said again. This time, she
didn't giggle, only smiled. It didn't sound so bad.

                         -=-
                         
After breakfast, Marigold lounged on the couch in the suite's living
room trying on her identity as a sophisticated, sexual young woman.
She could still feel Thule inside of her. When she got tired of
lounging, she tried to read her biology textbook. After reading the
same paragraph six times without getting any meaning out of it, she
gave up on homework as a lost cause.

In the bedroom, she frowned at her bathing suit. She'd bought it last
year more with the idea of flattening her figure than flattering it.
The truth was that it didn't do much of either. She would have to do
something about that.

Downstairs, there were two pools, one marked "family," the other "no
children." She took two steps towards the former before steeling
herself and heading to the "no children" side. She'd paid the dues of
adulthood. She might as well enjoy it.

Still half expecting to hear someone yell at her to get back to the
kiddie pool, Marigold dove into the deep end, slicing neatly into the
water. There was only one other swimmer in the pool, cutting across
the lanes, back and forth. Rather than risk collision, Marigold swam
in parallel with him, pushing herself hard. The exertion felt good.
She lost track of how many times she crossed before noticing that the
other swimmer had stopped and was trying to speak to her.

Latching onto the wall, she turned to face him, "Excuse me?"

"I said, 'You're a very strong swimmer.'" the man said, his voice
thick with an Australian accent, "You were leaving me in the dust out
there."

"Oh," said Marigold. "Thank you. I was just working out some tension."

The man nodded, "Me too. I just spent most of the day on an airplane."

"From Australia?"

"Moscow," said the man. "I haven't been home in three months. By the
way, I'm Adam." He extended a hand to shake.

Marigold took the hand and introduced herself, "Nice to meet you."

Shaking her hand, Adam said, "Well, Marigold. I know it's a bit early
by the clock on the wall, but I feel like it's about midnight. Can I
offer you a drink?"

Marigold almost demurred without thinking. She'd never really drunk
alcohol. But, she paused and appraised Adam. He was older, maybe by as
much as ten years. She wondered if Thule would even care if he saw her
having a drink with another guy. He certainly hadn't forbidden it.

"All right," she said. "Something with vodka in it, I think."

Adam leveraged himself out of the pool, "A screwdriver?"

Marigold nodded, "Sure."

By the time Adam came back, Marigold had wrapped herself in one of the
hotel's robes and sat down at one of the unoccupied tables at
poolside. The drink was sweet and barely tasted like alcohol.

"So," asked Adam, sipping his beer. "Are you here with your husband?"

Marigold smiled. She must be pulling off the adult act better than she
thought. Not wanting to be caught out for the game she was playing,
she said, "Yes. He's meeting some investors today."

"Oh," Adam's face fell. "Only..."

"Only?"

"Well," said Adam. "You're not wearing a ring."

"Oh," said Marigold, her hands fluttering to her face at being caught
in a lie. "He's not really my husband yet. He's my fiancee."

Marigold was still congratulating herself for the quick save when Adam
said, "Still, no ring?"

"Err..." said Marigold. "We...that is...we'll have one soon....once we
graduate. Bartholomew's going to be an electrical engineer. Then,
we'll have a ring and a big wedding."

"Oh," said Adam. "Where do you go to school?"

"Harvard," said Marigold. "My husband goes to MIT."

"Your fiancee," prompted Adam. "Bartholomew."

"Thule," said Marigold. "His friends call him Thule."

"So," asked Adam. "Are you and Thule in New York for long?"

Marigold shook her head, "Just for the weekend. Then we have to get
back to Boston for class."

"That's a pity," said Adam. "I'm here for two weeks. It would be nice
to have the company of a couple of bright people my own age. It's been
a long time since I've had any real non-business-related contact. And,
I'm not going to see my family for another three months." He took a
long slug from his beer.

"Family?"

Adam smiled, "My wife and my two year old son, Devon. I hate leaving
them alone like this. But, it's a couple of years before I'll be able
to work out of the home office."

"Your wife?" Marigold glanced meaningfully at his hand.

Adam held up the appendage in question displaying his bare ring
finger, "I'm on the road six months at a time. My wife is a
very...understanding woman."

He made eye contact on the last two words. Marigold looked away, "So,
what do you do that keeps you away from home so much?"

"I travel in espionage."

"Excuse me?"

"I sell surveillance equipment--tiny cameras, microphones, little
recorders."

Marigold leaned her head on her hand, "Really? How interesting."

Adam looked surprised, "Really? Most people just think it's creepy.
Personally, I'm a bit bored with it. I sell mostly to big corporations
and police departments."

The rest of the conversation went much more smoothly. Marigold barely
had to embellish on the original lie. At some point, Adam went to get
himself another beer and brought her another screwdriver.

Marigold became so engrossed in the conversation that she lost all
track of time. Glancing at the clock, she saw that it was nearly ten
after two. Leaping to her feet, she said, "Oh, God."

Adam's face showed concern, "Is something wrong."

"No," said Marigold hurriedly. "I just realized that I'm late. I have
to go. It was nice meeting you, Adam."

"You, too," said Adam. "If you want to talk again or anything, I'm in
room 822."

                                  -=-
                                  
Marigold bolted back to the suite, fearing what punishment might be
waiting for her. Letting herself in, she called out, "Thule?"

Hearing no answer, Marigold collapsed on the couch, feeling like she'd
dodged a bullet. When Thule arrived ten minutes later, she'd had just
enough time to worry that something might have happened to him. She
rose and wrapped her arms as far as they would go around his barrel
chest, laying her head below his heart. After a momentary pause, Thule
hugged her back.

"You're in a much better mood," he commented.

Marigold, who had completely forgotten about her foul mood earlier in
the day, realized that she was just glad to see Thule. She tilted her
head back for a kiss. He accommodated her, his tongue teasing hers out
of her mouth.

"You've been drinking," he said, sounding surprised.

"You got me drunk last night," Marigold pointed out, smiling. "I
thought I should at least see what alcohol tasted like. How was your
meeting?"

Thule stepped out of the circle of her arms, "Non-productive. The guys
loved my product, but don't want to buy it. They want me to join their
little company and bring the software with me. And, there's no way I
can realistically do that while I'm a freshman at MIT without working
myself into an early grave." As he spoke, he threw his jacket over a
chair and undid his tie, "Have you had lunch yet?"

"No," said Marigold. "I didn't know if you would want to eat lunch
together."

Thule smiled, "Sounds good. Do you want to go downstairs or eat here?"

Marigold's heart sank at the idea of running into Adam downstairs at
the restaurant and having to explain her story to Thule when she
wasn't even sure why she had told it in the first place. Quickly, she
said, "Let's eat here."

"All right," said Thule. "Would you call down the order and stay
dressed enough to answer the door, please? I'm going to change into
something more comfortable."

They took lunch on the patio. For once, the conversation lacked its
usual brooding intensity. When Marigold asked Thule what the product
was he was trying to sell, he rattled off an explanation involving
phrases like, "Bayesian analysis," "topography," and "heuristic
processes."

"Now I feel stupid," said Marigold. "Not only could I not build
something like that, I still don't know what it is."

Thule smiled, "You're not stupid, Little Flower. It's a tool for
representing complex data, creating generalizations from it, and using
those generalizations for decision making."

"I don't remember learning any of that in school," said Marigold. "I
must have been out that day."

"We didn't," said Thule. "I've been a math geek since like the fourth
grade."

Before she could stop herself, Marigold blurted out, "Thule, you're
not a geek."

Thule raised an eyebrow at her, "Sure I am. I worked hard to earn that
title."

"But..." said Marigold, stunned.

"Yes?" asked Thule, a note of menace creeping into his voice.

"Nothing," said Marigold quietly. Thule just looked at her until she
realized she would not be able to leave it at that.

"It's just that...you're in such good shape," said Marigold. Still,
Thule didn't speak. She knew that wasn't a good answer. "And you know
how to talk to people...And...." Now, she blushed furiously.

"And..."

Marigold's voice was a whisper, "and you clearly know what you're
doing in bed."

"And that makes me not a geek?" Thule asked.

Marigold nodded, not knowing where he was going with this
conversation.

"So," he asked, his voice casual. "Who did you fuck to get to get such
good grades?"

Marigold sat bolt upright, "No one. Thule, I earned my grades."

"Couldn't be," said Thule. "Everyone knows popular girls are too
stupid to get more than a C+ without fucking somebody. In between the
teachers and the football team, it's a wonder you don't have bedsores
on your back."

It took Marigold a second to realize what Thule was getting at. When
she did, she released a burst of relieved laughter. Still, his face
was angry.

"Thule, I'm so sorry," she said. "I know most of those things are
cliches. It's just force of habit. I'm sorry."

"Marigold," he said patiently. "I would think that, after the time
we've spent together, particularly at lunch, that you would have
learned something."

"I have," said Marigold, getting upset. "Thule, I really like most of
the guys that we eat lunch with. I said I was sorry. Do you want me to
beg for forgiveness?"

"Yes," said Thule. His voice was almost even, but held an undercurrent
of menace. He rose to stand in front of her.

"All right," said Marigold, looking up at him. "I'm begging. Please
forgive me."

"I don't think that seated is really the appropriate position from
which to beg."

Marigold looked around in stunned surprise. Looking straight at Thule,
her eyes were at crotch level. She could see his arousal. Giving a
little nod, she went down to her knees, her bottom resting on her
feet.

After a moment, Thule asked, "Well?"

"I'm sorry," said Marigold, close enough to feel warmth radiating off
his body. "I forgot what I was supposed to be begging for."

"You were begging me not to be mad at you for being a shallow,
superficial bitch."

Marigold smiled to herself, "Please, Thule," she said, leaning
forward, "Don't be angry with me." She reached out her hands and began
to undo his fly, "Please," she said.

"Marigold," Thule said evenly. "A genuine apology does not require
physical contact."

Marigold was stunned. If she wasn't down here to suck his cock, what
was she there for? He couldn't actually just want her down there,
begging forgiveness for telling the truth about geeks, could he? But,
the longer she thought about it, the more she realized that there were
no obvious conclusions other than that one.

"Please, Thule," she said, "Don't be angry at me for what I said."

He looked down at her, but didn't say anything.

"Please, Thule," she said again, "Don't be angry at me."

"For what?" Thule asked.

"For what I said," Marigold answered.

"Is that what I told you to beg for?"

Marigold was stunned again, but her response time for getting over
being stunned was improving by leaps and bounds, "Please, Thule," she
recited, "Don't be angry at me for being a shallow, superficial
bitch."

"Are you contrite, Little Flower?"

"Yes, Thule," she answered, "I think so."

"Well," asked Thule, "are you or aren't you?"

"I don't know," admitted Marigold, "I'm not sure what's wrong with
what I said. I am sorry for making you angry, though."

"I'm not angry, Little Flower," said Thule, stroking her hair. "I'm
just disappointed to see that you still think those labels mean
anything. If Brianne decided to call you a geek tomorrow, who would
agree with her?"

"June Kane," said Marigold. "And the other cheerleaders." She thought
about it, "And the guys on the teams would probably repeat it." She
lowered her head, "Pretty much everyone, I guess--except the geeks
themselves."

"And, how would you be different?" Thule asked.

"What?" Marigold's head shot up.

"How would you be different?"

"I wouldn't."

"But, you would be a geek," said Thule. "By extension, you would be
out of shape, socially inept, and lousy in bed."

"I wouldn't actually be a geek," said Marigold. "just because they
called me a geek."

"Would you be popular?"

Marigold lowered her head again, "I suppose not. Are you saying that
some of the geeks aren't really geeks even though everyone calls them
geeks?"

"I'm saying," Thule sighed heavily, "that broad generalizations rarely
actually mean anything. Some of those 'geeks' spend every weekend
making or swinging swords and are a good deal stronger than the jocks.
Most of them know how to talk to people, but rarely find anything that
people outside of their own circle say interesting. Some..." he let
the word hang in the air, "even know how to fuck with reasonable
proficiency. You can't apply generalities to specific cases as if it
were gospel. You know, if you would watch TV once in a while, I
wouldn't have to explain this."

"I watch TV," said Marigold defensively.

"Regardless," said Thule. "The problem is that you are making group
generalizations based on what you've observed and applying them to the
individuals in the group. You presuppose you know everything about a
person because you can label them."

"Oh," said Marigold. She thought for a moment, "Isn't that what the
software you wrote does?"

Thule blinked down at her. By the stunned look on his face, Marigold
knew that she'd scored a point. Afraid she was about to be punished,
she stared back up at him, not speaking.

"I appreciate the irony," said Thule finally. "But, it's not the same
thing."

"All right," said Marigold, not willing to press the point.

"Stand up," said Thule. "Go inside. Take off what you're wearing and
put on the kimono I gave you. Then, come back out here."

Marigold hurried to obey. When she came back, Thule said, "Hold onto
the railing with both hands. Don't let go until I tell you that you
may."

Marigold nodded, gripping the railing and closing her eyes. She
trembled as Thule pressed himself up against her back, pinning her to
the railing.

"Thule..."

Thule placed a finger over her lips and growled in her ear, "No
speaking except to answer questions."

Marigold nodded. Thule took his finger away from her mouth. With both
hands, he gripped the sides of her kimono at the waist, pulling until
the material was resting on her hips, leaving her naked from the waist
down. Marigold moaned in anticipation. She couldn't believe that Thule
was going to take her right there.

His hand snaked down between her legs, pushing them apart, a finger
sliding just inside of her. Marigold moaned again.

"God," said Thule. "You're soaking wet. Does begging really turn you
on that much?"

Marigold nodded, surprising herself. When she spoke, it was a rasp,
"Yes."

Thule chuckled. Marigold felt herself flush.

"Now that I have your attention, I will explain," said Thule. 

Marigold let out a groan of protest. Thule wanted her to listen to an
explanation now?

"The application I've written applies generalizations for the purpose
of creating a best guess of group activities before specialization.
For instance, if it were set up to evaluate the actions of ten
thousand cheerleaders, it could probably be right seventy to
seventy-five percent of the time on many questions. But, that
demographic would include you, Brianne, Dawn, Ioke, Maya, and June
Kane. In terms of individual analysis, it could be wildly off. Does
that make sense?"

As he spoke, Thule had been letting his fingers have free reign inside
of her, letting the tips graze time and again over her clit. Now, she
shook her head, "Oh, God, Thule...no."

Thule chuckled, "Are you answering my question or protesting my
actions?"

"Answering," Marigold said, then moaned. "I...please don't stop what
you're doing."

Thule started to withdraw his fingers, "I may have to. You don't seem
to be listening."

"It's not that," protested Marigold pressing herself against Thule's
fingers, trying to get him back inside of her. "I...I haven't been a
cheerleader in years. I never hang out with the cheerleaders except at
lunch and on the front steps before school. I don't go to their
parties or..."

"All right," said Thule, absentmindedly stroking her clit again.
Marigold's whole body shuddered in relief and pleasure. "But, when you
were a cheerleader, were you just like Brianne?"

Marigold wanted to deny it, but wondered what answer Thule expected.
In the last few years, she'd been pretty cruel at times, but never
really enjoyed it like Brianne did. She'd only done what it took to
stay popular. If she'd been nice to everyone, she would only have
shared in their torment.

Freshman year, when she'd been a cheerleader, had been another story.
Depending on how much Thule knew, he could very well think she'd been
just like Brianne. And, she had to admit, she wasn't so sure anymore
herself.

"I...I don't know," she finally blurted out.

"Too hard to think?" Thule asked, letting up on her again.

"No," said Marigold quietly, laying her head on the railing. "I just
don't know anymore. I was pretty awful. I did a lot of things I'm not
proud of. I don't know if I was as bad as Brianne, but...I'm so sorry,
Thule."

Thule stood up, taking his hands off of her, letting her kimono drop
back to her ankles, "Do you have something to confess, Little Flower?"

Marigold wanted to. But, she couldn't open her mouth to say the words.
She wanted abosultion, but desperately didn't want Thule to hate her.
Finally, she shook her head and said quietly, "No."

Thule ran a finger down her spine, "You can let go of the railing
now."

Marigold stood up, turning to be taken into Thule's arms, but he had
his back to her.

"Thule," she asked. "Aren't you going to...?"

He turned around, smirking, "Going to what?"

"Make love to me?" Marigold asked, voice barely above a whisper.

Thule's laugh chilled her, "I haven't yet. And I don't have time to
fuck you again. We have to get ready for dinner. Go start a bath. I'll
join you shortly."

                                -=-

When Thule joined Marigold in the tub, he sat in the opposite corner.
She splashed over to him, backing into his arms. After a moment spent
just sitting there, Thule soaped up a washcloth and began to gently
wash her skin, finishing his explanation of how his software worked,
moving from the general to the specific. As soon as she thought she
could get away with it, Marigold wriggled her bottom against him.
Already halfway hard, Thule stiffened immediately, but went on with
the cleaning and the explanation as if he hadn't noticed.

Emboldened, Marigold raised her hips, trying to impale herself on
Thule's cock. Her body was vibrating with tension and desire. Thule
shifted himself ever so slightly. Marigold tried to position herself
again. Thule shifted again. The third time, Marigold realized that he
was doing it on purpose.

"Thule, please..." she begged.

"Do you want me to fuck you?" he growled in her ear.

Marigold nodded emphatically, "God, yes. You've got me so worked up. I
can't stand it. I just want you inside me again."

"Spread your legs," he ordered. When Marigold did, he locked his
ankles in front of hers, keeping them open. Then, he twisted, turning
in the tub until he was in the middle of it and Marigold was pressed
against the edge.

Rising a little, Thule bent her over the edge. Marigold moaned,
spreading her legs even further. As he positioned himself, she found
herself stretched over one of the jets. It hit her straight between
the legs. Before Thule could enter her, she came hard. Blushing, she
hoped Thule hadn't noticed.

Not only had he noticed, Thule locked her into position, forcing her
to stay over the jet. Marigold tried to squirm away, but Thule held
her firm.

"Please..." she whimpered. "Thule, please...fuck me. Please fuck me.
God, Thule. I need you." She knew she was begging, but didn't care.

Thule didn't answer, just held her there. Marigold sobbed with
pleasure and frustration. It seemed like he held her there for hours,
but Marigold knew intellectually that it was probably only a few
minutes. She didn't come again. The pleasure was too intense on her
tender parts to drive her to climax.

Finally, he released her, pushing backwards to the far wall. Marigold
turned to look at him, her eyes shining with lust.

"Fuck me, Thule," she whimpered.

"No," said Thule, rising out of the tub, turning off the jets, and
opening the drain. "If we're going to make it to dinner on time, we
need to get ready." He strode past her. "Get dried off. I have another
gift for you."

Marigold caught his hand as he went by, thinking to pull him back into
the tub. When she looked up, she let go. There was no mercy in his
eyes.

"You're a bastard," she said quietly.

Thule didn't bother to argue, "Get dried off," he repeated.

Left alone in the tub, Marigold had little choice but to follow. Her
legs were wobbly and shaky. She gasped a little even as she drew the
towel gently across her breasts.

She was tempted to close the door and finish herself off. Truth be
told, closing the door was not an absolute requirement. But, she'd
seen something in Thule's eyes that suggested he wanted her in this
excited state. If she ruined it, he might take actions to get her back
into it while they were out in public.

The idea made her knees so weak that she stumbled on her way out of
the bathroom. Thule looked up. She smiled apologetically.

Thule held up a dress by its spaghetti straps. It was gray and nearly
sheer. Marigold stood, stunned.

"Thule, it's..."

"Beautiful?" he offered.

"Obscene," Marigold said, not exactly contradicting him. "Thule, I
could be arrested for wearing that."

Thule chuckled and held up the dress, indicating Marigold should
approach. She hesitated for a moment, not even sure she wanted Thule
to see her in it. Then, she realized she was naked and that putting
something on should only be an improvement to her modesty.

She was wrong. The dress dipped down in the back so far it almost
showed cleavage. Held up with spaghetti straps, there was absolutely
no place to wear a bra underneath it. However, support had been
artfully sewn into the body of the dress itself. Once she had shimmied
into the dress, Thule drew two long straps, no wider than the ones on
her shoulders, crossed them under her breasts, and tied them in the
back.

Marigold looked in the mirror and frowned a little. The first thing
she noticed was that the material had stiffened her nipples. The
support material made this less obvious than she thought it would be,
though. Turning this way and that, she wriggled a little.

"Hmmmm..." she said thoughtfully. "I guess it only looks like I could
fall out of it at any moment. Actually, it's lovely."

"Are you sure?" Thule asked. "If you would rather wear something
else..." The look in his eyes made it clear that he didn't believe for
a second that Marigold would refuse the dress now.

The look was the only thing tempting Marigold to surprise him and
refuse. She looked at herself in the mirror. Thule had obviously spent
a lot of time figuring out what would look good on her. Marigold had
never felt so beautiful.

Instead of refusing, she said the first thing that popped into her
head, "You really like dressing me up. Don't you?"

Thule chuckled and nodded, already dressing himself.

"Why?"

The question hung in the air for a long moment. If Thule hadn't
stopped what he was doing, Marigold would have worried that he hadn't
heard the question or was ignoring it. Finally, he said, "Whether we
like it or not, we partly become who we are dressed as. Playing dress
up is like lying to yourself in the hope that, if you repeat something
often enough, it becomes true."

Marigold gave him a meaningful look, "Who am I in this dress? Who is
it that you want me to be?"

Thule leaned into her, the hand on the back of her head and kiss on
her forehead taking any sting out of his words, "Anybody other than
who you've really been--a new woman."

Marigold clutched at Thule as her legs suddenly threatened not to hold
her up. He looked at her, concern writ large in his eyes.

She gave him a reassuring smile, "I think I like that."

Thule didn't answer. To fill the silence, Marigold said, "But, if this
dress drives some poor man so mad with lust that he attacks me, you'll
have to defend my honor."

By way of answer, Thule gave her a sardonic smile that made Marigold
blush down to her toes even though she wasn't sure what it meant.

                         -=-
                         
For dinner, Thule took her to a little bistro in Chelsea, a French
restaurant that was dark as a pit inside. The hostess led them through
the gloom to a hidden garden area with additional seating, surrounded
by buildings on all four sides. They took the only empty table. As
they crossed the garden, Marigold felt like every eye in the place
followed her. Men leered openly while women shot hateful daggers at
her. Invigorated by both reactions, she hugged Thule's arm tighter.

Thule explained the menu to her, making suggestions and warnings.
Marigold agreed to all of them until she realized that was what she
was doing and deliberately chose something Thule had suggested was
"too challenging." Thule ordered it for her without comment. Nor did
he comment when she left most of it on her plate at the end of dinner.

Still squirming a little in her seat with the aftereffects of what
Thule had done to her that afternoon, Marigold drank white wine until
it took some of the edge off of her desire.

The only other disappointment with the meal was the coffee.

"Why," she asked Thule, "does everybody in New York have to burn their
coffee?"

"It's not burnt," said Thule. "It's French roast."

"Well," Marigold answered, putting her cup down, "I'm drinking tea for
the rest of the weekend. To me, it just tastes burnt."

After dinner, Marigold had thought they were walking back to the
hotel. It took several blocks for her to realize that they were
walking the wrong way.

"We're not going back to the hotel?" she pouted. Even dulled with
alcohol, her desire was like a dull ache inside her.

"Not yet," said Thule. "There's some place I'd like to take you."

Marigold giggled, "Take me anywhere you want."

Thule guided her to another part of Chelsea. A man standing outside a
club was calling out, "Live music," in a voice that sounded to have
been ruined by whisky and cigarettes, but still seemed to hold some
melody.

When Thule came to the door, the hawker smiled, "Glad you could make
it, young sir."

Thule smiled back and shook the man's hand, "Is the band in good form
tonight?"

The hawker grinned wider, white teeth now dominating his black face,
"They sure are. Is this the young lady you mentioned?"

Thule nodded. The man's smile got impossibly broader, "Nice to meet
you, Marigold. I'm Lucius Collins. I used to play with your father
right before and right after you were born."

"Here?" Marigold looked at the nondescript club. The music that
emerged had seemed vaguely familiar, but she hadn't immediately
recognized why.

Lucius nodded, "Yeah. I played with him at his last show. We all were
really sorry to hear when he died. He talked about you all the time.
It's nice to see what a beautiful young woman you've grown up to be."

"Thank you," said Marigold graciously. She glanced at Thule. He didn't
look at all surprised by this turn of events.

As they entered the club, she asked, "How in the hell did you find
this place?"

"Your father was something of a local celebrity in his time," said
Thule. "He wasn't hard to look up on the Internet."

"How long have you been planning this?"

"Tonight specifically?" asked Thule. "Since that first night in the
newspaper office."

"And the rest?" asked Marigold.

Thule laughed, "About three years."

Marigold laughed with him until she realized he was serious. Three
years ago, Thule had still been on the track team, still tolerated by
the jocks and the popular cliques. Most of freshman year, he'd dated
her best friend, Maya, who was a cheerleader and fairly popular in her
own right.

She froze so suddenly that Thule's next two steps dragged her forward
before he stopped and looked back.

"I need the lady's room," she said. Thule nodded and indicated the
booth at which they would be sitting. Marigold fled in as dignified a
manner as she could.

Staring in the mirror, she knew what Thule was really punishing her
for. All he'd said about this being revenge for years of torture was a
facade. There was one specific event three years ago that could have
made him so angry that he would have nursed a grudge this long.

Worse, Marigold couldn't blame him.

In a panic, she looked around the room, thinking for a moment that she
could make an escape like in the movies, letting herself out a window.
She could take a bus back to Mannsborough, get Jonas to protect her.
Thule would tell Harvard about her. At the moment, it didn't matter so
much as getting away. With the realization of what he knew, Marigold
felt certain that Thule had no intention of letting her go to Harvard.
He must want to kill her.

When she saw that there was only one window in the room, high up and
too small to get through, Marigold was forced to think rationally.
Thule hadn't shown any indication of wanting to hurt her. He'd had
opportunities. Instead, he'd spent a huge amount of money and time
making this the most memorable weekend of her life.

He must not know the whole story, Marigold decided. She just needed to
keep her cool. She looked in the mirror and put on a smile. Still, she
couldn't get the thought out of her head that she deserved every bad
thing Thule had done to her. She deserved worse. Resolutely, she
pushed the thought aside. Thule was waiting for her.

                                        -=-
                                        
When Marigold approached the table, Thule smiled to see her. Marigold
examined the smile carefully for any hidden malice. Instead, she found
genuine warmth. He was happy to see her. When she slid into the booth,
he put his arm around her, pulling her against him, facing the stage,
eager for her to watch with him.

Marigold didn't understand what was going on. If Thule knew what she'd
done, he gave no sign. But, what else could he have held a grudge
about for this long?

Still, he held her, stroked the flesh of her arms, whispered to her,
smiled at her. If he wasn't enjoying her company, he was a far better
actor than any she'd seen. Taking a deep breath, she let herself relax
and enjoy the evening.

She was still nervous enough to accept a screwdriver when Thule asked
if she wanted a drink. Soon, she was feeling pleasantly buzzed,
swaying back and forth to the music, eyes closed. She hadn't listened
to jazz much after her father's death. She still had some vinyl
records her father had bought her, but had never bothered to upgrade
from the toy record player she'd had at the time. Besides, no one she
knew listened to it. And, she'd gotten in the habit of not doing
things her friends didn't do.

But, the sound brought back memories she'd long suppressed. Her
earliest clear memory had been lying in her bedroom at night when
she'd still lived at her grandparents' house, hearing the clear sound
of her father's saxophone coming from the shack outside. He practiced
there so as to not wake the house.

The memory, still clear after almost fifteen years, was of a specific
song. Marigold could only remember one song her father had ever
played. It was an original composition he'd written just for her
called, "Little Flower." She could almost hear it in what the
musicians were playing now.

Her eyes flew open. There was no "almost" about it. The band was
playing her father's song, the one her father had written for her. She
turned to Thule to tell him about her discovery, only to see that
Thule was watching her intently, smiling trepidaciously. He already
knew.

Behind his smile, there was a look of uncertainty on his face.
Marigold realized this he was afraid that his grand gesture would fall
flat or make her mad. Marigold felt a surge of power at knowing she
had this power over him. But, for the first time, she felt no
temptation to exercise that power.

"Thule, I love it," she said. Drawing his head down in her hands, she
kissed him on the mouth, opening her own lips for his exploration.
Thule kissed her back, his hands raising goosebumps on the bare flesh
of her back. The saxophone player improvised a little flourish in
response to the kiss.

When she broke the kiss, Marigold realized that a lot of people were
staring at them. She didn't care. If Thule had wanted to take her then
and there, she wouldn't have protested.

Reaching up, Thule wiped away a tear that Marigold hadn't remembered
shedding. She sniffled a little, "Thule, this is really wonderful. Why
are you doing this for me? I thought you were going to punish me."

Thule gave a sad smile, "This is our last night in New York. I wanted
you to have something to remember fondly, no matter what else
happened."

Even the implied threat, spoken so casually, did nothing to dampen
Marigold's mood. It didn't matter. However he punished her, it would
be less than she deserved. Incredibly, impossibly, Thule had even
developed a certain fondness for her. He may be punishing her, but he
was forgiving her at the same time.

She turned to Thule, opening her mouth to speak. But, the set ended.
The audience applauded enthusiastically. Sensing many eyes on her,
Marigold brought her lips together, not to speak, but for another
kiss.

When the kiss broke this time, the band was gathered around the table
at a respectful distance. It turned out that all of them had played
with her father and had memories of him to offer her like gifts laid
at her feet. As they spoke, others lined up behind them. More than two
dozen greeted her. She'd never realized how many people her father had
touched with his music. She'd thought of playing the saxophone as his
job, not realizing how good he'd been at it.

Finally, they'd all told their stories. Marigold was overwhelmed. Not
only had Thule arranged this incredible gift for her, many of her
father's old friends had thanked her for listening to their stories.
To her knowledge, her mother had never had any contact with these
people. They'd had nothing of her father since his death.

She left the club feeling like she was walking on a cloud. Moonlight
turned the street silver. Marigold cuddled under Thule's arm. When the
hotel came into sight, she walked more slowly. She didn't want the
walk to end. Thule had no such compunctions. He kept her moving
forward.

"Anxious to get back to the room and punish me some more?" Marigold
asked. Her grin was wicked. With their trip to the jazz club, he'd
done something she hadn't thought possible. He'd made her forget the
ache of desire. Now, though, it was back with a vengeance.

Thule didn't answer immediately. He led her into the hotel, past the
front desk, into the elevator. Once inside, Marigold reached up and
threw her arms around his neck. She kissed him. Thule's kiss was
surprisingly chaste. Marigold was glad for it. Any more and she might
have started tearing off his clothes here, not waiting to get back to
the room.

"Thule," she said. "I've fallen in love with you."

Thule's face was carefully neutral, "I know. I'm sorry, Marigold. I
never meant for that to happen."

"No," said Marigold. "Don't apologize. It's wonderful. Tell me you're
not falling in love with me, too."

Thule pulled away from her, turning his back. Marigold wouldn't let
him go, though. She laid her hands on his back, kissing a spot between
them.

"I love you, Thule. And, I know you're falling in love with me, too."

Thule turned to face her again, "You still have a lot to answer for,
Marigold."

Marigold nodded, "I know. I will, Thule. I don't expect you to forgive
me. Punish me. I accept it. I deserve it. Do whatever you want to me."

The elevator door opened. Thule took her by the hand and led her into
the hallway. Turning around to face her, he kept pulling Marigold down
the hall. She followed willingly. When they were in front of the door
to their room, Thule wrapped his arms around her, "I have forgiven
you, Marigold. What you've done to me is a small thing, not uncommon.
It happens in every high school in America. You've suffered enough for
that."

Marigold shook her head, "I don't understand. If you've forgiven me,
why are you still going to punish me? I thought forgiveness meant
absolution."

Thule's face was pained as he withdrew his key card from his jacket
pocket. Turning to Marigold, he kissed her one more time on the
forehead.

"I didn't say I was going to keep punishing you. I said you still had
a lot to answer for, but not to me."

Marigold's skin went cold. She pulled away from Thule. Even before the
door opened, she knew who would be behind it. If she hadn't, she might
not have recognized her one-time best friend. She'd changed so much in
the intervening three years.

As the door opened, Maya strode forward from the living room. When she
took Marigold by the wrist and drew her inside, Marigold went without
a struggle. Even when Maya wrapped her arms around Marigold, resting
her hands on bare flesh, Marigold just stood there.

"Hello, Florita," Maya said, her voice a cold monotone. "Did you miss
me?"

Princes of Mannsborough, Part 6a of approximately 23 (last chapter is
22.)
by Vulgar Argot
(MF, nosex, oral, light D/s)

--Vulgar Argot
  http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/VulgarArgot/www
--
"I've been accused of vulgarity. I say that's bullshit."
  --Mel Brooks

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