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Message-ID: <42080asstr$1051301405@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: "Vulgar Argot" <VulgarArgotREMOVEALL@CAPSinsidejoke.tv>
Subject: {ASSM} Marigold, Part 15
Date: Fri, 25 Apr 2003 16:10:05 -0400
Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail
Approved: <assm@asstr-mirror.org>
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d

Marigold, Part 15
by Vulgar Argot
(tags moved to bottom for spoilerage)

Thule sat in his car, parked across from the Vandevoort Estate, smoking a
cigarette and watching. The party was obviously a much larger event than he
had anticipated. The first guests were already arriving and handing their
cars over to valets who were driving them over to the empty, grassy space a
quarter mile down the street. Assuming they expected to fill the lot they'd
cordoned off, there would be easily five to six hundred cars by the time
they were done.

Back behind the house, a tent big enough to house a small circus had been
set up. Before he'd come to the party, Thule had driven up into the hills.
The Vandevoort estate was surrounded by high conifers that made it almost
impossible to look down into the grounds behind the house. But, Thule had
found a place in the hills where he'd been able to build an observation deck
high in an ancient oak tree and observe them from a distance. Stripping off
his shirt, he climbed up the wooden handholds that led to the platform,
eighty feet off of the ground.

To the casual observer, this might be a hunting blind. But, Thule had
positioned it so that he could look down into the open area directly behind
the main house. Once he'd gotten the shotgun microphone and high powered
binoculars set up, he was able to see and hear what went on back there.
Nothing interesting had been said except a few details of how security was
being maintained. Unfortunately, Ivan Vandevoort's security chief, Vil
Umanski, was a world-class professional paranoid who had served in the NKVD
during World War II.  In 1954, he had quietly defected to the United States
a few weeks in advance of the founding of the KGB, an event that probably
would have landed him in a Siberian gulag or an unmarked grave. He'd signed
on to work with Ivan's father in 1964. Thule had been able to find out
almost nothing about him, but he must be at least eighty years old by now,
based on his history. Despite the fact that Ivan barely acknowledged
Umanski's existence, his thorough handling of the Vandevoorts' personal and
corporate security had been the main obstacle to all of Thule's plans and
the reason Thule had to keep everything he did so low-key, to stay below the
old man's radar.

Compared to Umanski, Thule was an amateur and he knew it. The only advantage
Thule had was Umanski's neophobia. His techniques and technology lay firmly
planted in the past. He used new technology only grudgingly. Thule
suspected, if he could get inside the security office on the northwest
corner of the estate grounds, he'd probably find an enigma machine.

So, all the binoculars and the shotgun microphone had told Thule was that
the party was expected to be large, security was as tight as usual, and
someone had brought in a group of ringers. Arrayed around the pool were a
dozen women, Russian in origin by their accents. They were dressed young, to
look like high school or college girls, but Thule suspected they were all in
their early-to-mid twenties at least. Thule had wondered if they were
undercover security, but finally decided that they were just escorts.

Now, finishing his cigarette, Thule wondered what kind of party Randy was
planning if he'd brought escorts. He knew the technique, used by promoters
for years--hire a few girls to "go wild" at appropriate times in order to
entice other, unsuspecting partygoers to do the same. He'd just never heard
of Randy doing the same.

Thule popped a couple of internal pockets, emptying them of their contents.
The items in them were too bulky to pass scrutiny in a pat-down. Most he put
in the glove compartment. The Swiss Army knife went directly into his
pocket, since it might be reasonable to be carrying one and he could always
surrender it if necessary.

Taking a deep breath, he started the car and drove up to the front gate. His
car looked out of place in such surroundings, but not much more than those
of Randy's other friends. Some members of the football team came from
wealthy families, but many more were working class or poorer. That fact did
not keep the valet from sneering at Thule's car when he took the keys. Thule
just smiled as if he didn't notice.

Trotting up the long driveway, Thule reminded himself that he'd never been
in this house before. He knew the layout, had spent countless hours watching
the place, knew many of the employees that worked on the grounds and more
who used to. As he approached the wide marble front porch, a security guard,
looking like he thought he was in the Secret Service, complete with
sunglasses and ear wire, stepped out from behind one of the broad Doric
columns on the uppermost landing. He took Thule's name and gave him a
perfunctory patdown that probably would have missed a gun if Thule had been
carrying one.

"Check that guy out good," said Randy, lounging against the front door, his
voice radiating good humor, "He's fucking nuts."

"Yes, sir," said the guard, ignoring the suggestion.

"Hey, Postal," said Randy jovially, a hand on Thule's shoulder, drawing him
to one side of the porch, "glad you could make it. After you were a no-show
at the warm-up, I thought you weren't going to."

Thule shrugged, "I was out when you called. But, you can count me out for
that sort of shit, anyway."

"Postal," said Randy, chiding, "don't tell me you've got a fucking
conscience about that sort of thing?"

Thule chuckled, "Fuck that. I just don't stir another man's tapioca. That's
nasty. If I want pussy, I know where to find it." He lit another cigarette,
hoping to prolong the conversation since he knew he couldn't smoke in the
main part of the house, "So, who was it anyway?"

Randy wrapped his arm around the back of Thule's neck so that they could
talk with some discretion before he said, "June Kane," his eyes twinking
with amusement.

"Shit," said Thule, "that might have been worth it." Then, quieter, he
added, "Won't Brianne be pissed?"

Randy waved the suggestion away, "Nah. She was supposed to provide some dreg
girl, I don't know who. But, June's not exactly Brianne's favorite person
right now. Even if her little present had shown up, we probably would have
fucked her, too."

Thule had a hard time not letting his rage get the best of him. It took him
a few seconds to ask, "You think Brianne set June up on purpose?"

"Fucked if I know," said Randy, "Ah, well. You didn't miss much. Cops showed
up before we could get much action. Half the guys didn't even get a go.
Besides, I expect there will be much better pussy here tonight."

Thule smiled as if savoring the prospect of good pussy. Really, he was
mentally filing the information he'd just received. Also, he was remembering
how many times he'd spotted Randy out by the pool from his perch up on the
hillside and realized he could end the young man's life with a high-powered
sniper rifle. He didn't actually own a sniper rifle or a rifle of any sort,
but he now found himself more sorely tempted to buy one than he ever had
before.

He calmed down by reciting the same mantra he'd used when the thought of a
quick kill had occurred to him before: A quick death is too good for Randy.
Randy was going to go to jail and pay for his crimes. "Some dreg girl,"
indeed.

Provided that he'd gotten a decent recording today, Thule was about ready to
go to the FBI with what he knew. If it was obvious that the police knew what
was going on and did nothing, even better. That meant that he was going to
have to move quickly against Brianne if he was going to do so at all. Once
the FBI's scrutiny hit Mannsborough and him, Thule would never be able to
continue to operate in anonymity.

"Come on," said Randy, taking Thule by the shoulder again, "My father wants
you to meet the family before we get to the real party. Watch your back,
though. The bastards are always up to something." He said it jovially, but
his eyes were deadly serious.

Thule wondered, with more than idle curiousity, how much Randy knew about
the machinations of the Vandevoorts. Hours of poring over the dry language
of corporate reports, wedding announcements, and the careful doublespeak of
official press releases had revealed a family that could give the Borgias a
run for their money. But, Thule knew how much he had to read into what he
could get his hands on to come to that conclusion. If he were skirting the
edge of paranoid dementia, maybe meeting the Vandevoorts en masse would be a
sanity check. Of course, it might also confirm his most paranoid fantasies.

As Randy led him through the house, Thule gawked as discretely as he could.
The front door led onto a ledge that ran around the edge of the main room, a
palatial chamber done mostly in the same white marble as the front steps,
polished to a glossy shine. Thule didn't know much about furniture, but what
he saw looked old and expensive. The rug that defined the center of the room
looked like one of the handmade Persian ones that took a whole village a
year to make and probably cost upwards of a half million dollars.

"Tell me you're not going to pack this place with high school kids," said
Thule, almost involuntarily.

"Here?" asked Randy, "Lord, no. By even walking you through here, I'm
violating some dire, unwritten rule. Ivan doesn't bring anybody in here
unless he's trying to overwhelm them with how much money he has."

Thule didn't raise an eyebrow. Did Randy even realize what he had just said?
Why not just say, "I'm taking you through here to show me how much money I
have?" Of course, it could also be Randy's way of saying, "I don't play
games like that," which was, of course, a game in and of itself.

Still, Randy led Thule down the sweeping, curved staircase, through the main
room, down a long, wide corridor, and out the back door. Everything in the
main house was remarkably tasteful--from its neoclassical architecture to
the starched gray and white uniforms worn by the staff as they moved
silently around the two, engaged in their daily routines. Outside, he led
Thule down a brick path, bordered by a high hedge that separated it from the
pool area.

"So," asked Thule, "where does the actual party happen?"

"My house," said Randy.

"Your house?" asked Thule, "Don't you live in the main house?"

"Sort of," said Randy, "I have a room there, but my half-brother and I spend
most of our time in the larger guest house. I'll show you." Navigating
around a few more hedges, he led Thule out to the pool area, where the
ringers were standing around, chatting with themselves. Ignoring the women,
he pointed to the left, "That's the large guest house. Kolya and I live
there, more or less. That's where we'll have the party." He pointed to the
right, "That's the small guest house. We've put the family up there, those
who came early enough to need rooms and are too young or too old to enjoy
the atmosphere in my house. I've been playing host to about a dozen cousins
of various ordinals and removals there."

As he walked past the pool, Randy continued, "The official party is going to
be in the tent and at the pool. That's where the family and my guests will
comingle."

"Your guests?" asked Thule, "Isn't this your party?"

"In a manner of speaking," said Randy, "It's sort of a family tradition. It
goes all the way back to when the Vandevoorts were running ships out of
Amsterdam."

Thule raised an eyebrow, "So, I take it you're not talking about a kegger."

Randy shook his head. He was all serious now, "It could be. In some of the
less prosperous branches, it's been that or worse. Because Ivan is seen as
the family patriarch in America, he'll do it up the whole nine yards, no
matter what I might have wanted. But, it's really his party."

"So," asked Thule, "what's going to happen?"

Randy shrugged, "It's a family thing. Ivan will announce that I'm getting
the bulk of his estate when he kicks off. We'll introduce my fiancee
officially. Then, Ivan will tell everyone what arrangements he's made for
me, during and after college."

"Arrangements?"

Again, Randy shrugged. Thule noted that his brash confidence was gone now,
replaced by a quiet uncertainty. Also, his speech patterns had changed,
becoming more sophisticated. Thule knew that he was being let far more
deeply into Randy's confidence, but as of yet, didn't know why.

"He hasn't told me a damned thing," said Randy, "but the usual form is a
house somewhere near school, followed by a plum job at one of the family's
businesses. Even the branches that have fallen on hard times have their
tuition paid by a trust my great grandfather set up and some sort of job.
The Vandevoorts look out for their own."

"Admirable," said Thule, not entirely ironically.

"So," asked Randy, "what are your plans after school?"

Thule wondered for a moment if that was all this was, some form of
one-upmanship. He bristled a little at the idea and almost blurted out what
he really intended to do. But, in the few steps it took him to calm down, he
said, "Work for Jonas. Make sure he can't live without me. Convince him to
take up golf and other retirement-type activities."

Randy laughed, "I hear you, but don't knock golf. Jonas has probably lost a
metric buttload of money because he doesn't play. Try fly fishing."

"So," asked Thule, "why the sudden interest in my future?"

"What do you know about my family, Thule?"

Thule felt a chill go up his spine, but he forced himself to shrug
nonchalantly, "Just about what everybody knows."

Randy stopped walking and eyed Thule evenly. For a few seconds, Thule
thought the who game was up. But, when Randy spoke, he said, "My father has
a man named Vil Umanski. Before my father took over, Vil worked for my
grandfather. His official title is head of security, but he keeps the whole
ball of wax operating. The funny thing is that Ivan has no fucking idea how
important Vil is to his operation. Either that or he chooses to belittle the
man at every opportunity out of some mistaken desire to keep him in his
place."

Thule nodded, "Every organization has a few people like that."

"No," said Randy, his eyes flashing, "Not like Umanski. He's one of a kind.
He's ex-KGB, never takes his eyes off the prize. He's completely
indispensible," He took a deep breath, then went on more calmly, "And he's
older than dirt. At some point, he's going to die. Even if he hangs on
another twenty years, at some point, I'm going to have to replace him."

Thule felt his shoulder muscles starting to ache from keeping a poker face
throughout the conversation and a single bead of sweat ran down his spine.
Still, he managed to say calmly and with a reasonable facsimile of clueless
curiousity, say, "What does that have to do with me?"

"Jonas has a controlling interest in a Boston electronics firm called
Spartan Security Systems," said Randy, "As far as I know, his management of
it has been completely hands off since he took it over from its insolvent
founders. You should work there."

"In security?" asked Thule, "Me?"

Randy laughed heartily, "Such modesty. Postal, I've been watching you for a
while. When I found out that little Latin piece I did freshman year was
yours, I saw the looks you would give me and thought you were going to try
to kill me. So, I kept an eye on you. When you didn't come after me, I
thought you were weak. But, then I figured out, you're just smart--smart
enough to know how to pick your fights. And you've got this incredible
self-control. If the situation had been reversed, I would have killed you in
a second, not thinking about the damned consequences."

Thule nodded, as if acknowledging the correctness of Randy's assessment.

Randy went on, "But, until recently, I thought you had no ambition. Then,
you moved in on Tarr. I don't know how you did it, but it was smooth. And I
realized that there's not one person in this whole goddamned useless school
I'd want watching my back but you."

Thule nodded a little in acknowledgement, "I'm flattered, but..."

"Don't be," said Randy, "Listen, in a few weeks, I have to give up all this
high school bullshit. I've been sloppy about a lot of shit, but I always had
my old man and Vil to cover my ass. Once I get out of college, I'm pretty
much on my own. I need somebody like Vil."

"You think I'm like Vil Umanski?" asked Thule, absurdly pleased.

"Not the old part, of course," said Randy, "but I imagine you're like he was
at your age, when he first joined the KGB."

"NKVD," said Thule.

"What?" asked Randy, puzzled.

"If he's as old as you say he is, there wouldn't have been a KGB when he was
my age. The Soviet intelligence division at the time was called NKVD. The
KGB wasn't founded until 1954."

"See?" said Randy, "that's what I mean about an eye for details. I'm
figuring, if you can get Spartan to acquire or build an armed security
division, I'll contract you to handle my security and you can be my Vil
Umanski. After Jonas and Ivan retire, we can take it a lot farther than
that. In some ways, my father is real stupid. Something happened between him
and Jonas's wife a long time ago and he's let it drive him crazy ever since.
I don't know the details. But, if you and I are sympatico, there's no limit
to what we can do together."

Thule nodded, "So, all I have to do is take over a multimillion dollar
electronics firm and build a new division while attending MIT?" He laughed,
"You're putting a lot of faith in me."

Randy chuckled, "I know. If you can't do it, you're not who I think you
are." He laid a hand on Thule's shoulder, "You'll manage it. Now, let's go
meet the family."

                               -=-

The house where the extended Vandevoorts were was laid out similarly to the
main house and in the same classic revivalist style. The furniture still
looked expensive, but not nearly so much as Thule had already seen today. In
one corner, a pianist played something soothing. Everyone seemed to be
dressed for a much fancier party than Thule was. But, Randy's outfit seemed
just as out of place, so Thule didn't worry much...at least, not about that.
He'd always viewed Randy as sort of a vicious animal, one who might perhaps
be able to rule through cunning and instinct. Again, he'd underestimated the
opposition. It was becoming an unfortunate habit. Eventually, it would get
him killed.

"For the Vandevoorts," said Randy, "keep your friends close and your enemies
closer is redundant. Half the time, my father spends keeping an eye on the
competition. The other half, he's watching the rest of us."

The first person to detach from the rest of the crowd was a waifish, blonde
woman in a backless black dress who looked to be in her early twenties. When
she spoke, her Russian accent was heavy, her voice faintly cross, "Randall,
you know you're not to bring your friends in here. This is strictly a family
party."

"Thule," said Randy, "this is my stepmother, Sveltana. She's been in charge
of the planning for this whole event. Sveta, this is Thule Roemer, Marigold
Tarr's intended. Ivan wanted me to see that he gets introduced to everyone."

Svetlana's eyes registered her surprise, "Oh," she said, her accent still
heavy, but the ire gone, "you're that Thule."

Thule did not bother to wonder aloud how many other Thules they were
expecting at this party. Instead, he accepted her traditional Russian
greeting of a kiss on each cheek, after which she slid an arm around his
waist. From the smell of champagne on her breath, he wondered if it was for
support, but she walked with the easy confidence of an experienced drunk.
Gently, she guided Thule towards the knot of people gathered around the long
sitting room table. There were almost two dozen people in all. Other than
Thule, Randy, and Svetlana, only one woman looked to be much under forty.
Svetlana directed Thule straight to her, Randy in tow.

"Dule," said Svetlana, "this is Randy's oldest sister, Tryne."

"Tree-neh?" Thule asked, mimicking Svetlana's pronunciation and extending a
hand to shake. When Tryne smiled at him, he said, "I'm Thule Roemer, a
friend of Randy's."

Tryne's smile had been insincere to the point of deliberate rudeness. The
handshake was brief and abrupt. The whole time, her glance was on the
intersection between Thule's body and Svetlana's. Thule himself would have
to admit that Svetlana was pressed awfully close to him, considering that
they'd known each other less than ten minutes.

Glancing at Tryne's hand, Thule noticed the slightly lighter band of skin on
her ring finger, indicating that she'd recently taken off a wedding ring.

Randy seemed to notice the glance, "Tryne's recently divorced. She's been
living in the main house for about a month now while she arranges other
accomodations."

"Thank you, Randy," said Tryne, pulling her hand away from Thule as if
burned, but her voice cool, "Perhaps you'd like to show him my bank balance
while you're at it." She turned to Thule, "Whatever my brother may have told
you, I am not a brood mare to be auctioned off to the highest bidder. So,
save your breath."

"Thule," said Randy, speaking a little more loudly, "is Marigold Tarr's
intended."

"Oh," said Tryne, her hand flying to her mouth, "I'm sorry. I..."

"No harm," said Thule magnanimously, waving her off, "I'm sure you must have
many suitors." The word, so archaic, seemed to fit in here. Among the
Vandevoorts, everyone seemed to talk like they lived several hundred years
in the past.

Tryne seemed mollified for about a half second before she turned on Randy,
"More than enough," she said, "who actually know me. Plus at least a half
dozen you and Ivan have tried to set me up with since I moved back in." Her
smile at Thule was a little bit more genuine this time, "I apologize for
assuming you were another one of them."

"We're only looking out for your happiness, Tryne," said Randy.

"Funny how you assume I would be happiest with the sons of Dad's business
associates," snapped Tryne.

Whatever Randy said in response was lost in the general babble of
conversation as Svetlana led Thule away from them, "Come on," she said,
"once they get started, they can go for hours. Let me get you introduced to
the rest of the family."

What followed was a quick succession of more than a dozen introductions,
made in ones and twos, to a variety of older men and women, the men all
named Vandevoort, the women all introduced to Thule as "Soandso nee
Vandevoort, wife of Soandso" followed by a recognizably blue-blooded
surname. Each displayed the sandy-haired good looks or the aftereffects
thereof one would expect from the finest Dutch maritime stock. To a one,
they also showed a razor-sharp mind as each asked carefully guarded
questions meant to determine Thule's status with the family and if they
could turn it to their advantage. Thule hoped his responses indicated a
basic loyalty to Randy, but a willingness to hear any offers people might
have of a strategic move.

Once the introductions were finished, Svetlana indicated Randy, still
arguing with his sister, "Come on," she said, "I'll show you where your
party is."

Thule nodded, letting Svetlana lead him up the stairs on the opposite side
of the room. They didn't lead to the front door, but to another long
hallway. Thule knew that he should tell Svetlana that he knew where the
party was, make his excuses, and leave. Her arm had slowly slid down his
back during the introductions until it now rested as low as it could without
being an open invitation. Thule had no idea why Randy's stepmother had
focused her attentions on him, but he knew that it would be incredibly
foolhardy to get involved with Ivan's wife. Still, a walk across the pool
area in plain sight shouldn't lead to anything untowards happening and he
might be able to pump her for information about the Vandevoorts.

Thule was still wincing at the unfortunate choice of verb when he realized
that the door Svetlana had led him out of brought them to a path behind the
tent, out of sight of the house, the pool area, and seemingly anyone else.
He looked down at Svetlana questioningly, but realized with alarm as she
shifted against him that she had tilted her head back a little to let him
kiss her if she wanted to. It was subtle enough that he could ignore it, but
it left him a little shaken. His voice was not entirely even when he asked,
"Mrs. Vandevoort, where are we going?"

"Thule," she chided gently, "we are practically the same age. Call me
Sveta."

Thule felt a chill run down his spine. It would definitely raise a few
eyebrows if he referred to Ivan's wife by the familiar version of her name
and anyone heard. Still, they were completely alone on the path and the tent
seemed empty.

"All right, Sveta," he said, trying to sound friendly, but not too friendly.
Reaching for a topic that might steer the conversation in the right
direction, he said, "So, how long have you and Ivan been married?"

"Four years," said Svetlana, "Longer than he was married to his second or
third wife. We met at club in Moskva. He saw me dancing with my friend
Larissa. By end of the night, he asked me to fly to America with him. He was
very handsome and very rich. He asked Larissa too, but she said no."

The conversation was definitely not being driven in the right direction.
Thule tried again, "What did you do in Moscow?"

She shrugged against him, "I did not do anything. I was eighteen. I was
about to go to university, but was enjoying being party girl at the time.
America was just going to be one big party. We did not marry, then. Ivan
kept me in apartment in Chicago. He was still with wife number three at the
time. He proposed a year later, more or less."

Thule nodded. There wasn't much he could say to that and not get himself in
deeper. But, they had already traversed slightly more than half of the
length of the tent. He might be able to make it by being strong and silent.
Svetlana kept talking, "Now, I live here in his house. Servants buy food.
Servants run errands. Any time I leave, he sends driver with me." She
sighed, "I just want to go out and dance, have a good time."

Thule nodded again. Two thirds of the way there.

"Oh," said Svetlana, stumbling against him as they came within sight of a
stone bench. She looked down, "I broke strap on my shoe." She reached down
and picked up one of her shoes, black with enough of a heel to elongate her
already long legs. Leaning on Thule, she took a single hop towards the
bench. As she landed on the other shoe's heel, she almost fell over.

Thule sighed quietly. He could see the shoe in her hand was intact. But, he
obviously wasn't getting away from here without helping Svetlana put it back
on. He decided that, if he was going to do this, he might as well do it
right. Reaching down, he laid one hand across her bare back, the other
across the backs of her knees and lifted her into the air. Svetlana wrapped
her arms around Thule's neck.

"Oh," she said, laying her head on his shoulder, "what a gentleman."

Thule carried Svetlana to the bench, sitting her at one end and himself at
the other. He took the shoe from her hand.

"The strap isn't broken at all," he said, making a show of testing it, "It
must have slipped off of your ankle is all."

He reached for the ankle in question. As he took it, Svetlana slid her foot
over his hand and up his arm until it rested lightly on his groin. Thule
gasped from the touch and Svetlana's eyes widened as if she were surprised
by what she found there.

"Dule," she said, "you're..."

Thule stood up rapidly, taking the shoe with him so that Sveta couldn't
easily follow him, "I'm sorry," he said, "I didn't mean..."

"Dule," said Svetlana, "it's okay."

Thule tried to look relieved, "It is?"

"Yes," said Svetlana, patting the bench right next to her, "Come. Sit down."

Thule resumed his original seat, as far away from her as he could sit and
still be on the bench. Sveta moved closer to him, her hand on the inside of
his thigh. Fighting the urge to jump up again and probably bolt, Thule tried
again, "I didn't mean..."

Again, Svetlana interrupted him, "It's okay," she said soothingly, "I'm
flattered. No one looks at me like that anymore."

"I find that hard to believe," said Thule. The line required no acting.
Whatever else she must be, Ivan's wife was a beautiful redheaded girl,
barely older than himself.

"You are so sweet," Svetlana said, "but, it's true. My husband, I'm sure he
has someone else in Chicago now...or New York or Los Angeles. He is always
flying somewhere. He surrounds me with old men and frightened women.
Already, I am too old for him and I am only twenty-two."

Thule didn't bother to point out that she had to be at least twenty-three
based on the chronology she'd recounted earlier. Svetlana went on, "You are
very sweet, but we couldn't. If my husband ever found out..."

Thule knew what his role was in this little drama, but welcomed the
opportunity for a way out, "You're right," he said, "I wouldn't want you
to..."

Svetlana slid her hand up Thule's thigh, lightly wrapping her fingers around
his cock through his pants. It surged to life, even harder than before, "Of
course," she whispered, "he would never have to find out. If I were gone a
little while, I probably wouldn't even be missed."

Thule had already decided if it came to going along with Svetlana or
insulting her, the risks were pretty much even on either side. He wondered
if he would have made the same decision under cooler circumstances. Still,
she hadn't left him many options. He wrapped his hand around the back of her
head, pulling her towards him. At the last moment, he realized that she was
wearing lipstick and guided his lips to her throat. His free hand roamed up
and down her back.

Somehow, she was straddling him, her dress rising up far enough that he
could feel the bare flesh of her ass when his hand ventured so low. She was
kissing the top of his head. Thule pulled away enough to say, "Sveta, your
lipstick."

"The hell with my lipstick," Svetlana said, radiating frustration. She
swooped in to try to kiss Thule, but found her way blocked by his hand,
pressed against her collarbone. She wriggled so that it was on her left
breast instead.

"No," said Thule sharply, "You don't want to ruin your marriage over this."
He'd realized by now that this was exactly what she wanted to do. She would
come back to the house, so blatantly disheveled that it would be impossible
to ignore. She would be divorced and, if she happened to ruin Thule's plans
while doing so, too bad. The thought cooled his ardor, at least as much as
it could be cooled under the circumstances.

Before Svetlana could renew her assault, Thule said, "Can you get away
later, come to the other house?"

Svetlana stopped pushing against him, "You're right," she said hoarsely,
"but, I won't be able to get away until the old farts are in bed."

"I'll wait," said Thule, taking her shoe again and putting it on her foot,
then adjusting the strap, "but come as soon as you can." He stood up.

Svetlana stood up and came to him. Thule wrapped an arm around her waist.

"There will be many pretty girls at this party, yes?" asked Svetlana.

"Not as pretty as you," Thule reassured her.

"Well," said Svetlana, "if you find one, make sure she does not mind
sharing."

How Thule kept his knees from buckling, he would never know.

                          -=-

Later, as guests were starting to show up en masse, Ian called Thule over,
"Thule, question."

"Sure," Thule said, eyeing Brianne's boyfriend warily, "what's up?"

"You're a computer guy, right?" asked Ian.

"More or less," said Thule, "Why?"

"What do you know about websites?" asked Ian.

"I think," said Thule, shouting a little to be heard over the music, "that I
would need a more specific question."

"Well," said Ian, "if I wanted to start a web site, what would I need to
do?"

"Like a commercial web site?" asked Thule.

"No," said Ian, "it doesn't have to make money. I just want to put up some
pictures...from my vacation."

"There's a lot of free services out there," said Thule, "and you can
download some free packages that'll make pretty slick sites."

"What if some of the pictures are kind of....risque," asked Ian, "you know,
like at Mardi Gras and stuff?"

Thule nodded, "A lot of free sites might take issue with that. There are a
couple that don't seem to mind, but they're full of popup ads and stuff. So,
tell anybody you send to the site to get some kind of popup blocker."

"Right," said Ian, "which hosts are those?"

Thule gave him a few names, which Ian wrote down. Then, he repeated the
names of the software for making the web sites. "So," he asked idly,
"where'd you go on vacation?"

"Cancun," said Ian, "I'll send you the address when I put the pictures out."

Thule nodded absentmindedly. The ringers had been trickling in over the last
half hour, half dressed for the pool, barely. The other half looked like
they were dressed to go backstage at an Aerosmith concert. To Thule, they
were obviously plants, a little too perfectly coiffed, pretty, and poised to
just be ordinary invites. Nobody else seemed to notice, though. As each new
one entered, she acquired a knot of devoted followers and the other side of
the room acquired a few more pissed off girlfriends.

Standing near the keg, looking decidedly pissed, was Brianne. Both Ian and
Elliot had abandoned her and were chatting with each other and a
cafe-au-lait colored girl that Thule thought he'd seen pictures of on the
Internet. Thule sidled up to her, pumping himself a beer with plenty of suds
so that it would look like he was drinking more than he was.

Brianne looked at him, close enough to speak to conversationally, "What are
you doing over here?"

"Getting a beer," said Thule, taking a sip and wiping suds off of his nose.

"Impressive willpower," said Brianne, "considering that no one else seems to
be able to tear themself away from the new girls long enough to even do
that."

Thule deliberately turned his back on the side of the room where the ringers
stood and the sharks circled. On this side of the room, most of Brianne's
cheerleaders arrayed themselves loosely around her. It looked like one side
of a gym during a junior high school dance.

"Oh, yeah," Thule said casually, "there are some new people here, aren't
there? Cousins of Randy's, aren't they?"

Brianne asked, "You didn't notice them? It's like Randy invited a bunch of
models or something."

"I suppose," said Thule, sounding bored, "if you like the model type." He
looked Brianne up and down, his eyes lingering in all the right places, "I
like women who actually look like women."

Brianne, who would be a model type herself if she were six inches taller and
a little less endowed in the chest, beamed.

"You should smile more," said Thule, "you really light up a room when you
do."

"Flatterer," she said, but her eyes kept the shine they'd gotten when he
said it, "Get me a beer, won't you?"

Thule poured Brianne a beer, tilting the cup so as to get a minimum of foam,
then handed it to her. Brianne stepped in close to take it. Thule hoped that
anyone seeing them would just assume that they were trying to talk over the
music.

Somewhere in the back of his head, Thule had formulated a plan. If he could
get Brianne and Svetlana into bed together, Svetlana could have the scene
she was obviously planning, he could get part of his revenge on Brianne, and
still slip away, his promise to Marigold not to sleep with the head
cheerleader intact. He didn't know if Brianne would be willing to get into
bed with another woman tonight or ever. But, Thule had enough ecstacy and
Rohypnol on him to considerably improve the odds if he had to.

"So," asked Brianne, "how is your crusade going?"

Thule laughed, although his stomach dropped out, "What makes you think I'm
on a crusade?"

"Oh," said Brianne, "a little bird told me. Besides, you're always so
intense. You radiate crusade."

Thule changed the subject. About ten minutes later, Randy tapped Thule on
the shoulder and said, low in his ear, "The ceremony's about to start in the
tent. I want you to see this." So, Thule followed him outside.

As soon as they got outside, Randy turned to Thule, "Postal, what are you
doing with Brianne?"

"I told you," said Thule, "I'm going to fuck her."

"Not cool," admonished Randy, "Particularly not cool her. Ian's still..."

"I know," said Thule, "one of your boys. Let me worry about Ian."

"Don't fuck this party up," said Randy, "It could cost me with the family."

Thule smiled, "You can rely on my discretion."

                           -=-

Randy led Thule to sit at a table with himself, Ivan, and Svetlana. Placing
Thule between himself and his father, Randy unwittingly placed Thule so that
he was staring directly at Svetlana. For her part, Svetlana stared across at
Thule, absent-mindedly twirling her hair, occasionally passing her hands
over her breasts and even stretching like a cat once or twice as she feigned
a yawn. Thule, not being made of stone, kept missing bits of conversation
and wound up eating less than half of his dinner.

The only mercy of the setup was that the table was too big for Svetlana to
get her foot back into Thule's crotch.  That gave him some protection at
least.

In spite of himelf, Thule noticed that Svetlana had not been lying about one
thing. Her husband ignored her more or less completely, flirting with every
woman he wasn't related to and a few which he was. Comparably, Randy was
downright solicitous, behaving more like a suitor than a stepson. The more
Thule observed the vibe between them, the more he became certain that
something was going on between them that would not be considered proper. He
doubted it had been consummated. The looks were too furtive and uncertain.
But, of one thing, Thule was certain. Svetlana was flirting with both of
them. Even more interesting, Randy, who thought nothing of setting up
gangbangs on school grounds, actually looked uncomfortable about it.

Thule was glad to see that he wasn't the only one discomfited by Sveta's
overtness. For a few minutes, he was able to relax and enjoy watching Randy
squirm gallantly. But then, dessert came and went. Randy and Ivan got up and
headed to the podium at the far end of the tent. Sveta took one of their
chairs around the table, setting it up next to Thule's. When Thule looked
up, alarmed, she said, "I want to be able to see the speech."

But, even before people had finished the round of applause for Randy and
Ivan, Svetlana's hand was already in Thule's lap. Thule did what he could to
maintain composure, but soon sweat was running down his back. Fortunately,
the tent was only lit by little candles at each table and lights on the
stage. Coupled with the fact that they were seated as far away from the
stage as they could be, no one even glanced in their direction.

"I swear to God, Sveta," Thule growled in her ear, "If you don't stop what
you're doing, I'm going to throw you over this table and fuck you right
here."

Sveta laughed melodically, "I dare you," she said, her hand undoing his fly.

Before she could get any farther, Thule batted Svetlana's hand away. She
looked at him, hurt at the rejection clear in her eyes. But, a second later,
his hand was pressed between her thighs, his fingers easily gaining entrance
into her already damp pussy. Svetlana gave a sharp intake of breath.

Now, Thule whispered, "If you make another sound or move in any way you
shouldn't, I will stop what I am doing, make my excuses, and leave. Do you
understand me?" As he talked, he rubbed a fingertip roughly over her
clitoris. Svetlana nodded emphatically.

So, as Ivan talked about family history and legacy, waxed philosophical and
poetic, deliberately drawing out the speech to build success, Thule slid his
fingers in and out of the man's wife. Long before Ivan got to the point,
Svetlana was breathing heavily, her eyes rolled back in her head, her body
trembling with pleasure. The music from the guest house where Randy's party
went on without him kept anyone from hearing her breathing.

By the time Ivan had named Randy his primary heir and Tryne as his secondary
and explained the house he'd bought Randy in the Georgetown area, Svetlana
leaned toward Thule, "Dule," she begged, "Dule, please stop. I can not keep
quiet. If you don't stop, I'm going to scream."

Thule considered the threat and the pleading, supplicating look in
Svetlana's eyes. Then, he said evenly, "I dare you."

Instead, she laid her head on the table and moaned low into her arm. It
wasn't quite loud enough for anyone to hear over the applause, but Thule
decided he had pushed his luck as far as it would go and slid his fingers
out of her. Svetlana sat up shakily, trying to glare at him and failing
miserably.

Thule handed her a clean cloth napkin, "Pat down your face, neck, arms, and
cleavage with this," he said, "It's hot enough in here to explain some
sweat, but not that much." Svetlana nodded and did as he said.

When the speech finished, without surprises, everyone got up to mingle and
glad-hand. Thule got up as well, leading Svetlana to the front of the tent
so that he could hand her off to her husband and stepson with the intention
of getting back to the party where all he had to deal with were scheming
cheerleaders, rapacious football players, and covert prostitutes.

"Thule," said Randy, "hang on a minute, will you? I need to talk to you
about something."

Thule nodded. Svetlana gave him a guilty look. Randy detached himself from
the throng of well-wishers and led Thule out of the tent.

Thule said, "Did I mishear or is your fiancee also named Vandevoort."

Randy nodded, "Second cousin, once removed. There are a lot of us. But,
listen, that's not what I want to talk about. It's about my stepmother."

Thule couldn't find his voice to ask, "What about her?" Fortunately, Randy
went on.

"I get the feeling she'll be heading over to my house after the family party
wraps up, which should be about a half hour from now," said Randy, "She's
been hanging out a lot over there. And, she talked like she was going to
before the party started."

Thule said, "Okay."

"This is hard for me to say," said Randy.

Thule looked shocked, "Don't tell me there's something going on between you
two?"

"No no no no no," said Randy, "Not like that. I mean, I know we're much
closer in age than her and Ivan, but it's not like that. Not at all. We're
just friends. That would be too weird. No," he shook his head, "It's just
that Sveta used to be a bit of a party girl back in the old country, not a
slut or anything, just kind of wild. And I think that she's starting to miss
it."

Thule waited for Randy to finish, not sure where he was going with this line
of reasoning. Finally, Randy said, "If Sveta does come over, will you keep
an eye on her, please? I don't want her doing something stupid with one of
the guys. It would be really bad for Ivan."

Thule nodded, not bothering to hide his sigh of relief, "Sure, buddy," he
said, "I can do that."

By the time they got back to the house, the tenor of the party had
definitely changed. Several couples were sitting on the various couches
making out. One of the ringers was sitting on the edge of the pool table,
being kissed by one of the football players while two others looked on
hungrily. A lot of clothes had come off. One of the freshman cheerleaders
swayed to the music, bare from the waist up. Thule realized that nearly all
of the girls going wild were locals. Very few of the ringers were still in
evidence.

"Christ," said Thule, "this is going to turn into an orgy any freaking
minute."

"No," said Randy, grinning, "My boys know the drill. You want to fuck, you
use the bedrooms upstairs. This room, the living room, and the downstairs
bedrooms are off limits." Even as he spoke, a cheerleader led a football
player and a Vandevoort cousin upstairs.

"The cheerleaders seem a little out of control tonight," observed Thule.

"Yeah," said Randy, his eyes sparkling with mischeif, "I was thinking about
what you said about Brianne only holding the flow of quality pussy by
tradition and not having any real power. So, I decided to show her just how
easy it would be to take that power away from her. If you can deal with Ian,
she's all yours, man. Consider it a signing bonus."

Thule looked around the room, "Where is she? I don't see her."

Randy shrugged, "I don't know. But, don't worry, man. Ian's boys won't touch
her. All of my boys and cousins know that she's off-limits to anyone but
you."

"Thanks," said Thule, not sure if he really meant it.

"Don't mention it," said Randy, "Now, if you'll excuse me." He went over and
started dancing with the topless cheerleader in front of the stereo. By the
look of her, she was about fifteen. Looking at Randy, her eyes were full of
hero worship and something else, probably of the chemical variety. Thule
winced inwardly, but knew he'd never be able to save everybody. He went
looking for Brianne. She was coming out of one of the downstairs bedrooms.
She looked up at him, her eyes pleading, "Thule," she said, "I can't find
Ian. And, I think someone slipped my girls something or...put something in
the beer. They're all turning into total sluts."

She looked so fragile and vulnerable that it was all Thule could do not to
melt and promise to help her. Remembering what he'd seen in the locker room
this afternoon, he steeled himself and asked, "What about June? Isn't she
helping you ride herd on them?"

"No," said Brianne, waving off the question, "She's sick today. I'm really
more worried about Ian."

With that brief gesture, Thule knew that Brianne had written off her friend
of three years or so, thrown her to the wolves. Brianne had been in Avery
Jefferson Hall earlier today, had known June was going to the locker room to
set up Dawn, had known she didn't come back when she should have. But, she'd
already written the whole thing off.

Strangely, it made what Thule did next easier. Wrapping an arm around her
waist, he swooped down on her with a kiss. Brianne had opened her mouth in
surprise and his tongue slipped in easily. She stiffened for less than a
second before becoming pliant. Thule slammed her backwards against the wall
with more force than was strictly necessary. She gasped and spread her legs,
pushing him closer to her, her short blue skirt rising until her underwear
was clearly visible.

"You don't need Ian," he said, pulling away from the kiss. Brianne nodded,
kissing his neck under his head before dropping down to her knees in front
of him. She moved quickly and, before Thule even realized what she was
doing, she had his fly open, his cock in her mouth.

At that moment, Thule wanted to believe in the presidential definition of
sex, that Marigold wouldn't mind if he let Brianne finish what she was
doing. But, he couldn't. He fucked her throat a few times, but knew he was
too close already to do that for long. Svetlana had gotten him too worked
up. So, he said, "It's not like you need a boyfriend. All you really need is
a good fuck."

Brianne reluctantly pulled him out of her mouth, "What?"

Lifting her to her feet, he spun Brianne around and pinned her face-first
against the wall, his hands sliding down her panties, "I said you don't need
a boyfriend. I'll give you everything you need, just so long as we keep it
quiet. I'm not about to fuck up what I have with Marigold."

She nodded, spreading her legs. Thule was startled. He'd expected her to
protest immediately. He'd pushed his gambit too far. Now, what was he going
to do?

"Wait," said Brianne, "wait. Stop." She slammed her legs shut.

Thule smiled. She may be slow, but she was predictable. He put his hand on
her bottom, teasing the tip of his finger into the entrance there, "What?"
he asked.

"Are you going to take me to the prom?" she asked.

Inwardly, Thule laughed. This was exactly the question he imagined her
asking.

"No," he said, sliding his finger deeper inside of her, eliciting a moan,
"but don't worry. I'll get one of my boys to take you."

"Stop," she said, getting more desperate now.

Thule slid his finger out of her, "What?" he demanded.

She turned to face him, smoothing her skirt down, some of her old composure
back, "Thule, nothing personal, but I've seen your boys. How could I take
one of them to the prom? Honestly."

"Hmm," said Thule, as if considering this, "I see your point. Go find Ian.
Keep him from embarassing you. Then, come back and we can fuck."

"Come with me?" Brianne asked, eyes pleading.

"I can't," said Thule coldly, "I promised Randy I would do something."

"I can't go upstairs alone," said Brianne, "It's not safe."

Thule wanted to laugh. It was too ironic. Instead, he said, "Anybody tries
to lay a finger on you or even looks at you funny, you come down and tell
me. If you can't, you tell them Thule will kill them if they so much as lay
a finger on you. No one will start with me any more than they would start
with Randy now."

"Thank you," said Brianne, kissing him gratefully on the mouth. For a
moment, Thule wondered where his thirty pieces of silver were. But, the
comparison was, of course, absurd. He hadn't betrayed anyone who didn't
deserve it. The only one who was going to get caught up in this that he
should feel even remotely sorry for was Sveta. And she really wasn't going
to get anything she didn't ask for.

As they emerged into the main room again, Thule noted that Randy and the
young cheerleader were nowhere to be seen. Sveta, however, had arrived and
was dancing close with the cafe-au-lait ringer. A half-dozen pair of hungry
eyes tracked them as they moved. The ringer was down to blue jeans and a
demi-cup bra. Thule had a feeling he'd better intercede soon or Sveta might
well find herself at the bottom of a gangbang. And, while she might not
mind, it would really screw up his burgeoning alliance with Randy.

"Go," he said to Brianne, "remember what I said. Don't use Ian's name. Use
mine if you need to. Anybody who would lay hands on you doesn't care about
Ian. But, they'll care about me."

Brianne seemed to notice where Thule was looking, "Ah," she said, "you do
have an eye for one of the new girls, don't you?"

Thule was startled. How the hell would she even notice something like that
at this moment? Still, he waved her off, "No," he said, "I promised Randy I
would keep her away from the other guys for him."

"Oh," said Brianne, "I get it." But, her face told him she didn't entirely
believe it. Still, she headed off up the stairs.

"Sveta," said Thule loudly, approaching where she was making out with the
other girl.

Sveta looked up, "Dule," she said, eyes glistening, "This is Matika."

"Nice to meet you, Matika," said Thule, taking Svetlana by the wrist, "Now,
if you'll excuse us." He pulled Svetlana away. The boys watching gave a
collective sound of disappointment but, knowing their place, did not try to
stop him.

Thule led her over by the keg.

"Dule," she said, "are you mad at me?"

Thule, who was dispensing two cups of beer, said, "That was very foolish,
Sveta. Too many people saw you."

"So?" she asked, "None of them know I'm Mrs. Ivan Vandevoort. To them, I'm
just another party girl."

"I know," said Thule, "and in about a minute, they would have been dragging
you upstairs, not that you looked to need much dragging." He handed her a
beer, "You're mine tonight. Don't forget that."

Sipping from the beer, she looked slightly shamefaced, but mostly
mischievous, "I just wanted to find another girl to play with. You would
like that, wouldn't you?"

Thule nodded, "Of course, but let me worry about that." He pushed her down
the hallway towards where he had just nearly had his way with Brianne. She
looked at him, surprise in her eyes.

"Ooh," she said, "are you going to be rough with me?"

"Probably," said Thule, "Now, get in there."

She looked at the door he'd pointed out, "But, that's Randy's room."

Thule looked around for another bedroom, but then changed his mind, "Good,"
he said, "I'm going to fuck you over the edge of his bed."

Svetlana stumbled a little. Thule wasn't sure it was from what he'd said or
the Rohypnol he'd put in her beer. With all that she'd drunk tonight, she
should be passed out in about five minutes. He pushed her again, through the
door.

"Get undressed," he said, "I'm going to go see about finding us a playmate."

Svetlana nodded. She was already naked by the time Thule pulled the door
closed behind him. When he came back into the main room, it was more or less
empty. Everyone there was passed out or asleep. Brianne was still nowhere in
sight. Thule slowly filled a cup with beer for her, adding another Rohypnol.
He was just about to head upstairs to look for her when Ian came staggering
down the stairs, naked from the waist up.

"Hey, Ian," said Thule casually, "Where's Brianne?"

"Dude," said Ian, "you missed it. She walked in on me and Randy
double-teaming one of her cheerleaders. She screamed, threw shit at me, and
ran out the door. I saw her out the window. She's out of here."

"That's pretty funny," said Thule evenly. He handed Ian the cup he'd just
filled, "Here, have a beer."

"Thanks," said Ian, "fucking cheerleaders is thirsty work." He drained the
cup in one swallow.

Thule smiled at him coyly, "Let me know if you get tired of cheerleaders."

"What?" asked Ian, immediately interested, "what do you mean?"

Thule approached him until they were practically touching, "I think you
know. I've got this hottie practically passed out back there, but really
ready for it."

"Dude," said Ian, "We're not allowed back there."

Thule chuckled, "Randy won't mind. He's probably too busy to even notice."
He reached out and traced a line on Ian's chest, "One-time offer. I usually
don't do this sort of thing."

Ian's eyes widened, "I don't know," he said unevenly.

Thule knew he had to sell the other boy on the idea. Bracing himself, he
reached down and wrapped his hand around Ian's tool, which sprang to life,
"Come on," he said, walking off down the hall. He just hoped the Rohypnol
kicked in soon or this might get really ugly.

Ian caught Thule in the hallway, pushing him back against the wall, kissing
him hard on the mouth. Thule felt himself start to panic. It had never
occurred to him that he might get raped by one of the football players.
Gathering his strength, he pushed Ian away, "Easy, tiger," he said, smiling,
"Not here. In there."

Ian staggered into the room. Thule, standing in the doorway, saw that
Svetlana still had not succumbed to the drug. She looked up hungrily, her
eyes glazed over. By all rights, she should be completely passed out by now.
Ian, twice her size, was already staggering like he was punchdrunk. Ian
reached for her. Svetlana wrapped her arms around him, already falling to
her knees.

"I'll be right back," said Thule, withdrawing but leaving the door wide
open. He wasn't sure either of them, drug-addled and hormone-driven as they
were, even heard him. He went outside, smoked a cigarette, then came back
inside at a run. He ran upstairs. After a few false tries, he opened a
bedroom door and found Randy sitting naked on the edge of a bed with a
spreading red stain on the sheets and a crying, naked cheerleader sitting in
the corner.

"Randy," said Thule, "we've got a situation."

Randy stood up, pulling on his pants. Without a second look towards his most
recent conquest, he followed Thule out of the room.

"Svetlana gave me the slip," Thule said, "she said she had to go to the
bathroom, sent me to get her a beer. When I came back, she was gone."

"Shit," said Randy. Then, deciding that wasn't strong enough, "fuck."

"Randy," said Thule, "I'm sorry."

"Nothing you could have done," said Randy, "I should have been here. Did you
see her talking to anyone?"

"One of your ringers," said Thule, "Matrika."

Randy stared at Thule. Thule realized he'd said more than he meant to. To
cover it up, he said quickly, "And Ian, Brianne's boyfriend."

"Shit," said Randy again, "Where?"

"Down that hall," said Thule, pointing down the hall towards Randy's
bedroom.

"Shit," said Randy. He took off at a trot down the hall. When he came to
where he could see in the open door, he froze, his features ashen. When
Thule caught up with him, he cursed himself mentally. Having never used
Rohypnol before, he didn't know the dosages. Svetlana was passed out cold,
but Ian was still pounding away at her mechanically. Ian didn't even look up
when Randy flung himself at him. Randy's momentum sent his naked friend
barrelling over a desk against the wall. Ian fell forward, clearly no longer
conscious. Randy punched him anyway. Once Ian hit the floor, Randy started
kicking him savagely. All Ian could do was gurgle obliviously. After three
solid kicks, Thule pulled Randy back.

"Easy," Thule said, "don't kill him."

Randy let himself be pulled off. He looked despairing from Ian to Svetlana,
tears rolling down his cheeks. Thule thought he might go catatonic. He
reached down to the bed and gently rolled Svetlana over. Pulling back one of
her eyelids, he gave the diagnosis he already knew, "She's been drugged."

"Motherfucker," shouted Randy, kicking Ian twice more in the ribs before
Thule could stop him again. Thule wondered if he hadn't pushed Randy too far
and maybe signed Ian's death warrant in the process. Ian was a scumbag. Of
that, there was no doubt. He was almost as culpable as Randy. But, Thule
didn't want to get anyone killed.

Randy looked around helplessly. Finally, he said to Thule, "Help me get her
covered up." As they positioned the now-sleeping Svetlana on the bed so that
she could be slid under the covers, Randy added, "Get everyone out of here.
Once the house is cleared, get my father. He'll want to see this.  And tell
him he'll want to get Doctor Farrell out here, just in case."

Thule nodded. Leaving the room, he methodically roused who could be easily
roused, then rousted everyone from upstairs. The crying cheerleader was now
sitting, staring blankly. Thule helped her get dressed and said to her, "I
need to talk to Randy first. But, come find me at school this week and we'll
talk." She nodded numbly. Feeling like a total bastard, Thule led her
downstairs and out of the house.

After that, he went to work on the people who were passed out beyond the
ability to awaken easily. Filling a bucket with ice cold water from one of
the tubs, he splashed it on each of them until they sputtered awake, then
efficiently ejected them.

The party had died down to almost nothing. But, Thule found Ivan sitting
outside at the pool. Next to him was the assistant Thule recognized from the
meeting at Jonas's office. She was dressed in only the skimpiest of bikinis.
Ignoring her, Thule crouched down and whispered in Ivan's ear, "Sir, there's
been a situation at the larger guest house. It involves your wife."

Ivan glared at Thule, but rose, leading him far enough away that his
assistant was out of earshot.

"What has she done this time?" asked Ivan.

"She's been raped, sir," said Thule, "one of the football players drugged
her and raped her in your son's bed."

Ivan laughed unkindly, "Is that what she said?"

"No, sir," said Thule, "she was still unconscious when I left. He probably
used Rohypnol."

"Trust me," said Ivan, walking towards the larger guest house, "it wasn't
rape. That slut's legs haven't been closed since I brought her here. Dammit.
Leave it to her to fuck up Randy's rite of passage."

Thule said, "Randy thought you would want to call Dr. Farrell, just in
case."

"The hell with that," said Ivan, "With any luck, she'll drop dead."

Thule didn't say anything to that. As they passed into the house, Ivan
asked, "Where is everyone?"

"I got rid of them," said Thule, "Family, I sent to the smaller house.
Guests I sent home."

"Good thinking," said Ivan.

They came into Randy's room. Randy was kneeling by the bed, wiping
Svetlana's face with a washcloth. Svetlana seemed to be sleeping peacefully,
if heavily. Ian was still passed out of the floor, a thin trickle of blood
coming from his mouth to a small pool on the carpet.

"Well," demand Ivan.

Randy looked up and there were tears on his face. He recounted the story
Thule had told him, omitting that Thule had been supposed to be watching
Svetlana when it all happened.

Ivan pulled the blankets covering Svetlana back, exposing her as if Randy
and Thule weren't even there. He looked at her, then unceremoniously flipped
her over.

"She wasn't raped," he pronounced, "there's not a bruise on her.'

"It was drugs," said Randy, rising. Thule could see the anger in the younger
Vandevoort's face and clenched fists and moved to be ready to intercept him
if he threw himself at his father.

"If it was drugs," said Ivan, "I'm sure she took them herself."

Thule saw Randy step forward to punch Ivan and decided to let him. Truth be
told, he wanted to get a few in himself. But, he only let Randy land one
punch before throwing himself in the middle, pushing Randy backwards and
against the wall, "Steady," he said, then more quietly, so that only Randy
could hear, he said, "Choose your battles."

Randy stayed tensed for a few seconds. Then, he nodded and relaxed. Thule
released him cautiously.

"Did you kill him?" Ivan asked, indicated Ian as if his son had not just
punched him in the mouth.

"I don't know," said Randy, "and I don't care."

"Well, you should," shouted Ivan, "I can't keep calling in favors for you
forever. Do you have any idea what your little party at the school cost me?"

Randy stood up. The roguish smile was back, "Consider today a coming-of-age
present, Dad." Looking around, he said, "Now, what do we do?"

Ivan leaned down and checked Ian for a pulse, "I'll call Dr. Farrell. It
looks like you did a real number on him. But, let's get her out of here
first. Wake her up."

"I can't," said Randy.

Ivan stood up, walked over to the bed, and slapped Svetlana ringingly hard
across the face. Her eyes opened, looking blank. Turning to Thule, he said,
"get her in a cold shower. That'll wake her up. I want her off the estate in
fifteen minutes."

"Off the estate?" demanded Randy.

"She's embarassed me for the last time," announced Ivan, "She's gone. I'll
file for divorce on Monday. But, she's out of here."

Thule nodded, gathering Svetlana into his arms for the second time today.
Sitting her in the shower, he turned on the cold water and blasted her with
it. Behind him, Ivan and Randy were arguing. But, Thule focused on helping
Svetlana, who was awake now and sputtering, to her feet. Closing the
bathroom door, he helped her towel off, touching her as clinically as
possible. She still moved like she was extremely drunk.

"Dule," she asked, "what happened?"

Thule asked the question that was weighing most heavily on his mind, "How
much do you remember?"

Svetlana thought hard, "The last thing I remember, I was dancing with a
pretty girl."

Thule nodded, incredibly relieved. He quickly repeated the story he'd told
Randy to her, only changing the wording a little.

"Yes," Svetlana said, yawning widely, "Ian came and danced with me and the
girl. Then, they took me back here and raped me."

"No," said Thule, "only Ian. The girl went upstairs with some other men. Do
you understand?"

"Da," said Svetlana, "only Ian. He was a savage."

"Very good," said Thule, "can you try to remember that?"

"Da," said Svetlana. Then, she began to sing in Russian.

Thule sat her on the toilet, "Can you sit up for a minute while I get your
clothes?"

Svetlana nodded and began to list to one side. But, she only seemed to go so
far, then right herself. Thule went out into the room where Ivan and Randy
were glaring at each other. He picked up her dress from where it lay, neatly
folded on the floor. While no one was looking, he tore it a little down the
front. He didn't want to have to explain why a rapist would neatly fold his
victim's clothes. Then, he went back into the bathroom and dressed Svetlana
in the dress. Unfortunately, he'd torn the dress more than he meant to and
it left her practically falling out. Svetlana  dozed on and off. So, yet
again, Thule lifted her, carrying her out of the room.

"Should I take her to the main house to pack?" asked Thule.

"No," said Ivan, "just get her out of here."

"She'll need something to cover herself," said Thule, "her dress is torn."

Randy went to his chest of drawers and drew out a big, flannel shirt. Thule
helped him get it around Svetlana's shoulders.

"Where do you want me to take her?" Thule asked.

"I don't care," said Ivan, "take her somewhere you can pour some coffee in
her. Then, drop her off at a bus station or something. Just get her the hell
out of here. If she tries to get back on the estate, I'll have her shot."

Thule nodded, lifting Svetlana again. She snuggled her head against his
chest, wrapping her arms around his neck and muttered something about Thule
smelling good. As they were about to leave the room, Randy leaned down and
picked up her little dress purse. He handed it to Thule.

"She'll be needing this," he said.

Thule nodded, taking the purse and carrying Svetlana outside. Once outside,
the cold air seemed to revive her. She looked up at Thule, and asked, "Dule,
why are you carrying me?"

"You lost your shoes," said Thule.

"Oh," said Svetlana. Then, she asked as if she didn't really care about the
answer, "are you going to rape me, too?"

"No," said Thule, "but your husband told me to take you away from here. He
says if you try to come back, he'll shoot you."

Svetlana laughed, "I bet he's going to divorce me, too," she said.

"He did mention that," said Thule.

"I hope he does it quickly," said Svetlana a little bit bitterly.

"He mentioned Monday," said Thule.

"Is it past midnight yet?" asked Svetlana as they came out to the circular
drive. Thule's car was already waiting, a valet with his keys waiting
anxiously to hand them over. No one behaved as if it were unusual for him to
be carrying off the half-conscious lady of the house.

"Just barely," said Thule, not believing that it could still be so early.

"Good," said Svetlana as Thule arranged her in the passenger seat, "Then
tomorrow, I am free woman."

Thule got in his own side and waited until he was outside of the main gate
before asking, "What will you do now?"

Svetlana chuckled, "Prenup says I get twelve million. I am sure I will find
something to do."

Thule nodded. He'd watched the Vandevoorts buy people for years. He didn't
know why it would stop with their wives.

Svetlana slept after that, not the heavy sleep of the drugged, but a
lighter, more natural sleep. Thule didn't bother to wake her until they were
downtown.

"Sveta," he said, "where do you want me to take you?"

"Take me home," said Svetlana.

"I can't," said Thule, "Ivan will have you shot if you try to go home."

"Not my home," said Svetlana, "your home. I am sure your parents will not
mind. I need sleep. Big day tomorrow. I get divorced."

Thule sighed, "All right, but just for sleep. You've been through enough
tonight."

Svetlana nodded, her eyes already closed again. Thule pulled into his
driveway and carried Svetlana into the house. The recliner was still open
from Dawn's fainting spell, but Thule ignored it in favor of the couch. When
he tried to put Svetlana down, she wouldn't let go of his neck. He tried to
disentangle himself, but she opened her eye.

"No kiss goodnight?" she asked, smiling.

Thule leaned down to kiss her on the cheek, but she turned her head so that
it came down full on her open mouth. Her tongue darted out into Thule's
mouth. Thule started out trying to push her head away, but ended up pinning
her down, kissing her back, punishing her mouth with his lips, tongue, and
teeth. A man could only be driven so far.

But, finally, he broke the kiss, stood up and laid a blanket over her, "Go
to sleep, Svetlana," he said gently. She nodded and closed her eyes.

Thule stalked into his bedroom, unbuttoning and peeling off his shirt. From
the moment he'd walked in the door of the Vandevoort estate, it seemed like
someone was trying to have sex with him--Sveta, Brianne, even Ian. He'd
always believed sex to be something special, even when he was planning on
using it to punish Marigold and Brianne, his plan was based on that
assumption. But to the Vandevoorts and those around them, it just seemed to
be another commodity, like cash or pork belly futures, traded for advantage
or position or taken by those strong enough to do so. Even Sveta, who seemed
like a sweet enough girl underneath it all, was all screwed up about sex.
Unless, of course, they were right about it and Thule was the one whose
ideas were screwed up.

Thule suddenly felt very much alone. Taking a chance, he send a query
through to Marigold's web cam client. Less than a minute later, an image
appeared. Marigold sat there, framed in moonlight, tantalizingly naked. For
all the times he'd seen her skin and all the skin he'd seen today, it still
brought him a little chill of pleasure to see her.

He typed, "Did I wake you?"

Marigold typed, "No. I was just lying in bed, thinking."

Looking at the image, Thule realized that there was another figure in the
bed, mostly covered by a sheet, but also clearly naked. Frowning, he typed,
"Who's that in your bed?"

Marigold looked over her shoulder as if surprised. Then, she typed, "Dawn."

Thule sighed. Dawn was another one he was going to have to deal with
eventually. But, not tonight. So, he typed in, "Good night, Little Flower."

Marigold typed, "Is something wrong? How was the party."

"Nothing is wrong. I'll tell you tomorrow," typed Thule. Then, he turned off
the web cam client and covered the camera with a soda bottle cap.

For a long time, he just sat there, trying to make sense of everything that
had just happened. He couldn't. So, he just sat there, staring blankly at
the screen. At some point, he became aware that Svetlana was moving around.
When she came into the room, he turned to face her. She looked sleepy, but
walked evenly to where Thule sat, not speaking.

And Thule knew that he shouldn't but he no longer cared. Reaching up, he
began unbuttoning the shirt she wore over her torn dress, his hands rising
to stroke her breasts, pull the dress free from her shoulders. Svetlana
shuddered a little at his touch, gasping. She leaned down to where he sat,
kissing him full on the mouth. He returned the kiss, lifting her up with an
arm around the waist and carrying her to the bed, where he laid her down.
Gripping the torn edges of her decolletage, he tore the dress away from her,
leaving her naked, illuminated only by the glow of the half dozen monitors
around the room. They made her look ghostly pale. He stripped off the
remainder of his clothes. Svetlana sat up, reaching out to touch him. Thule
pushed her away, laying her flat on the bed, forcing her legs apart,
entering her. Everything since he'd met her had been foreplay and she was
soon soaking wet. Without making a sound other than grunts of exertion, he
pounded into her, expressing all of his frustration through his hips. Rather
than minding, she relished it, meeting his pounding by raising her own hips
a little. Thule drove her harder until she couldn't race her hips to him.
She cried out her pleasure over and over again, little mewling sounds and
great, heaving sobs, almost as if she were crying. But, every time Thule
looked down, she was smiling, laughing even.

Thule reached down and placed one hand on Svetlana's throat. She raised her
head to give him better access. He squeezed, gently at first and, when she
nodded at him, harder and harder until she started to claw at his hand.
Then, he loosened his grip just enough that she wouldn't die. She seemed to
be coming constantly now. Thule, feeling himself build towards climax,
pulled out of her, his grip loosening on her throat. Svetlana looked up at
him imploringly. Grasping her by one shoulder, he flipped her over onto her
belly. As he leaned over her to reach for the lube, she reached around
behind herself and, taking his cock in her hand, guided him into her. Thule
took her fully, the tight passage having to be battered to let him in.
Svetlana cried out in pain. Thule drove into her, relishing her cries. Soon,
it became easier and the cries became those of pleasure. Thule enjoyed
those, too. He ground relentlessly into her and she came again and again,
calling his name and crying out in Russian as she did.

Finally spent, he rolled off of her. Svetlana took a long time to move from
where he had left her, finally laying her head on Thule's chest before she
fell asleep again.

Thule lay there, listening to Svetlana's untroubled breathing for a long
time before finally falling asleep.

Marigold, Part 15
by Vulgar Argot
(MF, MM, FF(imp), FM+(imp), rape(imp), fMM(imp), asphyxia, cuckold)

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