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Message-ID: <44844asstr$1066522208@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: "Vulgar Argot" <VulgarArgotREMOVEALL@CAPSinsidejoke.tv>
Subject: {ASSM} Princes of Mannsborough, Part 4
Date: Sat, 18 Oct 2003 20:10:08 -0400
Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail
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Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d

Princes of Mannsborough, Part 4 of approximately 22
by Vulgar Argot
(Tags at bottom to avoid spoilerage)

(Author's Note: This is not a new story. It is the second draft of a story
originally posted here entitled "Marigold." However, the edits are so
extensive that I am posting it as a new story.)

Marigold woke several times during the night, trying to snatch at the
remnants of a dream already half-forgotten. It seemed like every time she
closed her eyes, she dreamed that she was being made love to--sometimes by
Thule, sometimes by Elliot, sometimes by a man whose face she couldn't see.
And sometimes....well, they were just dreams, not to be dwelled on.

She woke for the last time wrapped up in sheets soaked with sweat. Even so,
she lay there for a few minutes gathering her thoughts. In the bathroom, she
caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. Her breathing was ragged, her
skin flushed. She was, she realized, fully aroused.

Placing both hands on the cool porcelain of the sink, she stared at herself
intently, as if expecting to see some obvious physical change. She felt her
shoulders trembling. Then, she was crying. Not wanting to alert her parents,
she tried to stifle the sobs until they came out as little mewling noises.
Some detached part of her mind noticed how much they sounded like her
pleasure noises. Inside of her, some small dam of resistance burst. She
laughed at the absurdity of it all.

Stepping into the shower, she tried to collect her thoughts as they caromed
off of each other in her head. She found it nearly impossible to
concentrate. Every time she closed her eyes, she started to think about what
Thule had done to her the night before, what he had promised to do to her
this weekend.

Giving up any pretense of a fight, she ripped the shower head clear of its
holder. With fingers and water pressure, she brought herself off quickly,
glad to see that she hadn't lost the old touch. Then, she brought herself
off again, just for good measure. She hadn't masturbated so unabashedly in
years.

Of course, that didn't leave much time for quiet contemplation. She stepped
out of the shower and dried off quickly. As she was dressing for school, a
realization came to her. She had figured out a way to get everything she
wanted out of life.

Elliot was a cold fish, but a good Christian boy that Jonas would approve of
her marrying. Thule made her feel so good it was like a drug, but he was, to
put it gently, the devil incarnate. Marigold sensed that there was some
truth behind Thule's accusation of Elliot's latent homosexuality. She'd
often suspected it herself. Even if he were straight, he was bound and
determined to be hopeless as a lover.

If there was no hope of turning Elliot into a lothario, all she needed to do
what get Thule to come back to church. After all, wasn't it written that
even Lucifer himself could have forgiveness if he would just ask for it? And
she'd seen the power she could exert over Thule last night. Her plan was
flawless.

She must have had an extra spring in her step when she came down to
breakfast. Her mother Holly noticed it almost immediate, "Looking forward to
being fitted for your prom dress today?"

Marigold had completely forgotten, but nodded her head. "I sure am. But, I
think that the ideas we talked about are all completely wrong."

Holly sighed, "Marigold, sweetie. We've been over this. I don't think we can
do any more about your chest than we talked about. You're just going to have
to accept..."

Marigold waved her off, "No, mother. I was thinking about going in an
entirely different direction. Do you remember that dress you were fingering
at Nordstrom?"

Holly's brow creased, "The one you said would make some streetwalker very
happy?"

"Yeah," said Marigold, starting to peel an orange, "the silver one. How do
you think that design would look in gold?"

"I..." Holly was clearly at a loss for words. Before she could form another
word, Jonas came into the kitchen dressed for work. As if welcoming Marigold
into some secret conspiracy, Holly closed her mouth, put on a mask of
normalcy, and said, "Good morning, Jonas. Coffee should be ready."

Marigold didn't get another chance that morning to talk to her mother about
her dress. It was probably just as well. What she had in mind probably
wouldn't shock Holly, but she was liable to protest if she thought Jonas
would object.

Her friend Jenna noticed her good mood as soon as she stepped into the other
girl's car to go to school.

"What the fuck do you have to be so cheerful about?" asked Jenna in her
usual abrupt style.

"Oh, nothing," said Marigold. "I was just talking with my mom about my prom
dress."

"So," asked Victoriya from the back seat, "you haven't said a word about the
dress yet. What's the big secret?"

"I don't know if there is a secret," said Marigold. "It's just that my
mother and I weren't seeing eye-to-eye on what the dress should look like
and I'm getting fitted today."

Natalya, also in the back seat, laughed, "I know what you mean. My mother is
all, 'You can't go backless. You need to wear a bra!' Just because her tits
droop does not mean that mine do."

"So," asked Jenna all-too-innocently, "who are you going with?"

Marigold looked at her, surprised, "Elliot, I assume. We've only been going
out forever."

There was silence in the car. Obviously, the other girls knew something more
than they were willing to say. . Before Marigold could formulate a question,
Jenna said, "Are you sure? Word is that Elliot is pretty pissed at you right
now."

Marigold tried to laugh, "Ah. Bad news travels fast but rumor and innuendo
travel at relativistic speeds."

The blank looks she got from the others told Marigold that she was pushing
her luck. All three were cheerleaders, Of the three, only Natalya seemed
liable to graduate in the top half of their classes. Giving any indication
to a cheerleader that you had retained anything from class was a good way to
get your popularity knocked down.

Marigold found that it didn't matter to her so much anymore. There was no
way she was going to remain popular and give Thule what he demanded anyway.
Heedless of the result, she said, "So, who's been spreading lies about me?
Brianne?"

"June Kane," said Victoriya. Jenna turned to glower at her.

Marigold laughed, "Same difference. What Brianne eats, June Kane shits."

The double whammy of hearing Marigold speak heresy and profanity pretty much
killed any real conversation for the remainder of the ride to school. When
they reached the senior parking lot, Jenna and Natalya couldn't be away fast
enough, trotting up towards the steps. Victoriya just watched them go,
"What's their hurry?"

"They just figured out that I'm about to become social poison. They want to
be as far away from me as they can get before it happens."

"Ahh.." said Natalya thoughtfully. "Slow down a minute then, will ya? I'm
dying for a cigarette."

Marigold looked up the road to the front steps, "I should probably get
going. There's no reason for you to get dragged down with me."

Natalya waved her off, "Fuck that. If I've got to choose between a couple of
phony cunts like them and you, it's not a hard choice."

Marigold was a little bit stunned. She'd always thought of Natalya as a
quiet and reserved team player. Still, she persisted, "It's not just going
to be those two. It's going to be Brianne and June Kane too. And, with them,
everyone else."

Natalya seemed pensive as she lit her cigarette. Then, she asked, "So, is it
true?"

"What?"

"Are you fucking Thule Roemer?"

"No!" said Marigold automatically. Then, looking around herself to see if
anyone was within earshot, she added, "Well, not yet, anyway."

Natalya laughed, "Good for you."

"You're not repulsed?"

Natalya laughed hard, "God, no. Jealous, maybe. Amazed, certainly. I thought
you were Miss Christian priss."

"Things are...complicated," said Marigold. "Wait. Are you saying that you
would sleep with Thule?"

Natalya shook her head, "No. Not in high school. If I did, I might as well
pierce my eyebrow and stop washing my hair for all the popularity I would
have left. But, the boy is hot. I mean, the hair would probably have to go
and the clothes, but he's got kind of a Glen Danzig thing going."

Marigold had no idea who Glen Danzig was, but didn't bother to ask. Instead,
she asked, "Are you saying you've got a thing for Thule?"

Natalya shook her head, "No, no, sweetie. I'm not after your man. I'm just
saying I admire your gumption for going for it." She took a long drag on her
cigarette, "The truth of it is that I just can't wait to get out of this
fucking berg with its gold-plated provincial attitude. I'm not going away to
college so that I can keep dying my hair, being a cheerleader, and fucking
socially acceptable guys."

It occurred to Marigold that she wouldn't have to face as much social
opprobrium if she weren't the only defector from Brianne's clique. She said,
"You know, there's only like six weeks left of school. If you've got a thing
for someone, you should just go for it. You may never get another chance and
it's not like Brianne can do much in the time we have left.

Natalya got a faraway look on her face then reached out with her
cigarette-free hand, placed it under Marigold's chin, and traced her
cheekbone with her thumb. The whole motion took less than a second, but it
made Marigold shiver.

"No, sweetie," she said sadly. "I really don't need the shitstorm. And, I'm
not as brave as you are."

Suddenly, Marigold didn't feel at all brave. Instead, she felt like a
complete fraud. Worse, in a moment of weakness, she'd used a friend to try
to bolster her own social situation--something that she promised herself she
would never do again. She felt absolutely worthless.

As she was trying to think of what to say next, Marigold saw Elliot striding
angrily towards her. Natalya saw it too and looked ready to interpose
herself between the two of them. Marigold whispered urgently to her, "No. Go
find Thule."

Elliot strode past Natalya as if she weren't there, his hand gripping
Marigold's arm bruisingly hard, "Come on."

Marigold tried to pull away from him, but found herself dragged along,
"Dammit, Elliot! What is your problem?"

"My problem?" Elliot sputtered. "It's all over the school that you're
dumping me for Bart Roemer. Why am I the last goddamned person to hear about
it?"

Marigold stared at him incredulously, "Elliot, where the hell did you hear
that?"

"I knew I never should have left the two of you alone in that office,"
Elliot snarled. "June Kane told me that Doug Foeller saw you two making out
in Roemer's rusty, piece-of-shit car."

"Doug Foeller's a goddamned liar," shouted Marigold. She was outraged. Just
because she was guilty of the general gist of the accusation didn't mean
that she was going to cop to a clear fabrication, "He gave me a ride home--a
completely innocent ride home."

"Dammit, Marigold," he shouted back. "I don't need this shit. I'm under a
lot of pressure this year and we're this close," he held up two fingers with
a tiny gap between them, "to going to the state championship. I don't have
time to deal with my girlfriend hanging around with some dirtbag computer
nerd. I don't want to hear about it happening again."

Marigold glared at Elliot and realized that any lingering affection she
might have for him was completely gone. She didn't even know who he was
anymore.

As children, they'd been best friends. Elliot had been calling her his
girlfriend since they were eight. But, he'd grown increasingly distant over
time. This year, she saw him maybe three or four times a week, rarely more
than ten minutes at a time. She'd complained about their lack of time
together last year. He'd made it sound like he stayed away for her sake.
Since then, it had gotten increasingly worse. Senior year, she hadn't really
had time for dating, but they'd gotten to the point where they hardly spoke.
And now, out of the blue, he'd tried to lay claim to her, to his right to
decide who she could associate with.

When she spoke, each word was clearly enunciated and laced with menace,
"Are...you...forbidding....me?" she asked.

"Yes," he shouted, "I can't have my girlfriend off gallivanting with
dirtbags."

Marigold was so angry, she started to actually see a red glow around
everything. She searched her mind for the most hurtful, personal thing she
could say to Elliot, thought of every secret she knew, every bit of innuendo
that she'd heard. And then she knew, "How do you think I feel? Everybody
feels sorry for me because they know my boyfriend would rather fuck the
quarterback than me?"

Elliot's arm shot out, catching her backhand across the face. Marigold felt
the faint, metallic tang of blood in her mouth. She screamed, mostly in
rage, but a little bit in triumph too. Until today, she'd always allowed
herself to believe that Elliot really was a nice, Christian boy and that
anything she did to displease him must be her own fault. Now, she saw him
for the snarling animal he really was. Her triumph was short-lived, though,
as his fingers latched around her throat. She was off her feet, her back on
the hood of a car, being slammed backwards repeatedly. She was dimly aware
of him screaming at her. Then, she was aware of nothing at all.

It wasn't long until the world came sharply back into focus as the pressure
on her windpipe abruptly ceased. Pushing herself up on her elbows, she saw
Elliot being restrained by his coach and several of his teammates as he
continued to scream at her, "You fucking cunt whore. I'll see you in hell,
bitch." His face was beet red and his hair a mess.

She stood up unsteadily. Elliot slowly stopped struggling, courtesy of a
choke hold applied by the coach. He signified his submission and was slowly
released. As he stood, Marigold caught a meaningful glance passing between
Elliot and Ian Kelley. Shocked, she realized that she had not just made
Elliot angry, she had been right, even guessing which player Elliot had a
thing for. That Ian was Brianne's boyfriend only made the whole thing
funnier to her.

Randy Vandevoort was walking over to her, looking concerned, offering her a
hand up, when Marigold saw the parking lot side door of the gym burst open
and Thule come barreling out. He immediately ran towards Marigold, worry
etched heavily on his face. Elliot, who had been screened away from Marigold
had a clear path for Thule and took it. He blindsided Thule, screaming
incoherently. The impact was so strong that Thule was slammed back into the
glass door to the gym, which spiderwebbed.

Elliot rabbit-punched Thule hard in the gut. Thule, barely standing, had the
mental presence to stomp down hard on Elliot's insole, giving himself a
little bit of breathing room.

Marigold lost track of the action, then. The team scattered, most of them
running to pull Elliot off of Thule, the rest running to help her up.

"Are you all right?" Randy Vandevoort asked, giving her a hand up.

Marigold gingerly felt her neck and nodded, "I think so."

Randy took her chin in his hand and turned her head so he could see, "That's
going to be an ugly bruise, I'm afraid."

The gesture seemed frightening intimate. Marigold pulled away and looked
over his shoulder. She couldn't see what was happening with Thule. He was
surrounded by people. She did see Elliot being held away from the crowd by a
couple of defensive linemen, though, and breathed a sigh of relief. Randy
took a couple of steps past her and took inventory of what she now realized
was his car.

"Did I...?" she asked.

Randy looked back at her, "The hood will probably have to be replaced. I
wouldn't worry about it, though." He rubbed his hand along the finish, "If
you're feeling guilty, you can finally accept an invitation to one of my
parties as penance. I would consider us even."

"I, uh..." said Marigold. This close, she had to admit that Randy was
awfully handsome. Rumor was that he'd worked his way through most of the
girls at Mannsborough. For a moment, Marigold felt like a bird caught in a
cobra's glare.

"Marigold," Thule called out to her.

She ran to where he was holding himself upright by leaning on the black iron
railing. As she got close, Thule let go of the railing and staggered towards
her. Marigold threw her arms around him. The way they both slumped into the
embrace made her wonder who was holding who up.

"Are you all right?" Thule asked. "Did he hurt you badly?"

Marigold nodded. Thule, apparently finding her answer too ambiguous, did a
quick hands-on search of all her vital areas. Satisfied that she was all
right, he said, "Well, I suspect that you will have to engage in some
hickey-hiding measures for a few days, but you look okay."

Marigold's heart sank, "Hickey-hiding?"

The coach chose that moment to interrupt, "Thule, Marigold. I need to go and
talk to the team. But, I want to talk to you two as well. I really
appreciate if you would head over to the Spoon and wait for me there. I'll
cover breakfast and make sure you two are excused from your classes until we
can talk. Please, don't discuss this with anyone until we get a chance to
talk."

Thule nodded, "Sure, coach. I can do that for you." He put emphasis on the
last two words.

The coach nodded grimly, "You ever get a chance to run anymore, Bart?"

Thule gave a crooked half smile, "Not as often as I would like, coach."

The coach nodded remorsefully, then headed into the gym.

"Thule," asked Marigold as they got into his car. "What's the Spoon?"

Thule laughed, "It the diner all the kids go to when they want to skip
class--good food, cheap prices, and high booths that let you have a certain
degree of anonymity."

Marigold gave him an ironic stare, "And, just how do you know about this
place."

Thule chuckled, leaned across the seat, and kissed her on top of the head,
"Little flower, you may well be the only one at the whole school who doesn't
know about it."

Feeling his lips pressed reassuringly to her head, Marigold finally gave in
to the shock of what had just happened. She began crying and shaking. Thule
gathered her into his arms, stroking her long, blonde hair, kissing her, and
whispering her name comfortingly.

He held her until she stopped crying. As she felt him loosening the clutch
to break away, she said, "No, Thule. Please hold me some more. I...I have
something I want to say and I don't want to lose my nerve."

Thule pressed his forehead to hers so that their faces were mere inches
apart, "What is it, my tethered goddess."

"I just wanted to tell you that...Thule, I don't feel like what you're doing
to me is punishment. I...I like being with you. Please, don't send me away
at the end of summer, Thule. We're both going to school in Boston..." She
let her words trail off.

Thule looked at her a long time, his expression unreadable. When Marigold
couldn't pretend that he was just taking time to formulate his answer, she
tried to escape his arms. Reluctantly, he let her go.

"Marigold," he said flatly, his voice almost a monotone. "I'm not done
punishing you yet. You still have a lot to answer for. I'm going to do
things to you and make you do things that could well make you hate me. Let's
leave the question of Boston open until then."

Marigold nodded, fighting back another wave of tears. She had a feeling in
her gut that was part queasiness, part arousal, and part fear that came from
wondering what he had planned for her.

                            -=-

At the Spoon, over breakfast and tea, Marigold asked, "So, why did you quit
the track team?" The question that was really burning in her mind was, "What
are you going to make me do?" but she knew it would get no answer.

"Freshman year," he said between bites of sausage, "my parents got divorced.
My girlfriend, Maya, had some trouble and moved away. I couldn't handle it
all and run track."

Marigold shook her head. Deliberately steering the conversation away from
any discussion of Maya, she said, "I still can't imagine you as a jock."

"I never fit in well with the culture," he said, drizzling syrup on his
pancakes. "I was on the track team and a kicker for the football team. But,
I was already known for my grades and my computer acumen, so I never really
got much acceptance. The jocks tolerated me because I was good at the sports
I played. None of the others entirely trusted me because I was a jock. It
wasn't hard to give up."

"Do you think you might run again in college?"

Thule shook his head, "MIT doesn't leave much time to be on a track team."

"It's definitely MIT then?"

"If the financing comes in," Thule answered. "I've got enough put away for
almost two years. I've got a few irons in the fire to try to raise the
rest."

The front door opened admitting the coach. Thule stood and waved him over.
As he sat down, Marigold slid around until her thigh was pressed up against
Thule's.

"I'm glad you two agreed to see me," said the coach. "I want to make a deal
with you."

Thule didn't put his fork down, "I'm listening."

"I don't know what happened back there," said the coach, "but I think we
would all be best served if this whole thing stayed under wraps. You know
how the damned administration is. If they get wind of this, they'll end up
taking action against everyone involved. I'm under a lot of pressure to
bring the team to states this year. And, I'm sure you two don't want to be
suspended over your involvement in this little dust-up."

Thule cut a neat triangle out of the edge of his stack of pancakes, shook it
free of excess syrup, and popped it in his mouth. He chewed slowly and
deliberately. The process went on long enough that Marigold felt she should
say something to fill the gap. As she shifted to speak, Thule kicked her
gently underneath the table.

"I don't know," he said lazily. "I could use a few days off. I've already
got my acceptance letters. It doesn't seem like I'm getting much out of the
deal."

"Does your girlfriend feel the same way?"

"My girlfriend," Thule put heavy emphasis on the word, "would like to see
the cocksucker in jail. He just tried to kill her."

Marigold felt a little frisson at being called Thule's girlfriend.

The coach raised his hands, "I really don't think it's necessary to bring
the cops into this. You know, you may have done permanent damage when you
kicked Elliot."

Thule took a quick sip of coffee, "I'm sure it will be a great loss to the
team if Elliot's dick doesn't work any more. On the plus side, I didn't
touch that purty mouth of his."

"Christ on a cracker, Bart," the coach said explosively. "Don't fuck with
me. If you want something, spit it out."

Thule counted off on his thumb, "Jenny Collins."

The coach looked a little stunned, "Should I know that name?"

"Who's fucking with who now, coach? I want all the information you gathered
on her."

"I don't have much."

"Fair enough. I also want what you have on Sarita Malloy."

The coach paled, "Christ, Bart. What are you after?"

Thule shook his head in the negative, "That's my business. Those are my
terms."

The coach stared at Thule. His eyes flickered to Marigold to see if he had
any support there. She kept her expression cautiously neutral. Finally, he
said, "One condition. Whatever you're going to do with this information, you
wait until after the state championships to do it."

Thule shook his head, "That's too late. I can give you until the team
qualifies for state."

The coach sighed, "You're not making this easy for me, Bart."

"You?" Thule's laugh was not kind. "I've spent four years in the monkey
house with these animals. Half the Mannsborough PD is made up of your little
thugs who never should have made it out of high school with a record. Do you
think these guys become angels because they get out of high school?"

"All right," said the coach, sounding defeated. "I've got a folder in my
office. It covers all of my investigations. There's more going on here than
you know about. I'll give you a copy of everything. Just, don't use it until
the state championships."

Thule gave the coach a suspicious look, "Tell me what I don't know."

The coach leaned in to speak lower, "From what I was able to determine,
Jenny Collins was up at Vandevoort's house for a week before the party
where...things went really bad. It was Vandevoort who pulled that Malloy
girl into the locker room after the Fort Benningsworth game. His father paid
off both girls big time. When Greg Walters got busted for coke, he took the
fall for Vandevoort. And, there was an incident on Block Island last summer
that I don't have a lot of details on."

He turned to Marigold to address her, "Your suspicions about Elliot aren't
one hundred percent right. I've heard things, but he was bragging to the
team about this girl he shared with Randy Vandevoort on Block Island and the
things they made her do. Truth be told, I'm glad you're rid of him. I don't
know what his damage is, but he doesn't seem to like women much."

"Thank you, Coach Wiley," said Marigold quietly.

"Is that enough?" asked the coach. There are a half dozen more minor
incidents. If I give you the file, will you wait until after the
championship?"

Thule said immediately, "A lot of the team is going to be pretty pissed
about what happened today. I want you to make it clear in no uncertain terms
that Mari and I are off limits. Anybody so much as breathes on us wrong and
our deal is null and void."

"Already done," said the coach. "I can't vouch for Elliot, but the rest of
the team will do what I tell them."

Thule nodded, "All right. Get your file. We'll wait here." As the coach
began to rise, he added, "One last thing."

The coach gave Thule a look of supplication.

"Clear it with the school nurse. Mari and I went home today. We were sick or
something. There are some things we need to do."

                        -=-

Marigold felt numb.

"I can't believe all those things are going on in Mannsborough," she said to
Thule as he drove towards his house. "I never heard about any of it. I knew
Jenny Collins. She moved really suddenly, supposedly because her dad lost
his job."

"There are some very powerful people in this town, little flower," said
Thule. "Some of them do bad things with their power, like putting it at the
disposal of their children. Children are monsters by nature."

Marigold fell silent. When Thule looked over again, tears were rolling down
her cheeks.

"Mari, what's the matter?"

"Thule," she asked quietly. "What's wrong with me?"

"What do you mean?"

"First, I assumed Elliot just didn't like sex. Then, I thought you must be
right and he was gay. Now, I hear that he was fucking some other girl on
Block Island when I thought he was at football camp. Why, in the last five
years, hasn't he even tried to touch me?"

Thule pulled into his driveway, then turned to look at her, "Do you really
want my theory?"

Marigold nodded.

"Would you have let him share you with Randy Vandevoort?"

Marigold glared at him, "Of course not."

"Why not?"

"Because I'm not a whore."

Thule raised an eyebrow ironically at her. Marigold blushed. Before she
could amend her statement, Thule said, "To Elliot, you've always been a
nice, Christian girl--the girl he was going to marry. He had something
specific in mind that you just weren't the right girl for."

"He fucked around behind my back because he had too much respect for me not
to?"

"Do you have a better theory?"

Marigold didn't, so she let Thule lead her inside, into the kitchen.

"Take off your shirt. Leave your bra on." His voice had the tone of easy
command again.

Marigold looked at him, alarmed, "Leave my bra on?"

Thule seemed to catch her meaning, "Marigold, I love your breasts. If we
have time later, I may fuck them. Right now, I want to help you clean up
those bruises before they get really ugly."

Marigold picked up the toaster to look at her reflection. Elliot's fingers
had left a set of angry red marks at her throat that were starting to darken
to purple. She muttered an invective.

Thule smiled at her, "Have a seat. We'll see what we can do about that."

As Thule peeled, sliced, and soaked potatoes, they talked about
inconsequential matters. Marigold was amazed at how happy she felt just
being there in Thule's house, chatting with him. For a while, she completely
forgot that he had blackmailed her to get her here.

For an hour, Thule took rags, dipped them in the potato water, and applied
them to Marigold's neck. When he announced he was finished, Marigold looked
at her reflection again. The bruises had already faded to brown and yellow.

"Now, they really do look like hickeys," announced Thule. "They should fade
in a couple of days."

"Thank you, Thule."

"You're welcome," said Thule mildly. Then, his tone of voice changed, "Now.
Come into my bedroom."

Marigold quavered at the tone of command. She rose and followed him through
the living room. As she did, she took stock of her surroundings. The house
was not as small as she expected it to be. It was kept meticulously neat.
The only thing that made it seem at all cramped were the bookshelves
covering every available wall and overflowing into stacks on the floor next
to them.

"Watch your step," Thule said as he led Marigold into his room. The curtains
were drawn in here and it took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the
darkness. When they did, she realized that, interspersed with the books were
more than a dozen computers of a bewildering variety. Monitors flickered in
every corner of the room and one wall was completely taken up with
electronics.

"What do you need with all of these computers?" she asked.

"Each one has its use," he answered cryptically. "As I upgrade, I rarely
want to decommission what I've been doing before, so they sort of
accumulate." As he spoke, he picked up a digital camera from his desk, "Put
your shirt back on and get on the bed," he ordered.

Marigold looked alarmed, "Are you going to take pictures?"

"Yes."

"Are you going to show them to anyone?"

"Probably...eventually"

Marigold hesitated, started to argue.

"All right," Thule said, as if relenting. "Why don't I take you home, then?"

"What?" Marigold asked, "Why?"

"You don't seem to want to live up to your end of the bargain. I should take
you home."

"I'll do whatever you want, Thule," she whispered> "But, please, no
pictures."

Thule shrugged, "No pictures, then. Let's get you home."

"No," Marigold said, panic rising in her chest, "Please. It's okay. Take all
the pictures you want."

She burned with embarrassment as Thule ordered her to take her clothes off
one by one. Once she was naked, he made her assume a number of poses, some
of which brought tears of shame to her eyes. There was nothing merciful or
loving about Thule now. Marigold felt like a complete whore. But, as time
went by, she came to accept that what she was doing was under duress. She
wasn't a whore. Thule ordered her to behave like a whore and she was forced
to comply. That realization made the process much easier.

It made the process more than easier. Marigold found herself starting to
enjoy the process. She primped. She twisted to get her best angle. She
smiled genuinely for the camera. She was really beginning to enjoy the
freedom of being forced to behave like a whore when Thule said, "Put your
fingers between your legs and touch yourself."

"No!" she said involuntarily. Thule frowned at her and didn't speak.
Marigold knew that arguing would do no good. All he would do was agree and
offer to take her home. Instead, she said, "I don't think I can get aroused
like this. It's too awkward."

Reaching into his closet, Thule pulled out a tripod with a video camera on
it, "Leave that to me." He came over and sat behind her, spreading his legs
so that Marigold could sit between them. His hands reached up around her and
gently cupped her breasts, fondling and stroking them. He kissed the side of
her neck with no marks on it. Marigold shivered and moaned a little.

"Touch yourself," he whispered. Marigold obeyed, but the pleasure had
drained away into embarrassment again. His hands on her failed to elicit
more than a tepid response. Then, he leaned forward and began to explain, in
great detail, what he was going to do to her, what he had done to her
already, and the myriad possibilities of what he could make her do if he
wanted. Marigold closed her eyes and continued to touch herself, soon
forgetting the camera, forgetting that it was wrong to enjoy it so much,
spiraling into pleasure from his touch, his warm breath, and his words.

"I could share you with Randy Vandevoort," Thule growled in her ear, "his
cock in your sweet, innocent pussy, mine ramming in and out of your ass."

Marigold wanted to protest, but the image hit her solidly between the eyes.
She came, hard, unable to control or slow the pleasure, even as she stopped
touching herself. She started to cry at the depths of her own depravity.
Thule may be forcing her to masturbate for the camera, but the reaction to
his words had been all hers. He knelt up onto his knees behind her, holding
her chin with one hand, unzipping his pants with the other.

Marigold tried to turn to suck his cock, but he held her in place, not
letting go of her chin. Instead, he rubbed his swollen organ in her hair,
trailed it down her spine. She moaned at the feel of it, absurdly erotic.
When it got to be over her tailbone, he pushed her down on her face. She
sprawled in front of him. He mounted her, slapping the backs and insides of
her thighs with his cock. Then, he rubbed it against the lips of her pussy,
not entering her, only teasing her. She moaned at the pleasure and
frustration of it. She felt his precum and her juices mixing.

Marigold tried to position herself in such a way that he would slide into
her, but he had her completely pinned. She could only squirm, which seemed
to turn them both on all the more, as did her squeals of protest.

Then, he took his cock and pressed it against the other entrance to her
flesh. Even pinned under his superior weight, Marigold made a good show of
struggling against it. But, he pushed a small fraction of the head into her,
holding her open. The pain was exquisite, tinged with pleasure. She
shuddered and thrashed.

"Stop fighting it," Thule growled. She complied out of instinct now.

"I own you," he purred in her ear, "If I want to fuck your tight, tiny
little asshole right here and now, it's my right. Don't you agree?"

Marigold closed her eyes, said a little, silent prayer. Still, he was there,
unrelenting. She nodded her head, "Yes," she whispered, "I'm your tethered
goddess. Rape me. Shame me. Kill me if you want. I belong to you."

Thule chuckled throatily against her ear and drove his cock against her so
that Marigold now gripped the whole of it with her sphincter. She trembled
with the effort of not fighting against him as he pulled out, then drove the
head back in again, but only the head. Marigold moaned at her helplessness.
There was too much pain and fear involved for her to come or even for the
pleasure to become dominant.

Thule pulled away, "Lay on your back," he ordered, "with your legs towards
the camera. Touch yourself."

Marigold obeyed unquestioningly now, stroking herself to greater heights of
pleasure. Compared to being sodomized in front of the camera, there was
hardly any shame in this at all. Soon, she was moaning and trembling.

"Don't stop," Thule said as he straddled her stomach. He took his cock and
placed it between her breasts, holding them together with his hands.
Marigold realized that Thule was carrying out his earlier threat to fuck her
tits. It felt good, but also absurd. Once Marigold got the image of what
they were doing in her mind's eye, she started giggling. She couldn't stop
herself. Thule glared down at her, but that just made it worse. Now, the
giggles had turned into guffaws, shaking her whole ribcage. She was afraid
that Thule would be really angry. But, a moment later, he was laughing too.
He rolled over onto his back, drawing her into his arms, still chuckling.

"I'm sorry," Marigold gasped, "it just seemed so silly."

Thule hugged her and kissed the top of her head, "It is silly. I'd just
never done it before. I thought I'd give it a try, but you're right."

Marigold hugged him back, pressing her face into the curly hair on his
chest, reveling in the hard lines of his chest and the scent of him.

"Thule," she asked him earnestly, her hand snaking down to wrap around his
cock. "Can I suck it, please?"

"Yes," said Thule, still chuckling. "I think you'd better."

Marigold followed her hand down his body, rubbing her stomach, her
diaphragm, her cleavage over the end of his cock as she went. Thule moaned
and arched his back as she went. Marigold smiled at being in control again.
With little, catlike licks, she began to cover the whole cock. Thule moaned
harder and thrashed a little. She began sucking the end of it, licking it at
the same time. Thule was making animal noises now. Marigold took most of it
into her mouth now, licking and sucking, working up and down the shaft. It
seemed like a long time before he came this time, but Marigold reveled in
the sounds she was able to elicit from him. Finally, Thule grabbed the back
of her head, drove his cock into her throat, and came in great gouts. After
Marigold had licked him clean, she lay back on the bed, smiling to herself,
no longer caring that the camera ran.

                        -=-

By the time Thule pulled up outside her house, Marigold could see that the
bruises on her neck had faded even more than before. But, they were still
quite visible and still very definitely finger shaped. Looking in the mirror
on her visor, she felt herself starting to hyperventilate, "Thule, the
bruises are still there."

Thule looked at her, annoyance flickering over his features, "Of course
they're still there. It's potato water, not magical hickey-be-gone juice."

"It's not a hickey," Marigold answered emphatically, "Thule, do you know
what kind of girls get hickeys?"

"Are they better or worse girls than the ones whose closet-case boyfriends
try to strangle them to death?"

Marigold felt herself starting to get angry. Strangely, she still wanted to
defend Elliot against accusations of homosexuality. Changing directions
mid-thought, the best she could come up with was, "Yes!"

Thule raised his eyebrow in a look that Marigold now recognized as sardonic
amusement, "Why?"

"I," Marigold felt herself getting flustered, "It's because...I don't know,"
she blurted, "Maybe they're not. Forget I said anything."

"No," said Thule, "I want to explore this line of thought a bit further. Why
are girls who get hickeys so bad?"

"Please, Thule," Marigold whispered. "My parents are going to start
wondering why I'm spending so much time in the car with you."

"Your parents don't come to the window when you get home from school. You
told me yourself. Of course, if you're really worried, you should answer
quickly."

"I..." she realized that further protest wouldn't help and would just
prolong things, "It's cheap."

"Slutty?" Thule asked. She nodded.

"Would you say that girls who get hickeys are whores?"

"Thule, what are you getting at?" Marigold asked, annoyed. Thule didn't
answer, just stared her down. Forced to go on, she said, "I guess."

"So," he asked, "What are you?"

"What?"

"How are you better than them?"

"I...I've been forced."

"Forced?"

"Coerced, then. I'm not doing it by choice. I'm being blackmailed."

"So, you're not a whore?"

"No. I'm more like a....prisoner."

"Really?" There was a coldness in his voice that made her shiver. "Didn't
you tell me earlier today that you enjoyed what I do to you and didn't
really think of it as punishment?"

Marigold felt trapped, "What you make me do makes me feel dirty..."

"Dirty?" Thule asked. She nodded.

"Like a whore?" His voice a rasp now. Marigold nodded again.

"So, you're just a good, Christian girl who wants to be with a man who makes
her feel like a whore even though she's not a whore because she's forced?"

"Well," she said, smiling a little, "When you put it that way, it sounds
ridiculous."

"My little flower, what is a whore?"

Marigold started crying now, trying to formulate an answer that would end
the questioning. Mercifully, he answered his own question, "A whore is
someone who has sex so that she can get something out of it, like money.
Would you agree?"

She nodded.

"And why do you let me do the things I do to you?" The question hit her like
a splash of cold water. Her eyes flew open and she stared at him. His eyes
were cold and probing.

"What do you want me to say, Thule? That I'm a whore."

"I want you to tell me the truth."

"Do you want me to be a whore?" she asked, her voice rising a little.

"I can't make you a whore." He answered simply

She started crying freely now, tears rolling down her cheeks. Thule reached
out his arms, wrapping them around her, drawing her in. She clung to him
miserably.

"Thule," she asked, "Why do you want me to be a whore?"

She didn't expect an answer, but he kissed the top of her head, "Because,
little flower, until you accept that you are a whore, you'll never accept
that you're my whore."

She trembled against him, "I think I'm falling in love with you, Thule."

He pet her hair, "I thought you hated me."

She nodded against his chest, "That too."

He held her for a long time. Finally, he said, "They're going to start
wondering what we're doing out here."

Part of Marigold wanted to say to "let them," wanted the whole masquerade to
be over, to acknowledge what was going on. Let them throw her out, refuse to
pay for college. She'd....well, she didn't know what she'd do, but she'd
figure out something. Thule would take care of her. Instead, she detatched
herself and began to clean up. In the past few days, she'd gotten very adept
at hiding the ravages of strong emotion and its effects on her body.

As she was reapplying her makeup, she asked, "Thule, what am I going to tell
my parents about the marks on my neck?"

"Tell them the truth," he shrugged, "Not all of it, of course. But, tell
them that Elliot got jealous of you spending time with your friends and got
so mad that he choked you."

"But, they love Elliot. They'll never believe me."

"Marigold, Jonas may be a bit of a Bible-thumper, but he's also a very smart
guy. He can't be completely blind to Elliot's flaws, even if you were.
Remember. They love you, too. Sell it to them and they'll believe it."

She looked at him. Her face was all made up again. Except for a light flush
under her tanned skin, no one would guess she had just been crying.

"Thule," she asked, her voice quavering, "Call me a whore again."

To her surprise, he didn't ask questions. He just leaned his head near hers.
His voice was hot on her ear, "You're a whore," he growled, "a filthy,
slutty whore. You love what I do to you and beg for more."

She nodded. Her whole body had tensed up when he said it, shaking in the
intensity of the conflicting emotions that she felt. She thought about it.
She was a whore. Thule could torment her, rape her, and degrade her and she
would just come crawling back for more. Fat tears started rolling down her
cheeks.

"Hey," said Thule, "You're messing up your makeup again."

"I know," she whispered and pulled away. Dabbing ineffectually at her face,
she asked, "How do I look?"

"A mess," said Thule.

"Good," she said bouncily. Then, while his mouth was still hanging open with
surprise, she leaned in to kiss him, hard on the mouth and, before he could
recover, was out of the car and up the path.

                               -=-

Marigold paused at the door. Reflected in the outer glass, her eyes were
red-rimmed, puffy, and freshly smeared. Her cheeks were flushed. Only her
hair was too neat. She pulled a few, choice strands out of place, took a
deep breath, and went inside.

"Oh, good," Holly said when the door opened, "You're home on time."

"Hi," Marigold said shyly, holding her head forward so that her hair covered
her face and neck, "I'll be right back." She accelerated towards the steps
going upstairs.

"Marigold," asked Jonas sounding alarmed, "Is something wrong."

"No," she said. While she doubted she would be able to cry on cue, she was
pleased to hear her voice crack in the middle of the word.

"Marigold," Jonas said, concern in his voice now. Marigold broke for the
stairs now, running up them to her room, then slamming the door, which flew
back open from the impact. She slammed it again and threw herself face down
on her bed.

"I'm a whore," she thought to herself, "A dirty whore. I love what Thule
does to me." To her horror, she didn't start crying as she expected, but
grinned broadly.

Casting about for something to think about that could make her cry, she
settled on, "I'm never going to be able to marry Elliot. He's in love with
Ian Kelley." Now, instead of crying, she started laughing silently, her
whole body shaking with barely contained mirth.

She felt weight on the bed. Jonas put his hands on her shoulders,
"Marigold," he said gently, "why are you crying?"

She managed to calm herself before she started laughing out loud and blew
her cover, "I'm not crying," she said desperately.

Jonas pulled her into a hug, wrapping his arms around her from behind. She
felt a deep pang of shame. He was not a physically demonstrative man. She
felt awful about getting such a strong response through deception.

"What happened," Jonas asked. "Please, Marigold. You can tell me."

Marigold took a deep breath, "I found out today that when Elliot said he was
at football camp last year, he was really on Block Island with Randy
Vandevoort. And, I found out the two of them had sex with some slut and we
got in a big fight and he tried to strangle me." The words all came out in a
rush. Strictly speaking, they were all true. She turned to face him, making
sure he could see the marks on her neck.

Jonas didn't speak for what seemed like a long time. Finally, he said in a
low voice, "I'll kill him."

Marigold could not have been more shocked. Her mellow, Christian,
milquetoast stepfather had stepped so far out of character, she would have
been less surprised to see Mr. Rogers slap a child.
"Sir," she said, stunned and somewhat stern.

Jonas closed his eyes and rubbed his temples. A groan of frustration came
from behind his hands.

"Sorry, Pumpkin," he said, "I lost myself there for a moment. Of course,
that's not the Christian thing to say...or do. I just need a second."

He sat for a moment and bowed his head, mouthing a silent prayer. Finally,
he said, "Did the school expel him?"

"No," said Marigold, already anticipating the next question, "The
administration doesn't know."

"Why not?" asked Jonas.

"Thule came to my rescue," she said, stretching the truth near the point of
breaking. "He hurt Elliot pretty bad. If the administration started handing
out expulsions, they might expel him too. And, he's worked so hard and been
accepted to MIT."

Jonas gave her a hard, appraising look, "It sounds like you took my advice
and started spending more time with Bartholemew."

Marigold nodded, afraid her voice might betray her, "I think I might even be
able to get him to come to church."

Jonas chuckled, "I thought the same thing for years. But, maybe being asked
by a pretty girl will help."

Marigold's smile was genuine. It was the first time she'd ever heard Jonas
call her pretty.

"All right," Jonas said with a harsh chuckle. "You and Bartholemew graduate
and go to the colleges you've worked so hard for. In the mean time, I'll try
to find it in my heart to forgive Elliot. If I can't forgive him by
graduation," his eyes grew steely and intense, "then I'll kill him."

Princes of Mannsborough, Part 4 of approximately 22
by Vulgar Argot
(MF, F/solo, rom, blackmail, oral, anal, giggling)

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