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Message-ID: <48135asstr$1086523803@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: Vulgar Argot <vulgarargotREMOVEALL@CAPSinsidejoke.tv>
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Subject: {ASSM} Princes of Mannsborough, Part 15
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Date: Sun,  6 Jun 2004 08:10:03 -0400
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Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d

Princes of Mannsborough, Part 15
by Vulgar Argot
(tags moved to bottom for spoilerage)

Thule sat in his car, parked on the mountain 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 road. 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.

Stripping out of the shirt he'd put on for the party and folding it
neatly on the passenger seat, Thule trotted quickly into the woods
around where he'd parked.

As always, it took Thule a couple of minutes to find his lookout post.
He'd hammered wooden handholds into an ancient oak and built a duck
blind about thirty feet up. The woods around here were full of them,
although few were this close to anyone's house.

Balancing himself on the blind, Thule strapped his duffel bag to his
back, reached up to a thick branch, and continued to climb. Another
twenty feet up the tree, the handholds started again. Eighty feet up
the tree, Thule had built a second platform, much too high for hunting
ducks. This platform existed because it gave him a line of sight over
the conifers that acted as a natural fence around the Vandevoort
estate, allowing him to see right down into the back yard of the
estate itself.

There were three main buildings to the estate--the main house and two
guest houses, arrayed around what was probably an olympic-size
swimming pool. The fourth side of the pool, normally open ground, was
now covered by an immense tent, big enough to house a small circus.

Thule put the duffel bag down on the platform and extracted a shotgun
microphone. It took a while to set up and fine tune until he could
hear voices. Everything he heard was small talk except for a few
details of how security was being maintained.

Thule made note of those details, but they were mostly old news to
him. He'd been collecting information on the estate's security for
years. It hadn't been easy. Ivan Vandevoort's security chief, Vil
Umanski, was a world-class professional paranoid who ran a tight ship.
Even details about the man himself had been scant and hard to piece
together.

Thule knew that Umanski 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. Thule only
had two advantages over the old man. The first was the location of the
estate itself. Isolated in the foothills of the mountain Thule now sat
on, it was surrounded by acres of undeveloped land, much of it higher
in elevation than the house. Even with the considerable security
resources of the Vandevoorts, it was impossible to keep a watch on
more than a small fraction of the surrounding countryside. The second
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 would
probably find an enigma machine.

Still, Umanski was neither stupid nor careless. A little over a year
ago, Thule had taken advantage of a county-wide blackout and placed an
electronic shunt in the surveillance system that was used to watch
over the estate. If it had worked, Thule would have been able to watch
everything that went on in front of a security camera there. But,
within 24 hours, the shunt had been found and destroyed.

Still listening to the microphone, Thule extracted a pair of
high-powered binoculars and scanned what he could see of the grounds.
Even though the party wasn't scheduled to start for another half hour,
a slow stream of cars was already disgorging passengers onto the front
steps. The cars were expensive, the clothing elegant. Security guards
escorted them into the main house, then out the back and out to the
eastern guest house. Thule assumed they were Vandevoorts. But, there
were a fair number of Asian men mixed in with them. From previous
surveillance, Thule had wondered who these men were. They dressed
immaculately and were preceded by their own security--men in black
uniforms who arrived in black vans. As they climbed out of their vans,
they collected in a cluster off to one side of the front steps, not
mixing with Vandevoort's men.

Shortly after the vans, a group of three black towncars pulled into
the long driveway. The strange security men sprung into action,
forming a security cordon around the side of one car. A man and a
woman stepped out of the car. Thule adjusted the focus to get a better
look at them, but had only the sense of an older Asian couple before
they disappeared into the house.

No sooner had they disappeared into the house than a pair of long, red
conversion vans pulled into the driveway. Thule recognized the thug
who had delivered Ivan's money to him when he got out of the driver's
seat of one of the vans. But, it wasn't really the thug who was
interesting.

Out of each van stepped a half-dozen women. They were dressed like
high school and college girls, but carried themselves like they were
college age or older. Some already had plastic cups that they sipped
from. They gathered around the thug, who seemed to be giving them some
sort of instructions before leading them around the main house to the
western guest house where Randy and his brother Koyla lived most of
the time.

Thule recognized that they weren't local. Even from here, he could
tell that they were universally pretty. Whoever had chosen them had
done a good job. They didn't look like strippers or pros, but Thule
knew them for what they were--ringers, girls brought in specifically
to ratchet up the party atmosphere of an event. He'd never heard of
Randy using ringers before, though. Their presence was a clear
indicator that this was probably going to be bigger than any party
Randy had thrown before.

He stayed on his perch until he'd seen a dozen cars that belonged to
students arrive. Then, he collected up his gear, piled it carefully
back into the duffel bag, and worked his painstaking way down the tree
again. Once back in his car, he 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, complete with sunglasses and ear wire
as if he were in the Secret Service, 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 girl? You're not going all social worker
on me. Are you?"

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
twinkling with amusement.

"No 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 curiosity, 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 among
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
indispensable," 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 curiosity, 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
simpatico, 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
probably 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
statuesque, red-headed 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." Her accent
softened the "th" diphthong so that it became a soft "d."

Thule did not bother to wonder aloud how many other Thules (or Dules
for that matter) 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 older 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 accommodations."

"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. Many of them 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.

When they had a moment away from other people, Thule asked, "So, who
are all the Koreans? I didn't think the Vandevoort family extended so
far."

Svetlana laughed and laid a hand on Thule's arm as if he'd said
something particularly witty. For the hundredth time since they'd
walked in the room, Thule glanced over at Ivan. Despite the fact that
the man's wife was draped over Thule's arm, he hadn't so much as
glanced in their direction. 

"Nyet," she said. "They are business associates of my husband's. Ivan
does not discuss business with me. I am not smart enough to follow
these complex deals." She gave Thule an ironic smile, "But, I have
heard him refer to the man he is speaking to as The General. Come. I
will introduce you."

Thule nearly balked as Svetlana guided him towards the cluster of
people where Ivan stood talking to the General and an imposing, older
Chinese woman who appeared to be the General's wife. Walking around
with Svetlana attached to his arm like some kind of trophy was one
thing. If Thule got up in Ivan's face about it, the situation would
become impossible to ignore. Experimentally, Thule tried to step out
of Svetlana's grip, but she hooked a finger into one of his belt loops
so that he couldn't do so without hurting her.

Thule slowed his feet and looked down at her. Svetlana looked up at
him. She was still smiling, but there was a determined set to her jaw
that told Thule she would not be easily swayed from her course. Thule
didn't know why, but she wanted Ivan to see them together. 

Knowing he was seconds away from getting dragged into a scene that
would probably get him ejected from the estate and possibly ruin all
the work he'd done to get into Randy's graces, Thule searched for
anything he could do to prevent it. Just then, a waiter walked by with
a tray of champagne flutes. Thinking to spill one on himself or
Svetlana, Thule reached out. Instead, Svetlana pulled him on an angle
towards Ivan that caused his fingers to miss the tray by inches.

Realizing he wasn't going to get away, Thule decided it was necessary
to take desperate measures. He'd worked too hard to get into this
party just to get thrown out before it had really started. Searching
his memory for everything he knew about Ivan Vandevoort, he came to a
snap decision. Wedging his arm between his body and Svetlana's, he
managed to lever himself free. Before she could turn it into a
wrestling match, which would probably serve whatever purposes she had
in mind, Thule slid his own arm around her waist, pulling her in
close. 

Svetlana looked up surprised, but didn't protest. Instead, she let her
hand rest lightly on Thule's chest. Guiding her as she'd guided him,
Thule fixed an arrogant sneer on his face and approached Ivan
Vandevoort. 

He knew this approach was going to make Ivan angrier at him, but hoped
it would keep the man from making a scene now. If Thule understood how
Ivan thought, he would never speak up over Thule's obvious grab for
what belonged to him. To do so would draw attention to the fact that
he'd been challenged. Thule had no doubt there would be an ultimate
retribution, but it probably wouldn't be tonight. He would have to
deal with that problem when it occurred.

"Ivan," said Svetlana. "I believe you know Dule. He wanted to meet the
General."

Ivan didn't even bother to glance at Thule, but shot his wife a look
of barely-contained rage. Not entirely able to hide his anger, he
said, "I wasn't expecting to see any of Randy's friends in this
house."

Svetlana didn't answer, just smiled at Ivan, a challenge clear in her
eyes.

His voice under control now, Ivan said graciously, "General Pak, may I
present Thule Roemer? Mr. Roemer is out associate Mr. Tarr's most
likely successor." He glared at Thule, as if challenging him to
contradict what he'd said. When he saw that Thule had no intention of
doing so, he said, "Thule, this is General Jin-Ho Pak."

Thule took the General's hand and shook it. The General inclined his
head slightly as they shook. His grip was firm, but not so firm as to
be a challenge, the look on his face one of keen intelligence. Even
without the security guards arrayed around him, he radiated an obvious
aura of power--one that he felt no need to hide or accentuate. Next to
him, Ivan looked like a smarmy schoolboy trying to curry favor with
the superintendent of schools.

"Svetlana," said Ivan. "Now that your new friend has met the General,
perhaps you would like to show him where the more...age-appropriate
activities are being organized."

Again, Ivan's eyes raked past Thule without even bothering to look at
him. Unless the man had gained a ton of self control since their last
meeting, he really wasn't any angrier at Thule today than he'd been
yesterday. His only angry looks had been for his own wife.

Svetlana pressed her chest into Thule's, letting her hand drop to his
stomach, "Da, Dule. I am sure I can find some age-appropriate activity
for you."

Thule took one more glance at the people around him. No one seemed to
be paying either of them the slightest bit of attention. Ivan and the
General were back in deep conversation. The security men had
apparently decided he wasn't a threat and were now looking for the
next possible problem.

Then, Thule caught the eyes of Ivan's thug, the one he'd had dealings
with before. Even behind his dark glasses, the man's eyes bored angry
holes into Thule's skull. It was all Thule could do not to smile in
relief. Finally, someone was behaving the way he expected them to.

Even as he noticed, Svetlana was guiding him away. Thule allowed
himself a sigh of relief before looking up to see an old man shuffling
from where he stood to block the doorway they would have exited
through. Now, Thule did balk. He'd never seen this man up close
before, only through high-powered binoculars.

Looking up at what had stopped him, Svetlana frowned, "Dule," she
said, nearly dragging him towards the old man, "I would like you to
meet my jailer, Vil Umanski."

Umanski put his hand out to shake, "Mr. Roemer, it's a pleasure to
finally meet you." Turning to face Ivan's wife, he added, "Mrs.
Vandevoort, you are looking as radiant as ever. However, I am afraid
that the details of this party's security are keeping me on my toes."
He gave a slight salute as if he were tipping an invisible hat, "Do
svidaniya."

Before Thule or Svetlana could say anything, Vil had turned away and
was walking in the opposite direction.

                                -=-
                                
Despite the fact that Vil Umanski had spoken less than a dozen words
to him, Thule was troubled by them. He had no doubt that the old man's
words were deliberate and carefully chosen. And, the message was
clear. Umanski knew who he was and claimed to have known for some
time. Thule looked hard for any additional meaning that he could have
gotten from the man's words or demeanor. But, there was none to be
found.

So wrapped up was he in his thoughts that it didn't really register
that Svetlana had led him out of the guest house through a side door.
Instead of walking across the pool area where the party was setting
up, they were alone on a long path that ran along the back of the
tent.

Thule looked around, "Mrs. Vandevoort, where are we going?"

Svetlana had gotten her arm around Thule's waist again. Now, she
pressed herself against him a little more tightly and chided him
gently, "Dule, we are practically same age. Call me Sveta."

Thule looked down at her, keeping his focus firmly on her eyes and
away from the generous amount of cleavage this simple, black dress she
wore exposed. It would definitely raise a few eyebrows if he referred
to Ivan's wife by such a familiar form of her first name. He'd done
worse already. But, he still didn't think it wise to keep pushing his
luck.

However, they were alone and the path ran far enough away from the
tent that no one would overhear the, "All right, Sveta. Where are we
going?"

"Like my jailer said, I am taking you to the fun part of this party."

Searching for a topic that might get them away from Svetlana's plans,
Thule asked, "So, how long have you and Ivan been married?"

"Four years," said Svetlana, "I am third wife. He was married to
second wife for three years, so I am already 'past warranty.' We met
at club in Moskva. He saw me dancing with friend, Larissa. By end of
night, he asked me to fly to America with him. He was very handsome
and very rich."

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 secretary and party girl. America was just going to be one big
party. We did not marry, then. Ivan kept me in apartment in Chicago
and I kept him happy. He was still with wife number two at the time.
He proposed a year later, more or less."

Thule nodded, not sure of what he could say to lead the conversation
in the right direction. 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 Jake with me. Jake was big man scowling at you back at house,
but he is really very nice." She sighed, "Still, he does what Ivan
says. I would do anything to get out of this house on my own."

The word "anything" effected Thule greatly, but probably not the way
Svetlana had intended. Having Ivan's own wife as an ally was far too
compelling a prospect to not give it serious consideration. Besides,
something else was nagging at his mind. As vile a person as June Kane
was, he knew it would haunt him that he'd been unable to save her. He
didn't know what kind of person Svetlana Vandevoort was, but found
himself wanting to help her.

"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. If
Svetlana had just asked him to help her get off the estate, he would
have gladly done so. But, she seemed determined to play things out her
way. 

He decided that, if he was going to play Svetlana's game, 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
as if she were just resting it there. 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 had already decided to go along with whatever Svetlana had in
mind, but didn't want to appear too eager. He stood up rapidly, taking
the shoe with him so that Svetlana 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. Thule said quietly, "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 woman,
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..."

Again, Thule found little acting required to produce a rakish grin,
"It would probably kill him."

Svetlana slid her hand up Thule's thigh, lightly wrapping her fingers
around his cock through his pants. As terrifying as the prospect of
being caught with Ivan's wife was, he was already hard.

Thule wished he'd had cooler circumstances in which to consider his
options, but Svetlana had moved things along too quickly for quiet
reflection. He knew damned well that Svetlana had chosen him as the
instrument of her plan because he was the only person not in a
security uniform young enough to make it remotely plausible and
wondered who would be foolish enough to believe that this rich,
beautiful woman would be so taken with them that she would be unable
to control herself.

Ivan would fall for it, he realized. Randy would, too. So, by
extension, so would Randy's close friends. If Thule had really been
who he pretended to be, he probably wouldn't think twice about
Svetlana throwing herself at him. After all, this sort of thing would
be his by birthright.

So, he decided to play the role that was so clearly expected of him.
Reaching up, he wrapped his hand around the back of Svetlana's head,
pulling her towards him, kissing her full on the mouth. His free hand
stroked her back.

"Dule," she said, alarmed and breathless. "My lipstick."

"Fuck your lipstick," Thule growled, then kissed her again, ferocious
and possessive. His other hand slid underneath her, lifting her until
she straddled his lap, her skirt riding up until his fingers stroked
the bare flesh of her bottom.

How long they went on like that, Thule couldn't say. It was long
enough that, had Svetlana really wanted to stop him, she would have
spoken up far sooner. But, finally, she said, "Dule, stop."

Thule did, but held her on his lap, not letting go.

Svetlana lowered her head, "If I am missing too long, Ivan will send
Jake to come looking for me. I do not want to ruin my marriage over
this."

Thule suspected that was exactly what she wanted, but didn't bother to
say so. Instead, he rasped, "I want you, Svetlana."

Svetlana smiled down at him, "And you will have me, Dule. But, not
now. Find me when the party is in full swing and we will slip out of
here." She kissed him again, "Then, you can have anything you want."

Thule nodded, his eyes hungry. And that required no acting at all.

                          -=-

Svetlana had slipped away to make herself more presentable, leaving
Thule alone on the bench. He had rearranged his clothes and smoked a
couple of cigarettes before feeling composed enough to go and find a
bathroom where he could wash off whatever traces of Svetlana's
lipstick he hadn't been able to clear away without a mirror.

As soon as he stepped into the western guest house, Brianne's
boyfriend Ian called him over, "Thule, question."

Thule looked for some avenue of escape. But, Ian was making a beeline
for him. There was nowhere for him to go.

"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, patting him absent-mindedly on the arm, "I'll send
you the address when I put the pictures up."

Thule nodded absentmindedly, just glad to be able to get away long
enough to wash his face.

When he emerged from the bathroom, Thule took a few minutes to get his
bearings. Architecturally similar to the other guest house, everything
he'd seen of this building had been decorated in early American frat
house. The main room was big enough for a pool table off to one side,
a live DJ to the other, and a keg to the third. Whatever furniture had
been in the center of the room had been moved out to make a large
dance floor.

The ringers were easy to spot. Half were barely dressed for the pool.
The other half looked like extras from a rock video. For the most
part, they were perfectly made up and coiffed, far too perfectly for
this sort of event. Still, the guys didn't seem to notice. Every one
of them had at least one and some a whole cluster of admirers.

On the other side of the room, Brianne stood near the keg, surrounded
by a loose circle of cheerleaders. Except, they didn't look very
cheerful. In fact, they looked pissed. And none of them looked as
pissed as Brianne.

Thule looked for Ian, then spotted him and Elliot talking to a
cafe-au-lait colored ringer dressed in a tight denim skirt and a
form-fitting white tank top. Thule started to look towards Brianne
again, but suddenly did a double take.

He recognized the ringer. Careful not to stare, he searched his memory
for where he'd seen her from. It took him a minute to remember.

                                       -=-

He'd been coming back from an evening of surveillance up on his perch.
Just as he'd secured the duffel bag in his trunk, a pair of headlights
swept past, indicating a car approaching. Thule wasn't particularly
worried. The dirt parking lot he used had been created for hunters and
was still sometimes used for that purpose.

Still, he was surprised when the woman had stepped out of her car.
Dressed in a jogging suit and barely five and a half feet tall, she
didn't look like much of a hunter.

"Can I help you with something?" Thule asked.

She shook her head, not getting out of the car, "No, thank you."

"All right," said Thule agreeably, turning to go back to his car. As
he reached the door, he said, "Only, there's not really much up here."

She got out of her car then, "So, what are you doing up here?"

"Hunting," said Thule.

"Really?" she asked. "Where's your gun?"

"In the trunk," said Thule, opening the door.

"Could I see it please, sir?" she asked. Only, as Thule remembered it,
she hadn't really asked. She'd phrased it in that way that people who
demand things but want to make it sound like a request do.

Thule knew how to deal with that, though. He shook his head as he got
into the car, "Nope." Before she could make any further requests, he'd
started the car and driven away.

                                       -=-

At the time, Thule had wondered if she worked security for Vandevoort,
even though he'd never seen a woman in that role. Now, he wondered
again what her game was. After a few seconds of trying to puzzle it
out, he gave up. There were more than enough mysteries for him to deal
with tonight. He didn't need to go looking for them.

Instead, he strolled over to where Brianne was standing and poured
himself a beer with lots of head on it so it would look like he'd
drunk more than he was going to. Brianne pointedly ignored him until
he walked right up to her.

Brianne looked at him, "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. This side of the room looked
like the girls' 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 or something?"

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.

"So," asked Brianne, laying a hand on his arm. "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 here. 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. When no one was
looking, she bit her pinky at him. When people were looking, she
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. Still, Ivan paid absolutely no attention. 

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

At some point during the meal, Thule realized that Svetlana's display
wasn't just for him. Some of her smoldering glances were directed at
Randy. More incredibly, this young monster who thought nothing of
arranging a gang rape to set the right tone for a party, looked
genuinely uncomfortable about it. Thule found that he actually enjoyed
watching Randy squirm.

The emcee for the event announced Ivan and Randy's names. They rose
and walked to the stage. Even before the applause had died down,
Svetlana was sitting right next to Thule, her hand in his lap,
stroking and teasing him. 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, unzipping his fly.

Before she could get any farther, Thule batted Svetlana's hand away.
She looked at him, determined to resume. 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.
Maybe somebody had to sweat, but Thule would be damned if it was going
to be him.

Having gained the advantage, 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
suspense, 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 west house was loud enough to keep 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 yourself," 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.

"She's made it pretty clear that she's going to slip away and head
over to my house as soon as she can," 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 the party might get a little wild and 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."

"Great," said Randy. "And, Postal. Your fly is open."

                                       -=-

By the time they got back to the west 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. But, most of the girls now on display were
locals. A lot of clothes had come off. One of the freshman
cheerleaders swayed to the music, bare from the waist up.

"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 go upstairs. This room, the den, 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 mischief, "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. Everybody knows
that she's off-limits...to anyone but you, anyway."

"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 and found her 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 acting like
total sluts."

The chemical gleam was in Brianne's eye, too. Beyond that, she looked
so fragile and vulnerable that Thule's heart went out to her for a
moment. Then, 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 the question off absentmindedly. "She's
sick today. I'm really more worried about Ian."

With that brief gesture, Thule knew that Brianne had written off the
girl who was supposed to be her best friend, 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 to her, it was already ancient history.

Thule decided to make his move, "I'm sorry, Brianne. I shouldn't say
anything, but I saw him going upstairs with one of the new girls."

"That son of a bitch," she said angrily and started to march away.

Thule caught her arm. With one last glance to make sure that they were
alone, he said, "You don't need Ian."

Brianne opened her mouth to reply. Thule swooped in with a kiss. He'd
meant to keep it somewhat perfunctory, but Svetlana had gotten him too
worked up. After a moment of surprise, Brianne returned the kiss, as
fierce as Thule had been.

Thule slammed her back into a wall, harder than was strictly
necessary. His hands went around her waist, lifting her off her feet
as the kiss continued. Brianne wrapped her arms around his neck,
running one hand over his head.

Thule meant to keep Brianne pinned so that she couldn't do much more
than kiss him. That worked until she bit his neck, just hard enough to
make him drop her.

When he did, her hands went straight to his waist, undoing his belt.
Thule was surprised enough that she already had his pants down before
he could react. Thule buried one hand in her hair, keeping her from
going any further. Leveraging her to her feet, he kissed her again.

Thule had been taken off guard twice now within a short period of
time. Of course, Svetlana had been trying to ruin her marriage.

He wanted to smack himself on the forehead. All the sex was starting
to go to his head. Brianne wasn't responding to him any more than
Svetlana had been. She was just looking for some revenge on Ian. Thule
should have realized that and never made his move. He wasn't thinking
straight.

He would have to backtrack, insult Brianne, and make it up later. He
didn't want to. But, he wanted to break his promise to Marigold even
less. Looking Brianne in the eye, he said, "You don't need Ian. You
don't need a boyfriend. A girl like you, all you need is a good fuck."

Brianne didn't break eye contact. Thule braced himself to be slapped
or spit on, his hand covering his groin in case she felt the need to
be more violent.

Then, she smiled at Thule. He glanced down to see her step out of her
panties and start to raise her skirt.

"Do it," she purred. "Show me what kind of girl I am."

Thule cursed internally. For the second time tonight, he considered
faking a heart attack or some other ailment. He decided to try another
tack first. Letting his hands roam over Brianne's body to keep her
distracted, he said, "Of course, Ian will still have some uses."

"Fuck Ian," said Brianne. "What do I need him for?"

"I don't know," said Thule. "Were you planning on going to the prom?"

Brianne's eyes widened. Before she could think, Thule pressed on,
"I've got to take her royal highness." He shrugged, "I suppose I could
have one of my boys take you."

Brianne caught his wrists, "Thule, nothing personal. But, I've seen
your boys..."

Thule wanted to jump for joy. Finally, someone was behaving the way he
expected. Instead, he gave Brianne a reluctant smile, "I see your
point. You'd better go find him before he embarrasses you more."

"Come with me?" Brianne asked. She looked genuinely scared at the idea
of going upstairs unescorted.

"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.

As he walked back up the stairs, Thule wiped his mouth on the back of
his hand. He was actually starting to feel like a bastard for the way
he was playing Brianne. He needed to go outside, get a breath of fresh
air, and clear his head.

In the main room, 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 Thule had recognized. 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. He didn't know how Svetlana would feel about that, but it
would really screw up his burgeoning alliance with Randy.

He took one more longing look at the door. Then, he cleared his throat
and said loudly, "Sveta."

Sveta broke the kiss she'd just planted on the ringer and looked up.
Her eyes were glistening, but she smiled broadly, "Dule, 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 asked, "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. "I was just having a little fun. No one knows who I
am."

"I know," said Thule. "And, not knowing who you were, 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's knees almost buckled. He glanced over at Matika, who was
making out with one of the Vandevoort cousins. He was so frustrated,
he wanted to scream. Instead, he said evenly, "Sveta, you're barely
upright."

She kissed him, "You could remedy that by finding some place for us to
lie down."

"Sveta," he hissed. "Randy's around here somewhere. Behave yourself.
What did you take?"

Svetlana shrugged, "Just some things to make me feel good."

Thule scowled and, taking her by the arm, half-led, half-dragged her
down the stairs.

"Ooh," she said, giggling. "Are you going to be rough with me?"

"Probably," said Thule, leading her to a bedroom door. "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 giggled and kissed him again, "I like the way you think,
Thule."

"Sit down," he said, handing her one of the beers he'd poured. "Have a
drink. I'll be right back."

Svetlana sat on Randy's bed and took a deep drink, "Where are you
going?"

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

Svetlana lay back on the bed, shimmying out of her dress. Her
movements were sluggish. Thule hoped the rohypnol he'd slipped in her
beer would just knock her out and not do any real damage.

"Get Matika," she said drowsily. "I liked her."

Thule left the room without answering. He'd formulated a plan and it
didn't involve the mysterious Matika. He went off looking for Brianne.

He didn't even get up the stairs before he ran into Ian coming down.

"Hey, Ian," said Thule as casually as he could. "Where's Brianne?"

"Dude," said Ian, wrapping an arm around Thule's shoulders and leading
him back down the stairs. "It was awesome. 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
prepared for Brianne, "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 himself 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 effect of the mickey yet. She
looked up hungrily, her eyes glazed over. Somehow, she'd actually
managed to get out of her clothes. By all rights, she should be
completely passed out by now. Ian, twice her size, was already
staggering like he was punch drunk. Ian sat down on the bed next to
her, rocked unsteadily and fell to one side.

"I'll be right back," said Thule, withdrawing but leaving the door
wide open. The main room was nearly empty, its few residents asleep or
unconscious. Taking the next level of stairs two at a time, he started
opening doors until he found the found Randy. 

Randy was dozing on a bed. The young cheerleader was lying on the bed,
too, covered in a sheet and trying to lie as far away from him as
possible.

"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. Thule
turned to follow him, but not before he saw the telltale red stain
Randy had been lying on.

Thule's plans were changing by the moment. He'd driven a wedge between
Brianne and Ian. Now, he wanted to drive one between Ian and Randy. As
they were trotting down the stairs, he said, "Svetlana took something
and locked herself in your room. I think she's having a bad reaction."

"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?"

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

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. 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 had managed to recover enough to stand up and
get his pants off. He was holding his cock in one hand and trying to
sit Svetlana up with his other.

Thule saw that Ian was ready to fall over any second, but Randy
didn't. He flung himself at Ian, his momentum sending the quarterback
barreling 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 Randy might go
catatonic. Sitting Randy down, 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, standing up and 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. Besides, after this, Ian would almost certainly be willing to
turn on Randy, even if he turned on Thule too.

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 chased out everyone from upstairs. The young
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.

When he splashed water on Matika, she sputtered and glared up at him.
Her voice was heavy with alcohol and who knew what else, "You son of a
bitch. You can't treat me like that. I'm a..."

"Party's over," said Thule. "I think that's your shirt and bra in the
corner. Get em on and get out."

Matika glared at him like she wanted to kill him. Thule ignored it,
made sure she got dressed, and escorted her as far as the front door
of the guest house. Then, he went to find Ivan.

The party had died down to almost nothing. Thule found Randy's father
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 west
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, his tone conversational.

Thule continued to whisper, "One of the football players drugged her
and attacked 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."

"Trust me," said Ivan, rising from his seat. "If anyone was attacked,
it was probably him. 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, "She's been raped.
Ian raped her."

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 mark 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 added, "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, "You're so fond of her, you take care of her. I want
her off the estate in fifteen minutes."

"Off the estate?" demanded Randy.

"She's embarassed me for the last time. She almost cost me all the
work I did with the general tonight," announced Ivan. "She's gone.
I'll file for divorce on Monday. But, I want her out of here now."

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
pretty girl."

Thule nodded, incredibly relieved. He quickly repeated what Randy had
told him.

"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 got Svetlana into the dress. Unfortunately, he'd
torn the it 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. Then, she laughed again.

"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 fifteen 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 he thought 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.

Catching his breath, he pulled away, 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. To the Vandevoorts and those around them, it seemed like sex
was just 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 that Thule could see
that far. Then, she typed, "Dawn."

Thule sighed. The image should have been arousing, but tonight it was
vaguely depressing, "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. 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 seemed to
relish it, meeting his pounding by raising her own hips a little.
Thule drove her harder until she couldn't raise 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.

Wanting to see some expression on her face than that damned smile,
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. If her expression changed, it was only to smile more broadly.
Then, she nodded at him and placed her hand on his, indicating that he
should squeeze tighter. Thule did, squeezing harder and harder until
Svetlana finally stopped smiling and started to claw at his hand.
Thule loosened his grip just enough that she wouldn't die. Held like
that, Svetlana seemed to be coming almost constantly, each climax
following closely on the heels of the one before it. Feeling his own
orgasm building up, Thule 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 oil he now kept by his bed, 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.

Princes of Mannsborough, Part 15
by Vulgar Argot
(MF, MM, FF(imp), FM+(imp), rape(imp), fMM(imp), asphyxia)

--Vulgar Argot
  http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/VulgarArgot/www
--
"Vulgarity begins when imagination succumbs to the explicit."
  --Doris Day

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