Never trust free fruit
And the worry cracks a fracture from your hip to your chest
Ru - 20 - British - writer - law and politics student - Christian - liberal - feminist - demi-bisexual - INFP - fangirl - bookworm - gamer -Whovian - Water Tribe - Ravenclaw - King's Musketeer - Dearie - Rumbelle War Veteran - Swanfire - Doctor/Rose - Jeff/Annie - Annamis

Lover of things small, dark, quiet and messy

ToD ficbit: Wednesday Evening

I always love roleplay, but with Gold as the begging tenant and Belle as the one with the power. Especially when it involves faux!shame.

This was done at 500 words, but Belle kept talking. I think she’s been wanting to be dom!Belle for a while, and Gold’s happy to be the sub.

NSFW and NC17


Belle had never felt so powerful as she did stood behind Gold’s shop counter, clad in one of his long jackets and a tie, black lacy lingerie and stockings beneath and stilettos on her feet. She even had his cane in her hands, as she smiled at him cruelly, “A rent extension, dear?” she did her best impression of him, and almost caught a smile on his lips, but his mask of desperation and misery covered it fast.

“Yes, please Miss French,” he said, voice shaky and weak as she’d ever heard it, believable, almost, as the poor tenant he played. “We couldn’t earn enough to pay it this month.”

“And how is that my problem?” she asked, leaning over to give him a good look down her bra, and watching him swallow hard as he glanced down. “Eyes front, Mr Gold,” she reminded, silkily, and he gulped as he glanced up at her.

He played the beggar so well, she wondered once again at his past. He had suggested this scenario - for all he loved control, and amazing as their sex was when he had it, things were equally interesting when he submitted to her - and it was certainly working on her end.

She strode out from behind the counter, and saw him get his first good look at her, dressed in his clothes and her own lingerie, a dominatrix in a business jacket. She’d felt a little silly putting it all on earlier: his dry-mouthed gaping was more than enough compensation.

“I said eyes front!” she snapped, and he hurried to obey, eyes snapping back to hers and away from her lace-covered breasts beneath his jacket. “Now, there is a deal to be made here, if you’re amenable.”

“What would you need from me, Miss French?” he asked, eyes wide and fragile and pleading. She didn’t know if she wanted to cuddle him or ravish him, but he’d asked for power play, and implied domination and punishment. They could try for gentle another time: this opportunity was too precious to pass up.

She mimicked one of his own low chuckles, “Only you, Mr Gold, your time and your… body,” she let her smirk cover her face as she looked him up and down lasciviously. He’d found some jeans somewhere, and with a white shirt he looked so much more normal, softer and more ordinary, than her usual intimidating, imposing partner. It was delicious.

“My… body?” he frowned as if in confusion, “I don’t understand.”

“Oh dearie,” she stepped closer, one red-tipped fingernail under his chin, his cane braced between them, “I think that you do. Tonight is my payment for a month’s grace.”

“What do I have to do?” he asked, voice as low as hers, and she could see his eyes dilating, as turned on as she.

“Kneel,” she purred, “we’ll take it from there.”

He awkwardly manoeuvred himself to the floor, his bad leg sat at an angle, and she hoped he’d use a safeword if things got to uncomfortable. She had a small idea, though, that maybe the pain just added to things for him. He’d been strange for weeks, since the Sheriff got elected, in fact, and it had got her wondering about Emma Swan’s accusations. Of course he was guilty, Belle of all people understood that, but it was his reaction that had her thinking.

Was he asking for punishment for that? Was that what this was really all about, that he felt badly about what he’d done, and needed someone to put him down for it?

Then again, he was into some fairly kinky stuff. He could just be one of those masochist types deep down, with some repressed sub fantasy. They’d certainly got enough use out of his neckties for make-shift bondage these past months. He’d even spanked her that one time: she had to remember to ask for that again.

That was one of the best things about an arrangement like this: neither of them felt any shame, anymore, about just asking for what they wanted. For all that there was no love - of course not, never love, that would ruin everything - there was trust and understanding. And that was worth everything.

“Okay?” she whispered, and he met her eyes with a little smile.

“Of course,” he said, himself again for just a moment, “I’ll tell you if I’m not, pet.”

“Good,” she nodded, and let the imperious mask slip back over her features. “There, that’s better,” she smiled, and threaded one hand into his soft hair.

“What do you want of me, Miss French?” he trembled, and his affected nervousness was delicious.

“I think ‘Mistress’ will suffice for now, don’t you think?” she crouched down in front of him, tugged on his hair just a little too hard, “You’ve not been a good boy, Gold. Not at all. Have you?”

He shook his head, his eyes darkening as she grinned in approval.

“What have you done?”

He cleared his throat, “I’ve… I’ve lied. Cheated. Manipulated people.”

“Yes,” she said, softly, “What were you?”

“A bad, bad man.”

“You deserve this, don’t you? To have to work for what you want, to be made to kneel. You deserve this.”

“Yes, mistress.” He nodded, fighting to keep the smirk off his face, and she was tempted to laugh: the whole thing was so out of order, so different from how it usually went. She was a little but drunk off the power, and it was so strange to have Gold on his knees, to have him begging, to have him shamed. He looked so different, without his power.

“And what are you now, tonight?”

He looked at her, caught her eyes with a slow smile, “Your obedient slave, mistress.”

She felt a flash of pure lust pass through her, a little whimper escaping as she wobbled to her feet. She leaned back against the counter top, her hand in his hair stroking almost gently, but directing him to shuffle forward a little way, to bring his face - most importantly, that talented mouth of his - level with her soaked black panties. “What would you have me do, mistress?

"You’re a clever boy, Gold," she said, "figure it out."

He grinned against her skin as he kissed her exposed midriff first, and then hooked his fingers into the waistband of her underwear and drew them down, letting them fall to the floor at her feet. She kicked them away, as he stroked one finger up through her folds, and grinned, “Like this, mistress?”

She made a little noise, a small moan, and nodded, her hand in his hair pressing him against her, “Your mouth, slave, on me, now.”

He made a noise, a little growl of approval, and buried his tongue where his fingers had been, delving through her wetness and lapping her into a frenzy, so her hips were rocking against his face, her hand tugging and pulling at her hair as he licked and licked and licked.

He drew her clit between his lips and sucked, just the way he knew she liked it, as he thrust two fingers up inside her. She came with a little cry, head thrown back, and he kept going at the same pace, working her through it until she forced his head away and straightened up. “Enough.”

He kept his eyes down submissively, but she could see the smile creeping at the corners of his mouth, the sheen of her juices on his lips.

“Have I pleased you, mistress?”

“I think that earned you a few days,” she agreed, smiling, breathless. She pulled the tie from around her neck, and wrapped it around his mouth, tying it in a knot at the back of his head as a gag, “Let’s try for a few more, shall we?” she asked, and he nodded furiously, his eyes full of want as she crept a hand down and cupped his hardness through his jeans.

This was going to be a good night.

  #time of day verse    #smutty smut smut smut    #rumbelle    #rumbelle fic