Dusting (or Lusting)

"Whatever has she been up to now?" Rumplestiltskin, the most powerful sorcerer in seven realms fretted over his little maid. He'd been telling himself that he only valued her for her dusting skills, certainly not her cooking skills (although those little peach tarts she had learned to make were very tasty). He certainly didn't enjoy spending time in her company and certainly took no pleasure in seeing those bright blue eyes light up when he came into a room.

He had (reluctantly) given her the run of the castle – after warding it so that under no circumstances could she leave the place. He'd only warned her away, in fact, forbade her, from entering the North Tower – it was just too damn dangerous. But she was too curious by far, always picking up stuff and peeking into things and just generally asking far too many questions. He'd be annoyed – except he enjoyed hearing the soft, dulcet tones of her voice.

But now, he'd come back into the Great Room and the place was in disarray. Earlier in the day, he'd deposited about twenty potions on the main table. He'd picked them up from the Witch of the East in exchange for disposing of some pesky munchkins. He'd set them on the table while he went to the Tower to deal with some disgusting androgs that had clung to him when he'd traversed the Malicious Swamp. He'd spent a while pulling their slimy suckers off his body. When he returned to retrieve the potions, he'd found the place was a mess. He sighed and surveyed the damage. As best he could tell, she had tipped over one of the potions and then she had tried to clean up the mess.

He had no idea what she had gotten herself into and in frustration, he'd 'summoned' her.

She appeared before him wearing only her little pantaloons and a thin chemise top. She had a wet cloth in hand and was laying it on her bare porcelain skin. When she saw him, her eyes lit up.

"Master, I didn't know you were back. I'm so glad to see you. It's always nice to see you." She licked her lips.

"Yes, yes," he said warily. She wasn't herself. Not at all.

What potion had she gotten into?

She was brushing her hair back, lifting it off her neck, tilting her head back. 'Ahh, so hot, so very hot," she murmured. And then she kicked off her shoes and peeled off her thin white socks.

"Belle?" he asked. "Are you all right?"

"Why yes, Master. I'm quite all right," and she smiled and advanced on him. She placed a hand on his arm, then ran her hand up his arm. "Mmmmm, you feel nice." She leaned in and sniffed him. "You smell so good too. Really, really nice."

He stepped back from her. "What is wrong with you?"

"I'm just very, very hot," she explained.

"What happened?" he demanded to know. He had to figure out which potion she'd dumped out.

"I was dusting in here. I was reading and accidently tipped a potion over. I cleaned it up and then it started getting hot," she spoke slowly, tracing her hands down her neck, over her breasts and down to her hips, molding her thin undergarments to her ripe little body.

"Potion? You tipped a potion over?" he asked, concern beginning to grow. Exactly what he had suspected. Now which potion had she gotten into?

"Yes, the red one," she told him, tipping her head back and pulling her hands back so that she could run them over her breasts again.

Damnation. He was right . . . she'd been exposed to one of these dangerous potions. The red one? The red one! Most likely that was a Lust Potion. She'd been exposed to a Lust Potion! – and there was only one cure for exposure to a Lust Potion.

"I feel so warm, so . . . so . . . I don't know. What is wrong with me, Master?" she was becoming alarmed and turned to him for help.

"Belle, uhm," How, how was he going to tell his sweet maid what he thought might be going on here?

Oh, but now the Imp was excited. "There is only one cure, you know that, Spinner. You won't be able to dance around this one. You can let her suffer or you can address her needs – all of her needs."

The Spinner was unsettled. This wasn't right – it wasn't respectful, it wasn't decent.

"So, you're prepared to let her suffer? It will only get worse," the Imp warned him.

"But maybe if she has some time, it would wear off?" the Spinner suggested hopefully.

"Hah! No, this type of potion must be assuaged. It does not wear off. We will have to see to her," the Imp informed him.

Belle had begun to pull on her chemise, undoing the laces, which left an interesting play of shadows open to his gaze.

"Master," she moved toward him, laying her hand on his arm again. She slowly moved her arm up the silken shirt. Her eyes were darkened, the pupils fully dilated and her mouth was open, her lips moist and full. "Can you . . . can you help me? Please . . . I need . . . I need . . ." and she leaned in, standing on her tiptoes to place a kiss on his chin.

Rumple closed his eyes. He very nearly groaned. He felt her warm lips on his face, moving gently, her mouth open and pressing against his cheek, her breath hot and moist against him. He turned his face and now her lips were on his.

He couldn't stop himself. The Spinner and the Imp both wanted this, perhaps for different reasons, but nonetheless, they both wanted her in their arms, pressed against them, whimpering, writhing with need.

"Belle, I don't think . . ." the Spinner made an effort but the Imp quieted him.

"Look at her, Spinner. She suffers. She has desires. Address them. Take care of her. There is only one cure for the Lust Potion and you know what must be done."

She was still kissing him and muttering between her little efforts, "Oh, that helps, that helps so much, but, Master I . . . I . . . I need more, please," she begged him slipping her hands inside his vest, fumbling with the fastenings, loosening the vest, and slipping it off her Master.

"Perhaps," the Spinner told her. Perhaps he could bring her to some level of satisfaction without actually . . . without taking her.

"Coward," the Imp taunted him. "She's yours, she's been yours. You own her. Take her, take her to your bed."

"But it's just lust, not love. It's just the body, not the mind or the soul. It's not right," the Spinner whined.

"She will suffer until you give her what she needs. Aren't you man enough? What is that useless appendage between your legs for, anyway? And after I've gifted you a lot more to work with there. Afraid you won't be able to satisfy her like you couldn't satisfy Milah? Like I had to take over when you were with Cora? Do you need me to step up to do the job again?" the Imp pressed him.

"I can do it!" the Spinner said. "If I need to, I can do it. But I'm going to try something else first, something that won't require me to take her maidenhead," he insisted.

"Hah!" the Imp was duly disgusted with his host.

"Belle, my dear," he addressed her softly.

"Yes, my Master. How can I please you? I want to please you," she responded, rubbing herself against him. She looked up at him, her eyes so filled with desperation. "Please," she whispered, her eyes half-closing as she leaned in and placed her lips on his chest.

"All right," he managed to croak out. Oh, but she was so beguiling. And she was still kissing him, her little hands moving down the sides of his body, coming together on the buckle of his belt, fumbling, trying hard to unfasten it. He should stop her, he ought to stop her, it would be the right thing to stop her.

But he couldn't.

And his body was beginning to respond. It was hard to ignore - this beautiful woman, half-stripped off, rubbing herself against him. Of course, his body was beginning to respond.

"Bedroom," he muttered and they were now both in . . . he spared a glance, his bedroom. Perhaps, he should have taken her to her own bedroom but that's not where you want her, is it Spinner? You want her in your bed, naked, all spread out, her hair, her arms . . . her legs. All for you.

Belle took a step back from him, keeping her eyes locked with his and dropped the chemise, slowly slipping it from her shoulders, then sliding her long drawers down her legs. stepping out of them and revealing herself to him.

He had stopped breathing. He knew he should breathe.

But he couldn't remember how.

"You are beautiful," he finally managed to tell her. And she was. Perfectly formed, perfectly proportioned. "Beautiful." The potion, the necessity, the need, all had made her softer, more vulnerable, more inviting. She was irresistible.

"Look at that. She's really a fine piece, you know, and I've seen plenty of naked asses," the Imp taunted him. "Just look at those tits – high and firm – just begging for your touch. Grab 'em! Pinch 'em! Go for it!"

"You will help me?" she asked him, her voice soft.

Oh yes. He would help her. "Yes," he agreed. And he held out his hand to her.

She took it and dropped to her knees, pulling his hand to her mouth, kissing his fingers, sucking each one into her mouth. It was snug and warm in the confines of her mouth. There was the feel of her gently pulling on his fingers, swirling her tongue around each one, keeping her eyes locked on his.

"Do I please you, master?" she asked him.

"Yeah," he answered, his voice hoarse and faltering. The Imp had slyly inserted the image of her mouth on his cock, repeating those same snug swirling movements with her mouth and tongue.

"What else shall I do to please you?" she reached for his thigh, her hand slipping in between his legs and resting just below his manly parts. She began to caress his thigh. "I've not been with a man before, Master. You shall have to tell me what to do," she whispered.

Oh, he knew this sweet torture would never be over until he had assuaged the hunger that had sparked into life within her. He had to stop her from fanning the flames of his own desires or he would lose control to the Imp. He was barely holding on as it was. The Imp would not hesitate to take what she was offering.

"In the bed, wench," he ordered her and she scrambled up onto rich, silk damask coverlet. She knelt in the center of the bed, her hands on her thighs.

"Is this what you want, Master?'

No, it was not even close to what he wanted.

"Lie back," he told her. "On your back." And he got on the bed beside her. And then he began.

He traced his hand down her body, made hot from the potion. She was soft and lifted herself to his hand. He allowed his hand to caress her breasts, trailing his fingers in circles, tweaking the hardened little peaks. She gasped and closed her eyes.

"Yes, Master. More, please."

He continued to touch her, now touching her stomach and her hip. She was panting.

"Yes, yes, Master. Please keep touching me."

Using only his fingers, he gently trailed over to the soft curls between her legs. He brushed against her, hearing her gasp. She was wet. There was no questioning her desire.

But it was desire fueled by a spell – not any genuine desire. And he would be a cad to take advantage of her but he would be a bounder not to address her needs. There was no right thing to do. He knew the power of the potion would only continue to grow until, and it required this, someone else to bring her to climax. If this didn't happen, the tension, the desire would become all-consuming and unbearable. It would drive her mad.

He slipped his fingers between her legs, touching her, rubbing her. She parted her legs to give him better access and clenched her hands into the silken covers.

"Yes, yes, please, please," she begged him.

This was new territory for him and he had to allow the Imp to guide his actions. Milah had never encouraged his touch and Cora had always wanted to go directly to fucking. Bringing a woman to her peek using his hands required some finesse. The Imp surged forward and eagerly assisted him.

"Touch her firmly, rub along the sides of her little nub. Yes, like that. Keep at it, steady, maybe a little faster. Watch her body. Listen to her. She's ripe. She's ready. She's almost there."

With the Imp's guidance, Rumple continued to use his long, clever fingers to stimulate his lovely little maid to the critical point. He watched in wonder and amazement as her body suddenly stilled and then she began to thrash against his fingers. She called out his name, "Rumple!" and his hand was flooded with the sweetest honeyed nectar. He couldn't stop himself, bringing his hand to his nose and licking his fingers.

She tasted delicious.

There, he thought, that should do it. The Lust Potion should be satisfied. He watched as her breathing slowly returned to normal.

But then she began to writhe, drawing her legs up and rubbing her hands on her arms.

"Please," she whispered to him. "Don't go, not yet." She reached for him, rolling over and placing a kiss on his leather-clad thigh. She draped her arm over his lap, her arm placing pressure on his well-engorged cock. "That helped. But . . . I still . . . I need . . . more," she managed to tell him.

Oh shit! He wasn't sure what else he could do besides . . . oh, but, no, he didn't want to do that. The Spinner was still a decent guy and an honorable one. He didn't want to dishonor his little maid – even though he knew it was widely assumed that he had already debauched the young woman, hell, he knew it was assumed that he had raped her and was continuing to do so, subjecting her nightly, daily, to his monstrous, unnatural desires.

"All right Spinner," the Imp addressed him. "Use your mouth."

"What?!" he wasn't sure what the Imp was directing him to do.

"Put your mouth where your hand was. Use your tongue in the same places you had your fingers. Lick her," the Imp directed him. "Gently, softly, blow on her. Some bitches like you to suck them and some don't. Listen to her. You'll be able to tell what she likes. Go on. You already know she tastes like honey and roses."

So Rumple lowered himself between her legs, kneeling between her legs and spreading her soft, pliant thighs. He dropped his mouth to her nether lips and she screamed, "Yes, yes, yes," urging him on, pleading with him, begging him for more, more.

Rumple focused intently on what he was doing, enjoying himself more than he had ever imagined he might. While he knew he was giving her considerable pleasure, he was also enjoying himself, savoring the tastes and textures of his little maid, learning her body and quickly realizing what kinds of things she liked. Flicking his tongue over her seemed to particularly excite her and soon enough, she again screamed, screamed his name, while her body spasmed under his administrations.

"Oh Rumple," she sighed and sank down into his bed. "That was incredible. I never . . . I never felt anything like that." She squirmed in his silken sheets, nestling down into the smooth, cool comfort they offered.

He was very aware of his own erection at this point. It was straining, pulsing against his tight pants – very uncomfortable.

She turned to him. "Take these off," she begged, rubbing the back of her hand against his pants. "I want to see you, feel your skin. You are so beautiful."

He snorted. She thought him beautiful. No doubt the potion was still wreaking havoc in her veins.

"You're an idiot!" the Imp addressed him. "All this foreplay had been great but now it's time for the Main Event."

"But I've given her satisfaction now, twice. The potion should have run its course," he protested.

"Well, it hasn't been enough – obviously!" The Imp was gleeful.

Belle had leaned over and was running her hand over the front of his breeches. When she leaned over to place her mouth over him, he nearly yelped.

"You're gonna have to fuck her, Spinner. Otherwise, you'll leave her in this needful state. Even I wouldn't be that cruel."

But inside he was shaking his head. This, this he had not wanted to do. To have his virgin maid as he would have his bride.

The Imp was whispering in his ear, "Oh, come on, you know what to do. I mean, you managed to squeak a kid out of your seed at some point, so you must have managed to stick it into a woman at least one time on your own. I'll help you . . ."

"No!" he told the Imp. If he were going to deflower his serving wench, he was going to do it and not with the Imp in his ear. He certainly didn't want to share her with the Darkness.

She was too pure, too special.

"Belle," he spoke softly to her. She was actively addressing herself to him, running her open mouth up and down his leather pants, stimulating, embracing his hardened cock as she could, whimpering, still begging to be allowed to touch him.

He lifted her up and was greeted with a soft cry. "Please, Master. I still need more, more," she told him.

"I know, my dear, I know." He gently pushed her back and magicked off his own clothes. He had never been so ready for a woman, his member swollen and so hard and engorged that he was pressed up against his stomach. He nearly lost control when he felt her fingers wrap themselves around him.

"No, darling," he somehow managed to pull her hand away. "I won't last if you touch me."

"All right," she said in a small voice. "I want you to last," she whispered.

He had quickly managed to position himself, the head of his cock just at her very wet, softened entrance.

"Belle, are you sure?" He had to ask, even though he knew she was deeply under a spell, he had to have her permission.

"I love you, Rumple," she told him. "I'm sure."

And he surged into her, her tight body stretched to allow him entrance. She gasped, wincing and Rumple cursed himself.

The Imp had graced him with a rather large cock, something Cora had remarked upon, even complaining in her petulant manner that it made her sore, but she still initiated activity often enough, so he had never regretted his new size. But now, he wished he was his pre-Curse size so that he wouldn't cause his sweet, petite Belle discomfort, even injury. He managed to still himself and give her time to adjust and then, when he thought his head might explode from the effort of being motionless, Belle lifted her head up to kiss him. He took that as a signal that she was ready to go on and he began to thrust. Belle greeted each thrust with a soft cry.

"Faster, harder, please, please," she began to beg him and he obliged. By now he had a good feel for her body and could tell she was close again and he was doing everything he could to push her over the edge. It was hard for him to hold on, the sleek, snugness of her passage holding him, caressing, pulling him in, more and more, deeper and deeper. He began using his magic to surge into her as his body did the same. It was cheating, yes, but it was so, so good.

This time the scream started low, as a series of yelps, increasing in pitch and intensity. When she broke, the cry was nearly a wail, a long, piercing shriek that he recognized as his name. He could feel her tight walls clenching him, massaging him and he let go, spilling himself, pouring himself into her.

It was the most satisfying coupling of his life.

Belle kissed him and fell into a genuine sleep.

Rumplestiltskin, the Dark One, lay next to her. He magicked a soft cotton blanket for her, covering her naked body. He magicked some clothes for himself, linen pants and a linen tunic. He reached over and stroked her hair.

"Well, well, she was quite the tasty little treat. And you could have been indulging yourself with her all this time. No reason to keep separate bedrooms now," the Imp told him. "Perhaps next time, you'll let me have a go at her?"

"There won't be a next time," Rumple told the Imp. "I'm going to give her a dream potion so all this will be but a vague, distant befuddled memory."

"Will we take one too?" the Imp asked him.

Rumple considered. No, he wanted to keep this memory and if . . . in the very unlikely situation that they would ever be together in the future, he wanted to know that he had been her first, that he wouldn't wonder if she might have given herself to someone else before him. Yes, he had to keep the memory, he had to remember.

"Do you think you'll be able to keep your hands off the wench now?" the Imp pressed him.

"Yes, I do." He looked down at the sleeping woman. "She doesn't really want me. I know that. I'll not force her into my bed."

"She told you she loved you," the Imp reminded him.

"It was just the potion," he told himself. "Just the potion."

Of course, she didn't love him. How could she love a monster, a beast like himself?

"You're a coward, a disgusting weak coward!" the Imp screamed at him retiring to the corner of his mind that it resided in.

Belle woke up in her own bed feeling an unusual ache all over her body.

And the remnants of a dream haunting her.

She had been dusting, walking along in a half a daze reading a book while she cleaned the Great Hall. She hadn't even noticed that the Sorcerer had put a collection of bottles on the dining room table. She had knocked one of them over. It was red and syrupy and sweetly fragrant, like cherries and cream. Frantic, she had used her dust cloth to sop up the viscous syrup and some of it had soaked through to touch her on the side of her thumb. She had lifted her hand to her mouth and oh heaven it was delicious. She dipped her finger into the syrup and tasted more, then more, then even more, of the gooey, sticky potion.

And then she had awakened here, in her bedroom, aching all over.

It was late morning.

Oh no! Her Master would be expecting his morning tea and she, most certainly, was late.

Belle quickly changed from her cotton nightgown into her blue dress and apron. She hurried downstairs to the kitchen passing by the Great Room as she scurried along her way.

"Running a bit late this morning, aren't we, dearie?" he asked her. He was sitting at the table, now cleared off, working on some scrolls.

"I am, sir," she quickly agreed with the cantankerous imp. "I don't know what happened. I was dusting in here and . . . "

"You spilled one of my potions, didn't you?" he asked turning his full attention toward her.

She hung her head. "I did. I'm so sorry." No reason to lie about it. Nothing happened in the Dark Castle that he didn't know about.

He sat back, his odd amber eyes narrowing. "You know it happened to be one that takes a month to brew. A sleeping draught."

"I didn't know. I'm so sorry," she stood still waiting for a reprimand.

"Well, watch yourself in the future," was all he said and turned back to his scrolls. "Last night, I found you fast asleep on the floor and had to transport you up to your bedroom. And then this morning, I had to make my own breakfast. Now you're finally up, you can bring me my tea. Late is better than never. Be quick about it."

Belle nodded and hurried by, stopping to glance back at her Master before opening the door that led to the kitchen.

He was trailing his fingers down a scroll, his long, elegant fingers, his eyes half closed as he assimilated some arcane information.

And an image of those fingers trailing down between her legs bubbled up and she shivered.

It had to have been a dream. Of course, it had been. He had placed her on his bed and done remarkable things to her with his fingers, his mouth, his . . . .

Of course, it was all a naughty, erotic dream. A very satisfying dream, but just a dream, she told herself.

Just a dream.