Cruella De Vil nor any other Once Upon A Time' nor Disney' character belongs to my humble person. If they did, they'd be cooler.
Smut ahead. Get kids, plushies and pets out of the room now.
.
She loved the feeling of soft fabric and well-toned curves against her skin. As her sky blue eyes followed the slow movements of her fingers she bit and bit her lower lip, rousing jolts of excitement through her body; little sparks shooting up her spine. She lifted her gaze and admired her whole figure reflected on the mirror. The silk silver nightgown cascaded from her bosom to her feet flawlessly, hugged the gentle curve of her hips slightly, where her fingers danced and caressed, following the natural concavity that lead to her ribcage. She couldn't tell if the mirror was foggy from her own lustful gasps or her eyes were just misty from anticipation. There was something about the female body that was so sensuous; yes, a lot of things, really. The delicious smells, the soft touch, the captivating sounds, the unique tastes, the memorable sights: it all made for an overly satisfying experience and drove her absolutely mad with desire. She locked eyes with herself and fixated on the soft blush appearing over her nose. The redness fitted with her cherry lips and her white complexion, like blood on a snowy field, like the bloodmeal she used to feed her private vineyards in winter. She looked delicious and she could not help herself anymore: the nightgown had to go. It came off with a pant, result of her hands scudding against her own skin as she took the delicate garment off, as careful as she felt able. She was absolutely delicious. All flawless creamy skin and perfect geometry: sharp angles mixed with subtle circles, and her two favourite curves already rosy and crested, pointing high and demanding attention. She thought of Lady Mary then, how handsome she would look next to her in the mirror, melting with her neck and hips into wonderful wholly chaos. Then the Berliner girls and the Parisian girls came to mind; their caresses still very present on every inch of exposed skin. Her whole being lit, suddenly very sensitive to the touch, and a secret hunger overcame her, a hunger placed in her lower region. She gently extended the garment over the side of the bed behind her, careful not to wrinkle it, then slowly settled on the corner next to it, still admiring her reflection. Oh how glad was Cruella to have insisted on a full-sized mirror! Her right leg rose from the floor and found support on the bed, as did the rest of her body when she saw the glistening wetness between her legs, a sight that made her breath hitch and the hunger grow. Patience was for the saints and her Devil wouldn't take anymore. Two fingers unceremoniously entered her, causing a moan to catch on her throat. She contorted at the sudden jolt of pleasure raising from her sides when her fingers hit a familiar sensitive spot inside her; she pressed rapidly, extracting more quick little moans from her chest, which was heaving, trying to catch up. Cruella felt light-headed but she was accustomed to the roughness of her Devil, and rather enjoyed it, actually. Her free hand rose to her chest and squeezed one erect nipple, sending a thunderbolt down her spine, directly to her beating core. Her hand then flew to her heart –which she was positive was down there and not in her chest, rubbing and squeezing, causing her hips to thrust frantically against the intruding fingers, hungry for more. It was so violent! She rubbed furiously, meeting every vibration her moans provoked. She had not noticed when she had closed her eyes but when she opened them again she saw herself, or rather a version of herself, with messier hair and bared teeth, her eyes ablaze with scorching desire. It was feral and dangerous, and positively divine. Her inner Devil leaned in and kissed her, bearing teeth and claws on tender flesh, seeking in herself the blood she was denied of by others. Cruella could not tell pleasure from pain anymore. She locked eyes with her reflection in the mirror and spotted the darker shade of red trickling from her lower lip, dripping on her flushed breasts, emanating its sharp coppery essence. She climaxed with a guttural howl, her senses overloaded. For a second, the colours were brighter, the sounds were louder and the scents were sharper, as in there was a known scent stomping its way upstairs to her fabulously decorated flat. Her reflection met her gaze with a profoundly bored and slightly annoyed expression. «Can a girl kiss herself in peace? Absolutely not», she sighed as she climb out of bed.
«Well hello, darling. Were you around the neighbourhood? » The male's back was to her but there was no mistaking it, since it was probably the part of him she knew best by now. Impassive, in spite of her sudden entrance, he turned his head halfway and raised a bottle of her private Bordeaux reservoir –which he had been examining prior her arrival at the lounge, in silent inquiry. «Oh is it time for supper already? Bring two glasses, will you? », she strolled through the room, making a show of her regal form in the silk nightgown and robe. She wore the robe as if it were a shawl, only it was barely covering her shoulders. As she sat on the tête-à-tête –her favourite seat in the flat, one of the strips of her nightgown fell. She kissed her bare shoulder, slightly grazing her skin with her permanently cherry lips that never left a mark. It made her stomach flutter a bit and her eyes close in relaxation; kissing herself had always been many kinds of comforting. «My lady… », Jefferson offered the glass of wine to her and crossed the room to the settee. He sipped the reddish hue and paused for a while, then swallow as he examined the liquid in his glass against light. «This is exquisite. I almost don't want to know who you used this time, but I definitely won't complain». «Do not be silly, darling. You know very well I do not use anyone», Cruella retorted as she crossed her legs and leaned against the sofa; «but I do remember having a conversation with Jacques about the good health of the people who live in the outskirts. How much oxygen they have on their blood…» She gave a throaty laugh and sipped from her glass, «hmm… He seemed most interested». «Well it is difficult to deny my lady anything», Jefferson sneered; «hence my presence here in this lovely evening». Cruella openly laughed at the male's words, which were beautifully emphasized by the sounds of a coming downpour. «We both know you are not currently on the leash, darling. You are here because you cannot imagine living without me after all these wonderful ends of March we've spent together». The male chuckled silently, filling their glasses once again, while she reached for her cigarette holder on the tea table. «Talking of which, is it time for me to give you your birthday gift yet? », Jefferson asked, still amused. Cruella leaned on the sofa once more, inhaling deeply the acrid substance, enjoying the way it combined with the aftertaste of the wine. His fingers taping against the glass, his leg trembling slightly: he was obviously expecting to finish their business once and for all, but she was not about to be rushed into such a decision. There was still plenty to enjoy in this world and she intended to do so in her own time, his peace of mind was of no consequence. She exhaled. «Does it still function? », she asked signalizing the hat he had placed right by him, on the settee. It was the same ridiculous hat he had brought for the last 3 years, only the upholstery inside had being replaced by a piece of the fur coat she had given him on their first encounter. The smiling male put the hat on his lap and spun it ever so delicately, leaving it hovering and swirling in a lazy motion over his legs. He leaned over the accessory to examine it in detail. «It does, and the magic on the fur doesn't seem to be wearing off just yet», he suddenly lifted his gaze to her; «doesn't mean it will work forever. All magic comes with a price». «I know, darling, and I am paying», her gaze pierced him with playful malice; «I do entertain you every time you pass by, do I not? »
Cold breeze entered from the door that led to the garden, and Cruella felt sudden chill but was unsure if it was a reaction to the breeze in contact with her wet skin or sheer excitement for the marvellous idea she had just had. «It is quite simple, Jefferson darling: we both have something the other wants. Moreover, you have something I want, but I have something you desperately need. I will give you my beloved fur coat for you to fuel your… laughably ridiculous hat and go back to your home. In exchange, you will provide me transportation; the kind that will get me to other realm when this one inevitably wears me out to madness», the woman paused, paying close attention to the male's reaction. Jefferson looked at her incredulous, as if he could not believe the vortex of nonsense he had falling into: the male who lived inside a rabbit hole. «And just how do you plan for me to know when that happens? Should I take a telephone for you to ring me when you decide? » Cruella laughed, «of course not! What a silly notion! No, you are going to come here every year until I decide. March the 31th every year: it will be our anniversary, darling», she winked. «You will be like my own personal fairly godmother: constantly watching over me. Of course, you will have to stock yourself with a supply of magical items to make you company; we do not want you to get stuck here again now, do we? I expect you can manage to discover the difference of time between our realms, and be clever enough to do the math to know exactly when you must return to me; is that understood? » The male stood in place. He looked at her with astonishment; he could not believe this woman. Cruella sighed. «Darling», she lightly massaged the bridge of her nose; «do not force me to put your leash on again». He frowned at her, «what makes you think I'll keep such promise, if I decide to make it in the first place. As you said, I'm no more than a glorified thief; I could just take the coat and never see you again». Cruella considered this for a while. It was true enough: logically, she could never be absolutely certain of the male's honour. However, he stroke her as sincere, if involuntarily, and she had learnt to trust her instincts for such matters. Always relay on drunks, children and mad men for honesty, she figured as she took the coat off, caressing it. Besides, if she had learnt something from her second stepfather, it was that, in business, one needed to risk some to gain some. Ideally one would risk few to gain a lot, and this was what she was doing: she risked an already ruined piece of clothes to gain the Universe. It was definitely a good wager. «I cannot, Jefferson darling…», she sighed dramatically and tossed him the fur; «but I have not only given you a way back home now, have I? I also gave you your life, in a way. I could have killed you in a thousand different ways while you were under my command, but I did not. » Jefferson laughed, «oh, so I should be grateful because you spared my life. Brilliant! » «You broke into my home, you put me in danger: I had every reason to shoot you out of your misery but I did not». She was starting to get mad; her voice trembled slightly, but she refused to let her anger win. She had this under control. « You owe me a great deal, darling, like it or not, and what I am certain of is that you are the kind of… person who always pays his debts». The male was thinking, he ran his hands over the ink stains, not quite touching them. Cruella could almost see the inner fight he was going through: good nature versus common sense, and she had placed all her chips on the better lighted side. Light made everything appear clear, but it also made shadows. «Besides, if you wanted to betray me you would have done so already; it has been a while since I released you from the leash and you have made no attempt to harm me. You have forsaken your sole chance to escape». A crooked smile played on her lips, an eyebrow rose; «I rather trust you now, darling». She did not, but if she needed to appeal to his heart to get what she wanted, she was going all the way. It was obvious this male had someone to come back to, from the way he longingly stroked the fabric and his general desperation to acquire what he needed. He was a professional thief, as he had implied, with a whole life of experience, and yet his efforts to retrieve the coat had been sloppy as her own endeavours, earlier that night, had been. As full of passion and blind rage. As full of love. «I sense we have an agreement… » Jefferson gave her an irritated look: a kid found out. He knew she had him, and so he extended his arm, reaching for her hand to close the deal. Cruella recoiled a bit, grabbing her own hand and nestling it to her chest; «oh, I do not do that, darling, but I will take your word». «You have my word, then», he took the coat and the hat and started his way outside. He stopped at the garden door and turned to face her one more time; «until next year, my lady», he bowed pretentiously, mockingly, and resumed his gait out of the house. The purple flashes of light and stormy sounds that followed indicated that the male was gone. Until the following year, of course.
The wine tasted sweeter when the male glared at her with contempt. She finished it in one draught, «and as much as I enjoy playing host, I must see you on your way, darling, I have a class to attend to in the morning, and I ought to rest». The male looked at her blankly for a second, slowly forming a mocking smile, «Class, is it…? » «Oh spare me the brass, or do I have to remind you of the glass of misappropriated beverage you are holding while on my settee? » The teasing twinkle in his eyes faded as he emptied his glass, «there's my answer then». Jefferson stood, making his way to the door with the subtle stagger of a male who could not hold his drinks. It was not the first time Cruella had seen him like this, even though he had drank much more heavily in past occasions; no matter the amount, he would always end up the same. It was as if he could not get past a certain estate, as much as he tried; just like his aging, which did not seem to reach him either. She figured it must have been the way he had been written: permanently teetering over the edge, every edge; from sanity to business to intoxication, what a wretched, most compelling way of living. «A pleasure as always, my lady. I wish you the best of luck on your education», he smiled mischievously; «your teachers are going to need every rabbit foot in existence». She turned and left for her bedroom, not paying him any mind. As she began the slow ascend to her room, midnight stroke. She could hear then the beckoning bell of the wall clock, a sudden mocking shout of, 'many happy returns!', followed by the always nice heavy sound of the door colliding against its frame.
She had enrolled in Lady Margaret's Hall after hearing marvels of their new degrees' programs for women. Not that she was especially interested in having one, not that she needed it; she was, after all, the wealthy owner of a very old, very prestigious, very prosperous business. Titles or validation were of no interest to Cruella De Vil, wine magnate; all that she needed, professionally speaking, had been promised to her the day she was born. And she had taken it by the horns; she had learnt to manage it through careful study of her father's notes and the guidance of the family's lawyers and accountants. Cecil, her cousin, had had a slight influence on her as well, even if she would not openly admit it. Cruella was used to learn on her own. She had had need of this skill while growing up on that blasted attic, where she would do anything she could to keep her mind functioning. She was well versed in a great variety of topics, even more so than most socialites, with all her entrepreneurial background; besides, she had actually lived the experiences most of her aristocrat peers only liked to gabble about with awe or disapproval (maybe more of the last one). However, there was knowledge that seemed obscure; topics ordinary people would not talk about or did not know about, and things books could fall short on exposing. Biology, for instance, was a subject she was most interested in, but did not know where to start. Cruella had gone through quite a number of changes since she had been bathed with the magical ink. Her senses had become much more refined, her reactions quicker, her impulses uncontrollable: she had developed a sharp instinct that could only be described as animalistic. It was useful, of course, but it had brought her Devil to a little explored behavioural path; and a power such as that of the leash was to be accounted for as well. She wanted, no, needed to understand these abilities so they could be of use to her; so they could reach their full potential. That is why she was seated in the Panther right now, making the 30 minute drive from the house to Norham Gardens in 15 minutes, to achieve a classy 20 minute delay for today's induction ceremony. The program listed a rather large list of activities, including a tour of the premises, a social gathering with refreshments (she channelled all her will power to wish for alcohol, even though she knew she was in England) and a presentation from the student choir, which she was very much looking forward to. Before all the fun, though, there were a good amount of speeches she planned on happily ignore in favour of the much more alluring task of femme spotting; which was, actually, a whole other sort of fun in itself. She climbed out of the car, near the main building entrance. As she entered, she heard soft music coming from the room to her right: a large hall filled with females of different ages and social background, seated on two separate blocks of chairs across the room. In front of them, an upright piano produced a solemn, sweet music, in the hands of a stern looking female, who was probably the oldest person in the room. She was delicately motioning her heads in an attempt to guide the group of young females singing at her left, facing the crowd. It seemed the dull speeches had lasted considerably less than anticipated, and Cruella had almost missed the spectacle, which would have been far more painful. But she did not. She had arrived in time for an oddly reassuring display of the few perks of Christendom: a moving performance of 'Be Still My Soul', blissfully harmonized by a full female choir. She stopped at the door for a second to immerse herself in the sounds, which became more powerful once she had closed her eyes. She could fill the vibrations of the chords on her skin; the smell and taste of flowery perfume surrounded her; colours and forms exploded all over her closed eyelids. She could, also, hear each one of the voices independently; they would all originate on their own and then twirl and melt together with the others, as the filaments of cotton string, forming a stronger composition. But there was a thread that ran loose, unattached from the others: too unique to disappear in the multitude. But suddenly it did. The voice melted away in the silence, and Cruella feared she might lose it forever, even though she did not possess it… yet. She had just began to search for it when the voices quietened and the music slowly transfixed into another song, which she anticipated to be 'Amazing Grace', a classic for this sort of situation.
Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound.
There it was.
That saved a wretch like me.
The voice raised above the others, giving Cruella a sudden chill.
I once was lost but now am found.
Her eyes rapidly scanned the room, the emptiness in her chest growing with every second wasted, not knowing whom it belonged to.
Was blind, but now I see.
She finally found her in the first line.
No wonder she had missed her: the female was rather… plain, at first sight. Average height, average weight, average complexion; the only thing that made her stand-out was a beautiful mane of strawberry blonde hair, neatly tied in a tight bun, and her voice, of course. Cruella's thoughts came and went as gushes of air, but, ironically, seemed to actually suck the oxygen away from her brain. She suddenly felt vulnerable, small: ridiculous. How could she appeal to this fem- no, to this woman? Was she enough? Would she ever be? Her voice was unique, so special; such work of art would never set eyes on her, surely. But then she did. The woman idly opened her eyes and fixed them on Cruella, as if they had been closed looking at her from the start. It was rather an alien feeling for her, this uncomfortable self-awareness. She felt a pressure in her chest that she supposed was what people called panic. She suddenly felt the full weight of her jewels and albino bear coat on her body. Albino bear coat. It was absurd! Cruella usually dressed to be the centre of attention whenever she went but now all she wanted was to make everything disappear and just blend in her little black dress, even if she freezed to death. She was about to make a low-key-yet-elegant exit when the woman smiled at her without warning. If Cruella was vulnerable a second ago, now she was positively defenceless; the woman smiled with her eyes, with a tiny gleam of kindness shimmering in the dark orbs. Her body began to move towards the sweet eyes, not entirely conscious. The woman had stopped singing and Cruella couldn't understand why. Her Devil demanded an explanation: someone had taken her music away from her again and it was unbearable. She was about to go get it back when she was brought back to consciousness by a hand around her right wrist, which she immediately jerked back to her chest in alarm. She turned to a slightly amused expression in the handsome face of a tall, freckly and slightly older female. She drove her lively blue eyes from her to the choir and back to her again before sneering. «There you are, sweetie! Come now, let the others enjoy the spectacle as well». She led her two rows back, where there was a couple of empty sits. «Thank you», Cruella murmured, a bit embarrassed and very much confused. «Oh, it's alright, my friend. Us girls have to look after each other around here, don't we? », the female offered her hand in a salutation but quickly retract it to her chest instead. «Pardon, you don't like to be touched, do you? My name is Victoria, it's very nice to finally meet you Miss De Vil. Or is it just Cruella? » She looked at her in disbelief, still quite confused about what had just transpired, «Cruella is fine, b- ». «Oh, I'd say Cruella's more than just fine, sweetie! You're a vision! We were dying to meet you, you know? », Victoria crossed her legs and reclined sideways on her sit, resting on her arm which was folded on the chair support. It was a position Cruella recognized as her own; the female was –as she often did herself, making herself comfortable, owning where she was. «I'm rather jealous she caught a glimpse of you first», the female turned to look at the choir once again. Cruella looked as the woman with the beautiful voice smiled at Victoria and then at her even more broadly, making her nose wrinkle a bit. «That redhead with the agonisingly beautiful voice is Anita; she led my attention to you. She sings beautifully, don't you think? ». «Heavenly», Cruella agreed, incapable of taking her eyes off her… her Anita. Victoria chuckle a quietly, «she's going to explode with happiness when she hears that! She's quite smitten with your legend… » With a strength she did not know she had, Cruella managed to set her eyes on the similar orbs next to her, which instantly pained her. «Legend? », she asked, struggling to find her words. «Don't you know, Cruella? You are famous! The heiress who gave up her title in pursuit of a career: you're the talk of every tea room in England, sweetie! », she added with a mischievous smile. «Anita and I nearly went on a somersault spree when we heard you were coming to Lady Margaret. We've been following your story on the tabloids since the news of the peerage. But don't tell my fiancée, yes? He's already scared to death that I'm here, actually using my pretty little head for something other than hats and hairdos», she rolled her eyes and cocked an eyebrow. Cruella felt a bit overwhelmed for an instant. She knew perfectly well she was a conversation to all the highbrow aristocrats in their bridge and brandy parties, either talked about in a condescending fashion or with jealousy, but it never occurred to her that she was being discussed in a… rather flattering fashion as well. She looked at Anita, who was now focused on her song –eyes closed again, and felt a discharge of desire pouring on her lower belly. A hunger fuelled by the fact that she now knew herself desired by the other woman, or at least an object of her interest. Besides, she had her precious music and she felt the instinctive need to protect it at all costs; to possess it for it was made for her and her alone. «I had no idea I was of public interest at such a scale! Please do tell me more, darling Victoria». The female laughed wholeheartedly, «with pleasure, darling. Anita and I will be having tea after this, and then we could take you to a guidance tour to Lady Margaret life: fun version. What do you say? ». Cruella laughed to herself, remembering how pitiful she had been minutes before. How on earth could she have doubted herself? She was Cruella De Vil: she did as she felt, she dressed as felt, she was seen as she felt, which was always fabulous. Anita opened her eyes and instantly looked for hers. Cruella saw them examining her face and then climbing to her double-coloured unruly mane, which extracted a bright toothy smile from the performer. That made Cruella remeber how beautiful and unique was she herself. She decided the poor birdie did not stand a chance.
Cruella forced her eyes away from her prey and gave Victoria a sideways look and dedicated her a winning smile. «I'll bring the gin, darling! »
.
Hi~ I'm dreadfully sorry I've taken this long to update. I simply wasn't motivated enough, idk. Besides there's been quite a few changes in my life and I needed the time to adjust. I'll try to do better for anyone who wants to keep reading this dorkness, and for Cru, ofc; I really want to keep exploring where this is going.
As always, I'm looking for way to say 'hello, darling' in various languages; if you have one, please send. Much appreciated!
Next chapter: domesticity.
Albums listened: Pretty much all NIN and Them Crooked Vultures. Recommend sexy almbums?
