This is S&M in the original meaning of the word. Marquis de Sade stuff, not 50 Shades of Gray. So, if you're looking for more fluffy or romantic types of S&M this probably isn't the story for you. It's about someone who likes giving pain finding someone who likes receiving it. You can read the unedited version of this chapter (which includes some pretty graphic multi-partner and dub-con stuff with Gold/Ruby and Gold/Kathryn at my tumblr .com. I had to edit it out to make it M.
If you needed money in Storybrooke there were only two options, the bank or Mr. Gold. And since the bank demanded that you already have strong financial bona fides in order to qualify for a loan, in practice the only option was Mr. Gold. This was especially onerous since the only reason most people needed money in the first place was because of Gold raising the rent or using his influence to screw you in one way or another.
Sometimes quite literally.
It was an open secret that Gold would pay for sex, although he never actually propositioned anyone. They came to him in desperation and pleaded with him that they would do anything to settle their debt.
Pain. That was the common denominator in all of Gold's assignations. He didn't care if it was a man or woman, or what the sex act the performed was. It was their pain that got them paid. But it also insured that there were no repeat performances. Gold left those foolish enough to offer their bodies as trade well compensated, but utterly broken.
It didn't take long for those deals to dry up. Anyone who had the temperament to sell their body had already done so, and they wouldn't ever do it again.
It was no hardship to Gold when these deals dried up. He had enjoyed them, on a superficial level, but he could satisfy himself just as well with the fantasies that no experience to date had ever been able to match.
Those fantasies, as long as he could recall, all centered on the mousy little librarian, Helen French. She wasn't particularly noteworthy. A pretty enough face, he guessed, but it was always hidden behind her messy brown hair and thick black glasses. Her body was also a mystery since she wore long peasant skirts and baggy sweaters everywhere. What he did like about her was the way that she would blush demurely at anything even remotely sexual. In Granny's Diner she would never be able to look at Ruby's long legs or obvious cleavage without the blush rising to her cheeks. When someone would come to check out a romance book she would duck her head and turn pink.
They called her the perpetual virgin because she hadn't dated anyone since High School, and back then he'd dumped her because she wouldn't put out. Her inexperience scared any potential suitors who didn't want to have to take the time to teach someone the lessons that the other girls already knew.
But Gold wanted to teach her. He wanted to instruct her on exactly how to please him in perfect detail. And when she faltered in any way he wanted to take his cane to her backside until she begged for forgiveness and promised to not disappoint him again. He wanted to leave her crying again and again, but still coming back for more because she didn't know any better.
The problem was that Helen French didn't need anything from him. Her father was leasing a storefront from him where he ran a small florist shop, but he was estranged from his daughter. She may have helped him out with money now and then, but she wasn't going to offer her body up to save him. Her job as town librarian meant she reported directly to the town council and Regina, over which he didn't have any real sway in order to threaten her with. Between her work and some money left in a trust from her Mother's side of the family, the girl owned her own home and didn't need money. The only way he would see her would be in his fantasies.
And the innocent young thing did occupy a good deal of those.
In fact, he thought that it was one of those fantasies when he answered the doorbell of his home and found her standing there. It was raining, one of those summer storms that brought lightning and thunder through the night, and Helen was drenched from it.
"My car," she said when she realized he wasn't going to say anything, "I got a flat tire and ran off the road. And then my cell phone wasn't working. And I saw your lights on and so…"
"Yes," he said, suddenly finding his voice. "Please, come in Miss French."
She walked through the entryway and stopped. "I'm afraid that I'm going to drip all over your living room. I'm very wet you see."
She'd said that very phrase before in his dreams and it took him a moment to overcome the feeling of déjà vu. "Don't worry about it, dearie. It's just a little water. Just give me a moment and I'll get my keys. We'll have you back at your house in no time."
"Oh," she said. "I mean, I guess that makes sense. But, you don't need to go to that trouble for me."
"It's no trouble at all." Before he could turn away he was knocked into the wall by a mass of wet girl, her heavy sweater drenching his silk shirt and her mouth awkwardly trying to latch on to his. His cane clattered to the floor as he used both hands to pry her off of him.
Her entire face turned red, and a small tear began to fall from her eye down her already damp face. "I'm so sorry. You must think I'm some sort of idiot."
He traced the path of the tear with his finger, down her cheek and to the corner of her bare mouth. She wore no makeup, nothing to hide the natural glow of her responsive skin and the mauve tint to her mouth.
"Why are you here?" he asks, letting his thumb trace over her plump lower lip before pulling it down to look at her small white teeth. When she didn't answer he grabbed her wrist with enough force to cause her to squeal. "Why I ask a question, Miss French, I expect an answer. Why are you here?"
"Like I said, my car…"
"Yes. You just happened to go for a joyride in the middle of o lightning storm. And you just happened to drive from your little home on the other side of town to my home. My home, which is the only house on a dead end street with nothing else for miles around. Is that what you are telling me, Miss French."
She stared at him through her glasses. For the first time he noticed her eyes were the brightest blue he had ever seen. Not the pale blue grey that some people had, but the color of the cloudless sky. He reached up to remove the glasses which were keeping him from truly looking into their depths.
"Don't lie to me," he warned, "I'm not a man to be toyed with. Lies and manipulations make me very upset, Miss French, and I don't think you'd like what happens when I'm upset."
"I think I would." She looked away shyly as the words slipped out of her mouth. He lifted her chin to force her to look at him. Her eyes told him everything he needed to know. They were so clear that he could see right to her very soul. He could see the mix of need and desire that had brought her here.
"Can you hand me my cane?" he asked, watching as she quickly obeyed. "Can I get you something to drink?"
"A martini?" she said, "Or maybe a Cosmo? I've never really had a drink before, but that's what they have in the movies."
"Yes, well in the movies they also have bartenders and olives."
"I'm sorry," she said. He crooked his finger bidding her to join him and she did so. She sat on the barstool, her woolen sweater still dripping and her long skirt clinging to her legs.
"Don't be sorry. Your lack of experience is nothing to be ashamed of. Too many people go out and try things just because they don't want to be left behind. It's better to wait and enjoy things in their own time. You'll appreciate them more that way." He looked behind the bar for something he'd come across a few years ago and had been saving for a special occasion.
"Have you truly never had a drink, Miss French? Not even a sip of champagne at New Years?"
She shook her head. "I don't really like parties. I would much rather spend the evening with a book or in bed."
"I quite agree. I don't like celebrating out in public. Too much noise and rabble to deal with. I'd much rather welcome the new year with a more private party in bed." The blush was back on Helen's cheeks but she didn't look away this time. She was learning.
He popped the cork off the bottle of 1928 Krug champagne that he had bought off someone too stupid to know exactly what they possessed. He poured a single glass and took a small sip before passing it to Helen. She gripped the stem too tightly and her fingers were shaking as she tried to bring it to her mouth. He pulled it away from her and showed her the proper way to hold the glass.
"And don't down it in one gulp," he advised, "Take a sip and let it roll around your mouth. A vintage like this is to be experienced, not just drank."
"It's good."
Gold scoffed. "Good. I'll have you know that this is the vintage was served to the King of England in the first banquet after the War. It is considered to be one of the greatest champagnes of all time."
She took another sip. "You realize that I'll be ruined forever now."
"Ruined? From a few sips of champagne?"
"Well, ruined from ever enjoying champagne. If I ever have it again I'll just end up comparing it to this. It will always come up short."
He suddenly realized they weren't talking about drinks anymore.
"You never answered my question, Miss French. Why did you come here this evening? Why make up a story about your car just to get into my home?"
"The truth?"
He nodded. "I'll always reward you for the truth. Just as I'll punish you for a lie."
She nursed the glass until she'd downed the whole thing. He poured another, keeping it for himself this time. She could walk away now. He would never be able to catch up with her ad he would never get this chance again. Part of him screamed to stop with these games and just have her. Do the things he dreamed about while he had the opportunity. She clearly wanted him. Her furtive kiss earlier said that much. He didn't need to know anything more than that. And yet he waited. There was something he'd seen when he looked into her eyes that held the promise of more than just a random tumble on a stormy night.
"I've heard stories about you," Helen said, the hint of an Aussie accent becoming rougher after her drink. "They say that you're a monster who gets pleasure from the pain of other people. Is it true? Are you a sadist?"
"I don't like labels, but I suppose it fits. We all have our kinks. That happens to be mine."
Helen slowly removed her thick sweater and let it fall with a watery plop to the ground. Underneath she had on a wet white camisole that showed her pert pink nipples. But Gold's eyes looked away from them to the marks along her arm. Small raised white scars that ran from her elbow to her wrist. They were shallow and small and seemingly endless.
"Who did that to you?" he asked as he found himself ready to go personal punish whoever had scarred her perfect skin.
"I did it to myself."
The bottle of champagne made a spectacular sound as it crashed against the wall, followed by two glasses. His rage now slightly more under control he grabbed Helen's arm and shoved it in front of her face.
"That is not acceptable. You could hurt yourself with that type of thing. Do you know how easy it is to ut too deeply and end up dead? Do you want your father to have to see you like that?"
"I know," she cried, "But I can't help it. It's the only way that I can…"
"What? It's the only way you can feel alive. It's the only way you can release the pain? What's the excuse for putting your fucking life at risk."
"It's the only way I can get off."
She didn't cry or blush at the revelation. It was too raw, to honest, to bring up any of those defenses. The secret she had just told him was so deep that nobody else in the world knew it. The cuts were also along her legs and inner thighs. It's why she wore such baggy clothes and avoided intimate situations. She was a freak who couldn't have an orgasm unless her pleasure was tempered with pain. She'd figured it out when she was a teenager just starting to explore her body. Her hand could get her excited and build the pressure, but she couldn't actually find release without some type of physical pain. Cutting was the easiest way, but she'd also tried asphyxiation. She gave that up, though, when she'd woken up unconscious on the floor after pulling the silk scarf too tightly.
Over the years she'd heard the stories about Mr. Gold's cruel sexual demands. It was amazing what people would talk about when they realized that it was only the virginal freak in earshot. Just because she wasn't screwing around didn't mean she didn't know what they were talking about. She would find herself getting excited as they detailed their pain and humiliation as she imagined herself in their position.
"I lied about my car," Helen admitted. "It's parked down the road. I just needed to get to you. I thought that if I came needing help that you'd…"
"Take advantage of the poor defenseless girl? That isn't my style Miss French. I don't take advantage of anyone. I make deals with them. It isn't my fault that they agree to do anything without properly considering what anything could entail."
"I know what anything entails," she said quietly. "And I am ready for it."
He raised his eyebrows. "I wonder if you are. There are rules I would need you to agree to, Miss French. First of all, no more cutting. In fact, we'll make it easier for you. No self-pleasure. If we go through with this your pleasure will be mine. Every orgasm is at my command and under my control."
"Yes."
He slapped her cheek gently. "No talking until I say you can. That slap was a warning. In the future I'll leave a mark. I don't want you to just agree to these things. I'm not going to fuck you tonight, Miss French. So, you might as well take the opportunity to think these things over."
She opened her mouth, but quickly closed it. He rewarded her with a soft kiss to the cheek he had hit. "You're learning. That's a good girl. Now, where were we?" He ran through the rules with no further interruptions from her. Along with the prohibition on her self-harm and self-pleasure, he also expected her to be ready to serve him at any time. If he ever made a request that she didn't want to do she may get him to reconsider it by kissing his foot and saying "Please." But just because he would reconsider didn't mean that he would change his mind.
She would also have a safe word, he suggested that she choose it so that it would remember it. But if she used the safe word it would end their arrangement. He didn't tell her the reason for that rule, but the truth was that once he'd found her hard boundary he didn't trust himself to stay away from it. Ending the relationship at the use of the safe word would protect her in the end.
He allowed her to speak to tell him her previous sexual experiences, of which there was nothing more than some kissing and self-exploration. She was still a virgin, although he doubted her maidenhead remained intact since she had said that she used vibrators on herself. It was just as well. He didn't particularly enjoy the sight of blood.
"Do you have any questions?" he said as he finished.
"Yes. Do you think… I mean… will you kiss me?"
"If you agree to this there will be more than kissing, I assure you."
Helen shook her head, her brown hair still damp and clinging to her shoulders. "I meant tonight. I know you said that you weren't going to...fuck me," she stumbled over the word but regained her composure. "Please, can't I have a proper kiss?"
He fisted his hand in her hair and pulled until her head was tipped back, her mouth slightly open as she gasped. He took the opportunity to plunder her depths with his tongue, moving it in ad out of her mouth as he scraped his nails against her scalp. Her legs parted and she leaned back on the barstool, trying to wrap her legs around him but they were trapped under her long skirt. She was trembling, her heart beating so loud he could hear it. With a final bite to her lower lip he removed himself. She was panting, looking at him with such desperation that he briefly considered breaking his own vow and fucking her against the bar.
"Is that what you had in mind, Miss French?"
"Yes..." she made a face. "I don't know what to call you? I don't know your first name and Mr. Gold sounds silly."
"You can call me sir. Or master. And that's when I allow you to speak at all."