Helen arrived an hour early. She justified the fact to herself by saying that she was only trying to avoid traffic, but Storybrooke never had a rush hour. This was a case of nerves, pure and simple. She couldn't just sit at home in the beautiful red silk dress that Mr. Gold had bought for her. So, she had driven in circles around his neighborhood until, on one round, he was waiting for her in his front yard.
"Miss French, would you like to come inside?"
I want to come anywhere you want me, she thought. But instead she just blushed. "I don't want to be a bother."
"You'll be less of a bother inside. I would have figured you for one of those environmental types who didn't believe in wasting fuel."
Her blush grew deeper. She parked in his driveway, and he opened the door for her. He was so gentlemanly and sophisticated. It was hard to reconcile that this man and his manners with the stories she had heard. With the man she fantasized about dominating her completely.
"Dinner won't be delivered for another thirty minutes," he stated as she sat on the couch. He would have to offer a reward to Rachel Unger, the owner of the Let Down Your Hair Salon. She had perfectly captured the look he wanted for Helen French. Her hair had been trimmed up and given some layers making it healthier. It was also well conditioned and allowed to show the natural wave instead of being forced straight, which was why it always appeared frizzy in the past.
"When was the last time you'd had a haircut before today?"
"Oh, I don't know. I usually just cut it myself if it gets too long."
"Yes, and it was clear why you are a librarian and not a beautician. From now on, you will have your hair trimmed every 6 weeks. If you want to do something different to it, a cut or color, I only ask that you get my permission first."
"You're talking as if I already accepted." Helen clamped her hand over her mouth, shocked that she'd said that. Of course she had thoughts like that all the time. Her inner mind was a very snarky, as cuttingly cruel towards other people as it was to herself. But those comments never came out of her mouth. Of course she'd pick this moment, the one where she was supposed to be showing her submissiveness, to come out.
Nervously, she looked at him. But instead of being upset he was smirking. "You're correct, Miss French. We have yet to officially seal the deal, although the act that you are wearing the dress I selected for you, with your hair and body prepared per my demands, certainly imply that your decision is already made."
She felt his breath on her shoulder, heard him inhale her scent. "Don't worry, dearie, I like a little fight in my prey. It makes the game more fun."
The doorbell rang with the dinner delivery and he allowed Helen to worry on the couch. She was anxious, and while that was attractive in a way, he also enjoyed the brief moment when she'd allowed herself a little backbone. Her outburst had clearly shocked her more than him. This was something he'd have to keep an eye on. It was his job to correct and control her, but it would be difficult to do this if she refused to give up the control she held on herself.
He gave the man from the restaurant a $100 bill and hurried him out the house. "Dinner is served," he said, lighting some candles on the table for ambiance. They ate in silence, although Helen' nervousness seemed to create a buzz of electricity that could be heard above the nothingness. He picked at the green beans and pushed around the garlic mashed potatoes.
"Do you not like steak?" he asked, seeing how she avoided it.
"Oh, it's lovely. I'm just not very hungry. I'm sorry."
"Don't apologize." He snapped at her cruelly. Then he took another bite of his own meal, and savored a sip of wine. She was still looking at him, behind her glasses her big blue eyes were seeking some type of explanation. "Miss French, I do not really believe in apologizing. It personally smacks too much of admitting guilt for my tastes. But even if you do want to apologize for something, you should make sure it is for things you actually have some need to apologize for. The fact you are not hungry hardly seems like something you must beg forgiveness for."
Helen nodded, and then pushed her food round with her fork. "Should I apologize for apologizing?" There was a playful grin upon her lips.
"A quip? My goodness, Miss French, keep this up and I might actually start to think you are enjoying yourself."
"I have been a little anxious this evening. I'm sor…I'm not even going to finish that sentence."
"Good girl," Gold said. And the phrase made Helen's chest tighten. It was so nice to hear someone praising her, even if his statement was mostly in jest. Helen had always felt that she was out of place. It was as if everyone else in the world had some script to the play and she just had to go around trying to make it up as she went along. Hearing that she was good, that she was not some freak, moved her in a way that was embarrassing.
"Since you seem to be in better spirits," Gold said, "I suppose we can discuss the rest of my expectations for you."
"Yes, Sir." His hand found her thigh under the table and squeezed it as a reward.
"Now, to what I expect from you. Along with the regular haircuts you will also have weekly facials, pedicures, manicures, and waxing treatments. Just a regular bikini, none of those fancy pubic hair topiaries so popular with your generation. Your lot is always putting more attention on the wrapping than the gift."
Helen was red faced now, and staring intently at her plate. Gold lifted her chin with no gentleness to force her to look at him. "Miss French, it doesn't do to be so embarrassed. We will be sharing many more intimacies than this. If just hearing about your body sends you into this type of state I can't imagine what will happen when you have to talk and show it."
"Should I be sorry for this?" she teased.
"No. You're modesty and innocence is an attractive quality, Miss French. I am looking forward to corrupting you."
He laid out the other terms of their relationship. Miss French would be arrive Friday evening at Mr. Gold's cabin in the woods, which he dubbed his playhouse. Once there she was expected to dress in an outfit waiting and follow written instructions. He would arrive an hour later. Until Sunday night she would belong completely to him. She would follow his directives and demands unless she kissed his feet to ask him to reconsider.
"Have you considered your safe word? It should be something memorable but that you won't come up in normal conversation." Helen nodded and told him the word, a bit of nonsense that had stuck in her head after story time with the pre-schoolers at the end of the day. Mr. Gold agreed the word would work, "I doubt that you'll accidently be saying that."
Mr. Gold left the remnants of their meal on the table and beckoned her to follow him to his study. It was a masculine room, much more so than the rest of the house that was cluttered with knick knacks. This room was sparse. A large oak desk, a few polished tables, and well cared for leather chair in front of the fireplace. He started a fire with a push of a button, a modern touch to the old school charm of the room, and sat in the chair. He let his cane fall to the ground with a thud. Helen stood like a statue near the doorway, unsure of what was expected of her now.
"Come here, Miss French," he bellowed. She stood before him, removing her glasses and setting them on the desk as she walked.
"On your knees, Miss French." She clumsily obeyed, her dress bunching up around her waist and twisting in spite of her efforts to remain graceful.
She didn't realize that it was this naturalness that he found so attractive. The world was full of women who had strived to reach some manufactured version of perfection. They all smiled the same smile and dressed the same, and said the same insipid things that they'd been told men liked to hear. They faked orgasms and moaned because they were performing for the men in their lives. Gold wanted something real. Pain was real. But in Helen there was the possibility for more. He could help mold her into the best version of herself, not simply try and turn her into someone else.
But she had to do this willingly. She had to have those blue eyes open. "I am not a kind man, Miss French. I can promise you pleasure, but not kindness. I will teach you the art of pleasure, and all I ask for in exchange is your complete submission. You will belong to me."
"Yes. I will."
He reached his hand out and stroked her hair a few times. As she relaxed into his petting he grabbed a handful of her thick brown hair and yanked at it to get her attention. "Did you follow my instructions Miss French? You haven't brought yourself off?"
"Yes," she whispered. He gave her hair another tug and she added, "Sir."
"Was it difficult to follow my command? And be honest, dearie. Tell me the truth and not what you think I want to hear."
Helen's mouth was dry when she tried to answer. His hand was in her hair again, but this time it was softer. As if he knew that her nerves were taking over and she needed reassurance. "I was very turned on after I left here. It was hard to go home and not just take care of myself."
"Did you suffer for me, Miss French? Did you toss and turn in bed wanting to find relief, but denying yourself because of my words?"
"Yes. Sir."
His hand went to his belt and slowly he removed it, and his pants. He pushed them down his pants along with his boxer shorts. When he sat down against the leather it was like a second skin against him, adding to the pleasure. Helen was transfixed at the sight of his cock, long and hard before her.
"Miss French, if I recall our previous discussion, this is the first time you've been up close and personal with one of these, isn't it?"
Helen nodded. Gold's voice held no note of teasing about her lack of experience, for which she was thankful. He took himself in hand, stroking firmly, before taking one of her small hands to join his. It was different than she expected. The skin was silky soft even though it was so hard underneath. Her hand strained to make a fist around his girth, and she added her other hand to the action, interlacing her fingers together.
"Fuck," he growled, closing his eyes. "Don't stop, Miss French. You're coming along nicely."
Helen's senses were on overload. The smell of musk and leather and the warmth from the fire at her back combined to block everything else from her thoughts but this moment. There was no past, the future didn't matter. She was just here and now, the only thing that mattered was getting Mr. Gold to continue to make those noises from the back of his throat.
"Miss French," he purred, "You remember the story of Persephone." Was he asking her about literature, at this moment? "Remember, Miss French, what Persephone had to do to bind herself to the underworld."
"Ate the seeds of a pomegranate?"
Mr. Gold pulled her hands away from his cock with a groan. "Yes, Miss French. If you want to be bound to this agreement, I need you to take my seed."
"I've never… I…I don't know what to do."
Mr. Gold ran his thumb along her lower lip, then gently pressing it into her mouth. He began moving his thumb in and out, allowing her to gently suck on it. With no preamble he pulled his thumb away and pressed her head towards his cock, which was practically trembling with need. Helen gave the head a peck, the briefest of kisses, but sweetly erotic. The wetness was only a moment, because then she began to swallow him and he could think of nothing else but what her beautiful mouth was doing. Her movements were tentative, but he urged her on muttering her name over and over again.
Helen was fascinated by the new sensations. The smooth skin was so soft against her tongue with a slightly salty flavor. It wasn't so bad, certainly better than what she'd heard so many girl talking about. She was spurred on by his reaction, an amazing sense of power filling her. She was doing this to him. Her lips and her mouth was giving him so much pleasure. It was a heady experience, knowing that with just a twist of her head and a swirl of her tongue she could make a man like Mr. Gold beg for more.
Gold's hips were beginning to buck his hips wildly, and gripping his hands into her hair. Although she'd never done this before she had read enough to know what was coming, although she was still surprised by how suddenly he erupted in her mouth. Helen swallowed, the reality of the moment sinking in. She had agreed to be his but all her anxiety fled away leaving only a deep longing in its place.