Chapter Text
Lacey French kept a schedule as tight as her Saturday night skirts. Monday through Friday, she worked at the Storybrooke Public Library. She ate dinner with her widower father every Tuesday and Thursday, staying until he fell asleep after The Tonight Show. Every Friday during her lunch break, Lacey treated herself to a dessert at Granny's Diner. On Saturday evenings from eight-thirty until eleven o'clock, she met friends for drinks and pool at The Rabbit Hole. On Sundays she slept in and eventually did her weekly marketing. Anyone setting their watch to her schedule would find it very tidy indeed.
To the untrained eye.
Mr. Gold kept a schedule as tight as his wallet. Monday through Friday, he operated his shop, Mr. Gold's Pawnbroker & Antiques. He personally collected the rents every first and third Saturdays of the month, much to the chagrin of his tenants. Every other Saturday evening from nine o'clock until ten-thirty he silently nursed exactly two drinks in a dark corner at The Rabbit Hole. He took all of his lunches in the back room of his shop, except on Fridays when he splurged on the lunch special at Granny's Diner, which he took to-go. On Sundays he slept in and eventually prepared his lunches for the upcoming work week. Anyone setting their watch to his schedule would find it very tidy indeed.
To the untrained eye.
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It was no secret that Lacey supplemented her income with the occasional odd job, but even those had a schedule: the shifts at her father's floral shop during Christmas, Valentines Day, Easter, and Mothers Day; working booths at the various festivals that made their little hamlet so darling; and the occasional housekeeping shift at Granny's Bed & Breakfast during the tourist season. Well, what should be the tourist season. Despite the quaintness of Storybrooke, they did not receive many visitors. Granny Lucas always had Lacey on hold - just in case! - eager to take advantage of her truncated hours at the library on Monday, Wednesday, and Fridays. It just never happened. So Lacey found another large estate to keep. After her shift at the library every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday afternoons, Lacey went to her upstairs apartment, showered, changed and left for Mr. Gold's house. To everyone else, she was merely going to clean his salmon colored Queen Anne house. In reality, she was going to add a little filth of her own.
Lacey enjoyed constants in her life. They kept her anchored, safe. Her schedule was a constant, one she executed with military precision. The other constant in her life was her small collection of lace chokers, which she wore daily as a reminder of her secret schedule, the one she shared with Mr. Gold. Most people dreaded Mondays as they represented the cycle of another soul-draining work week. However, for Lacey, Mondays were the beginning of playtime.
::Mr. Gold:: Black Rose.
Lacey bit her bottom lip and smiled. She set her phone down and went to her top drawer where all of her lace chokers were daintily laid out. She plucked out the requisite choker, a pattern of roses in black lace with a long stem rose silver charm dangling from the center. After expertly hooking it around her neck, Lacey raised her auburn curls into a clip and raised her chin as she snapped a photo reply to Mr. Gold. Proof of her obedience.
::Lacey:: Yes, Sir.
::Mr. Gold:: Good girl.
Lacey felt a trill of pleased warmth race through her veins. She loved being a good girl. Although, given she was wearing her black rose choker, she understood that there was also wiggle room for her to be a bad girl, too.
::Mr. Gold:: You may wear what you please. I will prepare dinner but you are to breathe the Malbec I set out on the counter as soon as you arrive.
::Lacey:: Yes, Sir.
::Mr. Gold:: Remember: if you are a bad girl at work today, there will be consequences.
Lacey felt her breath quicken as a little moan escaped her lips. The black rose collar was used as code for her to be naughty so that her Master could deliver a delicious punishment later that evening.
::Lacey:: Yes, Sir.
::Mr. Gold:: Have a lovely day, Miss French.
::Lacey:: I hope you have a good day, too, Sir.
Lacey decided to wear a knee-length black waterfall skirt embossed with midnight blue roses over semi-sheer black thigh-hi stockings. Her solid midnight blue blouse frilled shoulder to shoulder and its scoop neck showed off her choker nicely. Ensuring her heels lined up perfectly with her back-seam, Lacey gave herself a quick once over in the full-length mirror before nodding in satisfaction. Professional sexpot was a look she was gaining confidence in.
Her morning went by quickly. She was able to watch the toddler reading program as she shelved returns, smiling fondly at the semi-circle of young children entranced by stories of anthropomorphic animals, puppets, and silly voices. Pushing the pangs of melancholy out of her mind and heart, Lacey finished her tasks and before she knew it, her lunch break was soon upon her. It was while she ate her cold noodle salad that Lacey concocted a plan that would fulfill her desire to be naughty.
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After clocking out, Lacey went upstairs to her apartment above the library and changed into flats for the walk to Mr. Gold's house, throwing her heels into her oversized tote bag. Lacey then twisted her neat ponytail into a high bun and set off. A bureau in the guest room held another wardrobe entirely for Lacey, including running gear she used early in the mornings when she found the strength to leave Mr. Gold's warm bed. A bracing morning jog back to her place for a quick shower and a bite to eat before she dressed and went to work, and no one was the wiser. Living in the apartment above the library certainly had its perks. No one stopped Lacey as she made her way out of the high street and into the neighborhoods; no one said hello. Her plain blue princess cut peacoat covered her outfit, masking her true self from the rest of the world. Lacey hid in plain sight: she was just an average worker bee going about her business on a breezy October golden afternoon Monday. She let herself into Mr. Gold's house, kicked off her sneakers and placed them on the shoe rack before hanging up her coat and bag. She then slipped her heels back on and made a beeline to the kitchen to open the Malbec bottle Mr. Gold left for her. Once it was breathing, she took a photo and sent it to Mr. Gold.
::Lacey:: The Malbec is breathing, Sir.
::Mr. Gold:: Good girl.
Lacey let her hair down to twirl a tendril around her finger. She so loved being good, but the black rose collar gave her permission to be bad today - and bad she had been. Mr. Gold will not think she is a good girl for much longer and she was eagerly anticipating her punishment. She had a drink ready in her hand when Mr. Gold came home, her ponytail fixed and flawless as her touched up makeup.
"Thank you, Miss French," Mr. Gold sighed as she took his coat, hung it up and presented him with an Old Fashioned. He kissed her on the check and made his way to the lounge. He welcomed her to cuddle up next to him, which she did, making sure to keep her heels off of the sofa.
"Would you like a drink, sweetheart?"
"No, thank you, Sir. One glass of wine at dinner will suffice."
They snuggled in comfortable silence, Mr. Gold preferring to slowly slip into their dynamic of master and submissive.
"Display," he said gently, prompting Lacey to stand before him, her hands behind her head as her eyes fixed ahead of her. He looked her up and down, his gaze heating her skin. He lifted his index finger, her signal to slowly turn. When she faced him, his eyebrow was quirked.
"Straighten your stockings, dearie."
"I'm sorry, Sir." Lacey said, immediately correcting the twisted thigh-hi. Mr. Gold stood up with curious hum as he watched her.
"Remind me of this infraction later, Lacey."
"Yes, Sir."
He handed her his empty glass before leading them into the kitchen to prepare dinner.
"May I please roll up your sleeves for you, Sir?"
He gave her request a moment contemplation before acquiescing her request with a nod. These small touches of care sent a thrill of love and desire through Lacey's veins. Letting her take care of him in these tender ways was Mr. Gold's way of showing he cared. She carefully rolled up his sleeves and held them in place with his arm garters. When she was done she stood up straight and accepted his kiss of thanks with a squeak of joy.
"Wash your hands and then hand me the herbs I set aside."
Once she complied he handed her his cane to hook onto the island before he shooed her to sit opposite and told her about his day. He was attentive to her as she chattered, feeling hunger gnawing as the aroma of grilled lamb filled her nostrils. She set the table at his command and waited as he poured her wine and cut her meat for her, something he usually did when she wore her pink choker. She would never complain about the attention. He raised his glass of Malbec. She mirrored.
"To the beginning of another week," he proposed.
"Cheers."
"Tell me about your day, sweetheart."
"Nothing terribly exciting, except for the mountain of books I had to scan and shelf. Everyone stuffs the return slot over the weekend, missing their due dates by the skin f their teeth. Oh, there is a new Pete the Cat book, so Mrs. Potts read that during story hour for the toddlers-” She abruptly stopped and a heavy pause settled between them before she reached for her wine glass. Mr. Gold gently clasped her other wrist and slid his fingers up her hand before their fingers intertwined. She tried to ignore his heavy stare, but the will of his masterful gaze was too strong for her to resist. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.
“No need. No need at all.” He kissed their clasped hands before releasing her so they could finish their meal.
Though neither of them knew why, Mr. Gold and Lacey understood that it was imperative for them to keep their relationship a secret. An unknown force pulled at their instinct, a mutual pact born of protection and true love. They could not define the danger, or rationalize its presence, only its existence. For that reason alone, they lived separate lives under the public eye. Any more commitment would draw unwanted attention. And that, screamed every fiber of their being, was bad .
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When they were finished he insisted on clearing the table as he nodded upward. “Off with you. I will join you shortly.” He drank a glass of water as he washed the dishes, ensuring the alcohol he drank before and during dinner was further diluted so he has his complete wits about him. There were evenings when he had Lacey do all of the work: the cooking, the clean up, the serving, nights when she truly served. Mondays, however, were more egalitarian. Mr. Gold felt it was best to start each week with a sampling of all of their mutually favorite indulgences.
Lacey knew when she was dismissed that it was time to prepare herself. She removed her skirt and blouse, carefully hanging them up in a wardrobe he designed for her in the bedroom next to his. She wore her black lace bra and panties to match the choker and the tops of her thigh-hi stockings. Ensuring her garter belt was secure, Lacey impulsively decided to twist her stockings on purpose. Oh, Mr. Gold will be most displeased! Lacey chewed on her bottom lip, hiding her grin. When she heard his familiar gait on the stairs, Lacey assumed the waiting position: her posture perfect, feet apart, eyes fixed on the wall, and arms behind her back in readiness for her Master's first order. She felt his presence in the doorway, admiring her exquisite submission before flipping the internal switch that turned him from lover to Master. He walked over to the wardrobe and took out something she could not yet see before he walked in a slow circle around her.
"Is my little rose wanting to be plucked?"
"Yes, Sir."
"Hmm. Do you think you deserve tending to your garden?"
"If it pleases you, Sir."
Lacey felt his breath against her ear as he hissed, "I think you need some pruning first, sweet one."
"As you wish, Sir."
She could feel the frustration radiating off of him as his gaze lowered to her twisted stocking. A snap of leather across the back of her thighs took her by surprise as she gasped and tried not to arch forward.
"Straighten those stockings," he commanded. "The fact that I told you twice means you have earned twice the consequences."
"Yes, Sir," Lacey replied, quick to straighten her stockings. He snapped the crop against her flesh again, making sure to hit the sensitive flesh between her thighs. She inhaled sharply at the sting, loving and loathing it all at once. He continued his stroll around her, cane first like a gentleman inspecting a curious piece of art, the crop caressing her warming skin.
"Were you a bad girl today?"
"Yes, Sir."
"Tell me."
"I touched myself at work today, Sir."
"Did you?" The leather tip of the crop kissed her pert breasts, tapping against her hardening nipples. "Tell me more."
"This afternoon I was in the reference section and I was so overcome I just couldn't help myself."
"What overcame you so greatly that you felt compelled to behave in such a debauched manner?"
"Anticipation of being with you, Sir."
"I'm flattered. What did you do?"
"I crept to the darkest corner, lifted up my skirt and rubbed myself through my silk panties."
He tapped the crop against her silk panties, causing her thighs to twitch. "How did it make you feel, Miss French?"
Her alluring blue eyes briefly flicked to his. "Delicious."
"Hmm. And did you come?"
Lacey hesitated, knowing exactly how this was going to unfold.
“Yes.”
The crop flitted under her chin, tapping twice to make her look up at those amber eyes that were both warm and hard as flint.
“I do not recall you asking my permission if you could come.”
“No, Sir.”
“Who gave you permission to come?”
“No one, Sir.”
“ Very bad girl.” He growled in her ear.
She bit her lip, trying to hide the quirk of a grin. “Yes, Sir.”
He gave her a stern glare before withdrawing to the wardrobe of their toys.
“Shoes and bra off. First position.”
Lacey complied immediately, slipping off her heels and setting them out of the way before assuming her position: butt resting on her heels, knees splayed with her palms upward, gaze neutral. It was a minute before she felt the familiar tickle of leather dance softly across her breasts. It took all of her self control not to announce her pleasure audible.
“Do you like that, Miss French?”
Lacey let her moan slip out. Her mind was already starting to blank out into that wonderful realm of foggy pleasure.
“Safeword?”
“Teacup.”
The tapered rectangle keeper of the black leather crop tapped her pert breasts, alternating from sensual circles around her nipples to sharp, rapid taps, its sting increasing as he warmed up body. Lacey was only vaguely aware that with every inhale she tilted her breasts upward, aching for the inconsistent bite and caress of the crop. Suddenly the crop was tapping her under the chin twice, a signal to raise her gaze to his.
“Only bad girls come without permission, Miss French.”
“Yes, Sir,” she whimpered, struggling against the impending fuzz of euphoric vacancy her mind took on when they played. The leather keeper slithered down her neck to tease the rose charm dangling from her collar, to her collarbone, sternum, down between her breasts and smooth belly to rest just below her belly button and above her panties. He tapped her silk clad pubis thoughtfully. Her muscle twitched as the crop keeper caressed the flesh of her inner thighs, giving a series of random rapid fire thwacks that would be immediately followed by tender strokes. Lacey knew not to tense; she was trained well and kept her body relaxed even as the leather keeper gave her a firm whack against her pubis. Her skin was tingling and she felt wetness gather in her come stained panties; by the third such round of caress and whack, Lacey let a whimpering moan escape her lips as her hips rotated involuntarily. The crop slid to the waistband of her panties again before slipping further downward to tease the outline of her nether lips. She rode the keeper, trying in vain to seek out some semblance of gratification.
"My little wanton is never satisfied," Mr. Gold tutted as he flitted the crop against her most tender area with masterfully controlled little flicks. Just when Lacey mewled in frustration, Mr. Gold abruptly withdrew back to the wardrobe.
"Knickers off."
Expertly shimmying her panties out from under her garter belt, Lacey quickly discarded the sodden material and resumed her position before Mr. Gold returned from the wardrobe. Before she could muse what was coming next, the leather flaps of a flogger gently licked her sex - not enough to hurt - just enough to disturb her expectations.
“Oh, gods!” Lacey cried inadvertently.
His free hand splayed atop the crown of her head, tilting her gaze to his. He was pleased to see her pupils dilated with pure desire. “There is only one god here, Miss French.” His voice was velvet covered gravel. He released her and stepped away. "Third position.”
Like an automaton, Lacey slid face down, arms above her head with wrists softly crossed, butt in the air to present to her Master. It was her favorite way to postulate before his dominance. She felt the gentle thwap of the flogger against her bottom followed by a series of light licks. The first smack of true impact emptied all thoughts out of her mind as she slipped securely in the comfortable bliss of subspace where pain and pleasure were interlocked in a lovers embrace and nothing else mattered but acquiescing to his dominance.
"Color?" Mr. Gold asked casually, checking in on her.
"Green," Lacey mumbled, barely above a slur. Green, the color to confirm she was in a joyful headspace and eager to continue. He understood her desire not to speak and did not talk to her as he gave her a series of progressively intense flogs against her backside and thighs. She let out a staggering gasp as his nails raked down her spine. Before the shock wore off a series of flogs licked her ass, already smartening. He followed that up with another rake of his nails, this time including her stinging rear flesh, making her cry out longingly. She imagined it was just the perfect shade of red for him. She yelped and moaned as he worked her flesh over and over, flogging her buttocks and thighs to warmth before delivering the cooling sting of his nails. She shifted slightly as she felt desire concentrate at her core and intensify with every blow. He eventually noticed - he notices everything - because those wicked fingers gently probed her sex.
“Wet again, my sweet?”
“Always, Sir.”
“Do you think your greedy cunt deserves relief?”
“Only if it pleases you, Sir.”
“Everything about you pleases me," he murmured, removing his fingers from her sex to stroke her hair like a treasured cat. She lifted her head ever so slightly to lean into the caress when a smack across her already smartening ass made her yelp and bow her head properly. "But since you decided to alleviate yourself without my permission, you have not earned the right to come yet."
Lacey whimpered as she wiggled her rear shamelessly, her wet sex aching to be touched again.
"Clearly you need to return to rudimentary lessons. Position two on the bed."
Lacey crawled to the bed and scrambled up, quick to assume position two: kneeling with her knees together, palms down. Out of her periphery, Lacey saw Mr. Gold return to the wardrobe. A short black leather paddle replaced the flogger. He sat on the edge of the bed and guided her over his lap, her pert and red ass at the perfect angle to deliver a resounding spanking.
Mr. Gold set the paddle beside him and splayed his palm over her stinging buttocks, grabbing and kneading her flesh. "Now, as I am being so patient with you and graciously going over your most basic lesson, you are going to count my spankings and then express your gratitude for every blow I deliver to your beautiful arse. Do you understand me, Miss French?"
"Yes, Sir."
The first open palm smack was so quick it caught her off-guard, causing her to yelp and scramble to make good on her chore. "One. Thank you, Sir."
Another.
"Two. Thank you, Sir."
Another.
"Three. Thank you, Sir."
Her emotions were beginning to overwhelm her; oh how so longed to be good, to please him for the sake of pleasing him. Rewards were nice, but his pleasure was the only thing she cared about and Lacey felt wretched for having been so bad that she was reduced to the most elementary of lessons. A fourth smack jolted a sniffle out of her as she burned with humiliation.
"Four. Thank you, Sir."
"Are you feeling properly shamed, Miss French?"
"Yes, Sir."
A whole series of smacks that she had to think on before announcing, "Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Thank you, Sir."
She felt his body beginning to rise and fall with his quickening breath as he briefly paused to rake his nails across her burning bottom, causing her to squirm and whimper. He quickly smacked her butt twice.
"Nine. Ten. Thank you, Sir."
"Fifth position behind me."
Lacey left his persons to get in a low hands and knees position with her head bowed. She was so unaware of the world outside of her special zone, that felicitous state reserved just for her when they played, that she gave a start when firm hands tenderly guided her backward. One arm was wrapped around her waist while a finger entered her sex from behind, making a cursory exploration before feeling satisfied to exit and continue to guide her entrance back onto his waiting cock. Lacey tilted her head back and sighed longing as Mr. Gold groaned.
Her hands firmly planted down on the bed in front of her as his legs stretched out beneath her, Lacey dictated a desperately eager pace. She heard him growl behind her followed by a whoosh of air and a smack of leather on her bouncing ass. Lacey had forgotten all about the paddle, but oh what a blessed surprise. She rocked into his blows, pain and pleasure becoming one harmonious feeling as his cock stretched and filled her and the paddle reminded Lacey of her passionate subservience. The paddle soon began to wan as Mr. Gold's hips began to thrust upward into Lacey's rhythm. One resounding smack was delivered to her haunch followed by a breathy demand that did not penetrate her mind until he ceased all attention.
"Turn around, my love," he repeated, giving her one more open-palm slap on her beautifully sore ass. Reticent to separate though she was, Lacey quickly did as she was commanded and was rewarded with his hands on her face, caressing, pushing back her sweaty hair and bringing her back from the submissive zone with loving eye contact. Licking her lips, Lacey bent forward to steal a kiss. He returned it in full, rewarding her badness before thrusting up into her again to remind her of unfinished business. Lacey's gasp melted into a moan as she ran her hands down his face to plant firmly against his chest, stabilizing herself as they quickened their rhythm.
"Oh, fuck," Lacey groaned.
"Do you need to come?" He asked, still in control enough to taunt her. Lacey nodded desperately. "You know what to do."
"Yes, please, please, I need to come so bad. Please, may I come, Sir?"
One hand remained curled at her hip while the other found its way just above their join where the pad of his thumb expertly worked her wanting clit. Her staggering gasp must have been all he needed to hear as his hips snapped faster, hers following, chasing that ever illusive wave of ecstasy until they collided together in mutual orgasmic euphoria. She rode out every shockwave as he emptied inside of her, their noises of pleasure still echoing one another. Lacey was pulled downward for a passionate embrace, her face showered with loving kisses, her hair and sweat-slicked skin gently petted. She could not talk yet, merely entangle her limbs with his, ever mindful of his injury. Closing her eyes, Lacey was content to accept his tenderness as their dynamic returned to an egalitarian statehood.
"Give me a color," her lover implored.
Lacey did not even have to think about it. "Blue."
She felt his smile against her forehead. Blue. Their color for peace and love in its most placid state of tranquility. Lacey felt safe. When her mind returned to the here and now, Lacey opened her eyes and smiled up at him. Her hand cupped his cheek and he mirrored the gesture.
"I love you, Mr. Gold."
"I love you, Miss French."
Mondays may be the return of drudgery for some, but for Lacey French, Mondays were the return of wicked joy with her true love.