He first got to thinking about Belle getting her hands on the dagger just a few days after she arrived. He worried that perhaps, while doing her duties and caring for the estate, she might stumble upon it, hidden deep beneath the castle. He didn’t worry about that for very long, though, as the dagger was protected by layers upon layers of spells and wards and illusions and trickery. There was no possible way she could ever get near the thing. He even added a few extra spells to keep away curious princesses, just for good measure. Indeed, his dagger was as safe as it had always been. In all the centuries that it bore his name, no other soul had ever possessed it, and they never would.
Even so, Rumpelstiltskin wondered what his little caretaker might compel him to do if she were to gain control of the dagger. It was a purely intellectual exercise, born out of curiosity. She was going to be his caretaker for a very long time, so he imagined he would find himself wondering about her a lot as he got to know her. It did not take him long to decide that Belle, being the brave, kind, gentle soul that she was, would never force him to commit acts of violence or evil in her name, nor force him to help her gain power and status.
It wasn’t so much that he truly believed she would use the dagger for a more… personal type of gain. It was more that, as weeks passed, he began to find her beautiful, sweet, alluring, and kind, and the two thoughts merged together all on their own. Not that he minded.
He knows his Belle would never call on him for such a thing, would never want him near her in such a way, but oh, how he loves to dream otherwise. She stars in dozens of his fantasies, each tempting and thrilling in its own unique way. Sometimes he seduces her into his arms, sometimes he makes love to her by candle light, other times he claims her hard and fast over his dining table. But as the months go by, this one in particular stands the test of time. He returns to this fantasy night after night, and it thrills him like something new each and every time.
He is working in his lab, high up in the tower, when he eventually realizes that it is long past sunset, and Belle still has not prodded him downstairs for dinner. He ponders the oddity for a few moments – she is usually so punctual – before he dismisses the thought. Perhaps she tried to make a new dish this evening and it went awry, causing a delay. Or perhaps she was tired after a long day and fell asleep. He won’t wake her, she works hard enough and deserves an evening to herself.
He tries to return to his work, mixing a delicate potion, but he suddenly feels a strange sensation running down his spine. The touch is like phantom fingers on his skin, intense and real, but not truly there. The sensation runs over his body at random, all at once everywhere and nowhere in particular. He shivers and sets the glass potion bottles down with trembling hands. He has no idea where the sensations might be coming from, a frightening thought in itself, for they are clearly brought on by magic. As they continue, though, the phantom touch here, there, everywhere, he vaguely realizes that it’s not an unpleasant sensation.
The voice resonates at the back of his skull and through the very core of his being, and a rush of magic drags him through space. His feet find solid ground again in small, dark room, lit only by magical orbs of light.
Belle stands before him, cradling his dagger in her hands.
She gasps and jumps back when he appears. She looks between him and the dagger in surprise, and then a smile spreads slowly across her face.
“Does this dagger control you?” she asks. “Do you have to obey me?”
Involuntarily, he nods, a wash of fear spreading through him. She is kind, sweet little Belle, yes, but how many countless people has he seen corrupted by lust for power? What darkness might be hiding in her heart, what desire for vengeance might now have an outlet?
Belle absent mindedly runs her fingers along the underside of the blade, and he shudders as the disembodied touch washes over him again. Ah. So that’s what that is.
“You can feel it when I touch it?” she asks, sounding awed. The dagger’s magic forces him to nod. She takes a step closer, and touches the blade again, this time with more pressure. She tilts her head, and the corner of her lip pulls up in a devilish little smirk. “You like that, don’t you?”
She steps much closer this time, until she is standing within arm’s reach of him. She holds the dagger gently in her hands, but does not move her fingers over its surface. She studies his face for a long time, driving him near mad with her silence. “What can you do with your magic, Rumpelstiltskin? Is it only dark magic, for all your deals? Or can you command it to do something good… to create pleasure instead of pain?”
Suddenly, he realizes that the lust in her heart is not for power or vengeance.
She closes the last bit of distance between them, and stares into his eyes with a smile as she lays a hand over his chest. A single fingertip rests on the skin left bare by his shirt. “What if I compelled you to please me? Would you give me the kind of pleasure most people only dream of?” Her voice is low and smooth, and her thumb across the knife blade, and oh, this time the touch is most definitely pleasurable.
“Yes,” he answers, his voice hoarse and strained. Belle grins, and presses her body flush against him. Only then does he realize he’s half-hard from her sultry ministrations and tempting words.
In every moment spent as the Dark One, he has feared that his power and control will be stolen from him, and has guarded the dagger at all costs. Yet instead of filling him with fear and dread, the idea of Belle forcing him into submission fills him with lust and desire. He realizes with a start that he trusts her.
“Take off your vest and shirt,” she orders, taking a step back. “Then don’t move.”
His hands rise up of their own accord to pluck open the fastenings on his vest. Belle grins and licks her lips as he shrugs out of the vest, then untucks the silk shirt beneath and pulls it off. Even though he’s sure she can see the scaly grey skin covering his chest and arms, her smile widens. She steps back to him, the hand not holding the dagger running down his chest and abdomen, her fingertips pressing firmly into his flesh. His eyes slam shut, and he lets out a very undignified groan. Before his mind has any chance to stop reeling from her touch, her lips press against the side of his neck, just where it meets his shoulder. Her fingers flit randomly over his torso, touching him wherever she likes, while her lips press a very deliberate trail of kisses up his neck, over his pulse and across his jaw. Finally, she kisses him square on the mouth, her tongue dragging slowly over his bottom lip. And all the while, he can do nothing but stand motionless with his arms at his sides.
She pulls back from the kiss, and he is both grateful for the relief and mourning the loss of her touch. “So if I command you not to come, you won’t be able to, even if your body is burning for it. Is that right?” Her hand trails lower, across the front of his painfully tight leather trousers. He nods, fighting to keep down another truly pained groan. Mercifully, she works her hand over him, both giving him a bit of much-needed relief and adjusting him into a marginally more comfortable position.
She nips his lower lip, almost playfully, and takes her hand away.
“Now, here’s what’s going to happen: you are going to use your magic… and whatever else I want… to give me the most intense pleasure I can possibly stand and make me come. And if I’m feeling generous when it’s all over, and I’ve had my fill, I might just let you come, too.” Her voice is steady and deep, and filled with a torturous, thrilled sort of pleasure. He can hear in her voice that it is far more than just the promise of pleasure that she enjoys – the very fact that she has him in thrall delights her. “Now take us to my bedchamber.”
All on its own, his magic surrounds them, and in a blink they stand in the middle of her luxurious bedroom.
“The lights, if you would, please,” she murmurs, stepping away. With a thought, half the candelabras in the room are lit, giving the room a soft glow that makes her look even lovelier than before. She smiles gently, every bit the sweet little Belle he’s come to know, and then turns and walks away. She sets the dagger down on the vanity beside her bed. Her smile turns mischievous as she catches his eyes in the mirror, and she begins unlacing her bodice.
Rumpelstiltskin had always imagined it would be terrifying to have someone else control the dagger, to be rendered completely powerless in spite of being the most powerful creature in all the land, to be at someone else’s mercy, to be forced to do the kind of unspeakably evil things even he would not do of his own free will. But with Belle holding the dagger, compelling him to do these things for her, with desire instead of darkness in his heart, feels erotic and thrilling and utterly wonderful. Her possessing the dagger feels as though she is caressing his very soul, claiming him as her own, and in that moment he wants her to be his mistress forever.
She strips her clothes away slowly, layer by layer, until she stands completely bare in front of him, her dark hair falling over the pale skin of her shoulders. Her back is still to him, and in the mirror, he sees her skin flush pink with lust, and what can only be some precious bit of innocence, as she picks up the dagger again. She presses a kiss to the blade, then flicks her tongue across it, and he hisses at the sensation. She glances at him in the mirror, and grins. She lays the blade flat against her chest and drags it down between her breasts, and the heat of her body consumes him. He feels the loss like a chill when she sets it back on the table.
Finally, she turns around and lets him see her fully, all smooth porcelain skin and sensuous curves. She crooks her finger at him, beckoning him to her, and he is all too happy to obey. She takes his wrists and tugs his arms around her waist, then drapes her own arms around his neck. “Kiss me,” she commands, and then presses her lips to his. He kisses her back, pressing his tongue into her mouth as she pulls him as close as she can, her breasts and bare skin soft and warm against him.
“I’ve seen the way you look at me, Rumpelstiltskin,” she whispers, her lips still brushing against his. “Tell me what you think of when you stare at me.”
He doesn’t need the dagger’s magic to compel him to answer. “You’re so beautiful, Belle,” he murmurs, kissing her between words. “I can’t take my eyes off of you. I want you more than anything. I can’t stop thinking about you.”
She smiles and kisses him again, drawing his tongue into her mouth and sucking on it. She leaves him dizzy when she pulls away. “Show me what that magic feels like.”
He obeys, and with a moment’s concentration to set the magic right, he sends a gentle wave of it through her body. Her eyes fall shut and she sighs, head tilting back a little. He gathers the magic at her core, intensifying it, and Belle grinds he whole body against him, moaning before the wave subsides. She smiles and leans into him, nipping at his earlobe.
“You know how to pleasure a woman, don’t you? Start off gentle, with a slow build up and a long, intense orgasm. Hmm?” He swallows hard and nods. “Good.” She steps backward towards the bed and pulls him along with her. She stops just as the backs of her knees touch the bedspread.
“You can kiss me and touch me if you want to. But remember, you don’t come or move from where you stand until I say so. Now make me scream.”
He groans, and sends another pulse of magic through her, stronger and more intense than the first. He follows it with more, sending the magic through her body in slow but persistent waves. He takes full advantage of her permission to touch, running his hands all along her back and hips and arms, filling his hands with her breasts as he kisses her neck and shoulders. Belle leans into his every touch, moaning softly as he pleasures her. She runs her hands through his hair, tugging at it, and rubs her whole body against his, seeming to love the feel of the smooth leather of his pants and his rough skin against hers.
He watches her as the pleasure becomes more intense, thrills at the way her face contorts with the sensations and she gasps and sighs. Suddenly, she slips through his fingers, falling backwards onto the bed, the sensations too intense to keep standing. He whimpers as she slides all the way onto the bed, too far away for him to touch. But he continues to pleasure her with magic, driven by her commands and his own desire to watch her fall apart.
She writhes on the bed, moving in the most provocative and erotic ways, moving like he is there with her, inside her and making love to her. She clutches at the blankets as her moans grow louder and more insistent. He throws gentleness to the wind and sends a much stronger pulse of magic through her. She cries out, and the sound goes straight to his cock. He pushes her on relentlessly now, more and more, faster and faster, his own heart racing as he watches her tense up, moving only with sudden little jerks. The next pulse of magic sends her over the edge, and as promised, he makes her scream, a wordless cry of ecstasy as she rides out the wave of pleasure.
She is the most beautiful creature he has ever seen, and were he not bound to her will, he may very well have come just from the pleasure of watching her. His cock throbs as he watches her catch her breath, and he hopes that she’s had her release, she’ll let him come as well. As it turns out, he’s not quite that lucky. “Again,” she pants. “Do it again.” And as much as he wants to come, she is so utterly gorgeous like this that he would likely give her what she wants even if he was not a command.
He doesn’t bother with a slow and gentle start this time, instead dragging her right down into depths of pleasure. Yet she seems even more frantic this time as he pushes her on, needing this release even more than her first. As much as he wants to come, in that moment he needs to touch her, kiss her, feel her body moving against his. She falls apart again, her cries broken and needy and absolutely wonderful.
She’s still panting and struggling to catch her breath when she sits up, a fiery hunger in her eyes, when she reaches around and grabs his ass with both hands. She drags him down on top of her, her mouth crashing against his. Her hands are all over him, warm and firm and demanding. “Kiss me,” she gasps, her lips barely leaving his. “Touch me. More than just magic this time.” He all but growls in agreement, kissing his way down her neck and chest as she urges him downward. She’s already writing from the magic by the time he kisses his way down her body. But he does not push her on so recklessly this time – this part he wants to savor.
He buries his lips at her center, immediately nipping and licking with his tongue and lips and teeth, offering every last bit of pleasure he can think to give. Her taste on his tongue leaves him dizzy, and stirs up more lust within him, even more than he imagined possible. He buries his fingers inside her as she rocks her hips against him. Her legs wrap around his neck and her over his back, encouraging him. He vaguely realizes that he’s bucking his hips into the mattress, thrusting in a pointless attempt to gain some relief. He can barely keep his focus, his attention torn between the way she clenches around his fingers, hot and wet and tight, the taste of her, the magic to pleasure her, and his own futile attempt at relief. Without her command, he’s sure he would have come a hundred times over by now, held in this beauty’s thrall, making her come apart over and over.
Somehow, though he can barely find the presence of mind to coordinate it all at once, she comes. Her cries are muffled by the blood pounding in his ears, but the taste of her on his tongue and the feel of her around his fingers and bucking beneath him is ecstasy in itself.
She stays limp on the bed, panting as he sits up, and he thinks she may finally be spent. He watches the rise and fall of her breasts as her breathing slows, and studies the fine layer of sweat that covers her skin. Finally she sits up, her eyes calm, but mischievous. She pushes him backwards off the bed as she stands. She still trembles as she goes, and it takes her a second to find steady footing. It’s more than a little bit flattering.
She wraps herself around him slowly, sensually, caressing his back as she nips at his earlobe. The sound he makes is something between a groan and a whimper. He’s painfully hard, and the light pressure of her hips against his is more torture than pleasure.
“You look so desperate,” she whispers. She reaches between them and slowly unlaces his trousers, then reaches inside to pull him free. “Do you need it? Are you dying to come?” She’s enjoying this entirely too much.
“Yes,” he manages, his voice strangled and sounding every bit as needy as he feels. Belle grips his shaft and rubs him up and down, rubbing the head with her thumb as she goes. He reaches up to grip her arms tightly, and the dagger’s magic does not stop him.
“I love seeing you like this, desperate and straining with no control. You look so gorgeous.” She kisses him and slides her tongue across his. “I could watch you like this for days.” He whimpers, and she laughs low and sultry in his ear. “Tell me how much you want it. Don’t hold anything back. Beg me to let you come.”
He struggles to find words as she works her hands against him. Were it not for the dagger’s compulsion, he would never manage to speak anything more than lustful nonsense. “Please, mistress, please let me come. I’ve given you what you asked, now give me this, please.” He pulls her closer, burying his face in her shoulder, the smell of her hair filling his head. She giggles – giggles, the cruel wench – and bites down on his shoulder. “So close, I need to come. Please, gods, please let me come, Belle!” The words come out sounding like a vicious growl, but underneath they are desperate and pleading because he needs to come, he needs it more than he needs to keep breathing, and he loves her so much –
It takes exactly three strokes of her perfect hands before he comes. He clutches her so tightly he fears he may crush her, and a truly inhuman, beastly roar escapes him. All through it, Belle’s precious fingers never stop moving, even as his seed spills onto her hands. Finally, when the tremors subside he loosens his grip, he thinks that her as cruel as her torment was, the reward for his patience was well worth it.
Belle kisses his throat with a pleased little hum.
Rumpelstiltskin collapses limply into his own bed, alone.
Definitely his favorite fantasy.
When his heart beat finally slows to a normal speed, he cleans himself and the bed up with a bit of magic. It’s very late, and Belle – the real Belle – has long since gone to bed, and will no doubt wake him up at her usual ungodly hour for breakfast. So he rolls over and pushes the blankets aside, and finds a comfortable position. He can’t help but think that his sleep would be much more restful with some added warmth by his side. But he forces himself not to dwell on the thought, and falls asleep quickly.
He’s midway through breakfast when he realizes that his mind used the word love in the fantasy.