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The Wicked Stepmother	By : Ksennin Category: M through R > Once Upon A Time Views: 41904 -:- Recommendations : 2 -:- Currently Reading : 2
Disclaimer: I do not own Once Upon A Time nor any of the show's characters. I make no money from publishing this work.

Chapter List
- 4
- 5
- 6
It was Sunday and for once Emma wished she had school. Or even detention. But no, there was no escape from what she'd seen. It felt like she'd taken a drug. The cool metal she touched was cold as the Arctic and sun-baked concrete was the Gobi Desert. Looking at a wall had her imagine Regina pinning her against it, seeing an ice cream truck made her fantasize that Regina was running a Popsicle over her body. Going to Granny's was at least a distraction.

She didn't go inside. She sat on the bench across the street. It was a nice day, everyone would assume she was just people-watching. Not pinching her thighs, trying to cure herself of thoughts of Regina. Of Ruby. Both of them, and her.

It was a slow day for the diner, Emma could see through the windows. Ruby spent more time cleaning than serving people. Her abbreviated ensemble and punkish leather collar were wasted on a few day laborers who'd skipped breakfast and hurried through brunch. But Granny was letting her off easy. When the place was spic and span, Ruby leaned on the counter, staring off into the distance. Emma saw Granny ask her if she'd like to sit down, rest her feet. Ruby shook her head.

Emma watched as Granny gave up on the abandoned diner. She locked up the register, gave Ruby the keys, read her a last-minute Riot Act, and left. Ruby locked up after her and took an envelope out of her apron. She pulled it open and looked inside like someone with a full wallet going through their cash. Her cheeks were red.

Emma felt herself lifted up, walked across the street, and her hand brought against the glass door. Right where the sign was flipped to Closed.

The envelope put away, Ruby opened the door for her. She locked it behind her.

“You said we should talk.” Emma planted herself in a booth, almost scrunched down in her seat.

Ruby's hands were cinched together. “Yeah. You want something to eat? I could throw some eggs on. No charge.”

“I'm not hungry.” Emma scrubbed at her eye. It felt like she had a screw in it. “What'd you want to say?”

Ruby sat down across from her. She straightened out her hair, stopping with her hand twined in her fringe. “I don't know. You wanna... share your feelings? Maybe?”

Her eye twitched until it was done. “What, like I wrote an essay?”

“I just want to know—shit, are you telling anyone?” Ruby snapped.

“No!” Emma shook her head, like she couldn't put enough distance between her and that idea. It was unthinkable. “I would never do that to her… Did you tell her about me?”

No point asking who.

“I didn't,” Ruby said, holding her hair aside now. It trickled through her fingers. "She wouldn't have liked that."

"Okay." Emma nodded to herself, before resting her chin on her hands as if to hold it still. "So I'm not going to tell. And you're not going to tell. So… should I leave?"

A single, solitary follicle stayed between Ruby's fingers. The rest laid limply against her scalp. She pulled at the strand of hair. Making it taut. "I thought you might be curious."

"Curious?"

"About us. I thought you would have questions."

Emma felt her jaw going slack. "I do."

"I'm not ashamed. I'll tell you anything."

"About Regina?"

A shudder seemed to go through Ruby at the name, climaxing in a nod. "Yes."

"About what you do together?"

Ruby's lips worked over each other, neither appearing fully until she pulled the wayward hair off her head. Then her lips set. "Ask me anything."

"How did it start?" Emma asked with a dry mouth.

"The museum." Ruby leaned back, sprawling across the wall of the booth. "You remember that adult art exhibit a few years back? Everyone was so scandalized. Well, I went there. I still can't believe they let me in. A lot of those paintings, I couldn't even see why anyone would object to them. They were just people! But some… yeah, those I understood. They made you feel things, way deep down. Made you think about pain, pleasure. One of them sort of held onto me. It was beautiful. I bought a copy later. I keep it in my room, hidden, but sometimes I look at it. When I'm alone, I mean."

Her eyes were hooded, soon closed.

"It's of this woman. She's not naked, but her clothes are so tight that they're almost a straitjacket. Her hands are behind her back—maybe they're bound, or maybe she was just holding them that way. There's a rope around her neck too. Not like a leash, or a noose. Like… silk. To keep her from breathing when she's not supposed to breathe. And there's a blindfold over her eyes. All you can really see is her mouth. It's open and… not quite smiling, but not quite screaming either.

"She looks so beautiful, Emma. I can't explain it. Maybe the description said she was in pain, maybe the artist intended for her to be in pain, but I could just tell that it was good. She wanted it."

Emma could picture it, like a quick glimpse of something TV-MA while you were flipping through channels. You hoped no one saw it, you pretended not to see anything, but really, you wanted to know. "How long did you look at it?"

"Long enough for Regina to notice. She, uh, brought me to drink. My mouth had gotten dry and I hadn’t noticed, but somehow she had. She started talking to me about how good it was to see a young woman with an interest in art; you know her spiel. I was in awe of her, even then. I just went along as we walked through the museum, always from all the people who would've loved to listen to the Mayor chatting up a hot young thing. She asked me how it made me feel. I was in high school then, so I'd written enough essays to bullshit about female oppression and speaking up for yourself. And she said…"

That's very insightful. Although I must say, it just makes me horny.

Emma swallowed. "Did she touch you there?"

"No. Not for a long time. But she told me she had this… collection. And that I could see it, if I wanted. I…" Ruby's jaw twitch. The memory seemed powerful. She opened her eyes to look at Emma, trying to share it, split it between them. "I knew it was wrong. No, not wrong… that's what people would call it, but it wasn't wrong. But I knew that a lot of people wouldn't approve. I guess that's why I agreed. And… she did touch me. Just her hand. She just took my hand in hers and squeezed and." Ruby shook her head, breaking her eye contact with Emma. "It sounds like so little. But she can be overwhelming. You know, right? You know how she can be.

"Regina ran her thumb over the back of my hand. It felt like I'd been alone, without ever realizing it, and now I was finally part of something.

"The next day I went to her house. I wanted to go there all night, I laid awake in bed, but I couldn't move. I thought about it, but I would picture the stairs creaking or Granny waking up and it just—in the morning, it was like no big deal. I told myself I just couldn't sleep. Insomnia or something. But I went to Regina's house."

Ruby bit her lip. For a few moments she just breathed, her eyes dashing away from Emma's. Looking out the window, around the diner, like someone might've snuck in just to eavesdrop on them. Emma looked down at her hands, flat on the table. Her thumbs had wrapped around the edge. The knuckles were white.

"You couldn't think of anything else," Emma asked, almost sullenly.

Ruby faced her again. She had a thousand-yard stare, an addict's stare, excited and obscene and rueful, all at once. Regrets, but not enough to regret what had happened. Regret that it hadn't happened sooner. Rueful that it hadn't happened more.

"Anyone else," Ruby said. "You've seen a lot of her paintings. They're not really erotic unless you know what to look for. But this time, they spoke to me. I could see what was beneath them. And she showed me her private collection. Down in the basement." She ran her hand over her face. A light glaze of sweat was building. She grabbed a napkin to wipe it away. "She was so gentle. Not that she touched me; not then. But the way she talked to me. And looked at me. I was so used to being judged. The way I dress and the way I talk and act. No one ever really listened to me. I had to shout just for them to notice, but not with her. She listened."

Emma breathed at the same time as Ruby. "She understood you."

"She was me," Ruby insisted. "She was a part of me or I was a part of her." Ruby almost stood, turning and sliding a little ways out of the booth, then stopping. Her hand was on the table, the fingers pressed flat. Hers and Emma's pointed to each other. "Are you sure you don't want something? Not even a glass of water?"

"Finish the story."

Ruby sat back down. "Have you seen the private collection?"

"No. You know I haven't."

"It is the kind of thing you can… almost smell on someone. It wasn't, like, donkeys and midgets or anything like that. It wasn't uncouth, it was Regina's. Just beautiful people. Enjoying themselves. I understood that, you'd understand it, but so many people would just see the obscene things. The breasts, the cocks, the whips, the blood. But that was just a part of the pictures."

"Just part of life."

"Yes. Yes." Ruby banged her hand on the table. "She took me back upstairs and she showed me some of her own photographs, in her office. She was a budding photographer. That's how she put it. Not amateur. Budding. And it wasn't tits and ass, it was sunsets and nature. You know how this town can be. She made it look like a fairy tale."

There's beauty all around, Ms. Lucas. You just have to look for it.

Is that what I'm doing here? Looking for beauty?

Perhaps it's me that's looking. After all, I seem to have found it. At long last.

Emma looked at Ruby's hand on the table. Closer to her than it had been before. There was something tempting about it. Something curious. Had it touched Regina? Had it entered her? Had Regina kissed it, sucked on it, ran it across her face?

"When was your first kiss?"

"Later. Always later. She made me wait for it—want it. That first day, the sun was setting. She asked me if I'd like to take some pictures in the good light. She let me use her camera. Regina had on this dress. Do you know the one? Alexander McQueen, I think. Red, with this pattern on it. Your eyes follow it, but it never seems to end. She posed for me. Did little dances, made little faces. There wasn't anything naughty about it, but we could both feel something. The way I looked at her through the lens—you could see it when the photos developed. How I was in love with her.

"I came back later, to see the photos. She'd had one framed, and she gave it to me. I keep it hidden with the painting, but when I move out, I'm going to put it out in the open. She looks like a goddess in it."

"She always looks like a goddess," Emma said.

"It's amazing how people don’t see it," Ruby added. Her hand seemed to inch toward Emma, although maybe that was just a trick of the eye. "She asked if she could photograph me this time. I agreed. Some of the pictures were—a little embarrassing. I was flirting with her. I tugged on her my shirt, flipped my hair, you know. She didn't say anything about it, but I could tell she liked it.

"So I went back to her house and this time, she said she had a photo shoot in mind. We'd go to this spot she'd found and use her new camera. And she wanted to get me some special clothes. She took me to this boutique and we tried things on. I got her to put on some stuff. That scarf she wears sometimes? I bought it for her. I insisted. But my dresses, she bought them. I still have them."

"With your painting," Emma said. "And your picture of her."

"Some. There's one I lied about. I convinced Granny that I saved money to buy it. I hardly ever lied to her before—mostly she just doesn't ask. But I love it. It was the dress I wore that day. I feel like if I go for too long without feeling it on my skin, then. It'll just disappear."

"Where'd you go?"

"The river. A few miles past the old toll bridge, there's a lagoon. She actually got me to go in with my new dress on." Ruby smiled at the memory, not a tease, not a grin. An effervescent joy. Emma tried to remember seeing that before. It seemed almost private. "I had to lift it up and wade in up to my knees, but the pictures Regina took. It was how she saw me, and I could touch it, I could hold it in my hand!"

"She kept taking pictures of you."

"Yes." Ruby moved with blinding speed, taking her hand from the table to Emma's wrist. It felt right, the pressure she was putting on it. It felt real. "I know how people look at me. Cheap. Jailbait. When she photographed me, I looked beautiful."

"You are beautiful."

"Not like this. This was…" Ruby's eyes seemed misty. "Helen of Troy. Cleopatra. Angelina Jolie. Here. I brought some with me."

Ruby reached under the table, into the tiny, hip-hugging apron she wore. There was a pocket in the front of it. She brought out an envelope and pressed it into Emma's hand. Her hands slid away. Emma wondered if she wanted to put them back in her apron.

She opened the envelope. It hadn't been sealed, and she could imagine Ruby paging through it again and again. She took the pictures out, a thick stack of them. The first few were just of Ruby. She was wearing her waitress outfit, but it seemed more demure in the pictures. Maybe it was the way she was shy, a little awkward, unused to being photographed. Emma moved the photos from the front of the stack to the back as she went, the little sound filling up the diner. Louder than either of them breathing.

Ruby got used to the camera quick. She struck poses, girlish things, doing a little rock star hand gesture, grabbing herself, playing her leg like a guitar. Emma could imagine Regina behind the camera, smiling beatifically at the antics, laughingly urging her along.

Then some photos in black and white. They seemed more professional than the casual shots earlier, some monkeying around with the format. Regina being perfect again. Ruby wore a man's suit tailored to fit her femininity. She was more serious, though it alternated with shots of her cracking up, gesturing at the woman behind the camera. C'mon. Lighten up. Play with me. Let me have the camera. Who knew. In one photo, she jokingly choked herself with her own necktie. In the next, the tie led off the photo's borders, held by the photographer. Regina.

Emma looked up. Ruby was staring at her. Dining on every little face she made, every furrow in her brow, every squint and every wide eye. She was waiting for something.

Emma went to the next photo, still looking back at Ruby as if asking a question, then her eyes dropped back down. It was the lagoon. Ruby wore a dress. It was amazing, shades of red and black, sleek and flattering, with leather forming a kind of jacket to top off its tight curves. It seemed like the kind of thing Regina would wear when she was Emma's age. A princess's gown.

The first picture, even Ruby herself seemed to be marveling at how well it suited her. Her face was set in an impressed grin. But in the next few, a change had come over her. Some coaching from Regina—something she'd said or done. But now Ruby looked god-like. Unapproachable. Impervious. Ethereal. Wading into the water, she was a mermaid visiting home.

There was one picture done on a timer. Ruby and Regina, sitting in the hatchback of Regina's Kia—the car she drove around on business as opposed to pleasure. Regina was drying off Ruby's bare feet with a towel, playing with her toes, a set of knee-highs next to them. Ruby was laughing. Regina was grinning. They looked like two people talking without words.

You are a goddess, Ms. Lucas. Never let anyone tell you different.

Come on. If anyone here's a goddess… it's not me.

I'm no goddess. In fact, I'd much rather be the Devil. It seems like so much more fun.

After that, the photographs moved inside. Regina's house. At first, the natural light of the windows. Ruby in jeans and a tanktop, her bra visible, her panties not because they weren't there when her trousers rode low. It was more than she wore as a waitress, but it seemed more explicit. Intimate. Emma instinctively looked up to see if anything had seen her looking at this and caught Ruby, still watching her. Tongue traveling her lips.

That just forced her attention back to the photographs. Now they were away from the windows, or at night, or in rooms with no windows. The look was different, some calculated lighting done by Regina. It threw sharp shadows across Ruby's body, camouflaging her in them. She wore those, and lingerie. Camisoles. Babydolls. Corsets. Kimonos. A dozen other things Emma didn't know the name of. Regina seemed to have an insane variety of bras and panties, and they all suited Ruby to a tee. She had a body made for sin, as Mary-Margaret would say.

Then Ruby was wearing nothing at all. The camera was close to her. Consuming her. It caught her face. Her hands. Her legs. Her breasts, covered by her arm. Her sex, hid by her fingers. Her ass, gloriously unhidden.

Her lips, parted.

"She did it herself first," Ruby said. Emma would've thought that would shock her, but it seemed perfectly alright. Like the photos were speaking to her out loud. "I was uncomfortable, so she took her clothes off. I still remember… she was wearing a red bra and red panties. They were so damn sexy. I thought about her wearing those all the time, under all those stylish suits. That's what made me do it. Realizing that I was naked all the time too. With her, I mean."

Emma went to the next photo, the last photo. It was a self-portrait. Regina in a bodice, a choker, gloves, boots. All black, all leather. She held a riding crop. The kind you'd use to control an animal.

"That's when you kissed her," Emma said softly. She would've.

"No." Gently, Ruby pulled the pictures out of Emma's slack hands. She put them back in the envelope. "It wasn't until my high school graduation that I really…" Ruby's hands tightened on the envelope, a note of possessiveness. The paper crinkled as she tucked it away. "She photographed me when I was on stage. It seemed so innocent; everyone was taking pictures. But when I had her eyes on me, I couldn't breathe. I could barely speak, barely even accept my diploma. Sweat ran down my body. I felt it over my breasts. Between my legs. Everyone else went out partying, but I saw Regina's car at the curve. She looked at me. She just—" Ruby held up her hand. It was shaking, but she still managed to crook her finger. "So I went with her."

"Did you know what was going to happen?" Emma asked, not sure how she knew. But she did.

"Part of me." Ruby half-smiled. "I felt… wonderfully alone with her. Alone together. All my friends had booze and dancing, but I had her. I was special. We went back to her place—I didn't tell Granny where I'd gone, which I'd always used to do. She just assumed I was out partying with everyone else. Regina, she popped a bottle of champagne, showed me how to drink it. How first you smell, then you toast, then you drink. Slowly. Not like cheap beer. Then she said something about getting me out of my scratchy robe. The room she'd taken me to had this amazing mirror—it looked like something Marie Antoinette would own. I looked at that and I think I saw myself as Regina saw me. I'd never looked at myself that way before. As a woman."

"What'd she say to you?" Emma had to know. Had to.

Ruby closed her eyes, remembering. She wouldn't share it. It was too private. Hers and hers alone.

So, my pet... what are you going to do when you grow up?

I thought I was grown up.

Not quite yet… no one's made a woman out of you yet. If they had, you wouldn't still be working at Granny's diner.

I don't know… I'll figure something out.

Have you considered being a whore?

A what?

If you were a whore, I could give you some money and fuck you right now. I'd fuck you so hard, Ruby. I'd make you come. I'd make you mine.

"I watched in the mirror," Ruby said. "Like it was happening to someone else. I had to keep telling myself it was happening to me. That it was really happening, and that it was happening to me. She took my clothes off. I had all this time to stop her, but I just kept wanting it more and more. As she took my robe off. My shirt. My bra. Then she kissed me."

"What was it like?"

"I can't describe something like that. It was… perfect. I took my panties off for her. Then she held me from behind, with an arm around my throat like a bad guy taking a hostage in some action movie. But her other hand… Emma, her other hand… I saw it in the mirror."

Look, Ruby. Look how you moan, and sigh, and scream, like a good little slut. You're a whore, Ruby. You're my whore.

"Was she gentle?" Emma asked. People were always gentle on the CW.

Ruby smiled, her teeth showing. "No. She was rough with me. She knew I wouldn't break. I had bruises the next day. Sore spots to make me remember. I had to stop dressing like such a slut so no one would realize. But I wasn't a slut anymore, or a party girl, or whatever you want to call it. I was Regina's. And nothing we ever did could be bad or dirty.

"Afterward… I felt like I'd lost my virginity all over again. But it wasn't a disappointment this time, it was how it was supposed to feel. This time my world really had changed." Ruby reached down again. Down into her apron. "I got a letter the next day. From Regina. It was a contract."

She put it on the table, passed it to Emma. Their hands touched as she took it.

Emma read. Ruby's toes met hers under the table, but she couldn't bring herself to look up from the words before her. She felt Ruby's foot—shoe off, stockings silken as a lie—run up her leg. Unconsciously, she spread her knees as it went higher. She didn't close them as Ruby's toes ran teasingly over the beginning of her thigh.

I, Ruby Lucas, of free mind and under no duress, do offer my will and body to Regina Mills, to use as she sees fit to the satisfaction of her wants and desires. Furthermore, that her care and guidance will make me a better woman, a better lover, and lead to my own personal pleasure. Thus, she may:

Call upon my time, abilities, and services at her convenience.

Have unfettered use of my body, at the times and locations of her choosing, and with whatever individuals she deems worthy.

Photograph or record me in what way she sees fit, doing what she asks of me or acting under my own initiative.

Ruby's foot ascended to the inside of Emma's thigh. She let it push her legs open, but Ruby stopped when her toes were under Emma's skirt. The blonde read the same sentence three times before Ruby ran her big toe over Emma's flesh.

Emma glanced up. Her brief glimpse of Ruby's smirk told her the other woman had suspected she wasn't wearing panties.

In return, I shall:

Obey her commands as best I can.

Reveal to her my innermost desires, unashamed, knowing it is her fervent wish to help me fulfill them.

Inform her of my thoughts and feelings, knowing that her wisdom will show me how to shape these to further my development as a person and as her submissive.

Emma squirmed like a worm on a hook. It felt unbelievable. She'd been this turned on before, although never by a goddamn business contract, but to have these feelings and to also have them met… have them answered… She thought of Ruby's foot, soaked in her, and tried to trap it between her thighs, get it inside her. Ruby, smirk growing, moved too fast for her. Her foot ran up and down Emma's thighs, never ending up where Emma wanted it. Needed it. And still she kept reading.

This agreement is done in the knowledge that my mistress does not wish to demean me as a person, nor to harm me in any way except that which I will enjoy and find fulfillment in. To the best of her abilities, my mistress will not interfere with my own responsibilities to friends, family, or work, except insomuch as it mutually satisfies us or helps my personal development as she deems appropriate.

Emma moaned as Ruby's cool, lacquered toenails tickled her clit. She spread her legs wider and Ruby finally gave her what she'd been craving, massaging her pussy with the soft, taunting toes of her right foot. Emma breathlessly wiggled in her seat, eyes barely open but still wide enough to keep reading.

Should I for any reason find this agreement no longer satisfactory, I may leave at any time by verbally notifying my mistress. She may similarly cancel this agreement for any reason. Until such a time, I am my mistress's slave and property, to do with as she sees fit, for as long as she sees fit. My signature shows that her pain I will find more satisfying than any other's pleasure.

Ruby's name was signed below. A hurried scrawl.

"I barely read to the end before I signed it," Ruby said, panting as hard as Emma.

Emma wondered if it was the memory doing that to Ruby or her. Then she stopped wondering about everything as Ruby twisted her foot like she was trying to extinguish a smoldering cigarette butt.

"Don't fight it. You know you don't want to fight it. Traffic is horrible this time of day. Granny won't be back for an hour yet. We can go in back… be alone… you can touch me… or I can touch you… Regina's taught me so much."

Ruby took Emma's hand from where it'd been white-knuckled on the table. She brought it to her breasts, but Emma didn't have it in her to feel them. She just locked her fingers with Ruby's and felt their warmth, clutched to Ruby's chest.

Emma was almost standing, still crammed in the booth but her hips and legs jerking spastically, trying to get Ruby's foot inside her. She wouldn't be a virgin anymore, but she didn't care. She wanted to come. Just once, and then she could be normal again.

Ruby held the heel of her foot against Emma's cunt, too big for her to get inside, wet toes dampening her bunched-up skirt. But just the pressure was so much that Emma couldn't ask for more, couldn't touch herself, couldn't think. She was putty in Ruby's hands, and Ruby wasn't even the puppeteer, just a puppet. An extension of Regina. A pet.

Ruby moved Emma's hand up, off the soft material of her top and onto the infinitely softer skin of her clavicle. And then, up to her leather collar. To the small, decorative metal tag that hung from it. Ruby made Emma take it in her hand, the cold metal burning her feverish skin. Emma opened her eyes, sensing that Ruby was trying to show her something.

There was writing on the tag, too small to see from any distance. It read Property of Regina Mills.

Emma felt her body turn hot and wet. Ruby brought her fingers up to her mouth. Took them inside, just like she had Regina, just like she had everything Regina had ever told her to.

"You've been touching yourself, haven't you?" It wasn't a question.

Emma pulled her hand back. She couldn't. She wasn't Ruby, in thrall to Regina, subsumed in her. She wouldn't be. And though her body moved like a crippled, hurting thing, she threw herself out of the booth and away from Ruby.

The other woman set her bare foot down on the tile floor. It was wet.

They stared at each other, Ruby in the booth, Emma against the counter, hanging onto it for dear life. She knew, if Ruby went to her, touched her, kissed her, she would give in. There was only so much she could resist.

But Ruby just sat there. Slowly, making sure Emma could see, she spread her legs. And her hands returned to her apron.

Emma ran outside, the door automatically locking behind her. Even that teensy separation cleared Emma's head a little, let her force in thoughts of baseball and Mitt Romney and kittens. But she still wasn't clear enough to run the right way. She fled around the corner, running back along the building so she passed Ruby at the window.

Ruby was touching herself in earnest now, head tilted back, strands of hair lovingly clinging to her face, held by a sudden sweat. Her open mouth worked in endless circles, widening, closing, but no sound came out. It was all trapped inside, waiting. If Emma stayed, she'd hear her orgasm. Right through the window, where anyone could hear. See.

Even though Ruby's eyes were closed, she still felt Emma's eyes on her. She paused, bringing her fingers to her mouth and tasting their wetness. She made the same face she had when she'd tasted Emma.

"Go see Regina," she mouthed, her hand trailing back down her body. "Go see her."
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The Wicked Stepmother