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Playgirl	By : Obsolescence Category: Singers/Bands/Musicians > Marilyn Manson Views: 2350 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. I do not know Marilyn Manson. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1
- 2
Genre: Angst, chaptered, violent
Word count: 25.223
Pairing(s): Manson/Tim, Sascha/Tim
Characters: Manson, Tim, & Sascha
Warnings/Spoilers: This story contains extreme abuse, rape, torture, sex, cursing, and Swedish.
Author Notes: Every review you give will go to the change the way Manson fan fiction is written fund. Thank you for your support and donation.

Also, there is more than one chapter to this, if you want the others just say so in your review. As my profile says I write for me and I have a hard time knowing if a reader wants more.

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Fleeing touches and fake smiles. Premieres were usually this way, standing silently and nodding when need-be. But things never seemed right now.

Silently listening to his words watching as he gave me warning looks from under his glasses. I never said much, now, just keeping my mouth shut, even when we were alone preferring my own head to any more loaded words from him.

Luckily red carpets were quick, through and usually painless. A few steps, then some pictures maybe and interview then we wander into the inside. Dawning a different sort of spectacles for the show, I tried to enjoy the few moments that I didn’t live in this reality instead I was made of clay, and wondering around with fake ghouls and ghosts.

But every few moments a sneaking hand would stroke my thigh.

“What do you think you are wearing?”

“Clothing.” Emotionless to perfection.

“You are not wearing that.”

“But I am.” He moved slowly, irritable today, Dita and Lily still in Scotland. No doubt relaxing in a spa as he worked, coming back to Los Angeles, for work. I sure some part of him didn’t mind for his faithful doppleganger waited for him, waiting on his beck and call.

Long since the will to fight back and survive had dwelled in me. His fingers curled around fabric that he must have bought for me, he tossed the silky fabric at my head.

“Change.” And I did.

Things have a way of falling into place, life actions lead to reactions if you forgive the MDFMK pun. What goes around comes around, or karma is also another way to describe the aforementioned.

Fuck up a life and someone with more sadism, then you could ever dream, will ruin yours. As it seems, all my years of harassing and ruining have made me into what I am. A broken lowly man, wife wondered off to move back in with her parents when she found unexplainable hickies on my chest.

He should know the dangers of getting found out, but his control always seemed to branch out, further then expected, maybe he made Dita do things against her will. But Dita’s security was not my concern I couldn’t help her. I couldn’t even help myself.

“Lovely”

“I know.”

“As always.” His words precise. I tired to ignore the way his fingers touched the fabric of the clothes. His hands moving up to my neck.

Silence now, as cheesy songs about not being comfortable where you are and wanting something new ravished my conscious mind. I try never to associate myself with children’s movies but I could identify. Not with Jack, no never with the protagonist or the antihero, no I was Sally, in love but not getting what I needed, in a sense.

As she sang her song, I fought back tears, not because I sensed tragedy, But the song seemed to strike the right string in my heart. Silently remembering the lyrics deciding that I would download Fiona Apple’s version and listen to it as my funeral march.

Slowly, horribly, his finger’s found my face. I tried not to look at him. My eyes to the ground, knowing it gave him the satisfaction. But I didn’t want to look at him, those silent words that he communicated. That would make me fear him. No, I refuse to look.

“Tim, we have time.”

“I know.”

“You look so plain.”

“I know.”

“You seem to know a lot tonight.”

“I think I know some things.”

“Don’t think. It would give you lines”

“I know.”

Again his hand was on my thigh. I knew he was loving the exhilaration of claiming me publicly, He had done it side stage, between sets, quickly claiming . . .

No.

No, no, no. Get out of my head. This is supposed to be a Disney movie.

“Come on, sit with me.”

No. I followed him to his sofa, making sure my body was positioned away from him. But that didn’t stop him he just moved closer, his lips on mine.

No.

Again my features focused in on the movie. I was craving a cigarette, luckily we were in the back. I leaned toward him and quietly told him that I would be back.

He snarled, I meandered lucidly to the door and found myself out in the back. Lighting a cigarette up slowly, trying not to let my fingers shake.

“D-do you want something to drink?” I said quickly.<

“Sure.” He motioned toward the bar. I always knew what he wanted to drink, I just made it and passed it off to the man, choosing not to drink. Again his lips found mine, the lips like licorice. I pulled away noting that his drink was gone. How long we sat in silence I didn’t know. I lacked a watch, a clock, or a sundial.<

“I’ll make you another one.” This time I chose to drink, downing at least two drinks before I made his, again downing another.

“You make me walk to drink?”

“It could have come sooner but I was drinking.”

“Making me work. Tsk.” His finger wavered in the air. He downed it a fast as I as downing mine.

“Are we almost out of time.”

“We can be late. Fashionably so.”

“Of course.”

If only if only I could block physical torment like I blocked memories. Fate to faith though and now here I was worshiping a megalomaniac (forgive the KMFDM reference.) His words rung in my inner ear as I sadly dropped the forgotten cigarette ash on the ground, sad I only had a drag. I returned inside to see the skeleton falling to the ground, singing his song of realization. I was glad it was almost over. He had a flight away from here.

“Tim.”

No. Anything but more of him. I pleaded with myself, being depraved and depressed enough to think it would work.

My mind liked working against me, Slowing faded memories long since forgotten flooded my mind.

Alone, cold, and young. Then the harness. My feet attached.

No.

I was young and naive and desperate. If this is what I had to do.<

Please, no.

“What’s you name again kid.” I was shaking my ankles secure in the stirrups , my back against the exam table.<

Slowly I muttered my name.

“If your good you can stay here for awhile.” I watched him snap on the rubber gloves.

I was ten what was I supposed to do? My parents had abandoned me, I only had this. This, the man with all the instruments that had a wife that kept me locked in his cellar with a gag in my mouth to keep me from talking.

No. I want to think of something else.

Then slowly his fingers pressed in.

Please, no. Anything but this. Manson’s better than this.

I cried out but he checked my small body throughly, deciding that I was clean he rolled his chair over to his table and grabbed a speculum.

I whimpered out in vain, clutching at the armrests. My nails digging into the fabric.

“Tim.” Sweet absolution. I looked over to Manson.

“Yeah?”

“We’re going to the after party I am getting a later flight.” I nodded slowly. Fighting back the discomfort.

“See there boy did that hurt?” I shook my head.

Then he gripped the handles and then he pushed. . .

I cried out, but my voice got lost in the applause the movie was over. I, quickly, left running to that bathroom to huddle alone in a stall to catch my breath. Manson’s better then this.

I am going insane.

“Tim.”

“Yeah.”

“We still have time.”

“I know.” His finger crooked at me. I came to the couch and again his lips were against mine I didn’t fight he’d get what he want at least the Vodka could help a bit.

Please. . . . Please.

His fingers closed around my cheeks, I couldn’t fight him and the scent and taste of the absinthe was suffocating.

“Tim?” It took a few moments for me to be able to respond.

“Yeah?”

“Come on.” I tried to compose myself as much as I could. Making my way out to follow him to the limo, such grandiosities for such a small blip. We sat, again, I coiled up in the corner. His fingers again found my thigh. I looked up at him.

“Why so sad rag-doll.” I failed to see the ironies and the connection from the movie.

“I’m not sad.”

“Poor little rag-doll, it seems I’ve missed a few stitches.”

“Please.” That must have been the word of the evening. Please.

“Please what?”

“Please.” I said again. Please kill me, please release me, please love me, please fuck me, please do something other than look at me with mixed eyes and silent lies.

His fingers undid the buttons on my shirt. I followed by undoing his. He phone the driver then telling him to take a scenic route.

Again his fingers snapped off buttons. The sound amplified, and echoing in my head. I was pushed into the seat. Again the word coming from my mouth but this time in Swedish

“Tack. Tack.” Manson scoffed.

“You know I hate it when you talk to me in Swedish.”

“Gör som du vill, leka med mej.”

“Tim don’t test my patience.”

“Communicate like a normal person?”

“Yes.”

His lips pushed against mine. I shivered, trying to ignore it. But resistance was futile. I was pushed against the seat. My clothes now abandoned on the floor. Slowly his fingers ran down my sides, still mostly clothed but leaving me venerable.

His fingers worked one into comfort. Making one believe that it won’t be so bad, but he, and then.

Slowly his lips slipped off my lips and he tongued my neck smearing his lipstick all over it.

I whimpered out.

That made him laugh, I nearly cried again. His fingers slipped down.

“Pretty little rag-doll.”

Some people are dolls stitched from remnants of other people, slowly molded and formed into something worthy something more than I but I was still a work of process. Fragile, naive, and despondent.

He had yet to give this scarecrow a brain, this tin man a heart, and this lion some courage. His lips were toying with me, he must be in a good mood, he is never this kind before sex. I tried to ignore his probing fingers moving further down.

Then the pain.

Dry, he wasn’t in a great mood, if we had no lube and he was in a great mood he may use spit, but no, he was a little irritated with me.

His fingers slowly implored me to relax. I just went slack against the seat. Knowing that fighting back wasn’t an option. Teeth bit into my neck, and I flinched.

He slipped further down and spread my legs.

I braced myself for the pain, and when it came I knew. Not because I could feel it oh no. I’m from Sweden we can be as cold as the poles. But because of his grunt. His hips moved slowly, reveling in the first few painful thrusts for me. I could barely feel them.

He picked up his pace and I let my body relax, faking out little moans, finding nothing in his rough sex.

And I tend to like it rough.

After a few minutes I lost interest in appeasing his ego. I laid there with my eyes closed hoping it would be done soon.

Then I felt it, he tore himself from my body grabbing me by the throat and throwing me against the floor.

“You’re like fucking a corpse.” His booted foot came down on my side. And there he crossed his ankles on my side.

”Tim?” I smiled.

“Ja? Sascha?”

“What do you think?”<

“About what?” He poured me another drink.

“This whole Columbine thing?”<

“Yeah that.” I thought for a moment. “I think it’s funny that we are in the same category as Mr. Oh-I-am-so-shocking-Manson.” Sascha laughed.

Then I laughed slowly, slightly.

Manson didn’t like it. He prowled above me as best as he could in the limo and grabbed my throat.

“What’s so funny?”

I shook my head. “Nothing. I’m sorry It was just that. . .”

“Make it up to me.”

I stared at him. Confused for a moment. His hand moved off my neck, he sat back, and I crawled over to him nearly begging for a bit of attention.

He was all I got. Now-a-days.

"What do you want?” He smirked.

“Worship your god, little plebeian.” I sighed and removed his shoes. Slowly moving up to remove his pants. My lips falling on the tops of his feet, and slowly up his calves.

I was the denizen of this malfunction. The foreigner allowed certain rites and when Twiggy left the king’s side as a mistress I took over the duty. All too eagerly. Being his brand new rag-doll.

“Good boy Tim.” I moved up to his thigh and placed light kisses on them. I saw him stir then his hips rocking ever so slightly. His fingers pushing against the back of my head. I moved up slowly.

My fingers moving up to his thigh. He then thought of something. His hands moved quickly and pushed my arms behind my back.

“Keep them to yourself.” I nodded sadly.

My mouth, again, touched his skin. I shivered in the thought of it. I let my tongue run along his shaft shuddering slightly. I watched him shiver as I did so. Moving my lips over the head.

“You, sure, are mouthy tonight.”<

“Why thank you. So now-”<

“Later, we’re out of time.”

“I know.”

“Again with all your knowing.”

I felt his fingers press against my scalp. “That’s the good boy I know.” I didn’t love the man, no, no mistress loves her patrons.

I slipped my lips down the shaft further. My tongue stroking the flesh that came into my mouth. His hips began toward my mouth. Urging me to take him all the way in. I could only oblige his every whim. I couldn’t handle that, not being able to sleep in a bed tonight, not with him not leaving for what I guessed another week. Appease him now and reap the rewards throughout the week.

His nails dug into my scalp, as he rocked his hips closer to my mouth I felt like I was suffocating, but I knew it would pass. He situated himself so he could rest his legs on my shoulders. He was smirking again. I couldn’t see his face but I knew it.

“Tim.” He whispered out as he moaned. “My little rag doll,”

I felt sick, as I bobbed my head up and down. Bile and vodka bubbling in my stomach. I knew I had to finish this quickly or I’d start to gag then vomit and that would make him very happy.

His hips forced themselves against my chin and nose. He was tensing now, I knew he was close and he knew he was close that didn’t mean that we wouldn’t do this again tonight, he’s missed his mistress.

His hands moved and pulled me away. I, silently, thanked him, much more of that and I’d be vomiting. But I also feared what he may have had in store.

“Give me one of your cigarettes.” I cocked my head to the side and moved to dig them out of my pants. I found them and handed him one along with a lighter.

“Now lay on your stomach.” I did. In much shame I laid on my stomach. He slid down and pushed into me. I gasped. I had no preparation, no time to prepare, at least there was some sort of lubricant now. I heard him strike the lighter once, twice, three times then the sound of the paper and the tobacco taking light.

“You’ve been good.” I laid there, knowing he was going to say more. “And being good deserves a reward.” I nodded and then he started to thrust into me. I gasped out. Knowing full well that rewards were somehow a punishment.

Then out of the blue I felt it. My nerves on end as the cigarette came crashing down on my back at the base of my spine. I mewled out a protest, whimpering and in tears. Then again the lighter was struck three times and he relit it. I swallowed air, as the warmth dissipated.

He thrust a few more times then again burned me this time higher up about the middle of my back. I, nearly, screamed. His cock thrusting violently into me by now. I clutched at the ground and listened as he lit it again. I braced myself for the burn. But it never seemed to come. He clutched onto my hips.

I could feel the heat from the cigarette on my side. His body was convulsing slightly. As his thrust became deeper and harder. Then he slowed down rocking in me slightly, to start the rhythm again. I panted, my body exhausted. He grunted at the effort of the final thrusts, his hands pulling up at my hips. Making them rise off the ground. He shivered as he spilled himself deep within me. And my hips fell to the floor. He pulled out quickly.

“Stay right there.” And of course I obeyed.

I knew he was putting on his clothes and fixing his make-up. Then the rustling of fabric stopped. His finger came sown and stroked the side of my ass.

“Hips up.” I slowly moved my hips up. His finger slid down and stroked my thigh Maybe at times like these I could love him, when he was gentle and nice to me. His fingers, then, slowly moved up to that sensitive skin between my two nether regions. Then -

Blinding white pain shot through me. I howled and sobbed, crumpling to the floor. My legs twitching.

“B-bri-an. . .”I choked out.

“What?!”He was getting violent again. Oh God, I couldn't handle this.

"Ma-Manson." I corrected myself.

"What?"

“Wh-why?”

“I needed an ashtray. Now clean yourself up, were here. I’ll see you inside.” I heard the door open and him exit. The door slamming behind him. I sobbed into the carpet of the limo. Clinging onto myself for some sort of comfort.

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Oh yes and if your interested a MM fan-fic live journal community - http://community.livejournal.com/sui_generis_fic/profile
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