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Here Be Dragons	By : drowsyfantasy Category: Singers/Bands/Musicians > Rammstein Views: 2701 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. I do not know the members of Rammstein. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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Rammstein is not Rammstein, but a group of sex slaves brought together under someone's roof. They used to be Rammstein until they ran afoul of their record label and were sold off to a personal collector.
Their new owner is a cruel and sadistic master who enjoys torturing them, especially Till. It is only when their Master is away on holidays do the slaves get any reprieve.
Right now is one of those times. Till is recovering from his latest bout with the Master, in which he received not only a brutal fucking, but several new (unwanted) piercings. He has to tend to them to make sure they don't get infected.
Till washes them with a saline solution, hissing in pain and swallowing tears.
Till looks down at his ravaged body: he has his original chest piercings, but the Master didn't let him stop there. He's got several in his face (the one in his tongue was because he refused to speak only when spoken to) and the Master re-opened the hole in his cheek.
The one they pierced for Ich tu dir weh. It's a painful reminder of what he once had.
The Master has given him home-made piercing jobs. Several more dot his chest (one in each nipple) and the one through his navel would almost be normal if not for the size and how much they hurt. One on his chest got infected and he almost died. He quickly learned to treat them on his own and not wait for someone else to do it for him.
The ones in his groin are the most painful. They're fairly recent, though not fresh. There's a ring on the tip of his penis, and that hurts mostly when he's aroused - not that he finds himself aroused a lot these days.
In fact, the Master is fond of many forms of body alteration. Till has a few tattoos, none of which were given outside the home. The Master seems to be an expert at this, because at least they're clean even though they hurt like the Devil.
Each of the members of Rammstein have a tattoo above their left hip of the Master's seal - the one he puts on all his letters and official correspondence.
They belong to him, now, so he can put his mark on them.
They must also wear heavy leather collars, just in case the Master wants to put a leash on. They aren't chained by the wrists or ankles unless they're being punished or it's part of the sex game the Master is playing today.
Mostly, Rammstein is content (though that's hardly the word to use) to stay in the Master's basement, waiting to be called up into his chambers.
They share rooms, two by two. Till and Richard have twin beds on one end of the hallway, and Flake and Ollie have the room on the opposite end. between them are Schneider and Paul.
Richard is probably in the bathroom. They have one shared bathroom for the six of them, opposite Schneider and Paul's room. A single toilet, bath and shower stall, large sink and medicine cabinet. It's mainly to treat their own wounds, although they often have to treat each other.
Till is sitting on the bed (the Master blessedly spared his ass that morning, choosing instead to fuck his throat), tending to the piercing through his right nipple. It's showing signs of infection, and he wants to nip that in the bud. He takes out the silver stud with a hiss of pain, gently swabbing the area with a wet-wipe before using a cotton swab with rubbing alcohol to clean it.
He coats the stud with the liquid and pushes it back in. That causes the tears to finally break free, but it's silent as he lies back against the bed and stares up at the ceiling, vision swimming.
"Hey," Richard says, as he enters the room. Till can't see him from this angle, but he knows his friend's voice. "How are you feeling?"
"Like Hell." Till croaks, and takes a drink from the bottle of water on his night-table. At least they're well-fed here, and given medical supplies.
"Ah." a creaking groan as Richard sits down on the bed and gently puts a hand on Till's shoulder. Now Till can see him. "You've been crying."
"It's nothing." Till looks away, turning his head. He wants to roll on his side, but the former guitarist's strong hand forces him to stay on his back.
"It's something. Till, you haven't talked to me in days."
"We have nothing to talk about." he huffs. "Our lives here don't differ from day to day. I'm in pain, that's all, and that's not unusual."
"If you're sure." Richard shifts. "Listen, the others and I are going to go out for a walk this afternoon." The Master has broad gardens, and they're allowed to roam free as long as they stay on his property. "You could do with some sun."
"I don't want to get a burn." the Master doesn't allow them to wear clothing. He keeps the house at a constant warm temperature so they don't need to. They have sunscreen and bug repellent, but Till doesn't want to go anyway. He doesn't want to do much of anything these days.
"All right, well..." the bed presses up against Till's back as Richard stands. ”If you want to join us later, we'll be out by the lilac trees."
Till can hear the door close. He finally rolls on his side and stares at the wall, wishing he could go back to sleep. He was roused very early by the Master's daughter, Sophie, so that the Master could still take his pleasure and catch his early morning flight.
Sophie. Sophie seems to be the only one in the Master's household that has half a brain. The Master himself is clearly insane, though at least he has a steady hand (otherwise the piercings and tattoos might have killed them) and the rest of the servants show great signs of Stockholm Syndrome (though they do get paid, Till thinks to himself, and have lives outside of here).
Sophie has been stone deaf since birth, she's never heard their music, and doesn't know who they are. And because the Master doesn't allow her to have privileges with his slaves, she treats them like normal human beings. It is she who takes care of their medical supplies and ensures they have food and water stocked in the downstairs kitchen next to Richard and Till's room.
Richard doesn't like her. But Till, at least, sees some value in the young woman (she's younger than them, maybe in her mid-teen years, he's never asked. Then again, he doesn't use sign language and she normally writes her messages down on a notepad) and knows not to abuse her good nature.
The door opens again and someone enters in silence. Till barely notices until a hand rests on his shoulder again. He turns to see Sophie with a bottle of painkillers. He blinks in surprise; they're not usually allowed pills. The Master is paranoid that they'll commit suicide that way (though they have no intention of anything of the sort, they can't convince the madman of it).
"Thank you." he sits up and takes it, tipping out two little pills and swallowing them, chasing them down with water. He puts it in her hand, but she shakes her head vehemently and pushes it back into his palms. His hands are twice the size of hers. "No, I can't keep this."
She frowns and pulls the little pad at her side, writing something down. My father will be away for a month so he won't come down for any inspections. You can hide it in the loose floorboards if you get nervous. She taps a plank in the middle of the room, then leaves again.
Till puts the little bottle away for now, feeling the pain slowly ebb away with the pills' effect. Then he stands, testing his legs. Maybe he should get outside after all.
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Here Be Dragons