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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
- 5
- 6
Seeing a grown man cry is terrifying.
Till has been taken up to the Master’s chambers five times now, and all five times he has been subjected to watching the others be tortured. Schneider’s corset piercing was perhaps the worst, physically speaking, but the others faced invasions no less humiliating.
Oliver was stretched on a rack and had beautiful patterns cut into his back and sides with a silver knife. The Master had referred to it as ‘scarification’ or something to that effect, and it seemed to be mostly for his benefit. There were a few raised ridges healing quite nicely, but all Till could remember was how his bassist screamed and tried not to move when the knife tickled his flesh. Thankfully the cuts weren’t deep enough to get into the muscle, but the blood had dripped from his many slices like gentle summer rain. The plip, plip, plip onto the floor made Till feel sick to his stomach.
Paul was hung from a play-structure by his middle, like a tire swing on a children’s playground. The Master and several of his friends took turns swinging him around and then forcing him to suck and be fucked at the same time while still dangling in the air. Paul had thrown up more than once, and the game had paused while Till mopped it up, then gone back to his kneeling position beside the Master’s chair.
Flake underwent some rather interesting tattooing. He managed not to scream, though Till was sure the pain became unbearable near the end of the session, which took several hours. Across his long, narrow back, the Master had tattooed an ancient pirate’s map, curling and burned at the edges, with islands and golden treasure. The blue ocean was mapped around the land, which had a dotted line and an X to mark the spot. A long and twisted dragon patrolled the waters, breathing fire and brimstone to any sailors daring enough to reach the edge of the map.
Today it is Richard’s turn. Till is bid to kneel again at his Master’s feet while Richard, surprisingly enough, is laid out on a set of satin sheets. The guitarist is in a beautiful woman’s nightgown of pearl pink, in full make-up and extensions glued into his hair. With his flat chest, he doesn’t much resemble a busty beauty, but the effect is otherwise quite stunning.
The Master refers to him as a girl, a pretty girl, who is in need of a violent fucking. Till prepares himself for the sight, when a hand is suddenly laid on his shoulder.
“And now,” the Master grins, all honey and teeth, “her suitor approaches.”
It takes a minute for the wheels in Till’s head to turn but when the gears finally click into place, the horror is visible on his face. He rises to his feet without question, walking to the bed and unbuttoning his shirt. At least, he thinks, his mind racing as Richard sits up in confusion, he might make this go a bit easier.
There is an uncomfortable pause as Till slides naked onto the bed and looks around for some lubricant. His heart sinks when he realizes that there is none – there never was to be any – and this is both Richard’s punishment and his own.
Richard, knowing this at last, lays back in preparation both mentally and physically, as much as he possibly can.
“So soon?” the Master crows from his throne. His cock is in one hand, his arm moving lazily. “Seduce her. Woo her. A woman needs to be kissed and caressed before she is taken.”
The kisses are tender. Lipstick smears across Till’s cheeks as he goes deeper, plundering the mouth of his best friend and sometimes-mate, the one he trusts above all else even if they’re not the lovers half the world (and apparently, their Master) thinks they are. Till wonders idly if the Master keeps a Tumblr and posts ridiculous ‘ship’ .gifs after he gets home from Sunday church.
The two men kiss and caress and slowly Richard moves down his body to suck Till’s cock. The Master has not commented on this so far, and he isn’t stopping them; they’ll take whatever they can get. This is going to hurt, no matter what, but as Richard looks up and makes eye contact with his singer, he gives a pre-emptive forgiveness of sorts.
Finally it’s too much and Till pushes him back by the shoulders. Richard nods slowly, licking the last bits of lipstick away and rolls onto his stomach, spreading his legs.
“No. Face your lover. Take her like a woman.” The Master’s voice rings out through the room.
Till groans, looking away a little as Richard switches to look up. He rests his head against the cool pillows and waits. He doesn’t have to wait long; the singer pushes up the other man’s long nightgown skirt and keeps it at his hips. He spits into his hand, licks his fingers – anything to help, even though it won’t last more than a few seconds – and pushes in.
Richard’s eyes go huge. The intrusion isn’t too large, but it’s dry. The body isn’t meant for something like this, and despite his relaxing it’s still powerfully painful. The guitarist whimpers outright as Till adds a second finger, stretching a little more, already feeling the muscles pull. It won’t take much for him to start bleeding, and blood is the worst lubricant. The Master knows this, and says nothing.
It will most likely do permanent damage to Richard’s innards. The Master knows this, and says nothing.
Every other time, he is careful to use lubricant and condoms, because he wants his slaves to be used over and over again. The Master knows this, and says nothing.
He does not stop them, does not intercede, does not interfere, and after a few more minutes of tense silence, Till must take his cock in his hand and slowly push inside.
Richard chokes, his hands gripping the sheets, knuckles white and jaw clenched so hard Till can hear his teeth grinding. The dry feeling isn’t pleasant either; he knows that it will be wet soon, wet with his best friend’s blood.
He continues. The next half an hour is full of grunts and short, sharp screams when Richard loses control. By the end of the session – when the Master finally shouts “enough!” and Till is allowed to pull out – the puddle of blood has soaked through the sheets onto the mattress and has stained the singer’s knees.
Seeing a grown man cry is terrifying.
Richard is wheeled off to see a private doctor. Till is ushered back down to the slave’s quarters. He there reports what he’s done, as the others sit there uncomfortably and look at each other. How much longer can this last?
- 5
- 6
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Here Be Dragons