Nine Inches of Pleasure

How much time passed I'll probably never know. But I remember I woke up somewhere where I wasn't the last time I checked. I remembered swaying bodies and sex and being closer to the devil than I ever was before. My eyes felt tired and sore, my body sticky and wet. I was looking up at myself. A mirror on the ceiling. I lifted my head and said "hello", but no one responded. I sat up and my body felt like a thousand needles were poking me in every orifice. I picked at my lace chemise and it felt dirty. I wanted to take it off because it felt grainy but I didn't because I didn't know where I was. I could have been in the back of some rapist's van for all I knew.

I looked down and realized I was laying in a bed. It was soft and felt strangely soothing compared to what I was wearing. The bed had a canopy and the pillows were stuffed with feathers. Maybe I wasn't in a van, but a goddamned hotel suite. I wasn't thinking, oh god I'm not supposed to be here, but instead, how did I get here. I swung my legs over the bed and sat up. I felt dizzy for a moment and when it passed I stood up. Shag carpet the color of a winter storm crushed softly under my boots as I walked around the room. It was small. Really small, actually. The bed, a small nightstand and the door were all that were there. A large full-length mirror hung on the wall. I neared it and touched my face. I was almost glowing. A small cold chill ran through me. Where the hell was I?

Just then the door opened, startling me so badly I had lean against the wall for support. A large man appeared in the doorway. He wore black jeans and a faded NIN shirt. "Glad you're up", he said in his best gruff voice. "He'll see you now. Ya gave me a scare, passing out like that. You coulda got yerself killed out there". I didn't say anything, just stood there dumbly. "Well, what're you waiting for? Most people would give their right arm to see the man". I didn't know what he meant, nor did I want to know. I just hoped to God this guy wasn't talking about himself. "The man", could have meant anything. "Well, come on kid, don't you have a cerfew or something?"

I reluctantly followed the guy out into the tiniest hallway ever. He opened the first door on the right. I walked into the room and the guy shut the door, leaving me face-to-face with Trent Reznor himself. He looked somewhat cleaned up. His body looked worn down, but there was an intensity in his gaze that made me look at the floor. The room was small and comfordable-looking. Trent sat in a large blue chair, his gaze focused on me. The walls were black with posters of different bands and singers. A tiny twin bed sat on the wall farthest from me, the sheets and pillows strewn all over the room. How many adventures had that bed gone on?

"Don't worry. I'm the only person who's slept in it so far", he said, a small smile tugging at his lips. A small dot of dried blood crusted as he smiled. I had the insane impulse to lick it off. "You looked like you were enjoying yourself until you...fell", he said, smirking. I was sweating again. He was talking to me. Trent fucking Reznor was talking to me. Then he stood up. I jumped again, unsure as of what to do. The monster inside me was uncurling, yawning and the smell of the tiny room, Trent's near shirtlessness and that warm tingly feeling I got inside of me whenever I listened to "Closer" drove my senses to the ground. Trent came closer to me until he was arm's length away. "You look like you know alittle something about pain and torture", he said softly. I stared at him. I wanted to kiss him and lick every drop of blood from those hurting self-inflicted wounds. "I...It's really great to meet you finally", I said. It took all I had not to jump him. I saw plenty of things I could use. Shoe laces, belts, even a sheet would do nicely. Oh, God get a hold of yourself.

"I always meet a fan in distress", he said. "Care for a glass of wine? Or Hell, we could kick it up a notch and have you pass out in a puddle of puke from getting drunk off some shnapps". I just stared at him. He moved closer and closer it seemed. Then he took my hand. I was finding it harder to stand on my feet. "You felt what no other person experienced. You gave me exactly what I wanted and that's why I wanted to help you." I just stared at him. "Hey, I'm probably not the only person who's passed out in the audience. I wasn't drunk on alcholhol. I was drunk off your music and voice". I felt his breath hitting my face like a soft blanket. He reached his other hand out towards me and I entwined my fingers in his the same way as I had before.

He smiled and I ran my fingers up his arm, shoulder. "You look like your'e a bit stuffy in that shirt", I said in a breathy voice. I took my hands away and reached into the torn remnants of the fabric that barely covered his broad chest. I tore gently along a rip that went from his shoulder to stomach. The cloth parted between my fingers in a split that barely sounded. He didn't say or do anything as I pulled the remains off. Shirtless, he was a god. Hard muscled and rippling abs, narrow waist completed his macabe beauty with the dried blood. Four jagged cuts ran from his left shoulder down to his stomach, making my insides twist with lust and need. "Do it", he said without hesitation. I looked at him, confused. He had nursed me back to health, but was he expecting payback?

I didn't say anything. This was something I had been waiting for for a long time. I tilted my head and let the tip of my tongue press gently against one of the cuts. He hissed in a breath and sighed as if the gesture pleased and hurt him. I ran my fingertips up his arms, feeling the planes and sinews of his body, his chest. He took both my hands and kissed them. I grabbed his fingers and licked each one slowly, grazing his fingertips with my teeth. I paid special attention to his palms, gliding my lower lip along the lines. He gave a low purring sound and bent to nuzzle my neck. I moved quickly behind him. "Over here on the bed", I said sharply. I didn't know what made me do it. I just knew that I was living out my fantasy and it would only get better. He raised his eyebrows, took an uncertain step to the bed, and laid down. I pressed my finger tips to the front of my chemise and tore down the middle. The sound was loud and I lavished it. When I ripped it off my body, it was just a peice of cloth. Long enough to bind someone's wrists...