You're a Mind Fuck, Babe

Chapter 4: If You Look In The Mirror And Don't Like What You See...

I was getting further and further away from the library when my phone buzzed. An unknown number with a local area code was calling me. I answer it, putting the phone to my ear.
"Hey, it's Gerard." It was the first time he had ever introduced himself to me like that, I knew his name but I never dared say it to him aloud.
"How'd you get my number?" I ask, looking around and feeling as though I was being watched.
"All your teachers have access to your methods of communication... I put your number in my phone last night," he explains.
"Okay, but why?"
"Because you were fun," he says. I couldn't see him but I could feel the playfulness in his voice, a possible smirk on his face.
"Why are you calling me now?"
"I wanted to know if you wanted to come over to my place and maybe relax for a bit or whatever you would like to do. If you want." Why does he sound nervous? Just a few minutes ago he had me tied up and mentally begging for his touch.
"Are you gonna pick me up or am I going to have to walk?"
"I'm in the black bug behind you." Sure enough, there was a black Volkswagen beetle right behind me, following me as I walk down the sidewalk. I stop walking and he stops driving. I run to the passenger side and get in.
"I live in an apartment building so I want you to move as fast and as quietly as possible, okay?" He asks of me. I nod.

The drive is a good 20 minutes and when we arrive where he lives, I'm quite shocked by how run down the building is. It's in the worst part of town across from the liquor store and the bank, the two most destitute places to be in this whole town. It's sketchy as all hell but I guess this entire meeting is, right? He punches in a number on the outside of the building and the door buzzes open. He holds the door for me and I walk in muttering a 'thank you'. I wait for him to close the door behind him, then allow his to walk past me to go ahead and show me around. He races up the stairs to the right and I follow after him. We go up 4 flights of stairs before arriving at what I assume is his floor. He unlocks a door and pushes it open, letting me go in first. He closes the door behind him and I look around. It's a fairly small apartment but you can feel that it's his. His presence is indicated in every inch of his apartment through sight and smell. Everything in his house is where he wants it to be and you can tell that he genuinely put thought into the decor. There's a canvas near the window in the back of the relatively large room, by the dining area. There's a kitchen table littered with unopened letters and stacks of papers and coffee mugs. In the kitchen, there's a small island with a coffee maker surrounded by dozens of coffee mugs, each intricately vibrant with colour in contrast to his apartment's minimalist colour palette. There are sketchbooks and pencils all over the place, on nearly every surface. He has popcorn ceilings with water stains, which he tried to cover up with large fabric prints. He has black curtains covering the windows and a black leather couch, over a black carpet covering the old vinyl flooring. He has a dark chocolate coloured coffee table over the rug between his couch and tv, which resides on an old bench of some kind. There are two mahogany doors that are visible from where I'm standing and I assume one is the bathroom and the other must be the bedroom. The walls throughout the apartment are a complacent grey, like a sad Sunday morning, which feels amplified by the dark colour scheme, but the paint splatters scattered a little bit of everywhere make it feel more like a home. It's small but it's cozy.

He walks over to his dining area and throws his jacket on the kitchen table. The trench coat lands with the clasp clinking off of a mug, resounding through the room. He leaves it, rolls up his sleeve and walks over towards his couch, where he slumps down, kicking his feet onto the coffee table. He motions for me to come sit beside him and I obey his orders. Once I'm sitting beside him, with a good 8 inches between us, he seems mildly perturbed. He leans in close to me, then grabs me by the hips to pull me over him. I laugh slightly as he sets me down, seeming content with the spacing now. I'm so close to him that I'm practically sitting on his lap.
"I'm sorry I never got a proper chance to introduce myself. My name is Gerard Way, I have been diagnosed with satyriasis and sadism, apparently. At least, that's what I've been told, they also said it wasn't a big deal because it wasn't affecting my life too much. I'm 25 years old, I like coffee and I smoke a little too much. I like art. I like comic books. I enjoy music. I have a little brother who is an amazingly talented bassist in a band that I enjoy a little too much. I see a therapist weekly. My mom and dad no longer speak to me because they don't approve of me liking guys. I can't think of anything else. Your turn," he says, rapid fire as though it was a first date, where someone was trying to get the most out in the shortest amount of time.
"Well, my name is Frank Iero. I like dogs. I don't eat meat. I live with my mom. I'm 18. I had never had sex until yesterday. My dad left when I was 5 because he had an affair and she got pregnant. I like to take pictures. I like music too. I have digestive issues. I used to see a therapist but it was pretty boring to sit there and stare at the walls while someone tries to talk to you. My mom was afraid I was depressed because apparently failing a couple classes is a 'sign that you're slitting your wrists and crying yourself to sleep'. Neither of which I do. I haven't cried myself to sleep in a very longtime, I was like 12 and it was because my only girlfriend dumped me. Wow life was way different then. I don't think there's anything else to say."
"Now that that's out of the way, I guess we can pretty much carry on doing whatever. Actually, I have a couple of important questions, regarding your tolerance. Okay?" I nod.
"First question, opinion on hot wax?" He asks.
"Kinky," I reply, unsure of my actual feelings. He smiles.
"Butt plugs?"
"Uh."
"Electricity?" I immediately shake my head.
"Fire?"
"That might be interesting."
"Knives?" I nod.
"Enemas?" Once again, I immediately shake my head.
"Needles? Oh wait never mind. Can't do that."
"Role play?" I nod. He continues asking questions, wondering what my limits are, telling me what his limits are before standing up.
He grabs me by the hand and pulls me to one of the doors near the back. He opens it, the door creaking as it opens, and giving me a good view of a bed centered in the room with four posts. I exhale a breath I wasn't aware I'd been holding as he moves to me, sliding my shirt over my head. He hooks his index finger into one of my belt loops, pulling me into his chest. He kisses me passionately and pushes me onto the bed. The duvet beneath me is soft as I lay on it. He uses his right leg to push mine open slightly, sliding himself between my legs, and grinding up against me. I let out a soft moan, letting my excitement flood my sense, and he does it again.
"We forgot one thing, what's our safeword gonna be?" He asks, demonstrating cautious concern. I shrug, not having even thought of it.
"Hesitant Alien," he offers.
"That's just so fucking weird it just might work," I reply with a slight chuckle. He laughs before kissing me again, slipping his tongue into my mouth. He rolls his hips, barely touching mine. He slides off my pants, leaving me in nothing but boxers and he pulls off his pants. He returns over me and pins my wrists over my head. In our boxers, he decides to slowly rub against me, letting me know exactly what to expect, with his cock pressed firmly beside mine. He smirks, letting go of both my wrists, but I keep them there, showing him my desire to be ordered around, restricted. He pulls a rope from one of the bedposts and fastens it around my left wrist and does the same to my right wrist. He pulls them until I wince, the rope gripping me tightly and then he kisses my wrists.
"It's to keep you safe," he explains. He gets off of me, heading towards the closet. He opens it, revealing the emptiness of clothes but fullness of sex toys. Shit. Who is this guy? I know he's sadistic but what the hell? He returns with a silk blindfold in his hand. He ties around it my eyes and all I see is darkness, though I close my eyes anyway embracing the lack of vision. My chest rises and falls rapidly as the anticipation builds. Other than the steadybeat of my heart the room is silent, until something cuts that silence. It takes me a minute of thought to recognize what sounds like knife sharpening over and over. Oh shit. The noise stops and I feel the blade against my chest, tracing up and down, pressing into my skin deeper and deeper. The blade reaches my right thigh and the pressure of the blade stings. He continues to my left thigh and back up to my stomach. Where the blade was, it feels as though a wetness is left behind. Is it blood? What else could it be? My heart stands still in my chest as I wonder if he's cutting me. I can still feel all the places the blade moved along, stinging like it was still there as liquid runs towards the bed from my skin. The blade moves up my chest, to my neck for a moment, before lifting my chin up, forcing me to jerk against the ropes. Warm lips are pressed to mine, and I instinctively kiss him back.
"Are you feeling okay, Frankie?" He asks, his voice low and primal. I gulp, feeling the blade as I swallow and choke out a yes.
He lets my head rest by tracing down my chest, all the way to just above the hem of my boxers. With the knife, he spreads my legs, hitting my inner thighs with the flat part of the blade. He slides the blade up my thigh, getting close to my balls and I start to panic. I pull on the rope around my wrists.
"Shh," he tries to calm me down. He places his palm on my chest, massaging over where the knife was. He lets out a laugh. His hand is still on my chest and I can feel his nails press into my skin and drag down. I let out a moan and that's when I realize how much this is turning me on. He keeps on moving his hand lower and lower until he places it on my dick and massages me over my boxers. I let out a gasp. He chuckles.
"We've only just begun and you're already so hard," he says, proud of himself. I feel myself blush and he lets out another laugh. The knife moves up my thigh again, blood bubbling out. I let out a soft moan at the feeling of blood dripping down my leg. All feeling of him or his knife leaves my body, and I'm left wishing he would continue. It feels like an eternity before I feel anything again but it can't have been more than a minute or two. There's a a warm hand pressed against my thigh spreading the blood around. The hand disappears momentarily, before his fingers are on my lower lips, opening my mouth and dipping in. I suck his fingers as he places his other hand over my boxers. He pulls his fingers out of my mouth and trails my spit down my chest. His touch disappears and my heartbeat doubles as I wait for what's to come.

I can hear him moving around, before I hear what sounds like a lighter clicking. I think I know what to expect. I ball my fists in the restraints and brace myself for heat. Just above my left nipple, there's a burning hot liquid being dripped. I think it's wax. The longer it stays, the more it hurts. I pull on the rope, jerking my arms. My wrist stings as the rope scrapes against it. The wax cools off a bit and I calm down. He continues to trail hot wax across my chest, leaving me pulling on my restraints and groaning with each drop. A smell of lavender enters my nose as the candle melts down. A blade scrapes the cooled wax off my skin, leaving scratches but not blood in its absence. More hot wax drips onto my skin. I hear a sizzling noise and begin to freak out. Wax can't make my skin sizzle, can it? Oh God. The smell of cooking meat fills my nostrils, replacing the sweet lavender. He laughs and scrapes the wax off. He removes my blindfold.
"I'm just fucking with your mind," he whispers in my ear. I look down, there's nothing but water on my skin and beside me is a steak on a portable grill being heated. Holy shit. It takes my brain a few minutes to process everything. Jesus Christ.
"You're a mind fuck, babe," I force a smile through the conflicting emotions and thoughts.
"Oh, I know," he says, walking over to the bottom of the bed. He tugs off my boxers and removes his as well. He gets on the bed, pushing my legs open. He climbs between my legs and I wrap them around his waist. He reaches for the lube on the nightstand and pours some into his soft hands. He begins to massage his cock, stroking it while moaning before placing some at my entrance. I watch him line himself up, and roughly thrust into me. I throw my head back, letting the anticipation of him fucking me fulfill my body. He moves inside of me and I let out a shaky moan. Instinctively, I tug my hands forward to touch myself, causing the rope to rub against my already sore wrists. Gerard pumps in and out of me, his long and shaggy hair covering his eyes from me. I watch the sweat drip off his forehead and his hair falling onto his face. His mouth is wide open, curse words falling from his lips. The agony of my throbbing erection is intensified the more I watch him and the ecstasy that is apparent on his face.
"Gerard..." I moan, wanting so badly to be touched.
"I.. Please," I plead for him to help me. The agony and pleasure battling inside of me.
"Hmm. Maybe if you beg for it..." He bargains with a smirk on his face, still moving in and out of me. I moan and nod my head.
"Please! Gerard... Fuck! Please," I beg. He smiles and wraps his hand around my dick. A loud moan escapes my lips as his hand moves up and down on me. I thrust my hips against his hand and he comes in me, leaning forward over me. Moments later, I found my release and I'm left shaking and breathless as he collapses on the bed beside me, breathing heavy. He wipes the sweat off my eyebrow. He loosens the rope around my wrists and I pull my arms in front of me. My wrists are swollen and bloody. There are welts where the rope was and a tear leaves my eye as the pain catches up with the intense pleasure. Gerard stands up and leaves the room. He returns with an ice pack and sets it on my wrists after he kisses them.
"I know you don't eat meat but I'm not letting this steak go to waste," he says. He picks up the steak with one of the knives he used and walks out of the room, gnawing on it. After a few minutes, I stand up and look around the room. On either side of his bed, there are night stands. Atop one of them is a box of tissues. I grab one and begin to wipe myself down, fearing actually looking at myself. I figure I can do that in a moment. I grab my crumpled pants off the ground and pull them on. I walk out of the room and see Gerard on the couch with the steak.
"You probably should've put clothes on before sitting on leather, it's gonna pull your skin," I remark. He laughs.
"I don't really care. Let me enjoy my steak," he laughs me off.
"Where's the bathroom?" I ask, wondering what I actually look like right now.
"The door across from the bedroom," he informs me. I follow his instructions and it leads me to a bathroom where the sink is full of rust and so is the shower and toilet. I relieve myself and flush, my heart beating fast as I think about my appearance. I go to wash my hands and almost jump at what I see in the cracked mirror. There are hickeys running up my neck and my collarbone. So many hickeys. How am I gonna be able to hide all of these? My chest has scratches running up and down it and two burn marks. Jesus. I head back to where Gerard was and sit beside him.
"How can you eat that?" I ask.
"It's delicious," he says with a mouthful of steak muffling his voice. I lean my head back on the couch, letting the sound of whatever TV show he was watching lull me to sleep. I guess I'm staying the night.