Pitch Perfect: Ramm My Stein (Patreon)

The first time it happened, Beca thought she was getting sick.

Chloe wanted her to check out Das Sound Machine’s Youtube channel for any weaknesses and besides a really strident “LIKE AND SUBSCRIBE!” at the end of each video, she wasn’t finding much. Then she clicked the thumbnail for an a capella Du Hast and suddenly she was faced with the specter of the Kommissar. She was dressed in what looked like a Soviet Union uniform made out of leather—Beca’s mind insisted this was impractical, while other parts of her were more ready to suspend disbelief—and she was carrying a whip and cracking it to put emphasis on the lyrics, which Beca really thought was against a capella rules. And she really thought she was a nerd for thinking of a capella rules, but it was better than thinking of how the Kommissar handled that whip, with its handle long and shiny and black…

Oh God, why had she signed up for Intro To Freud that semester?

Du, du hast

Du hast mich

Du, du hast

Du hast mich

The way Kommissar stared aggressively at the camera, delivering each lyric like a throaty challenge, her lips forcing each word into precise symmetry, precisely as a predator would force its prey into a corner… her legs in skintight leather pants like dark blades cutting across the dance floor… even the fingerless gloves with metal knuckles that looked like they could shatter someone’s jaw, while leaving her long fingers deliciously bare… so long…

“Oh God!” Beca said aloud. Her nipples were hard. She shut the laptop so hard she almost broke it, getting up and pacing around her room. She really was a lesbian! And here she’d thought she was just some sort of weird… Chloesexual, with Aubreycurious tendencies! What the fuck?

She needed a shower.

A cold shower.

One that Chloe didn’t join her for.

***

That would’ve been the end of it. Beca was in love with Chloe and, honestly that one lesbian crush was super weird enough for her without dragging in a German a capella case of genetic engineering. So she resolved that except for the odd a capella riff-off or sectionals (regionals? nationals?), she just wouldn’t think about Kommissar. No listening to her, no watching her, no nothing.

Her subconscious had other plans.

***

“Please, Kommissar, my ass is so hot. Spank me, just to make it hurt a little…”

The Kommissar nodded, pulling her belt free of its many loops, then winding it in half to make for a brisk, threatening loop of leather. Beca already knew how her buttocks would tingle and sting, once Kommissar reddened her tiny ass a little…

Du hast mich gefragt

Du hast mich gefragt

Du hast mich gefragt

Beca jerked up in bed, drenched in sweat and with a throbbing inside her like she’d been infected with an alien lifeform. Not even the one from Alien, but one from one of those Italian rip-offs of Alien.

She wrenched the sheets back and looked down at her cameltoe, clit all up like it was proud of itself. “Oh, fuck you!” she told it. Then gave it the finger.

Not like that.

***

Once. Just once.

It was just masturbation. No one—no one—thought of their SO while they were masturbating. It was a waste of good… carpal tunnel syndrome or whatever. It wasn’t like Beca would care if Chloe thought about Gina Gershon, or whoever gold star lesbians thought about, while she was diddling.

Beca really didn’t have much of a sex drive. Even now, dating Chloe, sex was more like a nice meal than some be-all, end-all. She liked pizza, too, but didn’t stuff her face with it morning, noon, and night. Even masturbation hadn’t really been her thing. Always seemed so awkward, touching herself, trying to simulate some other person who wouldn’t even be that good at touching her themselves, either. Was she supposed to picture herself fucking James Bond, with her right hand playing 007? Never made much sense.

But when she put her headphones on—played that damn song, sung by that damn Berliner—suddenly massaging her breasts made sense. Just a little rough, a little hard… not in the mean, forceful way they did in porn, but not in the sweet, TV-14 way Chloe did it either. Aggressive, but casually so. The cool, certain mastery Kommissar would have over her, in bed just like everywhere else.

Willst du bis der Tod euch scheidet

Treu ihr sein für alle Tage ?

Nein, nein!

Then Beca put her hand in her pants. Oh! That was very—oh. It wasn’t like with Chloe. It was good with Chloe, Beca felt guilty for even implying it wasn’t in her inner monologue, but Chloe was so sweet and so eager to please and so enthusiastic, but never with any edge. Kisses always soft, hands always gentle. Beca liked that, but just a little less glurge… a little more hard and fast, a little cockiness, some rock and roll instead of just Broadway standards.

Oh God, if only this didn’t feel so good. Those harsh, guttural words, made ever so slightly sweet because it was the Kommissar saying them. Echoing in Beca’s ears like Kommissar was ordering her to do what she was doing. Commanding every stroke of her fingers. Praising every flicker of pleasure. Shit, it shouldn’t feel so good. If it didn’t feel so good, she wouldn’t feel so guilty about doing this to Chloe.

But it felt good. It felt so goddamn good.

“Find any loose change?” Chloe asked, barging through the door like she was Beca’s roommate. Which… yeah.

Beca’s two arms tried to do the job of three arms, pulling off the headphones and yanking her hand away from her groin and turning off her laptop. She managed not to put her fist through the screen. That was about all she could say for herself.

“Relax!” Chloe told her. She thought to lock the door. “Nothing wrong with having a little diddle jam. It’s not like I can be there all the time for you to use as some kind of sex slave…” She laughed nervously and looked away.

Beca desperately tried to mute her headphones, even though Chloe couldn’t possibly hear it. The Kommissar sounded angry with her. It was so goddamn hot.

Du, du hast

Du hast mich

Du, du hast

Du hast mich

Christ, she could feel Kommissar’s baleful gaze on her, demanding that she start touching herself again…

“Buuut,” Chloe said slowly, her hands clasped over her lap, shuffling around some of the debris from Hurricane Beca’s housekeeping efforts. “I am here. And it’s really unfair that you have to finger both of us. So I should probably take over.”

Du, du hast

Du hast mich

Du hast mich

“You don’t have to!” Beca protested, in the least suspicious way she could imagine. She sounded about as convincing as the Subway Guy saying he was into older women.

“It’s all part of the girlfriend service! Think of it as a threesome. Just you…” Chloe got down on her knees. “Me…” She parted Beca’s legs. “And the music.”

Du hast mich gefragt

Du hast mich gefragt

Du hast mich gefragt

Und ich hab nichts gesagt

There was a reason Beca had been careful not to imply, even mentally, that Chloe didn’t satisfy her. Chloe satisfied the hell out of her. Chloe’s tongue was like shoving all the Mulder/Scully fanfic Beca had ever read into her vagina at once. And those big, Disney princess eyes of Chloe? There was something so fucking naughty about having them looking up from underneath Beca’s landing strip.

And she had this way of dragging her tongue from just past a very off-limits where Beca would never put even Lucy Lawless’s pinky, all the way to Beca’s fucking belly button (like, what, that wasn’t even an erogenous zone!), and while she was doing it her hair would tumble around like a shampoo commercial and her eyes would stare at Beca’s place like she was trying to fry an ant and Beca would just go oh oh oh OH! oh OH! ohhhhhh like a total spaz, which she was, but she would only ever admit to being Chloe’s spaz. Under duress. Like, if it would save a life.

And that damn song made it sound like the Kommissar was watching her, nodding perversely, maybe smoking a cigarette in a holder and sipping a vodka martini. Wearing riding boots. With a lot of eyeliner. And a lip… a lip… a lip PIERCING!

Beca threw her head back as she came, hands in Chloe’s perfect hair and she didn’t know how they’d gotten there, everything feeling perfect, so perfect it hurt, she was climaxing like she’d been struck by lightning like there was all this energy inside her and it couldn’t get out it couldn’t get out she just had to feel like this forever, it was terrible and amazing, it was everything, Jesus Christ McChrist, she was in love!

She’d also pulled out the headphone jack when she’d jerked her head back.

“Is that the Kommissar?” Chloe asked as the laptop’s speakers, tinny as they were, nonetheless took over. “Is that Rammstein?”

“Yes,” Beca said slowly. “It is Rammstein… and that is… theeeeeeee…” Maybe if she kept drawing out her words, Chloe would cut her off. “Kommissar!” That she said very fast.

Chloe wiped her mouth, sending a little aftershock would Beca. She really wanted to be cuddling. She never thought she’d say that. But she’d much rather be cuddling and listening to Chloe try out a new arrangement with whistling than be single.

“So you have a thing for the Kommissar?”

Beca’s face fell. Ironic—this was the kind of shit people sang hip songs about. Maybe she could get an album out of the oncoming downward spiral. “Yeah…”

And Chloe smiled. “Hey! Hey, it’s okay. Everyone’s got things! You don’t have to feel bad about it! You just need to tell me this stuff, I’m interested in it!”

Beca didn’t think she had ever inhaled as much in her life. Of course Chloe would be okay with this. Chloe had been born in the Marvel Universe and only recently emigrated to reality, where people resented their girlfriends crushing on other people. “I would never cheat on you, ever, it’s just a thing, like you said, you’re my person.”

“I know! I am absolutely your person! And c’mon, look at me, with this body you think I’m worried about someone cheating?”

“And that hair.”

“And my hair!” Chloe brushed it over her shoulder with her fingers. “Of course, I could put it up in a little bun. If you’re really into the Kommissar…”

Beca slapped at her. “Quit it!” Then: “But no, seriously?”

“Of course! There’s nothing wrong with a little role-playing. If you get off on being insulted—“

“And choking me!” Beca piped up, instantly regretting it. “Maybe choking me a little,” she corrected herself in a softer voice.

“If that’s what you get off on, I’d much rather ‘the Kommissar’ does all the mean stuff than me. Your loving girlfriend who doesn’t ever want to do anything to hurt you or make you feel bad or cut off your oxygen supply.”

“Not like suffocating choking, but just like this pressure, like Batman interrogating a criminal or—you know what, I feel like we should put together a Powerpoint presentation or something before getting down to this. Feels more our speed.”

“Oh, try and stop me!” Chloe gave a wink. “I’m so excited to share this new aspect of ourselves with each other and take our relationship to the next level and maybe try you role-playing for me.”

“Wha—“

“I want you to answer to Aubrey and pee on me,” Chloe said in one great rush.

Beca gaped. “Oh my God!” She put a hand to her chest. “You’ve fantasized about that too!?”