Hi! My Name is Anesha , I’m 29 and mentally married to Flake Lorenz! He’s so sweet and perfect and Rammstein wouldn’t be the same without him! I will also be posting about ALL other members of Rammstein as I am a new fan of the band but a good amount of the attention will be on Christian “Flake” Lorenz!
I love meeting new people so feel free to chat with me anytime! 🤍✨
Schneider's alter ego never seems to leave the building!
Title: Frau Schneider’s Last Nerve
Pairing: Christoph Schneider x Fem!Reader
Word Count: ~2900 (can be adjusted based on final edits)
Content: Established relationship, dom!Christoph, playful teasing, lipstick marks, backstage antics, gender-bending stage persona (Frau Schneider), possessiveness, oral sex (fem-receiving and male-receiving), rough smut, public risk, creampie, slight power imbalance, praise/degradation mix, humor, leashes & performance kink, reader testing Christoph’s patience on purpose.
-
Backstage hummed with a low, restless energy—half sweat, half nerves, and the constant pulse of Rammstein’s sound bleeding faintly through the walls. Christoph’s dressing room was cramped, cluttered, a small world of chaos just beyond the roaring crowd. He’d been pounding drums for an hour straight, muscles still buzzing with adrenaline, sweat slicking his skin. Now, for thirty minutes, he had a precious break—a brief window to slip into the outrageous persona that made everyone laugh: Frau Schneider.
You sat on the edge of a battered folding chair, legs swinging, watching him with a mix of affection and amusement. You’d been together for a while now—long enough to know the quiet man beneath the drums, and to treasure these rare glimpses of him letting loose backstage. The contrast was what made it so special. Here he was, your grounded, thoughtful boyfriend, about to transform into a loud, demanding, whip-cracking dominatrix who could fill the stage with just her presence.
Christoph peeled off his shirt and stood before the cracked mirror, muscles gleaming under the harsh light. He wiped his face with the back of his hand, eyes scanning every inch of his reflection as if the transformation depended on perfect detail. His dark hair clung to his forehead, strands sticking in sweaty clumps, and you could see the familiar tension in his jaw slowly melt into a grin as he prepared.
“Did you bring it?” His voice was low, breathy—still rough from the set.
You smiled, already digging through your bag. “Of course,” you said, triumphantly brandishing the bright red lipstick.
The whole Frau Schneider act was ridiculous, and you loved it. Watching Christoph slip into that absurd character never got old. It was a release for him—a chance to be completely unfiltered, bossy, and outrageously theatrical. You enjoyed every second of it, especially now, when you got to be part of the ritual.
“Here,” you said, patting your lap as he stepped closer.
Christoph settled between your legs, his hands resting lightly on your thighs. His body radiated heat, and you felt a familiar flicker of desire just from being this close. You took the lipstick and, with a playful smirk, began tracing his lips. He shifted, trying to make it hard for you, teasing with a crooked smile that betrayed how much he loved this silly game.
“Hold still, Frau Schneider,” you teased.
“Don’t call me that,” he groaned, but his eyes sparkled with mischief.
You finished with a flourish, stepping back to admire your handiwork. His lips were a perfect, ridiculous smear of glossy red—a striking contrast to his dark stubble.
“Perfect,” you said with a laugh.
Christoph caught your gaze in the mirror and raised a brow. “The show’s just warming up.”
You leaned forward, voice low. “I think it’s about to get a whole lot hotter.”
He didn’t wait for another word. Christoph closed the distance, capturing your mouth in a kiss that was hungry and electric. His lips tasted salty with sweat, smeared with lipstick, and utterly intoxicating. You probably looked a mess too, but you didn’t care. You wanted this—now.
“When do you have to go back out?” you murmured between breaths.
“When I’m done with you,” he promised, voice thick.
With that, his hands were pulling at your dress, fingers slipping beneath the fabric. Your legs wrapped instinctively around his waist, drawing him closer. The world shrunk until it was just the two of you—the cluttered room, the stage, the thousands of screaming fans all fading into nothing.
He tugged down his jeans and boxers in one swift motion, revealing himself—hard and demanding. You bit your lip, heart racing, and tightened your legs, urging him inside.
Christoph’s hands roamed your body with reverence, sliding under the hem of your dress to find your soaked heat. His fingers brushed aside your panties, and a startled squeak escaped you when he slipped a finger inside.
“Quiet,” he warned, voice low and commanding.
You whimpered but obeyed, biting back a moan. His fingers moved with patient precision, making sure you were ready—no rush, no pain, just the slow build of delicious tension.
Time was short, so foreplay had to be a tease, a promise of what was coming. Christoph withdrew his fingers, licking them clean before dipping back inside you, coating himself.
His cock nudged your entrance, and he looked into your eyes. “Ready?”
You nodded, hands gripping his shoulders.
He pressed in, slow and deep, covering your mouth with his hand to hush the sound that threatened to break free. Your nails dug into his skin as he set a fierce, relentless rhythm.
Your bodies moved together in a frantic, intimate dance—his hips pistoning, your breath coming in ragged gasps. For a moment, he pulled his hand away, adjusting your legs, and the silence was shattered by your desperate cry of pleasure.
“Fuck—” you gasped, but his palm snapped back over your mouth.
“Quiet,” he hissed fiercely.
You shook your head, tears of pleasure prickling your eyes.
“Bite my shoulder,” he demanded softly.
Confused but overwhelmed, you obeyed, teeth sinking through fabric into muscle. Your nails clawed at his back as you trembled against him, lost in the storm of sensation.
The urgency built, overwhelming and unstoppable.
“I’m close—” you tried to say.
A sharp knock cut through the moment.
“Schneider, one minute!” came the call.
Frustration twisted Christoph’s face. He pulled out, and you whimpered, desperate to hold him.
“Johnny,” you hissed, using the name of the stage manager outside the door. “I was this close!”
“We’ll finish later,” Christoph said grimly, pulling on his clothes.
You wrapped your arms around him, holding tight, not wanting to let go.
He kissed your forehead, voice rough. “I’m sorry, baby. I’ll make it up to you.”
In a flash, the wig was on, the feminine vest draped perfectly, and Frau Schneider was reborn—ready to command the stage again.
He tapped your thigh with the whip, grinning wildly.
“Wait for me,” he winked, then turned and strode back out.
You watched the door close behind him, body still humming with desire, heart pounding with the promise of what was yet to come.
Tonight was far from over.
-
Watching the show from backstage, you caught every wild step of Frau Schneider’s performance—the confident sway, the way he held the others in leashes, pushing them around, commanding the stage like it was an extension of himself. It was ridiculous and perfect, and you laughed quietly to yourself.
When the final notes faded and the crowd roared their approval, the stage lights dimmed. Backstage was buzzing with energy, but Christoph was nowhere to be found. You wandered through the corridors, checking the smoker’s lounge, the bar—no sign of him.
You stopped outside the men’s restroom when muffled noises caught your attention—soft moans and breaths unmistakably his.
Curiosity and desire mingled as you pushed the door open quietly.
There he was, sitting on the closed toilet lid, cheeks flushed, eyes pleading.
“Christoph?” you asked softly.
He unlocked the door, a relieved sigh escaping him. “Doll, you gotta help me,” he said, voice thick with frustration.
“What’s wrong?” you smiled knowingly.
“Don’t play cute. I need… your help,” he said, tone firm.
You nodded, stepping inside.
“Good girl. Get on your knees.”
You knelt before him, feeling the cool tile beneath your knees as Christoph settled back on the closed toilet lid, his breath already catching in sharp, uneven gasps. The sight of him—vulnerable yet commanding—sent a thrill coursing through your veins. His cock was thick and heavy in your hand, the skin warm and taut, veins pulsing with urgent life beneath your touch.
You leaned forward, lips parting, and pressed the tip of your tongue to the swollen, angry red head, tasting the salty-sweet sheen of his precome. Christoph’s eyes fluttered closed for a moment, his fingers tangling in your hair, a low groan rumbling deep in his chest.
Your mouth wrapped around the tip, warm and slick, the soft press of your lips sending shivers through him. You bobbed your head slowly, careful not to rush, tracing the sensitive ridge beneath the head with the flat of your tongue, flicking gently. His breath hitched sharply, and you looked up to catch the dark intensity blazing in his eyes.
“Fuck, you’re good at this,” he murmured, voice thick with need.
You smiled against him, sliding your mouth lower, taking more of him in inch by inch. The taste of him—salt, musk, and something uniquely Christoph—filled your senses, grounding you in the moment. Your hand stroked the base of his shaft in time with the movement of your head, fingers gentle but firm, swirling along the thick veins.
Christoph’s grip tightened in your hair, pulling you closer, the faint scrape of his thumb against your scalp making your pulse quicken. You hummed softly around him, the vibrations sending a fresh rush of pleasure through his cock, making him shudder.
You slowed just enough to swirl your tongue around the sensitive tip, teasing the slit that released his hot, urgent breaths. His hips twitched in response, the tight muscles flexing as he fought to stay steady.
When you took him deeper, your throat stretched around him, and you fought the urge to gag, keeping your breathing steady. Christoph’s hands steadied your head, holding you like a treasure, his eyes closing again as he surrendered to the sensation.
You bobbed faster now, wet sounds filling the quiet stall, mixing with his low groans and the slick slap of skin. Your hand and mouth worked in harmony, the slow build of pleasure winding tight inside him like a coil.
Christoph’s fingers gripped your hair harshly, tugging just enough to make your eyes water and your heart race. “That’s it, baby. Don’t stop,” he breathed.
You answered with a soft moan around him, tongue darting out to trace the underside of his shaft, the most sensitive part. His hips jerked sharply, the tension building as he neared the edge.
Seeing him unravel before you—the way his jaw clenched, the flush spreading across his cheeks—made your own desire spiral higher. You wanted him to come for you, to know how much power you held in this intimate act.
With a final slow swirl of your tongue, you took him fully in your mouth, hollowing your cheeks and bobbing your head with renewed purpose. Christoph’s breath hitched, a sharp exhale escaping as his hips bucked lightly.
Your hand pumped in rhythm, stroking the base while your mouth chased the tip, tasting every inch. The sounds between you grew louder—his moans, your wet kisses, the slick slide of skin on skin—creating a private symphony only you two could hear.
His body tensed, fingers tightening cruelly on your hair as he spilled into your mouth, hot and thick, your tongue swirling to catch every drop. You swallowed carefully, the salty warmth flooding your senses, grounding you in this charged connection.
When he finally relaxed, head falling back with a shudder, you looked up at him through thick lashes, a slow, satisfied smile curling your lips. Christoph’s chest rose and fell rapidly as he caught his breath, fingers gently brushing your cheek in a rare moment of tenderness.
“You always know exactly what I need,” he murmured, voice rough but soft.
You reached up to cup his face, pressing a hungry kiss to his hungry lips before rising to your feet, slowly and steadily. You pulled away from his mouth, your breaths ragged and uneven, the heat between you both building like a storm ready to break. The soft glow of the small bathroom light caught the glisten of sweat on his skin, highlighting the sharp planes of Christoph’s jaw and the way his pupils darkened with need. Your lips were still tingling from the fierce, demanding kisses he'd left, his lipstick smeared across your collarbone like a silent signature.
You slid your hands down to the hem of your dress, slowly peeling it away from your damp skin, the fabric whispering as it slid over your curves and pooled at your feet. Standing before him in only your delicate lace panties and heels, you felt the sharp intake of breath he gave. His eyes darkened, full of raw hunger and something deeper—an intimate ownership that had been quietly building between you both, stitched into years of shared nights like this one.
Christoph didn’t say a word as he reached for your hips, thumbs pressing into your skin, pulling you closer. His hands were steady, grounding, even as your heart raced and your breath hitched at the anticipation curling in your belly. Slowly, deliberately, he slid his fingers beneath the lace at your hips, inching lower until his fingers grazed the warm, slick heat between your thighs.
His gaze never left yours as he curled two fingers inside you, slow and torturous, tracing just the edges of your wetness. You bit your lip, a soft moan slipping free as he flexed his fingers, drawing out the delicate shivers that ran through your body. You felt every flick of his touch as if it was a brand searing your skin—pain and pleasure mingled in a delicious tension.
You leaned your forehead against his shoulder, letting yourself fall into the moment, the feel of his strong, sure hands, the steady pulse of his breath against your neck. Christoph’s breathing deepened, the restrained growl rumbling low in his throat as he tightened his grip on your hips, making you lean back just enough so your eyes met again.
“Don’t stop,” you whispered, voice thick with need.
His fingers moved more confidently now, a little faster, stretching and coaxing you open. Your hands curled into fists at his shoulders, nails digging lightly into the taut muscles, grounding yourself as the sensation blossomed hotter and hotter inside. Christoph’s lips found your neck again, pressing open-mouthed kisses along the sensitive skin, biting gently, marking you like the lipstick still smudged across your collarbone.
When his fingers finally withdrew, you caught the faintest hitch in his breath—he was just as desperate as you were.
You didn’t hesitate. Lowering yourself onto his lap, you wrapped your arms around his neck, tangling your fingers in his hair as you sank down onto his thick length. The slow, delicious stretch of him filling you made your breath stutter, eyes fluttering shut as you adjusted to the familiar fullness.
Christoph’s hands slid down to grip your hips firmly, holding you steady as you began to move—first just gentle rocking, then a slow, deep bounce that sent a fire racing through your veins. The contrast of the cool air in the room against the heat of your bodies pressed together was electric, making every nerve sing.
His grip tightened as you settled into a rhythm, driving deeper with each movement, hitting places inside you that made your toes curl and your breath catch. Christoph’s mouth hovered over your shoulder, his voice low and rough.
“You’re mine, baby. So fucking tight for me.”
You gasped at the possessiveness laced in his tone, biting down on your lip to hold back a moan. His hands slid up your sides, fingers digging into the soft flesh of your waist as he pulled you impossibly closer, his chest flush against your back.
You leaned back, lips brushing his jaw, and he caught your mouth in a fierce kiss, tongue sliding inside as if he was trying to taste every last bit of you. The kiss was demanding, almost desperate, a raw contrast to the smooth, measured way his hips kept thrusting.
Your hands explored the broad planes of his chest, feeling the rapid pulse beneath his skin, the sharp lines of muscle tightening under your touch. Christoph’s fingers tightened in your hair, pulling your head back slightly, exposing your neck and sending a fresh wave of heat rushing through you.
He kissed the hollow at your throat, nibbling gently before trailing wet kisses down to your collarbone. You arched into his touch, skin tingling, breath catching in a steady rhythm with his hips.
Your moans grew louder, echoing off the cold tile walls as Christoph’s pace quickened—each thrust deeper, harder, filled with the kind of need that had been simmering all day, all night. The friction, the heat, the smell of sweat and skin mixed with the sharp scent of his cologne—it was intoxicating, overwhelming.
You clutched his shoulders, nails scraping lightly over tense muscle, heart hammering in your chest as you pushed yourself harder against him, chasing the edge.
Christoph groaned deep in his throat, hips stuttering as he neared his own release. His hands slid down your sides, under your panties, pressing flat against the bare skin of your hips, steadying you as his body trembled.
“Come for me,” he rasped, voice thick and raw.
You didn’t hesitate. Your head fell back against his shoulder, mouth open in a silent scream as the pleasure crashed through you in tidal waves—heat and shuddering release twisting through every fiber of your being. Christoph’s name slipped from your lips like a prayer as you rode the storm, clutching him tighter.
Christoph followed right after, his body convulsing beneath you, breath ragged and voice breaking as he spilled inside you, the slick heat of him filling you completely. He held you close, hips still trembling as you both came down from the intensity together, wrapped up in each other’s arms.
The silence after was thick with heat, your breath still tangled in his. Christoph held you there for a while—forehead to forehead, hands gripping your thighs, your back pressed to the cold tile wall. His chest rose and fell against yours in ragged waves, his body slowly coming down from the high of control and release. You shivered, not from the chill, but from the way his hands finally softened around you, his thumb brushing your skin with something almost tender.
Eventually, he stepped back just enough to give you room to breathe, to adjust your clothes, to laugh softly at the sheer chaos of what you’d just done.
“I think you broke the coat hook,” you mumbled, glancing over your shoulder where your dress dangled halfway off it.
He followed your gaze with a small smirk. “I warned you.”
You hobbled to the mirror, still dizzy, and tried wiping off the streak of mascara under your eye. Christoph stood behind you, adjusting his disheveled shirt, but the moment your eyes met in the reflection, he stilled.
His posture straightened.
Then, in the same absurd, overdone falsetto he used on stage, he said with theatrical flair:
“You did well, meine süße Submissive. Frau Schneider is… pleased.”
Your jaw dropped in mock horror. “No. No—don’t you dare bring her back right now.”
But he was already smirking, slipping fully back into character like a twisted chameleon. He strutted dramatically around you, mimicking the swish of an invisible skirt, his voice dripping with smug, kinky pride.
“So obedient. So filthy. You’ll make an excellent assistant for next week’s act.”
You laughed, doubled over as he reached into his bag and—of course—produced the damn riding crop again, like it had respawned from some theatrical dimension.
He tapped your thigh with it and said, with a wink,
“Frau Schneider never truly leaves. She just waits… in the wings.”
“Christoph,” you wheezed, “I’m begging you, I can’t breathe.”
He leaned close, dropping the falsetto just enough to murmur in your ear:
“You’re lucky I’m patient.”
Then he kissed your shoulder, gently now, and helped zip your dress back up—riding crop still hanging from his teeth like a rose.
