bakerstreet | The BDSM Meme

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The BDSM Meme

Have you ever had a dream where you were running through a sunflower field with clouds dancing across a crystal blue sky, your lover's running towards you? The wind is whipping through lovely lavish locks...and you embrace for that perfect passionate kiss...WELL. This is not that dream. This is hard, sweaty, angry, crazy, monstrous fucking.
-Brendon Urie

Sometimes, when someone has been very naughty, they just need to be tied up and whipped.

Post a comment with your character, fandom, and preferences in the subject line. Make sure to note if there is anything on the list you're not comfortable with. Use the RNG to get a number between 1 and 16, or just pick one (or several!) and tag around! Feel free to get creative!

1 - Handcuffs. An oldie but a goodie. Are you handcuffed to something or just behind your back?

2 - Full bondage. This can be anything from hands tied to the headboard to the most complex of rope bondage.

3 - Sex swing. Sling 'em up! Also includes harnesses and special furniture.

4 - Tied to the bed. You are not going anywhere -- whether spread-eagle or kneeling at the foot, you are not moving from this bed until your lover says so.

5 - Public scene. Whether a demonstration at a small party or a subtle but definite show of dominance in a restaurant, someone else is watching this show.

6 - Riding crop. Giddyup!

7 - Paddle. Leather, metal, or wood? Either way, someone's been bad.

8 - Cane. Just like in school!

9 - Whip. This isn't for beginners. Avoid the vital organs.

10 - Sensory deprivation. Blindfold, gag, breathplay? The possibilities here are endless.

11 - Spanking. Why use toys when your hand works just as well?

12 - Candle wax. Oh it burns so good.

13 - Blades. Careful where you cut, and make sure you clean up after!

14 - Needleplay. Whether it's permanent or just for play, this is a particularly sharp pain.

15 - Electric stimulation. Do you have an instrument, or are you being reckless with a wallplug?

16 - Wild card. Pick one of these or do your own favorite fantasy!

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[The world had almost ended. Aliens, apparently. Stopped by some madman with a bow tie or something--Sherlock had never really looked into it, because current events aren't really his thing unless they're crime-related. It's a fact that John's ribbed him over many times since then, pointing out that it's not surprising that the finer details of the existence of extraterrestrial life are being completely ignored by someone that doesn't know primary school astronomy. At this point, after all the jokes about not knowing the Earth goes around the sun, it's getting so repetitive that Sherlock's actually retaining that small factoid despite all attempts to forget it. What a waste of space on the hard drive.]

[It's been nearly a year since the world almost ended and he and Irene had their...moment in that alley, and it's a case that's brought them together again. He'd had a crimelord to catch and she'd had to avoid someone trying to kill her. Plenty of exciting things have happened, involving international terrorists, BDSM dungeons, mutual life-saving, and daring escapes. They'd set up the man he'd been hunting down--the same man who'd been trying to kill her--for a fall. Case closed. Unfortunately one of the lasting consequences was that he'd wound up drugged at the end of it, and had needed her help getting back to the hotel where they'd previously been hiding, pretending to be a newlywed couple on their honeymoon.]

[Ah, Prague. Lovely city, isn't it?]

[Sherlock had been out for some time, sleeping off the drug cocktail. Now he's finally starting to stir, and he feels much better when he wakes up, more well-rested than hung over.]

[Of course, he did have one minor quibble. When he'd gone to sleep, he hadn't really expected to wake up tied to the bed.]

[He really probably should have.]

Unless I'm mistaken, the world isn't ending again.

[He'd been due to beg twice, but she's jumping the gun.]

ooc: Two Sherlocks cool? I figured we could build on the end of the world one we did to make them different.

[He really was out for quite a while. After putting him to bed, Irene had had time to get online via the spotty hotel wireless and confirm travel arrangements, pack the majority of her things, and take a quick shower. All the necessities of a life on the run. Of course, somewhere in the middle of that, she grew bored. At first she paced the room, restless, checking the window, checking her phone. She even spoke to him a bit, though of course there was no reply. Eventually she amused herself by visualizing scenarios based on what she had to hand. There were quite a few of them, as it turned out — the overnight bag that accompanied her suitcase was awfully full.

It was meant to be no more than a daydream to pass the time, but it was just so easy. He'd hardly twitched when she looped the rope around his wrists, hadn't even blinked when she'd tightened it and secured it to the bedposts. And once it was done, the sight of him secured and awaiting her not-so-tender mercies was undeniably stirring.

By the time he regains consciousness, she's seated across from the bed scrolling through messages on her phone, complimentary robe belted loosely about her waist.

She glances up as if she'd been expecting this for some time. Game on.]

No, but why repeat ourselves?

((ooc: Absolutely! I will ~never~ have enough Sherlocks, so don't worry!))

[He tugs experimentally.]

[Then he tugs not so experimentally, trying to get free. His muscles flex underneath his skin--he'd squirmed out of his somewhat tattered shirt before sleeping so he's been shirtless this whole time, though apparently he'd still retained his trousers.]

[After struggling for a short time, he collapses back to rest on the bed and thanks his lucky stars that he hit the loo before he went to sleep, because otherwise, this would be a very, very unpleasant situation.]

[Craning his neck somewhat he manages to glance at the clock. Provided he hadn't been out that long, it's the next morning.]

This is both tedious and highly inconvenient. I do have a flight to catch.

[There is something distinctly sulky in his expression and voice as he says it. But he has to act annoyed doesn't he?]

[That's part of the game.]

[She watches him try, the beginnings of a smile at the corners of her lips. Those knots aren't going anywhere, and neither is he.

At his complaint, she leans forward slightly, chin in hand.]

You can take a later one. I believe that's why they have standby.

[Moving with the sort of fluidity that comes from having all the power (and knowing it), she stands and crosses the room to her overnight bag. The phone goes into a side pocket and then she unzips the main compartment. One by one, slowly, she begins pulling items out and laying them on the table. Some she holds up admiringly, others she replaces with a quick shake of her head. Once, pitched just loud enough for him to hear, she mutters, "Mm, too messy — they'll bill us extra," and puts something away. Only after she's made her choice does she turn back to look at him.]

Four hours til checkout.

You'll be bored in four minutes.

[He's not going to react, and that's not going to be entertaining to her.]

[That is, he thinks he's not going to react.]

[They both know what she's capable of in four minutes.]

I'll be just warming up.

[There's a case in her hand as she walks to the nightstand and she sets it down on top, unsnaps it. Neatly packed within is a rather extensive array of glass tubes, metal implements, and, bizarrely, a few things that look more like cat toys than anything sexual. She removes a slim cylindrical object attached to a cord and inserts the tip of a cable into the end of it. The other end of the cable is a rod about the size and thickness of a permanent marker. Finally, she unplugs the alarm clock and plugs in the device in its place. It buzzes softly.]

If you've got anything electronic in your pockets, now would be the time to tell me.

[He could say no. He could tell her to stop. He could kick her in the face, knock her out, and scream for help until someone calls hotel security. Instead, Sherlock's eyes roll skyward as he tries to remember. Everything he'd done yesterday is fuzzy, after all, and he's not even sure where half his possessions are. Then he looks back to her, and there's a moment where he almost looks stricken as he realizes she'll have to reach into his pocket to take what's in it out. He's tempted to not say anything but, given what it is, having it shorted out is entirely unacceptable.]

My phone.

[At least he keeps his voice level as he says it.]

Good boy.

[She would have searched regardless — as devious as her motives often are, she does hold herself to a certain standard of safe play — but now she has permission, that first little bit of submission, and it's delicious. With her free hand she slips into his pocket, retrieves the phone, and drops it into the drawer of the nightstand. The rest of the pockets get a cursory pat-down to be sure there's nothing else.

Now that that's taken care of, she turns a dial on the wand until the buzzing stops. The current isn't quite off, but it's low enough to be nearly undetectable. She then takes the rod at the end of the cable and slides it under his waistband so it's pressed against bare flesh. There may have been a slight tingle initially, but, once it's in solid contact with his skin, he'll feel nothing. She thumbs the dial back up until the buzzing reaches its previous level.]

We'll start slow.

[He stays perfectly, unnaturally still when she reaches into his pocket. Somehow, as the wand is slipped under his waistband, he manages to go even more still.]

[Sherlock isn't looking at what she's doing. His eyes are locked on her face. He opts for first-name familiarity, rather than the usual "Miss Adler." It's a calculated show of resistance.]

What is it you really want from me, Irene?

[Submission, yes, he knows she wants that, but he gave that back in the alley when the world was ending. This has always been a very complicated game they play, but what's happening here takes it into new territory, territory that he doesn't quite understand. He doesn't know the rules to this part and he certainly doesn't understand the objectives.]

Edited 2012-02-20 12:18 (UTC)

[Ever the fighter. She chooses not to punish him for that because allowing some sass at the beginning makes the eventual breakdown all the sweeter and maybe, just maybe, she likes the sound of her name on his lips. Of course, that doesn't mean she'll give him a straight answer.]

Telling you would be beyond boring.

[What she wants is, at its core, unchanged. The next step in having control is to exercise it. In this particular instance, she wants him to recognize her as the be-all and end-all. All sensation—pain, pleasure—is the result of her whim.

Without breaking eye contact, she reaches into the case and removes a mylar flogger. She flicks it once across his chest and there's a smattering of sparks.]

[As sparks crackle against his skin, he twitches slightly--an involuntary reaction--and that's all. That's not really much of a surprise, given the rigid self-control he's capable of. When he speaks again, his voice is just as low and calm as before.]

What's boring is that you're suffering under the extreme delusion that there's anything left for me to give you.

[Sherlock had already given himself, given away a part of himself he'd kept locked up in a little cage, in a vault, buried underground. He'd been there in Karachi, telling her to run, he'd sealed it later with a kiss while the sky burned. That's submission enough. That's more than he's ever given anyone. Other than the mindgames, he doesn't see himself as having anything left to provide--and aren't the mindgames enough? They're enough for him.]

It's all just chemistry. Endorphin release, dopamine levels, adrenaline surge...

[He's never understood the obsession, but then he'd spent quite some time when he was younger manufacturing similar neurochemical effects in his body via pharmaceutical means. It's just another fix in comparison to that.]

Despite the preponderance of misguided individuals that think there's something significant to gained from staring soulfully into each other's eyes-- [His lip curls disdainfully and the sarcasm nearly drips to the floor] --there's no meaning to it other than what people tell themselves and that's a fairy tale.

[Yes, he is arguing about the philosophical implications of sexual expression while getting shocked and whipped. Is there any better time?]

[There's always something more, in her experience, provided you dig down deep enough. She intends to claw it up from the depths of him.

This time she simply drags the flogger down his chest, letting it create trails of sparks while she speaks.]

All meaning is extrinsic. Knowing that we set the value of our own actions doesn't deprive them of that value.

[Up, then down again. Slowly. The intensity is still fairly low, about the same as the shock from touching a doorknob in winter.]

And knowing the chemistry behind it doesn't make it any less real.

[Mid-stroke, she snaps the flogger against the soft flesh of his midsection.]

[It's more than a twitch now. When she snaps the flogger against his midsection, this time he flinches, but he doesn't let the discomfort change his expression, other than a twitch of his nostrils at the faint smell of ozone.]

What meaning are you ascribing to this then?

[It's the same question as before, about what she really wants from him, just worded a different way. He's trying other ways to poke and prod for the answer, other questions to ask. With anyone else, he could just deduce it but she's a walking question mark--he has to ask to understand or trick her into giving the answers.]

[One more sharp snap, slightly lower.]

Will it change your view of this to know mine?

[Another non-answer. She loves to watch him muddle through deciphering her motivations. It's so rare to see him stumped by anything. Each time is a treat.

Expression neutral, she trails the flogger up in a zigzag and allows it for the first time to brush across one of his nipples.]

I think that would depend entirely on whether or not you were telling the truth--

[Then there are crackles, his body jolts, and there's a sharp intake of breath. Apparently, his nipples are very sensitive. Apparently, he'd had no idea that his nipples were sensitive--but then why would he have?]

[Ah, now there's the reaction she was looking for. She brushes it across again, precise as a painter, then switches to the other. She holds the flogger just above it before dipping down to let the tails surround it.]

I may have omitted or obscured the truth on certain occasions, but I've never lied to you.

[That isn't to say that she wouldn't if it were necessary. But lying is such a clumsy tool compared to the rest of her repertoire.]

[His breathing is the even breathing of someone trying far too hard to keep their breathing even.]

Then answer-- [his breath hitches] --answer my question.

[Her grin is positively wicked as she gives the handle a twirl and the tails dance in a crackling circle.]

First make a guess.

[Sherlock doesn't like having the guess. He doesn't want to put himself out there and turn out to be wrong. Especially not with this.]

Control--that's a given.

[He looks at her as his skin crackles, like he's looking through her. There's a niggling sensation at the base of his spine, telling him to arch his back into what she's doing. He ignores it.]

But you could have that with anyone--or, I should say, take that from anyone.

[She is that good, after all.]

Edited 2012-02-21 02:29 (UTC)

True on both counts.

[She returns to the other nipple and repeats the action, scattering sparks. With her hand out of sight below the edge of the bed, she dials up the intensity on the wand.]

So why you in particular?

[Both as a tease and to avoid overstimulation all at once, she sweeps the flogger up and down the length of his chest several times, pausing to circle at the navel, before going back to the nipples.

Though she absorbs his physical responses with pleasure, her attention is focused on the verbal. His interpretation of her intentions has the potential to reveal more than just his deductive prowess.]

[Is that squirming? Yes it is, even if it's slight, even if he's trying to stop himself from doing it. It's not just discomfort as she dials up the intensity--there's much more to it than that, but he tries to stop himself from feeling it.]

My lack of interest in it. The challenge of it. I'm a tough nut to crack.

[He says each of those last few words with more emphasis than is required, as if he finds the thinking behind it absolutely ludicrous.]

You're not the first that's tried.

[Judging from the way he's trying not to squirm as sparks cascade up and down his skin, those past attempts were clearly unsuccessful. There's something all too virginal about how he's handling himself right now. On his face is the expression of a man completely in control of himself, but his body is trying to react with all the sensitivity and awkward ardor of a gangly teenager, and he only just barely has control over it. She already knew this, though, that it isn't just a rumor, a nickname by Moriarty, that it isn't just him keeping his past dalliances private.]

[No, he'd reached those awkward years in his teens where the lack of control scared him, where the distraction irritated him, and he'd stuffed those feelings down and locked them in a puzzle box. Then he'd hidden it away, telling himself he'd never need it again, lying to himself that it was just the way he was. There are people in the world that it's true for, that just aren't wired that way, but he's spent many long years fooling himself by telling himself he's one of them.]

People are fascinated by puzzles, even when they're not actually there.

[They always think they can slide around the panels until they unlock something in him.]

[He knows her feelings after their time together in the alley, but he thinks this part, going farther than that, is just a game to her.]

[All things are a game to her, in some respect. It's not a switch she can turn on or off. At least, not easily. So of course she sees the situation in those terms, each flick of the flogger over sensitive skin a carefully calculated move.

But that isn't all that drives her. There's a thrill other than victory that runs through her when he squirms beneath her touch.]

I'd say I'm the first that's doing well.

[Try as he might to hide them, his reactions are glaringly obvious to her. After all, she knows where to look.]

That's not your answer though. I enjoy the challenge, yes, but I would enjoy this even if you made it easy.

[Perhaps less so — she thrives on the back and forth. It makes everything more exciting, makes each little twitch that she coaxes out another notch for her side of the board. But even if he were to relinquish control completely, it wouldn't be over.]

My body is reacting to physical stimulus. Pain. It means nothing.

[Sherlock is such a good liar that to anyone else it might seem the truth. He goes back to mulling this little puzzle over.]

It's not something so banal as -- [his concentration briefly breaks and he sucks in a breath through his teeth] -- consummating our feelings or trust or any of that rubbish. You're hardly that sentimental.

[But this is still different from her doing it to anyone else, at least to her. He's still mulling it over, as if he's working out the solution to a case.]

It's not just about what you can take, it's not just about your own pleasure--and you do certainly enjoy this while working or at play--it's about something else. Something-- [Another wince. It's getting harder to concentrate.]

You think you'll get something from me that no one else ever has, that's more than I've already given you.

[The look he flashes her is pure defiance.]

You're wrong.

[That defiance is completely ruined by the way he lets out a grunt, despite himself, right after he says it.]

[She allows him to puzzle through it without interruption, simply smiling and maintaining her work with the flogger — light skimming, punctuated by sharp flicks and snaps, always moving. Each shuddered breath or failed attempt at staying still is made note of and cataloged for later. Filed under Likes, SH. It's a narrow file, compared to some of her others, but every time they meet it expands a little more.

Sherlock may well be fooling himself, but not Irene. She'd hardly be much of a domme if she couldn't tell the difference between someone in pain and someone in pain and liking it.

That grunt only serves as confirmation.]

Am I? That would be another first.

[To free up her other hand, she sets the wand on the nightstand. Then, allowing the mylar tails to casually lick up and down his side, she half-turns to sort through her case.

Ball chain flogger? No, better on the back. Firecracker might be too much. —Ah, there. The willow wand. This particular version has plush coating of varying thickness so that each stroke has the potential to be soft and sensuous or hot and sharp. Turning back, she holds it just far enough above his skin that it doesn't conduct the charge.]

Here's my counterproposal — by the time I'm finished you'll give me anything I want.

[It's not unfathomable. After all, it only took her four minutes to make him beg in the alley. She's taking it slower this time, but that doesn't mean she won't get there.

Too many points of contact will diffuse the charge, so for the introductory stroke of the wand she ceases use of the flogger. Rather than put it back in the case, however, she places it handle-first between her teeth.]

[The sight of the flogger's handle between her teeth causes his eyes to momentarily widen just a bit, before he realizes he's doing it and narrows them again.]

[He's about to make a very erudite argument about how she's utterly delusional when the willow wand comes down on his skin. He grunts again.]

Won't.

[He's a bratty little sub, isn't he? But she's now reducing him to monosyllables and his breath is starting to come out in little huffs and he's occasionally shifting his hips without realizing it.]

Haaaaaaaay you. 16, but no needleplay or blades.

hello!! ♥

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sorry for late, was at a con! violet wand ok?

:|b

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