Extreme/Unusual Kink Meme (TRIGGER WARNING)

[swagmancer]

For many of those kinks that aren't covered by the other kink memes. WARNING: WILL CONTAIN TRIGGERS, READ WITH CAUTION.

HOW TO PLAY:
- Post with your character/canon in the subject line. Be sure to include preferences in either the subject line or comment, detailing what you are or are not interested in playing.
- Tag other people by hitting up the RNG, rolling to pick a category and then a relevant prompt below.
- There will be absolutely no kink-shaming. Do not tag a player with a kink they've said they don't like. No abuse or harassment (unless it's the sexy IC kind) is tolerated.
- This meme is guaranteed to include triggers, squicks, and adult times. Be conscientious of yourself and of your fellow roleplayers.

DOMINANCE (1)
1. Forced orgasm/orgasm denial - Maybe making your partner beg for it. Maybe making them beg you to stop.
2. Breathplay - When you control even how they breathe.
3. Sensory deprivation - So they perceive nothing but your touch.
4. Dub-con - Whether they like it or not.
5. Non-con - They definitely don’t like it. You don’t care.
6. Somnophilia - While you were sleeping...
7. Fisting - Inside them past the wrist.
8. Mind Control - Congratulations: you have powers of hypnosis, or telepathy. All the better to subdue your partner.
9. Master/slave or master/pet dynamics - You own them, and everything they are.
10. Piercings/tattoos/branding/scarification - Leaving a permanent mark.
11. Humiliation - Someone deserves to be taken down a peg or two.
12. Aftercare - You’ve exhausted them. Time to bathe, cuddle, and put them back together again.

GENDERPLAY (2)
1. Forced feminization/masculinization - Who’s a good little girl?
2. Pegging/Femdom - because guys aren’t the only ones who can bend someone over a desk and fuck ‘em.
3. Breast expansion - Hmm, let’s make a few adjustments here...
4. Pregnancy, fertilization, breeding - You just can’t wait to have a child.
5. Human cattle/livestock - Milking, feeding, mucking ‘em out.
6. Bimbo/slut transformation - They only exist to fuck. Preferably to fuck you.

VIOLENCE (3)
1. Bloodplay - Mmmm. Tastes like pennies.
2. Vore - Who’s hungry?
3. Mutilation - including castration, amputation, evisceration

ANATOMY (4)
1. Watersports - A golden shower.
2. Xenophilia, tentacles - Maybe you’re a little too fond of alien anatomy. Or maybe aliens are a little too fond of you...
3. Inflation - You’ve taken so much that you’re swollen.
4. Sounding - Slide it right down the center of his cock.
5. Medical kink - Oh, doctor, I have a terrible problem...
6. Enemas - To clean you out everywhere.
7. Extreme size difference - possibly even anatomically impossible sex
8. Multiple penetration - As many as you can take.

AGEPLAY (5)
1. Age difference - May-December
2. Extreme age difference - ...February-December?
3. Underage sex - They might not know what they’re doing, but they’ll try.
4. Virginity - Time to deflower one partner or another.

OTHER (6)
1. Fucking machines - When human stamina just isn’t enough
2. Ritualistic sex - a religious sacrifice, a cult demand.
3. Gangbang - They’re all here, and they all want you.
4. Multiple - Pick two of the above.
5. Multiple multiple - pick 3-5 of the above.
6. Challenge - Include 5+ of the above.
7. Wild card - Don’t like any of the options? Come up with your own!

[[originally composed by (and reposted with permission from) cerebel.]]

Comments

[seesobserves]

[Sherlock folds his hands behind his back and counts off the seconds: one, two, three, four, five - Jane laughs - eight, nine... He's straining at his bonds, fighting something, forcing himself down again. Thirteen, fourteen, he appears to have won the battle, and certainly the flash of pain from the clamps has run its course. Sherlock removes them, drops them neatly in his top jacket pocket. He remains standing right where he is, in front of Jane.]

Pawn to f5.

'Mene mene tekel upharsin.' What's it mean?

[thetruthismine]

[Sherlock's presence directly in front of him is starting to make him intensely uncomfortable. Jane ducks his head, listening to the crinkle of chains as they're packed away, and tries to cope with the broad wash of expanding nerves in the wake of the clamps being gone. He wonders if subsequent turns will be as long.]

Numbered, numbered, weighed, divided.

It's figurative.

[A cultural staple, and a common turn of phrase ("the writing is on the wall"). Grace would be so proud.

...Well, likely not of him in a chair being electrocuted, but at least he's not ignorant of the literature despite being an unbeliever. As long as he isn't asked to give any dissertations.

The board takes a while, pulling up the image and strategizing. It's hard to mount an offensive with this piece structure. But he can't dawdle.]

Queen d1.

[seesobserves]

[Huh. Sherlock had expected him to struggle more with that one. But his body language suggests there's something other than the question giving him stress. Sherlock starts walking a slow circle around the chair.]

"Do not give in too much to feelings. A overly sensitive heart is an unhappy possession on this shaky earth."

[And as he passes by Jane's side:]

Pawn to b4.

[thetruthismine]

[The walking ramps up his tension even more, and he follows some of the motion with his head.

He's started gripping the armrests again.]

It's good advice. [his voice is strained.] ...I don't know.

Knight to b1

[seesobserves]

Don't you? [He mutters, mostly to himself, low enough that Jane should barely hear it over the buzzing in his head:] Haven't stumbled on a quote yet...

[He continues the circle, then passes by Jane's front and continues toward the table.]

[thetruthismine]

[It's the pacing and subsequent silence that start to get to him. If he heard the talking, he doesn't reply, feeling the endorphins starting to run a little thin. As strong as his will is, his body isn't going to produce chemicals endlessly without some kind of recharge. Pretty soon the heady pain is going to become just regular pain, and that might be too much. He'll have to pull away from the game and trivia to manage the hurting, and that will be the end of the session. He doesn't want that, but things are escalating quickly. This is the second miss he's had in only a few moments.

He waits to find out what the next punishment will be, trying not to let a dark corner of his mind open up and spill out.]

[seesobserves]

[There's a quick, sharp sound: velcro, if Jane can summon the mental fortitude to translate it. And now Sherlock is headed back over.]

Johann Wolfgang von Goethe. [Said with a perfect German accent. And now he's in front of Jane, threading a hand - his left - into Jane's hair. Holding his head steady, though not hard.]

Personal favourite.

[And a leather-clad right hand smacks Patrick hard across the face. Sherlock takes Patrick by the chin to lift up his head in the aftermath, then raises his arm for a backhand.]

[thetruthismine]

[he tenses on the approach, then goes as loose as the electricity will allow-- not submissive, necessarily, but accepting; it's easy for him in this scenario with the blindfold and rules.

Slap

A cry escapes his lips, his mouth falling open as much from surprise as the feel of it. Suddenly, absurdly, he remembers being a boy and feeling the sharp, hard pop of his father's palm on his face. His expression starts to contort, and he wants to reach a hand up to soothe and cradle, but it's held fast. He can't do anything about this strike any more than he could then, and he strains against the chair, hard. It's too much of a physical-emotional memory.

Jane grinds out a groan as he pulls against the restraints, getting absolutely nowhere while fingers touch his chin.]

[seesobserves]

[One of Zeno's paradoxes describes the flight of an arrow towards a tree: in order to pierce the tree, the arrow must travel half the distance, then a quarter of the way, then an eighth, then a sixteenth, and half of that and half again; by this reckoning, it can never actually reach the tree. Sherlock feels they have been traveling by half-distances for several minutes now, the increments getting smaller and smaller. How far yet until they reach the breaking point, until the paradox falls apart?

The question is one that, in this moment, utterly consumes his focus. He is watchful, vigilantly so, but he can't let up until that word is uttered. Down comes his hand again, whip-fast, his knuckles striking flat against Patrick's cheek.]

[thetruthismine]

[He sobs, just once, but doesn't have the presence of mind to hate himself for it. Right now, he's too far under to do anything other than pant arrhythmically and lob back and forth between thoughts like a pinball machine. This isn't the same pleasure-coma he'd swam around in earlier, it's something else, something way beneath and below.

The chessboard is forgotten, up on some other level of his head while he still pulls hard at the bonds around his ankles. He just wants to be able to move his freaking feet.

Jane makes an anxious straining sound, head hanging pitifully low.]

[seesobserves]

[Sherlock leans down with his hands on his knees, face level with Jane's.]

Bishop to b5.

[He's not looking good. Struggling, but not saying anything. Something about that pings; a moment ago he was distressed but still coherent, and this seems too drastic of a change.]

I need to know you're listening. Say something.

[thetruthismine]

[It's just distant words in his ears, without further processing. He sees a literal bishop walk over to the last bee in a row of five. Wait, no. Chess. The bishop is at b5 and -- his cheeks are still stinging. He can't move his feet. There's someone in his personal space.

Jane is too busy wading around knee-deep in his own brain matter to compose anything rational to say. He senses concern, but all he gets out is 'S--', a corner of his brain's attempt to either be clever or very literal.]

[seesobserves]

Patrick.

[Concern of a sort. It may be the underlying motivation, but Sherlock's voice is still laser-focused.]

I've got more questions. I could do this all day. You can end it now. You only have to say the word.

[thetruthismine]

[Far along as he is, he could still be further, go deeper. Stop now? Hell no.

Jane musters the ability to force words out:] Rook.

G...1.

[seesobserves]

[Good.]

Time signature of Bach's Partita number three, second movement.

Bishop d6.

[thetruthismine]

[He hears it in his head, same as before, but there's reverb this time. It feels...slower.]

Loure. 6/4.

[He starts humming it softly, barely audible as the chessboard comes back into better focus.]

E... four.

[seesobserves]

[Sherlock backs off now, stands up straight. The glove comes off - rrip - and gets stowed in a pocket.]

Pawn takes e4. Eros, philia, agape and...?

[thetruthismine]

[Greek. It's in a special corner, where languages and related information sits. He's starting to wade out of the swamp a bit.]

Ssstorge. [It's easier to think when Sherlock isn't hovering so close.]

Queen takes knight.

[seesobserves]

[Sherlock slips the remote from his pocket, considering. He can up the current once more without edging into dangerous territory.

He doesn't do it just yet.]

The shortest verse in the King James Bible.

Rook takes pawn.

[thetruthismine]

[It's funny. His lips curl but it looks more like a grimace...or a sneer.]

Jesus wept.

[dammit this chess strategy fell apart ages ago and there's not much left to do than put off the inevitable;] Queen. To g5.

[seesobserves]

[He sees what you're doing there. Sherlock starts another slow circle, walking around him. Turning the remote over in his hand.]

"Life is a series of natural and spontaneous changes." Rook f8.

[thetruthismine]

[There goes the tension again. Scrutiny.]

Lao Tzu. [The static flickers, and he feels the sharp bite of current in his body for a moment. Then it fades back down to the level he's managed to sustain for the most part.] King to h1.

[seesobserves]

Rook 8 to f5.

[And as he speaks, there it goes, another hum of current. This ought to sting.]

What was my tenth question?

[thetruthismine]

[His entire body goes rigid, his head throwing back to knock against the headrest. He tries to keep in a cry, the sound forcing out through his nose as a muffled whine.

The current is pain. It's static and lightning fingers and it's ascendent. It's almost impossible not to bathe in the sensation of nerves crackling and muscles screaming loud noise in his ears. Tenth question, what? What was the first one?

He's counting, slowly trying to balance the mental rewind back to start with the long-gone state he's in. One is a gun, two is a shoe. More counting, more questions.

He thinks about the chess board, and watches the rook slide around like a giant monolith scraping furls of earth off a grassy knoll as it goes. Deeper into his mind he sinks, seeing doors opening before him and stands rolling down their canvas coverings.

The hand squeezes harder. His legs strain against the ties on his ankles.]

You've only asked nine.

[through the strings of electricity. Strained.]

[seesobserves]

Hmm. I count eight.

[His steps take him around Jane and toward the table.]