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]

[The point at which he stumbles is the question of how coddling he ought to be. But Patrick does look awfully childlike, curled up like that, so Sherlock keeps talking almost as he would to a child.]

It's over. Just -- listen to my voice.

[His fingers curl and uncurl slightly over the back of Jane's hand.]

It's all gonna be fine. Just breathe steady... stay calm.

[thetruthismine]

[He's already locked on, already mostly calm. It's like a cell phone searching for a tower: as soon as he made the connection with Sherlock, the risk of him losing that line dropped. There are no other distractions to field, save the steadily receding static whine in his mind. While he dislikes being talked down to even on normal days, his breathing has fallen in time with the flexing of Sherlock's fingers, his body obedient, perfectly trained. This is doing wonders, giving him something solid to stand on.

His body is becoming well-managed now; all he needs is a good bit of script to get the rest of the way. Once all that is buttoned up, he'll probably be able to take the blindfold off without a shock. Jane's body unfolds just a bit, feet not flexed so tightly against the armrest.]

[seesobserves]

[Sherlock sees the breathing, clocks the concept that Jane is using him as an anchor. Physical and mental... but he's still not there yet.

He's heard Jane do his NLP before. More than enough times to give him an idea of how it works. Putting it into practice is another matter, but he can try.

Something changes in his voice, brings it down a note. He's settling into a surer place.]

You're rising up out of the water. Nearly there -- don't rush it. Relax, and your body will float to the surface...

[He gets that far before he remembers: counting.]

5, breathing easy. 4, allow yourself to relax. 3, know that you are safe.

2... 1.

[He turns his (and by extension Patrick's) hand over, his fingers flexing temporarily into a more solid grip. It was unintentional, but it could almost be taken as a hypnotic cue.]

[thetruthismine]

[The change is immediate, that final step clicking into place for him to step on and make his way to the surface. Jane's features visibly relax, his chest rising and falling in bigger motions.

He's floating on his back, coming up by degrees. Pulse established, limbs free of tension. All the darkness is below him. Safe and sound, he breaks the surface when his hand turns, his entire demeanor changing, his energy different.

Jane raises his head up to normal, almost like he's waking up from a nap. Inhales, smacks his lips because his mouth is dry and he's ready to talk. He smells dried wax, feels it tacky on his chest, and could swear he tastes ozone. With his other hand, he lifts the bottom of the blindfold, peeking out a bit.]

Nnnn.

[seesobserves]

[He's a little surprised that it worked so well -- and the surprise registers on his face, a brief brightening of the eyes when Patrick's head lifts. His hand, too, still in Patrick's, tightens one increment more. The face was a conscious allowance, a pulling back of the curtain only because Jane still can't see him. The hand was unconscious.

And then Jane is lifting the blindfold. Sherlock stays where he is, only tilts his head slightly to put himself more in Jane's view. What does he need now?]

All right?

[thetruthismine]

[Jane pushes the fabric up a tiny bit, blinking against the change in light.

Water. Blindfold half off his face like some kind of pirate, he reaches over for the glass beside him and gulps half of it down in one go. His hand trembles the faintest bit when he moves to put it back, but that's probably the fatigue and adrenaline mixing up.

He doesn't let go of Sherlock's hand.]

I feel like I just ran through a washer and dryer cycle. With a herd of cats.

[He sounds tired, but also surprised at how wrung-out he feels. Some of the session is fuzzy, dreamy; he was pretty far down there for a while. This isn't necessarily the first time he's let someone do this to him, but... it was a lot. He picks at a dried rivulet of wax, peeling like he's not entirely certain how it got there.]

[seesobserves]

Remarkable.

[He's proud of Jane, actually -- for hanging on longer than he'd anticipated, for being so engaging and engaged. Less proud of himself for allowing his own control to slip. His gaze skirts to the floor again, or approximately the level of Jane's feet.]

That, uh -- that moment with the claws, if it -- if that was too far...

[thetruthismine]

[Jane looks down, brushes his fingertips gingerly over the reddened skin there. He knows what it was, what caused that moment of animal panic; but he's not sure if he wants to share that, or if he's supposed to. And it could make Sherlock feel worse. He glances over to see Sherlock's eyes averted, realizes he'd gotten into this too. Too much vulnerability in the room.]

I can handle the pain.

[Meaning it was something else.]

[seesobserves]

Of course.

[He looks up, maybe a little too quickly, already doing his own damage control. Definitely too much vulnerability, but... this is important.]

...but, um. What I did, where I -- covered your mouth, that probably wasn't good.

[thetruthismine]

[Bullseye.

Jane's gaze falters, and he remembers. Immobility, no eyes, and no mouth. The terror of no agency, of no power. It makes his blood run cold, just for a moment, and if he squeezes Sherlock's hand a bit tighter, he's not aware.

He swallows, clears his throat softly.]

N-no.

[not good.]

[seesobserves]

Sorry.

[The apology feels flimsy and insufficient, but then, they always do.

He squeezes back, matching the pressure of Jane's hand, and looks away, goes quiet. It isn't that he's waiting for forgiveness...

...but he'd better do something else before Jane makes that assumption. Sherlock pulls himself together. His hand relaxes, though it'll stay in Jane's as long as Jane is still holding on. Back to business.]

Need anything?

[thetruthismine]

It's okay. [Though that sounds flimsy too. Always does.

Jane takes stock of himself, the soreness and the feeling of being somewhat raw, and shivers just a little in the cool air of the room.]

My shirt would be nice.

[seesobserves]

...yes.

[Of course. Sherlock slips away to fetch Jane's shirt, and in the process remembers: physical and mental stress. He picks up a folded-up blanket as well, and drops it on the sofa when he returns before delivering the shirt.

He goes to the table, begins gathering up his tools. Might as well put them away.]

[thetruthismine]

[Jane gingerly dons the shirt, feeling soft cotton brush over sensitive skin and sore arms. It takes a full minute to get the thing on, working in the chair and around muscles that had been strained hard. Getting his left arm to swing the shirt around behind his head is the hardest part. He doesn't button, leaving the shirt open so he can get to the remnants of wax streaking to his navel. The extra layer feels nice; he's one step closer to baseline.

But he feels Sherlock's absence at the same time he's aware of Sherlock standing nearby busying himself. Jane drinks down another quarter of the water and starts to feel that heavy fatigue start to seep in again. He pushes his feet over the edge of the chair, leaning forward in an almost doubled-over position, then braces his hands on the armrests and attempts to put weight on his feet.]

[seesobserves]

[A drawer shuts, and Sherlock sees the motion out of the corner of his eye. Looks up, goes still and watches. How much is he expected to help?]

[thetruthismine]

[Wow, he's wobbly. All the chemicals and straining have gotten him feeling like his legs are rubber bands.

Depending on how far away the couch is, he might be able to make it without assistance. More than three paces? He'll need a hand. In fact;]

Um...?

[seesobserves]

[Sherlock may need direction at times, but when he does, it doesn't take much.

He's at Jane's side in an instant, slipping an arm around Jane's waist, positioning his shoulders for support.]

Here.

[He'll take the weight with only minor difficulty, and lead Jane to the sofa.]

[thetruthismine]

[a nervous laugh] Thank you.

[It's not dire but he didn't want to bear the risk of going down mid-stride. That would just be embarrassing. Feeling pressure on his torso is weird, but not painful; the contrast between tingling and firmness is rather stark. Jane tries to wrap his brain around the shift in Sherlock's role relative to himself.

He sits, sinking into the cushions gratefully. He's not sure what he wants at the moment, or what he needs, but the sofa is divine. That chair was horribly stiff after ...however long he was in it.]

Oh, yeah.

[seesobserves]

[Tea.

Sherlock knows he could use some, and he suspects Jane, if he's still awake by the time it's ready, wouldn't mind either. So he quietly moves into the kitchen to put the kettle on. He busies himself with cups and saucers and spoons, milk and sugar.]

[thetruthismine]

[Jane looks over to see the blanket next to him, and feels drowsiness start to make his eyelids heavy. But he hears cups and kettles, and decides he'll try to stay awake long enough for that. There's still more buttoning-up to do, anyways.

He peels off the remnants of wax, then does up his shirt. Despite the comfort of the couch, the softness of a blanket, he feels like he's missing some critical element of contact. Jane shifts over until he's in the center of the sofa, which will make Sherlock take one side or the other once he returns. Meantime, he'll unfold the blanket and pull it over his front so he can start mentally sweeping up a bit.]

[seesobserves]

[...sit next to him, or take the chair?

Sherlock may not be the best at reading what a person needs, but he understands power dynamics. Sitting in the chair could potentially place Jane under another position of scrutiny. Fair bet that's a thing that needs avoiding. But sitting next to him could create a problem with proximity, if he's feeling the need for solitude. What to do?

He finds himself hoping that Jane will be asleep by the time he gets back, but no such luck. So he stays standing while he sets down the tray and pours the tea. He'll give that decision another moment.

He arranges a spoon neatly on the saucer next to the cup, and passes it in Jane's direction. Again looking to him for clues.]

[thetruthismine]

[Jane takes it with both hands facing up, not trusting himself to remain shake-free when bringing it to his lap. The blanket pools over his legs and he scoots just the slightest bit to the side to accommodate Sherlock on the couch. Then he sets about finishing his serving and picks up the spoon.]

[seesobserves]

[Right.

Sherlock takes his own tea and settles on Patrick's right side, spoon stirring. He's starting to feel frayed himself: the fading adrenaline, the dance around less familiar territory. But he blows across the surface of the tea, takes the first sip and -- ah. That's better.]

[thetruthismine]

[Jane is a little less proper about his imbibing, taking a small sip while it's hot, then a few larger drinks as it cools. The warmth soothes him, makes him even more tired, so he shifts closer and turns his body a little, resting somewhat against Sherlock's arm. The proximity makes him feel so much more at peace, the static in him starting to level off and dissipate.]

[seesobserves]

[Sherlock goes still. Not stiff, not any more than usual, but still. He's just finished letting out a breath and he doesn't take one in again until his lungs start to complain. His cup clicks gently down onto its saucer.

He doesn't move away. Even takes another drink after a moment. Glances over, sees the weariness pulling at Jane's face.

Hell. He may as well ask; it'll be quicker that way.]

Want the sofa?