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]

...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?

[thetruthismine]

[One more sip of tea and the cup is empty. He answers at the same time he starts to shift:] Mm.

[Jane lays his head on Sherlock's shoulder, saucer resting in his lap. He can sense the tension, but he needs this. After all the striking and discomfort, the scales need balancing.]

[seesobserves]

[Jane's not listening, or he misunderstood the question. Either way, he seems determined to use Sherlock as a pillow in some fashion.

Well. He can wait until Jane nods off. It's the least he can do, after how out-of-hand things got. And he still isn't finished with his tea.

Sherlock readjusts himself a bit, losing some of that tension as he leans back into the sofa. There's a slight motion of his head, a glance to the side while he checks that Jane is still comfortable -- his cheek brushes against Jane's hair -- but then he turns back, and sips quietly.]

[thetruthismine]

[All he feels is the pressure of his hair being moved around, and the absolute necessity of not breaking contact. Things need processing.

Jane reaches out to put his saucer on the sofa's arm without looking, then sinks all the way down until his head is in Sherlock's lap. He pulls his feet up on the cushions -- it's a little tight but he manages -- after a brief moment of hesitation. It's clear Sherlock hasn't navigated these waters before so Jane is going to have to take his own care instead of waiting around for it to be given.

He stares out into the room; there was a moment there, in that chair, where he was briefly but deeply terrified. The seconds seemed to last forever, signals crossing all over the place and going haywire. Just thinking about it, trying to figure out where to place it, makes his heart speed a little. These thoughts find their way into his eyes as he lies quietly, his own frame tense.]

[seesobserves]

[Jane's still tense. He's not likely to drift off any quicker unless something changes. Focus, Sherlock. What does he need?

...contact. He'd been content to allow Jane the space to take as much as he needed, but if it's given...

There's a 'clink' as the cup and saucer get set on a side table. Sherlock's left hand comes down to rest on Jane's shoulder, his thumb casually stroking the fabric of Jane's shirt.]

[thetruthismine]

[Some of that tension, that anxiety, dissolves immediately. His shoulders relax, his neck easing out of its strained position. It is a small gesture, but his eyes blink at a slower rate, his breathing a bit less shallow. His mind is still racing, but the environment is becoming markedly more positive.

Jane keeps trying to parse, a little more brain power devoted to his breathing.]

[seesobserves]

[Sherlock relaxes, too, and a moment later his right hand joins the conversation, the backs of his fingers brushing against Jane's hair.

There aren't a great deal of physical marks to indicate their earlier activities. At least not the type most people would notice. All Sherlock can see from here is the rumpled hair (from when it was pulled) and a very slight reddening in Jane's cheek (from where he was slapped).

His right hand flattens on Jane's scalp, not closing even a little bit, thumb making those same minute absent-minded motions.

This goes on for a while. A minute, perhaps two -- time passes strangely when there's silence. Sherlock is fully relaxed now, leaning back in the sofa, eyes on the crease between ceiling and wall across the room. His mind is drifting elsewhere. Mostly. At the same time, his right hand has started to stroke Jane's hair, fingers weaving through the curls with much more gentleness than before.]

[thetruthismine]

[His eyes droop at first, a reaction to the soothing gesture of being petted. More stiffness in his body releases, ankles no longer straining to stay flexed. It feels nice, but he's still not fully connected. The tentative, almost automatic nature of it keeps him somewhat isolated, up in his head to face the threat of panic.

But when Sherlock's fingers curl, Jane's eyes slip shut and his body practically dissolves. All the tension leaves his limbs and torso, all the control gone. He feels a surge from his belly, inhales deep, and breathes out all the emotions he had to lock down earlier.

This was exactly what he needed: connection. A feeling of tenderness after all the harsh. He feels like a puddle. He might cry. It would probably be okay this once, to cry in front of Sherlock. It would just be emotional spillage, that's all.

Jane lets that tactile connection stay live, and just breathes slowly, silent in, deep out. If his eyes water, well. Sleep is finally a real threat.]

[seesobserves]

[The shift is enough to startle Sherlock out of his drifting, though the only sign of it is that his eyes refocus and he looks down. His hand slows momentarily - but this seems to be helping.

There's no need to say anything: as far as Sherlock's concerned, there won't be, not unless they undertake this sort of enterprise again. Jane can cry if he needs to. It won't be mentioned. In the meantime, Sherlock can go back to his meditation, the contemplation on his own self-control. Even if there isn't a next time...

His fingers shift through Jane's hair, gently twist the clump of a curl. It an anchor for Sherlock, as well, the same way he might absently pluck at his violin.]

[thetruthismine]

[Mercifully, he doesn't start to cry. Comes close--some of his exhalations grow shaky--but it's enough to just breathe it out and deal with his eyes being watery. Jane presses his back against Sherlock's body more, fingers grasping and curling in the fabric of his trousers. This is better than any blanket; more secure, present, alive. It's been so long since he's just been held, and having all his stringent physical and emotional fist-clenching released makes all his feelings bubble up to the surface.

Sherlock could do anything, say anything to him in this moment and Jane would be irrevocably bound to him. But he knows Sherlock knows that and wouldn't take advantage of his rare vulnerability. For the first time in a long while, Jane feels safe with his self, safe with all his deepest feelings swelling just below his skin. He can lie in the shallow end for a while, just like waves on a beach, and enjoy the feeling of this one moment until he drifts off. ]