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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[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.]

[The handle bobs slightly as she laughs. Since she can't speak clearly with it in her mouth, her rebuttal comes in the form of another stroke with the wand, rolling it for the full effect of those wrapped tails. This is quickly followed up with a direct zap from just the tips.

While he's still reeling from that, she braces one knee on the edge of the bed and then swings her other leg over to straddle him.

She could have just set down the flogger, but visuals, oh, visuals are so important.]

[Visuals are indeed very, very important. He's reminded of her standing in front of him with a vicar's collar between her teeth and it's a powerful image.]

[Physical contact is important, too. She's straddling him. He, as a rule, doesn't make much of a habit of being straddled by people. There'd been a few times in his university years when there'd been girls--and a few boys--who were most likely after him because of his good looks and because his aloofness reminded them their fathers or something. There'd also been one or two people who'd tried to take advantage when he'd gotten high in places where he probably shouldn't have. All of them had been shoved off and the latter had been beaten senseless.]

[He doesn't try to rock his hips to get her off of him or make it difficult for her to perch there. Instead, for a moment, he keeps his hips completely still. That gives way to the slightest twitching that he can't control. The wand comes down again, leaving searing pain behind--pain that, as much as he's denying it, feels good--and the twitching turns to something more like writhing.]

[Then something happens that only happens to him occasionally as per the course of nature and usually gets ignored until it goes away. This is actually the first time in his life it's happened because of physical contact with another human being. Right along with it, there's a sudden expression that comes over his face that's filled with uncharacteristic vulnerability.]

[Now, instead of defiance, he's feeling fear. Not of getting hurt--he's enjoying that. But because this is new and he's used to self-control, and as much as he wants to give up control, he's also terrified to. Now he can't deny he's enjoying this, not when how much he's enjoying it is physically tangible from the tent forming in his trousers.]

[It would be impossible to cram even an ounce more of smugness into her expression when she feels him press against her. This is what she wanted. That mask of aloof disinterest stripped away, laying bare the man within. A man who, for all his brilliance, was as weak and wanting as anyone else. Utterly at her mercy. Combined with his deer-in-the-headlights expression, it sends a jolt of heat right to her core.

On the next upstroke of the wand she leans forward into the movement, briefly exposing a swell of breast through the gap in her robe. Her hips grind against his quite deliberately as she pulls back. Then, moving up again, she keeps the hand with the willow wand off to the side and instead bends far enough that she can trail the flogger up his chest to his collarbones. Staring him right in the eye, she gives it a little shake like a terrier worrying a bone.

This is entirely too much fun.]

[He...notices the gap in her robes, just like he noticed her measurement before, even if he'd pretended not to initially. The grinding causes him to close his eyes tight and let out a noise that's something between a grunt and a cut-off groan. When he opens his eyes again, there's something desperate in the way he looks at her, something half-wanting, half-pretending-not-to-want.]

I'm not--

I'm not--

[He's not even sure what he's trying to articulate and a part of his brain is telling him to shut up and stop articulating things at all.]

Doesn't mean--anything. Physical...stimulation, it's--

[He's fighting to the bitter end, it seems.]

[It's tempting to shut him up with a kiss, but that would be too...reciprocal. The balance of power must be maintained. Sitting up, she removes the flogger from her mouth with a flourish.]

Are you always such a terrible liar, or just when there's physical stimulation involved?

[She runs the willow wand along the waistband of his trousers, touching with as few tails as possible to concentrate the current. A tease and, perhaps, a punishment.]

Unngh.

[Noises now. He's devolving into...noises. Noises that have never been coaxed out of him before. It stings, god, it stings, but he gets even harder in response to the pain.]

I'm--you--

[The words dissolve in his head, into nothing, and then he lets out a low moan. The first unrestrained moan of the morning. It probably won't be the last.]

That's what I thought.

[She sits back to give herself more room to work, rolling her hips with the movement. That feels excellent—due in no small part to the absolutely nothing she's wearing under that robe—so she does it again. Can't deny herself everything, after all.]

[Instinct is starting to take over and his hips rock to meet hers so that he grinds against her. His pulse is racing now, his breathing is starting to become quicker and more ragged, his pupils are dilated.]

[His abdomen and chest are already red with welts and irritation, but a flush starts to spread up from there to his neck and face.]

[When she rocks against him the second time, another low moan is dragged out of him.]

[Her own arousal makes her generous enough to let him grind against her a few times before she presses a firm hand to his hip and lifts her own a little so they're not quite in contact.]

No. Not yet.

[If and when he gets off from this, it'll be by her say-so. And what she wants right now is to keep playing, to tease, get him close and deny him.]

[That makes his back arch as he tries to rock against her again, tries to bring back the contact. When he finds her out of reach, he starts to tug on the restraints again, his breathing harsh as he struggles. It's still just as fruitless, so he gives up, looking up at her with his eyes slightly wild.]

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