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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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.]

Settle down.

[There's no question of whether or not that's a command. In spite of the fun she's having, she refuses to let slip even an inch of that precious control. So, for as long as it takes, she'll continue to hover there, giving him a chance to cool off before she starts again.]

[He obeys, and what's more, he stays completely still, trying to get his breathing under control.]

[It looks like he's starting to actually listen.]

[That earns him a look of approval. Once his breathing is somewhat even, she lowers herself, not moving yet, but giving him back some of that pressure.

The hand that was holding him in place moves to stroke his cheek and there's a slight crackle as the electricity flows between them. No willow wand for the moment, but it's coming.]

[He lies there very still as she strokes his cheek, trying to keep his hips from moving again--at her instruction this time. If he grinds against her again, she might move away, and having that slight pressure there is better than nothing at all.]

[She strokes his cheek and sparks crackle, and he turns his head slightly, trying to catch her fingers with his mouth, wondering what it will feel like to have those sparks against his tongue.]

[She brushes her fingers over his lips, not quite dipping within. He hasn't been that good yet. Though, of course, he might be able to catch them with the tip of his tongue if he's quick.

And, ah- there's the wand, tracing a loose outline of his ribs with the tails splayed out for maximum coverage.]

[Sherlock is quick, his tongue darting out, the tip of it getting close enough to her fingers to get a little shock. As she traces the wand against his ribs, he starts sucking his breath in through his teeth.]

[He's almost lost now, his mind actually shutting down for once and going quiet as he falls down and gets rolled under the waves, lost in a sea of physical sensation.]

[It's an awakening. Feelings and urges he's repressed for most of his life start to rush up to the surface.]

[And she rests there like an anchor, unmoving except to lazily sketch patterns with the wand. Serene in her mastery of him. Her thumb smooths across his bottom lip again, staticky. Carefully calculated tenderness to balance out the pain.

Her movements are so precise that, without taking in her dilated pupils and flushed cheeks, one might think her utterly unaffected.]

[Sherlock's body is practically vibrating with desire. He's ready now, ready to do whatever she wants him to. She said before she'd have him on a leash, and if she truly wanted that, he'd let himself be collared, let himself be bound to her by a chain or a strip of leather just for the chance to be bound to her. He'd beg for whatever she wanted him to beg for. He'd be on his knees for her if she wanted, when he's never shown deference to another human being in his life. She doesn't even need the restraints if she doesn't want them; she's making him feel and because of that he wants to feel more, feel whatever she wants him to feel. Because of that, her words and her will can restrain him however she wants.]

[His tongue darts out again for her thumb and he looks up at her with an expression of complete submission and something akin to worship. The reverence is there because she's used pain and pleasure to turn this into something like a sacrament.]

[She's The Woman. The Woman. The only woman who matters, the only thing in all the world that matters right now at this particular moment in time. His skin is off and he's flayed open, vulnerable. She's cracked open his ribs and has free reign to do what she wants with his still-beating heart.]

[Now that he's given up control to her, for the first time in his life, he's actually free--free to be a man, his soul exposed, and free to be an animal, seeking base pleasure--rather than a heartless thinking machine.]

Edited 2012-02-24 05:25 (UTC)

[It's a good look for him, submission. He wears it well.

In his eyes all she sees is her, and, benevolent goddess that she is, she favors him with a smile. They're telling her she could break him down and build him back a thousand ways. Or simply leave him shattered. She could even make a pet of him, if it meant staying by her side. She wouldn't, of course. That would be such a waste. But knowing that she could? It's enough.

She leans over him, almost close enough for a kiss.]

I want you to stay still for me. If you move even a little, I'm going to stop.

[A subtle shifting of her hips to drive home the point.]

Understand?

Yes.

[It comes out a needy hiss through his teeth, and he stays perfectly still underneath her.]

[She dips down for just a second so their lips meet with a spark and then snaps upright, rolling her hips. It's excruciatingly slow, the way she moves, and she watches him intently through half-lidded eyes.

He gets a brief reprieve from the wand for now as she tests how well he obeys.]

[His body tenses up, and he lets out a long, drawn-out breath, but he obeys, and stays perfectly still. A bead of sweat drips down from his temple and runs down his face.]

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