bakerstreet | BDSM Lifestyle Meme

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BDSM Lifestyle Meme

The BDSM Lifestyle Meme

BDSM isn't all about the sex. Sure, handcuffs, whips and chains, toys, power and control-play can be fun, but sometimes it's about the other stuff too. The little stuff. The ways you and your partner give yourselves to each other every day.

So this is a meme to play out safe, sane, consensual and maybe even non-sexual BDSM.

If you want more information, check out:

The Ten Golden Rules of BDSM Negotiation
Sexuality.Org's BDSM Index
The Keys to A Relationship
Extreme Restraints

Be warned: Threads and prompts below may contain triggers, and will contain sexual content.

THE EVERYDAY:
1. feeding: using him as a plate? having her kneel and accept hand-feeding? maybe someone's been very good and should have a tasty reward.
2. bathing: after all, you have to take care of your partner. it's nice to have someone to get lotion in those hard-to-reach places.
3. talking/therapy: how are you going to work out this relationship? what obstacles do you have to overcome?
4. massage: some intimate relaxation.
5. dates: it's good to go out every once in a while.
6. negotiation: to work out what kinks are and are not okay.
7. nonsexual bondage: gags, bridles, chastity belts. some people just like the security of bondage in everyday life.
8. humiliation/in public: take your pet out to show her off; bend him over a bench and spank him for bad behavior.
9. animal play: pony play, pet play.
10. punishment/discipline: someone's been bad. maybe it's time for a time-out. or maybe someone has to clean the bathroom with a toothbrush.
11. other

THE SEXUAL:
1. the light stuff: some handcuffs, some ropes. nothing too extreme. maybe one partner or the other is afraid; maybe it's just time to take a break from the trappings and have some love-making.
2. bondage: chains, or elaborately knotted ropes, or full-body bindings. maybe even suspension in midair.
3. caning/whipping/spanking: for punishment and for enjoyment of the pain.
4. shaving: you like them with smooth skin. no beards, no lovetrail, no hairy legs.
5. piercing/tattooing: a permanent mark of devotion.
6. sensory deprivation: gags, blindfolds, earplugs, to shut out the rest of the world.
7. as therapy: exploring a past trauma or fear.
8. first time: one partner or another is experiencing the kink lifestyle for the first time.
9. kink parties: for casual play. mind the rules; drugs and alcohol are rarely tolerated, and all play must be consensual. or else the host or hostess might get angry.
10. orgasm denial/forced orgasm: until they beg for it, or beg you to stop.
11. ageplay: perhaps someone wants to be treated like a child. maybe a little daddy or mommy kink to go along with it.
12. role-play: taking on roles. master-slave, teacher-student, dragon prince and slave-dancer -- your imagination's the limit.
13. genital torture: pain where you're the most sensitive.
14. electricity: to give things a spark.
15. medical fetish: sounding, stirrups, speculums -- oh, doctor.
16. fucking machines: it'll keep in the same rhythm, no matter how much you beg.
17. other

Please do NOT leave your comment blank! (Blank comments will not be deleted, but we highly recommend that you post something.) Either write a note on desired kinks/undesired kinks or create a scenario or fill out the textarea below:

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Listening to that definite yes has alarm bells ringing in Eames' mind already. It's not a lie, sure. Eames has never had a magical ability the way Stephen has but he is intuitive to a point of it being in itself a little bit magical and he knows Stephen in an intimate way that not many do. He's watched the man from afar for years and then from very, very near for several years more. He knows when there's something left unsaid.

"I see," he says and the tone is calm, but suggests that he thinks Stephen isn't telling him everything. As much is obvious by the way his mouth curves into a small smile.

"And the last case?" he asks lightly as he leans forward and picks up his tea mug, diligently holding the cup by the ear while he blows into the hot liquid. "It was a difficult one, wasn't it?"

Stephen is an effortless liar, but Eames is intuitive to the point of being able to suss him out.

"A warlock case," he admits after a moment. "Someone we've been after for a while, someone we'd accused publicly, but we couldn't make those final connections until recently."

They had evidence but no irrefutable proof, which is what it took to bring down a formerly respected member of the practitioner community. But warlockry, by definition, means that a practitioner is preying on people for the sake of power. Stephen can talk about the case because the case is closed, mostly.

"We caught up with him on Romney Marsh, which is an absolute sink for power." Normally Stephen would just draw on the ether, but in a sink, that connection is pinched to a trickle or cut off entirely. Stephen's only recourse was to draw on his own energy. "I stripped myself."

He'd been half dead when they found him and even after three months he is still, technically, recovering. At least he'd gained all the weight back before Eames showed up again. He didn't relish the idea of explaining himself while also looking underweight and ill.

There's harshness to Eames' expression as he listens, the look in his eyes a cold one. Not because he doesn't have empathy for Stephen's situation, but because he has a little too much of it. He knows what Stephen is saying, he knows how close the call probably was and the idea sends a shrill shiver down his spine.

He puts his tea down, having drank none of it yet.

"I presume you caught him," he says calmly, voice still and dangerous. If this person were still out there, they would meet a much harsher fate than spending the rest of their days in prison.

He reaches up to slide a hand under Stephen's jaw, turning his face towards Eames. A steady steel blue gaze stares at him, sussing him out, measuring but also demanding. "Why is it that your life matters less than making sure you catch the arsehole of the week?"

No wonder he felt like a tightly wound up knot of nerves when Eames walked in. "You've barely recovered from that," he observes. Stephen is vastly powerful and oh god if that isn't a giant turn on but it also means that he's expected to be able to pull miracles out of his cute arse all the time.

Eames finally curls his hand at the back of Stephen's neck and pulls him in, secure and tight against his side. "Call in tomorrow."

"I killed him."

Justiciars are, in the end, jury and judge. They act as they see fit to make sure that malpractice doesn't happen again, and that can include execution. Besides, Stephen knows that Thomas Underhill would have killed him if he had the chance, and so he doesn't feel any particular guilt over having done it.

Stephen meets Eames' gaze as the man tips his chin up.

"Because this is my job, Eames. My duty. And what he was doing had to be stopped."

Eames is not wrong in anything he says, though, and Stephen does not bother trying to wave it off. Nor does he resist when Eames pulls him closer. He leans against the other man and closes his eyes for a moment, taking comfort in his familiar scent and warmth.

"I can't just call out."

But Eames didn't really say it like a request. And Stephen knows that, if he did call in, no one would blame him for taking a day. He'd gone back to work sooner than he should have and everyone knows it.

"Good," Eames replies coldly. Even if he dislikes the idea that Stephen almost killed himself in the process as well.

His touch is light as he lays his fingers at the nape of Stephen's neck, dragging them down along the curvature of his spine. The motion is almost meditative in its slowness, repeated when he arrives to the small of the man's back. He's thinking, calculating. He'll make a few phone calls tomorrow.

He's careful when he says next: "It's just one day. I have something I'd like to show you." He doesn't want it to sound like a command. There's time and place for that tone of voice and he wants Stephen to agree on his own volition. If that one day stretches into many, well, it might be good for them both. Obviously it's time to consider those white sandy beaches as a prospect much closer in their near future than he thought. "London is hardly going to crash if you take one day off."

One day. It's just one day. He can already hear Esther's voice in his head. We'll manage just fine without you, Steph.

He breathes a quiet sigh of defeat and rests his head against Eames' shoulder. And... taking a day off with Eames is hardly a day wasted. Who knows when he's going to jet off again? Stephen is rather keen to enjoy the time that he has.

"All right. I'll call in."

Eames hums in return, obviously pleased by the turn of events. Pieces are clicking into place in his mind. He'll need to pull Esther's phone number out Stephen's cell some time today. He'll also need a few hours of uninterrupted time to pull it all off, which means he'll have to exhaust Stephen to actually sleep.

Such a terrible duty, fucking this beautiful creature in his arms into exhaustion.

"We found a whole set of cursed jewelry at the site," Eames says after a moment and reaches into his pocket, pulling out a pendant, a single but sizeable drop of amber seated onto a bronze chain, the decorative back of it old and heavy. "Erik removed the curse, it should be safe." The trinket still has some power, Eames can feel it upon his palm, but it's no longer caked with evil vibes like it was when they came out of the ivory box that they had been buried in. There had been just one earring and he had had it set with a chain instead. Sure, he could sell it, but it had made him think of Stephen the moment he saw it. How could he not? The colour is almost the same as the golden hue of Stephen's eyes. Maybe it is sentimental of him. He doesn't care to think about it.

He dangles it in front of Stephen. "After you've finished your tea, I want to see you in nothing but this."

Edited (english................ i know some of it) 2020-11-26 23:16 (UTC)

Stephen sits up when Eames pulls something out of his pocket: he wants to see it properly. He looks at the rather impressive pendant that Eames puts on display and he can't help but reach to touch it as soon as Eames assures him that it isn't cursed any more. He can feel it through the ether and he thinks this must have been what he felt before he answered the door.

When he touches it, he feels the immediate sort of buzz of power. He strokes his thumb across the amber, appreciating it for what it is and what could be done with it.

He can feel his face start to warm at Eames' very clear request.

"Well. If you insist."

Stephen makes it a point to pick up his tea and he takes a healthy drink from the mug. The sooner he finishes his tea, the sooner he can comply.

Bringing gifts is not unusual for Eames, but mostly they've been in the vein of food and drink, perhaps a scarf and a couple of times toys to be used in the bedroom. He couldn't help but think about Stephen when he saw these, though, mainly because of the colour of the amber, shifting in sunlight.

He puts the trinket into Stephen's hand and then waits for him to pick up his tea mug. He's careful as he reaches for him, giving Stephen all the time in the world to adjust his grip on the mug and his position as Eames pulls him close, making sure he doesn't spill. But there's also no invitation to resist the pull, his arm around those narrower shoulders, his hand cupping Stephen's jaw and tilting his face towards Eames. The kiss he presses onto Stephen's mouth is a deep one, tasting tea on his tongue as Eames licks into his mouth, letting his own impatience shine through for a few moments while hungrily claiming those lips.

"Have you done anything else but work while I was away?" he asks when their lips part, his breathing just a little rushed against Stephen's mouth.

Stephen moves his mug out of the way as Eames guides him into a kiss. He leans into it, yielding as Eames' claims his mouth with a hunger that Stephen mirrors.

He's quietly breathless when they part again and it takes a moment for the question to really sink in.

"No," he admits. He'd spent most of that time in recovery, and he hasn't been feeling particularly social when he was up and about it. He's gone over to Esther's for dinner a few times, mostly at her insistence, but he isn't sure that counts. She'd had him over to mother hen him as much as to socialize.

Eames gives a soft snort at the blunt answer. It's what he expected to be honest. But he didn't expect it to tug a string inside himself, somewhere deep within his chest.

"Have you at least taken care of yourself?" he asks then, reaching up to trail a finger over Stephen's front, ending its path onto Stephen's pelvis, tapping that light fingertip over the outline of Stephen's cock that's swelling under the smooth fabric of his trousers.

And as he starts to open that fly gently, he reminds Stephen lightly: "Don't forget your tea, darling."

"Taken care of myself?" he echoes, trying to sound entirely unaffected. "How do you mean?"

Stephen manages to keep his breathing steady as Eames starts working his trousers open. He's reminded of his tea and he takes another generous drink from the mug. He's grateful it's cooled down enough that he's not burning himself with the effort.

There's no hiding his growing arousal, though. It's almost embarrassing how quickly he reacts to Eames these days, how all it takes is a suggestion.

Eames gives him an incredulous look, mirth dancing behind the mock disappointment as he slowly spreads the fly open.

"I know you've touched yourself," he says fondly beside Stephen's ear, his fingertips tracing the outline of his swelling cock through his underwear. "Tell me about it."

Stephen is not difficult to entice with a mere suggestion of sex. But that's part of his appeal, isn't it? Eames likes the contrast between his professional face and the taste for pleasure that lurks beneath.

Stephen takes a deeper breath to keep his voice steady.

"Well, I've not had a lot of energy to be creative until recently," he says at last. Stephen makes himself stay still even as Eames' gentle touch wanders. "But I've... done my best to relieve some tension."

He pauses to take a sip of his tea. Almost done.

"I did think of you."

"You know you could call me," Eames prompts with a quirk of his brows. He glances down into Stephen's cup briefly but leaves it at that, he's laid down some rules and he should hold onto them himself as well.

If he's honest, he's just as eager to get to it as Stephen is, if not more. Long months at the excavation site have rendered him... lonely, perhaps.

"Are you well enough now to enjoy some creative attention?" he asks, voice soft as he presses a soft kiss to Stephen's temple.

It had occurred to Stephen, on a few occasions, to try reaching out to Eames. The nature of their arrangement was... not ambiguous, but Stephen has been very firm with himself on not making assumptions. Maybe he could relax that a bit.

"Yes, definitely."

Eames' voice sends chills racing across his nerves and Stephen makes it a point to finish his tea after that affirmation.

"Doctor's cleared me and everything."

He's supposed to be taking it easy at work, but this isn't work.

"And I've finished my tea."

"There's a good, lad," Eames replies in the same soft tone as he takes Stephen's cup from him and reaches over to the table to set it beside his own. Upon a return, he picks up his own and brings it up to his lips, sipping from it as he gazes at Stephen over the lip of it.

"Go on," he urges. "Just the trinket, nothing else. You know what to do."

There's a routine to it. A certain pillow on the floor, Stephen knelt on it. Eames has made it clear that he should not kneel on it unless he's ready to play. It's in his hands until then, and after, well, Eames is glad to take over from there.

Stephen eases off the couch and sets the trinket down on the table. He takes his time undressing, revealing himself button by button. He folds his clothes and leaves them on the arm of the couch. When he's completely undressed, he picks up the pendant and puts it on. It feels warm against his chest.

He's gained back all of the weight that he's lost and he's worked hard to get himself back into condition to resume work. He's still supposed to be convalescing, but one wouldn't know by looking at him anymore. He has one or two new scars since the last time Eames saw him.

He looks at Eames from beneath dark lashes and lets his fingers linger on the amber for a moment. Then he goes to his pillow and kneels on it.

He's beautiful, that's what he is. There's something about Stephen that has always caught and held Eames' eye. Perhaps it is the fortunate colour palette that he was painted in, or the elegance that seems artless and natural for him. Whatever it is, Eames is arrested by it, every time when this quiet falls between them and Stephen chooses to bare himself to his eyes.

He forgets to drink his tea. It's alright, it's not a secret that they both have that effect on each other.

When Stephen kneels on his pillow, Eames straightens up, walks to him with his hands in his pockets and pauses in front of him. He studies those scars first with his eyes, then with his fingertips, brushing over them lightly.

"Hands," he says after a moment as he reaches up and starts pulling off his tie. "In front."

One of the scars very clearly looks like he was stabbed right where his left arm meets his torso, beneath his collarbone.

There is something about kneeling here naked while Eames looks like he stepped off the pages of GQ that's always exciting. He presents his hands when he's told to and he cannot help the shiver of anticipation. Stephen works mostly with his hands, they're his primary connection to the ether (though not his only way of working with it) and giving them up always makes his heart beat a little faster.

Giving up control at all tends to do that. But Eames is--he's never abused that.

Eames has a relationship with those scars. It's not a good one. He finds that it's easy to hate them. But at the same time, they're part of Stephen now and as such, he can't seem to find them anything but a new feature of Stephen that he obviously needs to claim as his own.

It's in that vein of thought that he leans down to kiss the new scar, angry red line on the otherwise unmarred skin around it. While he's at it, he takes Stephen's hands and wraps the tie around them, over and under, creating a quick woven pattern and checking the looseness of the fabric around his veins. It's firm but not too tight, leaving no illusion about escape but also not cruel in its capture.

"Lean forward," Eames says next, his hands coming to help Stephen, holding him and guiding him to stretch his arms in front of him, connect with the floor, and then further, above his head as his front rests on the ground, arse still up in the air. "And you let me know immediately if your injuries even as tingle." This is said with a steady commanding voice. "I do not want you hurting." There's different time and place for that, and deliberation that is lacking in aggravating existing injuries. That's not control, that's opportunist cruelty and Eames detests even the thought of that having a say in their play time.

He doesn't ask if Stephen is comfortable, but he observes with keen eyes, takin in straining muscles and odd angles, adjusting him as necessary.

Stephen flexes his fingers after Eames secures the tie. It's mostly for show, just to confirm that the circulation hasn't been pinched and that he isn't uncomfortable.

"I will," he promises. Stephen might ignore his limits elsewhere, but not here. Not in a way that might make Eames feel responsible for hurting him.

He moves as Eames guides him, easing his weight onto his hands and forearms as he stretches forward. It isn't difficult to adjust and nothing feels uncomfortable. Stephen can feel the heat creeping into his face as he settles into the position. He shifts his knees just a bit further apart for the sake of balance.

"Good," Eames replies, his gaze careful in assessing whether Stephen is comfortable or not. And when he's certain that there's no straining, no teetering and even relaxation in the muscles while Stephen holds the position, he nods, satisfied.

Then he moves in closer, stepping over him to leave Stephen between his legs. He's facing Stephen's rear and when he brings down one knee to the man's back, it presses Stephen further into the floor, applying just enough pressure to make it obvious that he's not getting up from there unless Eames decides to let him.

"Look at you," he murmurs as his hands land on Stephen's arse, gently describing the roundness of his buttocks for a moment. "Such a pretty thing. Have you had anything inside you since I last fucked you?"

Stephen sinks down beneath the pressure on his back and rests his head against his outstretched arms. He closes his eyes as a warm hand slides over the curve of his ass. Wretched as he's felt for the last few months, it's a wonder to hear Eames call him pretty.

"Just my fingers," he admits, warming further with the confession. Even that had only been recent, and hardly as satisfying as having Eames in him. Stephen swallows thickly and makes himself stay still. Things will happen at Eames' pace now, and he tells himself there is nothing he can do about it.

"I see," Eames rumbles out with a soft chuckle. He'd like to see Stephen pleasure himself one of these days. It's the imagine that lingers in his mind as he pulls out a small tube of lube from his pocket and squeezes the colourless gel onto his palm. While he lets it warm up, he leans in to press sweet kisses to the rise of Stephen's hips, slowly getting closer and closer to the crack of his arse.

He has bigger hands, bigger fingers, and when he pours the warm lube right over Stephen's hole, he doesn't take long to follow with those bony digits, circling and circling until there's a give and then sliding inside. He knows he's not going to be able to hold this position for very long, he's not pressing even half of his weight on Stephen's back because that'd be too much. So teasing will have to wait for another day.

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