bakerstreet | the slave auction meme

the slave auction meme

THE SLAVE AUCTION MEME

❧ Leave a comment with the character's name, fandom, and whether your character will be playing the part of 'slave' or 'master', plus preferences for scenarios if you have any or set up the scene yourself in the comment.

❧ Respond to others with one of the scenarios below or feel free to make up your own.

❧ Please remember to be respectful of others while you play

WARNING: Be aware that this meme deals with dark subjects like slavery and may also contain non-consensual/dubiously consensual sex, violence, and kink.

SLAVES

1. The Newbie - This is your very first auction and you don't quite know what to expect. Hopefully you remember your training and don't disgrace yourself in front of your new master. Hopefully someone thinks you're worth buying at all.

2. The Oldtimer - You've been bought and sold and bought again so many times. You've seen it all before and don't think this time is going to be much different. In fact, the only real anxiety you've got is whether or not someone's going to pay for a more than slightly used slave.

3. The Pet - You're a pleasure slave. A bed warmer. A decorative piece of artwork. You're meant to look pretty and be pleasing and not much else.

4. The Guard - Your master hired you because of your ability to swing a sword or shoot a gun, not your looks.

5. The Escape Artist - Somehow you always manage to squirm out of your master's chains. Too bad you seem to get caught after a while. Maybe your next daring escape will be permanent. Then again, maybe your next master has special ways of keeping you locked up.

6. The Undercover - You aren't a slave at all, you're just pretending to be one. Why? Well that's up to you. Either way, your cover is blown if you don't act the part.

7. The Specialist - You have a skill that no one else has. Something rare and valuable. Something your master needs more than anything else.

MASTERS

1. The Customer - You've owned slaves before and this trip to the market is nothing new to you. Still, you're hoping to find something worth your while.

2. The Gift - Someone bought a pet for you, isn't that nice of them? Or maybe it isn't so nice. Did you even want a slave in the first place? Well you're stuck with one now.

3. The Giver - You're selecting a slave for someone else, and they need to be perfect. Perhaps you'd better test them out first to make sure you're getting your money's worth.

4. The Trainer - You specialize in taming unruly slaves and making them over into perfect, obedient, well-trained pets.

5. The Rebel - You hate the idea of slavery, but the system isn't going to go away any time soon, so the next best thing is to buy up any slave you can get your hands on and free them, right?

6. The Companion - You want someone to be with you always, someone you can talk to and depend on, someone who will never leave your side. It's a good thing that money can buy that these days.

7. The Undercover - You're not actually a Master. You're at the auction for an entirely different reason. Maybe it's special policework, maybe you're trying to hunt down a certain someone. Either way, your cover is blown unless you act the part.

As always, feel free to use a combination of scenarios or make up your own if you have other ideas.

Originally taken from here.

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How long had it been since he lay beneath a lover and was kissed.

Never had he lain beneath a lover to be kissed. Many he had brought to his bed, or stolen upon in the night; many he had pleasured, many mastered, so their upturned, rapturous faces were a source of mysterious wonder to him; many he had forced himself upon and many tasted and many made use of. But he himself passed among these forms as a virgin: the giver of pleasures and the doer of criminal acts, never himself subject to any of it. The exceedingly daring soul or two who had tried had met the same perplexed scorn as Thor now confronted.

For what reason would you bother, to what purpose do you intend?

Love and affection no more entered into his scheming than the weather did. Yet Thor--of all possible persons, Thor--kissed him and fondled him. The same Thor who had stripped and jerked himself off on Loki's command. The same that he had defiled not a half-hour earlier on this very bed. His slave, Thor, licked at him and pet the cock that had taken him surely by force. The golden king of the Aesir, usurped, cuddled his usurper. The brother unmanned and made slave kissed the brother who had bound him.

Loki slipped himself loose of Thor's shoulder and drew his noble head up. Shock there was upon his face, or deep fear; whatever would draw his lips so white and his eyes so terribly bright when he looked upon his brother. He dragged at Thor and writhed himself down at the same moment: shoulder to shoulder they would be when Loki took his brother's mouth and kissed him, his whole body arching beneath Thor's, all his strength bent to this demand of contact.

Loki at last did writhe free, as Thor had expected he would. And then grabbed at him, seized and dragged him upwards so that their mouths met in a kiss tasting of bruising force, of angered passion, and Thor met him kiss for kiss and body for body, all the glory of his own strength pressed down against him. This--this was better. To awaken this in his brother, to feel the shock of it resonate through his body was a sweetness in Thor, something vindicated.

He gripped at his brother and pulled him near, fingers digging into his limbs, his pale flesh, hard enough to bruise. Thor pressed down his hips and urged against him, the friction making him gasp against Loki's mouth: his cock, Loki's cock, his own arousal so monstrously swelled and begging for relief caught against his brother's, slid and rubbed and thrust, and Thor impatiently pushed Loki's legs apart that he might settle between them, the better to grind against him. As though Loki was his as surely as he was Loki's. As though they belonged to one another, the way lovers do.

This would be his rebellion. That if Loki desired a bed-slave, he would have one who desired in turn, who sought and took, who savored the tremors in Loki's narrow frame beneath his hands, his shock that Thor could answer this way.

What had bent in him earlier now broke. His mouth against Thor's grew breathless; his hips heaved bodily off the sheets as he drove himself into his brother's embrace; his arms trembled as he fought with Thor's weight to touch more of him, all of him, neck and hip, shoulder and belly and the splendid curve of his back. A frenzy was on him and his eyes were tightly shut. He reached out blindly for the fulfillment of Thor's weight and beauty.

A gasp when his brother's thick erection slid against his own. It swelled into a shout of despair as he threw his brother off of him. For a second only he lay white and panting, his fist tearing at the blankets and his hard, tense body stretched taut. Then he shifted and chased Thor down: now he pressed to him, now covered him, now settled at his side, his long legs struggling and tangled with Thor's. His touch was desperate and omnipresent as if he meant to swallow all that he could before he was forbidden to go any further. Again and again he pressed his lips to Thor's, searching for his sweetness of his mouth within his crisp beard, and only after some seven or eight of these airless impassioned kisses did he bury his face in the crook of his brother's throat and cry out in miserable joy.

In his hand he clutched Thor's sleek, muscular ass and pulled him tight against himself.

He forgot his brother's strength; thrown off of him, Thor lay still a moment, breath coming hard and his cock so swollen as to be painful, a constant aching throb that he didn't think he could bear much longer. His fingers twisted in the sheets and he looked at Loki while within his breast misery writhed with anger and desperation; he watched him come near again, seize him, half-pin him, touch and kiss him as though this were a battle for blood, as though he would choke and smother the life from Thor with these impassioned hands--they were against one another again, grappling and squirming to be closer and the kisses were bruising his mouth and driving air from his lungs. All was skin and friction and desire and Thor did not understand what drove his brother away and close again, away and close again, why he must bring his madness even into this, at last breaking away and yet burying his face against Thor's throat as though he could not bear not to be wrapped around him.

"What," Thor said aloud at last, desperately, "what is it, brother!" He buried his hands in Loki's hair to hold him close. They were wrapped around one another, hips to hips and Loki's hand clenched on his flank, their legs entangled, and it was both a joy and a despair to be so close to him, to want to please him and not know how, to need his own pleasure so terribly and be denied it again and again. "My brother, my king." He spoke words again softer this time, tenderly against his hair and with desperate need. "Take of me what you will have."

Static, tense, with the rising night at his back and Thor in his arms, Loki trembled and felt his brother's pounding heart. He leaned back fitfully at first, his dark head lifting against thick fingers; before his eyes could again meet Thor's he kissed his chin.

"I--"

He managed no further. Thor's arm lay heavily against him; Thor's heroic body was pressed to his. He tucked his own hand between them and traced his brother's shoulder; when he folded his fingers in golden hair again he looked upon Thor with anxious green eyes and a strained smile. The latter he hid against his brother's mouth, though softer, now, more gentle with the smooth lips he had crushed before. With his knee tucked between Thor's legs he rolled, pressed his brother back and lay atop him.

"I did not say..." Words did not easily follow words any longer, not when Thor was pressed against his belly, not when his brother lay with him in a posture very like relaxation, as though all of this were indeed permissible to him. The strange soft things he had spoken a moment ago still echoed in Loki's ears. "That you could stop touching me, slave."

Yet he flinched when he said it and quickly covered himself with the flash of an insincere grin. One arm tangled loosely at his brother's waist, the other at the pillow beneath them, so he might still stroke Thor's hair and his cheek. He looked down upon Thor steady but frightened, certain and flush with a desire that was plainly too much for him. His fingers slipped low to pull Thor's knee up against his flank.

Loki's eyes met his, and Thor searched them with confusion, with longing, with hope, for these touches now of his brother's fingers and mouth were gentle, and the gleam of mocking cruelty seemed to have disappeared from his own gaze, vanished beneath the weight of his own bewilderment. For a moment he looked at Thor as though he had never before seen him, fingers winding anxiously in his hair. A smile strained his pale lips and the sight of it awakened a protectiveness within Thor, so that when Loki pushed against him he went to his back, pliant, obedient and willing; his brother and king lay atop him, hands caught in his hair or bracing against the mattress, against his own body. Slave still brought a quick twisting ache in his breast but Thor ignored it, raising his hands to settle them deliberately upon Loki's hips.

"How shall I touch you, my king?" he asked him, tenderness in the low rumble of his voice.

He was glad. He was glad to see some sign in Loki that he could not ignore what chains still bound them both, as brothers and as men who had shared a lifetime together. Wasn't that why Loki hated him so? Because he could not escape Thor, because he could not run far enough or hide deep enough to sever those bonds, and knowing it, must instead prove his mastery over the brother who had always longed to bring him home? His thigh caught at Loki's hip, his leg winding around his waist to urge him down against him, and Thor flushed and gasped anew with the press of their hips, his hands lifting to tangle in Loki's hair and bring him down into a kiss. His mouth was soft and hot and wanton, coaxing Loki's in turn.

There was danger in this. For him, too. How he might be bound--how he might want more than else to serve Loki, to please him, only that he might bask in these furls of affection to dull the years of enmity and pain.

If Loki had known of his brother's misguided thoughts he would have laughed in his face. He had brought a silver, wicked army across Asgard and crushed its towers and overthrown its king. His first order of business had been to force Thor to his knees and his second to force himself upon Thor's body. None of this boded escape.

Nor was it escape that drove his now-shy, now-hungry kiss, devouring upon his brother's lips and suckling upon his tongue; nor escape that brought him to clutch at his brother's hard shoulders with such eagerness or awe; nor escape that drugged him so with insatiable lust, so that he flexed against his brother's arousal and rubbed his own against Thor's belly. Here the golden orb, the scepter to match the throne he had taken: he had ruled Asgard once without his brother and found it hollow and shifting. The king of a trembling heart, ringed all about with the glory of a land that he was not truly part of, he had flinched; he had reached into nothingness and drawn back an empty hand.

In every way that mattered, he was not king without Thor's submission. He was not even of Asgard.

When he conquered his brother's body he became lord by might and with this he might have been content. Yet in his brother's touch, in his irrepressible generosity, in the sluttish, gorgeous openness with which he offered himself to his conqueror, Loki had felt a ward against shivering black uncertainty. How he had lashed at it and struggled against its searing, loathing its promise as much as he longed for it.

To belong: that was what Thor held cupped in his palms. Where he touched, he sanctified and brought into homelikeness, and his love was redemption.

Therefore was Loki antagonized by Thor's question. Does one dictate the terms of one's own redemption? Does one demand such solace? though Loki was incomprehending of any of this in the flood of his confused anger. He pushed himself away in a tangle of black hair and lean limbs, wrathful and shattered.

"Mock me again, Thor..."

He could not help but grasp after his brother's attentions. To be kissed at last with passion instead of cruelty, to feel Loki press down atop him and answer his kisses and his caresses with hunger, his hands feverish upon his body as though he would rend him and consume him and have every part of him--where before Loki, king of Asgard, had held the chain around Thor's throat as though it were the leash of a dumb beast that was only useful for satisfying himself upon. Now he urged himself to Thor as though he wanted him, needed him, and awoke a hunger in return that threatened to bind him body and spirit.

That Loki writhed out of his grasp, turned on him again with eyes blackened and snapping with fury was like a slap to the face, too sudden and awful to be warranted, and Thor was reaching for him in bewilderment and beseeching before the words too struck across him like a lash. His hunger was a howling, hollowing thing, unrelieved and aching. It was an anguish that blackened and twisted his heart, heaped upon all the sore bruises and hurts that had been his to bear since Loki bade him kneel in his throne room and vow his life and whatever use Loki could wish to make of it, all for Asgard, nothing for the redemption of their brotherhood, nothing that Loki could ever want.

"I mock you!" His own fury rose brutal and burning, as Thor reared up towering over the wrathful tangle of limbs that Loki was, longing to strike him, throttle him, kiss him until he had no breath left with which to curse his wretched slave-- "What mockery could I put to you, Loki, my king, when I cannot disobey you in word or even heart? Do I mock you because I cannot understand what it is that you desire of me? You have made of me your slave," he added bitterly. "What offense then can a slave offer to a king?"

"You cannot understand!" Cried Loki. Thor in his splendor raged above him and he owned himself frightened and vulnerable in his nakedness, abruptly dispossessed. "What vanity, this!..."

His strange brother, naked and chained, erect and enraged, bright as day and as natural and fresh and lovely, too stupid to understand! This was the end of everything. There was no scheme to relieve this reprisal. Loki writhed aside and made for the edge of the bed, where he snatched his discarded cloak and held it over his absurd and fumbling bare body. His thin white steps made for the door.

"You think you have won, Thor! This is no victory... I shall put you in chains!..." Notwithstanding that Thor was already in chains. Loki's grin was terrible and false and his shoulders downturned in shame. "I shall humiliate you before everyone! You will weep..."

In the bright, warm Asgardian evening he trembled with unbearable anguish. He had never so trembled, nor hated so much each step upon the smooth black floor; in all of his life he had never loathed his brother so much nor smiled so brightly. What he wanted in this gilt room would not be given to the undeserving Loki, King of Asgard. Thor's pestilent stupidity... it was Thor's fault!

He did not think. To disobey his king, to strike away with his own power the chain of submission he had worn all this night long: it was not an act of rebellion but of battle. For if Loki would deny him victory, then let his brother remember that he was no god of thunder only, but a god of war.

He rose from the bed, great and splendid in his fury, the chain swinging wild and loose about his throat. Loki had availed himself of a cloak before hastening in his retreat, but Thor did not trouble himself to recapture any of his garments, to clothe a inch of golden skin, erect phallus, bruised hips or slick thighs: what more shame could there be that he had not already that night suffered? In this way he was yet beautiful. In this way there was a wrathful splendor which cloaked him as he closed the distance between them in a few quick strides and caught Loki's arm to yank him pivoting around, his fingers sinking hard into his dark hair.

"No, my brother; I would claim no victory from you; you have won well what war you must wage against me, and I hope you take joy in it," Thor said bitterly, and dragged Loki into a brutal kiss.

Loki was fragile in his hands, made of sharp glass, brittle and breakable, this awful creature Thor's king, Thor's master and torment and love; he kissed him with anger and merciless passion in his hands, in the seal of his mouth, and Loki was a thing of bright hatred and fear and perhaps, too, a vivid and terrible longing. These splinters of him would drive themselves into Thor's heart and mind; they would drive him as mad as his brother was.

Astonished, Loki struggled to tear himself away. The cape fell from his hands as he heaved at the great bulk of Thor's body. He hissed and writhed to force his head from Thor's grip, and his eyes watered from the pain. His fingers twisted around Thor's chain; he hauled at it, hoping to choke him, but there was not enough room to yank.

Against the chill air of the chamber Thor was a furnace. His beautiful, familiar rage descended like fire and Loki burned in the center of the storm and loathed him completely. Thor's hateful might gripped him like a fist. Even to breathe, tightly, was to drink Thor's warlike scent. The savor of Thor's tongue touched his mouth. There was no escape. At last.

He would never hate, nor love, nor desire anything or anyone as much as this.

They would be at war forever. He clawed at Thor's bristly cheeks and dragged himself at last free of his vicious kiss and, panting, he dropped his brow against his brother's, his eyes closed. The chain still wrapped about his hand was warm with Thor's heat. Loki Silvertongue could not form any words for this moment.

He dragged himself against Thor. Belly to belly, he ground his entire body against his brother's, lifted against him and pushed into his grip. The intimate, heated slide of his smooth skin against his brother's, so like and unlike his own, struck him with a bitter pang. He longed for Thor's anger and embrace, both so close to him now that he at last pleaded helplessly, "Can you not touch me? Can you not... with your hands..." And to say it felt like a cup running over, relief and depair.

Loki was like a cat in his arms, writhing, hissing, clawing, but Thor had him by the scruff of the neck now, Thor would not let him free. He bit at Loki's lips until they parted for him, thrust his tongue into his mouth, gripping him around the waist and by the nape of the neck with fingers tight woven into the strands of his hair to drag back his head. His brother's mouth was a cool sweet taste that he drank of with grim pleasure, imagining, briefly, himself the master and Loki the thrall: to his hands, to his mouth, to his golden body, seeking and being given all the warmth of him.

Loki at last wrenched away, yet he went no further than a breath between them, hitching himself back against Thor as though he could not bear to be apart. "Hush," Thor told him, and kissed him firmly, dragging him up nearly off his toes.

Kissing him, licking at his mouth, he wrestled Loki back into the bedroom, herded him into the space between the bed and the hearth where he had stripped himself before his brother's eyes, what felt like a lifetime ago. There on the thick rug he forced his king down to his knees, and knelt with him, pulling him roughly into his lap; he touched him, yes, he wanted to touch him, to caress him ceaselessly, to smooth his hands over and over pale limbs or to grasp and yank and hold him brutally tight.

A tangle of sensation: Thor's mouth and its hot, fragile inner texture; Thor's strength shoving at him and battling him to his knees; the same powerful hands drawn over his skin; naked Thor, densely, splendidly built, his body against Loki's bare thighs, his shoulders like mountains where Loki gripped, his weight an anchor, his arms a harbor. The fire licked at them and gilded Thor's profile.

Loki tugged restlessly at his roaming hands to say here, and here, here, above my heart, is where I longed for, here the line of his hips where none other dared to touch, here, the hollow between throat and collarbone, it is sensitive. But this was not out of irritation with some insufficiency, but out of a thin-ice trust. If he might truly have what he wished, if Thor would... and when not engaged in this he took Thor's head in his hands and gazed at him with frightened daring or urged him to kiss again, slow and tongue-glorious.

Was the clock still ticking. What sentiment was this that broke into the cold caverns of his heart. His toes curled in the dense pile of the rug. His two hands rested upon Thor's mighty chest, deeply gratified by the span of muscle and his small, tender nipples, and he thought--surprised by the idea--he could pleasure his brother the same as he did any lover he wished to seduce or ruin. He might use all his little tricks and skills and see Thor in his passion and it would not be... Troubled his brow, an anxious frown on his lips as he drew back to survey Thor's handsome, flushed face.

Ah, he was glad for this. Glad to be shown the ways that Loki liked to be touched, to be given a lover's privilege rather than a thrall's commands: to be made to know the one he desired, and how best he might please him. Thor's hands followed those paths, rough and consuming, engulfing, stroking breast and hips and the hollow of his throat, where he nuzzled too with lips and beard; and when Loki cupped his face and sought kisses Thor gave them, taking his mouth with slow and greedy passion.

The way his brother looked at him reminded him of when they were young. There was a lost youth in his gaze, a boy standing on the cusp of uncertainty and fear, as though he were afraid still to ask if his elder brother might truly be his. Thor had no such compunction. When Loki looked at him thus he upended him impatiently and pushed him down to the thick rug, onto his back, and Thor now settled close, took his mouth again briefly, kissed from his jaw to his ear and murmured there, "Now I will have you."

To one floating in the lulling sensual sea that Thor had conjured up with his generous hands, this was an ice cube down the back of his shirt. He yelped, his limbs scattered, and he fell wide-eyed. Clutching for Thor's shoulders as his own sank into the deep pile of the rug, he snorted to find his brother already atop him--gloriously heavy, his tickly moustache at his cheek and his smooth mouth humming words that gripped Loki's guts like a fist in heated shock. Tenderness replaced surprise; he gentled beneath Thor, and opened his mouth to protest...

Any complaints he was in the process of forming got cut off. The golden doors burst open and four guards poured in to find the brothers so engaged.

"My lord! We heard you cry out!"

The situation must have become apparent to everyone involved very slowly; as it did, one or two guards shifted uncomfortably and another turned away, and only the captain, who had spoken, drew his cloak about himself more closely and stood firm. This was cunning, incestuous beauty: the broad golden form of Thor's back, a jewel set in the white clasp of his brother. Loki's soft, frustrated grunt preceded the arch of his neck, so that he looked upon his guards with a head nearly upside-down, and certainly at some disadvantage beneath Thor's mane.

"Leave us," he suggested mildly. His shoulders had lifted to Thor's in necessity; he felt his brother's heart pounding against his own ribs, felt the thickness of his brother's cock near the spread of his own thighs--curse distractions, and every moment he was kept from Thor was wretched to him now. As the guards turned in confusion to file out, Loki called to their captain: "And Ulfr..."

"Y...yes, my lord."

"There will be nothing said of this."

"...Yes, my lord Loki."

But Thor would feel him trembling even as he began to laugh and unkink his neck.

The crashing of the door was as a bucket of cold water sluiced over his back; Thor jerked, pinned Loki to the floor with the weight of his body and an arm thrown across his collar, so that he could only lift his head to look at the intruders, and clutch at Thor with his pale hands. Thor was reaching for a weapon that was not there, readying himself against an attacker, an assassin...it was moments before he recognized Ulfr, his eyes burning upon the the Aesir guards. They stared at him, and Thor stared back with fury in his throat and his hands holding his king down.

But they went, again, after Loki spoke, and Thor let out his breath; he had quite forgotten that there were other Aesir here who kept loyalty to their king, if only out of a sense of duty towards the throne--that there was not everywhere the shadow of death at his back. He had forgotten, too, that he would throw himself between his brother and the killing blow, before he ever let harm touch him: that Loki's life was his, as much as his was Loki's.

He loosened his grasp as Loki laughed and shivered beneath him, moving his hands to brace against the rug. He was--bewildered. "What is it?" Thor said roughly as he felt his king trembling, lacing thick fingers into the black strands of his hair, holding him in a brutal grasp. "What is it, Loki--? Are you afraid?"

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

the slave auction meme

jhgalkjhgafg sweetheart come here and nap

bunkers down!

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