extreme/unusual kink meme

[cuemusic]

THE EXTREME / UNUSUAL KINK MEME





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.
13. Boss/Underling - Maybe you're a special kind of secretary, or maybe you're just willing to do anything for that raise?
14. Teacher/Student - You'll do anything for an A, or maybe teaching adolescents has just become too tempting.
15. Addiction - One of you is absolutely addicted to the other. Maybe they've drugged you, maybe you don't even know.
16. Chastity Belt - They're not allowed to have fun without you.
17. Sensory Deprivation - It's nicer if you don't see it coming.

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. Cock expansion - Maybe it can be just a bit bigger?
5. Pregnancy, fertilization, breeding - You just can't wait to have a child.
6. Human cattle/livestock - Milking, feeding, mucking 'em out.
7. 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
4. Fight - No better way to warm up for fucking.
5. Needleplay - A few little pricks in the all the right places.
6. Wax play - It won't burn too badly.

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.
9. Oviposition - A new use for eggs. Or maybe you need to find a host for your own eggs?
10. Bathroom control - Control over something very personal.
11. Lactation - A very special brand of milk.
12. Urethra play - Be careful what you put in there.

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. Incest - Fun for the whole family.
8. Electricity - A few little shocks can just be electrifying.
9. Public - Will someone see? Do you want them to?
10. Tentacles - Lots of them
11. Fucking machine - It doesn't tire out.
12. Wild card - Don't like any of the options? Come up with your own!

Comments

[shieldofrohan]

She feels the heat of the blood that rises to the surface, as cold shadow withdraws; feels the warm and stinging flow of it as it begins to trickle down her bare back. Pain, she must focus on the pain: it is hot, and searing, and it is real, and she understands it. It does not ask anything of her, but to be felt. And at least, she thinks dimly, it is on her back; and when it scabs and scars in place, this mark he has left on her, at least she will not have to see it.

His fingers tighten against her face, and he has the gall to tell her not to cry. She might almost laugh, if she dared. I will not have your tears - as though she would gladly give them. As though, in all this long hell and torment, she has not held them back; as though she has not fought with all her might to battle back the urge to weep, so that she has only allowed herself even a few hastily-shed tears when she is entirely sure she is alone. As though she did not force herself to watch dry-eyed when he slew her people and took from her all that she had. There is a special cruelty in making even this one matter where she has kept her pride, this one thing she controls, subject to his whims - and it is worse still because she does not know whether he does it on purpose, or because he truly has not noticed her forbearance. To find herself so accidentally aligned with his desires is no comfort, quite the opposite; it is the bitterest demand of all.

And it is, it soon transpires, not even one she can wholly keep. She does not weep - will not consider it weeping, for these are not tears of grief or rage or pain - but he yanks her forward, drives her onto him; and as his cock bruises roughly against the back of her throat, forces its way through tight muscle that will not gladly accept the intrusion, she feels the telltale burning in her eyes, a sharp echo of the bile that burns in her throat. She jerks and spasms against his grip, wracked by sudden, choking coughs, her throat tightening hard against the unfamiliar assault, and how, then, can she keep her eyes from watering? They are not tears. She does not weep. She simply cannot breathe, and for a moment - perhaps a merciful one - cannot even parse what it is he is saying, or fear what will come next, or doubt whether he will see that she does not weep. There is, for that moment, nothing but the animal instinct which tells her she is choking, and the jerking nausea which rises in her belly and must be forced down, and the blinding discomfort of breathless invasion as his hands tighten on her. All she can see, all she can taste and smell and feel, is the violent thrust of his hard cock into her mouth, and the pain in her back and in her chest and in her throat, and how her jaw is wrenched wider to take what she would sooner destroy.

And she does not weep. She does not.

[okhota]

She will weep - he can feel it in the grasping of her throat, in its panicked failure to accommodate him. She cannot will herself to silence or to sullen acceptance; and she cannot bull her way through with steel endurance. Her body will betray her, flawed in its design and purpose to withstand physical threats, in its hysterical need to repeal all which would funnel the breath too thin.

With gray eyes fixed on her face, he watches as she consumes him as she is bid, and then watches still as her body startles, refuses, striving to expel the intrusion with wracking coughs. And with this bodily panic comes, of course, the shine of tears, and he studies her as she jerks, no doubt hoping her failure to obey his command will go unnoticed, or be taken for a lapse which was no fault of her own. For a moment he keeps his gloved fingers knotted in her hair, holding her forward to choke on the spearing length of him, a flicker of amusement lifting his brows.

She is, of course, too much a maid to know how to master her body's uncouth impulses, and he reaves forward, a low grunt punctuating its finality before he steps back, fingers uncurling from her hair, the others deserting their hold on her face. Withdrawing himself from her mouth, he leaves room enough to do only that and then delivers a crisp, backhanded slap to her face. It had been a simple enough command, not to weep, despite her inability to see it done, and he straightens the shining black glove on his hand once she has been reprimanded for her failure. It is then a moment more as he fastens again the trousers that had been undone, and as he restores himself to his proper bearing, he regards her with undisguised disgust.

Her concerted effort to never shed a tear has been plain enough, ever since their first meeting; that was a pleasure she had been intent to never easily allow him. Not as her people were slaughtered, and not as she was carted like a vaguely useful heifer to this palace, where she has at least found a simpler and undeniable purpose. She would give him nothing, if she could, and he looks upon her now as if she has failed even in this.

"Shall we tell your uncle of how you wept? What a pity that his last memory of you will be the proud White Lady, bleating like a sheep. He does so esteem your nobility and your virtue in his letters. He loves you dearly, and your brother, too. How their words bleed."

He makes to leave her with this, a temporary abandonment that coincides nicely with a tapping at the door, the arrival of their guests. A smooth smile makes fair the edges of his face, a glimpse of the charm he long ago learned to wear for court. He wears it now, as he turns to admit the company he has summoned for this night.

[shieldofrohan]

Breathless, choking, she is in no fit state to dodge the swing of his gloved hand, even if she cared to try. The stinging blow snaps her head sharply to the side, and she spits, the taste of him still rancid on her tongue, those traitorous tears standing in her eyes.

Not at his words, at least. Never at his words, which are lies: her uncle's last memory of her will be the last time they saw one another in truth, will be how he looked back at her when she stood proud and tall on the ramparts, her white dress flying like a pennant in the winds of her home, and she was undefeated. She will not think that they will believe she wept, no matter what he tells them. They must hold her in higher esteem, even if it is esteem for the maid who has perished little by little in this shadowed place; they know her too well, love her too well, to believe that she will break. And they have not seen her thus, naked and red-faced, doubled over on her knees as she gasps for breath, the reddening mark of his slap rising livid on her pale cheek.

They are alive. That, at least, she can cling to; that is a buoy in the tide of her fear and humiliation. Hope, from him, is only a way to twist the knife: yet it is hope nonetheless, to think that her uncle still lives, that her brother still holds the Hornburg. She cannot return, will never return, but they may yet survive. She grasps for that thought, to find strength in it. The Mark may yet survive. Her family may yet survive. What happens to her, then, need not matter.

She is still afraid. The mark sliced into her back stings and oozes thick, hot blood; there is a string of spittle clinging to her lips, and the tears have spilled over to track down her cheeks; and it has not yet begun. She knows that, with a sinking dread that clasps cold fingers around her spine. She is afraid, no matter how she tells herself not to be, no matter how she repeats to herself, like a mantra, that she is already dead and has no honour left to lose. It is a lie. She has clung to the shreds of nobility and virtue, and she clings to them still, and so he will tear them from her, and it will hurt far more than those cutting shadows could; for pain is only pain, but this humiliation cannot be withstood with grace.

She swallows, her throat still aching from his rough assault, and briskly scrubs at her tearstained cheeks before, her hair falling about her like a shroud, she raises her head to look up at whatever - whoever - is to come.