bakerstreet | extreme/unusual kink meme

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extreme/unusual kink meme

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!

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

They arrive to the village by the night fall. It's spring and the fields should be already greening, trees leafing and the roadside flourishing with spring flowers. But it's not. There's an air of something old and tired in the air, like ash on the tip of your tongue, the air grey with it.

Morrigan has been sharing the road with him for a little while. Grey doesn't know her very well but they've been fighting back to back a couple of times along the way and it's all he needs to know. She can be trusted when he needs her to make the right decisions. And their magic works together.

He's not a talkative travelling partner. He's not a talkative dinner guest either, and they eat in silence when they get to the tavern. He listens to the locals with half an ear and wonders if she picks up the twisted way this place seems almost like its been left out of time, the town folk are confused and scared, they like to talk about it. It's their number one topic, why seed isn't growing, why the fields stay black and gardens empty. Even their cattle has gone barren.

They get a spot at the hayloft but Grey isn't heading for the ladder after they finish inside but instead, stands at the doorway as if trying to make a decision. Magic can fix this problem. It's the kind of work that he's been trained to do and he was supposed to do before life threw him after demons. It feels wrong leaving before at least trying to fix it.

He cuts an imposing figure, glad in grey and black, hovering at the doorway, framed in the light that shines from inside, his brows furrowed in thought. When he finally makes the decision, his gaze is hard like cold rock, glancing at her.

"Are you coming?" he asks and nods towards the road. "It's not your problem but I'd appreciate the help."

There is nothing unpleasant about accidentally becoming Grey's travel companion. He is not guilty of ceaseless chatter or needlessly prying questions, and when he does speak he holds her interest. He holds his own in battle and his magic prickles along her skin every bit as much as magic should. She certainly cannot call him a trial to look upon. By this point she would even be willing to say she likes him.

But as he stands there in the doorway, framed by light that does little to soften his face, she feels a wry sort of amusement. Somehow she finds herself in a position like this more often than she would like.

"It is not my problem," she agrees. It is not, as far as they can currently tell, and she is not particularly interested in making it her problem. But she eyes him, golden eyes sharp, and hesitates where she would not if she liked him less.

She can feel it, of course: the odd dullness in literally everything here. A problem that she can only assume has magic as its root, yet she feels no source. Her curiosity is not so great that she would help on her own, especially since she is likely to get nothing out of it, but when combined with Grey asking for her assistance...

Letting out a small sigh, she gives him a nod. "We will remember this one day when I would appreciate your help."

A promise, of sorts.

Usually Grey finds that liking someone generally means enduring them. Too much talking, too much prodding, too much fussing. He doesn't mind enduring a couple of people but most of the time he prefers to travel alone for the aforementioned reasons. However, Morrigan isn't like most people and they share a simple companionship that isn't necessarily born out of just convenience.

Her humour for one seems similar to his own, dry and understated, which is why his lips quirk into a quicksilver smile at her immediate statement that it is definitely not her problem - she is very correct about that. It's none of his problem either. But he's willing to put a little effort into helping and doing so without a fuss. The villagers will never know and he likes to keep it that way.

He doesn't reply to her with words, they're unnecessary when she already spoke aloud what they both know will be true. He'll remember this when she needs something. He inclines his chin in a small nod but that's all.

That nod turns into a tilting of his head, indicating that they should get to it, then. The evening is definitely not getting any younger and if they wish to have at least a few hours of sleep before morning, it's better start right away.

While they walk, back towards the forest and fields, in easy understanding to find a place that is hidden from the village but open enough that they can see in the light of the stars, Grey collects some dried wood for the fire and other ingredients along the way. A little bit of soil from the fields, some barren branches from the trees.

The forest itself slopes up along a hillside overlooking the fields and the village. There's some trekking to do while they set to it. But eventually there's a place that practically lends itself to acts of magic, a cliff that protrudes a little bit out of the forest, a clearing around it, overlooking the fields. Most of the ground seems to be flat stone covered in moss and grasses. Grey stops to appreciate the sight of it bathed in moonlight.

"This feels right," he says with a glance at Morrigan.

His own small nod satisfies her. By this point she believes she knows him well enough that he can be expected to honor this informal agreement.

He searches for an ideal spot, she can tell, and despite her reluctance to be doing this at all she would be lying if she claimed she was not intrigued. While his magic complements her own, they are not the same. Her own experience leads her to think that ending the bleakness around them should require either the permanent removal of whatever caused it -- a hunt if need be -- or perhaps the help of a specific ritual, which is certain to exist even though she has no personal offhand knowledge of one. What he gathers on the way suggests the latter. A type of creation magic, perhaps, and that has never been her strongest suit, many of her talents more destructive. She is so deep in possibilities, half-alert for potential threats, that she almost fails to notice the moonlit beauty of the spot before he speaks again.

But then she smiles, just a bit, golden eyes glittering in the pale light as she tips her head up toward the moon. It was in solitary spots like this that as a child she earned her mother's teasing about dancing in the moonlight, certain that no one was watching but not caring if someone was and feeling filled to the brim with her own power.

"A fitting location," she responds, approval earned. "Show me what you have in mind."

Grey places the ingredients he collected onto a piece of stone roughly at the centre of the clearing. Then he steps away to drop off his gear, backpack, gloves, the warm cloak he's wearing and lastly his boots. He moves like a forest creature without the weight on his shoulders, light and careful.

"It's spring," he says with a small flash of a smile. "I'm going to wake up the nature. Something is holding it back but given the right incentives, there's nothing that can hold the nature back. All it needs is a small reminder of its own virility." This here is very much bush magic, pagan practices, the kind that he grew up with.

He collects some firewood while he speaks, bringing dry sticks and branches that have fallen down to build a pile in front of the stone.

"They used to do this every spring where I grew up in. It's very simple, derives its power from the caster's own energy. That one night when you could see your neighbours going at it on their fields like animals. Special, I'd say." He sounds amused.

The pile is high enough that he believes it will light up into a decent fire and he pauses to crouch beside it. "I'm not asking you to get naked with me. Just your presence will make it more powerful."

He glances at her, grey eyes calm but keen as they regard her quietly for a moment. There's a spark that takes in the dry hay and the fire spreads quickly in the kindling that hasn't seen rainfall for ages. The flames reflect in Grey's eyes as he looks at her.

"Unless you want to."

This may not be her problem but she is nice enough -- to him, at least -- not to make him collect firewood alone. It keeps her hands busy, is not wholly unpleasant work here in the moonlight, and in these conditions dry wood is far from difficult to find.

But he gets most of her attention, her eyebrows rising slightly when what he says begins to paint a more specific picture in her mind. She stops just before he does, wiping her hands on the hips of her leggings. Over the general course of a day she finds him pleasant to look at but like this, with the dancing light of flames moving across his face and something a bit like a challenge hanging in the air she finds him almost impossible to look away from.

One thing she cannot be accused of is modesty. Unafraid to bare skin, aware of her appeal, and supremely comfortable with her own power, she feels compelled to rise to the occasion. As she begins to step out of her boots, she gives him a pointed look. The sharp slant of her lips teases. "Try to remember that this is business and not pleasure."

"Ah." Grey inclines his head with a small, almost invisible quirk at the corners of his mouth. There's a moment when he could look away and get back to preparing the spell but he's arrested by the way the flames flicker in her golden gaze as they grow higher and for a moment she is the fire, the unpredictable flame that captures gazes effortlessly, holding them hostage as easily as breathing. It's no wonder why he feels helplessly attracted to her in that instance, like a moth to a flame, her fire to his water, completely arrested.

Then he shakes himself - water, he'll need water - trying to shift his attention back to what he was doing.

"Might end up being both," he says quietly as he returns to his camping gear and lifts away from it his water canteen. He starts to walk as a circle around the stone and the fire, framing a rather large area with a string of water spilled into the ground as he moves. His gaze returns to her often enough as if he's unable to look away for long. It feels an understatement to say she's beautiful, almost like an insult, a term that is inadequate to describe her wild beauty. Like saying a moon is pretty, like saying fire is hot. An understatement but also the undeniable truth.

But as he walks around the clearing and secures their magic circle, he also drops away the convenient traveller that most often sits upon him, layer after layer of the quiet but quite simple man that he is shaking off his shoulders and giving space for the shaman that is used to channelling the king of the forest with his antler crown. For those with magical sight, it would be sitting firmly amidst his hair, for those with the ability to sense its presence it is in the way shadow and light play upon them, when the moon reflects back from the smoke that already rises from the fire.

"Were I you," she says with a small laugh, "I would not get ahead of myself."

For all that she is pointed about it she is far from immune to the way he looks at her before he returns to his preparations, the way he continues to look her way even while walking his circle with his tipped canteen in hand. The weight of his eyes is heady, that very particular brand of hungry admiration where one is both watchful predator and helplessly-drawn prey.

She can feel it, though: the foundation being laid, a magical stage set. There are stories of royalty sneaking out of their castles disguised as commoners when they crave a taste of anonymity, and here and now he gives her a similar impression. As though this is home, as though he is forest royalty uncloaking upon his return. A stag lord, an ancient elm.

So perhaps she is as guilty as he is in the end, letting her eyes follow him as she sets her boots aside and disrobes. She takes her time, layer by layer tugged over her head or pushed down her hips until she is completely bared to the night air.

"Is that what you think is happening?" Grey asks drily, his voice teasing but at least an octave lower as it rumbles out of his chest.

He finishes his circle and puts his canteen away. But he doesn't undress just yet, instead he simply watches her across the circle, disrobing, unveiling herself like the moon. Even if their spell will include more than just dancing naked, she's definitely not a helpless prey or an innocent maiden in their magical scenario, she's the goddess, the moon, the mother earth, the witch that holds it all in her slender hand.

It's not just the magic or the ritual why he feels drawn to her. She's like him, she knows what it's like to have power and responsibility to that power. She's familiar to the forces that move the universe. And that's not all it is either.

But personal feelings aside - he can examine those later - it seems they have the energy, raw and powerful, right here between the two of them.

He doesn't hurry when he undresses, but he doesn't make it a show either. It's artless and efficient, pulling his shirt over his head and revealing the countless tattoos that pattern his back and arms, spilling over his shoulder onto his chest. Trousers go down with a simple shove and he yanks the tie out of his hair even before he takes a step into the circle and pauses, eyes closed and face turned to the moon, stretching his neck. The antler crow, while not visible, is still heavy.

"Shall we get started, though?" he asks when he opens his eyes and turns to look at her. In the moonlight it seems like her skin is glowing. He doesn't hide his gaze that travels over her body, slow and curious.

Though she chooses not to voice the thought, she thinks of him as too deliberate to get far ahead of himself. She thinks of him as even, for the most part, despite the fact that his decision to help the village without drawing any attention to it feels notably altruistic to her.

As he sheds his clothes she appraises him with the same keen-eyed up-and-down manner she used to study him on their first meeting, no closer to shy about doing it while he is naked than she was about assessing him as a stranger. Somehow he seems even taller when bare, with nothing blurring the long lines of his body. By this point she knows what his magic tastes like, the feel of it on the air, but for the first time she has the distinct urge to know what his skin tastes like as well.

"Let's."

In this -- his decision to help, his magical process -- she is willing to follow his lead, but that does not stop her from stepping toward the center of the circle expectantly. A subtle gesture of one hand summons a small wisp of light into the air above her; meant to temporarily boost the power of her magic, it hovers as though she has her own small dedicated moon.

When she agrees, Grey pushes away the last restrains he was holding onto. He grabs his water canteen and a pouch from his backpack and steps into the circle. As he meets her in the centre of the circle, he lets his head roll back a few times, his neck popping and tension leaving his body, each deep breath settles him closer to the ground, to the earth and the nature still sound asleep around them. Lids hooded heavily, he takes her hand and steps in a slow circle around her, with each step the man on him crumbling a little more and the shaman, the spell caster and summoner struggling through his skin.

There are no light effects with Grey's magic, no rumbling sound, but anyone with even a little bit of sensitivity can feel it, the forest suddenly paying attention, the fields holding their breaths in anticipation. He's offering them a hand, an invitation. The murmur of his native language that spills from his lips is rhythmical, going up and coming down, sing-song and full of demand. Grey doesn't often command attention, he doesn't tell people what to do. But now he is laying down some heavy demands. His voice grows larger as the circle he's drawing with his feet comes to a close around her.

He offers her his other hand wordlessly, his posture different now, like a man who leads with his chest, standing tall, self-assured. When he has both of her hands, he puts them together, forming a cup and spills some of the contents of the pouch onto her waiting palms, then a little bit of water, creating a loose paste. It smells of herbs and maybe something else, earthy and warm. He dips his fingers in it and reaches for her, drawing on her skin. There's the pregnant belly of a crescent moon on her stomach, a rather large Hannunvaakuna on her upper chest, knitting her together with the forest, with the fields, with the nature itself. Her skin is warm and his fingers rough against it.

When he's finished after drawing one straight line from her chin to her chest, ending it between her breasts, he cups his hands under hers, waiting for her to spill the rest.

"Your turn."

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

extreme/unusual kink meme

hope this is okay!

looks good to me!

Fantastic!

sorry for the delay!

naaaahhhhh I'll just forever hold that against you....

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