give_satisfaction | Let The Kinkiness Begin!

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Let The Kinkiness Begin!

And we're off! Don't hold back! It's anonymous so let your freak flag fly! Not confident about your creative skills? Practice here! The fills can be anything you want. Fics, videos, artwork and anything else that strikes your fancy. Prompts do not have to be Bertie and Jeeves only! All of the other characters are fair game (Honoria and Madeline tentacle sex, anybody?). As are characters from other books and stories. This meme might be slow to start, so please spread the word!

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Please warn for:
Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Major Character Death
Rape/Non-Con
Suicide
Attempted Suicide
Incest

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“I did not realize you had agreed to help Mr. Bassington-Bassington rehearse for a play, sir.”

“Well, I did, Jeeves, I just didn’t tell you. Bit of a surprise to learn that the y. m. is capable of keeping a few secrets from his man, eh, what?”

“Most shocking, sir.”

“Anyway, this one scene is giving me a frightful pip. If you’ll just read this character, here, like so…”

Bertie opened the play to the relevant page. The two men stood shoulder to shoulder, reading from the slim volume. Jeeves dutifully recited his lines, which, it gradually became apparent, were leading up to the big, climactic, romantic kissing scene. Just as they reached the stage direction that read, The lovers embrace, Jeeves coughed suddenly.

“If you’ll pardon me, sir, I have just remembered a book on acting technique that would be invaluable here. I must retrieve it at once.”

It must have been a dashed difficult book to find, because he did not return from the bookstore for the rest of the evening.

“This is an especially dire situation, sir. I fear there is only one way left to get Lady Florence to break off your engagement now: you must convince her that you are not interested in marrying any woman at all.”

“Of course, that’s brilliant!" Bertie clutched Jeeves's arm in breathless gratitude. "But hang on, how am I supposed to convince her of that?”

“I believe arranging for her to witness you kissing another man would do the trick, sir," Jeeves said smoothly.

“Golly, oh, er, really?!” Bertie goggled at him. “Well, I suppose you’re right.”

“I am, sir. If you’ll pardon the liberty, I would be willing—"

“Er, finish that thought later, Jeeves, I’m just going to pop down to the Drones and ask old Bingo if he’s available to assist with this scheme, then!”

“…Very good, sir.”

Bertie elbowed Jeeves and pointed upwards. “What d'you know?” he smirked. “Mistletoe.”

Many such sprigs were installed in various inconspicuous locations throughout the flat. Bertie had done a really extraordinarily thorough job with these decorations, especially considering that he wasn’t even throwing a Christmas party this year.

Jeeves glanced up, unmoved. “That is actually holly, sir, known to botanists as Ilex, a deciduous flowering plant which constitutes the only genus of the family Aquifoliaceae. The two are often confused, but can be easily differentiated by the bright red berries produced by the female Ilex plant, sir.”

With that, he shimmered away, leaving a disappointed Bertie alone beneath the holly.

“Happy new year!” Bertie cried, raising a glass of champagne.

“Happy new year, sir.” Their glasses clinked.

All around them in the grand ballroom, couples embraced as the clock struck midnight. Each pair was wrapped up in themselves, totally oblivious to the outside world. Rather than taking a drink, Jeeves looked at Bertie with a glint in his eye.

Bertie gulped. Jeeves drew closer.

Bertie raised the noisemaker to his lips, and with an ear-splitting HONNNK!, the paper horn unfurled, bopping Jeeves on the nose.

The sound of a crash pulled Jeeves from the kitchen into the dining room. His employer lay writhing on the floor, looking stricken and panicked. He was clutching at his throat frantically. Jeeves rushed over to his master. “Sir! What is the matter?”

Bertie coughed hoarsely but appeared to be unable to speak. His face was turning red.

“Are you choking, sir?”

Bertie nodded desperately. “C…P…R!” he managed to gasp.

“Actually, sir, mouth-to-mouth cardiopulmonary resuscitation is performed only in the instance of cardiac arrest. For airway obstruction of a conscious victim, application of the Heimlich maneuver is the appropriate technique.”

Jeeves pulled Bertie to his feet, wrapped his arms around his waist from behind, and thrust sharply into his diaphragm.

“OOF!”

“I say, Jeeves, would you bring me a gasper?”

“I’m sorry to say we are out, sir. This is the last,” Jeeves said, gesturing apologetically with his nearly-finished cigarette.

“Oh, blast. I was really looking forward to a quick smoke.”

“A solution presents itself, sir. Are you familiar with the term ‘shotgun’ as it relates to smoking?”

“No, what’s that?”

“It is a method by which two people may smoke from the same cigarette, sir. Allow me to demonstrate.” Jeeves took a deep inhale of his gasper and held the smoke in his lungs. He walked slowly toward Bertie. Their eyes locked. He moved closer. And closer. He leaned in.

Bertie’s mouth had fallen open in shock.

At the last second, Bertie jumped back with a squeak. “You know, I think I’ll just go replenish our supply! I fancy the walk! Anyway! Toodle-pip!”

Jeeves exhaled, the puff of smoke dissipating into the now-empty room.

Bertie waited until Jeeves came back in the room to begin playing his new sheet music. He sang:

Music is a language lovers understand
Melody and romance wander hand in hand
Cupid never fails assisted by a band
So if you have something sweet to tell him
Say it with music! Beautiful music!

There's a tender message deep down in my heart
Something you should know, but how am I to start?
Sentimental speeches never could impart
Just exactly what I want to tell you

Somehow they'd rather be kissed
To the strains of Chopin or Liszt
A melody mellow
Played on a cello
Helps mister Cupid along
So say it with a beautiful song!

“What did you think of that song, Jeeves?” Bertie called when the last note finally stopped ringing.

Jeeves removed the cotton plugs from his ears. “Pardon me, sir—did you say something?”

Jeeves walked slowly through the darkened flat, a curiously blank expression on his face. He moved as if ensnared in a trance. He opened the door to Bertie’s bedroom and stepped inside.

Bertie jolted awake at the sound. He made out the form of his manservant standing there in his dressing gown in the dark, as if it were nothing unusual. They stared at each other in silence for a long while.

Finally, Bertie spoke. “Er. Hallo there, Jeeves. What are you doing?”

“Sleepwalking, sir.”

“Oh, is that right? Jolly good.”

The silence stretched on a bit.

“Er, Jeeves?”

“Yes, sir?”

“Why did you sleepwalk into my bedroom?”

“I’m dreaming, sir.”

“Having a good dream, then, are you?”

“It could be better, sir.

“Could it? How’s that?”

“Like this, sir.” He strode to the bed, leaned down, and kissed Bertie right on the lips.

After a while, they disengaged. Bertie looked dazed. “You know, I’m having a most wonderful dream right now, myself.”

“Is that so, sir?”

“Oh, yes.” Bertie pulled down the corner of the sheet and patted the bed next to him. “Come here and I’ll tell you all about it.” He grinned. “Unless you’re chicken.”

Whoever wrote this, I LOVE YOU MORE THAN LIFE.

Oh I love this! I love it!
I'm very fond of slice-of-life type fanfic. Especially when there are so many cute little "episodes" that lead to a delightful kiss at the end.

And Irving Berlin's "Say It With Music" made it even better!

Thank you for writing this!

It's mutual! 😁 Wow, what an incredibly appropriate icon!

Sapphic encounter between Pauline Stoker and Honoria Glossop!

This was my first try at slice-of-life and it's hard! Each slice requires thinking up an entire scenario/plot. With one-scene smut, you think up one idea and the rest writes itself!

"in my mind they were cheering for us" --> excuse me as I go off and start bawling aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa

Not the original prompter but thank you so much for this - I read this on the way to a ballet recital that was causing me so much anxiety for weeks and it really helped calm me down and make me feel so much more positive!

Now excuse me as I go and reread this hehehehehe

I love these! I can picture the scenes so well and I'm still laughing. XD

Well you did an amazing job! I loved it!

Thank you! It's a bit embarrassing that a real dancer read it, though - I know less than nothing about dancing, so I Googled and Wiki'd a bunch of dance terms but there must be tons of mistakes. But I'm so happy that it helped anyway!

Prompt: "He and Jeeves seem very happy in their new modern relationship."

This is interesting but I'm having trouble thinking of what the near-death event could be, any ideas?

Bertie likes crossdressing; Jeeves discovers this accidentally but is supportive. Whether the support takes the form of sex or just fashion advice is up to the author.

I think this might have gotten lost in the shuffle...

photo Strap back_zpsm4zuyira.jpg

Prompt: After dressing up as Daphne Delores Morehead and Beryl, Jeeves and Bertie decide to go out dressed as women and get a bit (or A LOT) naughty. The smuttier the better, says I.

I've totally been thinking of making a DDM/Beryl prompt! But with Daphne and Beryl as like real people who are actually women.

Jeeves/Bertie, consensual somnophilia (non-con is okay too but only if it's just touching/fondling)

It was her father I saw first, standing upright near the door. He looked serious and silly at the same time, and I couldn’t decide whether I liked him or not. He welcomed us, but we could see that we had surprised him: he hadn’t meant to meet us at the door himself, like some sort of eager nouveau-riche. His face had turned red – with embarrassment or anger? Maybe both. I lost interest then. Sir Roderick Glossop was just like the rest.

The house, however, was lovely. We walked inside, father leading the way, my brother Dwight dragging his feet and yawing. But even the novelty of the ornate chandeliers and delicate tapestries wore off in mere minutes; I was used to luxury. We entered the living-room and I sighed at the sight of more pretty things. More pretty things that I was used to, that left me entirely indifferent.

Until I saw her.

She was leaning against the piano, dressed in earthy shades, her hair held up in a bun. Plain, simple, unremarkable. But a muscle in her arm twitched, and my eyes were drawn to it immediately, to the way it stood out in this ordinary setting, that muscle in her arm that spoke of resolve and willpower and adventure. Strength of character.

I would have stared longer, but our fathers had finished exchanging pleasantries standing up and were ready to exchange some more sitting down.

“This is my daughter Honoria,” her father said. I heard the pride in his voice. She looked at him and smiled, and I wished I could smile at my father the same way.

But when he introduced me, I nodded and looked away. We all sat down. I could feel her eyes on me, searching for mine, waiting to say “nice to meet you, Pauline”. I didn’t want her to see the confusion on my face, so I kept it hidden under my hat, under my hair, under a mask of timidity. In truth, I wasn’t shy at all. I spoke my mind. And for the first time, that scared me.

I saw that Dwight was bored and growing restless. He slid out of his armchair. “Sit down,” I told him, although I never told him to do anything. This was for her, entirely for her – this pitiful show of strength. I wanted to impress her; I wanted her to look at me the same way I had looked at the muscle in her arm. I wanted to be just as fierce, intimidating, astonishing.

But even Dwight wasn’t fooled. “Come and make me,” he said, sticking his tongue out.

I made a face. It didn’t matter anyway. Who was she, but the daughter of another stuck-up English aristocrat? Why should I hide? I shook my head at my own foolishness and looked up at her.

She was staring at me. Our fathers were saying things I could no longer hear or understand. Honoria was staring at me, dark eyebrows raised with curiosity, her eyes travelling my face. She wore brown, held her hair up in a bun, and spoke little, but by Golly, she was not plain. How I ever thought her plain, I don’t know.

The wildness I had perceived in that single bulging muscle in her arm was only a hint of Honoria Glossop. For where brown fabric might have seemed simple on another, on her it looked natural; and where a bun might have looked austere, on her it looked pure.

Suddenly I saw it everywhere: in the curve of her neck, in the roundness of her jaw, in the sharpness of her gaze. An untamable spirit.

After dinner our fathers disappeared into the study, and we were left alone with Dwight. Honoria offered him chocolates and a book: the first he swallowed greedily, the second he discarded the moment she gave it to him.

“Honoria,” I said, “will you walk with me?”

She turned to look at me, and I was pleased to notice her surprise. Walk with me, I had said – like a man would. She noted the difference and tilted her head to the side, only slightly, as if to say, I know what you’re up to.

“I will, Pauline,” she said, raising her chin playfully.

We walked onto the balcony, and then around the house, and then down into the gardens. We spoke of literature, of philosophy, of theater and music – she was smarter than I was, and a hundred times more passionate. She knew everything I knew and more: but it didn’t intimidate me at all. In fact, walking with her, I forgot all about myself: it was her, always her, only her, and I didn’t care if I looked stupid, because that only meant that she looked clever.

And not once did she make me feel inferior. She taught me many things, explained them to me in detail, but even then, she would do it with benevolence and modesty. I had thought her plain and brash; but she was simply natural. She knew herself. She was herself.

It was late and we were walking back to the house when she asked me if I enjoyed tennis. My heart fluttered – this was how I would impress her. “Yes, I love tennis!”

“Wonderful,” she said, her British accent making the word roll in her mouth, shaping it a slightly different way, and I wished she would say it again, and again. “We can play tomorrow morning.”

I didn’t hide my enthusiasm. When we said goodnight, there was a moment of silence: we both stood lingering, as if out of breath; as if walking a tightrope. She leaned in. I looked down at her lips. Her mouth wasn’t painted like mine, and right then I longed to see my rouge on it, how it would bloom on her skin like a flower. I wanted to know her softness; I wanted to see my hair brush her cheeks. She was so close, and yet not close enough.

“Goodnight, Pauline,” she said. I would have whispered – it was late and everyone was asleep – but Honoria never whispered. She was too bold to whisper what she could say out loud.

*******

Pauline was an excellent swimmer. I knew it from the moment I met her, because she moved with the grace of one whose body had conquered both water and land. But I was still delightfully surprised when I saw her in action.

She and her family had been with us for four days. We had played tennis, the piano, and another game I wasn’t quite sure I understood. All I knew was that she was brilliant, and beautiful, and that I often wondered how her body would feel beneath my hands. Such thoughts I was having now, as I watched her glide through the water, pale skin glistening under the sun. Summer had come early this year, and I was grateful for it.

“Pauline,” I called, for no other reason but to taste her name on my tongue.

She looked up at me and smiled. I didn’t have to ask her to walk with me, as she had so boldly asked that first night. Pauline didn’t wait to be asked. She climbed out of the water, wet hair dripping onto her shoulders, across her neck, down her back… My eyes followed the drops of water until they disappeared between her thighs, and I felt heat rise to my cheeks. She caught my gaze and held it.

“Will you show me your room?” she asked.

My heart would have leaped out of my chest. It was like will you walk with me?, but it was so much more. It was the same boldness, but a different request. I opened my mouth to speak, but for the first time since I was a girl words failed me.

“That’s okay,” she shrugged, taking my nervousness for rejection. She tried to smile, but it did not quite reach her eyes.

And that was my undoing: those two words, her charming Americanisms, the way her shoulders rose and fell when she shrugged, her attempt at indifference, and her obvious disappointment… I reached out and held her hand gently in mine.

“I will show you my room, Pauline,” I said, “and I will show you so much more.”

We met in front of my room that same day after luncheon. She wore a blue dress – blue like the sky, like her eyes. I was dizzy with glee, frantic with excitement. She smiled at me as I opened the door to my room and showed her in, as if this were my home, my secret lair, a secret I would only ever share with her.

She did not pretend to look around. She did not compliment my carpet or bed sheets. Her father was too rich for her to notice these things. Or was it because of the air between us, and how it went hot and heavy the moment I closed the door?

She smoothed her dress and sat down on my bed. I stood with my back pressed against the door, chest heaving. Pauline was waiting, I realised. Waiting for me, because it was my turn, because will you walk with me and will you how me your room had been her questions.

I was sick of questions, but fortunately only one more remained. And it was my turn to ask.

I pushed myself off the door and locked it. When I looked back at Pauline, she was breathless. I walked towards her slowly, tentatively, until I was standing right in front of her, and I touched her cheek with the tips of my fingers.

“I’ve locked the door,” I said. It was my question, although it was not truly a question.

“I know,” she said. It was her answer, and suddenly my hands burned from not touching her and my eyes ached from not seeing her, and I sat down beside her and kissed her.

Her lips. Soft. Her breath. Sweet. Her hands, on my waist, on my back, on my chest, and the kiss deepened, and my hands were on her as well, squeezing and caressing and then fumbling with her dress.

“Wait,” she whispered against my lips.

She stood up and unfastened the back of her dress. She let it slip off her shoulders, and then fall to the ground. I bit my lip as she finished undressing herself, peeling each item of clothing off her body languidly, until she was naked, and I was shaking, heat pooling between my legs.

I cupped her breasts, felt their weight in my palms, saw them harden. She bit her lower lip. I kissed the tip of each breast, relishing the smoothness of her skin, the way it tickled my mouth. Then I caught the tender flesh between my lips and gently pulled on it. She gasped. I sucked on it, and her hands slid into my hair. I felt her undoing my bun, and soon my hair hung loose past my shoulders.

“Look at me,” she breathed. I did.

Her eyes were dark with lust. She ran her fingers through my hair and said, “Oh, you’re beautiful…”
I stood up then and undressed. She was watching, just as I had watched her before. Entirely naked, we fell into each other’s arms. There was no shame between us; this was how we were meant to be, skin against skin, mouth against mouth. We tumbled onto the bed, still kissing. Her tongue was as soft as the rest of her, soft and yet demanding, insisting, claiming: “taste me”, it said, “taste me and let me taste you”.

I rolled us to the side so that she was lying on her back. Her hair fell into her eyes, and she brushed it away with the back of her hand – such a carefree gesture, as if all of this were as easy to her as breathing, as existing. I loved her for it. I loved her with a passion so ardent that I lost my senses. I left a trail of frantic kisses on her neck, her chest, down her belly, until I was between her legs, and she spread them for me.

The sight of her, the scent of her, the eagerness with which she drew her thighs apart… I grabbed her hips and lowered my head until I could lick her, just once, with the tip of my tongue. She shivered. I did it again, and this time she moaned.

“Honoria,” she moaned. My name had never sounded so lovely in a man’s mouth. I wished she would say it again, and again.

I slid my tongue down, and then up, and then down again, and up once more. She threw her head back against the pillow, her breasts shaking with the movement. I pushed my tongue inside her as much as I could, shuddering at the sounds she made. With slow circular motions, I tasted her warmth. She was trying not to move her hips along with me, but after a while she gave in to the impulse and I let her follow my tongue, going faster and slower as I wished.

I slid a little higher and teased her nub with my lips, brushing them over it lightly. She looked down at me, a smile on her perfect lips. “Honoria,” she moaned again, “don’t be a tease.”

I smiled back, but I couldn’t resist her. Finding her nub once more, I took it between my lips and sucked on it. Her entire body jolted with pleasure, and I could feel the pearl of flesh throb in my mouth. I slid my hand between my own legs and rubbed myself, each stroke of my tongue paired with a stroke of my palm pressing against my own burning core. I could not stop, could not think, could do nothing but lick and suck and rub.

“Oh yes!” I heard her cry, and it nearly drove me over the edge. I had never been this feverish with desire before, so desperate to find release. I looked up for a second, just to see her naked shoulders rise and fall, her breasts quiver, her stomach shake, all slick with sweat. I squeezed her breast with my free hand and lowered my head once more, but she reached over and pulled me up, shaking her head.

“I want to feel you against me,” she muttered, “I want to feel how wet you are.”

I might have blushed at her brazen words, but I was beyond that. My body had taken over and without thinking I straddled her thigh. Her eyes met mine as I positioned myself just above her. There was something about her that was wild and delicate all at once, and it challenged me now, right now as I lowered myself onto her, and when our skin touched it was as if I finally understood it. I moved my hips slowly at first, but that wildness in her was in me as well, and it took over. I spread my legs wider and crushed my nub against hers, rubbing myself against her rapidly, almost violently. She moved her hips as well, and soon we found a rhythm – we pushed and shifted and twisted and rubbed together, up down up down down up circular up circular down…

Her skin was hot and wet, her folds brushing mine, then crushing, then pressing, and I knew it was close now, so I said her name, her beautiful, beautiful name, “Pauline!”

She cried out in pleasure, and for a moment I was almost surprised that she had reached her climax before me. But then there was the look of bliss on her face, her arched eyebrows, her half-open mouth, the shudder that went through her body… and I was found release as well.

Exhausted and deliriously happy, I let myself fall onto her, arms around her, our breasts pressing against each other, and I kissed her. She held my face in her hands and kissed me back, whispering my name over and over.

We fell asleep in each other arms. When we woke up, it was late afternoon. She was leaving in two days.

“I wish you could stay,” I said to her as she slipped back into her blue dress.

She turned to look at me, but our eyes never met. “If I stayed, you wouldn’t know what to do with me.”

“What absolute rot, Pauline.”

She placed a kiss on my cheek. “Just remember to show me your room every time I visit.”

I took her hand in mine. “My room – and so much more.”

Beautifully written, romantic and hot as heck. This reminds me that I need more F/F fic in my life.

Writer here. Thank you so much! I'm very happy you enjoyed it - and more F/F, yes, we all need more of it!

Falling down a well or a gap in a mountain
Caught in a fire
Trapped under something
A balcony collapsing under them - maybe hanging on for dear life or on a piece that's about to fall
Plunging into the ocean and the ocean liner keeps going

Prompt: Jeeves/Bertie, glory hole. With each other and optional other anonymous men. Bonus for one/both of them realising somehow and wondering how to confront the other.

Oh DAMN this is hot.

Wow, that was gorgeous! Thank you for writing this!

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Page 21 of 36

Let The Kinkiness Begin!

Fill: Chicken

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FILL: My room - and so much more | Part One

FILL: My room - and so much more | Part Two

Re: FILL: My room - and so much more | Part Two

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Re: FILL: My room - and so much more | Part Two