Let The Kinkiness Begin!
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give_satisfactionAnd 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!
And remember:
Complete rules for posting are on the group's profile. To protect members' privacy, entry posting is by members only. However, prompts and fills are made anonymously, which means non-members can respond!
Rules
1. No underage characters
2. No RPF/RPS
3. No bashing other people's kinks.
4. Please use content warnings. Put them at the start of your prompt. I.e. Prompt (Content Warning: Attempted Suicide)
Please warn for:
Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Major Character Death
Rape/Non-Con
Suicide
Attempted Suicide
Incest
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Comment screening is off.
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HOW IT WORKS: All posts are comments. To make your request, reply directly to this post. To fill someone's request, reply to their comment.
TIP FOR FINDING FILLS: On the left side of each page is a list of posts. In this case, the fill titles appear so that you can find and click on them without scrolling through an increasingly long thread! You can also find Part Two of fills on the list. Another way is to check "Top Level Comments Only". Only the prompts will show. You can judge from the number of responses whether or not the prompt was answered.
ETA: If you have comments about a fill, there is absolutely no time limit on comments. Writers love praise!
ETA ETA: A post from May 21 says that members would prefer fills to fic recs. For more, click on the link.
ETA ETA ETA: Please do not delete your prompts once they are posted. Members might have been writing a fill, or simply enjoy reading them and imagining the scenarios.
And remember:
Complete rules for posting are on the group's profile. To protect members' privacy, entry posting is by members only. However, prompts and fills are made anonymously, which means non-members can respond!
Rules
1. No underage characters
2. No RPF/RPS
3. No bashing other people's kinks.
4. Please use content warnings. Put them at the start of your prompt. I.e. Prompt (Content Warning: Attempted Suicide)
Please warn for:
Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Major Character Death
Rape/Non-Con
Suicide
Attempted Suicide
Incest
NOTE: IP logging is off.
Comment screening is off.
The subscriber and posting access lists are hidden.
HOW IT WORKS: All posts are comments. To make your request, reply directly to this post. To fill someone's request, reply to their comment.
TIP FOR FINDING FILLS: On the left side of each page is a list of posts. In this case, the fill titles appear so that you can find and click on them without scrolling through an increasingly long thread! You can also find Part Two of fills on the list. Another way is to check "Top Level Comments Only". Only the prompts will show. You can judge from the number of responses whether or not the prompt was answered.
ETA: If you have comments about a fill, there is absolutely no time limit on comments. Writers love praise!
ETA ETA: A post from May 21 says that members would prefer fills to fic recs. For more, click on the link.
ETA ETA ETA: Please do not delete your prompts once they are posted. Members might have been writing a fill, or simply enjoy reading them and imagining the scenarios.
Fill: What Would You Do?
Date: 2019-06-25 07:55 am (UTC)Oh, you disagree? Tell me, then—what would you do if you were me? What would you do if, despite years and years of trying to change something that’s as fundamental to who you are as your height or your eye color, you still couldn’t go a single day without an illicit thought crossing your mind? What if you were told that your urges, which never hurt anyone, which only brought pleasure to yourself and a few others on occasion, were immoral and sinful? What if you were exactly who you already are, but also an invert in an age where that sort of conduct is strictly prohibited by law?
I think I know. I think you would find yourself returning to St. James’s Park. To Lincoln’s Inn. To Smithfield. You’d find yourself strolling along Hampstead Heath, chatting with the strangers there. You’d find yourself in your usual spot on Clapham Common, introducing yourself with your usual fake name.
You’d find yourself with a towel wrapped tightly around your waist, too petrified to even glance at the fellow on the far end of the bench; instead you’d lock eyes with his reflection in the pool, barely visible through the shimmering steam that pervades the bathhouse and constitutes its hazy atmosphere.
You’d find yourself pausing as you reach the end of the long bookshelf filled with unspeakable titles, looking over your shoulder to see if anyone is watching you, and pushing aside the dingy curtain to enter the small unmarked booth.
Inside the booth, you’d find a partition, flimsily-built but over six feet tall, with crude graffiti drawn and carved into it, a few faded photos of naked men and women tacked onto it. Your stomach would lurch as you noticed the circular holes cut at about hip height. You would feel at once repulsed and, despite your better judgment and taste, enticed. You’d feel suffused with fear and you’d wonder whether it’s the kind of fear you’d be smart to heed, the kind you’d be foolish to ignore, or the kind you’d be brave to overcome.
You’d see a few dark figures lurking among the shadows. You’d hear soft sounds emanating from the other side of the partition: shifting, shuffling, whispers, moans, lapping, slurping. Tentatively, you’d approach, keeping your gaze downcast, tilting the brim of your hat to hide your eyes.
You’d risk a sideways glance at the figures next to you, standing oddly close to the wall, eyes trained downward at the spot where their bodies touch the partition. Closer than touch it—disappear inside it. Gulping down your apprehension, you’d undo your trouser fastenings with trembling hands. You’d feel disconnected from reality, like you’re in a surreal dream, as you begin coaxing your already nascent arousal to a serviceable state.
Soon, you’d pause, uncertain, staring at the hole and feeling the abyss gaze back into you. “Er…hallo?” you’d murmur. A quiet chuckle from the shadowy figure standing a few feet to your left. You’d flush with embarrassment, doused suddenly in shame, and decide to scrap this whole ridiculous scheme, to button up and turn and run out of here as fast as—
“Hi.” A low voice rumbling out of the hole, so quiet you’re not sure you didn’t hallucinate it.
You’d let out a shaky breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. “Would you…do you want…?”
“Yes.”
A voice so faint that barely any qualities are discernible, but against all reason, something about it would make you trust the speaker nonetheless. Probably just self-delusion, but you’d take whatever encouragement you can get.
“Are you ready?”
“Yes,” it would mutter again.
You’d say a quick prayer to a deity you don’t believe in and wouldn’t expect sympathy from even if you did, and ease your way into the hole.
Disorienting. Bizarre. Your rigid length, all by itself, alone on the other side of the wall, would feel detached from your body, and at the same time, also like the most keenly sensate part of your body. Like it had disappeared and yet like it had never been more present.
The disembodied voice would soon materialize a hand, then eventually, a mouth. The hesitant touch would make you suspect this might be the rumbling voice’s first time trying this, too. Well, not all of this—just the anonymity part. The gripping, stroking, kissing, licking, sucking part, that wouldn’t feel like the experimental fumblings of a first-timer. In fact, you would wonder if this was indeed the most skillful treatment of this sort that you’d ever experienced, or if it only felt that way because the pleasure was artificially heightened by the unusual circumstances.
Whatever the reason, you’d be panting before long, choking back groans and growls, as the blissful sensation steeped through your skin and into your blood, your very bones. Your eyes would squeeze shut, blocking out the uninspiring sight of the wall two inches in front of you. The unseen tongue would lave you with enthusiastic ardor, up and down, drawing you in and out, until you could feel the excess wetness dripping off you, down to the floor. If your hips snapped involuntarily, you’d feel the scrape of teeth; if you slowed and controlled your thrusts, you’d feel only the taut lips, the slick tongue, and the soft palate. Ecstasy would fill you as you filled the throat, which would constrict you tighter and allow you in deeper, further and further down as you proved your trustworthiness.
All the while, you’d wonder about whose trust you’re earning. His name, his age, his appearance, what his personality was like, what kind of life he led. You’d know what you hoped those answers were, but what were the odds he was anything close? The fact that you didn’t even know, that you’d never know, was simultaneously horrifying and hugely relieving. You were dehumanizing this man, treating him like an inanimate object for your own use; but then again, how could you be doing that when he was doing the very same to you? Somehow it would seem to make sense that if the objectification was mutual, then it couldn’t be happening at all. It would seem more like mutual respect.
You would sense your peak coming in the near distance and feel satisfied in your utter faith that the source of your pleasure wouldn’t let you down, wouldn’t stop, wouldn’t even slow. You’d pass the point of no return and give a wordless cry of warning just before the first surge of elation rocked you. Hoping to memorize the moment, you’d note every detail of your body tensing, your muscles contracting almost painfully, pumping down into that tight, wet, anonymous void. For a flash, you’d wish you had a name to call or hair to tangle your fingers in, or the assurance that you could feel this, exactly this, again someday. Then you’d remember the reasoning behind the contract you had implicitly signed and instead thrust impassioned, bitter fists against the wall.
That hot, sweet suction would vanish every last trace of the evidence; you’d pull back out of the mouth, out of the hole, and find not a drop to speak to what had occurred. With a shudder-sigh, you’d lean your forehead against the partition, never minding who else had done the same before, maybe even earlier that same night. You’d open your eyes for the first time in quite a while and tuck away your spent member. You’d hear a soft grunt as the man on the other side of the wall rose from down on his knees up to his feet.
The voice would float over the barrier, coming from about the same height as yours. “Call me Stephen.”
You’d take a mental inventory of all the Stephens you know, analyzing the few details you have of this one, but coming up with no matches. “Hugh,” you’d lie with practiced ease, just like you say every time on Clapham.
“Pleased to meet you, Hugh,” he’d say, and you would laugh as his hand would extend through the hole and wait there politely, expectantly.
You’d take it and shake it. “The pleasure’s all mine.”
The hand would withdraw and just like that, he’d be gone. You’d take a quick peek behind the partition, but a man with a voice completely unlike Stephen’s would curse at you until you left, tossing a hasty apology over your shoulder as you retreated. Dazed, you’d wander out into the cool night and meander your way home, deep in thought.
So, that’s it. That’s what you’d do if you were me in this situation. But you’re not, so don’t try to judge me. Don’t think you’d do it differently. Don’t think you understand. And when I tell you that I arrived home and requested a restorative drink from my valet, and when he delivered it to me, my eyes alighted upon his hand, suddenly identifying its unique familiarity, suddenly seeing it and him in an entirely new, unbelievable light…don’t try to tell me you’d cry out in recognition, admit the truth, and confront him straight away. You don’t know how impossible it is for me to bring myself to do so, as much as I deeply desire it!
Re: Fill: What Would You Do?
Date: 2019-06-25 08:39 am (UTC)Re: Fill: What Would You Do?
Date: 2019-06-25 02:17 pm (UTC)Re: FILL: My room - and so much more | Part Two
Date: 2019-06-25 03:17 pm (UTC)Re: Fill: What Would You Do?
Date: 2019-06-25 04:48 pm (UTC)Re: Fill: What Would You Do?
Date: 2019-06-25 04:51 pm (UTC)Re: Fill: Gain
Date: 2019-06-26 08:13 am (UTC)Re: Fill: What Would You Do?
Date: 2019-06-26 10:29 pm (UTC)And I WAS SO HAPPY YOU USED THE NAMES PROMPT OHMYGOSH WHAT A CLEVER WAY TO INCLUDE THAT
Re: Fill: What Would You Do?
Date: 2019-06-27 12:24 am (UTC)Re: Fill: What Would You Do?
Date: 2019-06-27 08:55 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2019-06-28 08:21 pm (UTC)Re: Fill: What Would You Do?
Date: 2019-06-30 05:34 pm (UTC)FILL: Niagara - part 1
Date: 2019-06-30 10:02 pm (UTC)“I trust you had a good evening, sir” as he handed me my hat and stick, which he must have retrieved from the porter. Sometimes he can be too dratted efficient-- I had hoped to visit the lavatory before departing but here he was, looking so dashing out of uniform and waiting for me to take my belongings and walk with him-- I could wait.
“Yes Jeeves, topping. And before you say anything, the hat you admonished me for donning this evening was quite the thing among the drones. They all wanted to know where I’d bought it.”
“Is one of the gentlemen involved in a production of Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland in the coming weeks, sir?”
The obvious sarcasm should have caused indignation but I was starting to find it rather endearing. What a frightfully Basset-esque development. Still, I must parry the insinuation lest I let him take an inch, as there aren’t enough miles in the world for Jeeves to take in return. Although if I’m being honest I’d give him all of my inches, if you get my drift.
“What rot Jeeves, you are not the only arbiter of taste in the metrop. One wonders whether one doth protest too much. Anyway, I hope your night was as spiffing as mine?”
“A most enjoyable function, thank you sir.”
We walked in companionable silence as I fought against the urge to take his arm. There has been what I can only describe as a frisson between us lately. I’ve been attracted to him since he first entered my service, but the emergence of the tender pash had complicated matters. I find that I when I visit a country house, as I am wont to do, I want nothing more than to ankle round the grounds with Jeeves, and those who I’d purportedly come to visit can go hang. For the last few months I have felt a twinge of regret when he stops undressing me, wishing he’d continue until I’m fully nude. Instead of bunging me into bed with a book I imagine him bunging himself in right on top of me. For so long I’ve harboured these fantasies and guiltily indulged them alone at night, I fancy I could frig myself for England.
Recently however, I’ve begun to sense the one thing I’d never dared to hope for-- reciprocation. I know it sounds barmy, but have I been imagining the lingering glances during bath time? The fingers that hold a proffered glass a few beats too long and brush against mine as he hands me my cocktail? Not to mention coming into the lobby of the drones to collect me on his nights off-- I have it on good authority that sometimes he waits over an hour. My lust has caused me to be hyper-vigilant, as one must always be when one is an invert. I might not be known for my powers of observation, but when the consequences are as grave as they are for someone with my proclivities, even I can rise to the occasion.
Speaking of rising to the occasion, I needed to be careful. All these thoughts of Jeeves and his arms and me in the role of his damsel were threatening to have an effect. I focused for just a moment on my cock, willing it to behave and remain au repos, which is when I noticed that the call of nature had become louder. I regretted not visiting the facilities before departing but thought little of it as it was a short walk.
A short walk indeed. Quite uneventful bar the lecherous thoughts about Jeeves that grew harder to keep at bay with every step. If only the same could be said about the lift. We had no sooner started our ascent to the third floor when a loud clang rang out and we jolted to a halt. Jeeves reached out to steady me but otherwise appeared unruffled, which was good because I was as ruffled as one of those Dutch chappies in those dreary old pictures. He called out to the doorman, who replied something I couldn’t quite catch. Then he turned to me and said reassuringly,
“Sir, I’m sure an engineer will be summoned in good time.”
“Oh, rather.” I answered absently, looking around the small enclosure as if I actually expected to find a heretofore unnoticed secret door, perhaps to a lavatory.
I was in a bit of a pickle. I was increasingly aware of the results of the nights’ festivities sloshing around inside me, but I was relieved that it was only Jeeves with me in the lift. Relieved. Good lord. I don’t want to sound vulgar but I really did need to relieve myself quite badly.
“May I enquire, sir, if you have given any more thought to a prospective sojourn to North America this autumn? You might enjoy driving the new Auburn Speedster through the...”
He continued, no doubt extolling the virtues of whatever it was that he wanted to do, which he would try to trick me into thinking I wanted to do, so I stopped listening as a matter of principle. Jeeves was in the midst of another campaign to convince me that it’s in my own best interest to take a holiday, the upshot being that my holidays involve him accompanying me. He is not subtle. Just this morning he left a brochure artfully tucked within the folds of the morning paper that featured a spectacular looking rushing body of water of supposedly great scientific interest. I wasn’t sure when he’d stopped talking but supposed that conversing about travelling was preferable to focusing on certain other goings on, even if I was giving in to his manipulations.
“I say, Jeeves, what’s the name of that water thingummy you want to visit the next time we venture to New York?”
“Niagara Falls, sir. It is actually comprised of three waterfalls, which together have a flow rate of six million cubic feet of water per minute. It is purported to be quite a spectacle.”
“Six million, you say? Golly--”
“Yes, sir, one of the highest flow rates in the world. The sound of that quantity of water crashing down onto the rocks below and the feel of the spray from even a great distance is meant to be quite invigorating. In fact,--”
I felt a spasm as I imagined myself as the source of the waterfall and Jeeves bearing the brunt of the spray, so to speak. I needed to think of something else immediately.
“Thank you, Jeeves. Jolly good. Enough about waterfalls for now, what?”
“Very good sir.”
Now, Jeeves has ‘very good sir’d me countless times before, but this time it sounded rummy. My nerves, already stretched to the point of unravelling, could hardly stand up to a Jeevesian inquisition. He knew something was amiss.
“Forgive me for saying so sir, but you no longer seem to be in high spirits.”
I knew I couldn’t hide my predicament indefinitely. Besides, as humiliating as this situation was, Jeeves had made a bit of a habit out of solving my problems. One of his brilliant wheezes would be just the ticket.
“Your powers of deduction never cease to amaze me, Jeeves. The young master’s spirits are indeed low. I’m afraid I have to admit something rather embarrassing--”
I stammered, not sure how to continue “--you see, the reservoir is full, but the deluge continues. The river is set to burst its banks. The dam is holding for now, but a flood is imminent. That is to say, nature is no longer merely calling. She has sent bounty hunters who are banging down the door as we speak!”
Now that the cat was out of the bag I saw no harm in giving in to crossing my legs a tad. A hand might have drifted down and briefly pressed against my cock for good measure.
He didn’t look surprised, but a reply was not forthcoming. It’s not often that my valet is rendered speechless. His eyes widened as he breathed in slowly, ran a finger between his collar and neck, and bit his lip. I admit I was staring. Not many things could distract me from my need, but the site of Jeeves’ bottom lip caught between his teeth was one of them. How many times had I pictured that very same lip caught in my teeth?
The brief spell was broken when he caught my eye.
“One solution does present itself, sir.”
“Well, present it to me post haste, my good man.” I clapped my hands together as I said this, as if it was my eureka moment instead of his. Salvation was close at hand.
Jeeves cleared his throat and shifted on his feet. He never looks nervous, even when outlining his most hair-brained schemes, so I was on high alert.
“You could urinate into your hat, sir.”
“Now, I say, Jeeves, that is simply not on. I know you disapprove of this particular style, but that’s no reason to wish it to be sullied beyond-- ”
He interjected.
“I am only thinking logically, sir. If you allow nature to, as you say – take it’s course – the result will be sodden trousers and a puddle on the floor. Given that maintenance engineers will certainly be present at the time of our eventual egress, there would be no concealing that outcome. This also holds if you simply relieve yourself on the floor. The freeholders may very well levy a fine or speak of it at the next leaseholders meeting.”
I had to admit the chap was right, but didn’t quite follow how my hat was involved.
“But Jeeves, surely--”
He interrupted again. Of all the bally liberties!
“However, sir, a hat with a jacket draped over it will, I believe, provide sufficient cover for us to exit the lift in the presence of engineers while being spared any undue humiliation. I would, of course, offer my own, but I fear that my simple homburg would not hold the required volume.”
He uttered that last phrase with the least convincing attempt at regret I’d ever heard.
“As ever, your logic is impeccable. In normal circs I’d never entertain such a preposterous notion, but...”
I trailed off, unable to form a coherent response. These were not normal circs. On one hand, he had a point. On the other hand, I suspected machinations were at play that went beyond the emelior-whatsit of my suffering. And I was suffering indeed. My thoughts were jumbled and my ability to speak began to falter. Words flowed out of my mouth but in all the wrong order, spiralling as if circling a drain. Good lord, what I would’ve given for a drain right at that moment. I felt a few drops escape and lost all semblance of control as I grabbed myself with both hands while ineffectively scrabbling at the buttons of my trousers.
Tears might have been pricking at the corners of my eyes. I might have cried out in pain, humiliation, or both. The only thing I was sure of was Jeeves’s hand on my shoulder, anchoring me as he said softly,
“It’s okay Sir, let me help you.”
FILL: Niagara - part 2
Date: 2019-06-30 10:12 pm (UTC)I felt a queer sense of elation as it all poured out of me. The breath I hadn’t realised I’d been holding coughed out in an aborted laugh as I allowed myself to revel in the absurdity of it all. Us, stuck in a lift. Jeeves’ hands tantalisingly close to my cock, holding a hat. I was pissing copiously into said hat. I dared to look towards Jeeves to see how he was holding up during this dashed unfortunate sitch, expecting him to be averting his gaze politely towards the wall.
Instead, I saw his eyes looking directly at the main event, as it were. I’m no shrinking violet, but I took umbrage that he was staring so blatantly. He must have felt my eyes on him and looked straight at me, blinking and shaking his head as if he’d been caught daydreaming in class.
“Sir, I...”
“It’s okay, Jeeves.” I said, unable to voice any objections and acknowledging that it must be quite a sight, “Niagara Falls, what?”
That seemed to defuse the tension a bit and he very nearly smiled, in that way that makes me melt, the corner of his mouth turning up up ever so slightly.
“As I said sir, most invigorating.”
I was nearly finished, becoming more river Avon than Niagara Falls. I was wrung out. So utterly relieved but at the same time beginning to notice the sweat cooling on my brow, the residual pain of over-tight muscles that I didn’t notice when I was preoccupied and fidgeting.
“Good lord, Jeeves,” was all I could say.
“Are you finished, sir?”
His composure had returned. I was disappointed for some reason.
“Yes, yes, thank you. I – I don’t know what I would have done if you weren’t here, old thing.”
He took the hat in both hands and placed it gently on the floor. It took me a few seconds to remember to belatedly put my cock away and right my clothing the best I could. When I looked back up, Jeeves had taken off his jacket and draped it over the hat. He looked flushed and I could see crescents of damp fabric under his arms. I wanted to bury my face in them as I clung to him. It was dashed hot in here, I felt like I was on fire. At least if I burnt to a crisp, Jeeves might haul my ashes.
Jeeves sniffed at the air and spoke. “Sir, if I may suggest a cigarette?”
He was polite enough not to mention the smell but I got the point. “Oh, rather, yes, splendid idea.”
I took one from my case, lit it with an admittedly shaking hand, and then offered one to Jeeves who accepted. The way he inhaled deeply, held it in, and then tilted his head back for a slow exhale reminded me of the kind of smoke one has after sex. Not the kind one has when returning to one’s flat with one’s employer. When our eyes met I realised that this time I was the one caught staring. I couldn’t look away. His eyelids were lower than usual, which gave him a smouldering quality that ignited the post-coital atmosphere. I didn’t know where to look, what to say, or how to arrange my limbs. How in the devil had this happened? Eventually I settled on removing my jacket.
“Dashed hot in here, eh Jeeves?”
“Yes sir.”
I had forgotten about the gasper that I was holding in my right hand and Jeeves looked amused as my jacket caught on my elbows and I flopped around like a fish in an unsuccessful attempt to release my arms without dropping it.
“May I offer you some assistance, sir?”
He stepped forward before I could utter my assent, plucking the cig from my fingers before gently taking me by the arm and turning me so I faced the wall. I was at his mercy. He could have put his other hand between my shoulder blades and pressed me against the wall, rubbed his cock against my arse and-- good heavens, I must be more careful. I couldn’t allow myself to become hard. I could smell Jeeves and feel heat radiating from him but I must not give in to temptation. He extricated my arms one at a time, guiding them through the sleeves – such a simple thing, not usually worthy of mention. So why did it feel like his hands were branding my skin with every touch, even through my shirt?
“Thank you” I said, while pondering how to fill what had become an oppressive silence. I couldn’t allow my mind to wander. I could’ve spent in my trousers with nary a touch if this fantasy reached its conclusion. I’m sure some philosopher jonnie had something or other to say about thoughts begetting themselves, that the very attempt not to think of something brings it forth fully formed into the world. And so it transpired. The image of Jeeves sliding his cock into me against the wall of this lift. One hand on my shoulder, the other gripping my hip, waiting until I beg him to move before fucking me. I was hard, my cockstand stiff and leaking once more from the tip in a crude reflection of my earlier state. All I could do was start babbling as I sank gingerly down to the floor.
“Of course I’ll buy you a new jacket, Jeeves. Honour demands it. Anything you like, old thing, just say the word. Is it just me or is it getting even hotter in here? Sorry, I need to sit down, hope you don’t mind. Feel free to join me if you wish, I wonder how long it will take the engineers to extract us? We’ve been waiting an awfully long time now. I hope nothing else is amiss in the building--”
As I sat I pulled my knees up and wrapped my arms around them. A childish pose, but it hid my erection admirably.
“Sir...”
Jeeves seemed to change his mind about speaking and to my shock, joined me sitting on the floor of the lift. I have no idea how he disposed of the cigarettes. He slid back against the wall with his legs straight out in front of him. Long legs, probably strong enough to wrap around my back and-- I don’t know what came over me. The train on my one-track mind was about to derail and my frustration escaped me in a gasping sob.
I didn’t dare look at Jeeves. He would no doubt exude some combination of pity and concern. I wanted and deserved neither.
I felt his hand brush against my face, the thumb swiping at the tears now rolling down my cheek. I was so utterly overcome that for the second time that evening, the floodgates opened.
“Sir, please tell me what is the matter.”
I couldn’t answer or bear to look at him, just attempted to bury my face in my arms as my tears painted my face with indelible shame. His hand returned, stroking my hair. He must have leaned in close, for I could feel his words as well as hear them.
“You have nothing to be ashamed of, sir.”
He said it with such authority that I couldn’t help but believe him. He was right about everything else, so why not this? I chastised myself for ever being ashamed. How had a situation that should have become a humorous anecdote, one to regale the drones with to the amusement of all, become so fraught? I thought I must be going mad. A simple gesture on Jeeves's part had become imbued with such depth thanks to my unquiet conscience. I chuckled. It wasn’t often I could be accused of overthinking anything. I wished I could relate this momentous occasion to Jeeves. Instead I just said,
“Thank you, Jeeves. I suppose these things happen to the best of us, what? Besides, the spiffing ribbon should be salvageable even if the beaver skin is not.”
He looked aghast for the first time that night. “I’m sorry to say sir that the possibility is a remote one.”
He didn’t look sorry at all, but I let it slide. How could I not, when I still felt the calming weight of his hand, which had moved from my hair down to my shoulder? Just like that my cockstand went from a flower wilting under the weight of my tears to a stiff stick of dynamite primed to explode. I tried think of something witty to say to divert his attention, but to my horror his gaze was locked on my lap. In the brouhaha I had let my guard down and my knees had slipped apart. He was biting his bottom lip again. Curious. I noticed that his knuckles were white where he gripped his thigh, close to his cock, which was prominent and straining against his trousers.
“Sir--”
His voice startled me. It was like I’d never heard it before, his usual unflappable confidence overtaken by something akin to desperation. I reached out and placed my hand on top of his on his thigh, a gesture that I hoped meant something between there, there and I’m up for it. I have given the signal but it is he who must press the throttle. I’ve always been wary of making the first move on those below me on the social ladder. Not that I consider Jeeves intrinsically below me, it’s just that one doesn’t want to abuse one’s station.
He looked at our entwined hands and smiled, no mistaking it this time. Before I knew it he was tilting his head towards mine, his free hand running a finger around my lips before trailing it down to grab my collar and pull me in for a kiss. That was all it took. I had been given the green light and the starter’s pistol had sounded loud and clear. I pivoted to straddle him, hovering with one knee on either side while trying to keep my mouth locked on his. His tongue demanded entry and I was happy to oblige. He tasted of tobacco and wine. It was all rather frenzied then, tongues and teeth clashing, no little moaning, and the coup de grâce when Jeeves pushed down on my shoulders make me fall into his lap. My cock touched his though too many layers and I started to rub against him wantonly, my hands flying up to his shirt to start on the buttons. I had just lowered my mouth to his neck when he pulled me back by my hair, his hold firm like he was gripping the mane of a horse without a bridle. I wanted him to ride me.
“Sir, please, we mustn’t--”
He kept thrusting up against me as he said it, a pained look in his eyes.
“Jeeves, I thought you wanted to--”
“I want nothing more, sir, but we mustn’t disrobe.”
“Right ho.”
I resumed kissing and rutting against him, at first despondent that I wouldn’t feel his naked skin against mine but then elated because when his hands gripped my buttocks and pressed us even closer together, I was convinced there was no better feeling in the world. I was proven wrong almost immediately when I heard Jeeves attempt to stifle a growl in the crook of my neck and realised that he had come off. That sound, the ensuing dampness, the tousled hair and wild look in his eyes when he lifted his head and beckoned me to finish against him-- I went off like a shot after only a few more thrusts, the ecstasy almost too overwhelming.
“Jeeevs.” I sighed his name against his lips, having turned to jelly and unable to do much else.
“Sir,” he replied.
I pulled back and gave him the sternest glare I could muster.
“Bertie.”
My face was in danger of cracking wide open when I beamed back at him.
A shudder and lurch shook us out of the afterglow. The lift was moving. Jeeves looked at a loss.
I rose to my knees with a start as I felt us descending. Luckily my aversion to appearing in the dock on charges of gross indecency, coupled with my unwillingness to land Jeeves in there with me was a shot in the arm. I leapt up with surprising agility and held my hand for him to take. I took heart in the fact that he looked impressed as I pulled him up. By the time the door chime dinged we were just a gentleman and his manservant who had been waiting patiently to be freed-- I with my jacket draped gracefully over my arm to nonchalantly cover my midsection and Jeeves managing to look as though it was de rigueur to carry an upside down hat with a jacket draped over it.
We swiftly exited the lift while bidding thanks and made for the stairs as the apologies of who I assume were the engineers echoed behind us. During our careful ascent, Jeeves reverted to formality.
“As I was saying sir, Niagara Falls is in many ways ideal place for us to begin our next holiday.”
“Yes, yes, and I suppose you are now going to count these ways?”
“Yes, sir. It is a popular honeymoon destination.”
Re: FILL: Niagara - part 2
Date: 2019-07-01 02:39 am (UTC)All that plus several good chuckles ("I could frig myself for England") and this story is going to be on my mind for quite a while. Thank you once more!
Re: Fill: Chicken
Date: 2019-07-01 01:16 pm (UTC)Re: Fill: What Would You Do?
Date: 2019-07-01 02:31 pm (UTC)Re: FILL: Niagara - part 1
Date: 2019-07-01 03:02 pm (UTC)Re: FILL: Niagara - part 2
Date: 2019-07-01 03:48 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2019-07-01 06:10 pm (UTC)Re: FILL: Niagara - part 2
Date: 2019-07-01 09:50 pm (UTC)Re: FILL: Niagara - part 1
Date: 2019-07-01 10:02 pm (UTC)Re: FILL: Niagara - part 2
Date: 2019-07-01 10:03 pm (UTC)Re: FILL: Niagara - part 2
Date: 2019-07-02 12:00 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2019-07-02 12:40 am (UTC)