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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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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Thank you! Glad you liked it =^_^=

It had a timer.

The thingagummy which was up my ying-yang had a bally timer, and at some choice moment, it was going to go off and vibrate which would send the pride of the Woosters exploding like a Roman candle and the rest of the y.m. melting in a pool of lusty jelly.

But the trick was, and there is always a trick with these things, of course, that I knew neither the day nor the hour, so speak, when the knock on the most tender part of me was going to arrive.

Jeeves had set the timer, and only he knew the appointed moment of bliss.
When we’d set the Queensburys for this gig, I’d begged off a luncheon with Aunt Agatha, pleading a sudden and acute case of sprue, the odds being high that Aunt Agatha might look more closely into putting me into a home if I went into epileptic raptures between the soup and fish at Claridge’s.

Jeeves had just popped down to the shops for a whatsit or a whatnot when the knock came.

Not the knock of the clockmaker’s joy inside me, but of the door.

“Bertie?”

Lord, love a duck!

Aunt Agatha!

“I know you’re not ill, Bertie. I want to talk to you about a young lady I met the other day at church, and then I want to ask you to take Thomas to the Old Vic next month when he…”

Ding!

What happened next was a bit of a blur.

I may have convulsed like an electrocuted Peke impaled on a chump chop. The magic wand inside me may have buzzed until my eyes rolled back into my onion.

When I recovered, I was lying on the floor, looking up at a highly amused Jeeves and a highly disappointed Aunt Agatha.

“Oh, Bertie.”

*points to icon*

Crazy cool AU and you made it work! Cute and lovely!

“Sir, do you think the operating the vehicle at this velocity is wise? In town?”

“I can’t slow down now, Jeeves. We’re almost home, and, well, with all the glasses orange squash I downed at the treat, it was scorcher of an afternoon, after all, and us having to oil it back to town so quickly because of, well, you know, and then the bally road construction bring us to a snail’s pace and blocking any respectable nook where we might’ve stopped, well, the upshot is nature’s calling, if you catch my meaning, and in a few moments, the phone’s going to ring off the hook, as it were. Here we go. I’m just going to leave her here, and ring the garage to pick her up after…”

“You’ve answered call?”

“Precisely, Jeeves. Oh, you needn’t hurry, too—unless you’re in the same condition?”

“I’ll assist with the door, sir.”

“Oh, brilliant, Jeeves. I really think I might make a mess of myself.”

---

“Oh, Lord, love a duck!”

“Sir!”

“My trousers! Jeeves, I’m too addled to work the thingagummy. Oh, I’m going to…”

“Allow me, sir.”

“Please, Jeeves! Quick! Oh! Oooh! Ooooooh! That’s the stuff to give the troops, isn’t it, Jeeves? Oh, my sainted aunts, that feels good. Oh, you needn’t hold the pride of the Wooster unless…unless…you fancy it.”

“Are you quite relieved, sir? No more distress?”

“Uh, oh, well, yes, uh, Jeeves, that rubbing?”

“This rubbing, sir?”

“Yes, your hand, just like that, back and forth, right across the old water bottle, yes, below the belt but above the, uh, faucet, you know, it feels quite wonderful, Jeeves. Oh!”

“I’ve got you, sir.”

“The knees seem to have gone on strike, Jeeves.”

“Understandable, sir.”

“Is it? Jeeves, is that…? I mean to say, are you…?”

“I’m sorry, sir. Very sorry. Please forgive me. Most unseemly. I’ll ring the garage.”

“Jeeves, stop. Don’t go. Please. Let me give you some relief, too. Oh, you are massive, Jeeves.”

“You flatter me, sir.”

“Jeeves, I’m going to much more than flatter. Now, spit!”

“Oh, sir?! Very well. Pfft! Oh, oh…”

“What’s the word I want, Jeeves?”

“Omorashi, sir. It’s from the Japanese.”

“Omorashi? Marvelous culture, the Japanese. And they have a word for everything, including ‘I’ve got a bally gorgeous prick in my hand that I’m going to stroke ‘til it spends.’”

“Not quite, sir. I’ll explain later. Oh, oh…”

THIS IS FUCKING BRILLIANT!

“I suppose it could be worse, Jeeves,” I said, eyeing the surroundings. “We could’ve got the Mary and Joseph treatment.”

“No room at the inn, sir?”

“Precisely and been stuck sharing a manger with a donkey and our Lord and Savior.”

“I will be quite comfortable sleeping on the floor, sir. It is only for one night.”

“That’s taking the feudal spirit a bit too far, Jeeves. Noblesse oblige demands if anyone get their forty winks on the rug, it’s me, but, I say, this is rather the lavender-smelling country-inn bedroom of fiction, isn’t it? And that ark of a bed looks big enough for two of us. And after all, as you say, it’s only for night. We share.”

“Very good, sir.”

---

“By Jove, Jeeves, have a dip in this bed. It’s like lying on a cloud!”

“Exceedingly comfortable, sir. The pillows, too.”

“You’re a bit of human furnace, aren’t you, Jeeves? I mean, body heat and all that. I suppose it’s a thingagummy from all the brainwork you put in, gears turning, etcetera.”

“I’m sorry, sir. I’ll move further away.”

“No, please. It’s quite nice. Cosy, if you know what I mean.”

“Is this all right, sir?”

“Yes, Jeeves. That’s toppin’. Well, I suppose we have to get up at some beastly hour in the ack emma, don’t we? I mean, something earlier than a civilised half nine.”

“It is advisable, sir.”

“I’m going to need something like a wake-up call.”

“Would you prefer a wake-up call in the London style or the Shropshire style, sir?”

“Oh, well, I don’t rightly know. What’s London style?”

Jeeves gave the left shoulder a shake.

“And, uh, Shropshire style?”

And at this, I was treated to a pair of soft lips pressed to the left side of the Wooster neck once, twice, thrice followed by a sweeping caress of a tongue.

“Oh, well…” I stammered.

“That is upper Shropshire style,” whispered Jeeves in a low rumbly tone that turned my insides to jelly.

“And, uh, just how do they do it in the Midlands, Jeeves?” I managed to croak.

The mouth returned to work at the old swan stand, but then a warm hand slipped ‘round my waist and under my heliotrope pyjama shirt. A wet finger and thumb found the left bud and proceeded to coax it to hard bloom, if you catch my meaning.

Well, what could I do but turn my head and offer the mouth more land for developing and arch my back to get more of those magic digits? And moan a little, of course.

“Jeeves, does there happen to be a low Shropshire wake-up call?” I asked when I woke to the knowledge that the Wooster cock was as wooden as the bedpost.

“There does, sir, if you’ll excuse me for a moment.”

---

“Oh, God, Jeeves,” I groaned when he’d returned, sank his mitten down the heliotrope trousers, and wrapped it ‘round my baton. He gave the throbbing member an expert stroke or two, then stopped, and with his python still curled ‘round my goat, asked,

“And so, sir, what is your preference in wake-up calls?”

I twisted the onion, the better to look into those devilish blue eyes, and said,

“When in Rome, Jeeves. The Shropshire one, and the lower, the better, but, uh…”

The b. e.’s sparkled mischievously.

“I am told Mrs. Gregson looks very fine in her bathing dress. I believe it’s mauve with a tiny ruffle about the bosom…”

“Ugh! Jeeves!” I groaned, and not in the good way. My stately pine instantly transformed into a wilting fern in Jeeves’ hand, and he released it and rolled away.

“Good night, sir. Pleasant dreams.”

---

My dream was pleasant. I was a summer wildflower, being picked and, I think, put into someone’s collection. But before the prizes could be awarded, I surfaced, feeling a hot mouth sucking along my jaw line and an even hotter paw hoisting the sail on my very tall mizzen stand.

My first words were,

“Bugger all.”

The cheeky reply came swift, low, and sure.

“That would be the Manchester wake-up call, sir, which I’m afraid is not available at this location.”

I gave a naughty snort and felt a teasing nip to the side of my neck. Then the glory that is giving the new day the glad eye while having your own glad eye expertly stroked washed over me.

“Oh, Jeeves.”

He hummed.

And we might have continued on like that, but a preux chevalier never forgets his manners, even when he’s having his knob polished in a very low Shropshire manner.

“Jeeves, I don’t want to soil a lavender-smelling country-inn bed of fiction.”

“Of course, sir.”

That was when the tide turned, so to speak, and so did I, shucking off my pyjama trousers and climbing atop Jeeves’ chest and feeding him my cock.

When he’d swallowed, he said,

“Good morning, sir.”

I, for my part, slid down his frame, settled between his legs, and showed him just what Eton and Oxford can do for a boy.

I may have only won prizes for summer wildflowers and Scripture knowledge, but that’s only because fellating was never a category, the lads always going more in for flogging and whatnot.

When I’d swallowed, Jeeves pushed up on his elbows and looked down, like a stuffed frog whose caught the plumpest fly of his career.

“Good morning, Jeeves.”

Hot, funny, and so many great turns of phrase!

The whole thing began as most descents into depravity do, viz. at the theatre. I went to see that hit show everyone’s talking about, no, not that one, the other one, the comedy, and right about the end of Act Two, there was this toppin’ gag. The punch line was something along the lines of a little Dutch boy being sorry he put his finger in the dike, but a lot bawdier. Now, at the time, I was rolling in the aisles with the rest of the audience, but later, it also gave me a bit of thought for food, as they say.

By chance, Jeeves had seen the show on the previous Thursday, his day off, and we chatted about it when I returned to the old homestead. I mentioned the gag at the end of Act Two, and he, perhaps sensing the question behind the question, asked,

“Have you ever had occasion to visit to the St. Damien Bath, sir?”

“I’ve heard of it. A bit out of town, isn’t it? I usually go the one on Northumberland Avenue.”

“Yes, sir, but I understand that on the subterranean floor, near the coldest of the bathing pools, a gentleman may, should he wish, put his finger in the dike, as it were.”

This was news to me. “Really, Jeeves?”

“So I’m told, sir.”

“Well, whatever plugs your dam, I suppose.”

“A noble attitude, sir.”

---

Of course, the next day, it happened to be a Thursday, curiosity murdered the feline, and I took a hired chariot out to the hinterland, and sure enough, as I was stretched out on a lounge chair, doing my best impersonation of a sleeping man by what they called the ‘Arctic Pond,’ I overheard a conversation.

CHAPPIE 1: Oh, here comes Rogers now! What ho, Rogers! How’s the linen closet? Filthy as usual?

RODGERS: What ho. Sadly no. Clean as a whistle. No takers.

CHAPPIE 2: Too bad.

RODGERS: Yeah, now I know how the little Dutch boy felt in a drought.

CHAPPIE 1: Cheer up, old thing. Let’s go have a smoke in the drying room.

I waited a goodish amount of time after they’d oiled off and then headed in the direction from which Rodgers had come. Or not, as it were.

There was a curtain with a sign on the wall beside it labelled ‘Linen.’ I pulled back the drape and took a tentative peek inside.

It was a short, narrow corridor with a stone wall on one side and no exit. The ‘Linen’ sign had not been false advertising as at the far end there were shelves stacked with folded towels.

It was empty so I entered, and halfway to the towels, I saw it: a hole in the stone wall right at the level of plugging.

Well, well, well, I thought.

Now you might suppose that just because some people often wonder if I ought to be in some kind of home, that I’m the kind of idiot who sticks his finger in any old dike without thinking.

In this case, you’d be figuratively, if that’s the word I want, wrong, but, literally, quite correct.

No sooner had a stuck my pointer in the hole than it was enveloped in a wet heat. I wiggled it. There were teeth and a tongue on the other side.
Promising.

The lips, tongue, and teeth worked up and down from knuckle to nail, long enough for Bertram’s Bertram to imagine the possibilities and want a turn.
And that’s when I stuck my finger, and now I mean my prick, in the dike.
A slicked hand with a nice, firm grip caught hold of me at once and without so much as a howdy-do began to stroke. And there I was, cheek to stone, pressed flatter than a crepe suzette, getting my plate of frigs with bells on through a hole in a wall.

And it was glorious.

When I’d spent, I stepped back, chest heaving, until I was slumped against the opposite wall.

Then I leaned forward again and put my finger back through the hole, crooking it in a beckoning motion.

The cock that appeared through the hole was so big, so thick and beefy pink with a nice vein down the side, it made my mouth water, and that was a good thing, because I hadn’t thought to pack any slick.

I spat like an ornery camel on my palm and then gave it to ‘im like a policeman on boat race night. When he tipped his helmet, so to speak, he sent four long stripes ‘cross my furry robe, and the sight of it made me want to go again.

Not certain of the etiquette, I bent very low and gave his prickhead a quick peck, sort of like a curtsey, then I made my way back to the Arctic pond to douse the flaming loins in an ice bath.

The next Thursday, I was back, naturally, at the same hour, and this time, I got a mouth. Oh, my sainted aunts, it was a mouth that made me think of those Egyptian mummifiers who drove a stick up the dead pharaoh’s nose to scramble his brain before they yanked it out. My brain was poached, but my body was on fire, and my cock was as hard as the stone that separated me from that blessed orifice.

As soon as I’d released the pride of the Wooster, I fell to my knees and got my Christmas wish because it was the cock from the previous Thursday.
I don’t think it’s come up in any of my earlier chronicles, so readers may not be aware that your author is without a gag reflex. So I took every inch of that mammoth when it shot through the whole and swallowed him down like a Jonah-gobbling whale.

It didn’t take long.

I gave the head another kiss and crumpled to the floor as it retreated.
The next Thursday, I took the bull by the horns and did the ‘come hither’ motion when I put my finger through the hole.

As soon as that Greek god of cock was through the hole, I spun ‘round, dropped my robe, pulled out the plug and let him gore me.

And, oh, God, I’ve never felt more like a luckless matador. He pissed stream after stream inside me and clenched ‘round, not wanting to let him or it go.

I kissed his prickhead, suckling it a bit as it drew back.

And once again, the stranger read my desires, for when it was my turn, he gave me his mouth again.

‘The Soul’s Awakening’ doesn’t cover it. Not by half.

It was bliss. Utter bliss.

But when it was over, and when I was alone again, I felt a fog of despair creep in. Rather than lounge about the pool for hours as I had on previous occasions, I stumbled back upstairs, cleaned myself, and headed home.

The fog hadn’t lifted when Jeeves brought the breakfast tray in the next morning.

“Sir, is something wrong?”

“No, Jeeves, rashers crisp as usual.” Then I remember my manners. “Did you have a good day off?”

“Yes, sir. I visited St. Cosmos’.”

“A church, Jeeves?”

“A bath, sir, adjacent to St. Damien’s. St. Cosmos is for the man on a stricter budget than yourself.”

I blinked.

“The two establishments do, however, share a wall, is on the subterranean level,” he continued. “Yesterday was my third visit. I found it exceedingly pleasurable.”

I stared.

“Jeeves!”

“Yes, sir.”

“Jeeves?”

“Yes, sir!”

“Jeeves?!”

“Yes, sir.”

“Oh, Jeeves!”

“Yes, indeed, sir.”

“What say we, uh, save Holland from the comfort of our own home.”

“An admirable suggestion, sir. One I wholeheartedly support.”

“Bring your whole heart and the rest of you here!”

“Yes, sir!”

Thank you so much =^_^=

Hot!

OMG! This one is great! ♥️

As the OP I'm delighted that this got another fill! Wonderfully filthy, hot, and sweet. Love the language/character voices as well. Thank you!

Thanks! :)

Thank you, OP! It was a glorious (heh, heh) prompt for these two. Definitely worth all the fillings ;)

Thanks you! :)

Thanks!

THANKS!!

Thank you very much!

Hilarious!

Well written and hot!

accidental voyeurism: Jeeves and Bertie have to hide somewhere when suddenly two people start having sex in the room. When it's finally safe to come out of their hiding place, they are both terribly flustered.

LOL! This is so cute.

THIS IS HOT OH MY GOD D: I don't even know what somnophilia is but this is absolutely lovely!

Use the word tentacular in a fic

Merriam-Webster:
Definition of tentacular

1 : of, relating to, or resembling tentacles
2 : equipped with tentacles

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Page 28 of 36

Let The Kinkiness Begin!

Re: Feline Frolics – A Bertie & Jeeves Fairy-tale PART ONE

Like Clockwork, Rating: Teen

Re: Like Clockwork, Rating: Teen

Re: Feline Frolics – A Bertie & Jeeves Fairy-tale PART ONE

Fill #2 (or #3 depending) Desperate Bertie/ Turned on Jeeves; no accident, dialogue only

Re: Fill #2 (or #3 depending) Desperate Bertie/ Turned on Jeeves; no accident, dialogue only

Wake-up Call

Re: Wake-up Call

Fill #2 Glory Hole

Re: Feline Frolics – A Bertie & Jeeves Fairy-tale PART ONE

Re: Wake-up Call

Re: Fill #2 Glory Hole

Re: Fill #2 Glory Hole

Re: Fill #2 Glory Hole

Re: Fill #2 Glory Hole

Re: Wake-up Call

Re: Wake-up Call

Re: Fill #2 (or #3 depending) Desperate Bertie/ Turned on Jeeves; no accident, dialogue only

Re: Lap Fill, Rating: Teen

Re: FILL: Jeeves and the cat, PART TWO

Re: Fill #2 Glory Hole

no subject

Re: FILL: Jeeves and the cat, PART TWO

Re: Wake-up Call

no subject