give_satisfaction | Let The Kinkiness Begin!

Entry tags:

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!

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.

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

Oof, this is a great idea, I'd love to read this.

*sobs* For Holland.

🔥🚨👅♥🖤♥🖤 HOT!

Ooooh, this is delightfully yummy! 😛

prompt: At Bertie's request, Jeeves ties Bertie up and masturbates on top of him without touching him, except for maybe the contact of his legs straddling Bertie's body. Bertie gets very aroused, and how Jeeves deals with that is up to you. Perhaps he just cleans up and leaves Bertie aching in unresolved sexual tension. Or he unties him and lets him wank. Or he feels sorry for him and wanks him himself before untying. Many possibilities!

I want to read that!

Jeeves has autogynephilia and Bertie walks in on him while Jeeves is dressed up and masturbating in front of a mirror. Bonus points for adding some drama.

I love this idea!

gay!Bertie successfully seducing het!Jeeves

Bertie catches Jeeves practicing urethral self-stimulation. He hides and watches undiscovered by Jeeves. Weeks later Bertie still dreams about being the one to pleasure Jeeves that way and Jeeves doing that to him as well. He decides to be brave and tell Jeeves.

Jooster, playing doctor, anything goes

Jooster, hurt/comfort, abduction/rescue roleplay, anything goes

Jeeves/Bertie, first time, Bertie offering Jeeves money for sex

Delicious from start to finish! 🧤👏💓😋

Thank you!

Content notes: mistaken dubcon groping, brief angst, embarrassment and awkwardness! Also inspired by this gifset.

•••••

Admittedly it was a long opera, even for an opera enthusiast. To me the appeal was not in the content of the entertainment, but the occasion and the company: it was the first time Mr. Wooster bought us tickets to attend a formal show together. Previously we had gone together to a horse race, as well as being embroiled in various schemes and bound to attend a few village fêtes and small concerts. The opera seemed to me a milestone, and I hoped for many more like it.

I had been seven months in Mr. Wooster's service, and I had my stride. I thought he seemed comfortable with me as well. If the first three months can be said to be a period of learning the basics of how to exist in a situation, the following nine demand the particulars of how to thrive. To be in service as I am, not only as a career, but as my home for years at a time, is a way of life that rarely allows for true breaks. For that reason it is crucial to secure a position where one can live sustainably.

One might easily imagine the cracks that ran through my sense of safety and easily-met expectations when, giving no warning, my gentleman slipped his hand inside my coat, his palm warm and moving over my belly.

Where I had at first been mildly embarrassed by the extravagance, I was immediately grateful for the privacy of the dedicated box, then doubled back in my thoughts, wondering if he had planned this. I stilled beneath his hand, my gut tensing against his gentle touch. That much was involuntary, but I also made a series of choices within the first moment of his caress. First, I would allow him to touch me. It would have been within my rights to refuse him, of course, and it was extremely shocking that he telegraphed nothing of his intentions even in that secluded space. Second, if he attempted to open my clothing, I would move his hand away, and if he pressed his suit after that, I would leave. There was still too much risk involved while we were in a public arena.

My blood was rushing in my ears, sped by my sudden hard heartbeat. I gripped the arm of the seat, and dropped my thigh to the side slightly. My head tilted back, my lips opening to try to breathe silently beneath the crashing music and embattled voices of the opera.

I found myself disappointed in Mr. Wooster, even as I accepted his touch. It was entirely outside of my estimation of his character for him to fondle a servant without permission. My understanding of the Psychology of the Individual was by necessity as accurate as possible, but here it had failed me. All the same, there was a part of me that said, just this once, I will. He was attractive, kind, and generous. Even if this meant a risk to my position with him, the risk already existed independent of my reaction to it.

So it was no great harm to give in. I could let him put his beautiful hands on me.

All of this flashed through my mind and body as his hand insinuated itself within the cloth. My mind balked, but my body acceded. I could try to blame tensed muscles and rushing blood, but it was his touch that caused my arousal.

I dared to look at his face. He was looking down at my lap, squinting oddly. I felt a jerk on my waistcoat, and recognised with some grief that I would have to refuse him.

"Sir," I said.

He fumbled out my pocketwatch, peering at it in the dim light, and looked up at me guilelessly. "Yes, Jeeves?" he whispered. Looked down. "Oh."

He dropped my pocketwatch on a most sensitive area at once, scrambled to snatch it up, obviously just barely prevented himself from patting my cockstand apologetically, and put his hand back inside my coat to replace the watch, also in a matter of seconds.

"Good Lord love a duck," he said. "Jeeves, I'm so sorry. Er. Do you have the time? I left mine." He made some hand motions, the meanings of which were quite opaque.

"I... you just looked at my watch, sir."

"I did, yes. But I didn't actually see it. The information didn't, erm, land."

"Could it suffice to say that this is the final scene, sir?"

"Ah! Jolly good."

He sat back in the seat. His eyes were enormous.

"Things you can't un-know, what?"

I swallowed. My throat was dry, my heart still hammering.

"I may try anyway. Isn't there a bar in this bally place? We ought to have ordered drinks, I can't think why we didn't."

"Perhaps unwise, sir," I said, and he interrupted me, agreeing,

"—Perhaps not, old chap. Just an impulse, you understand."

"Yes, sir."

"Getting thoroughly under the surface, I mean, it might help both of us!"

"Or not, sir."

"Yes, very, or not." I was looking past him, but my peripheral vision is excellent. I saw him glance sidelong down at my lap, and wished my overcoat and hat were closer at hand. "Golly!" he said.

"Mr. Wooster..."

"I'm sorry, Jeeves. You're doing well for yourself. Fucking Christ, Bertram," he said, and put a hand over his eyes. "Far too salty. Not thinking or speaking, right."

"Might I direct your attention to the performance, sir?"

"Which one, old thing?" He used the hand that was already over his eyes to smack himself in the face, gentle and earnest, a few times. "I'm so dashed sorry. Er! Do... do you understand Italian, then, Jeeves?"

"I do not, sir. It bears some similarity to other Romance languages, so familiarity with other tongues assists in comprehension, but generally I read through a description of the plot and characters before attending if I do not speak the language."

"Maybe that's our problem, Jeeves. Romance is in the air or somesuch."

"Sir, Romance languages are—"

"I know. I know, Jeeves. I hate to slander the old institution, but, well, the fact is I went to Oxford about it. Classics and whatnot."

There was little I could politely say to that, aside from correcting his misuse of 'slander.' I attempted to find my program at this juncture, as my gentleman glanced again at my lingering difficulty. "I must have dropped my program, sir."

"Oh, take mine!"

I regretted everything so richly, just then. (Except that he wasn't trying to touch me without my permission, he wasn't a sweet shell with an exploitative soul underneath. He was good, he was still my golden prince, but now I had to acknowledge that.) I finally registered a note of relief while he located the booklet and handed it to me. With a short sigh, I opened it and placed it face down over my lap.

"Jeeves, really."

"I shall be better directly, sir."

He doubled over, gasping with laughter, while I pushed my lips down sternly to keep them from any kind of smile-like shape. "You can't be better directly here! We're in public, man! Worse than the Drones' All-Nighters, you are. But I can't believe you're still... Stamina of the bally Vikings. If it's my fault anyway, let me give you a scenario. I'm going to buy a tie at a costume shop. It's too short. It's not even silk. And it's fuchsia. Come and put it on me, Jeeves."

"Please stop," I managed to say with what felt like my last scrap of dignity.

"Lord, I'll try," he said, shaking his head. "You're an absolute scream tonight." His eyes went sideways again. "Did it work, though?"

There exist questions to which there are no good answers. I nodded curtly.

I avoided his eyes by turning myself towards the opera we were meant to be watching. The singers on stage were having some kind of climactic duel. I supposed, actually, that their characters were having the duel, but I would hardly know the difference, having entirely lost the plot.

Mr. Wooster was quiet beside me, his hand raised to his face. When I flicked my eyes in his direction at last, I noted that he was absently touching his lips with a pensive expression that sat jarringly on his bright face.

It was perhaps seven minutes later that, as my employer might say, the other item of footwear made its descent. He leaned close to me, carefully touching not at all, and said beneath the massive crescendo of music,

"If you didn't want me to apologise... I'm sorry for that, too."

The hall resounded with a welter of applause, and my heart pounded nearly as loudly.

•••••

Edited 2024-01-29 12:28 (UTC)

OMG this is so hot!!!!!! Thank you for writing this!

Very nice. Love the Jeeves POV and idea of Jeeves not knowing how to handle a situation.

Jooster, kabedon

Bertie as St Sebastian

It was my idea, which probably explains why it came off so strangely. Jeeves is such a deep well, and all — I never think I could know all of him. The closer we've become, the more there seems to be to see. But it shocked me bally numb when I opened up the paper upon which he had scribed his unspoken fantasy and in his fastidious handwriting it read:

I have a fantasy in which you kill me in some intimate way. I have no actual wish to die, but occasionally I enjoy imagining giving my life to you, or for you.
J.

"You're upset," he said — a guess, or observation, I couldn't tell which. Was I upset? I suppose I was. I couldn't think about his death head-on. It was like trying to stare down the sun.

I bit my lip and looked up at him at last. "I was angling for something I could actually do for you. Although Lord knows I fell short of practicality in my own." I nodded at the paper he held, my just as illegal and impossible fantasy about spongebags and marriage toasts and changing my name and announcing us in the papers. I had also thrown a little thing in there about skinny dipping together, although I noted I would cheerfully settle for sex in the bath.

He quirked the corner of his mouth at me, and the warmth of being smiled upon by Jeeves washed over me. "Between us, we dream of tragedy and comedy. How very fitting."

"You refer to that wheeze about plays ending in a wedding, or, or... not?"

"Yes, sir." He didn't have to call me that, but sometimes the sound of it was reassuringly familiar.

"Old thing," I said, "let's just go to bed."

I am hardly a brooding sort of chap, and not particularly reflective either outside of scribing down our adventures, but I did think I owed his fantasy some proper thought. The next day was Thursday, bridge night at the Junior Ganymede, and my man took himself off as was his custom with something cold put away in the pantry for my dinner. I tried to contemplate the paper and eat my sandwich at the same time, but it didn't work well, so I brought it (and a post-prandial snifter) with me to the piano to try to work out what he meant by it. I let my improvisation wander from boogie-woogie to swing by way of the realm of the sea shanty as I put the grey matter to you kill me in some intimate way.

Lord. Good Lord.

Well, first, he didn't want to be killed. This was one of those things that thrives in the imagination, or apparently it did for Jeeves, without needing to be brought about. But he told me about it, which means he wanted me to know. If he didn't want this thing shared, he would have made up some achievable trifle and let it be, and I would never have noticed. So, to what end?

Jeeves was showing me his soul, certainly. The least I could do was to make him feel seen and appreciated.

There was a possibility that he wanted to broach the subject of death (his specifically, or in general) sidelong, but what a way to go about it! I couldn't think that was the angle. It did sting enormously to contemplate the end of my Jeeves. I didn't like to think of what would become of me when he was no longer beside me, not that I couldn't survive him, but... for all my striving to be the preux chevalier, Jeeves was my lionheart. He felt it too, I was certain. That's what this thingummy was about. Devotion.

I brushed up against the thought of his actual death, and recoiled physically. I wasn't equal to the task of contemplating that alone. I refocused on the paper: a fantasy in which you kill me in some intimate way.

Perhaps he thought I could act on it somehow. Like a play — he had mentioned plays! Thunderstruck, I absorbed about half of my whiskey and s., then resumed my idle tune. If we playacted a bit, all of it might be within reach, even the marriage piece.

Fortunately, as an aficionado of the mystery novel, I had a fair grasp on the crime-of-passion methodology already: knives were the runaway favourite.

I wound up to a triumphant chord, then switched to Debussy. I had the beginnings of a plan.

It was Jeeves who taught me to shave properly. My father missed the window by five years, and none of my uncles would have noticed that I needed teaching. I had the general thing of it, of course, and knew my way around a safety razor well enough, but for a traditional shave Jeeves taught me without knowing he was doing any such thing. Not a lack that feels good to let on, that you don't know how to carry out a fundamental of manly maintenance at twenty-five, but I had the knowledge now.

On Sunday morning I laid out the pieces for a traditional shave, stropped the straight razor and gave it a careful rinse. I had put the thing to Jeeves the night before. The idea, not the straight razor. Well, that was the idea— never mind.

"Jeeves, I've been thinking," I'd said, and followed it up with, "about the fantasy," before any jesting or wary looks could occur. Not that my dear man would, but I've found I have to get ahead of these things if I don't want commentary. "And there's something I would like to try. Playacting only."

He had been intrigued, and we had settled one or two little details such as he shouldn't shave himself in the morning, and that no actual harm would be done, no blood drawn and so on. Jeeves seemed hearteningly content to leave the details to me.

That good fellow trickled in as I was lathering the shaving cream, seeming suitably impressed by the spread. He was wearing one of those sleeveless union suits that cuts off like drawers, and looked rather tender and biteable in his rumpled morning dishabille.

"I never used to see you this way," I thought aloud. "And what a pleasure it is." I leant to kiss him, then stepped back, clearing his way to the tall stool.

"What a pleasure to be seen," he said softly. I felt a spike of nervous excitement, and I think he could tell as his eyes lingered on me all the while. Then he tilted his chin up, and I didn't want the lather to go cold, so I got to the business of the moment. I studied the stubble for a moment to be sure I had the directions right, brushed on the foam, and concentrated on giving him a perfect shave.

It was hypnotic work. I was entranced, a bit, watching his eyes close, and by the sensation of his throat moving subtly under my hand as he swallowed. The slow breaths, the steady pulse that calmed me. The quality of the shave may not have been professional, but I was dashed proud that I didn't nick him even once. What's more, I think he was getting the feeling of the whatsit, even though I hadn't done anything outré.

I rinsed the blade, and ran it under cool water, and wiped his face and neck with a hot flannel. Then I laid the blunt back edge of the cold blade against his throat, and he blinked open in surprise.

"I could cut your throat," I said.

His eyes went liquid dark. There was something melting and soft in him, and his breath fluttered. Only I could do this for him.

"You'd just let me do it." I drew the harmless edge over his visible pulse point, careful not to close it on my fingers. "Jeeves. Your life is mine."

"Indeed, sir," he said in a slow, reverent whisper.

I meant to do more, I really did, but I hadn't thought through anything else to say, and also I was getting fogged up like a mirror with the heat coming off my man, flushed and affected as he was. I took the razor away, closed it, and set it aside.

I dove into his arms.

Fuh!!!!!

Ugh!!!

WOW

Good lord! I mean...GOOD LORD!

Bertie/Jeeves, forcemasc.
Bertie marries a beloved pal, Regina Jeeves, to get his Aunts off his back. It works, despite the class difference, although he's surprised she agreed to it, as he was pretty sure she's an invert too. But pressure hasn't let up about producing an heir, and Bertie is hitting a wall about his total non-attraction to women, so ingenious Regina cuts her hair short and starts dressing in suits at home. By the time they manage the heir, Bertie's wife is living full-time as a man.

Jooster, past lives
Piece by piece, they're remembering another lifetime when they were together with a very different dynamic (different gender(s), power difference, ages, etc.).

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

Page 35 of 36

Let The Kinkiness Begin!

no subject

Re: Fill #2 Glory Hole

Re: Fill: (G)love

Re: FILL: Tease

prompt: Jeeves ties Bertie up

Re: prompt: Jeeves ties Bertie up

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

Re: Fill: (G)love

Re: Fill: (G)love

FILL: Stamina of the Vikings

Re: FILL: Stamina of the Vikings

Re: FILL: Stamina of the Vikings

no subject

no subject

FILL: the first time (but not the last time)

Re: FILL: the first time (but not the last time)

Re: FILL: the first time (but not the last time)

no subject

no subject