Give Satisfaction

‘I say! What are you doing with that whangee?’

‘You shall knock on the table three times if you wish this to cease, sir. But you are not permitted to speak, unless it is to thank me for disciplining you –’

Oh, dash it. I have made the exact same floater that I’m always trying to avoid; you know, getting off the mark like a scalded ape, starting right in the middle of things, all that rot. It’s the snag I usually come up against when I'm trying to tell a story. If your public can't make out what you're talking about, it’ll just wave dismissively and walk right out on you.

In these cases, I usually feel that I have to hark back a bit. But here, for this particular story, weighing this against that, I suppose I shall make an exception. I mean to say, if a sentence like ‘I say! What are you doing with that whangee?’ doesn’t grip you and ignite your curiosity then quite frankly I don’t know what sort of reader you are.

Right ho, then. In this story young Bertram is bent over the kitchen table with his trousers and underthings pooling around his ankles, and he is looking up at Jeeves, and he is saying, ‘I say! What are you doing with that whangee?’

Jeeves is holding up said whangee, an utterly hungry expression on his handsome face. ‘You shall knock on the table three times if you wish this to cease, sir. But you are not permitted to speak, unless it is to thank me for disciplining you –’

I heard the sound of it carving the air, the misleadingly gentle whoosh, and for a second my whole body shook like a leaf. Then the pain came, stinging, white-hot. I cried out – it was not an entirely manly cry, I’m afraid to say – and held on to the table as if my life depended on it.

‘You have not behaved like a proper gentleman, sir,’ Jeeves said.

There was silence. I realised a moment too late that he was waiting for me to agree. A sharp pinch on my already sore backside made me jolt and nod feverishly. ‘I’m sorry, Jeeves!’

‘I am afraid I must punish you, sir. It is for your own good.’

‘Yes, Jeeves.’

‘You will thank me every time I strike you.’

‘Yes, Jeeves.’

He struck again. By Jove, what exquisite agony! It was with sincere gratitude that I cried, ‘Thank you, Jeeves!’ In fact, I wished he would hurt me more, grab me by the hair, hold me down and take me right then and there. But as I dare say you know, Jeeves is a patient man. He tapped the back of my thighs lightly with the cane, and I trembled, waiting for the next blow.

‘Spread your legs,’ he commanded.

I did as I was told. It was humiliating and wonderful, the cane against my bare buttocks, Jeeves standing behind me, tall and threatening, my thighs spread for him. He struck once more, and I thanked him again, although the pain made my eyes water.

He brought the cane down again and again, drawing burning lines across my backside. I thanked him as best I could, but a few blows in and I was a whimpering mess. I shuddered so strongly that Jeeves had to steady me with a hand on my hip. The touch made me moan. I ached for him. The evidence of my desire hung hard and heavy between my legs. I felt Jeeves shift behind me.
‘I see you are enjoying this, sir,’ he said. He reached around my waist and wrapped his hand around me. I nearly wept with pleasure.

‘Please, Jeeves, I –’

I heard the cane hit the floor, and before I could speak another word Jeeves had struck me with his palm. I felt my skin ripple with the force of it, and I knew then that he had been holding back with the cane, that those powerful blows were nothing compared to his true and full strength. The thought made me feel quite faint.

‘You will not beg, sir,’ Jeeves whispered in my ear, ‘you will take your punishment.’

‘Yes, Jeeves,’ I whined.

He stroked my hair tenderly, but it only lasted a moment. After that he pulled away from me and spanked me again. He did not use the whangee anymore – just his palm, landing mercilessly on the young master’s abused bottom. I loved every moment of it, and told him so repeatedly. My moans filled the room. Jeeves inflicted this marvellous punishment upon me until I feared I would come undone.

I believe it was then that he joined me on the very edge of pleasure, because he turned me over, pushed me onto my knees and whipped out his throbbing length. I took it in my mouth eagerly, stroking myself at the same time. It was not long before I felt his seed on my tongue, and swallowed it greedily. I reached my own climax only moments later.

At this point we were both looking quite dishevelled, panting and leaning against whatever we could (for Jeeves, the table – for the y. m, Jeeves’ thigh). I looked up at him.

‘Jeeves?’

‘Yes, sir?’

‘That whangee –’

‘I shall keep it in the bedroom at all times, sir.’

‘Thank you, Jeeves.’