Give Satisfaction

Content notes: undernegotiated D/s, deepthroating, sex toys, degradation and praise, sexual harassment by other character, overstim, manhandling. I managed everything except casually.

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It didn't start with taking his wrist and making him put his finger on the bow of a package so I could tie it. I did that, but it didn't start me on this crooked path.

It didn't start with using his hand to scratch my back just so, or his lap to rest my head as I kipped on the train. I did those too, but I suppose it was within the scope of his valeting duties with a dash of affectionate indulgence on top.

It started with the cold snap, because my man Jeeves is like a furnace in cold weather. I have a private theory (if theory is the word I want; it might actually be hypothesis but I can never remember) that he's able to will his body to be in whatever state he needs it to face the circumstances: rolling out heat in the winter, temperate in his valeting uniform even on a summer beach, soft when I need him as a pillow, and so on. The only thing he refused to become was a live-in audience to a perpetual banjolele practice, and while that ordeal still rankled like vinegar in a papercut, it showed that he could stomp the brakes if need be, what?

It gave this Wooster confidence, knowing that. Too much, perhaps.

But I was saying about the cold snap. When I returned from my solo holiday excursion to Brinkley Court, Jeeves was already back and waiting at the flat. I hated to drive without him in the winter, as he kept me warm as a cosy dove cuddled up to another c. d.. But needs must when various families demand attendance at various festivities, so we had been parted, and I greeted him with relief.

"What ho, Jeeves. I hope it was a happy one. The family all holding up?"

"They are indeed, sir. Welcome home. And happy Christmas."

He hung my overcoat and helped me peel off the driving gloves, which had done so little to protect the Wooster paws from frigid temps. He touched my hands briefly, seeming concerned, and proceeded to put the gloves and hat away.

But I wasn't done with his warmth; I cupped my icy hands to his neck. Jeeves grunted softly in surprise, and turned to face me with a querying brow, which gave me the opportunity to tuck my numb fingers down inside his collar. His skin was so hot it almost hurt, like running them under steaming water would. I may have even moaned, curling the backs of my fingers against his collarbone, the soft underside of his chin soothing my chilled and aching wrists.

"That feels so dashed good, Jeeves."

His eyelashes fluttered, just a little. "I am glad to give satisfaction, sir."


❧


Thus encouraged, I became rather bolder with my man. I reached into his jacket to retrieve my billfold when he carried it. I took puffs of his cigarette if he was smoking and I didn't want a whole one of my own. I woke up early and caught him breakfasting one day, and took a bite off his plate just for the sake of getting some of whatever he was having. After that he started eating around me more frequently, and I heard that answer loud and clear.

There was a turning point on an evening I was dressing to go to the theatre with my aunts and cousins, and Jeeves recommended a solid black tie to accompany the suit.

I reached out — biting the inside of my cheek, as one might when undertaking a delicate operation — and untied his tie, knotting it with all the insouciance I could muster around my own neck. I can hardly describe what it did to me. I felt queerly taller. I felt as though I was in a fight, ears ringing, joints panging and all that. But he just let me, standing there with his head high, and I saw his blank collar and his subtle thingness, the creases around his eyes coming to life as though he wanted me to do it.

Having hurdled that well-tolerated violation I quite felt the sky was the limit. It may seem rash, what I did with him next, but, well, it was rash. Yes, it was a terrible idea that could have seen me jailed or killed if Jeeves was someone other than himself. But I did have a bit of precedent to think he might be receptive, recalling an early, fumbled liberty taken. I was curious about him from the start, particularly after the glimpse I caught in our private box the first time I took him to a show, but it takes me a long time to get interested even if a chap is very nice to look at. Without rehashing the tale here, let it suffice to say that I had an idea he might be keen, or at least not phoning the constabulary.

I had a little toy of the type you can't purchase in Old Blighty, the kind made of glass so it's easily washed, but not hollow, so it's hard to break. I had never allowed Jeeves to become aware of this trinket previously, for reasons that ought to be dreadfully clear if you know where such a thing gets inserted. But it's a bally nuisance to get it where it's meant to go without getting the fingers prohibitively messy and then having to hobble to the washroom before sporting with it. One can't help being tempted to get a second person involved.

I can't even excuse acting on that impulse with the demon drink, as I'd only had a nightcap on the evening in question. Just that when I was facing the unpleasantness of the beginning part of sodding myself with my pretty glass toy, I heard Jeeves in the hallway, no doubt bound for bed, and called out:

"I say, Jeeves!"

I'm bound to say a part of me shut down in panic, to be sure. I was bare from the waist down, half-hard, covered by my blankets.

That good fellow opened my bedroom door and leant in, tired but composed. "Yes, sir?"

"I need some help with this bally thing. I don't want to get slick on my fingers. Would you just pop it in for me?"

I held up the toy. It sparkled in the lamp-light.

Jeeves's mask became absolute. Not to say he was taking it to a taxidermied amphibian extreme, no — he merely acquired the blandest, mildly helpful, attentive valet face imaginable. He took the toy from my hand, and picked up the jar from the nightstand too.

I was in ecstasy from that point on, having gambled so much and won him. I hardly remember it all, I was so dashed aroused. I know he got the toy well-slicked, and I pulled back the covers and rolled the corpus so that he could see the entry point. He put one hand on the billowy portions and the tip of the toy right where it counts, nuzzling it against the hole.

Excitement isn't the same thing as being loose, so it didn't go in whatsoever. We were set on our respective courses, however, unable to divert, so I wriggled around trying to achieve a workable angle, and he massaged me slowly with the end of it. Eventually he had to pause to get more slick.

It was then that I was made to realise that audacity was not my exclusive domain, because when he came back for another go, it was with a warm finger pressed inside. I believe I made some gasping noises.

"I trust you are not hurt, sir," he said silkily. The finger curled.

"No, no. Carry on, Jeeves," I replied, shoring up the whatsit. Surely not dignity. I don't know, but something required shoring.

Jeeves's finger having scouted the territory, when it retreated he slid the toy swiftly home, ignoring my twitch as it passed through that point where it makes you feel a cramp, then jiggled the flared bit to make sure it was correctly seated. I genuinely felt fresh off winning an outrageous pile of oof at the races with this behaviour. He knew so much about this already, of course he did, but he wouldn't be so good at it if he wasn't that way inclined.

I could do so much to him.

I was half-blind with pleasure by the time I rolled myself back over and fisted my prick. Jeeves shimmered off to my w.c., and startled me extremely by returning a minute later to tuck a flannel beneath my tailbone, no doubt to preserve the bedsheets.

To think, really think about all the ways my treasured valet put his foot down… He herded me like a sheep, and nearly groomed me like one, too, controlling my wardrobe, my travel, my relationships. After years together I was only just beginning to understand that he wanted me to push back, to use him. Thinking those words made me shudder. I rolled my hips to feel the toy move inside, and raised my eyes to see Jeeves standing at my bedside with his hands clasped, lips slightly parted, and watching me avidly.

I came off with a heartfelt ah! and lay panting, mindless with bliss. Jeeves set one knee on the bed, and for a moment I was convinced he was going to touch my spent prick. He reached between my legs and his fingers grasped the glass toy, tugging lightly until my muscles relaxed enough to let the thing go. He then used the flannel to dab at stray slick, folded it over, and wiped the spend off my belly.

"Thanks, old thing," I said, trying to hit the right offhand note. I was flabbergasted, positively reeling, but determined not to show it. I imagined there was some likelihood that he was doing the same.

"Goodnight, sir," he said, turned off the lamp, and shut the door behind him.

"Dash it, what," I whispered into the dark, because he took the bally toy.


❧


In the morning I found my glass trinket, clean and sparkling in the sun on my washroom windowsill when I went for my bath. Well, I say morning. It may or may not have been technically ack emma.

I was a wreck all afternoon. I struggled through lunch, watching Jeeves serve me as though nothing had happened. I cancelled plans to play rackets with Bingo, because I couldn't think at all. Jeeves fixed me a brandy and soda and performed some light maintenance on our furnishings while I fooled around at the piano. It helped a bit, but not much. I kept thinking about him wanting me to use him, and my heartbeat was constantly throbbing in an area my heart isn't supposed to be.

My toes curled in my shoes. I couldn't take it.

"Jeeves," I said. My voice cracked on it, and his head turned too quickly to be at all casual. I stood, and staggered over to sling myself into the armchair, trying to make it look like a saunter. "Rally round." I unbuttoned my trousers, pulled up the shirts and worked the underthings down, and put the unspeakable right out in the open. I mean to say, the sitting room is more or less a public place. At least when I bicycled naked in the quadrangle, I wasn't rampant.

Jeeves shied a little, the great brain clearly grinding. Then the shoulders straightened, the lines between the brows erased themselves, and a gleam came into his dark eyes. "Very good, sir."

He left the upholstery brush on the floor, a testament to how distracted he really was, and came to me. He sank down on his knees. I squirmed, wanting too much.

He took me in his mouth. My own fell open, and my body curved around his tidy dark head in my lap. I could feel his tongue working on me, much stronger than I felt a tongue would ordinarily be. I wondered how one exercised the tongue, and the images that rushed in only exacerbated the situation.

"Please," slipped out, and I could only hope that it didn't shatter the tone I was attempting to cultivate. I touched the nape of his neck, and felt his jaw tensing as he sucked me. His hands crept around my hips, holding me cozily in place, and he bowed forward and I could feel the head slidingintohisthroat—

"My god!" I groaned, trembling on the edge. I felt his throat flex, a swallow or a gag. He eased back so, so slowly, the most tender touch my prick has ever had. And pushed forward again, kissing against the beardy patch at the base, his breath stopped by how deep he held me. "Oh Jeeves." I said, faint, at the top of a Coney Island roller coaster, and he was drawing off as I shook apart, spilling all into his mouth. Hearing him choke on it a bit, I wanted to scream.

I was rattling like a struck gong as he sat back and looked up at me. My shorted-out brain attempted to interpret the Jeevesian subtleties, but this was the best I could do: a slow nod with a bit of a Soul's True Awakening flavour, Jeeves all the while looking as though he might be deciding where best on my person to spit that mouthful. But I could see his throat working, and when he next opened his mouth, it was to say, "Sir, will that be all?"

I achieved an airy tone mostly by being out of breath. "If you're content, I'm more than. Extraordinarily so."

"It is kind of you to say so, sir," he said, tucking me back into my clothing neatly as I fumbled in my case for a gasper. He put a hand on each arm of the chair to lever himself up to standing, and the way he leant close over me on the way up made my heart jump.

He lit my cigarette for me, placid as you please, then moved off, suffused with the well-earned smugness of a valet who had presented an ideal solution to the young master's conundrum. Butter may or may not melt in Jeeves's mouth, but I dashed well had.


❦