Give Satisfaction

This is meant to be an account of the things I've done to him, that certain way. One might think it's strange to include a few of the above, but I like to think I'm getting rather good at this wheeze, and I assure you that taking his tie was racier than the kissing by a mile. I also made him play tennis with me, which was jolly good fun and one of the few times I've beat him in any kind of competition.

But you're not here for the tennis, dear reader. And frankly, neither am I. Although I was rather interested in his exerted state, I had every intention of letting him rinse down when we returned to the flat post-match. The willpower didn't quite hold, however. There was something so appealing about knowing he was naked in the middle of the day. The narrow time frame spurred me to action, and as I believe I've said, my confidence was rather high. I stripped down, barged into his ensuite w.c. and bunged myself into the shower with him.

"Sir!" he said, possibly flustered. And probably annoyed. I was getting to be fairly inured to shame about these matters, however, so I just enjoyed his harassed look.

"What ho, Jeeves. Coming in!"

"So I noticed," he said, eyeing me. "Sir, I could not help observing that these incidents are escalating."

"Quite right, Jeeves. And they will continue to do so."

"Indeed, sir?"

"Indeed, my dear fellow." I wrinkled my nose at him happily. "When two men of iron will—"

He stopped me from saying any more by kissing me under the spray, and handling me, too. I had a plan in mind, but his hands were very convincing. He clasped me against his front, wet and slippery, and encouraged me to full hardness. He put me under the stream of warm water, one hand stroking me sweetly. The other trailed down my spine and kept going past the tailbone, getting intimate with the backside. I don't suppose it needs saying, but I was in Heaven.

His fingers inside and around me, I didn't try to hold out particularly long. He held me to him as I got my pleasure, kissed my temple, and made sure my knees were steady. Then he was steering me out of the shower, with a, "Watch your step, sir," that had me groggily indignant.

"I say!" I protested. "Are you turning down my favours, Jeeves?"

"Oh, was the point my pleasure?" he inquired archly, but it sounded like he might be smiling in his way.

"It dashed well is," I said, towelling off haphazardly.

"In that case, I am not," he said, tugging the curtain fully closed to finish his shower. I stole his robe and flung myself on his bed, feeling wildly decadent.

My man trickled out of the washroom several minutes later wearing nothing at all, hair tousled and damp, and sat on the bed at my hip. I curled around him and touched his thigh, and he turned my way, and touched a great deal more than that.

Jeeves had some slick in his bedside table, too, as it happened. He pinned me almost entirely by virtue of being generally big and over me, and squeezed his cock inside with such obvious care. My legs came to settle around the backs of his thighs. My man having a size advantage, he didn't really have to move much to hit every sensitive bit on the inside. But move he did, slow and deep. I had never been fucked by a chap as physically gifted as Jeeves. Ginger was a big lad, as was Stinker, but they were my height and slightly shorter respectively. Jeeves had two inches on me, considerably more weight than Ginger, and when he was pushed all the way in I felt I couldn't take a full breath, it was so dashed big.

I was losing the plot of this thing I was doing with him. Maybe I was still pushing him, or using him, but it sort of seemed more like I was lying in his bed letting him make love to me. Not really in the original spirit, what? But I couldn't remember what I meant by it all in the first place, except that I thought he'd let me. I thought he'd like it.

"Jeeves, I," I started to say, just as he moaned softly, and I lost track. I closed my eyes; he was all around me, scooping me up to hold me. The angle shifted, and pleasure shot through me, lingering in the joints. A drop of his sweat fell down onto my neck. His mouth pressed against my forehead. I felt that my soul was spread out on the bed for him to pick through. It was a bit frightening, although I couldn't say why. He was my Jeeves; if he wanted to touch what I'm made of, probably I ought to let him.

"Love you," he murmured, and I was lost.

A dozen fiancées notwithstanding, nobody actually loved me. But Jeeves loved me. He might even enjoy handling the Wooster soul. I got a little warmer after that, a little more aroused, just about in time for Jeeves to get a bit larkier and more passionate, holding me tightly and shoving in with abandon. I shut my eyes and arched my back and let the surging pleasure wash my thoughts away.


❧


I needed him again. It was getting downright habitual.

Still damp from my morning bath, wrapped in the old dressing gown and perched on my bed, I snagged Jeeves before he could start dressing me, and had his clothes open and disarranged before I said a word.

"I say, Jeeves... you really do let me do anything to you."

"Indeed, sir," he said, and it was no rote agreement. If anything, he was breathless — thrilled, like.

"Where's your line, I have to wonder." It wasn't quite a direct question. I knew he wouldn't let me sport with him as he cooked, but the spirit of the inquiry was something rather different.

"There may not be one, sir," he observed, and his breathing grew louder as I got a hand inside his underthings and touched him. I thought he might say something more, but he just stood there at my bedside letting me stroke him.

"Look at you," I accused him playfully, and he groaned. "Pull yourself together, Jeeves. You're at work, aren't you?"

"I am falling behind in my household maintenance, sir," said Jeeves with sort of a beleaguered tone, if beleaguered is the word I'm looking for — I mean to say he was mildly inconvenienced and finding it a bit funny.

"You're the one who sets the schedule, Jeeves; I'm sure the fellow in charge will see his way to excusing you. Erm, I meant you, not me. But I also will."

"Characteristically generous, sir," he teased me, and I bloody well teased him back.

"Should I let you be comfortable on the bed? Or would the floor suit you better? I'd still be comfortable on top of you."

"Sir," he commented, his arms sliding around my shoulders to steady himself as I worked him. His legs seemed a tad shaky.

"You're leaking like that... it's hardly any work at all to get you in this state. You must have been desperate for it for such a long time."

"I fear so, sir." His tone as he said it was too composed for my liking, and I wanted to go a bit harder on him when he sounded like that.

"Why, Jeeves!" I said, my heart beating faster as I warmed to my theme. I squeezed and pulled at him, savouring the hitch in his breath. "You're easy, aren't you. I remember at the opera. How you spread your thighs."

He really got heated to the touch, then, bright pink all over his face, and swayed in my hold. I only meant to tease him at first, but then he said, "Whereas you are distinctly hard," in his knowing manner.

The nerve of him, I thought, marvelling a little. Not that he was wrong, about my current state nor about the other thing, how I really only ever want my closest friends in quite this way, and it takes me months or years to even get the idea. Well, I prized his nerve, but a chap ought to know when he's being taunted for the purpose of getting him hot and not for pally banter.

I turned over the word I wanted to call him in my mouth, and swallowed hard around it. He could take it.

"Slut," I breathed, my throat tight. His eyes squeezed shut for a moment, his own breath rushing out in a little hhunh that sounded like being fucked.

A very palpable hit.

"You made a hell of an impression, acting like that. So eager. Did you even know you turned me on with that display? I hardly ever, for someone I haven't known that long. I had to touch myself afterwards at home."

He shook his head, the blush lasting.

"I didn't mean to get you riled, I just wanted to see your watch, but you thought I was... what?"

"Groping your staff without permission. Sir."

"Good Lord." This threw me. It sounded wicked, when he said it like that. "Ah, well. I do a goodish bit of that lately."

Jeeves fairly rolled his eyes. "You have my permission, sir."

"Do I?" I was still stroking him, holding his hip cosily with my other hand.

"We have an understanding."

"At least someone understands me," I joked.

He put his head down and kissed me, what I believe poets and romance authors call burning kisses, and then he thrust into my hand and came off on my dressing gown.

One of his knees landed on the bed, and I tugged him down the rest of the way, dragging his trousers fully off. He helped me dispense with the rest of his clothing; even right after, the fellow was industrious.

I slicked myself and got behind him, and he tensed when I pushed myself inside without stretching him first, but he took me.

"Beautifully taken, Jeeves."

"Thank you, sir."

"You're not easy at all, are you? You're loyal. You're here for me alone."

He breathed out again, a rapturous sound.

"Even back then, you were mine. And I was proud to have you, always proud of you."

"Sir..."

"You don't have to let me use you. You could end it anytime you want."

"No," he panted.

"You'll stop me," I said. "You'll throw me off." I thrust hard into him, gripping his hips.

"I won't," he ground out, and took it.

"If you needed to."

"I don't."

"Jeeves, you're beautiful." He put his head down against the bed. "I'm going to spend. You make me..."

I did. I slipped out of him and collapsed beside him on the bed, grinning, and moreso when I saw he was in full bloom again.

"You're in the flower of youth, what, Jeeves?" I teased him gently. "Maybe an eternal springtime, with a recovery like that. I dare say you just can't get enough of me."

His answer to that was stunningly clear on his map.


❧


As grand as it would be for this thingummy between Jeeves and self to be public knowledge, ending my perpetual problem with engagements among other benefits, it obviously could not be. Even among bosom pals I kept mum, because his privacy was tantamount (if I don't actually mean paramount, or some other thing you ride), and because the confidence of my friends was generally rather unsteady. I had taken the risk myself before, but I wasn't going to subject my Jeeves to their caprices, not with the threat of jail time, or worse.

He was altogether magnificent, and I wished I could take him out in my usual sphere and show him off, even in a strictly matey sense. We could hardly share a dinner table without his feudal s. kicking like a stroppy camel. In the spirit of keeping him amused, though, I did take him out.

"It's easier if you stay a bit warm, old thing," I murmured to him under the music. He was electing to stand despite the soft seats in our private box. I supposed if I had the glass toy in, I might do the same. "Do you know what I mean?"

"I assume you refer to excitement, sir," he buzzed, choosing his words carefully despite our solitude. I nodded. Of course he would follow. I watched the orchestra doing their thing for a bit, and when I looked back to him he seemed a little more comfortable. I couldn't see arousal; maybe he had more self-control than he did the year we met.

I wanted him closer, though. I folded my coat carefully, and laid it on the floor beside my chair. I craned the neck up at him, and he eyed me warily.

"Kneel," I said, deliberately unsoftened by extraneous talk the way I would usually do, and felt a burst of je ne sais pas du tout that had me full-body sweating in my black tie.

It was already a ripe sitch. My memory kept drifting back to bending him over and slipping the toy inside him before we left for the concert, both of us in correct evening dress. It fit nicely in there — I wiggled it, like he had when he first helped me seat the item, and used near to an excess of slick so it would last. As much as the rest of what we did was dashed pleasant for both of us, I thought he especially liked when I messed with his body. That's when the deeper breaths happened, and those black-eyed gazes when the middle bit overtook the rest of his eye.

So it was when I placed the toy, and so it was now, as he lowered himself to one knee beside me, then dropped the other to the floor. I laid a hand on his shoulder then ran it down to rest against his low back; he was radiating warmth.

I caught his eye, dark and glittering. "Can you see well enough, Jeeves?"

"Perfectly well, sir."

Feeling him breathe against my palm, I think I'd never felt so powerful in my entire life, like our potential was endless. Jeeves still ran my life in every domestic sense, had two oars in my social calendar, and stood firm on the matter of moustaches. He could accomplish absolutely anything — fish me out of the thickest soup, save me from any marriage-minded beazel, make any pointless tribulations somehow worth the time. If he wasn't the most in-control bird I knew, putting him on his knees wouldn't mean a dashed thing.

When I drove us home, he sat leaning forward the entire way, and his steps as we approached our flat were noticeably quick.

I heard him swallow when I locked the door behind us. Slowly, I pressed him back against the wall, and then harder, so I was sure the toy would shift deeper in. I kissed him, and pushed him, on and on until he protested, "Sir!" when the glass base knocked against the wall.

"Very well, Jeeves, choose your venue."

He took me to his own room, and I exaggerate only a very little when I say we were tearing off the evening wear. I think that particular waistcoat had to be removed from circulation after that.

His hole and environs were flushed red when the toy was reluctantly extracted. But in the low light I could see a wet line along his temple, and one over his cheek. Another teardrop was beading on his dark lashes, but didn't fall, because he was holding so awfully still.

All at once, so was I. "Oh, Lord. Jeeves, are you hurt?" I took myself off of him, crawled up to smooth his ruffled hair with real desperation. Everything else was quite eclipsed by wanting not to have hurt him. "My dear old thing. I am sorry. What the devil am I doing to you? I like it, myself, leaving the toy in for a long time — you're not used to it, something that hard—"

"Bertram," he cut me off with a word. We locked eyes, and I recognised the black gaze, the open-mouthed breaths. Oh. "Bring me off," he said hoarsely. "Please. You've been fucking me for two hours, and I can't..." He broke off with a soft laugh. His hand cupped the back of my neck, scratching my scalp nicely at the nape. I went where he put me, head down between his thighs, fragrant with sweat and want and his personal scent, and I glimpsed a real smile, one with teeth.

I threw the heart, soul, and tongue into sucking him, even happily let him gag me once or twice. He could do anything, after all.


❦