Let The Kinkiness Begin!

[cuddyclothes]

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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Comments

[(Anonymous)]

"Free use" fetish, anyone? Bertie starts casually taking advantage of Jeeves, using his body however he likes, whenever he likes. For Jeeves, this new addition to his usual roster of duties is kind of degrading but such a turn-on.

FILL: Jeeves and the Commanding Personality (1/?)

[vensre]

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

---

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.


❦
 

Re: FILL: Jeeves and the Commanding Personality (1/?)

[(Anonymous)]

GOOD GOD THAT WAS HOT!

FILL: Jeeves and the Commanding Personality (2/4)

[vensre]

It was well enough to frolic with my man in our flat behind a door with two locks, or at least I thought so, but with less homelike circumstances came an amount of unacceptable risk to such pursuits. Also an amount of missing Jeeves's proximity, and after a few days at my dragon Aunt's abode, the latter was getting to be an unmanageable pile.

So when he made to trickle out after running my bath of a morning, I caught his hand.

"Sir," he reproached me soupily, but I didn't let go.

"Dash it, are you mine or aren't you?" I snapped, and in an instant I watched his demeanour undergo a sea change, into something rich and strange, and open. And waiting.

"I am," he said. Brows up, mouth slack, eyes shining, rosebuds on the damask cheek.

I kissed him. I gave two or three gentle presses straight on before coming at an angle for the corner of his lips, his right side where his smile turns down instead of up.

He fit his mouth against mine, opening so that I tasted him and felt his soft, coaxing tongue. I slid my own alongside to get acquainted, and one of my feet got away from me rather and kicked up behind while I wasn't paying attention. He smelled like an absolute dream, clean and delicious, as though home was actually wrapped up right there in valeting togs with all the smarts and muscles and corking softness. I gave him one more, firmer kiss, something we could feel for a bit after parting, then a little peck to the underside of his jaw simply because I adored his chin.

I stepped back.

"Thank you, sir," he said with shining sincerity. He was already starting to hide it under a bushel, and of course he had to for our safety. But I was happy to have glimpsed it at all.

"Thank you, Jeeves," I said, savouring the thingness zipping between us like a skilled game of ping-pong. He blinked slowly, catlike, and shimmered out.

Another dashed successful advantage, taken.


❧


Upon returning at last to Berkeley Mansions, Jeeves decamped again for bridge at the Junior Ganymede, his just reward for tolerating Aunt Agatha gnawing his ankle as she so often does. Not that he has to earn his evenings off — I may be using my manservant carnally on occasion, like some evil nobleman out of a pulpy and borderline illegal novel, but I'm not a monster! Probably.

Grateful as I was to be home, I was restless, too. I had been trying to manage my thoughts about the circs since time had padded our last experience with some doubt and anxiety. Grappling with the thing, and with some brandy, I reviewed the core truths: Jeeves refuses things he doesn't want. He looks at me like I hung the moon when I take liberties with him. And he said he's mine.

The Code of the Woosters forbade dishing out unwanted attentions, and all but mandated giving wanted ones. For once in my life, my code of honour seemed to be giving the green light exactly where I wanted to go. The rest was up to me.

I wandered into my bedroom and put the jar from my nightstand drawer in my jacket pocket, then changed my mind because it disturbed the silhouette. I tried to read a few different books, but nothing caught my attention. I planted myself in view of the door so I could catch him returning, but it was only eight o'clock. I smoked. I snacked. I sat at my desk and wrote for a while, then had to squirrel the results away in a secret spot because it was the first few pages of this very story. I got sleepy and washed up for bed and changed into my aubergine pyjamas.

Then I stopped dithering. It was time to take another risk.

My hand had not touched the doorknob of his Lair since the unfortunate incident of the banjolele, and prior to that, not since the ante-Jeeves era. Leaving the door ajar, I crossed to his bed and slithered in, tucking myself against the wall. The sheets were soft and cool and smelled like a kiss. I descended into the dreamless like a professional sleeper.

It seemed only a few moments later that I heard water running. I cracked one eye and saw light coming through the door of the washroom off his bedroom, but closed it again, drifting. Jeeves sighed, quite close by, and the bed dipped, a rush of cool air circulating under the covers when he lifted them. His leg moved my knee to make room for him to settle in alongside me, not cuddling up, but definitely not flinching away either.

When I opened my eyes again I was alone, there was sunshine streaming through his curtains, and I had come off in my sleep.


❧


The day after I intruded in Jeeves's sacred domain, I was constantly alert for another opportunity to make free with his person. I even sidled into the kitchen while he was preparing dinner, but the upright figure of my valet made a quarter turn where he was standing at the stove, and cast a burning eye upon me.

I sidled directly back out. A line had been drawn — no fire, I assumed — and I found that entirely fair.

With one thing and another it was almost bedtime again by the time an opportunity arose. I shuffled in from the w.c. in shirtsleeves as he made ready to slip me into the old nightwear, when a sudden inspiration arose to throw him down on my bed. I slowed in my undressing, watching his face as he picked up the slack. I saw the exact moment he noticed I was getting hard.

I took a step into his space.

"Undress and get on the bed," I told him, but it came out in a tender half-whisper that had my ears and cheeks flushing up. My heart was banging around in its ribcage, as if trying to escape. There are moments where life doesn't seem quite real. I was in one as I watched Jeeves unbutton his waistcoat and shirt and hang them with his jacket in my own wardrobe. His underthings were just a little charmingly old-fashioned, when he had peeled down that far. The union suit, well, suited him — he looked like one of those desserts that comes in a paper wrapper.

I caught his face for a kiss when he finally climbed into my bed. His lovely shape and general appealingness distracted me for some time from my specific mission to make him put his uniform back on with my spend up inside him. I spent a while with my hands on his prick, stroking him, aimlessly feeling about, exploring various bits with fingertips and mouth, and enjoying the sensory feast. When I touched behind his plums I heard his breath flutter.

"You've been waiting for this," I teased him, though I wasn't ready for how eager and overcome he looked. I fished out the jar and got myself slippery. He took a finger easily, his head dropping back, and as I was testing the stretch with a second he pushed back onto my hand.

When I was sure he could take it, I arranged him on his front with his knees under him and myself behind, a convenient angle to get on top of and inside him all at once. The actual getting inside made me shake, the tightness and heat of him, feeling him open to me. It had been the better part of a decade since I'd tried something like this, and I didn't remember ever thinking before that it was something I couldn't live without, but I could see I was going to need a steady supply. Everything else got lost in how it felt, how his body gripped me and gave as I moved in him.

It was for him, but it was for me, but it was for him, he got so much pleasure from me pushing him, but I wanted him so much. I put my back into it, driving him down into the pillows. It had been some time since my rowing days too, but the exertion was not dissimilar. I heard him groan beneath me, and added some extra motion at the end of the thrusts, my hand grasping for him underneath.

Even with all I was doing to him, I was still surprised when he came off. His legs dropped us both down flat on the bed, his inner muscles squeezing me tightly. I brought my hand out from beneath him covered in his spend. After that I just concentrated on getting myself there, almost too aroused and sensitive to bear it.

"Please," I heard him say, "please, I need it."

I trembled, and kissed his back, and made such a mess inside of him.

It embarrasses me to record this, as many rude friends and relations have vouched for the Wooster intellect being only the stillest and smallest of puddles, but it gets dashed quiet in my head in these moments. Anxieties flee for the hills and even the music that plays in there most of the time gets dampened down. I've never been one to fool around with beazels, but even if I wanted to, I think I really couldn't, because my decision-making deserts me at the peak of pleasure and I'd probably get someone in trouble. Poor Jeeves looked as though he might be having a similar pleasure-afflicted moment, collapsed face-down in my pillows with no small amount of bodily fluid in and around him.

When I had extracted myself and could work the limbs again, I trundled to my washroom to do the things one must do after such ventures, and I expected my man to be queuing for the same right behind me, or tottering off to his bath and bed. My expectations were dashed; when I returned to slide into bed, Jeeves was still there, unbestirred — if that is in fact a dictionary word — and emitting gentle snores with his head nestled right between the two pillows on my bed. I felt thwarted in a way, as this meant he would be unlikely to put his uniform back on in this sullied state. I resolved to stop waiting for opportunities and impose them instead.

I bunged myself into the lemon silk pyjamas, fit my longish, narrowish shape around his more solid one, and turned off the lamp. I fell asleep planning. And holding him.


❧


Dallying with Jeeves right before bed, I was finding, made me even more wanting the next day. It was unaccountable, but apparently that was how it worked. I went all day with the jar in my pocket, silhouette be damned.

I seized the moment after lunch as he was handing me a postprandial b. and s. to say, "Jeeves, a word."

"Yes, sir?"

I cocked my head and looked up into his eyes. "Did you use my toy? That night."

He looked around, left and right and left again, as though preparing to cross a street. I could understand the impulse, although of course we were alone in the flat.

"I did, sir," he admitted.

"Wishing it were the real thing?"

"Such a fantasy would be unavoidable, sir, as it was borrowed from you."

I was verging on lightheaded, the blood abandoned my upper reaches so quickly. "Is the carpet clean to your satisfaction, Jeeves?"

"It is, sir." Lowering himself down to his knees with swiftness, he positively thumped the floor.

I grinned. "How was yesterday for you, old chap?"

"Possibly too enjoyable, sir."

"You'll have to brace yourself, I'm afraid, as it may yet improve with some practice." I was unfastening my trousers as I spoke, and when I slid down to join him on the floor, took down his as well. He looked rather pink in daylight from the windows, and went where I put him, bent over the seat of the sofa without complaint. I slicked us again and put my knees between his own, checked the climate with one finger, then held my prick to get into him. Quick and hard seemed right for the occasion.

"Don't spend on the floor, you'll just have to clean it up," I said, and for some reason he seemed to like that quite a bit, throbbing inside as he attempted to access his handkerchief. I gave him mine instead. "Can you bend down a little more?"

He could, and did, and the friction and feeling were better. I felt I could get a bit rough after that, pulling him against me with some abandon. I let him attend to his own prick but we seemed to coincide, and he said ah, and gah! and his head thumped down on the cushion around the same time I finished. I tried to slip out of him with an eye to leaving most of the stuff inside, although a bit trickled out anyway. I tugged his trousers up, tucking in his shirts neatly and buttoning the back of his suspenders for him.

"There you go," I said, with a pat, feeling accomplished.

"Thank you, sir." Jeeves dropped slowly down to sit on the floor, his hair tousled. He had a look that was nearly awed, which had me feeling absolutely wild to do it again. I must be hitting the spot, I mean to say.

"You wouldn't let anyone else do this to you, would you, Jeeves."

"Certainly not, sir."

I followed my impulse, since those had been serving me so well, and put my arms around him. "Good."


❦

Re: FILL: Jeeves and the Commanding Personality (2/4)

[(Anonymous)]

MORE INSANE HOTNESS! I hope you're also posting these on AO3.

Re: FILL: Jeeves and the Commanding Personality (2/4)

[vensre]

Certainly I am 💖 thank you kindly

FILL: Jeeves and the Commanding Personality (3/4)

[vensre]

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.


❦