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Anyone who knows Bertram Wooster will know that his veins absolutely thrum with the philanthropic spirit. One’s only too happy to help, of course. It doesn’t do to leave a pal in any sort of lurch. I’m pleased to sieve chaps out of the soup for no more than a hearty pat on the back, if they can stretch to it.
This isn’t to say that I never feel the strain. But I went into this thing with Biffy with the best of intentions, at the request of Mabel, the future Mrs Biffy. She is quite particular about the sorts of garments she’ll be seen with in public. Poor Biffy still has a touch of the country-mouse about him. It was my role, as the sophisticated metropolitan pal, to get Biffy into some togs befitting of an engaged gent.
I dare say that Jeeves—my man, you know, and by astonishing coincidence, uncle of the said Mabel—might have done a more efficient job. The thing is that Jeeves can be—and I don’t know if I’ve mentioned this before—a little hidebound in matters sartorial. I felt it important to let Biffy find his own way in these things. The thing was, Biffy could barely find his own way to the front door when I rang. He’d forgotten his man was on holiday, and was expressing quite vigorous thoughts on the chap’s work ethic before I reminded him. There followed some brief confusion about the name, address and existence of his tailor, but we found it in the end. I enjoy Biffy’s company greatly, but it was quite exhausting to play the level-headed intellectual. I don’t know how Jeeves does it all the time.
And I did begin to wish I had brought Jeeves. Not only to help shoulder the caretaking burden—really, I don’t think I should have minded if he’d just sat there nose-deep in a tome, as long as I could look at him. Rest my eyes on him, you know, because he has these chiselled features and a soft, comforting figure that just soothes the soul. I couldn’t very well cuddle up with him as I’d have really liked to; but a Jeeves in the offing would have been enough.
Although I shouldn’t have minded more than that. There was a great deal more to be done with Jeeves, besides looking at him. Things that would have to wait until we were undisturbed in our abode, unfortunately. Once I think of those things, my mind has a way of sticking fast to the subject. I confess to being quite distrait by the time we stopped for lunch. It took me about three tries to read out my choice of starter (though, that being said, it took Biffy five). When Biffy tried to tell me of his planned Greek honeymoon, I thought only of Greek love. When we perused ties, I thought of how Jeeves had demonstrated his disdain for a recent chartreuse number of mine. And when Biffy had to get his inseam measured—well, I’d better not say what I thought then.
Suffice it to say, it was with the cheeriest of cheerios that I bunged Biffy and his spoils home, late in the aft. I scattered a few flocks of pigeons in my hurry home. I was all keyed up for a very cosy evening, but this was not to be. When Jeeves let me in, his good-afternoon-sir was a bit on the tense side. I soon learned that, while I’d been out, the kitchen sink had enacted the sort of flood that would have Noah reaching for his waders. In his absence, though, it was left to Jeeves to manage the soggy results. The place was all towels, buckets and a plumber chappie with his head under the sink. I had envisioned a rather more romantic mise en place , it was true. However, I am quite used to overcoming adversity. When he brought me a drink, and I saw that the kitchen door was firmly shut, I reached up, stroked a bit of fluff off his waistcoat, and primed the vocal c.s for a low, seductive murmur.
“I say, Jeeves. I’ve thought of you all day.”
“Indeed, sir?” Jeeves said. Before I could catch his eye, a clank of sorts issued from the kitchen and he cast an alarmed look right past me.
“Indeed, indeed.” Other fellows might have lost heart at this point, but I gave it my best sensuous eyebrow.
“Very good, sir,” he said distantly. “Will you be dining in tonight?”
“Oh, I think so, yes.”
“I fear dinner may be slightly delayed, sir.”
“That’s alright. Quite alright.”
Someone knocked on the door, and now it was my turn to cast alarmed looks. Jeeves brushed respectfully past to answer it. I was left at a loss.
It turned out to be a few more plumber chappies. I surmised from their conversation that the state of our kitchen sink was causing bafflement amongst the scientific community. When I next got a glance in the kitchen, they were crowded around like medical students while the original chappie did something with a spanner, or it might have been a screwdriver.
Jeeves seemed to spend most of his time in there wringing things out. He reappeared occasionally to freshen my drink or proffer a light. I sat with the evening paper on my lap and pondered. I mean to say, I was pensive. I had come home bearing amorous intentions, but my poor man was—if not frazzled, then evidently a bit crisp around the edges. It might take hours for the sink to be restored to its former glory. I could hardly expect Jeeves, after this ordeal, to chuck me over his shoulder and take me to bed. It wouldn’t be fair on the chap.
I resigned myself. Once the plumbers had left, I’d find a quiet moment to sate myself with the Wooster digits; then, thus braced, would give Jeeves a whiskey and a cuddle. Perhaps one for myself, too. With hot water. The noblesse oblige weighs terribly heavy on a chap at times.
A moment later, Jeeves once again floated in with a cup of tea, and a few biscuits to tide me over until our delayed victuals.
“Thank you, old thing,” I said, with meaningful fondness.
“Of course, sir.”
He knelt beside me. To anyone peeking out from the kitchen, it would look as though he was simply sweeping up some errant biscuit crumbs. But he leaned in and placed a kiss on my temple, as swift and gentle as if a moth had lit there. I blushed richly.
“I’m sorry about all this,” he whispered. His eyes, looking at me properly for the first time since I’d arrived, warmed me from the inside out.
“Oh, well,” I said, feeling like a knob of butter chucked suddenly into a hot pan, “you’ve risen admirably to the challenge, what?”
Jeeves allowed a tiny smile to grace his features.
“Thank you, sir.”
“Oh, Jeeves.”
He got to his feet. Oh, I wanted to pull him to me, and dash all the consequences, but he was on his way back to the kitchen already. I reconsidered my evening plans. Perhaps I had been hasty in assuming Jeeves wouldn’t fancy a horizontal sort of evening. Perhaps it might be just the required thing, you know, to help him forget the stresses of the day. Yes—it would be un fair, really, not to at least offer him a trip to the buffet, so to speak. I’m nothing if not generous. Jeeves often says so.
It was about an hour before the last of the committee filed out. I gave Jeeves my sunniest look as he locked up.
“Dinner will be ready in about twenty minutes, sir.”
“Oh, good.”
He came over to straighten my cushions and collect my glass. I went from sunny to positively blazing until Jeeves took the hint and kissed me on the lips.
“Twenty minutes,” he said, patting me on the cheek before shimmering away.
I was glad when he joined me for dinner. I encourage him to do so as oft. as poss., but I can understand why he doesn’t always. It must be distracting, to have someone stare rapturously upon your profile when you’re just trying to get outside of some steamed cauliflower. Tonight, though, I was indulged. It seemed the repair of the sink had got Jeeves back to racing fitness. He sat in cosy vicinity and we talked of our respective days. I told Jeeves how Biffy had his shoe size written on the back of a train ticket for ease of recall; Jeeves told me that the water this morning had been almost ankle-deep and ruined his socks. I couldn’t help laughing at that, I’m afraid, but I got no frost from Jeeves, just the fond smile that makes him look so bally handsome. Eyes glittering in the candlelight, and all that sort of rot.
When we were finished, Jeeves gathered up the dishes and removed to the kitchen. I followed him after an acceptable number of minutes. I found him bent over the sink (cowed into meek submission by the chap with the screwdriver or spanner), aproned with sleeves rolled to the elbows. I like him very much aproned. The ties held taut around his waist, drawing the eyes to his figure even more than usual. Particularly the lower part of it—you know the part I mean—firm and well-formed, and yet so soft and yielding. The sort of bottom to sink both hands into.
Jeeves must have read my mind. He looked up just as my fingers had started to grasp at the air.
“Is there anything you need, sir?”
“Oh, nothing!” I stuffed my hands casually in the trouser pockets. “Well.”
“A digestif , sir?”
“Ah—a nightcap, perhaps. I was thinking of having an—erm—early night.” I stepped a mite closer, admiring the soft hair on his forearms. “I’ve no objection if you’d like to knock off early yourself, what? Leave this lot for tomorrow.”
“A most kind offer, sir, but unnecessary. I do not find myself particularly tired.”
Well, dash it! He knew perfectly what I meant. I could tell from the millimetre’s raise of his brow, and the suggestive manner with which he handled the stem of a wine glass. “Would you like me to lay out your pyjamas, sir?”
“What? Oh, er—no, Jeeves. Don’t trouble yourself unduly. If finishing the dishes is your wish, then finish the dishes you must. I’ll take myself off. But—should you feel any, er, waves of exhaustion…”
“Of course, sir. Will that be all?”
How pleasing he looked, in amongst the steam from the sink and the moonlight from the window! If only there had been hot-water taps in Shakespeare’s time, I think there could have been a sonnet and a half written on the subject of handsome chaps surrounded by steam.
“Yes, I think so,” I said, rallying the brain cells. “For—for the moment anyway.”
“Very good, sir.”
I turned to leave, but a rather damp hand playing along my neck turned me right back. Before I could take much stock of the situ., Jeeves had taken my chin and brought me in for a lip-bruising. I gaped like a goldfish, swaying on my feet as his tongue drew ruthlessly along the ticklish roof of my mouth.
“Ah!” I said when he let me go. Dishwater dripped from my chin.
“I shall finish washing up, sir,” Jeeves said, voice having dropped a few notches into what could reasonably be called a purr.
“Right-ho!” I squeaked, and toddled off without delay.
Once in the bedroom, I pondered how best to present myself. Stripping off seemed the obvious thing. I kicked the Wooster wrappings under the bed as they came off, lest Jeeves get the temptation to fold them when he came in. After a few minutes’ sitting on the bed with hands folded in lap, I realised that when Jeeves had said he would finish the washing-up, that he really did mean to finish the washing-up. I was soon cold enough to chuck on a dressing-gown. Better to maintain a little mystique, anyway.
I waited like this for a while, until a sheep cleared its throat. I gave a bit of a start, having been uncommonly absorbed in the Rosie M. Banks novel from Jeeves’s side of the bed.
“I’m sorry to have kept you waiting, sir.”
“Oh, not at all!” I cast aside Mrs Little’s work to drink in my man. I’m bound to say my first instinct was to crawl towards him like a cove in the desert who thinks he’s seen an oasis a few dunes over. Jeeves deterred me with a stern look.
“Let me undress first,” he said, already draping his jacket over a chair. My eyes widened in anticipation. There is something about Jeeves undressing that enraptures a fellow, if ‘enraptures’ is the word I want. Jeeves knows this too, because Jeeves knows everything. He posits that the effect results from the role reversal, me watching him undress for a change. Something along those lines, anyway. I am hardly at my most intellectual when Jeeves is undressing.
First off came the waistcoat and tie, slipped off by expert fingers moving with unhurried grace. Then the shirt-collar, exposing a bit of neck I longed to sink my teeth into—but I refrained, calling on the fortitude of the Woosters of Agincourt. I might have wriggled about a bit, though, and certainly when he unclipped his braces, then slid his hands down to his trouser-buttons. His shirt-tails hung in front of his drawers, covering all but the lightest hint of a bulge, but it was his thighs that delighted me most. Who could know that under the pinstripes laid these soft expanses, so perfectly made to lay one’s head on (or between)? I tilted the lemon to admire him from various angles. I nearly went upside-down when he bent to fold. And he always does fold, even though the whatsits he’s taking off are bound only for the laundry basket. Jeeves is not the sort of chap to wear things twice, thrice or even four-ice, as long as the smell isn’t too offensive, though some of us happen to like the smell of his shirts after he’s worn them all day—but I stray from the point. The bending to fold that I describe made the muscles under his shirt tauten and showed off the shapely curve of his bottom. He glanced over his shoulder and raised the eyebrow a few sixteenths of an inch. I glowed and burned like the firebox of a steam engine at full tilt.
Jeeves turned back to me and loosed the buttons of his drawers, cool as a frozen cucumber.
“Is everything alright, sir?”
What a thing to ask—quirking the lip, no less—while looking me in the eye and taking his cock out! It poked out a bit past the hem of his shirt. I fancied I saw a flush of pink at its tip, and quite the next thing I knew, had toppled off the bed, landed on my knees and shoved my face between his thighs. Jeeves took it in the right spirit, laying a proprietary hand on the back of my head while I nuzzled and gasped, drawing in his distinct scent. Presently he coaxed my mouth open, feeding me his half-hard cock. I took it gratefully. My hands crawled up to knead on his thighs; Jeeves stroked my hair with the usual steady hand.
I was absolutely lost . I loved every inch, every rich note of his taste as he hardened on my tongue and filled my mouth just past comfort. I loved, most particularly, the warm tip that leaked the loveliest bit of fluid when I worried it with my tongue. My work was artless, but Jeeves was encouraging.
“You take it very well, sir.” He gave my hair a light tug, tilting my head until I looked up at him. “There is a most pleasing rubescence in your features. Your lips,” he murmured, reaching down to wipe a bit of saliva from the corner of my mouth, “are as rose-petals, my love, opening gladly to the sunrise. That’s enough, now.”
He nudged me off with a slick sort of pop. I could but marvel at his restraint as I knelt there with my mouth still hanging open in the assumed position. When Jeeves has his mouth around me , nothing short of the Last Trumpets would get me to nudge him off. Even then, I’d probably ask the chap upstairs if we might not revisit this rapturing business at a later date.
“Oh, but—Jeeves—”
I tried to re-insinuate myself, but I could tell from his delicate fingering of my hair that Jeeves was having none of it.
“I beg your patience, sir. If you would like to return to bed…”
“Oh, fine,” I said, since he’d asked so politely. I clambered back up, too hot now to get under the covers, and watched. Jeeves got on with the project with the same unhurried grace I mentioned earlier, but now with an eye-watering cockstand. He wasn’t the only one. I took my own e.-w. c. in hand, at first idly stroking, but when Jeeves bent to take off his socks, I couldn’t help a shaky, gasping exhalation, opening my thighs and gripping the shaft. Jeeves straightened, narrowing the eyes.
“I should like to have you unspoiled, sir,” he said.
“Well, of all the nerve!” I did as I was told, though, as Jeeves was deploying this terribly unimpressed look that compelled my obedience. “This doesn’t ex—exemplify the feudal spirit, old thing. Gosh.” I trailed off rather, glued to the sight of his shirt-unbuttoning. When he was down to vest, I could see his dark, slightly raised nipples through the fabric, and a bit of chest hair past the neckline. I wanted to do some licking. “Jeeves—”
“You might prepare yourself, if you wish, sir,” he went on, undoing his cuffs without a glance in my direction. “I ask only that you refrain from frigging yourself like a schoolboy.”
The way he speaks to me sometimes! But I am afraid to say it was the work of an instant, with me, to dive at the bedside table and take a pot of slick from the drawer. I gathered a few fingers’ worth and slid one inside me. This pretty quickly became two, with Jeeves now officially starkers. I tilted my hips forward, giving an ostentatious sort of moan, which didn’t induce Jeeves to pause in his clothes-folding.
“That’s very good, sir,” was all he said. Feeling much encouraged, I introduced a third finger. By the time he finally gave me his proper attention, I was panting, throbbing and seriously considering a fourth. Jeeves had left my sight—I could hear him rustling about in the same place I’d found the slick. I should have liked to see for what he rustled, except I seemed to be having difficulty raising my head from where it had sagged towards my chest.
“Let me see,” he said, in an altogether lower, fruitier tone of v. that accompanied a dipping of the mattress as he sat beside me. With some effort, I lifted the loaf, withdrew the digits, and parted the pins still further to show my work. Jeeves had a good look, stroking my inner thighs with his fingers while I struggled to maintain equilibrium. “I think you’re ready, aren’t you?”
“I bally well am, you know.” I felt rather draughty without my fingers. Jeeves took hold of me with easy possessiveness. He stuck one pillow behind my head, and another under my hips, so I could relax my legs yet remain open to the public, as it were. “What have you in mind for me?”
“This, sir.” And he showed me. It was one of our phallic rubber whatsits, one of two or three we keep for use when one or both of us are too puffed to make use of the genuine article. I wasn’t sure why he had it this time, being that his g. a. was as high and rigid as an American flagpole. Perhaps he thought I wasn’t up to the task—the dildo was a bit slimmer than the aforementioned flagpole. I sought at once to disabuse him of this notion.
“Jeeves, I’m as buttered as a lobster and twice as sweaty,” I said, enticingly. “Why don’t you just climb aboard?”
“I have something slightly different in mind, sir.” He pressed the thing against my entrance as he said this and I couldn’t help a moan, melting against the pillow as he took my hand and kissed my palm. I felt every bit of tension float off like chalk dust puffing out of a blackboard rubber. My wrist drooped in Jeeves’s hand. He lifted it to his mouth and gave each finger a gentle suck, before parting my lips with his own fingers. I tongued them gratefully, mouth watering from both sides, while he still moved the dildo inside me, lightly probing rather than full-on sodding.
“How do you like that?” he enquired softly, while not-so-softly poking about my molars. I couldn’t answer properly, but this was, of course, the point, so I gave him a warm, affirmative moan. Jeeves stopped moving it at all then, and it was rummy, to feel just full like that, but not at all a hardship. It was quiet, and soothing, and rather clarifying, actually. I could focus simply on how it felt, the gentle pressure inside me, held in place by Jeeves’s loving hand. It struck me that I’d felt so distracted and fidgety all day because I’d not had a cock inside me.
He let go then, coming to kneel over me instead, knees either side of my chest. I knew this wheeze, though I normally did the kneeling-over, as Jeeves seems to think he’ll squash me. Well, he does a bit, actually, but where he makes his bloomer is assuming I won’t enjoy being squashed. So I pulled his thighs tighter around me and let the gaze travel. It naturally came to rest on his cock. Apart from all the other ways it delights me, I like how easily read his prick is, in contrast to the rest of him. While the larger part of Jeeves remains tranquil and glacial as a Norwegian f-whatsit, this also-large part grows hard and red and often dripping . I thrilled to think of it in company, sometimes, watching Jeeves at his professional best and imagining that it might be swelling , might be aching and chafing in his trousers, and perhaps when he slips off to the kitchen he has to press the heel of his hand against the growing bulge to effect a little relief—but where was I? Oh, yes—about an inch from Jeeves’s cock.
“Is this to your liking, sir?” Jeeves asked, as if ascertaining my preferred brandy-to-soda ratios. I mmm ed gladsomely and stuck my tongue out to lick at him. After my burst of enthusiasm earlier, I did my best to exercise restraint, allowing Jeeves to set the pace—to use my mouth as he saw fit. He stroked his shaft quite contentedly while I licked, no sound but his long, steady breaths and occasional murmurs of encouragement. Only when I tilted my head to lap at his heavy bollocks did Jeeves decide to make the introductions, i.e. his cock to my mouth. It turned out that they had met before and were already bosom pals. Jeeves—with much the same skill that lets him take off and hang up his coat without even looking—reached behind himself and started to fuck me again. For a few minutes he worked his hips slowly and the dildo only gently, barely brushing that sensitive knot within me. I whined around him, torn between pleasure and the burning ache for more.
In answer, Jeeves gave a sharp thrust that sent his cock to the upper reaches of my throat, and in the very same instant—I swear this is true—he struck my favourite inner spot with the dildo.
He said something about how I liked that, didn’t I, sir, but I was too busy making a protracted guttural noise and spinning amongst the stars. Filled at both ends and tingling all over, I shoved my hips skyward with enough force for Jeeves to have to grip my shoulders to keep steady. I tried to tell him I loved him, but ran into obvious difficulties. He stroked my sweaty hair back, fond understanding in his eyes.
“I know, my love. You do so well for me.”
There was a slight, gorgeous strain to his voice that made me grope at him desperately. He has such a wonderful bottom—have I mentioned that? I don’t make full use of it as often as I should, lacking the stamina and sheer force of personality required to satisfy him that way, but my shortcomings in that area are not the point. It was good enough to get myself a couple of generous handfuls and draw Jeeves so close that my nose was immersed in his hair.
He had mostly abandoned the dildo, just making sure it was planted firmly inside before he turned his fuller attention to my mouth. I moaned and bucked, wild from the pleasure of two cocks at once. My own ached more with every movement, but I knew better than to ask for his touch just yet.
“That’s very, very good, sir,” Jeeves said, as if he’d heard my suitably obedient thought process. There was breathlessness lifting his words. I liked to think that only a lingering shred of feudal s. was keeping him from slamming my head against the pillow with his thrusts. Instead he cupped my cheek and brought my eyes to meet his. “If you could only see yourself, my own. You are never so beautiful as when I’m fucking you.”
A groan rose in my throat, so deeply felt that I almost choked on him, but I managed to only splutter. Jeeves ran his thumb over my lips, which I knew must be reddened from the stretching they were getting. I would have to be very gentle with my jaw tomorrow. Soft foods, I mean to say. Jeeves coaxed the l.s a little further open still. My mouth watered all over his hand.
“Except, perhaps—” He cut himself off with a hitch in his breath, so perfect a sound that my toes curled against the sheets. “—except, perhaps, when you take my come into your mouth, swallowing it down like a perfect wanton—”
“Mm!”
“Or when you take it all over your face. You have such fine, handsome features, sir. It gratifies me truly to see them so debauched.”
“Ah! J—” I was too full up with his cock to get out more than a stuttered few syllables. Jeeves slowed, stroking my hair. I pressed my cheek against his thigh with a weak groan.
“Just there,” he murmured, laying a hand on the back of my head so I stayed in place. “Dear Bertie.”
At this his up-to-now steady rhythm slipped a semiquaver or two to the off-beat, and he came in my mouth with a warm sigh (and if you think a mere warm sigh isn’t befitting of a climax, all I can say is that you haven’t heard Jeeves do it). I couldn’t really manage the swallowing he’d advocated, what with my mouth already being numb and gaping from its fucking, and the tendency Jeeves has to come absolute gallons of the rich stuff under the right circs. I certainly managed debauched, anyway, letting his spend run hotly down my chin and neck.
I laid full and content, except around the pelvic region, where my cock—untouched almost throughout, you’ll note—stretched pink and aching against my abdomen. Jeeves dipped down and applied his mouth without delay, and within seconds I was spending a few gallons of my own all over the place. Then he came back up and licked his come from around my mouth, before giving it back to me in a kiss. I sank into the pillows like a blancmange dropped in a pond.
“I say, Jeeves, I think that was just the stuff.”
“What’s that, sir?”
I could appreciate the question. Owing to the achy jaw and mouth thick with come, I’d missed most of the consonants out. I cleared my throat like a dying sheep and tried again.
“I said, that was just the stuff to give the troops, what?”
“I can but agree, sir.” Now he attended to the rest of me, cleaning off the rest of the stickiness and—ah!—sliding out the dildo. He kissed the underside of my thighs by way of apology for the discomfort. I accepted the kisses gladly before letting my legs collapse.
Jeeves returned to my side, kissing the top of my head and bringing it to rest on his soft, broad chest.
“You enjoyed yourself, then, my puer delicatus ?”
“Oh, yes,” I sighed, too puffed to revisit the Latin vocab of years past. I pressed against his hand and he started to rub my jaw.
“Good. You were perfect, sir.”
“Very kind of you.” I tilted to let him get at the other side. “Well, for your part…”
“Thank you, sir.”
I was glad he got the gist. It was still a bit of a strain to speak fluently. Still, I thought it worth one more effort.
“I do love you, Reg.”
He leaned down and I felt the smile in his kiss to my lips.
“And I love you.” His words, which I felt in his chest almost before I heard them, warmed me right through. “It is a little after nine o’clock, sir. Would you care for a bath before you retire?”
I shook my head just as much as I could manage.
“I see. What would you like to do, then?”
I kissed the dip of his collarbone. Seeing no reason why I should need to turn my face back around, I kept it where it was, nose to the hollow of his throat. Jeeves laid a hand on the back of my head just as my eyelids started their descent.
“I shall endeavour to accommodate the request, sir.”