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Bobbie Wickham was one of those really corking fillies who know how to team up with a fellow for a drink and a laugh without letting the atmosphere turn marital. On this particular evening, we'd had a goodly number of drinks and a goodlier number of laughs by the time the doorman at the Drones booted us onto the street. He didn't normally do that, but I suppose he was a bit ticked this time that Bobbie had slipped by him in a newsboy cap, since the club was supposed to be accessible solely to the less fair sex.
The lady certainly was fair, and getting fairer with every drink. When we were ejected from the club, she landed on top of me, and I must say I wouldn't have minded popping back in and getting tossed out a few more times if it meant additional contact with her bosoms. I'd never had more than a nodding acquaintanceship with such appendages. Bobbie, however, was having none of that.
"Oh! Get off, Bertie!" she cried, ignoring my attempts to point out that she was the one who was on. We struggled into a more vertical orientation, and she said, "I'd better go home now, or my uncle will be cross tomorrow."
"Are cross uncles as difficult to mollify as cross aunts?" I asked, trying to brush some dirt off her blouse.
She fended me off with practiced skill. "Mine is," she said, and hailed a taxi, pausing only to plant a quick one on my cheek and refuse my offer to escort her home. I was left standing on the sidewalk, rather physically flustered, if you follow my meaning.
I managed to haul myself back to the flat solo. Jeeves met me at the door and relieved me of my coat and hat before an untied shoelace tripped me up and sent me floundering onto the sofa. I considered the idea of attempting to stand up, roundly rejected it, and stayed flopped.
(The errant shoelace was my doing, of course. When Jeeves ties a shoe, it stays tied if it knows what's good for it.)
Jeeves had observed the proceedings with a calm gaze. "If I may take the liberty of mentioning it, you appear to be in a state of some considerable distress, sir."
A state of cyanotic bollocks was more like it, but I wasn't about to describe the details of my condition to my valet. "I am, Jeeves, but I doubt there's anything you can do about it this time. I shall be retiring early tonight."
Nothing but a slight dip of the head indicated Jeeves' skepticism regarding my pronouncement of the current hour as early. "I surmise that Ms. Wickham is the cause of your discomposure, sir. I suspect that I may indeed be able to assist you, if you will allow me."
With that, he knelt on the floor beside me. I was about to inform the poor misguided soul that my shoelace was not the source of the trouble when I discovered that Jeeves was aiming not for my unkempt hoof but for the fastening of my trousers. At first, I thought he must be undressing me for bed, but his intentions became somewhat more difficult to misinterpret when he wrapped his lips around my genitalia.
I was flabbergasted. My mouth must have been open wider than his. "Jeeves!" I spluttered when I could muster the faculties.
He raised his head as if I were interrupting him from the process of making tea. "Sir?"
My nerve endings were complaining about the Jeeves-tonsil I was denying them, and I was plastered enough to give in. "Erm... carry on," I said.
He did so. The man was as good at this as he was at everything else he'd ever done. It was a matter of very few minutes before I was groaning and pulsing into his mouth.
Jeeves rose to his feet, hair impeccable. I'm convinced that were someone to set a match to his dome, Jeeves would dab patiently at the inferno with a tea towel, and both coiffure and towel would escape the pickle unscathed. "If that will be all, sir?"
"No, it bally well won't be all, Jeeves! What on God's green, blue, and brown earth was that about?"
The corner of his lips twitched slightly. "The capacity to anticipate and satisfy the requirements of the employer without explicit command is the mark of a well-trained valet, sir. I trust your discomfort has been alleviated?"
"And then some!" I assured him.
He ducked his chin slightly. "I endeavor to give satisfaction, sir."
***
Jeeves woke me the next morning with a steaming cup of Darjeeling, as usual. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary at all. It seemed impossible, that two chaps could engage in such behavior one night and then return to their normal chaply interactions the next day as if nothing had happened, but Jeeves pulled off the impossible on such a regular basis that I ought not to have been surprised.
It made sense, really, when I thought about it. I'd been taken aback at the suddenness, as he'd never done anything of the sort before. Then again, I'd never tumbled into the old abode in such a state. Extraordinary as it seemed, Jeeves was being perfectly consistent: as claimed, he had observed what I required and provided it.
After a few days, during which Jeeves patiently reassured me with every smooth nod and perfectly mixed b&s that nothing had changed between us, I felt thoroughly hunky-dory about the whole business. In fact, my only objection was that said business had not resumed. I could, of course, go out and get juiced with Bobbie Wickham every night, but something told me there was a simpler way.
"Jeeves," I said one morning as I stood in front of my wardrobe in my underthings, selecting the day's outfit.
"Yes, sir?"
I closed the wardrobe and turned toward him. "I wouldn't normally ask such a thing of a person in my employ, you understand. Propriety and all that. However, taking recent events into consideration... what I'm trying to say here, Jeeves... oh, I don't suppose you could pull off a bit of that well-trained anticipation wheeze and spare me having to say it?"
"Certainly, sir," said Jeeves gravely, and kissed me.
I wasn't expecting the kiss. It seems rather a feminine pastime, kissing. Or so I would have said before experiencing the way Jeeves went about it. His approach to the activity involved tongue, teeth, and the slightest hint of roughness about his recently-shaved skin. I'd looped my chosen tie around my neck and left it dangling down my front; he grasped the two ends firmly at my throat and shoved me up against the wardrobe door, sucking on my bottom lip in a most agreeable fashion.
My own state of arousal at that point was as expected, but as Jeeves pressed his body up against mine, I was surprised to discover evidence that the feeling was mutual. I moved my hips forward, rubbing against him. His lips moved from mine down to my neck, sucked the tender skin there, then traveled up to my ear, into which he placed his tongue.
I had never considered ears appropriate receptacles for tongues--indeed, I had never given the subject any thought at all--but after this episode, I recommend their insertion heartily. It drove me nearly mad. I grabbed his buttocks and ground our erections together, and came into my freshly donned drawers within seconds.
Jeeves waited a few moments, until I opened my eyes, and inquired, "Shall I draw you a bath, sir?"
"You really are dashed competent, Jeeves," I told him.
He smiled. "I endeavor to give satisfaction, sir."
***
Having noted that the arousal I experienced during these encounters was reciprocated, I began to feel just a pinch of guilt. It wasn't my fault that the man had dropped to his knees in the first place, of course, and if I've learned anything from our myriad escapades, it's that Jeeves always knows exactly what he's doing. Still, something felt off, knowing that this wasn't just another service performed for my benefit. As his employer, I had a responsibility to keep an eye on the ethics of the thing. Therefore, the following evening, I determined to have a chat with him.
"Jeeves," I called from the bedroom, where I was snuggled up under the duvet in my heliotrope pajamas in preparation for slumber. "I'd like a word, please."
He floated into the room and settled on the edge of the bed, like a feather coming to natural rest wherever the breeze happened to deposit it. "Sir?"
"This sudden arrangement of the flesh to which we seem to have come, Jeeves. I'd like to discuss it." I wriggled up until I was leaning back against the headboard. "It feels rather as though I'm treating you like a personal concubine, or the male equivalent thereof."
"The Romans referred to such a personage as a 'concubinus,' although I suspect the term you seek is 'gigolo.'"
I waved a hand impatiently. "Regardless of the terminology, that's the role I don't want you playing. What I'm trying to say here, Jeeves, is that I wonder if I'm taking advantage of you."
Jeeves deftly snagged the duvet with a finger and removed it from my lap. I folded my arms. "Jeeves! I say, are you listening to me?"
"Yes, sir. It strikes me that a demonstration would be a more effective way to address your concerns than a verbal response."
I shook my head. "You are tempting me unfairly, Jeeves. Now is the time for telling, not for showing."
"No, sir?" My body had reacted to his intentions of its own accord, and he hovered a hand above the heliotrope bulge, eyebrow lifted.
Well. I was human, after all, and no human could have resisted that eyebrow.
"Oh, all right then," I relented.
The pajamas were out of the way in a flash, and his warm fist was wrapped around me, squeezing just hard enough and just fast enough to make my eyeballs roll back into my head. When he slid his other hand up my shirt and found my right nipple, I emitted a sound that likely made the upstairs neighbors pity my migraine. Jeeves slowed his movements until I moaned for more, then gave me what I wanted until I was nearly coming, then let go and trailed his fingers lightly up and down, denying me release. He had me gasping and shaking within five minutes, and kept me that way for another five before finally wrenching my orgasm from me into a handkerchief he had produced with his Jeevesian powers.
The heliotrope pajamas remained pristine throughout.
It took me a while to recover, but to my credit, I did steer my brain back on track. "We... have already established," I panted, "that you are... skilled beyond compare. That is not the issue."
Jeeves stood and said nothing. I looked up to demand an explanation, but before my eyes reached his face, they landed on a most peculiar sight. My own clothing often suffers a variety of unfortunate fates in the course of my exciting and eventful life, but before this day, I had never once observed what I now saw: a spot on Jeeves' trousers.
"I say, Jeeves, is that..."
"Yes, sir."
I thought back over the last few minutes. True, my eyes had been closed or otherwise engaged throughout, but both of his hands had been occupied with my person the entire time. "But," I protested.
If Jeeves were capable of dropping his neutral valet's expression long enough to look smug, I was sure he would be doing so now.
"I enjoy giving satisfaction, sir," he said quietly, and left.