stonepicnicking_okapi (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
stonepicnicking_okapi) wrote2020-05-22 03:09 pm
stonepicnicking_okapi) wrote2020-05-22 03:09 pm
Entry tags:
MMOM: Jeeves & Wooster: Almost Special: Rating: Mature
I've been neglecting my Merry Month submissions. Last year I had 14 and I've only done 6 this month. So have another of Jeeves & Bertie.
Title: Almost Special
Fandom: Jeeves & Wooster
Rating: Mature for masturbation
Word Count: 250
Summary: Bertie has a hangover but they are out of Worcestershire sauce. Jeeves offers a temporary substitute.
“One of your specials, Jeeves, please,” I gurgled from the graveyard of bedclothes in which I was interred. I kept the peepers shut, afraid to discover that what I thought was the headboard was, in fact, a granite slab engraved with ‘Here lies Bertram, he supped with the lads once too often.’”
“It is my grievous duty to inform you, sir, that we are out of Worcestershire sauce. I have already dispatched a messenger. The wait should not be long. Might I offer a substitute in the meantime?”
Jeeves spoke with the bedside manner he usually employed in such circs, viz. that of a royal doctor, and I groaned my assent like the sickly prince in desperate need of a bracer.
No sooner had I rolled onto my back than the duvet and sheets were thrown back, and a solid paw with its palm well-greased was burrowing into the ground floor of my heliotrope pyjamas.
“A little preparation of your own invention, Jeeves?”
“Precisely, sir.”
It was the long strokes from base to head which gave the Wooster tumescence its colour. It was the tight grip of the fist which made it erect. And it was the furious rhythm which gave a bite, that is to say, the sinking of my chompers in the pillow as my cock went off like a circus cannon, popping the daredevil into the net of Jeeves’s flannel.
Somewhere in a far corner of Xanadu, a service bell rang.
“That would be the delivery, sir.”
Title: Almost Special
Fandom: Jeeves & Wooster
Rating: Mature for masturbation
Word Count: 250
Summary: Bertie has a hangover but they are out of Worcestershire sauce. Jeeves offers a temporary substitute.
“One of your specials, Jeeves, please,” I gurgled from the graveyard of bedclothes in which I was interred. I kept the peepers shut, afraid to discover that what I thought was the headboard was, in fact, a granite slab engraved with ‘Here lies Bertram, he supped with the lads once too often.’”
“It is my grievous duty to inform you, sir, that we are out of Worcestershire sauce. I have already dispatched a messenger. The wait should not be long. Might I offer a substitute in the meantime?”
Jeeves spoke with the bedside manner he usually employed in such circs, viz. that of a royal doctor, and I groaned my assent like the sickly prince in desperate need of a bracer.
No sooner had I rolled onto my back than the duvet and sheets were thrown back, and a solid paw with its palm well-greased was burrowing into the ground floor of my heliotrope pyjamas.
“A little preparation of your own invention, Jeeves?”
“Precisely, sir.”
It was the long strokes from base to head which gave the Wooster tumescence its colour. It was the tight grip of the fist which made it erect. And it was the furious rhythm which gave a bite, that is to say, the sinking of my chompers in the pillow as my cock went off like a circus cannon, popping the daredevil into the net of Jeeves’s flannel.
Somewhere in a far corner of Xanadu, a service bell rang.
“That would be the delivery, sir.”
no subject
no subject