"Really, sir," Jeeves said in that soupy tone that normally portends a rather harsh locking of horns between man and master.
"Now, Jeeves," said self, wriggling the last bottom of the Woosters high in the air, "you may notice my tone. It brooks no argument, if brook is the word I want. Though one wonders what the devil a burbling water source has to do with allowing arguments."
"It is the correct term, sir," Jeeves said with a single-mindedness which is so uniquely his. He swished the rattan cane in the air almost idly. "The phrase comes from the Middle English for--"
"Jeeves, no Middle English at the mo'."
"No High or Low English either, if you would."
"Of course, sir."
"Some days all a chap wants to do is hear about where brooks and arguments come from. However, when one has one's rear positioned quite squarely in the air waiting for a judicious smack, it is quite clearly not one of those days, you see?"
"So get smacking, Jeeves."
Oh, bother, I've done it again, haven't I? Leaping right into the thick of it without giving you, the deserving audience, all the exposition you so rightly deserve. It's so dashed difficult to begin these things in the right order. One likes to get straight to the meat of the thing, time being money, as they say. I believe I've overshot it, though, and I shall have to back up a great deal to make certain we're all caught up. If you don't need to be led through all the details and you'd rather get right to the bum smacking, I suggest you toss yourself into the latter half of the narrative and give all this a miss. No hard feelings either way, I assure you.
The facts are these. My man Jeeves (a spiffing specimen, there's no one like him) and I have enjoyed thoroughly chummy relations for the past year or so. Before that, he was my valet, and still is, I suppose. But now Jeeves has made himself quite serviceable in other areas, specifically those in the paramour region. The story of our union is a rather long one involving a corking gentlemen's club, a rummy sort of cocktail, and a few misunderstandings, and I really can't be bothered to hash out the whole thing again. Suffice to say, Jeeves and I had been as hearts entwined prior to the events I am about to relate.
On the day in question, Jeeves was clearing out the old guest room. We're lucky to have such a spacious flat, I suppose, but dash it if this guest bedroom hadn't become something of a catch-all in our abode. Every item that needed quick disposing (hats, cats, various instruments, stuffed moose heads, you know, the bric-à-brac that one accumulates in one's adventures) had found a home in that bedroom, and Jeeves was determined to get it sorted. I was on hand because A) most of the mess was my fault, and B) I had to identify all the bally things and state my intention to either keep them or part with them.
That's how it came to be that the young master was perched on the rather lumpy guest bed while Jeeves held up items for my inspection.
"And what are your feelings regarding this shoehorn, sir?" Jeeves asked. His expression was bland as always, but those who knew him well, such as myself, might detect a hint of frustration at the corner of his eyes as he narrowed them at said dusty shoehorn.
"It seems like a very fine example of a shoehorn. If I ever need a shoehorn, it lightens my heart and unburdens my soul to know I've got one like that."
"But sir," Jeeves pressed, "you have not needed this particular shoehorn in years, for that is how long it's been wedged under this box of old certificates from your school days, which, if I may be so bold--"
"All right, all right. Chuck the bally shoehorn," I sighed.
"And the school certificates, sir?"
"Erm, I suppose one might never need those, what?"
"I haven't looked at them since I was in short trousers. If they burned in the grate today I would probably never miss them, don't you think, Jeeves?"
"It would be folly to, say, propose I keep just one or two? I believe my Scripture Knowledge prize is among them."
Jeeves' look was dubious. "And is the physical artifact, sir, so important to your constant retelling of the incident?"
"Well, when the proof is in the pudding and all that." I watched his eyes grow harder and sighed. "All right. Set a match to the whole thing, Jeeves, if it makes you happy."
"Thank you, sir." He removed the box from its place next to the cupboard, and in doing so dislodged something that had been leaning in the corner. It clattered to the floor with an awful noise. "I see there is another priceless possession here," Jeeves intoned. He lifted the thin rattan cane between his thumb and forefinger, then lifted his eyebrow at me in question.
"Ah, you see, this is rather a funny story," I began. I reached out and took the thin cane from him, gazing upon it with fond nostalgia. "You remember me mentioning my boyhood schoolmaster, the Reverend John Aubrey, don't you? This was the cane he used to snap across any boy who pinched jellies from the larder. Tasted its sting a few times myself. And then one night, Ginger and I decided if the cane itself was stolen, then punishment would be impossible." I laughed. "I suppose we didn't think about the fact that other, even more nasty canes might be among Aubrey's effects. He gave us both such a lashing after word spread that we'd nicked it. And yet neither one of us cracked; I smuggled it home among some golf clubs."
"A charming tale, sir," Jeeves said. "Would you like me to dispose of the item, or perhaps have it sent to Mr Puckthwaite as a gift?"
I gave a low chuckle. "Ginger would like that, wouldn't he? But you know what, Jeeves?"
"No, sir. What?" (Jeeves had become a bit more familiar with me since our entanglement, you see.)
"I'd like to keep the thing, if it's all the same to you." I clutched it to my chest and gave him the best my baby blues had to offer.
When my man pressed the issue, I was forced to admit the thing held more than mere sentimental value. "It was something that made me quite excited as a lad," I finally admitted with a coy glance at Jeeves, still on his hands and knees amongst the wreckage. "The first real, erm, excitement of that kind I ever experienced."
Jeeves looked unconvinced. "Really, sir?"
"Oh, it wasn't that Aubrey's withered old mug held any interest of mine, to be sure. It was more like, well, there I was, on the cusp of manhood, as they say, and I was being bent over and made to pull my trousers down for a swatting that could go on for a few seconds, or hours, or minutes, and I didn't know which. You must be familiar with the type of thrill that comes along with not quite knowing what's going to happen to you next, what?"
A blank look stole across Jeeves face. "No, sir. I cannot say I am. As you might recall, I myself have never been subjected to these types of public school punishments."
"But certainly you've been given a whack or two as a child, haven't you, Jeeves?"
"Not even once?"
"Not even once, sir."
"But dash it, when you misbehaved in your younger and more vulnerable whatsits, how were you reprimanded?"
The absolute corner of Jeeves' lips quivered upward; he gifts me with these kinds of things now that we're together. "I must confess, sir, I appeared a model child. Truthfully, I was never disciplined in this manner because I was never caught doing anything naughty."
"Jeeves," I laughed, rocking back on the bed, "you're a marvel!"
"Thank you, sir."
I caressed the thin cane in my hands, running my fingertips over the dips and joints in the rattan. "Do you know something else, Jeeves?" I said in a huskier way.
"No, sir. What else?" He caught my meaning immediately, and from his position on the floor, shifted to kneel before me, his hands resting on my knees.
"I've had the most corking idea that you might give me a smack with this cane."
Jeeves looked unsure. His hands faltered a bit on my thighs, where they had been drifting upward.
"Now, sir?" he asked.
"Well, yes. It's not too difficult, Jeeves. Look here." And with a flick of the wrist and an unbuttoning of the flies, I got into the position in which you found me at the beginning of this bally lecture. See, we've all caught up now. That wasn't too terribly dreary, what?
After a bit of further back-and-forth (refer to the above section if you must), Jeeves was no closer to giving me a judicious caning. I was almost ready to pull up the trousers and give it up as a bad job; I sighed deeply and said, "Jeeves, if you cannot do this one thing for me, think nothing of it. With all you do already, I'm sure it makes no difference."
Jeeves must have heard the disappointment in my voice, something which he is loath to hear, for as I reached for my trousers a sharp thwhip struck me on the back of my hand. Quick as a cobra, Jeeves was with that cane. I pulled my hand back with a little manful cry, more of surprise than pain. I twisted my head round to see Jeeves eyeing the tip of the rattan with a certain thingness in his gaze.
"I must say, sir," and his voice was as low and smoky as you like, "there is something gratifying about landing a blow with such precision."
"By all means, blow away," I said with matey feeling, and resumed the position, bracing my palms against the bed and spreading my legs just a bit.
Now, when I was at school the cane was usually applied like this: depending on your crime, you received a number of sharp smacks across your bottom. Five for telling a white lie, ten for stealing jellies, thirty for running through the garden naked while singing a jaunty tune, and so on. The schoolmaster would deal the blows one right after the other and a suitably interval between each for verbal reminders of exactly why stealing jellies is wrong, or what have you. This is about what I was expecting from Jeeves, but Jeeves, perhaps because he'd never been caned before, did not go about it in the same manner.
Instead of giving me the first slap right off, he tapped the cane lightly against the backs of my thighs, left, then right, then back again for counts of three. It was truly not enough to sting let alone hurt, and I was about to suggest to Jeeves that he try a little harder before I dozed off when all of a sudden he delivered the most delicious THWHAP across my unsuspecting billowy regions.
My back arched like a bow and I let loose a sharp shout. "Good Lord, Jeeves," I said, tensing for the next.
But Jeeves did not give the next hit. He merely asked, "Too much, sir?"
"No! Not in the least. I would be very gratified to have another."
"Would you, sir?" he said, and damn if it wasn't said smugly.
"Yes, I would!"
"You will have to wait a moment." Jeeves rested the tip of the cane on the back of my neck, pressing down until I got the gist and lowered my head, thereby relaxing my back once more. The cane slid downward, tracing my spine slowly and causing gooseflesh to come over me in waves. Finally, Jeeves brought the very tip of the cane to the top of the cleft of my arse.
"You have done some very naughty things, sir," Jeeves said. "For example, seducing your valet." He drew the cane downwards, letting the long length of it slip between my cheeks and rub there like he sometimes does with his stiff cock before he enters me.
"Yes, I bally well did," I breathed, letting my forehead touch the cool bedsheets below me.
"Do you think you should be punished for it?" He seemed honestly curious.
"Well," I answered truthfully, "if you continue to punish me in this fashion, I'll take it as a hearty congratulations."
This must have pleased Jeeves, because he leaned into me and placed a fond hand on my hip, patting me lovingly. The cane traveled up my spine again, scratching its little path. Then it left me entirely, and I was about to turn my head to see what was happening, but Jeeves stopped me with a sharp, "Eyes forward, sir." The cane touched the point of my chin and guided me back to face front. I was glad Jeeves was taking on his role, so I complied and braced myself for whatever came next.
That turned out to be the cane between my legs, tapping back and forth on my inner thighs. The skin there is very white and sensitive, of course, and it didn't take much of a strike from Jeeves for it to start blushing a deep pink. I tipped my chin to my chest to look upside down at the cane's progress, relishing the way my legs were warming as if near a fire.
The second blow to my arse came from nowhere, and was so fast I half-believed I imagined it. I couldn't even eke out more than a gasp. But the fiery sting was mitigated by Jeeves cool, dry hand caressing me there. He murmured something which may have been encouragement, but I daresay I couldn't hear a word over the noisy rush of blood in my ears.
The cane returned to tapping between my thighs, back and forth, back and forth, climbing ever higher until I felt the rattan hovering just below my vulnerable bollocks. My breath caught, and I stilled like a woodland creature in the headlights of an Aston.
"You don't think I will punish you that harshly, do you, sir?" Jeeves asked. The very edge of the hard cane grazed the underside of my sack, and I shivered.
"N-no," I said.
"You don't sound very certain."
"No," I said, more firmly.
"Very good, sir." And the third THWHISH landed across my backside.
By now I was hard and leaking against the guest bed, my face pressed into the mattress to muffle my shouts. When I lifted my head to drink in the air, Jeeves said, "Not only seducing your valet, but forcing him to participate in all sorts of dark activities."
My mind was a bit clouded, and I had to think hard to remember to what he was referring. I recalled our earlier conversation with a grin. The thought of forcing Jeeves to do anything is laughable, and I was about to say as much before I was distracted. Jeeves touched my backside, his fingers cool and slick with the jelly we use, and though I can't imagine how he'd gotten hold of it in the guest room, I try not to think too deeply about Jeeves' tricks and just enjoyed the sensation. My skin was burning, and his touch was very welcome. I must say, as exciting as I had found this sort of thing as a lad, Jeeves certainly had a way of making those past thrills seem downright yawn-inducing.
"Shall I bugger you now, sir?" he asked, leaning over my quivering body to whisper in my ear.
"Ah, please do," I keened.
"You do not wish to have another taste of the lash, then?"
"No, no, buggering--me--now, please."
"Very impertinent." And he gave me one last surprise thrash, which stung a dozen times more than the last. I practically yowled, so great was the mixture of pleasure and pain trickling through my aching limbs.
In one swift movement, Jeeves tossed the cane away, where it clattered uselessly against a wardrobe, and clamped his free hand to my shoulder while entering me smoothly. I was so very open and ready for it, relaxed and ready to take him.
I stayed where I was for the most part, trapped beneath Jeeves' weight. He seemed content to glide in and out of me, unhurried, one hand still on my shoulder to pin me in place, the other reaching under me to stroke my wet cock.
"You liked that very much," he murmured as if taken aback.
"Oh, yes," I said in confirmation, panting into the sheets like a slavering dog.
He hummed in thought. "Perhaps I will take you roughly more often."
I felt his smirk on his lips as he kissed the back of my neck.
"Don't be so dashed smug, Jeeves," I growled. "I told you how it would be." I thrust my hips back against him, taking him deeper.
He caught his breath against my shoulder. "I could scarcely believe it, sir," he said, quickening his pace.
"Ah! So very close," I cried, which is my clever way of telling him I'm about to come off, you see. It's something I often say when Jeeves strikes that neat little bit inside me, which at the moment, he was doing unerringly.
And just as I was about to do just as I said, Jeeves (he of the long reach and silent movements) somehow recovered the cane from its place on the ground and struck me once, twice, three times in quick succession on my backside. Strike me down if I lie, but I swear I came off thrice in time with his blows. Or perhaps it was one very long process, with three little hiccups in the middle.
At any rate, the guest sheets became quite ruined. I had no choice to to splay out on them anyway, as I was quite boneless.
Jeeves continued working away at me, albeit at his slow, leisurely pace. He nearly chuckled at the sight of me, landed and gasping like a fish, bent over for him still. (Jeeves has a sort of cough he employs when he wants to chuckle fondly, but since a creature such as Jeeves does not chuckle, it's as close as I ever hear.) He patted my reddened bottom with the utmost tenderness.
"Very dramatic, sir," he said, and I guessed he was pleased.
"Jeeves," I tried to speak, but my throat was too dry. Luckily, Jeeves always knows what I mean to say even before I say it, and he pulled out of me and came off with a low groan all over my flushed skin. His seed was unbearably hot at first, but soon cooled to create a very pleasant sensation on my body.
I still did not bother to move. Jeeves tended to me as he likes to do after our lovemaking, wiping away the mess from my skin with a handkerchief. My mouth worked, but nothing came out but more gasps for air. Finally, I managed: "That cane, Jeeves."
"Yes, sir?" He deposited the soiled cloth in a nearby wastebasket.
"I'm putting my foot down. We'll keep it in my wardrobe, what?"
"Very good, sir."