elvispurdybby

[elvispurdybby]

oh lord

[elvispurdybby]

happy birthday baby 🖤

[elvispurdybby]

christ.

Walter hale 50 covering their mouth to shut them up. 😏

Hungry

A/N: Well this was fun. Any excuse to get dirty with Walter.

Pairing: Walter Hale x reader

Word count: Just a smidge over 1K

TWs: This is a smutfest. Walter is a soft dom, praise kink and some really dirty stuff with panties. Maybe the tiniest hint of orgasm denial.

You're the piano lady at the Chautauqua - you do all the accompaniment for the children’s singing during the daytime. You have no idea what Walter sees in you, when he has his pick of all the singers and dancers in every town. Not that you're under any illusion that you're the only woman he's sleeping with, that would be ridiculous. But he has been spending a lot of time with you lately. You run your fingers over the piano keys, doing a few scales absent-mindedly as you wait for the next kid. It's almost lunchtime. You can't wait for a break from this. 

Walter wanders into the tent where you're playing, eyes roving until they finally land on your figure, sitting behind the piano, just as he expected. He likes you a lot. You've got a little extra padding, in that kind of mid-thirties way, and he’s really been enjoying the effect it has on you. There’s a point that women hit at that age where they stop caring about what other people think of them and start caring about having a good time instead. He can’t understand why you haven’t been snapped up by someone already, but then maybe you’d never have got to this stage. You love sex, and he loves doing it with you.

He stands at the side of the stage until someone shouts something about lunch, and then you feel his presence behind you. 

“Hungry, honey?”

You somehow find yourselves in a walk-in linen closet, which would be spacious if it wasn’t for the shelves of linen, you and Walter all being in there. The shelves dig into your back and Walter, pressed against you, digs into your front. Your arms are around his neck and he’s kissing you passionately, grinding against you just a little. You let out a little pleasured noise as he moves from your mouth to your neck. 

“Still hungry?” He asks, with a raised eyebrow and a smile playing on his lips. 

You don’t need to be asked twice, nodding and getting onto your knees as best you can in the cramped space. Freeing his dick from the confines of his pants, you set to work licking and sucking, and he bites his fist to stay quiet. It’s hard not to make a noise when you’re so good at this, but he doesn’t want to be found. Eventually he decides you’re getting him dangerously close with your mouth and he wants to finish somewhere else. He taps your cheek and you let him slide out again, and stand up, obediently. He pulls your long skirt up around your waist and your panties to one side, and then he’s inside you in one quick movement. Grunting, his cheek pressed against yours as he rolls his hips into you again and again. 

“Oh, Walter! It feels so good.” You can’t help yourself, something just makes you want to tell him how his dick makes you feel. How much you love it. 

He moves his head just enough so you can see the smirk spreading across his face. 

“Is that so, honey?”

You nod quickly, and then the moaning starts. You don’t mean to moan, but every time he fucks you it drives you crazy and the noises just pour out of you. He’s still smirking, because he can’t help loving hearing you like this, but he starts to shake his head just a little too. 

“Uh-uh. You’ve gotta be quiet, honey.”

“Mmmm. I… I c-can’t…” you stumble over the words, brain feeling like mush. “...’s too good…”

He’s still slowly rolling himself into you, and he shakes his head a little more as he presses his hand over your mouth. 

“Gotta be quiet,” he says again, and then he starts to really fuck you. 

Your eyes roll back in your head as he thrusts harder and faster, his fingers pressing against your soft lips, fingertips digging into your cheek. 

“Good girl,” he mumbles, knowing he’s getting close and thinking you probably are too. But he doesn’t want you squeezing him and tipping him over the edge right now. 

Keeping his hand over your mouth, he slows down and pulls out, and you stare at him in gasping surprise. Not that it’s very easy to gasp with your mouth clamped shut, a snort of air rushing out of your nose instead. 

“Shhh,” he reiterates, before moving his hand. He needs both of them for this. 

Jerking himself with one hand, he pulls the top of your panties down with the other and rubs his dick through your folds, struggling to hold back a moan as he feels his release growing closer and closer. You look down at what he’s doing, dazed, and gasp as he cums all over your pussy and in your panties, making a mess in your underwear. Putting your own hand over your mouth instinctively, you watch as he moves back, letting your skirt fall back down to hide what he’s just done. Taking a few steadying breaths, he puts himself away again and then looks at you. You’re completely dumbfounded, and really, really horny. 

The smirk is back when he sees the look on your face. He puts his hand back over your mouth, and his lips to your ear. 

“Want ya to sit and think about me for the rest of the day now, honey.”

You groan into his palm. As if you were going to do anything else after that. 

“Then tonight I might give ya what ya want.”

He moves his hand and looks at you. 

“Yes, Walter,” you breathe. 

Another little smirk. “But no takin’ those panties off. Want you in ‘em all day.”

You accidentally moan out loud again and he tuts, clamping his hand back over your mouth. 

“What did I tell ya? Shhh.” He softens then, smiling down at you. “Not that I don’t love those pretty little noises of yours. But save them for tonight, hm?”

“Yes, Mr Hale,” you tell him, when he moves his hand again. 

He hums approvingly. “Good girl. And keep those panties on. I’ll be checking.”

***

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[elvispurdybby]

Shades of cool

Instances where your best friends dad tried to seduce you.

Big daddy Elvis Presley x reader! Sexual situations.

Word count: 5k.

Warnings: As you read it’s your best friends dad seducing you. Major age gap. Naive reader. Kissing. Manipulation, gaslighting. Swearing. Obsession. He’s a cocaine user. Talk of male masturbation. Female masturabtion. Objectification. Sexy Polaroids. Sacrilegious. Detailed description of perversion at the end. Perverted E. All parties are legal!

A/n: “I wanted to try something a little different than I normally do. I wanted to write something a little darker. I also wanted to write something and this is what came out. Let me know if you like this version of my writing!”

Before the instances

It started, well, it was always in motion ever since he saw a little you with Lisa back in the late 60s. Nothing more than a lil ole schoolgirl. His friends talked about you like they did when he was with Priscilla all those years ago. It struck the same vein-alighted that same hunger. His micro aggressions towards you though, where he grew overtly affectionate and fond over you. Was the summer in 1985. He was older, much older, thirty-two years to be exact and you didn’t know why but his age never affected how you thought of him. If anything it drew you to him. He was older, more mature than the guys you’ve hung around. He was the father figure you needed whether you wanted to admit it or not. By God, Elvis was smart and he knew he’d never have a greater opportunity than now helping your own self, mature into a fine young (co-dependent) woman. You just had graduated high school the previous may with Lisa who was still a little younger than you. Since school let out you practically lived at Graceland. Much to her and her daddy’s satisfaction.

Graduation night

The first incident happened after graduation night. You were over at Graceland (shocker.) It was dinner, congratulations and gifts mostly from Elvis but others in his circle came and gave you a pat on your back as well. You were just excited to be done with it and to have done it with Lisa by your side. After the grand dinner everyone departed in their respective areas. You and Elvis however went outside in the darkness of night and sat by the kidney sized pool. Lisa wanted to take a nap so she could stay up later and so it resulted in just the two of you staring at the blue light that illuminated the chlorinated water. Elvis nursed a little Roi-Tan cigar. His infamous orange sunglasses still pressed against his chubby face. He puffed those cheeks with every draw of his cigarette. He uses it as a crutch. In his youth it was biting nails or the wiggling of a leg, now it’s just the burning inhale of tabcco. The two of you stared at the stars. He pointed some out lazily. Explaining their relationship to the other stars along with the spirituality behind them. He told you to pick any star your little heart desires and he’d buy it for you. You giggled at his playful jest but when you looked over to his face you saw no hint of humor. He was dead serious. So, you pointed to the biggest and brightest one there was. That one, you said. He chuckled darkly to himself. You’re gonna make me go bankrupt, pretty baby! Then he huffed on his cigar more with a hint of a grin, and your cheeks burned. The cigar embers burned his thick golden fingers. His other hand laid flat on his blue track suit covered thigh. He took his index and drew stars by his knee. You spread your denim daisy duke legs out and relaxed into the chair. Lifting your hips up, your shirt raises up your pretty hips. He stared without abandon. God cursed him. Elvis was nothing but a devoted Christian and God cursed him. How did God curse him? God cursed him by being infatuated with a teenage girl. Even worse, his daughter's best friend. No, it wasn’t God’s curse. It was the Devil's temptation. He can’t wrap his head around you being nothing but an angel. He often told you how your soul was the prettiest thing to him. Your soul is older than your body. He wished that you had grown up with him, met his mama and daddy. Gotten married and settled down with him. When he told you that you weren’t sure how to feel, should you feel grateful that in an alternative universe that you could’ve been Lisa’s mother instead of friend or that it might still happen in this reality if given the chance. You knew of his exs, Lisa told you about them. You knew of his player status of objectifying women and not taking no for an answer. Whatever he wanted he got it. He stopped officially being with women in ‘77 after his engagement had broken off. He doesn’t talk about it much. Sure, he still has girls hang off his wide arm on occasion but it’s nothing serious. It was like he was saving himself for something. Something to grow older. He takes a long draw, tilting his head up and the smoke billows out like a cloud into the sky. His soft jaw and lips puckering when he does. He stares at the side of your face through his shades. Admiring from afar. He leans over to the ashtray on the table beside him and stuffs the cigar in the marbel where his initials are. You watch as his tracksuit starts to rise and the soft pudgy skin of his back starts to emerge. You treasured all the times you got to see his skin. He never showed it off like he did when he was younger. The only time you were blessed was when he wore normal shirts or felt a little scandalous by unzipping the jacket to his sternum, making sure to not show his round belly. You nibbled on your lip and cut your eyes to the North Star, making sure that he didn’t see your wandering eyes. It's silent as he huffs to turn around. He looks at your face again. Nothing but a little ole baby in a woman’s body. That- that very dangerous thought is what spurs him on.

“Are you a virgin?”

You choke, eyes wide, mouth dry. You can’t look at him and your body is stiff and straight. Begging the North Star for guidance.

“W-what?”

He chuckles. The wrinkles on his face deepening as he smiles.

“Ya heard me lil darlin’.”

You nod and blink slowly, trying to find a way to divert the conversation.

“Why do you ask?”

His wide shoulders shrug and he pushes the bridge of his sunglasses down, you see the bloodshot veins in his eyes.

“Sometimes when I see you around my friends’ boys you don’t care ‘bout ‘em, like yisa does,”

He pauses. His hand on his thigh moves to his face and he scratches his chin and rests his face in his palm. His elbow on the armrest of the lawn chair.

“Ya couldn’t be more bored in ‘em.”

His fat tongue swipes over his plump lip. His eyes flick across your face, baiting you for a reaction.

“But when your ’round me you act like you’ve never been ‘round ‘nother man in your entire yittle life.”

Movie night

Elvis rented out a theater in Memphis near Graceland to watch The Way of All Flesh his favorite movie. Often he would do this. It didn’t matter how many times he saw it or forced you and Lisa to, he’d visit it again. Lisa complained about not watching something different like the goonies or the breakfast club, and you were just happy to be there. He didn’t care about Lisa’s cries of protest and change. He liked his 1927 black and white movie, he wouldn’t hear anything else about it but praise. He sat between you and Lisa in the back below the projector as it ran. He had his arm around Lisa’s shoulders, hugging her to his own. She yawned watching the banker find his life flipped upside down. As for you? He had his fat palm on the inside of your bare thigh. The warmth blistered your skin. The rings were heavy on your soft skin. His orange sunglasses were tucked into his white tracksuit zipper. You didn’t watch the movie as his hand danced along the inside of your thigh. You watched his broad face. Your lips pouted as you wondered what his game was. What was he trying to do? He wasn’t trying to do anything which resulted in you over analyzing the situation which ultimately is what he wanted. He wanted to get inside your little head. Wanted you to think of him. Obsess over him. You trail your eyes over the dips and curves of his plump aged face. His blue eyes catch your own and the gaze is held between you for a few minutes. He doesn’t speak a word and all you do is breathe. His hand doesn’t move and the unspoken power is acknowledged, along with his shit eating grin.

The kiss

You hadn’t visited in two weeks. You called Lisa and told her work had gotten in the way of your visits and she understood. She tried to emphasize that to Elvis but he didn’t care. You were being a ghost and he couldn’t handle it anymore. He’s been so gracious to you, so loving and you decide to abandon his family? He was going to lose his mind. He became short with everyone, the mafia, the maids, even being short with Lisa. He was a grumpy old man. While you were at work your parents had paged you at least a hundred times over. You were confused, exhausted, and frustrated. All you wanted was to lay down and get some sleep. You went to the bathroom and read the slow news.

“Urgent...”

“Elvis…blowing..up..phone..”

“Hurry..home…”

You sighed. When you did get home, you asked about whats wrong with Elvis and your parents told you that he’d rather talk to you in person. You nodded and packed an over night bag, ate dinner with your parents and bid them goodbye before getting in the cherry red Audi Coupe GT Elvis had gotten you and drove to Graceland.

It was dark and hot in the summer heat when you arrived at the gates. You didn’t have to mutter your name to the guard since you’ve visited so often. You pull up in front of the white stairs and your stomach drops. Anxiety flashes over you. What if he’s mad? What if he prohibits you from ever seeing Lisa again? Ever seeing him again? You breathe cautiously. Turning the car off and grabbing the duffel bag you packed and walking to the door. Before you raised your closed fist to knock the door swings open. You hear Lisa watching tv in the living room. It’s Growing Pains. He’s wearing a black tracksuit and his sunglasses are a baby blue like his eyes when they’re not bloodshot. He holds the door open with one of his hands and just stands in front of you like a wall. He’s staring at you. Eyes glossy. One of his nostrils dusted white. You open your mouth to apologize but before you could utter a word he takes the sides of your face in his hands and places his lips onto yours. He cranes his head down and tilts your face up. His gut pushing against your stomach. Your eyes are wide and you drop both your keys and the bag outside Graceland’s door. His lips are so much softer than you anticipated. His rings catch on your hair, but the slight pull burns into your stomach and makes your heart beat faster. He doesn’t press his tongue into your mouth, the pressure of his lips is enough to drive you into a frenzy. You can’t. When he finally does move away, it’s slow and staggered. His eyes are closed and his breathing is unsteady. He’s winded from kissing. He sweeps his thumbs over the bones on both side of your cheeks. Watching the burning sun in your eyes. You open and close your mouth like a fish. He just smiles lopsidedly, his smile lines and crows feet deepening. He presses a chaste kiss onto your lips.

“Don’t tell yisa.”

His lips brushes against yours as he speaks before pulling himself away completely. He crouches with a moan to your feet and picks up your keys and bag and walks up the foyer. You stand there puzzled, and sexually frustrated.

The picture

It was a blistering hot day in June. Elvis hosted a barbecue for his family and friends. For no particular reason other than to reminisce about the old days of his career. He’s been out of the performing business since ‘77 and now just produces his own recording company, giving kids like him a shot at making music. He wore a red tracksuit, with golden sunglasses. (One of those special occasions where he had the zipper down his sternum.) He didn’t go outside much that day since it was so hot, so he stayed inside Graceland with some of the older musicians and family who didn’t care to be outside either. He stayed by the window that looked the pool though. Watching you sunbathe and Lisa talk to some boys while swimming. Little kids ran throughout his property with water guns and balloons. Some of his colleagues tried to talk to him, he’d just mumble mhm. Never leaving the sight of you in a swimsuit top and a little denim skirt with bare feet. A boy came over to you, trying to talk and you didn’t care. Mumbling mhms. Priscilla visited and tried to talk to him about Lisa and doing things as a family and he didn’t care.

At 5, nearly sundown everyone gathered outside with three picnic tables pushed together as dinner was served. Crickets crowed and frogs croaked. He didn’t get a say who sat by him on the arrangement, he’d rather have you and Lisa sitting next to him than just Priscilla. They prayed before eating and he prayed that God would stop this little crush he had on you. He looked up from his bowed head and saw your breasts pushed together in that stringy bra and bowed his head to pray harder.

“Amen.”

The dinner was good and prestigious. He made jokes and smirked small, laughing mostly at Charlie’s jokes. Priscilla’s little hand was on top of his thigh and he couldn’t care, he watched you eat a hot dog like no other. His burger was a bit charred which was fine, but he only took a couple bites before retiring it. He watched you and Lisa whisper and giggle over some boys Lisa stared at. Droplets. Nothing more than a couple drops of ketchup fell on your bare chest and he felt himself throb. The tracksuit tightening around his burly thighs. He sips on his canned Pepsi. You don’t notice the smeared ketchup on your breasts as you move to look around and talk. Priscilla looked to her side as she talked with some older married woman about life. Priscilla’s hand cupped the side of his cock and he jumped. Letting go of his can of Pepsi.

“Jesus!”

He cut his eyes over to Priscilla and she took her hand off of his thigh and he groaned. He crouched down onto the grass below the table. Looking for the can. He pauses like a kid finding cookies. Finding snatch. His heart hammers and he adjusts his growing bulge. He pushes his sunglasses down the bridge of his nose to the bulbous tip to fully look at the situation. His mouth nearly dripping with drool.

“No pannies.”

His thick drawl comes out as he whispers the revelation to himself. You spread your legs out wider and his breath stops. Hairless. Glistening. Untouched. He nearly sticks his wide tongue out to lap a fat stripe down and up your wet cunt. He wonders who did this to little miss darlin’? How’d her little pussy get so wet on his bench? How’d just looking at it gets him higher than any Miami coke. Then his heart strikes out. He sees Lisa’s head pop out on the other side of the bench a concerned look written across his face.

“D’you need help getting up, daddy? I know how bad your back is!”

He chokes and snatches up the can. He pushes up his sunglasses and sitting upright and the small of his back begins to ache. He looks at you and you smile dumbly.

“‘M fine.”

Priscilla looks at him then back at the soda can he threw on the table with a scoff. He sighs asking God for a blessing.

“Picture time, y’all!”

He stands in the back with more of the taller men and ladies were. He morphed into the back, not caring to be seen. Priscilla stood up front as well as Lisa. You stood in front of Elvis and he took your hips in his meaty hands. You jumped before realizing who it was. He whispered a husky. Jus’ me, pretty baby. He rested his chin on the top of your messy hair. He pressed his front up to your back and you raised on your tiptoes and he nearly came. The pressure of your firm ass pressing against the tucked head of his dick was enough for his eyes to roll back in his head. He needed to get one of his sleeping pills after. The rush of coke and the adrenaline of sex is too much to bear. He’s sweating bullets. You smile wide at the announce of cheese. Slapping his squeezing hands on the sides of your hips.

“Say cheese, big daddy.”

He smirks a little and swivels his hips so his hard on is pressed right up against the cheeks of your ass. For the first time in months he smiles to the point where his wrinkles are creased and he looks young, taking pictures in front of Graceland.

“Cheese.”

Fast food

It was a lazy Sunday after church. Elvis didn’t want to wait until he got to Graceland to eat so he took Lisa and you out to eat at McDonalds. He was starting to get a headache from only doing a milligram of coke before church. He asked before getting to the intercom what each of you wanted before Lisa and you decided to share an order and get a couple of large Coke’s. The only time he wore anything other than a tracksuit was to church and his recording company’s meetings. It was a simple black suit with no tie and a few of the buttons at the top unbuttoned. He was sweating profusely with the skin tight fabric. He thought he’d be able to fit in the old suit. It hadn’t been since a couple weeks since he last put it on. He was going to have to get on those weight loss pills again. He sighed and order a couple McDLT’s with no onions, no mayonnaise, mustard, or ketchup and a large Pepsi. He was content with not having to deal with being asked for autographs or pictures anymore. Occasionally there’d be the oddball who’d recognize him and asked for a memento and he’d graciously give it to them. He doesn’t miss the constant paranoia of who knows him and who watches. He listens to the conversation between the two of you talking about musicians and media. Lisa talks about Madonna and you talk about how Cher is still relevant. He pays and pulls up to the next window. It’s another twenty minute wait. He looks up through the rearview mirror through his black shades, watching you gush over Cass Elliott. Admiring the way you talk with your hands and the sheer white sundress you’re wearing. How Lisa matches your enthusiasm. The young clerk finally hands the food over and he leaves in the passenger seat as he drives to a nearby parking lot that oversees the traffic. He often liked sitting and watching the people and making up stories for them. Where they’ve been and where they’re going. He pulls to a stop and the chattering stops. He looks back and sees two sets of grabby hands luring him to give food away. He smirks softly and grabs the tray of large drinks and hands it to you. The banter continues as Lisa shoves your shoulder and you dump the drinks onto his lap. He freezes.

“F-fuck!”

Posture straight, hands up, shaking. It’s deathly quiet, not a word spoken. You’ve only seen Elvis angry a handful of times. Him pissed was a different situation entirely. Both you and Lisa utter apologies without abandon. He starts picking off the huge ice cubes and as he does you lean over the arm rest and start wiping off the Coke and ice off his fat thighs into the floorboards. His paunchy stomach tightening as you brush over his flaccid (hardening) cock. He watches your bare tits hang loose in your sundress. The perky nipples coming through. He thanked God for the no bras movement and watched you lazily hang onto his thigh. You smile like a bimbo when you’re done and rifle through the bag for napkins and press them down onto his soaked lap. After you felt like you did all you could do you leaned back and kissed his aged cheek. He apologized for getting angry and swearing. He went through the paper bag and handed out food. While unwrapping his first burger, his face scrunches and he throws the burger on the passenger window. He whips the car into the reverse and spurs out of the parking lot. As you look to the window you see onions, mayonnaise, mustard, and ketchup splattered on the window.

Pool Side View

He sat in one of the lawn chairs in a his DEA tracksuit, white bucket hat, and golden sunglasses. He was coked out and barely functioning. July was one of his busiest months and he couldn’t keep up with it all. He’s trying to read one of his spiritual books while smoking one of his cigars. He kept a prying eye on you and Lisa swimming in the pool. You had left for a couple days, to get some clothes which he resented. He simply would’ve bought you more. You had your own room at Graceland for fuck’s sake. He made you quit your job after the instance where you ghosted him. He never wanted you to leave. The swimming suit was big on you. He had bought you a swimsuit that was two pieces and a little big on you since he didn’t know your exact size. You guessed he did it on purpose. Lisa proposed for you to wear one of hers but she was a little skinner than you so you politely declined. Lisa and you were performing ungraceful water aerobics. Going underwater and kicking your feet up in the air and kicking them. Both of you kept chirping at Elvis to watch you perform. However one of the times you went under and came back up, your top had untied. You didn’t realize it until Lisa told you with a giggle. You were mortified, your mouth dropped open as you grabbed the floating article of clothing. You looked at Elvis and his sunglasses were perched lower as his strung out eyes watched you like a hawk. He couldn’t figure out if the coke was bad and he was having a hallucination or if what he did see was real. Did he see dirty little pillows with pretty nipples or did he dream that? He doesn’t know and he doesn’t question it. The stream of smoke by his head and he puffs. Taking his book back into his palm as Lisa ties your top back on. He pushes his palm over the base of his dick trying to push the blood elsewhere. I like that trick, do it again. He smiles to himself at the cynical joke. If only it wasn’t just a joke.

Polaroids

More than once Lisa reassured you that her dad wasn’t a creep, he was just overly sentimental and affectionate. It was just southern hospitality she reiterated over and over. It was late at night and Lisa and you were in your nightgowns in the living room, wrestling and laughing loudly. Watching Saturday night wrestling and reenacting some of the positions. Some nights you both would sleep in the living room to scare the maids when they first come out to work. The tv was the only light on, other than Elvis’s lamp light that he used to read one of his spirituality books. He was in his satin emblem pajamas. He wore reading glasses with the chain necklace around them. Every now and again Lisa and you would ask him to watch and you’d accidentally flash him. He’d blush and his stomach would start to stir. The thing that made him get his Polaroid camera was when you straddled a pillow between your little thighs and started to hump it. Intentionally or not, he didn’t care. He went into his room, grabbed his wallet where he kept the film in and the camera itself and went back into the living room. You were laid diagonal on the couch, your nightgown off and just in little cotton white with pink bows on them bra and panty. Your head was hanging off the couch and your legs were kicked up on the headboard. He got on his knees in front of your face and you smiled. The click and motor of the camera blinded you momentarily before he asked you to model which you replied attentively to. He asked you to pose in various positions. Running his fingers and palms over your body to smooth out the rigidness of your body. You watched Lisa stare into the tv, ignoring the photoshoot happening behind her. You wondered if this was appropriate and you remembered what she said about southern hospitality. He made you sit on his lap where you can feel the pressure of his bulge up against your clothed pussy. He lightly cupped the front of your throat and pushed your head back into his shoulder and your back pressed up against his chest. You feel his glasses pinch at your back. His rings biting into your neck. He raises the camera in front of your faces and it clicks. His lips brush over the shell of your ear as his voice drops to an octave lower. The tone where he used to sing.

“Wancha ta hump me like you did the piller little miss.”

You look at the back of Lisa’s blonde head. Your body is scorching hot. Your clit throbbing as his dick bobs with every buck of your hips. You move quicker, more desperate. Click. The Polaroid falls to his feet. You feel his stomach bounce with every gyrate. Click. If he could he’d hump back up into your wet little snatch. But his poor achy old back isn’t used to his 20yr old libido. The 50yr old man’s body isn’t adept to pleasing a pretty young 18yr old, but in this moment. The moment where your panties are soaked and catching on the outside of his pajamas pants, he thinks it doesn’t matter. Lisa shouts if you saw that move and you choke out a yes. Whether it was to Elvis’ fat fingers constricting your airways or the fact the friction is going to make you cum. Click. Your body starts to shake and pulse and he pulls you back to his chest. His thick stomach pushing into your back as he holds his palm over your mouth.

“Don’t say a word.”

He places the camera on the seat beside this thigh, running that hand flat over your stomach and to the hem of your panties. He plays with it. Running the fabric in his palm. Closing his fist and letting his gold rings run over it. He sticks his hand flat and into your panties. His palm flat on your mound, his middle and ring fingers play with your throbbing clit. The sight is ungodly. His big hand between your legs causing your panties to stretch out on your thighs. He whispers pretty words into your ear as he huffs. Your body spasms and shakes. Your cunt tightening over nothing as you cum. He pats your clit a couple times before removing his hand and wiping it on the your stomach by your belly button. He turns your head to the side and presses his lips to the side of your head. He pulls you off of his lap, picking up his camera and the fallen Polaroids up. He walks up into his room to finish what he started.

A couple days later you and Lisa decided to go to the mall to find some WWE shirts for an upcoming show. You told Elvis about the event and how you needed some money as he ate a peanut butter, banana and bacon sandwich. He nodded as he read the news, only half listening. Telling you to make sure that you have a driver and couple of the mafia guys to escort you and that his wallet was in his room. You giddily kissed his cheek and he smiled softly. You bounded up the stairs and into his room, finding his wallet where it normally was on his dresser. You opened it and as you pulled out a wad of one hundreds you gasped. The Polaroid of you on his lap fell out as well as pictures of him, Lisa and you at the aquarium. You grabbed at least a grand and shoved the Polaroids back in where you found it. Going to Lisa’s room and announcing that their allowance came early. Southern hospitality, you reminded yourself.

The letter

It was Sunday afternoon once again. Sometimes Elvis would get in this religious frenzy that church couldn’t even soothe. You and Lisa sat in front of his feet as he sat on the couch preaching. He had gotten to this one verse that he couldn’t seem to remember which was strange because he could remember a book start to finish as soon as he was done reading it. You watched as his bare bloodshot eyes wandered everywhere, searching for his words. He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. He’s disappointed in himself. He’s not as good of a Christian as he wants to be. He reaches down and holds your hand, staring into your eyes with such a softness that not even a cult member could obtain.

“Would you be a doll and get my Bible from my nightstand by my bed?”

You nodded eagerly and with an of course. He kissed the back of your hand as you stood up and walked to the stairs. He resumed his preaching to a different sermon to Lisa while you found his Bible. You walked into his room as you have a thousand times before and looked in his nightstand. Religious books and notes, medications. His coke. Nothing about the Holy book. You looked at the bottom drawer and you found it. Saying to yourself a little aha. However when you picked it up you found an envelope addressed to you. Your eyebrows were furrowed as you placed the book on his bed and picked up the letter. You had a moral confliction within yourself whether to open it or not. You finally decided to when you realized that he must’ve wanted you to read it eventually, right? You tore open the top of the envelope and took out the orange paper that he used for his notes and began to read.

“Dear little miss darlin’

“I don’t even know where to begin. I can’t even hardly see with how much I’ve sniffed. My hands are shaky and I’m nervous honey. For the first time in twenty years I’m nervous. I’m nervous about our encounters and if little yisa would find out. God, please don’t let her find out. I love you both too much for that to happen. I’m perverted and vile. I’m too far gone to be saved, I realize this now. I’ve prayed to God countless nights on my knees for him to fix it. To make me see you as nothing as my daughter’s friend, but pretty baby. Every time I look at you, or think about you, those sinful feelings start bubbling from my stomach and I can’t help them. I ain’t a strong man. I wish I could be so I can stop torturing myself with the thought of you. The thought of burying myself inside you and never leaving. Every woman I’ve been with, every woman I’ve fucked. I thought of you. I can’t get there anymore without thinking about you. I need help yittle one. I need your help. I need you to drain me so I can be whole again. I need you, I need you, I need you. God help me.”

“To be carnally minded is death; But to be spiritually minded is life and peace.”

His voice jolts you. He stands at the foot of the bed. He looks like a kicked dog. He’s ashamed.

“Romans 8:6, that is the verse I couldn’t remember.”

He shakes his head. Chuckling lightly, he runs a hand through his messy dark hair. You stare at him. Glancing back and forth at the letter and him.

“When did you write this?”

“After the Polaroid instance.”

You nod, speechless. Tormented. You want to be with him. You love him, but you know it’d never work. It’d have to be a secret for eternity. A secret that’s going to tear both of you from the inside out.

“So what are we?”

You ask shakily, dreading the answer. His face is grim and his eyes are glassy.

“Star-crossed lovers.”

[elvispurdybby]

i need to be ruined by bde.

[elvispurdybby]

hey babes! can you write about bde (big daddy elvis) where he and reader are divorced but they still yearn for each other and it ends in smut?

of course! I’ve never wrote smut before so I’ll have to try my best, I hope it’s okay!

warnings: crying, mentions of being hospitalised and pills, fingering, oral (f receiving)

it was late at night, probably around 2 am and you couldn’t fall asleep. You were wandering around your house in your nightie, the floors were cold on your bare feet. You couldn’t help this feeling, like something was wrong. You really couldn’t place your finger on it but ever since that article came out about Elvis saying he was hospitalised for exhaustion, you knew something was wrong. Sure you and Elvis were divorced but you loved him dearly, you also knew he still adored you. Some nights you’d yearns to feel his arms enveloping your little body again, the way his somehow calloused but soft hands would hold your delicate ones as you walked together, the warm feeling in your belly when he looked at you. you missed it but you made a choice, the marriage was doing no good for any of you. Always arguing over you being too worried about him and his pills, the girls on the road. Even though he’s reassure you you were the only one for him. you made a choice which was you and Elvis were better off divorced, it hurt, it really did but it needed to be done.

all of a sudden you hear your phone ringing from your bedroom, you slowly approach the phone and pick it up, fiddling with the phone cord. That’s when you immediately hear Elvis’s soft sniffles, he didn’t know you had picked up yet, that’s until you talk

“elvis?” his sniffling suddenly stopped, he always did this, he always tried hiding his vulnerability, all the expectations that were pushed onto him made him afraid, afraid to be open and vulnerable, scared that the person would immediately go tell the press.

“darlin’? I-I’m real sorry to call this late. But I can’t do it no more, darlin’ baby I need to see you..I need to hold you, I’m so lost- so damn lost without ya” you didn’t know what to say, he couldn’t come over, you knew you wouldn’t be able to hold yourself back if he came but you felt your mouth betray your brain as you say

“please- come over then, you know the address” and before you knew it Elvis had hung up. Elvis practically ran to his car, drove through the mob of fans at his gate that were even there in the middle of the night. And only 20 minutes later you heard a knock on your door.

you slowly open the door, not knowing what to expect of him but he just stood in the doorway, completely still. He looked tired, exhausted even, he had gained some weight over the years which a lot of people criticised but it suited him in your opinion. He just stood there almost looking at you with a sad awe on his face. A minute passed by until he suddenly stepped forward and wrapped his big arms around you, the familiar warmth you had yearned for surrounded you, his scent. The embrace started off like as if he was squeezing you, checking to see if you were really real, holding you tight as his hands were all over your back, waist and arms. He needed to feel you. suddenly his southern voice rang in your ear

“darlin’ I need you, I’ve needed you ever since ya left, I’m so lost without ya- I need ta feel your body on mine again- these pills they don’t have no more, I can’t sleep. I need my angel” his angel. He had used to call you his angel when you were together due to your soft smile, big eyes and radiating glow. Suddenly his lips were on yours and his roaming hands ended on your ass. The hug grew more intense and almost sexual, yeah well thats when you felt the bulge in his pants, pressing up against you.

“elvis-“ you try, it’s not like you didn’t want him but you were divorced. Once again your body deceived your brain. You wrap your arms around him neck and he groans.

before you knew it you found yourself in your bed with Elvis on top of you, his fingers working on getting your nightie off. “Darlin’ i need ya so bad, I need ya live the air a breathe-“

he mumbles against your neck as he slides your nightie off leaving you in your light pink lace bra and panties. “Goddamn” he whispers softly to himself. God he’s missed this, he still loves you, there’s no denying it but this is a one time thing, he has to remind himself..you’re divorced

The minutes leading up to you both being completely naked was spent kissing each part of skin you could reach, touching, grinding and whispering. Suddenly you feel Elvis kissing down from your neck to your collarbone, then your chest and then your stomach, stopping right over your pussy. “Honey, can I? Please”

you don’t even say anything, you just nod and tangle your fingers in his fluffy jet black hair, pushing his face forward a bit, he grins softly against your pussy before getting to work, he’s missed this, you, your body, your pussy. He sure hadn’t lost his bedroom talent, his lips press onto your clit, suckling slightly as his finger finds its way to your cunt, sliding it right in, it was easy with how wet you were. You could feel the coil in your stomach tightening, your legs wanting to close..and they do, your legs shake and then close around his head and he laughs against your cunt, his deep laugh vibrating into you. Not long after, you moan his name almost pornographiclly as you squirt on his face, he opens your legs back up as he raises his head from your pussy, a stupid and proud grin on his pussy drunk face, some of his sideburn was even covered in your juices.

all of a sudden you just start laughing, this was absolutely ridiculous. Your ex husband just ate you out after not seeing eachother for months. He crawls onto you, burying his face in your neck as he also start laughing, his deep, rich, southern laugh filling the room.

[elvispurdybby]

Thoroughfare

Warnings: 18+ NSFW, smut, fluff, angst, daddy kink

"I'll find you."

Those were the last words Elvis had spoken to you as you made your way down the Santa Monica courthouse steps.

With cameras flashing and the fluttering of people weaving their way into a heavy crowd that rumbled in the base of your ear.

Life had never felt so deafening before. You can only hear the clicks of your heels against the cement. Eyes wide as you search for your car and struggle to meander your way through the crowd of paps.

Elvis, noticing your perturbed demeanor, immediately weaves a thick hand with your smaller one. The rough pad of his thumb, worn by years of guitar use among other things, circles itself against your knuckles.

The world settles into calmness once more when he squeezes your hand and says so softly only you can catch it, "I love you, sweetheart."

To see Elvis, to really, truly see him, was to hear the world sing around you.

────────

The next time you saw him was in Calabasas around midnight in the winter.

The buzz of LA traffic had settled some, and throughout your house, there was a warm quiet.

You were in your living room reading, embers from your fireplace dancing in your peripheral when a knock pulled you from your book.

Making your way over towards the entryway, you placed your book atop the shelf of your fireplace and slid the cover of peephole over.

It was Elvis.

You opened the door hesitantly, your eyes instantly meeting his heavy ones.

"Elvis?" You stepped back, opening the door wider. "What're you doing here?"

He was dressed in a white floor-length coat, baby blue dress shirt, black pants, and leather boots.

Elvis looked back at his car on the street before taking a step towards you.

"Can I come in?"

────────

It begins with gentle touches and tickled strokes to your skin or across your knuckles as you sit beside him at your couch.

His thighs are spread, and both hands rest on the tops of his dark pants.

There's a mark of his being that you suddenly remember. One that'd dwindled away with the years you hadn't seen him and one that seemed to settle into fabrics and textures of the room.

It was heavy and fortuitously reminded you of that great and suffocating presence he'd carried in the prime of this career.

There was an older feeling to it now. Resembling that of a paternal figure demanding respect of age.

He's been worn by it.

It reminds you of the way he'd basically raised you. Fathered you into existence.

And he meets your soft eyes so contritely.

He, your divorced husband, father, and penitent God all in one.

The image of him tainted with age and hurt.

Dark bags weigh under his sleepy eyes, white and grey specks trickle throughout his black hair and down into his sideburns, his hands are still rough – not at all softened by the earned cushioning of his life, and he's much larger now, much heavier around his middle.

"Elvis..." You start, tracing the skin of your thumb with the tip of your French tipped nail.

The words won't come out no matter how hard you try. His name brings a quiet and choked sob to your throat.

The fireplace crackles behind you, and your silk pyjamas suddenly feel as though they've begun to mesh with your skin.

"Why'd you come here, Elvis?" You finally manage through a quiet and shaky voice.

He doesn't respond for a moment, still running the pad of his thumb up and down the fabric of the arm of the couch.

You pray that he heard you. That you don't have to swallow the part of yourself grasping and sobbing for him to hold you and make it all go away back down.

"Wanted to see you." He breaks the heavy silence.

Your heart clenches in your chest, and a memory of him plays in your mind.

'Don't do that.'

You want to say. You want to tell him to get out. To leave your home and never come back. To pretend he never knew you.

You can't escape him. You try to reach into your memory to settle in nostalgia of your past, and it's surrounded by him.

Winters and autumn spent in Aspen and Colorado and Summers and springs spent in Memphis and California.

It hurts you so horribly that you don't think you can survive it. The heavy pain of everything you'd gone through with him.

Your naivety is long gone.

But you can't bear the words.

Tears well in your eyes.

The silence serves as enough for both of you.

Elvis gingerly moves his hand from the arm of the couch to hesitantly rest atop your thigh.

He moves carefully and skillfully, as if calming a wounded animal – somewhere beneath it all, thats what this is.

Gently, he circles his thumb over the soft skin of your thigh.

Your eyes are glued to his hand and how it dwarfs your leg – forgetting how much larger he's always been.

His rings glimmer under the lamp light when he squeezes your thigh comfortingly.

You can't bring yourself to look away as your knees slowly part, and you settle deeper into the couch.

Elvis brings his other hand up to cup your jaw, leading you towards him as he presses a line of kisses from the back of your ear, down to your jaw, and to the skin of your neck.

There's nothing you can focus on between the heat of him and the blood rushing in your ears.

"E-Elvis–" you try, shivering under his touch.

"Mhm," he hums against your skin, "M'here," he soothes, pulling a moan from your lips.

His sideburns tickle your skin.

You try to steady yourself by holding the wrist of his hand atop your thigh, but you only tremble in wake of it all.

"Why're you shakin'?" Elvis whispers softly, pressing another kiss to back of your ear, "S'just me," his hand slips from your thigh to rest between your legs, cupping your cunt through your pj shorts in his hand, "S'just Elvis, baby."

You whimper through a choked swallow, letting your chin rest in his hand as your eyes focus on his wrist between the soft insides of your thighs.

The bridge of his nose grazes the line of your jaw, and almost immediately, you're turning your head in his hand to meet him in a messy and sloppy kiss.

Elvis runs his tongue along the roof of your mouth with a shameless moan, and you shiver.

He pulls back from the kiss, pressing a peck to your wet lips before sitting back in his seat on the couch.

Propping his elbow up on the arm rest of the couch, he rests his temple against his hand.

You stare at one another for a moment, and you bashfully bask in the attention.

You jump when Elvis' thumb circles your clit through your panties and he offers a lax chuckle in response.

────────

You don't remember exactly how the two of you end up on the carpeted floor of your bedroom – between large hands grasping, squeezing, biting, and tickling at your skin and clashing teeth, it remains a sensual blur.

Elvis is knelt behind you on the floor, the both of you still dressed save for his cock pulled out of the top of his pants and your pj shorts pulled down to your knees and panties held to the side by one of his large hands.

"Daddy missed you." He says softly as he sinks into you – and the weight of him against you makes you sob.

"Cant," a cry rolls up your throat, and Elvis is quick to soothe the watery tone of your voice.

"M'here," he sinks deeper into you in the same breath, and you drop your head between your shoulder blades at the deepness of it.

A large ringed hand wraps around your jaw, keeping your head upright.

The heat of his thrusts paired with the weight of him, stomach to your back, makes your knees weak.

His arm wrapped around your middle lifts you some, keeping you upright.

"Daddy," you pout tearfully, voice breaking into a whine when he circles his hips, stretching the walls of your cunt.

Elvis shushes you again, kissing at the plush of your hot cheek. "He's gotcha." he coos.

You're so tired. So exhausted and worn on the seemingly endless worry of him.

How could he not see how tired you are. How mentally exhausted your mind is through the weight of the divorce and the constant hospital scares and calls from Lisa in the middle of the night.

He doesn't know how fragile he is.

Your husband, father, and God. Once thought to be invincible, swayed by the heavy weight of the world.

It terrifies you.

Sometimes, you wish he'd just come in the middle of the night and take you back to his bedroom in Graceland. Back where time stops and everything seems perfect.

He'd take care of you.

"Where'd you go, honey?" Elvis turns your head to the side and meets your tired eyes.

His thick brows furrow as he runs the pad of his thumb over your jaw gently.

"Elvis," You try, readjusting yourself on your knees, "M'really tired." The end of your voice tapers off into a choked wobble and Elvis coos along with your soft cry.

He doesn’t say anything as he drops his forehead to yours before pulling back to place a kiss at your hairline, "Need someone to take care of you?" He asks softly, stroking your cheek gently.

You nod, closing your eyes as you break into choked sobs, dropping your head between your shoulders and staring into the carpet, blurred by your hot tears.

Elvis runs his hand over the top of your head, gently massaging the skin of your scalp.

He covers you with his body, pulling his hand from your hair to weave with your own, the other balled into a fist, knuckles pressed into the carpet.

The girth of his cock stretches you so deliciously that it sends tingles throughout your thighs and to the tips of your toes.

Elvis uncurls his fist to hold the base of your neck, the cool metal of his rings, sending a chill down your arms, keeping you steady as he pumps into you.

His groans spur you on, making you go lightheaded. You mentally thank him for holding you up, your arms almost weak under him.

He's gotten heavier in the last few years, and it urges a submissive calmness in you, one that reminds you of the protective nature he holds you to.

"Y'okay?" He whispers softly through a kiss to your cheek.

You turn your head to meet his gaze through lidded eyes.

Raven bangs are slicked to his forehead with sweat, brows furrowed, and plush lips swollen.

Instead of answering, you bring a hand up to rest on his cheek, stroking the soft of his flushed skin and tip of his sideburn.

They've gotten longer since you'd seen him.

You meet his lips in a soft kiss, one that reserves decorum for the intimacy of the two of you woven with one another.

You don't know where you end and he begins.

"Are you okay?" You whisper against his lips, pulling away to press your forehead to his.

He nods, giving you a gentle thrust that has you gasping softly.

There's a moment that follows where you feel as though you're one in the same. As though he's in your thoughts as you take the weight of him and the stretch of his cock against your walls.

As you rock back into him, the two of you pant at one another, swallowing eachothers moans and whines through the space between you.

Elvis thrusts into you once and then twice before slipping out of you and rutting the veiny length of his cock up and down the soaked folds of your cunt.

It's a new feeling and something he hasn't done before, so vulgar in nature that you're half tempted to pry and tease him about who taught him that at his ripe age of forty but before you're able to, he's pulling the weight of himself off of you and falling back to rest on his haunches behind you.

It's quiet for a moment that strays too long that you begin to grow shy under his gaze. You lift both of your legs up in an attempt to cover yourself with your socked feet only for him to catch both your ankles in one large hand and press them down to the carpet again.

The action makes you whine, shaking your hips some.

Elvis takes mercy on you as he holds your panties back to the side and licks a long stripe up the folds of your pussy.

"Oh fuck," you gasp, reaching a hand back in search for his hair but you unexpectedly meet his hand as he weaves your fingers together with his.

His nose bumps and pushes against the lip of your cunt so well you almost sob, dropping your head down to the carpet as you rest on your forearm.

The new position allows him better access, and he moans into your heat as his tongue sinks into you deeper.

Pulling back from your cunt, a string of drool attached to his lips, he coos "Good girl."

He squeezes your hand softly as he nods his head back into you, tracing and circling his tongue past the swollen lips of your pussy.

Elvis pulls back again, and using his free hand, spreads the lips of your cunt.

You're vulnerable under the exposure, keeping your eyes closed.

He moves behind you, dropping his hand from your cunt and untangling your hand from his own before spreading the cheeks of your ass and pressing a soft kiss to your puckered hole.

You breathe shakily against the skin of your forearm, shivering when he sinks his cock back into you with a hearty groan.

"Elvis, haaa" your nails dig into the tufts of carpet.

He hums behind you, pulling the globes of your ass cheeks apart to watch as the veiny girth of his cock stretches your tight hole.

You coo for him again, reaching for him and failing to grasp ahold of any part of him.

Elvis notices your struggle – always so attentive to you – and pulls out of you before gently leading you to lay down on your back.

Gathering your ankles in one hand, he pushes your thighs up to your chest.

"There we go," he hums, sinking into you again while letting your legs fall to either of his shoulders.

The pressure meshed with the intimacy of it all brings tears pooling to your eyes. You choke back a watery moan as you call for him in the hot air of your bedroom.

"M'right here, sweetheart," he says softly, resorting to slow and gentle thrusts into your heat as he brings you into a kiss.

The veins of his cock run along your gummy walls and has you digging your nails into his wrists that lead to balled fists pressed into your carpeted floor.

"Daddy," you try, sobbing against his plush lips.

You meet his lidded blue eyes, heavy lashes stroking his soft cheeks.

He's battling something in his mind.

"Come home to me, baby." He gives you another thrust that has your back arching, your breasts pressing flush to his chest. His cool necklace sends a chill down your spine.

"I can't." You pant, trying to advert your eyes as you look between the two of your bodies where you meet, watching the slow stroke of his heavy cock.

Elvis guides his hand to your chin, holding your gaze, "Yes, you can. I'll take care of you."

You lean into his hand.

And for a soft and quick moment, you imagine you're back at Graceland, on the mistletoe red carpet.

"C'mon, sweetheart." Elvis' voice drops so quietly you almost miss it, the weight of a tearful sob heavy on his tongue.

Instead, you bring him into another kiss, weaving your fingers through his thick hair.

"Take care of me, please," you sob woefully.

Elvis nods, dropping his head to watch his cock pump into you.

"Harder," you whine, circling your thumb over the pulse point of his wrist. His bracelets rock and jangle with his movements.

"Daddy's givin' you all he has."

His cock pulses against your walls and you tighten against him.

"M'gonna cum," you cry, letting out a choked whimper.

Elvis hums above you, "Yeah, m'gettin' there, honey."

When you cum, you pull at him and he lets you. His stomach rests against you and he maneuvers to push one of your legs outward as he thrusts a couple more times into your cunt.

When he cums, it's far more primal – more filled with teeth and groans and hair in your face.

He presses his lips to yours in a sloppy kiss, and it's filled with sorrow and quietude.

Elvis had always told you the two of you would go out that way. With teeth clashing and bites and moans. With a quiet understanding that neither of you wanted it to end.

────────

Elvis spends the next few hours tending to you.

Poor wounded animal, comforted by its devourer.

Washing your hair in your shower and cupping your jaw to bring you into a gentle kiss ever so often.

You realize somewhere when your head's under the water and Elvis' hands are over your body, that he doesn't know how to say goodbye. He never has, having grown up with getting his every way since he'd turned nineteen.

He's leaving you with lasting parts and memories. The only way he knows how.

Later that night, the two of you lay in your bed with Elvis behind you and his arm under your head.

He strokes the tips of his fingers over your scalp in the quiet of the room.

The clock on your wall reads 2:15am.

The silence is comforting.

You turn over to tuck yourself against him, and he welcomes you, pulling you closer to him.

The fan hums, and Elvis presses a kiss to the top of your head ever so often, stroking a hand up and down the length of your arm.

"Don't leave," you say.

"M'not goin' anywhere," He says back softly.

The warm hum of his breathing and gentle clink of his jewelry lulls you to sleep.

────────

When you get the call on August 16th at 5 p.m., you hear the world pause, and time seems endless and all in the same, inescapable.

Everything's so quiet. You can't hear anything. The silence is defeaning.

You're lying on the carpeted floor of your bedroom.

When you close your eyes, he's there with you.

"I'll find you." You whisper.

[elvispurdybby]

he’s just so perfect.