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#Elvis imagine
elvisbooty76 · 3 days
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wanderingelvis · 2 months
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how about elvis & ditzy/innocent reader doing something in public?
thank you!! i don't do a lot of smut so i hope y'all like this! 🧚
🧚 masterlist 🧚 word count: 1,758
pairing: 70s elvis x innocent!ditzy!reader
warnings: fingering (f receiving), praise k!nk, overstim, public smut, daddy dom dynamics
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"This bit is my favourite." You whisper adorably to Elvis, trying to be as quiet as possible and contain your sweet excitement at the scene about to play.
It wasn't uncommon for Elvis to hire out the Memphian Theater for you two and the Mafia. In fact, it was the go-to activity for you all after a long day of Elvis performing, recording or rehearsing. It was however, a bit more unusual for Elvis to let you pick the movie.
The choice was Sleeping Beauty, your favourite movie and Elvis would often call you his 'lil' sleepin' beauty' as you did indeed remind him of Princess Aurora.
Elvis smirked down at you, sat upright by his side, your big round eyes fixed on the screen as you mindlessly parted those pretty pink lips and put popcorn in your mouth, over and over again, your attention not leaving the screen as Aurora met Prince Phillip in the woods for the first time.
Knowing how transfixed his sweet little thing was, Elvis effortlessly pulled you onto his lap, your attention never wavering from the screen as you let Elvis manhandle you like his own little dolly.
Slowly, Elvis started feeding you the popcorn, as you watched the movie like a good girl. Absent-mindedly, you'd wrap your lips around Elvis' thumb or his finger as he'd place it in your mouth so you could suck the sugary sweet residue off his digits.
Truth be told, Elvis hadn't followed along with the movie since the first scene, his attention solely on you. But oh, how he adored watching you be so entertained and sweet for him.
He knew the rest of the Mafia weren't over the moon with your choice of movie, it wasn't exactly the usual Western that they were used to, but Elvis didn't care, he only cared about the sweet thing on his lap. Besides, they were a few rows back, allowing the two of you to have your own space.
All of Elvis' affectionate touches and kisses went over your head initially, your mind elsewhere, enjoying the popcorn you were being fed by the big, old man who's lap you were settled on.
It wasn't until Elvis wrapped a strong arm around your tummy, holding you in place as he shuffled in his place, letting his legs part ever so, so that your legs were now completely apart, each leg dangling over each of his, leaving your core dangerously exposed under your sweet pink skirt, that you begin to feel that funny feeling in the pit of your stomach.
Gently, Elvis' coarse, large hands toyed with the hem of your skirt, his fingers lingering ever closer to your centre. Elvis kept his arm secured tightly around you, holding you in place so you couldn't squirm about as he began to trace circles into your plush thigh.
"Um..." You murmured softly, feeling that all too familiar funny feeling from Elvis' touch.
"Uh-uh doll, no talkin' durin' the movie pretty girl." Elvis reprimanded cooly, whispering in your ear from behind and making your shiver all over, causing you to try and squirm before realising that Elvis was holding you closely to him. "Eyes on the screen lil' one." Elvis instructed, quietly delighting in teasing you.
Elvis didn't wait though before he dragged his hands up your thighs, pushing up your pretty skirt and exposing your panties to the cold air of the theatre.
You blinked sweetly, trying to keep your attention on the movie that Elvis had paid a lot to have screened for you.
It was only when you felt Elvis' fingers toy at the damp fabric between your legs that you let out another stuttered gasp, your head lolling forward ever so, at the sudden sensation.
"Such a sensitive thing, hm?" Elvis whispered into your ear at your reaction at just a mere touch.
See, Elvis was right. It didn't take much for Elvis to stimulate you, he knew you inside out and he knew exactly how to work you into overdrive, and oh how we adored watching you get all antsy and disoriented.
And of course, Elvis knew what he was doing to you. He knew exactly what he wanted to happen during the movie as soon as he'd booked it. He knew that he'd wanted to pleasure you in the darkened room as soon as your eyes went wide with delight when Elvis told about the date night. Even as Elvis held your hand and led you to the seats in the theatre, Elvis knew those hands would be somewhere else entirely within a matter of minutes.
All you knew of course, was that you were excited for the movie that in your words was "just oh so pretty!". Elvis' decidedly darker intentions with you had gone right over your sweet head.
But there you both were, your lips parted and glossy as Elvis' fingers slipped under the damp fabric and began to massage your clit, pressing his thumb onto it and applying pressure as he rubbed you in circular motions.
Elvis watched with a smirk as he felt your chest rise and fall at a quicker and more erratic pace, he relished in the power he had over you.
You began to writhe in his hold before you felt his grip get tighter around your waist, his silent sign to hold still, a sign that you instantly obeyed. But there was nothing that could stop your head falling back on his shoulder as Elvis' fingers rubbed through your glistening folds, slick coating them.
Your breathing had now become erratic with breathy pants leaving your lips as the urge to mewl at the sensation grew and grew.
"Good girl, gotta keep quiet huh?" Elvis hushed, making you want to whine but you knew you couldn't draw any attention to the pair of you. "Now, pay attention to your movie baby." Elvis said, teasing you as he knew you were struggling with even keeping your eyes open, let alone concentrating on the movie on the screen but he just wanted to make you into a little mess.
And without warning, Elvis slipped a finger into your hole, your muscles tightening around it as you whimpered softly, tears pricking at your eyes from the searing pleasure and burn of it.
"That's it, taking it like such a good girl, ain'tchu?" Elvis soothed in your ear, knowing the torment he was putting you through by not letting you moan and whine like you normally would in Graceland.
You managed a feeble nod as your wet lashes fluttered, drinking in the pleasure as Elvis stretched your walls.
"Would you like another one?" Elvis asked cooly, a gloating smile taking over his face as you quickly nodded.
"Yes." You hissed, inadvertently rocking your hips ever so slightly, getting all desperate for Elvis' touch.
But Elvis wasn't one to give up control as he swatted your side at your movements, tsk-ing at you disapprovingly.
"Uh-uh Little, you just sit tight and keep them eyes on the screen and behave." Elvis reprimanded, as he stretched you further, putting in another finger, pumping them in and out of your pretty pussy, placing gentle kisses on your cheek and neck, overstimulating you more and more by the minute.
Your face was all flushed and pink, your hands balmy as you gripped onto Elvis' strong arm that was across your tummy with one of them and continued to hold the box of popcorn tightly with the other.
Elvis quickened his pace in you, watching with intensity as he watched a tear fall from your wet lashes. "Mmm baby, yer so sweet n' soaked, ain't ya?" Elvis teased lowly, watching you furrow your brow, trying so hard to be a good girl like you'd been told and keep in the moans you wanted to desperately to let out.
At this point, you're in total bliss, you're nothing more than a dripping mess in Elvis' arms, totally succumbed to his touch and desperate for more of it.
And this is exactly why Elvis is just so in love with you. You're his little dolly, to use exactly the way he wants, whenever he wants. It doesn't matter if the entire Memphis Mafia are 10 rows behind you, it doesn't matter if this is your favourite movie that you haven't seen for years, it doesn't matter that your panties are by your ankles in the middle of the Memphian, all that matters is that you belong to Elvis.
Truth be told, despite Elvis telling you multiple times not to make a peep, he didn't actually care if anyone heard the two of you, in fact, it turned him on to know that he had this sort of dominance and power over you that everyone would know that you're his, that you listen and follow every word that comes out of his mouth, that you love him just as much as he loves you.
You can feel that 'love' underneath you too, rock hard and huge, pressing into your ass, as he continues to pump his fingers into you and you bite your lip in a desperate bid not to cry out loud.
It didn't take long for Elvis to quicken his already fast pace on you, sending you into sensory overload, not being able to cope and hold it in any more.
"Let it out f'me." Elvis soothed sternly and it wouldn't be a lie to say your vision went all blurry and starry as your mind become clouded and you felt that familiar warmth spread through your body and your pussy leaking on Elvis' fingers and pant leg.
You couldn't help but let out a gasp as Elvis removed his fingers from you and Elvis didn't reprimand you this time, knowing that all you'd been was a good girl for him.
Elvis manouvered you ever so slightly so he could grab your damp panties that had fallen to your ankles and pocketed them before you had the chance to lazily grab them, he'd give them back to you when you both arrived back to Graceland.
Elvis watched you with that shit-eating grin on his face as you blinked hazily, looking adorably dumb-founded as you sat in his lap, cum dripping down your bare leg as you looked up at him with that gorgeous, innocent gaze that Elvis could simply die for.
"You're gon' miss the movie dolly." Elvis said softly, pointing his ring clad finger at the screen, as he rubbed soothing circles in your back, knowing you'd be begging to come back to the movie theatre in no time.
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starryschoolgirl · 5 months
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Good Husbandry
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Summary -> While you view preparing for your honeymoon as finding all the hottest destinations in Honolulu for tourists, Elvis knows that he must help you, his soon-to-be virgin bride, understand all that comes with the honeymoon. What a good man he is, to give you a little hands-on lesson on what good husbandry is.
Warnings -> Lovely domestic things, innocence/purity kink, religious undertones, smut, just the tip trope, hinted breeding kink, swearing, Elvis gets a little rough, mention of RFK's assassination, the reader is overbearingly sheltered when it comes to topics like sex, cum eating, fantasies of "ruining" a girl's vagina, there's definitely some plot here I won't lie, loved writing this a little too much.
WC -> 7.3k
A/N -> This is an installation of the Baby Love AU. Find Masterlist Here!
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The past few days had been a whirlwind of emotion for everyone. Elvis was doing press conferences for the NBC special he was about to start filming for, and while you usually go with him, with the recent assassination of Robert F. Kennedy, it was decided unanimously that it would be best if you were at home.
Elvis would have liked to keep you by his side, but given your family’s public connection to the Kennedys he knew that the press might behave in an uncalled for manner toward you.
It was also to be noted that he’d been very patient with you the entire week, after all you did know the man. He was a close family friend, a lot closer to your father, mother, and older brother than you. But there were still tears shed a few nights ago when it had occurred.
Most of that week you sat around the current California home, keeping the couch company like you were the prettiest of pillows as you spent most of your time on the telephone with your hysterical mother and being soothed by your childhood nanny who now watched your younger brother. You’d decided to write a letter to Ethel, she was no doubt being bombarded with phone calls from press and other family with the recent death of her husband. 
It was a rough way to start the month, it was only 6 days into June when something as tragic as that had occurred. 
You were certain things would change in regards to the guest list of your wedding just a little over a week away, for one you could understandably count on the possible absence of Ethel Kennedy and her children. Aside from her it wasn’t Elvis’ side you were worried about, because when Elvis says jump they all say “how high?”. It was your own side that worried you.
You knew it was selfish and stupid to be thinking of that at a time like this, those poor Kennedys have been through so much. But you couldn’t help the worrisome thoughts that lingered in your mind. Your parents already didn’t approve of Elvis all that much, with the influx of emotion that this event caused they might just cancel all together and then you’ll be left without anyone from your own family.
And that alone could cause an emotional storm to brew in Elvis. He always expressed his own disdain for your family, but you knew there was guilt deep down that he felt. And if he realized that he were the reason your wedding day went without family, he would be angry with you and himself. But that was only because he felt things very deeply, he was caring in that way.
So you made sure the past few days to get in as much reading as possible, so that even if your wedding doesn’t end up being the dream you hoped for, that your knowledge of your honeymoon destination would make up for it.
It had to be perfect. You had to be perfect.
"We better get up and get changed soon..."
You hummed absently at Elvis' words as your eyes continued to skim along the page.
"Wouldn't want the rest of the boys seein' ya in ya nightie"
You hummed once more at whatever he had said, much too focused on your book to pay much mind. Elvis noticed this and laughed softly as he asked,
"What are ya readin' Honey?"
You looked up from the book that you had been enthralled in for the past half-hour to see Elvis staring at you over one of his religious books, he had a crooked smile and a quirked eyebrow, his facial expression likely from the fact that you were actually reading a book.
You smiled cheekily and crawled closer to him on the bed, resting your cheek on his shoulder as you quickly card your floral bookmark in between the pages you were on before closing it and presenting it to Elvis, your fiancé.
"It's a book all about Hawaii, it has some of the best secret locations on all the islands, including Oahu"
You smiled up at him as his eyes scrolled to look over at you then at the book, a smirk playing on his lips as he did so. He set his book down on his lap to grab yours, one of his fingers tracing over the cover as he murmured honestly,
"Well Babylove, I don't think these locations are all too secret anymore considerin' the book is 7 years old"
You hummed softly at the statement. Truthfully you only picked the book off the shelf because one, it said Hawaii which is the place you and Elvis were planning to be your honeymoon destination, and secondly, it was pink.
Elvis shook his head fondly and brought a hand up to ruffle your hair, thankfully at the moment there were no rings on his fingers to pluck and pull at the strands of your hair. With that in mind you happily leaned into the touch like a cat getting its fix from its owner.
You roll your body closer, dragging one leg over Elvis' legs as if he were one of those long body pillows. You snuggled your face into his chest, feeling the silky fabric of his short ascot scarf. He'd recently begun wearing them often, you didn't mind it because you could tug him by his scarf whenever you wanted a kiss.
Your voice was soft and murmured into the fabric, "I wanna start our marriage off right, our honeymoon has to be perfect, and this book,”
You pull back for a moment to grab the book and open it to the first page. Elvis watches with an amused smile as your dainty little finger flies across the dust-colored pages to the sentence that you read aloud,
"These spots will guarantee a sweet time with that special someone"
Elvis’ voice is laced with harmless sarcasm (that you don’t quite catch) as he says,
“Oh well if the book says so, it has to be true”
You then excitedly close the book and show Elvis the back cover, where a quote from what must've been a review was laid out in bold, "Has the hottest places for America’s hottest honeymoon destination"
Elvis laughed softly. His arm wraps around your shoulder as his hand runs up and down your back, calluses grazing the delicate fabric of your satin nightie with a scratching sound before taking its rest on the curve of your ass. He explains, "Well little one, there's a bit more to honeymoons and marriage than that"
Your eyebrow quirks in the way you learned from watching Elvis' own eyebrow within the span of your relationship. It looked as if you were suspicious of Elvis, thinking he was trying to pull the wool over your eyes.
With a gentle hand Elvis removed the book from your hand and set it on the nightstand where he then set his own book on as well. You laughed softly as Elvis’ hands pulled you into your place, till you straddled his lap innocently for him to explain something,
“Well Babylove, a big part of marriage and honeymoonin’ is good husbandry.”
You go silent for a second, thinking to yourself as your fingers trace little shapes on Elvis’ chest absentmindedly. When you come to the conclusion that you’re clueless on the subject you ask,
“What’s husbandry?”
Elvis’ hands run along your sides, running up to your ribs, down to your hips, then repeating their cycle, it was in his own absentmindedness that he did it as he explained,
“Well, husbandry is kind of cultivatin’ and makin’ use of land, sorta like plantin’ a seed and takin’ care of it.”
“Like farmers do?”
“Very good girl, like farmers do. Now ya see, that comes into play within things like marriage and honeymoons. To be a farmer, the first thing ya gotta do is plant a seed, then ya get your farm goin’ and everythin’ is just dandy as long as you keep takin’ care of that seed.”
You nodded your head along to what he was saying, it made sense. But what did that have to do with your honeymoon?
“Just as that goes, to be a husband, you also gotta plant a seed. So ya see, in marriage, instead of a farmer plantin’ a seed, it’s the husband who plants the seed, and he plants it right in your petals”
You grimaced with embarrassment as you heard Elvis mention your “petals”. Such talk was still very new to you. Having been raised by the church most of your life, and having only attended catholic private schools, you’d been taught that such talk was deplorable and vulgar. 
Elvis seemed to be trying to undo all their teaching as he was very free and open with topics such as that one.
He could see the way your face began to dust a precious pink along your cheeks as you stared down at your hands scrunching up his shirt’s fabric within them. He couldn’t help but adore his sweet girl and lift your chin to take in the entirety of your innocence, the privilege of being innocent and naive having been fed to you with a silver spoon since you were a baby with your family’s fortune.
Your education didn’t span too far, it was done under the assumption that you’d be protected from the roughness of the world, the riff-raff. And though Elvis was a fair match monetarily-wise to your parents and the people you were raised around,with enough money to keep you as far away from the world’s roughness as possible, he was still considered to be in that riff-raff crowd.
Oh, what a shame for your family and the rest of your upper-class culture to have a rare purity, like you whisked away from your family made up of good breeding and a pure bloodline by a man like Elvis who would screw it all up when he one day planted his seed into your womb, making your once purebred French bloodline his own as he mixed himself into the history of your DNA to make a child that you will carry for months.
A child you will love to no end while your ancestors roll over in their graves.
Just the thought of it all made Elvis giddy.
His smile is cheeky as he grabs one of your nervous hands to soothe you while also keeping a grip on your chin with his other hand, his voice is breathy from speaking through a laugh,
“Now don’t let me lose ya, still got some splainin’ to do”
You can’t help but continue to duck your head away into your shoulder to hide your embarrassment, till Elvis pulls you out of it with his sweet little nickname for you,
“C’mon now Bubbles, need ya to keep listenin’ f’me”
You look up to meet those dark blues of Elvis’ that pierce with a strange softness.
“To seal the marriage a man plants his seed in a woman, and from then on he has to take care of that woman, that’s good husbandry. That’s part of what happens on a honeymoon. Understand?”
You nod slowly, and mumble a soft, “I understand”, before laying yourself down on Elvis, making yourself comfortable as you lay your head against his chest, your arms wrapping around his torso, somehow squeezing their way between Elvis' frame and the mattress.
Marriage seemed scary. Ever since you had gotten engaged to Elvis you felt a different weight begin to fall on your shoulders. And though you were excited to marry Elvis, you couldn’t help but remember how your mother described marriage to be with your father.
As Elvis dragged his hands along your body tracing every poke of a bone through your skin he closed his eyes, showing his affection through the action, you thought back to how marriage was represented to you as a little girl.
There were nights when your father stayed late for work that you’d sit on the floor between your mother's legs as she sat on the sofa, by then she would be nursing her 4th glass of wine that night, and let her braid your hair before bed.
You’d whimper softly as her diamond-littered gaudy engagement ring, which was comparable to the one you now owned, would catch on some strands of your hair. But you wouldn’t voice any complaint as she was too busy voicing her own, complaining to an 8-year-old you about your father’s “wandering eye”, how he loves work more than he loves his family, and that he can’t even function without a pill, in what sense she meant “function” you’d never know, because you only saw your father as a personal superhero. The man who would bring gifts like Santa, the man who would read you to bed on the rare nights he could, the man who held the whole world in his hand every time he held you.
You didn’t recognize the man your mother would drunkenly describe. And soon after you wouldn’t recognize your own mother as she would break into tears and talk about how it’s her fault, and that she knows it all falls on her to make the marriage work, she just needs to try harder.
You’d caress her knee and try to soothe the adult, “It’s okay Mommy”, while mustering up the courage to promise her that, “It’ll be okay”
And then at the end of the night, she would turn you around and slur with as much affection as she could muster,
“Always tend to your husband Sweetie, don’t make a prude of yourself like me, don’t make a nagging wife, be pleasant and pliant and you’ll be a happy wife”
Of course you weren’t married yet, and that might’ve been what was causing you to be such a worrywart, because you were scared of the unknown. That’s why you’ve been trying your best to find ways to start the marriage off in the best way possible.
But you now had a whole other thing to worry about perfecting, husbandry. 
It would all work out though, as long as you heed your mother’s words and be a pleasant, pliant wife, you’ll be just fine, and you’re confident that Elvis would never turn out to be the kind of husband that your mother described your father to be.
You mumbled into the fabric of Elvis’ shirt,
“How does a man plant his seed in a woman?”
Elvis’ hands came to a halt at your words. He thought he’d gone over this kind of thing with you before, then again there was never much need to. You never prodded for more than you were given, because you were simply unaware there was more you could get out of the pleasures of your body.
Elvis stared down at the top of your head as you kept your cheek resting on his chest, he realized how abstract your thoughts must’ve been compared to his within your relationship. He had spent countless nights holding himself back from making you his completely, there were so many times he easily could’ve done so. So many times you put yourself in the position to be vulnerable to the disgusting thought of a man who knew the pleasures you could give.
Had Elvis been a different man he would’ve done so by now, taken you shamelessly and left you crumpled on the floor next to your crumpled up clothes.
But he’d be reigned back by the thought that God wouldn’t make something like you, something so pure and holy, for sin. Had Elvis not been a god-fearing man he would’ve had his way with you.
All those nights he spent eating you out, listening to you finally break that voice box of yours in, the only thing he’d thought about was how much louder you would be when he could finally fuck you, meanwhile you thought that the sensation guided by Elvis’ tongue that momentarily blinded you was as good as it got, was as close as you’d get to God.
Oh Elvis could show you so much more, teach you so much more, touch you so much more. And as shameful as it is, he’d be a liar if he said that the fact that he wanted to be the one deflower you didn’t play a role in your engagement.
“I could show ya how it’s done Honey, would ya be alright with that? It’s a little different from anything we’ve ever done”
You sat up on his lap and nodded as you kept a hand to support yourself up on his stomach. He basked in the sight of you with a small smile, digging his hands through your hair like roots in the dirt, so deep and entangled it could be hard to tell where your hair began and his hands ended.
It wasn’t at all painful in the way your mother’s hands used to rest in your hair during her drunken stupor.
It was gentle as Elvis always was.
He used a gentle force to pull you close enough for him to press a kiss to your forehead for a moment and hold it there, you closed your eyes and let out a breath, any stiff stress in your body leaving at the touch of Elvis’ lips.
He pulled away, lips and hands.
“Lay down Baby”
Elvis patted your side of the bed and you quickly laid down as you usually would, and with a quick fwip of his hips Elvis’ knees rested just outside your thighs, his entire body hovering above yours as he reached over to your nightstand.
You heard the clink of glass, no doubt the two glass figurines you’d had since you were a child, your voice was soft but panicked as you felt a pang of protectiveness over your childhood trinkets.
“W-What are you doing?”
His response was immediate as he knew your sentimental feelings toward your figurines,
“It’s alright Honey, jus’ turnin’ Dottie and Lottie around”
“Oh.”
You let out a sigh of relief before having a blush spread like a wildfire in the summer across your cheeks. When Elvis had first touched you, you felt the need to turn your glass figurines Dolores and Charlotte, also known as Dottie and Lottie, around before he could continue any further. When he asked you why you could only mumble a quiet explanation about wanting to preserve their innocence. Elvis didn’t mind the strange gesture, he thought it was rather cute actually, it was something so girlish and sweet, something he’d never think of, it further instituted that you really were an endearing little girl.
And ever since then anytime Elvis touched you, he’d always turn your figurines toward the wall for you. And him doing it now meant that to plant his seed in you, he had to touch you.
You close your eyes as you relax into the mattress completely, and feel a shift in the bed then the cold air began to linger up your nightie, or rather Elvis made your nightie linger up your skin, giving way for him to view the cutely contrasting color of your pastel yellow panties to your pastel blue short satin nightie.
As the bed shifted a little more you allowed Elvis to part your legs so he could slide off the piece of fabric, his hands caressing the skin of your ankles a few seconds longer than the rest of your leg, and then he intricately removed your panties off your feet he laid them on the outside of your thigh, within arm's length.
You assumed what you’d be feeling next was what you always felt whenever he touched you, those calloused fingers of his walking their way up your thighs as he made himself comfortable right between the two limbs, his mouth and nose inches away from that bundle of nerves that he so lovingly explained was the bud of your little rose. 
His fingers would then drift down to what he called the petals of your rose, separating them gently, exposing your hole to the cold air of the room making you shiver like the scared little girl you were as he did so. But he liked it, liked how visceral all your reactions were from your inexperience.
Only this time, you’d been wrong as you heard the familiar shink of his belt, and as if you were a trained dog and his belt were a clicker, your eyes shot open as you knew what that sound meant. It meant you got to do the touching, but, why were your panties off if you were doing the touching?
As you sat up you saw Elvis shucking his pants and boxers down, you watched with a blush as you saw his dick, it wasn’t yet completely hard, it more so at half-staff if anything, with that it maintained enough loose skin so that the usual image of his veins bulging profusely through the thin skin was not a sight you’d yet see, but you could change that.
As you sat up with your legs still spread enough so that Elvis once he was free of his pants was able to swiftly kneel between them. You leaned forward with an eager hand but Elvis had caught your wrist before you’d made it to your target, you batted your eyelashes up at him in confusion.
“Elvis?”
He had a crooked smile on his lips and asked, “Don’t ya remember what ya gotta do first? C’mon Hon we’ve been over this a dozen times”. You had to think for a moment but felt flushed with embarrassment at your own mistake.
Elvis’ eyebrow ticked upward as he caught your realization, then he slowly raised your hand up to your mouth for you to lick a stripe along it. When he didn’t immediately pull away you knew to keep lapping at the skin till Elvis saw it suitable.
His head tilted down a little as he made eye-contact with you through the cracks of your fingers, staring at you as you licked lines of wet along the lines of your palm, he was mumbling a praise or too like “There ya go”, and “Just like that”. You only shut your mouth as his free hand came up to cup your cheek and gently push you back from your hand.
With your newfound view of his cock it definitely looked less limp than before but Elvis had taught you how to get it standing, and you wanted to show him that you could. He’d been loosening the reins lately and had been giving you more independence to touch him in the way you knew he liked. But at the perfect moments he’d step in and be a helping hand, wrapping his much larger hand around yours as he showed you what kind of pace he liked when his dick twitched a specific way.
It was him helping you build this muscle memory that was slowly etching its way into your brain, on the walls of your skull, and in the nerves of your hand
With the softest of groans leaving Elvis’ mouth your eyes shot up from his cock that maintained the attention of your palm, wanting to see his face, see the preview of your own triumph as you continued to stroke with the pace his hand guided yours along.
His smile was gone as his mouth twisted slightly to let out the low noise, he licked his lips quickly and tightened his hold on your hand, in turn tightening your hold on his cock as he ran your palm up and down it, your voice was hesitant and soft as you questioned, “L-Like that Elvis? I do it like that…”
He hummed an affirmation and mumbled, “Keep at it”, before pulling his hand off yours, leaning back on the bed on his palms while watching you with lowered lids, had they been any lower they would’ve been closed.
You tried shuffling yourself closer by planting your heels into the mattress and scooting yourself closer, but it was hard to focus on both things. You didn’t want to louse up what a good job you were doing, but you felt you could do better if you were just a little closer.
Elvis must’ve read your inner turmoil as he leaned off his palms and cupped the back of your knees with each hand, pulling you closer at the top of your calves where they connected with your thighs. As you continued with your strokes you noticed how close you now were, your bare pussy had never been so close to Elvis’ cock.
With the realization a strange curiosity shot through you, a kind of curiosity that had filled your senses one of the first times you’d sat on Elvis’s lap. He kept you on one knee easily, and it had been the leg that he often bounced absentmindedly, and as he easily bounced you on his leg you felt a weird sensation, and that damned curiosity of yours got the best of you subtly shifted on his leg, and suddenly the jumbling of your legs on his knee had shifted to a jumbling on a small bundle of nerves between your legs.
No you wouldn’t let your curiosity get the best of you again, you wouldn’t.
As Elvis pulled his hands away from your legs he leaned back on one palm and the other he reached forward to rub that very bundle of nerves you’d just been thinking of about. Just the slightest bit of force made your body react with what could be described as a convulsion as you breathed out a noise of surprise.
Elvis’ almost dazed look on his face didn’t shift as he glided his calloused thumb down between your folds, scooping up whatever was beginning to wet them, then using it as a lubricant to give your clit a good rub down, his facial expression unwavering as he watched you twitch and struggle to focus on doing a good job.
His voice was low and almost sounded slurred as he mumbled,
“Now this is hard ain’t it Honey? Tryin’ to pleasure each other at the same time?”
Your face shrunk and your lip quivered as you tried to maintain that you wouldn’t break under the sensations of it all, wanting to do good.
Upon gaining no answer Elvis’ eyes glazed up to meet yours, they now shifted to sympathy as he reassured you gently with little circles of his thumb around your bud,
“It’s alright Baby, I know it. I know it’s hard, that’s why through marriage a man can plant his seed in a woman, makes it easier y’know? A man can help you while he helps himself, ya shouldn’t have t’be doin’ work Honey”
You don’t know when you started nodding along to his words, you hardly understood them, but the way his eyebrows arched, the way his lips curled, the way his voice drew out, he seemed like he knew everything in the world. He was so in his element that you wouldn’t question it if he told you a cat were a dog.
But you had to ask, through your soft pants and whimpers, “H-how?” How was it possible to both be pleasured at the same time? How was it possible for both of you to reach that special spot just between the earth and the heavens where all felt impossibly right?
Elvis’ lips grew to a smirk once more as he removed his thumb from your clit and his hand wrapped around yours to pull you away. As you looked down you saw that familiar sight, that thin skin stretched out to show that long vein that started at the side of his dick and traveled down the center.
His other hand ran up your calf, to your thigh just to rest on your stomach, still covered by the top of your satin nightie, and with a firm force and a, “Lie back f’me” you were laid down on the bed with your legs spread.
He spread them a little further, and you watched as best you could while still laying down, craning your neck painfully to see what he was doing as he made a ring out of his thumb and index finger.
Elvis’ eyes met with yours, making sure you were watching before lining the tip of his cock up with the little makeshift hole he made of his fingers for demonstration.
“When a man plants his seed, he fills you with himself. This right here,” He lifted the little ring he’d made of two fingers, “This is like that little hole between your petals, so what I’m gonna do is fill it just slightly,” he slid the ring over the tip of his cock, leaving you to watch with a mouth slightly agape as his movement stretches the foreskin.
It’s not like when you stroke him though, he stops much too short, and doesn’t even go near the base of his cock, he ends at the base of the tip only.
“Now, this much is just till the wedding Hon. We can only do just the tippy top Baby, can’t break ya in just yet, we gotta wait till we’re unified under God to make that kinda connection-”
“...cause it’s special”
Elvis looked up at you, surprised to hear your soft voice so suddenly, it seems the words left your mouth with a little thoughtful pout. God, let this man hold back today. Let him be graceful and kind to his babylove, Elvis thought to himself as he smiled softly and hummed, 
“Yes it is sweet girl, it’s somethin’ special”
As a moment of sweet silence filled the air the two of you made eye contact, you smiled, feeling unsure of what was to come, he smiled back knowingly.
“Are ya ready Babylove?”
You bit your lower lip nervously and could only nod with trusting eyes. Elvis’ figure suddenly shut out most of the light from the ceiling as he supported his body above yours with one hand while he used his other to line up the tip of his cock.
You let out a shaky breath as he parted your fold with the tip of his cock before running it along your leaking slit. From the bottom up past the top till he hit that bundle of nerves that he could find with a blindfold. You squeaked softly at the bit of force he was using to circle your clit with his cock.
Elvis swore he’d do everything with you in mind, but as he watched the way your big eyes would crinkle to little bouts of eyelid folds and as he saw the way your lip quiver with every squeak and breath you let out, he couldn’t help himself but gauge your reaction to a little something.
Your breaths came out one by one in panic as you suddenly felt the tip of his cock begin to bat around your little bundle of nerves from the top, from side to side, even attacking from the bottom. Your eyes shot open from their little crinkles of stress and just before you could open your mouth his little batting around of your sensitive bud turned to slowed drawn out circles rubbing along the edge.
“That feels good huh Honey? It’s gonna get even better, just need ya to relax. Uh huh, that’s good, you’re doin’ good”
You relaxed into it, your jaw falling slack and your breaths coming out shallow. As you sank into that warmth that always accompanied Elvis’ gentle touch, Elvis pulled his neck back slightly to get a better look at your hole, with your folds parted he had a perfect view if he could look past his cock. He craned his neck a little to the left and found the target, wide open from your relaxed state, he licked his thumb to lubricate it and like a veteran, he navigated his cock down and at the forefront of it as his thumb took its place and pace in circling your clit, had you not been watching through lidded eyes you wouldn’t have even noticed.
“Here it come Baby, here it come”
Elvis couldn’t even look at you to gauge your reaction as his head fell back immediately as he was engulfed by your heat. Somewhere in the distance he heard a high-pitched noise but he was too high on the feeling- No, the knowledge that the first thing to fill you, to really fill you was his uncut cock’s head.
He breathed out to the ceiling, or rather to the Lord,
“Fuck…”
How could a feeling like this fill his mind, body, and soul from just the tip going in. Shit if he hadn’t already proposed to you he would do it now, just so he could one day feel the full effect of your body on his.
And then he finally peered down at you, and you were a sight to behold. He hadn’t been with a virgin in a long time, and the ones he had been with, you made them look like the most experienced girls in the world.
Your face was crumpled and your clenched fist was brought up to your mouth, you bit down so hard on your knuckles Elvis could see the skin losing its color around your little teeth. His hand slid down to your hip, running along the skin soothingly, as he hummed out, “Relax, it’s alright, just relax”
You nodded and pulled your fist from your mouth to show you were relaxing, but as your lower lip trembled Elvis could only softly remind, “Relax…”
And after a few moments of Elvis running his hands along your hips you spoke in an unsure whisper, “I-Is that it?”, Elvis sighed with a smile, “No Hon, don’t worry, but I can’t show ya the rest till ya relax, alright?” Elvis could feel you tightly around him, if he tried to pull the head of his cock back out he’d hurt you, he knew that.
"I-I am relaxed"
“No ya not Babylove”
You sighed softly, feeling a bit frustrated, this wasn’t what you thought it would be, it hurt. And it was obvious that you weren’t acting in the most pleasing way, so you lied through your teeth with a bit of an edge to your quiet words, “I’m relaxed.”
Elvis’ soft smile fell slightly at the tone of voice, and his eyebrows rose as he stared down at you, only now you avoided eye contact and opted to look at the wall. You tried to focus on the paint of the wall as best you can but it was thrown out the door as you felt a painful pull.
You whined at the feeling, and watched as Elvis pulled out, now you attempted to look him in the eye but he didn’t even spare you a glance as he muttered before lining himself up again, “Call that fuckin’ relaxed? If you’re so relaxed it should be easy goin’ back in”
Before you could voice an apology he’d already shoved the tip back in. It was much rougher than the first time he had put it in, it had you release a loud whimper and kick your feet, your heels pushing you away from his body, but his hips only chased further.
And those hands that were soothingly rubbing along your hips earlier now had them in a bruising grip to keep you from moving.
“Said ya relaxed, so fuckin’ act like it-”
Elvis let out a low groan as he stroked his cock while your little hole contracted from the stress of it all, it was like you were trying to swallow him, trying to suck him down into you. Almost like your body knew you needed his seed. And had he been a different man, or more accurately, had you been a different girl, he would’ve given it to you without shame. But you were different, you were special, you made this special.
He pulled out once more just to push back in, and then he repeated with no time in between, leaving you gasping at the rough push and pull of his cock head and whining at it, before blubbering out a series of apologies to him.
“I’m sorry! I’m sorry, ‘m not relaxed..! I-It hurts Elvis..!”
He’d ignored your apologies, but the way you said his name, like he could solve all your problems while also causing all of them, it was like you had this type of innocence. A pure innocence that no matter the pain he’d cause you, you’d still love him. Like if he kicked you, you’d come running right back.
Elvis stopped himself from pulling out once more and stared down at you, his grip released and one of his hands cupped your cheek and rested a thumb at the corner of your eye just before your temple, ready to catch a tear in case those teary eyes of yours spill over.
You stared up at him with a frown and pulled your hands to rest nervously on your stomach, feeling a sudden sense of awkwardness mixed with discomfort at the idea of Elvis being upset with you. But instead he seemed to sympathize with you,
“Now you see, ya gotta listen to me Babylove. I don’t expect much from ya, all I expect is honesty, now, be honest and let me know when you relax.”
You let out a shaky breath and soft noise as Elvis’ thumb landed back on your clit, beginning to rub those circles that make your hips twist a little from instinct. Elvis’ lips had been on yours in the blink of an eye, but his kiss was deep and slow, it wasn’t like when he’d kiss you so hard and so fast that your teeth knocked against his. Instead you felt his tongue explore each and every inch of your mouth carefully, could feel the way his tongue swiped along the small space between your lower gums and teeth.
His nose lightly grazed against the start of your cheek as he tilted his head to get a different angle. 
And in what would be one of the only moments for you to catch your breath within the kiss, you managed to breath out, “‘M ready”
It was a different kind of tug due to the efforts of the both of you. You were relaxed and open and Elvis was only rocking back and forth into you, no complete pulling, you couldn’t handle that yet.
With each rock of his hips, you let out a little breath or squeak. For a moment you lost focus as you watched the way Elvis used the thumb on one hand to stroke your little bud while using his other hand to stroke himself, but you were pulled back into your moment with Elvis as he groaned lowly, followed by a groan that sounded a bit more throaty. He was close.
And knowing that it was because he was in you made you feel a sense of excitement, and sense of sexuality, realizing you could make a man feel this way by doing nothing but laying there like a pliant doll.
Be a pliant wife. Your mother was right.
Your hips dragged upward slightly, crashing into his hips that were rocking down into you, the collision of skin made you moan softly as your manicured nails reached for the sheets, one hand gripped them brutally while your other hand ended up in Elvis' hair, not gripping, only carding through the dark strands.
“E-Elvis, it’s- I’m…”
You couldn’t describe it, what was coming, but thankfully you didn’t have to as he mumbled into your lips,
“I know Baby, I know. It’s comin’ f’me to, comin’ fast Babylove- H-how’s it comin’ for you?”
As the upward grind of your hips turned to little upward thrusts that your feet could manage on the slippery sheets of the bed you could hardly choke out a word as his thumb had entertained that warmth just below your stomach for too long, it’d been teased and tugged along far too long from the rubbing of his thumb on your little bundle of nerves that at its peaking point, it snapped, leaving you to try and choke out the words,
“It- I- It’s-”
As your mouth remained agape but your voice fell silent, and those pitiful attempts at thrusts of yours fell back to wishful grinds of your hips. Elvis thanked the Lord, he’d been trying his best to hold on for you, to slow his rocking when he felt himself get a little too close, he’d been edging himself almost the entire time for you.
And now as he pulled out and continued to stroke his cock with one hand, the hand previously fondling your clit reached for the pair of panties he laid aside so long ago.
As you caught your breath you watched as Elvis’ hand stroked twice, thrice, four more times along his length before he buried his cock in your crumpled up panties, letting his head fall back and a guttural moan fill the room as he reached his peak.
After a few moments of silence accompanied by the pants of the both of you Elvis removed the metal ring holding his short ascot scarf together at the center of his neck, you heard a clink as he tossed it somewhere on the wood floor, then you watched as the fabric got closer to your face, closing your eyes at the contact you could feel Elvis wiping away the dampness building on your head and cheeks from the heat what you just experienced. As the feeling left you watched as he wiped his own face off before bringing the satin scarf down to your petals, wiping off the proof of your pleasure from your pussy’s lips then wiping off your thighs that happened to be the victims of the heated juices that spread through your body which were shoveled out from the earlier pulls of Elvis’ cock’s head.
After Elvis caught his breath and pulled the panties away from his cock to see his work, then he flipped it toward you, and you saw that familiar white liquid that Elvis told you was a reward for your hard work.
“When we get married and I fill you with my seed, this is what I’ll be fillin’ ya with, I promise…”
Your eyes were lidded and tired, but full of love as you took in the sight of your fiancé, his once perfectly coiffed hair now ruffled, you could see sweat stains forming on the blue silk shirt he didn’t bother to take off before starting, and those eyelashes of his must’ve been batting so much as he now had a stray on his cheek, he must’ve missed it with his scarf.
As Elvis prepped your reward, scraping it off the pastel fabric with a finger you parted your lips, and as he finger-fed you his seed you accepted the finger into your mouth, closing your lips around it as you sucked it clean. “Atta girl, did so well” 
Your own little finger guided up his cheek to swipe the eyelash off his cheek, he watched with confusion at the way you smiled around his finger, then you flipped your finger around to show him.
As he crawled over your body to lay down beside you, removing his finger in the process you spoke with a bit of hoarseness, “Make a wish”
Elvis smiled fondly and put a hand over your thigh, “You can have this one Babylove”
You smiled before checking once more, “Are you sure?”
He wanted to laugh at how serious you were taking it all, and with a gentle rub of his hand he reassured, “I’m sure Honey, I’m sure”
You smiled down at the little eyelash resting on the middle of your index finger. And you wished for all that you could want, you wished for a happy marriage.
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I had so much fun!! I really liked writing this, and I'm so happy I've had requests to write this character to the point I can turn it into a whole au!! hope you liked it.
If you'd like to be added to the taglist for this au feel free to just comment or message me!
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@fadedsummerlove, @lialocklear, @astral-eyed-cat here it is lovelies
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marinas-drafts · 5 months
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Honeymoon
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A Sky High Lovin’ segment, the swingin’ 60’s
Summary: If weddings are for the bride then it suggests that Honeymoon’s are for the groom -a stupid cliche you had dismissed until your dashing groom proves a little inexorable in his intent to “educate” his new bride on the long Learjet flight to Honolulu
Warnings 18+: (sex, dubious consent) I am about to possibly over exaggerate these cautions but I find it necessary, particularly for anyone who is used to reading my work because this is by far the most dubious consent piece I ever ever written and the theme is entirely narratively sympathetic to entitled husbands and female objectification. So, as it’s me, of course there’s love and tenderness but it’s also got -repeatedly denied requests to stop during sex, innocence kink, possible male enjoyment of a recent virgin’s discomfort, nasty baby talk, worry about a man being unfaithful if you deny him, talks of teaching you how to take him, (possible grooming?!) assumed husbandly entitlement to a wife’s body, archaic views on gender roles… y’all, I ripped off Pricilla and went full Lana Del Rey and glorified breaking a woman into her husbands tastes, like, that’s the theme and it’s reveling in it so, enjoy but heads up 🌷🎀🌷
Repost here from my main: @precious-little-scoundrel
There’s something very salacious in the simple act of walking across the tarmac amidst a swarm of reporters clicking away with their cameras, ready to print the image of your little figure pressed against his side, images for all the world to look at and know what occurred to you last night.
What you two did. How he made you his. On your wedding night.
He made you a woman, his woman and the whole world knows it now. There’s something so damn dirty about this, even -or perhaps because- of how traditional it is. The ring sits with a comforting weight on your finger as he holds your hand, and your belly aches from your husband drawing his pleasure from your virgin body, your thighs trembling as you try your best to keep up with his long strides in your kitten heels. It’s so proper, it’s everything he ever wanted, and it makes your cheeks burn beneath the generous layer of makeup.
He looks painfully handsome and happy this morning, impeccably polished in the bright sunshine and you wonder at his duality. The way he can clean up and regain his proud suavity when last night you had seen him mussed, tremblingly tender and near unhinged in his passion while consummating your union. A dab of pomade, a double breasted jacket and his wife’s little hand in his -he’s utterly in possession of himself now and is the fuckin’ American dream incarnate right in this moment.
He’s very proud as he introduces you to some of the familiar press faces, and very gallant as he guides you up the few steps into the Learjet, broad palm searing your lower back and you wish you two could have remained tangled up in sheets, honeymoon and travel arrangements abandoned indefinitely. Just you and him floating together in a sky of crisp sheets and tangled limbs.
The photographers crowd in after you, soaking up the shy way you cuddle in close as he tucks you into his side, sympathetic to your own desire to be alone but too happy to begrudge anyone a glimpse at his little prize. Uhem, bride. The amount of satisfaction he finds in you is palatable to all here, his arm around you holds you close and grounds you even as his face splitting grin proclaims that you were a tight but obedient fit last night.
Your eyes burn you’re blushing so hard and that makes him grin harder and it’s pavlovian that smile, you can’t help but grin back, harder and crinklier than his and that stokes his joy further and soon y’all are giggling over memories the photographers will never be privy to. Those are yours, frantic and tender and aching.
Even the ever hungry photographers are glutted by the loved up display you give them, and soon they are departing and the plane door is shut. Then it’s goodbye America, off to Honolulu.
The tiny jet crew and the couple of boys from his paired down entourage settle into their seats as the jet roars down the runway and lifts off, effortless, soaring and sleek. Beside him you are restless, shifting and jittery on the leather seat, though he is gratified to see the demure way you cross your ankles and the ladylike poise of your spine even surrounded by the comparative privacy. His perfect southern Belle, whose every thought and action and word is to reflect well upon him and keep his name from disrepute, he couldn’t have chosen better. Your mouthwatering submission last night proved it.
You squirm again. Maintaining the modest coverage of your pretty little shift dress, the one accented with navy bows that coordinate with his suit, requires you to keep your upper thighs pressed together tightly, squeezing the bruise of your freshly opened little flower as it pulses distractingly, as if in flustered shock at its sudden required usage. Throbbing, sticky and hot.
“What’s my lil lady doin all that fidgetin for, hmm?” he asks you, tone solicitous but his eyes glint, “Plush leather seats not soft enough for my baby’s bottom?”
You startle and blush, just as he knew you would, and it’s adorable really, the way you can still be bashful after months of foolin and despite the recent intimacy of the night before. And it’s downright precious that you are so sore and achy after he had been so painstakingly gentle when he took you. You had no clue how sweet he’d been, the amount of self sacrifice he had shown in his languid slide and shallow thrusts, tender kisses and gentle grip. Resolutely holding back the absolute wreckage he could unleash on your poor, widdle unsuspecting cunt.
“Just excited.” your body vibrates as you shake your arms to highlight your explanation, gesturing to the wide blue sky out your window and the decadent interior of the jet.
He grins down at you and kisses your cheek, reaching for the seatbelt fastened at your lower belly and he flicks it open with his thumb, the heat of his hand branding you like an iron for the brief contact. “Lemme show ya round then, baby.”
He folds your hand in his again and weaves you down the aisle between the padded seats and towards the back of the plane, the occasional stray crew member meekly ducking towards the cockpit. You two pass the music lounge with its built-in piano and electric fireplace, then the kitchenette with its circular bar and spherical burst of lights coming out of the wall like cascading planets, back towards the little bedroom. You marvel at the designs, the colors, the unabashed wealth of it all floating thousands of feet above solid earth.
Happy and giddy you tuck into his side and he holds you close, arm snug around your waist, satisfied to show his little wife all he has to offer her.
“Y'know,” he serves as your guide, supplying details and anecdotes, most of which you already know but would listen to, enraptured a thousand times to keep him free and easy with his conversation, “Frank n' i didn't really get along when i first started out. ‘Said my music was brutal n' ugly. But we get along now. met 'im in person right after i met you. Reckon' ya rubbed off on me 'cause now we're good friends n’he lent us this jet to defile as we saw fit." his tongue pokes between his teeth, amused at himself and you find there is something cutely self-deceptive about his rare fits of humble bragging. “He’s got a mirror down here, nice big ole Broadway style vanity with it, bright lights n’low counter.” you’re far back into the plane now, he holds back a dividing curtain and you step into the little hallway dressing room right in front of the inauspicious bedroom door, “Frank uses this setup to primp before goin down the ramp to meet fans or shovin off for the next concert, reckon it’ll serve for the lesson I wanna show ya.”
Curious as to his plan, you look to him, both his image reflected in the huge, bare bulbed mirror and his own dear face beside you, more than a little pleased to see what a striking couple you make in the reflection, with his tailored suit and your chic smock, an IT couple without a doubt. It makes you feel pretty, wanted, a little proud maybe. That you won out of all those other hopeful girls. He sees your pleased expression in the mirror, the way your hip cocks and your expression morphs to your best kittenish smile. You’re preening. You think you’ve made it, think you’re at the summit of what life can offer and he may be partial but he thinks you wear smugness rather cutely. Makes him wanna shake ya up, rumple you a little, remind you who gave you all this. That your new image and importance and identity are due to being Mrs Presley.
He scoots up behind you, wrapping his arms around your belly and pulling you close to him, his chin settles atop your head. “Likin what you see?” he asks slyly, staring at the reflected image that will be on every magazine and newspaper tomorrow, the King of Rock n Roll and his perfect little darling who thinks she’s a woman now that she took cock once.
He runs his hands along your body, broad palms gathering then smoothing out puckers and rolls in the fabric of your dress as he follows the curve of you, breast to thigh and back up, then back down, further this time. He squats a little behind you and his clever fingers hook in your hem line and begin to draw it up, little by little exposing more and more leg in the mirror.
“Oh, no I-“ your hand flys to the apex of your thighs, pressing the fabric against you and keeping a covering there as his gathering has pulled your dress nearly to your little secret place, “what are you doin Elvis?” you ask, a little unsure and bashful of him exposing you in this somewhat public place, even if the crew is nowhere to be seen and the curtain is drawn.
It’s obscene to rumple up the perfect couple, all the starch and pomade that make Elvis Presley and his new bride the envy of the world. And it’s worrying. He does not know you omitted underwear today, the feeling of the fabric chafing and holding in the heat of your tender pussy too much to bear while maintaining a proper face on the tarmac.
“Gonna show ya somethin,” he repeats, eyebrow quirked at your “no” and the nervous way you are almost cupping the last few inches of your dress over your private parts.
He keeps ahold of the fabric he’s gathered up so far and takes to running his knuckles up your side soothingly again, till he notices there’s no band or catch on your hips as he glides up.
“You hidin somethin from me, honey?” he asks, already knowing the answer and the reason for your flaming cheeks, “Keepin secrets from your husband already, denyin him his right?” he tuts and your pretty coal rimmed eyes fly open in denial as you shake your head and pull your hand away. “That's more like it.” He nods approvingly, and ever the showman he waits a minute, building the suspense as his hands continue to map out your clothed body as your breathing quickens. In the mirror both your eyes zero in on the barely hidden triangle between your legs. Then with a flourish and flick of his wrist he swoops the hem up and a rush of cold air hits your exposed pussy. You slump into him and await his verdict. “Darlin, what’s this?“ he asks you gravely, his eyes very dark in the mirror and there you are, pristine up top and entirely bare below, it’s -vulgar. Vulgar and salacious with a fully suited man behind you shaking his head in disappointment that you’d be so careless on your first day as Mrs Presley, risking flashing the photographers or the flight crew because you were too delicate to stand a little fabric. He expects more of you, and he knows you know that.
You mix your explanation with your apology, looking like an eager to please little foal on shaky legs, and he accepts it with another tut and a hum as he rolls your dress up methodically until its bulk is beneath your armpits. The shame you feel in being so exposed is your own fault, your own doing, you know that.
If you’d obeyed you would currently have some demure scrap of silk covering you in the full glare of the showbiz mirror. But now you are bare to his blazing eyes. Your handsome new husband inspects you closely in the mirror, his ringed fingers trailing over your hips and over your belly, swooping up your ribs and tickling the underside of your breasts. Back down he goes, hands gliding and palms warm and broad, spanning much of your abdomen in his reach, down and down till he is petting your mound. Your arms dangle listlessly at your sides, entirely unsure what your part in this is, except to submit to whatever he wishes.
“You say your lil pussy is tenda, hmm?” he understands your motive now, and coos solicitously over your discomfort, even as he smirks at the notion you’re sore from that pathetically gentle love making. It snaps something primal deep inside him, or at least, he thinks that’s what made the decision for him, the decision to enlighten you that last night may have been real nice, but it weren’t typical. He can’t have a wimpy wife, he knows you’re made of tougher stuff, just needs to be coaxed out of you. “A little discomfort ain’t no reason for ya to risk showin the world Mrs. Presley’s goods, is it?” he observes and you nod in abashed agreement.
“No it isn’t,” your tone is fervent and you are so eager to make amends, “I’m sorry Elvis, I wasn’t thinking, I’ll do better.”
“I expect you to.” he says, not unkindly but you gulp and nod anyway, unmoored by his effortless authority. “Now, let’s see about this lil owie, hmm? Spread your legs for me, c’mon wider, that’s a good girl.”
You moan as his hand engulfs you’re throbbing heat, cupping the wounded little place and pressing it firm but gently with his palm. He can feel the thud of your heartbeat down there and the sticky proof of your excitement at just being near him. There’s heat pouring out from you too, a lotta heat. Half of it arousal no doubt, but it’s angry down there like a woman gets during her menses. Puffy and sweltering against his palm.
It’s gonna feel indescribably good around his cock.
“Now we’ve opened ya up,” he explains softly in your ear, “she’s gonna get all fussy down there if she’s left empty for too long.”
You meet his eyes in the mirror with a worried look, unconvinced that emptiness is at all the cause of your discomfort. You feel like something got rearranged down there and needs to be left to mend itself in peace. Preferably in a hot bubble bath. The one luxury this floating palace doesn't have.
“You trust me, don’t ya?” he asks your fretful expression proddingly, “Don’t want ya to close back up all th’way. Go too long and then we’d be starting from scratch each time, you understand baby?”
That does make sense. You swallow your fear and shake your head agreeably. Why shouldn’t you?
He was so tender last night, so romantic and gentle and chivalrous. He had kissed away all your fear and worry into the fluffy bed, sending you careening into bliss and flinging you up to the stars before gently pressing in when you least expected it. It had hurt then, sure, a little pinch and an uncomfortably full feeling he helped soothe by tilting your hips with a courteous pillow beneath them.
Making love had been nice, unexpectedly nice.
And better yet had been the sight of your gorgeous groom, shaking in effort to hold back his vigor as he worked himself in and out above you, gentle and kind, slowly losing a grip on his decorum and letting out sounds of pleasure and praise. There had almost been a whine on his lips as he stalled suddenly and clung to your shoulders and spilled inside you, cementing your union. It had made you feel gloriously happy, and a little smug to see him come undone from the feeling of being inside you.
He earned your trust.
“I understand.” you assure him, the little kisses he is pressing to your neck making you brave. You’d like to see him come undone again. If that means he has to go inside you again then you’ll accept that. Maybe he was right last night, maybe it’ll be even better today.
“That’s my good baby.” he praises you, pleased and handsome over your shoulder, “Gonna turn you into the best little wife the world has ever seen.” he starts to drag his fingers through your bruised petals and you make a ugly little grimace at the soreness before seeing how unpretty it looks in the mirror, consciously changing your expression to demure acceptance. The shiny pink of your lipstick highlights the baby doll serenity of your gentle smile.
“Take me to bed, please, Elvis.” you try to play along with him, desperate to show him your excitement and desire to please.
“Aww now, we’re not goin’ to bed this time, darlin, we’re gonna have a lil lesson so you ain’t in the dark bout marital duties and all that.”
You stiffen in his arms, confused and wary. He keeps nuzzling at your cheek and neck. You had anticipated that there might be adventurous trysts once married, sure. He had proven himself fond of messing with you outside the bedroom during your courtship, fingers playing with you under tables and in hotel elevators. You had prepared for him gently making love to you on a picnic blanket under a Hawaiian moon. Maybe in the tub, or heavens -perhaps the kitchen if he was ravenous. But you’re concerned now that you haven’t grasped his entitlement fully, you’re still trying to understand what he means by “lesson” and why he led you to this vanity. You have a shaky feeling that your embarrassment at being flashed in front of the mirror is about to pale in comparison to what he has planned.
His hand goes from petting your sticky folds to rubbing and swirling, calloused fingertips worrying your bud till you’re nearly keening in enjoyment. He hasn’t looked you in the eyes in a minutes. You keep watching his face as his expression goes from intent to hungry, watching himself fiddling down there with your pink petals as he gets you primed. Primed for the two insistent fingers that plunge into you with no warning. It’s easier this time, having had a coke bottle up there, even just once, did the trick, his fingers meeting far less resistance than last night. He’s made his mark, claimed ya and stretched ya. Never the same again.
His movements burn for you, tugging and persistent as they are and you wince, can’t help it with the way his elegant digits are caressing your sore walls at a foreignly fast pace. You hope that maybe not looking at the rough act will ease your discomfort, like looking away from the needle poke when giving blood helps you keep from getting queasy. The sounds though, wet and squelching, are unmistakable despite the hum of the jet's engines. You watch his face, hoping he’ll look up and meet your eyes, but he’s transfixed by the sight in the mirror of his fingers disappearing into you.
“Gimme your hands, baby.” his sudden instruction startles you as you had flown far away in your mind, trying to reconcile the conflicting amounts of embarrassment and arousal you feel under his heated scrutiny. Who knew married life would cause such a upheaval inside?
“Yes sir.” you present them palms up, and he jerks his chin,
“Now baby, listen, you’re gonna replace my hands while I get myself ready, alright, gonna keep my progress for us. C’mon, hand on each side, pull your lips apart, gonna spread your snatch nice n wide so you can really see the mechanics of the thang. The act.”
The act? What act - you figured if this was going to happen to you at the vanity he would spin you around and set you on the counter, take you kindly as you sat. He had licked you in a movie set bathroom like that one time. Your brain scrambles in confusion and panic, supplying the only familiar acts and positions you’ve tried so far. A man can’t take a woman standing, he can’t, it wouldn’t fit, or at least, it wouldn’t be nice, surely and he wouldn’t be anything but nice-
“Now,” he’s speaking up again, “squeeze your arms a lil, gotta keep your dress nice and clear of the exhibit, ok?” he snickers at the way your dress is bunched beneath your underarms.
You make a respectful noise of acknowledgment, too nervous to say more. Your folds are puffy and slippery beneath your numb fingers as you pull your labia apart like he instructed. This feels new, keeping clothes on while being intimate. It feels…irreverent and dirty somehow. Just like standing here, your whole reflection lit brilliantly and his eyes still glued to that place between your legs.
You watch him pull away from behind you and start to methodically undo the buttons of his double breasted suit jacket, sliding it off his lean arms and folding it carefully over a towel rack, “Ya see, darlin,” he explains, as he undoes his cuff buttons and starts to roll up the sleeves of his dress shirt, “it's only proper you know what it looks like when we're joined together. I’ve got no desire to keep ya in the dark bout somethin God says is a good thing. This isn't the olden days, I don't mind having an enlightened sorta gal. So long as you don’t turn into the bra-burning sort of enlightened.”
He meets your eyes then as he gives you a look from under his lashes, admonishing you to stay away from such nonsensical, feministic, man-hating company as his deft fingers pop open the button of his slacks and he pulls himself out, weeping, thick and ready. You had no idea he was already so fully excited, your legs begin to tremble anew. He looks larger like this, somehow, all poshly dressed and admirably sauve in the mirror as his cock juts out of his tailored slacks, a single indecorous vulgarity marring his pristine Ken Doll image.
You flush red hot at the sight of him
lazily pumping himself as he saunters back to you, his hand yanking and pulling to chub himself up and then a thumb swirling around the uncut tip. He’s leaking and messy already, a profusion of precum wetting his hand and you give a silent prayer of thanks that at least he will add to the slick, hopefully ease the slide.
He doesn’t waste time with romance, he takes his place again behind you and this time you feel him sliding between your cheeks and then your legs, the feel of his open fly and belt against your bare butt. Due to your obediently spread lips, it’s perfectly visible when he slides through your folds and pokes out the other side, a pink, blunt, oozing cockhead playing peek-a-boo in your garden. He bumps your clit again and again with it until you are huffily shivering in his arms.
“Elvis are you really gonna-“ you can’t bear the suspense of it, you have to ask him his intentions, if he really means to make love to you standing up.
“-really gonna fuck my new wife in front of this state of the art mirror?” he laughs, thinking he knows what your quibble is, “Goddamn right I am, be a crime to not avail ourselves of the experience.”
He punctuates his enunciated vocabulary with rough thrusts against your bud that have you shaking and coming…just a little. Just enough for him to be sure you’re ready to take him.
“Fuck me?” you repeat in a panicked whisper, “B-b-but I’m your wife, Elvis!” you object, wounded.
He gets confused, stalling with his hand as he lines himself up with your freshly excavated entrance, “Whadda ya mean, honey?” he asks kindly, reaching around to tilt your chin towards him, but you sense that there’s an impatient edge to it.
You tearfully explain to him how your mother and other women have told you very explicitly you that men don’t fuck their wives. They make love to them. You are very adamant regarding it, and he ought to know better.
“Why baby, that’s the single greatest pile of horseshit I’ve ever heard.” he declares in fond amusement, smooching your tear stained cheek and resuming his rutting through your folds, “You gonna trust some ole ninnies over your husband? Baby, I gave ya a real nice wedding night cause I love ya and you’re my special girl and I thought it your due, but I ain’t gonna be saddled with a wife who can’t meet my needs when I need a quick fuck, ya hear me? Case in point is now, my dick’s about to fall off from all this chit chat.”
You suppose there’s a great deal about marriage that is far more complicated than movies and books and Sunday potlucks led you to believe. It’s hard balancing how to please your husband as you ought with retaining some dignity that will make him respect you. You can’t imagine Elvis ever not respecting you, it’s too ingrained in him and what he wants isn’t to humiliate you, it’s what he needs to be satisfied. And you so badly want to keep him satisfied, you know deep down you’d do unspeakable things to keep his attention on you, perhaps that is where your shame comes from. It’s less about his expectations and more about the fact you’d throw away all your mother’s teachings before causing him to go elsewhere for comfort and acceptance.
You turn your head to him and pucker your lips for a kiss of acquiesce, which he obliges. His hand is still firm on your jaw as he deepens it, and it’s heady and passionate and loving and -he’s breaching you suddenly. A squat and flex and tilt of his hips and then he’s snagged your hole and he is pressing up and up and up and you whine into his mouth as his foreskin rolls back in your canal, an extra friction against your raw walls.
“Elvis!” you beg, breath caught in your throat at the burning sting of him as your hand flies up to clutch at his arm, secure around your hips, “its it’s-” you flounder with a word to adequately describe the delicious pain of it as he goes deeper.
He mouths messy and moaning at your neck and you can feel his belly shaking against your lower back, his cock twitching at the feeling of getting dipped in your silky channel. It makes you cringe in discomfort.
“You’re so goddamn perfect and warm as anythin,” he praises in a slur of kisses and moans as he flexes up and up.
The farther in he goes the more it loses any snuggly quality and instead feels rather like getting slowly impaled. You shift your stance in front of the mirror, legs spreading of their own accord and eyes squeezed shut in concentration at just trying to breathe. It goes on forever and you start to try to go up on your tip toes, to get away from it, from him, to lessen the fullness and the deepness of his assault somehow. He persists. You try to scramble up him, leveraging your weight on his forearm till your little feet are nearly off the jet floor.
His answering chuckle vibrates your back, “Looks like you’re tryin to learn how to levitate, honey.”
You scramble harder in a vain attempt to get taller, to elongate your poor vagina somehow, to keep him shallow
“T-that’s all I can take, Elvis” you try to tell him when he’s only over half in.
It's an honest declaration, to your hyperventilating self he feels impossibly big and certainly every bit as deep as it felt last night when he took you discreetly beneath the sheets in the good ole fashioned missionary position.
Your eyes widen as he doesn’t stop, just goes on and on and on, as your breaths get more panicked, shallower with each inhale, on the verge of a panic attack until he stalls and starts to pet your belly and kiss your cheek in an effort to bring you back down. “Breathe babydoll, breathe for me. Calm down, satnin, you took this all last night. you can do it again, I knows ya can.”
You've long ago started to whimper when he didn’t listen, half in pain and half in fear that he isn’t stopping, that he isn’t being as nice as he was last night. Why isn’t he stopping? oh why, why, “I can’t, I think I’m not made for it.” you wail as you writhe helpless in his arms, a pounding ache between your legs and a strange flutter in your chest.
“No, no, don’t say that baby, please don’t say that, you’re perfect baby, just perfect.” he pleads a little frantic, rubbing his lips along your cheekbone to collect your tears, “Only need a lil breakin in is all, this won’t always be so rough. I’ll fix ya honey, I’ll make it better. Don’t you go objectin’ to the heavenly proportions God gave ya, or what he gave me neither. We were made for each other.”
Hearing the tender worry in his voice soothes you, even more than his comforting touches, knowing he isn’t indifferent to your struggle, he just wants what’s best for you as any good teacher would. You take a breath, a large breath and it feels like it made him sink deeper somehow. You bite back a sob.
“You can do it.” he says in your ear, his voice shaky from how badly he needs to be moving inside you, “Please baby, let me in, I’m hurtin’ real bad, if you could just see lil elvis you’d feel so bad for the poor guy. Let him in, you can take it, let him in, let him in his lil house. That’s it, that’s it just a little bit more.”
The man lied. There was nothing “little” about the more he gives you when he bucks up that last bit and buries himself fully inside, balls snug against your butt.
“Oh, i’hurts.” you moan, tears leaking through your clenched eyes, smearing your immaculate cat eye. “hurts -I-I can’t, Elvis.”
“You can.” he declares firmly, trying so hard to stay in control, to gather the last shreds of his gentlemanliness, “More like -you *are* doing it. Look, come on. Baby! I said look! Open those eyes and watch how well you’ve taken me.”
You pry your clumping lashes apart and slowly your eyes drag from the reflection of your faces pressed together, down to your breasts where his hand is crushing a velvet bow in his grip, down your belly to to his forearm barred around your hips. Down to that place where you join.
“Where’d lil Elvis go, hmm?” He teases like you’re playing hide and seek, and you let out a watery laugh, rolling your eyes at his babying tone, “Where'd he go, darlin? Oh, there he is,” he pulls out a tiny bit so the pink veiny length of him peaks out from between your lips, “there he is -wait where’d he go?”
“Elvis. Stop. Stop, that’s so dumb.” you beg through your sniffling giggles, the fiery stretch of him temporarily forgotten.
He laughs at your embarrassment and pulls out further this time, then snaps his hips back up to the hilt of him, drawing a pained cry from you “Who’s my bestest girl, hmm? who’s that? Shhh, shhh, Das you ain’t it? Look at’chue, doin so well. I need ya to stand straight baby, let those heels touch down. I mean it, plant your feet, don’t cry about it, no reason to cry, you gotta relax.”
You’ve heard him use the same tone of voice when helping Red’s puppy get a burr out of its paw. Pitifully you obey him, planting your feet and it feels like you’re riding a telephone pole, the way he’s stiff and unyielding, deep inside you, plumbing the depths of your belly.
“That’s more like it.” he hums in throaty appreciation of the snug fit of you, “Alright now, ‘member the job I gave ya?” he reminds gently as he starts to thrust slow and deep, watching as your face crumples in grief, “Hold yourself open baby, it’s very important you watch this, I need ya to understand you’re perfect for this, gotta let go of ma arm, c’mon now.” he pries your grip from his forearm and brings your hand back down to your puffy heat, “Spread yo’self.” his accent deepens as your body struggles to take him, clenching around him in an effort to expel him, and only serving to make him moan in bliss. “Look a’that.” he marvels, sounding utterly worshipful of the way the glistening pink length of him slowly comes into view, then slowly disappears -absorbed inside you, your painfully stretched little hole fluttering hopelessly at each dragging inch of him.
“It still really hurts.” you observe childishly through gritted teeth, your pained body fighting the fuzzy headed arousal you feel while watching the obscene display of him sliding in and out of you for a few languid grinds.
“That’s cause you’re so tense, loosen up baby, -actually, here.” he shuffles you forward and you make a reckless sound of disgruntlement at the feel of him shifting inside you with each baby step, “Here, knee up here.” he hooks his hand beneath your knee and props it up on the counter, somehow making this worse and better all at once with the new angle.
“Ow, oh god, you said it would get better.” you accuse, biting your lip in savage self reprimand after it. Foolish girl, to risk making him unhappy and frustrated, stoking his wandering eye.
“It will, dammit, it will. I'm gonna need you to hang in there and play with your lil button till it does, alright? Bout to burst back here with all this startin and stoppin.”
“Ok.” you whisper, feeling a little more steady with the firm counter beneath your knee, opened up a little for the intrusion of him.
He pats your hips and presses an appreciative kiss behind your ear, nearly drunk off your sweet little struggle to be good for him. It makes his heart soar and fills him with wild wants, makes him reckless, and a little mean somehow, like crushing rose petals to gain the scent.
“Now, I know I made love to ya last night, darlin,” he pets the bulge of his cock in your belly and you shudder in anticipation, “cause that’s what weddin nights are for, but now you’re a wife proper you gotta learn how to take cock without so much whinin and clingin, alright? Made ya a woman, didn’t I? so do me proud, act it.”
With this emboldening commission he presses one more kiss to your neck before pulling out before driving in, hard. And then he does it again, and again and again at a pace you’ve seen him maintain on stage but never, never imagined him using with you, against you, it feels like.
You shriek and your knee slides further apart with the violent rocking, trying with terrible desperation to find solace and feminine satisfaction in the guttural groans and huffed out praises your husband vents as he takes what he needs, flaming eyes glued to the mirror and the place where he plunders you.
You are really trying, it just hurts so damn much.
You know you’re lucky, you cling to that even as he spears your cervix again and again with gusto that suggests your panicked clenching is the best damn thing he’s ever felt in his life. You’ve heard from other women, older women trying to counsel you, prepare you for what lay ahead, that some husbands didn’t even bother trying to make sure their wives were slick enough. That the dry drag and burn of a man can make the stretch truly unbearable. It keeps you grateful that the lewd sounds now causing you to blush are testament to the flood of slick down there. It keeps you grateful meek even as you wail and smear your makeup with your gasped out shock.
He should slow down, he should moderate his thrusts, cherish his wife. He can see you’re struggling and panting and crying and somehow it’s all just a drug to him, the gorgeous little dolly he crafted so perfectly this morning looking utterly overwhelmed and defiled by his cock. It’s enough to make a man lose his bearings and forget his mama’s teachings on how to treat a lady.
The beast won’t be tamed. And so Elvis Presley begins to babble a stream of apologies as he exerts all the energy of his able body in fucking his young wife, like the deeper and harder he goes the more likely his lil swimmers will have the chance of making themselves a nice comfy home in your sweet womb:
“oh goddamn baby I’d stop if I could, but yer squeezing me like a vice and I just…I just can’t stop baby, be good, be good, don’t cry on me, be good for your husband, baby. You’ll get used to it, we’ll train your pussy baby, just gotta get through these early stages. Early stages and it’s, it’s normal, just a lil skittish is all, ain’t no way god made me want you this bad just for you to be cold. Ain’t no way, I can feel it when you’re dancin to my music, you want it deep, you crave it deep, you were born hungry. Oh goddamn, yes, yes, fuck yes, baby, I’m sorry I’m sorry, yes, keep squeezing me like that …….”
It is not talent on your part, this clenching that has him snarling in rapture with his eyes rolling back in his skull, it’s pure creature instinct, whether trying to expel him, bring him deeper or milk him fast so this agony will end, you don’t know. All you know is that his force is terrifying and you’ve never seen something quite as erotic as the pristinely polished beauty of his face morphing into ravenous determination.
Your panic flares one last time, unwilling to allow yourself to coast into enjoyment of this filthy usage without a fight. “Please, Elvis please -enough!” you gasp, even as something seems to have shifted inside you, a tilt or a nudge, whatever it is, it’s a spark of something dangerous.
“Listen here now,” he pants in frustration, one of his hands leaving your hip to fly down to your clit and rub it viciously, “i don’t have a particular hankerin to pin you down over the tabletop, face down ass up, and make this marriage work but I will if I have to. So be a good girl n’ quit all your whinin, show me some of that grit you show when I’m teachin ya on the mats. Don’t wanna make me do nothin rash, but I ain’t gon’ have my honeymoon ruined cause my wife is insistent on bein’ an obstinate lil’ brat!” his voice his shaking with effort, “now, open ya self up!”
It spooks you, this inexorable side of him, white hot lightening ripping through your nerves. Suddenly you’re alite. Scientists might be quick to give credit to the clever little rhythm his thumb strummed over your clit but till the day you die you will swear it was instinctive obedience that had you spasming and then gushing, suddenly relaxing and drawing him in, pliant and eager. Subdued at last.
“Aww baby, oh baby that’s it, oh thank fuck,” he gasps in relief as he feels the change, “I’ve gotchu, you know I gotchu always, gonna help ya get over that damn hill, gonna drop ya off that cliff gentle like.”
His movements are not gentle, if anything they speed up, but his hands cradle you, his mouth caresses you and he places his own knee beside your own, glued together everywhere except for the snap of his pelvis. There is a razor's edge here, in the sensations his body is drawing from yours, and it is an edge upon which you wobble, tipping now towards pleasure, then pain, then back again to pleasure. It confuses and overwhelms you, makes you moan and keen and beg like an animal in heat, the jet crew and all your ladylike deportment forgotten.
“Oh dear god Elvis, I- oh, oh, please don’t stop!” you’re suddenly shouting in a shocked beg, something irreversible building and this isn’t your standard *nice job buddy that was swell* orgasm approaching, it’s one of the *well done sir, I think I just died there for a minute* variety. It’s shaking, and thrumming and burning up your entire body, suddenly making lyrics to his well worn songs take on an entirely new meaning.
“Lordy mama, tryin to let the whole plane know I’ve broken ya in at last?” he teases, finding it heavenly the way you move with him now in an easy give and take, the smacking of your bum against him and the happy slack of your mouth driving him to madness.
Gone is the suave man of myth and envy, here is an animal instead, mounting and mauling and claiming you with ferocious devotion and you take it like a jerking rag doll, whining in need where you were once whimpering. He’s proud of you. If he had breath to laugh he would at the way you suddenly look dazedly disbelieving in the mirror right before your body seizes up and pleasure annihilates all your senses.
Your legs give out and you slump, having only the vaguest awareness of the fact he’s beginning to grunt and cry out himself, using you like a writhing receptacle, coming unglued behind you as you begin to melt on him like butter. There ain’t much thought or chivalry to the way he grabs at you, a hand beneath each knee and folds you in half, split open in front of the mirror as he ruts every last drop of satisfaction into you. He hears himself hollering as if through a tunnel, something that the fight crew, if asked, would paraphrase as being “oh goddamn, you are more perfect than anything.”
You are numb and pounding down there, the last frantic usage of your pussy an ordeal you endure with cock dumb acceptance. The way his face draws up and crumples shortly after, and then slacks in bliss -it is the single most violently arousing thing you’ve ever witnessed. Feeble as your energy is, you feel a surge of feminine pride at the way he mumbles and moans and finally shakes to a stop.
“That’s it, oh you’re so beautiful.” you moan, watching as his hair falls into his bleary, slow blinking eyes as he comes back to the surface, “And you’re mine.” you sigh, content.
“Mhmm, yours.” he coos, jostling you a little on his cock and he snuggles closer somehow, you think you feel his seed start to dribble out despite the sizable stopper inside you, “Well, bless your heart darling, I’ve got ya folded like a camp chair. Ha!” he gently folds your legs back down, pulling out of you with painstaking gentleness on the way down, “That weren’t very gentlemanly of me, was it?” he teases.
You sway dangerously once placed on your own two feet and you don’t even have the chance to fall, he never lets go before he realizes what’s needed. He picks you up and sets you on the counter, you pool back against the mirror, boneless and debauched, legs stuck bow legged from such a long ride and a vividly puffy pussy leaking his seed onto the counter. He tucks himself back in with still shaking hands. He won’t be fully back down to earth till Honolulu’s runway, he thinks. Just in time to carry you off the plane. And begin it all over again.
Married life, he could get used to this.
“It was perfect, you’re perfect.” you slur earnestly as he returns to you and unzips your dress, hauling it over your teased you hair, baring you fully as you sit on the counter, kicking feet thumping against the cabinets in your patten leather heels
“Nah…perfect -that would be you, Mrs Presley.” he kisses you deeply, before taking you in his arms bridal style and carries you into the bedroom, conscious but uncaring that you’re leaking all over his pristine shirt sleeve.
This next part oughta involve washcloths or wet wipes. But that would require leaving your sweet arms and facing a jet crew that just heard him railing his tender young bride.
Yeah, he’ll just use his mouth.
Hope y’all enjoyed. This is a repost from my (currently censored) main blog @precious-little-scoundrel and in turn it’s a repost from the original written over a year ago on my deleted OG Elvis blog@aconflagrationofmyown I want to start collecting my fics here in case anything happens with my main. Xoxo
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cowboylor · 2 years
Text
sloppy
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pairing: austin butler x fem!reader (reader uses she/her pronouns)
wc: 1k
warnings: (18+) smut, underlying dom/sub dynamics, oral (m. receiving), semi-public sex, facefucking oops, dirty talk, spit, co-star reader, no use of y/n
note; i wrote this on my phone at 2 am, without glasses and aquaphor smeared across my screen. enjoy! (it’s nasty but hey! it has character)
It was filthy ridiculous.
But then again, you were filthy ridiculous.
The buckle of his belt rubs against your cheek as you hollow your lips around him. Your skin burns at the friction and your eyes well up with tears as you peer up at him. His head is thrown back against the wall as he mumbles something incoherently. You draw your lips off him in an attempt to get a better look at him, but he yanks the root of your hair back down roughly. Filthy ridiculous. 
“So messy,” Austin muses, loosening his grip on your hair to tenderly pull away stray strands that have fallen in front of your eyes. The corners of his mouth curve up into a grin as he watches you bob your head up and down. Almost cooing, he says,  “Always so needy for me?”
You wish you could disagree but you know that wouldn’t be the truth. Because ten minutes ago you were mingling with the crew at the wrap party of your latest film, minding your business while nursing your drink. Now you’re on your knees for him in a public restroom. 
His dick hits the back of your throat and you gag around him unexpectantly.  Drawing his hips back he ruts into your mouth again. And again until you’re left steadying yourself by letting your fingernails dig into his thighs. He presses you forward with his hand, groaning lowly as he watches your lips graze the base.
“You like that?” You love that.
Saliva gathers at the corners of your mouth as he continues to stretch your mouth. You’ve given up trying to control the pace, opting to let him guide your head on his dick roughly and use your mouth however he pleases. (You’ll deny it vehemently later.)
Your fingers brush the back of his thigh, toying with his black dress pants to catch his attention. The harsh grip on the back of your head disappears, returning only to guide your mouth off him.
Toying with the tip, you rest your tongue under it, looking up at him as you do so. He huffs out a laugh at your expectant expression, drawing his hips back until he slips out of your mouth. 
You reach up to stroke him up and down, clicking your jaw in an effort to relieve the soreness, “And here I thought you didn’t like me.” 
Austin breathlessly chuckles like he’s out of breath. You hum at the sight, fighting off the smile that threatens your face. You pump him in your hand, running your thumb over his slick head.
“I like some things about you,” He murmurs, tracing his fingertips across your cheek before trailing down to your slightly parted lips. Experimentally, he toys with them until his fingers dip into your mouth, drawing your mouth into a wide stretch as he pulls at the edge. “For example...”
Your motions still momentarily, jerking him roughly one more time before you teasingly swirl your tongue over the pad of his fingertip. Growing impatient with your slow movements and your peering eyes that look up to tease him, he pulls his hand away.
Beginning to protest, Austin dismisses you by tilting your open mouth to meet his dick. You take him without complaint, inhaling sharply as his hips snap back into place. 
“My sloppy girl,” He coos. “So dirty for me.”
You spare him a glance, practically mewling when you see him throw his head back against the wall. His sandy hair sticks to his forehead, some strands blocking his eyes as you notice the subtle shake of his body. His lips part as if he’s lost his next jeer that was to be directed at you.
His fingers thread your hair again, half-heartedly easing you off him, making your lips purse around his length. He mutters out a quick “Where do you want it?” as his motions become more staggered. 
You don’t respond verbally, choosing to gaze up at him with wide eyes, practically egging him on to finish in your mouth. He stares back, chest rising and falling rapidly as you continue to jerk your lips against him.   
“Good, good girl,” He hisses. 
'Thought I was sloppy.’ You desperately want to quip. 
He yanks your makeshift ponytail back so you’re looking at him. Ignoring the stinging and your internal urge to scowl at him for his blatant manhandling of you, you instead dip your head deeper. He pants as you don’t look away from him, hollowing your cheeks all the same.
He curses as he comes, throwing his head back as your tongue eagerly swirls around him. You’re careful when drawing your lips back, not wanting to let him drip out of your mouth. You imagine that he wouldn’t care even if some seeped past your lips. It didn’t matter; you wanted to show him how good you were. 
After he buckles his pants and helps you up off the ground, he messes with the material of your dress. For a moment, you think he’s just being polite, fixing the ruffled material and pulling it down so it stays fitted around your waist. But you start to suspect him just lingering as you turn to face the mirror. 
“I’d do anything to fuck you,” He then whispers, lips coming dangerously close to kissing your neck. His hands grope your ass, drawing your hips back against him, so close to bending you over the sink. His mouth draws against the shell of your ear, “Fuck you just like this.”
You hum, dragging a finger beneath your smudged lipstick. He continues to prod at your waist, running his hands down the curve of your body.
“You can only get so far with me in a public bathroom.”
He snorts a laugh, eyeing your lips. “Such a lady.”
“Take me home then,” You turn, your hand lightly pressing into his chest. He glances down at the touch, watching as you lean to whisper, “and I’ll show you ladylike.”
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dreamingofep · 1 month
Text
A Blue Velvet Crush
(Elvis/Austin!Elvis × reader)
Character/Fandom: Elvis - Elvis (2022)
TW: Cussing, teasing, SMUTTT, fingering
Rating: Explicit/Mature (NSFW, 18+, so minors Do NOT Interact)
Word Count: 5.4K
A/N: Hello everyone! This picture of Elvis lives rent free in my head and I knew when I first saw it, I had to write something for it.
If you've never seen some of this performance, I'd recommend watching! I'll make another post with the youtube link!
Thank you again❤️
Sorry for any spelling mistakes or goofs.
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Mississippi, September 26th, 1956
Traffic was backed up for miles and the buzz in the air was electrifying. You couldn’t hide your nerves though. You weren’t even supposed to be here today but by the grace of God, you got thrown in the ring and had to cover today’s most important story. Elvis Presley was back in his hometown of Tupelo, Mississippi to perform a charity concert. His rise to fame seemed to happen overnight and everyone was dying to see him in person. 
You were just an intern at the Tupelo Mirror and your supervisor that was running the Elvis story got sick this morning. Eric called you at the crack of dawn, frantic that no one was going to be there to take pictures. You had only been at the newspaper for a month and a half, you didn’t want to overstep your role and be too forward, but you mentioned that you have photography experience. You ran your college photography club and were majoring in journalism. You know you can take some decent shots of him. You try to sell yourself, affirming you can do this! The whole reason you were working for the newspaper was to get a better shot of getting a job at a newspaper company after you graduated. You thought this would be the perfect way to gain the experience. And if you got some good pictures of Elvis Presley? That could change your whole life. 
You did have a fondness of the man but like, who didn’t at your age? He was the new cool guy who was causing havoc wherever he went. He was talented and had this luring sense about him. You hadn’t ever seen him in person, but based on the few televised appearances he’s made, he was beyond incredible. You knew he had a talent that no one had ever had. Your parents would always make a fuss if you were watching him and tried to make you feel bad for it. 
“No Christian boy should be moving like that! It’s abhorrent.” Your parents used to say. 
You’d just roll your eyes and grumble under your breath. Your parents didn’t understand that he was something young people could love and be fully immersed in without having to act all prim and proper about it. There was no other artist that would make you feel the way Elvis made his audiences feel. He was passionate and he felt the music to his very soul. It showed so easily he didn’t have to say he loved what he was doing. 
And now you were going to be feet away from Elvis, taking his picture and maybe even getting the chance to ask him a few questions. The cars started moving forward more and before you could get through the gates, a police officer stopped you. You rummaged through your satchel and pulled out your press pass. He quickly nodded and directed you to the portion of the lot where other photographers and press reporters were gathered. You quickly find a spot and throw your car in park. You throw your satchel over your head and grab your camera out of its bag. It wasn’t the most high-end camera but it took nice pictures. You double-checked the camera had enough film and quickly made a beeline to the stage. 
There were thousands of people here already and the buzz in the air was electric. You saw girls jumping up and down giddy that they were about to see Elvis live. You had some of the men standing next to them with a bored expression on their faces like they didn’t want to be there. You had to play it cool though. You had your press badge on and the last thing you needed was for someone to see you acting giddy when you had to be professional today. 
There was a corralled section for the press behind ropes that gave you a bit better access on the side of the stage but it was still very crowded. Not only that, but it was all men here and they were all significantly taller than you. You couldn’t see a damn thing from this area and became worried you weren’t going to be able to get one good photograph of this entire thing!
You try to push and shove your way closer to the front but just get these condescending looks toward you and don’t budge an inch for you. You didn’t expect anything less honestly, the industry was made up of men and wasn’t exactly kind to women entering the workplace. You shake it off, not letting it get to you too much. 
The audience starts screaming as the band takes their place on stage. It’s a small band with just a drummer, bassist, and guitar player. They’re all smiles when they hear the crowd go wild for them. Your eyes are focused on the side of the stage though. You want to get the first glimpse of him when he gets on this stage. 
The audience continues to grow antsy and an announcer hops on stage. He steps in front of the microphone at center stage and taps it with his finger. 
“Ladies and gentlemen, I know you all are very excited to have one of our very own from Tupelo be here today. I need you to give a warm welcome to Elvis Presley.”
The crowd erupts at his name and everyone bursts out in insane excitement. You keep your eyes on the side of the stage and you raise the camera to your face, getting ready for the first shot. 
The audience gets louder and you feel the hair on your arms rise. There you see him. He’s dressed in a velvety blue long-sleeve and loose black slacks with his perfect white oxfords. His hair was greased back and looked shiny. He had his guitar on and made his way to the microphone. From this angle, he looked so tall, his legs easily gliding him across the stage. 
He carried this nervous energy about him tho. He puts his hand in his pocket and grabs the microphone with the other hand. 
Click. 
He starts Heartbreak Hotel and drives the place insane. Everyone is screaming and some girls are even crying. His voice rings out flawlessly and once he starts singing, there’s no stopping him. He can’t seem to stand still. Whether it’s the music moving him or the nerves, he is shaking and moving, making the crowd even more insane.
There are times when the screams overpower his voice coming through the microphone. He has an amused look on his face the whole time though. Especially when he swings his hips and makes the girls go bezerk. You catch yourself blushing at those moves, how he can move his hips so easily as he makes these in-passion faces. He made you feel something you’ve never felt before. It was bad, it was lust driving you to keep looking at what he was going to do next. You wanted him to move more to see just how those hips would move in other circumstances…
Click.
Fucking focus.
He wasn’t afraid to get close to his fans. It looked like he really loved them. You could tell he moved his leg just to get them going and have them look there. Or how he’d say a certain word and prolong it all sensually, it drove the place nuts. Even just the way he held the microphone and dragged it along beside him. He commanded that stage by doing the smallest things. Elvis walks slowly to the edge of the stage where dozens of fans reach out their hands for him. He gets close and reaches out his hand too, still singing and never missing a beat.
Click.
You get the side profile of him but you think it’s going to be a great picture when it develops. What you really want is a perfect picture of his face straight onto the camera. That would be a great way to solidify that you are a great photographer and can do this professionally.
Elvis finishes his set and gets rushed off stage into the building behind the arena. You follow the crowd that’s trying to get to him, hoping you can get another picture of him that’s even better than the ones you took. The other photographers aren’t paying any attention to you and push and shove their way through. You huff annoyed, hoping you can get in there before they close the doors. 
You find a spot on the side but all the men in here are so much taller and crowding Elvis. You slump by the door, frustrated that you might have ruined your big chance to prove yourself at the newspaper as you haven’t gotten a single shot of his face straight on. You wanted to the perfect shot and it seems your opportunity was wasted. 
“Alright everyone it’s time to leave. Elvis won’t be answering any more questions,” a man bellows. Most of the men try to protest but they slowly start to funnel out of the door. You continue to get pushed aside until you’re almost behind the door. You don’t move from behind there because, for a brief second, a devious idea pops into your head. 
Just stay here long enough for everyone to leave and ask for a picture when he’s alone.
Your heart pounds away at just the thought of being alone with Elvis but you had to try it. The worst he could say was no and get out. 
The last few remaining men shuffle out of the room and Elvis yells out that he’ll be right out. The door shuts closed, making your little hiding spot be exposed in plain sight. 
Elvis had his back to the door so he didn’t see you right away. You sighed in relief for that but had to work up the courage to say something to him.
What exactly should you say in this situation? ‘Hi I snuck in your dressing room even though I was told to get out, can I take a few pictures of you for the newspaper?’
You cringed just thinking about it. You took a few deep breaths and straightened out your dress.
“Umm, excuse me, Elvis?” You say sheepishly.
He turns around quickly at the sound of your voice and stares wide-eyed at you. He doesn’t say anything right away and neither do you because seeing him this close and in person is too much.
He is beautiful, in every shape and form, he is beautiful. You’ve never seen such a handsome-looking man before in your life and have no words. Logical thinking went out the window with him and he looks at you with the same expression on his face. You haven’t said more than four words to him but you want him. You want him to look at you and touch you and never stop. Your core flutters at that scandalous thought.
“You scared me there honey. H-how’d you get in here?” He asks with a mischievous grin forming on his face.
“W-w-well I uhhh. Well, I work for the newspaper and I was wondering if I could take a few more pictures of you?” You ask nervously. A long silence fills the room and you are about to turn on your heels and run for the door when he gives you another cheeky smile.
“Sure, I don’t mind at all. What was your name lil’ darlin’?” He asks smoothly.
Lil’ darlin’.
Jesus Christ I’m not going to make it out of here alive with all his charm suffocating me.
“Oh gosh Elvis, thank you so much. This truly means so much to me. And my name is y/n.” You tell him in a hurry. You make sure your camera is on and ready before you look back up at him watching you intently.
“Y/n… that’s very pretty…Where’d you want me, honey?” He coos.
Your heart pounds in your ears and you can’t register anything he just said. All you can do is look at him in shock and can’t believe you’re alone with him. You know how many thousands of girls would kill for a moment like this? And the question he just asked?! Ooh, the sheer audaciousness he has. He knows he's irresistable.
I'd love you to cover me in kisses with those pillowy soft lips...
“Huh?” You say in a daze.
“Where did you wanna take my picture honey? You’re the photographer and all,” he teases. You feel the heat rise to your cheeks and you nervously look down at your camera.
“Oh yeah… sorry… I’ve never really done this,” you admit. His eyebrows shoot up surprised, “First time? Wow, that’s somethin’ for a little lady coming here and coverin’ a story on a day like this. The whole town is making a huge fuss over me, I don’t think deserve it, but it’s very special either way. I’ll make sure to give you the best pictures,” he winks. It feels like your heart just about stopped by that one minuscule movement.
Stop that. Stop that right now!
You sweetly smile up at him and move further into the room, trying to see what angle and lighting would be best. The wall behind him was blue and you thought that would be a perfect backdrop to accentuate the velvet shirt he was wearing and his piercing blue eyes.
“Umm, let’s try with you stand there. I think that would be a nice background,” you say.
He casually takes a few steps back and puts his hands in his pockets.
“Like this?” He asks. You raise the camera to your face, make sure the frame is straight, and push the button.
Click.
He looked good without even trying. He had this golden aura about him. Like he shined from within. He was remarkable and you know that without saying much else to him. Even if you didn’t like him already, you can see the appeal. He was so easy to love. So easy to be around. Everything about him was inviting and warm. You don’t know how you were going to peel yourself away from him…
“Okay, how about one smiling?” You ask. He nods his head and gives you this cute cheeky smile.
Click.
God help me I can’t breathe with this man around looking this good.
“How are they comin’ out honey?” He asks, his southern inflection on honey making you feel like the actual word.
“Oh, just fine. I think they’re going to be amazing when printed,” you try to say casually.
“Oh good… what are you doin’ working for the newspaper?” He asks, fixing the sides of his hair with a comb.
Click.
“I don’t work for the newspaper, not yet at least. I’m just an intern. I’m a student at the University of Mississippi studying journalism and thought it would help to work there for a bit so when I graduate in two years, I can hopefully get a job at a newspaper,” you explain.
He intently looks at you, interested in everything you have to say, “That’s wonderful honey. I think that’s great you’re pursuing that. I don’t doubt for a second you won’t get a job anywhere you apply for,” he says sweetly. You can’t help but blush at his nice words and fiddle with your camera.
“Thank you, Elvis,” you say quietly. He walks over to the sofa that’s up against the wall and casually takes a seat.
He stretches out one arm along the back of the couch and the other rests on the arm of it. His legs were spread open and your eyes can’t help but stare at them. They were so long and he exuded sensuality, it nearly made you dizzy. He sees how you’re looking at him, intrigued with the man that so many found attractive.
You raise the camera to your eye once again as he looks down the lens intensely.
Click.
You felt like screaming like those girls were earlier. You’ve never felt so attracted to someone’s presence. It kind of scared you in a way. 
He moves on the sofa slightly, bringing his hand to his mouth and giving you this luring, sultry gaze.
Oh lord, I’m a dead woman…
Click.
He doesn’t change this pose after the flash goes off, he continues to sit there with his eyes drinking you in. Your body can’t take this, the tension in the room is palpable and you are seriously considering running out now since you have plenty of good shots. Elvis slowly starts to lower his hand from his mouth and you see he was biting his lip behind it this whole time. He slowly drags his teeth across it before letting it go with a pop.
“Anyone ever tell you how beautiful you are?” He asks softly.
You can’t hide your flushed cheeks anymore and lower the camera from your face to see if he’s being serious. His eyes look heavy and somber, but he cracks a little grin to lighten the mood.
“Oh, no… not something I normally hear,” you say insecurely.
“That’s a shame darlin’, you really are. You have the most gorgeous smile, beautiful eyes, and the longest legs I’ve ever seen,” he gushes. 
I’m dead. I’ve gone to heaven and died. This can’t be happening!
“Well thank you very much. I could say the same for you,” you say coyly.
His eyebrows raise at the blunt remark and chuckles softly to himself. He lowers his hand off the back of the sofa and places it on the empty space beside him, looking at it, then looking back up at you. He doesn’t need to say another word, he pulls you in without trying.
You carefully place your camera on the table and take your bag off your shoulder. You make your way to sit beside him as your heart gallops like a racing horse.
He turns his body a bit to face you more and being this close to him is unlike anything you’ve ever experienced. You have to hold your breath or he might notice how nervous you are.
“No guy back home telling’ you how pretty you are hmm?” He says, tucking back stands of hair behind your ear. All you can do is shake your head no. His fingertips barely graze the lobe of your ear but it makes you feel weak anyway. The arousal dripping from your core is not helping the situation and not letting you think clearly.
“Oh, well I’m sorry men are so blind over there. I think you’re the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen,” he quips, giving you a cheeky smile. “The most pretty eyes, the most pretty nose, the most pretty pink lips I’ve ever seen,” he coos, leaning in closer until you can feel his breath on your lips.
You can’t take it anymore and lean in, devouring his lips with yours. You let out a deep breath as your mouth touched his, his lips feeling softer than you could have ever possibly imagined. He was so gentle with his kiss, making sure he wasn’t overstepping your boundaries. But you didn’t care about that. You screamed for more from him. More kisses, more long heated stares, more everything. 
You boldly, place your hand on his bicep, pulling yourself closer to him. He responds to your touch and you can tell he likes it. His crushed velvet shirt felt nice underneath your fingertips and felt his toned arms. He places his hand on your cheek, pulling you in with more urgency. You feel breathless, loving the way his skin makes yours feel like it’s on fire.
Elvis softly pulls away, not before biting your bottom lip and letting a sigh slip out of his mouth.
“Those lips darlin’, I could kiss them all day,” he mutters, his eyes heavy with lust.
“What’s stopping you?” You whimper. He grins and pulls you in once more.
You can’t believe any of this is real. The way he is kissing you should not feel so good and yet it does. You put both of your hands on his chest, pulling him closer to you by the collar of his shirt. His hands start to roam along your back, feeling the curve of it and how well this dress fits you. Every inch of you wants his hands placed lower. Right at the spot that is yearning for friction from those perfect hands.
He starts to drag one of his hands to your hip, squeezing there then down the top of your thigh. Need coursed through you and you couldn’t help but open your legs a tad bit. You’re not sure if he noticed, but he let out a pleased hum as he kissed you with more intensity.  
You needed to feel him. You needed to feel how soft his skin would be when it’s pressed against yours. Your hand sneaks into his shirt and feel the coarse little chest hairs he had there. You were right, his skin felt perfect and it only made you crave more. You snake your hand lower and onto the top of his thigh. You make the same movements he’s doing to you and you feel his body melt at your touch. 
You move your hand a bit lower and go to caress the inside part of his thigh and you freeze.
“Oh…” you moan into his mouth.
What you felt underneath your fingertips made you cry in need of him. Dear God, he was blessed in more ways than one. He was so much longer than you expected and it made your heart leap out of your chest. His cock was warm and fully hard in his pants as your fingertips slowly start to rub against him. You pull away from his lips and have to look at what your hand is feeling. 
You were going to die and see the pearly gates if you tried to have that inside of you. But God you didn’t care, you wanted him so bad. You’ve never wanted a man like this in your entire life. Looking up at Elvis, he looks calm and collected, still giving you a heated stare. He looks down at your hand, then back up to you with an innocent look about him. 
“You like what you feel baby?” He asks low. You take a deep breath before answering him.
“Y-yes. Yes, I do…” you say softly, your hand moving along him more. He lets out a pleased groan and adjusts his hips slightly, liking the feeling of your touch on him.
“Do you want more? Do you want to feel what it’s like inside of you?” He coos, leaning in for a soft kiss that leaves you dizzy. Your breathing felt erratic and the ache you had in your core only worsened.
“Yes please Elvis… please,” you beg. He smirks at you and kisses your neck, sending a shock of electricity through you. 
“Can I see what you’re wearin’ underneath this pretty dress honey?” He asks you. You nod your head and his fingers find the zipper of your dress easily. He slowly pulls it down and pulls down the fabric off the front of your body. You help him slip you out of your dress and sit there with your white bra and panties left on. He lets out a pleased little groan as he sees you sitting there, trembling with need. He gently touches your exposed skin, leaving little goosebumps behind. He touches your breasts gently, biting his lip as both of his hands cup them and start to play with your nipples through the fabric of your bra. You can’t help but lean into his touch loving every second of this.
He places a soft kiss on top of your breast as he reaches around and unclips your bra. He quickly puts one of your nipples in his mouth and sucks on it, groaning as he does so. Your back arches into his mouth, craving so much more from him. His other hand roams your body but only focuses on the top half of you. Your core was dripping with arousal and aching to be touched by those long fingers. You guide one hand between your legs and have him put pressure there.
You gasp instantly, his touch feeling better than you could have imagined but also realize you’ve soaked through your panties. He takes his mouth off of you and pulls away to look down at his hand.
“Fuck honey, how long have you been soaked like this?” He grumbles, his two fingers sliding up and down through your covered folds and creating the most delicious friction.
“Since I saw you moving on that stage,” you admit weakly.
He chuckles softly, “Oh honey, why didn’t you tell me sooner… this pussy just weepin’ for me?” He asks as his fingers slide the elastic of your panties to the side and expose your leaking core to him.
“Yes,” you moan. He nods his head and slowly pushes a finger inside of you. You both groan together, filling you so nicely. Your hips rock into his hand, needing everything he can give you. 
You throw your head back as he adds another finger inside of you.
“Elvis,” you moan, your chest heaving for more. He watches you intently, liking how on edge you are for him. His fingers twist and curl inside of you and you gasp for air. He likes what he’s doing and can’t get enough got you either.
“You feel so nice and wet baby. Can I give you my cock now?” He asks.
“Please, I want you Elvis, please give it to me,” you beg, reaching for his belt and unfastening it. He pulls down your panties and you lift your hips to help him get them off. You then work on the button of his pants and slide down the zipper. He lifts his hips up too to take them off and you watch as his cock comes out. Oh God, you were weak by just looking at it. His pink tip was peeking out from his foreskin and clear precum started to dribble down his length. His hand wraps around his length and spreads some of that slickness around the tip of him, moving his hand up and down slowly. You look back into his intense eyes and don’t know what to say.
“You want to ride me, honey?” He asks. The look on your face must have shown the apprehension you had thinking about taking him like that. He rubs his thumb along your cheek and smirks at you.
“It’ll feel so good baby. You’re so wet for me, you’re going to cover my cock in your sweet honey and make us feel so good,” he groans as you watch him swirl his thumb around the tip of his cock. A pent-up moan escapes your lips and quickly straddle his hips, needing him more than ever.
He rubs his length through your folds, covering him in your arousal and making you both moan with the sensation. You hold onto his shoulders and press kisses to his cheek. You feel him line himself up to your entrance and hold your hips. Elvis looks up at you with need and his eyes are begging you to have him. You felt the heat of him pressed there against your entrance and you can’t wait any longer. You start to sink down on his impressive length, moaning as you take the first few inches. He felt so good, filling you so completely and stretching out your tight entrance. He throws his head back onto the couch and groans as you take him, squeezing your hips tightly.
The sounds he makes when he’s getting pleased goes straight to your head. You love the way he groans as you move slowly on him. You never knew you could be so attracted to the sound of a man getting pleased. You take more of him inside you and cry out his name, overwhelmed it can be feeling this good. 
“You feel so good, honey. You like how my cock feels inside you?” He groans into your ear. You gasp as his hips move up into you, stuffing more of his length inside of you.
“Yes, oh fuck yes,” you cry out.
You move faster on him, wanting more of him and feeling your walls fluttering each second. His eyes watch how your breasts bounce as you’re riding him, drunk at the very sight of you. You close your eyes, overwhelmed with all the sensations he’s giving you and those eyes only make it worse and worse. 
Your hips grind at the base of his cock and you both whimper. Your clit rubs at the base of him and you feel your walls start to clench around him. You ride him harder, chasing the high of your orgasm. You look back into his eyes, desperate for him to help you.
“E-Elvis… oh please,” you beg.
“Come darlin’, I wanna feel you come for me,” he groans as he snaps his hips into you, causing his cock to get deeper inside you.
You whimper in agony, not being able to hold on much longer. His hands are back on your hips and help you move more. Your breathing is ragged and your vision is blurry, you thrust a few more times on him and you feel your body shudder hard. Your walls squeeze around his length and cry out his name like he’s your saving grace. He groans with you, loving how good you feel around him. He helps you rock your hips into him more, making you come more than you ever have in your life. Your head feels dizzy and your body feels like it’s floating. You never knew a man could make you feel this good.
You keep riding him and don’t want to stop. He was still making these sinful sounds that sent a pulse straight to your pussy as you hear him getting pleased by you. He bites his lower lip as he stares at you, beaded sweat gathering at his temples and his breathing becoming more frantic.
“Ah, honey you feel so damn good. I need to come now,” he says gruffly. He picks you up off of him and has you stand in between his open legs. He grabs his cock in his hand once more and starts to jerk himself off, staring at you with need. You wanted to touch him again, feel the warmth of his length fill your hand. You boldly get on your knees and take his hand off of himself. You wrap your small hand around him and his eyes roll back in his head. Your wetness covered his length and made it easy to move your hand on him. You angle his length toward your chest and he bucks his forward and falls apart. His seed comes out in thick, hot, spurts and lands on your chest. He groans loudly and cusses under his breath with each stroke of your hand. 
“Oh yes honey, yes,” he moans.
He’s trying to calm down and regain his normal breathing but your thumb continues to tease his extra sensitive head. He groans in agony, loving and hating how you’re playing with him.
“God honey I-I-I ain’t never felt so good,” he sighs. “Come here,” he says opening his arms to you. 
You get up and sit on his thigh, your spilling arousal making a mess on him. You wince when you feel the wetness spread on him and look up at him with an innocent smile.
“Sucha messy lil’ girl hmm?” He teases.
“Mhmm, you’re quite messy too,” you quip, looking down at your chest with him covering it.
He laughs amused, “Well, you felt too good what can I say,” he says cutely, placing a soft kiss on your lips.
“I had to say thank you in some way for letting me take some pictures of you,” you say shyly.
“Oh, you didn’t need to, but I’m so thankful you did,” he winks.
You kiss each other more, reveling in this moment together, not wanting it to end so soon. But you knew he had other places to be, you couldn’t keep him in here forever.
“I don’t want to keep you from your day. The whole town is so happy you’re here,” you smile.
“Thanks, honey. It’s nice to be celebrated in sucha nice way,” he says caressing your face, “but this might have been my favorite thing I got today.” He says cutely.
“And what’s that?” You ask smartly.
“You, my new favorite reporter.”
*
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Tagging:
@powerofelvis @burninlovebutler
@neptuneismysister @velvetelvis @ccab @presleyenterprise @loving-elvis @theresalwaysep
@prompted-wordsmith@sillybookmarks @dkayfixates @ellie-24 @rktismylife-blog.@myradiaz@tacozebra051
@thatbanditqueen
@18|kpeters @flwrs4aust @emma181873
@austinswhitewolf @eliseinmemphis
@everythingelvispresley @chasingwildflowers @idontwanttoputanything @ohjustpeachy
@elvisalltheway101 @austinsmutler @kingdomforapony
@generoustreemystic @claire-elvisgirl
@ashtag6887 @burnthheparaphilia @richardslady121
@jaqueline19997
@returntopresley. @iloveelvis @rjmartin11 @that-hotdog @louisejoy86 @misspresley @cattcb @annapresley8
@arrolyn1114 @raginginkedslut @epthedream69
@mh777ep1938 @50sexyshadesfashionista
@oldhOllywOod @hooked-on-elvis @livelovedilfs
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ab4eva · 8 months
Text
‘Ain’t That Loving You Baby’
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Summary: Reader is out of sorts all day - grumpy, petulant, rude and just plain bitchy. Elvis takes it upon himself to set her straight.
Warnings: NFSW 18+, spanking, non-con spanking, established relationship, time period related ideas about marriage/relationships, copious use of pet names, use of the term “daddy”, fingering, aftercare, fluff. Please let me know if I missed anything.
Authors note: Y’all, sometimes inspiration for a fic strikes in the most unexpected of ways, as with this one. I know this isn’t everyone’s cuppa, so if I’ve tagged you and you aren’t into it, apologies and please just keep right on scrolling. Now please enjoy one of my top Elvis fantasies that I will write in as many different ways as humanly possible until the day I die.
Word count: 3.6k
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You couldn’t quite put your finger on it - why you were so out of sorts today. One minute you were close to tears, feeling sensitive and tender if anyone so much as looked at you the wrong way or seemed the least bit careless with you. The next minute you were blowing up at some poor member of the Memphis Mafia, Vernon or even Elvis himself. You were grumpy, combative, and just generally in a very bad mood. It was as if a black cloud were hanging over your head, following your every step, raining on your own personal parade just to piss you off. The worst part was you knew you were being a brat but you were powerless to stop it. You felt itchy and irritated, on edge from the moment you stepped out the front doors of Graceland that morning to run your errands.
It didn’t help that when you returned, Elvis and the boys were lounging in the living room, making a right mess of things - beer bottles littering every surface, ash trays full to the brim with cigar ash, dirty plates covering the floor - it looked like a literal bomb had gone off. You’d just cleaned the entire house yesterday from top to bottom. Elvis had begged you to hire a housekeeper after you’d gotten married, but you were old fashioned, you saw it as the wife’s job to keep a clean house. And so you did…until all of these beastly men came and messed it up again. You surveyed the mess, a look of displeasure coloring your pretty face, your hands clenched into tight fists. Your heart pounded as you dug your fingernails into the soft flesh of your palm and tried very hard not to scream.
“Oh hey Y/N,” Red said lazily, the first of them to notice you standing in the doorway. “These cookies are damn delicious.” Your eyes zeroed in on his hand and you saw he held one of your freshly baked chocolate chip oatmeal cookies, the ones you’d painstakingly made dozens of last night. They were meant for the cookie exchange your book club was having tomorrow. Your eyes slowly surveyed the rest of the men in the living room, all of them perched here and there on the furniture or the floor… and all of them with cookies in their hands. The big platter heaped with cookies you had carefully placed on top of the fridge now sat almost empty in the middle of the coffee table. Your eyes found Elvis’s as you inhaled sharply and gave him a look that could kill. He had the good grace to look abashed as he quickly dropped the cookie he was holding, standing up slowly from where he sat on the couch as he moved towards you, holding both hands in front of him in a gesture meant to placate you but it only enraged you further.
“Now baby, we didn’t mean to eat all these here cookies, but you know they’re my favorite and I-I-I couldn’t resist. And I had to share with the guys, otherwise what kind of host would I be?” His blue eyes were sparkling with something close to amusement and his voice dripped honey, soft and low, soothing. He knew the look you were giving him, knew he had to tread carefully.
“Elvis…baby,” you said in a dangerous and mocking whisper, “those cookies were for my book club.” You spat the words out through gritted teeth, barely containing your rage. The thing is, you were usually so easygoing, so even-keeled, the very definition of hospitable to guests in your home. Normally, this wouldn’t even phase you. But today? It made you so angry you could barely speak. Poor Jerry had the unfortunate thought at that moment to try and smooth the situation over by offering to clean up the mess they’d made only to have you snap at him (“Don’t bother! None of you had the bright idea to even think before turning my living room into a pigsty!”) as you stomped out of the room.
Things didn’t end there as your rampage continued for the rest of the day, cutting down anyone and anything daring to cross your path. Vernon made the mistake of asking you about a shopping bill for some new dresses you purchased last week, innocently wanting to know the total so he could add it to the monthly expense account. You almost wrung his neck - the sheer audacity of the man! The Colonel came sweeping in cheerily in the late afternoon, trying to pull one of his old carney tricks on you, thinking it would lighten your mood. It had the opposite effect and you told him off so completely that even Elvis had to chuckle at it with a bemused smile. But the final straw came that evening, as you and Elvis sat peacefully (for his part, at least) in the living room, quietly reading after a rather tense dinner. You made some snide, off the cuff remark aimed at the way your husband’s business was being run and in an instant, you knew you’d stepped over the line, pushed Elvis past the limit of what he’s willing to take.
As soon as the words fly out of your mouth you wish you could pull them back in, gather the broken pieces of them and keep them inside. You suck in a gasp, your eyes flying to his face, realizing your mistake too late, realizing your bad mood has landed you here, in uncharted territory. Only once before had you taken things too far - two weeks after your wedding - Elvis had stormed out of the house in a barely suppressed rage only to return the next morning, acting as if nothing had even happened. You see his body still and his blue eyes widen in surprise before they darken, anger and annoyance flashing across his face before being replaced with a look of willful determination. You know that look, it’s the one he gets when he has an idea in his head, and like a dog with a bone, won’t let go until he gets what he wants. Your heart speeds up in your chest, pounding almost painfully, you feel a little lightheaded and your mouth goes dry. You swallow thickly, opening your mouth to apologize, to take back the words you’ve already said, anything at all to stop this train from hurtling off the cliff. “Elvis, I-,” the words start to tumble from your mouth in a rush before he cuts you off angrily.
“That’s enough!” he yells, his voice booming loud and firm, your ears ringing with the force of it. “Now listen here, girl, I don’t know what’s gotten into you today, but that’s. Enough.” His voice is now dangerously low as he punctuates each word with a stab of his finger in your direction, his gold rings glittering wildly in the soft light of the room. He stands abruptly and strides towards you, grabbing you by the wrist and pulling you to his chest, wrapping his arms around you tightly and holding you there. You struggle against him, beating his solid chest with your closed fists like a child, not wanting to be held.
“Lemme go…let me go!” you practically scream in his face. Something inside you refuses to be comforted in this moment, you feel as if he’s suffocating you. You don’t want him to touch you, don’t want him near you. And yet, it’s all you want, to be here, in his arms. His deliciously musky scent fills your nostrils as he presses your head into his shirt in an attempt to calm you. His chest is heaving with restrained emotion and his wiry chest hairs tickle your nose through his unbuttoned collar. Confusion swirls in your brain, you’re too upset to sort through the emotions that have been tormenting you all day as you thrash against him. His lip curls up in an annoyed smirk as he grabs your flailing fists, pinning them to your side as his jaw clenches, his strong arms vise-like as he clutches you tightly to his chest.
“Now, you’re gonna tell me why ya got a bee in your britches, darlin. Why ya been a goddamn brat all goddamn day… or I’m gonna make ya tell me,” he commands, his voice rough and low. His eyes search yours and his nostrils flair slightly as he breathes heavily, trying to keep you in check as you still struggle against him. You can see the vein in his neck, the one that drives you wild, popping out - which means he’s excited or angry - or both.
“I’d like to see you try,” you spit at him scornfully, your bright eyes challenging him, your lip turning up into a slight sneer as you wriggle some more.
“Don’t test me, little one. I think someone needs an attitude adjustment and I’m just the one to give it to ya.” He squeezes you tighter in his arms as you squirm, still trying to break free, and suddenly you’re having a little trouble breathing. You stop moving for a moment and his grip loosens just a little as you gulp in a breath of air. “As your husband, it’s my job to set you right when you’re misbehaving. So I’m gonna ask ya again, darlin - why are ya so outta sorts today?”
You stare at him, at a loss for words. Truthfully, you don’t know what’s gotten into you. It’s just a bad day. You remember waking up and feeling fine, maybe a little tired. Elvis was already gone, his side of the bed cold and empty. He’d been distracted with contract negotiations when you found him in the kitchen, already eating breakfast. Without you. You had wanted to tell him a story about something that happened yesterday that made you think of him. But just as you were about to he was up and out for a meeting, without ever kissing you good morning. Or goodbye. All of these little things, you suddenly realize, subconsciously added up to you feeling neglected and uncared for by him. They had curled inside your belly without you knowing, sending sad thoughts to your brain all day long. You bite your lip as it all comes rushing in and you feel yourself close to tears.
You can’t tell him these things. They’re all too silly, too small, too insignificant in the grand scheme of it all. You just stare at him, your chest heaving, your eyes silently pleading with him to understand as a tear slips down your cheek unbidden. He softens for a moment, a dozen different thoughts flashing across his readable face. He gently wipes your tear with his thumb and presses a kiss to your cheek where it fell. Then he nods once, as if making up his mind about something. He releases you, grabbing your wrist again, practically dragging you over to the big, comfy chair at the edge of the living room. You go rather willingly, unsure of what his plan is. His other hand settles on the back of your neck, gently, as he starts to push you down over the back of the chair. You suddenly understand that something you have no control over is about to happen and you start to fight him again. But he keeps a firm grasp on your wrist as he keeps pushing your head down until you are bent almost in two over the back of the chair. If his iron grip on you didn’t entirely prevent you from moving, his strong, lean body standing behind you and pressing you into the chair does.
“Stop squirming, or I’ll have to tie you down.” His voice in your ear is breathy, somewhere between amused and annoyed. “Don’t think I won’t, honey. You’ve been ornery all day and you don’t get a say in what happens now, ya hear me? Just remember, this is for your own good. And I love you.” You stop moving, knowing he’ll do whatever he deems necessary to see this through. He releases his grip on you and steps to the side, his left arm settling heavily across your back to hold you down as he rucks your short dress up around your hips. You feel him run a hand across your round ass, cupping it and squeezing softly. You hear what can only be described as a delighted breath escaping his lips behind you, the soft huff of a chuckle, his ribcage expanding against your arm as he breathes deeply. The pressure as he grips your ass gets harder and harder before he suddenly stops and his cool fingers toy with the edge of your panties around your waist before he unceremoniously yanks them down to your ankles.
“Last chance, baby,” he says through gritted teeth, his tone stern as he pins you to the chair. You start to squirm again, panic rising in your chest. He’s about to spank you. He…he’s never done that before. Not even for fun. Your body starts to tremble and you shake your head, refusing to speak. You feel him raise his right hand and a ghost of a breeze whispers across your bare bottom. You squeeze your eyes shut and take a deep breath, your heart banging painfully in your chest, preparing as best you know how. You haven’t been spanked since you were a little girl and there’s something wrong, and slightly exciting, about it.
He delivers the first slap to your bottom with a firm, open palm, the impact of it echoing throughout the living room, the only other noise that can be heard is the ticking of a clock, your gasp and Elvis’s heavy breathing. You inhale sharply at the sting of it, but it isn’t as terrible as you were expecting and it dissipates quickly. You let out the breath you’d been holding, if this is all it is you can handle it. All is quiet and still behind you, and you wonder if that’s it…until you feel him lean down to speak in your ear again.
“That was just a warm up, little girl, ain’t gonna go that easy on ya for the rest of ‘em,” he murmurs, and you hear the love in his stern voice as you try and process what he’s saying. The rest of them? That was going easy? You start to wiggle, trying to break free once again and realize the whimpering noise filling the room is coming from your mouth. Before you can get too worked up he swats you again, twice in quick succession, a little harder than before.
“Ow!” you yell, incensed by your situation, kicking your feet a little. “That hurt!” You spit out through gritted teeth, angry now. “Elvis Aaron Presley, you let me go this instant!” Your demands are met with an amused laugh, and you let out a frustrated growl, trying and failing to twist out of his grasp.
“I see I haven’t sorted you out yet, honey. Still got some of that brattiness left in ya that needs to be broken. Your choice, little girl.” Elvis lets a small laugh slip, his eyes on your body as he slowly and deliberately brings his hand down on your ass again. It’s strong and forceful, but not cruel. It leaves you breathless, speechless. Finally the stinging has permeated your skin and refuses to leave. It’s starting to be uncomfortable and you can tell that if he doesn’t quit soon you’re going to have a hard time sitting tomorrow.
“You’ve been petulant, rude, acting like a damn child all day. And that’s not the woman I know and love, the woman I married. No wife of mine is gonna act that like that and get away with it - not to my friends, not to my father, and especially not to me. Do you understand?” His hand gently cups you as he lectures, rubbing softly over what must be your quickly reddening ass. You hiss and grip the the pillow in front of you. “Answer me, girl. Do you understand?”
You’re not done pouting…if he thinks he can break you, sort you out, punish you - let him try. You stay willfully silent, refusing to speak. You hear him sigh as he removes his hand from you and you brace yourself for another round.
“Have it your way, darlin’…I’m gonna give you six more and if you’re still in a state, then we’re gonna have to have a serious talk, you and me," Elvis says, suddenly quiet and solemn and your heart drops in your chest. Maybe this isn’t some game he’s playing? You didn’t realize it was as important as he’s now letting on. You know you were a total bitch today and you do regret your words and actions… You cry out as he spanks you again without warning, his palm landing with more force than he’s given you so far. He continues and the spanking is relentless, but there's also something almost hypnotic about it. It feels like his hand is on your skin forever, but before you know it, it's almost over. And unexpectedly you realize the last couple of swats have sent lightening straight to your core, your nipples are tight buds rubbing deliciously against the coarse fabric of the chair through your thin dress and you’re surprised to feel slickness gathering on your thighs. You don’t know when your cries turned to breathy moans but he stops abruptly as he hears you, still two spankings left to give.
You’re breathing heavily, still clutching the decorative pillow adorning the chair as you clench around nothing, surprising yourself and Elvis as an obscene squelching noise echoes across the now quiet living room. You let out a breathless laugh, flushing a deep red, thankful he can’t see the embarrassment written across your face. You feel Elvis laughing silently as well, quiet little snorts as he tries and fails to keep from giggling.
“Well now, this is a development I wasn’t expecting,” he murmurs in your ear, leaning over you, his warm breath floating across your cheek. You turn your face towards his, your glassy eyes trying to focus on him as you blink slowly. “Now that it seems I’ve sorted you out, what kind of daddy would I be if I didn’t also take care of my baby?” His right hand squeezes your bottom lightly as his left arm finally releases you and his hand slips underneath your hips, his long, cool fingers gently sliding up your soaking folds. Your breath hitches at his touch, letting out a whimper as he reaches your aching clit, circling it deftly with calloused fingers, once, twice, before dipping two of them into your wet heat.
“Goddamn, mama, so needy for me? Maybe I oughta spank ya more often,” he says breathlessly, his voice taut with desire. You know your husband well - it’s the way he sounds when his cock is hard and straining against his pants, aching to be set free. He’s probably already starting to leak, you think dimly, and the thought has you fluttering around him.
“Oh…” you manage to breathe out as he starts to pump his fingers into you agonizingly slow, his thumb finding your clit and applying light pressure. You rock your hips, already so close to the edge you can almost taste it. His right hand smacks your ass hard and you jolt forward, the feeling of his fingers inside you and his punishing hand on your backside has you starting to whine, unable to stop. He speeds up the movement of his hand, curling his digits just so into that sensitive and spongy part of you just as he delivers the final slap to your ass that has you clenching tightly around his fingers nestled inside you, coming harder than you have in a while, your high-pitched whine turning silent as you stop breathing for a moment. He groans above you and you feel him shaking slightly as he bends over your body - you know it’s taking everything in him to hold it together. After a few moments, he slowly releases you, helping you stand and your legs immediately buckle underneath you. Elvis grabs you under your arms to try and keep you from falling but you’re both so weak with spent energy and desire - yours fulfilled, his aching - that you both tumble to the ground in a heap.
"There. All sorted out, sweetheart?" Elvis smiles down at you as your head rests against his shoulder, his arm encircling your waist. His voice is rough but tender as he smoothes the hair back from your face. "How did daddy do?" he asks, a smirk pulling his lush lips up into a lopsided grin. You blink dazedly, trying to form a coherent thought.
“Daddy?” you finally say, rolling the unfamiliar word around on your tongue. “Hmm, I could get used to that, I think.” You smile softly as your hand reaches up to cup his face, your thumb brushing the scratchy stubble across his jaw as your eyes turn serious. “I am sorry, Elvis. For all of it,” you whisper, blinking back tears.
“Shh, little one, I know,” he says, kissing your forehead softly and pulling you closer into himself, cradling you on his chest as your hand nestles in his chest hair, right above his heart that beats only for you.
And at book club the next day, when you’re settled on a mountain of pillows, no one even bats an eye.
-
Tags - I don’t have a general tag list so I’m just tagging some lovies who have enjoyed my previous fics: @jelliedonut @elvisabutler @precious-little-scoundrel @butlersxbirdy @missmaywemeetagain @headfullofpresley @powerofelvis @notstefaniepresley @amydarcimarie @prompted-wordsmith @dkayfixates @sillybookmarks @melancholicbutterflies @thatbanditqueen @eliseinmemphis @godlypresley @ccab @richardslady121 @rjmartin11 @claire-elvisgirl @literally-just-elvis-fics
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jhoneybees · 22 days
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Talkative
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Here's a cute little blurb, you lovelies 💕
Characters: Late 60s!Elvis X little! reader
Warnings/triggers: Little lifestyle, age regression
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Sometimes when Elvis and you go to bed, it would be a bit of a challenge when you're little, especially when you're in a talkative mood which tonight's one of those nights.
“Alright, Comfortable?” Elvis asks as he sets your favourite stuffie beside you after making sure things are good for you, you nod “All good!” reaching your arms out from under the blanket, doing grabby hands making him chuckle.
“I'm comin’ I'm comin” he reassures, walking over to his side of the bed and climbing in under the covers, wrapping an arm under you to bring you closer to him earning a small giggle from you. “What's so funny?” tickling your side slightly.
Your small squeals erupt “ ‘m ticklish Daddy!” pushing your fists against his side in a weak attempt to make him stop, he chuckles and moves his hand. “Okay, Okay” Elvis replaces the tickling to rubbing your back and he smiles lovingly as he looks down at your pretty face.
“I love you, y’ know that?”
He hums as you respond by nuzzling your head against his chest. His hand brushes a strand of hair away from your face, being given the sight of that sweet, innocent, child-like spark in your eyes. His eyes soften “My beautiful sweet girl…” lifting both of his hands to cup your face just below the jaw, leaning in to pepper your face with his famous kisses, giving you the last one on your nose..
“Get your beauty sleep, Honey… ” he mumbles tiredly, you nod against his chest and you close your eyes.
. . .
“Daddy…” you whisper, earning a deep hum from Elvis. “Me and Jerry had a lot of fun today” he breathes out “Is that so?” with a grin on his face, you smile “Mhm! We…we drew really pretty pictures and- and had a tea party with all my friends and..” Elvis’ grin widens knowing that these friends of yours were the plushies that he would give you whenever he came back from tour.
“And we went out in the garden! I took Hoppie with me too but I dropped her in a muddy puddle” your eyes and voice trailing off before looking up at Elvis “She’s ok though, Jer said that giving her a wash in the washing machine wouldn’t hurt” making him crack another smile.
“Mhm, sounds like you did have fun today” letting a small yawn before bringing his hand up to stroke your hair “You must be tired, baby hm?”saying that in hopes that would get you to snuggle up and fall asleep, your head moves slightly against his chest “mmm, not yet- oh! We picked pretty flowers too! Roses and- and uhm hydran- hydran…”
Letting out another yawn, Elvis rubs his face with his free hand “Hydrangea?” beginning to lightly scratch your scalp “Hydrangea! Yeah so-” a quiet, tired chuckle fills your ears “Honey, let’s go to sleep hm? Daddy had a long day” combing his hand through his hair, Elvis lowers his eyes to your doll ones “But I didn’t tell you about-”
“Ya can tell me tomorrow baby” he says with a southern drawl. Rolling onto his side and bringing you in closer with his almost limb arms because of how tired he is “Goodnight darlin’” making sure to place a peck upon your head.
Sighing softly as his chin rests on top of your head, his eyes fluttering closed “I want milk”
“Oh Honey-”
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rosepresley68 · 19 days
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X; Are you going to the doctor again?
Me; if I feel very bad
X; Are you sure that guy is helping you? Maybe you should see someone else.
Me: It's not necessary, he makes me feel good... I-I mean he helps me a lot!
THE DOCTOR;
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153 notes · View notes
mahg-stuff · 8 months
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𝑯𝒊𝒔 𝑫𝒐𝒍𝒍
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Prompt: "Only God knows why"
Summary: Big Daddy just wants to try exploring new erotic themes with his sweet dolly but it involves a firearm, though she is wary she puts her faith in Elvis and God.
Pairing: bd!elvis x afab!reader
Word count: 13k
Warnings: p in v, unprotected sex, excessive smut, 18+!, gun play, sorta naive reader, manipulative tactics!?, mentions of religion, age gap (isn’t directly stated), certain themes can be disturbing/dark, lots of manhandling, quick mention of Elvis’ health, implied butt stuff f!receiving (only briefly brought to the attention), first time giving oral m!receiving, use of the word daddy, pet names, Elvis at one point calls himself papa bear, might’ve missed a few...
AN: ITS HERE MY LOVELY'S! I know i made y’all wait so so long for this & I just wanna say sorry. Life just decided to get in the way again and took a toll on me but I'm finally back & ready to give you guys this story you so deserve!
Like I mentioned in my previous post this is my literal first attempt of writing something like this and about Elvis, as well as writing about religion. Hope you all enjoy it! I’m no expert so please go easy on me. hehehe (Though I will admit I had this story idea marinating for a quite awhile, let's just say Big Daddy is a handful.)
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 After wrapping up your usual prayer of gratitude to God for another day of life, something you had started doing since getting with Elvis. You noticed the time on the clock and realized that night was drawing near. Feeling a sense of peace and delight, you closed your eyes, ready to embrace the night and all the possibilities it may bring. You felt grateful for the moment and decided to cherish it. As you opened your eyes, you promised yourself to make the most of the night and enjoy every minute of it. 
 Getting up from your vanity's desk, striding to the bathroom with some pep in each step, and starting to wind down for the night by getting ready for a relaxing bath. You entered the bath and soaked in the warm water, letting your mind drift as you reflected on the events of the day. You remembered what Elvis mentioned earlier today, that he'd be getting his hands on a new toy for the two of you. You weren't sure what this toy could be at all, but you were excited to find out. You trusted him to surprise you with something delightful, even if it meant not fully understanding it at first. However, as you soaked in the warm water, trying to relax, you just couldn't help but wonder if this new toy would be something intimate and sensual, considering Elvis' comment about it being an "adult" toy. Regardless of your slight inexperience in this area, you felt safe knowing that Elvis would be there with you. 
 Finally feeling freshened up, you hop out of the bath, wrapping yourself in a fluffy towel before heading to the closet. Looking through it, you spotted your new pink babydoll nightie. You couldn't help but beam at yourself, your thoughts going straight to him. Taking it off the hook, you slipped it right on after putting on some simple underwear. You skipped  towards the mirror, admiring how the pink satin fabric draped over your curves and how the lace details accentuated your feminine features. You couldn't wait for him to see you in it, knowing he'd be pleased. He always told you how pretty you were in pink and how it brought out the rosy glow in your cheeks. You turned your back to the mirror, looking back at yourself over your shoulder with a playful grin, then blowing a kiss to yourself, feeling like a ditz just at the mere thought of his approval. Catching the time on the clock through the mirror, you gasped, realizing Elvis would probably be on his way right now. You rushed back to the bathroom and applied some light makeup and a little bit of eyeliner, just the way Elvis liked it. Before letting your hair down and brushing it out, your natural loose curls flowing against the midsection of your back. Finishing up and giving yourself one last glance in the bathroom mirror, your hand naturally reaches to touch the cross on your necklace, a comforting habit you've developed over the past months of being with him.
You take a deep breath, and as you are about to walk out of the bathroom, you can hear the sound of the bedroom door opening and closing. You feel a flutter of excitement in your chest as you know it's him. You were probably so lost in your thoughts that you didn't even hear his arrival. Composing yourself, you slowly walk out into the bedroom, and there he is, standing with his side to you. 
 He turns to you, revealing a better view of his tall and broad frame, slightly pudgy but taut at the same time. As you approach him, you observe just how tall he is, towering over you. His big shoulders stretch out the fabric of his shirt, and his pudgy belly that protrudes just barely over his belt. You can't help but feel small in his presence. Shyly meeting his gaze, you notice a twinkle in his eyes through his glasses, and you can't help but wonder why he held both of his hands behind him. His deep, honey-colored voice echoed off the walls.
 You felt a sense of security wash over you as you listened to him speak. "There's ma sweet baby 𝑫𝒐𝒍𝒍." 
 You practically pounced on him, embracing him in your arms, they hardly reached to hold him all. You nuzzled your face against his hairy chest that was revealed by his open button up, breathing in his distinctive aroma of musk with hints of cigar and his cologne, feeling safe in his embrace. As he held you tightly, you felt like a kitten being cradled in his large and heavy arms. As you pulled away, you gazed into his eyes but everted them due to his intense stare.
 "I missed you." you mumbled as you coyly ran your little digits through his chest hair. 
He then held your lower back tightly with one of his broad hands and kissed your forehead. 
"I missed ya too, ma sweet angel," he replied in his thick, southern drawl. 
As he spoke, you could feel the vibrations of his bass voice reverberating through your body, making you shiver. You knew that no matter what happened, his embrace would always be your safe haven. He looked at you with such intensity that it was practically begging you to look away. You could feel the weight of his gaze, as if he were trying to communicate something without saying a word. It was both exhilarating and unnerving, and you couldn't help but wonder what he was thinking. Eventually, you broke the silence. 
"What ya thinking about, bub?" you voiced as you poked at him in a girlish manner.
He let out a soft chuckle and shook his head, breaking his intense gaze. You felt relieved but also a little disappointed that you didn't get to uncover the mystery behind those blue eyes. You spotted him looking at you up and down behind his spectacles, and you were overcome with a rush of shyness. You were conscious of how little clothing you were wearing in comparison to him—you were just wearing a pair of underwear underneath your babydoll and were barefoot—as opposed to how fully dressed he was. He kept staring at you, and you could feel your heart pounding and your cheeks flushing. While you were already his, it took some getting used to the impact he had on you. Sometimes he left you almost woozy with the way he handled you. You made an effort to keep his stare in your direction, but soon you had to turn away since the intensity of his gaze became too much to bear. He made a muttering noise and stretched out to firmly grasp your chin to make you look up at him. The coolness of his rings and roughness of his large hand on your warm skin was a dangerous sensation you enjoyed but knew you'd never admit it to him. As he held your gaze, you couldn't help but feel excitement. You wondered what he was thinking as his thumb lightly brushed against your lips, making you shiver with anticipation.
 "Yur jus tha prettiest lil’ thing, ya know that sweetness?" in a low tone. 
You nodded to him with your doe-eyes, trying your hardest not to break eye contact. While holding his gaze on yours, gauging for your reaction, he let go of your face and slowly lifted your nightie to reveal your undies he stroked his fingers over the waistline, letting his icy rings brush across your belly, giving you goosebumps. His face lit up when he saw your choice of underwear, a simple pair of white cotton undies. You couldn't help but be embarrassed by his attention, but you also wondered what else he was thinking as he looked at you. You shifted uncomfortably under his gaze, but you couldn't deny the little thrill you felt of being so intimately inspected. You felt exposed but also desired, and knowing that he was the only one who could make you feel that way made him even more irresistible.
 Letting your nightie drape over you once again, he held out one of his hands. You took it without hesitation, feeling the warmth of his big palm against yours. He leaned in, pressing his lips to your neck and trailing kisses down to your collarbone that left tingling sensations behind. You closed your eyes, trying your best to hold back any noise that urged to escape. 
"C’mon, tiny, give yer ol' man ah lil’ spin," he encouraged whispering into your ear as he leaned back. 
 You agreed compliantly and did a twirl for him, your nightie flowing up a  bit and revealing your clad butt to him, which he whistled at with praise. As you spun around, you couldn't help but feel a rush of giddiness. 
He liked seeing you this way, it was like you were his own little doll. 
 You liked the sense of being entirely in his hands and enjoyed playing, exploring, and being pleased with him. As he continued to admire you, you felt your body responding to his touch, with that fuzzy feeling in your belly and your panties growing slightly damp. You were immediately distracted when you noticed that he still held something behind his back. You wanted him so desperately. The same ache could be seen in his eyes, but you quickly fought the tension that was beginning to grow between your gazes, leaving only want in its wake.  
 "So, w-what exactly is this new toy you were getting t-today..?" You stuttered out as you wriggled towards the arm behind his back in a kittenish manner, but he was faster than you and withdrew away before you could get a good look. 
"Now, darlin’, you go ahead and sit yer lovely self on that bed there and keep those pretty eyes closed f’me, hmm.." was the command he gave in that thick drawl you adored. 
With a sneer look on his face, he gestured to the side of the bed, and you realized there was no use in disagreeing with him. You closed your eyes and tried to relax, wondering what he had in store for you.
 "Alright, babydoll, now hold out them gorgeous things," he said once you were comfortable on the bed with your eyes shut. 
His voice made you shudder, and you extended out your small hands, palms up, as he asked. You could feel something heavy, metallic, and cold being put inside of them, and you couldn't help but want to have a look. You opened your eyes and gasped when you saw a black pistol gleaming in your hands. You were aware that Elvis owned a variety of guns, but since they were lethal weapons, he never brought them near you. You gave him a confused look as you glanced up at him with wide eyes. 
 "Goddamnit, honey, did I tell ya ta open your eyes?'' He voiced it sternly. 
 You quickly shut your eyes again, unable to utter a word. 
 As you sat there in your and Elvis' shared bed with a gun in your hand, you couldn't help but feel a rush of adrenaline. You had never held a firearm before, let alone a lethal one. Your heart was racing, and you could feel the weight of the gun pulling down on your dainty arms. You knew you had to trust Elvis, even though you were unsure of his intentions. You tried to calm your thoughts, but the fear of the unknown was getting overwhelming.
 Suddenly, Elvis broke the silence, seeing the way your hands were starting to slightly shake, and said, "Darlin', now go ahead an open 'em pretty doll eyes f'me." 
You slowly opened your eyes, still feeling the rush of adrenaline, and looked up at Elvis. He saw the rushing thoughts in your eyes, making him feel a twinge of guilt but also amusement. He took a few steps back, and it looked like he was admiring the view. 
"Would'ya look ah that, mah two stunnin' girls look great together." He gasped as he stared in awe. 
The way he referred to you and the gun as his girls sent a shiver down your spine, a strange mix of fear and excitement. You never expected to find yourself in this situation, holding a gun in your trembling hands. But deep down, your assurance in God gave you a glimmer of hope that everything would turn out okay. As Elvis looked at you and the gun, you couldn't help but feel a rush of confused emotions. Elvis was looking at your expression, and he couldn't help but be entertained by your confused state, but then he saw as your expression went from confusion to overwhelm. Your rookie self was sitting there with that cold weapon in your trembling hands, looking at Elvis with knitted eyebrows and a pout. He sensed your emotions were becoming too much for you and quickly moved to ease your distress. With a gentle smile, he reached out and gently took the gun from your trembling hands, placing it safely out of reach on the bed.
 "I ain't mean ta startle ya, tiny. I ain't gon hurt cha." He said it softly, soothing your nerves slightly. 
You nodded hesitantly, still unsure of what was happening.
 "Good," he ushered as he stroked down on your hair, putting a strand behind your ear. 
You took a deep breath and tried to process what was happening. So this was the 'new toy' he went to get today—a gun. Elvis was known for his extravagant gifts and gestures, but this was different. He had presented you with a gun, and although he said it was out of reach now, you couldn't shake the feeling of unease. You continued to observe him, searching for answers, but he simply leaned in closer. 
"I trust ya, baby," he said, his voice low and smooth. 
"And I need ya to trust me too." You couldn't deny the allure of his charm, but the fear in your gut was still present. You had no idea what he was implying here. 
"El-" you tried to speak before Elvis interrupted you. 
"Now before you say anythin' darlin', lemme explain. Last night, ..." he paused, "it's just I had a thought, and, w-well, maybe I was wonderin' if you'd like ta bring that beaut into the bedroom, hmm? What d'ya say?" 
 You were taken aback by Elvis’ request and unsure of how to respond. Your gut was telling you to be wary, but you also didn't want to offend or disappoint him. Elvis was now taking off his slightly tinted glasses and placing them on the bedside table. Your eyes connected once again with his sense of urgency.
 "I understand if ya ain’t comfortable with it," he said softly, his words rolling off his tongue like sweet velvet, "but I jus thought it'd be fun ta try s-somethin' different, somethin' new, together." 
You weren't sure why, perhaps it was the brief tingling sensation that still lingered after your body responded to his touch from the events that occurred not so long ago, but there was something about his request that gave you a rouse deep down. Pushing that feeling away almost quickly and coming back to your senses and reality, you wondered how a gun would do any good in a setting of intimacy, which led your thoughts to race once again. Handguns are made for killing, they are no better for anything else, as you thought. 
 Building up the courage to speak, you expressed, "E-Elvis, I don't really understand, why, why you'd want to involve an item like that i-in our intimate space." 
Elvis looked at you, his expression unreadable for a moment before he let out sternly, "Only God knows why, hon', everythin' appears for ah reason, an that is why this idea was sent to me." 
You paused for a moment before timidly looking up at the cross that hung on the wall of the bedroom.
 "Sweetheart, look, you may not comprehend it right now. That may not appear ta be fair. But God knows what he's doin'." Elvis interrupted your thoughts. 
He took your smaller hands in his big ones and gently squeezed them, speaking, "Trust in the Lord with all yur heart, and do not lean on your own understandin', in all your ways acknowledge him, and he will make straight ya paths."
He had just uttered the following words from Proverbs 3:5-6 as he stared into your eyes. It was clear that Elvis was trying to soothe you and help you find peace in your current situation. Giving the cross another glance brought you back to what you had promised yourself at the beginning of the night after prayer, 'to make the most of the night and enjoy every minute of it'. You pondered for a while and thought that certainly this was truly God's notion, and he was leading you to embrace this unexpected and confusing situation as an opportunity for growth and a test of your faith. He was telling you to fulfill that promise right now. 
 As you looked back at Elvis, you felt a sense of calmness and knew that with him by your side and your faith in God, you could handle whatever came your way. Elvis gave you an encouraging look after observing your train of thought. You took a deep breath and decided to let go of any doubts or worries and instead fulfill Elvis' request by taking a leap of faith. While you knew Elvis wouldn't harm you, you were still a little wary about what role that particular object might play in the night's events. Eyeing the firearm where it now lay on the bed. You felt Elvis' large hand come into contact and rest on your bare shoulder, and your head shot back to his face as he gave you a reassuring smile.
 "Don worry, doll," he whispered, his voice filled with a mix of amusement and affection.
 "I promise it'll all jus’ be like ah playful lil' game." 
With a mixture of curiosity and uneasiness, you sluggishly nodded to him, “Okay-y then.”
He then went to remove his heavy blazer, slipping it off and tossing it somewhere on the bed. You flitched a little at the sudden movement but couldn't tear your eyes away from his piercing gaze. The uncertainty in your eyes was replaced by a flicker of fever as he approached, his confident steps inching closer to you.  As he stood in front of you, he bent down to meet your gaze as you sat still on the bed. His broad shoulders and tall stature seemed to loom over you, emphasizing how bitty you were in comparison. With a coy smile appearing on your lips, you began to play with a lock of your hair, feeling oh so fragile in his presence. He clutched the back of your head and pulled you in close for a passionate kiss. In your overwhelmed state, your hands fumbled clumsily, unsure of where to go. He pulled back, staring into your eyes, and with a rough motion, reached for your arm, pulling you to stand up from the bed. 
You couldn't help but yelp a tiny, "ouch." 
His grip still firmly on your arm, he went and sat himself down on the bed. He pulled you into him right away and made you lay on your tummy beside him, he handled you like a ragdoll and pulled you over so your lower body was draped across his lap. Your uncertainty and exhilaration were both palpable as you lay there, consumed by a mix of confusion and excitement. His actions left your mind spinning, unsure of how to react or what he expected from you.  You felt his big belt buckle rubbing against your bare thigh, as well as feeling his slightly protruding belly pressing against your upper thigh. In a way, it brought you sensations you didn't understand but liked. You felt his large hand rubbing up and down against your back thigh, going higher and reaching under your nightie to your clad bum as he firmly squeezed it. Feeling your face flush at this, though it wasn't new to you, you still felt shy at his actions. He scrunched the bottom of your nightie, pulling it up and revealing your undies to him. 
"My, my, you are jus ah sight for sore eyes, honey." You blushed even deeper as his words sent a shiver down your spine. 
His touch, combined with his compliment, made you feel excitement. You couldn't help but squirm slightly under his firm grip. As his fingers traced the edges of your underwear, teasingly exploring the delicate fabric. Suddenly, you felt the coldness of something gliding up your calf. You glanced over your shoulder to see him holding the gun. Your heart raced as a million thoughts ran through your mind. Was he really about to use the gun in such a way? You gulped nervously, unsure of what to expect next. His eyes locked with yours, a mischievous grin playing on his lips as he brought the gun more upward across your leg, grazing the tip softly over your delicate skin. You slightly moved to lift your upper body, feeling overwhelmed by this new situation.
 Softly you stammered, "Wait... E-Elvis...". His eyes softened as he looked at your frazzled state. 
“I want no harm done ta ma baby doll, hmm, it's only ah little fun," he rasped out. 
"Y'know I'll always take care of ya.” he caresses you with one hand while the pistol rests in the other along your thigh. 
 You start to feel more at ease as he reassures you, and gives you an encouraging look. You take a deep breath, trying to calm the racing thoughts. As you glance down at the pistol resting on your thigh, you look back at him and give him a timid but sweet grin. While keeping an eye on the pistol, your gaze shifts to the cross on the wall in front of you, providing a comforting sense that everything will be alright. He steadily starts to bring the gun more upward, grazing it on your back thighs and in-between them, slowly inching higher until it reaches over your clothed backside. 
 Despite the unsettling nature of the situation, your mind becomes foggy and your senses dulled. That fuzzy sensation rises as he traces the contours of your back thighs and rear end with the cool touch of the gun, heightening a mixture of nerves and anticipation. He brought his other hand to your hair, grabbing it, making you turn to look at him, and the way he ran the gun across your body left a trail of goosebumps along your precious skin.  
 In that moment, time seems to stand still as you stare into his eyes, a mix of fear and curiosity swirling within you. You watch as he inches the gun towards your undies, dragging it slowly along the fabric, teasingly close to the sensitive skin underneath. Your breath hitches, your heart pounding in your chest, as you wonder what he has planned next. Every nerve ending in your body is on edge, ready to experience the unknown.
 As the gun hovers just above the edge of your undies, you can't help but let out a shaky breath, a silent plea for reassurances. He eyes you as he starts sliding the pistol in between you and the fabric, his gaze filled with both mischief and desire. The cool metal of the gun grazes against your skin, sending shivers down your spine. His other hand lets go of your hair and brings it to caress the cheek of your face, lightly squeezing it. With one hand gripping the gun and the other now firmly holding your face, he leans back slightly, to admire you. The contrast between his strong, supple thighs and your petite frame as you lay across his lap sends a jolt of anticipation through his body. As you rest against him, you can't help but feel both breathless and eager for what lies ahead. He chuckles softly, enjoying your muzzy state and the way your lips are slightly parted. 
"Mah sweet yittle baby is doin' so good f'me." You can't help but blush at his words, feeling a mix of embarrassment and arousal. 
His deep, even-keeled voice sends shivers down your spine as you obediently keep still, not daring to make a sound. The weight of his hand on your face is both comforting and controlling—a reminder of how much you love pleasing him and giving your all to him. As he continues to stroke your cheek, his touch gentle yet firm, you can't help but surrender further to his control. The intensity of his gaze holds you captive, his eyes piercing into your soul, leaving you feeling displayed and vulnerable. Every word he speaks feels like a command, and you are eager to comply, to show him just how much faith you have in him. He lets go of your face and directs his attention back to your clad bottom, the gun still grazing under the fabric on your buttocks as he inched closer to your dulcet parts. 
 But then he stops and reaches with his other hand, coming into contact with the waistband, and swiftly pulls them down to your mid thighs, revealing your bare ass, and slowly but firmly starts grazing the gun over it. Every nerve ending in your body is on high alert, acutely aware of your every movement. 
 Each stroke is calculated, leaving a trail of electrifying sensations in its wake. As the gun traces its path along your rear, you can't help but feel a strange mix of pleasure and danger—an intoxicating concoction that leaves you craving for more. You feel a tad bit jittery but stiffen as you feel him bring the pistol along your tailbone and drag lower along the middle of your buttocks, going lower until he reaches that sensitive area between your thighs. Your heart pounds in your chest, matching the rhythm of your quickened breaths. 
 He notices your state and coos again, questioning softly this time, "Tiny's doin' such ah good job fer me, ain't she?" 
Your cheeks flush deeper with a mixture of embarrassment and excitement as you nervously nod to him over your shoulder, yearning for his approval. 
As he continues to explore the sensitive area between your thighs, you can't help but feel a ripple of pleasure and shock shoot through your body when he presses the cold metal against your heat.
 "Oh—mmph," you gasp lowly, your words muffled by the intensity of the moment. 
The sensation is unlike anything you've ever experienced before—a tantalizing mix of pleasure and the forbidden. As he continues to tease you with the cold metal, your mind becomes consumed with a dizzying array of thoughts. You find yourself surrendering to the intoxicating pull, losing yourself in the overwhelming sensations that ripple through your body. 
Elvis sees this and smirks, his grip on the gun tightens, rubbing it against your sensitive core, as he slowly speaks, "You enjoyin' that doll? See, I knows what's best for ya." 
You're too overwhelmed to respond, the mixture of fear and arousal fueling a confusing rollercoaster of emotions within you. He takes a peek and sees how your flesh is pressed against the pistol, he lets out a low chuckle, seeing the slickness of your arousal starting to glisten along the gun. 
"Oh, y’dirty lil' girl." he murmurs out in his smooth voice. 
The physical sensations and his words, combined with the undeniable evidence of his growing desire against your thigh, heighten your anticipation, leaving you flushed. Your face probably looks like a tomato by now, but all you can do is bite down on your lip from the new sensations you're feeling. Elvis decides to push the boundaries as he brings the pistol back up along the middle of your ass, leaving your throbbing core, but this time he goes in-between your cheeks, catching a view of your small hole. You shift in his lap as you feel the cool air hit it, and your breath hitches in response. The charged atmosphere is heavy as Elvis slowly traces the outline of your anus with the muzzle of the pistol, teasingly applying gentle pressure. Your mind races with panic at the unfamiliar commotion, and you try to slowly crawl further toward the bed and away from his lap. He had never been so close to that area, and the intrusion by gun both jarred and frightened you, you felt it was getting too much for your little self. 
 "Wha-, no-o, not there!" you shrieked out in a high pitched voice, hoping he would attend to your plea. Elvis smirked, his hold on you loosening. 
"Oh, sweetheart," he whispered huskily, his voice appearing playful.
 "Is this too much fer mah yittle baby," he said, as he withdrew the gun from your prohibited area. 
You relaxed, still feeling the tingling in your belly but also having scattered emotions. He went and placed his heavy hand on the small of your back and leaned down to kiss your bottom before giving it a light slap.
 "Y’were so darn good, f'me doll." He cooed out as he gripped your arm roughly, lifting you up from your lying position along his lap. 
You stumbled slightly as he pulled you up, your body still feeling weak from the intensity of the moment. As he guided you to your feet, his grip on your arm tightening, you couldn't help but feel a mix of conflicting emotions, excitement, and danger. You balanced yourself, feeling your nightie drape back down, but then heard the slight noise of your undies hitting the carpet under you near your feet, causing a sudden rush of embarrassment to flood over you. You glanced down, and so did he, both of you eyeing the wet stain you had left on them from the actions that had just taken place. Your cheeks flushed crimson, and you quickly looked away, playing with your fingers. 
 He couldn't help but smirk at the sight of your damp undies. Elvis stood up from the bed and towered in front of you, his presence commanding the room. You could feel the intensity of his gaze as he leaned closer, bringing his larger hand to gently pet your head. He then gripped your head towards him, his voice low and filled with a mix of desire and control. 
 "Did ya enjoy that, Tiny?" he murmured, his breath hot against your ear. Your heart raced as you met his intense gaze, unable to speak. 
You nodded silently, feeling a wave of anticipation and curiosity wash over you. 
His smirk broadened as he noticed your reaction—a glimmer of satisfaction in his eyes. Slowly, he released his grip on your head and leaned in, kissing your forehead softly. Then he took your lips in a slow, passionate kiss, his tongue exploring every inch of your mouth. As his enormous hands wandered down your body, the intensity of the moment grew, causing your body to respond eagerly. Your brain goes fuzzy once more, as your nipples harden under your silk pink nightie. As his hands trailed down your smaller frame, his touch felt intense and electrifying. His lips left yours and began to trail a path of kisses along your jawline, down the column of your neck, and to the hollow of your throat. 
Your breath quickened, mingling with his as he pressed his body closer to yours, the feeling of his pudgy belly and big buckle adding a comforting weight against you. His desire was evident in the way his large hands gripped your teeny waist. His bulge grazed against your upper abdomen, and a surge of anticipation coursed through your veins, heightening the electricity between you. You felt yourself growing hotter, the slick between your thighs was starting to ooze out even more, causing your legs to clamp together involuntarily.  Elvis caught this, and his lips curled into a mischievous smile. He leaned in closer, and brought his hand to squeeze your breast over the silk fabric. The touch sent a jolt of pleasure through your body, making you gasp softly. His fingertips danced over the hardened bud, teasing and caressing, as his other hand trailed down your back, giving your ass a light but firm squeeze. The intensity of the moment was overwhelming, as the heat between you became almost unbearable. You could feel his desire pulsating against you, almost matching the rhythm of your racing heartbeat. He then dragged his hand down your body until it met the hem of your nightie, his touch tracing the delicate fabric.  
The impatience built within you, as you yearned for him to explore further. His massive hand continued its journey, inching lower and lower, until it reached under and to the center of your innermost desires. With a tender yet possessive grip, he cupped your exposed, sopping core, sending a buzz of electricity through your entire being. He starts softly caressing your sensitivity, carefully switching between light strokes and firmer pressure. 
 "God, darlin', yur drippin' like honey down there," he whispered huskily in your ear. 
The weight of his hand, combined with the coolness of his rings, made it impossible to control the rising tide of pleasure that threatened to consume you. As he continued his intimate touch, you could feel the heat building within you, your breath coming in shallow gasps. Each stroke sent waves of pleasure crashing through your whole body, making your toes curl and your back arch. Elvis eyed your expression, your scrunched eyebrows, shut eyes, the slight agape of your small mouth, revealing just how lost in the moment you were. He smiled mischievously and pulled his hand away from your heat, leaving you feeling a sudden void that sent a shiver down your spine. You opened your eyes, meeting his gaze filled with amusement. The air around you crackled with anticipation as he leaned in closer, his warm breath grazing your earlobe. 
"How ‘bout we take this lil' nightie off ya, doll?" Your cheeks flushed with a mix of excitement and nervousness as his words sent a rush of tingles down your body. 
With a subtle nod, you allowed him to take control, trusting him entirely. 
He gestured for you to lift your arms up, and he carefully slipped the delicate fabric over your head, revealing the curves and daintiness of your body beneath. His gaze seemed to appreciate every detail, from the suppleness of your breasts to the gentle curve of your hips. As the nightie hit the ground, you stood facing him, captivating him with your shy yet alluring presence. He brought his hands to your boobs, kneading them, causing a surge of pleasure to ripple through your body. 
He admired them in his large hands, "You jus got tha prettiest, perkiest pair ah titties I've ever laid eyes on," he whispered in his drawl. 
You blushed deeply, even though he'd always say the same thing every time he saw them. 
 He leaned down into your breasts and placed gentle kisses along the curve of each one, his warm breath sending shivers down your spine. His hands traveled further down, exploring the softness of your stomach and the curves of your waist. You arched your back, allowing him to trail his kisses down your abdomen, leaving a trail of heat on your soft skin. He started lowering himself until he almost got to your heat. 
He looked back up at you as he spoke out, "M'gon take ah look at cha doll parts, ok? darlin'." His voice was filled with a mix of lust and tenderness.
 With a mumbled "A-Alright", you watched as he positioned himself lower between your thighs, his eyes locked with yours, before you interrupted.
 "W-Wait, I don't want you t'get h-hurt on your knees." Elvis having health issues, you couldn't help but worry and didn't want him putting strain on his knees due to his age. 
"Don't cha worry ‘bout me, sweetheart. Daddy's takin' good care ah himself." He reassured you with a gentle smile, his hands caressing one of your thighs. 
The concern in your eyes lingered, but his words provided some comfort. Slowly, he lowered his gaze to your throbbing heat, and a mischievous smirk played on his lips. 
"But right now, I think there's sumn else that needs mah attention," he whispered huskily, "M'doll is lookin' so pretty an pink down here." 
You felt a rush of heat spread throughout your body as his words sank in. 
His touch on your thigh sent shivers down your spine, but you couldn't help but feel torn between his desire and your worry for his well-being. However, as his hand moved closer to your throbbing heat, you found yourself giving into his touch, unable to resist the temptation that lay before you. He grazed his fingers against your hot flesh, feeling you shudder under his touch. 
As he leaned his face closer to your heat, he mumbled, "So perfect, jus f'me." 
He stuck his tongue out, giving your cunt a slow, tantalizing lick that made your body arch in pleasure. The intensity of the moment washed away any remaining doubts as you surrendered yourself completely to the passion and desire coursing through your veins. A symphony of soft moans filled the air as he continued to explore every inch of your moistness with his skilled tongue. He reached over and forcibly pulled one of your legs over his shoulder while the other remained balancing your posture and allowing him better access to your throbbing core. His hands firmly gripped your hips, holding you in place as his tongue delved deeper, swirling and flicking with expert precision. He pressed his face closer into your heat, feeling his nose graze your bud, sending electrifying tingles of pleasure throughout your body. The intensity of his actions sent waves of pleasure coursing through you, causing your toes to curl up and your breath to hitch in your throat. Every sensation seemed to be intensified, with every touch and movement driving you closer to the edge of bliss. Your itty-bitty fingers found their way into his hair, pulling gently as you gave in to the overwhelming pleasure he was providing. 
 As he continued to devour you with his mouth, his hands roamed your trembling thighs, gripping them firmly as he held you in place. With each flick of his tongue and every gentle nip, the tension within you built, threatening to push you over the edge. You could feel your body arching towards him, desperate for release. The world around you faded into a hazy blur, leaving only its raw intensity.
 "Elvis-s...feels s-so good," you managed to gasp, your weak voice barely a whisper. 
The words hung in the air, heavy with desire and need. His movements became more fervent, his lips and tongue working in perfect sync to bring you to the brink of ecstasy. You could feel the slight familiar heat pooling between your thighs, your senses heightened as you yielded completely to the pleasure he was giving you. The sounds of your tiny gasps and the lapping of his tongue filled the room, creating a trance of pleasure that echoed in your ears, only pushing you more over the edge. Your body trembled with need, yearning for release, as the intensity of his mouth consumed you. Every nerve-ending tingled with pleasure, the sensation was electric and intoxicating. 
 With each passing second, the climax grew within you, the waves of pleasure crashing against your core. Your nails dug into his shoulders, desperately clinging to him as you rode the wave of ecstasy. His hands, strong and sure, held you steady, supporting your weight as you surrendered to the dizzying pleasure coursing through your body. Lost in the moment, you gasped for air, your breaths coming in short, ragged bursts. His mouth continued its assault on your dripping cunt, his tongue expertly flicking and teasing your swollen clit. Every touch sent electric shocks of pleasure through your overstimulated body, making it hard to think or speak. You tried to push his head away, tell him you needed a break, that you were reaching your limits, but he was stubborn as he continued licking up your release and savoring every drop. The intensity of his actions had you teetering between ecstasy and displeasure, your mind going numb. 
 As you struggled to regain control of your senses, you found yourself yanking his hair and grasping at his shoulder, trying to bring him back up to your embrace, but he wouldn't budge. The conflicting sensations of pleasure and sensitivity overwhelmed you, causing your body to tremble uncontrollably. 
 Finding your voice, "Too much-h..t'much, daddy-y." 
You gasped, your voice trembling with a mixture of pleasure and a hint of discomfort. His actions had pushed you to the edge, and you needed him to ease off, even if just for a moment. As you tugged at his thick hair, you could feel his lips curl into a devilish smile against your skin. His grip tightened around your waist, his fingers digging into your flesh as he continued to ravish you with his mouth. The intensity of his action nearly blurred your vision, and he pulled away to give you a look. You felt relieved but were still in a gasping and quivering mess as he held your hips to calm you and keep you steady. 
"M'sorry doll, seems like papa bear jus can't get ‘nough uh yer sweet honey," he murmured, his voice filled with appetite. You give a timid smile as you try to regain thoughts.
 With a strength you had never seen before, he rose from his knees, towering over you. His eyes glimmered with a mixture of hunger and adoration as he stared down at you, you couldn't help but rest your body against his from slight exhaustion. In that moment, he saw you as his cherished doll, a testament to his faith in him and the divine guidance bestowed upon both of you.  As he stood before you, you noticed a subtle shift in his posture, he adjusted himself, making his bulge more prominent. You couldn't help but feel a surge of desire as his confidence and craving for you became increasingly evident. And as your fingers grazed across his hairy chest, finally breathing steadily again, he couldn't contain his passion any longer. 
He took hold of your waist firmly, pulling you closer to him and gently guiding you towards the bed. Lying your naked, slender body down, grabbing the small cross that hung around your neck, he paused for a moment, his eyes fixated on the symbol. The contrast of the saintly necklace against the sinful scenario heightened the vague nature of it all. With a passion fed by the shared devotion, he kissed the cross, then left kisses against your collarbone and chest, moving lower, leaving a trail of holy desire across your skin. The sight in front of you made you purr with anticipation, every nerve in your body aflame with a mix of excitement and a tinge of fright. And in that intimate moment, the boundaries between sacred and profane melted into an ecstasy that intoxicated both body and soul. As he trailed more kisses towards your belly, he looked at you, eyeing him, he got up from the bed, and you sat up slightly to see as he tugged at his tucked shirt from his waistline and started unbuttoning it. 
  Your heart races with suspense, desire igniting within you as you watch him undress. The sight of his pudgy yet strong physique only intensifies your desire for him, appreciating every special detail. In this moment, he is perfect to you, captivating you with his raw masculinity and genuine desire. As he finally removes his shirt, your eyes drink in every detail, savoring the sight of his wiry chest and abdomen hair. The beads of sweat already glistening on his skin only add to his allure, making him appear even more irresistible. He watches as you're in awe of his beauty, a smug smile appearing on his face. He knows the effect he has on you, and revels in the power it gives him. Slowly, he walks towards you, his steps deliberate and confident. You can feel your heart race, and your breath quickens. 
"Y'wanna try helpin’ me wit these, lil' girl?" His words flowed smoothly from his lips with that mesmerizing southern accent, the drawl adding a touch of charm to his request to help him with his pants. 
You sit up more and inch closer, your legs dangling from the bed as you try to gather the courage to respond. 
"P-Please, I'd like... to," you stammer at him sweetly in that soft voice he adores , your cheeks flushing with a mixture of nervousness and excitement. 
 As you reach out to assist him, your fingertips graze over the firm bulge in his pants, making you momentarily lose focus. You quickly retract your hand, feeling a rush of embarrassment flood through your body. He chuckles softly, his eyes twinkling with amusement as he watches your reaction. Your cheeks grow even hotter as you meet his gaze. He stares into your doe-eyes, his smile never faltering. 
"No need ta be afraid, hon’. Y'seen him before," he says, his voice filled with a hint of mischief.
 You take a deep breath, trying to regain your composure, knowing it would be the first time seeing it so up close. 
With a nervous laugh, you reply, "Yes, b-but... not like this." 
He can't help but chuckle louder, his hand reaching out to gently touch your cheek. 
"Well, darlin', consider it an introduction then," he teases, his touch sending shivers down your spine. 
 Despite your flustered state, you manage to regain composure and slowly begin undoing his big belt buckle, the trembling in your hands being noticeable. As you struggle with the clasp, you can't help but notice the stark difference in the size between his buckle and your hands. His deep chuckle vibrates through you, a sound of amusement. With determined focus, you finally manage to loosen the belt, feeling a surge of confidence wash over you. And reach over to his zipper, your voice small and shaky. 
"C-Can I...can I undo this too?" you ask, biting your lip nervously.
His eyes lock with yours, a mixture of adoration and desire shining through. 
"Uh course, my yittle baby can do anythin' she wants," he whispers huskily, his hands caressing your flushed cheeks. 
 You start bringing his zipper down, and as you do this, Elvis' heavy hand goes and gives your supple breast a light squeeze, causing a shiver to run down your spine. The touch is both gentle and possessive, sending a surge of electricity through your body. You can feel the heat between your legs rise as you continue to undo his zipper, revealing his hard on as it springs out, you can't help but let out a tiny gasp as it captures you with his size and girth up close. Despite not wearing any underwear, his arousal is evident on his glossy red tip as a bead of precum glistens at the slit. Your curiosity grows as you bring your shaky hand to give him a teasing stroke from base to tip, feeling the throbbing pulse of his large member in your hand. The combination of his commanding presence and your newfound control ignites a fiery desire within you. 
 Your heart racing, never having done this before, you looked up at him, your eyes filled with a mix of excitement and nervousness.
 "Is this-s okay?" you asked in a shy, uncertain voice. 
A small smile tugged at the corners of his lips as he gently placed a hand on your cheek. 
In his deep, southern accent, he reassured you, "Doll, ain't nothin' to be shy bout’. Yer doin' just fine. Keep goin' like that, nice an slow."
 As you held his cock in your hand, you marveled at its size and how it felt, barely fitting against your palm. With every stroke, you tried to mimic the rhythm you'd seen him do before when he'd spew himself on your tummy. The softness of his touch on your cheek reassured you, making you feel more at ease with each passing moment. As deep, low groans started flowing out of his mouth, you felt yourself grow more wet. His grip tightened on your cheek. The sound of his pleasure, mixed with the rush of the moment, sent shivers down your spine. You kept stroking him as you eyed it in front of you, glistening with anticipation. The sight of his throbbing member made your heart race, fueling your desire even further. His breathing became heavy, and the way his hips involuntarily bucked against your touch made it clear how much he was enjoying this moment as well. As you continued to stroke him, you felt his grip tug at your face to move closer to his manhood.
 Panic shot through you as you gazed up at him with wide eyes and knitted eyebrows, unsure of what he wanted next. 
"Awh, darlin’, don be scared," he whispered lovingly, his voice filled with tenderness. 
"Jus wants ya to give him some gentle kisses, show me how much ya adore me," he said, his words both soothing and tempting. 
You took a deep breath, trying to calm your racing heart as you processed his request. This was so new to you, you'd never felt his with your lips or hands before. Slowly, you leaned in closer, your lips hovering just above his shaft. You could feel the warmth radiating from his skin, and with a mix of nervousness and desire, you pressed your lips against him, planting soft, delicate kisses along the length of his throbbing member. As you pressed your lips against him, his scent filled your senses, it was a distinct aroma that aroused you even further, making your heart race with want. The way his flesh felt on your lips was like velvet—soft and smooth, yet with a subtle roughness that made it all the more exhilarating. You could feel his pulse throbbing beneath the surface, echoing the desire coursing through your own body. 
 He reached out to hold your face, making you look up at him as he ran a swipe across your lips with his thumb, "How bout' cha give him ah lil’ taste, baby," he whispered in a low, commanding voice. 
 The words sent shivers down your spine, igniting a fire within you that burned with a mixture of nervousness, knowing it'd be your first time taking him in your mouth. With a shaky breath, you obediently parted your lips, allowing him to guide his throbbing shaft towards your waiting mouth. As the tip grazed your tongue, a surge of electricity shot through your body, causing your senses to heighten and your arousal to intensify. You could taste the saltiness of his arousal mingled with a hint of his musky scent, a heady combination that intoxicated you further. 
 As you slowly began to take him in, your mouth stretching and adjusting to accommodate his size, a mixture of pleasure and slight discomfort washed over you. You were a bit clumsy and couldn't help but gag a little at first, trying to relax and focus on your breathing. Your rookie inexperience was evident, but you were willing to please him. Slowly, you went just past his tip trying to find your own pace and rhythm. You felt him buck into you, making you tense up a little and unconsciously attempt to back away a little, he then firmly brought his broad hand to the back of your head. 
"Relax, f'me doll, jus wanna feel more of tha pretty little mouth," he murmured, his voice low and smooth. 
You swallowed hard, fighting the urge to panic as you looked up at him with your big eyes. 
 His grip on your head tightened slightly, guiding himself deeper into your mouth. Starting to gag, you struggled to maintain control and suppress the instinct to pull away. The taste of him overwhelmed your senses, and the musky scent of his skin filled your nostrils. As his hand continued to grip your head, his pace quickened, and you could feel his desire building. Your mind raced with a mixture of fear and arousal, unsure of how to navigate this new territory. 
 His other hand went to caress your face, giving it a soft slap, "Doin' so good, tiny," he groaned out. 
The sensation of his hand connecting with your cheek sent a jolt of conflicting emotions through your body. You felt the corners of your mouth starting to burn due to the stretch from his size, and you couldn't help but squeeze your eyes shut, trying to block out the overwhelming sensations. The intensity of the moment was almost too much to handle, but you liked this, you liked the thrill of exploring uncharted territory with him. It was a delicate dance between pleasure and pain, and you found yourself surrendering to the unknown. As his hand continued to explore your face, you felt him trying to horse himself in deeper, but you weren't letting him as you brought your hands up to rest against his upper thighs.
 He brought his large palm to stroke your throat, breathing out, "C'mon, baby, r-relax tha itty-bitty throat ah yours."  
His voice was low and velvet-like, sending shivers down your spine. You hesitated for a moment, but you did as he said. As you did this, he bucked straight to the back of your throat, almost fitting his whole shaft inside. The sudden intensity took you by surprise, causing a gag reflex to kick in. You fought against it, as you let out a tiny cry that sent vibrations to his cock and only seemed to heighten his pleasure. The tip of your nose is just barely grazing against his pubic hair. The sensation of his soft curls against your skin sent a jolt of electricity through your body, fueling the fire that was already burning within you. 
You could feel the heat radiating off his body, and the scent of his arousal filled the air around you. 
 As he thrust deeper into your mouth, your eyes began to water. The taste of him, slightly salty and intoxicating, lingered on your tongue, further abusing your senses. Your mind became a blur of sensations, the taste of him, the pressure against your throat, and the sound of his ragged breaths. He groaned above you, the sounds of your sweet muffled yelps and his cock hitting the back of your throat seemed to just rile him up more. But just as he was reaching the edge, he suddenly stopped himself. Harshly, he pulled out of your mouth, his length glistening with arousal and your saliva. 
 "Goddamn, honey!" he panted, his voice filled with lust. 
You gasped for air, your lips still tingling from his intense assault. Your eyeliner smudged from the force of his movements, matching the chaotic state of your mind. The taste of his saltiness lingered on your tongue, intertwining with the bitter sensation of adrenaline that coursed through your veins. You went to wipe your lips, feeling the mess of him and your drool covering your soft lips and chin, but he grabbed your hand before you could clean yourself up. His eyes locked with yours, and he leaned down, pressing his lips against yours, sealing the taste of him on your lips in a deliciously filthy embrace. He pulled back, seeing your puzzled state, and reached up to clean some of your smudged eyeliner with the pad of his thumb. 
"Lordy, girl, ya sure make this old man feel young again," he chuckled, his voice laced with passion. 
You felt a rush of warmth surge through your body at his words. Not having a chance to answer, he gripped your face closer, giving you a harsher kiss. 
As he pulled back from the kiss, his grip on your face tightened, and he forcefully guided you back down onto the bed. You let out a low gasp at his sudden roughness as you lay there, arousal coursing through your veins. The sound of his pants and buckle hitting the carpet was heard in the room, only making you more aware of the intensity of the moment. You couldn't help but bring your hand and rub your small digits over your cunt, the ache almost paining you. Elvis saw the way you were growing needier and needier, and he let out a low chuckle. As he climbed onto the bed, the mattress shifted underneath you, sending shivers down your spine. You glanced up at him with your doe eyes, feeling both needy and shy at the same time. His gaze intensified, and his lips still formed a smirk, he brought his hand down over yours and pulled it away to catch a look at your throbbing core, glistening with desire. 
"M’god, yur all rosy an swollen," he teased, and he went to cup it in his hefty palm, relishing in the wetness that coated his fingers. 
You felt your body jolt at his touch, showing just how sensitive you were. Your breath hitched as he continued to stroke you, his fingers dancing lightly over your pulsing center. Giving your pussy two light slaps to heighten your arousal, he chuckled lowly, reveling in the way you flinched. He pulled his hand away and positioned himself in front of you as he pulled your legs apart and made them bend so that your knees were raised, exposing your most intimate area more to him. You watched as he reached for something, a dark glimmer in his eyes. As he retrieved the pistol another time tonight, a rush of anticipation and fear coursed through your veins once again. 
"It's alright, doll. Only wanna have more fun wit cha." The mix of arousal and trepidation overwhelming you. 
"O-Oki," you mumbled softly after some time, your voice barely audible as you tried to steady your racing heart. 
 You watched as he moved closer between your legs and raised his arm over to your face, grazing the barrel along your cheek and slowly moving it towards your mouth. You look at him, and he gestures to open your mouth. You're hesitating, but comply. He swiftly inches the cold metal into your hot mouth as it grazes over your tongue, it tastes metallic and foreign. You can feel the weight of it against your tongue, the coolness spreading throughout your mouth. He slowly moves it in and out of your mouth, staring at him, his expression filled with a mix of curiosity and satisfaction. As the cold metal continues to dance against your tongue, you feel him withdraw it as a string of your saliva comes along the tip of the metal. You can't help but shudder at the sensation, a mixture of discomfort and a strange, illicit pleasure. He brings the gun down along your neck, brushing against your necklace, then to your chest, tracing a chilling path along your skin. The metal's touch sends a shiver down your spine, and you can't help but feel a surge of adrenaline coursing through your veins. Bringing the gun to your breast, he traces it over your hardened nipple. You let out a shaky breath.
"Daddy-y," you whisper, your voice trembling with a mix of fear and desire. 
He leans in closer, his breath ghosting over your ear as he replies, "Does it excite cha, doll?" 
Your heart races as you nod, unable to form words. 
Your body hums with anticipation as he continues his tantalizing exploration. The cold metal trails down your abdomen, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake. You bite your lip, trying to stifle the moan threatening to escape your lips. He stops the gun just above your lower abdomen, his fingers gently tracing circles across your sensitive skin. 
His voice drips with seduction as he murmurs huskily, "You want more, don't ya, tiny?" 
Your breathing quickens, as you notice how close he is to your aching cunt. Gulping, you watch as he hovers it just above the bundle of nerves with a quick motion. You reach to stop him, your mind filled with hesitation. But he was quick to raise his hand with the gun in his grip. 
“Aye now, none of that babydoll, hmm.” he asserts firmly.
You brought your balled up fists to rest on your chest and gave him an understanding pout, letting him graze the gun on your bud. As he does, a mixture of fear and excitement surges through your body. The dangerous thrill intensifies as you feel the cool metal brush against your hot, sensitive flesh. Your soft whimpers escape in short gasps as he rubs the barrel along your outer lips. As the tension builds, his touch becomes more deliberate, tracing the outline of your entrance with the cold barrel. Your heart pounds in your ears, and you feel yourself tense up as you feel him trying to push the gun inside you. 
 "Wait, wait!" you stammered, your voice trembling with nervousness. 
"Is-isn't.. this, too dangerous Elvis?" you stumbled over your words, feeling hazy and disoriented. 
The rush of adrenaline mixed with fear creates a dizzying sensation, clouding your thoughts and making it difficult to articulate your concerns. He looked at you with a stubborn expression, his gaze unwavering. 
"Come on, darlin," he said, his eyes gleaming with desire.
 "'Member why wer doin' this hmm, the Lord struck me with this vision, and I ain't one ta ignore His call." His words echoed in your mind, intertwining with the doubts that swirled within you.
 The weight of the situation settled heavily on your shoulders, he leaned in towards you. Placing his forehead against yours as his grip on the gun continues toying with your entrance for access. 
"No, no," you stammer, your voice shivering. 
"I don't— f-feels wrong." 
Fear grips your heart as his eyes bore into yours, a flicker of anger crossing his face. His grip tightens around the gun, pushing against your opening.
 "Don't cha understand?" he whispers, his voice filled with a mix of desperation and fervor.
 "This is tha path we must walk together, doll, guided by His will." 
Your mind races, the conflicting emotions tearing at your soul. You look into his eyes and see a glimmer of hope—of someone who believes in something greater than themselves. In the midst of the intense moment, mingling with your feelings of desperation, you seek divine guidance. You hold onto the belief that, through this unsettling path, you and Elvis are bound by a higher purpose, walking together under the will of a greater power. As the intensity builds, Elvis places a hand on your cheek, seeing how your racing thoughts are slowly starting to disappear. 
"Attagirl, trust in Him, in Me." he uttered in his soothing drawl. 
As you look into Elvis' eyes, you find solace in his words and the comfort of his touch. In that moment, you give him a nod and surrender to the newfound growing faith, allowing yourself to trust in a higher plan. The pressure against your center intensifies as he continues rubbing it with the gun. Despite the unease, you remain connected through the shared purpose and the touch of his hand on your cheek. You feel as he retracts the gun from your entrance and backs up along your clit trying to give you pleasure in the midst of your discomfort, his movements becoming more deliberate and controlled. The combination of unease and pleasure leaves you bewildered, yet strangely more aroused. Your mind struggles to comprehend the conflicting sensations, but your body responds instinctively, arching towards his touch. He watches as you enter a state of bliss once more, the pistol getting easier to glide along your folds from all your slick. Inching the gun back towards your entrance, he presses it against you with a firm yet gentle pressure. 
"Quit clenchin', honey," he grumbled, his breath tickling your ear. 
You try to relax, and let go of the fear that still lingers in the back of your mind. As he eases the pistol's tip inside you, the cold metal sends shivers down your spine, contrasting with the warmth radiating from your core.
 "Look at cha tiny, yur doin' purfect." he purrs out as he lifts himself from hovering over you to take a look at how your cunt clenches at the muzzle. 
 As he begins to move it in a slow, rhythmic motion, you can't help but be amazed at the conflicting sensations overwhelming your body. The fear that once gripped you tightly begins to fade away, replaced by curiosity. The coldness of it all sends shivers down your spine. Elvis feels a mix of satisfaction, desire, and a hint of surprise as he sees how your body responds to his actions. He puts more of the pistol's barrel in, so you're taking about two inches of the gun. You hear him chuckle as he sees how wet and heated you are, and your face flushes deep with embarrassment. He moves slowly in and out at a delicious pace that has you letting out low gasps and moans of pleasure. As the pleasure intensifies, every movement of the pistol sends waves of ecstasy through your body. The combination of fear and arousal fills the room, creating an electric and forbidden ambience. With each thrust, you tighten around the barrel, your soft gasps and moans blend into a symphony of pleasure, driving him to push slightly deeper into you. The sensation of the cold metal against your walls only heightens the intensity of the moment, as you surrender completely to the dangerous passion enveloping you.
 "Daddy-y..I-." You start to feel that heat pooling in the low part of your belly, spreading through your entire body, reaching your fingertips, and curling your toes.
 Elvis sees that you're on the brink of pure bliss and pulls the pistol out of your throbbing heat, leaving you feeling empty, his eyes filled with hunger. With a mischievous smile, he grazes the pistol against your folds and up to your bud, and you can't help but shudder with anticipation. The cool touch of the metal against your sensitive clit sends a jolt of electricity through your veins. As Elvis continued to tease and taunt, you grabbed his wrist with both hands, barely able to wrap around it and pressed the side of the barrel more firmly against your bud while slowly moving your hips upward. 
Elvis saw this and was amused, smirking, “Look at cha honey, goin' crazy over ah piece of metal.’’
 Lost in bliss, you didn't pay attention to his words, you were so drowsy from the feeling and trying to chase that sensation you craved again. This ticked something in Elvis though, he had gotten jealous over the thought of something else but him giving you such grand pleasure. He yanked the gun from you with a growl, and threw it across the room, you let out a whine while looking at him dumbfounded. 
"N-no, Elvis-s!" You stammer, your voice laced with nerves and frustration. 
"W-Why did you, you do that-t? I was almost-." 
His eyes narrowed, and his voice was filled with annoyance. 
"You was almost wha, huh? Y’were gettin' lost in some dang stupid piece ah metal!" 
You bite your lip, the familiar sensation of nervousness coursing through your veins.
 "but.. but you.." you stutter, confused. 
He shakes his head, his bitterness evident as he moves over so he's resting against the headboard, "I jus... I don like seein' yur little pussy gettin' all soppin' wet if it ain't cause ah me. I ain't gotta be competin’ with no damn gun."  
Your heart races as his words sink in, a mix of desire and uncertainty swirling within you. You bite your lower lip, feeling a sudden rush of excitement coursing through your veins as you sit up and crawl in front of him. 
"But," you whisper, your voice trembling with anticipation. 
"I-I was only feeling so, so good b-because you were there w-with me." you said quietly.
 His eyes darken with a dangerous intensity, and a smirk plays at the corners of his lips. His mood instantly switching again.
 "Is that so, doll?" he growls out. 
"I reckon, ya c’mere nd make me feel better then," he gestures you over to his lap with a swift motion. 
Your heart races as you obediently move closer, your body trembling with desire, but nervous hoping he wasn't still angry. As you straddle his lap, you can feel the heat radiating from his body, igniting a fire within you. His strong hands grip your hips firmly, and you can't help but let out a small whimper as you hover above his hard throbbing cock. 
"Why doncha give me ah sweet ride, darlin' '', his blue eyes dark with want. 
You gulp, feeling the weight of his words and the intensity of the moment. With a raised confidence, you slowly lower yourself onto him while holding on to his broad shoulders for support, gasping at the slight stretch. Still not quite used to his size, you feel your legs quiver. His deep groan echoes in your ears as he tightens his grip on your hips, guiding you lower. 
"Lord, honey, this lil' pussy needs sum stretchin'," he blurts out in a low tone. 
You let out a pitiful cry as you took him in fully, your bodies becoming entirely intertwined in a passionate embrace. 
"Oh...oh god," you whine, your voice trembling with pleasure.
 You feel Elvis slowly beginning to thrust upward into your dripping heat, filling you completely with every movement. Each thrust sends waves of intense pleasure coursing through your body, leaving you powerless to resist his advances. As the intensity builds, the rhythm of your bodies matches the beat of your racing hearts. With each deep thrust, you can't help but surrender to the overwhelming pleasure, your senses consumed by the touch of his skin against yours. 
Elvis whispered in your ear, his voice filled with lust and desire, "Y'feel so good, tiny. F-Fuck, can't get enuff of yuh." 
His words sent shivers down your spine, adding to the already intense pleasure you were experiencing. As he continued to thrust into you, his movements becoming more urgent and desperate, Elvis let out a low moan that echoed through the room. The sound of his moan only fueled your own desire, pushing you closer to the edge of ecstasy. Your body arched against his, seeking more of his touch, more of his passion. 
 The room was filled with the intoxicating scent of his musky scent mixed with a hint of sweat, a potent aphrodisiac that heightened the atmosphere. Each breath you took seemed to draw you deeper into the moment, as if surrounding yourself with his essence would somehow bring you closer to him. The sounds of heavy breathing and skin slapping against skin echoed through the air, creating a trance of pleasure that drowned out all other thoughts.  
 As your bodies moved in perfect rhythm, you couldn't help but run your hands through his chest hair, feeling the softness beneath your fingertips. His groans filled the room, fueling the fire that burned between your legs. The feeling of his large arms wrapped tightly around your small waist provided a sense of security. You felt him ram into you deeper and couldn't help but let out a wail of pleasure as the intensity of the moment overwhelmed you. Each thrust sent waves of ecstasy coursing through your body, building towards an inevitable climax. His lips found yours, their touch igniting a fire within you that matched the one consuming your every sense. 
You pulled away, “Oh, I, I can-n feel it in m’tummy.” you softly cried out.
 "Is ma yittle d-dolly feelin’ all good in... er t-tummy?" He panted, sending shivers down your spine.  
 "Mhmm," you moaned, barely able to form words as the pleasure intensified. 
As his thrusts continued, the sensation in your stomach intensified—a delicious ache that made you yearn for it. You could feel the tension building, the coiling of desire ready to explode into an overwhelming release. He held you even tighter, his thrusts becoming more passionate. Your vision blurring, you felt his other hand glide over to your bundle of nerves, pushing you to reach your peak of ecstasy. Each movement drew you closer and closer to the edge, until finally, you couldn't hold back any longer. With a breathless cry, you shattered into a million pieces, waves of pleasure washing over you and leaving you completely spent. Collapsing onto his hard yet soft chest, your legs trembled above him as you both basked in the impact of your intense orgasm. You could tell he was still yearning for release, his need was evident as his cock still throbbed and thrust inside you. 
 Catching your breath, you felt him shift underneath you, his hands gripping your hips tightly. He flipped you over onto your stomach, positioning you exactly as he desired. You gasped in shock, but your jumbled mind prevented you from fully comprehending the situation. The aftershocks of your orgasm only made you struggle to process what was happening. As he entered you again, every thrust sent waves of pleasure and confusion coursing through your body. His hands firmly gripping your waist, he guided the rhythm, leaving you vulnerable and powerless to resist. Although your mind was clouded, your body arched in response to his commanding touch, willing to surrender once again to his insatiable desires. The weight of him pressed down on you, enveloping you in a delicious mix of pleasure and submission. Every movement seemed to blur the lines between pain and bliss, blurring the boundaries of your own identity. His chest brushed against your bare back, adding an extra layer of sensation to the already electrifying experience. The intensity of his touch sent shivers down your spine, making your breath hitch and mingle with his own ragged exhales. The occasional sound of a low, guttural growl escaped from deep within him, further fueling the fire that consumed both of you. And then, unexpectedly, another climax crept up on you, taking you by surprise and leaving you gasping for air.
"E-Elvis" you wailed out.
Your voice cracked with desperation, and your body quivered with the force of the pleasure coursing through you.
“Mmf, h-hang in there, baby.” He comforted trying to soothe your overstimulated mind and body.
He continued to move against you, his own release imminent, but he didn't falter in his rhythm, driving you to the edge once again. As your mellow moans filled the room, the air crackled with a raw and primal energy, and you could feel the intensity of his desire he was clawing at. The world seemed to blur around you, your senses consumed by the blend of pleasure and drowsiness. Your mind was clouded, lost in a sea of sensations that left you highly sensitive.
 Every touch, every stroke sent electric currents coursing through your body, heightening your pleasure to an almost unbearable level. The intensity became too much to handle, pushing you to the edge of sanity. You felt your body exhausted and your mind going empty, the only thing you could do was clench the sheets beneath you, desperately trying to ground yourself in some semblance of reality. The room around you felt like it was spinning, a dizzying carousel of colors and shadows. Your breaths came in shallow gasps, the air feeling heavy and suffocating against your skin. He lets out a gnawing grunt, pulls himself out, and sits up on his knees. Swiftly stroking himself until he spews his release onto your ass. You feel a sense of relief and soreness as you try to come down from your powerful orgasms and still your breathing. 
 He chuckles weakly, spreading his cum over both of your cheeks with his smooth tip, "T-Tiny, yer lil’ booty sure looks even p-perttier covered with mah babies." he pants out.
If even possible, your face heats up even more at his witty comment, and you gather the strength to look over back at him through half-lidded eyes, the feeling of drowsiness and contentment consuming you.
 "D-did I do good, b-bub?" you murmur, your voice carrying a soft, low tone. He smiles wearily, his hand gently stroking your hair. 
"Y'did more th-than good," he slurs, his voice filled with exhaustion yet affection. 
You are can feel his weariness as he lies back against the pillows, his chest rising and falling heavily as beads of sweat glisten on his forehead. The room is filled with a comfortable silence and your breaths as you both bask in the aftermath of the erotic, hazardous experience. Slowly, he reaches out to caress your cheek, his touch tender and loving. 
"You were perfect…perfect f'me, sweet, yittle, doll," he murmurs, sleep already taking him. 
As his hand caressed your hair, you couldn't help but feel a sense of divine connection. The words wrap around you like a warm blanket, and you know that you have pleased him, fulfilled his message. The intertwining of the pleasure and fear you faced made you question the boundaries of your faith. Still drowsy, you inch closer to Elvis and rest your head against his fluffy, warm chest, feeling his chest rise and fall with each breath. You looked up at his face, his eyes were closed in peaceful contentment. The room is dimly lit, with the soft glow from a lamp in the corner as you both lay in each others mess. On the wall, the cross hangs, casting a shadow that dances alongside the gentle sway of his snores. You close your heavy eyelids, cuddling closer to his warmth, succumbing to exhaustion from the nights events as sleep overtakes you both.
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Trash Magic
Big Daddy Trailer Park Cop AU One Shot
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Summary: it’s 2008 and it’s the pits of recession, not that the suburbs of El Paso would notice, things have been rather shit among the rows and rows of trailers for some time now. With your dad locked up for being a little too ‘entrepreneurial’, it seems your only ally in these tough times is the town‘s scary old softy, Officer Presley, and the more than professional interest he takes in your speeding and footwear. 
Era: modern but with that dumbass tumblr dusty Americana feel to it I hope?
Kudos: so many to @eliseinmemphis who was my plot guru, kept this thing alive and gave so many lines and sentences used herein.
Word count: 15k and I didn’t edit this sorry for misspells, etc
18+ and may be thematically disturbing to some please read cautions, proceed at your own risk!! More specifics below the cut
HAPPY NEW YEAR MY DARLINGS!
Specific warnings: sexual content, drug use, stripping, casual prostitution, age gap, reader isn’t a minor for such activities but only eighteen?? which is not touted as a good thing but it’s in here?? if that’s a hard no then be warned. graphic descriptions of kinda gross blowjobs and very gross blowjobs, spanking, officer Presley does take too many pills for his pain ok? driving under the influence, minors drinking, trailer trash lifestyle in general, such as I personally have had experience with, it’s rough out there folks but there’s always the good ones trying their best. Sorry I really threw Joe E under the bus. I’m not really sorry but I’m sorry you have to read about him in here. Please let me know what warnings I missed if I did. Again, could be thematically disturbing due to age, solicitation, law officers, drug use, humans not being tidy little robots.
When you were three years old you recall the smell of plastic heating in the sun, the hot smell of fresh cut grass and the cold splatter of hose water on your skin. A little paradise it seemed, that tiny kitty pool and your mama waving the hose over you with one hand, her cigarette dangling between the fingers of her other, bright warm sun and yellowing grass stretched out in large swathes between the little white shacks stacked row upon tidy row. Always the same and ready to guide you home after each little wander into the thicket behind the clearing.
That was life in the Shady Oaks trailer park. There really was only one mature oak tree and it was a live oak and the sunshine beamed right through its little leaves all seasons of the year.
By five you had a sizable jar of grasshoppers collected and had become too scared of their hoards and awful beady eyes to ever release them, fearful they would swarm you the minute you undid the lid of the mason jar and gave them freedom. You had let one out and watched it hop across the torn Hexagons of the linoleum floor before it jumped in an acrobatic feat and landed in the mac & cheese your mom was making. You never know what she did with those jars, but you were half relieved, half heartbroken at the fact they were no longer your responsibility.
By eight you knew you lived in a trailer park and spending your time collecting ants and moths for the new set of grasshoppers to eat was a peculiar and uncool pastime. As were muddy knees and torn t-shirts on a girl approaching her teenage years. But mama hadn’t been able to take the heat and the rows upon rows of mildewing trailers anymore and daddy was too busy with his “entrepreneurship” to dress you right.
By twelve you had learned that some nights daddy came home, and some nights he didn’t and you couldn’t be sure which you preferred. His drunken state was unpredictable and confusing even though he was not abusive, but his absence left you counting quarters and wondering how long your Fig Newtons would last if he stayed gone longer than a week again.
By fifteen the Dollar Store and its fluorescent bulbs leached the vitality out of you with each long day shift, school was an afterthought, and your days smelled of plastic bags and detergent. You brought that smell home to your musty trailer, seeped into the sweaty fabric of your tank top. The only thing that stayed consistent whether your daddy was home or not was the religious watching of the NASCAR races. Reruns and live, it didn’t matter, where many girls escaped into Disney or Reality TV, you did your dreaming while sitting in the ratty drivers seat of daddy’s Ford, making the engine thrum.
By seventeen, your daddy was gone for months at a time. Sometimes he’d leave the Ford and take off on the road with Benny and Gregg in Benny’s motorhome from a few rows down. Greg had the pale blue trailer with the blinds that were always smashed in the one window. He always left his damn lights on, even when he was gone and they’d glow yellow and demented between the brittle plastic. Some nights when you walked back home from town, maybe a little more plastered than you’d like to admit, you’d keep Gregg’s trailer and his silly window as a landmark to turn left in the maze of trailers.
One night the bulb burnt out. One by one the rest of them did too. The fellas, they’d all been gone so long. Next week the electricity got turned off to yours. The bill hadn’t been paid. Dollar Store wages kept peanut butter and miracle bread in your cabinets and bought you cheap tequila from Terry who lived five trailers down and didn’t care about ID’s so long as there was cash on the counter. What the wages didn’t pay for was electricity or gas money or a new car that could actually accelerate fast enough to give you that thrill you craved.
Despite your lousy education and demotivated upbringing, you had some spark of diligence and ambition residing inside you, it was stoked to a decent blaze by the awful, humid and stale air of the trailer without its swamp coolers humming at night. Not even the fridge stayed cool longer than forty eight hours and you ended up at the seven eleven eating roller dogs.
You weren’t looking for job opportunities while licking corn dog grease off your thumbs but opportunity came to you anyway. As you nibbled at the soggy fried dog and licked at the rancid oil while leaning against the auto supply shelf, you’d have to be some sorta dumb to not know that Carl was hanging around the same aisle for something besides windshield washer fluid.
Carl was a native to the outskirts of El Paso just like you, and he was a married man, married to Clarissa in fact. Clarissa who’s plastic miniature flamingo’s gracing each edge of her weedy gravel drive had a younger you thinking she was the height of trailer park sophistication. That was before Officer Presley, who lived in a spacious double wide down by Gregg’s trailer and its burnt out bulbs, got himself a Tiger figurine made outta real concrete and painted pretty as anything, its blazing feline eyes not missing a speck of paint, unlike the flamingo’s slashed ones. Officer Presley only had the one and it was assumed he was saving up for another, and he placed it by the little porch he built off his trailer door, the proximity to the structure giving it a noble sorta air that sitting statues out by the street didn’t manage.
“If you keep watchin’ me like that I’ll have to start chargin’.” you told Carl and his leering face, and took another bite, munching with the carefree manners of someone actually hungry.
“Can’t do that here.” he wheezed a laugh, then thumbed over his shoulder at the bright lights of the trucker club blazing in the dark sky through the dirty glass doors of the gas station. “But over there it’s legal.”
“You so horny you’d pay to watch a girl eat a corndog?” you were dubious, wondering just how little Miss Clarissa put out if he’d waste money on this, it wasn’t like she was busy repainting her Flamingo’s peeling eyes or nothin’.
“I’d pay for a drink for ya.” Carl offered, fidgety hands wedged in his fraying front pockets. “And you can eat another dog. You like hot dogs? They’ve got ‘em over there.”
“Nah, I need cash.” you declined, aware that you could barter for drinks and end up evicted or else make sacrifices regarding the booze and keep your tin roof over your head.
“Cash?” he repeated like a dumb parrot.
“Yeah, stupid.” you flailed your hands a little in annoyance, fully certain everyone in this run down rural suburb knew you were as broke as you are alcoholic at seventeen.
“Ok, then I’ll pay for your hot dog,” he negotiated with an oil stained finger scratching at the sore on the corner of his mouth, “And you can eat it so long as you do it how I tell ya.”
You sighed and ran your chipping nails along the plastic jugs of car oil. “So long as ya let me eat it.” you stipulate, “And you gotta pay for the show.”
“I ain’t made of money, girl!” Carl protested, “I’m buyin’ dinner, you should be thankin’ me.”
“You were plannin’ on buyin’ me a drink.” you pointed out, “Where’s that money gone?”
“Jeeze ok, ok,” Carl sighed, “I’ll pay you same as a wild Turkey would cost.”
“And a dog?”
“Yeah.”
“With chili on it?”
“Oh c’mon now-“
“-It’ll make for good slurpin.” you pointed out sagaciously
Carl groaned in annoyance and appreciation for the mental image. “Ok, a chili dog and the cost of a shot. No funny shit with the tab and you eat it how I say.”
“Does the club have air conditioning?” You asked your last stipulation.
“Course it does, it would be hot as fuck without.”
Your trailer was hot as fuck and anytime spent loitering elsewhere was greatly desired. “Ok then.” you agreed with a shrug.
By the time you’d crossed the parking lot, with Carl’s guiding hand on your lower back, you were irritable from the heat and exhaust fumes. Inside was cool and almost as dark as the parking lot except for the wild, multi-colored lights swirling around the place, highlighting the girls humping the stage floor in the middle of the establishment. One more underage addition wasn’t remotely as remarkable as the fella in the corner trying to take a bite outta a lap dancer’s boob. He got smacked on the cheek for it and nothin’ more, got his full dance anyway and as you watched her after while sitting up on the bar stool, you noticed her negotiate something similar to what you’d just done. She stayed in his lap after her dance was done and after some gesticulating and her unimpressed sighs, some agreement was reached and you watched them get up and walk to the back of the club, through the backdoor that you knew led to nothing more than miles and miles of desert.
Five minutes later a similar transaction occurred between a trucker and a pole girl. They went out back, too. Ten minutes later the first couple came back in. She went to the stage and he went out the front door Carl had brought you in by.
By that point you were slowly inserting a hot dog onto your pink tongue and swallowing a bite every three minutes or more - at least, that’s what it felt like. Carl’s directions were so slow and infuriatingly erratic that you found yourself grateful for the fact you’d already eaten a bit at the gas station, otherwise this would’ve been the cruelest tease to your belly that hadn’t had lunch and only Raisin Bran for breakfast. You chose to ignore the way his hand moved in the shadow of the bar, wiping at his jeans too many times to be passed off as sweaty palms.
A nearly fully dressed girl in cut offs eating a chili dog was hardly the most sensational thing to be watched in this seedy joint, but it was the most peculiar and no sooner had you finished the dog after a laborious thirty minutes, collected the extra drink cash and prepared to go home after declining Carl’s offer of a ride before you found yourself propositioned for the same ordeal. This big fella actually offered a drink with it and much to Carl’s betrayed horror you agreed. Carl ended up leaving, going home to Clarissa, feeling too cuckolded to continue watching someone else watch you eat meat in a casing.
In between sipping Hard Mike’s lemonade you chatted with the fella and spilled pinto beans on your bare legs from the excess. Even the bartender had stopped being annoyed, he even got a bit invested in your gig, retracting the offered napkins for the spill when another guy, a farm hand from the pecan grove down the interstate, asked to lick it off.
You charged seventeen bucks for that spit bath and felt funny as the saliva dried in the chilled bar room air. The bartender asked you if you lived in El Paso. Hesitating to give yourself away or open yourself up to a driveby, you merely agreed that you lived nearby, he didn’t need to know you lived in the Spark City suburb and walked to this tuck station grill to save fuel.
Marty, he said his name was, and Marty was pleased you lived close. In that case he asked if you’d wanna work there. You knew at the time he wasn’t offering you to bartend, your age prohibitive even in so lax an establishment. Your eyes flicked over to the long gal with her sallow skin and stringy red hair loling around the stripper pole in the glow of a green spotlight. It had to be 3:00 am by then.
“Does everybody do extra?” You asked him, plainly referencing the deals that took folks out back into the sagebrush and the backside of the club.
“You do as much as you wanna get paid for.” he admitted. “Plenty just strip.”
Just, he had said. Just strip.
Just stripping was a gross understatement for the rigorous and demoralizing ordeal of flinging your practically naked body around on stage for gaping older men to ogle each night. But it took up hours of your time not paid by the dollar store wages, and you could snooze from five am to eight when your shift began again in respectable retail. You earned a decent amount, even after having to pay Marty and the doormen a portion and even turning down a lap dance or two. The chili dog schtick kept its novelty for three nights and then you were driven to grinding against the pold like all the others, wondering if they’d all hoped to not end this way, same as you.
After a few weeks of this your piggy bank was less empty than it had been in months, hidden under the sink of your trailer behind the Comet and pulled out only to stuff in bills or else retrieve bread money, one Sunday you counted enough to pay your lease for the trailer slip. What was left would make a tiny little down payment for the electricity bill.
Or gas money for at least fifty miles or more in your gas guzzler. You weighed the bills in your hands and mournfully inspected your bruised knees. It was your off day, you contemplated going to the club in the evening as it didn’t respect the Lord’s day like the dollar store, but until then you had hours of a perfectly cloudless day to burn. Suddenly your trailer felt unbearable in its stuffy crampedness.
You tore outta your door and cranked up your daddy’s old Ford and with relief found it started with only a few tries. You tore down the road too, seeking the interstate after using that cash to top her tank off. For the first time in ages a full smile had begun to split your face. You went east, passing the last remnant of civilization that you called home and comprised El Paso’s dusty satellite cling ons. Then it was open range, nothing just mesas and tumbleweed, no one else could brag of such flat country or so wide a sky.
You floored it, the speed limit a decent 80 on its own, you went up to 120, fast as you dared push the transmission without fear of being stranded in the desert. Billboards warned of “last chance for gas, Van Horn 200 miles” followed by a possibly related: “God is coming, have you repented?”
All flew by in a unheeded blur as you cranked up the stereo and let the wind whip your hair. You covered a patrol car in a cloud of dust and saw his lights flash at you in the rearview. No chase commenced. When you leisurely drove back you noticed it was highway patrol, the sun was setting and he flashed his brights at you. You flicked them back.
“Hey officer Presley.” you murmured amused at him turning a blind eye to the speeding. Back when you had more money and made a regular habit of this amateur racing, you noticed the same benevolent light flicker and never a siren broke the still of the desert. “You ole softy.” you giggled at the thought of the middle aged officer being generous for you and only you, and wondered if he’d heard about what had become of you yet. Seems like most of the trailer park had. Favorite topic these days, right up there with when or if your daddy was ever gonna come home. Had the wives hating you during the day for the suspicion of their men wanking over you at night.
“Maybe if you could spare a single food stamp or somethin’ to help a gal in need I’d not be strippin’!” You had hollered at Ms Clarissa for all to hear and you stood by it. Buncha lousy, miserable hypocrites who did far worse behind their canvas doors.
You do go to the club that night.
You stripped down to your panties and bra and made enough to buy ice and a trip to the dentist. You packed the ice in the dead refrigerator and pampered yourself with some milk and a carton of ice cream for the filled tooth.
Next day you filled up your gas tank again and blazed a path through town, headed to the wide open and dreaming of busting your way into the male ranks of nascar drivers. You were deep into a daydream and committing a little self pity about how you hadn't been able to afford cable and were missing all the races when a siren’s blare broke your fantasy and the flicker of red lights against a pale blue sky filled your rearview. Begrudgingly you pulled to the shoulder as you cranked down your window, fiddling with the radio knobs till you could actually hear your crime when your peruser sauntered up.
“Well, well officer Presley, finally got persnickety about laws, have ya?” you observed to yourself with a grin as you watched the handsome man swagger towards you along the white line in your side mirror, tugging at his pants as he neared, trying to shimmy the article of clothing a little higher but is impeded by his belt, stopped by his sizable belly, his holster and buckle sitting under the bulge of it.
Your mouth watered. It had been close to a year since you’d seen him up close, not since last time he pulled you over, though you always took note when he was lounging outside his trailer in a lawn chair with his dog or stripped down and working under his hood. He was always built, intimidating to all the stupid rascals he kept in line along the border, but now he had become outright fat and his khaki shirt pulled apart between each button. Yet when he came up to your window, that little boy's grin was still gracing one of the most exquisite faces known to man, and his voice was tender and playful when he greeted you, just as you once recalled. You could see his sweaty hair, matted on his chest and belly between the gaps, his underarms have massive pit stains, doubly apparent thanks to the light color of his police uniform.
Your smile had something of the she-wolf in it as you greeted him, sniffing the air in hopes of catching a whiff as he leaned on your window frame, nearly crowding you from outside. “Hey Miss Lead Foot Louie,” he greeted, “you know why ya been pulled over?”
“Haven't got a clue, officer.” You stated the truth and enjoyed the way his title rolled off your tongue in a bantering way. It was easy.
Officer, officer. Somebody important and authoritative. No sir, yes sir, Officer.
His left eyebrow quirked and you wondered what he looked like at twenty five, how devastating that expression would have been before his wound and his meds and the water retention. Whatever power it may have once held, it holds nothing to that slightly bemused, slightly cynical world weariness that shows in his every expression now, that had a twitch of an eyebrow making you feel a fool in the most delicious way. “You’re goin’ seventy in a forty five, Miss.” his tone was patient even as his face suggested he’d like to tan your hide for being so reckless. “Reckless endangerment of others, and yourself,” he quoted sternly, “it ain’t no small matter and I don’t countenance it on my highway.”
Gosh, you just loved it when he laid claim to government property like highways and interstates. It helped you smile meekly at him and nod.
“Sorry officer, I got lax.” You purred, batting your eyes and you could see the heavy flap of their coal coated weight in your periphery. “I’ve seen you lettin’ me fly by on the interstate. I guess I thought…”
He leaned further into her car window, shirt gaping helpfully at his neck and allowing you a glimpse of sweaty hair, little droplets shining like rhinestone studs in the coarse curls. You leaned towards him, nipples hardening beneath your t-shirt bra as your mind started to the taste of salt. “You’re in town, miss.” he pointed out with grave disappointment for your lack of behavioral modulation, “S’one thing on the open plain, it’s another when you’re endangerin’ your fellow citizens, flyin’ through intersections, speedin’ up and threadin’ traffic when you’ve got a visible yield sign. Right there! Ain’t responsible. And I won’t countenance it.”
“Sorry officer.” you pleaded, lingering on his rank with all the sultry appreciation of a girl who lacks authority figures in her life. It made his palm itch.
He sighed and gave you a small smile, puffy, marshmallow lips set under a dark five o’clock shadow and it wasn’t even noon. “Now, how many times do I gotta pull ya over ‘fore ya start listenin’ to me?“ he asked with patient expectancy and you swallowed hard, actually feeling a small bit of guilt.
“Well,” you drew it out, biting your lip before tossing your head and beaming at him, “maybe just one last time. Like always.”
He tsked at you in reprimand but his eyes lit up with enjoyment, and that was worth whatever fine he might slap you with. It really wasn’t, not with how broke you were but gosh, you loved breaking the ice on him, reeling him in for another verbal tussle. One day you hoped those expressive hands would accidently smack you mid-wave when he was explaining something or other. You lived in hope of that day.
You watched as he straightened briefly and reviewed your vehicle, thumbing at the peeling paint on the hood near his thumb and swished at the sand on your tags. You held your breath, hoping the dust would disguise their expiration. Officer Presley just grunted and surveyed your lemoning old truck with the face of a man who appreciates nice things and doesn't see any nice things in sight. The face of a man whose patrol car was a Ford Mustang.
“You like speed.” he observed, still glancing at your tires with lip curling disdain. You wanted him to look at you like that but his face always softened when he turned back to you. It did this time as well.
“Yeah.” you breathed.
“You got a shit truck for speed, terrible drag, shit tread on your tires, bet it’s a gas guzzler, too.”
“Well yeah, officer,” you rolled your eyes at his survey, “but it’s not like I can afford much else right now so -I do this for fun. Fun’s not illegal in America yet, is it?”
He looked at you gravely then and his eyes turned sad. “Yeah I heard about the strippin’. You watch yourself now, be careful and make sure you don’t engage in no extra-curric-u-lars.” he advised sternly, peering over his tinted sunglasses at you while saying the big word, over pronouncing it with authoritative gravitas, “I’ve told Marty that means no bar tendin’ when you’re underage. And I’m tellin’ you now, that goes for solictin’, too. You understand me? Nice lil girl like you could get in a heap of trouble real fast. And I won’t countenance it.”
The rest of you perked up at the heavy handed advice, feeling smothered and also cherished that someone would give a shit, even if they were just defending laws n’ government regulations. Thinking of them as Officer Presley’s laws, as his property you were twerking on somehow ennobled your calling, made you feel like giving it a try to be good and not disappoint him. You felt grateful he hadn't chewed you out for the stripping like half the neighborhood, you’d expected some disgust.
When he finally looked at you with disdain, and you were determined that he would, it would be for something less unchangeable, a little less broke, a little more sexy.
“Yes sir, I got ya.” you acknowledged with a nervous laugh to hide your discomfort with the way he kept staring at you, reading you, it felt.
He kept at it for a few moments, chomping on that gum stick in his mouth, dexterous pink tongue lolling the stuff from one row of molars to the others and back. Most fascinating ping-pong match you’d ever seen and while he did his soul-reading, you watched his mouth.
As his jaw worked overtime, he narrowed his eyes at you, so blue they looked violet behind the tint of his lenses. “A’ight.” he decided at last and suddenly your window was bereft of his congenial bulk, you heard the rap of his knuckles on your truck roof.
“You stay outta trouble now, Missy.” he let you off with only a warning, two sharp knocks on the metal and then, “I’ll be seein’ ya.”
You watched the side mirror with investment as he meandered away, futilly hiking up his holster again as he went before he entered his squad car. He flashed his lights at you as you stayed gawking, you fumbled with the ignition and peeled out off the shoulder, moderating your acceleration upon afterthought. You’d promised to be good.
But nights at the Trucker Bar didn’t pay to be good. You had a laundry list of things you wanted and a hefty list of needs alongside it. You tried picking up a shift at the Texaco but Ashley there near tore your hair out against the beer coolers for encroaching on her shift. Everyone needed work and Spark City had never been much of a City, too little infrastructure to prosper its community in good times, much less in the pits of a recession. The Best Buy in El Paso was hiring, you read in a mail advertisement. Their wages cost as much gas it took to drive there and back.
So you got pretty good at something else, something Officer Presley wouldn’t be impressed by, or maybe he would in a moment of weakness but lord, much as you worried and panicked some times about him dropping in on the Trucker stop, meeting eyes and him just knowing you’d been doing extracurriculars, he never showed. Must not have been his scene. Not that you were sure what his scene was, you only ever saw him in his patrol car or else cleaning his guns on his trailer porch next to his Tiger figurine.
You assumed he liked blow jobs as much as the next man. But he never showed and so you got more and more lax, went out back of the bar to the Sagebrush desert and blew heavy tippers against the concrete wall, ant bites and stickers plaguing your knees. So far you hadn’t even needed to walk on over past the broken wall to the dingy motel in back and do the horizontal tango.
Moderate extracurriculars and the dancing was enough to tip your little piggy bank into having a little something to shake at the end of the day. You got yourself a haul of cereal and hot pockets that night, even splurged on milk that went rancid by the next day without refrigeration. You spent your late mornings debating how much money you had left for rent and how much you had for electricity and the viability of buying a generator instead of paying the bill. You also wanted a Blackberry phone real bad, your old flip phone a relic and on its last wheezes -maybe that’s why your dad’s calls never came through.
You were chewing off the price tag of your dollar flip flops, walking barefoot out of your daytime workplace -Dollar General- at the end of your shift when you realized there was a patrol car pulled up beside your Ford. First you cursed, then you grinned as you saw the familiar figure of Officer Presley wiping at your windshield with a bandana. Then you cursed again as you realized he was checking your expired tags.
You jogged over the burning asphalt, still tied flip flops in hand, hoping you didn’t look like shit from having taken off the Dollar Store vest without smoothing your hair afterwards. You hadn’t been good, he could be here for anything, soliciting, or for the speeding you know he caught on his radar or else the tags.
“Hey officer!” you chirped, as carefree and smiley as you could manage -and you’d gotten to be a tidy little liar at the club, insisting you couldn’t wait to have greasy, unwashed truckers in your mouth.
He turned his head slowly, hand still heavy on the windshield and observed you through those glasses again. “Don’t you ‘hey officer’ me.” he retorted, riled despite himself at the way you always said his rank like he had you locked up with frilly pink handcuffs to his waterbed. He shook his head and focused on the variety of delinquencies he had to reprimand you for. “These tags are out of date.”
“Aww,” you feigned consternation pretty decently as you really hadn’t bothered to prioritize the tags with every other dire cost pummeling you right now, “I’m sorry Elvis.” you tried a little familiarity as you drew closer, watching enthralled as a stale desert window tufted the front of his black locks of his sweaty forehead, “Things’ve been a lil tight for a while now, what with daddy leavin’. Slipped my mind.”
He pulled his hand off the windshield and his hands tried to rest on his hips but they slipped and ended up in an odd, off-kilter sorta sling on his pockets and belly, “They’re three years overdue.” his tone sounded unimpressed, you shivered despite the heat.
“Oh.” you chewed your lip and gazed at him hopefully.
“I oughta tan your hide, lettin’ you turn feral with all my concessions.” he said aloud while stippling his fingers on your rusting truck hood. His eyes dropped to the newly purchased, junk flip flops you still clutched. “Why’re you bare foot?”
“My last pair broke.” you explained, end of your shift the thong had snapped and here you were with the replacements.
“Well put ‘em on, the road’s nasty.” he grunted in aggravation, eyes dropping to your feet and widening in disgust at the welts and blisters you’d accumulated from your cheap stripper heels. “Holy shit, that’s gnarly right there.”
You felt a bit offended by that, wanting to object it was the toll of the job, sorta like fat guts came from lounging in patrol cars for a living. Figuring you were in deep deep enough shit as is without outright insulting him, you bit your tongue and chewed on the plastic connector again, trying to free your sandals.
“Oh for God’s sake, stop that.” he growled after a minute and to your bewilderment he stepped in your space and grabbed the foam footwear out of your mouth, “Gonna chip a tooth goin’ on that way, then your tips’ll go down, ya thought of that? No? No you don’t think ahead about nothin’.”
He was working himself up into a frustrated frenzy, tugging at the plastic tag, mumbling all the while about your behavior until it snapped at last and separated the flip flops. He stared dumbly at his success for a minute while you tittered. Bad move on your part, his eyes darkened and he genuinely scowled at you, something more effective than it should have been with his outdated sideburns carving lines in his cheeks.
“Turn around.” he demanded and you snapped your mouth shut, confused by his attitude and furtively eyeing your flip flops still dwarfed in his gloved hands. Who the hell wore gloves in this decade? In this century? In an El Paso suburb that was only a degree or two cooler than the surface of the sun.
You turned around.
“Hands on the hood.” he told you.
You placed them on the burning metal and wished you had gloves, angling your body away from the hot body of the truck, wincing at the heat, on tippy toes to save your feet from the asphalt. Was he gonna cuff you? He hadn’t even read you your rights and could a person even be arrested for tags? You really didn’t know and you never thought he would-
Suddenly a loud snap resounded in the empty parking lot and a white hot sting against your bottom distracted you from the pain of the hot car. You yelped in shock, hand flying to nurse the denim clad ass cheek that was burning from his smack. You glared over your shoulder at Officer Presley, ready to give him what for about him taking parental liberties until you saw his face folded into childish consternation, poofy bottom lip jutted out in remorse as he viewed the snapped flip flop in his hands.
He’d broken a shoe on you. Appreciation flared back, and you wanted to squeeze his cheeks and tell him it was ok, he could ruin the other, too.
“Aww shit, now I-I-I didn’t mean for that-“ he bemoaned, turning the ruined foam pad around and around in his hands as if there was a way to fix it when the other half was on the ground.
“It’s ok.” You heard yourself comfort the fucker who’d just spanked you in broad daylight.
“But you just finished your shift.” he muttered, and his consideration for your inconvenience touched you, “Here I-I-I’ll go buy ya another pair. Uh, yeah, c’mon.”
You skipped alongside him, trying to get him to look over at you but his face was flushed and his eyes trained on his task, picking out a hot pink pair instead of the polka dots you had chosen. “Does nothin’ for your lil sooties and brings the attention away from the polish ya got painted and instead directs the eye to the crustaceans and shit ya got goin’ on.” he referenced your calluses with a grimace and reached into his back pocket to pull out his worn wallet.
You stared at the hefty meat of his ass the entire time and almost missed it when he pulled out five dollars and put them on the register. You watched his ass and its khaki clad splendor as he returned the wallet without change and wiggled it into the tight back pocket.
At the double sliding glass doors of the front he snapped the tag there and then and squatted down with a little grunt, his knees popping audibly as he gallantly laid out your cheap slippers. You stepped into them, taking the liberty of putting a balancing hand on his sweaty shoulder.
His hand ran up your wrist and held you there a minute longer than it needed for stability. He squeezed twice and let go. You watched him heft himself up to his feet with admiration and a little pity for the stiff way he moved when he’d been stuck in one position for too long. Seemed to you so long as he was kept moving he did alright, nice and fluid and you’d seen him chase and tackle a man on foot awhile back, he’d been runnin’ like the wind then. He had it in him, just lounging in the patrol car hardly helped things.
You got the sudden and stupid urge to ask if he wanted to go swimming in the Motel 6’s pool, it would be good for his joints and your sore back and he’d be wet and maybe have his shirt off and you could-
“I got somethin’ to tell ya, it’s w-w-why I-I stopped when I saw your truck and uh, sweetie, let’s stay h-here in the cool.” he gently tugged your arm back with the pads of his pretty fingers hooked on your deltoid, pulling you back over the threshold and into the dryer sheet scented air of the Dollar General.
“What is it?” you asked him as he seemed nervous, a foreign look on him. You started to feel a little panic at the thought he might be leaving, going back to wherever he came from, done with this Podunk town and its big crime and little criminals.
“There ain’t no easy way to say this a-a-and I wanted you to hear it from me.” he chose his words carefully, eyes trained on the white and speckled tile below your feet until after a big breath he lifted his stunning eyes and gazed at you gently and in the most gallant way you’d ever been looked at before, murmuring in clear, compassionate tones, “They caught your daddy the other night -drug runnin’. Ain’t no petty marijuana charge or somethin’, it’s the big stuff. He’s gonna be put away, for a long while, in-car-cer-ated.” he specified with distinct pronunciation, “For a long while, Miss. I’m sorry to be the one t-t-to t-tell but I wanted you to know it’s true, I-I-l booked him in myself.”
“Well,” you swallowed hard, a little ashamed you’d been more alarmed at the prospect of officer Presley leaving than suspecting anything wrong with your walking disappointment of a father, “well damn.” you muttered.
“You don’t seem much surprised.” he pointed out, pulling his tinted shades down his nose to get a clear review of you, he had a red line on his nose from their weight.
“I barely know him anymore,” you admitted, “and I doubted he was gone spreading charity or something.”
“Yeah.”
“But damn -he was supposed to come back.” you felt a little angry about that part. A little childish for believing it too.
“Maybe he meant to,” he soothed, although your father’s entrenched position on the river suggested a more permanent stay, “and was doing all that sellin’ to give you somethin’ better but he was breakin’ the law and endangerin-“
“-Endangering others, I know.” you snapped at him, not because he was anything but nice, you snapped at him because he was very kind and he had a silver, shiny, sanctimonious badge on the large swell of his left peck.
The longer you stared at the badge the more you wanted to sink your dollar store acrylics into the meat of that man and try tearing -they’d probably break and it made your eyes swim with tears of frustration and you stomped out of the double glass doors into the heat of the parking lot. The sun would be going down soon and that’s when your best customers would pour into the club. You snapped your way across the asphalt on the flip flops he got you, ignoring his calls behind you as you wrenched open the squeaking truck door and hopped up into the cab.
“Really it’s fine!” you yelled at him as he came up to the window again, the concern and reproval written on his face way more heavy than you could take right then, “It’s not like I was expecting him back anytime soon anyway and -and you’ve got a job to do, ok? I get it. I get it, ok? Now I gotta go, officer.” You cranked up your engine and diesel fumes swirled around him. He batted the air in front of his face like a dainty lady would a swarm of flies and leaned heavier still on your rolled down window.
“I just wanted to let ya know.” he reaffirmed his intention, his gesticulations bringing your eyes to the gold watch around his wrist that jangled against the car metal, “Tell ya not to uh, don’t do nothin’ rash, alright? Just ‘cause he’s gone. You’re a big girl, you’ll make it. You ‘member what I said last time ‘bout extracurriculars?”
“I’d like to do you some extracurriculars.” you seethed with an angry smile and he looked taken aback, actually stepping away from the truck and his belly heaved with his offended breaths. One hand balled in a fist at his side and the other twitched, fiat palm swaying beside his thigh like he was gonna smack again. Extracurriculars -you’d like to take his no doubt chubby little cock right down to the sweaty thatched base and chew, just to earn a real spanking.
Maybe this lewd intent was written on your face but he slowly backed away from your truck like you’d gone looney, pointing his finger at you as he went, “You be good, I mean it. And that’s goes for respectin’ officers of the law.”
He was about to get into his side, looking over his car top in admonishment and you quickly made sure your truck was still in park before turning round in the seat and hanging yourself out the window, cleavage pressed against the edge to your best advantage and blew him a kiss. “I’m always a good girl, officer!” you swore adamantly and it stopped him dead in his tracks, stopped in a half crouch to his seat, that eyebrow disbelieving, “Officer Presley commissioned me to be good and I ain’t anything but!” you swore.
Took him five whole seconds to recall he was supposed to have his ass seated by then and he lowered himself the rest of the way into his car. His belly brushed the steering wheel and his legs spread themselves even in the driver's seat, it made your crushed breasts tingle. “Be-have.” he pointed that finger again and your thighs clamped shut on your seats, overwhelmed with unbidden thoughts of the long and slender digit probing inside you. How’d his fingers stay so slender when the rest of him bulked up?
You saluted as poorly as you could and watched him drive off, aggression plain in his accelerations and the way he took his turns. He shoulda stayed and spanked the other cheek, you thought, as you turned around and slumped in your seat, legs splayed and fighting a desperate urge to slip a hand down your shorts. You hoped to god he’d find some quiet shoulder of the road in the desert this evening and with a car passing every twelve minutes, tug a load out to the thought of wacking your denim booty with his belt. It would be good for his blood pressure.
Hands sticky from your own dismal release, you pulled out of the parking lot ten minutes behind him and, too scarce on time to go home first, drove straight to the club, knowing full well that you could always just strip down to your underwear.
Or less.
What with dad permanently unhelpful now, it was a fact of life that you’d have to do more than get by till he came back. You’d already accepted that awhile ago, this just confirmed it. You figured you’d need to save another stash of money, like the real professional girls did, girls like Kelcie and Shay, a little fund for renting out a motel room at night. The one a quarter mile out back of the truck stop, no harm in it except for a few bramble scratches in the dark and the odd coyote not scared off by the truckers’ loud moans out back at the blow job wall.
But for tonight you hadn’t any such stash and so after a few hours at the poll and chatting up the fellas lounging on barstools, you found the tip jar lacking and made one of those lil deals that were becoming almost as commonplace as getting your butt pinched.
This time, in the moth attracting glow of the outside light, your customer had a New York accent and while at cock level you learned from his fancy, dangling silver keychain that his buddies knew him as Joe E.
Now Joe E had a little brown cock and a small, fused ballsack under a sizable belly like most of these men in here did, and you did some of your best work on him. It was easy to do with him fitting in your mouth so easily, you pulled out every trick you’d learned at this wall, all of which he unfortunately resisted succumbing to more than the usual client. He’d pull himself out of your throat and he would grip his base, prolonging his experience and you supposed he had a right to it, he was paying money for something and he might as well do it how he liked but your jaw ached after a while. Soon your ears ached worse, exhausted and fed up with the self important monologue he kept up between the usual, self promoting stud talk that an unimpressive man in his forties likes to indulge in while paying for sex acts out back of a hole in the wall truckers club.
Joe E tasted like he hadn’t touched a fresh vegetable in years and through the overwhelming desire to puke you recognized with some pleasure that he was tipping you extra for being “like a damn vacuum down there, you pretty little dog.”
You drove home from the club, headlights on dim in the early morning and passed by Officer Presley’s double wide with intent, choosing the route you’d take if you were walking. It was dark inside but as you passed you saw he wasn’t asleep, his car was still gone.
You wondered if his doggie was in there or on patrol with him. You sighed and pulled into your own weedy drive, depressed with something you didn’t know the cause of.
You brushed your teeth, you ate cereal after remembering you hadn’t eaten, and stripped out of your clothes before crashing into bed, falling asleep in seconds despite the musty, unconditioned air inside.
It was the next morning, so near afternoon as to barely warrant it but Elvis Presley liked to take credit for any bit of effort he made and so let the record show it was still morning, when he entered the Waffle House off Moody Blvd and sat himself down in a booth and ordered his usual. It arrived at 11:56 in the morning and so it was breakfast, not lunch by any stretch of the imagination. He’d been up all night, the usual plaguing reasons and a few added to it. You, thoughts of you and tanning your hide and gripping you and you squirming over his lap made his patrols a hellish experience and he was almost glad for the distraction of the fucker without plates pulling out in front of him and making a run for it through the border checkpoint at 8:45 pm.
Now he was distracting himself with food, and if there was anything in his life to rival his appreciation of a slippery and obligin’ pussy, it was five scrambled eggs piled high on a white plate with burnt bacon to the side and waffles stacked on a companion plate. Brenda put them down with a smile and gave him a side hug that made his face brush her apron and shoulda gotten her fired by the food regulations but Elvis liked Brenda for her affectionate ways and the way he didn’t ever have to correct her about his order.
“You look tired.” she worried over him and he found a smile starting to threaten on his face, he stuck his fork in the eggs to distract himself.
“Just a busy night.” he admitted and absentmindedly rubbed at his sore knee.
“Aww you’re a treasure, keepin’ us so safe.” he patted his arm again and he fully smiled this time. “You just tell me if you need anythin’ else. I’ve got more coffee, lemme get ya more coffee, Elvis.”
“Thanks Miss Brenda.” he called to her and she giggled as she fetched the cloudy pot.
The bell over the entrance jangled and from Elvis’ chosen vantage point in a booth that faced the doors, always facing his entry that man, he saw Joe Esposito walk in, smiling like a motherfucker for a Wednesday morning and swaggering like Elvis hadn't seen the little runt do since he passed the bar back in 1980 something.
“Hey Brenda, hey EP!” Joe greeted and Elvis braced himself for a cheerful morning when all his hopes had been for some quiet and a little maple syrup glazed despondency.
“Hey Joe.” Elvis greeted his old friend, “You in town?”
“Yeah, my route’s takin’ me to Las Cruces.” Joe informed him as he helped himself to the booth across from Elvis without invitation. If he ate one of Elvis’ bacon strips, even reached for it, Elvis would be pulling out his Glock.
“How’s business?” Elvis asked as neutrally as possible, knowing that it was a sore subject for Joe who had once bragged about being destined for big things, holding it over everybody else at the high school back in Memphis. Still Elvis couldn’t help but ask, partly because it was small talk and if he could get Joe on the subject he knew the feller wouldn’t stop talking, and Elvis could then eat his eggs with minimal requirements for speech. He also took some inner consolation in the fact that all Joe’s brags had worked out about as poorly as Elvis’ dreams had.
It made for two portly middle aged men in a Waffle House booth discussing gas prices at noon.
Joe ordered just pancakes and Elvis judged the lack of meat from beneath his lavender shades and patiently asked the right questions to keep Joe smacking his breakfast with an open mouth and waxing sentimental about life on the road. It suited Joe, even if it was boringly unimportant, he was king of the road in between stops at Walmart distribution centers and out in the stretches of no man’s land the girls were cheap, far cheaper than any Times Square street walker. Joe hadn’t been to Times Square since he was sixteen but it was something he still liked to brag of and to incorporate in his life story like it was an integral part of his narrative.
“But are they fresher?” Elvis inquired, always intrigued by the subject of pussy but also harboring a deep aversion to the way most men spoke on the subject.
“Nah, not really, but that’s why ya go for the mouth.” Joe catechsied Elvis on the ways of call girls and Elvis felt his eye twitch, personally he enjoyed blow jobs as much as the next guy but to avoid the pussy all together as Joe was suggesting? It took all the joy out of the act for Elvis and he picked at his eggs morosely as he listened. He’d had such a large appetite before Joe sat down and started talking of fishy cunts and girls with throats like drainage pipes.
Joe had been to the truckers lounge, the trucker club, the strip place, whatever it was called -the place Marty ran. Elvis knew it, he tried not to react to the name, to pretend he didn’t gas up at the Texaco next door with the express intent of hoping to catch sight of you some nights. He never did, and he’d never been in. But Joe had gone in and Joe being Joe sat across from Elvis the next morning and bragged to a law officer about paying for a blow job. Which along with ruining Elvis’ appetite was offense enough for Elvis to decide to arrest the fucker, but the eloquent details of the slut who’d given it to him made Elvis see red.
Elvis didn’t really mind folks watching you, some stupid, possessive part of him was glad that all those fuckers drooled over you and couldn’t touch, same as him as he sat year after year in his lawn chair on his porch, watching you pass his trailer with longer and longer legs, prettier and prettier as the dusty days rolled by.
But to touch you? That someone else had touched you? The butter on his waffles suddenly looked wrong.
“-just fifty bucks man. Fifty bucks well spent.” Joe was bragging like he’d cheated the stock market and Elvis heard a roar in his ears that the doctors swore the pills would take care of.
You’d sucked Joe Esposita for fifty dollars right after Elvis had told you to be good and you’d blown him a kiss.
His chest hurt.
Elvis had Joe’s greasy face pressed into the syrupy plate with his hands behind his back and cuffs clanking before either the officer or the suspect even realized his intent. “Prostitution’s illegal, motherfucker, as is paying for such services in the state of Texas.”
You’d told him you’d be good. Fuck! He so badly didn’t wanna think of Joe being your first that he had to countenance speculation about you making a regular habit of this thing which was both worse and better all at once and he took out his frustration at that knowledge by trundling Joe into the back of the squad car with far more force than necessary.
It was a flimsy charge to file, Elvis knew that even before the clerk gave him the usual papers to fill out with a confused look. Wasn’t like Elvis was gonna put down your face or name, give away your crime. Without that connection the charge of paying for sex was flimsy and Joe would be released before dark. But it was nice to hear him sqealin’ and bitchin’ about his driving schedule and a buncha other ordinary begs that made Joe E sound as pathetic as Elvis knew he was.
It fortified Elvis throughout the day, kept him from going to your trailer or interrupting you at work to ask why in God’s name you would degrade yourself like that. It kept him bolstered with red hot rage until he was staked out in desert twilight on the dark side of the Texaco, headlights off and his eyes squinted as he watched patrons and girls go into the club.
This was his fault, for locking your daddy up, driving you to such lengths. He felt sick about it, shoulda known a stubborn, white trash girl like you would just reach for the next alternative this easy. Made him sick. Elvis suddenly felt nice and superior to all these men filing into the neon lit cinderblock structure, he had resisted touching himself to the fantasies that had filled his mind about you last night. Wasn’t pertinent that he had a stiffy right now, that was just the nerves and excitement of a stake out revving him up
He lit up a cigar and let Mellancamp growl over the stereo, engine off and the key turned just a little for the dash lights to stay on. He wasn’t sure when you got off work at the club, he assumed it must be some time around dawn and that suited his shit circadian rhythm just fine. He wasn’t tired as the hours went by, he was downright furious and his heart hurt and he popped a couple oxys sitting there with his busted knee throbbing and his mind a demented echo chamber.
By the time the sky was turning a sickly violet with the first promises of sunrise, Elvis had worked himself up to such a degree as to have his door flung open and one boot rhythmically tapping against the cement in his agitation, legs spread to alleviate the ache his pills had provoked in his groin even as the rest of him felt loose and untethered and decidedly deserving for once.
When you walked out the front of the club into the stale early morning air you laughed to yourself at the silliness of thinking you’d need a coat. Your little denim shorts and cherry print crop top suited just fine even in the early dark. That NASCAR jacket you’d had your eye on, the one Shay showed you on eBay, it would have to wait, the tips were shit tonight. No real hurt with that, wasn’t like it was cold. Just another something you wanted and would have to put off. You hadn’t driven tonight as the walk was cheaper and closer but you’d forgotten your pepper spray back at the truck stop and you hesitated for a moment about going back in, hating the idea of getting sucked into some sorta early morning drama from the drunk leftovers. While you were debating, a flash of white seared your vision and you staggered to a stop in the middle of the mostly deserted parking lot.
Headlights.
Well shit, now you really wished you had that spray. You thought about making a run for it, trying the nearest truck cab and praying the guy in it was less of a creep than whoever stakes out on the deserted side of the building.
“You get over here!” the approaching figure came into view, finally silhouetted by his own lights as he stalked towards you wearing a leather trench coat like some noir villain.
It would be a lie to say you breathed easier when you recognized Officer Presley’s commanding baritone.
“Shit shit shit.” you chanted beneath your breath at how riled he sounded and his right hand started making angry gestures for you to approach as he himself closed the distance with a deceptively fast gait.
“Hey, get your ass over here, I called you.” he yelled far more loudly than necessary with his massive hands already closing around your wrists, you didn’t even think to make a run for it, where exactly in the world was a kinder place to turn to than this angry law officer who always nosed in your business too much? “Get, get over here.” he repeated with a yank and tugged you stumbling over your flip flops to his squad car.
He bent you over the hood, just like you’d dreamed of more than a few times and you felt the heat of the headlight against your thigh as your shoulders got twisted back. “-solicitation,” he was pronouncing and your heart sank at the realization he had caught you after your promise, “prostitution-“ the cold clamp of a handcuff on your wrist had none of the rebel thrill you once imagined, it was terrifying and you whimpered pathetically at the thought that you’d expended his patience, that maybe your flirty banters had been one sided and he really was fed up with you.
“Officer-“ you begged with your cheek smashed to the hood.
Some guy had walked up, actually being a good citizen and concerned about the manhandling. It took one flash of Officer Presley’s badge for the guy to back away with a mere “you at least gonna read her the rights, man?”, throwing concerned looks over his shoulder. Maybe he’d been a tipper, you didn’t recall one face from another unless they were awfully ugly or skinny.
“Yeah, yeah I’ll read you your rights, you got the goddamn right to remain silent-“ Officer Presley was struggling with the other cuff and his weight on your lower back made you wheeze just as he was short of breath. He was awfully worked up, huffily trying to clasp the cuffs and slurring your Miranda rights carelessly for so staunch a believer in laws and precepts.
When he succeeded and stood you upright you craned your neck to look at his sweaty face behind you and his eyes were wild and his hair disheveled like he’d run his hands through it a million times tonight. He looked a bit obsessed with his nose flaring like that, his speech slurring and his usual decorum completely goners.
“Are you drunk?” you balked in alarm as he trundled you into the backseat, face first into leather with your cuffed hands behind you, ass stuck out the door.
“Of course I ain’t!” he howled and pushed your butt further until you righted yourself on the bench seat, “I’m your officer of the law, that’s what I am.”
“I-I-I know that, I just-“ you felt a cold sweat break out at the realization he kept all his stubborn righteousness even skunk drunk on something, “-you seem a little…impaired. For a law officer. For a law officer driving on a government road. See! I do listen, I do and I really don’t think that while you’re dr-“
“I don’t even touch the booze, unlike you.” he spit. “Nothin’ gonna get you outta this, this time you’re gonna learn your lesson!” he wagged his finger and slammed the door shut, you could hear his seething monologue through his open door as he came round and took his own seat up front, the hard plastic partition only muting it slightly. “I can’t stand, won’t stand for it, no hard times gonna make for you-“
You tugged at the cuffs on your wrists and swallowed at their security, the ole man might be inebriated but he sure knew his line of work. It made you doubly anxious at how vulnerable you were, unbuckled and cuffed in the back seat of a man about to hit the road in a blind, possibly medicated rage. Your one glimmer of hope was the fact you were the cause of that rage -and you hoped, hoped so damn hard he cared out of some sort of fondness, not anger.
“Strippin’ and blowin’ and probably snortin’ shit and you ain’t even outta highschool-“
“You turned eighteen?!” He balked, jerking the rearview down to stare you in the eyes.
“Yes sir.” you agreed meekly.
“And you didn’t tell me? I’d have gotten you somethin’!” he cried out, “Eighteen and don’t tell nobody, no mama, no daddy, and now fuckin’ with the law-“
“Officer Presley I understand you’re angry and I’m sorry-“ you tried your most vehemently ass kissing tone and scooted up to the edge of the seat, face pressed the the scuffed, forehead greased plastic divider, “I’m so sorry I had to break my promise to ya but money’s been so tight, I—ooh shit-!“
You tipped over on your side as he hit the accelerator, the wheel already turned for a complete 180 spin to leave the dingy parking lot and its flashing neon lights. You sat yourself back up and pressed your face back where you could watch his leather gloves spin the wheel, and breathe as close to him as possible even if it didn’t serve to make him notice. The plastic sorta hampered the more primal assets at your disposal. You were readying for some more protests when he spoke up, his pouty, boyish, hurt tone emphasized by his jerky merging into three lanes worth of morning commute traffic
“— why didn’t you come to me?” he cried out and you had to give it to him, crossing three white lines that smoothly while in a rage wasn’t for anyone, he had a knack, “Why didn’t you say, ‘Officer Presley, if I don’t have me enough money for’ -what is it you need money for?”
“EVERYTHING!” You screamed back, exasperated and a little scared at the blur of tail lights he wove you through.
“You’re greedy,” he surmised, “you’d rather go work at the tit shack as a lot lizard, shakin’ it for strangers and suckin’ Joe E’s cock than ask for my help. My help!” He stabbed at his chest with a gloved finger and it was quite obvious how tore up he was over that mental image, you didn’t know he knew such particulars but you could use this to your advantage, you could try at least.
“Officer Presley,” you cooed as gently as you could with road noise and a plastic divider hampering your sultry intentions, if you had freedom of movement you’d be reaching around his thick neck and tucking that one sweaty curl behind his ear where it tufted with his sideburn, “I’d have preferred it was you,” you watched closely as that sank in, the lead foot easing on the accelerator, there was a choice up ahead, left to the precinct or right to the trailer park, “but I’ve got my pride and I couldn’t just take charity from you. I kept hopin’ you’d come in, then we could both do each other a favor.”
You could hear him sniff, running a hand underneath his nose. “That right?”
“Yeah.” You breathed, forehead thudding back against the plastic and at the red light intersection he stopped and craned his neck to look at you. “Don’t take me in, not this morning, please, pleaaasssse!” you begged, “We’ve both been working all night and we’re tired and sad and- you need somebody to make you dinner before you fall asleep, don’t ya?”
It was a dirty, dirty ploy to distract him like that but you could see with searing clarity the way his eyes wavered in their glare, then softened into childlike meekness at the thought of food and companionship. “You wanna come back to mine?” he whispered, gravelly from all the yelling and his eyelids batted under the lavender shades, azure and owlish.
“I really do.” you agreed, “Mine hasn’t had any air conditioning in seven months.” you admitted and he made a wounded noise of protest for your deprivations. You’d make him see why you took to stripping, he just had to be eased into it.
“I didn’t take it outta the freezer ‘fore I left.” he realized dejectedly as he turned right -away from the station.
You took a massive breath and tried to make it go to your swimming head, relief coursing through you at getting your way. Then you tried to process what he’d said. “Oh, your dinner?” you prodded.
“Yeah. It’s frozen. Lasagna.” he mumbled.
“Well, that’s nothing me and a microwave can’t solve.” you assure, gauging how his profile had softened in the dim lighting of the cab lights but his grip on the wheel and his jittery leg were about as stiff and upset as when he cuffed you. “What could I do for you in exchange for a bite?” you whispered, the sudden stop of the car making you realize with a hitch in your breath that you were in front of his place.
“I liked you.” he suddenly spoke up with such vehemence that it would have been comedic, what with him having already given into you and taken you home, but instead it was a little heartbreaking. “I liked you but you was too young!”
“I still like you.” you hedged, “Even though you cuffed me and called me a lot lizard.” you teased.
The solicitation, the sharing, it seemed to be his chief sore.
“That’s whatchu is!.” He grouched, staring out his front windshield at the single hung lamp illuminating freshly washed vinyl. “But I’ve taken you home anyways.”
“It’s really sweet of you.” you insisted, shifting on the peeling bench seat and wondering when he’d take you out of the car. “Are you gonna let me warm up that lasagna?”
“You said you wished I’d come in?” he ignored you and went back to your previous comment, about wishing he had frequented the truck stop.
Well, well, Officer Presley - a man like all others, after all.
You smirked, sticky lip gloss feeling a little cracked at this corners as you beamed at your little victory. “Maybe I could find a way to show my appreciation for takin’ me back to your air conditioned little palace. -while the lasagna is warming up.” you clarified and heard him grunt, and shift, his legs spreading a little wider in the cramped front seat.
“Yeah?” he pressed, sounding a little winded unless you were just too quick with the assumptions tonight.
“Yeah.”
“You offerin’ to be *my* lot lizzard?” He asked and after a tense minute where you were unsure if he was about to be angry again, he tapped the glass and whispered, “A joke, c’mon, don’t you get it? It’s a joke.”
“But I would!” You insisted after laughing for his benefit.
“Hmm.” He sniffed again, “Well. Hmm.” and with that unclear utterance he opened his door and heaved himself out into the stale Texas air, hiking up his pants again in that useless habit and shutting it behind him. It seemed an eternity before he finished hiking and shifting and shaking a leg out before he came and opened your door, a gentlemanly action made necessary by the stupid cuffs, still clanking around your wrists, as you scooted out of the back seat.
Officer Presley surveyed you up and down, blinking blearily as if he hadn’t seen you fully in the dark parking lot, like the glare of his headlights wasn't sufficient to show him your little cherry tank top and denim shorts, the satin tops of your red bra peeking out of the stretched neckline. “Hmm.” he hummed again and surveyed you once more, the pull of the cuffs behind your back adding to your posture being a bit booby. “Now ‘fore you cross my threshold, I’ve got house rules.” he was swaying a bit alarmingly and caught himself on the side mirror, you chose to ignore this and give him all the deferential attention needed to cure his -jealousy? Was he jealous? Of all the men who tipped you? “First rule, no dirty feet in the house. I hate filthy carpets. I hate them.”
“O-ok.” you agreed.
“Clean feet.”
“Okey.”
“Hmm. Ok.” he closed his eyes and recalled the next, “Let’s see uh- no back talkin’! No talkin’ back, what I say, goes, in my house.”
It was a trailer, not a house. But:
“Of course! You’re the man of the house!” you enthused with a little bounce for his benefit. He was still wacky and veering so fast from niceness to belligerence you were pretty sure you’d end up a little worse for wear after this no matter what. The thought excited you.
“Ok.” he pronounced, staring at the gravel and your feet like he didn’t know what to do now. You wondered when was the last time somebody had come into his place. “I got a doggie, too. Backroom. His word is law, don’t go botherin’ him none.“
Having seen the size of the dog, even if you were inclined to be a jerk to it, you wouldn’t dare. “Gosh of course.”
“Ok.” again. “I’ll get the hose.”
He left you there, leaning cuffed against his squad car as he trundled over his singed lawn to the side of the trailer, returning with the running hose in hand.
You knew it was destined for your feet and didn’t make a fuss as the warm hose water splashed against your blisters, soothing away the dust and the sticky cocktail splashes and god knows what else.
“House rules?” he prompted as he sprayed.
It was getting quite light out now. Probably close to six in the morning. What a long night. “Clean feet, respect doggie, no back talking.” You listed.
“And make yourself useful.” he grunted as if he had mentioned that before and you’d been faulty in your retelling.
“Yeah, of course.”
“Mm, ‘cause you’re my lot lizard now, ain’t ya?” he hummed, hose pointed to the side and suddenly his face was very close to yours, his belly closer and pressed to yours.
“Y-yeah.” you gasped.
“You gonna be a useful lil helper, hmm? Let hims take care of ya while you take care of him?”
Well shit, you weren’t at all sure if this were house rules or a big sexual game. Either way you wanted some lasagna and the crisp prospect of air conditioned sleep. “Yes, officer.”
“Good girl.” he turned the nozzle off on the hose, clamping it at the mouth and dropping it to the gravel.
“You- are you gonna uncuff me?” you giggled nervously as he swayed above you, nose almost brushing yours, eyes heavy and drooping.
“Hmm,” he stepped back and hooked a thumb in his belt loop, a shit eating grin spread over his face, bunching up the apples of his cheeks and turning him into a boy before your very eyes, “nah. I think -nope. Not gonna.”
“Well- shit, officer.” You sputtered, “You’ve got some little secrets?”
“I’ll let you be the judge of how little they are, sweetheart.” he cheesed before reaching out and hooking a finger in your strap, and tugging you gently by it up his porch.
It was odd, Seeing his ceramic tiger up close. Like déjà vu, or walking into a movie, some dream playing out. If your hands had been free, you would’ve pet the head concrete reverently, feeling some sort of gratitude to the noble beast for making your girlhood wishes come true as you tripped through the screen door and into an icebox of a trailer.
He shut the door and pressed you up against it with a move smoother and more practiced than you expected from him. Maybe wrestling criminals and doing the nasty called for the same dexterity. Or maybe he’d been fuckin’ somebody else all this time, waiting for you to grow up. Maybe he’d made a whole harem out of the trailer park and you were just his last pick. The thought hurt terribly, worse yet as you knew most days he was a sweetie, a funny man, attractive and well liked, not this grumpy, pill drunk trailer Baron that smushed you with his belly and sneering face so near but never descending as a lover’s should.
“Kiss me.” you goaded, licking your lips in a studied way. The little contemplative, whining sound he made took you by surprise.
He pulled down your bottom lip with a gloved finger and checked your mouth and tongue like a damn dentist. “Listerine first.”
Of course. Hygiene.
Clean feet, clean mouth, just for him to probably put his piss dribbled cock in it.
He stepped away and methodically took off his gloves, laid them on a small, doily adorned side table by the door, and then his gun and his belt came off with a satisfied grunt that made your inner thighs tingle. The thud of his large flashlight finished this routine.
Doilies.
There were doilies and frilly curtains and the oddest assortment of cheap finery around the place. A nod to the Tuscan craze taking over places like Target and such, while having a unique spin on it you weren’t sure what to name. You took it all in as he piloted you to the bathroom and methodically he pulled out a still wrapped toothbrush and plopped a jumbo sized bottle of mint flavored mouthwash on the fake marble counter.
“You kept that in case you have a lady guest?” You teased as the clinical silence was all a bit funny.
“Yeah.” he agreed without a hint of amusement and you sobered up again at the idea of him having anybody in here but you.
He poured a large quantity of the mouthwash into a paper cup, retrieved from the tidy stack of paper cups beside the sink for that purpose. His housekeeping was an odd mix of spectrum-like meticulousness and slovenly disorder. There were three pairs of pants on the bathroom rug beneath your feet and yet the mouthwash cups were stacked as carefully as the Tower of Babel. “Swish it for seventy five seconds.” He directed very soberly, tipping the liquid disinfectant into your mouth. You almost swallowed the shit. While you swished till your eyes burned and your tongue went numb from scalding mint, he tore at the packaging for the toothbrush.
“Ok, spit.” you happily spat out the green torture liquid and grinned back at him in the mirror.
“Never had a man ask me to spit it out before.” you teased.
He fumbled the toothbrush in surprise for a minute before giving you an admonishing eyebrow. “Girl don’t. We gotta brush your teeth.”
Instead of doing the obvious thing, the honorable thing and uncuffing you, he instead took his place behind you and pushed the toothbrush between your lips, moving it as if you had no arms and were helpless. All this to keep you cuffed.
What a pervert, you thought, charmed.
It was oddly cozy even if it was more than a tad bazaar, him pressing himself to you and running his spare hand along your side as you bent over the counter, trying not to ruin the moment by slurping paste too much. It didn’t seem to bother him, he didn’t watch you brush, he just discreetly rubbed the front of his slacks against your butt and kept his hand jerking the brush across your teeth. His other hand soothingly running up and down the curve of your hip, fingers fluttering under the hem of your tank and brushing bare skin with reverent little swoops.
When you were finished he laid the toothbrush down beside his, on a folded little towel in the back left corner of the vanity next to the mirror.
The domesticity made you smile. “Look, they’re spooning.”
He grabbed your chin gently, tilting your head to the side as he leaned over your shoulder. His lips very close again. “Happy late birthday.” he whispered, “I’d have gotten you a cake. Cupcake. Somethin’. You deserve to be celebrated.”
“Kiss me?” you asked again and this time he did, at his own pace, micromanaging each swipe of tongue and press of lips but he kissed you, strongly and angrily and admiringly in turn. He pulled down your tank as he went, stretching the neck out beyond any salvaging and then your bra, unclasping it with strange proficiency and letting your top gather in a ugly bulge around your hips, stuck by your cuffs and shorts, as his hands cupped and squeezed your breasts, somehow making this appreciative mauling seem essential to the act of kissing.
You two finally separated, breathless and revved up, staring at each other with wild, half lidded eyes.
“Ok.” he pronounced and you readied for more only for him to say, “Lasagna. C’mon.”
His kitchen was far nicer than yours, but still it was a mobile home kitchen. And he was a thorough bachelor. He crooked his fingers into the plastic handle and yanked open the freezer, standing aside with a grin on his face that bode no good for you. “I’m helpin’ ya out a little,” he explained sheepishly, “since you’re hampered.” he had a way of saying it like handcuffs were a natural disability, “But I let you off scott-free in exchange for you makin’ me some food.”
“Food and other things.” you bitched, “Didn’t sign up to be a comedy act.”
“Oh that’s right,” beamed, “you did offer other things.” he bit his lip and you thought you’d won when he went right back to it, “You said while it was warming up, you offered other things, while it was in the microwave. Yeah, so go on, grab that TV dinner there, not the fettuccini one, the lasagna.”
You stared at the open freezer and then back to him and then back to the freezer. “Grab it?” you sassed, not having a lot to lose with your tits out and your hands cuffed and a law officer having fun at your expense.
“You’ve got a mouth don’t ya?”
“You’re sick.” you smiled in realization before sticking your head into the cold space, nipples pebbling against the chilled plastic, and biting at the package containing Walmart’s latest gourmet provisions.
“Uhuh, that’s it.” he sounded more pleased at the sight of you with a frosted package between your teeth than he had all this time, “Heyer doll, I’ll open the microwave for ya.” his ability to make himself gallant when he was demeaning you so thoroughly made your pulse thunder uncontrollably.
You had to jut your chin and strain your jaw to plop the heavy foil package of frozen shit into the mounted microwave -fancy mobile home owning bastard- and shove it onto its proper revolving plate.
“There we gooo!” he cooed to you and you stepped back to allow him room to shut the door. “See if you can punch the buttons with your widdle nose.” he suggested excitedly and having gone this far, you didn’t see the point in objecting, not when it made him grin like that. You managed to hit the five for five minutes but the “cook” button wouldn’t respond and after banging your nose against it many times, with many laughs shared between, he finally punched it with one of his oddly pretty fingers.
“There we go.” you echoed, finding that you were blushing the minute the hum of the microwave buzzed the air, his eyes pinned to your face.
“Five minutes.” he whispered.
It was a hint. You expected something a little lewder from a man who had you carrying out food prep like a circus dog. A man of many moods and tastes, was officer Presley. “Can you cum that fast?” you asked, turning to face him.
“That’ll depend on you.” he replied levelly, a challenge in his eyes. He still wore his glasses, somehow that made you feel filthier than all the cash favors you’d ever done. He turned a little in his stance to lean back against the counter, his wrist watch jangling against the edge of the formica, his legs widening.
You dropped to your knees, linoleum freezing against your skin and you looked back up at the ticking microwave timer. You knew what he wanted, and if you were being half honest, it’s what you wanted too. So you didn’t act too good for pressing your face to the crotch of his uniform slacks, forehead indenting the swell of his belly above you and taking his zipper between your teeth. Filled out as his slacks were, with all the stupid gathers and the still fastened button, you could only barely see veiny pink flesh behind the newly opened fly.
“No boxers?” you chided him with a smirk and the unapologetic one he gave you in return made your belly clench, as did the musky smell of him and that soft double chin he had when looking down at you. There was stubble on it blending into his throat.
You’d been right, mouthwash and sterilization for your tongue but not even a spit bath for his sweaty balls and clammy dick -the man was out of his mind. You swallowed down the natural aversion the scent gave you and nuzzled your face nearer, trying to nose the button out of its hole. All you did was succeed in brushing his pants against him and making him impatient.
“Four minutes and twenty seven seconds.” He enunciated the timer reading for your benefit and you whimpered at the impossibility of getting the button undone without hands.
“Please, I can’t undo it.” you asked for his help, tugging at your handcuffs angrily, shoulders painfully aching and only the base of his thick penis visible with its nest of curls and heavy sack.
“Then make due.” he stared down at you unimpressed and you felt an overwhelming urge to grind yourself against his boot at his disdainful expression.
Blinking away horny, frustrated tears, you held your breath and buried your face again, nuzzling inbetween the fly gap, using your chin to tug the crotch further down until his heavy, purplish pink balls spilled over the respectable khaki’s and into the cold air. A bit of hope filled you at how taut and bunched they already were, he wasn’t so cool and unaffected as he acted. You saw him reach into his pocket, digging for something as you weighed your next decision.
“Don’t you want some lasagna?” he prodded.
That made you mash your face to his pants and take both of those hairy balls into your mouth, slurping and sucking at them like a shop vac. His jangling movements in his pocket ceased suddenly before picking up again, and then he withdrew it, a sharp gasp heard above you before he stuck a retrieved cigarette between his lips and lit it. A billowy cloud of Marlborough was blown over your crouching form as the microwave hummed on and his chest hummed in satisfaction. He shoved his hand back into his pocket, knuckling along at his cock.
“That’s it.” he sighed as you mouthed at the base as best you could, tonguing at the hefty vein running along the underside, slathering as much as you could reach. He was salty and tacky to taste and his pants were growing wet from something more than your spit. He was a leaky little man, it made your smirk and smack your lips.
“Feel good, officer?” you moaned in question, just as the microwave dinger went off. “Nooo, damnit, no!” you whined at the sound, a poor loser at all times.
Officer Presley only chuckled and twisted a little to pop open the door, hissing and cussing as he grabbed the benign edges of the hot foil and plopped it into the counter, “Hey hey hey, I didn’t say you could get up, now, did I?” he chided as you shifted a tiny bit away to watch him pull off the cover and reveal cheesy red sauce. Your stomach was in knots, it was so empty.
“No.” you admitted.
He twisted his torso to snag himself a fork from the drawer beside your head, and then, stabbing the casserole with it, took both his hands down to his pants and undid the button at last, letting his pants fall to the floor as they’d been trying to do and been prevented by a belt each time you’d seen him. “Finish what you started, doll, and then I’ll give you a bite.”
You swallowed hard, saliva pooling freely in your tongue at the smell of Italian food. It would be of use. He was tapping his sputtering fat cockhead to your lips and after a tiny grunt of resistance, you gave in, opening your glossy lips and letting him slide the thick meat over your tongue, tangy and salty and pulsing like a living rod, all the way to the back of your throat.
“Fuck me, that’s it.” he nodded to himself as you gagged around him, pulling back a little before pushing back in.
You heard the slide of the casserole tray against the counter and the crunch of tin foil, looking up through bleary eyes you saw him cradle the lasagna pan to his chest, balanced on top of his gut. You hollowed your cheeks around him while watching in disbelief as he stabbed at a bite and brought the laden fork to his mouth. He groaned around the bite in enjoyment -your guess over which pleasure was gaining the upper hand. Feeling a little competitive against TV dinner lasagna, you worked his cock faster, sucking more deliberately and trying very hard to let him down your throat, pleased as his hips began to cant and thrust in time with your encouragements.
“That’s it, that’s it, my sweet little homegrown hoe.” he mumbled to you adoringly through a mouthful of pasta and it made your face glow in pleasure, chin and chest dripping with the filth of it all. “I’m gonna, I’m gonna-“ he warned suddenly, pasta tossed back on the counter as he stood up straight and grabbed the back of your head, holding it still, smoldering cigarette pinned dangerously near your ear and hair as he fucked your mouth with fast, frantic pumps before a frankly preposterous amount of spunk filled your mouth and dolloped down your throat.
He petted your head as you struggled to breath again, cloying gloop coating your mouth, one hand coming up to take off his glasses and toss them to the side. He rubbed at his eyes and you realized you weren’t the only one teary eyed from the intensity of it. “Mm, reckon I gotta keep ya after that.” he decided, knuckling your cheek fondly, they were sticky to your surprise. “Want that bite?” he asked conversationally and while you’d have preferred some water to wash down his most recent gift, you nodded anyway and he stabbed at the casserole until he had a great big bite and brought it down to your mouth, smirking as your cheeks once again bulged at the mouthful.
“Thank you.” you smiled up at him and he humphed bashfully before motioning with his fingers for you to stand up.
“Wanna eat the rest of this in bed?” he asked eagerly, licking his teeth, “I’ve got a waterbed.” he added like that would convince you.
“Of course you do.” you giggled. “And of course I do - lead the way.”
He grinned and pushed off the counter, grabbing the casserole as he went. “Might even find the keys for those back here.” he joked about your cuffs before adding with a wicked little wink, “No promises, mind.”
Hope you enjoyed, I write for screams and comments and unhinged feedback. 🤓♥️
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238 notes · View notes
vintagepresley · 7 months
Text
A Helping Hand
Pairing: Bigdaddy!Elvis x reader
Word Count: 1,854
Warnings: None really. Use of the word daddy, but that's it. Fluffy, cute.
Author's Notes: I don't know if this is even good or not especially since there's no smut. But I really wanted to write this and I know a lot of you really wanted it! I did add one of the aliments he had around this time just to add to the story. I hope you like it! Possible spelling errors.
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It was 1976 and Elvis was leaving that morning for his tour which was starting in Kansas City, MO. You had spoken with him the night before about how you dreaded him leaving again and how much you’d miss him, that the two of you slept cuddled up together the whole night. Elvis was eventually waking up, his tired eyes fluttering open slowly to see the blurry sight of you curled up against his chest and a warm smile spread across his face and he watched you sleep for a moment before he turned his head over to check the time and he sighed when the clock read ‘9:30AM’. He had to get up and start getting ready, he was grateful that you had helped pack his belongings for him and had everything ready to go. He leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to the top of your head before he carefully and slowly slid out of the bed doing his best not to wake you. You made a soft sound when he moved and your arms wrapped around his pillow and you cuddled into it still asleep. He smiled warmly and shook his head before he headed into the bathroom to shower. 
After a while you rolled over in your sleep not feeling Elvis beside and your eyes quickly opened and you looked around the room scared that he had left already, but when you heard the sounds of the showering turning off and his soft hums a smile formed on your lips and you slipped out of bed, fixing your nightgown that clung to your curves as you slowly crept over to the bathroom door and you could hear Elvis fumbling around with his things in there. You lightly knocked on the door. 
“Elvis.. Can I come in?” you say softly. 
Elvis smiles when he hears your voice and he reaches over to open the door as he’s just about to start shaving and the door swung open and he was standing there in his robe shaving cream in his other hand as he stood over the sink that was covered with his things. 
“‘Course ya can, little one. Come sit.” he beamed.
You smiled widely at him and a soft giggle escaped you because he was getting ready to shave and he knew how much you loved to watch him do it. You came waltzing in and sitting yourself down on the closed lid of the toilet seat and you stared up at him in awe. He was so handsome, so beautiful. He was not the biggest fan of his own appearance especially nowadays. But you loved how he looked. You loved the roundness and chubbiness of his cheeks and the way his robe hugged around his round belly. Your eyes wandered over every inch of him before finding their way back to his face that he was covering in shaving cream. You always stayed quiet when he did this because you enjoyed this little moment with him but you also didn’t want to distract him. You continued to stare up at him with the biggest smile on your face. He glanced over at you with a slight grin on his face. Elvis equally loved when you would come into his bathroom to just watch him shave. It made him feel special and loved that someone would want to watch him do such a simple task. 
You let out a soft content sigh and watched as he grabbed straight edge razor from the counter and you crossed your legs over the other and clasped your hands together as you watched him closely as he began to shave his face and you tilted your head with each movement he made and he peered over at you and flashed you a smile as he shaved close against his skin and using the towel over his shoulder to wipe the excess shaving cream off the blade before continuing to shave his face. The rasping sound of the blade filling the room as you continued to sit in silence and him quite focused on not cutting himself. You smiled when he got one side done and you could see that clean and fresh face of his peeking through the stripes of shaving cream on his face. 
Elvis stopped for a moment and he looked over at you and he took in your beauty for a moment. “Look at ya, sittin’ there all pretty just for me..” he grinned. 
You let out a soft giggle at his words. “You’re so handsome.” you said softly. 
He smiled at your compliment but didn’t respond because he never saw what you saw in him. He resumed shaving but now he was having a bit of trouble with his hands when it came to gripping the handle of the razor because of the arthritis in his hands that would affect things he did sometimes. “Goddamn, arthritis..” he mumbled softly, a little embarrassed that he couldn’t even shave himself. 
You noticed what was happening and sometimes you usually didn’t say anything because you knew how embarrassed he felt about his condition, but this was the first time he had struggled to shave and as you watched him put the blade beneath his chin and swiped down he suddenly dropped the blade on the countertop and he hissed softly and quickly looked in the mirror to see he had nicked himself and he was bleeding. You stood up and quickly went to his side and cupped his face a bit in your hands, not caring about getting shaving cream on them as you looked at the tiny cut. “It’s okay, it’s not bad.” you smile at him assuringly. 
Elvis nodded slowly and looked up at you as he sighed. “H.. Honey, will ya do me a favor and shave the rest of my face for me? 
You smiled at his words and leaned forward to kiss his nose. “Of course I will.. I’d be honored!” Both of them laughed and she picked up the razor from the counter.
“Alright, little one, be careful with that damn razor.. Don’t go cuttin’ me up now.” he said with a soft chuckle. 
You laughed softly, shaking your head. 
“I know what I’m doing, daddy. Now come on.” you said with a soft hum, taking his hand in yours and leading him back out to the bedroom. He smirked at you calling him ‘daddy’ which he always liked. You sat him down on the edge of the bed and then you climbed into his lap, straddling his waist with your thighs and he grinned up at you as you settled into his lap and his hands ran along the soft silk of your nightgown as his ocean blue eyes stared adoringly at you. You smiled at him and raised your left hand to cup his chin in your grasp and you tilted his head further up and slightly to right so you could get a good angle and you slowly, carefully began to shave his face, starting from underneath his chin and slowly making your way up his face. His hands found their way to your hips and grasped them in his large hands, slightly pulling you closer so that your chest was pressed against his as you shaved him. You captured your bottom lip between your teeth and flashed him a smile as the rasping of the blade against his skin filled the quiet room, until he broke the silence. 
“Ya sure you know what you’re doin’, little one?” he mumbled out. 
“I’m sure.. Don’t you trust me, daddy?” you laughed softly. 
“Well yeah, sugar.. ‘Course I do.. But you ain’t ever done this before..” he responded. 
“Yeah, but I’ve watched you a dozen times.” you said softly, concentrating on what you were doing.
Elvis nodded and smiled, he had so much admiration and love in his eyes as he kept his eyes on you. Something so mundane like shaving somehow became something so intimate between the two of you that he couldn’t believe just how lucky he was to have someone to take care of him and help him when he needed it. 
You catch a glimpse of the smile that formed on his lips as you were finishing up and you smiled back at him. “What?” you whispered. 
“Nothin’.. Just thinkin’ ‘bout how lucky I am to be loved by such an incredible woman.” he mumbled under his breath. 
You smiled wide at his words and your cheeks grew a bit flush and you got one last spot before wiping the blade on the towel to get the excess shaving cream off. “I’m the lucky one.” you whispered to him, grabbing the towel from his shoulder and wiping off the rest of the shaving cream from his face that remained and you beamed at his new fresh face. “All done, handsome.” you giggled as you climbed off his lap to take the towel and razor into the bathroom and then you grabbed his Brut aftershave and came back to him and got right back into his lap and his hands grabbed your hips again and he just smiled at you. 
“Guess ya do know what you’re doin’.” he mumbled. 
“I told you I did..” you laughed. 
You opened the bottle of brut and put some in your hands and set the bottle down on the bedside table and then you rubbed your hands together and then gently brushed the palm of your hands against his freshly shaved face and he closed his eyes feeling so relaxed as you took care of him like this. You inhaled the musky scent of his aftershave that was your favorite because it always lingered in his room. You pulled your hands away and wrapped your arms back around his shoulders and smiled down at him and then he leaned forward and his lips pressed against yours in a slow, passionate kiss and the scent of his aftershave filled your nasal passage and you couldn’t help but inhale it because you would miss his smell while he was gone. Elvis pulled back just a little from the kiss, but his soft full lips still lingered against your lips as he spoke. 
“Thank you, little one.. I don’t know what I’d do without ya. Always tendin’ to me.” he whispered. 
You smiled at his words and cupped his face with your right hand and lightly brushed your fingertips along his smooth skin. “You’d have Larry sitting here shaving your face for you.” you laughed. Elvis let out a small chuckle and shook his head. 
“Ain’t no way in hell. Besides.. Ya really know how to treat a man.. I may have you do my shavin’ for me from now on.” he grinned, running his hands along your thighs. 
“I’d gladly do it. I’d do anything for you, daddy.” you beamed, kissing him once more and the two of you embraced in a deep passionate kiss until you pushed him back against the bed, wanting to give him a little something special before he left for his tour.
Tagging: @whitepontiac @thetaoofzoe @arrolyn1114 @peaceloveelvis @louisejoy86 @ccab @claire-elvisgirl @devilsflowerr @dkayfixates @everythingelvispresley @genetakovicluvr @sillybookmarks @kaiistheguy @landmermaid12 @velvetelvis @jaqueline19997. @lettersfromvenus @kendralavon7
I think I tagged everyone who wanted to be tagged!
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wanderingelvis · 3 months
Note
Omggg cg!Elvis x littleF!reader who’s sick and keeps slipping into littlespace cuz of how sick she is so he takes care of her despite the possibility of him getting sick? 🥺
Thank you so much for the request!! I hope you like it <3
🧚 Masterlist 🧚
Word count: 2,135
Pairing: Early 70's CG!Elvis x Little F!Reader
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Oh Lord, you were trying so hard, so so hard to be a big girl.
You knew that Elvis had so much on his schedule, the Colonel was working him and you too by default. You'd been on the road with Elvis, helping out where you could like the good little girlfriend you were, but it had become all a bit too much and you had caught some sort of bug that was making you feel all kinds of miserable.
And when you were ill, well, that was the most sure fire way for you to slip into little space. You just weren't very good at being independent and coping with the overwhelming and horrible feelings you were having.
But you were trying, you really, really were. You didn't want to interfere with the schedule, Elvis had a lot on his mind and you'd be damned to cross paths with the Colonel when there was so much money to be made. Even when you were feeling your best, you still didn't like to even be in the same room as the Colonel.
All morning you'd felt achey, sore and tingly all over with a fever creeping in. Naturally, you'd been quieter than usual, trying to stop yourself from slipping but it was becoming inevitable.
Your body just wasn't strong enough and you felt exhausted and vulnerable as you sat in Elvis' dressing room as he did a run-through of his show tonight.
You'd found a spare blanket and you were curled up in the corner of the large couch as members of staff and the Memphis Mafia alike walked past you, a few giving concerned looks your way, in particular, Red, who watched as you rested your head on your arms and closed your eyes.
See, being in the state that you were in meant that you had absolutely no concept of time and when you were woken from the light slumber you were in, you had no idea how long you'd been asleep for.
"Baby?" That familiar deep, Southern voice hushed, laced with concern as your eyes sleepily opened, staring up at Elvis who was studying your state with worry on his face after Red had told him that you seemed unusually low today.
You blinked adorably up at him and if you weren't so apparently sick, Elvis would do the most unspeakable things to you.
Elvis sighed, realising how wiped and sick you were as he put the back of his coarse hand on your forehead to check your temperature, which was far too high for his liking.
You couldn't bring yourself to speak, you felt all achey and sore and your head was just so fuzzy that you were pretty much ready to let tears spill down your cheeks.
And Elvis could tell. He'd been with you for long enough now to know your little space 'tells'. You'd go non-verbal, your eyes would get all big and round and glossy, because even after all this time, you still got nervous about being little in front of Elvis - a fact that Elvis actually thought was very sweet and endearing. You'd start chewing on something too, whether it was your toy stuffy, your lip or your fingers, you'd chew on something as you tried to get all your thoughts in order. And there you were, chewing on your lip as you trembled from the fever.
"Oh little one, you ain't feelin' too good huh?" Elvis cooed, to which you shook your head ever so slightly. "Oh baby. Need me to look after you, princess?" Elvis asked as you pushed yourself up feebly, the blanket pooling by your waist as you nodded and rubbed your eyes sweetly.
Effortlessly, Elvis scooped you up in his big, strong arms and your head automatically went to rest on his shoulder as you began to chew on your fingers anxiously, wanting this horrible feeling to go away.
"Y/N is comin' down with somethin' nasty, I'm gon' take care of her, let everyone know they can go home, I ain't leavin' her today." Elvis said to Jerry before he carried you to his private elevator that took him right to the suite that the two of you shared at the top of the International.
As soon as the doors closed, Elvis began to rock you gently. "Gon' get you undressed baby, take off all yer clothes and get you in the tub, give you some medicine that's gon' make you feel all good n'better then we're gon' get you into bed to rest n' take it easy. How does that sound pretty girl?" Elvis soothed.
You nodded into his shoulder, feeling vulnerable and weak as he held you tightly, you couldn't help but let out a couple of sniffles too.
"Little one, d'ya think you can use your words f'me?" Elvis said. He knew you'd go non-verbal whenever you were feeling overwhelmed and little, and usually he wouldn't push you, but when you were feeling little and sick, he needed to know that you could still understand what he was saying and there wasn't anything more serious that was underlying.
"J-Just, don't feel good Daddy." You whimpered and oh if Elvis' heart hadn't broken in two when he first saw you on that couch, it certainly had now.
The name that you'd just called him was definitive confirmation that you were deep in little space and you needed to be treated as delicately as possible.
"I know baby, I know you don't, Daddy's gon' take care of you." Elvis promised, kissing the top of your head as you got out of the elevator into the suite.
Elvis wasted no time in taking you straight to the bathroom, sitting you atop the bathroom the counter as he rolled up the sleeves on his blue silk shirt, one that you'd actually picked out for him because you thought he would look "extra pretty" in it and began to run the bathtub full of warm water for you. He then went through the bathroom cabinet, through the one that held all of the medicines you may need for any particular reason, before he found the right one for your fever and chills.
"Now, you gotta be a brave girl f'me, I know this don't taste too good baby, but it's gon' help make you better, 'kay?" Elvis said as he poured the medicine onto a spoon, ready to feed you as you watched on, grimacing a bit, you hated having to take medicine.
"I don't wanna..." You practically whispered.
"Darlin', I know it ain't nice, but you gotta take it like a good girl, can you do that fr'me?" Elvis said, his tone becoming a little sterner than before, you taking your medicine is not something he was going to compromise on.
You nodded but not without small tears forming, making Elvis feel quietly guilty, he wished that it was him that was sick, he'd give anything to swap places with you. It really did pain him to see you in this state.
"Okay, open them pretty lips fr'me angel, just like that, good." Elvis encouraged as he fed you the spoon with the medicine.
He used his pointer finger on his other hand to poke just under your jaw ever so slightly to close your mouth around the spoon. "Good." He hissed, nodding in approval at how good you were being.
Slowly, he took the spoon out of your mouth as he studied your face, your eyes staring up at him as your nose scrunched up at the sour tasting medicine.
"Baby, that medicine ain't gon' do a damn thing stuck in your mouth like that." Elvis half-heartedly chuckled, knowing you were being a little too stubborn for your own good. "Swallow." He commanded gently.
And, like the good girl you were, you did just that - although with a grimace on your sweet little face the entire time.
"Good girl." Elvis praised softly, as he began to take off your clothes for your bath.
You watched as his coarse, ring-clad hands traced your skin, causing shivers to travel through your already sensitive skin. Elvis hushed you reassuringly, saying sweet nothings to reassure you that you were okay, that he was your Daddy and he was going to make you better, and you believed him.
After you were fully undressed and after Elvis checked the water temperature, Elvis helped you into the tub where you instantly loved the sensation of the hot water on your shivering skin.
"Does my little girl like that?" Elvis smiled warmly as he watched you smile for the first time today, even if it was only a small one.
You nodded as you brought your knees to your chest to rest your head on your knees, your head tilted so you could watch your Daddy.
Elvis grabbed a loofah and took to gently washing you, getting you all soapy and lathered up in the suds as he watched you practically preen in delight at his touch.
"Bein' such a good girl fr' Daddy, ain'tcha?" Elvis soothed.
"Yes Daddy." You said sweetly, your eyes closed in bliss as Elvis continued to wash you all over.
"That's right, that's my girl." Elvis praised as he held out one of your arms to wash it, as if you were some sort of a doll for him to move as he pleased. You were so malleable and so sweet and Elvis loved nothing more than to take care of you.
When Elvis was done washing you, he scooped you up out of the tub and wrapped you up in a fluffy towel, holding you tightly and peppering you in kisses, eliciting a few soft giggles from you.
He knew you were feeling little, you were so overwhelmed and he knew the last week had taken it's toll on you. You were a little people pleaser, so much so, that you'd taken on much more than sweet, little you could manage. You would comply to anyones request and you'd caused yourself to become burnt out and Elvis couldn't help but feel responsible for not stepping in sooner - even if he knew that if he had stepped in, you would've begged him to let you help out as much as possible because you were just a little angel sent from heaven. Elvis quickly got you dressed into your favourite pyjamas that you wore when you were feeling little. They had cartoon horses on them and you'd adorably named each one, one morning whilst Elvis was reading his paper and drinking his morning coffee.
He took special care as he dressed you, mindful that your body was still tender and sore.
As Elvis led you to your bed, you began to feel all drowsy and achey again, making you extra clingy and needy with Elvis, but he secretly didn't mind.
Elvis tucked you up in bed and placed your stuffed bunny in your little grasp, smoothing back your hair that had fallen in front of your face.
After placing a kiss atop of your head, Elvis began to make his way from the bedroom to let you sleep before he heard a whine come from your lips.
"Oh honey, what's the matter?" Elvis cooed, making his way back to the bed before you reached out your arms wide and made grabby hands at Elvis, making him chuckle ever so.
"Daddy, stay," You whimpered. You were not in any fit state to not be close to Elvis. "Don't go, need you." You mumbled cutely.
Elvis smirked as he began to remove his shoes and get atop the bed, next to you, placing one arm across the pillows where your head rested so that you were able to slot into his side and snuggle into him as you clasped onto your stuffed bunny too.
"I ain't goin' anywhere baby, now rest your eyes honey, you need to get your strength back little one." Elvis instructed, his fingers running through your hair, sending shivers through you as you let your eyes close.
Elvis continued to play with your hair as he reached over to his bed-side table with his other hand and grab the telephone.
"Jer? Yeah, Jer, tell the Colonel to tell whoever needs to know that the show ain't happenin' tonight, reschedule, cancel, I don't care. I gotta take care of Y/N, ain't no way I'm leavin' her tonight, not in the state she's in. Okay. Thanks Jer." Elvis said into the receiver before putting it down again.
You couldn't help but feel bad as you nestled into Elvis' side. "Daddy?" You said meekly.
"Yes baby?"
"You don't got to cancel your show Daddy." You said softly, your big eyes looking up at his blue ones.
"Little one, I ain't ever wanna do a show if you ain't in the crowd." Elvis said firmly and you knew he wasn't going to budge on the matter - and with that you drifted off in the arms of your Daddy.
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starryschoolgirl · 5 months
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Elusive Engagement
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a Baby Love snippet - Circa: March, 1968
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Summary -> When the news leaks to the press about your upcoming wedding, Elvis holds his own interrogation which wreaks havoc within his entourage. But you're told not to worry your pretty little head about it, however you can't help when you have a hunch that the leak came from your family.
Warnings -> It's only a little angsty, crying, throwing bottles, angry Elvis, misunderstandings, possible manipulation, disapproving mother-in-law, Roy Orbison makes a very short cameo
WC -> 2.5k
Thank you to that lovely anon who suggested making this newspaper thing, you have sparked a snippet you inspiring poet. And many thanks to Jeanie and Willow for helping me with the newspaper, lovely those ones.
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The shrill ring of the bedstand's telephone had been an abrupt and unpleasant wake up call to Elvis after a long night of playing piano keys and renting out a bowling alley. To be quite fair it wasn't that this caller was being rude, it was after all digging into the day, 1 or 2PM by Elvis' guess.
He drawled out a deeper than usual, "Mm hello?", rubbing his eyes with his free hand as he did so. The hand extended from his eyes to drag down the skin on his face tiredly, the pull of the skin would only serve to tug an eyelid open. 
A joyous voice had filled Elvis' ear, an old friend's voice,
"Now I knew you had a wedding coming but why didn't you tell me I was invited to your wedding? And why didn't you tell me I was gonna sang too apparently?"
Elvis' eyebrows furrowed and he shook his head in a tired confusion, his lips smacked before he mumbled, "Roy? Man what are you talkin' about..."
He shifted in the bed slightly and turned to your side, warmth was emanating off you, his personal little heater. Elvis pulled the cord of the telephone from the bedside table so that he wouldn't knock over anything on the table as he scooted closer to your sleeping figure.
Roy's laugh filled the line, it was loud and had a bit of a pitch to it in the way Roy's singing voice could have. Elvis pulled the telephone away from his ear as he settled next to you, placing a hand on your stomach for contact as he leaned his back against the bed's headboard.
As he ran his hand down your stomach to your thighs, his fingers absentmindedly tugging at the laced hem of your short nightie as he complained into the phone,
"It's too early in the mornin' for ya jokes boy, what's goin' on Orbison?"
The laughing on the other line had subsided as he realized Elvis really didn't know what was going on.
"Elvis, it's all over the papers here, ain't it on the papers in California? Your wedding, it’s been leaked..."
-----
As you awoke from your much needed slumber you reached for your favorite pillow on the bed, Elvis. Only, it seems Elvis wasn't in bed? Maybe if you reached further you’d feel him, he tended to roll around in his sleep.
After the first swipe around the bed your hand turned frantic as it searched for him, you quickly sat up just to see he was gone. You pulled a stray hair out of the corner of your mouth and tried to smooth your mussed up hair back to at least look presentable as you scooted to his side of the bed, the warmth of his body long gone and now just a cold bunch of sheets and blankets.
The pads of your bare feet against the wood floor filled the room as you walked to grab your robe, it was a very chilly March morning, then again every morning was as Elvis had an obsession with keeping the house cold.
You felt very carefree as you wandered through the upstairs hall of the Hollywood home you and Elvis had been residing in, you didn't hear the loud guffaws and crude jokes of Elvis' entourage, dubbed as the Memphis Mafia, so you hoped that meant you could enjoy a sweet domestic morning with Elvis.
Just the thought excited you as you let your robe flutter open while you pranced down the stairs girlishly looking for your fiancé. Just as you rounded the bottom of the stairs and steered yourself into the sunken living room you had seen Elvis in his usual dressy attire, his back was turned to you as he was facing another part of the room that you couldn't quite see yet.
Just as you were about to call his name, your feet finally landing onto the plush white carpet of the sunken room, Elvis’ voice boomed through the room as he yelled, “Speak Goddammit!!” His yell closely followed by a bottle that had flown across the room and shattered against the wall, your guess of it being a bottle had been confirmed as fizzy brown liquid began to drizzle down the wall that had intercepted the bottle. The sound that had filled the air as it shattered had made you jump and squeal from the shock.
Elvis' broad shoulders had turned at the noise of your distress and your eyes shot around the room in a bit of panic, Elvis' friends were here, but instead of being their usual joyous, loud selves they were quietly standing straight with blank faces, like soldiers in trouble with their drill sergeant. 
They were in trouble with Elvis, and if that couldn't be told from the way they all stood with sunken expressions, then the way a few of them remained in a flinched stance from the bottle being hurled just inches from their heads was the giveaway.
You made eye contact with Jerry for a split second before he looked away, when you tried to make eye contact with the others they only looked away as well, then you turned to a fast-approaching Elvis.
He hadn’t yet shaved and his hair looked to still be tussled from sleep. Your wide eyes softened slightly at his facial expression, he looked upset, you could tell by the way his jaw clenched and his nose was just slightly scrunched in a way that only someone who was often close to his resting face could tell.
Your voice was soft and questioning as you reached a shaky hand up to smooth back his hair, “Elvis..?”
You then realized why the others wouldn’t look at you, especially with Elvis in this mood.
Before you could say anything else you watched as his hands found the sides of your robe, pulling the sides together to hide your figure. You’d felt an embarrassed heat spread up your neck as you realized Elvis’ friends had just seen you in your short nightie, and with the cold air of the room, they no doubt saw the two little hardened details of your chest that Elvis liked to admire most.
You let out a breath as he tied the string of your robe especially tight.
“Elvis, what’s the matter?”
Elvis sighed, his hardened expression softening just for your eyes as his back was now turned to the other guys, he shook his head for a moment while staring down at the floor. Now you felt worried, you brought a hesitant hand up to cup his cheek as you murmured softly,
“Can I help in any way?”
He cracked a little smile at the question and placed his hand over yours as he turned his cheek to kiss it. With his unshaved cheek rubbing against your hand you felt the slightest tickle, and any hesitance or fear you might’ve housed for a moment was out the window as you couldn’t help your giggle at the sensation.
The sweet noise only served as a reminder to Elvis that he had a duty as a man to handle it on his own, and not have you worry your pretty little head about anything.
Elvis’ hands rested at your waist and he leaned down to kiss your cheek and murmured against the skin close to your ear, “No little one, why don’tchu you head right on upstairs, be up there in a minute with ya alright? Just talkin’ with the boys”
He pulled back for you to see his little encouraging smile, to which you returned tenfold with your own sweet grin.
As you headed back down the hall that led to the stairs the house was silent and as you had left sight of the room you could hear Elvis saying something quietly but couldn’t quite make it out. You wanted to but at the same time you didn’t see the point, Elvis was handling his business, therefore it was none of yours. As you reached the staircase you noticed paper placed on the first stair.
Of course your eyes glazed over it as you were taking a step up the stairs and just as you had passed it, the headline finally hit you smack dab in the face.
“ELVIS PRESLEY TO BE MARRIED IN JUNE”
Your eyes widened, and you quickly bent down to grab it, taking slow steps up the stairs as you read the contents. 
A close source had revealed the upcoming wedding? Who could that be? Is that why Elvis was so angry downstairs? No one was supposed to know until after.
As you had reached the top of the stairs you had to lean against the wall and think, a million thoughts going through your brain as to why one of the people close to Elvis would reveal it. They’d risk losing more than they’d gain. Elvis didn’t like people who couldn’t keep their trap shut about his personal business.
There were even a few times where Elvis had stepped up to his manager, Mr. Parker, because the man wanted to release some information to the press about you and Elvis to keep his name before the public due to his movie career going down the toilet.
That argument didn’t end well as Elvis had almost gotten the two of them sued by refusing to participate in a project unless Mr. Parker promised not to go to the press for publicity, as Elvis didn’t want your name being dragged in the mud. Those journalists often found a way to make anyone, even someone Elvis deemed as saintly and perfect as you, seem like last month’s garbage.
But a thought that seemed to reoccur in your brain at the moment was the worry that the leak came from your side. After all, your family didn’t approve of this union. Especially your mother.
No, she wouldn’t do that, would she?
Your body remained stiff even though you felt as if you were buzzing all over, this vibration in your stomach, mixing and stirring your stomach acids all around.
This could all be your fault. Those guys could all be paying for your own mother’s actions. It was enough to make you feel a little sick.
You kept a hand on the wall as you wandered down the hall to your and Elvis' shared bedroom, your steps grew faster as you heard a bang and Elvis yelling at one of the guys, as if your growing guilt would tackle you to the floor if you slowed down.
Once you made it to the room you closed the door behind you, and with the newspaper still in hand you sat on Elvis’ side of the bed, turning the rotary dial to your mother’s number.
After a few rings and a shaky breath you heard a familiar voice say “Hello”, it was Rienne, one of the maids.
You tried to remain composed, heeding your mother’s lesson that if you weren’t composed around the help, they wouldn’t respect you.
“R-Rienne, is mother home?”
Your palm felt sweaty as you nervously clenched your free hand into a fist, biting your lip to keep it from enacting its nervous quiver.
“Cosette, is that you? Oh how are you Dearie?”
“Rienne, please is my mother home?”
There was a short pause before Rienne answered with a yes, you spoke as softly as you could without stuttering, asking her to call for your mother. And when your mother finally did come to the phone she answered with a soft, quiet, “Cosette?”
Your lower lip wobbled as you spoke in a soft, quiet voice that almost completely mirrored your mother had it not been for the little crack at the end,
“It wasn’t you was it?”
As you were greeted with silence you brought your other hand up to clench the telephone nervously. Then your mother spoke once more,
“Setty, what ever do you mean?”
You breathed out wetly, allowing for vulnerability as you clenched the telephone as if you would your mother’s hand had she been here, “Th-The wedding, it’s in the papers Mommy”
More silence followed before your mother’s sympathetic voice, “Oh my love, I-”, she paused trying to find the right words, “Well, I-”
With her sudden loss of vocabulary your worry spiked and you questioned quickly, voice not raising in volume, only in distress, “It wasn’t you was it? Tell me it wasn’t please-”
“I told you not to get involved with that man, with men like him these things are bound to happen.”
You felt your eyes begin to burn slightly. You had almost worked yourself into tears from that last sentence. “You mean you didn’t leak-”
“Of course not my dear, why would Mommy do that to you?”
You wished you could see her, not only for the comfort she could offer, but also for the giveaway she could offer as well. You shared many traits with her, one of which being a giveaway for when you lie, and over the phone you really couldn’t tell. You wanted to believe her, you really did.
Suddenly her voice was much colder, as she instigated,
“Is that what that man has you thinking? Is he making you think that your mother and father are these big bad wolves? Figures, a man like him doesn’t have much to offer so he has to make it look like everyone else has even less to make someone stay. You know I warned you-”
The change of tone was abrupt, and the burning of your eyes violently increased from each syllable she spoke. Your eyes would be pools in no time.
“N-No Mommy, no he didn’t say anything, he-”
Your voice had caught in your throat. God you couldn’t do anything right, and now your mother is misunderstanding what a good man Elvis is. When you could finally speak, your nervous panic had left your voice so pathetically quiet that it came out like a choked whisper,
“He’s- No, I, it’s not that, I promise, I,”
Your mother cut in again with a scoff through the line, “It’s an isolation tactic my darling, he’s turning you against us. Goodness, why can’t you see that? I know I didn’t raise a stupid girl”
And just as it always had since you were a little girl, your voice gave out completely as you tried to explain yourself to your mother. The same way your mother’s voice would give out anytime she tried to explain something to your father. 
And as no noise would leave your throat, you would only be able to silently listen to your mother’s quiet voice that somehow even in a crowded room seemed louder and more present than any other person’s voice.
Despite its quiet softness, it could somehow often surpass Elvis’ loud harsh one.
Tears streaked down your cheeks as you sat on the bed and listened to her go on about what Elvis was doing to you, what it would be like when you finally married him. She topped it all off with how much someone can change when he goes from man to husband. And that you’ll regret it all in the end.
You bit your lower lip harshly to stop it’s quivering, and as her voice rang through your skull you didn’t even recognize the click of the door, or the sound of Elvis’ shoes striding closer and closer on the wood floor.
It was only when you felt a pull on the telephone did you look up to find someone else, Elvis. He looked at you with worry before mumbling into the line as if your mother were an afterthought, 
“Goodbye Mrs. Chevalier”
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That was so fun to write! I had a whole other part written but I figured if it's a snippet, it's best I keep it short eh? Goodness I just love writing for this universe, I'm having so much fun messing around with these two!
Thanks plenty for reading!! If you'd like to be added to the taglist for this au feel free to just comment or message me!
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Taglist Lovelies: @fadedsummerlove, @lialocklear, @astral-eyed-cat, @suraemoon, @geanecore, @pinkpuffycloud, @s0phlabrunette, @that-hotdog
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Veils & Vows
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Summary - You partake in wedding reception pleasantries while your groom, Elvis takes care of a few business matters. Only when the two of you are back in your hotel room do you get him all to yourself.
Warnings - wedding night sex, oral (f. receiving), p in v, fingering, no protection, smut, missionary sex, mentions of crime/crime family dealings, swearing
WC - 4.4k
Author's Note - I found this photo as I haven't been able to get Elvis off my mind as of late and I had watched Goodfellas last night so the thought came to mind, what if I wrote Elvis in a Goodfellas-esque au, aka a mobster au. That's how this came about. I've got almost 20k of this written already so I figure I post it in a few parts, and make it into a short series.
The Prologue
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As a pair of familiar rough hands cupped your cheeks in a warm enveloping kiss, the rowdy applause of your family and friends filled the huge rented ballroom. The reception had started off on a sweet little note as Elvis' toast was made primarily to honor you, but also to honor some of the bigshots and higher-ups in the family who had been gracious enough to attend.
You knew the claps were primarily pointed toward the important men in your family and in Elvis' entourage but that didn't bother you too much. Your crowd was a close one, so close that even a day that was supposed to be yours, had to be divided up nicely to keep everyone happy. That's how it had always been.
Elvis' hand on your hip pulled your body closer to his as he pressed a few nibble-like kisses along your cheek. As he pulled back he stared at you with a small smile, his eyebrows lifted a tinge as his eyes were widened enough to get a real good look at his bride.
"Baby, I gotta go talk with some of the guys, so wait here f'me?"
Just as you had to share the attention on your wedding day, you had to share Elvis as well. But you didn't mind, you couldn't. Whatever Elvis did, it was what made him the man he was, the man you loved.
Your answer was short but soft as your eyes fell onto the way his hand grasped one of yours, "Oh, yeah, sure"
His eyes crinkled in a smile as he brought your hand up to his lips, kissing the finger with your rock of a diamond ring gently, mumbling into the skin, "Thank you Baby."
So for the next 20 minutes you sat quietly at the table, your husband's empty seat keeping you company as you watched Elvis be approached by one crowd of men and then the next. Just about all of the men you had been introduced to. 
There was Jerry "Hairy" Schilling, the man got his name because he was always greasing up his hair, so much so that he got 5 years in the can because he left greasy handprints on the window of a car that he'd kept some stolen goods in, he managed to dodge the charges of posession of stolen goods but the car happened to be stolen. What a dumbass.
Then the West brothers who maintained a perfect record at the races, they were raking in more money in the South from betting with those damned bookies than the Texas oil aristocrats. And that's saying something. 
There's also Joe 'Diamond Joe' Esposito. He got his name from being part of the notorious group who fixed the 1962 World Series, Yankees win all the way. For those who aren't baseball fans, a baseball field is referred to as a baseball diamond. You only knew because your house was always full of Yankees fans who spat at the tv if an ump so much as called a strike on Mickey Mantle.
Speaking of the Yankees, though Joe DiMaggio couldn't make an appearance he sent over a nice bottle of champagne with his compliments to the both of you.
And that was just the start of it. On your side there were a lot of close family friends who also attended, a bunch of Italian goons, and a few mixed mutts thrown in as well. And that was the family.
"For the family"
You looked up to see Esposito's wife holding out an envelope of cash to you with the biggest smile. You nodded and beckoned her down to you with a finger, hugging her shoulders and pressing a kiss to her cheek as she returned on to yours. She whispered in your ear, "You make a gorgeous bride", before pulling back and pushing the envelope closer to you.
You mumbled a thank you and as you took the envelope you saw the rest of the women beginning to line up with their husbands and their envelopes. Before you had gotten through your third round of thank you's and pleasantries with the wedding guests Elvis was sitting by you once more.
His hand rested on your thigh while his other reached out to help you grab the envelopes and shake the hands of the men after they pressed a kiss to your cheek.
The extravagant wedding was practically paid for by the guests and you even got more money on the side, enough for a few months rent for an apartment, just what newlyweds needed. After all, you couldn't celebrate your union living in your mother's house. And you had told Elvis you refuse to live in a house with men going in and out, you wouldn't do it.
While you were his girlfriend and spent plenty of time in his townhouse you watched with a look of disapproval as his friends and aquantances walked in and out like it were a hotel, ordering food from the cook as if it were a restaraunt.
You refused to make a home out of that, and Elvis had promised your godfather, a very important and influential man in the crowds that Elvis roamed about, that you would have a proper home to be the lady of.
By the time all the crowd had come through with their envelopes of cash you found that you’d made a small fortune from this night alone, and that wasn’t even accounting for the huge pile of gifts that were yet to be open.
As the night carried on, you and Elvis had finally taken part in your first dance, it had taken so long since Elvis didn’t like to dance. And as Dean Martin’s song, “You’re Nobody ‘Til Somebody Loves You”, filled the room he mumbled softly for only you to hear, “Ya know I wouldn’t dance for nobody but you.” 
You smiled, “I know”
He beamed a prideful smile as you continued to carry your way through the dance gracefully.
When it had ended Elvis kissed your cheek and passed you over to your late-father’s dear friend, your godfather, Marco, who wanted to take his turn with his dearest goddaughter. Marco pressed a kiss to your cheek and pulled you close to take his turn.
Your eyes drifted to the side of the room, Elvis was conglomerating with a couple of men, one of the men, Frankie Albero, began to gesture wildly and you could hear his voice raise just barely above the music. Elvis sent Jerry a look and Jerry pulled him elsewhere, he had that placating look on his face. Whenever Elvis wasn’t in the mood to deal with someone he had Jerry deal with it like such.
You watched as Jerry led the guy to one of the exits, whispering some assurances likely. You bit your lower lip, whenever Jerry pulled that move, the guy with him usually didn’t return without a busted lip or a bruised eye. But Albero was an important man, he was a made man, something Elvis could never be, so it was more than likely that Jerry was just tasked with getting the guy out of the ballroom rather than roughing him up.
Elvis didn’t want a spectacle to be made at the wedding unless the spectacle was you.
“Princess,”
You turned your head back to Marco who seemed to stare down at you with a knowing smile.
“Ah, yes Marco?”
“Don’t worry about it, the kid’s got it handled.”
You smiled up at him and leaned your head on his shoulder, murmuring softly, “I know Marco”
The two of you danced a few more circles as he asked you how you liked your wedding and if anyone was giving you trouble.
“No, everyone’s been wonderful, don’t worry”
You knew if you said differently your godfather might do something drastic, he was like Elvis in that fashion, things were always a production when it came to concerns of family and loved ones.
Marco told a joke about he couldn’t believe his only goddaughter had married an Irishman. The fact that Elvis had Irish roots had strained your relationship with Marco for a long time. You thought the bind of Catholicism would bring your godfather to like Elvis more but that hadn’t done much.
It was only because Elvis had begun to make a name for himself in the crowds of the city that your godfather warmed up to him. Suddenly there was an Irishman steering his way through groups of made men at the Copa with a charismatic smile and a handshake to every single one of them.
There was suddenly an Irishman looking after the little guy in the guinea neighborhoods, tucking hundred dollar bills into a poor man’s breast pocket just for shining his shoes. That is what had earned Marco’s respect. 
Well, that and the fact that Elvis had slipped a couple hundred dollars under the table to a man who roughed up the grocery boy who had catcalled you one time.
Not to mention the fact that Elvis was in with all the supplying men, he had a hand in every jar. He had access to all the best supply runners, their routes, and their loads. It was usually liquor, cigars, cigarettes, and cash. He even liked to keep tabs on meat trucks just for his own enjoyment of the often expensive delicacy.
But it wasn’t for nothing. No. Everybody around him got a piece of the action for supplying him with the information that was deemed invaluable if you were the right man and knew how to run steals and heists. Simply put, if you were Elvis.
But despite all that, Elvis would never be a made man. But he was practically untouchable just as a made man would be. Before he had even married you he was untouchable just from his reputation, and the fact that he was like a fountain of money, he making enough cash to go around.
But now that he was married to you, he truly was untouchable. Your family ran the neighborhood, and the next few blocks after. The way someone would lose a finger for touching you with it, now applied to Elvis as well. He had protection, he had his hand in every cookie jar in the city, and now he had you.
When the reception was over, Elvis had taken you to one of the classiest hotels in the city, he’d telephoned beforehand so that the room was at a temperature you liked, asked that the candy bowls be filled with those caramel hard candy’s that you kept in your clutch every time the two of you had a night out, and had sent your favorite sheets to be placed on the bed, he knew you never liked the sheets hotels provided.
And though it wasn’t the dream honeymoon that many women pictured, like a trip to Hawaii or the Hamptons, you didn’t mind. Being in the crowds that you and Elvis were in, you both tried to remain lowkey with that kind of thing. Your wedding date had been in the papers, so with that information people likely had their eyes and ears on you. The last thing the two of you needed was going to an exotic destination just to get shot in the airport.
Being lowkey was romantic to you, it just made the little things in your relationship much more prominent. And you knew that with Elvis, you didn’t need Hawaii to have a honeymoon with an amount of loving on that would rival an entire whorehouse.
And he proved it as he laid you sprawled along the center of the bed, on the cold, slippery satin sheets. You wore nothing but a robe that was spread open giving Elvis a view of you in all your glory, of course paired with your wedding ring, the edges of the clean cut diamonds were leaving the smallest of tears and rips in the sheets as it glided along the fabric.
He shrugged off his white button-up, and as his hands reached to undo the button and zipper on his slacks, he stopped to stare for a moment and mumble,
“My wife…”
He stared at your body incredulously, leaving you to blush silently and let him. His next words came out a whisper while his hand held your ankle as he stood at the end of the bed half-naked, 
“By the graces of God, you’re my wife.”
You smiled softly at his words, “And,” you started before sitting up, now on your knees you crawled toward him to the edge of the bed. With the leverage of the bed your head was at the height of his chest, as you looked up at him he looked down at you, awaiting your words.
“You’re my husband”
Your eyes drifted down to his lips. As you stared at his slightly ajar mouth you absentmindedly shrugged off your robe that was already open, once off you brought your hands up to bury themselves in his hair as you pulled him down to kiss you.
He groaned softly as he leaned into the kiss, you were trying to pull him down onto the bed. You could hear and feel the shuffle of him trying to get his pants and boxers off as fast as he could so that he could fall with you onto the bed.
As he tumbled onto the bed naked, atop you, his touch and scent had tumbled with him. Your senses felt overwhelmed as you could smell the aftershave on his cheek when he pressed kisses along your cheek, a hand in your hair to manuever your head in whatever way he liked.
As his kisses traveled further down to nestle into your collarbone, his free hand roamed to cup the globe of your ass, kneading you like bread as he licked and suckled your skin like candy.
“Oh Elvis,”
He hummed into your skin as his hand on your ass traveled to your middrift. His fingers glided down your body like you were a map, his finger lazily traveling to the destination. And when you let out a surprised squeak and your legs twitched as he grazed your clit, he smiled knowing he found his destination.
You gasped as he rubbed a circle.
“Oh- Oh Elvis…”
His lips murmured lazily against your skin, “Mm what”
Elvis’ hand left your scalp as he needed to tend to himself while his other hand tended to you. You threw your head in a loop as your back arched up with the flicks of his finger on your clit. It wasn’t long till he’d easily dipped a digit into your awaiting core. 
You were wet enough that he was able to quickly slide another in.
His hand and fingers were gentle as he fondled your entire pussy with one hand, from a finger dragging across your clit to a few others taking deep plunges into your entrance, it was like heaven.
Your cunt contracted as his fingers curled, you mouth gaped open in a silent moan as he continued the erotically slow but steady pace. 
“What is it? What do ya need?”
His kisses halted as he crawled down between your legs, spreading your thighs with a hand as his other continued with their touching and teasing. You gasped softly as you felt him blow on the flushed skin down there. 
“Ah…”
He turned to press a kiss along your thigh, now one hand of his focused on pumping his fingers in and out while the other hand’s thumb rolled over you clit in steady circles. His kisses continued up your thigh.
He murmured, “Tell me, I know ya can”
You moaned softly. A hand flew down to nestle in his dark hair while your other grasped at the slippery sheets below you.
“You, hah, I need you Elvis..!”
He smiled softly and placed a gentle kiss between your clit and where his fingers pumped inside of you. Said fingers then pulled out as Elvis' tongue dove in, his nose peeking it’s way inside perfectly.
His moistened hand slid across the sheets as a means to wipe off your natural lubricant before he grabbed the back of your knee, lifting it so that he could get better leverage and cover more ground as he continued to eat you out.
“Elvis..! Fuck, E-Elvis you, I need you…”
 Your head fell back completely as his thumb worked in unison with his tongue. You felt yourself falling apart so fast, you felt yourself taking such a dive into the deep end that all you could say was his name, like he was your god giving all you could ever want. Like he was your god who depended on your belief that he would take care of you.
He hummed and growled into your cunt as your legs began to kick wildly, as your grip and pull on his hair into your pussy had tightened, and as your hips pumped upward into him in earnest.
“Oh Elvis! Oh I’m so- Elvis!”
Your eyes flew to the back of your head as your body continued to chase that feeling and your sentence was cut off with a moan of his name as you came.
You could hardly process anything as Elvis went right from that position to lining up his cock while mumbling a few swears. He didn’t give you a grace period as he caged you between his arms and pushed into you swiftly. At the intrusion you let out a high pitched moan and reached for the sheets around you for comfort.
“Grab me Baby, h-hold on f’me okay? Alright Baby?”
His eyebrows were furrowed in discomfort as his body stiffened completely, waiting for you to get yourself settled. When he saw the awkwardness of your arms having to reach up so far, he brought himself down into a low plank above you so that you could easily wrap your arms around him while laying down.
As he slid out he mumbled a low, “fuck…” before pushing back in slowly. You moaned into his neck as he continued on with that movement, working himself into a slow rhythm.
You encouraged him gently after releasing a soft gasp at his cock hitting your cervix.
“Ah, yes, keep going”
He hummed in response and leaned his head down against yours as his hips continued to rock in and out of you in deep strokes, it was almost painful to pull out of the warmth of your pussy. With each exposure of his cock to the room he felt the temperature snap at his skin, then be enveloped in a moment’s notice by your warm walls. It was an almost masochistic cycle that he had to follow through with the reach that special peak.
If not for that moment of ecstasy that he was chasing, he’d be content to just stay inside of you, soaking in your warmth and that snug feeling that your cunt provided him with.
He questioned through gritted teeth, thrusting harder with each question,
“Ya like it? Huh? Ya like that?”
As his thrusts grew sharper you gasped with every single one. Nodding your head with a silent moan as he continued on, only with a faster pace.
“Like it when I fuck ya? Yeah?”
He braced his hands on the bed as your nails dug crescents into his back as his muscles flexed with the sudden roughness and speed. He was close.
“My wife likes it when I fuck her huh? She likes it when I lay her down yeah?”
You let out a strangled moan as he began to plunge into you so fast that his rhythm was beginning to get all out of wack. The lewd sounds of his balls slapping against your ass as he continued with his thrusts, the moans that left your throat in a guttural way, his groans against the skin of your neck, and squelching and air pops as his cock plunged in and out of you made a cacophony of what must be the sounds of good loving.
Suddenly you felt yourself reaching that peak again and as the coil in your stomach snapped and you moaned his name, he growled with a rasp as his hips worked with their own agenda, helping him reach his release as fast as possible.
And when his legs trembled, his body shook, and his groans got drawn out, you knew he’d finished.
He began to slowly grind into you more, as he did so you felt the warmth of his seed spill out of your entrance slightly. He slowly rode out that high, panting, “My wife…” as he did so.
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A/N - As I said I plan to make this into a series because I've already written so much and I think there might be someone who might like this, so, if you're that someone just leave any sort of comment and I'll tag you in the next part.
Series Summary: While it was deemed a waste for you to marry an Irishman, completely disregarding your bloodline that led all the way back to the old country, you couldn't help who you fell in love with. Thankfully Elvis had earned the respect of those in your crowd and made a name for himself, he got himself properly inducted into the family business. But just as your life together starts to properly begin, the head of the family would need Elvis to take care of a few things in the casinos of Vegas.
Credits: Photo of Elvis is from the 45 RPM picture sleeve for Wonder Of You/Mama Liked The Roses, the rest is pinterest, and the layout is from canva. This series will also take lots of reference/inspiration from Goodfellas, the Godfather, Casino, and of course a few books I've read on the subject.
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cowboylor · 2 years
Text
baby honey
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pairing: austin butler x fem!reader (reader uses she/her pronouns)
wc: 1.4k 
warnings: smut, pwp, slight dom/sub dynamics but nothing extreme, oral (female receiving), teasing, manhandling, bad dirty talk, allusions to breeding kink, established relationship, no use of y/n, reader was written as plus size but really you can interpret however you please, austin calling reader honey is pure self-indulgence sorry
“Did you miss me?”
The question goes unanswered as you struggle to unbutton his shirt, cursing under your breath when the third button down refuses to cooperate with your shaking fingertips. Austin can’t help but grin at your blatant urgency to get him out of his clothes and through your bedroom door. 
When you finally get to the last button, you feel his hands reaching to cup your face, forcing you to look away from the task at hand. You feel warm all over when you take a moment to look into his eyes. And God, they’re so blue. Were they always this blue?
“Honey,” He speaks in a low-tone, in an endearing way that shoots right to your lower belly. “I asked, did you miss me?”
His stare, if you didn’t know better, almost looked intimidating. Austin peered down at you expectantly with those damn eyes. His hands were still holding you upright, warming your cheeks.
You nod, dumbly. “Of course, I did! Hence the ripping-off-your-clothes.”
Austin chuckles, removing his hands to wrap his arms around your waist, pulling you into him. He leans towards the shell of your ear, pressing a kiss there before murmuring, “I missed you too.”
Humming into the embrace, you relax your hands from the material of his button-down. He was home. You truly couldn’t believe it. He was finally all yours again.
“And when I saw you in this little number,” He tugs on the fabric of your sundress that tightened around your waist, before leaning over to whisper in your ear: “I wanted to bend you over and fuck you right there. Even with everyone watching.”
You’re too far gone to be embarrassed at his choice words. Whining, you inch your body closer to him until you were flushed against his chest. “Please, baby, take me to bed.”
He doesn’t waste anymore time, crouching down to throw you over his shoulder, to which you protested in a shrieking manner.
(You were slightly indifferent to the ways he would toss you in the bedroom. You were also slightly insecure about the idea that you would be too heavy for him to do so. Whenever he’d lift you off your feet and carry you to bed it made you stricken with fear. But when you mentioned this anxiety to Austin, he simply shook his head in disbelief: “You think I can’t manhandle my own girl?”)
When the back of your head hit the pillow, he was already bunching up the fabric of your sundress to your waist, gently pulling your legs apart before toying with the band of your panties. His breath wafted over you, making you tense at the subtle sensation, and moving to close your legs in hopes of the slightest friction. Austin didn’t give you the chance.
“But now,” He continued, prying your legs open, and propping one of your calves over his shoulder. “I think I want to taste you.”
You moan at the sight. Drinking in the way he gingerly presses a kiss to your calf, before trailing down your leg.
You couldn’t ever think clearly when he was between your thighs. Couldn’t formulate the sensual words your boyfriend probably wanted to hear when he was trailing gentle kisses up your inner thigh (over the bumps and all). All you can muster are high-pitched moans and shallow breaths in response to whatever you’re currently undergoing.
He hums at your breathy gasps, peering up at you through tufts of freefallen blonde hair. “You’re so pretty, honey.”
You scoff at his smug smile. “No teasing, Austin.”
“No?” He reaches your inner thigh. “Won’t even let me savor my meal?”
You desperately wish you could say something sexy back. Something that would make him shudder with the same intensity that he does to you. Maybe even something so witty and quick-witted that it would make him chuckle at your bratiness and then instantaneously flip you over on all fours to fuck your brains out. But, your body never allows you to do so when he’s so very close to your cunt.
You groan out. “Just… Need you.”
Dragging his fingertip up to your clit, you swear you’re going to collapse then and there. Austin pondered your honest words, humming as he circles your clit with the rough pad of his finger.
“Holy shit, please.”
“Yeah?” He pressed his lips against your slit in one swift motion. But he was gone again before you could properly cry out. “Need me so bad, honey?”
You nod, furiously, blindly reaching out to tug down roughly on his hair, guiding him back to you. “Can’t wait any longer. Need your mouth.”
Now, he may be a little shit sometimes, but he was always fair with you.
Before you could whine out and plead again, his tongue was lapping at your cunt. You just about shriek, instinctively moving away from the intense sensation, but before being able to do so, Austin wraps his arm around your left thigh, while keeping your right leg propped up over his shoulder.
A string of “holy shit” plays out as you grapple with the intensity of your built up need. You mewl at the sight of him wrapped over your thighs, reaching out to grab whatever you could (his sandy blonde strands fall victim to you).
“You’re sweet as honey, honey.”
His tongue is hot and wet against your cunt, as you arch your back and cry out as he nudges your clit with the tip of his nose. You make eye contact when his eyes peer up at you. There’s a glint of cockiness in his eye, knowing how quickly he can have you come undone with just his mouth. 
Your heart is stuttering at the intensity of everything, and you can only throw your head back as Austin moans at the sight of you being unable to settle. He pulls away, briefly, leaving a string of saliva in his wake while he circles his thumb around your clit.
“That’s it, honey,” Austin groans out. “Gonna let me have it?”
“Yes!” Maybe that was rhetorical but you’re too far gone to care. “Please, baby. Need you to take all of it.”
He found it endearing, groaning into you at the sight of you dripping before him and the noises you made whenever he touched you in the slightest. You are so in tune for him, so bad for him it was unbelievable.
“Gonna let me fuck this sweet pussy after?” He continues to circle your clit, his pace grower harsher in the same way that he always amps up when you’re almost over the edge. You squirm, feeling your stomach coil tighter within every second. “Gonna let me fill you up good? Want me to fuck a baby into you? Would you like that, honey?”
And that’ll do it.
Austin didn’t stray away, dipping back down to return to his lapping motion, burying his face into your cunt. His right hand held your leg in place roughly, fingernails embedding into your skin to show that he was not keen on the possibility of letting you go any time soon. 
You’re almost positive you feel every possible sensation at once. The coil inside you unravels so deeply, you’re not even sure if you’ll be able to come down from this one. You pull at his hair, almost yanking him away from your shaking thighs in an effort to come down from your high. For good measure, he presses another kiss to the inside of your calf before gently lowering your leg to rest on the comforter.
Austin crawls up the bed until he can cup your face and kiss your forehead, bringing you face to face with his glowy complexion. You spend a second regaining your breath, before burying yourself into his chest (which is only partially exposed due to the mishap of the third button). 
“You kill me,” You say defeatedly, bringing your knees to your chest, testing out how sore and strained your inner thighs feel just from one act alone. He barks out a laugh, apologetically running hand over your stomach. “I’m running out of energy for you.”
He only hums at your words, pressing another kiss to your temple before muttering, “Take a moment, honey. Afterwards I want to unzip this dress and find out how flexible you are.”
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