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#big daddy elvis
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Magic Man
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Summary: Elvis breaks in a virgin. Word count: ~2,200 words of pure, unadulterated smut inspired by this post. This is purely a work of fiction, and from what I have read of how Elvis actually treated his lovers in real life, is probably a lot less tender and loving than the actual Elvis would have been. But it's make believe and fun, so enjoy it! Warnings: 20 year age gap, dubious consent at some points, full intercourse, course language. Somewhat callous treatment of Elvis' taste for younger women.
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His bedroom is a gilded cage, dripping with excess and the stench of hedonism. Elvis's entourage has left them alone, finally, after weeks of teasing glances and knowing winks. Tonight, it’s just him and his prey—sweet little Molly van Patton. All night, she’s tried to resist, but his primal aura is too strong to deny. He’s charming. Dangerous. A seasoned, world-famous rock star. And she's just a 19-year-old innocent, trembling on the edge of womanhood. Just like he likes ‘em.
Their meeting felt like some sort of strange, cosmic joke. She wasn’t a fan, hadn’t even intended to go see his show. But her best friend convinced her, one thing led to another, and now here she is, somehow lying in his colossal bed like a tiny helpless creature, her presence filling him with a burning desire to crush and destroy.
Now, he traces his lips down her neck, pausing to nuzzle at the hollow of her collarbone. Sweetly at first, then more insistently as she drags long, jagged breaths. Molly can’t help but gasp under the full weight of him, her body opening up in ways she’s never experienced before. It’s heady and intoxicating and dangerous and delicious and—
Oh. Oh. 
Each touch sets off an electric current, making her arch closer. She runs her fingers through the thick hair on his chest, feeling the cool metal of his gold lion's head medallion pressed against her own breasts. But as he reaches for her waistband, she hesitates.
“Stop,” Molly trembles. Heat flushes her cheeks. "I’m not… I don’t…"
Elvis nuzzles her neck. His hand is dangerously close to unzipping her skirt. He’s in a taking mood tonight.
“Please,” she pleads. “Won’t they know what we’re doing in here?”
Elvis chuckles, a low, deep rumbling sound that vibrates through her very bones. “Baby, they don’t care. They’re probably already placing bets on how long you’ll last.”
Molly's heart plummets into her stomach. Of course they knew. All those knowing glances and hushed whispers, they’d known all along. Her face flushes and it's all she can do to grab her things and run.
But Elvis doesn't give her time to process this newfound knowledge. His insistent lips find her earlobe, nibbling it lightly as he whispers lewd suggestions she can't comprehend but her body understands. Against her better judgment, heat pools between her legs, and she bites back a moan of desire. 
"Just one more," Elvis purrs, his voice thick with want, sending shivers down Molly's spine. "One more’n I'll stop.”
But one more turns into two, and then three, and before she knows it, she’s powerless under him. She feebly attempts to push him away, but his strong arms grasp her tighter. His grip is firm but not quite enough to leave bruises. Not yet at least. But she knows it’s coming. Braces for it. His lips find her neck again.
The heat between her thighs grows unbearable, and she clenches them together, as if that could stop the freight train that is Elvis Presley. As if it could cool the fire raging through her veins. She’s never felt so alive, so free, so needed and… so scared, as she does tonight in his arms. But as he inches lower, kiss by agonizing kiss awakening something primal inside her, Molly panics.
This is really happening.
She’s about to give herself to a man she barely knows, a man nearly twenty years her senior. One who could crush her like a fly if he wanted to. Her heart kicks into overdrive, adrenaline coursing as she manages to shove him off. 
“No!” she cries out, the word catching in her throat. Molly’s outburst gives Elvis pause. Hurt and confusion flash across his face as he pulls back, propping himself up on one elbow. 
“What is it?” his voice is gruff but not unkind.
Molly turns her face away, cheeks flaming. How can she tell him? That despite her adventurous friend and all the talk, she's never actually… that he would be her first. 
Elvis regards her steadily. Impossibly long black lashes curtain the genuine concern in his eyes. Molly's pulse throbs in her ears. 
"Please don't make me say it," she whispers finally. Molly squeezes her eyes shut, willing the tears not to fall. But a single drop escapes, trailing down her cheek. 
"I'm sorry," she whispers. "It's just… I've never…"
Understanding dawns on Elvis' face. He brushes the tear from her face with surprising tenderness. 
"Never been with a man before?" he asks gently. 
Molly shakes her head, a furious blush creeping up her neck. She expects anger, derision, rejection. For him to throw her out and call for the next girl. 
But instead, Elvis tips her chin up to look at him. "Oh honey," he murmurs. "Why didn't you tell me?" 
Molly's breath catches in her throat as Elvis regards her with unexpected tenderness. His hands, which moments before seemed so insistent, now caress her face and arms with featherlight touches. 
"I was afraid you wouldn't want me anymore," she confesses, her voice barely above a whisper.
Elvis shakes his head, a sad smile on his lips. "Oh darlin', that don't matter one bit to me. I want you, Molly girl. I want to make you feel real good." 
He drags his thumb over her bottom lip and Molly shivers. She knows she should leave, should find Doreen and book it out of there before she does something reckless. But the way Elvis is looking at her, like she's the only woman in the world… it makes her feel powerful. Desired. Dangerous.
She... likes it?
"Just relax and lemme take care of you," Elvis murmurs, his breath hot against her ear. With that, the last of her resolve melts. 
His hands, knowing and sure, explore her curves, leaving trails of fire in their wake. She moans, melting into him, her body betraying her. She's scared, yes, but she's also aching for more. He senses her hesitation, easing her back even further, parting her thighs with a tenderness belied by the impressive size of his hands. His eyes are hungry, admiring the perfect, trembling creature before him. 
"You're so beautiful," he breathes, running a calloused finger along her jawline. His words were like sweet poison, both thrilling and terrifying. "Shh, baby," he coos, "I gotcha."
He kisses her, his lips firm yet gentle, as if he can taste her innocence. Her first kiss, her first everything, all with him. She was born for him.
*
His lips trail down her breasts, leaving a path of fire in their wake. Molly arches into the sensation, the soft scratch of his stubble against her skin. His hand slides down to her stomach, fingertips tracing the sensitive flesh just below her belly button. 
"Do you want me to stop?" he asks hoarsely. She shakes her head, unable to form words. "Say it, Molly girl." He presses a kiss to her hip bone, nipping lightly at it. 
"No," she gasps. "Don't stop."
He smiles against her skin. "Good girl," he purrs before lowering his mouth to where she's aching for him most.
His tongue flicks forward, teasing her entrance and Molly cries out, her fingers curling into the silk sheets. She looks down at him—somewhere down there—through one open eye.
"Is that what... are you supposed to be—"
Before she can finish her sentence, his hands grip her thighs. Fear and desire battle within her, but desire wins out as curious pecks and licks turn into long, languid strokes. Bracing himself, Elvis feasts on her, like she's the most delicious thing he's ever tasted. She finally opens her eyes and there he is in all his glory: lapping at her, coaxing the desire out of her body and onto his waiting tongue. Wave after wave of pleasure courses through her. "Oh God," she whuffs out, her head thrown back in ecstasy. 
Somewhere in the back of her mind, a voice wonders what everyone else must be thinking. But then Elvis's tongue buries itself deep within again, soft and wet, and all thoughts vanish into thin air. His hands grip the soft flesh of her hips, guiding her closer to him as he laps at her vulnerable center. She's never felt anything like this before, the pleasure so unbearable it hurts. 
"That's it, baby," he growls into her glistening pussy, "ride it out."
And she does. His tongue flicks and swirls, plunging inside her, mimicking what she imagines is his impressive length. 
By now, the whole house must hear her moans, but she doesn’t care. She’s coming undone whether she wants to or not, and she’s never felt more alive.
“Oh, Elvis,” she moans, her voice high and desperate, “Oh, I—”
Molly van Patton shudders and bucks against him, her first ever orgasm coursing through her body like wildfire. He doesn't stop though, not until she's sobbing and spent, her juices coating his face. He looks up at her through hooded lids, a satisfied smirk on his full lips.
“I ain’t done with you yet.”
*
He moves up her body, his manhood hard and throbbing against her thigh. Her entrance flutters in anticipation, and Elvis smiles at the sight. He positions himself there, large and intimidating. 
“Relax, li’l girl,” he whispers in her ear. “I’ll be real gentle.” Molly looks up at him, eyes wide, pleading. 
“You sure you want this?”
She nods dutifully.
“Say it f’me, now.” 
“I want you inside me.”
That’s all he needs. Before she can take it back, he slides in an inch, and then another. He’s so big, stretching her so wide she’s certain she’ll split in half. Certain he'll pierce her and she'll never be the same again. Tears leak from her eyes, mixing with the mascara from earlier.
“Shh,” he soothes, “I got you.” His accent is thicker than usual, sweet like molasses. Slowly, bit by excruciating bit, Elvis works himself inside her tight heat. Molly bites her lip to stifle a moan, but it escapes anyway.
At that, Elvis groans, and then he’s entering her more and more until he bottoms out. He's still for a moment, ensuring she can truly take in all of his length. “Tell me how it feels,” he grunts, as he slowly picks up speed.
“It hurts,” she pants out. But it’s a delectable sort of hurt. He’s filling her up in ways she never thought possible. Each thrust has her teeth bitting his shoulder tighter.
“I know, baby,” he coos into her ear, “but it gets better, I promise.”
And somehow, it does. The pain eases and is replaced with a delicious ache that has her hips rocking towards his.. Heat pools in her belly as he claims her with every thrust, like she was made for him and only him.
“You’re so tight,” he moans. “Made for me.”
It’s a mantra, a vow, as a he pistons in and out, breaking her in with every stroke. Her climax from before was nothing compared to this. She’s soon whimpering, clawing at his back, an evil sob stuck in her throat. 
"That's it, baby," he pants, "give it all to me."
Elvis pulls out swiftly, leaving Molly empty and aching. In one smooth motion, he flips her over onto her stomach. 
"On your knees," he commands.
Molly whimpers but obeys, presenting herself to him on all fours. Elvis groans at the sight, gripping her hips tightly. 
He enters her from behind in one powerful thrust. Molly cries out, the new angle allowing him to penetrate her even deeper. Elvis sets a ruthless pace, pounding into her relentlessly.
The sound of slapping flesh fills the air as he claims her, his fingers digging into her hips hard enough to leave bruises. He hits a spot deep inside that has Molly seeing stars. She pushes her hips back to meet his brutal thrusts, unable to get enough.
"That's right, take it," Elvis growls. His breathing is labored in her ear, hot and ragged. Sweat beads on his brow, dripping onto her shoulder blades, but he doesn’t relent. “You’re taking me so good. You love it, don’t you?”
She does. Oh, God, does she ever. Fuck it. If this was wrong, she didn’t want to be right. 
He keeps pounding into her, and it's dizzying and intoxicating all at once. The room spins as she clings to the headboard for dear life, his name a curse on her lips, a talisman against the building pleasure-pain coiling in her core. His pace quickens, hot breath on her neck, and his thick chest hair tickling her back.
“El… vis…” she mewls. “Right there!”
He obliges, his expert hands massaging her swollen clit as he pounds into her from behind. 
“Yeah, just like that,” he rasps as Molly bucks against him, working the length of his cock with her slick and pushing her hips back to meet his brutal thrusts, unable to get enough. It shocks him how quickly she took to his cock. Elvis’ fingers dig almost painfully into her hips, urging her on. “That’s right, take what you need.” 
"Elvis, I..."
The pressure builds, coiling in her belly like a spring. “That’s my girl, let it go,” he growls in her ear, and that’s all it takes.
Her body explodes into a million stars, tightening around him as she screams her release. Just like that, it hits her all at once—from heaven and hell itself, crashing over her like a tidal wave and even more powerful than the first. Colors dance behind her eyelids. 
Elvis’ nails dig into her back, and she can feel the delicious sting as they break the skin. “Unnngh,” he grunts, “I’m fuckin’ close.” The filthy words spur her on, and she clenches around him, the fluttering of her walls easing up, and suddenly she’s slowly floating back to earth and back to life and back to his gigantic bed in his gigantic mansion in Memphis, Tennessee. She can’t breathe, can’t think, can’t do anything but feel.
He growls and buries himself even deeper, his thrusts erratic and desperate now. Harder and harder until he, too, splinters apart, shattering inside her like stained glass. He grunts, his release warm and sticky deep inside her.
Later, Elvis cocoons Molly in his strong arms and starts to rock her gently. As she drifts off to sleep, she knows there's no going back.
She's his now, body and soul. That’s the price she paid for giving in to her darkest desire.
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🤭🤭🤭
Warnings: smut, fingering
Fever
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You sit down on the bed, back against the headboard, and spread your legs slightly.
"Come here, Elvis. Lay down on your back" you pat the spot between your legs. Elvis does as you say, laying down on his back between your legs, and his head on your stomach. He looks up at you uncertainly.
"Don't worry baby, I'm gonna make you feel real good"
You take his thighs, and spread them and lift them slightly to access the area in between. Elvis' heartbeats quicken.
You reach down, and begin gently rubbing circles over his perineum with one finger. He closes his eyes, and lets out a soft moan.
"Look up, baby" you say to him softly, and he opens his eyes to meet his own gaze in the mirror right above you on the ceiling. The sight is intoxicating; him all vulnerable and dominated by you, and your fingers between his legs. He watches the reflection of you rubbing circles over his perineum and moans at the combination of the feeling and the sight.
Your finger moves down towards his entrance "Can I?" you ask softly, and he looks up at you with neediness and desire in his eyes "yes please" his voice is strained with arousal. You slowly push one finger into his hole, and watch his face muscles tighten.
He grips your thighs for support, his fingers digging into them. When you hit his p-spot, he moans softly, and presses his head back against your belly. "Aahhh...more..." He spreads his thighs slightly wider, and pushes his hips against your hand.
Your finger gently pumps into him, and Elvis makes soft sounds each time you hit the right spot.
"Look at yourself, baby" you say softly, and Elvis looks again up at his reflection. He watches with halfly closed eyes your fingers moving in and out of his tight and hot hole. He spreads his legs more, and sinks deeper into your embrace, surrendering to the pleasure.
"Please... more..." He gazes up at you, his eyes filled with need.
You speed up a little, and Elvis' mouth opens in a gasp, his eyelids clenching together. His hips begin to rock against your hand. "Aahhh! Yess! More!"
Your hand begins moving faster, and he arches his back, pressing his head back against your belly, so you get a close view of his face lost in pleasure. You cup his chin in your hand, and look into his eyes with a loving gaze. "Come on, baby" your finger stops inside him, and rubs his spot with increasing speed. His walls are clenching and throbbing around your finger, and his eyes roll back. "Y/n, I'm so close!" His voice is shaky and rough. You begin thrusting your finger in and out again, and he moans loudly over and over. His hips are rocking faster, his head pressing into your stomach, and his soft hair rubbing against your skin. He opens his eyes, and looks up at you with vulnerability and desperation, before clenching his eyes shut and moaning loudly. He tightens around your finger, thick and warm seed shooting up, and landing on his squishy tummy.
His chest is heaving quickly, and his sweat dripping down his face. "That was really sexy" you whisper to him, and caress his damp cheek. He smiles up at you, his cheeks puffing up "That was...amazing..."
♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡
This one definitely lacks detail, but I tried.
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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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jaqueline19997 · 1 month
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I love this man so much!!!! I feel like every day I love him just a little more!!!!❤️💓💞
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be-my-ally · 1 year
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Let Yourself Go
Overstimulated Reader! Request.
my darling, what a dream request - thank you anon! for both your very kind words + excellent request!!! this has consumed my brain for the past week; I originally intended it to be short like 2.5-3k, and then it turned into 4k and then I realised that in all of those words elvis had only been treated once so it turned into 6k. so this is 6.7k of pure, absolute, filthy smut just for you that i really hope lives up your expectations!
summary: slightly innocent!reader is convinced girls can't really orgasm - elvis sets out to teach her how wrong she is.
pairing: afab!reader/elvis (big daddy e)
warnings: 18+, 18+, 18+, tiny bit of daddy kink, implied age difference, oral (p+v receiving), p in v sex, fingering, mirror sex, overstimulation, very brief spanking. I think that's it? Reader does attempt to stop the proceedings a couple of times and elvis doesn't stop but it is all consensual.
wc: 6.7k
suggested listening: the end of such a night + of course, let yourself go.
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You’ve not been together very long and you were still learning about each other in many ways. It confused you a little that he, who you knew had girls throwing themselves at him, would take the time to bother to get to know you better. He’d picked you out of the crowd and put you on his lap in his dressing room before he’d even learnt your name. When you’d told him, earnestly, that you didn’t expect to be married or anything but you were a good girl, who wouldn’t sleep around, you’d expected him to tell you that he wasn’t going to see you again. But no, he’d put in the effort and here you were, a few weeks later, at Graceland of all places. You’d been brought back with him after his engagement at the International ended for this year, allowing him a short break before he resumed touring. 
He’d taken you out on his bike earlier, showing you the sights of Memphis and you’d loved the rush, so unlike anything you’d experienced before. Despite the fact that you dreaded the call from your parents at the photos that would inevitably be published of the two of you - you hadn’t really been dressed to go out (the outing unexpected), nor had you been able to help snuggling into his back, your hand resting on his solid thigh at the lights. When you’d gotten back to the estate you’d expected a party - a celebration of his homecoming, and you’d been bracing to have to deal with losing him for the evening, but you’d been pleasantly shocked when he’d kicked everyone out after dinner, announcing that he wanted a night just the two of you. 
You wanted to tell him that his expectations were a bit forward, to not get his hopes and that you still weren’t sure you were quite ready to have actual sex with him but in all honesty, you were ready and only your (perhaps misguided) morals had prevented you thus far. You had been slightly surprised at how unbothered he had seemed at the concept of sex - he’d laughed you off when you’d told him you didn’t want to sleep with him on the first night; telling you that was all very well but would you sleep with him because he couldn’t “bear the long nights all on my lonesome”. He hadn’t pressured you at all, less than your last boyfriend for sure, and seemed to genuinely enjoy your makeout sessions as much as you do. To tell the truth, you weren’t really sure why anyone was that bothered by sex - it felt fine sure, but it didn’t blow your world apart, was mostly very awkward, and you couldn’t understand what the fuss was in general. 
You’d followed him into the bedroom, into his room, and while part of you wanted to inspect every little detail of this hidden, protected space, the other part of you could feel his impatience from the bed and when he smiles at you - all cheeks and teeth, asking; 
“Wanna have some fun tonight darlin’? Cleared the place out for ya, didn’t want you to go all shy on me…some girls get nervy at the number of people in the place. Get real quiet and the like, even though I tell ‘em I got the sound locked down.” You forget any desire to rifle through his drawers and instead stare at him, slightly confused - just hoping he’s not going to be disappointed; 
“Uh, oh, well, I can’t say I’m that loud anyways, always, I always thought that was just a thing girls, uh, exaggerated?” You look down, embarrassed that you may be having to burst his bubble - you don’t want to be the first to tell him that from what you know there’s nothing to be shouting about. But he doesn’t react in the way you expect - blinking at you from under his glasses and patting the bed next to him. 
“C’mere doll, tell daddy what you mean.” You sit where he tells you to, tiny shorts hiking even further, and you curl your legs up underneath yourself. 
“I don’t, sorry, I don’t understand what you’re asking? I’m just, just, saying that I never understood what those girls on the … on the … the stuff you like to watch, what they’re shouting about is all. Never seemed like anything worth carrying on like that is all.” He’s a little shocked but not altogether surprised - you’re young and a little sheltered, perhaps more than he thought at your reluctance to even said the word ‘pornography’ and he knows your only other relationships have been serious with boys from home, less about fun and more about futures, and he knows that they don’t always put the effort in they should. Still, he needs clarification - his eyes burning with curiosity; 
“You mean you ain’t ever .. got your rocks off? Never creamed those lil’ shorts of yours?” His thick hand finds its way onto your thigh and he flicks the hem of your shorts, practically between your legs. You giggle, pushing his hand off.
“Elvis. Don’t be silly, unless you’ve been with some funny sorta people - girls can’t do that! That’s… I might not know much but I do know that.” He looks back at you, utterly stunned, before smiling like all his Christmases have come at once, a full cheshire cat grin. 
“You - you ain’t never?” He’s shocked, but desperate to know your answer, taking his glasses off, leaning closer and waiting with practically bated breath in excitement, clenching his hands on his thighs. 
“I just told you E, that’s not something girls can actually do. Don’t you think I’d know! If you’re just gonna tease me I swear I’m gonna walk right out of here!” He laughs again at your indignation, shaking his head, 
“Naw little one, don’t do that, don’t do that - I just uh, I think I might be able to teach you a few things tonight is all. Just, ah, need to re-evaluate some things’all.” He frowns, “You know the other day, baby, when I stroked your little pussy and you pushed me off - told me you were all done?” 
You remember the incident he was talking about, He’d had his fingers up you, rubbing you exactly how you needed and you’d crunched with an involuntary shudder, couldn’t quite catch your breath properly and had told him to stop. You’d pushed him away in a panic that you didn’t know what was coming, but that that was certainly enough. He’d been a little worried then, worried that he’d pushed you into something you hadn’t wanted to do. But, he’d relaxed when you’d relaxed on the bed - he wasn’t happy with leaving you like that, on the edge, but he’d figured you were just shy, nervous that his entourage was a mere wall away. The thought hadn’t even occurred to him that you genuinely believed that was you finished. 
“Yeah, but what about it? We were done - I was done, it was starting to make me feel weird. I actually think we went too far.” He lets out a pure incredulous laugh, shaking his head. 
“Oh baby, baby. I’m gonna, I’ll teach you baby, it’ll be ok.” You nod, but you’re honestly a bit confused about what he’s even planning on teaching you, but you don’t want to tell him he’s wrong again. You suppose he does have quite the reputation, so maybe he does have some things to show you, you doubt it somewhat but keep that to yourself. 
“Right, yittle, need these all off of ya,” He tugs at your shirt, starting to unbutton it. “and these, these slutty little shorts need to come off, lemme see what I’m working with.” He’s practically crooning at you, slipping your shirt off gently, divesting you off your shorts - undressing you as if you were a babe. He strips you of your bra, leaving you in little white panties, before pushing you back onto the bed to lie flat. He doesn’t give you time to worry about your nudity, cupping your cheek with one thick hand, leaning over you to kiss you. 
His tongue slips in, it’s like he’s mapping your mouth and you don’t bother to fight for dominance, letting him in, submissively brushing your tongue against his. He pulls away slightly, grabbing a breath and you can’t help it, his pouty perfect lips too tempting, you surge forward to softly suck on his bottom lip, nibbling gently. He responds in kind, pulling your head back, baring your neck - he tugs your lip between his teeth pulling as he pulls away. You moan at the little sting, and he presses a soothing peck against it. Before trailing down and pressing little open-mouthed kisses at your cheek, mouthing at your neck - tiny little suctioning touches until his hand, which he’s not resting on, is trailing further down. His fingers spread across a breast, fingertips playing with your nipple. You can feel the heat coiling in your tummy - your throbbing heartbeat between your legs. He’s pressing little kisses down your soft stomach, and he grunts as he repositions himself - up on his knees slightly. It worries you briefly, he’s been using a cane as more than just an accessory more frequently lately - his youthful actions having been hard on his knees and legs, before your mind is wiped by his actions again. 
His hand trails lower, even as he continues to press soft kisses on your stomach, and he swipes down in a languid stroke over your panties, feeling your pooling wetness through the forming damp spot. He pushes it into you, rubbing you over them - the fabric catching slightly, along with your breath. He moves his head back up, sucking you by your collarbone and on your neck, hard enough to leave a bruise. The noises coming out of your mouth are unlike how you’ve ever heard yourself before, and as he hooks his fingers into your panties, pulling them down and off - the dampness making them pretty much see through - you would normally cringe in embarrassment but as you watch him lift them to his mouth and suck on them you can’t do anything but stare in an absolute state of shock and arousal. He’s still fully dressed although his shirt is so lowly unbuttoned, his chest with its covering of hair, god even his nipples practically out, that it barely counts. You can feel his own arousal growing against your side, still confined in his tight, slightly flared, trousers the heat of it, and can’t help but wiggle against him. He folds your panties, scrunching them up, before shifting to push them into his trouser pocket. You gape at him, 
“Good lord, you can’t - they’re so dirty Elvis - you can’t keep them. They need to be washed!” He smirks at you, smirk turning to a grin as he leans over you to whisper in your ear, moving his hand away from you as he does. 
“Baby, when they taste that good, I’ll do what I damn well like.” He licks your cheek, and it's something that you would have found disgusting from anyone else, but somehow him doing it makes your heartbeat pulse in your core. He lets his hand come back down, lightly slapping against your pussy, you jolt forward, mouth falling open, and eyes rolling slightly at the sudden intense pleasure from it. He chuckles into your ear, tickling your neck, “Oh - you like that mama? Like that baby?” He does it again, and you’re horrified at the wet slapping noise - but also at the sudden surge of wetness, you can feel.  
“Oh god, Elvis, you gotta - gotta do that again. Please.” He obliges, patting you once, twice, three times before letting his hand fly slightly harder, you can feel your heat rising - and you shiver slightly. You’ve reached the peak of where you’d been before. Your heartbeat fast, and a constant thrumming at your centre. He laughs, teasing you in a low tone, 
“God, who’d have thought you’d be such a dirty fucking girl, letting me - begging me to spank that yittle cunt of yours.” He puts an inflection onto yittle, as if even when talking about your ‘cunt’ he’s unable to stop his penchant for baby talk. 
He uses his fingers to spread you apart, middle finger sliding in your slick. The metal of his ring is cold against your burning skin, sending goosebumps down your flesh. You think he can’t make you feel any better when he slips two of his fingers inside you. His huge square ring catching on your entrance for a moment and you buck your hips as he slides it in. He pumps them, in and out, as you squirm on the bed. Your eyes fall closed for a moment and he whispers to you, 
“You like that little? My fingers in you? Gonna show you how girls do it, teach ya how it goes.” You respond with a whine - his words causing a blush to travel from your chest. You’re simultaneously embarrassed at needing to be taught something about your own adult self and aggressively turned on by his narration. 
You’re breathless and while he’s looking at you with a soft smile on his face - pure concentration in his burning eyes, you can’t help but wonder what he’s getting from all of this attention on you. But to be the centre of his focus, him looking at you like you’re the whole world - the only thing in the world, is another level of high. Behind him you can yourself reflected in the mirror above - you look fucking debauched, unlike yourself and seeing him from above, in all his iconic glory, reminding you this is Elvis fixated on you brings you even closer to the cliff edge. 
He pushes into you, unnecessarily - his fingers were long enough he could reach with his thumb without having to strain at all - to reach your hooded clit. He finds it expertly, rubbing it just so. You shudder, and he keeps going just as he was, but kisses down your neck to your nipple again, swirling it in his mouth, pulling it with his teeth slightly and you can feel yourself about to fall. You panic at the unexpected and unknown feeling and try to throw him off, 
“Elvis! Elvis stop - stop I can’t - I can’t do it, it’s too much - you gotta, you gotta st-“ You’re thrashing about the place, arms flailing as you try to push him away, but his fingers don’t stop and he hushes you as he’s suddenly stroking this little spot inside of you. You can feel it’s different but can’t quite tell how until he crooks his fingers and presses. You shudder, your mouth falling open, although you’re still far quieter than he’d like - he makes a mental note that his aim tonight is to make you scream. And then you’re shaking, convulsing on his hand - stomach and core muscles clenching of their own accord. He rubs and strokes you through it. Your mind is blank and all you can feel is your thighs shaking - your head rolling from side to side. He keeps going and you keep going for him, clutching the covers in tight fists, mouth open in a silent scream as one of your legs randomly seems to jump about. He can tell you’re at the end of what you can do for him at the moment. He softlypulls his fingers out, trying to bring you down gently. His fingers leaving feather-light touches across your mound and thighs. 
“That good, baby?” He pats his sticky, wet hand on your tummy and you can’t speak, taking heaving breaths. 
“W-was,” You’re slurring as you come back to, your ears ringing, “Is that, what I’ve been missing? Is that meant to happen?” He laughs at you, finger drawing little shapes on your stomach, 
“Yeah, when you’re with someone who knows what they’re doing.” He puffs his chest out a little, clearly proud of himself, “A real man.” You laugh, and he kisses you again and again until your lips are swollen and bitten raw and you’re gasping for air. You lay back for a few more moments, looking up at him leaning over you. He moves his arm, and you’re not quite sure what comes over you, but the movement had spread his shirt even more and it’s not something you’d ever considered doing ever before, but he did do it to you earlier so you gain the courage to ask; 
“El- can I, can I…please can I taste you?” He raises a brow at your polite request, but is not going to turn down such an offer, 
“Sure baby, lemme get lil’ Elvie out now - “ You frown, interrupting him. 
“No, no… can I just… like you did earlier?” He looks slightly confused, his brow furrowed, but he agrees nonchalantly - clearly used to letting whoever do whatever they like with his body. 
“Sure - “ He starts to say something else, but you’re too distracted by the permission, rushing forward to kiss his chest, moving down to capture his nipple. He jerks,
“Christ - Oh lord,” You’re practically suckling him, one hand threading through his chest hair, feeling his stomach, the hard line where he’s definitely still muscular somewhere underneath but is soft and cushy above, grasping at his pillowy sides. His hips are bucking, circling with the effort not to throw you off accidentally, “Oh gods, baby, christ little one, lord, oh lord.” He’s unable to be silent, constantly babbling a stream of curses and praise. You pull off, and suddenly, you’re mortified. 
“Oh my goodness, Oh, Elvis, I - uh, sorry, I don’t know what came over me.” You’re shocked at yourself but he’s panting, and you can feel him straining against his pants. 
“Oh darlin’, lord, darlin’ it’sss ok, it’s so good, so good baby. Love your lil’ mouth on me.” You smile a little bashfully as he pats at you as if praising a dog. “Think now little Elvis would too baby, get him out - show him how much you ‘preciate him too?” You pant back at him nodding your agreement. He’s resting further up on the bed than he was before, you’d both travelled around the last few minutes and he sits to take his shirt fully off, before unbuttoning his trousers finally and wriggling out of them. He shuffles further back and you get yourself situated between his legs, bracketed by his thick thighs on either side of you, their covering of downy hair tickling your sides. You lean down, gently stroking his hardening cock - but then pause, 
“Elvis, I ain’t ever - you gotta tell me how to do it.” He groans, his head falling back, 
“Goddamn, like you were made for me, fucking made for me honey,” he peers down at you, over the slight swell of his stomach, tucking his chin in - one of his meaty fingers stroked the side of your face before gently grasping your head, lowering it to his cock. “You gotta, gotta say hello little one, give ‘im a little hello kiss now - “ You do as he says, brushing your lips against the very tip. You’d seen it briefly before, so although not this close, and you had given him a … helping hand over the past few weeks so you’re not surprised to see he’s uncut nor at the size of him - generous in length and girth, but it’s still fascinating to you up close. You can't help but study it briefly - assessing how his foreskin is starting to retract back slightly and you absentmindedly reach for it, gently rolling it forward and back a little bit, unsure how far it should go. His hips jerk, 
“Christ, baby, you gotta warn a man first.” You smile, meeting his blazing blue eyes and amused expression. 
“Sorry - I thought me being here was warning enough.” He laughs and pats your cheek. 
“Right little one, back to work. Kiss down little Elvis, let him know how much you wanted to see him - ‘ You obey his orders, pressing little kisses all the way down his shaft. “Ok, now doll you're gonna take him in that hot little mouth of yours - gonna be re-eal careful of your sharp little teeth, got it?” You obediently bob up and down in a nod, making sure not to scrape him.
Instinct seems to kick in and you take a moment to suck down on him, flattening your tongue against his underside. His other hand finds its way into your hair accompanying the one still resting on your cheek and neck, hand spanning across the distance. His hip jerks forward and it causes his dick to knock further back than you were expecting and you pull back with a little cough.
“S’ok baby, sorry, felt so good, couldn't help myself, not gonna make you take all of him tonight, you can use your hand go on, show the rest of him how much you love him.” He pats you again and it’s enough encouragement for you to go back down on him. You do as he suggested, stroking and pulling him with your hand where your mouth can't comfortably reach, growing bold enough to reach down and delicately hold and stroke his balls. His hands are insistent on your head, not forcing you but certainly moving you exactly how he wants you. You can taste the thin salty trickle of precum starting to dribble out of him.
“That’s it, baby, I was already so close, just from touchin’ ya honey, just gotta suck me just like that, that’s it like a damn popsicle.” His hands grow a little rougher, tugging on your hair slightly, as his hips circle and his thighs clench around you. “Gonna, you gonna stroke me now, yittle, you just gonna stroke me, I’ll let you have a taste, give you a treat but that’s enough for now - ’s about you tonight, about you honey.” He's babbling now, and you're not paying much attention to his words coming out of his mouth except when his request filters through to your brain, and you pull off with a little wet pop, stroking him to completion. He squirts over your hand - ribbons of white hitting you on the chin and chest, moaning as he does and his eyes falling closed.
He leans back, breathing heavily as his cock finishes jumping about, slowly softening before your eyes and you glance around, before grabbing his discarded shirt to wipe your hand on. Before you can raise it to your chin to wipe it off of there he sits up and moves his hand from your face to swipe a finger through it. “C’mon baby, gonna have you swallow it next time,” You're uncertain about this, but don’t bother to say anything right now as he rubs his fingers on your lips, “Go on, open up honey, have a taste for me. Lick it clean.” You do as he commands, tasting the salty tang of a man’s cum for the first time. It's not wholly unpleasant, although you're not sure about the texture, but you can’t say you'd be jumping for joy at the prospect of swallowing his full load. He watches as you suck his fingers, licking them completely clean looking up at him under your lashes as you do. 
He leans forward to kiss you but then suddenly grimaces, frowning. Twisting slightly in an attempt to relieve some of the tension from his hips and back. 
“I’m sorry, honey, but I gotta- I gotta lie down again.” You frown, worried. 
“Of course! don’t - you’re meant to be relaxing!” He’s proven himself to you - taught you that there was something on the other side of the cliff edge and it was good. But you weren’t worried - didn’t see any reason to continue, you’d both been taken care of and you were now perfectly happy to be tucked up in bed for the night.
“Oh no, I don’t mean I’m done. Get over here, little girl…” He manhandles you, ringed fingers digging into your thighs as he arranges you over the top of him. He then lies down, sliding between your legs, before huffing a tiny bit as he heaves you up from his chest and down onto him. “That’s it, mama, right over my face. Lemme get to that poor little kitty of yours.” You’re confused as to what he’s going to be able to achieve from this angle - he can’t possibly just want such a closer look, can he? But then, without warning, he pushes his head up licking down your labia before pulling you off balance to literally sit on his face. 
“Woah - Oh, Elvis I’m gonna hurt you like this, I can’t just - I’m too heavy!” You try to move away but you can’t escape from his tight grip. 
“Ain’t gonna hurt a fly baby - lemme just.” And he pushes his tongue into you, spearing into your hole. You’re sopping wet already, his fingers having seen to that, and the noises are obscene - the wet smacking and sucking. 
“Elv-oh my god, Elvis you can’t-“ You try to get off but his hands don’t let you move at all - pinning you onto him. But as you struggle your thighs touch and you can feel the wetness and the stickiness that’s spread throughout - tangling your curls, sticking your thighs. “It’s- it’s - it’s dirty, you can’t, you shouldn’t - that shouldn’t, you’re not meant to do that.” You can feel him chuckle, the vibration making you gasp, but he doesn’t even respond, simply holds you down and goes harder.
You’re supporting most of your weight on your own legs but every time you clench or move you can feel his fingers digging tighter in - sure you’ll have bruises where his rings and fingertips have been. You can’t help but move, grinding onto his mouth. It’s outrageous and you can’t believe this is something people do, but now it’s happening you wonder how you’ve lived this long without it, without knowing how this feels. His tongue is flicking between lapping at your hole and your inner folds. Your hips circle and one of his hands comes around your thigh - curling around to join his mouth. He moves his mouth up to suck on your clit, and the warm wet pressure, the suction, the everything - it’s too much. You’re losing control again, fighting the panic for a second time that evening - but this time, the pressure is growing even stronger and though you recognise the feeling now it feels different. 
“Oh my god, Elvis, god, Elvis, Elvis please, please, you gotta stop! I’m gonna-” You grind your hips again, but he must be able to hear the sudden change in your tone - the sudden, very real, panic. And despite his instinct telling him not to he worries it’ll make you lose your relaxed state and he pulls away, kissing your inner thigh, 
“Relax baby, dontcha worry, oh my poor baby’s little neglected pussy - you’ve got no idea, just been waiting for a real man, for daddy, to show you what you’ve been missin’ all this time.” He croons into you, hands stroking your thighs, soothing you into compliance. As soon as you relax into his hold again he surges forward once more. Your folds are swollen and slick, feeling like they’re burning, you feel so hot. And your entire focus is on your cunt and Elvis. Unable to even think about your thigh cramping or your foot falling asleep. He kisses up you, capturing your little puffy clit in his lips again and sucks hard. You think you might be about to pass out - it feels so overwhelming, but suddenly the pressure changes - and as he slips a finger back inside you it starts to feel a little too similar to something else. 
Your panicked noises come back out, and you once again are begging Elvis to stop warning him; “I think I’m gonna pee, Elvis, seriously! I can’t - I can’t hold it! Elvis - daddy, fuck, I can’t, I seriously think I’m gonna - gonna pee.” But he doesn’t stop this time, not even to reassure you, just continuing his steady ministrations, speeding up, and the pressure is steadily mounting again, reaching the peak. Your orgasm rips through you and you have to throw your hands out to support yourself on the headboard to simply stay upright but you’re barely able to think about it, moving on instinct alone. You’re shuddering and he’s continuing, won’t leave you be. And then, the pressure seems to burst - slowly yet somehow quicker than anything you’re ever felt. It’s like your vagina is simultaneously your whole body and also entirely separate from your body as it clenches before you’re gushing, liquid shooting out of you. It drenches his face, it’s in his hair, in his sideburns, and he sits up, as you fall off of him to one side, and he’s glistening. 
You’re in a daze but a little embarrassed, both at him covered in your juices and that he was right and you were wrong about your abilities. But his reaction makes you second guess your immediate response - he’s grinning, licking his goddamn lips like he’s just eaten the best-tasting dessert of his life. He uses one of your discarded shirts to wipe his face off, smiling at the damp patches it causes. 
“There we are baby, Daddy got’cha there, got you to that special place - that’s what it’s meant to be like darling. Told you didn’t I, told you, you just gotta listen to me, let yourself go.” 
You lay back panting - you’re a little sore and a lot tired and you’re sure you’re done. You can feel his cock hardening against you again in a gentle coaxing sort of way, and you reach over a hand. You can do this, but you’ve just not got the energy for anything else - and your pussy is still pulsing, soft and swollen and puffy. He bats your hand away though, 
“Right, mama, gonna show you how it’s really done, you’re gonna reach your little o on my cock, and you’re gonna know that’s how it should be every time.” He kneels up on the bed, pulling you up onto your knees too, and he’s putting you exactly where he wants you. You want to refuse, but he’s so convincing, and you are a little curious at how he might be able to make even this so spectacular for you, an act that you’d been ambivalent about, mostly put up with; knowing it was something women just did to keep their partners happy. He manhandles you into the perfect position for him, your back slightly arched, hands clutching the top of the headboard and he brushes your sweaty hair off of your neck, kissing where it lay before. 
You stay where he puts you, slightly shell-shocked at your easy compliance, and at what he’s suggesting. You glance up from under your lashes and notice the huge mirror above the bed - you’d seen the one above yourself in the bed but not the glass above the headboard - and can see how you look. You watch your face contort slightly as he presses a few of his fingers into you again, testing if you’re ready. But you’re loose, in a novel sort of way - so aroused that it’s easy in a way it’s never been before. You’re studying your fucked out face, shocked at how wide your pupils are, the redness of your lips and cheeks, before you turn your attention to Elvis watching his rosy reflection - his hair sticking down, body and chest shimmering with sweat, clinging to his chest hair, his plush lips bitten red and his face still with a hint of damp, blue eyes sparkling. You’re about to utter something completely embarrassing like, “Oh my god, you’re so pretty,” or “I love you.” But you’re (somewhat thankfully) distracted by him rubbing himself on you a couple of times before fucking into you. You jolt forward, mouth falling open as he simply pushes his whole length in, immediately pulling back out to shutter his hips forward again - gripping your waist and pulling you back onto him too. You’re shouting, finally, garbled noises and moans as he gives you no time to adjust and instead slams you back and forth to him, his balls slapping against your wet skin. 
He spanks your ass and you shudder, the tinge of pain mixed with the pleasure of him hitting that spot in you, getting in so deep you feel like he’s in your soul and not just your body. You can feel yourself starting to go again, starting to ride the crest of that wave when you catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror again and you can barely breathe, noises catching in your throat at the sight. 
“That’s it sweet, that’s it sugar, look at yourself,” He wraps an arm over your chest and grips your chin, pointing it straight at the mirror, “Look at us honey.” You can see him behind you, behind your flushed body - himself pink and damp with sweat from the exertion, its practically dripping down his forehead and onto his chest - he lets go of your chin and moves one hand to fondle your breasts, pinching your nipples, the other to slip between your legs. You jerk when he strokes where the two of you are joined. It’s filthy. You’ve never been this visible like this before, having very much been under the covers with previous lovers, and your knowledge of positions was limited to on your back, on your front and your side. Very much lying down. The image of his cock sliding into your folds, the pink fuzzy base barely visible through your own fuzz and his hand splayed over your stomach as if supporting where he sits internally is filthy in the best possible way. 
You feel utterly surrounded by him, you can’t think of anything but how he feels, how he looks, you can’t sense anything else. You can’t see anything but him, it’s all him as you look around - the mirrors on the back wall and above you reflect back the image of the two of you, but your eyes skip over yourself only seeing him. His thick form. He’s muscular in a solid way, an accidental way, and the layer of softness that covers all of him, but especially over his tummy, only makes him more attractive to you, more real. When you close your eyes the vision of him is imprinted on your eyelids, and all you can smell is him. He’s got a slight sweaty musk to him from the exertion and activity, but under it you can still smell the hint of his cologne. His sheets smell aggressively like him, like the Vegas him and the home him - he must use the same products (or his laundry service must) wherever he is. The room too - there’s his unique blend of homely smells but also the heavy scent of the blend of his favourite specific brands of cigarettes and cigars. The smoke, despite him claiming he only smoked very irregularly, clings to his thick curtains and the drapes that surround the room. The room which screams, as much as the rest of his house does, of him - of solely him, of his outrageous, outlandish, tacky, wonderful, style. 
You aren’t able to have any of these thoughts though, as his fingers stroke himself before once again finding your clit. He captures it between his fingers, rolling it, before brushing his finger over it and before you know it you’re quivering - shaking as your orgasm overcomes you again. It’s too much, your body has barely had a chance to recover and while you’re not passed out you’re also not…all there. Your body slack as Elvis holds you up, just a rag doll for him to take what he needs for his own orgasm - chasing his completion. He does, barely a few strokes later, a litany of praises spilling out of his mouth, pulling out as quickly as he could, seemingly caught a little by surprise. And you can feel the last few sprays from him as he splatters over your already sticky and trembling body. You slump down without him holding you up by the waist and hips, and he catches you - laying you out on the bed. He lays next to you, panting, chest heaving for a few moments before propping himself up on an elbow next to you. 
You’re sore, internally and externally and worse - sticky, but he doesn’t let you sleep yet, running his cum-covered fingers through your soft pubic hair, before tracing shapes on your lower tummy, gently brushing lower and lower until his fingers are stroking through your sticky soft folds. You squirm, sleepy, and he hushes you, 
“C’mon baby doll, give me one more, gotta make up for lost time darling. Give em all to you tonight. One more baby, c’mon do it for daddy, give daddy one more.” He’s speaking lowly, so as not to disturb your sleepy state, but what he’s asking you to do is bringing you back to awareness. He’s barely touching you, nudging your little stretched hole with his wet fingers, barely pressing the outer rim before delicately stroking your sore, puffy, clitoris again. You feel your legs shaking, seemingly of their own accord, and can’t focus on anything he says, resorting to begging over top of his continued whispers; 
“I can’t, I can’t, Elvis please, daddy, please, it’s too much, I can’t,” but you’re already so close to the edge that you gasp, mouth open, as he inserts his fingers again, and it only takes him crooking them just so for you to shudder and scream. It’s borderline painful, and your legs are shaking, “Lord, daddy! Oh my god, Elvis, daddy, oh my lord. Oh - “ and as he continues to stroke that little place inside of you, as you ride the waves that wash over you, your words trail off to just noises. You're practically yowling as you slump over, still shuddering and stomach still convulsing when he slows his ministrations and pulls his fingers away. Your vision is white and black and you can't focus on anything he's saying through your ringing ears although you're aware he's talking. It takes a few minutes for your body to calm down, Elvis’ large hands gently rubbing you down like a horse after a race, and it's not until your heart rate slows again that you’re able to open your eyes and try to focus on what he's saying.
“Told you didn’t I, you gonna learn to believe your daddy now? Believe what he tells you?” He’s unbelievably smug and you can hear it in his voice, and in the way his eyes crinkle looking down at you. 
“Course, Daddy,” You blush, “Elvis. Of course, I just - I just didn’t know! I didn’t know what that was…inside me.” He laughs, 
“Well, not everyone can find it doll, it keeps itself real hidden like, less you’re just the right fit.” He squeezes your cheek as he says it before he pats you again and heaves himself up into standing. “Right honey, gonna have to get you all cleaned up - you’ll be drippin’ all night else.” You wince as he wipes at you with a little towel, even his expensive cotton too much abrasion on your still throbbing centre. You roll into the bed, far too exhausted to even stand up, and your eyes are closing as he comes back over with a glass of water, he makes you drink half and you do so, sleepily, while he maintains his grip on the glass. “We’ll have to shower in the morning honey, think you’re fixin’ for a snooze now.” He pulls the top comforter off, throwing it on the floor, and you can just see through your hazy tired gaze that there’s a large wet spot on it. “Least we ain’t gotta change the bed.” He mumbles as he climbs into it. You squirm as he pulls you close against your chest and his hands find their customary positions - one just a little too close to between your thighs but he pets and shushes you, humming a tiny lullaby that makes you fall deep asleep almost immediately. 
1K notes · View notes
elvisabutler · 8 months
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primal
fandom: elvis 2022 | elvis presley rating: m pairing: elvis presley ( big daddy flavor ) x female reader word count: 2650 warnings: p in v sex ( unprotected ). very brief implied breastfeeding kink. breeding kink. pregnancy kink. housewife kink-ish. masturbation ( male ). masturbating while someone is asleep while next to them. mention of ovulation? i am unsure if i have much more to warn for. author’s note: welcome to day 9 of ally’s wet hot smut summer, breeding kink with big daddy elvis presley x reader. this also has like a smattering of housewife kink but it's kind of blink and you miss it. but i had fun writing this and honestly it flowed out of me but we all know that's what happens with breeding kink fics. consider the timeframe like 76/77? and apologies that i'm behind on this smut summer. this summer's just been a hot mess.
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It started out innocent enough, with you playing with one of the boy's kids. Elvis can't remember whose if he's being honest with himself but it was his first glimpse as you as a mother beyond the times had been with Lisa. There was something different about this time, maybe it's how young the yittle baby was or maybe it's how you cuddled them close or how when you gave them back to their mama that your hand grazed your stomach in the most subtle of ways. The two of you had offhandedly talked about having children but never anything concrete beyond whispers of how he wanted to give Lisa a sibling and how you wanted a baby to call your own.

That night as you lay sleeping next to him, worn out from the day he can't help the way his mind wanders and thinks about the possibility of you pregnant with his child. Your hips were just the right size to hold a baby even as they'd expand outward just that little bit. His vision has you swollen with twins, he thinks, your belly swollen under a dress that stretches against your skin. There'd be no doubt who you belonged to and who put those big strong children inside of you. He can feel his cock starting to rise to the occasion, feel his foreskin retracting just that little bit as his cock swells. You'd be a good mother, taking care of the yittle ones and traveling with him with them. Your breasts would fill with milk he could suckle from before they were born and even after when they'd have their fill. He can't help the way his mind wanders and paints that picture of you pregnant that has his cock pressing against the underside of his stomach. His precum's already leaking damn near like a faucet and he needs relief in the form of his hand at the very least. With a hiss he pulls back his foreskin and takes himself in hand. The vision his mind gives him is one he thinks he might want to make a reality. You deserve to be a mother, deserve to be the mother of his little ones.

It doesn't take him long, stroking his cock and playing with the tip of it for him to start breathing heavy. He knows he needs to be quiet, knows you're a lighter sleeper than he ever has been but he can't help it. He can't help how much this is effecting him. This sort of desire has never been inside him, he's never craved having someone pregnant with his child and yet here he was with his cock in hand at the mere idea of you swollen with them. You're already a good enough housewife— not that he ever forced you to do it— but if you were pregnant you'd be the quintessential barefoot and pregnant wife. You'd be at home here in Graceland, belly rounded out helping Mary cook dinner. Or maybe you'd be at the International or on tour with him, craving him as much as he'd crave you like this, bouncing on his cock as best you could. A groan leaves his mouth unbidden and he moves the hand not on his cock to his mouth to stifle the noises he can't hold back and allows his mind to go through the possibilities. If he looks at your stomach right now hard enough he swears he can see the swell and without even trying to stop himself the hand that he had been biting down on goes to your stomach and rubs against it, picturing a time next year where his child would kick at his hand and you'd glare at him for waking them up only to tell him to rub your aching feet.

You shift in your sleep and Elvis takes his hand away like he's been burned even as he feels his orgasm hit him not unlike a freight train, forcing him to bite his lip as his release covers his hand and his legs. His post orgasm exhaustion starts to pull him into the warm embrace of sleep but he fights it just long enough to heave himself out of bed and to clean himself up. He wasted the come tonight but perhaps tomorrow night he can tell you what he wants. Yeah, he'll tell you what he wants then.
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Life is busy when you're Elvis Presley though and he has to push the idea of telling you back another week before he even gets a spare moment with you awake with him to be able to even touch you. He's not much for planning, but he thought bringing this up to you would go better if he did plan for it. If he took you out to dinner and wined and dined you like you weren't together already then telling you how he wanted to stuff that yittle cunt of yours so full of his cum that there was no way you wouldn't be pregnant would bring you as much pleasure as it does him. That was the plan- that dinner and a night to remember was the plan but that plan was squashed by the Colonel and some last minute meeting that had you waiting for Elvis for hours until he finally came upstairs long after your dress and heels were abandoned for your far more comfortable robe.

If you're being honest, you're pouting a bit with your face in a book with the lamp on your nightstand on. Elvis takes one look at you and knows very well he's cocked this all up. Had every intention of making you happy with him and making you see the vision he had for making you a mama and now he's wondering if he's even gonna get to touch you tonight. Any other night and he might poke the bear, might needle you just a little to get you to eventually smile but not tonight, not with how angry you look with your straight shoulders and pursed lips. Tonight calls for him being quiet and biting his tongue as he strips himself down to nothing except his own robe and climbs into bed next to you. It's almost without thinking that you hand him a pair of reading glasses, assuming that with the presence of the robe and the lack of talking that he's going to just sit next to you and read passages from whichever text he's decided to be engrossed in for the past two days. He takes them from you but doesn't bother to pick up his book. Instead he places the glasses on his own nightstand and moves to stroke your arm, his calloused fingers brushing practically feather light against your arm. A shiver passes through your body and you can almost feel him smirking.

"What are you doing?" You ask with a heavy sigh as you turn to look at him, your frustration lessening the more he touches your arm, the heat of him passing through the fabric easily setting your body ablaze.

"Touchin' my wife," Elvis answers as his hand moves off your arm and to your chest, taking special care to enjoy the soft skin your breasts before cupping them. A gasp leaves your lips. "Tender?"

His mind flashes to a vision of your breasts larger in his hand and tender for another reason even as you answer. "You know they're tender around this time."

This time of the month, not your period, no, he'd remember that, you never wear this robe during that time. No, this time of the month is when you're ovulating, when you can get pregnant the easiest. The time of the month where he could breed you and it could actually take. His breaths quicken and deepen all at once as he accidentally squeezes your breast earning a hiss from you.

"Sorry darlin'. Bit— forgot it was that time. Didn't realize it was. Felt like it snuck up on us, didn't it?"

You narrow your eyes for a moment in confusion before you shrug, licking your lips. "It did. Kind of like that meeting did, hm?"

Elvis rubs at his mouth, squeezing his double chin just a hair before he nods. "Trust me, didn't want that meetin' any more than you did. Had plans for us tonight. Nice dinner, nicer dessert, maybe a perfect midnight snack."

The only answer you manage is a hum before you frown. "Well, we didn't get any of that, did we?"

Elvis's hands move to make it so you turn fully to him as he shifts in the bed to fully turn to you. "Aw hell, don't be like that. I'm sorry. I mean it. I wanted to take my wife out to dinner, tell her how good of a wife she is to me. How she keeps this house and any house we're at in order and how I couldn't ask for a better housewife." He pauses and watches as you look like you're tearing up before cupping your cheek. "And I wanted to ask if ya— if ya thought 'bout havin' a baby."

His cock and his leg twitches at the idea as he says it and he knows from how your gaze moves downward that you've noticed at least the leg twitch. Your gaze slowly moves back up to his face, taking in the rise and fall of his hairy chest, the rise and fall of his stomach and you swallow. "Right now?"

Because asking if he's asking if you're willing to get pregnant right now feels as if you might be overstepping. You can't help the way the idea has you clenching your thighs and has your arousal slowly starting to work its way through you.

A pleased sort of growl rumbles through Elvis's chest as he takes in your clenched thighs. "Right now. Or nine months from now. Been thinkin' 'bout how pretty you'd look pregnant. Wanna see how—"

"You already tell me I'm pretty every day. You already think about how pretty I am." You murmur a little shakily as Elvis starts to move closer to you, his hand moving down your torso to between your legs.

"I do. But you're gonna look even better all swollen wit' our baby inside of ya," he whispers, his fingers slipping in between your folds and groaning as he feels how wet you are. "Ya like that? Like thinkin' 'bout how full you'd be? How your breasts would get heavy wit' milk for our yittle one? Or yittle ones? How everyone'd see what I did to ya? How I love ya 'nough to give ya my baby?"

The noise that leaves you isn't necessarily one you're proud of nor is the way your hands move to cling to his upper arms. You feel his thumb press against your clit and you keen. You've never thought about this in depth but the image he's painting has you practically panting. Your hands scramble to pull him closer and to lift up his stomach just a little bit to reveal his cock already standing at full attention. His precum makes it easier to pull back his foreskin without causing him pain and yet he can't help the way he hisses at the feel of your hand against his cock. He lets himself be guided to where he's on top of you, his full weight pressed up against you as he slides his cock between your folds.

It's hard to say which one of you groans louder at the feeling of his cock inside you but you both don't move for a moment, even as he feels himself twitching inside of you, almost as if his cock is begging him to move. This was it, this was when he was going to make his dream a reality, he could feel it. Everything about tonight might have gone wrong but this wouldn't. You wouldn't leave this bed without his baby growing inside of you. You wouldn't leave this bed without his cum taking root inside you and swelling out your midsection. You wouldn't leave this bed without a baby in you that would cause your body to grow and change and would leave both of you insatiable for each other.

"Move, Elvis. Please," you start to beg before your nails dig into his back and your legs try and wrap around his hips. "Give me what you want to give me."

Make me a mama.

The words stir something inside of him that makes him feel a decade and a head injury younger. You want him to give you a baby, you want him to breed you. He pulls you in for a kiss, rough and almost violent as if he wants to devour you for asking for it. Your tongue meets his in a fight for some control even as he moves to suck on it, only letting go when he pulls away to kiss and nip at your neck, marking it in the only way he can until you've got proof of who you belong to growing inside of you.

His words are slurred when he growls them out, punctuating most of them with a thrust. "Gonna make you a mama. Gonna give you a baby. Gonna watch your tits swell up with milk for our baby. Gonna— goddammit, quit clenchin' baby, gonna have me burstin' 'fore I make ya happy."

What he doesn’t know, or what’s lost in the obscene haze, is that the desperate clenching of your cunt is because you want him to. You want to feel his release inside you before you topple over the precipice of your orgasm. "No. Wanna— Need to feel it first. Give me our baby."

You've never been one to be very demanding or too dominant in the bedroom and Elvis has never responded to it from you but tonight it does something to him. His balls tighten and his arms pull you closer as he feels himself cumming inside of you, his cum filling you to try and do what you commanded of him. A shake runs through him when you kiss him, harsh at first but settling into something softer as he tries to steady himself on top of you. You're so engrossed in watchin him that you end up missing how one of his hands move down to your swollen clit until you feel the brush of his fingers rubbing against it. It's then that your own release hits you in soft waves that he coaxes you through, shushing you quietly as you start to whimper.

"That's it, darlin'. I gotcha." He coos in your ear even as his hand starts to pull away. He doesn't move beyond that, instead choosing to look at you underneath him, chest heaving as you catch your own breath. His hand wanders around your body, watching the goosebumps form on your skin. "Think ya got 'nother round in ya?"

If he's asking himself that more than you, he doesn't let on and you don't bother to point it out. Instead you push against his chest and nod. "I do, but I think I want to be on top of you. Let you play with my boobs. Feel how they are in your hands before you make them swell up."

Elvis doesn't need to be told twice and lays down before pulling you to be on top of him, hissing as you sink onto his cock. "Gonna watch 'em bounce first." His eyes dart to between your legs where he sees a bit of cum leaking out. "After this ya gonna lay back down. Can't be wastin' my cum, darlin'. Not if ya want our baby."

A smirk crosses your lips as you lean to whisper in his ear. "Elvis, daddy, I'm going to be leaking it when we're done."
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taglist: @ab4eva , @blurredcolour, @butlersxbirdy, @precious-little-scoundrel, @eliseinmemphis, @prompted-wordsmith, @missmaywemeetagain, @lookingforrainbows, @araxw, @thatbanditqueen, @ellie-24, @austinbutlersgirl67, @heartbrake-hotel, @ccab, @18lkpeters, @slutforsomegoodlettuce, @dkayfixates, @kendralavon7 @chasingwildflowers, @notstefaniepresley, @wanderingelvis, @kxnnxy, @powerofelvis, @stylespresleyhearted, @be-my-ally, @mooodyblue, @pixiedustcosmos, @jessicarcates, @amydarcimarie, @flwrs4aust @myradiaz, @adaydreamaway08, @elirobin, @goldieharry. @arabellalightning505 guarantee i'm missing someone. i tried the end.
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rosepresley68 · 20 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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156 notes · View notes
mahg-stuff · 8 months
Text
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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𝙈𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧 𝙇𝙞𝙨𝙩
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pebbles403 · 3 months
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Today would've been his 89th birthday. The world was changed January 8th, 1935 when Gladys gave birth to the most beloved entertainer in the world. Happy Heavenly Birthday Elvis. You're missed and still not forgotten.
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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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presleysweetheart · 3 months
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I mean?! That Adam's apple is making things for me 😵. The incipient beard? The LASHES?!
Excuse me while I'm having a heart attack.
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vintageshanny · 2 months
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Softness and Security
This is just a little BDE one-shot in response to an anonymous request. Thank you to whoever requested this, I really love comforting and loving on Elvis through my writing! ❤️
Content: Big Daddy Elvis, mentions of medication and body insecurity, light smut, fluff, 18+
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January 1977
Your heart raced nervously as Elvis deepened his kiss, his tongue pushing into your mouth with an urgency that seemed heightened compared to his usual gentle kisses. You had been dating for only a couple months, but you’d assumed a big star like Elvis would have moved a lot faster than he did. He usually seemed content to just make out, his hands often running over your curves as his plush lips smushed into yours. You had tried a couple times to reach for the waistband of the track pants he liked to wear, indicating that you were okay taking things to the next level, but he would still your hand with his and whisper “Not quite time yet, darlin.’”
Tonight felt like it might be different. You had started the evening, as you often did, just talking. Elvis enjoyed talking about almost everything under the sun, and he seemed to know a little bit about everything. He honestly had impressed you with his knowledge. As you stared into each others’ eyes, the conversation eventually gave way to kissing, and somehow things just felt different. Like maybe he wouldn’t stop you and say “not quite time” tonight. Elvis’ hands moved from where they’d been cradling the back of your neck, one of them coming down to rest on your right breast, his long fingers spreading over it, and the other dropping to his own lap.
You decided to go for it and reached out, first giving the hand that rested on his lap a gentle squeeze, then reaching for the waistband of his navy blue pants. Instead of trying to stop you, Elvis groaned a little bit and murmured, “I haven’t been this aroused in a long time, honey. Go ‘head and see what ya do ta me.” You reached your hand down inside of his pants, discovering he had on no underwear to get in your way. You let your fingers travel down lightly over his skin, feeling the tickle of his curly patch of hair as you wrapped your hand around the base of his thick hard cock. You pumped your hand up and down a couple times, watching as his head tilted back in pleasure. “Damn, honey, I think it’s time,” he whispered excitedly. He stood and removed his jacket and tee shirt while you shyly slipped out of the wrap dress you’d been wearing. Elvis stepped closer and pulled you in tightly, his arms wrapping around you and unhooking your bra. He slowly pulled your panties down your legs, leaving you standing bare before him. As his hands roamed over your body, he asked with a little smile, “Ya nervous, honey?” Trembling under his touch, you nodded and closed your eyes. It always felt nerve-wracking the first time with someone new. And what a “someone” this was. “Me too,” Elvis admitted as he pulled his pants down and stepped out of them. As you looked over his naked body, you saw a blush creeping onto his face.
“Elvis, you’re so handsome,” you whispered, causing his blush to deepen as you lifted your hands to touch him. You traced over the trail of hair that led down his thick chest, all the way down to that part you wanted inside of you so badly. Elvis gently pushed you back onto the bed and climbed on top of you, his stomach pressing against yours. As he lined himself up to your entrance, you heard a small sigh escape his lips. “Is everything okay?” you asked nervously, hoping you hadn’t done anything wrong. Maybe he’s realizing he’s not attracted to me, you thought, feeling suddenly panicked.
Elvis raised his head toward you but avoided eye contact, his whole face beet red now. “I-I-I’m sorry, honey, I-I th-th-thought I was ready, b-b-but…” he could barely get the words out through his stutter, and you realized that what you felt pressing against you down below was no longer hard.
“I’m sorry,” you whispered. “Is it me? Did I do something wrong?”
“N-no, honey, ‘s not you at all. I’m t-t-takin’ some new medicine, and sometimes it just, I mean I can’t…” Elvis trailed off again, and you could see how embarrassed he was. Now it was all making sense why he kept telling you it wasn’t time yet. He was nervous about not being able to perform.
You grabbed his sweet face with your hands and tilted it toward you. “Elvis, look at me,” you instructed.
“I-I’m sorry, honey, ‘m jus’ embarrassed,” he mumbled, but he forced himself to look you in the eye.
“There’s nothing at all to be embarrassed about. It’s just from the medicine, like you said.”
“I-I know, honey, but I still wanna satisfy ya,” he mumbled. “Like a real man.”
“Elvis, you are most definitely a real man. There’s no question of that,” you whispered as you pulled him closer to you. He nuzzled his face into your neck as you ran your fingers through his soft hair, your heart skipping a beat at the sight of his sexy gray roots starting to show. “You don’t have to prove anything to me. Just feeling you lay on top of me like this, I’ve never felt so secure before. Only a real man could make me feel that.”
You could feel Elvis smile into your neck as he responded. “Is that right, honey? Ya like havin’ this big belly pressed against ya?” He asked in that self-deprecating way he had about him, half joking but half worried what you were thinking of him.
“Oh, if only you knew how much,” you said, kissing the top of his head. “I love having every inch of you pressed against me. I love…you,” you finished, surprising yourself with the confession, hoping it wasn’t too soon.
Elvis looked up at you with the sweetest lopsided smile. “I love ya too, honey.”
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elvisgasm · 5 months
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Right. Absolutely.
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wanderingelvis · 6 months
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Hey I don’t know if your doing requests rn but I had this idea. Maybe like an innocent reader x Elvis and she broke a glass and cut herself on accident and she keeps apologizing because her dad would get mad at her for that and he has to convince her it’s not her fault. Maybe ending in smut? Whatever you wanna do I just thought it was a cool idea
Thank you for the request! I really hope you like it! 🧚
🧚 Masterlist 🧚
Word Count: 2,649
Pairing: Late 60s!Elvis x Innocent F!Reader
Warnings: PTSD, mentions of ab*se (verbal and physical)
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You were a little ball of sunshine in Elvis' life. A sensitive little ball of sunshine at that. You quite often reminded Elvis of a little puppy dog, just eager and desperate for his love and attention, always looking at him with those big, round eyes of yours, filled with admiration and adoration for the big old man. 
Your love for Elvis didn't come from nowhere though, he equally showered you with affection and love from the moment he first interacted with you. He became enamoured with your playful and soft giggles and your incessant babbling that he found utterly adorable.
Elvis picked up early on that you had some underlying issues. He would notice you flinch at a loud noise or a raised voice, the way you'd instantly stop talking if someone began to speak over you, the way you'd trip over your words when any sort of confrontation would occur. He knew that there must have been something in your past that had created those behaviours and he was right.
You opened up to him about your past and your upbringing early on in your relationship with Elvis after Elvis had asked you about your childhood. You'd told Elvis tentatively, all about the tense and aggressive environment that you grew up in, and even when you'd trip over you words or start to feel anxious when recalling the events, Elvis hushed you, telling you to take your time, everything was okay and that you were his special girl now.
Since then, you'd really gone from strength to strength, you were this little diamond on Elvis' arm, charming everyone just like Elvis did, and together, you really were the new 'it' couple. 
You were so eager to please everyone but most importantly Elvis, that you would wear yourself out, trying so hard to impress him that you'd often end up becoming drowsy at 8pm, nodding off in Elvis' strong hold as he would laugh and chat with the Mafia. 
Elvis didn't mind one bit, he thought there was no cuter sight than you drifting off whilst clinging to him as if he were your security blanket or nighttime teddy bear. Once Elvis was sure that you'd be fully asleep, he'd always excuse himself from whatever was going on to carry you to your shared room and put you into bed, knowing that the worst thing for you would be to fall asleep only to be woken up by someone getting drunk and starting to holler and wake you up and mess up your routine. 
You truly were Elvis' little baby, he treated you like a princess and you truly were head over heels in love with the big, old, rockstar.
The two of you being the social butterflies you were meant that you loved a crowded house, hosting parties for any event, Christmas, Halloween, 4th of July - heck, even if it was a Friday, that would be enough to warrant an extravagant party.
And that's exactly what had happened, a lavish party in December had taken place in Graceland where the Mafia, their wives, a few fans and fellow musicians had all attended in what could only have been described as an 'early Christmas' in Graceland, with endless drinks, cigars, and laughter. 
It was about 3am and everyone had left apart from a few members of the Mafia, Lamar, Sonny, Charlie and Joe, all in the Jungle room relaxing with you nestled into Elvis' side, completely wiped and a little tipsy from the expensive champagne that Elvis had let you drink.
"Why dontchu be a doll n'go n'get us some drinks eh, Y/N? Might wanna make a start on the mess while yer at it?" Charlie laughed, nodding at you. 
You blinked a couple of times and rubbed your eyes, the excitement of the party taking its toll on your little body before you nodded, pushing your body up from where it rested by Elvis. 
"That how you talk to a little girl huh, Charlie? No wonder you're goddamn single," Elvis retorted sharply, with an ever so bitter chuckle at the end of his pointed comment, clearly agitated at some other fella telling you what to do.
See, Elvis knew that you craved praise and even more so, you were absolutely desperate to avoid any sort of conflict or trouble, so you'd always do anything that anyone asked of you. Naturally, this could lead to people taking advantage of your sweet state but that's where Elvis was perfect for you. His authoritative and dominant presence meant that people would seldom cross him just to get you to do some task they were too lazy to do. 
Elvis reached over with his cold, ring clad fingers wrapping around your tender wrist, holding you in place. "Uh-uh." Elvis tsked, making you stop in your tracks. "Don't you move baby, Charlie's a big boy, he can get himself a drink if he needs one."
"Oh, no, Elvis it's okay! Really, I don't mind, it's okay!" You said earnestly.
"I know you don't mind darlin', but you're readin' your fun little magazine, no need for you to be bothered hm? Charlie can do it himself just fine." Elvis said, just about managing to shoot Charlie another stern look.
"S'okay! I was gon' get myself a drink anyways! A hot lemon and tea, I think I hurt my throat from how much I was talkin'!" You sleepily giggled, the angelic sound quelling Elvis' frustrations, you were just so heavenly. Elvis equally knew that you'd just be sitting and feeling anxious if he kept you by his side so he released his tender grip on you, tapping his cheek with his finger, indicating he wanted a kiss from you.
You complied docilely, bending down to press a kiss on Elvis cheek, a soft giggle leaving your lips afterwards as you skipped off to the kitchen, leaving Charlie to the wrath of Elvis.
You carefully prepared the tea and got Charlie's favourite drink sorted too - an Old Fashioned, biting down on your lip as you tried to get the measurements just right! 
It wasn't until you were carrying the tray of tea and cocktails that everything fell apart - quite literally. 
The damned carpet corner wasn't properly pinned down, making you trip over your own feet just like Bambi, sending the tray, along with its contents flying and tumbling down onto the pristine carpet, the glass and china shattering  everywhere. 
You gasped and immediately your heart dropped and sheer panic set in. Your clumsiness, whilst adored by Elvis, had not been your fathers favourite trait of yours, with violent punishments incurring whenever you'd make a little mistake and those punishments had had a lasting impact on you. Obviously, this caused your body to go into automatic panic and defence as you knelt down, trying to clear up the glass and china shards before anyone that heard the accident came running through.
As tears began to pool in your eyes, making your vision cloudy and your breathing became erratic with panic and fear of being punished, you didn't even register the shards of glass cutting through the skin on your knees and the palms of your hands. 
You began to create more mess than tidy it as droplets of blood now began to drip onto the carpet as you frantically tried to wipe away your tears, smudging the pretty black eye makeup Elvis had so lovingly put on you for the party. 
That's when you began to hear footsteps and you dared not look up when you heard Elvis' familiar deep Southern voice.
"Baby?" Elvis said lowly, concern lacing his voice that you mistook for disappointment.
"M'sorry, m'sorry, p-please don't be mad, p-please, I didn't m-mean it," You stuttered with a shaky, cracked voice, stopping every couple of words to sniffle as you cowered into yourself like a frightened little puppy, scared of anything that might approach it.
As Elvis' concern grew rapidly, his demeanour softened, knowing that you were now in an extra fragile and sensitive state and you needed to be treated delicately.
So that's how the big man ended up slowly walked over to you, rolling up the sleeves on his silk shirt and crouching down so that he could be on your level - even if he was still towering over you. 
"Ssh baby, s'okay, I'm not mad with you princess." Elvis hushed, reaching out to gently to push away the hair that had fallen in front of your pretty face, making sure to be as tender as he could be as to not startle you as he knew you were frightened of any sudden contact.
You flinched ever so slightly as Elvis touched you, sniffling as you tried to steady your panic, your wet lashes fluttering up to meet Elvis' concerned gaze. 
"Do ya think you can tell me what happened little one?" Elvis asked as his eyes scanned the scene, realising how badly you'd hurt yourself.
Your eyes widened as you began to recall what happened. "I-I-, um, I, tried to get the, get the drinks and I got um, um, tripped over, by the carpet, I didn't mean it, I didn't m-mean it, I p-promise!" You said shakily, panic beginning to set in again which Elvis picked up on immediately.
"Uh uh baby, you're gettin' yerself all worked up aren't ya?" Elvis soothed, and you nodded, your chest still erratically rising and falling as you hiccupped through tears. You nodded feverishly, your shaky hand wiping away snot and tears. 
"M'sorry! It was just an accident, I promise, I'll c-clean it all up, I p-promise." You whimpered.
"I know it was an accident baby, we all have accidents don't we hm?" Elvis cooed, trying to soothe you and calm you down. "Accidents happen, it's okay honey, I ain't mad, I ain't mad at all." Elvis tried to reassure as you trembled opposite him, your hands still in a bloodied mess along with your knees.
Elvis knew that your sudden panicky and frightened little state was the result of your father, beating you and verbally abusing you at any possible chance he had, particularly when an incident like this would happen. He knew that you'd revert back to the child-like state that you'd first experienced the abuse in, but he knew it was now his job and responsibility to look after you and take care of you and make you feel better and feel loved.
"I d-didn't mean it, p-promise." You mewled softly, growing calmer but still tender and frightened. 
Elvis nodded understandingly, holding eye contact with you, wanting to make it absolutely clear to you that you weren't in any trouble and nothing was bad was going to happen to you whilst you were in his care. 
"I know you didn't sweet girl. You were just doin' yer best weren't you honey? You did nothin' wrong, you were busy bein' a good girl and gettin' Charlie a drink for him." Elvis praised, knowing you needed it. "What happened to yer hands n'knees little one?" Elvis asked, pointing to your injuries.
You hadn't even acknowledged that you were hurt or bleeding, your mind far too occupied with fear. Your eyes widened cutely as you blinked a few times, realising how bad your hands really were as you held them up in front of you. Elvis watched you, his attempt to get your mind to stop panicking was working.
"I, um, I hurt them," You said quietly, your voice trailing off as you studied your hands. "They hurt." You whimpered slightly, the realisation of what had happened setting in, as well as the pain. 
"They look sore don't they honey?" Elvis observed and you nodded, successfully distracted from the internalised fear that had consumed you. "I think we need to get you cleaned up little one, make you feel all good n'better? What do you think princess?" Elvis asked calmly.
Again, you nodded, your habit of becoming ever-so-slightly more non-verbal kicking in when you were upset and scared and overstimulated. "Okay..." You replied, with the small word being all you could muster.
"Okay." Elvis repeated in confirmation with a reassuring nod. "Now, I'm gon' help you up little 'un, then I'm gon' get the fellas outta here, they've had enough partyin' for one night, then we're gon' get you cleaned up and into our nice big, warm, bed, how does that sound Y/N?" Elvis said to you gently. 
You swallowed a lump in your throat as your damp eyelashes fluttered and you scanned the mess around you on the floor. "B-But I need to clean up my mess." You stuttered.
"Oh little one, no, no this will all get cleaned by the staff who are comin' to sort out the mess from the party 'kay? Your only job is to let me clean you up and feel better, okay little girl?" Elvis said with a raised eyebrow as you sniffled and reached out for him, desperately craving physically affection from him. "Careful pretty girl, I don't wanna hurt yer pretty little hands now, do I? M'gon pick you up from your elbows, okay?" Elvis told you, standing back up before leaning down and slowly hauling you up from under your arms, making sure as to not cause you any more harm.
Once you were up, Elvis quickly dashed to the Jungle room to get rid of the remaining guys, explaining the situation to them before they all told Elvis that they hoped you were okay. They all thought of you as a little gem of a girl and they all had a soft spot for you. They were also protective of you, perhaps not as much as Elvis was, but they all knew you were a sweet girl and they all sincerely hoped you'd feel better as quickly as possible.
Elvis then carried you up the stairs and straight to your bathroom, setting you on the bathroom counter where your legs dangled and your cheeks were sticky with dried tears and smudged eyeliner. 
Elvis spent the next couple of hours cleaning you, carefully getting rid of any glass that was stuck in your skin and applying cream and ointment onto your wounds, pressing a comforting kiss to your forehead every time you winced from the anti-septic. 
"Hurts." You cried as you recoiled every time Elvis applied anti-septic onto your body somewhere. 
"I know it does baby, I know it does, but you're bein' such a brave girl f'me, aren't you? That's right, bein' so brave f'me, m'so proud of you." Elvis cooed. "But this is going to make you better so you gotta keep bein' a brave girl for me, just a little bit more medicine and then we'll go to bed little one." Elvis assured.
Sweet nothings and words of comfort and praise kept coming from Elvis as he continued to clean you up, change you out of your sweet little pink party dress, put your pyjamas on for you and get you all cuddled up into bed. 
Exhaustion consumed you, overwhelming you and making your whole body feel heavy as you sank into the big, plush bed that you and Elvis shared. 
You glanced up at Elvis who settled in next to you, your big eyes gazing up at him. "Promise I didn't mean it, promise I'm sorry." You mumbled feebly.
Elvis sighed, looking down at you as he cupped your face with his large hand that had so delicately looked after you all evening. "I know baby, you ain't got nothin' t'be sorry about princess. There ain't no need to be worried little one, yer with me now baby, I ain't ever gon' be mad atchu, okay? Now, you need to rest, you're overwhelmed baby, but m'gon be right here when you wake up and m'gon make you pancakes for bein' such a good girl f'me tonight." Elvis smiled, watching as a sleepy smile crept onto your face.
"Love you." You lazily hummed before you closed your eyes.
Elvis didn't sleep until he knew you were sleeping soundly, his little sunshine.
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jaqueline19997 · 2 months
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Lord I wasn't gonna do this but now I HAVE TOO 😭😭😭
This is to the Priscilla fans that love to CLAIM that Elvis was a "bad husband" She herself admitted to parts of the "movie" are fake yet she still let the "movie" be released!!!! And in every interview I've seen of her she's changed the story or says that parts of the movie didn't actually happen in real life not only the movie but with her book (Elvis and me) just like I this interview!¿!¿!¿!¿! Like girl 👀👀 make it make sense!!!!! And it's been since Elvis passed this girl keeps changing "her" story over and over again and she's not even trying to do it on the down low she's changed it DRAMATICALLY to the point where it's getting annoying 🙄!!!! ANDDDDDD it's not the only part of "her" movie or her book it's with many more INCLUDING the INFAMOUS pillow scene!!!!! So for those who believed everything sorry to say it was ALL LIES 🤷🏻‍♀️🚫🤮
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vintagepresley · 1 month
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His chest and his stomach peeking through that suit. 🤭
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