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aconflagrationofmyown · 2 years ago

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Even Educated Fleas Do It

A Sarge & lil Mama episode (wedding night)

Warnings 18+ -smut! breeding kink, innocence kink, cream pies, unfortunately historically accurate portrayal of female naïveté regarding sexual acts, male entitlement to female bodies, copious dirty talk, virginity loss. This is mostly fluffy and tender and sweet with a few VERY rabid moments and feral sentences. 20k of smut and it’s surrounding auras…I have a headcanon that Baby Elvis resorts to being a bit of an ass in order to maintain his slipping control, whereas a more mature era of the man he only chooses to be a bastard out of the fun of it

Credits: my supreme thanks to the indefatigable @prompted-wordsmith for editing this mammoth and her few choice additions of sentences, and also to my discord wives: Christi, Ally and Birdy who cheered me on and really made this happen with their feedback, suggestions and enthusiasm. Lastly, to all my darling readers who’s hype for this has carried me through and now we are all saddled with this monstrosity. Y’all are the best, I live off your comments and love. Xoxo, Marina 🌹

Elaine’s fingers glide admiringly against richly black, quartz marble countertops, glinting back at her almost as brightly as the gold mirror and the gold faucets and gold tub–everything is golden up here in the master bathroom. Even the sink is gold plated, she realizes with a giggle, and stares at her reflection in the basin, flushed face and curls hanging about her features as she looks downward, distracted by the opulence and the shininess and the ability to finally breathe. An endeavor which would be aided if she obeyed her new husband—heavens to Betsy, she has a husband!—and took off her wedding gown and girdle.

She chose a simple dress to be married in, long and slender, the style and measurements entrusted to the Smith cousins and delivered by them with remarkable effect. Demure yet elegant, she felt it was a nod to the silhouette of the future, prom crinolines and ball gowns abandoned for a more streamlined effect that set off her waist to perfection, or so her wedding guests told her. And for tonight’s purposes, it had a handy zipper down the back of it that she now tugged loose to her immense relief.

It was a little puzzling, the way Elvis had torn her away from Dodger’s admonishments and hurried her upstairs to sleep, only to then shoo her into the bathroom to undress herself. Some silly part of her thought he might kiss her when they arrived up there alone, maybe dance a little, maybe help with the zipper. But he had looked very feverish and a little scared when he told her she was looking worn out, and then ushered her upstairs as the whole house party fell dead silent below them in their wake. Funny, the whole thing had felt a little funny, and they’d been having such a nice little party after the vows, daddy had been a little weepy and Elvis had looked so handsome and she had to pinch herself a dozen times that this event she’d planned was her wedding.

Her wedding—it didn’t feel real. Not without mama here, she realized, that was the missing part to it all. Mama. Hers, and his. They were both missing them. She worked at the brassiere clasps and stifled the little cry she felt coming up her throat, memories flooding in of the first time she saw Graceland.

Elvis had tore down to the studio in his fancy car, begging any and everyone to see the place he bought for his family. Father had been too busy with Cash but mama was not. So, she and Elaine had piled into his pink Cadillac and let that happy puppy of a boy whisk them away to a world of antebellum dreaminess for the afternoon. Gold, there had been so much gold even then, and Mama had ribbed the boy mercilessly about his decor choices as only Mrs. Phipps could get away with,

“Elvis dear, it looks like a tart’s bedroom up here,” she had teased him in the master where Elaine’s groom was now waiting for her daughter to make an appearance.

He had turned bright red before dissolving into hiccuping laughs that her mama had joined. He hasn’t changed the decor, gaudy chandelier hanging above a gold damask bedspread, gilt mirrors everywhere on the walls with black padded headboards and doors. It was… unique, and a little ominous if she was being honest, although maybe that had been her nerves over him rushing her up here so fast, so…urgently.

“June’s gonna love it, E!” Elaine recalls gushing to him on that first house tour, entirely unsure if June would indeed love it, but certain that anyone would be honored to be mistress of such a place, though that honor had then been firmly Miss Gladys’s right at the time.

Now it’s all hers.

Elaine swallows hard and rubs at the angry red lines on her belly and breasts that show in the mirror from her girdle, thinking of the weight of that. Thinking of how she had been wrong. This—kingdom—wasn’t for June, this had been for her.

Elaine pulls on the silky, shimmery slip he had given her the money to treat herself to, watching it as it spills over her curves and drapes her kindly. The soft baby blue color makes her skin look tan even in the wintertime and her eyes shimmer dark and smokey in the dimmed vanity lights. It takes her aback a little, the prettiness of the picture she sees in the mirror, hair freshly loosened from its pins and looking like it does when he’s had his hands in it. The kiss-nipped red of her lips is no cosmetic allusion, he’d devoured her lipstick right off a few minutes into married life, clutching her to him in the foyer, acting like hiding by the front door made them discreet.

She touches their puffy vibrancy with a small smile, thinking of him, thinking of being loved. Thinking of mansions and gold sinks and graves dug, thinking of the boy outside the door who did far more than fall in love with her. He provided, and he did it with intent. A great deal of intent. Her heart does a flip at that.

It gives her the bravery to fluff herself in the slip and ignore the nervous tremble threatening to keep her holed up in here, her skimpy attire making her blush for reasons she doesn’t know. Such silliness. She looks pretty, and she is loved. She sets her shoulders back and turns the knob.

Elvis has been pacing a furrow in the plush carpet of his bedroom and berating himself for many things, chiefly having shooed his wife away into the bathroom the first private moment they’d had together.

He is an idiot, he concludes, a prize idiot.

He should have trapped her against the door and kissed the daylights outta her, maybe laid her out all romantically on the bed and caressed her like the movies taught her to expect. At least helped undo the damn zipper. But no, no he panicked, and trying to be a good man, he had sent her into the bathroom alone to strip while he talked his heart and cock into some semblance of restraint. He tears at his hair and tosses his suit jacket on the chair and tries to think of what he’s gonna do, how he’s gonna manage this. He had come across Dodger and Elaine in a tête-à-tête and heard the words from his Grandma:

“Make sure that boy licks ya nice and good ‘fore he tries to stick his pecker in—”

and had proceeded to panic and grab his new bride and hustle her upstairs for “sleep”. He’d caught Mr. Phipps’s pleading eyes on the way up and now he felt like a first team all American pervert. Gone was the sweet, comforting weight of the wedding vows, the religious aura the day had carried with it. Replacing that was a deep seated shame for how often he’d wanked to the thought of this night and all it entails.

In his dreams it had been fun to shock the girl by bending her over and putting it in, watching her eyes go wide and her struggle under him to adjust, but that was before he loved Elaine, he thinks. Now he tears at his hair, paces his bedroom eyeing the bathroom door like it’ll open and release a lion, and wonders how he’s gonna cherish her like he should, when his wants and his adoration keep vying for the upper hand. She boils his blood, shoots lightening up his spine and keeps him stiff at all times, and simultaneously, he is warm pudding when she smiles, and bluer than robin’s eggs when she’s sad.

The weight of getting all he ever wanted, the weight of actually having married himself off, the weight of mama’s hope coming true and her buried right under the window—he feels a little unhinged by it all, and he starts mumbling out incoherent prayers for guidance and self control and a capacity to not fuck up Elaine Presley’s first time. Because that’s just it: she’s Elaine Presley now, and he has a duty to the woman he married ‘afore God to make it good, t-to…

The bathroom door opens and the shimmering vision of Elaine and her feminine assets clad in nothing but a silk slip stops him dead in his tracks, his mouth liable to catch flies it gapes so at her beauty. She looks poised even jiggling and nipple perked in a light drape of silk, and he inwardly curses when her initial confidence seems to flag upon noticing the state he’s in.

Fully dressed with just his suit jacket discarded and here she is near naked—it’s not kind, he knows that, and curses again at his self absorption.

He looks like he’s gone a little mad, she thinks, and she can tell he’s been tearing at his hair in that fidgety way of his when he’s working himself up to a frenzy. It won’t do him good, she knows him, knows he’ll start hyperventilating and that always panics him.

It’s this urge to calm him that has her forgetting her bashfulness and crossing the floor to embrace him, his warm and clothed body pressed against hers in a hug he returns fervently.

“Ya look like an angel,” he rasps his praise in her ear and she is so pleased by that, and by the look of awed admiration on his face that makes her forget to blush, too pleased to be coy.

“Do ya have a new bird, Elvis?” she asks him, trying to distract him from whatever it is that has him so anxious she can near feel him vibrating against her.

“Uh, umm, a bird?” he is truly thrown by that and more than a little distracted by the feel of slippery silk curves molding to him in his arms.

“Dodger was saying—”

Dodger was talking about “peckers” he recalls, and is fast to cut her off in a great rush,

“No, no uh, I haven’t got no bird—sides you,” he jokes weakly and fails to add more, just staring down at Elaine in his arms, Elaine who stares back, her expression curious and amused and maybe a tad unsure.

Of course she’s unsure, you fool, he berates himself after finding his way back to steady thought. God, he should… do something.

“Elvis,” she pipes up and her voice is small but hopeful, “can I help you get comfortable?” and she thumbs at the ruffles of his dress shirt.

He feels his flush paint his neck and his body feels like it’s alight, but it’s perfectly reasonable for her to ask. It’s just that he knows her sweet confidence stems from her not even knowing enough to be bashful, and that’s… heady.

“Yeah,” he croaks and squeezes her to him once more before letting her set work to undoing the ruffled shirt he wore, sans tie.

She’s methodical and steady undoing the shirt, even as she flicks those lined eyes up at him, desperate for his assuring little nods and pleased smiles. He takes to stroking her cheek, running his knuckles across the high bones there and over her bitten lips, she kisses them with each pass.

Last button undone she spreads the fabric apart and places her hands on his chest, a wild delight showing on her face as she runs her hands across his pecs and collar bones, down to his belly, swooping up and down his arms, taking the shirt with it.

It falls to the ground and yet her hands continue to glide across his fevered skin entranced by the warmth and the contours. She’s wanted to feel his heartbeat for a long while now. Watching that tattle tale vein in his neck thump was the closest thing she could content herself with all these months. Her hands drift to his neck and sure enough, it’s thumping like a race horse at a gallop.

She excites him. That thought makes her eyes flick down to his trousers, recalling that strange spurt against her backside on the swing. He’d called that excitement, too.

She moves to open the button of his slacks and his belly sucks in with the breath he holds, she can feel it against her knuckles as she undoes it. She rubs her knuckles soothingly against the fine trail of hair disappearing into his waistband, it makes him shudder instead.

So far, everything on display she has seen before at the pool with him, but more, the prospect of more makes her heart speed up and her curious mind whirl. She’s a little preoccupied with all this as she starts to push the pants over his hips and while he doesn’t prevent her, his motion is a bit jerky when he clasps his hands around her jaw and tilts her eyes away from his hips and the curious bulge there, up to his face.

She hears his belt and the fabric thud to the floor just as his lips descend to meet hers, and then she grows distracted by the kiss he melts her with.

“Hey you,” he whispers hot and breathy against her lips, pillowy plushness rubbing together, kiss-slick and scorching.

And he’s right, it feels like finally seeing each other for the first time today. They’ve a decent rapport together when surrounded by friends and acquaintances, a very seamless dance of social politeness and steadying closeness. But nothing compares to the way they sizzle and melt when it’s just the two of them, like their inner selves are finally allowed to make a showing on their faces in the form of dazed smiles and in the slump of their shoulders, the bellies no longer held in nor the sighs longing to spill out.

“Oh, Elvis,” she manages to gasp, grinning and huffing at the proximity, the way her nipples rub against his chest from the crush of his embrace, just a silken layer between them, and it sends electric static down to her very toes.

“Ya happy?” he dares to ask because she is grinning so silly and sweet right there in his arms.

“Terribly happy!” she doesn’t bother with aloofness, her hands kneading his shoulders and he breathes again, recalling that this is Elaine, sweet Elaine who has gentled him back into the land of the living these last few weeks by simply knowing and caring for him, and while it’s a terrifying responsibility to do right by her—it’s also the best thing to ever happen to him. Elaine, here, in his arms, in his room, as his wife.

“Just ya wait till I get some champagne in ya,” he teases, waggling her chin in his hand and she looks surprised and a little excited by that.

“Elvis I-I’m too young,” she whispers, a guilty and hopeful little thing that suggests she is very amenable to champagne.

“You naughty lil thing, I see that hopeful glimmer in’ya eye,” he clicks his tongue and she giggles, “It’s lawful if your husband pours it for ya.”

“Is that so?” she bites her lip and her eyes twinkle up at him, falling easily into the banter, “Then I’d like to try it—since it’s lawful and all.”

“Mhmm, champagne, an’ a record, that’ll set us up jus’ right, I think.” He’s nearly buzzing himself, feels a little drunk even though there’s not a drop of alcohol in him.

“Don’t want ya to have to go down to the kitchen and leave me, though,” she admits, a little shy. His gut clenches at the confession, the way her lashes dip and fan over her cheekbones. He’d get beat by his mama if’n she knew of the unholy thoughts the pout of her lips made him think. He reels himself back to the present with a persistence that few things in his life made him exercise. For Elaine, his patience was boundless, because she doesn’t wanna be alone, or, rather, she wants to be alone with him. The simple acknowledgement sends his heart racing in hope that he’s managing to do something right, enough that she can’t bear for him to even pop down to the kitchen for a minute.

“Guess what, sugar?” he grins while fluffing her hair away from her face and she perks up, that mouth lifting inquiringly, “I got a refrigerator in the closet.”

“No!”

“Yup.” Elvis’ boyish grin grows until it’s a dazzling, proud smile and he begins to back up, she goes with, still clinging to his arms and giggling in excitement as he backs them into the gargantuan changing room.

“Where?” she cranes her neck this way and that, soon spinning in his arms as she tries to spy a refrigerator amongst the rows and rows of custom suits and well stocked shelving.

He holds up his finger for her attention, and gathering all his showmanship, backs away from her until he reaches the built-in cabinets and with a dramatic flourish flings open the wooden door to reveal his mini Frigader.

“No. Way,” she enunciates dramatically as her pretty mouth hangs open in delight and his own heart clenches and-

-God! Elaine! I can give you so much, he thinks, hang in there with me, I can give so much, I'll make ya fall in love.

He throws her a wink before bending over and retrieving the planted bottle and chilled glasses from inside. The fact he’s bent over double in just his briefs only registering when he’s already got his head half in the refrigerator, and her burning stare threatens to light his ass on fire. He straightens up and spins round to present her with his ribbon adorned findings, noticing her blush scarlet and flick her eyes back to his face.

-My, my, Miss Elaine, what a curious little mind you have.

He kicks the fridge closed and closes the distance between them again, handing her the glasses while taking her other hand in his and leading her back into the dimly lit bedroom. She sets the glasses on the sideboard top and goes to put the needle down on the record after he tells her “Ella’s already on there”, while he smoothes down the profusion of crinkle ribbon around the bottle neck in preparation to open it.

Elaine adjusts the needle and gets the record going and soon Ella Fitzgerald croons warmly:

-Birds do it, bees do it

She turns back around and watches as Elvis begins to gnaw on the champagne cork with his million watt, pearly white money-making teeth.

“What on earth are you doin’?” she protests, hurrying back to him. He’s like a rabbit with the thing, she thinks humorously.

-Even educated fleas do it,

He pulls the spit slicked cork away from his mouth to explain in a loathing huff, “Forgot to bring an opener up here.” And he doesn’t want to leave his baby, goes unsaid, doesn’t wanna leave her since she said she didn’t want him to leave.

-So let’s do it, let’s fall in love

Elaine’s lip wobbles into a fond smirk even as she tries to maintain some sternness, “You’ll break a tooth, E!” she warns even as her heart throbs at the sweetness of it.

“Nah, nah I’ll get it, my baby wanted champagne n’ she’s gonna have it,” he insists as she makes aborted little movements with her hands to try to aid him but is unsure of what to do or hold. “Here, hold the end, I’m gonna try’n pull it out, probably gonna gush so, be ready.”

And so Elaine finds herself in a laughing fit, holding onto the bulbous bottom of a champagne bottle as Elvis Presley himself buries his nose in the thatch of ribbons and gnaws the cork loose, like a dog with a bone, yanking this way and that while growling playfully around it.

“This is the silliest thing—” she wheezes even as his jaw’s yanking motion makes her feet slip closer, her light weight losing ground in this tug-o-war until suddenly there’s a pop and down he goes, flat on his ass, cork in mouth, champagne showering him from above.

He’s curled in on himself at her feet, all long tan limbs contorted and white briefs quickly becoming transparent, crunched in half from the force of his laughter and partly to shield his eyes from the alcohol rain. She watches in a bit of a state, though she’s unsure of what kind, as golden alcohol glistens over that heart, pools in every divot of him and even sparkles tauntingly on inky lashes.

“Quick, quick catch it baby!” he waves at her frantically through his wheezing hiccups, “With your mouth, put it in yer mouth!” he explains and she suddenly snaps her attention away from watching his underwear cling to him and brings the bottle up to her mouth.

She chugs on command, her throat working rhythmically and her eyes wide at the new taste, bubbly spillage glossing up her chin and chest and down her slip, a dark trail that makes his mouth dry out with thoughts of other things. She pulls away with a gasp and a wet pop as he struggles to his knees, cupping himself like that’ll detract from his obvious outline, thanking heaven his jitters seem to have kept him half mast.

“Here, it’s fizzy,” she informs him like that’s news to him before bringing the bottle down to his lips and tipping the champagne into his slack mouth. His hands fly out to rest on her hips, steadying himself as she pours the celebratory drink down his throat. “Cheers!” she giggles as he taps out his max capacity on her hips, his breath fully gone and his cheeks bulging with the fizz.

“Here’s to you, Mrs. Presley,” he gasps after his swallow, smiling up at her stupidly sweet.

Elaine isn’t sure if it’s his breathlessness, those fathomless blue eyes looking up at her adoringly or the way he’s proving he’d do anything to please her, but she’s suddenly filled with a burning compulsion to eat him up. And she acts on it, bending down to slot their mouths together, one hand gripping his sticky shoulder and the other still holding onto the bottle neck.

He rises to his feet in an effortlessly smooth motion, hands dragging up the curve of her as he goes until they tangle in her hair, his arms criss crossed over her back and then the real kissing begins, the kind he had figured he’d gentle her into but she seems to have already found a taste for. It’s open mouthed and sloppy and she nearly lets the bottle slip from her hand as she seems to levitate right out of her skin and upwards to some hot and hazy sphere where a pink tongue dances with her own.

And sweet Lord, she loves the way he kisses her, large hands yanking her head back by her hair so he can pour his passion into her keening mouth from above, his arms encompassing her shoulders and pressing her to him, his plush mouth working her up to a frenzy. She squeezes his shoulder, in retribution or encouragement, she doesn’t know which, for the ache he always manages to spark in her belly. Speaking of, his soaked underwear is pressed to her belly and dampening the fabric of her slip so it, too, becomes tacky and drags as he shifts against her, almost like they’re riding waves together, grappling in a gentle struggle for leverage in this caress.

-electric eels, I might add, do it, though it shocks ‘em I know,

She’s a responsive little thing, his new wife, and fiesty in her affection, too. Her nails dig into his back and make him hiss pleasurably and he finds he can’t help but hump the little curve of her belly beneath the silk, wet briefs tantalizingly coarse against his cock. It occurs to him this is a precious moment, for many reasons, but particularly for the fact that never again will she kiss him without at least some anticipation of more to follow. What’s a kiss that goes nowhere? A kiss that devours and consumes and grapples and bites but has no destination? Her whole body conforms to his in an effort to get closer as they sway in the middle of his bedroom floor, but she knows of nothing after this, she doesn’t know it’s leading anywhere. The kiss is all she knows. It’s like she has an incomplete map, one he gets to draw the big red ‘X’ at the end of. He wonders if a body can combust if kissed long enough, if he can make her shatter apart just by ignorant need and a searingly good necking. He pours more energy into plundering her mouth and ignores her whimpers begging for a breath.

Elaine finds her free hand sliding from his shoulder down the plush side of his ribs, tacky with champagne, and thumbs at the soaked waistband of his briefs. It makes him break their kiss at last, near drowned for air and his eyes wild as he rears back to study her face.

“You’re getting me sticky,” she whispers smilingly and watches him lick her spit from his lips with a languid tongue.

“Ya could just say you want me nekid,” he quips, and nearly swallows his tongue in horror right after, holding his breath to see how the joke lands.

Elaine is… taken aback, judging by the way her eyes widen and her cheeks flame bright in the dim light of the bedroom, but she truthfully shrugs and murmurs while staring past him, “I would really like to see ya, E.”

“Whatever you want, baby,” he whispers back earnestly and she flicks her eyes back to meet his before her smile returns and she makes a motion to one handedly strip him before thinking better of it.

She takes another chug from the champagne bottle instead and he chuckles, making a motion with his hands to hand it to him when she’s done. She gives it over and he gulps down the liquid courage while trying to go somewhere else as Elaine begins to carefully peel his soaked tighty whities down his legs. Her yittle fingers make it mighty difficult.

-God, I hope she’s at least seen a penis before, he prays. Or, or actually no. I hope she hasn’t, I hope she has no fuckin clue about any other man, most certainly no trimmed up, affluent, all American, circumcised one.

While he’s busy making his nose burn with the bubbles he’s downing like water, Elaine takes a moment to feast her eyes on tan thighs and the boney cradle of his hips, defined by a lean belt of muscle descending from his abdomen and that faint dusty trail of hair that was pointing downwards to a destination after all. He’s pink and soft and harmless looking down there, very much like the anatomy sketches she’s seen in the medical books. A limp little tail-like thing that hangs between his legs with a sheath of skin covering it, pillowed atop a very heavy looking sack that’s a couple shades darker than the shaft thingy. Maybe men have a bladder on the outside, she ponders.

She finds herself a little relieved, and also stupidly endeared. It’s his privates, she should let him be, they’re not like hers that have a dual purpose of child bearing and peeing. They’re just his soft parts and he’s terribly sweet to let her satisfy her curiosity about them, and so she rises back to her feet with a pleased sigh, having refrained from the stupid impulse of reaching out and grabbing hold of them. Elvis lets out a ragged sigh of his own and looks like he’s trying to read her brain as she presses another kiss to his lips.

“Thank ya,” she chirps and he raises his eyebrows in surprise that this is going so well.

It goes well until it gets weird. And by weird Elvis means his sweet young wife starting to circle him like he’s a damn statue, her hand trailing over his skin and letting out appreciative little noises at the way his muscles twitch beneath her fingers. His ribs tickle and his arms jitter and his back tenses and then there’s that throat closing feeling of her palming the swell of his ass, admiring and entitled as you please. He feels a bit like a prize horse, being eyed up at auction, Elaine the buyer that’s testing to see if he’s a well-bred stallion. Seeing if he’s a good breeding partner, if he’s made of good stock.

Elaine’s appraisal halts at his other side, she’s got a hand gliding up his sternum like the feel of sparse chest hair is equal to the most priceless Persian rug, and her other hand keeps petting the swell of his ass as she presses kisses to his shoulder—oh god help him, he likes it, much as it makes him squirm, this entirely unexpected review of his assets has him standing at attention and hoping she approves. Something else starts to try to stand to attention and it’s through a helpless sort of mortified resignation he feels little Elvis twitch in earnest. The sorta twitch that’ll lead to precum sputtering out soon enough.

She notices. Of course she does, he feels her lips fall away from his shoulder so she can peer over it at the growing developments, and with unerring accuracy she repeats the motion she had just made, expecting a similar result if providing the right equation. His cock is feeling benevolent if a little demure tonight, and he can’t help but flex his hips as the next rush of blood makes the thing move again. Oh damn, he thinks, they’re getting somewhere now, and he’s not yet given a single lesson.

Elaine had long harbored a rather inordinate curiosity about the male figure, her swimming hole adventures and glimpses of mechanics stripped down covered in grease had all inspired a rather alarming curiosity in her girlish head as to what the male form looked like… unimpeded. She thought it silly that there was such emphasis on men’s tastes being visual, on pinups and advertising girls selling dish soap that had nothing to do with the bikinis prominently filled out. For her, Marlon Brando swaggering around in a sweat soaked singlet had done more to convince her to move to a New Orleans tenement than all those skimpy dressed floozies ever had ever convinced a regular ole father of three to buy Lucky Strikes. But to touch? To feel searing hot masculine blood pumping right beneath that terribly smooth skin and the dip and give of his muscles beneath her palm? Her chest aches and her hands move of their own accord, wondrously eager to make him wag between his legs again, like a happy tail swelling and jerking with each squeeze she gives his butt.

“Elvis, you’re so pretty,” she gushes the admiration swirling around and around in her mind and feels the whole long, lean, glorious length of his shudder at the comment.

She’s enchanted with his body, he realizes, he’s pleasing to her, and her hands flutter in a hopeless want to touch him everywhere and it’s all he can do not to seize a dainty hand and wrench her away from this sweet perusal and make her grip him here he needs it. He wants, needs, filthy things from her. And she just thinks he’s pretty. The moan he stifles with his hand is only fuel to her fire.

“Uh—” he begins, figuring he better get somethin about the mechanics of things out before this sweetness turns him feral and the tempting thoughts to just… sneak it in her… take precedence in his brain.

“What’s it doin’?” she interrupts instead, and he savors the feel of her holding his bare waist while he pinches the bridge of his nose, taking steady breaths, forcing some blood back up to his brain.

“I-i-it’s, it’s gettin’ excited,” he figures is an honest start, “F-firmin up.”

“Why?” she asks curiously, sounding ever so child-like, still petting his sides like, like—like he’s her pet.

He wouldn’t mind being her pet. He’s foolin’ himself thinkin’ he isn’t already, she’s just embracing her role with innocent confidence, unencumbered by silly knowledge of roles and shit, like he is.

“Well, uh, it’s, it’s—” he bites his lip harshly before gently grabbing her arms and moving her round to face him, stroking her neck soothingly while keeping her at a safe distance where her silk clad belly won’t encourage little Elvis any faster. “It’s gotta firm up as, it’s, it’s, it’s my key, baby,” he explains gently, watching with burning concentration for any flicker of understanding flitting across her earnest face.

“Your key?” she repeats gravely, that nagging feeling returning that there’s more to this… marriage business… then she’s been told, and she’s about at the end of her patience with being fobbed off the topic. “Elvis—” she goes to appeal for an answer to his generous nature, the lush set of his features above her sweet and sultrily eager as her own, encouraging her that he’ll humor her—

“Elaine, we gotta have a business meetin’,” he declares, effectively cutting her off, and it’s the voice he uses at conference tables with the colonel or with reporters but she knows it’s him scrambling to grab hold of some control. Ever wary of the delicate state of his emotions these days, she holds her peace. “Bout, b-bout marriage,” he clarifies and for the first time since coming up here, a cold shard of fear slices through the gooey warmth of his presence.

“Alright,” she agrees, firmly supportive, squeezing his arms to emphasize that she’s on his side in this, she takes her cues from him. It’s what good wives do, and it’s what all of humanity does when Elvis Presley starts to direct a thing.

Her compliance has the intended result of soothing him, his jitters calm under her hands and the light beam of her encouraging smile. He gives a few small nods of his head as if agreeing with an unspoken suggestion, and Elaine is entirely certain he’s got a self affirming monologue running up there in that pretty head to drown out whatever has him so panicked.

Alight with her touch, with thoughts of her and her lil house and making it good, making sure it takes, of finally having what he’s dreamed about for goin’ on two years now, he feels his knees near buckle and he murmurs hurriedly,

“Let’s sit on the–the bed for a minute.”

Hand in hand, and at a head clearing distance from each other, they mosey over to the canopied wonder that is his bed, decked out in black and gold, tufted pockets of down beckoning for a bounce amongst, and Elaine can’t help herself. Maybe it’s the champagne or a stubborn desire to keep the jubilant atmosphere alive but she slips her hand out of his with a parting squeeze and launches herself into the downy sea of gold.

His stride falters and he watches with a fondness he feels deep in his gut as his Elaine bounces into the bed like a giddy child, her long limbs splayed artlessly and the swell of her ass rippling under baby blue silk, a sliver more of inner thigh visible as it rides up, kicking her footsies gleefully for good measure before she lifts that darling face and grins at him beckoningly through a curtain of chocolate curls.

God he loves her. And this is what he’ll get to see and feel and love for all the coming nights, for the rest of his life. He moseys up to the bed and reaches out, caressing Elaine’s shiny locks back in place, matching her smile in an endeavor to help keep this mood as joyous as it should be. She grabs at his wrist that is petting her hair and pulls him atop her. Weak and wanting, he goes, registering with searing clarity the first feel of his long limbs being pressed atop every inch of her smaller frame, the bedspread tufting beneath their combined weight.

He is burning hot atop her, and so much larger than her own body, she realizes with a thrill that tingles down to her very toes. She resumes her petting of the wings of his shoulder blades, smooth and sweaty beneath her hands and she wiggles beneath the new sensation of his thighs pressed to her own, and his hips cradled by her hips, fitting together effortlessly. It’s delightful and she acts on the urge to tilt his face out from the bedspread and seek more kisses from those cherry red lips of his.

Elaine keeps undulating under him, spurred on by a thousand heady new sensations, slippery as an eel in her silk, and Elvis’s mind blanks at the feel of her eager and squirmy body beneath his. He forgets about lessons and marriage and sacred duties and instead acts on his most natural instinct which is to kiss her back ferociously and buck against the cradle of her hips ‘till his cock weeps for joy at finally being heeded.

As natural as riding a tandem bike, after the initial wobble for balance, Elaine quickly finds his rhythm and grinds along with him in a unified dance for propulsion, feeling something besides his champagne-sticky skin begin to slick up her nightslip.

That’s the wet smear of his excitement, she realizes, and rocks up more vigorously to encourage him. His penis is a throbbing pipe between them, and while she can’t see it, she can feel the thing growing and digging into her belly and she thinks of keys and she wonders, and aches. The whine her groom lets out, once hazily recognizing the fact she’s actually trying to aid his pleasure like a good wife should, is pulled from deep in his gut into her open mouth, sending a triumphant shudder through her.

“Sweet—lord—fuck—Elaine,” he blasphemes into her ear in a pained cry, his hand a mere agent of his cock as it fumbles between them frantically to pull up the hem of her slip.

Her hot breath fans against his face in shocked gusts and if he cracked open his screwed shut eyes he’s pretty sure he'd see her looking a little scandalized, which is why he doesn’t open them. He’ll save that for when he’s balls deep inside her and there ain’t a lawful thing she can do about it. For now he just doggedly hikes up her slip until it’s halfway up her belly and his balls are rubbing amongst the pettiest thatch on a beaver he ever did see. Not that he sees it now, mind you. No, his eyes stay closed and he forces her into another kiss lest she protest, but he recalls the particulars of her cunt like that addled inspection he made of her lady parts was yesterday and—

—her lil house, his promise, his duty! It all comes crowding back to his mind with an icy damper just as her hands glide down to land with a strong and naively lecherous grip on his ass and he—

—he might have made it if it weren’t for that grab. It’s not a good precedent to blame one’s wife for a loss of control but he’s afraid that’s just what it is, a precedent when, heedless of her confusion, he grips her delicate shoulders in each of his hands and leverages up, one pump, two pumps, three pumps amongst the slick petals of her pussy and then, then it’s white hot satisfaction and… Elaine.

Elaine, Elaine, Elaine—oh how I love you, oh how I want you, Elaine, Elaine, Elaine, you drive me nuts.

“Oh, oh wha—oh,” through the ringing haze of busting a nut against her, Elvis can hear her bewildered enjoyment as he spurts and slicks her up real messy, grinding against her pearl with powerful, heedless strokes.

He stops his whimpering moans and sucks in a breath, still somewhere else in his bliss and utterly unmoored, but not so useless as to stop moving along to her guiding hands on his butt.

Her breathy gasps are—they’re everything he’s ever fantasized about, and to make up for blowing his load like a green boy, he keeps up the pace she wants, slippin’ and a’slidin against her, listening intently as her pitch spikes when his cock smudges her clit with his head. She begins to replace each gasp with a noisy inhale.

“Wha-what’s oh, Elvis what’s—” she finds her voice just enough to babble as her head thrashes in a confused protest a few times amongst the golden tufts.

Then her hands clench on her handful of backside before the head of his cock slips in its glide and snags against her untried door. The bitten off shriek of surprised ecstasy she lets out, and the cruel bite of her nails in his butt, the rigid spasm of her thighs beneath his, tells him she’s gotten a taste of the heaven he just indulged in early.

“That’s it, that’s it, it’s nice feelin’, ain’t it?” he preemptively shushes her worries, the ones that gather even now on her brow the minute her pleasure ebbs away enough for rational thought to raise its pesky head.

“Elvis, I—what was—” she pants and can’t find the words or courage to finish her question, she just blushes beneath him instead, and for the first time tonight he can sense her feeling insecure.

“That was actin’ married, baby,” he answers simply, cupping her face and letting his thumbs rub soothing circles in her hairline. “You alright? Did I scare ya?” he whispers, terrified in suspense as Elaine seems to give his question thought, reviewing the recent memory of her first orgasm with typical, analytical detachment.

“It felt… tingly,” she decides, having to acknowledge no harm was done and this sated feeling of her melting into a puddle beneath him is rather lovely. “I liked it,” she decides, then insists as he still looks down at her, chestnut hair falling into his eyes and his worried mouth wobbling like a scared baby’s. “I liked it a lot.”

“Ya liked it?” he perks up, his lip curling in a smile, eager as a puppy, and she remembers him asking her the same thing, in the same eager way, about the grand staircase when he first showed her Graceland.

“Yes, yes I did,” she nods emphatically, ignoring how something seems to hang in the air about them now, something more that prods her to ask, “What now?”

Because “more” feels like a third person in this room and her curiosity has been too long deferred.

“Now we have that business meetin’,” he replies gravely, as if he suspects her of plotting against the meeting and its solemn necessity.

He tries to pitch his voice down in a bid to sound authoritative, but all she can think of are his pitiful little whimpers as he wet her belly. She smirks and reaches up to push his hair out of his eyes. “Yessir, Private,” she teases, immensely pleased with herself when he lets out a throaty laugh and rolls his eyes in response.

He pulls his body away from her, forcing himself not to cringe at the goopy mess he made of her pussy, or the resiliently adhesive string of spunk that refuses to break the connection between them as he pulls away. She is watching his every expression, he knows, every movement, the bat of his eyes, all being used to form her own opinion of this and he is careful not to show any reaction that might have her embarrassed, or worse, thinking the act gross. Sex is nasty, and he fuckin’ loves it for it. And if he can help it, so will she.

He twists off her and rolls on his side, sitting up where his legs dangle off the bed and he flips her slip back down in what he hopes is a subtle but swift enough gesture to be considered gentlemanly. She sits up beside him and folds her hands expectantly in her lap, her legs swinging off the bed beside his own and if he thinks too long about the fact he’s probably dribbling down her primly closed thighs, he’ll go insane all over again.

Get this part done and then you can go nuts, he tells himself, then it’s free reign. Or, well, nearly.

“Elaine baby,” he begins, this time his voice is naturally deep and earnest as it often is when discussing something very important, she recognizes it and gives him all her attention, “Do ya know anythin’ bout what mamas and daddies do when they go to bed?”

Her head is still fuzzy from whatever trickery they just engaged in, the way his hand now descends to her thigh making the pounding between them worse than ever even as the pleasure is sharper, more satisfying than any she’s achieved. It clouds her mind and stalls her reply. She thinks that she could answer smartly that he just showed her what they do, or she could say she knows they sleep, or she could rattle off a buncha scared suggestions that might make her seem a little less lost, a little less dumb about this whole thing. But she trusts him, trusts him to be kind and patient, to want to be married anyway. So she bites down her pride and shakes her head adamantly, not a shred of flippancy left.

“Well, part of bein’ married is makin’ babies, right?” he responds, “And that happens in a marriage bed, or least—that’s where it happens first time ya try,” Elvis explains the best he can, his voice gentle and his drawl persuasive like it had been when he showed her cords on the guitar. “Now we uh, we’ve talked bout your lil house already,” he notes and she nods with sober and locked on fascination, waiting for him to drop a hint of something that will make practical sense, “and I done told ya bout my key. You felt it gettin all firm, yeah? Then sprayin’ ya belly—sorry bout that, jus’ got me so excited, went ahead of myself—well, baby, ya see…” He twists his lower lip with his fingers in one last pained procrastination before getting the rest out in a measured slur, “To make a baby the daddy’s key has gotta go inside the mama’s house a-a-and unlock her.”

He holds his breath and watches this lesson land home on her sweet face. He takes note of each stage of comprehension as it morphs her face. First there’s her squint of concentration, then the eyebrow quirk of confirmed speculation, then the lip bite of second guessing his meaning, then crystal clear compression that seems to freeze her features in one of disbelief until they reanimate in a frenzy of emotion that culminates in her heavily fringed eyes darting down to stare at his recently spent, half mast cock. His key, he corrects himself, and like a damned pet, it wags under her wide eyed study.

“Oh ha, oh.” She tries to master her gasps and they just come out in a tumble anyway, staring at that strangely animate part of him that is nothing like any one of hers. The longer she looks the larger it grows, the sheath drawing back and revealing a tender looking tip, so vibrantly red it matches the flush splotching down his chest. It looks like it’s aches, and she suddenly has sympathy for the eager thing. At her aborted movement to touch it, she sees it sputter out clear fluid, as if weeping for her attention.

A great many bits of hearsay, of anatomical layouts studied, some Bible passages about “goin into her” and a few racy lyrics flash through her mind like star witnesses confirming his account of married life. She suddenly wants to laugh at the absurdity of not putting it all together until the wagging heft of the thing swelling beneath her stare makes her suddenly hope he’s wrong. Or, or -teasing, he’s gotta be teasing.

Oh course he is! Her shoulders loosen up and she lets out a great big sigh before meeting his stormy eyes and poking the soft rolls of his belly warningly, “You had me there!” she tsks and begins to laugh the more she thinks of the idea of him shoving his… his pee pee… up her to make a child.

Elvis doesn’t laugh, he looks suddenly quite alarmed and her merriment dies on her lips, stuttering out at the sight of his earnest face.

“You. Are. Teasin,” she repeats with a pleading diction, “You don’t really -oh gosh y- you ain’t pullin’ my leg, Elvis?” she almost whimpers, her mother’s proper nomenclature gone right out of her pretty mind at the idea of that chubby snake thing inside her.

“I ain’t pullin’ your leg sweetheart.” he swears, no hint of mockery in his voice, “That cream ya felt…coming out, the sticky stuff, i-it shoots up in ya a-a-and fertilizes y-your eggs. I-it’s called making love, baby, cause it’s-it’s makin…love.”

Elaine feels her face growing hot at that visual and would like all these components to make less sense right about now. It all comes together in her logic like a missing piece of the human puzzle, but far from being the Devine enlightenment she was expecting, she finds it’s a sticky, bobbing, whining, gushing, squelching process that isn’t remotely medical or Devine. It’s comedic, and her jaw clenches in protest at the absurdity of it all. God really must enjoy a good laugh, forcing folks to spew and shake apart like idiots just to keep the human race alive.

“Why’s it growin?” She demands hotly, resigned to the logic but quite unappreciative of the fact that the more excited about making babies his key gets, the more likely its growing size will make it impossible to fit inside her.

“It’s getting firm so it can go in,” he defends his offending boner as meekly as possible, eager to get back in her good graces and refusing to listen to little Elvis’ cries of offended honor, “A-a-and so it’ll feel good inside ya.” he makes sure to tack on and notices her incredulous left eyebrow shoot up to her hairline.

“That so?” she asks, utterly sarcastic.

“Yes!” he pleads and her face softens a little at his hurt tone, at his obvious honesty, “Once inside it’ll rub ya all nice like it felt a minute ago. ‘Member that? this’ll be like that just… even better.”

“I-I-I do, I do recall,” she softens at his worried face, realizes he thinks she’s gonna back down from this and curses the fact she’d really rather. Impotent anger rises up in her for a brief flash that she didn’t have more time to prepare for this, that no one told her so she might settle her terrified little belly to the thought of him—

—it’s too awful to be pondered for long and she takes a great deep breath and holds it in the way she learned at the hospital, to calm a bout of panic, staring off across the room at the portrait of Jesus he has hung by the closet door. She thinks about how best to fly away while he does what is necessary, she thinks about babies, she thinks about how pretty and sweet he is. She thinks about her mama, and wonders if the procedure is so awful, why didn’t she and every woman in her life warn and prepare her for it? Now her aunt’s words make sense. Be good and let him do what he needs to. If this is what he needs to do, then she reckon’s she’ll just have to let him see to it.

“Elaine?” he begs her to look at him, his warm hand gently grabbing her chin and turning her face to his like an ornery mule by its bridal. “Elaine, what’s in that pretty head? Talk to me please,” he puts his face all up in her own’s business, hands cradling her face and noses brushing, she can feel the brush of his lips when he speaks again softly, “Ya don’t think God would tell folks to be fruitful then make it awful for ‘em, do ya?”

It’s as if he’s read her mind, her own rationalization on the subject and she gives a slow nod of dissent, “no,” she agrees, and realizes due to her watery voice that she must’ve started crying somewhere along the way. It rankles her, being so skittish, being so troublesome for her groom when she’s not even been married a full day.

Lord, instead of being angry, he’s nuzzling her tear tracks across her face and swearing never ending tenderness to her. Her heart does another flip as his lips trail down her neck, and she warms again, her ache returns and it reminds her of his own. She tilts her head so he can better suck at the soft skin of her neck and casts her eyes down to his lap, finding him still eager. His key looks so desperate and needy, and despite her grievance against its size, her hand darts out instinctively to swipe at the leaking mushroom head like she would anyone’s tears from beneath their eyes.

It has a rather startling effect on her young husband.

Elvis lets out a choked cry and crushes her arms where he holds them, his kiss bitten cry turns into a chomp on her shoulder as the shock of his reaction makes her squeeze his member harder, eliciting a yet greater amount of pleasurable anguish from him. The way the previously dribbling precum gushes over her knuckles is entirely the most heady thing she’s ever managed to feel in her life. That molten warmth in her belly ignites again, and she kisses his own neck in delight at the responses he gives her, even as she drags the flat of her palm up and down his key, taking notes on the way he bucks against it.

“Elaine—” he garbles into her throat and she kneads his neck comfortingly even as she continues to watch the way this new friend throbs and gushes under her tiniest attentions. Like a personable pet or a responsive baby, it’s a joy to have something react to her with such inordinate eagerness.

“Alright, I believe ya,” she whispers soothingly as she thumbs at his leaking slit and strokes down his foreskin, noticing a definite ridge and then a puffy head differentiating the head from the rest of the shaft, “Just the tip has to go in, right?” she surveys the bulbous little head and calms herself. It’s not that big, just awfully wide. She can manage it, for the babies.

“N-no baby.” he stutters into her throat, miserable and worried sick about repeatedly having to be contrary, “S’all gotta go in.”

“But, but you can just spray up once it’s in!” she cries out, laughingly incredulous and a single sentence away from reverting back to suspecting him of playing a trick, “Why’s the whole thing gotta go in when it shoots the stuff a foot or more?”

That’s- that’s a worrisomely valid point, he thinks, but he can only deal with the logic of her hand fondling his cock right now and so he insists, “No baby, it’s gotta go deep, way up in your belly so it don’t get lost with all the cake ya ate.”

“That ain’t gonna get very deep.” she’s rather unimpressed with his length and it brings him right back down to earth with an Elaine shaped thump, “It’s the girth that’s unnecessarily…plentiful.”

“Ya sayin’ God didn’t know what he was doin when he made me?“ Elvis feigns outrage and pulls away to grin at her, to confirm she’s grinning, too.

She rolls her eyes, then that famillair, sweet smile overtakes her face as she flits her eyes all across the lean yet soft, pale yet golden, masculine yet boyish whole of him, -she finds him very good. “I reckon he knew what he was doin’,” she murmurs wryly, her stare dragging up his form, “I just object to the practicality of so few brains and so much—”

“Elaine!” he growls, gripping the back of her neck, “Kiss me, woman.”

She kisses him with the same gusto he’s previously seen her reserve only for football matches on the lawn. She catapults forward and it knocks the wind outta him, lands her solidly in his lap, a smooching, hair tugging goddess of a mad woman, and he scrambles to keep up, to assist the gearshift that just occurred. Zero to sixty it seems. Elaine can’t seem to hold still when she kisses, always leveraging up and wiggling around and it makes for two of them writhing, to the immense satisfaction of his cock that gets wedged between his belly and hers during this heavy make out.

Eventually she seems to notice -Elvis wonders what gave lil Elvis’ position away: the incessant twitching or the gallons of precum dribbling down the front of her gown.

She pulls away from the kiss and looks down, suddenly reaching and straightening his cock against her belly and through the haze of ball tingling appreciation for her touch he realizes she’s measuring the depth against her belly. That thought makes him spurt so violently he’s not sure if he’s cummin’ a lil or just, just gushin’ like he’s never seen himself gush before. Thank God this sweet little girl seems to like the fact he’s a messy, sensitive, uncut hick of a boy.

“We’ve just gotta try our best, hmm?” he stifles his anticipatory giggle at the size comparison to her abdomen and thumbs at her throat coaxingly, “I’ll try’n get it real deep, and you’ll be good and lemme, right?“

She will, for the babies, he already knows that. Knew it the minute she agreed to marry him. It’s why he wants her.

“Right.” she agrees and tries to not make it sound like she’s being condemned to torture, “I’ll be good for ya.” Be good and let him do what he needs to.

“And I’ll make it nice,” he swears adamantly and she nearly believes him, “It won’t hurt much, not at all after the first time, I’ll make sure you enjoy it, baby. Have ya begging for it in a few hours, you’ll see. It’s gonna be nice, remember?”

“Yeah.” Her tone is unsure but she waggles her eyebrows conspiratorially.

Then, before another promise can be made, she bends away from his lap and flops on her back, legs spread, baby blue silk riding up to show her wet curls, hands serenely crossed across her chest, face expectant. “Well, c’mon, gimme those babies.” she eggs him on, somehow keeping the wobble out of her thin voice.

“Elaine, honey, you’re shakin’,” he worries, noticing the visible battle in her body between desire and fear.

“I am a little chilly.” she replies very decorously, and with a liar liar pants on fire smile of assurance.

“Bullshit, you’re terrified,” he murmurs, petting her spread legs that are still partly in his lap, sliding his warm palms up her inner thighs and noting with satisfaction the way it makes her nipples pebble helplessly beneath the silk. She even rocks her hips towards his soothing attentions and that’s perfect, that’s how he’s gonna handle this, just soothe her into it, her entirely absent prudery a great aid. Although this next little detail he’s gonna teach her may push her to the limit.

“Now, ‘fore I go in, there’s a great deal of prep’s gotta happen or else I’d not be a husband, just a mean bastard, you understand?” And he watches closely as Elaine’s chest heaves in relief that she’s got a little more time before the main event. Come to think of it, he should buy her more time, maybe a bath to get her all loosened up and pliant. “How bout we take a bath first, ya wanna take a bath, baby?” he suggests and knows that it was entirely too random a segue the minute it leaves his mouth.

“Not–not right now.” she whispers honestly, her hands still crossed across her breasts and she makes a motion that hikes the neckline a little higher, telling him all he needs to know about her shyness. He’ll let her leave the slip on for now, the fact her cunt is considered husbandly property but her breasts are sacred maidenly assets makes him feral with want. “I’d like to just get this over w- to, experience it,” she does a decent job at damage control of her initial sentiment but he figures it’s understandable to want it over and done with, like a procedure, like a tooth being pulled. “Honestly Elvis, I’m too nervous to enjoy anything till we do it,” she admits, no pretty turn of phrase, just that precious honesty he appreciates so much about her.

Boy does he have a surprise for her, then. He grins and he nods understandingly, “I getcha, baby, we don’t gotta do nothin you don’t want,” he swears, “Just gotta prep ya then we’ll get on with it. Hey, stop shruggin’, ya just might like it.” He pinches her thigh and it makes her giggle, she gives him another unconvinced shrug that he takes as a gauntlet thrown to turn her into a whimpering cock slut.

“I-I’m gonna pull this up a lil,” he narrates gently, figuring it might put her at ease as he matches his words with the action of rolling her hemline up to her ribs. Her soft belly caves in with the breath she’s holding and he lays his searing palm on it, coaxing her to settle for him.

She can feel his calluses and the grounding weight of his broad hand on her womb, and the rightness of it turns her body pliant. That dreamy submission he first coaxed from her to make her sleep after her mother’s funeral -she can feel it coming over her again and settles glady. He’s never steered her wrong yet, and he’s let her keep her breasts modest, a sweet concession she is eager to thank him for with obedient compliance. She focuses on his large hand and the way it’s now petting, no, more like digging gently, with his fingertips into her lower belly, little digs and pulls upwards over and over again. She can feel each tug downstairs in her little house, like his fingertips are tugging at her little button’s string from the outside in. Her head truly sinks back into the gold tufted comforter and she absently palms a heaving breast. This part of being married is lovely.

The awed look overtaking Elvis’ cherubic features as he stares down at the freshly undressed slit between her legs is reward enough for her. Life is suddenly dreamy and hazy, like she’s viewing his rich coloring and decadent face through a stocking over a lens, like the girls do to minimize their pores in photographs. He looks like that naturally, too rich and pretty and lovely to be true, now muddled and smeared from the feelings his hands excite, he looks otherworldly and she lets slip a moan of appreciation.

“You’re so pretty.” she babbles again, unsure if any of it actually made it out of her head. It seems very pressing to tell him, maybe in lieux of the “I love you” he’s dying to hear but made her swear she wouldn’t say till she meant it.

For Elvis, the entire picture of Elaine, melted ivory skin with a halo of chocolate curls and a wisp of sea foam silk covering what he’s dying to see -she is like an erotic painting brought to life just for him to lick and squeeze and split open on a sea of gold. He shudders and keeps his finger tips massaging her giving belly, this ole trick of Johnny’s obviously not half bad, judging by the way she goes boneless and her long legs begin to spread of their own accord, knees bending out and her pink petals beginning to make an obvious flutter beneath the curls.

“You recall what Dodger said.” he asks her very softly, mumbling it into the soft skin of her inner knee as he gets her used to the feeling of his lips creeping closer to the place he’s about to devour, “remember her sayin I was to lick you?” he prods, knowing that bringing up his grandmother is not ideal seconds before slurping at his wife’s beaver, but he guesses rightly that he might benefit from some moral backup for what he’s about to propose.

“Y-yes, yes before a pecker o-“ Elaine’s already a little incoherent as he permits his hand to stray from her belly and scratch amongst their curls, digging and tugging at her outer lips from afar, making them glide against each other in a soft stimulation, like a foreskin getting rubbed over the glans.

“Pecker’s jus’another word for key.” he whispers into the butter soft skin of her twitching thigh and her hips jerk from the tickle of his voice.

“Oh is it?” she manages to laugh, even as it’s a far away little sound, “dear Dodger.” is all she adds.

“So like she said,” he carefully moves himself to a crouch, taking care not to jostle her out of her docile trance, crouching like those mountain cats between her legs, he carefully replaces his hand with his cheek as he rubs his face against her belly -entirely cat like, “like she said I gotta lick ya. See, cause….’‘fore ya use a-a key in a new lock ya gotta grease, it, right?”

Elaine Presley is so bewildered and terribly hungry for something, anything, Elvis could suggest just about any sort of fuckery right now and she’d agree. As is, she thinks she’s read in the Bible about a man kissing his woman down there, a vague reference to pomegranates that King Solomon might’ve thought real slick, but wasn’t subtle. There was certainly more of an illusion made to it in the good book than anything about chubby snakes going up inside a girl. She has no qualms against it, also very few brains at her disposal right now it seems, and she finds it’s nice having one’s mind wiped blank after such a hectic two weeks of planning and organizing.

“S-so I’m gonna lick ya down there, a k-kiss sorta a-“ Elvis is explaining, unnecessarily thorough in a pained, urgent, desperate whisper that he uses when he wants a thing bad but he wants you to think you want it badder and she-

-Later on in life, later on the next day even, Elaine could never quite tell or explain where the urge or the bravery or the biblical amounts of entitlement to his services she suddenly felt in that moment. All either of them had was the memory of her fresh as a daisy self, steering her groom by his hair till he was face planted between her legs, doing his duty. Licking her open, pink tongue wriggling and lapping.

Terrified shitless that somehow, somehow he’d mess up the one thing he was certain he was remarkably good at, Elvis’s skilled tongue had bolted into her wet heat like a colt through the starting gate with a lot to prove. And he maintained that ferocious pace and fervor for a undocumented and unrecalled amount of time. He was not sure how he managed to breathe down there for the hour or more he spent sucking and licking and jabbing his tongue into Elaine’s long dreamed of cunt, living off fumes from the sweetest pussy he’d ever tasted, hair tugs of gratitude his only payment and the sounds of shock and awe spilling out of his new wife at every bout of pleasure he tore from her.

The sounds she was making -they were the same as when the two of them went down to the flower festival in New Orleans, while he was on set, where she’d gasped and cried and exclaimed joyously over five street blocks worth of Lilies and Dahlias and the stringy flower bushes Elvis’ didn’t retain the name of.

“So, so nice, oh, oh right there”. This frantically happy compliance, this unabashed enjoyment by a virgin girl smashing his face into her snatch -it was more than Elvis’ wildest, most self indulgent fantasies could have hoped for.

He had noticed in Elaine a peculiar sort of common sense that most people didn’t have in common. If a thing was not harmful or explicitly forbidden, she had no objection to it, in fact, she considered it free game. And bucking her hips up to meet his tongue and utilize his nose against her button -was obviously one of those non prohibited joys of life. And he set about to make it so addictive that she would be collaring him for a lick every day of her life for the rest of their days. His hands slowly gravitated up her belly, squeezing and appreciating the firm give of her sides and up to her breasts that she still guarded with panting lassitude. He didn’t know if he had snuck his hands under hers to knead the firm mounds or if she’d allowed him under of her own accord, and placed her hands atop his in blessing. But either way, he stayed bent like that, hands groping at her tits and jaw near unhinged to swallow her down, his own hips rutting into the mattress, the seams of the bedspread chafing his cock pleasurably.

“Can I have another?” she would ask eagerly after having shook apart and dribbled over his tongue for the tenth time.

Who was he to deny her?

He worked his fingers in gently, but after the amount of spit and slick they had produced together, it was a mere pinch for her when he snuck in first one long finger, then another. Careful to keep her revving, he dallied for a while with just the two, scissoring them and spitting inside the tight little hole until her objectioning mewls turned to breathy sighs again. Working in the confines of her wet heat near drove him mad, feeling how tight she was around just a few digits had his cock aching and groans of his own came pouring out of his mouth, buzzing her clit and causing her to writhe.

He took to curling his fingers inside her, her walls giving under more readily after his patient coaxing and he rubbed the calloused pads of his fingers up and curled untill he found a soft, giving little spot unlike its surroundings, spongey in a way he’d only ever heard about. Her reaction to his touch there was also something that had before only been mere hearsay from the boys on the road. Her hips leveraged off the bed like she was possessed, and through the smash of her thighs about his ears he heard her scream, and perverse determination was entirely to blame for the way he forced his fingers to keep curling as her little house clamped down around them and suddenly his head was being crushed like a melon between her legs and a jet of sweet, Elaine flavored goodness was spewing at his grinning face.

“Sweet Jesus would ya look at tha-“ Elvis heaved in a dozen breaths the minute her legs fell apart again, propping up on his forearms and watching his stunned wife tremble violently, her belly and thighs shaking like they were motorized, her pussy still gushing feebly and her hands patting herself down as if to make sure she was still all there. He’d only ever heard of squirting, and here he was now, half blinded by her spray.

The sight of the teary eyed, mortified yet pleasure dumb confusion clouding her exquisitely clever face had given him no other option. He had to have her, had possess her, had to take, had to fuckin’ take his due. Now.

She was in no position to deny him, shaking in pleasurable shock and splayed out boneless and unsuspecting. Through a tunnel of starry spots she saw his glistening wet face come in to view, hovering over her own, and felt the warm weight of his body settling over hers, famillair and steadying. She tried to raise her floppy hand to pet his rosy cheek, to somehow convey how lovely he made her feel, but her hand wouldn’t respond beyond flopping around a few inches from the mattress like a beached fish. She began to giggle and could not stop, thinking she should stop so he could kiss her: ya can’t kiss a giggling woman as her lips aren’t available when she’s giggling and he’s gonna kiss her —

—he didn’t kiss her, instead he had gripped her cheek and it steadied her enough for the giggles to die out almost as effectively as the sobering feel of a blunt, slippery, heated thing pushing at her entrance.

“No, no, no” Elaine’s mind whimpered in betrayed protest, “no, no it had been so lovely, it had been so lovely, it had been nice acting married.”

Tears that had gathered and spilled from the nerve wracking ecstasy he had forced out of her, now spilled afresh down her splotchy cheeks. Her dark eyes glittered like dazzling pools of hurt, her head tilted to the side in disagreement with his plan.

Of course, of course, she thought, there’s always something more to be asked of a woman, a banquet can be enjoyed but there are always dishes afterwards, you get your pretty breasts but you have to bleed every month for them, you can have your house licked to madness but it’s only so that a hungry boy can more easily split you apart.

No, no, why? it had been so lovely…

Elvis had of course thought about fucking Elaine Phipps until she cried, he sometimes dreamed about her thrashing from too much pleasure her eyes streaming tears and her mouth twisted as she tried to let him finish, as he made her enjoy it more than she thought she had the capacity to. He’d thought of it, but it wasn’t the same as trying to push into a hole belonging to a girl mindlessly whimpering “No, no” beneath you.

Having an innocence kink, Elvis was discovering, was a lot sexier in theory, before stupid feelings emerged and pesky consciences nagged and the shuddering terror of your wife beneath you was abundantly tangible. That was a fantasy best kept between himself and his fist, and rock hard as he was, and nearly unhinged from waiting, he just couldn’t manage to do it this way. That old insecurity, that burning awareness that he had always wanted her more than she had wanted him came crowding into his mind, making his own eyes burn in rejection and fear.

“Shhh, shhh baby, it’s alright’ sweetheart, hey, hey it’s me, me c’mon, look at me.” he had begged her, hands engulfing both sides of her face, “I’m sorry, Elaine, I’m sorry.” it spills out in cry of his own because he doesn’t know how else to admit his long harbored expectations of her, the carnal weight of what he has wanted all this time, and all the wasted years he’d never told her he worshiped the soundboard her yittle fingers so cleverly levered , “I’ve loved you ever since I came back and found ya grown. I’m sorry, I’ve -I-I’ve wanted to have ya for years. You’re the most perfect thing alive. I-I-I just gotta have ya, I just gotta. I-I’ll d-d-die if ya don’t want me, too, honest I’ll die.”

When she looked at him then, looked and truly saw the soul of him stamped on his face -suddenly she saw everything she once doubted existed. He loved her. Elvis loved her and she was at peace.

It was Elvis. Dear ole Elvis, the boy at the studio who liked her sandwiches, the boy who she could most likely find sitting on the couch with his mother talking about his day, the boy who brushed her hair out for her the day they buried mama. It was Elvis, who was gonna give her babies, who’s gonna make sure she never wants for a thing, who is never going to let her be lonely or purposeless again. Elvis who was the most beautiful, exquisitely potent man she’d ever known, laying on top of her, shaking in desire to be inside her. He wanted to be inside her, so badly in fact, that all his power and his verve and his pride were shaking and shuddering above her.

“Oh my darling, you made me feel lovely.” she whispered to him, wanting that said before he split her open and took away her innocence. “Your love makes me happy, so happy. How could I not want that?“

“You want it?” he begged against her lips, he begged to hear it again while grabbing his tip and smudging against her clit, making her jerk and bow up in his arms. A reminder of what he can do to her, what he can give her, why she should be obedient.

“Yes, yes I want it.“ she repented of thinking anything unkind about her husband’s cock that’s gonna water her garden and grow her a family, that’s going to pry her open so children can pass through.

“Alright, ok.” he gathered his wits one last time, terrified to think of how he’s gonna lose all grip on himself once inside her after expending so patience beforehand, “Here's what we’re gon- we’re gonna let you control it.''

His brain pumped out fragmented explanations but he managed to sit up and bring her with him, landing her in his threatening lap, his arms cradling her little self, and he scooted higher in the bed until he was sitting upright, the padded black headboard at his back.

“There, here… we’ll, we’ll get it in like this.” he took to referring to his own body like it was a stranger, heaving in ragged breaths like a snorting racehorse. “At’cher own pace, baby. Ya-ya can…ya can sit on it.” He was no longer bothering to make sense, and thank God she seemed to realize that.

Being naive did not mean she was a fool. The novel concept now explained it was abundantly obvious in mechanics. Elaine grasped the slippery length of him firmly again, relishing the aliveness of it, holding it as she had when measuring him against her tummy.

She bit her lip with savage determination. Babies, he’s gonna give her babies.

Her husband’s face was all lash fanned anticipation, his pouty mouth grimacing in barely contained fervor and his eyes crinkled in a wince of pleasure from her grip. She saw a single tear escape his thicket of lashes and run down his prominent cheekbone, headed towards his hairline. She swiped at it tenderly with a thumb and had her hand grasped by him in response, tremblingly guided to his shoulder.

Leverage, she realized, he was giving her leverage and she raised up with her thighs like she would in the saddle, felt his hand meet her own down there to line him up, the size of his head against her giving her a thrill of horrored excitement.

Gently hovering and squatting, she gentled the puffy, leaking head of him in. The burning little sting of it only served to confirm that Elaine was about to be split apart when the rest followed. Now nestled far enough to need no guide, he grabbed at her other hand and put it in place on his shoulder, their noses touching, their legs bent atop the each other’s, arms encircled -suddenly this embrace made it feel completely essential to Elaine that they be connected in that remaining way. As if he could feel her submit around his first inch, his eyes flew open and a hungry azure gaze burned her up as her hair curtained around their faces and—

“You were made for this.” he reminded her as she whimpered at another little bit of length inserted, “You w-w-were fashioned u-up i-in heaven f-for this m-moment.” and the young man who couldn’t be made to stop wiggling in a Church pew tried to hold still as his drippingly tight wife cringingly lowered herself more, “In the doll factory u-up above, h-he m-m-made this lil house to t-the direct d-demensions t-t-to squeeze me d-dry —oh fuck, baby c’mon! That’s it, m-more come on, take me. Take more of me!” he groaned, his head bowed and watching where he began to disappear inside of Elaine, the culmination of all his madness.

“God Elvis it’s-its already awful.” she admits, staring at the stupid black headboard and registering every pulsing inch and vein and ridge of his rock hard, half jammed penis inside her tiny canal. “I dunno if i can-“

“Aww no ya don’t! No -don’t ya dare.” his snarled and gripped her hips as she began to raise up and dismount -it was only going to make it worse to try again and he was gonna make her finish this for her own sake, “Good wives don’t get off their husband’s cock till he says so. We’re ruinin’ ya for anyone else, babydoll, course it's gonna hurt something awful first time. Gotta see it though, don’t ya lose our progress.”

He saw a vicious emotion flash across her face -and he recognized it. It was the one from the mirror before a show, that wretched look of ambition that keeps him from fleeing from a crowd when all he wants to do is hide and puke his nerves away. He barely had time to brace his back before she was impaling herself on him again with teeth gritted ferocity, seething in his ear something about how she’d rather get kicked by Trojan -her gorgeous quarter horse. It made Elvis think of horses and her thighs working in the saddle and horses and stallions and stallions mounting mares and fuckin ‘em full and he-

“You’re gonna, you’re gonna take me.” he declared inexorably as she whimpered, “You’re gonna do what God made ya for, you’re gonna take my cock.”

“I can’t.” she wasn’t even whining, she could just feel him hitting a barrier and she couldn’t take more. “Please E, be nice, I-I ca- it’s not gonna fit, E!”

“It will, you’re my wife, ya will. You’ll take it all.” he kissed her check while reminding her steadily.

Then he snapped his hips up to meet hers in a powerful pump that tore her right through. She landed flush in his lap, a gush of virgin blood pooling between them, full to the brim with his thick cock nestled inside. Not even a cry let past her lips, just open mouthed shock, as if he’d punched the scream right out of her diaphragm.

Holy shit, his mind supplied, she was the tightest, most spectacularly tight -tightly wet pretty- tight woman. His whole body shook in delight at the wet, moldable grip of her walls, and he held her closer, blessing her for being so perfect, mumbling in between her still clothed breasts that he was gonna ruin her cunt for any other fella.

Elaine recalls just trying to breathe, even while clutching at his shoulders and listening to the filth pour out of his panting mouth, filth that confirmed his confession that he’d had designs on her body long ago. It made her shiver, which rubbed him inside of her and she doubled over into his chest, whimpering at the fullness and the burning sting of her stretched entrance. A thought flashed across her mind that he was mean to make her take all of him, the tip would have done just as well, and now she feels like she’s impaled on a pipe and his hips won’t stop squirming to force it that much deeper. He sounded like he was enjoying himself, maybe even having a vision of heaven buried inside her, and in that alone she took joy and made herself disentangle from him enough to glance down at the marvelous union they’d made.

It made her gasp in awe. She had swallowed him whole with her own body, taken him down to the root, his sack warm and full beneath her petals, absorbed him till there was no longer a he and she in the bed, but merely them. The Presley’s.

“Lord almighty, you’re tighter than hell.” Elvis moaned in appreciation of the absolute restructuring of her privates that he’d just done, gripping her back with his sweaty hands and letting his eyes roll into his skull in ecstasy.

“Tight yes -great balls of fire E, it hurts like hell.” she reiterated, a little petulant over his enjoyment of her wounded kitty, but he could tell even now she was recovering from the initial tearing open. “It’s not, it’s not supposed to -I can’t believe it fit.”

Curious despite herself, Elaine snuck a hand between them and gingerly felt the stretched ring of her hole and the thick base of him where they were flush, dark curls meeting together. He put his hand on top of her own and encouraged her exploration, making her pet herself and making her squeeze him despite the pained whimper she let out each time her pleasure made her please him.

“Jus’ ruinin ya for anyone else.” he repeated and she shivered in his arms, flicking her eyes up to meet his and sensing a beastial sort of claiming in them she had never seen before, “My wife,” he gloried in the title as his hips began to gently rock her in his lap, making her mewl, “my pretty wife, my good wife, look at you takin’ every damn bit of my cock, look at ya makin yourself useful, pleasin your man, ya like pleasin me dontcha? I know ya do, I’ve felt ya shiver when I praised ya before, I feel ya watchin me to make sure I like a thing you do. I know you, ya might not love me but ya love to please me, I know what you want. You wanna please me, always have since I first saw ya. Ya know what pleases me baby?” he tilted her face to his by her chin, her cheeks wet with tears and her mouth panting as he ground inside her deep and hard as granite, ignoring her whimpers -only her eyes showed the wild revelry she was feeling at being spoken to like this, “Know what makes me happiest?”

“No sir.” she gasped, respectful and suddenly aware of how helpless she was in his lap as his huge hands engulfed her plush hips and made her to swivel and grind on him, the motion tugging her lil house apart even more.

“Pleasin’ God by pleasin myself by filling you up. That’s what. That’s what makes me happy” he stated, the look of girlish shock she showed at his language shooting straight to his cock and making him jab up into her body until she clung to his shoulders and wailed, painfully aroused by the concept and terribly hurt by the process.

“Please, please.” she sobbed into his neck as he gripped her ass and leveraged her up and down on his thick shaft, his groans mounting joyously and her body trembling at being used so presumptuously. It’s too much, he’s too much of a man and her womb aches from his thrusts.

“Please use me?” he grinned into her neck wildly, “That wha’ you’re tryin to say, lil one? can’t get it out with a cock in ya, can ya? So yittle I bet I’m clean up through to your throat, ain’t I? My poor lil wifey.”

It was his glutted acknowledgement of the fact he knew she felt like he was spearing her beyond her capacity, yet he wouldn’t stop, loved her too much to stop driving himself into her, making himself fit in her. He wanted to be a part of her so bad he’d grab her wrists and bruise her hip with his grip and snap his pelvis against her own ruthlessly -just so he could be close to her. Just so she would be his.

It had her moan again, this time from something besides pain.

“Elvis.” she moaned out, trying to tell him, to somehow alert him to the fact she was willing and good and could feel her body had begun to give into its natural purpose, she was slumping into his chest, and her pussy still burned and ached but had surrendered to the veiny little conquerer plundering her depths. “Elvis I-I- yes, yes, use me.” she managed and was given a proud and searing kiss in return for her submission. “You’re so pretty.” she said it like it was some dazed explanation for her obedience.

With Elaine’s pussy giving and wet from blood and slick, he knew he could begin in earnest now. So, gently, he tipped her backwards out of his lap again, laying her on the golden sheets and falling deeper inside her as he got back on top, never pulling out through the whole maneuver. Her eyes rolled back as she felt him lay atop her, buried to the hilt, her legs pushed apart to bracket his waist and allow him deeper. She threw her arms around his neck and breathed in like she was about to be dropped on a rollercoaster, some imminent adventure obviously looming as he buried himself deep and got a thorough grip on her shoulders before kissing her ardently.

It was when she was kissing him back and thinking how wonderfully sweet he was that she first felt those famous hips pull back, then drive himself inside of her with shocking precision. It made her cry out, and before she could suck in breath to replace her cry he was pulling out and pumping in again, little gusts of shock mined out of her at each powerful and measured pump and her back began to rub against the bedspread, her whole body seemed to shake from the force of absorbing his vigor.

“Thank me.” he required, aiming to find that spot that had made her spray his face, determined to wipe that pained grimace off her face and replace it with pleasure.

“Thank -thank you?” her tone was dazed and he wasn’t sure if her confusion stemmed from what she was supposed to be grateful for, or if she disagreed. She gripped the comforter, hands above her head and out to the side, absorbing the ripple he drove into her flesh.

“I've made ya a woman.” he reminded, proud and smug as only a 23 year old boy can be when tumbling his pretty young bride in the sheets beneath him, “So thank me.”

She pensively watched him as he swayed above her, blocking out the gaudy chandelier, his hair flopping into his eyes and moving with the cadence of his body, his body was unforgiving and driving into hers with a steady, slow beat, but his face was still desperately insecure, searching for approval and a hint that he was doing well. She loosened one hand from the counterpane and brought it to his cheek. He melted, a huffed out whimper of his own, in sharp contrast to the rigid power of his desire.

“Sweet man.” she whispered, “So good to me, always so good to me.” she assured, and he gave her a wet kiss full of wanting, letting her pet down his neck, over his back, stroking the swell of his flank, remembering the reaction it had elicited in him and figuring she’d thank him once he managed something worthy of it. Which he was very close to doing, she sensed, if he could relax himself. “Elvis,” she nuzzled his nose with hers, propping herself up on her forearms, to look down the length of her belly at the place where he speared her, “gimme those babies, and I’ll thank ya.”

Her daring grin had the intended effect, his nostrils flared as he heaved in a breath and his pupils blew wide, he pried her other hand from the bedding and interlaced it in his much larger one, pressing the knuckles to the mattress,

“I love you.” he swore before gripping her hip and tilting her pelvis off the bed, to the angle of his satisfaction before he drove his hips in with the purpose of finding that place that made her wild, the one his fingers had discovered and got her to spray for him.

He knew he’d brushed it when her face went from sweet compliance with the discomfort and placid curiosity for the proceedings to eyelash fluttering shock.

“E!” she gusted out urgently and a little unsure, unsure that this horrid taking of him could really be morphing into the spine tingling thrill she was now feeling each time he drove in, the tug and ache of his size still apparent but almost serving to heighten the aliveness of her feelings down there. “Right -right there it’s, it’s oh, it’s-“ she hadn’t a word for it, as the feeling was growing in strength and any moment there might be some shift that turned it back to pain, his speed was picking up and it scared her as much as it excited her. Like when he started speeding on the winding roads of North Carolina just to hear her shriek, conflicted between excitement and fear.

“Yeah?” he huffed, shining with sweat and heat above her, his hair darkened and his eyes darkened and his lips darkened and he- he looked so flushed and dark and decadent and she moaned at the sight of so beautiful a creature possessing her, pleasuring himself with her body, like any animal or male would do with a mate. He could have just hunted her down on a forest floor, chosen her for her scent alone, pinned her fist to the ground and her hips up to his pelvis and -it was that primal. She loved it. Like all the energy and raw potency of life he had in him when performing was now being driven into her aching belly. “Yeah? Yeah that’s where ya like it? Tell me how ya like it, jus’ tell me and I’ll do anything. Anyhtin’ for ya, Elaine. I done told ya, told ya I’d make it nice.”

Nice was a pathetic word for what he was making her feel and she found herself wishing she had an extra hand to stifle the sounds that began to wail out of her throat at his unforgiving depth. His own moans and breaths were shuttering across her face and the intimacy of what they were doing filled her with a serene joy she’d only felt on crisp, tea drinking early dawns in autumn. It made her squeeze him closer and she could just feel the comfort he took in it, his whole body melding to hers. Elvis’ slow and long pumps had her adjusting well and the unerring accuracy he maintained when noticing something she liked soon had her clenching from pleasure rather than pain.

“You’re in me.” she stated the obvious with a little shock in her voice, turned silly beneath him as he shuddered and pumped in her, “Oh god you’re in me, and, and it’s, it’s -you’re so good at this…”

There was a kind God above after all, and she let out a giggle at the joy of it, at the joy of taking Elvis Presley to the hilt like she’d been born to do. The pride on his face came through the feral pleasure painting it, his hands beginning to map her own body, feeling the jiggle and give of her as he fucked her up the length of the bed, shock coming across his own features as he registered something new that first made a flash of panic burn through him.

He was in her, entirely bareback. And, well, he knew that of course but suddenly, the mind bending intensity of sensations around his cock made sense. It was the first time he’d been inside a woman without a barrier, no condom to distract from her silky grip, his precum gushing and spluttering, slicking up the way for his cock to drive in, turning their love making into a lewd cacophony of sounds that made the man in him exult. It’s my wife, he reminds himself both jubilantly but also to keep the reflexive panic of going in raw at bay, it’s my wife and I need to give her babies. To keep her I gotta fill her up.

“Look at that perfect face.” he groaned aloud to himself, and he meant Elaine’s “taking-cock” face, which he had imagined a million times, but her open mouthed, eye fluttering, hands in hair image below him was the most erotic thing he’d ever seen in all his life, “Look at that perfect fuckin lil face.” he repeated as he forced himself in her all the way, bumping at her crevice and making her let out some form of sob.

“Y-you’re in deep enough?” she gasped out an inquiry, suddenly able to recall what this was all for, accepting of her purpose and close to feral in desire to accomplish it well.

“Ya can take more?” He asked, truly about to lose all grip on himself and wanting her blessing for it, “Gonna lemme get deep, baby? Make me a daddy, hmm? Gonna make me a daddy?”

He sped up with each sentence, her frantic nods and her “yes, yes Elvis, give me more, all of you!” spurring him on till he was driving into her and making those gorgeous breasts of her’s bounce wildly beneath her much abused silk nighty. “Get it deep, please, please get it deep.”

In theory he knew she wanted his swimmer's up past the cake she ate, his own perverted lesson suddenly coming back to bite him with a vengeance as her pleas sent him careening towards his own orgasm faster than he had any intention of blowing. But he was a man, and all his cock heard was “deeper.” And so he drove in deeper and harder.

“S’good.” she continued and her perfect diction was now slurred, her tongue heavy in her mouth and nothing but Elvis Elvis Elvis in her view and in her mind and in her body. “Gonna be good, it’s so good I-come on E, gimme those babies, please please, yes, you’re so good to me.” she was looking up at him in awe, her body spasming and shaking so hard he wasn’t sure if she was coming constantly or having one terribly intense build up. The sweet darling certainly had no clue, and that thought made him grip Elaine harder and he felt his mind grow hazy at her praise, “Elvis you’re, you’re so pretty like this!” she cried out, her neck strained as she clasped her hands around his face and stared deep into his eyes as he plowed her, those carmel colored eyes holding an intensity he’d never seen in a woman.

It shook him to the core and plunged him somewhere deep and subservient, the world felt like it was tilting and he was fading to a place where he was a pretty boy and a useful stud and he-

“Fuck! Elaine you-“ he wanted to tell her she couldn’t, she couldn’t say such things to him, it would turn him mindless, he knew the symptoms. He’d no longer be the strong husband she needed but her goddamn slave, a whimpering pathetic mess. He was going to come.

He pulled out abruptly, and as if his cock stuffing her pussy was filling the whole of her with strength, like a doll with batting. she deflated against the bed in confusion at the sudden halt and withdrawal.

“Baby?” she questioned him in a forlorn whimper, her entire consciousness begging for more as he patted her thighs soothingly and fought to grapple his sanity back in place. He couldn’t slip and turn ‘little’ tonight, he simply wasn’t able to do that to Elaine. He stared down at her freshly gaping little hole and swore he didn’t mean to be an ass, but he was just a man, and she was his wife to do with what he wanted. She wanted his babies, and she didn’t know better than to let him do whatever it took to give her that. And right now, he couldn’t handle the adoring looks and innocent dirty talk pouring out of the mouth of a virtuous girl he had long harbored such obscene intentions for. It turned him very desperate and perhaps a little mean.

“Forgive me, mama.” he muttered when leaning over Elaine and kissing her hard before he gripped his bride’s delicate waist and flipped her onto her knees. “It’s better for breeding this way.” he gritted out at her confused gasps, palming her ass where her slip had ridden up to expose her. He lined himself up with her pussy and watched with savage enjoyment as his girth slowly stretched her pretty pink rim beyond all seeming capacity and her following whimpers were music to his ears, her trill of confused enjoyment as he slid to the full, the cutest thing imaginable.

Immediately she missed the sweet intimacy of his embrace, the pleasurable sight of his face above her, also. And this angle, this method, it was deeper and tugged again at the petals of her house that had just gotten used to his usage. She thought to object, to tell him she didn’t like it this way -he had told her to tell him what she liked. She assumed, hoped, that stood for what she didn’t like, as well.

Elvis is a good boy, she heard her father say in her head, Elvis is a good boy -even as this good boy lined his inordinate organ up with her sore little place and thrust inside again. She was going to have to tell him she didn’t like it this way.

That is, until she lifted her head from the sheets he had tossed her in, belly first and face down, and noticed the mirror hanging opposite them. In it she saw a perfect view of her own face, a face she knew but hardly recognized, so…matured…was it in the gilt reflection. Her face was flushed and richly colored and her mouth gaping like one of those steamy movie posters where the woman has succumbed to the man’s embrace-and god knows whatever else it was the man was doing to her below the waist where the posters always seemed to cut off. The man was snapping his hips to push himself inside the woman, that’s what they were all doing. Now she knew, and she watched enthralled as Elvis mounted her from behind like a damn stallion, his broad hand gripping her shoulder and yanking her back against him as he snapped forward, the other fiddling under her hemline until he found her little button and began to play.

Nevermind, she thought, focusing on trying to breathe as he began to set a demanding pace again, pain and pleasure in this act equal parts for her as she propped up on her forearms and watched him watch what he was doing to her virgin hole, -nevermind he can keep at it, she decided.

His calloused fingers were petting and swirling and tugging so perfectly in her little nub in time with his strokes she began to happily anticipate the next thrust, rocking back on her own accord, feeling the bliss build again but this time stronger than what he had given her before with his mouth. In the mirror she could see how the strap of her slip had fallen off her shoulder and now lay partway down her arm, her gaping neckline now exposing a whole breast showing how it jiggled obscenely with each of his movements. It made her cheeks burn.

Elaine tried to right the strap but holding herself up with one arm made her nearly wobble face first into the sheets again and it made him lose his rhythm and suddenly it was entirely too good like that, face in the bed and hips propped up, and she needed that hand to stifle her shrieks of pleasure as he pounded into her without a hitch at the new position.

“Ya like it like that, hmm?“ he gritted out as she folded and screamed beneath him, speeding his fingers up on her clit as her thighs began to clamp shut. “God look at these hips, anythin’ but cradlin’ babies would be a goddamn waste of ‘em.” he squeezed at their plush width while yanking her back on him again and again.

“T-t-they’re gonna hear me.” she wailed once, and he realized she meant the guests downstairs, that once she realized that he wasn’t going to stop just because her pleasure had her in a place where she could no longer be in possession of herself, she had begun to fear for their reputation.

“Let ‘em.” he growled, taking his wet hand from between her thighs and running it up the length of her bowed spin, relishing the way she was drenching his thighs too, “They all know what I’m doin’ to ya. They knew what you were signin’ up for, even if you didn’t.” that thought made his balls tingle and he knew he close, that and the fact Elaine’s had her pretty little face barely propped up enough to watch them in mirror, watching as he plowed her from the back in tear stained, shocked, pleasured obedience to his wants, “Whole world’s gonna know what a good wifey you are, soon enough. They’re gonna see ya swellin and fillin out and they’re gonna know how good you are for me, how well ya take me, how much ya enjoy splittin’ yourself on my cock.”

“Oh God!” she screamed at the thought and at the thrill of his praise and buried her face into the golden bedding in abject submission and ecstasy, no longer able to compute the image of her dear, sweet Elvis mounting her body and snarling in pleasure in the mirror as he used her to chase his relief.

Elaine, to his lust clouded mind, had the prettiest ass on earth and it filled his hands perfectly, and her overstimulated shrieks and mewls and squeals sounded every damn bit like a Disney Princess. And somehow, that thought really did it for him.

Elvis hadn’t given it a lot of thought before, mind ya, hadnt spent time contemplating what it would be like to make Snow White touch her toes while getting skewered or how it would be to push Cinderella’s sweet face into the sheets. But he was pretty sure that if one of those doll-like little ladies had ever been made to take cock after true love's kiss, they’d sound rather like the squeaking little thing writhing beneath him right now.

He jabbed harder just for the fun of that, just for the enjoyment of the fact he was balls deep in a virgin cunt about to blow his load inside a woman for the first time ever. His jabs and swivels and fucks made she squeal more, clinging to the foot of the bed, no rich alto moan left in her with every inch he made her take.

She sounds like Tinkerbell, if Tinkerbell ever had the sweet misfortune to be loved on by Elvis Presley. He grins at the mirror, grins at the bowed figure of his little wife, gives a passing prayer of thanks for this perfect woman he is gonna spend the rest of his life loving in this way.

Take this, Tinkerbell, he thinks excitedly, ramming home once more and feeling himself drain inside her at last in long, pulsing, gushing spurts.

She knew that feeling, she realized in a daze. Yes she had felt it just this night when they were writhing against each other but -this hot gizer of warmth shooting inside her… the porch swing. He had wasted his seed in his pants on the porch swing. He wasted so much wanting her without telling her, it makes her heart ache for him. She spreads her trembling legs apart and tries to wiggle him in deeper, pushing back onto his key as he shudders to a halt, trying to be of help for him, to get it where it needs to go. No more waste. No more pining. It makes him sob and groan as she milks him, her sweet boy returning as he drapes over her back, a boneless weight before gently rolling onto his back and taking her with him, still impaled. A stopper of sorts, to keep it from leaking, from wasting.

There is not a single part of her body that does not tremble, nor of his either, they cling to each other, fully equal in post-coital vulnerability now and try to remember what world they belong in. His hands cradle her lower belly, pressing her close to him and swiping his thumbs along her spine, just as she pets over his arm and nuzzles into the hollow below his throat. She’s so touchy, caressing him and squeezing him like she needs the contact as badly as he does, and it’s exactly what he always wanted, hoped, didn’t dare ask heaven for but he’s got it. She’s here, she’s his.

“You’re my wife.” he marvels, and he is referring twofold to the act that just made her so and he means it wondrously by the way she lov- cares- for him so well. “You make me so happy.” he says against her lips.

“Thank you.” she whispers, cracking open her eyes to see him soft and gentle right there beside her, “For choosing me.”

“Didn’t have a choice.” he croaks, “Never has been a choice with you, I had to have ya, was more your choice than it ever was mine to lemme be yours.”

“You are mine now, aren’t ya.” she muses and he sees the way that thought sparks some life back into her heavy lidded eyes.

It’s good to belong to someone, he thinks, comforted as he brings his mouth down to hers. “Yeah, always, always gonna be yours.”

He kisses her long and slow and she returns it, her body sated beneath his caresses in a way his masculine, virulent one could never be when laying beside her, buried inside her still, newly laying claim. It is a gentle rocking when he begins again, quite helplessly, to move inside her, and she is so busy tugging at his cropped hair and nipping at his lips that she doesn’t seem to notice that they’re swaying vertically until he draws her leg over his hip and begins to drive up again in earnest, her moans a sweet melody she pours into his mouth. It’s quiet this second time and unrushed, and she has grown used to the ache, he thinks he should tell her soon to use the restroom, but he’ll have to take his fill again first.

He wonders when he’ll find the time to tell her to go between telling her he loves her. She asks him if they can do this often.

“Bout as often as we can manage.” Tumbled out of his lips happily.

“And how often’s that?” she urged him breathily, her eyes losing focus they were so close to his own.

“Enough times to lose count, Laney.” he promised, “Gotta fill ya up, best we can. Gotta be diligent.”

There was no soaring crescendo to this session, he merely clutched at her harder on one lazy upstroke, her fingernail had caught his nipple and zapped him straight to heaven like a thunderbolt to the frenulum. And then she felt him spilling inside again. Warm and hot and soothing the battering of her walls. His fingers took hers and pulled them down between her legs to pet the damage again, smearing him around like ointment on a wound. They had acted married twice now, she figured. They’d done marriage twice. The second she had liked even better than the first as he held her all the while, even though no searing height had happened to her.

“When you were with other girls,” she whispered into his chest later as they dozed between bouts of kissing and cuddling, “this isn’t -you didn’t…” she faltered for a moment before lifting her face to gaze down at him with warmth and gentle pleading, “-you didn’t do this with them, did you? You don’t act married with them, right?”

Perhaps most men would have chosen to lie. Elvis had no need despite his experience and his reputation. He had, a dozen or a hundred times, wrapped himself in latex and put it in a dozen or hundred women, some he cared for genuinely and some who were life preservers in a sea of lonely travels, but he’d never acted married. He’d never done this sort of intimacy before. He figured he was practically a virgin too, in that sorta way. In making love with the intention to bind himself, trap himself forever to one single soul. It ought to have been terrifying, that commitment, but feeling himself drip out of Elaine into the cradle of his hips he just felt right, like he was home. Like he’d just given himself to someone who actually wanted him. “No honey, I didn’t act married with any of ‘em. You’re the only one who gets my seed. I swear, really I do, now or ever.”

She could tell he meant that promise, and now he’d taught her how to express herself in this new language, she thanked him the only way she knew how, by gleefully rolling atop him again. It was a language she realized she was seeking most of her life, ever since anger and joy and want had flared in her and had been summarily instructed to be curtailed.

Propriety. Mildness. Rise above it all. She was good at the art of it all, and had been praised for it. Yet here was a man who coaxed vehemence out of her, taught her to inflict it on his body, who found pleasure in this grappling, wrestling, messy way that made such sense to her now she had found it.

I could love you, I’m going to love you, I’m very much in danger of loving you, was said with each swivel of her hips and lick of her tongue down his neck. “Oh Elvis.” sounded sweetly in his ear as he bounced her like a doll in his lap and made her fall apart.

Elvis had kissed her temple as he panted his breath back in again. Kept himself plugged in as long as possible till he shrank to nothing and slipped out. His destructive cock a now harmless, wet little thing that she cooed at in a most embarrassing way for him, but he was too happy with her laying on his chest to protest the curious fondling she gave his sensitive cock.

“This new house by Fort Hood, the one that agents of your’s got us,” he had murmured huskily while swigging from the chilled bottles of water retrieved from the mini fridge -with Elaine riding on his back to the closet and then the bed again, refusing to be apart, “it’s got a split layout, ya see. Top and bottom floor’s got a kitchenette, might not be the easiest for cookin’ but it’ll give us -space.” he assured, and she bit her lip imagining what he’d want the privacy for. “Wouldn’t ya rather a lil privacy ‘stead of a big ole countertop? I-I-if not I-I can-“

“Sounds perfect.” she sighed dreamily, thinking about making him meals and him coming home to eat them, gallant and lean in his pressed uniform. “You’re real handsome in your uniform, ya know that?” she figured it didn’t hurt to admit it, her man seemed to thrive off compliments from her, and he never did seem to get a big head from them. Except for the other little head that twitched and swelled at any compliment at all.

It was getting late, or early more like, and as she felt his interest grow yet again, Elaine played at denial. A silly, jokingly, little sort of thing where she wriggled away from his grabby hands and tried to make it out of the bed -headed to god knows where, the champagne bottle or the record player or downstairs, she didn’t know as she had no real intention of fleeing. But being seized from the back by her husband and playfully thrown back on his bed, made to sprawl out on the corner of the mattress , her legs hanging apart and her pathetic little slip still hanging onto her modesty for dear life, it was rather thrilling the way he had muttered,

“Oh no ya don’t, good lil wives don’t run.” and put himself back into her overused body, relishing her moan at his first thrust in and the fucked out compliance of the grinning girl beneath him. “I wanna see my pretty wife’s tits,” he asked as he watched them bouncing and jiggling with each absorbed fuck, “C’mon baby, be good and lemme see those pretty pillas of mine, you won’t deny me will ya? Come on, baby, so pretty, so round, gonna make ‘em blow up soon enough, whole world’ll notice ‘em. I wanna be the first to see ‘em before it. Up we go, lemme, come on yittle one, thas it, lift it up.”

He watched as this woman of his who was currently impaled on his cock blushed and smiled and bashfully pulled up her slip till her buttermilk soft mounds were bare, pink nipples pebbled and a scared, hopeful look on her face as her slip bunched at her clavicle.

“Goddamn, I’m a lucky man.” he had groaned and not missed her relieved smile. Then playfully flicked the slip up and over to hide her bright red face before folding himself enough to suck on a rosy little nipple while pistoning in and out. Soft, pliable flesh giving beneath the weight of his jaw and the nudge of his nose.

It was bizarre to Elaine, her sight obscured by the slip, her breathing hampered by the same, sound and feeling her chief senses this time. Just the sounds of him enjoying himself alone had a warm feeling curling in her chest and her belly, too, his hums and groans sending delightful zaps through her previously respectfully ignored nipples. His hands running up and down her ribcage, sometimes seizing her waist to pull her on him, sometimes fluttering over her diaphragm to feel himself moving within, nearly up her lungs he felt.

She felt as if she had finally been given privacy in which to truly feel and enjoy this, veiled by her own last shred of modesty, she let herself feel -and what she felt was astounding. She felt cherished. And she felt ravaged. And as if no one was here or anywhere on this earth to judge the way she screamed in delight, she yelled it and heard him answer her:

“that’s it, lemme hear ya” his teeth snapping at her nipples as he talked around them with his movements causing him to miss, sparking a fresh wave of noise to humidify the satin covering her face,

“Oh god, oh god, oh god.”

She chanted in happy panic as her legs drew up on their own, up and up and trying to close against the delicious onslaught, only to realize too late that it made the fit even tighter, the friction even stronger, the glint in her husband’s eyes wilder. He pinned them to her chest, with a single hand, to keep them out of the way. Slapped at her clit instead, made her scream in a way he didn’t think she was capable. Thought about doing it twenty years from now, thought about how he’d have the rest of his life to make his Tinkerbell scream. He slapped her there again and this time no scream, just a hissed in breath that had no exhale, her whole body clamping up in rigid ecstasy, tightening so strongly he couldn’t even keep his thrusts going to help her through.

Almost alarmed by her lack of breathing, he thought to pull at her slip, up and over her head till her face was visible again -she looked as if she were in some great agony, and his smug heart flipped at the sight, before leaning down to kiss her.

He was all chestnut hair aglow, wicked dark eyes and sweet lips, hovering down into her hazy view and her body wasn’t her own anymore, the damage had been done and the cliff she was teetering on gave way beneath her sanity when his lips met hers, his warm chest rubbing against her spit chilled nipples. For the second time that night she sprayed him, and through the eye rolling, rapturous tingle of it she heard him asking if she was “coming.”

“Oh goddamn, goddamn look a’that, oh fuck me sideways that’s hot as hell.” he blabbered, pulling out just long enough to wiggle his cockhead against her petals and force another jet out, coating his own abs with it, relishing the way her belly shook and her legs clamped together straight in the air, her hands clawing at the slip like she was trying to fight her way out. “Sweet Jesus you’re so sensitive.” he praised, pushing back in despite her hiss, and the way her feet tried to plant themselves on his shoulders to push him away. “Gotta lemme back in darlin’, I got another deposit to make.” he joked, loving the way she was clawing and wiggling away from him on pure, over fucked insinct, red painted nails dug deep enough to rip into the gold bedding. “Come on, be good, be good for me, lemme in baby, lemme in , doin’ so good, so good I know you’re so damn full, just a lil more, lil more. Don’t want any to go to waste do ya?”

He was wicked for using those magic words to make the shaking girl open up and let him in again, but he made up for it by the kisses, he felt, and in praise, and promising her if she stayed good she’d have those babies. Careening headlong towards another orgasm of his own with the sounds she was making and the lewd squelch of how wet she was down there, downright squelching with all his contributions and her own slick, he swore she was everything he’d ever dreamed of. She smiled at that.

“I’m gonna come.” he promised her almost in a beg, pleading for her to understand why he sped up and started to pound her again in earnest, erratic thrusts.

“W-whats coming?” she whined, her eyes screwed shut and her thighs shivering beneath his shoulders, “Y-you’re already here…”

The more he drained his balls, the more his mind seemed to leave him as well, all catered sentences and prim vocabulary gone straight out the window with his last shred of self restraint. “This-is-comin-“ he punctuated as he drove himself in, then felt his balls draw up and try to offer up residual bits of spunk but nothing seemed to come out. Served him right how white hot and painful it felt, sputtering dry inside her. He hoped she didn’t notice the deposit was a blank check. Also hoped she didn’t hear the pathetic whimper he’d let out as lil Elvis heaved his last attempt at it. By the way she was humming and petting at his hair, cradling him gently as he sagged atop her on the corner of the bed -he was afraid she’d heard and felt it all.

“Why’s it called that?” she whispered in his ear, and he wondered that she had any energy at all.

He burrowed his face deeper into her neck and mumbled, “Damned if I know, darlin.” he thought on it a little while longer while also thinking of the drip, drip, drip of their mess melting between them, “Unless it’s cause it makes ya feel like you’re havin a ‘come to God moment’, ya know?” he suggested and laughed when he felt her poking his cheek. “Do ya- do ya like it when…when ya-“ he couldn’t manage it now in the gentle afterglow, starting to get a chill after all his sweaty exertion cooled and left behind clammy skin and pooled secretions, feeling how naked and soft and lonely he was suddenly upon feeling sated for the first time tonight.

“Can we really do this as often as we want?” she asked instead, and her tone held no dread in it, only hopeful excitement. Suddenly the lonesomeness was gone again.

He felt her hands stroking his back and down to his ass again and he had giggled happily, not able to hold back his relief. “Yes, darlin.”

“Gosh.” she mused, petting him still, “To think I-I didn’t know about this and now it’s…” he propped up his chin on his hands to give her an inquiring look, begging her to finish, “it’s all I wanna do now.”

“That so?” he quirked his eyebrow and she flushed and began to shake her head, her tone pleading:

“Oh, not now, not right now -oh, please, please E, I’ll die if ya do, give me a minute.” she laughed and kissed him again.

“We should sleep.” he mused, half asleep already, pillowed on her boobs, his legs still technically still standing him upright as his upper body lay across the bed, across his new wife. “And bathe.” he realized.

“It’s very sloppy.” she agreed, and the thought of how uncomfortable she must be, stuffed with a half a dozen or more cum shots roused him to action.

He picked Elaine up bridal style and carried his now gloriously naked woman into the en-suite bathroom, seating her on the chilled marble countertop and grinning at the way she melted, spineless and used against the mirror, a soft smile lighting her dear face.

She liked watching his long lean, boyish figure, hard in some places and soft in others, strangely inviting in its combinations, ripple and flex as he bent and turned on the tub faucets, snagging gold embossed towels off the rack.

E.P. they read, gold thread glowing on the black cotton.

E.P.

For the both of them. It could be for either of them, it probably had been in his mind when he’d had them made, stocked his home full of monogrammed luxuries with her future initials on them E.P. --and all the while she had been fretting of dying a loveless old maid.

She laughed happily and found she couldn’t stop, catching sight of his embossed robe, hung on the door with the same initials. E.P. She was wanted, she was so very wanted here with him. It made her slide her jellied legs off the counter and hug him ferociously from behind, pressing kisses into his spine, and the freckles that smattered his shoulder blades.

“E.P.” she whispered and he got what she meant, turning round and grinning at her.

Once in the bath she dozed in his arms, near suffocated by bubbles and relishing his embrace, the warm water and his massaging hands soothing the ache between her legs.

“We haven’t washed the babies out have we?” she asked, groggily staring into the receding bath water as he tenderly toweled her off once stepping out of the tub. “I-I-I want those babies.“ she insisted and it must’ve been the lateness of the hour or the sheer amount of muchness she had been subjected to tonight but her lip started to wobble at the idea she’d carelessly risked her hopes down the drain, swirling away with the last of the bubbles. “Elvis I-I- didn’t mean to rinse them out!” she wailed, near hysterical with fatigue.

He tried assuring her but she wasn’t easily pacified. “I-I could give ya more.” he finally offered timidly, entirely uncertain either of them were capable of enduring another round.

He was toweling off her calves as he said it, pressing kisses to her knees and noticing the tremors in her thighs. To his shock she dropped to her knees beside him on the bathmat, eyes half mast and nearly insane looking in their fatigued determination,

“Please, please give it another try.” she nodded before spinning around on the bathmat, shakily swift and presenting him with her shapely ass.

‘Better for breeding this way’, came back to mind. God she was a quick study, and he prayed for strength and some shred of self restraint in indulging her. Instead, he found himself burying his face between her cheeks and licking at her devotedly, afraid they may have washed her slick away and worrying the burn of entry would be too much for her, fresh out of the tub and swollen from overuse as she was. No woman had let him do it this way, his face near buried in her bath warmed ass and his tongue kitten licking at her slick hole, but Elaine bore it with decorous appreciation, entirely unaware of being anything but eager in her responses, her spine arched and a rosy cheek pillowed on her forearms. Her yittle hand came down to pet Elvis’ diligent head as he worked between her legs.

“That’s it, I love it, E, like that, I love it when you…” she was mumbling in a slurred litany of praise he gobbled up ravenously, just like he did the shuddering little trickles of sweetness he coaxed out of her. “I’m -I’m, yeah yeah-“ he felt her grind down on his face as she shook again, and then it was as if the top half of her body nearly melted into the mat, just his hands keeping her ass in the air. “Please put it in.” she whispered, her hand still down there between her legs and reaching for something else of his now, her tone so soft and polite, like Cinderella asking for cock.

He aimed his cock into her waiting hand and watched with barely suppressed desire as her palm rolled over the rip and her nails gently raked across his veins as she moved to grip him and point him where she wanted him. There was a lewd sucking noise this time when he went in, like her body was finally trying to swallow him willingly, and he saw her head toss on the mat, dainty fingers woven into gold shag and her neck craned back to see him as he pressed in deep. Her face was flushed deep red and the makeup had worn off and she looked so innocent, so young beneath him, a single curl plastered dark and wet against her cheek from the bath. He’d unmade her, turned her back to her simplest form. He snapped his hips, lost his mind, noticed happily how her hand went to her hip and joined his there. He held onto it like a handle and jerked her back on him again and again, her cheek rubbing against the mat and her teeth sinking into her other fist to hush her cries. Those cries of hers, maybe something was very sick inside him that he liked them so much but he did, he did and he worked hard to draw more from her just as he dreamed of this, dreamed of her fluttering pink hole trying to take more and her eyes rolling back from the fatigue of it, her body unable to deny him.

“My poor belly,” he thought he heard her whimper, yet unsure he reached down and pulled her fist away from her mouth, it pushed him deeper in, bent her more starkly, speared her cervix, “Oh god, my belly, my poor belly.” she kept saying for sure this time.

“You alright, Lany?” he draped over her and brushed the damp strands off her face, her face that was red and splotchy from sensation and blood flow. She gave him a whimpering nod.

“You’resodeep” she accused him even as he felt her squeeze and shake around his girth, her mouth gaping for a brief moment at the unexpected little pleasure. “My poor belly.” she said it over and over again and he couldn’t stop. It was more just a bewildered mantra to comfort herself, as her mind betrayed her and wanted him but her body was so well used that was she was just…taking it

“You poor little thing,” he cooed, making sure to move slow and deep in a way that had them both shaking and stepping into madness, bent all over her bent frame himself, “you’re takin’ my cock so well, so obedient, never was a more righteous wife, never was, you’re a goddamn wonder, that’s what you are. I’ll thank God for ya every day.”

His praise always soothed her and he kept it up, not even sure what he was saying anymore as he chased his own release, focused on the bent little thing beneath him and the way it made her waist look minuscule in this position, her pink face, too. At one point he saw tears instead of bath splash on her face and as he felt himself begin to spurt he shushed her the best he could with the first thing that came to mind:

“Don’t cry Tink, please don’t cry.”

The nickname tickled her consciousness like a feather on the neck, some goosey thrill that tickled up her spine and added to the satisfied throb between her legs as he splashed hot and thick inside her.

“Tink?” she thought she had asked him, bewildered and charmed to have been christened. Maybe her words got lost in the bath mat.

He did not answer her, must’ve not heard her at all, but picked her up with his own shaking arms and like a couple of bambi's they toddled into the massive bed, throwing themselves under the covers quite unceremoniously. He tried to swat at the lamp as if that would turn it off, and realizing she was the more capable of the two -he seemed almost insensibley drained by that last encounter- she leaned over his chest and pulled at the lamp string, dousing the glow that surrounded them, only to realize dawn was splashing a violet haze through the crack of the window curtains.

“Good morning, Mrs. Presley.” he had teased softly, noticing the dawn too, his head tilted on the pillow to watch her shut off the lamp.

“Good morning, husband.” she murmured, wriggling on top of him as he held her fast, arms locked over her back and her head pillowed on his chest.

This cuddling was familiar, this drowsy holding of each other until he stilled and fell asleep, an art she had perfected since his mama died. But now she was the woman in his life, and strangely now that the hunger had been glutted and abated, they entwined around each other like babes or twins in a womb, this naked closeness the most natural of assurance in the world. Something Elvis had been missing since his brother had left him, since Jesse entered the world before him and chose not to stay and endure it with him, fell into place.

My sister! My spouse! -King Solomon had called his lover, and Elvis had felt that supremely odd when snooping through the Song of Songs as a boy. But now he knew -too many roles did she fill to be confined to one, and Elvis felt tempted as Elaine fell asleep atop him to whisper, “my brother, my spouse!” into her hair.

Sometime later, when deep unconscious, dreamless sleep had possessed them and held them fast, but not a long enough time for Elvis to be remotely cheerful about it, a obnoxious clanging sound broke in on their peaceful repose. Elaine jerked awake atop him with a startled little squeak and he put his hand to the back of her head to shush her, encouraging her to lay her cheek back on his shoulder. The noise resounded again and this time he was lucid enough to determine it was coming from outside the bedroom door.

Clang-a-lang-a-lang-clang-a-lang

Elaine huffed and rubbed her tired face into his chest, his sparse hairs there tickling her nose and making her sneeze. That made him laugh and with neither able to keep up the pretense of sleep, they raised their heads and looked towards the door with matching, raised and unimpressed eyebrows of displeasure.

“If this is the boys idea of a practical joke,” he growled with sleepy morning grit in his voice, “they won’t be boys much longer.”

“Will ya put them in boxes and give them to me?” she inquired and he realized with a self satisfied smirk that her melodic voice had gone hoarse from all the screaming he’d made her do the night before.

“Heavens Mrs. Presley,” he marveled, “ya sure have gotten comfy askin’ for things -I like it.”

“I could think of a thing or two I want right now.” she bit her lip and her eyes slanted hungrily and some scared part of him that worried she wouldn’t want this as much as he did got buried teen feet below the earth, locked away forever.

“Breakfast?” he acted dumb even as she propped herself up on his chest and gingerly tried rolling her hips along his thickening shaft, hissing at the soreness of her own petals.

The sheets falling away from her and pooling round her hips like some goddess that had condescended to come down to earth and make use of her spied after Adonis, Elaine was ethereal and happy and Elvis sank his head back into the pillow and watched her, wishing to pinch himself but the roll of his foreskin against her bud told him it was real. “Breakfast and water, breath mints and fresh air-“ she listed while speeding up and causing his cock to begin to weep and slick her way along-

Clang-a-lang-a-lang-clang-a-lang

“What?” he yelled fearsomely at the door and she shivered in spooked delight at his temper.

“I’m comin’ in wi’ breakfast,” came Mary’s unmistakable drawl through the door and to his horror he watched the gilt knob begin to turn, “y’all’s best disentangle yo’selves cause I done waited till two in the afternoon to feed yous, and I ain’t taking chances for waitin’ any longer-“ Mary stepped into the room about at the same second Elaine accomplished a dismount and roll that the would have made the marine corps proud, diving beneath the covers, only a bride sized lump to be seen by the cook as she came in with a heavy laden tray, her ingenious cowbell left behind in the hall. “Lawd Mr. Elvis, you’re wearing that loved on look just nicely, if you’ll lemme say so.” she admired his marital blush and scratched shoulders as only a proud auntie could, “Miss Elaine, you best come outta ‘der, I got bagels and cream cheese, jus’ as you like.”

“Oh Mary, you didn’t!” Came Elaine’s moan of appreciation beneath the bedding and it was altogether too close to his pelvis for Elvis’ sanity, “You’re much too good to us, you know that?” Elaine wriggled till just her head peeked out and bestowed on Mary a smile of such adoration the lady forgot the ache in her arms from carrying the tray upstairs.

“Yeas, well, wouldn't do to have y’all’s dying of malnourishment.” she huffed bashfully patting Elvis’ beet red cheeks while unconsciously setting the trey in his stiff lap.

He groaned. In appreciation for the eggs and burnt bacon, Elaine had to presume.

“Don’t you take your fill again till you’ve taken your fill, you get what I mean?” she wagged her fingers at them, first at Elvis, then at his bride as if she was second guessing who here was the more likely instigator, the groom seemingly meek and the bride grinning altogether too widely than was proper. Delighted, Mary couldn’t help her matching one, “Eat up.” She nodded, backing away while eying them suspiciously, as if at any minute they might overturn her carefully prepared victuals and begin to maul eachother anew.

“Wouldn’t think of letting it get cold!” Elvis assured her adamantly and to prove his point, stuck a bagel into his bride's mouth before getting into the eggs himself.

Satisfied, Mary left them and shut the door. They heard when she picked up her cowbell and the retreating sound of her footsteps down the hall assured Elvis it was safe. He moved the platter off his lap as if it were scorching him, flinging the offending sheets off his erection and patting his thighs, jerking his chin at a wide eyed Elaine.

“I’m a very talented man, I’ll have ya know,” he told her as she settled in his lap, his chest pressed to her back, “I can feed and fill ya at the same time.”

“So,” she began genially as she wiggled him in and got comfy, sucking cream cheese off his fingers and taking advantage of his compromised blood flow, “Is Tinkerbell gonna my nickname?”

Elvis choked on his bacon, and proceeded to cough into a pillow case. “I’ve no idea what you're on about.” he denied.

“Hey,” she grinned at him without wavering, “if you can enjoy splitting me in half, I can enjoy a nickname that outs ya for bein’ a lil nasty about it, hmm?” and she chucked his chin.

She -she had a point, Elvis supposed. “Sure, Tink, whatever you say, Tink.” he droned.

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@ellie-24

@renaissingle

@waiting4brucewayne2adoptme

@presleyenterprise

#elvis fanfiction #sarge and lil mama #elvis x you #elvis movie #elvis fanfic #elvis presley #elvis x reader #elvis imagine #austin butler elvis #austin elvis imagine #austin elvis fandom #austin elvis smut #elvis smut #elvis x oc #elvis x elaine #elvis one shot

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marinas-drafts · 1 year ago

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Road Head

A Sarge & lil Mama scene

Summary: Elaine plays the loving spouse, the avid groupie, the shy novice -all in the time it takes to please her husband while pondering exactly what her life has become in the Amphetamine blur of their third nation-wide tour.

Warnings: 18+ rough oral sex (m. receiving) drug mentions, mentions of drinking, angst, role play of a sort (pretending the wife isn’t his wife), some obvious marital dissatisfaction, some disassociation, slight degradation and cum on the face -I swear this isn’t fully miserable but please proceed with caution, this is rather universe a-typical with its smut, not much tender loving care except faintly at the end, if you get my drift

Fully Co-Authored with @elvisabutler in a single, angst-fueled evening

Masterlist

Date: 1974, somewhere on Tour

It was right about now that Elaine realized she’d succeeded in reinventing herself just a little too well.

It was the look of recognition or lack of recognition that led her to that realization. The man above her was Elvis Presley but the woman where she knelt was not Elaine Presley. She wasn’t even Laney or Tink, she was just another girl on her knees looking up between overdone eyelashes and perfectly coiffed hair at the man with hips and lips to kill for. She felt shame then, at that realization, but odder still was the relief that flooded next. Here was no standard of behavior to reach, no image to match up to, no history weighing her down, there was only the heat then and now the musky smell of his stage sweat and the unrelenting grip of his hand on the back of her neck, keeping the rhythm he wanted without a second thought to what might suit her.

How was he to know?

She was a stranger, and strangers haven’t got tastes that men like Elvis Presley would deign to cater to. Moreover even if they did, even if men like Elvis Presley did deign to cater to them, it would be at the expense of doing something for him. It would be at the expense of catering to a whim or a mythical fancy that his drug-addled mind had dreamed up.

No, this was better, Elaine can become the lips he wants stretched across his cock. Elaine can- Elaine can play the virgin who doesn’t know how to take an uncut cock between her perfectly done lipstick. Elaine can play the experienced road girl who hasn’t ever had an uncut cock but oh Elvis, I can do it, I’ll make you feel good. Elaine can be everything but little Elaine Presley who wants to nuzzle at the patch of hair at the base of his cock like she had when they were first married.

Elaine would like to think that the little Mrs. Presley of days gone by wouldn’t recognize this tour hardened woman with spit and precum coating her throat and chest in a glistening film, messy in a deplorable, filthy, back alley sort of way that only the basest of masculine desires could appreciate -but she knows she would. Always so eager to keep his eye on her even back then, anything for Elvis, anything at all. Anything to keep the man who was so obsessed with her that he pushed her against her father’s door and asked her to marry him. Promised to give her everything she ever wanted. Anything to keep the man who she thought she lost forever after she lost Jo, the man she’d thought she’d won back with Marie.

But do ya love me, Elvis? Me?

This is what that little Mrs. Presley had led her to: a life of pleasing and chasing after a man who’s supposed to just be hers. It’s as pathetic as some of the papers would make it seem and yet it’s not. It’s worse because this wasn’t how everything was supposed to go. She should be happy and round with another baby. She should be riding him in the bus and reminding everyone to get out so she can enjoy her husband, with him laughing at how ‘y’all heard Laney’.

Instead her knees are on the floor and her tongue plays with the slit of his cock as her hand plays with his balls lazily inhaling every bit of his sweat soaked musk as she can. Taking comfort in the burning gag of him pushing too deep too fast, perking up at every “fuck yeah” he groans, contenting herself with making that left leg of his shimmy -it’s still him, slight belly paunching above her, and at least it’s still her and her stupidly hopeful heart when he hisses fast and frantic,

“I’m gonna, I’m gonna-“ tapping her cheek hurriedly because she knows this routine well enough to not be so foolish as to keep him in her mouth for this, her willingness to swallow yet again wasted on a man of such peculiar tastes.

Instead she makes sure her eyes are smiling along with her mouth, not too stiff and not too knowing, just the right sorta cheerful blankness he can tug the last bit of his pleasure to before coating her hair like a teenaged boy.

The first few times there was a twitch to her eye as the warmth of his release started to slide down to her forehead. The sensation making her gag more than his cock ever had but now this has become an old hat, a parlor trick she could show off.

See? This is how you keep a man like Elvis Presley.

You let him come in your hair after you sucked him within an inch of his life and you let him maybe take care of you, talk like one of the boys and mention how your beaver needs attention. Or maybe it’s just how she keeps him, pretending she isn’t his wife who wants more kids and who asks for them only to be brushed off. Pretending she isn’t his wife who hurls an insult or five at him when the champagne courses through her.

Of course, it’s got its comedic side, every tragedy does, and it fuels her grin as she waits patiently on her knees for his eyes to focus and his voice to rasp the inevitable, “c’mon let’s get ya up honey, let’s take care of that widdle pussy”. Because the joke is only a wife of nearly two decades would know which uppers he took based off of the time it took for him to blast off. No backstage girl could make a mental note that it was the New York doctor’s blend if he didn’t last longer than ten, and the Californian’s if they were creeping up nearer to forty. Her jaw aches tonight. Valuable as this information is she wishes idly as his cum stings her eye that she could somehow apply it to his general health. His boners seem to be doing fine, and it comforts her ego, but it’s his heart she frets over more and more each day.

She’s gotten wonderfully good at that -fretting. Elaine does it at all hours of the day and night, can multitask with another endeavor and keep at it like a champ. There’s a couple hundred photos of her on this tour smiling her best wifely smile and all the while her mind is awhirl with worry. She assures Elvis it annoys her even worse that it annoys him, this worrying she does. When she’s tipsier than she would like to admit she sometimes lets out a sneered “someone has to.”

Because even while she’s on her knees she worries for Daisy, worries her daughter is making a life similar to this Amphetamine blur she herself lives in, somewhere on the rock n’ roll Highway but not with a man who’s promised her what Elvis has promised Elaine. Her daughter would probably scoff at Elvis’ promises. Most of their children might by now and she wishes that kept him up at night alongside her.

Maybe that’s why the pills are necessary after all.

It’s only after the uppers start to wear off and her champagne runs her down that she’s curled beside him, hair and face devoid of his release and as clean as the day she was born that he seems to remember who she is. He seems to remember who she is and whispers against her hair. “Ya a‘right, Tink?”

To his credit he asks, he always asks and the answer should be easy, she should say she doesn’t know. She should say the truth that sits on the top of her tongue but she’s his wife and she wants him to be happy. “I’m alright, Naughty.”

Maybe if they say it enough, maybe if she believes it enough she can make it true. Until then the lies will do.

Hope y’all enjoyed! Your “bugging” and “screaming” is music to my ears, fuel to my fire and keeps me writing, please never hold back -this is a safe space for feral little Elvis loving rodents…like you and me.

If you’d like to be tagged in this particular series please drop a note below. I’ll admit I’m disorganized and have trouble keeping all the requests sorted when they’re scattered, what I do check regularly are the requests in the notes for chapters -and I do manage to get those added. So, if you’ve put in a request and I’ve failed ya, or if you’re new and would like to be added, please pop a note below. Xoxo 💋

@paradsol000

@eliseinmemphis

@prompted-wordsmith

@ab4eva

@foreverdolly

@powerofelvis

@butlersxbirdy

@crash-and-cure

@elvisabutler

@heartbrake-hotel

@stylespresleyhearted

@thatbanditqueen

@crazymadpassionatelove

@myradiaz

@ash-omalley

@arianatheangelgirl

@steph-speaks

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@lookingforrainbows

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@from-memphis-with-love

@lillypink

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@soloangel

@xenaspace3-blog

@60svintage

@whatstruthgottodowithit

#elvis fanfiction #elvis presley #elvis fanfic #elvis imagine #elvis x reader #sarge and lil mama #70’s Elvis #elvis smut #elvis on tour #elvis fans #Elvis #elvis presley x reader #elvis history #elvis one shot

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youaintnothinbuta · 9 months ago

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Lunch with his family — Elvis Presley x reader

Summary: Elvis invites you to his house for lunch because his family is having lots of their friends and family over.

Pairing: Elvis or Austin!Elvis x fem!reader

Word count: 586

Warnings: none!! Fluff, cute lil one shot

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The morning sun filtered through the curtains, casting a warm glow across your bedroom as you finished tidying up. Just as you were about to head downstairs, the jingle of your telephone broke the quiet stillness of the house. Rushing to answer it, you recognised Elvis' voice on the other end.

“Hey, honey, you free today?” Elvis' smooth drawl filled the line. You couldn't help but smile. “Why, do you want me to be?” You teased, a playful tone in your voice.

“I'll pick you up in half an hour,” he declared, his words making your heart skip a beat. “Mama's having a big lunch in the yard, the whole family's coming round,” he continued.

With a flutter of excitement, you agreed, hanging up the phone and hurrying to get ready. Before you knew it, there was a knock on your front door. Straightening your skirt and smoothing down your hair, you rushed to answer it, greeted by the sight of Elvis' handsome smile.

Arriving at his Audubon drive house, you were enveloped by the tantalizing aroma of his mama’s home-cooked recipes and the sound of laughter carrying through from the backyard. Elvis' mama greeted you, bustling around, fussing over you with a motherly warmth. Elvis took you through to the table in the garden, where everyone soon got settled to begin eating. His mama couldn’t contain her curiosity about the date Elvis took you on. She bombarded you with questions about where he took you, what you ate, was he gentlemanly, and whether you enjoyed yourself.

Elvis, ever protective, stepped in, gently chiding his mama for overwhelming me with questions. “Mama, ease up a bit, you're making her nervous,” he said with a chuckle, shooting you an apologetic smile.

“It’s okay, Elvis.” You assured him, cheekily taking the bite of tomato fritter off his fork.

“Thank you so much for lunch, Mrs. Presley,” You said, after finishing off your plate, turning to Elvis’s mama with a warm smile.

She waved off your thanks with a gentle smile. “Oh, honey, no need to thank me. You know you’re welcome here any time,” she said kindly, her eyes twinkling with warmth.

Before you could respond, she turned to Elvis with a mischievous glint in her eye. “I made a chocolate mousse for you and your sweetheart to share for a little dessert if you wanted,” she said, her voice tinged with playful teasing.

Elvis stood next to you, his hand soothingly rubbing your back, he could tell you needed a bit of alone time away from all the excitement of all the guests over.

“Thank you, Mama,” he said with a charming smile, coming up with an excuse. “We might go sit inside the house and eat. It’s getting a bit warm out.”

With his arm around your shoulder, you made your way inside the house, leaving behind the chatter and laughter of the outdoor gathering. Once you were settled on the couch, Elvis retrieved the chocolate mousse from the fridge, along with two spoons.

As you indulged in the creamy dessert, the rich chocolate melting on your tongues, Elvis wrapped an arm around you, pulling you close.

Between mouthfuls, Elvis spoke softly, his voice filled with tenderness. “So, for our next date, should I surprise you, or do you want to tell me where to take you?”

You smiled, “Surprise me.”

With a grin, Elvis squeezed your hand gently, his eyes sparkling. “You won’t be disappointed,” he murmured, his gaze never leaving yours.

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asshlyyyy · 1 year ago

Text

Christmas

Fic Warnings: Mentions of possible miscarriage. Pregnancy, swearing I'm pretty sure...? If not, disregard this warning. Mentions of being sick, being sick, vomiting. There may be spelling and grammatical errors. Author's note at the end. Please let me know if I missed any warnings! Thank you!

Note: This could be read as a stand alone or as a part two to Thanksgiving!

Masterlist | Previous Part

You walked up to the front door and turned the handle opening up the door. You two never really bothered to lock the door since you were behind the gates. You only really locked it at night. You placed your car keys off to the side, away from Elvis’ cause lord knows he doesn’t know which key belongs to which car. You closed the door behind you and started to take off your coat.

“Mama!” Your son’s voice filled your ears.

“Hi my sweet son,” You smiled and hung the coat up. You walked over to him and picked him up from the floor, Elvis was just sitting a few feet away from you.

You had just come back from your doctor’s appointment to check on the baby. Elvis wanted to come with, but someone had to watch Theodore. You also couldn’t bring him because he doesn’t do the best in new places.

“How’d it go?” Elvis asked as he got up and made his way over to you.

“It went well, he just told me to be careful.” You responded with a smile as you looked up at him.

“So nothing bad?” He questioned as he placed his arm around you. You let out a hum and shook your head.

“No, he just thinks it might be stress because of the holidays.” You responded as you kissed your son's head, holding him close to your chest.

“Okay,” Elvis nodded and kissed the side of your head, offering to take your purse. Which you happily gave him. You sat down on the couch and just held your son close. You looked down at your belly and frowned lightly.

For how far along you were, you were growing big. With Theo, you carried him small, but it looks like this baby wants more room. You knew that with each pregnancy you were bound to grow weight, it’s natural. Not only because of the baby but also because of how our body works. You were good at keeping control of it.

“What are we doing for Christmas?” You asked as you looked over towards Elvis who was picking up the toys off the ground.

“I think we were going to host again?” Elvis looked at you with a questioning expression.

“We can, we would just have to go to the store. We just don't have ham or anything.” You explained to him as you rubbed Theo’s back gently.

“I can send someone out. The stores are probably crazy right now.” You nodded lightly at his response. Your heart felt… sad. It felt empty almost.

“Can you put him down for his nap?” You asked as you looked at the sleepy boy on your chest.

“Yeah of course,” Elvis said as he took Theodore out of your arms. You mumbled a thank you and watched as he walked away. Elvis knew something was wrong the moment you walked inside. He just didn’t know how much truth you told him.

You lay down on the couch and pulled the blanket down onto your body. You cuddled into the blanket and reached for the book that was on the coffee table. It was one of your sons, but it was a story either way. It was the story of How the Grinch Stole Christmas. Did it give your son a light scare at first? Yes, but once he learned that the Grinch doesn’t come unless you are extra bad, he was okay.

You actually had a lot of Dr. Suess books. In fact, you got Theodore the two that came out this year for his present. How you opted to do Christmas was that Santa gave the essentials, the ‘boring’ stuff some may call. He may give a toy here and there, but the fun stuff comes from the parents. You didn’t want him to see you guys as boring. To some kids, books may be a boring gift, but he loves to look at the pictures. He was still too young to read, but he liked to point at everything and ask, wha?

You heard Elvis as he began to walk down the stairs. His shoes hit rough against the carpeted stairs. Which bothered you to no extent. You wanted to keep a clean house. He would then argue that it was the maid’s job to vacuum and clean the floors. Some nonsense really.

“He’s all put down and- you’re reading one of his books?” Elvis questioned as he placed the white baby monitor down on the coffee table.

“It was the only thing nearby,” you replied simply. However, just on the opposite end near the lamp sat a copy of the holy bible. Maybe you were just in your feels and didn’t want a hard book to read. Nonetheless, something was wrong.

“All right, tell me what happened,” Elvis spoke as he appeared back into the living room. You tore your eyes away from the book and looked over at him.

“I told you what happened.” You said, returning your gaze back to the book. Not really wanting to have this conversation.

“And I know that there is more than what you told me.” Elvis came to the couch. He moved your legs out of the way and quickly sat down, resting your legs on his lap. You let out a sigh and looked over at him. You closed the book and laid it down in your lap.

“He said if I’m not careful I can lose the baby,” you spoke softly. You didn’t even wanna say those words out loud. It would just make it feel more real, and you felt your eyes start to water up.

“Hey hey,” Elvis’ tone softened. “What? Why would he say that?”

“You know how I went because of a pain? That I felt… really sick.” You brought up as you wiped away your slight tears before things got too crazy.

“Yeah,” he nodded.

“He says it isn’t normal to be really sick during pregnancy. Sure morning sickness is normal but… with the sickness and overworking myself. He basically bedridden me.” You explained to him, humming to the feeling of Elvis rubbing his hand up and down your leg.

“We’ll get through this together okay?” He tried to reassure you, but you both knew deep down the Colonel would pull him away to film some random movie. The two of you repositioned yourselves and your back laid against his chest. His hand rested on your small bump and rubbed slight circles against it.

You played the rest of the day safe. Once your son woke up from his nap you played some games with him before one of the maids started dinner. You felt bad keeping them from their family, but you sent most of them home already. Only two decided to stay and you were thankful.

Everyone was tucked away in bed before you knew it. Of course not until after you left out milk and cookies for Santa, which Elvis was gonna have to eat and drink later. Along with putting the carrots back in the fridge. He also had you write Santa a little note. Asking for some last-minute items, even though you told him it was too late. Theo argued his case and won.

Christmas Day came sooner than you expected. Well, three in the morning kind of soon. You sat on the floor near the toilet. Everything you had eaten at dinner down the drain of the toilet. It wasn’t just morning sickness anymore. This baby was just… taking everything out of you. So, you sat there until you were able to push yourself up.

Elvis was still sound asleep. He had these moments where he would be either a heavy sleeper or a really light sleeper. Today was one of those heavy nights. You rinsed your mouth out with some water and popped a mint before heading back to bed. You didn’t expect him to wake up every single time. Someone needed rest to watch after Theodore, and Elvis was just more capable of that.

Despite not being able to do much, you knew damn well that you were going to dress up for the holidays. So, as you walked down the grand white staircase, you heard laughter and voices coming from the living room. You steadied yourself on the railing and put on your bravest smile.

Truth be told, you woke up and just didn’t want to move. And this is after the hour you had awake between three and four. Maybe you shouldn’t have ever moved since your doctor bedridden you. To say the least, you were grateful for your maids was an understatement. They would be the ones cooking and cleaning until this baby comes. Without them, you didn’t know how your baby would survive, not off of Elvis’ cooking that’s for damn sure.

You reached the bottom of the stairs and heard your baby boy’s voice announcing your arrival. “Mama!” He squealed in happiness. He got up on his feet and made his way over to you.

“Hi my sweet boy,” you said and reached down picking him up. You pressed multiple kisses on his cheek and made your way into the living room. “Look how beautiful you look, Y/n,” your mother complimented you.

“Thank you, mama,” you said with a smile. Though, you doubted you even looked that beautiful. No amount of makeup or pretty dresses will hide the fact that you weren’t feeling well.

Elvis got up from his place on the couch and offered you his seat, which you gladly accepted. “So honey, is there a reason you’re not cooking today?” Your mother questioned.

“Oh, I’m just not feeling that well today, so Janice is holding down the kitchen,” you said with a small smile.

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that dear,” your mother responded. You replied with a smile node and reached over for Elvis’s hand.

“I believe we were gonna open up presents before dinner, right darlin’?” Elvis looked over at you, seeing if that was still the schedule.

“Yes,” you nodded. “With everything planned out after dinner, Theo should fall asleep at his normal time.” You further explained looking over at your family.

“What about your father, Elvis? Isn’t he joining us?” Your mother asked with her sweet-toned southern accent.

“Unfortunately not, that b-“ Elvis quickly coughed to cover up what he almost accidentally said. “That wife of his has him over at their place celebrating. I think she’s still mad about Thanksgiving.”

“Ah, I’m sorry to hear that son,” your father said. Elvis smiled softly at him as a way to express gratitude.

“Shall we exchange gifts then? I know Theo must be dying to rip them open,” she let out a chuckle. Everyone joined in with her. You tickled Theo’s stomach and watched as he erupted in a fit of giggles.

“Let’s have him pick?” Elvis suggested, though it sounded like he was asking for permission. He wanted to be careful with what he said, he didn’t want to cause you any stress.

“Of course,” you responded and placed Theo down on the floor. At first, Theo just sat down, but with some encouragement from his family. He made his way over to the tree.

You had to arrange some things around, but you placed the tree where the grand white piano is. You, more like you had Elvis, move the piano back so that you could fit the tree. You always thought it looked nicest there.

Theo looked around trying to figure out what to grab first. Should he go for something big or something small? You just thought he was lost and confused about what to do. He was only two after all. Elvis kneeled down and placed his hand on your son’s back.

“How about we check the stockings? See if Santa filled them with some candy and toys,” your fiancé encouraged the young boy. Theo nodded excitedly at the sound of Santa, toys, and candy.

You watched your boys make their way over to the fireplace and Elvis pulled down the stocking. He wanted it to Theo and you watched as he started to pull things out one by one. You hummed softly and leaned back, and nuzzled into the blanket that was thrown around you.

Gifts took… an awfully long time. It was just, that every time Theo opened something he had to play with it right away. It would take anywhere from a minute, to five to get him to open up another present. Not to mention the tears he would shed because he couldn’t play with his toy. It was… a very emotional roller coaster.

“I actually have one more gift to give,” your father spoke up as he stood up. “I think you’ll be very happy with it.” He looked at you as he said it. You looked at him confused and pulled yourself away from Elvis’ shoulder.

“I found it the other day when I was cleaning out the attic,” your father explained as he pulled up a box that was hidden from your eyesight.

“What is it?” You questioned as he placed the box in your hands.

“Open it and you’ll see.” You rolled your eyes playfully at him and opened the box. You froze when you saw the old ragged, yet somehow in perfect condition, stuffed bunny staring up at you.

You lifted the bunny carefully and continued to stare at it. “Is this Miffy?” You asked as you looked over at your father.

“It is, I thought… maybe you could pass her down to your baby once they are born.” You smiled softly at his answer and nodded.

You got Miffy when you were a young girl. You would wear your pretty dresses and run around the yard. She slept by your side every night. Then she became a decoration on your dresser, and then soon she was placed in the attic. You never thought you would see her again, let alone in such great condition.

“I cleaned and fixed her up,” your mother spoke to you.

“Thank you, this… this means a lot to me.” You started to tear up. You and your goddamn pregnancy emotions. You were quick to wipe your eyes and soon picked up your boy from the ground.

The fear of losing your baby just kept coming back to you. You didn’t mean to think about it, but… seeing Miffy, and your dad suggesting giving her to your baby once they’re born. It brought that fear that if you are not careful enough, they’ll die.

You held Theodore close and excused yourself from your family. You pulled on your coat and boots and walked outside. “Mama, oday?” Theodore looked at you worried as he snuggled closer under your coat.

“Yes, mama is okay.” You replied softly and kissed the top of his head.

Don’t stress over this.

The more stress, the more likely you’ll have a miscarriage.

Happy thoughts, Y/n, happy thoughts.

“Hey baby, everything okay?” You heard your mother’s voice. You turned your head and spotted her behind her fluffy coat.

“Yeah, just got a bit emotional, is all,” you gave her a sad smile.

“May I offer some advice?” She asked gently. You nodded slowly and looked at her, your hand rubbing your son’s back.

“You’re gonna face rough pregnancies every so often. At the end of the day, when you are holding your baby close to your chest… that is when it all matters. It may seem rough, and like your life is over, but at the end of the tunnel is God’s greatest gift. A newborn baby.” She spoke as she looked at you, never for a second leaving your eyes.

“Do you think he sees us as sinners?” You asked with a sad expression. You may have not been heavily influenced by God, but he played a role in your life. Just as he did with your fiancé.

“Just because you two aren’t married? Perhaps, but he knows that you two are down that road of getting married. He knows Elvis has a crazy schedule. I believe he made an exception just for you two.”

“How do you always know what to say?” You questioned.

“I’m your mother, I’m supposed to.” She smiled and pulled you into a hug, being careful of the toddler against your chest. You leaned into her hug, not being able to properly hug back.

“Thank you.”

The three of you went back inside and waited for dinner to happen. The maids made a beautiful and tasteful dinner. The main course being the Ham. You didn’t understand the reasoning behind holiday meats. Thanksgiving was always served with Turkey, maybe a ham, but Christmas was served with ham.

Your plate was full to the brim, hopefully, you’ll be able to keep it all down. You hardly had much to eat during the day. A bowl of oatmeal and fresh-cut fruit in the morning, and then dinner now. After everyone finished up their plate, everyone slowly but surely left. Your parents, your brother… Vernon made sure to stop by to drop off presents and say hi.

Other than that, the maids cleaned up, you got Theo in the bath. Then you got him all ready to go to bed, with the help of Elvis. You then got in the bath yourself, figuring that would be the best way to destress. Before you knew it, you were in your pajamas and getting in bed.

You hummed softly as you pulled back the bed covers. You weren’t one to lie and say that the silk covers kept you warm during these cold months. Nonetheless, it made Elvis happy, and if Elvis was happy; you were happy. But- there was no way in hell you were gonna suffer while pregnant during the winter.

“Elvis,” you called out to him as you got into bed, slipping your legs under the covers.

“Yeah, darlin’?~~” You hum at his voice. You don’t know how, but he just sounded more southern at night. Maybe it was because he was getting sleepy. His voice was getting more raspy, the whole nine yards.

“We’re switching covers tomorrow.” You stated, not bothering to ask. You wanted your fleece sheets, not freezing silk.

“Hold on now-“ he came in from the bathroom, a toothbrush loosely hanging from his mouth. “What’s wrong with these?”

“Cold,” you answered simply, “and the baby doesn’t want to be cold. Mama doesn’t want to be cold.” You gave him that look. It was that very same look that said a million unspoken words.

Elvis had a lot of say what got done in his house. Despite it being considered as both of yours. At the end of the day, it was Elvis’ name on the deed. He was the one to purchase it. He was the one who got to design and plan out the rooms. Then of course your son got a say in what went on in his bedroom. Despite the mess, he would make every single day. All you were asking was for a simple change of the sheets.

“Fine fine,” he muttered under his breath as he returned to the bathroom. You choose to ignore it just this once.

Does the bedroom bother you? Yes, it absolutely does. Compared to the rest of the house, it was dark and moody. It almost screamed vampire. You were more than happy with the blackout curtains, but you wanted it to look more lively. To match the rest of the house. Then again, you think it would kill Elvis if you put any sense of color in his bedroom.

You reached over to your side table and picked up the book you were reading earlier. Joy in the Morning by Betty Smith. While Elvis was more into books that related closely to the lord, you were more of a romance fan. You liked your little romance novels because deep down you wanted your romance to be like them.

That isn’t to say that the relationship you have sucks. You have your rough moments just like every other couple. In these stories though… it feels as if nothing ever goes wrong for them. That is what you wanted. A perfect life, a perfect relationship, a perfect… everything. Yet every night before you two signed off, you would read together a verse in the bible. One chosen at random.

You would open the book, and go through the pages, stop at one random, run your finger along the page, and stop it at random. You two liked to take it as… a reading. Thought most of the time the verses don’t lead you on a path of anything. They are more or less… well, they are verses. Not fortune tellings, but you two still liked to take them as such.

The bathroom soon became dark and Elvis emerged from the doorframe. He made his way over to the bed and slid in next to you. Well, more like got in… then scooted over to you. He pressed a kiss to your head and pulled you into his warm embrace. You let out a light giggle and made sure to quickly save your space in the book.

“You know, I haven’t given you your gift yet.” He spoke softly. You hummed softly and turned your head upwards to look at him.

“You’re giving me a baby, Elvis.” You spoke gently as you brought your hand up to his jaw.

“I can give you one of those any time. This is a special gift.”

“And what does it have that the other special gifts don’t?” You raised your eyebrow.

“I-,” Elvis didn’t know how to respond. He generally just needed the excuse of Christmas to give you more gifts. “God told me to.”

“Did he now? And what did he tell you to get me?” You played along with his statement.

“Well, that’s for you to find out,” he pulled out a neatly wrapped long box. You could already guess that it was some type of jewelry because of the box. Not a ring or earrings, could be a bracelet, necklace, or even a watch. The possibilities were endless.

You took it out of his hands and ran your palm against it. “Let’s see if God chose correctly then.” You pulled the wrapped paper off and revealed a black velvet box. The words of a jewelry company posted on top. You opened it and saw a beautiful gold necklace with an oval, and an E engraved on it.

You opened the necklace and smiled at the pictures already in them. A picture of you and Elvis, a picture of Theodore, and two more spaces to be filled. You looked over at Elvis and started to tear up. “Elvis,” you whispered.

“Once our baby gets born we can add their picture… then we can do a family picture as well.”

“It’s perfect, I love it.” You threw your arms around him and pressed multiple kisses on his face. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” he rubbed your back gently. “Merry Christmas, my darlin’,” He pressed a kiss to your forehead and held his hand on your bump.

It may have started off as a rough day, but the ending was most worth it. Much like other things. The beginning may suck, but if you truck through to the end you will be rewarded.

“I love you,” you whispered against his lips as you kissed him.

“I love you, and I love our baby.”

“I love them too,” you smiled alongside with him. Just think, next year you’ll have two kids for Christmas. It may be chaotic, but you were ready for this chapter.

Special Taglist: @darlinboypresley @austinstyles

Author's note: I started writing this after the first part went up. But it took me all the day till the 19th to finish. I am not completely a hundred percent happy with this, but I think I want to turn this into a holiday fic. I don't think there will be one for New Years. I can see an Easter one happening, a 4th of July one, Halloween, loop back around I might do Veteran's day instead of Thanksgiving for next year. Then ending it again with Christmas. Of course the newborn being there.

In the original fic, the reader actually suffered a miscarriage, and I wasn't completely sure if I wanted to copy that over. So, I placed the idea in this fic, it does not mean it will happen, but it leaves the doors open for that possibility, though I kind of just said what would happen.

Next fic will be posted on Christmas Day. I hope to have it done much quicker then I did this fic. I hope everyone is having a wonderful holidays!

#asshlyyyy writes #elvis presley #elvis fandom #elvis fanfic #elvis fic #elvis fanfiction #elvis x y/n #elvis x you #elvis x reader #elvis presley fanfiction #elvis presley imagine #elvis imagine #elvis one shot

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aliypop · 7 months ago

Text

Good Luck Charm

Word count: 461

Prompt: Elvis and Cecelia are having a quiet night winding the twins down when Jesse has another idea.

Warning: None

Taglist:

@darkmoviesquotespizza

@sissylittlefeather

@richardslady121

@thegettingbyp2

@presleyenterprise

@dkayfixates

@rjmartin11

@thetaoofzoe

@your-nanas-house

@zayurir

@60svintage

@sillybookmarks

@leapresley

@everythingelvispresley

@dreamondina94

@elvismylove04

@pocketfulofpresley

@elvispresley1956

@poeandmoonknightgirl

Memphis 1961

"Look at your little tummy wummies!" Cecelia cooed, bathing the twins as Elvis sat by Cecelia, eyes full of adoration, "You're a great mama, you know." He smiled, cleaning up spit from Jesse's mouth, "And you're a great daddy," She kissed his nose, hearing Jesse and Elaine babble, "Hey! Can't your daddy get some kisses," He chuckled as she smiled. It had only been three weeks since she had the twins, but they'd been adjusting the best they could,

"Bawbababwa!!" Elaine said, sticking her tongue out. Elvis gasped as he looked at his brown-eyed cutie of a daughter, "Baaah to you too!" Cecelia chuckled, the two going back and forth as she took her out of the tub, "Seems you two are in a heated debate, huh?"

"Naw, she said Mama should give her more milk." He teased, still washing up Jesse, "Well, Elaine, if your brother didn't have your daddy's appetite, you'd get more." She teased, walking Elaine to her nursery. She dried off the baby and powered her down,

"There we go. Now it's time for your sockie wockies." Elaine fought as she didn't want them on her feet, but the poor thing had no choice,

"Alright, now for your jammy wammys."

"AW HELL JESSE PEED ON ME!" Was all Cecelia heard. Holding back her laughter, Elvis came in as he held a twice-wet Jesse, his blue eyes looking at his own father's blue eyes with mischief,

"Well... you know what they say?"

"What's that?"

"It's a good luck charm... uh-huh-huh." She chuckled, handing Elvis a diaper and Jesse's pajamas, "Very funny honey, "He kissed her cheeks, and Cecelia blushed as she looked at him,

"Alright Jesse, be good to your daddy an put your foot in this sock."

"Wubbbaw."

"Mhmm." Elvis nodded,

"Bwabba!"

"I know!" He slid the material on his feet as he kissed his forehead, the couple then rocked them to sleep with a lullaby,

"Say, Elvis..."

"Hmm?"

"Why don't you be my little good luck charm tonight?" Cecelia looked at him,

"Ain't nothing little about this charm." He teased scooping her up in his arms. Maybe moments like this were why they called babies bundles of joy.

#oc #fanfiction #new stuff #new #elvis presley #elvis fanfiction #elvis x oc #1960s elvis #cecelia valmos #poc oc x elvis #elvis one shot

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codalysssssworld · 10 months ago

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HELPP!!!

Where can I request For an Elvis One shot!!

I have a little idea and need someone that just can bring the vision to life 😭😭😭

#elvis the king #70s elvis #elvis fans #elvisaaronpresley #elvis imagine #elvis the pelvis #elvis presley #elvis x reader #elvis one shot #50s elvis #elvis presely smut #60s elvis #elvis presley x reader #elvis presley fanfiction #elvis presley x y/n

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thedgeofreality · 2 years ago

Note

Ahh yay!!! Okay my request is car sex with elvis and you get caught completely naked with him and get in trouble

playing dangerous

a/n: thank you for the request! my first smut story, i hope you like it!!

pairing: reader x 70s elvis

warnings: 18+, smut, piv, daddy kink, getting caught, slight praising.

wc: 1.7K

It was night and you and Elvis had been sitting bored in the hotel together. After a while, he offered to just drive around town with you and you agreed. So together you left the hotel and made your way to his car. Thankfully there weren't any paparazzi which was a rare occasion.

He opened the car door for you and you got in. He walked back around and got in the car. He smiled at you before starting the engine and driving off to wherever he felt.

You were happy to be able to spend time with him for once, as he had been extremely busy these past few days. You barely got the chance to see him as he would come back late while you were already asleep. The only time you got to see him was in the morning when you woke up in his embrace. You tried to support him as much as possible, being at his side with rehearsals and cheering him on. But you felt he was overworked and whenever you tried to bring it up he would change the subject. Today was his only day off before going back on tour and you weren't going to leave his side for a second.

You stared at the road in front of you. It was pitch dark out the only source of light being the car, the moonlight, and the streetlights. The road was wet and looked like it was sparkling thanks to the moonlight shining on it. The radio was softly playing, the song was unrecognizable and muffled tuned out by the sound of the car. You looked to your left to stare at Elvis and smiled. His side profile was so pretty, you felt so lucky to have him as your boyfriend. You thought he was perfect in every way. He quickly looked at you noticing your dreamy state and chuckled. "You alright honey?"

You hummed and quickly looked back at the road. "Just missed you. Feels like we never see each other." He sighed. "I know, I'm sorry. I missed you too, so much." He paused to concentrate on the road again. "You've been on my mind all the time." He said and slowly lifted his hand to place it on your knee. You put your hand over his.

His touch felt so warm on your skin. You stared at his hand. His hand was twice the size of your hand and it made your thoughts go wild. Whenever he held your hand you felt small and helpless, he would squeeze your hand lightly now and then as a sign of love. Without saying words you knew what he meant by it. You always felt so protected and loved by him. This time you softly squeezed his hand and you looked at him. He was smiling and turned to stare at you for a split second "I love you too." He said before looking back at the road.

Then it stayed silent for a while, you kept driving and his hand never left your knee. You let go of his hand for a second. His gaze stayed on the road when he slowly moved his hand up your leg, his hand was now resting on your thigh and rubbing small circles. You stared at his side profile and he simply ignored you. You shifted in your seat as you felt yourself get slightly aroused by his touch. He kept his hand there for a while, he was playing dumb with you and you knew it. He slowly moved his hand up your skirt and you took a deep breath in as he did. You felt a wetness starting to form in your panties and so did he. He slowly slid his finger over your clothed slit, feeling how wet you had gotten in such a small amount of time.

You looked at him once again and saw him grinning, while still staring at the road. He pulled his hand back and put it back on the wheel, gripping it tightly. You stared back at the road with your mind going wild. He quickly pulled into a parking lot and shut the engine off. He finally turned to look at you with a smirk on his face. You knew exactly what was on his mind and thankfully for him you felt the same way. You leaned forward and put your hands on his cheeks as you kissed him deeply. He softly moaned as he kissed you back running his fingers through your hair.

You pulled back and looked deep into his blue eyes. "Can't wait any longer, I need you." You said softly and he chuckled. He put his car seat back as far as possible and patted his lap. "C'mere." He said and you quickly leaned over to straddle his lap. You placed your hands on his shoulders, he kissed you again deeply. He pulled at your shirt as a sign to get rid of it. You pulled away and took your shirt off to reveal your white lace bra. "Baby, you're so fucking pretty." He said while staring at your exposed top half, biting his bottom lip. He placed kisses along your neck and collarbone, stopping to slide the strap of your bra down. He quickly unclasped your bra and threw it on the back seat. You panicked for a moment as you were in a car with big windows, but then realized they were tinted and there was no way anyone could see the two of you. He started placing kisses on your collarbone again and slowly made his way down your chest. He pulled back once he reached your breasts and smirked at your reaction. You whined softly. He chuckled at you. "Patience my yittle." He said making you melt. He knew just how to make you swoon for him.

At this point, you were yearning for his touch. You kissed his neck as you started to get impatient and wanted to give him a taste of his own medicine. He let out a low moan. You took his shirt off and placed your hands on his bare chest playing with the hair, as you kissed him again deeply. You grind your hips down onto his to get some friction. You felt him harden under you. "Mama I need you now, no more playin' around." He said as he pulled back and you nodded. You quickly unbuttoned his pants as he pulled your skirt up and got rid of your panties. He cupped and caressed your breast. You pulled his cock out and slowly pumped it. He moaned softly when he felt your touch and grabbed your hips tightly. You were sure that would leave bruises but you didn't care. You then let go.

He took one hand off your hip and placed it on his cock. Lining himself up with your opening. "So wet for me, huh?" He made sure to tease you a little. "Please daddy, no more teasing." You said your voice sounding breathy. He chuckled at how you demanded attention from him and slowly lowered you onto his cock.

You whined softly as you felt him stretch you out again for the first time after a while. You had had sex with him many times before but still, every time felt like the first. He entered you inch by inch making sure to be careful. "Doing so well princess." He said and kissed your cheek. He stopped as he entered you fully and stared into your eyes to make sure he could move. You stared at him smirking as you started slowly riding him. "Good girl -ah fuck." He softly praised you, gripping your hips tighter. He bites his lip as he thrusts upwards meeting your every move. "Gonna fill you up little one." He groaned.

You leaned forward against him as you continued to bounce up and down on him. You moaned softly. The car windows started fogging up, making it very obvious as to what was going on. He slammed up into her a little harder and she stopped her movements, feeling herself go weak as he does so. "Ohh daddy, I'm getting close." You moaned loudly as you felt that familiar feeling rush over you, your stomach tightening.

As you were about to go over the edge -as was Elvis- the euphoria was ripped away from you when you heard a knock at the window. "Shit." Elvis muttered, placing you back on the passenger seat as he buttoned his pants again and quickly put his shirt on. He barely gave you any time to get dressed, you grabbed your shirt and put it up to your chest so at least something was covered. He lowered the window slowly and smiled at the man standing there.

The police officer looked at the two of you questioningly. He did a double take on Elvis as he realized it was the Elvis. You felt the blood rush up to your cheeks, feeling nothing but embarrassed and ashamed you had been caught like this. Elvis tried to cover you as much as possible with his body. "What's the problem, officer?" He asked, giving his best smile.

"Well." The officer said clearing his throat and putting his hands in his pockets. "Your car was rockin' very suspiciously, got any idea about that?" The officer said and you looked at Elvis panicking. He chuckled, looking up at the officer. "I have no idea what you're talkin' about, sir." He said, now playing dumb with the officer.

The officer sighed, knowing damn well what was going on in the car. Thankfully to Elvis his status, he didn't feel like addressing the situation. "Hm alright, you folks have a nice night. Keep this stuff in the bedroom." The officer said before walking away. You and Elvis nodded.

As soon as the officer was gone Elvis rolled the window up and looked at you, bursting out in laughter. The two of you laughed together. Elvis grabbed his police badge and flashed it at you. "Police." He stated, chuckling before continuing. "No sex happening on my watch." He said mocking the police officer his voice. You laughed with him. You quickly got dressed again and he put his police badge away. "No keep the badge. I like Policeman Elvis." You said, smirking at him. He shook his head as he started the car's engine again. "You are trouble, little girl."

"I've been such a good girl, Mr. Officer." You replied smiling at him innocently.

#50s elvis #70s elvis #austin butler #big daddy elvis #elvis #elvis 2022 #elvis fanfiction #elvis fluff #elvis imagine #elvis one shot #elvis x reader #elvis presley x reader #elvis presley #thank you for the request!#officer elvis #smut #elvis smut

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everythingpresley · 2 years ago

Text

My Secret Ken-Doll (part one)

summary: Elvis has a little secret named Kennedy Jackson.

word count: 3.1k

Author's Note: Was in the mood for some angst.... As always.

Part 2, Part 3, Epilogue

My Secret Ken-Doll

Elvis sat in the back of his Cadillac with Charlie Hodge on his left, Jerry Schilling driving the car and Red West in the passenger seat. Elvis could barely contain his excitement, he placed the palm of his hand on his shaking knee to cease the movement. He had to bite down on his lip to stop himself from smiling, the guys would tease him relentlessly if they saw how excited he was.

Jerry pressed on the brakes, pulling the car to the side walk in front of the building that Elvis always seemed to disappear to the moment he lands back in Memphis, he was starting to spend more time in this unknown apartment building than Graceland at this point.

“Good night.” Elvis said and quickly jumped out of the car. The guys had no idea where or who he was seeing in this apartment but everyone could tell it was a girl.

He rushed up the stairs, taking them two steps at a time. Elvis took a deep breath and knocked on the door, he was grinning ear to ear when he heard rapid foot steps approaching the door from the other side.

“Hi sweetheart!” Kennedy said grinning, opening the door wide open.

“Hi Kenny baby!” Elvis chuckled, opening his arms wide for her to jump in them.

Kennedy jumped in his arms, wrapping her arms around his neck and locked her legs around his slim waist.

Elvis smashed his lips on Kennedy’s lips, gripping her waist tight “I missed you.” he sighed against her lips. Elvis had been going back and forth between Vegas for the filming of Viva Las Vegas with Ann-Margret and Memphis.

“I missed you too.” she replied “Let’s go inside before my neighbors see you.”

Elvis chuckled and stepped inside the apartment, shutting the door behind him and placed Kennedy on the kitchen island while running his hands up and down her bare thighs. She was dressed in shorts and a t-shirt.

“Mmm what are you cooking?” he asked, the kitchen smelt like an assortment of delicious food.

“Well, I just finished cooking dinner. I made your favorite, mashed potatoes, fried chicken and biscuits and for dessert chocolate chip cookies.” Kennedy replied running her fingers through Elvis’ hair.

They had met a few months back when her friend was invited to one of Elvis’ many parties at Graceland by his entourage.

Kennedy had went to the party reluctantly seeing as she had work the next day and needed to be up super early. Kennedy under no circumstances wanted to say hi to Elvis, she didn’t really want to disturb him in his own house and seeing as he was surrounded by girls, she opted to steer clear but once she caught Elvis’ eye, it was a done deal. He shrugged off the girls that sat around him on the couch and walked over to Kennedy who was talking to one of the guys at the party.

“Hey, can you give us a second?” Elvis asked the guy, coming to stand behind Kennedy.

“Umm sure, no problem..” the guy smiled timidly and walked off.

Kennedy frowned in confusion and turned, surprised to see it was Elvis that spoke.

“Hi.” Elvis grinned, looking down at Kennedy.

“Hi.” Kennedy smiled, feeling slightly nervous. He was very handsome especially up close. He had his hair pushed back and he was dressed in a blue button down with the first few buttons open, exposing his hairy chest.

“I’m Elvis.” Elvis outstretched his hand out to her.

“I know.” She chuckled “Kennedy.” She said, taking Elvis’ hand to shake but he instead pulled it to his lips and planted a kiss on the top of her hand while keeping eye contact with her. She raised her eyebrow and smiled awkwardly.

“You have a nice name.”

“Thanks, my parents thought I was a boy and didn’t bother changing the name.” Kennedy shrugged making Elvis chuckle.

“Nah, I think it suits you.”

Kennedy blushed slightly and chuckled. Elvis grinned at her reaction.

They talked all night but nothing happened between them. Kennedy had to go to work with almost zero sleep but she felt a deep connection with Elvis that night. She didn’t know if every girl felt that way but she thought she would never see him again until a few days later he showed up in one of his Cadillacs in front of her work place.

He rolled down the window and grinned at her, tipping his large sunglasses down.

She frowned and looked at him in bewilderment.

“Get in, quick!” He said as people walking around started to notice him.

“What?” I looked at him like he spouted another head.

“Quick!” He hissed.

Kennedy got flustered when she noticed people starting to quickly circulate around his car so she quickly rushed towards the passenger side and got in. Elvis quickly zipped out of there leaving behind a group of screaming fans.

“What in God’s name are you doing here?” Kennedy asked him.

“Don’t curse the lord sweetheart.” Elvis chuckled “You know how hard I had to look to find you?”

“Seems like it was pretty easy if it only took you a few days.” Kennedy replied.

Elvis laughed and turned his head to look at her with one hand on the steering wheel and the other resting on his thigh “Well it was kind of easy since you’re probably the only girl that has the name Kennedy in Memphis.”

“Hey!” Kennedy smacked his arm “You said it suits me.”

“It does!” Elvis laughed and looked at Kennedy once again, his eyes roaming down her body before he turned to look back at the road “You look so hot dressed like a sexy librarian.”

“Woah there. You say that to every girl you meet?” Kennedy raised her eyebrow at him.

Elvis look at her with a slightly gaping mouth “I-I’m sorry honey, I-I didn't meant anything by it. You just look good.” He stuttered, feeling flustered with how Kennedy was staring him down.

“Elvis.” Kennedy chuckled “I’m kidding. Thanks for the complement… I guess?”

“Ah doll. I almost crapped myself.” Elvis chuckled, shaking his head.

“Where are we going?” Kennedy asked him.

“Anywhere you’d like.” Elvis replied.

“I’d like to go home.”

Elvis pouted and gave her his best puppy dog eyes“Wrong answer.”

“You said anywhere I’d like.”

“Anywhere else!”

“Fine.” Kennedy rolled her eyes “I’d like to get some food because I’m starving.”

“Perfect! We’re going to my favorite diner. It’s very quiet, don’t worry.” Elvis winked.

“So, what do you do exactly?” Elvis asked, taking a big bite of his cheeseburger. Kennedy sat opposite of him eating chewing on her own cheeseburger.

“I work in Finance.” She replied.

Elvis rolled his eyes.

“What?” Kennedy chuckled.

“Nothing. Your… partner doesn't mind you working?” He asked, eyeing her.

She chuckled and shook her head at him “Is that your way of asking if I’m single?”

“Uhh I-I-“ He stuttered, for some reason he always felt super nervous around her.

“I wouldn’t have spent the entire night talking to you if I had a boyfriend or a husband now would I?” She asked him with a raised eyebrow.

“Well… I tried to kiss you that night and you fully dodged me. Even then I still had to look for you.” Elvis replied, mumbling the last sentence as his cheeks turned bright red.

Kennedy leaned forward with her eyes wide “When?”

“What?” He looked up at her with wide eyes “When we went outside and sat in my backyard.”

Kennedy frowned “I don’t remember.”

“I gave you the look, I looked at your lips… You smiled. I leaned forward to kiss you then you just turned away from me and took a sip of your drink.” Elvis replied.

“Oh!” Kennedy covered her face with both her hands “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize you tried to kiss me.”

Elvis laughed and shook his head. He grabbed a napkin and wiped his lips, taking a sip out of his Pepsi bottle before getting out of the booth and sliding in, next to Kennedy.

“What are you doing?” She asked, quietly when he scooted closer to her. His thighs were pressed up against her own.

“We’re gonna try this again. I’m telling you now, I’m gonna kiss you.” He whispered, looking down at her lips.

“Okay.” Kennedy whispered, also looking down at his pouty lips. She licked her lips unconsciously as he leaned forward, his eyes darting from her lips to her eyes and back. He closed the distance and kissed her softly. Kennedy kissed him back and placed her hand at the nape of his neck, playing with the ends of his hair. He smiled against her lips and cupped her cheek, deepening the kiss.

Elvis and Kennedy continued to see each other and would constantly hang out secretly in Kennedy’s apartment since it was the most secluded and private place until Elvis asked her to be his. Kennedy said yes but insisted on it being fully monogamous, she knew how Elvis was with other girls and she didn’t want that, she wanted someone who will be faithful and true to her and Elvis agreed.

The oven dinged indicating that the cookies were ready. Elvis moved from between her legs and grabbed the dish towel, pulled the oven door open and pulled out the batch of cookies that Kennedy had just finished baking “Hmm, Hmm, Hmm.” He hummed while sniffing the freshly baked cookies “Probably my second favorite smell.”

“Huh and what’s your first?” Kennedy asked with a raised brow.

Elvis smirked, placing the batch of cookies on the kitchen counter and walked back over to Kennedy, standing between her legs once again. He leaned down and kissed down her neck, nuzzling her neck and sniffing her simultaneously “You.”

“I’m your favorite smell?” Kennedy giggled, running her fingers through Elvis’ hair.

“Uh huh.” He hummed against her neck and continued to kiss down her shoulder.

“Are you happy to be back in Memphis?” Kennedy asked him.

Elvis pulled back and cupped her cheeks “I am so happy. I’m ready to rot on that couch all weekend and just cuddle you.”

Kennedy grinned and kissed his soft, pillowy lips.

Elvis and Kennedy had dinner and got caught up after not seeing each other for a few weeks when he was filming Viva Las Vegas.

Kennedy placed the batch of cookies on a plate and scooped some vanilla ice cream on top, grabbing two spoons for her and Elvis. They both got settled down on the couch and turned on the TV to some random movie playing.

“Oh I missed this.” Elvis sighed, leaning back against the pillows and threw his arm around Kennedy’s shoulders, pulling her to him. He kissed the top of her head as she laid her head on his chest, placing her hand on his little belly.

“I love you.” Kennedy said and kissed his open chest.

“I love you too, Ken doll.” Elvis replied, running his hand up and down her arm. His favorite two nicknames for her were Ken doll and Kenny baby. Kennedy on the other hand hated nicknames but she didn’t mind it when Elvis gave her all sorts of nicknames when they had first met, finally sticking to those two.

Elvis tipped her chin back and kissed her gently. They made out for a while on the couch before moving to her bedroom.

It been a week since Elvis left again for Vegas when Kennedy spotted his and Ann-Margret’s face plastered on the first page of the newspaper with the words “Engaged” in big letters. Kennedy frowned, hating that people thought they were together, she never wanted to be in the spotlight but she still hated when girls were associated with her boyfriend. She then opened the newspaper and read the article, her heart sank to her stomach when she realized it wasn’t just a rumor from some random stranger instead it was Anne-Margret herself who had said those words.

Kennedy gulped and threw the paper in the trash. What the heck? Why the hell would she say that? Kennedy chanted in her head repeatedly that it wasn’t true but she was panicking slightly. Elvis and her had already fought over this topic when he first started shooting the movie and picture of him and her being all close were published and rumors started to swirl that they were together.

The phone rang and she knew it was Elvis but she was very upset and in no mood to argue with him. She instead chose to take a tub of ice cream to bed and just watch movies all day on her day off. She could hear the faint ringing of her landline but it was easy to muffle the noise when she increased the volume of the TV.

Elvis was in his dressing room on set when Jerry came rushing in “What the heck Jerry? Knock!”

“You need to see this.” Jerry said, ignoring what Elvis just said. He rushed over to where Elvis was sitting on the couch and handed him the paper. Elvis gave Jerry a confused look and grabbed the paper from his hands. He looked down at the paper and read the words that were plastered on the first page “What the fuck!” Elvis exploded, getting up from the couch.

Elvis threw the paper down on the coffee table and speed walked to Ann-Margret’s dressing room.

“Hi.” she smiled brightly.

“What the fuck is wrong with you!” Elvis yelled.

“Oh. You read the paper?” She smiled.

Elvis growled and punched the side of his fist against the door frame “Yes I fucking read the paper. Why the fuck are you going around telling people we’re engaged?!”

“It’s good publicity.” She whispered, feeling intimidated by this side of Elvis.

“I. Have. A. Girlfriend.” He said with a clenched jaw “You know that.”

“Yet, I’ve never met her.” Ann shrugged “And we clearly belong together.” She said running her hand down his chest.

Elvis gripped her hand and threw it off aggressively “Don’t touch me.”

Elvis left and rushed back into his dressing room, calling Kennedy’s landline while tapping his foot anxiously.

After an hour of the persistent ringing, it finally stopped indicating that Elvis had finally given up.

As the sun was setting a few hours later, heavy pounding shook the front door of Kennedy’s apartment. She huffed and shuffled out of bed, she looked through the peephole to find an angry looking Elvis standing on the other side of the door.

She rolled her eyes and opened the door “What?” she asked with a raised eyebrow.

“What do you mean what?!” Elvis growled, pushing the door open, slamming it against the wall causing a small dent to appear on the wall “I’ve been calling you! You haven't been answering.”

“I don’t think your fiancé would appreciate you talking to your side mistress.” Kennedy replied.

“You know that’s not true.” Elvis growled getting in Kennedy’s face but she stuck her ground, not really scared of Elvis no matter how scary he looked with his blue eyes turning a shade darker in rage, his nostrils flaring and his jaw clenched tight “You know that’s just publicity for the movie.”

“She knows you have a girlfriend right? You told me, you told her, right?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“Okay then why the hell would she go and say those things? That you proposed to her and that you two are engaged what the hell is that about?”

“I-I don’t know!” Elvis said and side stepped Kennedy to walk into her apartment, pacing in front of the TV “I don’t know why in god’s name she chose to tell those damn reports that!”

Kennedy sighed and closed the door of her apartment, their neighbors definitely heard Elvis’ yelling “You’re fixing that.” she pointed at the dent on the wall.

Elvis rolled his eyes and walked over to her, pulling her into his arms.

She sighed once again and wrapped her arms around his waist. He kissed the top of her head and swayed gently back and forth. Kennedy pulled away from his chest and turned her head up to look at him “Tell me nothing happened between you two.” she whispered, her heart raced at the question. Praying he would say nothing happened and nothing will ever happen.

“Nothing happened.” He gulped.

Kennedy winced “Elvis. Tell me the truth.”

“N-nothing happened.” He stuttered, his eyes watering as he spoke.

“Oh my god.” Kennedy whispered and shrugged him off, taking a step back from him “What happened?”

“It was one time.” Elvis whispered, biting down on his lower lip anxiously.

Kennedy’s lips trembled as she spoke “Was it more than a kiss?” she felt a lump form in her throat, her eyes filling with unshed tears.

“Baby.” Elvis said and took a step towards her. She took a step back and away from him, shaking her head at him.

“Elvis.”

“Yes. It was when we first started shooting the movie. B-baby I-I’m so sorry, honey. Please forgive.” Elvis’ voice cracked, fresh tears rolled down his face.

“You need to go.” Kennedy whispered, wiping the tears away from her face.

“What? No.” Elvis shook his head.

“Elvis.”

“No. I’m not leaving. You’re my girl and we need to talk about this.”

“Not anymore. I’m not your girl anymore.”

Elvis let out an audible breath, his eyes wide in panic “Kennedy.” he took a step closer to her, shaking his head “Honey, please.”

“Please go.” Kennedy’s voice cracked as more tears rolled down her face.

“Kennedy.” He cupped her face and kissed her.

Kennedy kissed him back before she pushed him away from her “Go.” she said and walked to her bedroom.

“Kennedy wait a second!” Elvis rushed after her but she had already slammed it shut and locked the door before leaning against it and cried into the palm of her hand.

“Kennedy please open the door.” Elvis said, knocking on the door “Baby. She doesn't matter. It was a mistake.”

“Please just go, Elvis.” Kennedy sighed, closing her eyes. Her heart couldn’t handle the heart break she felt at that moment and she wanted to cry out loud but not when Elvis can hear.

“I’m not going.” He sighed.

“Please.” Kennedy’s voice cracked, clenching her eyes shut.

“Okay.” Elvis sighed and leaned his forehead against the door “I’ll come back first thing tomorrow okay? It’s gonna be okay.”

“Don’t bother.” Kennedy replied which made Elvis wince. He placed the palm of his hand on his chest, above his heart and rubbed that area as if it physically ached him. He didn’t want to leave but he wanted to give her a break to breathe.

“I love you.” He gulped, wiping his tears and left, shutting the door behind him. Feeling his heart ache with unbearable pain.

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missmaywemeetagain · 2 years ago

Note

Sister, my darlin’ Madi! 💗

So, I already told you that I will be in your inbox, right? I’m requesting a fic for Post Army!E. Uh oh…

What do you think you could do with this picture?

I was thinking maybe a little romance, a little smut action, a little exhibitionism kink (cause come on, we all know Elvis likes to watch his conquests), maybe a little bit of spanking. I don’t know, but it sounds a bit better in my head when I thought about it 😂 Feel free to do whatever you please with it. If you can’t stray away from angst, I welcome it.

-Daisy (@powerofelvis)

Ah, my darlin' darlin' baby! My first ever request and it seems entirely fitting that it's for you, my biggest cheerleader!! 💗 @powerofelvis

I hope I did your request justice--I maybe went in a little different direction (I couldn't manage the spanking for this one, sorry!) and I'm also apparently incapable of writing anything less than 4k, so here's your 5.7k monstrosity of smuttasticness! Love you, baby, and I hope you enjoy! 🥰

This is filthy, so Minors, DNI!! 18+

This is part of Madi's Get to Know Me Gala 💗. Requests/asks are still open for the time being!

So, here it is, my first Request: Snap

You pride yourself on being one of the top photographers in the field, especially when, just like so many other careers, it is dominated by men who think they know better and do better solely because of the dangling appendage between their legs. Luckily, your boss has a progressive outlook and sees your talent for what it is.

The thing is, you are able to get something different from your celebrity subjects and he knows it. The women feel more comfortable with you because they know you aren’t trying to get in their pants, and the men either soften or want to impress you to do just that. And you seem to have a naturally honed ability to figure out quickly what they want and need and are able to play to that to get the best shots.

It’s a win-win most of the time.

Luckily, you don’t tend to get starstruck easily, perhaps because you see behind the curtain of the business. Not to say you didn’t get some butterflies around Paul Newman or feel a sense of awe around Grace Kelly. But overall, the glitz and glamor doesn’t affect you much.

You are a little surprised, however, that your next assignment is the one and only Elvis Presley, fresh from his image-changing stint in the Army. And you sense that the change of image is going to be the challenge on this shoot because remaking a man who the public already has a solid image of through a measly photograph is easier said than done. You have little doubt, based on your research and what you’ve seen so far from his pretty army discharge pictures, that his rebellious streak is now over. But who he is now and who he wants to be going forward likely looks very different from the hip greaser image burned in your head from the 50s.

That and the fact that you’re traveling on a train with him as he heads off to his next big film in LA is throwing you a little for a loop. But you are nothing if not adaptable.

There are more than abundant rumors of Presley’s love for the ladies, which is how you think you find yourself the only photographer who is asked to join him on the train on his journey. The other male photographers had clamored their way past you, fighting for shots at the train station, both outside the train and in it, before it was set to leave. You hung back, taking a few pictures here and there, but mostly smirking to yourself at the desperation to get the man’s attention.

It surprises you a little how pleasant Presley is, how accommodating. He’s nothing but a polite Southern gentleman, giving everyone their piece of him graciously. And the interactions with the fans are nothing less than remarkable based on your experience with other celebrities, and you chronicle that with your camera. There is a presence about him, an essence, that you’ve never quite encountered before with the way he commands the space he is in, demanding attention without ever actually saying a word, without requiring it. But you are finding it a little difficult to get a true read on him with so many people around.

You sense there are many other sides to him, but it’s not until you are almost alone with him and the train starts moving that you are able to discern what they might be. When you are finally introduced properly and are up close to the man, you cannot deny that your heart flutters and you shiver a little at the open way his brilliant sapphire eyes take you in from head to toe.

“Well, hello there, honey,” he drawls, the words warm and dripping into your stomach as his hand clasps yours. “You must be our resident photographer.”

You hate the way his gaze and his touch disorient you. You’ve been around dozens of charming, handsome men, but this man is on another level altogether. He’s more than just a chiseled jaw and high cheekbones and stunning blue eyes. No, there is a magic about him that draws you in, throwing you off your game and threatening to melt you into an embarrassing puddle.

It’s more than a little infuriating.

You manage to snap out of it, clearing your throat and introducing yourself firmly, professionally, putting on your best celebrities-don’t-rattle-me affect. But the damage is done because you can see the glint of amusement in his eyes and the tiniest smirk play at those famous full lips.

You watch him relax with his friends, joking and messing about. Keeping a healthy distance, you get some shots that will likely never see the light of day but help you gauge the lighting and get a feel for him. When not around the onslaught of reporters, he seems filled with an almost adolescent penchant for horsing around, which seems interesting for a man of 25 fresh out of the Army who presents now as keen and intelligent enough despite the Southern accent that the snobs in LA and New York want to look down their noses at him for.

Suddenly, as if commanded silently, the others disperse into the different private cars reserved for him and his people, leaving the two of you alone. After a moment, those deep eyes of his find you, and he beckons you down the train car towards him in a come hither motion and the raise of an eyebrow.

That is when you realize what Elvis needs for you to get your shots. The man wants to play. A little tete è tete is in order, perhaps.

Easy enough, you think as you sit diagonally to him in the bank of seats across from him. You’ve played similar games before with other handsome men. Nothing tawdry, but a little flirtation never hurt anyone. Though with the way his eyes darken and his posture changes ever so slightly, for the first time ever, you think you might be a little out of your depth.

Regardless, you force yourself to maintain an air nonchalance. You hold up your camera. “May I?”

He nods, a smile playing at his lips. You’ve known some of the biggest stars to be uncomfortable under the gaze of a lens in their more private moments, but Presley seems to have no qualms whatsoever. And as you snap a few casual shots up close, it becomes crystal clear that the camera loves him. Every angle just works. He has no “bad side.” It’s almost exhilarating for someone like you who seeks to capture the truth in these moments to have the challenge of a man who was born to be in front of a camera as your subject.

Somehow, he’s both childlike and suave all at once. Innocent and sultry. Feminine and masculine. And he’s got the longest eyelashes you’ve ever seen on a man.

Elvis lets out a long whistle. “You sure are the prettiest photographer I’ve ever seen.”

Your eyebrow raises and you are thankful that your camera conceals the slight blush on your cheeks, despite knowing this is likely just a line to placate you.

“Is that so?” you respond evenly.

“Mhm. Sure is a nice change from the usual group of stuffy men up in my business, I’ll tell you for sure. Much rather have you up in my…” he trails off, then winks.

“I’m not sure you could handle a woman like me, Mr. Presley.” It’s a challenge and a risk, to be sure, taking this way to a man of such stature, but you put just a bit of playfulness in your voice to temper the slice.

He pauses, considering you in a different way, then mimics your own words back to you: “Is that so?”

Snap.

The photo you capture then is one you know has that edginess, that something else you are looking for.

There’s a sense of tension in his posture now, only recognizable to you because not a second so he was the picture of confident relaxation. But you’ve caught him out—that famous lip of his curling as he throws your words back at you, his almond eyes narrowing suspiciously but full of a feline sexual energy. While his right arm appears casual on the armrest, his long and slender pointer finger goes rigid, a suggestive gesture to be sure.

He’s playful about it but in such a way as a jungle cat seeks to play with its food before devouring it.

Heat courses through your limbs and pools low in your belly, a purely biological response to this amazing specimen of a man and the way he’s looking at you.

You manage to find your voice. “Quite so, I’m afraid,” you say with a flirty, faux sorrow.

“We’ll see,” he hums, then slides over the seat until right across from you. In a bold move you don’t see coming, Elvis nudges his toe under your skirt and in between your properly clasped knees, spreading your legs apart until his foot rests possessively through your thighs on the seat underneath you.

“You’re one cocky sonnuvabitch, aren’t ya?” you muse, finally bringing your camera down to look him in the eyes. You are hyper aware of the way his toe inches up, closer to the heat that now begins to pulse between your legs.

”Gonna have to wash your mouth out if ya keep talkin’ like that,” he purrs.

Snap.

“Oh, really?” You are loathe to admit just how badly you want to see him try.

“Yes, really.”

“Hmm, suppose you’d have to catch me first.” You are fully taunting him now, quickly hurtling into the realm of unprofessional but unable to stop yourself.

Snap.

But based off the smile on his face and the heat in his eyes, he is enjoying himself.

“Oh, that ain’t hard.”

“No?”

He chuckles and inches his foot up far enough that your thighs now encase it, sending a rolling shiver through you at the pressured sensation.

Snap.

Obviously, you know how a good round of flirtation and suggestion can open a subject up, so to speak, but you don’t mix business with pleasure. Right now, you are running headlong down a very dangerous road. You aren’t completely naive to the ways of men and sex, but you also aren’t overly experienced when it comes to the deed itself, due to propriety and self- preservation. Your experience has been limited to heavy petting and the basic mechanics of the act, but nothing you’d call very exciting or even overly enjoyable. The whole sex thing honestly seemed overrated, made more to please men than women.

But that was before Elvis Presley sat across from you and wedged his foot between your thighs.

The more you think about it, about him, the more you think you might burn right through your clothes as though it were the dead heat of summer and you’d been running for miles. You force yourself to breathe slowly, evenly, to keep control of your faculties and the situation, but he stares at you with those intense eyes and you already know it’s a losing battle.

“Show me how to work that camera, honey,” he says, surprising you with the change of tactics.

“What for?” Your camera is your livelihood, your baby, your artistic expression so this makes you nervous. Usually, you’d never, ever let a subject touch it. But these aren’t normal circumstances (and you also know that he has more than enough money to replace it if he screws something up).

“Oh, you’ll see,” he smirks, eyes dancing. He makes no indication that he’s going to move his foot from its precarious position in order for you to shift towards him, and when you raise your brows at him questioningly, he just smiles that wide, million dollar smile.

So you slowly, carefully, scoot your butt to the edge of the seat in order to lean far enough forward with the camera in hand. In doing so, however, the sole of his shoe is now flush against your core and you can’t help the little yelp that escapes your lips when he presses against you. It stokes something inside you that you’ve never felt to this extent before.

Oh, you are in trouble. You are in way, way over your head.

You manage a gulp and then clear your throat as you lean over to show him the workings of the camera. He meets you in the middle, and your eyes nearly roll back into your skull for the way it presses his toe into your now aching cunt.

Holy hell, the man smells intoxicating, and you are aware of just how close his face is to yours. It’s as if his eyelashes flutter in slow motion, his breath hot near your cheek, and a pressure builds inside of you, one you’ve only felt when your curious hand has made its way into your panties on a sleepless night or when you’ve pushed a pillow between your thighs, rocking into the friction. Certainly no man has ever made you really feel that way.

But that feeling barely touches the fire that courses through you now. In a slow daze, you show him the basic mechanics and he gently pulls the camera from your grasp. Suddenly, you feel vulnerable and bare without it, your shield of indifference taken away.

Elvis leans back, releasing some of the pressure on your core, and you can breathe again, if only for a moment, because the look in his eyes is nothing short of obscene in its sexiness.

“You develop your own film, darlin’?”

You are confused by the question, but all you can seem to do is nod in response, wondering where in the hell this is going.

“Good. Now, relax, honey, and pull that dress up for me,” he says, as though he’s asking something completely benign of you.

Your face must register your confusion, your surprise. To his credit, he moves his foot away, and his gaze and voice both soften, “I ain’t gonna hurt you, I promise, but you gotta tell me if this isn’t somethin’ you wanna do.”

To your credit, it doesn’t take you long to find your voice, as stammering as it might be. “I-I-I want to,” you say, and it comes out so breathless you’d roll your eyes at yourself in any other circumstance. In fact, you are rather shocked at your eagerness.

Elvis smiles broadly. “Well, okay then, honey. That dress,” he commands, nudging his chin up to remind you what it is he wants from you.

Your heart flutters so fast that you’re not sure it’s even fully beating anymore. You inch the fabric up, up, up your thighs, feeling the softness as it wrinkles under your palms, exposing your stockings to the man in front of you.

Much to your chagrin, you are utterly spellbound. A reasonable voice in the back of your head tells you to stop this nonsense immediately before you make a fool of yourself before you cross lines that cannot be uncrossed. Yet your body is so wound, so tuned into him, so needy for whatever it is he has in store for you that you can barely think.

Snap.

It takes a moment to register that its him taking pictures of you, not the other way around. An embarrassed heat rushes to your cheeks when you realize he’s aimed the camera squarely between your legs and not at your red face.

You pause when reaching the white lace tops of your stockings, the garter clips that hold them up now visible.

Snap.

It’s likely the way he bites his full lower lip behind the camera that gives you the courage to keep going, that little tell that perhaps he’s just as aroused as you, that this isn’t some cruel joke.

Finally, you pull the hem up over your hips, exposing your white panties fully to his scrutiny. Perhaps it’s the damp spot in the center of them that has him shifting his hips with a quiet, low groan. The sound sends a thrill rippling through your limbs.

Snap.

His voice comes out husky and about an octave lower this time. “Now reach into those panties and touch yourself for me, baby. D’you know how to get yourself goin’?”

“I think so, yes,” you reply breathlessly, altogether unsure if anything you’ve ever done to yourself is anything what this obviously experienced man expects.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart, I’ll help guide ya if you need it,” he says with a kind of deference, patience.

You nod, then, biting your lip in concentration, you slip your hand down under the waistband of your underwear. The pads of your fingers are cool against the blazing heat of your sex as they trail down to that sensitive bundle of nerves you’ve only touched the surface of exploring. You circle the bud a few times, your hips rolling involuntarily in response.

Snap.

“Lower,” Elvis commands, and you obey, sliding down to find how swollen and soaking you already are. Something about the way he is watching you has a coil in your belly tightening in a way it never has before, has your body responding in ways it never has with another person.

“Are you wet, baby?” he breathes.

You nod.

“Show me.” It comes out sultry and eager and sets you on fire that he wants to see with his own eyes what he’s doing to you.

You pull your fingers out of the damp fabric and show him the slick shining there.

“Goddamn,” he whispers, snapping another photo. “Lemme taste you.” The blush revealed on his sky-high cheekbones when he pulls the camera away is enough to send your breath heaving, but it is nothing at all compared to what happens in your body the moment his lips close around your sticky fingertips.

An obscene moan rolls out from your mouth as his soft tongue licks your digits clean. The sound seems to urge him on, resulting in him sucking one, then the other, gently. Your hair stands on end, goosebumps running down your arms, your eyes fluttering closed. That coil inside your pelvis tightens so tight you feel like you might burst, but then he removes his mouth with a resounding pop.

You whimper at the loss and your eyes flutter back open to find his deep blues staring back at you with a passion that seems to rival your own.

“Sweet as honey,” he murmurs with a dreamy smile, picking up the camera once more. Something inside you is proud that he’s enjoyed tasting you, as if you were always meant for him to enjoy. “Now I wanna see that kitty.”

You didn’t know it was possible to be more flushed that you already are, but your cheeks rage with blood. You aren’t exactly sure how he wants that to happen and your brow furrows.

“Just pull those pretty panties to the side for me, baby,” Elvis encourages.

It feels like all the blood in your body rushes into your pussy the moment you slide the ruined cotton off to the side, leaving you bare for him. The cool air makes you shiver, or maybe it is the way he groans as he takes a picture of your most private of areas.

“T-touch yourself for me,” he says, his voice needy and strained now.

You run your fingers down then up through your lower lips, feeling the throbbing pulse of blood down there as you do so, feeling that tightness in your belly squirm for more. The obvious tent in his black slacks has you breathing even harder as you wonder what he would feel like buried inside of you.

But Elvis has other ideas.

“Aw, hell,” he moans before tossing your camera aside and falling to his knees in front of you like a desperate man praying for forgiveness. You barely have time to register your shock at the superstar prostrating himself at your feet before his large hands spread your thighs further apart, and his luscious lips kiss their way up your slit, landing on your aching clit.

“What are you—Oh my god!” you cry out before you can stop yourself, your hands flying into his dark mane of soft, perfectly styled hair. Never in your life had a man put his mouth there, it wasn’t even something you knew was done, and ohmifuckinggod it feels so good that your mind goes blank.

When Elvis moans into you, lathing his tongue flat against you and dragging it up your core, you think you stop breathing completely.

So far gone are you as his wicked tongue winds through and spears and soothes you, that you don’t realize that the mewling murmurs of, “Oh, Jesus. Holy mother of—Oh, Elvis!” are actually coming from your mouth. You feel him smile against you, pausing his ministrations long enough for you to catch your breath.

Which is good, because he immediately knocks it back out of you as he slides a long finger into your tight heat and latches himself to your clit like a man possessed. The deft way his finger pumps, then curves into some unknown spongy spot you didn’t know existed until this very moment has you writhing on the seat, clinging to his beautiful head for dear life. Somehow, the combination of the suckling and licking of your little nub coupled with the rapid work of his hand has your entire body tensing before he hurtles you over an invisible cliff, that tight coil in your belly snapping. Shuddering and gasping, you free fall, and a soothing warmth washes over you from head to toe.

You’ve never felt anything like it in your life.

Your chest heaves with exertion as you come back into yourself, whining at the emptiness when he removes his finger, then shivering as he replaces it with his tongue, lapping at the excess of slick arousal that now seems to coat everything below, including his face.

The aftershocks that he causes to ripple through you stoke the fire in your belly again, and you think that maybe, just maybe you had this sex thing all wrong. That the few men you’d fooled around with had absolutely no idea what they were doing. Because this…this was…so good you can’t even think of an intelligent way to describe it.

Elvis straightens and pulls up onto his knees, looking utterly pleased with himself, his pretty mouth shiny with you. Slotting between your open legs, his eyes shine with arousal.

“Was that good, baby? Did you come?” he asks.

“I—was that…? Did I come? What does that—?” you stammer, barely able to string together a coherent sentence, confused by his words in your haze.

He chuckles at your floundering. “Have you never come before? Never had an orgasm, honey? That’s a damn shame,” he says, wiping his mouth with his thumb, then licking it.

You blush at your inexperience and at his gesture. “That was an orgasm? I mean, of course it was…I, well, I’ve been with men, I just—that never—Um, yes, th-that was amazing,” you babble, knowing that you must be bright red with embarrassment, but your body is so loose and warm that you almost don’t care.

He only smiles at your bashfulness and leans up into you, his mouth hovering so close to yours that you feel his warm breath on your lips and can smell yourself on them. “Well, best give you another one for good measure. Whaddya say, baby?” he whispers, your entire body tingles at attention.

All you can do is nod, almost frantically, wondering how in the world he could make that happen again and absolutely desperate for it at the same time.

It’s then that he finally kisses you and you are consumed all at once with how pillowy soft his lips are, how you can taste yourself on his lips and it feels like it should be wrong, but you sort of like it. He’s surprisingly gentle, his passion evident but controlled as he explores your mouth much in the same way he explored your pussy—soft at first, but insistent. You open to him easily, his tongue quickly finding yours and in one fell swoop, he maneuvers you onto your back on the seat, slotting his long legs between your thighs.

The gentle way his hands and lips caress your face, your neck, down to your breasts and waist has you distracted enough that you are surprised when he rolls his pelvis into yours and his excitement is particularly evident as it pokes into your belly.

It’s because of me, you think in disbelief, I’ve made Elvis Presley, of all men, aroused.

And that thought suddenly has you ravenous and bold. You reach between you two, taking his clothed but considerable length in your hand and squeezing.

Elvis groans above you, then smiles. “You eager little minx. Give you a little taste and now it’s all you can think about, huh?” he teases.

Your response is to smile back and work his length with your hand. You may not know much about the female orgasm before today, but you sure as hell are familiar with how his equipment works.

“Okay, okay,” he gasps, his eyes rolling back, “Jesus, woman, I hear ya.”

He rids himself of his suit jacket while you make quick work of his belt and buttons and zippers. Unbeknownst to you, yet completely unsurprisingly, he is wearing no underwear, so with a quick push of his slacks off his hips, he’s totally bare for you.

He’s well-endowed enough for you to be a little nervous about it which he seems to pick up on. “Don’t you worry, baby, I’ll go slow,” he whispers kindly in your ear.

You nod and respond by wrapping your hand around him and pumping his shaft, swirling your thumb gently over his foreskin and over the head of him. The beaded pre-cum slicks over the tip, eliciting a low growl from the Adonis hovering above you.

Pulling up your skirt again, you bend your knees invitingly, letting him nestle between your legs. Elvis takes a moment to kiss you roughly, nipping at your lower lip, as he coats his erection in your slick, rubbing the length of it between your already sopping and swollen folds. The tip of him brushes against your clit maddeningly as he does so, causing you to arch and keen under him.

Finally, you can stand it no longer, reaching your hand down to line him up with your entrance. He smirks above you, but the look is wiped off his face and quickly replaced with something almost akin to awe as he pushes into you slowly. Your body yearns for him in such a way that, even though you are quite tight around him, you seem to suckle him in, inch by inch. The sensation has the both of you moaning, eyes rolling back and lips parting as you join together.

“Fuck, honey. So goddamned tight for me,” he groans, and a shudder of pleasure rolls through you.

It's utterly delicious the way he slots into you so perfectly, bottoming out as you swallow him whole. He gives you a moment to adjust and relax into the heaviness of him in your body, looking down at you with what you realize are quite soulful eyes. His arousal is obvious in the way his pupils are blown, but he still looks at you with an air of reverence even though this seems to be a spontaneous and casual fuck on a train.

When he starts thrusting in and out of you, slowly at first, and with somehow perfect precision, hitting spots inside you that you didn’t know existed, you realize you’ll never be able to have sex again without comparing it to the gorgeous man above you.

Lord, you wish you could take a picture of the way he looks right now, hair mussed and sweat beading on his forehead, his plump lips parted and panting. This is the perfectly imperfect Elvis you wished to capture when you got on this train. But in this moment, he is just for you to see. You don’t want to share him with the world.

He’s patient in his approach to keep his promise, yet he doesn’t need to wait long. Your body is humming with arousal, the warmth blossoming over you as his thrusts become more pointed and deeper. The way he rolls his pelvis, then swivels it, playing with motion and depth make you realize he’s gauging every reaction you have, adjusting to what brings you closer to falling apart.

You barely recognize the sounds coming out of your mouth, feeling every hard inch of him taking over you, wanting more, more, more. Your wet heat flutters around him and he speeds his thrusts, but it’s when he brings his hand between you and rubs his thumb against your hypersensitive bud that you truly begin to fall apart.

This time, it’s more gradual, the way the heat and pressure builds. You know more of what to expect, but holy hell, he’s playing you like an instrument, making your entire body quiver with desire and need. You almost want to escape the feeling—it’s so intense, so stimulating, as he pounds into you from above, but you also never want it to stop.

“C’mon, baby, that’s my good girl,” he praises in that low Southern drawl, and that takes you up, up, up the crest of your arousal.

You pant and whine, desperate now for a release you’ve never had a taste of until now.

“That’s it, come for me now, darlin’, come on me,” he moans, working your clit faster.

That sends you flying over the edge, hitting the crest of your orgasm so hard the wind is knocked out of you, and you see white stars in the blackness of your closed eyes. You clench around him, your legs wrapped around his waist, squeezing, as though he can keep you from flying away. Body shuddering with release, you feel a gush of warmth and he’s sliding so effortlessly through you, he could split you in two and you wouldn’t even know it.

“Oh, fuck, you’re so good for me…did so good baby,” he pants, watching you come down from your high.

Elvis slows down, easing you through it, though he looks like he wants to absolutely ravage you for the way he looks at you so hungrily. He’s holding back, you can tell.

“I’m gonna pull out, baby. I-I-I—can I come on your pretty lil’ face?” he gasps, eyes begging you.

You’d be more taken aback if he hadn’t just fucked you silly. Never in a thousand years would you think to let a man claim you in such a way, but you find that you want—no, need—it. You’d let him do almost anything with you at this point.

You nod, unable to speak with how fucked out you are. Elvis pulls out of your heat and you groan at the loss of him, but he’s pulling you down to the floor and you go, bonelessly, onto your knees. Towering above you, he stands, using the remnants of your glistening release to pump his cock expertly, and the sight sends shivers through you.

“Oh, that’s it, honey. Open your mouth for me,” he pants out, tapping your chin with his finger.

You obey without question.

Elvis clasps his free hand at the back of your neck, cupping your jaw as he thrusts roughly into his other hand. “Aw, f-f-f-fuckin’ hell,” he moans loudly, and then he comes violently. Pulsing, hot streams squirt over your cheeks, your chin, and you taste the bitter tang of his salty release on your tongue.

You’ve never tasted a man before, and you’re glad the first is Elvis Presley.

He looks absolutely ethereal in his release. The way he grits his teeth and then his mouth hangs open, eyes fluttering shut and body shuddering as he paints you with him makes him even more attractive than you thought possible.

You wait, mouth still agape and covered in his seed. His bedroom eyes open and he looks down at you. “Jesus, you look so damn beautiful covered in me,” he says dreamily. “Stay just like that.”

Then, surprising you once again, he grabs your camera which had been discarded earlier, bringing it up to his face.

Snap.

He memorializes the moment.

“Swallow, baby,” he guides you, tapping your chin closed. You do, even though it makes you a little queasy because you’ve never done this before.

Snap.

“Open,” he says, pulling the camera from his face. Then, he uses his thumb and fingers to wipe your face of him, depositing the rest of his cum in your mouth. “Want ya to take it all for me,” he coos. You take it willingly, and then suckle the rest off his fingers.

“My pretty lil’ photographer,” he moans out, snapping one last shot as he pumps his fingers in your mouth. “S’good for me, you dirty girl.”

You can’t help but whine at that.

Elvis flops back down onto the seat, dark hair failing in his eyes, and pulls you into his lap. He kisses you, gently, then with more insistence as he seems to relish the taste of himself on your tongue.

“Mmm, I want copies of those photos,” he says seriously, pulling back and looking into your eyes.

You blush furiously. “Okay,” you whisper, nodding.

He lets his head fall back onto the seat and closes his eyes in refraction. After a moment, he speaks again, pulling you in close.

“And I want you to be with me in California, once we get there. Will you stay?” he asks quietly.

The way he asks so earnestly both stuns and delights you. You couldn’t say no even if you wanted to.

“I will,” you say.

Elvis smiles.

Grabbing your camera, you take one last shot of your beautiful, mind-blowing man.

Snap.

198 notes · View notes

therealslimshakespeare · 1 year ago

Text

Hop to it Tink

Pairing: Thumper & Tink

Summary: As the mid 60’s consume Elvis with his ever more arduous film schedule and immersive hobby pursuits, Elaine crafts a friend out of a rival. For either spouse it’s not the ideal of way to cope with a lost child and estrangement, but the confusion that can occur from dumping any old thing into a wound to close it up is enough to bewilder the most grounded person. Much less a young girl like Elaine Presley who finds herself scrambling for a hint of girlhood as her five children and husband rely on her to keep it all afloat. Just as she’s going under, a pretty painted hand lifts her up.

Dedicated: to Ashley and Christi who both begged for this to be written and added so many details themselves that enriched it. Credit is also due to @prompted-wordsmith for the wicked suggestion of Benetint being used herein.

Warnings: sensuality, 18+, no outright smut but many mentioned offscreen acts, suggestiveness, this can be read as two girl friends or a little more, I tried to keep it nebulous as I imagine it would feel for Elaine herself in her exploration. a rather alarming emphasis on feet, pampering and painting toes and Elvis being overly into that, phone teasing, Larry being a little too psycho analytical over why Elvis and Elaine are having trouble after Jo, mentions of a stillborn, mentions of marital dissatisfaction, hinted male infidelity, hinted Polaroids and homemade spicy films, Elvis turning shit into being erotic that isn’t? That’s men for ya. And then just fun fluffy stuff with the kids but that’s no warning. I didn’t edit this really, I’m too tired, my apologies for any errors.

Requested: yes ✔️

Circa: 63-67

“Hey Tink?” Ann’s voice, always enviously soft even while sounding mischievous, asks abruptly in the middle of an hour long chat.

“Oh what now?” Elaine giggles into the gold phone Elvis has stashed on his nightstand, feeling silly to be sat on her bed in the middle of the afternoon, frittering it away with chatting and giggling to a friend.

That’s rather proof that Elaine needs it. Too much ‘strictly business’ in her life these days and Elaine knows if Elvis were here he’d be poking her forehead and making her fall back and put her feet up. She taps them on the floor instead, tap tap tapping her heeled boudoir slippers on the bed frame in a giddy tick as she waits for her friend to spring whatever wickedness is behind that tone of voice.

Her friend.

Elaine had hoped Ann would like her, be willing to be a buddy to THE Mrs. Presley but what they’ve got now is something she didn’t even think girls could have. It makes her view Elvis and his buddies more tolerantly, the stupid and goofy comradery she was starved for without even knowing it has slowly had its way with her in the form of Thumper and bike riding with Thumper and chatting with Thumper and kissing Thumper while Elvis writhed beneath them…so maybe it’s not like his mafia boys at all, but somehow it’s deeper despite the unorthodox beginnings and carnal undertones that seep in and out of it at whim.

“Whatcha got going on tomorrow night?” Ann asks at last, sounding altogether too nonchalant.

Elaine's heart pounds and she purses her lips, sensing a game here. She’s so like Elvis, this friend of hers, maybe that’s why Elaine gets butterflies in her belly at the chance to see and enjoy Ann, or when the telephone rings and it’s her sweet self sounding like she’s actually had to pace herself from calling Graceland when she knows full well Elvis isn’t home. She calls for Elaine, and something about that makes Elaine bite her nails and kick her feet.

“Oh not much, Jack and Jesse are trying the scuba gear in the pool right now,” Elaine sighs, “and if they don’t die tonight I suppose I’ll be here tomorrow making sure they’re still breathing and fixing sandwiches and seeing to it that Ella’s got her puppy ready for the show.” she waits a beat and adds, “You know full well he isn’t gonna be home.”

“Who?” Ann asks with overacted ditziness.

“Him.” Elaine rolls her eyes, “At least another five days away, stupid Arizonan weather has decided to rain and there has to be reshoots.”

She can hear Thumper humm on the other line with something that’s more contemplative than compassionate for Elaine’s empty bed. “How’re your toes?” she asks.

Elaine peers over the fluffy slipper tops and the profusion of lime green feathers adorning the slippers, “Decent, but they’ll need to be redone before he gets back.”

“Red?”

“French tip.”

“Hmm, Pink next, I think?” Thumper says.

“Yeah alright.” Elaine bites her lip and makes herself stop or else they’ll start peeling and need more Vaseline.

“I have to be in LA day after tomorrow. And I have a flight tomorrow morning. It stops in Memphis.”

“How nice.” Elaine murmurs, pulling on her lip now, slightly better than biting, she supposes, and it hides her grin from the gal a thousand miles away in New York.

“Yes, I thought so.” Ann agrees.

“And it’s such a long flight, New York to LA.” Elaine coos, “You’d get cramp if you didn’t break it up, can’t have you holed up like that, unable to walk out the shakes.”

“No, you wouldn’t want it for me, would you?” Ann babifies her tone and Elaine does fall back into the covers grinning stupidly up at Elvis’ ugly harem lamp above her.

“No, no I wouldn’t dream of it.” Elaine swears, “You just come by Graceland, stay the night, stretch your legs a bit, fill your belly, let me curl your hair.”

“And we can talk about boys.” Thumper agrees, like that’s her return currency for good southern hospitality…and it sorta is.

These nights when she stays, they’re something sweet and young and silly like Elaine hasn’t had in years. Never once herself in full since she married, losing all friends who knew her before Elvis, collecting folks who knew Elvis long before her, and a snazzy supply of darling children whose most stimulating conversations are about tricycles and losing a new tooth -Elaine is a little starved.

And Elvis -well, as Tink, she's his best friend, without doubt, and he is hers. But she’s also his wife, his woman and his home and his ballast and his doll and his lover and his mama and his ideal. So many roles. What she can’t talk to Elvis about is only relegated to one topic.

Elvis himself.

And such a man, a force more than a man at times, oh it needs an outlet and somehow the Mafia wives and even Betsy Blue Eyes Harrison with her discreet goodness and friendship can’t speak of what Elaine wants to speak about. A body can only go so long without bragging a little about what they’ve got, and when what you’ve got is a national heartthrob and the most famous man on earth -secrets about earth shaking ardor that rivals cataclysmic tempers, well, sometimes Elaine wants to speak of it. Or, rather, about the parts that make her love it, look forward to another day full of it. The little things that she can’t trust anyone else to know or love or see kindly.

Except for Thumper. Thumper -who has already admitted to loving him the same way, seeing him the same, living for him similarly. It’s the oddest consolation, and stranger still that his wandering eye gave it to her, but Elaine will take it.

“Yes, we could talk about boys.” Elaine agrees with Thumper, both knowing that when they say boys, they mean boys such as Naughty, Widdle Fella, Elvis Presley and The Memphis Flash.

Tomorrow comes and her sons are alive and hardly stripped out of their swimsuits to sleep before getting back in them and plunging to the depths of the swimming pool with metal tanks on their back and masks on their faces. She can’t bear to watch, looks like a perfect way to die at home, and so she stays inside and helps Ella groom her puppy for the pageant and Rosalee has an embroidered collar that needs help with fastening the buckle -she did the stitching herself- and although she hasn’t seen Daisy in hours, that wasn’t unusual.

In the afternoon she sends a car to the airport, Marty grins at her wildly and she gives him the old eyebrow before taking herself to her bedroom as the hour nears and going through a rather worn routine that still pleases her like when it was new.

The sound of the big door suctioning through the house can be heard upstairs, as can the chorus of children screaming “Aunt Tamale!” and Elaine knows it’s time to make an appearance.

Ann braces to a squat with her bag dropped beside her as a tidal wave of Presley children launch themselves at her over the foyer floor, tackling and clinging and squeezing vehemently with grinning, beautiful faces. Three are wiry, chlorinated and shirtless. It takes a moment for Ann to realize one is Daisy and that no, they’ve not made a third son since she saw them last. Jack’s golden hair has gotten darker and that’s heartbreaking but at least his dimples are deeper than ever and Jesse is just as sweet and courteously loving as always with Ella tagged behind with a wet doggie that Ann takes in her arms and let’s lick her face and Rosalee had a sketch to show her of what looked like a deformed couch but was most likely intended to be her beloved daddy’s profile and -

Oh Elaine.

Always one to make an entrance, to set the tone of a good game. She looks perfectly at home leaning against an upper bannister while observing the hubbub from above, with sheer navy cascading around her like a thundercloud and her hair tousled to perfection. Young Elvis’ portrait yearns behind her on the wall and Ann smiles at the rightness of it.

She waits till her children loosen the gambit just a little before wafting down the stairs in a tulle blur of long limbs and soft focused curves and she throws her arms around Ann and her sensible, tweed traveling suit.

“Thumper, I’ve missed you!” She’s no icy Madame in her own home, sweet Elaine, her porcelain face and macabre loungewear aside, she is warm and glowing in the rays of a waning day’s sun and Ann clings a little longer, arms around her neck and giving flesh beneath her hands, feeling oddly at home in this foyer.

“Missed you, too.”

The sleepovers always start with evenings like this. There’s playing with the kids and dinner, they may end up in the pool, they may end up watching home movies to show her what she’s missed since last visit. Perhaps there’s a new golf cart to try to flip on its top. But when bedtime comes, Thumper is a loving taskmaster, insisting everyone get to their respective rooms, starting the process thirty minutes early so that there can be as much dithering and “one more chapter” as can be and still get the kids conked out at a decent hour. Rosalee is allowed to stay and use the phone to talk to Elvis till 10:30 and in the meantime Thumper conducts tooth brushing competitions and Elaine sorts out breakfast plans with Mary.

And then it’s time for bedtime, and where Elaine might waiver about being so selfish as to deny her kids the little tiny bit of girlhood she’s carved for herself this evening, Ann has no qualms guarding that for her and summarily cleans out the big king bed of progeny.

Only little Jack is occasionally allowed to stay.

Weaned, or so Elaine swears but Anna has doubts, the kid is golden and soft and lanky like all little five year olds should be, and blessed with an unerring accuracy in beaming and scowling at the right times to get exactly what he wants. In short, he is Elvis come again in a tiny, button nosed, rosebud lipped cherub with sweaty curls begging to be pushed off his forehead by a loving hand and of course it’s half the delight to let the little fella stay and camp on the bed when they read their tabloids to each other, watching him laughing maniacally along with them at rumors about themselves that Jack doesn’t even understand.

Jack is also excellently skilled at wedging the foam pads between their toes when it’s pedicure time, allowing Elaine and Ann to bask back in matching boudoir chairs with their feet propped up on the matching stools Elvis got. Pink stain pouring over little round stools for when he wants to haul one up and chat to his wife while she applies her lashes. Jack insists on wedging the foam between their toes himself and sometimes tries his hand at painting with varying catastrophic results.

“Heyar, i’s wight heyer.” Jack’s little drawl still butchers Elaine’s diligent elocution lessons but both women fawn over him regardless when he passes them a roller they had planned on using later -not anymore- they drop the sectioned hair in process and start again with the one he gives them.

“He’s really precious, isn’t he?” Ann sighs once, staring down at him where he finally passed out between them, soft, chubby knees he got from his daddy bent askew and long fingered hands for a child tucked beneath a milk fat cheek.

“I don’t think I’d have made it without him.” Elaine admitted once and when Thumper gave her a searching look she went on, “Before there was you, there was just him. And when everyone else was ready to be happy again after Jo, he never minded when I’d take him to a room to nurse him and -“ she trail off, face lit warm by the harem lamp’s multi gemmed glow and the golden bedding around them, dark hair pinned up in rollers to show how young her face really is without paint and artifice, “-I even remember once being in Elvis’ trailer on set, right after and it was like every kid who cried around me-my body would respond and let down more and I-I didn’t have a baby for it. Except for baby Jack, and I remember sitting in that hot trailer on the lot while all the kids were out with Elvis touring the set and I was…crying.”

“Of course you were.” Ann snuggles closer, reaches over Jack’s little form to squeeze Elaine’s arm.

“I was sobbing my eyes out, actually.” Elaine admits with a shy turn of her head towards the padded headboard, “While he nursed. And then I felt his chubby little hand, all clumsy and sweaty, wiping them off without ever breaking his latch on the nipple. Wiping the tears off my cheeks.” She clarifies, “I didn’t know a baby could be so loving in the way I needed, and I’ve been close before, Jesse was my world I swear, and Ella is like watching myself again. But -his dimples pop when he gives that crooked grin and he won’t even let go of the latch, just a little…” she mimics his grin with her thumb in her mouth Ann laughs at the sight.

She laughs at the things Elaine finds funny and and she gets why Elaine loves what she loves. And night after sleepover night, Elaine finds herself admitting more and more and gets back an earful in return. It makes her giddy and makes her kick her feet when she picks up the ringing phone and hears her friend on the other line.

“I think I need to freshen up my hair.” Elaine will sigh into the receiver.

“I like how you’re growing it out, less structured, it’s younger!” Ann will agree before adding just as emphatically, “Just needs a little trim and some styling. I can come Thursday.”

One such Thursday in ‘64 Tink came out of the bathroom with tin foil in her hair and scared giddiness in her smile.

“I’ve got a surprise for ya,when you get back, Naughty.” Elaine told Elvis on the phone, forcing herself not to bite her nail in anticipation and ruin the new coat of polish.

The surprise had been an auburn haired wife.

Elvis noticed the effects of the sleepovers himself, beyond the wild sight of auburn hair, even as he looked at them askew and with a confused belligerence about fun being had without him, and many a demand regarding “what sorta fun are ya having? You’re my wife, dammit!”

His logic that ‘it don’t count if its two girls’ when excusing a night of the three of them rolling in Ann's rough cotton sheets as soon as Viva Las Vegas wrapped, didn’t hold up now. Now it very much did count that they were two little girls. Two unsupervised little girls and he was relieved when Jack stayed with them, but less so when he heard from Jack that they painted their piggies and arm wrestled in their nighties.

Elaine legitimately enjoyed grappling on the fluffy white carpet of the music room floor after ice cream had been served and wiped from childrens’ chins. It was something she tried with Elvis and never managed to win except by clinging to his back like a limpet, and even then he’d win by crushing her into the pile with his weight.

But with Ann she could tussle and strain and keep up some of that old verve that had once had her nailing softball practice in high school and currently crushing Vernon at tennis. No one in the Memphis mafia was allowed to tackle her or ought else when games were played on the lawn and no amount of flattery convinced Elaine of competency she had not exercised in years. Thumper provided just such a foil and Elaine found herself winning and losing with a clean conscience and sore body time after time, children applauding at either result.

She felt a little wild, like she had when Elvis brought the three of them together that first night, pacifying her qualms about the rightness of it as only he and his unfailing logic could do. But these days she was less and less burdened by rules or even expectation, it was her own house, her own life and if Elvis Presley had cracked open the door on hotel sheets, then Elaine saw little blame to be garnered from stepping over the threshold and creating a little world for herself that made her feel more than used up and unsellable. A “fact” Colonel Parker and the family Enterprise winced over daily. She could shut herself up in Graceland or Palm Springs and see to it that her children got an education, her husband's favored meals were served when he deigned to come home and her sanity was somewhat in place for it all by any means possible.

Elvis, for his own part, knew damn well he’d invited in whatever wild spirit of independent merrymaking Elaine now partook of. He also trusted her implicitly to keep it under wraps within the halls of their house, to indulge respectably and set a good example for his children.

It was undeniable, since her friendship with Ann began, she was looking younger, happier and more content than he’d seen her since before the tragedy, before Jo.

And Elvis cared mostly about that.

And in the way of those who do not know how to comfort others regarding a tragedy that they themselves have not recovered from, he found himself making concessions and negotiations, a bit of “so long as I can keep this, you can have that” sort of bargaining.

The ‘this’ and ‘that’ were never quite verbalized, but it was understood in that miserable harmony of married couples that he’d keep his women and his crowd of unedifying friends and employees so long as she might have household stability and a certain license to be a nutcase. Perhaps it would buy him and Larry time to figure out whatever fucked up Retrograde or inner chakra was keeping him from being able to bodily make love to his wife in the traditional way.

Larry swore he was only scared to make another child and lose it, hence why his wife remained hypothetically attractive but he could not complete his attraction carnally.

Elvis thought Larry should stick his head in the wood chipper for such a simple answer, there’s no way in hell that’s all there is to it and yet it likely was and Elvis couldn’t quite manage to accept that. Accept that he was still grieving. It wasn’t an option really. Not with everything else going on, all the different ways he was needed and wanted elsewhere, and not with the way Elaine swore she was fine until he could figure it out, so long as he loved her and was there for their kids.

Which he is. And when he’s not, Ann’s there. And Dodger. Or Marlon -on Daisy’s insistence. Or the whole damn nation.

So, much as the current order of things rankled Elvis, perhaps out of some suppressed awareness of his own role in it, ultimately having his Happy Tink back was his greatest wish.

And if it made Thumper happy as well? -goodness, it was a better end than most dalliances could boast.

But it was hard being a little sidelined, and when Charlie pointed out that Elaine must feel similarly about his flings and his fellas, Elvis wasn’t sure what the hell he was on about as Elaine was very much incorporated in both, as much as she liked to be. She just liked to be less and less and that was on her. Charlie still suggested he tell her how he felt about it.

But then Tink beat him to it.

He was laying there in bed, at Graceland, at some pitch black early morning hour one time, with five sleeping children scattered in their bed, when she told him she didn’t mean to make him feel lonely. It was all Elvis needed to hear. That she knew she was doing that, and if she knew it, then he knew that before long she’d find a remedy. He just needed to be a little more patient.

Which wasn’t his forte but Tink was quick and ingenious and once she’d come up with how to help, he just about wished she never had. The cure was as cruel as it was mouthwatering.

Elvis was in his trailer one day, on a movie set as Elvis was most days this year, and had spared some time from shooting due to another department needing to sort something out. The something didn’t matter, what did matter was that he got to sit in his trailer with his friends earlier than usual for an evening, put on his helmet and watch the game. And then his team won. Which, in the raucous, bottle clinking, cigar lighting jubilation of celebrating such a win, had him almost missing the ringing of the telephone he had wired in.

Only the Colonel and Graceland and little blonde Shirley from last movie set had his number and so Elvis scrambled over his red sofa cushions, threw off his helmet and leaned over to pick the phone up, hollering, “H’allo?” into the receiver while chopping at his throat with his hand in a demand for silence from his boys.

“Naughty?”

“Why, if it ain’t my pwecious baby wife.” he cooed with a sappy grin on his face, happily flipping on his back in the cushions, all being right with the world with his girl’s voice in his ear and his team in the playoffs.

“How’re you doin’ baby?” she asked him sweetly, and he could hear her settling into the sheets, the rustle couldn’t be from the kitchen.

He kicked his feet up above his head and propped them against the wall, “Pretty damn good, you watch the game?”

“Jesse and Thumper gave me a play by play.” she informed him.

“What were you cookin’?”

“Dumplings. Couldn’t step away.”

“Aww.” he knew it had to be something precious and easily burned to keep her from watching. “And now?”

“Now I’m petting Whiskers.” she informed him.

Their cat. “I trust Annie ain’t pettin’ any kitties of mine, is she?” he mumbled in a discreet little growl, cupping the phone to his mouth.

Joe glanced over anyway. Elvis found the toe of his boot tapping a jittery rhythm against the trailer wall and as annoying as he found it himself, he couldn’t stop. He felt nervous, oddly, like when he used to call Elaine from Germany, way back when before she’d joined him. Back when he wasn’t sure he knew her fully. She kept him on his toes and he liked that, it made his blood rush and satiated his natural eagerness for newness -but oh how he wondered sometimes how she always dredged up this newness. If he knew her, really knew her would -would she keep being so surprising?

Fuck. Maybe Larry was right, maybe he needed to pop a pill like an old fart and get it on with her, get it outta his system.

Where were they? Oh, cats. And Ann.

“Elvis, c’mon, really.” Elaine chided with a giggle, “Ann is setting up the pedicures.”

“Oh.” Elvis sucked in a breath at the way such a reassurance sent the blood from his panicked brain to his jealous heart and then melting down like molten desire right between his legs. He flexed his belly and gnawed on his thumbnail. “Oh yeah?” he tried again and sounded so damn wrecked that every friend in the place looked at him as if he’d just put on a porno. “Y’all paintin’ your piggies? Mmm? Pink, yeah? Fuck’meee.”

“Mhmm, well, she hasn’t gotten to painting yet.” Elaine expounded with a sigh, “She’s oiling them up, I’ve had to endure a fifteen minute sermon on dry cuticles, Elvis, and now she’s squeezing and rubbing my poor piggies till they’re tingly-“

“Laney!“ he hollered as if she dropped a 2x4 on his own toes and the guys crowded in, a mixture of mockery and interest on their faces. Elvis spread a hand out on his chest to regulate his breathing and cursed at the realization that his wife wasn’t the slightest bit clueless as to what she was doing. “Oh Laney, what -what’s she usin’ to oil ya?” he begged to know, his nose breathing deeply as if he could guess it a thousand miles away.

“Baby oil, Elvis,” Elaine sounds so earnest in his ear, “I told her you don’t let me use nothin’ else on them.”

“Good girl.” he growled after realizing she couldn’t see his decisive nod of approval at her obedience.

“Oooh” he hears her breathe in his ear and startles up from the couch in a little flail that has no destination save that he heard his wife moan and it requires some expenditure of energy from him or he’ll go nuts laying here imagining her in her babydoll nighty, her pretty little bare toes getting oiled up by Annie.

“Tink, what she doin’ to yous, Tink?” he demands urgently, and the guys crowd closer, Elvis tugs at his pant leg and knows it’s futile, his rock hard dick is trapped in Edith’s well tailored trousers and all he can do is bring his feet off the wall and spread as much as he can.

“S-she’s rubbing my arch.” Elaine tells him, “I was wearing those pretty little white heels all days, the white ones you got me.” she reminds him and he smiles at the visual of her clicking through their home.

“She makin’ ya feel good?” he prompts his eyes glossy and far away from his gaudy trailer and the smell of cigar smoke. “Rubbin’ the sore right out?”

“Yeah, yeah feels good.” She slurs.

He can just picture her all puddled and lax and slippery- “Hers all gooey?” he hopes, running a hand over his belly that keeps flexing and quivering like little Elvis is deep in cunt.

Elaine on the other end of the line smirks at the shift in his tone, gone entirely from jealousy to fanciful imaginings that are far, far beyond anything she’s indulging in but somehow it’s terribly exciting to know what he’s thinking, to lure him in and have only his own, nasty, boyish mind to blame for the misfire. She winks down at Thumper who truly is doing a remarkable job on those sore arches and gives another little moan. “Yeah, yeah I could fall outta bed I’m so gooey.”

She hears the shuddering breath he takes and can imagine him, crisp slacks and ruffled pompadour, laying on his back against velvet red cushions, legs splayed in a pantomime of dying and his lackeys gathered around like a sleazy last supper.

“I think we’ve really got his motor thrumming, Thumper.” she feels safe enough to giggle and hears Elvis give only a heart rending:

“Goddamn, whyyyy!” over the phone in reply.

“Need a defibrillator, boss?” she can hear Marty ask him and hears only petulant moaning about needing a wife in reply.

It did the trick, or at least, part of the trick. The trick of making the Presley’s feel connected to each other again and Larry agreed that it was good, a good step towards normality even if it was a little polyamorous and crowded for a typical marriage. Such phone calls made Elvis feel included and Elaine nearly re-besotted with a man who, when on the other end of a phone line and thousands of miles away, sounded desperate and devoted, something her wifely self hadn't felt from him in a little while.

Elvis brought home amongst his many gifts a couple of new cameras, and having taught Jesse how to use the still one, paid his son five dollars for each documented arm wrestle and diving contest. How he paid his wife for each documented lingerie try-on and manicure session was never revealed but her shoe box of pastel gauzy Polaroids suggested the compensation was ample incentive. How Tink paid Thumper was anyone's guess and no one’s knowledge. Maybe it was that Cartier diamond set she wore to a premiere the following week.

It was a natural graduation of events that Elvis should, being at home during one of Thumper’s convenient memphian layovers, be a camera wielding witness to one of these night time pamperings. They politely ignored him and his bright lights that beamed on their little haven in front of the dresser, pink satin chairs aglow and their faces almost angelically washed out on the film. That night, Elaine’s hair was restored to a deep chocolate color, Ann’s outfit for her next premiere was chosen and the silk pajama’s Elvis donned for the evening had to be discarded.

The camera wielding didn’t stop there, when Thumper was brought down to Circle G Ranch, an entire production was made, the only picture film Elvis Presley ever fully produced and directed and costumed in the 1960’s -and it was full of subtext, straw, piglets, bare skin and harmed vegetables. But it occurred over an slippery, sweaty, pungent afternoon and was not a sleepover and so has no place being detailed in this chapter.

What does deserve a place here is the great Tink and Thumper adventure with Benetint that happened about a year into this charming, girlish, sleepover habit.

They’d bought matching nighties you see, sheer with a gingham print. Yet, when going to photograph their charming selves in them, they found the rosiness lacking -or at least, Thumper thought it could be improved. The printed fabric was to blame for the faded-nipple effect but was too adorably bucolic to be abandoned entirely. So, after a foray into the smokey backstages of some Vegas showrooms, Ann arrived one day in Palm Springs with her sundry gifts for the children, and tucked into her purse, was an uninspiring little bottle of something that could easily have been mistaken for nail polish.

Sitting cross legged on the vanity, Elaine soon learned it was anything but.

It was too quiet in the bathroom, just their huffed breaths and the squeak of the lid unscrewing. Even before the icy chill flicked over her skin she felt her arms break out in gooseflesh and she sucked in a breath, bracing for the tickle. Elvis had done this, to her belly, that first time she’d grown his children and her belly rent apart with a lightning bolt down its middle.

It had felt loving then, kindhearted and boyish.

Ann crouching to bosom level, flicking the little brush with its smelly mixture across her pert nipples, breath ghosting against the red blush of Elaine’s breast, silk pooling useless off her shoulders -this was different, oddly so. Somehow more intimate than when a man, or what Elaine knew of men, did it. Here was no pleasurable usage to brace for, only girlish admiration and a charming lack of regard for ought else but this, this single, charged, shivering moment.

Elaine could see Ann’s dark roots from up above. She wanted to pull that thin bottom lip of hers and snap it back against her teeth. Feeling useless sitting getting adorned so soberly, Elaine swiped the hair falling into her friend’s eyes, up and off her brow and into the buoyant coif that chasing the children had already half dismantled.

It made Ann drop her brush. “I wasn’t expecting-“ she fumbled.

She went back to it, such warmth so close and Elaine watched with a confused heart as Ann swirled the icy slick once more over the outer ring of a babe abused areola, taking her bleeding little rosebuds and making them into dark cherries.

“How do they look?” Elaine asked Thumper as Ann stood at a little distance in the large bathroom, eyeing up her art with her absurd little brush raised, a consummate artist and a distracted friend.

“You look like I imagined.” Ann replied as if without thinking before her face colored the shade of the pink rug and she must roll her eyes in an effort to sabotage the escaped sentiment.

“Imagined when?” Elaine asked, leaning forward on the counter, not bothering to cover up as it would only smear, perhaps some part of her knew without consulting the mirror the image that she made.

A dark haired vixen with the body of an ivory cello, leaning forward with those creamy mounds topped like Shirley Temples with their little ornaments.

-knowing yet curious, hungry yet soft.

Ann swallowed hard and thought about the end of all this that Elaine had once predicted in the beginning, an end that was all wedding veils and bouquets and everlasting vows with some fella Ann was supposed to find and love since Elvis wasn’t available. Elaine swore it would come and Ann had hoped she’d been right. The idea sickens her lately, thinking of somehow there being some other best friend, someone else to flick bath water at and ogle in their silk pajamas, someone else to have her heart lurch over when the children crawl atop them and the motorbikes thrum beneath them. The more successful she got the more she wanted this.

Just this.

“When he used to talk about you.” she admits her imaginings had been detailed and flattering for the wife of the man she once lay beside. Not even in dreams of wildest jealousy and unfair slight could Elaine be anything but something Ann craved to know and be known by. “I-I dreamed of being stabbed by you.”

Ann had woken up flaming with desire from those nightmares. Pretty Elaine Presley coming alive from the front of a newspapers and screaming “traitor!” hacking at Ann’s broken little heart with a pie server. Only for Elaine to end up being kind, lonely and a bit of a tease.

“Why’re you crying?” Elaine asked softly, finally slipping off her marble perch and taking Ann’s chin in her hand firmly.

“I’m going to miss this.” she muttered miserably in realization of the overseas tours next year and the boys she entertained but didn’t like enough to trust with a single secret and the way Marlon was around here too often lately. “And you know too much of me.” she hit Elaine’s arm playfully.

The grip on her chin jerked in retaliation. “I’ve been worried. You’re getting famous.” Elaine admitted, and the way she referenced fame was if it was a cancer.

“But I can come here, right?”

“Always.”

“Even if I’m married?”

Elaine looked a little surprised and questioning and when Ann shook her head in the negative to being currently engaged she lightened again, “Especially if you’re married. Married women go mad without some woman to talk to about being married.”

“You’re some woman.” Ann purred because Elaine Presley was stood too near with her pale soft breasts brushing Ann’s arm.

“You could be too, if you’d let me paint you.” Elaine dug the bottle out of Ann’s chilled fingers and went back to the sink, her reflection showing the heightened color crawling down her neck. “Get over here Thumper.” she snapped her fingers and Ann slinked up on the counter like a condescending house cat. “Am I to paint over chiffon?” Elaine stared at the still tied nightdress unimpressed until Ann was forced to fling it open - to her credit, not without adding much pizzaz to the whole thing with a high kick that only barely missed Elaine's face and a haughty toss of her head.

Her act petered out with a shy chuckle that faded into fully nothing.

“You’re very pretty.” Elaine whispered as she stood frozen in front of her in a ready stance, bottle clutched and tiny brush brandished, looking like a juvenile boy trying to recall his father’s tips on how to flatter. “But, then - you know that, I suppose.”

“I’m cold.” Ann whispered, her eyes darting to the side.

“Oh, yes,” Elaine was suddenly in motion, stepping nearer with clear eyes, “this makes it worse. Trust me. I’ll be fast, I swear.”

“It’s fine.” Ann breathed and then promptly forgot how.

As if in slow motion she watched Elaine crouching to better see her work, and her pretty hand burdened with all of Elvis’ shiny spherical gifts descended until it made contact on her bare nipple.

“Oh Elaine.” Ann enunciated through a gasp, her hands that had been listlessly sitting on the countertop curled over the edge of the marble, gripping tight.

“Cold isn’t it?” Elaine murmured again, her hand coming to rest beside her work in direct opposition to the cold paint. Firm, steadying, warm flesh on her sternum made Ann tremble, she watched Elaine‘s eyes flick up to meet hers, an odd sort of edge and command in them she’d never seen before.

Or. Rather, she had, but only ever with Elvis, only ever directing that look to him.

“He did this to me once.” Elaine told her, voice gone deep and then another stroke of the brush. “Not my nipples -it was my belly.”

“Captain Marvel.” Ann huffed a laugh, recalling the way he’d made her trace the bolt on his wife their first night, eager as a boy who’d discovered magic.

“Captain Marvel is telling you to hold still, missy.” Elaine chided her wiggling friend and Ann felt a flush all over.

“I’m just breathing.”

“Hard.” Elaine snarked, staring down at Ann’s heaving chest with a sardonic brow.

The intensity of that gaze was too much.

“It’s too much.” Ann said it in defense and Elaine’s eyes fluttered up to meet hers, her whole body straightening.

“For you too?” Elaine begged tremulously and Ann felt a rush of connection at her vulnerability.

“For me too.” she nodded.

“Gosh.” Elaine exclaimed, startled but making no move to flee, she just stayed there, hemming Ann in on the countertop and studying her face like it was the dearest thing.

“This isn’t making it better.” Ann whined as she felt that beautiful face near hers -the thunk of Elaine’s forehead against her own soon followed.

She felt her hands hold her waist gently like a dozen lovers had before and none felt as tender as this.

“You know the thing about fame is,” spearmint wafted over Ann’s face and she closed her eyes to listen to Elaine’s soft, pondering drawl, “it's held up all those years as the thing that’ll make everything all right. When the only thing that makes things even slightly bearable is a friend who knows what you're talking about. If you ever get tired, Annie, of being known for all the wrong reasons, you just come on back. We’ll always find something of us here, I know it.”

Elaine’s thumbs played across freckled skin like dainty wipers on Ann’s cheeks, swiping off one tear after another into her dyed hairline and one mere jut of Ann’s set chin brought the lower half of their faces together.

plush, warm, minty, sticky, glossy, brushing, lilting

-turn aside.

“Do you wanna -the camera, Tink?”

“No.” Mrs. Presley answered honestly as she stepped back, a little tremble in her voice, “Not tonight. I think -perhaps I, perhaps we, should call Elvis.” Elaine stared off into the adjoining bedroom with swimming eyes, their little project once undertaken for his gaze had suddenly become too intimate to be shared, even with him, even as dried ink on a glossy Polaroid weeks from now, “And maybe bring in Jack, he looked restless.”

“Oh yes.” Ann cheered and it was weak, snotty, hoarse little lie. But it was for Elaine. Anything for Elaine. “Let’s.” she agreed.

—Yes. Bring in Jack, why don’t you? And Elvis and Marlon and your charities and your causes and when it gets too crowded with just us two, bring in the whole nation!—

Ann willed the puddling tears away from the rim of her eyes, it wasn’t fair how a woman so immune to jealousy as Elaine Presley could spark so much in others.

“I bet Jack will be up to my shoulder by the time I get back from tour.” Ann joked as they crept down the hall to their boy’s bedroom, “And Jesse will break my heart with your face on a teenager's runty little body.”

It was a promise. To be back.

And come back in good spirits and with good intent. To take as much as was offered, be happy with it. Just as she knew if she herself showed up tomorrow with a husband, Elaine would be as ecstatic as if it were her own dream come true.

Some friends really do just love you enough that way. And that had to be enough.

Tags, if you’d like to be added just drop a comment to that effect below. I don’t bite and I do adore feedback, I run off of even the slightest scream from you. I appreciate you all and hope you enjoyed this. Xoxo marina

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#elvis fanfiction #elvis presley #elvis fanfic #sarge and lil mama #elvis presley fandom #elvis presley fanfiction #elvis and me #welcome home elvis #elvis one shot #elvis imagine #elvis x oc #elvis x reader #elvis smut #elvis presley fanfic #Elvis #elvis and priscilla #ann margret #Elvis x Ann Margret

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aconflagrationofmyown · 2 years ago

Text

but then… Gigi

chapter one (a Big Daddy Elvis fanfic)

Summary: this is a fix-it universe to catch all the feelings I have for this man in the late 70’s. It’s gonna be my least impressive, least dramatic, very plotless, indulgently meandering and self soothing fic that fixes all things through *love* -it’s gonna be so fluffy we might as well cure cancer and invent time travel while we are at it. That being so, and after all the joy that has come from y’all’s interactive prompts and suggestions with Sarge, I welcome any suggestions or prompts y’all might have as this universe expands. I hope you enjoy and this can provide a sweet little escape 🌷💋

Warnings: 18+ this universe is and will be mature due to sexual themes and drug mentions. In this chapter there are discussions about attractiveness, hinted unwanted advances in the past, some mild possible objectification, talking of weight gain and sugar babies, female masturbation with non orthodox self pleasure tools (and cherry coke didn’t come out for another two years shhh)

Special thanks to: my sugar babies @stylespresleyhearted whose pure hearted love for this concept is responsible for its very existence in the first place and her co-conspirator @eliseinmemphis . And as always, to my discord wives who forever back up all my endeavors and fuel my fire @ab4eva @elvisabutler @butlersxbirdy

Circa: early summer 1977, Memphis Tennessee

Word count: an astoundingly moderate 5k

There is a set and type of girls most likely to catch the eye of the most internationally famed rock star on the planet, and it isn’t self pity or self deprecation that makes Gigi acknowledge that she doesn’t quite fit that type. She considers it good fortune enough to run in circles that boast a number of the brazen, flirty and seemingly fearless young sort who can traipse up to Elvis Presley’s sleek Stutz window and, bending themselves over an unnecessary but effectively exposing amount, extract from him a cheeky invitation to a Graceland party.

Elvis is fond of this type, their vivacity and their audacity, even their ceaseless giggles and yes, the availability they clothe themselves with. They remind him of those girls who’d nearly break down his motel door in the early years. The ones that used to scare him shitless even as he fell prey to their perfume and painted lips, their milky soft hands sporting red hot talons that often as not hooked him down to hell with them.

As of late, he finds himself accepting any damn company he can get, after months of pushing company away. It’s a cycle and when he’s fresh outta reclusion he finds he’s probably a little liberal with the invites but it doesn’t matter. He’s still relieved and gratified that he is wanted and loved enough by his fellow Memphians that they’ll accost him on the street, lean into his window, all bubblegum and boobs, and ask for autographs and if he’s interested in some company.

He may be slowing down here lately, as his body and mind and the newspapers remind him constantly, but pretty young things are still one of life’s sweet pleasures, and even if he can’t give as much as he used to, at this rate he’s glad for anyone who’ll drag him out of the slump. Even if he’s more of a museum sort of attraction for them than the living wonder they once claimed he was. Maybe it’s this morbid understanding of these little floozie’s motivations that has him grinning along and offering a free invite for game night, all the while glancing past them to where she stands at a distance behind the giggling gaggle. Her limbs are strong but soft, her face beguiling yet oh so innocent and her posture is leant forward in unscripted eagerness to maybe catch a glimpse of him past her gaggle of friends. She has her hands clasped nervously in front of her -unconsciously highlighting the way the wind whips her thin sundress between her thighs and outlines her perfectly- and it’s adorable the way her sensible keds are scuffing the sidewalk rhythmically until she feel his gaze on her.

The minute Gigi senses his authoritative assessment of her over those tinted shades, her pretty little brain makes her snap to attention, aimless for a minute before falling back on ingrained rules of conduct. She has no seductive artifice, no hip cock or calculated smirk. Gone is the sneaker scuffing and the lip chewing and instead her back snaps straight up like a debutant, feet planted, hands unclasping, shoulders back and tits forward. Elvis thinks her mother, if she’s got one, would be very proud of her social graces. Personally, he is very admiring of those pert nipples straining the cloth, and proud of the eager tremble rustling her in the summer breeze just by a flick of his eyes over her fresh baked womanhood. But maybe it’s the red hot blush under the afternoon sun and the hesitant but almost giddy little wave she gives him that cements the fond flutter he feels in chest into a raging affection.

Falling in affection for a stranger is stupid, dumb and terribly risky. And not at all likely to be requited in the way he craves so badly these days. He knows this, it’s happened before. It’s best to stick to the gals who’ll fawn over his car window and maybe dance together for him later on. But golly, wouldn’t it be nice to pat a cheek that fresh and watch it turn rosier under an ole man’s admiration?

He pulls his cigar out to smile at her, because she deserves a full lipped, white teeth gleaming smile -his ole moneymaker. It still has its intended effect, it makes Gigi beam and her waving little hand clench in excitement. She even does a little bunny hop in place and the way the glorious young shape of her bounces under the demure sundress is all kinds of tonic to a tired fella’s heart.

It’s a lot to take, the way this certified legend ducks and peers past her gaggle of friends at his window to give her not only his attention but that most delightful of grins. The one that is deceptively bashful over being so admired. Gigi would be a pants on fire liar if she didn’t admit that she’s watched enough footage and poured over enough magazine spreads of the man through the eras to nearly swoon under the real life shimmer of it.

And she knows, vaguely, that she’s acting air headed in the way she trembles and bounces but that’s all she’s got, these natural responses, never was good at faking much of anything she feels, and certainly not when she was decidedly embarrassed. Which she was now -what with the way his smile is boyishly fond, his demeanor fatherly and his eyes lewdly assessing. There’s not a bit of the masculine spectrum he isn’t embodying at this moment and her body betrays her by submissively tremoring under his gaze alone. What would a touch be like?

Such slack mouthed, nipple tingling, body electrifying thoughts get interrupted when the myth himself points a bejeweled finger at her -one that is slender and lean and elegant in contrast to the bulk burdening the rest of him- and asks in a meltingly soft voice:

“You any good at charades, sweet cheeks?”

Even if she were terrible at the game, even if she didn’t know how to play it at all, the hopeful raise of his eyebrows would make her lie, hand on the Bible to this Hollywood trained actor, that she was the best charade player the world has ever seen. Her reply in the affirmative is overly confident due to sheer nerves and eagerness, and she vigorously bobs her head to add unneeded emphasis. It makes her beauty queen friends giggle and laugh good naturedly and to his relief she joins in, a hand flying up in humiliation to shut that glossy, pink mouth.

It’s so clumsy and natural a reaction that Elvis’ pointed finger twitches from a desire to tickle her, to watch her writhe from something besides embarrassment. He mourns that she’s standing so far from the window. At least the distance has given him a good view of her from the top of her shiny widdle head to the sole of her itty bitty footsies.

Plans are made at the window, Lamar is to send a car and apparently the lot of them will all be at Dinah’s house for pickup and Gigi tries to get a little closer to overhear these details but the crowd of girlfriends is a few bodies deep and there’s fans gathering, too. So she learns the logistics later, when everyone has finished homework and shifts and are primping in Dinah’s upstairs bedroom, hairspray and nail polish fumes thick in the air, and voices nearly hysterical in pitch from excitement.

-It worked! It worked! It worked! We are going to party at Graceland! Elvis Presley invited us to spend the evening!-

There’s a lot of different reasons for excitement, some of the girls are just curious to see the icon’s home, some are talking of how envious their older sisters (even some mothers) will be over them meeting their crush, others are hoping the scene is as debauched as the rumors would have the world believe, an opportunity to taste drugs and that rock n roll lifestyle for a brief shining evening. Marie asks if they think he’ll make them do naughty, dirty, sexy things for him and that brings up fresh tittering and salacious hearsay regarding his appetites and tastes. Someone deflates that mood by saying that he might just be a dirty old man now, it’s not quite the same as going to his house a few years ago. At forty years old he’s ancient to them. What with his declining health and being a recluse and -what if he lures girls and then murders them? Oh god, the urban legends come out, he’s a vampire, he’s a serial killer, he’s this and he’s that and-

Gigi thinks he’s awfully generous. That’s what she thinks. Inviting strangers into his home. And not just pretty young things. She personally knows folks who he’s helped, the downtrodden and the dehoused and the disadvantaged. She’s grown up in churches and schools and municipalities he’s funded. He practically provided for her and all of Memphis like an omniscient father figure these past three decades. And now there’s this kindhearted invite which most seem to consider akin to a ticket to a Carnival.

As she lets the girls fluff her hair and spritz her in perfume, adding an extra coat of mascara to her lashes -stultifying her if she’s being honest- she gives a brief thought to whether, just maybe, this will be a decadent night after all.

Elvis is still Elvis. It can’t be all hearsay. And for someone like her, who’s been a good student and a decent worker and hasn’t gone chasing every wicked, back alley experience available in Memphis, she frets a little that maybe inside that iconic mansion tonight she’ll lose something that’s been preserved so far.

Innocence? Maybe. But she thinks her greatest concern is that maybe he’ll prove to be something less warm and darling and extraordinary than that brief exchange on the sidewalk and years of idolizing have convinced her that he is. All this talk of him that floats around her makes her feel faintly ill, the morbid curiosity and the vulgar interest. No wonder he secludes himself.

The car arrives, decadent and alluring like its owner, and driving it is one of the many trusted minions of the king. There might not be seatbelts for every girl here but that doesn’t seem to matter, Gigi happily offers up her lap to Tammy and teases her that Tammy is her safety belt and Gigi is her booster seat. It’s a jolly ride, banter being made with the front seat fella who’s name she has to ask for about five times before Tammy takes pity and informs her he’s “George Klein”. Gigi gets a schooling in the back seat about his radio show and once again Gigi is reminded why Tammy is ‘Miss Memphis’ and she’s not. The babble of voices calms down long enough for Mr. Klein to lay down some ground rules before the car pulls through the gates.

The rules are shockingly normal: stay downstairs, make yourselves at home and but don’t behave like asses, don’t shy away from approaching your host, the last thing he likes is awkwardness or standoffish coolness in his own home. Gigi is rather certain that with her nerves and hero adoration she can manage not being stuck up or acting above it all, but she’s not at all sure she’s gonna manage to not be as awkward as a newborn duckling.

Graceland through the gates is not an unfamiliar sight to most of them, but Graceland up close, caressed in the inky dark of night from inside by golden fingertips of light, is magical. As is the atmosphere inside the place, though that may be more a case of her knowing where she was, rather than anything particularly incredible occurring in the opulent space. Despite the change of clothes to a slinky little number and the fluffed blowout that her more cultured friends gave her in consideration of the evening, Gigi can’t help but feel underdressed for a night in this gaudy Antebellum Establishment. Extra mascara and expensive perfume feels inadequate to match the gold and crimson and white furnishings. If Belle Watling had a home, Gigi reckons it would look rather like this.

That old worry returns that tonight might devolve into being the most debauched of her young life, that maybe she’s stepped into a hospitable bordello, so exotic and seductive are the furnishings alone. But to her surprise, seated on crimson curved couches, and already heatedly invested in a game of charades, is a friendly looking group of men and their wives. They have to be wives, the Mafia’s wives -they look so respectable, so relaxed lounging in Elvis’ Presley’s home. There’s differing ages here, middle and younger and all in between, and a man she’s rather certain is Elvis’ own father. It’s respectable, to her immense relief and confusion.

“Ah, here comes the fresh young blood!” One of the group says and it’s a bit chaotic then, half the group invested in keeping up the game and the other set rather eager to abandon their losing streak to offer welcomes and refreshment.

She lets the bodies swirl around her, a strange feeling of being a little left out taking over her without a single rudeness on the part of anyone present justifying the feeling. It irks her that she's so skittish, it just seems that everyone somehow falls in with another or ten and the established groups begin games or snacking or talking without her and she stands alone in the human eddy watching it all happen so effortlessly.

What’s entirely unexpected a half hour or more into this friendly pandemonium is a playful tap on her shoulder and turning round to find their host himself, clad in a comfy tracksuit, unzipped sufficiently low to display a devout amount of crosses shimmering on sweat slick skin and wearing shades even indoors. He’s asking if she’d like a drink.

“Oh -Elvis!” is a stupid thing to say in reply to his felicitations but it’s all Gigi can manage in such close proximity to his warm smile, his unzipped jacket and his heady scent. He looks her over, taking in the way her friends have erased the fresh faced ingenue on the sidewalk and made her into a sex doll and it takes supreme self discipline to not reach out and wipe some of it off. His scrutiny is making her nervous but she does at last manage to scramble out, “Yes, thank you, Mr. Presley, that would be lovely -it’s lovely of you to have us and your home is so unbelievably lovely, and I can’t believe we’re here, I’ve admired you for so long and -I, I’m only 20 and can’t drink.”

The word vomit robs her of breath and Gigi sucks it back in with a painful wince -she just declined a drink and proclaimed herself a complete goody two shoes, a perfect square, to the King himself. Her face flames hot and the heavy coating of lashes flutters from eye watering embarrassment.

Elvis just tilts his head to the side and gives her sweet face the appreciative study of a blush connoisseur, his grin growing impossibly wider and a little wolfish,

“Well, darlin, I’m a lil over 21 but I don’t drink ‘neither.”

“Really?” Ggi ventures in utter surprise, and that must’ve been redeeming on her part as his smile shifts from wolfish to fond before giving a tight nod,

“I was offerin’ lemonade, or sweet tea, but I think-“ and here he steps back, surveying her head to toe in the gauzy halter dress her friends snazzed her up in, “I think, yeah, yeah, ‘think you’re a cherry coke kinda girl.”

“I’m whatever you say, sir!” Gigi salutes him like a idiot because she’s had never had a cherry coke in her life or been assessed by a powerful man and she is quickly forgetting to be shy when so bewildered by his heavy lidded assessment-

“Yeah,” he nods, satisfied after another survey of the god crafted entirety of her, “Cherry coke for you, I think, lil Miss.”

He doesn’t fetch it, someone else in this crowded place does and it comes with the ordered white straw and she sips the carbonated beverage with a bashful smile, trying to think of something sensible to say in thanks when being looked at like that by the man who having fulfilled his host duties slowly moves away to recline in a decadent crimson armchair.

“Go on now, you’re here to have some fun, sweet cheeks.” he waves her down to the floor where many others are sprawled writing dares and acts, and she settles where he directs her, right by his leg until it’s her turn.

Once she moves to the mantle and acts out her turn, once it’s successfully guessed, she’s a little at a loss as to where to go. It feels presumptive somehow to sit by him again. So she sits by Dee instead, and feels a fool five seconds later, knowing it’s just nerves and shyness keeping her from a chance at sitting by such an extraordinary hero for what’s probably the best night of her life.

Ever.

Gigi wouldn’t get this chance again and yet she decided to act like an awkward idiot for fear of acting like a -what? Cling on? Groupie? It was just his leg, his beefy, muscled, thick leg beside her, and the heat of his body and the little noises of amusement coming from him. But it made her feel like she was burning up inside, it felt intimate, it felt like she should be between those legs and surrounded by his bulk. Like between his thighs would be the cleft in the rock to hide from this vast world that she’d been looking for all her life.

He was just domestic and kind, and she had to make it weird. Tammy’s unimpressed eye roll at her doesn't help matters. Soon the left side of Gigi’s face begins to burn and out of desperation she finally turns to face Elvis and finds him staring straight at her, her abandoned, half-drunk cola being jostled in his hand like a carrot for a horse. His eyebrow beckons, she blushes harder, he keeps shaking the damn thing and ducking his head with that coaxing grin. She rises and crouches through the partiers and moves back to her place at his feet.

“Here ya go.” he says mildly as she settles, nothing mentioned of the command and obedience just enacted.

He just gives Gigi her coke back, his rings clanking on the glass and fingers brushing hers during the handover. She chokes on her next sip when he pats the top of her head. Fatherly, if her father had ever been one for pats and noticing her existence. Unfettered, Elvis’ hand slides down the glossy brushed out length of her hair, to pat her back as she gasps out her shock, somehow making things worse but oh so lovely. She dares to lean back into that caressing hand, finds herself leaning against his leg by proxy, finding herself lulled and squirmy all at once.

Charades at Elvis Presley’s house are very much the same as at anyone else’s, and strangely Gigi finds that simultaneously the most bizarre and adorable thing imaginable. There is, however, a good deal more betting and hollering than would be permissible in most households, and she finds herself enacting dubious scenes with a shockingly plentiful array of cousins and fellow guests, but altogether it’s wholesome and lively and joyous. It seems a bit rigged when Tammy, fresh off winning Miss Memphis, has to enact the white dress subway scene of Marylin Monroe -made snort worthy humorous when an ancient creature, who Gigi has on good cousinly authority is Elvis’ grandmother, provides the wind to blow up Tammy’s flimsy excuse of a dress to her upper thighs. Flashing panties as is the iconic scene.

In a weak moment Gigi tilts her head to see Elvis’ reaction to her friend's beauty, and she doesn't miss the way he guffaws around his cigar at the sight of those award winning stems. Though she doubts it’s his first sight of them, they’ve been plastered all over TV and newspapers ever since Tammy won the damn thing a few months ago. Best body and face in the state. Gigi’s primped up face and heavy coated lashes and gauzy dress suddenly feel like an attempt to mimic something she wasn’t cut out for. Self consciously she tugs at the hem of the short skirt.

Tammy flashes Elvis a wink and shimmies in a mouth watering tease before sitting opposite the two of them, legs crossed and hardly a bit left to the imagination.

Elvis keeps grinning. Tammy licks her lips. Gigi finishes her coke and vaguely recalls the fact that the man is supposedly dating one of Tammy’s rivals from the pageant, or a sister of or a- Gigi doesn’t recall really, and she can be sure that between the way he’s stroking her own sun streaked locks and eye sexing Tammy opposite, the man sure doesn't act taken.

Watching Billy Smith try to act out a cheetah giving birth takes her mind off such self pitying introspection, and before she knows it, the gaudy foyer clock is ringing out 1:00 am.

Homework and college has been running Gigi a little ragged and eventually her little head begins to droop against his leg and the way the empty coke bottle starts to slip from her weak grip catches his attention. He slowly raises his hand from where it was resting ever so lightly on her shoulder and caresses her neck. To his immense relief Gigi leans into his patting eager as a housecat, and it makes him glad. Just as much as it makes him worry.

Only twenty years old and so easily lulled.

“You got a curfew, lil one?” he asks her with concern and that startles Gigi, his warm breath hot against her ear and the grunt of him folding himself over his sizable belly to get down near her face.

“No sir. Not really.” She admits, overly respectful in her sleepy state, “My parents aren’t really into stuff like that. They are pretty liberal that way. And I live with Tammy.”

She gives him an assuring smile even as she stifles a yawn, and two things flash across his mind. This means he (or God forbid, any man) could have her over here at his whim without excuses being made. And secondly, Elvis really must look out for her so that she doesn’t fall into the company of any such other men.

There’s no precedent for a Graceland party to wind down before dawn, but he considerately asks her if she’s got classes tomorrow. The honest way Gigi nods her droopy head and moans “yeah” has his heart clenching and his fingers flex, he wants to put her to bed. His bed, he thinks, though that’s a rather dastardly thought. Really though, he’d like to wrap himself around her and hold her and tell her he’d care very much whether or not she came home late from a stranger's house. That he’d be worried sick about so sweet and darling a little treasure if she were his. He’s got a sneaking suspicion that he’ll care no matter what, his or no.

Instead, he interrupts the game to have Lamar drive her home. Tammy and a few others, noticeably the ones who look like all night partiers, stay longer.

Gigi gets another pat on the head and a commendation to do well on her grades and that’s that.

Gigi last sees him standing in his foyer, jeweled chains gleaming in the nest of his chest hair and a boyish smile on his face, Dinah coming up behind to wave her farewell. Tammy is back there, too, probably going to get up to all sorts of fun while she gets sent home like a child. Wistfully, even as she walks down his drive to her ride, Gigi wishes she had hugged him goodbye. Gushed with more than just words in thanks for the invite, maybe even buried her face there in his chest, just once in that safe haven, sweat and jewels against her cheek. He had seemed to care.

But she wasn’t not that type though, was she? Brazenness was something that always felt awkward to her and landed her splat into uncomfy situations where college boys peered into the women’s locker room and jacked off to the sight of her legs as she tried to change into her track shorts.

The frenzy she often felt in her body to be touched would immediately die in situations such as having her hand clumsily moved up and down a penis in the dark of a movie theater. Or groped over her dress by the drunk jocks she tried to experiment with. Gigi could feel her own potential simmering hot and fervent inside, ready to be appreciated and let out like a fizz from a corked bottle. It was cruel that a fatherly sorta hero was the one to make her finally feel like she would take riding that man’s shoe over the most romantic gesture from one of her many age-appropriate admirers.

If she were Tammy, she wouldn’t have inspired the literal king of rock n roll to send her to bed. If she were Tammy she’d have made a move and said “damn that mythical absentee girlfriend” and would now be flat on her back getting obscenely used by that gorgeous hunk of a man.

Instead, deposited safely home by Lamar and tucked back in her shared flat, Gigi stares at her made up face with adamant animosity. It’s a fine face, she’s been told that plenty and she’s been told she’s smart, but it’s not really inviting the attention she suddenly wants so badly. Maybe she should have worn falsies to add to the effect. Maybe her features and coloring are too light. Tammy’s bleach blonde hair does not occur to her as being a strike against this logic. Instead Gigi thinks of pouring over photos of raven haired Pricilla as a girl and marveling at the thick mask Elvis crafted for her, wonders why she can’t be that kind of girl. She’s not petite, or glamorous or particularly coquettish, but she’d ride that man till he needed IV fluids if he’d just let her.

But he chose Tammy.

Dunking her face into the sink, Gigi scrubs away the artificial bloom until she’s left pink and freckled and so decidedly innocent looking it makes her wanna claw her cheeks to shreds.

“Lil one.”

The way he’d cooed it had turned her insides to jelly and ignited thoughts of her own sizable frame being made small while smothered beneath his sturdy breadth but now it turns her angry, and in the shower she lathers herself and wishes maybe her parents had given a shit about her catching a man instead of being “all she could be” because now at twenty she’s eyeing up the bulbous shape of her Lemon Up shampoo bottle and wondering if she’s big girl enough to take it. He was so big, so bulky and sturdy and muscly with padding to boot, and she’s just so sure his cock has got to match the thighs. A bulky, chubby thing, too, probably. The sort only girls like Tammy can manage.

She wants to be that sorta girl.

Gigi grabs at the bottle. She wrenches the shower handle to off, her wet body bolting for her bed, a jar of Vaseline in her other hand and savage lust in her heart. Halfway to the bed she realizes the shampoo bottle is almost empty and she wants to cry at that. She does stomp her chilled feet like a child and whines. What she needs is weight, her subconscious provides, everything about him was heavy and wonderfully big and she needs more than a hollow bottle to mimic him. She runs back to the shower and grabs at the conditioner, same ginormous shape and this time it’s fully loaded and heavy in her hand and she races back to bed, happy to dive under the covers with her dripping hair and goosefleshed skin.

Tammy has toys to achieve this, Gigi knows from sightings of them being washed in their communal bathroom sink. Pink and veiny and some that even buzz and it was all very funny and silly to come across them when she needed to wash her hands, but right now Gigi wants nothing to do with them, the stupidly large and bulky shaped conditioner bottle not even phasing her. Because it’s hers and not Tammy’s -Tammy who is probably getting railed but Elvis Presley right now. His cockhead probably isn’t shaped like the bottom of a lemon, but it’s gotta be round and this bottle will have to do.

It doesn't do. She lathers on the Vaseline to add to the sticky want she already has pooling, she rubs herself to a frenzy and as her hand cramps she tries putting the oiled up bottle up her channel and finds it’s really just impossible. It’s burns and won’t give and she berates herself and begs a man called “daddy” that she can barely admit to herself is Elvis to “give it to her” and curses Tammy for having a big vagina. She tries and tries with ever increasing anguish and frustration as the clock ticks towards three am and valuable sleeping hours are wasted as she tries to slip more than the crown of the lemon bottle into her untried cunt.

“Give it to me please, please daddy I can

take it.” Gigi insists to the shampoo bottle and her wrist manfully attempts to shove it in after slipping it along her folds for ages.

But it won’t go and she screams more and begs more and cries more and ends up seizing her stuffed valentine's bear -gifted to her by the football team's running back- and rubs herself raw in its button nose. It’s not the first time, but for once her sticky satisfaction doesn’t come to the thought of tiny white shorts ocean wet and clinging to him, or svelte white jumpsuits and chiseled jawline grinning promise. She digs her fingers into the stuffy’s fur and thinks of a hairy chest glistening with sweat and chains jingling with noisy exhales and the smell of him. Oh god the manly smell of him! - and the quiet authority that had her sitting at his feet and having her head petted and being sent home like a child. He acted like he cared for her and could find some use for her and she wets the poor bear’s muzzle at the thought of him telling her that her purpose is to keep him happy.

Worn out and trembling from her orgasm she rolls off the poor stuffed animal and buries her face in her pillow and dreams of warmth.

Outside Gigi’s door, arrested in her trip to the bathroom by shrieks of “daddy” and curses of her own name, Tammy shakes her head in disbelief and grins to herself through her whole nightly routine.

“Why were you cussing me out last night?” Tammy asks her placidly next morning, “Are you jealous of your daddy’s attention being split?”

Gigi groans at Tammy’s mischievous smile and realizes her mistake with a blush, “You didn’t- last night you came back? He didn’t keep you?”

“No, he didn’t.” Tammy agrees through her wheezing laughs and Gigi tries to aim a kick at her shins in mortification. “He was quite the gentleman in fact,” she expounds, “Except for the fact he spent the rest of our time asking me questions about you. I told him he’d lost all his raisin’ talking to a lady about another lady. Made a girl feel like a damn directory.”

“Oh, oh I’m sorry.” Gigi tries to suppress her thrill enough to sympathize with a no doubt annoying event. “You must’ve felt left out.”

Tammy pauses in thought for a bit. “He’s very….sweet.” Is Tammy’s verdict and to Gigi’s incredulity she sounds a little disappointed. “I mean, didn’t you think he was just sorta, ya know, nice?” Tammy presses.

Gigi thinks of the way his hand felt stroking her hair, the care about her curfew, the lack of alcohol, the endearments, the sturdy meat of his thigh against her shoulder. All the things that had made her rub herself puffy with a shampoo bottle that is still hidden under her covers. Yes, he seemed very sweet, and she was desperately in love with a man she’d never see again, who seemed a bit bashful about being “discount bargain Elvis” when all she could think of was how nurturing and mischievous he was.

He just seemed -shy. Bizarrely enough. And she could sympathize with that. Laying here on Tammy’s bed watching the dust motes dance in the afternoon sun when she should be studying, she thinks she’s solved Elvis Presley.

He’s shy.

“I thought he was precious.” Gigi agrees with Tammy, though her tone holds a reverence that makes the beauty queen of Memphis’ head spin in a near 180 to observe her now flaming cheeks. It seems the man has that effect on Gigi, present or not.

“Well, well.” Pretty, sultry, darling Tammy hasn’t a malicious bone in her body but she takes delight in making Gigi squirm, “You sound enchanted!”

“He was sweet!” Gigi protests, using her words against her.

“Yeah, he was.” she agrees, her perfectly tweezed brows drawing together for a moment before an epiphany dawns on her, “But I think it’s a means to an end.”

“What do you mean by that?” She balks, fervent in her conviction that it wasn’t an act. In fact, Gigi was certain he was more himself in his own home last night than ever on a stage.

“It’s making sense now.” she starts to pace the room, “He’s an outrageous flirt, you saw him, flirting with everyone he wasn’t related to that night, but he was so sweet to you- hmm, I think he wants to baby you.”

“Baby me?” Gigi repeat, staring up at the ceiling and feeling that flutter in her belly, just from the idea of him having *any* design on little ole her. “What’s- what even is that?” She asks her, a little hopeful, content to get her education from Tammy on this just as she has on all the more mechanical and dynamical aspects of sex and men.

“It means turning you into his baby.” she laughs, like it’s the most obvious thing, “Would probably put a little chain round your neck saying ‘belongs to Elvis Presley’ or something, and in turn spoil you rotten. At least, that’s how it’s worked for the others. It’s what he’s trying with Ginger but she’s got an independent streak.”

Ginger. The others. Of course there had been others. And yet he was so lonely again, already so lonely she was sure of it. Lonely in his own home, what was worse than that? “I wouldn’t mind being his baby.” Gigi mutters, bashful at the fact that what was essentially a future of house arrest, a portly sugar daddy and head pats makes her shiver delightfully.

“You sure about that?” Tammy suddenly seems overly earnest for a conversation in her room on a Thursday evening about a hypothetical scenario where Elvis Presley takes an interest in Gigi.

“Yes.” She gives it the full, weighty two seconds of thought it deserves. “And if all I get out of it is polishing his guns and feeding him yogurt then I’d honestly be happier than studying political science.” She makes a face as she registers the homework currently crinkling somewhere under her lower back.

“So you get that the sex probably isn’t exactly legendary anymore, right? Like -you saw him.” only Tammy, beautiful, southern pageant winner that she is, with the manner to accompany the looks, could say such a thing without Gigi socking her.

She’s looking out for her, just as she looked out for her with the sub par debate President that Gigi went to prom with and found insufferable after two weeks. She thinks Gigi needs to just keep trying the field (like her, Gigi presumes) until she finds the magical unicorn that will blow her mind in bed and satisfy her curious brain.

At this point in life, she’d settle for a man who chooses her drinks for her and cares enough about her well being to get her home by his own, invented curfew. Maybe she wants a father, what with hers being liberal to the point of carelessness, but she’d settle for a daddy, happily. “Tammy,” she says very slowly, trying to distill all these emotions down into something convincing -because strangely she feels a dire need to convince Tammy of her devotion even in this hypothetical scenario- “Tammy, if he gave a crap about me and paid my student loans, I’m pretty sure I could get off by just watching him smile at the way I make a fool of myself. And if that wasn’t enough, then I’d rub myself raw on his hairy belly. -you get me?”

Tammy looms above her, upside down in her view with her blown out bleached hair, heavy coaled eyes and shimmery mouth, studying Gigi for a minute before bursting out laughing. “You really meant that bit about his belly, didn’t you?”

“Yup.” Gigi mutters, throat thick and heart pounding -somewhere else pounds, too- at the very thought of being that intimate with him, that nasty sticky sweet with him. “Why are we talking about this anyway?” She whines, having worked herself up enough she’s damp and actually a little heartbroken knowing that if anything, Tammy is the one he’d go for.

“I got a call from George Klein this morning.” she spins away and busies herself in the closet, rummaging for shoes, Gigi thinks.

“Oh?” She asks, trying to keep the waiver out of her voice as she sits up and watches Tammy as she digs.

“Yeah, we got invited back.” she says, and turns on her award winning haunches to raise a significant eyebrow at Gigi, “All of us. And then, it was specified, you too.” she watches Gigi’s panicked, hopeful blush coat her face and chest.

“What exactly did he say, Tammy?” she demands, forcing herself not to gnaw on her fingernails, having to remember these nails might be in Graceland by the end of the week.

“He said that ‘E.P. wants to make sure the old gang knew they were welcome again, and the invite is only contingent on “Miss cherry coke” coming’.” she sits fully back on her butt now just to fully appreciate the way Gigi hyperventilates. “Cherry coke, huh?” she teases, “Did you ask for that just to be as euphemistic as possible or do you actually favor the drink?”

“He chose it.” Gigi whimpers, scuffing her keds together because it’s either that or her thighs.

“Oh god.” Tammy sounds like some guys do when their team makes a dirty, dirty interception that ends in a touchdown, “What did I say? Baby you, he wants to baby you! Oh my god, like he’s sweet but that’s -that’s nasty honey, just know that’s a nasty little thing to do.” she insists before turning back to her closet and digging through the dozens of pairs again.

Gigi flops back on her back and tries to think of the deep seated meaning behind cherries, and fails to do more than buzz in hopeless nervous anticipation at going back to that warm and kind and slightly bizarre haven that is Elvis Presley and his home.

Hope y’all enjoyed and if you wanna be tagged let me know. I live off your screams and your pestering, y’all are each precious to me!

Xoxo 🌷 Marina

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