#Elvis presley smut

[sissylittlefeather]

Moonlight swim 💕

12 Days of Ficmas

Day 7: Moonlight Swim

A/N: I know I am WAY late on this, but I might just keep writing these until I finish them, even though Christmas is definitely over. Oh well. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this!

Warnings: 18+ minors DNI, smut, p in v sex, stranger sex, unprotected sex, creampie

Word count: ~2k

And bonus:

You love living in Hawaii. You don't usually love all the people who come from everywhere to make your home their escape. But, tourism is the industry and you end up working in a hotel dealing with tourists all day every day. Most of them drive you crazy, especially the middle-aged men from fly-over states who hit on you shamelessly in front of their wives.

You're locked into just such an interaction with a man from nowhere Nebraska one day when you're rescued by a knight in Hawaiian-print cotton.

“Oh, now, come on sweetheart, how are we s’posed to find a good restaurant if you won't come have a drink with us?” The balding man waggles his eyebrows, obviously hoping for more than just a drink. His wife seems curiously on-board with you joining them as she nods excitedly behind him.

“Thank you, sir, but I really shouldn't. Here is a list of restaurants around the hotel.” You hand him a flyer and try to brush him off since you've never been interested in a threesome, much less with an aging couple who came to Hawaii to let loose after their kids flew the nest.

“Sweetheart, we don't want the tourist treatment. We want to know the real good places–” As he puts his hand on top of yours, you hear another voice.

“Hiya honey! You ‘bout ready to go?” You look up at the new voice in shock. Not only is he a complete stranger talking to you like he's known you his whole life, he might be the most beautiful man you've ever seen. Then it hits you: he's Elvis fucking Presley.

“Umm… I… what?” You stumble over your words and pull your hand away from the first man.

“We're still on for this evening, right? I hope you didn't forget. I made a reservation and everything.” He knits his eyebrows together in false concern and you realize what he's doing.

“Yes! Of course!” You turn back to the bewildered couple. “You'll have to excuse me. My shift just ended and I have a date. Please enjoy any of the restaurants on the list.”

Elvis smiles and waits patiently as you grab your purse from under the desk and walk around to the front side. Luckily, it's 5pm and your shift really did just end. When you get to him, he throws his arm around your waist and kisses your temple, guiding you out of the hotel and away from the gawking couple. He walks you all the way to a car in the parking lot.

“Thank you. I wasn't sure how I was going to get away from those two.” He smiles genially.

“You're welcome, honey. I'm Elvis.”

“Yeah.” You tell him your name and he shakes your hand like he's nobody at all. After a beat of awkwardness, you turn to walk to your own car but he calls after you.

“Hey, listen. I know that was a rescue operation, but I really would like to have dinner with you, if ya want?” Your mouth pops open before you can stop it.

“Wait, really? You wanna have dinner with me?”

“Yeah! I just got here and I don't really know anyone. If you want to?” You try to hide the fact that you're completely caught off guard by the most famous man on the planet asking you to dinner.

“Sure. I mean, yes! I'd love to have dinner with you.” He smiles and you almost faint.

“Okay then. You pick the place.” He opens the car door for you and you slide into the seat as he runs around and gets into the driver’s side. You take him to one of your favorite restaurants, a little hole-in-the-wall place that no one would ever expect, and he loves it. He's surprisingly easy to talk to and before you know it, it's dark. You talk even more and the restaurant owners start to eye you because they need to close.

“This has been really great, but we should get out of here.” You giggle shyly. He nods and you head back to his car. Once you get to the hotel, though, he takes your hand and kisses the back of it.

“I'm not quite ready for bed. You know of somewhere we can go to keep talking?” He looks at you with his eyes so innocent and pleading that you couldn't say no if you wanted to. You wrack your brain for somewhere you could take him that might be private.

“I have an idea.” He smiles and kisses your fingers again. Then, you guide him to the place. When you get there, his eyes sparkle with mischief.

“A beach?” He asks as you get out of the car.

“Why not? Nobody knows about this place. We'll have it to ourselves.” You've come here since you were a kid, so you know it's pretty secluded. You get down to the water and sure enough, it's completely deserted.

“It's pretty.” He comments, coming up behind you and sliding his arms around your waist. You look out at the almost-full moon on the water, the soft sound of waves filling the night air.

“This is my favorite spot on the island.” You whisper, enjoying the feeling of having him wrapped around you.

“I can see why.” The only sound is the water as you stand there for a bit in silence. “Let's go for a swim.”

“I don't have a swimsuit?” He pulls away from you and you notice he has started taking his clothes off.

“Do ya need one?” You look at him standing there with just his linen pants on and shrug.

“No, I suppose I don't.” He smiles as you start to strip too. When you get down to your bra and panties, you realize he still has on his pants. “Hey, now, if I'm in my underwear it's only fair that you are too.”

“I'm not wearin’ any.” He grins. “If I take these pants off you gotta be naked with me.”

Without another thought, you unclasp your bra and drop your panties, taking off for the water before he can get a good look. He laughs and follows you, his pants left behind on the beach. In the water, he finds your waist with his hands and pulls you in close to him.

“I haven't had this much fun in a long time.” He teases your nose with his own.

“I find that very hard to believe.”

“No, really. My life is one big set up. This is the most freedom I've experienced in years. Makes a guy wish he could run away.” You look into his eyes and see the vulnerability of truth there. Then, you lean forward and press your lips against his softly. He moans quietly and then kisses you again, his tongue sliding along your bottom lip, begging for access. Opening your mouth, you deepen the kiss and press your body against him. His hands start to roam over your skin, first pulling your hips in tight and then skimming up to your breasts to squeeze them gently. You feel your body respond as he rolls your nipples in his fingers. He kisses down your neck, pulling on your thighs to wrap your legs around his waist. The sensation of his lips pressing against your neck elicits a soft whimper from you and the heat between you builds. You feel his hard cock where it presses against your center and moan into his mouth. He starts to carry you towards the beach, the waves lapping at his legs.

“Need to be inside you, doll.” He whispers as he carries you and you nod frantically. When he gets back up to the sand, he moves to his knees, rearranging you so that you're on your knees on top of him. The tip of his dick is pressed against your clit, weeping precum onto you, adding to your own natural wetness. He holds your ass with one hand and uses the other to rub himself in your wet folds. “You want it, baby?”

“So bad… please…”

“Such a good girl, begging for this cock.” His voice is low and sultry in your ear as he teases you. “Tell me what you want, princess.”

“You…”

“More specific.” His breath is hot on your neck and ear and you need him so badly you could scream, your empty pussy clenching around nothing.

“I want your cock inside me.” You feel him smile against your neck as he pushes the tip into you.

“Good girl. I'm gonna give you what you want.” He moves both hands to your ass cheeks and pushes you down, filling you up slowly. You feel yourself stretching around him and your head falls back. “No baby, look at me.”

He lifts your head to look into your eyes as he bottoms out inside you, groaning.

“I want to see your pretty face when you cum for me.” You moan softly and then he begins to pick you up and drop you on his dick. “Like that, princess. Let me fuck you until you can't stand it. I want you to scream my name so loud the moon can hear you.”

You clutch his shoulders, your nails digging into his soft flesh as he continues lifting and dropping you onto his cock. He's the perfect length and shape to brush your g-spot with every thrust and you feel your climax getting closer and closer. Your pussy begins to tighten around him and he groans loudly.

“Gonna… cum… soon…” You whine and he grabs the back of your hair and presses his forehead to yours.

“Good girl. Cum on this dick, princess.” The sweat cuts salty paths on both of your flesh as you feel the edges of your orgasm closing in. His own release is gathered in his balls as he tries desperately to hold on for you to finish first.

“Oh God, Elvis! YES!” You scream into the darkness as you cum deep and hard on him, your pussy squeezing and pulsing around him. He buries his face in your neck and groans loudly. You feel his stomach tense and then he leans his head back and moans out loud. His face is so beautiful in the throes of pleasure, lips parted slightly and eyes closed.

“Fuck yeah, baby!” He whispers, biting his bottom lip as his cock twitches and throbs and spills inside of you. You tremble as he holds your body close and presses soft kisses to every inch of skin he can reach. Eventually, you both come down from your combined high and he lays back on the sand with you on top of him. His hand tangles in the back of your hair as he massages your scalp with one hand and drags his fingertips up and down your arm with the other. You can tell he needs the contact, so you let him touch you however he wants. His chest rumbles under your ear as he starts to hum.

“What's that song?” You ask, your voice light and airy after feeling so satisfied.

“One from the new movie. I don't know the words but the melody is catchy. Might be a hit.” You lay there on the beach together as he hums and strokes you gently.

The next day, the rest of his posse arrives and he spends his time being told what to do and when to do it. He promises to see you again, but he never finds the time. In reality, his manager doesn't like the idea of him with you– you are too much freedom– so he makes sure to keep Elvis away. You catch glimpses of him in passing in the hotel and his eyes always linger just a little too long, like he's trying to apologize. But you know it's not his fault. You don't hold it against him.

And when the movie comes out and you hear Can't Help Falling in Love, your heart skips a little with the memory of laying on the beach, waves crashing softly in the background, as he hummed it to you in the afterglow of the best night of your life.

******

The End

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Taglist:

@ccab @atleastpleasetelephone @aliypop @18lkpeters @dkayfixates @tacozebra051 @your-nanas-house @joshuntildawn13 @lookingforrainbows @60svintage @littlehoneyposts @epthedream69 @louisejoy86 @rjmartin11 @from-memphis-with-love @deltafalax @cinnamoroll-things @burnthheparaphilia @jhoneybees @cattcb @everythingelvispresley @returntopresley @searchingforgravity @msamarican @angschrof @lustnhim @polksaladava @librababe99 @hooked-on-elvis @theelvisprincess @makethemorning @peaceloveelvis @mrspresley69 @pxpresley @kxnnxy

[voxmortuus]

⇘ PAIRING:⇙ Dom!Benny Cross x Sub!F!Reader

⇘ UNIVERSE:⇙ The Bikeriders

⇘ WORD COUNT:⇙ 3k

⇘ SUMMARY:⇙ Seems you've found yourself in a rather unique situation. You've known Benny for a long while, but you always felt a little out of his league, whatever league that may be, it just didn't feel like you were good enough for him. The thing is, you're just what he's looking for. You've got a lot of love to give, a heart on your sleeve, and a loyalty that is stronger than a dog. He wants you, but he wants you specifically. He wants you to be his old lady, he wants you to be his ride or die. Once he gets you alone though, the patches stay on, and things get a little far from vanilla.

⇘ TRIGGER WARNINGS:⇙ Fluff | Language | Smoking | Smut | Some BDSMesque Scenes | Dom!Benny | Kissing | Face Smacking | Boot on Face | Hair Pulling | Fingering | Hand job | Oral (M) | Face fucking | Guided Masturbation | Benny Masturbating | Begging | Facial | These are in no particular order! PLEASE TELL ME IF I FORGOT ANYTHING!!! I want to make sure readers are fully aware of what they are getting themselves into when they read this…

⇘ NOTES:⇙ I hope this brings you some joy.

⇘ DIVIDER CREDIT:⇙ @nyxvuxoa

⇘ IMAGE CREDIT:⇙ @nyxvuxoa

⇘ My Master Masterlist ⇙

Was it happenstance, or was it planned that he happened to show up today? Handing the beer over the counter, you lean against the bar, and you smile the sweetest smile you've got in you.

"Well shit, if it ain't Benny Cross. How long has it been?" You asked. Benny looked up at you as he walked in, giving you that same crooked grin he always walked around with. He gave a slight chuckle.

"Well, no shit. It's been, what, almost 7 years?" He asked you. You nod your head and chuckle a bit.

"Yeah, somethin' like that." you smirk and look down at the bar top.

It had been what feels like forever. It feels like you haven't seen him in ages, and truth be told, it had been ages. Seven whole ages, as a matter of fact. Smirking, he looks over you as he approaches the bar. Looking over his face, you smile, and a soft blush graces your cheeks, causing you to feel warm. Letting out a soft, shaky breath, you glance around, realizing that no one else was there in the bar, but you knew that wasn't going to last too long. How do you even say what you think you need to say. You groan, and you sigh and decide not to say anything.

As the night went on, the two of you mingled and caught up. He learned quite a bit about you, just as much as you learned about him. You learned quite a bit, and he learned just as much. However, you learned something that he didn't tell you either, he had always liked you. Well fuck. Upon closing up the bar, you look at him and shake your head.

"Benny, I've always had a thing for you. I always thought you were too good for me. Outta my fuckin league." you state honestly.

Benny stopped and stared at you. "Outta my league? No, no. I felt you were outta mine. Let me ask you this... you still want me?"

"I've always wanted you... that never changed, never after all these years." you admit.

He looks at you and runs his hand over his face. Nodding his head, he looks back toward the door. Looking back at you, he walks to the door and locks it. "Come here." he points to the ground in front of him.

Lifting a well-manicured and well-defined brow, you walk to him and stand in front of him. You look over that face, that handsome, perfectly chiseled face, and you lose yourself all over again. Why? Why, when you are around him, he makes you feel so... weak. He makes you feel so... dead-brained.

Walking to you, he sticks a finger under your chin and forces you to look up at him. A thought crosses his mind, an urge.

"I want you to prove to me how much you want me." He tells you, his voice drops an octave as he watches you.

"How do you want me to do that Benny? Just say the word and you got it." You state.

"Strip, then lay flat, face down on the floor." He states.

Okay, so that was NOT what you had expected. Blinking a few times, you don't hesitate, and you do just that. Stripping down, you fold your clothes and place them to the side, and you lower yourself to the floor. Biting your lower lip, you listen as he paces around you, observing you, taking in your figure, your heartbeat picks up in anticipation as you watch his boots come into view, and he stops and looks down at you.

Benny lights a cigarette and takes a long drag from it. Watching you as you lay there, he runs his free hand through his hair and then over his facial hair for a moment. Smirking, he takes a few steps closer to you and kneels down a moment, a hand dangling between his legs.

"So, you've gone this whole time not sayin anything. All because you felt I was out of your league... You know Darlin' if you had said anything, you may have learned a thing or two about how I felt. Maybe you need to be punished for that, huh? Teach you how to speak your mind? Make you beg for my attention now?" he stated.

Why did that make your cunt tingle? Make you hot? And why the fuck did that sound like such a good idea coming from him? You nod softly.

"No, I want you to say it." He stated firmly as he took a drag from his cigarette, letting the smoke bellow above him as he exhaled.

"Yes. Punish me, teach me to speak my mind... make me... beg." You state. Your eyes look at his boots, and your fingers press into the floor as they are stretched out to your sides.

Standing up, he looks ahead of him, out the window of the bar, and smirks. He leans against the pool table, thinking of ways to punish you. Looking at your figure as you are sprawled out against the floor, so many things come to mind.

Standing back up from leaning, he pushes himself from the pool table and walks to you. He places his right boot on the side of your head. Not stepping, but applying just enough pressure for it to feel -- oddly comfortable. Your fingers press into the floor as you gasp. Why are you feeling this right now? Feeling these... feelings push through your thoughts. You bite your lip, and you let out a slow breath.

"Now, I've been thinking, since walking into this place, since we started talking, reminiscing about the past. I have been thinking about how things could go. About how we could have been together this whole time. But now, now I see the kind of girl you really are. I won't lie, Darlin'... kinda revs me up a bit. Eager to please." he mused a moment.

Looking down at you, he tilts his head, a sight for sore eyes, and fuck did he enjoy the view. Licking his lips, he took another drag from his smoke before he reached over to a close by table and tapped the ashes into an ashtray he had. With your head under his boot, he looks over the rest of your body. Leaning over with a smoke between his lips, his fingers run down the length of your spine. Feeling your flesh under his fingers.

"Soft to the touch." he pointed out.

Standing back up, he moved away from you, leaving you to bite your lip and almost ask for more. But instead, he reached down, grabbed your hair, and moved you to a standing position. You guided yourself with ease, and there was this deeper part of you that also enjoyed that. "What is wrong with me?" you asked yourself.

Moving you to sit in a chair, he spreads your legs apart. Looking over you, he licks his lips.

"Hands on your thighs, don't move them." He demands.

You nod in agreement. He wasn't going to demand the 'Sir' word just yet, but holy fuck was he going to enjoy it when it happened.

"Now I'm going to ask you a question, either say yes or say no. It's that simple. Got it?"

"Yes. I understand."

"Good. I'm going to hurt you, but it's not because I want to hurt you, it's because well... I want to see you in a different light, and because I enjoy it. Do you consent?" he looks over your face.

Taking a moment to understand, you've read some raunchy trashy books, so you knew not to compare the two, you weren't that naïve. You draw in a breath and you nod. "Yes. I consent." you finally state.

With a smirk across his lips, he nods. "Good girl. So long I've wanted to do this to you." He stated as he put his smoke out.

Walking behind the bar, he went to wash his hands, took a swig off a whiskey bottle, and made his way back toward you. Standing in front of you, he tilts his head. With a firm hand, he looks at you and throws it across your face. At first, you gasp, you close your eyes, your head whipped to the side. You whimper, not sure how to feel about it. You look to the ground, but he takes your chin and forces you to look back at him, and he smiles. Giving you a wink, and that's when you feel this sense of calm wash over you. It's like this switch was flipped in your mind. Submissive mode on... more so than before.

You didn't dislike the feeling on your skin, a hot sting. He brought his hand back, and it met your face again. Quickly moving to grab your chin, he leaned in and kissed your lips softly.

"Atta girl." he praised.

You felt this bubble of excitement rise inside you. It was this rush that moved through your veins like a hot liquid. Bubbling at the surface, wanting more.

"More, please." You ask.

He was happy to oblige. A little harder, be clipped your lip, but you didn't mind. The coppery taste on your tongue was sort of pleasant, a welcomed gift. You smile looking up at him. He looked at you, almost worried, but yet oddly calm. He smirked, leaning in he kissed you again, nipping at your now swollen lip. You feel your lower lips clench and quiver with want. Your breath was shaky against his lips.

His hand moves down your torso, moving to grip a breast before his hand moves down your apex right to your core. Your breath, staggered, your heart, pounding, your mind, stupid. You clench your lower walls and bite your lip, watching him, feeling him, desiring and needing him. You whimper. His fingers hover, and the heat from his flesh kisses your warm, swollen, needy bud.

When he finally brings his fingers to touch you, you gasp. You lock eyes with him, studying his baby blues as he begins to work your little swollen bundle of nerves. His free hand moves to jerk your head back by pulling your hair, as he hovers over you. His legs pressed against yours spreading your legs further as he worked you, exposing you to the pool table behind him.

But it was when he slid his fingers into you that your mind went more stupid. You let out a heavy moan as your eyes flutter, feeling his fingers work you. Leaning back in the chair, you let him take complete control, as he desired, and your body was no longer your own, and you were far from upset with that idea.

His fingers were like magic, but suddenly that all came to a stop. He looks at you, holding his fingers up as he looks at you. Bringing them to his lips he placed them in his mouth and smirked.

"Finger lickin good... Now... show me what you do with that pussy of yours when you think of me, because let's face it, Darlin, with all you've admitted, I know you've thought about me." He smirked as he moved back to lean against the pool table.

Looking at you he watches intently. Your hand moves to your bud as you slowly begin to work yourself. You watch him, intently, watching how he moves, how he breathes, how his lips curl with that crooked grin of his. You begin to remember how his lips tasted, how they felt against yours, how his fingers felt playing with you. You whimper as you bring your other hand up to grip your breast. Your breathing becomes heavy and you watch as the front of his pants grow tight.

Biting your lip you tasted the blood but your focus was on him.

"Atta girl, slow down, not too fast." he guides.

He readjusts against the pool table as he undoes his pants, freeing himself, he begins to stroke himself slowly. You slow down a bit, your toes curl against the floor as your legs spread even wider giving him a full view as you scoot forward a bit and expose your whole self even more.

"Just like that, keep going. What crosses your mind when you think of me?" he asked you.

Letting out a whimper you look over him as he strokes himself right in front of you. Dear fuck, his cock is god damned perfect.

"What you would feel like inside me." You state honestly with a soft whimper.

"What I'd feel like inside you huh? Well, maybe if you're a good girl, you'll find out." He mused as he moved his hand a little quicker against his cock. "Pick up a little speed." He demanded.

Without a shadow of hesitation, your fingers begin to work yourself quicker. You moan a little louder. His hand works himself faster, a little harder. He grunts, you whimper. It's a tandem of back and forth, a perfect give and take.

It feels like a lifetime, but a lifetime you'd never give back. He sees how wet you are, how you're beginning to drip off the edge of the chair. He snarls and walks to you, taking you by your hair he guides you to the floor and slips his cock between your lips, pressing to the back of your throat. He lets out a heavy groan.

Like a good girl, you take all of his cock, your tongue swirling around as he uses you like a little sex doll, fucking your face. He pulls you back, strings of spit from your mouth to his cock still connected as he slaps you across the face and shoves his cock down your throat again. Your eyes water and your breathing through your nose becomes heavy, and he does it again. Pulls you from his cock, slaps your face and brings your mouth back to his cock, and proceeds to fuck your throat and mouth, his grip on your hair tight it pulls at your scalp. Your moans and whimpers echo and vibrate through him and you as he uses your head to pleasure himself.

"Finger yourself." He snarls

You begin to do just that, your fingers working yourself as your mouth is being used. He smirks looking down at you before he's had enough of using your face he throws you back onto the floor and stands over you.

"Keep going." He demands.

And you do, you don't question him.

"Yes Sir." You state. Again, no question.

He's officially lost all control, at this point you both have. He works his cock faster, and you're watching every bit of it while you're moaning loudly just slightly below him as you work your bud, driving your fingers as deep as you can, feeling your wetness. You want to finish, you're right there, you almost cannot contain that hot explosion between your legs.

"No girl, you gotta beg for that finish." He states.

"Please, please let me cum" You plead.

He shakes his head. "Not yet... keep going... faster." He demands.

A soft whimper escapes your lips as you work yourself faster, you arch slightly your toes curled under you. You're rocking back and forth your hips buckle.

"Please... please Sir... I want to cum. Can I please. Please." You beg.

He looks down at you as he works his cock, and he feels his own eruption on the rise. He looks down at you and smirks.

"Open up." He states.

Opening your mouth, you stick your tongue out flat and you begin to taste those hot wet ribbons as he releases against your tongue, and over your face.

"Come on... Cum for me." He growls as he continues his facial finish.

You let out a heavy moan, a loud breathy gasp as your body begins to tremble. His cock tapped against your tongue as if saying he was finished with his finish. He watches you shake, almost a pleasure convulsion. You begin to giggle, swallowing what was in your mouth, and cleaning up your face. Licking it from your fingers.

"Thank you." you muse.

He looks over you and smiles. "No, thank you." he chuckles as he puts himself away.

Moving toward you, he scoops you up places you on the pool table, and looks over your face. He moves a moment and grabs a bottle of water from the bar fridge, and a clean, rag, getting it cool, he moves back toward you. Wiping your face, and neck, he starts to wipe you off and smiles handing you the water bottle.

"So I have a question." He states.

"Yes Sir?" you ask.

"How about you be my Old Lady... my ride or die... my one and only. My little pet... my little pain slut... my girl." He asked you looking over your face.

You look up at him, and this sense of perfection washes over you as you lean forward and kiss him sweetly. "I've waited a long time for that..."

"So is that a yes?" he asks with a smirk.

Nodding your head you chuckle place your arms around him and pull him in for another kiss. "That's a Yes." you whisper against his lips.

Smirking he presses his lips against yours and wraps his arms around you. Holding you tightly against him he leans back and looks over your face.

"Now, how about I take you back to my place, and show you how I feel inside you..." he smirked.

Nodding your head you chuckle. "Yes please, Sir." you whisper against his lips.

He kisses you again, and helps you get dressed before he takes you to his bike, hands you a helmet, and takes off in the direction of his place.

Everything that happened today, it felt like a dream, but this dream was one you'd remember. Only it wasn't a dream. This was real, and you were about to unlock a new chapter in your life.

[lustnhim]

manspreading 𐙚˙⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩

𐙚˙⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩

inspired by a post i saw on tiktok. i just climb right between them and lay down on his thighs :( ugh, cute baby.

[your-nanas-house]

Big Daddy Elvis

◇ Pairing: Big Daddy!Elvis Presley X girlfriend!Reader

◇ Warnings: fat tummy worship, smut, handjob, insecure E, hairy body (?), established relationships, age gap (they are both off age), love, glimpse of silly Elvis

◇ Summary: Elvis wants to be intimate with his girlfriend since it's been forever since their last time.

◇ Note: Sorry for the mistakes and the English.

His blue eyes kept moving from a part of his body to another as he stood bare in front of the mirror of the huge bathroom. He used to weight less, be less shamed of his own body and even more active in the bedroom.

It wasn't like he didn't have any woman, damn... on contrary, he still had plenty of them swirling around him like moths attracted to the light of a lamp.... But he didn't loved himself like he should had.

"Honey? Is everything okay in there?" The voice of his latest flame broke his trail of thoughts, making his heart beat faster in slight panic and shame

"Y-y-yeah, Satnin'..." his low voice cracked as soon as he replied, making him curse under his breath while rushing to grab something to cover himself up.

A gentle knock and Y/n's muffled voice made itself hear from the wooden door again

"You don't sound okay, love. Can I come in?" She asked weakly not wanting to upset him or scare him for some unknown reason.

The young woman had sadly noticed Elvis' mood in the past days and she didn't want to add more stress on his shoulders, she loved him too much that even the thought hurt her.

"No, wait for daddy on the bed, little one" Elvis asked harsher than he intended, his shaky hands moving under the water of the sink in an attempt to calm himself and refresh his face.

It's been too long since he made love to Y/n, he honestly couldn't wait anymore... he needed to swallow his discomfort caused by his changing body and seduce her as only he could do.

It took him longer than expected to finally find the courage to walk out of the hotel bathroom and step in their bedroom, where the young woman was hopefully still waiting for him.

"There you are, E. You feeling allright?" Y/n asked softly not looking up, too busy fixing the food she got them and check if everything was there on the cart.

His careful steps and the soft noises caused by his robe dragging on the floor made her looked up bit worried since she received no answer from the older man.

His hair were wet, plastered on his forehead and bit messy since he probably ran his hand through it. He was trying to keep a poker face on but his beautiful eyes clearly showed the discomfort and sadness that he was feeling.

Y/n gifted him a small smile, pretending she couldn't read through him, as he started to breath heavier, his hands grabbing into something to keep them from shaking as his chest rose up and down. He couldn't back away now... not when she was all dolled up for him.

"Love that lil' dress on you, Satnin'... makes me feel things every time you put it on for me" he murmured lowly, his accent getting thicker just like she liked it; there was still insecurity behind his sweet blue eyes but it slowly faded away as soon as he saw her surprised and flattered reaction at his comment.

"Y-y-ya know.. I-I just need a glimpse at that pretty face of yours... and I'm already all fired up—" he continued, gathering enough confidence to step closer to her and brush his big hands on her arms so to slowly remove her robe.

His cold rings made her shiver just as much as his intense lustfull gaze; it all happened in such little time but the young woman's body was already reacting at him like usual.

His hands wandered all over her, resting one back up on the back of her neck so that he could tilt her head as he liked before moving to the next step.

"So y-you know how you always say that you like... love my belly?" He corrected himself, his voice coming out weaker than he intended and his grip got bit tighter as he squeezed softly her nape.... not daring to take a glimpse at his fat tummy.

Damn, he needed to distract himself or he wouldn't be able to act like he had planned.

A slight pull and his lips were now on her warm neck, leaving wet kisses on her vulnerable throat and feeling her heartbeat which boosted a bit his ego since it was increasing due to the arousal

"Remember... what you like to do when we lay together on our bed..?" Elvis whispered, brushing his nose against her ear to inhale her scent, which never missed to turn him on. Her locks tickled his face, making him smile softly as past memories of their after sex came back to his mind.

As his hands started to roam and rub her flesh, taking a hold of it to knead with passion and lust, he allowed her to slowly unzip his tracksuit and reveal his chest covered by thick dark blonde hair, lower his fat tummy was peppered with softer ones which got thicker right under his belly button and disappeared in the waistband of his pants.

"You like... to squeeze it, hm...?" His voice got lower and raspier, his heartbeat quickened and his skillful but shaky fingers removed carefully her last pieces of clothing so that she was bare in front of his towering form

"...And then you like to... kiss it, right..?" Elvis continued earning a lustful moan from the younger woman, who was getting worked up by the mere view of his naked torso plus his voice and light touch.

The King was not different, he was getting more and more riled up at the reactions of his girl.

Lust was slowly eating him up, making him almost act as an animal in heath if it wasn't for the warm feeling of affection caused by her love filled gaze.

"A-And then... y-you like to... gently bite it, right..?" The statement came out more as a whimper followed by a shaky breath, since her well groomed hands reached for his sensitive skin... playing teasingly with his chest hair while gradually moving lower

"All over" she purred with a sensual smile, her soft lipstick stained lips brushing against his warm skin, leaving open mouth kisses till down to his waistband.

As the young woman kept getting lower, Elvis couldn't hold back anymore the satisfied smile as he spoke back in a half-raspy, half-normal voice.

His finger twitched slightly at the strong need to just push her pretty face where he needed her the most, so that he could receive some well deserved friction

"Oh, yes... yes, all over... baby" he hummed, allowing a low groan to escape him when Y/n lowered carefully his sweatpants, letting them fall down his thick hairy thighs to his ankles, thus freeing its length.

Her soft huff right on his warm skin made him twitch, his half-hard cock swinged free now that it wasn't held by his pants anymore... since he didn't put any underwear.

Y/n was about to grumble something, since his dick nearly slapped her across the face when she took care of his pants, but she quickly stopped as soon as she heard Elvis' contagious and hearthy laugh.

A small smile appeared on her face and she looked up, biting her bottom lip due to the perfect view she had now on her kneeled position. The young woman was close enough to be able to see perfectly the roundness of her boyfriend’s tummy and his blue gorgeous eyes tightly shut in anticipation.

The mood from amused and playful quickly switched back to one filled with need and desperation to feel any kind of touch.

"You're so beautiful, love" Y/n whispered softly against his flesh, gently nibbling at his belly while her hands finally got to work, pumping a couple of times his cock before moving his foreskin and reveal his pinkish tip which was already leaking of pre-cum.

It didn't happen often that Elvis allowed her to worship him, expecially after the weight gain, so she didn't waste any time partially in fear for him to back away... or even shy away from her.

"So, so, so fucking sexy" she moaned out the loved filled praise, letting his big hand grab her nape again and press her eager mouth more into his fat while never stopping to work on his cock after spitting on her hand to use it as lube.

Her right hand started to rub his tip as her other hand worked his length from the base till she saw his body tense after some minutes.

His groans and praises got louder and his hips bucked forward to make her fist hit harder his base as she tightened her grip a bit around his lenght. His breath got quicker and he finally allowed himself to take a look at his girl, admiring with a soft blush on his cheeks how she shamelessly nearly made out with his belly while never stopping to pleasure him till he finally released.

It didn't stop there, though, her hands worked on his softening cock slowly as to not overstimulate him but to guide him through the orgasm and her mouth kept kissing, licking and worshiping his belly as if there wasn't a tomorrow, not really caring about the dripping seed and the messiness of the act.

[butlers-bitch]

just like wow

[bodyelectr1c]

plaything

austin doesn’t let the reader finish until he wants her to

literally no plot, just smut

warnings: orgasm denial, teasing, oral (f receiving), degradation, edging, a little overstim, implied age gap, possessive austin, daddy kink

this is my first time writing, it’s so nasty but kind of hot. i’m a sucker for an older guy, so i picture a sexy age gap. anyways, enjoy!

austin hadn’t let you off easily, forbidding you from touching yourself while simultaneously leaving you unfinished and begging, writhing; a string of desperate whines and pleas leaving your throat. it was clear to you he didn’t care for your pleasure, he just wanted to get himself off. you were nothing more than a fuckdoll to him. he’d no shame in pulling you by your hair- no matter when; no matter where, dragging you to the nearest bathroom, shed, closet, whatever- and fucking you senseless

“fuck- you’re such a slut baby,”

“your cunt is so fucking tight, just for me”

“you’re-fuck, gonna be the death of me..”

he cooed ‘affectionate’ remarks at you in between progressively sloppier thrusts- if they could even be labelled affectionate. you regarded it as love on his part, you both know you enjoyed being degraded, and he knew you’d do anything to make daddy cum.

sometimes, whilst jackhammering into your pussy, he’d lazily reach down and thumb at your untouched clit in circular motions, occasionally dipping his hand down to where you both connected, attempting to fit one of his thick fingers in alongside. he did this just to hear you scream his name, and he’d stop as soon as he felt his climax nearing.

it was habitual, his hips would begin to stutter, his moans would get more desperate- louder and lower, his degrading remarks would descend into a string of pet names, his eyes fluttering closed as he groaned. “babybabybaby”

and then it was over, he’d pull out with a desperately hot groan, his cum painting every part of your body as he’d collapse onto the bed, his larger frame dipping the mattress next to you. you’d scream his name to no avail, trying to chase the high that he brought you near, but never cared to complete. your own hand darted down to your throbbing clit, rubbing desperate and fast circles around the sensitive nerves before they were met with a sharp slap on austin’s behalf, and then an absence of any sensation. he’d pull your hands away from your clit, puffy and leaking.

“you cum, when i make you cum, i don’t fuck college whores who get off on anyone’s fingers but mine.” he’d growl, pulling your thighs apart after you’d began rubbing them together in an attempt at any friction, his words turning you on impossibly more; you felt like you could cum untouched, coaxed by more of his dirty, perverted requests. you let him know, too, babbling incoherent sentences and grabbing onto his toned arms, repeating over and over again to just “let me cum daddy, i’ll be good i promise, fuck- pleasepleaseplease austin”

to your dismay, he’d almost always get up off the bed, watching you writhing and twitching from your previous proximity to your orgasm, and spit out:

“you’re so desperate it’s pathetic,”

before walking away to take a scathing hot shower, leaving you sensitive, but obedient enough to never touch yourself in the hopes that he’d come back and please you to completion.

in those blissful moments where he’d come back from the bathroom after an excruciatingly long time, finding pleasure in the confidence that you’d wait for him to make you cum, he’d hover his tall frame over you, watching attentively, towel loosely hanging on his hips, v line completely visible above the thin cloth, hair still wet as an aftermath of his shower. he’d let out a gruff and low laugh at how much of you whore you were being, fucked out without being allowed to cum. he found it comical, and a fucking sexy sight to see. his girl, spread out just for him, obedient and desperate to please him in any way you could. he got hard again just thinking about it.

he’d lower himself between your thighs, much to your relief as you let out a pleasured sigh, letting your head fall back against the bed as his stubble brushed your clit alongside his nose, teasing you one last time, evoking a sharp twitch in your abdomen, before he brought his tongue out to swirl around your sensitive cunt. your desperation to get off overcame you, you couldn’t help but lose your fingers in his damp hair whilst pulling his head down to force him onto your clit. he didn’t stop you, instead alternating between sucking your clit- hard, as if to signal that he was still in charge, and swirling his tongue around your pleasure soaked pussy, focusing his attention on one sensitive spot that made you whine louder and higher.

hearing you express your immense pleasure was a profession of devotion for him, and it turned him on profusely, causing him to moan around your cunt, sending vibrations around you that fluttered around your walls. his sucking and teasing was becoming too much for you, and he didn’t give you a second to rest, pulling you back toward him with a tight grip on your hips every time you tried to lift yourself in an attempt to catch your breath. he knew you could take it.

you felt your climax nearing you as you began to convulse, closing your thighs around his head, his still damp hair tickling your legs as he sucked harder and harder, also aware of how close you were due to the incessant chant of unholy curses and moans left your body. it was sinful, truly, his chin already soaked with the anticipation of your climax, mixed with the noises you made as he lost himself in between your legs.

“daddy, i’m so close, please let me cum, please let me cum, fuck!” you begged as he looked up from his task at hand, mouth never leaving your swollen clit, icy blue eyes focused on the pornographic sight before him, basking in it.

your climax washed over you as you let out a last scream of his name, pushing his head back down as you bucked your hips sloppily against his face, allowing yourself to release, the warm knot in your stomach untying itself as your eyes rolled back into your head.

as you lay there, panting, coming down from your intense high, austin outlined your clit in slow circular motions with his fingers to coax you through your comedown, making you twitch under the aftermath of the stimulation, bucking your hips up again slightly before letting go of all the tension in your muscles and collapsing farther back into the mattress, hands still intertwined in his now messy hair as he moved to lie next to you, using the white sheets to clean the remainder of your juices off his face before turning to face you where you lay, breathless

“fuck baby, that- was hot.”

[elviswhore69]

He walks like it's big 😫😫😫

[starryschoolgirl]

Good Husbandry

Summary -> While you view preparing for your honeymoon as finding all the hottest destinations in Honolulu for tourists, Elvis knows that he must help you, his soon-to-be virgin bride, understand all that comes with the honeymoon. What a good man he is, to give you a little hands-on lesson on what good husbandry is.

Warnings -> Lovely domestic things, innocence/purity kink, religious undertones, smut, just the tip trope, hinted breeding kink, swearing, Elvis gets a little rough, mention of RFK's assassination, the reader is overbearingly sheltered when it comes to topics like sex, cum eating, fantasies of "ruining" a girl's vagina, there's definitely some plot here I won't lie, loved writing this a little too much.

WC -> 7.3k

A/N -> This is an installation of the Baby Love AU. Find Masterlist Here!

The past few days had been a whirlwind of emotion for everyone. Elvis was doing press conferences for the NBC special he was about to start filming for, and while you usually go with him, with the recent assassination of Robert F. Kennedy, it was decided unanimously that it would be best if you were at home.

Elvis would have liked to keep you by his side, but given your family’s public connection to the Kennedys he knew that the press might behave in an uncalled for manner toward you.

It was also to be noted that he’d been very patient with you the entire week, after all you did know the man. He was a close family friend, a lot closer to your father, mother, and older brother than you. But there were still tears shed a few nights ago when it had occurred.

Most of that week you sat around the current California home, keeping the couch company like you were the prettiest of pillows as you spent most of your time on the telephone with your hysterical mother and being soothed by your childhood nanny who now watched your younger brother. You’d decided to write a letter to Ethel, she was no doubt being bombarded with phone calls from press and other family with the recent death of her husband. 

It was a rough way to start the month, it was only 6 days into June when something as tragic as that had occurred. 

You were certain things would change in regards to the guest list of your wedding just a little over a week away, for one you could understandably count on the possible absence of Ethel Kennedy and her children. Aside from her it wasn’t Elvis’ side you were worried about, because when Elvis says jump they all say “how high?”. It was your own side that worried you.

You knew it was selfish and stupid to be thinking of that at a time like this, those poor Kennedys have been through so much. But you couldn’t help the worrisome thoughts that lingered in your mind. Your parents already didn’t approve of Elvis all that much, with the influx of emotion that this event caused they might just cancel all together and then you’ll be left without anyone from your own family.

And that alone could cause an emotional storm to brew in Elvis. He always expressed his own disdain for your family, but you knew there was guilt deep down that he felt. And if he realized that he were the reason your wedding day went without family, he would be angry with you and himself. But that was only because he felt things very deeply, he was caring in that way.

So you made sure the past few days to get in as much reading as possible, so that even if your wedding doesn’t end up being the dream you hoped for, that your knowledge of your honeymoon destination would make up for it.

It had to be perfect. You had to be perfect.

"We better get up and get changed soon..."

You hummed absently at Elvis' words as your eyes continued to skim along the page.

"Wouldn't want the rest of the boys seein' ya in ya nightie"

You hummed once more at whatever he had said, much too focused on your book to pay much mind. Elvis noticed this and laughed softly as he asked,

"What are ya readin' Honey?"

You looked up from the book that you had been enthralled in for the past half-hour to see Elvis staring at you over one of his religious books, he had a crooked smile and a quirked eyebrow, his facial expression likely from the fact that you were actually reading a book.

You smiled cheekily and crawled closer to him on the bed, resting your cheek on his shoulder as you quickly card your floral bookmark in between the pages you were on before closing it and presenting it to Elvis, your fiancé.

"It's a book all about Hawaii, it has some of the best secret locations on all the islands, including Oahu"

You smiled up at him as his eyes scrolled to look over at you then at the book, a smirk playing on his lips as he did so. He set his book down on his lap to grab yours, one of his fingers tracing over the cover as he murmured honestly,

"Well Babylove, I don't think these locations are all too secret anymore considerin' the book is 7 years old"

You hummed softly at the statement. Truthfully you only picked the book off the shelf because one, it said Hawaii which is the place you and Elvis were planning to be your honeymoon destination, and secondly, it was pink.

Elvis shook his head fondly and brought a hand up to ruffle your hair, thankfully at the moment there were no rings on his fingers to pluck and pull at the strands of your hair. With that in mind you happily leaned into the touch like a cat getting its fix from its owner.

You roll your body closer, dragging one leg over Elvis' legs as if he were one of those long body pillows. You snuggled your face into his chest, feeling the silky fabric of his short ascot scarf. He'd recently begun wearing them often, you didn't mind it because you could tug him by his scarf whenever you wanted a kiss.

Your voice was soft and murmured into the fabric, "I wanna start our marriage off right, our honeymoon has to be perfect, and this book,”

You pull back for a moment to grab the book and open it to the first page. Elvis watches with an amused smile as your dainty little finger flies across the dust-colored pages to the sentence that you read aloud,

"These spots will guarantee a sweet time with that special someone"

Elvis’ voice is laced with harmless sarcasm (that you don’t quite catch) as he says,

“Oh well if the book says so, it has to be true”

You then excitedly close the book and show Elvis the back cover, where a quote from what must've been a review was laid out in bold, "Has the hottest places for America’s hottest honeymoon destination"

Elvis laughed softly. His arm wraps around your shoulder as his hand runs up and down your back, calluses grazing the delicate fabric of your satin nightie with a scratching sound before taking its rest on the curve of your ass. He explains, "Well little one, there's a bit more to honeymoons and marriage than that"

Your eyebrow quirks in the way you learned from watching Elvis' own eyebrow within the span of your relationship. It looked as if you were suspicious of Elvis, thinking he was trying to pull the wool over your eyes.

With a gentle hand Elvis removed the book from your hand and set it on the nightstand where he then set his own book on as well. You laughed softly as Elvis’ hands pulled you into your place, till you straddled his lap innocently for him to explain something,

“Well Babylove, a big part of marriage and honeymoonin’ is good husbandry.”

You go silent for a second, thinking to yourself as your fingers trace little shapes on Elvis’ chest absentmindedly. When you come to the conclusion that you’re clueless on the subject you ask,

“What’s husbandry?”

Elvis’ hands run along your sides, running up to your ribs, down to your hips, then repeating their cycle, it was in his own absentmindedness that he did it as he explained,

“Well, husbandry is kind of cultivatin’ and makin’ use of land, sorta like plantin’ a seed and takin’ care of it.”

“Like farmers do?”

“Very good girl, like farmers do. Now ya see, that comes into play within things like marriage and honeymoons. To be a farmer, the first thing ya gotta do is plant a seed, then ya get your farm goin’ and everythin’ is just dandy as long as you keep takin’ care of that seed.”

You nodded your head along to what he was saying, it made sense. But what did that have to do with your honeymoon?

“Just as that goes, to be a husband, you also gotta plant a seed. So ya see, in marriage, instead of a farmer plantin’ a seed, it’s the husband who plants the seed, and he plants it right in your petals”

You grimaced with embarrassment as you heard Elvis mention your “petals”. Such talk was still very new to you. Having been raised by the church most of your life, and having only attended catholic private schools, you’d been taught that such talk was deplorable and vulgar. 

Elvis seemed to be trying to undo all their teaching as he was very free and open with topics such as that one.

He could see the way your face began to dust a precious pink along your cheeks as you stared down at your hands scrunching up his shirt’s fabric within them. He couldn’t help but adore his sweet girl and lift your chin to take in the entirety of your innocence, the privilege of being innocent and naive having been fed to you with a silver spoon since you were a baby with your family’s fortune.

Your education didn’t span too far, it was done under the assumption that you’d be protected from the roughness of the world, the riff-raff. And though Elvis was a fair match monetarily-wise to your parents and the people you were raised around,with enough money to keep you as far away from the world’s roughness as possible, he was still considered to be in that riff-raff crowd.

Oh, what a shame for your family and the rest of your upper-class culture to have a rare purity, like you whisked away from your family made up of good breeding and a pure bloodline by a man like Elvis who would screw it all up when he one day planted his seed into your womb, making your once purebred French bloodline his own as he mixed himself into the history of your DNA to make a child that you will carry for months.

A child you will love to no end while your ancestors roll over in their graves.

Just the thought of it all made Elvis giddy.

His smile is cheeky as he grabs one of your nervous hands to soothe you while also keeping a grip on your chin with his other hand, his voice is breathy from speaking through a laugh,

“Now don’t let me lose ya, still got some splainin’ to do”

You can’t help but continue to duck your head away into your shoulder to hide your embarrassment, till Elvis pulls you out of it with his sweet little nickname for you,

“C’mon now Bubbles, need ya to keep listenin’ f’me”

You look up to meet those dark blues of Elvis’ that pierce with a strange softness.

“To seal the marriage a man plants his seed in a woman, and from then on he has to take care of that woman, that’s good husbandry. That’s part of what happens on a honeymoon. Understand?”

You nod slowly, and mumble a soft, “I understand”, before laying yourself down on Elvis, making yourself comfortable as you lay your head against his chest, your arms wrapping around his torso, somehow squeezing their way between Elvis' frame and the mattress.

Marriage seemed scary. Ever since you had gotten engaged to Elvis you felt a different weight begin to fall on your shoulders. And though you were excited to marry Elvis, you couldn’t help but remember how your mother described marriage to be with your father.

As Elvis dragged his hands along your body tracing every poke of a bone through your skin he closed his eyes, showing his affection through the action, you thought back to how marriage was represented to you as a little girl.

There were nights when your father stayed late for work that you’d sit on the floor between your mother's legs as she sat on the sofa, by then she would be nursing her 4th glass of wine that night, and let her braid your hair before bed.

You’d whimper softly as her diamond-littered gaudy engagement ring, which was comparable to the one you now owned, would catch on some strands of your hair. But you wouldn’t voice any complaint as she was too busy voicing her own, complaining to an 8-year-old you about your father’s “wandering eye”, how he loves work more than he loves his family, and that he can’t even function without a pill, in what sense she meant “function” you’d never know, because you only saw your father as a personal superhero. The man who would bring gifts like Santa, the man who would read you to bed on the rare nights he could, the man who held the whole world in his hand every time he held you.

You didn’t recognize the man your mother would drunkenly describe. And soon after you wouldn’t recognize your own mother as she would break into tears and talk about how it’s her fault, and that she knows it all falls on her to make the marriage work, she just needs to try harder.

You’d caress her knee and try to soothe the adult, “It’s okay Mommy”, while mustering up the courage to promise her that, “It’ll be okay”

And then at the end of the night, she would turn you around and slur with as much affection as she could muster,

“Always tend to your husband Sweetie, don’t make a prude of yourself like me, don’t make a nagging wife, be pleasant and pliant and you’ll be a happy wife”

Of course you weren’t married yet, and that might’ve been what was causing you to be such a worrywart, because you were scared of the unknown. That’s why you’ve been trying your best to find ways to start the marriage off in the best way possible.

But you now had a whole other thing to worry about perfecting, husbandry. 

It would all work out though, as long as you heed your mother’s words and be a pleasant, pliant wife, you’ll be just fine, and you’re confident that Elvis would never turn out to be the kind of husband that your mother described your father to be.

You mumbled into the fabric of Elvis’ shirt,

“How does a man plant his seed in a woman?”

Elvis’ hands came to a halt at your words. He thought he’d gone over this kind of thing with you before, then again there was never much need to. You never prodded for more than you were given, because you were simply unaware there was more you could get out of the pleasures of your body.

Elvis stared down at the top of your head as you kept your cheek resting on his chest, he realized how abstract your thoughts must’ve been compared to his within your relationship. He had spent countless nights holding himself back from making you his completely, there were so many times he easily could’ve done so. So many times you put yourself in the position to be vulnerable to the disgusting thought of a man who knew the pleasures you could give.

Had Elvis been a different man he would’ve done so by now, taken you shamelessly and left you crumpled on the floor next to your crumpled up clothes.

But he’d be reigned back by the thought that God wouldn’t make something like you, something so pure and holy, for sin. Had Elvis not been a god-fearing man he would’ve had his way with you.

All those nights he spent eating you out, listening to you finally break that voice box of yours in, the only thing he’d thought about was how much louder you would be when he could finally fuck you, meanwhile you thought that the sensation guided by Elvis’ tongue that momentarily blinded you was as good as it got, was as close as you’d get to God.

Oh Elvis could show you so much more, teach you so much more, touch you so much more. And as shameful as it is, he’d be a liar if he said that the fact that he wanted to be the one deflower you didn’t play a role in your engagement.

“I could show ya how it’s done Honey, would ya be alright with that? It’s a little different from anything we’ve ever done”

You sat up on his lap and nodded as you kept a hand to support yourself up on his stomach. He basked in the sight of you with a small smile, digging his hands through your hair like roots in the dirt, so deep and entangled it could be hard to tell where your hair began and his hands ended.

It wasn’t at all painful in the way your mother’s hands used to rest in your hair during her drunken stupor.

It was gentle as Elvis always was.

He used a gentle force to pull you close enough for him to press a kiss to your forehead for a moment and hold it there, you closed your eyes and let out a breath, any stiff stress in your body leaving at the touch of Elvis’ lips.

He pulled away, lips and hands.

“Lay down Baby”

Elvis patted your side of the bed and you quickly laid down as you usually would, and with a quick fwip of his hips Elvis’ knees rested just outside your thighs, his entire body hovering above yours as he reached over to your nightstand.

You heard the clink of glass, no doubt the two glass figurines you’d had since you were a child, your voice was soft but panicked as you felt a pang of protectiveness over your childhood trinkets.

“W-What are you doing?”

His response was immediate as he knew your sentimental feelings toward your figurines,

“It’s alright Honey, jus’ turnin’ Dottie and Lottie around”

“Oh.”

You let out a sigh of relief before having a blush spread like a wildfire in the summer across your cheeks. When Elvis had first touched you, you felt the need to turn your glass figurines Dolores and Charlotte, also known as Dottie and Lottie, around before he could continue any further. When he asked you why you could only mumble a quiet explanation about wanting to preserve their innocence. Elvis didn’t mind the strange gesture, he thought it was rather cute actually, it was something so girlish and sweet, something he’d never think of, it further instituted that you really were an endearing little girl.

And ever since then anytime Elvis touched you, he’d always turn your figurines toward the wall for you. And him doing it now meant that to plant his seed in you, he had to touch you.

You close your eyes as you relax into the mattress completely, and feel a shift in the bed then the cold air began to linger up your nightie, or rather Elvis made your nightie linger up your skin, giving way for him to view the cutely contrasting color of your pastel yellow panties to your pastel blue short satin nightie.

As the bed shifted a little more you allowed Elvis to part your legs so he could slide off the piece of fabric, his hands caressing the skin of your ankles a few seconds longer than the rest of your leg, and then he intricately removed your panties off your feet he laid them on the outside of your thigh, within arm's length.

You assumed what you’d be feeling next was what you always felt whenever he touched you, those calloused fingers of his walking their way up your thighs as he made himself comfortable right between the two limbs, his mouth and nose inches away from that bundle of nerves that he so lovingly explained was the bud of your little rose. 

His fingers would then drift down to what he called the petals of your rose, separating them gently, exposing your hole to the cold air of the room making you shiver like the scared little girl you were as he did so. But he liked it, liked how visceral all your reactions were from your inexperience.

Only this time, you’d been wrong as you heard the familiar shink of his belt, and as if you were a trained dog and his belt were a clicker, your eyes shot open as you knew what that sound meant. It meant you got to do the touching, but, why were your panties off if you were doing the touching?

As you sat up you saw Elvis shucking his pants and boxers down, you watched with a blush as you saw his dick, it wasn’t yet completely hard, it more so at half-staff if anything, with that it maintained enough loose skin so that the usual image of his veins bulging profusely through the thin skin was not a sight you’d yet see, but you could change that.

As you sat up with your legs still spread enough so that Elvis once he was free of his pants was able to swiftly kneel between them. You leaned forward with an eager hand but Elvis had caught your wrist before you’d made it to your target, you batted your eyelashes up at him in confusion.

“Elvis?”

He had a crooked smile on his lips and asked, “Don’t ya remember what ya gotta do first? C’mon Hon we’ve been over this a dozen times”. You had to think for a moment but felt flushed with embarrassment at your own mistake.

Elvis’ eyebrow ticked upward as he caught your realization, then he slowly raised your hand up to your mouth for you to lick a stripe along it. When he didn’t immediately pull away you knew to keep lapping at the skin till Elvis saw it suitable.

His head tilted down a little as he made eye-contact with you through the cracks of your fingers, staring at you as you licked lines of wet along the lines of your palm, he was mumbling a praise or too like “There ya go”, and “Just like that”. You only shut your mouth as his free hand came up to cup your cheek and gently push you back from your hand.

With your newfound view of his cock it definitely looked less limp than before but Elvis had taught you how to get it standing, and you wanted to show him that you could. He’d been loosening the reins lately and had been giving you more independence to touch him in the way you knew he liked. But at the perfect moments he’d step in and be a helping hand, wrapping his much larger hand around yours as he showed you what kind of pace he liked when his dick twitched a specific way.

It was him helping you build this muscle memory that was slowly etching its way into your brain, on the walls of your skull, and in the nerves of your hand

With the softest of groans leaving Elvis’ mouth your eyes shot up from his cock that maintained the attention of your palm, wanting to see his face, see the preview of your own triumph as you continued to stroke with the pace his hand guided yours along.

His smile was gone as his mouth twisted slightly to let out the low noise, he licked his lips quickly and tightened his hold on your hand, in turn tightening your hold on his cock as he ran your palm up and down it, your voice was hesitant and soft as you questioned, “L-Like that Elvis? I do it like that…”

He hummed an affirmation and mumbled, “Keep at it”, before pulling his hand off yours, leaning back on the bed on his palms while watching you with lowered lids, had they been any lower they would’ve been closed.

You tried shuffling yourself closer by planting your heels into the mattress and scooting yourself closer, but it was hard to focus on both things. You didn’t want to louse up what a good job you were doing, but you felt you could do better if you were just a little closer.

Elvis must’ve read your inner turmoil as he leaned off his palms and cupped the back of your knees with each hand, pulling you closer at the top of your calves where they connected with your thighs. As you continued with your strokes you noticed how close you now were, your bare pussy had never been so close to Elvis’ cock.

With the realization a strange curiosity shot through you, a kind of curiosity that had filled your senses one of the first times you’d sat on Elvis’s lap. He kept you on one knee easily, and it had been the leg that he often bounced absentmindedly, and as he easily bounced you on his leg you felt a weird sensation, and that damned curiosity of yours got the best of you subtly shifted on his leg, and suddenly the jumbling of your legs on his knee had shifted to a jumbling on a small bundle of nerves between your legs.

No you wouldn’t let your curiosity get the best of you again, you wouldn’t.

As Elvis pulled his hands away from your legs he leaned back on one palm and the other he reached forward to rub that very bundle of nerves you’d just been thinking of about. Just the slightest bit of force made your body react with what could be described as a convulsion as you breathed out a noise of surprise.

Elvis’ almost dazed look on his face didn’t shift as he glided his calloused thumb down between your folds, scooping up whatever was beginning to wet them, then using it as a lubricant to give your clit a good rub down, his facial expression unwavering as he watched you twitch and struggle to focus on doing a good job.

His voice was low and almost sounded slurred as he mumbled,

“Now this is hard ain’t it Honey? Tryin’ to pleasure each other at the same time?”

Your face shrunk and your lip quivered as you tried to maintain that you wouldn’t break under the sensations of it all, wanting to do good.

Upon gaining no answer Elvis’ eyes glazed up to meet yours, they now shifted to sympathy as he reassured you gently with little circles of his thumb around your bud,

“It’s alright Baby, I know it. I know it’s hard, that’s why through marriage a man can plant his seed in a woman, makes it easier y’know? A man can help you while he helps himself, ya shouldn’t have t’be doin’ work Honey”

You don’t know when you started nodding along to his words, you hardly understood them, but the way his eyebrows arched, the way his lips curled, the way his voice drew out, he seemed like he knew everything in the world. He was so in his element that you wouldn’t question it if he told you a cat were a dog.

But you had to ask, through your soft pants and whimpers, “H-how?” How was it possible to both be pleasured at the same time? How was it possible for both of you to reach that special spot just between the earth and the heavens where all felt impossibly right?

Elvis’ lips grew to a smirk once more as he removed his thumb from your clit and his hand wrapped around yours to pull you away. As you looked down you saw that familiar sight, that thin skin stretched out to show that long vein that started at the side of his dick and traveled down the center.

His other hand ran up your calf, to your thigh just to rest on your stomach, still covered by the top of your satin nightie, and with a firm force and a, “Lie back f’me” you were laid down on the bed with your legs spread.

He spread them a little further, and you watched as best you could while still laying down, craning your neck painfully to see what he was doing as he made a ring out of his thumb and index finger.

Elvis’ eyes met with yours, making sure you were watching before lining the tip of his cock up with the little makeshift hole he made of his fingers for demonstration.

“When a man plants his seed, he fills you with himself. This right here,” He lifted the little ring he’d made of two fingers, “This is like that little hole between your petals, so what I’m gonna do is fill it just slightly,” he slid the ring over the tip of his cock, leaving you to watch with a mouth slightly agape as his movement stretches the foreskin.

It’s not like when you stroke him though, he stops much too short, and doesn’t even go near the base of his cock, he ends at the base of the tip only.

“Now, this much is just till the wedding Hon. We can only do just the tippy top Baby, can’t break ya in just yet, we gotta wait till we’re unified under God to make that kinda connection-”

“...cause it’s special”

Elvis looked up at you, surprised to hear your soft voice so suddenly, it seems the words left your mouth with a little thoughtful pout. God, let this man hold back today. Let him be graceful and kind to his babylove, Elvis thought to himself as he smiled softly and hummed, 

“Yes it is sweet girl, it’s somethin’ special”

As a moment of sweet silence filled the air the two of you made eye contact, you smiled, feeling unsure of what was to come, he smiled back knowingly.

“Are ya ready Babylove?”

You bit your lower lip nervously and could only nod with trusting eyes. Elvis’ figure suddenly shut out most of the light from the ceiling as he supported his body above yours with one hand while he used his other to line up the tip of his cock.

You let out a shaky breath as he parted your fold with the tip of his cock before running it along your leaking slit. From the bottom up past the top till he hit that bundle of nerves that he could find with a blindfold. You squeaked softly at the bit of force he was using to circle your clit with his cock.

Elvis swore he’d do everything with you in mind, but as he watched the way your big eyes would crinkle to little bouts of eyelid folds and as he saw the way your lip quiver with every squeak and breath you let out, he couldn’t help himself but gauge your reaction to a little something.

Your breaths came out one by one in panic as you suddenly felt the tip of his cock begin to bat around your little bundle of nerves from the top, from side to side, even attacking from the bottom. Your eyes shot open from their little crinkles of stress and just before you could open your mouth his little batting around of your sensitive bud turned to slowed drawn out circles rubbing along the edge.

“That feels good huh Honey? It’s gonna get even better, just need ya to relax. Uh huh, that’s good, you’re doin’ good”

You relaxed into it, your jaw falling slack and your breaths coming out shallow. As you sank into that warmth that always accompanied Elvis’ gentle touch, Elvis pulled his neck back slightly to get a better look at your hole, with your folds parted he had a perfect view if he could look past his cock. He craned his neck a little to the left and found the target, wide open from your relaxed state, he licked his thumb to lubricate it and like a veteran, he navigated his cock down and at the forefront of it as his thumb took its place and pace in circling your clit, had you not been watching through lidded eyes you wouldn’t have even noticed.

“Here it come Baby, here it come”

Elvis couldn’t even look at you to gauge your reaction as his head fell back immediately as he was engulfed by your heat. Somewhere in the distance he heard a high-pitched noise but he was too high on the feeling- No, the knowledge that the first thing to fill you, to really fill you was his uncut cock’s head.

He breathed out to the ceiling, or rather to the Lord,

“Fuck…”

How could a feeling like this fill his mind, body, and soul from just the tip going in. Shit if he hadn’t already proposed to you he would do it now, just so he could one day feel the full effect of your body on his.

And then he finally peered down at you, and you were a sight to behold. He hadn’t been with a virgin in a long time, and the ones he had been with, you made them look like the most experienced girls in the world.

Your face was crumpled and your clenched fist was brought up to your mouth, you bit down so hard on your knuckles Elvis could see the skin losing its color around your little teeth. His hand slid down to your hip, running along the skin soothingly, as he hummed out, “Relax, it’s alright, just relax”

You nodded and pulled your fist from your mouth to show you were relaxing, but as your lower lip trembled Elvis could only softly remind, “Relax…”

And after a few moments of Elvis running his hands along your hips you spoke in an unsure whisper, “I-Is that it?”, Elvis sighed with a smile, “No Hon, don’t worry, but I can’t show ya the rest till ya relax, alright?” Elvis could feel you tightly around him, if he tried to pull the head of his cock back out he’d hurt you, he knew that.

"I-I am relaxed"

“No ya not Babylove”

You sighed softly, feeling a bit frustrated, this wasn’t what you thought it would be, it hurt. And it was obvious that you weren’t acting in the most pleasing way, so you lied through your teeth with a bit of an edge to your quiet words, “I’m relaxed.”

Elvis’ soft smile fell slightly at the tone of voice, and his eyebrows rose as he stared down at you, only now you avoided eye contact and opted to look at the wall. You tried to focus on the paint of the wall as best you can but it was thrown out the door as you felt a painful pull.

You whined at the feeling, and watched as Elvis pulled out, now you attempted to look him in the eye but he didn’t even spare you a glance as he muttered before lining himself up again, “Call that fuckin’ relaxed? If you’re so relaxed it should be easy goin’ back in”

Before you could voice an apology he’d already shoved the tip back in. It was much rougher than the first time he had put it in, it had you release a loud whimper and kick your feet, your heels pushing you away from his body, but his hips only chased further.

And those hands that were soothingly rubbing along your hips earlier now had them in a bruising grip to keep you from moving.

“Said ya relaxed, so fuckin’ act like it-”

Elvis let out a low groan as he stroked his cock while your little hole contracted from the stress of it all, it was like you were trying to swallow him, trying to suck him down into you. Almost like your body knew you needed his seed. And had he been a different man, or more accurately, had you been a different girl, he would’ve given it to you without shame. But you were different, you were special, you made this special.

He pulled out once more just to push back in, and then he repeated with no time in between, leaving you gasping at the rough push and pull of his cock head and whining at it, before blubbering out a series of apologies to him.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry, ‘m not relaxed..! I-It hurts Elvis..!”

He’d ignored your apologies, but the way you said his name, like he could solve all your problems while also causing all of them, it was like you had this type of innocence. A pure innocence that no matter the pain he’d cause you, you’d still love him. Like if he kicked you, you’d come running right back.

Elvis stopped himself from pulling out once more and stared down at you, his grip released and one of his hands cupped your cheek and rested a thumb at the corner of your eye just before your temple, ready to catch a tear in case those teary eyes of yours spill over.

You stared up at him with a frown and pulled your hands to rest nervously on your stomach, feeling a sudden sense of awkwardness mixed with discomfort at the idea of Elvis being upset with you. But instead he seemed to sympathize with you,

“Now you see, ya gotta listen to me Babylove. I don’t expect much from ya, all I expect is honesty, now, be honest and let me know when you relax.”

You let out a shaky breath and soft noise as Elvis’ thumb landed back on your clit, beginning to rub those circles that make your hips twist a little from instinct. Elvis’ lips had been on yours in the blink of an eye, but his kiss was deep and slow, it wasn’t like when he’d kiss you so hard and so fast that your teeth knocked against his. Instead you felt his tongue explore each and every inch of your mouth carefully, could feel the way his tongue swiped along the small space between your lower gums and teeth.

His nose lightly grazed against the start of your cheek as he tilted his head to get a different angle. 

And in what would be one of the only moments for you to catch your breath within the kiss, you managed to breath out, “‘M ready”

It was a different kind of tug due to the efforts of the both of you. You were relaxed and open and Elvis was only rocking back and forth into you, no complete pulling, you couldn’t handle that yet.

With each rock of his hips, you let out a little breath or squeak. For a moment you lost focus as you watched the way Elvis used the thumb on one hand to stroke your little bud while using his other hand to stroke himself, but you were pulled back into your moment with Elvis as he groaned lowly, followed by a groan that sounded a bit more throaty. He was close.

And knowing that it was because he was in you made you feel a sense of excitement, and sense of sexuality, realizing you could make a man feel this way by doing nothing but laying there like a pliant doll.

Be a pliant wife. Your mother was right.

Your hips dragged upward slightly, crashing into his hips that were rocking down into you, the collision of skin made you moan softly as your manicured nails reached for the sheets, one hand gripped them brutally while your other hand ended up in Elvis' hair, not gripping, only carding through the dark strands.

“E-Elvis, it’s- I’m…”

You couldn’t describe it, what was coming, but thankfully you didn’t have to as he mumbled into your lips,

“I know Baby, I know. It’s comin’ f’me to, comin’ fast Babylove- H-how’s it comin’ for you?”

As the upward grind of your hips turned to little upward thrusts that your feet could manage on the slippery sheets of the bed you could hardly choke out a word as his thumb had entertained that warmth just below your stomach for too long, it’d been teased and tugged along far too long from the rubbing of his thumb on your little bundle of nerves that at its peaking point, it snapped, leaving you to try and choke out the words,

“It- I- It’s-”

As your mouth remained agape but your voice fell silent, and those pitiful attempts at thrusts of yours fell back to wishful grinds of your hips. Elvis thanked the Lord, he’d been trying his best to hold on for you, to slow his rocking when he felt himself get a little too close, he’d been edging himself almost the entire time for you.

And now as he pulled out and continued to stroke his cock with one hand, the hand previously fondling your clit reached for the pair of panties he laid aside so long ago.

As you caught your breath you watched as Elvis’ hand stroked twice, thrice, four more times along his length before he buried his cock in your crumpled up panties, letting his head fall back and a guttural moan fill the room as he reached his peak.

After a few moments of silence accompanied by the pants of the both of you Elvis removed the metal ring holding his short ascot scarf together at the center of his neck, you heard a clink as he tossed it somewhere on the wood floor, then you watched as the fabric got closer to your face, closing your eyes at the contact you could feel Elvis wiping away the dampness building on your head and cheeks from the heat what you just experienced. As the feeling left you watched as he wiped his own face off before bringing the satin scarf down to your petals, wiping off the proof of your pleasure from your pussy’s lips then wiping off your thighs that happened to be the victims of the heated juices that spread through your body which were shoveled out from the earlier pulls of Elvis’ cock’s head.

After Elvis caught his breath and pulled the panties away from his cock to see his work, then he flipped it toward you, and you saw that familiar white liquid that Elvis told you was a reward for your hard work.

“When we get married and I fill you with my seed, this is what I’ll be fillin’ ya with, I promise…”

Your eyes were lidded and tired, but full of love as you took in the sight of your fiancé, his once perfectly coiffed hair now ruffled, you could see sweat stains forming on the blue silk shirt he didn’t bother to take off before starting, and those eyelashes of his must’ve been batting so much as he now had a stray on his cheek, he must’ve missed it with his scarf.

As Elvis prepped your reward, scraping it off the pastel fabric with a finger you parted your lips, and as he finger-fed you his seed you accepted the finger into your mouth, closing your lips around it as you sucked it clean. “Atta girl, did so well” 

Your own little finger guided up his cheek to swipe the eyelash off his cheek, he watched with confusion at the way you smiled around his finger, then you flipped your finger around to show him.

As he crawled over your body to lay down beside you, removing his finger in the process you spoke with a bit of hoarseness, “Make a wish”

Elvis smiled fondly and put a hand over your thigh, “You can have this one Babylove”

You smiled before checking once more, “Are you sure?”

He wanted to laugh at how serious you were taking it all, and with a gentle rub of his hand he reassured, “I’m sure Honey, I’m sure”

You smiled down at the little eyelash resting on the middle of your index finger. And you wished for all that you could want, you wished for a happy marriage.

I had so much fun!! I really liked writing this, and I'm so happy I've had requests to write this character to the point I can turn it into a whole au!! hope you liked it.

If you'd like to be added to the taglist for this au feel free to just comment or message me!

@fadedsummerlove, @lialocklear, @astral-eyed-cat here it is lovelies

[searchingforgravity]

Someone walks in on you and elvis having sex and it is really awkward

I love this concept! Thank you for the request, I hope you enjoy it!

Word count: 1656

Usually, Elvis is the one begging you for sex. All. The. Time. For the past few days, though, everything has been crazy around Graceland, leaving Elvis very preoccupied. You can't even count the amount of people that have been through the house the past seventy-two hours.

Right now, a party is in full swing at the Graceland house, having well over thirty people surrounding the living room, and Elvis himself. Lucky for you, Elvis never lets you out out sight for too long.

"Honey, there you are, get over here," he calls, making eye contact with you from where he sits on the couch.

You smile as you try not to push past people to get to him. When you finally approach, he smiles up at you, his eyes gleaming. He looks gorgeous. Your eyes travel to his brown shirt and black pants that hug his hips perfectly.

"Hello baby, you're even more beautiful from the last time I seen ya'" he mumbles as you sit next to him, before pulling you into a tight embrace.

You roll your eyes humorously as you kiss his cheek. It's only been about five minutes since he's seen you; you stepped away briefly to use the bathroom. Your mouth lingers around his ear as your hand squeezes his thigh gently.

"You look so good tonight, Elvis," you mumble before pulling away.

His eyes immediately meet yours. Very rarely do you have to initiate anything sexual, so Elvis has begun to be hyper aware of when you do.

"Does my baby need me?" he murmurs as he pulls you back to him, his arm snaking around you to pull you close.

Thank God for the loud music. Even with everyone around, there's no way anyone would be able to hear the two of you. After Elvis pulls you in for a private conversation, the other guests start talking amoungst themselves.

You sigh as you lean into him.

"How do you know that? Is it that obvious," you laugh, your cheeks flushing briefly.

"Only to me."

He leans over, kissing your cheek as his hand squeezes your hip.

"I don't think anyone will miss us for a few minutes, do you?" he groans, nipping at your ear.

"There are so many people here, Elvis."

"I know. Exciting, Ain't it?"

At this point, you really shouldn't be shocked. Elvis is very adventurous to say the least. Before you have time to respond, or think your way out of it, he says something else.

"Why don't you go upstairs and put on that pretty little thing I like so much? I'll be there in just a few minutes."

---

You lie in bed, propped up on your shoulder as you strain to hear footsteps coming up the stairs. It's been about ten minutes since you've been here, and you're starting to get a little impatient. You huff as you allow your head to fall on the plush pillow. Your mind wanders to how amazing Elvis looks tonight. His smile shining as you saw him talk with the guests, the way his thighs look in those pants...

You are about to lose your mind when you finally hear footsteps. Not a minute later, Elvis pops into the room, quickly shutting the door behind him. As he turns to face you, he is silent as he walks over to you.

"Thank God, I was starting to miss-" you start, sitting up, but are cut off when he approaches, his lips pressing against you with a bruising force.

Your body shivers.

"Lay down baby, fuck I love that dirty little nighty," he groans, his hands flying to his shirt as he quickly works on the buttons.

Once you recover from the shock of Elvis' enthusiasm, you lean up kissing his neck and help him with his shirt. Once he tugs it out from his pants, he immediately discards it on the floor before turning his attention to you.

Pulling you close to him, he trails his hands over your waist, his eyes travelling down your body as he takes in your pink silk, short nightgown.

"So pretty, baby. So pretty," he murmurs, his hands hiking your nighty up, exposing your naked bottom half and stomach.

He hums in approval as he brings his lips to kiss your stomach before traveling back up to your face, capturing your lips in his. Sighing into the kiss, you deepen it, slipping your tongue into his mouth, causing a groan to erupt from him.

Hastily reaching for his belt, you undo it quickly before unzipping his pants. He helps you pull them down as he takes his throbbing member in his hand.

"How bad do you need me baby? So bad you couldn't wait for everyone to leave huh?" he breathes, his eyes connecting with yours, his pupils blown.

"No, I couldn't. I need you so bad, I've been thinking about it all day," you whine, making him groan.

You take a minute to look at him as he focuses on bringing his finger to your opening, sighing when he feels how much you need him, before traveling to your clit. In the midst of you gasping at the contact, you look at him with this chest bare, his dick in his hand, his eyebrows furrowed in concentration. He looks gorgeous.

"You look so good, Elvis," you moan, admiring him completely.

He looks up at you, a small blush on his face. He smiles.

"You look better. Look so beautiful honey, can't stop thinking about you wanting me in front of all those people. Woulda taken you right there if I could."

With that, he removes his hand from your center, bringing it to pin your hands above your head while his other comes to position himself.

You both gasp as he slips himself inside, not wasting time as he slowly starts rocking his hips into you.

"Fuck, Elvis," you groan, your hands clenching as he brings his free one to your clit.

Bringing his lips to yours, he kisses you gently before resting his forehead on yours.

"I told some people I was goin' to the bathroom. We might not have a lotta time," he mumbles, his breath already ragged.

"It's okay, just go hard, honey."

He growls as his hand tightens on yours. You suck in a breath as you prepare for what's about to come. He pulls almost all the way out before slamming into you, setting a fast pace as he does this over and over again.

You try not to be loud, but it's so hard as he brings his lips to your neck, whispering in your ear.

"Turns me on so much that you want me this way, with all those people down there. Dirty fuckin' girl."

You can't help the moan that falls from your lips as your eyes screw shut.

"Shh, don't want anyone to know what we're doing, or do you?" he pants, his pace speeding up on your clit.

"Yes, I want people to know. I belong to you," you whimper, making him moan out, masking it as he shoves his face in your neck.

He keeps that same harsh pace, making small noises erupt from you with every thrust. You try to contain it, but his pace on your clit increases further, making your back arch.

"Fuck, Elvis, that feels good," You groan before bringing your mouth to his shoulder, biting down.

He groans louder as he snaps his hips with more urgency. Your head falls back to the bed, a whine escaping you as he mumbles incoherent words about 'fuck you feel so good' and 'needed me so bad, didn't you?'. You start to feel a familiar feeling approaching you as your hands strain against his. He tightens his grip.

"Is my baby close?"

"Yes, Elvis I'm getting-" you start, but something stops you.

The door to his bedroom opens. You gasp, both at the intrusion and how painfully close you were. Suddenly you make eye contact with Jerry.

"Hey E! Everyone's wondering-" Jerry starts before stopping, seeing the sight before him as his eyes connect to yours, his face immediately flushing.

Elvis pauses immediately, pulling out of you before hastily trying to pull the covers over you, but failing as your both on top of them. Rage starts radiating off of him.

"Oh my God," you gasp covering your face in mortification.

"Jerry, get the fuck out!" He shouts, trying to shield your body with his naked one.

"Oh, God, sorry," he gasps, slamming the door shut.

There is silence for a moment as you still have your eyes covered, embarrassment surging through you.

"Goddamnit," Elvis groans, embarrassment in his voice.

You remove your hands from your face and look at him. He is still in a protective position above you as he looks down at you, his face red.

"I can't believe that just happened," you groan.

"Did he look at you?" he murmurs, his hands coming to smooth out your hair.

You suddenly let out a snort at how terribly embarrassing the moment was. The snort turns into a laugh you can't control.

"(Y/N)! he looked at you?!" he asks incredulously, his head dipping down to yours in secrecy.

"Elvis, it was probably hard not to," you reason.

Jerry definitely got an eyeful.

"He shoulda tried harder, cuz now I'm gonna kill him."

You sigh as you trail your fingertips along his back. He sighs as he kisses your cheek gently.

"We should probably go back down huh?" you ask with slight disappointment in your voice.

"I'll take good care of you tonight baby," he whispers, his lips traveling to your forehead.

"I'll have a fuckin' hard on the rest of the night, though," he groans, his face suddenly contorting in discomfort.

You laugh softly as you bring his lips to yours, pulling down your nighty as you prepare to get up.

Masterlist

Tag List:

@horrorgirl4life @goldobsessionsworld @tantamount-treason @peaceloveelvis @father-of-2cats @sissylittlefeather @elvisalltheway101 @littlehoneyposts @atleastpleasetelephone @ccab @msamarican @presleyhearted

[gyratingpresley]

A little less conversation, a little more action.

Elvis Presley one-shot.

Just a short one for my babies.

It was a sunny day at Graceland, Elvis was in the jungle room with his mafia, you were outside sitting by the pool, Charlies wife Jennifer beside you. The date on your newspaper read 27th of June 1965, a day before you turned 29. The scorching sun burned into your skin, bringing a nice tan to your pale tone, you had a look of contentment on your face. Everything was swell, you had your best friend next to you and the love of your life inside the house, it seemed like nothing was going to disrupt your peace at this very moment. That was until the boys came bursting through the back doors to the house, all of them began stripping clothes until they stood in their little boxers. Jennifer burst out laughing as Charlie leaned down to kiss her bikini covered chest, "Charlie you're tickling me!" She giggled. You smiled, barely noticing all of them jumping into the pool, water splashed all over you. As soon as a little droplet of water hit your freshly tanned skin you snapped your legs up to your chest, trying to move as far away from the tsunami of water heading your way. "Baby! Where the hell are you!?" Elvis boomed from inside. You peaked your head up, placing the newspaper you still held down. Out came Elvis in white boxer shorts, he looked radiant and you couldn't help the arousal pooling in your little bottoms. He could see you staring but it didn't impress him, instead he held up a letter, you knotted your eyebrows together.

"C'mere." He growled. Of course you obeyed, standing up you tried to avoid the puddles of water being made by the rough housing douchebags. Finally you made your way over to him, the skimpy bikini doing nothing to hide your hardened nipples. You slid your hands up his chest and up to reach his neck. "Yes?" You hummed as you looked into his eyes. Elvis kept a stern look on his face as you touched him, the arm that was holding the letter waving in front of you. "The hell's this little girl?" His voice was deep, laced with anger. The letter he held had a lipstick mark on it, the front signed with your name.

"That's a letter, that I wrote." Your voice was sweet like candy, you stand on your tippy toes leaning up for a kiss, he moves his head away. Frowning you cross your arms, "Just a letter?" he quips. It was obviously one you wrote and stashed away in your panty drawer, Elvis must have dug through a lot of panties to get to it, but why was he there in the first place? "Did you even read the letter?" You snipe back. Elvis wasn't impressed, but decided to open the letter anyways, he brought the flimsy paper up to his line of sight, undoing the string that kept it shut, his jaw twitched as he caught a glimpse of the kiss print. The boys were still roughhousing in the background, but Jennifer and Charlie were no where to be seen until you caught them sneaking towards the stable through the corner of your eye. Elvis cleared his throat, your head snapping back towards him. "Well?" You huffed. His eyes swept over your body, taking in your curves, and lingering on a particularly naked part of your body. "You really wrote that all for me? Hm, pretty girl?" He brushed his hand down your arm. "Oh? You're happy now?" You smiled, smacking his hand off.

"Y/n! Come get in the water's great!" Red screamed while trying to hold Sonny under the water.

"No thanks, certainly not with you idiots!" You laughed out, eventually turning back to Elvis. His eyes had never left you. "Enough of the conversation." He growled out, grasping your wrist and pulling you inside. You padded along the carpeted floors, barely keeping up with Elvis as he yanked you up the stairs. Your bedroom door flew open as he pushed you through it. The curtains were drawn, making the dimly lit room feel cold, your bikini doing nothing to provide warmth. By now, Elvis had walked towards the bed, his finger tracing the pillow your head sleeps on. You breathing shallowed as he pulled his boxers down, his erect cock springing out. Your mouth practically watered at the sight, his slide leaking precum already. You wanted it in your mouth so bad.

"C'mere." He whispered. It was a low growl that sure enough ran a shiver down your spine. You did as he said, taking slow but steady steps towards him. He groaned, obviously frustrated with how much time you were taking. "Give m'those fucking lips." he snarled, his hands cupped your face pulling your lips to his. His tongue forced its way into your mouth, he tasted like brandy and smoke. You pushed against his chest moaning a little. Elvis smiled against your lips, moving his hands from your cheeks down to your lower back. Your back arched into his touch, his mouth exploring yours. A sharp bite was felt against your hips as Elvis tugged on your bikini bottoms, "Elvis, stop, let me take care of you." You plead to him against his lips, Elvis had no intention of stopping. Instead, he spun you around, bending you over the side of your shared bed. He yanked down the bottoms, and they pooled at your feet.

"Been dying to do this since I'saw you in that little bikini, s'goin' through the panty drawer to pick out my favorite. Instead, I found that letter." He growled out. He caressed the round of your ass, and you opened your mouth to reply. "What're you doin', Hm Elvis?" That earned a sharp slap to your ass, hard enough for his hand print to be indented into the plush skin. "M'gonna fuck my lady before I go back to searchin' through that panty draw f'yours."

You moaned at his words, your hands finding the soft cotton sheets of your bed. "You like it when I bend you over, baby girl?" He murmured, you parted your lips to speak, but the words died at your lips when his tip pressed against your entrance. Without any warning, he pushed in, filling you all the way. You groaned, "Ah fuck!"

"Watch that language sweetheart." Elvis grunted out as he pulled almost all the way out just to bottom out again. The sounds of men laughing and water splashing drowned out by the sound of your pornographic moans as Elvis pounded into you. He listened to the sounds of your skin slapping together and it only fueled his lust. With a growl Elvis twisted you around, you squealed as his cock twisted inside of you. "Elvis! Lord have mercy!" you moaned out, his eyes locked on yours as he began to fuck you again. Every now and then Elvis would look down at your bodies connecting, groaning at the sight. "God you feel so good honey, this perfect pussy, my pussy." his words tasted like honey coming from his lips, he pressed his hand down onto your lower stomach, pushing down. You gasped, he was so deep, so big, so perfect. He reached his hand down to your swollen clit, lazily drawing circles on it. You jolted at the unexpected stimulation, that coil building deep within your belly. Elvis thrusted into you, beads of sweat building on his forehead. The circles he drew on your clit gained speed as he felt your impending orgasm, "Cum with me baby, come on, you can do it." Those words sent you over the edge, your eyes snapped shut as your hand flew to his one that was working your clit. "Oh! Oh! Oh!" you screamed out as warm liquid squirted from you tight cunt, Elvis moaned, pulling out before pushing back in. His fingers never stopped circling your sensitive bud. "Elvis! Ah!" Each time he thrusted into you the deeper he went. Elvis was finally finding his pleasure, he had given you yours, it was his turn. "Yes baby girl, yes! Milk my cock, make me cum, make me cum." he growled out. His thrusts slowly lost power as he chased his orgasm, he spilled his into you. You whimpered as his cock drew in and out of your sopping pussy, he leaned down and kissed you, still bucking his hips into you as your cunt milked the last of his cum.

"Atta girl." He hummed against your lips. Elvis pulled out of you, you whined feeling so empty.

Your legs and arms fell limp against the bed. Elvis noticed your legs still spread apart, leaning down and giving your clit a kiss. You jolted at the sudden feeling on the sensitive bundle of nerves.

Elvis stood up straight walking over to your little panty drawer, his cock swinging side to side between his legs. He opened the draw digging through them until he found them, "Aha." he chuckled. The pink lace panties with the little bow. His favourite. You sat up on your elbows, "Maybe I need to start writing letters to you more often, hm?" Elvis grinned turning back to you.

"I think so, baby."

Here it is! I hope you enjoyed it, let me know if you want to be tagged in more things! Also I was thinking about doing some Christmas specials, let me know if you want and Elvis or Austin one... or both... Thank you for all the support babies, I love you all <3

Tagged:

@redwitchbitch1 @iloveelvisss @prettyrose0135 @from-memphis-with-love @elvisbdoll @i-r-i-n-a-a

[sissylittlefeather]

A House That Has Everything: Chapter 4

A/N: This one came to me when I saw these amazing AI photos on Instagram made by @blackvelvetep and @_chiara975ep. (Be sure to check out their pages on Instagram!) My fic brain went crazy and this storyline was born.

Summary: Set in Regency England, Mr. Presley is the gentleman who owns and resides in Graceland Manor. Annabelle Martin is his newest maid after her parents have died and left her an orphan. Can he resist his affection for her, despite the difference in their social class?

Need to catch up? Masterlist HERE.

Warnings: 18+ minors DNI, smut and angst, p in v sex, unprotected sex, sexy thoughts, and some kissing

Word count: ~2.5k

“Bella…”

But it isn't enough.

******

In order to take his mind off of Bella, Elvis leaves for a week in London to settle some estate business and spend time with his friends. When he sets out, all of the staff gather to see him off. Annabelle stands with her hands folded and her eyes on the ground. She's afraid if she looks at him, she'll blush or maybe even pass out cold. He slows down as he passes her, trying to catch her eye, even though he has no idea what he would do if he did. And then, just like that, he's gone.

In the carriage, his mind is consumed with thoughts of Bella refusing to look him in the eye. It's probably good that he'll have some time away. He can't handle another temptation and giving in would ruin them both.

******

In London, Elvis behaves as he usually does, gambling and drinking and generally acting completely unbefitting of his station, but the club he frequents is private and used to this kind of thing from gentlemen from the country.

After a bare-chested boxing match with his best friend Jasper, he finds himself in a perfumed bed in the arms of one of the women who works in the club. She provides a certain service to men who married for expectation rather than romance. Elvis has been with this kind of woman before on his trips to London, but this time he finds himself with a unique problem. The woman, called Bridget, runs her hand over his chest and sighs.

“Is there something on your mind, love?” She coos, her hand drifting down even further. Elvis stops her without thinking and purses his lips. The answer is yes, his mind is filled with Bella and he almost feels like he's being unfaithful here in this bed, but he knows that is absurd. He shakes his head, insisting that he's fine, even though his soft cock gives him away. “You've already paid, love. So why don't you relax and let me help you?”

She leans in and presses her lips to his softly. He closes his eyes and tries to sink into the kiss, but an image of Bella floats up behind his eyelids and he pulls back, almost gagging.

“I can't. I'm sorry.” He lays flat on his back and stares up at the ceiling and Bridget sighs again.

“Who is it that you're in love with?” Her voice has changed from her seductive whisper to one of matter-of-fact conversation.

“I'm not… what? No, that's not…”

“Are you afraid I'll tell your secret? You know what I am.” He turns and looks at her. She's right. No one would listen even if she did try to tell anyone.

“My maid.” He looks back up at the ceiling with an exasperated sigh. “She is the most exquisite creature and I haven't been able to rid my mind of her.”

“Does she feel the same?”

“I don’t know. We haven't… there is only longing. I think she may, but I only know my own heart.” Bridget clicks her tongue and runs her fingers through his hair almost out of habit.

“You poor miserable thing. With only your money to comfort you.” There's an edge of bitterness to her voice.

“I'd give it all up to have her.” He whispers. She softens and turns his chin to look at her.

“Then you have to tell her.”

“I cannot.”

“Then you don't deserve her.” He sits up almost angrily.

“You don't understand. You are free to love whomever you choose. I am bound by obligation to marry someone of my own class.” His eyes are burning and his nostrils flare.

“I couldn't love you.” She says it flatly and understanding settles on him. “But if I did, I would tell you. Love has no thought for the boundaries of society. It gives and takes as it sees fit.”

“Then what do I do about it? Wait for it to pass?” His pain is so genuine that she has a hard time dismissing it.

“Will it?” She cocks her head to the side a little.

“I don't know. I thought it would but here I am in this conversation with you.” He closes his eyes and she puts her hand on his cheek.

“Elvis, will you tell anyone that you were here with me?” He opens his eyes and looks at her, not sure where she's going with this question.

“No.”

“Then why couldn't she be your secret instead of me?” Something akin to hope flickers in his chest. She's right again. Why couldn't Bella be the secret he keeps from the world?

“I hadn't thought of that.” Bridget smiles and runs her hand down his stomach.

“Most of you never do.” She wraps her hand around his flaccid member and then whispers. “Tell me about her.”

Elvis's mind races as he thinks of Bella: her beautiful hands and the cupids bow in her lips that he wants to taste so badly. As more images of her appear in his mind, he hardens and Bridget begins to pump him.

“She's the loveliest woman I've ever seen, dainty and feminine but with a fire and strength I've only ever read about. Her hair is raven-dark and her eyes are deep blue.” He moans softly.

“Good. Close your eyes and keep going.” She strokes him with a little more pressure as his eyes flutter shut.

“She has the sweetest voice and her body…” He whimpers when he thinks of her perfectly round breasts and the curve of her hips under her skirt.

“I'm her. How do you want me?” All of a sudden, it's no longer Bridget's hand on his cock, it's Bella's, and he gasps a little.

“Fully and completely.” Bridget moves herself over his hips, rubbing the tip of him through her folds as he whimpers. “Oh, my Bella.”

He groans as she sinks down onto him and then starts to move. With his eyes closed, he sees Bella, her beautiful body naked, her face rapt with pleasure. Bridget sighs as she fucks him to completion and he moans and whispers Bella’s name with his eyes tightly shut.

When he finishes, he opens them and wants to cry. She's not Bella. Not even close. Bridget sees his expression and kisses his forehead.

“Tell her, Elvis.” He nods silently and pulls away from her, standing to dress himself.

Back in his own bed at the inn, he lays on his side and ignores the tears that slide down his nose. The sick feeling in his stomach makes it impossible to sleep, but he closes his eyes anyway.

******

Annabelle walks through to the kitchen and finds Mrs. Hall in a tizzy.

“What is it?” She asks curiously.

“Mr. Presley will be home this evening. We've just received word that he's on his way.” Annabelle's heart skips.

“He wasn't due home for another three days!” The thought of having him back in the house makes her weak in the knees.

“I know, but he apparently finished his business in London more quickly than he expected. Chop these carrots for me, love.” Mrs. Hall gestures to a pile of carrots on the cutting board and Annabelle goes to work silently. After a few minutes, Mrs. Hall notices her wordlessness. “You seem distraught that he'll be back.”

“Oh, no, I just… am surprised.” She stumbles over the words, embarrassed at being caught.

“Mmm. I was right, wasn't I?” Annabelle pauses her chopping and looks at Mrs. Hall. “There is something between you two.”

“No. There cannot be.”

“Ah, but you'd like there to be.” The older woman smiles knowingly and Annabelle sighs.

“There cannot be.” She repeats it to herself as much as to the cook.

“Love does not care where it cannot be. Now, give me those before you lose a finger.” Mrs. Hall takes the knife and goes to work chopping the carrots herself, dismissing Annabelle to get lost in her thoughts on her own. When she disappears through the door, Mrs. Hall smiles and begins to hum. It'll be good to see her boy happy again.

******

Despite his early return, Annabelle doesn't see Elvis for another couple of days. She goes about her work nervously, secretly praying to see him and afraid to see him all at once. One day Mrs. Davenport notices that she's finishing her work quickly and adds another task. She's to dust several of the rooms in the house every afternoon. Annabelle thinks nothing of this as she begins to work, moving from room to room, but as she approaches the drawing room, she stops dead in her tracks.

Someone is playing the pianoforte. And not just playing it, but playing it beautifully. Curiosity overwhelms her and she pushes the door open carefully. It's him. He's bent over the keys and as she watches, he begins to sing while he plays. His voice is the smoothest baritone she's ever encountered and it makes her heart leap in ways she didn't think possible. She also feels that familiar warmth between her legs and tries to close the door slowly, but it's a heavy door and it closes with a loud thunk. The music stops and she turns to make her way down the hallway quickly but he pulls it open before she gets too far.

“Bella! Wait!” He calls out to her as she slips into the library. When he enters, she's furiously dusting everything she can see, trying to ignore the growing blush on her cheeks and the way her center moistens under her clothes. “Are you hiding from me?”

She stops and takes a deep breath, turning to face him. Somehow, he's even more beautiful than before and it takes everything inside her not to go to him and pull him in close to her.

“No, of course not.”

“You ran away from me.” Elvis is a little hurt that he hasn't seen her. He came home specifically to talk to her and his resolve has melted more and more each day. Still, his encounter with Bridget is heavy in his mind and some determination lingers.

“I'm working.” At that moment, she bumps a porcelain knick-knack and it hits the floor, breaking into several large pieces. “Oh, I'm so sorry, sir.”

He sighs and then walks over, bending down to help her collect the pieces.

“Bella, I thought I asked you not to call me ‘sir’.”

“I'm sorry… Elvis.” He smiles and takes the broken pieces from her hands.

“That's better.” They both stand up and he sets the broken object on the end table. For a second they just stare at each other again. All of a sudden, his nerve is lost and he has no idea what to say. She's just about to turn away when he blurts out. “Do you like to read?”

“I do. More than anything.” She answers him quietly.

“Novels?”

“Some. Mostly poetry.” He can't help but smile widely as he walks to a shelf and pulls down a book.

“Have you read this?” She walks closer and looks at the volume he's holding.

“Wordsworth? I love Wordsworth.” His face is one of complete adoration and he tries desperately not to sweep her into his arms.

“And then my heart with pleasure fills–”

“-And dances with the daffodils.” She finishes the line he started and he nods. They continue this exercise through three more books before he pulls a tiny book of poems from his breast pocket.

“What about this one?” He hands it to her and she holds it, noticing all the dog-eared pages and notes in the margin.

“No, not this one.”

“It's yours, then. My favorite is on page 42.” His heart is racing when he thinks of what he's scribbled there, but in this moment he's so full of love for her that he doesn't even care if she sees it. He wants her to see it, needs her to see it.

She looks at him with her heart beating loudly in her chest. It's a book of love poems. Her hands tremble slightly as she turns to page 42. There, at the top, in his handwriting: For my Bella.

He steps closer to her as she reads, the blood thick in his veins, rushing everywhere but his brain.

The fountains mingle with the river

And the rivers with the ocean,

The winds of heaven mix for ever

With a sweet emotion;

Nothing in the world is single;

All things by a law divine

In one spirit meet and mingle.

Why not I with thine?—

See the mountains kiss high heaven

And the waves clasp one another;

No sister-flower would be forgiven

If it disdained its brother;

And the sunlight clasps the earth

And the moonbeams kiss the sea:

What is all this sweet work worth

If thou kiss not me?

She looks up at him as she reads the last line and he's so close she can feel him breathing. Her chest rises and falls quickly and his eyes flit down to her lips. She's afraid she might faint as he reaches out carefully and takes her cheek in his hand.

“What is all this sweet work worth, if thou kiss not me?” He whispers the last line. Her eyes flick between his and then down to his mouth as he moves toward her painfully slowly. She should stop him, but she's frozen on the spot.

Finally, his lips graze hers so softly that it's barely a kiss. But he doesn't stop there. He kisses her again, with a little more pressure, his lips parted with his tongue cautiously moving ever-so-slightly, but he doesn't taste her yet. Not until the third kiss, when she drops the book of poetry and throws her arms around his neck. He wraps himself around her waist and dives in fully into a kiss so deep and so intense that they both get lost below the waves of it. Their bodies are pressed together and their tongues move in a symphonic dance and they both forget to breathe. After what feels like an eternity, but isn't nearly long enough, they pull apart breathlessly. He tries to press his forehead to hers, but she backs away.

“Elvis, I can't.”

“Bella, please–”

“No. I'm sorry!” Her voice is heavy with tears as she turns and runs from the room.

“Bella!” He yells after her, but she's gone. He bends down and picks up the book of poems and then turns and throws it at the wall. Sinking into a chair, he runs his hands in his hair and tries to hold back the tears. He looks up at the ceiling as they start to fall and whispers. “Bella, please.”

She stands on the other side of the door, her body wracked with sobs as she weeps uncontrollably. When she hears him whisper her name again, she drops to her knees.

“Oh, Elvis.” She whispers it like a prayer, her hand on her heart as she rocks back and forth in agony.

******

What will happen next?

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Taglist:

@ahundredlifetime @claire-elvisgirl @ccab @atleastpleasetelephone @aliypop @18lkpeters @dkayfixates @tacozebra051 @your-nanas-house @joshuntildawn13 @lookingforrainbows @60svintage @littlehoneyposts @epthedream69 @louisejoy86 @rjmartin11 @from-memphis-with-love @deltafalax @cinnamoroll-things @burnthheparaphilia @jhoneybees @cattcb @everythingelvispresley @returntopresley @searchingforgravity @msamarican @angschrof @lustnhim @polksaladava @librababe99 @hooked-on-elvis @theelvisprincess @makethemorning @peaceloveelvis @mrspresley69 @pxpresley @kxnnxy

[voxmortuus]

☆ { crying } because of how good it feels

with benny perhaps????😊😊 thank u!

⇘ PAIRING:⇙ Benny Cross x F!Reader ⇘ UNIVERSE:⇙ The Bikeriders ⇘ WORD COUNT:⇙ 378 ⇘ TRIGGER WARNINGS:⇙ Crying Reader (because it felt so good) | Fluffy Ben | Tender Moments | Smut has been implied | Speaking of Mess between your legs | Benny playing with the mess between your legs | Hint to round two | PLEASE TELL ME IF I FORGOT ANYTHING!!! I want to make sure readers are fully aware of what they are getting themselves into when they read this… ⇘ NOTES:⇙ Sorry if this is total ass... It's short, sweet, and to the point, but I hope this brings you some joy. Prompt from this list. ⇘ DIVIDER CREDIT:⇙ @nyxvuxoa ⇘ IMAGE CREDIT:⇙ @carnevol ⇘ My Master Masterlist ⇙

Granted you both finished, he needs you to communciate, he needs that reassurance that you are in fact okay. Cupping your face in his hands, he searches your face. Planting small kisses on your lips, he looks into your eyes, searching the beautiful hues of color that spread across your iris. Watching you carefully, he took in a deep breath as he pulled from between your folds and moves to lay beside you.

"Talk to me... what's going on?" He asked you, his voice husky, low, and full of love and caring.

"Nothing's going on, honestly. It felt good..." you stated.

"Are you sure? Crying, that's never happened... not all the time anyway." he stated with a slight chuckle.

"No.. no baby, honest, it felt really good, it's just this weird thing that happens to me at times. I promise you didn't do anything wrong." you reassure.

"So, lemme get this straight. You're crying because what I did felt good? You didn't want me to stop? I mean, yeah, there's a fuck of a mess between your legs, but, I mean... I can do it again... if you want." he smirked.

You chuckled looking over him. Leaning you press your forehead against his and nod. He chuckled softly, maybe he liked when you cried, but he wasn't all too sure himself, but knowing it wasn't bad, he wasn't going to worry about it too much, he just wanted to make sure you were okay.

His hand slips between your legs again, feeling that mess, he smirked, his lips hovering above yours, he ran his nose along yours as his fingers moved over your opening, that slick stickyness between your legs was more than enough to cause you to quiver and shake. Biting your lip as he started to stimulate your clit again. You tremble against him softly. Playing with your mess he smirked, you feel as he scoops the mess, using it as a sense of lube for his own cock as he gets between your legs and looks down at you, and searches your face.

"You ready?" he asked you.

You nod, eager, and ready for round two. Will you cry again? Probably, but it was for a good reason. Biting your lip, you're anticipating this feeling.

[lustnhim]

’ poor thing. ‘ — dom! elvis x fem! reader

note: requested / warnings: MDNI, virgin reader, innocence kink, legal age gap, fingering, p in v sex, no protection, elvis makes you taste yourself, praise and slight degrading, slight humiliation, pwp, religious stuff. / summary: elvis catches you grinding on his pillow.

Your body rutted against his pillow, the cotton fabric of your panties colliding with the satin pillowcase, desperate for any more friction you gripped the front, pushing the pillow upwards onto yourself. Breathing heavily as the heat between your legs only grew stronger, your mind foggy from the overwhelming arousal. You had never ever done something like this, something so dirty, so sinful. The cross hung between your neck, moving in unison with your thrusts, you gripped it gently in your hand, almost on the verge of tears. It was so wrong, but felt so good. You tried to hurry, but you knew it wouldn’t be long before your parents noticed your absence from the backyard, before they would ask Elvis if he had seen their daughter– Your mind drifted shamefully to Elvis, your movement becoming more desperate. His strong hands, his carefully tousled hair, his pretty eyes, his laugh, his smile. God. 

As you mindlessly continued to grind on the pillow, chasing your orgasm. Your heart stopped when you heard the soft creak of the bedroom door opening and the gentle thud of boots hitting the floor. You pulled the pillow out from under you quickly,  tossing it across the bed. Trembling, you clung to the cross around your neck, your eyes wide and fearful, there standing in the doorway was an obviously amused Elvis. You choked back tears as you tried to speak, only small noises coming out. “You like that pilla’ honey?”  He drawled and you bit your lip, trying not to cry. He had seen you, but you already knew that. It was impossible he didn't. "Please don't be mad," you whispered, your voice trembling with fear.”D-don’t tell my parents-”  You cried out, your voice weak and shaking. He walked towards you, his footsteps creaking on the wooden floor. The air around you thickened with fear as he drew near. “I won’t say nothin’-” Elvis coos, coming down to sit on the bed with you. Chuckling softly as he looked at the pillow. “You should know better, than ta’ do that, honey,” Elvis says, picking up your hands and holding them gently. “The good lord says self-pleasure’s a sin…especially if you’re lusting over somethin’,” Elvis says, causing you to break down a bit. Tears fell down your face as he tsked, moving one hand off yours and to your face, wiping a few tears off with his thumb. 

Your gaze moved to the floor, you couldn’t bear to look him in his eyes, his pretty blue eyes…You shook your head in embarrassment and shame, the tears having yet to slow. Elvis's hand cradled your cheek, his touch gentle and understanding. "Don't cry, honey," he whispered, his breath warm against your skin. "Look at me." He whispered, raising your head and looking at him you pouted. When your eyes met him, he gave you a reassuring smile. "I won't tell your parents," He said, taking his hands off your face and wrapping them around your waist, pulling you into a hug. You rested your head gently against his chest, a few stray tears falling onto his chest. “But you ain’t ‘sposed to do that…you need someone to help you,” Elvis said, grabbing your legs and pulling them onto his lap, allowing you to wrap your legs around him. “H-how..?” You asked, your face still red from crying. “Well honey, a man can make ya feel just as good…” He says, his hands running through your hair. “Really?”

You ask, and Elvis nods. “Mhm, that’s right Angel.” Elvis's lips pressed against your forehead, a tender gesture that sent shivers down your spine. "You gotta trust me," he whispered, guiding your hands off his chest to between your legs. "Can you touch there fa’ me?" He asks, his tone gentle. Nodding hesitantly, you slowly brought your hands down, your fingers along your panties, you could feel your wetness through the fabric. A blush bloomed on your cheeks, your eyes downcast as you began to rub your clit. Elvis's breath hitched, his eyes darkening with desire. “That how you usually do it?” Elvis asked, his hands resting on your hips. You look up at him, your face flushed, “I don’t- I don’t really do it..” You say, biting your lip out of embarrassment. 

“Well, lemme try this,” Elvis suggests, replacing your hand with his, causing you to let out a breathy groan. Elvis massaged your clit, your back arching gently as his fingers worked. You felt him stop and you groaned out in disappointment. "Don’t worry, we’re just gonna take these off real quick, honey,” he said, noticing your disappointment. You nodded, your eyes fluttering shut, as you worked your body to get them off. “So pretty…” Elvis cooed, running his finger across your slit. You whimpered out as he began to work, rubbing your clit gently before taking a finger and gently putting it inside. “Ah!” You groaned, the feeling completely foreign to you. “Calm down, honey…Don’t want anyone to hear us..” He says, moving his finger in and out gently, allowing you to adjust. “So tight..” He groaned, slipping in another finger. Covering your mouth you moaned into your hand, trying to keep your eyes closed. Elvis pumped in and out in a slow rhythm. "See, a man can make it better, can't he?" he teased, his thumb continuing to apply pressure to your swollen clit. You leaned into his touch, your muffled moans growing louder. "You're such a filthy little slut," Elvis praised, his grip tightening on your hips. "Imagine what your parents would think?" His words sent shivers down your spine, and you felt a sensation growing in your stomach. Pulling your hand off your mouth you cried, “M’ gonna c-cum..” You stammered, your heart racing as you felt your orgasm nearing. "Beg for me to make you cum, angel." You whimpered, your cheeks hot with embarrassment and arousal. "Please... m-make me cum, Elvis..." you begged, your voice breathless. Elvis smirked, his pace picking up. "Keep going honey," he demanded. "P-please, please Elvis, m-make me cum!" you cried out, your body arching into his hands. Elvis chuckled, his fingers increasing their pace. The room filled with your moans as he brought you closer and closer to your climax. "That's it, baby, cum for me," he encouraged. You whimpered as your climax coated his fingers, feeling the high overtake your body as he withdrew his fingers. Your eyes stayed closed as you felt him shuffle beneath you. “Open your mouth, baby.” He murmured, as you opened your mouth lazily, feeling him gently put the two fingers on your tongue. “Taste it.” You demanded, opening your eyes you looked at him as you closed your mouth around his fingers, sucking on them before he pulled them out with a small pop. “Fuck..” He groaned, taking one of your hands and pressing against the bulge in his jeans. “Feel that?” He asked, moving your hand along his clothed cock. “That’s all you baby.”

Elvis undid his belt and motioned your hand away, unbuttoning his jeans and pulling them down along with his boxers, his cock freeing itself from the confinement, standing at full attention. "Touch it, baby," he said, his voice thick with lust. You hesitated, unsure of what to really do. "It's okay, Angel," Elvis cooed, guiding your hand to his thick shaft. You wrapped your fingers around him, feeling the veins pulsing beneath the skin. You tentatively began to stroke him, trying to be gentle as you were scared to hurt him. "Little bit harder and faster, honey." he groaned, his fingers digging into the skin of your hip. You obeyed, his moans growing louder as you gripped him a bit harder, your pace quickening. "Doin’ so good…" Elvis praises, bucking into your hand gently. Elvis pushed you farther down onto his lap as you released his cock, “Lean up, baby.” Elvis said as you raised yourself up a bit. He gripped his cock with one hand and lined you up with the other. “This gonna hurt a bit…” He warns as he begins to push you down onto him. Your breathing is ragged as you feel the head of his cock prod your entrance. Pushing you down further you feel his tip pop inside, your back arches as you bury your head in the crook of his neck, tears welling in your eyes. “It’s okay, honey…It’ll be okay.” He coos as he sinks himself into you.

“You’re squeezing me, honey…” He warns as you try to relax. “I-It hurts..” You whine, trying to get used to it. “I know baby…you just gotta relax darling.” He says, running his hand across your back, trying to calm you. Taking a deep breath you relaxed and felt him slide deeper in you, making you cry out. Shushing you gently he stayed still for a moment. "Let me ease you in," he whispers, taking you slow, inch by agonizing inch. "God, you're so tight. You're perfect, baby." Each thrust is slow and deep, designed to stretch you gently, to give you time to adjust. You're nothing but a whimpering mess, your nails digging into his back. "I’ve got you, Angel. Just breathe." His deep voice is a soothing balm, easing your fears and helping you center yourself. Eventually, you find a rhythm. Each thrust is met with a small gasp, his cock filling you completely. .He starts to pick up the pace, his hips moving faster, causing your own body to move in tandem, grinding against his lap. "Fuck, you feel amazing," he moans, his grip tightening on your hips. You could feel your body starting to submit to the pleasure, the pain slowly dissolving in the haze of lust.  "Elvis…" You whimpered, your voice breaking as he continued to fuck you. You felt his grip on your hips tightens, his thrusts grow more aggressive, the pace increasing. "You like that, baby?" Elvis grunted between thrusts, your eyes locking with his. "Y-yes, Elvis, please don't stop." You moaned, your voice trembling. Elvis smirked, his eyes filled with lust as he continued to pound into you. The pleasure grew, your body responding to the rhythmic motion. "You feel so fucking good, Angel. I'm gonna cum inside you." He warned, his grip on your hips growing harsh. You cried out, your body trembling as you clung to him. The room was filled with the sounds of flesh colliding, the bed creaking beneath you. He growled, his thrusts becoming more erratic.

Pushing the thoughts of sin from your mind, you focused on the pleasure that was building within you. Elvis's cock filled you, his thrusts growing harder. You could feel the intensity growing, as both of you drew closer to your climax. Your body tensed, the pleasure overwhelming, and then it happened. You screamed, arching into him as an orgasm ripped through your body, your inner muscles clenching around him. "Fuck!!" Elvis roared, his own orgasm hitting him hard, his cock pulsing inside you as thick ropes of cum coated your walls. He held you close, his breathing heavy as he rode out the wave with you. Your vision blurry, you clung to him, the aftershocks of your orgasm still coursing through your veins. You collapsed back onto him, his still half-hard cock slipping out of you.

Exhausted, you lay there with him, both of you trying to catch your breaths. "You're something else, you know that?." He whispered, kissing the top of your head. “Now that honey is God's will…” He said, smiling gently You nodded, too spent to even speak. “We better hurry and get back downstairs, your parents are waitin’ and so is everybody else,” Elvis said, starting to get up but you impulsively grabbed his arm. “You ain’t gonna tell anyone right?” You asked him, scanning his face for any sign of malice. “No honey, I won’t tell.” He said, laying back down on the bed with you, his face gentle. Cupping your face gently he smiled. 

“It’s gonna be our little secret.”

my fantasy fr thanks anon for requesting i am so happy 😭🫶

taglist: @hooked-on-elvis @atleastpleasetelephone @lola-1013 @18lkpeters @indiatuck @eptodaytommorowforever @suspiciousmindsxo @tupelomiss @mysteriouslymagicalwolf @myradiaz @i-r-i-n-a-a @elvispresley1956 @sisssygirl @your-nanas-house @generousspirit @joyouswonders @callieselvisobsessed @iminlovewithaustinbutler @eapep @auntbee22 @scarlettlight06 @wildhorseinkansas @elvisiana @spookyeagleflower @ladelinee @jhoneybees @elviswhore69 @sissylittlefeather @dontfeedthebigbadwolf @roxyrosa

[elviscockslut]

i need to be ruined by bde.

[foreverdolly]

ೃ࿔FOREVERDOLLY'S ELVIS PRESLEY MASTERLIST

“𝙗𝙖𝙗𝙮 𝙞 𝙬𝙖𝙣𝙩 𝙮𝙤𝙪, 𝙮𝙤𝙪'𝙡𝙡 𝙣𝙚𝙫𝙚𝙧 𝙜𝙚𝙩 𝙖𝙬𝙖𝙮. . .”

✶ MY BESTEST GIRL SERIES MASTERLIST (BEST FRIEND! ELVIS X CHILDHOOD LOVE!READER)

you’re elvis’s childhood best friend, and he’s been in love with you for as long as he can remember. his mother and father keep trying to push him to finally make a move, what with you being the only girl that they would ever approve of their son going steady with. elvis, bashful and fearful of rejection, decides to keep his feelings to himself… well- that is until he can’t physically take it anymore.

total word count: 40.3k

✶ LONESOME TONIGHT ONESHOT (ELVIS X INJURED!READER)

after firing the colonel, elvis is headed back home to memphis. it isn’t until he makes it to graceland that he learns about the tragedy of the previous night. sitting beside your hospital bed, elvis remembers a promise that you made to him back when you two were young. he’s going to hold you to it.

total word count: 3.1k

✶ SHADES OF COOL ONESHOT (SOULMATES DADDY!ELVIS X LITTLE!READER)

"i had a dream about you last night" and "i've never done this before. . . " with the soulmate trope.

total word count: 2.1k

✶ BE MY LOVER SERIES MASTERLIST (90s ROCKSTAR!ELVIS X PLAYBOY BUNNY!READER)

your love life has been tragic to say the least, so after a rather public breakup you decide that you're done with bad boys. elvis is the lead singer of a well known and well loved metal band. he lives a hard and fast lifestyle and wouldn't dream of ever apologizing for it. the one thing that nobody would ever expect from a rough-around-the-edges kinda guy like elvis is the fact that the man is a hopeless romantic. and he's got his sights set on you. elvis presley was precisely the kind of person you were trying to avoid. you couldn't let him weasel his way into your life. . . . right?

total word count: 11.1k

✶ POMEGRANATE ONESHOT (MAFIA BOSS! ELVIS X LITTLE!READER)

"you shoot anyone that comes through the door who isn't me" and "touch her and you're dead." with forbidden love trope.

total word count: 2.1k

✶ MUD PIE ONESHOT (DAD!ELVIS X MOM!READER)

"I love it." "I'm gonna puke." and "If it makes you feel any better then you can slap me. Lightly."

total word count: 1.3k

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← go back to the masterlist guide

“𝙢𝙮 𝙡𝙤𝙫𝙚 𝙬𝙞𝙡𝙡 𝙝𝙖𝙪𝙣𝙩 𝙮𝙤𝙪- 𝙮𝙚𝙨, 𝙝𝙖𝙪𝙣𝙩 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙣𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙙𝙖𝙮. . .”

[therealslimshakespeare]

Trash Magic

Big Daddy Trailer Park Cop AU One Shot

Summary: it’s 2008 and it’s the pits of recession, not that the suburbs of El Paso would notice, things have been rather shit among the rows and rows of trailers for some time now. With your dad locked up for being a little too ‘entrepreneurial’, it seems your only ally in these tough times is the town‘s scary old softy, Officer Presley, and the more than professional interest he takes in your speeding and footwear. 

Era: modern but with that dumbass tumblr dusty Americana feel to it I hope?

Kudos: so many to @eliseinmemphis who was my plot guru, kept this thing alive and gave so many lines and sentences used herein.

Word count: 15k and I didn’t edit this sorry for misspells, etc

18+ and may be thematically disturbing to some please read cautions, proceed at your own risk!! More specifics below the cut

HAPPY NEW YEAR MY DARLINGS!

Specific warnings: sexual content, drug use, stripping, casual prostitution, age gap, reader isn’t a minor for such activities but only eighteen?? which is not touted as a good thing but it’s in here?? if that’s a hard no then be warned. graphic descriptions of kinda gross blowjobs and very gross blowjobs, spanking, officer Presley does take too many pills for his pain ok? driving under the influence, minors drinking, trailer trash lifestyle in general, such as I personally have had experience with, it’s rough out there folks but there’s always the good ones trying their best. Sorry I really threw Joe E under the bus. I’m not really sorry but I’m sorry you have to read about him in here. Please let me know what warnings I missed if I did. Again, could be thematically disturbing due to age, solicitation, law officers, drug use, humans not being tidy little robots.

When you were three years old you recall the smell of plastic heating in the sun, the hot smell of fresh cut grass and the cold splatter of hose water on your skin. A little paradise it seemed, that tiny kitty pool and your mama waving the hose over you with one hand, her cigarette dangling between the fingers of her other, bright warm sun and yellowing grass stretched out in large swathes between the little white shacks stacked row upon tidy row. Always the same and ready to guide you home after each little wander into the thicket behind the clearing.

That was life in the Shady Oaks trailer park. There really was only one mature oak tree and it was a live oak and the sunshine beamed right through its little leaves all seasons of the year.

By five you had a sizable jar of grasshoppers collected and had become too scared of their hoards and awful beady eyes to ever release them, fearful they would swarm you the minute you undid the lid of the mason jar and gave them freedom. You had let one out and watched it hop across the torn Hexagons of the linoleum floor before it jumped in an acrobatic feat and landed in the mac & cheese your mom was making. You never know what she did with those jars, but you were half relieved, half heartbroken at the fact they were no longer your responsibility.

By eight you knew you lived in a trailer park and spending your time collecting ants and moths for the new set of grasshoppers to eat was a peculiar and uncool pastime. As were muddy knees and torn t-shirts on a girl approaching her teenage years. But mama hadn’t been able to take the heat and the rows upon rows of mildewing trailers anymore and daddy was too busy with his “entrepreneurship” to dress you right.

By twelve you had learned that some nights daddy came home, and some nights he didn’t and you couldn’t be sure which you preferred. His drunken state was unpredictable and confusing even though he was not abusive, but his absence left you counting quarters and wondering how long your Fig Newtons would last if he stayed gone longer than a week again.

By fifteen the Dollar Store and its fluorescent bulbs leached the vitality out of you with each long day shift, school was an afterthought, and your days smelled of plastic bags and detergent. You brought that smell home to your musty trailer, seeped into the sweaty fabric of your tank top. The only thing that stayed consistent whether your daddy was home or not was the religious watching of the NASCAR races. Reruns and live, it didn’t matter, where many girls escaped into Disney or Reality TV, you did your dreaming while sitting in the ratty drivers seat of daddy’s Ford, making the engine thrum.

By seventeen, your daddy was gone for months at a time. Sometimes he’d leave the Ford and take off on the road with Benny and Gregg in Benny’s motorhome from a few rows down. Greg had the pale blue trailer with the blinds that were always smashed in the one window. He always left his damn lights on, even when he was gone and they’d glow yellow and demented between the brittle plastic. Some nights when you walked back home from town, maybe a little more plastered than you’d like to admit, you’d keep Gregg’s trailer and his silly window as a landmark to turn left in the maze of trailers.

One night the bulb burnt out. One by one the rest of them did too. The fellas, they’d all been gone so long. Next week the electricity got turned off to yours. The bill hadn’t been paid. Dollar Store wages kept peanut butter and miracle bread in your cabinets and bought you cheap tequila from Terry who lived five trailers down and didn’t care about ID’s so long as there was cash on the counter. What the wages didn’t pay for was electricity or gas money or a new car that could actually accelerate fast enough to give you that thrill you craved.

Despite your lousy education and demotivated upbringing, you had some spark of diligence and ambition residing inside you, it was stoked to a decent blaze by the awful, humid and stale air of the trailer without its swamp coolers humming at night. Not even the fridge stayed cool longer than forty eight hours and you ended up at the seven eleven eating roller dogs.

You weren’t looking for job opportunities while licking corn dog grease off your thumbs but opportunity came to you anyway. As you nibbled at the soggy fried dog and licked at the rancid oil while leaning against the auto supply shelf, you’d have to be some sorta dumb to not know that Carl was hanging around the same aisle for something besides windshield washer fluid.

Carl was a native to the outskirts of El Paso just like you, and he was a married man, married to Clarissa in fact. Clarissa who’s plastic miniature flamingo’s gracing each edge of her weedy gravel drive had a younger you thinking she was the height of trailer park sophistication. That was before Officer Presley, who lived in a spacious double wide down by Gregg’s trailer and its burnt out bulbs, got himself a Tiger figurine made outta real concrete and painted pretty as anything, its blazing feline eyes not missing a speck of paint, unlike the flamingo’s slashed ones. Officer Presley only had the one and it was assumed he was saving up for another, and he placed it by the little porch he built off his trailer door, the proximity to the structure giving it a noble sorta air that sitting statues out by the street didn’t manage.

“If you keep watchin’ me like that I’ll have to start chargin’.” you told Carl and his leering face, and took another bite, munching with the carefree manners of someone actually hungry.

“Can’t do that here.” he wheezed a laugh, then thumbed over his shoulder at the bright lights of the trucker club blazing in the dark sky through the dirty glass doors of the gas station. “But over there it’s legal.”

“You so horny you’d pay to watch a girl eat a corndog?” you were dubious, wondering just how little Miss Clarissa put out if he’d waste money on this, it wasn’t like she was busy repainting her Flamingo’s peeling eyes or nothin’.

“I’d pay for a drink for ya.” Carl offered, fidgety hands wedged in his fraying front pockets. “And you can eat another dog. You like hot dogs? They’ve got ‘em over there.”

“Nah, I need cash.” you declined, aware that you could barter for drinks and end up evicted or else make sacrifices regarding the booze and keep your tin roof over your head.

“Cash?” he repeated like a dumb parrot.

“Yeah, stupid.” you flailed your hands a little in annoyance, fully certain everyone in this run down rural suburb knew you were as broke as you are alcoholic at seventeen.

“Ok, then I’ll pay for your hot dog,” he negotiated with an oil stained finger scratching at the sore on the corner of his mouth, “And you can eat it so long as you do it how I tell ya.”

You sighed and ran your chipping nails along the plastic jugs of car oil. “So long as ya let me eat it.” you stipulate, “And you gotta pay for the show.”

“I ain’t made of money, girl!” Carl protested, “I’m buyin’ dinner, you should be thankin’ me.”

“You were plannin’ on buyin’ me a drink.” you pointed out, “Where’s that money gone?”

“Jeeze ok, ok,” Carl sighed, “I’ll pay you same as a wild Turkey would cost.”

“And a dog?”

“Yeah.”

“With chili on it?”

“Oh c’mon now-“

“-It’ll make for good slurpin.” you pointed out sagaciously

Carl groaned in annoyance and appreciation for the mental image. “Ok, a chili dog and the cost of a shot. No funny shit with the tab and you eat it how I say.”

“Does the club have air conditioning?” You asked your last stipulation.

“Course it does, it would be hot as fuck without.”

Your trailer was hot as fuck and anytime spent loitering elsewhere was greatly desired. “Ok then.” you agreed with a shrug.

By the time you’d crossed the parking lot, with Carl’s guiding hand on your lower back, you were irritable from the heat and exhaust fumes. Inside was cool and almost as dark as the parking lot except for the wild, multi-colored lights swirling around the place, highlighting the girls humping the stage floor in the middle of the establishment. One more underage addition wasn’t remotely as remarkable as the fella in the corner trying to take a bite outta a lap dancer’s boob. He got smacked on the cheek for it and nothin’ more, got his full dance anyway and as you watched her after while sitting up on the bar stool, you noticed her negotiate something similar to what you’d just done. She stayed in his lap after her dance was done and after some gesticulating and her unimpressed sighs, some agreement was reached and you watched them get up and walk to the back of the club, through the backdoor that you knew led to nothing more than miles and miles of desert.

Five minutes later a similar transaction occurred between a trucker and a pole girl. They went out back, too. Ten minutes later the first couple came back in. She went to the stage and he went out the front door Carl had brought you in by.

By that point you were slowly inserting a hot dog onto your pink tongue and swallowing a bite every three minutes or more - at least, that’s what it felt like. Carl’s directions were so slow and infuriatingly erratic that you found yourself grateful for the fact you’d already eaten a bit at the gas station, otherwise this would’ve been the cruelest tease to your belly that hadn’t had lunch and only Raisin Bran for breakfast. You chose to ignore the way his hand moved in the shadow of the bar, wiping at his jeans too many times to be passed off as sweaty palms.

A nearly fully dressed girl in cut offs eating a chili dog was hardly the most sensational thing to be watched in this seedy joint, but it was the most peculiar and no sooner had you finished the dog after a laborious thirty minutes, collected the extra drink cash and prepared to go home after declining Carl’s offer of a ride before you found yourself propositioned for the same ordeal. This big fella actually offered a drink with it and much to Carl’s betrayed horror you agreed. Carl ended up leaving, going home to Clarissa, feeling too cuckolded to continue watching someone else watch you eat meat in a casing.

In between sipping Hard Mike’s lemonade you chatted with the fella and spilled pinto beans on your bare legs from the excess. Even the bartender had stopped being annoyed, he even got a bit invested in your gig, retracting the offered napkins for the spill when another guy, a farm hand from the pecan grove down the interstate, asked to lick it off.

You charged seventeen bucks for that spit bath and felt funny as the saliva dried in the chilled bar room air. The bartender asked you if you lived in El Paso. Hesitating to give yourself away or open yourself up to a driveby, you merely agreed that you lived nearby, he didn’t need to know you lived in the Spark City suburb and walked to this tuck station grill to save fuel.

Marty, he said his name was, and Marty was pleased you lived close. In that case he asked if you’d wanna work there. You knew at the time he wasn’t offering you to bartend, your age prohibitive even in so lax an establishment. Your eyes flicked over to the long gal with her sallow skin and stringy red hair loling around the stripper pole in the glow of a green spotlight. It had to be 3:00 am by then.

“Does everybody do extra?” You asked him, plainly referencing the deals that took folks out back into the sagebrush and the backside of the club.

“You do as much as you wanna get paid for.” he admitted. “Plenty just strip.”

Just, he had said. Just strip.

Just stripping was a gross understatement for the rigorous and demoralizing ordeal of flinging your practically naked body around on stage for gaping older men to ogle each night. But it took up hours of your time not paid by the dollar store wages, and you could snooze from five am to eight when your shift began again in respectable retail. You earned a decent amount, even after having to pay Marty and the doormen a portion and even turning down a lap dance or two. The chili dog schtick kept its novelty for three nights and then you were driven to grinding against the pold like all the others, wondering if they’d all hoped to not end this way, same as you.

After a few weeks of this your piggy bank was less empty than it had been in months, hidden under the sink of your trailer behind the Comet and pulled out only to stuff in bills or else retrieve bread money, one Sunday you counted enough to pay your lease for the trailer slip. What was left would make a tiny little down payment for the electricity bill.

Or gas money for at least fifty miles or more in your gas guzzler. You weighed the bills in your hands and mournfully inspected your bruised knees. It was your off day, you contemplated going to the club in the evening as it didn’t respect the Lord’s day like the dollar store, but until then you had hours of a perfectly cloudless day to burn. Suddenly your trailer felt unbearable in its stuffy crampedness.

You tore outta your door and cranked up your daddy’s old Ford and with relief found it started with only a few tries. You tore down the road too, seeking the interstate after using that cash to top her tank off. For the first time in ages a full smile had begun to split your face. You went east, passing the last remnant of civilization that you called home and comprised El Paso’s dusty satellite cling ons. Then it was open range, nothing just mesas and tumbleweed, no one else could brag of such flat country or so wide a sky.

You floored it, the speed limit a decent 80 on its own, you went up to 120, fast as you dared push the transmission without fear of being stranded in the desert. Billboards warned of “last chance for gas, Van Horn 200 miles” followed by a possibly related: “God is coming, have you repented?”

All flew by in a unheeded blur as you cranked up the stereo and let the wind whip your hair. You covered a patrol car in a cloud of dust and saw his lights flash at you in the rearview. No chase commenced. When you leisurely drove back you noticed it was highway patrol, the sun was setting and he flashed his brights at you. You flicked them back.

“Hey officer Presley.” you murmured amused at him turning a blind eye to the speeding. Back when you had more money and made a regular habit of this amateur racing, you noticed the same benevolent light flicker and never a siren broke the still of the desert. “You ole softy.” you giggled at the thought of the middle aged officer being generous for you and only you, and wondered if he’d heard about what had become of you yet. Seems like most of the trailer park had. Favorite topic these days, right up there with when or if your daddy was ever gonna come home. Had the wives hating you during the day for the suspicion of their men wanking over you at night.

“Maybe if you could spare a single food stamp or somethin’ to help a gal in need I’d not be strippin’!” You had hollered at Ms Clarissa for all to hear and you stood by it. Buncha lousy, miserable hypocrites who did far worse behind their canvas doors.

You do go to the club that night.

You stripped down to your panties and bra and made enough to buy ice and a trip to the dentist. You packed the ice in the dead refrigerator and pampered yourself with some milk and a carton of ice cream for the filled tooth.

Next day you filled up your gas tank again and blazed a path through town, headed to the wide open and dreaming of busting your way into the male ranks of nascar drivers. You were deep into a daydream and committing a little self pity about how you hadn't been able to afford cable and were missing all the races when a siren’s blare broke your fantasy and the flicker of red lights against a pale blue sky filled your rearview. Begrudgingly you pulled to the shoulder as you cranked down your window, fiddling with the radio knobs till you could actually hear your crime when your peruser sauntered up.

“Well, well officer Presley, finally got persnickety about laws, have ya?” you observed to yourself with a grin as you watched the handsome man swagger towards you along the white line in your side mirror, tugging at his pants as he neared, trying to shimmy the article of clothing a little higher but is impeded by his belt, stopped by his sizable belly, his holster and buckle sitting under the bulge of it.

Your mouth watered. It had been close to a year since you’d seen him up close, not since last time he pulled you over, though you always took note when he was lounging outside his trailer in a lawn chair with his dog or stripped down and working under his hood. He was always built, intimidating to all the stupid rascals he kept in line along the border, but now he had become outright fat and his khaki shirt pulled apart between each button. Yet when he came up to your window, that little boy's grin was still gracing one of the most exquisite faces known to man, and his voice was tender and playful when he greeted you, just as you once recalled. You could see his sweaty hair, matted on his chest and belly between the gaps, his underarms have massive pit stains, doubly apparent thanks to the light color of his police uniform.

Your smile had something of the she-wolf in it as you greeted him, sniffing the air in hopes of catching a whiff as he leaned on your window frame, nearly crowding you from outside. “Hey Miss Lead Foot Louie,” he greeted, “you know why ya been pulled over?”

“Haven't got a clue, officer.” You stated the truth and enjoyed the way his title rolled off your tongue in a bantering way. It was easy.

Officer, officer. Somebody important and authoritative. No sir, yes sir, Officer.

His left eyebrow quirked and you wondered what he looked like at twenty five, how devastating that expression would have been before his wound and his meds and the water retention. Whatever power it may have once held, it holds nothing to that slightly bemused, slightly cynical world weariness that shows in his every expression now, that had a twitch of an eyebrow making you feel a fool in the most delicious way. “You’re goin’ seventy in a forty five, Miss.” his tone was patient even as his face suggested he’d like to tan your hide for being so reckless. “Reckless endangerment of others, and yourself,” he quoted sternly, “it ain’t no small matter and I don’t countenance it on my highway.”

Gosh, you just loved it when he laid claim to government property like highways and interstates. It helped you smile meekly at him and nod.

“Sorry officer, I got lax.” You purred, batting your eyes and you could see the heavy flap of their coal coated weight in your periphery. “I’ve seen you lettin’ me fly by on the interstate. I guess I thought…”

He leaned further into her car window, shirt gaping helpfully at his neck and allowing you a glimpse of sweaty hair, little droplets shining like rhinestone studs in the coarse curls. You leaned towards him, nipples hardening beneath your t-shirt bra as your mind started to the taste of salt. “You’re in town, miss.” he pointed out with grave disappointment for your lack of behavioral modulation, “S’one thing on the open plain, it’s another when you’re endangerin’ your fellow citizens, flyin’ through intersections, speedin’ up and threadin’ traffic when you’ve got a visible yield sign. Right there! Ain’t responsible. And I won’t countenance it.”

“Sorry officer.” you pleaded, lingering on his rank with all the sultry appreciation of a girl who lacks authority figures in her life. It made his palm itch.

He sighed and gave you a small smile, puffy, marshmallow lips set under a dark five o’clock shadow and it wasn’t even noon. “Now, how many times do I gotta pull ya over ‘fore ya start listenin’ to me?“ he asked with patient expectancy and you swallowed hard, actually feeling a small bit of guilt.

“Well,” you drew it out, biting your lip before tossing your head and beaming at him, “maybe just one last time. Like always.”

He tsked at you in reprimand but his eyes lit up with enjoyment, and that was worth whatever fine he might slap you with. It really wasn’t, not with how broke you were but gosh, you loved breaking the ice on him, reeling him in for another verbal tussle. One day you hoped those expressive hands would accidently smack you mid-wave when he was explaining something or other. You lived in hope of that day.

You watched as he straightened briefly and reviewed your vehicle, thumbing at the peeling paint on the hood near his thumb and swished at the sand on your tags. You held your breath, hoping the dust would disguise their expiration. Officer Presley just grunted and surveyed your lemoning old truck with the face of a man who appreciates nice things and doesn't see any nice things in sight. The face of a man whose patrol car was a Ford Mustang.

“You like speed.” he observed, still glancing at your tires with lip curling disdain. You wanted him to look at you like that but his face always softened when he turned back to you. It did this time as well.

“Yeah.” you breathed.

“You got a shit truck for speed, terrible drag, shit tread on your tires, bet it’s a gas guzzler, too.”

“Well yeah, officer,” you rolled your eyes at his survey, “but it’s not like I can afford much else right now so -I do this for fun. Fun’s not illegal in America yet, is it?”

He looked at you gravely then and his eyes turned sad. “Yeah I heard about the strippin’. You watch yourself now, be careful and make sure you don’t engage in no extra-curric-u-lars.” he advised sternly, peering over his tinted sunglasses at you while saying the big word, over pronouncing it with authoritative gravitas, “I’ve told Marty that means no bar tendin’ when you’re underage. And I’m tellin’ you now, that goes for solictin’, too. You understand me? Nice lil girl like you could get in a heap of trouble real fast. And I won’t countenance it.”

The rest of you perked up at the heavy handed advice, feeling smothered and also cherished that someone would give a shit, even if they were just defending laws n’ government regulations. Thinking of them as Officer Presley’s laws, as his property you were twerking on somehow ennobled your calling, made you feel like giving it a try to be good and not disappoint him. You felt grateful he hadn't chewed you out for the stripping like half the neighborhood, you’d expected some disgust.

When he finally looked at you with disdain, and you were determined that he would, it would be for something less unchangeable, a little less broke, a little more sexy.

“Yes sir, I got ya.” you acknowledged with a nervous laugh to hide your discomfort with the way he kept staring at you, reading you, it felt.

He kept at it for a few moments, chomping on that gum stick in his mouth, dexterous pink tongue lolling the stuff from one row of molars to the others and back. Most fascinating ping-pong match you’d ever seen and while he did his soul-reading, you watched his mouth.

As his jaw worked overtime, he narrowed his eyes at you, so blue they looked violet behind the tint of his lenses. “A’ight.” he decided at last and suddenly your window was bereft of his congenial bulk, you heard the rap of his knuckles on your truck roof.

“You stay outta trouble now, Missy.” he let you off with only a warning, two sharp knocks on the metal and then, “I’ll be seein’ ya.”

You watched the side mirror with investment as he meandered away, futilly hiking up his holster again as he went before he entered his squad car. He flashed his lights at you as you stayed gawking, you fumbled with the ignition and peeled out off the shoulder, moderating your acceleration upon afterthought. You’d promised to be good.

But nights at the Trucker Bar didn’t pay to be good. You had a laundry list of things you wanted and a hefty list of needs alongside it. You tried picking up a shift at the Texaco but Ashley there near tore your hair out against the beer coolers for encroaching on her shift. Everyone needed work and Spark City had never been much of a City, too little infrastructure to prosper its community in good times, much less in the pits of a recession. The Best Buy in El Paso was hiring, you read in a mail advertisement. Their wages cost as much gas it took to drive there and back.

So you got pretty good at something else, something Officer Presley wouldn’t be impressed by, or maybe he would in a moment of weakness but lord, much as you worried and panicked some times about him dropping in on the Trucker stop, meeting eyes and him just knowing you’d been doing extracurriculars, he never showed. Must not have been his scene. Not that you were sure what his scene was, you only ever saw him in his patrol car or else cleaning his guns on his trailer porch next to his Tiger figurine.

You assumed he liked blow jobs as much as the next man. But he never showed and so you got more and more lax, went out back of the bar to the Sagebrush desert and blew heavy tippers against the concrete wall, ant bites and stickers plaguing your knees. So far you hadn’t even needed to walk on over past the broken wall to the dingy motel in back and do the horizontal tango.

Moderate extracurriculars and the dancing was enough to tip your little piggy bank into having a little something to shake at the end of the day. You got yourself a haul of cereal and hot pockets that night, even splurged on milk that went rancid by the next day without refrigeration. You spent your late mornings debating how much money you had left for rent and how much you had for electricity and the viability of buying a generator instead of paying the bill. You also wanted a Blackberry phone real bad, your old flip phone a relic and on its last wheezes -maybe that’s why your dad’s calls never came through.

You were chewing off the price tag of your dollar flip flops, walking barefoot out of your daytime workplace -Dollar General- at the end of your shift when you realized there was a patrol car pulled up beside your Ford. First you cursed, then you grinned as you saw the familiar figure of Officer Presley wiping at your windshield with a bandana. Then you cursed again as you realized he was checking your expired tags.

You jogged over the burning asphalt, still tied flip flops in hand, hoping you didn’t look like shit from having taken off the Dollar Store vest without smoothing your hair afterwards. You hadn’t been good, he could be here for anything, soliciting, or for the speeding you know he caught on his radar or else the tags.

“Hey officer!” you chirped, as carefree and smiley as you could manage -and you’d gotten to be a tidy little liar at the club, insisting you couldn’t wait to have greasy, unwashed truckers in your mouth.

He turned his head slowly, hand still heavy on the windshield and observed you through those glasses again. “Don’t you ‘hey officer’ me.” he retorted, riled despite himself at the way you always said his rank like he had you locked up with frilly pink handcuffs to his waterbed. He shook his head and focused on the variety of delinquencies he had to reprimand you for. “These tags are out of date.”

“Aww,” you feigned consternation pretty decently as you really hadn’t bothered to prioritize the tags with every other dire cost pummeling you right now, “I’m sorry Elvis.” you tried a little familiarity as you drew closer, watching enthralled as a stale desert window tufted the front of his black locks of his sweaty forehead, “Things’ve been a lil tight for a while now, what with daddy leavin’. Slipped my mind.”

He pulled his hand off the windshield and his hands tried to rest on his hips but they slipped and ended up in an odd, off-kilter sorta sling on his pockets and belly, “They’re three years overdue.” his tone sounded unimpressed, you shivered despite the heat.

“Oh.” you chewed your lip and gazed at him hopefully.

“I oughta tan your hide, lettin’ you turn feral with all my concessions.” he said aloud while stippling his fingers on your rusting truck hood. His eyes dropped to the newly purchased, junk flip flops you still clutched. “Why’re you bare foot?”

“My last pair broke.” you explained, end of your shift the thong had snapped and here you were with the replacements.

“Well put ‘em on, the road’s nasty.” he grunted in aggravation, eyes dropping to your feet and widening in disgust at the welts and blisters you’d accumulated from your cheap stripper heels. “Holy shit, that’s gnarly right there.”

You felt a bit offended by that, wanting to object it was the toll of the job, sorta like fat guts came from lounging in patrol cars for a living. Figuring you were in deep deep enough shit as is without outright insulting him, you bit your tongue and chewed on the plastic connector again, trying to free your sandals.

“Oh for God’s sake, stop that.” he growled after a minute and to your bewilderment he stepped in your space and grabbed the foam footwear out of your mouth, “Gonna chip a tooth goin’ on that way, then your tips’ll go down, ya thought of that? No? No you don’t think ahead about nothin’.”

He was working himself up into a frustrated frenzy, tugging at the plastic tag, mumbling all the while about your behavior until it snapped at last and separated the flip flops. He stared dumbly at his success for a minute while you tittered. Bad move on your part, his eyes darkened and he genuinely scowled at you, something more effective than it should have been with his outdated sideburns carving lines in his cheeks.

“Turn around.” he demanded and you snapped your mouth shut, confused by his attitude and furtively eyeing your flip flops still dwarfed in his gloved hands. Who the hell wore gloves in this decade? In this century? In an El Paso suburb that was only a degree or two cooler than the surface of the sun.

You turned around.

“Hands on the hood.” he told you.

You placed them on the burning metal and wished you had gloves, angling your body away from the hot body of the truck, wincing at the heat, on tippy toes to save your feet from the asphalt. Was he gonna cuff you? He hadn’t even read you your rights and could a person even be arrested for tags? You really didn’t know and you never thought he would-

Suddenly a loud snap resounded in the empty parking lot and a white hot sting against your bottom distracted you from the pain of the hot car. You yelped in shock, hand flying to nurse the denim clad ass cheek that was burning from his smack. You glared over your shoulder at Officer Presley, ready to give him what for about him taking parental liberties until you saw his face folded into childish consternation, poofy bottom lip jutted out in remorse as he viewed the snapped flip flop in his hands.

He’d broken a shoe on you. Appreciation flared back, and you wanted to squeeze his cheeks and tell him it was ok, he could ruin the other, too.

“Aww shit, now I-I-I didn’t mean for that-“ he bemoaned, turning the ruined foam pad around and around in his hands as if there was a way to fix it when the other half was on the ground.

“It’s ok.” You heard yourself comfort the fucker who’d just spanked you in broad daylight.

“But you just finished your shift.” he muttered, and his consideration for your inconvenience touched you, “Here I-I-I’ll go buy ya another pair. Uh, yeah, c’mon.”

You skipped alongside him, trying to get him to look over at you but his face was flushed and his eyes trained on his task, picking out a hot pink pair instead of the polka dots you had chosen. “Does nothin’ for your lil sooties and brings the attention away from the polish ya got painted and instead directs the eye to the crustaceans and shit ya got goin’ on.” he referenced your calluses with a grimace and reached into his back pocket to pull out his worn wallet.

You stared at the hefty meat of his ass the entire time and almost missed it when he pulled out five dollars and put them on the register. You watched his ass and its khaki clad splendor as he returned the wallet without change and wiggled it into the tight back pocket.

At the double sliding glass doors of the front he snapped the tag there and then and squatted down with a little grunt, his knees popping audibly as he gallantly laid out your cheap slippers. You stepped into them, taking the liberty of putting a balancing hand on his sweaty shoulder.

His hand ran up your wrist and held you there a minute longer than it needed for stability. He squeezed twice and let go. You watched him heft himself up to his feet with admiration and a little pity for the stiff way he moved when he’d been stuck in one position for too long. Seemed to you so long as he was kept moving he did alright, nice and fluid and you’d seen him chase and tackle a man on foot awhile back, he’d been runnin’ like the wind then. He had it in him, just lounging in the patrol car hardly helped things.

You got the sudden and stupid urge to ask if he wanted to go swimming in the Motel 6’s pool, it would be good for his joints and your sore back and he’d be wet and maybe have his shirt off and you could-

“I got somethin’ to tell ya, it’s w-w-why I-I stopped when I saw your truck and uh, sweetie, let’s stay h-here in the cool.” he gently tugged your arm back with the pads of his pretty fingers hooked on your deltoid, pulling you back over the threshold and into the dryer sheet scented air of the Dollar General.

“What is it?” you asked him as he seemed nervous, a foreign look on him. You started to feel a little panic at the thought he might be leaving, going back to wherever he came from, done with this Podunk town and its big crime and little criminals.

“There ain’t no easy way to say this a-a-and I wanted you to hear it from me.” he chose his words carefully, eyes trained on the white and speckled tile below your feet until after a big breath he lifted his stunning eyes and gazed at you gently and in the most gallant way you’d ever been looked at before, murmuring in clear, compassionate tones, “They caught your daddy the other night -drug runnin’. Ain’t no petty marijuana charge or somethin’, it’s the big stuff. He’s gonna be put away, for a long while, in-car-cer-ated.” he specified with distinct pronunciation, “For a long while, Miss. I’m sorry to be the one t-t-to t-tell but I wanted you to know it’s true, I-I-l booked him in myself.”

“Well,” you swallowed hard, a little ashamed you’d been more alarmed at the prospect of officer Presley leaving than suspecting anything wrong with your walking disappointment of a father, “well damn.” you muttered.

“You don’t seem much surprised.” he pointed out, pulling his tinted shades down his nose to get a clear review of you, he had a red line on his nose from their weight.

“I barely know him anymore,” you admitted, “and I doubted he was gone spreading charity or something.”

“Yeah.”

“But damn -he was supposed to come back.” you felt a little angry about that part. A little childish for believing it too.

“Maybe he meant to,” he soothed, although your father’s entrenched position on the river suggested a more permanent stay, “and was doing all that sellin’ to give you somethin’ better but he was breakin’ the law and endangerin-“

“-Endangering others, I know.” you snapped at him, not because he was anything but nice, you snapped at him because he was very kind and he had a silver, shiny, sanctimonious badge on the large swell of his left peck.

The longer you stared at the badge the more you wanted to sink your dollar store acrylics into the meat of that man and try tearing -they’d probably break and it made your eyes swim with tears of frustration and you stomped out of the double glass doors into the heat of the parking lot. The sun would be going down soon and that’s when your best customers would pour into the club. You snapped your way across the asphalt on the flip flops he got you, ignoring his calls behind you as you wrenched open the squeaking truck door and hopped up into the cab.

“Really it’s fine!” you yelled at him as he came up to the window again, the concern and reproval written on his face way more heavy than you could take right then, “It’s not like I was expecting him back anytime soon anyway and -and you’ve got a job to do, ok? I get it. I get it, ok? Now I gotta go, officer.” You cranked up your engine and diesel fumes swirled around him. He batted the air in front of his face like a dainty lady would a swarm of flies and leaned heavier still on your rolled down window.

“I just wanted to let ya know.” he reaffirmed his intention, his gesticulations bringing your eyes to the gold watch around his wrist that jangled against the car metal, “Tell ya not to uh, don’t do nothin’ rash, alright? Just ‘cause he’s gone. You’re a big girl, you’ll make it. You ‘member what I said last time ‘bout extracurriculars?”

“I’d like to do you some extracurriculars.” you seethed with an angry smile and he looked taken aback, actually stepping away from the truck and his belly heaved with his offended breaths. One hand balled in a fist at his side and the other twitched, fiat palm swaying beside his thigh like he was gonna smack again. Extracurriculars -you’d like to take his no doubt chubby little cock right down to the sweaty thatched base and chew, just to earn a real spanking.

Maybe this lewd intent was written on your face but he slowly backed away from your truck like you’d gone looney, pointing his finger at you as he went, “You be good, I mean it. And that’s goes for respectin’ officers of the law.”

He was about to get into his side, looking over his car top in admonishment and you quickly made sure your truck was still in park before turning round in the seat and hanging yourself out the window, cleavage pressed against the edge to your best advantage and blew him a kiss. “I’m always a good girl, officer!” you swore adamantly and it stopped him dead in his tracks, stopped in a half crouch to his seat, that eyebrow disbelieving, “Officer Presley commissioned me to be good and I ain’t anything but!” you swore.

Took him five whole seconds to recall he was supposed to have his ass seated by then and he lowered himself the rest of the way into his car. His belly brushed the steering wheel and his legs spread themselves even in the driver's seat, it made your crushed breasts tingle. “Be-have.” he pointed that finger again and your thighs clamped shut on your seats, overwhelmed with unbidden thoughts of the long and slender digit probing inside you. How’d his fingers stay so slender when the rest of him bulked up?

You saluted as poorly as you could and watched him drive off, aggression plain in his accelerations and the way he took his turns. He shoulda stayed and spanked the other cheek, you thought, as you turned around and slumped in your seat, legs splayed and fighting a desperate urge to slip a hand down your shorts. You hoped to god he’d find some quiet shoulder of the road in the desert this evening and with a car passing every twelve minutes, tug a load out to the thought of wacking your denim booty with his belt. It would be good for his blood pressure.

Hands sticky from your own dismal release, you pulled out of the parking lot ten minutes behind him and, too scarce on time to go home first, drove straight to the club, knowing full well that you could always just strip down to your underwear.

Or less.

What with dad permanently unhelpful now, it was a fact of life that you’d have to do more than get by till he came back. You’d already accepted that awhile ago, this just confirmed it. You figured you’d need to save another stash of money, like the real professional girls did, girls like Kelcie and Shay, a little fund for renting out a motel room at night. The one a quarter mile out back of the truck stop, no harm in it except for a few bramble scratches in the dark and the odd coyote not scared off by the truckers’ loud moans out back at the blow job wall.

But for tonight you hadn’t any such stash and so after a few hours at the poll and chatting up the fellas lounging on barstools, you found the tip jar lacking and made one of those lil deals that were becoming almost as commonplace as getting your butt pinched.

This time, in the moth attracting glow of the outside light, your customer had a New York accent and while at cock level you learned from his fancy, dangling silver keychain that his buddies knew him as Joe E.

Now Joe E had a little brown cock and a small, fused ballsack under a sizable belly like most of these men in here did, and you did some of your best work on him. It was easy to do with him fitting in your mouth so easily, you pulled out every trick you’d learned at this wall, all of which he unfortunately resisted succumbing to more than the usual client. He’d pull himself out of your throat and he would grip his base, prolonging his experience and you supposed he had a right to it, he was paying money for something and he might as well do it how he liked but your jaw ached after a while. Soon your ears ached worse, exhausted and fed up with the self important monologue he kept up between the usual, self promoting stud talk that an unimpressive man in his forties likes to indulge in while paying for sex acts out back of a hole in the wall truckers club.

Joe E tasted like he hadn’t touched a fresh vegetable in years and through the overwhelming desire to puke you recognized with some pleasure that he was tipping you extra for being “like a damn vacuum down there, you pretty little dog.”

You drove home from the club, headlights on dim in the early morning and passed by Officer Presley’s double wide with intent, choosing the route you’d take if you were walking. It was dark inside but as you passed you saw he wasn’t asleep, his car was still gone.

You wondered if his doggie was in there or on patrol with him. You sighed and pulled into your own weedy drive, depressed with something you didn’t know the cause of.

You brushed your teeth, you ate cereal after remembering you hadn’t eaten, and stripped out of your clothes before crashing into bed, falling asleep in seconds despite the musty, unconditioned air inside.

It was the next morning, so near afternoon as to barely warrant it but Elvis Presley liked to take credit for any bit of effort he made and so let the record show it was still morning, when he entered the Waffle House off Moody Blvd and sat himself down in a booth and ordered his usual. It arrived at 11:56 in the morning and so it was breakfast, not lunch by any stretch of the imagination. He’d been up all night, the usual plaguing reasons and a few added to it. You, thoughts of you and tanning your hide and gripping you and you squirming over his lap made his patrols a hellish experience and he was almost glad for the distraction of the fucker without plates pulling out in front of him and making a run for it through the border checkpoint at 8:45 pm.

Now he was distracting himself with food, and if there was anything in his life to rival his appreciation of a slippery and obligin’ pussy, it was five scrambled eggs piled high on a white plate with burnt bacon to the side and waffles stacked on a companion plate. Brenda put them down with a smile and gave him a side hug that made his face brush her apron and shoulda gotten her fired by the food regulations but Elvis liked Brenda for her affectionate ways and the way he didn’t ever have to correct her about his order.

“You look tired.” she worried over him and he found a smile starting to threaten on his face, he stuck his fork in the eggs to distract himself.

“Just a busy night.” he admitted and absentmindedly rubbed at his sore knee.

“Aww you’re a treasure, keepin’ us so safe.” he patted his arm again and he fully smiled this time. “You just tell me if you need anythin’ else. I’ve got more coffee, lemme get ya more coffee, Elvis.”

“Thanks Miss Brenda.” he called to her and she giggled as she fetched the cloudy pot.

The bell over the entrance jangled and from Elvis’ chosen vantage point in a booth that faced the doors, always facing his entry that man, he saw Joe Esposito walk in, smiling like a motherfucker for a Wednesday morning and swaggering like Elvis hadn't seen the little runt do since he passed the bar back in 1980 something.

“Hey Brenda, hey EP!” Joe greeted and Elvis braced himself for a cheerful morning when all his hopes had been for some quiet and a little maple syrup glazed despondency.

“Hey Joe.” Elvis greeted his old friend, “You in town?”

“Yeah, my route’s takin’ me to Las Cruces.” Joe informed him as he helped himself to the booth across from Elvis without invitation. If he ate one of Elvis’ bacon strips, even reached for it, Elvis would be pulling out his Glock.

“How’s business?” Elvis asked as neutrally as possible, knowing that it was a sore subject for Joe who had once bragged about being destined for big things, holding it over everybody else at the high school back in Memphis. Still Elvis couldn’t help but ask, partly because it was small talk and if he could get Joe on the subject he knew the feller wouldn’t stop talking, and Elvis could then eat his eggs with minimal requirements for speech. He also took some inner consolation in the fact that all Joe’s brags had worked out about as poorly as Elvis’ dreams had.

It made for two portly middle aged men in a Waffle House booth discussing gas prices at noon.

Joe ordered just pancakes and Elvis judged the lack of meat from beneath his lavender shades and patiently asked the right questions to keep Joe smacking his breakfast with an open mouth and waxing sentimental about life on the road. It suited Joe, even if it was boringly unimportant, he was king of the road in between stops at Walmart distribution centers and out in the stretches of no man’s land the girls were cheap, far cheaper than any Times Square street walker. Joe hadn’t been to Times Square since he was sixteen but it was something he still liked to brag of and to incorporate in his life story like it was an integral part of his narrative.

“But are they fresher?” Elvis inquired, always intrigued by the subject of pussy but also harboring a deep aversion to the way most men spoke on the subject.

“Nah, not really, but that’s why ya go for the mouth.” Joe catechsied Elvis on the ways of call girls and Elvis felt his eye twitch, personally he enjoyed blow jobs as much as the next guy but to avoid the pussy all together as Joe was suggesting? It took all the joy out of the act for Elvis and he picked at his eggs morosely as he listened. He’d had such a large appetite before Joe sat down and started talking of fishy cunts and girls with throats like drainage pipes.

Joe had been to the truckers lounge, the trucker club, the strip place, whatever it was called -the place Marty ran. Elvis knew it, he tried not to react to the name, to pretend he didn’t gas up at the Texaco next door with the express intent of hoping to catch sight of you some nights. He never did, and he’d never been in. But Joe had gone in and Joe being Joe sat across from Elvis the next morning and bragged to a law officer about paying for a blow job. Which along with ruining Elvis’ appetite was offense enough for Elvis to decide to arrest the fucker, but the eloquent details of the slut who’d given it to him made Elvis see red.

Elvis didn’t really mind folks watching you, some stupid, possessive part of him was glad that all those fuckers drooled over you and couldn’t touch, same as him as he sat year after year in his lawn chair on his porch, watching you pass his trailer with longer and longer legs, prettier and prettier as the dusty days rolled by.

But to touch you? That someone else had touched you? The butter on his waffles suddenly looked wrong.

“-just fifty bucks man. Fifty bucks well spent.” Joe was bragging like he’d cheated the stock market and Elvis heard a roar in his ears that the doctors swore the pills would take care of.

You’d sucked Joe Esposita for fifty dollars right after Elvis had told you to be good and you’d blown him a kiss.

His chest hurt.

Elvis had Joe’s greasy face pressed into the syrupy plate with his hands behind his back and cuffs clanking before either the officer or the suspect even realized his intent. “Prostitution’s illegal, motherfucker, as is paying for such services in the state of Texas.”

You’d told him you’d be good. Fuck! He so badly didn’t wanna think of Joe being your first that he had to countenance speculation about you making a regular habit of this thing which was both worse and better all at once and he took out his frustration at that knowledge by trundling Joe into the back of the squad car with far more force than necessary.

It was a flimsy charge to file, Elvis knew that even before the clerk gave him the usual papers to fill out with a confused look. Wasn’t like Elvis was gonna put down your face or name, give away your crime. Without that connection the charge of paying for sex was flimsy and Joe would be released before dark. But it was nice to hear him sqealin’ and bitchin’ about his driving schedule and a buncha other ordinary begs that made Joe E sound as pathetic as Elvis knew he was.

It fortified Elvis throughout the day, kept him from going to your trailer or interrupting you at work to ask why in God’s name you would degrade yourself like that. It kept him bolstered with red hot rage until he was staked out in desert twilight on the dark side of the Texaco, headlights off and his eyes squinted as he watched patrons and girls go into the club.

This was his fault, for locking your daddy up, driving you to such lengths. He felt sick about it, shoulda known a stubborn, white trash girl like you would just reach for the next alternative this easy. Made him sick. Elvis suddenly felt nice and superior to all these men filing into the neon lit cinderblock structure, he had resisted touching himself to the fantasies that had filled his mind about you last night. Wasn’t pertinent that he had a stiffy right now, that was just the nerves and excitement of a stake out revving him up

He lit up a cigar and let Mellancamp growl over the stereo, engine off and the key turned just a little for the dash lights to stay on. He wasn’t sure when you got off work at the club, he assumed it must be some time around dawn and that suited his shit circadian rhythm just fine. He wasn’t tired as the hours went by, he was downright furious and his heart hurt and he popped a couple oxys sitting there with his busted knee throbbing and his mind a demented echo chamber.

By the time the sky was turning a sickly violet with the first promises of sunrise, Elvis had worked himself up to such a degree as to have his door flung open and one boot rhythmically tapping against the cement in his agitation, legs spread to alleviate the ache his pills had provoked in his groin even as the rest of him felt loose and untethered and decidedly deserving for once.

When you walked out the front of the club into the stale early morning air you laughed to yourself at the silliness of thinking you’d need a coat. Your little denim shorts and cherry print crop top suited just fine even in the early dark. That NASCAR jacket you’d had your eye on, the one Shay showed you on eBay, it would have to wait, the tips were shit tonight. No real hurt with that, wasn’t like it was cold. Just another something you wanted and would have to put off. You hadn’t driven tonight as the walk was cheaper and closer but you’d forgotten your pepper spray back at the truck stop and you hesitated for a moment about going back in, hating the idea of getting sucked into some sorta early morning drama from the drunk leftovers. While you were debating, a flash of white seared your vision and you staggered to a stop in the middle of the mostly deserted parking lot.

Headlights.

Well shit, now you really wished you had that spray. You thought about making a run for it, trying the nearest truck cab and praying the guy in it was less of a creep than whoever stakes out on the deserted side of the building.

“You get over here!” the approaching figure came into view, finally silhouetted by his own lights as he stalked towards you wearing a leather trench coat like some noir villain.

It would be a lie to say you breathed easier when you recognized Officer Presley’s commanding baritone.

“Shit shit shit.” you chanted beneath your breath at how riled he sounded and his right hand started making angry gestures for you to approach as he himself closed the distance with a deceptively fast gait.

“Hey, get your ass over here, I called you.” he yelled far more loudly than necessary with his massive hands already closing around your wrists, you didn’t even think to make a run for it, where exactly in the world was a kinder place to turn to than this angry law officer who always nosed in your business too much? “Get, get over here.” he repeated with a yank and tugged you stumbling over your flip flops to his squad car.

He bent you over the hood, just like you’d dreamed of more than a few times and you felt the heat of the headlight against your thigh as your shoulders got twisted back. “-solicitation,” he was pronouncing and your heart sank at the realization he had caught you after your promise, “prostitution-“ the cold clamp of a handcuff on your wrist had none of the rebel thrill you once imagined, it was terrifying and you whimpered pathetically at the thought that you’d expended his patience, that maybe your flirty banters had been one sided and he really was fed up with you.

“Officer-“ you begged with your cheek smashed to the hood.

Some guy had walked up, actually being a good citizen and concerned about the manhandling. It took one flash of Officer Presley’s badge for the guy to back away with a mere “you at least gonna read her the rights, man?”, throwing concerned looks over his shoulder. Maybe he’d been a tipper, you didn’t recall one face from another unless they were awfully ugly or skinny.

“Yeah, yeah I’ll read you your rights, you got the goddamn right to remain silent-“ Officer Presley was struggling with the other cuff and his weight on your lower back made you wheeze just as he was short of breath. He was awfully worked up, huffily trying to clasp the cuffs and slurring your Miranda rights carelessly for so staunch a believer in laws and precepts.

When he succeeded and stood you upright you craned your neck to look at his sweaty face behind you and his eyes were wild and his hair disheveled like he’d run his hands through it a million times tonight. He looked a bit obsessed with his nose flaring like that, his speech slurring and his usual decorum completely goners.

“Are you drunk?” you balked in alarm as he trundled you into the backseat, face first into leather with your cuffed hands behind you, ass stuck out the door.

“Of course I ain’t!” he howled and pushed your butt further until you righted yourself on the bench seat, “I’m your officer of the law, that’s what I am.”

“I-I-I know that, I just-“ you felt a cold sweat break out at the realization he kept all his stubborn righteousness even skunk drunk on something, “-you seem a little…impaired. For a law officer. For a law officer driving on a government road. See! I do listen, I do and I really don’t think that while you’re dr-“

“I don’t even touch the booze, unlike you.” he spit. “Nothin’ gonna get you outta this, this time you’re gonna learn your lesson!” he wagged his finger and slammed the door shut, you could hear his seething monologue through his open door as he came round and took his own seat up front, the hard plastic partition only muting it slightly. “I can’t stand, won’t stand for it, no hard times gonna make for you-“

You tugged at the cuffs on your wrists and swallowed at their security, the ole man might be inebriated but he sure knew his line of work. It made you doubly anxious at how vulnerable you were, unbuckled and cuffed in the back seat of a man about to hit the road in a blind, possibly medicated rage. Your one glimmer of hope was the fact you were the cause of that rage -and you hoped, hoped so damn hard he cared out of some sort of fondness, not anger.

“Strippin’ and blowin’ and probably snortin’ shit and you ain’t even outta highschool-“

“You turned eighteen?!” He balked, jerking the rearview down to stare you in the eyes.

“Yes sir.” you agreed meekly.

“And you didn’t tell me? I’d have gotten you somethin’!” he cried out, “Eighteen and don’t tell nobody, no mama, no daddy, and now fuckin’ with the law-“

“Officer Presley I understand you’re angry and I’m sorry-“ you tried your most vehemently ass kissing tone and scooted up to the edge of the seat, face pressed the the scuffed, forehead greased plastic divider, “I’m so sorry I had to break my promise to ya but money’s been so tight, I—ooh shit-!“

You tipped over on your side as he hit the accelerator, the wheel already turned for a complete 180 spin to leave the dingy parking lot and its flashing neon lights. You sat yourself back up and pressed your face back where you could watch his leather gloves spin the wheel, and breathe as close to him as possible even if it didn’t serve to make him notice. The plastic sorta hampered the more primal assets at your disposal. You were readying for some more protests when he spoke up, his pouty, boyish, hurt tone emphasized by his jerky merging into three lanes worth of morning commute traffic

“— why didn’t you come to me?” he cried out and you had to give it to him, crossing three white lines that smoothly while in a rage wasn’t for anyone, he had a knack, “Why didn’t you say, ‘Officer Presley, if I don’t have me enough money for’ -what is it you need money for?”

“EVERYTHING!” You screamed back, exasperated and a little scared at the blur of tail lights he wove you through.

“You’re greedy,” he surmised, “you’d rather go work at the tit shack as a lot lizard, shakin’ it for strangers and suckin’ Joe E’s cock than ask for my help. My help!” He stabbed at his chest with a gloved finger and it was quite obvious how tore up he was over that mental image, you didn’t know he knew such particulars but you could use this to your advantage, you could try at least.

“Officer Presley,” you cooed as gently as you could with road noise and a plastic divider hampering your sultry intentions, if you had freedom of movement you’d be reaching around his thick neck and tucking that one sweaty curl behind his ear where it tufted with his sideburn, “I’d have preferred it was you,” you watched closely as that sank in, the lead foot easing on the accelerator, there was a choice up ahead, left to the precinct or right to the trailer park, “but I’ve got my pride and I couldn’t just take charity from you. I kept hopin’ you’d come in, then we could both do each other a favor.”

You could hear him sniff, running a hand underneath his nose. “That right?”

“Yeah.” You breathed, forehead thudding back against the plastic and at the red light intersection he stopped and craned his neck to look at you. “Don’t take me in, not this morning, please, pleaaasssse!” you begged, “We’ve both been working all night and we’re tired and sad and- you need somebody to make you dinner before you fall asleep, don’t ya?”

It was a dirty, dirty ploy to distract him like that but you could see with searing clarity the way his eyes wavered in their glare, then softened into childlike meekness at the thought of food and companionship. “You wanna come back to mine?” he whispered, gravelly from all the yelling and his eyelids batted under the lavender shades, azure and owlish.

“I really do.” you agreed, “Mine hasn’t had any air conditioning in seven months.” you admitted and he made a wounded noise of protest for your deprivations. You’d make him see why you took to stripping, he just had to be eased into it.

“I didn’t take it outta the freezer ‘fore I left.” he realized dejectedly as he turned right -away from the station.

You took a massive breath and tried to make it go to your swimming head, relief coursing through you at getting your way. Then you tried to process what he’d said. “Oh, your dinner?” you prodded.

“Yeah. It’s frozen. Lasagna.” he mumbled.

“Well, that’s nothing me and a microwave can’t solve.” you assure, gauging how his profile had softened in the dim lighting of the cab lights but his grip on the wheel and his jittery leg were about as stiff and upset as when he cuffed you. “What could I do for you in exchange for a bite?” you whispered, the sudden stop of the car making you realize with a hitch in your breath that you were in front of his place.

“I liked you.” he suddenly spoke up with such vehemence that it would have been comedic, what with him having already given into you and taken you home, but instead it was a little heartbreaking. “I liked you but you was too young!”

“I still like you.” you hedged, “Even though you cuffed me and called me a lot lizard.” you teased.

The solicitation, the sharing, it seemed to be his chief sore.

“That’s whatchu is!.” He grouched, staring out his front windshield at the single hung lamp illuminating freshly washed vinyl. “But I’ve taken you home anyways.”

“It’s really sweet of you.” you insisted, shifting on the peeling bench seat and wondering when he’d take you out of the car. “Are you gonna let me warm up that lasagna?”

“You said you wished I’d come in?” he ignored you and went back to your previous comment, about wishing he had frequented the truck stop.

Well, well, Officer Presley - a man like all others, after all.

You smirked, sticky lip gloss feeling a little cracked at this corners as you beamed at your little victory. “Maybe I could find a way to show my appreciation for takin’ me back to your air conditioned little palace. -while the lasagna is warming up.” you clarified and heard him grunt, and shift, his legs spreading a little wider in the cramped front seat.

“Yeah?” he pressed, sounding a little winded unless you were just too quick with the assumptions tonight.

“Yeah.”

“You offerin’ to be *my* lot lizzard?” He asked and after a tense minute where you were unsure if he was about to be angry again, he tapped the glass and whispered, “A joke, c’mon, don’t you get it? It’s a joke.”

“But I would!” You insisted after laughing for his benefit.

“Hmm.” He sniffed again, “Well. Hmm.” and with that unclear utterance he opened his door and heaved himself out into the stale Texas air, hiking up his pants again in that useless habit and shutting it behind him. It seemed an eternity before he finished hiking and shifting and shaking a leg out before he came and opened your door, a gentlemanly action made necessary by the stupid cuffs, still clanking around your wrists, as you scooted out of the back seat.

Officer Presley surveyed you up and down, blinking blearily as if he hadn’t seen you fully in the dark parking lot, like the glare of his headlights wasn't sufficient to show him your little cherry tank top and denim shorts, the satin tops of your red bra peeking out of the stretched neckline. “Hmm.” he hummed again and surveyed you once more, the pull of the cuffs behind your back adding to your posture being a bit booby. “Now ‘fore you cross my threshold, I’ve got house rules.” he was swaying a bit alarmingly and caught himself on the side mirror, you chose to ignore this and give him all the deferential attention needed to cure his -jealousy? Was he jealous? Of all the men who tipped you? “First rule, no dirty feet in the house. I hate filthy carpets. I hate them.”

“O-ok.” you agreed.

“Clean feet.”

“Okey.”

“Hmm. Ok.” he closed his eyes and recalled the next, “Let’s see uh- no back talkin’! No talkin’ back, what I say, goes, in my house.”

It was a trailer, not a house. But:

“Of course! You’re the man of the house!” you enthused with a little bounce for his benefit. He was still wacky and veering so fast from niceness to belligerence you were pretty sure you’d end up a little worse for wear after this no matter what. The thought excited you.

“Ok.” he pronounced, staring at the gravel and your feet like he didn’t know what to do now. You wondered when was the last time somebody had come into his place. “I got a doggie, too. Backroom. His word is law, don’t go botherin’ him none.“

Having seen the size of the dog, even if you were inclined to be a jerk to it, you wouldn’t dare. “Gosh of course.”

“Ok.” again. “I’ll get the hose.”

He left you there, leaning cuffed against his squad car as he trundled over his singed lawn to the side of the trailer, returning with the running hose in hand.

You knew it was destined for your feet and didn’t make a fuss as the warm hose water splashed against your blisters, soothing away the dust and the sticky cocktail splashes and god knows what else.

“House rules?” he prompted as he sprayed.

It was getting quite light out now. Probably close to six in the morning. What a long night. “Clean feet, respect doggie, no back talking.” You listed.

“And make yourself useful.” he grunted as if he had mentioned that before and you’d been faulty in your retelling.

“Yeah, of course.”

“Mm, ‘cause you’re my lot lizard now, ain’t ya?” he hummed, hose pointed to the side and suddenly his face was very close to yours, his belly closer and pressed to yours.

“Y-yeah.” you gasped.

“You gonna be a useful lil helper, hmm? Let hims take care of ya while you take care of him?”

Well shit, you weren’t at all sure if this were house rules or a big sexual game. Either way you wanted some lasagna and the crisp prospect of air conditioned sleep. “Yes, officer.”

“Good girl.” he turned the nozzle off on the hose, clamping it at the mouth and dropping it to the gravel.

“You- are you gonna uncuff me?” you giggled nervously as he swayed above you, nose almost brushing yours, eyes heavy and drooping.

“Hmm,” he stepped back and hooked a thumb in his belt loop, a shit eating grin spread over his face, bunching up the apples of his cheeks and turning him into a boy before your very eyes, “nah. I think -nope. Not gonna.”

“Well- shit, officer.” You sputtered, “You’ve got some little secrets?”

“I’ll let you be the judge of how little they are, sweetheart.” he cheesed before reaching out and hooking a finger in your strap, and tugging you gently by it up his porch.

It was odd, Seeing his ceramic tiger up close. Like déjà vu, or walking into a movie, some dream playing out. If your hands had been free, you would’ve pet the head concrete reverently, feeling some sort of gratitude to the noble beast for making your girlhood wishes come true as you tripped through the screen door and into an icebox of a trailer.

He shut the door and pressed you up against it with a move smoother and more practiced than you expected from him. Maybe wrestling criminals and doing the nasty called for the same dexterity. Or maybe he’d been fuckin’ somebody else all this time, waiting for you to grow up. Maybe he’d made a whole harem out of the trailer park and you were just his last pick. The thought hurt terribly, worse yet as you knew most days he was a sweetie, a funny man, attractive and well liked, not this grumpy, pill drunk trailer Baron that smushed you with his belly and sneering face so near but never descending as a lover’s should.

“Kiss me.” you goaded, licking your lips in a studied way. The little contemplative, whining sound he made took you by surprise.

He pulled down your bottom lip with a gloved finger and checked your mouth and tongue like a damn dentist. “Listerine first.”

Of course. Hygiene.

Clean feet, clean mouth, just for him to probably put his piss dribbled cock in it.

He stepped away and methodically took off his gloves, laid them on a small, doily adorned side table by the door, and then his gun and his belt came off with a satisfied grunt that made your inner thighs tingle. The thud of his large flashlight finished this routine.

Doilies.

There were doilies and frilly curtains and the oddest assortment of cheap finery around the place. A nod to the Tuscan craze taking over places like Target and such, while having a unique spin on it you weren’t sure what to name. You took it all in as he piloted you to the bathroom and methodically he pulled out a still wrapped toothbrush and plopped a jumbo sized bottle of mint flavored mouthwash on the fake marble counter.

“You kept that in case you have a lady guest?” You teased as the clinical silence was all a bit funny.

“Yeah.” he agreed without a hint of amusement and you sobered up again at the idea of him having anybody in here but you.

He poured a large quantity of the mouthwash into a paper cup, retrieved from the tidy stack of paper cups beside the sink for that purpose. His housekeeping was an odd mix of spectrum-like meticulousness and slovenly disorder. There were three pairs of pants on the bathroom rug beneath your feet and yet the mouthwash cups were stacked as carefully as the Tower of Babel. “Swish it for seventy five seconds.” He directed very soberly, tipping the liquid disinfectant into your mouth. You almost swallowed the shit. While you swished till your eyes burned and your tongue went numb from scalding mint, he tore at the packaging for the toothbrush.

“Ok, spit.” you happily spat out the green torture liquid and grinned back at him in the mirror.

“Never had a man ask me to spit it out before.” you teased.

He fumbled the toothbrush in surprise for a minute before giving you an admonishing eyebrow. “Girl don’t. We gotta brush your teeth.”

Instead of doing the obvious thing, the honorable thing and uncuffing you, he instead took his place behind you and pushed the toothbrush between your lips, moving it as if you had no arms and were helpless. All this to keep you cuffed.

What a pervert, you thought, charmed.

It was oddly cozy even if it was more than a tad bazaar, him pressing himself to you and running his spare hand along your side as you bent over the counter, trying not to ruin the moment by slurping paste too much. It didn’t seem to bother him, he didn’t watch you brush, he just discreetly rubbed the front of his slacks against your butt and kept his hand jerking the brush across your teeth. His other hand soothingly running up and down the curve of your hip, fingers fluttering under the hem of your tank and brushing bare skin with reverent little swoops.

When you were finished he laid the toothbrush down beside his, on a folded little towel in the back left corner of the vanity next to the mirror.

The domesticity made you smile. “Look, they’re spooning.”

He grabbed your chin gently, tilting your head to the side as he leaned over your shoulder. His lips very close again. “Happy late birthday.” he whispered, “I’d have gotten you a cake. Cupcake. Somethin’. You deserve to be celebrated.”

“Kiss me?” you asked again and this time he did, at his own pace, micromanaging each swipe of tongue and press of lips but he kissed you, strongly and angrily and admiringly in turn. He pulled down your tank as he went, stretching the neck out beyond any salvaging and then your bra, unclasping it with strange proficiency and letting your top gather in a ugly bulge around your hips, stuck by your cuffs and shorts, as his hands cupped and squeezed your breasts, somehow making this appreciative mauling seem essential to the act of kissing.

You two finally separated, breathless and revved up, staring at each other with wild, half lidded eyes.

“Ok.” he pronounced and you readied for more only for him to say, “Lasagna. C’mon.”

His kitchen was far nicer than yours, but still it was a mobile home kitchen. And he was a thorough bachelor. He crooked his fingers into the plastic handle and yanked open the freezer, standing aside with a grin on his face that bode no good for you. “I’m helpin’ ya out a little,” he explained sheepishly, “since you’re hampered.” he had a way of saying it like handcuffs were a natural disability, “But I let you off scott-free in exchange for you makin’ me some food.”

“Food and other things.” you bitched, “Didn’t sign up to be a comedy act.”

“Oh that’s right,” beamed, “you did offer other things.” he bit his lip and you thought you’d won when he went right back to it, “You said while it was warming up, you offered other things, while it was in the microwave. Yeah, so go on, grab that TV dinner there, not the fettuccini one, the lasagna.”

You stared at the open freezer and then back to him and then back to the freezer. “Grab it?” you sassed, not having a lot to lose with your tits out and your hands cuffed and a law officer having fun at your expense.

“You’ve got a mouth don’t ya?”

“You’re sick.” you smiled in realization before sticking your head into the cold space, nipples pebbling against the chilled plastic, and biting at the package containing Walmart’s latest gourmet provisions.

“Uhuh, that’s it.” he sounded more pleased at the sight of you with a frosted package between your teeth than he had all this time, “Heyer doll, I’ll open the microwave for ya.” his ability to make himself gallant when he was demeaning you so thoroughly made your pulse thunder uncontrollably.

You had to jut your chin and strain your jaw to plop the heavy foil package of frozen shit into the mounted microwave -fancy mobile home owning bastard- and shove it onto its proper revolving plate.

“There we gooo!” he cooed to you and you stepped back to allow him room to shut the door. “See if you can punch the buttons with your widdle nose.” he suggested excitedly and having gone this far, you didn’t see the point in objecting, not when it made him grin like that. You managed to hit the five for five minutes but the “cook” button wouldn’t respond and after banging your nose against it many times, with many laughs shared between, he finally punched it with one of his oddly pretty fingers.

“There we go.” you echoed, finding that you were blushing the minute the hum of the microwave buzzed the air, his eyes pinned to your face.

“Five minutes.” he whispered.

It was a hint. You expected something a little lewder from a man who had you carrying out food prep like a circus dog. A man of many moods and tastes, was officer Presley. “Can you cum that fast?” you asked, turning to face him.

“That’ll depend on you.” he replied levelly, a challenge in his eyes. He still wore his glasses, somehow that made you feel filthier than all the cash favors you’d ever done. He turned a little in his stance to lean back against the counter, his wrist watch jangling against the edge of the formica, his legs widening.

You dropped to your knees, linoleum freezing against your skin and you looked back up at the ticking microwave timer. You knew what he wanted, and if you were being half honest, it’s what you wanted too. So you didn’t act too good for pressing your face to the crotch of his uniform slacks, forehead indenting the swell of his belly above you and taking his zipper between your teeth. Filled out as his slacks were, with all the stupid gathers and the still fastened button, you could only barely see veiny pink flesh behind the newly opened fly.

“No boxers?” you chided him with a smirk and the unapologetic one he gave you in return made your belly clench, as did the musky smell of him and that soft double chin he had when looking down at you. There was stubble on it blending into his throat.

You’d been right, mouthwash and sterilization for your tongue but not even a spit bath for his sweaty balls and clammy dick -the man was out of his mind. You swallowed down the natural aversion the scent gave you and nuzzled your face nearer, trying to nose the button out of its hole. All you did was succeed in brushing his pants against him and making him impatient.

“Four minutes and twenty seven seconds.” He enunciated the timer reading for your benefit and you whimpered at the impossibility of getting the button undone without hands.

“Please, I can’t undo it.” you asked for his help, tugging at your handcuffs angrily, shoulders painfully aching and only the base of his thick penis visible with its nest of curls and heavy sack.

“Then make due.” he stared down at you unimpressed and you felt an overwhelming urge to grind yourself against his boot at his disdainful expression.

Blinking away horny, frustrated tears, you held your breath and buried your face again, nuzzling inbetween the fly gap, using your chin to tug the crotch further down until his heavy, purplish pink balls spilled over the respectable khaki’s and into the cold air. A bit of hope filled you at how taut and bunched they already were, he wasn’t so cool and unaffected as he acted. You saw him reach into his pocket, digging for something as you weighed your next decision.

“Don’t you want some lasagna?” he prodded.

That made you mash your face to his pants and take both of those hairy balls into your mouth, slurping and sucking at them like a shop vac. His jangling movements in his pocket ceased suddenly before picking up again, and then he withdrew it, a sharp gasp heard above you before he stuck a retrieved cigarette between his lips and lit it. A billowy cloud of Marlborough was blown over your crouching form as the microwave hummed on and his chest hummed in satisfaction. He shoved his hand back into his pocket, knuckling along at his cock.

“That’s it.” he sighed as you mouthed at the base as best you could, tonguing at the hefty vein running along the underside, slathering as much as you could reach. He was salty and tacky to taste and his pants were growing wet from something more than your spit. He was a leaky little man, it made your smirk and smack your lips.

“Feel good, officer?” you moaned in question, just as the microwave dinger went off. “Nooo, damnit, no!” you whined at the sound, a poor loser at all times.

Officer Presley only chuckled and twisted a little to pop open the door, hissing and cussing as he grabbed the benign edges of the hot foil and plopped it into the counter, “Hey hey hey, I didn’t say you could get up, now, did I?” he chided as you shifted a tiny bit away to watch him pull off the cover and reveal cheesy red sauce. Your stomach was in knots, it was so empty.

“No.” you admitted.

He twisted his torso to snag himself a fork from the drawer beside your head, and then, stabbing the casserole with it, took both his hands down to his pants and undid the button at last, letting his pants fall to the floor as they’d been trying to do and been prevented by a belt each time you’d seen him. “Finish what you started, doll, and then I’ll give you a bite.”

You swallowed hard, saliva pooling freely in your tongue at the smell of Italian food. It would be of use. He was tapping his sputtering fat cockhead to your lips and after a tiny grunt of resistance, you gave in, opening your glossy lips and letting him slide the thick meat over your tongue, tangy and salty and pulsing like a living rod, all the way to the back of your throat.

“Fuck me, that’s it.” he nodded to himself as you gagged around him, pulling back a little before pushing back in.

You heard the slide of the casserole tray against the counter and the crunch of tin foil, looking up through bleary eyes you saw him cradle the lasagna pan to his chest, balanced on top of his gut. You hollowed your cheeks around him while watching in disbelief as he stabbed at a bite and brought the laden fork to his mouth. He groaned around the bite in enjoyment -your guess over which pleasure was gaining the upper hand. Feeling a little competitive against TV dinner lasagna, you worked his cock faster, sucking more deliberately and trying very hard to let him down your throat, pleased as his hips began to cant and thrust in time with your encouragements.

“That’s it, that’s it, my sweet little homegrown hoe.” he mumbled to you adoringly through a mouthful of pasta and it made your face glow in pleasure, chin and chest dripping with the filth of it all. “I’m gonna, I’m gonna-“ he warned suddenly, pasta tossed back on the counter as he stood up straight and grabbed the back of your head, holding it still, smoldering cigarette pinned dangerously near your ear and hair as he fucked your mouth with fast, frantic pumps before a frankly preposterous amount of spunk filled your mouth and dolloped down your throat.

He petted your head as you struggled to breath again, cloying gloop coating your mouth, one hand coming up to take off his glasses and toss them to the side. He rubbed at his eyes and you realized you weren’t the only one teary eyed from the intensity of it. “Mm, reckon I gotta keep ya after that.” he decided, knuckling your cheek fondly, they were sticky to your surprise. “Want that bite?” he asked conversationally and while you’d have preferred some water to wash down his most recent gift, you nodded anyway and he stabbed at the casserole until he had a great big bite and brought it down to your mouth, smirking as your cheeks once again bulged at the mouthful.

“Thank you.” you smiled up at him and he humphed bashfully before motioning with his fingers for you to stand up.

“Wanna eat the rest of this in bed?” he asked eagerly, licking his teeth, “I’ve got a waterbed.” he added like that would convince you.

“Of course you do.” you giggled. “And of course I do - lead the way.”

He grinned and pushed off the counter, grabbing the casserole as he went. “Might even find the keys for those back here.” he joked about your cuffs before adding with a wicked little wink, “No promises, mind.”

Hope you enjoyed, I write for screams and comments and unhinged feedback. 🤓♥️

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