#austin elvis smut

[therealslimshakespeare]

Gigi -the unbaked thots:

• Bath •

Summary: I’ve had so many requests for this universe (including a bath time which this includes) and I appreciate all of y’all’s patience. I find this universe the hardest to write for and create entire scenes and fics out of so in order to keep it from dying out I intend to loosen up a little and start throwing out headcanons for y’all to enjoy in the meantime, you can watch for them with this header above. For now enjoy a trash bit of nastiness I wrote in under an hour in the middle of the night last night -kudos to the minxs @eliseinmemphis and @stylespresleyhearted

Warnings: Explicit! 18+ Bath sexy times, grinding, fingering, praying during sex, age gap, slight degradation, voluntarily drinking bath water containing cum. Yup.

Era: September 1977

Well here they are. On the dreaded tour.

But for now -there are bubbles. So many bubbles. And the heavy rumble of the bath’s jets and the golden glow of the dimmed bathroom lights in the hotel suite and the slippery bulk of Elvis as he grumbles beneath Gigi while she writhes amidst the foam of his rinsed shampoo.

“Sloppiest lil rider I ever-“ his face is shining in a heated glow, he is awash in pink cheeked arousal and Gigi persists, wearing herself out for his little gasps and the twitches of an eyebrow here and there. Bouncing adamantly atop his thick thighs in the swirling water and trying her avid best to slip his fat length inside her. She’s been trying since day one and every time it’s

-“not yet, Gigi, not yet, s’posed to be special and you’re special baby girl, not somethin’ to rush with someone special like you, see, I uh, i-i-it’s special-“

Gigi thinks having his rock solid cock inside her would be special enough.

“ ‘member the other night,

daddy?” She asks him in a huff, winded from the exertion as she pins his throbbing length against himself and grinds her clit against the hairs on his rounded belly, full of desperation born of youthful overexubernace, “remember how -how - when you were teasing me -and you pressed against my little hole?”

Elvis lets out a long groan in reply, slapping his hands against the sides of the tub in sexual frustration, causing his rings to clank and his bracelets to jangle against the porcelain. He can feel himself swell even more, the ache in his balls nearly unbearable at the proximity to snug tightness that he’s been denying himself for a myriad of reasons that are making less and less sense now, the more Gigi’s glossy wet tits slap his face silly.

“Oooh, oh I feel you-“ she gasps, as that redundant piece of meat between his thighs gives a hearty little twitch at the memory of her tiny hole and it’s fluttering need.

“You son of a bitch,” Elvis hisses to his traitorous little friend who’s acting very stalwart in his determination to find nothing but a tight cunt sufficient stimulation for release -it was easier back when little Elvis was a limp and useless dong: “this is the one time i’m asking you not to work. C’mon, don’t fail me now I-I- hell… O-o-our father. Who art in heaven-“

Gigi buries her face into the steamy crease where his cheeks meet his throat and licks at the salt there that not even the bath can remove. His hands fly to grip her hips and he yanks her up and down, grinding harshly against her raw little center as her breasts smash against his broad chest.

He regularly complained to the boys about her voraciousness and got no sympathy, not even when they saw it for themselves with the way he could barely get his seat in the limo, have his water handed to him and a towel before she was taking off his belt, unzipping his jumpsuit and inevitably giving lil Elvis some strong mouth suction. The boys had gotten used to ignoring him dumping a load down this little girl’s throat in the blurry blaze of street lamp lit nights and cranking up the radio to hide her moans every jet flight. Nothing about it was fitting and it wasn’t even to his tastes -so Elvis insisted- but it was real nice to be so wanted, even if the voraciousness of it was all a little alarming and out of hand.

Yet, God knows Elvis wanted Gigi badly. It half scared him sometimes and the rest of the time it kept him alive.

As did Lisa in an entirely different way and between the two girls tearing up his sedate plans for self mortification and permanent hermitage, Elvis found some zest for life returning to his soul as August became September and tabloids went from calling Gigi “the new girl” to calling her his whore and the colonel went from not answering his phone to leaving a perpetual red light on the message box and it went from kisses and snuggles in his Graceland bed to frantic grinding like this after every show that had her caterwauling in his arms begging to be torn open by his cock and him grunting like a bear in heat as he spurted against her belly and smashed the button for the tub jets to stop.

Wouldn’t do to circulate superstar spunk in a Cincinnati hotel jacuzzi.

“Mmm, that feel good daddy?” her sweet voice asks as the singing angels dim and the sense of time and space and his spent cock bring him back into consciousness.

“Uhuh. Feels real good.” he admitted sheepishly and felt her plump lips pressing to his bashful grin.

He returns it, pouring his love into her with the cradling of her head in his hands and the flick of his tongue against hers and the languid massaging of lips.

Gigi swirls the milky strands of his spend in the bath water between them, giggly and invigorated. She gets this way after climaxing and Elvis can only blearily smile and indulge the way she drags him around and makes him stand and get out of the tub, how she pats him down with towels like he’s a boy child and chitters to him about backstage gossip, praises for his performance of the night and Tammy’s latest tips for making Jerry’s life a living orgasmic hell. All while pressing kisses to every single part of his body as she goes along.

She’s found goosey places on Elvis that he didn’t even know existed.

Gigi is drying his shoulders when she sees the last remnants of the tub water cycloning in a swirl towards the drain, precious pearly strings cavorting like ribbons in the eddy.

Her conversational chatter ceases abruptly with a regretful -“oh no!“

She drops the sodden towel.

He watches her kneel, crouched and bent and glorious in a soft line of naked beauty from the back. Thought his maidenly idyl is shattered as she faces away from him and in what seems to be an impulsive moment of adoration, Gigi leans over the tub, hard porcelain lip digging into her sternum as she ducks her head and dips her mouth to the tepid bathwater.

He can hear her slurping.

Her graceful bracing in position and the greedy working of her throat suggest competency at this vile practice that makes his stomach lurch and spent cock swell thickly against his thigh. Without autonomy he hears himself grunt appreciatively.

“Fuuuuck me.” he drawls in disbelief, shuffling closer to watch the whole of it, the working of her sweet mouth sucking up his diluted seman and the arch of her back showcasing pink little pussy lips glistening from the back.

It’s sick and he’s terribly in love.

“That’s my good baby girl,” he finds himself praising this heinous degradation, hand coming to rest on the dip of her lower back, “not lettin’ m’lil contrition go to waste.”

It makes her strain to get as deep in the tub as she can, legs taut and face red from the blood rushing downwards to her cheeks as she chases gravity against the flow of the drain, his hand heavy and encouraging as it palms her ass, the pinch of his rings and the grunting, savage, male appreciation for her wantonness making her squeeze her thighs together in hopeless dissatisfaction.

A sting jolts her as his hand collides in an approving slap across her plush backside. The desire to make him proud eggs her on and she crawls further over the ledge, hair dragging in the drain.

Elvis’ hand once groping her butt moves until he’s peeling her apart and sliding in the long lengths of his middle and ring finger into her tight heat, meanly stabbing inside her as she’s bent double, tonguing at the drain for the last of his essence.

“You done this before.” Elvis’ voice is low, without a shred of questioning.

“Yes.” she moans, rosy cheek pressed to the wet floor of the now empty tub. “I always do this when you leave some left over, daddy.”

Elvis watches his fingers sink into pink plushness again and again, rings acting like stoppers at each culmination, spearing her until Gigi is sobbing and spasming over the tub edge, mouth wide open screaming for him with a tongue white from his spend, as broken as he is over the need to fuck her.

Sore and puffy, he assumes he’s learned her a lesson.

Standing her back up tenderly with all gentlemanly grace, Elvis wipes at her slimy cheek with his hands, pleased to find her smile as irrepressible as ever, the only thing on this godforsaken tour that hasn’t disappointed him yet.

“When is soon?” she whines into his kisses as he presses against her, bath quite redundant with the way he has her pinned between the door and his weeping cock, freshly spluttering his devotion against her bare pubic mound like he’s twenty years younger and fit to be such a minx’s lover.

“What?” He questions, murmuring in happy confusion.

“You said you’d make love to me soon.” she insists like a child reminding their senile parent of promises for ice cream after a trip to the dentist. “When is soon?”

Elvis grins through his grunt as he slides against her puffy clit, effortless from her slick and close to coming from images of her drinking his bath- “Soon, little baby,” he pronounces with all the gravity of a wiseman and the authority of a deadly opponent who his hand engulfing her fragile jaw, “-means soon.”

🏷🏷🏷🏷🏷🏷🏷🏷

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[elvisabutler]

Austin!Elvis x reader - Elvis convinces the reader’s mom to let her stay at Graceland for the whole summer. You can do whatever you want from there.

queen of graceland

summary: your parents don't like elvis one bit. you do like elvis quite a bit. somehow you get your parents to allow you to stay with your boyfriend all summer. the two of you have a plan to make your stay permanent. fandom: austin butler | elvis ( 2022 ) | elvis presley rating: m pairing: austin!elvis ( 50's ) x female reader word count: 5007 ( do i have an explanation? no, no i don't. but welcome to why my requests take a hot minute i guess? ) warnings: p in v sex ( unprotected ). oral ( f receiving ). breeding kink. mutual weirdly wholesome entrapment. everyone is of age. going against parents' wishes. controlling parents. pregnancy. gladys' death is mentioned at the very end. mentions of elvis's close relationship with his mother. author’s note: first off anon! thank you for this request and saints preserve me i am truly sorry it took so long to get to it and it turned into- well this. so i got this before i did kinktober and blah blah we all know life is hectic around the holidays but once i realized this clearly is happening with an of age reader and all that jazz i had to pick an elvis and while i believe it can be agreed that this prompt lends itself well to a sort of dark ( or innocent tbh ) 70s elvis thing- my brain settled on this interesting 50s elvis mutual entrapment breeding kink thing that was originally a little darker but still has those morally grey tinges. i hope you enjoy anon, i did actually really like this prompt from the moment i got it. special thanks to @blurredcolour for being my 50s elvis woman always and my partners in breeding mrs. presley crime, y'all know who you are. and if you all so desire you can imagine elvis in this. but i did try and stay closer to the movie than i have lately on some of my specifically austin elvis requests as of late.

Your mama hates Elvis, it's a fact you've known since the moment she laid eyes on him when you brought him home. First it was that he wasn't good enough for her daughter, too poor, too stupid and too destined to be in the poor parts of Memphis until he dies. Then it was that he was too vulgar and too free wheeling and he was just gonna hurt you, besides what would he see in the girl he left behind at home. All the things she whispers in your ears aren't true because you know as well as anyone the Elvis is practically obsessed with you to the point of madness. It flatters you and delights you enough to make you want to keep him until the end of both your lives. It makes you want to claim him and keep him as your own, to be at home while he travels the states or to accompany him, whatever he wants and whatever brings you the most pleasure in your life.

These wants are how you found yourself practically begging your mother for permission to spend the summer at Graceland after Elvis has already plead his case. You're nineteen and an adult but you still live under your mama and your daddy's roof so their rules are law. And their main rule is one date every two weeks with you and your boyfriend. The concept of you spending an entire set of months with him is not one they're willing to easily agree to but you promise that no funny business is going to go on and besides, his own mama would rather die than have him do anything untoward to you. Nevermind that she's been pressuring him to put a ring on your finger since she realized that you were fine with how close they were, found it endearing and hoped, God willing that your own son and you would have the same sort of relationship. Granted, you were aware that it was unhealthy and all but- Elvis wasn't ever going to unwind himself from his mama so you dealt with it, you could deal with it and charm her to where she needed to be charmed.

Elvis doesn't waste a minute as soon as he sees you walking up the steps of Graceland, carrying two bags full of clothes you planned on wearing while you were there. He takes them from you despite your valiant protests and sets them down by the door the moment he shuts the front door.

"Can't believe you got her to agree to it." Elvis grins, practically bouncing on his heels. He looks like a kid in a candy store, like you've given him the best present you could have for his birthday, his Christmas, his everything. "Getcha all to myself all summer."

You move closer to him moving your hands to his hips and pulling him in for a kiss that's supposed to be chaste but- you've missed him too much to try, instead allowing your tongue to meet his and your teeth to pull at his lip earning a low moan from him as you pull away. "If you do your job right, it'll be longer than the summer, Elvis. I'll be here every summer. Every winter." You move one of his hands to your stomach. "I'll be here every second you want me and them to be."

His eyes widen just a hair before he rubs at your stomach, picturing you full of him, your stomach swelling with a baby or two he's put there. Picturing you going home to your parents only to be sent back because his child or children are growing inside you. The only thing that keeps him from pulling you inside and fucking you against the nearest surface is the knowledge that his mother and Mary and Grandma Dodger are in the kitchen but he moves closer to you anyway, pulling you inside as he nips at your ear. "That you askin' for a baby, Satnin? Askin' for me to fill ya up before ya go back to your parents? Make them see ya belong wit' me?"

You feel your arousal pool in your undergarments as you clench around air, wishing he was having sex with you already. Wishing you could feel his cock filling you up in just the way you needed. A noise of pure desire- a mix of a coo and a whine- leaves your mouth as you push him against the wall by the door. "That's me beggin' for one, El." Your own accent thickens, brought on only by the desire coursing through you at proving that you belong by Elvis's side.

Elvis looks like he's about to say something, or like he's about to lift you up against the wall- everyone be damned before he hears his mother shouting his name and he growls against your neck, allowing himself to at the very least shove his knee in between your thighs. Gladys comes around the corner, grinning and looking pleased as punch to see you even as you take just a second to grind on her sons' thigh as you smile over his shoulder at her.

"Y/N!" She shouts, starting to walk to toward the pair of you, causing Elvis to move his thigh from between your legs and turn to face his mama. "Bewbie, you were supposed to tell me when she got here!"

Elvis has the decency to look chargined for a moment, burrowing his face into your shoulder like a little boy and mumbling. "Mama- she just got here and I missed her."

"And you think I haven't?" She frowns, lightly slapping his arm and pulling you away from him. If she notices anything about his lower half she doesn't say anything, instead focusing on pulling you in for a hug. "A whole summer with us, oh- I was thinkin' I was gonna have to talk to your mama myself to convince her." She pauses and looks at Elvis. "You'd have thought she thinks my bewbie's gonna ruin you."

Elvis looks over at you as his mother just squeezes you in her hug. His teeth are biting into his lower lip as he tries not to laugh, knowing fully well that had she not interrupted you that he would have been well on his way to ruining you by the front door. Your smile back at him is full of promise and can barely be called a smile, edging more to a smirk than anything else. The idea is for him to ruin you this summer, you are both entirely aware that your parents will never let you be with Elvis as long as they live unless something drastic changes. Unless they're forced to allow him to be with you and while you like to think there's a better option, from the way you and Elvis keep looking at each other you both have come to the same conclusion, there isn't. He's never going to be good enough in your parents' eyes for their baby even if he makes all the money in the world or if he settles down and stops making that rock and roll music. No, he's always going to be that boy they don't like, that boy who'll only ever bring ruin to their baby girl. Even if that's the furthest from what he is, from what he wants to be.

In a perfect world, he likes to think he'd have you after seeing you dressed up all in white, looking a vision from the bible, all virginal and ready for him to explore in ways no one ever had or ever would after him. You'd be underneath him, writhing and panting in the way you do when you both get a little hot and heavy in his Cadalliac but he'd have you bare and so open to him. So open to be able to receive his cum, so open and ready to give him children so that he could see you swollen with him. So that he could see a little blond boy or girl suckling at your chest with you all sweaty after having brought them into the world.

in a perfect world, he likes to think the two of you would have a gaggle of kids after you got married and that he'd take them on the road with him. Get himself a bus like BB where he can just have you and his kids as a little moving sanctuary or maybe just have them at home with you taking care of them. He knows you might wanna work outside the home but he also knows that can wait, he could provide for you both and for anyone else for now. In this world though, in the world you both live in he has to find a way to even have you for longer than a summer and drastic situations call for drastic measures. The pair of you are so busy looking at each other that neither one of you are really paying attention to Gladys when she pulls away and says something to the both of you only to shake her head at how little you're both paying attention.

"Ignoring me because you can't take your eyes off each other-" She sighs a little, clutching her chest at the image. "I'll leave you two be, Elvis go take her things up to her room, show her what we set up for her."

You raise an eyebrow as she leaves and within a minute you're up against Elvis, grabbing both of your bags for him to take from you. "My room." You pause and giggle softly. "You mean the room that's just going to have my clothes in it?"

Elvis has to shut his eyes for a moment as he shakes his head, exhaling softly. "Darlin'- if you're lucky your clothes are gonna be there. I plan on havin' ya everywhere in my damn house."

A gasp leaves your mouth as he takes the bags and starts to walk up the stairs. "Everywhere in the house, El- what about everyone else."

He's silent as you head up the stairs and doesn't bother to answer your question until you're both safely in your room. The bed is simple enough, large enough for you and Elvis to be on it together easily and the room is surprisingly simple in decoration. Gladys' influence, you figure. The bags hit the floor with a thump as suddenly you find yourself being walked back to the bed. The back of your knees hit the bed frame and you let out a huff of surprise before flopping on the bed. Elvis doesn't miss a beat as he crawls on top of you, his eyes heady with desire.

"Satnin, darlin' they ain't here all the time." He starts before kissing at your neck, his hands moving to undo the buttons of your blouse with surprising ease. "And if you want to leave here with my baby in you, we gotta make sure there's enough of me in there. Gotta make sure you're full of me. Gotta make sure it stays and catches, like they all say it does."

A shiver goes through you at his words, your hands moving to undo his belt and pants, some sort of primal need overcoming your desire to say anything else. He's right and you know this. You know that there's no guarantee you'd get pregnant on the first try, that practice makes perfect and it wouldn't hurt to have him fill you up with his- release as much as he can. Yet, hearing the words come out of Elvis's mouth, hearing how he's going to fill you up has your body on edge, has it craving what he's offering. You faintly hear a chuckle as you struggle with the button to his pants and feel his warm hands- always so large- over your own, assisting you before you triumphantly achieve your goal. Your hand slips into his underwear, finding its way to his cock easily, feeling his foreskin and how dry it is before you pull his cock out. Elvis grabs your hand and spits into it, knowing that sometimes you forget to spit, forget that while his precum helps, the beginning part, this part depends on a little extra liquid.

"Don't hold back, darlin'." He mutters, seeing your lower lip caught between your teeth. "Gonna make you mine, wanna hear how you love it. How you would have sounded if we could do this proper with a wedding an' everythin'."

If you're embarrassed at the whimper, it doesn't show, the arousal starting to seep out of you becoming unbearable as your chest heaves just a tad. Elvis watches your breasts still in your bra bounce that little bit as your chest heaves and tries to focus on anything but your hand wrapping around his cock as you move your hand up and down for a moment before starting to pull back his foreskin. He hisses the second your thumb brushes against his tip. His precum makes it glide easily but- it's too much, he wants to be in you, doesn't want to waste a single drop down your throat or your hand or anywhere. Somehow his hand makes it down to your skirt, pushing it down with an ease he'll explain away later as just dumb luck. He knows fully well it's come from the few times he's had someone on the tours but he loves you- has loved you from the moment you agreed to date him but he was lonely. Somehow your underwear comes with the skirt and you find yourself shivering at the cold air against your pussy. Elvis looks down, his fingers sliding between your folds, marveling at just how wet you are for him. A growl leaves him unbidden as he moves to shoo your hand away from his cock and lines himself up with your exposed pussy, allowing himself to put just the tip in, feeling you stretch around him. He knows he should wait, knows that you've stretched yourself as much as you can playing with yourself over the phone while he pumps his cock in empty hotel rooms, but it's nothing compared to his cock inside of you.

His eyes dart across your face, asking for permission to push in farther and you nod just barely, your eyes shutting as you feel the burn of his cock in you. It's a uncomfortable but you manage, breathing through your nose as he takes his time. You figure this has to be torture for him, after all you had felt how hard he was, saw how red the head of his cock looked but he's still being gentle. He's still putting your needs so far above his own. This is what your mama doesn't see- the man who treats you like a goddess when he's fucking you for the first time. You roll your hips up, earning a groan from him as he increases his speed, taking your actions to mean he can. Whimpers and small tiny moans escape your lips, providing a small symphony of noise around you both as Elvis's lips smack against yours and against your skin and as your skin meets over and over again as his hips rut against you. Your brain floats the more you feel him, the more you feel a coil deep inside of you tightening, feel yourself inching closer to the edge. Your hands move to his back, pulling him closer into you before you hear him curse, and feel his hips rut a few times in quick succession before feeling a warmth inside you. Your own orgasm follows soon after, the moan that escapes your lips being swallowed by Elvis's kiss so as to not arouse suspicion of what you've done up here. Elvis stays on top of you, keeping his cock inside you even as he catches his breath and his hips still pump ever so slowly into you. Your ears faintly register a faint squelching noise as he does and you find that you can't look Elvis in the eyes, the noise somehow reminding you that this is an inherently filthy act. A moment passes of still hearing the noise before your vagina inadvertently clenches around him, earning a low growl and a biting kiss from Elvis.

It was like you were trying to suck him into you, trying to make sure no part of his cum or him would be free of you. You don't intend for it to be that way and yet it's how it goes, allowing you to hold him close as you both continue to catch your breath. The amount of time that passes isn't something either one of you pay attention to before Elvis starts to pull out, earning a whine from both of you as he does.

"Got me in a vice grip, Satnin. Gotta let me go, mama was cooking with everyone- gotta make sure we keep up our strength." He murmurs, kissing your cheeks, your lips and down your neck to your chest. "Gonna have fun tonight- play with those breasts of yours. Show ya how our baby is gonna eat from ya."

A low keen escapes your lips as you push him off of you, knowing that the way he's talking is going to have you pulling him back on top of you, ruining any hope you have of getting to stay the rest of the summer. Gladys may want you here but she doesn't know what her son and you have planned, how right she is about him ruining you. How with any luck, you'll be leaving with a baby in your belly that will round out your form and have your parents forcing him to marry you. A simple entrapment scheme- but one you and Elvis are privy to while either set of parents aren't.

It takes a moment before you and Elvis are put together and you hear Gladys calling for both of you as you're both smoothing out each other's hair, making sure it's just mussed and not completely giving away how fucked out you are. That it's not giving away how you feel his cum leaking out of you enough that you want to push it back in but know that it can wait. This time it doesn't need to take. Besides, if it did- why you think you'd be leaving with an already there bump, and that won't quite do. Elvis kisses you one more time, gently before grabbing your hand. "Come on darlin', gonna show ya how it's gonna be when you're here forever."

True to his word, Elvis does manage to fuck you in just about every place in the house, except for the few rooms that are off limits. Sure, the Colonel comes and has to have meetings and Elvis has to leave one week to record some music but otherwise, he's by your side unable to keep his hands off of you. Unable to keep himself from being in you the moment he can, there's even a moment while you're out on the porch with you in his lap and your skirt billowing around the two of you as he fucks you while watching the sunset. Your period doesn't come the last month you're there, and Elvis finds that any time he touches your breasts you hiss, swatting his hands away. He doesn't dare put into words what he's thinking, what you're both thinking until the hot sticky August day you have to leave. You're waiting for your father to come pick you up, sitting in the living room and Elvis finds his hand moving to your stomach, rubbing it, trying to feel out a bump he's praying he'll get to see soon.

"Ya think it took this time, darlin'? Think they're growing in there?" He murmurs giving you a soft kiss as he does. "It's out last shot, don't think ya parents are gonna let ya come back if they aren't."

One of your hands moves to cup Elvis's cheek while you place the other on top of his hand that's on your stomach. "I'm not gonna think about it that way, don't wanna talk 'bout it and then something happens. Have a little faith, El. You know I want this as much as you."

He nods exhaling shakily. "I-I know, just don't wanna think of a world where I don't get to keep ya. Where they keep ya away for good this time, ya- ya know I gotta do one of those tours soon and I wanna be able to take ya to see some places, baby."

Your lips quirk into a smile. "And you will. Faith, baby. Faith." A honk interrupts whatever you're planning on saying next and Elvis pulls away slowly, his hand reaching out to pull you up from the couch as he kisses you goodbye. "Make 'em send you back as soon as ya know, lil one. Please."

The only answer you give him is a nod as you rush out the door, carrying your bags and cooing a loud hello to your daddy.

Elvis- Elvis doesn't see you for another two months. Not intentionally on your part, mind you, but more due to the fact that your mother sees the signs and hopes and prays she's wrong. Prays that her fears won't be confirmed, that after she let herself be charmed by you and that stupid young man that he's ruined you. You've always stayed the same size, always been able to not need your skirts or your shirts changed since your waist and your chest settled into what they are. Yet, here you are, slowly filling out, your breasts pushing at the buttons of your blouses and your stomach starting to bloat. She thinks it's just your period only to realize it's not when you don't come to her as you would normally like clockwork. You're eating everything she puts in front of you and she swears on more than one occasion she hears you retching in the bathroom in the early evening hours.

It all comes to a head one afternoon with you on the couch, your hands settling on your stomach, highlighting a bump that's starting to form, that's beginning to be more pronounced by the day- that has her seeing red in her mind's eye. Her question is brusque and to the point.

"When was your last period?" She pauses. "Don't lie to me, Y/N."

In another time and place, one where you aren't secure in the knowledge that you're carrying Elvis's baby, you'd look away when you answer, too mortified to admit that Elvis got you pregnant because you wanted him to. In this time and this place, you press a little harder into your stomach, trying to protect your baby from your mother, lest she do something awful. "Three months ago. Maybe almost four, I lost count, mama."

All hell breaks loose after that, with your mama screaming and telling your father and calls to Graceland where you can hear Gladys calling Elvis's name sounding more angry than you've ever heard her. Throughout it all- despite it all, you're in your room smiling, talking to your stomach telling the baby that's growing in there that they're gonna meet their daddy finally. A week after you find yourself being driven to graceland in a coat to keep yourself warm in the cool weather while also hiding what's underneath from the fans gathered outside the gates. Your daddy leaves as soon as he sets your luggage down next to you, muttering about how he always knew that boy would ruin you and now he's gonna be stuck with him as a son in law.

The door opens to reveal Elvis looking like he's going to curse someone out before he realizes it's you. No words are exchanged as you open up your coat carefully and grab Elvis's hand to press against your bump. You're wearing a tighter blouse than normal to highlight it, and Elvis starts to breathe a little heavier taking note of just how much you've started to change in the months since he's seen you. He pulls you inside, grabbing the bags with a speed you marvel at before he pulls your coat off and takes a proper look at you.

You breathe slowly and Elvis swears he sees one of the buttons on your blouse look as if it's going to pop off before you smile ever so sweetly at him. "Mama hasn't let me get new clothes and- I wanted you to see what you've done to me." You lean forward, your lips brushing against his ear. "How you've ruined your sweet girl. Would have waited a little longer but I wanted you to see me grow."

His only answer in reply is lifting you up with a surprising bit of strength onto the dining room table, laying you out on it with your legs dangling at the edge, his head moving under your skirt. You can barely hear what he's saying as he kisses up your thighs but what you catch has you shivering in delight. "Made you better. Gave you my baby. Made it so your mama had to let you go. Get to stay with me. Be my girl, be my queen of Graceland."

You try and push him away, your brain reminding you that there's people in the house and you can hear cooking happening in the kitchen but your attempts are forgotten at the first brush of his tongue against your slit and the brush of his nose against your clit. He licks at you like a starving man, his tongue fucking your pussy like a pale imitation of his cock as his fingers play with your clit, rubbing and touching and even pinching in the way he's learned you enjoy. You bite your lip, whimpering even as you do, trying to keep quiet so that no one realizes just what Elvis is doing to you even as you barrel quick enough to your orgasm that it shocks you with the sheer force and speed it comes at you.

Gladys voice rings out as your chest is heaving and Elvis finds his way out from under your skirt, his face glistening as the door to the kitchen swings open. His mama sees you on the table and looks to her son, her eyes narrowing just a hair before she shakes her head. "Bewbie, you're- we gotta get you two married before you do anything else." Her face flushes just a little. "Off the table, Y/N. Let me see you and my little grandbaby you got growing here."

Her hands move to your stomach, feeling around like she's looking for something before her lips curl into a sad little smile. There's a moment where she looks like she's going to lean in to tell you what she's thinking before she stops herself and just pulls you into a hug. "I'm- We're gonna take good care of you here. Gonna make sure you and this baby have all the strength you need. I told Bewbie to marry you but- didn't think you'd both be so silly to do this to make it happen. It's alright- what's done is done and now we have this to celebrate."

And so life goes until everything comes crashing down with the papers and the Steve Allen show and Russwood- it all culminates in you seven or eight months pregnant, wishing you could drink as heavily as Gladys is when you hear your husband is getting shipped off to Germany. You promise to take care of his mama and promise to call him the minute you go into labor so that he doesn't miss seeing his baby born while in training. Yet, you find that you fail the first one so miserably when you come across Gladys on the stairs, slumped over, forcing you to call Vernon to help you with her. Not even the movement of the baby within you is able to rouse Elvis from his tears until the Colonel says something to him. You're hidden away from the cameras at Elvis's request. People know he's married, know that you are due to give birth any day now but beyond what everyone's already seen, he doesn't want anyone to see you, not right this moment, not when everything feels so raw and he's got to protect his only girl left- his queen of Graceland.

It's the day before he goes back to finish training when you feel the pain- when you feel your back and stomach twist and you moan in the bed, clutching at your stomach like that will help. This would be so much easier if Gladys was there, she could coach you through this. Elvis forces his way into the room, too scared to be away from the only Satnin he has left, too scared he'll lose you too if he lets you out of his sight. When you push out your first and it still feels like there's another in there- you realize just what Gladys had held back this whole time, too superstitious to even whisper to you that she figured you were too big for just one baby.

You name them Elizabeth and Loretta and Elvis promises to find a way to have you all brought to Germany with him. It takes a year but when you finally do see him again- when you finally both see each other again? You make a vow to stick to each other like glue if only because you're both so tired of being separated when there's no reason to be, no matter what the Colonel would like to argue.

And if perhaps your number of children shows that level of togetherness? Well. You can't very well be a queen without plenty of heirs, now can you?

tag list: @eliseinmemphis, @ab4eva, @blurredcolour, @aconflagrationofmyown and @butlersxbirdy, @lindszeppelin, @powerofelvis @floralcyanide seriously i never know who to tag in this and breeding kink is so iffy i apologize y'all and hey once again if you all want to be on my tag list ( in general, tbh ) just give me a heads up or a holler.

[dreamingofep]

At Ease

(Elvis/Austin!Elvis × reader)

Character/Fandom: Elvis - Elvis (2022)

Request: kinda🤭

Prompt: Today is the day Elvis comes home from the army and you’re waiting for him with open arms. He wants to show you how much he missed you. [Fem!Reader]

TW: Cussing, teasing/ tension, SMUTTT, oral sex, fingering, the usual really dirty stuff.

Rating: Explicit/Mature (NSFW, 18+, so minors Do NOT Interact)

Word Count: 5K

A/N: Hello everyone!

I love some army Elvis and he looks way too damn good to not write about him! Like who gave him the fucking right I hate it. This idea came with the help of @loving-elvis when we noticed how beautiful he looked in this interview and what fun could be had on that desk🤭 I purposefully put that bottom left picture on here for good reasons 🫣 Thank you @cryingabtab for the title name🩷

Again this man has me weak, I’ll never get over him so I hope you enjoy this little one shot and let me know what you think!

I also mentioned earlier that I'm also posting my fics on Ao3 so you can read my stuff there too if you want! The link is on my masterlist. Thank you again❤️

Sorry for any spelling mistakes or goofs.

March 7th, 1960

Excited nerves rattled your body as you waited for the white gates to open to Graceland. These last two years have felt like a lifetime since the last time you saw Elvis. He left your life in such an abrupt fashion and you couldn’t believe they shipped him off to Germany so quickly. 

You had only been seeing each other for a few months before he was shipped off so it wasn’t a serious relationship by any means. You both did have a really nice connection though. One that was so easy you didn’t need to think about being a certain way with him or do anything that you didn’t feel was right. He just had this presence that calmed you, but also left you on edge with a tingly sensation running down your spine. 

He was just as heartbroken about the news of the draft as you were. His career was taking off and he was doing what he loved. Couldn’t help but feel he was cheated of the opportunity to do more, but he’s coming back home today and you know he’s going to make a big impact with whatever he does next. 

On his last day here in Memphis, you clung to his shoulders, not wanting him to go so soon. You had hope that things could go further with him but the draft might spoil those chances. 

“When I come back, if you don’t already have a man takin’ care of ya, will you be here waiting for me?” His voice cracking with emotion. 

You gazed into his beautiful blue eyes, trying to memorize how they look into yours. 

“Yes honey, I’ll be here,” you whisper. 

He cracks that crooked smile you love so much and kisses you passionately, flames building inside you. His hands squeeze your hips, pulling you in closer to his warm body. You feel your heart gallop in your chest, your body wanting him like never before. But it’s all too late, and the wonder of what could have been will haunt your dreams for the next two years. He pulls away and looks at you breathlessly. 

“If you want, will you be good for me? Stay untouched and everything,” he asks innocently with a glint of mischief in his eyes. 

You nod your head, squeezing his hand assuredly. 

Within these last two years, no guy has caught your eye, not the way Elvis Presley does. Your friends would set you up on dates with some guys but they always fell short compared to Elvis.

His daddy let you know a few days before that Elvis was coming home and he wanted you there if you weren’t busy. You were thrilled Elvis told him about you, giving you a glint of hope that he still has feelings for you. You knew you were playing a dangerous game though. Elvis could have found a new love in Germany and forgot all about you or he might want you again. 

The white gates slowly open and the black Cadillac makes its way up the winding driveway. Everyone that gathered on the steps of Graceland buzzed with excitement to get a glimpse of Elvis after all this time. 

The back door opens and out comes that tall, blue-eyed boy you’ve missed so much. He was wearing all black, his tan chest peeking out from his dress shirt that was unbuttoned to the middle of his chest. A gold medallion hung from his neck and he flashed that million-dollar smile you had seen so many times in newspapers and magazines. His hair perfectly styled and drooping down onto his forehead when he moved. You couldn’t imagine a better looking man.

He gets rushed with hugs and kisses from his family members and you can’t help but feel the excitement grow inside you to get a hug from him next. His eyes dart up to meet yours standing there on the stoop of the entryway and he looks at you in awe. He politely parts from everyone and makes a beeline to you standing there. He looks you up and down, his eyes lingering places on your body longer than he normally would and it makes you blush. Elvis bites his lower lip as he smiles and shakes his head at you, “well goddamn. Aren’t you the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen,” he gushes. He wraps his arms around your torso and picks you up, giving you a big hug. You can’t help but squeal as he squeezes the air out of you. You giggle as you breathe again and instinctively wrap your arms around his neck. He places a soft kiss on your cheek and sets you back on the ground, taking another look at you. 

“Is it possible you got more handsome?” You ask coyly. He grins down at you, not letting go of your waist. There’s an intense heat radiating through him, his eyes boring holes into your entire body.

“No honey I’m still just me. You on the other hand… my God you look so gorgeous. I really missed you,” he smiles. 

You can’t help but reach for his face, caressing it with your thumb, and look into those mesmerizing eyes. 

“I missed you too Elvis,” you say shyly. 

He reaches for your hand and intertwines his fingers in yours. He looks back to the crowd forming and pulls you into the house, closing the door hoping no one will notice his absence. 

“Where are we going?” you say in a hushed whisper as he’s pulling you swiftly to the back of the house. 

“Away from everyone. I just want a second with ya before I get bombarded with people,” he says as he opens the back door and rushes into the back office outside. He closes the door and the stillness of the office brings a chill to you. Not only that, but the way Elvis feels around you is something you hadn’t experienced before. He feels so comforting and at the same time, dangerous? You can’t really put a finger on what it is but something has changed about him. And it’s not necessarily a bad thing either, it’s just overwhelming and makes you want to sink to your knees. The confidence that he carried now shined through him like never before. When he left, he was still trying to figure himself out, the fame blinded him and he was still a little shy kid from Tupelo. But now, the confidence he carries is so… attractive. You don’t want to get away from him.

Elvis’ hands find your waist once more and pulls you in to hug you, leaning down his face into the crook of your neck. A chill forms all over his body as his skin touches yours. 

More… your body screams. 

Your brain races a million miles per second and you try to calm yourself down. 

He sighs softly and looks back at you, almost unsure of what to say. 

“I’m so glad you’re here. I wouldn’t want anyone else waiting for me,” he coos, tucking your hair behind your ear, showing your face to him. 

“I wouldn’t have missed it, honey. It’s been too long,” you say, your hand snaking up to his soft hair. 

A new tension forms in the room and your heart pounds because of it. There’s a dangerous glint in his eye the more he looks at you. A look of want? Need? No, lust. Raging, burning, lust when he stares at you. He parts his lips and subtly licks them, his eyes looking like they’re intoxicated. 

“Baby?” He murmurs. 

“Hmm,” you say dreamily. 

“I need to kiss you,” he says as his breathing starts to hitch. 

Your hands grab onto the front of his shirt and pull him in closer. 

“Well what are you waiting for,” you whisper, pulling him into you and reaching up to kiss him. 

His soft lush lips press into yours and you could swear this is what heaven feels like. He breathes in deeply as he goes for another kiss, heat coming off of him in abundance. Your hand wanders over his chest, feeling the soft little hairs that lay there. His lips continue to devour yours, putting his hand on the back of your neck, making a soft airy moan slip from your lips as he deepens the kiss. 

Elvis likes this response from you, letting a moan of his own come out and he pushes his hips into your body. Your heart dances wildly, relishing in this new sensation he’s giving you, feeling his member grow hard with need. You gasp when you feel his bulge and your core begins to throb. 

You look up at him breathless, needing more of him but not too sure what to do next. 

“Oh honey,” he mutters, his hands grappling at your dress, scrunching up the pretty tulle fabric. 

“Elvis… I-I-I want you… you feel good,” you stutter out. 

A cute coy smile appears across his face. 

“You feel even better baby.” He says cutely. 

He walks you back toward the desk, lifting you up and sitting you down on the cold surface. He steps in between your legs, causing you to spread them apart more than you normally would. 

“Baby uh,” he stammers. 

“What honey?” 

“Have you been good? Staying a good little girl for me?” He asks. Heat rushes to your core as you realize what he’s asking of you. 

“Mhmm, yes honey. Been on my best behavior,” you assure. 

A little smirk forms on his face and he grabs a hand full of your dress up, moving it above your knee and stopping there. 

“Can I see? Can I feel how good you’ve been?” He says low, his voice dripping with temptation. 

Wetness pools in your panties and there’s nothing more enticing than having Elvis touch you. You want it so bad it feels like you can’t breathe properly without his skin on yours. 

“Yes, you can touch me,” you squeak out. 

He lifts your dress up higher, exposing your white cotton panties that now had a wet stain on them. He sees the stain and his eyebrows shoot up and he hums to himself in contentment. 

He loops his fingers into the waistband of your panties and you lift up your hips to help him get them off of you. 

You’re left exposed there on the table not sure what the state of your pussy might be looking like but based on the way it feels, it has to look a mess. He crouched down to get a better look at you, spreading open your folds with two of his fingers and seeing the wetness spilling out of you. 

“Fuck,” he murmurs. “Someone’s been a very bad girl,” he tsks. 

Your whole body feels on edge and a bit embarrassed, but you know Elvis wouldn’t make you feel bad about this sort of thing. 

“I’ve only been bad since you drove through those gates,” you stammer. “Just the sight of you has me dying…”

“Oh I see honey… can I feel how bad… how bad this pussy needs attention” 

Your heart thumps wildly and you are so magnetized to him and his gaze. You never want him to stop looking at you like this. 

“Yes, please touch me,” you whimper. 

He leans into kiss you, his tongue entering your mouth and tangling against yours. You pull him in again by his collar and moan. He slowly pulls away, his eyes looking at you ravenously. 

Elvis places his index finger on your lips, rubbing it along your bottom lip. 

“Open your mouth and lick,” he instructs. 

Your breathing hitches and you nod your head, opening your lips apart and letting him push his finger in your mouth. You lick his long finger, swirling it like a lollipop, getting most of it wet with your saliva. You grab onto his wrist and continue the motions as he watches you intensely. A deep guttural growl comes out of him as you look up at him with pleading eyes, watching him come undone with this one small act. 

He slowly pulls his finger out, traveling down to your wet heat. His finger gets in between your slick, wet, folds and he cusses when he feels how soaked you are. He rubs it back and forth a few times, giving you a new shocking feeling and increasing the throbbing sensation that has formed there. His fingertip finds your entrance and he carefully plunges it into your core. You gasp, never having been penetrated before and unaccustomed to anything being inside you. His finger feels so long inside you and your walls hug it taught. Your mind races with the thought of what his dick could feel like inside you. If his fingers were long… surely he had something to hide in his pants. 

Elvis moans when he gets knuckle deep inside you, grabbing onto your thigh and squeezing it with his other hand. 

“Fuck honey, this pussy feels perfect. I want to be inside you so bad,” he moans, his finger curling up and pushing up against this spot inside you that could make you scream. 

“Mmm, oh god yes,” you moan, bucking your hips into his hand. He gives a pleased chuckle as he watches you grind more, figuring out what feels best. 

Suddenly, a group of voices start to get closer to the office and their footsteps become louder. You freeze, your heart sinking to your stomach as you don’t know what to do.

“Shit,” he mutters to himself.

He carefully pulls his finger out and licks all the slick that’s gathered on his finger. He moans when it hits his tongue and his eyes roll back slightly. 

“Mmm, taste so sweet honey. We’re gonna have to wait though, the reporters are coming, I need you to hide,” He says controlled. 

“What? Right now? Crap, where should I go?” You say in a bit of a panic. 

He pulls your dress down as the voices become louder, “get underneath the desk baby. Don’t make a sound,” he says as he leads you to the back of the desk and covers the back of your head so it doesn’t get hit. You crouch down and get in the corner of the desk, bending your knees up to your chest and try to control your breathing. 

The door bursts open and a bunch of men’s voices fill the small office. You hear camera bulbs flash and everyone trying to get Elvis' attention. 

“Elvis right here!”

“Elvis how’s it feel to be home?!” 

“Elvis turn to the left please!”

You hear his father’s voice telling them to calm down and ask questions one at a time. 

Elvis is quiet as they snap a few pictures and then he goes to sit down behind the desk. You see his legs move the chair aside and sits down, spreading his legs open and pulling his slacks up. 

You stare at how he’s sitting like he’s just teasing you in your helpless state. He leans forward on the desk, waiting for the reporters to get organized before they ask their first question. There’s little light coming through but your eyes get drawn to his crotch. There you see the outline of his hard member, pressing against his leg. You have to place your hand over your mouth from the gasp you wanted to make. He was so much longer than you could have ever anticipated and that growing need of having him inside you grew immensely. 

The throbbing grew inside you and you squeeze your legs together, needing some relief. You pray that this interview isn’t an hour long or something because you’re going to be in agony by then. Elvis starts answering questions very nonchalantly, his smooth deep voice bringing a zing to your core. His southern inflection on certain words makes your heart leap out of your chest. How can he be so sexy just doing the bare minimum?

His foot rubs against your leg, rubbing it up and down as he sits back and swivels his chair side to side answering the questions. 

Your hand snakes up his pant leg and you squeeze his calf. His leg tenses when he first feels you but then relaxes. Your fingers rub slow soft circles on his toned leg and he starts to move it. You’re not sure if he’s moving it out of nervousness or out of distraction but you can’t keep your hands off of him. 

The next question has you at attention and you stop rubbing his leg. 

“Elvis, did you find anyone special over there?”

He chuckles amused by the question, “No no I didn’t. I did meet this one girl… but it was no big love affair or anything. They just took some pictures when I was getting on the plane that’s all.”

You let out a sigh of relief, thankful he wasn’t madly in love with someone else overseas. But right now it honestly didn’t really matter, he wanted you and was wanting to make love to you and your body craves him. He scoots the chair in some more, leaning on the desk waiting for more questions. Your hand travels further up and finds his still hard length. The heat radiates off of him and it makes your mouth water. You rub it gently, up and down, feeling his body stiffen when you put more pressure. He clears his throat as he answers the next question and pushes the chair in even further under the table, giving you better access. 

His hips subtly rut into your hand and your need for him grows when he does this. You never thought you could make him feel like this but you have him all in your hand and based on how he’s moving, he’s loving it. 

You feel your wetness seep out of you and run down your leg. You were turned on like never before and needed him to pour all of his attention on you.

More…. Your body continues to scream. 

Your hands move up further until you find the button of his pants and slowly slide down the zipper. 

He puts one of his hands on his thigh and scrunches the material of his slacks in a frustrated manner. 

You make sure not to move too quickly to not give any attention to what’s happening behind the desk. Your hand reaches into his pants and pulls out his hard length. You press your lips together to hold make the moan you want to make as you stare at his cock. 

He was much longer than you thought and part of you is nervous to have all of that inside you, but on the other hand, you are so unbelievably horny for him, wanting him to stuff you to the hilt with it. You feel the tip of him leaking with a clear fluid. Your thumb swirls it, spreading it along his head and his hips jolt forward, making it seem like he was just adjusting in his seat. 

Your hand starts to slowly jerk him, feeling the heat of him in your palm like a hot rod. You feel so dirty for doing this but love that it’s with Elvis and it seems he’s enjoying it. Another really bad idea comes into your mind. One that you’ve only ever heard of from other girlfriends and right now, it seems like a really good idea. You want him in your mouth. 

Your heart continues to gallop, almost sure that everyone can hear it in this room. You decide to go for it, and pull back his foreskin and swirl your tongue on it. The clear fluid tastes salty but your mouth waters for more. You wrap your lips around him and put more of him in your mouth. You hear him take a deep breath in as he answers the last question and try to maintain his calm stature. 

Your wetness continues to pool more and the throbbing becomes almost insatiable. You try to not make any noise with your mouth but it is difficult. You have to take it slow and based on Elvis’ hip motions, he’s liking it. 

The reporters thank Elvis for his time and people start to file out. A few of them hang back trying to get another question in but his daddy escorts them out and informs them the interview is done. 

“Daddy, please let me be alone in here. Don’t let anyone in. I need a moment to myself,” He says calmly as your mouth takes more of him. You hear his audible gasp and clear his throat again. 

“Sure son, no problem,” He assures. 

The click of the door closes and Elvis stays still, making sure no one is going to come in. He moves his hips away from you and you release his length from your mouth. He stands up and swiftly goes to the door, turning the top bolt. You hear his footsteps come around the desk and he pushes the chair away from it. He reaches his hand underneath the desk and finds your arm and pulls you out from underneath. 

He has fire in his eyes and looks so unbelievably intense. Taking the back of his forearm, he wipes the desk off clean. Papers fluttered into the ground and paperweights made a loud thud when they hit the carpet. 

He picks you up underneath your arms and sits you down firmly on the desk. Your eyes wander down to his open slacks and see his length in a better light. You softly moan when you see it, veins protruding from his shaft and the head of it peeking from his foreskin, red and glistening with your spit. 

He places his hand on your chin, making you look up into his eyes. 

“Jesus Christ woman, look what you’ve done to me,” his head shoots down to look at his length. He doesn’t let your head move and you just have to wait for what he wants to do next. 

“That stuff you were doing was very bad… I liked it a bit too much,” he says devilishly. 

“Oh yeah? I wasn’t sure but… I’m glad you did. I really liked it too,” you say timidly. 

His hands squeeze your thighs, spreading your legs open and pulling up your dress to rest his cock on your folds. You gasp at the sensation and he moans deeply. He takes his cock in his hand to rub the tip of it on your sensitive bundle of nerves. You gasp and claw at his arm, cussing underneath your breath. 

“God you’re so wet honey,” he groans as his length gathers more of your arousal on him. He watches you intently, seeing how your eyes cannot be taken away from his length. He chuckles inwardly and continues to tease you. 

“You see something you like?” He asks deviously. 

Your breathing quickens as you continue to watch him rub his length through your folds. 

“Y-y-yes Elvis I umm… oh God,” you pant, letting these euphoric feelings wash over your body. 

“What baby, what is it? Tell me what you’re thinkin’,” he tantalizes. 

You bite the inside of your cheek, feeling your cheeks turn scarlet with what you’re about to say. “I just… umm… I didn’t expect you to be so… so big,” you mutter, looking back up into his eyes. 

A soft smirk forms on his face, “it’s gonna feel even better inside you,” he coos. “Are you ready for me? You want me to take care of you?” 

Your head feels like you’re on a cloud and drunk on him at the same time. 

“Yes please,” you mewl. 

He pulls your dress up off your body and pushes you back on the desk to have you lie down. The cold surface hits your back and sends chills through you as Elvis looms over you. His hands squeeze your breasts and another bolt of lightning travels through your body to your core. 

He lines himself up and pushes the tip in, making you cry out. He grunts when he tries to put more inside of you. 

“Fuck honey you’re so tight. You need some help taking me.” He says pulling out of you and placing two fingers on your clit and rubbing there. You let out another needy moan as he works you. He coats his two fingers in your wetness and carefully pushed them inside you. 

“Ohmygod,” you cry out and your head pops up off of the desk to watch him finger you. He curls them and feels out your fluttering walls. 

“Yes baby that’s it, keep nice and relaxed for me,” He beckons. His fingers reach places you haven’t even known about, making the slick between your legs grow even more. You begin to rut into his hand, letting your instincts take over and get the most pleasure out of it. 

He groans when he watches you, almost looking envious of his fingers with how good they’re making you feel. 

He quickly pulls them out of you and you moan with feeling so empty. 

He lines himself up again against your weeping hole and looks at you, he sees your pleading eyes wild and lust-filled. 

He pushes himself in and groans heavily, your wet heat wrapping tightly around him. You cry out for him, feeling the searing pain and pleasure filling your body. He keeps a slow pace, pushing in more of his length with each thrust. You watch as he pulls out his cock and see your wetness cover it, then get buried back inside you. It’s all too much, the sensations that he brings to you are like nothing you’ve ever experienced or thought you could experience. 

Elvis hisses as he moves faster, “goddamn honey, feeling so good. Squeezing my cock so tight already,” he slurs. He grabs onto your hips and starts to drive into you like this. You moan louder, feeling the pain sear through you. 

“Elvis please,” you cry. He rubs one of his thumbs on your clit and moves it in fast circles.  

“You’re doing so good honey. Almost there,” he says as he pushes the rest of his length inside you making both of you groan. 

“Oh god Elvis yes,” you moan. Pleasure slowly starts to seep through your veins and tightens the coil in your belly. He moves his hips faster, hitting all the right places and making you feel so good. 

His face looks gorgeous like this, so concentrated on you but so lustful. He makes the most delicious noises when he takes you, grunting and panting for air as he stuffs you completely. His eyes are glued to his length going in and out of you and how each snap of his hips makes you moan even louder. 

The pain subsides and all you can feel is mind-blowing satisfaction. You sit up on your forearms to look at him fuck you, your coil tightening by the second. His hips pound into you harder, rubbing your clit with the perfect amount of pressure, bringing you closer to orgasm. 

His eyes drink you in and suddenly stop when he looks at your belly. He cusses and places his hands on your lower belly, putting a new pressure there making you feel so full. Every snap of his hips drives you wild and you’re so close to screaming his name. 

“Look baby, look how deep I am inside ya,” he grunts breathlessly. He lifts his hand and you can see the poking of his head pushing up on your lower abdomen. You moan deeply, unable to take much more. The squelching coming from between your legs makes Elvis take you faster, wanting to take you to the edge. 

“Fuck Elvis, that’s so good,” you gasp, placing your own hand on your belly to feel him inside you. 

He growls, too far gone with lust raging through him, “Oh honey, takin’ me so good. You’re gonna make me cum,” he groans. 

He leans down to suck on your breast, licking and biting at your nipples. Your walls flutter and you know you’re going to cum. He sees the panic and pounds into you harder, almost knocking the wind out of you.

“Come on baby, let yourself go,” he pleads.

You throw your head back and scream for him as your walls squeeze around his girth. Your entire body radiates with pleasure and you can’t catch your breath with how he’s taking you. 

He moans your name too, barely able to contain himself while he’s inside you.

“Goddamn baby, I need to cum…” he grunts through his teeth, his hips becoming sporadic and his strides uneven.

He abruptly pulls out of you and jerks his cock in his hand. You watch as white-hot spurts come shooting out of him and into your belly. You watch in awe as he comes undone in front of you, probably one of the single most hottest things you had ever seen in your life. The way his eyebrows furrow together and opens his mouth before letting out the most satisfying-sounding moan you’ve ever heard.

Elvis pants over you, wiping the sweat from his brow and leaning onto the desk with one hand. You look up at him in a daze, unable to comprehend what has happened within this last hour. Your body feels weak yet floating on a cloud. You have no idea sex could be that good let alone it being your first time. Those famous hips put in the work and left you breathless. You look down at the pool of his arousal sitting on your belly, and back up to him.

“Was that okay for you honey? Did I do a good job?” He asks innocently. You nod your head yes quickly, almost laughing that he even had to ask you that. 

“Oh yeah honey, you were… God I have no idea what to say, It was so damn good,” you gush.

A smile forms on his face as he looks at your body again, “Good baby, I loved it too. I couldn’t get enough,” he teases, wiping your belly off with a tissue.

“Well umm… I’m free for the rest of the day…. If you decided you wanted some more of me,” you tease.

He lets out a little chuckle and his eyes light up, “I might just have to take you up on that,” he coos.

•

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Tagging 🖤: @powerofelvis @plasticfantasticlOver @burninlovebutler @neptuneismysister @velvetelvis @ccab @presleyenterprise @elvispresleyxoxo

@prompted-wordsmith @sillybookmarks @dkayfixates @rosepresley @ellie-24 @rktismylife-blog @myradiaz @lookingforrainbows @elvispresleygf @tacozebra051 @thatbanditqueen

@18Ikpeters @flwrs4aust @emma181873 @austinswhitewolf @eliseinmemphis @everythingelvispresley @chasingwildflowers @idontwanttoputanything @ohjustpeachy @elvisalltheway101 @austinsmutler @kingdomforapony @generoustreemystic @kendralavon7

[aconflagrationofmyown]

Even Educated Fleas Do It

A Sarge & lil Mama episode (wedding night)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Now it’s all hers.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Dodger was saying—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-Birds do it, bees do it

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

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

-Even educated fleas do it,

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

-So let’s do it, let’s fall in love

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That so?” she asks, utterly sarcastic.

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

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

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

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

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

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

It has a rather startling effect on her young husband.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Who was he to deny her?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No, no, why? it had been so lovely…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh god, oh god, oh god.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

E.P.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Don’t cry Tink, please don’t cry.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Masterlist

Taglist

@paradsol000

@eliseinmemphis

@prompted-wordsmith

@ab4eva

@foreverdolly

@powerofelvis

@butlersxbirdy

@crash-and-cure

@elvisabutler

@heartbrake-hotel

@stylespresleyhearted

@thatbanditqueen

@crazymadpassionatelove

@myradiaz

@ash-omalley

@whatstruthgottadowithit

@arianatheangelgirl

@steph-speaks

@burningloverdoll

@angelface-555

@lookingforrainbows

@missmaywemeetagain

@coolgirl462

@kingdomforapony

@18lkpeters

@richardslady121

@from-memphis-with-love

@lillypink

@artlover8992

@pennyroyalcreep

@notstefaniepresley

@ellie-24

@renaissingle

@waiting4brucewayne2adoptme

@presleyenterprise

[sissylittlefeather]

I finished it! This is part of my main Elvis x fem!reader series. It goes between Baby, What's Your Name and Always, Honey. I'm sorry I'm writing these all out of order, but this is just the way they've come out of me. As always, feel free to imagine Elvis or Austin!Elvis. Let me know if you like it!

I really look forward to interacting with people who read my stuff, so feel free to drop me a note 😁

Warnings: 18+ minors DNI, smut, kissing, fingering, oral sex (f receiving), p in v sex, unprotected sex, etc etc etc

Goodnight, Sweetheart

There's a quiet but urgent knock on your dorm room door. You turn and look at Margie.

"Were you expecting someone?" She shakes her head.

"Nope." You shrug. Oh well, maybe it's someone with the wrong room number. As you walk to the door, the knocking gets more urgent and you start to get a little nervous.

You pull open the door and Elvis steps into the room, closing the door quickly behind him.

"Elvis, what are you doing here?! How did you get in here?!" This is a girls' dorm on campus at an all-girls college.

"Hey, I'm Elvis Presley. I make magic happen, baby." He holds your face in his hands and kisses you deeply. Margie clears her throat, slides her shoes on, and collects her purse.

"I suddenly remembered that I need to be somewhere." She slips out of the room, shooting you a wink on her way out. Since you hooked up with Elvis after his show two weeks ago, she hasn't let you talk about anything else.

"She seems like a good roommate." Elvis laughs in a way that seems to fill the room up with joy. He walks over to your bed and flops himself down in a half sitting, half laying position.

"So, darlin', what have you been up to since I saw ya last?" Your heart flutters at the sight of him on your bedspread. He seems to have grown into his manhood in the time since you were together. Or maybe you're just acutely aware of it because you're the one who made him a man. Either way, the real answer to his question is that you've been missing him desperately. Even though you only had the one night together, it was quite a night, and you've thought about it every day since. Still, you never expected to see him again.

"Oh, just this and that. Going to class and such." You walk over and sit down on the other side of your bed. He reaches out and moves your hair behind your ear.

"My little studious sweetheart."

Your heart skips several beats. Did he just call you his sweetheart? But he probably calls everyone his sweetheart. You start to wonder how many girls he's been with since his first time with you. Two weeks likely feels like a lifetime in his fast-paced world.

"What about you? Played a lot of shows?"

"That's an understatement. Sometimes we do 3 or 4 a day."

"Oh wow. You must be exhausted." He smiles and picks up your hand, kissing the back of it gently. Your stomach flip-flops with the feeling of his lips on you. Still, you pull your eyebrows together in a frown.

"Elvis, why are you here?"

"Can't a guy come see a pretty girl when he has a moment of free time?" He puts on his stage smile and winks at you.

"Elvis. Really. I never expected to see you again."

His face falls and he looks down at your hand in his. He seems to be contemplating whether he should give you a real answer. He turns your hand over and presses his lips to the center of your palm.

"I missed you." He mumbles into your hand. A warm smile spreads across your face.

"You did?"

"I really did. I've thought about you every day for the past two weeks. All those nights in hotel rooms alone after shows... I just wished I knew how to get a hold of you." So he wasn't with a bunch of girls. Another thought pops into your head.

"How did you find me?" He does a sheepish grin.

"I-I I called the school and told them I wanted to send you flowers. And I really did want to! But then I decided to just come over here instead." You laugh and lean against him on the bed.

"Flowers are nice, but this is better."

His eyes darken and he puts his hand in your hair, holding the back of your head.

"I agree." He leans in and kisses you passionately, parting your lips just enough to slide his tongue into your mouth. You grab the front of his jacket and pull him toward you, leaning fully into his kiss. He lays you down on the bed next to him, leaning over you to keep kissing you, his hand moving up and down your hip and stomach. He pulls back from the kiss and looks you in the eyes, seemingly asking for permission to touch you more. You put your hand on his and slide it up to your chest. That's all the permission he needs. Now his hand is under your sweater and bra, his thumb grazing your nipple. You sit up and pull the sweater over your head and off. He removes your bra a lot easier this time. You push his jacket off of his shoulders and go to work unbuttoning his black lace shirt. This whole time, you're kissing anytime you can, your lips meeting in a blend of tenderness and passion. He starts kissing down your face, then your neck, then your body until he gets to your breasts. He playfully teases your nipples with his tongue. He's a lot bolder in his exploration of your body this time around and you revel in the pleasure of his mouth and hands on you. Eventually, he unzips your skirt and slides it down your thighs, going immediately back up to do the same with your panties. He stops and laughs a little when he gets to them, though.

"What?"

"I'm just thinking about you throwing these on the stage. You know you started something. It happens all the time now."

"Oh, it does?" Your voice catches a little and he notices. He looks at you thoughtfully.

"Yours are the only ones I've ever kept, though." Warmth spreads through you at the thought of him only wanting to hold onto yours. He goes back to pulling your panties down, slowly sliding them down your legs and over your feet. He holds your foot in his hand and softly kisses your ankle. Then, he makes his way up your leg, dropping his lips periodically to plant soft kisses on your calf and thigh. He kisses the inside of your other thigh and then looks up at you smiling, like he's had an idea. You're not sure where he's going with all this kissing, but you love the feeling of his lips on your skin, so you don't argue. Finally, he lowers his head and kisses you right on your center.

"Oh!" You let out a small gasp. No one has ever put their mouth there before and the sensation was delicious. When he hears the sound you make, he smiles and does it again, this time lingering a little longer on you. You arch your back and a small moan escapes your lips. He's thoroughly enjoying the effect this is having, so when he does it a third time he adds his tongue to the mix, moving it like you instructed him to move his thumb last time.

"Elvis, fuck!" You cry out, overwhelmed by the feeling of his mouth on you. You've never experienced pleasure like this before and you know you won't last long if he keeps this up. He pulls back from you for a second and you try to catch your breath. He tilts his head to the side, watching your chest heaving as you gasp for air. Then, he takes two fingers and slides them into you as he dips his head down and licks you hard again. He continues pushing his fingers into you as he makes circles with his tongue.

"OH GOD!" You grab the top of his hair and grind into him uncontrollably as your climax slams into you, pushing electric bolts of ecstasy out to your fingertips and back again to the place where his tongue is still moving. His fingers become inexplicably wetter and your legs shake.

"Oh God, oh God, oh God!" You continue to cry out. Finally he pulls back, laughing.

"Nah, it's still just Elvis." You explode into a cascade of giggles both at what he just said and the way he just made you feel.

"Where did you learn that?" You ask, still breathing heavily.

"Well, I'd heard of it before, but I just really wanted to kiss you there and you liked it so much I didn't stop."

"Never stop." You laugh and he laughs with you again.

"Was it too much? Did I knock you out?"

"Oh no." You look at him playfully, "Get up here and finish what you started."

You move to take his pants off, but your hands are trembling. He stands up and lets them fall to the floor, climbing back on top of you excitedly. He puts one hand on either side of your head and leans in to kiss you deeply, rolling his hips forward and pushing his erection against your leg. You whimper a little at the feeling of him being so close to where you want him. Finally, he reaches down and lines himself up with you. You're about to go crazy with need while he takes his time. You can tell by the smirk on his face that he's having fun driving you wild.

"What do you want, baby?"

You moan into his mouth and manage to whisper, "you... I want you..."

He kisses you one last time before he pushes into you as deep as he can. This time you moan together, your foreheads pressed against each other, and he picks up a steady rhythm. Your sweat mixes with his as your bodies move in tandem. He slides in and out of you, pushing deeper and deeper, his hips slamming against yours. His length is exactly right to hit the most sensitive places inside of you. After a few minutes in this position, he rolls over onto his back and smiles at you, ready for you to get on top, since it's what you did last time.

"Uh-uh. Sit up." You gesture for him to scoot back. He moves to sit with his back against the wall at the head of your bed, excitement in his eyes. You put your hands on his shoulders and a knee on either side of his hips, lowering yourself onto him. He moans as he slides into you slowly and deeply. The difference in position is subtle, but it's enough for him to notice.

"Mmmm" he closes his eyes, leans his head back, and bites his lower lip. You lean in and kiss him on the cheek while you move up and down on him. He smiles, but keeps his eyes closed. You stop bouncing and start grinding your hips into him, rolling back and forth, pushing him deeper and deeper.

"Oh fuck, baby." His eyes pop open and he watches you move, bringing his hands up to cup your breasts and then run down your rib cage to your hips.

"Honey, I'm close," he whispers into your hair. Without further warning, he flips you over again and pounds into you, kissing your neck and shoulders as he does. You wrap your legs around him, feeling the heat of his skin on yours. Finally, he cries out, cussing loudly and shuddering into you.

He kisses you on the lips and jaw and neck and then lays his head on your chest. You lay there together, breathing heavily, you running your fingers through his hair. After a while, you realize his breathing is measured and steady. He's fallen asleep on your chest. You smile to yourself. He really must've been tired. Hopefully, Margie found somewhere else to stay tonight because it doesn't look like he's going anywhere any time soon. You gently roll him off of you onto his back and sneak away to the bathroom. When you come back, you slide your panties back on and slip into bed with him, snuggling into his shoulder. Just as you're about to drift off to sleep, you feel his lips on your forehead.

"Goodnight, sweetheart..."

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

Taglist: @itlover8000 @deniseinmn @elvisalltheway101

Want to be added to the Taglist? Let me know!

[eddiesgorlie]

Saturday Night Live

Austin x Reader

Summary: Austin’s girlfriend gets in some good laughs while watching SNL

Warnings: None:)

Word Count: 373 (Just something short and funny!)

“Okay, you can’t laugh at me.” Austin said from the other side of the door. “I promise I won’t, baby.” I said, nervous for what I’d be laughing at. All I was aware of was that there would be a Jewish Elvis skit, Austin made sure to ask me, his Jewish girlfriend, if I would be offended if he took part in this skit, he’s amazing. I of course told him I would in no way be offended in anything he does. “You’re going to laugh at me.” He said with a sigh. “If you keep hiding, I definitely will!” I said with a laugh. “Fine.” He said opening the door. I had no words, absolutely zero. My boyfriend was currently standing in front of me with makeup on, a wig, glasses, a skirt, floral shirt and heels. “This is a zisater.” He said shaking his head, trying not to laugh. “What did you just say?” I asked. “I said-” He pulled his button up shirt open. “-Zhis iz a zisazter!” He said absolutely cracking up. “This is the funniest thing I’ve ever seen!” I said joining him in laughter. “I’m kind of scared of you honestly.” I said as I looked him up and down. “Now don’t you be scared of Ms. Lois.” He said in an accent. “Oh my gosh, stop! I’m going to cry laugh if you don’t stop.” I said sitting down on the couch. “Mr. Butler, we’re ready for you.” A stage manager said. “I’ll be right there.” Austin nodded. “I love you, do great!” I said, blowing him a kiss. “I love you, deary!” He said in that voice again. “Go away!” I said, laughing.

I watched the screen as he performed, as Lois said how horny she is and threw her underwear on the stage. I don’t even know how I made it through this alive.

Austin ran back in the room, out of breath, after the skit. “Are you okay?” He asked, seeing my tear streaked face. “Never better, that was the funniest thing you’ve ever done.” I said. “I’m glad you liked it.” He said smiling. “Go change, I can’t take you seriously.” I said with a laugh. “Right.” He said snapping his fingers.

[ab4eva]

‘Tomorrow Will Be Too Late’

Part 4

Summary: Elvis Presley x Reader / For as long as you can remember, you’ve loved two things - Elvis Presley and time travel. After seeing the 1968 Comeback Special for the first time, you decide to try and get back to him for one incredible night, by any means necessary.

Author’s note: I’m not even sure if anyone is still interested in this story or not but the next part is finally here. It was an absolute nightmare to write, I was stuck for so long. I honestly didn’t even know if I was going to keep writing it but I surprised even myself. Very special thanks to Ally (@elvisabutler) who helped me get over the hump when I was incredibly blocked. You probably wouldn’t be reading this chapter if not for her. And my Lovely Ladies of Graceland for the encouragement, help, wisdom, friendship and motivation. The boot scene idea and one line is courtesy of the lovely Marina, so thank her for that hotness.

Warnings: NSFW - 18+ only. Language, infidelity, oral (f. receiving), boot riding (yes really), daddy kink, angst, mention of death, a scary episode that might be considered close to something like a seizure.

Word count: 7,401

TWBTL Masterlist

-

The thing no one ever mentions about time travel - in movies, in books - is just how lonely and isolating it really is. It doesn’t matter if you’re in a crowd of people, or one other person, you’re still alone. You can’t ever be your true self because who you are doesn’t exist in that world, in that particular time and place. You’ve come from your own time, where you belong, to another world entirely, where your existence is an anomaly. A disruption. Wrong. And you feel it. The wrongness of it all. It pushes on the back of your head and the sides of your temples and the backs of your knees. Almost like an invisible force is trying to knock you down. You feel off balance, as if you could fall into an abyss at any moment. It sets your teeth on edge and makes your bones ache. You didn’t think you’d feel a physical toll on your body but you do. The longer you stay, the stronger it becomes. You can no longer ignore the pull towards home, your own place in the universe.

-

The sharp ding of a text message startles you out of your reverie and you pull your eyes away from the window you’ve been staring out of. Looking down, you see it’s your mom…again. You really should give her a call but you just can’t manage to bring yourself to, not yet. You’ve been back home a week now and so far you’ve managed to shower, once. Order in groceries. Cry. Watch a little bit of TV. Cry. Stare out the window for long periods of time. Cry some more. You know your family is probably worried but you’ve been able to hold them off by telling them you’ve been sick and will call when you’re feeling up to it. You thought maybe you’d be in a little bit of a better place than you were a week ago, but no. You’re still just as destroyed as when you left 1968. When you left him. A fresh wave of tears crashes over you as you think about that last morning…

Scattered thoughts pull you from a peaceful slumber at Elvis’s side. You’re not ready to wake up, not yet, but before your eyes are even open they take hold like a wildfire burning through your brain and won’t let go. Not ready to contemplate everything but knowing you’ve already stayed here longer than you should. Your heart seizes at the thought of leaving Elvis and suddenly your body is ice, the blood running cold in your veins, and you lay there a moment, almost paralyzed. You look over at his still sleeping form and it gives you a moment to study him. Face relaxed in rest, all of the cares and worries he’s been holding onto this week have slipped away. He looks peaceful, like a little boy. No, not just any little boy, but the boy he was, the pictures you’ve seen of him from Humes Junior High School. You wonder at how this man before you can change so quickly from one thing to another, how he can hold both things in him at the same time. His face is leaner, baby fat gone from his cheeks and chin, nose ever so slightly thinner, but it’s the same face. Plush, pink lips curved gently into a smile, even now, long, dark eyelashes splayed across his cheeks, straight eyebrows framing it all. You're tempted to kiss him awake, to start a fire that can’t be quenched. But you stop yourself. If you start now, you’ll never stop. You’ll never leave. And you have to leave. It’s already breaking your heart but your time is up. You feel it in your bones, deep inside. That fragile line you followed all the way back here, to him, is now pulled taut, and it’s tugging you back, inch by inch. You think it might break if you’re not careful and then where would you be? No, you have to go. The sooner the better.

You carefully disentangle yourself from the sheets, mindful not to disturb Elvis, your eyes lingering a moment too long on his sleeping form, before you remind yourself why it is you’re leaving his bed in the first place. You’re doing it for him. You don’t belong here, in his life. You shouldn’t be here. You could fuck it all up and that terrifies you more than the thought of leaving him does. You float around the room, quiet as a mouse, retrieving the few things you have. You hope he doesn’t wake up, as painful as is it to slip away without another word. You just can’t bare the thought of looking into his eyes, hearing his voice, feeling his hands on you. Seeing him smile playfully, that pink tongue touching his top lip when he finds something amusing. Or whispering in your ear as his hand finds it’s way to your back as he leads you down the hallway. Not now, not today. It would you break you in half, and you can’t have that, not when you need every piece of you whole for what comes next. It’s better this way. This way, it’s just a fling, something passing and trivial. For him, anyway. For you it’s more than that, much more, but you can’t stop to give these thoughts any air to breathe, lest they pull you under and drown you. You dress quickly, quietly, running a comb through your hair and slipping on your shoes. Turning back around you’re nearly startled to death, jumping out of your skin as you see Elvis sitting up in bed, arms crossed, silently watching you, a look of barely contained fury on his handsome face. Shit. You stare at him, frozen in place and heart jackhammering in your chest, any words you think to utter die on your lips the longer this silent showdown continues. You open your mouth to say something, anything, to fill the void but he beats you to it.

“Save it honey,” he says through gritted teeth as he throws the covers back and stands up, long legs striding over to where you’re standing, pointing a finger in your face. “You could have told me if this was just s-s-some kind t-t-trophy for you. Something to brag about to your little friends? Who else have you f-f-fucked, huh? Mick Jagger? Robert Plant? You some s-s-sort of rock star w-w-whore?” He hurls this at you with venom, his emotions betrayed by that old stutter, intended to hurt. And it does. In more ways than one.

Your mouth drops open and you feel tears threaten your eyes. It feels as if he’s punched you in the gut, you’re so unable to breath or think beyond the pain his words have sliced through you. He’s towering over you, chest heaving, pulse beating wildly under his jaw, his silk pajama shirt open to the waist. You’re in agony, your hands itching to reach out and hold him, reassure him that he’s gotten it all wrong. You realize not only is he angry, he’s also hurt. Hurt by the fact you would just thoughtlessly walk out on him after the past two days. That you could. Your heart is already broken by the fact you have to leave him but to leave him knowing he feels more than just a fleeting passion for you is overwhelming. You shut your eyes as tears spill down your cheeks, your hands balled into fists at your side, trying to gain a bit of strength to do what must be done. You open your eyes, expecting to meet his fractured blue ones but he’s no longer standing in front of you. He’s sitting hunched over on the end of the bed, looking defeated and weary. Your heart shatters just a little bit more and despite your better judgement, you find yourself kneeling in-between his legs, an echo of last night, but this time no one’s having fun.

“Elvis,” you whisper, your hands hovering on either side of his cheeks, hesitating just a moment before taking his face in your hands, “look at me.” His eyes are downcast, refusing to meet your gaze. Stubborn, headstrong, impossible man. “I’m sorry. I…” you stop, unsure of what to say, how to make him understand all of the things you cannot say. “Listen, I thought this was just a fun little fling for you. I know…I know how these things work, I wasn’t born yesterday.” He does look up at you then, meeting your eyes briefly, a hint of embarrassment in them, before looking away again. “And - the truth is…” you swallow back the tears that are threatening to fall again. “The truth is…I like you. You have to know that, Elvis. I thought it would be easier - for me - if I just…slipped away. It’s a self-preservation thing. And I see now that I was wrong. I’m sorry. Really I am.”

He doesn’t move, doesn’t speak, just stays where he is, refusing to look at you, silent. And then the tears you were holding back start to fall, and your hands on his face feel like they’re on fire and you drop them to your lap. Suddenly, it’s all too much to bear. You are overwhelmed and exhausted by the last 48 hours - the pleasure, the pain, the disorientation, the otherness of your situation. You crumple in on yourself, curling into a ball at his feet, letting the feelings crush you as sobs wrack your body. You don’t care what Elvis thinks of you - don’t care that he might think you’re crazy or emotional or complicated. All you want right now is for the pain to stop. You wish you’d never come. Wish you’d never known how his callused hands feel on your delicate skin, the way his mouth fits perfectly on yours, like two puzzle pieces slotting together. Wish you’d never known how his voice sounds first thing in the morning, all sleepy and raspy, his southern drawl that much stronger, before he became aware of himself, before he became the Elvis everyone expected him to be. Most of all, you wish you’d never known what it feels like to be loved, even for a brief moment, by Elvis Presley. Because now you know it feels like you can breathe again, for the first time in a long time, and you don’t even know when it was that you had ever stopped. It feels like coming home.

You’re dimly aware of his hands on you, of the shushing noises he is making as he runs his hands over your body, trying to get you to calm down. If you could see his face, you’d see regret and sadness there, the fact that he is apparently the cause of all your heartache, his own feelings forgotten for the moment. It broke something in him to see you like this, ripped his insides up just a little. He’s never met anyone so emotional, so prone to tears, and rather than anger or annoy him, it makes him want to take care of you, to stop those tears and never have to see them again.

“Come on now, honey…calm down. I’m sorry, I-I-I didn’t mean what I said before, I was angry. I shouldn’t have said those things.” There’s a desperation in his voice that makes you cry harder, because it means he cares, more than you thought possible. His hands are on your shoulders and suddenly he’s lifting you onto his lap, though when he sat down on the floor you don’t know. You resist at first, pushing against his chest like a petulant child, your arms and legs resistant to his touch. But he pays you no mind as he gathers you close to him once again, as if he knows exactly what you need, even when you don’t - he rubs your back and lets you cry, just as he did the first night you spent with him. You’re too tired to fight any more and slump against him, chest slightly heaving as you stare into the distance, numb. You’re silent now, the tears still falling, soaking his silk pajama shirt, but instead of the overwhelming storm of before, these are bitter tears of grief, crying for what is already lost. For he is lost to you, one way or another. You’re clinging to a ghost, the shadow of a man long gone and you shiver even though his warmth is seeping into every inch of your body.

“There now,” Elvis murmurs, “sweet lil girl. Lovely girl.” He smooths the hair back from your forehead as he leans you back in his arms, cradling you like a baby, and shushing you like one too. Your tears have subsided and only little hiccups stir you every now and again, the room silent and you shut your eyes against the early morning sun that pours through the curtains.

“Now, lil one, you’re gonna tell me what’s going on. And why ya tried to sneak out o’ here like ya did,” he says softly, turning your chin gently so your eyes meet his. You expect to see some of the anger from before, but instead you see only concern and…deep affection. You will yourself to keep the tears down, to make it through this next part. This is the last test, the one you have to pass. You steady your voice and pull yourself up to sitting, being able to face him head on somehow makes this a little bit easier.

“I am sorry, Elvis. The truth is, I have to go home. I have a job and a life and…these past two days have been the most incredible of my life. But I can’t stay here…much as I’d like to,” you end quietly, suddenly shy. “And…you have someone waiting for you. This was never…this was never going to be anything more than what it is.” He smiles at you, sweet and sad, a sigh escaping his pink lips.

“I know, honey,” he says, the internal struggle in his mind apparent on his face. Finally he makes up his mind, saying, “But will ya come visit me at Graceland? I can make arrangements for…for us to be alone.” You feel your heart speed up at the thought once again of what you were doing. But more than that, the only thing making it’s way to your mind now is that he wants to see you again. Your heart feels as if it might float out of your chest. Can you promise him that you’ll see him at Graceland? No, of course not. It didn’t work like that. You aren’t even sure if you can travel again. And if you can, what affect would it have you? On Elvis? But the pull is too strong - blue eyes pleading with you, begging you to say yes. How are you supposed to deny Elvis Presley anything?

“OK,” you breathe, unable to contain the smile spreading across your face.

“Yeah?” He’s looking at you like it’s Christmas morning and you’re just the thing he’s always wanted, his face all lit up and hopeful.

“Yeah,” you whisper, pulling his mouth down to yours, kissing him, hard. Like you’re trying to imprint the memory of his lips onto yours. Like you’re trying to melt yourself into him, so that you can stay with him forever. Like you’re trying to impress upon him the memory of you, so that in his weaker moments, his loneliness, he remembers you.

-

You had told Elvis you’d see him at Graceland in two weeks. The hardest part was convincing him that you wouldn’t have access to a phone for those two weeks. In the end, you made up some story about having to go overseas for work and wouldn’t be able to call long distance. He seemed slightly dubious but accepted it, as long as you promised to take the number to Graceland in case you needed anything. That was a week ago, one more left to go. You spend every waking moment, every sleeping one too, obsessed with the thought of going back. Worried it won’t work, worried you’ll never see him again. And when you’ve worried enough, that’s when the tears come. But you’ve only got a week left until you try and create lightning in a bottle for the second time, which means it’s time to get to work. You read up on any new information or theories that have popped up in the past few days. You type out your experience, all the details, everything you remember from you trip and save it to a Word document on your laptop labeled “Bill S. Preston, Esq.” You’re still able to make corny jokes, that had to be a good sign. You connected with your family, finally, who all agreed that you looked rather weak and pale after being sick. If they only knew. Your sister was the only one who was in on the secret and she fussed accordingly over you and made you promise to be careful, take every precaution. You promised. She could see the light in your eyes that had never been there before, and feel the lightness of your spirit, which she hadn’t seen in you for quite sometime. How could she be anything but happy for you when it made you this alive.

This time you drive yourself to Memphis, it’s only a few hours away, and you figure time in the car to think will do you good. It gives you time to run through the plan again, to run through every scenario you can think of, troubleshooting in your mind as you go. You’re as prepared as you’ll ever be by the time you reach your hotel, planning on getting a good nights rest before your first attempt tomorrow. This time you’ve packed a vintage suitcase with clothes, pajamas, money…whatever you might need for a few days. He asked you to come for the week and while it excites you, it also fills you with a bit of dread. You haven’t stayed in the past that long before, you aren't sure what might happen. But it’s a risk you’re willing to take, foolish as it may be. The way you feel right now has you floating on air, possible consequences be damned. If everything goes as planned, by this time tomorrow you’ll be back in Elvis’s arms.

-

The few times you’ve been to Graceland flash through your mind as your car pulls up outside the mansion. The most intense feeling of deja vu courses through you and you shudder. You’ve been here before…but not…you remember all the tours you took of the house - this house. But that’s not what’s giving you the feeling of deja vu. It’s like you’re remembering something that hasn’t happened yet. You distinctly remember pulling up the driveway in a car like this and stopping here, in front of the steps, just as you are now. But that’s impossible. You’ve never been to the mansion in a car before, only the shuttle bus that takes you from the main entrance annex at the Graceland compound, across Elvis Presley Boulevard, through the graffitied gates of Graceland and up the hill to the mansion. Your mind must be playing tricks on you, your brain a little scrambled from the back and forth between past and present. Before you can ruminate on it any further your eyes are drawn to the front door and you see something you’ve only dreamed about. Elvis Presley, opening wide the door of Graceland, a cheeky grin lighting up his handsome face as he saunters down the front steps to greet you. You’re so entranced by the image it’s almost as if you’re watching an old home movie taken by someone else, something you’ve seen a hundred times. You don’t realize you’re just sitting there, staring at him through the window, until he tries to open your door and it’s locked. He shakes his head with a smirk and taps on the window.

“I thought you weren’t gonna lock me out anymore, little girl. You’re not tryin’ to brat up on me again so soon, are ya?” The playfulness sparkles in his eyes and his smirk tells you he remembers quite vividly the last time you tried to lock him out of somewhere he wanted to be. Your face flushes at the memory and you see him notice, giving you a look so full of promise and desire it takes your breath away.

“I don’t know, maybe I am. What are you gonna do about it?” you say with a smile, opening the car door and stepping out as you eye each other timidly. It’s only been two weeks but in some ways it feels like an eternity since you last saw him. Then suddenly he’s pulling you into his arms and crushing you in a bear hug, squeezing so tightly you’re having trouble catching a breath. Your not complaining and hug him back almost as hard, earning a satisfied grunt from him. A Tracy Chapman lyric hovers in your thoughts, “It would feel so good to be, in your arms, where all my journeys end.” That isn’t right, can’t be right…he isn’t your destiny. This isn’t where your journey ends…it’s just one part of it. He has his life…had his life, you correct yourself, and not for the first time you feel a chill settle on your shoulders as you look into the eyes of a man gone from this world for almost fifty years. But he isn’t gone…not yet. He’s here, right now, flesh and blood - alive.

“Whadya think of it, Queenie?” he asks as he takes your hand and pulls you up the front steps, the pride apparent in his voice, his face beaming. You’re too charmed for a moment to register what he said until your brain catches up.

“Queenie?” you question as you draw your eyebrows together and give him a puzzling look. He stares at you expectantly and dips his head like a little kid, almost bashful. “Queenie,” you say again slowly, trying it out, seeing how it sounds on your tongue, rolling through your head, landing somewhere near your heart. A smile spreads across your face and something fragile perches in your soul. He named you. Claimed you as his own.

“Everyone insists on calling me the King…figure I should have a Queen.” He flashes that famous lopsided grin before gathering you in his arms and nuzzling his nose into your neck at the ticklish spot just below your ear and your shoulder lifts automatically in response as he plants soft kisses there, his lips dragging across the the sensitive flesh, his tongue darting out every now and again for a taste, making you shiver. You’re still planted firmly on the front porch of Graceland for all the world to see. You manage to reluctantly pull away, suddenly terrified someone will see the two of you.

“Show me the rest of it…please?” you say, like you haven’t already been inside his house many times, like you don’t remember exactly where each room is, like all of the little factoids you’ve ever heard aren’t running circles in your head. He’s pulling you inside by the hand and as soon as the front door is shut his arms are around your waist and his lips are crashing into yours with a desperation so fierce it engulfs you like a wildfire in mere seconds. He walks you backwards towards the staircase, never breaking the kiss, his hands in your hair, on your hips, fingertips brushing the bare skin of your thighs as he inches your skirt higher and higher. Your heel hits the bottom stair and you stumble a little and giggle into his mouth, your arms instinctively circling his neck to steady yourself as Elvis gently lowers you back onto the stairs. You barely realize what’s happening as he drops to his knees before you and pushes your skirt up to your waist, tugging your baby pink cotton panties down and off with a gentle force that has you grabbing onto the wooden stair rail to keep yourself from sliding off the stairs entirely. You gasp at the unexpected exposure and immediately close your legs and sit up. “Elvis!” you whisper, your heart banging in your chest and a deep blush staining your cheeks.

“Shh, baby, relax. Let me take care of you. Been thinkin’ ‘bout this for two long weeks.” He kisses you, almost chastely, and places a hand on your shoulder, firmly but slowly pushing you back down. Your eyes come to rest on the crystal chandelier sparkling above as you inhale a shaky breath, trying to steady your pounding heart. You jump as his cool hands grasp your knees to try and pry your legs apart and you shoot up again, quick as anything. He chuckles and shakes his head. “You sure are a skittish lil thing…I told you before honey, relax. Nothin’ to be scared of, let Daddy take care of ya. Be a good little girl for me, now.”

You watch as he places a kiss on each knee, his navy eyes never leaving yours. You’re fascinated by the way his pink lips look on your ivory skin as he peppers your legs with kisses, lightly squeezing your calves and you sigh deeply, sinking back to the carpet. You open your legs a little more, granting him access to your thighs as he continues his delicate assault upwards towards your core. Lifting one of your legs and placing it on his shoulder, his other hand strokes your mound before he spreads your lips gently and lowers his head, his breath hot on your sensitive flesh. He flattens his tongue and begins to lick long, slow stripes up your wet heat. A whine leaves your lips unbidden and you arch your back up and into him. His lips close over your sensitive bud as he begins to suck, his tongue massaging at the same time. You’re breath comes out in shallow gasps, and you’re grasping at anything you can to anchor you - one hand gripping the stair rail, the other finding it’s way to Elvis’s dark locks.

Two of his long, nimble fingers slip inside you and he fucks you with them, agonizingly slow, his tongue rubbing circles around your clit. The carpet underneath begins to burn your bare backside from the friction, but it only adds pleasure to your destruction. Your hands instinctively move to your breasts, teasing your peaked nipples through your dress. He can feel you trembling, hear your high-pitched keening and when he curls his fingers up to hit that spot and hums against your skin, you finally break, clenching fiercely as his name leaves your lips over and over again in a choked breath. Your thighs clamp around his head as you ride out your high, his arm around your thigh the only thing anchoring you now. The chandelier above your head swims into view as you open your eyes, trying to catch your breath. Elvis is practically laying on you now as he looks up at you, chin resting on your stomach - your hands tangle in his hair and he beams a self-satisfied little smile at you.

“Now that wasn’t so bad, was it honey?” he teases, blue eyes sparkling. “I love watching ya fall apart because of me, ‘cause of the things I’m doin’ to ya.” It’s too much, the way he’s looking at you, the things he’s saying - the things he just did. You cover your face with your hands, embarrassed, but he reaches up, moving them away and making you look at him. “I like knowing I took care of my baby, ain’t nothin to be shy about.” He rubs his thumb across your lips and you see a smile tug at the side of his mouth, a private joke only he knows the punchline to.

“Elvis…that was…” you’re at a loss for words, truly. This wasn’t what you had expected your first moments in Graceland to be like. “Thank you,” you say simply, the only thing that comes to your jumbled mind. He helps you up, helps you put yourself back together, helps you smooth your dress down. A private tour of Graceland by Elvis Presley himself was not something that has ever crossed your mind. So to find yourself here now, in the Jungle Room, with him was…surreal. The two of you passed the afternoon quite happily, exploring the grounds and just catching up, talking about one thing or another. Thankfully, Elvis had arranged for the both of you to use a friend’s house while you were in town, a cozy little bungalow he had bought for a member of his Memphis Mafia and who he had promptly kicked out for the week, sending the poor fellow off to Los Angeles in exchange. Secretly, you were glad. You wouldn’t have wanted to share Elvis’s bedroom at Graceland, and being the southern gentleman he was, he wouldn’t have wanted that either.

-

Elvis appears in the mirror behind you, and you have to stop yourself from gasping at how handsome he looks, how the very sight of him sends a well of desire bubbling up from deep within and threatens to overflow and choke you. You have to have him - now. This is the most inconvenient time. He’s on his way to a dinner with the heads of Memphis society, local government officials and various charity organizations. A dinner you’re not invited to, which means you’ll be spending your first evening back with him alone. A prospect you’re not too thrilled about, but he could make it better, leave you sated and satisfied instead of desperate and wanting.

“I need you, E,” you whine, the breathlessness of your voice surprising even you.

Elvis chuckles with amusement as you watch him drift closer and closer in the mirror. “I can see that, Queenie. You’re just gonna have to wait til I get home. Can’t have me turnin up in polite society all disheveled now, can we? Despite what we get up to when we’re alone, I am a respectable man.” The way he’s looking at you begs to differ, like he could devour you whole right this minute, the hunger in his eyes matching your own. His big, warm hands find their way to your bare shoulders and slip underneath the thin straps of your vintage nightgown. His thumbs rub slow circles in the dimples of your shoulders and your breathing slows and grows shallow. One of his hands slips beneath the neck of your nightgown, over your heart and into your bra. He pinches your nipple slowly, rolling it back and forth between his fingers. Gasping, your head falls back against his stomach and you reach a hand behind you to grab his thigh. He leans down and kisses your neck, sending shivers down your spine. The ring of the telephone jolts you both out of your reverie and he reluctantly releases you, with a final pinch to your nipple, to answer it. You follow after him, wrapping your arms around him from behind, loathe to be parted from him for even a few seconds. You can feel the same needy possessiveness creeping up, the feeling you had two weeks ago that led to you being bent over his leather-clad knee, getting the hell spanked out of you. You stand up on your tippy toes so you can reach his cheek, stroking his sideburn with your finger and tickling. He playfully ducks his head to try and dislodge you, tries to walk away, but you’re stuck to him like glue, moving in tandem wherever he goes.

“The car’ll be here in ten minutes, baby,” he says, hanging up the phone. “I gotta finish getting ready, can’t be late to this thing.” He gently but firmly disentangles you from him, sitting you on the bed where you cross your arms and glare at him while he finishes combing his hair.

“Don’t gimme that look, Queenie. I- you know I can’t take care of you right now. I would if I could but I can’t.” If looks could kill, he’d be a dead man just from the stare you're giving him from your perch on the bed. “Lord, woman, you're insatiable. Didn’t I just have you on the stairs this afternoon at my own damn house?” He shakes his head, amused and aroused and…proud. Your eyes travel down his body - the man is a vision in black: high-collared black shirt open at the neck just a respectable bit, fitted black pants hugging all the right places, right down to his smooth and shiny black Chelsea boots. Those boots are…hot. You remember seeing ones just like them, on display at Graceland. And the way he wears them…fucking hot.

“I could…polish your boots for you, Daddy. Make ‘em real shiny.” Your breathless words shock even you. “Every time you look down at ‘em tonight you’ll think of me and how you’re itchin’ to get back home to me. How I’ll be here on this bed, waiting for you to come and fill me up.” You drop to your knees in front of him, running your hands up and down his legs, thighs to boots and back again. You notice his pants are a little tighter then before in the crotch and you can see the outline of his hardening cock through the material. He’s never heard you talk like this, never heard you be so bold. He clenches his fists, you see his throat working and he grits his teeth, staring at the ceiling. You think you hear him mutter, “Lord, give me strength,” before he gently pulls you up by the shoulders and leads you to the bed. He sits on the edge and crosses one leg over the other as you quickly shuck your panties and sink to your knees again, straddling his foot. The smooth, cool leather of the boot on your already soaking heat is a new sensation. You move experimentally, one hand on his knee, the other on the bed beside him. It’s smooth, the usual kind of friction is absent and in its place a slick, burning heat. The more you move, the hotter the leather becomes.

“Go on, ride my boot honey, polish it on up,” he manages a shocked laugh, surprised by the turn of events but who is he to judge? You give him a withering look and he stops laughing once he sees the concentration on your face. He flex’s his foot up and down by the ankle, changing up your rhythm, bouncing you slightly. The movement jolts you a little and your grab onto his thighs to steady yourself. It hits a different spot, the pressure building, the burning sensation a mix of pleasure and pain. You’re holding on to his thighs now, looking up at him, desperate and so very close to the edge. He takes your chin between his thumb and forefinger and whispers filthy sweet words and praise to you.

“That’s my good little girl, doing so good polishing Daddy’s boots. Makin’ ‘em so shiny for me. My little one who can’t even wait three hours for me, gotta have me right now, any part she can get her hands on. Goddamn, I love you, honey.” You both freeze as your breath catches in your throat and you stare at him, the blood rushing in your ears, drowning out all other sound for a moment. You’re shocked, utterly and completely. Did he just….did he just say he loves you? Before you can respond he says it again.

“I love you. I know that’s crazy,” he whispers, brow furrowed and eyes piercing yours. “I know we haven’t known each other very long at all. I can’t explain it but…I feel as if I’ve loved you for a long, long time.” You don’t realize you’re crying until he gently wipes the tears from your cheeks with his thumb. He looks scared and nervous, like a little boy again. You lean up and kiss him - you can’t stop kissing him, breathing “I love you” in between each one, like a poem that only has three words. He flex’s his foot again, reminding you just how close you are to a sweet release. Slowly you drag your core up and down the slick top of his boot, your forehead pressed to his as you come, as he murmurs his love to you, over and over again.

—

While Elvis is at dinner you figure you might as well unpack a few things from your suitcase, no use in living out of it for the week if you didn’t have to. You take out another nightgown and place it in a dresser drawer in the guest room before removing a couple of dresses as well, shaking them out, trying to release some of the wrinkles that have settled in. Something white slips out from the folds and floats to the floor. You pick it up, turn it over. A receipt, from the vintage store where you acquired most of the things you brought with you. Your eyes run over the information before landing on the date of purchase - 07/07/2022. Suddenly the lights in the room start to flicker, off and on. Off and on. Your head feels heavy and as you fall you think, Is this what it feels like to die?

Your entire body is an earthquake. Something out of your control is happening, a frenetic vibrating that started in your core and is now radiating outwards. The adrenaline pumping through your veins is almost too much for your body to handle, your heart is beating out of sync and entirely too fast. Am I having a seizure, you wonder dimly, frozen where you lay, unable to move, your eyes refusing to open. If you could scream, you would, but you’re paralyzed, helpless to stop wave after wave crashing through your body. There’s a lightness in your head that’s clouding everything, scattering every thought, making it all hazy. It’s filling you up, every fiber, every cell, you’re more scared than you’ve ever been in your entire life. After what seems like an eternity, your body slowly comes down from the high and you stop shaking, eyes fluttering open, wiggling your fingers just to make sure you can move them.

You open your eyes to pale morning light and a cotton candy pink sky. The dewy warmth of the ground is already seeping into your clothes - your nightgown. How did you get outside? The last thing you remember is unpacking your clothes in the house you were staying in with Elvis. You feel…strange and weak. You lie there another couple of minutes, breathing and getting your bearings. The birds are chirping in the trees nearby and you can see some swooping and diving overhead as more light slowly fills the sky. You sit up shakily, and finally stand on unsteady feet. Like a punch to the gut, you realize that you’ve just been pulled away, unexpectedly, back to your own timeline. Away from Elvis, just when…oh god. Just when things were moving in a direction you hadn’t anticipated. He loves you. You double over in pain, almost falling to your knees again. You’ve got to get back to him, as soon as possible.

You walk through the trees, vision blurry from the tears you can’t seem to stop, unsure which direction you’re heading or where you even are but you can see fences in the distance, and horses. This looks like - are you at Graceland? How on earth did you end up here? You’re worried someone from the staff will see, worried you’ll get into trouble. You doubt they’ll take very kindly to a nightgown-clad woman wandering the private grounds in the early morning hours. You walk cautiously into the pasture where you see a lone figure standing at the fence, his back to you. Elvis. Oh…oh thank god. Thank heavens. Thank your lucky stars. You hadn’t gone anywhere, you’re still here. You feel as if you might sob uncontrollably but you hold it together as you break into a run, eager to explain, to tell him why you’d just disappeared like that, as if into thin air. He was so angry last time at the thought of you sneaking away, you’re unsure how he’ll react. The closer to him you get the more you slow your pace, catching your breath, preparing to beg, to plead, to do anything you can to make him understand you hadn’t wanted to leave him, hadn’t had a choice. Hell, maybe you’ll tell him the truth, let the chips fall where they may. What have you got to lose - it’s now or never, you won’t get another chance. Not with Elvis. Not after this. Almost there now, you’re so close, the peachy-pink early morning light envelopes his form and gives him an ethereal glow.

“Elvis.” Your voice is barely a whisper - a prayer, a plea, a vow. Your hand is reaching out for him, you can almost touch his white shirt, and he startles and turns around, spooked. You’ve scared him. You didn’t mean to. His face is pale and drawn, dark circles smudge the underneath of his eyes. The smile dies on your lips, you gasp and whip your hand back as if it’s been burned. Your mind struggles to keep up with what your eyes are seeing as they dart over his face, his body, taking in every detail, every nuance. Something isn’t right. His hair is shorter and his face…his face is full of promise and grief - so much sadness in his eyes. Tears stain his cheeks and he swipes at them hurriedly with the back of his hand, embarrassed, and gives you a wary look. You expect to see something in his face - happiness, surprise, anger…but…he doesn’t recognize you at all. That much is painfully clear. Your heart is beating too quickly, you can’t breathe. If you could only breathe a little easier. You sway a little, unsteady on your feet. His eyes are running over you, assessing you, assessing the situation. He reaches out a hand to steady you but you stumble backwards as tears sting your eyes. This isn’t your Elvis, the Elvis you left. The one standing before you is younger and beautiful, all chiseled features and swooping hair, lush full lips and smooth face. His clothes - his clothes are all wrong. Your eyes travel upwards as you take him in fully for the first time - white shoes on green grass, loose white slacks hang invitingly on his hips and a ruffled white shirt hugs his torso, short-sleeves exposing tan arms. You know this Elvis. Have seen those awful, heartbreaking photos of him and his father on the front steps of Graceland.

Just after his mother died…in 1958.

Oh. Oh no. This…this wasn’t happening. It couldn’t be happening. Your breath leaves you altogether as you feel yourself start to spiral, darkness filling the edges of your vision. You remember the last time this happened, not so long ago, after meeting Elvis for the first time in 1968. You tilt backwards, sitting down hard just as he grabs your arms to break your fall. A wail leaves your lips as you realize you’ve lost your Elvis. If you’re here, in 1958, you don’t know if you’ll ever get back to him. Don’t know if you’ll ever get back home even. This Elvis is kneeling next to you, his mouth is moving but no words are coming out…and his eyes. Same shape, same vibrant blue color, same long eyelashes framing it all - but they’re no longer filled with love and longing and desire. Only grief and mild concern. As if of it’s own accord, your hand reaches out and gently cups his face, stroking his cheek, wanting to comfort him, knowing the pain he is in. Then the darkness engulfs you and you remember no more.

-

Tags: @meladollsims @godlypresley @jelliedonut @butlersxbirdy @precious-little-scoundrel @eliseinmemphis @powerofelvis

[iloveaustinelvisandmannymore]

Hey guys!!

So im finally feel a little motivated to write so im gonna tey to finish some requests and here's a teaser for one

Deal

Pairing: Austin!Elvis x reader

Summary: life was looking up, your brother and you lived in a big house, no longer striving for food but it was beginning to come with a cost.

Preview

a pair of expensive shades over his eyes stepped out followed by a man with blue eyes and Shaggy dirty blonde hair, Mister purple looked at you for a second before walking to the exit, Mister Shaggy blonde behind him, for a moment you watched the men leave then rushed into your brother's room

[pinkcaddyconfessions]

Anything for You, Darlin

- - -

Pairing: Elvis Presley x Reader (can be Austin!Elvis if you prefer)

Word Count: 1, 415 words

Warnings: Language, Fluff (let me know if I miss anything)

Author’s Note: Happy Sunday everyone! The playlist for the series is coming along great! With the holiday seasons coming up, I may slow down on writing just a little bit.

@mslizziesblog

- - -

Chapter 16

December 24, 1977- 7AM

All was calm in the Presley household. Elvis’ tour wrapped up a few days before so you all could be home for the holidays. You and Elvis were wrapped in each other’s arms while sleeping when the early morning sunrise started to become visible in the windows. You started stirring before Elvis did. He looked like a small child when he slept. You brushed his jet black hair away from his face so you could kiss him on the forehead. His eyes slowly began to open to look at you. Even half asleep, this icy blue eyes melted your heart.

“Morning Satnin. How did my baby doll sleep last night?”

“Good when i wasn’t up with Kennedy. Tonight is your night.”

Elvis chuckled to himself. Most men would whine about getting up with their babies, but not Elvis. He loved being up with his babies. You got up and stretched and Elvis decided that would be the perfect time to tickle you. He knew every ticklish spot of your body and exploited it. Your laughs quickly filled the bedroom which Elvis enjoyed. Your laughter was so contagious that he started laughing. The laughter continued until both of you heard Kennedy crying from the nursery. Elvis immediately jumped up to go get her for you. You could hear him talking to her in the nursery.

“Good morning Kennedy Grace. How’s my little baby girl doing this morning?” You heard her cries temporarily stop and then start up again. “Now lil one there’s no need for all of this fussing. I’m taking you to your mama now.” You giggled at the way your baby daughter was almost sassing her father. You should have known that happen with her being the daughter of you and Elvis Presley. Elvis walked in holding Kennedy with his signature smile on his face. He kept walking to you as he was talking to her. “See Kennedy, I’m taking you to your mommy now.” Elvis gently placed her in your arms and the crying ceased. You looked down at your smallest child who was your twin all the way down to her little nose. Her eyes gazed upward to meet your eyes. This was one of those moments where Kennedy needed nothing more than her mama’s touch to soothe her.

“(Y/N) she definitely is a mama’s girl,” Elvis remarked to you. He was definitely right. This little girl had you and Elvis wrapped around her little finger and followed your every move with her little eyes.

“Elvis, we gotta get ready for Mallory’s birthday party. It’s today you know.”

“I know baby.” Elvis began sat down next to you and Kennedy. “It’s hard to believe that she’s already ten. It seems like yesterday she was Kennedy’s size.” You could see the tears in your husband’s eyes begin to form. You knew he was always sentimental about his children so this wasn’t a surprise. You just didn’t expect it to affect him this much.

“Aw Elvis, baby I love you so much. I know I picked the right man to be the father of my children.” You planted kisses on his forehead, cheeks and then his lips. His lips turned upward into his signature smile. His blue eyes sparkled as he gently cupped your face in his hands and kissed your temple. “Come on now baby, let’s get ready before the kids tear the house down.” You had to giggle at this remark. The two of you put Kennedy in the nursery for her first nap of the day, then it was off to getting ready for Mallory’s birthday party.

Elvis always went all out for birthdays and holidays. Especially for Christmas. That’s what made Mallory’s birthday all so special for both of you. The decorating didn’t take long despite the fact that you’re a perfectionist and Elvis is just there trying to help in whatever ways he could. Everything was worth it in the end though. The party went off without a hitch and Elvis spoiled Mallory like there was no tomorrow. Graceland was filled with laughter, love, family and of course, sugar for the kids. Most of the time, Elvis was keeping up with the kids proving that he was still a kid at heart.

After everyone left and the house was cleaned, you and Elvis got the kids ready for Christmas Eve night. Elvis thought he went all out for Christmas before he met you, but after you waltzed into his life, he went the whole nine yards with Christmas. The number of lights increased, the decorating started sooner and so much more including the matching pajamas on

Christmas Eve night. This man would do anything in world to make you smile and you loved that about him. The kids, of course, didn’t want to sleep because they were worried that they would miss Santa Claus. Both of you reassured that he was on his way before Elvis read them “The Night Before Christmas.” By the time Elvis got to the end of the story, Elvis Jr and John were fast asleep in your arms while Mallory was still wide awake in her daddy’s lap. Kennedy was upstairs in the nursery sleeping away. Elvis took the boys upstairs to tuck them into bed for the night. When he came back down, he found Mallory curled up in your lap, still awake but in awe of her mother. He came to sit down next to you and Mallory and she looked at him with her sweet baby blue eyes that she got from her daddy.

“Daddy, do you remember the day I was born?”

“Mallory, how could I ever forget that day? It was one of the best days of my life.”

“What can you tell me about me about then?” She looked at him all doe eyed, no question she learned that from you, her mother. Elvis remembered the birth of all four of his babies like the back of his hand, but he also didn’t want to traumatize Mallory with certain aspects of her birth since she was still just a child.

“Well at first it was nerve racking for me. There was so much unknown to us. We didn’t know anything about being parents or who you were gonna be. Your mama handled everything like the champion she is, with bravery and grace.” You saw the look in his blue eyes as he recalled one of the best days of his life. It was one of joy. “Let me tell you though Mallory, when we heard your cries, all of my worries and fears washed away. Your mama and I loved you so much before you were even born, but that love multiplied when we saw you for the very first time.”

“Elvis, let’s not forget that you were scared that you were gonna break Mallory when I placed her in your arms for the first time.”

“Well Satnin can you blame me? I was awe of our little girl here. I couldn’t believe I was actually holding an actual baby angel in my arms.”

“No I can’t blame you there E.P.” You looked at Mallory to find her curling up in your lap, starting to doze off into sleep. “Look at her babe. She’s so precious. Let’s get her up to bed Elvis.” Elvis carefully scooped up Mallory into his arms. His first little baby girl was growing up, but for this moment she was a little baby all over again. When Elvis got Mallory upstairs, he took her into her bedroom and tucked her into bed. He gently brushed her blonde hair away from her little face. Elvis gently placed kisses on her hairline and forehead and he whispered good night to his first little baby girl. His sweet little Mallory Love Presley. The child that thought him how to be a daddy. He loved that little girl and all of his babies more than life itself.

After wishing Mallory good night, he went back downstairs to find you, sleeping on the couch wrapped up in one of the blankets. He chuckled to himself and carefully picked you up bridal style. Your (Y/HC) hair gracefully fell away from your face to reveal a little smile. Elvis carried you up the stairs and tucked you into bed with him. He held you close to him as he drifted off into sleep. Before long, not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse.

[therealslimshakespeare]

🪺 Crawfever Masterlist

Summary: I adore the notion that Elvis Freakin’ Presley himself might have shown up at your doorstep to fix your electrical problems in the early 50’s. The concept that all that untapped charisma and talent and beauty could be found just going about his business, helping housewives with their glitches…well, this came out of the imagining of what one such call might look like. And if it devolved into poorly written Southern Gothic literature, blame Eudora Welty. 🥰. Also, A Streetcar Named Desire may have influenced my artistic choice of copious descriptions of a sticky southern summer and the feelings they can provoke. If you’ve found yourself wanting baby Elvis with a milf, I’ve got you covered. This hasn’t been proofread by any eyes except my own exhausted ones. Cheers.

-An Electrician Named Elvis

-A Couple’ve Hot Summers

-Intermediate 3

-Intermediate 4

[ooihcnoiwlerh]

Chapters: 10/? Fandom: Elvis (Movie 2022) Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Elvis Presley/You Characters: Elvis Presley, Jerry Schilling, Priscilla Presley Additional Tags: Not RPF, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Slow Burn, Friends to Lovers, Co-Workers to Friends to Lovers, Period Typical Attitudes, Period-Typical Sexism, workplace sexism, Workplace Relationship, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, Single Parents, Widowed Reader, single parent reader, workaholic single parent meets same, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, Mentions of Drunk Driving, none of this is based in reality, dates and timelines have been altered, Austin!Elvis, movie!Elvis, the long slow climb to redemption, Parental Guilt, Sexual Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension, for now anyway, Denial of Feelings, Self-Denial, slightly codependent relationships, repressed Mommy issues, Wet Dream, Masturbation, Resolved Sexual Tension, Office Sex, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex Series: Part 1 of Austin!Elvis and Manager!Reader Summary:

Elvis Presley just won an exhausting legal battle against Tom Parker and needs a new manager. That's where you come in.

Chapter Summary:  What happens when the tension between a man in his late thirties with a high sex drive and a sexually frustrated woman in her early thirties reaches a boiling point? This chapter.

So...yeah.  Spoilers in the tags and summary.  Bon Appetit?

[elvisabutler]

show off

fandom: elvis 2022 | elvis presley rating: m pairing: elvis presley ( big daddy flavor ) x female reader word count: 2100 you didn't see any other word count. warnings: cockwarming! p in v sex ( unprotected ). public play. mildly excessive baby talk. use of buntyn and nungen and princess as nicknames. mild embarrassment kink? author’s note: welcome to day 11 of ally’s wet hot smut summer, public play with big daddy elvis presley x reader. sorry this took a minute, i've been incredibly exhausted lately and so it's made finishing things a bit of an adventure. quick notes for this fic, this is a sort of au, in that i placed it in a mythical place where elvis doesn't die in 77 and is free of his vegas residency in the 70s. so maybe call it a nebulous 78 to 80? reader is implied to have been with him for years and you can read it as having an age difference but it's in my head as not having one. basically this is secretly a reader version of quiet on the set's future and i'm not sorry for it. beyond that if y'all have left me a comment on any of my fics or anything i'm going to get back to them. when i tell you i've been exhausted it's been a lot. without further ado, i hope y'all like this. also pick if you want austin elvis or real elvis the end.

There's something funny about how Elvis would prefer the two of you to be private. There is something truly and genuinely hilarious to you about the fact that he preferred the two of you to be private. His argument has always been that the happiest he ever is in his life is during those private moments with the people he loves. You always argue that he can't show you off like you know he wants to if you're being private and yet he'll flash that little twinkle in his eye and ignore your protests. So much of his life isn't private but the love he has for you— the love between the two of you is supposed to be private. An oasis for him to relax in as much as he does in Hawai‘i.

Despite all of this you know so very well how much he cares for you and how much he loves you. And if you were being entirely honest, the privacy makes the times he does want to show you off all the more special. Indeed it makes the times he does feel like delightful surprises.

Maybe that's why you had agreed to come play poker with him and the boys. It's been a long time since you've enjoyed that sort of thing and you've missed it. Truthfully it's been a while since Elvis has even been in Vegas, memories of how he almost was stuck in a revolving door of engagements here cluttering his mind and giving him a nightmare or two. So having him enjoying time with friends and you seems like a perfect recipe for a night. Of course, you should know better by now, know how Elvis always has something up his sleeve. A playful little trick he can play with that glint in his eye.

"Where's my chair, Mr. Presley?" You ask, not bothering with his nickname or his first name. There always was something fun about how he acted a bit like an admonished schoolboy when you called him Mr. Presley. "Can't very well play poker if I don't have a chair."

Elvis looks at you and gives you that sly smile you know so very well by now as he pats his lap, thigh jiggling just a tad as he does. There's that glint in his eyes that spells trouble of the best and worst kind. "Ya got a chair right here, Princess. Nice 'n plush too."

You'd think after all these years and after seeing his body through so many changes that you wouldn't be affected by the jiggle of his thigh and the open v of his legs. Yet, you're a woman who knows what she wants and you're the woman he put a ring on all those years ago. Most of the things he does get you more hot under the collar than they have any right to. This is one of those things. You feel your pussy clench around nothing and despite yourself you rub your thighs together even as you're standing.

"Are we playing as a team, then? Us against the boys?" The questions roll off your lips with an ease and familiarity only you manage when it comes to him. "Otherwise I think you'd be able to cheat."

As you speak, you've started to walk closer to him and finally find yourself at arm's length. Elvis wastes no time in grabbing your arm and pulling you flush against his lap, his thighs cushioning your behind and his cock stirring ever so slightly under his stomach. A gasp leaves your lips unexpectedly.

His arm wraps around your waist, making sure you don't move too much while he talks. "My wife accusin' me of cheatin' at cards. I could take ya thinkin' I'd step out on ya but I would never cheat at poker."

The soft rumble of a laugh courses through your body and has you following suit as you shift in his lap. "I let you step out and you let me as a present. But I know you're a sore loser who can't focus when I'm here."

You turn your head just slightly, watching as Elvis's eyes practically dance with mirth. He's mercurial as all get out when he wants to be but he can take some good-natured teasing when it comes from you. It's why you've worked well all these years.

"Now honey, my yittle nungen, I know you're still smartin' from that game ya lost against me 'bout a week ago but that ain't no reason to be tellin' lies about my sportsmanship."

A defense is on the tip of your tongue when you feel Elvis's warm hand against your thigh, slipping under your dress that you decided to wear today. That warmth does away with the words in such a quick fashion that you find yourself biting your lip to keep from sighing. "Elvis."

You say his name in a feather soft whisper as his friends start to trickle into the room. You've been in a situation like this before, when you were younger and somehow just as randy as you were now but Elvis hadn't done something like this in ages. He hadn't even thought to tease you like this in ages.

As if he isn't paying attention, he merely hums at your whisper of his name and uses his arm to maneuver your crotch against his cock, the flowing fabric of your dress hiding his actions from prying eyes. You don't know when or how he managed to free his cock from the confines of his pants and yet he has. That hand that innocently is burning against your thigh has crept up to your panties and with the ease of someone who knows your body like the back of their hand, he moves them just enough to the side to slide inside of you.

"Goddamn. Didn't expect ya to be so wet. Was hopin' but— Lord almighty, ya gonna stain my pants if ya move." Ironically you choose just that moment to move, attempting to get off of him for a moment before his grip on your waist stops you. "Nungen, you be a good girl for yer Buntyn and stay put. Can't have 'em seein' Lil Elvis, now can we?"

You feel the heat of mild embarrassment and excitement flush through your body as a shiver racks it. A shake of your head is the only answer you can manage for a moment. "You want me to sit like this for the whole game, baby?"

Elvis nuzzles his lips against your neck, his eyes taking in his friends pulling out their seats and sitting down, none the wiser to what was happening in his lap. They wave at you and you, ever the courteous host wave back and even smile, saying hello as Elvis mumbles words into your neck. He doesn't need to greet everyone, not while he's buried inside of you, his cock leaking precum like he's ready to fuck you on the table instead of just letting you sit on his cock. Besides, they know better than to disturb him when the two of you are wrapped up in one another.

The chair isn't close enough to the table and you move to drag it a little closer, or drag both you and Elvis a little closer only to have what feels like the world's loudest squelch come from between your thighs. No one looks at the pair of you as if they heard it but to Elvis and you it might as well have been a shout. You let out a shaky breath as you shift to try and make yourself comfortable. Elvis's legs open up just a bit more to make sure you're where you need to be, even as he thrusts just a tad. "Gotta stay still. Gonna, if ya move— I might just take ya on this table, damn the game."

You can't help but swallow at the idea, your mouth filling with saliva at the mere idea of being flipped thrown onto the table, pussy exposed to people you and him call friends. It's primal and practically voyeuristic and the sort of thing both you and Elvis aren't incredibly fond of with your relationship and yet. Yet it fills you with such arousal you feel it actually dampening his pants as the game starts.

Elvis isn't the worst of poker players but in combination with you, he's nigh unstoppable. Of course, maybe that's because everyone else's eyes are on you, wondering why you haven't moved to the empty chair next to Elvis. Jerry— who's there on a surprise visit is closest to the two of you and raises an eyebrow as he looks at his cards and then at you. You clench around Elvis's cock in a bit of worry.

"Is it a little warm in here?" A simple question to everyone but from the way he's staring both of you down it's not meant to be one. Both you and Elvis open your mouth before you kiss Elvis to stop whatever one liner is about to leave his lips.

"With how cold he keeps it in here? The only reason I don't need a jacket is because of his body heat," you practically titter out a laugh, the fear of being caught heightening your arousal even further. You feel your clit throbbing as everyone laughs at your joke.

Jerry rolls his eyes and shakes his head looking down at your lap. Still, the game is going nicely, with Elvis winning more hands than not and you trying to grab at a free hand to get some form of relief. After what feels like an eternity Elvis finally has his hand move between your legs, his calloused fingers brushing up against your aching little clit.

"Haven't teased ya like this in years, have I, Princess?" Elvis murmurs against your ear, feeling your vagina clench around him. "Haven't shown everyone how good ya are for me for a long time, have I? Haven't made 'em realize why I couldn't forget 'bout ya."

Your answer is a hum caused by you biting your lip to keep the cry that threatens to escape your lips at the pressure of his fingers against you. It's not enough for Elvis though, he knows you can control yourself better than he ever can. "Darlin' use ya words."

"It's been too long," you choke out the words, one of your hands moving to grip his meaty thigh and the other to grip at the table. You can feel your walls fluttering around Elvis, feel your body tensing up as it chasing something you know he won't give you in public. The face you make when he pulls an orgasm from you is one that's strictly between the two of you. Yet you're so wound up that you fear you'll be leaning over the table for support as soon as he says the word. In an attempt to alleviate something, anything you try and bounce only to have him nip at your ear.

"Ask me nicely, Nungen. Ask me nicely. Give 'em their game and their show. Remind 'em I caught ya jus' the same as ya caught me." His voice is more of a grunt as he slides a set of chips into the pot wordlessly. "Show 'em what I get in bed every night. What 'm wakin' up to every night 'less ya let me stray. Show 'em what I see after I've eaten my dessert.

Despite the way you're biting your lips so hard they're practically bleeding a noise that sounds like a scream forces its way out of your lungs and mouth as you clench around Elvis. You feel a gush that you only identify with times you've been played with so much by Elvis that you make a mess of every sheet you have. His pants are ruined but they'd be anyway from how you feel a warm rush of his cum follow yours. Through the grace of God himself you don't fall onto the table, instead stabilizing yourself using Elvis's thigh and somehow his lap in general. Your breath takes a few minutes to even out, even as everyone watches you and Elvis panting as if you've run a marathon. There's a knowing look that crosses everyone's face but everyone is too scared to speak until finally you smile and smooth out your dress as if you plan on standing up.

"This is why you're losing boys, you can't pay attention the game."

You make no effort to get off of Elvis's lap.

taglist: @ab4eva , @blurredcolour, @butlersxbirdy, @precious-little-scoundrel, @eliseinmemphis, @prompted-wordsmith, @missmaywemeetagain, @lookingforrainbows, @araxw, @thatbanditqueen, @ellie-24, @austinbutlersgirl67, @heartbrake-hotel, @ccab, @18lkpeters, @slutforsomegoodlettuce, @dkayfixates, @kendralavon7 @chasingwildflowers, @notstefaniepresley, @wanderingelvis, @kxnnxy, @powerofelvis, @stylespresleyhearted @be-my-ally, @mooodyblue, @pixiedustcosmos, @jessicarcates, @amydarcimarie, @flwrs4aust @myradiaz, @adaydreamaway08, @arabellalightning505, @doll-elvis guarantee i'm missing someone. i tried the end. also i clearly added this originally. also you want to be added just ask me. i keep forgetting people or losing people in these and just it's a mess.

[dreamingofep]

Trying to Get to You

(Elvis/Austin!Elvis × reader, sub!Elvis)

Character/Fandom: Elvis - Elvis (2022)

Request: kinda😉

Prompt: You and Elvis are at the Spring Formal and he is on his worst behavior. You have to take him home and teach him to listen to you. Fem!Reader

TW: cussing, teasing/ tension, edging, the usual really dirty stuff.

Rating: Explicit/Mature (NSFW, 18+, so minors Do NOT Interact)

Word Count: 3.5k

A/N: Hi everyone! Hope you enjoy this little one shot of sub!Elvis. I want to thank @loving-elvis @powerofelvis @presleysdarling for bringing this idea of 50s sub!Elvis in our late night ✨research✨ conversations. I mean look at these pictures, they’re just giving subby baby boy vibes! 😝 Anyway, please enjoy, I’ve never written something like this so hope you like it! Sorry for any spelling mistakes or overall goofs.

Feel free to message me or comment what you think!

1953 Humes High School

The dance was full of laughter and excitement as the latest songs of the year were playing throughout the auditorium. Elvis had his arm around your waist, keeping you two connected at the hip. In all reality, he was just trying to keep his hands on you as long as he could before the night ended.

He was just like any other 18-year-old boy who loved girls and loved getting attention from them. But he loved getting the attention from you in particular. Elvis caught your eye and he was a love-sick puppy dog for you. The connection was instant and you both couldn’t keep your hands off of each other. It wasn’t sexual all the time, he was happy with just holding your hand but lately, he was like a magnet to you.

His body ached for you and he was too afraid to admit to you right away in case you thought he was being too abrasive. When you first started dating, you would go to his house to study, which later turned into a make-out session, and for the first time, he got hard. You were pressed up against each other and you gasped at the feeling of him pressing against your pelvis. He immediately put space between your body and his and turned beet red when he saw the shock on your face.

It wasn’t like you didn’t like it, you had just never experienced something like this with a boy. It took you a second to figure out that your body also wanted his too, more than you probably realized. After these intense kisses and electric touches he’d give you, you’d go to the bathroom and realize your panties were covered in wetness. It shocked you at first, but your mind wandered to how it would feel with him inside…

You got more and more confident in yourself and loved to watch him crumble for you. The way he would gasp when your hands trail over his thigh, getting dangerously close to his length, then moving your hand away quickly. The exasperated moans he would give made you feel bad but loved having this control. You would push it further and see if maybe he’d listen to you in a more public setting. Tonight was the spring formal and you told him to be on his best behavior and he might just get rewarded with something good.

You.

Elvis pulls you in for a hug and snaps you out of your train of thought. You wrap your arms around his neck and hold him tight. The smell of him was so delicious and you loved how inviting it was. It made you feel calm in a sense. You place a kiss on his cheek and he smiles and his cute dimple forms because of it.

He pulls you away from your friend group to the back of the auditorium and pins you up against the wall. He presses his hard bulge into you and you gasp. His hand trails along your neck and pulls you in for a kiss. Your tongues crash into each other and passion melts into the both of you. His hands wander your body and he pushes more of his pelvis forward, grinding into you to relieve this incessant need for you. You slip your hand into his suit jacket and rub your hand along his chest.

“Now what do you think you’re doing?” You accuse, his cheeks turn red as he looks down. “I told you to behave tonight.”

“I need you baby. Please let me,” he groans into your neck. A low hum builds inside of him and puts his hand on the wall above your head, his eyes pleading.

“I already told you you have to wait. Maybe you’ll be lucky and I might just give it to you if you’re a good boy,” you tease with firmness in your voice.

He groans heavily into your ear, grabbing at your ass, cussing with how much he needs you. You love the feeling of him on you but he’s clearly not listening. He pushes his cock again into your pelvis and groans.

“What do you think you’re doing? You’re going to cum in your pants if you keep doing this,” you caution, this weak man already crumbling in your hands without you even teasing him yet.

He answers you with another gruff moan and nips at your neck. You glance over his shoulder, seeing how you both are getting judging looks and whispers from couples nearby. This is exactly what you thought would happen, but the more you scan the room, the more you see the shocked faces of people passing by watching you get pinned against this wall. Your cheeks redden and you push at his chest to bring space between him, his face grows pitiful as he sees you rejecting.

“Look at you, causing a scene here, making everyone see what a needy whore you’re being. Now you’re definitely not getting anything tonight,” you snap.

The puppy dog look in his eyes grow and it does pull at your heartstrings. You would give in to any wish he ever desires but he must learn to listen to you.

“Oh, honey,” he quivers pitifully.

“Don’t honey me. You had one thing to do and that was to be good and you couldn’t even do that!” you growl. “All you’re receiving is a punishment now. That’s what bad boys deserve.”

“B-b-but where are you gonna take me…” he asks shakily.

“We’re going back to my house. No one’s home so it would just be the two of us. That’s where you’ll learn to listen to me,” you disclose.

The corner of his mouth twitches to form a smirk, but he stops himself so he doesn’t get in more trouble.

“Yes baby,” he says calmly, but the excitement jumps off of him and he can’t stop fidgeting.

The dance finally ends and you get in the car he borrowed from his daddy. It wasn’t too long of a drive to his house but the tension filled the car. He looks over at you as he drives and shakes his head.

“Looking like an angel tonight honey. You had everyone jealous of how good you look in that dress,” he says sweetly.

You smirk at how cute he’s being knowing he’s trying to get on your good side and distract you from how bad he was at the dance. You rest your hand on his thigh, rubbing it slowly, placing it a bit too high making him squirm.

“Mhmm. This is a nice suit. Would be a shame if you made a mess in it,” you snicker. He shoots you a look of confusion, then turns his attention back to the road.

Your eyes wander his body and stare at how he is sitting with his legs spread open, the imprint of his soft dick resting down his leg. You bite your lip, wanting to bring him to the edge and have him beg for more from you. Your hand continues to go higher, rubbing his length and putting more pressure near the tip, then easing up as you reach near the base. Elvis takes short, deep breaths through his nose, his eyes dart down to your hand every few seconds. He adjusts his hips in the seat as he gets harder, his cock rubbing uncomfortably along the rough material of his slacks.

“Keep your eyes on the road,” you say shortly. Elvis’ breathing becomes labored, and he manages to nod his head.

Your reach for the top button of his pants and slide down the zipper. His entire body freezes as he feels your hand reach into his pants and pull out his cock. You lightly jerk him in your hand, rubbing the precum leaking from him around his sensitive head. His grip on the steering wheel tightens and soft airy moans escape his lips, thankful for the friction. You feel him throb in your hand, aching for you to give him more. You lean over in your seat and pull back his foreskin, swirling your tongue around his head.

“Oh fuck, honey w-w-what a-are you doin’?” He gasps.

You take your mouth off of him and hum gently, “Shh honey, be good. Focus on the road,” you coo quietly and go back to sucking on his sensitive head.

He gasps at your eager tongue as you take more of his length. You use your other hand to rub the rest of him and his hips move with your movements. He starts to moan louder and cuss under his breath. His member starts to twitch and you know he’s dangerously close.

“Don’t cum yet baby,” you hum as you sit up and hold his cock in your hand. He groans loudly and leans his head back on the headrest.

“Ahh...Honey… please help me. I n-n-need to cum,” he whines.

A small smirk forms on your face as you hear him beg for you even more.

“Unless you want to ruin your pants, you’ll do it when I say so,” you demand.

He takes sharp breaths through his mouth and squirms in his seat, trying to hold back his release. You jerk him agonizingly slow in your hand, watching as the veins in his neck protrude out as he tries his best to listen to your commands. Your hand twists and pulls at his length, making him moan with every motion and bringing him right to the edge then stopping abruptly. He presses his lips together and moans deeply.

“Fuucckkk, y/n.”

“Doing so good honey,” you coo.

You tuck him back inside his pants carefully and see that he is turning the corner into your neighborhood.

Your timing couldn’t be any more perfect.

You get into the house and nerves rattle Elvis more than usual. You lead him into your small bedroom and he kicks off his shoes. You do the same and sit on the edge of his bed, fanning out your dress. He looks over you in awe, not sure what he should do.

“Sit down, honey. Right on the bed,” you say patting the bed next to you. He nods his head and makes his way to you in quick strides.

“Did you have fun tonight?” You ask.

“Oh, yes, so much fun thank you. I had the best date imaginable,” he says cutely.

The mood shifts in an instant and his eyes grow serious. They roam over your neck, down to the swell of your breasts, and back up to your eyes. His thumb traces your lips and his breathing begins to hitch.

“Fuck make me cum,” he whines

Before you can say anything, his lips crash into yours with fervor and the way he tastes is spellbinding. Both of your hands wander over each other's bodies and moan and gasp as you touch certain sensitive areas. Your hand finds his length and strokes it softly through his pants. He groans heavily and leans into the palm of your hand. You take your hand off of him and he moans for more.

“Oh baby, please, please keep touching me… I-I-I need you.” He whines into your ear.

“Oh yea? Have you been good to get so much attention?”

“Yes, darlin’. Been on my best behavior I swear,” he pants into your neck. You get up and turn around with your back facing him.

“Lying to me now? I … you couldn’t keep your hands off of me at the dance…making everyone stare with how you would grab me,” you say low, your voice with a sultry edge.

He comes up behind you and wraps his arms around your waist, pressing his hard cock into your ass. The hair on the back of your neck stands up and he places soft, light kisses on the nape of your neck.

“I-I-I’m sorry baby, I couldn’t help it. The way you looked tonight was killing me and I just needed you,” he huffs. You turn around to face his pleading eyes. He leans in to kiss you, urgency filling every nip and suck on your bottom lip. His hands roam your back and moans at the mere contact of his skin on yours.

You want to put him over the edge and watch him fall apart in your hands, so you take it one step further.

“Sit back down on the bed. Be good and listen,” you say coyly.

His eyes grow like saucers and he backpedals to the edge of the bed. He sits down with his legs spread open. Your eyes trail over his long legs and see his hard cock straining against his leg, his balls making his pants bulge just begging to come out.

“Don’t move,” you command as you walk in between his legs, almost touching his body.

Watching this quivering little boy start to come undone in front of you, you want to make it as difficult as possible. You twist your arm behind you and stretch your fingers and drag the zipper down your back and to your hips. You let your arms go down and let the dress fall off your torso, gently pooling in a puddle at your feet.

You turn around to face him in your bra and underwear and his eyes are blown wide.

You place your hands on his shoulders and remove his jacket, letting it fall behind him.

You slowly unbutton his shirt and pull it off his arms and toss it on the bed. His chest heaves and his hands nervously rubbing along his pants wiping the sweat off of them.

You straddle your legs around his hips and sit in his lap. His hard member pushed up against your core causing you to tense up from the feeling. The heat coming off of him was suffocating and his blazing eyes bore into yours.

“You gonna be good for me?” You ask

“Y-yes honey. I promise.” He says quietly.

You bat your lashes at him playfully and play with the loose strands of hair falling on his forehead. He whines into your chest leaving wet kisses along your breasts. You sigh, loving the attention he’s giving you and how he’s basically putty in your hands.

“Please I need you,” he whines, his hips bucking up to press into your core. You hold back the moan you want to give, you don’t want to let him win that easily.

Your hips grind into his and he lets out a loud groan.

“I know you do honey, I know. But you wouldn’t listen. Now you have to endure your punishment,” you say firmly.

Your hips rock softly into him, whiney moans escape his mouth and his hands tighten on your hips, having you grind hander onto him. You grab his wrists and place them down beside him and hold them there.

“No, I get to do what I want to you,” you demand. “Lay there and be quiet.”

You push at his chest until his back is on the bed and you nip at his neck, putting his hands above his head and holding them there. He grunts in frustration that he can’t touch you and the incessant teasing that you’re giving with your mouth isn’t helping anything either.

Your mouth makes its way down to his chest and licks at his nipples. He gasps and shoots his head up to see what you’re doing. You let go of his wrists and find his other nipple and pinch it in between your fingers. You lightly bite and suck on them making him lose every ounce of control.

“Agh Mama, please,” he cries out, writhing underneath you.

“What did I say about being quiet,” you say firmly looking back up at him. His cheeks flush and nods his head in acknowledgment.

You work your way down his torso, leaving nip marks along his chest and tummy. As you get dangerously close to his waistband, he freezes and makes delicious moans for you. You pause, then kiss his hard length, leaving a lipstick mark on his slacks. He groans viciously, being so worked up for hours that the slightest touch is almost too much for him. Your mouth finds the tip of him and applies pressure there, kissing it. He lets out another loud moan and his body shakes.

You get off of his hips and unclip your bra, tossing it to the side and sliding down your panties as he watches you with intensity. Your hands slowly trail down your body, cupping your breasts and squeezing your nipples, letting a soft moan as you make eye contact with him. Your hand goes down your torso and your fingers graze against your wet pussy. You run slow circles on your clit, watching as Elvis bites at his bottom lip and moans as he watches you. Your fingers get coated in your arousal and you lean on your knee onto the bed once again.

“Open your mouth, taste me,” you say as you grab his chin and put your fingers to his lips.

He eagerly opens his mouth and his eyes roll back in his head as he tastes your sweet honey. He moans with you in his mouth and swirls his tongue around your slender fingers. You pull them out of his mouth and proceed to straddle his hips once again.

“Good honey. Now I’m going to grind on your cock and I’m going to cum. Don’t you dare cum before me,” you command. He squeezes his eyes shut and his eyebrows furrow in agony.

“Agh please no baby I can’t last that long. I need you,” he cries out. You reach down and unbutton his pants and pull the zipper down. His precum has left a dark wet spot on his slacks and you smirk at the sight.

“You’re going to have to. Wait to cum until I say so,” you say as you adjust his length up and rest his cock between your dripping folds. The instinctive roll of your hips makes you choke back a moan. The heat of his member feels incredibly good on you and makes you want him more. You continue to move back and forth on his hard cock and watch as he moans with every movement you make.

Elvis groans out your name, rolling his head back and forth into the pillow in agony.

“Mama-,” he chokes out.

“I’m not going to tell you again to be quiet,” you emphasize with a firm grind of your hips.

Tears start to well in his eyes and his gaps become louder. You place your hands on his chest and lean forward so he can see your breasts on full display. The coil in your belly starts to tighten and your clit begins to throb.

The sounds of your wetness rubbing along his cock was driving him insane and his hands grip onto the sheets.

You let out soft airy moans as you come apart on him. Your walls squeeze over and over and your legs shake as your orgasm floods your senses. He watches you ride out your high in awe and cries out for you.

Tears fall down the sides of his face and he starts to beg manically for you.

“God y/n, please, p-p-please make me cum I can’t take this baby!” He begs loudly, his chest heaving, his nose sniffling, and the tears continue to pour.

You get off of him and that produces another gasping moan from him.

“You think you deserve to cum now?” You tease, lightly running your fingertips along his nipples and he jumps because of it. Your hands find his aching cock, red in color, and precum running down his shaft. You wrap your hand around him firmly and feel him twitching with need.

He nods his head at you and groans deeply, holding back as long as he can.

Your other hand moves down to his balls and cup them in your hand. You lightly squeeze them and he cries out for you again. You jerk him off nice and slow and massage his balls firmly as you watch his begging eyes become huge. His cock twitches and throbs in your hand and you think he’s learned his lesson by now.

“Okay baby, cum for me,” you order and his hips buck up into your hand. It only takes a few pumps and he comes in fast, thick spurts that land all over his tummy and chest. He moans your name over and over and his face is flushed with ecstasy.

“Oh g-g-od mama yes t-t-thank you for letting me cum,” he manages to gasp out.

You moan too when you see how much is coming out of him and pooling onto his chest. You lean down and lick his sensitive head, making sure to get the last few drops out of him, and he lets out another gasp.

“No, no, no baby too sensitive,” he barely gets out.

You don’t listen as you continue to lick and suck on him. His length feels hot and heavy in your mouth as he starts to come down.

You look up at him and see his face red and the wetness of his tears streaking his face. Letting go of his length, you wipe his face with the back of your hand and kiss his forehead.

“Did so good baby,” you coo softly.

He smiles as he looks up at you and nods his head.

“Felt so good mama,” he whimpers.

“Did we learn our lesson?” You ask teasingly.

He hums softly and bites his bottom lip and looks up at you.

“Yes baby, I’ll always be a good boy for you.”

•

•

•

Tagging 🖤: @powerofelvis @plasticfantasticl0ver @burninlovebutler @neptuneismysister @velvetelvis @ccab @presleyenterprise @elvispresleyxoxo @prompted-wordsmith @sillybookmarks @dkayfixates @rosepresley @ellie-24 @rktismylife-blog @myradiaz @lookingforrainbows @loving-elvis @elvispresleygf @tacozebra051 @thatbanditqueen @18lkpeters @flwrs4aust @emma181873 @austinswhitewolf @eliseinmemphis @everythingelvispresley @chasingwildflowers @idontwanttoputanything @ohjustpeachy1

[aconflagrationofmyown]

|| Memphis to Fort Hood

Timeline alterations: Spring of 1958

Theme: THAT ASKED FOR BABY ANNOUNCEMENT, sorta

So, so many thanks to all my darlings who I throw my ideas at and they in turn bolster my resolve and refine my daydreams.

Warnings: good ole fashioned 50’s misogyny, Elvis being rather poorly represented? -for the reasons of this being written as critique?…nothing explicit but themes of free use, subspace, paranoia and eating disorders (which ends up being morning sickness so no really big deal there, just wanted to be careful.

A note on the style of this particular interlude: One of my obsessions with this universe has been using multiple points of view and narrative styles, ultimately adding to my own expansive delusion that this AU really was the verified version of his life. 🤓 And see, if it had been we would have magazines and newspapers, speciations and interviews galore, all of which I’ve enjoyed fabricating in the past and intend to continue. Now I’ve cooked up something else, a faux cultural study on what would have been the massively studied and criticized impact of a couple this peculiar and idolized -Mrs. Presley and Other Martyrs:

Strangely, if one looks for the first cracks in a marriage that outlasted five decades, nine children, assasination attempts, adultery, rock n’ roll and the most publicized divorce of its time, one might find that the first fissure had begun to open by the Presley’s third week anniversary. Outlasted, that’s the key. But that doesn’t mean there weren’t things to outlast. The old curse of stepping outside Graceland and finding trouble found them early on, as did their tenacity to simply ignore and surmount the witch’s brew of criticism, ego and exhaustion.

It took 38 hours by train to reach Fort Hood from Memphis Tennessee in the year 1958. Time enough for legends to be made. Dynamics to be established. A couple dozen demons to resurface.

And impressions to be formed. Lasting impressions of herself by the scrutinizing public that Elaine Presley reportedly never forgave Elvis for -a remarkable instance of a grudge in a woman so notoriously absolvent.

At the start of the journey she boarded the train at Memphis a sheltered girl tucked under the arm of the most famous man on earth, her own face captured without obstruction for the first time by the press, wedding band flashing and virginal blush staining her features at the attention and the queries hurled at her. The most envied woman in the country hadn’t known she was wanted a month before and by the time she stepped off in Texas, Mrs Presley was the doe eyed subject and demure recipient of a hundred varied opinions, editorials, fan tokens and bouquets.

What her rushed wedding may have slighted Elaine Presley of in terms of a bridal fuss, this dutiful journey made up for in sheer abundance of notoriety. What her sequestered honeymoon had sheltered her from in terms of being tabloid fodder was more than made up for on the trip as Elaine Presley got paraded on the train balcony at each stop along the route by her beaming groom:

A sauve cad in a uniform who beamed at the crowd with a cocky leer that suggested much in regards to his reserved bride and was in stark contrast to the sober and tear streaked boy he’d been when he came up this way to say goodbye to his mama weeks before. This little couple and their little rebellion of a marriage was manic in appearance and in gaiety, and even the most charitable of well-wishers found the occasion they were celebrating a bit forced, a bit dire, a bit off kilter for something as sanctified and sober as matrimony.

This was compounded by the new groom’s attitude which seemed as eager to display the varied trousseau he decked this almost catatonically pliant girl in -with a change nearly on the hour- as he was to introduce his new wife to his nation’s worth of fans that crowded the rails as they hustled south.

As Hedda Hopper unapologetically noted in her column that week “…it makes a person wonder if this sensational canary of an entertainer is too proud of having conquered a sensible girl child into being his wife to realize he just married himself off the market. America’s daydream is now a taken man and no one in the nation seems ready for that, least of all him.”

Married, to Elvis Presley, was perhaps more of a reality than Miss Hopper and her column gave him credit for, although the old spinster might’ve been aghast if she knew what marital duties the young star prioritized over others. The folks who caught sight of the flushed couple at each stop might’ve had a suspicion. Certainly Elvis’ ever present entourage of childhood friends and relations couldnt hope to be left in the dark.

Even if the close quarters on the route, the thin traincar doors and shared meals were not enlightening enough, Elvis Presley gloated too much in being a new husband to possibly retain any mystery. Love drunk and determined to stay so lest panic or grief overtake him, his friends recall his unreasonable amounts of excitement and generosity in detail regarding his “lil wife.”

-And his skills as a lover, of course.

Nothing had changed for Elvis from his time on the road with these naughty friends of his except that now all his famous drive and obsession was channeled towards one rather overwhelmed teenage girl. One who had, in typical 1950’s fashion, promised to obey his every whim. Turns out, trapped in a train car for over a day with an insomniatic sex addict uncovers an astounding amount of whims that their more placid honeymoon at Graceland had kept at a low simmer.

Whether tamed by the supposed influence of his mother’s ghostly presence at Graceland or whether in a fit of gentlemanly restraint for an untried bride, Elvis Presley had, by all accounts, played the gentleman while at home in those first weeks of marriage. While happy and smug -so much so that the story went that when the colonel appeared at Graceland to assure himself that the secret wedding hadn’t happened, one look at Elvis and the girl on his lap assured him it had both occurred and been consummated- he had nevertheless been considerate, gentle and almost tutoring in aiding Elaine to adjust to her new life.

Trapped in the claustrophobic buzz of the train car speeding south to a life of regimented discipline and obedience in the army, the antsy rebel in him found his boredom and dread peaked beyond endurance and distracted himself with the new and ever captivating charms of his new wife.

Elvis Presley with a goal could be a dedicated and diligent man but without one he was a chaotic force of nature that could catch all those around him in a whirlpool of fun or an avalanche of insanity. Pursuing Elaine Presley had brought out the best in him and so intently did he peruse her with every traditional method of wooing a typical southern girl, that she had quite forgotten the more frightening aspects of his temperament that she and her father had been witness to before. She could be forgiven for thinking he had matured past such outbursts and compulsions he had been thrall to in his early fame. Subdued by grief and spurred by ambition to have her, he had been impressively restrained upon his return to Memphis and driven by a rededication of his life to the old values of his mama’s ambitions for him, he had managed to continue it into the first days of marriage.

The upcoming reality of life within the rigorous confines of Fort Hood was too strong for such flimsy good intentions. As was the oppressive reality of his mother’s permanent absence in his life. His love, which had always been a somewhat smothering thing that required as much as it gave, was needy yet inexpressive in those early days and according to his daughter Ella, who divulged some of her mother’s confidences in her own book, Elaine was yet to learn how terrified her young husband was of a future that most would have envied.

Scared of being alone, yet suspicious that his presence was merely being tolerated, young husband Elvis Presley had every hope he could train a young girl by conjugal powers alone to be loyal to him where others failed. In a fit of hubris and optimism, he chose for this amorous experiment the one woman in town who admitted to not being in love with him. This fear and frustration expressed itself in an appalling physical demand on her bodily attentions. One that their fellow train car occupants could not ignore yet found themselves incapable of preventing, bound by the antiquated respect of a husband's rights.

“I swear he’d not leave her alone for a full hour,” Red West recalled in his book, reflecting on the times he spent in the Presley’s entourage, “and he’d be back there with her for hours at a time, then pop out and then right back again. If he couldn't sleep then he didn’t see why she should.”

Billy Smith, his cousin and a man adamant about staying on Mrs. Presley’s good side over the years, would only admit discreetly, “He was utterly in love with her, had been for years and couldn’t quite pace himself once he got the green light, so to speak. He adored her and was in a bit of a state of shock that she was even better than he’d hoped, she was like the first thing to exceed his high expectations. She was very genuinely kind to him and he ate it up. On the train ride he was bored and it was like taking a bored kid to their favorite sweet shop. And Elvis Presley had a big ole bank account to cash in.”

Big enough, apparently, that by lunch of that day the ever proper young Mrs Presley, in her perfectly starched new outfits and watery lined eyes, was having trouble sitting still at table, much to the comment of guests and friends. After excusing herself early she went back to their suite. Elvis was seen following within minutes. Thirty minutes later the train stopped and Elaine Presley, in a fresh outfit and an uncharacteristic wobble to her stride was paraded by her husband on the balcony to the roar of envious onlookers.

The train moved on, she excused herself again, as did he moments later.

“We could hear them, it became like road noise.” Red West, long used to Elvis’ various rendezvous while on the road in the past took this marital overindulgence in stride, “Initially it was kinda a laugh and a grin about it with all the folks in the dining car, but then we could hear her tiring out, and he’d keep at it and it got a bit annoying, all her pleading and him going on about bein’ able to do anything he pleased with her. He’d come out and brag to us when we told him they were being loud.”

“He was very proud of how sensitive she was,” Joe Esposito does not bother to sound impressed himself when relating this confidence, “he’d tell us how she was a squirter and she got all sensitive real fast before he was even close to done and he’d just have to hold her and make her let him finish, sometimes make her keep going when she swore she couldn’t. He said he was training her to respond the way he wanted. It didn’t occur to him maybe she was made different than the ones he’d been with before, he just thought he was a damn good husband. Figure she just wanted a nap and maybe some Vaseline. Nobody dared to tell him to give her a break.”

Ultimately Vernon Presley ventured to do just that at breakfast the next morning, after his daughter in law had skipped dinner the night before and breakfast that day from a ubiquitous headache that was likely not an ache in the head at all.

“He was so timid about it as Elvis was in a mood, worn out and hadn’t slept, stabbin’ his eggs like they’d done him wrong.” Lamar Fike remembers the incident, “Vernon just spoke up real gentle like and says ‘son, why don’t you go easy on the little lady, she’s real fresh and delicate,’ Elvis just glared at him so he tried jokin by sayin’ something like ‘you got the rest of your lives for this, don’t gotta cram it all in today.’ Elvis didn’t even try to act dumb, he just got mad and stood up from the table and said ‘daddy, you mind your own business, reckon I don’t need lessons for how to take care of a wife, not from you leastwise.’ And that was a low blow, you could see it on Vernon’s face and like I said, Elvis stood up, with his napkin still tucked in his shirt neck, and went back there to her again like he was makin’ love to spite his old man. Ya just don’t tell Elvis what to do with what’s his.”

Charlie Hodge wasn’t there and in an admirable display of keeping in his lane only commented that, “Elvis told me they danced a lotta the way, had the old records on, trying to keep the cramp away. He’d get antsy on trips.”

Marty Lacker had the decency to at least be sheepish and a little apologetic about the times when relating his version of events, ���Just a different time back then, ya know? Didn’t occur to us to step in. We’d say a thing or two but ultimately that’s between a husband and wife to sort out and back then wives just didn’t fuss. It all worked out, they sorted it. Elaine never breathed a word of anything and we wouldn’t think of saying anything to her. Not even after the little emergency, you just don’t talk about that stuff. It’s not fitting. Even Elvis knew that, he didn’t appreciate the advice or adminitions from his daddy. Braggin’ between boys us one thing but talkin’ about what goes on between a man and his wife beyond that it’s, it’s just, it’s not fittin. It’s just not a thing to be discussed, you know? Different times, man.”

The little emergency in question was a case of Elvis bursting out of the train car an hour or so after lunch on the second day in search of his paternal grandmother, old Dodger as the family called her, full of consternation that his young bride was unresponsive.

“I really think he rode her silly, that’s all there was to it.” Joe shrugs at this bold diagnosis, “He’d brag about how out of it she’d get when he would start again after she thought he was done. Said she’d space right out and start shakin’ and shivering and get plain stupid. I think he liked that, makin’ a smart girl feel dumb. He’d dress her up and redo her makeup and take her out like that in front of fans, and they all got the impression she was a little bozo. Then I guess he just kept at it one time too long.”

Elvis told Dodger that his wife was not fully concious, although his heightened concern was less regarding her insensibility than the fact that neither a light smack to the cheek nor a resumption of activities on his part could rouse Elaine like it had on previous occasions. Vernon dunked her head in a bowl of ice water with no success, Billy tried to give her aspirins but she wasn’t awake to swallow them down.

Dodger prescribed a drink of water for the young girl, a cold compress to the nether regions and a nap -sans husband. Disgruntled but terrified of losing yet another woman in his life, and with his own cheek stinging from his grandmother's wrath, Elvis Presley secluded himself to playing cards with the boys in the smoking lounge for the remaining three hours of the train ride while his grandmother watched over his bride and her precariously suggestible headspace.

“ ‘I done told her again and again to hold it if she gets so excitable after she comes that she can’t stand to take me longer. But she’s a hair trigger, couple stokes and she’s off, keeps comin’ all the same then acts like I’m skinnin’ her when I keep goin. I gotta finish man, what else am I supposed to do?” Red recalls Elvis bemoaning his bride’s hyper responsiveness like a martyr recounting his sentence -while wearing his signature sulky expression that did nothing to hide the smug pride beneath.

By the time Elaine Presley wobbled off the train onto the platform at Killeen Texas and stiff smilingly took her seat beside Elvis in a taxi to their little crackerbox house on base, the world at large had a firm opinion that the new Mrs Presley was a pretty little thing with dark features and a rosebud mouth, a nice figure and sweet charm but possessing a vacant sorta look to her. It suggested a gullibility so utterly untrue to her real nature that three decades worth of wit and shrewdness could hardly undue their initial impression of her.

Elaine Presley would ultimately have her revenge for such a first impression but it would cost her much in the process and Elvis Presley even more.

The buzz of press did not decline upon her arrival. With Private Presley busy soldiering all day, it fell to his young wife to sort the intricate social circle of his entourage and fellow soldiers, to manage the fanmail and contracts as well as set up house as best she could in such impermanent lodgings. All these precarious duties were stalked and documented beyond all sense, photographs of her and her choice of groceries dutifully printed for readers across the country to guess at what she planned to feed their idol for dinner. If the sharp glint in her eyes, captured on occasion when the intrusion became absurd, hinted at something beyond the vacant and ravished doll of the train ride, no one was eager to investigate. A sharp set to the mouth or a dangerous glitter in the eye got one called a bitch and it was better to be vacuous as a woman than to be venomous. So Elaine was caught smiling with her vegetables and spending her afternoons baking beneath a Texas sun while chatting with snide fellow housewives.

It was the first bootcamp for a lifelong grueling ordeal that Elaine Presley submitted to with grace and tenacity.

If her wit and her marital irregularities were glossed over by the papers in their eagerness to find the noble idyll amongst the immoral muck of rock and roll, what did not go unnoticed was the increasingly wane aspect of what should have been a rosy and glowing young wife. Shortly after arriving in Texas, Elaine’s already strained nerves seemed to have frazzled beyond small fits of fainting and what was once a private display of weariness kept between her and the implacable Dodger. Soon it became bouts of vomiting and exhaustion beyond any reasonable excuse.

The public noticed her figure grow slight and frail, as did Elvis. No longer was she slight but sickly instead, and a milky complexion was now waxy and unbecoming in contrast to her dark hair. The public were concerned for her, not for her health so much as for the future of the readership should her picturesque ordeals unravel further.

Battling his own preoccupation and exhaustion in the hard crucible of army bootcamp, Elvis’ one solace was the charming little haven he had created for himself with a wife and domesticity shipped in like so many plates and doilies. When this fairytale grew pale and bony and even the most cheerful of liars couldn’t convince him his “Tinkerbell” was fine, Elvis Presley grew increasingly paranoid of something fatal having cursed the women in his life. Frustrated at Elaine for allowing herself to grow so weak, his friends recall his behavior towards her vasciaiting from aching tenderness to angry remonstrances at her to eat and to rest and take care of herself. He even paced his own indulgences and begged her not to bring him the usual treats she’d sneak into barracks during the heat of afternoon. He pampered and berated, prayed and cursed.

None of these precautions were sufficient to build her up and alarmed beyond any reassurance, Elvis Presley packed his young bride into a car in the early summer of their first marriage and, having a five hour furlough from the army, drove her himself into the nearby hospital. The statement tossed to the press waiting outside was mild sinus congestion.

Twenty minutes later these two world wide famous young adults stumbled out in a daze of knowledge that they were about to be parents for the first time.

A severe case of twins -and the rigorous discipline of making them- having caused all the raucous.

No longer scared of abandonment, imminent loss or rebellion on his wife’s part, Elvis Presley softened considerably in the next months, the looming likelihood of a separation with his deployment softening him even further. It was the first case of children saving -and complicating- one of the most volatile and devoted couples of the 20th century.

By the first few weeks of the second trimester, Elaine Presley was both filled out enough and sufficiently cheery to regain the accolades lost to her by the press during her first. Finding few friends to be had amongst jealous soldiers' girlfriends and snooty Sargeant’s wives, as well as having been abandoned by most childhood companions after becoming mistress of Graceland, Elaine, never to be out maneuvered by bad luck, turned those publicized grocery store runs into social occasions, her growing belly eliciting advice and solicitations from wise old Texan grandma’s and rancher’s wives.

Accompanied by the stoically indomitable Dodger, Elaine could be found at geriatric swim classes at the local pool in a bid to stay cool during the heat of summer, at smoky poker games at Billy Bob’s honky tonk where she was the lone abstainer from the free flowing bourbon and became winner of a mechanical bull riding competition against a Navy Pilot.

It was a win for the infantry that night and even Elvis drank a cold one in celebration of her winnings that she spent on quenching the Hell on Wheels squadron at the adjacent saloon. Those Sargeant’s wives got somehow even more acrid after that.

Whether there was a correlation between this heated ride-off and said Navy Pilot’s face ending up black and blue the next day from some jealous young husband’s fist, was anyone's conjecture. Either way, Elvis Presley was likely too busy for such petty displays of insecurity, he was hiding in the lavatory most times to get away from his recently energized and insatiable young wife whose visits to Fort Hood soon became a byword and euphemism for something else besides visitation.

Altogether the Presley’s in Texas was an eclectic and occasionally damaging PR debut, but not without its merits.

The nation decided the new Mrs. Presley may have been a little short in the smarts department but she made pregnancy look fun again and that was rather charming and not a little rebellious, as was unapologetically marrying Elvis Presley right from under their noses. And Elvis? Well, it would be two long years before the world got any candid, civilian, unrepentant opinion out of Private Presley.

Hope you enjoyed! 💋

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[sissylittlefeather]

Hi!! Can you write an Elvis x reader smut where they meet after one of his performances while he's still supporting Hank Snow and he takes her back to his hotel where he finds out she's a virgin. At first he tries to stop everything, not wanting to pressure her into anything but she reassures him that it's what she wants and he's really sweet and making sure that she's okay the whole time? Sorry it's so long!

Sorry this took me so long! I had a lot of fun writing this! Thank you for asking for it 😁. I hope it's everything you wanted it to be!

Warnings: 18+ minors DNI, smut, f/m p in v sex, oral sex (f receiving), fingering, cussing, unprotected sex, reader is a virgin, small mention of blood

A/N: you can go with Austin!Elvis or Real!Elvis, it's totally up to you, as long as you like him Sweet!Elvis.

Anywhere We Want

Wow. You'd heard that Elvis Presley was an impressive performer, but you never dreamed watching him would make you feel this way, with this heavy, twisty feeling in your stomach and your heart beating so intensely. Something about him just made you feel things you've never felt before. It occurs to you that you're the last of your friends to be a virgin. You've kissed boys, but never anything more. Now this man dances on stage and the place between your legs is reacting in the strangest ways. Everything feels warm and slippery. Still, you do your best to ignore all of these new sensations and follow your friends to the carnival before your mom's favorite singer, Hank Snow, takes the stage.

"Y/n let's ride the Ferris wheel!"

"No, let's play games!"

"Actually I'm hungry."

Your friends are busy trying to figure out what to do next when you spot Elvis. He's standing in a dark corner alone, leaning against a wall, watching the carnival happen around him. He looks kind of lonely and sad. You wonder if he has anyone in his life that doesn't fawn over him constantly, anyone who truly knows him as a person and not a performer.

"Y'all go on ahead. I'll catch up. I just need to find a bathroom." You say to your friends as you turn your back to them and walk away. You don't walk directly towards him because you don't want them to follow you. Instead, you go a roundabout way and manage to come up on his dark corner from a different side.

"Are you okay?"

He jumps a little and puts his hand on his heart.

"Geez, darlin' you scared me. I must've been lost in thought." You watch him rearrange his face to be the mask of a performer. "You want an autograph or something?" His smile is distractingly attractive and you almost just say "yes" and walk away. But something inside you pushes you to ask again.

"Nah, I don't need anything. Are you sure you're okay?" You tilt your head slightly and look him in the eyes.

"Oh yeah, I'm great, kid." He smiles again, a little less brightly this time. Then, he looks at his shoes for a bit before bringing his eyes back up to meet yours.

"Actually, I don't know why I said that. I'm not great. I'm tired." You nod your head reassuringly.

"I bet you are. Everyone wanting you to be on all the time probably gets really old." He relaxes his shoulders and his eyes soften a little bit.

"That's exactly it. I have to be on all the time. Everyone wants Elvis Presley. No one wants me." Your heart breaks for him a little bit. There's something tragic about this man that everyone loves feeling so unloved.

"I don't know why I'm telling you this. I don't even know your name. You must've really caught me off guard." He laughs a little bit and his smile is more natural than you've seen it so far.

"I'm y/n. And people always tell me I'm easy to talk to. I guess it's true." You shrug and give him a small smile.

"Yeah, it is true. Thank you for listening, y/n." He puts his hands in his pockets and looks out at the carnival.

"You wanna get outta here?" It's a cheesy line, but something makes you think he just wants an excuse to escape. You're happy to be his excuse.

"Sure. Where should we go?"

"Somewhere quiet, where we can keep talking. I like talking to you. That okay with you, honey?" You get goosebumps all over when he calls you honey. You hope he never calls you by your actual name. He puts his hand out for you to hold.

"If we hurry, we might get out unnoticed." You grab his hand and he takes you around to the back side of the carnival to a parking lot of sorts. He walks to the passenger side of a yellow Cadillac. You have a brief moment of panic as you realize you're about to get in the car with a stranger. He notices your apprehension.

"We don't have to go anywhere if you don't want to. I know you don't know me from Adam." You can't explain why, but you trust him.

"No, I'm okay. We can go." He raises his eyebrows as if to ask if you're sure.

"Really. I trust you."

He opens the passenger door for you and you slide into the front seat. Everything he does makes your heart beat faster and you feel hot all over. What is it about him that is making you act so crazy? He positions himself behind the steering wheel and starts the engine. When he turns around to back out, he puts his arm on the seat behind you, inadvertently putting his arm around you. You feel yourself blush, but you look away to keep him from noticing.

"So you know my dark and lonely secret. Tell me something about you that no one else knows." He puts his arm back down so that he can shift gears, brushing your shoulder on the way down. You shiver a little and rack your brain for something to share with him.

"I'm afraid I'll never get out of this town. I want to go places and do things and be a person before I settle down. I'm afraid I'll just marry someone here soon and never get to be a person." You've never said that out loud before. You've always just assumed your dreams would die unspoken on your wedding day, like your mother's did. But now that you've said it, you feel the fear and the desire and the drive to be something more all at once.

"Why not both?" His voice pulls you out of your fantasy. "Just because you get married doesn't mean you have to settle down. You could be a wife and a person at the same time." You've never thought of it like that before.

"I can't marry anyone from this town then." You laugh. No one ever leaves this place.

He parks the car and looks at you. His smile is warm, almost affectionate.

"We're here". You look out the car window and realize you're at a motel. Your stomach does a flip flop, but you try to play it cool. He asks,

"Is this okay? It's the only place that's quiet and away from everything." You nod your head.

"Yeah, of course." He opens the car door for you again and the next thing you know, he's opening the door to his room. The walk here was surreal as you wondered how you got yourself in this position. You're about to be in a hotel room alone with Elvis Presley.

"It's not much, but it's home. For tonight at least." He chuckles, obviously trying to make you feel more comfortable. The room is simple, with a single bed and a couple of lamps. He sits down on the bed and pats a spot on the quilt next to him.

"You can sit down. I ain't gonna hurt ya." He's so endearing that you can't help but believe him. You sit next to him, close enough to be friendly, but far enough to make sure he can't get to you too easily, just in case.

"I think if you want to get out of this town bad enough, you will. And even if you do find a husband along the way, I think you'll still be your own person. I'll punch him in the mouth if he tries to stop you." There's that wide natural smile again that makes your legs feel like jelly. You decide in that moment that you'll let him kiss you if he tries.

"And I think you can be Elvis Presley to the world and still find people to love you for who you are."

"Sitting here with you, I believe it." You see him glance at your lips a couple of times and your heart flutters in your chest.

"Y/n, can I ask you somethin'?"

"Anything."

"Can I kiss you?" He's already leaning in as he asks, but you don't care. You whisper "yes" just as his lips reach yours. It's like fireworks are going off inside you. There's electricity shooting all over your body, but it seems to be gathering in the place between your legs. His kiss starts softly, and he kisses you a few times with his mouth closed before he parts your lips with his and dips his tongue into your mouth. You match his motions and let your tongue move around his. Sure, you've kissed boys before, but it's never felt like this. Your whole body seems to ache with wanting him to touch you more. Seemingly reading your mind, he puts his hand on your neck with his thumb on your cheek. His other hand rests on your knee. You want both of his hands on your body, touching the places no one has ever touched before. You scoot your body closer to him and put your arms around his neck as he moves his hands to your waist and your back. Now you're pressed up against him as he holds you close, still kissing you passionately. Slowly, he lays you back on the bed until he's on top of you. Your hands start shaking a little. You know what's supposed to come next, but you've never done it before. His hand makes its way to the zipper on the back of your dress. As he starts to pull on it, he notices you're trembling. He pulls back from kissing you and watches you carefully.

"Honey, have you never...?" He trails off when he sees the slight fear in your face. He sits up suddenly.

"No. We're not doing this if it's your first time. I can't take that from you."

"You can't take something that's being given." He looks back at you as you lay on the bed.

"I really don't want to be that guy."

"What guy?"

"The guy that hurts you."

You think for a second while he sits with his head in his hands. Finally, you sit up next to him and put your hand on his thigh.

"Remember how I told you that I want to live my own life?" He looks up at you.

"This is part of that. I'm choosing you, here, now."

"And you're sure you won't regret it?"

"Regret making my own decisions for myself? Never."

He puts his hand on the back of your neck and looks into your eyes.

"I've never met anyone like you before." You barely get out "I should hope not." Before he's kissing you again. You're not trembling anymore. Instead, this time you put your arms around him and pull him down on top of you. His hand goes back to where it was on your zipper and he pulls back from kissing you.

"You're sure? Because once this dress comes off, I won't be able to resist you." He smiles playfully. You kiss the end of his nose.

"I'm sure. Take it off." He pulls the zipper down and gently removes your dress. He looks at you laying there in your bra and panties waiting for him.

"Damn, baby."

He takes your bra off easily and moves his hands all over your body, kissing you gently as he goes. His hands are so big and warm and his kisses are light and playful. It's the perfect combination to light a fire inside you. He stands up and takes his shirt off. You know he'll need his pants off, so you go to unbutton them, but he stops you.

"Not yet, honey." You're puzzled by this because what else could he possibly have planned? He lays you back down on the bed, kissing just below your belly button. Then, he takes your panties off and drops them on the floor. He positions himself between your legs and you're still confused about what he's wanting to do. You've talked to your girlfriends about what it's like before and none of them have mentioned this. He slowly spreads your legs further apart. Then, he slides one finger inside of you. You gasp and arch your back at the sensation of something inside you. Surprisingly, it doesn't hurt. It feels good. Really good. Just when you get used to that sensation, he starts moving his finger in and out and in again. You bite your lip to keep quiet.

"There's no one here but us, baby. You don't have to be quiet." You let a small moan escape your lips. Then, he does something you never expected. He puts his mouth on you. He moves his tongue rhythmically around and over you and it feels like you might die with how good it is. Still, you can feel something else building and you brace yourself for what might be coming. Your heart beats faster and your stomach gets that twisty feeling again. Then, you go over the edge and it feels like falling and flying and crashing and singing all at once. You're shocked at the sounds that come out of you as you ride this new high. Your body shudders and pulses and you can't decide whether you should laugh or cry. Instead, you just lay there breathing heavily. He moves his mouth back off of you and slides his finger out.

"How was that?" He asks, wiping his mouth with his hand. You mumble something unintelligible and he laughs.

"Good. That's how I know I did it right." You nod your head vigorously and pull his body close to yours. You need more of that feeling, more of him inside you. Now, he stands up and lets his pants fall to the floor. He climbs back on top of you and kisses your neck.

"This part might hurt a little bit. If you want me to stop, I will. Just let me know if it's too much." You nod again, still not fully confident that you can speak. He uses his hand to line himself up with your entrance and looks back up at you.

He slowly pushes the tip of himself into you. He watches you carefully as he continues to push into you slowly. It starts to sting a little bit as he hits some resistance inside you. You squeeze your eyes shut to keep the tears from building up. It hurts, but not so bad that you can't stand it. He's watching your face carefully and as soon as he senses that you're in pain, he stops pushing.

"Do you want me to stop?"

"No. Don't stop. It just hurts a little."

"See, this is what I meant. I don't want to hurt you." He starts to pull out slowly, but you grab his face with both hands.

"Elvis. Don't stop. I want this. I want you." Something about what you said is exactly what he needs to hear. He kisses your cheek and goes back to pushing into you. After a few more seconds, he pushes himself into you fully and lets out a moan.

"Oh fuck, y/n. You feel so good. Do you think you're ready?" He kisses your neck and shoulder while you prepare yourself for the pain.

"I'm ready." He pulls out and slowly pushes into you again. To your utter shock, it no longer hurts. It feels good. Really good. Again. You moan, this time with pleasure instead of pain. He pumps out and in again and again and you feel like you might explode with how good it feels. You wrap your legs around him and he grunts quietly at the change in sensation. He seems to be enjoying this as much as you are. He's kissing your neck and your jawline and your cheek and your lips, all while he continues his rhythm.

After a little while, he slows down and puts his forehead on your shoulder, sweat dripping down his face.

"Okay. Now I need to finish. It might feel... different."

"It's okay." You push his hair back off of his sweaty forehead and kiss him on the cheek. He smiles, kisses your lips, and then speeds up his pace again. To your surprise, his faster speed triggers something in you too and you feel yourself approaching another release. Just as you tumble over the edge, he pushes into you hard and you feel yourself fill up with warmth. You both climax together, taking turns cussing and kissing each other. He shudders and finishes pumping a few more times. He lays on top of you for a while with his head on your chest and you put your arms around him. After laying like this for a bit, he lifts his head up and looks at you.

"So, do you feel like a person?" You laugh and run your fingers through his hair.

"That's one experience I can check off, at least."

He rolls off of you and goes to get you a towel from the bathroom. You assess the damage on his sheets. Not too much blood. Just enough to get the maids talking tomorrow. He tosses you a towel and sits down next to you on the bed.

"You should come with me on tour."

"Elvis, I..."

"You said you wanted out of this town. And you said you can't marry someone here. I don't live here. Come with me."

"I did say both of those things." Did he just mention marriage?!

"Okay then. I'll come with you. Where to next?" He smiles that natural smile that you can't resist.

"Anywhere we want."

[eddiesgorlie]

Eardrums

Dad to be!Austin x Mom to be!Reader

Summary: Austin helps reader through labor

Warnings: Birth

Word count: 837

Why did I ever think this was a good idea? I was currently in labor with mine and Austin’s first child, that was a great idea, the bad idea was the home birth. As Austin sat on the edge of our bed, I was sitting on his lap, holding onto him for dear life as another contraction began. I tucked my head into his shoulder and let out a powerful scream as he tried to coach me through it. “You got this, baby. Let’s take some deep breath’s together.” He calmly said as I basically blew his eardrums out. “Get this baby out of me!” I yelled. My midwife immediately walked over. “Let’s check you, Y/n.” She said as she checked my cervix. “You’re just about 6 centimeters.” She said. “6?! Only 6?” I cried as my contraction slowly mellowed down. “Sadly, yes.” She sighed. “I think I’m going to pass out.” I said dizzily, looking at Austin with wide eyes. “Lay her down, now Austin.” My midwife said, obviously she saw the panicked look in my eyes. He followed her instruction and laid me down on the bed, I was humiliated as she put a “Puppy pad” under me. “I’m so embarrassed.” I said as tears clouded my vision. “Honey, there’s nothing to be embarrassed about. Your about to bring our child into the world, and you look so beautiful doing it.” He said as he kissed my forehead. “Y/n, he’s a keeper. You wouldn’t believe what I’ve heard dads say before.” She said with a laugh. “Oh I know he is.” I said, smiling. “Aw, you two are going to make me blush.” Austin said jokingly. “We better stop before his head gets too big.” I said with a laugh.

“Austin, lay with me please, I feel another one coming on.” I said with a deep breath. He crawled in bed next to me. “I’m right here.” He very gently stroked my belly through my contraction, doing everything he could to try to ease my pain. “Next baby we have, I’m having a hospital birth and getting that fucking epidural.” I said through gritted teeth as my contraction became stronger. “There’s going to be another baby?” Austin asked with a smile. “It depends on how big this one’s head is, from the way it feels, it got my big head.” I said. “I love your head, it has room for all of your thoughts a great ideas.” He said lovingly. “Fuck you.” I choked out. “I’m sorry…” He said, dragging out the Y. “Can she check me again? It’s been a while.” I said. “Baby, it’s been 15 minutes.” He sighed. “Can she still check?” I asked. He got out of bed and returned with the midwife a second later. “Let’s see where you’re at now.” She said. “You look at be about a 9. It looks like it’s time to start preparing.” She said with a smile.

Austin looked at me with excited eyes as my midwife left the room to get the supplies. “I’m so scared.” I said. “It’s okay to be scared, I’m going to be with you every step of the way and we’ll have a beautiful baby in our arms soon.” Austin said as he stroked my hair. “Who’s ready to have a baby?!” She said as she walked in the room with a big bag of things. “I definitely am, are you, baby?” Austin asked as he looked at me. “Me too.” I said with a smile. “Well perfect. I’m going to see how dilated you are and if you’re a 10, we’ll start pushing, if not I’ll get set up.” She said. I nodded. “Well, it looks like you are at just about a 9. Are you still having bad contractions?” She asked. “They’re horrible.” I said. “I’m going to get set up, if you feel the need to push, just tell me and we will get started.”

It was another hour before it was finally time to have this baby. “Austin, it’s time.” I said, my breathing becoming unstable. He quickly stood up and ran to the doorway, calling for the midwife. She sped into the room and walked over to me. “Feel the urge to push?” She asked. “Mhm, very much so.” I said, my voice shaky. “Ok, let’s try something to get you comfortable. Austin lay behind her and have her lay against your chest.” Austin immediately laid behind me and I leaned against him, she was right, this was very comfortable. “Spread your legs now, please.” My midwife said. I spread my legs and saw her shocked face. “You’re crowning, give us a big push.” She said excitedly. I wailed as I pushed. “It burns!” I yelled. “It’s the ring of fire, you’re doing so good! The head is almost out.” She said with a smile.

“It’s a boy!” She said as she carefully laid my newborn on my chest. “I’ll give you three some time.” You three, I loved the sound of that.