#elvis presley x reader smut

[atleastpleasetelephone]

Elvis teaching reader how to use vibrators one day then catching her using the, by herself one day..then using them on her til she can't take it anymore.

Dolly

A/N: oooh this was a fun one! Elvis is a little mean 😈

Pairing: 1970!Elvis x reader

Word count: 4.3K

TWs: Elvis is dominant, reader calls him daddy and sir(!), dollification (kinda), exhibitionism (if you squint), praise kink, orgasm control, pillow humping, mean!Elvis, teasing, forced orgasms, overstimulation, little bit of choking, general smut.

You sit on the sofa with your legs crossed demurely at the ankle, flicking through a magazine. Elvis has been out all morning, leaving you alone in the house to make your own entertainment. You’re not sure why he didn’t want you to go with him, and you find yourself worrying your lower lip with your teeth again, wondering if you did something wrong. The bang of the door opening and the chatter of conversation make you sit up, putting down the magazine and quickly smoothing down your little dress. 

“Where’s my little dolly?” Elvis’ voice booms out through the downstairs of his LA house. 

You spring to your feet, pushing them into your kitten heels and trotting towards the source of the noise, eager to see him. 

“Here, Daddy!” You exclaim as you reach him. 

One arm pulls you against him, his palm flat on your lower back as your face turns up towards his expectantly. You feel yourself enveloped in a cloud of cologne and cigar smoke as he leans down to kiss you. He lets you go to run his thumb over the bitten skin of your lower lip, eyes narrowing with concern. 

“Need ta take better care a these here lips, dolly.” His thumb presses just that little bit more firmly, making your lips part a little. “Want ‘em nice an’ soft, sweetheart. Not like my old calloused fingers, here.” 

He laughs then, eyes flicking around to the rest of the Mafia who’d come through the door with him. As if on cue, they all start laughing too. You’re not sure they could’ve all heard what he said, but they know which side their bread is buttered on. 

“Yes, Daddy,” you breathe. 

He hums, seemingly satisfied, and steps back, holding out a bag that he’d been hiding behind his back. 

“A gift for my pretty little doll.”

You beam with delight. He must've gone out without you to buy you a surprise. He knows how much you love surprises.

“Oooh, Daddy.” 

Your hands go to either side of your face in girlish excitement and his lips curl into a slightly smug smile at such an enthusiastic response.

“Go on, take it baby.”

Your hand closes around the handle and he lets it go with a satisfied hum. 

“Why don'tcha take it into your bedroom?” 

You feel him watching you as you trot off with it, your ass jiggling in the tight little dress he'd set out for you to wear that morning. He follows at a more sedate pace but when you pause to open the door he catches up, and you feel the flat of his hand against your ass cheek. You giggle. 

“You like my dress?” You tease, coquettishly, looking over your shoulder at him through your big false lashes. 

“I love yer dress, baby,” he coos in response, moving his hand to press his groin against your ass instead, showing you just how much he likes it. 

“Mmmm. Daddy!” Wiggling against him, one hand over your mouth, pretending to be scandalised. 

“C'mon,” he clicks his tongue, back to using his hands again. “Don'tcha wanna open yer gift?”

You nod quickly, affirming him with a “yes, Daddy,” before moving quickly into the room and sitting down on your plush, pink bed. You'd asked for a heart-shaped one, almost as an unreasonably bratty demand, but he'd got it for you anyway. 

His thigh presses up against yours as he sits down next to you, and you feel a familiar warmth start to spread between your legs. Peering into the bag, you dip your hand in to pull out a small pink box. You open it, rifling through the layers of pink tissue until you find another, smaller box. 

You frown. What could it be? Perfume? It's kind of long and thin… opening one end you shake it carefully into your palm. 

“Daddy? What is it?”

You pout as you try to comprehend the object in your hand. It's pink and plastic, shaped like a long thin ice cream cone. He gently takes it from you and thumbs a switch at the base that you hadn't noticed. It comes to life with a buzz, and he holds your hand palm up, pressing the end against your wrist. You jump.

“Ooh!”

That self-satisfied smirk reappears. 

“A treat for my dolly. Ya like that?”

The vibrations creep along your skin and the feeling between your legs intensifies. 

“Mmmm. What's it for?” You blink at him.

The smirk spreads further across his face. “Ya haveta guess, baby.”

Moving the pink toy from your wrist to your thigh, he studies your face as he drags it higher and higher. Suddenly, understanding spreads across it and your lips form a little o.

He chuckles, his other hand pushing your skirt all the way up, exposing your pink panties. Your eyes flick towards the semi-open door. 

“Daddy?”

You watch his tongue poke out to wet his lower lip. “Don't worry ‘bout that, baby.”

Hearing the Mafia as they laugh and joke in the living room, you squirm, eyes fixed on the doorway now. 

“What if they see?” 

“Then they'll have me ta answer to.”

He presses the vibrating stick against your panties, and you forget all about the open door. 

“Oh!”

A finger presses against your lips, and you flutter your eyes open, barely even realising you'd closed them in the first place. 

“Lil bit a quiet now, darlin’. Know I said I'd deal with anyone seein’ ya, but yer only encouragin’ them with those pretty little noises, ain'tcha? Could ya blame ‘em if they came in?”

You shake your head and stare back at him, your eyes wide. 

“N-no,” you whisper back. 

“Be a good girl an’ be quiet f’me then, hm?”

You tell him yes again and he starts the vibration up again, having flicked it off when you’d cried out. Your teeth start worrying your lower lip until you remember what he’d said about it being rough. You suck it into your mouth instead, tongue running over it repeatedly. The feeling between your legs is growing and with it the wetness of your thin little panties. 

Elvis clicks his tongue and switches the toy off again, making you wriggle about and let out a tiny moan. You look up into his blue eyes pleadingly, finding them dark with lust. 

“You enjoin’ yerself, little girl?”

You nod quickly. “Y-yessir.” 

His mouth curls into a self-satisfied smirk at the honorific. Your chest is heaving with your ragged breathing, you’re so turned on and desperate for him to touch you again. 

“Darlin’. Daddy is just fine.”

“Yes Daddy,” the words tumble out of your mouth quickly, giving away your desperation if it weren’t already painfully obvious. 

“Not that I don’t like it when ya call me sir…”

Your head spins. “Yes, Daddy… Sir… oh…”

He chuckles, thumb rubbing your cheek as his fingers rest underneath your chin. 

“Poor ‘lil thing. Reckon ya really like yer new gift, hm?”

You nod again, deciding to not to confuse yourself further by speaking. 

“Good girl,” he coos. “Let’s get these wet panties off, shall we?”

You shift your hips to help him as he pulls them down for you, instructing you to sit at the head of the bed with your legs spread. You watch as he closes the bedroom door, then stalks back towards you like a tiger stalking its prey. Your heart starts beating out of your chest and it takes all your concentration not to press your thighs together again. 

He sits down beside you on the bed, his hand on your face again as he starts to kiss you. You're melting into him, the way his tongue gently and patiently parts your lips and then dances with your own. The noise of the vibrating stick buzzing into life reaches your ears just before the feeling of the vibrations reach your pussy. You jolt and moan into his mouth, and you can feel him resisting a smile. Pulling away, his thumb brushes your saliva-coated lower lip and the smile appears. He looks like the cat that’s got the cream. 

“Ya can make all the noise ya want to now, dolly.”

“Thank you, Daddy,” rushes out of your mouth again, making his smile somehow even bigger. 

“Ya like this, honey?” He asks, pushing it against your clit firmly. You’re starting to sweat and you wonder if this is too much pleasure and maybe you might have to scream. 

“Y-yes. Oh God. Feels so good.”

“What about this?”

Without warning, he slips the long thin toy inside you and suddenly you’re vibrating from the inside out. Your hips buck and you moan, eyes fluttering closed. 

“So good,” you whisper. Your brain seems dangerously blank. 

He starts to fuck you with the vibrating toy and you can feel arousal spilling down your legs and onto the bed. If only Elvis’ dick did this when he fucked you. You think that his thick, vibrating dick would be even better than this feeling right now, before the feeling of his thumb pressing against your clit stops all further thoughts. 

“Oh! Daddy!” 

“Ya gonna cum fer me, dolly?”

You nod quickly, feeling the edges of your orgasm as he keeps up the pace with the toy and his thumb rolls your clit around. 

“Oh… Oh…” you moan, helplessly, your body jolting and writhing with pleasure. 

“That’s it. Cum f’Daddy.”

Your vision blurs as you feel the wave of orgasmic bliss crashing over you, the pleasure is so overwhelming you don’t know what to do. Wetness streams between your legs and you’re calling out Elvis’ name between desperate moans. You’re not sure sex has ever felt quite this good, although you know you definitely shouldn’t ever mention that to Elvis, feeling your body still and his hands move to gentle, tickling strokes of your thighs. 

“Mmmmm. Good girl,” he hums. 

Eventually your eyes flip open again and you gaze up at him in wonder. 

“You never told me what it was, Daddy.”

He laughs. “Ya still don't know? Innocent lil thing. That's a vibrator, baby. A sex toy.”

“Are there more?” You ask, breathily. “Sex toys I mean.”

Those tickling, teasing fingers are still running over your skin as he considers your question. 

“Yes dolly, lots more of ‘em. But this is all we need right now.” He moves his hand to your throat, thumb gently pressing against your windpipe. “An’ no usin’ it on yer own now, little girl.” 

The warning tone is one you're used to by now, and you reassure him quickly that you wouldn't possibly dream of using it without him. He seems satisfied by your promises, tucking his thumb away and letting his hand slide to the back of your neck. He kisses you gently and you lean into him. You've barely come down from your high and you're already thinking about when you'll be allowed to use the toy again. You hope it's soon. 

***

Elvis has been gone all day and he shows no sign of coming back. You flick through one of your magazines disinterestedly, then try reading one of his books. It's no good, though, you can't concentrate. He wasn't interested in pleasuring you last night, just teasing you until your pussy ached and then making you please him instead. Your pussy still aches now. It pulses with need, and you shuffle your legs back and forth, squeezing your thighs together as your dress rides up higher and higher.

Joe coughs.

“Uh… princess?” He has a habit of calling you princess when Elvis isn't there and you don't really like it. 

“Hmmm.”

“Your uh… your skirt…” he mumbles, and you watch the blush spread across his cheeks as he says it. 

“What about it, Joe?” 

You probably wouldn't be this bratty if Elvis were here, but he isn't. 

Another cough. “You might need ta… pull it down, honey. I don't think Elvis would like the view you're givin’ us right now…”

“Well Elvis isn't here!” You declare. Standing up, you pull your skirt down to where it belongs and huff loudly. “I'm going to bed!” 

You can hear Joe humming and muttering to himself as you leave and you have half a mind to go and find his wife and tell her that he's been looking up your skirt. But the ache between your legs is reaching a fever pitch and you have to find a way to relieve it, right now. You stride into your bedroom and close the door behind you, looking quickly around as if you expected to find Elvis hidden in some corner or other. Of course he is nowhere to be seen, but you sigh anyway. You miss him. You like him being there to tell you what to wear and what to do and, hell, probably what to think too. In his absence you always make silly decisions, and as you unzip your dress and let it fall to the ground at your feet, you feel another one coming on. Sloughing off your panties and unclasping your bra, you stand in the middle of your bedroom completely naked aside from your heels. Elvis loves you in heels, he tells you they make your sooties look pretty, so you even wear them indoors. You spin around on the spot for a moment, looking at your white peeptoes. They do make your feet look nice. Then the throbbing between your legs makes itself known again and you remember your earlier frustrations. You don't think it's fair that Elvis denied you last night and then disappeared all day today. He doesn't like you touching yourself on your own, he always tells you Daddy has to be there to make sure his pussy is being treated right. But you don't know where he is, and your pussy isn't being treated right at the moment, you're damn sure of it. 

Wandering over to the full-length mirror in the room, you take some time to give yourself a once over. You don't look bad naked, and the heels add a certain something. You turn to the side, kicking one foot up behind you and putting a hand on your hip. Pulling a pin-up style expression, you imagine Elvis behind you. Before you know it, the girl in the mirror has her hand between her thighs and is stroking herself there. She puts her other hand to her mouth in faux-surprise. Pleasure starts to pulse through your veins, excitement too, and the next thing you know you're thinking of the vibrator. Elvis did say it was a gift for you. An unhelpful part of your brain reminds you that Elvis also said you weren't to use it without him. You push the thought away, concentrating for a minute or two on the coquettish girl in the mirror, surprised at her own hand between her legs. Then you go in search of the box. 

You’re on the bed, vibrator in your pussy, humping one of your pink fluffy pillows when the door opens a crack and Elvis looks in. You don’t notice him at first, of course you don’t, he’s being deliberately quiet and you’ve got carried away, lost in pleasure. You don’t even notice him slipping into the room completely, silently closing the door behind him. Your mouth falls open as the delicious friction on your clit brings you close to orgasm. That’s when you hear it. 

“Dolly.”

At first you think you’ve imagined it. You want him here so badly that your brain has conjured up that soft southern drawl. As your eyes slowly open and your hips still, you finally register him standing in the middle of your room. 

“Daddy!” You squeak, throwing yourself backwards off the pillow and quickly trying to cover up with one of the many throws on your bed. Your hand reaches between your legs to switch the vibrator off in a way that you pray is subtle but you’re pretty sure is anything but. 

Elvis stares at you with ill-concealed annoyance. His jaw is ticking, clenching and relaxing over and over again in a way that you know spells trouble for you. He rakes a hand through his previously beautifully coiffed hair, leaving it spilling haphazardly over his forehead. You can’t help noticing how good he looks, the way his pants cling to his thighs, his rolled up shirt sleeves emphasising the muscles in his forearms. 

“Jus’ what d’ya think yer doin’ exactly, little girl?” He asks, through gritted teeth. 

“I-I was missing you, D-daddy…” you try. It’s not a lie, but it probably isn’t enough to save you. 

He purses his lips, titling his head to the side as he huffs air out of his nose. “What have I told ya ‘bout pleasurin’ yerself without me?”

You wriggle uncomfortably under the blanket. The toy is still inside you and you’d been so close when he interrupted you. It’s not as if you’ve stopped wanting to finish. If anything, the way he’s talking to you is just making you wetter, your stomach twisting and turning, body aching with want. 

“Not to,” you whisper. “‘M sorry, sir.” It’s a long shot, but maybe upping the ante will help. This might be a get-down-on-your-knees-and-beg-for-forgiveness sort of moment. If only doing that wouldn’t make it immediately obvious that not only had you been pleasuring yourself on your own, but you’d been using the toy that had been expressly forbidden too. 

“I’ll make yer sorry,” he hisses, closing the distance between him and the bed in two large strides. Okay, so maybe your kneeling and begging moment has passed you by. 

The speed with which he pulls the blanket off your body makes you squeal, and you try to wriggle away from him. Anything to stop him seeing what you’ve done, but of course he’s quick, much quicker than you and he grabs your ankles and pulls you across the bed by them. Another deeply exasperated and disappointed sigh falls from his lips and you know he’s spotted the toy. 

“What. Did. I. Tell. Ya. About. This?”

You’re on your back now and he’s pushed your legs up and apart, hands on the backs of your knees as he leans over you menacingly. 

“Sorry, sorry…” you mumble, eyes wide and afraid though you know the wetness leaking out of you is giving away your arousal. “...’m so sorry, sir.”

There’s a silence then, during which you can only assume Elvis is considering exactly what he’s going to do with you. You can almost see his brain working on his face, the way he frowns and then eventually his lips curl into a cruel smile. 

“Ya wanna cum, little girl?”

You nod slowly, unsure. It seems like a trap, but you’re not sure exactly how it could be. The smile is wolfish now, and you start to feel like his prey laid out underneath him as he flicks the switch on again and the delightful buzzing fills your pussy. 

“Well let’s see if that’s what ya want when I’m done with ya.”

Your brain latches on to the words briefly, and then stops trying to work out what they mean as he starts the same process as before, moving the toy in and out of you as he touches your clit. It’s mere moments before you’re cumming, the thrill of your orgasm rushing through your body from your core to your fingers and toes. The relief is so great you sigh with satisfaction, hands thrown above your head. You can hear him laugh a little, and you force your eyes open to try to figure out why. He’s already undone his pants by the time you look, and then his dick is in his hand. 

“Warmed up now, aint’cha?” He coos, replacing the vibrator with his dick in one quick movement. 

You yelp in surprise. You’re relaxed, but not relaxed enough to take him in one go so quickly and you feel your pussy stretch a little painfully. Elvis doesn’t care though, he barely gives you a second to adjust before he’s thrusting into you, making your body shake with each movement. The feeling is overwhelming, it’s pleasure and discomfort and a little sprinkle of oversensitivity to boot. You just lie there, being fucked, panting and moaning, barely able to string a thought together. Your ability to string a thought together leaves you completely when you feel the vibrations again, this time on your clit. You squeak. 

“Daddy!” 

“Mmmm. Want ya ta cum again, sweetheart,” he tells you, hair falling into his eyes, sweat on his brow. 

“O-Oh…” you manage, and then your brain is gone again. 

He keeps thrusting and holding the vibrator against your clit so firmly that all you can do is what he wants, and this time everything goes white and you feel like you’re floating in space, in your body and out of it at the same time. He moves the vibrator for enough time for you to catch your breath and then it’s back. And then he does something you didn’t know was possible - he turns it up. 

“Ahhh! No!” You squirm and struggle, trying to get away from him. The feeling is just too much. 

“Uh-uh, little dolly,” he chides. “Yer gonna lie here until ya cum again.”

“I-I can’t… I… oh God…”

“Ya wanted ta cum. ‘M jus’ lettin’ ya cum.”

You keep wriggling until his hand wraps around your throat. 

“Stay. Still.” 

You feel it tighten, blocking off your airway just enough to make the message clear. You stop moving your body but your head nods quickly and desperately. He presses the toy against your clit again.

“Relax and cum f’Daddy.”

His dick is still inside you as your walls flutter and then squeeze for the third time, your pussy hot and swollen. You don’t know how much more of this you can take. He’s not interested though, and he doesn’t give you another chance to try to escape after this one. Pulling out, he flips you onto your belly and lies on top of you, holding you down. Once he’s got you where he wants you, he shifts just enough to slip the vibrator between your legs and turn it up to full. 

“No… no… ‘s too much, please…” 

“One more, little girl.” His voice is gravelly, dark, dangerous. 

Your clit is so sensitive now you don’t know what to do with yourself. Not that there’s much you can do with yourself, with all of Elvis lying right on top of you, holding you against the terrible buzzing torture. You can feel his hardness against your bare ass, you know he’s getting off on this. You hear someone start to whine, and then after a minute or so you realise it’s you.

“Relax, baby.” Sudden gentleness, his lips next to your ear, the smell of him all around you. 

He kisses your neck and you’re screaming out the fourth orgasm, tears collecting in the corners of your eyes and then spilling down your cheeks, wetting the already much-abused pillow. 

“Oh, good girl.”

“No more, please Daddy… no more…” you whine, arms and legs thrashing as he rolls off you and pulls the toy away, switching it off and tossing it over the other side of the bed. 

“C’mere.”

He guides your face to his lap and your mouth to his stiff dick. Gently helping you move up and down on him, he tells you when he’s going to cum so you can prepare for it spurting down your throat. You only gag a little. The satisfied moan he makes fills you with pride, and you look up at his blissed-out face feeling warm and fuzzy now too. You lick your lips as you rest your head on his thigh, starting to feel tired. After a while he comes round from his orgasm and you feel him move you gently and stand up, tucking himself away again. 

“I’ll run ya a bath,” he announces, getting up and going into the en suite. 

Sitting up slowly, you realise your pussy feels about twice its usual size, puffy and hot between your legs. 

“‘M sorry, Daddy,” you tell him as soon as he’s back, eyes big and desperate for approval. 

The corners of his lips pull into a little smile, but it doesn't reach his eyes. “So ya should be, sweetheart.” 

Your face falls and you look down, studying the carpet, worried he hasn’t forgiven you and he might start torturing your clit again. Then you feel a finger under your chin as he tilts your face back up towards his. 

“I forgive ya. Think ya took yer punishment.” He smirks then, eyes sparkling with mirth. “Not well, but ya took it. An’ now I gotta look after my lil dolly, haven’t I?”

You wiggle closer to him as he sits down next to you on the bed, your arms around his neck, pouting lips and big doe eyes. 

“My pussy’s sore,” you whisper. 

He laughs and slings his arm underneath your legs, picking you up so you’re sitting sideways on his lap.

“‘M not surprised, baby. Maybe next time ya won’t try ta take care a yerself without yer Daddy around, hm?”

You nod and he kisses you affectionately, first on the lips and then on the end of your nose, finally landing on a last gentle kiss to the forehead. 

“That’s my dolly. Let’s go and check on this bath, sweetheart.”

You cling to him as he stands, holding you in his arms and carrying you to the bathroom. You can feel his pulse throbbing in his neck as your face presses against it. 

“Love you, Daddy.”

He strokes your hair, then kisses you. “Love you too, darlin’. More ‘an anythin’. Now let's get ya nice an’ clean.”

***

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[burnthheparaphilia]

How big do you think Elvis’s dick is? Any proof/evidence lol

I think this gif will answer your question perfectly 😭

FIRST OF ALL, WHAT TYPE OF ANACONDA IS THAT???????.

(I would definetly say 8 inches long with 4 cm of width. I mean look at it, that thing is Alive 👀👀)

[therealslimshakespeare]

Let’s Fall Out of Love

Divorce Part 1

Fully co-authored with @elvisabutler 💋

Thanks: are due to so many friends on here who helped craft this timeline and concept and helped me hone the motivations into something I trust our readers will find evocative and sympathetic. Y’all know who you are, thanks for being my buddies

Warnings: 18+ for thematic and sexual material. Strong language and bitter accusations between spouses, mentions of drugs, divorce proceedings, lying to spouses (for their eventual good???) mentions of past infidelity, Colonel Parker being the worst, poor Elvis being in a bad place with his health and mentally -and dub con smut. It is in no way non con but the context, the lack of voiced or implied consent and the aggression make it dubious. It is fairly clear both parties are engaging in hysterical bonding, still the scene is dubious as is the language used by the man regarding a wife having no say in it. So please heed that.

Note: it was the attempt of the writers to craft a rather cinematic experience with this fic, one aim was to skip times and have plenty of fade to black moments. Please note the time stamps above each scene to keep track of progression. Anything that is not clarified in this chapter will either be clarified in the next part or else in others. You’re of course welcome to ask questions.

|| 10th, APRIL 1977 ||

Divorce. Lil Tink is divorcin' him. Lil Laney is gonna be his ex-wife.

The thought rattles around in his aching brain as he chases her up Graceland’s stairway, past the portraits of their children and the plaques celebrating their successes and haunting likenesses of younger selves. Both of them home for a brief stint after Vegas Showrooms and California Courtrooms.

Home -it won’t be his home much longer, she’s gonna see to that.

Divorce.

It had taken up half his year already but he was so sure, so damn sure all she needed was to make a fuss and threaten like she does and then it would cool down, smooth over. He was ready to humor all sorts of shit and then she went and pushed for more. More money, more assets, took out a damn lien. His Tink who happily chucked half of custody at him without a fight has now drug this little show on for months, all for a couple more bucks.

She’s takin' everythin' he's worked so hard for, takin’ it all, going back for more even, just to make sure she can still be taken care of in the conditions and standards he had raised her to.

Spoiled lil middle class girl grown into a spoiled, hardened rich woman.

“Till death do you part”, he hurled the promises at her over the phone, as soon as that court order had landed in his hands -but if ya ask Elaine, he's been dead more times than she can count. Maybe he's dead to her in everythin' but body. Ain't that the other joke, he feels half dead even in body.

"Elaine Presley! Turn 'round when I'm talkin' t'ya! Ya know I hate it when people do that” As if she’s required to listen to him or required to pay attention after two decades of focusing so much of her attention and time and energy on a man who has forgotten all of that. On a man who’s forgotten that he’s married to her. That’s forgotten he has children with her, a life he promised her, and not to his manager who's twisted so much of what was between them into this. Whatever this is.

"Why?" She spits still climbing stairs she's climbed a thousand times before. Faintly she hears Marie playing in her room and a surprising amount of silence from Jack's and her heart twists. They don't need to hear this. None of her children do but her youngest- oh her youngest deserve to think their father is still something resembling a good man.

"Why?" As if Elvis is some sort of parrot, he repeats the question back at her. His confusion colors his face, warring for control with his anger and frustration as he follows her through the padded master doors. "Why? The hell kinda question is that?”

“I told you come by and grab those things you said you needed so badly.” she hauls open one of his drawers and the thing squeals on its track from her violent tug. “So do that. If you wanted to chat then we coulda chatted somewhere else. Or, you know -a year ago? Ten?”

“I’m just askin’ why.“ He embraces her own wording and tries to get nearer her, hem her in against the dresser like he’s done countless times before in this very room with dazzling success.

Elaine slips away between them like water and he’s left bracing himself on the smooth wooden top.

“I’m not actively trying to be a shrew.” she murmurs as she turns away and goes to the other side of the room, opening the wardrobe, “No matter what you believe. I told you that you’ll be welcome in this house no matter what, so that’s why.’I’m not allowing you to come around -you just can, it’s your mama’s house still, for all I’m concerned.”

“No, no I mean- why’re you throwin’ this away?” He emphasizes it with his hands, a pleading gesture that sweeps the whole room and its host of sacred memories. He’s used this before but that was back when he figured it was all one big tantrum. Signing custody papers has rather shaken that hope, delusion, comfort.

Tink purses her lips and he notices her face has gone so white this summer, rarely in the sun and addicted to wearing black like some melodramatic Prima Donna. She does look stunning in the papers all decked out in veils and heels, he’ll give her that. He doesn’t know when she turned from being the heart of the operation to the glamor of it all -and he the opposite.

“What’s my favorite color these days?” she asks him instead.

He stares at the sable color he’s seen her wearing for months now and sighs in exasperation, “Shit I dunno -black?” he swings, knowing it’s a miss the second he says it.

“I can’t do this anymore.” she informs him, like color has broken up a twenty year long marriage and he grinds his teeth so hard he thinks he cracks a filling. The pain adds to his headache that matches the pounding in his chest and the roaring in his ears builds to such a degree he’s honestly terrified for them both.

“Stop this.” he warns her, quite sure she knows the red hot fit she’s stoking with her callousness and hurt that she won’t help him out of it like she used to, that she’ll let him go into a blind rage and then blame him for it, no doubt. “I know when you’re lyin’, woman, and I ain’t ever seen a more lilly livered liar than you right now.” he snarls and tries a last appeal that comes out as a barb anyways, “You wouldn’t be goin’ on so rash if your daddy were still alive,” he jabs a finger at her, “guess I can be grateful he ain’t, so he’s not breakin’ down my door for explanations ‘bout a offense you won’t admit to me!“

Elaine absorbs this blow with a wavering face before the nonchalance cloaks her features once more and Elvis would resort to smacking it off her if he were a different sorta man. “Black is practical, that’s why I wear it. It’s not my favorite though.” she simpers, clutching at the shoe she’s picked up from the floor, something for her hands to worry, to hide her own anguish at having to keep him in the dark. To lie repeatedly to him as he breaks apart, she didn’t know it would cut him up so much.

It’s a mess, this web of connections that used to prop them up, used to be a community. Now it’s a den of tattle tales and if one of them suspects she’s anything but angry at Elvis, that this this divorce and seizing of assets isn’t a scorned wife gone nuts, but rather a calculated endeavor to get at his manager once and for all -well Charlie will spill to Vernon and Vernon will spill to Elvis and Elvis will have all the fuel he needs to plead her right back into complacent heartbreak in his arms -before he goes on tour again and murders himself from the workload.

“I’m on orange kick, actually.” her voice is hoarse.

“Then I’ll buy ya some fuckin’ orange curtains and you’ll stop divorcin’ me.” he jabs a tinged finger at her and he looks like he might fall over, his face is so flushed and sweaty, from pills and passion. Elaine readies to catch him, break his fall if he tips. At least here there’s carpet, unlike the hotel hallway that busted his head last year.

“I’m rather in the mood to buy my own from now on.” she lies and sweeps past him to get to the closet.

She never gets past him. His hand darts out and engulfs her dainty wrist, tugging her back and in a spin like he practiced in his movies so many times, a romantic, gallant, possessive gesture that lands her smack against his broad chest, locked in with an arm around her shoulders.

"Buy your own, hm? Gonna sell my mama's house to do that? Gonna sell ya children's home to do that?"

“Elvis, you get your damn hands off me.” she bites back, throwing her weight on his forearm that might as well be made of steel, so little room does she gain from her effort.

"Never minded my hands on ya before. Even 'fore I married ya, it was fine for me to touch ya. To inspect that lil house of yours to make sure it could have all those lil babies ya wanted. Gave 'em to ya didn't I? Gave ya every last one and two've ‘em are even still with ya till they leave." Never mind that Jack's been bouncing between here and California in an effort to do what he's wanted to do since Elvis would play sharks in the bed with him. "But now you're wantin' my hands off. Goin' on 'bout gettin' new curtains yourself."

His words are punctuated with spit and a hissing anger Elvis doesn't normally indulge in. The bitter anger she used on the road with champagne making her head float in a sea of lies and wants and needs and a twisted sort of love till she had to call it. She can feel her jaw tensing up at his calloused fingers finding their way under her chin, tapping at first to try and have her look up at him before clenching around it and tilting it upward instead.

"Who is it, Laney? Who's the person who's gonna take care of ya? Gonna help ya buy those curtains? Get Marie those cameras? Help Jack and Rosie pay for those commie schools of theirs?" With each passing word Elvis’s voice drops lower and lower in octave until he's reaching levels Elaine's never heard. Against her will, her body shivers in his arms. A sneer crosses his lips- a twisted version of his raised lip that everyone knows and loves. That raised lip she's kissed before with laughter and jokes on how "if you keep doing that your face'll stay that way, Naughty." It shouldn't be there like this and yet it is. "That why ya dragged me to our lil Ella Bella's weddin'? Figured the Martins could spoil our daughter rotten away from you and your new caretaker? Your new piggybank? Don't get shy on me now, Laney! Who's the lucky sonuvabitch who gets to have my wife?"

Elaine's learned how to be composed in every situation with Elvis. She'll shoot at the Colonel over love handles and movies that killed her Elvis's spirit. She'll titter at army wives mocking her house and implying she couldn't keep up with being Mrs. Presley and growing a second set of twins in two years. She'll handle losing little Joesphine with a body that betrayed them all and with a smile on her face because Mrs Kennedy had just lost hers and then John died and the US can't handle their Irish Catholic and their Southern Baptist Camelots falling to pieces all at once. But this, this is too much. This is her soon to be ex husband mocking her. Like she'd have had time to find someone else who would take care of her, like taking care of Elvis and their children allowed her to seek any other comfort than in the aging movie star her husband sought to emulate once upon a time before realizing he's just a man too. The aging movie star she considers one of her nearest and dearest friends and who'd- who would be her caretaker if she let him.

Knowing her luck it'd end up worse than this.

No, this is Elvis throwing out an insult to her character, the one he'd have defended till his dying breath except for when she turns on him like Red and Sonny did. Their book's gonna be coming out sooner rather than later and- she's made it obvious he can't trust a soul any more.

It won't do either one of them any good to react. It's not going to help her escape from his grip that's a vice around her. It won't help him see what she's doing and how she’s doing it for him. But she is only human just as he's only human and her lipstick covered mouth opens in defense of her own honor.

"What makes you think you deserve to know?" He can't see through everything to see why shes doing this, so why should he get an answer. "You won't have to worry, we'll all be taken care of. And you can be rebranded! A seasoned entertainer who's free as a bird to do whoever and whatever he wants. Or oooh -maybe the colonel will pick you out a new wife. Pretty little fool to take my place, without trappings like children -or brains."

“I chose my wife.” it sounds like a beg, anger and hurt battling for the upper hand in Elvis’ heart, his hand squeezes her chin stronger, watching her lips pucker just that little bit. Such a soft mouth has no right being so stern and derisive as it’s been these past months, once upon a time he knew how to make it gasp and smile with a word, a kiss, a mere glance. “I chose you, and you promised. It ain’t me breakin’ that promise, ain’t me sayin’ I can’t do this no more -I-I-I’ve spent my goddamn career givin’ you all this, I gave up w-women for you, I gave up movies for you, when you come to me with what’s wrong I do my damndest to fix it. Now you won’t tell me nothin’ but orange curtains, and if I thought those’d fix us I’d be out the damn door right now, headed to find you the best in the country. I would, Laney, you know I would. I’ve given-“ he stops to gasp in a ragged breath, unsure of what part of himself he hasn’t poured into his Tink, entrusted to her once caring little hands, vulnerability poured like so much oil into her heart for safe keeping, his flaws and secrets tucked safely in the little nooks and crannies of her generous mind. “I’ve given-“

-So Damn Much.

“I’ve given you my life.” His Laney stares back at him entirely unmoved, her eyes hard and sharp with their ebony liner, the squish of her lips beneath his fingers barely dismantling her disdain for him, “And seven children from my body. I never said you weren’t a good man,Elvis, or that you're not generous, but we both know we don’t want to go toe to toe in measuring costs for twenty years in heaven. And I’m saying, -I can’t do it anymore.”

“Anymore?” it’s bothered him all these months, that word and he wonders what she thinks she’ll have after this, like they’re not so intertwined and connected that, like twins, they will forever feel what the other feels, want what the other wants, a string tied between them from countless, immeasurable amounts of time spent merged as one, “I ain’t ever not gonna be in you, woman, once mine -always mine. What’s there for ya after this, huh? Seven children -twenty years! -Goddamn I’m in you!” he shakes her at that and sees a spark of something he knows light up her eyes.

Elvis slides a hand from her shoulders, down over her sternum and feels her heaving intake of breath at the missed feeling of his hands on her, down past the tie at her waist, down to the planes of her firm belly, just a little swell and some soft skin that speaks of the souls they once made with their love. He presses his hand, large and warm and cupped to that precious sanctuary, kneading it, lifting it, weighing it just that little bit in his palm.

The little house is empty.

Elvis outright laughs at his mistake then, a booming, jarring laugh at having forgotten just who he’s got in his arms. He can feel Elaine’s violent shuddering along the entire length of him at the strange sound in their gloomy bedroom. Or maybe it’s from the dig of his fingertips at her womb, like he’ll claw inside it from the outside if he’s barred from plundering her the natural way.

Sweet Miss Phipps, Elvis thinks, with her hungry mind and starved body, so damn eager to be possessed, to be made good use of, to be pumped full and burdened with child again and again. He shoulda kept her swollen this past decade, prioritized her hunger over the tours and then, maybe then, she’d not have gotten notions like this.

“God gave me a remarkable woman.” he murmurs to himself in realization, his hands loosening their grip on her jaw to run the backs of his fingers against against the soft swells of her cheeks and Elaine’s heart speeds up in recognition of the shift in his demeanor, that thrumming resolution taking over his body behind her and helplessly her own responds to it.

As if she's another person, someone she would counsel to resist, to stay strong, Elaine feels her face turn towards the caress of his ringed fingers, towards the admiring touch that’s been her joy to wake to a million times, a touch that’s brought her purpose and comfort for twenty years. Her mouth falls open with a surrendering quiver and she makes no move to avert her mouth when his fingers sweep over her face and across her lips in a revenant mapping of his wife’s well known features. Her tongue darts out to taste even a sliver of his salt, she tastes metal instead as his ring glides by. It’s a heady feeling for anyone to realize Elvis Presley intends to fuck them, it’s entirely heightened by a familiar knowledge of his capabilities and a divinely witnessed right to his person.

It’s no villain staring down at Elaine, pressing himself to her -the distance has been necessary all these months to keep her anger and fear prominent, to remind her of the need for such dire action as divorce, the slightest, kindest of touches from him would dismantle that resolve, that garish image in her imagination. Now she’s close to the finish line, so close he’s fully panicking and she can feel the lightness of soon being free of her deceit. He’s no villain, he’s just a good man who has hurt her, who hurts himself more often and worse than how she’s hurting him. And soon they’ll be able to save each other. Just not today.

His hand slips to her throat and he kneads it, contemplating the give and delicacy of her pale flesh, and her responses, the languid subjugation of her body to his touches, just like he’d taught her in this very bed across from them.

She sees when his eyes flick up from her throat to their marriage bed and it’s like a million hummingbirds erupt in her belly in disbelief, in panic, in a frantic sort of hopeful missing.

“Elvis-“ she doesn’t know if she’s trying to warn him, trying to remind him of the wrongness of what he’s thinking, or if it’s a beg for him to ignore her sensibilities, to take her and make her that new little wifey with the carefree face and the mindless little head.

His face is dark and flushed like he gets when he’s aroused, his features seeming to get richer with the heightened intensity of his feelings and she can feel the sweat break out behind her through his silk shirt, slicking up her own back through the gauze of her dress. Elvis’ eyes drop back to her face, remaining there with a million intentions painted therein but not a single flicker of wavering shows.

Elaine had no reason to be as startled as she was when she felt his hands drop to her waist and spin her around, picking her up beneath the ribs with his astounding strength and tossing her like he would rag doll on his karate mats. She landed with a silly bounce amongst the bedding. It could have been romantic if he had any blue left to his irises as he looked down at her, sauntering to the foot of the bed himself and surveying her where she lay.

“Wife.” he greeted before taking hold of a footsie in each hand and spreading them apart for him to step between her legs.

"Elvis." A whisper as if saying his name any louder would unleash something they might both come to regret. As if it'd cause the dam she's locked her emotions in this entire ordeal will finally break. If she calls him husband it's over. He knows her inside and out, every crevice and dip in her body and soul has been mapped by him. The lie will come apart with a simple utterance of his title that he still has in this moment. The title he still has for three more weeks.

"Elaine." Her name comes out in a shaky breath that she can tell he's attempting to control, to rein in. Those blue eyes she's fallen in love with more and more as years had gone by are an inky void, pupils covering every inch they can and not just because of some pill he had to take or because she had watched him die right in front of her. Both their tongues dart out to wet lips and catch errant drops of sweat before she hears the *clink* of his belt.

That noise isn't new to her, the jangle and clanging of the metal a familiar sound. In the quiet of the room, in the quiet of the house? Of their home? It steals a breath from her lungs as sure as his body pressing down on her would have. The belt sounds like one of the heaviest ones he owns and a shiver unbidden rolls through her body as the cacophony of that gaudy belt gets louder and louder in her ears. Each breath takes effort, forcing air between the two of them that threatens to stifle any calming thought or action. A final puff of air- of his breath- warm and humid runs across her hair, forcing a loose strand of it to move.

Elaine doesn't. Elaine doesn't move an inch even as his belt finally comes off in a subdued flourish and a minor curse. Her eyes focus on the gaudy little harem lamp above them even as Elvis drops the belt ever so gently next to her body. It still clangs against the rings of his hand and its own golden links.

Sweaty and warm, his bejeweled hand moves to cup her cheek. "Mrs. Presley." he breathes her title into her lax mouth like it’s Holy Spirit anointed before slotting his mouth against hers with firm conviction in the rightness of his claim to her.

"Elvis."

It's not fair that all this force, all this passion, all this wanting that has -if she’s being honest- waned for her at times over the years is coming out of him only now, now when he thinks he’s lost her. Now that he’s more fool than he’s ever been. They’ve been alone too often in their marriage, if not separated by miles and oceans, separated by intent and interpretations of it.

“Still mine, for a few more months you’re still mine. Ain’t nothin’ you can do about it. You jus’ take it, jus’ take me, Laney”

And if she weren’t blinded herself by a heartache the proportions of which were only matched by losing a child, she might think every grip and clash of their bodies tells her he wants her every bit as bad as she wants him.

Still.

Mindless and hazy she waits for him to notice how every give and shudder of her own frame declares her want for him. He thinks he’s forcing the matter -but all he’s doing is giving her some false hope to curl around and cry over when the fissure finally splits apart.

I wanted you. But I thought I was alone in it, she thinks she hears them both saying it with every lewd squelch and pant.

It’s cruel confirmation of how entwined they’ve become, how much knowledge of the other they’ve collected over the years that he can make her writhe even under these circumstances, have her shattering beneath him effortlessly like older, kinder, gentler times. It’s made worse when she can feel him slow, stopping partway in that familiar way when he’s edging himself, intending to make her go round the loop once more, the familiarity of it makes her want sob, not from any hurt of the present, but at the notion this may be the last time she feels it -they both want this to last. And that unity is a mocking thing, all context considered.

He’s sweaty and she’s trembling, there’s so much warmth coming off his angry frame that she feels like curling inside the furnace and letting him make her forget anything beyond this physical connection that was never in doubt, the sheets are cold and dry and foreign against her back by comparison and she thinks of sleeping alone amongst them for the rest of her life. Elvis seems to sense this weakness of hers, one he wished he supported sooner, taken advantage of back when she looked so indestructible but was privately fraying at the seams, trying to hold the whole fairytale together. He shoulda done this sooner.

Old dog, new tricks, maybe, but Elvis has always been clever, opportunistic even, and he keeps his thrusts shallow and tantalizing as his wife gasps back to life beneath him and he keeps her close, his hands wound into her hair, hairy forearms beneath her shoulders, her ankle caught somewhere near his ear and his sweaty nose dripping onto her cheek.

“C’mon now Tink, you’ve thrown your fit,” he reasons to her in a coo that is underscored by the cajoling gait of his hips rocking into her, it has her clenching around those first few inches of him again, “ya made your point. Don’t -don’t do this to us baby. You c’mon back now. Ain’t anythin’ out there that’d satisfy you like us. Ain’t nobody else needs ya more dan hims does, satnin, don’t leave hims, baby.”

A good fuck, that’s all she needed, he’s sure of it. Or a couple of ‘em. He shoulda started dishing them out in Palm Springs but he’d been so angry when she filed and she’d been so cold. A couple of good fucks, that’ll solve it.

And to be heard. Which -she’s gotten that, all of America’s been hearing how he can’t keep his own wife.

Whatever bit of sentimentality he’s feeling right now, the sort that makes him wanna spill over how pretty she looks, vanishes in the angry tumult of his recalled humiliation. It fires him up instead and he snorts in his breath above her like an angry bull, perfectly capable of making her pay, making her see some sense, too. The longer she doesn’t reply the more this feeling surmounts the gentler ones and if Elvis were being honest, he knows denial had given way to rage and now bargaining and he’s full on panicking, trying to keep a woman who he shouldn’t have to chase.

She’s his wife.

“Elaine?” even to his own ears he sounds frantic and rough.

She is crying beneath him now, he thinks, that’s not all sweat making her face shine and her lips are taut like when she’s trying to hold it in and he wonders why the hell she’s the one crying. He feels like crying, he’s being left without an explanation or a pot to piss in. And all that while he’s still perfectly capable of proving he’s the best she’ll ever get. It’s like she’s agreeing with him when her hips start to move on their own accord, disagreeing with his teasing thrusts and instead she impales herself up on him, rough and sloppy to the rhythm of her fits of crying.

“I loved you.” Elaine sobs into his neck and he could wring hers for the confusion of it, for the way he just doesn’t get her after a lifetime of trying and how only this, this communion, this passion, this fucking is the only thing they make great sense at. Back when it had a purpose, back when it was to bring joy, to make a baby or five, and even now -to tie her to him somehow.

He folds her body viciously and plants his foot on the bed, thrusting so hard into her with all that wild abandon he knows she’d been jealous of him expending on his audience and not his family. “You greedy lil bitch, you love me,” he growls, “-what a revelation.”

‘Just an ounce of all that passion would go a long way, Elvis’ -he can hear the echo of her stupid little voice even now.

Passion? You want passion, Tink? He doesn’t think he’s ever been so passionately furious when he’s climaxed before ever in his life. For once it’s quite obvious he’s not ‘made love’, war maybe, but not love -and ain’t that another joke, he’d meant to make her love him again.

Elaine tears at his back with her fingernails and hears him snarling at her that he won’t stop, can’t stop, why can’t she stop this nonsense? She grips him harder, she seizes herself as he starts to slow, claws at his back with each vicious pump -seems they’ll both be shifting in their seats next time in the courtroom.

“Elaine?” he sounds so broken, like he does those times when they bring him back from heaven’s gates, it’s mumbled into her neck again like always but this time there’s no drugs to blame, not directly, not if she’s honest. She’s the one killing him. This little plan of hers to save him, just might finish him.

She prays God will be kind, prays he’ll keep her man alive long enough for her to finish this ugly business and restore his freedom, prays that maybe the hot slosh of spend coating her womb won’t be a waste. That she’ll have something of him left, just once more, please just one more. Something left of the man she married. Something to remind her of why they married and of what it was like to be happily married. Maybe just once more she wants to carry his entire world inside her.

“No, Elvis. I-I’m sorry, no.”

When he pulls away, it's not just sweat coating his lashes and his face. This plan of hers might just finish them both.

_______________________________

Every day in that courtroom is another layer of pride and image stripped away from Elvis and her and their perfect Southern Camelot. Every day is another headline for the papers with pictures of Elvis making a fool of himself in a way that can’t be smoothed over by anyone. Every day has cameras being shoved in Elaine’s face as she leaves with another hickey on her neck, bruising and blossoming in a way that looks grotesque when she sees it on the news later that night. The black outfits don’t help the contrast.

Every other day is being thrust against a bathroom stall’s wall with heels digging into Elvis’s back.

“E-Elaine-" He’ll stutter out, the feel of her clenching around his cock making it hard to focus or maybe it was the bite of her nails through his dress shirt. "You stop this. Been grovelin' 'n I deserve to have my wife listen."

"Ex. Wife." Elaine will huff out, words slurring into a quiet mewl as his cock brushes that one spot.

"Wife." An argument and a fact that he'll hammer home until the very last second he can. She never corrects him after the first time, too worried the knowledge would crush him to the point of everything finally giving out.

Jesse has taken to looking askance at her, worried and haunted little looks with fluttery hands at shoulder level that remind her of Elvis before he married her. If she had Elvis’ grit she’d ask her son if he had something to say and tell him to say it.

As it is she just pats his elegant hands, a man’s hands, she realizes, and thanks him profusely for his support, for being there at court with her day after day, missing practice and missing dates, letting a youthful spring and summer slip on by. They’ve been at this for close to a year.

“It’s nothin mama.” Jesse insists, almost offended at the idea he’d be anywhere but by her side.

________________________________

|| 5th, JUNE 1977 ||

When Ann makes her call, Elaine’s heart fills with all the old butterflies and girlish excitement of a past decade. They’ve kept in touch, of course they have, but between the touring, the marriages, and the unspoken acknowledgment of life falling apart from one and coming together for another, there’s less common ground to chat about compared to the days when Elaine used to share her husband and two little vixens named Thumper and Tink got to pick him apart in gleeful adoration like girls with their crush.

“Can I come by?” Thumper asks her, soft and kind but without the playful undercurrent that precipitated all her other visits.

“Well of course you can, you know you can.“ Elaine puzzles, finger worrying the wire in a nervous tick that has nothing to do with anticipation, dread pools in her belly instead.

There’s no children to greet Ann when she comes to the door, Marie at school and Jack away at his apprenticeship in California, Jesse has taken to spending his days in the studio when he’s not needed elsewhere, Daisy on the road and Rosalee in College, Ella married and attempting to assimilate with her in-laws. It feels like a ghost house compared to what Ann recalls. Maybe it’s just the passage of time but something terribly wrong and lonely strikes her at the lifelessness of the grand house, like it’s become haunted without a single death.

Unless it’s the death of the Presley’s as a whole. That would do it.

Elaine stands at the top of the stairs like old times, but there’s no gambit of children to wait for and so she speeds down the stairs at a breezy gait, smiling soft and subdued even as she refuses to be coy with her hug. She wraps Thumper up in a deep embrace and Ann squeezes her back, saying a million things at once by their clutching hold, murmuring little half sentences of condolences and “missed you’s”.

“What’d you come for?” Elaine asks her at the dining table after having supplied ice water and coasters for her guest. Ann turned down the saltines Elaine devoured with peculiar relish.

Always a straight shooter, Elaine. It makes Ann sigh and smooth out her skirt, clearing her voice to repay her candor with like. “I came to see what on earth was going on. To see if you were ok. And, I guess I came to see if it’s really happening. Nobody really thinks it’s happening. Or -I don’t know.”

“It’s happening.” Elaine replies with grim resignation.

“I don’t understand because Elvis says you’re the one divorcing and I always thought if one-“ Ann stops herself to scoff, “-I actually never thought either of you would ever divorce. You’re sincere?”

“It’s happening.” Elaine repeats, shielding her saltine chewing with a manicured hand. The action also flashes her still worn wedding band.

“So it’s not a threat?” Ann marvels, “When Roger insisted it was true, I thought it must be some drastic measure, something to get Elvis’ attention. His cooperation, you know, something to just-“

“-I’ve tried many drastic measures to gain that.” Elaine responds, “ all of them failed. I’d never ‘threaten’ something as horrible as this.“

“But…you’d do something…this horrible.” Ann murmurs, scared to play devil's advocate but utterly confused.

“You don’t know what I’ve been dealing with and, what you saw in the early days of residency, even the stuff on the film sets, it’s like aspirins compared to what he’s on now.”

“So it’s the drugs?” she whispers, heartsick, “You can’t handle being…around them? Around him?” she asks, then adds after careful consideration, “I have noticed you seem, seem still very tactile with him. I see the-“ she waves her finger at Elaine’s collarbones, “-I see the marks. Are you scared of him?”

It is unthinkable of Elvis. It really is, and Ann knows her face must show disbelief even when presented with her friend's mottled skin, and she hates herself for doubting a woman’s account, but if Elaine were to say she’s scared, Ann isn’t sure she’d be able to buy that. Not of Elvis. Even under the influence.

“Gosh no.” Elaine scoffs, a beat too late. “I just can’t do it anymore. All of it. Just the typical little things that build up in a marriage, I suppose.”

She tries to grin and Thumper thinks it’s the weakest acting she’s ever seen. Elaine more convincingly played a virgin in their home movies when deepthroating cucumbers for Elvis’ enjoyment.

“How’s Roger? Elaine asks, through with defending herself and Ann feels lost, adrift and unable to get near like she once did.

“Roger is fine.” Ann replies, “He sends his best. How is Ella?”

“Tell him I’m sorry they brought your name up, last week.” Elaine sighs, no apology offered to Thumper. They both know she’d be offended at an apology for being associated with them. “Ella is decidedly pregnant, that’s what she is.”

“Is she?” Thumper coos, followed by an alarmed quavering of hope and concern on her face. “Elaine, that’s-“ it is wonderful despite the circumstances but Elaine’s brittle posture suggests a to-do about it might sink her. “Congratulations, Grandma Tink.” Thumper settles for, daring to reach across the table top, seizing Elaine’s hand and squeezing its saltine dusted elegance.

“Thank you.” she whispers hoarsely, “She calls me everyday. Reminds me of you and me back when … her man he -he sounds sweet. Of course he’ll be gone awhile and so I’m all she has got to talk to about throwing up each morning and watching things swell.” None of this is how they expected or intended, Elvis and Elaine should both be hovering about and annoying their first grandchild before they’re even out in the world. Instead Ella’s perched down in Texas, no doubt terribly homesick, and Elaine’s talking about grandbabies like it’s another addition to the carport. “Tell Roger we’re sorry they brought your name up. Please tell him.”

“We don’t care.” Thumper insists and Elaine hopes that’s an accurate representation of Roger’s feelings. “He only asked-“ Ann stares out the front windows and down the drive towards the gates, summer colors brilliantly lush outside the house, she’s seen this view so many times it hurts, “-he asked that I make sure that…any…videos, and such, were disposed of.” she winces as she gets it out, once her manager, always her manager that man. “I wasn’t sure which of you to ask about them.”

Elaine stares at her intensely as if trying to read her soul. “I’ve most of them upstairs. Ruined by pregame juice mainly but the labels are sentimental so I’ve kept them.” Ann wonders if they’re ruined at all, and if they are she wonders if it’s by orange juice or by something far more lewd. Elvis never had great aim, “I’m sure Elvis has the ones we sent him under lock and key. Either way, you know neither of us would endanger you. You know that, Thumper.”

“Yes, yes I do.” Ann breathes, resting her chin in her hand, mournful at having insinuated otherwise.

“So you can tell Roger they’re not a worry.” Elaine prods with the shadow of an old smirk, “And you never know, in future it might not be so hard to track Naughty and I down at once.”

“Oh?” Ann squints at her in confusion.

“Mhmm.” Elaine just hums and shrugs her shoulders, the purple little mark on her clavicle shadowing with the movement. “Are you saying the night, Thumper?”

Ann leaves that evening more bewildered than when she arrived. “You were right, Roger,” she tells her husband as she settles beside him late that night, “she didn’t tell me a thing. Not really.”

___________________________

|| 9th, JUNE 1977 ||

“They’re gonna stop pressin’ ‘bout Thumper,” the murmur of his voice registering before the hand on her arm does as they both find themselves heading to the bathroom. It’s a flimsy sort of an excuse and one she’s beginning to think the papers and the news cameras see through.

“That’s good.” Her voice is a little too airy but today’s been a back and forth of yelling and excuses and all Elaine’s thinking about is how one of Daisy’s bandmates called her up from a payphone telling her that they almost couldn’t wake her for the show. The show she shouldn’t be doing but the show that Elaine let her do because she’s been playing being an adult for so long that who was she to argue against it?

“Told her we’d make sure it was- nothing came out. Roger was worried about it. For her image and for his, maybe.”

After all, it’s one thing to just be married to Ann-Margret, another thing entirely to be married to Thumper who’d rolled in the hay literally and figuratively with the Presleys at their lowest point. He’s never minded her continued friendship with them but that was before whispers of infidelity turned into whispers of sexual romps that were taped and stored or pictures that were taken and used as masturbatory material. He's never minded until Joe E, bless his soul, implied he might've seen copper locks in a video from Circle K that Elvis had shown a few of the members of the Mafia. Not that the court or anyone could find such a video.

The lock to the bathroom clicks behind Elvis and he turns around, raising an eyebrow. “Now hold on a minute, she- Thumper thought we’d- I’d never-”

“She didn’t. Roger was concerned. She knows us well enough, Elvis.” Still reassuring him as if they’re not going through what is turning out to be the messiest divorce the world has ever seen and likely will ever see. “I told her as much and she felt bad about asking.”

About the tapes and the photos, not so much about their divorce, Elaine reasons. As much as she wants to fault one of her oldest friends -it’s understandable. That was the purpose of the divorce. To come out of left field and appear to all concerned as if the faithful wife has finally grown unable to force herself to put up with Elvis Presley any more. The Colonel wouldn’t question that and had wanted it for years, if anyone were to ask him. Ann- their lil Thumper wouldn’t have been able to keep her plan a secret, her loyalty to Elvis and Elaine would have put her in a spot that Elaine didn’t dare want to shove her into. No, it was better for her to question the same as everyone else. Maybe if this went well they could all have a laugh about it in Hawaii. Or at the very least, Ann could forgive her.

“Don’t know why she didn’t jus’ ask me, ‘m the one who-'' Elvis's voice trails off when it hits him. Why would she ask the person who likely doesn’t hold most of them. Who’s fixin’ to lose everything in a divorce he desperately doesn’t want. “Least she knows now."

Elaine should agree with him, she should agree with him that at least Ann knows now, but she only knows part of the story. She only knows that the man she fell in love with on a movie set and his wife she maybe sometimes loves as more than a friend won’t damage her the way they’re damaging each other. How even Elaine had to joke that maybe it would be easy to run into them together in the future. Even during these hellish days in court they can’t escape each other’s orbits.

Pretending to not love and care for Elvis is an impossible task when what she’s doing is because her love and her care for a man who is sometimes brutish and stupid and selfish is so overwhelming it threatens to choke her.

At her silence, Elvis allows himself to crowd into her space, hands grasping at her hips ever so gently. "How's Rosalee?"

They're both too tired to fight in this bathroom, their energy having been spent outside of it for everything else. Asking about his favorite daughter, the one who's lived and breathed for her daddy for years feels safe.

"Not- she's not very good, Elvis. It's been- she hasn't really been the same." Since what happened. If things were different maybe she'd be taking the time to relax at home and maybe Daisy wouldn't have run off from guilt and - no. Elaine can't dwell on that even as her eyes start to water.

"It's hard on them." His tone isn't accusing, instead managing to just state a fact. This whole divorce has been hard on all of them. Even if Elaine's the one instigating everything he sees how unhealthy she looks. Feels how her body seems to be breaking down in ways that aren't as flashy as his body but the signs are there.

God knows he's not always been the most pious of men in action, that somehow all his good intentions and gospel songs haven’t managed to pull him back as he skidded down the road to hell, yet he’s got such a hankering to hide in the cleft of the rock once again. Acknowledge he’s a man, a failing man, a wayward husband, a prodigal son.

He finds himself reaching for Laney’s hand, palm up in a way she recognizes without a word. She clasps it without hesitation, in a time worn manner they’ve used before marriages, births, trips, shows, bedsides of sick and dying friends and here in this tiled little haven of the courthouse where they’re allowed to be as vulnerable and broken as their Heavenly Father knows them to be.

They bow their heads and Elvis finds himself begging his Almighty not for a return of fortunes but merely a cessation of tragedies. Elvis’ hand twitches, a pinky disentangling from Tink’s clasp and tickling her belly, like a presentment, like a benediction of nothing more than a heartbroken hunch on his part.

_____________________________

|| 29th, JULY 1977 ||

Elvis regrets answering the door to his penthouse the moment it swings open to reveal Johnny Cash with that sort of frantic and half crazed look in his eyes that Elvis thought he'd given up at the beginning of the decade. Wasn't that a hoot, the two of them swore up and down they had gotten clean for their women, the loves of their lives- the ones that God blessed them with to live out their present and future everlasting lives with- only to fall back into those old habits. What a cosmic joke.

"You're a fool, Presley." Short and to the point in a way that only Johnny can manage. Elvis exhales, wondering what exactly he's done to God to earn one of his oldest friends calling him a goddamn fool at the closest thing he's got to a home nowadays. His lil Schnucki comes to visit him, and Jesse's called once or twice but ever since that- ever since he realized how serious his Laney was about leaving him- Graceland ain't his home anymore.

"Ain't gonna say anythin'? No fight left in you?" The door to the penthouse is kicked in and if Elvis was any other person, or Johnny was any other person Elvis might've jumped. As it is, all he manages is a shrug as he pinches his nose. His head's achin' and his eyes hurt and all he wants to do is sleep. Take something to make every whisper floating in his head die down. An older brother telling him how he's ruined his life isn't remotely something he's got the patience for. Not after today's courtroom.

"Whatcha want me to say, John? Ya know everythin', so whatcha want me t'say, hm? Laney's leavin' me, takin' what she wants and leavin' me poorer than I met her."

Not monetarily, no, Elvis figures he could handle that better than the reality of his Laney, his Tink, the bjggest part of his soul other than his mama leaving him. Elaine's leaving him a man with barely any soul left in him to fight and go on. And he swears- lord he swears he felt something different about her recently. Something swelling that shouldn't.

"What I want'ya to say is that I'm gonna go back to my hotel and me and June are gonna tell each'otha that this whole thing's jus' you all been stubborn as a pair o'mules. Cause if it ain't, I gotta be real concerned June's gonna up and do the same thing on me." Johnny's always been someone who doesn't let Elvis get away with half the things everyone else does. Maybe it's because of how they started things together or how Johnny knows that half the reason he's got June is because of Elvis. Or maybe it was some misplaced need to be a brother to Elvis- to fill in a spot he figures his twin would've.

"June ain't gonna-" Elvis starts before Johnny uses the two inches he's got on Elvis to his advantage, staring the other man down as he cuts him off.

"Lane wouldn't've. Shouldn't've. Yet she is. This ain't- this ain't 'bout whatever damn excuse she's got. Can't be. There's somethin' you ain't tellin' everyone."

More and more Elvis has to laugh at his life and how everyone seems to think he's got some power over his Laney. That this whole divorce and the way he's embarrassing the both of them day after day is just another show. A snow job as the colonel would put it. This would be so much easier if that was the case. It isn't the case though, it isn't the case and Elvis feels his laughter escape him like the boom of a cannon.

"If there's anythin'- The whole damn country thinks I'm an idiot who can't keep his wife and here- I don't need you to be thinkin' 'm an idiot who don't know some grand plan his wife's cooked up. Ain't no plan. Ain't nothin' I ain't already groveled about and cried about in those hallowed halls. Laney jus' don't want me any more."

A silence settles between the two men at that revelation with Elvis breathing sounding so labored that even through the haze of his own drugs Johnny levels a look at his friend. It’s only after he’s sure that the other man won’t pass out and die on him that he actually speaks.

"You- You ain't me. She ain't Vivian. She- Elvis there ain't no way she's- that ain't it. You're both- you two can't keep your hands off each other even divorcin'. She- she still wants ya.”

“She wants my cock, John. Wants my money. Wants my house. My mama’s house. Know I said it was hers the moment we got hitched but- it wasn’t ever supposed to be hers. It’s- It’s ours.” Elvis isn’t one to break down, not in front of certain people and Johnny might be one of his friends that are near and dear to him but he doesn’t want to lose it in front of him. Doesn’t want to cry and blubber like he has been in the courtroom, pleading and begging for Elaine to just see sense. “We don’t- She don’t love me any more. T-That’s all there is to it. No grand con-spear-ah-see. Jus’ my wife wantin’ to be my ex-wife. Don’t know if I blame her. I ain’t-”

“You been a better husband than I was. Better husband than a lotta men. If- if 'Lane wanted to leave ya? She'd have done it back in the 60s. When you were carryin' on wit' what's her name- Swedish girl- fire hair. But she went 'n made friends wit' her. That woman's supposed to be yours till Kingdom Come 'n beyond. This doesn't make a single lick of sense and ya know it!"

One would think that nothing could echo in this penthouse and yet somehow Johnny's booming yell, filled with bass that Elvis is sure have made men greater than him bend and cower, echoes and reverberates in his ears. A stark reminder that Elaine and him seem to affect everyone around them for better or worse. Elvis's heart pumps a little harder as he tries to wrap his aching head around everything for what feels like the millionth time.

"I-I know it don't. This- you know these things don't take this long, John. I've-I been draggin' this out. Stickin' my damn heels in the mud. Anythin' to get her to come back, to see what- anythin' to not lose her. And she's jus'- ain't none of it workin'. Daisy up'n'ran off, Rosalee jus' wants me to be near her mama or her mama near me. Jesse's lookin'-"

"That what it is? Her doing it for the kids?” Johnny’s question has him tilting his head, not entirely unlike the millions of dogs Elvis’s children have had over the years. He ought to be offended Johnny cut him off so easily and without a care in the world and yet Johnny’s one of the few people he’d let do that. “She’s doin’ this for your kids.”

For once, Elvis has to look at Johnny and guess at what he means whether it’s because the man is too stunned to put it into words or because he doesn’t want to even entertain the idea, Elvis doesn’t know. He can hear his heartbeat going a bit too and a bit too hard in his ears as he answers.

“Ya mean- have i been failin’ them too? Have a been as bad of a father to ‘em as ‘ve been a bad husband?” The laugh that leaves Elvis sounds more like a sob than anything else. Johnny purses his lips even as he listens. "Ya mean how I found out I'm havin' a grandbaby through Laney? Or how Daisy's worse than you’n’I together on whatever she's takin'? Or how my boys acted like superheroes for their sister? How my lil Schnucki had- how I had to find that out from the Harrisons and my boys? ‘N I wasn’t there to blow those fools’ heads clean off their necks?”

Johnny realizes right then he’s made a mistake coming here. Or maybe just made a mistake pressing this point like it’s honestly any of his damn business. “You haven’t-”

Elvis cuts him off with a wave of his hand as he steps away, trying to feel less like a caged animal. “That’s right, I haven’t. I haven’t, John. Haven’t been there, haven’t given ‘em what they need. I had one job. Take care of all of ‘em and love ‘em. Failed so- I don’t blame her, John. I- I love her. Ya know I do. You know this sorta love but I can’t, I can’t make her love me again. S-she ain’t gonna love me again. Not the way she has.” His breath comes in short pants as his hand shakes and his leg jitters like he’s a man twenty years and nearly ten children younger. “I tried fixin’ this. The kids- the kids tried fixin’ this. But they can’t- can’t get through to her, these days! They’re all beggin’ and cryin’ and torn up and the Tink I know wouldn’t’ve lasted a week after causin’ such hurt to our babies. Well this new edition of her’s done made it close to a year.”

Johnny opens his mouth to speak only for Elvis to hold up a finger and force himself to take a deep breath, like Laney told him to those times after she thumped his heart back to life for him. Laney’d get what she wants if he died but he’s got a grandbaby he’s gotta see. Wants to try and see. “A year. Been nearly a year and it ain’t workin’. Nothin’- been tryin’ to remind her’ve what we had. What I give t’her. It-” Elvis starts to trail off, the fight that Johnny had put inside him slowly deflating till all he’s left with is the shell of a man who’s bone tired. Bone tired and losing everything no matter what fight he puts up. His shoulders slump.

Watching someone who’s as larger than life as Elvis Presley seemingly fold in on himself feels wrong in Johnny’s mind, but it gives him the answer he needs. It gives him the answer he’s looking for when it comes to just what’s going on with this whole divorce and what’s going on with Elaine and Elvis. His legs cross over to where Elvis is in only a few steps and without missing a beat, his arm wraps around Elvis’s shoulder. Elvis might not be his brother in blood but they’ve gone through enough that- that he wouldn’t leave him out in the cold without a hint of comfort.

“You gotta make peace wit’ it, then. Gotta- The Lord ain’t gonna want to see the two of ya fightin’ till ya keel over and die. Gotta give- If what she wants is to not be your wife any more, ya gotta give it to her. Just to make peace.” His voice isn’t much louder than a low rumble and yet Elvis can hear him clear as day.

“She won’t be my Laney any more. Won’t be my Tink.” A response as if he's a child being denied his favorite toy. Johnny doesn't stop himself from huffing out a laugh.

"But she'll still be Elaine, your children's mama. It ain't like you won't ever see her, EP." But that’s not the problem, that’s never been the problem and from the way Johnny’s looking at him, he knows that. “But ya gotta- it’s not doin’ either of ya a bit o’good to be draggin’ it on and on. Not after everythin’. Been livin’ ‘part for so long-” Johnny trails off, hand moving to rub at his eyes as he shakes his head. “Nothin’ you’ve done’s fixed it. Might not be meant to be fixed in those ways.”

“I-I- I don’t have anythin’ to fall on, John. I leave her it’s jus’ me and-” The medicine I got coursin’ through me, is what he should say. “I don’t know how to not be her husband.”

A silence settles over the two of them, punctuated only by Elvis’s heavy breaths and Johnny’s sharp and quick ones until Johnny settles himself against the wall, crossing his arms and raising his leg to press against it.

“Never said ya had to stop actin’ like you were.”

__________________________________

|| 6th, AUGUST 1977 ||

It’s a supreme irony that after a year of wishing for a cessation of that old stubbornness, that bitter pride of his, when such submission comes in the form of a mute and sullen husband opposite in the courtroom, Elaine feels her heart hammer in her chest, bewildered and terrified as he concedes one settlement after another in quick session.

Jesse gasps beside her at the change, even looks ready to beg her to reconsider her greediness as 90% gets handed over without a hint of the raging qualms her opposition has been voicing for five months.

Only Colonel Parker appears scared as shit, angrily grabbing at Elvis’ limp arm and trying to interrupt his directions with the lawyers. Each new verdict gets waved through by a lazy flick of a bejeweled hand and Elaine thinks the repetition of the gavel granting her all she wants could make for a decent backbeat in the studio.

After an agreement to give up 90% of his catalog, Elaine and Jesse both share a look, heartbroken and relieved that he’s really, truly, finally given up.

It’s obvious to all that it’s a bodily wearing out, Elvis looks awful and no amount of jewelry or eyeliner or Snow Job paraphernalia can hide the fact Elaine’s husband is a sick man. Even the papers who’ve found him easy pickings for ridicule and blame suddenly find some heart for his obvious suffering, even if the compassion is wedged between headlines about his expanding waistline and her latest money grab.

“What’s with you?” she demands and this time it’s her hand around his wrist, the unsteady clop of his boots following her heels after the click of the bathroom latch. When she drops his wrist his gold studded hand lands heavily by his thigh, he makes no move to crowd her, to grip her hair and kiss her like old times. “What was all that about?” she finds herself angry instead of relieved, mimics his lazy hand waves and scoffs in his face. She knew and planned on this day coming, but it doesn’t make it less unsettling as she takes in the victory of her spirit over his. He’s her man after all, her daddy and her provider, tough and proud and one of a kind and she’s beat him at the game of wills. She can feel her eyes pooling and angrily runs a hand under her nose as he stares at her with a blank, droopy expression.

“M’tryin’ to make peace.” Elvis shrugs, it was Johnny’s advice. Whatever it took, even if it meant giving in, he’s the man of their house and he’s here to make peace. Maybe if they end on a kind note he’ll be thought of, invited into the inner circle even even, by the time Ella pops out their grandbaby. “Never cared about the fuckin’ catalogue Tink, was only ever about buyin’ time to convince you to stay.”

The colonel’s panic at this latest settlement, one that finished the final prying open of his carefully constructed facade, one that’s exposed him to years of investigations, jail time maybe -though few outside of Elaine, Mr. Corleone and the FBI know that yet- is like sipping a mojito after a long day baking in the sun for Elaine.

Two decades of her saying he wasn’t right and Vernon telling her to go mind the carpet bill, change a diaper, redo a curl.

It should be refreshing, it should be a tonic to the way she feels shaky most mornings and ravenous in the evenings. Instead she finds herself trembling and laying an icy hand to Elvis’ burning forehead, registering the unnatural heat even in this chilled bathroom. It’s not just the stupid velvet coat, one blue eye is far more dilated than the other now she’s pulled his glasses down. He flinches from it, whether from the brightness of the bare bulbs or her touch, she isn’t sure.

“What’ve they got you on?” she sounds like a frog, throat all constricted and voice thin. She cares, she still cares so much and it could’ve been just yesterday she folded her handsome young groom into that bathtub in Germany and held him through the shakes. She wishes she could ask him ‘why do you always waste my love?’ But somehow, even after all her cruelty, that feels a little mean. “Baby, talk to me, what’s -“

Elvis grabs her hand, gently this time and he folds it with her other in both of his, a tan, sparkly little cage, she wonders how long it’ll take him before he pulls his wedding band off. Will he discard it before they make it out of the courthouse today? “Don’t you fret yourself, lil mama, those days are over.” he rumbles as he squeezes her hands and she wonders if he means days of fretting or drugs, they coincide often enough, “You jus’ take care of y’self, ok?” he sucks in a trembling breath and his glasses pinch between her fingers in his squeeze, “Without me there to nag ya bout it I-I -you take care of y’self.���

“Oh Elvis-'' she whimpers, moving closer, wanting to beg for some forgiveness, all clever plans and well timed revelations beginning to fray as she watches him rally his old magnanimity despite his grief.

_____________________________

|| 28th, SEPTEMBER 1977 || >>

He’s not alone in this concern, Elaine doesn’t know if she has Jesse or Daisy to blame for the way Marlon shows up in Memphis like that Yankee son of a bitch belongs that land bound. There’s never been a reason to see Brando except on one coast or another and it’s jarring for Elaine, seeing him take up space that’s so uniquely Elvis’ property, even if it’s under her name.

To see him in her home. Her true home.

She’s no good at hiding her nerves or the exhausted paranoia of wondering how Elvis will react when he hears of this visit. Marlon reads her like a book and leans against her kitchen counter, acting like Mary isn’t throwing them a million side eyes over the biscuit batter, and asks after her well being.

“Pretty terrible, thanks. And you?” she shrugs, wringing out a dish towel over and over. She doesn’t know when she became so fidgety, nowadays it seems she’s always betraying her nerves with restless hands and she never had that trouble before. Always a baby to hold if she needed the excuse, she guesses.

Her last baby is nine years old. And so she wrings out her dish towels and stares back at an old lover with the weary openness of a woman who doesn’t really care anymore. Elvis has been her one goal, and saving him is killing her as effectively as it is him. Those last days she wasn’t sure he was going to keep making it into the courtroom, shifting in his chair not from her nails furrows but from the repeated shots in his rump. The ones that have killed him a few times over.

Jesse made a visit to him in Vegas. Elaine doesn’t know what he said but her boy has barely spoken since. She asked her son how his father was, quite aware she doesn’t know the particulars from his fevered attentions in the handicapped bathroom of the Santa Monica courthouse. Her man would crawl out of his grave for the chance to make love one last time, it’s not a good gauge. Jesse said he keeps the curtains closed constantly. That he’s not letting anyone up. Charlie barely let Jesse up. His eyes are bad, so bad the curtains stay closed, otherwise Jesse couldn’t tell, couldn’t get a good look at him. He didn’t stay for the concert. Cissy says his voice has held up this time, at least.

“Pretty terrible.” She tells Marlon, because he’s always been more friend than lover, and that’s why he’s in Memphis when it’s a fool's errand anyway.

For all Marlon will speak his mind about this that and the other on things he cares about- yet God does he *care* about Elaine and so he bites his tongue at the first thought that pops into his head. *You've been pretty terrible for years and now you decided to care and do something about it*.

Instead: "You look terrible."

Which is a gross oversimplification of his feelings, but Elaine doesn't watch as his eyes slide over her pale and wan cheeks that look thinner than he's ever seen them. She doesn't watch how his eyes drift downward to breasts that are pressing against the dress she's wearing.

They remind him of when she was pregnant with Marie. They remind him of her breasts when she cried out beneath him against her tiki bar. If he closes his eyes he can picture them bouncing in front of his face, begging for him to bury his face in them. The boy- her oldest boy was right. Marlon doesn't even need to look at her stomach and yet some sick twisted masochistic tendency compels him to as if that'll change things.

It's small. Smaller than he figures any of her bumps have been and yet it's there. Mocking and growing at its own pace.

Proof that Elaine Phipps wants to remain Elaine Presley till one of them dies and maybe even beyond. Marlon can't help the way he exhales through his nose, unable to look away even as Elaine talks,

"Marlon, are you even listening?"

No. But he needs to.

"Mind wandered off, you know how I get, Elaine." He straightens up and tries to stay alert, “So, all this really fixed things for ya, eh?” he quips sardonically and she smiles, rolls her eyes, fully aware he’s not mocking her, he’s mocking the hopelessness of it ever working.

“Yeah. It’s all coming up roses.” she snarks.

“I uh-“ he stipples his fingers on the counter and weighs his next move, “-I heard that Colonel Parker’s recently landed in some seriously hot water. Something about the audits during the divorce and how certain things don’t match up. Got it from the papers, you know how long they stretch a few vague facts. I had to read two whole pages to get ‘fraud’ and ‘debts’ out of them. Anyways, I thought you’d find that nice -hot water, all that.”

“So hot it’ll boil his coat of lies right off with any luck.” Elaine seethes and her sudden passion takes Marlon by surprise. Stirs an old appreciation for just how much verve is always bubbling beneath her doll-like exterior. His fingers itch to let out the excess in a gush around his fingers. “Illegal alien.” She expounds, warming to her argument in the way of someone long overdue a listen, “Would you believe it? All those endless homebound tours -runing Elvis into the ground on the same circuit simply because that greedy fool couldn’t tag along. Couldn’t step outside the country. Always wondered why he never crashed our time in Germany, knew he would if could. Fake, heartless, toad.”

“Fuck him.” Marlon agrees vehemently and Elaine looks up with the same appreciative eyes of a decade past when she got no arguments from him, unlike all the menfolk surrounding her most days. Marlon abides by a simple rule: if it pisses Elaine Presley off, he needs no further research to say it ain’t shit.

“Yes, well, I’ll leave that to the Justice Department, I’ve done my bit.” Elaine sighs, her little victory crow short lived and even with his bias for the unattached Miss Phipps, Marlon can see how hollow her achievements are without Elvis to pat her pretty head for them. “It’s been weeks and I- I’m afraid he’s angry Marlon.” they’re not talking of the Colonel now, Marlon can tell by her love-sick face, “I knew he would be, with the divorce and probably with framing Parker but -he was so kind that day. So kind I thought he might’ve forgiven or just, I don’t know but now, now he won’t even answer my calls. Marie hasn’t gotten through either and -it’s not like him, Marlon, it’s not.”

“You got something pressing to tell him?” Brando asks and doesn’t even bother to hide the way his eyes flick back over her ripening form, pondering if her boy hadn’t been silly after all, going on about her not noticing. If he were a woman, a pretty woman like Elaine still is, Marlon would be weighing those growing tits each day with pride and mesmerization -but then again, Elaine’s had more on her mind than appreciating her own assets like a horny old star who never learned to aim for his own league.

“No I only wanted to-” she bites her lip as if unsure or else what she wants is unspeakably optimistic for a woman who just threw it all away. “I missed his voice.”

_______________________________

<<< || 16th, AUGUST 1977 ||

The knock at the door startled them both. Elvis pulled his back from it and faced it like he was gonna defend his wife from the mob he suspected was outside. Old habits die hard.

“Y’all?” Jesse yelled through the thick wood, “There’s half the city crowdin’ outside, there’s not gonna be a path to squeeze through soon.”

“Yeah alright son, thank you.” Elvis cleared his throat as he dropped her hands, straightening his posture fully. “You ready?” he asked dully, eager to get the worst moment of his life over.

“I gue- I- yes.” she stumbled over her meaning and smoothed out her black jacket.

"Daddy?" Jesse's voice was heard over the wood once more and both Elaine and Elvis took matching deep breaths, sweat droplets falling on Elvis’s eyes with a wince.

It's not pity that had Elaine putting the glasses back on Elvis’s eyes, her fingertips brushing against his temples in a simple gesture she's done a million times before. No, it's her last hurrah as his wife, her last action as his wife. They may have signed the papers within the past hour and legally she may be Elaine Phipps once more but until they walk out of this bathroom and this courthouse she was Elaine Presley, wife of Elvis Presley. A low hum reverbated against her chest before she pulled away, a soft smile across her lips.

"There there, Mopey, all better," she whispered in the sort of tone she only uses for the children when bandaging a hurt. "Let's- let's go face the music."

“Got me more nervous than any curtain I’ve been behind,” he joked even as it falls flat and his breath comes quicker and quicker. This was the beginning of their new life as separate entities. As an ex-husband and an ex-wife.

The door wasn’t that heavy when he shut it earlier and yet it felt as if someone had remade it out of concrete as Elvis tried to push it open once the lock clicked open. He could already see the flashing bulbs from the cameras and the press of the mass of people outside waiting for them. They were no stranger to crowds but this one was one none of them wanted to face. A look was exchanged between the three of them as their shoes clicked against the floor of the courthouse, a silent acknowledgement to try and get to their waiting cars as soon as possible.

"Jess! Mama!" Elvis and Elaine looked up through the mob of people as they pushed and pulled at each other trying to catch a glimpse of the former couple with their oldest son. They found themselves half blinded by flashes of cameras and the sun's own light, trying to find the source of the bellowed words. "We're over heyer!"

Jack then. Jack who was growing more and more into Elvis’s twin if not in bulk but in charm and whose shout sounds something like Sargent Presley’s in the army. Elaine looked at Elvis, biting her lip as she did.

"Soundin’ more like me everyday." Elvis commented as if he was commenting on the weather. It had never been hard to talk to Elaine. Yet in this moment, Elvis found himself at a loss for words. And from the way Elaine was looking at him, the feeling was mutual. Matching pink tongues darted out to wet dry lips and Elvis opened his mouth, his arm outstretched as if he was going to grab at Elaine's only for his oldest son to pop up between them, taking Elaine's arm without a second thought.

"I've got you mama. I gotcha, let's go."

The look he leveled at Elvis made every single moment in this courtroom for the past five months seem like child's play. To have his oldest son look at him like he did with any suitor that tried to come Elaine’s way, hurt. But that was his life now wasn't it? That's Elvis Presley’s life without Elaine Phipps. That's Elaine Phipps's life without Elvis Presley, protected only by her sons and her daughters from a man she once called husband. The man she once loved with every fiber of her being or so Elvis thought. Make peace with it, Johnny said. Make peace with her, Johnny said. Elvis didn't think that it would feel like this.

“I know you do, Jesse. Let me say goodbye to your father.” Elaine said as softly as she could in order to avoid the prying ears of every journalist between here and her car. “Jack and your siblings aren’t going anywhere. Not in this crowd. Even if Jack’d run them over to protect me.”

A smile unbidden crossed Elvis’s lips at the joke between their eldest and Elaine. She wasn’t wrong, but that was his boys and their love for their mother in a nutshell, wasn’t it? Capable of murder to protect her the same as him. She- she would be alright even if- even if what he suspected to be true was.

“Jack drove us here, all of us.” She explained as her eyes flitted across his form one last time to check for imperfections and for signs he might be needing anything. “I’ll make sure Ella calls you about-”

“It’s fine, Elaine. Made my bed, gotta lie in it now.” His eyes scanned across the crowd, even as he winced from the light of the sun and the flashes even through his sunglasses, finally settling on his car with Colonel Parker in the passenger seat, waiting for Elvis with a look of pure displeasure and mild panic on his face. “Gotta get him and I outta here ‘fore I give him a heart attack.”

Elaine’s face hardened at the words, and Elvis, in a fit of nostalgic responsibility for her happiness, moved to place a soft kiss against her cheek, squeezing at her hands as he did.

“S��been the joy of my life knowin’ you, Miss Phipps.”

🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀

If you’d like to be tagged in this particular series please drop a note below. 🌹

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[satninroses]

Caught In The Act

(A/N): Almost done with the old fics! I’ll be onto some old requests and some new ones as well. Thank you to everyone who has stuck along! I love you very much!! As usual, I hope you enjoy it :-)

Summary: You and Elvis get caught in the deed by Gladys. You get lightheaded and pass out.

Pairing: Elvis(Austin! Elvis) x Fem! Reader

Word count: 1,857

Warnings: SMUT! MINORS DNI! Penetration, (F. Receiving) Riding, Fingering, Swearing, Mentions of Passing out, Mentions of injuries, Crying, Slight Angst.

Your meeting with Gladys had been quick. At that moment, she was cooking dinner for the family in celebration of your arrival. She gave you a hug and a kiss on the cheek and you both talked for a few minutes. Elvis was getting antsy and bratty so she sent you on your way. You wanted to talk to her a little bit more but Mr. Impatient in the pink button up couldn’t contain himself. He practically dragged you by the collar up the stairs and to his bedroom. Once you stepped in, he shut the door.

In an instant, his hands were all over you. He raked his fingers through your hair and slid them down your back. His hands met the small of your back where he pushed you into him- hard. He wanted to be as close as possible to you. While one of his hands stayed on your back, the other found its way to your ass and gave it harsh slap. You let out a surprised yelp and gave him a fake-annoyed look. Your pursed your lips at him and squinted your eyes.

“I think that’s enough hitting for one night Mr. Presley.”

“I don’t think it’s enough.”

His lips slammed into yours in a animalistic and feverish kiss. His hands came together again and began to unbutton the blouse portion of your dress. You had already kicked your heels off to make the process easier and quicker for him. He got to the last button and harshly shoved the top of the dress of your shoulders and onto the floor, leaving you in your lacy bra and panties.

“It’s like you knew. Good play doll.”

He disconnected from the kiss and pushed you onto the bed. He also made quick work of his clothes as well leaving him in just his boxers. He got on top of you and pulled you into another kiss again. Both of his hands snaked their way around your back to unlatch your bra and let your twins go free. He then slid his hands down and removed your panties. His hands found their way to your pussy where he paid the most attention.

You bucked your hips into his hands while he rubbed fast circles around your clit. He pulled away from the kiss to attach his mouth to one of your nipples. You placed one hand on his shoulder and the other one raked through his soft jet-black locks.

“Mmm.. Elvis. Please stop teasing! Please just give it to me.”

He didn’t need to be told twice. He pulled away from your body completely to stand upright. He removed his underwear and threw it down into the ever-growing pile of discarded clothing. He grabbed a condom from his bedside drawer and rolled it over the length of his cock. He stood back up and pulled your legs so you were right near his aching cock. He spit in his hand and stuck two fingers into your hole.

“Oh! Elvis! Could have warned me!”

He chuckled and pulled out. “Sorry Darlin’. Just couldn’t help myself”

Before you had the chance to respond, he pulled his fingers out and replaced it with his cock; submerged himself into you fully. You slapped a hand over your mouth to try and muffle the pornographic moan that escaped your mouth.

He didn’t wait for you to warm up to him. He went straight in- rough and fast.

It wasn’t like you hadn’t had sex with him before. Usually he tries to ease you into it by going slow and gentle but tonight was just one of those nights. You weren’t mad at him and it’s not like it hurt. Quite the opposite actually. It felt so good. Maybe a little too good.

“Fuck! Take it baby. Take this fat cock come on, moan for me pretty girl.”

You let out soft moans that had a hint of pain laced into them. You were feeling a little woozy and light headed. You thought this was just a part of it.

“Yeah! Yeah you’re such a pretty little slut. Gonna cum for me? Gonna cum all over my cock? Say it! Say you’re gonna cum!”

His grunts were on the verge of barbaric. You wanted to groan in pain and tell him to stop but you just couldn’t.

“Mmm. Elvis I’m gonna cum. Please make me cum! Uhh you’re so thick please make me cum E!”

Elvis increased the speed and strength of his trusts. He gripped your thighs and pushed them up as far as he could go to get a better angle of your G-spot. Once he found it, he didn’t stop hitting it. Your eyes were so far in the back of your head that you could practically see your brain.

Your senses were invaded by him. All you could see and hear and feel was him. And you loved it.

“I’m so close! Oh god, Elvis! Please make me cum GOD!”

With one final thrust he pushed you over the edge and into cloud nine. He didn’t stop his ministrations though. He kept fucking you through your orgasm until you saw stars.

While you couldn’t deny that this was the best you had ever felt, your lightheadedness was taking over. You felt like you could pass out right then and there.

He pulled out and breathed for a moment. “Are you ok?” You nodded slowly before sitting up. When you sat up, you didn’t feel his seed leak out of you like it usually did. “Wait, you didn’t cum?”

He smiled bashfully. “No. I wanted to try something new with you. I want you to ride me.” Your heart pounded in your chest at the confession but so did your head. You really didn’t want to press your luck with his headache but you also didn’t want to leave him to count on his right hand to finish the job.

You nodded again before moving next to him on the bed. “How do I do this?” He’s hand grasped yours. “Go ahead and get on top of me. I’ll help you out. You wanna make that that pretty cunt is right over me. I’ll take it from there and then I’ll tell you when to sit on it, ok?” You nodded at his direction.

You did everything he asked you too. You sat over his cock and slid it along your sensitive folds. You finally found the hole and began to push down. You kept going until you bottomed out on him. In this new position, it felt like he was reaching new spots inside you that had never been discovered before.

“Try to bounce on it or move your hips. If you need help, let me know, ok?

You flashed him a knowing smile and began to gently pump yourself up and down on him. His moans from beneath you were deep and guttural. His hands found their way to your hips and began to slam you down on his cock.

You were getting that feeling again. That floaty feeling like you were being suffocated, but this time it was much stronger. You pressed your hands onto his chest to ground yourself but you were already too far gone.

Just then, the door to the room swung open. In walked Gladys. “Elvis, baby! Dinner is re-“

Simultaneously, you three screamed. You tried to cover yourself but it was too late. The scare that had been set upon you pushed you over the edge and you passed out.

Elvis not realizing that you had passed out let you lay limp on his body as he pulled out. As soon as he let you go, you fell off the bed and onto the floor where you hit your head.

Gladys stood paralyzed at the door. She could not believe what she was witnessing. She almost passed out as well when she heard Elvis.

When you fell, his cock slapped his stomach and he let out a loud groan. He stood quickly and bent down next to you. “(Y/N)?! (Y/N)! Wake up sweets!” He jostled your body in an attempt to wake you up.

Gladys rushed over to be of some assistance. “Did she hit her head? If so, how hard?”

“I-I don’t know! I just let go of her and s-s-she fell off!”

In that moment, it had dawned on him the gravity of the situation. He was kneeling next to your hickey covered body, naked, in front of his mom. His cock bobbed gently and was so achy. He wanted to cum so bad it hurt.

Elvis let out a sob and leaned his head next to yours. “I’m so sorry mama. I didn’t mean for you to s-see me like this.”

Gladys didn’t care that her son was naked and erected in front of him and that his girlfriend lied passed out on the floor. “Baby it’s gonna be ok. We’re gonna get you both cleaned up and we’re gonna get her all patched up. Just take a few breaths in for me and go out on some clothes.”

He nodded and stood up to exit the scene quickly. Gladys stayed by your side and attempted to administer CPR to you. Miraculously, it worked! Your eyes fluttered open slowly and your hand went straight to cover your eyes because of the brightness.

Once your eyes adjusted to everything, you finally took in the scene ahead of you. You were naked, covered in hickeys and bruised finger prints in front of Elvis’ mom. Your hands raised to cover yourself.

“Oh g-god! Mrs. Presley I’m so sorry. I’m so so so sorry! This is so unladylike.” She placed a hand to your mouth. “It’s ok. Elvis will be back with some Tylenol and water for you. For now, let’s get you dressed and back into bed.”

She helped you up off the floor and slowly walked you to the bed. She helped you button up one of Elvis’ shirts and put your panties back on.

Elvis returned to the room with medicine, water, and a pair of his pajama pants for himself. Once he saw you up and conscious, he made a beeline for you. He put the items down before wrapping his arms around you. “(Y/N), baby! You’re ok! Im so sorry I let this happen. I should have been more careful.”

You smiled gently and grasped his hands into your hands. “It’s ok. I should have said something. It’s not you.”

He hugged you harder and you hugged back; albeit weakly. Gladys stood from where she was stationed at the bed. “I’ll give you guys some time. Dinner is ready and on the stove if you want any.”

Elvis turned to he was facing his mother. “We’ll come down in a minute. Thank you mama.”

Gladys smiled and let out a chuckle. “Any time baby.” She turned to walk out by stopped in her tracks right outside the door.

“Oh, and..?”

Elvis listened intently for what was to come out next.

“Please be safer next time.”

You and Elvis let out tired and knowing laughs.

“You can say that again.”

[oldermenlvrgrl]

Somebody tag me in a really long slow burn erotic piece of Elvis x reader smut. (Bonus points if the author isn’t writing in their native language)

[elvis-elk]

Don’t Cry Over Spilt Milk

Pairing: Elvis Presley x Fem!Reader

Hello hello, I’m not dead HAH. Guess what, I DID THE FIC. Might not be appealing to some, but I thought the idea was interesting. Deals with galactorrhea, which is just people inadvertently lactating. I’m still working on some other drafts, but college is slightly being in the way, but expect some new things soon!

Summary: You come home tired from a laboring day at work, and Elvis seems to cheer you up.

Word Count: 3K

Rating: E (Explicit) 18+ only!!!

Warnings: Soft fluff, slight breeding kink, fingering, milk kink, stripping, teasing, a little bit of self-stimulation.

Let’s dive in, shall we?

Driving home after a long day of work, you worked yourself past the gates, and into the driveway to reach your home, Graceland.

It was late, a little bit after 7, and you normally always come home this late. But right now, your back was killing you.

Making your way out of the car and into the pristine mansion, you were greeted with one of Elvis’s good hearted chef’s that urged you to eat some dinner. So after stashing your belongings away, you willingly obliged and ate dinner relatively quickly.

Thanking the kind cook, your legs dragged themselves up the stairs towards your shared bedroom with The King. Your Elvis Presley.

He’d always be the one to come home horribly late or in the early hours of the morning, with him doing recordings and interviews and such.

But whenever you were with him, the time spent together was precious.

Sitting down on the bed, too worn out to change clothes, you stared at yourself in the full length mirror that was opposite of the bed.

Your eyes stared at your chest. With the work clothes clinging to you, they looked engorged. As you notice this, your head finds its way into your hands.

The problem was, you were inadvertently lactating. It’s somewhat an anomaly, but still plausible for women who weren’t pregnant. And you were 100% sure, you were not. You grew up with this, your doctor advising you that it was no side effect to any medication or clothing you’d wear. It wouldn’t always happen though, but you noticed it would happen on long days of work.

So, the best advice she had, was to not let your breasts become too enlarged by milking them. And in all honesty, it did the trick. It would never hurt either, it just became a chore you had to deal with. Elvis didn’t know this though.

You hadn’t told him because you thought he’d get weirded out. So before you’d ever see him, you’d make sure to “milk” yourself to look presentable. Which is why you were always lucky to be home before him.

But, not this time.

You heard one of Elvis’s expensive cars pull up into the driveway with some others, him getting out and talking to them saying goodnight while they pulled off. He eventually made his way up the front of Graceland’s stairs.

Fuck.

You shuffled over to the window to see if your ears were deceiving you, but, they weren’t. You had zero time whatsoever to deal with your chest and you were scared.

Backing away from the window, your ears perked when you heard Elvis’s booming voice come up the stairs as he greeted the others working in the house. You could see his shadow through the bottom of the door, and he politely knocked, asking if he could come in.

Shoot, he knows you’re home.

Already being caught, and not wanting to upset the man you loved, you called to him saying he could come in. You rushed over to the dresser, grabbed a small towel, and quickly sat back on the bed. You slowly started to wiped off the makeup you wore using the same mirror you stared hopelessly at beforehand, making it seem like you’ve been there for a while.

Opening the door, Elvis waltzes into the room, guitar case in hand, wearing one of those beautiful bright colored suits of his.

“Evening sweetie,” he croons while going to put his guitar case to the side. From your view through the mirror, his face was slightly sweaty, eyes drooping, and his walk lazy. He looked so tired, and you felt so bad. You wanted to walk right up to him and give him as much comfort as you could, but even you were dealing with your own problems at the moment.

“Hey Elvis, welcome home love, ” your voice came out soft, so quiet. Exhaustion laced in your words. He noticed this and turned to look at your sitting figure. Even though he looked worn out, he still always managed to have some type of energy in him.

“Sweetie what’s got you all bothered, hmm?” he questioned, slowly making his way over to you.

You started to internally panic, trying to cover your chest in any way you could. Should’ve grabbed a blanket or coat or something, you thought. That would’ve made this much easier.

“What’s wrong sweetie?” he reaches you and sits down, the bed shifting due to his added weight on the edge.

You really, really hoped, he didn’t notice, but you still reply to him.

“N-nothing Elvis, just a, a tired day is all,” your voice cracked, making him slightly more worried. “You should worry about yourself right now love.”

“If they’re making you overwork again Lord have mercy-“ he started to shake his fist in the air, an attempt of showing his disdain for your workplace.

“Elvis it’s fine, I promise,” you drop your hand with the rag to the side, your other hand gently grabbing his fisted hand. This caused you to slightly turn your body towards him, and that’s when he discreetly got a good look at your chest. There’s no way he couldn’t not see.

Shit, you fucked up.

“There’s gotta be something on your mind,” he moves to sit behind you, crotch pressing against your bottom as he stares into the mirror looking at you.

“What do you mean, Mr. Presley?” you feigned innocence, crossing your arms over your chest. He had his hands behind him, leaning back slightly onto the bed as his groin pressed into you further.

“You just sound so tired sweetie,” he keeps his crotch pressed against you as he leans back up, your back coming into contact with his chest. Wrapping his arms around your waist, accentuating your breasts further. This man knows what he’s doing, you almost begin to sweat.

“Yeah Elvis, maybe it’s time for some rest,” you try and curve him off, but as you go to stand up, he softly pulls you back down.

“But sweetie, I never get to come home this early. I feel like I’ve been neglecting your needs,” he looks at you through the mirror again, honesty ringing clear in his voice. He clings to you tighter, his chin nestled in the crook of your neck so that he can still stare at you. His legs close in around the outside of your thighs.

Basically, you were trapped.

“Elvis, love, you’re too busy so it’s fine. I understand, it’s your job,” you grasp for one of his hands, slowly rubbing your thumb back and forth over his knuckles. His eyes follow your finger’s movements. He squeezes you even more.

“But my job’s also to take care of you~” he mutters into your ear, pressing a kiss to your cheek and taking your hand in his own. Butterflies bloomed in your stomach, Elvis always making you feel like a little schoolgirl. You leaned into his touch and closed your eyes, the defensive barrier that you put around yourself faltering.

“And that also means I have to take care of these,” one of his hands moved to grab and squeeze one of your breasts. You whine out, back arching forward as it felt sore, yet so good.

“Elvissss,” you mewl, trying to push him away but your attempts failed. His hand never left, and to make it worse his other hand had grabbed your other lonely breast. Watching your reactions through the mirror, he decided to give your chest one firm squeeze, which shot your eyes open.

“You think I wouldn’t notice these? What’d you do hmm??” he breathed in between kisses on your neck, squishing your mounds even more.

You struggle within his grasp, the feeling pleasurable, yet you’ll know what’ll happen if he squeezes too hard.

“I, I-“ you couldn’t even talk straight, his touch felt intoxicating. You could feel everything, even through the thickness of your clothes. Your nipples started to feel hot.

“Tell me, you got anything done to yourself? Wanted to please me?” he asked, genuinely curious to hear your answer. His hands moved to work on getting your clothes off, his fingers working on the buttons of your coat.

“Wh-what, what do you mean?” you still tried to wave it off, but it just didn’t work. His hands slinked towards the bottom of your shirt, looking in the mirror your chest was pressed against the fabric. His fingers slowly hooked under the material and wiggled it off your figure.

Your chest was on full view for his hungry eyes. Your breasts pressed into the figure of your bra, swollen almost. Elvis’s pupils dilated, eyes widening at the sight. His hands trailed their way over and up your waist to cup both of your breasts.

“Elllviss, careful, this is my new bra,” you complain.

“And what do you mean by that now?” he stopped his kisses, and looked back into the mirror, giving your breasts an experimental hard squeeze.

Your hands gripped hard onto his thighs as, just as you’d expected it, you began to leak. One of your hands came up to cover your mouth, Elvis missing the warm touch of your palm. Milk had slowly started to seep into the fabric of the bra, a wet spot being evident. Elvis’s eyes light up for a second, before those crushing blue orbs were covered in lust.

One of his hands gently gripped the hand that covered your mouth.

“I’ll be asking you questions later lovely, but right now, let’s take care of you~”

His other hand left your chest, but you still couldn’t move since his thighs were still enclosed around you. You were wearing a skirt, so he pulled the edges up to reveal your panties. He slid the crotch to the side. The hand that still held yours pulled your hand down.

“Touch yourself sweetie, and watch the mirror while you do it,” he commanded. His hand still firmly gripped yours, not leaving just yet, urging you to do the deed.

His palm was now on the back of your hand, his fingers draping over your own. Middle and ring fingers pressing together, he pushes yours and his in at the same time past your dripping folds, causing you to arch your back away from his chest.

Four fingers.

All at once.

Your pussy ached, the feeling of something inside of you relieving. Your jaw went slack as soft moans started to escape from you, body slumping into Elvis’s.

“That’s right now there ya go, relax sweetie, fuuuck,” he whispered lovingly into your ear, his hips pressing into your ass.

His fingers were already more slender, yet thicker than your own, but now as he guided your own fingers inside of you, you thought it was an added bonus. His other hand retreated back to one of your breasts, molding against it to see if anything else would happen.

Opening your eyes, looking into the mirror, it was a sight. Elvis’s hand with yours inside of you, him leaning over and into your neck to press open mouthed kisses on the tender skin, his hand squeezing your breast nonstop.

All the attention was on you.

He wasn’t satisfied yet though, feeling his dick press against you through the suit’s pants, he was a bit far from done.

“Come this way, look at me sweetie,” he turns you so you’re looking at him. His fingers left yours, feeling empty. You decide to shimmy off your skirt, as Elvis wanted to take off your bra.

Before you could protest, he’s as fast as can be with the bras clasp on your back, the material falling onto the bed. Your tits were protruding out at him, milk slightly leaking. He begins to smirk, as he pulls you from the edge, and presses your back against the bed.

“Let’s see what you taste like here hmmm?” his head dips down, mouth latching into one of your nipples, sucking fiercely on it. You threw your head back, one hand clutching the sheets as the other continued circular motions on your clit.

His mouth ravished you, even slurping up the bits of milk the seeped out from you. Jesus Christ was this really happening? He moved between your breasts, leaving trails of saliva in between.

“It’s not fair,” you whined. He peeks his head up, wondering what you meant. You reached to lightly tug on his suit’s sleeve.

“Hmmm, alright then. But I get to take it off,” he muses, watching your reaction. There was hunger in your eyes, but could wait. You’d wait all night if it meant seeing his gorgeous figure.

He leans back onto his calves, his thighs slightly spreading as he did so. His calloused hands working on the small buttons that brought his jacket together. He kept his gaze on you, smirking, but your eyes were focused on his working hands. As well as the prominent bulge that shown through his pants. Slinking his jacket off, throwing it somewhere, he splays his hands over his chest.

“Just imagine,” his voice came out sultry, smooth like silk, his hands grip onto his pecs through the lace shirt he was wearing, the tent in his pants growing from his self-stimulation. “What my hands would look like all over that pretty little body of yours.”

You were anxious for his touch, but you were his good girl. His patient girl. You continued to finger yourself, but did zero grumbling.

His lace shirt was unbuttoned as it fell off of him. Chest exposed, his hands still stayed moving. Slowly making their way to the top of his pants, making sure you wait even longer.

The whole time you were watching him, but at this point you were so touch starved that you threw your head back in anguish.

“Did I say to stop looking sweetie?” Elvis’s hand grabs your chin and raises it up to meet his eyes, his stare piercing through you.

Shaking your head no, he lets go of you and goes back to his pants. Finally unbuttoning and peeling the fabric off, he was only in his boxers.

“Better?” he motions to himself, smirking as he did so. As you nod your head yes, he crawls back over to you.

“Take um off for me?”

Uhm, fuck yes.

Your fingers stopped their ministrations on yourself and rushed to the waistband. But not wanting to seem too desperate, you pulled them off slow, hoping to get a reaction out of him.

He started panting, watching your fingers just glide over his cock, not paying it any attention.

After taking it fully off of him, your hands reached for his face. He leans over your figure, bracing himself on his hands. He takes the fingers that were inside of you and sucks them, wiggling his tongue around to lick up your juices.

You start to giggle as it tickles, and he stops.

“C’mere,” he dips his head to your lips, making you taste yourself.

His hips move towards your core, his dick pressing into your thighs. Hands finding their way back to your chest, he goes back to groping and squeezing at them.

Your body felt hot. Unbearably so. You couldn’t stop moving and writhing underneath his body. He then unlatched from your lips to move to your breasts once again, but before he did, he lined his cock near your pussy.

He gazes at you, lust swirling around in his stare. Blinking, his head slightly tilts as he gives an earnest smile.

“My good girl~”

And at the same time, he slides into you and begins locking his lips on your nipples. His hips jutted back and forth, rocking your body against the sheets.

You lean your head back, it slightly falling off the side of the bed. Opening your eyes, you see the mirror.

Dear Lord.

From this angle, even with it being upside down in your vision, you could see Elvis tending to you. Caressing your chest, sucking and nipping on your nipples, tasting the milk that seeped from them. His hips moving up and down in the air, not showing any sign of stopping just yet.

He moaned against your tits, continuing to suck and squeeze some of the milk from you. At some point, his hands moved away to pull your body back onto the bed, pinning both of your wrists to the sheets, his mouth the only thing moving on you.

“That’s right sweetie,” he gasped between moans, seeing how you shut your eyes in bliss. “Tell me how good I fuck you, yeah?”

“So- aH! So, good mmmm,” every thrust he made into you stuttered your speech. He hit that sweet, deep spot inside of you every. single. time.

“Taste so good, making me act up,” he murmured against you, feasting on your breasts. “All hot and bothered~” You thought he’d be appalled, but, seeing him continue to love on you, he was the same Elvis you knew.

“Please, I-, mmm,” you were close already, feeling a little pathetic that you were unraveling at the seams.

“It’s alright sweet,” he bucks his hips into you more fervently, making sure you get your high. “Let yourself go~”

Your hands balled into fists, legs trembling, eyes screwed shut, gasps and moans erupting from you, your chest heaved against his hungry lips.

Your insides twisted, the coil that formed continuously growing, reaching the high you desperately chased after. Your cunt ached from how hard he was pushing into you, your tits felt so hot from all the attention they were getting from him.

“Elvissss!” you whined out, reaching your apex in mere seconds. Juices leaked from your pussy, coating his pelvis that still continued to move. Your legs fell limp against the bed, head falling back onto the sheets as he submerged his dick as far as he could into you, reaching his climax a while after.

His head lay resting on your chest, while you continued to stare at the ceiling trying to process what the fuck just happened.

“Nng, sorry sweetie, lemme get off ya,” he grunted out, voice tired, his arms moving to push himself away.

“..no,” your voice came out soft, hoarse. A hand gently moved to lightly grab at his bicep to stop him from leaving.

He looks back down at you, head tilted to the side as he gave you a lopsided grin. Milk dripped from his lips, but he didn’t care. His face falters as he notices something.

“Wh-what’s wrong?” you ask, frightened of what his answer could be.

He shifts his body to move his face closer to you, and so that he could bring both of his hands to your face.

“Sweetie you’re crying,” he says in disbelief, slightly chuckling as he wipes the tears away with his fingers. “What’re ya crying for?”

It hadn’t dawned upon you that your eyes had started to water, so you started to giggle as a way of trying to wave it off. He continued to wipe any more tears that had escaped.

“I was just, scared,” you smile up at him.

“Hey, don’t you be crying over no spilled milk now, y’hear?” he joked, fingers moving to squish your cheeks. “Ain’t nothin to be afraid of when I’m here.”

This boy was too charming and funny, dear Lord how did you bag him?

“I trust you,” letting your doubts be carried away, your arms wrap around his neck to bring him into a kiss, both of your lips moving in tandem.

He pulls away as he needed to breathe in some air, but not without inserting a quip.

“Taste good, don’t it?”

You start to laugh as his smirk widens, your hands gently swatting at him. “If I’m ever hungry again, I’ll just find my way over to you yeah?”

He cuddles up against your figure and presses kisses all over your face.

Yeah, you’d let him get another taste. Maybe you’d be able to taste him as well.

[lillyrob]

Actual footage of me patently waiting for my favorite author to upload😫😫😫

[voxmortuus]

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

⇘ UNIVERSE:⇙ The Bikeriders

⇘ WORD COUNT:⇙ 3k

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

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

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

⇘ DIVIDER CREDIT:⇙ @nyxvuxoa

⇘ IMAGE CREDIT:⇙ @nyxvuxoa

⇘ My Master Masterlist ⇙

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Soft to the touch." he pointed out.

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

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

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

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

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

"Yes. I understand."

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

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

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

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

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

"Atta girl." he praised.

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

"More, please." You ask.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Finger yourself." He snarls

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

"Keep going." He demands.

And you do, you don't question him.

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

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

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

"Please, please let me cum" You plead.

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

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

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

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

"Open up." He states.

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

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

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

"Thank you." you muse.

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

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

"So I have a question." He states.

"Yes Sir?" you ask.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[wanderingelvis]

hi girlie! love your work, please could you write about a reader that loves sex with ep but is still very innocent?

i hope you like it! thank you for requesting!

masterlist is here for more elvis fics takin' new elvis requests here

wc - 2.8k

warnings - SMUT, daddyk!nk, profanity, overstim, praisek!nk, innocencek!nk, all the usual stuff for me

Elvis was the one to expose you to a lot of your firsts. Your first kiss, your first time in Las Vegas, your first designer dress, your first sip of alcohol but most importantly, your first experience of sexual pleasure. 

Now, despite your innocence, even you knew that Elvis had been with many lovers and was well known for his abilities in the bedroom. Sure, it made you a little hesitant at first, a little scared that he would find someone more exciting and experienced than you and forget all about you. Actually, you were more than a little scared of that happening, you were terrified, you didn't even want to fall for Elvis because you never felt that you were worth the famous man's time or attention but oh Lord, you fell hard.

And you could tell straight away why so many people fell for him, when he looked at you, it felt like he was looking through to your soul and out the other side again. It was like you were the only person in the world to him in that moment.

But when Elvis introduced you to the world of pleasure and sex, you couldn't get enough. You were nervous during your first times, so, so nervous and Elvis could tell. But he went slowly with you, praising you and cooing at you as you took all of him, even if it stretched your walls and made a few sweet, little tears trickle down your cheeks.

Elvis would always praise you and make it clear what he was doing too, never leaving you in the dark.

"M'gonna take off these pretty lil' panties now, little girl."

"Open them lips f'me doll, that's it, just like that, good." He would hiss.

"Daddy's gotchu, s'okay baby, yer likin' that ain't ya? S'okay, I know yer overstimulated. That's my girl."

"Yer takin' my fingers so well little one, that's right, you're doin' so good f'me. You like that dontchu dolly? Yeah? M'gonna add another finger, stretch out yer pretty lil' cunt, I know you can handle it baby."

And he'd delight in watching you get so worked up under him, writhing with pleasure and practically begging for more through whimpers and tears each time.

Yet still, that sweet naivety that clouded you never left. You were always still seeking Elvis' guidance and love and attention and that's when Elvis realised the gem that he had in you.

You'd gaze up at him with uncertainty, seeking reassurance with every move as he would teach you all the ways he enjoyed being pleasured and Elvis would have to stroke your pretty little head as he taught you how to give it.

You became obsessed with feeling pleasure from Elvis, you found yourself begging and mewling for it in the morning, whispering in Elvis' ear during the day asking for him to take you, and undressing yourself at the earliest opportunity in the evenings so that Elvis would have his way with you.

And he'd always chuckle at you fondly, adoring your sweet desperation. 

You didn't even know the names of the acts that the two of you were performing but it didn't matter, your head became fuzzier and fuzzier over time, your only goal was to feel the pleasure that Elvis gave you.

And it wasn't long before Elvis realised you were his naive little nymphomaniac.

You were sat in your regular spot in the International, watching Elvis perform. You just thought he was oh so magical, the way he sang, the way he moved and gyrated on stage, captivating you and the rest of the audience. You watched tiny beads of sweat drip down his tanned face onto the chest hairs that were exposed by the white jumpsuit he wore.

He'd look over at you, every now and then, sending you a wink to make sure you knew he remembered that you were the most important little girl in the audience and by the end of the show, that sweet desperation that had started to become an all too familiar feeling, was creeping its way in. 

And Elvis just loved to tease you. He practically relished in watching you whine and plead for his touch and his love, he just thought you were so sweet, especially when you still didn't understand half of what was going on, you just got so carried away. 

So, when you and Elvis finally made it back up to the hotel suite after the show, you were nothing short of desperate. See, Elvis had this thing where he was just so damn nice to everyone that after a show, he'd go around and thank everyone for their hard work, and whilst you loved that about him, you were growing needier and needier by the second.

Elvis knew you all too well though, he knew that he was dragging this out for his little desperate baby. In fact, he didn't just know, he enjoyed it. Elvis decided to drag out the process and turn you into his own needy little mess tonight.

"You look so pretty tonight baby, y'know that? Got all dressed up n'pretty f'me huh?" Elvis teased, lowering his head slightly to kiss the top of yours as his large hand traced your skimpy, sparkly dress that he'd bought for you, only three days before. 

You gulped and nodded quickly, smiling and letting out a giggle - he'd barely touched you and yet there you were all flustered. 

It was no surprise though that just a couple of loving words and a gentle touch from Elvis would send you spiralling each time he did it. You'd never experienced life the way that you had since Elvis came into it, before Elvis, you would attend your part time job, go to the library and do your studies. It was mundane, unexciting, and repetitive. Then, you met the most famous man in the entire world and everything changed, you had so many new experiences from spending hours in lavish boutiques, to dining next to the King of Rock n' Roll as you both sat in the crowd, watching Frank Sinatra singing. 

In all honesty, it was a life you were never prepared for, you still weren't adjusted to it all that well, that's why you clung to Elvis, he was like some form of security blanket for you, a protector of sorts that looked after you and cared for you. He knew you were new to everything so he would always take things slow with you, making sure that you were always okay and comfortable. 

He'd help alleviate the stress of the lifestyle change in lots of ways, for example, he would choose what you wore each day and how you did your hair and make up. Now, many people had called this controlling, but how were you, a girl that had never stepped foot on the Las Vegas strip, supposed to know what to wear to a casino and show? Elvis knew what would look good on you and what would be appropriate for each occasion because Elvis always knew what was best for you. He ended up knowing you better than you knew yourself.

The new world that surrounded you, Elvis' world, was intoxicating. You hardly ever had time to think straight or understand what was going on around you. 

But what you did know was that when Elvis touched you, you felt good, so you chased that feeling. 

"C-Can we, can we do the stuff?" You whispered, avoiding Elvis' gaze.

Elvis smirked, oh Lord you were just the most adorable little thing. "The stuff? Well baby, yer gon' have to use a couple more words than that." Elvis said with a dry chuckle, lighting up one of the Cuban cigars that Sammy Davis Jr had gifted him.

You sighed a little, a mix of desperation, impatience, frustration and embarrassment. "Can, c-can you, touch me?" You asked softly. "Please?" You squeaked, pleadingly.

"Oh Little One," Elvis hushed, causing a sweet whine to leave your lips. "Y'need me t'touch you huh baby?" Elvis teased as you nodded almost frantically with wide eyes, leading him to chuckle at your state. "Need me t'make you feel good hm?" Elvis said, his eyes growing dark in comparison to your wide, sparkly eyes.

"Uh-huh," You squeaked adorably, barely an inch between the two of you. 

God, Elvis could just devour you. 

You swallowed the lump in your throat as he cupped your face in his large coarse hands, his left hand also holding his cigar between his fingers, the warm filler of it tinging the skin on your pink cheek, making you wince as you gazed up at him with eyes wider than a Disney princess.

"I ain't gon' touch you tonight honey, no, yer gon' do it all on yer own." Elvis whispered cooly, as you whined at the thought of not having him touch you, your eyes resembling that of a puppy dog as your desperation grew.

"What do you mean?" You murmured looking up at Elvis tentatively with a shaky voice as Elvis placed his large hand on the small of your back and guided you to the bed where he set you down, moving you like you were his own little doll, but in many ways, that's exactly what you were.

"You're so needy Little One, yer gon' have t'learn how to pleasure yerself baby," Elvis teased, facing you as you sat upright, letting his hands roam up your sides as your body trembled in his hold.

You chewed on your lip cutely, "Are you not gon' touch me at all?" You asked, your head tilting.

"No honey, y'gotta learn how to touch yerself, yer gon' touch yerself f'me okay baby?" Elvis instructed and you nodded despite feeling apprehensive. "Good girl." Elvis praised. "All I'm gon' do is get you undressed so I can watch all of you as you play with your lil' pussy."

You shivered as Elvis' coarse hands shimmied your dress up, exposing your white panties that already had a wet patch that was making the fabric sheer and translucent, letting Elvis see the pretty pink flesh that was so needy. 

"Let's get these cute lil' panties off baby, looks like y'need them off." Elvis chuckled making you blush. "Oh baby, m'only teasin." Elvis said, soothing you as he dragged the damp panties over your legs, letting them pool at your feet as he grabbed each leg and helped untangle them from you, all the while being careful not to singe your skin with the burning cigar that he took a puff from every now and then. "Atta girl." He cooed. "Now, pretty girl, spread them legs f'me." Elvis instructed and you did exactly what you were told, gazing at him intently.

Elvis really had taken over your entire life, you basically worshipped the man. Sure, there was a noticeable age difference and there was a definite power imbalance but as much as you worshipped him, Elvis treated you like you were the most delicate, precious thing in his life.

Despite Elvis having all the power, he could practically feel his old men knees buckle whenever you would lie there on the mattress, staring up at him adoringly with those wide eyes full of curiosity and love. Your plump, glossy lips parted ever so slightly as you studied all of Elvis' movements as he took your tender wrist in his large hand, guiding your hand to your slick coated cunt.

Your breathing was shaky at best, your chest rising and falling ever so erratically, making Elvis smirk at how nervous you were, even though he knew how much you needed to be satisfied.

Slowly, he directed his hand over yours, making your soft, small fingers fondle your soaked folds, your slick leaking from your pussy as your fingers traced up and down your slit. 

Your gaze wandered back and forth between Elvis and what was happening 'down there', the curiosity and nervousness getting the better for you as you let out soft gasps and mewls at yours and Elvis' actions.

"Keep going." Elvis commanded, removing his hand from yours, letting you continue on with the motions as you began to pleasure yourself in front of the old man. "Tell me how it feels honey."  Elvis said, his voice emotionless as his eyes darkened on you as you squirmed about.

You blinked hazily, your mind becoming a mess, your attention becoming divided by the overwhelming sense of pleasure and the God of a man that stood at the end of the bed, towering over you, not taking his eyes off you and your body.

Only a single, small lamp illuminated the room in a dull, dark pink tone, the rest of the light coming from the Las Vegas strip, the bright lights reflecting into Elvis' suite, letting Elvis see the silouhette and highlights of your body as you let your fingers rub around your clit in circular motions, eliciting soft whines from you.

"Feels so... feels so nice." You sighed lazily, moving your hips in a pathetic attempt to create more pressure between you and your own hand - but Elvis could only find it adorable how desperate you were. "B-But," You said through breathy whimpers. "Want you."

Elvis smirked, a slight chuckle leaving him, one that had an almost sadistic tone to it as he walked to a chair opposite the bed and sat in it, taking a puff from his cigar, letting the smoke cloud him as he stared at you.

"Not tonight little girl. Yer gon' keep going until yer learn how to make yerself cum like a good girl." Elvis hissed, causing you to whine at his denial. "Tell me what yer gon' learn, I want to hear you say it." Elvis softly demanded.

"Gonna, gonna," You whined, trying to do as you're told all the while touching your cunt. "Learn how t'make myself cum." You recited, your mind becoming hazy and the pace of your fingers quickening.

"Why?" Elvis teased, enjoying watching you battle with yourself, as he made you have to think whilst he knew that all you wanted to do was mindlessly pleasure yourself.

"Good girl, m'a good girl." You whimpered, your eyes beginning to brim with tears.

"That's right baby." Elvis praised, taking a drag from his cigar, never letting his eyes leave your body. "Put your fingers in your pussy for Daddy." Elvis instructed firmly - almost coldly.

You blinked at him, pausing your motions to silently confirm what he had said to you.

"Now." Elvis growled and you nodded tearily, pushing two fingers into your soaked hole, whimpers leaving your lips as your pink cheeks felt tears trickling down them from the sensations and the experience.

"You've never fingered yerself, pretty girl?" Elvis asked, watching your trepidation and jolted movements, he could tell you were experienced from the smallest of things.

All you could manage was a shake of your head as it rested on the mattress, your eyes rolling towards the back of your head as you let your fingers pump in and out of your pink pussy - and if your cheeks weren't already pink enough, Elvis would've seen a blush creeping onto your face at the question.

You cry out adorably from the pleasuring feeling, as you practically hump your own fingers, not noticing that Elvis is now palming the large bulge in his pants.

Oh, how he loved to be the one to corrupt you like this.

"Faster." Elvis demanded before you stared at him with nerves and apprehension in your eyes. "Don't you want to be my good girl?" Elvis teased, exploiting your desire for praise.

You nodded feverishly, tossing your head back onto the mattress as you let your fingers tease your hole at a quicker pace, slipping through your walls, your own slick acting as lube.

"Look at you, so needy, doin' such a good job of playing with your cunt and puttin' on a show fr' Daddy." Elvis praised, knowing his words would send you spiralling.

And he didn't stop, urging you on with gentle commands, praises and downright filthy comments as he got off to you masturbating for the first time.

"Such a needy puppy, ain't ya? That's it, doin' such a good job baby."

"Yer such a pretty sight fr' Daddy, fuckin' yerself with those fingers baby, it's okay, you can go faster, you can do it."

"Just breathe baby, y'can fit in another, I know that pretty pussy of yours can handle it. Good girl, that's it."

"Feelin' good huh? Gon' touch yerself when I'm on stage huh? Yer cunt that desperate huh kid?"

Elvis continued teasing and praising you, talking you through your first orgasm from your own masturbation, your mewls turning into full-blown cries before your body collapsed, and you lethargically pulled your fingers from your glistening, wrecked cunt.

You pushed yourself up and blinked adorably, looking at the wet patches on the silk bedding before you shyly looked up at Elvis.

"M'sorry, I made a mess on your sheets." You whimpered, still feeling overwhelmed and extra-sensitive, sniffling as you wiped away a stray tear.

Elvis couldn't help but smirk at the adorable sight in front of him.

You, the love and light of his life, a naked, flustered, soaked mess on his silk bed sheets, your chest rising and falling erratically as you came down from your self-inflicted high.

"Uh-uh, ain't nothin' t'be sorry about baby." Elvis cooed and he watched relief wash over you as you offered him the goofiest, sweetest smile at the reassurance and Elvis felt his both his heart and cock jump.

How had he been so lucky to have such a sweet, little, naive nymphomaniac such as you?

[twobitsblade]

Hi!!! I saw your poll and I was wondering if you could write a 60s!Elvis X Reader fic, where Reader is having a hard time at work because they can't seem to keep up with everything and Elvis finds them crying outside their work place? Comforting them and asking why they can't just let him take care of them?

Take all the time you need!❤️

(hello, thank you so much for requesting this! it was slightly difficult to write since this is my first time writing smut, but i hope you all enjoy it. i’d love to see more requests featuring elvis in my inbox!)

⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆ MY HEART BELONGS TO DADDY !

a work of fiction written by @twobitsblade and inspired by @atleastpleasetelephone, @jhoneybees, @wanderingelvis, @lustnhim, and @theelvisprincess !

contains: smut (obviously), reader and elvis are married, elvis is a cocky know-it-all with hints of the 1960s male mindset !

you and elvis had been together for a while now; around three years of loving, fighting, and arguing, but you knew that at the end of the day he’d always be there for you. and you knew that even when you took up a new job at your aunt’s boutique—something which elvis discouraged multiple times (“oh m’baby, you ain’t needuh do these stupid ol’ jobs, m’the one providin’”)—while you were very thankful for him, your aunt desperately needed your help, and who were you to turn her down?

but it turns out that perhaps elvis was right—this job began to be a lot more than you’d signed up for. originally, the deal was you’d wear a cute dress, get your hair done all nice (for free, mind you), and greet the customers, but then more and more duties started being asked of you.

“oh dear, can you go bring the boxes from the basement?” “can you go downtown and pick up some new hair dyes? we’re all out, and the shipment won’t be on time?” “can you give her a little trim? it’s not too complicated.”

while you don’t like to think of yourself as spoilt, you’re not very used to working these types of jobs. i mean, you and elvis have been together for years, and you’d gotten used to the comfy lifestyle he provided you.

one day, it just became too much—you were turning around like a dog, fulfilling one task after the other, and it didn’t help that you barely slept last night. it’s not like you could tell elvis about this because it’d prove him right, and you can’t handle that damn cocky smirk on his face as he tells you how he knows his little one wasn’t made for such hard work.

you sigh, placing your things down—the sound a bit louder than intended, causing you to flinch. you toss off your high heels, lazily running up the stairs of graceland and into the bedroom you and elvis shared—grand, beautiful, and decorated by both of you as a visual representation of your love for the other—but now all it felt was suffocating.

you plopped down on the bed, not bothering to change out of your outdoor clothes, and laid your head facing the ceiling when suddenly you heard rustling and groaning, causing you to turn your head as you saw the back of elvis’s head. he slowly turns around to face you, clearly still half asleep.

“mmm, hey m’baby, how’s work?” he says drowsily, grabbing you by the collar of your dress and pulling you close, wrapping his leg around your waist.

“it was fine, el—fine as usual,” you say, though he wasn’t stupid; even half asleep, he could tell. he groaned, rubbed his eyes, and sat up.

he looked you up and down before smirking—god damn it—“well, what’s the matter, huh, little ’un?” you rolled your eyes and weakly shoved him, the shove barely moving him.

“i said it was nothing, didn’t i?” you groaned, but he doesn’t care.

“ah, f’god’s sakes, just let me take care of my babygirl…” he groaned, grabbing you and laying you on top of him. you tried to pull away to no avail, causing you to let out a mewl which made him chuckle—everything about him was irritating you in that moment: his baby blue eyes, his tan skin, his perfectly, oh so disgustingly perfect smile, and the softness with which he looked at you, his girl. you sighed, resting your head on his chest and stifling a sob, and he noticed, tangling his fingers in your hair, “shh, m’girl, tell daddy what happened.” you did, and even though it all came out as incomprehensible high-pitched, whiny rambles, he nodded as though he understood you—not just your words, but the language of your soul.

you eventually felt content, done venting. you sighed, wiped your tears, and looked up at him, and suddenly you chuckled. it wasn’t quite wry but not quite from happiness; you felt good—elvis always had a way of making you feel good.

and in your exhausted state, you needed him, needed him badly, and he could see that; after all, he knew you inside and out. his hand went down to your back, then to your hip, then to your butt, then to your thigh, causing you to feel slight tingles coursing through you—you hated that, you hated how easily he could get you in such a vulnerable state.

“baby, come on, you need to open up for me. how else can i keep you safe, huh, lil ’un?”—ah, the typical elvis double entendre.

you nodded slowly, turning around on his lap so he could unzip your dress, the slight friction causing him to groan, “fuckin’ tease, you are…” he said, unzipping your dress slowly but surely, “ah, m’girls wearin’ somethin’ fancy, hmm?” he said, observing your baby pink bra with lace detailing. your face heated up at his words as you expected him to unbuckle your bra, but he didn’t.

he linked his fingers underneath the clasp and pulled you backwards so that your back rested on his chest, as his hands, in a painfully slow manner, slid down from your cleavage to your ribs, to your belly, down to your pelvic bone, and under your skirt—and you arched into him, causing a giggle to escape him. “hmm, needy, ain’t ya?” he said, his fingers rubbing circles on your clothed cunt as you squirmed into his touch. he slipped one finger underneath the fabric and then inside you, causing you to let out a loud, high-pitched moan—and god knows he wasn’t going to be the one to silence those sounds—then another finger, then a third and final one, as he slowly began pumping them in and out of you. you lost yourself in his touch; incomprehensible words mixed with moans left your mouth drowned by his groans—the sounds almost pornographic.

he pulled his fingers out and wiped them on your dress, causing you to whine at the sudden emptiness you felt and at the vulgarity of the action.

he rolled around so that you were now under him, and a surge of excitement crossed you.

he removed his pants, then his boxers, his erect cock springing out from them. he grinned, “y’ready m’baby?” you nodded, preparing yourself as he aligned his tip with your entrance, your wetness working as the perfect lube, and slowly—painfully slowly—he entered you, moans leaving your mouth as your mind became dazed, hungry for the man you loved so much.

slowly, he began thrusting in and out repeatedly, causing you to let out a strange sound—a mix of a scream and a yowl—with his fingers digging into the sensitive flesh of your hips. “mm, take it for me like a good little girl.” you nodded, continuing, and as you felt your climax approaching, he nodded, a silent signal that you could release yourself, and so you did—all over him—and soon after, he followed.

you both plopped down onto the bed with a sigh. he looked at your tired frame with admiration, the sweat glistening off your body and making you look like an angel. he hugged you slowly, “m’girl, you gotta be honest with me; i’m always gonna be takin’ care of you, aight?” you nodded, letting out a gentle mix between a whimper and a sigh as his body embraced yours.

[lala1267]

Her Property (Part 2)

Summary: She got what she wanted.

Warnings: smut but not too bad, breaking into a hotel room?

Aria was spralled out on her pink satin queen bed. The headboard was decorated with fairy lights and Polaroids of Elvis performing on the grand stage. The pillows were in shapes of love hearts and flowers. Her hair hugged the satin sheets, and her dress hiked up to her thighs. She lay there just staring at the giant diamond chandler that hung above her. Her brain was clouded with thoughts.

"I want Elvis, I need Elvis."

She whispered to herself as she remained stuck in her lustful haze. She was willing to do anything to have her man, anything. The sound of the television echoed around the pink room. Suddenly, her eyes widened, and her body jolted as she heard,

"Elvis is in New York."

Coming from the television. She instantly sat up. Her bare feet hit the shiny wooden floor before she ran over to the television at lightning speed. She got on her knees in front of it as her bambi eyes watched the screen like a hawk. Her messy hair and her eerie look only added to her insanity.

"Elvis is in New York City for an interview on 5th Street. He is predicted to be there at 4pm. He is said to be staying at a hotel nearby."

That was all that Aria needed to make her insane thoughts a reality. She looked at the rather large clock that hung on her pink painted wall.

"3.10pm"

She said to herself before getting up and rushing to her closet. She threw all of her clothes on the floor and on her bed until she found the perfect outfit. She picked out a short tight dress that hugged her figure perfectly. It was a cherry red, and it was studded with expensive Ruby's that gleamed and twinkled in the light. She had also picked out a pair of black dolly heels and a black ribbon to sit in her blond luscious curls. Her makeup was perfect. She was perfect. She grabbed her handbag and rushed out of the door.

She walked over to 5th Street. The cold breeze hit her pretty face and pushed her golden hair back. She noticed a big crowd of people and a large black limousine.

"Elvis."

She said to herself before making her way to the crowd. Women screamed like animals and men scoffed as their girlfriends worshipped the godly man that graced their presence. Elvis stepped out of the limo and began to sign autographs and take pictures. He had a smile on his face as always. He was dressed in a silk button-up long-sleeved t-shirt that was colourful. He wore some classic black flares, and of course, he wore his signature gold belt. His dark shades covered his dreamy eyes. His black tarr hair shielded the top part of his shades. He towered over the dozens of women and even the men.

Aria finally got to the crowd, but by the time she arrived, Elvis was already inside. Her heart sunk slightly as she looked at the empty limousine. But she wasn't going to give up that easily. She saw a rather large looking security guard standing near the entrance of the building. She quickly walked over to him and tapped him on the shoulder with her acrylic nail that was studded with little diamonds. The man turned around and looked down at her with a frown.

"What?"

He grunted.

"Do you know where the hotel is that Elvis is staying in by any chance?"

She asked politely. She put on her best puppy eyes and stood like a lady. The man looked down at her before pointing to a local hotel that was right across the road. Aria's eyes followed his hand. She nodded before rushing over to the hotel.

She ran across the street as cars honked their horns at her. She stopped in the middle of the street and faced one of the cars.

"Shut up!"

She shouted at the driver before walking off and flicking her hair. She finally got to the hotel. She walked through the entrance as if she owned the place. She saw some of the Memphis Mafia members in the lobby. They were already looking at her up and down. She wasn't surprised. She was a very pretty girl. She swayed her hips and swung her long hair as she walked elegantly over to the vending machine. Her heels were clicking on the marble floor that she graced. She pretended to choose one of the items. It was only a matter of time until she would have the Memphis Mafia at their knees for her.

"3, 2, 1..."

She slowly and quietly counted down.

"Ma'am, don't worry, I can buy ya something from that, I will pay."

Jerry schilling said as he came rushing over to the beauty queen. His blonde hair and smart suit were quite attractive, but Aria was here for Elvis, not Jerry. She turned around to look at the handsome man in his eyes. A sexy grin formed on her pink glossy lips as her long black eyelashes batted.

"Oh, I couldn't accept that."

She said in a high-pitched voice as she wafted her small jeweled out hand. Jerry was quick to respond.

"Oh, no, I can't let a pretty girl like you pay."

He said as he stepped closer to her. Aria smiled slightly as she looked up at him.

"Well in that case, I'll have a cherry cola."

She said as she looked at him with her bambi eyes. Jerry nodded before pressing a few buttons and inserting a few coins into the vending machine. He patiently waited for the cola to come out. He grabbed it and gently handed it over to Aria, who was drowning in her own ego.

"Could I get your name, my lovely?"

"My name is Aria."

She said in a flirtatious tone.

"Well, Aria, that's a pretty name. Tell me what you are doing here."

"I'm just booking a room for the night."

She said.

"I'm also staying here for the night. I don't know if you know already but I work for Elvis and he's staying at this hotel. He's staying in room 222, and I'm in room 234."

He said. He followed his sentence with a flirtatious wink. This was exactly what Aria wanted to hear. Aria smiled and tucked a hair behind her ear before she continued to make small talk with Jerry for what seemed like forever. Once she was finished she walked up to the receptionist and booked her room.

"What room would you like to book ma'am?"

The receptionist lady asked politely.

"Room 221 please, and for one night."

Aria said kindly.

"Ok ma'am."

"Oh, wait. Could you please give me an extra set of keys, I stayed at this hotel before and I lost them, its always better to have a backup."

She said as she fake smiled at the lady. The lady turned around to the key sections. Many different numbers were wrote onto each slot, representing each room.

"Your room 221, so this must be yours?

The receptionist asked.

"Mine is the one that says 222. Another man said that he would have to put my set of keys in the 222 slot since there wasn't any space."

She said as she pointed to the 222 slot. The receptionist furrowed her brows in confusion but she let it slide. Once the receptionist was fully turned around, Aria had to cover her cheeky grin with her hand. The receptionist turned back around and handed her the keys before working again.

"Thankyou ma'am."

She said before walking off with a skip in her step. She walked into the elevator and pressed the button for floor 8. She turned around to look at the mirror that was polished perfectly. She began to rummage through her handbag. She pulled out some lip gloss that was a baby pink. She carefully applied the substance to her plump lips before blowing a kiss to herself. The bell rang to signal that she had reached floor eight. She turned around whilst putting the lip gloss back into her bag. As the doors opened, a large smile cascaded over her face. She walked out of it like a happy child.

She made her way to her room. She fiddled with the keys and turned the handle until it unlocked. She walked in and shut the door behind her. She didn't think twice before throwing her stuff onto the bed and walking straight back out. She checked her watch once she was in the corridor. It's was 4.50pm.

Elvis would be back any minute. She quickly pulled out the silver keys that had the number "222" engraved onto the shiny metal. She sneakily unlocked Elvis's door whilst she looked around suspiciously. She heard a click as she slowly pushed open Elvis's door. She quietly stepped into the dark room. Her doll eyes scanned the room briefly before she shut the door.

She flicked a light switch, and she watched as the luxurious room light up. It was beautiful. A large vanity sat itself next to the bathroom door, and a grand king bed was placed neatly next to a wall. Her heels hit the purple carpet beneath her as she explored the room. She walked up to the nightstand. It seemed that Elvis had already been in here since his wallet and belongings were sitting there. She carefully grabbed the wallet with her small hands and opened it. Her sparkling eyes widened as she saw the hundred dollar bills that were stashed in there like they were nothing. But her eyes were quickly hooded when she saw a small picture in a small pocket within the wallet. Her fingers slid into the pocket and pulled out the thin paper.

It was Elvis doing a funny pose with another woman. The woman had jet black hair, just like Elvis's. She was wearing an expensive looking dress. Her hand was placed on his face. Aria's heart sunk and shattered as she saw the large diamond ring on the woman's finger. It couldn't be. She turned the picture over to reveal Elvis's hand righting. It read,

"My beautiful wife."

Aria seemed to be stuck or even frozen. Her fists bawled, and her cheeks grew red. Her teeth grinded against eachover.

"Wife, my ass."

She said through her teeth to herself as she forcefully shoved the picture back into the wallet. She threw the wallet onto the nightstand before walking over to the vanity. She bent down to look into her reflection. She began to apply some makeup. Her hands were trembling with anger as she did so.

"He is mine, and I'll prove it."

She said as she angrily applied her lip gloss. Once she was done, she stormed over to the king bed and sat herself down. She hid her anger by plastering a mistevious grin on her smug face. Her hands ran through her blonde hair before she brushed out any creases in her sexy dress. She crossed her model legs and waited patiently for Elvis.

Not long after, the door knob moved and jolted until the door pushed open. The light from the hallway shot into the room before Elvis stood tall in the doorway. He closed the door and slipped his shoes off. He placed his stuff onto the small table that stood beside the door. Aria's smile only grew wider. Elvis turned around. He furrowed his brows and froze for a moment. He looked at Aria in horror. Aria played with her hair as she waited for Elvis to speak.

"What are you doing here? How did you even get in here?!"

He said as he raised his voice. His fists clenched as he looked at Aria, who stood up from the bed. She slowly walked over to him.

"Don't worry about that."

She said as she stepped closer to him. Her alluring eyes locked with his icey blues.

"What do you want?"

He asked in a fed up tone as he realised who she was. Aria's brows furrowed, and she stepped closer.

"I just wanted to suprise you. What's wrong with that?"

"You fucking broke into my hotel room goddammit!"

Elvis shouted as his eyes filled with fury. This only feuled Aria's ego. She put her index finger against his plump lips as her other hand rested on his chest.

"Hush baby, no need to get angry."

She whispered seductively as she felt his hot breath on her face. Elvis's chest rose up and down.

"You need to leave."

He said sternly. Aria was only inches away from his handsome face. It was so crazy that she was able to haunt Elvis. She was like his shadow.

"Aww, come on, we can have some fun."

She said as she looked into his dreamy eyes.

"I have a wife."

He said as he broke eyecontact. Aria looked at him with a grin on her face.

"Well, that didn't stop you last time, did it?"

She giggled softly. Elvis rolled his eyes before looking at her.

"I'm not like that anymore, I'm a changed man."

He said.

"Oh shut up, don't bullshit me. You can't be a "changed man" in a month."

Aria looked at him as her eyes hooded. Elvis didn't reply. He just looked to the floor. Aria carresed his cheek with her fingers, she looked up at him.

"I know you want me."

She whispered. No reply.

"I can treat you better then that basic bitch can. I can make you feel real good."

No reply. She was so menacing and alluring, something about her was so magnetic. It was like she had a secret power.

"I'll make ya wish that you put the ring on my finger. Just let me make ya feel -"

Her sentence was suddenly interrupted as Elvis grabbed her head and kissed her aggressively. His hands got trapped on her hair as his tongue danced around hers. Aria's hands trailed his body before he forcefully picked her body up. She wrapped her legs around his waist as her hands latched onto his face as she kissed him. He walked over to the bed and placed her on the satin sheets. She looked up at him as he began to unbutton his trousers. Her menacing grin appeared once again. She bit her lip as she watched him strip. Once he was bare, he hiked Aria's dress up to her waist and pulled her panties off aggressively. He threw them to the floor. He dragged her body towards his and began to thrust into her like it was his last day. He was so aggressive and strong yet so sexy and handsome. Her moans filled the room as her body bounced up and down. Her angelic moans were like music to his ears. Elvis grunted into her ear like an animal. His big hands gripped her waist tightly. He squeezed her to the point where it hurt, but she didn't care. She looked at the sweat that dripped from his head and soaked into the smooth sheets. His hair bounced. Aria wrapped her arms around his neck to steady herself. It was like he was letting his built-up rage out on her. Almost as if she was an object. Her lininen curls were now messy and frizzy.He slowed down once he reached his high. Aria's moans got quieter as she passed her orgasm. Elvis layed on top of her body, his chest heaving and his heart beating.

"Oh, I love you."

Aria said breathlessly into his ear. Elvis got up and began to put his trousers back as he looked down at Aria. Her hair was messy, and her cheeks were red.

"You make me do some crazy things."

He said before chuckling. Aria smiled before sitting up. Elvis walked over to his wardrobe and got changed into some boxers. He grabbed a t-shirt of his and threw it at Aria. Aria looked up at him confused.

"Put it on, you're staying here with me."

Elvis said. A large smile invaded Aria's face as she looked at him. Her heart began to beat faster as her blood coursed through her veins. Her dimpled cheeks and ruby lips enhanced as he looked at her. She quickly put the clothes on like it was her mission. Elvis lay down in the bed as he watched her change. Once she finished, she turned around to look at Elvis.

"C'mere honey."

He said with his southern drawl as he looked at her with a grin. She walked over to him, and she was pulled into his arms. She lay on top of him as he cuddled her like a baby. His hands stroked her body as his breath blew on her. This was all she ever wanted, and she got it. The smell of his cologne and the heat of his body. It was pure bliss. She smelt of white roses and felt as fragile and satiny as her hair. She lifted her head to look into his glittering eyes. She smiled as she looked at him. His long eyelashes and thick brows were so angelic and sexy. He bent his head down towards her and placed a candy sweet kiss onto her forehead, making her eyes flutter shut. She had finally got what she wanted.

[burnthheparaphilia]

GOD DAYUM WHY IS BDE SO FUCKING FINE

THIS ONE HOLY GOD- PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE IM BEGGING, LET ME SUCK YOUR COCK

[therealslimshakespeare]

As Requested: The Birth of Jesse and Ella

From the Sarge and lil Mama Universe

Warnings: pretty darn fluffy and sweet with the exception of descriptions of birth and labor, along with what might be considered disturbing inclusions of period typical insensitivity towards women’s wishes during labor and mention of a husband stitch

Word Count: 5k…a blurb was requested, well, uh, sorry about that

With excerpts from:

October, 1958 Memphis

Birth was awful, Elaine had always heard it, been cautioned of it, had the warning dumped like ice water on her motherly ambitions. You want a lotta kids? -just wait till you have to push a single one out. Elaine had expected it to hurt worse than anything she ever imagined but somehow, she thought it would feel more natural than this.

The pain was terrifyingly foreign and without a single cessation to get on top of it, the contractions put broken bones and smashed flesh to shame, and the helpless urge to do something was a floundering and aimless desperation that filled her with anxiety so strong she could barely breathe from it. The nurse cupping the gas mask to her face smiled down assuringly and Elaine hated her for it, the gal was so sure all would be well when everything in Elaine’s body rebelled against the drugged misery, the flat back, stirrup strapped contortion the doctor had locked her body in and left her at.

She thought it would at least feel natural. Like pulling a tooth. Like taking a man. Like all the other painful rites of passage that women surmounted generation after generation.

But now, near puking from pain and cuffed like a psych prisoner to the bed, no distraction save the flicker off the fluorescent bulbs above her, Elaine felt a wrongness and a betrayal she never expected.

She’d been so agreeable to going to the hospital, never thought otherwise. The army had been accommodating enough to let them return to Memphis and everything, and here she lay giving birth in the same ward she was born in. It should have been sweet. She had assumed it would be and it had been non negotiable with Elvis, things were to be done properly for his babies, and she had no comparison to cause her to object.

Elvis lost his brother in a twin birth, a home birth, and nearly his mama too. Things had to be done properly. What else was his money for?

Elaine hadn’t thought to object. What else was there? Primitive squatting in the woods somewhere? She was a decent, suburban girl, she had passed through a successive graduation of establishments throughout her life, preschools and proms and community services and now she was at St. Joseph’s pushing out her first child in a condoned, sterile, proper facility. Elvis, cheated of such all American properness by his upbringing, often praised her teasingly for being “such an upstandin’ lil citizen”.

Somehow the pride didn’t manage to fill her this time. Just the wrongness of it all. She tried to think of Elvis in those first hours, how anxious he must be having been kept out of the room, how happy she’d make him by presenting two healthy children at the end of her feminine ordeal. She refused to accept the thought for anything going wrong. Women were made for this, and she had assumed a miraculous sort of sustenance and wisdom were given them during.

Laying rigid and wracked with pain on scratchy white sheets -Elaine had never felt so alone, not a shred of Divine motivation or husbandly encouragement left in her exhausted heart. Becoming frantic as the ordeal wore on, she found herself begging for some assurance, more than those spinster nurses and bored physicians could provide her. She begged for her mama, she begged for Dodger who had told her they’d do nothing more than torture her “in that big ole place.”

No visitors are allowed, Mrs. Presley -she was denied each time.

Dodger, as usual, had been right. And Elaine demanded she be let in. She was sure that her husband and his grandma had stayed in the waiting room, they weren’t far.

Bring Minnie Mae in -she was Elaine Presley, wife of Memphis’ own Elvis Presley, and if they denied her she’d ruin their hospital's name.

Bring her Dodger, she needed Dodger.

Dodger came in, in low, slung-back heels and a dress that was fashionable three decades ago, wrinkled bony hands and thin, hard set mouth. Elaine thought she’d seen an Angel.

“What do you want?” Dodger grunted down at her.

Elaine whimpered and shook her head, entirely unsure, she’d just wanted comfort or direction. “I thought you’d know what to do.” she explained in a wheeze.

“You push ‘em out.”

“I can’t.” Elaine sobbed, she physically didn’t feel capable of doing anything but enduring. She really had thought she’d be able to participate in her own delivery.

“What’s gonna make ya?” Dodger asked.

“I can’t do anything like this.” Elaine cried, yanking at her restraints.

“Wanna stand up?”

Elaine was startled at the suggestion and through the fog of pain and gas it sounded like a rebellion of sorts. She hesitated. “Maybe.”

“You ever shit layin’ down?” Dodger put it ever so delicately in clearer, enlightening terms. “No one can ‘nless they got the runs. Baby’s head ain’t no runs, get up.”

Dodger had yanked the straps off and threatened to use the forceps on the objecting nurse. She stood Elaine up with a yank to the girl's arms and spun her round till she was facing the bed, feet spread apart and hands on the bed, head hanging low and her back heaving in breaths now the position allowed her to breath. She’d taken Elvis this way a hundred times, nothing to it -you just hang your head and tilt your hips and breathe through it till the cock didn’t feel so big.

This she knew. “Ok, ok, it is better.” she agreed even as a scream tore out of her at the burning stretch down below.

That stretch had been Jesse’s head, although in the midst of agony and Bureaucratic chaos, Elaine didn’t know anything beyond fiery stretching and a gush down her legs. His little noggin almost hit the floor he slid out so lanky and tiny, no sooner had she register a modicum of relief from passing her first child than the doctor berated her.

“Almost hit his head, this is why we labor in beds.” he had said and she could have gnawed his balding head off his scrawny neck for using the word “we” when he’d never felt or ever would feel what she had just endured. “She’s torn, a lot actually, going to be a mess to clean up later but I guess it will help the next one.”

They took Jesse and they wiped him clean as his first cries sounded somewhere behind his mama, Dodger’s hand still pressed firmly to her lower back as Ella used his newfound vacancy to make an effort herself. Elaine struggled and twisted, trying to catch sight of her son.

“I want my baby.” she gasped, “Y’all give me my baby.” she stood straight with an effort that even Dodger tried to prevent. “I want my baby!”

“You can’t hold him now-“

“Give him to me-“

“Elaine honey,” Dodger shushed as gently as the old bird knew how, “you’re too weak, can’t push and hold. Let ‘em put him on the bed. Put him there, right in front of ya, yeah, that’s it, so you can see him. Just do it, ya pinstriped idiot, it’s her kid, ain’t it?”

When the nurse laid Jesse down on the sheets, he was a dark haired, swaddled little thing in a bloody towel. Tiny but not so shrimpy for a twin, he was red and purple all over with the puffiest little face and the juiciest little lips and a tiny nose and eyes that squinted shut in tears. His cord was still attached to her, hanging off the bed between her legs, the tether not yet cut. Elaine felt it to be the specialist moment in the world, that one right then.

Oh it’s an unaccountable thing, that rush of gratitude and relief when your first born is laid on you. Violent love surges after it, quick as a tidal wave, as a tiny hand still covered in your blood pats your skin to learn you from the outside this time, the only person who’s ever done it opposite from all others. It's immeasurable the strength that frail little being gives you, to push once more, to bring out another life after it, a twin to reunite the Trinity.

“My son” Elaine acknowledged the gift through the agony, her sweaty forehead against his fuzzy one, watching his brave little face take in the lights and sounds and pain of this life she’d given him with a wonder that steeled her as she braced and pushed again.

Ella was easier, in the way someone at the brink of their worst feels no exacerbation of their agony. It was every bit as bad and every bit as tiring, doubly so with one already done, but this time Jesse lay there with an oxygen cannula taped to his fuzzy cheek and watched his mama huff and grimace above him, her hips cradled by Dodger’s boney hands, and in between the increasing spams, Elaine gasped adorations and babbled welcomes to him. After a short time Jesse snoozed in his little cacoon, and his peacefulness was more calming than any breath coaching the staff could give her. She matched her breaths to the rise and fall of his tiny chest and soon enough when she felt between her legs, there was the furry little head of his sister.

This time the doctor was prepared and had a nurse knelt to catch Elvis’ Presley second child. Little Ella came out the opposite of Jesse, no trouble at all with her petite head but a decent belly and buttox in the little girl gave Elaine a brief bit of grief before she popped out entirely.

Ella may have been caught in the safe hands of a registered nurse but Elaine had no such luck. No sooner was the rush over and her impediments pushed out of her body than she staggered backwards and landed flat on the floor, her legs giving out. Dodger’s shins caught the back of her head and saved her from splitting her skull on the tile but it was a brutal jarring nonetheless and it cemented a terrified horror where Elaine felt that she was entirely neglected in a room full of people sworn to help her.

Dodger, bless her, cursed up a storm at the accident and knelt beside the poor girl, doing her best to gather Elaine up as blood and fluids gushed freely between her legs.

Elaine felt like sobbing. Soon she fully was and remained so as the Doctor and two nurses hefted her onto the bed as gingerly as they could, profusely apologizing to Mr. Presley’s new wife. Jesse was placed on her chest and Ella, after having the cord snipped and washed, bundled and had her foot stamped, was brought over, too. Elaine laid there on her back again, eighteen hours after she had first begun and did her best to hold them as the sugar crash and blood loss made her teeth chatter and limbs tremble.

“A healthy five pounds both of them,” the doctor beamed with the satisfaction of a man who had accomplished a hard day’s work, “although the boy has a couple points on the girl.”

They were perfect, they were positively perfect, that’s what Elaine tried her best to focus on as her bearings came back to her and tiredness drug her limbs down. They were perfect and they were here. “Dodger,” she addressed Grandma in a thin voice, not even bothering to send her request to the staff, “would you go tell Elvis they’re here? Tell him they’re perfect.”

“He can’t come in yet, dear!” The head nurse protested, knowing the mulish young man would be forcing entry as soon as he heard.

“Why not? It’s over.” Elaine sighed.

“We’ve got to clean you up!” The nurse was scandalized, “He mustn’t see you all disheveled like this, it can very negatively effect a man, seeing his wife rumpled and brutalized by the birthing process. It's ended some marriages.” She warned and then added, “And you must be stitched first.”

“Then could we please -do it?” Elaine asked, “I’d like to see my husband and I’d like him not to worry any longer.”

“Y’all clean her up,” Dodger motioned, “and I’ll go fetch him.”

They were applying ice towels to her swollen eyes to reduce the evidence of weeping when she left. They sat Elaine up and they checked her pulse and blood pressure and her temperature. All was well, or as well as could be hoped. All except down south with her house, Elaine chewed her lip anxiously and clutched little Jesse harder for comfort as the doctor inspected her, rather like Elvis had done when proposing. Except Elvis was always so tender and he worked his touches up from gentle to firm, never went right in and spread torn petals apart without a care. Elaine bit her lip and figured she’d been awful enough to the staff, harsh and stubborn, a rebel in so many ways and now her ordeal was over, it would be best to resume the proper attitude she’d been taught.

So she was meek, and she was obliging and grateful, and she tiredly agreed when the doctor said she’d need stitches, the same as any other tear to the flesh. And when, lamp beaming at her nether regions and needle in hand, the doctor told her he was going to add one extra little stitch for her husband's enjoyment, Elaine assumed it was a medical formality. After all, he didn’t ask if he could, he said he was going to, and doctors only do what doctors must. She had her babies now, and anything required to have more must be done.

Sat up on stitched and taut flesh, pillows stuffed behind her back and her face scrubbed into immaculate freshness, Elaine put on her widest smile for Elvis, not a hard thing to do with the gifts in her arms. It turned fully genuine as her man burst through the door only to stall and moderate his intensity the minute he realized he had arrived. Elvis looked bewildered, eyes wide as saucers and his long legs stumbling to a halt as the door thudded behind him in Vernon’s face, assessing every bit of equipment inside and potential threat before his eyes landed on the bed that held his new family.

Elaine could hear his intake of breath from across the room and her grin now threatened to split her face.

“Those our babies?” he asked hoarsely with a shaking finger, not making a single move to come closer. Like this whole ordeal had him so shaken he didn’t know which way was up or down.

“Yeah baby, they’re ours.” Elaine had to force her smile closed to talk, marveling at his timidity, the awed look on his face and the reverent little shakes coursing up his body like he was about to go up Mount Sinai and meet God. “Come meet your children, Elvis.” she whispered, framing it in a way she hoped would remind him he too belonged in this room, he was head of them all, their protector, their provider and perhaps most importantly, the architect of the dream that brought them into being. “They wanna meet their daddy, keep lookin’ around and fussing like they know someone’s missing.”

He gave her a look of reproof for fibbing to spare his feelings before one of the babies came to their mother’s rescue and let out a pitiful, newborn wail. Elvis flinched at the sound, drawing back into himself for a brief moment before the cry was repeated and his instinct to soothe dominated his tentative fear.

“See, I told you!” Elaine grinned as she pulled down the blanket little Jesse was swaddled in and showed his puckered face.

Slowly, with light footfalls and a hand running along the bed for support, Elvis drew closer until he was beside them and Elaine saw his face light up with more overwhelmed joy than she’d ever seen on him before, just as his eyes filled with tears in an instant.

“Oh Laney,” he put his hand to his mouth unsteadily, “you done good mamas.”

She did her best to scoot her legs over without wincing and nodded to the vacated little space on the bed. “C’mon Elvis, they don’t bite. Not yet.” she whispered, casting a glance at the nurse who was peddling soundlessly in the far corner, back turned and utterly discreet, waiting if she were needed at any moment.

“I’m jus’ worried ‘bout breakin’ ‘em.” he confessed, gingerly sitting down beside her, his eyes never wavering in their metronome bounce from one child to the next and back. “They’re so little, so fragile lookin’ and -a-and they’re so pink, baby, look how pinks and fluffy they is.” Elaine thought his wide-eyed, rosebud mouthed awe was rather identical to the faces he was admiring and understood his shock, pretty things take the wind out of you. “I-I-I was so damn scared of touchin’ you, you’re so lil and gentle a-a-and they’re even littler!”

“I’ve never seen a more tender man, you’ve got fingers so delicate they could undo a knot in silk thread.” Elaine disagreed, “You should feel their cheeks, even softer than they look.”

Elvis swallowed hard, screwing up his courage before he raised his hand from where it had been wiping sweat off on his pants and brought it dried and shaking to gently run along the curve of Ella’s tiny face.

He little out a little gasping laugh. “Angels, they’re gen-u-ine angels.” He pronounced softly after rubbing his forefinger along Jesse’s tiny nose. “Ain’t nothin’ made me happier than I am right this minute.” he realized and Elaine’s heart clenched in gratification for the success of all her labor. “God took away one, gave me three back.” he huffed in a breath and realizing he needed a handkerchief, pulled his hand back, looking around in the white sheets like one would appear. The kindly nurse took pity and brought one over wordlessly, Elvis was a little shocked to find her present, not registering her existence in the room before, (as was she to meet Elvis Presley wordlessly with a proffered tissue) but he took it gratefully.

“Would you like to hold one of them, Mr. Presley?” she asked after having given Elaine some water as Elvis still sat where he’d perched himself and stared like he was looking into a portal.

“C’mon daddy.” Elaine whispered, nudging his stiff leg with her foot, “they wanna meet their daddy.”

Elaine suggested Jesse be the one as he’d eaten most recently while Ella was having some trouble latching. The nurse took Jesse from his warm little cocoon at Elaine’s side, and brought him around the bed to his daddy, who carefully formed a cradle with his arms and the nurse deposited his son there.

“Yeah, give me my boy.” Elvis nodded through parched lips and shuddered as he felt the tiny weight of his child settle in his arms, tiny head cradled to his chest. “Hey buddy,” he whispered, head reared back and expression a little frozen, like he was either holding something very dangerous or something very good that could be taken back at anytime, “sorry bout all the racket in there.” he referred to his pounding heart right beneath Jesse’s pink ear, “S’just that I’m so glad to meet you. Been waitin’ so long.”

Elaine watched them happily, exhaustion and satisfaction turning her complex feelings into the most rudimentary emotions and thoughts. “We made these.” she marveled and thought she heard the nurse titter for a moment, “Does everyone say that?” She asked her with a laugh.

“Not uncommon.” The woman agreed bashfully, “Me and my man did. Couldn’t stop saying it.”

“Absolute miracle.” Elvis protested, growing bold enough the thumb as Jesse’s cheek as he held him, “We made ‘em alright, strangest thing, the way I’m holdin’ something that’s half me and half you!”

“Made duplicates just in case.” Elaine added her joke and they both laughed.

“Sweet Jesus I think he just cracked a smile.” Elvis’ laugh was suddenly cut short as he wheezed in fascination.

“Babies usually don’t smile until much later.“ the nurse soothed gently but Elvis interrupted with an adamant-

“-well it appears that my son is extra smart, ma’am.” He grinned down at his boy with an immense amount of pride at his good humor which reminded him of his pride in Elaine and his eyes flitted up to hers and locked there. “You know I love you, Tink, but I-I-I- d-don’t think you’ve got the vaguest notion h-h-how grateful I am to you right this minute. You’re makin’ dreams come true like a goddamn fairy. I-I-I can’t say enough I-I don’t got words for it I just -I’d die for you, girl, and you and our babies ain’t ever gonna want for nothin’, I swear it.”

Elaine had never trusted another human being more in her life than she trusted this young man sat on her bed, about as young and lost as herself but so determined that she hadn’t a single choice or doubt except to believe him.

Ella began to fuss and the nurse asked if she wanted to try feeding again, no doubt the baby girl was hungry and Elaine agreed. “Here, Mr. Presley, I’ll take the little boy so you can go.” she helpfully held out her arms but Elvis clutched his precious bundle like she was gonna take him permanently. Elaine was reminded of a story Miss Gladys used to tell her about baby Elvis and a prized sack of bananas.

“I-I-I don’t wanna give him.” Elvis settled for this moderate expression of his sentiments on the subject.

“But sir -your wife needs to nurse. I'm sure they’ll extend the visiting hours for you, no need to worry on that account.”

“Oh I’m not leavin’ for that ma’am.” he clarified breezily, “I hold eatin’ in mighty high regard and I’d like to see to it my daughter finds her footin’ in it, ya see.”

“But-“ the nurse was rather astounded at this simple logic and in torn loyalties she turned back to Mrs. Presley in concern “-wouldn’t you like some privacy, ma’am? We’ll have to…uncover you.”

Elaine looked at her a little puzzled before assuring softly, “I don’t mind, he’s seen me before.”

The nurse colored at this modest statement that spoke so much and Elvis wasn’t sure if she was taken aback at their comfortableness around each other or at the suggestion of The Elvis Presley and his little wife making babies. Half the nation were obsessed with what they did behind closed doors and Elvis eyed her suspiciously lest she turn into some sorta fascinated personage. She didn’t though, she allowed Jesse to remain with his father and, rather more delicately than necessary, helped Elaine with Ella’s latching.

There had been dribbles of milk that Elvis had seen before Elaine gave birth, but it was nothing like the profusion that poured out now, so much sustenance that Ella’s tiny throat made great gulping sounds as she drank. Elvis, much to the nurse’s horror, was fascinated by it and soon found his old boldness, scooting himself up till he was sat beside Elaine in the narrow bed and could support her elbow while watching. The nurse was made more uncomfortable when the new father took to whispering a thousand different thanks and endearments into his young wife’s ear, and sweet as it was, the aggressive smooches she answered him with were of the sort the nurse was usually of the assumption led to more. But not with this couple, they swapped affection easily, too easily, and shared sentiments and compared their two children for the next hour, pointing out features and guessing at characteristics until the nurse quietly took her leave, stumbling into a barricade of men outside waiting on their boss.

“You should sing to them.” Elaine suggested to him once she’d gone, when Jesse wouldn’t stop fussing when it was his time to burp. “They’ve heard it for nine months, worked with the kicks every time.” she recalled and Elvis smiled sheepishly in reminiscence that those little kicks he’d once poured his heart out to were now little souls laying in his arms with his features printed on them.

At the first swooping and softly sung words of ‘My Father’s House’ by their daddy both babies stilled and their little slits of eyes searched restlessly until they found his face and they stayed staring at him until their violet, paper thin eyelids fluttered closed in sleep.

————————————————-

|| Excerpt from Mrs. Presley and Other Living Martyrs:||

“There was a narrow window in the door he’d rather uh, rudely let slam behind him,” Billy Smith would later recall with a smile, “and you best believe the whole lot of us were pressed up to it trying to get a glimpse of them inside. We were all real excited about the babies and we knew Elaine was a champ but it’s one thing to think about it and it’s another for her to do it and be alright after. We were all worried for her, last time we’d been in this hospital it had been with Gladys. So we were all crowding the window and Vernon and Mr. Phipps were actin’ like teenagers with their elbows jabbin’ at each other for space but this one time the grandpas seemed to be actually jokin’ about it. Granny tried gettin’ us to leave ‘em be but it wasn’t like we were disturbin’ them none, they didn’t mind us one bit and it was the sweetest thing watchin’ them pass a baby back and forth and they were gigglin’ so much one minute then cryin’ the next. EP was an absolute mess, he was so happy. They looked like a couple of kids clutchin’ a candy haul they stole and figured someone was gonna come along and say they were too young for ‘em and had to give ‘em up. Just two kids really, two kids with a couple of babies they’d made. Not sure they’d ever had such a normal moment in their lives, not since he got famous, at least. They stayed like that for a couple of hours ‘till Elvis realized he could have some fun introducin’ his new kids and so he came out the door holding little Jesse above his head like he was the damn Prince of Memphis. The whole hallway was jam packed with folks who were visiting their hospitalized relatives, loitering staff, all sorts, everybody havin’ heard she was here delivering, and the whole place erupted when he brought the baby out, said that him and his sister were well and Miss Elaine was in fine shape. That applause must’ve been real gratifying for Mrs. Presley.”

Ten days were encouraged for the new mother to stay in the hospital but after five Elaine found herself anxious and uncomfortable away from her home and she begged Elvis to make the staff let her come home.

“Elvis was never more besotted with Elaine than when she was pregnant, and it only got worse when she’d just popped out a kid and was holding it and asking for something.” Joe Esposita wrote, “She talked him into making them send some staff to Graceland and letting her out early, and she swore she’d let him carry her up and down any stairs for the next week. So, after he made her sign a drink coaster that said as much, he went and charmed the administrator into sparing a doctor and four nurses to come live at Graceland for 10 days. We later learned the staff had flipped coins to see who got to go, everyone was so eager to see the famous couple up close. ”

Five days after delivering, Elaine got her wish and was wheeled out of the maternity ward in a wheel chair and down the hall to the elevator, a pristine and glamorous figure with a baby swaddled in her arms as her handsome husband strode by her side, wearing his uniform on leave as suggested by the Colonel, and carrying a precious bundle himself.

In “TLC: The Presley Way” -Marie Presley’s documentary of her family’s life- Ella recounted having often heard from her mother the story of Elvis preparing her to leave for home.

Ella recounted: “She would often tell me about how daddy had come up to the room with all these bags. He’d already brought so much stuff over during her stay, they had to haul literal baskets full of possessions and gifts and stuffed animals out of her ward back to Graceland when they moved out, it had been like a hotel stay, collecting so much. But he did come up that day with these pretty pink bags and he was so excited, he tore the tissue paper out himself and showed her this absurdly fluffy white coat he’d bought. It was way too heavy for October but it was a little chilly out and it gave her the perfect excuse to wear it. It was made out of arctic foxes and was the fluffiest, most expensive, whitest thing you’ve ever seen and it hid her swollen figure perfectly, made her look like an angel in the press pictures. Mama said he also brought a little makeup kit, and there was hairspray and curlers and combs in the other bag, and daddy sat on her hospital bed while she was in a chair and he carefully painted her face. She always loved telling about how sweet and careful he was about her image, she said she had felt very humiliated and out of control during the labor, and it was like he was putting her back together, making her familiar to herself again, crafting some dignity back. And -you’ve seen the pictures, she’s perfection, her makeup is flawless and he had swooped her hair back from her face so she’s glowing. Even tied it back with that little ribbon, it’s just so much, I mean -she looks like a doll carrying out smaller dollies from the hospital. And of course later the female press would slam her for making something as hard as birth and children look like dollhouse props but like a lot of things, they didn’t realize it came from love. It came from daddy caring about how she felt, how she wanted to be presented, they both had a lot of pride and were complementary in that way. She had just delivered twins and was about to meet half of Memphis on the curb before going home. Can you really blame her for letting her husband make her up? Can you blame him for pouring out his pride in what she’d done through his art?”

Along with tender care and as much provision for her comfort as possible, it would be Elvis Presley’s last gift to his wife before he left for Germany less than two weeks later.

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

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

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[satninroses]

Behind Unlocked Doors: Pt. 2 | E.P x Reader

(A/N): The long awaited sequel is here!! I had initially started working on this pre-overhaul. It’s been sitting in my drafts for a little bit so I’m SUPER happy to have it published. I hope you all enjoy :-)!

Summary: Elvis confronts you after the run-in during part one. He shows you how much he loves and adores you.

Link to Pt. 1

Pairing: Elvis Presley x Fem! Reader

Word count: 4,682

Warnings: SMUT! MINORS DNI! Crying, Little bit of angst, Dirty talk, Fingering, Penetration, (F. receiving) Oral, (F. receiving) Hint of orgasm denial.

You didn’t join the Mafia for breakfast, lunch or dinner. Whenever there was a recording session, you sat in the corner of the studio and read a book quietly as to not draw attention to yourself. There were times when Elvis would stop you in the hall but you would act like you couldn’t hear him or see him and practically run back to your room.

Elvis on the other hand, hated this new treatment. You were already quiet and reserved. He knows he just made it worse. He desperately wanted to ask Jerry if he could talk to you but he didn’t know how he would react to Elvis watching his little sister masturbate.

At some point, Elvis had reached a breaking point. He needed to apologize or talk to Jerry. While he really didn’t favor either option, it was only chance at salvaging what he had ruined.

That night, Elvis had approached Jerry. Jerry smiled and waved.

“Hey boss. What’s up?” Elvis’ heart dropped. He would feel bad if Jerry already knew and he was telling him but Jerry really had no clue what was going on.

“Hey. I really need to talk to you about something. It’s not easy to talk about either. It’s about (Y/N).”

Jerry’s happy smile turned into a confused expression. “What do you mean?”

Elvis sucked in a breath. “I’m gonna tell you this. Please hold your anger til the end.” Jerry was really curious and a little worried.

“Ok?”

“The other night when you guys went to the casino and I stayed back, I walked upstairs to talk to her and walked in on her… relieving some tensions…” Elvis trailed off.

“I don’t understand Elvis.”

Elvis internally groaned. He knew he had to rip it off fast like a bandaid.

“I walked in on (Y/N) using a dildo on herself. She kinda… squirted everywhere. Even on me. I didn’t move and I watched but honest, I didn’t mean too. I know this probably isn’t something you wanted to know. However, she’s been acting off since then and I really need you to convince her to talk to me. I need to apologize real bad.” Elvis exhaled a breath that he didn’t even know he was holding. He waited for a response.

“I…” Jerry was at a loss for words. He didn’t know whether to be angry or surprised or all of the above. Before Elvis even had the chance to react, Jerry had slapped him across the face. His hands dropped to his side and he also exhaled.

“That’s for watching her and probably scaring her shitless. I’ll go talk to her but you better apologize IMMEDIATELY.” Elvis nodded quickly and out his hands out in defeat.

“Without a doubt. Thank you for doing this.”

Jerry nodded and walked out of the room. Elvis sat on the nearest and chair and took a moment to calm down. He knew he needed to make it clear to you that he wasn’t disgusted or uncomfortable with you. And, by the sound of his name pouring out of your mouth, you weren’t uninterested either. He had to think of a way to address the situation without coming across like a creep.

You sat on your plush bed and read some of your books. You needed a way to take your mind of everything that happened. “What if he thinks I'm disgusting or perverted?” You thought out loud to yourself. It was never your intention for him to walk in and see you in such a vulnerable state. You didn't mean to keep fucking yourself even with his eyes on you. Since then, you had been locking the door to every room you go into. Your room, the bathroom, the dressing rooms, sometimes the studio doors. (You don’t mean to do that. It’s a force of habit.)

There was a gentle rap at your door. You froze before tip toeing to the door to look out the peephole. It was Jerry. He wore a not-pleasant expression on his face. You opened the door and peeked out.

“Jerry? Are you ok?”

“(Y/N). I know what happened the other night. Elvis told me. I know it was unintentional and I’m here to pass on a message from Elvis. He wants to apologize, but he wants to apologize to you in person.”

An unhappy look spreads across your face. “Oh.” You simply stated. You cheeks begun to heat up in embarrassment and shame from being confronted by your big brother about something so private. You feel tears well up in your eyes at the idea of him being disgusted by your lack of self-awareness. You SHOULD have locked the door and you SHOULD have covered up and ignored the burning heat in your pussy. But you didn’t.

“I-I can try. Is he downstairs?” You ask through your heaving breathing and tears. “Yeah.” He replies. You rip your eyes away from him and look to the side. This was humiliating. How could you be such a prude?

“Sis, I’m not mad at you. Is that why you’re crying?” You sniffle again before the waterworks begin. He pushes the door all the way open and envelopes you in a hug. “I feel disgusted with myself Jerry. I feel like a whore and Elvis probably thinks I'm a whore too. I'm sorry Jerry.”

“Oh (Y/N). It ain't your fault. He came to me apologizing a whole lot. He didn't mean to make things weird. Listen, why don't we head downstairs and you can talk to him. I'll be right behind ya, ok?”

You stood there for a minute, held against your brothers chest thinking. Eventually you made a small noise to show you agreed and released him from the hug. “Please just give me a moment to collect myself.” He nodded. “I'll be downstairs.”

You entered your room again and took a deep breath to calm yourself down. You walked to your bathroom and fixed your hair and makeup. You changed from your pajamas to a cute, white babydoll dress. You threw on a big fluffy cardigan along with your frilly socks and Mary Janes. You made your way out of the room and took the elevator to the ground floor.

You arrived in the lobby to be met with an abnormal amount of people. You made your way around the sea of bodies to the V.I.P lounge where Elvis and the mafia were usually stationed. You walk up to the bouncer and tap him gently on the shoulder.

He looks down at you and smiles. “Hey (Y/N). Here to get a drink?”

“Not exactly. However, that's also welcome.” You both laughed softly. He lifted the bar and let you in. “Have a good night sweets. Stay safe.”

“Thank you Hank!” You gushed sweetly at him and waved. You made your way down the little hallway and into the lounge itself. It was littered with all kinds of people having a good time. You walked around for a minute before finding the booth that your brother was in. In the booth, Elvis sat at the end followed by Billy, Scotty, Jerry, Joe, and Charlie. Billy was the first to notice you.

“Hey (Y/N)! Came down to get a drink with us?” At the sound of your name, Elvis and Jerry shot their heads up. Elvis blushed and smiled at you but you sported a nervous look. You walked over and stood awkwardly by Charlie at the other end of the table. Charlie look up, confused, as to why you were just standing there.

“God damnit fellas, make some room for her! Scoot down Charlie!” Charlie followed by everyone else scoot down a seat leaving space right next to Elvis. He pat the spot invitingly and you sat down. You clenched your hands between your thighs and cowered. You were nervous. You didn’t want him to be doing this out of pity or because he was about to make fun of you. Your knee bounced up and down rapidly out of anxiety.

Jerry cleared his throat and you looked at him. He raised his eyebrow to ask ‘Are you ok?’ You nodded and looked away. Jerry flagged down one of the waiters to get you a drink and some food for the table.

“(Y/N), what do you want to drink?”

“Uhh… May I please get the Frozen Strawberry Daiquiri?” The waiter nodded.

“Anything else for the table?” Elvis perked up.

“Yeah, let us get 2 baskets of fries and onion rings each,” he leaned over you to speak privately to the waiter. “Oh and…get the lady some of those fancy chocolate covered strawberries.” Elvis slipped him a few $50 bills before he walked off.

While he was leaned over speaking to the waiter, his hands found their way onto your thighs as support. He played it off as trying to steady himself but you could see through that. While he grabbing the bills from his pocket, he grabbed onto your inner thigh to stead himself from falling. He leaned a good bit of his weigh onto you and let his hands slip up to in between your upper thighs. A dusty pink blush spread itself across your face as you let him hold you this way.

He released your thighs and you curled back into yourself. For the time that you had been waiting for your drinks and food, Elvis and guys had been talking up a storm. They cracked jokes, told stories, planned for different shows and all around had a good time. While it didn’t seem like it, you were also having a good time. You didn’t make any comments but you listened and giggled quietly at the appropriate times. These last few days of secluding yourself from everyone were boring. It was nice to hear people talk for a change.

The time passed slowly though. It had felt like forever since you ordered your drinks but like clockwork, they showed up. A few of the guys had ordered some beers to the table along with the food and your pretty drink. The waiter sets down your drink last before turning back to the cart. He pulls out a pretty pink heart-shaped dish with an assorted variety of chocolate covered strawberries.

You cock your head in confusion. “Oh, I’m sorry. We didn’t order this?”

“Mr. Presley ordered them.”

‘That’s probably what he was telling the waiter,’ you thought to yourself.

“Doll, they’re for you.” Elvis adds quietly. You turned your head and face him for the first time in a few days. You blushed again and opened your mouth, but shut it. You murmured a quiet ‘thank you.’

For a few minutes, you didn’t touch the strawberries. You just slowly sipped on your drink and thought about stuff. Finally, after 10 or so minutes, you started to eat. You took small bites to savor the flavor as these were the BEST chocolate covered strawberries you had ever had.

Elvis had watched as your face contorted from an uncomfortable look to a much more relaxed and content look. He leaned over to Jerry.

“I think I’m gonna talk to her now if that’s ok? Watch our drinks please.” He whispered in his ear. Jerry nodded his head but gripped Elvis’ sleeve.

“If she comes back crying again we’re gonna have to have a talk.” Elvis nodded and stood up. He wasn’t used to being bossed around by his right hand man, but he understood his protective instinct over his little sister and respected that.

“Darlin’. Would you mind comin’ with me? I need to talk to you real quick.”

You glanced up at him and back at your brother for help. Your brother plastered a reassuring smile on his face and nodded. You gulped and stood up to get out of his way. He you offered his hand to you and you took it, following him out of the lounge and into a back hallway.

“Is everything ok, Elvis?” You asked quietly. You were nervous as to what was to come. Was he about to fire you? Was he going to tell you that you needed to find somewhere else to go because you can’t travel with them? Was he going to fire you AND Jerry because of what happened? All these possibilities and thoughts clouded your head and you became visibly distressed.

“Yeah. I needed to talk to you about the other night.”

Oh god. It was happening. The media would find out about this and your lives would be destroyed. Everyone would find out how much of a whore you are. You would never be allowed out in public. People would call you names and mock you.

“Yes?” You replied shakily.

“I want to apologize. I should have knocked. I know I made you uncomfortable and I really don’t want that to be the way you think bout’ me. I’m real sorry yittle. I hope you can forgive me.”

You widen your eyes at his confession. ‘He thinks he made me uncomfortable?’ You feel an overwhelming sence of guilt take over.

“I-I.. I don’t know what to say. I thought I made you uncomfortable. I didn’t want to face you because I was afraid you would send me away. I’m so sorry Elvis.” You took a deep breath to calm your shaky breaths. Before there was a moment to speak, he enveloped you in a tight hug.

Your hands laid limp at your side for a moment but eventually, you wrapped them around his torso. His head laid in the crook of your neck and he breathed your scent. This nose breaths on a sensitive part of your neck and you push yourself into him and made a whimpering noise. He raised his head and stared down into your eyes. You stared back. You felt a sense of intimacy in this moment. You searched for the love in his eyes and he in yours.

“(Y/N)… Can I kiss you?” You didn’t respond. You made a bold move of initiating the kiss. You stood on your tippy toes and snaked your hands up and around his neck. He kissed back and deepened it as well. His lips were so soft and plush against your own. He stuck his tongue in your mouth to turn the kiss into a more sensual one. He tasted like rum and coke. His scent invaded your senses. The smell of his typical cologne- Lenel For Men- had hints of citrus and spice. You were intoxicated by his scent, taste, and the feeling of his body wrapped around your own. You could simply sit here forever and be stuck in his being forever.

He felt the same way about you. You were so pretty like this. So pretty when you look into his eyes. So pretty when you whimper. So pretty when you let him paw at your thighs. So so so so pretty when you squirted to the thought of him. Since that night, he wanted to fill you up and make you his own. He loved you and he yearned for you. He needed to make things right before he could act on his primal urges.

His kisses got more erotic and desperate. He wanted to be as close to you as possible. He wanted to be IN you. His hands slipped from your waist to the small of you back. You move your hands so they’re right up against his chest. You moan quietly his hands move further down and onto your ass. He gives it a squeeze and then a slap.

“E-Elvis! Maybe we shouldn’t do this right here…” You suggest timidly. You want him right now but you would rather not be caught by random bystanders.

“You’re right doll face. Wouldn’t want people to see what’s mine.” Mine. The word replayed in your head like a ringing bell. Mine. Mine. Mine. Mine. You could feel your panties become wet from his sultry and deep southern drawl. “Oh Elvis, you don’t know how long I’ve dreamed about this! I need you right now!”

He chuckled and pulled you into a secluded laundry room. He locked the door behind him and set you on a folding table. “Doll, you don’t know how long I’ve dreamed of this either. When I saw you the other night, pretty little cunt out I wanted to fuck you on that bed. I wanted to replace that silly little toy with myself. I want to be your man and I want you to be my woman.”

Your eyes widened at his confession. With some kind of newfound confidence and bravery, you pulled him by the collar of his shirt and kissed him. He didn’t hesitate to return the kiss. His hands went straight to cradling your cheeks. He squished them slightly and deepened the kiss. One of his hand snake down to your dress-clad breast and begins to gently massage it. His fingers find their way the the bottom of your dress and bunch it up to your waist.

“Take it off baby.” He demands. You nod quietly and pull the dress over your head and on the floor next to the legs of the table. His hands and mouth are all over you. His mouth begins to suck and nip at your collarbone while his fingers pinch and prod at your tits and nipples. “Oh, Elvis! Oh g-gosh.” You stuttered out. You felt him smirk against your collarbone before moving his mouth and hands down lower. He kisses the space in between and above your breasts before finally taking one of your nipples in his mouth.

His hands felt like lava on your skin as they pushed you down further onto the table. Your back hits the cold granite and it archs. You tits were pretty and perky in his mouth as his whole body moved to match yours- like a puzzle piece. His hands move from your stomach to your groin where he traced your pelvis bone with his rough, calloused fingers.

“Elvis, please. Please take me I need you.” He got a lopsided grin on his face and nodded. He pushes himself back from you and leans down so he’s eye level with your cunt. “So pretty, baby. You want me to take this pretty pussy? All’s you gotta say is yes and I’ll have you pretty girl.” You feel wetness pool in your panties and you nod frantically “Yes, please! Need you inside Elvis!”

His ego was being stroked and he let that show through. He pressed his fingers to your panties and let the wetness coat his fingers. The feeling of his hot fingers on your pussy sent an electric shock down your spine and you shivered. He stuck said fingers in his mouth and stared you down while he devoured your juices. He pulled them out with a pop and smirked. “You’re so sweet baby. Gotta taste the whole thing.”

He made quick work of your panties. He slid them down and put them in his pocket haphazardly. The cool air hit and your legs instinctively shut themselves around his hand. He pried them open with ease. “Gonna make you fall apart on my tongue baby.”

He let his fingers run through your silky folds and once again glaze his fingers. You moaned out his name and sat up. Your elbows supported most of your weight as you watched him with hooded eyes.

His mouth replaces his fingers as he dives head first into your cunt. His warm mouth wrapped around your pearly bud almost immediately after he started. Your arms buckle and you fall back onto the table. You back arches and you move your hands to where is head is stationed in between your legs. “Elvis! Oh god! Oh it feels so good Elvis don’t stop!”

He moves his fingers to your achy hole. At first, he was spreading your lips with his fingers but decided he needed to open you up before you took his cock. Using your wetness as a lubricant, he sticks a long finger in you. You let out a high pitched moan and vice gripped his hair. He took this as a sign to keep going. He sticks a second finger in you and begins thrusting then in and out.

You juices mixed with your velvet walls and his fingers made a sort of squelching sound that was only turning you on more. “Oh god Elvis. I’m so close, mmm!” You pushed your head against the table and began to clamp your thighs around his head.

As if the devil himself had possessed the black-hairs sex god below you, he removed his mouth and fingers from your burning heat. An empty feeling replaced the god-like sensation that was driving through your body. Your head shot up and you stared at him with a confused look. “W-why did you stop? Did I do something wrong?” He chuckled and shook his head.

“No baby. I want to fill you up with my cock though. I also want to cum with you.” You shivered at his words and nodded. He placed one of his hands on your tits and massaged them. Your mouth opens and silent gasps fall out at the feeling of him. He began to unbutton the shirt his shirt and unbuckle his pants with his free hand. He threw the shirt on the ground and kicked his pants off- leaving him in his boxers. He removed his hand from you and pushed his boxers down.

His hardened cock slapped his stomach and leaked with precum. “Ain’t it bigger than that silly toy? I know you wish it was me instead of that little thing.” You shuddered and nodded. You couldn’t tear your gaze away from his cock. You felt a little embarrassed but you just couldn’t stop looking.

“Are you ready pretty girl?” You nodded again. Your eyebrows furrow and your lips make a small ‘o’ shape. He prods the tip at you and begins to push it in. Inch by inch, you could feel yourself stretching out dramatically. While you have used dildos and other phallic shaped objects on yourself, you were still a virgin. You had never had a man fully inside you before- obvious by the pained moans that left your mouth.

“E… Please slow down it h-hurts.” He nodded and bent down to you. His torso lay over yours and his head was right near yours.

“Such a pretty girl. Such a sweet, angelic little thing. You have nothing to be afraid of baby, I’m gonna take real good care of you, right darlin’?” His sweet nothings were like a molasses to your ears. “Mmm, E? You can move now.”

Once he bottomed out, he began a stead, rhythmic pace as he thrusted into you. Little babbles and coos left your mouth. He just felt so good. All these months of lusting after him were really showing through now. All those nights when you rode that little dildo couldn’t compare to your position right now.

“Faster, please!” His thrusts picked up from a leisure stroll to a light jog. His hands moved from your hips, up onto the sides of your breasts. He balanced his weight before giving them squeezes, pinches, and prods.

“God darlin’. This pussy was made for me. Just molds around me so well. Gonna be mine forever.”

His pace increased sharply, as did his force. It felt like he was pounding you into the table and it hurt so good. He moved his hands to your sides and ceased action again. He pulled out and flipped you onto your stomach. He pulled you to the edge of the table so your legs dangled over the side. He re-entered again and rushed back to the pace you were at before. In this new position, he could reach even deeper into you so he could show you just how good your body could feel.

“Oh god! Elvis! Harder please!” He obliged and strengthened his pace. He placed both hands on your ass and pounded harder. “You gettin’ close baby? Gonna cum on me?” You let out a high-pitched ‘Mhm!’ Your hands stretched above you to hold the other end of the table with a tight grip. His hands squeezed the globes of your ass and he bent over you again. “Gonna make you cum so good baby. Gonna fuck you so good you won’t be able to do anything but moan my name. Make you my little dumb angel. Like the sound of that?”

You nodded and moaned. “Yes Elvis! I’m close! Please make me cum, mmm!” He could feel the way your cunt tightened around his cock signaling your release. “Come on baby, cum with me. Cum on my cock. Come on.”

He pace quickened again and he maxed out. His was growling in your ear and nipping your neck. All of a sudden, he hit a soft spongy part inside you that made you perk up. He hit it again, and again, and again, and again. You were seeing white spots and stars in your vision as you chased your release. “Gonna cum baby. Cum with me!”

His words pushed you over the edge and your orgasm hit you like a freight train. His orgasm hit him as well and he slammed his hands against the table. “FUCK!” he released deep into every nook and cranny of your pussy. His arms gave in and his full body weight was leaned against your back.

For a moment, neither of you said anything, just heavy breaths and small whimpers. He pushed himself up and off you and stood up straight. He took the panties out of his pants pocket and wiped his cock with them. You leaned up with what little strength you held.

He took the panties and wiped your pussy from behind with slow and gentle strokes. You let out overstimulated mewls.

“Are you able to stand doll?” He asked quietly. You slowly flipped over so you were on your back and touched your feet to the ground. You stood for a moment with wobbly legs and stumbled over to his arms.

“Barley.” You both laugh. He holds you close to him as he gets your dressed again. He puts on the cum soaked panties and pulls them up your legs. You push your thighs together and hold onto his shoulder. “You did really good baby. So proud of you.” He puts your bra on you and clasps it together. With the help of him, you slip on your dress and socks before sitting down on the table to wait for him.

He throws his boxers, pants, and button up back on. He puts his socks and shoes on and holds a hand out to you. “Let’s head back. If any of them ask, just say you cried a little bit.” You giggle and nodded.

“Oh, and doll?”

“Hmm?”

“I was serious. I want you to be my girl. I don’t want to spend another moment not with you.” He confesses quietly.

You gasp and look at him. Your big (E/C) eyes bore into his pretty ocean blue ones. “I want to be with you too Elvis. I love you so much.”

He smiles and kisses you sweetly. You return the kiss. You held that position for a few minutes before a loud voice calls down the hall. You let go of him and retreat to his side.

“Mr. Presley? Mr. Schilling was looking for you and Ms. Schilling. Should I tell them you’re alright?”

Elvis lets put a hearty chuckle and hugs you closer to his side.

“Tell him we’re more than alright.”

(Taglist): @mt12209 , @austinsmutler , @18lkpeters , @presleyenterprise , @myradiaz , @ccab @livelaughelvis

[therealslimshakespeare]

I think I might die if there’s not a second part coming up

Baby hotline

You’ve been talking to a man who calls himself big daddy for over a month now, he calls every night to talk to you. Some conversations are wholesome whereas some lead to sin. When he calls you tonight you wonder which it shall be.

Big daddy! Elvis x call girl! reader smut.

Word count: 3k.

Warnings: Descriptive talk of sex. Mutual masturbation, fingering and jerking off. Explicit detail, graphic imagery. Hint of stalking. Innocence and corruption kink. Daddy kink. Talk of prostitution. Smoking and language. Talk of unprotected sex and cream pies. Age gap of 20 years. Heavy sexual themes. Mature.

A/n: Based around 1975, Elvis is a lonely pervert looking for young 🐱.

The silk curtains were tied in the middle as you pushed them aside. The large window in the hotel room overlooks the dark alleyway of Hollywood Boulevard. A few lights were scattered throughout the building across from where you stood. Traffic was slow and the people were scarce. Cars are parked by the sidewalks. Most are Volkswagens. The block you stayed on was occupied by protestors who preached free love and peace. It was a warm inviting community that brought you here, all those months ago. However, there was a dark brooding car that made you anxious. It was out of place in the rainbow pallet. A shiny 1973 Stutz Blackhawk. It loomed over all the other vehicles, like a dark storm cloud on a clear night. The car was parked on the other side of the road, closest to your window without being directly below. It was strange but maybe they were just visiting for a session with one of the girls.

The residents of the hotel you lived at including you were either prostitutes or call girls. You being the latter. It was a movement to lift women's sexuality. You decided what's the harm in selling the most organic thing, sex. You get paid for doing it as well and won't have to see the person who's paying. A man who was your most reliable client paid the highest. You didn't know his real name or what he looked like. Only what he told you throughout the months you've known him. You knew that he liked being called big daddy, and he loved routine. He told you he had blue eyes and dark black hair, and that he was a very wealthy man. However, with all that charm came a cost. Some of the calls he made were personal, talking to you like a child. Telling you that he was a lonely man, that women didn't love him like they used to since he gained some weight. He was older, more mature. He talked to you like a guardian. He wanted to protect you, a stranger. A call girl he's never met at that.

Unabashedly you liked him more than you should. He paid fairer than most of the men you talked to, and he always kept his word to spoil you. Big daddy also had a routine of calling you, every other night at midnight. Tonight however is nearing that hour and you haven't heard a word from him. It was strange since he was a creature of habit. Has he lost interest? Surely not, sometimes he called just to talk to you. He didn't care that every minute was ten dollars he just wanted to know how his little darling was doing.

You sighed, sitting on the window banister. Propping the window open you hear Hollywood's busy atmosphere. People yelling and conversing, and the traffic. The cool night air hitting your bare thighs made you shiver. Your baggy sleep shirt isn't adapting to California’s climate.

Hitting the bottom of the pack of reds, you open the brim. Plucking one of the last cigarettes out of the box. Placing it between your lips you take the lighter you keep stuffed in the box out. Cupping your hand around the flame you light the smoke. Puffing the flame to keep it steady. You tuck the lighter back and set aside the box on the side of the sill.

If you focus hard enough you swear you could see the stars behind Hollywood's fog. You inhale the smoke and breathe it out of your nose. You feel a pit in your stomach grow as the minutes pass as he doesn't call. The embers fall onto the window pane and you throw the rest of it out, puffing a long train of smoke and pushing it out into the night.

There's rhythmic rapping on the other side of your door. The sudden noise makes you jump, your skin tingling with fear. Who could be asking for your presence at such a late stage of the night? Hesitantly you stand and walk over to your door. Wrapping your fingers around the knob, bracing yourself for what’s to come when you open. When you open it, nothing is there. You stick your head out and look at both sides. Empty. You take a step out, and your toes hit something solid. Looking down you find a box. The box is about not big, not small either. More of a rectangle than anything. One of those boxes you find at a woman’s boutique. It doesn’t have a brand but it’s a hot pink color. There’s a white bow on top, and a small card tucked under it. Did someone else’s mail get delivered to you? You crouch down and take the card out from the sash. In barely cursive writing, it reads.

To my sweet darling,

May you bless these garments, with your lovely body.

Sincerely,

Your daddy.

Briefly your cheeks heat up, and the rest of your body follows. Your hands are sweating when you pick the box up. A smile erupts across your face. He cares. However, it strikes you with fear about how much he does. For example, how did he find where you lived? Did he trace the line? Surely not, you were just overthinking. You set the box down on your bed. You tucked the card under the lamp on your side table. The only light that is shown in your room. It illuminated the pink rotary phone on standby.

You slipped the baggy shirt over your chest, the cold air of the night made your skin prickle. Your nipples pebble from the icy grasp. Your little white panties were the only thing you had on. Untying the sash you opened the box. Your eyes turned glassy, your pussy clenching around nothing. Your brain is running wild with assumptions. A dusty pink bra with a little white bow in between the cups and matching lace panties. Your ears started to ring. You took the fabric into your hands, examining your gift further. It was silk. The stitching was embroidery, not factory-made. Did he get this tailored to you? You snorted a laugh at the idiocy. But upon further inspection, picking up your chosen underwear for the night. You found a pink sticky note with the number three written on it. Three thousand dollars in one hundred bills wrapped with a pink rubber band stuffed into the crotch. You huffed a loud noise in the form of a gasp. You should've known he’d do something like this. Taking the wad out you placed it by his note.

Unclasping the delicate strap you place the bra on. It shouldn't be a shock that it fits you perfectly, but it also raised the question. How did he know? You hooked your fingers under the waistband of the white panties you had on and slipped them off. You shake your head at the damp spot in the middle. God. Did just thinking about him do this to you? He could be the ugliest man alive for all you knew. His voice though. That heavy southern drawl, that makes him sound drunk sometimes with how slow he talks. You roll your eyes and groan. There it is again, you psycho-analyzing your client. It's just business. Where is the line between client and lover? You didn't know and you're afraid that you're too far gone to understand the concept.

You slid on the soft pink ones and pulled them up your legs and they hung snugly around your hips. Bizarrely you felt a wild hit of lust. Like those smelling salts they've been selling around your street lately. A boost of confidence hits your psyche. You knew you looked pretty just from how the lingerie felt. He somehow knew what looked best on you. He knows what's best for you. You ran your palms flat over your curves, stroking yourself. Suddenly, you understood what men saw. That unbridled sexual libido.

The phone rang. Your eyes almost bulged out of your head and you ran over to the pink plastic. Kicking the box off of your bed in the midst of it all. When you first pick it up and hold it to your ear you don't hear anything. Other than the hushed sound of breathing.

“Hello?”

You whisper into the bottom. You lay flat on your stomach, anticipating who is on the other line.

“Hello, darlin’. Been missin’ you.”

Your heart hammers against your chest. You smile widely. His voice is deeper than it usually is, softer as well. He's composed.

“Really?”

Listening to his breathing fogs your thinking and makes your stomach tighten.

“Of course, honey, been thinking about you since our last call.”

You snort a little at how silly his answer was. You trail your fingers over the curly cord.

“You’re so funny daddy, our last call was yesterday. You couldn't have thought about me that much.”

Instead of the line going quiet and listening to his breathing he immediately replies.

“Trust me, yittle girl, I have.”

You start to burn. He’s thought about you so much to the point where it’s not even a question. He adjusts himself and you hear leather squelch. Is he calling you in his car? You can’t think about it for long.

“Do you like my present?”

You scoff.

“Like it? I love it, daddy! Thank you so much!”

“I was a little worried it wouldn’t fit. Had to make a guess using what you’ve told me.”

You wonder if he keeps tabs on you, a notepad dedicated to details about you. You feel flattered by the sentiment.

“Are you wearing it?”

You can hear his swallow, a thick audible sound coming from his throat. Hearing him lick his lips too. You smile.

“Mhm, it’s very pretty. Expensive too, and I noticed the cash. You didn’t have to, our call was only a couple hundred last night.”

You felt a little apologetic for the amount of money he gave you. You honestly valued the conversations you have with him, you felt saddened to know that he probably thought you only talked to him since you got paid in the end. You hear him scoff on the other side.

“Baby, I'll tell you one thing. You don't know nothin’ ‘bout me if you think I can't spoil my yittle girl.”

You smile.

“Point taken.”

It’s quiet again. His deep breathing follows, it’s strangely comforting hearing him breathing. It’s as if you were cuddled up next to him. You’d lay on his chest, rubbing your hand on his bare chest. Feeling his heart beat faster as you trail your hand lower under the waistband of his velvet track pants. You wondered what color they’d be. You know undoubtedly he wouldn’t have trouble getting hard. A pretty little thing like you was the only dose of medicine he’d ever need. You rub your thighs together trying to appease the urge to touch yourself. Fantasizing what his hands would feel like on your body. How big he was.

“Need to stop smokin’ honey.”

You blink dumbly. Your heart is running fast. How’d he know? Was he watching? No. You refuse.

“W-what?”

Your words are rushed.

“A lotta girls in the valley are startin’ to smoke those cowboy killers. They’re called that for a reason. Pretty young girls can’t take that kinda smoke. Makes your poor daddy sad seein’ them ruin’n their lives because of a fad.”

“How d’you know I smoke?”

“Like I said, lotta pretty youngins are startin’ up the nasty habit.”

Shutting your mouth you think for a few seconds, contemplating his answer. He’s most likely around your demographic all the time for his profession. He’s just in one of his overprotective moods. He’s been getting into those moods more often lately. A hint of jealousy grows a pit in your stomach. If he’s always around young women then why does he talk to you? There’s nothing special about a call girl. Or so you think.

“Daddy, do you ever think about me outside of our little talks?”

“I'm ‘fraid you got a listen’in problem. Told you before darlin’, I think ‘bout you every damn minute.”

He starts huffing, breathing quicker.

“Starts gettin’ bad when I'm on the job and I start thinkin’ ‘bout you.”

You push your hand on the mattress, laying flat on your back. Adjusting the phone to your other hand so the cord isn't in your way. Smiling mischievously to yourself. Running your nails along your stomach.

“What do you think about me when you're working?”

“Oh, Lord honey, all kinds of things. Your daddy gets so very lonesome without his yittle sweet thing. He starts thinkin’ ‘bout how it feels to have her legs wrapped around his hips. How her tiny sooties wouldn't be able to touch. If he put all his weight on her if he’d feel his cock in her stomach every time he fucks up into her.”

You can't speak, running his filthy words through your mind. How your feet wouldn't be able to touch just from how wide his hips are. The confidence he has in his size is a complete contrast to the insecurity he normally voices. You don't know what the change was in his ego but you love it. So much to the point where you cup your hand over your pussy. The warmth from your labia makes your arousal build. You can feel the dampness of your essence seeping through his lacy panties. Your clit is already swollen and throbbing from the friction of the elastic band.

“How-,”

You bite back a whimper, clutching the phone closer to your ear to hear his rapid breaths.

“How big are you?”

He chuckles under his breath, how innocent you are. He's talked to you about what he wants to do to you. You're not shy or bashful when you warm up to him. The fact of the matter was you were as much of a freak as he was, maybe even more. All you were was just a little minx.

“You know those glass co-la bottles that used to sell wild back in 55?”

“It's like that honey.”

You dip your fingers under the band of the panties, you tease the outer lips of your slit. Your folds are soaked in your juices. Hearing him talk in that dirty southern drawl makes your hips buck. The poor man can't even say cola right because of his accent. It causes your breath to hitch. You spread open the lips of your snatch and drag the wetness from your core to your clit. Up and down.

“Goddamn, I don’ even think my pinky could fit in your little cunt. I betcha you couldn't even take in your daddy's knuckle.”

He cleared his throat, the pause made you push two fingers into your fluttering hole. Automatically your back arches. You can only imagine his features pushing into you, how his cock would stretch you out. The burn of him pulling out only to plunge back in.

“How am I makin’ you feel?”

He pulls you closer to the edge, you can hear the wet squelch of your fingers fucking into your channel. Your palm flattens and rubs on your clit. Your body feels electric and pulsing with every thrust.

“Listen real close, daddy.”

You bite down hard on your lip to stifle a whine. Taking the phone from your face you place it between your thighs. Right above the hand, you're fingering yourself with. He groans loud and heavily into the speaker.

“Uh huh, mhm.”

The tension in your stomach snaps, and you can feel the rush flow from your abdomen and down into your hand. Your legs straighten out and you let go of the phone, soaking the plastic your bed and his panties. Your eyes roll back and your mouth parts as your breath becomes ragged. When you come back down to earth, the only thing you can imagine is his face stuffed into your neck telling you how good you did. You lift up and take the phone back up, wiping it off with your duvet.

“How’d that sound?”

“Lord have mercy on me.”

You smile at how astonished he sounds.

“That darlin’ sounded as good as the lord's gospel.”

“I swear to god daddy's gon’ fill you up, make you his forever. Allow you to be blessed by raising his kid. He’ll never be alone again having you as his little mama.”

This was new. His mantra about wanting to play house with you. Maybe it was because you had a crush on him or that your mind was still foggy but that didn't sound bad at all. Actually, it sounded like a dream.

“Did you cum daddy?”

He laughs into the phone, one of his warm authentic ones. The one that makes your stomach flutter.

“Honey, I finished when you told me you were wearin’ the little thing I gotcha.”

You blush, smiling wide. Maybe it's because of him telling you that he wants a future with you. Or the delusion that you'll have a life with him, but you can't help but ask him.

“When can I meet you?”

He sighs on the line, a deeply disappointing one. That crushes your soul a little. Your feelings get twisted slightly before he answers.

“Tonight.”

The line goes dead after his reply.

[presleyverse]

𝐀𝐧 𝐀𝐧𝐠𝐫𝐲 𝐏𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐥𝐞𝐲 𝐈𝐬 𝐀 𝐑𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐏𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐥𝐞𝐲

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tags: smut, rough sex, gentle sex (eventually), established relationship, angry!Elvis, early 1970s Elvis, kitchen counter sex, p in v sex, free use(?), light face slapping, dirty talk, light choking, aftercare, apologetic!Elvis, possessive!Elvis

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As always, smuts under the cut

Elvis slammed the front door of Graceland, his heavy boots stomping through the house like a thunderstorm. You barely had time to turn around from where you stood at the kitchen counter before he was there, towering over you, his blue eyes burning hot with frustration. “Damn Colonel’s got me runnin’ ‘round like a damn fool,” he growled, voice thick with his Southern drawl. “Bout near lost my temper at that bastard.”

You reached for him, but he caught your wrist, tugging you flush against him. “E—” you started, but the way his hands slid down to grip your hips stole the words from your lips.

“Need somethin’, baby,” he muttered, voice husky, lips ghosting over your jaw. “Need you.”

Your breath hitched as he lifted you onto the counter, fingers digging into your thighs as he stepped between them. His mouth was on yours, hungry and desperate, his body pressing you back against the cabinets. You barely had time to gasp before he was yanking at your dress, bunching the fabric up as his hips rolled against yours. “Gonna make me forget all about that bastard,” he murmured, breath hot against your skin. “Ain’t that right, honey?”

Your heart raced as Elvis pulled you closer, his hands rough but comforting as he undid the buttons of your dress with a fierce urgency. The heat of his anger still simmered in the air, but you could feel his need to release it, to lose himself in you, in the only thing that ever seemed to calm him down. “Elvis…” you whispered, breathless as his lips traced your neck, pressing bruising kisses against your sensitive skin.

“You’re all I need, baby,” he growled, his hands now slipping under the lace of your panties, dragging them down roughly. “Gonna make you feel so damn good you forget all my troubles.” Before you could respond, his lips crashed back to yours, silencing the rest of your words. He gripped your waist tighter, lifting you slightly as he positioned himself at your entrance, his eyes flashing with a hunger that matched the rage still bubbling in him.

You could feel him push his head cock inside with a rough thrust, causing a gasp to leave your lips. His pace was frantic, his breath ragged as he fucked you with a desperate intensity, needing to forget everything but you. “Don’t hold back, baby,” he growled between gritted teeth. "lemme hear ya."

Elvis’ frustration was palpable, his words coming in harsh bursts between ragged breaths. “Damn Colonel,” he muttered under his breath, his grip tightening around your hips. “Always got me runnin’ around for him, makin’ me feel like a damn puppet on a string…”

His thrusts grew more erratic, his hips slamming into yours with an intensity that bordered on painful. But you didn’t mind. The sting mixed with the pleasure, and you were more than happy to take it. His anger fueled him, his frustration sharpening his movements as he gritted out more complaints about the Colonel, his words biting as much as his actions. “He thinks he owns me,” he seethed, his pace quickening as his fingers dug into your flesh. “Thinkin’ I’ll jus' do whatever he says… but I ain’t some damn tool for him to use. I’ve had enough…”

His thrusts became harder, rougher, almost mean, but you found yourself moaning louder with every snap of his hips. The sting in your body only made you crave more, and the way he was losing himself in you, letting go of everything that had been eating at him, turned you on even more. “God, you feel so damn good,” he growled, voice low and strained, his anger now mixed with the raw need for you.

You could barely form coherent thoughts, your mind spiraling as Elvis continued to fuck you with a raw, relentless energy. The sound of his hips meeting yours was loud in the room, echoing off the walls as you clung to him, every nerve in your body alight.

"God, Elvis… please… don’t stop…” You babbled, breathless, your words a tangled mess. You could barely hold yourself together as his hands gripped you tighter, pulling you closer with each hard thrust.

His lips ghosted over your neck, his teeth scraping lightly over your skin, the sensation sending waves of heat straight to your core. You whimpered, barely able to keep up with his pace. “Please, baby, I can’t… can’t take it, it’s so—”

“Shut up,” he growled, his voice a mix of anger and something darker. He snapped his hips harder, pushing you further up the counter as if trying to bury himself deeper inside you. “You want me to stop, honey? Huh? You want me to stop?”

You shook your head violently, the words tumbling out faster now, completely incoherent. “No, no, no—please don’t… I need you—so good, so—" He slammed his dick into your cunt again, a harsh thrust that made you cry out, your body shaking, your babbling growing louder and more frantic as he drove you to the edge.

Elvis' breath was hot and heavy against your ear as he continued to move inside you, his pace relentless and unyielding. His hand, large and possessive, found its way to your throat, fingers tightening just enough to make you gasp. "You think he gives a damn about me?" Elvis growled, his voice harsh, barely above a whisper. "That damn Colonel, he don’t care about nothin' but his own damn pocket. Treats me like I'm nothin’ but his prize horse, pushin' me 'round... keepin' me on a leash..."

You could barely breathe, but the way his cock was filling you, slamming into you with punishing force, made it feel like you were floating. Your pulse raced, both from the thrill of it and from the sensation of his fingers around your neck, making everything feel so much more intense.

"All he cares about is his cut, his goddamn money," Elvis continued, his voice thick with disdain as he thrust into you harder, his grip on your throat tightening just enough to send a thrilling wave of dizziness through your head. "But you, baby… you're all I need. All I fuckin' need. Not him. Never him."

The words were coming faster now, and so were his thrusts, rough and desperate. Your head tilted back, eyes barely open as you felt the pressure building inside you. You could feel his anger, his frustration mixing with a ferocious need, and you loved every second of it.

You squeezed around his cock, your voice strangled, almost pleading. "Please, Elvis, don’t stop… keep going…" His hand on your throat tightened, his pace increasing, and you felt the familiar heat of release start to curl in your stomach.

Elvis’ grip on your throat was unforgiving now, his fingers pressing in with a mix of anger and lust that made your head spin. His thrusts were punishing, each one harder than the last, as if he was trying to drive every ounce of frustration out of his body and into you.

The kitchen counter was cold beneath you, your body trembling, but you couldn’t help the way your hips instinctively met his, the need for him overwhelming every thought. “You like this, don’t you, baby?” His voice was low, rough, dripping with the heavy drawl of his southern accent. “You like me fuckin’ you like this, don’t you? I can feel you clenchin' around me, beggin' for more. You’re nothin’ but mine, ain’t ya?”

His words were like fire, and each one made your insides twist with desire. He was brutal, taking what he wanted, and you were helpless to stop him. The feeling of him pounding into you, over and over, was starting to break you down in the best way possible. It hurt, but in the most delicious way, your body on the edge of something you couldn’t quite control.

“Gonna make you beg for it, baby,” he rasped, his hips slamming into yours with vicious force. “Gonna fuck you ‘til you forget your own name.” The pressure in your chest, from both his hand around your throat and his relentless thrusting, was starting to pull you under, your body aching, but you couldn’t help the moan that escaped you.

You were so close, your body trembling with need. "Please, Elvis," you gasped, your voice barely a whisper, but he heard you, his lips curling into a satisfied grin.

“Please, what?” he snarled, his words like a challenge. "Tell me, baby. What do you want?"

"I want you," you managed to breathe out, your body bucking beneath him. "I want all of you."

The roughness of his movements only intensified, his hands gripping your body like he was trying to claim every part of you. It was almost too much, but you didn’t care. You wanted to break.

Elvis’ pace didn’t slow down, each thrust crashing into you like a wave against the shore, relentless and unforgiving. Your head was spinning, the rawness of it all making it hard to focus on anything but him—his cock, his hand around your throat, the biting sting of his slap to your cheek. The slap was sharp, not too hard but enough to send a jolt through your system, snapping your attention back to him.

His eyes burned with intensity as he leaned in close, his lips brushing your ear as he whispered, “Ya feel that, baby? Feel how badly I want ya?”

You could barely form a response, your body trembling beneath him, overwhelmed by the sheer force of his movements. You loved it, loved how rough he was, loved how he was pushing you to your limits. “Answer me, honey,” he growled, his fingers gripping your jaw to force you to look at him. His other hand came up again, and this time, his slap was gentler, a reminder of the power he held over you. “You’re mine, understand? Ain’t no one gonna fuck you like I do.”

You nodded, barely able to breathe through the pleasure and pressure building inside you. You were close, so close, and every ounce of pain was worth it.

The muscles in your thighs were on fire, shaking with every brutal thrust. Your body felt like it was on the edge of breaking, and Elvis wasn’t making it any easier. The slickness between your legs made a wet sound with every harsh movement, your body leaking all over the counter as he fucked into you with merciless force.

Elvis grinned, his breath coming out in quick bursts, his eyes dark with lust as he watched you tremble beneath him. "Look at you, baby," he said, his voice rough, almost teasing. "Leakin’ all over the place like you’re desperate for it. God, you’re so fuckin’ wet for me, aren’t ya?"

The sound of his words, coated in his thick southern drawl, made your head spin. You couldn’t form any coherent thoughts anymore; you were too consumed by the way his cock was slamming into you, the way your body was trembling with every stroke. “You’re makin’ a mess, sweetheart,” Elvis murmured, his lips curling into a smirk. “But I don’t mind. You wanna keep goin’, don’t ya? You love it when I fuck you like this, don’t you?”

You could barely nod, your body trembling in response. It felt like too much, but you wanted more, needed more, your mind hazy with desire. Elvis’ moved his hand and gripped your hair as it tightened, his fingers twisting into the strands with a roughness that made you gasp. He pulled your head back, forcing you to look up at him, his eyes wild, feral. He was thrusting into you with a brutal, animalistic pace now, each movement harder and faster than the last, his cock pounding into you with relentless power.

“You wanna come, don’t you, baby?” he growled, his voice dripping with both lust and dominance. His thrusts were so deep, so hard, that you could barely breathe, your body trembling beneath him.

But just as you were on the edge, feeling the pressure building, he pulled back, grinding against you with an almost cruel slowness. His hand stayed tangled in your hair, forcing your head back further, exposing your throat to him. “You ain’t comin’ yet,” he hissed, his breath heavy as he smirked down at you. “Not until I say so.”

You could barely form words, your body shaking from the need to release. “Please, Elvis... please… I can’t… I need it…” Tears welled in your eyes, your cries of desperation echoing in the room as you begged him. “Please, let me come... I can’t take it…”

But Elvis just laughed, a dark, twisted sound, as he increased the pace again, fucking you harder, not letting you get any closer to your release. “You think I care what you need? You’ll beg me for it all night if I want you to.”

Elvis’ frustration was still burning in his eyes, the anger he felt toward the Colonel spilling into his every movement. But even as his thrusts remained hard and unyielding, he seemed to notice your discomfort, the strain on your body from being pinned to the cold kitchen counter.

With a growl, he pulled you off the counter, not bothering to slow down, his cock still buried deep inside you. You barely had time to gasp before he lifted you into his arms, holding you effortlessly as he stalked toward the doorway, still thrusting into you with a steady rhythm.

Your hands instinctively clung to him, your body trembling in both pleasure and exhaustion as he carried you through the halls of Graceland, his grip on you possessive and unyielding. “Not gonna keep you bent over that damn counter,” Elvis muttered through clenched teeth, his voice a mix of anger and lust. “You deserve better than that.”

With one final, furious step, he entered the Jungle Room, the soft lights and lush décor contrasting sharply with the rawness of the moment. He didn’t hesitate, sitting down on the sofa with you still in his lap, his cock still buried inside you, the force of his thrusts now more deliberate, though still rough. “You’re gonna stay on my lap now,” he growled, one hand gripping your waist, the other running through your hair. “Let me fuck you how I want, baby, no more of that cold counter. You’re all mine, now and always.”

You were limp against Elvis' chest, your body barely able to hold itself up as he continued to fuck you with relentless force. Each thrust sent shockwaves of pleasure and pain through your body, your limbs weak, your breath ragged. You couldn't do anything but cling to him, your hands barely able to grip onto his shoulders as he held you in place. "You like this, huh?" Elvis growled, his voice dripping with a mixture of anger and dark amusement.

His hands roamed over your body, rough and demanding, leaving marks on your skin, fingers digging into your flesh as if he couldn't get enough of you. He was grabbing every inch of you—your waist, your thighs, your breasts—leaving behind bruises that would remind you of him for days. "You’re all fucked out, aren’t you, baby?" he taunted, his voice low and mocking, his thrusts never slowing. "Barely able to hold yourself up. You gonna be my little ragdoll, huh? All limp in my arms while I fuck you like this?"

You could barely respond, the pleasure mixing with the soreness in your body, but your mind felt like it was spinning in a haze. Every time you thought you might collapse, he would tighten his grip, pulling you back up into him. “Come on, baby, talk to me,” he demanded, his voice rougher now. “Tell me you love it when I leave marks on you, when I fuck you like this. You’re mine, ain’t ya? Gonna remember me for a while, won’t you?”

You could only moan in response, your body too weak to do anything else, and he smirked, clearly pleased with your inability to speak. His pace quickened, the pressure building again, and all you could do was hold onto him, completely lost in the storm he’d created inside you.

Elvis’ hand suddenly came down sharply on your ass, the sting from the slap jolting you out of your haze. You barely had time to register the sensation before he did it again, harder this time, making you gasp. “Focus, baby,” he growled, his voice rough, thick with his southern drawl. “You’re makin’ a mess of yourself, can’t even keep it together. You ain’t gettin’ a break.”

You whimpered, your body too weak to keep up with the force of his thrusts. The ache in your legs and hips was overwhelming, and your head felt foggy. You could barely breathe, let alone concentrate, your thoughts scattered. "Please, Elvis..." you begged, your voice hoarse. "I can't... I need a break... just for a second..."

He smirked down at you, his grip tightening on your hips as he slammed into you harder. “Nah, baby. Ya don’t get no break. Yer gonna take it all. Take what I give you, whether ya can handle it or not.”

The sting of his words, mixed with the sharp slaps on your ass and his punishing thrusts, had you on the edge, your body trembling in his hold. Your muscles were screaming, but you couldn’t stop yourself from begging for more, your desperate pleas only egging him on.

Eventually, Elvis' pace began to change—slower, deeper, like he was trying to anchor you to the moment. His hands, which had been gripping and bruising, were now soft on your body, caressing the curves of your hips, your waist, your breasts. His voice, previously harsh and commanding, softened as he spoke, his breath still ragged but filled with a tenderness you hadn’t expected.

“You’re doin’ so good, baby,” he whispered, his lips brushing your ear as he pulled you closer to him, one hand gently cradling the back of your head. “You took everything I gave you. I’m so proud of you, honey.”

You could barely focus, your body still trembling with the aftershocks of everything he'd put you through. Your muscles were sore, weak, and your entire being was on fire. But even as your mind was swimming, you could hear the love and care in his voice.

You felt his body tighten beneath you as he thrust once more—hard—and you were on the edge again, feeling the pressure build up like a storm. "Come for me, baby," he growled, his voice strained but loving. "Let go."

And with that, it hit you, crashing over you like a wave. You came hard, your body shaking in his grip as you cried out, your sobs trembling in the air. As you were still reeling from the aftershocks, you felt him release inside you, his body going tense before going still.His movements slowed, his breath slowing down as he collapsed back onto the couch with you still in his lap.

You were exhausted, your body limp against his chest, and Elvis held you close, brushing his fingers through your hair, soothing you. “Ya did so good, baby,” he murmured softly, his voice full of warmth and pride. “Yer perfect, just perfect.”

Your quiet sobs were a mix of relief and emotional exhaustion, but as Elvis held you, kissed the top of your head, and whispered sweet words of praise, you knew you were safe in his arms. The anger from earlier had faded, replaced with something deeper, something genuine.

Elvis' thumb gently brushed across your cheek, wiping away a stray tear, his gaze softening as he noticed the exhaustion in your eyes. He kissed the top of your head, his lips lingering there for a moment as he held you close, his body still warm beneath you.

"I'm sorry, baby," he muttered in his deep, southern drawl, his voice low and sincere. "I got carried away. Didn’t mean to push you that hard." His hand slid up to your damp forehead, gently brushing back the strands of hair that stuck there from the sweat, his touch tender. "You were just too perfect, too damn beautiful. I lost myself."

You could feel the sincerity in his words as he pressed another kiss to your forehead, his lips warm against your skin. His breath was slow now, calming, no longer the ragged breaths of anger and desire, but the steady, reassuring rhythm of someone trying to make sure you were okay. "I never meant to hurt ya, honey," he murmured, his hand tracing gentle patterns on your back. "You’re all I’ve got, all I ever need. I jus' got frustrated, but you don't deserve that. I’m sorry, sweetheart.” His apology came as a whisper, soft but sincere.

You stayed silent for a moment, your head resting against his chest, the steady thrum of his heartbeat grounding you as your mind tried to piece everything together. You could still feel the ache between your legs, the soreness that reminded you of just how intense everything had been, but there was also something else lingering in the air, something deep and satisfying.

After a few beats of silence, you let out a shaky breath and lifted your head to look up at him, your eyes still a little glassy. "Elvis," you started, your voice soft but steady, "I— I think I kinda liked it."

His eyes widened, but only for a second. Then a slow grin spread across his face, the kind of smile that made his eyes sparkle with mischief and something else—affection, maybe. “Ya liked it, huh?” he asked, his voice low and teasing, his southern drawl even more pronounced. He let out a quiet chuckle, his fingers trailing up and down your back as he pulled you closer to him. “Well, ain’t that somethin’.”

You felt the heat rise to your cheeks, but the smile that played on your lips couldn’t be helped. “Yeah, I guess I did. I mean... you were rough, but it felt good. It’s like you made me forget everything else.”

Elvis softly laughed again, the sound rich and full of warmth. “Well, honey, I’ll be sure to remember that next time. But don’t get used to me goin’ so hard on ya. I gotta keep you on your toes, ya know?"

You rolled your eyes playfully, but the affection in your smile said it all. “I can handle it.”

Elvis kissed your forehead gently, his thumb brushing across your cheek. “Good,” he whispered, pulling you into him even tighter. “You sure are somethin’, sweetheart. Ain’t nobody like you.”

Elvis shifted a bit, his hands gentle as he cupped your face, his eyes full of concern. He had always been so intense, so passionate, but seeing the faint discomfort on your face made his heart drop. He knew he’d gone too far, taken his anger out on you, because of the damn colonel, and it weighed on him now, despite the pleasure that had taken over both of you earlier. He couldn’t ignore it—he had to make sure he hadn’t hurt you.

"Hey, baby," he said softly, his southern drawl thick with concern as he gently pried your legs apart. “Let me check on you, alright? Just wanna make sure I didn’t do anything too rough.”

You winced slightly as he adjusted you, but there was no pain in your voice, just a quiet, understanding nod. You trusted him, and he was going to make sure he didn't hurt you in the process. His fingers lightly parted your thighs, and his eyes immediately focused on your red and tender cunt between your legs. The sight made his chest tighten—a mixture of guilt and regret flooding through him.

The folds was red and swollen, the aftermath of his roughness, but there was no blood --thank God--. His heart ached for a moment before he looked up at you, his eyes soft. “You’re okay, baby,” he whispered, his voice barely audible, his fingers gently brushing over the sensitive flesh. You could see the guilt written all over his face, how much it was weighing on him.

Elvis carefully set you down on the couch, making sure you were comfortable as he moved away for a moment. You could see the determination in his movements as he went to grab a wet towel from the kitchen, his steps quick but careful. When he returned, he knelt in front of you, his face soft, his hands trembling just a little as he carefully wiped the area between your thighs.

You winced as the cold towel touched the sensitive skin, your body still so sore from everything that had just happened. The sting made you flinch, and Elvis froze, his heart sinking. His large hands trembled slightly as he continued to clean you up, trying to be as gentle as possible, but the hurt in your eyes made him feel like the lowest of the low.

"Shit," he muttered under his breath, his voice thick with regret. "I didn’t mean to hurt ya, darlin'. I got too carried away with my own damn anger... I'm sorry. I’m sorry for hurtin' ya.." His voice cracked slightly as he leaned in, brushing his lips against your thigh in a soft kiss, trying to comfort you as much as he could. He wanted to undo the damage, make sure you knew how much he cared for you—how deeply he regretted pushing you too far.

“You didn’t deserve any of that," he murmured, his hands now gently massaging the tender skin as he kissed your thigh again. "I’m so damn sorry, baby. You’re too good for me.”

You couldn’t help but smile, even in your sore state, your hand reaching out to touch his cheek. "I’m okay, Elvis. I’m fine. Just... next time, maybe a little less angry, okay?"

He chuckled softly, but there was a tenderness in it that made you feel safe. "I promise, sweetheart. No more anger. Just you and me... and a lot more care." He kissed you again, this time on your lips, softly, gently, showing you just how much he cared.