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Elvis doesn’t ask the blonde to sit next to him and he certainly doesn’t ask her to start talking to him. If anything, he’s been trying to put her off, talking loudly to Charlie and looking anywhere but her face. He shouldn't have let her sit down really, but his mind was elsewhere. She’s not put off, continuing to talking about how good his show was, batting her eyelashes and twirling a strand of hair around her finger. By the time you walk into the backstage area she has her hand on his thigh. His eyes had been roaming the room, looking for you desperately. Once they find you he stands up, the movement dislodging her. She makes some kind of noise but he’s not paying any attention, all his focus is on you as he starts to walk over to where you’re standing, one hand on your hip.
Things have really developed between the two of you since that time he wore the latex suit to the afterparty. You’ve been more and more interested in his clothes, telling him to wear the brightly patterned shirt he’s lounging in, post-show, and to go onstage without those little white panties that he’s been told he ought to wear to keep himself modest. You’d spent the whole of tonight's midnight show teasing him from your front row table, making him blush and fiddle, adjusting himself over and over. He was a flushed mess by the end of it, barely able to think, only still up there onstage because he knows the songs inside out. So when that blonde started talking to him he was too distracted by thoughts of you to stop her. He’s still distracted by them when he reaches you, his hand slipping around your waist, pulling you closer to him.
“Hey, baby.”
You raise an eyebrow. “Don’t you “hey baby” me. Who’s that girl?” You jab an accusatory finger in the air in her direction. Your voice is calm, but there's an undercurrent he knows very well.
Shrugging, he tries to sound nonchalant. “I dunno, honey. Just a fan.”
“Just a fan,” you repeat, looking him right in the eye. “Just a fan you want to fuck, right?”
“N-no, honey.” He looks around uncomfortably, hoping no-one heard that. “Y’know you’re all I want.” His hand moves to touch your face and you slap it away irritably.
“Don’t bullshit me,” you hiss. “She had her hand on your thigh.”
“Exactly, baby. She had her hand on my thigh, not the other way around.” He creeps closer, trying to touch you again but you take a deliberate step back.
“So she wants to suck your cock, huh?” You drop your voice to a low, menacing whisper, “my cock.”
He flushes crimson again. “Y-yeah I guess s-so, maybe… I d-didn’t do anything though, Mama.”
“Oh, you didn’t do anything. So shaking your hips like some kind of slut and deep-throating the mic on stage aren’t anything? No way she could’ve got the wrong idea from that tight little jumpsuit you were wearing, flaunting yourself like a whore?”
Elvis' mind is a blur. There are people everywhere and he’s afraid someone is going to hear some of the downright degrading things you’re saying to him, and then he’s afraid they’re going to notice the bulge in his pants that’s growing with every insult. Part of his mind keeps unhelpfully telling him that actually you picked the jumpsuit and you told him not to wear pants, so if he’s part of the problem you certainly are too. He mumbles his apologies and tells you over and over how it’s all his fault that this girl has been flirting with him, hoping that will be enough to placate you. That this is happening in a room full of people is exciting and terrifying all at once.
“You’ll get your punishment later,” you tell him, your lips against his ear as the pair of you start to do the rounds, talking to musicians and fans alike.
Swallowing hard, he tries to subtly rearrange himself. His heart is racing. He can’t wait for later.
***
Later turns out to not be that much later, because you can’t wait either and so you tell him to clear the suite as soon as you get back to it. He’s naked on his back in the middle of the bed within seconds, and you can’t help grinning at his eagerness as you lock the door to the room. Big blue eyes watch silently as you tie his hands to the head of the bed and his feet to the other end, arms stretched above his head and legs apart. You take a moment to step back and admire your handiwork. From his wide eyes and red, bitten lips to his red, swollen cock, laying on his stomach with precum beading at the tip, he’s a vision.
You sit on one side of the bed, running your fingertips teasingly all over his skin, enjoying watching him wiggle to try and get more contact.
“You’ve been a naughty boy, haven’t you?”
Elvis nods quickly. “Yes, Mama.”
“Naughty boys don’t deserve to cum, do they?”
He whines. “P-please, Mama. She was talkin’ to me.”
“She wasn’t just talking, was she, baby?” You chide, your hand laying flat at the top of his thigh now. “She was touching you. Like this.” You start to slowly drag your hand upwards as you continue. “If I hadn’t walked in, who knows what would’ve happened.” Your hand grasps his cock a little too firmly and he squeaks.
“N-no, Mama.”
“No Mama?”
“She wouldn’t have… I wouldn’t have… I only… I only want you.” He’s breathless as you start to move your hand on him, slowly.
“You know how I feel about people touching my things, baby.”
He squirms, starting to struggle against the restraints in anticipation of what will happen next.
“Please… please Mama…”
“Please?”
“Please d-don’t punish me…”
You shake your head, keeping up the rhythm of your hand on his cock, watching his abdominal muscles twitch and clench as he gets close.
“Have to, baby. How else will you learn?”
He whines as he watches your hand speed up and then suddenly move away again.
“Please,” he whispers. Sometimes begging helps. Well, it certainly never hurts.
You giggle, leaning down to lick a stripe up his swollen member. “So pathetic,” you tell him, licking back down again.
“‘S sore…”
You actually laugh at that. “Sore? I'm only just getting started, baby.”
Wrapping your hand around him, you start again at a maddeningly slow pace. “So pathetic and desperate…” you sigh to illustrate your level of disappointment with him.
His big blue eyes stare up at you. “Yes, Mama.”
“Begging for it, aren’t you?”
“Yes, Mama.”
Your mouth curls into a smile at his obedience, and he briefly starts to get hopeful. But he’s disappointed again, groaning as you speed up only to let go at what seems like the last possible moment again. He shouldn’t beg again but his dignity is out of the window at this point.
“Please, Mama. Please let me cum… I’ll be good, I promise… I’m sorry…”
You slip your mouth over the head of his cock and he moans loudly, body arching off the bed as his hands pull hard against the restraints. Opening your throat, you take him all in one smooth movement, your hands pressing as much of your weight as you can through his hips to hold him down. The noises he’s making are starting to sound inhuman. You bob your head once, twice, and then pull off completely.
“Ahhh FUCK!”
His dick feels so swollen it’s painful, his release heavy in his balls. You giggle again as you look at him. He’s wrecked. But you want to take it further.
“You look a mess. A pathetic mess.”
He’s panting, trying to hold back from completely losing it, knowing he can’t escape the ties no matter how much he struggles, and that there’s a good chance that you’ll just leave him there if he doesn’t agree with whatever you say.
“Yes, Mama.”
“Say it. Tell me you’re a pathetic mess.”
“I’m a… I’m a p-pathetic mess…” His chest is heaving.
You grin and take his cock back in your hand again, stroking it. His eyes are like saucers as he feels his release in the base of his cock. Any minute now, you’re going to move your hand and he’s going to be disappointed. Any… minute… now… panting, he starts to think maybe you’ve changed your mind, despite what you just said, because you’re still moving on him and his orgasm is so close now he can almost taste it.
And then you move your hand again.
He howls in frustration and tears gather in the corners of his eyes and spill down his cheeks. He’s. So. Close. This is torture.
“Mama, PLEASE. I can’t take it… I can’t take it anymore…”
You smirk and without another word you move your hand to just lightly poke his dick with your little finger.
He gasps in shock when that's all it takes to make him cum, white fluid spurting from the head of his twitching, swollen member. You throw your head back and laugh as he tries desperately to free himself from the restraints. Your heart is beating out of your chest at just how cruel you’ve been - you didn’t even know if it would work, if you could take your hand away at just the right time and make him cum with such a tiny movement. But it was perfect. You gave him an orgasm with almost none of the usual satisfaction. It’s fucking ruined. He can barely think, his brain is mush as he desperately tries to work out what the fuck just happened. There’s a weird high feeling, a feeling like he’s spinning in space, knowing you’ve just taken his orgasm from him, you’re in control and have all the power and he has nothing. You’ve robbed him of the pleasure he was supposed to have and somehow that makes him all the more desperate for you. The tears don’t stop flowing down his cheeks.
“Mama,” he whimpers.
He’s so pathetic-sounding you take pity on him, untying him and lying down next to him on the bed. Taking his face in your hands you stare into his tear-filled eyes.
“Awww, poor pathetic baby boy. Came just from my little finger.” You hold it up in front of his face to illustrate, with a little giggle.
He whines, wriggling closer, pushing his face into the crook of your neck and nuzzling you. You wrap your arms around him, kissing his hair.
“Love you, Mama,” he mumbles.
You bite your lip at his words. He’s always so demonstrative afterwards and you love it.
“I love you too, baby.”
Part of you wants to tease him more, but you know you’re probably pushing it already so you just cuddle him, your heart full of love for him and his absolute devotion to you.
“Can I make you cum?” He asks after a while, moving his head to look at you with pleading eyes.
You grin and nod. “Of course you can, baby. Since you’ve been such a good boy.”
Rolling onto his back, he puts his hands on your thighs as you settle yourself onto his face. Your pussy is slick with arousal, you’d got very excited watching him earlier and you know it won’t take much to make you come undone. As he starts to lick you with the fervour of a devoted servant you think about the day when you jerked him off in that suit and sent him to talk to girls with cum all over himself. You grab hold of the bedpost and start grinding against his face, imagining him blushing and stuttering knowing about the mess you made him make in his pants. God. He’d do anything for you.
“Oh fuck,” you cry out as you start to get close, thinking of how desperate he’s been for you, how he’ll wear what you want and do what you want, and even sacrifice his own pleasure for you.
Rolling your hips, you ride his face until you’re moaning and cussing, pleasure rushing through your body and exploding like fireworks.
“Ohhhh.”
You gasp and sigh out his name.
Shakily moving off him, you lie down again, looking into his red face, loving the way it’s covered in you, the way he's breathing hard from being half-suffocated.
“God, I love you Elvis,” you sigh.
“I love you too baby,” he coos. “Did I make you feel good?”
You nod and touch his cheek gently. “You always do, El. You always do.”
***