The couple sniffed around the grand mansion as they took the long walk to their reserved room.
George, a tall, thin man with black hair, stopped in the wide hallway to admire the frescoes on the vaulted ceiling.
“I can’t imagine living in a place like this, when everything was owned by one man,” he said.
Misty, his wife, stopped next to him.
“But think about all the cleaning. It would take a week to dust, vacuum and mop the whole place. Then when it’s done, you’d have to start all over again.”
George dismissed her comment. “Misty, when you live in a house like this, you have maids, believe me. The maids do all that work.”
“Yeah, I guess you’re right. I mean you’re rich if you live here.”
Moving forward, the couple opened the doors to take a look at the rooms. One was decorated like a Wild West brothel. A copper bathtub, bold wallpaper, a small bed.
George closed the door. He shuddered. “I can almost smell the horses. If you walk in, it will rub off on you.”
Misty laughed.
Misty opened the door to a medieval room. Chains on stone walls. Iron anklets. A shackle attached to a heavy ball.
Misty hastily closed the door. “Ick, a jail! I want to get to our room. Please?”
“You are beautiful.” George stroked her silky hair.
Two floors up, George paused at the door. “This is what we were waiting for. This room has primordial and pre-social rules.”
“Let me in. I want to see our room.” She pushed her shoulder against his.
George opened the door to a jungle.
The walls of the room were painted in detail. The trees stretched from the floor to the ceiling. Large tropical leaves hung from the branches.
Real branches, covered with real leaves, sprang from the ceiling and walls.
Misty turned to George with bright eyes. “This is… Wow. I didn’t expect…”
“Please come in.”
Misty stepped on a spongy floor, completely different from the cold cement floor of the hallway and the jail. Inside, he heard the high-pitched toucans and the distant cries of apes. He thought maybe he had heard an elephant somewhere.
“Take a swing,” George urged.
Misty then noticed the swaying. It had been hidden within the aura of the jungle.
It hung in the center of the room.
Misty pushed the swing gently and then turned to sit. However, her husband stopped her.
“Naked, Misty,” he sang.
George leaned against the doorframe. He smiled.
The woman took off her blouse and loosened the zipper on her skirt. He slid to the jungle floor.
In her bra and panties, she approached the swing.
George corrected her. “Until the end.”
She unclasped her bra and then pulled her panties down her slim legs. I was naked in the jungle.
“Here humanity was at peace. There was no shame, there was nothing to hide. Nothing that should be hidden. The mind was balanced. All men and women were beautiful. The body was art. It was not a utilitarian vehicle.”
He hit the swing. It was padded.
“Sit on the swing and enjoy Xanadu,” George encouraged.
First she hesitantly settled on the swing to test the strength, worried about breaking the branch she was attached to. A quick bounce and a shake, and she was sure he would hold her.
It fit the size of his body. Misty leaned back and rocked back and forth. Both eyes closed. Her hands ran over the taut ropes connecting the branch above her. He moved his feet to continue rocking gently. It reminded him of warm summer afternoons in the park behind his grandmother’s house.
“This wasn’t exactly what I had in mind, but it’s cool,” he said.
Nobody responded. Only the macaws and marmosets responded from somewhere far away.
“Jorge?”
Behind the trunk of a tree appeared a shiny platform shoe and the leg of a shiny bell-bottom suit.
The birds and apes stopped. Instead, the thud of a bass drum and guitar was heard.
Misty stopped swinging.
“Elvis?” She patted her hands like a happy teenager.
The complete form: casual suit with sparkling jewelry and a mop of hair up high.
Over a microphone, Elvis said, “I heard you wanted to meet me, Mom.”
“Yes, Elvis, yes!”
“So you came to, uh, the right room.” He shook his hips.
He sang with little impression, but Misty was delighted and sang.
Between the first number, he asked, “Do you like, uh-huh, my jungle room, Mom?”
“I’m so glad my husband brought me here so I could meet you, Elvis.”
“Uh, where is this man of yours?” -Elvis asked.
“I don’t know. But you’re here and I’m here. That’s all that matters.”
“It’s okay, mom.”
“Good?”
“Then it’s time for TBC.” She gently patted her lock of hair.
“Elvis, tomorrow will be too late. It’s now or never.”
At his command, he unzipped his sports suit. “Wise men say that only fools hurry…”
Misty grabbed the collars of the suit harshly. “—But I’m already in love with you!”
They kissed wildly as they worked to remove the suit. He felt it up to his knees.
Between kisses, Elvis began to sing: “Love me tender, love…”
Misty touched his lips with her finger.
Then he plopped down on the jungle swing. He wrapped his legs around the half-naked man.
“I look at you and bam! I’m madly in love, mom. I guess love is like a banana peel.”
He took off his suit and threw it across the room.
“Shut up,” he shouted happily.
Keeping Elvis tightly restrained, they easily began their merriment. She felt his cock penetrate her deeply with quick movements, while Misty and Elvis kept their eyes fixed and smiling.
Soon, Elvis walked away. “You know, I’m nothing more than a hunting dog. Turn around for me.” He moved his hips again.
Misty repositions herself on the swing. She held onto a tree trunk as Elvis pressed his cock against her loving pussy. The couple swayed together. Elvis hummed in pleasure, adding a few grunts.
“I want to see your eyes when you cum,” Misty said.
Elvis sat down and Misty jumped onto his lap. The branch above groaned.
The couple loved each other until they both reached their peak together.
Soon, they were curled up on the wide bed that had been covered by large branches and leaves.
“Thanks, George, I mean Elvis.”
“Always for you. Always for you.”
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